Fic: Swan Prince 2/5
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tolkien_slashy_swapsTitle:Swan Prince
Author:elfscribe
Email: elfscribe5@yahoo.com
Rating:NC-17
Pairing:Elladan/Elrohir/Elphir (Imrahil’s eldest son), Elphir/OMC
Warnings: Incest
Betas:Capella and Thevina. Thanks to both of you! Also much gratitude to Malinornë for her knowledgeable and patient help with Sindarin.
Request:Wherein Princes meet after the Ring War and together explore the differences between elves and men. (rest of request in ch. 1)
Summary: Prince Imrahil's son Elphir visits the decaying town of Edhellond to learn the meaning of an oracle and to indulge his secret desires. He meets Elrond's twin sons who have much to teach him about the ways of elves and men.
Written for ennorwen
Author:elfscribe
Email: elfscribe5@yahoo.com
Rating:NC-17
Pairing:Elladan/Elrohir/Elphir (Imrahil’s eldest son), Elphir/OMC
Warnings: Incest
Betas:Capella and Thevina. Thanks to both of you! Also much gratitude to Malinornë for her knowledgeable and patient help with Sindarin.
Request:Wherein Princes meet after the Ring War and together explore the differences between elves and men. (rest of request in ch. 1)
Summary: Prince Imrahil's son Elphir visits the decaying town of Edhellond to learn the meaning of an oracle and to indulge his secret desires. He meets Elrond's twin sons who have much to teach him about the ways of elves and men.
Written for ennorwen
Chapter 2 - Elwaith ‘Wann
A wind had come up; drops of rain spat at his face. How appropriate, Prince Elphir thought sourly. His mouth still tasted of musky cock and his loins were on fire, as was his head. He thought about looking for another bawd house, but dismissed the idea, as most in this quarter didn’t cater to his penchant. Perhaps if he went back to the Buccaneer, he could drown his desire with drink.
There was a movement, seen out of the corner of his eye. He turned, fumbling with his sword, heard the sound of running footsteps, and then a heavy fist slammed into his gut. He fell, retching. Stupid! He should have been paying better attention. In the uncertain light of a distant torch, he could see a shadowy figure in a white elf mask. There was a crunching patter of feet as two others joined him. “Hey molly-boy, gie o’er your purse, or we’ll take your balls off,” said a raspy voice. One of the others grasped his hair and pulled his head back with a jerk. He felt the cold edge of metal at his throat.
There was a shout. “Halt! Let him be!” It was Neled. One of the figures turned and ran towards him. The other released pressure on the knife just enough for Elphir to grab his wrist, twist around under his grip, and throw him off. He pulled his sword, then heard the ring of another one drawn. The next thing he knew, he was fighting for his life down the sloping, cobbled street.
The wind whirled small bits of debris in his face. He could barely see the dark figures coming at him on all sides. Somewhere against the background noise of clanging metal, he heard a dull thud and a loudly inhaled gasp. Mostly likely that was Neled, his erstwhile rescuer. Shite! This was turning into one akallabêth of a night!
Then he heard the ring of iron hooves on the cobbles and there was a soft zip of a feathered shaft, which struck the shoulder of his assailant. The man jerked, dropped his sword with a curse, and turned to face a hooded horseman, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Another horseman, identical to the first, came clattering down the street. There was something dreadful and awe-inspiring about them and Elphir wasn’t sure if they were friends or foes.
Suddenly, white tongues of forked light split the sky and there was a long crack of thunder. The horse, a rangy, clean-limbed courser, which had appeared grey before, now glowed white. He reared and struck out with his forelegs. The assailant cowered, raising one arm to his face.
“Be gone, firion,” the horseman said in a chilling voice. The other hooded figure had also loosed an arrow that, judging from a sudden cry, had found a mark in someone’s flesh.
Elphir’s assailants scampered off down the street. Nearby, a grey form moved slightly and groaned. Elphir ran to him and knelt. “Neled, are you alright?”
“Yes, m’lord. Are you?” Neled gurgled, turning over painfully. He sat up and then said in awe, “Who are they?”
Elphir looked up at the hooded figures. One of them got off his horse and stood over him. “I believe the nair firin have fled. Are ye unscathed?” he asked.
“Yes,” Elphir stammered. The voice, which had formerly been like iron, was now dulcet and unlike anything he’d ever heard before. It was a male voice, mellifluous with a lilting accent, like a softly plucked harp or a bowl of honey-mead. He could almost hear it singing in his blood. One instinct told him to run; the other wanted nothing else but to hear that voice again.
The other figure rode up close and, with a silky movement, got off his horse. Elphir heard the ring of chain mail and the crunch of booted feet. They were both very tall. He couldn’t quite make out faces within the hoods, but there was a gleam of bright eyes. Their cloaks seemed to render them well nigh invisible, mere shadows.
The second figure said some words in a foreign language that sounded like water flowing. The voice was just as beautiful as the first one and nearly identical, if perhaps slightly higher in register. Elphir had heard enough of the language spoken by his father to recognize it: Sindarin. Out of legend, the speech of elves. He shivered.
Then the rain came with a heavy, percussive roar.
Grimacing, Elphir stood and held out his arms as he addressed the skies busily soaking him. “This is just what I should expect about now. I don’t know what Vala I offended today, but shite . . .” He kicked at a loose cobble and sent it hurtling into the dark. Then he turned to the cloaked figures and inclined his head. “My apologies for ill-temper, my knights. Thank you for your timely intervention. Seems the least I can do by way of thanks is to offer you some hospitality. I’m staying at the Buccaneer off the main square. They have good food and drink, which you can enjoy in front of a fire. My treat.” He wiped at the water dripping down his nose.
The two hooded figures looked at each other and there was a pregnant pause. Then the first one said in that voice that made Elphir’s insides turn to warm honey, “My brother and I accept your kind offer. Is it far?”
“About a quarter league,” Elphir replied. In utter disgust, he looked up at the rain pelting into his face.
“Mount up,” the lovely voice said. “We’ll go quicker ahorse. My Tinnu will bear us both.”
And that’s how Elphir and Neled found themselves riding behind the tall, mysterious strangers in the pouring rain. Elphir had to grasp his rescuer’s waist and was now quite certain he had hold of a well-knit man, slender but remarkably strong. Under the cape, he seemed to be wearing light chain mail and a surcoat. There was something about his very presence that set Elphir’s blood seething, almost as if he was a bee humming at a range just below hearing. And strangely, the man’s long cape was not getting wet. Instead the water beaded up and ran off. Were they elves? Elphir dared not think what this might all lead to. He rode in a sodden haze.
They reached the inn. One of his rescuers said something in Sindarin to the other, followed by, “I’ll stable the horses if you see to the room.”
The other nodded. They entered the bright lobby where Elphir could smell tobacco and wood smoke and hear rowdy laughter coming from the common room. Neled shook himself, almost like a dog, and Elphir had to resist the temptation to do likewise. Instead he used both hands to pull his long, wet hair away from his face. His rescuer went up to Ulbar at the desk and said, “Good evening, sir. Do you have a room?” His hood dripped water onto the floor. Elphir noticed that he wore fingerless, black leather gloves.
Ulbar shook his head sadly. “D’ye hear that uproar? That’s the house. We’re tighter ‘n a molly’s britches tonight.”
The man reached up and slowly folded his hood back from his head, then undid a chin strap and removed a silver helm. Elphir about dropped his teeth on the floor. Long, black hair framed a pale face that was beyond exquisite. It seemed to shine with its own light. The creature had arched, dark brows framing large, pale grey eyes, almost silver, the iris ringed with a darker grey. Those eyes assessed him with the quick intelligence and sly humor of a wolf. His face had angular cheekbones flushed with a soft pink bloom, a long narrow nose, a clean jaw-line, and lusciously ripe lips that tugged upward at the corners. His hair was pulled back from his temples by thin, intricately woven braids entwined with silver thread. He had a small diamond earring dangling from his right lobe. And the ears themselves, revealed in all their alienness, tapered up into slender points.
“By Ossë’s prick, an elf! A real live elf,” Neled cried, echoing Elphir’s exact sentiments and by the open-mouthed expression, Ulbar’s too.
The elf inclined his head. “I am indeed of elf-kindred,” he said. He turned back to Ulbar. “If you’ve no room, master, could I beg a corner of the hayloft? ‘Tis a bad night and, to be frank, I’ve had my fill of being wet and miserable.”
Ulbar hesitated. Without thinking, Elphir stepped forward and said, “Híren. No need to bed with the ponies, I’ve plenty of room in my quarters. Ulbar, my friend, if you bring in some palettes and blankets, I’m sure they can sleep in front of my fire.”
The elf turned and smiled at him, a flash of white teeth that did pleasant things to Elphir’s innards. “What a charming offer,” he said.
“They?” Ulbar blinked.
“Oh yes, there’s another . . .” Elphir started, when the door opened with a blast of wet air, and the other hooded figure came in, stamping on the threshold and hefting saddlebags over his shoulder and a quiver and bow on his back.
“Tôr, how are the horses?” the elf asked.
“Well-stabled. What about a room?”
“None to be had, but this thalion neth has offered us a berth in his room.”
The other flung back his hood and took off his helm, shaking dark hair away from his eyes. Elphir felt a prickle of something otherworldly go up his spine. For a moment he wondered if there was something wrong with his vision. The elf was identical to his brother, down to the tantalizing smile when he heard the news and turned to look Elphir full in the face. But Elphir did notice one difference, this elf’s diamond earring was in his left ear, not his right.
“I have a private bath too,” Elphir said, feeling his mouth uncontrollably broaden into a grin. He hoped he didn’t sound too eager. The humming in his blood had clicked up a notch.
“How delightful,” said the second elf. “In that case, we most certainly accept.”
Ulbar beckoned Elphir over and whispered, “Are ye sure about this, lad? Two identical elves showing up on Elwaith 'wann? Uncanny, this is. I smell dwimmer-craft, sure as the night still belongs to them.”
“They rescued me from some cut-throats, Ulbar. I owe them my life. Besides, if they wanted to kill me, they could’ve done it ten times over by now.”
“I’m not talking about murder or anything normal,” Ulbar warned. “But it’s your own affair, lad.”
“Yes, it is,” Elphir said pointedly.
The twins looked at him with a decidedly knowing light in their eyes as if they’d heard the entire whispered conversation.
The first one said, “We’re not in the habit of ill-deeds towards our benefactors, if that’s your concern. It would be against all our laws, not to mention common-sense.”
“Of course not,” Elphir replied briskly. “But pray, let us get into dry clothes. Neled, can you see to a fire and a hot bath in our room? And put on something dry yourself,” he added, seeing Neled standing there with his arms about himself, shivering. Then Elphir turned to one of the elves and extended his hand, “I am Alphros,” he said. “Welcome to Edhellond, once a haven for your kind.”
The elf clasped his hand in a grip that was warm and strong. “I well remember Edhellond when the Edhelrim were still here. My name is Elladan, son of Elrond and this is my brother, Elrohir.”
Elphir turned and shook hands with Elrohir, who said, “Gîl síla erin lû govaded vín. A star shines upon the hour of our meeting.”
“It does indeed,” Elphir said. “Please, follow me.”
It wasn’t long until they were peeling off clothes and setting them to dry on stands near a crackling fire. Completely soaked, Elphir had stripped down to his loincloth and was toweling his hair dry. He was trying not to be too obvious in watching his guests disrobe. Whereas earlier in the evening he had cursed the Valar, now he had cause to thank them. Not only was he going to spend the night in the same room as two of the comeliest beings he had ever seen, but nature had conspired to divest them of much of their clothing. They had hung up their hooded cloaks, set quivers and bows and helms against the wall, and now they were removing swords and belts, surcoats, light chain mail, padding, arm-guards, and boots. There was a smell of damp leather, earthy moss, and some kind of rich spice like apples and cinnamon.
“You are well armored,” Elphir remarked as he looked at the growing pile.
The one called Elrohir turned to look at him. “We are on errantry,” he said, as if that explained it all.
“What does that mean exactly?” Elphir asked.
“When you seek out servants of the Great Enemy, it’s well to be prepared for unpleasantness,” Elladan said, with a grim smile. He bit at the hem of his glove and peeled it off with his teeth.
“'Tis well that the elves are active on our behalf,” Elphir said. “Their reputation these days is that they keep to their own affairs. What business brings you to Edhellond?”
“In these dark times, the concerns of elves and men and all free creatures are the same,” Elladan said. “We fight the Darkness in our own way and do not advertise our doings. But in answer to your question, we came out of the Hills of Tarnost today and thought it a pleasant notion to spend a night under a roof for once. So we headed to Edhellond, where we have not visited for an age. Since the inns are full, it is indeed fortunate that we came upon you or we’d be out in the wet wild like geese with our mouths open.” He laughed.
Errantry. Elphir didn’t think he’d want to be on the wrong side of that word. He said, “Fortunate in many ways. Up until you arrived, my evening had been dismal.”
“Yes, I imagine having your throat slit could ruin a lovely night,” Elrohir chuckled as he pulled off a boot and wriggled his stockinged foot delightedly.
Elphir smiled. “Yes, it could. And there were certain other disappointments before that, due in no small part to the scary reputation of elves. So, it was a strange twist of fate that you showed up to help me.”
“Mmm, that sounds like a tale,” Elrohir said. He and his brother sat down in some chairs, held their hands out to the fire, and looked at him expectantly.
“It is, but most likely a boring one,” Elphir replied, feeling his face redden again with the memory of his humiliation.
His guests were now dressed only in tight leggings and jacquard-weave shirts, unlaced at the neck. Elphir found, to his dismay and delight, that there was no part of them that was not pleasing to look upon. They were much bigger than he’d imagined for elves although he knew elves were supposed to be tall, but they were also well-built and long-limbed with broad shoulders tapering to narrow waists, their hands large and fine with long, slender fingers. Their silky, dark hair spilled loose over their shoulders to the middle of their backs. Even their bare feet were fine-boned and slender. They moved and spoke with studied grace; but yet, they seemed friendly and to possess a good sense of humor, something Elphir had not imagined of the elves. He was trying to be dignified and not think of what they looked like under their remaining clothes, even though the view was sure to be equally delightful. Instead, he concentrated on what he might say next if he was going to be at all entertaining. He wondered if all elves were this magnificent and if so, perhaps he should immediately seek out Rivendell and volunteer to do whatever they wanted, even if it meant mucking out the stables. It was too bad that elves had little interest in sex, and certainly not with other males, because he would be willing to sell his large-eared cousin into bondage for the opportunity . . . . Ah well, at least he could look.
“So tell me what ‘errantry’ entails?” Elphir asked.
He settled into a chair and listened to his companions’ strange and violent tales of slaying all manner of fell beasts and argue about how many foes they had engaged at one time, apparently around thirty. It was clear they were a force to be reckoned with. But there was something else about them, a sizzling undercurrent that he found puzzling. They seemed to be watching him, waiting for what, Elphir wasn’t sure. Elrohir occasionally would finger his earring while looking at him and Elladan would lick his lips in a most wolf-like manner. Conversation seemed laden with innuendo and directed towards each other as much as to him. He felt as if he were in a strange dream from which he never wanted to awaken.
By way of conversation, Elphir said, “My tutoring is not so faulty that I have not heard of Elrond Half-elven, who dwells in the far north in a hidden valley. But I did not know he had twin sons.”
“It runs in the family,” Elrohir replied. He reached over and affectionately ruffled his brother’s hair. “Father had a twin as well, as you may remember from your studies. That was Elros, the first king of Númenor.”
“Ah yes. Then, we are very distantly related,” Elphir blurted out before he remembered that he was in disguise.
Amusement curved Elladan’s lips. “You never said who your father was, Alphros, swan-foam. And you have an elvish name? Is that common in these parts?”
“As to my name, it is perhaps more common than you might think. The elves still linger here in some respects, names being one of them. As for my father, well, since you and I are just getting to know each other, let me say only that my father is a person of some standing in these parts.”
“Ah,” Elladan said. He turned and winked at his brother. “Elro, don’t you think there is an amazing resemblance between this young man and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth? Same lovely eyes and shape of the nose. I would wager there might be some relationship there.”
“A good bet. They do bear a certain resemblance, except for the red hair,” agreed Elrohir.
“You know my . . . uh . . . Prince Imrahil?” Elphir asked. He felt a flush creeping over his cheeks. He thought they must be onto him and he began to feel young and insecure.
The twins laughed. Elrohir said, “We met him many years ago. I don’t think he was much older than you at the time.” His eyes flicked up and down Elphir’s near-naked form with a gleam that Elphir could swear was appreciation. He found it confusing to say the least.
Elphir sneezed, then realized he was cold. He went to his baggage and pulled out a dry linen shirt, which he slipped over his head.
“A shame to cover up such a comely body,” Elladan remarked. But when Elphir looked at him sharply, the elf’s expression was completely innocent. He raised an eyebrow when Elphir sneezed again.
“We have been remiss, brother,” exclaimed Elrohir, leaping up. “We should give him a draught to warm him.”
“Good thought. Do we still have any?” Elladan asked.
“Just enough, I think.” Elrohir rustled around in one side of his saddlebags and then triumphantly pulled out a beautifully embossed silver flask. “This is an occasion where we should have drinking vessels and make a toast.”
“I’ll send for some,” Elphir said quickly.
Neled appeared shortly thereafter with several men from the kitchen bearing trays of a savory smelling fish chowder and other victuals, three bottles of red wine and cups. Then, more men showed up with bedding and sleep palettes, which they put against the wall, and a cauldron of hot water for the bath, set next to the fire. Elphir pressed some coins into Neled’s hand as he said, “Good man. Get yourself some dinner and enjoy yourself.” He winked.
“At what time shall I call on ye tomorrow?” Neled asked with a sly grin.
“None too early. Whenever you’ve slept off the hangover,” Elphir replied. “I’ll have Ulbar put down a palette for you in the sitting room next door.”
“Thank yeh, m’lord,” Neled said. Then he lowered his voice. “Don’t get into trouble that I’ll have to answer to your father for.”
“I’m sure all will be well. Elves don’t feel, um, that kind of attraction.”
Neled shook his head as he eyed the elves suspiciously. “I don’t know. There’s somethin’ about those two. Just, be careful. I don’t want yeh to end up frozen in time, or spirited off into the wild, or some such thing.”
“Those are just old wives’ tales.” Elphir clapped Neled on the back. “Good night.”
Then he closed the door and turned to face his guests. They were standing by the fire conversing in soft voices. When they saw him, they put their hands on their chests and bowed.
“What a feast you have provided! Le hannam, we thank you, Alphros. Come and join us,” they said. Elrohir held out a cup and waggled it invitingly.
Elphir took the cup, feeling shy and full of anticipation. His fingers brushed the elf’s and he could swear they tingled afterward.
“A toast to our new friend and benefactor,” Elladan said. He raised his cup and said, “A chuil,” then clicked it to Elrohir’s and Elphir’s, who both echoed the phrase meaning ‘to life’ that Elphir remembered his father using on occasion, and downed the contents. It was no more than a mouthful and had a faint fragrance, like honeysuckle, but no taste. Then Elphir noticed a warmth begin in his belly that gradually spread throughout his body into a profound feeling of well-being. It seemed as if the air in the room had suddenly become more vibrant. He smiled. “What is that drink? I’ve never tasted the like.”
“Miruvor, the cordial of Imladris, made by a special and secret process,” Elladan said. “We usually take it only when ill or weary, but after the exciting evening you’ve had, we felt this was a proper occasion.”
“'Tis remarkable. I feel refreshed. Let me, in small part, return the favor,” Elphir responded. He went over to one of the trays and picked up a green bottle. “I ordered a local red wine called ‘The Swan Lord’ that comes from vineyards near Dol Amroth. Perhaps it is a poor vintage compared to what the elves can ferment, but I think it will be pleasing enough.”
“I’m sure it will be delightful,” Elrohir said. “Do you have a corkscrew?”
Before long they were toasting each other with the strong wine and Elphir found it going right to his head. He ladled the chowder into bowls, which he handed to his guests along with a board of bread and cheese.
“Is there a spoon?” Elladan asked.
“No, the locals just use the bread as a scoop,” Elphir replied.
“Quaint,” Elladan said, with a sniff. He got up, went to his pack, and removed two slender utensils made of horn. He pressed somewhere on the handle and a metal spoon swung into place at the end. He offered one to Elrohir.
“I think I’ll do as the natives,” Elrohir said around a mouthful of bread and fish. “Mmm, this is delicious. It’s fresh cod, Elladan, not salted.”
“May I see that?” Elphir asked and Elladan handed him one of the utensils. It was ingeniously crafted with images of a stag hunt inlaid into the horn. He pressed on a small button and the spoon retracted and a three-tined fork clicked into its place.
“It's a knife too,” Elladan said, peering over his shoulder. “See, press again.”
“Ah yes,” Elphir marveled. “Clever. Are all the things made by the elves so fine?”
“Well, we have a lot of time and like to invent useful and beautiful things,” Elladan said. “This is good for traveling: compact and lightweight.”
“Useful and beautiful, like the cloaks that repel water,” Elphir said.
“Yes, a very tight weave of fibers wrapped in spider-webs. They take on the hues of things around them, and must be woven with the images of those things held in the mind. Takes months to make one,” Elrohir replied.
“Amazing. That seems like magic to me. You should open a shop here,” Elphir said. “The Edhil Emporium. You’d make a fortune.”
Both twins laughed. “We trade for what we need, not more,” Elladan replied. “These days, it seems, the elves don’t create playthings. But I remember Edhellond when the Grey Elves were here. There were wondrous shops. In fact, there was a store that sold toys just down the street from here, and another, not far away, that had the most marvelous pastries. Indeed, this inn was the home of a shipwright named Thavron.”
“But that must have been hundreds of years ago,” Elphir said in awe. “Forgive my curiosity, but how old are you?”
“Oh bother. How old are we, Elro?”
“One thousand, eight hundred and eighty on our last begetting day,” Elrohir replied with a laugh. “It’s easy to lose track.”
“Oh to live forever, what an astonishing gift!” Elphir replied, with a sigh.
“Sometimes,” Elladan said somberly. “Other times, it can be a tremendous burden. You get to the point where you’ve done everything many times before and you are simply weary of life. By Mandos, sometimes mortality seems like a good choice.”
“For us, the choice is not an academic one, either,” Elrohir said. He said it with a note of fatality that made Elphir wonder.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t know about the choice the Valar gifted to our kindred, the half-elven or peredhil?”
Elphir shook his head, feeling rustic. He should have paid better attention to his tutor.
“Did you think the appellation, half-elven, was given in jest?” Elladan asked with a smile and then he detailed a pedigree that included men as well as a Maia among his forebears, and a long list of famous names that made Elphir’s head spin. He explained how the Valar granted his father and uncle a choice about whether to choose the way of men or elves. “They chose different paths and are sundered forever,” Elladan said in a sorrowful voice. “I don’t know how they could have borne it.”
Elphir nodded. “So that’s why Elros, the first King of Númenor died. I wondered about that since I knew he was of elf-kindred.”
“Yes, and the same choice has been granted to Elrond’s children,” Elladan said.
“And what have you decided?” Elphir asked.
“We haven’t, as yet,” Elrohir replied shortly.
Elphir could sense that there was some tension between the two on the subject. He said, “Well, for me, there would be no hesitation. I would choose the way of the elves. I would want to live forever.”
“Would you indeed, young Alphros?” Elladan said, raising his chin somewhat haughtily. “You would choose to watch as your mortal friends grew old and died, while you lived on? And then to have it happen over and over again? You would choose to see endless years of war? Each time to throw out the Darkness, only to watch it take another shape and grow again. We saw the invasions of the Easterlings when we were only three hundred and sixty years old; we fought in the long wars with the Witch King of Angmar and watched many a good man be slain; we came to the aid of King Minardil when the Corsairs ravaged Pelargir and it was for naught; we watched Moria darken and the orcs increase and wept bitter tears when they took our mother and made her life too evil to bear; we have seen kingdoms rise and fall and rise again, and yet we are the same. Would you want the burden the years bring, young one?”
For a moment, Elphir felt the weight of his words. But then Elrohir laughed. “Don’t forget tôr, there is joy as well. No matter how many springs come, I still thrill as the flowers emerge from the earth robed in their glory, and I love to watch the new colts of many colors frisking in the meadow. I delight in the early morning light that makes a dewy cobweb into a necklace of diamonds, and revel in the incomparable majesty of the stars, as well as to countless other things: an eagle’s flight, the feel of wind in my face, a song echoing back from cliff walls, the taste of a good wine, the heat of a fire at day’s end, the smell of a fresh cod stew.” Here he inhaled deeply from his dish. “In the same way, do I feel joy in the company of old friends . . . and new ones.”
He smiled at Elphir, then dipped a finger in his wine, popped it in his mouth and sucked on it, drawing it out and sliding it back in. The sight caused a warm surge in Elphir’s loins. With a strange light in his eyes, Elrohir continued, “Don’t forget, brother, there are thousands of simple, sensual pleasures that we never tire of, do we?”
“Indeed, there are,” Elladan said. With softened expressions, they looked deeply into each other’s eyes. It was a look of yearning and Elphir had the feeling he was witnessing something very private and somehow outside the normal realm, but he couldn’t look away.
“Speaking of sensual pleasures,” Elrohir laughed, “that hot water looks quite inviting. When was the last time we had a real bath, Ladan?”
“Not counting the unexpected soak in the Anduin a week ago?”
A chuckle. “No, a real bath.”
“Osgiliath then. Nigh on three weeks ago.”
Elrohir smirked. “Too long, tôr. I’m amazed you can stand your own smell."
Elladan laughed and held his nose. “Mine is not too bad, it’s yours that I can’t bear,” he said, although Elphir couldn’t detect any unpleasant odor about either of them, certainly not what the smell would be if he were in the company of men who hadn’t bathed in weeks. Was that another difference between elves and men?
“Alphros, do you wish the first soak?” Elladan asked.
“No, go to, by all means,” Elphir replied. “I had a bath last night.”
The twins turned towards each other. Each put a hand behind his back, then brought it out with a snap, showing various combinations of fingers.
“I won,” Elrohir chortled.
“Mandos!” Elladan said, with a stamp of his foot. “You have been on a lucky streak.”
Elphir had to laugh. So typical of brothers, he thought with the beginnings of affection. But then, Elrohir slanted a lascivious eye at him, and with deliberation pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it in the chair. Elphir stifled a gasp. He was perfect: his arms hard with muscle, collarbones that arched delicately, a long neck, a smooth well-muscled chest and abdomen, and widely spaced nipples with tiny bumps that Elphir longed to run his tongue over. And that hair, that silky black hair that hung half-way to his waist, Elphir wanted his hands in it. His gaze drifted down to the distinct bulge in Elrohir’s cotton leggings and felt his mouth begin to water. He couldn’t mistake the provocation in the elf’s disrobing, could he? Was it a cultural difference between elves and men? Surely not. He felt disoriented, as if he was standing on the shore with the surf pulling sand from under his feet.
Elrohir cocked a hip and laughed lightly. “Put your tongues back in your mouths, both of you, and help me haul that cauldron of hot water.”
Elphir looked over at Elladan and discovered that he was watching Elrohir with a rapt gaze. Under normal circumstances he would never mistake that look, but . . . they were brothers . . . and they were elves. Was what he had read about elves completely wrong? Or was there a difference with these two because of their human ancestry? If so, he imagined he would owe the gods more than a year’s penance after this night.
*************************
*akallabêth - means the downfallen in Adûnaic. Used here to mean a complete catastrophe
*firion - a mortal
*nair firin - human rats
*tôr - brother
*thalion neth - young hero
*le hannam - we thank you (And yes that's right, the verb changes depending on the pronoun, plural 'we' as opposed to 'I' thank you.)
-tbc-
A wind had come up; drops of rain spat at his face. How appropriate, Prince Elphir thought sourly. His mouth still tasted of musky cock and his loins were on fire, as was his head. He thought about looking for another bawd house, but dismissed the idea, as most in this quarter didn’t cater to his penchant. Perhaps if he went back to the Buccaneer, he could drown his desire with drink.
There was a movement, seen out of the corner of his eye. He turned, fumbling with his sword, heard the sound of running footsteps, and then a heavy fist slammed into his gut. He fell, retching. Stupid! He should have been paying better attention. In the uncertain light of a distant torch, he could see a shadowy figure in a white elf mask. There was a crunching patter of feet as two others joined him. “Hey molly-boy, gie o’er your purse, or we’ll take your balls off,” said a raspy voice. One of the others grasped his hair and pulled his head back with a jerk. He felt the cold edge of metal at his throat.
There was a shout. “Halt! Let him be!” It was Neled. One of the figures turned and ran towards him. The other released pressure on the knife just enough for Elphir to grab his wrist, twist around under his grip, and throw him off. He pulled his sword, then heard the ring of another one drawn. The next thing he knew, he was fighting for his life down the sloping, cobbled street.
The wind whirled small bits of debris in his face. He could barely see the dark figures coming at him on all sides. Somewhere against the background noise of clanging metal, he heard a dull thud and a loudly inhaled gasp. Mostly likely that was Neled, his erstwhile rescuer. Shite! This was turning into one akallabêth of a night!
Then he heard the ring of iron hooves on the cobbles and there was a soft zip of a feathered shaft, which struck the shoulder of his assailant. The man jerked, dropped his sword with a curse, and turned to face a hooded horseman, who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Another horseman, identical to the first, came clattering down the street. There was something dreadful and awe-inspiring about them and Elphir wasn’t sure if they were friends or foes.
Suddenly, white tongues of forked light split the sky and there was a long crack of thunder. The horse, a rangy, clean-limbed courser, which had appeared grey before, now glowed white. He reared and struck out with his forelegs. The assailant cowered, raising one arm to his face.
“Be gone, firion,” the horseman said in a chilling voice. The other hooded figure had also loosed an arrow that, judging from a sudden cry, had found a mark in someone’s flesh.
Elphir’s assailants scampered off down the street. Nearby, a grey form moved slightly and groaned. Elphir ran to him and knelt. “Neled, are you alright?”
“Yes, m’lord. Are you?” Neled gurgled, turning over painfully. He sat up and then said in awe, “Who are they?”
Elphir looked up at the hooded figures. One of them got off his horse and stood over him. “I believe the nair firin have fled. Are ye unscathed?” he asked.
“Yes,” Elphir stammered. The voice, which had formerly been like iron, was now dulcet and unlike anything he’d ever heard before. It was a male voice, mellifluous with a lilting accent, like a softly plucked harp or a bowl of honey-mead. He could almost hear it singing in his blood. One instinct told him to run; the other wanted nothing else but to hear that voice again.
The other figure rode up close and, with a silky movement, got off his horse. Elphir heard the ring of chain mail and the crunch of booted feet. They were both very tall. He couldn’t quite make out faces within the hoods, but there was a gleam of bright eyes. Their cloaks seemed to render them well nigh invisible, mere shadows.
The second figure said some words in a foreign language that sounded like water flowing. The voice was just as beautiful as the first one and nearly identical, if perhaps slightly higher in register. Elphir had heard enough of the language spoken by his father to recognize it: Sindarin. Out of legend, the speech of elves. He shivered.
Then the rain came with a heavy, percussive roar.
Grimacing, Elphir stood and held out his arms as he addressed the skies busily soaking him. “This is just what I should expect about now. I don’t know what Vala I offended today, but shite . . .” He kicked at a loose cobble and sent it hurtling into the dark. Then he turned to the cloaked figures and inclined his head. “My apologies for ill-temper, my knights. Thank you for your timely intervention. Seems the least I can do by way of thanks is to offer you some hospitality. I’m staying at the Buccaneer off the main square. They have good food and drink, which you can enjoy in front of a fire. My treat.” He wiped at the water dripping down his nose.
The two hooded figures looked at each other and there was a pregnant pause. Then the first one said in that voice that made Elphir’s insides turn to warm honey, “My brother and I accept your kind offer. Is it far?”
“About a quarter league,” Elphir replied. In utter disgust, he looked up at the rain pelting into his face.
“Mount up,” the lovely voice said. “We’ll go quicker ahorse. My Tinnu will bear us both.”
And that’s how Elphir and Neled found themselves riding behind the tall, mysterious strangers in the pouring rain. Elphir had to grasp his rescuer’s waist and was now quite certain he had hold of a well-knit man, slender but remarkably strong. Under the cape, he seemed to be wearing light chain mail and a surcoat. There was something about his very presence that set Elphir’s blood seething, almost as if he was a bee humming at a range just below hearing. And strangely, the man’s long cape was not getting wet. Instead the water beaded up and ran off. Were they elves? Elphir dared not think what this might all lead to. He rode in a sodden haze.
They reached the inn. One of his rescuers said something in Sindarin to the other, followed by, “I’ll stable the horses if you see to the room.”
The other nodded. They entered the bright lobby where Elphir could smell tobacco and wood smoke and hear rowdy laughter coming from the common room. Neled shook himself, almost like a dog, and Elphir had to resist the temptation to do likewise. Instead he used both hands to pull his long, wet hair away from his face. His rescuer went up to Ulbar at the desk and said, “Good evening, sir. Do you have a room?” His hood dripped water onto the floor. Elphir noticed that he wore fingerless, black leather gloves.
Ulbar shook his head sadly. “D’ye hear that uproar? That’s the house. We’re tighter ‘n a molly’s britches tonight.”
The man reached up and slowly folded his hood back from his head, then undid a chin strap and removed a silver helm. Elphir about dropped his teeth on the floor. Long, black hair framed a pale face that was beyond exquisite. It seemed to shine with its own light. The creature had arched, dark brows framing large, pale grey eyes, almost silver, the iris ringed with a darker grey. Those eyes assessed him with the quick intelligence and sly humor of a wolf. His face had angular cheekbones flushed with a soft pink bloom, a long narrow nose, a clean jaw-line, and lusciously ripe lips that tugged upward at the corners. His hair was pulled back from his temples by thin, intricately woven braids entwined with silver thread. He had a small diamond earring dangling from his right lobe. And the ears themselves, revealed in all their alienness, tapered up into slender points.
“By Ossë’s prick, an elf! A real live elf,” Neled cried, echoing Elphir’s exact sentiments and by the open-mouthed expression, Ulbar’s too.
The elf inclined his head. “I am indeed of elf-kindred,” he said. He turned back to Ulbar. “If you’ve no room, master, could I beg a corner of the hayloft? ‘Tis a bad night and, to be frank, I’ve had my fill of being wet and miserable.”
Ulbar hesitated. Without thinking, Elphir stepped forward and said, “Híren. No need to bed with the ponies, I’ve plenty of room in my quarters. Ulbar, my friend, if you bring in some palettes and blankets, I’m sure they can sleep in front of my fire.”
The elf turned and smiled at him, a flash of white teeth that did pleasant things to Elphir’s innards. “What a charming offer,” he said.
“They?” Ulbar blinked.
“Oh yes, there’s another . . .” Elphir started, when the door opened with a blast of wet air, and the other hooded figure came in, stamping on the threshold and hefting saddlebags over his shoulder and a quiver and bow on his back.
“Tôr, how are the horses?” the elf asked.
“Well-stabled. What about a room?”
“None to be had, but this thalion neth has offered us a berth in his room.”
The other flung back his hood and took off his helm, shaking dark hair away from his eyes. Elphir felt a prickle of something otherworldly go up his spine. For a moment he wondered if there was something wrong with his vision. The elf was identical to his brother, down to the tantalizing smile when he heard the news and turned to look Elphir full in the face. But Elphir did notice one difference, this elf’s diamond earring was in his left ear, not his right.
“I have a private bath too,” Elphir said, feeling his mouth uncontrollably broaden into a grin. He hoped he didn’t sound too eager. The humming in his blood had clicked up a notch.
“How delightful,” said the second elf. “In that case, we most certainly accept.”
Ulbar beckoned Elphir over and whispered, “Are ye sure about this, lad? Two identical elves showing up on Elwaith 'wann? Uncanny, this is. I smell dwimmer-craft, sure as the night still belongs to them.”
“They rescued me from some cut-throats, Ulbar. I owe them my life. Besides, if they wanted to kill me, they could’ve done it ten times over by now.”
“I’m not talking about murder or anything normal,” Ulbar warned. “But it’s your own affair, lad.”
“Yes, it is,” Elphir said pointedly.
The twins looked at him with a decidedly knowing light in their eyes as if they’d heard the entire whispered conversation.
The first one said, “We’re not in the habit of ill-deeds towards our benefactors, if that’s your concern. It would be against all our laws, not to mention common-sense.”
“Of course not,” Elphir replied briskly. “But pray, let us get into dry clothes. Neled, can you see to a fire and a hot bath in our room? And put on something dry yourself,” he added, seeing Neled standing there with his arms about himself, shivering. Then Elphir turned to one of the elves and extended his hand, “I am Alphros,” he said. “Welcome to Edhellond, once a haven for your kind.”
The elf clasped his hand in a grip that was warm and strong. “I well remember Edhellond when the Edhelrim were still here. My name is Elladan, son of Elrond and this is my brother, Elrohir.”
Elphir turned and shook hands with Elrohir, who said, “Gîl síla erin lû govaded vín. A star shines upon the hour of our meeting.”
“It does indeed,” Elphir said. “Please, follow me.”
It wasn’t long until they were peeling off clothes and setting them to dry on stands near a crackling fire. Completely soaked, Elphir had stripped down to his loincloth and was toweling his hair dry. He was trying not to be too obvious in watching his guests disrobe. Whereas earlier in the evening he had cursed the Valar, now he had cause to thank them. Not only was he going to spend the night in the same room as two of the comeliest beings he had ever seen, but nature had conspired to divest them of much of their clothing. They had hung up their hooded cloaks, set quivers and bows and helms against the wall, and now they were removing swords and belts, surcoats, light chain mail, padding, arm-guards, and boots. There was a smell of damp leather, earthy moss, and some kind of rich spice like apples and cinnamon.
“You are well armored,” Elphir remarked as he looked at the growing pile.
The one called Elrohir turned to look at him. “We are on errantry,” he said, as if that explained it all.
“What does that mean exactly?” Elphir asked.
“When you seek out servants of the Great Enemy, it’s well to be prepared for unpleasantness,” Elladan said, with a grim smile. He bit at the hem of his glove and peeled it off with his teeth.
“'Tis well that the elves are active on our behalf,” Elphir said. “Their reputation these days is that they keep to their own affairs. What business brings you to Edhellond?”
“In these dark times, the concerns of elves and men and all free creatures are the same,” Elladan said. “We fight the Darkness in our own way and do not advertise our doings. But in answer to your question, we came out of the Hills of Tarnost today and thought it a pleasant notion to spend a night under a roof for once. So we headed to Edhellond, where we have not visited for an age. Since the inns are full, it is indeed fortunate that we came upon you or we’d be out in the wet wild like geese with our mouths open.” He laughed.
Errantry. Elphir didn’t think he’d want to be on the wrong side of that word. He said, “Fortunate in many ways. Up until you arrived, my evening had been dismal.”
“Yes, I imagine having your throat slit could ruin a lovely night,” Elrohir chuckled as he pulled off a boot and wriggled his stockinged foot delightedly.
Elphir smiled. “Yes, it could. And there were certain other disappointments before that, due in no small part to the scary reputation of elves. So, it was a strange twist of fate that you showed up to help me.”
“Mmm, that sounds like a tale,” Elrohir said. He and his brother sat down in some chairs, held their hands out to the fire, and looked at him expectantly.
“It is, but most likely a boring one,” Elphir replied, feeling his face redden again with the memory of his humiliation.
His guests were now dressed only in tight leggings and jacquard-weave shirts, unlaced at the neck. Elphir found, to his dismay and delight, that there was no part of them that was not pleasing to look upon. They were much bigger than he’d imagined for elves although he knew elves were supposed to be tall, but they were also well-built and long-limbed with broad shoulders tapering to narrow waists, their hands large and fine with long, slender fingers. Their silky, dark hair spilled loose over their shoulders to the middle of their backs. Even their bare feet were fine-boned and slender. They moved and spoke with studied grace; but yet, they seemed friendly and to possess a good sense of humor, something Elphir had not imagined of the elves. He was trying to be dignified and not think of what they looked like under their remaining clothes, even though the view was sure to be equally delightful. Instead, he concentrated on what he might say next if he was going to be at all entertaining. He wondered if all elves were this magnificent and if so, perhaps he should immediately seek out Rivendell and volunteer to do whatever they wanted, even if it meant mucking out the stables. It was too bad that elves had little interest in sex, and certainly not with other males, because he would be willing to sell his large-eared cousin into bondage for the opportunity . . . . Ah well, at least he could look.
“So tell me what ‘errantry’ entails?” Elphir asked.
He settled into a chair and listened to his companions’ strange and violent tales of slaying all manner of fell beasts and argue about how many foes they had engaged at one time, apparently around thirty. It was clear they were a force to be reckoned with. But there was something else about them, a sizzling undercurrent that he found puzzling. They seemed to be watching him, waiting for what, Elphir wasn’t sure. Elrohir occasionally would finger his earring while looking at him and Elladan would lick his lips in a most wolf-like manner. Conversation seemed laden with innuendo and directed towards each other as much as to him. He felt as if he were in a strange dream from which he never wanted to awaken.
By way of conversation, Elphir said, “My tutoring is not so faulty that I have not heard of Elrond Half-elven, who dwells in the far north in a hidden valley. But I did not know he had twin sons.”
“It runs in the family,” Elrohir replied. He reached over and affectionately ruffled his brother’s hair. “Father had a twin as well, as you may remember from your studies. That was Elros, the first king of Númenor.”
“Ah yes. Then, we are very distantly related,” Elphir blurted out before he remembered that he was in disguise.
Amusement curved Elladan’s lips. “You never said who your father was, Alphros, swan-foam. And you have an elvish name? Is that common in these parts?”
“As to my name, it is perhaps more common than you might think. The elves still linger here in some respects, names being one of them. As for my father, well, since you and I are just getting to know each other, let me say only that my father is a person of some standing in these parts.”
“Ah,” Elladan said. He turned and winked at his brother. “Elro, don’t you think there is an amazing resemblance between this young man and Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth? Same lovely eyes and shape of the nose. I would wager there might be some relationship there.”
“A good bet. They do bear a certain resemblance, except for the red hair,” agreed Elrohir.
“You know my . . . uh . . . Prince Imrahil?” Elphir asked. He felt a flush creeping over his cheeks. He thought they must be onto him and he began to feel young and insecure.
The twins laughed. Elrohir said, “We met him many years ago. I don’t think he was much older than you at the time.” His eyes flicked up and down Elphir’s near-naked form with a gleam that Elphir could swear was appreciation. He found it confusing to say the least.
Elphir sneezed, then realized he was cold. He went to his baggage and pulled out a dry linen shirt, which he slipped over his head.
“A shame to cover up such a comely body,” Elladan remarked. But when Elphir looked at him sharply, the elf’s expression was completely innocent. He raised an eyebrow when Elphir sneezed again.
“We have been remiss, brother,” exclaimed Elrohir, leaping up. “We should give him a draught to warm him.”
“Good thought. Do we still have any?” Elladan asked.
“Just enough, I think.” Elrohir rustled around in one side of his saddlebags and then triumphantly pulled out a beautifully embossed silver flask. “This is an occasion where we should have drinking vessels and make a toast.”
“I’ll send for some,” Elphir said quickly.
Neled appeared shortly thereafter with several men from the kitchen bearing trays of a savory smelling fish chowder and other victuals, three bottles of red wine and cups. Then, more men showed up with bedding and sleep palettes, which they put against the wall, and a cauldron of hot water for the bath, set next to the fire. Elphir pressed some coins into Neled’s hand as he said, “Good man. Get yourself some dinner and enjoy yourself.” He winked.
“At what time shall I call on ye tomorrow?” Neled asked with a sly grin.
“None too early. Whenever you’ve slept off the hangover,” Elphir replied. “I’ll have Ulbar put down a palette for you in the sitting room next door.”
“Thank yeh, m’lord,” Neled said. Then he lowered his voice. “Don’t get into trouble that I’ll have to answer to your father for.”
“I’m sure all will be well. Elves don’t feel, um, that kind of attraction.”
Neled shook his head as he eyed the elves suspiciously. “I don’t know. There’s somethin’ about those two. Just, be careful. I don’t want yeh to end up frozen in time, or spirited off into the wild, or some such thing.”
“Those are just old wives’ tales.” Elphir clapped Neled on the back. “Good night.”
Then he closed the door and turned to face his guests. They were standing by the fire conversing in soft voices. When they saw him, they put their hands on their chests and bowed.
“What a feast you have provided! Le hannam, we thank you, Alphros. Come and join us,” they said. Elrohir held out a cup and waggled it invitingly.
Elphir took the cup, feeling shy and full of anticipation. His fingers brushed the elf’s and he could swear they tingled afterward.
“A toast to our new friend and benefactor,” Elladan said. He raised his cup and said, “A chuil,” then clicked it to Elrohir’s and Elphir’s, who both echoed the phrase meaning ‘to life’ that Elphir remembered his father using on occasion, and downed the contents. It was no more than a mouthful and had a faint fragrance, like honeysuckle, but no taste. Then Elphir noticed a warmth begin in his belly that gradually spread throughout his body into a profound feeling of well-being. It seemed as if the air in the room had suddenly become more vibrant. He smiled. “What is that drink? I’ve never tasted the like.”
“Miruvor, the cordial of Imladris, made by a special and secret process,” Elladan said. “We usually take it only when ill or weary, but after the exciting evening you’ve had, we felt this was a proper occasion.”
“'Tis remarkable. I feel refreshed. Let me, in small part, return the favor,” Elphir responded. He went over to one of the trays and picked up a green bottle. “I ordered a local red wine called ‘The Swan Lord’ that comes from vineyards near Dol Amroth. Perhaps it is a poor vintage compared to what the elves can ferment, but I think it will be pleasing enough.”
“I’m sure it will be delightful,” Elrohir said. “Do you have a corkscrew?”
Before long they were toasting each other with the strong wine and Elphir found it going right to his head. He ladled the chowder into bowls, which he handed to his guests along with a board of bread and cheese.
“Is there a spoon?” Elladan asked.
“No, the locals just use the bread as a scoop,” Elphir replied.
“Quaint,” Elladan said, with a sniff. He got up, went to his pack, and removed two slender utensils made of horn. He pressed somewhere on the handle and a metal spoon swung into place at the end. He offered one to Elrohir.
“I think I’ll do as the natives,” Elrohir said around a mouthful of bread and fish. “Mmm, this is delicious. It’s fresh cod, Elladan, not salted.”
“May I see that?” Elphir asked and Elladan handed him one of the utensils. It was ingeniously crafted with images of a stag hunt inlaid into the horn. He pressed on a small button and the spoon retracted and a three-tined fork clicked into its place.
“It's a knife too,” Elladan said, peering over his shoulder. “See, press again.”
“Ah yes,” Elphir marveled. “Clever. Are all the things made by the elves so fine?”
“Well, we have a lot of time and like to invent useful and beautiful things,” Elladan said. “This is good for traveling: compact and lightweight.”
“Useful and beautiful, like the cloaks that repel water,” Elphir said.
“Yes, a very tight weave of fibers wrapped in spider-webs. They take on the hues of things around them, and must be woven with the images of those things held in the mind. Takes months to make one,” Elrohir replied.
“Amazing. That seems like magic to me. You should open a shop here,” Elphir said. “The Edhil Emporium. You’d make a fortune.”
Both twins laughed. “We trade for what we need, not more,” Elladan replied. “These days, it seems, the elves don’t create playthings. But I remember Edhellond when the Grey Elves were here. There were wondrous shops. In fact, there was a store that sold toys just down the street from here, and another, not far away, that had the most marvelous pastries. Indeed, this inn was the home of a shipwright named Thavron.”
“But that must have been hundreds of years ago,” Elphir said in awe. “Forgive my curiosity, but how old are you?”
“Oh bother. How old are we, Elro?”
“One thousand, eight hundred and eighty on our last begetting day,” Elrohir replied with a laugh. “It’s easy to lose track.”
“Oh to live forever, what an astonishing gift!” Elphir replied, with a sigh.
“Sometimes,” Elladan said somberly. “Other times, it can be a tremendous burden. You get to the point where you’ve done everything many times before and you are simply weary of life. By Mandos, sometimes mortality seems like a good choice.”
“For us, the choice is not an academic one, either,” Elrohir said. He said it with a note of fatality that made Elphir wonder.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t know about the choice the Valar gifted to our kindred, the half-elven or peredhil?”
Elphir shook his head, feeling rustic. He should have paid better attention to his tutor.
“Did you think the appellation, half-elven, was given in jest?” Elladan asked with a smile and then he detailed a pedigree that included men as well as a Maia among his forebears, and a long list of famous names that made Elphir’s head spin. He explained how the Valar granted his father and uncle a choice about whether to choose the way of men or elves. “They chose different paths and are sundered forever,” Elladan said in a sorrowful voice. “I don’t know how they could have borne it.”
Elphir nodded. “So that’s why Elros, the first King of Númenor died. I wondered about that since I knew he was of elf-kindred.”
“Yes, and the same choice has been granted to Elrond’s children,” Elladan said.
“And what have you decided?” Elphir asked.
“We haven’t, as yet,” Elrohir replied shortly.
Elphir could sense that there was some tension between the two on the subject. He said, “Well, for me, there would be no hesitation. I would choose the way of the elves. I would want to live forever.”
“Would you indeed, young Alphros?” Elladan said, raising his chin somewhat haughtily. “You would choose to watch as your mortal friends grew old and died, while you lived on? And then to have it happen over and over again? You would choose to see endless years of war? Each time to throw out the Darkness, only to watch it take another shape and grow again. We saw the invasions of the Easterlings when we were only three hundred and sixty years old; we fought in the long wars with the Witch King of Angmar and watched many a good man be slain; we came to the aid of King Minardil when the Corsairs ravaged Pelargir and it was for naught; we watched Moria darken and the orcs increase and wept bitter tears when they took our mother and made her life too evil to bear; we have seen kingdoms rise and fall and rise again, and yet we are the same. Would you want the burden the years bring, young one?”
For a moment, Elphir felt the weight of his words. But then Elrohir laughed. “Don’t forget tôr, there is joy as well. No matter how many springs come, I still thrill as the flowers emerge from the earth robed in their glory, and I love to watch the new colts of many colors frisking in the meadow. I delight in the early morning light that makes a dewy cobweb into a necklace of diamonds, and revel in the incomparable majesty of the stars, as well as to countless other things: an eagle’s flight, the feel of wind in my face, a song echoing back from cliff walls, the taste of a good wine, the heat of a fire at day’s end, the smell of a fresh cod stew.” Here he inhaled deeply from his dish. “In the same way, do I feel joy in the company of old friends . . . and new ones.”
He smiled at Elphir, then dipped a finger in his wine, popped it in his mouth and sucked on it, drawing it out and sliding it back in. The sight caused a warm surge in Elphir’s loins. With a strange light in his eyes, Elrohir continued, “Don’t forget, brother, there are thousands of simple, sensual pleasures that we never tire of, do we?”
“Indeed, there are,” Elladan said. With softened expressions, they looked deeply into each other’s eyes. It was a look of yearning and Elphir had the feeling he was witnessing something very private and somehow outside the normal realm, but he couldn’t look away.
“Speaking of sensual pleasures,” Elrohir laughed, “that hot water looks quite inviting. When was the last time we had a real bath, Ladan?”
“Not counting the unexpected soak in the Anduin a week ago?”
A chuckle. “No, a real bath.”
“Osgiliath then. Nigh on three weeks ago.”
Elrohir smirked. “Too long, tôr. I’m amazed you can stand your own smell."
Elladan laughed and held his nose. “Mine is not too bad, it’s yours that I can’t bear,” he said, although Elphir couldn’t detect any unpleasant odor about either of them, certainly not what the smell would be if he were in the company of men who hadn’t bathed in weeks. Was that another difference between elves and men?
“Alphros, do you wish the first soak?” Elladan asked.
“No, go to, by all means,” Elphir replied. “I had a bath last night.”
The twins turned towards each other. Each put a hand behind his back, then brought it out with a snap, showing various combinations of fingers.
“I won,” Elrohir chortled.
“Mandos!” Elladan said, with a stamp of his foot. “You have been on a lucky streak.”
Elphir had to laugh. So typical of brothers, he thought with the beginnings of affection. But then, Elrohir slanted a lascivious eye at him, and with deliberation pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it in the chair. Elphir stifled a gasp. He was perfect: his arms hard with muscle, collarbones that arched delicately, a long neck, a smooth well-muscled chest and abdomen, and widely spaced nipples with tiny bumps that Elphir longed to run his tongue over. And that hair, that silky black hair that hung half-way to his waist, Elphir wanted his hands in it. His gaze drifted down to the distinct bulge in Elrohir’s cotton leggings and felt his mouth begin to water. He couldn’t mistake the provocation in the elf’s disrobing, could he? Was it a cultural difference between elves and men? Surely not. He felt disoriented, as if he was standing on the shore with the surf pulling sand from under his feet.
Elrohir cocked a hip and laughed lightly. “Put your tongues back in your mouths, both of you, and help me haul that cauldron of hot water.”
Elphir looked over at Elladan and discovered that he was watching Elrohir with a rapt gaze. Under normal circumstances he would never mistake that look, but . . . they were brothers . . . and they were elves. Was what he had read about elves completely wrong? Or was there a difference with these two because of their human ancestry? If so, he imagined he would owe the gods more than a year’s penance after this night.
*************************
*akallabêth - means the downfallen in Adûnaic. Used here to mean a complete catastrophe
*firion - a mortal
*nair firin - human rats
*tôr - brother
*thalion neth - young hero
*le hannam - we thank you (And yes that's right, the verb changes depending on the pronoun, plural 'we' as opposed to 'I' thank you.)
-tbc-
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Date: 2008-08-19 09:48 am (UTC)And TA-DAH-DAH-DAH - the twins ride in to the rescue! Sigh...my heroes! And Elphir's. Again, the line, "He could almost hear it singing in his blood," as one of the first points of recognition was so telling. (Thank you for incorporating the rain - just made Elphir's frustration more ah, erm, frustrating. - All that and rain, too!)
Oh God, I can just imagine Ulbar's - and everyone else's reaction. Not only elves. But twins. Must've thought they were seeing ghosts or something. Especially considering the particular night on which they show up and the wonderful myths you've woven throughout.
Love your descriptions of our gorgeous twins, of course, but even more interesting was seeing it through Elphir's eyes - him comparing the myth to the reality. And of course, E&E, being peredhel are not even what he will come to see in years hence. Loved the Elladan "would lick in lips in a most wolf-like manner." That's my fiery elf-man, for sure.
"I don't want you to end up frozen in time, or spirited off into the wild, or some such thing. Hah! I just love Neled. Shades of Sam Gamgee there.
And thank you for working in the Miruvor and the "libation of Dol Amroth" - I love the idea of "The Edhil Emporium," too - do you think they have a website?
And you stop the chapter here? Elrohir with most of his clothes, off? You are wicked. Thank God the rest of the story is posted so I that I don't have to admonish you for making us wait for what comes next...
More tomorrow. I am still in awe at your story-telling, Elfscribe. Absolutely gorgeous. Especially the little details - and your secondary characters. Crikey, there are whole worlds contained in them, too. You could write Tancred's tale and I'd read it, and Neled's. You could write Ulbar's tale...and Aelfwine's. I'd read them all. (Elfscribe as Chaucer, hmmm. "The Edhellond Tales" - has a nice ring to it.)
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Date: 2008-08-19 10:15 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for comments. You are a luv.