Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Elrond/Melpomaen, Glorfindel/Erestor, Erestor/Gildor (Gil-galad/Elrond mentioned)
Summary: Unexpected visitors to Imladris lead Melpomaen to make difficult decisions about his future and force Erestor to come to terms with his past.
Feedback: Would make my day. Constructive criticism always welcome.
Warning: m/m slash, mild BDSM, angst, hint of noncon.
Acknowledgments: Thank you to Manon, for the beta job, and to Tehta, whose comments during the writing (and re-writing) process were invaluable.
Notes: Sequel to Sweetness and Gall. For those who've been waiting: thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy!
Imladris, TA 1004
Sitting on the carpet in front of the fireplace, beside Elrond's chair, Melpomaen looked the picture of repose, his relaxed posture seeming to reflect the tranquility of his spirit. And yet his thoughts were anything but peaceful and his heart far from calm. Even his lover's hands, which gently stroked his hair, could not dispel the feeling of unease that plagued him.
A worry had weighed heavily on his mind for a number of weeks now, chasing sleep from his tired eyes each night. No other resident of the Last Homely House had mentioned anything, and Melpomaen was unwilling to broach the subject himself, as his misgivings were rather private and involved the one person who was dearer to him than anyone else. He had tried to convince himself that his anxiety was all in his mind. But, try as he might, he could not shake the disturbing feeling that something was wrong with Elrond.
For the past fortnight Elrond had seemed distant. His hearing had seemed attuned to inner voices, not Melpomaen's, and his gaze had looked off into the distance, unseeing. On a number of occasions Melpomaen's questions had gone unanswered, having simply failed to break through the fog that clouded Elrond's thoughts. Elrond had been introspective in the past, even preoccupied, but this was different. This was unprecedented. Melpomaen was frightened.
Desperate to chase away the shadows clouding his lover's mind, Melpomaen let his hand creep up Elrond's thigh, his fingers intent on caressing the one place that held the promise of forgetfulness and was almost certain to bring respite from heaviness of soul. But Elrond's hand closed over Melpomaen's fingers before they had a chance to reach their destination.
"No, love. Please... not tonight."
"What's wrong?" Melpomaen looked up at his troubled lover. "Are you wroth with me? Have I done something to displease you?"
"No, Melpomaen. It isn't you." Elrond said, his hand gently caressing Melpomaen's cheek. "There are other things that trouble me."
"Won't you tell me what they are? For weeks now you've been taciturn and unwilling to share your burden with me... Isn't that what I'm here for, meleth?"
Elrond sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He brushed his dark hair away from his face and looked down at Melpomaen again.
"Sometimes I fear..." he began, then abruptly stopped.
"What?"
"I fear I am being unfair to you." Elrond closed his eyes anew, lifted his hands to his face and bowed his head, hiding his _expression from Melpomaen's eyes.
"Unfair?" Melpomaen was astounded. "Elrond, how could you think yourself unfair? Your fairness and good counsel are extolled all over Middle-earth! Of course you are fair..."
"But not to you."
Melpomaen rose on his knees and wrapped his arms around Elrond's shoulders. Pressing insistent kisses to Elrond's hair, he poured all his love and devotion into his whispered assurances.
"You are more than fair to me. You've taken me to your heart and your bed, and gifted more happiness upon me than I ever dreamed could be mine. No one has ever loved me the way that you do. No one has ever held me so dear, given me so much..."
"Just what have I given you?" Elrond's voice was full of self-doubt.
"Your heart... and your body. Your attention, your understanding..."
Elrond sighed again, and returned Melpomaen's embrace with an almost desperate urgency. His voice, though calm, was suffused with pain. "But is that enough?"
"Elrond, listen to me! Your arms are more of a haven to me than Edhellond ever was! You have brought more joy and beauty into my life than the very stars in the sky, and if you -- you, in your boundless wisdom -- now choose to question those priceless gifts... I... well, I will not allow it!"
Melpomaen clutched Elrond to his heart, willing his lover's cares to melt away into the still night air. He felt Elrond's tense body relax into the embrace, the heaviness of his burden slowly coming to rest on Melpomaen's shoulders. Melpomaen bore the weight gladly, relieved that he had brought one who was so dear to him a measure of comfort.
"Melpomaen..." Elrond pulled away from Melpomaen's arms and looked into his eyes. "You know there are things I cannot give you..."
Melpomaen returned his lover's earnest look with steeled resolve. "Those things do not matter," he said.
The fire crackled in the fireplace, flames insistently licking at timber and giving off a flickering light. Shadows danced on the walls of the bedchamber, alternately casting corners of the room into obscurity and illuminating their dark secrets. Elrond's long hair gleamed in the half-light, its velvet strands trailing over Melpomaen's hands.
Melpomaen looked into Elrond's eyes and felt love and sorrow grip his heart like a tight mithril band. "No," he thought, "none of those things matter; not as long as I have you."
Gently he buried his face in his lover's dark hair, breathing in the scent he loved so much -- forest-green sweetness with a hint of musk. "Come to bed, love," he said. "It is late. Let me ease your mind with my touch..."
But it seemed that Elrond's cares had quite a powerful hold on him, for not even Melpomaen's tempting offer would erase the lines of worry from his face.
"Mel..." Elrond whispered, "does it not pain you that we cannot... be free the way others can? That any joy we share must be behind closed doors?"
"We've talked of this before. You know it does not matter."
"Yes, I know. But you are young; others your age are free to choose mates for life. Do you not mind that we can never..." Elrond broke off and traced the outline of Melpomaen's cheek with his thumb. "...that *I* can never bind with you?"
There was little that Melpomaen could say to such a delicate question. It was true; he *had* wondered what it might be like to walk up to Elrond in the middle of the crowded dining hall and simply take his hand, making his love obvious for all to see. Such a simple thing... and yet so completely out of his reach. Once or twice his thoughts had even strayed to an image of himself and his beloved standing beneath the stars, surrounded by friends, exchanging gold bands in the solemn silence of the night... but every time he had quickly chastised himself, reining in his imaginings before they led him on more tricky paths and the inevitable realization of the impossibility of his wishes became too painful to bear.
And now Elrond was asking him the very question he had so carefully avoided considering. *Did* he mind?
"Of course I mind," he thought with resignation, "but if that is the price I must pay to have you near, then pay it I shall."
Closing his eyes, Melpomaen kissed his lover, intent on erasing all the doubt and distress to which Elrond had just given voice. When he finally broke the kiss, Elrond remained quiet, his misgivings seemingly assuaged for the moment.
"What you have to offer me is enough," Melpomaen said. "I do not ask for more. I do not need it."
"But you are so young, Mel..." Elrond's grey eyes were once again uneasy.
"I'm old enough to know what I want."
"If you were not here with me, mayhap you would encounter someone else, someone who would be free to..."
"You would send me away?!"
Melpomaen stumbled backwards, the sudden contact with the hard floor painfully jarring the straight line of his spine. "Please, love, no... I could not bear it..."
Elrond's eyes misted over with tears. Slowly, he bent forward and, cupping Melpomaen's face in his hands, knelt on the rug beside him.
"I do not say such things to hurt you, Mel. I would never do that. Nor do I wish to have you far from me, for every moment in your company brings me happiness beyond measure."
"Then why?"
"It just... may be better this way. At least for a while."
Melpomaen looked directly into his lover's eyes. "I am not a child who needs to be spared the pain of bad tidings. I never *was* spared such pain, even when I was an Elfling. You have shared many of your secrets with me since you first claimed my heart. Do not hide this from me. Whatever it may be, please; let me hear it."
Elrond settled back on his heels, sighing deeply. His fingers slowly rubbed his temples in a gesture of exhaustion. "You are right, of course. For one of your tender years, you are sometimes surprisingly wise..." he teased, but his light tone and jesting words failed to dispel the gloom in the air.
"Elrond?"
"Yes?"
"Tell me."
The room was quiet for a moment as the Elves stared at each other in silence, one carefully weighing his words, the other expectantly waiting. Finally Elrond took a deep breath and spoke.
"I received a letter a fortnight ago."
Melpomaen regarded his lover calmly, managing to keep his face free of emotion, though his hands shook so much he had to hide them in his sleeves.
"From Celebrían," Elrond continued.
Melpomaen, kneeling before his Lord in an accidental gesture of supplication, suddenly felt like a true supplicant, waiting for the one who held his heart to pronounce his doom, and hoping beyond hope that it would not be so.
"She will be here in the spring, Mel. I do not know how long she will stay. I do not know why she has decided to come; she did not say."
Melpomaen closed his eyes and bowed his head, saying nothing, for what could he say? Celebrían, as Elrond's rightful spouse, was entitled to come to Imladris if she wished. It was Melpomaen who was the intruder, whose place in Elrond's life and bedchamber was secured by naught else but the fragile bonds of feeling -- private, ephemeral, fleeting. He had built the hopes and joys of his heart out of stuff so gossamer that the delicate fabric might easily be torn by those whose claim on his lover was more solid.
"You know that while she is here we should not..."
Elrond's words trailed off into silence, but Melpomaen well understood what his lover meant. Despite the feeling of fear churning in his stomach, his heart swelled with love. Ever considerate and honourable, Elrond would never place his estranged wife in the uncomfortable position of having to look away and pretend not to see what must be obvious to many eyes.
Looking up to meet Elrond's solicitous gaze once more, Melpomaen did his utmost to look strong, though the lump in his throat served as a palpable reminder of just how vulnerable he felt.
"Then I shall be naught but your advisor and scribe while she is here, and will love you only through the soundness of my judgment and the elegance of my pen, if that is all I am allowed," he said.
Seeing Elrond's hesitant smile, he added: "Though your bedchamber may be closed to me, I would still wish to remain in Imladris, meleth... Just to look at you and hear your voice. You know I can be discreet."
"Mel, it may be distressing for you to see..."
"You forget I am stronger than I look."
Through tears that threatened to fall and contradict his brave assertion, Melpomaen watched Elrond's shoulders relax somewhat as the older Elf savoured the relief of sharing his troubles with another. Moments later he felt Elrond's strong arms enfold him, the comforting warmth of his lover's body almost enough to erase the worry that gnawed at his insides.
"I would never send you away against your will, Mel. You know that," Elrond whispered into Melpomaen's hair as his hands caressed the small of the young Elf's back.
Melpomaen only sighed in reply, and pressed closer to the invitingly warm body of his beloved. Sensing the beginnings of a familiar heat between his thighs, he briefly felt ashamed of his visceral reaction to Elrond's nearness at a time when his lover required comfort, not passion. Then he quickly reminded himself that comfort came in many forms, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a sly smile.
"You said it pained you that we could not love freely except in the privacy of this bedchamber." His lips found their way to Elrond's ear and traced its delicate outline.
"Yes..." Elrond's voice hitched in his throat and his hands tightened around Melpomaen's waist.
"It need not be so." Melpomaen slowly drew away from Elrond's embrace and smiled invitingly. "I could show you."
Elrond's grey eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to speak, but the question hovering on the tip of his tongue never came.
Encouraged by his lover's half-stunned yet obvious interest, Melpomaen rose to his feet and extended a hand toward Elrond, who was still kneeling on the rug.
"Come with me..." Melpomaen's seductive tone left no doubt as to the nature of the invitation. Elrond grasped the proffered hand and let himself be pulled into an embrace.
"Are you leading me astray?" Elrond's question was playful, and Melpomaen's heart felt glad to see the gloom finally lift from his lover's brow.
"Always," he replied with a mischievous grin and, stopping only long enough to grab a small bottle of oil from the mantelpiece, pulled an intrigued Elrond from the room.
Notes:
This story begins approximately two years after the end of "Sweetness and Gall."
Meleth - love (Sindarin)
"Your arms are more of a haven to me than Edhellond ever was" -- Edhellond translates as 'Elf haven.' Yes, I'm being cute.
Imladris, TA 1004
Moonlight filtered in through the frost-covered windows, painting glittering designs on the frozen surface of the glass. The pale light bathed the room in a mysterious glow, making Elrond's office -- already deserted at this time of night -- seem even more serene and almost otherworldly. The air was quiet save for the sound of hushed breathing and the rustle of silk, for though the room was an official one and usually stood empty after the day's administrative business was done, this night it hosted unexpected visitors.
Two figures were poised in the room's center. One was standing, his dark hair falling down his back and his open robe revealing bare flesh. The other, completely unclothed, knelt at his companion's feet, tracing the curves of the other's body alternately with his hands and with his mouth. The two barely moved, almost as if unwilling to disturb the perfection of the tableau they made, silhouetted against the silver light of the moon.
Elrond shivered in the cool night air, the light silk robe that had been comfortable in his fire-warmed chambers now inadequate in the unheated office. He pulled at the fabric and attempted to wrap it around the figure kneeling at his feet, wanting to impart at least some warmth to Melpomaen, who looked so very exposed. But Melpomaen barely noticed, so absorbed was he in his own efforts to warm Elrond from within. Elrond felt fingers snake their way up his thighs as Melpomaen's tongue left a tantalizing trail of heat along his length.
He trembled again, this time from delight.
Letting go of his robe, Elrond tangled his hands in Melpomaen's hair, stroking the dark strands that were softer than any silk. Black eyes looked up at him from beneath long lashes with an expression that was both coy and full of fire. Melpomaen leaned his cheek into the caress and, still holding Elrond's gaze, let the tip of his tongue tease Elrond's hardening sex with such slow and deliberate ostentation that the gesture would have seemed lewd had his eyes not been shining with love. "Elbereth," thought Elrond. "How could I ever give him up?"
Though entranced by the sensation, Elrond nevertheless sought to ensure his partner's comfort.
"Mel, you are cold..."
"Nay, I am fine."
"I can see you shivering; let me warm you."
Coal-black eyes looked up at him again, and Elrond read a hint of mischief in their depths.
"Very well," Melpomaen said, rising from his knees and pressing his naked form against Elrond's own. "if you insist."
Elrond wrapped his thin robe around them both, bringing their chilled bodies into closer contact. He felt Melpomaen shiver and held him tighter to his chest. The young Elf laid his head on Elrond's shoulder and kissed his neck.
"We could go back to my chambers you know; 'tis warm there..." Elrond ventured reluctantly.
"Nay!" Melpomaen took a step back and looked into Elrond's eyes with conviction. "You said tonight that you wished we could be more free."
"Yes, but..."
Melpomaen's mouth curled up in a half-smile. "I remember you saying once you wanted me here, in your office. Well, here we are and... you are about to have me."
"And the cold?"
"It is of no importance." Melpomaen kissed Elrond softly, then began to steer him backwards. "I have an idea."
"What sort of idea?" Elrond barely had time to ask the question before the backs of his thighs encountered a hard wooden surface. His desk. "You cannot mean to..."
"Oh, yes I can." Melpomaen's naughty smile was obvious now, and in his eyes gleamed a strange light.
Elrond felt his lover's fire quickly ignite his own passion. Despite the chill in the air, the unadvisable location of the act they were about to perform, and his millennia-old judgment, which would normally keep him from rushing into actions so imprudent, he did not protest as Melpomaen pushed him back onto the desk. He did not stay his lover's hands as they swept parchments off the polished wood to land in a haphazard pile on the ground. Nor did he object as Melpomaen clambered up onto the oaken surface after him and straddled his thighs.
Melpomaen looked so beautiful perched on the edge of the wooden desk that Elrond almost forgot to breathe. The young Elf's body was luminous in the moonlight, dark hair a striking contrast to pale skin. The muscles in his slim thighs flexed as he balanced astride Elrond's legs. He was still cold -- that much was obvious from the goose flesh on his forearms and the tautness of his nipples -- but he did not seem to care. Elrond pulled him in for a kiss, utterly under the spell of this dark-eyed beauty, who could be so quiet and proper in his library and council, and then turned into a sensual vision when night fell.
"I am yours, love; take your fill," Melpomaen whispered, guiding Elrond's fingers to the juncture of thigh and buttock. He gazed knowingly into Elrond's eyes. "I've wanted you all day; do not make me wait."
Trembling with lust, Elrond gripped Melpomaen with one hand as the other blindly searched the desk's surface for the small glass bottle they had brought. Finding what he sought, he kissed Melpomaen's mouth, hard, then wrenched the stopper from the bottle, not caring where it fell. Oil coated his hands, warm and slick, anointing Melpomaen's body and leaving opalescent smudges on paper and wood.
Melpomaen's flesh warmed under Elrond's fingers, his body yielding, eyes open, face beautiful. "Yes," Elrond heard him whisper, and slowly pulled him down onto his lap. Gazing up into Melpomaen's face, he watched as the young Elf's dark eyes closed in pleasure and his lower lip twitched at the sensation of being penetrated. Though it was a sight he had witnessed many times before, Elrond found it no less potent in its familiarity.
Their bodies now joined, Melpomaen leaned his forehead against Elrond's and looked into his eyes, black meeting grey.
"I could never tire of this..." The words were more breath than speech.
"Of what, love?"
"Being the recipient of your... attentions." Wide-eyed wonder and unabashed enjoyment battled for dominance on Melpomaen's face.
Elrond felt his heart beat faster. "Do my attentions please you so?" he attempted to return the banter, though his voice shook slightly.
"Oh, yes," Melpomaen said, thighs straining in his movements, eyes fixed on Elrond's face. "I count myself most fortunate to receive attentions of such... magnitude."
"Aahh..." was all Elrond could manage in reply. All his eloquence and self-possession melted away at the sight of Melpomaen's wicked smile. Realizing that words would certainly fail him now, Elrond took his cue from his body, which wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by Melpomaen's heat and to fill him again and again.
He threw his head back, giving up all control, and let the wondrous creature that was his lover take him to a place where there were no fears, no regrets, no complications. Just pleasure.
From the shadows of the entranceway, through a crack in the oaken door, angry blue eyes watched the two figures on the desk. The silent shape, barely perceptible in the half-light, did not stir or in any other way betray his presence. He simply stood there unmoving, as if frozen in place, and could almost be taken for one of the sculptures that adorned the hallway if not for the fury in his gaze and the fact that his hands were clenched into fists.
Caegaran of the border guard, ever-loyal servant of Imladris and its Lord, on his nightly patrol through the empty corridors of the Last Homely House, stood with his feet planted in a fighting stance and did what he had been trained to do and had dutifully done every single day of his life for the past two centuries. He watched.
The keen eyes that had spotted many an orc hidden in the densest foliage and sent countless arrows on their unerring course to slay intruders now focused in desperate concentration on the scene before him. Unable to look away, he took in every detail of an image he would give anything to eradicate from his memory -- that of the Lord of his heart being loved by another.
And loved quite well, by the looks of it. Against his better judgment, Caegaran scrutinized the two naked forms entwined in the moonlit room, his heart crying out in silent anguish at every pleasure-filled sigh. He watched in horror as Melpomaen moved atop his Lord -- *his* Lord -- with skill that made it obvious the young Elf had done it many times before.
So it was true then. Rumours that Elrond had taken a young lover had flown around the barracks, spread by furtive whispers, raised eyebrows and the occasional wink, but Caegaran had refused to believe the malicious gossip circulating about his beloved Lord. Now he had no choice but to believe. The proof lay right before his eyes.
He felt a sharp stab of pain in his gut, not unlike the feeling of being pierced with an enemy arrow. "Would that it were an arrow," he thought bitterly. Any physical wound would have been preferable to this sensation of being hung from a great height and slowly eviscerated, not by knives or swords but by soft images and hushed sounds: a hand tenderly stroking a hip, long hair trailing over a naked back, a pair of heels precariously balanced over the edge of the dark wood, an imploring "yes!" coming from the mouth of one for whom he would have happily laid down his life.
"Why?!" His heart grieved as bile rose in his throat. "Why him?" His mind followed suit, rebelling at the thought of one as young and insignificant as Melpomaen holding favour with Lord Elrond. A nightmarish haze swirled madly in his head until one clear question finally broke the surface of the painful muddle: "Why not me?!"
He tormented himself with speculations about when and how the couple before him had first come together. Who had initiated the liaison? As innocent as Melpomaen had been all those months ago, Caegaran could not picture him approaching the Lord of Imladris with a romantic proposition. Still, resentful of the young Elf's proximity to Elrond, Caegaran had spoken to him back then, trying to frighten the mouse-like scribe away from seeing his Lord and employer in a more intimate light.
He recalled vividly how the dark eyes had widened in shock at his words. He had not meant to upset Melpomaen so badly, and had even regretted the whole episode for a while, but no more. Now he wished he had been more callous and direct in his warning, for his words had obviously not had the desired effect.
All those months Melpomaen and Elrond had spent working together had clearly borne fruit, for now Caegaran could plainly see that the young Elf moving so seductively on the wooden desk was no longer the self-conscious and timid newcomer he had once been. Something had changed him. Elrond's love had changed him.
Anger bubbled up inside Caegaran, red hot in its fury. To think that this young pup, barely out of his swaddling clothes, with neither position nor noble parentage to recommend him, actually shared Elrond's bed... It was an outrage. Why, Melpomaen had called Imladris home for scarcely more than a full turn of the seasons! Caegaran had dedicated his whole life to serving the Lord of the valley, doing his duty with the kind of selfless constancy that only came from a deep and hidden love. He had adored the Elven Lord from afar, had nigh worshipped his beauty, wisdom and grace, but he had never -- never -- dared dream he could take the kind of liberties Melpomaen was so clearly used to taking. He simply did not feel himself worthy, and thought Elrond as far above him as the moon was above the earth. And now Melpomaen...
Caegaran watched as Elrond reached out a hand to stroke Melpomaen's face. The young Elf smiled at the caress, then arched his back in a gratuitous display of wantonness. A single bead of sweat made its way down Melpomaen's chest, gleaming in the soft light of the moon like a pearl. Elrond captured it with his tongue, closed his mouth around a dark nipple, then looked into Melpomaen's eyes and whispered words Caegaran wished he had not heard. But he did hear. They were words of love.
Feeling his head spin and his stomach threaten to bring up its contents, Caegaran finally closed his eyes. He turned and limped away, holding onto the wall for support. There was a buzzing sound in his ears, as if all his thoughts had run amok, and the world looked out of focus. Slowly, with the cool stone under his fingers grounding him in the here-and-now, one certainty began to emerge in his muddled mind. Melpomaen had stolen his love. He would pay.
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