Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Elrond/Melpomaen, Glorfindel/Erestor, Elrond/Gil-galad implied, Elrond/Glorfindel implied
Summary: Elrond encounters a late night visitor in his library.
Feedback: Would make my day.
Notess: Thank you to all those who sent feedback on my PWP, "While You Sleep" - it was much appreciated. Thanks to my beta, Manon, for her helpful comments; thanks to Kharessa for the encouragement; and thanks to AC for inspiration and help with research. Now, on with the story.
Warning: m/m slash, mild BDSM in later chapters
Elrond Half-elven sighed and rested his hands on the railing surrounding the wide balcony on which he stood, his keen Elven eyes following his father's ship's path across the sky. The light of Eärendil shone down on Middle Earth and its inhabitants, bringing hope and comfort to those in need of solace, his son among them. The peace and quiet of the night and the brilliant light of the stars always gladdened Elrond's heart, even when it was most heavy, somehow managing to make the Lord of Imladris feel small and important at the same time; a modest part of a meaningful whole. He had his place in the grand scheme of things, and the knowledge of this significant fact made his burdens a little easier to bear.
He said a silent prayer to Elbereth in thanks for the blessings he had been granted, determined not to dwell on those that had been denied him, then turned and reached out with his hand for a flaky honey pastry temptingly displayed on a silver plate set upon a narrow table by the wall. The sound of hesitant footsteps halted his hand's progress and Elrond turned towards the open doorway, curious about the unexpected intruder in the library beyond. The quiet footsteps ceased, replaced by the sound of someone sliding a book from a high shelf, then commenced again as the unanticipated visitor made his stealthy way towards the balcony on which the Half-elven stood. A few seconds later Elrond's puzzled eyes were met with the sight of a young, dark-haired Elf, already deeply engrossed in the volume he held, even though his feet had not yet carried him to his intended destination.
"Melpomaen?"
The young Elf nearly dropped his book in surprise, his wide eyes focusing on Elrond's kind face in apparent panic as he quickly stammered his apologies. "My Lord! I'm so sorry; I did not know you were here! Forgive me for disturbing your peace."
"You have done no such thing." Elrond smiled at the young one, determined to put him at ease. "It brings me great joy to find that there are those in the Last Homely House who so love books that they would forego their rest to spend the deepest hours of the night in the company of the written word." He gestured for the Elf to come closer. "I would be glad if you agreed to share my company as well, since we both seem to share a taste for late night reading."
Melpomaen wavered, seemingly wanting to accept the Elven Lord's invitation, yet too awed by the authority of the ancient one before him. He took a few deep breaths, the answer apparently unwilling to come from his tightened throat.
"Pastry?" Elrond held the silver plate out towards the young scribe, enticing him with the appetizingly arrayed morsels coated in sweet honey.
That seemed to decide the dark-haired Elf, for he gave a somewhat more relaxed smile and took his first timid step towards the Lord of the valley.
"Mind the book..." Elrond managed to call out in warning, but Melpomaen had already carefully laid aside the volume he had cradled, ensuring it was safely out of harm's way.
"I wouldn't dream of defiling a precious tome such as this with my sticky fingers," the young Elf shyly offered, as his hand reached out for the delicacies on the silver plate before him.
"You have a great respect for books," Elrond noted appreciatively. "You're a great deal more careful with them than my sons were at your age. I seem to remember a rather unfortunate incident involving a volume of Dwarvish tales and a pot of raspberry jam..." The Half-elven raised his eyes to the heavens and smiled indulgently, his tolerance owing to the perspective of a few hundred years.
Melpomaen looked horrified. "Raspberry jam?! But the books in your precious collection are so rare and beautiful! They should be treated with the utmost care and attention!"
"Spoken like a true scribe and lover of lore." The Lord of Imladris gave another pleased look to the young Elf before him, who fairly glowed under the attention. "It seems you have chosen the right occupation, Melpomaen. With this much dedication to your craft, you are sure to excel."
Melpomaen blushed and nodded happily. "Yes, I hold much love for what I do. And I'm so pleased to be here in Imladris; Edhellond didn't have such... treasures as these." His eyes lovingly scanned the heavy bookshelves lining the walls of the spacious library, his fingers still gingerly holding the remnants of his pastry.
"You know you are welcome to use this library whenever you wish." Elrond's tone was inviting, his grey eyes keenly assessing the shy Elf and finding him worthy. "Any time of day or night."
"I wouldn't want to intrude..." Melpomaen sounded unsure, yet quite clearly tempted by Elrond's offer.
"You will not intrude, I can assure you of that." The Half-elven's voice was heartfelt and sincere. "I greatly pleases me that you find such delight in my library's collection. Not all do, you know."
"Your sons... they do not care for books?" Melpomaen timidly ventured, looking up at Elrond with curious, wide eyes.
"Oh, they do now, but when they were younger..." Elrond gave an exasperated sigh. "Elrohir always did like books, maybe a little too much sometimes; hence the raspberry jam. It was Elladan who often had to be chased into the library with a stick... or the threat that I would get Glorfindel." The Lord of the valley laughed quietly and offered his companion another pastry, which the young Elf eagerly took. "My oldest son always did prefer his sword and horse to quill and parchment."
"I always preferred my quill and parchment to sword and horse," joked Melpomaen with a self-deprecating smile. "That's probably why I'm such a terrible swordsman, and as for horses..." He cringed. "They do not care for my company."
"Your skills with the quill, on the other hand, are quite commendable, Melpomaen." Elrond complimented the dark-haired scribe, feeling a secret thrill at how his kind words raised a blush to the young one's cheeks. "Erestor has shown me some of your work; you write a very fine hand."
The object of Elrond's praise coloured with delight and timidly dropped his eyes to the floor. "Thank you, my Lord."
And that was when Elrond felt it; that long-forgotten quiver in his stomach, the desire to reach out and stroke a delicate cheek and see those curious eyes gaze into his own, the sudden urge to speak more honeyed words and be rewarded with a hesitant, beautiful smile. Although he hadn't felt such stirrings in centuries, he recognized their symptoms at once, for it felt as if his heart had suddenly grown wings and begun its first, uncertain flutters in his chest. "He is a child!" Elrond quickly chastised himself, but to no avail. For the heart has its own reasons and will not listen to the well-meaning arguments of logic.
"How do you like it here in Imladris?" Elrond quickly asked, determined to dismiss from his mind the curious and disturbing feelings that had just made his heart quake and his body respond in kind.
"I like it quite well, thank you my Lord," the youngster eagerly replied, brushing a stray piece of pastry from the corner of his shapely mouth. The Lord of Imladris could only stare, mesmerized, as the young scribe quickly flicked the tip of an enticing, pink tongue and removed the offending trail of honey from his lower lip.
"Do you... miss home?" Elrond continued, half-ashamed at his body's unexpected response to the tender charms of the younger Elf. He was an ancient Elf Lord who had experienced and endured much over the course of his many millennia. To be suddenly overcome with strange yearnings for one so much younger and so obviously vulnerable was unseemly and... quite out of character for him. He simply didn't act thus; he never had.
He had always been drawn to strength; both of body and of spirit, as his long-standing and passionate relationship to his High King could attest. Gil-galad had been all that and more; strong and unbending, he had borne the heavy mantle of responsibility and destiny with grace and courage few could boast, and Elrond had loved him for it. His long-dead lover's tenacity and stoutness of heart had forever marked the Peredhel, and he did not believe that he could ever settle for anything less, for anyone whose star shone less brightly.
There was his wife, of course, but... well, that was another matter altogether. He had come to the marriage with few illusions, yet with the earnest hope that they could build something lasting, something pure and good. It had taken him a few centuries to realize that Celebrían simply preferred to remain apart, no matter his good intentions. Reluctantly, he had resigned himself to his loneliness, knowing no one could ever rival Gil-galad's hold over his heart and, thus far, no one had. So why did he now feel that strange yet all-too-familiar heat rise to his cheeks, and why did his heart beat faster when his eyes met Melpomaen's?
"I have felt more at home here in Imladris over the past few months than I ever did back in Edhellond." Melpomaen's voice was tinged with bitterness and Elrond suddenly felt a piece of the puzzle slide into place. The scribe may have been young and not had the appearance of a warrior, but there was strength in him, to be sure. The young one's eyes held the steeled resolve Elrond had come to recognize in those whom life had dealt a hard blow. Melpomaen may have been young, but he was no child.
"Do you miss nothing of it?" Elrond prodded further, needing to know more.
"I... miss the rivers. And the sea." Melpomaen's thoughts turned inward, his eyes looking into the night but not seeing. "And the salty air." He looked up at the Elven Lord and smiled. "But not the people."
"Not your family?"
"My parents were killed when I was only a baby, and the people who raised me... they were not my family." His mouth turned grim again.
"I'm sorry to hear that, Melpomaen." Elrond's voice was full of sympathy. "I know too well what it is to lose your parents at a young age."
"I know, my Lord." Now it was Melpomaen who gave the older Elf a look filled with sympathy. "But your father watches over you still." The young elf raised his dark eyes to the stars.
"Aye, and it comforts me greatly to watch his ship sail across the sky." Elrond smiled. "I sometimes come here just before the dawn to track its progress. It makes me feel less... alone." He glanced at the younger Elf, his gaze unguarded, and was met with a look of genuine concern and understanding. "Aiya, what am I doing?" Elrond suddenly came to his senses. "I am speaking of matters far too personal to discuss with someone of his age and station."
"What about your family here, my Lord?" Melpomaen's voice was timid, but his eyes betrayed a far greater courage. "Your children? Your... wife?"
Elrond could have stopped the conversation right there; the young scribe was, after all, asking about matters that should not have been his concern. But the look on Melpomaen's face and the affinity Elrond felt between them, strengthened by the intimacy of the silence in the pre-dawn darkness, made him answer without hesitation.
"My wife spends most of her time in Lórien. She prefers it there." The Lord of Imladris gave his young companion a frank look, which communicated much more than words could hope to do. "My daughter is with her, and my sons... travel a lot. They are away just now."
"If I called Imladris my home, I would not want to leave its beauty for all the charms of Middle Earth." Melpomaen stared at the stone tiles beneath his feet, but Elrond could tell from the trembling in his voice that the sentiments he had just expressed were ones he held most dear.
"But you do call Imladris your home, Melpomaen." Elrond gently reminded the younger Elf. "It is your home now, even if it wasn't before."
"Yes..." The young scribe's face brightened visibly. "Yes, I guess it is." He looked at Elrond with eyes that gleamed with an inner light that made the Half-elven's lonely flesh tingle once again. "Thank you for speaking with me. You were most kind to make me feel welcome." He turned as if to leave. "I will not disturb your private moments any longer."
"Don't forget your book." Elrond held out the leather-bound volume to his retreating companion. "It's what you came in here for in the first place." He gave the young scribe an amused smile.
"Oh, I couldn't take it out of the library, it belongs here..."
"I'm sure it will be quite safe with one who loves books as much as you." Elrond smiled again.
The Lord of Imladris watched Melpomaen take the weighty tome, give a quick bow, then soundlessly slip out of the room. He closed his eyes and sighed, trying hard to ignore the fire the younger Elf had kindled in his heart.
Notes: FYI, this story takes place around TA 1000. The character of Caegaran is my own invention.
Acknowledgments: A big thank you to all those who sent feedback. Thanks to my beta, Manon, for her helpful comments; thanks to Kharessa for the encouragement; and thanks to AC for inspiration and help with research.
Melpomaen woke early to the feeling of a light breeze coming through his window. Still unused to his surroundings, and not quite at home in his wide, high bed, he stumbled awkwardly before painfully landing on the cold, hard floor. The day was definitely not off to a good start, he thought stoically as he picked himself up and rubbed his sore ankle. Quickly dressing in the long, flowing robes customarily worn in Imladris, he nearly fell again as his foot accidentally stepped on the hem of his outer garment. He was finding these long robes to be a real nuisance, and would have much rather worn the loose tunics and casual leggings he was used to, but his position as apprentice scribe and advisor in Elrond's household, and respect for the customs of his new home, obliged him to adopt the habitual dress of the valley Elves. He would get used to it in time, he thought. It was a very small price to pay for the privilege of working and living in the Last Homely House. He was quite fortunate to have been accepted into Elrond's service, and would do his best to acquit himself admirably of his duties.
His thoughts inevitably turning to his work, Melpomaen realized with dread that today was a day of rest. There would be no Elves toiling in the vast libraries of Imladris today – especially not on as fine a morning as this. Most would be outside with their families and friends, enjoying the sunshine, strolling through the gardens or perhaps taking a swim in the Bruinen. Unfortunately, unlike the vast majority of the valley Elves, Melpomaen found holidays to be awkward at best. He had no family and had not been around Imladris long enough to make any friends. Not that he found making friends easy at the best of times; his introverted, timid nature made it difficult for him to open up to others, and severely impaired his ability to initiate conversations. "A fine advisor I will make..." thought Melpomaen disparagingly, as he carefully closed the door to his chambers. He wished he had the confidence of someone like Lord Glorfindel, who always seemed to be laughing or talking loudly, ever at ease and in his element.
The young Elf sighed and directed his steps towards the large dining room. It was about time for breakfast; he would have a bite to eat and then head to the library. He had left some work unfinished the previous evening, and just because he wasn't required to work today didn't mean he couldn't dedicate a few hours to copying his scrolls. If he chose to spend his day of rest hunched over his writing desk, it was his choice. It was where he felt most comfortable anyway.
The dining room, with its large windows overlooking the extensive gardens, was not crowded. Most of the long tables were empty, and only a few small groups of Elves sat eating and talking in hushed tones. Melpomaen piled some wild blueberries and honey pastry on his plate – he had to admit, these Imladris Elves certainly did know how to bake – and was just about to sit in a corner by the window when a cheerful voice reached his ears.
"Eating alone?"
Melpomaen looked up and was somewhat surprised to see an unknown, golden-haired Elf smiling at him. He looked around to make sure that the stranger wasn't addressing someone behind him, but no, the Elf seemed to be speaking to him.
"Melpomaen, isn't it? I've seen you around, but I don't think we've had a chance to meet yet. I'm Caegaran. Have a seat, breakfast always tastes better in pleasant company." The Elf's voice had a light, affable tone to it, and Melpomaen found himself relaxing. He moved closer and sat down.
"I see you've discovered Imladris' famous honey pastry. I can't get enough of the stuff myself." Caegaran's blue eyes twinkled merrily as he gave Melpomaen a friendly wink. "Don't get much of that when we're out on patrol. Have to make do with lembas."
"You're on the border patrol then?" Melpomaen finally managed to say.
"Yes, for about two centuries now. I work under Lord Glorfindel mostly, though I do lead the patrol myself from time to time. Especially in these times; we patrol more frequently since the Orc attacks have intensified, so I get a bit more responsibility. At least something good comes out of it all, I say." He grinned at Melpomaen.
"Certainly..." was the cleverest response Melpomaen could think of, and he silently cursed himself for his timidity. Since coming to Imladris, this was the first conversation he'd had that did not revolve around his official duties. Well... save for that strange late night encounter with Lord Elrond on the library balcony, but that certainly didn't count. After all, the Lord of the valley could do as he pleased in his realm, and if it amused him to speak to young Elves in his employ, it was his prerogative. Melpomaen certainly didn't think that their tête-à-tête – surprisingly candid though it was – could ever blossom into a real friendship. But this – this strange Elf chatting him up over breakfast – now this had potential. He took a deep breath and resolved to be as witty as Glorfindel.
"Do you enjoy the border patrol?" All right, so it wasn't the most insightful of questions, but at least it was a start.
"For the most part." Caegaran nodded thoughtfully. "Some days it's pretty dull, but the other day, for instance, just as we were crossing the river..."
His companion's tone of voice and body language signalling the beginning of a lengthy tale, Melpomaen sat back and leisurely sampled the blueberries and honey pastry on his plate. Lapsing into his old habit of surreptitious observation, he discreetly let his eyes wander over the Elf sitting across the table.
Caegaran – just now expressively gesticulating with his fork – was tall for an Elf, with golden hair and clear blue eyes. His skin had a golden tint to it, much unlike Melpomaen's own, which was pale and delicate. He seemed a good-natured fellow, and Melpomaen found himself smiling at the thought that, at last, he knew someone in the Last Homely House with whom he could share a meal. Perhaps this day of rest wouldn't be such a chore after all. Maybe they could walk down to the river or through the gardens or...
"... and it was a good two weeks before I could hold a bow again, let alone fire an arrow," Caegaran was saying. "It was Lord Elrond's healing abilities that saved my arm, naught else, of that I am sure." His eyes suddenly rested on Melpomaen with deep concentration. The young Elf found himself growing uncomfortable.
"Do you work with Lord Elrond much, Melpomaen, as part of your duties?" Caegaran's eyes had focused on Melpomaen's own with such intensity that the dark-haired Elf found he had to will himself not to look away.
"From time to time... I'm apprenticed as one of his scribes and advisors, only the most junior of advisors mind you... I've worked with him in the library sometimes, and I do attend his council..." Melpomaen felt a chill travel down his spine as Caegaran's eyes turned almost predatory.
The border guard's voice had almost a mocking tone to it when he next spoke. "Have you served Lord Elrond yet, Melpomaen?"
"Served him? Why, I serve him every day; I copy scrolls and look after library books..."
"No, I meant served him..." Caegaran's smirk was nothing short of malicious. "In his bed..."
Melpomaen felt like the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. He heard a ringing in his ears as he stared at the other Elf in disbelief. "Wh... what?" This was madness, the other Elf couldn't possibly be serious, could he? He swallowed nervously and glanced at Caegaran, hoping to catch a glimpse of the amiable, laughing fellow he'd been talking to just moments ago. That Elf, it seemed, was no longer there. In his place sat an evil looking creature who seemed to delight in Melpomaen's discomfort.
"Or didn't you know?" Caegaran continued, undeterred. "Lord Elrond expects his advisors to serve him in every possible way." He smirked. "And I hear he's got quite the imagination, so I hope you've got an adventurous streak..."
"But that can't possibly be true, I mean, Lord Elrond is noble and serious, he wouldn't..." Melpomaen was grasping at straws. The thought that the kind and wise Elf he had talked to in the library just a few nights before, and whom he had instinctively trusted and admired, would harbour these secret perversions was appalling. Still, he had trouble disputing this horrible information when the source of that information was staring at him with such a knowing look in his eyes. Caegaran seemed so sure of what he was saying and *had* been on the border patrol for two centuries, whereas Melpomaen had only been in Imladris for such a short time... Maybe there were things no one had told him, things he was only meant to learn later... "Lord Elrond wouldn't..."
"Wouldn't he?" Caegaran's lip curled in a sneer. "I beg to differ, young one. He would. Why, even Lord Glorfindel shares his bed and serves him most intimately. I saw them myself."
"You did?!"
"Aye. I was walking in the corridor late one evening and Lord Elrond's door was slightly open. So I looked. And there was Lord Glorfindel on his knees in front of Lord Elrond, performing... well, let's just say that his performance must have been more than satisfactory, for Lord Elrond was quite vocal in expressing his appreciation." Caegaran smirked. "So if an ancient Elf Lord like Lord Glorfindel isn't above looking after the... personal needs of our Lord, I wouldn't think such service to be beneath you."
"But I.."
"I wouldn't worry too much, Melpomaen. I hear Lord Elrond is a skilled and inventive lover. I would think you'd rather enjoy the experience when he turns his attention to you... whatever he has in mind for you. And don't think I haven't noticed the way he looks at you."
This was almost more than Melpomaen could bear. He felt his head start to spin and blood rise to his cheeks. "The way he looks at me?"
"The way he stares at you at mealtimes or when you walk by, his eyes lingering on your body, appraising your every line and curve.
Haven't you noticed?"
"No..." Melpomaen's voice was almost a squeak.
"I wouldn't be surprised if he summoned you to his chambers before long." Caegaran gave Melpomaen a sly, significant look. "And then... I hope those long fingers of yours are skilled in more than just calligraphy..."
Melpomaen was beyond trying to formulate a reply. He stood up suddenly, knocking over his chair in the process, and bolted from the room.
Glorfindel sighed with pleasure and lifted his face up to the sun. He took a deep breath, luxuriating in the sweet scent of the air, and let the golden rays warm him to the core. He so enjoyed these relaxing strolls in Elrond's private gardens... "I must remember to do this more often," he thought to himself. An afternoon's rest in this peaceful green oasis did him so much good! He always came back to his duties refreshed, rejuvenated and calm. He turned a corner, walking past an elegant statue of the Lady Elbereth that Elrond had recently commissioned and which he found to be quite fetching, and took a seat on a low bench, party hidden by the shrubbery. No one would find him here. He smiled. Yes, that's exactly why he liked these gardens so much; he could lose himself here for hours and not deal with his duties as Elrond's seneschal. It was a rare luxury; one which he allowed himself only seldom and one which, he knew, Elrond did not begrudge him. Glorfindel leaned back against the bench, looking around him at the empty gardens, so peaceful, so quiet, so...
What was that? Glorfindel sat up, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no, what he was seeing seemed real enough. One of the young apprentice scribes, Melpomaen, was practically galloping up the path, looking as if a troop of Orcs was after him. Melpomaen's robes were hiked up not to impede his run and his hair was in a mess about his head. One of his arms was flailing about wildly.
"Lord Glorfindel!" Melpomaen's voice held a distinct note of desperation. "Lord Glorfindel, please, I must speak with you!"
Glorfindel sighed, and reluctantly stood up from the bench. His afternoon of leisure would have to wait. The young Elf seemed truly distraught; whatever had upset him would have to be dealt with and dealt with immediately. Ah, well, Elrond's private gardens weren't going anywhere; he'd just have to come back another time. Glorfindel took a deep breath and schooled his features in a look of concern and understanding.
"What is it Melpomaen? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" Judging by the way the young scribe was acting, whatever was ailing him was pretty serious. Glorfindel did not know Melpomaen very well, but he knew him well enough to see that his panicked demeanour was severely out of character. Melpomaen was usually controlled and reserved, and seemed reluctant to draw attention to himself. If anything, he was timid and seemed to have a hard time speaking to older Elves like Glorfindel unless his job absolutely required it. And here he was now, making a spectacle of himself in Elrond's private garden, asking, nay, insisting to speak to Glorfindel during the Elda's cherished afternoon off. Something was definitely wrong.
"Come here and sit down, Melpomaen." Glorfindel tried to sound soothing. "It can't be as bad as all that, now."
"I'm afraid it is..." Melpomaen sounded crushed. Glorfindel noticed with alarm that the young Elf was close to tears, his face flushed and his slender frame trembling.
Glorfindel sat back down on the stone bench and pulled Melpomaen down beside him. He brushed a stray lock of dark hair out of the younger Elf's eyes and gave him an encouraging smile. "Well? What sort of calamity has brought you here in such a state? You said you wanted to speak with me."
The young Elf took a deep breath. "Is it true what they say... what they say about..." Melpomaen's voice was shaking, yet he ploughed on with the resolve of someone determined to unearth the truth or go to his doom.
"About what?"
"About... Lord Elrond?" Melpomaen's eyes, fixed firmly on the ground until this point, glanced up at Glorfindel's face, wide and frightened. He looked so young, Glorfindel thought, so young despite the formal robes he was wearing, so young despite the serious manner he had tried to adopt all those times the Elda had seen him in Elrond's council.
"What about Elrond?" Glorfindel's voice, though kind, could not help betraying a note of curiosity.
"That he... that he... expects his advisors to..." Melpomaen lowered his eyes again and his voice dropped to a mere whisper. "To pleasure him... in bed?"
Glorfindel's sky-blue eyes widened as he stared at Melpomaen in disbelief. It was usually difficult to rattle Glorfindel; after countless millennia of experience and time spent in Mandos' Halls, he thought he'd seen and heard it all. But apparently not. This was something new.
"Wherever did you get that idea?" Glorfindel's voice was incredulous.
"Caegaran. He's a guard with the border patrol. He told me." Melpomaen sounded a little less shaky. "Are you saying it's not true?"
"What kind of establishment do you think we're running here, Melpomaen?" Glorfindel had broken out into a grin. "I have no doubt that you have many talents, but I assure you that the only ones that interest Elrond are those you are able to display in the library and in his council."
A blush coloured Melpomaen's cheeks. He glanced up at Glorfindel, relieved yet still not convinced. "But Caegaran told me that you..."
"That I what?"
"That you and Lord Elrond were..." Melpomaen let his sentence trail off, his meaning clear.
"Ah." Glorfindel paused, finally understanding. So this was the real reason for all the commotion. "Tell me, Melpomaen, how old are you?"
Melpomaen turned a deeper shade of red and looked at Glorfindel defiantly. "I'm almost eighty-six."
"Pen-neth..." Glorfindel leaned in closer and looked into Melpomaen's eyes kindly. "May I call you that? I am a good few millennia older than you..."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Pen-neth, no doubt you've noticed that Elrond is very beautiful. Even by Elven standards, he is exceptionally fair. Not to mention wise. And kind. And... powerful." Glorfindel paused, studying Melpomaen's expression. The young Elf was all eyes, drinking in every word that fell from the Elda's lips. Glorfindel continued. "Many are drawn to him, attracted by all those qualities. But Elrond is a very private person, and he tends to keep people at a distance. Do you understand?"
The blank look in Melpomaen's eyes told Glorfindel that the young scribe did not. "Melpomaen, when people feel rejected, or when they think that their heart's desire is beyond their reach, they sometimes get bitter... and lash out." Glorfindel could see a glimmer of comprehension in Melpomaen's midnight eyes. "That... border guard who told you all this nonsense, well, he likely has feelings for Elrond that are not returned and he thought..."
"That it might be amusing to hurt me instead." Melpomaen's voice was steady, if a bit sad.
"Yes, that's one way of putting it." Glorfindel gave Melpomaen one of his famous charming smiles. "As for Elrond and me, well... we've known each other for a very long time. We are close friends, Melpomaen. It's true that our relationship sometimes goes beyond friendship, but that is our own affair. And I can assure you that whatever activities Elrond and I choose to engage in, whether in the privacy of his chambers or mine, have absolutely nothing to do with my position. Er, my position as his seneschal, I mean." Glorfindel flashed Melpomaen a wicked look and the young Elf blushed fiercely once again.
"Feel better?"
"Yes." Melpomaen's voice was indeed full of relief.
"Good. Now make yourself comfortable and tell me exactly what this border guard told you."
Notes: pen-neth - young one
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