Queer as Elves

Title: Queer as Elves 3/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/eawen_penallion/
Website: www.3scribesofimladris.com
Beta: Larien Elengasse
Type: FPSlash
Pairing: Erestor/Rúmil
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Timeline: Third Age
Feedback: Yes please,
Archive: OEAM, AFF, LJ, anywhere else, please ask


Chapter 3 - Stalking his Prey

"He said I was 'just a fuck'! He does not wish to see me again."

Arwen looked at her friend with concern as Rúmil morosely swung his feet over the edge of the large boulder on which they sat by the river in the warmth of the afternoon sun. Her tender heart was panged with sympathy as her friend stared miserably at the gently-swirling waters of the Bruinen, for she had invested much in this seemingly romantic love story.

"I am truly sorry, Rúmil," she said quietly. "Although I have heard something of Erestor's reputation, despite my father's illusions as to the innocence of my ears, I have always thought that underneath the coolness of his outer persona there lay a softer core." Arwen glanced at him. "There is no way, however, that he can avoid seeing you - not in Imladris. We are too small a community."

Rúmil shrugged, raising vivid blue eyes to meet her own.

"I love him, Arwen, and I thought that I could make him love me. I *know* I could, if he would but let me."

With a thoughtful expression, Arwen laid a consolatory hand upon his arm. She hesitated a moment before she spoke.

"When I had my failed love affair last summer -"

Rúmil started, with obvious surprise upon his face.

"A love affair? You? Arwen, you will not be of Age until later this year!"

Arwen snorted. "So? My parents do not have to know everything that I do, and nothing untoward happened." She laughed; a tinkling sound that was full of mischief. "After all, we 'elflings' must learn how to interact with our peers in a 'discreet and delicate manner.'"

At that Rúmil sniggered, for Arwen had mimicked with an uncanny accuracy her maternal grandmother and a lecture that he, as an elf of the Golden Wood, had heard many times.

"Anyway," she continued blithely, "when it ended, I was determined not to give him the satisfaction of evidence of a 'broken heart' and so I flirted mightily with others, and as a result it kindled within him a flame of jealousy."

Her eyes lit up, excitement lurking in their depths.

"Yes! That is what you should do - return to the Woodman's Inn tonight and find someone else, Rúmil. Show Erestor that he is not the only ellon you can attract. Show him what he is missing."

Rúmil looked at her doubtfully. Is that what he really wished to do? Would the effort be worth the risk of further humiliation? Was Erestor worth it? The young ellon remembered that night, that wonderful night - the heat, the exhilaration- and the tenderness that Erestor had expressed through that casual façade.

Yes, the counsellor *was* worth it! But the task was daunting.

"Will you come with me, Arwen?"

"Me?" she squeaked, taken somewhat aback at Rúmil's unexpected request. She grimaced. "Surely I would not be welcome in such a place. Or, even worse, what if a like-minded female should approach me? What would I say?"

Rúmil smirked, imagining the daughter of Elrond in such a situation.

"Oh, I do not think anyone would be that presumptive - or blind..."

Arwen faltered, taking a moment to interpret the implied (and joking) insult. Her eyes widened in shock, but she recovered quickly when Rúmil laughed at her expression.

"You orch!" she exclaimed. She gave the youth a mighty push, grinning in satisfied delight and revenge as Rúmil flew off the rock and into the cold waters below.


****


Erestor glowered at the paperwork that littered his desk: it created a stark contrast to the normal state of pristine order. Glaring at the useless figures that had been presented to him by two of his most worthless underlings, he exhaled in exasperation.

"Something wrong, Erestor?"

The auburn-haired counsellor looked up and smiled wryly. Tossing the faulty papers onto his desk again he leaned back and stretched his long frame, not noting the wistful lust that flickered in his best friend's eye at the sight of his lightly-muscled body.

"Just Aglargelair and Erynlann, the 'fuck-up gwanûn', and their usual attempts at being the most useless idiots in Imladris. Elbereth, I seem to spend half of my existence correcting their mistakes. Take them to Mirkwood on your next visit and introduce them to a few spiders, would you?"

Glorfindel laughed and came to perch on the edge of Erestor's large oak desk, unwittingly drawing a raised eyebrow from the dark elf at the intrusion onto his workspace. Glorfindel did not catch the hint.

"Take a break, meldir," he enthused, "and come with me tonight to the Inn. We could then continue on to Melethron."

Erestor nodded.

"Yes, I could do with a break - a chance to ease my body and thus divert my mind."

He smirked and stretched once again, this time subtly encouraging Glorfindel's attention. Admiration, from whatever source, was always acceptable to the counsellor. He had spent many centuries building his ego, and keeping Glorfindel on a long leash was an easy way to stroke it.

Erestor suddenly shuddered, a little ashamed at this small admission of his otherwise unconscious manipulation of his friend. He loved Glorfindel, his friend and his gwador - but not in that way. The golden lord had been a refuge in times of stress and grief and, with Mudolwen and Síredol, he was one of the few who were privy to the desperation of Erestor's childhood. He would never risk that friendship. He knew that in unacknowledged insecurity he had encouraged Glorfindel and he regretted that, but he did not wish to lose the closest bond he had ever allowed.

Rising, Erestor reached for his friend and grasped the back of the seneschal's neck, bringing their foreheads together. He then brought their lips together in an open-mouthed kiss.

"Love you, 'Fin. Always have, always will."

Glorfindel embraced the beautiful edhel he adored, drawing him closer in his arms. Even if he never attained the physical relationship with Erestor that he longed for, he vowed silently to never to allow, to any others, admission to the closeness of this precious love.


****


Once every month, the elven colony of Rivendell was host to a market frequented by not only the wandering traders that passed through on their way to Bree or to the Shire, or over the Dimrill Stairs to Laketown and the settlements there; but also the local farmers and craftsmen of Imladris. By encouraging the free trade of goods Lord Elrond hoped to foster closer ties and alliances between the communities of Middle Earth, ties that would hold fast when darker times came.

For Rúmil, more used to the hallowed and quiet groves of Lothlórien, the colourful spectacle of the many tables and kiosks were a delight to his eyes. Spread with goods as diverse as sweetmeats and candies to leather saddles and ironmongery, the few coins that jangled in his purse just begged to be spent.

Now dry and much refreshed after his impromptu dunking, Rúmil had accompanied Arwen to the fair and the promise of refreshments of a more edible nature. A few pence had secured them bubbling fruit pies from a stall that was serviced by Mudolwen, the elleth that Rúmil had encountered a few nights before with Glorfindel. As they strolled away from the gregarious - and incongruously dressed - female, the young elf decided to press his friend for details. Arwen obliged with delight.

"Mudolwen? Aiya, she is such a generous-hearted person yet she has known so much sorrow in her life. Believe it or not, she is an elf of Aman."

Rúmil gasped.

"Mudolwen? But she -" Words failed him, for it was generally known that the Eldar who had lived under the light of the Two Trees were blessed with a special grace. The homely and hearty Mudolwen did certainly *not* fit established beliefs. Arwen nodded eagerly.

"It is true! Mudolwen was a handmaiden in the House of the Golden Flower, in the city of Tirion upon Túna, before she was given the role of nursemaid to the new-born heir of that house."

Rúmil blinked in grimacing disbelief. He was not one of the Golden Lord's favourite people.

"Do not tell me - Lord Glorfindel?"

Arwen nodded once more, chewing another flavorsome bite of the pie before speaking. Rúmil sat on the grass in the shade of a spreading sycamore and gestured for his friend to join him. Seating herself beside him, Arwen continued her lesson.

"When the Exodus came and Glorfindel declared his intent to join Lord Finarfin in his journey to Middle Earth, Mudolwen begged to be allowed to travel with her brother Tûr. She had been more of a mother to Glorfindel than his own, and the bond between maid and child was uncommonly strong. Mudolwen and Tûr survived the crossing of the Helcaraxë and, when Turgon finally settled in Gondolin, she became chatelaine to the House of the Golden Flower. Brother and sister escaped from the fall of that city but it was as witnesses to the fall of their beloved 'son'."

Rúmil shifted uneasily in his place, looking across with new respect to the jovial elleth who greeted all with warmth - and a sharp quip of the tongue if mutual respect was not forthcoming.

"How came she to Imladris, then?" he asked, genuinely interested in this unusual female.

"Mudolwen was working in Gil-Galad's court when Glorfindel returned from the Halls of Mandos. Her joy was unbounded, and from that time she has remained with him, following him here to Rivendell when the High King requested that my father establish the haven. Mudolwen could have gained high rank through Glorfindel, but she chose her kitchen - her own kingdom - where she could enjoy the company of her 'boys'."

Arwen blushed at Rúmil's inquiring glance, and seemed somewhat embarrassed. The young elleth shifted awkwardly where she sat, then looked defiantly at him.

"As much as my parents try to protect me, I am no simpering maid. I understand that despite my father's ordinances and my mother and grandmother's prejudice there are many like you and Erestor who prefer to love their own gender. Mudolwen has always supported Glorfindel in his sexuality, and has used what influence she has to protect him and those like him."

Rúmil smiled and extended his hand to hers, squeezing it in grateful acknowledgement of her non-judgmental heart.

"Mudolwen must have been overwhelmed with joy at Lord Glorfindel's re-birth," he prompted. Rúmil still was bemused by conflict of myth and fact, and found it hard to reconcile the legend of the mighty warrior with the petulant ellon he had come to know. As if she could read his mind, Arwen expanded upon those thoughts.

"Indeed she was - her joy was overwhelming, as was her protective nature. Apparently Glorfindel found his rebirth to be traumatic; it devolved to Mudolwen and Lord Erestor, who had been assigned to reintroduce Glorfindel to society, to help him come to terms with an absence that spanned almost an Age."

The dark-haired maiden leaned forward, urging Rúmil to treat these confidences with utmost sincerity.

"Make no mistake, Rúmil - however he has appeared to you with regard to Lord Erestor, Glorfindel is still the warrior that faced a balrog without hesitation in order to save the family of his king. He is still an ellon of honour and integrity; he has served my father, his kindred and his people with every ounce of his soul. Do not underestimate him."

Rúmil nodded reluctantly, accepting the admonition for what it was - a warning not to allow any personal feelings to spill over into public demonstration. He was yet a student, a probationary in Imladris; one word from Glorfindel, mighty warrior, Lord of Gondolin and seneschal of Rivendell, could separate the young ellon from the object of his desire - Erestor - forever.

His disturbing reflections were diverted by a happy cry from Arwen.

"Naneth!" She leapt to her feet, catching hold of Rúmil's tunic to haul him up beside her. "Come, Rúmil - let me introduce you to my mother."

Rúmil blanched as he saw Arwen's mother walking in comfortable companionship with Síredol and her child, for he had omitted from his tale-telling to Arwen the more embarrassing details of his first encounter with Lady Celebrían, namely his 'outing' as a lover of men. The whiteness of his face reddened to a blush as he saw the Lady blink in recognition of his face, if nothing else.

"Nana," Arwen was saying as she pulled her friend forward. "This is Rúmil of Lothlórien, of whom I have spoken."

Celebrían bent her silver head in acknowledgement. "Ah yes, Rúmil - I remember, even if others do not."

Rúmil's blush increased, knowing that the Lady alluded to that awkward scene in the Halls of Healing and Erestor's casual introduction at that time. He drew upon his training in the Golden Wood and bowed elegantly, hand to heart.

"Lady Celebrían, Lady Síredol. It is good to see you again - and Belegon too." He saw Síredol's eyes widen in inquiry and realised that she had not made the same connection as Celebrían. "I was privileged to be present on the night of your son's birth," he clarified. Understanding dawned on the mother's fair visage.

"Of course - you are the bestower of his name!" She drew back the shawl to reveal the child's face. "Belegon is well, as you can see."

Rúmil did see, and saw too the familiar scraps of auburn hair and the intense stare of gold-flecked hazel eyes, so reminiscent of the Chief Counsellor of Imladris. What had Erestor said - that Síredol's husband had been his cousin? They must have been as identical twins, for the child was the image of the dark elf.

Celebrían's voice cut through his musings.

"Arwen, were you not due to meet with Master Lindir some time ago?"

Arwen jumped in alarm. "Aiya, my music lesson!" she squealed in hasty remembrance. "I forgot! I am sorry, Nana."

Celebrían looked at her sternly. "I am not the one to whom you should apologize." The Lady of Imladris shooed her daughter away. "Hurry now - do not keep him waiting any longer."

The three remaining elves watched as the young elleth ran lightly down the path back to the Last Homely House, and then Celebrían turned her eyes back upon Rúmil. The young edhel noticed for the first time the market purchases the ladies carried between them, and spied an opportunity to extend his contact with the elleth who seemed to know Erestor so well. He held out his hands in offering.

"May I help you carry your burden?" he asked diffidently. "Or assist with Belegon? I love elflings; they are so rare in the Golden Wood."

Síredol laughed. "It is a dangerous request to make unless you are serious - Belegon is not a good sleeper and I may take you up on it frequently!"

Rúmil grinned and took both their parcels, thus earning smiles of approbation from both females.


****

The sun was setting as Erestor crossed the inner courtyard, its dying rays illuminating the puffball clouds in shades of red and purple. The sky was a testament to the glorious Song of the Ainur and any other Firstborn would have stopped to marvel at its beauty and to give thanks to Ilúvatar for his bountiful blessings - but not Erestor. If there had been a witness to see his subtle gaze at the colourful sky, they would have seen in his eyes a lingering appreciation of its beauty - but no thanks given to the Creator.

Erestor's faith in the power of the supposedly omnipotent Being had been beaten out of him in the desperate years of his childhood, when he had sacrificed his body and his innocence to save the untouched souls of those he loved. Although now he used the names of the Valar in frustrated expletives, neither they nor their Begetter had ever answered him when he had pleaded in urgent prayer. Thus he had faith only in a few living edhil and had love for fewer, one of whom he was heading to visit now. Reaching his destination, Erestor tapped lightly on the beech wood door. He winced when he saw who answered it.

"You! Well, it is about time - it has been two days since Síredol's babe was born, two days with no evidence of your supposed 'paternal' interest in the child."

Erestor brushed past Celebrían into Síredol's chambers, waving in her disapproving face a cloth toy he had selected in the market that day.

"Well, I am here now," he snarked at the elleth. "So, where is my foster son?"

"Here he is," said Síredol from her high-backed chair by the unlit hearth. Erestor stepped forward, his face softening as he glimpsed the newborn babe in her arms - then freezing as he saw who sat with her.

"Suilad, Erestor!"

The youth grinned happily at him from his seat upon a low stool beside the elleth, and Erestor was dazzled once more by the bright smile upon the boy's face. A smile that seemed to summon the setting Anor back above the horizon once more...

"Erestor, you remember Rúmil *this* time, do you not?"

Erestor turned and glared at Celebrían, annoyed at the smirk upon her face that showed her delight in his discomfort. He recovered quickly.

"I prefer to name him my persistent shadow, for it seems that the *pen neth* insists on dogging my heels!" he said flinging himself into the opposing chair, trying in his speech to convey a disinterest in the boy - a disinterest that parts of his body gave lie to. Even as he said the harsh words, sending such a shadow fleeting across the beautiful young face, he knew that the 'shadow' epithet was a false one, for the boy's fëa glowed. Glawaren, he had named him first...

Síredol's continuing conversation drew him from unwelcome and sentimental contemplation.

"Rúmil was telling us that he is a keen archer and I am encouraging him to enter the youth competition that Lord Elrond is sponsoring."

Rúmil nodded eagerly, unaware that his enthusiasm was endearing him to more than two of the adults in the room.

"I long to be a Galadhel, as my two brothers are, but my father has other plans for my future. Haldir has already fulfilled his assigned destiny by attaining the rank of Marchwarden, and Orophin, through his determination, eluded the mantle of Counsellor that my father sought for one of his sons. Now my father seeks to cast that mantle on to me."

"But - but why?" Síredol asked, her confusion obvious.

Rúmil shrugged. "Power, prestige - position is everything to my sire. With all due respect, Lady Celebrían, my family was kin to King Amroth. My father holds his lineage on a par with - if not superior to - that of the Lord and Lady."

Lady Celebrían acknowledged the truth in what Rúmil said, for she remembered his father and the esteem he placed in his royal kinsman. Even so, her own upbringing and the emphasis her own parents had placed on a child's duty to family and rank nagged at her conscience.

"Well...," she hesitated, "we must respect our elders and repose in them the trust that they wish only the best for us..."

"Oh for goodness sake!" Erestor exploded, with fury upon his face. "That is orc shit, Celebrían. Some sacrifices to family pride should never be made, and," - his eyes narrowed and his now quiet words were enunciated deliberately - "you know that better than anyone..."

Rúmil was startled as Celebrían paled at the dark elf's admonition, and a bleak look crossed her face. He was equally surprised as Erestor's expression momentarily softened in unexplained sympathy before resuming its usual bored mien.

Erestor now turned to Rúmil, leaning forward in his chair to emphasize his words. "As your parents made their choices, now you must make your own. Rely on no one but yourself." He relaxed back again, smirking, and his tone assumed an affected nonchalance.

"Anyway, I approve of your taking up this new challenge. Perhaps it will divert your attention and stop you from stalking me."

The counsellor aimed the soft toy he had been holding at the youth's head, throwing it firmly but without malice in a physical punctuation of his words. Rúmil laughed as he easily caught it and - in a moment of unthinking bravado - he tossed the toy back at Lord Elrond's most trusted advisor, hitting him squarely in the chest.

"Do not flatter yourself," he mocked, satisfied to see the surprised look on the dark elf's face.

Celebrían's silvery laugh rang through the room in open delight at Erestor's obvious chagrin.

"Oh, we like Rúmil! Rúmil can stay!"


****


The Woodman's Inn was already bustling when Erestor finally made his entrance that evening. Fully aware of the lustful stares he attracted, the dark counsellor bypassed his admirers to make his way to where Lindir and Saelbeth were lounging against the weathered pine bar. Erestor reached out his hand and blithely deprived Saelbeth of his tankard, briskly downing a large mouthful of ale.

"Suilad, mellyn. How fares your night?"

Saelbeth shrugged his shoulders, ignoring Erestor's theft. He was well used to the advisor's inflammatory behavior.

"Just observing the crowd, espying potential conquests."

Erestor snorted. "What - for you?"

Saelbeth blushed. "Well, you never know," he said. Erestor patted him on the head in false approbation.

"For you, Saelbeth, we unfortunately do know." He looked around the room, seeking his gwador. "Where is 'Fin?" he asked.

Lindir gestured behind him and Erestor turned to follow his direction. What he saw was a gesticulating seneschal remonstrating with a confused Mudolwen.

"What's wrong with him?" Erestor frowned. Glorfindel and Mudolwen had a close relationship - perhaps too close. When in the presence of the elleth, the Vanya seemed to forget all about the independent thinker and forceful strategist he had been in Gondolin and reverted to behaving like a rebellious elfling.

'On the other hand,' mused the advisor in the privacy of his thoughts, 'perhaps the history books lied and he was always immature...'

He was drawn away from his contemplations by Lindir's speculations.

"Methinks that Lord Glorfindel loves his foster-mother well enough - except when she chooses to socialize in the same watering hole," Lindir commented astutely.

Erestor shrugged.

"In this place attendance is unlimited as long as the revelers' ethics are similarly unshackled. Let Mudolwen and Tûr drink where they please."

Surveying his potential trysts for the night, Erestor contemplated the array of eligible males. Of course his criteria for an acceptable coupling included an ellon's desirability and the virtue of never having been fucked before by the Noldo. One particular elf - dark, lean and alluring - caught his eye and seemed to be responsive to his appraisal. Erestor straightened from his relaxed pose, carelessly discarding the now empty tankard on the counter top.

"Well, I have seen my entertainment for the evening - namárië, mellyn nín."

"Do not miss the other entertainment at Melethron tonight, Erestor!" Lindir called after him. "The miners are here from the Hithaeglir and you know what that means - pretty, pretty, pretty!"

The two abandoned elves, now made three as Glorfindel joined them at the bar, could only look on in envy as Erestor strolled towards his expectant conquest. Lindir sighed as he witnessed the easy and probably erotic conversation between advisor and prey.

"He makes it look so easy," moaned the bard.

"Who does?" asked the newly-arrived warrior. Saelbeth gestured towards their beautiful friend, now in deep flirtation with the visiting elf.

"Who do you think?" Saelbeth patted Glorfindel on the shoulder, knowing from the frown upon the warrior's face that a distraction from Erestor's games would be desirable. He sought to change the subject. "So - what is wrong with Mudolwen?"

Glorfindel huffed, and Lindir just *knew* that a whine would follow.

"Why does she *have* to 'support' and 'approve' of everything I do?" the golden lord grumbled. "Why must she drink here, of all places?"

Saelbeth glanced across the room at where Mudolwen was indulging in a quiet conversation with her brother. He turned and looked up at his friend, who was still glowering at the elleth.

"Well," the secretary noted, "It is not as if she can partake of a drink in just any public house - not when Lord Elrond has made clear his dislike of females frequenting such places. Your naneth estannen is well-loved and respected here."

Glorfindel's response was not as Saelbeth expected.

"Manwë's balls! What is *he* doing here!"

Startled at the sudden turn of Glorfindel's attention, the secretary and the bard could only watch in bewilderment as Glorfindel strode purposefully towards the other end of the long counter, and Erestor.

Glorfindel sharply rapped Erestor on the shoulder, abruptly withdrawing him from his flirtation with the object of his transient attentions. The advisor was irked by the intrusion into his dalliance and only refrained from a biting expletive because Glorfindel was his gwador.

"What now, 'Fin?" he snapped impatiently, not diverting his eyes from the evening's diversion. "Can you not see that I am ... busy." Erestor slowly ran a finger up the seam of the ellon's hide jacket, the sensuous touch of flesh-to-leather seemingly a promise of more intimate touches to come. Egads, but he was aroused!

"What is *he* doing here?"

Erestor winced as the golden lord's voice dropped into that irritating whine. It always seemed to precede some mind-numbingly boring moan by 'Fin on topics that Erestor could truthfully care less about. Nevertheless he gave into the very real bond of friendship that he felt for Glorfindel. Heaving a sigh, he answered the prompting question with another.

"Who?"

"Him!" Glorfindel gestured wildly across the bar to the spot where he had left Mudolwen. "Your little elfling from the other night! Aiya, it seems that wherever we turn recently, he is there - like a burr stuck to leggings, he is impossible to shake off. Arrgh - now he is talking to my Nana!"

Unable to resist, Erestor tore his attention from his flirtation to his friend - or rather, to the flame that was igniting the Vanya's ire.

Rúmil.

Glawaren.

As Glorfindel had bewailed, the young elf was talking to Mudolwen and Tûr and the discussion seemed to be an inquisition on Rúmil's part. Erestor smiled smugly for he could guess that he was the topic of the elfling's inquiry. For certain, the young galadhel was a determined creature and would surely one day prove to be an undaunted hunter of beasts - or men. He chuckled at the amusing thought. Of equal amusement to him was the figure that stood beside the youth, for despite the shroud of her hooded cloak the slender figure had to be Arwen. If only her protective parents knew...

"Leave him alone, 'Fin. He is doing no harm. In fact," Erestor smiled gently, thinking of the witty exchanges between them that had ensued in Síredol's chambers, "he is rather - sweet."

"Sweet!?"

Erestor ignored the warrior's blustering retort and turned again to the evening's conquest. The smile was immediately wiped from his face, for the place that had been occupied by the delicious elf was now empty. He looked about him in desperate search.

"Damnation, Glorfindel! *Now* look what you have done. I have lost him!" The advisor pushed himself violently away from the bar, heading towards the exit. He cast a final admonition back at his blundering gwador.

"Fuck you very much, 'Fin!"


****


Rúmil looked eagerly around the busy room, searching for the one ellon he most desired to find. Despite the bright candles illuminating the drinking establishment, there were plenty of darkened corners for those wishing to avoid close scrutiny. At first glance, the dark counsellor was not to be seen.

"He is not here," a voice hissed close to his ear. Rúmil jumped then glared at his female accomplice.

"Not yet, but I believe he will be," he replied, hoping furiously in his heart that his wishes would be fulfilled. He searched the room once more and his eyes alighted on a garish yet welcome figure.

"There is Mudolwen," Rúmil declared. "Come on!" Without waiting for a response he grasped Arwen's wrist and pulled her further into the room. The daughter of Elrond and Celebrían struggled to keep her hood about her face; something told her that her support of Rúmil in this establishment and of this night was best given anonymously. She found herself colliding with Rúmil's back as he came to a sudden halt in front of Mudolwen and her brother Tûr. He greeted the siblings.

"Mae govannen, Mudolwen. I do not know if you remember me..."

Mudolwen leaned back, taking in the slender figure of the youth - especially his curvaceous rear.

"Aye, I remember you - you are the young lad from Lórien who came to my kitchen with Glorfindel. I never forget such prominent and delightful features!"

Rúmil blushed as the bright elleth openly appraised his generous rump, clad as he was in close-fitting tunic and leggings. He squirmed in pleased embarrassment when he realized that Mudolwen had not been the only one in the crowd to admire his physique, as Tûr and a few others had raked him with their eyes. A sharp elbow to his side reminded him of the purpose of his introduction.

"Actually, I was seeking Lord Glorfindel's friend - Lord Erestor?"

Mudolwen sighed. The arrogant elf had woven his enchantment about another victim, just as an ungol of Mirkwood would fascinate its prey before spinning its sticky web. She could only hope that the ensorcelled boy would shake off the 'glamour' and not be bound as her darling 'Fin was.

"There are many who seek the Counsellor," she said softly, weary discouragement in her voice. "He *was* over there a few minutes ago."

The clear blue eyes followed her finger but saw only empty spaces at the otherwise littered counter.

"Oh. Where - er - where would he go, do you know?"

Tûr grinned at him, very aware of and amused by the boy's infatuation with the advisor.

"At this time of night? They will be at Melethron."

Rúmil shifted eagerly. "That is where we are going," he bluffed, ignoring Arwen's startled and worried stare. Tûr laughed.

"Ai, I knew not that they had initiated a junior membership!"

Rúmil's face fell.

"Melethron has memberships?" he groaned. Mudolwen nodded but Tûr, understanding the boy's disappointment, was already delving into a leather bag attached to his belt.

"Because of the widespread hostility towards those of our nature, we have developed unspoken tokens of our unity." Having retrieved the item he sought he opened his hand to reveal the token upon his hand - a leaf shaped out of beaten copper. Tûr caught Rúmil's hand and dropped the token into the upturned palm.

"Give my name to the doorkeeper and tell him that I vouch for you - he will arrange to give you a token of your own. In the meantime," he grinned lasciviously, "dazzle your intended partner for me."

Rúmil nodded in humble gratitude, struck dumb by Tûr's undemanding belief in him. In his delight he almost missed Mudolwen's admonition of Arwen.

"As for you, my young mistress - you had best to return to your bed with all haste. As indulgent as your father is toward you, he would not react well to knowledge of this night time excursion."

"Oh but -"

Mudolwen waved away her remonstrance.

"Lady Arwen, if it was just our own people who populated both the inn and Melethron then perhaps I would sing a different tune, but they do not. There are many here who do not call Rivendell their home, both edhil and men alike, and we cannot repose our trust in their silence." She gestured at her brother, garnering his compliance. "Tûr will escort you home and will ensure that your parents will be none the wiser."

A disappointed elleth reluctantly took the arm of the ancient edhel but she made no protest, for she knew that Mudolwen was right. She smiled apologetically at her concerned friend before allowing Tûr to lead her out.

"By Elbereth, it has been a long time since I had a beautiful maiden on my arm," Tûr could be heard to say as they exited the tavern. Rúmil turned to Mudolwen, his concern evident on his face.

"I did not wish to bring trouble to Arwen," he said in dismay. "I did not realise that Lady Celebrían disliked us so much. She seemed so pleasant when I met her this afternoon."

Mudolwen shook her head and laughed, her lips twisted in a wry smile. "No indeed, on a personal basis Celebrían is civil enough - you do not really need to fear her if she has taken you under her protection."

"Yet her hatred of Lord Erestor is very evident."

Mudolwen cocked her head and looked at Rúmil as if she were contemplating some earnest revelation. "It is not really hatred that she feels; envy would be nearer the mark..." She smiled wryly. "It is said amongst the Ewes of Lothlórien that before her marriage the Silver Queen had a silver tongue."

Rúmil shook his head, not understanding her cryptic remark.

" 'You's...'?"

" 'Ewes'!" Mudolwen laughed. "As in female sheep. They munch on succulent grass?" She laughed again, seeing from the confusion on Rúmil's face that he had not understood her clues. "Never mind," she said, patting his cheek in consolation. "You wish to be elsewhere, and I cannot blame you. So be off with you. But pen neth -"

She hesitated then plunged ahead with her doubts, knowing sadly in her heart that the warning would be disregarded nonetheless.

"Erestor of Imladris is not a stallion that can easily be tamed. If you can capture his attention for a time then you will be very lucky but, my sweet Glawaren - he *will* throw you off and the resultant fall *will* hurt you."

Rúmil nodded in acknowledgement of her concerns, but was undaunted by her warning.

"I think that I am a good rider, and will not be dismayed by a tumble at the first hurdle." The smile he gave her lit up his face, the sunshine smile that so endeared the boy to her, and she held her hand to her breast as she watched the slender youth leave to face his challenge.

"If anything can release those chains about that edhel's heart," she whispered to herself, "it will be that boy with his smile of Anor."


****


Rúmil felt that he had died and had journeyed into the afterlife promulgated by the men of the south, into a heaven of hedonistic delight. Passing the doorkeeper had proven easier than he thought, thanks to his invocation of Tûr's name. What he had expected once he had passed that portal he did not know - but this was beyond any expectations he could have conceived.

Although the building that housed the entity known as Melethron was not large in a physical sense, the design of the place made it seem spacious. He had entered at ground level, but the interior floor had been dug out and had steps leading down to this lower level. The area had been lined with resilient wood flooring and was now filled with throngs of dancers, mixed with other revelers who drank of the plentiful and various alcoholic beverages as they relaxed at the serving bar that was situated against one wall. A raised dais at the other end of the room provided a stage for the musicians who were playing a rousing melody, totally unlike anything Rúmil had heard at home in Lothlórien. There was almost a primal beat to the music that echoed around the room and the beat seemed to be evoking responses of a sensual nature from the participating crowd.

Male danced with male; erotic, expressive, arousing. A pulse drove through his slender frame as he too felt the beat. Human or elf - their bodies wove together in sinuous driving waves of heat and seduction. Their beauty as males was enhanced by the unique lighting features cleverly placed at selected intervals. The lanterns held normal candles but instead of simple glass surrounds the candles shone through roughly-cut crystals, the myriad of facets sending sparkling shafts of rainbow-coloured light about the chamber. Other lanterns had dark shutters, shading select corners that seemed to involve entwined figures and doors that were wedged open with barrels that led to a dark corridor laced with thrilling promise. A shimmering haze filled the air and Rúmil realised that tiny flakes of fine silvery dust floated down from loose sacks suspended from the rafters.

Rúmil was stunned - in discovering his sexual leanings as an adolescent he had always thought he was alone in his desires. Even when he had learned from Dinendal that others held the same secret in the repressed environment of the Golden Wood, he still felt that he was alone in a silent minority.

The club was crowded - and he was not alone.

The young elf looked surreptitiously at the ellyn and men - both those down on the dance floor and those others who observed indolently from the upper gallery that ran about the hall - to see if they noticed what he felt was his most prominent arousal but he quickly realised that he was not alone in his reaction. They seemed confident in their persuasion, their desires and desirability. There were more here than the residents of Imladris could ever account for and the youth realised that his fellows must have gathered from many lands, earnest in their search for kindred spirits.

Kindred spirits, kindred souls - but there was but one edhel whose soul called to him. He searched the room for an auburn head and quickly found it - and him. Erestor, Chief Counsellor to Elrond of Rivendell, was swaying languidly upon the lower floor with an ellon - Rúmil could not have known that this the same elf Erestor had encountered earlier that night. At this very moment he was whispering into the ear of a third. Whatever he had said seemed to please the man for Erestor swiftly placed an arm over each of the others' shoulders, drawing them closer in their grinding motions.

Rúmil licked his lips as he watched his erstwhile lover entice the two ellyn, luring them with his swaying motions that held little resemblance to dancing. It did not matter - his ability to dance was not the main focus of Erestor's reputation. His exquisite performance in bed outshone any other slight deficiencies in character or attributes. Rúmil knew that for certain - and tonight would only affirm that conviction. With one fluid motion the young elf pulled off his tunic, baring his upper torso, and stepped forward onto the dance floor.


----


High up on the gallery a miner shook the ropes that held the donated sacks of fine mica hanging suspended in the recesses of the roof, releasing delicate slivers of glittering particles to cascade down upon the dancing males. The reflected beams of the already-refracted candlelight caught each shimmering sliver as it passed, enhancing the exotic atmosphere of tonight's gathering and landing upon shoulders and in hair - and upon the bared pale flesh of the glowing Lórien youth who danced with such sensual wantonness, drawing the lustful glances of those who watched and admired.

Further along the balustrade Lindir and Glorfindel looked down at the heaving bodies, their ears filled with the wild rhythms and their eyes drawn to Rúmil's primal beat. Amongst those who had also noticed the stripling were Erestor's two companions.

Rúmil was as a fisherman casting out his lures, using himself as bait. Deliberately he drew one hand slowly across his chest, brushing lightly over his nipples to tease them to ripening fullness. The other hand moved up to lift the shimmering fall of pale gold hair, sliding forward to caress the slender curve of his exposed and extended neck. As the music and men swirled around him, Rúmil threw his head back and freed those tresses, and they flew around his smooth shoulders like a silken sheath. Fully cognizant of his finest feature he rotated his hips, encased in tightly-stretched leggings, causing his ample package and his even more ample buttocks to capture drooling stares. Mouth open, eyes half-lidded in expressed desire, he was a catch waiting to be caught - a succulent fish waiting to be landed.

They came to him, Erestor's potentials, drawn away from sultry experience by the promise of youth. One fore, one aft, the ellyn turned from the surprised advisor to the satisfied boy and trapped him between them, moving chest-to-chest, groin-to-ass in a dance of unspoken but obvious intentions. One would have thought that Rúmil of Lórien would be well satisfied with the attentions of two handsome and lithesome males - but they were but foils, stepping stones to his true goal.

Erestor, now alone, allowed a ghost of an appreciative smile soften the ire of abandonment.

Never to be underestimated in his sharp understanding, Lindir recognized Rúmil's deft maneuver and could not resist in adding his own spice to the mix. The bard leaned across to touch his lips against Glorfindel's ear and raised his voice to be heard over the pounding drums. Not letting his eyes stray from the desirable form below, there was a note of gloating teasing in his voice as he addressed his friend.

"What *is* the boy doing?"

Glorfindel did not answer but stared instead at the subtle challenge being given and answered.


----


Erestor watched as Rúmil took the ellyn away from him with an ease he could only envy. A virgin only a few days before, the boy now showed hidden strength and determination in his successful ploy. Such determination deserved to be rewarded - at least, that is how Erestor rationalized it later. At this moment he could only focus on one thing, one issue. One person.

Rúmil.

Erestor moved towards the trio, drawn in inexplicable need to reclaim him whom he had initiated. Raising both arms high, he brought them down on either side of Rúmil as barriers between the boy and his former admirers. With easy yet firm strength he pushed the ellyn away and slipped into the newly-created space, pressing up against the youth. Rúmil responded eagerly, relishing the triumph of his strategy and the hard evidence of Erestor's desire.

It was not so much a dance between two males as it was vertical ravishment. Erestor grasped the boy's slender hip bones and drew their groins close, grinding fulgent rods together in increasing lust and heat. Tilting back his head in a gesture of submission, Rúmil gasped as white teeth nibbled at his collar bone and soft lips caressed the pale and sensitive skin in the hollow of his throat - then moaned in searing lust when a hot tongue followed a rasping trail up under his chin, dragging flesh and stimulating nerve endings. Finally the questing mouth claimed his own, in a kiss that spoke of need, and want, and urgent desire. Rúmil flung his arms about the advisor's neck and melted into the kiss, his heart full and pounding with an answering cry.

As Erestor delved into that sweet cavern his exploring tongue met with its mate - but there was no duel. This was not a play of experience versus youth, nor a mismatch of ages. Erestor recognized now - in this moment and against all possible expectation - that he and Rúmil were somehow equals, and it was a strange admission for him. The Lórien elf had not allowed the painful dismissal of the previous night to deter him from his goal. Instead Rúmil had formulated a plan and had executed it brilliantly, playing his part to perfection with dazzling allure. Erestor had been unable to resist. His ego protested loudly against his spectacular fall; his swollen shaft shouted louder in its need to be embedded deeply within the lithesome elfling; his soul danced in secret delight and his imprisoned heart...

Well, who could know what that incarcerated organ felt - save that, in a moment of giddy exhilaration, Erestor bent to firmly grip Rúmil about the hips and lifted him high as a wave of unexpected happiness swept through him. An unexpurgated laugh burst forth from his lips as he looked up into his willing captive's beautiful face. The glowing boy - *his* Glawaren - joined in the joyous laughter, not knowing that the spontaneous outburst of loving expression would be totally alien in the experience of any of Erestor's contemporaries, had they heard it.

One saw it, though. He saw it and his heart clenched to see the two elves entwined, auburn head to pale gold strands. Lindir had danced away and Glorfindel stood alone now on his section of the balcony, looking down on Erestor and Rúmil in silent understanding - and resentment.


****


The Chief Counsellor of Imladris cast away the last vestige of clothing and climbed onto the bed where the already-naked ellon waited in impatient silence on the dark blue sheets. As Erestor knelt down the youth rose to his knees to face him, his hands already reaching out to catch him and to pull them close and their mouths met in a desperate kiss. Erestor eagerly took control, deepening the kiss as he gently pushed the boy onto his back and then covered him with his tall frame. His long and slender fingers ran through that golden hair and the fine strands flew as generated-static caused each strand to flee the repulsing charge. Equally slim hands clutched at his strong shoulders in an unspoken demand for more contact: the exquisite groan that rumbled from the boy's throat at the rub of heated skin almost undid the elder edhel.

They were a tangle of limbs, wrapping around each other as a vine entwines about a supporting frame. Rúmil seemed to be fighting to meld with him, to incorporate his body into Erestor's protective length. The youth arched into every feathery touch and cried out with every flick of tongue on sweetly salty skin, and Erestor relished each reaction to his ardent ministration.

Erestor's hands could not help but roam the silken body beneath him. It was an anomaly. *He* was an anomaly. Sweet, sharp, innocent, wanton - Rúmil of Lórien was a complex mixture of youthful body and a mature soul. No other edhel had called to Erestor this way, demanding - and achieving - a return to his bed and his attention. It was a boon that had never been granted in nearly three thousand years.

Grasping the oil from the nightstand, Erestor anointed his aching member. Lifting the boy's legs to his shoulders, he looked down into the vivid blue of Rúmil's eyes, wide with desire and anticipation. There was no fear to be seen in them, no uncertainty. Erestor fixed his gaze with Rúmil's, needing to watch his reaction at the moment of their re-union. Thrusting forward, the advisor entered the youth in one swift movement.

It was Erestor who broke the locked gaze, clenching his eyes shut in a determined effort not to release in embarrassing and premature fulfillment. Valar, it felt like... like... home!

Home.

He had never truly had a 'home' but in this boy - inside his hot, tight and silken channel - he had found one. His intense intellect fought wildly against this impossible revelation just as his soul exhorted him to accept it freely. Furiously compressing such rebellious and unwelcome emotions away, Erestor forced himself to attend to the moment and he began to move inside Rúmil, purposely dragging the head of his shaft over the swollen internal gland. Rúmil gasped, rolling his hips high to meet each plunge with enthusiastic verve and pressing his lips firmly to Erestor's as his tongue mimicked the advisor's stroking cock.

Unbidden, Erestor's hands and lips explored the boy's torso, instinctively seeking and stroking those sensitive points that had been unwittingly mapped by the counsellor during their previous encounter. Within his delirious ecstasy Erestor did not care nor heed that repetition should be a precursor to boredom and familiarity should breed contempt, for neither of those negative events had occurred in this instance. Instead there was an overwhelming satisfaction that his acts were bringing great pleasure to both of them. Indeed the pleas and groans of the writhing edhel beneath him, now begging for urgent release, only fueled Erestor's determination to bring his Glawaren to a screaming climax. Tightening his arms about his boy and biting deep into the soft flesh of his shoulder, Erestor pressed hard and long against Rúmil's prostate, stimulating it beyond endurance and catapulting both of them over the precipice into explosive orgasm.

Aftershocks rocked their depleted bodies, sending shuddering delights to extend their entwined completion. Noldo and Silvan, dark and fair; at that moment no one would have been able to discern where one body ended and the other began. As Erestor rolled to one side to avoid crushing the slender frame so he maintained his hold on Rúmil, pulling him further into his arms.

Gently kissing the pale gold locks, Erestor accepted the youth's sleepy embrace and murmured endearments and only briefly acknowledged with an uncomfortable twinge that, twice in one night, a rule of his previously ordered life had been shattered by this young elf. Drifting into troubled reverie, the advisor resolved to remind Rúmil that this meant nothing to him - that *he* meant nothing to him - but tomorrow would be soon enough.

And within the counsellor's breast his lonely heart - imprisoned by brutality and neglect so long ago - fought valiantly against its armored jail, struggling in earnest to reach out to the Sunshine that had crept in under the wire...

... and tendrils of denied love made good their escape....


Elvish:

ellon - male elf (sing.)
gwador - sworn brother
gwanûn - twins
Suilad - greetings
fëa - soul/spirit
mellyn nín - my friends
namárië - farewell
naneth estannen - 'named mother'
Mae govannen - greetings
elleth - female elf
edhil - elves (pl)
edhel - elf (sing.)
Glawaren - Sunlight


Elvish names (from www.councilofelrond.com) :

Mudolwen - Debbie
Síredol - Lindsay
Tûr - Victor
Aglargelair - Robert (Bob)
Erynlann - Bradley (Brad)
Belegon - AuGUStus