Quietude

Title: Quietude – Part Four
Author: Gloromeien
Email: swishbucklers@hotmail.com
Pairing: Elladan/Erestor, others of interest
Summary: The couple must face the consequences of their hasty, heartfelt choice to bind.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimers: Characters belong to that wily old wizard himself, Tolkien the Wise, the granddad of all 20th century fantasy lit. I serve at the pleasure of his estate and aim not for profit.
Author’s Note: Please heed my warning, this one is brutal at first. A character is irrevocably maimed, the consequences are bloody, and the repercussions visceral. If this only incites you to read on, then please do! There are smutty treasures awaiting those who are loyal to the cause. :)
Feedback: Would be delightful.
Dedication: To Eresse, dearest friend, blessed writer, and shrewdest critic. Hope this is payment enough for your constant and vital support.

/ ---- / = mindspeech

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Quietude - Part Four

Imladris, Year 873, Third Age

/Elladan… melethron… /

The haunting appellation wafted through his woozy consciousness, as filmy as the plumes of smoke that emanated from the cindering fire. Swaddled in a spread of downy pelts before the hearth, the tulle drape of gauzy moonlight slowly covering the glow of the embers within, Elladan cradled his slumbering husband as he contemplated, with undimmed wonderment, the marvels of the last two days. As his lax arms surfed the rise and fall of Erestor’s slick back, the warmth of their enduring flame enveloped him; even in repose his body coursed with the most glutting contentment he had ever known.

The dawn would see the end of their secrecy. Erestor’s disease with such concealment, now that Elladan could attune himself to the most intimate of his husband’s thoughts and feelings, had been only too transparent. Before, he had not been able to properly differentiate the disparate moods that oftentimes darkened his lover’s days. He would no longer have to struggle to decipher the paltry clues discerned through their brief, oft awkward conversations. The practicalities of their bond were almost as advantageous as the luxuries, which were both plentiful and endlessly distracting.

That few of the noble revelers crawled out of their bedchambers for ought than a brief stroll through the woods in the wake of the Harvest Festival had been a boon, allowing the newly forged couple to languish in their suite unremarked by prying, pressuring elders. This blessed respite from duty had also gifted Elladan a veritable trove of treasures, each the most heartening consequence yet to his rash marriage, which, to his love-drunk mind, proved its rightness.

Such dreamscape summons from his dear beloved, he had come to learn, were one of those endearing developments. Their passions had been so guileless, so rigorous these past days that Erestor had not been able to censor himself as before. Indeed, their frank discussions had been as numerous as their coupling sessions and as vital to the nourishment of their nascent bond. Just the previous night, a casual dinner comment had lead them to curl up by the fire in earnest consultation. They had shared their most private impressions of Erestor’s tragic incident, as well as the cyclonic emotions that had possessed them throughout the last few months and in the early days of their love relation. His dark swan mate had roused his sympathies anew, when he impressed upon him the gutting despondency that had afflicted him through the aftermath of his injury. Yet even then, these bleak glimpses into his grave mind-state had been peppered with complimentary anecdotes of how Elladan’s exceptional care had cheered and consoled him. He had been treated to the tale of Erestor’s first conception of the love that had soon overtaken his heart entirely, of the exultant pleasure he had enjoyed upon their first coupling, first kiss, and his first inkling that Elladan wished for them to bind.

Yet the revelations hardly ended there. To his slight chagrin, he had realized how little he truly knew of Erestor’s life before Imladris’ foundation had shaped him into the generous and efficient advisor that he was. While he was well versed in the trials and tribulations of serving the High King, for he had spent many a winter’s night rapt upon Ereinion’s closest counselors as they embellished their court experiences for the amusement of three bored elflings, he soon found that he was completely ignorant of his beloved’s tumultuous family life. The destruction of his homeland when he was but an adolescent, the fractious and formative years of his family’s exile, the half-century through which he had disguised himself as a vagabond and traveled through Beleriand in its death throes with his first lover in defiance of his father’s wishes, his flight back to the Isle of Balar chased by Morgoth’s minions, his close friendship with Elladan’s deceased uncle, Elros… none of these too-salient details had he ever been appraised of. He had not even known that Erestor had a brother and a sister, his juniors by nearly an age! Cirdan the shipwright had, apparently, a penchant for reproducing in times of greatest strife for their people; as such he had sired his second helping of children just decades before the Last Alliance. As the images channeled to Elladan played before his mind’s eye, underscored by a loremaster’s intricate and engaging narrative, he experienced them through their elder brother’s doting perspective, these siblings that were but a few centuries older than he himself.

He had been almost relieved when Erestor had solicited some elucidation of his own. While his queries were more specific to accident or to adventure, that he remembered such occasions at all – and with characteristic acuity, no less – had so delighted Elladan that any embarrassment he had felt at the few confessions he had had to endure had been blighted by his husband’s avid interest. Twas in that hush, confidential moment that he had known with surety that Erestor had not felt tricked, or forced, or without other option than agreeing to pledge to their eternal bond. Indeed, as their conversation segued from the past into the vast expanse of future that awaited them, his plotting mind had broached no restriction as to what they might aspire to individually, with relentless support from their mate, or in their ambitions as a couple. Elladan had been awed by how such a humble act of love had liberated his husband from the constraints of his disability. Not only had Erestor displayed incredible confidence that he would eventually be able to resume each and every one of his former duties, but he had expressed his desire to travel, to entertain their familiars, to build themselves a home of their own, and to commit themselves to the Shadow’s expulsion by every means available to them. He had even insinuated that they should perhaps, once peace was restored, consider the adoption of one of the many elven foundlings that were routinely abandoned upon Imladris’ front steps. Elladan had not seen him so bright, so invigorated by life’s ripe potential since his youngest years; for this alone he prided himself on having not only satisfied his own yearnings with the ruse of their quick bonding, but in aiding Erestor’s rejuvenation, as well.

Once exhausted of tales, their formerly compliant bodies had become quite unmanageably needful, though even the scorching coupling that followed had only been enhanced by the wealth of emotion between them. Not that any sizzle had been wanting beforehand. That Erestor thrived in the heat of passion had never been more evident to his only-too-enthralled spouse, who effortlessly surrendered himself to his potent ministrations in swollen heart, pliant body, and effulgent soul. While their binding night had been crowned by a series of sensual immersions, the day that followed had been spent designing elaborate scenarios, the goal of which had been either an exquisite seduction or playful romp. That night, however, their lovemaking had been beyond eloquence, the truest emulsion of two constant souls he had ever had a right to experience. Each time they sunk down into the heady, golden stream of afterglow, he had not believed he could love Erestor more intently, yet on each subsequent occasion, he had been proven blissfully wrong. He could not imagine that his husband adored him with equal ferocity – for surely they would end up consuming each other whole! – but his every beaming, hopelessly enamored gaze countered this innocent assertion. He was cherished as he cherished, treasured as he himself treasured his black pearl mate.

As they had melted down into the cosseting furs, he had sung a groggy litany to the Valar above, praising them for guiding him to such good fortune. The last strains of Erestor’s troths had caressed his mind, then a lush somnolence had overcome his beloved. Elladan, however, had found sleep irritatingly elusive. At first, he had simply been too rapt upon the instant revision of the night’s incredible pleasures to relinquish his valued consciousness. Later, when reminded of the morning chore that lurked, rife with tension, on the outskirts of his thoughts, he had been unable to avoid the fretfulness that piqued him.

Once upon a time, he had been confident that his Lord Adar could overlook the manner of their binding in light of the fervor of their affection, as well as in consideration of Erestor’s somewhat anti-social condition. While this did not excuse the family’s exclusion from the ceremony itself, his father had been brash enough in youth to understand, if not entirely forgive at first, how heightened circumstances oft lead to fleeting moments of folly for two elves in the throes of love. At least, this was how he would characterize the decision to his Adar.

Yet as he mulled over his options, the necessary tenor of his behavior before his sire, he was suddenly struck by the idea that the revelation to Elrond should not be the true focus of his concern, but the effect its reverberations might have on his still socially skittish mate. The wild exaggeration of rumors, fired from the slingshot lips of the courtiers, had the power not only to upset but also to wound his all-too-vulnerable spouse, even more viscerally than his incident had; for Erestor himself had admitted that he did not know if he would ever have attuned himself to the longing in Elladan’s heart if he had not been deafened to the world at large. The elf-warrior had been astounded that his husband could even regard his calamity in such a positive light, which only emphasized to him the need to protect him from others’ scorn, derision, or even the most well-meant teasing. While he could never bring himself to regret the wholeness that their binding had engendered within him, he certainly could take greater care to tame his strident nature in deference to his more reserved mate. He had spent the night revising his arguments to his Adar; for if he required an ally in this affair, it was his lordly father.

Erestor’s comfort and wellness was all to him. His love could have no greater ambition, nor his heart a more valiant aspiration.

/Melethen, you must sleep,/ a drowsy voice implored him from within. / I have dreamed up such a wile for your waking…/

Twas almost a shock when lithe arms cinched around him, a hot body slithered further up the length of him so that pillowy lips could suckle the sensitive skin behind his ear. With an inner curse, he too late remembered that a bonded could intuit his every tremor of distress. Thankfully, Erestor was far too heavied by fatigue to cause much fuss, nor was it his way to aggravate an upset by scraping off its scab. In his younger years, his tutor had ever left him to stew; quietly making known that his advice was on offer, without imposition, should he choose to solicit him. That he would allow his husband to resolve his troubles independently, if needs be, was not only encouraging to said spouse, but also sign of how thoroughly Erestor appreciated the nuances of his true nature.

/Ever have you been the wiliest elf about, my beauty,/ Elladan replied, attempting to subdue his anxiety. /Yet I fear my youth works against me. Though we soared to the furthest heights of bliss to which I have ever flown… I find I am not as sated as I previously thought. You have enticed me beyond forbearance, seron vell, allowing me the pleasure of perusing the stretch of your porcelain skin, aglow in the starlight. The twin moons of your buttocks, so ripe for piercing…/

/Tis scandalous, that tongue of yours,/ Erestor’s voice purred through his mind, before his mouth was seized by the steam-smear of carnally inclined lips. /Too idle by far, I wholeheartedly agree. Best to find it some useful employment… perhaps an altar at which to worship?/

/Aye,/ Elladan managed, his sharper senses utterly besotted by the sultry feel of his mate beneath him. He had rolled atop his only too compliant husband, whose rambling moans indicated that, despite some sleepiness, a few salacious remarks had done much to revive his desire, if not his sentience. /Tis quite a reverent tongue, when presented such a succulent feast as your fair self, moren vain./

/Then gorge yourself, melethron,/ Erestor invited him, giving himself entirely over to his husband’s gifted touch.

Elladan, his worries temporarily assuaged by the molten surge of their binding thrall, was only too glad to be of service to his gentle, glorious mate.

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Twas the shimmer that never failed to bedazzle him anew; along with the slinky texture, so unlike his own. Under the full, merciless blast of the summer sun, it glared bright as a beacon, as if coated with a varnish of molten obsidian. In winter, the inky blue undercurrents and the icicle sheen only enhanced the flint of silver eyes, whether glinted by a mirthful mood or steeled by menace. The scent had matured like a fine wine: downy sweet in youth, a fiercely fragrant bouquet in adolescence, a seductive musk in adulthood. To entrench one’s fingers in a spill of raven sheathes was to experience the silkiest locks every bequeathed to an ellon; not thick like velvet or pure-spun satin, but flirtatiously soft, like a ribbon. Elaborate braiding required the skill of an embroider by trade, but he was deft with a quill and so oft managed a decent tribute to the mane’s black magnificence.

He was so regularly distracted by the thought of that ebony hair tickling the tender of his thighs that he often made quite a mess of things, but Erestor was too painfully aware of the import of appearance this morn to allow his more decadent notions to overwhelm him. Yet he could not help, as he wove, twisted, and tied back his husband’s still damp braids, being tempted by the enticing scent into nesting a soft kiss upon his crown, before posing the formal circlet into place.

Twas not merely the Son of Elrond that beckoned an audience with his sire, this day, but the Prince of Imladris who solicited the blessing of his Lord. That his love was inextricably both moved him, confused him, cautioned him, and stirred him, such that he suffered the inevitable swell of tears when Elladan stood to admire his effortlessly resplendent self. What, under the Lady’s grace, would his own father think of his choice in mate; he who had dedicated himself for untold millennia to the High King of Elves and even centuries after his death still vigilantly heeded to his final assignation at the Havens? Would he assume him ensorcelled by the power of his rank, that could be his own to influence, to wield? Could he communicate to one who had never truly understood the impetus for his lesser ambitions that he loved the elf within, his entitlement only so far as it enhanced his love’s strident, honorable, impulsive, and downright elemental character? He could not rightly say why such thoughts plagued him this morn, only that perhaps the treacherous task at hand put him in mind of the equally imperiled road they would soon have to tread before his own Adar. He could only hope his father remembered his own eccentricities in the selection of a mate, as well as the haste in which he had wooed his mystery-eyed mother. He was not yet entirely certain when would be the best time to embark upon such an endeavor, but the springtime seemed only too well suited to a journey north.

He was woke from his musings by the soothing eyes of his mate, who drew him into those absolving arms and sought to caress away his glaring concerns. Their morning had, thankfully, been lively, far from overshadowed by their impending audience with Elrond. Upon finally rising after a giddy, raucous tumble, he had been possessed by the need to dote on his husband. While Elladan had snoozed off the remnants of his fatigue, prompted by his insomnia the night before, Erestor had set about proving that his own care was worthy of as much acclaim as that he doled upon his guardian lover. A princely fast-breaking had been ordered from the kitchens, replete with the elf-warrior’s preferred dishes. Their unused bed had been primed and plumped for later trouncing, then suitably regal attire had been laid out for him. A bath of luxuriously spiced waters had been drawn for them both, in which he had later applied himself to the vigorous massage of his beloved’s tense muscles. He had feared that Elladan would have no choice but to ravage him to the hilt of his renewed energies against the side of the tub; luckily, this had proved deliciously acute and, as a result, both had emerged from the bathing chamber ruddy as spring robins.

Despite these indulgences, their chore, while hardly a ghost between, nevertheless loomed ominously before them. As the hour grew late for a morning appointment, both fought the urge to delay, though they knew well enough that they could not survive a luncheon of chastity, performance, and pretense. By the gushes of breath filming over his cheek, Elladan was cooing softly to him; that he did not send his thoughts forth spoke volumes in itself of the precarious stability of his own conviction. Yet there was no going back, nor concealment possible. They had chosen. They were bound. Elrond, of all, must understand the impulse behind such a gambit; he was himself married far above his station, had been betrothed in a blaze of passion that had been so fierce, it had affected the very parents he would convince of its ardor.

A sudden clench around him called him back from navel-gazing, as Elladan gestured towards the door. A servant had, apparently, knocked. While he drifted over to sit on the edge of the bed, his gallant mate moved to action.

/Tis a summons, melethen,/ Elladan appraised him upon his return. /Ada… Ada would attend me, presently, and with haste./

Their eyes hardly needed to lock for both to realize the message implicit, yet both nevertheless prayed that there was some other cause, some other calamity that required their immediate opinion. Yet they were not elves who shied away from duty. They had had time enough to prepare, to compose their excuses and to practice their arguments. By the exit door, Elladan swept him into a kiss searing with conviction, blistering with love, then clasped the hand adorned by his ring and crushed it to his breast.

/All will be well, inden,/ he swore to him.

/ Indeed, for I have already won you, Elladan,/ he assured him, then proudly took his arm.

They moved through the shroud corridors as the gray doves that fluttered about the eaves, with little stealth but considerable discretion, drawing neither the peculiar notice of those they passed but neither refusing to acknowledge them with a polite nod. Elrond’s office was a peninsular round to the south of the Great Halls. A gabled terrace traced its perimeter, leading out to the Lady’s lavish gardens. Each of the spokes of his carousel of gables were statues of the great rulers of their time, of elfkind to the east and of mankind to the west. Just before the main entrance off the corridor waited what many mistook for a depiction of the Lord himself, but Erestor, as he stopped to admire the statue of such tranquil bearing that he was somehow comforted by its softly look, knew that Elros, the King of Men, was the keeper to his brother’s sanctuary. He knelt before the foot of his friend, his confidant in times of old, and prayed that his spirit might succor his twin’s heart, this fractious day.

Twas another generation of twin that exited his Adar’s study just as they approached, his face grim, almost pained. Yet the veil of sadness was instantly lifted when Elrohir spied his brother, leaping into his arms with the elation of a maid on her binding day.

/He shouts, ‘Ada, he has come’,/ Elladan related to him, after Elrohir called back into the study, before ushering them within. /Tis strange indeed, melethen. He tells Ada that I look ‘well’./

/Perhaps they thought you sick, when you lingered so long abed,/ Erestor posited, though the reasoning was unsound even to his own mind. He was unsurprised when Elladan muddled his lips into a frown.

To their further astonishment, Elrond was on his feet to greet them. He strode straight up to Elladan and examined his face with focused precision, though was quickly convinced, by the sight of his perky cheeks, that he was indeed of fair health. The elf-warrior appeared thoroughly bemused by these theatrics, for which Erestor was thankful, as they put him instantly at ease. He chuckled fondly at his overbearing father, then gripped his shoulders while murmuring reassurances, no doubt adding that perhaps his brother should be the object of scrutiny for worrying him so. If Erestor could not hear this exchange outright, he required little insight into his husband’s character to know it was taking place before him.

With his usual huff, Elrond gestured for them to seat themselves before the fire, neither sage nor healer entirely dissuaded of some impractical mischief about. As the Lord himself fussed about with the tea kettle – his way of observing his guests unawares – the rest considered seating arrangements. Elladan had latched possessively onto his hand, wanting him close but also wary of appearing *too* collusive. By Elrohir’s vigilant observation of his twin, all was evidently not resolved within him; he scoured his countenance for some proof of the disease within. That he felt so distended from his brother was only too blatant. Erestor intuited that this was the impetus for their hasty summons; indeed, he had thought that their binding might alert Elrohir to some disturbance in their twinly connection. Twould appear that this had occurred, though why he had waited two days to inform their father… a certain Greenwood prince was no doubt an accidental aid in their concealment. He must remember to thank Legolas, though the woodland elf was guilty of nothing more than loving the one who stirred him most.

His own scrutinizing eyes were drawn to Elrohir. By Elbereth, this was now his bond-brother! Erestor had never felt the vertiginous span of his age more than in that sundering moment. He gazed upon the elf-knight, the centered, diplomatic, and intellectual soul he had helped rear, and wondered that they were now kin. The ethereal elfling maid he had spun in concentric twirls across the lush lawns, her mad giggles entrancing him all the while, was now his bond-sister. Her star-hewn naneth, whose heraldic birth defied the gloom of the end of the First Age, was now his second mother. The kidnapped child the band of exiles had scavenged the shores and coves of Sirion for, where they had gambled through his elflinghood, who would evolve into his greatest ally and who he seniored by three hundred years, magically became his father through the mingling of a stream of blood. Indeed, he had never felt so close in spirit to his own sweet-natured Adar, who had discovered his one after millennia of solitary existence and who had similarly wed in the wake of calamity.

Surely one of Elrond’s wisdom could understand, if not accept, the blessings their binding lit upon his Homely House.

After a considerable, though silent, fuss over seating, Elladan finally settled them onto the firm-cushioned divan directly before his Adar’s armchair, so as not to be seen as weakly positioned. The loose hold he leashed around Erestor’s waist was flagrant enough, though it also served to hide his ringed finger. Elrohir, however, caught sight of its golden spark, then stilled as straight as a soldier at attention. Yet his stormy eyes bore fiercely into his brother’s field of vision, only to be pacified a second later by a poignant look and an impish smile. By this time, Elrond had served them all. While his stoic face showed not the slightest trace of enlightenment, Erestor had observed this tactic oft enough to mark it now. By the stern line of his lips, he had not yet unwound the knotty conundrum before him, but undoubtedly few details were left to be collected.

Best to confess themselves while they still had some slight advantage.

“What trouble caused you to summon us forth, Ada?” Elladan usurped him, though Erestor was too jarred by the dual voices invading his inner mind to coerce him into taking a more assertive path.

/Melethron,/ he stealthily implored his husband. /Your Adar sends me word of your conversation. Tis best, and less questionable, if you refrain for the moment./

/Ai-ya!/ Elladan exclaimed. /Forgive me, berethen. I will cease./

He was rather nonplussed to find Elrond was staring at him, rife with concern, whether over his aching head or his sudden mental capabilities, he was unsure. Indeed, he was becoming rather disheartened by the dissention in the room.

/Elrohir came to me early this morn, with tales of unease,/ Elrond answered his son, but also transmitted to his advisor. /He felt that perhaps you had taken sick, for he felt a laxing in your fraternal bond. He consulted with the servants, who reported that they had brought meals to your chambers with regularity and that in your few appearances you had been quite well, so he delayed consulting with me until the rest time was ended. Yet this morn the feeling had intensified, so I sought to resolve the problem by summoning you straightaway. Has there been trouble, ioneth, over the past few days? Are you weary? Do you feel weak? We had thought that perhaps…/ To Erestor’s own astonishment, Elrond looked positively sheepish. /Yet by my somewhat reluctant estimation, you both appear quite content. I take it the time of rest was… restorative?/

Erestor gawked at his friend’s insinuation, a chill streaking up his spine. Elladan cinched his hold around him and then, to his utter and quite profound shock, he kissed him sweetly on the temple.

/I assure you, Ada, we took full advantage,/ Elladan bashfully replied, though his eyes flickered over Erestor’s by now blanched features. / If I may speak for my melethen, I would proclaim our repose the most serene in recent memory. Indeed, the bountiful replenishment of our energies is the very reason we have come to solicit *you*, this morn, Adar./

As Erestor struggled to rally his frazzled, confounded senses into some coherent theory of what exactly was transpiring about him, Elrond snorted with what could only be termed considerable amusement.

/Have you come to propose a holiday, perchance?/ the lord countered, with a knowing smirk. /And, if tis so, how do you suggest I go about explaining to my guard-captain that his two most skilled and trusted acolytes will be taking an extended leave to woo and beguile their newfound lovers? For your brother, my brave one, has requested just such a sojourn to the wilds of Greenwood, come Legolas’ need to return home. I thought surely you would accompany him, though there are perhaps still marvels yet to be revealed, this distempered morn./

Elladan, however, had no proper rebuke to his father’s taunting, as he sensed his husband’s distress all too keenly.

/Melethron?/ the elf-warrior demanded of his swiftly paled beloved, who was yet so startled by revelation that he had begun to shake. /Berethen, what by Elbereth has overtaken you?/

/*He knows* of our relations?!/ Erestor retorted with a demand of his own.

Comprehension dawned in Elladan’s fluid mirthil eyes, along with remorse, self-beratement, and penitence. He suddenly recalled how composed, how unaffectionate Erestor had often been before his father, which he had attributed to his rather private nature where affairs of the heart were concerned. Once again, just how little he had reflected upon his husband’s affects and motivations was heavily impressed upon him.

With a sober nod, he confirmed his mate’s suspicions.

/Erestor, how could I keep such a thing from Adar?/ he delicately replied, careful to sign so as the others did not suspect how closely they were, indeed, related. /From my earliest years, there has been naught but honesty between us. You know well that Elrohir and I meet with him weekly to discuss just such personal matters. How could such a doting father fail to see what was plain before him, that my love for you was deep and true, that we slowly became mired in a relationship of uncommon intensity. On the very afternoon following our first bedding, I went to him soliciting advice, for I feared that I had perhaps impeded your recovery by engaging you physically. Twas he who bade me continue on, who assured me that naught but good could come from such heartening./ As if to underscore his father’s acceptance of their loving relationship, he moved to embrace his beloved before him.

He was denied. Too confused to allow such a display, Erestor fought to rally his senses. Part of him thought he should immediately apologize to Elrond, yet he recognized the ridiculousness of such a gesture, as he was about to declare himself happily bound to the very son he excused himself for. Conversely, he felt quite the fool for being so remote of late as to miss such a vital nuance in their friendship, in his lord’s relationship with his own son. Indeed, he currently could not quite reckon how he had thought Elrond could be a second deceived as to their closeness; twas so like him not to pass comment on such an implicit issue, leaving both parties to work their way over such new ground, waiting for them to confide in him if needed be.

He inwardly battled on with himself until all-too-familiar hands took up his own, as they had so many times throughout the centuries.

/Forgive me,/ he instinctively bleat, but was shushed by a soft squeeze.

/Gwador, my heart has ever been lightened by the knowledge of your affection for my dear ion,/ Elrond reassured him, with a chuckle. /He requires the stability, if ought else! Such a peace has come over him of late, my friend, such maturity of purpose and such graciousness of nature that I know it can be naught but your fine influence upon him. But that is only half the reason that your love warms me so. I have wanted for centuries untold for you to find one to cherish you, as you so richly deserve, and that you have found him in my fold only doubles my joy. I could not have prayed for a more commendable suitor for my strident Elladan; that you have reared him and still regard him only proves how well matched you are./

/Elrond, you are too kindly to one who has stolen into your flock like a wolf upon a midnight pasture,/ he objected. / I have dishonored you, gwador./

/Hush,/ Elrond scolded him, boring implacable eyes over the entirety of his field of vision. / I will say this once, and never again. Though bereft myself, I was not blind to the ferocity with which you mourned my brother. Unrequited your love may have been, kept as silently as the filthiest secret within, but that does not belie its existence. When Elros passed, I feared you were spoilt for eternity. I prayed to the Valar not just for his return, but for your own fulfillment. They have heeded me where twas in their power by blessing me with one child of my brother’s mold, but likening his affections to those of his softer twin’s. He was made to love you, Erestor. Of this I have no doubt, for I myself demanded it of the gods./

After a long, poignant look, Erestor clenched his hands with equal force.

/Then your wish has been fulfilled beyond forbearance, this day,/ he insisted, lifting his hand into the Lord’s view.

A simple gold band twinkled there, as if winking in complicity with Elrond’s dearest wish.

“Elbereth,” he swore, but his tense face instantly crinkled into the most adoring of smiles. “Can it truly be so?”

Twas Elladan’s turn to tremble, but this was for naught, as both he and his new husband were seized into such a crushing hug that the breath was momentarily stolen from him. Elrohir did not hesitate to join in the fray; soon, there was not a dry eye to be found among them. Yet Erestor could not help a twinge of apprehension when Celebrian glided in, though her words to him were so earnest, so affecting that any thought of the Lord and Lady concealing their inner rancor was instantly banished from his mind. As she folded him into her downy arms, she surprised him with mindspeech powers of her own.

/ I will sing you in my orisons this night, Erestor,/ she proclaimed. /For you have bound him to this life, to our people, forevermore, and most likely his twin as well. Your constant love has saved him from the Doom of Men, spared my mate and myself terrible suffering, and for that you have proved your eternal worthiness. You are the great hero of this family, gwador-ion, an honor to your kin and a treasure to us all. Yet do not for a moment think that I will let this occasion pass unheralded…/

The twinkle in her eye set his nerves aflutter, but Elladan was there to steady him. Indeed, in light of his parents’ wholehearted approval, he beamed as bright as a feast-day torch, yet clung to him like the most amorous of finicky felines at play with their favorite toy. By the time they settled in for a lively – if disjointed – conversation, Arwen and Legolas were summoned forth, then a casual luncheon served. He was perhaps the most scandalized in the room by Elladan’s oft brazen behavior, though he could not fault his mate’s pride at the fact of their binding, which he only too ardently displayed. Yet his love was also sensitive to his more conservative ways; as such he *attempted* to tone down his affections, but was oft so overcome by their still perilously potent bond that he could not help the urgent tenor of his caresses.

Nevertheless, a pleasant and diverting meal was enjoyed by all, until a steward interrupted them, his reluctance all too apparent.

Unfortunately, both Elrond and Elladan were far too intent on his pronouncement to relate it to him. Yet he did not mistake the ripple that surged through those around him, so he attempted to decipher their disparate emotions. Principally, the Lord appeared distinctly satisfied, yet cautiously so. Celebrian and Arwen also seemed hopeful. Elrohir and Legolas were definitely piqued with interest, though unknowing of the outcome of the events to follow. Ye was disturbed enough by the tremor that shot through his dearly mate to gaze upon him; Elladan looked nothing more than irresolute. Even when he cupped his face, when they kissed in quiet assurance, his lips shivered as they parted.

/A messenger has come, melethen,/ the elf-warrior imparted to him, eyeing the doorway over his shoulder. /Ada has beckoned him forth./

/From where does he hail?/ Erestor had time to ask, before he sensed the intrusion behind him.

He turned about to meet aching, disconsolate eyes of his own glacial blue. These, however, had melted into a fluid streak, then spilt in slick icicles down a handsome, familiar face.

“Beregor!” he exclaimed, which made his brother gasp.

He made the instantaneous decision to stride towards him, to remind him of his relative wholeness through the fervent clasp of his arms, to impress his wellness upon his gaping brother and to rouse him from stupor with a heartfelt welcome. Yet he was shrewd enough to tug a thoroughly stunned Elladan along, whose nervousness was now properly explained. As he wrapped his brother in a fierce embrace, he smiled at his provenance, but also at the thought that his husband would have to bear through an impromptu introduction to an unknown bond-family member, not entirely dissimilar to the trial he had just endured. His principal concern, however, was that Beregor not be too sorrowed by his injured state. He would that he quickly recognize that he was healed, hale, and whole within.

He was pleased that Elladan finally snapped into the moment, offering a firm grip once Erestor retreated to admire how his little brother had grown. The elf-warrior’s self-introduction was guarded, he could tell, but this was perhaps for the best. Elladan then lead him on to be presented to the rest of the family on his behalf, though Erestor hovered by his side, content to observe them. Indeed, he could see that his husband was swiftly reconciling their similarities, of which there were many, and tolling their differences, which were also quite numerous. Erestor had, once Beregor had grown into himself, become somewhat fascinated by the same game of comparisons. He made a note to inquire later what his beloved’s first impression had been.

A great swell of excitement suddenly overtook him, whilst regarding two of those he held most dear encountering each other for the first time. His brother would certainly have to stay the winter at this late date, which presented him with a wealth of opportunity: to enjoy his company as he had not in nearly a century, to acquaint him with his life, work, and companions here in Imladris – where his brother had never before visited, and, especially, to familiarize him with his new bond-brother. Erestor was absolutely convinced that Elladan and Beregor were well suited to friendship, as between them there were also as many interesting similarities as discernable differences.

Indeed, as they settled Beregor in for a well-earned meal after his long journey, he could not help but be entranced by the sight of his brother and his mate chatting animatedly away, as Elladan no doubt related to him the tale of his recovery.

Erestor found he had never been quite so eager for the future to unveil itself.

***************************************

Elladan was naught if not carnivorous by nature. Twas perchance a mannish compulsion that lead him to hunger for the more savory dishes or perhaps a hunter’s appreciation for the game he had earlier engaged, but regardless, he could not deny himself a decadent serving at mealtime, then a second helping in his bed. The primed flesh of his lovers obsessed him, whether the bulge of a bicep muscle, the wash of a ripped abdomen, the mounds of plump buttocks, or the girth of an impressive erection. He loved nothing more than to grope, knead, worry, with any ready appendage and against any scrap of his own skin. The body’s swarthy, oft bitter juices only enhanced the flavor of the meats upon which he was renown for glutting himself; the true connoisseur, in his estimation, favored texture over taste.

As such, twas rather fortunate for one of his refined palate that he currently had his choice of delicacies spread out before him across sheets as fluffy as cabbage leaves, as well as of their mauve-gray hue. Its thick, purpled foreskin undulating like a mollusk in the shallows of a coral reef, his lover’s swelling engorgement was served up in the brackenous cove between his thighs, whose delicate skin was as shimmery and translucent as that of an oyster’s shell. Any diver worth the salty spume that crested the tip would already be feasting on the delectable tumescence, yet lurking beneath the spongy reef of his bollocks was a cave of hidden treasures that few of discerning tongue could resist.

Twas an enviable dilemma, whether to first swallow down a succulent cock or to gorge on a luscious arse. His own member, tamed back earlier by the fondling of some sprightly toes, throbbed impetuously, restless as ever before such a sensuous treat as his beloved. Yet twas the spark of their binding thrall that decided him. Ever since they had flamed together three nights ago, his soul craved nothing so much as their oneness, which did little to aid the prolonged foreplay they usually enjoyed. Indeed, when his Adar had drawn him aside that afternoon to illuminate him on some of the expected effects of recent binding, he had underscored the fact that, for the better part of a fortnight, their spirits would want naught but wholeness, as repeatedly and as relentlessly as necessary, no matter what physical constraints might be imposed. As such, they should give in to this healthy impulse as often as was felicitous, seeking out seclusion when their fever fired too hot to control and lingering abed as long as they liked. Neither should they seek to overly extend sessions of casual play, as there would be time in later months to slowly simmer themselves to a broil. At present, they should solder their bond mighty as frequently and as ardently as possible, though there could be some artfulness in the undertaking.

Elladan relished nothing more than the chance to paint his husband’s cushy buttocks with bruises and love bites. He snatched a cylindrical pillow from the baseboard and rolled Erestor upon this garmented log, until the bulbous tip of his engorgement drooled onto its fiendishly tickling bristles. He smoothed his face over cream-skinned cheeks, marveling at their babe-like softness and fresh fragrance even after millennia of wear. Yet he could not long ignore the crimson crease between, the musky scent of which flood his mouth with balming saliva. The groan that quivered down to the base of his lover’s spine was enough to stir him beyond forbearance, such that he could do naught but tease the giving flesh with nibbles, culls, and outright laps, until he gave himself to gouging into his husband’s most secret core with a voracious tongue.

With his every plunge, Erestor was seized by such a raucous jolt of pleasure that he keened like a rutted doe. If Elladan could be said to prefer this particular act above most others, twas so because it forced his beloved’s complete and impossible undoing. Typically, Erestor was too doting a lover to ever allow his passions to overtake his sense of fair play, as he was ever concerned for the partner he coupled with. Their loving was a constant give and take, no matter who in principle dominated on whichever occasion. Twas such equitable vigilance that made him the most desired of lovers around. In this position, however, he was most exposed, most willing to be overwhelmed, which in turn excited Elladan to an unconscionable degree. Indeed, he had oft wondered if Erestor had ever given himself to a lover in this way before, as in bed-play he was the most unselfish of partners about. He could not deny that many of his own proclivities were satiated in this performance; his need to dominate, his appetite for ample flesh, his desire to satisfy his husband as no other before.

As such, he was somewhat dismayed when he at last heeded the screaming sear of his own loins, eager as ever to sheathe themselves in the sultry dank he ate from. With a grunt of near resentment, he eased a writhing Erestor onto his back, then raked his raising eyes over a body that, even in its throes, retained a swan-like grace. He could not avoid a few, hasty laps at his elephantine erection, its ivory shaft curved as gently as a tusk. As he prowled up his lover’s prone form, he grazed their pelts of silken skin together, which flush scarlet in his wake. He gazed into eyes as cool as the icy climes of a glacier, yet fluid with bottomless reservoirs of affection. A raw bleat prompted him into position, then, face aglow with an adoring smile, he sunk into his mate.

They were both so sodden from their rousing-play that they hardly required salve. Indeed, his thrusts were almost gushing as they whipped in, out, so slick with drippings that he deliberately slowed his pace so as not to damage his love. Rather, from the vantage of a neck-berth, Elladan found himself fascinated by the slide of his scarlet shaft into that sacred tunnel, such that Erestor chuckled into the crown of his hair at his transfixion. He shifted them so that his lover might have a better view of his efforts towards their ecstasy, murmuring salacious enticements to quicken him. The familiar merge of their flames smoldered within them, Elladan’s carnal distraction allowing them to languish in the effluent surge of their souls. Waves of ecstatic feeling crashed over them, in them, until they had not breath to cry out their exultation, until the orgasmic blast they had so steady built to nearly broke them to pieces.

They slumped into the sag of their feather-plush mattress, as their energies trickled out in serpentine rivulets of sweat. Erestor pet his husband’s comely face as if lulling an capricious infant into a place of calm, while Elladan wove his listless lover into their usual tight cocoon. The incandescent cast of his blue eyes was praise enough, several deep, delicious kisses promised further rapture, once they were both replenished by a brief repose.

After such transcendent loving and when beholding the lush features of his forever love, Elladan could not imagine how he had survived all these years on the bed-scraps of other, lesser eroticisms. Erestor was all to him, nevermore to be outdone. When he fed on their mingled flame, he felt the touch of the divine upon them – no other relation had so nurtured him, bettered him, filled him such that he was more elementally himself. His beauty was not only enhanced by his husband’s love, but came to exist solely when reflected by the darkling elf’s constant heart. He was owned by this blithe, wizened soul, revered and respected by him, whole only with him.

Only when those bejeweled eyes lost some of their luster did he hear the gasps and sobs that wrecked him.

/Hush, hush, melethron,/ Erestor soothed him, his own eyes beading with unshed tears. /Do you not recall how your Adar warned that the thrall could become quite fierce? Tis but so now. Take a long breath, my lovely. I am here. I am yours, dearest one. Be at peace./

Elladan buried his face into the satiny slope of Erestor’s neck, sighed with conviction. He felt no more evolved than an elfling after a thunderstorm, which, if he was honest, was somewhat comparable to their tempestuous coupling. He expected that, in moments of disquiet, they would ever defer to the original formation of their relationship, that of guardian and charge. Yet he was only too heartened that twas Erestor who would coddle him for an eternity, and he knew well that his own ministrations were just as accomplished as those of his former – or perhaps omnipresent – caretaker. If ought, he was sure that this Shadow-shroud land would seek them shocked by some lately tragedy soon enough, so they best take advantage of their bliss whilst they could.

Tempered by this reminder of the unsightly state of world affairs, he shook off his complacence. Erestor had by now snuck out of their tight hold and propped himself up on an elbow at his side, so as to better admire him in becoming afterglow. Those bubbling blue eyes were so brazen in their worship that he suffered a moment of bashfulness, as no stare had ever struck him such as his rapt husband’s. Yet a fringe of mercury twinkled around them, then his lips quirked in blatant consideration of a rather persnickety question. Soon it was Erestor who looked nothing more than the mischief-maker, an elfling as tricksy as he was true.

Elladan peaked up an inquiring brow, then was met by a smile of incorrigible wolfishness.

/Tell me, inden, for I have been raring to ask since far earlier,/ Erestor asked indeed. /What were your first, and subsequent, impressions of my brother?/

The elf-warrior effected a throaty laugh that was, unfortunately, lost on his silent lover.

Yet he was suddenly uncertain how elaborately to reveal his impression of the hardy, handsome elf born millennia after his beloved had grown into the impeccable creature he was. Their resemblance was unmistakable, their common provenance a surety to even the casual observer. Both were gifted with their mother’s foreign, yet implicitly erotic coloring, but both wore it differently and deported themselves with varying levels of confidence. Erestor, he of the centuries of devout lovers, knew the power of his physical attributes, for he had employed them in seduction countless times. Beregor, however, was by no means as experienced, of lovers or of the world at large; yet this innocence was eloquent. While some had most definitely dipped into his pool, none had yet so drenched themselves in his affections as to make him even humbly aware of his own comeliness, which by consequence made him even more beautiful.

He presented a challenge that Elladan would have once met, in bachelorhood, with vigor and with finesse. Yet he instinctively knew that he could never have loved him, simply loved *with* him. One could tell that he had inherited amply from his Adar’s simplicity, if not by the calloused hands that spoke of how accomplished he was at his trade, then by his placid acceptance of any circumstance presented to him. As he had journeyed alone, Elladan had assumed that he was somewhat traveled and certainly combat-ready, but he doubted he had ever seen the far side of the Hithaeglir. Even Elrohir had privately remarked to him that his manner seemed less seasoned than their own, though he was at least two centuries their elder.

Yet his innate sensitivity could not be discounted. As he lived in the Havens, he routinely encountered those whom grief had so crushed, so cruelled that they could not survive here in Arda. A lesser soul would be haunted by such bleak visions, but one could see that Beregor held fast. That he was possessed by his mission to aid these waning spirits in his own, quiet way was clearly evident, but this same solidity had also caused him to be quite thoroughly shaken by the permanence of his brother’s condition. Even when those about him had been jesting, his keen eyes had flickered over to Erestor and his smile had faded some. Elladan had had to be diplomatic in the doling out of his affection to his husband, as Beregor had required a permanent place at his brother’s side.

The most poignant moment had come late in the afternoon, when they were relaxing in the Hall of Fire before the supper bell rang. Once Elrohir and Legolas had ambled off to ‘exercise their horses’ before dusk fell, Erestor and Beregor would have been finally alone, if he had not lingered there to translate. By his pinched face, Beregor had begun to resent this constant intrusion. Though he had well understood the necessity, Elladan had perceived some subtle chafing in his behavior, so he had politely extricated himself from their circle for a time and wandered over to the window. In the pane’s telling reflection, he had not missed Beregor’s tentative outreach, then shamed recoil, from touching Erestor’s clipped ears. With the most tender of gazes, his beloved had taken his brother’s tremulous hand and had placed his fingers upon the scarred straight-edge of his injury. For the first time since the incident, Elladan had been grateful that Erestor could not hear the devastation in the sound his brother subsequently made, nor the discordant whines that sung in its wake. Indeed, his husband had displayed remarkable resilience, easing Beregor into a tight hug and reassuring him as to his wellness.

They had thought it best not to broach the subject of their togetherness until the morrow, as after this fraught moment, Beregor had become increasingly fatigued, as if the touch itself had drained him of mirth. As soon as the meal had ended, he had made his excuses, his longing for a hot bath and a soft bed only too plain. Yet he had also insisted upon a tour of Imladris given by Erestor himself come morn, which his beloved had been only too glad to agree to. Beregor had hastened to note that of course the elf-warrior was welcome along – he had not meant to exclude him – by which Elladan had understood that he had discerned a special relation between them. He certainly could not be clueless as to his elder brother’s reputation, which had been founded during Erestor’s time in Lindon and where he still had a great many loyals who were once lovers. He had even bowed to him before retiring, which indicated that, even if he had harbored some resentment at his relentless presence, he was thankful that he had facilitated communication with his brother.

Yet none of this answered the quandary of how much to reveal to Erestor, who appeared playfully inquisitive but who he knew was more vulnerable still.

/It took a moment to digest your startling resemblance,/ Elladan carefully began. /When first I saw him, to be frank, I could not quite believe he existed. Then I thought, what will he say when he learns that I have secretly wed his brother?! He will challenge me to a duel!/ Erestor was all too tickled by this admission, so prompted him further. /When I finally calmed enough to have a decent look at him, I thought him quite fair indeed. Tis a pity you were born so far apart, you could have roamed the ancient realms leaving naught but swooning suitors in your wake! The pair of you are so potent you could inseminate a maid at first glance./ Erestor was by now shuddering with laughter, his cheeks aflame./ Yet, not to fault him by any means, but I have certainly been gifted the better rogue. Once can see at once that he is your father’s son, for where he is earnest you are enigmatic. Where he is broad you are sinuous. He is rough, and affectingly so, but he lacks your mystery. I would be intrigued enough to engage him for a time, but I would not seek to unravel him as I do you, melethen./

/My unraveling is the least of what you have accomplished this night, lirimaer,/ Erestor smirked, then passed comment. /He is not usually as brittle as you have seen him. I am unsure how much Adar told him of my state, or if he even told him at all. In the last months, I have never wished more to be possessed, even for a fleet hour, of all my senses, so that I might converse easily with him and prove my hardiness. Not to fault you as an intermediary, berethen, but there is so much that I wish to tell him personally./

/I know it,/ Elladan assured him. /He will acclimate himself in time, Erestor, be heartened./

/How could I be otherwise, when my heart is here with me,/ the darkling elf beamed, the glint returning to his eyes. /Even if he would have, in earlier years, coveted my own brother for sport!/

Elladan flagrantly cackled with glee.

/He is a fine catch,/ he merrily insisted. / Indeed, I am in mind to play matchmaker once we are better acquainted, for whoever may journey to Imladris should not depart without knowing the *warmth* of her people./

/ I would not oppose such a venture,/ Erestor remarked, after a brief consideration. /The fog of grief in Lindon can stifle the libido, and, as the populace has thinned, there are few unbound maids among the mariners. If ought, such a dalliance in cozy climes might give him the taste for further adventure, which would make me glad, for I fear that Ada keeps him too close. I wager you did not miss how he is sheltered./

/Nay, I did not,/ Elladan acknowledged. /But he prefers maids! Tis a pity. I knew just the swordsmith for him. They could share tales of how they ply their trades, then later ply each other./

/Such a wicked mind you have, and for such a noble heart, moren vain,/ Erestor complimented his lover. /Tis little wonder I adore you so./

/As I, you, seron vell,/ Elladan swore, with sudden, aching earnestness. /You are as elegant as you are mysterious, my one. Yet fret not, for even should I unravel all your weird and wondrous ways, I will still love you to the very core, cherish our forever bond. Even if silent, my soul will not fail to heed the siren song of your heart, my Erestor./

As desire bloomed anew in those ebony-lashed eyes, Elladan could not help but be shook by a wild sizzle of anticipation. A velvet touch stroked him sensually awake, before a limber body spread over him. All thought of brothers, matches, injuries, and duties were evaporated under the heat of a scorching gaze, which came to encompass every speck of his vision.

He was willing captive to those reverent eyes, ready to be conquered by the one forever in his sights, the only one on his horizon.

End of Part Four