The Song of the Dance

THE SONG OF THE DANCE

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Chapter 9: The Second Summons (and A “Brotherly” Interlude)

Haldir kept a watchful eye on all the ground below, and also among the trees. There was no movement though, not on this border, not in this era of peace, certainly not in this heated summer haze. There were no enemies, there was no threat, and the heat was enough to tempt even the most industrious elf into a noontime slumber.

Haldir’s glance moved to his feet, where sprawled a drowsing sentry, whose eyes were glazed with the nearness of sleep. A swift kick to the side roused him. “Mind your duty, Orophin,” Haldir rebuked in a whisper, watching as his brother sat up and scooted over to sit on the edge of the talan, his shoeless feet dangling off the side.

When Orophin finally spoke, it was in complaint. “Rumil has been overlong in his break. Wkeepkeeps him?”

“We shan’t know till he arrives,” Haldir said softly, resuming his watch duty. He could see… there, Rumil moving slowly between the tree trunks from the direction of the stream, his stealthy movements betrayed by the sun glinting off silver hair. The young elf wore only his thin trousers, with his uniform and quiver slung idly over a shoulder.

Many minutes later, the youngest had joined his brothers, flinging his things onto the flet before climbing up after. He moved to sit beside Orophin in similar fashion saying, “It’s hot!”

“That does not excuse your tardiness,” Haldir pointed out. “And if you are wise, it will not happen again, understood?”

Rumil pouted, but sternly replied, “Yes, Captain.” And then, under his breath, “It’s hot…”

Haldir silently agreed. Scorching. Sizzling. Stifling. Hot. It was hot. Rumil looked most comfortable in his attire. Orophin, too, had shrugged off cape and tunic and shoes, looking – if not cool – at least contented, in shirt and breeches, with long golden hair tied back in a leather thong. Haldir was the only one of them still in full uniform, stitandtanding, still keeping watch over a forest that was motionless, and in which all the green things drooped in sad lethargy for lack of water and too much sun. Not the barest breeze disturbed them, even fifty feet off the ground. There was no relief from the heat, but Haldir did not show this. His hair and clothes were in perfect alignment; he ner cer complained nor showed any sign of annoyance. He kept to his duty, and that was that.

The three elves had not sat long when Rumil suddenly jumped to his feet, squinting through the trees. “Someone approaches from the city!”

“Indeed,” Haldir replied, having long heard their approach. “Tis a messenger.”

“Messenger?” Orophin replied. “Isn’t that Cudae?”

Haldir glanced southward. Sure enough, the son of the elf lord came loping through the silver barked trunks. “Aye,” Haldir said. “Have you not heard? Cudae has given up his position as March Warden of the South. He and Annaglar have chosen to bind themselves. Life would be difficult with one ever at the South and the other on the East border. Cudae will transfer to the Eastern March and will serve as first lieutenant to Annaglar. Until the transfer order goes through, he has been errand-runner for the Lord and Lady.”

Catching the glint in Orophin’s eye, Haldir warned, “Do not ridicule him. The wheel of Fate bears a double-edged sword. For an elf of his standing, it is much to give up in the name of love.” And without his family’s blessing, he silently added.

By this point, Cudae and Rumil had greeted one another with silent gestures, signals used only among the Galadrim. The messenger’s light voice carried up through the trees. “Sons of Feagul. I’ve a message from the Lord Celeborn for Haldir, captain of the Northmarch.”

“Join us and rest from your journey,” Haldir spoke softly, his low purr carrying down to the sensitive elven ears below.

Swiftly did Cudae ascend roperope ladder, gratefully accepting Rumil’s flask. He drank and then removed a bound scroll from his belt and handed it to Haldir. “I thank you for this respite, but I dare not tarry in my duty. I was imbued with the distinct impression that this was most urgent,” spoke the habitually subdued elf, with more humor and lightness in his tone and eyes than Haldir could ever recall witnessing.

Haldir thanked him softly and unrolled the scroll only to find another sealed one within it. Violet eyes skimmed the opened parchment and a blank look settled on his regal features. “Yes, thank you…” he replied absently. “Indeed, I must go at once.”

Rumil was about to interrogate him, but Orophin prevented him from questioning his captain in the presence of another with a firm hand on his arm. “Cudae,” Haldir spoke formally as he gathered his things, “take your leisure before you return to Caras Galadon. Sentries, mind your duty, and obey Thinthoron; I know not when I shall return.” Rumil and his brother could only watch as Haldir gracefully descended the tree to land without a sound on the dry grass and speed into the distance like the echo of a whispering wind.

“Why would he go west?” Rumil asked, his bright eyes watching his eldest brother’s progress.

Orophin shrugged, also observing Haldir with concern. “I don’t know.”

***

Once out of sight of the northern line of border guards, Haldir slowed to a walk and once again opened the message from his Lord. This time, he read it more thoroughly.

‘Haldir, Son of Feagul, Guardian of Lorien, Captain of the Northern March, and Dear Friend,

I do not intend insult to your status, but I find once again that I must turn to you for subtle acts and trusted secrecy.
First, I bid you leave at once to deliver this second sealed message to Iarwen, Attendant to The Dancer. In truth, I could find no other elf brave enough to approach her, but I have faith in you, Haldir.
Second, I ask that you await her response and deliver it to me without delay.
We shall speak upon your arrival at Caras Galadon.

Regards,
Celeborn’

Haldir shuddered. Iarwen, ‘Attendant to The Dancer,’ he had specified. What was happening now? Haldir did not think he could go through that again… He did not think he had yet recovered from the first.

In truth, it was not The Dance that so affected him, but the events that had come after. It had belmoslmost a year now, and he was still haunted with equal amounts of guilt for deceiving his Lord and regret for denying his Love.

Now, with only two weeks until Byeltinyeh, Haldir could only hope he had the strength to refuse whatever the Lord had planned for The Dancer, lest his heart be truly broke in twain.

***

“This heat is practically unbearable,” Cudae observed, removing his messenger’s sash and standing to stretch his legs. He looked down at the two sentries, near sweating on their lonely perch. “Tell you what,” Cudae offered with a sympathetic smile. “You two run along. Take a two hours’ break and I shall watch your post.”

Orophin and Rumil exchanged a look of surprised delight. They stood together, turning to their visitor. “We would be most thankful,” Orophin agreed with a slight bow. “For we have been on watch these many months without a break together.”

“Haldir seems to think we would get into trouble,” Rumil added helpfully.

Orophin nudged his brother as if to say ‘shut up, you!’ He gave a false, tittering laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scolded. Turning again to Cudae, he offered, “And in return for this favor, you may help yourself to any of our stock that is appealing.” Orophin nimbly leapt up to grab hold of a branch, and reached into a high, hidden cranny to remove a basket.

“September wine from the vineyards,” Rumil said as Orophin handed the basket down before dropping lightly to his feet. “Sweetmeats and apples from the northern orchard.”

“A rare feast!” Cudae approved enthusiastically, accepting the woven basket from Rumil. “I think your favor now better than mine and find my offer lacking. Make your rest double and we shall consider ourselves fair.”

“There is no need to keep you,” Orophin bargained. “No doubt you wish to be off home soon enough. But call the count three hours and we shall be even.”

“Agreed,” Cudae said with a smile, taking Haldir’s former stance as he bit into an apple.

Only Orophin brought his bow and quiver, leaving Rumil’s set for the temporary guard, a messenger who had come armed only with knives.

They wasted no time in their flight from the mallorn to race along the worn path to the stream but a half-mile away.

***

Tunics and trousers went flying as the brothers reached the small glade where a large pool had formed from a natural dam in the water’s path. Orophin pulled off the tie that held his hair and dived headlong into the cool depths like a sleek, flashing fish while Rumil ran in with a grand leap and equally grand splash, as he had since childhood. Elvish laughter, like silver bells, rung out high and happy in the green glade where the plants thrived on the stream’s water and the elves standing in the sun-dappled shallows soon took to splashing great waves at one another with vigorous delight. Traditions must be maintained, after all.

One particularly overzealous spray caught Orophin in the face, and he gagged with surprise at the nose-full of water, turning on Rumil with a vengeful, sinister light in his grey eyes. “Oh, you shall pay dearly for that, little brother.”

Rumil’s own eyes, dark and blue, widened with fearful excitement as Orophin advanced.

The larger elf lunged, and though Rumil dodged, the water slowed him, conspiring to allow Orophin’s strong arms to catch him about the waist, bringing both down with a mighty splash beneath the surface.

Suddenly - as though a resonating drum had been abruptly hushed - their world was plunged into silence with the weight of the wate the their ears, though the sunlight streamed through the boughs above to brightly illuminate the water in streaks of golden green and pure blue as elven hair flashed silver and gold like darting fish within the depths as the submerged elves dashed and weaved. The struggle continued in a muted display of elven agility within the underwater world as Orophin’s strength was pitted against Rumil’s dexterity, both hindered by the heavy water. The younger elf struggled valiantly in the clear depths, as his slick and squirming form almost evaded the eagerly searching hands.

Alas, he could not meet Orophin’s more experienced play, and so remained submerged when, in the end, his brother ped ped an unforgiving hand in his long silver hair to keep him below.

Air spent in exercise was soon depleted, and when Rumil’s struggles weakened, Orophin pulled the sputtering elf up, holding his head just above the surface as he stood victoriously with Rumil in his grasp. “Do you submit?”

“Never!” came Rumil’s playful cry, and he was again ducked beneath the waters.

Having gained a fresh breath of air, Rumil drew his strength together, releasing his double-fisted grip on Orophin’s wrist to reach for the nearest leg. Without hesitation, he pulled himself forward and sunk his teeth into his brother’s thigh.

Still beneath the water, he only heard a muffled version of the shrill, angry scream that rang out in the open air, but he felt the hand release its relentless clutch and Rumil quickly pushed off the stony bottom to breach the surface, gain a breath, and dive again, swiftly swimming round to take hold of Orophin’s shoulders and shove him beneath before protest could be uttered.

Knowing he had not the strength to keep Orophin there, Rumil again darted away out of reach, barely evading his brother’s searching grip. “You devil!” the elder of them cried through a mouthful of water when he emerged, throwing droplets off his head and shoulders like an angry bull as he glared spitefully at a chuckling Rumil. “You bit me!” he accused with shock, as though he scarcely believed it himself even as a slight trickle of blood polluted the water near his pelvis.

“You gave me little choice,” Rumil rejoined, dancing back and forth where he stood in the water, ready to leap away at the first sign of attack. “I should rather bite my brother than asphyxiate at his hands!”

Orophin let out a gruff noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl before charging forward, his clawed hands outstretched, aiming for his brother’s neck.

Rumil let out a surprised squeal before sinking below the surface and pushing himself through the water.

Standing still in silent displeasure, Orophin with arms akimbo watched Rumil tire himself in the pool, long pale limbs cutting through the water with silver hair flowing like a train of mithril-hued seaweed behind him.

One daring turn, however, brought Rumil his doom. As he flashed past, Orophin’s hand shot into the water like a loosed arrow, clutching his brother’s neck. He promptly threw his other arm about the elf’s waist and maneuvered him right up into the air to be carried, howling and cursing, up to the shore where he was thrown unceremoniously to the bank with an undignified thud.

“Ow!” came the loud complaint. “What did you do that for?!”

Orophin crossed his pale, muscled arms and glared threateningly down at his brother.

Rumil met this expression with a cheeky grin. “Your glare is not half so frightening as Haldir’s, so don’t bother.”

A low, rumbling growl sounded before Orophin launched himself at his brother.

Rumil responded with another shriek before the two elves were tussling on the grassy shore, more often rolling about than attempting any sort of offense, though a few bruises and scratches were inflicted before Orophin pinned his slighter brother to the ground. “Do you submit?”

Not the slightest hesitation proceeded Rumil’s enthusiastic, “Never!!!” A cruel pinch to Orophin’s hip allowed enough distraction to reverse their positions and they mor more struggled to subdue the other, rolling nearer and nearer to the water’s brink.

Orophin managed to land Rumil in the shallow edge of the pool with a generous splash. Rumil’s immediate response was to reach for his brother’s nose, twisting harshly.

“Argch!” Orophin half choked, half screamed as he jumped away. “You fight like a girl!”

Rumil giggled, crab-walking back up the bank and out of Orophin’s reach.

“That hurt, you little monster!” the elder accused as he once more prowled up the bank.

Rumil had not fled, and he lay, panting, near the shore, allowing Orophin to approach and tower over him. “Revenge is mine,” Orophin declared. Without warning, he leapt onto Rumil, straddling his thighs to effectively keep him in place as he reached for the sensitive skin either side of his stomach.

Rumil’s blue eyes widened with adrenaline and fear. “No!!” he cried. “No, don’t!”

A wicked grin met these pleas, and Orophin at once set to tickling his brother mercilessly.

Uncontrolled laughter burst forth in a song of panting titters and raucous guffaws as Rumil squirmed uselessly beneath this loving assault, trying to push away the unforgiving fingers as tears of mirth trickled from those dark blue eyes. “Stop Orophin! Ai, stop I say!”

Orophin laughed at the weak commands, redoubling his attack. Rumil’s shrieks increased as his defense weakened.

“Ha ha!” Orophin crowed. “Do you submit?”

Rumil struggled in vain and did not answer.

Orophin sped his teasing fingers, leaning over his brother and demanding, “Do you submit?”

Rumil growled, but then shouted, “Ai! Ach! Yes! YES! I submit!”

Orophin grinned in triumph before collapsing to the ground beside his brother, their long legs entangled as they lay panting in the shade on the stream’s grassy bank.

Finally, it was Orophin who broke the silence. “Ah, I have missed our play, brother.”

Rumil sighed in agreement, but then answered in a serious tone. “Aye, but our duty now lies with the March. We have little need for such romps.”

Orophin turned, his golden hair falling over his eyes. He tossed his head to clear his vision, meeting Rumil’s wide blue gaze. “When did my little brother grow up?” he asked in a low tone, half to himself.

Rumil nearly blushed at the abrupt intensity of Orophin’s scrutiny and the sudden sobriety of his words, but he met the gaze unflinchingly. “I couldn’t say,” Rumil offered, “But I do believe it may have been the moments after The Dance at last year’s Byeltinyeh Feast.”

Grey eyes regarded the younger with delighted surprise before Orophin burst out in laughter rich and deep, soon met by Rumil’s own giggles.

“You harlot!” the elder teased, reaching over to ruffle Rumil’s silver-white hair, mussing the damp tresses into a tangled mess.

Rumil mock-pouted at his brother’s gestures and words, pulling himself to a sitting position away from Orophin’s teasing fingers to rake his own hands through his wet mane, straightening the worst of the snarls and snares. “Ai! Orophin!” he shrieked, looking down at where their long legs lay entwined on the deep green grass. “You are bleeding!”

The golden-haired brother looked down at the perfect set of red teeth marks in his thigh. “Well, yes,” he agreed.

Rumil grumbled to himself as he untangled their legs, rising to waltz to the shoreline where he weeded through the plants until he came up with a handful of thick yellow grasses.

Orophin lay sprawled on the green sward, watching with bemusement as Rumil marched huffily back to kneel beside him. “Hold still,” the younger ordered with uncharacteristic gloom. He splashed a handful of water on the wound and used a torn scrap from his tunic to carefully dry it.

“Why so sour?” the elder curiously asked.

Rumil glanced up quickly. “I am sorry. It was not my intent to hurt you.”

“So you are sorry, and I am fine. There’s no need to mope.”

Rumil made no answer as he squeezed out the sticky fluid from the water grass onto the still-bleeding bite.

Orophin smiled as he spoke. “Do you remember when you and I used to wrestle each other in the bramble grove, and we’d come crying to Haldir covered in scratches?”

A thin smile escaped Rumil’s mouth. “Aye,” he spoke grudgingly. “And he would set us down and clean us up, and tell us how mother used to do the same for him.”

“And when we were all cleaned up, covered in this awful, sticky goop, we would complain that it still itched.”

“So, he would ask us where, thenthen kiss our knees and elbows and noses until we were convinced his kisses had healed all the hurt…” Rumil reminisced, a distant smile recalling those long gone days.

Orophin nodded agreement, lost in memories of childhood. “Mmm,” he mused, unconsciously wiggling his leg as he laughed in a low rumble, “it DOES itch…”

Rumil’s smile sweetened as he commiserated with his elder brother, but then his open gaze met his brother’s…

…and everything changed.

Blue eyes flashed wickedly and his grin became something far from sweet as his crouch turned predatory and he loomed closer over a confused Orophin.

“Rumil, what are you—?”

The silver-haired siren stooped low, his dark eyes a’gleaming with untold promises as his pink, bowed mouth parted in a puckered smile. His voice, when it came, was barely a whisper that skittered across the sensitive skin of Orophin’s hip. “I’ll take the hurt away, Oro,” was the promise murmured roughly against that golden pale skin before pouting lips were pressed lovingly against the marred flesh.

Sparkling blue eyes never turned from Orophin, whose own grey eyes had widened to comical proportions. His chest stilled as breath halted in his throat, a light sweat breaking in the heat of the day as the effect his brother’s ministrations had on him was evinced in the sudden interest that grew rapidly between his legs. Acutely aware of their nudity, Orophin still couot pot pull his eyes away.

Rumil, too, stared with hungry hesitance as he allowed Orophin’s thoughts to lead him to whatever conclusion they would, his lips hovering inches away from the healing flesh of the pale thigh and the swelling flesh of the dusky sex.

Orophin offered no words, but finally released the sudden build of tension with a sultry exhalation, a barely heard sigh that stuttered with desire.

And Rumil found that small sigh more arousing than any whispered words or longing looks or karmic kisses. His eyelashes fluttered as he whimpered low in his throat. Inuring himself to the possibility of refusal or worse, Rumil’s grin widened as he whispered in halting breaths, “Have I healed your itch, Orophin?”

Grey eyes, still stunned, sought blue, and Orophin answered in hitching breaths. “Aye, you’ve healed the hurt you inflicted, but I’m afraid you’ve provoked a new… ‘itch’ within me, brother.”

“Ah,” Rumil breathed out, his damp hair trailing the thighs, the groin, the stomach before him, “I apologize. But since it was I who awoke the itch, then perhaps I should be the one to scratch it, eh?” Young Rumil waited, his turn to be breathless, for an answer.

Orophin carefully regulated his own breathing, unable to control this burgeoning desire, still growing like a relentless vine within him. “I don’t…” he halted his words, realizing he had spoke without thinking, and not for the first time that day. “Why?”

Rumil shrugged, making the gesture an elegant ripple that rolled through his entire body. “Because it feels right. And good. And I love you, dear brother.”

Relieved and smiling at this confession, Orophin sighed again, a sound of liberation. “You are right. I mean,” he stumbled over his words, “I feel exactly the same.”

Rumil again grinned his sweet smile, with a flirtatious edge to it. “Then why do you make no move toward me?”

Hesitantly, Orophin’s curiosity crept forth with a troubled question, “What of Lord Glorfindel?”

His brother’s expression did not change as he spoke lovingly. “Glorfindel will always be my first. And I will always love him, as friend and mentor. But he is not meant for me, nor I for him.” The silver-haired elf grew more serious as he continued. “I know not if I shall ever be bound, but at this moment I desire nothing more than to lay with you here, now, and revel in the joys of life and love.”

A small gasp betrayed Orophin at the completion of this severe and honest declaration, but before he could respond, Rumil voiced a question of his own.

“And you, Oro? All those many lasses and lads you’ve chased over the years? None have captured your heart?”

“My heart shall never be captured, but I may give it at my choosing to one I love. I have shared pleasure with many; it is true, but always in the spirit of friendship and easy lust. My heart is yet my own, and this day, I would share it with you.”

At this, Rumil’s grin grew blinding and he shifted forward, banishing the smile only so that his lips could mate properly with his brother’s, slow and heated and filled with a deep, unequivocal sort of love.

Orophin’s long-fingered hand fluttered like a frightened bird, echoing the beating of his heart, as he laid it, trembling, along Rumil’s pale cheek to draw him close and return this first true kiss with abandoned devotion.

A slick tongue tested the seam of full lips as Rumil breached his brother’s mouth, teasing and stroking until the heat of the summer day was nothing compared to the blaze kindled so swiftly between them.

Orophin remained propped by one hand entwined in the grass while the other still trembled against the smooth skin of his brother’s face, but Rumil’s hands were far from still, caressing ever-growing circles against a muscle-corded leg, the rippling planes of a taut stomach, the budding nubs of a smooth chest, until Orophin was panting and weak beneath him.

Finally, Orophin had to pull away, his grey eyes focused on the younger elf with devotion deeper than the sea and love truer than any oath.

Rumil saw this, and smiled. He moved over his gilded brother, coaxing him to lay flat on the bed of grass, that gold hair coiling beneath his head finer than strands of spun silk. Rumil affectionately ran his nimble fingers through the sleek tresses while covering his brother’s face with kisses, from strong jaw to thin-lidded eyes, from red-tinted lips to pointed ears.

Giving himself up to this erotic pleasure, Orophin arched and writhed beneath loving kisses and claiming touches, feeling Rumil smile against his flushing cheek. In turn, the elder elf let loose his passions, matching every teasing touch with one of his own as he thrust up relentlessly in a lazy, even rhythm.

Wanton moans betrayed Rumil’s control and he lasciviously rolled his hips in turn, bowing his head to let silver locks drag along the sweating flesh beneath him in tantalizing swirls. At this sensation, Orophin whimpered and drew his aggressor in for a deep kiss.

Then hungrily they moved together, devouring with mouths and tongue and teeth, claiming with fingers and hands, and thrusting madly to that ancient song.

Pressure built, and with a shout Orophin halted his movements begging, “Wait, wait!”

“Mmm?” Rumil managed as he pulled himself to hands and knees, separating their more intimate parts so he could attend Orophin’s plea with a clear head.

“Stand up, stand up brother,” the elder asked, guiding the slender sentry to his feet with firm, gentle hands.

Rumil stood shakily, looking questioningly down at Orophin, who kneeled temptingly before him. And before Rumil could gather the wit to speak, the golden-haired nymph slid strong hands up supple legs to grip hips slimmer than his own. Then, he kneeled up and Rumil gasped as his intentions finally became clear, snaking a sneaky tongue out to taste the sweat from the hairless body at that delicate crease where leg meets pelvis.

“Oh,” Rumil sighed out, the sight and sensations overwhelming. Orophin continued nipping kisses and teasing licks up to his navel and back around the other side. Rumil could not hold back the slight thrust of his hips, nor the strangled whimper from his throat as Orophin continued this new form of play.

“Cease your taunting, Oro, please…”

At his words, Orophin grinned, but acceded to his brother’s wishes with tender movements of lips and tongue on the head of the lean organ standing stiff before him.

Rumil sang out in the summer air, like birdsong, as Orophin swallowed him deeply, bringing him ever closer to the edge…

He stopped.

“Ah! Oro?” Rumil’s dazed eyes widened, and he released the stranglehold he didn’t know he’d had on his brother’s shining yellow locks, watching as Orophin moved away to resume his lounging position on that green, green grass.

Then, he spread his legs.

Rumil trembled at the wonton invitation, and sank to his knees before the sensual image. “I love you, my dear brother,” he pledged, moving between those strong legs, pressing a kiss to the healing bite mark as he went.

“Ai,” Orophin sighed. “And I love you.” Rumil finally lay aligned atop him and their eyes met, grey and blue, and they smiled.

Rumil let a teasing hand slither its way up from Orophin’s hip to dance along his side, his chest, and his throat, before taking the hand away and bringing it to his own mouth, sucking two fingers inside as he watched Orophin’s intent observance. “Ooh… that’s naughty,” the elder breathed hoarsely, unable to draw his eyes away. “I like it.”

Smilingund und his fingers, Rumil made good show of wetting the strong digits until Orophin wriggled impatiently beneath him.

The hand wetly backtracked its path until those fingers prodded at a waiting entrance, tapping the puckered flesh as if requesting entrance. Orophin nodded his readiness and sighed with pleasure as a slick finger penetrated the awakened ring of muscle and quickly established an unrushed rhythm.

Now it was Orophin singing out in gasps and moans as Rumil sought his center and added another finger to the not inexperienced passage. “Oh, in me, yes,” came the barely coherent request, and Rumil – losing himself quickly to lust – instantly obeyed. He removed the stretching fingers to steady himself at the loosened opening.

A groan of pleasure overwhelmed Orophin’s slight whimper, protesting that inevitable burning pain. But Rumil took care to move slow and read the signs his lover sent in touches and looks. He held himself still until Orophin relaxed, and then withdrew and advanced again, and then again, delving deeper with each loving st, en, encouraged by the throaty noises his brother emitted.

“Ah!” Orophin called out, finding that he was clutching his brother close and dear and that a tear had escaped one grey eye.

Rumil saw this and slowed his movements. He leant forward to lovingly kiss the salty drop away. “You cry?” Rumil asked, keeping the thrusting moves shallow and slow as he brushed comforting hands through sun-colored hair.

“Aye, I have wanted this for so long,” Orophin finally admitted. “And now I have you, it is more sweet, more tender, more perfect than anything I could ever wish for.”

Taken aback at this confession, Rumil halted with surprise, but then smiled in a bittersweet expression, and kissed Orophin’s chin. “Now you have me,” he agreed. “And you can have me for as long as you like.”

Orophin tensed beneath him and Rumil stilled completely, his dark brows furrowed in worry.

Orophin clutched the back of his brother’s neck and drew him down into a tight embrace as if their already intimate connection was not close enough. Orophin’s lips brushed a pointing ear and his usually strong voice quivered with hope as he whispered, “And what if I want you forever?”

Rumil laid a kiss to the dewy skin of Orophin’s neck before he pulled back to survey grey eyes wild with fear and love, a rough mingling of emotions. “You would gift your heart to your own brother?”

“Aye. I wish it so. Will you keep my heart safe, Rumil?”

“It shall beat alongside my own, and we both shall care for each other, for I think you are the one for me.” Rumil halted before asking, “Do you then suppose we should defy elven custom? For while education of the flesh is overlooked, the binding of a kinsman’s heart is not favored.”

“If I cannot have you to share my life and my love, than I shall cast aside all others,” Orophin declared. “No sin is so great as an elf alone, who may whither of grief and despair.”

Rumil managed a smile through all this talk and answered in kind, “Our family hardly has an upstanding history,” he agreed. “And I find no sin in our love, brother.”

“Then shut up and drive me to madness, dear one,” Orophin agreed with a grin, shifting to thrust against his lover.

Rumil stole one more lingering kiss before complying with his brother’s wishes and stroking deep within him.

Their movements, though fierce, retained a gentleness inherent in cautious lovers meeting flesh to flesh for the first of many times. Crystalline voices sounded their pleasure in the forest as they danced the ancient dance together, brother and brother, lover and lover.

Whining moans became desperate, rising in pitch and volume. Rumil reached between their entwined bodies to grasp his lover and stroke him in this forceful tempo they’d created until Orophin crowed his release, convulsing and shuddering with brutal intensity.

He had held back, waiting. And as soon as Orophin reached completion, Rumil allowed himself to follow, slamming hard into that willing, loving body - strong and beautiful - beneath him. “Orophin!”

If time then passed, if the earth then moved, if the sun kept to its path, then the brothers did not know it.

They lay panting, relishing in the delightful lightness that centered them and filled them with peace.

“I love you.”

“Yes, love you always,” Orophin agreed brokenly.

Closely clung the brothers, finding stability only with one another.

After many moments of sweet and gentle touches, they moved back to the convenient pool, washing away the sweat, the grass, the stains amid adoring caresses and amorous kisses.

Finally, clean and sated and impossibly happy, they lay naked together on the verdant bank, with legs again entwined and fingers laced.

Orophin tilted his head to look down at Rumil, who found Orophin’s chest a convenient pillow and rested half atop him, silver hair spilling onto golden skin and lush grass. A deep quiet had settled on the younger brother. “What troubles you, Rumil?”

Rumil shifted, restless, against him. He changed positions, lying face down on top of Orophin and peering with those deep blue eyes into his brother’s grey ones with troubled intensity. “It is Haldir.”

“Ah,” Orophin agreed, shifting to place one hand behind his head, running the other through silver silk. “Our dear brother. He has been…”

“Distant.”

“Aye. Well, he’s always been distant. But now, he even pulls away from us.”

“He mourns in silence,” Rumil insisted. “But what he mourns, I cannot say.”

“Neither will he,” Orophin joked.

“Nay, he will not,” Rumil lamented. He sighed deeply, resting his head beside Orophin’s and lightly kissing the smooth jaw. “It all began with The Dance.”

Orophin’s brows fell in confusion. “Why do you think so? He did not even attend it.”

Rumil giggled unexpectedly. “You just keep on thinking that, Oro.”

Ignoring this puzzle for the time being, Orophin asked, “I have already tried talking to him. As have you. What are we to do now?”

A disconcerted shrug was his only answer.

The brothers lay there yet a little longer. Their time was near spent, but they had moments enough to turn and watch as the sky slowly darkened, crystal cobalt giving way to a violet not unlike the color of Haldir’s eyes, and then a deep dark blue as what was left of the sun illuminated the last of the day.

The sun’s final light fell reflected by the deepening sky on both elves, but it was Orophin’s gloriously golden skin and blonde hair that refracted this light most keenly. And as the moon rose, reflecting pale white light down on the brothers, it was Rumil’s fair skin and silver hair that accented the light most acutely. And for this fleeting moment, a sun-child anon-con-child glowed together in the twilight.

And though the brothers could not appreciate the perfect picture they formed together, they did take note of this moment of perfection between them, marked only by love and joy and all those good things that any being craves.

Rumil snuggled closer in the tightening embrace, and he smiled. “So this is where Fortune’s Wheel has led us. I wish I could halt that wheel, for I would not be averse to staying here, with you, just like this… for all time.”

***

The fading sun brought Haldir to his goal. Silent grace carried him within the deep dark of the eerie forest.

He stopped. “Mae govannen, Iarwen,” his deep tenor echoed through the trees. “It is I, Haldir Feagulion, requesting entrance to your home.”

The voice that answered him was not the sort to be heard by any ears, even those of elves. ‘Enter and be welcome, son of Feagul.’

Fatigued, Haldir found a sigh escaped him at this salutation, and as he moved within the close-grown trees, he found his steps were not as light as they had been.

He marched determinedly onward through the ancient forest, and saw no sign of the ancient elf who dwelt there until he breached the line of trees at her clearing. There, he stopped and allowed himself a small smile at the friendly sights: the old stream still rushing merrily along, the garden of cheery flowers and strangling vines, and the old hut with happy yellow light spilling from the cross-hatched windows and smoke rising from the chimney. The old oak door stood open to the descending night and firelight from within cast dancing shadows on the stone walkway.

Before Haldir took another step, a stooped form wrapped in velvet green appeared in the doorway to greet him. “Haldir!” Iarwen cried with a smile, moving forward with open arms.

But Haldir could not greet her thusly when such troubles weighed his mind. He stepped backward and bowed low before the old crone.

Iarwen was not offended; that was not her way, but his abnormal actions worried her. She halted three paces from him, folding pale white hands before her as Haldir straightened from his obeisance to resume that proud posture. Iarwen eyed him thoughtfully. “Your steps are heavy; I can see you carry many cares. But once again you have come on some purpose. First, tell me of your mission.”

Haldir nodded with relief, but gave a troubled sigh as he removed the sealed scroll from some secret pocket. “Iarwen, Attendant to The Dancer, Lord Celeborn has asked me to deliver you this message and await your swift reply.”

She frowned with concern at his formal manner, but accepted the missive from his almost steady hand.

“Very well. But I insist you come inside and sit down, Haldir.”

He only nodded and when she turned, followed her into the low-ceilinged cottage. He ducked under some drying herbs and seated himself in his great chair as Iarwen fetched a ruby-red tea. The heavy clay mug was accepted with shaking hands and Haldir grimaced at this weakness. Eying the drink speculatively, he sniffed. The smell was bitter and -- he soon discovered -- so was its taste, but not overwhelmingly so and he drank it greedily, grateful for the warmth.

When he had finished, he lowered the cup to his lap, still clutching at the remaining heat of the dense clay, and looked pointedly at Iarwen.

Sitting across from him, her wide green eyes regarded him curiously. “What?”

“The message, Iarwen. It is urgent,” he said without emotion, though his violet eyes had the look of a lost, desperate creature.

“Oh!” she exclaimed as if she’d forgotten it. The old elf pulled the scroll from her sleeve, ignoring Haldir’s intense expression, both hopeful and fearful. Delicate fingers stained with flour from baking slowly unrolled the crisp parchment.

Haldir sat frozen, awaiting some response, but Iarwen’s words were long in coming. Many moments she sat hunched in the great oaken chair, the paper turned toward the light from the hearth. After several minutes of reading and rereading, her green eyes shifted upward. Her sweet voice was quiet. Low. “Do you know what this contains?”

Nearly frightened now, Haldir answered, “Not a clue.”

Iarwen sighed, and life returned to her motionless form as elegant movements re-rolled the scroll and tossed it carelessly into the fire. “Haldir. Brew some more tea. Sit with me here awhile, and tell me your thoughts.”

Too tired to argue, Haldir wearily stood to hang up his cloak and bag, and do as he was bid.

***

Finally, they once more shared the seats before the fireplace and, draining the last of their tea, she spoke. “You carry a burden I’ve never seen on you before, dearheart. You are changed, and unless I’m much mistaken, it has to do with what passed last Byeltinyeh.”

Haldir could not meet her concerned gaze, and bowed his flaxen head. “I cannot lie to you. My heart is heavy.”

“Oh? Please, Haldir, confide in me. It looks as though you have trusted this secret to no other, but you need not bear your burden alone. What has come to pass?”

Haldir sighed, a shuddering breath full of pain, but could make no answer.

Iarwen smiled sadly. “Shall I guess then? Is it your brothers?”

“My brothers…” Haldir murmured. “Nay. I have no quarrel with my brothers.”

“Then your duties bother you?”

“Nay. I am more than satisfied with my work and my fellow Guardians.”

“Your mother?” she asked softly.

“Nay. I have accepted her choice and mine.”

“Your father?”

“My father? Nay. I’ve not seen him in years. Nor have I any wish to.”

“Is it our good Lord and Lady?”

Haldir’s deep violet eyes filled with unshed tears for a moment before he chased them away as he’d long taught himself. “Aye…”

Curious, she quietly interrogated, “What of them?”

“Iarwen…” he brokenly confessed, “I love my Lady as any elf should love their liege. But the love I bear for Celeborn… is less pure.”

“I see,” she answered, finally understanding. “And what can you do to remedy this?”

“Nothing,” he answered simply, now meeting her gaze evenly and coolly, having regained his air of remote indifference. “He is wed. The wheel has turned me to an empty path.”

“I see,” she repeated. “Then another difficult choice lies before you.”

Worry settled heavy on his brow as Haldir softly asked, “What do you mean?”

Iarwen looked to the fire, where the scroll had turned to ash. “Your Lord’s letter is a very specific request. He would like to share Mid-summer’s Eve again with The Dancer.”

As this new weight fell upon him, Haldir’s shining eyes closed as he leaned forward, his head falling into his hands as the clay mug dropped to the hearthrug with a muffled thump. Now it was Haldir’s turn to reply with, “I see.”

“That’s not all,” Iarwen warned.

Haldir looked up, his eyes begging from her some reprieve.

But she had none to give. “No veil.”

“I see,” Haldir repeated breathlessly as he again bowed his head, hair of flax falling to shield his face.

“No more hiding, Dir. Well?”

“Huh?”

Iarwen smiled gently, though he did not see it. “Yay or nay?” she asked. Her voice was kind. “I must send a reply, must I not?”

Haldir shook his head wordlessly before hands again came up to thread nervous fingers through braids. “I cannot answer this now,” he breathed harshly, a desperate edge to a voice weary with confusion and pain.

“Then sleep,” Iarwen instructed, rising to take Haldir’s arm and help him gain feetfeet. “Rest,” she soothed, steering him toward the guest room, “And think with a clear head on the morrow.”

He nodded sleepily, and when he reached the door, turned to face her. “Three days,” he vowed. “In three days, I will have my answer.”

***

Three days had passed, and the weather had not seen fit to improve. The sun still beat harshly down on the earth, and Iarwen worked hard in her garden, tending the herbs and spices and other weedy growths, thankful for the spring that continued to flow uninterrupted from the depths of the earth.

When a silent shadow fell upon her, she sat back er her heels, wiping earth-stained hands on a linen apron. She quirked a brow up at the March Warden.

Framed by the sun, he was only a silhouette in the light, and no expression could be seen on his face as he said in an emotionless voice, “I have decided.”


TBC