A Heart for Change

Summary:A Heart for Change, sequel to Nirnaeth am mbar: Elladan struggles with Melpomaen's growing independence. Melpomaen complains about his mate's long absences. And no one is happy about Elrohir's lover. Elladan/Melpomaen (Figwit), Elrohir/OMC



Disclaimer: Most characters belong to Tolkien. Figwit, of course, is the pretty elf from Peter Jackson's movies. Arphenion is borrowed from a couple of my 'serious' fics published as erunyauve.



Revision Notes: Okay, I've bowed to the inevitable. The alternative name for Figwit was causing headaches with archives. Thus, I've replaced the name with the flawed but better-known Melpomaen. Sorry for the confusion - hopefully, this will get me past my writer's block with this y!


Past Tense



Third Age 2851



The White Council was to meet for the first time since the end of the Watchful Peace, and dignitaries had descended upon the Last Homely House in numbers even Imladris found difficult to manage. The head of staff was having fits as he tried to juggle guest rooms and Elrond was ready to tear his hair out in his efforts to keep the peace between old enemies.



Having heretofore shunned the Council, the Lord of Forlond had arrived unexpectedly, somewhat worse for wear after a hunting accident. Melpomaen suspected that the arrow that had pierced the haughty elf-lord's shoulder had been no wayward shot.



"Young elf, excuse my impertinence, but I have lived more years than you can count and took wounds in battles forgotten long before you were born."



"And you studied herbology for how many of these countless years?"



"Avens has always served well enough. I have no wish to become some overeager student's experiment."



"I am not a student and you are not an apothecary." Melpomaen folded his arms. "Take the draught." He met the piercingly bright eyes of the other elf without flinching. At last, the Calaquendu conceded.



In the dispensary, Melpomaen glared at the empty cup, muttering to himself.



"If he gives you more trouble, call for Glorfindel. He is the only one Arphenion respects."



Melpomaen gave a half-smile as Elladan wrapped his arms around his waist. "I can handle him. I just do not need a troublesome patient - I have enough to do."



"You have taken on too much, Fileg. You know that my father or Rasweg will help if you ask."



Melpomaen shrugged out of Elladan's embrace. "I can do this, Elladan. I am just not as efficient as Saer-duiw."



"I know you can. I just hate to see you working such long hours. It is not good for you."



"You do not need to take care of me! And if you want to discuss long hours, then perhaps we should include all the time you spend in the wild."



Rasweg looked in, hearing the usually quiet and passive elf's voice rise in anger. He almost laughed to see the stunned look on Elladan's face, but he secretly was glad to see the young apothecary assert himself. The elf had grown a great deal in the past three centuries, but he still lacked self-confidence and probably let Elladan dominate him more than he should. Nonetheless, Melpomaen was a gifted apothecary and he knew it. When it came to his vocation, he had no doubts about himself, and the head healer felt confident in the young elf's ability to keep things running smoothly while Saer-duiw was away.



He tapped on the open door. "You will be pleased to know that I have released Arphenion. He could probably do with another night to heal, but I was afraid that someone would do harm to him if he remained here. Possibly me."



Elladan took the opportunity to escape from his still wrathful mate. "I will see you at the evening meal?"



"If I am able to finish up here by then. We are low on some antidotes."



"Adar expects us to be there - it is to be a formal meal." Elladan could not hide his annoyance.



Melpomaen's expression changed from one of irritation to contrition. "I am sorry. Of course, I will be there." He did need to finish stocking the dispensary - he would simply have to return later to do it.



He came from simple folk, and still thought of himself as such, though his binding to one of noble birth often required him to wear the guise of a lord. He had learned to dread these occasions. He was not unfamiliar with the various elf-lords and wizards who made up the Council - Lord Gildor's folk had traveled far and wide and had entertained most of the Wise at one time or another. He had been but a child then, however, and a child of low birth at that. He had been beneath their notice.



To find himself cheek to jowl with the rulers of the elven world was daunting, to say the least. He inevitably found himself too tongue-tied to speak and too nervous to eat, and this evening's meal proved no different. It helped little that Elladan, born to this status and naturally ebullient, seemed unaware of his terror.



"So, this is the child who has captured your heart, Elladan," Galdor said, his spoon paused over his soup as he studied the young elf across the table.



Melpomaen pursed his lips in annoyance. He knew that to these venerable guests, he was hardly more than an elfling and that Galdor spoke in relative terms. He found it insulting, nonetheless.



Elladan glanced at his lover and noticed the pale cheeks and expression of discomfort. "You look tired," he said in a low voice, putting his hand on Melpomaen's shoulder.



The elf shrugged violently out of his grasp, causing Glorfindel to spill his wine. Melpomaen apologized and gritted his teeth, angry with himself for having drawn exactly the attention he did not want.



"It is no matter," the golden-haired elf said affably. "Elrohir already threw his wine on me at the start of the meal. If you are so distressed by my choice of attire, I would prefer that you simply tell me the truth."



The meal dragged on interminably. When at last the party retired to the Hall of Fire, Melpomaen bolted in the direction of the dispensary.



Elladan looked to follow him, but Glorfindel caught his arm. "He needs some time alone. All these people are upsetting him."



Elladan nodded, resigned. He was quite aware of his mate's shyness, but he did not know what to make of Melpomaen's changeable moods. Of late, the peredhel felt as if he were walking on eggshells around his lover - he never knew what might irritate the elf. He turned to follow the others and saw his twin fleeing in the opposite direction. He frowned. Elrohir had hardly said a word during the meal. Had everyone in the house gone mad? He wavered for an instant, wanting to follow his brother, but he realized that his father would expect at least one of his sons to make an appearance in the Hall of Fire.



+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



Elrohir leaned against the smooth marble wall of the courtyard. He was certain that no meal had ever lasted so long - the elf's presence had so rattled him that he had dropped his wine glass. He closed his eyes, breathed in the cool night air, and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart. After some moments, he thought he had regained his composure sufficiently to join the others.



The hair on the back of his ros rose in warning. He opened his eyes to see a figure making its way toward him. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to move even as the figure stopped just inches before him.



"Have you missed me?" the elf asked.



Elrohir felt his body betray him. He slid along the wall in an effort to put some distance between them. "No," he answered in a shaky voice. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his head.



"That is not what your body is telling me," the elf answered, closing in to draw him into a kiss. A tongue forced its way beyond hesitant resistance; hands pressed the peredhel's hips to the elf's groin.



Elrohir silently cursed himself and this elf. He would have submitted to anything for him, once. In just a few minutes, the elf had proved that he still held Elrohir spellbound. He twisted out of the elf's grip. "Go! It is over. Why will you not accept this?" He walked away before oth other could react, seeking the noise and company of the Hall of Fire. He feared what he might do if he spent another minute alone, in the dark, with his one-time lover.



"But it is not over, Elrohir," the elf murmured. The mind was powerless over the hearts of the Firstborn. Even Arphenion admitted this - he counted on it.



+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



"It is late." Elladan sat up. "What had you so upset at supper?"



Melpomaat oat on the bed, combing out his hair with vicious strokes. "It has been a long day. Can we not argue now?"



Elladan took the comb from his lover's hand. He gathered the heavy locks into his hands and leaned forward to kiss the elf's neck. "I have other intentions, melethen." He began to comb through the sooty tresses with a great deal more care than their owner had shown. He soon had his agitated mate nearly purring with contentment. He set the comb dand and wrapped his arms around Melpomaen. The elf leaned back into his chest with a small sigh. It was good just to sit here for a moment, good to hold each other.



The elf's breathing grew regular and deep, and Elladan realized that he had put him to sleep. He decided not to take that as a slight to his skill of seduction. He pulled the elf under the coverlet with him and curled around him, following Melpomaen into his dreamscapes--



--a place Elrohir would have gladly gone. Instead, the younger twin lay awake, trying to convince himself it was the heat of the summer night and not heat of a different sort, still burning though untended for 300 years, that kept him from rest. The tangled bed sheets testified to his restless night. He flopped and twisted and turned over, unable to check the tumble of thoughts that held sleep at bay.



It was over between them; it had been over since Círdan had revealed what Arphenion should have told him. He had put that sordid chapter of his life behind him.



He found the ancient Noldo irresistible as ever.



"If you had told me from the beginning, perhaps there might have been room for forgiveness. But you have never repented, have you?"



"It is not exactly the sort of thing one reveals after thousands of years of keeping it secret."



"I was ready to bond myself to you! You act only with thought for yourself, and yet you are lonely. You need to stop burning your bridges and start to mend them, Arphenion."



+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



It had hurt, though Arphenion would never admit it. The elf-lord looked out from the balcony of the spacious guest room, gently swirling the wine in his glass. It had hurt to lose the one person who had understood him completely, who had known him so well and had loved him in spite of all his sharp edges. No, indeed, Elrohir had loved him for those sharp edges. It had haunted him ever since.



The peredhel had been putty in his hands, utterly susceptible in the wake of his mother's departure for Tol Eressëa. He had turned himself over willingly to Arphenion's perversions, and Elrohir had found a way to forgive himself, to let go of the guilt that was eating him alive.



Arphenion knew guilt. It was not an emotion with which he had much personal experience, but he had seen it, had seen better and worse ways of handling it. If the kiss of the lash behind bedchamber doors had brought Fingon release from the ghosts of alonalondë, at least Fingon had ruled and died a proud King and warrior. Guilt had delivered Finrod and Celebrimbor into the hands of Sauron; guilt had made Orodreth a prisoner of his own insecurities.



Guilt - a Kinslayer they called him, an elf with the blood of his brethren on his hands. Arphenion refused to wallow in regret. Nor would he suffer the label of 'traitor' for his loyalty to Maedhros. Gil-galad could not prove his suspicions, and the young king had needed Fingon's former Steward, needed his experience and expertise, for Arphenion was a military genius. Yet Gil-galad had never trusted him as Fingon had trusted him - as Elrohir had trusted him, once. And therein lay his guilt - in lost trust, in the shattered heart of the only one who had ever loved him.



He meant to have him back.



*Calaquendu: male singular form of Calaquendi, the exiles from Aman

*melethen: my love (meleth + -n)