Secrets on the Terrace

A/N: This little drabble was inspired by the Elven Slash Plotbunny Generator from Mandos found at Queen Cheetah's Domain…at the Little Balrog Group a drabble is a story under 1,000 words, so you may consider it a short story rather than a drabble…in either case…

Title: Secrets on the Terrace

It all started when: Elrohir

went to: Gondor

and saw: Glorfindel

who was: smirking at him

Rating of your story: R

Number of people who read it

falls in love with it and writes the sequel 5,292

Secrets on the Terrace

Evening was falling as the Slayer leaned against the balustrade that overlooked the lower six levels of Minas Tirith. The rising moon picked silvery highlights from his golden hair, blowing loose and free behind him in the cooling night breeze. He sighed, his keen eyes picking out the many pairs of lovers who hid in the shadows below, believing they were alone and unwatched, as they stole kisses.

Always it had been this way…always alone…always the watcher. Another sigh escaped his full lips, as he allowed himself a rare, brief moment of self-pity. Since his reincarnation, when he had returned and found his inclinations had changed, he had chosen to remain alone. Straightening, his tossed back his golden mane, his face tightening in its usual mask of haughty indifference conjured instantly at the sound of soft footfalls behind him.

"Good Eve, Lord Glorfindel," Elrohir said, nodding his head respectfully as he approached the Slayer.

"And to you, my Young Lord," Glorfindel replied, returning the respectful nod in turn. "What brings you to the terrace at this hour? I would have thought you hip deep in an Elleth by now."

Elrohir snorted, his grin allowing his teeth to flash white in the moonlight. "'Tis my brother you think of, Glorfindel, not I."

Glorfindel chuckled, well aware of Elladan's well earned promiscuous reputation. He turned back to lean against the balustrade once more, allowing himself to watch the young Elf Lord through his peripheral vision. Nearly as tall as Glorfindel himself, Elrohir was of a slighter, but no less firm, build, filling out his tunic and leggings admirably. Ebony hair flowed down his back in waves, the hair at the crown of his head braided in an intricate fashion as befitting the son of Elrond. His face, while a mirror image of his twin's, somehow seemed more mature to Glorfindel, although still every bit as handsome, with his dark eyes, high cheekbones, fine, patrician nose, and full lips.

"And you, Glorfindel? Why do I find you here, alone, when just below us Ellith gnash their teeth and tear their hair at the absence of the "Golden One?"

Outright laughter bubbled from Glorfindel's lips, a most unusual sensation for the somber Elf Lord. "You would have me believe that the fair Ellith wear sackcloth and ashes mourning my truancy, Elrohir! Surely none have missed my presence to such an extent!"

"They throw themselves from the balustrades, my Lord. Can you not see their broken bodies dashed upon the stone walkways below us?" Elrohir replied, careful to keep his features stern, although he ached to laugh along with Glorfindel. The Slayer's laughter was a precious commodity, rarely earned, and Elrohir savored each note.

"Truly, Elrohir, your humor lightens my heart. Would you have me believe they do less for lack of your attention? Come, we will go join the others…perhaps you will yet find an Elleth both nearsighted and deaf who would dally with you!"

Laughing, but sobering quickly, Elrohir shook his head, declining the Slayer's offer. "Nay, Glorfindel…I have no ambition to return as of yet. The night is too beautiful and…" Elrohir's voice trailed off, his newfound familiarity with the Slayer having loosened his tongue.

"And? And, what, my young Lord?" Glorfindel asked softly, his turquoise eyes pinning Elrohir to the spot.

"And…and…" Elrohir stuttered, unable to look away from Glorfindel's piercing gaze, yet unwilling to complete his thought. Never had he come so close to showing his true feelings, and he felt as though he were at the brink of a precipice with one foot dangling over the edge into space. He was certain that the smallest breeze would send him toppling down into the abyss.

Glorfindel saw the fear in the young Peredhil's indigo eyes, as well as the longing that matched his own. Again, that most familiar smirk found its way to his lips, as he gently cupped Elrohir's chin in the palm of his hand. Leaning forward, mindful that for once he was about to become the watched rather than the watcher, he pressed his lips softly to the young Lord's.

Pulling away, he whispered, "Come, Elrohir…we must rejoin the celebration, for 'tis not every day that your sister marries…but I will promise you this - the one I take to my bed tonight will not be one who would throw themselves over a balustrade to gain my attention, but one who would seek me out in the darkness, and endeavor to cheer me. Besides," he added with a soft chuckle, "it would be a terrible impropriety for anymore Ellith to fall to their deaths, would it not?"

A smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, relief flooding his soul as his secret was discovered, accepted, and, it seemed, returned, Elrohir walked side by side with the Slayer heading toward the Hall of the King's House. As they entered the room, he glanced up at the tall, blonde warrior beside him, whispering, "'Tis not the fall that kills them, Glorfindel…'tis the hard stop at the end!"

Glorfindel's laughter burst through his lips, catching him unaware, as every head in the Hall of the King's House turned toward him, eyebrows raised, jaws agape.

Elrohir looked straight ahead, affecting not to notice, but the smirk on his handsome face said otherwise.