Of Gifts and Giving | By : nuwing Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1174 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
*Title: Of Gifts and Giving (1/1)
*Author: Minuial Nuwing
*Contact: minuial_nuwing@yahoo.com
*Website: http://geocities.com/minuial_nuwing
*Rating: PG-13 (gasp!)
*Type: FPS
*Pairing: Elladan/Elrohir
*Warning: Implied twincest
*Archive: First Light, AFF.net, LoM, OEAM, Cipher; Others: I would be honored-Just let me know, please!
*Feedback: Makes me smile, and write faster…
*Summary: Elladan and Elrohir share the first Yuletide eve after their majority.
*Beta: No, actually – see the Author’s Note.
*Notes: Italics indicate mindspeak or thoughts, when not used for simple emphasis. In plain-text, stars (**) indicate italics. One star (*blah*) for emphasis, two stars (**blah**) for mindspeak or thoughts.
*Disclaimer: Only the quirks and perversions are mine. Everything else belongs to the creator-god of Middle Earth, J.R.R. Tolkien. I am awed by his gifts and humbled by his vision. I promise to clean them all up and return them with smiles on their faces when I am done playing!
*A/N 1: For my dearest Fimbrethiel, who listens to my ravings, keeps my elves in line, and just generally brightens my inbox and my life. Love you, sweetie!
*A/N 2: It’s not my fault – they wouldn’t let me watch. ‘Roh says it isn’t that kind of story!
***************
~Imladris, Rhîw 630 III~
Wiping the sweat from his eyes with a leather-covered forearm, Elladan was unable to force back a sigh of frustration. Despite his best efforts, despite the advice and oversight of a master craftsman, his critical gaze still found much to despise in the result of his labors.
Magoldan laid a calming hand on one tense shoulder. “Enough,” the older elf said firmly. “Many a finely wrought piece has been ruined by overworking. ’Tis as well crafted as I could have offered at twice your age, and I have never been unnecessarily humble. Indeed, ‘tis as fine as many a guilded elf could produce. Tomorrow you must look to the finishing of it, ernil neth.”
Heartened, Elladan plunged the white-hot mithril into a cooling cask, then stripped off his protective leathers and gave his mentor a grateful smile before heading for his chambers and a much-needed bath.
***********************
Elrohir took one last look around, his cheeks flushing slightly as his gaze lingered on the thick grey fur that lay primly folded on a stark wooden bench. Though there was precious little floor space, the fur would just cover the smoothly worked stones. The elf-knight knew this to be true, because he had shaped and sewn the groundsheet himself, just as he had painstakingly laid each stone and notched each timber. Satisfied, he turned his back on the warmth and color, closing the door securely before setting out across the snow-covered field.
***********************
A cheerfully flickering fire and the spicy-sweet aroma of mulled wine met Elrohir as he pushed open the chamber door. Basking in the warmth, he shrugged off his heavy tunic and filled a mug from the small kettle on the hearth before sinking thankfully onto the pile of pillows and furs that covered the floor in front of the rough stone fireplace.
The muted splash of running water told him that Elladan had once again returned from his mysterious training session in need of a thorough cleaning. Sipping carefully at the steaming wine, he tried in vain to banish the images called up by the sounds from the bathing chamber.
Elladan, dripping wet, his ink-dark hair clinging to luminous skin, his body flushed with the heat of the water...
“I thought you might be in need of a little extra warmth, after so long in the field.”
Elrohir started at the voice, looking up to find his brother smiling at him almost shyly. Elladan had not bothered to dress past decency’s demands, and his bare chest gleamed with a sheen of moisture left behind by a careless toweling. A recently familiar ache lodged itself in the younger twin’s gut.
Their newly sealed bond was perilously potent, much like the connection between just-mated elves, and they struggled still with the melding of the two facets of their relationship – it was often difficult, indeed, to be both brother and lover to the other half of your soul.
Lowering himself to the floor, Elladan filled his own mug before turning to the elf-knight expectantly. “How are the yearlings coming along?”
There was a moment’s pause before Elrohir remembered that the breaking of last year’s foals was what had supposedly kept him away much of the day these past weeks. Silently vowing to check on the young horses at first chance, he replied, “’Tis a fine crop, ‘Dan, though still green, to be sure. There are some lovely mounts among them, or I am no horseman.”
“And thus poorly named,” Elladan teased, a flash of white teeth visible before he sipped gingerly at his drink.
“And what of your training, tôren?” the elf-knight asked, perhaps too casually. “Has Gildor not battered you sufficiently as of yet?” There was an edge to Elrohir’s voice and he winced, himself, at the accusatory tone.
Elladan sighed, mentally kicking himself for choosing a spate of training with Gildor as his excuse for time away from their joint activities. Though in truth the twins made poor sparring partners, due to their intense connection, they normally trained at the same time, often as a team. Elladan had cut short these practices to make time for instruction of another sort, and he feared the ruse had worked all too well. If there was a bone of contention between the brothers, it was the elder twin’s long-nursed fascination with the golden-haired wanderer.
Reaching out to grasp the elf-knight’s hand, Elladan threaded their fingers together and leaned in to brush Elrohir’s cheek with his own. “Do you not trust me, ‘Roh?” he asked soberly. “We made a vow, did we not? There is much to learn, much to reconcile here, before we invite another into our bed.”
“’Tis not our bed that concerns me...’tis yours,” the younger twin answered grumpily, though a sheepish grin touched his lips. “You are a fool for that gypsy-elf, ‘Dan. You always have been.”
“Aye, as you have always been a fool for Thranduil,” Elladan retorted, eyes dancing. “Should I challenge the woodland king to a duel, then?”
“Nay,” Elrohir snorted, moving to sit astride his brother’s leather-clad thighs. Meeting the elder twin’s darkening gaze, he brushed Elladan’s lips with his own. “You should love me ‘til he is but a vague memory.”
***********************
The crowd in the Hall of Fire was large and boisterous, the cheer of the Yuletide eve infecting even the soberest of the valley’s inhabitants. An extravagant meal had been followed by music and dancing, and as the first wave of elves headed for their own homes and beds, sleepy elflings tucked securely in their parent’s arms, Elrond and Celebrían presided over the dwindling chaos cheerfully.
Bidding the Lord and Lady a fond good-night, the twins took their leave of the Hall with the other departing guests, a sense of bristling expectancy surrounding the walk back to their chambers. They had long kept the custom of exchanging gifts privately, a ritual which seemed even more appropriate this season, their majority celebration so recently past.
As the heavy wooden door swung closed behind them, Elrohir caught his brother’s hand, silver-grey eyes shining. “May we make a small break with tradition this year, el nín?” At Elladan’s inquisitive look he continued, “I wish to save my gift to you for last. ‘Twill make things a bit easier, I deem.”
“Greedy this season, are you, ‘Roh?” the elder twin teased, the affectionate tone taking the sting from his words. “Aye, if it pleases you, you may open your gift first.”
Retreating to the bedchamber, Elladan soon reappeared with a velvet-wrapped box, tassels of silver and white gleaming against the midnight blue fabric. Dropping to the pillows beside the elf-knight, he offered the package with uncharacteristic reticence. “Joyous Yule, tôren.”
Elrohir took the lavishly wrapped box, surprised by its lack of weight. “’Tis nearly too fine to spoil,” he said with a smile, running his fingers appreciatively over the soft velvet.
“Go on,” the elder twin prodded. “Open it.”
Startled by the ill-suppressed anxiety in Elladan’s voice, the elf-knight leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to one pale cheek before turning his attention to the knots and bows that held his gift captive. Finally pulling the lid free, he turned back yet another fold of deep blue velvet to reveal his brother’s offering. “Oh...’Dan...” he breathed, meeting Elladan’s hopeful gaze as understanding dawned. “You did this...’tis your work. ’Tis...’tis...beautiful.”
Against the lush velvet lay a gleaming mithril boot-knife, the handle wrapped in intricately woven black leather, the parchment-thin truesilver sheath set with a single line of lapis lazuli and emblazoned with his name in Elladan’s fluid script.
“Draw it, rohir nín,” the elder twin urged. “A blade is of little use sheathed.”
Pulling the small but deadly weapon from its case, Elrohir turned it slowly, the keen double-edge flickering wickedly in the firelight. Eyes shining, he saw that the blade was etched near the haft with the stylized runes that had long ago become their combined signature. The elf-knight carefully returned the knife to its sheath before sliding both into place in his boot. “Thank you,” he whispered, drawing Elladan into a tight embrace. “Melin chen, tôren. Guren.”
“Melin chen,” the elder twin returned, pressing a lingering kiss to Elrohir’s mouth. “I am glad it pleases you so, ‘Roh.”
The elf-knight pulled away slightly, his eyes sparkling. “Sparring with Gildor, were you?”
“Aye...once, at any rate,” Elladan said with a grin. “I daresay I will pay for my lack of training time after Glorfindel’s Yuletide spirit flees.”
“I fear so,” Elrohir agreed with a chuckle, rising to retrieve something from behind the side table. “But ‘tis your turn now, ‘Dan. Come, see if I have done half as well.”
Taking the offered gift, Elladan found that it was not a box, but a gaily beribboned basket, the lid tied firmly in place.
“Open it, tôren,” the elf-knight invited eagerly, eyes fixed on his brother’s face, “ere I explode.”
Chuckling at Elrohir’s excitement, the elder twin carefully unlaced the scarlet ribbons, lifting the basket lid. His gasp of astonishment was all the elf-knight had hoped.
“Strawberries?” Reaching out a tentative finger, as though he feared the contents of the basket were but a mirage, Elladan met his brother’s laughing eyes. “How...who...where did you get fresh strawberries, rohir nín? At Yuletide?”
“Come and see, gwanunigen!” Elrohir sang out delightedly, leaping to his feet to pull at Elladan’s arm impatiently.
Bemused, the elder twin allowed himself to be bundled into his cloak and steered through the nearly deserted back halls to a small side door. The slap of icy air shook him from his stupor, and he caught his brother’s arm. “’Roh? Where are we going?”
“Patience, ‘Dan,” the elf-knight chided, heading down the moonlit path. “Just follow.” When they reached the edge of the formal garden, Elrohir stopped abruptly. “Close your eyes.”
All protest died on Elladan’s lips as he met the elf-knight’s sparkling gaze, and he closed his eyes obediently. “Lead on, then, tôren,” he said with a smile. “But I shall demand payment for every bad step.”
“Agreed,” Elrohir replied, taking his brother’s arm. “’Tis not far now.”
Crossing the short-shorn winter field easily, the elf-knight halted before the rough-hewn log structure. Drawing a deep breath, he lifted the latch and quickly turned up the low-lit lantern. “Yuletide blessings, tôren. Open your eyes.”
Elladan’s first impression was of warmth, glowing lamplight and an explosion of vivid color. Mounds of furry green leaves sheltered juicy red berries in narrow beds along two of the well-chinked walls. A simple wooden bench on a third wall held a luxurious grey fur, and at the far end of the bench a small hot spring bubbled merrily, explaining the heat and humidity in the snugly sealed chamber. The roof was set with four heavy panes of clear glass, the sturdy frames hinged for raising, to let in the air on warm days.
“Close the door, ‘Dan,” Elrohir said with a smile. “You are letting in the cold.”
Still speechless, Elladan moved to the middle of the tiny room and looked around in amazement, imagining all the hours it had taken to fit the timbers and set the glass, lay the stones and plant the beds, and then met his brother’s gaze. “For me?” he managed.
“Does it please you, el nín?” the elf-knight asked anxiously. “I found a farmer halfway to Bree who knew the form – a hothouse, they call it. He grows berries and melons, and sold me the plants. I started only strawberries, but the healers say ‘twould be easy to grow athelas and stinging nettle, and comfrey, as well...whatever you wish to tend.”
“It is the most wonderful thing I have ever been given,” Elladan said solemnly, his eyes glistening as he pulled Elrohir into his arms. “Save the gift of you, rohir nín. Melin chen.”
“I am glad,” the elf-knight whispered, burying his face in his brother’s neck, “because you are my greatest gift, as well. Melin chen.” Raising his head, he caught Elladan’s lips in a tender kiss.
Long moments passed, the gentle kiss becoming hungry and demanding as the pull of their bond strengthened. Breaking away reluctantly, Elladan pressed his forehead to Elrohir’s, staring into eyes gone as dark and bottomless as his own. “The fur, ‘tis mine as well, ‘Roh?”
“Aye, ‘tis yours, tôren,” the elf-knight answered breathlessly, nibbling at the sharp angle of his brother’s jaw. “Why?”
“Because I intend to put it to good use,” Elladan purred, his eyes glittering as he reached to extinguish the lantern.
*~*~*~*~*
Elvish Translations:
ernil neth – young prince
tôren – my brother
el nín – my star
rohir nín – my knight
Melin chen – I love you
guren – my heart
gwanunigen – my twin
Name:
Magoldan – swordwright
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