Paramour

As the colors of the evening deepened, Saelbeth found that he could no
longer sit and contemplate Tinuvel’s behavior. It was obvious that his
friend was hurting deeply and that healing such a thing would take time,
but that did not warrant such abrasiveness. Part of him did not care,
for it was more than likely his emotional state speaking for him rather
than Tinuvel himself, but yet there was that part of him which, no
matter what the cause, was still slightly injured by the harsh words.

Despite the threat of having to have himself “removed” from the room as
Tinuvel had so quaintly put it, Saelbeth surmised that the Elf still had
to eat. He had already refused sustenance from Lord Elrond, but perhaps
Saelbeth could change his mind.

Carrying the tray of food up the winding staircase, he paused at the
door, thinking first to knock, but then considering the action useless
because Tinuvel would more than likely not bother to respond. Instead,
he eased the door open with his foot and stepped inside.

The healer was still curled in the same fetal ball as he had been when
Saelbeth had last seen him and he wondered if the Elf had even moved at
all.

Setting the food down upon the bed, Saelbeth sat upon the edge of the
pallet and laid a hand upon his friend’s back.

“Tinuvel. . .you must eat something, meleth. I know that you have very
little appetite, but you shall never recover if you do not nourish your
body,” the archer said gently

The healers mind hovered on the fringe of consciousness dancing upon the
edge of the abyss with unsure steps. It would be so easy to cast himself
into the darkness again, to hurl himself over the threshold of the here
and now. He had tasted of that blissful numbness when pain and despair
became nothing more than a memory and his aching heart beat for the last
time. But, perched upon the edge its thrumming melody echoed in his
ears, a taunting, spiteful rhythm that reminded him all to well that he
lived and would continue to do so.

As he lay oblivious to his corporeal needs, Tinuvel's mind began to
recall the ordeal that had led him to this desperate place. A small
child lay just outside his reach, pleading for his help, but he
remained rooted , unable to comply. Icy waves of murky doubt and
unforgiveness washed over him leaving him mute and trembling from the
cold. He tried to reach out, but was held in place by a sudden warmth
upon his skin. Tendrils of radiating light permeated his chilled flesh,
caressing him and lending him a strength that almost made him swoon from
its purity.

The healer moaned against the heated touch torn between his deadened
heart's need for release and his traitorous body's desire for contact.
Saelbeth’s name fell from his parted lips as he succumbed to the reality
of his lovers touch and for at first awakening Tinuvel felt his heart
begin to surrender.

As his eyes began to focus upon the gentle archer that pressed near to
him the urge to take him into his arms was almost overwhelming and for
the briefest of moments the healer was lost to the soothing touch and
soft words.

" Courmamin..., " Tinuvel mouthed the words, his voice barely a whisper
as a wave of violent coughing took him unaware, shattering both his
renewed strength and the silence.

Shards of icy self hatred took hold once again upon the weakened Elf’s
spirit and the sparks of gentleness within his eyes dimmed again to a
dull uncaring stare.

" You waste your time." Tinuvel managed a few low words as his coughing
subsided.

" I care not for your company..or your food.......I desire neither.."
The healer turned his head away from Saelbeth, absolutely disgusted with
himself for uttering such horrid things, but unable to stop the darkness
from voicing its venom.

Saelbeth did not withdraw his touch. “You do not mean that,” he said.
“You are tired and the grief is still too near for you. . . it will
pass, meleth.”

Tinuvel’s body tensed and he closed his eyes against the rising anger
that was catching in his throat, the Elf's touch suddenly burning him.
Saelbeth had no idea what was tearing at his soul , yet still he
espoused to know how he felt.

" It will NOT pass.......," growled the healer, his back flinching away
from the archers searing heat " You cannot help me....so just go
away........and leave me be....... You have never failed at anything in
your life. you cannot understand......" Tinuvel’s hands came up to
tangle in his hair again as he fought the urge to scream.

" You burn me Saelbeth....let me go!!"

The blue of Saelbeth’s eyes narrowed into slits of ice, his hand falling
from Tinuvel’s shoulder, tensing into a fist.

“Never. . .failed at anything?”

A bitter, cynical laugh escaped the archer’s lips. “Never FAILED at
anything? My own PARENTS abandoned me, Tinuvel at the foot of the hills
near Imladris. Or have you forgotten the tale of the little
‘misbegotten whelp’ as I am so often called by our peers? I failed at
being their SON. At least you HAD parents. At least you HAD the chance
to know them. And now, if you wish to throw away your life and all who
care for you over forces beyond your control?”

Fingernails dug angry crescents of red into tender flesh as Saelbeth
clenched his teeth, the heat of anger and frustration rising hard within
his throat.

“If you are willing to lie down and DIE so easily, then perhaps I HAVE
failed yet again!” With a growl, the archer rose slowly from the bed,
his posture stiff and rigid. “Eat. Do not eat,” he said flatly. “I do
not care.”

His bare feet made no sound upon the stone floor as he stalked angrily
from the room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to knock the
nearest painting to the ground with a crackling splinter of wood.

The silence in the room was deafening, but Saelbeth’s words still echoed
in his head. " I do not care." Was this not what he wanted? Did he not h foh for the archer to simply let him fade? He had hurt his friend
with his careless words in an effort to spare himself more pain, and in
the end he had increased his own suffering tenfold.

Frustration built to a boiling point and the healer thrashed in his
blanket covered fortress connecting with the tray of food and sending it
to shatter with an resounding clatter to the floor.

" Let me go!!" he shrieked into the darkened room, his anguish echoing
off the walls.

Please.........let me go...." Defeated sobs overtook the Elf as he
wrapped his arms tightly around his chilled body.

" Sael. . .”

* * * *

Saelbeth loosed the arrow with a reflexive snap of the bowstring,
watching as it sailed far beyond the target and into the trees where it
planted itself into the fleshy bark with a resounding thunk. It was the
fourth time in a row he had missed. . .completely.

And he never missed. . .

Snatching another arrow from the quiver strapped to his back, he
prepared to aim again, his gaze fixed upon the stack of hay with a grim
look of determination.

“Well now, perhaps you should take a break, young one. I heard that
tree shriek from a mile away. . .”

He turned upon the one who had dared interrupt him with a snarl, the
arrow now pointed at a smirking Erestor, who apparently had been
watching him for some time.

The advisor held up his hand and placed the tip of one finger upon the
point of the arrow, his calm never wavering.

“I do not believe you wish to kill me, Saelbeth. That would make an
awful mess,” the dark haired Elf said.

The archer lowered the weapon abruptly and leaned the bow against the
nearest felled tree trunk, flopping down beside it a d a disgruntled
huff.

“You had best leave me be, Erestor,” he grunted. “I am not in the best
of moods.”

“No, I would assume not,” the advisor mused, tapping a finger against
his chin thoughtfully. “Seeing as how you almost skewered me like a
Orc.”

“Sorry,” the archer mumbled, rubbing his wrist where the bowstring had
managed to pop him several times, which was something else that never
happened.

Without asking, Erestor gathered his robes and came to sit beside the
younger Elf, curling himself elegantly upon the log as if he were a
feline poised for an afternoon of sun worship.

“Tell me,” he said, examining the nails of one hand at length. “What
troubles you?”

“I do not wish to speak of it,” Saelbeth snapped more harshly than he
had intended.

“No matter,” Erestor said with a shrug. “I will know what ails you
regardless of if you wish to speak of it or not.”

The dark Elf could be so annoyingly cryptic. Saelbeth glowered at him
from beneath his lashes, hoping to look as threatening as he possibly
could. Then maybe Erestor would go away and leave him to suffer in
peace.

“I am not leaving,” Erestor said as if reading his thoughts. “So you
had best speak, for I have all day to linger here.”

Saelbeth muttered a lengthy curse under his breath.

“Oh, now that was not very nice,” Erestor said. “No sense making
comments about the one who sired me or his horse.”

“By the Valar, how you irritate me,” Saelbeth grumbled, folding his arms
across his chest in a childish pout.

“But you are so utterly alluring when addled,” Erestor teased, the back
of his hand sliding along Saelbeth’s pale cheek momentarily before
pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Stop it, Erestor,” Saelbeth barked, swatting his hand away.

“Then stop being a Warg’s arse and speak your troubles before I am
forced to pinch you in a less comfortable place!” Erestor practically
bellowed, his voice causing Saelbeth to flinch.

The advisor could be intimidating and commanding when he wished to be.

“Tinuvel wishes to fade,” Saelbeth said, his voice woefully irritable.
“And at this point, I am half tempted to let him.”

One dark brow arched at this admission. So, the healer was still
fretting grievously over his encounter, was he?

“He told you this?” Erestor asked, his tone dropping to a gentler
pitch, for clearly the archer was distressed.

“He does nothing but lie about and wallow in his despair,” Saelbeth
continued. “I have tried all that I know to help him, but he refuses
both my hand and my heart.”

Erestor’s arm draped about the young archer’s shoulders, drawing him
closer. “I am sorry, pen-neth,” the advisor said as the blond leaned
against him. “I thought you to be quite close.”

“So did I,” Saelbeth mumbled into Erestor’s robes. “But I was
apparently mistaken to believe that he cared for me as I do for him.”

Erestor uttered an explicative in the tongue of the Gypsy Elves and spat
upon the ground as though the words had left foul taste in his mouth.
Although Saelbeth knew little of the language, the gesture that followed
told him it was certainly nothing good.

Erestor shook his head as he squeezed Saelbeth’s shoulders. “Do not
worry, dear one. I am certain Tinuvel shall come to his senses and all
will be resolved.”

Saelbeth said nothing, for as much as he wanted to believe the advisor’s
words, he did not.

“Do not fret, young one,” the dark Elf said, giving Saelbeth a final pat
upon the back as he rose to his feet. “All will be well soon. You will
see.”

Dusting a bit of grass from his robes, Erestor turned once more to the
archer. “Oh, and Saelbeth. . . should Tinuvel be foolish enough to shun
your affections. . .you know that my door is always open.”

The invitation was not a solicitous one, but rather one of friendship.

Although. . .

For the first time that afternoon, Saelbeth smiled, the memories of his
encounters with the one who had opened his eyes to passion lingering
fondly within his mind. “That I do,” he said.

“May your heart be at peace,” Erestor said, kissing the archer’s pale
lips chastely yet not without a hint of longing.

“And yours as well,” Saelbeth returned the sentiment affectionately.

He watched as the elder Elf glided away, his robes rustling over the
autumn foliage. Erestor had been more than a friend to him for many
years, teaching him both historically as well as carnally. There was a
time when perhaps Saelbeth would have loved him, had it not been for
Erestor’s propensity for wandering lust. Yet still, the dark Elf was
passionate and kind, despite his haughty exterior. And wise. Perhaps
even wiser than even Lord Elrond.

Picking up his bow, he decided that he had certainly had his fill of
archery for the afternoon. A glass of wine was in order. Or two.
Maybe three. A bottle might do just fine.