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Twilight Tales - Hallowed Fate	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4698 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Meeting
- 2-Learning
- 3-Restraint
- 4-Coping
- 5-Guile
- 6-Awakening
- 7-Undoing
- 8-Musings
- 9-Sojourn
- 10-Reckoning
- 11-Illumination
- 12-Avowal
- 13-Beloved
- 14-Visitations
- 15-Tryst
- 16-Choice
- 17-Torn
- 18-Resolve
- 19-Voyage
- 20-Fate
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter XI: Illumination

The scratch of a quill was all that broke the quiet of the study as Elrohir strove to focus on the letter he had to dispatch before the day was done. It was not a simple thing to do when his mind tended to wander to the incident that had eclipsed the celebratory mood over the birthing of Alfirin’s frisky colt.

Neither Elladan nor Imrahil had shown up for the midday meal. That was not surprising though his and Legolas’ appetites had all but vanished after hearing of the morning’s explosive events.

Hardly had they returned to the house after bedding down the newborn colt in sweet hay when Celeborn approached them and worriedly related what had occurred out on the garden porch. Just as his grandsire had finished narrating his tale, Elladan had come stalking down the stairs, his face white as parchment, to inform them tersely of two matters: That Imrahil was leaving Rivendell and that he was heading for the cascades. And then Elladan had disappeared out the door at a brisk run.

Lunch had been a fraught affair during which he’d done his utmost to convince Legolas to go out for an afternoon ride. He knew his mate’s temper all too well. If the archer were to see the effects of Elladan’s transgression on the man who was both ally and friend to him, there was no predicting what he might do. Common sense dictated that it would be prudent to keep Legolas as far away from Elladan as possible until this problem was sorted out.

The Elf-knight sighed as he finished the letter. Strange that it was his grandparents who’d had a hand in baring the truths of both his and Elladan’s love affairs. Though under vastly different circumstances and with wildly different results. Galadriel it was who had ensured he and Legolas would complete the bond that had been wrought between them on the day of the archer’s turbulence-marked birth. Now it was Celeborn who’d revealed Elladan’s secret to Imrahil however inadvertently. Elrohir could only hope that his twin would know resolution as he had. Though Elbereth knew there was no easy answer in this instance. Not when the hearts involved were neither both elven nor human.

Elrohir looked up from re-reading his letter at the soft rap on the door. Bidding his visitor to enter, he rose from behind the writing desk and swiftly came around it as Imrahil entered. The prince was already dressed for travel.

Elrohir pursed his lips and a slight frown touched his smooth brow. The man’s face was a closed book; no hint of his previous distress marked his placid expression. Only his eyes betrayed what he must have suffered through. They were the eyes of a mourner: dull and red-rimmed.

Imrahil did not waste time on pleasantries. “I could not go without bidding you goodbye and thanking you for your hospitality,” he said a little stiffly. “Please tell Legolas I will see him in Gondor.”

Elrohir quickly reached the man before he could depart. “May I explain something before you go?” he said softly.

Imrahil turned suddenly wary eyes on him. It pained Elrohir to see the distrust in the cobalt pools that had been so open and accepting in all the time he’d known him.

“I realize you want to defend your brother,” the prince murmured. “But what is there to say? He used me for his own purposes and fool that I was I did not see the truth until now.”

Elrohir smoothly moved around him to plant himself before the door without looking as if he were blocking the way. “I do not condone any behavior that demeans you in any way,” he said. “I reproached him for his cool reception of you when you arrived. And I had hard words with him when he admitted to me early this morn what passed between you last night. Furthermore it grieves me that you have been hurt so deeply by his actions.”

“Hurt is a ludicrous understatement,” Imrahil said bitterly. “I should not have come here.”

Elrohir shook his head. “You were meant to come here if only to make Elladan face the truth of his feelings for you,” he said.

Imrahil stared at the younger twin. “What feelings?” he scoffed. “I am no more than a – a plaything to him.”

“You were,” Elrohir calmly agreed. “Until you met anew in Ithilien. Things changed then.”

Imrahil laughed acidly. “How so? Your own grandsire was very clear about his intentions for me. Seduced and trifled with indeed! ‘Tis no wonder I was taught to avoid exploring that part of our heritage.” He looked challengingly at Elrohir. “It was because of Elladan, wasn’t it? One of my forefathers realized at last what we were to him and so strove to spare his descendants more grief and shame.”

Elrohir sighed resignedly. “You do not know the full story. But I will not deny Elladan’s folly in that. I tried to dissuade him from indulging himself too fulsomely and was relieved when we ceased to visit Dol Amroth. Though you must understand, he did not trifle with anyone out of deliberate cruelty. It simply was not wise for him to become deeply involved with any heir of your line. Dynastic duties took precedence and he did not wish to risk the chance of your line ending because one or another of his lovers refused to wed and breed heirs.” He pressed on upon noting Imrahil’s reluctant acceptance of his reasoning. “He wooed only those in whom your elven-blood flowed strongest. And even then he did not touch any who was already wed save if one was freed by widowhood.”

Imrahil snorted. “Which explains why he preyed on me,” he said. “And I was stupid enough to ignore what I had been taught. Well, I have certainly paid for it. Please, Elrohir, what more is there to say that will not only make me feel more witless than I do already?”

Elrohir did not move out of the way. “Elladan changed, Imrahil,” he reiterated. “Though no one has seen it but I, your affair did and has altered him and so considerably it will have far-reaching consequences not only for you but for him as well. Your fates are now entwined and I fear there will be no happy ending for him though mayhap you will know a measure of joy ere you part in this life.”

At the man’s disbelieving gaze, Elrohir opened the door and gestured to Imrahil to accompany him. “Come, there is something I must show you.”

Imrahil curiously followed Elrohir back to the residential wing of the house. He frowned when he saw the twin stop before a familiar door. He knew whose room it guarded but he had never stepped within that room. Not once. Another wave of bitterness assailed him.

Elrohir went in but Imrahil stopped at the threshold. Elladan had never invited him to enter his bedchamber. He felt uncomfortable about intruding where he was not welcome. But once more Elrohir bid him to follow and so he did.

He kept his eyes on the younger twin, refusing to do more than take fleeting note of his surroundings. The surprising simplicity that did not diminish the room’s elegance. The wide windows that looked to the distant hills and river rather than the nearby gardens. The provocative scent that lingered and was distinctively Elladan’s. He firmly pushed the memories that scent evoked from his mind.

Elrohir had opened a narrow door by the bed. It led into what looked like a small adjacent chamber. Imrahil narrowed his eyes as he followed the Elf-knight inside. It was a chamber. An artist’s studio to be exact.

Windows comprised one entire wall allowing sunlight to flood the room. An easel bearing a covered painting stood to one corner with a stack of canvas leaning against the wall behind it. On a small desk were a glass container filled with several paintbrushes, an array of varicolored oil paints, sheaves of artist’s parchment, a well-used sketchbook, tapered charcoal pieces, and a small pile of stained rags in an old basket. While Imrahil looked about him bemusedly, Elrohir strode to the easel and pulled off the cover. He stood aside to let Imrahil see the painting he had uncovered.

Imrahil stared in shock as he came face to face with himself.

He stood in proud splendor in naught but his rugged breeches and boots, his chestnut hair caught by a mild breeze so that it lifted slightly to reveal the subtle tips of his elvish ears. Meticulous care had been paid to every detail of his form. The sleek muscles of his shoulders and arms. The golden sheen of his sun-blessed skin. The rippled planes of his abdomen. He colored slightly. Even the rosy tone of his nipples had been captured and rendered accordingly. He forced himself to regard his visage.

He was portrayed as looking at the one who painted him. His cobalt eyes gazed invitingly, his mouth curved into a tender yet mischievous smile. It was the look of one who beckoned and promised much to the one who heeded his summons. A subtle come-hither look.

Imrahil flushed anew and turned his attention to the background. It showed the castle of Dol Amroth in startlingly accurate detail and beyond that the rocky eastern shore and the vast expanse of sea. The prince realized it had been painted from memory. Memory that went back to the beginnings of his family’s ascendancy in Belfalas. He looked at Elrohir in wonderment.

“My brother is not only a formidable soldier,” Elrohir softly explained. “He painted this the winter after we returned from Ithilien. It hung in his room, on the wall before his bed, for more than five years. Until you arrived.”

Imrahil glanced back at the portrait. “Why did he paint it?” he asked hoarsely.

“For months after we returned, he was restless. Haunted by the memories of your time together. As he has never been with others he has taken as lovers in all his long years. By winter, you had become an obsession and he sought to vanquish it by painting you as he remembered you. He hoped that by doing so his mind would be freed of your ever-present image.”

The Elf placed a hand against the side of the portrait. “No one else knows of this portrait. Not Legolas or my grandsire or even the servants for he forbade them to enter his room without his knowledge and concealed it when any but I came here. Only I know that his obsession did not fade and that when he awakened in the morning your image was the first thing he saw and the last before he closed his eyes at night.”

Imrahil shook his head in confusion. “I do not understand,” he said. “Why then was he so perturbed by my arrival if he has viewed this for so many years?”

“This portrait satisfied his longing to look upon you,” Elrohir quietly replied. “But it was merely an image. He could keep other feelings at bay. Feelings that could not be denied once you showed up and he knew you once more in the flesh.” He caught Imrahil’s gaze and held it. “You are indeed but the latest member of your family to catch his eye and grace his bed. But you are also the only one who has at last touched his elusive heart as well.”

Imrahil struggled to calm his tumultuous nerves. “He never said anything to give me reason to believe he cared for me,” he said.

“He did not want you to know. He did not even want to admit it to himself. He was trying to fight it. To rid himself of it.”

“But why?”

“For the same reason you did not expect him to return your love.” He nodded when Imrahil gaped at him in shock. “His choice is irrevocable. He is sworn to immortality and Valinor. No matter what he does, he will suffer grief if he accepts his love for you. Were he to break his oath and remain with you to the end of your life, he would be barred from ever sailing to Aman.” Elrohir’s smile was as bitter as hemlock. “He would be doomed to linger in Middle-earth, the last and only immortal left, forced to watch the unfolding ages of this world, lonely and alone.”

Imrahil sucked his breath in sharply at the dreadful thought. Elrohir gave him but a moment to digest the information.

“But even should he come with me to Valinor before your passing, still will he know grief,” he said. “You will one day go to a place where he cannot follow you. Even should he fade from his sorrow, he will not pass to your place of abiding but be parted from you evermore.” He finally released the prince from his relentless gaze and looked out the windows to gaze at the hills beyond.

The man stared once more at the telling portrait. “You implied that there was more to the story of your sojourns in Belfalas than I guessed,” he said.

Elrohir tore his gaze from the view outside and looked at him. His eyes had darkened. With remembered sorrow, Imrahil realized.

“What do you know of Lord Zimrakhôr?” Elrohir asked.

Imrahil was startled but he shrugged and replied: “He was to be the seventeenth prince of our line. But he died ere his father and so never came to the title. And because he was childless, the coronet went to his younger brother, my foresire.”

Elrohir sighed. “He was childless because he took no wife,” he said softly. “And he did not wed for he gave his heart to one he could not take as spouse. To Elladan.”

Imrahil gasped. “I have not heard that tale,” he admitted.

“Doubtless it was suppressed for fear of scandal,” Elrohir said. “We met Zimrakhôr during one of the campaigns against Mordor. He was a handsome youth and a noble one. Mithrellas’ blood was very strong in him. So strong that he immediately discerned that we were not of your race.”

Elrohir’s eyes turned distant with sadness. “He was also drawn to Elladan and Elladan to him and they became lovers for the duration of that campaign. But unfortunately, Zimrakhôr’s feelings for Elladan went beyond mere desire and henceforth he refused to marry any of the maidens his family wanted him to wed. His sire could not risk the possibility of his coming to the title and not perpetuating your line. And so he disinherited him and made his second son crown prince instead. In his despair and shame, Zimrakhôr turned to drink and dissolute living and these vices eventually sickened and killed him.”

He regarded the subdued man. “‘Tis not common knowledge but Elladan returned to Dol Amroth when he learned of Zimrakhôr’s straits and stayed with him until the end. Though he could not return Zimrakhôr’s love, he did care for him and watched over him until the day he died. Were he the ruthless, uncaring Elf you deem him, he would not have done so risking as he did exposure and your family’s ire.”

Imrahil drew a calming breath. “Lord Celeborn did not seem to be aware of this,” he murmured.

“He is not aware of it,” Elrohir said. “No one is, not even our parents. His family did not wish what they considered so shameful an episode in the annals of your family history to become known and we abided by their wishes. ‘Twas they who decided to preempt any future problems by discouraging the practices handed down from your Elven foremother. Needless to say, that was the last time Elladan had anything to do with a prince of Dol Amroth. Until he met you.”

Imrahil frowned. “Then why did he approach me?” he asked.

“You had already fulfilled your responsibility to sire heirs,” Elrohir explained. “He thought it would do no harm to enlighten you about your true heritage. And you had known a long and happy marriage with your wife. He did not expect you to love again. To love him.”

Elrohir looked keenly at the prince. “Even less did he expect to feel anything deeper for you than desire and some affection. He did not want to love you, Imrahil, for all the reasons I gave you. I watched him resist his feelings these many years. But I think he lost that fight long ago.”

Imrahil swallowed hard. “Where is he?” he whispered.

“By the cascades.”

To be continued...
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Twilight Tales - Hallowed Fate