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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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter XIII: Beloved

The faint light glimmered insistently behind his closed lids, urging him to rouse himself and meet the new day. The comfort of cool if rumpled bed linens and a soft pillow however made the lazy alternative more pleasant. But an insistent tickling sensation along the edge of one ear did not allow an easy return to reverie. Imrahil opened his eyes reluctantly, the dredges of his delicious dream still lingering in the corners of his mind. The reluctance faded swiftly with the awareness of a pair of grey eyes regarding him with utmost fondness.

“Showing your age, O Prince?” Elladan teased when the man groaned and forced himself to awaken fully.

“Any sensible mortal would stay abed until noon after what you put me through last night,” Imrahil grumbled good-naturedly.

Elladan chuckled. “I do not recall you complaining in the least while we were at it,” he pointed out.

The prince could not help blushing as full and vivid recollection of “it” came back to him. That elicited more snickers from the raven-haired Elf. Imrahil shook his and head and managed a rueful smile.

“I did not dare complain lest you ceased what you were doing,” he frankly admitted.

Elladan dissolved into delighted laughter. “You have become as brazen as any Elf, Imrahil nîn”—my Imrahil—he chortled.

“But not as bad as a Peredhel!” Imrahil retorted. “Is there no limit to your imagination?”

“And is that a belated complaint?” Elladan countered with a grin.

Imrahil glared at him a moment then grinned back and lifted his head to steal a kiss from the Elf. He should have known stealing would lead to certain consequences as he was pressed down once more into the bed’s confines. Or maybe he did. He was no longer hesitant with his Elven lover. Not when that lover had since claimed him as mate as well.

Resting a while in Elladan’s arms after their morning’s play, he considered this latest sweeping change in his life, the most momentous of a slew since he met the Elven twin. A glance at the gold ring on the index finger of his right hand and the silvery scar in the palm of his left never failed to remind and assure him of that change. He wondered what he had done that the Powers should have blessed him with another love as great as that which he had shared with his departed wife. Or even greater considering what Elladan was willing to sacrifice for the sake of this bond between them.

They had returned from the river to an anxious reception from the others. Legolas had cut his ride short and joined Elrohir in the study, a perpetual scowl marring his fair face. Celeborn soon added his own worried presence, his concern for both distraught guest and errant grandson apparent in his grave countenance. And Elrohir, while more confident for obvious reasons, could not help the smithereens of apprehension that things could still go very wrong. Their relief upon seeing the two lovers reconciled was so palpable Imrahil could have sworn the temperature in the study had suddenly lowered by several degrees.

He did not spend another night in his bedchamber. He went back to his room to unpack his belongings and put them away. But Elladan stopped him.

“You can unpack your things in our room,” he quietly said.

“Our room?” Imrahil looked at him in surprise, wondering if he had heard right.

“Aye, seron vell.”—beloved. “As it should have been from the moment of your arrival.”

He’d shared Elladan’s bedchamber ever since.

Weeks of bliss followed wherein he discovered what it meant to be the object of an Elf’s love. No wonder Elessar positively worships his queen, he would oft think as the days passed. If this is what he experiences with the Evenstar, then ‘tis no mystery that he should be so loath to part from her even for the most important of state matters.

And Elladan made good on his promise to show him much of the region around Imladris. They spent many a day riding with Elrohir and Legolas or camping with them in the woods outside the valley. Visited the villages and settlements, both human and dwarven, that had sprouted in great numbers along the Great East Road since the return of the Reunited Kingdom’s heir. Even got into a brawl in Bree the result of which had been a pile of drunken men outside the Inn of the Prancing Pony and four Elves (or so the Bree-landers thought) dusting their hands in disdain before returning inside for another round of ale and song. The excursions only ended when trouble with orcs and outlaws erupted once more. Not as difficult a matter to deal with as in the days before Sauron’s fall but a matter the twins took seriously nonetheless and addressed swiftly and brutally when necessary.

Elladan raised the prospect of a binding three months into their renewed relationship. Imrahil could not deny it had taken him completely by surprise. Love he had wished for from the Elf. But something as committed as a binding - it was far more than he’d ever even hoped for, much less thought he deserved.

“What is it like?” he asked curiously. It was the one topic he had never troubled to learn about, as it was the one thing he’d never imagined he would need to know.

They were in the stables, seeing to the midnight-hued colt that was Elrohir’s gift to the man, when the subject was broached. Elladan considered his question before replying.

“Do you mean the ritual or the effects of it afterwards?” he asked.

“Both I suppose,” Imrahil said. “Tell me about the ritual first.”

“Well, the Powers are invoked to witness the rites and Eru himself asked to bless the union.” The Elf-lord smiled faintly at the glint of awe in Imrahil’s eyes. “Aye, ‘tis why we can bind even without the presence of others and with no more ceremony than the blood pact.”

Imrahil raised a surprise eyebrow. “Blood pact?”

Elladan nodded. “We seal our vows with our blood. Henceforth, we become as one with our mates, not only in body and heart but also in spirit.”

Imrahil gazed at him, fascinated. “Elessar and your sister did not perform that rite at their wedding,” he said.

“Not in public,” Elladan amended. “We did not think your people would understand the need for bloodletting at a wedding. They performed it in private after the feast when they retired to their chamber. My sister may no longer possess our immortality but she is still elven in many ways.” He looked intently at Imrahil. “Please rest assured, I am not pressing you to make a decision at once.”

Imrahil paused in his currying of the colt. “Well, it is not without precedent in my family,” he said hesitantly. “Mithrellas did wed Imrazör.”

Elladan did not comment on the remark. He only said: “Take your time and think about it. I know ‘tis no simple endeavor and not something to take lightly.”

Imrahil did take his time and thought about it. The whole day and the next few, nothing else occupied his mind longer or more wholly than the proposal. He was tempted to say yes without further ado. After all, was this not what he yearned for? An abiding relationship with Elladan?

Something nagged at the prince though. Something he suspected Elladan had not told him.

Alone in his room the afternoon of the fifth day, he could not quite focus on the letters from Belfalas that he’d thought to respond to. Not when all he could think about was the proposal. And the continued suspicion that he did not know all that he ought to know. Elladan had not been more forthcoming despite his questioning and, strangely enough, his twin, law-brother and grandsire had not been cooperative either. The problem of course was that he did not truly know what questions to ask and the Elves had adroitly skirted the issue on that basis.

Imrahil laid down the missive in hand. He could not give a yea or nay without fully understanding what an elven binding would entail. He had to get some answers. Of a sudden, he rose from the writing desk and hurried out of the room. He headed for the library.

An hour later, he burst in on Elladan in the study just as the latter was concluding a discussion with a merchant from Dale. Cool as ever, Elladan bid his startled guest a good day, saw the curious man to the door, then turned to face his lover.

“You did not tell me a binding would hold you to me forever!” Imrahil blurted out. “Why?”

Elladan shrugged. “Because you would have said no at once,” he said.

Imrahil stared at him. “I cannot do that to you,” he protested. “What it would demand of you is too much to ask of anyone.”

“You have not asked it of me, Imrahil,” Elladan corrected him. “I freely accept the conditions entailed.”

“But it would fetter you for eternity, alone and without another to comfort you,” Imrahil countered fervently. “Elladan, I do not wish for you to suffer thusly. I want you to be free to seek another love when I am gone.”

“There will be no other,” Elladan pointed out. “You once said we Peredhil know the meaning of love. I should add that we only love once. If this be my fate to give my heart to one I cannot have evermore, so be it.”

“But—”

“I would have our spirits bound, melethen”—my love—the Elf gently interrupted. “That I may know your presence even when you are no longer in this world.”

Imrahil went still. “And would I know yours?” he asked in mingled wonder and curiosity.

“I cannot say for certain if that is the way of mortals but presumably, aye, you would,” Elladan replied. “No matter where your spirit abides you will know mine. If I desired for you to think this over ‘tis only because I do not know if your heart’s eternal choice lies in me. If it does, then I would bind myself to you, Imrahil, for all time.”

Imrahil frowned. Comprehension limned his countenance. “Mithrellas – she wed my foresire in the human tradition and not the elven one,” he said suddenly.

Elladan nodded. “Which is why ‘tis not spoken of as a true binding between our races. Doubtless she feared she could not withstand a future alone.”

“But you? Are you truly willing to endure such a fate?” Imrahil whispered.

“For you, ‘tis worth it,” Elladan replied serenely. “For love of you.” He cupped the prince’s face in his hands. “I would rather know myself claimed in love by you even for a brief season than belong to none for all the ages of the world. If you truly love me, Imrahil, you will do this. You will not deny me.”

Imrahil had not thought he could love the Elvenlord more but, in that moment, he knew there were no limits to what he could feel for Elladan.

“How can I not choose you?” he murmured, eyes welling with moisture. “Aye, I will bind to you.”

The kiss Elladan bestowed on him nearly proved his undoing. Which the Elf embarked on anyway once he had bolted the study door.

They bound to each other within the week with all the household and warriors of Rivendell in attendance. Imrahil had wondered before the ritual took place what Elrohir and Celeborn made of Elladan’s decision. Brother and grandsire could surely not fail to feel some misgivings that the bond about to be forged would require the ultimate sacrifice from the older twin.

But neither protested and indeed welcomed him as one of their own. It occurred to Imrahil then that the family he was set to join was not stranger to tragedy and sorrow and grievous partings. The Peredhil themselves were descendants of a union that had torn an Elf from her family and kindred for eternity. Only lately had they surrendered their beloved Evenstar to that same fate. They had learned to take what joy there was to be had in life and savor it while it lasted. When the time came they would rally around Elladan, succor him in his grief and provide him with the comfort of their company in the years after.

Now, three weeks later, it all seemed a blur to Imrahil. Yet certain moments shone with crystal clarity. Moments that were burned into his memory as a burning brand left a mark on skin or hide.

Of an enthralling starlit night in the gardens of the Last Homely House. And two gold rings each adorned with a single sapphire of astonishing beauty. And the feel of cold steel sharp against warm flesh.

Of the sting of wounds as they were pressed together and the sudden cessation of awareness of everything save the thrilling, sometimes frightening sensation of blood moving between slashed hands.

Of an overwhelming wave of memory and knowledge flowing into his mind even as the same was drawn from him. He had worried then that the brevity of his offering would be found wanting only to look into Elladan’s eyes and see the Elf’s delight and wonder at knowing him so intimately.

Of the feast afterwards, he had little remembrance save for Elrohir and Legolas’ wicked asides. What had followed made a more profound impression on his heart and mind.

The rustling of clothing hastily removed and the hurried tumble into bed. The swift melding of bodies. The tangle of limbs. Hoarse whispers and escalating moans.

Elladan beneath him, sable hair spilling wantonly upon the snowy pillow and sheets, skin shimmering with unearthly light, urging him on until he was sheathed in glorious silk and heat. He tried to hold back, to control his need, but with powerful legs locked around his waist, drawing him in deeper, he could not and he bucked vigorously, almost violently, into his mate.

The free flow of thought and feeling between them expanded and heightened every sensation, wringing from them every last ounce of rapture possible to either Elf or humankind. So strong, so explosive was their pleasure that their cries resounded throughout the chamber. And most likely beyond. He’d wondered blushingly afterwards, in the hazy wake of their loving, how many had heard them.

For the first time, Imrahil understood the effort it cost Elrohir and Legolas to stifle themselves whenever they coupled outside the bounds of an elven realm. Elbereth only knew how he would manage should Elladan bed him in Minas Tirith or Emyn Arnen. And especially in Dol Amroth!

He wondered if he would ever tell his children of this development or if he could. He was not sure they would understand despite their ample exposure to Elessar’s queen and her Elven kin and their own recent interest in their long ignored heritage. Mayhap it was a secret destined to remain so forever.

Joining the others in the dining hall later that morn, they found a letter from Gondor awaiting Imrahil. Elrohir handed it over as they all settled down for the morning meal. While Imrahil read the missive, Elladan took the time to look him over with an appreciative smile.

Since Imrahil’s arrival, he and Elrohir had induced the prince to don elven raiment more and more until Imrahil had ceased to wear men’s garb at all. As a result, he looked more like an Elf than ever. Particularly with his chestnut hair braided in the single plait the twins favored.

Here, in the heart of the most renowned elven realm still extant in Middle-earth, Imrahil had no need to conceal the peculiarity that pointed him up as different from other men. His longevity and perpetual youthfulness no longer drew as much speculation given that Gondor’s king also carried the same traits. But the shape of his ears was too obvious a mark of his elvish heritage and this he preferred to keep hidden from most people.

Imrahil looked up from the letter, his face grave. And patently unhappy.

“What is wrong, meleth?”—love?—Elladan quietly queried.

Imrahil shook his head. “Nothing wrong,” he said. “Only untimely.” He glanced at the others then looked dolefully at Elladan. “The Haradrim are sending a diplomatic delegation to Gondor in response to Aragorn’s treaty proposal. A proposal I helped him draft. The King wants me present when the delegation arrives.” He bit his lip then let out a resigned sigh. “I must leave for Minas Tirith within the week if I am to reach Gondor in time.”

He felt Elladan’s comforting grip on his knee and Legolas’ consoling hand on his shoulder. Knew the silence around him for unspoken sympathy, so attuned had he become to the nuances of elven interaction during his stay in the vale.

The two spent virtually every moment of the week with each other. The Valar only knew when they would have the freedom to love each other openly again. Mayhap in Ithilien but when? In the meantime, letters would have to suffice. Poor substitutes for Elladan’s loving, Imrahil opined each time his Elven mate took him to heights of ecstasy he’d previously believed impossible.

The eve of his departure, Imrahil struggled to stay his tears. He did not wish to be reduced to weeping like a lovesick maid. But he could barely keep his hands from shaking as he packed the last of his things. Draped over the back of Elladan’s easy chair were the travelling clothes he would don on the morrow. Elladan had advised him to wear elvish raiment during his journey as an effective deterrent against brigands who would hesitate to attack a party wholly composed of Elves. He wondered if he would feel comfortable wearing men’s clothing again.

Elladan came up behind him and curled his arms around his waist. He pulled him back against his tall frame. Imrahil leaned into the embrace, closing his eyes as the Elf pressed a kiss against the side of his neck.

“I will provide you with a sizable escort tomorrow,” he softly said. “Orcs have been sighted once more issuing from the Misty Mountains. And there have been reports of renewed banditry further south. Would that I could accompany you even part of the way but...”

“You and Elrohir have business to conduct here on Elessar’s behalf,” Imrahil acknowledged. “Duty will always find us wherever we may go.” He swallowed hard. “I do not know when...or if I will be able to return here,” he murmured. “There is no plausible reason for me to visit Imladris frequently.”

“All the more reason for Elrohir and me to ensure continued peace in the north.” Elladan said. “As soon as ‘tis quiet here once more, I will go to you.”

Imrahil nodded morosely. His eyes lifted to the portrait above the hearth, facing the bed. It now hung openly for any to see.

“I wish I could have a likeness of you to keep by me,” he said, gazing at the painting a little enviously. “It would be of great comfort while we are apart.”

Elladan turned him in his arms. “I thought of that,” he admitted. “And so I asked Elrohir to do this for me.”

He slipped something into Imrahil’s hand. The man stared down at his palm. It was a mithril locket on a silver chain. A simple but elegant piece inscribed with his insignia of Dol Amroth. He noticed the small hinge at its side. Wonderingly, he opened it.

He drew in a reverential breath. Within was a miniature portrait of Elladan from the chest up, his raven hair flowing freely down his back, his eyes teasing, his shirt undone in a most promising manner. Imrahil could not help chuckling at the suggestiveness of the image. He raised shining eyes to the Elf.

“Elrohir is an accomplished artist, too,” Elladan grinned. “Though I doubt Legolas will ever let anyone see the portrait my brother did of him. I believe ‘tis for their eyes only.”

Imrahil laughed, his spirits lightened. And then he stopped, snaked his hand around Elladan’s nape and pulled him close for an ardent kiss. Breathless moments later, Elladan pushed him down onto the bed, grey eyes gleaming lustily.

“You will need a long hot bath tomorrow morning, my Imrahil,” he whispered wickedly. “For I intend to love you senseless this night.”

To be continued...
- 12
- 13
- 14
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Twilight Tales - Hallowed Fate