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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
- 14
- 15
- 16
Chapter XV: Tryst

It took all of Imrahil’s self-discipline not to react to the squire’s announcement as his heart and body dictated. And so he did not dash off there and then but received the news with creditable equanimity.

“Ah, I must welcome him then,” he said to the youth. “Go to Hirluin and inform him that I will be delayed somewhat.”

He waited for the squire to hurry off before heading for the castle courtyard, repeatedly reminding himself to walk at a decorous pace. As he came to the great main doors, he noted Elphir approaching as well. As crown prince, it was also part of Elphir’s duties to join his father in welcoming distinguished guests to Dol Amroth. The king of Gondor’s Elven brother, a lord in his own right, was counted as one.

The prince had to take a deep breath when he laid his eyes on the Elf-lord. Cloak billowing around his tall trim form, raven hair bound in his trademark single braid, he was more than a sight for sore eyes. As beautiful as twilight and enigmatic as night, Elladan drew the admiring regard of every person in the vicinity, man, woman and child.

He returned those gazes with a cool and distant civility that oddly enough did not raise anyone’s ire but only increased the interest in him. And the look he gave the prince as the latter neared him was propriety itself. But the waves of thought and feeling that flowed between them was anything but and caused a most inappropriate stiffening in the vicinity of Imrahil’s groin.

Grateful for the fashion of the day, which allowed his long tunic to cover the evidence of his sudden arousal, Imrahil reached out his hand in welcome. It was clasped in the Elf’s warm grip. To all onlookers, it was a gesture of affability between two colleagues of long standing.

“This is a delightful surprise, Lord Elladan,” Imrahil said, fighting to keep from snickering at his spuriously worded greeting.

“I hope you do not mind,” Elladan replied. “But I enjoyed my last stay here and longed to visit your lovely city once more.”

“Not at all,” Imrahil said. “You are always welcome in Dol Amroth.” He stepped aside to allow Elphir to extend his greetings as well.

While his son and Elladan exchanged pleasantries, he made a quick sweep of the courtyard. It was crowded; more so than usual. But then folk tended to congregate in marked numbers whenever any of the Elves of his acquaintance came to Belfalas. He could still recall the great to-do that had ensued when Legolas ventured into Dol Amroth’s marketplace during a visit four years ago.

He could not blame his people or any of the human denizens of Gondor for this fascination with the Elves. Too rarely did they get to lay eyes on these beautiful, eternal beings. And after all, Imrahil himself had not lost all his awe of the Firstborn despite being bound to one.

He did not know where he unearthed the forbearance to entrust Elladan’s entertainment to Elphir while he went on to meet with the Lebennin party. But he would be forever grateful for his secretary’s efficiency and unquestioning rescues whenever he lost track of the talks due to the byways his mind tended to meander down. He made up his mind by the meeting’s end to raise Hirluin’s already enviable salary.

The midday meal proved a torment as he played the gracious host to the Elvenlord and a few guests when in fact he begrudged every dazzling smile and complimentary remark Elladan bestowed on the other diners, including his own sons. It was only with the greatest effort that he managed to keep his hands to himself when what he yearned to do was lay said hands on his mate and sundry parts of his anatomy. Well, what was to be expected after a parting of more than a year?

With a mental shake of his head, Imrahil wryly conceded that it hardly mattered whether it was a year or a day. He simply hated the separations they perforce endured, lengthy or brief. He had not been able to return to Rivendell much to his regret. But Elladan oft came to Gondor in service to his king-brother. Minas Tirith, Emyn Arnen, the elven colony in Ithilien, here in Dol Amroth – they trysted wherever opportunity found them, making each and every reunion as unforgettable as possible even for an Elf. Such heady memories sustained them during the droughts between.

He looked across at the Elf, amazed as always at his surpassing fairness and incomparable allure. Even the males of his species, supposedly immune to the charms of another male, could not help being drawn to him though none would entertain the idea of their feelings being anything more than fascination and curiosity. The women though – Imrahil sighed inwardly. He no longer bothered to count the number of hearts that were broken each time either Elladan, Elrohir or Legolas came to Belfalas. Not that any of the Elves sought the adulation or desire – they simply were irresistible and even the most sensible of women lost their hearts to them.

And possibly some men, he mused with some amusement. Elven-blooded or not.

It was easy to cross the line into thinking the Elves as soft and lovely as any woman. They were white of skin with incredibly smooth flesh, bore the most intoxicating yet elusive scents, carried themselves with unbelievable grace and were so slender and lithe of form as to seem ethereal beside their mortal counterparts. Even the twins with their more brawny frames were still far more willowy than human males. And there was also the matter of their facial comeliness. Handsome was an inadequate adjective. Beautiful was closer to the mark.

Yes, it was easy to cross the line when every aspect of their appearance gave credence to the belief that they were fragile, yielding creatures. Until one saw them in battle as so many of the current population had not. Or made the mistake of provoking them into an active response of displeasure as some had done to their great regret. Then one realized the steel and power beneath and learned to tread cautiously around them instead.

If only they knew how that steel and power could be employed at other times, he thought, a smirk curling his lips. Then again, mayhap it was best they did not else he would have to keep a close guard on his Elf. He had long admitted that when it came to Elladan’s favors, he was a jealous and avowedly selfish lover.

“Father?”

Imrahil came out of his reverie with a start and glanced at Amrothos. His son was looking at him curiously. As were the others, Imrahil realized ruefully. Except Elladan. His gaze told Imrahil that he knew all too well where his thoughts had wandered. Flushing faintly beneath that knowing regard, the prince turned an inquiring look on his youngest son.

“What amuses you so much that you no longer find our company interesting?” Amrothos cheekily queried.

Imrahil shook his head. “Forgive me, I was only reminiscing,” he said. “‘Tis a function of old age, I fear, to look to the past at the most inopportune moments.”

He heard the snorts of mirth and disbelief around him. “Old age, my lord?” gasped one of the guests, a young nobleman from Anfalas. In his enthusiasm, he seemed to have forgotten the art of tact. “I see no evidence of it and I confess I came here wondering if the rumors of your enduring youth were true!”

“Well, as you can see, they are not mere hearsay but fact,” Erchirion put in kindly upon seeing the man’s sudden embarrassment at being so forward in his views. “‘Tis a trait that has surfaced from time to time in our line and my father is but the latest to be blessed with it.”

That was inarguably true. Imrahil had long proven Elladan’s contention that he could one day pass as one of his own sons. Though they did not bear the marks of their elvish blood as blatantly as he, Imrahil’s children were also slow to age though not as remarkably as their father. One could not blame their noble guest for being overwhelmed to be at table with so seemingly ageless a family. Not to mention one eternally youthful-looking Elf.

It was with relief that Imrahil signaled the end of the meal. He still had several meetings to attend and now wished to get on with them as quickly as possible. The sooner he could end his day’s toils, the sooner he would gain the night’s reward. And it promised to be a delightful long night if the gleam in Elladan’s eyes was any indication of what the Elf had in mind for them. Imrahil exited the dining hall a tad more swiftly. No sense letting himself get more aroused than he was already or he would make a fool of himself again. Hirluin could save his face only so many times.

Small wonder his temper markedly darkened by nightfall. Not only had one of the conferences dragged on interminably and for no other reason than an insufferably pedantic baron, but he had also been forced to dine by himself when the last meeting extended way past the dinner hour. There was nothing grimmer than supping alone when one had been looking forward to convivial company to soothe one’s testy nerves.

He came to his chamber feeling definitely put upon and the sensation grew worse when he entered his room and found it empty. He could not deny he’d been expecting something and to find his expectation dashed did not improve his temper one whit. He was on the verge of slamming his fist into the wall when a timid knock on the door forestalled him. Sighing, he opened it and glared at the offending intruder. It was a servant girl who wilted considerably under the prince’s black regard.

“What is it?” he asked impatiently.

“Si-sire, I was asked to – to give you this,” the lass quavered.

Imrahil scowled and took the slip of parchment from her shaking fingers. He unfolded it. An instant later, his eyes widened and the servant found herself witness to a startling transformation. The prince’s scowl promptly vanished to be replaced by a grin so bright it outshone the oil lamps that lighted the corridor.

“Is – is there a reply, my-my lord?” the girl queried timorously.

Imrahil’s smile broadened. “Oh, aye,” he said. “But I will take care of delivering it myself. You may go, child.”

Hardly had the servant disappeared from sight when he hastily cast off his silver circlet, court tunic and dress boots and slipped on a pair of light shoes before leaving his room. Clad simply in shirt and breeches, he hurried down the stairs, traversed the main hallway leading to the seaward wing of the castle and out the rear gate. Ignoring the sentries’ startled stares, he swiftly descended the stone steps that led to the beach below. He soon vanished from their curious gazes as he strode along the shoreline into the distant shadows.

It was a bright night, the full moon providing more than adequate light for his purposes. But he was guided not only by his eyes but by his senses as well. Something beckoned to him, leading him to his quarry straightly.

He came to a stretch of beach strewn with great boulders and a few gaunt trees. He glanced about wonderingly. A moment later, he gasped as strong hands caught his shoulders and thrust him against the tree behind him. He had a second to stare at his Elven mate’s comely countenance before Elladan moved in for a pillaging kiss. And then he could make no sound save those that came from deep in his throat as his mouth was summarily invaded.

Hands swiftly tore his shirt open and pulled it down his arms. His breech-laces were loosened and he groaned as a heated palm slid in to cup and fondle his already raging need before drawing it out of its confines. He drew in a ragged breath when a likewise hot and swollen shaft came into contact with his and began to slide against it.

Grabbing Elladan by the hips, he realized only then that his mate was totally unclothed. That served to stoke his passion even further and he pulled the Elf flush against him. But Elladan drew away and, before Imrahil could protest, dropped to his knees before him. The prince nearly exclaimed as he was drawn into the moist warmth of the Elf’s mouth.

It took all his will to keep from keening his pleasure or collapsing from it as Elladan proceeded to attend quite voraciously to his rigid shaft. Bracing himself against the tree, he could only clutch roughly at Elladan’s shoulders or run his hand through the satin of his sable hair as he was steadily brought closer to his release.

When it came, it struck him so forcefully he dug his fingers fiercely into the trunk behind him while Elladan drained him with edacious fervor. Spent, he only waited for the warrior to divest him of his breeches and shoes ere he sank down into his embrace and allowed Elladan to cradle him in his arms.

Still panting harshly, he scarcely registered the soft blanket beneath him; vaguely noted a bottle of wine to one side. He glanced up woozily into Elladan’s beaming countenance. A crooked grin curled his own lips. He should have known the Elf would see as much to his comfort as he would his pleasure.

He watched lazily as Elladan took up the wine and uncorked it with his teeth. He chuckled at the roguish manner. Elladan tipped the bottle invitingly. Imrahil obligingly parted his lips to accept the thin stream of wine the Elf poured then moaned as Elladan captured him in a deep kiss, plying his tongue to taste the dregs of the wine in his mouth.

By the fourth swig and follow-up kiss, he was panting with renewed need. But Elladan declined to proceed any further than to hold him close and he determinedly held himself in check. After his wearying day, it was soothing to just lie in his mate’s arms. And besides, letting the Elf set the pace ensured unimaginable bliss afterward. He was not about to complain.

He chuckled suddenly. Elladan raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“I was thinking of the contents of your note,” Imrahil explained. “I had not thought elvish could be so – salty.”

“I only wanted to ensure that you knew ‘twas not for a mere stroll that I wanted you to join me here,” Elladan grinned.

“But there are subtler ways of imparting that without saying right out that you wished to have your pleasure of me!” Imrahil said.

“I believe I wrote ‘to spill myself in you’, melethen”—my love—Elladan drawled causing Imrahil to choke at the memory. “Why be vague when ‘tis so much better to be clear about one’s intentions?”

Imrahil shook his head, halfway between a groan and chortle. “I will be forever grateful to the forefather who decreed my family should learn Sindarin,” he said. “The things you write – I would not be able to hold my head up in Gondor were anyone to read your letters to me.”

Elladan smiled. “What use is knowing another language if one does not take advantage of it?” he pointed out. Then of a sudden, his eyes gleamed with tenderness. “I missed you, Imrahil,” he softly said.

“I missed you, too,” Imrahil murmured. He gazed at Elladan, suddenly sharply aware of the Elf’s incandescent beauty. “Valar, but you are beautiful!” he softly exclaimed, reaching to stroke the other’s sculpted jaw. “Has a man ever been so blessed as I?”

“Or an Elf,” Elladan whispered. In one fluid motion, he climbed onto Imrahil and coaxed his legs apart. “It has been too long, my prince,” he cooed, slipping between the man’s spread thighs.

Imrahil drew in a ragged breath as he was swiftly taken. For the next several heartbeats, he lost himself in the ecstasy of their joining, happily bearing his Elven mate’s driving thrusts. Staring raptly at Elladan as the latter moved above him, he thought gratefully once more that fate had been most kind to him to bestow a second chance at love upon his bereaved heart. And then he could no longer focus on anything as rapture rapidly overtook him. When the first waves of his climax hit him, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth lest he screamed out his pleasure for all to hear.

Elladan soon followed him into bliss, shuddering as he made good his promise to spill himself within his prince. Gasping as his rode out the aftershocks of his release, he leaned down and sealed his lips to Imrahil’s, swallowing the man’s moans even as he smothered his own expressions of pleasure. It was several minutes before either could form coherent thought again.

With a sigh, Elladan laid his head on Imrahil’s shoulder. The man smiled at the soft sound and held him close, running his fingers through the Elf’s dark tresses. Moments like this more than made up for their separations. He glanced down at Elladan.

Imrahil slightly frowned as he studied the Elf-lord’s expression. He had come to know Elladan well and recognized the signs that heralded a change in his mood. The look on his face boded some matter of import.

“Elladan?”

“Hm?”

“You did not come to Dol Amroth only to visit me, did you.”

There was a telling pause before Elladan lifted his head and gazed at him with veiled eyes. “There is something else,” he admitted.

“What is it?” Imrahil queried, unable to quell the slight alarm that singed him.

Elladan shook his head. “I do not wish to mar this night with grave matters,” he murmured. “There is time enough to speak of them tomorrow.”

“But—”

Fingers to his lips silenced him followed by a long, liquid kiss that left him breathless with renewed lust. Elladan drew away slightly, his eyes glittering in the moonlit dark.

“Tonight is for loving,” he whispered. “Have me now, my heart. Make me yours.”

He rolled onto his back, pulling his beloved atop him. Desire fiercely surging through him once more, Imrahil did not hesitate to grant his Elf-mate’s wish.

To be continued...
- 14
- 15
- 16
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Twilight Tales - Hallowed Fate