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Twilight Tales - The Captain's Guerdon	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 8528 -:- 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
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Chapter I

Tuilë TA 1010

The two combatants warily faced-off, the first tentative moves but a means to assess the other’s strengths and weaknesses. Though hand-to-hand fighting was not as readily employed by Elves in this later day as the usage of sword or bow or knife, it was nonetheless a much-desired skill and an oft dearly bought one. The Noldor of the First Age had excelled in the art but with the succeeding ages, the Elves’ mastery of it had slowly dwindled as the use of sword and bow steadily gained ascendancy. Few remained even amongst the most renowned warriors who could cripple or kill a foe with their bare hands and have no regrets about doing so. Glorfindel, captain extraordinaire of Imladris’ army, was one of them.

He was undoubtedly a formidable swordsman; was justly famous for his dexterity with every form of blade known to Elf-kind. Less known were his fearsome skills in close-range, unarmed combat though these had served him in good stead in the countless battles he had taken part in since the Elder Days. He could never be rendered helpless before his enemies even were he to lose his weapons. He was known to have broken thick, orkish necks with little more than a calculated blow or a well-placed kick.

This morning he had taken on one of his best students in this most primal of the battle-arts. Since Glorfindel first reintroduced the ancient practice to Rivendell’s warriors, Elladan had taken to it with eagerness, swiftly learned the most basic maneuvers and soon graduated to the increasingly complicated and difficult movements that were the mark of a seasoned hand-to-hand fighter.

Both of Elrond’s sons were already superb in this particular regard. But Glorfindel had immediately noticed a difference in their interest in it. Elrohir assiduously trained himself because of his innate warrior’s need to master all the martial skills. But given a choice between direct combat and sword fighting, he would most likely gravitate toward the latter. Elladan was altogether different.

The older twin reveled in the former. His tactile nature emerged even in battle and he found great satisfaction in the elemental sensation of bone snapping or flesh splitting upon collision with his fist or heel. Glorfindel sometimes wondered if this was due to the half-mortal blood that flowed in his veins – that mayhap he was more inclined to his human heritage than Elrohir. Then again he would remind himself that such hallowed warriors as Fëanor’s sons and his old comrade-in-arms Ecthelion had also enjoyed those self-same results of hand-to-hand fighting.

The object of the morning’s spar was to test Elladan’s grasp of the most recent maneuvers Glorfindel had taught the twins. Stripped down to sleeveless jerkins, hardy long breeches and boots, teacher and student were a study in contrasts: golden hair against sable locks; luminous alabaster skin juxtaposed with fair, faintly sun-kissed flesh; eyes the color of the ocean at its bluest as opposed to pools of stormy grey shot with silver. Even their tall, well-made bodies displayed discernible differences. Glorfindel was elven slender though sleekly muscular as a warrior was wont to be. Elladan on the other hand bore traces of his human ancestry in the slightly broader shoulders and more solid limbs of his otherwise lean and lissome body.

The Noldo initially threw a few swift but glancing punches, gauging Elladan’s responses and checking his reflexes. And then they were grappling in earnest, blocking brutal blows, evading lethal sweeps of arm or leg, keeping from being grasped and thrown down for the moment one lost one’s upright position, it became that much more difficult to recover and stave off defeat.

Elladan espied an opening in Glorfindel’s defenses. Before the stunned eyes of the watchers, he had the captain flat on his back. Not one to waste his advantage, Elladan threw himself atop the downed Elf, knees and feet on either side of the latter’s legs digging into the ground for purchase, hands catching Glorfindel’s to keep him from throwing him off. Where the fair-haired warrior was concerned, victory was never a given even when it seemed near at hand.

Elladan gritted his teeth, the muscles on his bare arms cording with the strain of holding Glorfindel down. The Noldo was incredibly strong and not one to concede defeat so easily. Not for nothing had he been proclaimed one of the greatest warriors of the First Age.

“Yield, O Ancient One,” Elladan growled. “Own yourself bested.”

“Wishful thinking, pen neth”—young one—the captain countered.

With a mighty heave of his body, he rolled them over and trapped Elladan beneath him. But before he could secure his hold on his student, the Peredhel shoved him off and onto his back once more. It seemed Elladan was destined to win this match after all.

But then, in the blink of an eye, the tables were turned yet again. Glorfindel wrested one of his hands free, slipped it between their bodies and, in a flurry of motion, flipped Elladan on his back. There was a concerted gasp from the onlookers; none had anticipated the lightning swift maneuver. All raptly watched as the Imladrin captain straddled his opponent in a manner that brooked no retaliatory reaction. Elladan found himself quite ruthlessly shackled by Glorfindel’s legs all but clamped around his, the fair-haired Elf’s upper body bearing down upon his own torso and powerful hands gripping and pinning his wrists to the ground. With a true soldier’s quick summing up of the situation, he realized that had this been real combat, the re-born warrior would have imprisoned his wrists with one hand and slit his throat with the other.

He fairly thrummed with a mixture of embarrassment, fascination and a hunger to learn the feint that had proved his undoing.

“Do you yield?” Glorfindel demanded, hardly panting despite his earlier exertions.

Elladan glared defiantly at him at first. But then, without warning, he suddenly smirked and his eyes gleamed mischievously. “Aye, I yield,” he unexpectedly purred. “But do you truly wish it of me?”

Glorfindel stared at him in surprise, a faint frown creasing his brow. He felt Elladan shift his hips slightly beneath him. He almost gasped when he felt the telltale jab against his groin. It was not the first time the twin had resorted to such tactics on Glorfindel to gain either the upper hand or, in this case, freedom from the older warrior’s pinioning holds. Unfortunately, it was a ploy that worked all too well since there was no denying the effect it had on Glorfindel as well. His lips tightening, Glorfindel abruptly released his captive and rose to his feet, pulling Elladan up with him.

Vaguely aware of the slow dispersal of their audience now that their match was done, he glared pointedly at the younger warrior. Around them, other forms of martial play commenced and the sounds of clashing blades began to resound across the yard.

“I sincerely hope you do not go about employing such devices on orcs and human brigands,” Glorfindel chided. “That might very well serve to hasten your end!”

“I am no fool. I use what I know will work,” Elladan retorted. “‘Tis hardly a fault to have discerned what distracts you most effectively.”

Glorfindel felt his cheeks grow warm at the cheeky rejoinder. He gazed warningly at his brash student. “You test me overmuch, Elrondion”—son of Elrond—he snapped though with little heat. “You had best beware. You may one day rue it.”

Dark, elegant eyebrows rose in spurious innocence. “Rue what?” Elladan coolly inquired. “Being mastered by one such as your esteemed self? I would hardly call that cause for regret.”

Glorfindel regarded him silently for a space. Any other Elf would have cowered under so intense a perusal but Elladan boldly met his studied gaze. The air between them fairly crackled with tension as well as an intuitive connection. At length, the captain sighed and shook his head, breaking the tenuous link.

“You are indeed sprung from Turgon’s loins,” he wryly murmured.

That took Elladan aback in turn. “What do you mean?” he asked curiously.

“You are as willful as he was. ‘Tis a wonder your parents have not yet fled to Valinor in despair!”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away to check a pair’s swordplay on the other end of the yard. Elladan watched him go, a small smile curving his sinuous lips.

And Elrohir watched his twin in turn, a thoughtful expression upon his comely face.

*********

The day ended for the brethren on a less strident note. The Hall of Fire was not a venue for arguments or brawls after all. Nonetheless, the chamber immediately grew fraught with anticipation as soon as they walked in. They had that effect on just about everyone outside of their family. Even Erestor and Lindir who had had a hand in raising them could not help but regard them with some wonder and appreciation.

Nearly all eyes followed them as they made their way to their parents and Arwen where the three were seated by the great hearth. As warm and affectionate with family as they were stern and aloof with those they could not abide, they went willingly into their father’s brief but loving embrace, returned their mother’s kisses and exchanged happy greetings with their only sister. They then made the rounds of the spacious hall, speaking with a winsome Elf-maid here and jesting with a strapping Edhel there before finally settling themselves in one of the comfortable couches that lined the wall. And all the while, they remained the center of virtually everybody’s attention.

It wasn’t simply because they looked so alike that one had to practically stare at them for several minutes to tell them apart. Nor was it only due to the unrivaled beauty of their faces and forms though that certainly accounted for a good portion of the fascination with them. Comeliness aside, they were also possessed of an elusive magnetism that stemmed from a combination of seemingly conflicting qualities. Confidence balanced by humility. A healthy, oft bawdy sense of humor that more than offset their moments of intimidating gravity. They were pure-hearts despite their breath-taking sensuality; princes, warriors and scholars who looked at the world about them with searching, knowing eyes, perceiving much of others’ very souls within the space of a conversation or even a mere exchange of gazes.

To this latter gift had Glorfindel been constantly subjected since he first set foot in the valley. He was not by any means cowed by it but it did trouble him that any would dare to seek his innermost thoughts and feelings and do it simply because it was a natural thing for one to do. Not that he thought Elladan capable of malice or underhanded dealings. But he had always been an intensely private person. Even with the closest of associates he always kept parts of himself strictly his own.

As a result, he was regarded as an enigma. Older by far than any Elf in all of Imladris he still seemed so much more youthful than most. He seemed perpetually aglow with sunshine – his smile brightened up any gathering, his merry laughter was contagious, and he seldom turned away a soul in need but would comfort or nurture or simply listen as the situation warranted. Yet he was guarded. He did not speak overmuch of himself, shared little of his most personal thoughts or feelings and, most telling to those who observed him with more than friendly interest – and they were numerous, admirers and suitors alike – he took many to his bed but kept none beyond the length of a few nights’ indulgences.

He was for all intents and purposes a loner even when he was not alone. But none could fully ascertain if he was lonely.

He sat in one corner this night, deep in conversation with Gildor who was in residence at the Last Homely House for the week. No doubt discussing the latest “news” the son of Inglor had uncovered during his latest journey.

Elrohir noted his brother’s many glances in the captain’s direction. Glances that were pregnant with an absorption that went well beyond the blatant hero-worship most Elves of their age bestowed upon the legendary warrior. But so deftly did Elladan conceal his true intent that only one who knew him well, indeed the only one who sometimes knew him more than he knew himself, could guess what thoughts lurked in the recesses of his mind. The younger twin sighed and tapped his sibling’s arm.

Elladan glanced at him questioningly. Elrohir gestured in the general direction of the golden-haired Elf.

“You are smitten,” he bluntly stated.

Elladan knew his feelings known to his brother. There were few if any secrets between them. Though they were not completely alike in personality they were sufficiently similar in their needs and desires and almost always knew when the other sought assuagement of said needs and desires.

“I am,” Elladan admitted. “He is – beautiful. Beyond anything I have ever known.”

“He is newly come from Aman,” Elrohir pointed out. “His flame burns more brightly than any Noldor who still abide in Middle-earth.” He paused and pursed his lips. “He outshines even our grandam.”

“Aye, he does,” Elladan said. “Yet ‘tis not merely that which renders him so beauteous. Do you not feel it, Elrohir? His clarity of heart and spirit? There is no stain on him – not even the mark of the kinslayings.”

“He did not take part in that evil,” Elrohir reminded him. “And even had he done so, his sojourn in the Halls of Awaiting would have cleansed him of that sin. But I wonder at your contention regarding the unblemished state of his heart or spirit. History and lore tell us that chastity was never his strongest point. Even in Valinor and later Gondolin, he was something of a rakehell, albeit a much loved one. His affairs were legion even then; his lovers plentiful though he took none as mate. And already he has formed many liaisons in the valley and also in Lórien and the Havens and him not even a ten-year returned to Middle-earth. He is far from spotless in that regard.”

Elladan shook his head. “To seek relief for one’s bodily needs or fulfill a desire for convivial company in no way stains one as you well know, muindor”—brother—he countered. “He has never seduced the unknowing, forced the unwilling or coerced the uncertain. He takes only what is freely offered and never misleads any into believing there is more to be found in his bed than simple pleasure. Have you not noted how he remains on friendly terms with all his lovers even after parting ways with them? That is more than we can say for many others, including ourselves.”

“You defend him passionately,” Elrohir remarked with some amusement. “I wonder what our valiant Balrog slayer would say were he to hear his lord’s son wax so effusively about his virtues?”

Elladan scowled even as a faint blush suffused his cheeks. “He would doubtless be discomfited and shy from my company even further,” he said. “I beg you to keep this to yourself, Elrohir. There are already enough obstacles in my way without adding more to the list.”

“Obstacles?” Elrohir echoed. “To what end? Do you truly intend to woo him?”

“And mayhap win him.”

“You are brave.”

“So kind of you to say so when in truth you think me foolhardy.”

“Is there a difference?”

Elladan punched his twin’s arm hard enough to make him yelp. “A fine help you are,” he snorted. “I should not have told you.”

“I would have known nevertheless,” Elrohir said, rubbing his arm. “There is little you can keep from me or I from you.” He nodded in Glorfindel’s direction. “If he is what you desire, if ‘tis he who will make you happy, then I will help you, Elladan, even if I must hold my tongue to do so. Surely you know that.”

Elladan smiled. “I do,” he softly replied.

Elrohir regarded him with fondness. “I do not doubt that you will achieve your desire,” he said.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” After a pause, the Elf-knight lightly added: “What Elf with any sense can resist your considerable charms?”

“Glorfindel might,” the older twin sighed.

“Then he would not be of sound mind and you would have to be witless to desire him in that case!” Elrohir retorted.

Elladan laughed at his brother’s lively defense of his attractions. “I think Glorfindel should count himself fortunate that ‘tis I who has set my sights on him,” he said. “What you would do to achieve your ends verily makes me shudder! He would likely need rescuing by the time you were half done with him. Provided he was still sentient enough to sound the alarm!”

******************

Glossary:

tuilë – Quenya for spring

Edhel - Elf

To be continued…
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Twilight Tales - The Captain's Guerdon