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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
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter III: Restraint

Edoras, Úrui TA 3019

“‘Tis nothing like Minas Tirith, is it?” Erchirion murmured.

Imrahil smiled at his second son. “Nay, it is not as ancient in years or spirit,” he agreed.

It was their third day in Edoras, the capital of Rohan, but Imrahil and his sons had not yet quite accustomed themselves to the more primal atmosphere of this young kingdom of men. That sense of immense age and deep knowledge did not pervade the Horse-lords’ city as it did Minas Tirith.

But Edoras was by no means less charming. It was merely different having come of age in a later day. And it was vibrant with life and energy. The Rohirrim bore none of the world-weary airs that some of Gondor’s citizens carried about them. In terms of whole civilizations, Rohan was not yet in the prime of its life.

Imrahil and Erchirion stood upon the paved terrace before the great doors of Meduseld and looked upon the city. Below they espied a group of Elves walking down the winding main road, their lengthy tresses flowing in the slight breeze. Erchirion regarded them thoughtfully.

“They do not quite fit here,” he remarked, nodding in their direction. “If one were to believe the tales of their ages, they belong more in Minas Tirith than in so young a country.”

“You may believe the tales,” Imrahil said. “There are none amongst our Elven companions who are younger than five centuries at least.”

Erchirion stared at the Elves in some amazement then glanced at his father. “How do you know this?”

“Elrond’s sons told me,” the prince replied.

“You spend much time in their company,” Erchirion mused. “What is it that you find so interesting that you seek them out?”

“Knowledge,” Imrahil said. “There is much they know that is not from books but is actual lore to them.”

“Such as?”

“Imrazör and Mithrellas.”

Erchirion stared at him. “Then, she is in truth our foremother?” When Imrahil nodded, he queried: “But how can Elrond’s sons be certain of this?”

“They were already approaching their two thousandth year of life when Dol Amroth was but a speck in Galador’s mind.”

Erchirion whistled at the information. “And their friend, the Mirkwood prince?”

“Nay, he is younger than they. Young even by the reckoning of their kindred for he is but nine centuries old.”

Erchirion started in shock then recovered and chuckled. “I suppose youth is relative when one lives forever,” he remarked. They both glanced back when Elphir and Amrothos appeared at the doors and hailed their brother. “Ah, pardon me, Father, but Lady Èowyn invited us to join her and Faramir for a ride this morn.” Erchirion grinned. “Methinks she does not quite trust our dear cousin to keep his hands to himself until after their wedding!”

Imrahil laughed and watched his sons hasten down the steps and head for the stables. A tall raven-haired man and a willowy young woman with locks the shade of wheat came out to meet them. Imrahil gazed at the group fondly.

It was heartening to see his nephew so happy and content. Imrahil would have loved Èomer’s sister for that achievement alone. She had brought a light to Faramir’s eyes that had been so long missing. Thank Eru they had found each other even in the midst of so much evil and strife.

His eyes returned to the Elves. The group was almost out of sight having reached the first turn in the cobbled path. Even as they vanished from his sight, another smaller group of three came into view, returning from some jaunt below. Imrahil’s heart started to race. It was Elrond’s sons and the woodland archer.

Imrahil cursed himself for reacting so inordinately to the mere sight of the older twin. Striving to control his unseemly feelings, he retreated into the Golden Hall and firmly tried to turn his thoughts to other matters. That these other matters still had to do with Elves was of no import so long as it had to do with other Elves.

He walked as far as the entrance to the narrow corridor that led to the chambers allotted to him and his sons. He considered what he had learned of their plans for the future. Elrond would be leaving Middle-earth soon as would the Lady Galadriel. They were weary beyond endurance; one could see it in their eyes. What it was that drained them so as it did not the others, he did not know. But it was clear they no longer felt at home in these lands.

He wondered what the separation would do to the Lady of the Wood and her husband. For it was also apparent that Celeborn was not yet ready to forsake Middle-earth. At least Elrond would be reunited with his lady in the land of the Valar. That much the twins had revealed to him during one of their many nightly talks. Still, he thought with some awe, the Lord of Imladris had been parted from his wife for nigh five hundred years. Now his law-parents would face a similar long parting.

Inevitably his thoughts strayed to the brethren though this time they centered on the younger of the two. He had gleaned from their conversations that Legolas would be exploring the fastness of Fangorn Forest with his Dwarf-friend, Gimli, before returning to the north. But he would also be coming back to Gondor to establish a colony of Elves in Faramir’s new princedom of Ithilien. The twins, however, needed to remain in Rivendell. Imrahil wondered how the lovers would cope with such frequent and most likely long separations.

But then again, as his son had said, youth was relative when one lived forever. He imagined the same could be said for time. The years probably flowed by swiftly for immortals.

He started when a hand clasped his shoulder. Turning, he felt his breath hitch as he met Elladan’s pewter eyes.

“So deep in thought, ernilen”—my prince—the Elf smiled. “You did not even sense my approach. Shame on you. Where is your warrior’s readiness?”

Imrahil snorted and said: “And what need would I have for it in the heart of Èomer’s hold?”

Elladan chuckled. “None at all,” he amiably conceded. “But you cannot deny that had you not been so taken with your musings, you would have known my presence much sooner.”

Imrahil objected: “I would have known a man’s approach but hardly an Elf’s. You are all but soundless when you choose to be.”

Elladan grinned. “But I did not choose to be,” he teased. “Admit it, Imrahil, even had a pack of Wargs assailed you, you would not have known it until one took the first bite!”

The prince could not stifle a rueful laugh. “And what do you wish of me?” he countered neatly. “Surely you do not intend to pass the morning jesting at my expense.”

Elladan shook his head. “Jesting, nay, but in your company, I do,” he said. “You once asked me to show you that trick I used to down the foul uruk that dared to accost me on the Pelennor. Come, I would teach you this morn.”

Imrahil blinked in surprise. He had indeed questioned the Elf-lord about an almost astounding feat of hand combat he had witnessed the latter perform on the Pelennor Fields. A dauntingly tall and muscular uruk had caught him from behind and sought to slit his throat. In the next instant, the creature had been flipped on its back like a sack of flour and Elladan had turned its own knife on it, driving the blade deep into the uruk’s neck.

“Now?” he blurted out.

“What better time is there?” Elladan said. “‘Tis a cool morning for summer and the drill yard is quite deserted. I promise, you will not die from embarrassment no matter how many times you land on your back.” He did not give the man a chance to accept or decline but walked on down the corridor, throwing an “I will meet you in ten minutes” over his shoulder.

Imrahil stared after him in stupefaction. And then he drew a deep breath and hurried to his chamber to change into appropriate attire.

An hour and a half later, he was mentally kicking himself for having ever asked for tutelage from the Elf-lord.

As Elladan had assured him, the drill yard was empty and they had it to themselves. That was most fortunate for he did not know how he would have hidden his fascination with his companion had there been eyes to witness it. Though they were similarly clad in sleeveless jerkins and hardy long breeches and boots, Imrahil did not for one moment think himself possessed of even a fraction of the Elf-warrior’s sheer beauty and sleekness of form, which his spare, close-fitting raiment revealed so spectacularly. He decided early on that such comeliness was an unfair distraction to a simple mortal like himself.

Contrary to his earlier banter, Elladan had not seen fit to flip him on his back numerous times as he undoubtedly could have with all ease. But he had taught him the maneuver with all the diligence of an unrelenting taskmaster. I am too old for this, Imrahil groaned to himself as he stretched a wretchedly sore arm.

He was sweaty and tired and aching all over. How much more punishment could he take? He was grandsire to a lively two-year-old. It was madness to take on an ageless Elf-warrior. It was while he was mulling his soundness of wits or apparent lack thereof that Elladan took him by surprise.

One moment, he was grappling with the Elvenlord once more. In the next, he found himself flat on his back, the force of his landing winding him thoroughly. In the back of his woozy mind, he realized that Elladan had not even dealt with him as mercilessly as he had the uruk. Valar! He did not want to imagine what it would be like to face the Elf in earnest and as a sworn foe!

He lay panting heavily on the grassy yard. That was it. He simply could not continue. Thank the Powers there was no one around to witness his sorry besting. He would never be able to look anyone in the eye after this. For any to behold the Prince of Dol Amroth laid low so effortlessly – he would never live it down. He glared up at the grinning Elf-lord.

“You may leave me here to rot in the sun if you wish,” he growled, refusing to get up. In truth, he did not have the strength to do so at present.

“Ah, but what would your sons say were I to present your pitiful carcass to them, all dried up and fit to turn into a saddle?” Elladan retorted.

Imrahil scowled. He reached out a hand. “Help me up then,” he said.

Elladan took his hand. With all his remaining might, the man pulled hard, taking the Elf by surprise. Elladan landed on his belly beside him with an audible ‘oomph’. At the warrior’s disbelieving expression, Imrahil roared with laughter until he thought his sides would split. Elladan’s eyes narrowed.

“You will pay for that!” he exclaimed and launched himself at the startled man.

Imrahil soon had reason to rue his impulsiveness as they wrestled hardily for primacy. This was no contest at all, however, for he was too spent to put up more than cursory resistance. He found himself on his back once more with Elladan astride him.

“What say you now, O Prince?” Elladan demanded.

Imrahil chuckled weakly. But he was not quite ready to give up. “I will say that it is most unwise to strike at an Elf’s confounded pride!” he goaded. “Yet this is no true victory for you, I should think. Will you boast to all Rohan how you subdued a mere man?”

Suddenly, the grey pools that stared at him glittered darkly. Without warning, Elladan bent down, pinned Imrahil‘s hands to the ground and, before the prince knew what he was about, sealed his lips to the stunned man’s mouth.

Imrahil nearly stopped breathing as a wild rapture seared its way like a raging fire through his entire form, racing to the very reaches of his limbs before pooling perilously in the vicinity of his groin. Shocked, he tried to break free but Elladan’s hold on him was adamantine. For the first time, he knew the full power of the Elf. The knowledge sparked a thrill of alarm even as it heightened the pleasure of this first caress.

Never had he thought to kiss another male – not even in his most insane dreams – yet here he was engaged in the impossible. And enjoying it! he thought with shame. Yet the shame was not enough to sweep away the pleasure and he could not stop himself from responding to Elladan’s ruthless pillage of his mouth.

He heard a moan; knew it for his own. His cheeks burned at his lack of control. Abruptly, Elladan pulled away. Imrahil drew in a shuddering breath; sensed the other’s unsteady breathing as well. He opened his eyes and forced himself to meet the Elf’s gaze.

Elladan stared at him steadily, eyes gleaming with unfathomable meaning. The warrior’s mouth curled into a small smile. A bitter smile it seemed to the bemused prince.

“You are fortunate you are wed,” Elladan said softly. “And have made it clear how much you cherish your lady wife. Else you would have known what it truly means to be subdued.”

That had the effect of making Imrahil burn even more. With what he was no longer sure. Elladan rose to his feet, pulling him up in the same motion. He looked at the Elf warily, uncertainly.

“If nothing else, this proves without a doubt that you are of elvish descent,” Elladan remarked dryly. “And I do not only mean your response to me.”

“Then what else do you mean?” Imrahil managed to say. He was still attempting to breathe more calmly.

The grey eyes glittered once more. “You taste sweet, Imrahil,” Elladan said bluntly. “Even sweeter than the women of your race.”

With that, he strode off, leaving Imrahil to stare after him, patently thunderstruck.

********

Imrahil steered clear of Elladan for the next three days. He could not even bring himself to join the Elf-lord and his twin and law-brother for their nocturnal discussions. Not when the very memory of the kiss stirred him in ways he did not want to know.

But by the fourth day, he admitted to himself that he yearned for Elladan’s company. Not because of the pleasure that had passed between them but for their friendly relationship. In all his life, he had yet to know the same degree of easy intimacy he had found with the older twin. And so, despite his uneasiness about their previous encounter, he sought him out.

He discovered him in the stables currying his steed, a magnificent beast that outshone every other horse save for its double, Elrohir’s own mount. Hesitantly, he approached the Elf, the sound of his feet hardly discernible as they trod the dirt floor. As he neared the warrior, the latter stopped his movements and turned his head to look at him. Imrahil came to a halt, unsure as to how to proceed.

But before he could put his thoughts into words, Elladan spoke. “Forgive me for my egregious behavior, my prince,” he simply said. “It was uncalled for.”

Imrahil pursed his lips then shook his head. “I am as much at fault. I responded, after all,” he said.

The faintest trace of humor twinkled in Elladan’s eyes but he did not smile. “You can hardly be blamed for doing so,” he said. “But I took advantage of the situation and you were far from ready for it. That was unconscionable.”

Imrahil began to protest then thought better of it. Instead he said: “I do not wish to lose another friend and one so recently made. I lost too many in the war as it is.”

Elladan smiled faintly then. “You need not further fear anything untoward between us, Imrahil,” he quietly declared. “Until you are free, I will not approach you thusly again. I do not care to be party to vow breaking when the vow was spoken in love and trust as yours was. I would that we be friends again and always.”

He extended his hand in reconciliation. Imrahil took and held it in the spirit that it was intended. But truth be told, he did not know whether he was pleased or disappointed with the Elf-lord’s restraint.

When the Elves and their hobbit-charges at last made to depart Edoras a week later, he was amongst those that gathered before Meduseld to see them off. In particular, he bade goodbye to the three he had come to consider dear comrades despite the brevity of their acquaintance.

They spoke quietly, clasping hands in friendship as they did. At least, Imrahil thought, Legolas would soon return to Gondor and through the Elf-prince he would surely hear word of events in the north. He supposed he ought to be thankful for any blessings however small. But when the time came at last for the company to leave and they mounted their steeds, he found himself unable to speak for the lump in his throat. And so he let them see his sorrow in his eyes as well as his wish for a fair journey for them.

Elladan turned upon his mount and reached out his hand. Imrahil gripped it wonderingly. The Elf-lord said: “I doubt this is the last we shall see each other, ernilen. We have yet to finish what we started.”

Imrahil drew his breath in sharply. His cheeks turned a startling crimson. Releasing his hand, Elladan flashed him a wicked smile and a knowing wink. And then he was urging his steed onwards.

Imrahil blew out his breath as he watched the company wend its way down the curving road to the gates of Edoras. Beside him, his eldest son Elphir glanced at him curiously.

“What was that all about?” he queried, marking his father’s reddened cheeks.

Imrahil ruefully shook his head. “‘Twas but a jest between friends,” he said. He wondered not for the last time if he wanted it to be true or not.

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

Glossary:

Úrui - Sindarin for August

To be continued....
- 2
- 3
- 4
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Twilight Tales - Hallowed Fate