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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.

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Chapter II

Cermië TA 1139

“They are exquisite beyond measure. ‘Tis almost impossible to put into song.”

Glorfindel glanced sharply at Lindir. The steward was undoubtedly in the midst of attempting a musical composition in tribute to Elrond’s children. The three sat on the thick grass beneath a graceful beech in the garden, Elladan reclining with his head upon Arwen’s lap while Elrohir leaned against the tree, strumming a lute, the lovely strains of which his sister sung to with her deep melodious voice. Glorfindel and Lindir could hear the song from their position on the wide back porch of the house.

Aye, exquisite was indeed a most apt word for these beauteous heirs of Rivendell. Glorfindel knew Lindir had found inspiration in them often enough for his music. But he could not help wondering if more than mere admiration inspired the Last Homely House’s famous minstrel.

“They are comely enough,” he said tersely, sparing another swift ostensibly cursory glance at them.

Lindir laughed softly. “Ever the reticent warrior,” he remarked. “You know full well how ludicrous an understatement that is, Glorfindel.” When the captain simply shrugged, the steward shook his head and regarded the siblings anon. “Yet for all their fairness there is much lacking in their lives. ‘Tis cause for worry or so Celebrían says.”

Glorfindel looked at him in surprise. “What does she worry about?”

“What every mother does I imagine,” Lindir said. “Not a one of them has shown any sign of settling down. The twins have graced any number of beds between here and the Golden Wood and tumbled many a willing soul at the Havens. But they have chosen no one to rule their hearts thus far. And Arwen has accepted none of the suits laid at her feet though the Valar know she has had enough to pave the way to Gondor and back! Our lady fears her children are too alike to her and Elrond.”

“In what way?”

“That they were already avowed ere they were born and that if they do not gain what their hearts desire, they will simply do without. She could not wish such a fate for any of them when she has known such happiness with their father.”

Glorfindel noted the concern on Lindir’s face and considered the minstrel a tad more curiously. “You seem in agreement with her. Do you – harbor any hopes in that regard?”

The question was delicately phrased but it took Lindir aback nonetheless. “Elbereth, no!” he exclaimed in some consternation. “That is as far from the mark as you could make it.” He frowned then pursed his lips. “If I share her concern ‘tis only because I wish naught for them but joy and fulfillment. In repayment for all that they have done for me.” At Glorfindel’s puzzled expression, he continued: “They are tender souls and loyal almost to a fault to those they love. They have succored me through many a crisis, tending to me whenever my heart was bruised or spirit assailed. And have you not heard how they rallied behind Erestor when his wife near died from her last birthing? Arwen sat by his lady’s side almost without surcease, lending her what strength she possessed, while the brethren scoured the countryside for the healing herbs needed to cure her, braving even Thranduil’s displeasure when they found what they sought in the deeps of Mirkwood.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows at that. “They are quite – single-minded,” he commented.

Lindir chuckled ruefully. “Relentlessly so if it suits their purpose,” he agreed.

Glorfindel sighed. They were indeed relentless when it came to matters they desired. It must have something to do with all the cross-breeding that went into their making, he thought – Noldor, Sindar and Edain with a touch of Maiar. A most interesting mix indeed. And he had of late come up against the aforementioned relentless single-mindedness and been unable to avert or sidestep it.

His eyes fell upon the disturber of his peace these past many years. As if he sensed the appraisal, Elladan turned his head on his sister’s lap and trained his pewter gaze on the golden-haired Elf. Glorfindel could not prevent the faint flush that tinged his cheeks when he came under that intense regard. That elicited a slow smile from the older twin. Cursing inwardly, Glorfindel quickly took his leave of Lindir and stalked back into the house.

How did he know? Glorfindel thought with bemusement. Elladan always seemed to sense when the captain was about or when he was looking at him. And the older of Elrond’s sons also always seemed to be there, whether his presence was needed or not. And if not, he had ways of ensuring that it would be needed or at least missed before long.

He was never overt about it however. Certainly not obvious enough for Glorfindel to take him to task without sounding like a churlish ingrate. He simply and subtly went about making life most pleasant for the older warrior to the extent that Glorfindel knew he would sorely miss the attention if it ceased.

Like the mead that always graced his morning meal in lieu of the more usual fruit nectar – that and the cinnamon cakes, honey rolls or nut pastries that would find their way to his office almost every afternoon. He had told no one of his preference for the former or fondness for the latter. Later, he learned that Elrond’s library harbored prodigious amounts of information on ancient Gondolin including the habits and customs of some of the city’s more illustrious inhabitants. It had shaken him to the core to find his name amongst these long-gone legends and the attendant stories about his personal life and military career. Even more disconcerting was the discovery that it was at Elladan’s behest that the Last Homely House’s kitchen turned out his favorites each day.

The older twin had gone through the trouble of learning all he could about the erstwhile Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.

Which was why he knew enough to ensure that Asfaloth was provided with a bucket of pinhead oats three times a week. All of Glorfindel’s Gondolin-bred steeds had enjoyed this largesse in addition to their regular feed.

It was how the emblem of his ancient House had found its way onto the breastplate of his armor one day, been worked into the blade of his favorite sword another and embroidered into a gorgeous blue counterpane which was presented to him by the twins and Arwen the first time he’d agreed to celebrate his begetting day with the rest of the household.

It had not escaped his notice that the shade of blue of the sumptuous material perfectly matched the color of his eyes. And it had little surprised him when the Elf-smiths admitted to reforging his sword and adorning his armor at the brethren’s request. For though Arwen had supervised the sewing of the bedcover and the twins had approached the smiths together, it was Elladan who had selected the color of the material and designed the changes to both armor and sword.

There was also the matter of the selection of songs in the Hall of Fire whenever Glorfindel chose to grace a gathering with his presence, which was nearly every evening these days. Invariably, the minstrels would launch into pieces he enjoyed, many of them so obscure in this age it was astonishing they had been unearthed at all. Glorfindel had been moved to near tears the first time he heard the lilting melody of an old lullaby sung to the babes of the hidden city.

And then there was the painter’s easel that had appeared in his sitting room one evening along with a stack of canvas, a generous selection of brushes and paints, a thick leather-bound sketchbook and several pieces of tapered charcoal. It was not something readily known about him today – that he’d been as much an artist as a warrior even as far back as his days in the Blessed Realm. But Elladan had somehow gleaned the information from the Valar knew where. Galadriel mayhap? She was after all the only Noldorin Exile of note still in residence in these Hither Lands and she had known Glorfindel in Valinor. She was also Elladan’s grandam and a doting and oft devious one at that.

These and countless other gestures over the years had revealed to him the older twin’s unstinting regard. But beyond the usual teasing and occasional flirtations, many of these occasions exasperating to say the least, Elladan never spoke of it. And Glorfindel did not know whether to be frustrated or relieved by his prudence.

He had never made a single overture to any of Elrond’s children. There were enough willing Elves to warm his bed without him resorting to seducing his own lord’s progeny. But more than his intrinsic sense of honor and duty, it was also his fear of emotional involvement. For one could not in any way escape losing some part of one’s soul to the siblings once one entered into a relationship with any of them, no matter how fleeting or casual.

He could not deny he wanted Elladan. But he could not accept that there was more to it than mere wanting. Much as he sometimes longed to, he did not make any move. It would be up to Elladan to do so. Glorfindel suspected that not only did Elladan know this but that he was also biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment in which to do so. What unnerved the captain though he would never admit it was that the perfect moment would most likely find him at his most vulnerable.

When resistance would be at its lowest.

When he would not be able to say “no”.

**********

Elladan’s eyebrows rose in some surprise when he glimpsed the graceful figure exiting the quarters of Rivendell’s hallowed captain. Bronze of hair, doe-eyed and willowy, she was one of the valley’s long-time residents, the daughter of one of his father’s scriveners. She was lovely though much too biddable for Elladan’s taste. He had always favored strong-willed females. After all, he had a mother, sister and grandmother who had minds of their own and intelligent, decisive ones at that.

So, she had been Glorfindel’s bedmate for the night. Or two. Or a week. If she was fortunate, she might manage to engage his interest for a fortnight. To the best of Elladan’s knowledge, that was the utmost limit to Glorfindel’s patience and attention span insofar as bedplay was concerned. But he seriously doubted this one had gained the dubious privilege of a prolonged sojourn in the warrior’s bed. Else she would not have been shown the door so soon – it was not even midnight. Had she met Glorfindel’s expectations, she would have been invited to stay the whole night.

As she drew near, he slipped into a darkened recess. He stared at her through narrowed eyes as she passed him by. Was it his imagination or had Glorfindel foregone coupling with ellyn for the last six years or so? He could not recall seeing any on intimate terms with the captain in all this time. He wondered why the Noldo seemed to have forsaken lovers of the masculine variety when he’d previously tended to favor them over Elf-women.

Not that it mattered what gender of Elf Glorfindel bedded.

Elladan pursed his lips. Much as he denied it to Elrohir, it rankled. He did not relish encountering any of Glorfindel’s lovers however impermanent all these relationships proved. From the first, he had felt something different with the Balrog slayer. A sense of predestination. A connection to the golden warrior that ran deep. A foreknowledge that here was the one he’d been waiting for.

The one who owned him whether he wished it or no.

**********

Celebrían surreptitiously wiped a tear from her cheek. An arm curled around her slender shoulders and she looked into her husband’s concerned eyes.

“What troubles you, seron vell?”—beloved?—he queried. “Why do you weep?”

“Nay, I do not weep,” Celebrían said with a small laugh. “I am merely being too sentimental for my own good.” She gestured toward their sons – the two were in the midst of a lively debate with some visiting Elves from the Havens and from the looks of it seemed likely to emerge the victors. “They will soon reach their first millennium of life and still I remember their infancies. Such sweet and trusting babes were they, hervenn”—husband—“I can scarce believe our sons to be those self-same infants!”

Elrond chuckled and pulled her closer. “Aye, our adorable innocents have grown into adorable rogues,” he remarked. “If one is to believe all the rumors of their dalliances down through the years. I wonder whence come their healthy appetites for such indelicate play?”

His teasing insinuation was not lost on his lady wife and she poked him in the side with a well-placed jab of her elbow. To their right, Erestor hid a grin while to their left Glorfindel looked from them to the twins then at the highly amused counsellor.

They were gathered in the Hall of Fire, as was their wont when guests were in residence. Songs had been rapturously sung and stories eloquently recited. But the usual quiet end to the evening had been derailed somewhat when the brethren chose to engage the visitors in a spate of discussions designed to spur indignation at the very least. It certainly made for raucous entertainment.

“Unfortunately, the rumors are not unfounded,” Erestor commented, his grin still in evidence. “Though I hear that Elladan has been inhibiting himself of late.” He looked at Celebrían with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes. “‘Tis bandied around the valley that he has set his heart in earnest on some fortunate soul.”

“That is welcome news!” Celebrían exclaimed in delight. “Who is this fair maid? Or is it a strapping Elf we should look for?”

Elrond groaned laughingly. “Peace, wife,” he implored. “Erestor said ‘tis but a tale that has not yet been proven. Or has it?” he asked pointedly of his chief advisor.

Erestor shook his head but his smile did not fade. “I have not been able to confirm the veracity of the story,” he admitted, “but it seems in keeping with his newfound chasteness. I would not be surprised if it is true. What say you, Glorfindel?”

The warrior started at the suddenness of the question directed at him. “I do not indulge in aimless gossip, Erestor,” he replied.

Erestor snorted. “Hardly aimless if its proving brings a smile to our lady’s lips,” he countered. “And try as you will, you cannot hide your interest in their affairs. You pay as much attention to their every word and deed as the kitchen scullions and parlor maids!”

Glorfindel flushed with embarrassment at being so summarily revealed. He stoically endured the others’ gentle laughter and forced himself to smile. But this was one occasion where his normally sunny smile did not quite reach his eyes or attain its usual radiance. Not when he’d been found out without his being aware of the fact. It was quite apparent that he’d not been as discreet as he’d believed himself to be.

After a decent while, he excused himself and left the hall. As was his habit when unsettled, he made his way to Elrond’s library.

He’d avoided the many books and scrolls pertaining to Gondolin at first. They recalled too many hurtful memories not least of which was his own fiery death. But as the years passed, he’d began to read them; his curiosity about what later scribes and scholars had to say about the city and its fate, both the glory and the fall, had outweighed the fear and pain of remembering. He chose not to dwell on the fact that it was Elladan’s pursuit of knowledge regarding his past that had spurred him in part.

This evening, he took down a thick tome that focused not on the history of the city but rather on its citizens. He opened the book, swiftly turning the pages until he came to a brief recounting about one of the minor nobles of Turgon’s court. He read the passage as if he had not read it a thousand times before and as he read he felt his heart constrict with regret.

“Who was she?”

He caught his breath in shock, slammed the book shut and turned to face Elladan. The older twin was close behind him, half perched on the edge of his father’s writing desk. In the soft glow of the single oil lamp, his eyes seemed more silver than grey and piercingly so.

“She?” Glorfindel repeated with a frown. He could not believe he’d allowed himself to be so lost in what he was doing that he had not sensed Elladan’s approach.

“The damsel who so entranced you once upon a long ago time,” Elladan replied.

“What makes you think there was ever such a one?” Glorfindel countered.

“I was not certain,” Elladan admitted. “But by your evasion now, you have confirmed her existence.” He smiled faintly when Glorfindel’s eyes widened with perturbation. He reached for the book. After the slightest hesitation, Glorfindel handed it over with a shrug. Elladan opened it and swiftly found the page the captain had been perusing earlier. “It was easy enough to deduce that there was someone,” he softly said, his eyes scanning the passage. “You read that book with more frequency than any other and almost always the same page.” He gingerly indicated the now dog-eared edge of the page. “This Elf – it says he was a lesser noble of the court and that his wife was one of Idril Celebrindal’s ladies-in-waiting. And he had no sons; only daughters. Which of those fair maids won your heart, Glorfindel?”

There was no reply for the longest while and Elladan wondered if the warrior would refuse to answer him. And then Glorfindel sighed and murmured: “She was my oldest friend. We grew up together in Valinor – before the rebellion. She – perished when Gondolin fell. She was his youngest daughter.”

“What was her name?”

“I do not wish to say it.”

“But you loved her?”

Again, the captain hesitated briefly before responding with a slight nod. His face remained impassive. Almost alarmingly so. Elladan considered probing further but decided against it. Glorfindel’s face was a mask. When he looked just so was when he was in greatest emotional pain. This was not the time to open other wounds.

“She is why you hardly bedded any ellith when you first returned,” he bluntly stated instead, diverting Glorfindel away from his memories. “Elf-maids only served to remind you of your loss.”

Again Glorfindel nodded. Elladan waited a moment then took a deep breath and a great chance. “But now ‘tis ellyn you shun and females who share your bed. What Edhel has upset your heart anew that you cannot bear to be reminded of him?”

He heard the sharp intake of breath; saw the sudden anger in the blue eyes. But he did not retreat. He had come here to learn some of the truth and, by Elbereth, he would get what he wanted.

“Have you been shadowing me?” Glorfindel hissed.

“Nay, but I have been observing you,” Elladan replied. “Like it or not, Glorfindel, I know you quite well. Perhaps even better than you know yourself.”

The captain’s eyes turned positively frosty. “You presume overmuch, pen neth”—young one—he snapped.

“And again you have confirmed my suspicion,” Elladan quietly said. When the anger in Glorfindel’s faded to be replaced by dismay, he rose to his feet and stepped closer to the captain. “Who is he? Who is this worthy who lures you yet eludes you?”

He searched the captain’s eyes, hoping to find what he desired. At once Glorfindel averted his gaze and Elladan’s heart leapt within his breast. He placed a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder, kneading the tense muscles therein. “Simply tell him, Glorfindel,” he softly counselled. “Tell me.”

The older Elf recoiled in shock. How had Elladan come to read him so well? Even his silences gave the older twin the answers he sought. He stared at the young Peredhel, forcibly turning his stare into a glare.

“Do not expect anything from me, Elladan,” he declared. “You will only know disappointment for I am of no mind to form a liaison with either of Elrond’s sons.”

Elladan regarded him thoughtfully for a spell. And then he snorted and his lips curled into a cocky smirk. “Methinks you protest too much,” he said.

Before Glorfindel could so much as blink, Elladan snaked a hand behind his neck and pulled him close, sealing their mouths together, catching the warrior in surprise that he parted his lips in a gasp and thus invited an invasion of molten proportions. Almost as suddenly as he had initiated the kiss, Elladan pulled away, the motion so abrupt and unexpected that Glorfindel quite forgot to close his mouth. Elladan studied his flushed countenance; noted his breathlessness in the absence of any hard physical exertion.

“You want me as much as I want you,” he told a stunned Glorfindel. “And all you need do is cease your resistance and take what you desire. I will withhold nothing from you.” With that, he turned and strode to the door. Just before leaving the chamber, he glanced over his shoulder at the still dazed warrior. His eyes softened and his mouth gentled into a smile. “Good night, my captain.”

And then he was gone.

Glorfindel leaned against the bookcase, direly in need of the support its solid panels offered. Elladan had taken him completely unawares. Had made that vital move. The captain groaned to himself. If that was but his version of an overture, he could only imagine what the actual concerto would be like. And the Valar help him, he knew he would indeed do as Elladan had bid. He would not be able to resist. The thought had the power to induce panic in him as a pack of snarling Wargs could not.

He had once fallen head over heels in love and lived to know its loss. His death had spared him the full impact of living with the immediate consequences of that loss; had numbed some of the pain that, upon rebirth, he had learned to move on and live his life anew. But he had not truly come to terms with it, neither the emptiness in his heart nor the wherewithal to risk it in love again. Now he was faced with an all-consuming passion, one that felt perilously similar to that other love. In fact, so similar that one might say they were as identical as Elrond’s sons.

Did he dare venture his heart once more? More to the point, could he?

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

Glossary:

Cermië – Quenya for July

ellyn – male Elves

ellith – Elf-maids

Edhel - Elf

To be continued
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Twilight Tales - The Captain's Guerdon