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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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter IV: Coping

Belfalas, laer FA 8

The crash of the waves against the great rocks that lined the isolated beach east of the castle of Dol Amroth could be frightening to an inlander. But to one who had grown up to both roar and murmur of the mercurial sea’s moods, it was not only familiar but also consoling. And consolation was what Imrahil had needed on many occasions these past three years.

Since Aerin died. His beloved wife and lady.

The illness had taken her slowly and painfully. Not all the healers in Gondor could help her. Not even the King.

For she had told no one of the pain in her belly until it was past anyone’s ability to cure. And so the gradual erosion of health and life had ensued. When she at last passed away, it was almost a relief to her family not to have to bear witness to her suffering any longer.

But Imrahil missed her terribly. She had been his childhood friend, later his dearest lover of all he had known and finally his treasured wife. She had borne him three strapping sons and a lovely daughter. And stayed by him through all the trials of life and the vicissitudes of a long marriage. Now she was gone. And so was his joy.

At least she had known the pride and happiness of seeing her daughter become Queen of Rohan, he thought as he sauntered down the shore. And held Lothíriel’s little Elfwine in her arms ere she was too sick to even sit up in bed. He oft held to such thoughts, finding comfort in them for his bereavement.

A shout caught his attention and he glanced up. It was Amrothos bearing down rapidly on him. His youngest son caught up with him, a smile on his face as he held out a rolled sheet of parchment to him. The seal was broken, indicating it had already been read.

“This just arrived from Faramir,” Amrothos explained. “It was addressed to Elphir. Read it, Father, and tell me if it pleases you.”

Wondering why he was being made to read a letter meant for his eldest-born, Imrahil unrolled the parchment and did as he was bid. A few minutes later, he looked up and regarded Amrothos with just the slightest hint of a smile.

“And why was this sent to your brother when it concerns me?” he mildly inquired.

Amrothos grinned. “No doubt Faramir knows your stubborn nature and thought to appeal to Elphir to reason with you instead.” He slung a cajoling arm around his father’s shoulders. “And he also knows Elphir would ask Erchirion and me to help him persuade you to accept.”

Imrahil shook his head. “I cannot spend fall and winter in Emyn Arnen,” he protested. “There will be the trade delegation from Lebennin to attend to and the designs for our new ships to study and I have received word of a dispute over fishing rights with—”

“Elphir will see to the first, I am more than capable of the second and you know Erchirion is a master negotiator and will take care of the last,” Amrothos pointed out. He looked at his father with a mixture of love and exasperation. “Faramir is right to ask you to stay awhile in Ithilien. You continue to grieve so deeply for Mother because you are surrounded by memories of her. You need time away from Dol Amroth, Father.”

Imrahil knew better than to contradict his son. “I will think about it,” he said diplomatically.

Amrothos chuckled. “And we will help you make up your mind,” he said. “Now, who do you wish to bring with you?”

Imrahil let out an amused gust of breath. “I have not yet agreed to this,” he protested.

“Why fight the inevitable?” Amrothos rejoined with a snort of laughter. He began to walk back to the castle. “And will you ride your bay or your new gelding?” he called back over his shoulder.

Imrahil could not help chuckling in resignation. “My bay!” he shouted back. Amrothos’ victorious mirth floated back to him with the strong salty breeze.

Imrahil stared out at the foaming waters as they snaked in and out between the craggy boulders. Unbidden, his spirits began to lift just at the very thought of visiting lovely Ithilien once more. His sons were right. He needed a change. And Emyn Arnen afforded a most welcome one.

********

Ithilien, iavas FA 8

He rode into the small but prosperous capital of Ithilien the first week of autumn. Tucked into the heart of the verdant, wooded hills after which it had been named, Emyn Arnen was indubitably young by any reckoning. But it was already gaining a reputation for culture and lore that was associated with older cities. That was not surprising considering its lord was both warrior and scholar.

Imrahil smilingly returned the greetings of various inhabitants as he rode down the stone-paved streets towards his nephew’s halls. Faramir’s uncle was a familiar face in Emyn Arnen and was well loved. All knew that it was the Belfalas prince who had given their dear lord a semblance of paternal affection and guidance rather than his own departed father. And so he was always treated accordingly – with respect and the highest regard.

As he and his escort came up to the open courtyard of Faramir’s dwelling, the Prince of Ithilien himself came out to welcome him. By his side were his beauteous wife and their young son. As soon as Imrahil dismounted he was enfolded in his kinsman’s embrace followed by a warm hug from Éowyn and an admittedly rather messy kiss on the cheek from the irrepressible Elboron.

“I knew my cousins would not fail to convince you to come,” Faramir said with a grin as soon as Imrahil discreetly wiped his cheek. “Welcome to Emyn Arnen, Uncle.”

Imrahil smiled as Éowyn drew his arm into the crook of hers. “We will not allow you to wallow in gloom,” she told him. “Your dear lady would never forgive any of us were we to permit you to sink into despair.”

“You are kind to be so solicitous of an old man’s well being,” Imrahil said gratefully.

“Old man indeed!” Éowyn snorted. “Fie on you, my lord! You put the young-bloods of this court to shame, so youthful and handsome you manage to remain. Indeed, were we in Rohan, you would be suspected of sorcery and verily burnt at the stake!”

The men laughed at this observation. Yet it was true. Imrahil was now in his seventies yet he looked no older than Faramir who himself looked more than a decade younger than his forty-eight years. It was fortunate for both men that their king was himself of a long-lived, slow-to-age line else there would have been many suspicious rumblings about the impossibility of their enduring youthfulness.

“Come, Uncle, you are not the only guest to grace Emyn Arnen with your presence,” Faramir said. “I think you will not want for happy distractions during your stay here.”

He led the Belfalas prince into his halls. They were newly completed and thus not yet quite as imposing as the White Tower or even Meduseld in terms of the atmosphere within of power and influence. But Faramir’s home was by far cozier and possessed of a quaint but lovely familiarity that could only spring from the openly affectionate marriage its lord and lady shared.

Unlike other keeps, it did not look inwards but invited the outdoors in. Immediately behind its main hall was a circular garden complete with a small but cheerful fountain. A cobbled path led down one side of it to the residential wing of the hold. One could of course pass through a corridor from the main hall in case of inclement weather but most preferred the open path for obvious reasons.

As Imrahil stepped onto the path, he glanced at the fountain and saw a tall figure standing by it. But he did not really pay much attention for, as was the wont in the homes of noblemen, there was seldom a place that did not bear the presence of a guest, a servant or a guard. A moment later, however, Faramir suddenly took hold of his arm and made him stop.

“Uncle, there is someone here who has been awaiting your arrival,” he announced. “Will you not greet him?”

Imrahil sighed. “I have just arrived, nephew,” he objected. “Can this not wait until I have properly rested?”

A deep, melodious voice interrupted his protestations. “You are showing your age, O Prince.”

Imrahil gasped and spun around in shock. He stared agape into glittering pewter eyes. Elladan smiled with obvious amusement at the prince’s less than regal demeanor.

“We meet again, Imrahil,” he said. “As I told you we would.”

********

Distractions indeed! Imrahil thought with some bemusement. As to whether they were happy or not was debatable if one took into consideration the constant befuddlement one in particular subjected him to.

Elladan had not come to Emyn Arnen on his own. Rather, Legolas had paid a call on Faramir who was technically his liege lord and brought his visiting binding-mate with him. As Elrohir had been accompanied south by his twin, it was natural that Elladan should come with them on this sojourn.

Of course, it was not known to any in Emyn Arnen but Faramir and Éowyn that Legolas and Elrohir were espoused. Knowing the Steward to have been Mithrandir’s eager student once upon a time, Legolas had felt it safe to reveal their wedded state to him and his lady. Not to mention expedient. With their hosts’ complicity, the Elves were given adjoining quarters that allowed Legolas and Elladan to discreetly exchange places with none the wiser.

But this had the effect of making Elladan and Imrahil immediate neighbors, an arrangement that had serious effects on the prince’s peace of mind. For it meant that they regularly bumped into each other in the corridor whether they were to spend time together or not and that unsettled Imrahil very much.

It was not that Elladan did anything inappropriate such as coming to his chamber or accosting him in some isolated spot in the keep. In fact, in the week since their reunion, the Elf-lord had desisted from doing anything more than engaging him in the affable conversations they had found so enjoyable ten years ago. He had expressed his heartfelt condolences to the widowed prince within moments of their meeting and showed him naught but sympathy and succor in the days that followed. It made the prince wonder whether the older twin had lost interest in him. Well, interest of a carnal nature that is.

It relieved him to a certain extent. He had not quite known how to respond to the Elf’s overtures a decade back and still was unsure how to react were he to repeat said overtures now. On the other hand, however, he felt a twinge of disappointment. He could not deny that Elladan’s previous flirtations with him had excited him if only because of the strange feelings being on the receiving end of tacit courtship had elicited from him. If Elladan had decided to keep their relationship strictly platonic after all...

Imrahil sighed as he walked down the deserted corridor to his chamber, his spirits suddenly lowered by his confusion about the Elf’s intentions.

He had just come from a convivial talk with Faramir in the latter’s study with wine and cheese and fruit for refreshment. But now it was quite late and none seemed awake amongst his neighbors. Except for Elrohir and Legolas, he amended as he passed their door. The sounds were muted and others would not have marked anything unusual. But Imrahil had always been keener of hearing than most men and his ears picked up the distinct sounds of passionate love-play. He had to grin then. He could only hope Elladan was getting some sleep despite his brother’s nocturnal adventuring.

He entered his chamber and near thought his heart would stop. Elladan sat upon the couch by the crackling hearth, long legs propped up carelessly on the low table before it. The Elf was dressed in a bed-robe and night-trousers. And his raven locks streamed freely down his back. Imrahil’s mouth went dry at the sight.

Elladan did not apologize for his intrusion into the prince’s chambers but only smiled and tossed a drinking cup to him. Imrahil caught it one-handedly and wordlessly sank onto the couch opposite the Elf. He did not know what to say or if he had the wits to say it coherently.

The Elf-lord poured him a generous amount of whatever it was he was imbibing. Imrahil took a tentative sip and found it of no discernible flavor yet somewhat sweet and soothing and pleasantly warming to the body.

“What is this?” he inquired after taking another appreciative sip.

“Miruvor,” Elladan replied. “Imladrin cordial.”

Imrahil nodded. “I have heard of it,” he said. “Legolas has mentioned it on occasion.” He took another mouthful of the liquor. “Valar! ‘Tis potent,” he remarked as a greater heat coursed through his very veins.

“Aye, but it will not make you drunk,” Elladan said with a brief chuckle. “At least, not unless you consume an entire bottle by yourself. It can however loosen your tongue overmuch so take heed not to have any if discretion is of the greatest necessity.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Imrahil replied humorously.

Talk subsided for a while as they simply downed their drinks in amiable silence. But soon Imrahil became aware of Elladan’s scrutiny.

“What is it?” he queried.

The grey eyes gleamed admiringly. “You have not changed, Imrahil,” the Elf said.

“Haven’t I?”

“Nay, you are still as beautiful as when I first saw you.”

Imrahil flushed. “Elladan, please, I am still in—”

“Mourning,” the twin finished for him. “I am well aware of that fact. ‘Tis the reason Faramir asked you to stay the winter in Ithilien. But I was not aware that your grief precluded compliments of any kind.”

Imrahil blew his breath out. “I did not mean to offend you,” he said. “I confess I have not been the best of company.”

“So I noticed,” Elladan remarked. “And Faramir has told me more.” He frowned with obvious concern. “My prince, ‘tis natural to grieve for the loss of a loved one. But there comes a time when you must let go. To immerse yourself in sorrow and longing without surcease is hardly healthy for you.”

Taking unbidden exception to the Elf’s mildly chiding tone, Imrahil bristled. “You once said you know nothing of love,” he rejoined more acerbically than he had ever done with the other. “Unless that has changed, I do not see how you can know what it means to lose someone as dear as my wife was to me.”

Elladan looked at him quietly, his face suddenly guarded. At length, he said: “‘Tis true that I know nothing about the loss of a heart’s mate. But I do know what it means to lose loved ones. However, I cannot grieve forever. No Elf can. If there is one thing we learn eventually it is to accept loss and move on. It is either that or fade from grief.”

Imrahil caught his breath as he recalled exactly what the Elf-lord had endured in his more than three thousand years of life. The departure of his mother for Valinor more than five centuries ago. The eternal sundering of his sister’s fate from his and his family’s. The inexorable passing of beloved fosterlings over nearly a millennium of guardianship of Elessar’s line. Mayhap Elladan did not yet know what it meant to be shorn of one’s mate but he did know about losing kith and kin. He had lived with it far longer than Imrahil could ever hope to experience. And learned to live with it.

“Forgive me,” he murmured contritely. “I had forgotten that you have known more sorrow than I.”

Elladan sighed. “Do not apologize,” he said. “We spoke of such matters a decade ago. I should not have expected you to remember them.”

Silence fell once more between them. An uncomfortable one. Seeking to dispel the uneasy tension, Imrahil spoke.

“Despite my less than agreeable manner, I would have you know that I appreciate your efforts to console me,” he said. “You brought me great cheer just by being here.”

Elladan considered him thoughtfully for a space. “I am glad if I have done that much for you,” he replied. “Though mayhap what I had thought to offer you is not what you desire or need.”

“What do you mean?” Imrahil asked.

“What I have to give is not consolation but completion,” the Elf-lord bluntly said. He smiled grimly when the prince reddened anew. “But as I said, you neither desire that nor need it. You seek the soothing of your spirit and not the pleasuring of your flesh. Until you cease to need the one and begin to yearn for the other, I will be but a friend to you.”

He rose, compelling Imrahil to do likewise. They walked to the door together.

“I do not know what to say,” Imrahil said before the Elf left. “Except thank you.”

“‘Tis enough and you are welcome,” Elladan replied. He suddenly slipped an arm around the prince, pulled him close and sealed their mouths together in a searing embrace.

Imrahil gasped as his lips were summarily parted and his mouth plundered with breathtaking efficiency. Fire seemed to engulf him as he all but succumbed to the heady caress. Even the miruvor could not match the incipient conflagration the twin ignited within him. When Elladan released him, his heart was pounding madly.

The Elf-lord’s eyes glittered rakishly. “‘Tis just to show you what you are missing,” he drawled. “Pleasant dreams, my prince,” he grinningly added. With that, he was out of the room.

Imrahil managed to make his way to his bed albeit unsteadily. He sank down on the edge and tried to clear his head. Unthinkingly, he raised his hand to his lips and ran his fingers along them. For the first time in three years, he thought not of what he had lost but of what he might gain.

It was enough to render him sleepless for the whole of that night.

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

Glossary:

laer - Sindarin for summer

iavas - Sindarin for early autumn

To be continued...
- 3
- 4
- 5
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Twilight Tales - Hallowed Fate