• 1-Dismissed
• 2-Chapter Two:
• 3-Chapter Three:
• 4-Chapter Four:

Chapter Four:

The breakfast bell had already began tolling, when Melpomaen snapped groggily out of reverie. For one awful moment he thought himself an elfling again, about to miss the morning school bell, and he sat up in his bed with a wide-eyed look of panic.

Then reality set in.

He was no longer an elfling. He was in the cusp of becoming an adult elf and last night...
He looked around his room. Laurealas was gone. With a sigh, he set about quickly readying for the day. A feat that on this morning caused him no small measure of irritation, as he found his leggings uncomfortably stuck to his groin in shameful reminder of last eve's fiasco.

A short time later, he was running across the yard towards the Dining Hall, his irritation grown into a strange mixture of cold anger and firm resolution. He was done. Done with his heartache, done with his longing...done. He would master the sword and show the mighty Balrog Slayer that he was not just a worthless, mousy little scholar and then, he would be the one to walk away with his head held high.

His bitter resolve lasted only until he stepped into the vast hall. There, seated at the head table, was Lord Glorfindel, laughing at some remark from Elladan. Melpomaen felt his young heart skip once again, as he beheld his beloved.
Oh! What he would give to have the seneschal smile thus at him. To see that golden head thrown back, neck arching so sensually, as the Lord laughed in appreciation for one of Melpomaen's intelligent quips. To...

" Melpomaen."

The young elf came abruptly back to himself. By the Valar!. How long had he been standing there, staring at the Balrog Slayer like one bereft of his wits?.

" Come, mellon nin. There is little food left on the sideboards and you have yet to break your fast." Laurealas said, taking him by the hand after casting a sad look in the direction of the oblivious Lord.

Once more, Melpomaen found himself meekly following his friend, as she led him towards the sideboard set by their customary table. He mechanically went about filling up his plate and then sat down to eat, though the delicious fare tasted like little more than ashes in his mouth...

Parry...then thrust...

To the mighty Lord, observing dispassionately from some distance away, the young elf's earnest efforts looked to be about as graceful as those of a drunken orc. Glorfindel shook his head. Though no one could fault Melpomaen's commitment, it had become irrefutably evident to the seneschal that as far as weapons-handling was concerned, the elfling was just...hopeless. With a silent sigh, the golden Lord approached his bumbling charge.

" Melpo..."

Only the battle-honed reflexes of two lifetimes saved the seneschal from being decapitated, as his startled student swung around with a tremendous arc of his sword. A moment later that sword fell to the ground, as Melpomaen looked up at his tutor in horror. His heart plummeted all the way down to the soles of his soft, leather boots before shooting upwards again, to lodge painfully in his throat. A deep scarlet colored his cheeks and the shame he had felt last eve, when he had prematurely spilt his seed in Laurealas' arms, became as nothing compared to what he felt at that instant.

" M-m-my L-Lord... I ... I ..."

Glorfindel looked at the trembling young elf and his eyes were filled by pity. Better to get this done and over with, as soon as possible.

" Steady, now. No harm was done. Put away your weapon and then come to my office, pen-neth." The Lord said, not unkindly.

" Y-yes, m-my Lord."

Melpomaen clumsily picked up his sword, then rushed off towards the armory, his mind awhirl in chaotic thoughts. That he was about to be scolded, he had no doubt. But...
He had been practicing in the training grounds on his own time. Surely, that counted for something. And he had instinctively tried to defend himself as he was approached stealthily from behind. Surely, that showed at least some promise. He was not completely hopeless...was he?.

It was with a flurry of butterflies in his stomach that the young elf raised his hand to knock on the door to the seneschal's office, some time later.

" Enter."

That powerful, yet musical voice caused an involuntary tightening right below those flapping wings, as Melpomaen's mind touched, unbidden, on one of several fantasies he had played out while touching himself. It was his favorite. Where his beloved Lord brought him to this very office and then over to the desk and then...

" Enter!."

The second sounding of that voice, now laced with a tinge of impatience, acted like a slap that brought him, reeling, to the situation at hand. Tremulously, Melpomaen opened the door to find the Balrog Slayer staring out his window, with hands clasped behind his back.

" My Lord."

" Have a seat, pen-neth."

The young elf closed the door quietly and walked over to the chair set before the large desk, wondering if the seneschal could hear his knees knocking or worse, the wild beating of his heart. He sank down onto the seat, feeling small and insignificant, then tried his best to school his features into some semblance of calm, as he waited to be reprimanded.

" Lord Erestor tells me that you have the makings of a brilliant scholar." Glorfindel began.

Melpomaen was quite startled, for this was the last thing he had expected to hear and he blushed anew, unable to quench the pride he felt at learning that his other tutor had complimented him so.

" I... I am most grateful to Lord Erestor for such kind words." He said shyly, even as his eyes drank the vision of Lord Glorfindel's back.

" It is a rare gift you possess, pen-neth. There are those, like more than a few warriors, for example, who would gladly trade sword and bow to pursue a life of higher learning."

The golden Lord turned from the window and Melpomaen dropped his eyes, a fearful suspicion begining to form in the back of his mind. Glorfindel looked down upon the tawny head and knew a moment of deep regret for the words he must utter next.

" Yet warriors, like all others, must pursue what they are most suited for. There is no shame in acknowledging that one's skills do not lie within a particular field. Just as there is no shame in desisting what one is unsuited for, to concentrate on one's true talent."

At those words, Melpomaen lifted up his violet eyes to look beseechingly at the seneschal and his own words tumbled out in dissaray.

" Nay, my L-Lord!. I... I will try h-h-harder... I will p-practice every day!."

The Balrog Slayer walked over to stand before the young elf, laying a comforting hand upon one quacking shoulder. Melpomaen was too distraught to notice the kind touch. He wanted to jump out of his seat, throw his arms around that sculpted body and tell the other that he already knew he would never be a warrior. But that he would do anything, endure anything -the laughter of others, the shame of his own clumsiness- just to be able to continue to spend that one hour, twice a week, where he could have his beloved all to himself...

But he did none of those things.

He sat quietly as he heard his tutor, his love, gently dismiss him from any further intruction in weapons-training. Somehow, he managed to say the right words of acceptance for this decision and he even managed to walk out of that office, with a measure of dignity.

Once outside of the barracks, however, the young elf broke down. With tears spilling from his violet eyes and heart-rending sobs escaping from his mouth, Melpomaen ran blindly for the shelter of the forest. And with every stumbling step he took, one word resounded over and over inside his shattered heart.

Dismissed...

Melpomaen's eyes were moist, as he finished recounting this painful episode from his past. Four hundred and fifty years had since gone by and still, he could not help the lump that rose in his throat from those long-ago emotions. He felt his lover's arms tighten around him and he let himself sink into the comforting embrace, inhaling deeply of the other's intoxicating scent.

" That Balrog Slayer was an idiot." A voice growled by his pointed ear.

Melpomaen had to smile at his partner's tone of righteous indignation.

" That Balrog Slayer is still the Seneschal of Imladris." He reminded the other, gently.

" And still an idiot!." Was the snorted retort.

Melpomaen's lover placed a kiss upon his brow, before continuing.

" Seron vell, you should have told that thick-skulled eldar to...to..." He sputtered, at a loss for words.

" To go kiss an orc?." Melpomaen volunteered, sweetly.

The other elf threw his head back and roared with laughter.

" Aye, meleth nin. To go kiss an orc... On the arse!."

At that, Melpomaen was also overcome with mirth. Suddently, the colbat eyes of his beloved darkened. A fall of golden hair tickled his cheek as the one above him bent down to claim his lips in a toe-curling kiss. And as his own eyes closed in pleasure, Melpomaen finally gathered those pain-filled memories, then joyfully dismissed them from his heart...