Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2319 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings and no profit of any kind is earned by this story. Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
~ Part Five: Maglor ~

'…I thus remain in the shadow of Ered Lhuin, muindor laes, and beg you will keep my secret. There is something I must do here ere I return home, or even come again to Nenuial and your fair realm. You know why I was sent away; let me resolve my unseemly and petty jealousy in solitude where I will not embarrass myself and my parents with my petulance and whining.

'Yet it isn't only that. At home I am redundant; here I am needed so desperately I fear to fail. Let me have this achievement to carry back with me when I do return, for it fills me with pride to know I can be of such import to someone. More I cannot relate, for it is not right for me to disclose to you what was shared with me in confidence. Know that I have the support of a powerful ally and will want for nothing, so there is no need to send me stores or clothing or other essentials.

'You were right about the sea and I am learning to sail it. Once cutting through its wondrous expanse, all worries and woes are forgotten. When all this is settled, I hope to invite you down for a visit. Not an official visit, I promise you will not have to sit in council with Hîr Círdan. We will hike and hunt and spear great fish in the deeps.

'I will write again when I have more news to share. For now, I expect to stay in Lindon for at least a year. Be well and tell Tarcil that if he does not learn appropriate manners, you will send him to live among the Avari folk who will cure him of his haughty ways in a trice.

'With affection,

Elladan

Arantar set aside the letter with a brief sigh of dismay. He had not thought to receive such a missive and was not sure he felt right maintaining this deception. It was all so mysterious, yet within the words and between the lines there was real joy in Elladan's script. And he was fully grown, after all, and not a child. What would he think if the King of Arnor sent a contingent of soldiers to check up on him? Oh, there was no mystery about that at all; Elladan would never forgive him. Still, Arantar didn't like the lying and the sneaking and those were not behaviours he was used to associating with Elrond's sons.

The King stood from his desk and picked up the letter from his muindor iaur, carrying it to the hearth where the fire blazed. With but a second of hesitation, he tossed it in, watching as the parchment curled and browned and a tiny lick of fire caught on the edge. Abruptly he tore aside the screen and snatched the it back, beating out the flame and pressing it flat. He couldn't really say why, but Arantar thought he should keep this communication from Elladan. There was something besides happiness peeking through the guarded words; there was uncertainty, apprehension.

Arantar frowned; perhaps not apprehension but something very close to it. Whatever Elladan was involved in, it was not the kind of activity with which he was familiar. With that thought, the King hastened back to his desk and penned a reply, for the Avarin messenger who'd carried Elladan's communiqué waited in the antechamber for an answer. In it, he urged Elladan to abandon whatever venture he had undertaken and return to spend the summer at Annúminas in truth.

Even as he handed it off, Arantar had little hope his request would be favourably received. That being the case, he immediately wrote another missive, this one addressed to the only elf he could think of whose help he could elicit without breaking faith with his foster brother. He could not notify Elrohir, that was out of the question, and to warn Elrond and Celebrian of their son's situation, when there might not really be any situation at all, would surely embarrass the young lord and decrease his self-confidence. Thus, Arantar sent his plea by his swiftest messenger to Greenwood, there to place it in the hands of Lord Erestor, kinsman of Lord Elrond and the twins' former mentor.

By design, no one besides Arantar knew where Elladan was. In Imladris, everyone believed he was visiting Annúminas, having been relieved of his obligations on Círdan's council. In Mithlond everyone believed this, too, for Círdan had received confirmation to that effect from Elrond, who had learned of it from Elladan's own missive, which was dutifully carried home by the guards who had accompanied his son to Lindon.

They had parted from him in the Hills of Twilight, he assuring his unsuspecting captain that the warriors need not fear to leave him in the care of Arantar's soldiers and doughty Rangers. The ruse was unlikely to be discovered for weeks, perhaps even months, but for the King's intuition. Yet even with his interference, even if Erestor could abandon the pressing mission in Greenwood and come straight away, by the time he arrived Elladan would be too deeply involved to pull back. Indeed, four months had already passed since his stop over at Annúminas.

Ossë's plot was secure, the Maia having seen through these permutations and compensated for them.
Luring him back had been so simple and easy. Ossë sent a short message which reached Elladan's small entourage as it neared Emmyn Uial. The words within it were mocking and derisive, berating him for running away rather than face his promised debate with Ossë. Packed with scorn for one who would so quickly break his word, it was enough to raise Elladan's wrath and make his conscience smart. He would not permit such a damning characterisation to be boasted about the Falas, dishonouring his family, his father, and their House by association. He would keep his appointment with the arrogant Maia and then go on his way. Let him say what he would, there was nothing holding Elladan here, much less some grim and inescapable fate.

All this Ossë predicted and Elladan did not disappoint him.

Really there was no reason for the scheme to fail unless Elladan himself suddenly changed his mind and left. That, he knew, was no longer a threat, not that it had ever been in the first place. Once Elladan was confronted with Maglor the second time, he was hooked as surely as any sailfish. Ossë hadn't needed to do any convincing at all, Maglor and his harp had achieved it all by himself, and Elladan had gone willingly with him.

Elladan kept his assignation clandestine, though the reasons he would permit himself to advance for this stealth were pure self-deceit. As yet, he could not admit his fascination, the desire to feel again such passionate desire, such overwhelming love. To have someone speak his name as Maglor had spoken Elros', this he wanted and he wanted it from Maglor. What he permitted himself to believe was that he was curious, intrigued to find the notorious elf still alive and eager to learn about the years his father and uncle had spent with him. Obviously, there was much Elrond had hoped never to have him learn, the torrid affair foremost among them, and Elladan had no desire to worry or upset his parents. Thus he justified his covert withdrawal, enlisted Arantar as a confederate, lied to his loyal captain, and sent his warriors home to Imladris where they would legitimise the falsehood.

The Avarin messenger was waiting for him as he crossed Nan Lhûn and led him through a little known pass over Ered Lhuin directly into the woodland holdings of the feral elves. There the guide slipped away, melting into the dense trees with the ease that marked all the silvan folk, regardless the region where they dwelled. Alone, Elladan kept his wits for the first few hours, convinced Ossë would make his appearance or the guide would return. An edge of apprehension tinged his thoughts as the sun began to set and no sign of anyone, elf or otherwise, appeared. Realising he must spend the dark hours alone in the unknown wood he did as he'd been taught by his grandfather: shimmied up a tree and hunkered against the trunk to wait for light, though Orcs were not known in this region of Arda. The night was silent and still, but he did not sleep.

Cramped, thirsty, and disgruntled, dawn saw him navigating with greater purpose and precision, planning to abandon the adventure as the Maia was obviously toying with him and the Avarin elves were surely having a fine laugh at his expense. Even as he mentally cursed them all, even as the mists rose from the warming ground, the sweet music of a harp and that fair masculine voice drifted with the ephemeral fog, swirling about his body and enticing him to seek for the musician. He forgot his irritation and at once set his feet in the direction of the wondrous sound.

"Enchanting, is it not?"

The question brought him up short. Ossë appeared just ahead and to his left, leaning in casual disregard against the trunk of a tree, inexplicably sporting the form and garb of one the Avarin elves. Elladan wondered for a second if his guide had really been Ossë all along. The Maia smirked and tossed his tawny mane coquettishly, smiling at Elladan coyly from the corners of his almond eyes, just as if he heard those thoughts, and Elladan frowned.

"Maglor sings as no other has before or since. It is as if the very Music of creation finds in him a perfect source of resonance, would you not agree?" Ossë repeated his observation.

"I do not dispute you; he is the greatest minstrel elf-kind has ever produced," said Elladan testily. "Why do you play at these jests? I returned in good faith only to be deserted as soon as we entered the forest."

"Which implies that those singers of other races might be better at it?" Ossë ignored the elf's outburst. "I cannot deny the truth in that. It is said Melian's voice held Thingol spellbound for untold years. Somehow, I doubt they spent all that time singing," he simpered and joined his reluctant protégé on the path. "There is something about elf-kind that fascinates and enthrals those of my race," he confided, reaching for Elladan's arm and drawing him into motion.

"How do you mean?" Elladan was intrigued in spite of his distrust and let his aggravation be appeased. They were at least moving in the direction of the mesmerising voice and soon must discover the singer himself. He did not question how much he desired to see Maglor again; it seemed perfectly natural.

"We cannot seem to remain apart from elves. Unlike the Powers, the Valarindi are drawn to the complexity, the conflicting emotions, the passion and the intensity of their fiery spirits. You don't think Melian was singing in those woods by accident, do you?" he laughed, a nudge with his elbow against Elladan's side underscoring his meaning. "You have much of the Maiar in you, Elladan."

That made him halt on the path and he shook free of Ossë. "That is the second time you've said so," he noted. "Even if it is true, why do you make such a point of it?"

"I'm merely indicating that you're interest in Maglor is easily explained. You seemed so adamant in your condemnation of him yesterday I thought you might be feeling conflicted over your attraction."

"I am not attracted to him," denied Elladan. "I want to understand him and his place in my history. Obviously, there is a very close and intimate connection."

"Aye, he loved Elros as he loved no other, not even his wife and son claimed as much of his heart and soul as did your uncle. The pain of the loss consumes him. Can you imagine what that must be like, never to be reunited with his beloved in this world or any other? I do not want him to fade, Elladan. Even should he go to Mandos, how could he be healed when his heart-mate is eternally severed from him?"

To this Elladan gave no answer, for it was hard to imagine anyone preferring a lover, no matter how beguiling, to a child of their body. Surely Maglor did not shun his wife and child to pursue Elros. Yet these were the unknowns he was so interested to learn. Beyond that, Ossë broached a distressing scenario, though it was difficult to believe the vain and crafty Maia really cared for Maglor's ultimate fate.

"What do you want?" he demanded, suddenly weary of the game, eager to know what it was about and get on with his journey.

"I thought I made that clear," mused Ossë, face composed in perplexity as he looked upon Elladan. "I want you to keep him from fading."

"I am no healer," snapped Elladan, "and even if I were, the soul is not amenable to cures of that type. Better to let him fade and place him under the care of Estë."

"No, no that will never do," Ossë shook his head. "My plan is much simpler. He believes you are Elros, so then be Elros."

"Círdan warned me you would propose this." Elladan stepped back from him warily, uncomfortable both with the idea and the surge of excitement it precipitated through him. "I would never seek to achieve a union with anyone under such false pretences. Sooner or later the truth must come out and then far greater harm wold be inflicted upon Maglor."

"So you care about that already," mused Ossë, gradually dissolving into his more usual, and formidable, physical presence. "Thus, you've answered your own concern. There is nothing false about your interest in him, Elladan, and no need to bind your soul to his eternally. You can easily play this part and simply being near you will ease Maglor's spirit sufficiently to suspend and perhaps even reverse the grieving sickness."

"Yet I am not Elros and do not love him. Surely when he understands the trickery played on his ailing heart he will be devastated. I thought you claimed to be his friend! If I had means, I would have you hauled before the High Court in Ilmarin for such cruelty."

"Still in a mood for judgements, I see," drawled Ossë, shaking his head in mock despondency. "I must then be grateful that you have no such power, Elladan of Imladris. Yet perhaps I would not be the one censured, could we both go there and have your charges set before Manwë."

"Easy to claim such, as it will be many long centuries before I find myself in Aman," retorted Elladan in scathing derision. "You remain here in Arda because you are nothing over there where greater powers, greater minds hold sway over the High Elves and the lands granted to them. Look at you, toying with the heart of a broken elf who cannot defend himself! You are despicable."

"Do not test my patience, henellon!" Ossë found himself reduced to ineffectual anger in this irritating elf's presence and could not suppress a writhing flare of white fire from leaving his hands and spinning out toward the ellon. Just as it must engulf Elladan, a light hearted giggle preceded the arrival of Uinan, who deftly captured the searing flameless light in her veil, releasing it transformed into a great cloud of blinking fireflies instead.

These did swarm about Elladan and he waved and swatted his arms about to clear the insects from his face. When they fluttered away he saw the water maiden bending an indulgent but chiding stare upon her husband, to which Ossë frowned and pulled an expression at once mulish and sheepish. With a glittering glance in Elladan's direction, somehow imbued with flagrant lust that, for all its brevity, ignited his passion to a painful and confusing degree, as he had no interest in females, Uinan left them.

"Well, we have both been duly chastened," complained Ossë, hands on hips as he gauged Elladan's state of mind, snickering as his gaze travelled to the pointed evidence of the elf's punishment bulging from his groin. "She is wicked, is she not?"

"I will not do this," said Elladan firmly, ignoring as best he could his uncomfortable state of arousal. Ossë's figure thinned and dissolved and in seconds he was gone. "I will not do this!" Elladan shouted, face lifted skyward as he turned a revolution in place, but instead of the Maia's voice his answer came in the abrupt cessation of the fair minstrel's song.

At once Elladan cursed his foolishness, fearing to have frightened off the skittish legend, only to be delighted when the music resumed, the tune now couched in winsome notes decorated with sensual undertones, undoubtedly a suitor's song. Elladan's pulse increased and he moved forward into the beckoning call, into a bright sun-sparkled glade so far removed from the austere landscape of the forbidding falas that he might still be at Nenuial.

Here he paused, though Maglor was not there, waiting, unconscious of the silent call he was sending, unsurprised when it drew the minstrel unerringly to him. Touched by dappled light that teased, now revealing, now obscuring him, the tall Noldorin prince strolled through the bolls. When he came full into the clearing he drew a triumphant arpeggio on the bright mithril strands, smiling as he breathed out the last of the lyrics and fell silent.

The gaze he cast over Elladan was both tender with unexpected joy and hungry with unhidden desire. His eyes lingered on the tell-tale bulge but he made no other reference to it. He bowed, elegant and regal, comfortable with his status and renown, assured of his alluring appeal and glad to bring it to bear on the one he most wished to impress. His hair fell gracefully forward and his open tunic gaped, allowing a view of creamy, naked skin. Straightening, he smiled more gladly still, finding Elladan's eyes upon his breast, and swept back the luxuriant locks.

"Mae govannen, scion of Eärendil. Hîr Ossë informed me of your sudden departure and I at once insisted he attempt to defer that exodus. I am concerned that my impetuous action last night offended you, precipitating your move to quit the fair shores of Lindon. Please, allow me to offer my humblest apologies."

How his grey eyes gleamed, so filled with silent pleading and anguished expectation. Elladan could see the warring emotions' ebb and flow within them, first assured he would be forgiven, next certain he would be spurned and reviled. He found he had not the heart to crush this elf's faint and flickering hope. He bowed as well, hand over his heart.

"Nay, I was surprised but not offended. I leave because my business in Lindon concluded earlier than I first imagined, nothing more," he said kindly, a smile on his lips as he took the extended hand, feeling for the first time the calluses wrought by Ages of plucking melodies from mithril strings.

"I thank you for those words," gushed Maglor, gripping the hand tightly, possessively, leading Elladan into the heart of the glade. "Hîr Ossë explained to me how it is now. Being renewed and remade, you are truly brand new and have no memories of me or our life together. I will not presume to understand it, yet I am gladdened that you are here. See, even though you remember nothing, your heart has led you to me again."

Elladan blushed, finding these words pleased him greatly, yet still determined to correct this bizarre notion at once. "Hîren, that is not…"

"Hîren? Nay, we are equals, Elros."

"I cannot see it so, yet what I meant was that Ossë has misled you. I am not…"

"Nay, nay, you need not say it," Maglor interrupted, voice chagrined and apologetic. He covered the hand he held with other, a protective blanket of reassuring warmth. "I do not mean to be forward. Yet I know your heart will choose me again as it did before, if you would grant me the chance to touch it." And he did, laying his hand over Elladan's chest lightly, a soft caress that knew right where to find the nipple and there apply greater pressure before retreating in the wake of a startled gasp.

"I cannot allow you to continue under this mistake." Elladan's heart was racing and the tingling fire ignited by that simple contact stunned him. "My identity is not as you suppose, Hîren," He stepped a bit apart yet simultaneously gripped the fingers holding his the tighter. That touch had felt more intimate than the stolen kiss. "I am not Elros."

"Oh, I know you are uncomfortable with that name and the destiny behind it. You will have a new life now and have taken a new name. Be not alarmed; I know what you are called. A most fitting name, Elf-man, considering all that came to pass, yet Elros will you always be to me."

"Nay, Hîren, this must stop now!" gasped Elladan, not certain he could maintain his stand under the compelling, possessive gaze trained upon him so intently.

"Ah! Call me Maglor, pen vain," the singer made a mock frown, eyes glimmering with amusement. "Call me Maglor and I promise not to call you Elros, agreed?"

"Maglor," Elladan said his name as if for the first time, confusion enveloping him for it was not so. He lost his train of thought, contemplating how the sound of the syllables lingered in his mind, reverberating within his heart in a way that was at once frightening and fascinating. "Maglor." He smiled suddenly.

"Aye. It is a grand name when you speak it," the singer smiled and dismissed it with a self-deprecating wave of his hand. "It hasn't any clever meaning as yours does. Cleaver of Gold. What is it supposed to signify? I cannot understand what my naneth was thinking."

Elladan laughed lightly, hearing him disparage his name so lightly. "Surely you are permitted to choose another."

"Why, does it displease you?"

"Nay, not so," Elladan stammered. "I did not mean to imply that."

"Ai! I am not hurt or angry. If that name offends you, with all the past wrapped up in it, I would gladly have another. What name would you give me?"

"Oh, I…" Elladan faltered, unsure what to suggest, but the great singer was gazing at him with such interest, such expectation. He grappled for something appropriate and spoke the first words that presented themselves. "Oma Alcarin. (Magnificent Voice)"

"You are too generous," Maglor bowed, his smile radiant and his eyes glinting with obvious pleasure. "I am flattered."

"No, it is the simple truth," insisted Elladan, "but I prefer Maglor. I am comfortable calling you that." And he found that he was.

"Then Maglor I shall be and you," he cradled his harp and strolled, making a circuit around Elladan, striking seemingly random chords that somehow defined the peculiar duality of their encounter, the melody demure yet abounding in familiarity and electrified with undertones of desire. "You shall be called just as you have chosen: Elladan."

"Well, that is my mother-name," admitted Elladan. "I confess I never considered anything else, but with you I think…I think it would be all right if you wish to call me… something else." He almost said 'Elros' and stopped himself in time, stumbling only a little over the error, torn over hearing his own name used to refer to his long-dead uncle whom Maglor now believed to be restored to the life of the eldar. Elladan was truly shocked at his inexplicable willingness to play along with Ossë's unscrupulous deception. Yet he he had no wish to see this remarkable ellon suffer, nor could he deny the desire to bring him happiness.

"This distresses you," said Maglor, silencing the harp and coming back close, gently settling his palm against Elladan's cheek. "I cannot begin to imagine what confusion this experience holds for you."

Elladan's eyes went wide as he stared into the minstrel's compelling grey depths. He could not find words, for this was a most fitting description of his roiling thoughts and emotions. The sensation of the hand upon his face was thrilling and it was hard to think past it. Suddenly the comforting touch vanished and Maglor passed his fingers lightly over his hair, taking up a slender lock and testing its texture between finger and thumb.

"So much as you were before, it amazes me. Yet there are differences, as one would expect, for the hroa is new." He passed a speculative, devouring look over Elladan's form, a wolfish smile playing at his lips, but when he met the younger elf's gaze again it was with an understanding smile. He let go the glossy tresses. "Permit me to give you a name, pen vain. (lovely one)"

"But you do not know me," Elladan struggled to say, finding the words made him inexplicably sad.

"True enough," Maglor dipped his head in assent. "Then permit me the chance to know you. Grant me the opportunity to win you, that is all I ask. If I cannot bind your heart to me within a year's trying, then I will ask nothing more of you, now or ever, and bid you find happiness and contentment where you may," proposed the stately ellon, plucking another suggestive chord from the harp that might as easily have been wrung from the strings of his heart. He began to play again in earnest, the melody majestic, mysterious, mesmerising.

His music flowed within the molecules of air and danced amid the beams of light, spinning its subtle web round his quarry. The glade vibrated with its lilting strains and then Maglor began to sing as well.

The lyrics evoked the quiet beauty of endless starry nights and the bold, daring glare of the first sunrise. He sang of his family, of Beleriand, the gilded notes gliding through aeons of time, building up castles, alliances, and hidden kingdoms where valour and honour were prized above any riches, any wealth. Truth could not hide from his voice yet revealed within its liquid tones lost its sharp and sour fruits, presenting only the blossom and its sweet scent so that somehow there was a truth occult within truth known, and this the song laid bare.

Through all of it a single theme persisted, building so gradually its full chorus broke through with sudden, unbidden glory, a triumphant crescendo that took Elladan's breath away, for this marked the end of the First Age and the beginning of Elros and Maglor. The music became intimate and yet playful, undemanding and easy to hear, filled with the vibrant chords of a deep, abiding passion; a timeless, incorruptible love.

Elladan thought he might lose his mind, his heart, his senses, or all three. His self-concept wavered, bending and stretching as needed, fitting itself to match the person celebrated in those enchanting strains, called into being by the beguiling voice and the masterful presence who knew him so very well. Every note, every trembling overtone, every pause for breath, every part of the song was about him. Disorientation overwhelmed his thoughts, for that could not be possible, though every nerve in his body sang in silent joy for the caress of the music thrumming through him.

~Nay, he sings of Elros.~

He almost sobbed when the singing abruptly stopped, but Maglor turned to him smiling, pain and sorrow mixed with the happiness in the expression.

"I have been singing of you for nearly four thousand years," he said, "yet each time the song is new and gives me something more, something fresh and surprising. Aye, this is my truth: all that has been since the Time before Time, all of it happened to bring into being you, Elros. You, my Elf-man."

With that he bent forward and softly kissed the stricken elf, just the faintest pressure of lips touching lips, the barest caress of his tongue against firm supple flesh, and then retreat. He began the song again, strolling away and out of the glade, and Elladan followed.

Time passed in the woods of Himling Cove as if the place existed in an entirely separate world from the rest of Lindon. The sun rose and set, Ithil tracked the skies on his wandering route, yet none of it happened in the prescribed manner set forth by the Valar. Everything was fluid and yet stasis reigned. Arien lingered and a single day would go on until three normal days could fit within the same span of hours. Other times Tilion refused to relinquish the heavens, keeping the sky dark and filled with the silver light of the stars so long that the woods and the fair glade resembled the lands first seen and loved by the First-born. Thus it seemed to the courting elves.

In this wondrous, separate reality Elladan and Maglor remained, oblivious to both the outside world and the unique distance from it they had achieved. It was as if the music of Maglor created a whole new place in which the world was theirs to define, to mould. History did not exist; the future had no meaning; the present was the only valid construct in which to move and act.

Surely it was Maglor's music that wrought this unusual circumstance, Ossë's presence and interference long forgotten.

Yet, alone his song could bring about nothing beyond the confines of his sorrowful remembrance of what was long past, dead, turned to dust. With Elladan beside him, the theme changed and his gift blossomed and thrived, snatching hold of ambient motifs and phrases adrift in the swirling eddies of the Great Song, owning and transmuting them, both creating and celebrating the bond growing between them. His art was mastery of this vital energetic ether, this raw essence, and he coaxed it into the matter and marrow of Elladan's soul.

Indeed, he wilfully meant to ensnare his love and keep him captive, yet there was nothing of malice in that desire nor a craving to reduce his chosen one to servitude or thraldom. He wanted to be chosen as well, freely and with joy, by this elf that was so much the same and yet so very different from the Elros he remembered. Thus, and gradually, slowly, with the same wistful pace in which leaves unfurled and buds came to flower, he altered both his perception of Elladan and Elladan's perception of him, and each one's perception of himself. Elladan was not Elros, yet came closer to him in thought and feeling with every dawn's arrival, and if Maglor could not shed his past entirely, it receded, becoming a hidden hurt, a mere scar that no longer gave him pain.

The plot succeeded beyond Ossë's hopes; Maglor's broken soul was re-knit and his faltering mind began to clear.

Elladan was happy. Surely he had felt glad of heart before now, but never had it been such an encompassing experience, such a defining characteristic of his every waking moment. This, then, was love and he could not longer fault Elrohir for forsaking all to secure it for himself. Stretched on the cushioning grass of the sunny glade, he turned his eyes to the source of his joy and smiled. Maglor was lost in his music again, curled around the harp with loving familiarity like a lover's sinuous possession of his mate, eyes closed, brow furrowed as he worked the strings with concentrated design. It was fascinating to watch him thus, creating new music from nothingness, filling the air with it, imbuing it with so much of his soul that it seemed alive in itself, and yet he was conscious of a strong pang of displeasure, a desire to grab the gilded instrument from his arms and cast it far from here, for he would have Maglor tender such devotion to him instead. At once the music stopped and wide grey eyes turned to regard him with amused pleasure.

"You've no need to feel jealous; it's to your song I give such ardent attention," he said, joining Elladan, reclining beside him so that they were facing one another on the green sward.

They were both naked, had been so for hours or days or months, neither knew for certain anymore, neither cared to know. Maglor dipped his hand into the silky ebony tresses and combed through, drawing the hair out and watching as it fell away back to rest on the pale, bare chest. He caressed a shoulder, squeezing lightly, admiring the firm strength of the muscles there, smiling as Elladan sighed and rolled to his back. Maglor scooted closer, claimed lips that opened hungrily, teased a dark nipple into a voluptuous, pointed peak. Elladan groaned down his throat and he ended the kiss to sample the result of his efforts. With erotic impulse the lithe body arched to fill his mouth with the delectable titbit. Now it was Maglor's voice giving forth a lusty moan as he lapped and suckled, arm encircling to keep the warm flesh right where he wished.

"Maglor, saes," whimpered Elladan and the tantalising, maddening stimulation ceased. For a brief second the compelling grey eyes regarded him, joyful, triumphant, but only in passing as the minstrel was on his way to nibble the sensitive tips of his ears. "Ai!" Elladan writhed beneath the delicious sensation, eagerly pressing his groin and its blatant erection against the lean hard belly. His penis faintly brushed its counterpart and he yelped, bucking against it even as Maglor growled and bore down, rocking and rubbing them together.
His lips left the ear he was tasting and heavy gusty breaths blew across its wet, hot tip. "Is this better?" he whispered and shifted, suddenly and forcefully tilting Elladan's head, exposing his neck, licking at the beating pulse there, biting down into the pliant flesh. He cried out in surprise and then laughed as incisors sank into the skin of his arm. "Pen ogol, pen vraig!" he exclaimed, meeting Elladan's fiery gaze with glowing pride and glad delight.

He moved again, sliding off the enticing body and propping himself on his elbow, so to relish the vision of perfection sprawled before him. He ran a loving hand over firm pectorals, deftly thumbing a nipple as he went, planed down a hard, flat abdomen, and slid his fingers beneath the rigid maroon organ, ignoring it as he delved the tiny, inward fold of the navel. The muscles beneath his hand twitched and the long, sinewy thighs fidgeted in the grass. He moved to caress one, sitting up to do it, and bent over the recumbent form to kiss the tender, inner skin, smiling as the leg moved and lifted, eagerly prompting him to settle between them. Instead, he settled on his side, glancing back as Elladan shifted also, bringing himself in line with the singer's genitals.

They shared a smile and together fell to pleasuring one another, mouths and tongues bathing, caressing, and suckling cocks, hands alternately soothing trembling flesh and palming tight, sensitive sacs. Maglor probed for entrance to Elladan's anus and as was their habit, Elladan copied his every move. Deep and slow, fingers stroked hidden glands to burning excitation and they came together, quiet grunts and groans of delight accompanying the urgent efforts to consume the precious vital fluids. Separating, they shared another grin and mutually moved to lie close in one another's arms, hearts still racing, bodies still humming with the delicious culmination of their new love. Maglor wriggled himself into the dominant position, protectively cuddling Elladan against his chest, and softly stroked the magnificent midnight mane.

"If only I truly could compose music so glorious, so compelling as you," he murmured, letting his fingers drift away over his beloved's exposed back. He lingered over a rough place on the scapula, a puffy scar. "This one is new," he said, "part of your life I know nothing about. How did you come by it?"

"Oh, 'twas nothing," assured Elladan, smiling as his skin tingled under Maglor's touch. "We were involved in a skirmish near the borders of Rhudaur. For a moment I was surrounded, three Orcs hoping to bring me down, but it was not to be. We defeated them, but I was nicked and the blade was poisoned, so it took some time to heal. The scar reminds me to be more cautious and mind my whereabouts in battle."

"We?"

"Yes, my brother and I were on patrol and…"

"Elrond? You dwelled with him in Imladris?"

Maglor sounded surprised, even stunned. Elladan lifted his head and met unsettled eyes.

"Aye, Imladris is my home, or was before now." Uneasiness coiled in his stomach as he uttered this simple reply, for while it was mostly the truth there was only deceit within it.

"And now? Will you leave here and resume your life at your brother's side?" Maglor stared intently, a bright pinpoint of fear lighting the depths of his troubled gaze. Something was wrong, something he couldn't name but only feel, and he struggled to subdue it, drive it from his heart. He did not want to invite sorrow here, not here where he had love and light and infinite joy.

"Now my home is here, or rather, my home is you. Wherever you are, wherever you reside, that is my place also," said Elladan, rising enough to kiss the legendary singer, savouring the tangy remnant of his own release.

He did not want to talk about his life in Imladris, for that meant he must lie and his soul smarted already from the deception crafted thus far. Yet he could not think it was wrong, such happiness as this, and if an anxious conscience was the price for it than he would pay it without complaint. Abruptly he severed the connection, his desire renewed and his penis filling, and flashed a smile of wanton allure as he rolled free and settled on his back, feet planted flat, knees bent and splayed wide.

"Make love to me," he said, quietly pleading.

Maglor grinned as he sat up and sidled between those parted thighs. He fisted the heavy organ and slowly pumped, watching as Elladan's pupils dilated and the muscles in his loins tensed.

"You feel ready to offer me your body?"

"I am. It is yours," Elladan gasped out, meeting the sultry stare with frenzied anticipation. "Take it; take me."

"So demanding," Maglor's voice was husky with lust and his eyes were locked on the cock in his grasp. He squeezed it tight and simultaneously rolled the tender balls against its root. The sound Elladan made was unbelievably erotic, a cry of desire, fear, and urgent need. "But it is too soon. What you ask would seal us for all time, since you have chosen the life of the eldar."

He continued to stroke the weeping shaft, thumbing the slick secretions to help lubricate his grip, and softly began to sing, lulling Elladan into a purely somatic state of pleasurable sensation. He enjoyed doing this for Elladan, loved watching the long, hot penis spurting warm, white seed as the hips lunged from the ground and thrust into his hand. It didn't take long and when it was done, Elladan slipped into reverie, a natural consequence of the beguiling song, and Maglor cleaned him and his hand before taking up the harp once more.

Watching Elladan sleep, eyes half-lidded and fogged with dreams, he embellished the tune he'd been crafting, finding the element he'd been lacking in the quiet vow of constancy this most amazing elf had just proclaimed to him. Maglor smiled and the song became a hymn of joy and thanksgiving which he offered on the breeze for the Powers to discover.

Elladan sat on the simple wooden bench placed on the small covered porch of the sea-stone cottage, watching in quiet enamouration as Maglor sang for him. It was a new song, as all his songs were now, witty and bright with vaguely ribald lyrics and a sprightly melody in a range even Elladan could manage. Before long he was joining on the chorus, which pleased Maglor so much he came and kissed him right in the middle of a stanza, missing not a single syllable in the process. The ditty ended with a predictably amusing aphorism and they laughed.

"I like that one," beamed Elladan. "What a comedic scene, the amorous suitor over-tipping the boat just at the crucial moment."

"Oh it was, it was," chortled Maglor, then he sobered. "You do not remember."

"What?" Elladan stiffened, simultaneously slouching back in his seat, for here was a scenario he had often dreaded would occur. "You mean that was real? That happened?"

"Aye." Maglor sighed and sat beside him, regretting he had tried to stir Elros' mind and make him recall their former days. He knew this was upsetting to his beloved; why must he push him so? "Ai, forgive me. I am an ungrateful wretch," he said sadly. "I have been granted a gift of such magnitude none can compare, yet I only hope for more instead of cherishing you."

"Nay, nay," Elladan assured, instantly taking his hand. "It is natural for you to want that, to link the past with what we have now. I only regret I can never give it to you. There is only me, as I am, and nothing more." He spoke the words kindly but there was no hiding their bitter undertone.

"I am truly sorry." Maglor was and wished fervently he could remove that faint yet damning look of sorrow in Elladan's eyes.

"Nay, let us not dwell on this," sighed Elladan, but he could not quite manage to root out the discontent growing in his mind. Maglor, when all was said and done, did not love him at all, but the phantom he represented. He sighed again and curled in on himself, subtly drawing away from the glorious singer.

"I do love you, only you. Please, I cannot help my own memories, but I see you here and now. I love you, here and now." Maglor implored, trying to meet the averted eyes and failing. Tentatively he touched the hunched shoulder. "Elladan?" The face he so loved came around at once but the eyes, so magnificently expressive, were awash with gathering tears.

"If that is true," his voice caught and he faltered, for what he would say was painful and speaking it aloud might give a truth to the idea that he desperately wished to avoid. He inhaled and made himself continue. Better to know now what he faced, what hopeless future his heart had led him to accept. "Why do you not want to join with me? You say it is too soon, but to me it feels we have been together for centuries. Is it not so for you? I would willingly bind my soul to yours yet you reject…" He was silenced as callused fingers sealed over his lips, the minstrel looming close, dark eyes wild in torment and fear.

"Don't say those words," he hissed. "They are not true, they are not!" He removed his hand and caressed the supple cheek. "I do not reject anything about you," he insisted. "You are wondrous and the joy of my soul, the life of my heart. Yet I am older and know of these things better than you. I am to be your first, in this life just as in your last. I want it to be right, to be perfect. I want no regrets to follow after when your heart is no longer free as it is now."

"My heart is not free; I have given it to you. All that is left is to give you the rest. Is it so much to ask?"

Elladan struggled to keep his composure but completely lost it when the singer caught him up in a tight embrace, whispering over and over a name that was not his own. He wept in misery as Maglor crooned consoling endearments to Elros.
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Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)

~ Part Five: Maglor ~