Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2339 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Part Eight - Erestor

Erestor stood in the bleak and heavy rain soaked and streaming with rivulets that ran down his cloak and fell from the ends of his slick and flattened hair, the fat drops battering him with loud, abrasive violence, muting the sounds of every other element in the natural world, all silenced by the pouring deluge descending in endless furor from the leaden sky. He stood apart, having moved away from his escort, galloped ahead, concerned the instant he'd spied the lone messenger on the horizon, easily spotted in this featureless, sloping land of marshes, mires, and empty space. Unclaimed and inhospitable, these storm-lashed and sun-scorched lands pitted with bottomless bogs and foetid swamps, these Ettenmoors. None would come this way without purpose, and the only purpose in coming this way was to reach him.

The breed of the courier was enough to invoke alarm for seldom did Avarin elves venture from their chosen enclaves these days, though once wanderers had they been. The communication could only be from someone in Lindon and the most likely candidate was Enerdhil. His first note had been bad: Elladan added to the delegation to Círdan's council; should he reveal the family secret just in case? Erestor had written back, giving consent, but when Círdan dismissed Elladan that became unnecessary. Then Arantar's missive arrived, crafted in carefully chosen words devoid of overt alarm and underpinned with anxiety and fear. That had been sufficient to initiate his departure from Greenwood and now, barely over Hithaeglir, a third letter. Erestor knew it must likewise address the unexpected and uncharacteristic actions of Elladan, unabashedly his favourite between the twins.

Yet he had not guessed it would be written in the young warrior's slanted scrawl, penned by Elladan himself.

He saw the date, three weeks past, and his heart clenched with visceral, undefined dread; the letter from Arantar had been sent just ten days prior and nearly a month had passed in transport. He broke the seal and in the cacophonous droning of the endless deluge read the words, the rattling patter of rain on parchment the only other sound. That and the phantom voice within his mind imitating Elladan's tones and patterns of inflection.

'Suilad, Erestor, mellon vrun, (old friend)

'I share with you my greatest joy; you, who besides Elrohir have been my dearest friend and confidant. It is not the first secret I have given into the safety of your generous and open heart, mellonen, but it is by far the most important.

'But see! Now that I write this, I realise there is more than one thing to share. I have chosen, as has Elrohir, to remain among the First-born. Even Elrohir does not yet know, but I could not explain the rest without telling you. Mayhap you have heard, though, for I blurted it out quite suddenly in front of Arantar, Enerdhil, and the guards. Ah well, then I was unhappy and behaving like a child.

'Now I am no longer the shy and troubled youth hiding behind his brother's face, fearful lest anyone discover what he is. I have come down to Himling Cove and found here my heart's desire. We are bound, he and I, and you know him. I hope you will approve, Erestor, for it is Maglor, your Adar. It would be too hard, knowing we will never be accepted by my father, if you reject our union, too. Aye, it is done; we are one.

'There is more that I cannot write. Only face to face can I reveal the burden that is mine alone. Would that you were here for never have I needed your counsel more. Come, if you may, as soon as you may, and I swear to heed your advice for once.

'Be happy for me, I pray, and for him also for I do bring him joy and he was fading. Now he is not and we share the burden with which he was entrusted. Say that you will come and celebrate with me, for I have no other I can tell and we are truly family now.

With love and respect,

Elladan'

Love and respect. Erestor stared, the words resounding through his brain, their meaning poignant and indelible, for they were not mere pleasantries, not to Elladan. Heart's desire. Bound. Elladan bound to a kin-slayer, to Maglor, to his father. He read the note again; shook his head in denial; it could not be real. His father loved Elros and no other, refused all efforts to distract him from that doomed obsession. Ages had passed and still he mourned. That being so, what to make of Elladan's jubilant announcement?

Erestor gave an inarticulate groan of anguished resignation for there was only one answer. Should Maglor meet him, the Noldorin Prince might believe in his grief-riddled, deranged mind that Elladan was Elros. That was no surprise; Erestor had marked often how similar the second generation of Eärendil's twins was to the first, in both appearance and personality. Still, to have expressed this love and desire openly, to have wooed Elladan and won him? Enerdhil had warned of this very possibility in his letter, describing Elladan's morose and woebegone mood. How had he put it? 'Given his confused state of mind and wounded soul, anyone paying him loving attention is likely to turn his head and gain his favour.' The conclusion was inescapable. Somehow, some way, Elladan had willingly assumed Elros' identity.

Admittedly, Erestor had worried over a brief entanglement with Maglor, should the two actually meet, and thus his decision to go find Elladan once Arantar's letter made it plain he was not at Annúminas. Such a romance could only end in more hurt and betrayal, but from that an elf would recover in time. Erestor never imagined a bonding, a permanent knot that could not be untied, a union of spirit and mind as well as body, each becoming a vital part of the other's faer. From such a bond there was no retreat, save to madness and to Mandos.

~Nay! This cannot be true.~

Yet it could be nothing else, for he of all people knew the depth of Maglor's obsession with Elros. Even his naneth's memory, the wife who had stood by her Noldorin Prince in the face of such horrendous deeds, fought and died defending him, his son, and his bloody Oath, even such a steadfast heart held no allure once the singer's sight recognised the bold and comely warrior his grey-eyed foundling child had grown to be. He renounced the wife confined to Mandos, melted down the golden wedding bands to forge new ones, and forgot her. He would have Elros and no other and took him as soon as law permitted.

For how many centuries had he hated both of them for that betrayal? Erestor could not remember now; in some ways he still did. To give Elros credit, he had refused to accept the ring, refused to acknowledge any permanent bond, holding off until he made his choice. Erestor had absolved him then, of course, finally comprehending how detrimental the relationship had been. Yet it was long before he could look upon his father and longer still before he could forgive him. Eventually, he realised his naneth deserved better and would find it when she was given life anew, or the Valar were cruel. He was satisfied to know that Maglor suffered and suffered unceasingly, his grief wearing at his soul while his new Oath to the Silmaril did not permit any such end. There was justice in that for him and for his mother's memory.

The script was running down the page, scrubbed from the coarse fibres by the relentless rain when Erestor snapped back to reality, hastily shaking it to rid it of the pool of fluid collected in its curled cup, pressing it uselessly to his sopping cloak as though to dry it, bending over it to prevent the precipitation from stealing this precious trust, erasing that devastating secret. Erestor jogged back to his horse and mounted, tucked the letter inside his tunic against his bare skin, and set off at a canter for the only shelter visible: a bedraggled cluster of sickly willows leaning awry as though pushed hard by a brutal gale.

His escort followed but only to say they must leave him now and turn back, for the Wood Elves had no love for such open expanses. The messenger had already retreated. They all rode homeward but in opposite directions. He scarcely saw them go, too busy reading the letter again, crouched now under the arbour of dripping branches, searching for something within his pockets as he did, something dear, a memento, a treasure he was never without. It was where it should be, folded carefully and slipped beneath the leather cover of his notecase. The rain stopped. He removed the ancient velum sheaf, carefully opening it out, smoothing it gently over his knee. Faint and frail the words looked now but four thousand years were bound to do that.

'Erestor,

'What can I say to you? Apologies are fruitless, accusations unfounded. I have tried to mend him, you know it is so. Is it my fault that my heart is sore from the effort? I cannot bear to see him thus and now I have learned all my love, all my sorrow, all my determination was for nothing.

'It is not for me he stays; that much is a lie. Perhaps he does love me, a little, but he loves something else far more. I have found out his guilty secret; I caught them together, him and that vile stone. How can something so steeped in horror, death, and brutality look so pristine and innocent?

'Do you know about the stone? Have you seen it? If so and you did not tell me, well, it was a cruel thing to do to me. Yet if that be the case, I deem you had reason to fall to that a sin of omission. I forgive you such betrayal and beg you will finally forgive me mine. I was as a son to you once and looked to you as a father; I would see that love in your eyes again, before the end, rather than fury and disgust.

'He serves the stone, Erestor, but I will not. That is too much to ask. I lost everything because of it and now he would beg me stay and help him tend it. If you had seen him with it, practically making love to it even as it burned his flesh, you would comprehend my fury and my anguish.

'I want no part of this anymore. I am sick and weary and yet have not even seen my hundredth year. It is impossible to bear this pain eternally. Tell Elrond he was right; I am better off dead. So I shall be, in time, for I have chosen my father's people and will live whatever span of years the Valar see fit to grant.

'You will have to explain it to him; that I have no strength to do. By the time you read this I will already be gone for Ossë has agreed to aid me.

Namarië, mellon vell

Elros'

He drew a great gasp of a breath, feeling empty, hollow and vacant as though he'd not breathed in days, desperate to keep the void from filling with sorrow. Erestor held the two letters, glancing from one to the other, one faded by rain and the other by age, wondering how they could be so similar and so different; how they could both be in his hands. Why was it he in possession of these heart wrenching secrets and not Elrond? He was shocked, seeing them side by side, to note the way Elladan's handwriting favoured his uncle's, forgetting that each had learned the same style of penmanship in the schoolroom, from him no less. Now it seemed a strange and chilling portent for Erestor was unable to prevent his memory from supplying another comparison: Elladan's hope and happiness mimicked Elros' feelings in his first year with Maglor.

~That one year they had together before the War of Wrath and the recovery of the jewels.~

Eärendil's son had remained forty all told, refusing to desert Maglor in his madness, determined to salvage the failing singer, the fallen prince, the last of the sons of Feänor. He would have stayed for eternity, but for that stone.

~In this, too, they are alike. Elladan will not abandon Adar, either.~

Yet it was the ways in which the two differed that made the august seneschal sob and drop his head in misery and shame, for somehow he had failed them both. Entrusted with two sons of the heart, Erestor allowed both to fall to ruin rather than raising them up to redemption. Where was his error? He could not see it, try though he might, for what had proved so detrimental in the first case he had abandoned in the second, but the outcome was the same. Only their means to tragedy differed, taking opposite paths to the same destination.

Elros chose the Gift of Men, Elladan the light of the First-born. Elros refused to bind his soul to Maglor's, never quite as lost in love as the ancient minstrel hoped he was. Elladan was proudly wearing his bonding ring by now. Elros rejected the lure of the stone; Elladan gladly accepted the Silmaril for the sake of his mate. Tar Minyatur escaped the accursed doom of the Noldorin Princes and built a life and a legacy that would linger long after the days of the elves were forgotten. Yet the price had been his very life and he was gone, never to return. What hope could there be for Elladan? He could no more reverse his decision to remain among the Quendi than he could make his heart learn to hate.

~Love and respect.~

It was all Elladan had ever wanted. Not riches or power or renown among his peers. He had no desire to become a legendary hero praised through time for Ages to come, but great was his need for acceptance, for appreciation, for abiding devotion and commitment, for love and respect. Was that so much to ask of the Powers, of Iluvatar? Must he pay such a heavy price, the breaking of his true and loyal heart, the debasement of his noble and honourable character?

Erestor stood, striding out from under the stunted trees, pacing across the soggy ground in an agony of frustration and futility, for what could he do? How could he mend it and prevent this tragedy? It was done, their union sealed, their souls forever entwined. He halted, exhaling a bitter groan, and passed a hand over his aching eyes. How would he find the words to speak this news to Elrond and Celebrian? He shook his head, sadly folding away the two missives. That, to quote Elros, he had not the strength to do. Nay, there was no point in racing to Imladris for in such a situation not even the power of Vilya would avail Elrond and his lady-wife succour. Elladan was lost to them.

"Indorion nín, (my heart-son) had I but been observant I might have aided you. I should have taken you with me to Greenwood where the distraction you so needed would never had led to this. Forgive me."

Erestor spoke aloud as he moved through the tall wet grass. He whistled for his mare and set forth again, his pace frantic and his soul awash in guilt and grief. He would go to Himling Cove and give Elladan this brief moment of joy and pride in his chosen life. He would shelter him as much as possible from Maglor's rage when the truth came out. He would get him on a ship to Aman. It was the least he could do.

Now came the days of bliss, for the lovers left all discussion and remembrance behind. A new world unfolded before them, a small insulated kingdom bounded by the endless ocean and the ragged spur of the Blue Mountains, boasting of boundless joy, as expansive and glorious within their separate reality as the Blessed Realm was for the Valar. Within this secluded, protected dominion their love grew and blossomed, a golden and perfect flower with a sweet, exotic scent that suffused the very air of their desolate island home.

Elladan once more resigned himself to his false identity, assured by Maglor's devotion that time would provide the answer to this quandary. That the mentor he respected and loved was the child of his beloved soul-mate, Elladan accepted with wonder and gratitude. At least he could share his joy with one person who would understand his devotion to the notorious Noldorin Prince and the lie that bound them together. The second letter he wrote was to Erestor, revealing his joyous secret and begging him to keep it as he would protect the seneschal's, for none in Imladris knew Erestor was the son of a kin-slayer, save Elrond and Celebrian.

That the Silmaril had been rescued from the deeps by Ossë, the very Maia who had thrown him into this consuming passion, this made sense as well. Ossë had his part to play, though Elladan still could not say he trusted the sea-spirit. He was nonetheless an ally, for surely he would help keep Maglor from finding out the truth until Elladan could be certain the minstrel would survive the subterfuge wrought upon his heart and the bond they shared would survive the strain caused by revealing his lie.

Maglor set aside his iconic image of Elros, a heroic figure of young love tragically lost forever because of the curse that ravaged the House of Feänor and destroyed every good thing he and his brothers sought to achieve. He focused on Elladan, young, vibrant, and present, as vital a component to his life as the air he breathed and the water he drank. There was so much to learn of him and while he kept his thoughts to himself, the contrasts between the elf Elros had once been and the warrior he was now were striking, exhilarating, confusing, and sometimes frustrating. Yet there was no denying the discovery of all these traits, virtues, and paradoxes was both thrilling and fascinating. It was like taking a new lover without the fear and guilt of betraying his love for Elros.

He gazed in longing on the recumbent form of his resplendent mate stretched out upon the deck of the skiff, the feeling so intense it was almost pain. Elladan lay on his back adrift in light reverie, a fair faint smile the only thing he wore, one arm crooked beneath his head, the other draped over his midriff. Elladan ~Elros~ apparently worshipped Anor in this lifetime where in the previous he had delighted in the stars. Now he adored nothing more than lying naked beneath the caress of Arien's golden rays, basking in the effusive warmth of the early summer sun. Such blatant temptation was impossible to ignore or master; Maglor must have him. Yet the surf was high and he could not let go the tiller to fondle the long, lax penis resting there upon a muscular thigh.

Ah, to take it up and cradle it within his fingers, delighting in the softness of it, relishing the heat of the skin as it filled with blood under his manipulation, enthralled by the hardness he could so quickly induce. Or maybe he would devour it and Elladan would awaken to find his cock deep down his husband's throat, crying out that lovely, ragged shout of needy desire, desperate to see the organ slide slowly from his beloved's lips, wet and slick and red, only to beg for it to be swallowed again.

Maglor groaned in frustration and decided to take a chance. He stretched out his bare foot, managed to grasp a length of hithlain between his toes, and dragged it to him. In it he made a loop, secured the tiller, and then cautiously got down on hands and knees. Quietly he crept toward his slumbering mate, eyes locked on the exposed genitals and the nest of dark brown curls surrounding them, the boat rising and falling as the rolling swells passed beneath her. Patiently, stealthily he stalked closer until at last he crouched above the delectable body, poised to swoop down and act out his fantasy. Maglor heard a soft sigh and raised his eyes to find Elladan smiling playfully.

"What took you so long?" he asked.

"Oh, so you are expecting some attention, my dear young love?" retorted Maglor. He stood, cock bobbing with the motion, and peered down at Elladan, hands on hips.

"I am. Do you not desire to give it to me?" His gaze swept provocatively over the lordly elf, pausing at the tell-tale proof of Maglor's interest, and then skewering the ancient singer with a smouldering look of flagrant lust. His hand slid lower to shake and tug at his penis, thighs parting wider as it began to fill. "It could be you doing this," he sighed out.

Maglor, at first of a mind to deny his mate the stimulus he desired, found he had no motivation to punish Elladan and immediately dropped again to hands and knees, following through on his initial notion and engulfing the swelling organ, which his beloved obligingly held out for him. Lower and lower he dipped his head, taking as much of the lengthening shaft as he could and felt Elladan's hand pressing to keep him there. Slowly Maglor withdrew, grinning around the aroused shaft as Elladan's arse lifted from the floor to try and prevent it.

"Oh, Maglor!" he cried, bucking up between the retreating lips, eager to feel the mobile tongue lap at his glans, eager to spill down his mate's throat.

Surely things would have proceeded just so save that at that precise moment a particularly large surge picked up the boat and made it lurch sideways, pitching her sharply to starboard so that her keel almost felt daylight, and both elves went sliding and rolling toward the sea. Maglor managed to grasp the bow line and hung on but Elladan toppled right into the water with a frantic yelp. He came up again just as the boat righted herself and found Maglor had tossed him a line. Grabbing it tight he was pulled in and lifted back onto the deck, soaked and furious.

"This is unbearable!" he shouted, staggering to the mast and frantically insinuating his arms in the rigging, back to his beloved. "Take us home."

He had no idea what an inviting pose he presented until Maglor pounced, plastering his body against his, hard cock pushed against his rear, hands roaming and teasing, tongue licking from the base of his neck to his ear, which he sucked and then bit.

"I thought you wanted me to give it to you," Maglor whispered in husky mirth. He gave a swift thrust of his hips and snickered as Elladan pushed back against it. "Do you?"

"Aye." Elladan made to turn, trying to work his arms free and was abruptly stopped as Maglor grabbed them and shoved them back amid the taut ropes. "What are you doing?"

"Tying you to the mast." Maglor's eyes sparkled as he did this, glancing at Elladan ~Elros~ to gauge the degree to which the dunking had doused his ardour. He reached between dripping thighs and ran his fingers through drenched pubic curls and over a much deflated penis. He cupped the balls beneath it and made Elros ~Elladan~ groan aloud; those strong shapely legs parted more. "For your safety, of course. I do not want you tossed into the drink before I've had you to my utter satisfaction."

"I don't know about this," Elladan balked, though he leaned into the sensual caresses and kisses now bestowed over his flesh. Hands came up his torso from hips to pectorals and there rested, pinching and flicking his nipples as a voracious mouth sucked the crux of neck and shoulder. He shivered, a soft groan easing through his nostrils. They had not made love like this before, though Maglor had frequently given playful hints that he adored enforced submission. "I'm cold and the sea is too choppy. Let us go back and weigh anchor in the bay, then you can…"

His words were stolen as the hot, rigid flesh of Maglor's erection demanded entrance, forcing its way between arse cheeks held open by rough-tipped fingers. He yelped as a strong thrust pushed the swollen cock inside and the minstrel's body slammed against him with a most satisfying concussion.

"Let's stay right here. You'll find the rhythm of the sea lends a certain spontaneity to the movement. I might lose balance and cling to you, buried to the balls, or be thrown off onto my arse. You might even use the rise and dip of the ocean to your advantage, since you do not want to be taken thus, bound and helpless, to dislodge me. Then I'd have to get back up and start all over, penetrate you again, fuck you hard and fast." He retreated and gave a jarring shove, successfully striking Elladan's prostate and enjoying the high-pitched squeal that initiated. "Oh, you liked that."

"Aye. I mean, nay. Valar, Maglor."

Elladan didn't know exactly what he should do, not having played the game before, but gathered he was supposed to resist. That was going to take some effort as he wanted the cock to start moving and never stop rather than have it torn from him. He braced himself on the mast and peeked over his shoulder. Seeing the expectant expression in the singer's eyes, he manufactured a fearful glower, or what he hoped was a close approximation.

"Get off me! You've no right to bind me thus; I will not submit!" With that he gave a brisk push with his buttocks and felt Maglor's rigid organ retreating. It came completely free and he gasped, clutching at the ropes holding him fast, expecting a punishing intrusion and bruising collision. Instead, Maglor stood back and surveyed Elladan, stroking himself as he did.

"Liar. You want it. Look at this and tell me you don't want it." He held his impressive organ out and smirked as Elladan's ~Elros'~ gaze honed in on it and he swallowed, unconsciously sliding his legs further apart.

"Nay."

"Aye. Worry not, I plan to use you well." He stepped closer and fondled his captive shamelessly, pumping and squeezing the heavy penis, distracting Elros ~Elladan~ so that he failed to notice what the hand reaching into his hair was doing. From his ebony tresses Maglor retrieved a leather tie, freeing his mane so that it whipped and flew wildly in the prevailing winds. Dropping to a crouch, he tightly bind the lovely erection, ignoring the shout of protest, and kissed its glistening tip. Standing, he moved behind his prisoner and settled firm hands on Elladan's hips.

"Why do that? Saes, do not punish me thus, Maglor."

Elladan's plea was ignored and the huge cock breached him anew. This time Maglor did not stop moving, pounding into him with delight, growling as he bore down and fucked him with serious intent, teeth and lips worrying his neck, leaving bites and soft purple passion marks all down his shoulder. Elladan gripped the mast and did his best to relax and let the hot rod of blood and flesh do its work, rubbing him just exactly how he liked it, but as his passion built to feverish levels he realised he would not be allowed to experience the rush of ecstasy his mate was nearing. Indeed, his cock bumped and scraped against the wooden pole but no other attention did it receive, for Maglor would not touch him, absorbed in his own pleasure. He seemed to have forgotten about the restraint even as Elladan became more painfully aware of it.

"Maglor!"

Suddenly Maglor tensed, grabbed Elladan hard and pulled him down forcefully as he thrust up within him, long, rough lunges that jolted him with bright flares of pleasure. The minstrel came, moaning as his semen coated his cock and eased its path for several more rolling impacts. Breathing hard, he pulled out and flopped down on the deck, stretching out as Elladan had done earlier, folding his arms behind his head as he smiled up in devious glee at his frustrated lover.

"That was good," he said between deep, recovering breaths. "Yet, I am far from satisfied."

"No? Then what is that I feel oozing down my thighs?" demanded Elladan, irritated to be denied his pleasure, too. He regretted his complaint immediately, for Maglor leaped up, snatching his discarded shirt fromthe deck and dipping it into the rocking water. Twirling it tight he used it to slap a resounding blow to Elladan's backside that smarted like nothing he'd ever felt. "Ai! Why did you do that?" Another blow fell and he howled, shifting to evade further punishment and failing as the saturated shirt whipped his arse again. "Daro!"

"Mind you insolent tongue," barked Maglor and swung the makeshift whip. The loud smack was most satisfying, as was Elros' ~Elladan's~ subsequent efforts to avoid him, the punished flesh quivering and red. He let the garment fall to the deck with a soft splat and mounted his captive again, pumping his renewed erection rapidly in and out, knowing he would be able to go on for a longer time, smiling as he watched Elladan struggle, for the pounding he was taking was maddeningly delicious, infuriatingly frustrating as he could not peak, and his arse must burn with every impact due to the stinging rebuke it had just endured.

"Maglor, oh Valar," moaned Elladan, squirming under the assault, simultaneously needing it and wanting it to end. "Saes, untie me."

"And have you drown in the sea?"

No sooner had the words been uttered than another high wave lifted the boat and then dropped her ungently into the deep trough on the other side. Maglor had to grab both the rigging and his lover's waist to keep from being thrown overboard. The motion sent him crashing up against his beloved and he held tight, suddenly concerned to feel the flinch that jolted through Elladan. A low, soft cry of dismay and dissatisfaction followed and the dark, water-logged head bowed against the mast. With shock it dawned that this response was real; Elladan ~Elros? - Elladan~ was not enjoying the game.
The boat settled more or less level and Maglor still maintained the close connection, fervently, almost reverently kissing the shoulder against which he let his weight fall. Somehow, he found this all unbearably moving; Elladan's submission was not feigned nor his resistance a pretence. It bespoke a degree of love he had not known before, a gift so profound he could scarcely define it. Slowly he withdrew, watching his beloved shudder as the organ retreated.

"Why?" Elladan whispered. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Maglor answered, voice choked with emotion. He stood close, keeping his body against Elladan's hoping that would provide reassurance, and reached for the restrained cock. Quickly he untied it and then as swiftly freed Elladan's arms, rubbing them lightly, drawing them to encircle his waist, thrilling at the feel of the hot, distended organ pressing against his, meeting bewildered grey eyes as he leaned in to kiss his mate. "Your turn. Shall we trade places?"

Elladan's brows rose sharply as he examined the hungry, hopeful, penitent countenance before him, wondering how all those emotions could fit in the lovely grey depths. He smiled and claimed a kiss, too, squeezing Maglor and sighing out a desperate groan as he shifted to wedge his cock against its counterpart.

"The oil rolled into the deep; I've no means to prepare you." Another kiss and he smoothed his palm over the wild black mane. "Ai, I do want you."

"Then have me. I don't mind the discomfort, 'tis over quickly." Maglor tipped his head and nipped at Elladan's chin, clearly inviting a little attention to his long ivory throat.

"I mind." Elladan obliged, lapping and taking tiny tastes of the skin, pinching small spots all along the exposed neck from shoulder to earlobe, which he gently sucked.

"Nay, it's only your due after the way I took you. I deserve the same treatment."

"You deserve to be loved and I don't like giving pain when I wish to give pleasure." He peeked at the singer's face, smiling to see the dreamy, hazy expression overtaking his mate. The minstrel's gaze swivelled to bring him in sight and he offered a broader smile and a quick kiss, reaching down and petting the tight arse seductively.

"But I like it that way," whined Maglor, "you are punishing me." He shifted his hips, rocking side to side to create a delightful sensation when his cock rolled over Elladan's then back. "I will assuredly know pleasure. Throw me into the rigging and…"

He was silenced with a heated kiss that ended abruptly and he found himself facing a searing gaze of fiery longing. That perspective lasted all of two seconds as he was roughly grabbed, spun, pushed into the billowing sail, and mounted. Elladan's lovely slender sabre found its way and was quickly sheathed within him. He gave an approving groan of decadent delight as it settled firmly against his prostate.

"Ai, beloved, move, move!" he exhorted, scrambling to grasp the slack canvas and lean over the boom, heard Elladan's sharp gasp and had but seconds to prepare for the swift retreat and immediate re-entry of the svelte shaft. Only faintly he registered his mate's lusty grunts as he was fucked with rapacious frenzy, Elros ~Elladan~ too overcome by need to take his time or draw the experience out. He came quickly, a consequence of having been tied off, and Maglor regretted having done it, realising he would not. Yet before he could begin to really mourn his aroused state, he was spun about, his mouth and lips devoured as he was drawn down to the deck. Before he could even think to ask, Elladan pushed him onto his back and transferred that talented mouth to his rigid cock.

"Beloved, aye, like that," he encouraged, watching in an enthralled somatic daze as the dark head rose and fell. He cried out when fingers trailed across his sack and his balls were gently squeezed. "El…ladan!" He lifted into the swirling suction of the mobile tongue as it swabbed across his slit and let his body go, relenting to the desire to spill down his mate's throat, to watch him swallow and feel the faint touch of teeth on his glans when he did. Maglor's orgasm was glorious and he lay flat, a silly grin on his face, one hand pressed atop his husband's head where it rested on his belly.

Just as they were drifting into a light, restful reverie the sea reared up again and sent both plunging into the bouncing waves. They came up spluttering with indignant disgust and had to swim a few strokes to catch the boat, heaving themselves onboard with many a muttered curse and dragged themselves to the mast. Wrapping themselves around it, their eyes met and the sight each presented, soaked hair clinging to their faces and bodies, bits of seaweed stuck to it here and there, salty water trickling off into puddles beneath their feet, sent them into simultaneous peals of laughter. Each transferred an arm to hang onto the other and with lurching steps made it to the stern where the tiller had come free from its loose mooring long ago. They sat side by side on either side of it and in perfect accord met across the rudder and kissed.

The wind had not relented and Elladan shivered, looking for his clothes, realising with dismay that they were gone, lost to the waves. He scanned the ragged expanse of green water and quickly became alarmed; he could not see the land.

"Maglor! Where is Himling?" He convulsively grabbed to the minstrel's arm.

"Just there, where it has been for all time. We have just been carried adrift beyond the horizon. Be at peace; I will soon have us back on course." He was concerned over his mate's obvious dread and wondered over it, for Elros had never feared the sea before. Yet he knew nothing of what had transpired on the journey to fabled Númenor; mayhap Ossë had not calmed the ocean's tempers. He hesitated but finally gave in to his curiosity. "What disturbs you so?"

"What?" Elladan was taken aback, not realising how his fear must show, and blushed to have it pointed out. "I just cannot bear to lose sight of the land. We are at the mercy of Ossë out here."

"Mercy? He is not cruel. I have been friends with him long these many centuries and you once…" He stopped, smiling over his blunder as he shook his head. "Tell me why you dislike him so."

"Ai Valar, he is terrible!" exclaimed Elladan, happy to ignore the halted reference to the past. "So many have met tragedy and death at his hands. It is his work that made this pleasure voyage so rough and our loving so jarringly eventful. I dare say he is somewhere out there watching us, too." He shivered in revulsion as the notion took hold, ineffectually trying to cover his nakedness. He glanced up to find Maglor watching him with perplexed concern and frowned. "Tell me why you trust him, why you befriended him."

"Besides offering me a chance at redemption by retrieving the Silmaril?" Maglor smiled at Elladan's embarrassed grimace and gently took hold of his mate's chin, guiding the comely face near enough to kiss. When he finished that, Elladan was smiling again and a soft sigh left him. The minstrel could see that he would accept this, too, this friendship of which he did not approve, out of love and respect. "Ai, beloved Ind'wedhen (My Heart-bond), I can do nothing less than praise and thank him. It was Ossë who brought you back to me. First he salvages my blasted soul and now he gives back to me my heart's desire. How can I not honour and respect him? I owe him everything."

To this Elladan could offer no rebuttal, for obvious reasons, and he was uncomfortable with the notion of his husband feeling such a deep sense of obligation to the Maia. Yet he could not discount it, for in truth he was himself now indebted to Ossë, for without him would he ever have encountered Maglor? Elladan could not imagine being without the singer's love and companionship. He found himself reconsidering his view of the Maia. Was it possible the devious sea-spirit truly cared about Maglor's heart and soul or was he still merely following orders, bending to the will of greater Powers?

The day ended with no greater harm befalling them than the jeers and jokes aimed at them by Jatmâ, loudly and lewdly extolling the many virtues of sailing they must have practised on their trip. The hot bath, clean dry clothes, and hearty meal the brusque seneschal had prepared in anticipation of just such a return more than rewarded the lovers for bearing this with equanimity. The night passed without further discussion of Ossë and his undisputed place in their life.

Elladan was performing a complicated and precise kata with his broadsword, the movements exact, his concentration intense. He was completely absorbed in his training and saw nothing, heard nothing, his whole being focused on his movements, his unity with the sword, their combined mastery of the space around them. Graceful and fluid as were these steps, every sweep and thrust, every block and jab, every leap and turn, was designed to deliver a deadly stroke to an opponent. There was no room for defence in these rigourous manoeuvres, no place for mercy or compassion. Elladan armed was a force of pure destruction, a beautiful and deadly vision of perfection in the art of killing. Maglor watched, mesmerised and repulsed at the same time.

It was fascinating, he could not deny it. Elladan ~Elros? - Elladan~ had obviously learned the kata at a very young age and had taken ample liberties with the form, freely elaborating on the moves, changing them to suit his personal taste, this particular sword. Maglor did not doubt for a second that these moves and parries, steps and jabs, sweeping slices and leaping undercuts, were the same techniques his brother used but dissimilar enough that it was plainly obvious to all.

This, conversely, and more than any other hints in his words and body language, attested to a deep dependence upon his brother. It was important for Elladan to be Elladan and not just one half of a set of twins even as he defined himself by comparison to his twin. That, the minstrel reflected, was a personality trait never exhibited by Elros at any time in his past life. Even as a child, he had been the dominant one, watching out for Elrond, protecting him, nurturing him, encouraging him when he seemed lost in pining for their parents. Yet now he strove to prove his individuality in order to justify his reliance upon that common bond, that split duality.

~Perhaps that is to be expected, for he is not merely a twin but the son of his twin. Aiya! What a conundrum. Is it not natural to be dependent upon his father? Aye, but he must long for nothing less than an individual identity, free from Elrond.~

That sounded reasonable, but Maglor could not escape the feeling that there was something more, another layer to this complex elf that he had yet to uncover. His introspection was interrupted as Elladan began a new kata, changing from the broadsword to a dagger and club. The moves were not elegant and ethereal anymore but cruel, brutal, powerful, and ugly. Maglor's smile dissolved and a cold thrill ran through him; he hated watching Elladan practice hand-to-hand.
There were different katas for different weapons and Elladan was nothing less than a master - a warrior of such skill he was virtually indestructible. That at least was no change, for Elros had been Maedhros' equal in war-sport. Only severe odds against him or some devilry of evil could bring about his defeat. He knew it, too; rejoiced in it. Here was the essential quality that established his ego, as much a component of his being as the colour of his eyes and the shape of his face, perhaps more so for this aspect of his person was his alone. And he cherished that, relished being among that singular class of elves for whom the sword and the sabre were extensions of the physical body rather than mere tools of war. Maglor watched, wondering how long he could keep his beloved warrior content in this environment of peace and solitude.

"Hah! Gwanno, ulunn deleb!" (Hah! Die, abhorrent creature!)

Elladan's loud shout startled Maglor out of his thoughts. He smiled with mirth; Elladan was showing off for him. Boldly he sauntered near and removed his tunic and shirt, tossing them aside without care for where they landed, his skin glazed with a sheen of sweat, his hair bound tight in a single braid. Muscles flexing, a quick glance to make sure he was being observed with absolute attention, a flash of a smile, and he moved to take up a slender blade, more flexible than the broadsword but longer than a hunting knife.

With a leap and a turn almost too fast to follow he engaged the wooden dummy he had created for this purpose, striking precise points on the false torso with the sword, his hands, his feet. Skill and beauty combined again and now the moves were more a dance, a most seductive and alluring dance, a not so subtle promise that his mate would never want for protection. Here was the pledge again, its form blatant, physical, violent: Elladan would fight for him to the death and only death would part them.

As though to drive the point home, Elladan leaped high and performed a spinning kick to the pseudo head while simultaneously burying his blade in the dummy's breast with his left hand, the jab so brutal the steel cut deep into the wood and remained fixed, flashing in the sun as it oscillated with the excess energy imparted to the delivery. Breathing hard, eyes bright with fire and brimming with love, he strode to his mate and with zealous aggression claimed his lips, lean strong arms encircling him, the kiss a passionate entreaty. He came away with a smile self-consciously courageous, for he was unused to making the first advance, wondering what the dumbstruck expression on his mate's refined countenance portended.

Maglor stood gazing blankly, heart pounding a wild, unsteady rhythm as the present shifted and rolled and collided with the past. Something about this was all wrong and at the same time perfectly right. Here he was in this magnificent ellon's embrace, this incredibly erotic elf who so plainly wanted him, needed him. He searched the bright grey eyes, noticing not for the first time how much blue and gold they held. He reached up and caressed a pale cheek coloured with a splash of rose from the exertions just completed and wondered who he was, this glorious person he had married, claimed for his own and permitted to claim him in turn, to whom his soul was bound and the deepest secrets of the Valar had been entrusted.

"Ai Valar," he said, voice low and hoarse. Absently he reached for the warrior's powerful hand, the brutal hand that had delivered that killing blow, lifting it, turning it to inspect the creases of the palm. "Elladan," he murmured, finding at last the name he needed. "You are left handed."

"Aye." Elladan dipped his head sideways to catch the intent stare mapping his palm, smiling, planting a tender kiss against the noble temple. "Is there some rede given in those lines? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, fine." Maglor stuttered out, eyes leaping to scan the comely face so near to his. The taste of his mate was still on his tongue and his vision settled on dark red lips half in pout and half in grin. Even as he contemplated sampling them Elladan sealed their mouths together, the kiss more demanding and yet more tentative, too. At last Maglor regained his senses and returned the embrace, stealing away control though really it was given up readily. His soul sang as he delved the mouth he knew so intimately, chased the tongue that had so often wrapped around his sex and pleasured him, fingers tracing a light, exploring touch up the broad, naked back, hands running adoringly over the warm, damp skin of battle hardened arms.

The kiss ended and he found such love trained upon him that it stole away whatever words he'd thought to say and he could only smile, crush this incredible being against him and kiss him again, harder, with passion and command. A soft moan replied to his silent ferocity and he came free with a soft pop, eyes gleaming with wondering amazement. He held his husband out from him and looked him over well, appreciating anew the solid, well-defined muscles and planes of this warrior's body. What did it matter, left hand or right? ~Nothing, nothing!~ New life, new body; there were bound to be changes. Ogling the distended fulness at the groin with anticipation, he reached down and felt along its outlined form, chuckling as a sharp gasp and a push of the hips brought him once more in full contact with the half-naked ellon.

"Maglor, hervenn." (husband)

There was breathless desperation in the words, an urgent craving for sexual union and the fusion of spirit that came with it. Lips explored his neck, the air exhaled from them sweet and warm against his skin. He let his fingers traipse along the elegant shell of a pointed ear, tenderly brushed its tip, felt a deep, rippling shudder pass through the body pressed against him. A hand settled on his hip, the right hand, the one with the golden band encircling its index finger. He grabbed the left and again turned up that callused palm, kissing it, unable to take his sight from the face he loved so.

"Elladan nín. My Elf-man. Hervennen. (My husband)" Expectant eyes met his, dilated and burning with ardent hunger.

"I am going to fuck you as many different ways as I know how, right here, right now." Elladan's voice shook as he spoke these words and he followed them with another commanding kiss, feverish hands snatching at the minstrel's clothes. The look of surprise and avid excitement filling Maglor's eyes spurred him on but he had to struggle to maintain dominance, for if Maglor was to be mastered then that mastery must be genuine; he would not easily yield, not today. They were well matched and wrestled long, but youth and speed won him the right to mount the singer and ride him hard, bringing him to orgasm face down in the dirt.
After the initial coupling, Elladan gave in, not really that well versed in the many means of making love, permitting Maglor to demonstrate the meaning of dominion. He did not resist when he was tied to the weapons rack with the shredded strips of his own tunic and there upon subjected to the most delicious forms of torture possible, the boundary between pleasure and punishment blurred beyond recognition. In this he found a strange, new peace, a kind of absolution for his deceit. When they were done he could barely put one foot before the other and dressing was unthinkable, his genitals bruised and groin muscles strained, his anus aching and his nipples throbbing with a dull, droning pulse. Maglor carried him naked to their rooms and tended all his hurts with supreme and gentle care.
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Barad-en-Elei (Fortress of Dreams)