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Summary: none given.
Author's Note: Author’s Note: In case you are unfamiliar with the storyline of Quietude, it involved a vicious battle in which Erestor was rendered deaf. Subsequently, the twins brought him home to Imladris to heal, where he struggled to find meaning in a silent life. Helping him in this endeavor was Elladan, with whom he began a passionate affair. Communicating awkwardly with all else but their bodies, they eventually discovered they were in love, bound themselves impulsively, and later sought the approval of their parents and siblings. This story takes place the first winter after their marriage. A link to Quietude, if you would care to peruse it, can be found at my LJ, www.livejournal.com/users/gloromeien.
\ ---- \ = mindspeech
* * *
Imladris, Year 874,
Third Age
Soundless, he wandered
through the icy, stagnant wood under the canopy of a starless night.
All about him was swathed in shades of black, the obsidian slate of
sky that loomed above as pristine as a glistening oblivion; the coal-encrusted
bark of the dormant trees, snugly clad in their seasonal shroud; the
onyx sheen of the rooftops against the ominous mountainside, encrusted
like jewels on a massive shield; the velvety dark of his own cozy cloak,
draped as luxuriously about him as the sheathes of his beloved’s hair
when in fiercest passion.
Erestor navigated the
slick paths of the Rivendell forest with careless ease, his progress
deliberately patient, for he had come to worship the long night, the
darkest day, the winter solstice.
Whilst the residents
of the Last Homely House were bunkered down in the Hall of Fire, enlivening
the traditional festival of song with personal compositions or folksy
requests, quaffing cider by the keg-full, rousing themselves from stupor
with cheers and chortles, their Loremaster sought shelter in the vastness
of the valley that was his one mistress, his only comfort whilst his
dear husband was absent, the resplendent wilds of Imladris. Here, where
the silence once imposed upon him reigned most bountifully, he could
be the lone traveler across a virgin field of snow. He could stand,
solitary and centered, upon the eastern ridge, and embrace his somnolent
valley with outstretched arms. He could perch upon a familiar stone
beside the frozen river, reveling in the sanctity of the endless night,
of this peerless refuge, of the resounding quietude.
Yet even resolved to
this reverent vigil, he was not immune to twinges of restlessness far
more characteristic of his strident husband. Despite his monkish devotion
to this more ancient manner of celebrating the solstice, there was no
denying that he did so due to lack, both of the ears to attend the lilting
ballads of his fellows and of the wholesome solidity of his spouse beside
him. What little music sung around him in this life was played by that
mercurial spirit; his surroundings were absurdly, nigh indecently vacant
when Elladan was gone. Neither could his generally calm nature subsist
on the coarse consolation of an empty bed. Without that blanketing heat,
he slept fitfully, if at all, ever doomed to be a specter in his own
home. Thus, a retreat into the fathomless sea of his slumbering valley
was true respite from loneliness, from longing for the one who was his
lantern in the dark.
Such bleak nights were
seldom in the wake of their bliss, a necessary humbling that earned
him the honor of loving one so bright as his sterling mate. Twas for
this that Erestor chose to cherish the blackness, admire the gloom,
venture through landscape blighted of even cool Ithil’s grace, waiting
with the poise and practice of his trade for the renewal of the valley
that berthed him, in hope of the return of his errant swain.
For the dawn that he
finally believed would come, no matter how the darkness begged.
* * *
Twas beneath a sky as
peachy and pert as the cheeks of a newborn babe that the company of
warriors rode into roost, the pinky haze that followed a midwinter storm
hardly reflected of their dour mood, for, however lovely was the gauzy
blanket of cloud above, it curtained off any potential glimpse of the
resurrected sun. As on this solstice day, Anor was at her most flirtatious
and elusive, they had but four fleet hours to be blessed by her renewing
light before the valley was shroud in darkness anew. Being more superstitious
than the mystics of the First Age, the soldiers were both disheartened
that the coming year would be granted no favor by the gods and frustrated
that they were doubly misfortunate enough to miss the celebrations entirely.
Thus, it was a surly lot that galloped into the quiescent courtyard,
resigned to an afternoon’s hibernation in the barracks in lieu of
belated festivities with those lingering in the banquet hall.
Though the elf-warrior
attempted to rally their spirits by expressing his gratitude for their
efforts prior to a cheery dismissal, for his own prospects were far
less dire than venison entrails, lukewarm wine, and a stale, solitary
bed, they were far too haggard even to tease him, instead glumly thanking
him for hurrying their return and shuffling off to deposit their weapons
in the armory. While they were not so dim as to mistake his uncharacteristic
haste in concluding their affairs in Hollin for ought but a fervent
need of his barely six-month husband, as even the briefest separation
was the bane of a newlywed elf, their wee hours departure and day-long
journey had then suited their own designs, until an obstruction
on the northern pass had waylaid them well past sunset. Though aggrieved
that their sacrifice had not served them well, for a fair captain never
enjoyed enforcing duty over remedial delirium, Elladan’s thoughts
had mostly been consumed with images of Erestor forlorn, cowered into
a shadowy corner of the Hall of Fire whilst solemnly enduring the long
night’s Festival of Balladry and Song.
Indeed, he found he could
not quite discharge this image as easily as he had his soldiers. While
naught but a constant, tranquil course had flowed through their bond
the night long, any caregiver as vigilant as Elladan had been throughout
the tumultuous months of Erestor’s convalescence was prone to
be suspicious of any lasting calm during such a possibly distressing
event. He was equally well versed in his husband’s penchant for overly
taxing himself for appearance’s sake; though the Chief Councilor had
come to accept his own deficiency, as well as his diminished capacities,
his pride in performing what he could accomplish with grace and aplomb
was indefatigable, a sticking point that he would rather sicken himself
over than concede. Though the elf-warrior trusted in his parents to
veer his sometimes belligerent spouse away from these hazards, he was
also only too cognizant of the responsibilities they themselves bore
as regarded the festival, which hardly included monitoring the every
mood of their infinitely mature and refined bond-son.
Fired anew by the prospect
of resolving any trouble presently, as well as the rabid urge to dive
into that singular embrace, Elladan guided his weary steed down to the
stables, petting and cooing the beleaguered stallion in gratitude for
his monumental accomplishment of bearing the company home through endless,
encroaching dark. He was met at the doors by a drowsy squire, barely
able to cease his yawning long enough to droopily bequeathed him a torch,
who unceremoniously lurched back to his bunk as soon as he was unburdened
of the live flame. Chuckling at the affront he would not bother to later
reprimand, though his horse, given his testy snort, would doubtlessly
be far less forgiving, Elladan gamely ventured into the musty atmosphere,
his nose instinctively twitching at the specks and moats of dust illuminated
by his light. On the threshold of the stall, a glint caught his eye,
which thankfully glanced askance at the inner recesses, for there, curled
up like a stable cat nesting in a patch of golden hay, was none other
than the very ebony minx he had fretted over this long night, slumbering
most deeply and sweetly. His face a pale crescent against a midnight
mound of cloak, Erestor’s pristine visage was indeed the picture of
serenity, a half-moon enveloped by sheathes of velvety mist.
Momentarily transfixed
by his swarthy beauty, Elladan only belatedly responded to the sight
of him, swooping in to hover admiringly, then cautiously scooping his
most treasured one into his arms. His besotted mind aflutter with plots
of sensual mischief, he bore his dormant beloved snugly back to their
bedchamber, relieved by the lilting beat of his heart against his chest.
As if a seafarer cast
adrift in a tempest, Erestor waded onto the distant shore of consciousness,
a dull ache settled into his bones and his muscles creaking from an
overlong clench. The blanket that had been swaddling him had drooped
down to his waist, for he was strangely propped into a seated position,
though the light emanating from a nearby hearth warmed him well enough.
Despite the siren song of further slumber luring him back onto the dream
path, a kindling glow within urged him to haul open his weary eyes,
the familiar yet stunning sight before him commanding lucidity forth.
There was his Elladan,
hale and hardy by the formidable stance of his silhouette against the
firelight. For all his grogginess, prickles of excitement swarmed through
him as he beheld his starlit beloved, fresh from the baths by the musky
fragrance that wafted about, his brawny frame enveloped in a form-fitting
silk tunic of rich, regal blue. The sleek fabric of the garment suctioned
to every sinuous slab of muscle that bulked his torso, his meaty bicep
testing the knit of the strands as he flexed and fisted in an all-too-salacious
gesture. As his bearing diagonally cant towards the vivacious flames,
the shadow play upon his lush features revealed a look of intense concentration
that only elaborated upon Erestor’s bawdy scenario, especially given
the tautness of those majestic thighs and primal buttocks, their opalescent
perfection veiled only by the thin satin of his bed-trousers.
The Loremaster was reminded
of what an elemental creature he had bound himself to, his natural stridence
and voracious spirit barely contained by his gloriously virile physique.
While their newlywed status accounted for much of their mutual insatiability
when together, that Elladan was a thoroughbred of his species in his
strapping, fecund prime was no diminutive factor; he was continually
astounded by his young husband’s leonine appetite for plied and pillaged
flesh, oft resigned to pleading for respite from some of his extended
sensual campaigns. Indeed, commonly Erestor’s gorgeous and exalted
ruin was prompted by his mate’s penchant for relentlessness, assaulting
him with the most delectable stimulation to every available scrap of
skin until his body could do naught but seize climactically in surrender,
over and again, wrung like a sponge of every last drop of saturation
between those massive, mighty paws. Yet his swarthy one was no mere
lusty rogue, but a lover of innate soulfulness, whose emotional prowess
could with a poignant look penetrate to the core of Erestor’s ephemeral
being, nourishing him with such a replete regard that he could, at times,
spend without a touch.
Life with such a fearsomely
devout spouse could be precarious, especially if Elladan unleashed the
incendiary scorch of his love at the height of their passion, such that
it fumed through the binding channel within and seared across his skin
without, until he felt he was undone and remade anew in the crucible
of his mate’s love.
A prospect that, after
tiresome weeks of separation, beckoned bright, for in honesty Erestor
lived to be so consumed. A purr of egregious contentment escaped him,
which startled his intent husband, though alas he was not about pummeling
a wrought appendage, but employing a pestle and mortar for some unfathomable
reason that the Loremaster’s mind barely had wit enough to contemplate.
With a wry smile, Elladan swaggered towards him, every inch of his colossal
endowment outlined by the cinch of those ingenious trousers, such that
Erestor was inwardly composing a writ of gratitude to their exceptional
tailor. Yet once that decadent body was in reach, there was thought
of naught but hugging in close, of reveling in the benevolent power
contained within that broad frame. Elladan was especially kittenish
in his affections, nuzzling their faces together and sipping sweetly
from his lips; cautious, he intuited, not to rouse him too swiftly,
for there was clearly some mischief afoot.
\What witchery is this
I have awoken to?\ Erestor bemusedly queried, as the severed ridge of
his ear was treated to a thorough, appreciative laving. \Say not you
have taken to alchemy.\
\Only where it serves
to seduce,\ Elladan coyly intimated, the heat of him retreating far
too soon, though the departing kiss was just sloppy enough to be hugely
compelling. \Be at ease, melethron, whilst I concoct us a special salve,
so that we might properly and expansively celebrate our reunion.\
When he reached to draw
his ebony one back, a goblet of miruvor was passed into his far more
lecherously aimed grasp, the tonic enough of an aphrodisiac in its own
right to placate him. In addition, Elladan procured a much abused folio
from the side table, the very one in which his adolescent self had tallied
conquests both real and imagined in contest with his far more reserved
twin. Its rediscovery in the bowels of the library’s private catalogue
had been the catalyst to their first sexual encounter, the proverbial
flint to a long–kindling desire between them, which had subsequently
raged. If not for this series of paintings of elves in coital embrace,
Erestor might never have managed to communicate to his young steward
just how inclined he was to such remedial diversions, nor how his former
charge’s allure inspired some of his most sultry daydreams. Thankfully,
he had been so bold, with Elladan just as amenable to a dalliance among
the stacks and the emotion between them far more profound than either
had dared aspire to. Thus, he accepted the folio with a precocious wink,
eager to peruse its arresting images anew, so that he might decide upon
how best to master his incorrigible mate this eve.
\Have you a preference?\
he primly inquired, yet leering all the while at that retreating backside,
the sizzling rush of the miruvor down his throat only further gilding
the simmering course through his veins. \You are cheeky to taunt me
with such visions of carnal splendor. I may very well forget myself
and dash all your saucy plans.\
\Do so if you are truly
inclined,\ Elladan shrugged away, casually resuming his efforts whilst
affording his husband an explicit view of his rear musculature. \Yet
I warrant the treat to be triply worth your current deprivation. Though
perhaps you do deserve some bribe to ensure your patience.\
The elf-warrior nonchalantly
shucked off his trousers, though this revelation of plump buttocks and
dangling bollocks had a visceral impact upon Erestor, who must have
gasped despite himself, for he soon felt his spouse’s mirth tittering
through their bond. His eyes dove back into the pages of parchment before
him as a refuge for his rising fever, though these were rustled by a
far more pertinent erection, as his own maleness could not lay flaccid
before such a singular view.
Alas, the orgiastic scenes
before him did little to temper his yearning, which was sourced not
only in his percolating loins, but also in the caverns of his heart,
woefully hollow despite the return of their lone inhabitant. Finding
little solace in the contorted, artistic, but ultimately antiseptic
portraits, Erestor set the folio aside, instead quaffing a generous
gulp of the miruvor to further blossom his senses. The opulent liquid
proved a heady temptation, too much for his malnourished body to resist.
Though he sipped daintily, the tingling infusion too closely resembled
the giddy buzz of flirtation, the hot flush of genuine flattery, the
gamesome flicker in Elladan’s eyes before he pounced upon him. Erestor
welcomed on the ensuing tipsiness, eager to dispel the melancholy that
could taint the festivities with all too much facility. There would
be time later, whilst basking in an effusive afterglow, to confide in
his dearly attentive mate, for he would no more conceal his loneliness
from Elladan that allow some threat to their union to fester out of
pride. Rather, he was servant to his mate’s wisdom in this, that their
newly bound bodies required a thorough and merciless sating before they
could focus on emotional cares. Besides, the melding of their most sacred
souls was the purest of assuagements, for only in that conflagrant bliss
could Erestor derive the courage to shine in his own right.
Indeed, by the time he
could see the bottom of his second goblet of miruvor, the notion of
forgoing their coupling was nigh inconceivable, such did his senses
swirl with vertiginous abandon. Though he was becoming quite drenched
with liquor, his tongue was parched dry, his muscles itched, and his
blood swam through him at championship velocity. As Elladan stooped
over the cauldron, vigorously churning some thick mixture within, the
feathery hem of his ornately embroidered tunic skirted the swell of
his rump, yet plunged punitively down in front to demurely cover the
boulder sack of his maleness. Erestor’s own violent swell was insidiously
persuasive in its silent plots of overthrow, throbbing just fiercely
enough to discomfit him, though he dared not shift least he intensify
the ache. His own heavy robes were presently a torment, chafing his
erogenous areas despite their downy texture, but especially cloying
to his sweaty spoke of groin, even the slightest movement was enough
to set off flares of erotic aggravation.
By the hearth, Elladan
was purposefully unaware of his beloved’s agony, allowing Erestor’s
desire to bake along with the contents of his cauldron. Thinking to
test the readiness of both his concoction and his husband, he daubed
a lissome finger into the velvety stuff, then licked around the perimeter
of the resulting glob before approvingly sucking down the coated digit.
A tawdry moan erupted from his sozzled spouse, with Erestor struggling
not to writhe in his seat, those crystal eyes were locked on the elf-warrior’s
smirking visage.
As the salve was yet
too fluid, Elladan sauntered over to stand before his burgeoning mate,
slinking out of his tunic with such subtle finesse that his bareness
seemed but an afterthought. Recognizing that he had perhaps girded the
scholar too well for temperance, he leaned into the golden light such
that his entire frame was engulfed in an amber aura. Erestor was mesmerized
by the titanic spirit before him, his obsidian graces contrasting with
the pearly swaths of his skin, the mithril flint of his eyes eloquent
with the diamond soul within. Beaming all the while, Elladan spread
himself gaudily atop him, roughing his lips with wolfish kisses, sneaking
his hand under the collar of his robes to maul his vulnerable nipples,
kneading the blunt of his knee against his towering shaft in time with
the riotous pulsations. Soon, a firm yet giving grip brazenly burrowed
its way into the folds of his robe and palmed him with predatory intent,
pausing not an instant before pounding him as raucously as the pestle.
Erestor was shocked by
how quickly culmination begged, fought vainly against the seismic jolts
that threatened overspill, servant as he ever was to sensation. Yet
Elladan snarled in mid-caress, commanding him into ever more vicious
throes; he grappled down onto his knees to apply those plush lips to
the task. After but a few, perilously acute swipes of that tiger tongue,
Erestor was swallowed by that incomparable heat, the salty stab of him
savored with rapt determination. He dug a hand into those raven sheaths
to anchor himself in, desperate to ride through another dozen thrusts
before ecstasy avenged, but he should have recalled how commanding Elladan
was where his pleasure was concerned, for that wily tongue instead forced
him to charge towards eruption, wringing peal after peal of hoarse praise
from him as he shot off like a geyser.
Whilst Erestor bathed
in the rush of feeling, he was careful to share some of the peerless
effluence with the one who had moved him so, surging a more ethereal
essence through their binding channel. This earned him a lapful of lively
elf swain, gorging himself on the scholar’s slack lips and offering
his backside for a thorough fondle. Indeed, Erestor was soon so distracted
by the slickness of that guardian crease that he attempted to shift
his suddenly all too malleable husband into a straddle, for neither
of them was wholly spent, even by such an accomplished vetting. Rather,
Elladan’s monstrous shaft was looming over his navel, salivating with
the need to spike any available slope of flesh.
Yet the elf-warrior,
with a half-hearted groan, managed to pry himself away, battling to
slow his panting even as he all but yanked Erestor out of his now unnecessary
robes. Heedless of his own lassitude, the Loremaster pursued him out
of the seat, applying the dominant influence of a former tutor to insinuate
himself back into that reluctant embrace. Skin to skin, resistance was
futile, with Elladan supping liberally on his luscious mouth, preying
hands seeking out all his familiar clefts and curves, as he was riled
beyond forbearance by his sweet husband’s urgency. Erestor perceived
naught but pure, uninhibited besotting in those shining silver eyes,
which he matched with a beatific look of his own; so virtuous was their
love, no matter how vehemently expressed whence in passion.
\Such a pretty canvass
you are,\ Elladan insisted, even as he devoured the soft skin of his
neck. \Pristine as the banks of snow beyond our blithe sanctuary. But
I will soon play the rambunctious elfling, and pattern your landscape
with telltale footprints.\
With what felt a monumental
effort, the elf-warrior drew slowly back, peppering him with caresses
all the while. In an elegant gesture, he guided Erestor down onto the
waiting fur pelts, careful not to crouch too low so that he could not
be tugged down. Though he was burning for his beloved, the scholar’s
curiosity was piqued, for there was a tantalizing bouquet steaming off
the cauldron, the smoke of foreign spices mingled with something like
confectioner’s cream. Trembling from the effort to harness in his
desires, Elladan held out an unsteady bowl into which he poured a thick
syrup the color of burnished ochre. Erestor was further confounded by
the pair of paintbrushes he fetched from the table, thrilled by the
mysterious glint in his husband’s eye as he lowered himself down to
his side.
A second finger dove
into the goopy mulch, but this was proffered for Erestor’s sampling,
dripping with the most enticing concoction he had ever been tempted
by. Even by his later estimation, the first taste was paradise itself,
rich and buttery in texture yet with subtle hints of bitterness that
beguiled. More fascinating still was how it melded with the oils of
Elladan’s skin and scent to create one of the most potent compotes
he had ever appraised, as if the flavor of bound love itself had been
captured in this remarkable stuff.
\By Elbereth, what is
this marvel?\ he dreamily enquired, though his thoughts meandered about
whilst contemplating what parts of Elladan’s feral form would best
take to seasoning.
\Tis the filling and
shell of a much worshipped bean,\ his beloved explained, mischievously
icing his pectorals with the mixture. \The Haradin term it ‘cacao’.
It is said to be reserved for royalty alone, but, as its legend grows,
more and more brigands are thieving it to sell in the north. I bartered
for nearly half a day with a surly merchant for this meager share, so
we must not squander it.\ He paused long enough to slather his tongue
over his sleek chest and budding nipples, which elicited a sultry moan
from the Loremaster, who longed to assay in his own right. \Mingled
with cream and thickening spices, it is called by the southerners ‘choco-ate’,
which roughly translates to ‘food of the gods.’\
\Indeed, it is most heavenly,\
Erestor remarked, shoving Elladan onto his back and dabbing in one of
the brushes. He trickled a fine stream over the rippled wash of the
elf-warrior’s abdomen, a glimpse of tongue flickering out in anticipation
of dragging it over that undulating musculature. \As is that trickster
mind of yours.\
Erestor saw, rather than
heard, his spouse’s chuckles reverberate through the apple of bone
planted most alluringly in the center of his throat.
\Tis hardly cleverness
to conjure up the sensual possibilities of such an unctuous substance,\
he reflected, reclining back in languid docility as his mate applied
the brush to the soft of his thighs. \Mmm, that is a promising spot,
melethron.\
\Undeniably so,\ Erestor
concurred, slithering his tongue through the chocolate fronds with an
impishness that was oddly soothing to his soul. To his mind, there truly
was nothing more decadent than reams of sensuous peredhel to wreck with
pleasure. \You say this sugary stuff is effective as a salve?\
\So I am told,\ Elladan
slyly insinuated, reaching down to affectionately massage the back of
his mate’s neck. \Alas, there is no science to hearsay. There is but
one manner of proving such a theory…\
With the most wicked
smile that had curled his lips in weeks, Erestor smacked a kiss into
his beloved’s lean hip, then lay his head on the sticky surface. Gazing
into those maddeningly mercurial eyes, he perceived depths and breadths
of undiluted amorousness, an indefatigable spark that would eternally
light his way, through a lifetime’s worth of dark days and perpetual
nights.
For his own soul’s
wintering was ended by a single flame, whose brilliance soldered their
forever.