Mistletoe Kisses

Author's Note: Written for the 'Mistletoe in May challenge.

Author's note: To my recipient - I hope that you like this story - it is the tale that just wouldn't stop! And you let me loose on angst!! *shakes head* Oh, that was such a dangerous thing to do *snigger*�..

~~~

Rhîw / December, Imladris, Middle of the Third Age

Blinking briefly against the watery sunlight as he stepped out of the shadows of the portico of the house, the cloaked elf walked lightly across the snow covered courtyard, noting absently that his footsteps barely made an imprint on the frosty crust. That was a fact that he somewhat regretted, for he relished the crunch that came when heavy feet broke through the icy layer of virgin white. The cracking sound was, to him, redolent with the memories of his childhood in the small village in the mountains of his birth, where the human traders lived alongside their elven neighbors in an unusual harmony. Further north than Imladris, across the Misty Mountains, the winter season there meant snowfalls and snowballs, grey smoke billowing from sooty stacks and hot broths bubbling on hot stoves; tempting aromas of roasting meats and spicy cakes permeated through the open chambers of the elven homes or the smaller and warmer cottages of his human friends.

Winter in Imladris was a very different matter. Here the season was shorter; the harsher elements of the weather's vagaries were held at bay by the powers of Lord Elrond and only allowed to penetrate at the approach of Yule and the Year's End. Humans here were not friends of long-standing, but transients of commerce and political events and the snowballs were the province of elflings, now scarce in number in this Third Age of Middle Earth. Father Rhîw was still remembered, but as an iconic myth of childhood rather than a recurring, revered and anticipated tenet of childish truth.

The elf shrugged as he climbed the steps into the library, shaking off his cloak the flakes of errant snow that had floated down from the few grey clouds that littered the morning sky. The shortcut from the main house was in truth no shortcut, but in a whim of nostalgia he had chosen to eschew the long dark passages of the Last Homely House for the freshness of the chilly air.

The library of Imladris was not remote from the house (indeed it was very nearly connected) but the entrance of the snow-littered elf, accompanied by a brief blast of chilly air, drew no curious glances or whispered remarks. The inhabitants of Imladris were used to the different ways of Saelbeth of Rhovanion, Junior Counsellor of Imladris and Aide to Lord Erestor.

Saelbeth closed the glass doors of the exterior entrance to the vaulted hall and moved quickly past the paper-strewn desks of the clerks and researchers who were already immersed in their tasks, frowning briefly at the disorder he saw there. An ordered soul, Saelbeth made a mental note to repeat his annual lecture upon the correct usage of the precious volumes somewhat earlier than he was wont to do. A final door, a last twist of a handle, and the secretary was in his office. Silky strands of ebony hair swayed elegantly from the ends of finely-woven braids as his employer looked up at him. Erestor smiled.

"Maer aur, mellon nín."

Saelbeth smiled sheepishly, pulling off his grey wool cloak and shaking out its folds.

"Aiya, my lord," he exclaimed as he hastily draped the damp garment on the tall cloak stand. "I had no idea that I was so late!"

Erestor laughed for he knew that Saelbeth was alluding to the fact that his husband Glorfindel was but a few days returned from the borders. When the Seneschal was in residence, Erestor took full advantage of the fact to re-affirm their marital vows, with Glorfindel's eager compliance. Late starts to their morning duties in the week that followed were hence assumed by all of the staff.

Erestor shook his head, a little embarrassed himself that the couple's movements were so closely tracked. His grin mimicked that of his aide.

"You are not late, Saelbeth. It is simply that Glorfindel rose early for a punitive patrol. Elladan arrived late last night with news of orcish incursions near Amon Sûl and it was decided by Elrond to investigate this incident. Such activity from the Enemy is unusual so near to Year's End."

Saelbeth's eyes lit up.

"Elrohir is home?"

Erestor winced internally, recognizing instantly that Saelbeth had focused on what was (to him) the salient factor of the news that he had imparted - but he was saddened by the knowledge that he had to disappoint his assistant. Along with many of the administrative staff, including Erestor and Glorfindel, Saelbeth had once been tutor to the twins and their sister. The elflings had been endearing if not always eager pupils but of the instructors Saelbeth had been the youngest and the closest to them in age and interests. That closeness had endured beyond their formative years and Saelbeth had bridged the divide from teacher to friend - and most especially with Elrohir. Thus it was not surprising that he had been the brother named - but sadly was not the one presently at home.

Erestor shook his head. "Elrohir did not return with his brother last night - I believe that he is at the border awaiting the patrol."

Saelbeth tensed, and then visibly relaxed at these words. Of course, the younger twin held fast to his duty. Erestor ran on, not wishing to give false consolation.

"Saelbeth - from what Elladan said... I do not think that Elrohir has the intention of returning for the festival. It seems that he has - other plans."

Saelbeth looked at him in momentary confusion and dismay.

"But - it is so close to the holiday... and he did not return last year either. Did Elladan say why not? Surely the winter snows have inhibited their mission. There can be few enough orcs to slay this late in the season!"

A hint of bitterness underlay Saelbeth's words, for it was true enough that the sons of Elrond had more than once eschewed the happier events of the Elvish year. Since beginning their self-appointed mission in the many centuries that had passed since Celebrían's abduction and subsequent exodus to the West, the once blithe and happy princes had become dark and hardened in their resolve to remove all traces of Sauron's minions from the face of Middle Earth. Only in the presence of their intimate friends and close family did the twins find rest and ease of soul. That Elrohir now seemed to be turning away from that source of solace was of great concern to him, for Saelbeth held the twins dear to his heart. How dear, he felt he would forever hold locked within its chambers. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"Still, I will make arrangements for their chambers to be aired."

"Saelbeth -"

The secretary shook his head, waving away Erestor's kind concern.

"The twins are on the borders of Imladris, within a few miles of their home and in the company of your bereth. They will return home for Yule." Saelbeth flashed a brilliant and knowing smile at his bemused employer. "I have great faith in the persuasive powers of Lord Glorfindel."

Erestor looked surprised for a moment, and then the office rang with the laughter of two elves who knew the Seneschal of Imladris only too well.

****

It was late when the warrior troop trailed into the courtyard of the Last Homely House, weary and wet from the snow that had been falling solidly for the past three hours. Saelbeth stood amongst the small party that had gathered on the sheltered portico to greet them, a party led by Lord Elrond and Lady Arwen. Saelbeth glanced over at his lord, seeing no signs of worried anticipation on his face. It seemed as if the elven lord had similar faith in the ability of Glorfindel to 'guilt' both brothers into a festive sojourn at their home. Either that or Lord Elrond had used his legendary powers of foresight to confirm their arrival. Whichever the answer, they were here.

The twin princes of Rivendell were supposedly identical, their features regular and beautiful; their deep grey eyes reflected both wisdom and age; their burnished black-brown locks would shine with copper highlights in the warmth of the sun's rays or the fire's dancing flames. Two peas plucked from a pod, two pearls from the same shell - but those who knew them well could not mistake them. Now dismounted, they strode side by side to the base of the steps of the house, their pride hiding their weary state as they made their salute to father and sister. Elladan, who favoured his human ancestry in his bearing yet who exhibited his elven soul in his mannerisms and demeanor; and Elrohir, the epitome of the grace of the Firstborn, but whom Saelbeth knew held great affinity to his human forebears. With sweeping elegance they made their bows. Elrond opened his arms wide, as wide as the smile on Arwen's face.

"My sons - welcome home! You have been sorely missed by us all, but come - the evening is fast falling, as swiftly as the snow. Let us get you all dry -" his gesture seemed to encompass the whole of the travellers, "- then we can hear your reports before we may truly enjoy your presence."

With that the yard became a flurry of activity as the grooms stepped forward to take their charges from the riders, and the participants dispersed to their respective billets. Lord Glorfindel joined the family and his husband in removing to the inner portion of the house and Saelbeth moved to take charge of the lingering servants in Erestor's absence, hastening them to their tasks. Even in the throes of his work, Saelbeth took a moment to try to catch the eyes of his friends. He succeeded only to gain the attention of Elladan, who responded to the query of his raised brows with a brief worried glance at the downcast head of Elrohir, then a negative shake of his own. A moment more - then they were gone from his sight, lost within the maze of corridors.

****

Saelbeth retired that night without seeing either of his friends, for they dined in private with their father and sister. When he entered the smaller dining hall to break his fast the next morning he found that speculation was rife as to the results of the armed excursion of the day before, and the unprecedented incursion of the enemy so late in the year. The secretary joined in some of the chatter, for he was a personable ellon, but refrained from adding to the growing rumours and instead listened wisely and noted well. He was concerned to hear many comments upon the physical appearance of the brethren from many who knew them well.

"The young lords seemed very subdued on the journey home," said Carathir, one of the patrol leaders as he applied a knife's blade to the outer rind of a ruddy-skinned apple. "Of course, this was after the 'discussion' that they had with Glorfindel earlier." His companion, Learil, nodded in agreement.

"I have never seen Lord Elrohir so angry - nor so bone-tired weary. The grey in his eyes has dimmed from the moist sparkle of a sky that is full of the promise of rain, to the dullness of dust on a sultry overcast day. There is no joy left in them."

Carathir shook his head solemnly. "'Tis near upon Yuletide. Each year we warriors cast lots for the privilege of returning to spend time with our families, yet Elrohir looked as if he was being led to his doom on the journey back to Imladris."

Saelbeth had heard enough, enough to make his heart weep. That their lives revolved around the endless slaughter of orcs was hard enough to bear, but now it seemed that the constancy of death was draining their souls. Rising from the table, he nodded farewell to his dining companions. Perhaps Erestor would have a greater insight into the situation.

Taking his customary route across the gardens and lost in thought, Saelbeth was momentarily startled when a figure stepped out onto the path ahead of him.

"Elladan!" he gasped, holding a hand to his chest. "Aiya, you made my heart leap within me then, coming at me so suddenly!"

Elladan laughed; a curiously mirthless laugh.

"Aye, I am not the one who usually causes that to happen to you," he said cryptically. "Suilad, Saelbeth. It is good to see you again."

Saelbeth held out his arms and pulled Elladan into an enthusiastic hug. "Oh yes, it has been too long, meldir!" His eyes glanced briefly about, and Elladan knew for whom they sought.

"Elrohir is still abed, as far as I know, 'Beth," he said quietly.

"Still? But he hates to lie in bed so long, he is usually so active."

Elladan shifted uneasily, a pained expression crossing his face.

"Elrohir is much changed of late, dear friend. His flame flickers and he is no longer the bright youth that you once taught. We have both seen and done too much to ever be those people again."

Saelbeth patted Elladan sympathetically in their now-loose embrace.

"Your oath-bound task?" he asked quietly. Elladan nodded. "Then why do you not give it up? Surely you have both fulfilled that oath ten times over."

Elladan waved his hand, shaking his head in negation.

"Because it is as you have said - we swore an oath, and although it was made in a time of anger and pain, it was not made lightly or without commitment. However -"

"However?" Saelbeth prompted when Elladan seemed loathe to continue. Elladan raised his eyes and met those of the secretary. Saelbeth felt his heart sink like lead as he recognized the fullness of pain and fear in the trembling voice.

"His weariness is not alone of a physical nature. 'Beth, I fear he is heartsick too, and that my beloved twin is sliding with increasing speed towards the elven sickness."

Saelbeth paled and his stance faltered as Elladan clutched him to save him - to save them both - from falling in heart-piercing dismay.

"I - I did not know that it had come to such a pass," he murmured. "And - and you...?"

Elladan laid his lips softly against Saelbeth's forehead in a comforting kiss.

"Not I, dear 'Beth. Whether I have less depth in my feelings or..." Elladan paused, the shallow breath he took belying the words he spoke. "I still go on. I endure."

Saelbeth pulled Elladan to his breast, offering what comfort he could.

"Endurance is not living, 'Dan. It is barely survival." He returned the innocent kiss, and so reciprocated the comfort. "Has Elrohir confided in you yet of that which ails him?"

The movement of the dark head nestled against the curve of his neck was not encouraging. Elladan's muffled words were almost too soft to catch.

"He will not speak of his suffering to me. Me - who grew entwined with him in our mother's womb, under our mother's breast." He lifted his head and Saelbeth ached when he saw the heartfelt plea in the grey eyes.

"Would you talk to him, Saelbeth? Mayhap in you he could find the succour he so sorely needs."

Saelbeth was taken aback by the faith that Elladan had placed in him.

"Me? Elladan, why would you think -?"

Elladan leaned back and lifted both hands to cup Saelbeth's face, thus arresting his attention.

"Yes - you! Saelbeth, we both know that, as much as you love me, it is not the same type of love that you bear for my brother. I know that at one time you hoped - you both hoped - that it would become something more." He paused, placing soft emphasis upon his next words. "That the mistletoe would last forever."

Saelbeth broke away, reeling and heart shot, at the mention of mistletoe. He squeezed his eyelids tight, an unconscious protection against the memories that had been deliberately provoked - memories of elflings, and Yuletide, and holiday tales...

// The twins were wrapped tight and warm in dressing robes against the cool of the winter's night, fresh and clean after their evening bath. Tonight they had pleaded for a story from their favourite tutor, a happy tale from his own childhood years. Curled on either side of Saelbeth on a wide and cushioned couch, the trio reveled in the warmth of the blazing fire even as the white snow fell in soft tufts from the dusky sky. In Saelbeth's youth, in stories redolent with intermingled traditions of the First- and Secondborn, Elrohir and Elladan had found items that had captured their imagination and delighted their childish hearts.

"Tell of the mistletoe, Saelbeth!" Elrohir had pleaded and Saelbeth had spoken of that diminutive and friendly plant, that so loved company that it did not want a place in the soil of its own but instead chose to grow upon the trunks of sweet apple trees so as to partake of its sweetness to enhance the creamy berries that were its fruit and the pale green slivers of leaf that were its foliage.

"It is a loving plant and so in celebration of that love the humans gather it and bring it inside their dwellings and hang it on high beams in small bundles. If two people find themselves under it then, kin or no, they must kiss so as to pass on the love that the little mistletoe wishes to share."

"And the lovers! Tell us of the lovers too!" prompted Elrohir. Saelbeth laughed.

"Well, if the two who kiss under the mistletoe are already lovers, or are destined to be soul mates, then it is said that they will receive a special blessing upon them. For their love will hold true, through hardship and torments to joy everlasting."

Elrohir wound his slender arms around Saelbeth's neck then and pulled him down into a soft and innocent kiss.

"Then when I am full grown *I* will kiss you under the mistletoe, Saelbeth, 'cos I already know that I will love you forever!" //

"And he did kiss you, did he not? On Yuletide Eve in the first year of our Majority, he kissed you fervently and you kissed him back - but you did not pursue the relationship. Not then, anyway."

Saelbeth realised that he had moved away from Elladan during his recollections, and he was not cognizant of having spoken his memories aloud.

'Probably I did not,' he silently mused, seeing the faraway expression upon the young lord's face. Such an expression normally denoted that he was actively utilizing the family gift of telepathy, an otherwise unconscious quality of empathy that made the House of Elrond such formidable negotiators and diplomats. Saelbeth felt little discomfort at this intrusion upon his thoughts - it was more likely that the strong emotions they had evoked had served to broadcast them. As an empath, Elladan could not help but feel - and interpret - those feelings.

"No," Saelbeth finally whispered in a husky tone. "The age gap at the time was too great. We both knew it. I had been his teacher, he was my pupil. As the years progressed then the difference in ages would seem less and the former relationship would be forgotten. Until then..."

"Until then, you had to survive on mistletoe kisses."

Saelbeth turned and smiled weakly at Elladan, steeling himself against the obvious sympathy he saw upon the lord's face.

"Mistletoe kisses were not so bad. We never spoke openly of our hopes or dreams - or love. We were... content. But then -"

Saelbeth glanced awkwardly at Elladan for they both knew what had happened then, and he had no wish to add to the Half-elf's pain. Seemingly though Elladan had more strength of character than he, for he did not hesitate to speak of that desperate time.

"Then Mother was taken and tortured, and following her departure we took our oath. Your kindling love was sacrificed to our need for vengeance."

Saelbeth nodded mutely, lost in his admiration for the courage of the young ellon.

"As do you, I abide. I endure," he confirmed.

Elladan's eyes watched him with open grief, recalling the reason he had accosted the secretary in the first place.

"Talk to him, Saelbeth. He may be open to you when he is fast closed to Adar and me."

Saelbeth nodded in defeat, defenseless against such a desperate appeal.

"I will speak with him. Elladan, if he places such confidence in me - you do know that I will not break it?"

The dark-haired lord smiled in grateful affirmation.

"The very act of speaking to you may release the words he cannot say to me. At worst, even if he still will not confide in me, he will have a second pair of shoulders to bear his heart's burden."

Moving forward, Elladan stepped into the secretary's embrace, strong arms wrapping tightly about the slender figure and grasping fingers clutching simple robes. Saelbeth felt rather than heard the sobs that began to shudder through the warrior frame. Hot tears dropped onto his neck as full lips murmured anguished words into his ear.

"Save my brother, Saelbeth. Save the life of the one whom we both love."

Saelbeth returned the agonized plea with comforting nonsense, his own chest contracting painfully at the consequences if he failed.

****

Amidst all the preparations for Yule, Saelbeth still had duties to perform. He applied himself as best he could to the many pressing problems that surrounded him but finally Erestor called out from his office through the open door between them.

"For Valar's sake, Saelbeth - I can take no more of your constant sighs and fidgeting! Just go find your friends, for you are no use to me in this mood. From the de-briefing that I attended yesterday, it seems that the orc patrol they encountered was a rogue troop, with no particular designs upon Imladris. Glorfindel has completed his re-assignment of increased patrols, so they should be free at the moment."

Saelbeth rose and moved to the door, peering into the inner room with a penitent look on his face.

"I am sorry, Erestor. I'll be quieter -"

"You'll be gone!" Erestor said sharply. The black-haired elf pushed back some errant strands from his face, tucking them behind his ears. Sitting back against the cushioned leather of his high-back chair, his expression softened when he saw how contrite Saelbeth looked.

"Go," he said more gently. "You indulge me in my distractions when my bereth demands my attention. Let me now return the favour. Elrohir needs you."

Saelbeth smiled hopefully. "If you are sure...?"

"Go!" Erestor repeated, making a shooing motion with his hands. "Go, before I repent of my generosity!"

With a laugh, Saelbeth escaped from the office and set out on an attempt to locate Elrohir. Despite knowledge of the enormity of the upcoming conversation, he had yet to set eyes upon the younger twin and his heart yearned to see him. Wrapping his cloak firmly about him, Saelbeth set forth to seek him out. As despondent as Elladan claimed his twin to be, Elrohir would have sought solitude, a restful place in which to contemplate. There were a number of these locations of which Saelbeth was privy, but only a few of those would be favoured in the depths of winter. It did not take long for Saelbeth to find his Elrohir.

The garden was always known as Celebrían's Garden. It was named her garden by Elrond on the day when he first met and fell in love with the silver-haired daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, shortly after the inception of the elven refuge. It was dedicated to her care on the day of their marriage, when he showed his new wife its green promise. It began to bloom with life - roses and cyclamen, and daisies and clematis - even as the gentle swell of soft belly spoke of the twin lives blooming within. From the windowed balcony of their chambers overlooking the rich green lawn the Lord and Lady oversaw the antics of their young offspring as they rode the bent backs of the willing steeds named Glorfindel and Erestor. In the secret shade of the ivy-bound bower that nestled beneath that same balcony Celebrían stole quiet moments in her increasing despair following her desecration, seeking a solace that would only be attained when she finally departed for Nienna's gardens in the far West.

Now the garden was deserted, still tended by Arwen in her mother's memory but otherwise infrequently visited save by those of the family who wished to honour the Lady in a reflective visit.

Saelbeth had visited before, in the company of the Lady's younger son.

Slipping silently through the trailing fronds of foliage, Saelbeth entered the green-lit chamber to confront his undeclared lover. Elrohir was seated on the edge of the wide divan, bent forward and resting his bowed head in his hands. The dark head rose and heavy, shadowed lids revealed dull, grey, unseeing eyes that took a few moments to recognize the elf who stood before him. No smile curved the pale lips as they opened in a bland greeting.

"I knew that you would come - that they would send you."

Saelbeth, his eyes filled with tears to the point of spilling, could not speak in response. Even if he could have released the air in his constricted chest to force a sound from a frozen larynx, it would have only been a thin scream. The shadows of the grey eyes were accentuated by the hollows under the high cheekbones. The slim lips, normally rich with colour, were anaemically pallid, rivaling the pale and dry skin. The tunic, cut well to fit Elrohir's normally toned form, hung loose and unshapely on a too thin frame. This was Elrohir, but an Elrohir who was drastically changed since the last time Saelbeth had viewed him closely. The brief glimpse he had seen of the young prince upon arrival could have no way prepared the secretary for the dying elf before him. Inaction broken by shock, Saelbeth fell to his knees before his beloved, articulating his fear.

"Meleth nín, ind nín - what happened to you?"

The impassioned cry tore from his mouth, loud enough to bring Elrohir out of his stupor.

"My dearest 'Beth, do not be so alarmed! You will disturb people about here and assault their gentle ears with such a ruckus!" His mouth twisted in a wry grin. He knew that that was an unlikely outcome.

"Damn anyone who hears me! For such a state as yours I would rouse the dead from Mandos. Anyway, the only rooms that are near this bower are those of your father, above us, and at this hour he will be in council. Elrohir, I say again -what happened to you? What has brought you to such a state? What ails you?"

Elrohir shrugged - a gesture that seemed laden with indifference and defeat. He looked closely at the ellon he loved, whom he had loved since he was an elfling, and realized that dissembling would be pointless.

"The truth? I have no energy anymore to try to lie. I do not wish to lie to you. You are the other half of me and, although I know that it will pain you, I owe you this much.

"I am tired and sore of heart, Saelbeth. The years, the deaths, the unending slaughter, the constant blood - all have taken their toll upon my endurance. For a thousand years I have kept to my oath, the oath I swore upon my mother's battered body and tattered soul, to rid this world of the foul creatures that tormented her in her hours of suffering but... their numbers never decrease. It is a task too great for anyone to complete."

Saelbeth lifted his hand to stroke the deep brown hair, mourning for its silky strands even as he caressed the coarseness of the lank tresses.

"Then do not. Do not attempt completion, but come home to me and rest and recuperate in my arms. Your oath can be set aside to save your life. You have done enough to fulfill it. Just come home to me."

Elrohir shook his head.

"I cannot. I would be cheating you and cheating the Valar, to whom the oath was made. There is nothing left of me, 'Beth, I am but an empty shell housing a dead soul. I can give you nothing; I can share no part of life because life has deserted me."

"No." The secretary leaned forward and took his young love into his embrace, rubbing small circles across Elrohir's back. Valar, he could feel every bone! "No," he repeated. "I will make you well again. If I must, I will take you to Valinor where you can follow in your mother's footsteps and seek healing in the arms of Nienna. I will come with you, even to the ends of Arda."

"That cannot be," the soft voice murmured against his neck, and for a moment Saelbeth felt as if he was reliving the event of that morning, when he had held Elladan in his arms. Elladan, however, had not felt like a skeleton.

"I have decided," Elrohir continued. "When I seek my final rest I wish it to be forever. I do not wish to wake to the knowledge that I have failed in my self-appointed task; I will not live again to see the disappointment in my parents' faces, that I did not avenge my mother's violation." He pulled away from Saelbeth, retreating from the ellon into his own misery. "I am a son of Elrond, granted through him the Choice of race. I have determined that, when I can bear no more, I will make the Choice of Elros. When I close my eyes for a final time, I will not be in Nienna's arms but in the arms of Ilúvatar. There will be no waking from that sleep." Elrohir smiled at Saelbeth but the ellon felt no reassurance, for he saw only the grimace of a skull shorn of flesh. "In my present condition it will not take long to relieve you of this onerous burden."

There is a melancholy so deep, so gripping, that the sufferer can not see any path out of the darkness save one. In this utter desolation of soul, the victim cannot see through his own suffering to the agony of helplessness of those they leave behind. In choosing to end their pain, they believe that they are performing an unselfish act and do not recognise the innate selfishness of their deeds in denying their loved ones a chance to help them.

Elrohir was in that place, and Saelbeth perceived the iron bars that surrounded his darling meleth, the invisible seal upon the ears that allowed no reasoned argument to penetrate.

"What can I do? What can I say?" he wailed in desperate plea. He cast his eyes wildly about, as if seeking some means to turn this ebbing tide. Elrohir caught his chin, turned his face to him. In the dark grey eyes there glimmered the first sign of life that Saelbeth had detected. Elrohir leaned forward and laid his forehead against Saelbeth's, so that their mouths were a hair's breath apart.

"Love me, Saelbeth. Let me not leave this Middle Earth without knowing the physical touch of your love; to know the sweet dominance of your body surrounding me, filling me with yourself, filling me with your essence. Take me, love me - have me in a final farewell!"

Oh cruel and selfish love! To demand such an act from one who would rather never say goodbye, but who could not deny a request made in such extremity. With trembling fingers Saelbeth caught at the buttons of Elrohir's tunic, his usual deftness eluding him as he unveiled his to-be-lover's perfect flesh - for despite his ailments, Elrohir was still perfect in his eyes.

Each inch of flesh that was revealed was caressed by tender lips, each portion of skin uncovered was worshipped by mouth and tongue and hands. For years Saelbeth had coveted this moment and he would allow none of it to escape him. It would be all he could ever have.

Elrohir arched beneath Saelbeth, craving his touch and reaching for fulfillment. His own fingers shook, from physical exertion as well as emotional longing, as he aided Saelbeth in the divestiture of his own robes. At last they lay naked upon the divan, Saelbeth covering his beloved like a protective shield. Even then, Saelbeth resisted the urge to press down upon that frail body, but instead bore his weight on bended forearms placed on each side of his lover. The only contact came from the pressure of hardened shafts colliding and grinding into opposing bellies; from the pull of the grasping hand enmeshed in his hair, forcing his lips hard upon his lover's; from the pressure of tongues entwining frantically - determined to map each tooth, each curve and crevice and to commit it to memory forever.

For it *would* be forever, at least for Saelbeth. He was a full-blood elf and no choice lay before him but to continue alone - there was no human blood in him to offer an escape from this erotic touch, this arousing scent, this pungent taste and these exciting moans that impinged upon his acute hearing. Long after Elrohir escaped from this life, Saelbeth would be forever trapped by the present scenario - endlessly replaying it in delicious memory until it drove him into delirious and incapacitating madness.

Successfully fighting back the tears that threatened to fall, Saelbeth reached to an adjacent table upon which sat an oil lamp - and a flask of fresh fluid meant to replenish the lamp as needed. Sitting back a little, he opened the flask and poured it on the tips of his fingers, coating them thoroughly. Looking down upon the emaciated body, he curled one hand around Elrohir's swollen member, the only part of the edhel that looked in any way healthy. The oiled fingers slip between the parted thighs, finding a path to the small rosebud that protected the entrance to the temple that yet held his beloved's soul. His melethron. Soon - very soon - Saelbeth would be able to call him that, for the first and probably the last and only time.

For a few seconds, Saelbeth contemplated turning Elrohir onto his side - he was tempted to take him from behind. It would be easier for Elrohir, he surmised, with no weight upon him. His entrance into the tight and heated channel - the very act of penetration - would be smoother and less painful for the weakened half-elf.

And Elrohir would not see him weep.

Saelbeth was surprised at how dispassionate his reasoning was at this moment of high passion. Logically he knew that it was his mind's way of coping with the wild grief that threatened to overwhelm him and he was glad - and yet he railed against the logic and wanted nothing more than to unleash the agony that clawed at his guts and the lust that filled him to bursting.

He could restrain himself no more. His heart's desire lay writhing beneath him, mewling sounds emitting from the depths of a tight throat as Elrohir shifted in his need for the press of intruding digits on that sweet gland. Roughly Saelbeth removed the offending fingers; swiftly he replaced them with one thrust of his hips.

"Elrohir!"

Ohgodsohgodsohgods! This was rapture - this tightness, this heat, this body, this elf! All logic fled. More, deeper, harder he pushed - holding thighs apart with hands, snapping his pelvis sharply in an ultimately vain attempt to climb within his soul mate and combine the two of them into one.

Elrohir was no better as he violently scraped his hands and nails across Saelbeth's back, cleaving their chests together as if it would cause them to merge. Drawing energy and power from a reserve he did not know he had he lifted his hips up, raised and entwined his legs about Saelbeth's waist and rocked with him as the heated coupling drove quickly to an explosive climax.

'Too soon, too soon!'

Saelbeth tried to hold back, tried to extend the act to hold them perpetually in this motion but it was too late. Hot semen was fast released from both, to drench external flesh and coat internal channels. Rivers of tears flow copiously from both as the world came back into focus.

Saelbeth collapsed onto his mate, all delicate thoughts of gentle kindness lost in the ravages of spent lust and un-assuaged need. As wits reinserted themselves the secretary realised that someone was trembling, was shaking and crying and the other partner was stroking and consoling the first. It took a few moments to comprehend that the petulant pleas were falling from *his* lips, and that his face was buried in the sharply-defined curve of Elrohir's neck.

"Do not leave me, don't leave me!" were his plaintive cries, but the answering softness of Elrohir's words could offer him no consolation.

Minutes passed, perhaps hours, before both ellyn were able to move and when they did their movements were lethargic. They helped each other to enrobe, then the younger accepted the quiet support of the other as they left the bower to return the Half-elf to his room, to rest there for the night.

Neither saw a shadowed figure seated in the room above, a silent and unwitting witness to all that had passed below. Nor did they see the white knuckles that clenched about a sodden kerchief now torn to rags, nor the fierce determination upon the strained face...

****

Saelbeth stayed with Elrohir through the long night, though there was no repetition of their torrid coupling. Instead the lovers held each other close in Irmo's embrace - Elrohir in unhappy yet exhausted slumber and Saelbeth in fitful doze. In the quiet hours of early morning, at a time when they were both awake, they whispered soft endearments to each other - but Saelbeth refrained from any further persuasion when Elrohir became agitated.

"You will not speak of my decision, Saelbeth? Promise me; swear to me that my family will not know? I will make my vow and affirm my Choice in secrecy, so that I do not disturb their peace; and I will fade so quietly, so that they will not miss me. I think that is the best way, yes?"

'No, no, no,' Saelbeth cried out in his mind, protesting with all his being against the utter waste of his beautiful lover's life - but aloud he said, "I promise, seron vell. They will hear no word of it from me." He raised the slender hand to his lips, kissing each finger in turn. Elrohir sighed gratefully, sinking further into Saelbeth's arms.

"I am glad that Glorfindel made me come home, to have this last time together. I always loved Yule. Are we having mistletoe again this year, Saelbeth? It will be our last year for mistletoe kisses."

Saelbeth pressed his mouth to the black-brown hair, preventing the incipient sob from escaping his breast. Instead he took a breath before speaking.

"They will be seeking and gathering it today, my love. We will have our mistletoe - though I will grant you every kiss you ever want, be there mistletoe or not."

When dawn arrived - too early, too early! - Elrohir insisted that Saelbeth return to his duties.

"I would not have Erestor chase me for my culpability in your neglect of your work!"

Saelbeth could not persuade him otherwise and, realising that Elrohir needed to cling to some facade or normality, he finally acquiesced to the peredhel's desire. Even so, he decided to abandon his desk for deeds of a more practical nature and immersed himself in overseeing the preparations for Yule, now but two days hence. It was late in the afternoon when he returned to his offices, trailing dust on his robes from the wine cellars where he had been choosing vintages for the festive banquet with the aid of Elrond's sommelier. As he neared the library he was surprised to see a small but anxious crowd gathered near the entrance to Lord Elrond's office. From within he could hear the sounds of a large commotion. Saelbeth spoke sternly to milling elves.

"What are you doing here? Why are you not about your business?"

The eclectic crowd - chambermaids, scribes, healers, librarians - shifted uneasily when faced by Erestor's secretary. One of the scribes glanced at the door but by the general response Saelbeth could tell that their loitering was initiated by idle curiosity - though the fierceness of the argument within could not be denied. Suddenly Saelbeth froze. One of the shouting voices was Elrohir.

As quickly as emotion had gripped him, common sense prevailed. With a few sharp words he dismissed the gaggle of onlookers, admonishing them and instructing the more senior of the staff there to establish order and instill common courtesy in their juniors.

"We are edhil, not uncouth wildmen! We do not encourage gossip and speculation in this realm, but instead comport ourselves with decorum and grace. Yule is but two days hence, and there is still much to do. See that it is done!"

Saelbeth turned away from the shamefaced elves and marched into his office, closing the door firmly behind him. What the elves did not see was the way in which he slumped against the door as soon as it was shut, clinging to the heavy handle as if to draw strength from the metal to support his suddenly weak limbs. Why was Elrohir fighting with his father, and what effect would such violent drama have upon his drained spirit? Pushing off from the outer door, Saelbeth walked into Erestor's empty chamber and to the second entrance there, the one that led to Lord Elrond's study.

He stopped, his hand out-reaching and hovering over the wrought-work handle. Slowly he let it fall. No matter that Elrohir was his lover - this was a dispute between father and son, between lord and sworn man. Saelbeth's hand lifted again and pressed against the carved oak wood, as if the very touch would send strength to Elrohir. The shouting had abated somewhat and Saelbeth held his breath, hoping that whatever crisis had precipitated the argument had been resolved. That hope was crushed as Elrohir seemingly had the final word.

"You win, Father - but you can tell your manipulating little spy that I despise him and I hope that I never have a cause to see him again!"

The outer door slammed shut with such force that it sent tremors through the adjacent walls. Saelbeth immediately ran through Erestor's office and his own, trying to catch Elrohir before he had gone too far. Seeing no sign of him on the corridor the secretary sped through the many passages to the family wing and Elrohir's chambers. He arrived just as Elrohir was stuffing a backpack with what appeared to be clothing.

"Meleth?"

The dark head shot up, grey eyes seemingly ablaze with fire.

"Do *not* say 'meleth' to me!" Elrohir almost spat out the words in his fury. "I trusted you! I gave of myself to you, opened my soul to you and you betrayed me!" The half-elf picked up another tunic and crumpled it into the bag.

Saelbeth was stunned by the vehemence of Elrohir's anger, unable to comprehend from whence it came.

"Wh - what are you talking about? What happened? What did your father say?"

Elrohir looked up again from his packing and glared at Saelbeth.

"He knew. He knew *everything* because *you* told him! He has extracted a vow from me that I will not make my Choice until he departs from Middle Earth - and the gods only know when *that* will be! He evoked my mother's name and made me swear upon it not to depart this life 'in haste'. So now I must linger in my empty and hollow existence, dragging my misery behind me."

Elrohir hefted the pack upon to his shoulder and turned to face the stricken elf, visibly shaking. Tears, angry and painful, began to trickle down the sunken face.

"You got what you wanted, Saelbeth - I am not going to die, not now and not soon. However, I cannot stay where honour and trust do not abide."

Saelbeth lurched forward, his arms outstretched in protesting innocence.

"Elrohir, it was not me! I said naught to anyone. It was not my doing. Elrohir, you must believe me! My love-!"

"I wish that I could, 'Beth," cried Elrohir, now almost hysterical, "but - I confided in no one else. It *was* you! I don't understand how you can stand there -"

With an almighty sob the dark elf broke off, running now to the door, roughly pushing past Saelbeth. Saelbeth screamed after him.

"Elrohir!"

There was no abating of stride and, even as he picked up his robes to run after him, Saelbeth knew he would not catch up with him. Sure enough, when he finally reached the main door of the Last Homely House, Elrohir was astride his horse and galloping through the gateway down the path to the arching bridge over the River Bruinen.

"Saelbeth!"

Saelbeth did not turn as Elladan called his name; he stood in numbed shock as the twin came to a panting halt beside him.

"Adar told me what happened! Do not worry, 'Beth, I will go after him and bring him home."

"I did not do it, Elladan." Saelbeth's voice was a strained whisper. "I did not betray him."

Elladan nodded and gave Saelbeth's shoulder a squeeze of encouragement.

"I know that you would never betray his confidence, my friend - and so does he. Elrohir will remember that when he has calmed down."

With another reassuring pat, Elladan strode off towards the stables, leaving Saelbeth to stare blankly down the now empty road. A few minutes later a servant (who was oblivious to the drama that had just been played out) came up to Saelbeth, his arms full of greenery.

"Master Saelbeth, we have gathered the mistletoe that you asked for. What do you want us to do with it?"

The secretary took a small twig of the diminutive plant and held it delicately between forefinger and thumb, silently examining the white berries and pale green leaves as if he had never seen it before. Finally he released it, letting it fall to the weathered cobbles below. His words were but a hoarse exhalation when he finally spoke.

"Burn it," he said apathetically. "Burn it all."

****

****

Late Ethuil/Late-April, Imladris

Inhaling deeply, Elrohir relished the sweet scents that assailed his senses and reveled in the warm rays of the spring sunshine. Nudging gently with his knees and clucking mystical sounds of encouragement, he guided his mount across the narrow span of the bridge of Bruinen. The trailing ivy and pink-laced clematis that grew over the arched entrance caught at his hair as a final reminder that he was home.

His father, brother and sister stood anxiously awaiting him in the courtyard, flanked by Erestor, Glorfindel and others of his father's court. Elrohir smiled wryly. Of course they were here, awaiting him - his arrival within the borders of the elven realm would have been seen by the outer sentries and the news would have been passed swiftly back to the lord.

He drew his horse to a standstill and dismounted gracefully, stepping forward to greet his father with a hopeful expression on his open face. Without a word, Elrond gathered his prodigal offspring into his arms, holding him close whilst murmuring soft thanks to the Valar for his errant child's safe return.

"Elrohir, ion nín!" The lord's voice hitched as he attempted to hold back the tears of joy. "My beautiful, beautiful son. You came home to us!"

Elrohir fought his own tears as he snuggled against his father's breast, echoes of childhood flooding his mind.

"I am sorry! I am so sorry!"

"I know, Elrohir. I know."

With that, Elrohir found himself engulfed as Elladan and Arwen joined in the emotional reunion, with his honorary uncles of Glorfindel and Erestor close behind. It was some time before Elrond was able to release the son he thought he had lost, wiping at his happily tear-stained face.

"Come!" he laughed in a watery voice. "My son is returned - there is much to talk of and celebrations to prepare!"

Elrond placed his palms on Elrohir's cheekbones delighted to see that, although he was still too slender, they had filled out more and he had a healthy blush to them. Similarly, the grey eyes now twinkled with renewed vigor and the lank hair had regained some of its former luster.

"Yes," he reiterated in his satisfaction, "there is much to discuss."

****

A smaller group was now settled in the comfort of the family drawing room, a group that was comprised of the family of Elrond and his seneschal and chief counsellor. Elladan had taken over his father's place at Elrohir's side; he was loathe to be parted further from the brother to whom he had once seemed firmly welded. All the strain that had been obvious during the four months Elrohir had been missing had melted away the moment they had embraced.

"I can wait no longer!" he cried out. "Tell us - where were you? I searched throughout the lands, from the Northern Wastes nigh to Harad and the desert lands. I could find no hint of your whereabouts!"

Elrohir looked at his twin sat so close beside him upon the ample sofa, and sighed in repentance.

"I travelled north to Rhovanion - to the village of elves and men that is the birthplace of Saelbeth." A frisson of tension ran through those present on hearing those words and Elrohir looked at his father, frightened by the realisation that his beloved was nowhere to be seen. Was Saelbeth avoiding him deliberately?"

"Adar, where is -"

"What did you do there?" Arwen interrupted quickly. "Why, I barely recognized you from Yuletide for you are once again whole; you are once again my brother!" she exclaimed.

Elrohir winced, distracted by memories of his last visit home and his subsequent adventures.

"I - I lived there amongst the Children of Ilúvatar in all their diversity, but I mainly conversed with the humans. They are so different from the ones who live here, for they are a community driven by their personal attachments rather than commerce and politics as they are in Imladris." He lowered his head, his tone dropping in uneasy confession. "I went there to learn how to die - instead I learned that the humans have a strong and fierce desire to live their short lives to the full." He paused, marshalling his recollections.

"I talked most with one of their older human residents, whilst watching over the playing children. I asked him how he could bear it, knowing that a raid of the Dark Lord's orcs could rip apart their little community in minutes. Why did he not want to die, to leave all that vileness behind? He said to me: 'You see those children? They are our hope, our only way of remaining in this world when our allotted time upon Middle Earth is complete. Through those children we are passed on, we are ourselves made eternal by the way we have taught them, and how they have taken our lessons to heart. Whereas I do not care too much about the last few years of my own life, I would fight orcs, balrogs and the Dark Lord himself in order to give my grandchildren the chance to live theirs in peace, in the wonderful world that the Creator intended.'"

Elrohir paused, gazing with love and affection at the family he had almost forgotten he needed - and who needed him.

"That old grandfather reminded me of what I had forgotten when I took our oath on Mother's departure - that dying for death's honour, for vengeance, is meaningless. It cannot give any true satisfaction or happiness on achieving one's goal for there is nothing positive to gain as a result. To fight and die - or live - that others may gain freedom and peace, *that* is a worthy objective. At that moment I saw that my desire to become human so that I might die was a desecration of Ilúvatar's intentions for our Secondborn brethren - because their thirst for life is what truly makes them great."

Elrohir smiled at Glorfindel, who epitomized the pinnacle of such selfless sacrifice with his death on Cirith Thoronath, yet who found the greatest of pleasure in his simple life with his beloved Erestor. Seeing the two husbands together reminded Elrohir of the query that Arwen had deliberately averted.

"Adar, I ask once again - where is Saelbeth?" The young lord looked uncomfortable, knowing that on his hasty exodus he had viciously lashed out at the edhel whom loved him the most, and whom he loved in return. "I acted without thought and with much malice when I saw him last and I have many apologies to make - if he will accept them," he ended sadly.

Elrond looked solemnly at his younger son; he was loathe to bring sorrow to this happy reunion.

"Aye, Elrohir, I only found out about your erroneous assumptions when it was too late. You are right - your accusations against Saelbeth were unfounded, and he was distraught that you thought that he could be so dishonest or manipulating. He did not tell me of any confidences imparted by you to him. When you were in the bower in your mother's garden on that evil day, I had returned to my chamber early to contemplate the terrible changes your sickness and depression had wrought upon you. I overheard your conversation - every word - as a series of arrow tips piercing my skin to tear apart my heart. That is why I confronted you the next day. I had no idea that you would blame Saelbeth, or that it would initiate such a schism between you."

"I knew that I was wrong," Elrohir admitted, "Almost from the moment I had accused him. The sickness rotting my mind took over and I did not come to my senses until too late. I love him, father. He is my soul mate. Tell me please, Ada - where is he, so that I can abase myself before him and beg his forgiveness?"

Elrond fought to frame the next words, for he dreaded his son's reaction - and a possible return to his previous darkness upon hearing the consequences of his hysteria of four months before.

"Saelbeth was distraught as a result of your argument, though I did not know of the extent of his grief for some time. His reaction was immediate. Saelbeth shut himself away from us all for the whole of Year's End but his retreat was not noticed at the time, for with your departure the festivities fell apart. When he finally emerged we were dumbfounded - his fall from health and grace mimicked your own, but with far greater speed. Within six weeks we began to fear for his life when he was unable to keep down what little food he could tolerate. Finally last month I made a decision. Saelbeth reluctantly concurred."

Elrohir sat pale-faced, horrified by the tale his father was telling him. 'Saelbeth! Oh my love, what did I do to you?'

Aloud, he asked once more, "Where is he? Why is he not here, in his home - our home?"

Elrond looked around at his family and counsellors, wishing fervently that there was one of the other elves capable of speaking the words that would break his younger son's heart, once and for all. Seeing the reluctance, the sympathetic heartache on each face, he knew that his wish was hopeless. This news was his responsibility, as Lord of Imladris and as Elrohir's father. He looked back at Elrohir, gathering his courage.

"Saelbeth felt that he could no longer call Imladris his home, for you were gone and had taken all the happy memories with you. You had also told him that you could not live in a place that harboured his presence. Rather than deny you access to your home and family he decided to leave Imladris forever."

Elrohir paled and an icy hand gripped at his heart. No, he couldn't - he wouldn't...!

"Where did he go, Father? Where is my melethron?" he croaked, forcing the air past the choking lump in his throat. He was not sure if he wanted to hear the answer. He was not sure if he would survive hearing it. Elrond looked at him, and the dark grey eyes of the elven lord were bleak.

"He departed two weeks ago, with Carathir and Learil as his escort. They intended to make the journey in easy stages to cater for Saelbeth's weaker constitution." Elrond swallowed but plowed on, for he would not extend his son's patience any longer. "His ship from the Havens leaves in four days. Elrohir - Saelbeth is leaving for Valinor. He is leaving Middle Earth."

Elrohir sat frozen, as if in perfect imitation of one of the many statues that graced the grounds of the Last Homely House. Elladan had lifted his hand to touch his twin's cheek in a gesture of consolation when Elrohir burst to sudden action, dashing from the room and ignoring the resulting outcry of his family when they jumped to their feet in an attempt to stall him. Elrond motioned to Elladan and opened his mouth to give instructions but Elladan was already moving after his brother.

"Do not worry, Father - I know what to do!"

Despite his elder son's reassurance, Elrond felt compelled to whisper after him.

"Bring him back, Elladan. Bring them both back..."

****

****

Late Ethuil/ EarlyMay, the Grey Havens in Mithlond

The ship sat rocking in its berth at the grey stone walls of the dock, waters slapping hard against the timbers of its portside flank. The movement of the ship was becoming brisker, encouraged by the swirling wind catching the little free cloth there was in the presently-furled sails; and the rippling waves broke with increasing intensity and height across the sheltered harbour, dashing salty spray up onto the granite flagstones.

Saelbeth sat watching from his station in a cave-like nook at the base of the towering cliffs of the Grey Havens, pondering on the whims of fate that had brought him to such a pass. From his viewpoint (huddled on the cold stone bench and surrounded by his meager possessions that had been crammed into the limited luggage he was allowed to bring) Saelbeth could see Lord Círdan the Shipwright in deep discussion with his captains. Their experienced and wary eyes kept glancing up to the dark rain-laden clouds that were scudding overhead.

Saelbeth sighed. He had worked himself up to this day; he had steeled himself to face the moment when his feet would step off the soil of the land of his birth to make the long sea voyage to the destined home of his Kin. He winced when he felt a droplet of rain land on his face.

It seemed that the gods were determined not to make this day any easier.

*****

The gusting wind battered hard in Elladan's race, for the gentleness normally associated with this first day of May had been left far behind in the charmed clime of Imladris. The brothers had ridden hard and fast for the past three days, and Elrohir had granted little respite except for the necessary rest and replenishment of elves and equines.

Leaning into the briny wind that was sweeping down from the nearing coast, Elladan reached his hand forward to firmly pat the neck of his mount; a brief thanks for the splendid pace the horses had been able maintain at his brother's insistence. He also thanked the foresight of his father in negotiating the insertion of Meara blood into their breeding stock, one thousand years ago. Without the innate stamina of that princely race, this chase would be impossible. He glanced across at Elrohir and recognized the fierce determination upon his face.

No, they never would have had a chance of completing this wild ride without that advantage. But Elrohir would have attempted it - for his Saelbeth.

****

Even though Anor had not made an appearance that day, hidden as it was by the low and thick layer of grey clouds, Saelbeth knew that Tirion had already guided the shining orb past the zenith of its path through the sky. A short time earlier Círdan had made an inspection of the prevailing weather, raising a dampened finger to judge the gusting wind that swirled about the harbour. Saelbeth had detected a wry moue that curled the sailor's lips beneath the incongruous whiskers decorating the face of the ancient lord, before Círdan turned once more and stalked off the quay.

Looking about him, Saelbeth realised that most of his fellow passengers had taken refuge in nearby hostels and inns away from the port. He shook his head. If he left his seat now, Saelbeth doubted that he would have the strength of will to return to take ship. Far better to hold fast to his vigil.

Pulling his cloak closer about his body, Saelbeth huddled closer to the cliff wall to resume his wait.

****

The vegetation had changed as they approached the Havens, the May-blossom of the woods giving way to grassy moors that bloomed with salt-resistant shrubs and clinging clumps of sea-pinks. The path underfoot was changing from beaten grass and wheel-worn ruts to flagged pavements and sparse cobbles. It would not be long before they reached the gates of the city of Mithlond and the tall buildings that made up the dwellings of its inhabitants.

Elrohir dug his heels into the stallion's flanks, trying to gain a last burst of speed.

'Hold on, my love. Wait for me - I am coming!'

****

The noise increased, pulling Saelbeth from his light reverie. Focusing his eyes he was surprised to see an increased number of edhil on the quay, milling about the awaiting ship. Blinking himself awake, he reached out to touch a nearby elf.

"Friend, what is happening - are we boarding the ship?"

The elf smiled happily at Saelbeth.

"It has not been announced yet, but the sky is clearing and we still have enough wind to bring us to the Silver Road. Lord Círdan is said to be satisfied that departure is possible." The ellon grinned, his expression beatific. "We are on our way home, friend. We are going home!"

Saelbeth nodded in gratitude, but inside his stomach roiled.

'I am leaving my home behind. My Elrohir was always my home.'

He bowed his head to his chest, unaware of the ray of sun that finally broke through the cloud to fall upon his warm blond hair.

****

The arch of the outer gate of the Havens passed swiftly over their heads as the twins rode onto the cobbled pathways. Elladan automatically began to rein back his steed to slow down in the populated streets, in accordance with city laws. He was startled therefore to see no abatement in Elrohir's speed, as startled as the citizens who had to leap out of the way of thundering hooves. On seeing his brother's haste, Elladan spurred his horse forward once more.

'All right, muindor,' he thought as they hurtled through the narrow streets. 'But *you* can be the one to explain this to Círdan.'

****

The queue was orderly, the atmosphere was generally happy, for the elves who were boarding were those who no longer held any bonds to Middle Earth. The journey ahead was a cherished one, anticipated eagerly and with a destination that was legendary. They were going home, and their steps were light.

Saelbeth's feet were as blocks of stone, each step a major effort.

*Saelbeth!*

'I do not want to go! I do not want to leave my love!' Yet the line moved forward and Saelbeth moved with it.

*Wait, Saelbeth! I am nearly there!*

Saelbeth did not register the nearing sound of fast-clipping hooves on stone or the offended outcry of near-missed elves, so deeply immersed as he was in his misery.

'Goodbye, my beautiful Elrohir.'

"Saelbeth!"

Aiya! Now he was hearing his beloved peredhel, so crazed as he was in his loss! The gangplank was before him, signifying the final break from all he had ever wanted...

"SAELBETH!"

He spun around on hearing his name being called - nay, screamed - setting echoes ringing across the water. Two horses came to spectacular halts, skidding on the spray-licked stones. A lithe figure flung itself from the back of one, dark hair flying wildly, and desperate hands clasped at his shoulders in fervent demand of his attention.

"Saelbeth? Meleth nín?"

It was impossible, but here he was. Elrohir was here.

Elrohir was obviously weary - drenched from the rain, disheveled from the four-day ride. He was also hale and whole; there was a sparkle in his eyes and he expressed a vigor that had been completely absent four months previous.

"Elrohir?"

"Please Saelbeth -please do not leave me! I am sorry, my love - I wronged you but please forgive me. I need you!"

"Are you really here?"

Grey eyes searched his own, seeking an absolution that was not necessary. "Please forgive me, ind nín? I love you, my 'Beth. Please."

Saelbeth dropped the bundle that he had been holding, lifting his hands to cradle the younger elf's face. Tears had escaped from those expressive eyes, and Saelbeth found that he was wiping them away with his thumbs as his own tears fell in turn.

"I cannot forgive you, Elrohir," he said softly. Elrohir gasped, disbelief and anguish shaking his warrior frame. Saelbeth hurried to continue, wishing to soothe his loved one. "How can I forgive you, when there is nothing to forgive?"

"But -"

"I am so happy to see you well again, my little love. Are you - are you really well?"

Elrohir nodded, too emotional to speak, for he was shocked to realise just how close he had come to losing the person he had loved as a child; as a youth; as a young scholar and as a warrior - and as a dedicated avenger. A harbinger of death to the evil orcs of Sauron's hordes, Elrohir had left behind all those who cared the most for him. He had abandoned them and had abandoned all hope of love with this wonderful ellon. As the crowds parted about them, bypassing the obstacle they had created, he realised that none of that mattered at this moment - only Saelbeth and him.

"I am well. I have recovered my health and recovered my senses. I - failed you, and I failed our love. I almost destroyed this precious gift that Ilúvatar gave to us. That you gave to me. I almost destroyed our love so I ask again - can you forgive me?"

Elrohir's need for forgiveness was real and palpable and, although Saelbeth still felt that there was nothing to forgive, he saw his melethron's need to receive that forgiveness. He could deny it no longer.

"Yes. Yes, my darling. Yes."

With a glad cry Elrohir crushed his Saelbeth to him, burying his face into his neck.

"I love you! I love you!"

The words spilled forth, muffled in tone but clear in intent. Saelbeth wrapped his arms firmly around the younger son of Elrond and lowered his lips to Elrohir's to deliver a crushing kiss upon his lover, oblivious to the curious crowd and the recently-departed ship. They did not witness the relieved delight of Elladan, who now stood with a confused Círdan - who in turn scratched his head in bewilderment at finding two horses littering his docks.

****

Soft skin slid sensuously together as the two bodies entwined in heated rapture. The plunged tongues played fervently with their counterpart, twisting eagerly in dueling caresses that neither wanted nor needed to win. Elrohir lifted his hips, encouraging Saelbeth in his plunder of the moist depths of cavern and tunnel, and he gasped as each stroke of shaft over gland sent spasms of heated pleasure darting through his shuddering frame. Above him Saelbeth tried to hold back and delay his release in an attempt to prolong this exquisite sensation, but a final upward thrust of hips by his partner triggered his climax and he spent his seed with an ululating cry. The throb of his thrusting member sent Elrohir over the edge, and he too fell into ecstatic oblivion.

They were still overwhelmed by the physical expression of their love, even though they had inhabited this chamber in Círdan's home for the past three days. They had emerged for courtesy's sake, partaking of meals and attending entertainments provided for the Shipwright's guests, but the elder lord had looked upon their still-new love affair with amusement and had indicated that he was quite happy with the company of the elder brother. News of the twins' successful mission had been sent to Imladris, and so they were at liberty to rest and to indulge in the love they had denied for so many centuries. Now they lay entwined in post-coital bliss, happier than they could ever have dreamed.

Saelbeth smiled as Elrohir's fingers stroked lazily across his chest in languid circles, seeking not to titillate but as an affirmation of their renewed closeness. The secretary turned to the dark head that was comfortably tucked against his shoulder and he kissed the soft brown strands. He could scarce believe the past few days, and he cherished every moment in his beloved's presence.

Elrohir lifted his face on feeling the kiss and with soft grey eyes begged for another to be bestowed upon his lips. Saelbeth eagerly obliged.

"You know that I will give you kisses whenever you wish, my little one," he murmured happily against the soft labia when the kiss came to a nibbling end. Elrohir stiffened, then quickly extracted himself from Saelbeth's arms and leapt out of bed. Saelbeth sat up in alarm and watched anxiously as Elrohir crouched on the floor, rummaging in one of his saddlebags.

"Meleth?"

Elrohir looked up and smiled.

"One moment, 'Beth," he grinned, still searching. "Ah, here it is."

Hiding the object behind his back, the young warrior crawled back towards the bed, a mischievous look upon his face. Saelbeth groaned, for the sinuous movements of his lover were arousing in the extreme. Elrohir now kneeled above him, storm-coloured orbs dancing in anticipation.

"For you, my beloved Saelbeth, in remembrance of many happy Yuletides." He held the object above them as he swooped to devour his lover's mouth. Saelbeth surrendered with alacrity.

"Mistletoe!" Saelbeth exclaimed breathlessly as he recovered from the welcome assault. "Mistletoe in May - but how...?"

Elrohir climbed under the covers again to snuggle against Saelbeth's warm body. They both looked at the sprig of greenery in his hand, so evocative of the years that they had held their love in abeyance.

"When I departed - when I *fled* Imladris in December - I left in unrighteous and unjust anger, believing I was leaving my home, my family and the elf I loved forever. I resolved to leave my memories too but when I reached your home village, the mistletoe was in abundance and it mocked my feeble efforts." Elrohir stroked the slim green leaves gently. "I broke off this sprig in a last salute to you, believing that when it finally died I could let my love for you die with it, but-"

"But it did not die."

Elrohir shook his head in wonder. "It is as fresh and green, and its berries are still as ripe as the day I picked it. I took to seeing it as a sign that one day we would - that perhaps we...?"

Saelbeth tightened his embracing arms about Elrohir, denying evil doubts entrance to their blessed love.

"Without wishing to sound presumptive, I believe that our devotion to this little shrub has granted us grace in Yavanna's eyes. Mayhap she has bestowed a special gift upon our love."

Elrohir nodded at his lover's wise words. "Perhaps now that it has performed its task, this tiny token will fade."

"But our love will not. Even though I know that soon you and your brother must resume your oath-bound duties, now I have total faith in our future, seron vell. "

Elrohir stared wide-eyed at Saelbeth, humble in the presence of such certitude.

"You know that I will always return to you, be it Yuletide or no? I will always return home, for you *are* my home, Saelbeth."

"As you are mine."

Gently Saelbeth took the twig of mistletoe from Elrohir's hand and tucked it carefully into the carved design of the elaborate bed head. Turning once more to his beloved Elrohir he drew him down to lay upon the snow-white sheets. In the glow of their entwined and glowing auras, they began anew the sensual affirmation of their love.

*Fin*

Elvish:

ellon - male elf (sing.)

Maer aur, mellon nín - Good morning, my friend

bereth - spouse

Meleth nín, ind nín - My love, my heart

edhel - elf (sing.)

edhil - elves (pl.)

melethron - male lover (sing.)

ellyn - male elves (pl.)

seron vell - beloved

ion nín - my son

peredhel - half-elf

muindor - brother