Title & Chapter Number: Misfits 12/30
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Middle Earth
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these settings or characters, and am making no profit from the writing and sharing of this story.
Warnings: Haldir's in it. Need I say more? /snicker
Betas: Circe
Cast: Haldir/Melpomaen
Timeline: TA AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Haldir and Melpomaen talk; Orophin comes home earlier than expected.
Notes: Thanks to all the wonderful people who have provided feedback, comments, and support. I apologize for the amount of time it's taken me to write this chapter; things have been very hectic lately. Also, I apologize for being unable to thank everyone by name. Yes, I know this has happened too many times over the course of this series, but as usual, I promise to remember you all in the next chapter.
A single lamp burned on the low table, giving the room a warm, comfortable feel. Night was kinder to Haldir's home than daylight, though closer examination had shown Melpomaen that the furnishings were not poorly maintained trash. Much of what the brothers owned was old, and had seen a great deal of use. Melpomaen guessed that some of their belongings, such as the threadbare carpet and faded divan, had been new when their parents had been young. This was not the House of Elrond, where ancient items might be saved and displayed later in order to lessen the effects of time upon them; what was here was to be used and enjoyed. In a way it reminded him of home, though he could not help but wonder why certain items hadn't been replaced.
Rumil had gone to bed early, looking more respectable than Melpomaen had ever seen him. At some point during the day the horsetail had vanished, replaced by warrior braids similar to those Haldir wore, and after his bath they had been re-plaited for sleep. Earlier, Orophin had reminded Melpomaen of an elfling dressed up as a soldier; now, Rumil looked every inch the off-duty Galadhrim. It was rather disorienting after days of having seen him only when he was on his way to or from outings with his friends.
"Do you miss them when they're gone?" Melpomaen asked. He leaned his head back against Haldir's shoulder, feeling the shifting warmth of Haldir's hand on his abdomen. They had been reclining on the divan thusly since returning from the baths, and Haldir did not seem eager to relinquish his grip any time soon.
"Yes." He sighed, tickling Melpomaen's ear with his warm breath. "I hate to admit it, but yes. Sometimes it seems to me that they are trying to drive me out of my wits, but…" he trailed off, tilting his free hand palm up in a mocking gesture of surrender. "I don't know how we came to have such different temperaments."
"You aren't going to petition for new quarters." It was a statement rather than a question, and Haldir shrugged.
"Eventually, but, for now, no. This was our parent's home." He said that as if it explained all, and Melpomaen nodded.
"I miss my family sometimes, too."
"I thought you had no siblings," Haldir said.
"No, but my parents. They still live near the mountains, though I expect they will not for much longer. I imagine they will not move into Imladris proper, but will set out for the Grey Havens and thence to Valinor."
"Even now the mountains are not safe," Haldir said, and Melpomaen sensed his frown.
"No, they're not, but they will not leave, not until they absolutely have to. I think, though, that's why they were so willing to send me to Imladris when they saw I had aptitude for something besides terrace farming."
"Terrace farming?" There was disbelief in Haldir's voice, and even a hint of amusement. "Do not tell me that you were a farmer!"
Melpomaen twisted in Haldir's arms, offering him a mocking scowl to go with a swift jab to the ribs. "And how do you think the fruits and vegetables you see in the market place arrive there, oh mighty warrior?"
Haldir snickered. "I'm sorry, love, I just can't imagine you grubbing in the dirt."
"I did not grub in the dirt." Melpomaen glared, and Haldir stifled another burst of chuckles.
"Of course not. But I must know how you came to be an archivist in the Last Homely House from the mountain wilderness? And how did you manage to never learn proper bowmanship?"
Melpomaen squirmed in Haldir's arms. "Does every elf have to know how to use a bow?"
"No, but I would think that it would be a necessary skill to one living in such isolation, and in the vicinity of enemies."
"We were not isolated." Melpomaen glanced back at Haldir, and Haldir saw that his face was crimson with embarrassment. "There were other families, not all close, but enough so that we were almost a village. It was safe."
"It was not safe; I know enough of the area to know that."
Haldir was right. Melpomaen understood that intellectually, but he found that he could not convey the feeling of security and normalcy life on the edge of the mountains had held. It was what he had always known. All of his life he'd listened to the unspoken undercurrents between his elders, the understanding that they would not be forced from their chosen homes by creatures of darkness. He remembered stubbornness and pride, the refusal to give so much as an inch of either literal or metaphoric ground. They did not shun or disparage the enclave of valley elves, but neither did they wish to join it. The choice they'd made was one they would not go back on, however hard-pressed their own small settlements might become.
A hard season there had not meant a particularly snowy winter or a summer of drought; it had meant increased activity among the orcs and their allies, bolder attacks by small groups of darksome creatures that had wandered further down from their own pits and lairs. In a time beyond the reach of Melpomaen's memory, Elrond's warriors had protected them, but that time had passed. Now the farmers could count upon an escort to and from the spring and autumn festivals, but that was all. Imladris had her own problems to deal with, and her warriors were in short supply. The offer to descend into the valley was always open, but Elrond could no longer spare fighters to protect the little villages of the foothills on a continuous basis.
Melpomaen had never been suited to be a warrior, and a warrior's skills were as essential as any others utilized in the borderlands between the valley and the high mountains. He could remember both his mother and father carrying bows and wearing twin short swords as a matter of course. His mother had taught him fletching alongside other, more domestic chores, and he'd grown quite good at that. Actually using the arrows he'd made had been another matter; the problem had been a combination of inaptitude, which might have been overcome, and complete lack of interest, which could not be. What had caught Melpomaen's interest instead had been the lessons taught by the tutor sent up from the valley.
He knew in his heart that this was why the process of sending him to Imladris had gone so quickly and smoothly. Melpomaen's mother and father had never outright told him that it wasn't safe for him with them, nor that he was meant for other places and different achievements. Still, he had heard those words anyway, had understood their worries, and now he heard them echoed in Haldir's words.
"I came to be in Lord Elrond's employ because I'm not a warrior. I never wanted to be a warrior." That was not entirely true, but Melpomaen saw no need to explain further. "There was a teacher sent up from the valley, and she spoke to my parents about sending me back with her."
"And that was that," Haldir said. His tone was ambivalent, and Melpomaen shot him a quick, defensive glance.
"It was not as if they threw me out."
"No, I suppose not. Did you want to go?"
"Yes and no." Melpomaen shrugged against Haldir's chest. "I was excited about going to live in the city, but I knew I was going to miss mother and father. I wished they could come too, and, well…" he tilted his head back, casting Haldir a sideways glance, "there's a bit of a principle in the high villages about not going to the valley to live. That bothered me for quite a while."
"So you stayed in The Last Homely House."
"No!" Melpomaen laughed. "Do you think Lord Elrond takes in every stray elfling who wanders into Imladris? I stayed in the home of Mistress Ylaana, the teacher who brought me down. Her family are artisans; they make decorative earthenware of a very high quality. That was actually Ylaana's main work during the spring and summer months. As it turned out, teaching was only a sort of hobby for her. She had a better than average education, but no real interest in doing anything with it. I think, in the end, that what it came down to was her liking of children."
Haldir shuddered. "I cannot imagine going out of my way to spend time with a bunch of dirty elflings. Couldn't she find any in Imladris? Or perhaps have some of her own?"
"I don't think Ylaana was any more interested in bonding than she was in becoming a scribe. She had her wild streak, though."
"Oh, I can imagine," Haldir snickered, and Melpomaen gave him another elbow jab.
"I did not mean like Rumil," he said sternly, and Haldir nodded, endeavoring to stifle his laughter. "I meant that she liked her privacy, enjoyed going out alone more so even than most elves. In that she was like you. I don't think she went to the high villages out of any sort of missionary zeal, but rather to be out on her own for a time."
"Indeed. And so, from thence to Lord Elrond's employ?"
"More or less." Melpomaen shrugged. "I attended the school in Imladris, and did quite well. My instructors recommended me to Lord Erestor's secretary's assistant, and I found myself working as a sort of glorified errand boy to Lord Elrond's advisory staff. Things have progressed from there."
"So, you like it in Imladris."
"Yes." Melpomaen smiled with satisfaction. "Lord Erestor has taken an interest in me since then, and, eventually, I'll take my place as head archivist. And who knows but that afterwards I might move on to an advisory position of my own."
"Mmm," Haldir murmured. His tone was less pleased than Melpomaen's, and to the younger elf's ears it seemed to hold a hint of worry. "So, what do you think of Caras Galadon?"
"It's beautiful here, truly exquisite. It's not as comfortable as Imladris, though."
"How so?" Haldir asked sharply. Melpomaen wiggled his shoulders uncomfortably.
"I did not mean to give offense…"
"None taken, but I'm curious."
Melpomaen took a deep breath. "Lord Celeborn's court is more formal than Lord Elrond's house. I've never truly thought of The Last Homely House as my home, but I cannot even imagine ever feeling that the royal talan is home. People here seem so much more conscious of status."
Haldir frowned. It was true enough; he had visited Imladris before and found Lord Elrond's haven to be much more open and accepting than his own homeland. "There is no law that says that a servant of the court must be quartered there."
"No, but sometimes it's more convenient."
"I do not live in the barracks."
"I didn't even know there was a barracks," Melpomaen laughed, and Haldir grinned.
"Yes, there is, though not as humans would build them. There is an entire section of talans near the main hall and armory for the use of the Galadhrim should they so desire to live there, or during times when it would not be feasible to send runners all over the city in the event of emergency. There are also offices and an entire bureaucracy to go with it - a military force can't operate solely on scrawled messages and runners."
"In Imladris, that is Lord Glorfindel's concern."
"And do you think Lord Glorfindel does it all himself?" Haldir snickered. "I'll grant you that he's quite competent, but still…"
Melpomaen glared, but forbore to further abuse Haldir's ribs. "It's an entirely different area from mine."
"As you move up I think you'll find that won't always remain so. Lord Glorfindel's and Lord Erestor's spheres of influence overlap more than you might think."
"I never really thought about that."
"It's something you might want to consider. I often find the paper work end of things frustrating. Perhaps I could use an assistant."
"Oh, and for what would you use your assistant?" Melpomaen asked teasingly, ignoring Haldir's half-serious tone. "And what if your assistant found a use for you, instead?"
"I think I could handle that, but, then again, I might have to punish him for insubordination."
"Really?" Melpomaen could not quite keep the quiver out of his voice. Haldir's hands had slipped from his abdomen to his thighs, parting them and rubbing slow circles against the inseam of his leggings. "And how would you do that?"
"First, I would have him strip until he stood before me completely nude. I wouldn't leave him wearing so much as a pair of fussy black socks."
"Is this a common practice among the higher ranks?" Melpomaen asked, striving for a tone of objective enquiry and failing completely. Haldir's hands had moved upward and inward, now lazily rubbing at the apex of Melpomaen's thighs. Breathing was becoming difficult, and he was sure that conversational ability would soon fail him completely.
"Oh, the customs of the Galadhrim are many and secret. After telling you this I'll have to keep you here for security reasons, so you'd best pay close attention."
"Well, then, tell me what comes next."
"Would you prefer if I showed you?" Haldir rumbled, and Melpomaen trembled against him.
"Have I been insubordinate?"
"Terribly." Haldir nipped at the peak of Melpomaen's ear, eliciting a gasp. "And later I will take you into my room and show you exactly how a March Warden deals with such behavior."
For a long while no further words were spoken. Haldir had unlaced Melpomaen's leggings, freeing his throbbing erection and stroking it excruciatingly slowly. He arced his hips upward into Haldir's grip, moaning softly at the teasing, tantalizing touch. Haldir's other hand had moved upward so that his arm was locked about Melpomaen's waist, holding him in place, and the younger elf strained against that firm yet gentle restraint. He wanted Haldir, wanted him so badly he could almost taste it, but it was clear that Haldir had other plans. Apprehension tinged his steadily building arousal, but that seemed less important than Haldir's touch, Haldir's heat pressing against him, encircling him.
Then, abruptly, that touch was gone. Melpomaen blinked and hissed in protest as Haldir unexpectedly jerked his tunic down over his lap. A moment later he heard steps on the walkway outside, and then he himself was scrambling to organize his appearance. Melpomaen had just begun to rise from the divan when Haldir's arm once again circled his waist, pulling him back down. A startled cry burst from his throat, and then the door swung inward.
Orophin's eyes widened in shock and embarrassment as he took in the tableau before him, and Melpomaen closed his own eyes, aware of heat rising in his cheeks. Haldir had gotten him decently covered, but it was still fairly obvious what they had been doing. His erection was well showcased by the fabric of the tunic held taut over his thighs, and there was little he could do about it without making the situation worse.
"Ai, Elbereth, Haldir - I'm sorry!" Orophin stammered. He began to cross the room toward the archway, then thought better of it. "I - I'll just - just… go. Somewhere else. I'm so sorry, Haldir."
"It's alright, Orophin." Melpomaen had expected Haldir to be furious, but instead his voice was oddly calm. "We were just getting ready to go to bed anyway." He released his grip on Melpomaen, but the younger elf remained frozen in place.
"No, no, I'll go anyway." Orophin's eyes were fixed firmly on the floor as he backed out the door. "I need to check on Peony and…" his words trailed off as the door shut. Haldir laughed, and Melpomaen sprang up from the divan as if it had burned him.
"You knew he was coming home," Melpomaen hissed as he jerked his leggings' laces. His gaze was intent upon his fumbling fingers, and he did not raise his eyes as Haldir swiftly sat upright.
"I lost track of time. I'm sorry, Melpomaen."
"You certainly don't seem to mind being barged in upon."
"And you are the one who keeps indicating that I should relax more. You know my brothers live with me; why is this my fault?" A hint of Haldir's previous temper crept into his level tone, but there was an artificial quality to it. Nevertheless, what Haldir had said was correct. Melpomaen wavered, caught between his mistrust of his lover's contradictory behavior and the truthfulness of his words. Haldir rose to his feet, stepping forward to face Melpomaen. "Are you coming with me?"
"Yes," he muttered, still not placated but unwilling to make a scene. Haldir smiled.
"I'm sorry, love." He touched Melpomaen's cheek. "I'll make it up to you, alright?"
"Alright," Melpomaen said, and a small, grudging small curved his own lips. "Come on, before Orophin runs out of things to keep himself occupied."
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