Title & Chapter Number: An Arrangement of Thorns 33/36
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: BDSM, twincest, angst.
Betas: None
Cast: Erestor/Elladan/Elrohir
Timeline: TA AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Elladan and Elrohir reflect, and Elrohir has a talk with Erestor's lover, whose identity is conclusively revealed.
Notes: This was an idea that struck me a while back when I was tossing around ideas on what to do when I'd finished with Glorfie and Erestor. Seems I haven't quite gotten Erestor out of my system. This is NOT the same Erestor as the one I wrote in my previous series.
The advance runners had arrived around noon; Lord Elrond and his entourage were a day and a half behind them. Their time of relative carelessness was almost over, and though Elladan was looking forward to seeing his family he regretted the loss of this time. It had not been perfect, and it had not been peaceful. Even so, for a little while they had been the only lords of Imladris, and only a modicum of discretion had been needed to deepen their relationship, to begin working through the tangled webs that yet prevented perfection and peace. They'd made a good start.
Kissing Elrohir had been a revelation, and odd as it was, he supposed he had Melpomaen to thank for it. Neither love nor desire had motivated him. It had been anger and frustration, an urge to lash out, to intimidate, to demonstrate bravado. He was not inclined to analyze his actions as Elrohir did, but he knew that those feelings and urges were the dubious gifts of his human heritage. Elladan needed to look no further than his father's occasional flashes of temper to know where he'd gotten it from, needed only to look to his brother to see it reflected and obliquely admired. Elrohir had liked being kissed that way.
Yes, Elrohir had liked it, and had asked him to do it again. That was the difference between Elrohir and Erestor, Elladan thought. It was he who'd had to ask Erestor, and though he'd try to ignore it, he had still recognized the advisor's uncertainty and reticence. Elrohir had said that Erestor was afraid, and perhaps that was true. Maybe he was afraid of that human side that flared hot and bright, afraid that he would be consumed by it. Afraid that he, too, would like it. He still did not doubt Erestor's love, but it seemed to him now that Erestor had some unknown, vested interest in keeping that love from shifting, changing, deepening. Elladan did not know the reason, but he did know that it had been his efforts to bring about shift and change that had brought what they had to this unspoken, lingering end.
If he wanted to he could blame Elrohir. After all, it was Elrohir who had suggested that he ask Erestor, Elrohir who had gently yet firmly steered him into that fiasco. There was something between those two, and Elladan knew it. They did not dislike each other, but neither were they friends. Elrohir had quit actively liking Erestor starting on the night when he'd seen the marks Erestor had put on Elladan's body. Since then his reasons had shifted as necessary, changing as his own views and desires made it impractical to continue pointing an accusatory finger at Erestor for behaviors that he himself had adopted. So, Elrohir had his unnamed and ever evolving grudge, had his own games that he played with the same fervor that Erestor played his. For a while it had been blatant; power had shifted, and Elrohir had seemed on top. Then it had all stopped on the day that Elladan had made love to Erestor, but Elladan was not so foolish as to believe that meant it had ended. It had only shifted yet again.
Even so, he did not blame Elrohir. What Elrohir had done had only unearthed something which could not have been hidden forever anyway. It had been a speeding of the inevitable, and Elladan could not find it in himself to hold that against his brother. Even knowing that Elrohir's actions had not entirely been motivated by love did not disturb him. He knew that his brother's pride had been injured, that a great deal of the manueverings which had taken place had more to do with the salvaging of that pride and with inflicting a retributive share of suffering. It made no difference. He himself had kissed Elrohir in passion borne of fury; how could he blame his brother for being less than altruistic in his actions?
If Elladan were to find any fault it would be in the way this had been allowed to drag out. Secrets had been kept; Elrohir and Erestor had tip toed around him as if he were made of glass, and he knew that in all of their silent struggling the one thing that they'd agreed on was that he should not be hurt by it. He had been, though, hurt by their protectiveness, by their refusal to treat him as an equal partner but instead as someone to be coddled and cradled, someone delicate, fragile. He wished they could have spoken their disagreements, leveled accusations, declared their mistrust openly even if doing so would have led to acrimony. Better a few clean arguments to clear the air than this ongoing state of unknowing, of feeling the tension, of sensing the edges of something he was never allowed to see.
Yet in a peculiar way Elladan took comfort even from that. They did love him, and he would never be persuaded to believe otherwise. Why else all the care taken, even if it had not been needed, even if it had been counter productive? There had been plenty of malice intended, most of it from Elrohir and aimed at Erestor. There had been mistakes and accidents aplenty. And through it all both of them had insisted upon protecting him, upon hiding it from him, on keeping him safe. They had hurt him, but they'd never meant to, and in this one case he could agree with Elrohir that sometimes intentions mattered more than results.
~*~*~*~
The drawstring bag swung at his side as he made his way to Erestor's chambers for the last time. There were only a few things left to return, but Elrohir felt it would be preferable to do so in the same manner in which he'd taken them rather than returning them to the chief advisor in person. Erestor wouldn't say anything about it, not even about the theft and copying of the wardrobe key. He would look at him, though, that half amused, half contemptuous look that had more to do with recognition than accusation. --So, changed your mind about a few things, did you?-- That was what that look would say, and Elrohir would be speechless before it.
He had decided that he would tell Elladan everything, as much as he knew. That was what his conscience demanded. Elladan had promised himself to him, and Elrohir knew that if he did not speak he would forever feel that he'd gained his brother's love through trickery. If Elladan had the courage to give himself so completely then surely he could summon up the courage to bare himself in return, and then wait for his brother's judgment. He hoped that Elladan would be as forgiving of him as he was of Erestor.
Understanding Erestor was no longer as difficult as it once had been. Sometimes good ideas turn out to be bad ones; sometimes it's too late to go back once that realization hits. Elrohir had no idea what had impelled Erestor to pursue his fantasy, his infatuation until it became something more, but he had come to a humbling understanding of his own reasons. He had continued on, had played with a will, but it was not the desire to be there for his brother that had initially motivated him. It was not the desire to defend Elladan, nor the urge to avenge him or himself. No, the lure with which he'd been caught had been nothing more than the sight of his brother kneeling in the garden at Erestor's feet. Curiosity and lust was all that it had been, though he'd done his level best to persuade himself otherwise. At last he understood how something so facile and shallow could develop into something so much more substantial, full of complexity and depth.
It was not all about Elladan, and never had been. Certainly he had never wanted Elladan to be hurt, loved him too much to ever want such thing. That did not change the fact that Elladan had been his excuse, his shield, his weapon and his pawn. That Elladan did not know these things did not make it right.
In his own way he was not very different from Elladan, who used him to assuage his buried guilt. Elrohir had transferred his guilt to Erestor, and had then used Elladan to punish him. Perhaps it went to show that even in this Elladan was more straightforward and honest than he himself was. Elladan was at least able to live with his misgivings and hidden shame without finding someone else to blame. Elladan had always been perfectly clear in his wants, needs, and desires, and Elrohir cursed himself for having been so unwilling to listen. Elladan's urges fed his own urges, urges that he'd vehemently told himself were nothing more than a result of Erestor's debauchery. Elladan's love was not a brother's love, no more than his for Elladan was. Better to deny and excuse than to believe and accept, because to do so would have meant believing and accepting his own thoughts and feelings. He had almost brought it all down in flames because of his refusal to believe. The sad thing was that it was love which had made that possible, Erestor's love for Elladan which had not prevented him from toying with Elrohir, but which had stopped him from defending himself. His love for Elladan which had prevented him from spitting the facts as he saw them into Elladan's innocent face. Only love, Elrohir thought, could make it possible for people to hurt each other so badly, and now he could not understand how he had failed to see the truth behind it all. Both his love and Erestor's were true, and now there was no way he could be persuaded to believe otherwise. He slipped the key into the lock, and let himself into Erestor's room without a sound. The moon was new, and darkness shrouded the chamber, but Elrohir's steps were swift and sure nevertheless. Once again he had forgotten to bring a candle, and he cursed under his breath as he opened the wardrobe, squinted at the barely seen hooks, shelves, and boxes. The click of the bath chamber door alerted him to the presence of another, and Elrohir whirled, slamming the wardrobe door as candle light spilled into the room.
"Maybe this would help?" A familiar voice asked. The candle was raised, and Melpomaen grinned sarcastically. "No? Well, then, I'll see about casting more light than this on your endeavors."
Elrohir stared, mouth agape as the secretary crossed the room, lit the lamp on the small desk and then moved on to the beside table candles. "What are you doing here?" "I daresay I have as much of a right to be here as you. More, I would think, since I did not come here to abscond with the esteemed chief advisor's belongings." He smiled sharply, sat down on the edge of the bed. "Though I would recommend the silk ropes and the strap if you've a mind to carry anything off. The chains would be harder to carry, and would doubtless arouse more curiosity if you should bump into anyone in the halls." He paused, appeared to consider. "I'd skip the gag, though. Elladan has such a pretty mouth. You too, for that matter."
Confusion and embarrassment warred with anger as Elrohir stood shaking by the wardrobe. "I ask you again, Melpomaen, what are you doing here, and what do you want?"
"I want the same thing you do, Elrohir. I want you and your brother out of Erestor's bed."
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