Title & Chapter Number: An Arrangement of Thorns 36/36
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: Matters are resolved, at least until the sequel.
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.
They had been in his rooms. He knew it intuitively, had known it the moment he had unlocked the door and stepped inside. It didn't bother him that the twins had been there, though he was curious about it. They had not made love in his bed; that much was evident by the unchanged, clean sheets, and he would have been surprised if they had. Erestor had known when he'd left that he would never lie with them again, and he could think of no reason why they would wish to take pleasure in each other here. Not that he would have minded if they had.
Melpomaen had been here, also, and recently. His lover's scent was one he would never mistake for another's, one that was as easily and immediately recognizable as the scent of spring rain. The coverlet on his bed was slightly rumpled, and he could imagine Melpomaen lying there, hands behind his head under the pillow. He had seen Melpomaen in that pose countless times over the years, in various stages of dress, in different moods, hair up, and hair down. Oddly enough the way Erestor liked him best was fully dressed in his severe office robes, lying back against the pillows waiting for him. No matter how difficult his day might have been Erestor could never restrain a smile at the sight of his lover stretched out atop his bed, hands folded over his belly or behind his head, looking more than ever like an elfling dressed up in a costume copy of office dress.
Melpomaen had not set foot within this chamber since the day Erestor had gone riding with Elladan for a picnic by the river. Since then the library was the closest they'd come to an intimate setting. Why had he chosen to come here in his absence, chosen to leave obvious indications of his presence? If Melpomaen hadn't wanted him to know he'd been there, he wouldn't have known. Whether the rumpled coverlet and faint scent of cinnamon were meant to tell him something or if they were only an indicator of apathy, Erestor did not know.
He sat on the edge of the bed, stretched out in the space that had been occupied by Melpomaen's body. Perhaps Melpomaen had missed him, had taken that small opportunity to be close. Erestor wondered if he had imagined that he was waiting, as he had so often waited while Erestor was finishing one piece of business or another. Had it felt to him as if he was visiting the past, or a possible future? Erestor sighed, folded his hands behind his head. To him the room felt haunted, felt as if a piece of every person who had passed through it still lingered. He might turn his head and see Melpomaen grinning mischievously at him, glance up and see Elladan posed on the rug, look over and see Elrohir frowning by the door. What had Melpomaen seen?
His thoughts were broken by a soft knock. For a brief moment his dark eyes narrowed in something like pain. He knew Elladan's knock, though it was not usual for Elladan to knock before entering, not if the door was unlocked. Erestor had left it unlocked, had done so in mingled dread and hope. He didn't know whom he'd left it unlocked for or what he'd been expecting, but the sound of Elladan's knuckles rapping at solid oak told him everything he needed to know.
"Enter." He called. He did not rise, made no effort to pull the coverlet over himself though he was dressed only in red silk bed trousers. It seemed both foolish and hypocritical to concern himself with such niceties at this late date, and after all, Elladan had seen him in less. Never had he seen him so relaxed and in such a vulnerable posture, never save for that one time which Erestor refused to think about. Even so, he refused to concern himself with that, either. It was fitting, after all.
Elladan stepped through the door, closed it silently behind him. For a moment he paused at the threshold, and a small smile ghosted about his lips.
"You need a glass of wine, Erestor."
"Pardon?" The comment threw him completely off track, left him fumbling in a manner that made him feel far more vulnerable than his position and state of dress. Elladan chuckled softly.
"Then you could sit propped up against the pillows with a glass of wine in your hand. You'd look perfect." He crossed the room, seated himself at the foot of the bed. "Your hair's down." He said, apropos of nothing. A small frown etched lines in his forehead, contradicting his small smile. Erestor shrugged.
"I do take it down from time to time." He said shortly, pushing himself upright. Elladan colored, looked away.
"I've never seen it like that before. It's lovely, Erestor."
"Elladan… Just tell me what you're here for. Please." There was no anger or frustration in his tone, only fatalism and something that sounded more than a little like simple relief. Elladan nodded, shifted his gaze back to Erestor's.
"We talked to Melpomaen."
"You talked to Melpomaen." The words came out flat. Everything seemed to freeze; Erestor's thoughts took panicked, aimless flight. If he'd been holding a wine glass, it would have fallen from his hand.
"Yes. Do you have any idea of what you've done, Erestor?" Elladan's question was gentle, but Erestor could only stare, could only silently pray that his features were giving away nothing, that his eyes were a reflective surface. Elladan sighed, rested a tender hand on his ankle.
"He loves you, the way that I love Elrohir. Why would you risk that for something that was only ever a trifle to you?"
"It was not!" The ice broke; thought emerged though not completely coherently. "There are things I have failed to tell you, Elladan, but I swear I never lied to you when I've said that I love you."
"You love me." Again Elladan laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You love me, but you told Melpomaen to wait for you."
"I didn't mean to love you."
"Mmm." Elladan frowned. "Well then, I will say what you are yet afraid to say. You were my first lover, and I fell in love with you as every young elf falls in love with his first. Infatuation, Erestor. If it was truly you whom I love, then I would not have been distracted so easily. If there hadn't been all else - Elrohir, Melpomaen - perhaps it would have become more."
"Do you hate me, then?" Erestor asked blithely, curving his lips into a smile that was meant to be ironic. Elladan squeezed his ankle, shook his head.
"No. You brought me Elrohir. And I don't think you ever meant any harm, not really. I don't believe that I was just a toy to you, though originally I think that was all you intended."
"I don't know what I intended anymore." He looked away, lips tightened. "I thought that Melpomaen did not object, and then I knew that he did. I thought that you were beautiful and would be careless in your affections, and I was only half right about that. I thought you and Elrohir would be beautiful together, and I was right. By then I knew I wanted Melpomaen, but by then I'd also grown to care for you too much to be thoughtless of your heart."
"I appreciate your caring, Erestor, but I am not made of glass." He sighed, released his grip. "Elrohir and I have had it out concerning this. Don't you think everyone would have been spared much if you'd simply cried off?"
"I don't know." Erestor muttered, then sighed, shoulders slumped. "Yes, I do."
"That I would tax you with were I to tax you with anything. That you confused who we were within this room with who we are everyplace else."
"But we are not so different here as elsewhere, Elladan." Elladan frowned, and Erestor grinned wryly, shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, not outwardly. But here you wanted to be free from all the rest, free to be soft, free to have what you wanted. I gave you that freedom, Elladan, but I couldn't have done it if you hadn't wanted it, if who you are outside this chamber is really so very different."
"Elrohir says it's guilt." Elladan said brusquely. He clasped his hands in his lap, the pose oddly reminiscent of the many times he'd folded his hands so in a more formal manner, though covered in fewer layers of clothing.
"He's probably right to some extent." Erestor shrugged. "It wasn't always guilt, though, wasn't always a matter of asking for what you thought you deserved. Was it?"
"No." He forced himself to meet Erestor's eyes. "I wasn't using you that way, not at first. I don't want to use Elrohir that way, either."
"Give it time. These things have a way of sorting themselves out one way or another. As we know."
"I daresay the sorting will go much more easily now that I am not operating in the dark." He blushed at the unintentional double entendre, and Erestor chuckled, though not mockingly.
"I'm sorry, Elladan. My only defense is that I never wanted to hurt you. I gave you too little credit, and in spite of my qualifications on your words, I suppose I did forget that fragile you is not all of you. Not even the greater part of you."
"No, it isn't." His eyes moved to the coverlet, then back to Erestor's face. "I was worried about you, you know." There was a hint of accusation in his eyes. "When I knew that Elrohir is whom I love. I didn't want to hurt you, either, and you made me believe that leaving you would hurt you."
"It does hurt." Erestor's voice was thick with emotion. Elladan blinked, startled, took in the bright luminescence of withheld tears in midnight eyes. For a long moment neither said anything; Erestor stared past Elladan stolidly while the younger elf studied his hands. At last Elladan spoke.
"I thought I'd done something wrong. When I made love to you." He grimaced, shook his head. "I don't mean that I did something wrong… maybe that I was wrong in asking…" His words trailed off, and he ran his fingers through his hair in Elrohir's gesture of impatience and frustration.
"When all of this started Melpomaen told me that he'd be waiting for me when you finished breaking my heart."
"What has that to do with anything?" Elladan asked defensively. He wasn't sure if he was being baited, but that was the way it felt. Erestor sat upright, scooted closer to him, and Elladan forced himself not to shy away.
"I fully understood what he meant when you made love to me, Elladan. And I couldn't do that to myself anymore. I didn't want to hurt you, but…"
"You were hurting, too." Elladan took a ragged breath. "I knew you were hurting, just not why. I thought maybe it had to do with Elrohir." The words, --it was Elrohir's idea-- almost passed his lips, but they sounded too much like a prevarication. It didn't matter, though; it seemed that Erestor had read his thoughts.
"I know Elrohir put you up to it, but it was what you wanted, too. And as you said of yourself earlier, under different circumstances it would have been what I wanted." He laid a gentle hand on Elladan's shoulder. "May I, Elladan? One last kiss?"
For a moment he thought the younger elf would refuse, but then Elladan was in his arms, light and pliant as ever he had been. Their lips met chastely, but the depth of their kiss was no less heated, no less meaningful. Elladan tangled his fingers in Erestor's loose tresses, his thumb strayed to the apple of Erestor's cheek. It seemed that he was trying to memorize everything about his first love, that he would take the shelter of this last embrace with him inasmuch as he could, burn it into his memory.
At last they parted. Elladan rose to his feet, straightened his tunic with a shaking hand.
"Go to Melpomaen, Erestor. He's been waiting for you."
~*~*~*~
He knew this room as well as he knew his own. It was much smaller, not so small as that of a quartered servant, but close. There was no adjoining bath or sitting room, no excess of furnishings or other décor. Even so, this room was warmer and more fancifully appointed than his own. Melpomaen managed his own finances with all the flair with which he handled the business of three political counselors, and Erestor had often told him that he ought to seek a place among Imladris's economic advisors. Certainly his small room alone demonstrated his qualifications - Melpomaen had achieved both taste and an air of wealth within his secretary's budget and the limited space he had to work with.
Melpomaen had never asked him for anything. Erestor thought of that as he considered the few but lovely pieces of furniture his lover had chosen, the handful of decorations that in some instances were more costly than those in his own chambers. He could have bought Melpomaen anything he wanted, could have filled this chamber with objects of art and curiosity, could, for that matter, have moved Melpomaen into his own rooms. Even so, Melpomaen had never asked him for more than his presence, would have been uncomfortable with gifts, would have been insulted beyond any hope of reconciliation if Erestor had offered him money.
He understood Melpomaen, orphan of Mirkwood, to an extent, understood Melpomaen's insistence upon maintaining his own place and position. He understood the small, watchful smile that Melpomaen wore when he'd suggested to him that he should consider working toward an advancement in status. It was one of the things he loved about him, that he was yet mysterious, that he kept his own council, that he was proud, and that he still kept nothing from him that was needful, nothing that mattered between the two of them. There was strength in that small form, more than most gave him credit for. It was that strength Erestor feared as he knocked lightly at the chamber door he had not seen the inside of in a little over a year.
Footsteps. There had been no light under the door, and Erestor had not been expecting any. He had not intended to take Elladan's words quite so literally, had planned upon waiting for the morrow to speak to Melpomaen. It was late; he was exhausted; he had no reason to believe that Melpomaen would not be sleeping the sleep of the just. His intentions had meant nothing in the face of his bone deep loneliness, however, in the face of the sleeplessness he knew awaited him in his own wide, empty bed. He had to finish this just as Elladan had had to, even though the twins had surely considered that he himself would be tired after his travels.
The door opened. Melpomaen stood there, blinking against the light of Erestor's candle. He stared wordlessly, eyes wide as an elfling's, looking like an elfling with his tousled hair and long night shirt.
"Melpomaen, I…"
"Hush." Melpomaen pressed a finger to Erestor's lips, took his hand. "It's late, Erestor; come to bed."
"I wanted to tell you…"
"No. Not now." He guided Erestor toward the bed, took the candle from him and set it on the bedside table. "Are you here to stay?"
"Yes."
"Good." He blew out the candle. Again Erestor tried to speak, and again Melpomaen shushed him. Soft, agile hands divested him of his robe, leaving him once again in his silken bed pants. "I'm tired, Erestor."
"Alright." He paused, almost resisted as Melpomaen pulled him down onto the bed with gentle persistence. "Is there nothing that you want…"
"Not now." He pulled the light coverlet over their forms, settled against the sheet beside Erestor. "Hold me?"
"Forever, melethron nin." Erestor whispered in response as he pulled Melpomaen into his arms. It was hard to tell who was holding whom, who was comforting and who was comforted. Erestor decided that it didn't matter; all that mattered was that they were holding each other. For the first time in over a month, Erestor slipped into sleep swiftly and easily, and when morning dawned the two were still entwined in their survivor's embrace.
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