Title & Chapter Number: Revelations 1.2/1
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing, more's the pity. If I did, those beautiful elves would have a lot more fun than the good professor ever allowed them.
Warnings: Slash, duh. Tiny bit of BDSM, more implied than explicit, but don't say I didn't warn you.
Betas: Nope
Cast: Elrond/Celeborn
Timeline: Pre-LotR AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Celeborn discovers that you're never too old to learn something new. A continuation of Unspoken (so read that one first.)
Notes:
That evening, Elrond sat at table calmly discussing the variations between the architecture of Mirkwood and Imladris, and seeming completely at ease as always, but in reality he was keeping a close eye on his father-in-law. Celeborn was seated at his left--he would normally have been on his right due to his station, but Elrohir, as guest of honour at his coming of age celebration, occupied that position. Still, his proximity had given Elrond the chance to quietly observe Lorien's lord throughout dinner, and it was abundantly clear that his initial impression had been correct--something was seriously wrong with Celeborn.
Elrond had been surprised to be informed early that afternoon that his father-in-law had suddenly appeared at the borders of Imladris, sans outriders, baggage train, or, even more strangely, any forewarning of his arrival. Celeborn could have sent a letter, if his visit had been planned; but, even had he simply decided on a spur-of-the-moment trip, he was perfectly capable of farspeaking Elrond whenever he chose. Yet he arrived unannounced.
Elrond assumed that his father-in-law would explain the reason for his surprise visit in his own time, and had quickly replaced his casual leggings and tunic for formal robes and hurried to be in place when Celeborn, flanked by a party of Imladris' border guards, arrived before the palace. It was then that he received his second indication that something strange was going on. For a moment he worried that some tragedy had befallen Lothlorien, to bring its king here dressed as a common woodsman and looking tired from what, judging by the state of his horse, must have been a hurried ride. Yet, there was no grief written on Celeborn's fair features, just weariness and something else that Elrond could not define. As his father-in-law had always been a mystery, he did not waste time trying to guess his thought processes. Instead, he gave orders for the care of the beautiful horse, and guided him inside where suitable rooms had been quickly prepared.
Elrond had showed Celeborn to his suite himself, and lingered for a few moments to give the Lord of Lorien the opportunity to discuss the reason for his sudden appearance, if he chose to do so. Instead, however, Celeborn seemed distracted--indeed, if he had been observing any other elf with the same mannerisms, Elrond would have said that he was nervous, although in this case that was patently absurd. Finally, he had excused himself to go take care of some last minute arrangements for the festivities, and left his father-in-law to rest after his long journey.
He had almost managed to convince himself that perhaps Celeborn had merely made a last minute decision to personally wish Elrohir well on his coming of age, but then came his actions at dinner. Elrond had thought Celeborn looked particularly well that evening, in a fine silver robe that set off his regal beauty to perfection. He had just complimented him on the fineness of the weave of his under tunic--only Lorien weavers could do such gossamer work--when it happened the first time. Celeborn felt him up.
For a moment, Elrond had not realised what was happening, as a strong but gentle hand clasped his leg beneath the tabletop, then slid upwards, caressing his inner thigh through the thin silk of his robe. He had, luckily, not been speaking at the time, as he would almost certainly have given the game away. As it was, he choked on a mouthful of wine in his astonishment, which turned out to be a lucky happenstance as it allowed him to avoid shocking the table by loudly demanding what his father-in-law thought he was doing. Celeborn removed the hand, which had worked its way perilously close to its goal, when Elrond's choking fit seized him. By the time Elrohir had finished patting him on the back and Elrond had apologised to all--"that vintage is too good to be gulped"--he had regained control and almost convinced himself that he had imagined it.
Then Celeborn did it again.
Fortunately for Elrond's sanity, the meal was almost over, allowing him to escape the wandering hand of his honoured guest. He quickly put the length of the ballroom between him and the disturbing silver-haired figure who was now laughing with Elladan about something. Elrond was not normally one to flee from problems, having found from millennia of experience that facing them head on was usually best, but in this case he didn't even consider it. This needed some thought.
Excusing himself momentarily--he had fortunately spilt some wine on a small section of his sleeve, and therefore had an excuse to disappear briefly--he used one of the hidden staircases to quickly return to his chambers. After changing into another robe, Elrond sat on the window seat and looked out over the seductive view of moonlight reflecting off Imladris' waterfalls as he considered this extremely unexpected turn of events.
What was wrong with Celeborn? Elrond ruled out the obvious almost immediately. He had known his father-in-law for several thousand years. If Celeborn had any interest in him, he had had plenty of time to express it before now. Elrond vividly remembered a trip to the hot baths in Lorien that they had taken together shortly after he had become engaged to Celebrian, and his embarrassment at his immediate reaction when the beauty of Celeborn's body was revealed. He had worried that the marriage might be called off if Celeborn learned of his prospective son-in-law's true preferences, and through a considerable effort of will had managed to get himself under control. He couldn't help but notice, however, before shifting his gaze away from his alluring companion, that the attraction was completely one sided. Celeborn had lounged on the dark grey rocks in the shallow end of the baths, his body more out of the water than in it, and the whiffs of steam that made the grotto such a popular bathing place for Lorien elves had done nothing to hide his fair form. It had gleamed silver bright in the dimness of the cave, with, and Elrond still remembered his chagrin at this, absolutely no sign of arousal. Being a practical sort of elf, who knew that sanity depended largely on wanting those things you had at least a small chance of getting, Elrond had sighed and turned his attention elsewhere. Now, however, the memory told him that, whatever Celeborn was doing, it had nothing to do with real attraction.
Elrond bit his lip in uncharacteristic uncertainty. He couldn't imagine what nefarious plans lay hidden behind those gleaming mithril-hued eyes. Unlike most people, who, after his millenia of practise in observation, were as transparent to Elrond as glass, Celeborn had always been an enigma. Occasionally, Elrohir reminded him of his grandfather, when his obsidian eyes proved opaque to Elrond's searching gaze. Celeborn's eyes were silver bright, but acted much the same--like two mirrors which reflected only the observer's own thoughts back to him.
Perhaps his father-in-law wondered why Celebrian was always in Lorien, and believed that Elrond was at fault for the distance in their marriage. Mayhap this was some form of test, to see if his son-in-law would respond to him and thus prove his suspicions correct. It was barely possible that Celeborn had noticed something that evening so long ago, and had refrained from mentioning it because the alliance his daughter's marriage would seal was so important. Elrond had always assumed that, as Celebrian's lover lived in Lorien and the relationship predated her marriage, her father must certainly know about it. True, they had never actually discussed the issue with her parents--it was not the stuff of polite, after dinner conversation--but Elrond had been certain they already knew. Now he was faced with the possibility that Celeborn, at least, did not, and if that was true, naturally he would place the blame for any perceived sadness in his much loved daughter at Elrond's feet. Perhaps, too, keeping Haldir from returning immediately had been a mistake. The young one was a pleasant diversion, but his lingering at Imladris might have been the final clue Celeborn had needed to arouse his suspicions.
Obviously, he decided, he needed to talk to Celebrian; if something had happened in Lorien to upset her father, she was likely to know. They also needed to decide what, exactly, to tell her parents, and to coordinate their stories in case a slight embroidery on the facts was deemed advisable. Unfortunately, Celebrian had not inherited her parent's ability at farspeaking, meaning that any message would have to be sent the slow way. Elrond moved to his study and quickly scribbled off a missive to his wife. He could not delay returning to the festivities much longer, as his presence would certainly be missed. Besides, this was Elrohir's night to shine, and he wanted to be with him.
Tucking the letter in the loose sleeve of his soft blue robe, Elrond prepared to leave his chambers. He would see to it that a courier set off to Lorien immediately, and he might receive Celebrian's reply by the end of the week. In the meantime, he would simply give Celeborn no reason whatever to suspect that anything of any interest was happening at Imladris. Erestor could keep Haldir away, or perhaps it would be better just to send the handsome elf back to Lorien and remove the temptation. In any case, until Celebrian responded and this situation was dealt with, there could be no dallying with anyone. And if Celeborn thought he was going to use his undoubted attractions to cause Elrond to betray himself, he had better think again.
Grasping the handle of the door leading to the corridor beyond his rooms, Elrond found that it opened on its own. Of course, he thought in resignation, as into his rooms stepped the very person he needed most to avoid. It had been that sort of month. Celeborn, he noticed, was carrying two glasses by their delicate stems in one hand, and the other held a large bottle of very potent wine.
"Ah, here you are. I thought so. I tired of the festivities myself, and made our excuses." He shut the door behind him and crossed the room, disappearing through the door leading to Elrond's bedchamber with the same certainty as if he had previously visited his son-in-law's rooms, which he had not. Elrond had occupied different chambers when he and Celebrian were first married and Celeborn had last visited Imladris. A murmur floated back from his bedroom, seeming to Elrond like the voice of doom. "Well, I suppose now it's just the two of us."
~*~*~*~
Haldir shifted position again, leaning against one of the ballroom's long, linen draped tables that offered refreshments to overheated partygoers. He paid no attention to the beauty of the scene before him; the brightly dressed guests laughing and dancing under heavy ropes of flowers and cascades of silk bunting were not what gripped his attention. The ballroom had been lavishly decorated for Elrohir's coming of age, and the shining wood, sparkling crystal and magnificent towers of sweet smelling tapers would normally have brought an expression of appreciation to a lover of beauty like Haldir, but not tonight. Even the prospect of knowing that his emotions were showing in his skittish actions did not help him maintain his usual calm. Where had Celeborn gone? It was the question that plagued him and would not go away.
He had seen Elrond excuse himself earlier, but had not tried to follow, assuming that he was merely going to change and would soon rejoin the party. Not, he had thought at the time, that Elrohir was likely to notice one way or the other; everyone in the room could have vanished, and his eyes, which never left the shining elf at his side, would probably not have registered the fact. Haldir had rarely seen two Eldar so completely besotted, and so open about announcing that fact to the gathered throng. Elves happily laughed and sang, danced and joked with each other, but a certain . . . dignity . . . was retained nonetheless, especially among the upper classes. Although Haldir had once, before his unsettling visit to Imladris, thought that nothing could still shock him, he had to admit to being somewhat scandalized at seeing Elrohir so blatantly fawning over his lover. At the moment, they were draped all over each other on an alcove seat under a flower arch, and although they were virtually surrounded by groups of well-wishers, the two had eyes only for each other. They were dressed so alike--in almost identical dark red robes--and were so entertwined that it was difficult to say where one began and the other left off. Haldir had spared a moment to wish that Elrond would say something, either to his son or to his wayward seneschal, about observing the proprieties in public. It was then that he had realised that Elrond had not returned.
At almost the same moment, he had heard Celeborn ask Elladan to make his and Elrond's excuses to his younger brother, should he ask after them. "We old ones need more rest than you elflings. I am afraid that my days of dancing until dawn are over." Yet Celeborn did not look at all tired, Haldir noted, having apparently rested up from his journey. Even more worrisome was the fact that, before he exited the ballroom, he stopped at the refreshment table near Haldir to pick up two wine glasses. Haldir stood rooted to the spot as his king requested a particularly fine vintage from one of the servants, and waited with a satisfied smirk on his face as the elf hurried off to fill his order. Haldir regarded him through narrowed eyes. He had rarely seen Celeborn so animated--the elf was actually humming to himself, and was almost bouncing on his feet. The size of the bottle the servant handed him a moment later worried Haldir even more, as no elf would be likely to drink such a draught by himself, nor would he, of course, need two glasses if he planned to do so. Celeborn was meeting someone.
Normally, Haldir would have found the idea of his king managing to arrange a rendezvous so quickly after arriving at Imladris--and weary from a hard ride at that--considerably amusing. He did not find it so at present. He fidgeted by the refreshment table and drank another glass of something he did not bother to taste. He told himself he was being absurd. What he suspected was simply not possible. There were thousands of elves at the festivities, which spilled out of the ballroom and had taken over a large part of the grounds, causing servants to have to scurry to light more burning tapers. Even if Celeborn was meeting someone, then, it didn't have to be Elrond. The fact that Imladris' lord had not come back to the ballroom could have been due to any number of things. There could have be a medical emergency, or possibly a raid along the borders . . . anything could have needed the attention of the master of the house. Or perhaps, Haldir thought in desperation, he had just been tired.
But Elrond had not looked tired at dinner. No, he had been his normal witty and entertaining self, and had amused Haldir greatly by some of the stories he told--borderline scandalous as some of them were--of revered First Age figures. Elrond loved history, but had a unique talent for not taking it too seriously--a byproduct, Haldir assumed, of having lived through much of it. He had seemed a bit strange toward the end of the meal, however, now that Haldir thought about it. Elrond was usually never clumsy; indeed, his unstudied grace was one of the things Haldir found so tempting about him, as he genuinely had no idea of the sensuality in his every motion. Haldir had had to stop watching him earlier that night, as he turned the simple action of peeling a pear into almost a sexual act. Haldir closed his eyes and saw again those skillful fingers gently probing several of the large, rounded fruits in the basket presented to him, until he finally selected a particularly fat one of a perfect fleshy hue. Taking up a small gold knife, Elrond had paused to answer a question of Elrohir's, and absentmindedly caressed the tender skin of the peach as he did so. Finally turning his attention back to it, he slowly inserted the knife tip and edged around the center, pausing to lick a trickle of juice from his hand with a comment about the ripeness of the fruit. That had been about the time Haldir had decided to drag his eyes away and think, very hard, about something else. Elrohir must have noticed something, however, for he had grinned impudently and, with an amused glint in his dark eyes, proffered him the fruit bowl. Haldir had declined.
He remembered, however, that, only a few minutes later, Elrond had given a small yelp and choked on his glass of wine, going so far as to actually spill some of it on the maroon velvet of his robes. It had been most out of character, and Elrond had not seemed to regain his usual bonhomie thereafter. He had dropped his knife with an audible clatter just a few seconds later, and had seemed tense for the rest of the meal. He had all but fled the ballroom as soon as dinner was over, and Celeborn, after a few minutes, had followed, begging Erestor to make his and Elrond's excuses to the guest of honour. His and Elrond's. Haldir took another glass from the table and drained it, ignoring the worried look the servant gave him as he did so.
"It is sad to experience such a rare occasion, and be unable to remember it on the morrow."
Haldir glanced in surprise at the servant, who had been giving him steadily more concerned looks as the number of his wine glasses piled up, but the elf was currently several feet away serving other partygoers.
"I think you have had enough, pretty one," Haldir watched in amazement as his latest wine glass, now mostly empty anyway, was removed from his fingers and sat on the table. "Come, gwador, and walk in the gardens with me. I am sure we can find other ways of distracting you from whatever sorrow it is you bear."
Haldir focused, a little blearily, on the smiling elf beside him who, despite the familiarity of his address, was a complete stranger. "Who are you, to speak to me in such a fashion?"
The elf laughed prettily, with dimples suddenly appearing on his almost round face. "Well done," he said approvingly, "it is good to see you can still talk, at least. Can you walk, too, gwador, or shall I carry you?"
Haldir blinked at the annoying creature and tried to concentrate. He wished the elf, who still hadn't bothered to volunteer his name, would go away and amuse himself with someone else. Haldir had every intention of getting very, very drunk that night, and wanted to do it in peace. He did not realise he had said the last aloud, until his companion chuckled, and placed a strong arm about his waste. "I think you have already reached that goal, mellon." Haldir found himself being steered out of the ballroom and into the fragrant darkness of the gardens. "To answer your query, my beautiful brother, I am Gildor, often of Imladris, but just as frequently of everywhere else. I have been away for awhile on a scouting mission for my Lord Elrond, but am now returned to wish dear Elrohir well on his finally coming of age." He glanced in amusement back over his shoulder at the picture made by the guest of honour and Glorfindel. "In more ways than one," he murmured, apparently delighted with what he saw.
"Do you laugh at everything?" Haldir asked him in annoyance, as he was unceremoniously dumped onto a bench, which he almost immediately fell off of and onto the grass beyond.
"No, gwador," Gildor gasped, wiping away tears of amusement as he hauled Haldir's largely inert form back onto the bench. "Although I must admit, I have rarely found Imladris so entertaining as this night."
"I am glad I could add to your evening's fun," Haldir told him, slightly disconcerted to find himself wrapped securely in Gildor's strong arms. "Now release me and rejoin your friends, if you have any."
Another chuckle greeted this attempt at dignity. "Oh, I have them, meldir, but I do not find them half as interesting as you. Besides, if I let you go, you'll just fall off the bench again, and a sorry sight that would be, the great Haldir of Lorien, most respected among the Galadrim, to be hauled off to bed by the servants tomorrow morning. Is that what you want, gwador, to be picked up with the party trash and stowed away, like some common man who cannot hold his wine?"
"A man would never have been able to drink as much as I have tonight," Haldir replied, stung, "not and lived, at any rate. And how is it you know my name, Gildor of everywhere? I have never heard of yours."
Gildor did not seem to take offense at the sneer in Haldir's last comment. Indeed, nothing seemed to crack his irritating cheerfulness. "Oh, but you are not supposed to have heard of me, Haldir o' Lorien. That is how I serve my master best, by being unnoticed and passing unseen. I go where I wish and see and hear all, but no one sees me, unless I wish it." He smiled down into the face of the inebriated elf who was now practically lying in his lap. "It is a useful ability, gwador, but it is not something you could duplicate. Such beauty," he mused, running a hand through Haldir's somewhat tangled locks. "No one would ever forget if they had seen you, meldir. You would make a very bad spy."
"It is easy to see that you would make a very good one," Haldir replied, as nastily as he could manage. In truth, the elf who was laughing at his distress was not ill-favoured, but he was plain by elvish standards. He had a good natured, round face that would never be anything more than pleasant, a strong but too solid body that lacked grace, and slightly calloused hands that would never be elegant. His dress robes were a plain dark grey, with no ornamentation at all, and the braids in his dull brown hair looked rather like a nearsighted elfling just out of the cradle had done them for him. Haldir could not help contrasting him with the dark beauty that haunted his dreams of late, and to his horror, he felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. Oh, why could this stupid, ugly elf not leave him in his distress? The shame of being seen so obviously upset by someone he did not even know was a nightmare for Haldir, but he was in no condition to do anything about it.
"I quite agree, and I thank the Valar every night for giving me such a highly forgettable face. I must also remember to thank them for not cursing me with whatever sorrow plagues your heart, gwador, for it truly seems that beauty is not enough to bring happiness."
Haldir could stand no more of this conversation. His heart felt as if it would break, his head was spinning from too much wine, and his mind was tortured with thoughts of what Elrond must be doing. It was all too much. If his tormentor would not leave him, then he would leave his tormentor, however difficult that might be. Staggering to his feet, Haldir, tried to straighten his rumpled robes, but found the job too difficult to manage at the moment. Indeed, he realised as the last Homely House swayed alarmingly before him, that there was a very good chance his evening would end with him sticking inelegantly out of a clump of bushes, rather than safely back in his bed. Not that he cared that much, for it would be a lonely bed, and his thoughts would torture him ceaselessly unless he managed to quiet them with still more wine.
"No, my pretty Galadrim, I do not think so." Gildor had risen to his feet and again looped an arm around the protesting Haldir. "If you want to go to your bed, I will help you, but no more wine! You have had too much already, and will regret it in the morning as it is."
Haldir grimaced, thinking that he regretted even setting foot out of the Golden Wood, but was careful not to voice his thoughts. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he had said too much already to one who understood more than most. Leaning reluctantly on Gildor, Haldir staggered up the steps towards his rooms with a heavy heart. Why was it that fate always denies us what we want, and forces on us what we do not?
Gildor laughed next to him, and his arm tightened as they slowly negotiated the stairs. "Ah, but sometimes, gwador, it gives us what we need."
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