Elrohir shook his head at yet another young maiden, refusing the offer of a dance. His brother was doing more than his fair share, after all; Elladan laughed at him in passing as yet another partner swept him away. They'd come back from Orc hunting two days ago – Elrohir had been happy to forget all about blond haired heroes of the first age and too-pretty princes who didn't keep their damn promises in the simple motions of hack and slash as he and his brother chased down any foul beasts too stupid or too slow to get out of their way.
When they'd come back, there'd barely been time to wash and change clothes before they were hurled into the preparations for the festival. Which, unfortunately, had meant seeing a lot of Glorfindel, although they rarely talked nowadays. Five years had passed since what Elrohir thought of as 'the mistake', and yet he still couldn't meet Glorfindel's eyes, afraid of what he would see there.
Where was he, then? His father and Erestor sat together – both of them having declared themselves as 'too old' to participate in the dancing, and were no doubt discussing something completely boring, such as the local weather or the guard roster. Various others sat at the tables which dotted the length of the great hall, mostly in twos or threes, chatting and laughing, one getting up to join in the dances as another sat down. Glorfindel would not be among the dancers; he didn't like crowds, or the crush of bodies. Elrohir smiled, watching Elladan revel in just that as his brother flitted from partner to partner. Glorfindel didn't like festivals overmuch either, but his sense of duty would surely insist that he be present if Ada had asked him. He sighed. Glorfindel didn't like a lot of things. Thranduil, or indeed anyone who gave insult to Imladris. Dancing. Messy writing, and ink that was too thin and watery. Those little pastries with the slice of apple in them. Any mention of the Last Alliance. Being kissed by Elrohir.
He took another sip of wine and sighed. He probably should stop drinking; it was beginning to cloud his head, making him dwell on things best forgotten. His eye caught a flash of gold – Glorfindel, sneaking out of the hall into the gardens.
Things Glorfindel did like: tradition, being alone, and the little 'summer-house' nestled up by the falls, almost overgrown with vines. A fair walk uphill, and into parts of the gardens his father now preferred to let grow wild. Not many even knew it was there, Elrohir thought. Secluded. Private. He finished his wine, and making polite small talk as he worked his way through the crowd, slipped out into the gardens to follow Glorfindel.
"Elrohir still seems quiet."
"Mmm." replied Erestor, pouring himself another glass of wine. "I still haven't convinced Glorfindel to go talk to him. He insists he tried once, but I can't imagine he tried very hard."
"You didn't mention I knew?" said Elrond.
"I should think either of them, if they realised how obvious they are, would die of shame." Erestor sighed. "Perhaps I should have told Glorfindel earlier. I did try to dissuade Elrohir from his infatuation, but he would not listen."
"He rarely listens." Elrond watched his other son and daughter on the dance floor. "In fact, none of them listen to me anymore."
There was a pause. Both of them sipped their wine, smiling and nodding at the various guests when appropriate.
"I wish I could hope that they would make something of this, but I admit I think Glorfindel is not an suitable partner for my son. He is too set in his ways to make compromises for another, and he carries too much sorrow." said Elrond finally.
"That is perhaps putting it mildly." replied Erestor. "There are times I think our friend is only waiting to return to the Halls."
Elrond frowned. "Surely he is not that bad. Besides, his sense of duty would never allow it."
"Screw his duty." snapped Erestor, flushed with wine. "He needs to swallow his pride and explain a few things to Elrohir, not push him away and alienate him so."
Both of them watched Glorfindel slip out and up towards his usual hiding place, and Elrohir follow.
"What makes me think this is not a good thing?" asked Elrond.
"It might be a good thing." said Erestor, but his expression said otherwise.
"What do you want, Elrohir? I came up here for solitude."
Normally such a cold tone in Glorfindel's voice would have upset Elrohir, but now he was merely reminded of something similar he'd said to a prince of Mirkwood a fair few summers ago, and he smiled, and replied
"And why did you do that?"
"Why did you follow me up here?" There was a challenge in the blue eyes that Elrohir could not meet. He turned away, feeling foolish again. What had he been thinking? Another tendril of grief wound its way around his heart. When he'd read stories and legends as a child, about great tragic love affairs that ended in disaster (Elladan had always preferred the ones that involved battles and heroic deaths), he'd imagined that a death of grief would be rather like an arrow wound to the heart – painful (judging by the reactions of the many orcs he'd delivered that exact death to), but mercifully short. This was nothing of the sort. Perhaps because Glorfindel and he had never been bound, his grief chose instead to torment him, one day leaving him able to laugh and joke and hunt with his brother as if nothing had happened, and the next weighing so heavily upon him that he felt scarcely able to move from his bed, and lost his temper and snapped at everyone – even his brother and Erestor – upon the slightest provocation.
Now it just ached. His head turned away, lost in thoughts of his own folly, he barely heard Glorfindel's question, quietly spoken upon the breeze.
"Are you all right, Elrohir?"
Was he... No, he was not all right, not at all. Not even a little bit. I am in love with you, he wanted to say. Wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs. How dare Glorfindel ask him that question, with that expression of fatherly concern on his face, when surely he must know how Elrohir was hurting?
But among the things that Glorfindel didn't like – raised voices, losing control, showing emotion. So Elrohir didn't say any of those things. A little sullenly, he replied "I am fine."
Obviously Glorfindel wasn't convinced. He stood up – ever-graceful; Elrohir had always liked the way that Glorfindel moved – and came closer. Elrohir knew he should go. Should tell Glorfindel not to come near him. Too tempting to do something Glorfindel wouldn't like. Too tempting to do something he shouldn't. Half-remembered the smile and the glitter in Legolas's eyes and the subtle hurt behind.
"Do you want to talk, pen-neth?"
Now that really hurt. "Why do you still insist on calling me that? I am no longer a child, Glorfindel!" Ignoring, of course, the sulky tone and the whine in his voice.
"Compared to me, you are a child, Elrohir."
Calm as always. Blond hair cool and near-silver in the moonlight, eyes like ice. Elrohir had a sudden urge to warm him up, to force him to react, to melt, to display some emotion other than utter calm, gentle understanding or mild disdain.
"I am not a child, but you will never let me prove that to you, will you?"
He took a step towards his prey, coming nearly nose-to-nose with Glorfindel; true to form, Glorfindel did not step away, maintaining that cool gaze.
"Let me prove myself to you." Elrohir whispered; Glorfindel moved away. Not a retreat, just stepped out of Elrohir's reach and almost-snapped.
"You've had too much wine, Elrohir. Go back to the dancing, or go to your bed."
Was that a trace of anger in his voice? Elrohir grinned, now enjoying the game. What else could Glorfindel do to him, having already broken his heart?
"I don't want to dance, and the only way I am going to bed, lirimaer, is if you come with me."
"Enough of your games, Elrohir! Leave me in peace!"
Thus obviously considering the conversation over, Glorfindel returned to the seat he'd occupied, looking over the gardens, staring out to the west. But Elrohir had broken the surface now, gotten a reaction, and he wasn't about to give up.
"Then you deny that you want me?"
A heavy sigh. "I thought that part was already made clear. Why are you intent on reopening wounds that were better left closed?"
Wonderful metaphor, thought Elrohir bitterly, but this wound never did close. "Prove it." he said out loud.
"Prove what? Must you talk in riddles on top of everything else?" Relishing in the unusual sight of a flustered Glorfindel, who was now almost pouting, Elrohir stalked forward. "If you will not let me prove myself to you, then you must prove to me that you do not want me." He laid a hand on Glorfindel's knee, only to have it batted away.
"Take your hands off me."
The tone was cold, but behind it was a slight panic. Not thinking of the consequences, Elrohir leapt forward and claimed Glorfindel's mouth, tasting him, his hands roaming across the body beneath him, ignoring the muffled protests of the other. Quickly (for he was sure Glorfindel would not allow this indulgence to continue for very long), he dwelved beneath the layers of clothing until his greedy hands found their way between the others legs, stroking, teasing him into hardness. Elrohir may not have been as free with his affections as his brother but he was most definitely not a child, and he set out to prove this to Glorfindel, and was rewarded with a little gasp that was not quite a moan, uttered by the lips still held captive against his own.
While Elrohir was thus distracted by the feel and scent and taste of Glorfindel, Glorfindel managed to gather himself and gain some purchase against the bench, in order to throw Elrohir off him. Glaring at his old student while rearranging his robes around him, he asked "Are you happy now?"
Elrohir didn't know whether to laugh or weep. "No." he said quietly. Touched his lips, only half-believing what he'd just done. "Legolas was wrong, you know." he added.
"What?"
"You are worth it."
Then he turned and swiftly walked towards the halls of Imladris, heading not back to the festivities but to his own lonely bed, and it took a great force of will with every step away from Glorfindel, not to look back, not to turn back.
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Bad Influence by Jenny T
Chapter notes: The evening of a festival in Imladris, and in the absence of a certain prince, Elrohir does something he shouldn't.
