Title: Rite of Manhood Author: Sahari (kishijo@cox.net) Pairings: Estel (Aragorn)/Elladan, Elrohir/Estel (Aragorn) Rating: NC-17 Summary: Estel is now an adult and more than a few people are interested in his rite of manhood. Disclaimer: Tolkien is god. These are his characters. Estel was vaguely mystified when the summons came. There was a certain pattern to life in the rived valley, especially in the past year, which went something like this: Estel did something foolish and Elrond summoned him for a talk; Estel was good and Elrond mercifully ignored him outside regular meals and book learning sessions. Estel wracked his mind for the asinine he could have possibly done in the past few days, but had to admit that he had been doing very well. He had completed his last growth spurt, and suddenly his limbs weren’t getting in the way anymore, and that strange distillation of embarrassing emotions (with even more mortifying bodily responses) had stopped putting him in awkward situations. He was even beginning to be a challenge to his foster brothers during sword practice, and that was itself a wonderfully happy thought, considering that they had a few thousand years worth of training on him. He politely knocked on the door, listened for Elrond’s soft voice bidding him enter, and followed its instructions into the study. It was the time of night reserved for intimate friends and family, and Estel was now mature enough to appreciate the rarity of Elrond’s free time, enough to wonder at his own blessed state as foster son to the Peredhel. “Father, you asked for me?” he inquired, approaching the desk where Elrond Half-elven, Lord of Imladris, sat in his evening robes and with his dark hair down, scratching down the day’s events with the evening’s last glass of wine. Without looking up, the lord motioned to the chair next to the desk, and finished his line of thought. Estel glimpsed a long line of flowing and beautiful Elvish calligraphy before Elrond dusted the damp ink and closed the book, turning his attention to his foster son. “It has been brought to my attention,” the elder began, “that you are of an age considered mature among the Edain.” Estel blinked, then realized how this translated. “You mean, am I an adult?” he asked, thinking wryly that it had probably been Elladan or Elrohir (or both together) who had advised their father of this development. “I suppose I’m old enough now, yes.” Elrond sighed. “Then I regret my lapse of judgment,” he said. “As you know, very few of the household can say that even a quarter of their blood is of Men, and we have long forgotten how quickly Men find their full growth.” Estel had no idea how to respond to this oblique apology, not understanding the direction it tended, so wisely kept silent, and tried to look attentive, if not puzzled. “I know not what rites the Edain use in celebrating the advent of manhood,” his foster father continued. “Of course, the Quendi have their own, both private and public. It would please me if you would choose a rite, either Edain or Quendi, and I will arrange for the event.” “Father, you know I am equally ignorant—“ Estel began but Elrond stood, went over the wall of books behind, him and pulled forth an older tome. “This should enlighten you,” he said, handing it over. Estel took it reverently, knowing how Elrond prized his older books. “Read it and then tell me what you would prefer.” Estel glanced at the title, then nodded. He found his favorite spot in the Sanctuary of the Sword, his back wedged in a corner of cool stone and the book on his knee. He was so immersed that, an hour later, he did not hear the footsteps until they were within the room. The first footfall told him it was one of Elrond’s children, and the second told him it was Elladan, doubtless seeking him. “What have you there?” The soft, husky voice confirmed his suspicions. Elladan always spoke as though he were telling a secret. Estel glanced up as his shadow fell over his reading. Leaning above him was a fair young man in a short tunic and sandals. Elladan was attempting to read the book upside down, his perpetually neat black plait of shining hair falling forward over his shoulder. Estel turned the book so he could see. “Interesting,” Elladan murmured after a moment. “I take it Father actually listened to us this time.” “It was you, then,” the other concluded. “Someone had to say something, else Father would wait until you were 100, like he did for us. Even the Númenor were a bit aged by then.” “But now I have to select a ‘rite of manhood,’ Edain or Quendi, and let him arrange it.” “That’s what fathers do, my lad,” his foster brother said. “Have you already read through the Edain rites?” “Yes. I’m almost through the Quendi.” “Anything intriguing?” When Estel blushed, Elladan’s brow went up. “Oh, do tell. What has you coloring like that?” There were few secrets between Estel and his brothers, but those few had cropped up in the last year or so, things that Estel knew he could never tell them. However, there was no escaping this; Elladan would just retrieve the book later and find out. So he turned back a page and pointed. Elladan leant forward, gray eyes narrowing. He seemed to reread a certain passage before he straightened. “Well,” he said in his breathy voice, “that’s something of a surprise, that you focused on that one. After all, the Edain had some strange ideas of masculinity. ..not that I’m implying that the Quendi don’t, mind you…” “It’s not like it would ever happen,” Estel said defensively. “There’s no one who’d want to do it with me. It’s just…” Elladan laughed softly. “Oh, you would be surprised, naïve Estel,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “What are you talking about?” “I’m thinking you don’t look around you enough, if you think no one’s interested.” “Oh, you know why everyone stares at me.” “I certainly do know why; the question is, do you know why?” “Because I am not Quendi.” Elladan’s smile was gentle but knowing. “Indeed? Is that the only reason why?” “How can it be otherwise?” Estel’s head was starting to hurt. He rubbed at his brow. An hour of reading under flickering torchlight was beginning to catch up. Strangers always said that the sons of Elrond were indistinguishable from one another, but Estel knew that to be only from lack of familiarity. For example, even if Elladan’s skin was as white as Elrohir’s, or Elrohir’s hair was as black as Elladan’s, their mannerisms altered these qualities to the merely superficial. Now Elladan’s gray eyes, with their distinctive ring of black around the rims, “identical” to Elrohir’s eyes, held a cool, assured certainty in them that Elrohir could never manage. In that way, Elladan was much like his father. It was a comparison Estel often avoided, for in the last year Elladan’s many good qualities had featured rather humiliatingly in his dreams. He managed to convince himself that Elladan had an unfair advantage in that he was as fair as a female of his own race, and fairer by far than a woman of Estel’s. “It is otherwise,” he said, his smile deepening. “But never you mind. I take it you will opt for the less intimate options?” “I was thinking…the hunt?” Unconsciously he glanced at Elladan for validation, a habit of old. “A good choice,” the other replied, straightening, his eyes darkening in another familiar Elladan-only look of inward contemplation. “That allows your friends to join in, and we can have a feast afterward.” Estel sighed happily. “Then that is what I shall tell Father.” “You do that,” Elladan murmured, and watched him excuse himself and leave. Estel would have been perturbed by the calculating look in the fair Peredhel’s eyes as Elladan turned and made his way to the stables, where he knew his brother to be. The next day, Elrond announced his foster son’s rite of manhood. It would be a hunt on the night of the harvest moon, to conclude in a late night feast. Invitations began to go out to members of the Dúnedain and to select friends in Lothlorien. Despite Estel’s natural humility and unknown heritage, his name was well known, and many liked the young Edain for his intelligence and nobility of spirit. Others, as Elladan had observed and Estel had not, esteemed him for less platonic reasons, and among them were a few of his own people, and a great many more Elves, male and female. Estel’s friend Halbarad of the Dúnedain arrived the day before, but travelers had begun to take up temporary residence in Imladris far earlier than that, including a few stunning Elves out of Lorien, eager for the hunt and other celebratory delights. Estel was glad that Elrond had been firm about this rite, after all, and wasn’t the least perturbed by the male influx into Imladris, even if it put the female population into something of a flutter. This was especially true when Haldir and his brothers arrived, on the pretense of bearing gifts from the Lord and the Lady. There were several big dinners and some minor hunts in preparation for the big one, during which Estel began to suspect that Elladan was planning something and Elrohir was avoiding him. Elladan was not a gregarious person, but he had inherited a great amount of charm from both his parents, and his slender beauty doubled by his elegant carriage seemed to draw a great many admirers. Estel, of course, had long felt the same draw, but in the limited scope of Imladris’ social circles, this charisma was never very pronounced. Now, no matter where Elladan was present, there seemed to be a large group of admirers, (and here was the suspicious part) who seemed to be harkening very closely to Elladan’s speech, but would conveniently forget the topic as soon as Estel inquired after it. Vaguely mortified, he wondered if Elladan wasn’t telling everyone of his blushing over that book. But his friends seemed not to be mocking him with their words or looks, so he put it out of his mind. Elladan was probably planning a part of the celebration. Elrohir was nowhere to be found outside the nightly hunts and dinners. This was, in itself, not terribly strange, as Elladan’s twin was in the most solemn times a volley of pure, wild energy. With so many people visiting, his passion was certainly diverted in many directions. Elrohir was gregarious, a temperamental, easy-going version of his scholarly brother, a man of motion and quickness. There were more differences, Estel mused, but they only reflected their differences in personality. Elrohir was always easily distinguished from Elladan by the way he wore (or rather, did not wear) his hair. It was constantly down and unbound, a black wing of swinging silk that seemed to crack with electricity. He did not wear ornaments unless they were bracers or some other practical item, while Elladan’s arms, neck and hair sparked with tastefully crafted pieces of jewelry. Elladan’s chosen animal was the owl, and there was something of a striving among the local craftsmen to outdo one another in creating hair clips and clothing following that motif, as they had in the past over Elrond’s propensity for choosing the butterfly motif. Elrohir seemed content to breed his horses, and not bear them symbolically on his person. On top of everything else, Estel’s friends seemed determined to get him drunk each night. Haldir was the first to start this trend, and Estel had awoken the next day, aware of blurry conversations late into the night, and concluding in Haldir, Rúmil and himself in one bed in the morning. All fully clothed, thank the Valar. The next night Halbarad had started the same thing, but had left earlier with an Elven maid, leaving Estel in the company of a few Dúnedain he knew and an additional amount of Elves, all out-drinking one another. He woke up in his own bed, alone. Clothes preserved again. It was starting to unsettle him. But then it was the night of the rite, and these perturbing events flew cleanly out of his mind as the excitement and activity built to a fever pitch, and he found himself among a large of group of males, saddling their horses and preparing to ride to the hunt. He had never taken part of such a large gathering, and it was impressive, if not slightly chaotic. The older Elves bowed out, although there was much begging for Glorfindel to join, his prowess being more than legendary. But Glorfindel seemed unusually reticent to be part of this hunt, begging leave to attend Elrond and the preparation of the feast. So the group set off, fanning through the woods. Most of the hunters were archers, but a few were spear throwers, and they made their own party. Halbarad stayed at Estel’s side during the chaos of hunters pursuing their own quarry. They found themselves making their way through a quiet patch of forest, listening to the echoing cries of the other hunters, when Halbarad said: “Have you yet heard of the secret wager?” Estel had not. “Wager?” he echoed. “Then I shouldn’t speak of it. Perhaps it’s a surprise for you.” The young man leaned on the pommel of his saddle, his eyes on the trail. “Elladan has been up to something, and perhaps this is it. I take it the most successful hunter will win whatever prize has been offered, though...” He frowned, glancing up. “Elladan himself is competing for it, and his brother. That hardly seems—“ But then his ears caught the distinctive rustling. The very youth whom Elrond had employed to train Estel in the ways of tracking, Halbarad’s skills were more than equal. They glanced at each other with identical delighted expressions, and nudged their horses ahead. +++++++++++ When the final tally came in, it was Elrohir who had surpassed them, and with him Elladan, who had been his companion in the hunt. All of Elrohir’s previous hunts had served their purpose. But even as good- natured congratulations went about, no prize was mentioned. The hunters washed off the night’s exertions in the larger communal baths; Estel, bashful at this practice, having access to his own bath, followed Halbarad into the great steamy chambers, clutching his robe about himself with as much dignity as he could muster. “You are not the only Man here,” his friend and trainer admonished him. “And you cannot be so aloof on the night of your own rite.” Estel knew that well enough. The dread he felt was not so much that others would look at him, but that he would be forced to look at the others, the beautiful Quendi and Peredhil, especially his own foster brothers, whose splendor he had learned to use as a measure of all others. His entrance was marked, and those in the baths gave him a generous welcome before returning to their own ablutions. Halbarad led him to a less crowded corner to find towels and soap, and disrobe. Estel was thankful for Halbarad; they were of a race and (he had long suspected but never knew for certain) of a similar heritage; it was reassuring to not be the only Edain in the company, and to not have to compare himself with the immortals unclad about him. They immersed themselves and set to scrubbing themselves clean of the grime of the day’s efforts. Estel deliberately did not look about him until he was left only with the task of soaking, and had no excuse to keep his eyes turned away. He marked the Lothlórien Quendi easily enough, and let his eyes drift from Haldir and his ever-present brothers who had given Elrohir quite a challenge during the hunt, and tried not to look as if he were searching for someone. Elrohir and Elladan were not there. A few, who had soaked enough, rose to lie out in the open area to dry leisurely and talk. Estel could not keep the dread from his face at this prospect. Halbarad took pity on him. “Do not distress yourself. It is not necessary to dry in that slow way, only preferred. You’re the man of honor, after all. You will need to spend time on your wardrobe, and have that excuse.” Estel hadn’t even considered such a thing. His “wardrobe” consisted of only a few fine things for formal occasions and the worn and much- mended clothes appropriate for sword practice. He cast a panicked look to his friend, who chuckled. “Elrond thinks of everything, I daresay,” he reassured him. They were just emerging from the water when the loin-clothed twins entered, laughing, coming face to face with the two Edain. There was an awkward moment, then Estel ducked, murmuring some inanity and trotted off for his clothes, face flaming in self-consciousness. Halbarad just shook his head as they exited from the changing room, which necessitated briefly re-entering the bathing area before leaving through the main way. Elladan had waited for them where Estel had ducked out, obviously letting his twin go ahead of him. “Estel,” he said in the breathy voice. “Had you no word of congratulations for us?” But it was no criticism, for there was laughter there as well. “ Father wanted to speak to you as soon as you were done bathing.” Estel nodded his thanks, keeping his eyes somewhere along Elladan’s collarbone, afraid to look either higher or, worse, lower at the expanse of pale, flawless skin over fine-honed muscle. He didn’t need to seek it out to know that it was there and that a close examination would be his downfall. He hastened away, and parted with Halbarad in front of Elrond’s study, the door of which was open for the first time Estel could remember. Carefully, he stepped inside, for he could hear raised voices. His foster father was standing in the middle of his study, arguing with Glorfindel. Thankfully they were speaking in rapid and colloquial Quenya, a language not spoken widely in Middle-earth for thousands of years, whose Sindarin dialect was so obscure that only scholars such as Elrond and ancient Quendi such as Glorfindel could master with any fluency. Glorfindel saw him first and broke off, and then Elrond turned to see that distraction and frowned. It was definitely a private conversation, then, although he wondered who had forgotten to close the doors. Surely not Glorfindel, who was every so careful of his lord’s dignity. He always marveled at the contrast they made, these two Quendi. Both were tall, but while Elrond’s dark hair, gray eyes and slender physique illustrated the common coloring and build, Glorfindel showed the opposite; golden-haired, green-eyed and wide-shouldered, he was nothing short of awe-inspiring. Now, with both of them clothed in their best, hair braided and circlets gleaming, he wasn’t sure if he should prostrate himself or run. “Your pardon, my lord…father…” he ventured. “The door was open, and Elladan said…” They glanced at each other. Elrond sighed. “Do not be anxious, my son. We were having an old argument, and as always I was losing.” He said something quietly and Glorfindel bowed to him. “My lord,” he said, and nodding to Estel, left quietly, closing the doors. “You have not changed yet,” Elrond observed. “I was going to…” “Indeed. I was not complaining. I have something for you.” With a drag and flow of velvet robes the color of ripe plums, the Peredhel retrieved a box from his desk and brought it to his foster son. “We will speak of this in more length tomorrow, but I thought it appropriate that you should have the use of these tonight.” He opened the box. “These were your parents’.” Estel’s breath stopped. He glanced up into Elrond’s dark-rimmed gray eyes for confirmation, and the older man nodded gently for him to look. He glanced down into the box. He saw a man’s silver ring, set with a dark faceted stone, a twined silver and gold circlet, and several gold bracelets that must have been his mother’s. “The ring I will name tomorrow,” Elrond told him. “That and the circlet are heirlooms of your father’s family, and you may wear them with pride. They have not been worn within this house and none here but me know their origins.” Estel opened his mouth to demand that knowledge, but then understood. Elrond did not wish him to be burdened with the new knowledge during the time of celebration. It was inevitable that one would overshadow the other. “Thank you,” he said instead, and took the ring and circlet into his hands. “I will wear them, then.” “There are clothes ready in your rooms,” his foster father told him. “Go prepare yourself and enjoy this night in all the ways that will make it a memory to cherish.” Estel suddenly felt an overwhelming love for this restrained and wise man, the only father he had every truly known. He blinked rapidly and pressed his lips against his foster father’s fingers briefly before letting himself out. Halbarad was waiting for him in his rooms with a peculiar expression on his face. Estel could see next to him, on the bed, meticulously laid out raiment. He stopped next to Halbarad, and stared down at them. Everything was thought of. There were new boots of soft dyed doeskin, a matching belt and gloves, all dark green and embossed with silver. The trousers and tunic were dark gray velvet, embroidered along the hemlines with a tracery of stylized trees and stags. There was even a chain and a hair clip, although he doubted the latter would do him any good. No matter how hard he tried to grow out his hair, it was always too fine to suit the elaborate stylings of the Quendi. “Well,” he said after a long pause. “It seems tonight I am to be turned out quite fine.” Halbarad laughed. +++++ “Ai, ai!” came a collective cry when Estel entered the banquet hall. There was an extensive crowd already there, though none were seated, for the custom was to wait for the guest of honor. Elrond was among them, and with him Glorfindel who shone as if a personal moon cast its glow only for him. Elrond took his hands and led him to the place of honor at the head table at which Estel had rarely eaten. This was the hall reserved for high ceremony and “secret” councils, and the rare times he had been in attendance it was Elrond only, Master of Imladris, who had sat there. The others began to find their places and sit among the higher and lower tables. Estel’s trained eye could pick out the social pattern that dictated who sat where and why, so he was not surprised when Elladan and Elrohir sat at his left and Halbarad and a few of his cousins on the right. The guests were in the majority male, but not completely. The proportions were not deliberate. Since Elrond’s wife’s departure, the feminine influence had slowly dwindled in Imladris. Even the Master’s only daughter dwelt separately with her grandmother in Lothlorien; or so he had heard. Estel had never met her. With such a “bachelor” household, it was natural that the balance be off, and it was reflected in the numbers on this occasion. As soon as everyone was seated, the servants began to appear with trenchers and platters overflowing with finely prepared game, sweet fruits and savory breads. There was a general murmur of approbation. Elrond, who would not stay, bowed at the approval. Once goblets were filled, he raised a simple toast to Estel, praising him as noble-hearted, humble and generous, and congratulating him on his majority. The guests agreed in a susurrus of voices. With that, Elrond and Glorfindel excused themselves, and the younger generations were left to their celebrating. Estel’s blushing at his foster father’s praises had evoked good-natured teasing for a few moments as the food and drink continued to make their rounds, but soon everyone was recalling the hunt, or some favorite joke, and Estel was free to watch his friends, content to be more observer than participant. At some point he remembered that as the honored guest, custom required that he make the social round, so with wine in his hand he stood and visited the lower tables, thanking each person for coming, and exchanging pleasantries. There were Quendi from Lothlórien, of course, and he was surprised he knew so many from his travels back and forth with the twins. There were a few Elves from the Havens, also. He had made friends also in Mirkwood when Elrond and its king required couriers to be guarded back and forth, but very few of these could make the celebration since the onset of their borders a few years past. It was also a fact that Thranduil did not approve of his people going abroad unless in dire circumstances, his sons in particular. There would be no mahogany-haired Greenleaf in this party, unfortunately. A few of Thranduil’s couriers, however, were in attendance, and although his friends were not there, they had sent tokens instead with their apologies earlier in the week. As he circled, he paused for a while with Haldir and Rúmil, and chatted with the marchwardens of Lothlorien before finally making the entire circuit back to his own place. Haldir, he thought, had not the feminine beauty of Elrond’s sons, but an outrageous masculine aesthetic. Like many with High Noldo blood like his more famous and distant cousin Gildor, he was golden, with thick long hair plaited simply in the manner of the Galadhrim. His flashing eyes were not the dark-rimmed gray so prevalent in the Peredhil house, but a very pale, silvery color that caught the light like clear water. Set in a high-cheeked and exotic face, those eyes were astonishing. Haldir made friends and lovers wherever he went, according to Elrohir, who knew him rather well. Perhaps it was because Haldir seemed to flirt with everyone. Next to him, his brother Rúmil, dark haired like most Quendi, suffered a certain kind of eclipse, although Estel often thought that with those darker lashes, Rúmil's equally silver eyes were even more prominently beautiful. Rúmil's personality was something alike to Elladan’s, but with such a brother, he was not one to compete. “Haldir almost out-hunted us,” Elrohir said good-naturedly when he’s sat finally, and returned to eating. “I thought he’d won, until the tallies came in.” Estel raised his eyebrows at that.“What is this about a wager, then?” he asked Elrohir. “There was some talk about…” “Was there?” Elrohir replied with a grin. “I don’t recall a wager. Do you, Brother?” He cocked his head at Elladan, who smiled quizzically. “Not that I’ve heard. A wager, you say?” Elladan shrugged. Estel frowned, turning his head to speak to Halbarad, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Elrohir share a quick glance with his twin. Something was afoot, he was sure, but if the twins would not talk about it, then he would have to content himself to wait. For one thing, Elrohir was looking far too smug and content, and this especially compared to his earlier elusive behavior before the hunt had Estel’s suspicions stirred. Wine continued to flow. When the tables were cleared and pulled off to the sides, musicians began to tune up for singing and dancing. This was when the few ladies of the assemblage come into their prime for the evening, for although male Quendi were pardoned in many activities together, dancing was relegated almost exclusively among male-female pairings; dancing was meant to be one of the few events that allowed women and men from unaligned houses to mingle without censure. Estel had been told that female Quendi were by rights their male equals, but this equality seemed to disappear when courtship was at stake. In that regard, parents were exceedingly careful of their daughters, not so much over- protective of their honor as they were leery of making the wrong alliances. Estel did not understand what alliances might be deemed “wrong” among the Elves; in this, he was not so good a judge. The circle dances always opened the evening, as they allowed strangers to meet and create pairings for later dances. The musicians also used the lighter and quicker tempos to warm up their fingers and lips for some of the more layered music later on. As the one honored, Estel found that he had the temporary power to ask anyone of the assembly to dance, and not cause insult. This phenomenon was interesting to him, but he did not let it go to his head. He chose a younger, lovely Quendi of his acquaintance who had flirted with him earlier in the evening, and felt he had not overstepped himself as he led her to the floor to open up the first dance. After that, he had no dearth of partners, and no need to seek any. He noticed that Haldir had no lack as well, and that although Elladan and Elrohir were equally as charming, they danced less and seemed content to sit with their heads together over who knows what. This conversational closeness continued to rouse his suspicions, but he had little time to linger on what his foster brothers were talking about. As it grew later, the crowd began to thin as the older Quendi left for quieter meditations. Estel was finally able to sit out for a few songs and exchanged pleasantries with Halbarad, who had had his share of partners. Maybe Elladan had been right; being Edain among Quendi wasn’t always a bad thing. Finally, it was down to just a few, and when Estel looked about, he was surprised to see Elrohir gone, and Haldir as well. Before he could wonder at that, Elladan approached and said: “Estel, I have a gift for you, but it’s upstairs. Would you come with me?” Estel glanced at Halbarad, and noted that his friend had a strange look on his face, as if he were embarrassed by something. Halbarad schooled his features when he saw that his friend was looking, but Estel saw enough to reflect on. “Surely, I’ll go with you,” he told Elladan. He made his farewells with the remaining few and followed Elladan out of the hall. “There is no call for gifts, you know,” he said to his foster brother. “The celebration is enough.” Elladan did not turn, but Estel could hear the smile in his measured voice. “Gifts, by their nature, come when they may.” It wasn’t until they stopped that Estel wondered at the destination. They were at his own door, which Elladan was opening. Estel opened his mouth to question this, but the sight of lit candles and a roaring fire in the hearth drove the question from his mind. There was golden wine in a fine decanter on the small table in his antechamber, and three glasses. “What is this, then?” he managed with no small amount of wonder. Elladan went and poured wine for two, and turning, handed him one. “Drink first,” the Peredhel said. Estel, used to obeying his brother’s injunctions, did as he was bade, eyes widening as the cool, honey-rich taste slid past his palate and slithered warmly down his throat. His eyes rested on Elladan, who watched him attentively over the rim of his own glass. Almost immediately, there was a liquor-induced glow in his belly, but different somehow to the heat he was used to from the wines of the past. This glow seemed to induce a mellow, pleasant sensation through his limbs. He gazed at the empty glass, then at Elladan. He licked his lips experimentally, trying to taste again what had already passed, that strange sweetness. “That is very fine,” he said as his brother finished his own liquor and put the glasses back. “What was it?” “A very rare distillation just for such a situation,” Elladan said with a little mysterious smile. “What, for coming of age gifts?” With a little sigh, the other raised a graceful hand and touched Estel’s cheek. “How can you be so endearingly naïve, sweet Estel? The situation is the gift, if you haven’t figured it out already.” Estel most likely would have not understood, even if Elladan had written it out, so perhaps it was convenient that at that point, the Peredhel lost patience with him, and leaned forward and kissed him. Instinct was on Estel’s side, if not any other faculty. The source of pleasure was grasped and brought close without a single thought, and he was kissing back in a way he would never have thought possible. Embarrassment, anxiety and fear seemed to have vanished, and only one thing remained, the soft yield of mouth and tongue. It was a long while before thought asserted itself and he could look at Elladan, and finally know that his suspicions, even the ones he had dared not clarify in his own mind, were true. “This was the wager,” he accused. “And everyone knew!” Elladan’s eyes were smoky and opaque. “This? No. No, Estel. The wager was not this.” “What, then?” “The wager was for who would be allowed to approach you first. Everything from that point was only fate.” Estel stared at him. “What?” “You would be complimented by how many thought it worth competing for. Haldir and Rúmil gave us a close race, I have to admit. But Elrohir would not be won over. Imladris has its pride, after all.” “You and Elrohir…” “We wanted to be the first to ask.” “That was no question!” Estel cried, agitated by a world so abruptly altered from the one he thought he knew. “Wasn’t it? It seems to me you answered quite honestly.” Elladan touched his lips lightly, and Estel wished he hadn't, for their taste came back to him and his body ignited in lust. But this was no dream. He tried to swallow down the tide of desire, only to see that Elladan was watching his reactions closely, smiling. "Will you lie with me, Estel? Shall we not celebrate this night as some have done in the past?" "Surely," Estel rasped, "this does your name no honor, Brother." The son of Elrond shook his head. "Let me keep my honor as I will, boy. Answer me." Estel almost quailed. Almost. "I cannot deny you, Elladan." Gray eyes glinted, pleased. "That is well, for I would rather not be denied." He raised a confident hand, beckoning the Edain closer. "Come. Let me show you the way." As Estel followed his foster brother to the bed, he reflected that if he had to choose a guide in such matters, there could be none better than patient and beautiful Elladan. He wondered, suddenly, if this was the way it was done among the Quendi. Did someone come forward to lead the hapless virgin his first time, or was this unique? Did the Quendi, in fact, need guidance at all? Elladan stepped close, and began to unfasten Estel’s celebratory garments, letting the pieces drop one after another, until, finally, the belt was gone and Estel was left in his tunic and trousers. Elladan paused, his glimmering eyes tracing the line of his shoulders down to his knees and back up, then the Peredhel reached back and loosened his own braid, looking into Estel’s face as the plaiting unraveled itself and the swath of shining black came down over his shoulders. Estel’s breath shortened at the loveliness of it, and the embarrassing quickening in his loins was there again, acknowledging such beauty. With his hair down, the line between Elladan and his brother began to blur, and it occurred to Estel how easily the twins could fool the residents of Imladris with a mere change of hairstyle and clothing. But Elrohir would never be this slow and reflective about anything, Estel assured himself. He did not dare to ask where the other brother was, or how his hand would play in the night’s happenings (for he recalled the third, unused glass), for fear of offending the other twin, but Elladan seemed to know his mind. “I am to be the teacher first,” he said, loosening the belt of his over-tunic and letting the garment swing open. “Elrohir will follow in his time.” Estel blinked; the image of Elrohir storming into his room for the purpose of seduction was suddenly a very agreeable notion, if a little overwhelming. “Yes,” Elladan agreed. “There’s a certain logic to the sequence, yes? Elrohir has no patience, I warn you. He’s with Haldir now, and for good cause. He’s something of a rough lover.” Estel swallowed, focusing once again as the over-tunic slithered to the ground, revealing the silvery, semi-transparent under-tunic and close- fitting trousers that showed Elladan’s trim figure and disguised nothing, not even the peaked nipples underneath the thin fabric, nor the suggestive mound under the Elladan’s leggings. His hands itched to remove the last barriers and see the body that he dared not examine before for fear of discovery. “Take off your tunic,” Elladan told him, turning and bending to fetch something from his garment’s pockets. Estel, hands crossed on the lower hem, froze to watch the thin tunic ride up and a spectacularly perfect rear present itself to his view. Gulping, he pulled the tunic up and over his head quickly, but Elladan was already straightening with a vial in his hands. Estel looked at it curiously, but Elladan merely put it by the bed and motioned his foster brother to sit on the edge. “Do you touch yourself?” the Peredhel asked in a conversational tone. “….yes,” Estel ventured, preparing for disapproval or at least a ribald comment. However, Elladan smiled at him. “That’s good. Touch yourself through your trousers.” What? Estel’s mind gibbered. “Um…” he ventured. “Touch yourself, Estel, or I don’t take off my clothes.” The young Edain gaped at him. How could Elladan say such things so…calmly, so self-assuredly, as if he knew every one of Estel’s desires so confidently, so that nothing was in doubt? But his hand was already obeying, his body reclining on one elbow, and he was pressing against the maddening, straining hardness under his trousers, aware of Elladan’s focus on his hands. But soon, the pleasure of his own touch distracted him, and his breath grew shorter, his erection more needy. Elladan drew his tunic off, still watching him intently. Estel found himself staring at the finely muscled Peredhel in awe. Elladan’s fine white skin and dark hair made such a glowing contrast, that he seemed almost not flesh at all, but finely carved pale stone. “Let me see,” he instructed, letting gray eyes drift up to Estel’s flushed and needy face. “Take it out.” Estel swallowed heavily, scrabbling at the closures of his pants, all the while aware of Elladan’s hands playing with the waist of his own trousers. He could barely touch himself, wincing as he exposed his stiff and leaking member to Elladan’s eyes. “Ah, little brother,” the other murmured, his eyes seeming to gather light into them as the Peredhel examined him, “you are a Man of many hidden attributes. How have you managed to hide this one from us?” But Estel could not speak, only watch and wait. Elladan was smiling his enigmatic smile even as he pushed his own pants down finally, freeing himself as well. Estel looked fully upon Elrond’s son, forgetting that he was being observed shrewdly. There were few surprises. Elladan and Elrohir were more Elf than Man, their Elven mother’s blood smoothing the sturdiness of their father’s heritage. All of Elladan was smooth and pale, even to the parts that Estel had never seen, beautiful in his whole finely muscled physique. It should have made him yet more self-conscious and nervous, but Estel was beyond these feelings now, for all such thoughts had long since fled at his own body’s approval of the proceedings. Then Elladan was there, standing above him, reaching down to tug at his clothes with efficient motions, until Estel lay on his back, fully uncovered to his foster brother’s gaze. Elladan’s gray stare was altogether avid and disconcerting, looking at him as if to memorize each small detail. In those eyes, Estel knew thousands of years of experience were stored in the well of memory, and this moment was being added to that store. And facing that realization, Estel suddenly knew that he had been chosen, not as some strange lesser option, but as something valued. He was amazed and gratified. “Now you understand,” Elladan said, and Estel did not question that innate comprehension, or the slender body on all fours above him. The kiss was sweet, in the way the first taste of liquor could be sweet before it began to burn. Elladan’s tongue taught Estel the warm pleasure of give and take, until finally they were locked into a harsher embrace, and Estel brought his arm about the shoulders above him to bring the body down upon his own. Elladan was heavier and denser than he looked, and his skin was both hotter and softer than Estel expected. Somehow he had envisioned an alien coolness, but no, Elladan burned against him, and the shiver of that aroused body made his own cry out in lust. Elladan lifted just enough for his hands to find him, his head down to watch what he was doing. Estel groaned at the double stimulation of hands and the long length of black hair brushing slowly across his nipples. “I have never measured a Man before,” the Peredhel mused, slowly pumping the long bulk in his hand, his fingertips sliding over the smooth head and underneath, where Estel had long ago discovered the greatest pleasure lay. “We are not so different.” Estel raised up enough to see what Elladan was doing, taking deep breaths to steady his pounding heart. He was astounded that they were almost lined up together, that Elladan’s exploratory grip almost brushed his own erection. The comparison was appalling. Elladan was a smoothly crafted sword next to his own club. Yet, Elladan seemed not to mind, was in fact stiffer than Estel remembered from before. Elladan lifted his head, bringing his face to Estel’s, his gray eyes glowing. Estel panted with each stroke of that lovely hand, and stared back, wondering what the Peredhel saw when he looked at him, this sweating, heaving Man under his hand. “You will take me,” Elladan purred, and pressed open, hot lips to his. “You will take me with this big tool of yours, and I will scream and scream my pleasure until even the Valar know what happens in this room tonight.” Estel’s mouth watered, and he swallowed heavily, desperate. He wasn’t going to last at this rate, and was ashamed. “But first,” Elladan breathed. “I’ve a mind to drain some of that eagerness out of you.” And he was sliding down, his hair trailing after like the warm brush of fur. Perhaps it was providence that Elladan’s black hair provided a screen. Had Estel seen what his foster brother was about to do next, he might have embarrassed himself with his own naïve protests. As it was, he stifled a shout when Elladan’s mouth found him, licking and sucking as if he was a delicious morsel. Before he knew it, Estel was coming so hard, he felt it wrench out of him violently, and he kept coming because Elladan kept drinking him down. “You are a wealth of possibilities,” the Peredhel commented, licking at his lips as he crawled back up Estel’s shuddering body. “I’ll wager I can have you hard and coming in me within the hour.” Estel groaned. It was a wager he knew Elladan would win, and he would not protest. Elladan knew what he was doing, and as he began to kiss and gently gnaw on Estel’s nipples, Estel wondered if any being in Middle- earth would even think to deny this creature. An image came to mind and he groaned, stiffening. Elladan’s head came up, eyes bright. “What are you thinking?” he asked him. “Glorfindel,” Estel muttered. Gray eyes widened. “Glorfindel?” “You and Glorfindel.” Elladan smiled. “Oh, he’s too old for me,” the Peredhel replied, although his eyes were thoughtful. “Although I went through a period of infatuation when I was at your stage. He is lovely, isn’t he?” He bent and tugged with his teeth, making Estel hiss. “Keep your mind on me, Estel. You and me, understand?” But even so, Estel briefly wondered at that pondering look. Only briefly, for Elladan was having his way with his poor abused nipples and toying with him until he was erect once again. Finally, Elladan rose to get that mysterious vial, showing it to Estel before pouring some in his hand and then slicking the warm lubricant over the Edain’s erection. “This has a very slight numbing agent,” the Peredhel told him, “enough to keep you hard for longer than the average time, for which I am selfishly grateful.” He leaned over to kiss Estel teasingly. “I expect you to give me my due. Hard and long, just like you.” “I’ve never…” “Not a surprise, and I don’t expect you to be knowledgeable, just eager. Very eager.” He put the bottle away and crawled to the center of the bed, spreading his legs. Against the rich scarlet of the coverlet, the Peredhel’s fair skin glowed. Estel stared, so aroused that he thought he couldn’t possibly give Elladan what he wanted. Elladan rubbed his oily fingers over his opening between two perfect cheeks. “Right here, and hard, Estel. I like it rough.” Blessed Valar! Estel’s mind wailed. How had he come to this point, with such perfection spreading itself for his pleasure? But it seemed not enough doubt to keep his body from following Elladan’s summons, for his flesh knew the way although his mind did not. As if led by a string, he crawled between those sprawled thighs, taking himself in hand to angle down and push inside. It was not as easy as it looked, and it was a slippery, awkward business before he finally found his way in, pressing too hard in his frustration, but oh, that fantastic feeling of burrowing inside such receptive heat, of being clenched and squeezed by heated slickness. And even better, to slide out of it and in it, mindlessly thrusting like some animal purging itself of its lust. Elladan groaned and sighed, pushing back when Estel slowed, amazingly welcoming to such an inept lover. When their movements quickened into a brutal rutting, Elladan’s gasping cries contended with his own until they both spilled ecstatically. “I am amazed by you,” Elladan told him, afterward. “I could not have asked for better.” Estel wondered at that, but did not question as they lay in a warm press of bodies. Elrohir’s kisses were just as sweet now as they had been before, but now Estel knew the way of it and knew to savor them. He almost drifted off in slow kisses when Elladan said: “I must prepare you for Elrohir.” Elrohir! How could he have forgotten? He watched as Elladan rose, graceful and pale, spotless and lovely. Already Estel was stiffening again, although his body was a bit more reluctant this time. Elladan went to fetch something and brought it back, showing it to Estel only when he was back in bed. Estel stared, his heart pounding. It was unmistakably a carved likeness of a penis, a perfect rendition of a Quendi erection, smooth and engorged. Elladan turned it so that he could see all sides while watching Estel’s reactions. “I’ve told you Elrohir has not patience. He will not tend you as a virgin should be tended, so that is my job before I go.” Estel swallowed a mouthful of saliva while Elladan dripped oil on the object, smoothing it over it. Then the Peredhel motioned for Estel to turn over. The Edain almost refused. Very little truly frightened him, but this did. But looking at Elladan’s smooth nakedness and then the effigy in his hands, he grew harder than before. When he turned over, he had to arrange himself to avoid hurt, much to his disgrace. But Elladan did not laugh, merely ran a reassuring hand over his shoulders and down his back, ending with a playful pat on his rear. Then oil was being slicked down his cleft and gently in. He hissed and Elladan murmured soothingly: “This will help you accept this, and Elrohir when he comes to you. I will be slow and careful; never fear.” Fingers pressed further in with every little thrust, unhurried in their business, until the tip of something harder and bigger pressed against him. He tensed in sudden terror, but he was the hardest he’d ever been, and confused, he wasn’t sure how he should be feeling. Elladan patted him again. “Relax; it will not hurt. You will see.” Muscle by muscle, Estel allowed himself to relax as he’d been trained until Elladan murmured his approval and began to work the tool into him, slow inch at a time. Truly, it did not hurt as much as burn as his muscles slowly accepted the object. He began to thank the Valar that Quendi were not so big or thick as he seemed to be, else the process might have been even more difficult. At last, the thing was fully in him, and he was stretched on it. Elladan pressed a kiss to his moist brow. “How proud I am of you, my brother. Adjust to it. If you wish, move it about. But do not remove it. That will be Elrohir’s pleasure.” “You’re leaving?” Estel almost cried, panicked. “Sweetheart, my time is done, pleasurable as it was. Try to relax. Sleep if you can. In a while my twin will give you enough to concern yourself with.” It took a long while just to follow the first injunction, to adjust to the bulk of the carved penis that stretched and aggravated him. But finally, he was beginning to think he might just endure it. Reaching back with curious fingers, he touched the part that nudged up against his opening, was able to curl his fingers about base and tug on it a little. It was so smooth and slippery, that it shifted with hardly a nudge, making him gasp. Experimentally, he moved it about, angling it this way and that and sliding it back in. When he felt the smooth hardness touch off an inward spark of pleasure, he knew he would not be sleeping this night. Just one experience of that lovely feeling was like scratching heartily at an eternal itch; he wanted to keep pushing against it. In the midst of this experimentation, eyes closed in concentration, he thought he heard voices far off in the corridor, murmuring, then a door slammed and something fell over. He stopped for a moment, listening hard, but could hear nothing else. Elrohir came to him less than an hour later. Estel wondered how anyone could mistake this energetic being for his brother. Elrohir did not walk, but strode in, barefoot and with shirt half-fastened, pushing the unbound fall of hair back behind him. Estel blushed in shame at his ignominious position and what he imagined was the scene that greeted Elrohir’s gaze. But Elrohir’s sudden and easy grin lacked any mockery. “Enjoying yourself, I see,” he commented, unfastening his shirt and letting it slide off his shoulders. “Have you found it yet?” As he neared, he caught the full sight of Estel, and added: “Ah, indeed you have.” Without ceremony, he knelt down beside Estel and urged him on all fours with a glance and a firm touch. “Reach back and show me where.” Estel thought he understand, and reaching back, slid the effigy out a bit, angled and pushed in against the node of pleasure. Elrohir hummed in approval. “Is that it, then? Good.” He brushed Estel’s hand out of the way, gripping the base with one hand and cupping him with the other, making the Edain gasp. “Elladan said you rode him like the veriest stallion, and now I see why.” He moved the hard length gently. “How are you liking the toy?” “Feels…good. Strange, but good.” “Just good? I’ll have to make sure you can find more agreeable descriptors,” the twin said. “Did he use his mouth on you?” Estel nodded, shaking a little at the memory. “I’m too eager, or else I’d make you use your mouth on me,” Elrohir murmured in a low voice, unlacing his pants, revealing that indeed, he was eager. Estel tried to stifle a whimper at the sight. Having adjusted to the replica, he could easily imagine the actual member instead. He squirmed unconsciously. Elrohir’s firm touch ran up his spine, and Estel recognized the tone of his voice now as the exact voice he used when training a nervous steed, the same easy, open and unapologetic taskmaster’s voice. “Before I give you the original, let’s make sure you can take the replica.” Estel knew better than to protest that voice, and hung his head, groaning. Elrohir pulled the hard tool almost completely out. Estel’s grip on it had been awkward, but the Peredhel was in a better position to manipulate it to its best effect. Elrohir angled it perfectly, and it scraped that sensitive spot as he pushed it in. Estel gasped, biting down on a cry. He had barely enough time to recover, when the length was pulled out again and swiftly pushed in. Elrohir hummed to himself, observing. “Very good,” he said. Without warning, he pulled the thing out entirely and cast it aside. He took a hold of Estel’s hips, positioning himself behind, and with one hand pushed his trousers down. In the next moment, he was pushing slickly in and Estel was keening at the sensation of hot, steel-hard flesh spearing him. “Yes,” the twin groaned. One hand pushed up Estel’s slick spine, gripping into the hair at the base of his skull. “Mm, yes. It’s time you’re ridden as you deserve.” He thrust slowly a couple of times, then picked up the pace, angling perfectly so that Estel felt every other slide against that spot. Estel was lost. He had thought he understood what it would feel like, but he had not understood anything. It was not just the penetration, or the movement, but all those things and the fair being holding him and using him for pleasure, and giving him his own pleasure. “He smelled like you when I met him in the hall,” Elrohir muttered, and pushed Estel’s head down as he rode him harder. “Your scent was all over him! Valar, I could imagine you taking him as if I had been there…It made me hard…” Estel clenched hands into bedding and teeth against screaming, and unbidden came an image to match the sounds he had heard in the corridor. He shook his head against his imagination. No, if he thought of the twins together, he would not last! Thankfully, Elrohir’s words stopped, the twin too engrossed in Estel’s body. The Peredhel was muttering to himself, making low, approving sounds, and Estel was surprised that he, too, was groaning at each thrust, unable to stop himself. Sweating and shaking, fevered with need, he nevertheless tried to stave off the inevitable, seeking not to shame himself with Elrohir. But the quickening, hedonistic growls from his older foster brother and the spearing pleasure, contrived to send him, howling, to completion as Elrohir rode him hard and fast. At last there were kisses here too, and Estel could now compare the liquor sweetness of Elladan with the rough fire that was his twin as Elrohir forced his tongue in and made a simple act into an erotic reminder. “I think you will remember this night for a long time, Estel,” the Peredhel muttered against his neck as they lay breathing deep, the covers warming their cooling bodies. Estel smiled to himself, satiated, spent, and feeling as if he had leapt the chasm between childhood and maturity, landing firmly and definitely. “Will you?” he asked, although he knew the answer. “I will not ever forget,” Elrohir acknowledged. “That’s my immortality, then,” the Edain sighed as, from the doorway, a familiar pad of feet made him smile further. “What took you so long?” Elrohir asked casually. Elladan slipped under the covers on the other side of Estel. “I didn’t want to interrupt the festivities,” he said with a little laugh. “What think you of your rite of manhood, Estel? Was it satisfying?” Estel could only chuckle as two sets of arms supported him into sleep.