Title: Lû Vinui 
Author: Orchyd Constyne 
Contact: orchydconstyne@hithanaur.net 
Website: http://www.hamena.org/naiteiru
Fandom: LOTR 
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from 
the Tolkien world.  They belong to their respective copyright holders. 
Archive: LoM, OEAM, Galadhrim.net, AFF.net, Melethryn 
Rating: NC-17 
Warnings: None 
Beta: Silvara & Ilye 
Cast: Erestor/Lothvaen, Glorfindel/Thranduil
Warning: Semi non-con situation in Ch. 4 (maybe)
Summary: Lothvaen joins the staff of the House of Elrond in the newly 
founded valley of Imladris and finds the Chief Councilor to be a 
challenge worth accepting.  Thranduil meets the Balrog-slayer when the 
Seneschal is sent to Greenwood to aid Oropher and the attraction is 
instant. 
A/N: Lothvaen is a Sindarin name I have given to the fanon character 
'Figwit.'  'Figwit' is not an appropriate name for an Elf and the name 
'Lothvaen' (a common used name for this fanon character) is an 
incorrect translation of the name 'Figwit.'  'Lothvaen' means 'clever 
flower' since 'clever' is another word for 'wit' (Sindarin does not 
have a word for 'wit') and 'flower' is used in place of 'fig' (since 
Sindarin does not have a word for 'fig').  A fig is actually a flower, 
which is why I chose 'flower' for the name.  
A/N 2: Lothvaen is referred to as a 'whip.'  This does not reflect 
upon his bedroom proclivities.  It is a British political term, a 
position within Parliament.  We also have a similar position in the US 
as does South Africa.  ^^  It just means he has more responsibility 
and a higher paycheck.

---

Greenwood the Great, Firith - 1920 of the Second Age

Glorfindel checked his saddlebags one last time, patting Asfaloth on
his rump as he did so.  He had spent a month in Greenwood and it was a
bittersweet parting he felt as his departure drew nigh.  He would be
leaving in a few short minutes, heading back to Imladris with three of
Oropher's archers.  The Seneschal had succeeded in solving the King's
problem with the Men who were encroaching on his lands and Oropher had
been happy to give in to the small demand of the Elven-lord.

The small escort that had accompanied him into the Greenwood assembled
now, plus two of the three archers.  Glorfindel furrowed his brow,
scanning the paddock for the last addition to his men.  Instead of
seeing an archer rushing to the party, he saw Prince Thranduil walking
toward them, head high and in the garb of his warriors, an unstrung
bow in his hand and a quiver on his back containing his long knife.
Glorfindel turned to the Wood Elf who took the reins of his horse and
brought him alongside Asfaloth, strapping the bow to the mount's tack.

"My Lord, are you to see us to the edge of the Greenwood?  I must
insist that it is not necessary; we are well-equipped and are
accompanied by three of your archers."  Glorfindel looked over the 
Elves once more before adding, "Or we would if the third archer would 
ever decide to deign us with his presence."

Thranduil smiled at the impatient Elda.  "Lord Glorfindel, your third
archer is already accounted for."

Glorfindel cocked his head to the side and counted his men once more.
"No, I assure you, we are short one Elf."

"And I assure you, you are not.  I am the third archer King Oropher is
sending to train the Elves of Imladris.  I have been ordered to remain
in the fair valley for a period of twenty years, at which time your
Healers will be returned to you and we shall return to our wood."
Thranduil winked at the silent Elf-lord and swung up into his saddle.
"I do suggest we get underway, my Lord, or we shall lose the light.
And although Greenwood is beautiful, it is not a place to be caught in
at night.  Dol Guldur has been spewing evil creatures for years now.
The denser wood to the South is no longer safe -- giant spiders spin
their massive webs between the trees.  They hunt and consume anything
unlucky enough to enter."

Glorfindel signaled for the escort to mount and he led them from the
main city of Oropher's kingdom.  They rode in silence as Glorfindel
digested what Thranduil had said.  Dol Guldur was unleashing deadly
beings into the quiet wood.  What did this mean for the Sylvan Elves?
He slowed Asfaloth so that he could ride beside the Prince.  "What
does your father do about these spiders?"

"When they come too close to our settlement, I take a host of warriors
to clean out the infestation."  The conversational tone the younger
Elf took when discussing such a task worried Glorfindel.  "Now that I
have answered your question, perhaps you can answer mine."

Glorfindel nodded, "Of course, though I would have answered anything
you had to ask anyway."

"Why have you not taken me to your bed?"

Glorfindel's head swung around, and his wide, surprised eyes met the
cool calm of Thranduil's.  "Patience is a virtue, Prince," he said
simply.

"Give me no nonsense about patience.  You are not made of stone, o
Golden One," he teased.

Glorfindel cleared his throat.  "It is not that simple, Prince
Thranduil.  I do not believe your father or Lord Elrond would see it
to be appropriate for me to dally with the Crown Prince of Greenwood
the Great."

Thranduil's face darkened, his eyes flashing with some unreadable
emotion.  His voice was cold and bitter when he spoke.  "When did my
title become a sickness?  How is it that being Oropher's son somehow
makes me unattainable and left with a cold bed?"

The Balrog-slayer sighed and turned in his saddle to face the Prince.
"You must understand, Thranduil," he said, using the Sinda's name. "It
is not that I do not find you desirable, it is not that I do not want
you.  While in Greenwood, I was your guest and you were the Prince. 
In Imladris, I will be your Captain.  In either situation, we are in a
delicate position."  He reached out and cupped Thranduil's cheek.  "Do
not doubt that I would take you into my bed, but you must wait.  We
must be patient or we could end up hurting one another or our realms. 
And that I will not risk.  No matter what I may feel for you, my
allegiance is to the House of Elrond and I will not willingly tarnish
Elrond's reputation."

*****

Imladris, Firith - 1920 of the Second Age

Erestor entered his office just after dawn and looked about. Lothvaen
would usually be here by now, diligently working his way through
whatever task was most pressing.  This morning, though, his Whip was
not in his usual place and Erestor's brow furrowed  thoughtfully.  He
had not received word that something was ill with  the Elf, or that he
would be late.  In the last two hundred years,  Lothvaen had *never*
been late.  Erestor was turning to go to  Lothvaen's room on the third
floor when the missing Elf stepped into  the room.

"Master Erestor," he said, bowing slightly.

Erestor smiled.  "You're late.  You have never been late."

The younger Noldo smiled broadly, secretly thrilled the Councilor had
noticed his absence.  "I am still not late."  He held out his palm,
revealing an inkpot.  "You were low on ink yesterday afternoon, and I
thought I would retrieve some additional ink from the storeroom before 
you came in for the day."

"Hannon le, Lothvaen.  You seem to know what I need long before I do." 
Erestor chuckled and made his way to his desk with the new inkpot.

Lothvaen went to his own desk, sorting through the day's work.
Erestor's eyes kept drifting to the Whip, watching the light play on
his features and the graceful movement of his body.  Erestor shook his
head, chastising himself.  The Elf was his employee; it was not
appropriate to have such thoughts about him.  He began rifling through
the papers on his desk, looking for a contract Elrond needed for the
Council meeting that afternoon, when he would meet with the Men from
one of the villages within Imladris' protective borders.  Suddenly, a 
slender hand held out a cream-colored piece of parchment with the Lord 
of Imladris' flowing script on it in black ink.

"I believe you were looking for this, my Lord," Lothvaen said softly.

Erestor smiled warmly at his aide, accepting the parchment with an
outstretched hand.  He had finally come to expect this sort of
behavior; Lothvaen was as intuitive as he was efficient.  As much as
he hated to admit it, Erestor knew that he would never have been able
to keep up with the ever-increasing workload -- especially in these
past few decades -- if it hadn't been for Lothvaen.

Erestor quickly became engrossed in his work, reviewing documents and
compiling all the necessary research Elrond would need when dealing
with the Men.  Time passed the Councilor by; the noon meal came and
went without him even pausing in his pace.  It was only when Lothvaen
cleared his throat, gently demanding Erestor's attention, that the
elder Noldo looked up from his desk.

Lothvaen stood with a tray laden with cold meats, cheeses and bread -
- all the items Erestor usually took for his afternoon meal.  "I have
also brought you a fresh decanter of cool water, my Lord."

Erestor's eyes widened slightly in surprise.  He hadn't even noticed
the Elf leave the room, so attuned was he to his work.  "Is it
luncheon already?"

"No, my Lord, that was half an hour ago."  The Elf smiled and laid the
tray on his employer's desk, then poured a goblet of the water for
Erestor and placed it beside the tray.  Lothvaen admired how simple
Erestor's life was.  The Councilor had the same peasant food each mid-
day, always with water.  He knew Erestor's quarters were tastefully
decorated, reflecting his eye for art.  Although the Elf was given a
large stipend by Elrond for his services, Erestor seemed to never
outwardly show that wealth.

"Have you had your meal, Lothvaen?"  Erestor sliced a bit of cheese
off and Lothvaen watched the sliver of food enter Erestor's mouth. He
found that watching his Lord eat was an erotic experience like none
other.  He shook his head.

"No, my Lord.  I was filing last week's Council minutes and preparing
the sheets for this afternoon's Council.  I must have overlooked my
own meal."  He stood straight, his arms folded behind his back and his
head high.

"You have been quite busy these last few years, have you not?" Erestor
motioned for Lothvaen to bring a chair and join him in the small meal. 
"You have completely rearranged my office -- I still cannot find a
thing in here without you!"  Erestor chuckled.  He found he was most
at ease with the young Noldo.  They had much in common and had taken
to spending every evening after work in each other's company.  "One
might think you ambitious, if you but put in for a promotion.  I would
hate to see you go, but I do believe you could do much better than
being my Whip, Lothvaen."

Not many knew, but the young Elf *was* ambitious, and was determined
to be Erestor's equal.  Lord Haldir, he knew, was unhappy with his 
position in the Council and would request a replacement soon.  He 
hoped he could be that replacement.  These last fifty years in 
particular, Lothvaen had spent his time and energy applying himself to 
all tasks presented, learning all the ins and outs of the political 
front in Imladris.  He had spent endless hours advancing his education 
and befriending the right Elves.  Smiling at the Councilor, Lothvaen 
replied, "I am honored you have such faith in my abilities, my Lord."

Erestor watched the Elf before him as he sipped his water.  Lothvaen
was beautiful when he smiled.  "Will you be joining me for the evening
meal, meldir?"  It was a redundant question; Lothvaen always joined
him for the nightly meal in the privacy of Erestor's chambers.

Lothvaen's eyes widened slightly; guilt could easily be read in his
gaze.  "Forgive me, my Lord.  I forgot about a previous engagement
this eve."

"Oh?" Erestor asked, raising his eyebrow inquisitively.

The Whip nodded.  "Lindir and I have made arrangements for supper."
Lothvaen's eyes became slightly glazed as he spoke of the white-
haired secretary.  "We have been trying to mesh our schedules enough
that we could spend an evening together.  Since Lord Elrond will be
entertaining the Men tonight, Lindir's presence is not necessary and
we planned an evening ride to one of the waterfalls with a cold meal
packed away."

Erestor swallowed the piece of cheese that seemed to stick in his
throat at the image of Lindir and Lothvaen in such a private, initiate
setting.  He took a long drink from his goblet, schooling his features
to reveal none of his displeasure.  "Sounds very romantic, Lothvaen."

Lothvaen blushed slightly.  "Aye.  It's what I thought when he
suggested it."

"You are fond of Lindir, then?"  He cleared his desk of the tray and
water, reshuffling his papers to avoid looking at the object of his
affection.

"Very.  He quite a bit older than myself, though younger than you, but
we have many common interests.  Just as you and I do."  Lothvaen
smiled brightly at the Councilor, reading the tense movements of the 
elder Elf.  He had accepted Lindir's offer of supper with the intent 
of using the liaison as a way to bring the Councilor's affections to 
the surface.  He knew Erestor wanted him; he had learned the subtle 
signs of Erestor's true feelings.  Though they had an easy rapport and
enjoyed each other's company immensely, Lothvaen knew the Councilor
sought his company for the same reason the Whip sought his: he was
smitten.

He felt a brief stab of guilt at using Lindir, his dear friend, in
such a way, but it passed before he could truly recognize the emotion.
Lothvaen always got what he wanted, and he wanted Erestor.  He had
been patient long enough.  Now, it was time for more forward measures.

*****

Erestor was in a foul mood.  He had been for the past week.  He ran
down the stairs to the main entrance of the vast home with his Whip's
lover at his side.  Lover.  Erestor felt his mood darken further and
he quickly pushed the thoughts of Lothvaen and Lindir together out of
his mind.  The party from Greenwood was arriving and he had to greet
them.

In an Autumn thunderstorm.

The season had changed while Glorfindel had been away and they were
constantly bombarded with rain.  The grounds around the home were
muddy and a hazard to navigate and many of the Humans who lived in or
near the Last Homely House had contracted some sort of fever. Elrond
was constantly busy in the Healing Wing and that left the day- to-day
affairs of running Imladris in Erestor's hands.

"I see them!" cried Lindir, pointing through the thick sheets of water
to the drenched escort riding up slowly, many with their shoulders
slumped and their horses' heads hanging low with weariness.

Erestor sighed.  "Call for several pages and send word to the stable.
I don't want Lord Glorfindel having to traipse back from them covered
in more muck and mire.  Find Lothvaen and have him quickly assign
rooms for our three new residents."  When Lindir hesitated a moment,
still watching the riders, Erestor turned cold eyes to him.  "Now,
Lindir.  I do hate repeating myself."

The white-haired aide nodded, walking quickly away from the chilling
gaze of Elrond's Chief Councilor.  Erestor turned his attention back 
to the escort and took a deep breath.  He walked down the wide, 
sweeping stairs, ignoring the cold, fat raindrops that quickly soaked 
his hair and his robes.  Glorfindel pulled Asfaloth to a stop and 
smiled a cheerful smile down at his adversary.

"Welcome home, Glorfindel," Erestor said pleasantly.

Glorfindel's golden eyebrows shot up in surprise at the gentle
greeting.  "It's good to be home, Erestor."

Erestor's eyes flickered over the three dressed in the uniform of the
Greenwood.  They settled on the fair visage of the archer mounted next
to the Balrog-slayer.  A small smile quirked the Advisor's lips.  
"Prince Thranduil.  You were not expected to be among those your 
father sent."

"Adar sent word of our arrival?" asked the Prince, shifting heavily in
his saddle.

Erestor nodded and took the reins to Asfaloth's bridle.  "Come,
dismount.  The grooms shall take the horses to the stable and care for
them."  Erestor watched Glorfindel fluidly land on his feet, his eyes
still radiating unspoken questions.  Erestor averted his eyes, not
sure he wanted to explain his sudden change in demeanor.  He was
lonely, simple as that.

Glorfindel touched Erestor's arm gently and met the ink-like pools. "I
have missed your wit, meldir."  He smiled and did something that
surprised both Elf-lords; Glorfindel pulled Erestor into a soggy,
squishy embrace.  For the first time in many centuries, Glorfindel
heard the warm trill of Erestor's laughter.

Erestor pulled back and graced the Seneschal with a rare smile.  "And
I have missed your harassment."

"You seemed to have changed so much in a single month."  Glorfindel
kept his arm around the slender waist of the Advisor.  "Why is that?"
He turned a serious gaze on Erestor.  "Did you kill a small child,
Erestor?"

Erestor gasped and let loose a firm punch to Glorfindel's shoulder.
"You are cruel!  Mayhap it is simply that the value of your company is
only most keenly felt by your absence."

Glorfindel simply grinned, leading Erestor down the hall to one of the
stairwells that would lead them up.  He turned and motioned for
Thranduil to follow, not noticing the dark look that passed over the
Prince's face.

Thranduil felt the fire of jealousy burn in his chest as he followed
his would-be lover and the dark-haired Noldo.  He had never met the
Councilor, but he had heard from his father about the clever, sharp
somber-eyed Elf.  He wondered if Glorfindel had shared Erestor's bed
before coming to Greenwood.  His eyes narrowed with suspicion,
focusing on the Balrog-slayer's arm wrapped tightly around the Elf-
lord.  Perhaps that was why the blond had never taken him to bed,
simply stolen kisses and heated touches; he had his lover here in
Imladris to think of.

As they navigated the halls, Erestor's thoughts drifted to Lothvaen.
Why they did this he could not say, but ever of late, when his mind
was free of other concerns, he found his wandering thoughts more and
more often settling on his young Whip.  Neither could he understand
the sudden flare of hostility he felt toward Lindir.  Perhaps it was
simply because Erestor had cultivated a friendship with Lothvaen --
his first serious friendship outside of Elrond (and, he reluctantly
admitted, Glorfindel) -- and he was afraid that he might lose that
should Lindir begin to monopolize Lothvaen's time.

Suddenly, as though Erestor's thinking brought him into being,
Lothvaen was before them at the bottom of the staircase.  Erestor
blinked, not quite believing the coincidence.  After a moment's
thought, though, the Councilor mentally cursed his forgetfulness.  Of
course Lothvaen would be here; Erestor had sent Lindir to fetch him.

"Lord Glorfindel, Prince Thranduil," the Whip said respectfully.  "I
trust that your journey was uneventful, save for the Valar's most
recent attempt to wash Imladris into the Bruinen.  I have sent word to
the Captain of the Guard to find quarters for the Greenwood archers
among the other fighting-men.  However, Lord Elrond has instructed
that Prince Thranduil, out of respect for his station, be given
special accommodations in the family wing.  I have taken the liberty
of preparing the empty room beside Lord Glorfindel's.  If you will
follow me, my Lord Thranduil."

Lothvaen turned and started up the staircase.  Thranduil stepped from
behind Glorfindel and Erestor, flashing a less-than-dignified look
from the corner of his eye as he passed.  The expression was not lost
on either Seneschal or Councilor.  Erestor cocked his head at
Glorfindel in confusion.

"Breaking the hearts of impressionable young warriors again,
mellonen?" he asked, only half in jest.

"Not to my knowledge," Glorfindel said seriously.  "In fact, I had
half a mind to court the young royal."

"Indeed?  Then perhaps you should tell *him* that before he
incinerates half the courtyard with one of those looks."

Glorfindel shot Erestor a lopsided grin.  "Perhaps.  A warm bath and a
dry tunic first, though.  Will you walk with me, Lord Councilor?"

"By all means, Lord Seneschal."  Erestor smiled in return and began to
climb the steps to the family wing where he and Glorfindel each also
maintained a suite of rooms.

*****

Thranduil turned at the sound of a knock at his door.  He had just
finished unpacking his meager things into the spacious closet of the
suite.  Despite his heritage, he had expected to be housed with the
other archers, and had packed accordingly.  He had also not expected
to be given a private bathing chamber, but had taken full advantage of
it nonetheless.  Now, warm, clean, and dry, the Prince felt more like
one of his rank should, and he strode proudly to the door and opened
it.

Glorfindel stood before him, also washed and dressed in dry clothing,
with a cautious expression on his face.  "May I come in?" he asked
softly.

Thranduil grunted an affirmative and opened the door wider to allow
the Elda entrance.  Glorfindel swept past him into the room, and
Thranduil pushed the door closed.  When he turned to face his visitor,
the Sinda was pulled into Glorfindel's embrace.  The Seneschal had
moved so quickly, he hadn't seemed to move at all; one moment he was
in the center of the room; the next, he was wrapping his arms around
Thranduil and pressing him against the door.

When Glorfindel lowered his head for a kiss, Thranduil turned his
head, breaking the grip indelicately, and spinning out of the elder
blond's reach.  Glorfindel, confused by this sudden change in
attitude, stood speechless and motionless, staring at the intricate
grain of the thick oak door.

"Is your Councilor-lover so consumed with affairs of state at this
moment that you would seek to slake your lust with me?" Thranduil
asked acidly.

Glorfindel finally turned from the door to face the Prince.  "My...
what?"  Understanding dawned in the Seneschal's blue eyes.  "Oh!  You
thought that Erestor..." Glorfindel broke off, too taken by a sudden
fit of laughter to continue.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes.  "I am pleased that you find such humor
in my situation.  However, in future I would appreciate you finding
another to be the victim of your pranks."

Glorfindel sobered instantly, eyes widening as he realized that
Thranduil was serious.  "Erestor and I are not lovers," he tried to
explain, but Thranduil did not seem to hear.

"You could have simply told me that you were previously involved and I
would have troubled you no further.  Instead, you led me on, thinking
that when you left I would remain in Greenwood and never be the wiser. 
What a crushing blow it must have been to you when you learned that I
would be returning with you."

The Sinda would have continued, but Glorfindel took the initiative and
grabbed Thranduil by the arms, staring down at him intently until the
younger Elf broke off in mid-sentence.

"Erestor and I are *not* lovers," Glorfindel repeated more slowly,
pushing down the swell of anger that Thranduil's accusations had
caused.  Thranduil winced under the pressure of Glorfindel's grip, and
the Elda released him and stepped back.  "We are and have always been
friends and nothing more," he began in a gentler tone of voice.  "You
may have mistaken our particular brand of teasing and easy friendship
for something more, but that does not mean that it exists."

Thranduil's gaze remained skeptical, so Glorfindel sighed and
continued.  "Have I had lovers in the past?  Certainly.  Do I have one
at present?  No.  I had a wont to cultivate such a relationship with
you, ernilen.  If you can forget your irrational jealousies, perhaps
one can still be forged.  That is a choice I must leave up to you."

Before giving Thranduil a chance to reply, Glorfindel nodded his head
curtly and left the room, closing the door on the Sinda's chastised
expression.

*****

Erestor watched the Prince all but storm into his room, offering
Glorfindel a heartfelt look as the Seneschal entered his own suite. He
sighed and turned, coming face-to-face with his Whip.

"Lothvaen," he said tiredly.  "Shouldn't you return to your duties?"
He pushed past the younger Noldo and opened the door to his own rooms.

Lothvaen's face darkened and he followed his employer into his
chambers, closing the door firmly behind him.  "My duty is to you, my
Lord."  He walked passed the Councilor, going directly to the private
bathing chamber he knew Erestor possessed.  He lit several lamps in
the room, smiling as he took in the decor of the room for the first
time.  He leaned over and plugged the tub, releasing the tap that
would allow hot water from the large copper boilers on the upper floor
to flow into the basin.

Erestor slowly came up behind Lothvaen and crossed his arms.  "What
are you doing?" he asked, his voice much sharper than he had intended.

"You are soaked to the bone, my Lord, and I would wager your skin is
as cold as the snow drifts on Caradhras.  A heated bath would do you
wonders before you come down for the evening meal."  Lothvaen reached
for an open phial of oil and poured a generous amount into the rising
water, the sharp scent of ginger permeating the room.

"What would lead you to believe I would be dining in the main hall
this evening?"  Erestor was becoming flustered with Lothvaen's
presumptuous attitude.

Lothvaen turned to the Elf-lord and smiled sweetly at him.  "Lord
Elrond has called for a feast to welcome Oropher's son to Imladris. As
the Imladrian ruler's dearest friend and his Chief Councilor, I would
assume your presence would be required."  Lothvaen knew his tone was
bordering on mocking, but he could not understand why Erestor had been
treating him so distantly the last few days.

Silence hung between them as Erestor tried to rein in his temper.  He
could not understand his anger with Lothvaen.  This Elf brought out
parts of Erestor's personality the Councilor had never known existed.
It was then, in a blinding moment of clarity that he realized he was
*jealous*.  He was angry that Lothvaen had begun spending time with
Lindir, time that was once all his.  He was furious that his Whip
would lay with Elrond's secretary but not with him.

But, did he really wish to take Lothvaen as his lover?  Erestor had
taken no other in all his years, but Lothvaen...  He brought up his
confused eyes, seeking answers in the violet depths of the young Elf
before him.

Lothvaen knew the moment had come, he saw it in the innocent clarity
of Erestor's eyes.  He could not waste it.  He slowly closed the space
between them, his hand coming up to cup the back of the elder Elf's
head.  Erestor was few inches taller than he, but Lothvaen did not see
this as a disadvantage.  He pulled Erestor's face close to his, rising
up slightly on his toes, and brought their lips into contact.
Erestor's lips were soft and pliant beneath his and he sought to
deepen their kiss.  Nipping at Erestor's lower lip caused the Elf-
lord to gasp.  Lothvaen took the opportunity to slip his tongue into
the warmth beyond Erestor's lips and teeth, sweeping his tongue 
thoroughly over the expanse.

Erestor felt weak, his head swimming with desire for the slightly
smaller Elf ravishing his lips.  His eyes closed and he moaned deep in
his throat, wrapping his arms around the slender waist of his
employee.

The younger Noldo broke the kiss and stepped back, panting, his eyes
the darkest shade of plum Erestor had ever seen.  Lothvaen turned off
the tap and returned to the still-dripping Elf.  His eyes never
leaving Erestor's, he began to undo the intricate series of buttons
that held together the black robes Erestor always donned.  Deft
fingers made short work of the garment and it fell to the floor in a
heavy, sodden mass.  Lothvaen's hot hands skated over the planes of
Erestor's clammy chest, fulfilling a fantasy he had long harbored
about his employer since seeing him in only his sleeping trousers
centuries before.

Erestor shuddered at the intimate, heated touch and felt himself
harden within his leggings.  His mind was blanketed in a thick fog of
arousal, and he arched into the touches bestowed upon him.  His cock
throbbed when his Whip gracefully fell to his knees before him,
unlacing the house boots Erestor wore while at work.  Lothvaen raised
his eyes once more as his fingers loosened the lacings to the
Councilor's leggings and slid them off the narrow hips and defined
thighs, revealing Erestor's desire to his hungry gaze.

"You are one of the most beautiful beings I have ever seen, Erestor,"
he said raggedly and reached out to take his Lord's shaft in his hand.
He gave a few tentative strokes and then licked his lips hungrily when
a few beads of clear fluid appeared upon the slit.

The elder Noldo watched with wide, unblinking eyes at the erotic sight
before him.  Lothvaen's eyes were at half-mast as he inched closer and
closer to the Lord's desire.  Erestor felt a wave of dizziness when
Lothvaen's tongue snaked out and retrieve the sticky fluid from him. 
"You are one of the sweetest Elves I have ever had the pleasure of
tasting," came Lothvaen's melodious voice, followed by Erestor's cry
of pleasure when he found himself completely swallowed by the younger
Noldo.

Erestor's hands flew to Lothvaen's shoulders, desperate to find some
purchase in the sensual tempest in which he was currently adrift.  His
head fell back and Lothvaen's hands came to cup his buttocks, urging 
him to thrust in the hot, moist cavern of his employee's mouth.  
Erestor's body took over and he plunged into the waiting suction over 
and over, knowing his release was just within reach.

Lothvaen swallowed swiftly, feeling Erestor's cock jerk in his mouth;
felt the Councilor's body go tense right before his mouth filled with
the viscous fluid of his release.  He swallowed, moaning as he cleaned
his secret love reverently and savored the almost sweet taste of the
older Noldo.

Erestor panted, falling back against the wall with exhaustion. Despite
his having never taken a lover, he was not a stranger to the feelings
he'd just experienced.  Like most younglings, he had been curious
about the changes in his body and had touched himself in various ways. 
That had been literally Ages ago, though, and the sensation of being
pleasured by another was distinctly different, while at the same time
being familiar.  The familiarity was what allowed the Councilor to
linger in that gentle state in the aftermath of his orgasm for a
moment.

That moment ended abruptly, though, when he felt a sharp stab of guilt
for allowing Lothvaen to service him in such a way.  The Whip's words
from only a few moments ago echoed suddenly in his stricken mind: 'My
duty is to you, my Lord.'  The implications of that statement worried
him.  He closed his eyes against the now unwanted sight of his friend
on his knees, licking his glistening lips and running his hands
lightly up and down Erestor's trembling thighs.

Lothvaen sensed the subtle change in Erestor's demeanor and stood
slowly, cautiously taking the measure of the dark-haired Elf before
him.  "Erestor?" he asked softly.

The Councilor turned away from Lothvaen and stepped into the rapidly
cooling water, more from a desire to conceal his nakedness than to
clean himself.  As he sank down into the pool, he was acutely aware of
Lothvaen's eyes following him, clearly expecting some kind of
response.

"That was inappropriate," Erestor said hastily, then gently added,
"Enjoyable though it was," in hopes of easing the unintentional sting
of his words.  Lothvaen began to stammer an apology, but Erestor held
up a hand.  "No, do not apologize, mellonen.  The experience was not
unwelcome, and I thank you for it.  However, you are still subordinate
to me, and it would be highly unorthodox of us to pursue this sort of
entanglement."  The rising embarrassment Erestor felt had thrown the
Elf into full "Councilor mode", leaving him struggling lamely to
defuse the situation with the careful application of vocabulary.

Lothvaen got the idea readily enough.  He could almost see the wall of
forced professionalism that Erestor suddenly slammed down between
them.  The Whip was not angered so much as disappointed.  He had been
certain he had not misunderstood or misinterpreted Erestor's feelings,
and yet now he felt as though he had performed a desecration of sorts,
a betrayal of the carefully garnered and hard won friendship he shared
with the Councilor.  The lingering taste of Erestor's seed in his
mouth suddenly felt bitter and acidic.  He thought briefly of saying
something -- anything -- but he knew better than to trust his voice in
that moment.  Instead, he lowered his head, biting his lip to hold
back the threatening tears, and rushed indecorously from the room.

End Chapter Three

English/Elvish:
*Firith : Late Autumn season
*Hannon le : Thank you
*Mellonen : My friend
*Ernilen : My Prince

---

Imladris, Firith - 1920 of the Second Age

Lothvaen flew down the corridor on the family floor, heading straight
for the staircase.  His face was aflame with his shame; he felt dirty.
In all his years, with as many lovers as he had taken, he had never
once felt so worthless.  The Noldo had dropped to his knees before the
being he knew he loved, knew he wanted, and he had been rejected as if
he had simply put a petition through to build a new home on Imladris
soil!  His humiliation quickly turned into anger.  He had not
misinterpreted the looks Erestor had sent his way!  The Councilor had
melted into his touches and whimpered his need!

He flew up the stairs to the third floor, where both his and Lindir's
rooms were located.  Lindir was not only an exemplary personal aide,
but he was also an accomplished musician.  The minstrel would be
performing for the Lord of Imladris tonight in honor of the Prince of
Greenwood, which would mean Lothvaen would be alone until late. 
Lothvaen's desire was unabated, though, and he needed release *now*. 
As he turned the latch to Lindir's door, he prayed the light-haired
Elf had not yet left for the main dining hall.

"Lindir?" he called, panting slightly with his frustration.

The resident of the room came out from the bedroom area, clad only in
his robe.  His pale eyes became dark with worry as he took in the
state of his lover.  "Lothvaen?  Is something not well?"

Lothvaen crossed the small living area to where the elder Elf stood
and embraced him roughly, brutally taking his mouth in a searing kiss.
Lindir's breath caught in his throat and he had to open his mouth to
allow the entry of Lothvaen's insistent tongue.  His young love had
never been so needy or so out of control before and Lindir felt
himself slowly losing what dignity he had.  He ground his awakened
arousal against Lothvaen's and moaned his need into the hot mouth that
demanded all he had to give.

The Whip led the aide into the bedroom, his lips never leaving their
counterpart's.  Lothvaen's eyes were tightly screwed shut as he
pictured dark hair and liquid black eyes, recalled the impassioned
cries and tight grip from moments earlier.  In the arms of Elrond's
trusted secretary, Lothvaen's thoughts centered around Erestor.  He
quickly removed the robe from Lindir's shoulders and then his own
robe, shirt, boots and leggings.  He snatched the phial of oil from
the bedside table and pushed Lindir back into the mattress.

Their lovemaking had never been so swift.  It had always centered on
drawn-out play before the act, so Lindir knew something was terribly
wrong with his partner.  "Lothvaen?" he asked, his heart fluttering
with lust and anticipation.

Lothvaen's hooded and dark eyes met Lindir's wide, clear ones and he
smiled a dangerous smile.  "Hands and knees, pen-velui," he said, his
voice low and commanding.

Lindir shifted his position, drawing his knees up to his chest and
resting his head on his folded arms.  He closed his eyes and took a
calming breath, but nearly jumped when the cool, slick fingers of his
bedmate brushed his tense opening.  He willed himself to relax, willed
his trepidation to melt away -- this was his friend and lover, after
all, and Lothvaen would never hurt him.

Lothvaen quickly inserted his finger, oiling the tight passage
liberally, and then slid in a second finger.  He prepared his lover
quickly, stretching the narrow channel to accommodate his member.  He
did not, however, prepare Lindir as well as he should have.  His anger
still simmered just below his arousal and he felt a subtle need to
hurt someone.  He wanted to hurt Erestor, just as the Noldo had hurt
him, but Erestor was now beyond his reach.

He lubricated his cock, withdrew his fingers from Lindir's body, and
buried himself to the hilt without warning.

Lindir cried out his pain, feeling as if he had been split apart.  He
blinked back tears, biting his lip to prevent a sob from escaping.
Lothvaen's grip on his hips was painful and he knew he would bruise
where each digit dug into his pale skin.  Lothvaen did not wait for
Lindir to adjust to the size of his lover as he usually did, but set a
savage pace.  Before Lindir could lose his erection, though, Lothvaen
had reached around and gripped his cock in a sure, tight grip.

His vision was clouded with red; the words his employer had said after
Lothvaen had given of himself were repeating in his mind.  He rode
Lindir mercilessly, squeezing and stroking his lover's shaft with 
ferocious intensity.  When his orgasm came, Lothvaen let loose a 
tortured cry and pumped his seed deep within Lindir's sore buttocks.

Desire and fear warred within Lindir, and the pale-eyed aide let his
tears flow shamelessly as the burning heat of Lothvaen's release
coated his battered insides.  His own release came on the heels of
Lothvaen's and he muffled his cries in the pillow as he stained his
bed sheets.  He face was bright with humiliation, feeling degraded by
one he had trusted to be his lover.

Lothvaen gently pulled away from Lindir's trembling body, flinching
when he heard the pained hiss that issued from the prone figure.  
"Lindir?" His voice shook and his heart ached.  Lindir had not 
deserved what Lothvaen had just done to him and he desperately wished 
to ease the hurts of his lover.

Lindir took several deep breaths and then attempted to sit up.  He let
out a strangled moan as the movement caused intense pain to spike
within him.  Lothvaen jumped from the bed and retrieved the wash
basin, a soft cloth and some healing salve from Lindir's wardrobe.
Lindir had shifted onto his side and curled up, his forehead resting
on his knees.  Lothvaen felt tears sting his eyes.  He gently sat
behind his aching lover and dampened the cloth.

The aide sucked in his breath when the cool, soft cloth touched his
enflamed, tender skin.  "I am sorry, Lindir," came the forlorn voice,
full of self-loathing.  Lothvaen removed all the oil and his seed from
Lindir's opening, silently thankful there was no blood on the rag or
his lax member.  He opened the tin, took a large amount of the thick
cream onto two of his fingers, and slowly soothed the abused area.  He
tried to be as delicate as possible when he slid those two fingers
within Lindir and salved the mistreated passage.

When he was done, Lothvaen washed his own hands and crotch, feeling a
much deeper shame than that which Erestor had caused him to feel.  In
silence and without looking at Lindir's shivering form, Lothvaen
dressed and replaced his boots.  Finally, he crouched on the floor
beside the bed to look into the tear-stained face of his lover.  "I--"

"I know," Lindir choked out.  "You're sorry."  The clear blue eyes
moved away from the tormented violet ones.  "Please go, Lothvaen.  I
think I would like to be alone before the feast tonight."

Lothvaen nodded and stood, wishing he could undo the damage he had
just caused.  Instead, he walked from the room in a daze, not knowing
how things could have spiraled so out of his control so quickly.  He
knew he would never lie with Lindir again; the trust they had was
gone.  In a few short hours, he had lost his lover and compromised his
employer.

He wished he had simply remained in Lindon all those years ago.

****

Imladris, Rhîw - 1920 of the Second Age

Glorfindel stared out over the small practice field, watching his men
and the three Greenwood Elves.  Thranduil was an amazing archer, and
the Seneschal had assigned him the bulk of warriors to train.  The
other two were given smaller groups, neither having much experience in
instructing.  The weeks had passed quickly since the Imladrian escort
had returned with the Wood Elves and Glorfindel's situation with the
Prince had not changed.  In fact, it had only worsened.

Glorfindel had demanded that the three from Greenwood join his men in
their morning melee training sessions.  It was during these sessions
that Glorfindel had taken to singling his would-be lover out from the
others and demonstrating his point.  In other words, he would
repeatedly attack the poor archer until he had brought him to his
knees and forced the words of yielding from his lips.  This did not
bring the Balrog-slayer much joy, but it did make his point.

What that point was, Glorfindel was not quite sure.

"Glorfindel?"  Erestor's eyes narrowed as he was ignored once more by
his friend.  He put his hands on his hips and huffed slightly.  The
blond's eyes were distant as he watched the young Prince training with
one of their more accomplished swordsmen.  Erestor's temper finally
got the best of him and snatched a blade from the rack and swung it at
the Seneschal as he snapped, "Must I wield a blade to garner your
attention, my Lord Seneschal?"

Glorfindel dodged the swipe, instinct taking over and pulling him from
his reverie.  He looked with wide eyes at the twinkling light in the
Councilor's.  "Forgive me, my Lord Councilor.  I was... distracted."

Erestor stabbed the blade into the moist ground, chuckling softly.  "I
could tell."

The two Elf-lords turned when they heard muffled snickering.  The
whole yard was still, all members of Glorfindel's small army watching
them intently, the three archers from Greenwood standing in the front
line.  The two less experienced warriors were sneering at the dark-
haired Noldo and Erestor crossed his arms over his chest.

"Is there something you find amusing, Gondithen?" Glorfindel asked one
of the Wood Elves, who quickly sobered and shook his head.  "And you,
Eruviluion?"

The dark-eyed Elf held his head a little higher and nodded.  "You fear
the Councilor of Imladris."

Glorfindel chuckled.  "And you would too, if you knew what I know."

Erestor allowed his lips to curl into a challenging smirk as the Elf
rolled his eyes.  "No offense, my Lord," he said, addressing Erestor,
"But he is only a scholar -- nothing to shrink from!"

"Would you like to challenge him then, Eruviluion?"  Glorfindel looked
to Erestor and the Elf-lord nodded his assent if the younger Elf would
like to spar.

Eruviluion was about to accept the challenge when Thranduil held up
his hand.  He was still jealous of the Noldo and wanted this
opportunity to embarrass the elder Elf.  "I am the more experienced
swordsman here, Eruviluion.  If there is to be a challenge, I will
issue it."  He turned to the Councilor.  "I challenge you."

"I accept," Erestor said.

Glorfindel silently laughed and motioned for the other warriors to
stand back.  In the distance he caught sight of Erestor's little pet,
Lothvaen.  The young Whip had been speaking with Haldir, but their
attentions had been drawn to the unusual events on the practice yard.
Glorfindel waved a hand to them, thinking that his morning had never
seemed so promising.

Lothvaen's heart sped as he took in the predatory look upon his
employer's face.  "What is happening, my Lord?" he asked when he came
into hearing distance.

Glorfindel crossed his arms and leaned against one of the many trees
that lined the practice area.  "Prince Thranduil feels he can best our
Lord Councilor with the blade."

Haldir joined in Glorfindel's amusement, which Lothvaen could not
understand.  "I am not sure I know why the two of you are so at ease
with this.  My Lord Erestor is a scholar, not a warrior."

The silver-haired Elf from Doriath shook his head.  "You have been his
aide for how long, Lothvaen?"

"My Lord, I have assisted Lord Erestor for nigh on three centuries."
Lothvaen's puzzled expression made Glorfindel smile wider.

"Then you have learned nothing of your Lord, meldir," Haldir said.
"Just hush and watch."  He nodded toward the two Elves in the center
of a large circle of onlookers.

"Are you sure you wish to do this, pen-neth?" Erestor asked.  "I do
not wish to humiliate you in front of your infatuation."

Thranduil eyes flashed with anger.  "I am very sure, Lord Councilor."

"Very well."  Erestor stepped to the side where Glorfindel stood and
began to unbutton his robes.

"Do not hurt him, poicaquen," Glorfindel whispered.  Lothvaen's
eyebrow shot up at the endearment, but he remained silent.  He and
Erestor had not spoken much since the afternoon in his Lord's bathing
chamber.  Lothvaen hid his shame behind silence and cold efficiency,
whilst Erestor simply ignored him unless he had no other choice but to
speak with his aide.

Erestor grinned at the Elda.  "You are quite smitten, pen-iaur.  I
will not injure anything but his pride."  Erestor slid his thick, dark
robes from his slender form and handed them to Haldir.  Beneath his
formal attire, the Councilor wore soft-looking trousers and a simple
maroon shirt.  Lothvaen watched him deftly braid his hair into a
single rope and then grasp the sword he had planted before Glorfindel
in his right hand.

The change within the Noldo took Lothvaen's breath away.  Where there
was once a silent, calculating tactician now stood a deadly, dangerous
creature of night.  Erestor took careful steps toward the armed Sinda
and allowed a sneer to cross his fair features.  The yard was deathly
silent and Lothvaen's lungs burned with his held breath, waiting for
the first blow to be struck.

Erestor swung his sword widely and heavily, his eyes watching every
muscle in Thranduil's body.  The Sinda Prince easily deflected the
strike, but that was what the Councilor had wanted.  Glorfindel knew
Erestor's fighting style as well as he knew his own.  His friend was
cataloging every action and reaction the younger Elf made.  He did not
advance on Thranduil, but allowed the Prince take the offensive. 
Thranduil was quick on his feet, had plenty of power behind his
thrusts and lunges, but brute strength was nothing compared to
Erestor's millennia of experience.

Lothvaen watched Erestor and Thranduil circle one another, watched the
Wood Elf attempt to disarm the elder, but Erestor seemed to expect
every move and was ready to counter each maneuver.  Lothvaen was
impressed with the skill his Lord possessed and wondered where he had
acquired the prowess he had with the steel.  Erestor once again
deflected a blow and it was then that Lothvaen realized Erestor was
toying with the young one.

The other two Elf-lords seemed to realize this as well.  "Lord
Glorfindel," Haldir muttered, "We shall be here all morning if you do
not put a stop to this."

Glorfindel nodded.  "You are correct, my Lord Haldir."  He cleared his
throat and called out to his friend.  "Any time now, Erestor!  I would
like to continue with my training session."

Erestor nodded and called back, "Very well, Glorfindel."

Erestor intensified the grip on his sword and swung himself around,
throwing all his weight into his weapon.  He easily used the momentum
to disarm Thranduil, sending the Sinda's blade into the air while the
Noldo used the remaining force of his spin to kick Thranduil's legs
from beneath him, forcing the Prince onto his back.  Erestor danced
with fluid grace and before anyone could blink, the Councilor had his
blade to Thranduil's throat and the blond's own blade embedded deep
within the earth between the Wood Elf's splayed legs.

Glorfindel came forward with Haldir close behind.  "He yields,
Erestor," he chuckled.  Erestor's posture eased and he stepped back
from the shocked Sinda.  He bowed slightly to Haldir when the Elf
handed him his robes back and took the sword from Erestor.  Lothvaen
watched from his original position while Erestor redressed and
released his blue-black locks from the single plait.

Thranduil stood and went to wrench his sword from the ground, but
found he could not.  Erestor simply smiled a serene, knowing smile at
Thranduil.  Glorfindel gripped the hilt of the buried blade and
yanked, himself slightly impressed with the force Erestor must have
used.  He handed the sword back to Thranduil, his gaze never leaving
the Prince's.  "I want to see you in my office," he said solemnly.
"Right now.  The rest of you, break off in pairs and practice your
footwork exercises."

Erestor looked over Haldir's shoulder and saw Lothvaen, looking lost
and unsure of what he was to do.  Erestor sighed impatiently and
called out to the Whip.  "Come, Lothvaen.  We have wasted enough of
our time here.  Imladris calls us."  He turned sharply, nodding to the
two remaining Elf-lords, and began his trek back to his office.  He
knew Lothvaen was scurrying after him and he silently prayed that the
young Elf would spare him from conversation.

"My Lord Erestor?"  It seemed, Erestor thought acidly, the Valar were
determined to make him pay for humiliating the young Prince in front
of his peers and the object of the young Prince's affection.

"Yes, Lothvaen?" he replied in his most annoyed, exasperated tone.

Lothvaen kept his eyes ahead of him and took a deep breath.  "My Lord,
how is it you have such skills?"

Erestor stopped and looked at his aide quizzically.  "Do you think I
was born with quill in hand and parchment before me?"

The younger Elf shook his head.  "No, my Lord, but..."

Erestor began walking again and shook his head.  "I am a warrior,
Lothvaen.  I was a warrior long before I was a scholar.  It is in my
blood.  I fought alongside the Sons of Feanor and my father in
Nirnaeth Arnoediad.  I fought with the Noldor from Aman in the War of
Wrath.  I fought alongside Elrond and Celeborn to defend Eregion, and
when that fell, to defend this valley."  He turned serious, ebony eyes
to the stunned Whip and took hold of the Elf's upper arm, speaking in 
an even, deadly tone.  "I knew how to kill long before I knew how to 
mitigate."

Looking into the depths of his Lord's eyes, Lothvaen saw a darkness
there that frightened him.  Erestor, who shone so brightly when
Lothvaen looked upon him, dimmed in that moment, standing in the hall
before his office.  Lothvaen sensed a deep well of anger, of fury,
bubbling below the cool indifference that the Councilor showed the
world.  He knew that the quiet diplomat he knew from his endless days
at the desk across from him was just a single, small aspect of who the
true Elf was.

*****

Thranduil followed Glorfindel into his office near the front of the
barracks, his eyes downcast and his face stained with humility.
Erestor had beaten him fairly and Thranduil had to admit he saw the
scholar in a new, more respected light.

Glorfindel silently sat behind his desk and pulled the duty roster for
the next rotation.  He checked the names, made some changes and then
left a note on the top for his aide to copy it and post the parchment.
Then he took a deep breath and focused on the silent, still figure
standing before him, watching his feet.  He shook his head and
stood. "Thranduil."  The Sinda looked up and met the gentle eyes of
the Elda. "When you are in the Greenwood, you are Prince Thranduil
Oropherion, the heir to the throne of the great wood.  When you sit at
Lord Elrond's table, you are Prince Thranduil, a respected and admired
diplomat for your father's court.  When you are on that practice
field, when you take your blade and bow and mount your horse to join
*my* patrol, you are Thranduil -- a warrior under my command and you
will act as such.  You will *not* challenge a renowned warrior of the
First and Second Ages in the hopes of crushing him before your peers."
Glorfindel's voice had taken on a hard edge it did not usually
possess, but he was furious that the Greenwood archers would wish to
injure his friend.

"Yes, my Lord," the younger Elf said softly.

Glorfindel leaned against his desk.  "He is not my lover."

Thranduil's eyes flashed with this statement.  "So you have told me."

"Yet you do not believe me."  Thranduil looked away.  "Ernilen, I
spoke the truth when I said I had hopes in courting you.  I did not
lie to you in your father's kingdom.  But, there can be no hope for us
if you do not trust me.  I have given you no reason to believe me
untrue, pen-velui."  Cupping Thranduil's cheek, Glorfindel smiled
reassuringly at the Prince.  He quickly removed his hand, though, and
returned to his large chair, picking up the weapon's inventory sheet.

Thranduil watched the golden-haired Elf closely and felt a hollow
feeling in his chest.  He had misjudged both his would-be lover and
the esteemed Chief Councilor, and he felt guilty for his untrusting
behavior.  He wanted Glorfindel; he had since the moment the Elda's
lips had touched his in the guest chamber in his father's home.
Thranduil quietly removed his sword belt and unlaced his tunic.  As he
walked around the Seneschal's desk, he removed the plaits from his
hair, allowing the long, corn silk locks to fall about his face.  "My
Lord," he purred.

Glorfindel looked up and his breath caught in his throat.  Thranduil
slid into his lap, twisting around until he was comfortable.
Glorfindel felt himself quickly grow hard beneath the younger Elf's
weight and could not restrain the groan that escaped his lips.
Thranduil looked down at him from his position and Glorfindel found
himself burying his hands into the thick curtain of Thranduil's hair.
He drew the Sinda down to him, capturing the slightly parted lips with
his own.  Glorfindel bit Thranduil's full lower lip slightly and then
plundered his mouth with his tongue.

He thoroughly explored the Prince's mouth, swallowing the sighs and
impatient moans the Sinda offered.  Glorfindel brought his free hand
down to slide between the open flaps of Thranduil's tunic and stroked
the soft, firm flesh he encountered there.  Thranduil broke the kiss
to throw his head back and bared his throat to his Lord, hissing when
Glorfindel's fingers found his nipple, tugging at the mithril ring
piercing his flesh there, and the Elda's teeth found the base of his
neck.

"Glorfindel!" he whimpered.  He could feel the bruise from
Glorfindel's bite darken his pale skin.  He looked down into the aqua
eyes, now dark with passion and need.  "I trust you, my Lord," he
whispered before leaning in to kiss the Balrog-slayer once more.

Glorfindel had just drew Thranduil's tongue into his mouth, suckling
on the slick muscle and gently grinding their arousals together, when
there was a stiff knock at the office door.  Thranduil jumped off
Glorfindel's lap and turned to face one wall while Glorfindel slid his
chair closer to the desk to hide his obvious state of arousal.

"Come!"  He felt his features darken with a blush at the statement he
had just uttered and glared at Thranduil's back when the Prince
snickered.

This was going to be a long day, the Elf-lord thought, shifting
uncomfortably in his seat as two of his Sergeants entered the room to
give their daily report.

End Chapter Four

English/Elvish: 
*Firith : Late Autumn season 
*Pen-velui : Lovely one
*Rhîw : Winter season 
*Poicaquen : Pure one (Quenya) 
*Pen-iaur : Ancient one 
*Ernilen : My Prince

---

Imladris, Echuir - 1921 of the Second Age

Haldir stood before the council, dressed in his warrior's garb.  "You
have no choice, my Lord Erestor.  I am not a diplomat.  I resign my
position."

"And what will you do?" asked Elrond.

"Lord Glorfindel has already given me a position with the ranks of
Imladris' militia."

Glorfindel cleared his throat.  "I have given him the rank of Captain
and he has his own regiment.  Erestor, he is a fighter, not a scholar.
He has held this position long enough.  There are several Elves we
could choose as a replacement."

Erestor sighed.  He knew Haldir had been listless sitting in a council
chair.  When he had joined them, he had been one of the few Elves in
the valley with the experience necessary to aid in the governing of
Imladris.  "Did you have an Elf in mind to replace you?"

"I thought to ask Lindir if he would take the position."  Haldir let
out a breath of relief as they finally began debate on who would take
his position.

Elrond shook his head.  "Lindir has expressed to me his lack of
ambition within this household.  He is content to be my aide and
nothing more.  What of Saelbeth?"

"Saelbeth is new to the household.  If there is another who would suit
the chair then the position should go to them," Erestor said.

Glorfindel smiled.  "Lothvaen.  He has been Erestor's Whip for years.
He has sat in on many of the councils and he is quick to learn."

Elrond looked to Erestor.  "What do you say, meldir?  Is Lothvaen
equipped to take a council position?"

Erestor's breath stopped.  This was what he had dreaded.  He wanted to
keep Lothvaen with him, near enough that he saw him every day but
still at a distance.  Promoting him to Councilor would mean a change
of quarters and an office of his own.  But, he could not deny his
friend this opportunity.  "I will make the offer to him after the
session."

Elrond nodded.  "Very well.  Haldir, you are relieved of your council
position and I wish you well in your new station."

Haldir bowed low.  "Hannon le, my Lord."  He nodded to Erestor and
then Glorfindel before exiting the chamber, signaling the end of the
council session.

*****

Lothvaen looked up from the map he was studying when his employer
entered the room.  "My Lord," he acknowledged respectfully before
returning to the map.

Erestor cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back.
"Lothvaen.  I must speak with you about an important matter.  Your
station within this house is to be altered."

The Whip looked up with trepidation shining in his eyes.  "Have I not
performed my... duties to your liking, my Lord?"  Lothvaen would not
allow himself to be simply pushed aside; demoted because Erestor
couldn't come to terms with what had transpired between them.

Erestor's pale features colored with shame.  "Your performance,
Lothvaen, is not in question.  You are a loyal and admirable Elf.
Which is why the Council has decided it is time for you to be
promoted.  Lord Haldir has resigned his position and it has been
offered to you."

Lothvaen stood up, the map forgotten, and looked disbelievingly at his
Lord.  "Me?"

Erestor smiled and nodded.  "I told you the day would come when you
would leave this office.  Do I tell Lord Elrond you accept?"

"Yes!" Lothvaen said, a smile brightening his face.

"It is good to see you smile again, meldir," Erestor said softly.  "I
will have one of the pages bring you new robes tonight.  Council will
begin tomorrow after the morning meal.  I will also have your office
prepared and your new quarters assigned."

Lothvaen felt slightly dizzy.  "So many changes."

Erestor walked to his desk, chuckling at the faint voice of his
friend.  "Aye.  Your pay will also increase."

"Increase?"  Since the House of Elrond already provided for most
necessities, Lothvaen felt that his six silver pieces a week were more
than adequate for whatever else he required.

Erestor nodded.  "All Councilors receive weekly stipends of five
silver pieces and four gold pieces."

Lothvaen's eyes widened.  He did not want to ask what stipend Elrond
offered his Chief Councilor.  "Where will my new quarters be, my
Lord?"

Erestor smiled enigmatically at Lothvaen's use of his title.  "Lord
Elrond will decide that.  You are to appear before him this evening
before you retire."

The new Councilor nodded and returned Erestor's smile.  Lothvaen's
heart swelled with pride.  He knew that it was Erestor who had secured
his position within the Council.  Another thought came to him, and his
heart sped with the realization that this no longer placed him
directly under Erestor.  He was no longer the Chief Councilor's
employee.  Lothvaen knew that the employer and employee situation had
simply been an excuse the older Noldo had hidden behind, but now he
had a real opportunity to learn the truth.

He decided he would speak with Lord Glorfindel, since he was one of
two in Imladris Lothvaen knew who were close to the Councilor.

*****

It had been weeks since they had been alone together.  Thranduil
removed his cloak and sword belt, smiling at the bare-chested Elda.
The days following the spar with Erestor had been spent from dawn
until well after the evening meal working with the new recruits who
would begin patrolling within the month.  Now that spring had arrived,
they would take their places among the seasoned warriors.  Thranduil
spent endless hours teaching adequate archers to be deadly with
every arrow they shot.

Glorfindel was weighed down with the inventory of the barracks, and
the acquisition of new uniforms and additional weaponry.  The
Seneschal was known to spend much of his day with the Chief Councilor
going over the new year's budget for the household and defense.  Yes,
they had accountants for such tasks, but Glorfindel would joke about
Erestor's need for control.  Each year, the new spending budget would
be looked over by Erestor personally.  It just happened that this
year, Glorfindel was in need of additional funds to equip the fresh
warriors and have new bows made.

Each night, when the two Elves would meet between their rooms,
Glorfindel kissed the Prince for long moments and then they both
retired their respective rooms.  They were too exhausted to do much
more than strip and fall into bed.  This day, though, was a day of
rest for both the Prince and the Seneschal.  Thranduil slowly stalked
across the Elda's bedroom, untying the laces to his jerkin and tossing
the garment to the floor.  Glorfindel's hands slid beneath Thranduil's
shirt when the younger Elf reached him, causing Thranduil to shudder.

"I have wanted you for months now, my Lord," he murmured against
Glorfindel's lips.  He was already painfully aroused and they both
knew this act would be over with before they wished it to be.

"I know."  Glorfindel slowly brought their lips together, immediately
invading Thranduil's mouth with his tongue.  He had never known
another to do to him what Thranduil did.  The Prince merely had to
look at him and Glorfindel's body became inflamed.  He broke the kiss
long enough to slip the shirt over Thranduil's head and quickly
reestablished the connection of their mouths.  He had long since found
the hidden treasure below Thranduil's clothing, something Glorfindel
found arousing and intriguing.  Glorfindel fondled the small mithril
rings that were threaded through Thranduil's raised nipples.  He had
been fascinated the first time he had discovered the rings, and he now
delighted in tugging them gently and capturing the deep moans this
caused in Thranduil with his mouth.

Thranduil wove his fingers into the mane of gold and deepened the kiss
further, thrusting himself against the Imladrian Lord.  He wanted
Glorfindel desperately and was more than willing to show his desire.
Glorfindel's fingers left his chest and skated down his back, sliding
beneath his breeches to cup the hard globes of his buttocks briefly
and then moved back up to circle the Prince's slender waist.  With
strength that still amazed Thranduil, the Seneschal picked him up and
Thranduil wrapped his long, lean legs around the Elf-lord.  He drew
back from the mind-numbing kiss, gasping for air.  "My Lord, you undo
me," he panted.

Glorfindel's eyes were cobalt, glazed with passion.  He offered
Thranduil a devastating smile and turned to lay the younger Elf on his
bed.  Thranduil's hair fanned out around him, his face flushed, his
lips bruised, and Glorfindel was at a loss to conjure any image more
beautiful than his Prince.  He leaned over Thranduil, pulling one of
the rings into his mouths, swiping his tongue around the tender flesh
beneath his mouth.  Glorfindel quickly unlaced Thranduil's leggings,
finally releasing the hard flesh he had patiently waited to hold.
Thranduil let out a keening wail, bucking against the Elda's palm,
when Glorfindel finally wrapped his slim fingers around the hot,
aching shaft.

The Seneschal left Thranduil's tortured nipples and made a wet trail
down the center of the Elf-prince's body.  He looked up once into
needy and impatient eyes, his mouth hovering above the darkly-colored
head of Thranduil's cock.  He opened his mouth wide, about to take the
glistening column in his mouth when an insistent knock came from his
chamber door.

"Ignore it," begged Thranduil, arching up, his pleading eyes telling
Glorfindel all he needed to know.  The Elda returned to his task,
snaking his tongue out to taste the clear fluid that had collected on
the tip in a heavy drop, but was stopped by another, more pressing
knock.

Glorfindel sat up, huffing with frustration.  "Díheno nin, ernilen."
Glorfindel left the room and Thranduil reached down to stroke himself
slowly, imaging his Seneschal touching him again.  He was so engrossed
in his task that Glorfindel's soft chuckle startled him.

"Though I enjoy watching you do that, pen-vaelui, we will have to put
our desires on hold for the moment.  Lord Lothvaen is here and he
desires my counsel."  Glorfindel crossed the room and kissed Thranduil
sweetly.  "Perhaps our next day of rest will be less eventful."

Thranduil glared.  "What have you done, Lord Glorfindel, to earn the
wrath of the Valar?"  He hastily retied his leggings, moving
painfully.  He would go back to his room and relieve himself.  There
was no option; he could not go the day without release.

Glorfindel laughed.  "How I adore you, Thranduil."  He kissed the
Prince one last time and led him out to the main room, where Lothvaen
stood uncomfortably.  Thranduil smiled and bowed slightly to the
younger Elf.  "My Lord."

Lothvaen looked surprised, but returned the gesture and Thranduil left
the room.  The new Councilor looked at the Seneschal.  "Lord
Glorfindel, you should have told me you had the Prince as your...
guest."  He smirked at the Elda.  "I would have come back later."

Glorfindel shook his head and uncrossed his arms.  "It would have been
an interruption no matter when you arrived, my Lord."  Glorfindel
offered Lothvaen one of the plush armchairs near the hearth.

"Why do you call me that?"  Lothvaen obediently sat, clasping his
hands decorously in his lap.

Glorfindel lounged in the chair opposite the Noldo and chuckled.
"Well, because that is your title!"

"Lord Erestor did not inform me of that change," he mumbled.

"Lothvaen, you have been privy to the council sessions, you have
worked under Lord Erestor for almost three centuries, and you did not
know that a promotion to Councilman offered you a social status
increase?"  Glorfindel leaned forward.  "Are you truly that naive,
meldir, or just oblivious?"

Lothvaen laughed.  "I can see how you could be an annoyance to our
Chief Councilor.  I am oblivious to such things, my Lord."

"Glorfindel."

"Excuse me?"  Lothvaen knew his face colored slightly.

"Glorfindel.  You do not need to call me 'Lord', Lothvaen."
Glorfindel smiled widely at the shocked Noldo.  "You really never
expected to leave Erestor's employment?"

Lothvaen shook his head.  "I did not wish to."

Glorfindel's smile turned scheming rather than welcoming.  "So, I have
been correct these many years.  You are fond of the dark-haired one."
When Lothvaen's blushed deepened, Glorfindel ceased smiling and his
eyes went slightly wide.  "You love him."

"Please, do not tell him of my affection.  He..."  Lothvaen chewed his
lip, wondering what to tell Glorfindel.  He had not entrusted his
secret to anyone in the household, but his heart told him the
Balrog-slayer was an honest and trustworthy Elf.  He took a deep
breath and let it out slowly.  "I have made advances, which have been
rebuffed.  I am confused, because I know there is an attraction."

Glorfindel looked thoughtful for a few moments, thinking on the enigma
of Erestor.  "In all the time I have known our dear Councilor, I have
never known him to share his bed with someone.  He has never spoken of
a lover, been seen with a lover...  I am certain he is untouched."

Lothvaen felt as if he had been kicked in the gut.  Nausea rose within
him and he felt hot, very hot.  "That explains--"  He cut himself off
before finishing his thought.

"That explains what, meldir?" Glorfindel asked, raising one eyebrow
with curiosity.

"Nothing," he said, shaking his head.  Erestor, untouched.  Lothvaen
felt brutish, falling to his knees before the virginal Councilor
and...  Lothvaen sighed.  He had handled this whole situation
terribly.  It was no wonder, now, that Erestor had reacted the way he
did when Lothvaen had completed his worship of the Councilor's flesh.
Lothvaen cleared his throat.  "Do you know anything about Lord
Erestor, Glorfindel?  I know so little of him and he does not like to
speak of himself."

"Erestor.  I know he is from Himring.  At least, I know he dwelled
there; I don't think he was born in Maedhros' realm.  He was past his
majority when Maglor took Elrond and Elros in.  That was how Erestor
and Elrond met."  Glorfindel smiled sadly.  "Erestor, I know, was
devastated when Elros died.  He and Elrond would spend hours locked
away, mourning.  Eventually, they brought each other through the loss.

"He has fought in several battles, though he has not made a name for
himself.  It's funny, really," Glorfindel joked.  "For an Elf who has
done as many deeds as Erestor has, he is not mentioned in our history
books.  Ever."

Lothvaen's brow furrowed.  "Why is that?"

Glorfindel simply shook his head.  "That, I do not know.  In fact,
what I have told you is all I know of Erestor.  He guards his past
well.  I fought beside him and trust him with my very life, but I know
little of him.  He was already a part of Gil-galad's court when I came
from Valinor; he was a devoted Councilor to the High King."

"Is there no one who knows about the Elf?"  Lothvaen was surprised at
how someone so trusted could have such a vague past.

"If there is anyone in Arda who would knows the answers to your
questions, meldir, it would be Lord Elrond.  Erestor has known him
since he was but a child fostered by the Sons of Fëanor.  There would
be no secrets from Elrond... not that I think Erestor ever tried to
keep any from our Lord.  They love one another, you see."  Glorfindel
smiled at the shock on Lothvaen's face.  "Pen-neth, you *must* be
oblivious.  He adores the Peredhel.  He would do anything for Elrond.
But, it is not the love you feel towards him.  More... like that of a
brother."

Lothvaen nodded.  "Then I must speak with Elrond."

Glorfindel grinned in his unnerving way, nodding slowly.  "Aye,
meldir.  If you do not wish to seek your answers from the Chief
Councilor yourself."

End Chapter Five

Elvish/English:
*Hannon le. : I thank you.
*Díheno nin, ernilen. : Forgive me, my Prince.
*Pen-vaelui : Lustful one
*Pen-neth : Young one

---

Imladris, Echuir - 1921 of the Second Age

Thranduil sighed as he stood on the steps leading into the Last Homely
House.  He watched Glorfindel spar with another Elf and felt his body
stir.  This was pure torture.  He turned from the scene and began to
stroll along the hallways of Elrond's vast home and let his mind
wander.

He missed the woods of his father's realm.  The Prince felt
practically useless within Elrond's employment.  His only
responsibility was to train the archers every other day, which left
Thranduil with many free hours to fill.  The Prince spent many of
those hours with Glorfindel's Captain, Haldir.  The Elf was engaging,
and Thranduil was constantly awed by how much knowledge of history
the blond Sinda possessed.

He made a left turn down a hall and found he was facing one of the two
staircases that connected the floors of the house.  Thranduil knew
that the one large room to his right was the main dining hall, but he
had never come behind it.  His feet had brought him to the hallway
that housed the offices of Glorfindel, Erestor and Lord Elrond.
Thranduil's conscience tugged at him and he sighed.  He needed to
speak with Lord Erestor and apologize for his immature
behavior on the training field.

Thranduil passed by the office he knew to be Glorfindel's, since it
had an entrance on both the South and East hallways.  Erestor's would
be the next office and Thranduil approached the open door of the Chief
Councilor's office.  The Prince knocked on the doorframe and waited.

"Come!"

The Elf-prince strode into the office and bowed slightly to the seated
Noldo.  "My Lord."

"Prince Thranduil," Erestor said coolly.  "How can I help you?"

Thranduil looked around the well-appointed office and noted the empty
desk across the room.  "Where is your secretary, my Lord?"

"Lothvaen has been promoted to the position of Councilor.  He has his
own office now."  Thranduil could hear a deadness in Erestor's voice
that he had not noticed before.

"May I speak with you, Lord Erestor?"

Erestor sighed and put aside the parchment he had been working on.
"Sit down, Thranduil."  The Greenwood Elf pulled one of the simple,
straight-backed chairs in front of the large, dark wood desk and sat.
"Now, what is it you wish to speak to me about?"

"I apologize for my actions on the training field, my Lord.  It was
not my intent to insult you."  Thranduil, through much self-
discipline, kept eye contact with the Noldo Lord.

"What was your intent, then, pen-neth?  Were you attempting to stake
your claim on Lord Glorfindel?  I assure you, there has never been --
and never will be -- anything between the Seneschal and I that should
worry you."  Erestor allowed a cold smile to form on his lips.
"Glorfindel may be one of the most irritating Elves I have ever met,
but he is a trustworthy warrior, and you do him an injustice to have
thought he would play with your emotions."  The Noldo relaxed in his
chair, his glittering eyes never leaving the slightly colored face of
the Prince before him.

Thranduil cleared his throat.  "I still offer my apologies, my Lord.
What is between Lord Glorfindel and I does not concern you, and I
should not have attempted to vent my frustrations upon your person."

Erestor nodded.  "Apology accepted."  He picked up his quill once more
and brought the parchment back to the center of his desk.  "If you do
not mind -- with Lothvaen no longer assisting me, I have much work to
do before dusk."

"Aye, Lord Erestor."  Thranduil replaced the chair and bowed again
before exiting the room.  The Prince exhaled a sigh of relief when the
afternoon sun warmed his face.  The office of the Chief Councilor was
decorated in rich browns, reds and greens, but Thranduil had felt
chilled in the presence of Erestor.  The Elf set him on edge, and he
could not fathom why.

He shook his head and walked down the hall, in the direction of
Glorfindel's office.  Thranduil smiled to himself when he saw the door
slightly ajar.  His would-be lover was done with the training
sessions.  Perhaps they could steal a few moments together before they
were interrupted.  Again.

*****

Glorfindel looked up from the report he had been reviewing and felt
his mood lighten considerably.  Just seeing the face of his Prince
caused him to smile.  "Good afternoon, pen-vaelui."

Thranduil closed the door and approached the desk. "Good afternoon, my
Lord Seneschal."

"Is there something I can do for you?"  Glorfindel pushed back from
his desk and went to stand up, but Thranduil quickly seated himself in
the Elda's lap.

The Prince took Glorfindel's mouth, hungrily kissing the full lips.
Glorfindel brought his arms around the Wood Elf's slim waist and
pulled their bodies into closer contact.  At times, Glorfindel was
still amazed by how quickly Thranduil could bring him to full arousal. 
After only a few moments of having the archer's body resting on his
thighs and the Prince's long fingers threaded in his hair, Glorfindel
was moaning his need.

Glorfindel slid his hands under the thin silk shirt Thranduil had
chosen to wear for the warm day.  On his days of rest, Thranduil
usually wore very casual clothing and Glorfindel smiled against the
lips of his lover.  "You do not make it much of a sport to undress
you, melethen."

Thranduil panted, his hips moving of their own accord against the
hardness he felt through Glorfindel's leggings.  "Perhaps I have had
enough sport, my Lord.  We have been interrupted, disturbed, put out,
and left dissatisfied long enough.  If it means I walk the Last Homely
House clad in nothing but my mithril circlet, then so be it."  The
Prince attacked Glorfindel's lips once more, drawing the
Balrog-slayer's tongue into his mouth and suckling it eagerly.

The elder Elf shifted beneath Thranduil's weight; his leggings had
become uncomfortably tight.  Thranduil chuckled and moved his hands
from Glorfindel's hair, slowly down the warrior's lithe body.
Glorfindel arched beneath Thranduil's skilled hands and he allowed his
head to fall back against the headrest of the chair.  The Prince
continued his downward course while leaning in and tasting the flesh
of Glorfindel's neck.  Glorfindel's eyes closed and he let out a deep
moan when Thranduil's hands finally released the hard shaft from its
confines at the same time as he bit into the Elda's neck, sucking and
marking him as the Prince's.

Glorfindel had never felt such intense desire as he did when the
Prince touched him.  "Aniron le," Glorfindel groaned when Thranduil
released his throat and he could once again look into the jade eyes.

Thranduil's lips curved seductively as he looked at the
passion-dilated eyes through thick, dark lashes.  He traced
Glorfindel's swollen bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and stroked
Glorfindel's arousal with long, sure strokes.  He had just swiped his
thumb over the drops of clear fluid that leaked from the tip of
Glorfindel's cock when there was a sharp rap at the office door.

"By the Valar!" Thranduil complained quietly.

After a few moments, the knock came again.  "My Lord Seneschal?"
Erestor's voice came from the other side of the door.  Glorfindel
looked at their state of undress and knew they had little time to
right themselves before Erestor simply entered the room.  Thranduil
did the only thing he could think of: he slid from Glorfindel's lap
and knelt under the large desk.  He would be safely hidden from any
visitors.

Glorfindel shifted himself close to the desk and whispered, "Retie my
leggings!"  After a moment, Glorfindel called, "Enter!"

Erestor and Elrond came into the room and Glorfindel wished that Manwe
would open the very ground his desk sat over and swallow him whole.
"My Lords."

The two dark-haired Elf-lords sat at the chairs placed before
Glorfindel's desk.  "Glorfindel," Elrond said with a slight bow of his
head.  "I wished to discuss with both of you..."  Glorfindel lost
track of the conversation after that, because it was then that
Thranduil wrapped his hand around the still-hard shaft protruding
from the Elda's breeches.

His back went stiff and he tried to listen, to look interested in
whatever Elrond was explaining to him.  But, when Thranduil's hot, wet
mouth plunged down over his weeping sex, Glorfindel knew he was lost.
It took all his self-control not to close his eyes, not to moan his
delight in feeling the intense suction of the accomplished Prince's
mouth.

Thranduil set a punishing pace, working as much of Glorfindel's cock
as he could with his lips and stroking the remaining length with his
hand.  Glorfindel felt faint, and he knew his increased breathing had
become noticeable.

"My Lord, is something ill with you?"  Erestor sat forward in his seat
and looked at his friend with concern.

Glorfindel shook his head.  "Forgive me, my Lords, but I think I have
just-"  His voice hitched when Thranduil slid his tongue into the slit
at the tip of his length and he cleared his throat.  "I think I am
just weary from the morning session with the new recruits.  Perhaps I
will finish this report and then retire for some rest before the
evening meal."

Elrond nodded, his brow creased with worry.  "If there is no change in
how you feel by supper, please come to the Healing wing and see one of
the Healers."

The Seneschal knew he was close to his release and he tried with all
the self-discipline he could muster to stave it off for just a few
moments longer.  "Aye, meldir, I shall do that."

Erestor and Elrond stood, bowing slightly to Glorfindel.  "We shall
see you this evening?" Erestor asked, looking once more at
Glorfindel's flushed face.

"This evening," he managed.

Then the room was blissfully empty and Glorfindel slid his chair back
from the desk enough to see the blond head of the Prince working his
shaft with a wanton disregard of their location.  It took only a few
additional moments of watching the Wood Elf and hearing the
enthusiastic moans that reverberated up his thick flesh before his
hands were buried in the younger Elf's head, holding Thranduil still
and he thrust himself into the warm slickness.  He spilled himself
down the Prince's throat and cried out the Elf's name, panting in
exhaustion.

Thranduil cleaned the evidence of Glorfindel's passion from his lips
and smiled up at the Seneschal.

Glorfindel chuckled, breathing heavily as he brushed the stray tresses
from Thranduil's face.  "You are talented, melethron.  But, perhaps we
could choose a more... appropriate venue next time?"

"I found this one most inspiring, my Lord."  A mischievous glint
sparked in the depths of Thranduil's oak eyes and Glorfindel knew he
was in love.

"It is almost time for the evening meal.  I do not believe I have the
strength to offer you the same relief you have offered me."
Glorfindel stroked Thranduil's cheek lovingly and leaned in to kiss
the Prince sweetly, tasting himself on Thranduil's tongue.

When they parted Thranduil shrugged.  "I seem to have become used to
going unfulfilled."

Glorfindel laughed.  "My poor Prince!"

*****

Lothvaen nervously tapped on Elrond's door, feeling awkward for coming
to his Lord's private chambers.  He chewed his bottom lip fretfully,
not understanding from where his unease came.  Lothvaen did not
consider what he was doing prying; he needed to know about Erestor and
Glorfindel could not help him.  Other than Erestor himself, Lord
Elrond was the only one left he could seek answers from.

Elrond opened his door and the shock on his face at seeing his newest
Councilman on his doorstep must have been obvious.

"My Lord Elrond?  Do you have a few moments this evening so that I may
speak with you?"  Lothvaen hid his shaking hands in the long sleeves
of his robes and tried to keep his anxiousness out of his voice.

"Of course," Elrond said, moving aside and inviting Lothvaen into his
rooms.

Lothvaen looked around the main room, his eyes taking in the décor of
his Lord.  The room was decorated in rich, dark tapestries and
fabrics; warmth radiated from the chamber and Lothvaen felt
immediately at ease.  The scent of medicinal herbs permeated the
atmosphere and Lothvaen thought the room suited the Lord of Imladris
perfectly.  It was inviting, but there was an underlying current of
power, of mystery to the room and Lothvaen knew he had made the right
decision coming to Elrond.

"Please, sit."  Elrond motioned to a sitting area near a cold hearth
and Lothvaen nodded.  He chose one of the plush, overstuffed settees
and crossed his legs at his ankles, resting his hands tightly in his
lap.  Elrond sat in the high-backed chair opposite the young Noldo and
tried to understand why Lothvaen radiated a sense of unease.  "What is
it you need to speak with me about, Lothvaen?  Are you not happy in
your new position?"

Lothvaen shook his head.  "No, my Lord, I am honored to have been
chosen.  The purpose behind this visit is more of a personal nature."
He took a deep breath and looked directly at Elrond.  "I would like to
know about Lord Erestor."

Elrond raised one eyebrow and regarded the Elf before him.  He had
watched Lothvaen over the years, had known of the young Noldo's
attraction to Erestor.  Elrond had known this discussion was coming,
ever since Erestor had come to his rooms in an emotional mess some
weeks ago babbling about his secretary, the bathing chamber and the
ensuing mental confusion.  Elrond had done his best to soothe
Erestor's concerns, to ease his fears, but he knew that from then on,
Erestor had kept the young Noldo at arm's length.  Elrond sighed. 
"Lord Erestor is a private individual, Lothvaen.  Perhaps it is he you
should be speaking with."

"I cannot do that, my Lord.  He has become... uncomfortable with my
presence."  Lothvaen finally looked away from the wise grey eyes that
regarded him with a calm knowledge.

"Why is that?  I have never known Erestor to be troubled by many.  In
fact, short of Lord Glorfindel, Erestor has always treated those
around him with a quiet respect."

Lothvaen wrung his hands in his lap.  "He does not treat me with any
less respect than anyone else, but, we have had some personal dealings
which left him unhappy with me."

Elrond crossed his legs and relaxed into the comfortable chair.  It
seemed he would be detained for quite some time.  "Unhappy with you?"

"The day Lord Glorfindel returned from King Oropher's realm, I was
aiding Lord Erestor in his chambers.  I prepared him a warm bath,
since he was soaked through from the rain.  I... kissed him."

The Peredhel chuckled.  "A kiss?  I must admit, it has been many, many
years since one has had the courage to kiss Erestor."  Elrond became
lost in his thoughts for a moment, remembering the feel of the
Councilor's lips against his own.  They had kissed only once, but it
was an experience Elrond kept close to his heart.  He shook himself
from his memories and smiled gently.  "A kiss is hardly something to
feel ashamed of."

"It did not stop at a kiss, my Lord."  Lothvaen felt his face color
with his embarrassment.

Elrond had not been told the details of their encounter from Erestor;
the Noldo had been too distraught and Elrond had not wished to push
the issue with his friend.  Now, he worried that things had gone much
further than Erestor had wished, and he fought not to jump to an
incorrect conclusion.  "Did you bed him?"

Lothvaen could hear the change in his Lord's voice.  Glorfindel had
been right: the Lord of Imladris loved Erestor dearly.  And now he
thought Lothvaen had taken Erestor to bed unwillingly!  He frantically
shook his head, his eyes wide and pleading.  "I did no such thing, my
Lord!  I know what you may think I did, but I did not.  I merely..."
Lothvaen searched for the best way to word his actions.  He lowered
his eyes and when he spoke, his voice was just above a whisper.  "I
pleasured him with my mouth."

Elrond nodded, his heart feeling slightly relieved.  "And he allowed
this?"

"That is where my confusion stems from, my Lord."  Lothvaen stood from
his seat and began to pace slightly.  "He responded to my kisses, he
did not stop me from kneeling before him.  It was only once the act
was done that he seemed to... recoil.  When he realized I might ask
for the same in return -- or more."  He looked down at Elrond.  "I
care greatly for him and my intent was not to force him to do anything
he did not wish to do.  My pleasure came from his, and I did not ask
for him to perform any act upon me.  But, he jumped into the pool and
told me it was 'nice' but 'inappropriate' and it was not to happen
again."

The Elf-lord thoughtfully tapped his fingers on the armrest of his
chair.  He could imagine Lothvaen's reaction to being dismissed so
after performing such a deed for someone he admired and cared for. 
Perhaps the fallout between Lindir and Lothvaen had something to do
with what had occurred between Erestor and Lothvaen.  Elrond put that
to the side of his thoughts, though, and concentrated on the matter at
hand.  "And you would like to know what from me, meldir?"

Lothvaen sank back down into the cushions of the settee.  "I would
like to know why he rejected me in such a manner.  I want to know why
he has never had a lover and why no one in Imladris -- save you --
knows anything about him.  I want to know how to reach him.  I have
loved him for centuries now, but he does not allow me to enter his
heart.  There is also a darkness about him sometimes, something that
frightens me...  I want to know who he is."

"You ask for a lot, Lothvaen.  Some of the answers you seek I cannot
give you.  But, I can offer you some information.  I urge you, if you
seriously wish to hold Erestor's heart, to ask Erestor for the answers
to the questions I cannot answer."  Elrond stood.  "Before I begin, I
was going to pour myself a goblet of wine -- would you like one?"

The young Noldo nodded.  "Please."

After Elrond had settled back in to his seat and taken a few sips of
his wine, he began his story.  "Erestor was born shortly before Fëanor
left Aman with his sons.  He was but a toddler when his father
took him from their home and fled with the Noldorin host.  He has
always idolized his father..." Elrond said wistfully.

"Who was his father?  Did he survive the journey?"  Lothvaen quickly
drained his glass, his heart beating faster.  Erestor was old, much
older than he had thought.

Elrond smiled.  "Erestor's beloved father was Amras, one of the twin
sons of Fëanor.  His mother did not live long after they began their
revolt.  He does not remember her and there is a sadness within his
heart because of this."

"Amras...  Erestor is of the House of Fëanor?"  Lothvaen's shock
amused Elrond.

"Aye, he is the last.  He was born in Aman, Lothvaen.  He and his
cousin, Celebrimbor, came with Fëanor and his sons.  He was just
thirty years of age when they made it to the northern shores of Lake
Mithrim.  He was taught how to wield a sword before they ever reached
that lake.  He fought alongside his kin when the Orcs came; their camp
had not even been completely set."  Elrond stopped for a moment,
sipping his wine.  "Would you like another glass, meldir?"

Lothvaen held up his hand, declining the offer.  "He fought against
the forces of Morgoth..."

Elrond nodded.  "He did.  He was there when Fëanor took his last
breath; he sparred with his uncles after Fingon returned Maedhros to
them.  Erestor, son of Amras, has seen much in his life.  After
Thingol gave the lands of East Beleriand to the Sons of Fëanor,
Erestor went to live with his cousin and his uncles in Himlad."

"Why did he not reside with his father?"

"The twins went into the wilds of Beleriand.  They had seen enough
death and chose to remain hidden until the Siege was over.  They felt
that Curufin was best suited to raising the child.  After all, Curufin
had been raising Celebrimbor with only the aid of his siblings for
years.  After only a few years with Curufin, though, Erestor was sent
to live with Maedhros."  Elrond looked away, draining the last of the
liquid from his cup.

"Why?"

Elrond shook his head.  "That tale is not mine to tell.  But, that is
where the hurt began for Erestor.  And it only compounded as the years
wore on.  He has blood on his hands that he cannot wash himself of,
and it has festered within him for many years."  Elrond's stormy eyes
met the deep violet of Lothvaen's and he spoke in earnest.  "His heart
and soul have been fractured, Lothvaen.  He fears anyone who could
help repair the hurts he has suffered.  He fears *you*."

"I do not understand, my Lord."  Lothvaen's brow furrowed and he
closed his eyes.  "I wish I did, but I do not."

"You will."  Elrond stood.  "If you wish for any more answers, you
will have to seek them from Erestor.  He will not give them up
easily, and I encourage you to press him for them."  Elrond brushed
his fingers against Lothvaen's cheek and smiled down at the perplexed
Noldo.  "He does love you, he wants you, but he cannot bring himself
to allow you that complete control over him.  For Erestor, that
control is all he has."

"I do not wish to lord over him," Lothvaen said heatedly.

"What you wish is scarcely the issue.  It is what Erestor perceives.
It is late now, Lothvaen.  You should go to your rooms."  Elrond moved
back to allow the Noldo to stand and he escorted him to the door.

"You have been most helpful, my Lord," Lothvaen said and he bowed
slightly.  "It is obvious, though, that the root of this matter lies
with Erestor.  I will speak with him."

"I wish you all the luck of the Valar."  He smirked at Lothvaen as he
closed the door on the Elf.  "I do believe you will need it."

Lothvaen turned from the shut door, walked across the hall of the
family floor and entered his small suite.  Now that he had spoken with
Elrond, he understood why he had been given these quarters by the
Peredhel.  They were situated next to Erestor's, and it seemed Lord
Elrond saw much more than the average resident of Imladris thought.

The young Noldo smiled to himself and he stripped out of his robes.
Yes, Lord Elrond had been, and continued to be, most helpful.

End Chapter Six

English/Elvish:
Pen-vaelui : Lustful one
Aniron le. : I want you.
Melethen : My love

---

Imladris, Echuir - 1921 of the Second Age

Thranduil slipped through the door into the room next to his own.
Anor had not yet risen and he could steal through the room easily in
the pre-dawn light.  He ghosted through the main room and stepped
lightly into the bedchamber.  Thranduil's breath caught in his throat
as he took in the sight of Glorfindel lying in his bed, the Elda's
golden hair fanned out on the pillow and his bright eyes glazed and
half-closed with reverie.  It pleased Thranduil to see that the
Balrog-slayer obviously slept in the nude and the Prince quickly
removed his own clothing.

The Wood Elf slid beneath the cool sheets and brought his body close
to the warmth of Glorfindel's.  As soon as Thranduil's body came into
contact with Glorfindel's, the elder Elf's eyes became clear and
aware, taking in the sparkling green eyes of his lover.

"Maer aur, pen-vuil," Thranduil murmured.

Glorfindel smiled sleepily and raised a hand to touch Thranduil's
cheek.  "Aye, it seems to be a very good morning, melethen."
Glorfindel twined his fingers through Thranduil's hair and brought the
Elf-prince's lips to his.

Thranduil shifted, deepening the kiss until Glorfindel seemed to
notice for the first time that his Prince was naked beside him, and he
drew back.  "Your clothes seems to have disappeared, ernilen," the
Elda teased.

"I wouldn't worry," Thranduil returned.  "They'll find their way back;
they always do."

Glorfindel chuckled.  "Am I to assume you are here to take advantage
of my... vulnerable state?"

Thranduil slid his hand over the soft skin of Glorfindel's stomach,
resting his palm just above the indent in the Elda's belly.  "I do not
believe, my Lord, that you are ever vulnerable."  The Prince's eyes
had darkened and Glorfindel could feel his lover's arousal hot and
hard against his hip.

Glorfindel felt his own desire flare within him and he pulled
Thranduil down for another heated kiss.  Thranduil slowly slid his
hand down the expanse of Glorfindel's stomach.  He smiled into the
kiss when Glorfindel arched his hips off the mattress in an attempt to
bring his hard length into contact with Thranduil's questing fingers.
"Now who is impatient?" he asked, nipping at Glorfindel's bottom lip.

The Elda laughed softly.  "Are you telling me you would like to wait?
We could go and break our fast, and perhaps Lord Elrond could demand
my presence today."

Thranduil growled and rolled so that he was atop the Balrog-slayer and
bit at the skin of Glorfindel's neck.  "Nay, my Lord.  You are mine
for the day and I will not waste a moment of it," he whispered hotly
against Glorfindel's throat.

Glorfindel ran his nails down Thranduil's back, delighting in the moan 
it brought forth from the Prince.  Glorfindel knew their first time 
was not going to be slow and long; the Elda was already painfully 
aroused and he wanted to feel Thranduil within him as soon as 
possible.  "If you wish the day, melethen," he panted, turning his 
head away from Thranduil to expose more of his neck.  "Then we have
the day to explore one another.  I want you *now*."  To stress his
desire, he thrust up against Thranduil, bringing their erect members
together.

The Wood Elf groaned and nodded.  "Where do you keep the oil?"
Glorfindel motioned to the bedside table and Thranduil stretched over
the Elda to reach the drawer.  Glorfindel could not help himself and
he captured one of Thranduil's nipples in his mouth, drawing on it
hungrily as he continued to thrust against the Prince.  Thranduil
shuddered and quickly located the phial.  When he returned to his
original position, he looked questioningly at Glorfindel.  "Do you..."
he asked hesitantly, indicating the phial.

The Elf-lord chuckled and unexpectedly spread his legs, allowing
Thranduil to nestle between his thighs.  "Does that answer your
unasked question, ernilen?"  Glorfindel's eyes glittered with
laughter.  It had been many years since he had had a lover so
passionate and playful as Thranduil.

Thranduil laughed as he opened the phial and poured a generous amount
on his hand.  He glanced up at Glorfindel, his eyes the color of oak
leaves in the summer.  "Have you done this before, my Lord, or are you
a blushing maid?"

Glorfindel sat up and shifted so he rested on his hands and knees,
presenting Thranduil with his backside.  "Even when I was untouched,
Thranduil, I never blushed."

The Prince leaned down and bit the swell of Glorfindel's buttocks
while running his slick hand between the cleft.  "Then I must simply
try harder."

The Seneschal pushed back against Thranduil's hand.  "Do not try,
simply do!"

Thranduil let out a laugh and slid one finger into the tight passage
of Glorfindel's body.  The Elda gasped, but no sooner had the sound
left his lips than the pressure ceased.  He whimpered at the sudden
emptiness, but Thranduil had thrust his finger forward once again
before the cry had even been completed.  Glorfindel pushed back, but
Thranduil once again removed his finger.

"You are cruel!"  Glorfindel glared over his shoulder at the Sinda.

Thranduil chuckled.  "I've only begun, meleth."  The Prince returned
with two fingers this time and Glorfindel threw his head back and
cried out.  He quickly pumped his fingers, slicking the passage
thoroughly.  "Though I would like this to last much longer,
Glorfindel, I do not think I can wait.  I have waited months for this
opportunity... I will be careful -- though I make no promises of being
gentle."

Glorfindel could hear the smile in Thranduil's voice but all thought
was lost when the thick length of his lover impaled him.  "Ai!" he
cried out, his need lost in Thranduil's groan of possession.  They
remained still for several moments, their ragged breathing the only
sound in the cool light of dawn.  "By the Valar, Thranduil,"
Glorfindel ground out.  "Move!"

The Prince set a rapid pace, gripping Glorfindel's hips almost
painfully.  The Elda reached beneath himself and began to stroke his
cock in a frantic motion, unable to hold back his release.  The elder
Elf's orgasm ripped through him and his body trembled uncontrollably.
Glorfindel heard Thranduil's long moan and felt the liquid heat of the
Prince's seed coat his passage.  The Seneschal had never had such a
complete sense of satisfaction as he did at that moment.

Thranduil pulled away from Glorfindel, resting for a moment on his
knees.  He was almost disappointed with how quickly the act had been,
but the deep sense of contentment he felt negated the small inkling of
regret.

The Elda kicked the soiled coverlet to the floor before falling to his
side, a sweet smile lighting his face.  "Come, let us rest for a few
more hours," Glorfindel said, his blue eyes dancing in the gentle
early-morning light.  "I do believe you will need your strength for
when I take you, pen-neth."

The Elf-prince laughed softly and joined Glorfindel, wrapping his arms
around his lover tightly.  "I am ready if you are, melethen."

Glorfindel nuzzled Thranduil's neck, sighing happily.  "In a little
while," he mumbled sleepily.

Thranduil shook his head.  "In a little while I am sure Lord Elrond
and a host from Lothlórien will be waiting outside your door,
demanding your attention."

The Elf-lord wrapped his legs around Thranduil's, successfully pinning
the Prince within his embrace.  "Not even Manwe himself could pull me
from this bed or your arms this day, ernilen."

"We shall see about that," Thranduil said softly, kissing Glorfindel's
golden tresses before slipping into reverie.

*****

Lothvaen stood outside the door to Erestor's office.  The office he
had shared for so long now seemed foreign and imposing.  Lothvaen took
a deep breath and rapped sharply on the door.

A muffled voice called out to him.  "Enter!"

The young Noldo walked into the well-appointed office and looked
around.  He still wasn't used to bypassing the Chief Councilor's study
every morning.  Lothvaen approached the large, heavy, cherry wood 
desk, his eyes focused on the stiff-backed Elf sitting behind the 
imposing piece of furniture.  Lothvaen could not count the number of 
fantasies he had that involved one of them laying across the cool, 
smooth surface, the papers and quills strewn about the floor while 
they made passionate love.

Erestor cleared his throat.  "Lord Lothvaen."

Lothvaen stared into the depths of Erestor's dark, bottomless gaze,
trying to decide how to approach his former employer.  "My Lord, I
desire a word with you."

The Elf-lord put his quill down and sat back in his chair, folding his
hands elegantly in his lap.  "What would you like to discuss, my
Lord?"

"I would like to discuss what happened between us, Erestor."  Lothvaen
dropped the pretense of formality and crossed his arms.  "In your
bathing chamber."

Erestor could feel the color drain from his face.  "I do not know what
there is to speak of, Lothvaen."

"Much, I would think.  I desire you."  The room dropped into silence
and Lothvaen wondered if he had been too forward.  "I have wanted you
from the night I came to your rooms seeking the next volume of text I
was to transcribe."

The Chief Councilor raised one eyebrow.  "Three hundred years?"

Lothvaen nodded.

"That is a very long time, meldir," Erestor replied cautiously, afraid 
of where this conversation was leading.

"Indeed."  Lothvaen stepped closer to the desk.  "I want you to know 
that I did not pleasure you out of some twisted sense of duty."

Erestor shot to his feet, his chair falling to the floor loudly.  "I
do not wish to discuss this, Lothvaen.  I would appreciate it if you
left my office now."  The elder Noldo's voice trembled and he cursed
himself for showing such lack of control.

Lothvaen unconsciously advanced on Erestor, his brow furrowed with
concern.  "My Lord?"

Erestor continued to step back, his fists clenching and unclenching
with anxiety.  "Lothvaen, please," he replied, closing his eyes when
his back came against the solid barrier of his office wall.  "Leave."

The younger Elf quickly came around the desk, reaching out for the
frightened Councilor.  "I do not think I should leave, Erestor.  These 
things need to be said."  When Lothvaen's cool hand touched the 
flushed cheek of his former employer, he registered the shudder 
that shook the dark Elf's body.  "Melin le, Erestor."  Lothvaen's 
voice was barely a whisper as he spoke the words he had withheld for 
so many years.

Erestor's dark eyes flew open and his face contorted with rage.  The
scream that erupted from the Elf-lord's throat tore through Lothvaen,
the raw, primal quality of the sound terrifying him with its
intensity.  "No!"  Erestor brought his hand right hand up and grasped
Lothvaen's wrist in a painfully tight grip.  Erestor coiled his
muscles, and with his right hand, gave a powerful shove to Lothvaen's
chest, releasing the younger Elf's own right hand in the process.  The
force of Erestor's thrust was such that the stunned Noldo flew over 
the desk and landed most of the way across the room from the fuming
Councilor.

The Elf-lord's rage did not ease with the source of his apprehension 
now across the room.  Erestor's heart pounded and he stalked to his 
desk.  He gripped the edge of the massive piece of furniture and flung 
it away from him, sending the contents of his desk flying: ink 
staining the pale carpet, quills fluttering to the floor, and papers 
becoming smeared when the flask of water on his desk shattered.

Erestor flung his robes off in one swift movement, revealing the same
basic tunic and leggings Lothvaen had seen the day Erestor bested
Thranduil on the practice field.  A glint of the late morning light
reflecting off a metal surface brought Lothvaen's wide, terrified eyes
up to the intimidating sight before him.  Erestor had wedged himself
into the corner farthest from his former employee and held in his
hands a long knife.  Lothvaen didn't want to know where the wild Elf
had kept the blade.

Lothvaen jumped to his feet in fear when the door to the office swung
open, banging loudly against the wall.  "Erestor!" the Lord of 
Imladris called from the doorway.  Elrond and Lindir rushed into the
room, both stopping short when faced with the destruction of the room.
Elrond's grey eyes fell on Lothvaen.  "Where is he, Lothvaen?" he
asked, his voice even and calm.

The young Noldo pointed to the corner.  "There."

Elrond saw his dear friend cowering in the corner, his eyes large with
fright and shining with tears.  "Oh, meldir," he whispered.  "I
thought we were over this."  Elrond removed his robes and motioned to
Lindir.  "Close the door, keep everyone away from here.  Do not speak
of this to anyone."  Lindir nodded and left the room, closing the door
quietly behind him.

Lothvaen caught his breath and flexed his arm, wincing when a sharp
pain raced up to his shoulder.  "What in Morgoth's name just happened,
my Lord?"  Lothvaen started to walk toward Elrond but a whimper from
the corner stopped him.

The Peredhel held up his hand.  "Stay there, Lothvaen.  He will kill
you if you come too close to him."  For a moment Lothvaen thought
Elrond wasn't being serious, but the stern expression in his eyes told
Lothvaen all he needed to know.

Elrond slowly made his way to Erestor, avoiding the broken glass and
ink.  "Erestor," said softly.  "Erestor, give me the knife."  Elrond's
heart tightened when the large, lost eyes looked up at him.  "Now,
Erestor."  The trembling Elf dropped the blade to the floor, burying
his face into his arms resting atop his drawn-up knees.  Elrond kicked
the weapon aside and sat down in front of his friend, whispering to
him in Quenya.  Long minutes passed and finally Erestor inched away 
from his position against the wall and slithered into Elrond's open
embrace.

"He has these episodes," Elrond said suddenly to Lothvaen, stroking
Erestor's raven locks.  "I thought they had subsided, but it seems
they have resurfaced."

Lothvaen crept closer to the pair on the floor, but Erestor seemed to
sense his presence and recoiled slightly in Elrond's arms.  "Stay
behind the desk, Lothvaen," Elrond commanded.

"My Lord?"  Lothvaen wrung his hands nervously, watching the huddled
creature that he no longer recognized as Erestor.

"Erestor?  Mellonen?  Come now; let us go to your rooms.  Wouldn't you
feel better there?"  Elrond's tone was as if he were speaking to a
child and Lothvaen's confusion just deepened.  Erestor nodded weakly
and Elrond looked up.  "Please, go to his rooms and wait for us there,
Lothvaen.  We will be up shortly."

Lothvaen did the only thing he could do: he nodded and left the room,
his head spinning with this new facet of Erestor.

*****

Elrond sent Erestor into his room and walked to the room beside his
Councilor's suite.  He knocked on Glorfindel's door and tapped his
foot impatiently.  Hearing stifled laughter and quiet speaking, his
eyebrow lifted in curiosity.  Elrond knocked again, and this time he
heard curses and thumping before the door opened and Glorfindel stood
before him, bed-rumpled and flushed.

"My Lord," the Elda said, bowing his head slightly.

"Glorfindel."  Elrond smiled at the disheveled Seneschal.  "I wondered
if you planned on seeing to your duties this day?"

Glorfindel cleared his throat.  "I mean no disrespect, Elrond, but...
unless there is a Balrog standing in the main courtyard of the Last
Homely House, I will be otherwise engaged for the day."  The blond Elf
flashed his Lord a shining smile.

"Have you seen Prince Thranduil?  He has not come down for breakfast."
Elrond had a pretty good idea where Thranduil was, but he wanted to
see Glorfindel squirm.

The Elda cleared his throat.  "Thranduil?  I am... uncertain... I..."

Elrond chuckled.  "*I* am certain, meldir, that you know exactly where
the wayward Prince is.  Very well, I suppose the two of you have
earned a day of rest."

"Hannon le, mellonen," Glorfindel said, bowing slightly.

Elrond waved him back into his rooms.  "Go, enjoy yourself, meldir."

The door closed and Elrond's mood darkened once more.  Erestor.  The
Half-Elf entered his friend's chambers without knocking and found
Erestor reclining on his bed with his eyes closed.  Lothvaen was
nowhere to be seen.

"Erestor?  Where is Lothvaen?"  Elrond looked around the luxuriant
room, seeking his newest Councilor.  Before Erestor could reply,
though, Lothvaen came into the room bearing a tray of simple cheeses
and tea.  "Ah," Elrond said.  "A lovely idea."

"Elrond," Erestor said weakly.  "I think Lothvaen and I should speak."
The Chief Councilor opened his eyes wearily, blinking in the bright
light of his room.  "Alone."

The Elf-lord nodded and smiled encouragingly at his friend.  "I am but
a room away, meldir."  Elrond walked to Erestor's side, leaning in to
place a loving kiss on the distraught Elf's forehead.

Lothvaen had poured Erestor a cup of the herbal tea and watched the
interaction between the Peredhel and the Elf.  He could sense their
affection, the deep trust Erestor shared with Elrond.  Lothvaen felt a
tug of longing within his breast, wanting to have Erestor trust him as
he did Elrond.  The young Elf hoped he still had the opportunity.
After the outburst Erestor had had that morning, Lothvaen feared his
former employer would never allow him into his heart.

Elrond left quietly, and Lothvaen brought Erestor the steaming cup of
tea.  Erestor looked up into Lothvaen's wine-colored eyes and sighed. 
"Sit, Lothvaen.  If you have decided you love me, then there are 
things you need to know about who I am and the things I have done in 
my long life."  Erestor turned his gaze from the open, expectant face 
of Lothvaen.  "When I am done, then we shall see if you love me 
still."

End Chapter Seven

English/Elvish:
*Maer aur, pen-vuil :  Good morning, beloved
*Melethen : My love
*Ernilen : My Prince
*Pen-neth : Young one
*Melin le : I love you
*Mellonen : My friend

Imladris, Echuir - 1921 of the Second Age

"When I am done, then we shall see if you love me still."  Erestor
rearranged himself on the bed, sipping the warm tea and willing the
tension to leave his body.

Lothvaen swallowed visibly.  "If you are simply telling me these
things due to my affection for you, then there is no reason to
continue.  I will only hear what you have to say if you tell me
because you desire me, as I desire you."  Erestor did not immediately
respond, and as the minutes dragged on, Lothvaen thought he would not
answer at all.

"You know I desire you," Erestor said at last, in a voice barely above 
a whisper.

"Then I would hear what it is you need to tell me."  Lothvaen settled
into the plush chair, drawing his legs up to his chest.  Erestor
mentally chuckled when the younger Noldo wrapped his arms around his
legs.  He looked like a child in his large robes and with his chin 
resting on his knees.

"I was born in Aman," Erestor began simply.  "It is a bright, gleaming
memory that becomes more blurred when I attempt to focus on it.  I
was but a toddler when my Adar brought me with him."  He watched
Lothvaen closely, but saw no glimmer of surprise.  Erestor felt a
slight pounding in his temples and finished his tea, hoping the herbal
infusion would aid his headache.  "You knew I was from Aman."

Lothvaen cleared his throat.  "I sought assistance from Lord Elrond.
He spoke of your origins.  He told me you were born in Aman, were the
son of Amras, and that you dwelled with Celegorm and Curufin for some 
time.  You were sent to Maedhros to dwell with him until you left with 
Gil-galad for the Isle of Balar."

"But he did not tell you why I was sent to live with Maedhros?"
Erestor's whole countenance exuded unease.

The younger Elf shook his head.  "Nay, he said it was your story to
tell, not his."

"So it is," was the stiff reply.  Erestor looked down at his hands.
"Yes, I traveled with my Ata'da, Adar and his brothers.  I was but
eighteen years of age when we set foot in Mithrim, but my hands were
already covered in the blood of my kin."

Lothvaen's eyes darkened in the silence of the room.  He allowed the
words to sink in and realized their implication.  "Kin... slayer?"

The Chief Councilor looked up with unfathomable eyes and said flatly,
"My first kill was a Teler not much older than myself at the time.
Ata'da had left those who had rebelled with us behind; Celebrimbor and
I were terrified of those we had loved all our lives.  We were also
ashamed of ourselves."  Erestor stretched out his legs and pulled the
folded coverlet over his lap.  "You know of Fëanor's death; of the
siege we attempted on Angband and of Maedhros' captivity.  All these
things had little impact on my life then; I went where I was told and 
did as I was bid.  When Adar and his siblings were given East 
Beleriand as their own, they split up.  Amrod and Ada were weary of
bloodshed, though, and sought the refuge of the green woods.  They did
not feel that I was old enough to be sundered from the rest of my 
family and other Elves.  Amrod suggested they send me to Curufin; he 
was raising Celebrimbor on his own, after all.

"I was forty when I rode into Curufin's lands.  My uncles welcomed me
with open arms and my cousin was pleased to have one of his own age
close by.  And the arrangement worked to my benefit as my uncles were
eager to train me in warfare."  Erestor chuckled ruefully.  "It seems
I excelled at the subject.  Months went by and the hurt I felt at my
Adar's decision to send me to my relatives had lessened.  I was happy.  
But, my uncles had begun to change.  I was ten years away from my 
majority and I had begun to drawn attention from other Elves..."
Erestor shifted uncomfortably.  "It started small, you see.  At first,
I didn't know anything had really changed.  Curufin and Celegorm would
playfully smack my buttocks as I walked by or embrace me a little
longer than they should have.  Slowly, the swats became intentional,
lingering touches."

Lothvaen's eyes widened as he took in the meaning of Erestor's words.
His mind refused to accept the course that Erestor's childhood was 
suddenly taking.

"You must understand, Lothvaen.  I never told them to stop.  I never
once spoke against the actions of my uncles.  The veiled touches
intensified when Caranthir came for an extended visit with his
brothers."  Erestor wrapped his arms around his waist and closed his
eyes, trembling with memory.  "He was the first to lay a hand on me in
lust.  I will not go into the details of the encounter since it is not
important.  What is important is that he brought me to orgasm with his
hand and then expected me to do the same."  The Councilor opened his
eyes and took in the shocked expression on his former employee's face.
"And I did as I was bid."

"You were but a child, my Lord!" Lothvaen cried out, feeling anger for
his friend.

Erestor shook his head.  "I knew it was wrong, but I did not stop
him."

Lothvaen bit back his response, knowing that the guilt and
self-loathing were long ingrained in the Councilor and nothing he said
would alter the elder Noldo's perception.

"It was Celegorm who took the next step.  Only a month later, they
grew bored with the new game.  I was passing through the main hall
when Celegorm pressed me against the wall, kneeling before me to
pleasure me with his mouth."  Erestor's eyes met Lothvaen's.  "When he
was done, he looked up expectantly at me."

The younger Elf's face lost all its color.  What Erestor had described
was what had happened between them in the bathing chamber, though
Lothvaen would not have pressured Erestor to perform the act simply
because it was done to him.  Lothvaen opened his mouth to protest that
his intent had not been to manipulate the Councilor so he had to
pleasure him, but the raven-haired Noldo had averted his eyes again
and continued his tale.

"An extended visit," Erestor said, sarcasm dripping from his words.
"Caranthir was still in residence when I celebrated my forty-third
year.  They felt they were being generous in not expecting me to
reciprocate the sexual favors they bestowed.  My body was a traitor.
No matter how many times I told myself I would no longer allow the
brothers to slake themselves with me, my body always betrayed me."
Erestor changed his position, sitting cross-legged and wringing his
hands.

"I went to bed early that night.  After all, I was exhausted.  I'd 
only just fallen into reverie when my bedroom door opened."

~~~~~~~~~~

Erestor's eyes came into focus and he jumped back, startled.  His
uncle was crouching next to his bed, smiling hungrily at him.

"Pen-neth," Celegorm whispered.  "I think it's time you learned a new
game."

The Elfling shook his head and crept backwards in the bed until his
slender back came up against the cool wood of the headboard.

"Melin le, Erestor...  Do I not have your love as well?"

Erestor nodded.  Of course he loved his uncles; they had taken care of
him.  If it hadn't been for them, he would have had nowhere to go.
And he adored his cousin and if he didn't do as he was told, they
might send him away from the only home he had ever truly known.

"Lie down, pen-dithen."  Celegorm's voice was low and sultry, but
Erestor could do nothing but shake as he slid down on his bed sheets.
"Maer."  Celegorm's eyes hungrily raked over Erestor's lithe frame,
still developing the muscle tone that he and his brothers had long ago
acquired.  The elder Noldo reached out, undid the tie at the waist
of Erestor's sleeping trousers, and slid the silk down the slender
hips.

"Bainwain.  Now, lift your legs.  Aye, hêndir vaer."

Erestor knew his face had to be glowing red with his humiliation, 
being presented in such a way.  His body continued to tremble, 
uncertain what his uncle would do.

"Be still, pen-neth," his uncle warned, and Erestor nodded, biting his
lip in apprehension.

Celegorm opened a small phial and dipped the length of one thick
finger into the liquid.  Erestor's body tensed when he felt the cold,
slick digit touch his rear.  "Tôr-en-adan!" he said, his voice
quivering with fear.

Celegorm continued to stroke the Elfling's rear passage.  "Hush,
Erestor.  You know I am doing this because I love you."  Celegorm
smiled sweetly at the frightened figure.

Love.  If he loved his uncle he would permit this.  His uncle loved
him and this was how he expressed that love.  It was just one more
game in many -- he could be good and still and quiet.  When the finger
slid into his untried body, Erestor let out a keening wail of pain and
clamped his legs closed.

"No!  Tôr-en-adan, no!"  Erestor squirmed up the bed, tears flowing
freely.  "No," he whimpered pathetically.  Celegorm grabbed Erestor's
thighs and pried them apart.

"Be still, pen-neth.  I do not wish to hurt you, but you will leave me
no choice if you do not stop this struggling."  Erestor let out a loud
sob and stared at the ceiling.  Celegorm brushed his cheek.  "Melin
le.  Uireb."

Celegorm returned to his task, sliding his finger back into the
pulsing, tight passage and groaning with need above his nephew.
Erestor held his breath, willing himself to be brave and strong; his
uncle loved him.  When Celegorm added a second finger, not waiting for
the little body to relax any, Erestor could be still no longer.

"Tôr-en-adan, please..." he cried, trying to move away from the
painful intrusion.  When Celegorm began to move his fingers within
him, Erestor let out a scream of fright and pain, calling out for 
someone, anyone, to save him.

"Hush, hêndir, or this will become infinitely more difficult for you."
When Erestor still would not stop his shrieking, Celegorm raised his
hand to strike the violently shaking Elfling beneath him.

Suddenly, Celegorm found his hand pierced through with a small dagger.
He let out a loud cry, pulled away from his nephew, and looked to
the door.  There stood his wide-eyed brothers, looking on the scene
with obvious shock.

"Celegorm," Caranthir said, his tone low and deadly.  "Leave this
room."

The third son of Fëanor stood, holding his impaled hand close to his
chest.  He glared at his brothers and then turned his angry, hungry
eyes on the sobbing heap half-naked on the bed.  Caranthir slammed the
door closed after his elder brother and watched his younger brother
ease himself onto the bed, attempting to pull the child into his lap.

"No!" Erestor screamed, lashing out with his legs and fists.  Curufin
had the struggling Elfling quickly immobilized and whispered gentle
words, lulling Erestor into a troubled half-sleep.

"He cannot remain here, melethron," whispered Caranthir.  "If he
stays, Celegorm will despoil him."

Curufin looked up, his eyes shining with guilt.  "Have we not already
sullied him with our desires?"

Caranthir sat behind his brother, holding him close as Curufin rocked
their nephew in his arms.  "Celegorm will take him and leave nothing
of our vibrant child, Curufin.  Erestor must go.  So should 
Celebrimbor.  Your son may return once our brother has departed, but
Erestor should not."

"Amras should have never trusted us with his child, melethen."
Curufin kissed Erestor's furrowed brow and sighed.  "They will leave
tomorrow."

~~~~~~~~~

Lothvaen wiped tears from his eyes.  "May I sit with you, my Lord?" he
asked quietly.

Erestor raised a tear-stained face and barely nodded.

The younger Noldo unfolded himself from the chair, removing his formal
robe as he made his way to the bed.  Once he was comfortably attired
in his undershirt and leggings, he motioned for Erestor to stand.  
When the Councilor looked at him warily, Lothvaen smiled mildly.  "All 
I wish to do is hang your robes up, meldir.  Nothing more."

Erestor chided himself and stood.  Lothvaen was not Celegorm... he was
not Caranthir or Curufin.  He allowed Lothvaen to remove his robes and
watched his former employee dutifully hang them in the wardrobe.
Erestor sat back down on the mattress, moving closer to the center of
the massive bed and making room for Lothvaen.  When they were both
comfortably seated, Erestor hung his head, hiding his face behind the
curtain of his hair.  "I was sent with Celebrimbor to Maedhros.
Maglor was there, visiting his brother, and they welcomed us.  Curufin
had sent a messenger ahead of us, announcing our arrival, but my uncle
had not told his brothers the reason he was sending us to foster with
him for an undefined length of time.

"When Maedhros attempted to hug me, though, I fell to the floor and 
hugged myself close... I was crying uncontrollably.  Maglor tried to 
calm me, telling Maedhros to find a Healer, but I was inconsolable.  
Maedhros made Celebrimbor tell him the reason for our trip to him and 
he raged about his brothers for days.  I feared he was angry with me, 
but after those first days, I knew I was safe.  Maedhros and Maglor 
were the most kind-hearted of all the brothers.  But for the Oath of 
Fëanor, they would have been truly great."  Erestor jumped when 
Lothvaen reached out to take his hand.  The contact was comforting, 
though, and Erestor smiled shyly and relaxed.  "Life went on for many 
years after that.  I learned diplomacy with Maedhros and tactics with 
Maglor.  I thrived under their care and I loved them without remorse 
or guilt.  I was almost to my fifth century when I rode out with my 
uncles to defend Beleriand."

"The Siege of Angband."  Lothvaen's voice held a note of awe and
Erestor chuckled.

"Aye.  Maglor finally joined us permanently in Himring while Caranthir
fled to my Adar's lands.  Eventually, I was faced with my uncles when
we all fought in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.  We escaped that battle
without serious injury, but we were forced to flee to the East.
Maedhros took as many as he could, but our numbers were diminished and
our hearts were heavy.  I was forced to wander with my uncles.  I
could always feel Celegorm's eyes upon me.  He was never allowed a
moment alone with me, though I doubt he could have had his way with me
at that point.  I had passed five hundred years and I was a battle-
hardened warrior.  He would have died had he laid a finger upon me in
lust."  Erestor's voice had taken on a cold and hard edge, his grip on
Lothvaen's hand increasing in pressure.

"We wandered for over thirty years, learning the ways of the Wood
Elves in the dense areas of Ered Lindon.  My Adar rarely spoke to me.
I barely knew the wild, fey creatures the twins had become while
living with the feral Elves in the wood realms.  But, they were called
by their cursed oath and I followed my uncles to Menegroth and fought
my kin once more.  Caranthir, Curufin and Celegorm fell then.  I
cannot say I mourned their deaths, but I mourned the loss of so many
Elven lights..." Erestor's words trailed off and a tear fell from his
eye.  When he spoke again, his voice thick with remorse.

"Almost three decades later, in Sirion, I found myself again in the
same position.  We descended upon them in droves."  Erestor turned
shining eyes to his companion.  "This was no battle -- it was a
slaughter.  I watched as women and children were cut down before my
eyes.  I just... could not do it anymore.  Elwing ran even while her
children were captured.  Seeing the shattered look in her eyes as she
fled, I knew I could take up arms against my kin no more.  That was
when I made a decision that has haunted me for millennia."

~~~~~~~~~

"What are you doing?!"  Amras stood tall, his eyes wild with a rage
Erestor could not understand.

"I will do this no more!"  Erestor stood before a small group of
Elves, protecting them from his father.

Amras advanced on his son.  "You will turn aside, Erestor!"

Erestor gripped his sword with both his hands, panting with the
exertion of fighting.  "I.  Will.  Not."

"You are my son and will do as I say!"  Amras lifted his sword to
strike at Erestor.

"I stopped being your son the day you left me with your brothers.  And
when I send you to Mandos, you can ask them why."  Silence rang in
Erestor's ears as he lunged forward, his blade slicing through his
father's stomach in a single, unhesitating motion.  When Amras fell to 
his knees, looking up with confusion and pain, Erestor pulled his 
bloody sword from his father's body.  The light left Amras' eyes and 
Erestor turned back to defending his charges, unwilling to let harm 
come to the people of Sirion.

~~~~~~~~~

"I hoped that I had washed away some of the death on my hands by
cleansing them in the blood of my father."  Erestor's shoulders
slumped and he let out a long breath.  "I helped Maglor raise Elrond
and Elros.  I had to repent somehow.  Elrond and I have always been
close.  He knows all of me.  I loved Elros as well, but he was so
different from Elrond...  The rest, you know.  My life has been 
relatively uneventful since.  I served Gil-galad; now I serve Elrond."
Erestor lifted his head and tucked his hair behind his ear.  "So you 
see why it is I cannot love you and why you should not love me."

Lothvaen turned his head sharply and stared disbelievingly at Erestor.
"It is too late for 'should's and 'should not's.  I love you, and that
is not going to change."  To emphasis his point, Lothvaen squeezed
Erestor's hand gently.

Erestor snatched his hand away and turned to face Lothvaen.  "How?" he
demanded.  "How can you say such a thing knowing the acts I have
committed?"

"That was many years ago, meleth.  I did not know the Erestor you
speak of, but the Erestor I do know I love deeply."  Lothvaen pushed
his frustration down, knowing how badly Erestor needed patience and
understanding now.

Erestor just looked at the younger Elf, unconvinced of Lothvaen's
sincerity.  He was speechless for the first time in many years, not
knowing how to respond to such a statement.

Lothvaen chuckled.  "Did you think I would love you any less for the
things you have done or had done to you?  In fact, Erestor, I love you
more knowing how much you have survived.  You are an amazing Elf.
Never think differently."  The young Councilor lifted his hand to
brush Erestor's cold cheek reassuringly.

The Chief Councilor stopped himself from flinching at the touch,
forcing himself to remain still.

"Lesser Elves have grieved themselves to Mandos from half of what you
have endured.  But, you have a strength and, if I may say," Lothvaen
smiled, "A certain stubbornness that has allowed you to go on.  How is
that unworthy of love?"  He slowly stroked Erestor's cheek with his
thumb and moved closer to the silent Elf.

Erestor shifted his position, putting more space between himself and
Lothvaen.  "You are a romantic and you misunderstand.  I remain here
out of fear that I will be forced to share my Ata'da's fate."

Lothvaen shook his head.  "I think that's what you have told yourself,
and you might even believe it.  But the truth is, you always found
something here that needed doing.  Elrond and Elros needed to be
raised, Gil-galad needed to be advised and Imladris needed to be
founded.  That's all over now.  It's time you took care of yourself
instead of everyone else, my Lord."

Tears formed in Erestor eyes and his voice cracked when he spoke.
"It's... hard."

"Yes, it's hard."  Lothvaen moved close once more