Title: The Moon and the Night Sky 1/1, sequel to Heart and Body Author: Implacida (Implacida@hotmail.com) Pairing(s):Rumil / Melpomaen Rating: NC17 Summary: Rumil’s last night in Imladris, and there is something he needs to know. Disclaimer: Tolkien’s characters are his, mine are mine. No profit made or copyright infringement intended. Warning: Sex Rumil could not sleep. He lay in his usual position, snuggled against Haldir’s left side. On Haldir’s right lay Orophin, his long arm thrown over both his brothers and his hand resting on Rumil’s belly. Rumil gently eased the hand away and sat up. Light from the full moon shone into the room, on their last night in the house of Lord Elrond of Imladris. Rumil wrapped his arms around his knees and looked lovingly down at the fair faces of his brothers: tall Orophin with his classic, almost harsh Sindarin features, and beautiful, broken Haldir, who never laughed any more. He gazed at them, letting the mellow feel of his love for them warm his heart, wondering whether he should not just stay here, where he belonged, instead of doing the thing he wanted to do. They would not expect him to stay just for them. And after tonight, well, after tonight he would never have the chance again. But had he been right, or had he imagined it? He thought back to the morning when he and Orophin lay in the sun after having tried to teach the boy Elladan to walk a rope. He thought of all the times he had seen Melpomaen. Melpomaen, who always seemed to be staring at him. Elrond’s secretary was tall and pale with hair that shone like black silk, and the stuffiest little soul Rumil had ever met. That prissy, pretty face, with its high cheekbones, tightly-pursed mouth and large, dark eyes had been a challenge to Rumil and he had delighted in trying to provoke Melpomaen at every opportunity. And he had succeeded. Rumil smiled, thinking of the dark elf’s perpetually horrified expression… Except for that last time. Was he right or had he imagined it? When he threw himself over Orophin’s prone form and kissed him as lasciviously as he could, in that first moment before Melpomaen’s eyes widened in horror, had they not melted in lust? In desire? Ah, was he right, or had he imagined it? Rumil looked out into the still night. This would tease him for ever. And he could not sleep. He stood and silently pulled on leggings and a shirt and stepped over the balcony that separated sleeping room from garden. It would cost nothing but an hour’s sleep to find out, and if he was wrong, then he had his answer and he would be able to sleep. But if he was right… if he was right, this night would change his life. His and one other’s. The last stragglers were leaving the great hall, after an evening of singing and story-telling. Melpomaen never lingered to the last. Rumil went to Elrond’s library, giving silent thanks to Haldir, without whom he would not have known its location. Libraries were not a place to find Rumil of Lorien, oh no, but they were a place to find a tall, beautiful and disapproving secretary. Rumil paused in the doorway, watching the light from the candles flicker as Melpomaen collected and put away various volumes and scrolls. As the other straightened the objects on a table, Rumil stepped behind him. “You work late,” he murmured. The secretary yelped and dropped the thing he had been holding, bumping the table as he spun around. Rumil’s hand flashed out and caught the little, glittering object before it hit the stone tile. He straightened his knees and faced the flustered elf, smiling gently into his wide, horrified eyes. Rumil held out his hand and Melpomaen, gasping for breath, looked down at the crystal ink bottle in it. Rumil held it a little higher, offering it and Melpomaen snatched it, setting it back on the table. “A good thing I had just stoppered it,” he hissed. “What do you mean by doing that?” Rumil raised an eyebrow. “What did I do?” “You, you sneaked up, you made me, oh!” Melpomaen turned away, too flustered to go on. He bumped into the table again and tried to step away from it but Rumil moved closer, hemming him in. “It is too late to be working,” said Rumil softly. “Look out, look into the garden. See, the moon is full.” He held Melpomaen’s dark eyes with his as he spoke slowly, seductively. Unwillingly, the other’s eyes flickered out to the garden and back, then out into the night again. “This is my last night in Imladris, Melpomaen, and I could not sleep.” The dark elf looked properly at Rumil, eyes widening as he noted the bed-tousled, unbraided hair, the open shirt and the bare feet. He sighed, a tiny sound that brought joy to Rumil’s heart. “I wanted to enjoy the beauty of the gardens one last time,” he murmured, so quietly that the taller elf leaned down a little to hear him. Then he realised what he was doing and pulled back sharply. “So why are you in here bothering me? Go out into the garden, by all means— “ He flapped a hand toward the steps leading out and gasped as Rumil caught it. Melpomaen tried to pull it away but was held in a grip like a statue’s. Rumil smiled again. “Alone? Will you not come with me for a few moments?” Melpomaen tried to tug his hand away, looking surprised at the strength of the slight figure standing close, too close, to him. “Why me?” “I have never seen you outside. Yet I wondered if you had a favourite place, among the trees, under the light of the moon. Will you walk with me? Under the trees, in the light of the moon…” The last words were barely audible, a hypnotic whisper, and again, Melpomaen leaned forward to hear them. Rumil had stopped smiling now, his lips stayed parted after he spoke, his own clear blue eyes holding Melpomaen’s. The Imladris elf stared down at him, this tiny, mischievous figure who had flickered, laughing, about the halls and walkways of his home for the last few months, always in the company of one or both of his daunting brothers, always looking at Melpomaen, watching him while he did one outrageous thing after another, watching to see how he would react. Melpomaen had lived a long and tranquil life in the house of Lord Elrond and had never known anything like Rumil of Lorien. Rumil was like a sprite, wicked and provoking, always laughing… except now. Melpomaen looked down at the fair elf’s beautiful face, as pretty as any maiden’s. He stared into the blue eyes, half-raising a hand to brush away wisps of silver hair. He suddenly realised Rumil was still holding his other hand. “Will you walk with me?” Rumil breathed. “Under the trees, in the light of the moon…” Melpomaen bent a little to catch those soft words, then looked up to the branches outside, to the silver moon just seen through them. It was beautiful, and he rarely noticed. To walk there… he sighed. “Yes,” he replied. Rumil did not smile, as he thought he would, only nodded, and Melpomaen saw a look of gratitude about those blue eyes. That softened his frown more than anything else the other could have done. Rumil really did not want to go out there alone. Why ever not? But even as he wondered, the elf of Lorien had led him up the stairs and out onto the stone flags and under the great arch. Rumil still held his hand and Melpomaen let his fingers rest limply, afraid to move them, in case… in case what? In case Rumil let go? Or clasped him more tightly? What am I doing? cried a little voice inside. Nothing, he replied to himself, just walking, under the trees, in the moonlight. He looked about. “It really is lovely at night. And so different.” As he spoke, Melpomaen was surprised to see Rumil look up at him with a gentle, happy smile, so unlike the usual wicked, watchful eyes. Almost despite himself, he smiled back and this time Rumil’s grip on his hand did shift, to a more comfortable one. They continued on a little way. “Where are we going?” Melpomaen asked. “To your favourite place, I thought.” “I, I do not really have one. I rarely come out here. And certainly not at night.” “Ah, well, in that case, we can go to my favourite place. Please?” Melpomaen nodded, bemused by the note of pleading. He had come this far. A little further would not matter. And it really was a beautiful night. They were climbing a hillside now, and he looked down, watching where he put his feet. Then he found his eyes drawn to Rumil’s feet, seeing the tendons flex under the white skin. High arches showed as his long toes curled to grip the grass. His own feet were sensibly shod in good leather shoes. “Why do you go barefoot?” he asked suddenly. “I enjoy it, the night is warm, the grass feels, oh, wonderful…” he paused, swirling one foot in it, letting the long fronds stroke his sole. Melpomaen swallowed. “I never… not since I was a child…” Rumil raised an eyebrow. “Take off your shoes,” he whispered Melpomaen stared at him. Rumil grinned and stroked his foot over the long grass again. Melpomaen bent and slid off first one shoe, then another. Rumil glanced down, and looked aghast. “What—Is something wrong with your feet?” “What? No, of course not. Have you never seen socks before?” “Socks? What in the world are they?” Melpomaen peeled off both and handed one to Rumil, who shook it, staring fascinated as it flopped limply from side to side. “What is it?” he asked. “A sock. Come, have you really never seen one?” “Never. What is the point?” “They stop your feet chafing in your shoes. And they keep them warm.” “Huh.” Rumil handed it back. “What you need is a proper pair of boots instead of those things. They don’t chafe and they keep your feet warm.” “I cannot believe you have never seen a sock. Barbaric wood elf.” Melpomaen lifted one foot and stirred the soft, long grass with it. “Decadent town elf. Isn’t that better?” “It is pleasant. What if I step on something sharp?” “Then I will carry you back.” They had let go their hands when Melpomaen took off his shoes. Now he put them both in one hand and held out the other without even thinking, and Rumil took it again. They continued up the hill, soon reaching the crest. “This is your favourite place?” Melpomaen put down his shoes. “Of what I have seen while I have been here. The river is also pleasant, but it is a way off.” “The Bruinen? There are others closer. Why did you like this place?” Melpomaen was suddenly wondering again what he was doing here, and kept talking, afraid of what might happen in the silence. For answer, Rumil clasped his shoulder and turned him around and he could see the lights of the Last Homely House twinkling below, its arches and balconies and roofs gleaming under the light of the moon. “In the day, the valley is full of rainbows. Come up here some time. After I am gone.” Melpomaen felt a little pang at those words and did not know why. “Why were you afraid to come out here alone?” “Afraid? Not I! Why did you think that?” “Why, then, did you ask me to come with you?” “Not because I was afraid. Because I wanted to be with you.” Melpomaen gaped like a fish and Rumil smiled up at him. “Me? Be with me? Why ever?” “Because you fascinate me.” “I? Do I? Why?” “Because you seem so disapproving and so easy to shock. Yet you are so beautiful.” “B-b-beautiful?” And Melpomaen had an even bigger shock when Rumil stood on tip-toe and kissed him. The hillside seemed to spin about him and his lips tingled as if a single strand of hair had been stroked against them. He stared down at the smaller elf, seeing his eyes gleaming dark in the moonlight, looking up at him almost… could it be… adoringly? He let go of the breath he had been holding and reached a shaking hand to touch Rumil’s face. “Why did you do that?” he whispered. Rumil rubbed his cheek against Melpomaen’s fingertips. “Why are you doing this?” Melpomaen snatched back his hand but Rumil was faster and caught it, brushing his lips against the palm. Melpomaen trembled to realise that he was at last touching the face whose beauty had captivated him since he had first seen it. His breathing quickened as he traced a fingertip along the arch of one delicate brow, then touched it to the curve of the high cheekbone. Rumil’s eyes rolled up and his lashes fluttered. He swayed and Melpomaen grasped both his shoulders, steadying him. Instead, somehow, they seemed to end up in each other’s arms, Rumil’s going around his waist and holding him tightly. He rubbed his own cheek against the soft, silver hair, then Rumil turned his face upwards and parted his lips and Melpomaen could only dip down to meet them with his own. They brushed their lips against each other’s, then Rumil opened his mouth and clamped it hungrily over Melpomaen’s, and the tall elf felt a tongue against his teeth. Instinctively, he parted them and the tongue touched his, slid over it, reached the roof of his mouth and he shuddered at the sensations that touch sent down his spine. He tried to play the same trick and Rumil leaned back in his arms, the better to let him reach the deepness of his delicious mouth. Where had this wicked armful learned all these things, he wondered? Finally, they had to pull apart for air, and stood, panting, still clutching each other tightly. “What are we doing?” Melpomaen’s voice shook. Rumil tilted his face up. He was shorter than Melpomaen by several inches, the top of his head reaching the other’s nose. He smiled happily. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’m where I’ve wanted to be since the first time I saw you.” He clasped his arms tighter. “Why did you have to look so scornfully at me for so long? We could have done this months ago!” Melpomaen tried to pull away, but was held firmly by the Lorien elf’s deceptive strength. “Let me go,” he muttered. “This is, I should not, oh!” Rumil pulled his head down again and Melpomaen melted helplessly into the kiss. He ran his fingers through Rumil’s unbraided hair, feeling it slide softly over the backs of his hands, suddenly longing to feel that same softness touch other parts of his body. No, this was wrong! He pulled away. “Let me go!” Rumil did so and they stood a little apart, watching each other warily. Melpomaen’s head spun with confused thoughts: shame, desire, fear of what Rumil would want next. The Lorien elf was at once the most beautiful creature he had ever seen and the most frightening. What had he done, letting himself be dragged up here? Did he really want to be here? He thought longingly of the quiet library. No! he had tidied that room, alone, every night for the past four hundred years! Suddenly, he never wanted to see it again. “Melpomaen.” The soft voice made him look up. Rumil was watching him, head to one side, but with no trace of the usual defiance from their many encounters about the halls of the house. Instead, he looked curious. “Is something wrong? Do you not want me after all?” Melpomaen caught the note of insecurity. “Why did you do this, why did you bring me here? This is wrong. Or do you do this all the time?” he sneered. Rumil looked hurt and it cut to his heart. “Wait, I didn’t mean, I mean, why me, why now? What do you want?” Rumil sighed and looked down. Then he raised his head again, staring into Melpomaen’s eyes. “I want you. And I think—I know, you want me. One moment you kiss me like one starved, the next, you stand there saying, ‘Why me, what do you want?’” Melpomaen turned away, looking down at the house that had been his home and occupation all his life. Now he stood outside it, on a hilltop with this strange, beautiful creature, who had led him barefoot into the night… He had a thousand years, but this night he felt like a child. “I don’t know what I want,” he said softly. “You are like something from another world, you have broken my peace. My life here will never be the same, even if we go back down there now and do not speak or see each other again.” “Would you open the jar and not taste the honey? We have come this far… but go back, if you want.” Rumil’s voice sounded different. He looked back, then down to see the Lorien elf sitting cross-legged on the grass, his face in his hands, long hair a silver veil over his shoulders and head. He looked small and dejected. Melpomaen wrung his hands. I don’t know what I want, he cried out in his heart. No, he was lying to himself. What he wanted was to take Rumil in his arms, then, then, what? “I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “Rumil, I have never… I have never been with anyone. What do you want? I… I am afraid, Rumil.” He had said it. He took a deep breath as Rumil slowly looked up, fearing to see scorn or laughter in those wide eyes. Instead, he saw the glitter of unshed tears. “Do you want me? I am nobody, a soldier, son of a soldier. You stand beside great lords, you’re probably the son of one. Perhaps I was stupid to talk to you this night, after all.” “What has my father to do with it?” Melpomaen reached down and took Rumil’s hands, pulling him to his feet. “What do I want?” he gazed at the small, fair elf. “I want to do this.” He wrapped his arms around Rumil, feeling the other’s hands trembling against the small of his back. “I want to kiss you.” He bent down to brush his lips against Rumil’s. “But I don’t know what else.” Rumil laughed, stepping back as tears shone on the face he turned up to the moon. “Do what you like.” He spread his arms, tossing back his hair, smiling as a tear glinted on his cheek. “Look at me, I am your toy, do whatever you want with me.” He stood still, eyes closed, arms out with his palms raised. Melpomaen’s breath caught at this shining, silver sprite, this beauty offered to him. “And what if I break my toys?” “Nay, ‘twas I did that. I’d warrant you would always put them away carefully in their boxes.” Now Melpomaen laughed. He stepped close, raising a hand to touch Rumil’s face. The younger elf did not move. Melpomaen drew him close, kissing away his tears, kissing his cheeks, his lips, tilting back his head to nuzzle his neck. His fingers found the top of Rumil’s open shirt and pulled at the lacing. The fair elf’s white throat was exposed before him and he licked at it. Rumil drew his hands in to rest them on Melpomaen’s hips. Melpomaen stroked his fingers over the hollow of Rumil’s throat, feeling the pulse flutter there under the smooth, soft skin. He longed to take his fingers lower, to caress his chest. I am your toy, do whatever you want with me. He opened the shirt, pushing it wide, sliding it over Rumil’s shoulders, running his hands down strong arms. Rumil tensed slightly, gripping him harder and Melpomaen drew him closer, pressing his own hands tightly over the other’s bare back. He stopped for a moment, giddy at the thought of what he was doing, touching another this way, feeling Rumil’s warm breath against his neck, feeling his heart beating. He passed his hands over smooth skin, then realised he wanted to feel Rumil’s hands on him, the same way. No, that would mean—no! Melpomaen stepped back a little, confused, seeing Rumil stand passively with his shirt pushed down his arms, to his elbows. White skin gleamed in the moonlight as the Lorien elf gazed trustingly up at him. The dark elf bit his lip and reached out to push the cloth further down. Rumil obediently moved his arms, and Melpomaen pulled the garment away, holding it and staring at it. Rumil took it and dropped it onto the grass. Then he stood still again. Fascinated, Melpomaen touched his shoulders and slid his hands down over the other’s chest, feeling firm muscles under the soft skin. Daringly, he stroked his thumbs over Rumil’s nipples, glancing up to see the younger elf’s tongue flicker over his lip in response. He bent to kiss him again and Rumil raised his hands to lay them against the front of Melpomaen’s green velvet surcoat. Slowly he unfastened the silver buttons and eased the heavy garment back, letting it fall to the ground. Now he raised his hands to the dark elf’s head, reaching up and behind him, finding and unclasping the bronze clip that held his hair. Melpomaen sighed as the silky mass slid down over his ears, and Rumil combed his fingers through it. “You are as beautiful as the sky at night,” he breathed. “I never saw such glorious hair as yours.” He stood on his toes to reach around Melpomaen’s neck, letting the soft, cool hair slide over his arms. Perforce, the taller elf bent a little, clasping Rumil’s waist, feeling the tautness of muscle as the other stretched up. His fingers found the drawstring of his loose leggings and stopped. I am your toy, do whatever you want with me. Melpomaen was filled with a desire to see all of Rumil’s body, to have this magical sprite stand naked before him, no matter what it cost. He would pay any price the other asked in return for that, he knew it, for he could hold the picture in his heart forever. He felt for the knotted cord and untied it, pulling open the garment and pushing it down in a quick, resolute moment, before he had time to fear. Rumil stepped away, letting it slide down and stepping out of the puddled cloth. Again, he stood still, arms at his sides, then slowly raised his eyes to Melpomaen’s and the tall elf saw uncertainty in them, fear. “You are as beautiful as the moon at night,” he sighed. “You are silver in his light.” He stood still, gazing at the glory revealed to him. And as he looked, Melpomaen knew his world had changed, for ever. Slowly, he raised his hands to his belt and unfastened it, letting it fall. His grey, woollen tabard fell loose and Rumil stepped closer. “May I?” Melpomaen looked at Rumil, who had spoken so hesitantly. I am about to let another undress me, he thought, and a thrill of fear ran along his spine. He nodded. Rumil took the tabard and stretched to lift it over his head. Melpomaen’s arms went around his waist as he reached up and pulled him close, pressing the length of his bare body tightly against himself. Rumil cast aside the garment and turned his face up to receive the tall elf’s eager kiss, shivering at the hands against his back, tightening his arms around Melpomaen’s neck. The dark elf could feel the warmth of Rumil’s body through his shirt and leggings, could feel the hot pulse of the hardness pressing against his thigh, became dizzy and breathless as the kiss went on and on. Finally, he pulled his head away, still clasping the other tightly, and Rumil smiled, drawing his arms down so he could open the little buttons on the front of Melpomaen’s shirt. “So many clothes! I have peeled onions with fewer layers than you.” “And you, little imp, with so few. Do you not feel the cold?” “I do usually wear more than that,” replied Rumil seriously. He laughed as his fingers encountered a vest inside the opened shirt. “What is this? Another sock? For your whole body?” Melpomaen pushed him away and pulled off shirt and vest, quickly before he could stop to think about what he was doing. Rumil reached for him, gently running hands up his arms to his shoulders, then stroking them down his chest and flat, firm belly. He clasped Melpomaen’s waist and bent a little to suckle one nipple. Melpomaen gasped and threw his head back as the sensation filled him with heat. Rumil licked his way across to the other nipple and this time Melpomaen pulled their bodies tightly together, grinding his hips into the smaller elf. Rumil felt the hardness inside the leggings and eased them down over it. Then he sighed as he found the loincloth and pulled that loose as well. Melpomaen was barely aware of it, all he could feel was pulsing heat inside himself, and Rumil’s bare skin against him, against all of him, and he knew that he had to have more. Rumil pulled him down onto the ground and they fell together to roll over the soft grass, mouths locked, hands clasping, stroking, legs twining around each other’s. Melpomaen’s world was now touch and fire, pulse and ache, a longing that would kill him if not fulfilled, and the seed of it all this quicksilver pixie whose slippery body slid over his, whose hands and tongue coaxed him to throb and burn. He arched his back and cried out as fingers touched where none ever had, thrusting into that tight, hard fist and spilling himself in waves of ecstasy. Melpomaen gasped for air as the stars spun over his dizzy head, closing his eyes against their terrible beauty and letting himself be filled only by the heat and scent and taste of his lover. Finally, he lay back in the crushed grass, smelling the fresh perfume of it. Rumil snuggled beside his limp body, still caressing him gently, murmuring soothing words lost in the pounding of his own pulse. Panting, he drew the little elf close, the most precious thing in the world to him now. He felt Rumil’s cock still hard and insistent, poking his thigh and smiled with delight. Melpomaen raised himself on one elbow and pushed the other down, spreading his hair to lie like silver on the dark grass. He laughed, eagerly kissing the fair face, nuzzling his throat, letting his own black hair spill over them both. “I can see the stars reflected in your eyes,” he whispered. “Little fiend, what have you done to me?” he slid his hand down, finding Rumil’s hip and belly and the hot hard shaft lying flat along it. “Now it is my turn.” Rumil’s eyes widened and were as dark as night, languid with desire. His lips parted in a soft moan as Melpomaen stroked him, clutching at the other and pushing into him. Melpomaen smiled at the sight. “You are my toy,” he breathed, and kissed the open mouth, pushing his tongue deep, feeling Rumil writhe under him. “I can do what I like with you.” He clenched his hand and Rumil whimpered, rolling his hips, wet, hot juice slicking Melpomaen’s fingers, clutching at him desperately. Melpomaen let go, pushing him back and raising himself higher to look at his toy, to enjoy the sight that he would treasure in his heart forever. Rumil shone like the moon himself, gleaming with sweat and the glistening syrup of Melpomaen’s seed. His hands clenched helplessly in the long grass and he moaned, thrusting, his swollen cock desperate for release. Melpomaen touched the instep of Rumil’s foot, running his fingers along the curve of his bent leg, feeling the elf twitch as he stroked the delicate skin behind his knee. Along the inside of his thigh, marvelling at the buttery smoothness of it, higher, oh! he breathed deep. My toy, to do what I want with. Delicately, he touched the soft hairs on Rumil’s body, tracing a finger over them, gazing in fascination at the gleaming shaft, licking his lips as he felt the smoothness of it. Milky drops formed on the tip and he touched a finger to them, stroking them over the swollen phallus, feeling himself grow hard again at the sight. Rumil’s head arched back and he mewed like a trapped animal. “Touch me,” he begged. Melpomaen melted to see this untamed creature at his mercy, wanted to see him come, wanted to feel his pleasure. Rumil’s hand reached for him and gripped him, making him gasp, and he thrust, squeezing with the same rhythm, bending over to kiss him again. Their bodies pressed tightly, they smothered each other’s soft moans with their mouths as they reached their climax together. Melpomaen clasped Rumil tightly to him, feeling the younger elf’s arms go around his neck to cradle his head. He rocked gently from side to side as the fair head lay on his shoulder. After a little while, Rumil sat up and played with Melpomaen’s hair. “I so longed for this,” he said softly, letting the dark silken mass pour over his hand. “But I dared not hope… you were so severe. And you are more beautiful than I could imagine. Do you like me, Melpomaen? Really?” “Like you?” the other laughed and also sat up, kissing Rumil’s brow, smoothing his hair. “You are the most provoking, wicked, indecent elf I have ever met. To think I might be down there, tidying the library…” he shuddered. “Why do you so delight in mischief, Rumil?” “Is this mischief? Do you think this is only another prank?” “Is it not? Why did you seek me out? Tomorrow—no, today, you go back to Lorien. You might have left me in peace.” He bit his lip. “You regret this. I—” Rumil looked away, turned away. Melpomaen seized his arm, pulling him back. “No! No, Rumil, oh, by all I hold dear—and that has been little enough ere this—but you have turned my world upside down. And you are about to leave. And you will leave me as one drowning, and go carefree to your next conquest.” “I have no other conquest,” said Rumil coldly. He pulled loose his arm and stood up. “What do you think I am?” Melpomaen scrambled up as well, catching him as he looked for his clothes. “I don’t know what you are!” he wailed. “Rumil, please, I don’t know what to do. What do you do after you have just done—everything we have done?” “You might do more of it.” Rumil bit his words off. “You might touch the other and tell him you like him. Or you might just go and never—“ “No! But you’re going to go—“ “I asked you if you liked me. You never—“ “Rumil! Rumil… I—do you? Like me?” “I loved you since the first time I saw you. But don’t let that worry you, I will go home and leave you in peace with your books.” He bent and picked up a garment. Melpomaen snatched it and threw it away. He gripped the fair elf’s shoulders. “Rumil? You—what?” “Let me go, you heard me. Don’t let it—” “Be quiet! Just give me a moment to think!” Melpomaen shook him. “But you’re going away.” “I have to.” “Even if you love me?” “Why not? There’d be no point staying here, you don’t care—“ “Why do you keep saying that? I never said I didn’t care!” “You never said a thing! I asked you, twice now. You never said a thing.” Rumil’s voice broke into a sob and he tried again to pull away. “I don’t know! How can I love another like myself?” “Never mind how! What do you want? You can do what you want! I do! Never mind what you think, never mind what you should. Look under all the layers—even when you’re naked there are still layers to you! How can you not know your own heart?” Melpomaen looked down at the tear-streaked face. “I have never looked. Nothing and no-one has ever touched me as you have. And I don’t just mean what we’ve done. Rumil… help me, please, give me time…” He took a deep breath. “Listen to me. You ask what I know of my heart. This, I know: I am breaking at the thought of your going away. You would leave me as one sundered, adrift. This, I know: you are the most beautiful elf I have ever seen. And this: you are the most provoking, maddening creature that ever walked in Arda. You make me want to slap you, and you make me want to hold you in my arms forever, all at the same time. So tell me, what is that? Is that love?” “Forever? Are you sure?” Rumil whispered, so quietly Melpomaen had to bend to hear him. “Yes. I’m sure. That, at least, I know.” He was still holding Rumil’s shoulders. Now he bent down, raising the other’s face with one hand and kissed him. Rumil lifted one trembling hand to touch Melpomaen’s face. He smiled, eyes still brimming. “Then I am happy. Oh, I am happy!” He wrapped both arms around Melpomaen’s neck, clinging to him. And Melpomaen’s fears fell away in the burning certainty that he had found his truth at last. They lay on the soft grass, in each other’s arms, rolled together in the lengths of the green velvet surcoat and talked. Then Rumil grew tired of talking and taught Melpomaen another use for mouth and tongue, which adventure tired them both so much they slept a while. By the time the sky began to lighten they were exhausted and both a little sore in places. “Ow! Ah,” gasped Rumil dramatically, “I have pulled muscles I did not know I had.” “I have found entire parts of my body I did not know I had.” “Just don’t forget them after I go. Then again, I think I would prefer it if you did forget them. At least, until we next meet.” “And when might that be, Rumil of Lorien?” “I know not, Melpomaen of Imladris.” Rumil sighed. “But I have been thinking…” “Really? You, too, are discovering parts you did not know you had, then?” “And just what is that supposed to mean?” “Oh, nothing, nothing.” Melpomaen pulled him close and smothered him with kisses. Rumil let himself be kissed, forgetting what he had been saying, until Melpomaen pulled back and prompted him. “So, what were you thinking?” “Did I say I had been thinking?” “No, I heard the creak of un-oiled hinges from within,” said Melpomaen, tapping his fair head. “If you’re going to be insulting I shan’t tell—ai! Stop it! Stop it!” “Tell me and I’ll stop.” “All right! All right! You know the weekly messengers between Lorien and Imladris.” “You will write to me?” “Write? Me? What are you thinking? But I could ask to be put on escort duty with the messengers.” “So you would be back and forth every six days?” “With two nights’ stop over.” “But you would spend your life on the road. For me?” “Why not? At least until we decide what we want to do. But I don’t think I can transfer at once, I have been gone too long.” “Or you could come back and stay.” “Or you could come to Lorien.” “Perhaps we should write while we think it over.” “Mm. Here, I want to do something else while you think it over.” “What? Oh! Ohh…” Rumil swayed on his horse, jolting awake at the last minute, and straightening up before he fell. He yawned, then snapped his mouth shut as he heard Orophin laugh. His brothers had their heads together, but they said nothing to him and that night, they shared the watch between them, not calling on him to take his turn. Even the Lady Galadriel seemed to be giving him knowing smiles. Fortunately, the journey home was uneventful for the roads were busy at this time of year and orcs and other undesirables did not attack when there was always the chance of a large group of travellers nearby. They met one such group when they were little more than a day away and the Lady found an old friend among them, slowing down to talk to her. Orophin made eyes at the friend’s pretty daughters and Rumil followed suit out of habit, and lest his brother think he was pining. Finally, Galadriel took pity on poor Haldir’s glum face and let him ride ahead, and Rumil and Orophin passed the rest of the journey flirting with the two elven maids. And then they were home, into the cool air under the trees of Lorien. And Rumil, who had so longed to be home, was restless and unhappy, although he tried valiantly to hide it. Surrounded by pretty, chattering girls, all he could see was a pale, serious face with long black hair. All he could hear was a quiet voice with a learned accent whispering in his ear, making him shiver. All he could feel was the memory of a touch under the night sky, from one whose beauty eclipsed it. The only person who noticed was Haldir. Orophin was completely caught up with some tall, fair maiden he was pursuing. But Haldir caught his anguished eye at the Summer Fair the day Iruviel and Melcarial and Inariel’s two daughters and Calaglin and—he knew not who else—but they were all together, laughing and joking when all he wanted was peace and quiet and Melpomaen’s soft touch… and Haldir tactfully took him away on some pretext and Rumil could have hugged him. Did hug him, later, in their room. But he would not tell his brother why he was unhappy. What if Melpomaen simply forgot him? Went back to the habits of a thousand years, remembering his one night of passion as a brief aberration, to be ticked and filed away under “Youthful Folly”, the emptiest section in the library that was his orderly mind? Rumil sighed through the days and tossed in his bed at night. Haldir was gone to his lover, leaving Orophin and Rumil to share the talan of their youth, and Orophin was little enough there, for that matter, distracted as he was by his new-found sweetheart. “Rumil?” He jumped, startled. Haldir stood at the edge of the talan, one hand on the sliding wicker screen. “Haldir, ah, I didn’t hear you, come in.” Rumil scrambled to his feet and straightened his tunic. “You never hear me.” Haldir smiled. “If you were not better at hearing orcs, I’d advise you not to be a guardian.” He opened his arms as Rumil stepped close to him, folding his little brother in them and kissing his brow. Then he looked around. “Where’s Orophin?” “Oh, gone off with her, what’s her name, the tall one.” “Selenindel.” “Yes. He’s usually off somewhere with her these days, I think they’re going to announce their betrothal soon.” “Yes. I did think it might come to that soon. Oh, Orophin, baby brother. The only one of the three of us to do the right thing, hm?” They shared a smile. “And you, Rumil? You sit here alone?” Haldir drew him back to the bench he had been sprawling on, straightened the cushions and sat beside him. “Well…” Rumil looked away and shrugged. “Have you and Iruviel had another argument?” “No, we don’t… she goes out with Calaglin now, since we were so long in Imladris.” “Oh, Rumil, I’m sorry.” “Haldir, no, really, we were only ever just friends anyway.” Haldir put an arm around his shoulder. “It’s my fault we were gone so long.” “Don’t say that. I enjoyed it there, I’m glad we went, I, I—“ and Rumil burst into tears. Haldir picked him up and held him in his lap, arms tightly around him until Rumil had cried himself out. He stroked Rumil’s hair and rocked him gently, biting his own lip to stop himself from weeping at the sight of his little brother’s heartbreak. Finally Rumil could do nothing more than hiccough, face buried against Haldir’s shoulder, and in a muffled voice, told him of his last night in Imladris. “… and I couldn’t stay there and he wouldn’t come with me… and I never, never thought I would do that, but I couldn’t just chase him— well, I did at first, but when I talked to him in the library, I couldn’t any more, he was too, I don’t know, it was too serious, it wasn’t like being with the girls or with Dimoril. All I could do was say something and hope he’d follow. All I could do was give myself to him and hope he’d want me. And I thought he did, and I’ve never, ever done that with anyone else, Haldir.” Rumil started sobbing again and Haldir rubbed his back and fought the prickle of tears in his own eyes. To think that his beloved brother could be so hurt, could feel so rejected, made him clench his fists and want to have serious words with tall, pale Melpomaen of Imladris. “Oh, Rumil, come, brother, stop crying now, stop it now.” Rumil’s sobs quietened to sniffles but he kept holding tight to his brother. “This is why you’ve asked to leave the guardians, then? And become a messenger?” “Mm, we, we talked about it, and, and, I thought I’d get to see him. But what if he doesn’t want me?” “Rumil, dear, you don’t know. It’s been, what, three weeks? Perhaps he misses you as much as you miss him?” He’d better. “Do you think so?” “I don’t know. But you should not assume he’s forgotten you. You could write to him.” “I’ve tried! I can’t think what to say! Haldir, I was never good with words. And he is but he hasn’t written to me.” “Oh, Rumil, things like this are never easy, are they? But you’d go to him?” “I don’t know, now. What if he didn’t want me?” “You’ll only find out if you talk to him. And you can go with the next messenger, two days from now. That’s why I came, Anaximor said to tell you you can transfer if you want, even though he’d rather keep you as a guardian.” “Oh, Haldir, I don’t know what I want to do any more!” “Rumil, brother… well, for now, I’ll not let you stay alone here. Come, come and have dinner with me and Celeborn, and you can stay the night in my room if you want.” “I, yes, that would be... but I can’t just intrude on you two.” “Oh, Rumil. You’ll come with me, how could you intrude? But it might be a bit later than usual. Lord Elrond finally sent his reply to Celeborn’s plan for the roads; that’s why I thought to come and see you because I knew he’d be working late.” When Rumil had washed his face and gathered some clean clothes, the two brothers made their way slowly up the steps to the higher levels. As their path curved around a broad trunk, they could hear a group descending, laughing and chattering, and made way for them. “Haldir! Rumil!” Orophin let go of Selenindel’s arm to hug his two brothers. “We’re going boating, to watch the fireflies on the riverbank. What are you doing? Do you want to come?” “There’ll be five boats, we’re meeting up with others and staying to have a picnic,” added Selenindel. Haldir and Rumil looked at each other. “Rumil, if you want to…” “No, I think I’m too tired. Enjoy yourselves, though.” “I might not come home—I mean, ah, we’ll be late, so I’ll just go straight to the garrison.” Orophin blushed and Selenindel looked down at her feet, smiling. “Um, yes, of course.” “Well, we’ll see you, um, later, then.” They walked on as the others disappeared downward. “You were right, Rumil. Betrothal any day now.” “Imagine having Arcirithon as your father in law. It must be true love.” They both laughed and linked arms as they continued up. The Lord of Lorien’s talan was brightly lit and several voices could be heard from behind the wicker wall. “Oh, dear, he is working late,” murmured Haldir. “Should we just go and wait in your room? Or we could go up and watch the stars for a while. That might be nice,” said Rumil wistfully, thinking of the last time he had lain awake, watching the stars. Haldir paused for a moment then squeezed Rumil’s arm. “Before anything else, I think I shall see if my lord needs rescuing from his over- zealous secretaries. He has sometimes been grateful for an interruption.” With an innocent look on his face and a firm grip on his reluctant brother’s arm, he walked around the screen. Several elves looked up from their seats around the large table, littered as usual with papers and maps. “Ah, forgive me, my lord. But you had mentioned we were to dine together? Shall we return later?” Lord Celeborn stood. “Oh dear, is it that late?” He looked around at the others. “Will you join us for dinner?” Lord Arcirithon stood and gathered some parchments and his two scribes followed his lead. “Thank you, sire, but I have made other arrangements. We will resume tomorrow morning?” “Tomorrow afternoon, I think, Arcirithon. I wish you a good evening then.” With them gone, one other still stood at the table. This elf was staring wide-eyed at Rumil. Haldir felt his brother shaking. “Master Melpomaen, you have only arrived this day from Imladris, surely you have no other arrangements? Will you join us?” Rumil nodded slightly. “Ah, of course, my lord, I would be honoured.” “Good. Have you met my foster sons?” “Ah, yes, when they were recently visiting Lord Elrond.” “Good. I suggest we meet in, oh, half an hour? Shall we eat under the stars this night? It is such a fine evening.” “I will arrange it,” said Haldir. “Rumil, perhaps you might like to show Master Melpomaen to the guest’s talan? And then guide him to the top level?” The fair elf nodded and the dark one silently followed him out. Haldir turned to find himself seized by his lord and smothered in kisses. “Thank you for that most timely interruption.” “Mm.” “Now tell me, why were those two gaping at each other like fishes?” “Oh, ‘tis a long story.” “We have half an hour. Though ‘twill take longer. If you keep doing that.” “I really don’t think they will mind.” Melpomaen followed Rumil around a curving walk. He took a deep breath, lengthened his stride and reached out his hand. Rumil looked at it, then at its owner’s nervous face. “You came? Because of me?” “This is the first time I have ever left Imladris. Of course because of you. I would not have done it for any other—“ Rumil threw himself into his arms, laughing and crying at once. “You came, you came, oh, how I’ve missed you!” “Rumil, I swear you have ruined me for my old life forever. I tried to write to you, do you know how many times? I have made a life of parchment and quills and I could not find the words to write to one wicked brat who had almost broken my heart. Oh, Rumil, and I have learned another thing.” “What?” “Rumil, I hate to travel. I swear I will never sit on a horse again. Do you want me, Rumil? Because I fear you may be forced to keep me regardless.” “Yes. Yes, I’ll keep you. Love, I’ll keep you forever.” Melpomaen was holding Rumil tightly around the waist, the smaller elf’s feet dangling in the air. He leaned back against the trunk of the mallorn and Rumil wrapped his arms around his neck. They touched the tips of their noses, smiling, then their lips met. Silver hair and black brushed together as they kissed, their first shallow touch deepening as their hunger for each other overwhelmed them. “No, stop, I need to breathe.” “Breathe later.” “Mm. How far is it to this, this talan?” “Oh, not far.” “Come, then, you’re making me dizzy, Rumil, and this path is none too wide.” “Path? ‘Tis a very road, you decadent town elf.” “If I fall off it you’ll be sorry, barbaric wood elf.” “Come, in here, then.” Melpomaen looked around. “This is lovely, look, the way the branches curve around—is that a bed? Oh, my. Rumil, leave my belt alone. Rumil, there isn’t time.” “There’s time, Melpomaen, Haldir will see to that. Don’t worry, I’ll explain later, my love. Come here, let me—Melpomaen. That is such a mouthful. Would you mind if I called you Mel?” “What? No-one has ever called me anything but my whole name. Would you mind if I called you ‘Mil?” “Not at all. You can call me anything you like. As long as you love me. And as long as you take off all these damned clothes!” It was over an hour later that they finally made their way to the top talan. As they reached the top of the stairs, Rumil coughed and they emerged under the stars to find a table set and the Lord of Lorien leaning back against a curved branch. Rumil’s brother, Haldir, stood a little way away from him. “Ah, my Lord, I’m sorry we’re so late,” said Melpomaen. He shot a dark look at Rumil, who grinned back unrepentantly. Celeborn caught the look and smiled. He pushed himself away from the branch. “Rumil, your careful warning was not necessary. We have this moment arrived ourselves, Master Melpomaen.” He stepped closer to Haldir and wrapped his arms around the fair elf, nuzzling his ear. “And as you are joining our family, there are some things you ought to know…” This story forms part of a longer sequence, including more sequels to “Heart and Body” which can be found at: http://www.geocities.com/implacida/ 1