The Line Of The Peredhel for Silmsmutweek 2025 by LadySternchen  

“Do we really do this? Elu, do we truly dare?”

It is bitterly cold in the forest clearing, and right now, even Melian’s magic cannot hold off the icy sleep of Yavanna, all her strength bound in the meaning of the moment. She shivers, longing for her clothes she has just shrugged off. Elu does not answer, but only reaches out to brush his fingers over her shoulder, before bending down to kiss the same spot. Goosebumps erupt all over Melian that have nothing to do with the cold, and everything with his warm breath on her skin and the impossible gentleness of his touch. That, and the fact that he stands before her just as bare, shivering just like her, his silver hair gleaming in the starlight. She longs to bury her fingers in it, to pull him close, to feel the lean muscles play under his skin as they become one. Lovemaking is nothing new to her anymore.

And yet, this is new. New, and dangerous.

Melian pushes Elu away a little, so she can cup his face in her hands, and look him in the eyes. She needs him to give his answer with all his senses, she needs not only to hear him, but see him, smell him, feel him and taste him.

“I need you to answer,” she whispers, her voice denying her service. “I need to know you understand…”

Unlike her, who is shivering with the weight of too many sensations, and worse, too many feelings, Elu seems at ease. He is too used to being cold for it to bother him, his body, made of the fabric of Arda, designed to withstand such hardships. And he is not fazed by Melian’s fear, either, his gaze warm with love for her, and overflowing happiness for what they are about to do.

She needs to voice it nonetheless.

“You understand that I am no Elf, that this has never been done, that… that our child, should we indeed achieve what we set our minds to, will bear in part the spirit of an Ainu, that…”

“… that they will be more powerful than I am, and that it might well be that siring that child will demand too much of my strength? Yes, I understand it, and I will not shy away from it. Have faith, beloved.” He finishes her sentence for her, then takes her hand and leads her to the stream. “Come, if you will it.”

There is nothing that Melian wants more. Save for her husband living to raise their child with her. He laughs, stepping close to her once again and clasping his hands over her cheeks, which must leave her looking very stupid.

“Melian! Stop thinking this over. I will not die begetting this child, and if I do nonetheless, then I will be remembered in all Arda as having died the stupidest death an Elf can die.”

“It is not funny!”

This time, Melian’s shivers stem from her building anger. Will he ever take this seriously? Will this… this boy ever understand what he is doing? That he consented to pour his Fëa into a being with a spirit so vast that he cannot even fathom it?

“Yes, it is. It’s hilarious.”

Mischief plays on Elu’s face that so rarely surfaces these days, buried under the burden and dignity of kingship, but still never fails to enchant Melian anew. This is the Elf she fell in love with. With a motion too swift for him to evade, she moves around him, slapping his backside with a resounding smack.

“Ai!”

“This is because you are an insufferable, irresponsible, childish fool!”

Then, with equal swiftness, she spins him around and pulls him close, her lips finding his, to kiss him deeply. She can feel him grin, but his kiss is resolute and steadfast, making the last of her doubts melt away. If he is so sure of the rightfulness of this breach of all boundaries known within Arda, then she is, too.

“And this is for being my insufferable, irresponsible, childish fool,” she gasps, once they break apart.

“Come,” he says gently, again pulling her towards the stream.

Melian has dreaded this, the ritual bath Elves took before begetting a child, an ancient ritual she knows has no benefits at all, but still she adheres to it. Elu does not flinch as he steps into the ice-cold water, though Melian can see every muscle in his body contort. She decides that as a Maia, she can afford not to put on a brave face, and she gasps when he pulls her into the water with him.

“Do you remember,” he asks quietly, holding her steady against the current once they are submerged to above their hips, “the little lake we swam after we left Nan Elmoth? How we danced afterwards? Of how the moss was our wedding bed?”

“Yes,” is all Melian can bring herself to say, overcome with emotion rather than the cold.

She will carry this memory into all eternity, and cherish it with all her heart. The day they first sealed their union, the day they became husband and wife.

“You were so insecure that you could not even bring yourself to name your own body parts, let alone give a name to what we were doing. And I had no idea, either,” she chuckles, once she has composed herself a little. “Only that it felt wonderful.”

They wade in ever deeper, until Elu’s numb feet slip on a rock, and he stumbles, and pulls Melian under with him. For a moment, there is nothing but water. Water, and darkness, and him. Then they emerge, gasping and panting, and laughing.

“Are we clean enough now?” she asks, teeth chattering.

The first time they joined their bodies, they did so alone in the woods, soft moss making their bed, Melian’s nightingales singing overhead, covered by Elu’s mantle. It is the same now. No one disturbs them, no one even knows where they have disappeared to, and Elu’s grey mantle covers them well. Desire soon drives the cold away, droplets of water being replaced by their sweat. It is wonderful, feeling him within her, hearing his small moaning gasps as her warmth engulfs him, but it is not until they reach the height of their arousal together that Melian understands what they mean by pouring their souls into the new being that will come out of their union, that will carry a part of both its parents not only physically, but spiritually. It is a dance, really, a dance at the peak of desire, overwhelming even to her.

Their rebellion. Elu, who for all his love for the Valar and striving to please them still remained in Beleriand. She, who married an Elf, lived as an Elf, doing as none of her kin had ever done before.

Their beauty. Not only that of their bodies, his fine features and starry, light-grey eyes, not only her jet-black curls and enchanting voice, but their love, a love so strong and true that nothing would ever overcome it. Her pity for the world, her will to heal all hurts, to make everyone well. His fierce loyalty, his trusting in the good, his refusal to let go of those he loved. And their joined song, their music that echoed through them at all times.

Their hope. Above all, their childish, stubborn hope.

Elu is unconscious before he has spilled the last of his seed in her, before Melian is wholly back in the here and now following her climax. She holds his limp form tight, feels his heart racing through both their bones and skins and muscles. But she is not afraid, fears for him no more. She will let him sleep, give his body and mind the chance to regain what strength he has left, while she lets her Elvish body, her body, do its work.

She lies still, and listens to their joined themes, audible only to her, a distant echo of the Great Music, but no less potent. For how long she lies unmoving, she does not know, only that long before Elu first stirs, a new melody has joined theirs, small and tentative yet richer than Melian has ever heard.

Their daughter.

She does not yet know that Lúthien will be born in almost the exact spot she was begotten, nor that Melian and Elu will be alone, that their child will be born into his hands. She knows nothing of the pain she will feel giving birth, her labour so different to that of Elves, and nothing of the flowers that will blossom from the earth to greet their daughter. That the fruit of their union will bring Spring to Arda. She knows not that Elu’s jesting before he pulled her into the water has been the last she saw of his mischievous side for many ages. That it was not his life, but all the carelessness of childhood that he poured into Lúthien. She knows not that motherhood will cloud her sight even more than binding herself in a body has done, foresees nothing of the devastating heartbreak that lies ahead. But she knows that they have done right by the Music. 

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“Catch me, then!”

Very dimly, through the veils left by the wine and celebration and general exhilaration following Sauron’s defeat and his wedding, Aragorn wonders whether he has been somehow transported back to his childhood, and is racing his foster brothers through the woods surrounding Rivendell, rather than… no. No, he will not think that thought further, and recall that his newly wedded bride is not only his cousin several times removed (briefly, he wonders whether Eärendil and Elwing ever played chase on the beaches of long-lost Beleriand. Surely they would never have thought that on a summer’s day in the far distant future, their descendants would also chase each other, joining the long sundered lines of their twin sons?), but his foster sister also. But she was never there, during the years of his childhood, not like Elladan and Elrohir, who tend to forget that they are grown-up, dignified Elf-lords, rather than mischievous children, whenever they are together.

“And you are different… how?”

Aragorn startles, almost tripping over a root. He is not yet used to that particular part of their marriage bond, that Arwen can now talk to him in his head. Until they were wed, Aragorn thought that only Elves can talk like this, but apparently, it is not so. Only whether it is the fact that he is married to an Elf, or because he himself is of Elven heritage, he has no idea.

She is not entirely wrong, either, his queen. Playing chase on the first evening they have off on their tour around their newly founded kingdom is… well probably not very kingly. But who in the name of Ulmo’s shell-covered balls cares?

“Aahhhh!”

For a split second, Aragorn notes that his scream sounds like that of a little girl. Then he hits the ground hard, his midriff folding painfully over a fallen tree.

“Estel!”

Arwen is back with him in the blink of an eye, and kneels beside him as he turns onto his back, still winded. It hurts, but he finds he does not care much. Not when Arwen’s face is swimming above him.

“I’m drunk, I think.”

“Clearly,” she states dryly, picking a twig out of his hair. “But you outdo yourself today, husband. For not even the drunkest of drunken rangers would ever have made such noise, nor tripped over their own feet.”

“Ah, but then I am no more ranger… ouch!”

A sharp pain shoots through his body as he chuckles, reminding him of his injury. This has the potential of becoming very embarrassing.

“Let me check,” Arwen offers, her voice gentler now without the note of jesting.

He allows her to nestle his tunic open and push up the linen shirt he is wearing underneath. Her fingers are pleasantly cool, and Aragorn closes his eyes to her touch, savouring the moment.

“You are lucky,” Arwen states, just as Aragorn feels himself dozing off on the sun-warmed forest floor.

“Nothing bad, then?”

He’s sorry, almost. Lying here and being tended to by his wife sounds quite nice.

“Of course it’s nothing bad. You would have had to be distinctly unlucky to sustain any substantial injury while tripping. No, you are lucky because the bruise will not show, unless you feel the urge to undress to take part in some sporting event or others.”

“Mmmm, sporting event of what sort?” he asks with a blatantly suggestive grin.

“Ai Valar, you really are drunk. You should hear yourself talking. I suppose, though,” she mused, moving her hand slowly over his bared torso down to his belt “…that I am already halfway there undressing you? Would the High King Elessar be partial to the next round of our competition?”

“Only if my Queen will let me have my win this time,” he chuckles, pushing himself up to kiss Arwen tenderly.

She responds with enthusiasm, and the moment is all at once, Arwen is all at once. The woman he loves with every last strand of his heart, his revered Queen, wiser and more beautiful than any other being within their realm, and his comrade in crime. His musings and surroundings fade to nothingness as he rids her of the first layer of her gown and  kisses her neck, breathes in her scent, feels his body respond to her soft ministrations. Life surely cannot get any better.

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She slinks her fingers under his blanket, cold against his skin. Even without opening his eyes, he knows that she has just come inside, the scent of fallen leaves and the autumn breeze lingering in her hair.

“Since when does the Lord of Rivendell sleep naked?” she breathes into his ear, stroking his hair out of his face “And in the afternoon?”

“Does my lady have objections?” he asks, turning around with a smile.

“None at all, if you will share your blanket with me”

The question why she was outside dressed in nothing but her cloak, he leaves unasked.

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Elwing surfaces with a gasp, shaking seawater out of her eyes. The pole is only a few strides off, and she lunges forward, touching it for the third time. Only two more rounds to go. Pushing against the pole, she propels herself back into the water, diving under again to avoid the waves, only coming back up when she needs air. Or when her curiosity gets the better of her, and she pauses to watch how the others are doing. Círdan insists on this training, so he can make sure that they can flee to the sea in the case of an attack, even if he cannot reach them with his ships in time.

A little to her left, Eärendil swims up to her, and Elwing quickly tries to remember if he is one round ahead of her or not. She hopes he isn’t. Beating Eärendil is not quite like beating anyone else. He grins at her when they are level, and Elwing grins back, prepared to ask him which round he is on, when something grabs her from below and whirls her around. She tries to scream and ends up inhaling a mouthful of saltwater, before she realises that it is her betrothed who is apparently attempting to drown her. Coughing and retching, however, she has little choice but to let herself be swept off course, and towards the rocks that mark the midpoint between the pole and the beach. In the midst of the four rocks, the water is calm and shallow, the ground sandy. It is one of Elwing’s preferred hideouts, that hardly anyone else dares approach because the currents around the rocks are quite tricky, and being caught by one of them off-guard will quickly result in a bruised and scratched shoulder or a throbbing lump on one’s head.

Eärendil, having been taught by Elwing, knows how to evade them, however, and swims easily around the rocks, dragging her along. She is still angry with him, but impressed nonetheless at his strength.

“What is wrong with you?” she asks furiously, once her feet stand on solid ground.

“I saw a pretty fish and thought I’d catch it,” he replies with a smirk, then his features soften. “I wanted to be alone with you. There has been so much going on…”

“Círdan is watching us,” Elwing urges, trying to get back into the deep water.

“No, he is not. Círdan is on board Eärrámë with my father, fixing some issue with the foresail. He asked Pengolodh to oversee training instead, but the last time I saw him, he was fast asleep.”

Elwing can feel a grin starting to split her face.

“Is that so?”

She leans over to Eärendil and kisses him. Down in the water, she can feel his cock strain against her thigh. What would happen, she wonders, if they were to seal their bond now, alone, without any ceremony? But then she thinks of her people, traumatised and homeless, and the hope they see in her. Of Tuor and Idril, who busy themselves even now with the preparation for the wedding. No. She will not forego that. She will abide by Elvish law. Elvish law for their very Menish desire.

Eärendil has by now abandoned her lips and moves his kisses along her jawline until he reaches her ear, nibbling it. With a slight moan, she opens her legs a little so that his thigh fits between hers. The rhythm of the waves becomes their own, rocking them against each other. It would feel so right, to wrap her legs around his hips and let him take her, cradled by the ocean. But they must not. Not yet.

“Promise me that we will return here after our wedding and do this properly,” she pants in his ear.

“With the greatest pleasure, beloved,” he whispers back. “But we’re doing this properly just now. Just… differently.”

It is no empty promise, either, for his fingers are skilled, and Elwing closes her eyes and leans against Eärendil, savouring his ministrations. She has longed for this for days, and all too soon, she feels her orgasm build and then crash over her. She does not want this over, wants him, wants more.

“I want you in me, Eärendil. Now.” she moans.

Her crotch is still throbbing with the aftershocks of her climax, and she wants nothing more than to have his cock inside her, to ride it out on him.

“Soon, my love. Soon,” he promises, his hands now in her hair.

Elwing runs her fingers over his sides, then down to his cock, drawing a deep, rumbling moan from his chest, but she doesn’t stop there. If she is denied what she so wants, then she will not let him have his pleasure the easy way, either. Also, if she is right, this will be worth it.

“What are you doing?” Eärendil pants as Elwing moves her hand over his hip and down between his buttocks.

“Do you trust me?”

There is no hesitation in his blue eyes as he nods.

“I do. But what are you… Valar!”

He shrinks away from her as she pushes a finger inside him, and upon consideration, the water must make the friction very nearly unbearable. But he is a tough man, her Eärendil, he’ll manage.

“You never listen to people around you, do you? Well, I do. Trust me. Just try to relax.”

Having grown up amongst what remained of the marchwardens of Doriath, she has picked things up, whispered words in the dark, sly jokes not fit for her ears. For years, she has wondered how much truth there is to the rumour that men enjoy having stuff shoved up their arses, and now, it is her time to find out.

Does it make her a bad person, she wonders, to enjoy this so much? To see him pull himself halfway up a rock, clawing at everything he can reach. Were it not for his cock that betrays his desire, she would truly think him in pain.

She finds his spot before long, and watches with huge satisfaction as his body relaxes, as he starts rocking his hips.

“Elwing… oh, Elwing” he moans, reaching for her free hand and squeezing it, just as he comes, the strings of his seed drawing white lines in the water.

Elwing draws back her fingers as gently as she can, and catches her soon-to-be husband as he lets himself slide back into the water.

The kiss that follows tells her that not only did Eärendil deem the experience worth the discomfort, but also that they are not yet ready to swim back to shore. She giggles, and wraps her arms around more tightly, ready for a second round. 

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“What ails thee, o King?”

Dior starts, drawing himself up a little straighter, before his befuddled brain realises that it is his own wife who has spoken, and who now regards him with a wry smile. He has no answer to give her, no words to express what he is feeling, a fear too vast, a grief too deep for words. Yet she deserves an answer, for though she has disguised her question as jesting, he still knows for her concern behind it.

“Everything?” he tries.

No lies there. All this feels terrifying. When he visited Menegroth before, the caves always sang, and the Elves very happy, and all was bright. Now the caves feel dark, as though the very stone is still mourning. Dior feels like an intruder on that grief, his coronation a violation. Before his minds eye, the Thousand Caves transform into a great curled up beast, hiding its head beneath a scaly wing, wanting to be left alone, to nurse its hurts in silence.

“I feel like a child playing pretend.”

Now that he has voiced it, Dior realises that this is probably the worst part of it. For the longest time, he has treasured the memories of his childhood visits to Doriath. The running through the endless aisles of Menegroth. The strolls through the woods with his grandmother, listening to her telling him of herbs used for healing, and teaching him to listen to the Music of Arda in every stone, every tree. To sing songs of enchantment. The playing pretend, wrapped in the King’s mantle, sitting on his grandfather’s throne. His legs did not reach the floor then, and oh, they all laughed about it.

It is this memory that comes back to haunt him now more than anything else. Now that he really is King, the throne feels cold and alien. Will he ever cease to feel like an impostor? Will he ever manage to think of the King of Doriath as himself?

Nimloth glides over to him, sitting down on his lap. She does a much better job at being Queen. Maybe it because nothing and no-one can ever rival Melian, and so the pressure of comparison does not fall on her. Maybe it is because to her, taking the crown is an privilege, a way to honour Melian, not a constant thorn in her flesh.

“Well for the moment, we are children playing pretend. How could we not be? We both sat on Elu’s knee as he held court, both begged Melian to braid flowers into out hair so that we would not need to wear circlets. But we will grow out of it. And Dior, no-one cares, I promise. We have been received with nothing but love and reverence, and every offer to help I can think of. They even follow my commands. Do you know how odd this is, having guards who shooed me away from the storage rooms bowing to me?”

“What were you doing in the storage rooms?” Dior asks, amused.

Nimloth huffs.

“What do you think I did? See if there was anything tasty to be found. Oh, that reminds me, we will have to keep an eye out for the boys. Once they are done being intimidated by Menegroth itself, they will certainly find a way to steal food as well.”

Dior even manages a small smile at her remark. Yes. That does sound familiar, and not only regarding his sons.

“That’s it,” Nimloth says softly, leaning closer to kiss his cheek “There’s the smile I’ve been waiting for.

“I miss them so much. And I miss Ossiriand, too, and my parents. And I cannot stop thinking that surely, the old age of Mortals must soon come for Adar, and he will wither away and die, and Naneth, too. If only I could have remained with them for the years that are yet given to them.”

“I miss them too,” Nimloth says, leaning her head against his “All of them. But I know how proud they are of you. You may not feel it, but you look like a King alright. The crown fits you well, it is time you accepted that fact, and relaxed a little bit.”

Dior closes his eyes, willing himself to believe her words to be true.

Her fingers are playing with his hair now, a sensation that sends shivers down his spine, but the good kind, a relief from all the tension he is feeling at the moment. Then he feels her breath at his ear, and her lips brush his neck. If he did not know better, he would say that she is trying to seduce him. Next moment, he knows that she is trying to seduce him. Her other hand has found a way into his robes, he feels her cool skin against his chest and his cock’s reaction to it. But they cannot possibly…

“Nimloth…” he pants, gently pushing her away “We can’t. Not… here.”

Does she have to look so beautiful when she laughs? It does not help his situation.

“Why not? We are alone here, there is no-one watching, the children are looked after… I’d even say this is the one place within Menegroth that guarantees us privacy just now.”

Without his command, his hands begin to undo the clasps of her robes, no doubt driven by his cock’s will rather than his own.

“Yes but… we can’t… we can’t fuck on this throne.”

There is a very curious grin on Nimloth’s face as she watches him undress her despite his words, as though she is debating with herself whether or not to say something. Then she leans closer, and kisses him in a way that makes his head spin. It is long since they last had the chance for such intimacy, what with one thing and another, and he cannot even begin to put his longing for her into words. To feel close, to feel safe. She is his haven, his rock, his soulmate.

“Well” Nimloth said at length, when they break apart for a moment to breathe “I’m quite sure we are not the first couple to fuck on this throne. And it is high time you claimed it as your own.”

It is lucky, really, that Nimloth’s kisses him again with passion, successfully preventing Dior from realising what she just said. 

Chapter End Notes

Yeah, Nimloth totally traumatised Dior with that last sentence xDDD

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Something stirs in him as he watches her dance, like Spring stirs all around them, subtle yet, but unstoppable. Life stirs in him again, as though his soul has finally registered that his body is his again. He thinks back to how he first glimpsed her dancing that way, flowers springing into bloom at her feet, and how it roused him from his misery then, too. But there is another thing that stirs at her dancing, too, he notes with a mild sense of amusement, and awkwardly gets up to meet her. She lets herself be caught, and brushes through his hair with a dazzling smile on her face. Beren hugs her tightly, pressing her slender body against his, so that she cannot miss the fact that he is hard.

“Nice to see that becoming mortal has not robbed me of this power” she chuckles, before she takes his hand and leads him to where they have discarded their cloaks.

“Wait, you did that on purpose?”

Lúthien only laughs. 

“Ai Beren, life is short, and I do not intend to waste even a moment of it.”

And with that, she casts of her raiments and stands before her in all her glory, and Beren feels his mind go utterly, blissfully blank. 

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Mablung was in the act of packing when he became aware that he was not alone, and he turned sharply, prepared to snarl at the intruder who had not bothered to knock.

“What are you… oh,” he faltered, feeling his cheeks go scarlet.

Of all the people he had expected to see, the King was the very last one. And, worse, Elu could go within Menegroth wherever he wanted, so his tone of voice had been utterly unwarranted.

“I beg your pardon, Lord,” he said, hastily bowing his head. “I thought you one of my wardens.”

To his great relief, Elu leaned against the doorframe, smiling. He still wore his court robes of grey and white silk, perfectly in tune with his hair. How very different that made him look to the lanky boy with his stitched-up tunic that Mablung had once known on starlit shores. But despite the breathtaking beauty Elu had grown into over the centuries, Mablung would still gladly have the boy Elwë back, just to see grief erased from Elu’s features, to hear his laugh again, bright and careless.

“No wonder they all fear you, if you bite their head off for coming to call.”

That was an exaggeration, or so Mablung hoped, for while he had no objections to being known as a thorough teacher and stern captain, he still did not want his men to fear him. Fear inhibited trust, and trust was vital when facing danger.

“It does not hurt to demand manners,” he noted stiffly, his face still burning.

“My apologies for my intrusion. I was indeed as yet unsure of how to word my request, hence my silence.”

“I didn’t mean… of course this does not apply to you, Sire.”

“I wondered, once you are done packing, if you would accompany me on a stroll outside? Not as my captain, but as my friend. Do you think we can still do that? Forget who we are and pretend we are strolling through the woods surrounding Cuiviénen? It has been a while, I know.”

Mablung stared at the King, flummoxed. Had he heard right?

“I… of course. Sorry, I… “

“You did not expect that. Naturally.”

Packing went a lot more quickly after that. Still wondering what this was all about, Mablung followed Elu outside, drawing his cloak more firmly around him as the cold hit him.

“Winter is drawing nigh,” Elu remarked conversationally, in a tone that made it only too obvious to Mablung that he had no idea how to say what he sought to express.

Deciding to relieve him of his discomfort, Mablung stopped in his tracks, cocked his head, and asked:

“What is this all about? What do you really want to say?”

He sincerely hoped that Elu had been serious earlier, when he had asked Mablung to accompany him as his friend, not as his captain. Otherwise, this would have been the second terrible impertinence of the evening.

“Am I right in assuming that your feelings towards me have never changed?” Elu asked bluntly, again leaving Mablung to grapple with keeping his composure.

Of course, his feelings had never changed, and would never change. But he had made a decision, long ago, to lock those feelings securely in his heart and become Elu’s captain. Those shared intimacies belonged to a long-lost past.

“No,” he answered, truthfully.

Elu halted and turned to face Mablung, his hair playing around him in the icy breeze.

“Then, if you will it, I would… appreciate us pretending tonight that we are not in Doriath in the Age of the New Sun, but on the march under the stars. Will you lie with me, Mablung, just one more time?”

Wanting very much to pinch himself, Mablung stood transfixed, unable to move or speak. Of course, he wanted to. Elu and the nights they had spent sharing a cloak were ever on his mind, sleeping and waking. But this…

“And Melian?” he asked hoarsely. “She cannot be fine with this? Because I will not hurt her, and even less will I allow you to hurt her!”

The words came out sounding much rougher than Mablung had intended, yet he could not help it. He would never, ever, come between Elu and Melian, not to appease his own desire, not to please his lord.

“As if I would ever hurt her on purpose. You should know me better than that, truly, Mablung. No, she knows and not only is she fine with it, it was the Queen who encouraged me to seek you out. I never concealed what we had before her, and nor does that, or indeed anything that shall or shall not happen tonight, change my feelings for her. You are free to ask her.”

Mablung nodded his approval. It was the first time tonight that Elu’s tone had become passionate, and if the accusation of feeling anything but devotion for his wife stung him so, there could be no doubting the sincerity of Elu’s words.

“I take your word on it.”

“So then I’m yours for tonight.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, then Mablung tentatively reached out and took Elu’s hand, fighting down all the emotions that wanted to overwhelm him, silencing all the questions that swirled in his head. He knew Elu well enough to know that his intentions, whatever they might be, were not malevolent, and this meant that finding out what this was all about could wait until morning. For now, all he had to do was grasp the moment. He almost laughed at the thought. This recklessness he had not felt for millennia, so it seemed that he was already in the middle of playing pretend.

Quietly, they left the path and wandered aimlessly between the majestic birches, until they found a space they deemed fitting. There they both sat down, and Mablung at last did as he had longed for ever since Elu had first revealed to him his desire and stroked a loose strand of the King’s silky hair behind his ear, but not without caressing the tip of his ear gently. Elu drew a shuddering breath at Mablung’s touch, and closed his eyes.

“This is awkward,” Elu admitted, but not without an apologetic grin.

“Then let us get the awkwardness out of the way quickly,” Mablung grinned back, and leaned over to kiss Elu without further ado.

It had never worked like that, it had always been him to lead Elu, always been him who was the bolder. Beleg’s influence, really, but Mablung could not allow himself to think of their friend just now. He did not want this moment marred by grief any more than it needed to be.

Their kiss was tentative at first, then more demanding. Elu needed a little while to really give into the kiss, as he always had done. Mablung wondered briefly whether that was a thing of their little romance alone or if he needed his time with Melian as well. When Mablung finally did feel the King’s composure slip, did feel his hand moving to his hair as well, he found himself overcome by emotion. He had longed for this for so long, had so long grieved the loss of their romance, had thought he would never feel Elu this close ever again.

”I missed you so much. Whenever I was near you, I longed to run my hand through your hair, to feel you. Just to be close to you…” he whispered in a voice that was choked by his feelings, once they broke apart.

“I know.”

Elu laid his forehead against Mablung’s, his hand still in his neck. Mablung could feel him shaking, could sense also the turmoil of his Fëa. Something was not right.

”What’s wrong? Elu, we need not do this if it makes you uncomfortable. We can just sit here and I’ll hold you. I will not do anything that feels wrong to you.”

”It’s not that. I ever longed for you, too, longed so much to feel you again. But I know what pain I caused you, and cause you still. Like I cause pain to all those I love, in one way or another. I do not deserve this.”

”If you don’t deserve this, lord, I do neither…” Mablung whispered, choosing to pass over the other part of what Elu had said.

“Don’t. Don’t call me that, please. Not tonight.”

Elu sounded close to tears.

“I was mocking you. Relax.”

Once more, Mablung sought Elu’s lips, but this time, Elu leaned into the kiss much easier, his hand slowly sliding over his back, grasping his arse, pulling him close. Mablung gasped, but grinned into their kiss all the same. Someone meant business. Elu fumbled with Mablung’s belt for a moment, then untied it and Mablung, ending their kiss, pulled his tunic off. The cold air hit his skin, made goosebumps erupt all over him. Or was that Elu’s touch, his fingers that traced the muscles on his chest and his flanks, then those on his back? He closed his eyes contentedly, then slung his arms around Elu as well, and felt him melt into their embrace.

“Some things never change, do they?” he whispered in Elu’s ear with a little laugh. “You were always the one to cuddle yourself into sex.”

Elu nodded, but did not reply, only wrapping his arms a little more tightly around Mablung. They remained like that a while, then, to Mablung’s horror, he felt a sob shake Elu’s body. He scrambled upright, and laid a hand on Elu’s cheek that was wet with tears.

“Elu… tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. Don’t be. Come here. I’m here. I’ll always be at thy side, remember? As long as it be thy will!” Mablung whispered softly in Elu’s ear, once again embracing him.

“Just never leave me, Mablung. Please.”

“I will not. I meant that oath when I took it, even though you did not ask it of any of us. To my King for everyone to watch— to my beloved in my heart. I shall not leave your side, ever, whatever befalls!”

With that, Mablung bent his head to kiss the tears from Elu’s cheeks. Again, their lips met, but there was urgency now in that kiss, desire born of despair now burning in Mablung’s heart. He nestled with Elu’s flowing garments until they came loose, and he could strip Elu as Elu had done with him before. Ass soon as he had rid Elu of his clothes, however, he gasped.

”Oh Elu, what have you done?”

Elu gave no answer, but only fled into his embrace once again. Mablung gingerly stroked his back, tracing his ribs and his spine. Lean Elu had always been, but now he was nothing short of emaciated. How well he had hidden that fact under the flowing robes he now always wore. So well that he had fooled even Mablung.

”When have you last eaten?” he asked, aghast.

”I don’t recall it.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” now Mablung was the one to blink back tears. ”You are killing yourself.”

”That is the intent, yes.”

”Elu…”

Mablung looked into those grey eyes and saw the pride there, not the desperation. He could not help but embrace him, and was surprised as the embrace was answered, that even in this state, Elu was still strong enough to match Mablung, as he did at sparring practice. Now at last, Elu took the lead, as Mablung knew he would do eventually, kissing him fiercely, making him lie backwards.

“I am still the one who’s in charge here. I am still your king, Mablung, and you will not pity me!”

That this was unmistakably an order was not even marred by the fact that Elu uttered it between kisses. Mablung held his gaze, then let a finger glide from Elu’s lips down over his jaw and neck.

“I shall not pity you, then. But I pity myself, because after this, it will be even harder to have to let you go.”

And then, with brutal clarity, the realisation of what Elu was doing crashed over him.

”Wait, Elu, are you… is this… goodbye?”

Once again, Elu gave no answer, but ran his hand slowly over Mablung’s stomach, until it came to rest on his cock. Almost against his will, Mablung laid back his head. He did not want this, wanted to shake Elu back to his senses and then force him to answer his question, or better even to eat, force him to pull himself together, but his mind seemed to have no more control over his body. At least not while Elu was stroking his cock in just such a way.

”Oh by all the…”

”Don’t call to the Valar, I don’t need the feeling of Manwë watching.”

Elu’s remark made Mablung chuckle in spite of himself, and oh, what a wonderful, wonderful relief. Then Mablung felt Elu shift a little, only to press a gentle kiss to his cock a moment later, felt his tongue caress him. He had not expected that at all, and even less to feel Elu take him into his mouth a moment later. He arched his back and whined, his hands finding their way into Elu’s hair. This was too much, he no longer had any control whatsoever, even while his mind was still painfully aware of what this was. Elu had never been able to bear seed anywhere near his mouth, had never been into sucking or indeed being sucked, so his giving this to Mablung now, his forcing himself to bear the sensation, could only be a parting gift. Something to remember him by.

It was too long that Mablung had last found relief, the sensation too powerful, so that Mablung felt that he would not endure it for another moment without spilling.

“I’m coming… oh, please, Elu, let go, I’m coming!”

When Elu did not heed his words, Mablung pulled him off his cock by the hair, not caring if he hurt him. He needed to last a little longer still.

“No. I don’t want to have my pleasure at your expense. Let me love you, please.”

Elu rubbed his head slightly, and opened Mablung’s clenched fist with a wry smile, pulling strands of his silver hair from Mablung’s grip and waving them before his face.

“Well, you didn’t listen!”

For a moment, they both grinned at each other, then Mablung nudged Elu into lying back down, raising himself to his knees instead. He stroked Elu’s flank and felt him shudder at the touch.

“I will be careful, I promise.”

“I know.”

“Turn on your side!” Mablung said gently, carefully spreading Elu’s legs, caressing his balls and his cock until he was fully erect, drawing, for the first time this evening, little moans from his friend’s throat. Mablung licked his fingers, in want of any other salve, and carefully started to prepare Elu, letting his finger slide in and out of him. Elu gasped, and Mablung felt him tense.

“You need to relax…” Mablung whispered softly.

“I can’t!” Elu whimpered, fresh tears running from his eyes.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No… it’s just… it hurts, it hurts so much. Not what you’re doing, nothing bodily. But if I give into that now, I’ll… I’ll lose control!”

”You have to let go, Elu. Not for my sake, not for fucking. For yourself…”

Mablung stroked Elu’s stomach gently, slowly letting his hand wander again to his cock, which made him wince, overly sensitive to any touch.

”I’m here. I’ll protect you, even from yourself.”

Elu nodded and reached out to Mablung’s hand and stayed it over his cock.

“Don’t stop, Mablung. Please.”

Mablung smiled.

“No, I will not. Tell me what I can do for you, and I shall do it.”

“Fuck me. I don’t care if it hurts. Just take me as you like. I’m yours.”

And now, at last, Mablung understood. This was how it had been back on the Journey as well, Elu pleading with him to just take him, to lift all responsibility from his shoulders for a moment. This was so painfully, so endearingly familiar that Mablung could not help but take Elu’s hand and press his lips to it. Then, so as not to give himself any time to get even more sentimental, he pushed into Elu without so much as a warning. Unsurprisingly, Elu cried out, hastily biting down on his other hand to stifle the sound. Mablung grew utterly still, allowing Elu to accustom to the stretch.

”It’s been a while!” Elu panted.

“I know. But it is still as beautiful as it was.”

“Move, please.”

Mablung grinned.

“So impatient all of a sudden?”

”Cruel, one could call you!”

”Is that so?”

Mablung asked innocently, playing with Elu’s nipples and noting with satisfaction how his cock twitched with every pinch of Mablung’s fingers.

”I wish I could honestly say I won’t beg… but I will, if that is what’s needed.”

Mablung laughed.

”No. I don’t want you to play. I want you to let go.”

And with that, Mablung started to thrust into him, ignoring Elu’s panted moans, soon slipping into a rhythm that suited both of them. It didn’t take Mablung long to be, again, on the verge of his climax. He knew his movements became increasingly rough, knew that Elu’s moans were no longer solely of pleasure, but he was utterly lost now. He needed, he wanted Elu to come first, though, wanted to feel his orgasm, so started stroking Elu’s cock in rhythm with his thrusts, until Elu stayed his hand with trembling fingers. They both moaned as Mablung felt Elu’s cock pulse, spilling his seed over his fingers, while the muscles that enclosed Mablung’s cock contracted around it. The sensation was too much for him, and he thrust into Elu once more, before he reached his climax with a small cry as well, while Elu was still coming into his hand. 

Mablung made sure they both were really done before gently withdrawing his softening cock from Elu’s body, who still lay curled up on the ground, shaking all over. Yet, as Mablung lay beside him, running his fingers down his spine, Elu turned and kissed Mablung, a fierce and desperate kiss they once again lost themselves in. When finally they did break apart, neither one could hold back his tears.

Mablung would not be able, later on, to tell how long they lay in each other’s arms and just wept silently. It seemed that for Elu, this was truly the breach of the last stronghold he had kept, and Mablung was equally sorry and glad about it. He had watched the man he loved walk to his own destruction, fuelling it along the way with his pride and stubbornness, and paying thrice in pain and grief. He knew how ill this had made Elu, that he held an Elf in his arms who was on the very brink of death. Yet he could not, he would not imagine life without Elu, who had always been there, and whom he had admired from childhood on. He remembered the awe of watching the young prince, clearly frightened, yet with an air of determination that hushed everyone watching, step forward and stand before Oromë representing the house of Enel. He didn’t know when admiration turned to love, or what had been there first— the love for a friend or that for one’s true love. He couldn’t recall, either, how Beleg and he had truly ended up in some weird sort of love triangle with their lord, only that it had probably been the happiest time of his life.

Before long, the heat from their love-making left them, leaving them both shivering with cold. Lovingly, Mablung pulled his mantle around them both, and after a while Elu lay his head on Mablung’s chest.

“I’m falling asleep right now…”

“Then sleep. I’m here.”

“Aye, but then you will fall asleep as well and it does not do for anyone to find me sleeping naked in my captain’s arms.”

“Mm, that would make for some gossip, I agree.”

For a moment, he remained still, then he tightened his embrace a little more, and said seriously:

“Please don’t do this, Elu. I’m serious. Please don’t throw away your life like that.”

“It is too late for that. My body is already damaged beyond repair. And I am tired.”

“So is that why you flee the caves at night, and spend the days locked in that smithy? So Melian does not see that you are starving yourself?”

”So Melian doesn’t have to watch me starve myself, aye.”

”She knows?”

”Don’t be shocked. It takes its time to starve an Elf who has seen the Light, as I found to my cost. Melian argued with me. A lot. Her spells kept me alive for many years. But she had to give in in the end, for my decision is made. I do not deserve life! Not anymore.”

”Are you out of your mind? Like, thoroughly?”

”I must be. But still, I cannot bear it anymore. It was not a conscious decision, it just… I could not eat after Lúthien chose mortality, not really. And then I found that this was my way out of it.”

“But that has been years! Many, many years.”

“I know that. Please don’t turn away from me now. Resent what I do, hate me for it, I’ll sit in Mandos forever for this, anyway, but please do so after my death. I need you just now.”

”I will do nothing but grieve for you, as you know perfectly well. And Melian will, too.”

Elu nodded.

“I want to die in her arms, that’s all. And I would love to know that Elmo and you are there.”

“I will be. If there is any way, I will be there. It shall break my heart to see you pass, but I will be at your side until your last breath!”

He stroked Elu’s hair gently, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I love you. I always loved you.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry that I cannot… I love you too, Mablung, with all my heart, as a friend, a brother, even… as the boyhood-first-sex-whatever. I…”

Mablung laughed at this last word, even through his tears. Pretty much, he thought.

“And I am content with that. Truly. But I needed you to know!”

“I do know. I will not tell you not to be sad, for I know that is inevitable, but… don’t let losing me destroy you. Promise me that. I love you far too much to suffer you to hurt like that.”

He wiped Mablung’s tears from his cheeks, then kissed him with a tenderness he only ever shared with Melian otherwise. Mablung took a few deep breaths, then straightened himself.

“So… as I am bound to go back to the marches tomorrow… should I ask for leave?”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Who knows… you know I can’t predict that!”

”No… word will reach you if you’re needed… I mean, you’re always needed here, but…”

Mablung nodded, kissing the top of Elu’s head. The night was cold, he wouldn’t be surprised if it started to snow.

”I wanted to ask you something for quite a while, but never found the time, as it’s not important, not really. Since I’m in charge of all the Marchwardens, I would much rather stay in Menegroth. No, I’m not making this up now, I wanted to ask that of you since you made me chief.”

”Does this have time ’till tomorrow? I’d like to put that before the council.”

”Of course. I just wanted to give you the chance to think about it in advance.”

”Thanks.” Elu mumbled, sleep overwhelming him at last.

”I promise I won’t fall asleep. You’re safe. I’m here.”

“We… need to… dress.”

Mablung sighed in agreement and helped Elu put on his clothes again, noting as he did so that the King truly was more asleep than awake already. Still, he cradled him in his arms until he was sure that he really was soundly asleep, then laid him on the ground and covered him in both their mantles again, as he could feel him shaking even in his sleep. He cuddled up to Elu’s shivering body, not to fall asleep, he stood by his promise, but to keep Elu warm. It had been literally ages since they had spent a night like this and Mablung savoured every moment he lay there, with his arms around the man he loved. Until a hardly perceivable crack made him aware of a presence.

“Who’s there?” he whispered into the darkness.

“Captain Mablung? What are you…?”

“Hush.”

Mablung rose to his feet swiftly, hoping against hope that it was before his marchwarden had realised what he had been doing.

“I am keeping watch. What are you doing here at night?”

“Keeping watch. Patrolling. What are you..”

As the young Elf’s eyes fell upon the sleeping King, he gasped.

“Quiet. Let him sleep. As I said, I am keeping watch over him.”

“It is so cold, though. Should we not wake him and get him inside?”

“No. I do not want to disturb his sleep. He was so exhausted.”

“I noticed that at court. He seemed really tired. Rather unlike him, is it not?”

Mablung nodded, gritting his teeth to keep himself from showing his grief.

“Yes.”

“Forgive my surprise, Captain. I just never imagined finding him sleeping in the woods.”

“Then,” Mablung said, rather sternly “…you need to keep your eyes open when patrolling. Many Elves of Menegroth, including King and Queen, choose to spend their nights out here from time to time.”

“But not in Midwinter!”

“Oh yes, also in Midwinter. Again, train your eyes!”

“Mablung!”

The warden’s voice was suddenly sharp, but Mablung had already turned. Elu had stirred in his sleep, groaning, and Mablung knew instantly that he must be in pain. He was at his King’s side in one stride, kneeling down beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder. Elu was shaking worse than ever, and when Mablung tried to rouse him, he did not wake.

“What is wrong with him?”

“I do not know. But this is serious.”

Mablung turned to his warden.

“Go. Get help. Get the Queen. Hurry!”

Without hesitating, he pulled Elu into his arms and lifted him up, far too easily, carrying him back to the caves.

“Hold on. Please!” he whispered.

Please. I love you more than anything in Arda, please don’t die. Not now.

Melian met him before he had reached the bridge, a cloak drawn hastily around herself. She looked utterly terrified.

“What happened?” she asked, as Mablung carefully laid Elu down on the mossy ground. Melian knelt down beside them and half pulled her husband onto her lap, arms supporting his head and torso.

“I do not know. He was so exhausted. I thought he had just fallen asleep and kept watch over him, but he…”

He was at a loss for what to say.

“You responded perfectly, Mablung. Thank you.”

Unbidden, Elu’s request of having Melian, him, and Elmo by his side came into Mablung’s mind. Did Melian know of it, he wondered? There was only one way to find out, and to find out also if the situation was as dire as it seemed to him.

“Should I go and… does Elmo need to be here?”

Melian looked up at him, understanding showing clearly in her face, then lowered her gaze again to her husband, who still lay trembling in her arms. She closed her eyes for a moment and nodded, tears spilling from under her eyelids. Fear and grief tore at Mablung’s very heart at that. He had been afraid of it, yet not been prepared for it.

“I will get him!”

“No. Make someone else go. I am not sure there is enough time! I need you to stay, if you will.”

“Of course.” Mablung answered hoarsely.

So Elu had talked Melian through his last wishes. Mablung understood now how all this came together, their night together, Elu’s frankness… this was no co-incidence, but a carefully laid-out play. Elu had staged his own farewell. But the realisation did nothing to change the circumstances, so Mablung stood up swiftly and walked a few steps to one of the guards that had followed Melian out of the caves, and now stood horror-struck nearby.

”Get Lord Elmo here. Tell him it’s urgent.”

Mablung wondered, as he knelt down beside the King and Queen again, whether Elmo would know straight away. Close as the brothers were, he was certain that Elmo knew that Elu had not been exactly well lately. And being urgently called out into the wintery woods long before dawn to his brother’s side would not leave too many doubts about the reason. After a while, Mablung reached out tentatively and took one of Elu’s hands, carefully opening his tightly cramped fist. Melian smiled, and it was a genuine smile, tear-stained as it was.

“He’s so cold!” Mablung whispered.

“He does not have much time left. I misjudged. I, his wife, was too wrapped up in my own pain to realise how desperately weak he already was.”

“Did I do this to him? With…?”

“No.”

“But the cold…”

Melian looked at Mablung, and there was pity in her eyes.

“Even if, Mablung, your night together were responsible— I promise you, he would have much preferred it to another day or two of meaningless suffering. But it was not. He just hid his weariness well. Being so cold is the prelude to his Fëa leaving his body, that would be the same in the height of summer. Have you tried to keep him warm all night?”

“Of course.”

“Oh Mablung.”

“I am glad that I did not know, or I could never have… this farewell should have belonged to you, lady.”

She stroked Elu’s cheek tenderly, looking down at him, and there was so much love in her gaze that it moved Mablung to the core.

“We said our goodbyes over the last years. He loves you, Mablung, though perhaps in a different way—not, never, less— than you love him. This time belonged to you, who knew him long before I did. And I could never have been so selfless. I could not have accepted it. Unto the last moment, I would have hoped. And in hoping, I would have failed to be a true comfort to him, as you were. You held him, and kept him comfortable, and warm. And much though I wish it had been me, I know that it could not have been. Thank you.”

“You should not be comforting me…” Mablung managed to say, his voice thick with tears.

“No. I am just speaking the truth.”

“Does Elmo know?” Mablung asked suddenly, a thought striking him. “What Elu did to himself?”

Melian shook her head sadly.

“No. And if I can achieve it, I would like to keep it that way. He need not know Elu starved himself to death. It is enough to know his broken heart finally killed him. Which will be no lie.”

“Is there nothing we can do?” Mablung asked desperately.

Maybe he had appeared to be accepting Elu’s decision to Melian, but this, now, was his breaking point. He could not just sit back and wait. Melian, however, shook her head, new tears spilling from her eyes.

“No. I did what I could for years, and achieved nothing but to prolong the suffering of the one I cherish most. We have to let him go. I know you love him as I do, and he needs us to be strong now.”

Mablung was saved the necessity to answer by Elmo’s arrival.

“What happened?” Elmo asked, looking wide-eyed at his brother’s still form in Melian’s arms.

“There… there is no gentle way to tell you, or I would. He is… dying, Elmo. If you want to say goodbye, you have to do it fast!”

“No…”

“I am so sorry.”

“How… Melian, is that what they mean when they say that elves can die from a broken heart?"

Melian nodded, and Elmo knelt down beside them, stroking his brother’s head.

“Can you hear me, Elu?” he asked softly, and there was an unmistakable plea in Elmo’s voice, a plea for his brother to wake.

There was no reaction though, Elu still lay with his eyes closed, quite clearly oblivious to everything going on around him. And yet Elmo went on, all the while stroking his brother’s hair.

“If you can, know that I love you. Thank you for being strong for so long. Thank you for everything! But now at the end, we will be strong for you, so if you need to… you can let go! Please be at peace! Heal. Be free from this pain.”

Tears were running down all their faces, as what Elmo had said moved Mablung to the deepest corners of his soul, and he guessed Melian felt something rather similar. They all watched silently after that, expecting Elu’s death to occur at any moment, but yet he was breathing, if weakly.

Then, to Mablung’s mingled relief and horror, Elu opened his eyes once more. As he beheld them and understood, he smiled, and the gratitude and love and relief that lay in that smile tore at Mablung’s heart. Elu pressed his face gently against Melian’s chest, and she once again stroked his hair, rocking him softly.

“I love you, too.” she whispered. “All of us do! Into all eternity.”

Mablung pressed Elu’s hand as confirmation of Melian’s words, and Elmo, too, bent to kiss the top of his brother’s head.

Once more, Elu smiled faintly, then he closed his eyes again and sighed deeply, his hand slackening in Mablung’s grip, and did not draw breath again. The pain of it was like that of a white-hot spear passing through Mablung’s heart, choking him, making him wish for nothing more than to follow suit. And yet he remembered Elu’s request of him not letting himself be overcome by that grief, and he would fulfil his King’s wish as he always had done, which meant that he had to prevail, he had to endure, had to stay.

None of them spoke or moved; it seemed even the forest itself held its breath.

“Is he truly gone?” Elmo asked at last, his voice thin and shaky.

Melian nodded, unable to speak through her own tears. She pressed her husband’s body to her chest, cradling him. It had started to snow, little white flakes swirling around them like blossoms in spring, catching in all their hair and on their cloaks. The way Melian held him made Elu’s head fall back a little, and his hair spread down to the ground like a waterfall of molten silver. Mablung had never seen anything so beautiful, yet so heart-wrenchingly sad.

What would happen next, he neither knew nor cared. Could Melian bear to remain with them when there was nothing left for her here but grief and the promise of more loss? Would it fall upon the young son of Lúthien and Beren to take the crown? What would happen when Menegroth awoke from its slumber of blissful oblivion and found that all was altered? All these questions floated meaninglessly by in his head, unimportant, irrelevant.

“May you find rest, Elwë of the house of Enel,” he said softly at last, addressing Elu in the half-forgotten tongue of their childhood. “Until we meet again.”

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