Fic: The Swan of Dol Amroth Imrahil/Elladan Rated: R

[phyncke]

Title: The Swan of Dol Amroth
Author: phyncke
Beta: khylea
Challenge: My Slashy Valentine (for jaiden_s)
Characters: Imrahil/Elladan, Aragorn, Elrohir, Legolas, Gimli, Merry, Pippin
Warning: Character death.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Summary: Elladan meets the Swan Prince of Dol Amroth at the end of the War of the Ring and they form an attachment which is to change their lives.


The Swan of Dol Amroth

Preface

Imrahil, the Swan, Prince of Dol Amroth, could not remember when he had fought harder. He thought the battle would never end. The Orcs seemed endless, like a vast sea of monsters. He cut one down and another sprang up in its place, over and over again. The siege of Minas Tirith was a day to remember. He had rallied his men again and again in defense of the City. Such was the nature of this war, little respite and they battled to the end of their resources, both physical and mental.

He felt especially proud of his soldiers as they stood tall and proud at the lower gate when giganticigantic trolls burst through wielding anvils. The Swans of Dol Amroth did not flee in terror; they defended the City with every bit of valor they possessed. Imrahil was sure to remember to tell each and every man how well they had done. He was an effective leader of men, harkening back to the Numenoreans in his aspect and intelligence.

/---/

Elladan saw dead people everywhere. This army of the specters was formidable but he could not help being nervous about allying with an army of ghostly warriors from beneath the mountain; betrayers, the lot of them. They rode north through Lebennin at a rapid speed. Elrohir seemed unbothered so the elder twin kept his reservations to himself. Only the dwarf seemed as discomfited as he was. Gimli rode close with Legolas on the same horse, looking around apprehensively. Legolas and Aragorn acted like conversing with the dead was an everyday and common experience. Elladan found this somewhat annoying and unnerving.

In battle mortals could not hold against such fearsome spectral forces. The ghost warriors unleashed their fury on Sauron’s southern allies and found release from their oath to finally pass beyond the lands of the living. Aragorn held to his part, as they had to theirs; at last those men found peace.

While sailing up the Anduin, in the guise of corsairs, Elladan reflected on what had happened thus far, how far they had come and on what was yet to pass. They had still to take the day and could see the city burn from the decks of the ships. The vessels cut through the water in eerie silence.

And so they took the day and turned the tide of that battle in front of the city of Minas Tirith, the men of Gondor, the cavalry of Rohan, and the army of the dead led by Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Our story begins in the aftermath of this great battle, the Battle of Pelennor Fields.

/---/




The Battle Thus Ended

That night after the Battle waged, it was strangely quiet before the city of Minas Tirith. The fires dotted the plain and warriors sought warmth around them after a day like no other.

“Elrohir, pass me some of that, will you?” Elladan referred to the dried beef jerky that his brother munched while reclining against his pack.

“Sure…I have some here.” The younger twin tore off a piece and tossed it to his elder brother. Elladan deftly caught it, taking a bite.

“Thanks, “ He mumbled tiredly, looking across the fire with interest as Aragorn took counsel with the other leaders, including Éomer of Rohan and Imrahil of Dol Amroth, both of whom had fought valiantly this day in defense of the realm of Gondor to keep Sauron’s forces at bay.

“What do you think they are talking about?” Elrohir voiced his very question. He had a way of doing that.

“Well I suppose there is much to organize, hmm? And to decide. Things.”

“Things is a bit vague, Elladan.”

“Right.” Elladan smiled wanly at his more precise sibling. “I think we will have to wait and see. They are engrossed from the looks of it…”

Elrohir nodded and crossed his legs as he lay looking up at the overcast sky.

“I suppose we will.”

/---/

“We need to provide assistance to those in the city. The damage was tremendous. They will need food, water, wood…” Prince Imrahil continued to list the resources that the people of Minas Tirith would need in the coming days to survive.

Éomer nodded wearily and tried not to look overwhelmed. He was still reeling from the loss of his uncle and the presence of his sister in the battle. He seemed not all that comfortable making decisions as the new king of Rohan.

Aragorn drank from his water skin, listening all the while, weighing and deliberating what was said.

“I do not think it is time for you to take control of the city.” Imrahil finished. “We should set up a provisional organization and let the people get used to the idea of a new king for Gondor. I think you suddenly taking control so soon after the death of the Steward would be unwise.”

“That is very true, Imrahil. I do not wish to begin my rule under these circumstances, under that shadow. It would not be a good beginning.”

The fire hissed at that moment, a new log catching flame. This seemed to confirm what they had agreed to. As the conversation paused, they were approached by a messenger from the Houses of Healing.

“The master healer calls for the King to come. His aid is needed with those wounded.”

Aragorn looked at both leaders and said, “I must heed this call. The hands of the king can heal those in need.”

Imrahil nodded his consent, “You must go but you can enter under cover of darkness and cloak so that none will see you. That might be for the best.”

“Agreed.”

/---/

Elladan felt a boot in his side and turned over in the other direction.

“Quit it, Elrohir. I am catching some sleep.”

Aragorn laughed softly. “You are as bad as your brother. Do you see him, Imrahil? The elder son of Imladris will not awaken.”

The Prince laughed and crouched beside the sleeping Elf.

“He is very tired, King Aragorn. Do you need him now?”

“I do indeed. He is a skilled healer and we will need him and his brother in the Houses of Healing tonight.”

“Well then there is nothing for it.”

Imrahil shook the prone figure and moments later Elladan sat upright glaring into calm grey eyes.

“I am awake.”

“So it seems, just.”

Aragorn had moved to do the same to Elrohir who roused straight away and rose to his feet. The King explained to them both.

“You are needed with me in the Houses of Healing, we must tend to those that are near death. We will likely work all night tonight so there will be no rest for us.”

Elladan’s gaze lingered on Imrahil as he sat, coming to full wakefulness. The Prince rose to his feet and extended his hand to the Elf, assisting him up.

“We will help you however we can, Estel. You know we will.” Elladan assured Aragorn.

Elrohir nodded as he hoisted his pack to his shoulder.

“We are ready.”

Aragorn raised his cloak so that it shrouded his face, signaling the elves to do the same and led them through the shattered ruins of Minas Tirith to the House of Healing. There they found Faramir and Éowyn and many others in need of their skill in healing.

Imrahil stood watching them go and then went to gather his valiant men. They would begin their work in the city this night and face the dawn knowing the full situation at hand.

/---/

Before Dawn’s Light

The Swans of Dol Amroth had worked long through the night until dawn’s light. They moved rubble to unearth wells, recovered food stores buried in the debris and looked for survivors wandering outside the city along the Pelennor plain, making sure that all who needed aid received it. This effort was coordinated with the able-bodied soldiers of Rohan who still had their horses, under the joint leadership of Éomer, king and Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth. The remaining Gondorian Army also worked in this effort.

The Prince took temporary Stewardship of the City of Minas Tirith, for expediency, while the rightful king toiled through the long night until dawn’s light in the Houses of Healing. He fought off death for many, bringing Éowyn of Rohan back from the darkness which threatened to take her and tending Faramir, son of Denethor as he lay in a fever, to finally break its hold by morning. Elladan and Elrohir tended many who had been wounded in the siege of the city, setting broken bones, stitching gashes, providing triage for those in need. Andnd there were many in need.

Legolas and Gimli wished to be of use, and searched the field of battle looking for those still alive as they lay and sounded the call if they found anyone in need of assistance. Many wounded were brought in this manner to the Halls of Healing. For some, it was too late to help them but many were saved by the healing hands of the King and the elves who worked with him.

Aragorn came to the Hobbit last of all and smiled to Pippin as he sat beside his friend.
“You are a loyal friend to him, Pippin. Merry is lucky to have you by his side.”

If Pippin were to admit honestly, he had been dozing off and on as he sat by his friend’s side but he was loathe to say that to Aragorn.

“Can you help him, Aragorn? Can you save him? He is so cold and he does not wake.”

“I will do my best for him, you can be sure.”

The King broke up the last two athelas leaves into a bowl of steaming water, placing it near the mumbling hobbit. Its fragrance is what would save him and dispel the Black Breath of the Nazgul. Meriadoc Brandybuck had bravely stabbed the Lord of the Nazgul, the Witchking himself, in aid of Éowyn during the battle of Pelennor fields. As a result he now lay near death as the darkness threatened to consume his spirit.

The fragrance of the leaves brought a freshness to the room which seemed to dispel the lingering darkness. Merry breathed easier as he inhaled it and his expression lightened. Pippin felt his spirits rise at the recovery of his friend.

“It is working, Aragorn!”

“Yes, it is indeed.”

Merry opened his eyes at last and murmured. “Strider…you are here too?”

“I am, my stout friend. Breathe the clean air, Meriadoc. It will heal you and bring you good health.”

Due to the Ent drought Merry was now taller than before but Aragorn teased him affectionately to bring him ease. Pippin hovered nearby, eager to be of help. He brought the other hobbit water, fussed with his blankets and organized his pillows.

“Pip! Relax, I am not dead or anything!”

“You might have been, Merry. You almost were!”

“But I am NOT dead. I am alright now. Strider saw to me and I am feeling better each moment though you might send me to the grave if you don’t stop it.”

The King left the two hobbits in mid-argument, assured that all would be well.

/---/

Elladan remembered the long night in the Halls of Waiting as a blur. He aided the injured from the battle by bandaging, swabbing, applying medicinal herbs, setting broken bones and in all cases providing words of comfort while he worked. Elrond had always taught him that at times it is what you say and feel not what you do that can benefit the ill the most. In this he gave of himself and called on his resources as both Elf and Edain. His inner strength was of most use as a healer. His father possessed this in abundance and he had passed it on to his sons.

A shy girl led him through the house, from bed to bed. Somewhere along the way he was separated from Elrohir and he worked with this girl who would hand him the items he needed from a wheeled cart that went with them. If they did not have it there, she hurried off elsewhere to return quickly with the sought after item. He wondered fleetingly through the night about where she found the objects, but did not voice his question aloud. They were very organized here in Minas Tirith, this healing serious business. Elladan was impressed and able to work very well through the night.

Most he tended lived to face another day, while a few did die in his care. He covered the dead in a white shroud, leaving them to the ministrations of the staff. They would be prepared for whatever ceremony was customary here, their loved ones informed of their passing. He assumed there were tombs underneath the city where mortal remains were enshrined in memoriam. He eased one woman’s suffering and then sat with her as life left her body. Now he left her to others and moved on to see if there was anyone else in need.

/---/

Day Break

Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth, stood at the top of the city, the highest level near the Steward’s seat, as dawn was just breaking to the east. He could see Mt. Doom in the middle of Mordor and the evil which never slept, a tireless presence which would enslave them all if it was left unchallenged. He could survey the field of battle from this vantage point. As the horizon lightened and Pelennor became visible, he scanned the carnage, the aftermath of what had occurred. Rohirrim horses littered the ground, even the great mummakil beasts that the Haradrim had rode, lay dead in the morning light, tusks illuminated in the golden glow.

It was not over yet; all this, and it was not over.

“My lord, there is much to do yet, for the city. The King has retired to his tent outside the walls. What banner shall fly?”

His guard looked openly confused at this transitional time for Minas Tirith.

“You will fly the colors of Dol Amroth. Hoist the Swan.” Imrahil stated firmly.

“Yes, my lord.” His soldier bowed and hurried away to implement his lord’s command. There must be some order shown for the city, though in actuality the king was come but not to take power yet.

The Prince watched as his colors, the white swan on a field of blue, were raised in the citadel and then strode off to the lower levels to find Gandalf the White. After speaking with the wizard, he continued on to Houses of Healing to see how the new Steward fared along with the others. It was clear from the news he learned from the attendants there that Faramir would recover fully. This was good tidings indeed. There had been enough tragedy for now. He made his way to Faramir’s room to visit with his nephew as he slumbered. The young steward’s face was peaceful with no trace of the earlier darkness that had troubled him. The young man looked renewed, though weakened. He would need much time to heal and regain his strength. Imrahil held the young man’s hand and felt the warmth there though it was not feverishly so.

“So much you have lived through in so short a time.”

“Such is the way of it.” Elladan came into the room. “With soldiers and in these times that we live in. Much happens and young men see much of the world and the horrors of the enemy.”

The Elf felt the prone man’s forehead more out of habit than out of need, to discern if Faramir had a fever or naught. His skin was cool to the touch and the delirium had receded from his mind.

“The king himself tended your nephew so all is well with him. The hands of the king are skilled in healing.”

“He seems much improved, indeed.” The Prince agreed, noting the fatigue in Elladan’s visage. He went to the corner of the room to get him a seat. “Why don’t you sit down, Elladan. You look weary. Sit here and I will get you some water.”

Imrahil slid the chair beside his own and walked to the pitcher of water. It was the first time Elladan had sat since last evening and so he slouched onto the wood framed seat and let his body relax. It was then that he truly felt the fatigue.

“I am grateful Lord Imrahil. It was quite a night here.”

“Exhausting no doubt.” He was thinking the Elf needed food and a bed, in that order. He had a mind for the practicalities of life as he handed the water to his guest.

“We did not lose many in my care but one.” Elladan rubbed his temple as he thought of the woman. He did not even know her name. Something about that bothered him.

“Something to be said for that. That is very good.” Imrahil smiled, his grey eyes gentling as he did. “You must be hungry. Let me find you a place to rest and get you something to eat. My men have managed to unearth food stores in the city.”

“I would kill for a cup of tea and some nice poached eggs on toast.” Elladan grinned.

The Prince nodded.

“Bacon would be nice too. Not overdone but just to a turn, you know what I mean?” Elladan’s head fell back and his eyes closed, and he seemed to be smelling the scent of breakfast cooking or imagine he could.

“I do know, yes.” Imrahil found himself getting quite hungry as he tried to remember the last time he had eaten anything.

“Cook back home fries it just right.”

“I imagine so, yes. Well, I will see what I can do. I could do with some food too.”

“Would be lovely.” Elladan sighed but as he did, he took up a cloth and leaned over to wipe Faramir’s brow, checking his breathing. The Steward of Gondor was in a very deep, healing sleep, undisturbed by the talk in the room. He breathed evenly without laboring. As the Elf put the cloth back on the side table, a young girl entered from the hallway on her official rounds for the Hall. She stopped in midstep but both conscious occupants of the room assured her that all was well and that they were just leaving. She promised them she would stay until her relief arrived.

Elladan and Imrahil left the chamber moments later to pass the other sick rooms of the Halls of Healing and exit to the open air. They passed Éowyn’s room where Éomer sat keeping his sister company this morning. She was through the danger but her brother did not wish to leave her side. Should she wake, he wanted to be there to hear anything she might say.

Around the corner was Merry’s room. Both hobbits were sleeping, one in the bed and one in a chair far too large for him at his friend’s side. A pillow had been brought for Pippin to rest on and he leaned back onto it, snoring gently as he snoozed in the early morning hours. Soon he would wake up hopeful of breakfast for both of them as he greeted the day with hunger in his stomach.

The Elf and mortal paused at the doorway and laughed at the sight of the little folk fast asleep before moving on to exit the quiet Halls and head across Minas Tirith. They squinted as their eyes adjusted to the brighter light outside. There was cloud cover and Anor was not evident but it was lighter than inside and than it had been all through the long night.

“We shall see what we shall find, hmm?” Imrahil murmured as they walked.

Elladan nodded and kept his thoughts of eggs, bacon, and sausage to himself. He imagined that the Steward Denethor had had vast stores of supplies squirreled away somewhere underneath this city. He hoped the Prince’s men had been clever enough to find them. It would be a matter of heating up a stove in the kitchen and cooking up the eggs and meat. He bet there was bread too. His stomach rumbled as he envisioned the food he would eat.

“Where is Aragorn?”

“He has withdrawn outside the city. I expect your brother and the others are with him there. He does not think the time is right to fly his colors and show his strength to the people here yet…”

“And you agree?” Elladan asked.

“I do.” The Prince confirmed as they ascended to the top plaza where his banner waved in the breeze. The Swan on a field of blue showed that the Prince of Dol Amroth was the temporary Steward until his nephew was well enough to take that position or the King would fly his standard. “It is expedient for now.”

Elladan did not feel it his place to interfere in the political affairs of mortals in this transitional time though he was as close to Aragorn as a brother could be. Estel knew his mind and what was appropriate for the city. He would act accordingly.

“Aragorn is a wise and just man. He will do what is best.”

They entered the Hall of the Steward and were greeted by Imrahil’s second in command who was seated at the Steward’s table with papers and drawings of the city. First the Swans of Dol Amroth had located the schematics and architectural renderings of Minas Tirith and so begun their search for potable water, food stores and living quarters to house the soldiers who would be guarding the citizens of Gondor.

“My lord!” His commander stood to attention. “We have made progress…”

The Prince received a full and detailed accounting of all activities of his men thus far this morning; successes, failures and excavations needed.

“We are hungry. Have the kitchens been found and is there food? We would like breakfast.”

“But of course, Prince Imrahil. The Steward’s kitchens were undamaged in the siege and are below us here.” He pointed to the diagram a few levels down. “The food stores are close to there, here and also, undamaged.” He pointed again. “Our men have been working down there, getting the ovens going and seeing what the store rooms contain.”

“Eggs, toast and bacon?” Elladan asked as he looked around Imrahil.

“To be sure!” The soldier said.

“Denethor liked the finer things in life.” Imrahil said dryly. “Let’s be off then, shall we?”

Imrahil gave some clear instructions to his second. Water was to be distributed throughout the city, all wells were to be uncovered. King Éomer’s men were to assist in this as per the King of Rohan’s instructions. The Gondorian army would also be enlisted to help. Dol Amroth would command for this interim period only until King Aragorn took command of the city.

“Yes sir!”

Imrahil turned to see Elladan swaying on his feet and touched his elbow, “Let’s go, Lord Elladan, to the kitchens.”

“Aye…” The Prince led and the Elf followed him slowly out of the cavernous hall.

/---/

“This is so good.” Elladan took another bite of the bacon he had fried up himself on one of the vast stoves in the tower of Minas Tirith. “I have never cooked bacon before, it is not that hard. Once you get the hang of it.”

“That first batch was burnt to a crisp though--inedible.” Imrahil cut his egg and watched as the yoke ran across the pristine plate, golden lava over the porcelain white. He liked to soak that up with his toast, which he did, of course. They might be in the middle of a war, but this was still breakfast.

“Yeah,” Elladan agreed. “It crumbled into dust, pretty much but THIS…” He held up a juicy piece. “…is good.”

The man across from him at the kitchen counter grinned as he mopped up his egg. In Dol Amroth high society, one did not do this. One ate eggs properly with knife and fork but here, with this Elf, Imrahil felt like he could relax and eat just as he liked.

“THIS is good too. Very good.” He chewed and cut more to take another bite.

After some time, both companions had eaten their fill of their food and leaned over empty plates. Imrahil looked at the shelves of the pantry, finally his eye caught on the item he sought and asked,

“Have you ever had coffee, Elladan? It is a drink that we mortals have here in the East.”

“I do not know what that is.”

“It is brewed, like tea, and of a similar effect, but has a bit more body to it. We grow it and roast it. Most people drink it in the morning but it can be taken at anytime of day really. It livens the spirit they say and can keep one awake when tired.”

“Ahh, now that sounds like a goodly drink. I would like to try that. How do you prepare it? Do they have it here?”

“They do.” Imrahil slid off his stool and walked to the shelves, picking out the items he needed---coffee, kettle, and brew pot—all the things necessary for making the rich beverage. “If you will get the cream, I will make some coffee for both of us.”

Elladan went to the cold storage which was kept chilled by the stone walls and ice blocks surrounding it. As he walked in he felt the crisp air on his skin and located the cream that Imrahil had asked for. When he returned to the other room, Imrahil had started the kettle and was portioning the coffee into the brewing pot.

Ever instructive, the Prince explained, “We will have to wait for the water to boil, then pour it into the top of this device. Then the coffee will be brewed through this pot here. It is all very technical and difficult.”

Elladan nodded seriously in agreement as most kitchen processes seemed technical and difficult.

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“That is alright, just get the sugar.”

Elladan was happy to assist and trotted off to the pantry to look for the requested confection. He liked sweet things so intended to put sugar in his coffee.

“Is this a bitter drink?” He called back to Imrahil.

“Yes, that is why we need the sugar!” The kettle shrieked and the man looked for something to grab it with, a protection for his hand on the handle. He found a towel hanging next to the stove and folded it in half to use.

As he carried the hot water over to the table, Elladan returned with a small sack of sugar.

“Careful, this is very hot.”

They passed each other and ended up side by side, Imrahil pouring the water and the Elf standing beside him, leaning in from his right to watch closely. Elladan had an endless fascination with new things, and soaked knowledge up like a cloth to water.

“How long does it have to set? Can we drink it right away? How many cups does it make?”

Imrahil laughed at the inquisition from the elder twin of Imladris and answered each question in turn.

“A few moments. Yes, once you flavor it how you like. This will make four cups, I think.”

Once the water reached the top, he stopped and waited. It would filter down through the grounds and wind up in the chamber below. Before he had put in the coffee, he had lined the pot with a paper designed to keep the grounds from contaminating their final beverage. Lord Denethor, apparently, had enjoyed coffee in the morning and after meals and so it was stocked in abundance in the Steward’s pantries.

“We will need cups to drink it in. There are usually ones designed for it specifically. Let me see…”

Imrahil went off to the china cabinet in search of the coffee service, certain they would have fine pottery here. Only the best would do for his brother in law.

“Can’t you drink this with tea cups?” Elladan asked, thinking it a bit silly that you would need special cups for the coffee.

“Oh no, no. That is not done. Would never do.” Imrahil came out with two nice big ornate mugs for coffee with the seal of Gondor on them.

“That is silly, Imrahil. They are both warm morning beverages. It stands to reason that…”

“There is nothing reasonable about it, my dear Elf. This is COFFEE.” Imrahil set the cups down, as the aroma of the brewed grind wafted through the room.

“That is lovely,” Elladan inhaled.

“Isn’t it? You elves are missing out.”

“We are indeed. I will have to bring some back to Imladris.”

“That is a good idea. You will shock the lot of them, lily-livered tea drinkers, every last one of them.”

Elladan giggled at the ridiculousness of what Imrahil was saying and watched the man pour the rich, dark, brown liquid into the two black mugs.

“You should try a sip before I add the cream.”

“Yes?” Elladan picked up coffee cup closest to him and held it to his nose. “It smells bitter or as though it would taste so.”

“Have a try, don’t be afraid. I am not poisoning you.”

The Elf tasted his coffee and made a wincing face. “It IS foul to taste. I don’t think I like this coffee very much.”

“Just wait. It gets better. Put that back down.” Elladan did and then observed as Imrahil doctored their coffees with cream and sugar to lighten it and add sweetness.

“Now try,” Said the Prince, sipping his own to be certain of the flavor. He smiled behind his mug.

The Elf was skeptical but did try again and took a second sip quickly after.

“This is much improved, Imrahil. The flavor is lovely.”

“Yes, you can see why we mortals like it now. Sweet, aromatic, full bodied. To be savored.”

They sat back down at the table to relax and enjoy their coffee, both lounging back in their chairs to sip and talk. Neither of them forgot the fact that they were having this luxury in the midst of a war and were thankful of the moment’s respite from the troubles that raged beyond the walls of the kitchen. This room had become a calm, safe haven.

Imrahil noted that Elladan was more awake than he had been before.

“The coffee is taking effect on you. It stimulates and wakens one, when the spirit is flagging.”

“I do feel better. Is there more?” Elladan peered over the top of the pot.

“There is one more cup for each of us.” Imrahil poured more coffee for each of them and then added the cream and sugar.

They then lingered over the brewed beverage, leaning back on their chairs and comparing notes on the Battle. Each had seen the fighting from different vantage points and so their conversation reflected that.

“I do not think I could have fought beside an army of dead people. Ghosts make me nervous. ”

“It was strange, I will say that much.” Elladan agreed.

“To be certain. Did you converse with them?”

“Aragorn did that. He bartered the deal and gave them orders.”

“Well, he is a better man than I. He is the rightful king, no doubt about it.”

Both paused to reflect on that.

Elladan murmured, “Orcs are nasty creatures, eh?”

“Vile and wretched creatures. Even when they are dead, they reek. We are having to clean up quite a mess in the city and will so for some time. All those bodies.”

“Disgusting.”

They both sobered as they realized the amount of dead men that littered the field outside too. That would be a clean up to last months and the notification of families and the grief that would cause.

Each sipped on in silence until their cups were empty and finally Imrahil suggested.

“Shall we do our dishes and find you a room to sleep in? The staff is not working today so we best not leave an untidy mess.”

“Should do that, yes. Have you slept at all, Imrahil? I don’t imagine you have.”

“I don’t believe I will for some days now. We have too much work to do.”

“You should get some rest, a few hours at least.”

“I am afraid I would sleep through the end of the war.” Imrahil grinned as he rolled up his sleeves.

They were now standing by the sink and Elladan looked a bit helpless at the Prince having never done a washing up before. Used to telling people what to do, the ruler of Dol Amroth ordered the Elf about, getting the dishes they had used and finding the liquid soap that Denethor’s staff favored. He turned on the water and hoped for the best. If need be, he would use cold water. War was war. He was hoping the bombardment had not affected the water stored beneath the city as had been the case with the food stores.

“So you wash all those…”

“Yes, with the soap and a little elbow grease.”

“Elbow grease? I am not familiar with that term.” Elladan found mortals truly endearing in their use of language.

“Force applied in such a manner as to ease things.”

“Ahh. Just so.”

“Quite.”

Imrahil turned to see the bemused expression on his elf-friend’s face, his own complexion reddening from the steam of the hot water.

“Don’t you Elves use grease to ease the turn of a wagon wheel?”

“I imagine we would, as a matter of fact.”

“So an elbow is a joint. One might apply grease to it…or so someone has imagined. I don’t know the precise origin of the phrase.”

“Right.” Elladan still did not see.

Imrahil was stacking the dishes beside the sink neatly. He was an expert at washing up, having been a midnight thief in his own kitchens. He learned to not leave traces behind or be so rude as to create work for his staff in the middle of the night.

“You are good at that, Imrahil. You have experience.”

“I have washed up on the occasions when I sneak into the kitchens at home. Then no one is the wiser.” He winked at Elladan over his shoulder. “Best to leave no evidence of one’s habits, else there will be gossip.”

“Ahh. Good idea that. Let me have a try.” Elladan pushed his own sleeves up his arm, far enough that they would not get wet in the sudsy water. “Let me take over that and you can dry the dishes you have done.”

“Alright, alright. Patience there.” The Prince laughed good naturedly and picked up a dishrag, leaving the water running as the warrior-elf stood in front of the sink. “You will need more soap and use that sponge there. It is designed for washing dishes. Specially cut for that purpose. Put the soap on the sponge and work it in so there is a lather…”

Elladan remembered what he had seen Imrahil do and tried to imitate that. He found the dishes slippery when wet, however, and the first juice glass he washed slipped from his grasp clattering to the sink below. Luckily it did not break but just wound up in the center drain.

“Woops.” He said as he picked it up.

“Careful there, the crockery gets slippery with the soap and water.”

“It does.” The Elf concentrated more and soaped up the glass inside and out, rinsing it quickly. He set it gently on the dish rack to the left of the sink. Next he picked up a yoke covered plate and cleaned that. He slid into a rhythm, moving more quickly, mindful of conserving water. At the last, he scrubbed out the frying pans they had used while Imrahil put their dishes in the cabinets.

“Done here, last two pots.”

“Well done, Elladan. Very good.”

“Why thank you.” He turned the water off, and turned to the Prince. “Where do these pans go? I can get these.” Elladan lifted a spare towel and began to dry one heavy, cast iron frying pan.

“They are hung by the stove on hooks so the cook can get at them easily.” The man pointed as he picked up the last. Once Elladan had latched his pot onto a hook, Imrahil did his own and the two companions surveyed the kitchen.

“It looks like no one was here.”

“Just what we want.” Imrahil nodded and led Elladan out of the now silent kitchen. They doused the lamps as they left.

The Day Progresses…

Elladan assumed that Elrohir was either sleeping in the Houses of Healing or had gone outside the city with Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli. He was enjoying spending time with the Swans of Dol Amroth, an efficient group of soldiers who had set up their center of command on the top level of the city. Having spent much time with Dúnedain rangers, he was used to the company of mortal folk and these men were of that ilk, apparent descendents of Numenor, brave and passionate in their aim. His respect for Imrahil grew with each moment that he spent in the Prince’s company. He was a determined leader, calm, thorough and reassuring. His men worked in teams throughout the city, to be certain the injured were dug out, the wells uncovered and food distributed where it was needed.

Elladan found that he himself was led through Imrahil’s calm leadership and he had much to learn from him. He had added insight when he could but he had never performed an excavation effort on this scale as the bombardment of Minas Tirith had been quite devastating to the buildings and structures of the city. The men of Dol Amroth and Rohan, together with the soldiers of Gondor worked tirelessly to unearth live survivors as well as the dead who had been buried in the city.

They toiled much of the day, breaking for small meals brought out by the kitchen staff who had gone back to work. Sliced meat between two pieces of bread arrived delivered on trays, enough for each man along with water rations and freshly fried potatoes to go with it. Elladan held his breaded food aloft.

“What is this, Imrahil? It looks strange.”

“Another mortal delicacy, very practical in such situations.”

“What is it called?”

“A sandwich, quite filling and portable too. You can use any type of sliced meat to make one.” Imrahil munched on his own and then took a drink of water from a water skin.

“Sandwich, how odd! And what are these?”

“Chips of potato. Fried in oil and very delicious.”

Elladan crunched down on one. “Mmmm. They are!” He ate one after the other and soon found he was thirsty.

“One can wrap a sandwich in paper, “The Prince detailed between bites. “And take them for a day or so for rations in the field.”

“Is that so? I will have to tell Glorfindel. He would like these. He likes convenient food. These would be good for patrols along the border of Imladris.”

“Very well suited for that purpose. Who is Glorfindel?”

“He is the captain of our guard. A very practical Elf. “Elladan had finished his sandwich and was slowly eating his chips, to relish each one. He liked how they were salted for flavor.

“Well then, you should tell him. We mortals are not silly about everything.” Imrahil laughed. “Just about some things.”

“Well you have Elven blood, Legolas said, so that accounts for your good sense.”

“They say it is so but just hinted at really. I have often wondered if it was true or not.”

“Well rumors have a way of being true…or such legends. I am of mixed heritage and it has not hurt me.” Elladan reassured him.

“Sure.” Imrahil looked uncertain but let the matter drop for now. The issue of his heritage would have to wait for now. Other concerns needed tending and his friend looked very tired. He knew that the Elf would not volunteer to go rest so he would have to use subterfuge or subtle tactics.

“I need to go read in the interior chambers. They have unearthed some of Denethor’s private papers and I would like to see his state of mind at the last.”

Elladan narrowed his eyes, “Now that would make very interesting reading. I have heard his mind was not his own of late so I will go with you for sure. Where are the documents?”

“He kept them in his chambers, well hidden. My men have moved them to his desk there, but they did not read them.”

“I see.” The Elf relaxed a bit then. He was glad such sensitive documents had not been read by rank and file soldiers. The information needed to be guarded.

“Shall we go?”

“Lead on.”

/---/

Anor moved in a slow arc across the sky but it was discernible only as a faint shadow behind the clouds. The constant discharge from Mount Doom combined with the weather pattern from the east obscured the sun’s rays, making it a cold, grey day. The Swans continued their labors in the City, while Aragorn was encamped outside of the city gate, resting after the long night, though he did converse with Mithrandir in his tent about what best to do next.

Elladan and Imrahil found the papers in Lord Denethor’s private chamber, neatly arranged in a large wooden box by the bed. By silent mutual agreement, they took the articles out of former steward’s bedroom and found another room to make use of. It was too morbid to work there; an uncomfortable feeling pervaded the area.

“I think this is a guest room for someone of noble lineage or some such,” Imrahil stated as he set the box down on the bed. They could both sit on the coverlet within easy reach of the parchments and read at the same time. “I think this will do.”

Elladan discarded his well worn boots and settled himself against a pile of clean pillows. It seemed as if this particular guest room had not been used in some time. As he began reading, the Elf saw immediately that the papers he had chosen were patrol reports in Faramir’s own hand, as signed on the bottom, about the enemy’s movements in and around Osgiliath.

“This is by Faramir, a report of some nature.”

The Prince nodded as he fished further down into the papers and took what he recognized to be written in Denethor’s own hand.

“These are orders for the staff. They have the Steward’s seal on them and then at the bottom there is a report of it being carried out and in what manner. Every action detailed and described,” After reading for a moment. “I had no idea government was so documented in Minas Tirith. We do not do this in Dol Amroth.”

“Nor do we in Imladris. It is not practical and it is too bureaucratic.”

“I would agree. My brother in law had his own way.” There was much that Imrahil did not say about the recently deceased Steward.

They read on in silence for some time, the sound of papers turning the only noise in the room, with the odd cough here and there. After some time Elladan’s head fell back and the papers dropped onto his stomach. He succumbed to sleep and Imrahil could hear him on his side of the bed, breathing heavily through his mouth. The Prince continued reading, more accounts of Orc movements, very detailed in Faramir’s neat hand or some other captain of the Gondorian army. Occasionally, he would see reports from Boromir amid the paperwork, not nearly as thorough, slapped together in haste, nearly illegible. That seemed in keeping with each of their personalities; Faramir was more careful and Boromir more daring by nature and would not want to bother with such work.

As he scanned inventories and other matters of state, his eyes closed, and opened when he got to policy drafts and matters for council. Imrahil possessed the presence of mind to move the wooden crate to the floor beside the bed and hunker down into his pillows. Shortly thereafter, he too dozed, the papers he held falling slowly to the carpeted floor.

Can one be held accountable for what happens in sleep? For what the body does but the mind does not remember? Neither would recollect the events between them during their slumber but it was their inclination to seek each other’s warmth in both body and spirit. While fully clothed the two did move ever nearer to each other until they found comfort in a soothing embrace. It was so comforting in fact that neither woke up and satisfying sighs could be heard in the chamber with none too little lust involved.

Imrahil would later recollect what happened in some fashion, the touch of lips to his own and the feeling of holding the Elf in his arms. He never could mistake Elladan for his wife; she being so much softer in her physique and more pliant and receptive of his desires. This was more rough. In some way, the two were aware of what they were doing, wanted to do what they were doing and their baser needs took over.

Elladan woke up some time later to observe Imrahil in sleep, a happy expression gracing his handsome face. He thought the Prince an amiable sort and wondered what he was dreaming about. He found himself aroused and pondered that too. He must have been dreaming.

Rising out of the bed, he went to wash up, wrote Imrahil a short note and left the room to find his brother and the others. He was sure they would gather for dinner that evening and he would speak to the Lord of Dol Amroth at that time.

And In Battle They…

What was decided between the leaders of the free peoples of Middle Earth is recorded in the histories of those lands, and will not be repeated here. They met Sauron in a final battle at his very gate while at the same time the ring was destroyed. Both Elladan and Imrahil marched in Aragorn, son of Arathorn’s brave army for eight long days to stand in front of the greatest evil their age had known. They fought until the earth broke beneath them, swallowing up their enemies, signaling the triumph of light over darkness.

It was a good thing too as Imrahil found himself very unfocused in battle. He was certain he would have been killed had it gone on any longer but evidently it was not his time or there were other forces at work, namely Elladan of Imladris. The Elf was nearby and ever watchful of the Prince’s person and when in the middle of the conflict the sleepy passion between them was recalled by the Lord of Dol Amroth in stark clarity, his friend stepped in protectively as tragedy might have resulted from a lack of attention.

Then the mountain erupted, the earth shook and all stood in stunned awe as the end of the Dark Lord in this age came to pass.

“You alright, Imrahil?”

“I am now, thank you.” The earth rumbled beneath his feet.

“The Orcs are gone as is the enemy.”

“Lucky for me, eh?”

Elladan laughed and embraced him in jubilation as shouting could be heard through the host of men, elves, one dwarf and two hobbits. Gandalf had departed for the interior of Mordor with Gwahir. Lord of the Eagles, to find Frodo and Sam while Aragorn celebrated with the men where once the Black Gate had stood. Gone, it was all gone, as if it had never been.

/---/

A Celebration to End The Age

Word arrived to the city of Minas Tirith of the victory when Gandalf and Frodo and Sam flew by eagle’s flight to the Steward’s Tower. The little people were immediately taken to the healing staff and the city was made ready for the army’s return. Those who had waited anxiously for the outcome of that final battle hurrahed and then prepared a feast and celebration that would live on in memory for many as the most exultant fête this age had known.

Beer and wine casks were rolled out of the private stores, food prepared and tables set up on the top level of Minas Tirith where all would be able to come and enjoy a time with the new king and his triumphant soldiers from all lands. It was a moment to savor and enjoy.

The warriors, having seen the destruction of the enemy in the wake of the ring’s end, left those lands quickly, on a fast march for Gondor. They had eight days of straight territory through inhospitable lands to make up for and limited provisions. They had not expected to be so great in number. Rations and water were split to make the dry, arid journey. Still, the men rejoiced and kept a fast pace. Elladan, the lone Elf traveling among Imrahil’s Swans, could not help but be caught up in the triumph that they felt, that indeed the whole host felt. If water had not been so precious, he was sure they would have been flinging it at each other. They did quite a bit of good natured shoving and back pounding.

Finally, days later, the City drew into view and they were sighted from the gates. The populace poured forth and greeted the army, lining their way and tossing brightly colored confetti and flowers in the air to land at their feet. Aragorn, the now proclaimed king, was hoisted onto the shoulders of the lead men and carried into Minas Tirith with much laughter and cheering. Gondor’s guard handled this with much hilarity and joy. The hobbits who had struggled to keep up all along this march, had been transported most of the way on various soldiers’ backs and were whisked into the city as heroes of honor, as was their due.

/---/

“I need a bath,” Imrahil looked around at the crowd in mild dismay. He wanted to participate in the festivities but he really wanted to wash the dust off of himself and have a short respite from the crowd before joining his men.

“Me too. I could use a change of clothes too.” Elladan nodded nearby, his face covered in grime.

“Well, why don’t we? They are all here and we could…well do that. Everyone is busy and this will be going on for some time.” They were being moved along to the main square and could easily slip away to rejoin the celebration later, in a much cleaner state.

By silent agreement they split off from the river of moving bodies and trotted down a side street which was deserted and free of people. Winding through the buildings, they found their way to the private steward’s wing yet again. The staff was hard at work in the kitchens, preparing food and drink for the party goers but there was no one in the residential wing, which suited the two travel weary soldiers just fine.

“This way, Elladan.” Imrahil turned around a corner and headed back to the guest room they had occupied days before. He was somewhat nervously anticipating being alone with the Elf but not in an altogether unpleasant way. In fact, he looked forward to it with some excitement. This confused Imrahil but he remembered the taste of the Elladan’s lips and the feel of that sensual tongue.

They located a chamber, THE chamber, in fact and once the door closed behind them. Elladan murmured,“Let me help you with your armor. You will want this off.”

Imrahil stood dutifully still, while his friend unclasped his breastplate to pull that away and then removed the rest of his heavy mortal made suit of arms. He had sweated underneath it and hoped he did not offend. He wondered if Elves had a keener sense of smell.

“Now yours.”

The Prince did the same service to Elladan’s armor, but paused to examine the Elvish workmanship. It was quite beautiful in design and strong in its make up. Impervious to blows from the enemy, the metal was not dented in the least. He knew that Elladan had taken some hits. He had seen him absorb the impact.

“I like your armor. It is so unlike ours, lighter and better function.”

“Elvish make. S’different.”

“Yes.”

“Are you hungry, Imrahil? I could do with some wine and food.”

“Do you not want to join the party?”

“I could rest here a bit. That will go on for hours, days if I don’t miss my guess. I am tired and hungry.”

Imrahil nodded, wanting to reach for and touch the Elf, but letting his hand drop in mid-thought. The gesture was not missed by Elladan who also wanted to be alone with the Prince. He hoped they could enjoy this time before all the responsibilities of their lives came back to square on their shoulders.

“I will be back. You bathe and I will look for the staff to assist us.”

“Don’t be long.” Elladan walked toward the bathing chamber and stripped off his tunic, turning to look back at Imrahil. The Prince stopped at the door and watched as the Elf ambled slowly over the carpet. His feet were bare and his back strongly muscular.

“I won’t be.”

The ruler of Dol Amroth made haste after leaving the chamber, finding a butler of the Steward. He ordered ample food and libation brought to the chamber, wine and a luncheon for two hungry soldiers. He did not care what it was, something easy and plentiful. The servant bowed and hurried to do his bidding. Technically, Imrahil was the reigning Steward until Lord Denethor’s son recovered his health in the Halls of Healing and irregardless, he was Faramir’s uncle and well known to those who worked in the citadel.

When he re-entered the room, the Prince did not hear running water but could hear Elladan moving about in the bathroom.

“That you, Imrahil? I left you some hot water. They have showers here. Nice strong water pressure too. Just great.” Elladan leaned through the door with a towel wrapped around his waist and wet, braided hair. His skin was ruddy, and scrubbed, though he had washed quickly.

Minas Tirith possessed a system of modern aquaducts and interior plumbing throughout. The ducts carried heated and cold water to the residences for bathing, cooking and the like. In a city this size, water was a valuable resource to be captured in many ways, from the river to the rain that fell to rest in vessels. The people of Gondor were not wasteful of their water but they also knew how to gather it in abundance.

Imrahil stripped his clothing off, turning on the water full blast. He stepped in letting the cold stream hit him and it warmed up quickly. He lathered his body, washed his hair and rinsed. It felt good to get the grime and dirt out of his hair and off his skin. He sighed as he turned off the water.

When he opened the curtain to step out of the shower, he found Elladan leaning against the sink, an odd look on his face, thoughtful, yet bewildered.

“I know why you faltered in the battle. I did not understand it, as it seemed unlikely and my only thought was to protect you, keep you safe. You remembered as I just have what happened between us in this very chamber,”The Elf turned to look back in the other room. “In that bed in there.”

“We were sleeping.” Imrahil looked away.

“But not just sleeping…more than sleeping, Imrahil. Our bodies knew more than our minds would let us.” Something in Elladan’s voice drew the Prince’s gaze and it was there that a wakeful awareness of what lay between them was evident.

“You are beautiful, Prince.” And he was, standing naked there, looking unsure of himself, his feet on a towel on the marble floor.

Elladan moved then, kicking the door of the bathroom so that it almost closed and approached Imrahil. He knew that he would have to be the one who crossed this barrier, who touched first, as the Prince was married and would not make that step. The Elf did not hesitate and brought their bodies together and their lips in a sweet exploration of what could be, his hand grasping the back of his friend’s head, feeling his short, wet hair.

The man’s first response was to jerk his head back. He could not do this; his mind rebelled but his body betrayed him. He had tasted the Elf before and it was an ambrosia he would always want, to the end of his mortal days and perhaps beyond.

“I cannot.” Imrahil moaned those words against Elladan’s lips, to have them smothered in a sweet kiss they would both remember always.

As their lips parted, for air and for sanity, the Prince whispered softly

“I am dripping wet.”

“I don’t care.” Elladan’s eyes were half closed and he let his hands rest on the man’s shoulders to slip down and tangle in the downy hair on his chest. “Well I do care but I don’t want to stop…”

Imrahil let his hands also explore, smooth skin, hardened muscle. The Elf was a study in contrasts and contradictions. He had exceptionally soft hair and skin but he was a fierce warrior in battle and his body was tight and honed to toughness. The man felt the blood surge through his body, the flush of arousal spreading through him unbidden. This was different than being with his wife, more urgent and visceral. He wanted, he wanted…

“I cannot…” He moaned as Elladan took him in hand, stroking him slowly, a wanton touch. The mortal felt weak in the face of these advances and could not resist this.

“There is nothing wrong in this. I would not threaten what you have,” the Elf whispered as he knelt before his mortal lover, for that was what he was. In the short time they were together, Elladan’s heart was caught, forever entwined with Imrahil’s. He would not threaten the Prince’s life in Dol Amroth. He would never do that. But perhaps they might come to an understanding.

Elladan had never done this before, but he imagined what he might like done to himself and proceeded on instinct, first applying his tongue to the heated flesh of Imrahil’s arousal. He began tentatively but then felt encouraged by the man’s response. He learned quickly what pleased his lover, pressure from his lips, lubrication from his mouth, and so on. He drew his lips along the length of Imrahil’s cock again and again until the Prince found release. The explosion of his lover’s orgasm surprised him, causing him to gag slightly before swallowing the discharge. Elladan did not cease his attentions and continued to soothe and lick Imrahil until the semen was cleaned from his skin.

Wavering on his feet, the Prince felt the heady sensation of his desire so recently sated, and the tension left him so he was loose and languid.

“I would like to return that favor. I really would but first, I would like to lie down.” Imrahil laughed. “You have left me weak, Elf.”

Elladan smiled and stood up to take his hand after he toweled off the water from his skin.

“If there is one thing you are not, it is weak, Imrahil, that I can attest to.”

He did not know if it was the Elven blood in the man’s heritage, or his strength as a leader of men, but there was a fiber to his character that was unusual. Elladan was pleased that Imrahil felt desire for him.

When they walked into the other room, they could see that the food had arrived on a wheeled cart, complete with a bottle of wine from the Steward’s private stock. Elladan opened the metal covering and looked at the offerings, cold meats, fresh bread, a tourine of soup and steamed local vegetables from the store rooms, abundantly supplied.

“This looks good. I could eat this all.”

“Move over. So could I.”

They ate voraciously and then shared more time together. Imrahil did in fact, “return the favor” of pleasure to Elladan, tasting, loving and causing the Elf to lose his composure, more than once.

Finally, they dressed in fresh clothing and went out into the night air and rejoiced with the rest of those in Minas Tirith, joining in the celebration and the dawning of the new age.

/---/

A Long Life and Travels

Elves do not love lightly and in so doing form an attachment that is deep and permanent. Elladan took Imrahil for his own in Gondor that day, whatever the consequences of that might be for him and the sadness which might result. For the rest of Imrahil’s life, he visited Dol Amroth frequently and the two would often travel under the open air in Middle Earth enjoying the time they had, however short it might be. They visited many lands together for diplomatic reasons or simply because it occurred to them that they wanted to go there. They went to Rohan, the Elven lands and even to visit the Shire folk.

Elladan at times wished to choose the fate of mortality as a half-elven and go whither his heart’s partner would go but his lover refused to allow this when they discussed the issue. He would say,

“One of us can live on and hold the memory, and then our love will last forever.”

Imrahil’s wife died before he did and Elladan became the Lord of Dol Amroth’s constant companion until his death at the end of a long productive life. As was the custom of that people, he was entombed with his family, laid to rest until the walls of Dol Amroth would crumble succumbing to the test of time and the ages.

His spirit traveled over the Outer Sea, where all mortals go, never to return or…so one might think.

/---/

Epilogue
The Outer Sea


Elladan was restless in Valinor when he settled in the Undying Lands to be ever at peace. His heart lay beyond the Outer Sea and so he traveled to the beach there to sit a while in thought, looking upon the spot where Imrahil might have crossed over. He longed to make that journey too, but that was not the way of elves. They were tied to Arda and to its fate and so he must stay, to live on, as his love had bid, to remember their time together in perpetuity.

This was a truly beautiful place. The sea was perfectly still, seemingly without the influence of the tides or waves. The ocean was so calm and clear that one could see the stars mirrored in the surface of the water, reflecting back up at the sky. Night had fallen, the Elf was tired and so his eyes grew heavy. Eventually, he slumbered, dreaming of times long ago and times yet to be. His mind wandered paths he could not control but his desires floated close to the surface of his thought. He held steadfastly to one impossible wish.

/---/

As his dreams shifted, he felt he was in someone’s gaze, an impossibility for no one was here. Was he truly asleep, imagining this or was someone actually looking at him? Elladan decided to wake up to find out.

“I have been sitting here for some time, Elf.” Imrahil sat cross-legged on the sand beside his love, waiting patiently for his eyes to open. He longed to see their gray depths and beauty.

He had come ashore with no memories but found this person lying on the beach. He’d intended to ask him some rather pointed questions and waited for him to awaken. The answers had come flooding back to him, almost too fast for him to manage or absorb.

“I did not know who I was for a while, but now I do. I am Imrahil of Dol Amroth and you are Elladan of Imladris…I remember that now.”

Elladan blinked in amazement for the last time he had seen Imrahil he had been stooped over with age and frailty. Now he was young; ageless and perfect. He appeared as he might have in his youth or just past his coming of age, an adult, vigorous.

“How did you get here? Did you appear out of my dreams?”

“No, I rowed that boat, for quite a long time too. I pulled and rowed but was never tired and I knew that it was important that I keep going.” They both furrowed their brows at the oddness of it.

“You look like you did when we played chess so long ago in Dol Amroth, Elladan. I am sure I could beat you now. I have died after all. I must be better than I was before.”

Elladan sat up to look past the Prince. There was a small rowboat on the shore, left to rest in the very white sand. The Elf decided not to question what was happening, at least not now anyway. He had been given this gift. If he questioned it, would Imrahil be taken away again, and disappear across the vast, silent sea?

He pulled Imrahil to him and lay back on the sand, enjoying the familiar comfort of their bodies close together.

“Let’s stay here a while, I like it here.”

“Sounds good to me. Can we make love? We never did that. We only did other things, as I recall.”

They discussed a multitude of topics under Varda’s stars, with no other sounds, no waves, no gulls, no people. The sound of their voices carried over the water some distance and then died out. Talking turned to more passionate sounds as the night wore on.

Imrahil and Elladan stayed at the Outer Sea a few days and then passed south again to Aman, to live together until the end of the world, when everything would be remade to Iluvatar’s design. What happens then is another tale, yet to be told.

The End


For the Slashy Valentine Challenge
You can find all the stories here:
http://slashysanta.com/eFiction/browse.php?type=titles