Sweetness and Gall

Part 1

Posted: October 2003
Title: Sweetness and Gall
Author: Maggie Honeybite
Type: FCS
Characters: Elrond/Melpomaen, Glorfindel/Erestor, Elrond/Gil-Galad implied, Elrond/Glorfindel implied
Rating: NC-17 eventually
Warning: m/m slash, mild BDSM in later chapters
Beta: Manon
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I make any profit from them. Any writing I do is done with a deep respect for Tolkien and out of an abiding love for his Elves.
Notes: Thank you to all those who sent feedback on my PWP, "While You Sleep" – it was much appreciated. Thanks to my beta, Manon, for her helpful comments; thanks to Kharessa for the encouragement; and thanks to AC for inspiration and help with research. Now, on with the story.
Summary: Elrond encounters a late night visitor in his library.

*****

Elrond Half-elven sighed and rested his hands on the railing surrounding the wide balcony on which he stood, his keen Elven eyes following his father's ship's path across the sky. The light of Eärendil shone down on Middle Earth and its inhabitants, bringing hope and comfort to those in need of solace, his son among them. The peace and quiet of the night and the brilliant light of the stars always gladdened Elrond's heart, even when it was most heavy, somehow managing to make the Lord of Imladris feel small and important at the same time; a modest part of a meaningful whole. He had his place in the grand scheme of things, and the knowledge of this significant fact made his burdens a little easier to bear.

He said a silent prayer to Elbereth in thanks for the blessings he had been granted, determined not to dwell on those that had been denied him, then turned and reached out with his hand for a flaky honey pastry temptingly displayed on a silver plate set upon a narrow table by the wall. The sound of hesitant footsteps halted his hand's progress and Elrond turned towards the open doorway, curious about the unexpected intruder in the library beyond. The quiet footsteps ceased, replaced by the sound of someone sliding a book from a high shelf, then commenced again as the unanticipated visitor made his stealthy way towards the balcony on which the Half-elven stood. A few seconds later Elrond's puzzled eyes were met with the sight of a young, dark-haired Elf, already deeply engrossed in the volume he held, even though his feet had not yet carried him to his intended destination.

"Melpomaen?"

The young Elf nearly dropped his book in surprise, his wide eyes focusing on Elrond's kind face in apparent panic as he quickly stammered his apologies. "My Lord! I'm so sorry; I did not know you were here! Forgive me for disturbing your peace."

"You have done no such thing." Elrond smiled at the young one, determined to put him at ease. "It brings me great joy to find that there are those in the Last Homely House who so love books that they would forego their rest to spend the deepest hours of the night in
the company of the written word." He gestured for the Elf to come closer. "I would be glad if you agreed to share my company as well, since we both seem to share a taste for late night reading."

Melpomaen wavered, seemingly wanting to accept the Elven Lord's invitation, yet too awed by the authority of the ancient one before him. He took a few deep breaths, the answer apparently unwilling to come from his tightened throat.

"Pastry?" Elrond held the silver plate out towards the young scribe, enticing him with the appetizingly arrayed morsels coated in sweet honey.

That seemed to decide the dark-haired Elf, for he gave a somewhat more relaxed smile and took his first timid step towards the Lord of the valley.

"Mind the book..." Elrond managed to call out in warning, but Melpomaen had already carefully laid aside the volume he had cradled, ensuring it was safely out of harm's way.

"I wouldn't dream of defiling a precious tome such as this with my
sticky fingers," the young Elf shyly offered, as his hand reached out
for the delicacies on the silver plate before him.

"You have a great respect for books," Elrond noted appreciatively. "You're a great deal more careful with them than my sons were at your age. I seem to remember a rather unfortunate incident involving a volume of Dwarvish tales and a pot of raspberry jam..." The Half-elven raised his eyes to the heavens and smiled indulgently, his tolerance owing to the perspective of a few hundred years.

Melpomaen looked horrified. "Raspberry jam?! But the books in your precious collection are so rare and beautiful! They should be treated with the utmost care and attention!"

"Spoken like a true scribe and lover of lore." The Lord of Imladris gave another pleased look to the young Elf before him, who fairly glowed under the attention. "It seems you have chosen the right occupation, Melpomaen. With this much dedication to your craft, you are sure to excel."

Melpomaen blushed and nodded happily. "Yes, I hold much love for what I do. And I'm so pleased to be here in Imladris; Edhellond didn't have such... treasures as these." His eyes lovingly scanned the heavy bookshelves lining the walls of the spacious library, his
fingers still gingerly holding the remnants of his pastry.

"You know you are welcome to use this library whenever you wish." Elrond's tone was inviting, his grey eyes keenly assessing the shy Elf and finding him worthy. "Any time of day or night."

"I wouldn't want to intrude..." Melpomaen sounded unsure, yet quite clearly tempted by Elrond's offer.

"You will not intrude, I can assure you of that." The Half-elven's voice was heartfelt and sincere. "I greatly pleases me that you find such delight in my library's collection. Not all do, you know."

"Your sons... they do not care for books?" Melpomaen timidly ventured, looking up at Elrond with curious, wide eyes.

"Oh, they do now, but when they were younger..." Elrond gave an exasperated sigh. "Elrohir always did like books, maybe a little too much sometimes; hence the raspberry jam. It was Elladan who often had to be chased into the library with a stick... or the threat that I would get Glorfindel." The Lord of the valley laughed quietly and offered his companion another pastry, which the young Elf eagerly took. "My oldest son always did prefer his sword and horse to quill and parchment."

"*I* always preferred my quill and parchment to sword and horse," joked Melpomaen with a self-deprecating smile. "That's probably why I'm such a terrible swordsman, and as for horses..." He cringed. "They do not care for my company."

"Your skills with the quill, on the other hand, are quite commendable, Melpomaen." Elrond complimented the dark-haired scribe, feeling a secret thrill at how his kind words raised a blush to the young one's cheeks. "Erestor has shown me some of your work; you
write a very fine hand."

The object of Elrond's praise coloured with delight and timidly dropped his eyes to the floor. "Thank you, my Lord."

And that was when Elrond felt it; that long-forgotten quiver in his stomach, the desire to reach out and stroke a delicate cheek and see those curious eyes gaze into his own, the sudden urge to speak more honeyed words and be rewarded with a hesitant, beautiful smile. Although he hadn't felt such stirrings in centuries, he recognized their symptoms at once, for it felt as if his heart had suddenly grown wings and begun its first, uncertain flutters in his chest. «He is a child!» Elrond quickly chastised himself, but to no avail. For the heart has its own reasons and will not listen to the well-meaning arguments of logic.

"How do you like it here in Imladris?" Elrond quickly asked, determined to dismiss from his mind the curious and disturbing feelings that had just made his heart quake and his body respond in kind.

"I like it quite well, thank you my Lord," the youngster eagerly replied, brushing a stray piece of pastry from the corner of his shapely mouth. The Lord of Imladris could only stare, mesmerized, as the young scribe quickly flicked the tip of an enticing, pink tongue and removed the offending trail of honey from his lower lip.

"Do you... miss home?" Elrond continued, half-ashamed at his body's unexpected response to the tender charms of the younger Elf. He was an ancient Elf Lord who had experienced and endured much over the course of his many millennia. To be suddenly overcome with strange yearnings for one so much younger and so obviously vulnerable was unseemly and... quite out of character for him. He simply didn't act thus; he never had.

He had always been drawn to strength; both of body and of spirit, as his long-standing and passionate relationship to his High King could attest. Gil-galad had been all that and more; strong and unbending, he had borne the heavy mantle of responsibility and destiny with grace and courage few could boast, and Elrond had loved him for it. His long-dead lover's tenacity and stoutness of heart had forever marked the Peredhel, and he did not believe that he could ever settle for anything less, for anyone whose star shone less brightly.

There was his wife, of course, but... well, that was another matter altogether. He had come to the marriage with few illusions, yet with the earnest hope that they could build something lasting, something pure and good. It had taken him a few centuries to realize that Celebrían simply preferred to remain apart, no matter his good intentions. Reluctantly, he had resigned himself to his loneliness, knowing no one could ever rival Gil-galad's hold over his heart and, thus far, no one had. So why did he now feel that strange yet all-too-familiar heat rise to his cheeks, and why did his heart beat faster when his eyes met Melpomaen's?

"I have felt more at home here in Imladris over the past few months than I ever did back in Edhellond." Melpomaen's voice was tinged with bitterness and Elrond suddenly felt a piece of the puzzle slide into place. The scribe may have been young and not had the appearance of a warrior, but there was strength in him, to be sure. The young one's eyes held the steeled resolve Elrond had come to recognize in those whom life had dealt a hard blow. Melpomaen may have been young, but he was no child.

"Do you miss nothing of it?" Elrond prodded further, needing to know more.

"I... miss the rivers. And the sea." Melpomaen's thoughts turned inward, his eyes looking into the night but not seeing. "And the salty air." He looked up at the Elven Lord and smiled. "But not the people."

"Not your family?"

"My parents were killed when I was only a baby, and the people who raised me... they were not my family." His mouth turned grim again.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Melpomaen." Elrond's voice was full of sympathy. "I know too well what it is to lose your parents at a young age."

"I know, my Lord." Now it was Melpomaen who gave the older Elf a look filled with sympathy. "But your father watches over you still." The young elf raised his dark eyes to the stars.

"Aye, and it comforts me greatly to watch his ship sail across the sky." Elrond smiled. "I sometimes come here just before the dawn to track its progress. It makes me feel less... alone." He glanced at the younger Elf, his gaze unguarded, and was met with a look of
genuine concern and understanding. «Aiya, what am I doing?» Elrond suddenly came to his senses. «I am speaking of matters far too personal to discuss with someone of his age and station.»

"What about your family here, my Lord?" Melpomaen's voice was timid, but his eyes betrayed a far greater courage. "Your children? Your... wife?"

Elrond could have stopped the conversation right there; the young scribe was, after all, asking about matters that should not have been his concern. But the look on Melpomaen's face and the affinity Elrond felt between them, strengthened by the intimacy of the silence in the pre-dawn darkness, made him answer without hesitation.

"My wife spends most of her time in Lórien. She prefers it there." The Lord of Imladris gave his young companion a frank look, which communicated much more than words could hope to do. "My daughter is with her, and my sons... travel a lot. They are away just now."

"If I called Imladris my home, I would not want to leave its beauty for all the charms of Middle Earth." Melpomaen stared at the stone tiles beneath his feet, but Elrond could tell from the trembling in his voice that the sentiments he had just expressed were ones he held most dear.

"But you *do* call Imladris your home, Melpomaen." Elrond gently reminded the younger Elf. "It is your home now, even if it wasn't before."

"Yes..." The young scribe's face brightened visibly. "Yes, I guess it is." He looked at Elrond with eyes that gleamed with an inner light that made the Half-elven's lonely flesh tingle once again. "Thank you for speaking with me. You were most kind to make me feel welcome." He turned as if to leave. "I will not disturb your private moments any longer."

"Don't forget your book." Elrond held out the leather-bound volume to his retreating companion. "It's what you came in here for in the first place." He gave the young scribe an amused smile.

"Oh, I couldn't take it out of the library, it belongs here..."

"I'm sure it will be quite safe with one who loves books as much as you." Elrond smiled again.

The Lord of Imladris watched Melpomaen take the weighty tome, give a quick bow, then soundlessly slip out of the room. He closed his eyes and sighed, trying hard to ignore the fire the younger Elf had kindled in his heart.

*****

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