Title: Truth is a Whisper
Author: Farewell
Rating: R
Warnings: slash. Elrohir / Arryn, mainly. Others possibly.
Notes: Prequel to "Crucifixion". You don't have to read that first; as this is supposed to be a "prequel". This is a "How Elrohir met Arryn" and a bit about my dear redhead himself. Poor little guy.
Standard Disclaimer: LOTR characters / places / whatever, aren't mine. Arryn is. (Not that he's too pleased with it.)
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The slow haunting melody slid through the leaves of the forest, meeting Arryn's pointed ears and wrapping around his heart.
The notes drew him forward unconsciously, pulling him beneath the boughs of the trees, searching for the player. The melody changed suddenly, from a mournful dirge to a quick lively piping that pulled and tugged until Arryn was running full tilt through the trees, looking almost frantically for the musician. His blood pounded in his temples, breath surging in and out, his heart beating with his rapid footsteps. The music sped up until the elf could barely keep up with its tempo—and then ceased suddenly, the last high note quivering in the air.
Arryn slowed to a walk and crept forward, searching for the player. The melody began again, slow, reverent and full of sliding grace. The elf was put in mind of a great eagle he had seen once, circling the sun in great loops, winging higher and higher among the cliff faces.
Catching a movement in the trees ahead, he slipped like a wraith towards it. Arryn crouched down; still listening to the music, and slowly drew back a bough to see who or what was there. His breath caught in his throat—it was an elf, dancing to the music. Arryn held his breath as the elf raised his arms and swayed to the pipe, spinning slowly and gracefully. The dancer had long dark hair, swinging well past his knees, slim braids nestled in the loose tresses, held by silver clasps.
The dancer froze completely for an instant and completed his twirl, now with a dagger in magically in his hand. "Who is there?" he demanded in Elvish. "Show yourself!" He commanded imperiously.
Arryn whipped away and bolted from the underbrush. He had gotten no farther than ten yards before a great weight fell on him and pinned him to the ground. Arryn struggled for a moment until he felt the cold prick of the dagger at his pulse point. The thing on his back leaned down and spoke in his ear. "Who are you? Why were you watching me?" The voice was low and demanding.
"Please," Arryn gasped. "Please, I meant no harm! I meant no harm! I heard music, and followed the sound! I meant no harm!"
The mysterious elf raised himself up a bit, placing his knees on either side of Arryn's body; he flipped the other onto his back, studying the one beneath him, knife still at his throat. "I have never seen you before. How long have you been in Imladris?"
"I- I did not know I was in Imladris. My family and I were prisoners and I managed to escape into this forest. I have been living here for days."
His eyes narrowed. "Who took your family?"
"A group of Men." Arryn was very aware of the knife still touching his skin.
The other leaned back, sheathing his knife. "I suppose that you are not about to take over my home. What is your name?" He remained sitting comfortably on Arryn's legs.
"Ah--" Arryn was a little flustered by the elf. "Arryn, my Lord. My name is Arryn."
"I am Elrohir." He looked up at the sky through the leaves. "It is getting late; will you come to my house with me?"
"Y- yes sir," Arryn stuttered.
Elrohir rose to his feet and pulled Arryn up to face him. "Then let us fetch Mithrandir, and we shall be off."
"Who is Mithrandir, Lord?"
Elrohir smiled. "He is your mysterious piper. He was playing for me."
"No need to fetch him; he has fetched himself," a gruff voice behind them said. "And I brought your shirt, Elrohir, lest your Father fret and not let you out of the house again."
Arryn whipped around to see a grizzled old man cloaked in gray come lumbering out of the brush, leaning heavily on a staff taller than his head. Arryn was amazed that he hadn't heard him sooner.
"Thank you, Mithrandir," Elrohir replied dutifully, winking as Arryn looked back at him; their gazes catching and holding.
"If you two have both finished staring at each other!" Came the old man's annoyed comment. As they snapped their heads around to him, he sighed. "Shall we depart?"
"My apologies, my Lord," Arryn looked at the ground.
"Bah!" the old man waved it away. "I know how it is between two elves." His eyes twinkled at the twin blushes.
Elrohir cleared his throat and whistled sharply; horses could be heard galloping towards them. Arryn shifted nervously as Elrohir pulled his shirt back on. Two horses burst into the clearing, bolting beautifully side by side. Arryn stepped back instinctively, behind Elrohir a bit. He had never been very comfortable around horses. //Will they not stop?// he thought, alarmed. Just before the beasts would overrun them, Elrohir held up a hand, and they skidded to a halt. The dark haired elf looked behind him at Arryn, smiling and taking his hand.
He drew the nervous elf forward. "Have you never been near a horse before?" he asked, clearly amused.
"Of course I have!" Arryn said defensively. "But it – er – did not like me."
Elrohir laughed lightly. "She will like you, I promise."
Mithrandir mounted his horse swiftly, waiting while Elrohir lifted the smaller Arryn to perch precariously on the horse's back. Elrohir swung up behind him, wrapping a firm arm around the other's middle. They rode quickly to the City, Arryn holding on tightly as the mare threw in a good-humored buck. "Oh!"
Elrohir laughed. "You awful beast!" he chided. "Do not scare him more!"
The horse whinnied a laugh, but continued on to the City without further mishaps. As the three rode through the city, elves going about their business on the streets waved and called out greetings. Mithrandir and Elrohir seemed to be well liked. Soon a great house stood in sight, and Arryn couldn't help but gasp at its splendor; even from far away, he could see that the house was a magnificent one, like the castles in stories his mother used to tell him.
"What is that place?" he asked, awed.
"The Last Homely House," Elrohir replied over his shoulder. "Or, as I like to call it, Home."
Arryn gaped. "You live there? Are you a king?" He belatedly wondered if he should bow, or kneel; however he had no idea how to do either while on a horse.
"No. However, my father is the ruler of this Valley, so I suppose I am a prince." Elrohir said this offhandedly, as if it was of no matter at all. Arryn made a quiet sound deep in his throat, and Elrohir twisted around to face him. "Oh don't be like that! We were getting along so nicely! I hate all this formality."
Mithrandir spoke in his gruff, humor-filled voice. "He does, too. Horrible beast, he is."
Taking pity on Arryn's lost look, Elrohir smiled. "If we are all equal in the eyes of the Valar, why can we not be equal in each other's eyes?"
"I suppose..." Arryn spoke quietly, feeling very overwhelmed. Elrohir was a strange elf, and no mistake.
As they approached the house, the first thing Arryn noticed was the smell of water—there was water coming from every conceivable place. Waterfalls, streams, brooks—some leading to the house, some away, some seeming to disappear entirely into the ground. With awe, he watched the elves around him, going about their tasks, two of them coming out to hold their horses. He noticed a dark-haired elf stepping down the stairs to greet them.
"Who is that?" he whispered to Elrohir.
He looked around. "My father, Elrond."
Elrond stepped up to their horse. "Elrohir," he said warmly. "Did you have a good day?" He paused for a moment, looking solemnly at the redhead. "Who is your friend?"
Elrohir dismounted smoothly, and helped Arryn down. "This is Arryn. I found him in the woods." Arryn felt slightly intimidated by the powerful lord—well, he assumed he was powerful; anyone who was the Master of such a valley must be. The stern gaze pinned him where he stood, and for the life of him he could not speak. He wondered if he should bow, or kneel, but he remembered what Elrohir said about such behavior, and hesitantly kept his feet.
Elrohir looked at the two elves, feeling the discomfort. He smiled cheekily, trying to ease the tension. "Can I keep him, Ada? Can I?"
Elrond broke Arryn's gaze, and glared at his son, making an exasperated noise in his throat, and turned back to Arryn. "Welcome to Imladris. Ignore the beast beside you." The eyes turned piercing. "I have never seen you before. Why are you in my Valley?"
Elrohir answered for Arryn, who stood there tongue-tied. "His family was captured by a group of Men. I thought that we might be able to help him, or at least give him a place to stay for a while." He looked hopefully at his father.
Elrond sighed, "I suppose, you will have to find him a guest room. And Arryn, would you join us for our evening meal?"
Arryn nodded his head vigorously, trying to get on the Lord's good side. "Certainly, my Lord," he managed. "I would love to."
Elrond waved them away, speaking only once more. "Elladan is back. He will be joining us at supper as well."
"He is home?!" Elrohir looked overjoyed. Arryn felt a slight twinge of regret. //This Elladan is probably Elrohir's lover.// Elrohir immediately turned back to the lost-looking redhead. "Come with me. I must put my mare away."
As they headed toward a large building, Arryn couldn't keep from glancing back at the Lord still standing on the steps. He couldn't help but feel the cold glare of suspicion that Elrond sent his way.
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