THE BITTER GIFT OF COMPASSION

by Soledad

 Disclaimer and rating as in Chapter One.

Author's note: as you surely realized, some of the descriptions were directly borrowed from ''the Fellowship of the Ring''.

CHAPTER TWO: A FATEFUL ENCOUNTER

Ere he had left Minas Tirith for this journey, Boromir made sure he took some garment with him that could be worn on formal occasions like this one. After all, he was taught to handle future allies properly. Nothing overly fancy, though, for above all else he was a warrior, but his high rank among his own people demanded to be shown time and again. Still, he had simple tastes and preferred dark colours; a deep burgundy, almost brown tunic with golden embroidery on its high collar and a dark, velvety blue jacket would do, he decided.

On a last thought he fastened the silver clasp with the White Tree of Minas Tirith upon his collar, finding some bitter comfort in the thought that far away from here there was someone who felt at least respect for him.

Lately, it was a rare thing, indeed.

He was hardly finished with preparations when one of the Elves – he supposed it had to be Lindir, though it felt hard to keep all those fair faces apart – came by and escorted him to the main house once again. This time they entered it through a different archway that led directly into the great hall where Elrond used to have his feasts with his guests.

The vast hall was filled with folk; Elves for the most part, though there were a few guests of other sorts whom Boromir could not recognize. Elrond, as it was his custom, sat in a great chair at the end of a long table upon the dais; and next to him on the one side sat two tall, dark-haired, grey-eyed men – their fair faces smooth and ageless, and thin circlets of silver were upon their brows. Very alike they were and bore a great likeness to Elrond, too, so they had to be the twin sons of Imladris' master. On Elrond's other side, there stood an empty seat.

In the middle of the table, against the woven clothes upon the wall, there was a chair under a canopy, and there sat the Lady Arwen, seeming a lot more queenly than even the previous afternoon. For her dark hair was ceremonially braided now, like a coronet, and above her brow her head was covered with a cap of silver lace netted with small gems, glittering white; but she had taken off her richly adorned cloak, and her soft grey raiment had no ornament save a girdle of leaves wrought in silver.

And on her side, to Boromir's surprise, sat Strider; his dark velvet cloak was thorn back and he was clad in Elven-mail, and a white diamont in the shape of a star shone upon his breast. Truly, he seemed more to belong to this Elven household than to his own Kin, and Boromir started wondering just who this Ranger might be.

Yet before he could have followed his suspicious thoughts much further, he was seated across the Lady Arwen – a place of great honour in Elrond's house –, and shortly after the feast had began, Legolas appeared as of thin air and took the empty seat on Elrond's side. He wore the long, soft silvery-green cloak Boromir had seen on him and his people while leaving the guest house, but beneath that a long robe of the same soft material, girdled with a belt of golden leaves. At this very moment he truly looked every bit of the Prince he was – and, strangely, a lot less youthful and undisturbed than usually.

Boromir shot the Lady Arwen a surprised look. ''It seems he shall not be out dancing in the moonlight amongh the trees on this eve'', he said, tilting his head slightly towards the Wood-Elf.

''Nay'', Arwen responded quietly, a disturbed furrow marring her smooth brow. ''He has to be in desperate need of news from the Wild when he abandoned his beloved trees for the stone walls of this hall so soon. Has he said aught to you, Estel?''

The Ranger, now clad like an Elven prince, shook his head. ''Naught; but he was not very forthcoming with news from Mirkwood all these days, either. Something must have gone wrong in his father's realm.''

''Then why would he not tell you about it?'' Boromir wondered. ''Are the two of you not old friends?''

''Very old friends, as Men count time, like I already told you'', Strider answered, somewhat irritated, ''but it has been the wish of Elrond that such matters shall only be discussed in the Council. And since this is his house, we all have to respect his wishes.''

That made Boromir thoughtful and he talked very little throughout the rest of their meal, watching the others around him – the sons of Elrond above all, for they amazed him to no end. Through very alike they seemed at the first sight, as time passed, he managed to make out small differences – very small ones, more in the manner they carried themselves than in their looks.

As they spoke together – and with Legolas and their father as well –, and Boromir kept watching them, the one that sat next to Elrond turned towards him for a fleeting moment, as if he had felt being watched, and the light of his keen grey eyes fell on Boromir from afar and pierced his heart.

''That one is Elladan'', the Lady Arwen mentioned with a slight smile, and Boromir turned away his glance in embarrassment for having glared at Elrond's eldest that openly.

At length the feast came to an end. Elrond and Arwen rose and went down the hall, and the guests followed him in due order. The doors were thrown open, and they went across a wide passage through other doors and came into a further hall. In it were no tables, but a bright fire was burning in a great hearth between the carven pillars upon either side.

Boromir found himself walking with Elladan – which surprised him, for he could not remember seeing Elrond's son to leave his father's side and wait for him. The Half-Elf was somewhat taller than he – not overly so, a mere one or two inches maybe… only as much as Faramir –, and was clad in heavy ceremonial robes like Elrond himself. Yet the manner he moved told clearly that he would be more comfortable in a mail shirt, and there was a certain hardness in his fair face that could not be found on other Elves, not even his own kindred. Also, he seemed more broadly built than Elves usually were, in spite of his great likeness both to his father and brother.

''This is the Hall of Fire'', he said without a preambe; his voice, too, was deeper and less soft than Elrond's. ''Here you shall hear many songs and tales – if you can keep awake. But except on high days it usually stands empty and quiet, and people come here who wish for peace and thought. There is always a fire here, all the year round, but here is little other light.'' Then he paused for a moment, looked at Boromir intently and added: ''I am called Elladan.''

''I know'', Boromir nodded, ''the Lady Arwen told me a moment ago. She also meant that I might get along with you a lot better than with all the other Elves here; though I cannot understand why that would be so.''

Elladan laughed quietly. ''So, my little sister was eager to introduce you to the prodigal son of Elrond's house? Mayhap she hoped I would look… finer, more Elven in the company of a mortal Man. But she is right, of course'', he added wrily. ''I am not what one would expect from Elves, and sometimes that disturbs my father greatly.''

Boromir raised an eyebrow in askance. ''Truly? In what way?''

Elladan did not answer him immediately, guiding him instead to a farther, more private part of the Hall of Fire, where they could sit almost unseen in the shadow of a pillar, on a beautifully carved, low wooden bench. Then he went to bring them some wine.

As Elrond entered and went towards the seat prepared for him, Elvish minstrels began to make sweet music, playing harps and flutes and other instruments – Boromir could not even guess what they were. Slowly, the hall filled and he looked with awe upon the many fair faces that were gathered together; the golden firelight played upon them and shimmered in their hair, and he could not help but think how much Faramir would enjoy a night full of beauty and Elven music.

This turned his thoughts towards the other tall, grey-eyed man who sat next to him, deep in thoughts – which did not seem to be very joyful ones, either. Elladan must have felt his gaze, for when everyone was seated and all attention turned to the minstrels, he poured some wine into Boromir's goblet and began to speak in a low voice.

''A disturbance I am for the Lord of Imladris, for it is said that more alike my mortal ancestors I am than my Elven sires – which is strange, for I have very little mortal blood in my veins, indeed. Three generations have gone by since Tuor son of Huor wedded Idril Celebrindal in the hidden city of Gondolin and mixed the blood of the Noldorin Kings with that of mortal Men. That is a long time, even for Elves. Yet his heritage, for some unknown chance, is stronger in me than it has ever been in anyone of our family… and it makes me different.''

This surprised Boromir greatly, for he had begun to believe that Elves would look down on Men in dismay. Never had he considered, though, that it would include one of their own for the blood of mortal Men in his veins.

''How does it show?'', he asked.

Elladan took a sip of his own goblet; his eyes seemed to look inwards and there was pain on his fair face. ''Surely you must be well-versed in the lore of Númenor, being the Heir of Gondor's Steward'', he said. Boromir nodded.

''I know much about Westernesse, its Kings and Queens and its fall'', he answered, ''yet the one who is wise in lore is not me but my brother. He always had been more fond of books and music than of weapons of war, to the great dismay of our Lord and father, who wished both his sons to be hard-hearted warriors.'' He simled wrily. ''Mayhap you should have born to our family and Faramir to yours. Then both our fathers would be more content and the two of you would have more peace.''

There must have been a slight trembling in his voice, for Elladan gave him a strange look, and Boromir got the uncomfortable feeling thal Elrond's son could read him like an open book.

''Being soul-bound is common among brothers who are of close age'', said Elladan softly. ''However different we might be, I would not wish to be apart from Elrohir, not even if it would please my father to have a son who does not stand out from his Elven court through the sometimes harsh demeanor of his mortal blood. And it pains me greatly that one day I might have to say farewell to my brother. When he departs over Sea, he shall take part of me with him – the better part, I fear, that I shall be missing for my remaining days.''

''Why should your roads part?'' Boromir asked, confused. ''Are not all Elves meant to leave for the Undying Lands, one day or another?''

''They are'', Elladan nodded thoughtfully, ''for they would fade away and perish otherwise. But like all of Eärendil's children, I, too, was given the choice between the Blessed Realm and Ilúvatar's gift for mortal Men, and when my brother sets sail for Eressëa, I fear I shall not be with him on that ship.''

Boromir remained silent for several heartbeats, considering the weight of what he had just been told.

''So you chose to become mortal?'' he asked in utter disbelief. ''Why would you do such a thing?''

Elladan smiled ruefully. ''I would not be the first of our family to take that choice, as you certainly know. For had my father's brother not chosen the life of mortal Men, Númenor would never have had a King. All those Lords whom your ancestors had so faithfully served through countless centuries, descended from our family.''

He paused for a moment, thinking.

''But I know not yet how I shall choose'', he then continued, ''for though I might be the only one of Noldorin blood who cannot hear the siren song of the Sea, I do know that 'tis already tearing on Elrohir's heart, and I know not whether at the end I would be strong enough to let him go alone.''

''How very close the two of you must be!'' Boromir said in awe. ''Tis said that twins are soul-bound by nature – but you have had countless centuries to strengthen that bond of yours that had once been forged in your mother's womb.''

He felt his own voice betraying him – it trembled once more, with envy and longing, his heart wondering whether he would see his brother again. Elladan gave him that piercing gaze again – then his steel-grey eyes softened in understanding.

''Not that way as you seem to believe'', he answered gently, ''for though it is known to have happened among Elves, that kind of love is rare and almost ever leads to disaster and great pain. But we are very close, indeed – for other reasons.''

''Which ones?'' Boromir asked.

It amazed him that Elladan would be so open about his own inner struggles, but he guessed that it gave Elrond's son some sort of relief to be able to speak about these things with someone who would not give him that customary Elvish frown.

Elladan set down his goblet and absently tried to pull up one of his long legs, in order to rest his chin on his knee in the manner travelling people do it at a campfire. Restricted by his long, heavy ceremonial robes, however, he could not do it; so he made a wry face and answered softly:

''Few others could ever understand how our dual heritage is tearing us apart from the inside, and only in each other can we find a kindred soul that keeps us still together… for a little while yet. For I fear that when the day finally comes, I shall not have the strength to leave Middle-earth behind, since the undying light of Valinor is not calling to me. For the love of the Elves for their land and their works is deeper than the deepths of the Sea, and their regret is undying and cannot ever wholly be assuaged. Alas, that this seems to be the only thing that is really Elvish in my heart!''

''Does your brother feel the same?'' Boromir asked.

''Greatly so'', Elladan nodded sadly. ''He is the truest Elf from all of Elrond's children, going more after our mother than after the Lord of Imladris. Thus not only the Sea-longing of Elves is tearing on his heart constantly, part of him is desperately holding on to the immortal trees of the Golden Wood where our mother came from.''

''Was then your mother a Wood-Elf, too?'' Boromir wondered. But Elladan only shook his head.

''Nay. But her mother is, though of Noldorin blood herself, the Lady of many Silvan folk. The Galadhrim they are called; and they dwell in houses built on treetops. Many joyful seasons had we spent with our mother's people, and Elrohir was always the most fond of those times. The trees, the songs, the dancing in moonlight touched his heart more deeply than Father would have thought. So it shall be a long time ere he might be able to leave these shores, either.''

''What about the Lady Arwen?'' Boromir knew he probably asked too much, but the deep, sorrowful secrets of Elrond's House intrigued him to no end – and they made him forget his own anguish for the time being.

A great sadness clouded Elladan's fair face upon hearing this question.

''She has already made her choice'', he said. ''A bittersweet one it is for her and a source of great grief for our father; but I am not given leave to speak about it. Should we prove able to cast the growing shadow away, it shall be shown to everyone.''

Boromir did not press the matter, partly for he knew he could not make Elladan tell him anything he did not want to tell, partly for he began to enjoy the company of Elrond's son truly. Elladan was, indeed, very different from all the Elves he had met so far – more like a Man than like the haughty sons of the Firstborn.

Which remainded him of something he had heard from Legolas during their journey through the Wild.

''I was told that the two of you often ride out to fight alongside the Rangers of the North'', he said.

Elladan nodded. ''We do.''

''Tis a little unusual for Elves, is it not?'' Boromir continued. For some reason, he suddenly wanted to know more about this man – this Elf – who, unlike the others in the valley, treated him as an equal.

''We are only Half-Elven'', Elladan responded with a shrug, ''and we were bred as warriors as much as taught the lore of our ancestors.''

Boromir glared at him in disapproval, clearly feeling that the other – for the first time on this evening – tried to avoid a straight answer.

''Yet that is not all'', he stated firmly. Elladan shrugged again.

''We have our very personal war with Orcs'', he admitted reluctantly. ''More than five hundred years ago, our mother, journeying to Lothlórien once again, was waylaid in the Redhorn Pass. We came just in time to rescue her, but she had received a poisonous wound in the caves of the Orcs. Father was able to heal her body, yet her spirit was broken, forever. She could not find any joy or beauty in Middle-earth any more, and only a year later she departed over Sea, for there was nothing left that could have kept her among us. It broke Father's heart'', he added sadly. ''Were it not for Legolas, we would have lost him as well.''

Boromir swallowed hard. The centuries-old love between the Lord of Imladris and the Prince of Mirkwood was not a thing he wanted to discuss. It remainded him too much of what he could not have.

What he could never have.

''How come that both you and your brother remained alone?'' he asked. ''Surely, it would not be hard for you to find suitable spouses among your own Kin. ''You are of high birth, even as Elves go.''

''True'', Elladan agreed, ''and Elrohir, in fact, is promised to a fine lady of Gildor Inglorion's kindred, from the gold-haired House of Finrod. The betrothal has been official for quite some time, and the wedding is planned after the upcoming dark times have passed – should they ever pass.''

He became silent and they sat quietly for a while, both deep in dark thoughts. Then Elladan looked up again and casually added:

''As for me, I am not the right one to enter a marriage – not with an Elven woman, at least, and I know naught about mortal maidens. I only had man-lovers so far, all my life.''

Boromir nearly choked on his wine over this off-handed remark. Elladan looked at him and smiled.

''I have heard that among most Men, moreso among those of Gondor, such a thing is heavily frowned upon – but it happens among mortal Men, too, nevertheless. Among Elves, it is cherished and celebrated just as much as other forms of love… even among brothers, though, as I said before, that is rare and usually turns out badly. I can feel the longing in your heart, son of Denethor. Why would you not let me give you comfort?''

The straightforward offer, given with that uncanny Elven lightness and grace, almost hauled Boromir from his seat. He just sat there, petrified, unable to give any answer… in truth, hardly able to even breathe.

Ere he could have won his voice back, though, Elladan leaned over without a warning, took his face into those slender hands, calloused like any mortal Man's from endless centuries of swordfight, and kissed him, gently but soundly, on the lips.

''What are you afraid of?'' the son of Elrond asked, releasing Boromir again, but not ere he brushed the hair from his temples.

''I… I have never allowed this of myself!'' Boromir whispered, almost inaudible, even for Elladan's keen Elven ears. ''For the one I gave my heart once and forever, would not, could not love me like this…''

''And you did not want to spoil your feelings by taking another lover'', Elladan finished for him. ''You are a faithful man. I respect that. But 'tis only comfort I am offering… a little joy to lift the shadow off your heart – and from mine as well. Or has your father, the Lord Steward, already betrothed you? For I want not to interfere with your life, causing you even more sorrow.''

''Nay, not yet'', Boromir said, ''but he intends to do so. And I have promised Éowyn of Rohan to wed her, should the Valar allow me to return from this quest. For trapped she is amongst the weakening walls of the Golden Hall of Meduseld and needs to be set free… and I came to respect her greatly and intend to keep my word.''

''No-one forces you to break your oath'', Elladan said, ''yet as long as your betrothal is not officially announced, you are free. Why do you want to deny yourself?''

''What could you possibly need of me?'' Boromir returned the question. ''I am but a Man. A Man of high birth among my own people, certainly, but a short-living, roughly-shaped creature compared with you. I know naught but war and harshness.''

''And yet you are strong and fair in your own way'', Elladan replied, smiling, ''and touching the fire of your passion warms my lonely heart and makes me feel young once again. This will not go any further than the borders of our valley – I know that and I can live with that. Yet fate has given us now – and I do not intend to let it pass.''

With that, he leaned over and kissed Boromir again, longer and deeper this time, with the inevitable strength of sea-waves rolling upon the shore, and Boromir felt himself panicking.

''You should not do this'', he murmured, trembling slightly, yet not with fear only. ''What if your father notices…? He thinks me untrustworthy as it is… bedding his son would certainly not help.''

''If you are so frightened of the Lord of Imladris' wrath, we should go somewhere where he cannot see us'', Elladan gracefully rose from the bench and pulled Boromir up with him. ''Would my chambers suffice?''

Not waiting for an answer, he grabbed Boromir's arm with surprising strength and with mild force he led him out of the Hall of Fire. Once in the darkened privacy in the arched staircase, Boromir gave up his resistance and went with him willingly.

And so the son of Elrond took the son of Denethor by the hand and led him to his own chambers and comforted the tortured heart of Gondor's Heir, teaching him the love between brothers in arms.

For in times of great peril 'tis often the only thing that keeps the weary going to face new evils every morrow.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Across the hall, Legolas threw a thoughtful look after their retreating forms.

''To tell the truth, this was not what I meant when I said that something has to be done about Boromir'', he said to Elrond. ''I thought mayhap Estel could form a bond with him – a different one.''

Elrond sat in his seat quietly, firelight shining on his face like sunlight on summer leaves.

''I know'', he said, but his eyes were on the Lady Arwen and Strider who were talking in soft voices. ''But I do know as well that Elladan needs to bond with his mortal heritage every time and again. 'Tis not the first time he had taken a mortal lover and mayhap they would be good for each other – for the remaining few days Gondor's Heir spends in Imladris. After that… his path lays in darkness for my eyes.''

''I wish that Elladan could lift some of that darkness off his heart'', Legolas sighed, ''for it weights heavily upon him, and I fear that he is in grave danger.''

''He is'', Elrond responded solemnly. ''Let us hope that he would find the light of joy in Elladan's arms and so learn to trust us a little more. He shall need that trust, once Estel's claim is announced. For it has to be announced and accepted, if we wish to cast the Shadow away. We shall not have another choice. From now on, all our fates shall be interwoven.''

Legolas nodded, his face solemn as well. ''How very true… Now, would the Lord of Imladris seek to find some light and joy himself? For I have not returned to this house of stone ere the moonlight dance could have even begun to brood over the upcoming doom.''

''Oh the impatience of youth!'' Elrond laughed, but he rose from his seat nevertheless and began to stroll towards the door, followed by Legolas.

In the soft twilight no-one even noticed their departure, except the Lady Arwen, who looked after them with a fond, knowing smile.

Just as they stepped over the threshold, a single, clear voice rose in song:

A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, sí nef aeron!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

There is a Chapter 3 added to this tale, to be find on my own website, because of the new rules. You can link to it from my profile page, but please consider that it is for adult readers only. Thank you.