Title: Revelations, Part 3 of 5
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer2000@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Paring: Elrond/Celeborn; Haldir/Gildor
Summary: Celeborn discovers that you're never too old to learn something
new. A continuation of Unspoken (so read that one first.)
Feedback: Please! I'd bribe you if I owned anything.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I want them so!
Warning: BDSM eventually.
Haldir shifted position again, leaning against one of the ballroom's long, linen draped tables that offered refreshments to overheated partygoers. He paid no attention to the beauty of the scene before him; the brightly dressed guests laughing and dancing under heavy ropes of flowers and cascades of silk bunting were not what gripped his attention. The ballroom had been lavishly decorated for Elrohir's coming of age, and the shining wood, sparkling crystal and magnificent towers of sweet smelling tapers would normally have brought an expression of appreciation to a lover of beauty like Haldir, but not tonight. Even the prospect of knowing that his emotions were showing in his skittish actions did not help him maintain his usual calm. Where had Celeborn gone? It was the question that plagued him and would not go away.
He had seen Elrond excuse himself earlier, but had not tried to follow, assuming that he was merely going to change and would soon rejoin the party. Not, he had thought at the time, that Elrohir was likely to notice one way or the other; everyone in the room could have vanished, and his eyes, which never left the shining elf at his side, would probably not have registered the fact. Haldir had rarely seen two Eldar so completely besotted, and so open about announcing that fact to the gathered throng. Elves happily laughed and sang, danced and joked with each other, but a certain . . . dignity . . . was retained nonetheless, especially among the upper classes. Although Haldir had once, before his unsettling visit to Imladris, thought that nothing could still shock him, he had to admit to being somewhat scandalized at seeing Elrohir so blatantly fawning over his lover. At the moment, they were draped all over each other on an alcove seat under a flower arch, and although they were virtually surrounded by groups of well-wishers, the two had eyes only for each other. They were dressed so alike--in almost identical dark red robes--and were so entertwined that it was difficult to say where one began and the other left off. Haldir had spared a moment to wish that Elrond would say something, either to his son or to his wayward seneschal, about observing the proprieties in public. It was then that he had realised that Elrond had not returned.
At almost the same moment, he had heard Celeborn ask Elladan to make his and Elrond's excuses to his younger brother, should he ask after them. "We old ones need more rest than you elflings. I am afraid that my days of dancing until dawn are over." Yet Celeborn did not look at all tired, Haldir noted, having apparently rested up from his journey. Even more worrisome was the fact that, before he exited the ballroom, he stopped at the refreshment table near Haldir to pick up two wine glasses. Haldir stood rooted to the spot as his king requested a particularly fine vintage from one of the servants, and waited with a satisfied smirk on his face as the elf hurried off to fill his order. Haldir regarded him through narrowed eyes. He had rarely seen Celeborn so animated--the elf was actually humming to himself, and was almost bouncing on his feet. The size of the bottle the servant handed him a moment later worried Haldir even more, as no elf would be likely to drink such a draught by himself, nor would he, of course, need two glasses if he planned to do so. Celeborn was meeting someone.
Normally, Haldir would have found the idea of his king managing to arrange a rendezvous so quickly after arriving at Imladris--and weary from a hard ride at that--considerably amusing. He did not find it so at present. He fidgeted by the refreshment table and drank another glass of something he did not bother to taste. He told himself he was being absurd. What he suspected was simply not possible. There were thousands of elves at the festivities, which spilled out of the ballroom and had taken over a large part of the grounds, causing servants to have to scurry to light more burning tapers. Even if Celeborn was meeting someone, then, it didn't have to be Elrond. The fact that Imladris' lord had not come back to the ballroom could have been due to any number of things. There could have be a medical emergency, or possibly a raid along the borders . . . anything could have needed the attention of the master of the house. Or perhaps, Haldir thought in desperation, he had just been tired.
But Elrond had not looked tired at dinner. No, he had been his normal witty and entertaining self, and had amused Haldir greatly by some of the stories he told--borderline scandalous as some of them were--of revered First Age figures. Elrond loved history, but had a unique talent for not taking it too seriously--a byproduct, Haldir assumed, of having lived through much of it. He had seemed a bit strange toward the end of the meal, however, now that Haldir thought about it. Elrond was usually never clumsy; indeed, his unstudied grace was one of the things Haldir found so tempting about him, as he genuinely had no idea of the sensuality in his every motion. Haldir had had to stop watching him earlier that night, as he turned the simple action of peeling a pear into almost a sexual act. Haldir closed his eyes and saw again those skillful fingers gently probing several of the large, rounded fruits in the basket presented to him, until he finally selected a particularly fat one of a perfect fleshy hue. Taking up a small gold knife, Elrond had paused to answer a question of Elrohir's, and absentmindedly caressed the tender skin of the peach as he did so. Finally turning his attention back to it, he slowly inserted the knife tip and edged around the center, pausing to lick a trickle of juice from his hand with a comment about the ripeness of the fruit. That had been about the time Haldir had decided to drag his eyes away and think, very hard, about something else. Elrohir must have noticed something, however, for he had grinned impudently and, with an amused glint in his dark eyes, proffered him the fruit bowl. Haldir had declined.
He remembered, however, that, only a few minutes later, Elrond had given a small yelp and choked on his glass of wine, going so far as to actually spill some of it on the maroon velvet of his robes. It had been most out of character, and Elrond had not seemed to regain his usual bonhomie thereafter. He had dropped his knife with an audible clatter just a few seconds later, and had seemed tense for the rest of the meal. He had all but fled the ballroom as soon as dinner was over, and Celeborn, after a few minutes, had followed, begging Erestor to make his and Elrond's excuses to the guest of honour. His and Elrond's. Haldir took another glass from the table and drained it, ignoring the worried look the servant gave him as he did so.
"It is sad to experience such a rare occasion, and be unable to remember it on the morrow."
Haldir glanced in surprise at the servant, who had been giving him steadily more concerned looks as the number of his wine glasses piled up, but the elf was currently several feet away serving other partygoers.
"I think you have had enough, pretty one," Haldir watched in amazement as his latest wine glass, now mostly empty anyway, was removed from his fingers and sat on the table. "Come, gwador, and walk in the gardens with me. I am sure we can find other ways of distracting you from whatever sorrow it is you bear."
Haldir focused, a little blearily, on the smiling elf beside him who, despite the familiarity of his address, was a complete stranger. "Who are you, to speak to me in such a fashion?"
The elf laughed prettily, with dimples suddenly appearing on his almost round face. "Well done," he said approvingly, "it is good to see you can still talk, at least. Can you walk, too, gwador, or shall I carry you?"
Haldir blinked at the annoying creature and tried to concentrate. He wished the elf, who still hadn't bothered to volunteer his name, would go away and amuse himself with someone else. Haldir had every intention of getting very, very drunk that night, and wanted to do it in peace. He did not realise he had said the last aloud, until his companion chuckled, and placed a strong arm about his waste. "I think you have already reached that goal, mellon." Haldir found himself being steered out of the ballroom and into the fragrant darkness of the gardens. "To answer your query, my beautiful brother, I am Gildor, often of Imladris, but just as frequently of everywhere else. I have been away for awhile on a scouting mission for my Lord Elrond, but am now returned to wish dear Elrohir well on his finally coming of age." He glanced in amusement back over his shoulder at the picture made by the guest of honour and Glorfindel. "In more ways than one," he murmured, apparently delighted with what he saw.
"Do you laugh at everything?" Haldir asked him in annoyance, as he was unceremoniously dumped onto a bench, which he almost immediately fell off of and onto the grass beyond.
"No, gwador," Gildor gasped, wiping away tears of amusement as he hauled Haldir's largely inert form back onto the bench. "Although I must admit, I have rarely found Imladris so entertaining as this night."
"I am glad I could add to your evening's fun," Haldir told him, slightly disconcerted to find himself wrapped securely in Gildor's strong arms. "Now release me and rejoin your friends, if you have any."
Another chuckle greeted this attempt at dignity. "Oh, I have them, meldir, but I do not find them half as interesting as you. Besides, if I let you go, you'll just fall off the bench again, and a sorry sight that would be, the great Haldir of Lorien, most respected among the Galadrim, to be hauled off to bed by the servants tomorrow morning. Is that what you want, gwador, to be picked up with the party trash and stowed away, like some common man who cannot hold his wine?"
"A man would never have been able to drink as much as I have tonight," Haldir replied, stung, "not and lived, at any rate. And how is it you know my name, Gildor of everywhere? I have never heard of yours."
Gildor did not seem to take offense at the sneer in Haldir's last comment. Indeed, nothing seemed to crack his irritating cheerfulness. "Oh, but you are not supposed to have heard of me, Haldir o' Lorien. That is how I serve my master best, by being unnoticed and passing unseen. I go where I wish and see and hear all, but no one sees me, unless I wish it." He smiled down into the face of the inebriated elf who was now practically lying in his lap. "It is a useful ability, gwador, but it is not something you could duplicate. Such beauty," he mused, running a hand through Haldir's somewhat tangled locks. "No one would ever forget if they had seen you, meldir. You would make a very bad spy."
"It is easy to see that you would make a very good one," Haldir replied, as nastily as he could manage. In truth, the elf who was laughing at his distress was not ill-favoured, but he was plain by elvish standards. He had a good natured, round face that would never be anything more than pleasant, a strong but too solid body that lacked grace, and slightly calloused hands that would never be elegant. His dress robes were a plain dark grey, with no ornamentation at all, and the braids in his dull brown hair looked rather like a nearsighted elfling just out of the cradle had done them for him. Haldir could not help contrasting him with the dark beauty that haunted his dreams of late, and to his horror, he felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. Oh, why could this stupid, ugly elf not leave him in his distress? The shame of being seen so obviously upset by someone he did not even know was a nightmare for Haldir, but he was in no condition to do anything about it.
"I quite agree, and I thank the Valar every night for giving me such a highly forgettable face. I must also remember to thank them for not cursing me with whatever sorrow plagues your heart, gwador, for it truly seems that beauty is not enough to bring happiness."
Haldir could stand no more of this conversation. His heart felt as if it would break, his head was spinning from too much wine, and his mind was tortured with thoughts of what Elrond must be doing. It was all too much. If his tormentor would not leave him, then he would leave his tormentor, however difficult that might be. Staggering to his feet, Haldir, tried to straighten his rumpled robes, but found the job too difficult to manage at the moment. Indeed, he realised as the last Homely House swayed alarmingly before him, that there was a very good chance his evening would end with him sticking inelegantly out of a clump of bushes, rather than safely back in his bed. Not that he cared that much, for it would be a lonely bed, and his thoughts would torture him ceaselessly unless he managed to quiet them with still more wine.
"No, my pretty Galadrim, I do not think so." Gildor had risen to his feet and again looped an arm around the protesting Haldir. "If you want to go to your bed, I will help you, but no more wine! You have had too much already, and will regret it in the morning as it is."
Haldir grimaced, thinking that he regretted even setting foot out of the Golden Wood, but was careful not to voice his thoughts. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he had said too much already to one who understood more than most. Leaning reluctantly on Gildor, Haldir staggered up the steps towards his rooms with a heavy heart. Why was it that fate always denies us what we want, and forces on us what we do not?
Gildor laughed next to him, and his arm tightened as they slowly negotiated the stairs. "Ah, but sometimes, gwador, it gives us what we need."
Haldir shifted position again, leaning against one of the ballroom's long, linen draped tables that offered refreshments to overheated partygoers. He paid no attention to the beauty of the scene before him; the brightly dressed guests laughing and dancing under heavy ropes of flowers and cascades of silk bunting were not what gripped his attention. The ballroom had been lavishly decorated for Elrohir's coming of age, and the shining wood, sparkling crystal and magnificent towers of sweet smelling tapers would normally have brought an expression of appreciation to a lover of beauty like Haldir, but not tonight. Even the prospect of knowing that his emotions were showing in his skittish actions did not help him maintain his usual calm. Where had Celeborn gone? It was the question that plagued him and would not go away.
He had seen Elrond excuse himself earlier, but had not tried to follow, assuming that he was merely going to change and would soon rejoin the party. Not, he had thought at the time, that Elrohir was likely to notice one way or the other; everyone in the room could have vanished, and his eyes, which never left the shining elf at his side, would probably not have registered the fact. Haldir had rarely seen two Eldar so completely besotted, and so open about announcing that fact to the gathered throng. Elves happily laughed and sang, danced and joked with each other, but a certain . . . dignity . . . was retained nonetheless, especially among the upper classes. Although Haldir had once, before his unsettling visit to Imladris, thought that nothing could still shock him, he had to admit to being somewhat scandalized at seeing Elrohir so blatantly fawning over his lover. At the moment, they were draped all over each other on an alcove seat under a flower arch, and although they were virtually surrounded by groups of well-wishers, the two had eyes only for each other. They were dressed so alike--in almost identical dark red robes--and were so entertwined that it was difficult to say where one began and the other left off. Haldir had spared a moment to wish that Elrond would say something, either to his son or to his wayward seneschal, about observing the proprieties in public. It was then that he had realised that Elrond had not returned.
At almost the same moment, he had heard Celeborn ask Elladan to make his and Elrond's excuses to his younger brother, should he ask after them. "We old ones need more rest than you elflings. I am afraid that my days of dancing until dawn are over." Yet Celeborn did not look at all tired, Haldir noted, having apparently rested up from his journey. Even more worrisome was the fact that, before he exited the ballroom, he stopped at the refreshment table near Haldir to pick up two wine glasses. Haldir stood rooted to the spot as his king requested a particularly fine vintage from one of the servants, and waited with a satisfied smirk on his face as the elf hurried off to fill his order. Haldir regarded him through narrowed eyes. He had rarely seen Celeborn so animated--the elf was actually humming to himself, and was almost bouncing on his feet. The size of the bottle the servant handed him a moment later worried Haldir even more, as no elf would be likely to drink such a draught by himself, nor would he, of course, need two glasses if he planned to do so. Celeborn was meeting someone.
Normally, Haldir would have found the idea of his king managing to arrange a rendezvous so quickly after arriving at Imladris--and weary from a hard ride at that--considerably amusing. He did not find it so at present. He fidgeted by the refreshment table and drank another glass of something he did not bother to taste. He told himself he was being absurd. What he suspected was simply not possible. There were thousands of elves at the festivities, which spilled out of the ballroom and had taken over a large part of the grounds, causing servants to have to scurry to light more burning tapers. Even if Celeborn was meeting someone, then, it didn't have to be Elrond. The fact that Imladris' lord had not come back to the ballroom could have been due to any number of things. There could have be a medical emergency, or possibly a raid along the borders . . . anything could have needed the attention of the master of the house. Or perhaps, Haldir thought in desperation, he had just been tired.
But Elrond had not looked tired at dinner. No, he had been his normal witty and entertaining self, and had amused Haldir greatly by some of the stories he told--borderline scandalous as some of them were--of revered First Age figures. Elrond loved history, but had a unique talent for not taking it too seriously--a byproduct, Haldir assumed, of having lived through much of it. He had seemed a bit strange toward the end of the meal, however, now that Haldir thought about it. Elrond was usually never clumsy; indeed, his unstudied grace was one of the things Haldir found so tempting about him, as he genuinely had no idea of the sensuality in his every motion. Haldir had had to stop watching him earlier that night, as he turned the simple action of peeling a pear into almost a sexual act. Haldir closed his eyes and saw again those skillful fingers gently probing several of the large, rounded fruits in the basket presented to him, until he finally selected a particularly fat one of a perfect fleshy hue. Taking up a small gold knife, Elrond had paused to answer a question of Elrohir's, and absentmindedly caressed the tender skin of the peach as he did so. Finally turning his attention back to it, he slowly inserted the knife tip and edged around the center, pausing to lick a trickle of juice from his hand with a comment about the ripeness of the fruit. That had been about the time Haldir had decided to drag his eyes away and think, very hard, about something else. Elrohir must have noticed something, however, for he had grinned impudently and, with an amused glint in his dark eyes, proffered him the fruit bowl. Haldir had declined.
He remembered, however, that, only a few minutes later, Elrond had given a small yelp and choked on his glass of wine, going so far as to actually spill some of it on the maroon velvet of his robes. It had been most out of character, and Elrond had not seemed to regain his usual bonhomie thereafter. He had dropped his knife with an audible clatter just a few seconds later, and had seemed tense for the rest of the meal. He had all but fled the ballroom as soon as dinner was over, and Celeborn, after a few minutes, had followed, begging Erestor to make his and Elrond's excuses to the guest of honour. His and Elrond's. Haldir took another glass from the table and drained it, ignoring the worried look the servant gave him as he did so.
"It is sad to experience such a rare occasion, and be unable to remember it on the morrow."
Haldir glanced in surprise at the servant, who had been giving him steadily more concerned looks as the number of his wine glasses piled up, but the elf was currently several feet away serving other partygoers.
"I think you have had enough, pretty one," Haldir watched in amazement as his latest wine glass, now mostly empty anyway, was removed from his fingers and sat on the table. "Come, gwador, and walk in the gardens with me. I am sure we can find other ways of distracting you from whatever sorrow it is you bear."
Haldir focused, a little blearily, on the smiling elf beside him who, despite the familiarity of his address, was a complete stranger. "Who are you, to speak to me in such a fashion?"
The elf laughed prettily, with dimples suddenly appearing on his almost round face. "Well done," he said approvingly, "it is good to see you can still talk, at least. Can you walk, too, gwador, or shall I carry you?"
Haldir blinked at the annoying creature and tried to concentrate. He wished the elf, who still hadn't bothered to volunteer his name, would go away and amuse himself with someone else. Haldir had every intention of getting very, very drunk that night, and wanted to do it in peace. He did not realise he had said the last aloud, until his companion chuckled, and placed a strong arm about his waste. "I think you have already reached that goal, mellon." Haldir found himself being steered out of the ballroom and into the fragrant darkness of the gardens. "To answer your query, my beautiful brother, I am Gildor, often of Imladris, but just as frequently of everywhere else. I have been away for awhile on a scouting mission for my Lord Elrond, but am now returned to wish dear Elrohir well on his finally coming of age." He glanced in amusement back over his shoulder at the picture made by the guest of honour and Glorfindel. "In more ways than one," he murmured, apparently delighted with what he saw.
"Do you laugh at everything?" Haldir asked him in annoyance, as he was unceremoniously dumped onto a bench, which he almost immediately fell off of and onto the grass beyond.
"No, gwador," Gildor gasped, wiping away tears of amusement as he hauled Haldir's largely inert form back onto the bench. "Although I must admit, I have rarely found Imladris so entertaining as this night."
"I am glad I could add to your evening's fun," Haldir told him, slightly disconcerted to find himself wrapped securely in Gildor's strong arms. "Now release me and rejoin your friends, if you have any."
Another chuckle greeted this attempt at dignity. "Oh, I have them, meldir, but I do not find them half as interesting as you. Besides, if I let you go, you'll just fall off the bench again, and a sorry sight that would be, the great Haldir of Lorien, most respected among the Galadrim, to be hauled off to bed by the servants tomorrow morning. Is that what you want, gwador, to be picked up with the party trash and stowed away, like some common man who cannot hold his wine?"
"A man would never have been able to drink as much as I have tonight," Haldir replied, stung, "not and lived, at any rate. And how is it you know my name, Gildor of everywhere? I have never heard of yours."
Gildor did not seem to take offense at the sneer in Haldir's last comment. Indeed, nothing seemed to crack his irritating cheerfulness. "Oh, but you are not supposed to have heard of me, Haldir o' Lorien. That is how I serve my master best, by being unnoticed and passing unseen. I go where I wish and see and hear all, but no one sees me, unless I wish it." He smiled down into the face of the inebriated elf who was now practically lying in his lap. "It is a useful ability, gwador, but it is not something you could duplicate. Such beauty," he mused, running a hand through Haldir's somewhat tangled locks. "No one would ever forget if they had seen you, meldir. You would make a very bad spy."
"It is easy to see that you would make a very good one," Haldir replied, as nastily as he could manage. In truth, the elf who was laughing at his distress was not ill-favoured, but he was plain by elvish standards. He had a good natured, round face that would never be anything more than pleasant, a strong but too solid body that lacked grace, and slightly calloused hands that would never be elegant. His dress robes were a plain dark grey, with no ornamentation at all, and the braids in his dull brown hair looked rather like a nearsighted elfling just out of the cradle had done them for him. Haldir could not help contrasting him with the dark beauty that haunted his dreams of late, and to his horror, he felt tears begin to well up in his eyes. Oh, why could this stupid, ugly elf not leave him in his distress? The shame of being seen so obviously upset by someone he did not even know was a nightmare for Haldir, but he was in no condition to do anything about it.
"I quite agree, and I thank the Valar every night for giving me such a highly forgettable face. I must also remember to thank them for not cursing me with whatever sorrow plagues your heart, gwador, for it truly seems that beauty is not enough to bring happiness."
Haldir could stand no more of this conversation. His heart felt as if it would break, his head was spinning from too much wine, and his mind was tortured with thoughts of what Elrond must be doing. It was all too much. If his tormentor would not leave him, then he would leave his tormentor, however difficult that might be. Staggering to his feet, Haldir, tried to straighten his rumpled robes, but found the job too difficult to manage at the moment. Indeed, he realised as the last Homely House swayed alarmingly before him, that there was a very good chance his evening would end with him sticking inelegantly out of a clump of bushes, rather than safely back in his bed. Not that he cared that much, for it would be a lonely bed, and his thoughts would torture him ceaselessly unless he managed to quiet them with still more wine.
"No, my pretty Galadrim, I do not think so." Gildor had risen to his feet and again looped an arm around the protesting Haldir. "If you want to go to your bed, I will help you, but no more wine! You have had too much already, and will regret it in the morning as it is."
Haldir grimaced, thinking that he regretted even setting foot out of the Golden Wood, but was careful not to voice his thoughts. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he had said too much already to one who understood more than most. Leaning reluctantly on Gildor, Haldir staggered up the steps towards his rooms with a heavy heart. Why was it that fate always denies us what we want, and forces on us what we do not?
Gildor laughed next to him, and his arm tightened as they slowly negotiated the stairs. "Ah, but sometimes, gwador, it gives us what we need."