Title: A Bard’s Tale 1/1
Type: FPS
Author: Hare (harefic@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Lindir, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Melpomaen
Warning: Angst, character death, semi-graphic depiction of a sexual act between consenting males.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me in any way imaginable nor am I profiting from this story. They are the original creation of JRR Tolkien, hence establishing his ownership, at least in my small world, forever and ever.
Beta: The wonderfully talented and pervy elf lover, Eldheni. All errors are mine.
Timeline: That time when Arda breaks apart.
Notes: Though not explicitly mentioned, this story is from Lindir’s POV; however, Elrond figures heavily in the story. Technically it became more than a bard’s tale.
Summary: My first fanfic story, ever, and for some reason I chose to begin with death. Not like me at all, really. What happens to the elves in Aman when Arda begins to break apart? Just an AU idea that demanded exploration though I have worked in a few canonesque threads.
I know not how long I have inhabited this body. When one lives as long as I, one tends to forget the endless progression of years, which march as steady and predictable as the turning of the seasons. An immortal existence stretches forth with no end in sight like the vastness of the mighty seas which once graced Arda. Those seas are gone now, and I, like those left here in Aman, bore witness to the sight of the oceans boiling away. Etched in my mind are the desperate last moments of those creatures which had inhabited the water. Their tortured bodies writhing at the surface as their lives were cooked away by the heat of Anar. How we were spared this same fate is a mystery to me though it is generally assumed the Valar have granted us some semblance of protection. This occurred a mere two weeks ago and now there is no water left and the land is parched and dry, cracking under the scorching blaze. Once a shining yellow beacon of which many songs of praise were sung, Anar suddenly turned angry as its red enlarging girth inched ever closer to Arda in its deadly expansion. What had once sustained life had turned into the destroyer wrecking havoc in its path and invoking terror like the fiery red and angry Balrogs of yore. The air, once sweet with the scent of flowers, a cool breeze and the soothing sounds of life, is now stifling hot and filled with the stench of endless death pyres. The song of death prevails and soon Arda will surrender its spirit to the dominion of Anar and this Vision of Ilúvatar, our world, and all those still living will perish with it.
In my years I admit to conveniently forgetting that we are not physically immortal. We can and do meet death in many ways and none of us will survive the breaking of Arda. This knowledge I pushed from my mind content to live for the moment and know that the promise of some manner of incorporeal life after death was there. Life would go on we were told but now that the end is here I find I am reluctant to give up the physical for the spiritual. Even with my long years past, I am loath to leave this physical existence and since learning of our pending doom I crave physical sensations – to touch and smell and taste. To late did I realize all I would lose. Already were the flowers gone and with them their sweet scent and hovering insects, the trees large and small swaying in the breezes, the soothing sound of water, the taste of berries sweet and sour. I waste time no more as I seek to remember all that is left, to catalogue these memories for all eternity. Those I love, my instruments, my books, all things living and non-living I have stroked or inhaled or savored. These senses, so easily taken for granted, are what I fear losing.
This is supposed to be a time of joy for moving on and experiencing a new existence and for some this is the case. I watched our Lord Elrond embrace the transition with a fervor he had rarely displayed. He, like few others, was ready to pass on from this life. I believe he hoped he would finally be rewarded for his steadfast service to our kind by a sweet reunion with those who had left him. Elrond was accompanied on his journey by my cousin Glorfindel and Erestor, the ever present sentries for our lord. For years they had comforted and soothed him through the tragedies that seemed to feed off Elrond like a leech to its host. And since I had always been close to the two, I was solemnly invited to be present for their passing. They clung to each other as death’s sphere loomed round feeding on their very essence, but as their end came it was Elrond I watched. The sparkling hope that shone in his eyes as his life’s spirit flowed away was beautiful but haunting. The smile that graced his lips as he perished saddened me as it seemed endlessly tragic that Lord Elrond would finally find happiness only at his death.
Since the day of our meeting until his death, I had rarely seen our lord display any emotion other than stoicism. Never did I hear a whisper of anyone who had glimpsed a moment of his pure happiness even when happiness was warranted. On the occasion of his daughter’s birth, he had approached me to document this event with a sweet lyrical poem, and yet as we spoke I was ever aware that, though proud, there was yet a hint of sadness and separateness. Even then, I knew of the hardships that had been laid in his path but it was with horror that I watched as Ilúvatar’s celestial hand dealt him more heartache.
His lady wife was captured and defiled by orcs and though she physically healed she was never whole. Some part of our lord died the day she sailed from Middle Earth while he was held from her by his obligations as our leader. Still, we all knew he would one day be reunited with his beloved and so our minds were eased that his pain was only temporary. The final blow, or so we thought, was when all three of his children chose to follow their human destiny. Was there any comfort for our lord that all of Imladris, nay all elvenkind, grieved with him when this occurred? It seemed not, as Elrond became a mere shadow of himself.
His beloved daughter, Arwen, chose a mortal life to remain with her beloved. Lord Elrond’s twin sons, Elrohir and Elladan, determined to remain with her, as their love for Arwen and Middle Earth outweighed their desire for the immortality of the Firstborn. On that day, the fabric of my universe ripped to shreds for I was Elladan’s lover. In the agony of their choice an invisible bond was forged between my Lord and I, for our paths had crossed again during this desperate time, and I was to be his last link to his children.
When his grief and weariness would no longer allow him to dwell in Middle Earth he had sailed. Elrohir and Elladan rode hard along the shore, not willing to let their father out of their sight retreating only when the chase became impossible. I numbly watched as my golden-haired cousin and his raven-haired lover bravely stood and physically propped up Elrond. By my side, Lord Celeborn joylessly bade farewell to his wife Lady Galadriel. Together they had agreed he would remain to watch over their grandchildren and at their end he would once more rejoin her. The harsh cries of our halfling companions stay with me to this day. It was a miserable parting made ever worse by knowing it was a permanent one for Elrond, his sons, and the halflings. A moment in time I would have changed had it been in my power, and in a flash of desperation I did try.
The boat sailed beyond our sight, and I turned on my lover and his twin. An anger born of the unrequited love I now knew existed between me and Elrond’s heir, more ferocious than when Elladan first admitted he was not following the path of the Firstborn, poured forth and I railed against them for their foolish choice. I violently chastised them for the misery and suffering they had caused with their selfish decision! Wailing and sobbing at last I broke down and begged them to reconsider. Pleaded with them to show mercy to those who could not bear the thought of life without them.
I still remember their faces during my tirade, the utter sadness but complete resolve. Finally, I relented. It was too late to change this horrible mistake, and I collapsed at their feet. They did their best to console me stroking and massaging me with their hands and their words, but their decision remained the same. The loving sister they were devoted to was the focus of their resolve.
For days I lay in a depressive state comforted only by my futile prayers. But as is the way of the Valar, there is no turning back. Once a path is chosen that way is revealed and all others are blocked. When my mind finally cleared, the reality of the situation raised its ugly head once more; my beloved had never cared for me as he did his brother. The stark loneliness of that truth haunted me and turned me towards a further countenance of melancholy, but I had also chosen my path. I was staying in Middle Earth to support the one I loved, who desired my attendance but did not return the depth of my feelings. As I gloomily watched them age my despair turned to resolve to make whatever time we had left together memorable and special and as the years passed we did find some measure of happiness. Elladan had allowed me to love him physically but his fëa belonged always to his twin. In our strange triumvirate, in many ways, I remained on the outside looking in.
They aged less than gracefully. After having lived so long with the natural strength and agility bestowed upon the Firstborn it was unnatural and awkward for them to deal with the aches and pains of a body slowly deteriorating. When their time came, however, I marveled at how gracefully they bowed from this life. Elladan in my arms and Elrohir in his Grandfather’s, one hand of each grasping the others’. They gazed wearily at each other and then Elladan had turned to me and gifted me with his charming smile, and then he was simply gone. They were both gone. Only their bodies remained but those hands stayed clasped in death and even as we set them afire side by side on their funeral pyre. Our beautiful peredhil twins had burst into the world with Elrohir’s tiny white-knuckled fist desperately clinging to Elladan’s foot and they departed it hand in hand.
I sailed with Celeborn the next year leaving Arwen and Aragorn’s progeny for the first time without elven influence. Our departure truly marked the end of elvenkind on Middle Earth. Even amidst the sadness of departing, for both of us had been born on Middle Earth, we were duly excited about reuniting with our kin. I was anxious to leave behind the hurt and pain I had suffered on those shores and to finally see and experience Valinor, a place I had only ever read, and heard stories of and composed songs about. A place unlike Middle Earth; free of death and destruction.
My shining illusions about the Undying Lands turned out to be nothing more than delusions. Celebrian had passed. She had perished upon learning her children had all chosen the path of Men. Her fragile existence shattered and her fëa fled immediately upon learning the horrid news, never to be reborn. Elrond had somehow survived another death of a loved one; though fragile and transparent. I was disheartened to see how broken he had become, his face pinched in a mask of permanent pain and his back stooped. It seemed as if the human rigors of aging had made an appearance and it painfully reminded me of how his sons had appeared near the beginning of their dotage.
As Celeborn was wracked with the grief of losing his only child, it was my lot to bear the news of Elrond’s son’s deaths and I did so in the only way I knew. I composed three songs for three beautiful children who graced us no longer with their presence but whose passion lived in our memories. Though I certainly knew Elladan better than his siblings, I had the privilege of watching and interacting with each from birth to death. Long had I performed for audiences of all sizes, but I had never been so fearful of a performance nor had I ever been involved in something as important as this singular performance, for an audience of one. This one elf who had suffered so much heartache and pain and deserved some recompense if only for a short time. I purposefully chose a bas instrument as not to distract from the lyrics, and I sang each verse as if I was performing for a Vala. My voice hitched and I faltered as emotion threatened to overcome me, but I forged on, willing Elrond to understand that each chance he had taken in life had been worth the sorrow. He had loved. He had lost. Was this not better than never knowing the closeness of a brother, or parents, of a wife, or children? Each of those who were gone from his life was also gone from the lives of others who had cherished them. They had each touched so many, especially his children who had been universally adored.
It seemed that Elrond understood, as he and I alternately wept or beamed through each verse as the memories, wonderful and terrible, surfaced. We were in perfect emotional synchronicity as we built to a crescendo and fell down to pianissimo. As the last chord faded, the brief light I had seen in his eyes was chased away by the darkness of reality. As they dulled back to gray, and his natural stoicism descended once more to shroud his being, he rose, hobbled to me, grasped me in a firm embrace, and thanked me for the gift. It was then I passed to him the final surprise from his children; the lengthy letters all three had penned. Arwen’s was several hundred years old, but Elrohir had stored it safely until he passed it on to me. I remembered the day the twins locked me out of our home as they worked on their final missive to their father. For weeks, I was banned from my own bed and could only occasionally peek through the curtains to see them both seriously scribbling away. Periodically one or both would appear to check on my circumstances and then with a quick peck on the lips or a strong hug they would disappear once more. In the end they had all seemed more concerned with Elrond’s welfare than their own impending doom.
I watched as he shakily opened their letters, and in that moment I realized that for all his years he had never experienced the true and boundless happiness which defined his children. They had loved passionately and been free to experience so many emotions; their fëar burned brightly attracting everyone to them as moths to the candle. It seemed so obvious to me, at that moment, that Elrond had held tight to his duties not out of a need to control but so his children would never know the same burdens. He freed them to live as they chose defying his own need for some relief or freedom. I was caught in such an emotional state that for the second time in my life I would have given anything to see this one elf granted his heart’s desire. But, as no direct line exists to those with the power to grant impossible wishes I merely sat and watched as Elrond read the tomes from his beloved offspring. His eyes shone each time he learned of a new grandchild and he asked me specific questions about each one. When he finally read Elladan’s he burst forth with such laughter I was stunned. I could not imagine what my beloved had written, and Elrond happily shared each line with me. Elladan and Elrohir had written confessionals of all the mysterious and mischievous events they had been involved in. Beyond their deaths, his sons bestowed to him a reason to smile. A true smile, not those smiles of indulgence he occasionally plastered on his face, and my heart was warmed for the first time in many a year. Our lord straightened a bit that day and his step was lighter, and I found a reason to allow myself a small measure of contentment.
My first years in Valinor I re-established contact with many lost friends and relatives. I was most anxious to find those who had perished in Gondolin, including my parents. Having never known someone re-birthed, with the exception of Glorfindel, I was unprepared for how disconcerting it was to gaze upon a complete stranger. A physical stranger who now held the fëa of my parent or friend. I would find myself uncomfortably squirming on each visit as unfamiliar lips would recount intimate occasions. And though more years have passed I still have difficulty reckoning these different faces with those I knew before their death. After today, however, this issue will be moot for the physical will be no more.
The years here passed slowly at first, as I dealt with the loneliness of life without a special partner. Though Elladan had not truly given himself to me, we were still extraordinarily close and he was missed. And so I threw myself into my passion and churned out song after song, traveling over the miles of Aman constantly. Performing and composing and running from the boredom and anguish, willing it away with an overly ambitious and hectic schedule of appearances. But what is to be is to be and no matter how far one may run, fate will find you.
My fate arrived, surprisingly, in the person of a long time friend. Someone who had been running not behind or away from me but at my side for so many years I had taken advantage of his presence without ever realizing how differently he viewed me. That is, until the day he decided I was ready to accept love anew. I had vowed to never open my heart to another as I had convinced myself I was perfectly content to continue my singular ways and compose music and write lyrics.
Ilúvatar and Melpomaen had other ideas.
Slowly and with great deliberation, my formerly unobtrusive friend proceeded to break down my barriers and forced his way into that sacred ground only one other had been allowed. He tread, not lightly, but stomped around, pestering me to notice his trespass. Making it clear he would not be denied passage, he dared me to prevent him thus. My initial surprise at his bold and forthright manner turned to alarm. Every step of the way I fought him. Elladan was my love and no other existed. Melpomaen challenged that notion without attempting to take away my memories. He pushed and cajoled and forced me to consider that love could be found more than once in a lifetime.
And then he came to claim me, to mark me as his own, to forge his essence into me. Melpomaen stood before me and passionately declared his love and desire for me. I knew how dangerous love was, but he was violently sincere in his declaration and demanded my attention. He advanced as I continued to combat him, and losing that battle I changed my tactic and struggled for dominance but in the end it was I who found myself pinned flat on my back panting and helpless. I desperately tried to explain that I never submitted, never ever allowed anyone to have me in this position, but he stole my breath away. His mouth and hands consumed my very being and I struggled just to remain conscious against the onslaught; speaking was not an option.
Finally Melpomaen mounted me with a fierce passion and determination shining from wide eyes. With one violent thrust he pierced me straight to my heart; entering me with such ferocity that I screamed from the sudden searing pain and fright. My outburst was no deterrent but seemed to spur him on as he pressed me to let go of all my unnecessary apprehension. His need was hungry and voracious and the feel of his taut slick muscles, gliding over me, pummeling that which was sacred, drove me onward until I was helplessly spreading my legs wider, open to anything he demanded, relishing in the exquisite sting of his desire. I was to scream again that night as I reached my climax with the desperation of my delirious release. Melpomaen delivered me from my self imposed bondage that evening, and I soared with exhilaration and incredible gratification. Such a sense of freedom swept over me I wept openly, and he stayed with me soothing away any lingering doubts. I clutched him to my breast, this elf, my love, and it was like holding something more precious than the stars themselves. To this day he stands by my side, a loving and steady presence.
Even now he lies here as I stroke his long silken hair and it grieves me that these are our last moments for this sort of pleasure. Never again shall I be able to touch his satin skin, taste the moisture of his mouth and the sweetness of his velvet tongue, feel the heat of his breath against my neck as he sleeps nestled behind me, see his face lighting up with pleasure, or feel his body writhing in ecstasy beneath mine.
The Valar, in their infinite wisdom, have provided for our easy transition to the next realm. Two weeks ago, during the confusion and chaos of a world consumed by a sun gone mad, we awoke to find small vials next to our bedsides and the unspoken knowledge of exactly what those bottles contained. I am fascinated by this bringer of death. It is such a beautiful bottle for such a sinister purpose: smooth and glossy and infused with shifting and twirling colors representing the elements of Arda: brown for the soil, red for fire, blue for water, yellow for Anar, white for air, and green for life. It is our parting boon for our final days.
The Music of the Ainur brought this world into existence and it is with music filling the air that I and my beloved Melpomaen shall leave. Tonight, he has requested a special night filled with favorite songs and ballads and it pleases me to submit to his command. Then we shall drink our death and be of this world no more and as Arda slowly burns it will become our funeral pyre. Scant hours from now, we shall be awarded the promise of the Firstborn; that our existence will continue.
Until then I shall hold and cherish my love one final time and sing the music of our death.
