Brother Mine: The Oldest Lie in the World
Mounting like the sea over the black bare rock?"
When our heart has once made its vintage,
To live is a curse. It's a secret known to all,
A very simple grief and not mysterious,
And, like your joy, clear to everyone,
So stop your search, O beauty so curious,
And, even if your voice is sweet, be silent!
Be silent, you who are ignorant, whose soul is always charmed,
Whose lips have a child's laugh! Much more than life,
Death often holds by subtle bonds.
Let, yes, let my heart grow passionate on a lie,
Let it sink into your lovely eyes as into a lovely dream,
And sleep for a long time under the shadows of your lashes!
The soft sigh that escaped the fair being's drawn lips betrayed his frustration. He had the lingering impression that he had been staring at the painted ceiling for what seemed to be half of forever. It was a beautiful piece of art, a vivid representation of the shores of Aman, the lands of the Valar where Elves dwelled for the rest of eternity and perhaps beyond. It was as if the painting itself exhaled a sense of peace and serenity. Nonetheless, the delicate charm of the painting had gradually lost any kind of interest as the flow of time slowed down while the night drew on.
His attention was directed itself to the fire that burned strongly in the hearth, warming the room during the long cold winter night. The sensual dance of the flames created hypnotic shadows on the ground and the walls, bestowing the room a new quality...a new dimension. Paths of ashen light seemed to give chase to lingering shadows in an endless waltz that lacked neither grace nor beauty. It looked as if they glided the length of the walls, creeping behind the heavy, rich velvet made curtains that hid the great windows and turning the peaceful shelter of Elven dreams into a vivacious twirl of sensations. Objects in the room seemed to move of their own volition, fleeing when a sudden flicker of light snuck toward them and freezing abruptly as soon as the ever-changing fire directed its attention elsewhere. In the barely disturbed silence of the night, the shapeless games of light and shadows were fascinating as each variation of the flames brought a new picture to the eye.
Yet, to one who had spent many sleepless nights watching their playful antics, this display held little interest and the golden-haired Elf did not hesitate to turn away. Instead, he leaned onto his left elbow and let the sheet slide down the length of his torso as he rose slightly, instinctively shivering at the feeling of silk caressing his skin.
He let his gaze wander to his sleeping companion, sapphire-like orbs taking in the offered sight. What first met the eye wasn't the sleeper's face, buried as it was amidst the soft feather pillow, but a luxurious raven mane that was released from the constrictive braids and flowed freely on the sheets, contrasting with the pale fabric.
As if wishing to have a better view, the flaxen-haired Elf turned a little bit more on his side, casting away a part of the sheets and revealing a long powerful leg that seemed to be made of alabaster. Slender fingers supported his chin as he gazed thoughtfully at the sleeping Elf's glorious still form. He let his eyes trail the length of the displayed back, lingering slightly on a round and appetizing buttock before turning his attention to the marble scar which marred the silky skin from above the right shoulder to the waist.
Full lips tightened in a thin line as the awakened Elf fought the urge to trace the path of that mark with his fingers and remembered instead what had caused such a life-threatening injury. He could still remember the pained moans that the proud warrior, who seldom lost his countenance, had not been able to repress as he'd held the other fiercely to his chest through the journey to King Thranduil's stronghold. Sometimes in the depth of night when nightmares invaded his mind, he would hear those cries again and again like a never ending lament dedicated to a lost wandering soul. At this thought, a shiver ran the length of his spine and shadows darkened his eyes. For once, he did not even try to conceal his reaction. Why bother? He was alone.
All of a sudden, the faded flames somehow reawakened in the hearth and started to burn more fiercely, voraciously lighting the whole room as if to deliver the final blow to its silent enemy made of moving shadows. But the Firstborn barely noticed, lost as he was in his mesmerizing contemplation. As if being trapped in a sad reminiscence, he slowly stretched a graceful hand and followed the dance of light on the naked skin of his lover's back almost in spite of himself but he dared not touch him.
Yet at the moment, it seemed that skin would brush against skin. The pile of logs collapsed with the noise of twenty devils, consumed by the greed of the fire and the room was plunged into a dim light. The sudden racket which echoed against the walls and the vaults of the ceiling sounded like an unexpected explosion in the previously quiet room. Startled, the flaxen-haired Elf quickly brought his hand back, guilt in his eyes as if he was afraid that he might have been caught doing something he was not supposed to do.
Time seemed to drag on endlessly for a while as widened blue eyes kept devouring the ebony-haired Elf's figure as if he was waiting for his lover to emerge from dreams. Biting anxiously on his bottom lip, the golden Elf watched as his lover turned onto his side without waking. He took in the sight of the relaxed features that were now facing him and suddenly felt as though his heart would burst with love.
It seemed that he would never be able to see enough of the dark-haired Elf's proud face. He knew those delicate features by heart. If he closed his eyes, he would be able to picture the lofty brow, the angular cheekbones, and the aristocratic arch of the nose or be able to feel between his fingers the silk of the wild dark locks that framed the perfect face and gave a burning intensity to the stormy grey eyes. The golden Elf sighed once more, but this time it was a sigh of pure longing. Some things never changed and such beauty always made his heart beat more strongly in his chest.
The smile that appeared on the sleeper's full lips found an echo in his watcher, who could not help his reaction even though he knew that his lover could not see him. It was a loving smile that seemed to brighten his whole face, chasing the shadows that still lingered in the bottomless depths of his eyes. It was so rare an event to see the dark-haired Elf smile that it filled him with contentment and sweet happiness and his eyes shone briefly with the fleeting hope that he could be the one to bring his lover peace. He knew he was entertaining an illusion but he did not care. With dawn, just like in the passionate hours of the night, he could not bring himself to care.
Bending slightly toward the other Elf's sleeping form, he deeply inhaled the unique scent that was of pine and freshly cut grass melded together. It was a scent that belonged to no other and that set his blood into fire and turn the strong prince and skilled warrior into a will-deprived doll.
Oh, how he loved him...
He had never thought one could love so much and yet remain whole and apparently the same. There was such pure perfection in that moment that he felt like closing his eyes and weeping. Beneath closed eyelids, he could deny the truth. In the silver light of dawn, he could pretend that things were not what they were and that this moment would never end and turn into a piece of eternity.
"Elrohir..."
The soft word muttered in the other's sleep shattered the harmony around them the moment it passed his beloved's lips. They might have been no more than a whisper, an exhalation of the soul, or a joyful reminiscence of the past. Just the kind of words that sometimes passed the thick barrier of unconsciousness... But there was so much love and longing in that simple name that the golden-haired Elf felt his heart freeze in his chest and stood still for several seconds, refusing to acknowledge a reality he had no wish to face.
The bright smile fell from his face, leaving tense hollow features in its place. If someone had looked into the depths of his eyes, they would have seen that shadows had returned to the darkened orbs.
He felt an unbidden sob catch in his throat and turned away from the sleeping Elf, refusing to see the smile that still lingered on his lover's lips. His long golden hair was like a curtain to hide his grief and his shame that sprung from his constant denial and for his debasement... It was not the first time that this had happened and that name had escaped his lover's lips when his own name should have been spoken. He could not recall the countless times that names had been confused when cried in the maddening heights of ecstasy or in the warm languish of passion. It was not his name that was uttered with love and longing. He had grown used to it but it did not make it easier. It did not change the pain that threatened to tear his heart to pieces.
He knew, but every time was surprised by his ability to push this painful knowledge aside and forget it only to have his heart crushed anew each time it occurred.
With a trembling hand, he disentangled himself from the sheets, silently fighting the constrictive embrace of the fabric around his limbs. He wished to put as much distance as he could between them for he was not sure he could bear the simple sight of his lover at that moment. His naked form stood out clearly in the darkened room, enveloped as he was by the glimmering reflection of the flames. As he walked across the room slowly and hesitantly to the armchair where his night robe had been negligently forsaken, the light seemed to wrap around his slender body, enhancing his natural beauty that belonged to the immortal children of Ilúvatar and born from the unexpected alliance of night and day.
The golden-haired Elf sighed as he wrapped himself in the robe of dark velvet and sat in the comfortable armchair, his eyes never straying from the fire in order to avoid the sight of the vast bed where his lover kept sleeping unawares. He tried not to think and swallowed the sobs that rose in his chest. A single tear escaped the prison of his eyelashes and slowly rolled down his pale cheek, leaving a salty trail on the soft skin.
How long had it been that he had willingly given everything without hoping for anything but pain and tears in return out of sheer unselfish love? Nothing but pain and tears...with a resolute hand, he wiped away the moisture on his face, blinking hard to will himself calm. It did him no good to be bitter. He was unfair. There had been nice loving moments, even moments of loving affection and wild passion.
But it was not enough.
For love did not belong there and for the one who loved deeply and wholeheartedly, it would never be enough.
Once upon a time...a very long time ago indeed...he had never hoped to even catch the eye of the beautiful grey-eyed warrior. They had met on a dusty dawn in the forest of Mirkwood. He had been young then, but never had he been able to forget the glorious sight of that dark haired rider with his mane flying in the wind...a sight that had irremediably changed his young life. It might have sounded futile, but he had loved the ebony Elf since that first meeting and had never spoken to anyone of the feelings of his dazed heart. He had taken lovers but in the secret of the night for his body only craved the touch of the handsome Elf. They had met again, even became friends to the delight of their respective fathers, who saw in the friendship of their heirs a good omen for the alliance of their realms. But never had he dared to make a step in his friend's direction.
So when many, many years later they became lovers, it had been as though a dream had come true. It was more than the achievement of a secret fantasy. It was what he had longed and hoped for silently all his life.
But now, what he had wished for was not enough. He had wanted the dark-haired beauty's skin against his own and he had it. He had wanted to know the bliss and rapture of his arms and he knew it. But it was not enough. His lover had never spoken of love to him but he had hoped that his lover would grow to love him and one day he would be loved as he loved: completely and without restraints. But never were his hopes for completion granted.
For his love's heart still dwelled in the abyss of someone else's arms. One he could not love but someone he could not forget. And as much as it pained him to say the words, this someone who ruled over the raven haired Elf's heart was not the blond Sinda watching over his sleep.
A shudder ran the length of his spine as the dreadful realization of his own weakness dawned on him once more. He should have left many years before when he had still been able to leave and put everything behind him...when he had been able to think of a life without the other Elf.
But now it was too late. He could not leave...would not leave. He loved him desperately and hopelessly. He could only dream for a day when his lover would be able to put the past behind him and learn to love again.
Dreams and hopes...that was what he would live for.
The flaxen-haired Elf glanced in the direction of the still form beneath the sheets. Seeing his lover sound asleep, he slowly stood and approached the bed again, his steps silent as only those of the Firstborn could be. His sapphire-like eyes took in the sight of the sleeper, trying to decide on how likely it would be that the other would wake. But his hesitation was short-lived as he decided that his absence mattered little and stepped back slowly; his eyes never leaving the beloved face.
His hesitant steps were muffled by the thick rugs on the cold ground as he stopped by the hearth, lit a candle, and then walked across the room to a door hidden beneath a light veil of silk. Delicately brushing it aside and seizing the doorknob, he froze for a mere second and glanced once more towards the sleeper. Pushing away any worry he had, he straightened and entered the small antechamber silently, the door making very little noise as it turned on its well-oiled hinges.
With a deep inhale, he took in the sight of his lover's office. There were very few pieces of furniture and the room would have been bare if were not for the big desk in a corner and the few shelves on the opposite wall. The only personal marks in the room were the well-cared for weapons that were hanging on the wall or lying on the ground enveloped in fine fabrics as well as the portrait facing the windows.
Within the room no fire was burning in the fireplace and the air was chilled. The soft silver of Ithil filtering through the great window and the frail glow of the candle were the only light in the room. But the golden-haired Elf, whose blood was of both Sindarin and Silvan ascendance, remained as indifferent to the cold as he was to the heat.
He paused for a few moments, his lithe white-clad frame looking as ethereal as the ghosts that human children were so afraid of. He approached the desk gradually, careful not to make any noise while caressing the old dark wood with the hand that did not hold the candlestick before sitting on the simple chair close to the piece of furniture. He remained still for some moments, breathing in the scent of the room that helplessly brought him back to the Elf sleeping in the next room.
Putting down the candle, his hand then strayed down the length of the old wood, touching as one would the skin of a lover before stilling on the copper knob of a small drawer which he opened with very little hesitation. As his eyes fell on the preciously conserved content of the desk, time stood still and he did not dare breathe.
In the drawer nested in a bed of silk was a pile of papers had been gathered over the centuries and had yellowed with age. Some of the sheets had already crumbled to dust in spite of the care they were given. The Elf's fingers brushed against the old parchment, relishing in the feeling of the rough surface against his soft skin while his eyes closed and his lips parted to let out a whisper that was stolen by the darkness and the flickering light of the candle. It was a ritual that took place more and more often with the passing of time and his growing feeling of helplessness. Slowly, the covering of silk was pushed aside and the papers were brought onto the desk in front of the Firstborn.
The day has come, my love. I have no right to call you thus anymore. You gave yourself to that sweet faced Lady of Mirkwood. To her, you pledged the heart that once belonged to me and took the oath of eternal faithfulness. And I watched...I watched as eternity came between us in the most solemn form. I watched and did not speak a word as they took you away from me. I congratulated you with a smile on my face but my heart was sobbing silent tears of pain. I did not speak a word and so chose honour over you. You did the same as you bound yourself to this child of Lasgalen. If you knew how much I despise honour now that you are gone and I am alone in our rooms...
They were letters written by a loving and desperate hand and had never left the writer's side. They had never been sent and were not meant for his eyes he knew, but with time the guilt had faded. He had discovered them per chance one day when he had sought some paper upon which to write to his brother. If the sheets had not escaped his hands and fallen on the ground he would never have looked upon them. But things happened and even the smallest event could change the course of fate. The papers had scattered on the ground and his whole world had changed. He had gathered them quickly, unwilling to lose more time than he had already. Why had he looked down? Why had his gaze fallen on that particular paper...that dark old drawing?
My love, my life, my eternity, another day without you, your smile, and your eyes. Hours are endless when you are not by my side. Often did I seek you only to realize that you were not there... that you would never be there again. 'Tis so strange not to feel you anymore. My mind is so empty and 'tis as though a part of me is missing. I feel like a broken doll deprived of will and yet, for our sake, I have to act as though nothing had changed lest Adar see behind my pretense.
There were days when he wished he never had seen them. Things would be easier if he had not. Some said that ignorance was mother to serenity and they were right.
The bed that we once shared far from prying eyes is so cold without you that I cannot lie in it. As sleep eludes me, I wander through our father's manor, avoiding other awakened souls as much as I can. But even in those endless corridors, something calls to me. 'Tis you. Your image is bound to every dark corner of this house and I know I will find no rest within those walls. So, I come back to the bed where we once shared guilty pleasures and I wait for Ithil's beauty to fade with the day, thinking of you when I had once watched over your sleep.
But he had looked down and his heart had frozen at the same time his lips had parted to let out a pained cry of surprise. No sound had ever left his throat however for his mouth had suddenly gone dry at the sight of the picture.
Anor has risen and I miss seeing the flicker of its light on your skin. I miss watching you awakening to the wonders of dawn and your smile when you snuggled in my arms. I miss the taste of your mouth and the perfection of your body. I miss you...
In long patient strokes of charcoal, a couple had been drawn in the throws of passion, their bodies joined in the most intimate way. The picture was beautiful and powerful. The artist had rendered the flexing of muscles under the strain, the slender yet strong limbs, the delicate pointed tips of leaf-shaped ears, and the proud arc of the erection disappearing through the firm globes of flesh very well. An incredible eroticism had seemed to emanate from the parchment. But it was not the nature of the act immortalized on paper that had caused his shock, but rather who was involved in the depicted lovemaking. He had had no trouble acknowledging the mirrored features of the twin sons of Lord Elrond: his own lover and his sister's husband.
Please, forgive me but I miss you. The day we parted, I swore to you I would not. I swore that I would not despair. But this oath is one I cannot keep. I am weak when you are not there to lend me your strength. I am like an old mortal deprived of his walking stick. My steps are staggering and hesitant and I fear falling with each step I undertake. I do not recognize myself when I gaze at my reflection in the looking glass. Am I that Elf looking back at me with eyes filled with infinite sadness?~
Unhurriedly while never looking away from the picture he had sat, unable to stand any longer. He did not know for how long he had remained thus: immobile and silent with his eyes frozen and his heart beating wildly in his chest. But it had been only several seconds later when he had finally found the strength to move again and had skimmed through the pile of papers. There were drawings and letters. The former he had watched with unfashionable fascination mixed with horror and anger and the latter he had put aside.
Autumn has come and you are not here, even though you had said in your last message that you would come with your wife to pay us a visit. Autumn has come and you are not by my side...The leaves fall and so do my tears. I cannot go on like this. I am sorry but 'tis beyond my strength.
There were many of the same type of pictures, most of them so explicit that he had felt the tip of his pointed ears grow hot. But there were also pictures of daily life: a laugh or a smile...a ride through the forest or a discussion beneath the stars. The question that had arisen in his mind had been simple: Who? Who had drawn these pictures and why had Elladan kept them?
In your last letter my love, you asked me why I did not join the mighty Glorfindel in his visit to the corrupted Greenwood. I answered that I had obligations in Imladris that prevented me from coming. Will you know that I lied? My hand had trembled as I had traced the words on the parchment, which has reached you by this hour. I never lied to you before. This was the first time. But how could you understand me, you who have become a Prince of Mirkwood and have built a new life on the ruins of our love? I still live within those ruins. Every room, every sound calls back your memory. Centuries might have passed, but 'tis as though you would come back to me tomorrow. Your shadow is everywhere. Seeing you is torture for you do not belong to me anymore. You behave like my brother, but your eyes are closed to me and so is your soul. You belong to her. I stopped hating her a long time ago, but I fear that if I saw who you have become, I will learn to hate you.
He had known the answer to the last question. With those pictures in hand, many scattered pieces of the puzzle that was the twin sons of Elrond had found their places. He had recalled the cursed day when Elladan had been wounded and brought to their infirmary...how Elrohir had remained faithfully by his side, refusing all nourishment. That day he had understood that the brethren's relationship was different from any he had with his own siblings. But never had he thought that their love went so far and so deep...the love of two lovers...never till that day in the small office.
I took a lover, my love. Will you despise me? He is beautiful, you know. He is a child of the day while you were born of the night. I took a lover and I feel as though I am betraying you. I tried to forget you, my love. Will you forgive me? You are more present than ever. You are in our bed and between us. I will hurt him, you know...I should leave him now that there is still time. But I will not, my love...I am too lonely and he does not ask anything from me
As for the artist of those pictures...His eyes had fallen on the portrait of Elrohir that hung on the wall and he had known the truth. Elladan had drawn them...trying to keep a memory of a time long gone.
The prince had placed the papers back where he had found them, anger swelling in his chest and replacing the sadness and heartache. He had wanted to confront his lover as soon as he had returned to tell him his pain and his rage. But he had not. Faced with the grey orbs he loved so much, he had not been able to say the words he had wished to say. He had closed his eyes instead and welcomed the dark-haired Elf into his arms.
Much later, he had come back to the small office and read the letters, understanding slowly the feeling of sadness that never really departed from Elladan. He had read throughout the following nights the secrets of a love sacrificed on the altar of honour. He had understood that his own pain found an echo in his lover. In those letters, he had found the strength to go on day after day and night after night and pretending that they loved each other. When his despair grew dark, he would go there and read those words he knew by heart, caressing those arabesques that none but he and his beloved had ever touched.
In the silence of the night with Eärendil's light as the only witness, he plunged himself into the memories of a love so ancient and pure that he felt like crying. He had no need to read the words to know them, but he liked the feeling of the paper beneath his fingers. The pain of his lover dimmed the pain in his own heart. Knowing that they were both bound in a love which had no hope or tomorrow helped him survive the pain of his heart. Reading those letters had brought him closer to his lover than he had ever been. In that small office, he learned about the real Elladan. In the flickering candlelight, he learned to love him more and more.
His reading was interrupted by the characteristic creaking of the mattress on the wood of the bed and without a blink, he erased all traces of his activity by quickly putting the letters and the drawings in their prison of silk before closing the drawer and approaching the great windows, immersing himself in Elbereth's light. He heard the slow turning of the door on its hinges and turned toward his nude lover with a sweet smile before leaning into the arms that enfolded him in a warm embrace. He sighed with contentment as a questing mouth came to kiss his offered throat. A soft voice murmured in his ear, "'Tis cold here, meleth. Why do you not go back to bed?"
Legolas let himself be led to the warm cosy room with his fingers twined with Elladan's and at peace with himself for at least a few short hours. Little did he know of the sad grey gaze that watched him night after night as he gave into his tormented need or that his secret had never been one. The elder son of Elrond was well aware that his and Elrohir's secret belonged now to another. He wished he could be angry with his golden lover but he could not for he understood what pushed the flaxen-haired prince to violate his most private sanctuary. It was the same feeling that pushed him to write those letters: an overwhelming need to understand and accept what was reality...to acknowledge that their dreams would remain dreams and that love would never be theirs to have and to hold.
Reclining on the bed, Elladan watched as his lover walked to the hearth and divested himself of his night robe. He knew he was hurting the fair Elf but he had come to need him...to build a new life and fill in the void left by his twin. Try as he could, he would never be able to give Legolas what the latter sought for the golden prince did not love him as he was, but had fallen for an image built out of his fantasies.
A feral smile brightened his features and he shifted to accommodate his growing erection as he stared at the glorious sight of his lover's nudity while Legolas walked sensually in his direction. Elladan reached out to his lover and, as the mattress crackled beneath their combined weight, their lips met ardently. Tongues fought fiercely and hands roamed over nimble bodies. Through the whispers of the night, one could hear an ‘I love you'. Both knew the shadows lurking beneath the beauty of the instant. ‘I love you' echoed the other as their bodies joined and instinct took precedence over reason.
‘I love you'...the oldest lie in the world.
But for the moment neither cared.
Next: Until Death Do Part Us
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