Title: Secondhand Happiness (Chapter 1/?)
Author: Maggie Honeybite
E-mail: maggiehoneybite@hotmail.com
Web page: www.ithilas.com/maggie/maggie.html

Pairings: Elrond/Melpomaen, Glorfindel/Erestor, Erestor/Gildor
Rating: NC-17 
Warning: m/m slash, mild BDSM, angst, hint of noncon

Betas: Tehta, Manon
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, nor do I make any profit 
from them. Any writing I do is done with a deep respect for Tolkien 
and out of an abiding love for his Elves.
Feedback: Would make my day.  Constructive criticism always welcome.
Archiving: Library of Moria, Galadhrim.net, Peredhil.com,
Melethryn.net, OEAM, Elf Fetish; if you want to archive it, just ask.

Summary:  Unexpected visitors to Imladris lead Melpomaen to make 
difficult decisions about his future and force Erestor to come to 
terms with his past. 
Notes: Sequel to "Sweetness and Gall."  For those who've been 
waiting: thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy!  
Acknowledgments: Thank you to Manon, for the beta job, and to Tehta, 
whose comments during the writing (and re-writing) process were 
invaluable.



Imladris, TA 1004


Sitting on the carpet in front of the fireplace, beside Elrond's 
chair, Melpomaen looked the picture of repose, his relaxed posture 
seeming to reflect the tranquility of his spirit.  And yet his 
thoughts were anything but peaceful and his heart far from calm.  
Even his lover's hands, which gently stroked his hair, could not 
dispel the feeling of unease that plagued him. 

A worry had weighed heavily on his mind for a number of weeks now, 
chasing sleep from his tired eyes each night.  No other resident of 
the Last Homely House had mentioned anything, and Melpomaen was 
unwilling to broach the subject himself, as his misgivings were 
rather private and involved the one person who was dearer to him than 
anyone else.  He had tried to convince himself that his anxiety was 
all in his mind.  But, try as he might, he could not shake the 
disturbing feeling that something was wrong with Elrond.

For the past fortnight Elrond had seemed distant.  His hearing had 
seemed attuned to inner voices, not Melpomaen's, and his gaze had 
looked off into the distance, unseeing.  On a number of occasions 
Melpomaen's questions had gone unanswered, having simply failed to 
break through the fog that clouded Elrond's thoughts.  Elrond had 
been introspective in the past, even preoccupied, but this was 
different.  This was unprecedented.  Melpomaen was frightened.

Desperate to chase away the shadows clouding his lover's mind, 
Melpomaen let his hand creep up Elrond's thigh, his fingers intent on 
caressing the one place that held the promise of forgetfulness and 
was almost certain to bring respite from heaviness of soul.  But 
Elrond's hand closed over Melpomaen's fingers before they had a 
chance to reach their destination.

"No, love.  Please... not tonight." 

"What's wrong?" Melpomaen looked up at his troubled lover.  "Are you 
wroth with me?  Have I done something to displease you?"

"No, Melpomaen.  It isn't you." Elrond said, his hand gently 
caressing Melpomaen's cheek.  "There are other things that trouble 
me."

"Won't you tell me what they are?  For weeks now you've been taciturn 
and unwilling to share your burden with me... Isn't that what I'm 
here for, meleth?"

Elrond sighed heavily and closed his eyes.  He brushed his dark hair 
away from his face and looked down at Melpomaen again.

"Sometimes I fear..." he began, then abruptly stopped.

"What?"

"I fear I am being unfair to you."  Elrond closed his eyes anew, 
lifted his hands to his face and bowed his head, hiding his 
expression from Melpomaen's eyes.

"Unfair?" Melpomaen was astounded.  "Elrond, how could you think 
yourself unfair?  Your fairness and good counsel are extolled all 
over Middle-earth!  Of course you are fair..."

"But not to you."

Melpomaen rose on his knees and wrapped his arms around Elrond's 
shoulders.  Pressing insistent kisses to Elrond's hair, he poured all 
his love and devotion into his whispered assurances.

"You are more than fair to me. You've taken me to your heart and your 
bed, and gifted more happiness upon me than I ever dreamed could be 
mine. No one has ever loved me the way that you do. No one has ever 
held me so dear, given me so much..."

"Just what have I given you?" Elrond's voice was full of self-doubt.

"Your heart... and your body. Your attention, your understanding..."

Elrond sighed again, and returned Melpomaen's embrace with an almost 
desperate urgency.  His voice, though calm, was suffused with 
pain. "But is that enough?"

"Elrond, listen to me! Your arms are more of a haven to me than 
Edhellond ever was! You have brought more joy and beauty into my life 
than the very stars in the sky, and if you -- you, in your boundless 
wisdom -- now choose to question those priceless gifts... I... well, 
I will not allow it!"

Melpomaen clutched Elrond to his heart, willing his lover's cares to 
melt away into the still night air.  He felt Elrond's tense body 
relax into the embrace, the heaviness of his burden slowly coming to 
rest on Melpomaen's shoulders.  Melpomaen bore the weight gladly, 
relieved that he had brought one who was so dear to him a measure of 
comfort.

"Melpomaen..." Elrond pulled away from Melpomaen's arms and looked 
into his eyes.  "You know there are things I cannot give you..."

Melpomaen returned his lover's earnest look with steeled 
resolve.  "Those things do not matter," he said.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, flames insistently licking at 
timber and giving off a flickering light.  Shadows danced on the 
walls of the bedchamber, alternately casting corners of the room into 
obscurity and illuminating their dark secrets.  Elrond's long hair 
gleamed in the half-light, its velvet strands trailing over 
Melpomaen's hands.  

Melpomaen looked into Elrond's eyes and felt love and sorrow grip his 
heart like a tight mithril band.  «No,» he thought, «none of those 
things matter; not as long as I have you.»  

Gently he buried his face in his lover's dark hair, breathing in the 
scent he loved so much -- forest-green sweetness with a hint of 
musk.  "Come to bed, love," he said.  "It is late.  Let me ease your 
mind with my touch..."

But it seemed that Elrond's cares had quite a powerful hold on him, 
for not even Melpomaen's tempting offer would erase the lines of 
worry from his face.  

"Mel..." Elrond whispered, "does it not pain you that we cannot... be 
free the way others can?  That any joy we share must be behind closed 
doors?"

"We've talked of this before.  You know it does not matter."

"Yes, I know.  But you are young; others your age are free to choose 
mates for life.  Do you not mind that we can never..." Elrond broke 
off and traced the outline of Melpomaen's cheek with his 
thumb.  "...that *I* can never bind with you?"

There was little that Melpomaen could say to such a delicate 
question.  It was true; he *had* wondered what it might be like to 
walk up to Elrond in the middle of the crowded dining hall and simply 
take his hand, making his love obvious for all to see.  Such a simple 
thing... and yet so completely out of his reach. Once or twice his 
thoughts had even strayed to an image of himself and his beloved 
standing beneath the stars, surrounded by friends, exchanging gold 
bands in the solemn silence of the night... but every time he had 
quickly chastised himself, reining in his imaginings before they led 
him on more tricky paths and the inevitable realization of the 
impossibility of his wishes became too painful to bear.

And now Elrond was asking him the very question he had so carefully 
avoided considering.  *Did* he mind?  

«Of course I mind,» he thought with resignation, «but if that is the 
price I must pay to have you near, then pay it I shall.»

Closing his eyes, Melpomaen kissed his lover, intent on erasing all 
the doubt and distress to which Elrond had just given voice.  When he 
finally broke the kiss, Elrond remained quiet, his misgivings 
seemingly assuaged for the moment.

"What you have to offer me is enough," Melpomaen said.  "I do not ask 
for more.  I do not need it." 

"But you are so young, Mel..." Elrond's grey eyes were once again 
uneasy. 

"I'm old enough to know what I want."

"If you were not here with me, mayhap you would encounter someone 
else, someone who would be free to..."

"You would send me away?!" 

Melpomaen stumbled backwards, the sudden contact with the hard floor 
painfully jarring the straight line of his spine.  "Please, love, 
no... I could not bear it..."

Elrond's eyes misted over with tears.  Slowly, he bent forward and, 
cupping Melpomaen's face in his hands, knelt on the rug beside him.

"I do not say such things to hurt you, Mel.  I would never do that.  
Nor do I wish to have you far from me, for every moment in your 
company brings me happiness beyond measure."

"Then why?"

"It just... may be better this way.  At least for a while."

Melpomaen looked directly into his lover's eyes.  "I am not a child 
who needs to be spared the pain of bad tidings.  I never *was* spared 
such pain, even when I was an Elfling.  You have shared many of your 
secrets with me since you first claimed my heart.  Do not hide this 
from me.  Whatever it may be, please; let me hear it."

Elrond settled back on his heels, sighing deeply.  His fingers slowly 
rubbed his temples in a gesture of exhaustion.  "You are right, of 
course.  For one of your tender years, you are sometimes surprisingly 
wise..." he teased, but his light tone and jesting words failed to 
dispel the gloom in the air.

"Elrond?"

"Yes?"

"Tell me."

The room was quiet for a moment as the Elves stared at each other in 
silence, one carefully weighing his words, the other expectantly 
waiting.  Finally Elrond took a deep breath and spoke.

"I received a letter a fortnight ago."

Melpomaen regarded his lover calmly, managing to keep his face free 
of emotion, though his hands shook so much he had to hide them in his 
sleeves.

"From Celebrían," Elrond continued.

Melpomaen, kneeling before his Lord in an accidental gesture of 
supplication, suddenly felt like a true supplicant, waiting for the 
one who held his heart to pronounce his doom, and hoping beyond hope 
that it would not be so.

"She will be here in the spring, Mel.  I do not know how long she 
will stay.  I do not know why she has decided to come; she did not 
say."

Melpomaen closed his eyes and bowed his head, saying nothing, for 
what could he say?  Celebrían, as Elrond's rightful spouse, was 
entitled to come to Imladris if she wished.  It was Melpomaen who was 
the intruder, whose place in Elrond's life and bedchamber was secured 
by naught else but the fragile bonds of feeling -- private, 
ephemeral, fleeting.  He had built the hopes and joys of his heart 
out of stuff so gossamer that the delicate fabric might easily be 
torn by those whose claim on his lover was more solid.

"You know that while she is here we should not..." 

Elrond's words trailed off into silence, but Melpomaen well 
understood what his lover meant.  Despite the feeling of fear 
churning in his stomach, his heart swelled with love.  Ever 
considerate and honourable, Elrond would never place his estranged 
wife in the uncomfortable position of having to look away and pretend 
not to see what must be obvious to many eyes.  

Looking up to meet Elrond's solicitous gaze once more, Melpomaen did 
his utmost to look strong, though the lump in his throat served as a 
palpable reminder of just how vulnerable he felt.

"Then I shall be naught but your advisor and scribe while she is 
here, and will love you only through the soundness of my judgment and 
the elegance of my pen, if that is all I am allowed," he said.

Seeing Elrond's hesitant smile, he added: "Though your bedchamber may 
be closed to me, I would still wish to remain in Imladris, meleth... 
Just to look at you and hear your voice.  You know I can be discreet."

"Mel, it may be distressing for you to see..."

"You forget I am stronger than I look."

Through tears that threatened to fall and contradict his brave 
assertion, Melpomaen watched Elrond's shoulders relax somewhat as the 
older Elf savoured the relief of sharing his troubles with another.  
Moments later he felt Elrond's strong arms enfold him, the comforting 
warmth of his lover's body almost enough to erase the worry that 
gnawed at his insides. 

"I would never send you away against your will, Mel.  You know that," 
Elrond whispered into Melpomaen's hair as his hands caressed the 
small of the young Elf's back. 

Melpomaen only sighed in reply, and pressed closer to the invitingly 
warm body of his beloved.  Sensing the beginnings of a familiar heat 
between his thighs, he briefly felt ashamed of his visceral reaction 
to Elrond's nearness at a time when his lover required comfort, not 
passion.  Then he quickly reminded himself that comfort came in many 
forms, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a sly smile. 

"You said it pained you that we could not love freely except in the 
privacy of this bedchamber." His lips found their way to Elrond's ear 
and traced its delicate outline.

"Yes..." Elrond's voice hitched in his throat and his hands tightened 
around Melpomaen's waist.  

"It need not be so."  Melpomaen slowly drew away from Elrond's 
embrace and smiled invitingly.  "I could show you."

Elrond's grey eyes widened and he opened his mouth as if to speak, 
but the question hovering on the tip of his tongue never came.

Encouraged by his lover's half-stunned yet obvious interest, 
Melpomaen rose to his feet and extended a hand toward Elrond, who was 
still kneeling on the rug.

"Come with me..." Melpomaen's seductive tone left no doubt as to the 
nature of the invitation.  Elrond grasped the proffered hand and let 
himself be pulled into an embrace.

"Are you leading me astray?"  Elrond's question was playful, and 
Melpomaen's heart felt glad to see the gloom finally lift from his 
lover's brow.

"Always," he replied with a mischievous grin and, stopping only long 
enough to grab a small bottle of oil from the mantelpiece, pulled an 
intrigued Elrond from the room.

****

Notes:

This story begins approximately two years after the end of "Sweetness 
and Gall."

Meleth – love (Sindarin)

"Your arms are more of a haven to me than Edhellond ever was" -- 
Edhellond translates as 'Elf haven.'  Yes, I'm being cute.



TBC