Title: Star of the Sea (Playing the liar)
AN: Okay, so this is the first chapter of what became of my raging Ecthelion muse. I am aware that its waaaay out there. Although I am well aware that Ecthelion didn’t have a twin, he does in my story! As explained on my hp, this fic is made out of 4 sections each, with approximately 5 chapters per section. Just like Harvester of Sorrow, if anyone remembers that one, each section will take place in different locations, and this first section/part ‘playing the liar’ is set in Gondolin. And as I said on my hp (omg! it would be easier to go read that than me babbling here, right?) this is a hurt/comfort fic with an extremely fluffy ending. Me being me, there are like a million angsty chapters first, but it is basically written as a daytime TV series. Don’t say I didn’t warn you! Don’t assume anyone is dead because it is said so, or think for one second they are who they claim to be, or have all good intentions, and I really should mention that this is a Mpreg. I did Mpreg before, and I think its a hoot! Additional to the warnings I should also mention that I have completely messed about with timelines and stuff. *wiggles eyebrow* ready? Good..
Betaed by: Lisbet
Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine, sad but true.
Summary: Meet the players in general, and our little Ecthelion has a naughty secret.
Warnings: Mpreg eventually.
Pairings: Tuor/Ecthelion, Ecthelion/Glorfindel (for ‘Playing the liar’ other and more pairings to come)
My lover’s gone
I know that kiss will be my last
No more his song
The tune upon his lips has passed
I sing alone
Dido – My lover’s gone
Chapter 1/Intro – He left at dawn.
Watching the night from his balcony, Ecthelion wrapped his robe closer around his body. On nights with frost in the air, like tonight, the stars stood out like little lanterns, bathing all below them in a ghostly light. The young lord let his eyes roam the garden, but tonight, as on the previous night, the garden was silent, not a breath of wind moved, and the leaves didn’t even make a rustle. Ecthelion shivered from the cold and with a sinking heart he tried to cling to the hope of his lover suddenly running over the grass below the balcony. He strained his ears to hear if the small wrought iron door in the east corner of the garden squeaked on its hinges, but it didn’t. The young lord watched his breath as it came out in little puffy clouds, when a wind suddenly picked up and chilled him to the bone. There was a knock on his door but he ignored it. He didn’t want to speak with anyone at this hour. “Where are you?” he whispered to himself. He didn’t understand it; it had been 10 days since Tuor had last been here. Ecthelion had frantically tried to sort through his memories of their last meeting to see if he could place his finger on anything that had seemed off, but he couldn’t. It had all been as it usually was. The young man had come here in the shadows, climbed the tree that was growing against the wall of the house, and had met him here on the balcony. They had embraced, kissed and talked in hushed voices, before they had withdrawn to his rooms, and then made love on his bed. After they had caught their breath, Tuor got up, kissed him farewell and left the same way he came in. Nothing strange, no unusual words between them. Ecthelion shook his head. He simply didn’t understand. He had played with the thought that they had been found out, but if that had been the case, King Turgon’s soldiers would already have been here and taken him into custody. Nothing had happened, absolutely nothing. Could Tuor be ill? Men fell ill, and it was the beginning of the winter after all. Yes, that must be it; Tuor had fallen ill and was confined to his bed.
The knocks on the door continued, until someone just turned the handle. “Ecthelion!” a deep voice said, “Why didn’t you answer my knocking?”
Ecthelion didn’t need to turn around to know who this was. “I am here Ithildin, I am sorry. I was lost in thought, and I didn’t hear you”
“By the Valar, Brother, you are about to turn into an icicle. Please come inside.” Ithildin held out his hand and Ecthelion took it with a smile, letting his twin lead him inside. “Why on earth did you stay out there so long?” Ithildin said with a worried frown, rubbing heat into Ecthelion’s hands with his own.
“I was watching the stars,” he said with a disarming smile. “I guess I lost track of time.”
“You worry me,” Ithildin said, wrapping his brother in a warm blanket. “You should have noticed that you were trembling from the cold, and have gone inside.”
“Forgive me, Ithildin, it shan’t happen again,” Ecthelion smiled at his brother. “I promise.”
“You have been acting most strange lately,” Ithildin said, walking over to a sparse liquor cabinet and pouring them a glass each of some thick red wine. Handing his twin one, he sat down in a char, facing Ecthelion. “Will you tell me what is wrong?”
Ecthelion looked at his brother, sitting there in a midnight blue robe with his hair braided in a single plait. They had the exact same hair colour, the exact same lips and nose. It was like looking into a mirror, were it not for the fact that Ithildin had lost his right eye in battle, and now wore an eye patch to hide the missing eye. Ecthelion had seen it without the patch and knew there was nothing but an empty hole where the eye should have been. But with the eye patch on, Ithildin looked like a sophisticated villain of some sorts, the perfect match of beauty and death. Taking a sip of the strong liquor, he winced and nodded. Oh how he wished he could tell Ithildin the truth. He wanted nothing more than to unburden his heart, knowing his twin he would never judge him, but it was too dangerous to tell him. To do what he did was high treason. This would earn him life in exile if he were lucky, or death if Turgon was in the wrong mood. True, no hatchet man would behead him on a public square, but he could end up with no choice but to serve his king on a suicide mission outside the walls. “I…” he said as he blushed a little, taking another sip of the wine, “I miss some company.”
“Oh,” Ithildin breathed and nodded in agreement. “I see.”
“No you don’t,” Ecthelion said in a childish tone. “Since Lord Glorfindel made his intentions clear, no one else has dared approach me, and… frankly, Glorfindel is appalling!”
“Appalling?” Ithildin laughed. “What is wrong with him? Is he physically challenged under his trousers or something?”
“Honestly, Ithildin!” Ecthelion gasped. “I wouldn’t know! I never bothered to look!” The young lord emptied his wine glass. “Lord Glorfindel has the most annoying ego, surely you have noticed this.”
“He seems pretty full of himself, agreed,” Ithildin said with an amused shake of his head.
“See?” Ecthelion whined.
Ithildin stood as he emptied his glass “I am sure someone will come along who is not afraid of challenging the lord of egos a little.” He leaned in and kissed his brother’s forehead tenderly. “Sleep tight, brother. I will see you in the morning.”
“You too,” Ecthelion said to his back as Ithildin left his rooms, leaving Ecthelion to his own company once more. The young elf stood up and went to close the drapes in front of his balcony door. He stopped and looked out the windows, watching little snowflakes beginning to softly, silently land on everything outside. “I miss you,” he whispered before he closed the thick purple drapes with one move.
Once in bed he flopped down on the mattress with a sigh. His bed didn’t smell of Tuor anymore, and it frightened the young elf. What if the man’s musky sent would never linger in his bed again? This didn’t even feel like his bed anymore. Closing his eyes, Ecthelion could see the large cherry tree on Tumladen. He smiled to himself, remembering that spring day when he and Tuor had gone out horseback riding, racing from the city to the cherry tree. He remembered how Tuor had grabbed his chin with this fingers, and made him look into those blue eyes. “You are most beautiful, my lord Ecthelion,” he had whispered, and Ecthelion had looked away demurely, but he had not moved. He had been nailed to the spot, feeling his heartbeat speed up. But nothing happened, not until Ecthelion looked up at Tuor once more. He remembered the man had looked so flustered. Maybe it had been the first time he had encountered a lovesick elf. This memory had Ecthelion smile to himself. He had almost scared the poor man, but instead of feeling overwhelmed by such a visible display of lust, the man had tried to control the situation and had whispered with a trembling voice, “Can I kiss you?” Ecthelion had wordlessly wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and had devoured his soul in a single kiss.
Ecthelion turned in his bed, feeling strangely melancholy by this memory. It seemed like an old faded painting, what had seemed like only yesterday for days, now seemed like a worn and cherished artefact of days gone by. He had tried to understand, tried to make excuses and tried to wait. But now the young elf felt tears well in his eyes. What if Tuor had found himself another love interest? What if he would never come back, what then? Did he expect Ecthelion to be just as fickle with his heart? Maybe Tuor thought that because he had given his body so freely by the cherry tree that he was like that with any elf or man that struck his fancy! Deeply troubled, Ecthelion finally fell asleep and did not wake until the first rays of daylight peeked through the thick drapes.
Slowly waking, he opened his eyes, only to look straight into Ithildin’s excited grin. “Good morning, brother,” he chirped merrily. “Guess what!?”
“What?” Ecthelion groaned, sitting up slowly, not at all sharing his brother’s morning enthusiasm.
“You didn’t guess,” Ithildin stated.
“All right,” Ecthelion sighed. “The Valar were bored mindless, and relocated Gondolin out on the march of Maedhros. And so we finally get to see the Fëanorians.”
“Oaf!” Ithildin laughed. “No, we got an invitation from the King! Isn’t that great?”
“Woopity woo,” Ecthelion moaned as he got out of bed.
“Uhm, I get the distinct notion that you are not the least bit interested. I thought you’d be overly excited, oh well… “ Ithildin said and rose from the bed. “I just figured it would be your chance to, you know… meet someone.”
“Why am I already regretting I told you that yesterday?” Ecthelion said as he stalked over towards the bathroom. “I don’t need you playing matchmaker.”
“Why not? Apparently you are not doing a very good job yourself!” Ithildin crossed his arms over his chest in childish defence. “Tell me you will go, and I shall send word to the King right away to expect us both.”
“All right, but don’t embarrass me, don’t try and sell me off to some random handsome elf,” Ecthelion said, covering the final distance to the bathroom.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to look for, brother. I do not share my body with elves of the same sex as myself, so well.. I don’t know what makes someone lover material,” Ithildin stated.
“Good,” Ecthelion yelled from the bathroom. “That means you won’t be stealing my sweethearts.”
Ithildin rolled his eyes. “I will inform the king to expect us both, then.”
“You do that, brother,” Ecthelion yelled. Waiting until he heard the door to the hall slam shut, he lowered his body into the hot water. This was his chance to see what was wrong with Tuor. Hopefully his fears were completely a figment of his imagination.