Túrin was excited –and nervous- to see his friend again. He exchanged many letters with Beleg while he was away, but this was his first visit since they became friends and he felt dubious of whether Beleg would want to spend any of his time with him. Beleg would only be staying for four nights, after all.
Túrin had been sitting on the stairs to the main entrance all day long, simply staring at the closed gates and thrilling inside for the moment it would open to let Beleg in.
A small crowd had gathered in the space between the gates and the stairs Túrin sat upon, and the child remembered that Beleg was a much loved elf, an ancient hero even among his own people.
Through the gates came a cloaked rider. Beleg. And Túrin felt a bit intimidated.
All of his fears were unfounded of course, because as soon as he jumped from his horse and pulled down his hood Beleg was striding straight towards Túrin. He took the child in his strong arms and held him high above his head, twirling around and laughing delighted.
Túrin was overjoyed, but also reminded of the crowd watching and by the time he was put back on his feet his face was red as a beetroot.
It was Túrin’s 14th birthday. The King and Queen held a feast on his honor, inviting any and all young elves in the proximity of the palace willing to attend. It was an effort to find him friends his age, Túrin knew, but the only friend he did care for to be there wouldn’t be coming.
Beleg had explained that the marches had been full of orc the past few weeks and that he couldn’t leave his post as Chief Warden, tough it pained him to miss the party. Túrin understood, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.
He was fetching a beverage when a collective gasp erupted in the room.
There stood Beleg, looking disheveled from a hasty ride and grinning as Túrin ran up to him.
“I thought you said…”
Beleg crunched and smacked a kiss against Túrin’s cheek, silencing the boy. “I would not miss it for a few annoying orcs”
Later Túrin would assure that the blush he sported all night was caused by the wine they had toasted with.
Túrin had been asked by Queen Melian to teach a few elflings how to horse ride. Apparently she was worried by the 16-year-old’s sour attitude towards anything that wasn’t related to his training as march warden apprentice. Or Beleg.
The two eldest were naturals and it didn’t take much other that showing them how to saddle and climb onto the horse and the simple explanation on directions before they were trotting around on the fenced field next to the stables.
The youngest ellon was a different matter.
“Do not let go, do not let go!” he kept shrieking with his eyes shut after Túrin had finally managed to get him on a pony.
“I will not” called Túrin from a few yards behind the standing pony, leaning against the fence.
Suddenly a pair of strong arms circled his waist from behind and a face snuggled against the crook of his neck, Beleg’s milky gold hair falling into his line of view. He felt the tips of his ears burn.
“Túrin is in love” chanted one of the elleths while the other giggled.
Túrin tried to squirm away but Beleg’s tightened his grip. The bastard, Túrin thought as a wet kiss touched the naked skin of his neck, only managing to bury his face in his hands.
Summer was always a messy season to spar but it was Túrin and Beleg’s favorite.
The sun and the fresh grass of the open field almost masked the smell of sweat with their own scents. The heat was stimulating and demanding and made close combat hotter in more ways than one. One could always take a dive in the river to clean up afterwards, or to do something more fun.
At least it was like that until their fellow wardens had found them sparring once, and now they were their summer entertainment.
Beleg, obviously, was unfazed.
Túrin ducked under a punch and swept a leg under Beleg’s feet, but he cartwheeled back to stance as their peers cheered from under a nearby tree.
Túrin dove forward with a growl. Beleg blocked his fist by crossing his forearms in front of his face. Catching Túrin’s wrist Beleg pulled and extended his arm into a painful lock, easy grasping his other fist when it came down for the elf’s stomach. “That is cheating, melleth” Twirling back as he pushed Túrin forth, Beleg brought a hand down fast for a loud slap on Túrin’s ass. “Naughty”
The Man went rigid, blue eyes wide. And it was all the distraction Beleg needed to throw him down on his back, head locked in Beleg’s folded leg while his other knee pressed against Túrin’s chest. “Better luck next time”
Beleg had been invited to dine with the royal family.
Well, in truth, all twelve wardens had been invited as it was a feast to celebrate another centenary of their service to the Kingdom.
But Beleg dining with Túrin, the King and Queen –the ones who had raised him- had the Man more elated than any party ever could.
The evening went by between songs and tales of great ancient battles, a great deal of which featured Beleg as he only had been a warden from the dawn of the Kingdom.
All held Cuthalion in high esteem -even Thingol- and he received many praises. Even Queen Melian thanked him for his loyalty and for saving her husband and ward’s life more than once.
Túrin wasn’t envious of the attention Beleg was being bathed with, the Valar knew he deserved it. He was, however, wary of the hungry looks some of the servants were throwing at his husband.
Granted, none knew of their marriage other than Mablung and Lothelth. In fact, outside from their peers (though Túrin was sure Melian had figured it out), no one knew they were together romantically.
Not for lack of try on Beleg’s part.
Sensing his discomfort, Beleg –prudent as always- crept a hand under the table and down the inside of Túrin’s thigh and began to fondle his crotch.
Túrin –eloquent as always- nearly died choking on his wine.
If Melian didn’t know then she definitely found out that night.
Túrin –or Neithan, as these men knew him- jumped down from his horse and ran his way around the camp to the great three were they had chained the prisoner, heart beating hard on his chest.
The glistening silvery blond hair was the first thing he noticed, then the thin red lips, and the stormy grey eyes. “Beleg” he whispered. When he had been told they had captured a blond elf the though had occurred to him, but Túrin had dared not hope less his hearth broke. “Release him at once” only then he noticed the cuts and bruises peppering his love’s pristine skin, but more than hurt Beleg looked pissed off.
“You bastard” the elf breathed, “You selfish, arrogant, moronic, absolute bast-.”
As soon as the chains were loose Túrin dove forward, not caring that virtually every eye on the camp was upon them, and grabbing Beleg’s perfect face with both hands kissed him with passion, so desperately that his body curled over his husband’s.
All was silent around them when they finally separated, breathless.
Beleg looked around and then away from Túrin’s eyes, the point of his ears a lovely pink “You could have just said ‘I missed you’, melleth”