Title: Revelations, Part 1 of 5
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer2000@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Paring: Elrond/Celeborn
Summary: Celeborn discovers that you're never too old to learn something
new. A continuation of Unspoken (so read that one first.)
Feedback: Please! I would bribe you if I owned anything.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, although I want them so!
Warning: BDSM eventually.
Celeborn, Lord of the Golden Wood, lore-master, poet, warrior, and one of the most revered elves of his or any other age, had discovered the problem with immortality--it was boring. There simply came a point when you had read all the books, heard all the music, and composed all the poetry you ever cared to do. Even sex became dull after several thousand years bonded to the same person, especially one who, although as beautiful as the stars themselves, was decidedly not of an adventurous state of mind. But the worst was undoubtedly these endless council sessions in which the same subjects debated 500 years ago were still being brought up, and having the same arguments made for and against them. Celeborn sometimes thought he could have a stuffed doll made of himself which would suffice as well, as long as it could nod and occasionally throw out some placating comment when things became a bit heated. In truth, he was amazed that any of his advisors could still manage to get worked up about such over-discussed concepts, although recently, Celeborn envied anyone capable of feeling anything at all, as it almost seemed as if his own emotions had been reduced to one--this constant and ever-present boredom.
He shifted on his high throne and tried to look as interested as possible in the current debate, about whether or not an additional drainage ditch was needed near the high road, but his attention kept wandering off on other paths. He wondered how Elrond's youngest was doing, and when, exactly, the elder Peredhil planned to return Haldir to him. Celeborn had a strong suspicion that Elrond's request for someone to help Elrohir through his little fit of adolescent angst might actually have been a blind for what he really wanted--some new plaything for his free hours. Now there was someone who never seemed to grow bored. Perhaps it was his human blood, but Elrond had a seemingly endless zeal for life and for new persons with whom to enjoy it that never ceased to amaze his father-in-law. Having sent him an attractive young Galadrim, and one with a reputation for a certain amount of inventiveness himself, Celeborn supposed he shouldn't be surprised that said elf had not immediately returned when his original assignment had proven unnecessary. Still, it irritated him for some reason he couldn't quite name. It was not that he had any designs on Haldir himself. He was fair, of that there was no doubt, but Celeborn had had his fill of attractive young elves in his day, and somehow, making yet another conquest was not what he craved.
Strange, how that word had come up, almost as if there was something else, lurking around the corners of his mind, that he did, indeed, crave. Yet, like so many other things, Celeborn had felt no sense of covetousness, no longing, for at least an age, perhaps more. Even when he had been able to still feel much at all, he did not crave things, for what was there that was not his for the asking? He was lord of these woods, all was his to summon, his to command . . .
But how long had it been since someone had commanded him?
Now, where did that thought come from? Celeborn glanced casually around his council chamber, almost with the idea that someone had spoken the words aloud, so strongly did they echo in his mind. Yet his councillors were still debating the enthralling topic of environmental impact of additional drainage, and paying him no more mind than if he had not even been there. He, for one, fervently wished he wasn't. For a moment, he fiercely envied Haldir, free to roam to other lands, see new sights, have new experiences . . .
Elbereth! He had felt that! For someone long used to pale emotions, if any at all, the sheer passion of that sudden bolt of envy was enough to profoundly shock Celeborn, who managed to keep his seat only by a conscious exertion of will. What, exactly, was happening to him today? This was not at all normal, although, in truth, it was not unwelcome. At this point in his life, anything new was good, and this was certainly new. What had he been thinking about to prompt so deep a hidden emotion to the surface? Haldir? No, he still did not believe that he harboured any deep-seated lust for the pale youth. Then what, something the Galadrim had? But what did a mere woodsman possess that he did not? The ability to travel? No, for he could always leave his lands in his wife's capable hands and journey abroad, although he had not chosen to do so for many years. The last time had been shortly after the birth of his first grandchild, Elladan, when he and Galadriel had both gone to Imladris to see him . . .
Something about that thought rang true. Did he envy Haldir his journey to the fair city to the east? But why, when he could go there himself whenever he chose? Yet, the beauty of Elrond's valley did sound quite tempting, for a reason Celeborn could still not quite grasp. He somehow did not think that all he needed was a change of scenery. So, what did Haldir have in Imladris that he did not have in the Golden Wood, and that Celeborn so badly wanted?
When the answer finally came, it took him so by surprise that he stood abruptly, thereby accidentally signalling the end of the audience and cutting the meeting far short of its usual time. He fled the confused gaggle of courtiers, not willing to listen to any of their inane babbling at the moment. Reaching his private chambers in record time, he splashed cold water from a basin onto his suddenly flushed countenance, and stared at his own silver eyes, seeming suddenly alien to him somehow, reflected in the glass above the wash stand. He must undoubtedly have lost his mind. Perhaps that was what happened to the Eldar when they reached a certain age. Perhaps that is why so many went west, to escape incipient insanity . . .
Sitting heavily on the edge of his bed, Celeborn slowly faced the terrible truth. He wanted his son-in-law, something strange enough in itself, not to mention dangerous if anyone ever found out--Galadriel was fairly understanding about such things, but he had no doubts that this would push her tolerance too far. But there was more. For he had no doubt at all that Haldir was not the one in control of whatever games Elrond was playing with him in Imladris, and it was that image, he thought, that finally answered his afternoon's search. What did he crave? Could it really be, after so long . . . submission? He had certainly never experienced it before, but then, he had never before wished to do so. Why he did now was not hard to realise, however.
So many people envied him, thought he had the perfect life. They could not possibly understand just how tiring it was to always be the one with the last word. Galadriel wielded the ring of power, and she had abilities far more showy than any he could boast, but on a day to day level it was he who governed Lothlorien. Every decision, from large to petty, came before him to say yeah or nay, and no one, not even his fair wife, gainsaid his decisions. After several thousand years, this sort of thing did become a bit of a trial. He could not help but think how sweet, how refreshing, it would be to give all control over to someone else for a change. Let someone else make the decisions, let them have the power, let them rule . . . Of course, when it came to his realm, he had responsibilities he could not shirk. Ultimately, the safety and happiness of his people was his concern, and so it should be. But how nice, at least in his private life, to have a little less control for a time . . .
Celeborn sighed, and fell back against the soft contours of his bed. He tried to put these very wicked thoughts out of his mind, but they seemed to have taken control. He could, they told him, easily make an excuse to visit Imladris. He had not seen his youngest grandson in some time, and it had been a while since even Elladan had visited the Golden Wood. Wasn't young Elrohir's coming of age celebration in a few days? A swift horse could get you there, his traitorous brain whispered, and once you see Elrond, perhaps this longing will fade. Perhaps you'll find you are mistaken . . . but you'll never know unless you go.
A few moments later, two rather idle servants were surprised to see Lord Celeborn come striding through the stables, dressed quite unusually in a plain tunic and leggings, and carrying a small leather satchel. "Saddle Mithril," he told them, speaking of his beautiful grey stallion. "I ride for Imladris tonight."
Celeborn, Lord of the Golden Wood, lore-master, poet, warrior, and one of the most revered elves of his or any other age, had discovered the problem with immortality--it was boring. There simply came a point when you had read all the books, heard all the music, and composed all the poetry you ever cared to do. Even sex became dull after several thousand years bonded to the same person, especially one who, although as beautiful as the stars themselves, was decidedly not of an adventurous state of mind. But the worst was undoubtedly these endless council sessions in which the same subjects debated 500 years ago were still being brought up, and having the same arguments made for and against them. Celeborn sometimes thought he could have a stuffed doll made of himself which would suffice as well, as long as it could nod and occasionally throw out some placating comment when things became a bit heated. In truth, he was amazed that any of his advisors could still manage to get worked up about such over-discussed concepts, although recently, Celeborn envied anyone capable of feeling anything at all, as it almost seemed as if his own emotions had been reduced to one--this constant and ever-present boredom.
He shifted on his high throne and tried to look as interested as possible in the current debate, about whether or not an additional drainage ditch was needed near the high road, but his attention kept wandering off on other paths. He wondered how Elrond's youngest was doing, and when, exactly, the elder Peredhil planned to return Haldir to him. Celeborn had a strong suspicion that Elrond's request for someone to help Elrohir through his little fit of adolescent angst might actually have been a blind for what he really wanted--some new plaything for his free hours. Now there was someone who never seemed to grow bored. Perhaps it was his human blood, but Elrond had a seemingly endless zeal for life and for new persons with whom to enjoy it that never ceased to amaze his father-in-law. Having sent him an attractive young Galadrim, and one with a reputation for a certain amount of inventiveness himself, Celeborn supposed he shouldn't be surprised that said elf had not immediately returned when his original assignment had proven unnecessary. Still, it irritated him for some reason he couldn't quite name. It was not that he had any designs on Haldir himself. He was fair, of that there was no doubt, but Celeborn had had his fill of attractive young elves in his day, and somehow, making yet another conquest was not what he craved.
Strange, how that word had come up, almost as if there was something else, lurking around the corners of his mind, that he did, indeed, crave. Yet, like so many other things, Celeborn had felt no sense of covetousness, no longing, for at least an age, perhaps more. Even when he had been able to still feel much at all, he did not crave things, for what was there that was not his for the asking? He was lord of these woods, all was his to summon, his to command . . .
But how long had it been since someone had commanded him?
Now, where did that thought come from? Celeborn glanced casually around his council chamber, almost with the idea that someone had spoken the words aloud, so strongly did they echo in his mind. Yet his councillors were still debating the enthralling topic of environmental impact of additional drainage, and paying him no more mind than if he had not even been there. He, for one, fervently wished he wasn't. For a moment, he fiercely envied Haldir, free to roam to other lands, see new sights, have new experiences . . .
Elbereth! He had felt that! For someone long used to pale emotions, if any at all, the sheer passion of that sudden bolt of envy was enough to profoundly shock Celeborn, who managed to keep his seat only by a conscious exertion of will. What, exactly, was happening to him today? This was not at all normal, although, in truth, it was not unwelcome. At this point in his life, anything new was good, and this was certainly new. What had he been thinking about to prompt so deep a hidden emotion to the surface? Haldir? No, he still did not believe that he harboured any deep-seated lust for the pale youth. Then what, something the Galadrim had? But what did a mere woodsman possess that he did not? The ability to travel? No, for he could always leave his lands in his wife's capable hands and journey abroad, although he had not chosen to do so for many years. The last time had been shortly after the birth of his first grandchild, Elladan, when he and Galadriel had both gone to Imladris to see him . . .
Something about that thought rang true. Did he envy Haldir his journey to the fair city to the east? But why, when he could go there himself whenever he chose? Yet, the beauty of Elrond's valley did sound quite tempting, for a reason Celeborn could still not quite grasp. He somehow did not think that all he needed was a change of scenery. So, what did Haldir have in Imladris that he did not have in the Golden Wood, and that Celeborn so badly wanted?
When the answer finally came, it took him so by surprise that he stood abruptly, thereby accidentally signalling the end of the audience and cutting the meeting far short of its usual time. He fled the confused gaggle of courtiers, not willing to listen to any of their inane babbling at the moment. Reaching his private chambers in record time, he splashed cold water from a basin onto his suddenly flushed countenance, and stared at his own silver eyes, seeming suddenly alien to him somehow, reflected in the glass above the wash stand. He must undoubtedly have lost his mind. Perhaps that was what happened to the Eldar when they reached a certain age. Perhaps that is why so many went west, to escape incipient insanity . . .
Sitting heavily on the edge of his bed, Celeborn slowly faced the terrible truth. He wanted his son-in-law, something strange enough in itself, not to mention dangerous if anyone ever found out--Galadriel was fairly understanding about such things, but he had no doubts that this would push her tolerance too far. But there was more. For he had no doubt at all that Haldir was not the one in control of whatever games Elrond was playing with him in Imladris, and it was that image, he thought, that finally answered his afternoon's search. What did he crave? Could it really be, after so long . . . submission? He had certainly never experienced it before, but then, he had never before wished to do so. Why he did now was not hard to realise, however.
So many people envied him, thought he had the perfect life. They could not possibly understand just how tiring it was to always be the one with the last word. Galadriel wielded the ring of power, and she had abilities far more showy than any he could boast, but on a day to day level it was he who governed Lothlorien. Every decision, from large to petty, came before him to say yeah or nay, and no one, not even his fair wife, gainsaid his decisions. After several thousand years, this sort of thing did become a bit of a trial. He could not help but think how sweet, how refreshing, it would be to give all control over to someone else for a change. Let someone else make the decisions, let them have the power, let them rule . . . Of course, when it came to his realm, he had responsibilities he could not shirk. Ultimately, the safety and happiness of his people was his concern, and so it should be. But how nice, at least in his private life, to have a little less control for a time . . .
Celeborn sighed, and fell back against the soft contours of his bed. He tried to put these very wicked thoughts out of his mind, but they seemed to have taken control. He could, they told him, easily make an excuse to visit Imladris. He had not seen his youngest grandson in some time, and it had been a while since even Elladan had visited the Golden Wood. Wasn't young Elrohir's coming of age celebration in a few days? A swift horse could get you there, his traitorous brain whispered, and once you see Elrond, perhaps this longing will fade. Perhaps you'll find you are mistaken . . . but you'll never know unless you go.
A few moments later, two rather idle servants were surprised to see Lord Celeborn come striding through the stables, dressed quite unusually in a plain tunic and leggings, and carrying a small leather satchel. "Saddle Mithril," he told them, speaking of his beautiful grey stallion. "I ride for Imladris tonight."