Warning for Explicit Sexual Content.


How they came to Elrond's chambers, neither could say; they did not let go of one another for an instant, hands grasping, lips caressing, sighing into one another's skin as they stumbled to his private chambers. Once the door shut behind them, Azog pressed Elrond back against it, and the elf let out a breathy moan.

"You want this?" Azog mumbled into his neck, tasting his pulse and reveling in the rising beat.

"Yes," Elrond whispered, head thrown back. "Oh, I have wanted this,"

Laughter was the orc's answer. "I realize now," He muttered quietly. "There was a strange scent in the air, in the bathhouse, and at the training field that day I fought with Glorfindel. I know it now for what it is – your arousal."

Heat flooded Elrond at the thought. "You – you can smell that?" He saw the orc's grin in the dark, moonlight catching on his teeth.

They kissed; Azog's lips were harder than Elrond was used to, not pliant and soft like an elf's, but the mere touch sent fire dancing across his skin. He felt flushed, uncomfortable in his many layers, and when Azog leaned away Elrond set to removing them.

"For once I am inclined to approve of your method of dress," The elf muttered, flinging his top robe off. Azog set him down, and backed away, setting to his own clothes.

"I could tear them off, if you like,"

Elrond, bent over to remove his shoes, smirked at him. In the dim light, haloed by the windows behind, Azog stood bare. The sight stole the elf's voice for a moment. "Don't you dare," He finally whispered mouth dry. "I happen to be fond of these robes,"

"Then remove them quickly, I cannot promise my patience is unending." The orc replied. His voice fell and grew huskier then. "I too have waited for this."

A jolt of pleasure ran up Elrond's spine, and his smirk became a smile. He stood slowly, purposefully running his fingers along the fabric across his chest, to the catch behind his neck. Hair lifted, he met Azog's eyes with a sly smile, taking all the time in the world. A growl rumbled in the air.

"Good things come to those who wait," Elrond quipped dryly. Within he was aflame, heart hammering, and took a great deal of joy from being watched with such clear passion and desire.

"I will only wait for so long." The orc insisted. Elrond let his gaze wander over Azog's naked form, taking in the thick muscles, the long limbs, and the organ rising between his thighs. "For orcs, mating is a challenge. The suitor must first catch and conquer their love to prove they are worthy."

Somehow that did not surprise him. Once upon a time, he might've thought it barbaric, but now? He considered the thought of those blazing eyes, that magnificent form, conquering him –

The thought had just occurred to him, when he took action. Elrond bolted towards the hall which led to his bedchambers, grinning at the mighty roar which came from behind him. But he had barely begun to move when he felt a hand grip his robes, arresting his movement. In the time it took him to stumble, an arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him tight to the body behind him, and he could not help but shiver at the touch, at the press of Azog's loins against him.

Chilled lips pressed into his neck. He felt more than heard the words spoken against his flesh, raspy and deep. Shivers sped up his spine, and he was warm, so warm, until… It occurred to him that Azog spoke not in the Common Tongue or any form of Elvish – this was Black Speech. A profane language composed of wretchedness and darkness, never before uttered in Rivendell –

He felt the body behind him freeze. "I – apologize." Azog muttered, lifting his head. "For a moment, I forgot myself."

He contemplated it for only a moment, before Elrond spun round to face him. "Speak whatever language you will," he whispered. "But I would have you forget how to speak, with me."


Both disrobed, they fell upon each other, and Elrond's bed.

"Elves and their luxuries," Azog grumbled into Elrond's mouth. His lips began to steadily descend downward, and he complained all the while. "I would have you in a bed of grass and straw, beneath the stars you so adore,"

"Given who is up there, I would rather them not watch!"

"This bed is – cumbersome," Sitting up, Azog scowled at a throw pillow before tossing it away. Only to see there were about twelve more behind Elrond's head. "What are these? Symbols of authority? The more you have, the higher your status?"

"Perhaps now is not the time to discuss cultural differences," Elrond sat up, running his hand up Azog's shoulder to the back of his neck. Leaning in, Azog smirked.

"Perhaps it is." He slipped away from Elrond's hold, further down the bed. His arms ran along Elrond's legs; his only hand tracing along his inner thigh, sweetly teasing. The other arm was no longer dangerous – the sharp appendage was removable, and was left behind in the other room with Azog's clothes. "After all, what do we know of the sexual practices of our respective races?"

The room felt quite hotter suddenly, and breathing became a difficult thing to do. Elrond felt – tense, pulled taut, painfully aware of every muscle in his body and every inch of his skin. "For elves, the act is a promise," He managed, eyes caught upon Azog's hand, drifting down his lower leg, to his ankle, and back up, beneath his knee. Merely exploring, his hot leer fixed upon Elrond's face. "We do not always remain with those we mate with, but we never forget them. They – " Azog's hand rose higher, to the crease of his inner thigh, and Elrond's mouth was suddenly very dry. "They remain in our hearts, always remembered, always treasured."

"Elves are so poetic in all things." Azog rumbled. He came to hover over Elrond's mid-section, so blissfully close. "So composed. I want to see you writhe."

Then he – he opened his mouth and –

"Oh, Valar!" Elrond threw his head back, pleasure sparking at the base of his spine. He could not help but thrust his hips some, shuddering. "Oh – A – Azog!"

The orc slipped away and let out a barking laugh. "Don't tell me elves do not do this?"

"I do not know and I do not care, do not stop."

No sooner than he had said so, Azog complied; wet heat swallowed him to the root, and sucked. A tongue ran along the bottom side, as Azog lifted his head again, popping off for a moment to lick the tip.

"That is," Mind hazy, Elrond struggled to speak. It felt as if his whole body was heaving, striving for something just out of reach. "I had not thought…"

"Still able to speak," Azog tutted, running his cheek along the side of Elrond's length and grinning at the shiver it got out of him. "I have not done my job well enough."

Then, hooking his lower arms into the crooks of Elrond's knees, he lifted the elf's legs, and spread them. The stretch sent a pleasant hum rising through him, but he wondered what Azog might be doing. Lifting his head, he looked down to see Azog drifting lower between his thighs, to the crease of his rear, and –

A high-pitched litany of elven curses split the air. Elrond fell back against the pillows again, seizing and writhing, fingers clutching the fabric. "That – cannot be sanitary!"

That made the orc laugh, and the feeling was so strange, and yet it made him tremble. Why did this feel good? He felt a tongue run along his – his – he could not think it! But his skin felt electric in its wake, and he shook all the same.

For a moment, Azog's head appeared in his line of sight again. "Little elf," The orc drawled. "I have eaten wild boars dirtier than your ass."

There was a part of him that very much wanted to stop talking and have the orc return to whatever it was he'd been doing. But the manners ingrained in him from youth held sway. "You – you cannot tell me orcs do that. It is so unclean!"

Azog rolled his eyes, and at the same time, ran a finger along the same skin his tongue had caressed. Elrond jumped. "Would you like me to stop?"

Well… when he put it that way. "I… no?"

His grin became almost feral, before he bent down again. When the tongue caressed him once more Elrond could not hold back a whimper, back arching, and when it began to delve inside him, a heady moan escaped his throat. It danced back and forth; around his hole, teasing, and down the crease, back up again. But it was the hand which undid him. As Azog continued his attention, his hand rose to wrap around Elrond's penis, which was now fully erect and bobbing in the air, moisture dripping down its length. He had only to tighten his grip and pull upwards once, then twice –

Elrond's release came over him too quick for warning; the heat surged until it shattered over him, mind gone white, his limbs and chest arched and trembling. It was so good, almost better than he had remembered it being, and certainly better than anything he'd done alone in the years since… veering away from such thoughts, Elrond simply basked in the aftermath, gasping for breath.

A figure appeared above him, and Elrond felt himself flush with shame. "I'm so sorry," He whispered, moving to sit up. "I – it has been quite a long time. I was not –"

"Hush, Elrond," Azog, still kneeling over him, moved to rest his arm over the elf's head so he could lower himself closer. "There is no shame in that. We still have all the hours of the night."

"Still," Elrond moved to sit up somewhat, unable to hide his smile at hearing his words. His name in that deep, accented timbre affected him more than he could say. "You have seen to my pleasure. I would do the same for you." He had only just said the words, when it came to him what they might do, and a giddy, warm feeling came over him. "Do orcs ever enter one another from – behind?" The words were somewhat stilted on his tongue, heat rising to his cheeks. The mere thought of Azog's great form dwarfing his, thighs against thighs, with the orc moving inside him…

"No!" Azog shouted suddenly. The shock of it cooled Elrond's fire somewhat. "No, I would not harm you so." There was something like terror upon his face, fear clear in his voice. Elrond lifted a hand to hold his cheek.

"It does not have to hurt – it should not." Confusion showed in the furrow of his eyebrows. Azog did not meet his eyes.

"Forgive me, I –" Sighing, He covered Elrond's hand with his. "Such acts are not – gentle, among orcs. I would not mate with you in such a fashion."

He wasn't certain he wanted to know what fashion that was. Standing, he approached his dresser, removing a vial of oil from the top drawer. "I assure you that among elves, such things," He started, coming back to the bed. Instead of sitting upon its surface, he draped himself over his lover, his legs spread over his. "Are always done with care." He unstopped the vial, tipping it to let some drip down along his fingers, rubbing them together to spread it.

He watched Azog's eyes follow his fingers down, down to where his own lips had been. Gently, he rubbed one finger there, before slowly moving it within, letting out a hiss at the feeling. The elf, biting his lip, continued his ministrations with the knowledge that Azog was watching, and that sent pleasure spiraling through him.

"What does this mean?" He asked. "Among orcs?"

"An act of dominance," Azog began, half-lidded eyes darkened to warm amber. "A way of displaying your strength. For an orc to… be taken and survive, to come out of the experience with the upper hand by not surrendering to passion, they are seen as more powerful."

"So it is a conflict, not –" Elrond gasped as he began inserting a second finger. "Not pleasurable?"

"For the one doing the taking, it can be pleasurable. But they will be seen as weak, giving in to base desires." His gaze lifted to Elrond's. "My people have always lived with pain, and now it seems we venerate it. Such pleasures as we share have not been common in my life."

"I would give you all the pleasures of this world." The elf muttered weakly, trembling. He was high with joy, high with the feelings flooding through him, with the thought that he was sharing this with the one he loved. But that word brought fear back to his mind, fears of what this meant for Azog, as opposed to him.

The orc smiled, leaning in. "This is more than enough," He moved in to kiss, and Elrond moved halfway to him, before he came back to himself.

"No!" Elrond made a face, halting in his movements.

"No?" Azog quirked an eyebrow. "So much for all the pleasures in the world."

"I -," The comment took him off guard and he laughed. "Just go wash your mouth! I will not kiss you until you are clean."

He rolled his eyes, but Azog stood, and moved towards Elrond's personal bath. "Elves," He muttered. Elrond watched him walk away, eyes fixed upon his pert ass, the smile returning to his face.

He was still smiling when he returned to his task, aiming for four fingers given that his partner was… particularly well-endowed.

As pleasant as the task was, despite the stretch, without his partner Elrond could feel dark thoughts creeping back in. Questions they had not answered, things they had not discussed… realities they could not avoid.

Yule was over; in the morning, the valley would begin to return to normal. The decorations would be taken down; the color schemes begin to change as the New Year came closer. The dwarves of Erebor would be arriving perhaps as soon as a week's time. Elrond would be kept quite busy with preparations, discussing meal plans and suite arrangements and…

… this might be their first and only time together.

"Elrond?"

The elf's head snapped up. Lost in thought, he'd fallen still, fingers still buried inside himself in a lewd display as if he weren't contemplating the breaking of his heart. But he met Azog's eyes, those eyes he could never forget, and he smiled, and extended his other hand.

"Come, meleth nín*," He murmured as he removed his hand, and moved to lay back, hair spread like a curtain upon the bed. "I would know the joy of you inside me before the night is done."

Still cloaked in night's shadow, Azog sauntered to his side, came to sit beside him, a sly smirk on his lips. "Are you sure?" He chuckled. "Perhaps I am not clean enough."

Elrond smacked his leg and he laughed harder. "You are too clean now; I wish to make a mess of you."

He took up the vial again; spreading it along his fingers, and then finally took Azog's length in hand. The orc groaned against his ear, his hand rising to Elrond's back. Fingers trailed along his spine as he coated his lover's length.

Yet even that could not distract him for long. He was always the brooding sort; and though he tingled head to foot just to watch his hand slide along the girth that soon would breach him, he could not quiet his mind.

He is going to leave you.

Everyone always leaves you.

Azog pressed his forehead to Elrond's. "Where are you, golugizub?" He murmured. "Return to me."

He lifted his eyes. "What did you call me?"

"It means 'my elf.'"

Elrond's laughter then was not at all pretty. In fact it was more akin to a snort. "So you simply call me elf in another tongue?" He asked, giving his lover a particularly tight squeeze, twisting his hand. Azog's breath hitched.

"I – I would call you 'my love'," He said, "but we have no word for such things."

Love. Elrond's mind and heart stopped upon the word, his hand hesitating in its task. Could it be true? He had dared not hope – had only thought perhaps the orc was fond of him, and found him desirable but not ever that he might return the feelings which burned so brightly in Elrond's breast…

"I do love you." Perhaps the orc could read his mind, for Azog leaned down into Elrond's line of sight again, a hand lifting to cradle his cheek. "I did not think I could love, anymore, but you have helped me remember how. There is so much I lost which you have given back to me."

There were no more words; Elrond leaned back, pulling his lover with him, and Azog went gladly. He came to lay between Elrond's legs, which the elf wrapped around his thick waist. In the next few minutes, the orc was seated inside him, a heavy burning in his belly which made him tremble and ache. He remained still, arms lifted above Elrond's head, face to face, and they kissed away the time as Elrond grew comfortable. When he was ready, he let his lover know by lifting his hips.

Their lovemaking was a clash of lips and teeth, hands digging into skin and flesh pounding into flesh. It was fierce, full of fire, but tempered by the shadow both of them had begun to feel. Elrond clutched to him tighter, kissed him all the harder, feeling every touch was one of those last touches he might treasure forever. But in time the building tempest inside him swept all thoughts away. Azog's girth spread him wide and pushed deep and the sweet ache of it curled his toes and had him blessing the gods in broken Elvish.

In the early hours of morning, they collapsed beside and upon each other, legs intertwined and arms wrapped round one another. Elrond rested his head upon Azog's shoulder, feeling sleep steal over him and fighting it with all he had. He wanted desperately to be awake for every moment Azog was there, to not have any time between them stolen away.

"I shall leave, come morning." Azog whispered, turning towards Elrond. Those were the words he had expected all night; they struck him like an arrow all the same.

He rolled, turning to sit up upon Azog's chest, looking down upon him. "You will always be welcome here." Elrond said, needing the orc to know that, at least. "You can always stay."

"And be a danger and a threat to you and all you love?" Sitting up himself, Azog moved to cradle Elrond in his arms, placing him in his lap. "No, I will not be a threat to you. I have already stay far too long for I lacked the discipline to leave you."

Lifting a hand, Elrond caressed Azog's cheek, agony flaring in his heart. But he nodded. "You do what you must."

"There are orcs, in the north," Azog continued. "Orcs who live free of Sauron. I thought I might seek them out," He shrugged, turning to face the windows where the sun was rising. "See if I might make a new life."

Of course. After so long having to live and hide among elves, the chance to be with his own people… and to be free of Sauron? This was a blessing. Azog could move on from his past, make a new life, find love and happiness… "I am glad," Elrond heard himself say. He felt as if he were far away, watching someone else acting in his place. "I wish you all the happiness in Middle-Earth."

A hand touched his chin, and encouraged him to lift his gaze. Azog's eyes with dimmed with sadness of his own. "That shall be difficult," He began. "As I shall be leaving my happiness here, with my heart, with you,"

Tears burned at the corner of Elrond's eyes. His hand caught the orc's. "Azog, I," Oh, the things he wished he could say. That he would go with Azog. That Azog could stay. That they could leave and find someplace to live away from all this, from orcs and elves and the politics of Rivendell.

The orc smiled. "I know." And they kissed, for there was nothing more that could be said.


They planned to have one last meal together; to dine at breakfast, with Glorfindel and a few others, and bid Azog a fond farewell, and safe journey to the North Downs.

That was not what happened.

"My Lord!" Throwing the doors open, Lindir came barreling into the dining hall. "My Lord, quickly, -" He did not finish his words before the doors were opened again, slamming once more shut behind the two elves who entered, bows drawn.

Elrond stood at once, fear and panic tightening in his gut.

"Ada," The first elf began voice tense, low and bitter.

"Why is there a beast sitting at your side?" The second finished, his tone lit with fire.

"Elladan," Elrond started quietly. "Elrohir, let me explain."


Azog heard those names and very quickly realized these must be Elrond's two sons; those who swore vengeance upon all orcs for their mother's suffering. He stood, shoulder to shoulder with Elrond, but the elf moved to stand in front of him, a hand upon his breast.

The elves were clearly infuriated, though Azog could only guess at what they were saying. After their sudden introduction, both fell into speaking Elvish, and Elrond followed suit. But he could tell by the looks on all the faces in the room, and the tones of voices of the speakers, that no one was happy.

He wished to speak for himself, for it was because of him the situation had occurred. Yet, these were Elrond's children, and he would not intervene. Still, the longer he had to stand, listening to them bicker without understanding a word, the angrier he grew.

"Enough!" Azog shouted finally, moving out from behind Elrond. He leapt over the dining table, to stand before both elves. "If you have a problem with me, say so that I may understand."

Two pairs of furious eyes and two dark scowls met his. They looked so remarkably like their father, but not so round of face, their expressions not so hard. There was something more fey about them, something soft, which perhaps their mother gave them. One of them lowered their bow only to draw a blade, and stepped closer to him.

"Our home has been dishonored and made foul by your presence, beast," The boy spat. He began to circle Azog, who merely stood, watching him out of the corners of his eyes. "We will cleanse it with your blood and stick your head upon a pike!"

"No!" Elrond let out a shout, running towards them. Azog felt him standing at his back. "Elladan, listen to me, there are things you do not understand –"

"What have you done to my father?" The boy circling him asked. "You have him under some sort of spell. The whole valley perhaps, by the look of things."

"Elladan…" The second boy did not sound so sure. His bow relaxed some. "Ada, who is this?"

"It doesn't matter!" Moving again to Azog's front, Elladan's grimaced and lifted his blade. "It's an orc, and it will die here!" He went to charge, blade lifted high; when he swung, Azog caught it with his hook, catching the elf in the gut with his elbow, before disarming him and tossing the blade aside. He was angry, and acting too quick and foolishly. But that only made him angrier.

Elrond appeared in front of Azog then, hands lifted. "Elladan, Azog is my guest." He began. "There is no spell that could ever control me so, you know this. He is my friend!"

"He is an orc!"

"Yes, he is!" Elrond retorted loudly. "And a good man! He has risked his life to save my own, and worked to help protect Imladris."

"I don't believe you." Hate and malevolence twisted the boy's face, but these were directed at the boy's father. Azog felt fear and pain of his own churning in his gut. He went to move in front of Elrond again but the elf would not allow it. "This is the same monster that attacked nana, that hurt her so she chose to leave us!"

"He did no such thing." Elrond tried to approach his son, only for Elladan to take a step back. "Not every orc is guilty of your mother's suffering."

"They're all the same!" His angry eyes lifted to Azog. "Beasts and monsters the lot of them! I will see them wiped off the face of this earth!"

"Azog is under my protection, and so long as you are in my house you shall not kill him!"

"Then I shall leave your house, and you are my father no longer!"

The boy spun round, storming for the door, leaving father and brother gaping in his wake. The other, Elrohir, seemed divided between loyalties; he hesitated where he was, glancing from father to brother, unsure. Elladan stopped at the door, before turning to yell his name. "Elrohir!" It was then the brother began to fall back to him.

Azog did not watch them; he had eyes only for Elrond, who stood transfixed at the sight of his boys leaving. He watched, stock still, before bolting towards them. "Elladan, wait, please -!" But the boy turned and spit at him. Azog growled at the sight, anger flooding him. "Elrohir, Elladan!" Elrond followed them into the hall, and the whole room burst into action. Azog was after him, and so were others behind him.

They came to the front hall, the two boys in the lead, Elrond chasing as if his very life depended on it. He was shouting in elvish, desperate, heart-broken words Azog could not understand, and neither boy would heed him. They never turned back, only kept walking, and Elrond's pace began to slow. Azog watched, horrified, as the elf began to falter, to collapse, crumbling to the floor all of a sudden.

"Elrond!" He barreled to the elf's side; it was only then the two boys stopped, turning around. Azog flipped him onto his back, to see he'd fallen deathly pale, and unconscious. He shook him. "Elrond!" Nothing. Lifting him, he tried to feel a pulse, to see if he breathed. He seemed – seemed so cold – "Elrond!"


"He is… fading."

They were gathered in the sitting room outside Elrond's bedchambers. Within, healers struggled to save his life. Without, Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir, Azog, Lady Galadriel, Arwen, and the two boys sat. The mood was harsh and dim, all hearts dark, none more so than Azog's.

"I noticed it some time ago." Glorfindel was explaining. "He told me it has been happening since Estel first left." The elves all seemed disdained and upset, but Azog was not only both those things, he was also dreadfully confused.

Erestor must've noticed his expression. "When an elf suffers a great pain or loss," He began. "They may be so aggrieved that it costs them their life. The process of dying from such a wound is called the fading. Lord Elrond has been suffering so for some time, and now… it may be too late."

"Why are you speaking to it?" Elladan scowled.

"Much has changed since you last left, hên**," Whatever that word meant, it made Elladan's scowl deepen. "Have care what you say."

The boy leapt to his feet, gesturing wildly at Azog. "He is an orc!" Sputtering laughter followed those words. "Since when do the elves of Rivendell do aught but kill orcs? We do not sit at the table with wargs or goblins, or any other foul thing, but this," He pointed. "Is given respect?"

"He saved your father's life at great risk to himself and has earned the respect and loyalty of your Lord's people." Lindir told him. Elladan turned his scowl upon him.

"I'm sorry," Elrohir, the other boy, began more quietly. "But I'm stuck on the part where Father called an orc his friend."

"As Glorfindel has told you," Erestor spat irritated. "Much has changed. Azog has earned his place here, a place, I might add, both you boys take for granted, coming and going as you please without a thought to your father or to your duties here!"

A real argument might've sparked then – but Lady Galadriel's even, potent voice broke through it. "You carry so much anger in your hearts." She began. "You have suffered, and mourned, and in your pain turn to that which makes you feel strong, to fight the tide of sorrow. Such things cannot last. You have come now to the point where your anger no longer aids your survival, but hurts you and your family. You must let it go."

Then the door to Elrond's chamber opened. Everyone fell quiet, looking to the healer. The elf would not quite meet anyone's eyes.

"He is deep within the dreaming," He began with a sigh. "I cannot reach. Perhaps a member of the family?"

"I do not think it would be wise to have either of the boys attempt such a thing now." Glorfindel said, glaring their way.

"I would gladly do it." Arwen stood, pushing ahead of her brothers. "But… I fear I have had a part to play in his sorrow."

"There are none here who have not." Galadriel told her. "Yet…" Her gaze lifted to Azog. "There is one, I believe, who may fare better than us all."

The boys followed her gaze, and appeared dumbstruck. "No," Elladan spat, half laughing, half enraged. "An orc could not even try! Orcs do not have the Eldar's Light. He could not help Father if he wanted to!"

"I don't understand half of what's happening here," Azog admitted. "But I will do whatever I can to save Elrond."

The boys looked incredulous; the healer, revealed.

"Follow me," He said.


At seeing him, Azog felt his breath stole away. He was still and grey, chest hardly rising, exhaustion written into the lines of his face. Terror and pain welled inside him as Azog came to sit by his lover.

"What's wrong with him?" He whispered.

"We call it the Fading," The elf began. "Others may not believe so, but the feelings of elves run deep and strong. When we suffer a pain we cannot face or come to terms with, it eats away at us, until our light fades, and we pass on to the next world." Azog lifted a trembling hand to trace Elrond's skin, all too cold and stiff. "You must enter into his mind, and find the source of his pain. If he does not face it, he will never awaken."

Azog had hardly heard him finish speaking, before he lifted his other hand to Elrond's face. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing… he thought, perhaps, he'd done this in a dream… or… someone had… he closed his eyes…

The elf's mind is a library. It is beautiful, ornate, warm and inviting – yet there is something off. The books are lined with dust, the shelves hardly touched. It is a ruin. A vestige of old knowledge and life worn away, of lives long lost, civilizations crumbled.

This is a place of sorrow and yearning for what cannot come. So much has been lost. Beleriand, Eriador, Gil-Galad, Celebrian, so much death and suffering… he looks and sees a white bird in the sky and his heart aches… he hears a soft voice upon the wind, singing a beautiful song and he aches… so much brings back these memories…

He sees a line of tombs, going back to ancient days, he sees a boy barely a man who all too soon shall join this line of kings and have a glorious tomb of his own. He wears sorrow like a cloak and walks amid the ephemeral, reaching out to touch that he loves only to have it slip away and turn grey and cold.

A brother, lost to time; a king, lost to war; a wife, lost to grief; children still in mourning who slip through his fingers like water.

Then there is the human boy; there is Estel. Hope. He shines like starlight and smiles like sunshine. Elrond loves the boy as dearly as his own, and they love him, and for a short blissful time of twenty years, life is as it should be. He feels joy again, and wakes with pleasure to the sunrise, finds happiness in his work and contentment in his life.

But it does not last.

Estel comes of age; there are secrets he cannot keep, things he must know for his own safety. He must know his name is Aragorn, must know of Narsil and Barahir and the things which one day will be expected of him. He expects anger, even fear; what he receives is outrage. The boy is furious, and he shouts and raves and cries and storms away, leaving Elrond alone in a cold room with a broken sword. Within a week he has chosen to leave with the Rangers, without a backwards glance, and Elrond hears their argument again and again in his mind, hears those words repeat all the time: "Did you ever even love me or was I a means to an end?"

How can he fix this?

The boy writes; the words are cold and the Estel he had loved and raised has drifted away. His other children are gone. The people he loves are so far away. So very, very far away…

There is a boy sitting upon the shores of the sea. It is night; he stares up at the stars, sorrow heavy in his breast, loneliness and bitterness rising up his throat. He sings, voice weak and melancholic, but he sings. The words are Elvish, but Azog knows the tune, he knows the song. Elrond looks up to the heavens and sings his song for his parents, who are so far away.

Azog approaches him. The boy does not turn around. "Where are ada and nana?" This child-Elrond asks, with wide dark eyes and a youthful face that should never know such pain.

Azog kneels beside him. "Your parents have gone to the stars."

"Why?"

Always the questions. "I don't know, child," He answers truthfully.

"Why?" He asks more insistently, tears breaking upon his face. "Why did they leave me?" His gaze lifts, and Azog sees an older pair of eyes, an older soul. "Why does everyone leave me?"

Gods above. Azog lifts his arms and the boy clambers into his embrace; he pulls him tight to his chest. Voice cracking, he murmurs into his hair. "We cannot always keep those we love," He says, and he thinks of Bolg, oh his son, his poor child. "Sometimes they're stolen away, sometimes they leave us, whether they wish to or not. It isn't fair, but this is a dreadful world we live in, and it doesn't deserve the likes of you. You – you deserve so much better."

Little arms wrap around his neck. "I don't want to be alone."

Azog leans back a little, to look into his eyes. "You are not alone. Elrond, so long as I live, you will never be alone." He lifts his hand, places it upon the child's shoulder. "I may not be beside you, I may be far away, but my heart will be here," His hand goes over his breast, "and though it may take a hundred years I will come back for it. I will come back for you."

The tear-stained child looks into his eyes; and smiles. In the blink of an eye he is a man, and he is still smiling.


Elrond awakened, and Azog remained by his side. He slipped into the bed with him, at the elf's gentle insistence, and they sat in silence for a time.

"You will still leave today?" Elrond asked him. Azog turned, pulling the elf to his chest.

"I know the pain of losing a child." He said. "I will not be the reason you lose your sons."

The elf sighed against his breast. "I do not know what I deserve," He whispered, moving up to look upon Azog's face. "But you, you deserve so much better than what you've been given. I hope the life you find in the north is all you have wanted and more." They kissed, and when Elrond leaned away, he moved only so far as to speak. "Your promise was a kind balm to me, but I shall not hold you to it."

"It matters not," Azog told him, kissing him again, before finishing his words. "For I shall hold true to it, either way."


Azog the Defiler left Rivendell that afternoon.

The whole valley came to see him off. They gifted him their best horse, supplied him with all he needed and could carry, seeing him off over the bridge out of the valley with somber farewells. Lord Elrond did not see him go; they made their farewells in private, with words and flesh, and Elrond let him go with a heavy heart, lifted only by a dim, distant hope he clung to like a star in the night.

He was still quite ill. He remained in his bedchambers all day, resting, eyes out the window. He could see the bridge from there. Beyond it were the moors of the Trollshaws, the Bruinen, and far beyond, the Lone Lands. He kept his eyes to that path, his heart and mind with the traveler who followed it. Night fell; he rose, despite the pain, and hobbled to the window, resting against its frame.

Elrond watched the stars appear, one by one, but most of all he waited for that one: Earendil. He wondered if perhaps, far off, Azog looked up and gazed upon that same light, and he prayed to the Valar and to his mother and father to watch over him, to guide him safely north; and perhaps, one day, safely back to him.

After a time, he began to hum a quiet tune, a smile upon his lips, memories warming his heart. He did not sing the words, but they flourished in his heart, and he sent them on in his wishes to the one whom he loved.

You will not ever be forgotten by me…

The End


Elrond and Azog's story will continue in the sequel, "The Hearts of Kings", six chapters of which are currently posted. Thanks for reading!