Chapter Thirty-Five
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SUMMARY: OK, OK, OK….
For those who are dying to know what happened,
Here's what happened...
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"I say it looks like sunshine
You say it looks like rain
You've got your stubborn ways, yes, you do
And you know I'll never change
In a thousand ways we disagree
But the sweet vibrations from your touch
It's the magic of the chemistry that makes me want it
Twice as much…"
Opposites Attract, by Natalie Cole
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City of Dale, 15th of August 2944 T.A.
Lynne Weaver finished clearing away the breakfast dishes, then carried two mugs of tea down the steps from the apartment into Dale Fabrics, the shop she co-owned with her wife Mona. 1
"Here you go, sweet." After giving her a quick kiss, she handed her the red mug. "Just the way you like it; strong with honey."
"Thanks." Mona kissed her back, and turned her attention back to the list she was making. "I'm getting the list ready to send to the Palace. Is there anything else we need?"
Lynne looked over her shoulder and skimmed the purchase order. "I think we might add some of that green silk; it's getting pretty popular."
Mona added the item in her neat, backward-slanted hand, and folded it up to put with the rest of the correspondence. "That's done; let's open up."
They had just finished with the outside displays when a messenger came from the Castle. "For you, ladies," Ethan, who was working there during the summer months, handed the folded paper to her. "Do you have anything to go?"
"Hang on." Lynne grabbed the papers from the counter. "Here you go, love," she handed it to the boy, along with two copper coins. "And here's two pence for you, and tell your Mam we said hello."
"Thank you, Mistress!" And he was off again.
"What did we get?"
Lynne turned it over and looked at the impression in the blue wax. "It's from the Palace, but I don't recognize this seal…" She opened it up and read aloud:
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Lynne and Mona Weaver, Proprietors
Dale Fabrics
6 Stone Street Market
City of Dale, Northern Kingdoms
12th August, 2944 T.A.
Re: Your Wager
Dear Lynn and Mona,
With regards to the Betting Pool concerning Galion, Chief Aide of the Woodland Realm, and Rôgon, Blacksmith and nephew of Lord Círdan, I am happy to inform you that at approximately 3.30 o'clock on the morning of 5th August 2944 T.A., Lord Galion and Lord Rôgon ceased their hostilities, much to the relief of every Guard and resident of the Royal Wing.
You have won, as best we can ascertain, 83 Castar, 129 Silver Canath, 2and 37 Coppers, of which adds to ₵115.62. Please see Lord Percy at the Castle of Dale to collect your winnings.
As a matter of interest, there have been some unexpected, yet notable developments. Once the time of The Truce was established (and verified by Lady Hilda and Mithrandir, who were wakened from their sleep), they were offered release from Lord Galion's rooms, but both chose to stay.
At 4.45 o'clock yesterday morning, the Wizard and the Seneschal of Dale were once again roused from their sleep. The pair had evidently decided to Marry (without a ceremony!) and their subsequent couplings were so vocal and enthusiastic, the Guards on duty begged Mithrandir to put up a Silencing Spell. It seems Warden Airen's left eye had developed a slight tic, and her husband, Captain Elion was concerned.
As of this writing, they have not emerged from their rooms, but have asked that food be sent, along with six bottles of Lord Thranduil's best Dorwinian.
I know you will join all of us here in the Woodland Realm in wishing the new couple many happy returns.
With kindest regards,
Lady Emëldir, Chief Councilor
Woodland Realm
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"Well, isn't that nice?" Lynne handed the letter to her wife with a delighted smile. "they got married, after all!"
"Too bad there wasn't a pool for that," Mona gave a dismissive shrug of her shoulders. "Still, we've got a nice nest egg to put by, and we'll be able to visit your Cousin Leo after Yule!"
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The Woodland Realm, 4th of August 2944 T.A.
"YOU WANNA BET?" Hilda yelled, "If you hadn't been such a pair of buffoons, and screwed this up, we wouldn't have to do this! But you are, and you did, and we did! Now, we'll check in on you first thing in the morning, and remember: we love you both very much."
Galion threw himself against the door. "But—"
"Good night, Mellyn," Emëldir's usual confidence sounded absent.
Rôgon pulled him off and tried. "But—"
"Have a pleasant evening!" the Wizard sounded rather jovial.
"WAIT! Do not go!" Galion slammed his palms so hard they stung. "Ai, gorgor… Ai Puith!"
Rôgon pinched the bridge of his nose, "It will do you no good, Galion. We are stuck with each other."
"I do not want to be stuck here with you! This is my home!"
"How many times do I have to tell you? I was forced to come! You know how Lady Hilda can be, and with Mithrandir at her side, could you stand a chance?"
Galion closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "What did you say to Mithrandir? He would not have brought you here for nothing!"
"None of your business!"
"It is my business when you show up, uninvited—"
"For the last time, I DO NOT WANT TO BE HERE!" Rôgon shouted.
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Neither Elf was willing to step out from behind their protective shields of anger, so the circuitous arguing continued for hours, asking the same questions, yelling the same answers as many different ways it could possibly be said…
…everything except the truth behind what brought him to the Palace, and why Rôgon was dragged here in the first place.
And at half-past three, Galion couldn't take anymore.
"You think I am not good enough for you, admit it!" Rôg accused. He had slowly backed himself against the opposite wall. "You only came to my house because my Uncle is Lord of the Havens," he sneered. "I did not have such an exalted pedigree; I would be no more than a piece to lint to you. Admit it!"
"You... You do not understand anything about me!"
"I understand that you are not capable of love!" the blacksmith cried. "I should never have wasted a kiss on you, you shallow-"
In a fit of fury, Galion picked up the vase on the side table next to him, screamed, "Iest im almelin, ci orch, pen-ind 'waur!" and threw it at Rôg. He watched in slow-motion, as the glass object twisted and turned in a graceful arc until it smashed against the far wall just a few feet from Rôgon, who had covered his head with his arms. The tinkling sound of the crash was only deafening for a moment, but it was enough to wash away Galion's rage, and replace it with shame.
Oh, no…
Rôgon slowly lowered his arms, aghast. "Penig channas? Amman agóreg?" He bellowed. "You could have cut me!" Then he froze, blinking rapidly. "Wait… What did you just say?"
Ai gorgor... Galion's hands flew to his face to hide his flaming cheeks. Never had never felt so bare, so exposed, so utterly humiliated.
The room lurched and roiled, as did with Galion's stomach. Shaking, could hardly see through his tears as he raced to the necessary with his hands clapped over his mouth. He'd hardly eaten yesterday, but his insides didn't care, as he heaved and sobbed for what seemed like hours. At last, his body calmed down, and he crawled away from the commode on his hands and knees. When he finally made it to the nearby wall, he leaned his head back, hugged his knees, and inhaled... exhaled...
Ai, natho nin, Bereth vuin Varda, he prayed silently. He couldn't stay in here forever; their forced imprisonment required the water closet be available, but facing Rôgon, wasn't possible either. What was he going to do?
Galion held his breath and listened, and was relieved the Blacksmith wasn't hovering outside the door, and he also detected several high-pitched clinks of glass pieces falling into the waste can, followed by the soft scraping of a broom sweeping up the rest.
Taking advantage of the blacksmith's preoccupation, he rose, rinsed out his mouth, then slowly opened the door. The hall was empty, and sounds of the cleanup in progress assured him the Elf was occupied.
Galion left the necessary, went into his bedroom, shut the door behind him and fell into his bed with his knees drawn up.
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After sweeping the room, Rôgon finished wiping up the floor, and was carefully brushing the damp cloth over the upholstery of the couch to catch any stray chards of green glass when he heard the door to the necessary open, and another door click shut.
The Aide must have gone to his bedroom.
Once he had finished his task, Rôg sat in the overstuffed chair opposite the couch. After hours of arguing, the silence that hung in the air felt heavy and strange. There was nothing else to do but take in his surroundings. He had fantasized what this place might look like, expecting frilly, fussy décor, but though Galion favored cool tones as opposed to earthier browns and greens, his tastes were surprisingly simple.
The corner fireplace was unused in the summer months, and was shielded by a wooden screen, with a hand-painted forest scene, no doubt the Elvenking's work. There was a round table that seated four, in dark, polished wood, and seats upholstered in blue that complimented the couch and chair.
These were rooms he could feel at home in.
The blacksmith's head flopped back, and he stared at the ceiling with a defeated sigh. They couldn't avoid the subject forever; sooner or later, he would have to face up to what Galion had said to him, and what that meant.
Not yet.
There was food and drinks on the sideboard, and hours of shouting left him with a hungry stomach. He rose, grabbed a plate and heaped it full of beef, buttered rolls, fruit and a large glass of juice, took a seat at the table and consumed it with relish. He finished his juice in one long pull, and it soothed his aching throat. Hours of shouting made one thirsty, too.
Rôgon risked a quick glanced toward the closed bedroom door. From the retching noises coming from the privy a few minutes ago, he assumed Galion wouldn't be ready for a meal. Still, he should have something bland in his stomach. Once he finished with his dinner, or very early breakfast, he placed couple of rolls on a small plate, poured a glass of water and carried them to the door of Galion's bedroom. He knocked softly, and when no answer came, he carefully lifted the latch with his elbow, and pushed the door open.
The sight bruised his heart. Still fully-clothed, Galion was curled in a ball atop the covers, and fast asleep. His face was pale from his recent fit of biliousness, and his eyes look bruised and swollen. One arm was wrapped around his stomach, the other fisted into his pillowcase, no doubt from the cramps he must have suffered. He carefully set the plate and glass on his bedside table, and after covering the rolls with a napkin, unfolded the blanket from the bench at the foot of his bed and draped it over him.
He tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind him, he settled himself in the Sitting room for what remained of the night. Galion's couch was very comfortable, but it still took a long time to get to sleep, then his dreams were haunted by dark blue eyes with lashes that gracefully fanned over high, elegant cheekbones.
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5th of August 2944 T.A.
The aroma of spicy tea roused Rôgon from his sleep with a grimace. He flopped over on his side and pulled up the blanket—
It was the same one he'd covered Galion with earlier. Rôg sat up, rubbed his eyes, and swung his legs to the floor. After using the privy and splashing cold water on his face, he poured himself a mug of tea. He was about to return to his couch when, on impulse, he went to the bedroom door and lightly rapped a few times.
The reply was weak. "Come in."
The Aide was upright, resting against the headboard. He stared blankly off into space with his hands clutched around his own cup, with a face dulled with weary sadness.
"I see they brought tea?" Rôg ventured gently.
"Yes," Galion said. "They unlocked the door a short time ago, but I did not want to disturb you."
"Thank you." He indicated a cushioned chair at the opposite side of the bed. "May I sit?"
Galion nodded absently, avoiding his gaze. Rôgon walked around the bed, sat down and rested his ankle against the other knee. "Your furniture is very comfortable."
"Thank you."
"I see you have eaten the rolls; did they settle your stomach?"
The Aide's finger traced around the rim of his cup. "You were kind to bring them."
"It was nice of you to give me the blanket."
"It did not seem right that you go without, after cleaning up the mess I made." His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I am… so very ashamed of the way I acted towards you. I have never behaved thus in my life, and do not deserve your forgiveness, yet I must apologize, Rôg."
"There was no harm done, and there is nothing to forgive; I goaded you, and should not have done so. I hope the vase was not valuable?"
Galion lifted his shoulders slightly. "Only sentimentally. It was given to me by King Oropher a long time ago."
"Ai…" Rôgon winced. "I am sorry. Truly I am." After a long pregnant pause, the blacksmith took a deep breath and mustered his courage. "We need to talk; do you not agree?"
"Yes, we do." With a sad sigh, Galion said, "I do not wish my last days here to be full of acrimony, and I would like to request a truce."
"So it is true? You plan to leave for Valinor?"
The Aide nodded, studying the contents of his cup. "I must, I think."
"Galion, I do not want to be cause of this."
"It is more than that, Rôg," his chest rose and fell wearily. "There is not enough for me here, anymore. I am proud of my years of service to this Kingdom, but Thranduil does not need me so much anymore. His heart has healed, and he is now the husband and father he was always meant to be. He is an excellent King, and needs little in the way of advice."
"I know he depends upon you a great deal."
Galion's shoulders lifted in a small shrug, "Anyone with a sense of organization can do my job."
"Do you honestly think that is the only reason why you are important?"
"No, and I appreciate that. I have been blessed with a wonderful family, and many friends, but they all have their own lives, and should live them without concerning themselves with me. I have come to the realization that I have done all I can do to support my King, and though it was my joy to help raise Tauriel and Legolas, they are grown and have their own path. Bard's children have their fathers, now. There is little for me to do."
Rôgon's throat tightened, and tears sprang into his eyes as Mithrandir's words came to mind:
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"What you choose to see as arrogance and snobbery, is just shyness from an Elf who has no idea how to want anything for himself, let alone how to get it. All his life he has put himself last and lived for others..."
"I am so sorry." He managed to say, though his voice cracked.
"Do not be. I think I was terrible to you when we first met because I was struggling, though I did not know why. Now I understand what I need to do-"
"You were not that terrible," the blacksmith gave him a small smile. "And I still owe you an apology."
"But I was the one who threw the vase—"
"No, Galion." Rôgon shook his head. "I mean, I am sorry I did not tell you the truth."
The Aide turned his head toward him, but still didn't look up. "I know what you are going to say, and I beg you not to. I have disgraced myself. You feel differently, and you cannot help that, so allow me to save what little dignity I have left!"
Rogon leaned forward. "I do not think you understand."
"Please!" Galion's hands shook, spilling a few drops of tea into his lap. "In the name of what little friendship we have, I beg you not to speak of it. Can we not just forget what I said?" His breath caught and a tear fell from his eyes into the cup. "Please," he whispered roughly.
"I cannot." Rôg rose, went around the bed and sat beside the distraught Elf. After setting his cup on the side table, he reached for the Aide's hands and gently pried his fingers from the mug and placed it with the other. Galion's eyes were clenched tight, as Rog gently reached for him and lifted his chin. "Look at me?" he asked softly. "Please?"
Slowly the sapphire eyes opened as did Galion's lips. "Do not say anything out of pity," he rasped. "It will only twist the knife and deepen the wound. This is something I did to myself, and you do not need to feel compelled to—"
"I love you." The blacksmith said.
"—make my final days on Middle Earth easier. If I could just spend them in peace, among the flowers of the King's garden, and—"
"I love you."
"—take those quiet memories with me—"
"I love you," Rôgon stared into his eyes and leaned closer…
"—I will have something to treasure when I reach the White Shores—"
"I love you," he glanced down at Galion's mouth…
"—Athodh, lasto nin - Rôgon? What are you—"
"De i velethron e-guil nîn," he whispered. "I love you."
"Do not say that if you do not mean it—"
The blacksmith cradled that beautiful face in his hands and captured Galion's mouth in his own.
"Mmrrrf!" Palms pressed against his chest to push him away, but Rôg persisted. When he pushed his tongue against Galion's teeth, they opened willingly, and the muffled protests turned to soft, guttural moans. Galion's hands slowly relaxed, moved from his chest to around his neck to pull him in harder, a request to which the blacksmith happily obliged.
After long, glorious minutes, Rôg came up for air only long enough to yank Galion out of his sitting position and pull him flat on the bed. He slid his body next to warmth and wonder Galion's body and reveled it it.
Time came to a complete stop. There was nothing in Rôgon's world now, but arms, lips, silky hair and contented sighs, and he never wanted it to end.
Hours later, they lay facing one another with intertwined fingers, full of wonder at the joy that enveloped them, changing them forever.
"I love you," Rog whispered.
"I love you, too. I never thought I could have this," Galion looked deep into his eyes, suddenly full of doubt. "This is real, yes?"
"It is," Rôgon told him. "I am here with you, and I am not going anywhere."
"I was so frightened," Galion's voice trembled. "I still am. I do not know how to go about all this. I mean, I am familiar with the customs and traditions…"
"Of course, you are," Rôg smirked.
Galion's mouth turned slightly upward. "It is my job. But…" he searched for words.
"But living it, is not the same thing as knowing the protocols?"
"Exactly! I am over six thousand years old."
"As am I," Rôg stroked a fingertip along his hairline.
"But things like this do not happen to Elves at our age."
"Yet here we are." He cupped the Aide's cheek, and whispered, "I mean what I said: I love you, Galion. I…" he licked his lips, "I can hardly bear to think how badly I treated you, when—"
"It is well—"
"No! It is not! I kissed you – which I wanted to do – then I let my fears turn you away. I was horrible, and will regret it all of my days. I do not deserve to be forgiven."
"Yet I do," Galion whispered. "I was cross with you when we first met, because you frightened me, though I did not know why. And when you were here, I… panicked and—"
"Shh…" Rôgon kissed him gently, then smiled. "Last night we argued in circles, did we not?"
"You noticed that?"
"Mm hmm," he chuckled. "Let us not waste today apologizing in circles."
Galion turned his head and giggled into the pillow. "A good idea."
Their kisses and touches were gentle for a long while until Rôg heard growling and placed his hands on the Aide's stomach. "How do you feel, truly?"
"A bit sore, but the bread and water helped. This," he rested his hand on Rôg's chest, "helps more."
Rôgon grabbed the Aide's hand and brought it to his lips. "Are you still frightened?"
"Terrified."
"I am, as well." He kissed each finger. "I propose we be frightened together, and see what becomes of it, yes?"
Galion shook his head with a soft laugh, biting his lower lip. "I hardly know you, and you hardly know me. How can it be that we are in love? I do not understand."
"Mithrandir told me I was struck by the Ehtë Raumo. I am inclined to believe him; my heart knew you that first day at Lord Bard's Castle. Had I been much younger, I suppose I would have seen it for what it was, but at our advanced age, who thinks of such things?"
"I confess it is the same for me." Galion paused and his face grew serious. "Before this goes any further, I must tell you something, and I hope you accept it."
"What is it?"
"I was in love before. It was long ago, but it was doomed."
Rôg was taken aback. "What happened?"
Galion nervously told him of King Oropher and his wife, and how that love shaped everything in his life today. At first, his fingers worried the fabric of Rôg's tunic, but then he rolled onto his back and spoke into the ceiling.
When he was finished, a long silence hung between them, before Rôgon asked, "How do you feel about him, now?"
"I still love him, but in a different way, much like how Thranduil feels about his late wife. For me it was easier, because nothing ever came of it. Over the years, the..." he struggled for words, "the yearning lessened, and when Thranduil was born, I stopped thinking about it." Galion gazed deeply into his soft brown eyes. "I do not regret loving him, Rôg, but that is over."
"So, the vase you threw was more than just a vase…"
"Yes. It was a reminder of days long past, and I loved it because Oropher had given it to me." Galion turned his head and searched his eyes. "Maybe it was fitting that it was destroyed. Maybe I needed to show myself that I have room in my heart for another."
"Maybe. Do those feelings have anything to do with us?"
The Aide's brows furrowed as he considered the question. "They do not. I think - I know - what I feel for you is how love should really be."
"That is all that matters." Rôg leaned over him and kissed him again.
"Will you tell me more about yourself?"
"Yes." and he did. They both did.
Both were reluctant to leave this private cocoon, and spent the next five days sharing stories of their lives, their triumphs, and mistakes. They relaxed in the Sitting Room and talked, ate meals (left for them on the cart by their door) and talked, and when they were tired, they went into the bedroom and talked until they fell asleep in each other's arms. Day and night meant nothing; time and schedules vanished. They revealed and explored each other's minds and memories and delighted in it.
Their touches and kisses were only about love and getting used to the idea of one another. They both needed to adjust to having another in such close proximity, so, by silent agreement, they took small breaks; one would sit across the room, the other might go for a long bath, or sit on the opposite end of the couch for a while, then come back together with renewed energy and joy.
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12th of August 2944 T.A.
It was late evening on their sixth night together, and, after another nap, Rôgon's heart was bursting, as he woke up to warm, soft arms around his stomach, a head resting against his shoulder, and legs tangled with his.
"Galion," he whispered. "Meleth?"
"Yes, Hîr nîn?" Came the soft, response.
"I am not a Lord," He softly growled.
"You are Brannon Vuin," Galion tightened his arms, and snuggled into him. "My beloved Lord."
"Then you are my Mîr Vuin." He kissed Galion's black hair. "My beloved Jewel, which is only fitting, as your eyes remind me of sapphires."
Galion's laugh shook them both.
"What is so comical?"
"We sound as bad as Bard and Thranduil," Galion murmured. "Bain would make a face and call us 'mushy.'"
"I take that as a compliment." A slow smile crept across his face. "May I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"How long did the Kings know each other before they wed?"
Galion rolled on his stomach and rested his chin on Rôg's chest. "Let us see… We came to the ruins of Dale on the third of November, and they were married on the seventeenth of the next month."
"Six weeks…. How could they have had a Royal Wedding in the ruins?"
"They did not want one; there was a small ceremony in Thranduil's tent with the children, and then we took them here for their joining. Why do you ask?"
"Galion," Rôgon gently disengaged them from each other to face him. "I must ask you to be honest: do you still plan to sail to Valinor? Is that still your wish?"
The Aide's head jerked back in surprise, and his blue eyes went wide. "I… have not thought about it, since we began to talk. What do you think I—"
"No, Melui," He shook his head, and held the Aide's hands between his own. "Please; I must know what you want."
"I am not certain." Galion considered. "I only know that I can no longer be content on the outskirts of someone else's happiness. I need a life that is truly my own, and if I must leave Middle Earth to have this, then I do not think I have a choice."
"I understand." Rôgon considered this, then decided. "I think-I am certain-that if you decide to Sail, I would like to accompany you."
"But you only just came to Dale! Do you not enjoy your life there?"
"Yes; very much, in fact," he cupped his cheek. "But I cannot go back to a solitary existence, either. Willing or no, Mîr nîn, my home now, is you."
Galion's eyes bulged and his mouth dropped. "Are… are you sure?"
"I have never been surer of anything in over six thousand years." The corner of his mouth twitched. "I think that is enough time to know, do you not agree?"
The Aide couldn't speak, but he nodded his head.
Rôgon got out of the bed, and landed on the rug in his bare feet. "Come," he said.
"Where are we going?"
"Nowhere; I need us to stand." He grabbed Galion's shoulders and placed him a few feet away. "The Men of Bree have this tradition, and I have always like it..."
"What is it?"
"If you would bear with me for a moment…" Rôgon said, as his heart started to thrash against his ribs.
"Are you well? You look flushed."
"I… am fine," he held up a finger, then bent over and tried to get his breathing under control. "Please, just give me a moment…"
"Rôg, you are beginning to worry me."
"Wait," he puffed out a few marshaling breaths, then got down on one knee and took Galion's hand.
"What is this? What are you doing?"
"Just wait! Galion, son of—" he paused. "What is your father's name?"
"Annion." Galion turned his head and peered at him out of the corner of his eyes.
"Right. Yes." he cleared his throat and tried again. "Galion, son of Annion, I love you—"
"I love you, too."
"Thank you, but you are not supposed to speak."
"Oh. My apologies."
"Galion, son of Annion, I love you with all my heart. You would make me the happiest Elf in all of Middle Earth if you would do me the great honor of becoming my husband."
The Aide's mouth dropped, and his eyes widened into two blue saucers.
"Well?" Rôg prodded. "Will you?"
"But you said I was not supposed to speak."
"You can speak now." Rôgon rolled his eyes. "Please, just answer my question."
"What was the question?"
"Will you marry me?"
"You did not ask that, or I would have—"
"Galion!" Rôg jumped to his feet. "I want to know if you will ma—"
But he was silenced by a long, hard, happy kiss. He closed his eyes and pulled him closer. When their kiss finally ended, he gazed into those cerulean blue eyes, and rubbed their noses together. "That does not count as an answer; you have to say it."
"Yes, you Troll." Galion snickered.
"Fussbudget." He leaned down and sucked the tip of his lover's ear, and made him squeal. "How soon can we have our wedding?"
"Rôg," Galion backed up looked into his eyes. "Would you be terribly disappointed if we did not have one? Please; I would like it be only you and me."
A slow grin crept across the blacksmith's face. "Perfect."
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For the last hour a solemn silence had fallen between them.
This was the most important event of their lives, and they wanted to take time apart to prepare themselves for the commitment they were about to make. He waited in the Sitting room while Galion took his bath, then ducked into the bedroom. Then Rôgon took his turn, making sure his hands were clear of all the grime of his work, and washed his brown hair. After it was combed and braided, he put on the robe Galion had left for him by the tub and went into the bedroom.
It was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. There were new sheets on the bed, a pitcher of wine on the bedside table, with two crystal goblets he hadn't seen before. The other table held a stack of small towels and a bottle of oil, with a sprig of lavender in it.
As his eyes rested on that last object, his heart fluttered. He was about to discover the mystery of an Elven joining for himself, and his hands trembled.
"Rôg?"
Galion came over to him, took his hands and looked into his eyes. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, I am."
"Then we will begin: Rôgon, son of Erellont, will you take the Sacred Vows, and invoke the name of Ilúvatar to make me your husband?"
"I will. Galion, son of Annion, will you take the Sacred Vows, and invoke the name of Ilúvatar to make me your husband?"
"I will."
Galion's loving response made his throat tighten. "I am sorry, Meleth nîn; I do not know all the words."
His Mîr's eyes twinkled. "Are you not glad I have studied every detail of the marriage rites?"
Rôgon chuffed a small laugh, but could only say. "I love you."
"And I love you. Now, look into my eyes and repeat after me…"
Their ceremony was simple, brief, intimate, and powerful. Their intentions to love and cherish were spoken, the Valar was asked to bless their union, the prayer to Eru was said. All Rôg remembered of that were his husband's eyes, blurred by the flow of his tears.
When their song was done, they kissed chastely, reverently, before he buried his face in the warmth of new husband's neck.
"You have made me very happy."
Galion held his face as he wiped Rôg's tears with his thumbs with a soft smile. "I thought I would be the one who cried."
Rôgon leaned down and touched their foreheads together. "I do not ever want to make you cry again, Meleth nîn. I want to take care of you, like you have done for everyone else." His voice shook. "I want to make you smile, and laugh, and bring joy into those beautiful eyes. And I want very much to make love to you."
"I was hoping you would say that." Galion slowly stepped back and slid the robe off of Rôg's shoulders. "I loved to watch how your muscles flexed when you chopped the wood that day… So strong…" he kissed Rôg's palms, and each his fingers. "The hands of an artist." Galion slowly untied his robe and pulled it apart, eyes riveted to the hardened member underneath. "You are beautiful, Rôgon…" He gently ran his fingers over his shaft as it sprang to life. "Please, Meleth nîn. I want to be yours."
"A… Ma…" Rôgon growled, swept Galion off his feet, carried him to the bed, and laid him down against the pillows. The trust in his new husband's eyes took his breath away. He sat back on his heels and unwrapped Galion's robe like the gift he was.
"You are perfection," he whispered. "Everything I could ever desire. I love you, my husband."
"And I love you," Galion smiled up at him with a complete trust that made Rôgon want to weep.
Soft kisses turned deep, hard and searching. Soft touches turned exploratory, making them moan pleasure. Slow movements turned frantic, and both cried out as they held and rocked each other toward the miracle that is an Elven joining.
"Rôg!" Galion cried, "Oh, Rôg… You must look into my eyes. Look at me, Vuin!"
How could he possibly look anywhere else? The Elven blacksmith felt himself shiver and when he came, he fell into a sea of sapphire. Two had become one. His cries, his tears were lost in the rushing waves and when Galion tightened around him and reached his own climax, it happened all over again.
All he would ever want, or need was here, in eyes and heart of his Mîr Melui.
When he came back to himself, and their ardor faded, Galion wrapped his legs around him and kept him, as Rôgon collapsed into his arms and wept from the pure joy of it.
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Ai, gorgor… Ai Puith! – Oh, horrors… Oh, fuck!
Ai, natho nin, Bereth vuin Varda… - Oh, help me beloved Queen Varda…
Aníron cened i chent gîn n'i gellog. – I want to see your eyes when you come.
Athodh lasto nin? – Would you please listen to me?
Avo dharo! - Do not stop!
Brannon vuin – Beloved Lord.
Ci sui 'lî erin lam nîn – You are like honey on my tongue.
De i velethron e-guil nîn – You are the love of my life
Iest im almelin, ci orch, pen-ind 'waur!– I wish I did not love you, you spineless, dirty Orc!
Melui – Jewel
Mîr nîn – my Treasure
Mîr Melui - Sweet Treasure
Penig channas? Amman agóreg? – Are you stupid? Why did you do that?
Puitho nin – Make love to me.
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NOTES:
[1] From An Invincible Summer, Chapter 1: /works/14127870/chapters/32556594
[2] There really was money in the Middle Earth!: /wiki/Money
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