Title: Changes, part 2 of 4
Author: Rune Dancer, runedancer2000@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Paring: Haldir/Gildor; Elrond/Celeborn/Galadriel; Galadriel/Inwë
Summary: In which Elrond and Celeborn learn about true submission, and
Haldir
learns . . . oh, a lot. This is a continuation of Unspoken and
Revelations, so read them first or prepare to be really confused.
Feedback: I live for it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, at all, period. It's very sad.
Warning: Het content and BDSM.
Archiving: OLAS and anyone else who wants it, just let me know.
"Elrond told me to go, and Celeborn agreed! You must be mad." Erestor looked fearfully about as he and Glorfindel made their way silently through the hidden corridor that led from the library to Elrond's rooms. It was dim, there being no light except for that from the occasional crack around a concealed door, but everyone who knew about these hallways had also long ago memorized their twists and turns. It was not stubbing his toe that worried Erestor, Glorfindel knew, and he himself had doubts about their excursion. But he had to know that his master was all right. He had long ago pledged his life to Elrond's family, and, although he kept telling himself that the only thing probably occurring was a serious domestic row, he couldn't get the faces of Galadriel's Noldor out of his mind. Rebel Noldor. Kin-slayers. He shuddered and told himself once more that he was simply being fanciful, but he kept going anyway. Erestor, too, although he continued to mutter complaints, did not turn back, and the two swiftly and silently crept closer to Elrond's chambers.
The fact that they could hear nothing when they arrived behind the secret door to the study did not worry Glorfindel. Galadriel did not strike him as the type to rave about, and anyway, the thickness of the wood insured that little sound ever leaked through. He put his hand to the door and pushed, very gently. It swung open on well-greased hinges without a sound, and Glorfindel thanked the Valar he had remembered to oil it again just recently. Elrond had put the passage system in place when he drew up the designs for the palace centuries before, primarily as an added safety precaution in an unsettled age, but they had never been used for escape. Most were simply employed as shortcuts by the few who knew about them; this particular one was usually used for allowing he or Erestor to overhear conversations between Elrond and private petitioners when his Lord wanted their opinions without the second party's knowledge. He had never in all his long years imagined that he would be using it to spy on the master of the house himself.
Poking his head through the narrow opening, Glorfindel could see little more than he had in the passageway. The heavy drapes were closed, and with the skies the way they were, little light would probably have come through the window in any case. The study was silent and nothing could be heard from the bedroom beyond. That was a bit worrisome, as the inner doors of Elrond's rooms were of lighter material than the heavy ones to the corridors--both the known and the hidden--and something, at least, should have been audible to his straining ears.
"Well?," Erestor poked him in the back with a forceful finger, and Glorfindel turned to tell him to hush, only to see his expression change from impatience to one approaching fear. Glorfindel spun back around to see one of the haughty looking Noldor peering through the gap in the door at him.
"Your presence is not required," he was told shortly, before the door was slammed solidly in his face.
"Well," Erestor's resigned tones floated through the darkness, "at least we tried. Perhaps we should just let things be, after all." Glorfindel studied the barred entrance with something approaching outrage welling up in his breast. That these . . . people . . . should dare to come into Imladris . . . acting as if they OWNED the place . . . and bar he and Erestor, who had served its Lord for time out of mind, from his presence . . . he, especially, who had served Tuor and then ?arendil before Elrond's very birth! Glorfindel could not remember the last time he had lost his temper, but he was coming very close at the moment. "I don't think so," he commented shortly, before spinning about and striding back down the tunnel, almost running over Erestor in the process. These Noldor, or whatever they were, were about to find out what happened to those who challenged Glorfindel of Gondolin. * * *
Haldir was finding his companion more and more intriguing as the day wore on. For one thing, his shyness seemed to be growing rather than lessening with time, although Haldir knew his own actions might have something to do with that. Several times Gildor had tried to rise, but as there was nowhere to go--the rain continued unabated, and the cabin was quite small in size--Haldir could only assume that the action was designed to remove the almost embrace into which Haldir had dragged him, and he declined to allow it. His excuse had been that he was cold and needed Gildor's warmth-- not that much of a lie, really, as his clothes were still wet and he did not want to give up the comfort provided by the body in front of him.
He had amused himself in seeing how far Gildor's bashfulness went. He'd spent the last hour trimming his companion's hair the hard way, by using the razor sharp edge of his knife. Despite the clumsiness of the tool, it was looking much better, with all the ragged edges gone; Haldir was now taking his time braiding it in an elaborate style that he seriously doubted Gildor had ever used before (or probably would again). Meanwhile, he made certain to put a sensuality in his actions--a delicate brush of the back of a hand over a flushed cheek, a touch on the downy nape of a neck that lasted just slightly longer than necessary--and had been pleased to see the way these small gestures seemed to vibrate through Gildor. He was passionate, then, this one, and maybe a bit of a sensualist, too, although you would never guess it from his clothes. Haldir had always favoured, other than when on patrol, buttery soft leathers and smooth silks for his attire, liking the way they felt under his hands. Gildor's clothes were stiff and scratchy, but he, himself, was not, but rather more like satin under Haldir's occasional soft touches.
He found himself wondering how that strong body would feel clothed in velvety suede and thick, Lorien silk . . . he also wondered why someone who obviously liked and responded so well to his touch, continued to shy away from it. Gildor's whole body was stiff and Haldir could almost feel his reluctance to remain quietly seated while the Galadrim played with his hair. Haldir thought back to that morning, but remembered no such timidity on the way to the baths, at which time, as far as his muddled memory of the early part of the day would allow him to recall, Gildor had chatted and seemed his annoying self all the way there. He wondered now what would have happened had he not felt overwhelmed by Elladan's incessant conversation, and remained with them, instead of making an excuse to return to his rooms. Would he have seen that same shyness then, or did Elladan-- whose preferences all of Imladris knew--leave his father's agent as cold as the icy waters of the Bruinen? Haldir liked the idea that he was able to bring a reaction out in his companion that the fair Elladan could not, and almost wished he'd remained, headache or no.
"You have finally dried, mellon," he commented softly, drawing a hand lightly up Gildor's arm. The now expected shiver followed his hand, and Haldir smiled to see it. Gildor had shut his eyes, as if to will Haldir's presence away, and the Galadrim took it as a deliberate challenge. "I told you once you are beautiful, but you didn't believe me," he pressed a light kiss on the delicate curls at Gildor's neck. "If you could see yourself now, brother, you might change your mind." Haldir swept the long curls back from the tempting nape in front of him and nuzzled it more effectively, letting his lips trail lightly over the heated flesh. Gildor gasped and yet again tried to rise, but there was a sluggishness in his actions that gave evidence of an internal struggle. He was probably stronger than Haldir himself, and could have moved away had he really wished to do so; yet Haldir was able to easily pull him back into his embrace.
He let his arms encircle the trembling form in front of him and play over the nicely formed chest. He lightly brushed a bronze nipple, which immediately drew up invitingly under his touch. Encouraged, Haldir decided to give it more attention, and quickly moved in front of his companion and captured it lightly between his teeth, liking the way Gildor's loudly beating heart was audible as his ear brushed close to his chest. Yet Gildor drew in a ragged breath when Haldir began to suck lightly, and rising quickly to his feet, stumbled backwards to the far wall of the cabin.
"No . . . I do not think we should do that." He was still not looking him in the eyes, Haldir noticed, but, amazingly, seemed almost to be addressing the horse, which he was petting on the side of its smelly neck.
"Why?," Haldir inquired, truly puzzled. It was obvious Gildor was attracted to him, and he was finding the darker elf more appealing by the minute. They had the rest of the day to pass somehow or other, and there was a limit to how many types of braids Haldir knew how to do. Besides, Gildor already rather resembled a comely maiden on the way to her first spring festival. "It rains outside," Haldir reasoned calmly, "and shows no sign of stopping. We are stuck here, at least for the day, and probably for the night as well. Why not take pleasure in each other, and help the time to pass?"
"Is that what the Galadrim do?," Gildor asked, a little raggedly. "Pleasure themselves with each other when they are supposed to be guarding their Lord's borders? If so, I am surprised Lorien is not overrun with orcs by now."
Had he been able to keep his voice from quaking, he might have succeeded in drawing Haldir off the subject and into a useless argument; as it was, Haldir was rather more interested in the tone of his words, than the words themselves. Why was he so nervous at the thought of a brief tryst? It made no sense, unless he was bonded? But Haldir had seen no sign of it, and if that was the case, why so openly approach him at the party? Still, it had to be asked. "If you are joined to another . . . " Haldir stopped at Gildor's unconscious burst of laughter.
"No, I am not bonded," he said, rather bitterly.
"Then you do not find me attractive?," Haldir knew that was not true, but he wanted to hear Gildor's answer.
"You . . . are very fair," he commented, while actually taking up a brush and beginning to curry the hateful animal crowding them out of room. Haldir could scarce believe it, but determined not to be drawn off topic.
"Then why do you prefer to spend your caresses on that fetid creature rather than on me?" Despite himself, Haldir was becoming angry. He was not used to being denied, although, had Gildor been bonded to another or for some reason not found him attractive, he could have understood it. But since neither was the case . . .
"You do not answer, brother?"
"My reasons are my own; I owe you no answer," Gildor replied in an infuriatingly even tone of voice. He was getting himself under control again, Haldir could see, and soon would be lost to him. He would probably spend the rest of the day grooming that smug animal rather than finding pleasure--or giving it. Well, we'll see about that, he thought, a wicked glint coming into his eyes. Gildor seemed to have no difficulty refusing his spoken offers, but what about the more personal type of advances? He had shivered in his arms in want, just a few moments before; Haldir would feel that again, and more, much more, before this day was through. A few steps brought him to Gildor's side, and a deft motion removed the brush from his hands.
"All right, a compromise, then," he said, smiling openly.
Gildor looked at him with obvious suspicion, but inclined his head; apparently, he realised that hours spent dodging Haldir's advances would be difficult at best, especially when his body wanted them so badly.
"Spend half an hour with me before the fire, my beautiful brother, and if you afterwards still wish to curry a horse for the rest of the day, I will trouble you no further."
Gildor looked torn, and Haldir tried his best to put an innocent expression on his face. It was a bit difficult as he had a little trouble remembering what one looked like--it was not an expression for which he often had a use- -but apparently, Gildor liked what he saw.
"One half-hour, and that is all, gwador," he said sternly. Haldir smilingly agreed, and this time he thought he was the one who could almost read Gildor's mind. What is another half-hour, when he had already spent more than twice that in Haldir's embrace? Oh, but gwador, Haldir barely refrained from telling him as with difficulty he repressed triumphal laughter, I was not trying then!
TBC
"Elrond told me to go, and Celeborn agreed! You must be mad." Erestor looked fearfully about as he and Glorfindel made their way silently through the hidden corridor that led from the library to Elrond's rooms. It was dim, there being no light except for that from the occasional crack around a concealed door, but everyone who knew about these hallways had also long ago memorized their twists and turns. It was not stubbing his toe that worried Erestor, Glorfindel knew, and he himself had doubts about their excursion. But he had to know that his master was all right. He had long ago pledged his life to Elrond's family, and, although he kept telling himself that the only thing probably occurring was a serious domestic row, he couldn't get the faces of Galadriel's Noldor out of his mind. Rebel Noldor. Kin-slayers. He shuddered and told himself once more that he was simply being fanciful, but he kept going anyway. Erestor, too, although he continued to mutter complaints, did not turn back, and the two swiftly and silently crept closer to Elrond's chambers.
The fact that they could hear nothing when they arrived behind the secret door to the study did not worry Glorfindel. Galadriel did not strike him as the type to rave about, and anyway, the thickness of the wood insured that little sound ever leaked through. He put his hand to the door and pushed, very gently. It swung open on well-greased hinges without a sound, and Glorfindel thanked the Valar he had remembered to oil it again just recently. Elrond had put the passage system in place when he drew up the designs for the palace centuries before, primarily as an added safety precaution in an unsettled age, but they had never been used for escape. Most were simply employed as shortcuts by the few who knew about them; this particular one was usually used for allowing he or Erestor to overhear conversations between Elrond and private petitioners when his Lord wanted their opinions without the second party's knowledge. He had never in all his long years imagined that he would be using it to spy on the master of the house himself.
Poking his head through the narrow opening, Glorfindel could see little more than he had in the passageway. The heavy drapes were closed, and with the skies the way they were, little light would probably have come through the window in any case. The study was silent and nothing could be heard from the bedroom beyond. That was a bit worrisome, as the inner doors of Elrond's rooms were of lighter material than the heavy ones to the corridors--both the known and the hidden--and something, at least, should have been audible to his straining ears.
"Well?," Erestor poked him in the back with a forceful finger, and Glorfindel turned to tell him to hush, only to see his expression change from impatience to one approaching fear. Glorfindel spun back around to see one of the haughty looking Noldor peering through the gap in the door at him.
"Your presence is not required," he was told shortly, before the door was slammed solidly in his face.
"Well," Erestor's resigned tones floated through the darkness, "at least we tried. Perhaps we should just let things be, after all." Glorfindel studied the barred entrance with something approaching outrage welling up in his breast. That these . . . people . . . should dare to come into Imladris . . . acting as if they OWNED the place . . . and bar he and Erestor, who had served its Lord for time out of mind, from his presence . . . he, especially, who had served Tuor and then ?arendil before Elrond's very birth! Glorfindel could not remember the last time he had lost his temper, but he was coming very close at the moment. "I don't think so," he commented shortly, before spinning about and striding back down the tunnel, almost running over Erestor in the process. These Noldor, or whatever they were, were about to find out what happened to those who challenged Glorfindel of Gondolin. * * *
Haldir was finding his companion more and more intriguing as the day wore on. For one thing, his shyness seemed to be growing rather than lessening with time, although Haldir knew his own actions might have something to do with that. Several times Gildor had tried to rise, but as there was nowhere to go--the rain continued unabated, and the cabin was quite small in size--Haldir could only assume that the action was designed to remove the almost embrace into which Haldir had dragged him, and he declined to allow it. His excuse had been that he was cold and needed Gildor's warmth-- not that much of a lie, really, as his clothes were still wet and he did not want to give up the comfort provided by the body in front of him.
He had amused himself in seeing how far Gildor's bashfulness went. He'd spent the last hour trimming his companion's hair the hard way, by using the razor sharp edge of his knife. Despite the clumsiness of the tool, it was looking much better, with all the ragged edges gone; Haldir was now taking his time braiding it in an elaborate style that he seriously doubted Gildor had ever used before (or probably would again). Meanwhile, he made certain to put a sensuality in his actions--a delicate brush of the back of a hand over a flushed cheek, a touch on the downy nape of a neck that lasted just slightly longer than necessary--and had been pleased to see the way these small gestures seemed to vibrate through Gildor. He was passionate, then, this one, and maybe a bit of a sensualist, too, although you would never guess it from his clothes. Haldir had always favoured, other than when on patrol, buttery soft leathers and smooth silks for his attire, liking the way they felt under his hands. Gildor's clothes were stiff and scratchy, but he, himself, was not, but rather more like satin under Haldir's occasional soft touches.
He found himself wondering how that strong body would feel clothed in velvety suede and thick, Lorien silk . . . he also wondered why someone who obviously liked and responded so well to his touch, continued to shy away from it. Gildor's whole body was stiff and Haldir could almost feel his reluctance to remain quietly seated while the Galadrim played with his hair. Haldir thought back to that morning, but remembered no such timidity on the way to the baths, at which time, as far as his muddled memory of the early part of the day would allow him to recall, Gildor had chatted and seemed his annoying self all the way there. He wondered now what would have happened had he not felt overwhelmed by Elladan's incessant conversation, and remained with them, instead of making an excuse to return to his rooms. Would he have seen that same shyness then, or did Elladan-- whose preferences all of Imladris knew--leave his father's agent as cold as the icy waters of the Bruinen? Haldir liked the idea that he was able to bring a reaction out in his companion that the fair Elladan could not, and almost wished he'd remained, headache or no.
"You have finally dried, mellon," he commented softly, drawing a hand lightly up Gildor's arm. The now expected shiver followed his hand, and Haldir smiled to see it. Gildor had shut his eyes, as if to will Haldir's presence away, and the Galadrim took it as a deliberate challenge. "I told you once you are beautiful, but you didn't believe me," he pressed a light kiss on the delicate curls at Gildor's neck. "If you could see yourself now, brother, you might change your mind." Haldir swept the long curls back from the tempting nape in front of him and nuzzled it more effectively, letting his lips trail lightly over the heated flesh. Gildor gasped and yet again tried to rise, but there was a sluggishness in his actions that gave evidence of an internal struggle. He was probably stronger than Haldir himself, and could have moved away had he really wished to do so; yet Haldir was able to easily pull him back into his embrace.
He let his arms encircle the trembling form in front of him and play over the nicely formed chest. He lightly brushed a bronze nipple, which immediately drew up invitingly under his touch. Encouraged, Haldir decided to give it more attention, and quickly moved in front of his companion and captured it lightly between his teeth, liking the way Gildor's loudly beating heart was audible as his ear brushed close to his chest. Yet Gildor drew in a ragged breath when Haldir began to suck lightly, and rising quickly to his feet, stumbled backwards to the far wall of the cabin.
"No . . . I do not think we should do that." He was still not looking him in the eyes, Haldir noticed, but, amazingly, seemed almost to be addressing the horse, which he was petting on the side of its smelly neck.
"Why?," Haldir inquired, truly puzzled. It was obvious Gildor was attracted to him, and he was finding the darker elf more appealing by the minute. They had the rest of the day to pass somehow or other, and there was a limit to how many types of braids Haldir knew how to do. Besides, Gildor already rather resembled a comely maiden on the way to her first spring festival. "It rains outside," Haldir reasoned calmly, "and shows no sign of stopping. We are stuck here, at least for the day, and probably for the night as well. Why not take pleasure in each other, and help the time to pass?"
"Is that what the Galadrim do?," Gildor asked, a little raggedly. "Pleasure themselves with each other when they are supposed to be guarding their Lord's borders? If so, I am surprised Lorien is not overrun with orcs by now."
Had he been able to keep his voice from quaking, he might have succeeded in drawing Haldir off the subject and into a useless argument; as it was, Haldir was rather more interested in the tone of his words, than the words themselves. Why was he so nervous at the thought of a brief tryst? It made no sense, unless he was bonded? But Haldir had seen no sign of it, and if that was the case, why so openly approach him at the party? Still, it had to be asked. "If you are joined to another . . . " Haldir stopped at Gildor's unconscious burst of laughter.
"No, I am not bonded," he said, rather bitterly.
"Then you do not find me attractive?," Haldir knew that was not true, but he wanted to hear Gildor's answer.
"You . . . are very fair," he commented, while actually taking up a brush and beginning to curry the hateful animal crowding them out of room. Haldir could scarce believe it, but determined not to be drawn off topic.
"Then why do you prefer to spend your caresses on that fetid creature rather than on me?" Despite himself, Haldir was becoming angry. He was not used to being denied, although, had Gildor been bonded to another or for some reason not found him attractive, he could have understood it. But since neither was the case . . .
"You do not answer, brother?"
"My reasons are my own; I owe you no answer," Gildor replied in an infuriatingly even tone of voice. He was getting himself under control again, Haldir could see, and soon would be lost to him. He would probably spend the rest of the day grooming that smug animal rather than finding pleasure--or giving it. Well, we'll see about that, he thought, a wicked glint coming into his eyes. Gildor seemed to have no difficulty refusing his spoken offers, but what about the more personal type of advances? He had shivered in his arms in want, just a few moments before; Haldir would feel that again, and more, much more, before this day was through. A few steps brought him to Gildor's side, and a deft motion removed the brush from his hands.
"All right, a compromise, then," he said, smiling openly.
Gildor looked at him with obvious suspicion, but inclined his head; apparently, he realised that hours spent dodging Haldir's advances would be difficult at best, especially when his body wanted them so badly.
"Spend half an hour with me before the fire, my beautiful brother, and if you afterwards still wish to curry a horse for the rest of the day, I will trouble you no further."
Gildor looked torn, and Haldir tried his best to put an innocent expression on his face. It was a bit difficult as he had a little trouble remembering what one looked like--it was not an expression for which he often had a use- -but apparently, Gildor liked what he saw.
"One half-hour, and that is all, gwador," he said sternly. Haldir smilingly agreed, and this time he thought he was the one who could almost read Gildor's mind. What is another half-hour, when he had already spent more than twice that in Haldir's embrace? Oh, but gwador, Haldir barely refrained from telling him as with difficulty he repressed triumphal laughter, I was not trying then!
TBC