Title: Wild Justice 28/?
Author: Rune Dancer
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline.
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
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Elrond leapt back as Sauron's blade cut a gash in the air a hair's breadth from his chest. Grabbing hold of the heavy velvet curtains at the window, he yanked them from their sturdy pinnings and threw them over his opponent's head. Unfortunately, although the maneuver did save his life, it did little to slow down his adversary, who deftly shredded the curtains and once again took the offensive. Elrond was under no illusions as to the eventual outcome of this contest. He was descended of a Maiar, but such blood in him ran thin, whereas Sauron was fully Maiar and had been trained by the Ainur Melkor for centuries. Ultimately, Elrond knew he would lose; that he had been able to hold his own this long he could only attribute to Sauron's current weakness and Gil-Galad's interference.
Although he hated to even think of it, Elrond recognised that a link of sorts had been formed between Sauron and the High King over the centuries in which they were bound together; Gil-Galad was able to exert some manner of control, or at least restraint, over the evil force that dwelled within him, but for how long was impossible to tell, and Elrond was running out of time. The strain of keeping the connection between him and the king was beginning to show; his movements were more sluggish than usual and his ability to think clearly was evaporating. But he could not stop, could not give in, or Sauron would overpower the king and force him to do his bidding. He had to hang on a little longer and pray for a miracle.
Beyond the physical strain of the combat, was the bitter disappointment of finding out the true state of affairs. He had been so encouraged by the king's evident improvement over the past week, that he had allowed himself to believe that everything might actually end well. That very morning, when he made the connection between them, it had seemed that his prayers had finally been answered.
Gil-Galad's mind had seemed different somehow, when Elrond entered the darkness and tried to determine where to begin the process of repair. He had managed a few minor improvements in the past few days, but the extent of the damage made it difficult to know how to proceed. He kept to his plan to begin slowly, as he had little experience with trauma of this magnitude, and to gain practice from healing the minor injuries before he faced the more severe and probably more complex ones. Approaching a large mirror that was only slightly cracked, he gazed into it, trying to discern which memory it housed. All he saw, however, was the main library at Lindon, and no one appeared to be about.
He waited, but minutes passed and no sign of movement was visible except for the fire crackling in the grate. It was a puzzle, for the mirrors were supposed to be receptacles for the king's memories, yet he was not even in the scene. For a moment Elrond considered the possibility that he was simply seeing things from the king's perspective, a feeling with which he was beginning to be familiar, but that was not possible in this instance. He had spent many hours in this room and knew it well. There was no way for anyone to view things from that perspective, unless they were standing in the middle of a bookshelf.
Moving closer, Elrond twisted about to try to see more of the scene, and then he noticed it--a faint ripple across the surface of the mirror, rather the way a leaf dropped into a still pond will slightly disturb the waters. Instinctively he put out a hand to touch it, having never seen any of the other mirrors do this, only to have his hand pass through the surface and into the room beyond. He froze for an instant, thoughts racing through his mind as he tried to imagine what could be causing this, but the only idea that caught his imagination was that, perhaps, this was the king's way of attempting to contact him. Elrond had yet to manage a meaningful conversation with the king, who could only give an occasional weak reply to very basic questions. Anything more than inquiries about his comfort or food preferences received only a beautiful, but blank, stare in return. It had been extremely frustrating to have to converse with one of the greatest minds he had ever known as if he was no more than a dim-witted child.
But Elrond had sensed on several occasions that Gil-Galad was trying to communicate--such as in the strange occurrence with the book. Elrond had been reading aloud to the king from a volume of elvish history, concentrating on the fall of Gondolin. He had placed it on the table by the bed when the king drifted off to sleep, but when he picked it up later that day, his bookmark was gone and it lay open to the tale of the Last Alliance. The somewhat lurid painting on the left page showed Isildur ready to cut the ring from the hand of a menacing Sauron. Elrond had winced at the sight and quickly closed the book, having never liked reliving the last battle he had fought beside his king. He preferred to dwell on older history, which did not resonate so painfully. He had dismissed it as the work of a servant, and taken up the story where he had left off; but when he went back to it the next day, it was again showing that horrible painting. He had asked a few servants about it, but no one admitted to the act and he had finally put it from his mind. But now he wondered . . .
Elrond decided to accept the invitation, if that was indeed what it was, and without another thought stepped through the mirror into the library he knew so well. It was a strange feeling to be back, as the last time he had seen it he had been in mourning for the king, almost out of his mind with grief, and now he entered once more in search of him. But his initial impression had been correct; although the room was exactly as he remembered it, no one was there.
Elrond exited into the hallways and paused, listening. It was strange to be here again, in the place that held for him so many memories both sweet and tragic, but even stranger to hear no laughter, no songs, no light tread of elvin feet, no pretty maids gossiping or soldiers boasting . . . one thing the High King's court had never been was silent, yet this place echoed as if nothing but ghosts lived here. Elrond repressed a shudder at the thought of how close that might be to the truth. The only inhabitant now was not far from a ghost, although even he seemed to be absent. Elrond was almost glad, for he didn't know how he would react to seeing his king whole and uninjured once more, his health and beauty fully restored, just as he had been when last he walked these halls. The very idea sent such a flow of excitement through him that Elrond actually had to clutch at the wall for support. Being back here in Lindon, if only in a shadow of it, along with the possibility of being able to talk to the king once again, was all too much; the weeks of strain struggled against his usual calm to make even breathing difficult.
Elrond leaned against the wall and briefly allowed himself the indulgence of wishing all the years away. If only he could go back, if only this place could be real, and all the errors and mistakes of the past could fall away . . . It had all been his fault, every miscalculation: he had allowed himself to be drawn away from his lord's side in battle, thereby making the king vulnerable to Sauron's attack; he had failed to see the king's danger before it was too late and had not prevented his injuries; he had not looked long or hard enough for him after the battle was over, and had thereby condemned him to centuries of misery; he had usurped in all but name his position, and in his pride had assumed that not taking the title of king exonerated him from assuming powers he was never meant to have. Elrond sank to his knees as the burden of grief and guilt became too much--so many mistakes, so many stupid errors, and yet none of his failings had hurt him, but rather the one he said he loved. But how could he have loved him in truth, and treated him so?
And then, suddenly, it was like a veil was lifted from the scene. The colours brightened, and the air became rich with the smell of spicy food being prepared in the kitchens, oiled leather and hay from the stables just outside, and the faint, slightly sweet scent of the candles in their sconces. All the sounds he had previously missed came washing over him too, but Elrond barely noticed. For his eyes were fixed as if hypnotized on the only thing in this strange world that mattered, the elf who came striding down the corridor, dressed in a tunic of his favourite royal blue, sucking on the end of a quill as Elrond had seen him do a thousand times when pondering something. Elrond knelt there, gaping like a simpleton, until the king almost ran into him. Then Gil-Galad looked up from his book, with that dazed expression he always had when surprised out of contemplation, and regarded Elrond with astonishment. "Elrond, whatever are you doing there? Are you ill? Don't you remember that we have a council meeting in a few minutes?"
Elrond just continued to gape, aware of how silly he probably looked but unable to respond. It was somehow worse than when he had recognised the living skeleton they had brought in as the High King. This elf was even more strong, vibrant and alive than he remembered him, and it made Elrond's betrayal all the more obvious. He had been the one who reduced this glorious creature to the shell he now was; how did he dare talk to him, dare even raise his eyes in his presence? "Elrond?" The king knelt before him and regarded him with concern, his hand smoothing the hair over Elrond's ears in a gesture so tender and so familiar that it was truly torture. Yet Elrond leaned into it, unable to stop himself, craving more of that touch that he had been so long denied. Before he could stop himself, he grasped the king--his king, always his--around the neck and drew him down into the kiss he had been waiting centuries to give. And it was in that instant, when their lips met, that Elrond knew that something was terribly wrong.
He had been so surprised that he did nothing, just let the king take over the kiss, which he did with confident ease. It was a passionate, experienced expression . . . of absolutely nothing. The feeling Elrond had known so well--the warmth, the love, the caring--was completely absent. This kiss was only a gesture, and a hollow one at that. When they broke apart, Elrond managed, in a voice that sounded hoarse and quite unlike his own, to assure the king that he was perfectly well, and had merely felt dizzy for a moment. "Good, then come with me--we have that cursed meeting to finish, and then lunch will be upon us." Gil-Galad smiled, but his beautiful eyes did not reflect it. "I would much prefer to spend the entire day with you, my love, but duty calls. Still, there is tonight."
Elrond nodded and followed him down the corridor, trying to seem as nonchalant as his turbulent emotions would allow, and attempting to concentrate his mind on the puzzles at hand. Why was Gil-Galad unaware that this was a memory? And if he was a part of the memory, why could Elrond interact with him as he had not been able to do with any of the other scenes he had witnessed? And more worrying still, why was he so very different in essence that Elrond remembered?
Luckily, the council session proved to be one which, while Elrond did not recall it specifically, was so much like many others in which he had taken part over the years, that it required little of his concentration. Titton was droning on about new taxation procedures in his usual dry monotone, while Gil-Galad and the rest of the council pretended absorbed interest. In reality, most were probably day dreaming, and would only wake up when Titton began his summation, which would be much briefer and more to the point than anything else he would say all day. It usually also contained enough information to allow a judgment to be formed without listening to the preamble. Elrond himself was too flabbergasted to concentrate on anything, and could only hope no one would ask him for a response. His head was reeling and he could not make any sense of the insanity into which he'd landed. Then a flash of blue at the doorway caught his eye.
Elrond decided he was going insane. He'd been under too much of a strain lately, that was all there was to it. What he thought he was seeing was simply impossible. He turned his attention back to the shining wooden surface of the table in front of him and tried to sink into it and absorb the impressions of the tree from which it had been formed. This sort of thing usually soothed him, but not in this case. This tree had died in agony, after having been struck by a bolt of lightening during a storm, and for some reason he was unable to see any of the more pleasant memories that must have preceded that. All he could sense was the way the lightening had felt like liquid fire as it spread through the tree, searing living tissue into dying, charred cinders . . . Elrond jerked his attention back to the discussion at hand before he embarrassed himself by crying out, but he still found it impossible to concentrate. Titton's droning made him want to throttle him, or perhaps to stand up and scream, but he was trapped by not knowing how real any of this was; although he had often fantasized in long meetings about killing Titton in various imaginative ways, he really did not think the elf's inherent dullness warranted it.
Eventually, his eyes moved back to the doorway of their own accord, and there it was, that oh so familiar hand, still wearing Vilya and waving at him energetically from the bottom of the doorframe. He wondered what position an elf would have to be in to do that--was the High King actually lying on the floor?--but no, that could not be the king, for he was sitting at the head of the table looking bored. Elrond finally could take it no longer and abruptly stood, murmured an apology about not feeling well, and fled the room. Outside in the corridor he looked about, but found no phantom of his imagination lurking about. It was small comfort under the circumstances. He sought out a stone seat in the gardens, long a favourite spot for privacy. It was enclosed on three sides by an old vine, its main stem as thick around as a small tree trunk, which this time of year cascaded falls of bright green leaves about the little bench, all but obscuring it from view.
What was happening to him? Was the king's mental instability affecting him, or was it possible that the opposite was true? What if, while intending to help the king, he was actually hurting him by merging when his own emotions were so unsteady? In Gil-Galad's weakened state, he might well be unable to handle the influx of feelings from Elrond's mind, which could in turn be causing even more instability in his own . . . Elrond's confused train of thought was interrupted by another flash of blue, this time from beyond the leaves of his bower. Deciding to find out once and for all what was going on, he reached around the side of the vine and pulled the elf beyond into his arms.
A brief "oh!" was all he received in reply, until the elf twisted about, enveloping Elrond in a heartbreakingly familiar embrace. This time, when their lips met, there was no feeling of disorientation, no strangeness, no doubts; all was as it had always been and Elrond was, as ever, entranced. "I'm sorry, but I've been wanting to do that for so long . . . " The elf in his arms looked at him with the same slightly uncertain expression Elrond had often pondered and never understood. It was as if Gil-Galad was unsure of him, and was grateful for any period of time Elrond chose to give him. It had never seemed to matter how many times Elrond assured him of his beauty and charisma, of the fact that he was lucky to have the king waste any of his valuable time with him, that half of the elves in Lindon would joyously and immediately take his place, none of it ever seemed to penetrate. That charming uncertainty and complete absence of arrogance was one of many things that had been missing earlier. The other elf, whoever he was, might look just like the king, but he definitely did not feel like him.
"What . . . who . . . ?" Elrond tried to put his confusion into words, but the king held two fingers up to his lips, quieting him with a gesture that was probably not supposed to be sensual, but managed nonetheless.
"I will explain, but we can't stay here. He is already looking for you, to continue the charade until you drop your guard. He would have killed you earlier, but he sensed that I was near and preferred to wait until you were alone. He knows I am weak and cannot watch him all the time . . . "
"Hush." It was Elrond's turn to quiet the king, who was growing agitated. "I don't understand, but I will follow you anywhere."
"Quickly, then." Gil-Galad rose from the bench and, clasping Elrond's hand, drew him swiftly but silently through the winding pathways of the gardens beyond the great kitchens. Elrond had always preferred these wilder and homelier gardens to the more formal, manicured types that fronted the castle. Despite long years away, he found the beds of turnips and squash, cabbages and beans quite familiar, and could have made his way through the herb gardens beyond from their scent alone. They soon made their way to the forest, which was really only a small patch of trees surrounding a pretty lake. Almost completely round in shape, it had some added mineral in the water that caused it to have a green tint even under a bright blue sky, resulting in its prosaic name of Laica. Elrond had always thought of it was a great jewel, adorning the already breathtaking beauty of Lindon, and it made his heart glad when the king settled alongside it, hiding the two of them in the long grasses.
Elrond wasted no time. If he was going insane, so be it, but at least he intended to enjoy the trip. "Amin lava, A'maelamin, you have captured me!" Drawing the king down on top of him, Elrond delighted in the weight and solidity of his lord, which was so lacking in the body he had been tending recently. His thoughts turned dark briefly then, at the knowledge that this was not, could not, be real, but when Gil-Galad's lips met his he forgot everything else. The kiss was surprisingly passionate on the king's part, and Elrond gave into it gladly, reveling in the unusual forcefulness of his lover. They used no words and needed none; the old patterns effortlessly reasserted themselves and it was almost as if they had never been apart at all.
Elrond slid the blue velvet tunic off and gently settled his lover back onto the meadow, overcome as always by his beauty. His crisp white shirt soon joined the tunic on the grass, and Elrond was able to taste again the skin of his lover, smooth and taut and ithil pale against his flowing dark hair and the bright green blanket surrounding them. Elrond paused even as the king threaded his hands through his hair, pulling him closer. He felt unworthy to take even more pleasure from one who had given so much and received so little from him in the past. "Melethryn," he paused, wishing for some of Gil-Galad's eloquence and failing to find the right words. How to say that he had never deserved the king, had never been worthy of a fraction of the care he lavished on him, and in the end had unknowingly betrayed him? How to tell the heartbreaking truth that Gil-Galad was far better off without him?
"I know, I know," the king murmured against his neck, hip lips causing shudders of pleasure to cascade through Elrond, "we do not have time for this. But oh my beloved, how I have missed you!" He caught Elrond again in a deep kiss, almost as if he was trying to merge their souls as well as their bodies, and all other thoughts fled as the king began to whisper words of his love and passion, of Elrond's purity of soul and beauty of heart, and of the long, empty years when he could not hold him.
"But that need never be true again," Elrond assured him fiercely, "I do not know why you want me--I have never known--but as long as you do, I will be beside you." And I will never fail you again, he promised himself, kissing his lover as if he would never let him go. He suddenly noticed as he pressed his lips to his king's eyes, that he was weeping. "Do not cry, beloved. I will never leave you, never fail you, I swear it!"
Gil-Galad shook his head, his tears becoming more obvious as he struggled to control them. "Elrond," he whispered brokenly, "you do not understand. It is I who have failed you, as I have all the elves. I should have been stronger, but I . . . "
"Were never anything but a weak, puling coward of a creature who I still cannot believe I have managed to put up with all these years!" Elrond spun around at the harsh words, to see another Gil-Galad standing at the top of the bank, sword in hand. "If you were not the means for me to destroy all the elves, I swear I would have killed you centuries ago, just for being so annoying."
Elrond rapidly looked between the two, searching for some clue as to what this was all about, but all he saw on either face was revulsion and hatred. The newcomer 's expression gave proof that he meant every word of his statement, while the High King looked as if he would love nothing more than holding his double's head under Laica's waters until he drowned. "Get behind me, Elrond," Gil-Galad ordered, and the tone he used was not one that brooked argument.
"You cannot protect him forever," the double looked past the king to where Elrond had quickly scrambled to his feet. "I will enjoy killing you. You were always in the way, always the impediment to everything I tried to do. This one would have given in years ago, except for you. I could never manage to erase the memory of you from his mind, and he clung to it like a raft in a storm." He smiled, "But thanks to your acceptance of my little invitation, I will not have that problem for much longer!" The double launched himself from the bank and Elrond reached instinctively to his hip for his sword, but his hand encountered nothing but soft cotton material. He never carried arms in Lorien, for what would be the need? His mental projection was clothed just as he had been when he made the connection to the king, in a soft grey robe without so much as a piece of armor or even a small knife on his person.
Elrond did not understand how it occurred, for the High King had also been unarmed, but suddenly a sword was in his hand and he swung it up in time to prevent his double from cleaving Elrond in two. The two weapons did not ring together so much as explode, and the High King fell to his knees in apparent agony from the force of the blast. His double rolled over in the grass, seemingly stunned for an instant, but he righted himself almost at once. "That won't work, you fool! How many times have you tried to kill me? How many times must you fail before you realise it cannot be done? I am stronger than you--accept it. Attack me again and it will be years before you're conscious again, if ever--because after I finish your precious little elves, I will take great pleasure in destroying the rest of you!"
"Don't threaten me, Sauron," Gil-Galad replied, getting slowly to his feet and placing himself once more between his double and Elrond. "It weakens you to attack me and you know it. Your plans will fail if you waste too much energy fighting me, or perhaps I'll die--and that would scuttle all your hopes, wouldn't it?" The king kept his eyes on his double, the sword raised unwaveringly in front of him, but he addressed Elrond. "I am sorry, Elrond, I had hoped to have time to explain this in detail, but that is apparently denied me. What you saw in my mind concerning the Nazgul's experiments was true, except the part about them failing. Sauron made me show you that, but it was only another of his lies. The experiments WERE generally useless, just resulting in the deaths of the elves involved, but for some reason I survived the process. Sauron and I have been . . . cohabiting . . . now for quite some time. He wants to use me to distract and divide the elves while his army attacks, but I am not keen on the idea."
Sauron was leaning on his sword, looking bored, as the king explained. Elrond knew he should feel horrified by what he had just heard, but at the moment was too stunned to feel much of anything. The High King and Sauron, sharing a body? It was too bizarre to be believed. Yet the evidence was right before his eyes, had been there for some time, for he had felt something wrong from the moment Gil-Galad returned to him. Then after the session with Thranduil, when they had seen the Nazgul's handiwork for themselves, he should have at least suspected the truth, but he had been blind. The idea of the most beautiful soul he had even known being invaded by . . . by . . . that thing . . . A rush of rage filled him at even the thought. Sauron had destroyed his happiness, killed thousands of elves at Barad-dur, tortured his lover almost to death, and now had returned to finish his work. No. It would not happen that way.
"You want to attack me, don't you?" Sauron smiled, and it was grotesque to see that distorted expression on the king's features. "Go ahead. Take your lover's sword and run me through." He tossed his own weapon aside, and it came to rest largely in the water, its hilt just peeking out of the gently lapping waves. "I am defenseless, what is stopping you? Or are you as much of a coward as he is?"
"No Elrond!" Gil-Galad, put out an arm to restrain him. "He knows you cannot win against him. This is his arena, his game! He knows the powers of the mind much better than you do--he has had centuries to learn them. He can call another weapon to him in an instant. Come with me and I'll return you back to the portal. You must warn the others of what is happening, tell them to listen to nothing I say!"
"Yes, Elrond, listen to your king. Run away and save yourself." Sauron smiled even broader, as if genuinely amused. "But know this. If you do, he dies today. If you warn the elves of my plan, then he is of no more use to me, so why should I keep him alive? And he will die in torment and agony, let us be very clear on that."
Elrond regarded with horror the very personification of evil, and suddenly it did not look to him at all like his king. The physical beauty was still there, but the radiance, the wonderful inner light that had been Gil-Galad's trademark, was missing. How could he have ever thought that this foul, diseased creature was his king?
"Elrond, come with me!" Gil-Galad managed to drag him up the bank, keeping him close by his side all the while. They made it as far as the castle's main hall, seemingly unobserved by the elves who laughed and chatted about them, but then the doors leading to the library wing closed in their face as they tried to enter.
"Come Elrond," Sauron called as they turned, and a sword appeared just in front of Elrond's face, hovering there although not held up by any hands. "The choice is yours. Do you betray your king, or do you fight for him? Do you run away and leave him to my tender mercies, or defend him as your honour requires?" Elrond could tell that Gil-Galad was saying something, but he could not hear it over the rushing in his ears. Sauron's words, however, echoed with a strange clarity. "Come, Elrond, think on it. If you defeat me, your lover lives with you in peace. That is what you've wanted, isn't it? What you've prayed for? I was once Annatar, the giver of gifts; consider this my gift to you--a fair chance to win. For after all, I am weak, too, in this guise, and all my battle aids and allies are far beyond my reach. You may win all you desire, if you are brave enough to take it."
The sword lowered until it was actually nudging Elrond's hand, while Sauron's voice, clothed in the honeyed tones of the one Elrond loved best in all the world, went on. "Of course, you may lose, and then I will kill you, but think of how you will feel if you leave, knowing that you are betraying your lord to a certain death. Would not that be far worse than dying here, today, defending him?"
Elrond's hand closed about the sword, his own promise ringing in his ears as powerfully as Sauron's words. He did not really think he could win, but he simply could not fail his king yet again. It would be physically impossible to walk away, knowing what would happen to Gil-Galad as soon as he did so. Sauron's eyes gleamed as Elrond's hand tightened about the hilt. "That's good, my little Peredhil. Now we will correct some things that went wrong in the past!"
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TBC
Amin lava, A'maelamin--I yield, my Beloved.
Author: Rune Dancer
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline.
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
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Elrond leapt back as Sauron's blade cut a gash in the air a hair's breadth from his chest. Grabbing hold of the heavy velvet curtains at the window, he yanked them from their sturdy pinnings and threw them over his opponent's head. Unfortunately, although the maneuver did save his life, it did little to slow down his adversary, who deftly shredded the curtains and once again took the offensive. Elrond was under no illusions as to the eventual outcome of this contest. He was descended of a Maiar, but such blood in him ran thin, whereas Sauron was fully Maiar and had been trained by the Ainur Melkor for centuries. Ultimately, Elrond knew he would lose; that he had been able to hold his own this long he could only attribute to Sauron's current weakness and Gil-Galad's interference.
Although he hated to even think of it, Elrond recognised that a link of sorts had been formed between Sauron and the High King over the centuries in which they were bound together; Gil-Galad was able to exert some manner of control, or at least restraint, over the evil force that dwelled within him, but for how long was impossible to tell, and Elrond was running out of time. The strain of keeping the connection between him and the king was beginning to show; his movements were more sluggish than usual and his ability to think clearly was evaporating. But he could not stop, could not give in, or Sauron would overpower the king and force him to do his bidding. He had to hang on a little longer and pray for a miracle.
Beyond the physical strain of the combat, was the bitter disappointment of finding out the true state of affairs. He had been so encouraged by the king's evident improvement over the past week, that he had allowed himself to believe that everything might actually end well. That very morning, when he made the connection between them, it had seemed that his prayers had finally been answered.
Gil-Galad's mind had seemed different somehow, when Elrond entered the darkness and tried to determine where to begin the process of repair. He had managed a few minor improvements in the past few days, but the extent of the damage made it difficult to know how to proceed. He kept to his plan to begin slowly, as he had little experience with trauma of this magnitude, and to gain practice from healing the minor injuries before he faced the more severe and probably more complex ones. Approaching a large mirror that was only slightly cracked, he gazed into it, trying to discern which memory it housed. All he saw, however, was the main library at Lindon, and no one appeared to be about.
He waited, but minutes passed and no sign of movement was visible except for the fire crackling in the grate. It was a puzzle, for the mirrors were supposed to be receptacles for the king's memories, yet he was not even in the scene. For a moment Elrond considered the possibility that he was simply seeing things from the king's perspective, a feeling with which he was beginning to be familiar, but that was not possible in this instance. He had spent many hours in this room and knew it well. There was no way for anyone to view things from that perspective, unless they were standing in the middle of a bookshelf.
Moving closer, Elrond twisted about to try to see more of the scene, and then he noticed it--a faint ripple across the surface of the mirror, rather the way a leaf dropped into a still pond will slightly disturb the waters. Instinctively he put out a hand to touch it, having never seen any of the other mirrors do this, only to have his hand pass through the surface and into the room beyond. He froze for an instant, thoughts racing through his mind as he tried to imagine what could be causing this, but the only idea that caught his imagination was that, perhaps, this was the king's way of attempting to contact him. Elrond had yet to manage a meaningful conversation with the king, who could only give an occasional weak reply to very basic questions. Anything more than inquiries about his comfort or food preferences received only a beautiful, but blank, stare in return. It had been extremely frustrating to have to converse with one of the greatest minds he had ever known as if he was no more than a dim-witted child.
But Elrond had sensed on several occasions that Gil-Galad was trying to communicate--such as in the strange occurrence with the book. Elrond had been reading aloud to the king from a volume of elvish history, concentrating on the fall of Gondolin. He had placed it on the table by the bed when the king drifted off to sleep, but when he picked it up later that day, his bookmark was gone and it lay open to the tale of the Last Alliance. The somewhat lurid painting on the left page showed Isildur ready to cut the ring from the hand of a menacing Sauron. Elrond had winced at the sight and quickly closed the book, having never liked reliving the last battle he had fought beside his king. He preferred to dwell on older history, which did not resonate so painfully. He had dismissed it as the work of a servant, and taken up the story where he had left off; but when he went back to it the next day, it was again showing that horrible painting. He had asked a few servants about it, but no one admitted to the act and he had finally put it from his mind. But now he wondered . . .
Elrond decided to accept the invitation, if that was indeed what it was, and without another thought stepped through the mirror into the library he knew so well. It was a strange feeling to be back, as the last time he had seen it he had been in mourning for the king, almost out of his mind with grief, and now he entered once more in search of him. But his initial impression had been correct; although the room was exactly as he remembered it, no one was there.
Elrond exited into the hallways and paused, listening. It was strange to be here again, in the place that held for him so many memories both sweet and tragic, but even stranger to hear no laughter, no songs, no light tread of elvin feet, no pretty maids gossiping or soldiers boasting . . . one thing the High King's court had never been was silent, yet this place echoed as if nothing but ghosts lived here. Elrond repressed a shudder at the thought of how close that might be to the truth. The only inhabitant now was not far from a ghost, although even he seemed to be absent. Elrond was almost glad, for he didn't know how he would react to seeing his king whole and uninjured once more, his health and beauty fully restored, just as he had been when last he walked these halls. The very idea sent such a flow of excitement through him that Elrond actually had to clutch at the wall for support. Being back here in Lindon, if only in a shadow of it, along with the possibility of being able to talk to the king once again, was all too much; the weeks of strain struggled against his usual calm to make even breathing difficult.
Elrond leaned against the wall and briefly allowed himself the indulgence of wishing all the years away. If only he could go back, if only this place could be real, and all the errors and mistakes of the past could fall away . . . It had all been his fault, every miscalculation: he had allowed himself to be drawn away from his lord's side in battle, thereby making the king vulnerable to Sauron's attack; he had failed to see the king's danger before it was too late and had not prevented his injuries; he had not looked long or hard enough for him after the battle was over, and had thereby condemned him to centuries of misery; he had usurped in all but name his position, and in his pride had assumed that not taking the title of king exonerated him from assuming powers he was never meant to have. Elrond sank to his knees as the burden of grief and guilt became too much--so many mistakes, so many stupid errors, and yet none of his failings had hurt him, but rather the one he said he loved. But how could he have loved him in truth, and treated him so?
And then, suddenly, it was like a veil was lifted from the scene. The colours brightened, and the air became rich with the smell of spicy food being prepared in the kitchens, oiled leather and hay from the stables just outside, and the faint, slightly sweet scent of the candles in their sconces. All the sounds he had previously missed came washing over him too, but Elrond barely noticed. For his eyes were fixed as if hypnotized on the only thing in this strange world that mattered, the elf who came striding down the corridor, dressed in a tunic of his favourite royal blue, sucking on the end of a quill as Elrond had seen him do a thousand times when pondering something. Elrond knelt there, gaping like a simpleton, until the king almost ran into him. Then Gil-Galad looked up from his book, with that dazed expression he always had when surprised out of contemplation, and regarded Elrond with astonishment. "Elrond, whatever are you doing there? Are you ill? Don't you remember that we have a council meeting in a few minutes?"
Elrond just continued to gape, aware of how silly he probably looked but unable to respond. It was somehow worse than when he had recognised the living skeleton they had brought in as the High King. This elf was even more strong, vibrant and alive than he remembered him, and it made Elrond's betrayal all the more obvious. He had been the one who reduced this glorious creature to the shell he now was; how did he dare talk to him, dare even raise his eyes in his presence? "Elrond?" The king knelt before him and regarded him with concern, his hand smoothing the hair over Elrond's ears in a gesture so tender and so familiar that it was truly torture. Yet Elrond leaned into it, unable to stop himself, craving more of that touch that he had been so long denied. Before he could stop himself, he grasped the king--his king, always his--around the neck and drew him down into the kiss he had been waiting centuries to give. And it was in that instant, when their lips met, that Elrond knew that something was terribly wrong.
He had been so surprised that he did nothing, just let the king take over the kiss, which he did with confident ease. It was a passionate, experienced expression . . . of absolutely nothing. The feeling Elrond had known so well--the warmth, the love, the caring--was completely absent. This kiss was only a gesture, and a hollow one at that. When they broke apart, Elrond managed, in a voice that sounded hoarse and quite unlike his own, to assure the king that he was perfectly well, and had merely felt dizzy for a moment. "Good, then come with me--we have that cursed meeting to finish, and then lunch will be upon us." Gil-Galad smiled, but his beautiful eyes did not reflect it. "I would much prefer to spend the entire day with you, my love, but duty calls. Still, there is tonight."
Elrond nodded and followed him down the corridor, trying to seem as nonchalant as his turbulent emotions would allow, and attempting to concentrate his mind on the puzzles at hand. Why was Gil-Galad unaware that this was a memory? And if he was a part of the memory, why could Elrond interact with him as he had not been able to do with any of the other scenes he had witnessed? And more worrying still, why was he so very different in essence that Elrond remembered?
Luckily, the council session proved to be one which, while Elrond did not recall it specifically, was so much like many others in which he had taken part over the years, that it required little of his concentration. Titton was droning on about new taxation procedures in his usual dry monotone, while Gil-Galad and the rest of the council pretended absorbed interest. In reality, most were probably day dreaming, and would only wake up when Titton began his summation, which would be much briefer and more to the point than anything else he would say all day. It usually also contained enough information to allow a judgment to be formed without listening to the preamble. Elrond himself was too flabbergasted to concentrate on anything, and could only hope no one would ask him for a response. His head was reeling and he could not make any sense of the insanity into which he'd landed. Then a flash of blue at the doorway caught his eye.
Elrond decided he was going insane. He'd been under too much of a strain lately, that was all there was to it. What he thought he was seeing was simply impossible. He turned his attention back to the shining wooden surface of the table in front of him and tried to sink into it and absorb the impressions of the tree from which it had been formed. This sort of thing usually soothed him, but not in this case. This tree had died in agony, after having been struck by a bolt of lightening during a storm, and for some reason he was unable to see any of the more pleasant memories that must have preceded that. All he could sense was the way the lightening had felt like liquid fire as it spread through the tree, searing living tissue into dying, charred cinders . . . Elrond jerked his attention back to the discussion at hand before he embarrassed himself by crying out, but he still found it impossible to concentrate. Titton's droning made him want to throttle him, or perhaps to stand up and scream, but he was trapped by not knowing how real any of this was; although he had often fantasized in long meetings about killing Titton in various imaginative ways, he really did not think the elf's inherent dullness warranted it.
Eventually, his eyes moved back to the doorway of their own accord, and there it was, that oh so familiar hand, still wearing Vilya and waving at him energetically from the bottom of the doorframe. He wondered what position an elf would have to be in to do that--was the High King actually lying on the floor?--but no, that could not be the king, for he was sitting at the head of the table looking bored. Elrond finally could take it no longer and abruptly stood, murmured an apology about not feeling well, and fled the room. Outside in the corridor he looked about, but found no phantom of his imagination lurking about. It was small comfort under the circumstances. He sought out a stone seat in the gardens, long a favourite spot for privacy. It was enclosed on three sides by an old vine, its main stem as thick around as a small tree trunk, which this time of year cascaded falls of bright green leaves about the little bench, all but obscuring it from view.
What was happening to him? Was the king's mental instability affecting him, or was it possible that the opposite was true? What if, while intending to help the king, he was actually hurting him by merging when his own emotions were so unsteady? In Gil-Galad's weakened state, he might well be unable to handle the influx of feelings from Elrond's mind, which could in turn be causing even more instability in his own . . . Elrond's confused train of thought was interrupted by another flash of blue, this time from beyond the leaves of his bower. Deciding to find out once and for all what was going on, he reached around the side of the vine and pulled the elf beyond into his arms.
A brief "oh!" was all he received in reply, until the elf twisted about, enveloping Elrond in a heartbreakingly familiar embrace. This time, when their lips met, there was no feeling of disorientation, no strangeness, no doubts; all was as it had always been and Elrond was, as ever, entranced. "I'm sorry, but I've been wanting to do that for so long . . . " The elf in his arms looked at him with the same slightly uncertain expression Elrond had often pondered and never understood. It was as if Gil-Galad was unsure of him, and was grateful for any period of time Elrond chose to give him. It had never seemed to matter how many times Elrond assured him of his beauty and charisma, of the fact that he was lucky to have the king waste any of his valuable time with him, that half of the elves in Lindon would joyously and immediately take his place, none of it ever seemed to penetrate. That charming uncertainty and complete absence of arrogance was one of many things that had been missing earlier. The other elf, whoever he was, might look just like the king, but he definitely did not feel like him.
"What . . . who . . . ?" Elrond tried to put his confusion into words, but the king held two fingers up to his lips, quieting him with a gesture that was probably not supposed to be sensual, but managed nonetheless.
"I will explain, but we can't stay here. He is already looking for you, to continue the charade until you drop your guard. He would have killed you earlier, but he sensed that I was near and preferred to wait until you were alone. He knows I am weak and cannot watch him all the time . . . "
"Hush." It was Elrond's turn to quiet the king, who was growing agitated. "I don't understand, but I will follow you anywhere."
"Quickly, then." Gil-Galad rose from the bench and, clasping Elrond's hand, drew him swiftly but silently through the winding pathways of the gardens beyond the great kitchens. Elrond had always preferred these wilder and homelier gardens to the more formal, manicured types that fronted the castle. Despite long years away, he found the beds of turnips and squash, cabbages and beans quite familiar, and could have made his way through the herb gardens beyond from their scent alone. They soon made their way to the forest, which was really only a small patch of trees surrounding a pretty lake. Almost completely round in shape, it had some added mineral in the water that caused it to have a green tint even under a bright blue sky, resulting in its prosaic name of Laica. Elrond had always thought of it was a great jewel, adorning the already breathtaking beauty of Lindon, and it made his heart glad when the king settled alongside it, hiding the two of them in the long grasses.
Elrond wasted no time. If he was going insane, so be it, but at least he intended to enjoy the trip. "Amin lava, A'maelamin, you have captured me!" Drawing the king down on top of him, Elrond delighted in the weight and solidity of his lord, which was so lacking in the body he had been tending recently. His thoughts turned dark briefly then, at the knowledge that this was not, could not, be real, but when Gil-Galad's lips met his he forgot everything else. The kiss was surprisingly passionate on the king's part, and Elrond gave into it gladly, reveling in the unusual forcefulness of his lover. They used no words and needed none; the old patterns effortlessly reasserted themselves and it was almost as if they had never been apart at all.
Elrond slid the blue velvet tunic off and gently settled his lover back onto the meadow, overcome as always by his beauty. His crisp white shirt soon joined the tunic on the grass, and Elrond was able to taste again the skin of his lover, smooth and taut and ithil pale against his flowing dark hair and the bright green blanket surrounding them. Elrond paused even as the king threaded his hands through his hair, pulling him closer. He felt unworthy to take even more pleasure from one who had given so much and received so little from him in the past. "Melethryn," he paused, wishing for some of Gil-Galad's eloquence and failing to find the right words. How to say that he had never deserved the king, had never been worthy of a fraction of the care he lavished on him, and in the end had unknowingly betrayed him? How to tell the heartbreaking truth that Gil-Galad was far better off without him?
"I know, I know," the king murmured against his neck, hip lips causing shudders of pleasure to cascade through Elrond, "we do not have time for this. But oh my beloved, how I have missed you!" He caught Elrond again in a deep kiss, almost as if he was trying to merge their souls as well as their bodies, and all other thoughts fled as the king began to whisper words of his love and passion, of Elrond's purity of soul and beauty of heart, and of the long, empty years when he could not hold him.
"But that need never be true again," Elrond assured him fiercely, "I do not know why you want me--I have never known--but as long as you do, I will be beside you." And I will never fail you again, he promised himself, kissing his lover as if he would never let him go. He suddenly noticed as he pressed his lips to his king's eyes, that he was weeping. "Do not cry, beloved. I will never leave you, never fail you, I swear it!"
Gil-Galad shook his head, his tears becoming more obvious as he struggled to control them. "Elrond," he whispered brokenly, "you do not understand. It is I who have failed you, as I have all the elves. I should have been stronger, but I . . . "
"Were never anything but a weak, puling coward of a creature who I still cannot believe I have managed to put up with all these years!" Elrond spun around at the harsh words, to see another Gil-Galad standing at the top of the bank, sword in hand. "If you were not the means for me to destroy all the elves, I swear I would have killed you centuries ago, just for being so annoying."
Elrond rapidly looked between the two, searching for some clue as to what this was all about, but all he saw on either face was revulsion and hatred. The newcomer 's expression gave proof that he meant every word of his statement, while the High King looked as if he would love nothing more than holding his double's head under Laica's waters until he drowned. "Get behind me, Elrond," Gil-Galad ordered, and the tone he used was not one that brooked argument.
"You cannot protect him forever," the double looked past the king to where Elrond had quickly scrambled to his feet. "I will enjoy killing you. You were always in the way, always the impediment to everything I tried to do. This one would have given in years ago, except for you. I could never manage to erase the memory of you from his mind, and he clung to it like a raft in a storm." He smiled, "But thanks to your acceptance of my little invitation, I will not have that problem for much longer!" The double launched himself from the bank and Elrond reached instinctively to his hip for his sword, but his hand encountered nothing but soft cotton material. He never carried arms in Lorien, for what would be the need? His mental projection was clothed just as he had been when he made the connection to the king, in a soft grey robe without so much as a piece of armor or even a small knife on his person.
Elrond did not understand how it occurred, for the High King had also been unarmed, but suddenly a sword was in his hand and he swung it up in time to prevent his double from cleaving Elrond in two. The two weapons did not ring together so much as explode, and the High King fell to his knees in apparent agony from the force of the blast. His double rolled over in the grass, seemingly stunned for an instant, but he righted himself almost at once. "That won't work, you fool! How many times have you tried to kill me? How many times must you fail before you realise it cannot be done? I am stronger than you--accept it. Attack me again and it will be years before you're conscious again, if ever--because after I finish your precious little elves, I will take great pleasure in destroying the rest of you!"
"Don't threaten me, Sauron," Gil-Galad replied, getting slowly to his feet and placing himself once more between his double and Elrond. "It weakens you to attack me and you know it. Your plans will fail if you waste too much energy fighting me, or perhaps I'll die--and that would scuttle all your hopes, wouldn't it?" The king kept his eyes on his double, the sword raised unwaveringly in front of him, but he addressed Elrond. "I am sorry, Elrond, I had hoped to have time to explain this in detail, but that is apparently denied me. What you saw in my mind concerning the Nazgul's experiments was true, except the part about them failing. Sauron made me show you that, but it was only another of his lies. The experiments WERE generally useless, just resulting in the deaths of the elves involved, but for some reason I survived the process. Sauron and I have been . . . cohabiting . . . now for quite some time. He wants to use me to distract and divide the elves while his army attacks, but I am not keen on the idea."
Sauron was leaning on his sword, looking bored, as the king explained. Elrond knew he should feel horrified by what he had just heard, but at the moment was too stunned to feel much of anything. The High King and Sauron, sharing a body? It was too bizarre to be believed. Yet the evidence was right before his eyes, had been there for some time, for he had felt something wrong from the moment Gil-Galad returned to him. Then after the session with Thranduil, when they had seen the Nazgul's handiwork for themselves, he should have at least suspected the truth, but he had been blind. The idea of the most beautiful soul he had even known being invaded by . . . by . . . that thing . . . A rush of rage filled him at even the thought. Sauron had destroyed his happiness, killed thousands of elves at Barad-dur, tortured his lover almost to death, and now had returned to finish his work. No. It would not happen that way.
"You want to attack me, don't you?" Sauron smiled, and it was grotesque to see that distorted expression on the king's features. "Go ahead. Take your lover's sword and run me through." He tossed his own weapon aside, and it came to rest largely in the water, its hilt just peeking out of the gently lapping waves. "I am defenseless, what is stopping you? Or are you as much of a coward as he is?"
"No Elrond!" Gil-Galad, put out an arm to restrain him. "He knows you cannot win against him. This is his arena, his game! He knows the powers of the mind much better than you do--he has had centuries to learn them. He can call another weapon to him in an instant. Come with me and I'll return you back to the portal. You must warn the others of what is happening, tell them to listen to nothing I say!"
"Yes, Elrond, listen to your king. Run away and save yourself." Sauron smiled even broader, as if genuinely amused. "But know this. If you do, he dies today. If you warn the elves of my plan, then he is of no more use to me, so why should I keep him alive? And he will die in torment and agony, let us be very clear on that."
Elrond regarded with horror the very personification of evil, and suddenly it did not look to him at all like his king. The physical beauty was still there, but the radiance, the wonderful inner light that had been Gil-Galad's trademark, was missing. How could he have ever thought that this foul, diseased creature was his king?
"Elrond, come with me!" Gil-Galad managed to drag him up the bank, keeping him close by his side all the while. They made it as far as the castle's main hall, seemingly unobserved by the elves who laughed and chatted about them, but then the doors leading to the library wing closed in their face as they tried to enter.
"Come Elrond," Sauron called as they turned, and a sword appeared just in front of Elrond's face, hovering there although not held up by any hands. "The choice is yours. Do you betray your king, or do you fight for him? Do you run away and leave him to my tender mercies, or defend him as your honour requires?" Elrond could tell that Gil-Galad was saying something, but he could not hear it over the rushing in his ears. Sauron's words, however, echoed with a strange clarity. "Come, Elrond, think on it. If you defeat me, your lover lives with you in peace. That is what you've wanted, isn't it? What you've prayed for? I was once Annatar, the giver of gifts; consider this my gift to you--a fair chance to win. For after all, I am weak, too, in this guise, and all my battle aids and allies are far beyond my reach. You may win all you desire, if you are brave enough to take it."
The sword lowered until it was actually nudging Elrond's hand, while Sauron's voice, clothed in the honeyed tones of the one Elrond loved best in all the world, went on. "Of course, you may lose, and then I will kill you, but think of how you will feel if you leave, knowing that you are betraying your lord to a certain death. Would not that be far worse than dying here, today, defending him?"
Elrond's hand closed about the sword, his own promise ringing in his ears as powerfully as Sauron's words. He did not really think he could win, but he simply could not fail his king yet again. It would be physically impossible to walk away, knowing what would happen to Gil-Galad as soon as he did so. Sauron's eyes gleamed as Elrond's hand tightened about the hilt. "That's good, my little Peredhil. Now we will correct some things that went wrong in the past!"
* * *
TBC
Amin lava, A'maelamin--I yield, my Beloved.