Title: Wild Justice 30/?
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.
* * *
Gildor looked in shock at the king, the sword falling unnoticed from his hand. He hardly realised it when he slowly sank to his knees, awe and wonder overcoming all other thoughts. All his life he had read about the last of the great Noldorin monarchs, heard his father sing his praises and tell, with tear filled eyes, about the days when Lindon the Great had stood strong and free, a beacon to all the elves of Middle Earth. He had also seen his pain when he spoke of the High King's fall, witnessed his pride and sorrow that he had died as might have been expected, in defense of his people. Gildor could scarcely believe what he was seeing now, but he did not doubt for an instant that it was real. The regal bearing, quiet dignity, and great beauty of the legends were all there for anyone to see. Gil-Galad lived; the great king lived! Oh how blind he must have been not to see it before! Gildor looked up at him with shining eyes--how different life might be for the elves, now that their king had returned.
"Gildor!", the king addressed him again, more sternly even than before, "you have your orders--do as I command. Kill me!"
Gildor felt like someone had struck him, and was grateful that he knelt as he surely would have lost his footing otherwise. The joy of the previous moment fell away and horror swept through his mind. No! This could not be happening! He surely could not mean what he said. His king could not return just to abandon them again, and in such a way. And to expect him to . . . it was madness! Gildor had never raised a hand against another elf in his life, had never even thought about doing so. He killed orcs on occasion, for what other choice did any of them have if their lives and those of their people were to be preserved? But he regretted even that, and avoided it whenever possible. Unlike some elves, he never sought out combat, but rather viewed it as a tragic necessity. And to be asked to kill one of his own, and the High King at that? It was too much. "My Lord," Gildor bowed his head humbly in submission, wondering how he dared to even think about disobeying, but his words were firm. "Ask me anything but that, even to my own life, and you shall have it, but I cannot . . . "
"Of course you cannot! Gildor, get up and go help Elrond! The elf is mad--why do you listen to him?" Haldir looked confused and almost disgusted at the sight of his lover bowing at the feet of their captive. Gildor suddenly realised that Haldir did not believe the king's words. Nothing in his background had prepared him for this, so how could he? Yet surely he could hear the command in that voice, see the light in those eyes? But his lover's expression made it clear that he did not, and his eyes were not focused on the amazing sight of the High King returned, but on the combat that was still being waged behind them. Haldir's comment brought back the precariousness of Lord Elrond's position and Gildor glanced back to see him stagger and fall, his sword kicked from his hand by his opponent. By the Valar, the High King had said that was Sauron himself!
Gildor watched, dumbstruck, as the creature gave a triumphant smile and placed a booted foot on Elrond's neck. His lord struggled weakly, but it was clear that his strength had been depleted and he could not thrown off Sauron's hold. "Well, it looks as if we have come to the end of this little melodrama at last, doesn't it? Are you watching, Ereinion? I want to be very certain you remember THIS, at least!" Sauron's sword came to rest on Elrond's chest, just heavily enough to lightly dent the fabric. "Now, how shall I proceed? I am open to suggestions. How would you like to see your precious Elrond die?"
The High King looked at Sauron, but he addressed Gildor in a low tone; yet there was no less ring of command in it for its softness. "If you will not kill me, then have your friend release me. Now, Gildor." Gildor immediately grabbed Haldir and spun him away from the king, relieved to have an order he could obey.
"What are you doing? Let me go--he'll get himself killed!" Gildor ignored his lover's words--indeed, he barely heard them--for all his attention was focused on the High King's actions. Gil-Galad did not hesitate, but ran straight at the two combatants, his blue robe billowing out behind him, no sign of a weapon in his hands. Sauron looked surprised, but had no time to act before the king was upon him. But to Gildor's amazement, Gil-Galad did not attack, but instead threw himself on Elrond. The instant he did so, the king disappeared, vanishing in a flash of blinding light and in a sound like thunder that sent a tremor around the room.
Before Gildor could wonder what any of this meant, Elrond jumped back to his feet, throwing off Sauron's hold as if it was suddenly an insignificant thing. Somehow, a sword was in his hand, although Gildor knew that Sauron had kicked Elrond's weapon far out of reach, so how could he have it now? Yet somehow he did, and with powerful strokes he began forcing his opponent back toward the stairs.
Gildor was suddenly thrown off balance, and he and Haldir tumbled to the floor as the room about them began quaking and shuddering as if a giant hand was shaking it from without. It felt like an earthquake Gildor had once experienced in the mountains, but how could that be? There were no such tremors in Lorien. Then the light from the overhanging chandelier started to flicker and grow dim, and the temperature dropped perceptibly.
"What is happening?" Gildor could only shake his head at Haldir's question; he had no idea.
"Haldir, Gildor--get out of here! Take Elwyyda with you and go!" Elrond's commands were punctuated by fierce thrusts at his opponent, who was barely managing to counter the rain of blows descending on him. It was obvious that he was seriously outmatched, but that made no sense at all. A few minutes before, he had mastered Elrond easily. What had changed?
Before he and Haldir could disentangle themselves enough to comply with Elrond's command, Sauron stumbled on the stairs. He dropped his guard for a brief instant as he tried to regain his balance, and Elrond's sword ran him through. The blow was so strong that it left him momentarily pinned to the wall, an expression of disbelief and rage on his features, before he also disappeared, vanishing into a dark vapor that streamed away into nothingness.
Elrond wasted no time, but turned and ran back down the stairs, using his sword to sever Elwyyda's bonds. The little dwarf looked stunned almost into unconsciousness, a feeling with which Gildor could strongly identify, but Elrond simply swept her into his arms and ran for the door. "Hurry!," he threw over his shoulder, and both Haldir and Gildor scrambled to obey. The chandelier fell at that instant, barely missing them as it shattered in a thousand sparkling pieces that scattered like ice across the floor. The whole room was shuddering violently now, and a roaring filled Gildor's ears so that he could not hear whatever Haldir was yelling at him. They both reached the door just as a terrible ripping sound spread through the room, cutting past the other deafening noises. Gildor glanced back to see the chamber behind him simply vanish into blackness.
Haldir grabbed him by the arm and they pelted down the corridor after Elrond and Elwyyda, dodging falling sconces from the walls and keeping their footing as best they could in the wildly bucking hallway. Gildor did not have time to look behind him again, but a cold breeze nipped at his heels, and he was sure the corridor was vanishing behind them as the room had done.
The four of them ran into the library and tore through the flimsy barrier back into the darkness beyond, Elrond making the jump with Elwyyda still clutched against him. Haldir followed him handily despite his ankle, but Gildor fell as he tried to do likewise. Shudders from the corridor were now affecting the library as well, causing it lurch from side to side like a ship in a storm, but a second later Haldir's strong arm re-emerged from the portal and dragged him through. The room beyond was not as he remembered it, but was obviously suffering from whatever calamity was happening all around them. Mirrors fell from the walls to shatter in splinters all over the floor. A heavy red mist began swirling about their feet and quickly began to rise, filling the room. The library they had just left was engulfed by strange blue flames; Gildor saw the lovely book with the painting of the two trees curl up and turn brown as fire consumed it.
"Gildor! Stop daydreaming!" Elrond's words pulled him from his reverie and he felt a sting across his face as his lord struck him, hard. "You have to concentrate or you'll die! You cannot stay here." Elrond looked at the three of them, and his expression was grave. "This body is dying, and will take any souls with it who remain inside at the point of death. I will hold off the inevitable as long as I can, but you MUST get out. Concentrate on my room in Lorien, picture it clearly in your minds and see yourselves waking up."
Gildor tried to do as he was told, but the raging inferno of the library was spreading to mirror after mirror; he saw beautiful gardens, sun drenched seascapes and throngs of laughing, happy elves in a ballroom, all consumed by the spreading fire that leapt easily from one mirror to the next. Then Haldir disappeared, winking out of the flickering light of the room in a flash of silver. Elwyyda followed, although less easily, her form growing dim several times just to solidify again, but finally she too faded away. "Now you, Gildor," Elrond urged him, his face pale and beaded with sweat. "I cannot hold much longer--you must go!"
Gildor tried to comply, but the noise, sound, and icy flames that spread cold instead of life-giving heat, were an impossible distraction. Every time he envisioned Elrond's room, another crash nearby jolted him back. Sweet Elbereth, he thought in desperation, what if I cannot do this? Then Haldir was beside him again and he looked furious.
"CONCENTRATE! Gildor--do you hear me?" Haldir grabbed him by the upper arms and shook him violently. "See only me; hear only me! Forget everything else and see us together in Elrond's room--do it now!" Gildor's vision was filled with the sight of his lover's face descending on his, and the feel of Haldir's lips pressed against his own. Suddenly, he could not hear the cacophony anymore, could not see the flames or feel their cold. As always when he kissed Haldir, the world fell away and he was surrounded, submerged, and enthralled by the warmth and beauty of the elf in his arms. The next instant everything changed.
Gildor opened his eyes to a scene that almost looked surreal after the inferno he had just left. The windows were open in Elrond's rooms in the royal palace, and a light breeze blew over the bed where he and Haldir lay next to his lord and the High King. Elwydda was nearby, unsteady on her feet and clutching at the back of a chair for support. Her eyes looked huge in her little face, and she was as pale as a ghost. Gildor wanted to comfort her, but the next second he realised that Haldir was still lying motionless by his side, as were the other two.
"Haldir!," Gildor shook the limp figure, but nothing happened. His lover was barely breathing, and his skin felt clammy to the touch. "Haldir?" Those beautiful features were as pale as a marble statue's, and an icy fear clutched at Gildor as seconds past yet nothing happened. "Haldir," Gildor begged, his voice breaking as tears began spilling down his cheeks, "oh, gods, Haldir, please wake up!" Gildor cradled his lover to him, horror filling him more profoundly than he had ever felt it. No! Haldir HAD to make it back, he had to! After everything they had been through, to lose him now would be worse than death. To go back to that horrible, lonely existence he had lived for so many years, without even the comfort of knowing that he could occasionally see the object of his love, would be torture beyond anything death could devise. They had so much life ahead of them; he had always thought there was so much time . . .
"Haldir . . . please," Gildor whimpered, his heart feeling as if it had stopped in his chest, his breathing painful. "I swear to you, just wake up and I WILL make you happy. Oh gods, Haldir, you can have anything you want . . . " If his lover died to save him, it would be an act in vain, for Haldir had become so much a part of him that Gildor truly doubted he could live any longer without him. He would follow him to Mandos soon enough, for grief itself would kill him as surely as any orcish blade.
Then the long lashes below him fluttered and the beautiful blue eyes opened. Gildor regarded his lover in shock, the relief that washed through him so profound that he could not speak. Haldir regarded him blankly. "What . . ." He managed nothing further, for Gildor was kissing him passionately, pressing him down against the soft mattress as if he would never let him up.
"You're back! You came back to me!" Gildor clutched him fiercely, only releasing him when Haldir began making slight choking noises.
"Where . . . what about the others?" Haldir gasped out, his hand falling on Elrond's still form. Gildor realised that Lord Elrond was not moving, and saw that his face was as bleached of colour as Haldir's had been until a moment before. A slight pulse still beat in his neck, but otherwise there was no sign of life.
"Gildor, what is wrong? Why doesn't he awake? We are all here."
Gildor shook his head; again, he had no answers. Then a second miracle occurred, and the chest under Haldir's hand began to rise and fall. A second later Lord Elrond's eyes fluttered open and he looked about, first at Elwydda, to whom he gave an encouraging smile, then at Haldir and finally at Gildor. Haldir did not seem to notice anything amiss, but then, he did not know Elrond very well. Gildor, however, spotted it at once. He was not shocked, for his nervous system seemed to have shut down in self-defense, and he was therefore able to contemplate the change with some equanimity. His lord had always been famed for his beautiful dark grey eyes--indeed, whole poems had been written about their beauty alone, and how they complemented his dusky grace. But, although the elf on the bed looked like Elrond in all other particulars, Gildor noticed immediately that this elves' eyes were a clear, rich blue.
* * *
TBC
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.
* * *
Gildor looked in shock at the king, the sword falling unnoticed from his hand. He hardly realised it when he slowly sank to his knees, awe and wonder overcoming all other thoughts. All his life he had read about the last of the great Noldorin monarchs, heard his father sing his praises and tell, with tear filled eyes, about the days when Lindon the Great had stood strong and free, a beacon to all the elves of Middle Earth. He had also seen his pain when he spoke of the High King's fall, witnessed his pride and sorrow that he had died as might have been expected, in defense of his people. Gildor could scarcely believe what he was seeing now, but he did not doubt for an instant that it was real. The regal bearing, quiet dignity, and great beauty of the legends were all there for anyone to see. Gil-Galad lived; the great king lived! Oh how blind he must have been not to see it before! Gildor looked up at him with shining eyes--how different life might be for the elves, now that their king had returned.
"Gildor!", the king addressed him again, more sternly even than before, "you have your orders--do as I command. Kill me!"
Gildor felt like someone had struck him, and was grateful that he knelt as he surely would have lost his footing otherwise. The joy of the previous moment fell away and horror swept through his mind. No! This could not be happening! He surely could not mean what he said. His king could not return just to abandon them again, and in such a way. And to expect him to . . . it was madness! Gildor had never raised a hand against another elf in his life, had never even thought about doing so. He killed orcs on occasion, for what other choice did any of them have if their lives and those of their people were to be preserved? But he regretted even that, and avoided it whenever possible. Unlike some elves, he never sought out combat, but rather viewed it as a tragic necessity. And to be asked to kill one of his own, and the High King at that? It was too much. "My Lord," Gildor bowed his head humbly in submission, wondering how he dared to even think about disobeying, but his words were firm. "Ask me anything but that, even to my own life, and you shall have it, but I cannot . . . "
"Of course you cannot! Gildor, get up and go help Elrond! The elf is mad--why do you listen to him?" Haldir looked confused and almost disgusted at the sight of his lover bowing at the feet of their captive. Gildor suddenly realised that Haldir did not believe the king's words. Nothing in his background had prepared him for this, so how could he? Yet surely he could hear the command in that voice, see the light in those eyes? But his lover's expression made it clear that he did not, and his eyes were not focused on the amazing sight of the High King returned, but on the combat that was still being waged behind them. Haldir's comment brought back the precariousness of Lord Elrond's position and Gildor glanced back to see him stagger and fall, his sword kicked from his hand by his opponent. By the Valar, the High King had said that was Sauron himself!
Gildor watched, dumbstruck, as the creature gave a triumphant smile and placed a booted foot on Elrond's neck. His lord struggled weakly, but it was clear that his strength had been depleted and he could not thrown off Sauron's hold. "Well, it looks as if we have come to the end of this little melodrama at last, doesn't it? Are you watching, Ereinion? I want to be very certain you remember THIS, at least!" Sauron's sword came to rest on Elrond's chest, just heavily enough to lightly dent the fabric. "Now, how shall I proceed? I am open to suggestions. How would you like to see your precious Elrond die?"
The High King looked at Sauron, but he addressed Gildor in a low tone; yet there was no less ring of command in it for its softness. "If you will not kill me, then have your friend release me. Now, Gildor." Gildor immediately grabbed Haldir and spun him away from the king, relieved to have an order he could obey.
"What are you doing? Let me go--he'll get himself killed!" Gildor ignored his lover's words--indeed, he barely heard them--for all his attention was focused on the High King's actions. Gil-Galad did not hesitate, but ran straight at the two combatants, his blue robe billowing out behind him, no sign of a weapon in his hands. Sauron looked surprised, but had no time to act before the king was upon him. But to Gildor's amazement, Gil-Galad did not attack, but instead threw himself on Elrond. The instant he did so, the king disappeared, vanishing in a flash of blinding light and in a sound like thunder that sent a tremor around the room.
Before Gildor could wonder what any of this meant, Elrond jumped back to his feet, throwing off Sauron's hold as if it was suddenly an insignificant thing. Somehow, a sword was in his hand, although Gildor knew that Sauron had kicked Elrond's weapon far out of reach, so how could he have it now? Yet somehow he did, and with powerful strokes he began forcing his opponent back toward the stairs.
Gildor was suddenly thrown off balance, and he and Haldir tumbled to the floor as the room about them began quaking and shuddering as if a giant hand was shaking it from without. It felt like an earthquake Gildor had once experienced in the mountains, but how could that be? There were no such tremors in Lorien. Then the light from the overhanging chandelier started to flicker and grow dim, and the temperature dropped perceptibly.
"What is happening?" Gildor could only shake his head at Haldir's question; he had no idea.
"Haldir, Gildor--get out of here! Take Elwyyda with you and go!" Elrond's commands were punctuated by fierce thrusts at his opponent, who was barely managing to counter the rain of blows descending on him. It was obvious that he was seriously outmatched, but that made no sense at all. A few minutes before, he had mastered Elrond easily. What had changed?
Before he and Haldir could disentangle themselves enough to comply with Elrond's command, Sauron stumbled on the stairs. He dropped his guard for a brief instant as he tried to regain his balance, and Elrond's sword ran him through. The blow was so strong that it left him momentarily pinned to the wall, an expression of disbelief and rage on his features, before he also disappeared, vanishing into a dark vapor that streamed away into nothingness.
Elrond wasted no time, but turned and ran back down the stairs, using his sword to sever Elwyyda's bonds. The little dwarf looked stunned almost into unconsciousness, a feeling with which Gildor could strongly identify, but Elrond simply swept her into his arms and ran for the door. "Hurry!," he threw over his shoulder, and both Haldir and Gildor scrambled to obey. The chandelier fell at that instant, barely missing them as it shattered in a thousand sparkling pieces that scattered like ice across the floor. The whole room was shuddering violently now, and a roaring filled Gildor's ears so that he could not hear whatever Haldir was yelling at him. They both reached the door just as a terrible ripping sound spread through the room, cutting past the other deafening noises. Gildor glanced back to see the chamber behind him simply vanish into blackness.
Haldir grabbed him by the arm and they pelted down the corridor after Elrond and Elwyyda, dodging falling sconces from the walls and keeping their footing as best they could in the wildly bucking hallway. Gildor did not have time to look behind him again, but a cold breeze nipped at his heels, and he was sure the corridor was vanishing behind them as the room had done.
The four of them ran into the library and tore through the flimsy barrier back into the darkness beyond, Elrond making the jump with Elwyyda still clutched against him. Haldir followed him handily despite his ankle, but Gildor fell as he tried to do likewise. Shudders from the corridor were now affecting the library as well, causing it lurch from side to side like a ship in a storm, but a second later Haldir's strong arm re-emerged from the portal and dragged him through. The room beyond was not as he remembered it, but was obviously suffering from whatever calamity was happening all around them. Mirrors fell from the walls to shatter in splinters all over the floor. A heavy red mist began swirling about their feet and quickly began to rise, filling the room. The library they had just left was engulfed by strange blue flames; Gildor saw the lovely book with the painting of the two trees curl up and turn brown as fire consumed it.
"Gildor! Stop daydreaming!" Elrond's words pulled him from his reverie and he felt a sting across his face as his lord struck him, hard. "You have to concentrate or you'll die! You cannot stay here." Elrond looked at the three of them, and his expression was grave. "This body is dying, and will take any souls with it who remain inside at the point of death. I will hold off the inevitable as long as I can, but you MUST get out. Concentrate on my room in Lorien, picture it clearly in your minds and see yourselves waking up."
Gildor tried to do as he was told, but the raging inferno of the library was spreading to mirror after mirror; he saw beautiful gardens, sun drenched seascapes and throngs of laughing, happy elves in a ballroom, all consumed by the spreading fire that leapt easily from one mirror to the next. Then Haldir disappeared, winking out of the flickering light of the room in a flash of silver. Elwyyda followed, although less easily, her form growing dim several times just to solidify again, but finally she too faded away. "Now you, Gildor," Elrond urged him, his face pale and beaded with sweat. "I cannot hold much longer--you must go!"
Gildor tried to comply, but the noise, sound, and icy flames that spread cold instead of life-giving heat, were an impossible distraction. Every time he envisioned Elrond's room, another crash nearby jolted him back. Sweet Elbereth, he thought in desperation, what if I cannot do this? Then Haldir was beside him again and he looked furious.
"CONCENTRATE! Gildor--do you hear me?" Haldir grabbed him by the upper arms and shook him violently. "See only me; hear only me! Forget everything else and see us together in Elrond's room--do it now!" Gildor's vision was filled with the sight of his lover's face descending on his, and the feel of Haldir's lips pressed against his own. Suddenly, he could not hear the cacophony anymore, could not see the flames or feel their cold. As always when he kissed Haldir, the world fell away and he was surrounded, submerged, and enthralled by the warmth and beauty of the elf in his arms. The next instant everything changed.
Gildor opened his eyes to a scene that almost looked surreal after the inferno he had just left. The windows were open in Elrond's rooms in the royal palace, and a light breeze blew over the bed where he and Haldir lay next to his lord and the High King. Elwydda was nearby, unsteady on her feet and clutching at the back of a chair for support. Her eyes looked huge in her little face, and she was as pale as a ghost. Gildor wanted to comfort her, but the next second he realised that Haldir was still lying motionless by his side, as were the other two.
"Haldir!," Gildor shook the limp figure, but nothing happened. His lover was barely breathing, and his skin felt clammy to the touch. "Haldir?" Those beautiful features were as pale as a marble statue's, and an icy fear clutched at Gildor as seconds past yet nothing happened. "Haldir," Gildor begged, his voice breaking as tears began spilling down his cheeks, "oh, gods, Haldir, please wake up!" Gildor cradled his lover to him, horror filling him more profoundly than he had ever felt it. No! Haldir HAD to make it back, he had to! After everything they had been through, to lose him now would be worse than death. To go back to that horrible, lonely existence he had lived for so many years, without even the comfort of knowing that he could occasionally see the object of his love, would be torture beyond anything death could devise. They had so much life ahead of them; he had always thought there was so much time . . .
"Haldir . . . please," Gildor whimpered, his heart feeling as if it had stopped in his chest, his breathing painful. "I swear to you, just wake up and I WILL make you happy. Oh gods, Haldir, you can have anything you want . . . " If his lover died to save him, it would be an act in vain, for Haldir had become so much a part of him that Gildor truly doubted he could live any longer without him. He would follow him to Mandos soon enough, for grief itself would kill him as surely as any orcish blade.
Then the long lashes below him fluttered and the beautiful blue eyes opened. Gildor regarded his lover in shock, the relief that washed through him so profound that he could not speak. Haldir regarded him blankly. "What . . ." He managed nothing further, for Gildor was kissing him passionately, pressing him down against the soft mattress as if he would never let him up.
"You're back! You came back to me!" Gildor clutched him fiercely, only releasing him when Haldir began making slight choking noises.
"Where . . . what about the others?" Haldir gasped out, his hand falling on Elrond's still form. Gildor realised that Lord Elrond was not moving, and saw that his face was as bleached of colour as Haldir's had been until a moment before. A slight pulse still beat in his neck, but otherwise there was no sign of life.
"Gildor, what is wrong? Why doesn't he awake? We are all here."
Gildor shook his head; again, he had no answers. Then a second miracle occurred, and the chest under Haldir's hand began to rise and fall. A second later Lord Elrond's eyes fluttered open and he looked about, first at Elwydda, to whom he gave an encouraging smile, then at Haldir and finally at Gildor. Haldir did not seem to notice anything amiss, but then, he did not know Elrond very well. Gildor, however, spotted it at once. He was not shocked, for his nervous system seemed to have shut down in self-defense, and he was therefore able to contemplate the change with some equanimity. His lord had always been famed for his beautiful dark grey eyes--indeed, whole poems had been written about their beauty alone, and how they complemented his dusky grace. But, although the elf on the bed looked like Elrond in all other particulars, Gildor noticed immediately that this elves' eyes were a clear, rich blue.
* * *
TBC