Title: Wild Justice 33/?
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.
* * *
Elrohir knocked his head against the side of the cave wall, relishing the brief burst of pain that drove the images from his mind, at least momentarily. For someone who always made elaborate plans and thought things out ahead of time, he was being remarkably lackadaisical, some saner part of his mind informed him. Instead of devising a complex scheme to liberate Oropher, he was having difficulty just keeping his stumbling feet going in the direction Amras had said would lead to him. He hadn't encountered any more orcs, which was fortunate as he was no longer bothering to conceal himself. It seemed too trivial to worry about when the dreams were assaulting him so mercilessly.
Each step he took seemed to bring another wave of past thoughts, sights, sounds and emotions flooding over him. The tunnel down which he was traveling seemed to be composed not of stone, but of scene after scene from some other time, all as clear as if they were happening in the present. He dared not look too long at any one, in case the dreams enfold him and he forget entirely where he was, but it was a great temptation. To his left, a glittering parade wound its way up a steep hill towards a shimmering jewel of a city gleaming bright under a summer sun. To his right, a battlefield was strewn with hundreds of bodies, looking as if a great cataclysm had taken place, yet in the foreground of the scene he and Glorfindel were embracing, obviously wildly happy. Elrohir kept his eyes ahead, but it did no good; the dreams were clever, it seemed, and as he rounded a corner, one leapt out at him, drawing him in despite his attempts to fight it off.
**The scene was a military camp, that much was obvious. Elvish tents littered a grassy plain that looked rather torn up. Several large bonfires burned along the horizon, and somehow Elrohir knew they were consuming corpses from the day's battle. He shuddered and turned away from the sight, searching his mind to determine which war this was and how many elves had died in it. Then the tent flap in front of him was thrown back and Glorfindel looked out.
"Is that for me?"
Elrohir was confused until he noticed the bottle in his hand, around which someone had wrapped a lopsided bow made out of what looked to be part of a torn banner. "Er, yes. That is, I thought . . . a celebration?"
He felt strangely shy, looking into the large blue eyes of his companion, which were gazing at him searchingly. "The day went well, but we'll have another fight on our hands tomorrow."
Elrohir had no idea if this was a refusal or not, so he stood there, feeling a bit foolish and wondering why he didn't just walk away. There were others who would like to spend the evening with him--he remembered now that he had barely managed to tear himself away from a boisterous victory party going on in his own tent. It had been started by several of his elves who had dropped by to present him with the sword of the orc commander he had slain. They had lingered, euphoric after their total victory, and soon their friends came looking for them. Then others heard the sounds of laughter and merriment and hurried over with bottles in their hands. Elrohir had quickly tired of being asked to recount over and over the story of his duel with the orc captain, and gave up all hopes of getting any sleep. He waited until the crowd was so large that it was unlikely they would notice the absence of one elf, even the tent's owner, then he slipped out, fashioning his own make-shift present on the way. Which it now seemed might not be needed.
"I . . . well, I should be going. I just wanted to drop this off and, er, congratulate you. You fought well, Glorfindel." Elrohir turned away, not relishing the thought of returning to his crowded, noisy tent, when a hand was placed on his arm. Turning back, he saw Glorfindel biting his lip and regarding him out of uncertain eyes.
"You can stay if you like. After all, it doesn't really mean anything, does it?"
At Elrohir's startled expression, Glorfindel actually blushed and looked even more flustered. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean that the way it sounded."
Elrohir wondered what else, exactly, he could have meant, but he followed him into the large tent that Glorfindel's status as family leader afforded him. It was almost as luxuriously furnished as his own, if more plainly. Yet Elrohir liked the subtle blues, greys and dark golds, and the overall understated elegance of the decor; it wasn't his style, but it suited Glorfindel, allowing his blond beauty to be the focus of attention. Of course, he would have been so for Elrohir anyway, who admired him as he moved gracefully about, pouring the wine and assembling a quick meal of fruit, cheese and bread. The latter was a bit stale, but Elrohir didn't mind. Food was not his interest.
Glorfindel sat, a little awkwardly, on the camp chair opposite him, leaning elbows on the small table like an elfling ignoring his elder's lectures on proper posture. His blond hair fell about his face and his huge eyes were black in the dim light from the overhanging lantern. He looked terribly young and unsure of himself, and suddenly Elrohir wished he was back in his own tent. He had not intended for this to turn into a serious discussion, but had just wanted a . . . well, a celebration. They had survived the day, after all, and looked likely to survive the war. True, there would be more fighting on the morrow, and probably for another week or more after that, but today's battle had decided things. The rest was merely a mopping up operation, which should go well if they kept their heads. Wasn't that worth celebrating?
Yet Glorfindel seemed strangely somber, and Elrohir wondered why. Of course, he had slain a large number of orcs that day, possibly, Elrohir realised, for the first time. If he had never killed before it would explain his somewhat despondent expression, so out of place in a camp where everyone else was making merry. Elrohir wanted to say something to lighten the mood, but had trouble finding the right words. "It, er, it is more difficult, the first time."
"Really?" Glorfindel looked interested, so Elrohir struggled to continue, wanting to bring him out of his melancholy. He thought about his own first kills, but could not remember spending any time mourning the orcs in question or being distressed over their deaths. Of course, in his case, it had been somewhat more personal. A small party of the creatures had seen an elf traveling alone and thought he would make good prey; they had soon found out their mistake, and Elrohir had kept both his gold and his head. He could remember feeling pride that he had been able to apply his father's lessons so well in actual experience, and relief that no other travelers would be molested, at least not by that particular party. But no, he could not recall even a moment of sadness. "The pain will pass, in time," he said, trying to offer what comfort he could.
"It was not particularly painful," Glorfindel commented thoughtfully. "Actually, I quite enjoyed it. Didn't you?"
Elrohir drank some wine and wondered what to say to that. All right, yes, he supposed that there was a certain rush that came with combat, although he did not know if it was exactly enjoyable. Still, perhaps Glorfindel was referring to his relief that he had led his elves so well. For an untried commander, he had evidenced skill, grace under pressure and overall showed great promise. "I . . . don't think enjoy is quite the word I would use. I suppose it was . . . satisfying."
Elrohir wondered at the rather confused glance Glorfindel gave him then, and at the sudden clasping of his companion's hands on the table, tightly enough to leach the colour from his knuckles. "You . . . found it satisfying," he repeated, as if he did not know quite what to make of that statement.
"Of course. It is always rewarding to feel that a difficult task has been finished satisfactorily."
Glorfindel looked at him with something like dismay coming into his beautiful eyes. "D-difficult? Finished?" He stood so abruptly that he overturned his chair and did not even appear to have noticed. "I see."
Elrohir sighed to himself and put down his glass. He had obviously said something to distress his young companion, but he could not imagine what it could have been. But then, giving comfort had never been his strong suit. He rose and came up behind Glorfindel, wondering if he should put his arms about him or make some other gesture, but he hesitated; so far, his attempts to cheer up the handsome elf had apparently had the opposite effect. "You seem upset, lirimaer. Did I say something wrong?"
"Oh no. You said exactly what I expected." Glorfindel would not turn to face him, but Elrohir now knew that something was seriously wrong. His companion's voice shook almost as if . . . but no. Why would he be that upset? They had won, hadn't they?
"It is natural to be a little . . . emotional . . . after your first time, but that will pass." Elrohir gave into temptation and pulled the slightly heaving body back against him, wrapping his arms securely about Glorfindel's waist. "I won't lie to you. It will never become entirely easy, but the distress you are feeling will grow less, I promise." Elrohir felt slightly ashamed of himself; here he was, supposed to be concentrating on helping his young lover through a difficult emotional experience, and all he could think about was how good, how warm, how perfect he felt in his arms. "You should feel proud of yourself," he whispered into Glorfindel's ear, thinking that some praise might be helpful. "I've told everyone I met about your skill."
Glorfindel spun around abruptly, his red-rimmed eyes suddenly flashing fire. "You did WHAT?" Elrohir stepped back slightly, wondering if his lover was feeling all right. Why would he object to having his skill in battle praised to other warriors? "You told them about me? Who, who did you tell?"
"Why, many people. And those I didn't see personally have surely heard by now. There was a large party in my tent when I left, and when I tired of talking about myself, I entertained them with stories of your prowess. They were quite impressed."
"I don't believe this." Glorfindel looked at him with an expression that managed to mingle fury with deep hurt. Elrohir glanced down at his wine glass; had he perhaps had too much? None of this was making any sense. "I knew you didn't care about me," Glorfindel raged, "That I was just a brief fling and that you would move on almost at once. I knew why you came here tonight, before you even said a word, and I would have been gracious about it, too, I had already decided. But this! You have ruined my reputation with your tasteless boasts, and that I cannot forgive." He began looking about for something, tossing pillows and clothing every which way, while Elrohir's brain spun.
What, exactly, had they been talking about? Surely, Glorfindel couldn't think . . . "Lirimaer, I . . . "
"Don't you EVER call me that again!," Glorfindel snarled, then gave a cry of triumph. A second later Elrohir found himself pinned against the tent pole, a gleaming sword pointed at his breast. "I challenge you," Glorfindel informed him, his eyes snapping fire. "Get your sword or I will lend you one of mine, but I will be satisfied tonight!"
Elrohir couldn't help himself. He knew it was not only in extremely poor taste, but also very stupid, to grin widely with a sword point a few inches from his heart, but his facial muscles simply would not obey his brain's hysterical commands to stay still. "All you had to do was ask nicely," he purred, wondering a bit at his own audacity, before knocking the sword from Glorfindel's hand and letting his momentum carry the both of them to the soft rug that covered the ground.
"Get off me! Let me go! You are nothing but a barbarous, horrible . . . "
Elrohir cut off the diatribe by simply covering Glorfindel's mouth with his own. He knew he needed to explain, to clear up the absurd misunderstanding, but a tide of sensation was carrying him away. The elf under him squirmed and fought, but Elrohir mastered him easily. Letting his tongue slide around one shapely ear, he murmured seductively, "I thought you wanted satisfaction. That would be easier to insure if you cooperated."
Glorfindel was panting fiercely, but was obviously still boiling angry. "You . . . you would dare to take me unwilling?"
"No. I won't have to." Elrohir was slightly shocked by his comment; he had never dared to speak to Glorfindel in such a way before, had not even contemplated doing so. But he could not deny that the challenge of making the enraged Elda beneath him give in to his passions was very tempting. "You want me," he murmured, slowly removing his knife from his belt. Well, why not? He'd fantasised before about cutting his lover out of his clothes, and yet had never been in a position to actually do it. The robes Glorfindel were wearing on this occasion were nothing special, and Elrohir would gladly buy him a thousand more to compensate. "You DO want me," he repeated, sliding the razor sharp blade up the side seam of Glorfindel's tunic. "Why not admit it?"
Glorfindel regarded him through slightly hazy eyes, but his breath was coming fast and he was quite flushed for someone who felt no passion. Of course, Elrohir thought as he stripped away the tunic fabric and began on the shirt below, that blush could also be caused by anger. He'd have to find out.
His job was soon done and all Glorfindel's golden skin lay bared to his sight. He ran an appreciative hand over its warm, silken texture, loving how his companion's eyes followed his every move, the way he arched up to meet the hand that glided slowly down his chest, and how his desperate arousal rose to meet him. "No," Glorfindel moaned, as if denying his body's betrayal.
"No?" Elrohir suddenly stopped his exploration, and sat back on his heels. He was still fully dressed, and technically there was nothing stopping him from simply getting up and walking away. Nothing, that is, except a complete lack of will power where Glorfindel was concerned. Still, he would go no further until he had his lover's explicit permission. He wasn't going to have him coming back the next day and trying to say he forced him. "Well," he commented, rising suddenly to his feet, "I suppose I'll just have to be going then." He repressed a grin about the fact that it was Glorfindel himself who had taught him this particular ploy, so long ago it now seemed.
"Going?" Glorfindel looked almost horrified at the thought. "Going?," he repeated, as Elrohir searched about for his cape. Where had he tossed the thing?
Elrohir shrugged, "You said no. That ends it, I'm afraid. Which is too bad, as I was looking forward to providing that satisfaction you seemed so concerned about." He located his cape at last and draped it about his shoulders. "I suppose I will have to return to that boring party, and regale them with some more of your battlefield exploits. Pity."
He had only taken a couple of steps when Glorfindel's voice called him back. "Battlefield? You were talking about . . . my combat skills?"
"Of course, what else?" Elrohir kept his expression neutral, although it was extremely difficult. "And remember what I told you, don't let your first kills upset you. Many elves have problems with guilt after their first time in battle, but keep in mind that we did not start this war, and are only defending ourselves and our people." He regarded Glorfindel for a moment longer, trying and failing to wrench his eyes away from that long body and unconsciously seductive pose. "Let me know if you need anything, Glorfindel. We are friends, after all, aren't we?"
Glorfindel looked at him from out of eyes that were suddenly suffused with happiness. "Friends," he confirmed. Then he rose in a lithe motion that made Elrohir's mouth suddenly go dry. "And for tonight, maybe lovers as well?"**
Elrohir came back to himself with a feeling of serious disorientation. The darkness of the mines was nothing like the warm glow of Glorfindel's tent, and the chill dampness bore little resemblance to the warm summer's night he remembered. No, he corrected himself, not remembered. He could not remember something that had never happened. He looked fearfully about the dark corridor, but the colourful images had dissipated, at least for the moment. He breathed a sigh of relief, then hurried on his way. He had no idea how much longer he would be lucid, and needed every minute if he was to rescue the king before another illusion took him over. He did not even want to think about what would happen if something like that occurred in a moment of crisis, such as a battle. Would his enemies run him through while he was dreaming?
A small voice of reason piped up, insisting that he flee the mines as quickly as possible. Surely Glorfindel and Erestor could rescue the king? He had no doubts that they could, if they could find him. Unfortunately, he had no way to contact them and give the directions, and in order to reach the area where Amras had said Oropher was being held, they would have to fight their way through almost the entire mine. Whereas, when they did attack, it would provide a distraction Elrohir could use as cover to release the king. He was the only one in a position to do it, and he knew where his duty lay. He only hoped he remained rational enough to do it before the images completely consumed him.
* * *
Gil-galad looked up from his book in surprise, feeling an alien presence nearby. Where was Elrond? There was no one in the study except for him, as his lover was presumably still asleep. After centuries of learning the hard way about the problems that could arise when two beings shared a body, Gil-galad was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible while Elrond adjusted to their new situation. He could, of course, see through Elrond's eyes if he chose, but that might constitute an invasion of privacy and he shied away from even the thought. Elrond had saved him; he owed him more consideration than that.
Still, the presence was there, and as it drew closer, he realised with some surprise that he did not need Elrond's eyes after all. Whoever it was had decided to visit him as a mental presence rather than a physical one. He also received the impression that this soul was not a threat to either himself or his lover. He therefore sat quietly as the door slowly opened, but could not repress a blink of surprise when a familiar golden head cautiously peered around it. "Galadriel! What a wonderful surprise, my dear--do come in."
Gil-galad had not seen the beautiful elf since he had last been in Lindon, and normally would have been pleased to renew an old acquaintance. However, the alarm on her lovely face stopped him before he could go on. "My dear, what is it? Are you unwell?" He thought briefly of waking Elrond, in case the healer's arts might be needed, but she held up a hand to stop him.
"No, I am well. It is just the surprise . . . we all believed you to be dead."
"Even you?" Gil-galad led her to a chair and pressed a glass of wine into her hand. He would have thought with her skills that she might have glimpsed the truth, but judging by her expression, whatever she might have known or guessed had not prepared her for seeing him again. Galadriel took a sip from the glass, then looked at it with astonishment. Gil-galad laughed, "If you relate to the world only through the mind, why not imagine the best?"
Galadriel glanced about, apparently noticing her surroundings for the first time. "This is Lindon," she said in wonder.
"My old study, yes. Elrond and I prefer to exist in Lindon whenever we can. I do not believe either of us ever truly left, not in our hearts, in any case."
Galadriel nodded and sipped her wine silently, making no effort at further conversation. Gil-galad had never been troubled by lulls in discussions, but preferred for people to take their time and speak whenever they were ready. He amused himself by creating a small flock of butterflies outside his window, which swirled and danced in pretty patterns on the morning breeze. It was so liberating to be free of Sauron's ceaseless taunts and his own physical illness that every experience was a joy. He was happy to simply sit quietly, the blessed absence of pain in itself a form of great pleasure, and wait for Galadriel to speak. He had a fairly good idea why she had come anyway. He had known Gildor would talk to someone, since there was no real way for the child to contact him on his own without alerting Elrond, and Galadriel was an obvious choice.
"You . . . are happy here, living like this?" Galadriel finally broke her silence, and watched him carefully as she finished her wine.
"I am happy living," he responded placidly. "It has been a very long time since I did anything other than merely exist."
"But . . . " Galadriel seemed lost for words, and clasped her hands tightly in her lap after setting her glass on a small table. "I don't mean to sound presumptuous, my lord, but is this . . . life . . . of yours really that much different from the one you have been experiencing all these years?"
Gil-galad regarded her thoughtfully, wondering how to explain and also why she of all people would need such a clarification. Galadriel was more familiar with the abilities of the mind than any other elf he knew; it seemed strange to him that she could not see the obvious in his case. "I find it difficult to know how to describe what these last centuries were like. Here you are, a mental projection only, yet you feel the breeze from the window, you smell the flowers, you taste the wine . . . and yet it is not life?"
"But these things are not real . . . "
"Some philosophers say the same about the physical world, that it is all merely an illusion to deceive our minds, or a projection of universal realities we cannot hope to truly understand while in bodily form. I am no philosopher myself, but I have learned a few things through the years. The soul experiences life through the body, but can exist without it. I have accumulated enough knowledge to allow my soul to create virtually any scene I desire for its inhabitation; in addition, I experience all that Elrond does, see as he sees when I wish to do so, and feel what he feels. Yet I can be separate from him, too, as you see. What is restricted about this life?"
"But . . . what about meeting other people, and having your own experiences instead of merely living through another? Is that not important as well? Living in a perpetual dream world cannot . . . "
"I meet everyone Elrond does, Galadriel, yet you do not accuse him of having a restricted life. And I am not dreaming." He gestured about. "You see this study and pronounce it unreal, but it is simply the surroundings my soul chooses to occupy. You select your own surroundings, too, and tailor them to your needs, as you did in Lorien. Does it really matter if hands build a structure or if the mind creates it? Freed from my wrecked body, my soul can now remember all that it was, and look forward to what it can be. I perceive no limitations."
Galadriel just looked at him for a long moment, her expression blank. When she spoke, it was slowly and carefully, and she watched every nuance of his expression. "No one knows that you live still, except for myself and Gildor. What do you think the attitude of most elves will be to the news that you survived the war, were brought back to Lorien where your body died, and now live as a part of Elrond?"
"First my dear, you must understand that I am not a part of Elrond nor he of me. We share a body, true, but our souls and minds are as distinct as ever they were. Or do you think Sauron was a part of me all those years? I can assure you, that was never the case. As far as the elves reacting to my admittedly odd story, that will never be an issue unless they are informed of it."
Galadriel looked shocked. Gil-galad almost smiled to see it, for he remembered her as virtually immune to such common emotions. He had always liked both her and Celeborn, but secretly thought they should let go of some of their dignity and enjoy themselves more. He had never been able to see them having, say, a pillow fight or skinny-dipping as he and Elrond were known to do when they could get away with it. Dignity, he had always believed, was best served if it was not too much dwelt upon.
"You mean not to tell them, then?" A worried furrow appeared on Galadriel's pretty forehead, and she twisted her diaphanous scarf in her lap.
"Elrond and I have yet to discuss it, but I believe that is the idea we favour."
"But . . . but do they not deserve to know that their king has returned?"
"Deserve?" Gil-galad mused over that for a few minutes, trying to think of a way to say what he must without insulting the lovely creature opposite him. He did not want to create a sense of guilt in her, or to add to the heavy burden of cares he already saw reflected in her eyes. Oh Galadriel, he thought sadly, I would gladly give you some of the joy I feel if it were possible, for you look as though it has been years since you knew any peace. All he could do, however, was to explain his point of view as kindly as circumstances allowed.
"Galadriel . . . the elves reordered themselves after my disappearance. You and Celeborn govern here in Lorien, Elrond in Imladris and Thranduil in Greenwood. My years leading our people are done; I am not needed now." He shook his head at her mutinous look, and smiled. "You can argue with me all you like, but you know it is true. I feel that I have done as much for our people as I can, although, if my council is needed in future, you will certainly be able to avail yourself of it. But as far as the comment that I owe my people anything else--no, I don't believe I do. And I am tired, my dear, so very tired. The struggle with Sauron took all the strength I had. I wish now only to be with Elrond, and to help him overcome the guilt he has lived with for so many years. He has suffered more than you know, more, I almost think, than I did, for at least I never blamed myself for what occurred. My duty is to him now."
"But if you departed for Mandos, your spirit would be reborn and someday, you could be with him again."
"I am already with him," Gil-galad explained patiently, "why would I wish for us to be separated for thousands of more years? Especially when he needs me now?"
Galadriel sighed, and began to appear frustrated. "You have no body. You are only a spirit and . . . "
"Which is what we all will be in time." Gil-galad took her hand and held it gently, trying to find the words to make her understand. "The fate of all the elves is to fade to spirits alone before Arda passes away. I always believed, as we are taught to do, that such is almost a curse, and like most I was greatly distressed to think of leaving the material world behind. I have come to view things differently because of my experiences, for I discovered that I remain the same, however my soul manifests itself. I am still who I always was, just housed differently, so to speak. Someday, Elrond and I will leave this body, too, but our spirits will always be intertwined. Until then, I am content to dwell with him however I may. Do you understand?"
Galadriel looked at him searchingly once again, her eyes wet as she struggled with his explanation. He knew she could not fully comprehend what he was trying to tell her, but hoped that she would trust him enough to accede to his request nonetheless. "I was once sworn to your side," she finally said, "I cannot oppose your wishes. But I also cannot speak for Gildor, and I am not certain what he will do. I will try to explain to him that you are . . . content . . . as things stand, but I do not know whether he will accept it."
"That would be most kind of you." The king rose courteously as she stood, and was preparing to bid her goodbye when she suddenly spoke again.
"If you really wish things to remain unknown, there may be a way to avoid difficult questions, and to put Gildor's fears to rest at the same time."
"I would be greatly interested in hearing such a solution," he commented, and was pleased when a smile lit up her face.
"I am in Imladris now--Gildor sent a messenger bird to me with his request--but I will return to Lorien soon. Try to stay out of sight until I can see you in person."
* * *
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.
* * *
Elrohir knocked his head against the side of the cave wall, relishing the brief burst of pain that drove the images from his mind, at least momentarily. For someone who always made elaborate plans and thought things out ahead of time, he was being remarkably lackadaisical, some saner part of his mind informed him. Instead of devising a complex scheme to liberate Oropher, he was having difficulty just keeping his stumbling feet going in the direction Amras had said would lead to him. He hadn't encountered any more orcs, which was fortunate as he was no longer bothering to conceal himself. It seemed too trivial to worry about when the dreams were assaulting him so mercilessly.
Each step he took seemed to bring another wave of past thoughts, sights, sounds and emotions flooding over him. The tunnel down which he was traveling seemed to be composed not of stone, but of scene after scene from some other time, all as clear as if they were happening in the present. He dared not look too long at any one, in case the dreams enfold him and he forget entirely where he was, but it was a great temptation. To his left, a glittering parade wound its way up a steep hill towards a shimmering jewel of a city gleaming bright under a summer sun. To his right, a battlefield was strewn with hundreds of bodies, looking as if a great cataclysm had taken place, yet in the foreground of the scene he and Glorfindel were embracing, obviously wildly happy. Elrohir kept his eyes ahead, but it did no good; the dreams were clever, it seemed, and as he rounded a corner, one leapt out at him, drawing him in despite his attempts to fight it off.
**The scene was a military camp, that much was obvious. Elvish tents littered a grassy plain that looked rather torn up. Several large bonfires burned along the horizon, and somehow Elrohir knew they were consuming corpses from the day's battle. He shuddered and turned away from the sight, searching his mind to determine which war this was and how many elves had died in it. Then the tent flap in front of him was thrown back and Glorfindel looked out.
"Is that for me?"
Elrohir was confused until he noticed the bottle in his hand, around which someone had wrapped a lopsided bow made out of what looked to be part of a torn banner. "Er, yes. That is, I thought . . . a celebration?"
He felt strangely shy, looking into the large blue eyes of his companion, which were gazing at him searchingly. "The day went well, but we'll have another fight on our hands tomorrow."
Elrohir had no idea if this was a refusal or not, so he stood there, feeling a bit foolish and wondering why he didn't just walk away. There were others who would like to spend the evening with him--he remembered now that he had barely managed to tear himself away from a boisterous victory party going on in his own tent. It had been started by several of his elves who had dropped by to present him with the sword of the orc commander he had slain. They had lingered, euphoric after their total victory, and soon their friends came looking for them. Then others heard the sounds of laughter and merriment and hurried over with bottles in their hands. Elrohir had quickly tired of being asked to recount over and over the story of his duel with the orc captain, and gave up all hopes of getting any sleep. He waited until the crowd was so large that it was unlikely they would notice the absence of one elf, even the tent's owner, then he slipped out, fashioning his own make-shift present on the way. Which it now seemed might not be needed.
"I . . . well, I should be going. I just wanted to drop this off and, er, congratulate you. You fought well, Glorfindel." Elrohir turned away, not relishing the thought of returning to his crowded, noisy tent, when a hand was placed on his arm. Turning back, he saw Glorfindel biting his lip and regarding him out of uncertain eyes.
"You can stay if you like. After all, it doesn't really mean anything, does it?"
At Elrohir's startled expression, Glorfindel actually blushed and looked even more flustered. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean that the way it sounded."
Elrohir wondered what else, exactly, he could have meant, but he followed him into the large tent that Glorfindel's status as family leader afforded him. It was almost as luxuriously furnished as his own, if more plainly. Yet Elrohir liked the subtle blues, greys and dark golds, and the overall understated elegance of the decor; it wasn't his style, but it suited Glorfindel, allowing his blond beauty to be the focus of attention. Of course, he would have been so for Elrohir anyway, who admired him as he moved gracefully about, pouring the wine and assembling a quick meal of fruit, cheese and bread. The latter was a bit stale, but Elrohir didn't mind. Food was not his interest.
Glorfindel sat, a little awkwardly, on the camp chair opposite him, leaning elbows on the small table like an elfling ignoring his elder's lectures on proper posture. His blond hair fell about his face and his huge eyes were black in the dim light from the overhanging lantern. He looked terribly young and unsure of himself, and suddenly Elrohir wished he was back in his own tent. He had not intended for this to turn into a serious discussion, but had just wanted a . . . well, a celebration. They had survived the day, after all, and looked likely to survive the war. True, there would be more fighting on the morrow, and probably for another week or more after that, but today's battle had decided things. The rest was merely a mopping up operation, which should go well if they kept their heads. Wasn't that worth celebrating?
Yet Glorfindel seemed strangely somber, and Elrohir wondered why. Of course, he had slain a large number of orcs that day, possibly, Elrohir realised, for the first time. If he had never killed before it would explain his somewhat despondent expression, so out of place in a camp where everyone else was making merry. Elrohir wanted to say something to lighten the mood, but had trouble finding the right words. "It, er, it is more difficult, the first time."
"Really?" Glorfindel looked interested, so Elrohir struggled to continue, wanting to bring him out of his melancholy. He thought about his own first kills, but could not remember spending any time mourning the orcs in question or being distressed over their deaths. Of course, in his case, it had been somewhat more personal. A small party of the creatures had seen an elf traveling alone and thought he would make good prey; they had soon found out their mistake, and Elrohir had kept both his gold and his head. He could remember feeling pride that he had been able to apply his father's lessons so well in actual experience, and relief that no other travelers would be molested, at least not by that particular party. But no, he could not recall even a moment of sadness. "The pain will pass, in time," he said, trying to offer what comfort he could.
"It was not particularly painful," Glorfindel commented thoughtfully. "Actually, I quite enjoyed it. Didn't you?"
Elrohir drank some wine and wondered what to say to that. All right, yes, he supposed that there was a certain rush that came with combat, although he did not know if it was exactly enjoyable. Still, perhaps Glorfindel was referring to his relief that he had led his elves so well. For an untried commander, he had evidenced skill, grace under pressure and overall showed great promise. "I . . . don't think enjoy is quite the word I would use. I suppose it was . . . satisfying."
Elrohir wondered at the rather confused glance Glorfindel gave him then, and at the sudden clasping of his companion's hands on the table, tightly enough to leach the colour from his knuckles. "You . . . found it satisfying," he repeated, as if he did not know quite what to make of that statement.
"Of course. It is always rewarding to feel that a difficult task has been finished satisfactorily."
Glorfindel looked at him with something like dismay coming into his beautiful eyes. "D-difficult? Finished?" He stood so abruptly that he overturned his chair and did not even appear to have noticed. "I see."
Elrohir sighed to himself and put down his glass. He had obviously said something to distress his young companion, but he could not imagine what it could have been. But then, giving comfort had never been his strong suit. He rose and came up behind Glorfindel, wondering if he should put his arms about him or make some other gesture, but he hesitated; so far, his attempts to cheer up the handsome elf had apparently had the opposite effect. "You seem upset, lirimaer. Did I say something wrong?"
"Oh no. You said exactly what I expected." Glorfindel would not turn to face him, but Elrohir now knew that something was seriously wrong. His companion's voice shook almost as if . . . but no. Why would he be that upset? They had won, hadn't they?
"It is natural to be a little . . . emotional . . . after your first time, but that will pass." Elrohir gave into temptation and pulled the slightly heaving body back against him, wrapping his arms securely about Glorfindel's waist. "I won't lie to you. It will never become entirely easy, but the distress you are feeling will grow less, I promise." Elrohir felt slightly ashamed of himself; here he was, supposed to be concentrating on helping his young lover through a difficult emotional experience, and all he could think about was how good, how warm, how perfect he felt in his arms. "You should feel proud of yourself," he whispered into Glorfindel's ear, thinking that some praise might be helpful. "I've told everyone I met about your skill."
Glorfindel spun around abruptly, his red-rimmed eyes suddenly flashing fire. "You did WHAT?" Elrohir stepped back slightly, wondering if his lover was feeling all right. Why would he object to having his skill in battle praised to other warriors? "You told them about me? Who, who did you tell?"
"Why, many people. And those I didn't see personally have surely heard by now. There was a large party in my tent when I left, and when I tired of talking about myself, I entertained them with stories of your prowess. They were quite impressed."
"I don't believe this." Glorfindel looked at him with an expression that managed to mingle fury with deep hurt. Elrohir glanced down at his wine glass; had he perhaps had too much? None of this was making any sense. "I knew you didn't care about me," Glorfindel raged, "That I was just a brief fling and that you would move on almost at once. I knew why you came here tonight, before you even said a word, and I would have been gracious about it, too, I had already decided. But this! You have ruined my reputation with your tasteless boasts, and that I cannot forgive." He began looking about for something, tossing pillows and clothing every which way, while Elrohir's brain spun.
What, exactly, had they been talking about? Surely, Glorfindel couldn't think . . . "Lirimaer, I . . . "
"Don't you EVER call me that again!," Glorfindel snarled, then gave a cry of triumph. A second later Elrohir found himself pinned against the tent pole, a gleaming sword pointed at his breast. "I challenge you," Glorfindel informed him, his eyes snapping fire. "Get your sword or I will lend you one of mine, but I will be satisfied tonight!"
Elrohir couldn't help himself. He knew it was not only in extremely poor taste, but also very stupid, to grin widely with a sword point a few inches from his heart, but his facial muscles simply would not obey his brain's hysterical commands to stay still. "All you had to do was ask nicely," he purred, wondering a bit at his own audacity, before knocking the sword from Glorfindel's hand and letting his momentum carry the both of them to the soft rug that covered the ground.
"Get off me! Let me go! You are nothing but a barbarous, horrible . . . "
Elrohir cut off the diatribe by simply covering Glorfindel's mouth with his own. He knew he needed to explain, to clear up the absurd misunderstanding, but a tide of sensation was carrying him away. The elf under him squirmed and fought, but Elrohir mastered him easily. Letting his tongue slide around one shapely ear, he murmured seductively, "I thought you wanted satisfaction. That would be easier to insure if you cooperated."
Glorfindel was panting fiercely, but was obviously still boiling angry. "You . . . you would dare to take me unwilling?"
"No. I won't have to." Elrohir was slightly shocked by his comment; he had never dared to speak to Glorfindel in such a way before, had not even contemplated doing so. But he could not deny that the challenge of making the enraged Elda beneath him give in to his passions was very tempting. "You want me," he murmured, slowly removing his knife from his belt. Well, why not? He'd fantasised before about cutting his lover out of his clothes, and yet had never been in a position to actually do it. The robes Glorfindel were wearing on this occasion were nothing special, and Elrohir would gladly buy him a thousand more to compensate. "You DO want me," he repeated, sliding the razor sharp blade up the side seam of Glorfindel's tunic. "Why not admit it?"
Glorfindel regarded him through slightly hazy eyes, but his breath was coming fast and he was quite flushed for someone who felt no passion. Of course, Elrohir thought as he stripped away the tunic fabric and began on the shirt below, that blush could also be caused by anger. He'd have to find out.
His job was soon done and all Glorfindel's golden skin lay bared to his sight. He ran an appreciative hand over its warm, silken texture, loving how his companion's eyes followed his every move, the way he arched up to meet the hand that glided slowly down his chest, and how his desperate arousal rose to meet him. "No," Glorfindel moaned, as if denying his body's betrayal.
"No?" Elrohir suddenly stopped his exploration, and sat back on his heels. He was still fully dressed, and technically there was nothing stopping him from simply getting up and walking away. Nothing, that is, except a complete lack of will power where Glorfindel was concerned. Still, he would go no further until he had his lover's explicit permission. He wasn't going to have him coming back the next day and trying to say he forced him. "Well," he commented, rising suddenly to his feet, "I suppose I'll just have to be going then." He repressed a grin about the fact that it was Glorfindel himself who had taught him this particular ploy, so long ago it now seemed.
"Going?" Glorfindel looked almost horrified at the thought. "Going?," he repeated, as Elrohir searched about for his cape. Where had he tossed the thing?
Elrohir shrugged, "You said no. That ends it, I'm afraid. Which is too bad, as I was looking forward to providing that satisfaction you seemed so concerned about." He located his cape at last and draped it about his shoulders. "I suppose I will have to return to that boring party, and regale them with some more of your battlefield exploits. Pity."
He had only taken a couple of steps when Glorfindel's voice called him back. "Battlefield? You were talking about . . . my combat skills?"
"Of course, what else?" Elrohir kept his expression neutral, although it was extremely difficult. "And remember what I told you, don't let your first kills upset you. Many elves have problems with guilt after their first time in battle, but keep in mind that we did not start this war, and are only defending ourselves and our people." He regarded Glorfindel for a moment longer, trying and failing to wrench his eyes away from that long body and unconsciously seductive pose. "Let me know if you need anything, Glorfindel. We are friends, after all, aren't we?"
Glorfindel looked at him from out of eyes that were suddenly suffused with happiness. "Friends," he confirmed. Then he rose in a lithe motion that made Elrohir's mouth suddenly go dry. "And for tonight, maybe lovers as well?"**
Elrohir came back to himself with a feeling of serious disorientation. The darkness of the mines was nothing like the warm glow of Glorfindel's tent, and the chill dampness bore little resemblance to the warm summer's night he remembered. No, he corrected himself, not remembered. He could not remember something that had never happened. He looked fearfully about the dark corridor, but the colourful images had dissipated, at least for the moment. He breathed a sigh of relief, then hurried on his way. He had no idea how much longer he would be lucid, and needed every minute if he was to rescue the king before another illusion took him over. He did not even want to think about what would happen if something like that occurred in a moment of crisis, such as a battle. Would his enemies run him through while he was dreaming?
A small voice of reason piped up, insisting that he flee the mines as quickly as possible. Surely Glorfindel and Erestor could rescue the king? He had no doubts that they could, if they could find him. Unfortunately, he had no way to contact them and give the directions, and in order to reach the area where Amras had said Oropher was being held, they would have to fight their way through almost the entire mine. Whereas, when they did attack, it would provide a distraction Elrohir could use as cover to release the king. He was the only one in a position to do it, and he knew where his duty lay. He only hoped he remained rational enough to do it before the images completely consumed him.
* * *
Gil-galad looked up from his book in surprise, feeling an alien presence nearby. Where was Elrond? There was no one in the study except for him, as his lover was presumably still asleep. After centuries of learning the hard way about the problems that could arise when two beings shared a body, Gil-galad was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible while Elrond adjusted to their new situation. He could, of course, see through Elrond's eyes if he chose, but that might constitute an invasion of privacy and he shied away from even the thought. Elrond had saved him; he owed him more consideration than that.
Still, the presence was there, and as it drew closer, he realised with some surprise that he did not need Elrond's eyes after all. Whoever it was had decided to visit him as a mental presence rather than a physical one. He also received the impression that this soul was not a threat to either himself or his lover. He therefore sat quietly as the door slowly opened, but could not repress a blink of surprise when a familiar golden head cautiously peered around it. "Galadriel! What a wonderful surprise, my dear--do come in."
Gil-galad had not seen the beautiful elf since he had last been in Lindon, and normally would have been pleased to renew an old acquaintance. However, the alarm on her lovely face stopped him before he could go on. "My dear, what is it? Are you unwell?" He thought briefly of waking Elrond, in case the healer's arts might be needed, but she held up a hand to stop him.
"No, I am well. It is just the surprise . . . we all believed you to be dead."
"Even you?" Gil-galad led her to a chair and pressed a glass of wine into her hand. He would have thought with her skills that she might have glimpsed the truth, but judging by her expression, whatever she might have known or guessed had not prepared her for seeing him again. Galadriel took a sip from the glass, then looked at it with astonishment. Gil-galad laughed, "If you relate to the world only through the mind, why not imagine the best?"
Galadriel glanced about, apparently noticing her surroundings for the first time. "This is Lindon," she said in wonder.
"My old study, yes. Elrond and I prefer to exist in Lindon whenever we can. I do not believe either of us ever truly left, not in our hearts, in any case."
Galadriel nodded and sipped her wine silently, making no effort at further conversation. Gil-galad had never been troubled by lulls in discussions, but preferred for people to take their time and speak whenever they were ready. He amused himself by creating a small flock of butterflies outside his window, which swirled and danced in pretty patterns on the morning breeze. It was so liberating to be free of Sauron's ceaseless taunts and his own physical illness that every experience was a joy. He was happy to simply sit quietly, the blessed absence of pain in itself a form of great pleasure, and wait for Galadriel to speak. He had a fairly good idea why she had come anyway. He had known Gildor would talk to someone, since there was no real way for the child to contact him on his own without alerting Elrond, and Galadriel was an obvious choice.
"You . . . are happy here, living like this?" Galadriel finally broke her silence, and watched him carefully as she finished her wine.
"I am happy living," he responded placidly. "It has been a very long time since I did anything other than merely exist."
"But . . . " Galadriel seemed lost for words, and clasped her hands tightly in her lap after setting her glass on a small table. "I don't mean to sound presumptuous, my lord, but is this . . . life . . . of yours really that much different from the one you have been experiencing all these years?"
Gil-galad regarded her thoughtfully, wondering how to explain and also why she of all people would need such a clarification. Galadriel was more familiar with the abilities of the mind than any other elf he knew; it seemed strange to him that she could not see the obvious in his case. "I find it difficult to know how to describe what these last centuries were like. Here you are, a mental projection only, yet you feel the breeze from the window, you smell the flowers, you taste the wine . . . and yet it is not life?"
"But these things are not real . . . "
"Some philosophers say the same about the physical world, that it is all merely an illusion to deceive our minds, or a projection of universal realities we cannot hope to truly understand while in bodily form. I am no philosopher myself, but I have learned a few things through the years. The soul experiences life through the body, but can exist without it. I have accumulated enough knowledge to allow my soul to create virtually any scene I desire for its inhabitation; in addition, I experience all that Elrond does, see as he sees when I wish to do so, and feel what he feels. Yet I can be separate from him, too, as you see. What is restricted about this life?"
"But . . . what about meeting other people, and having your own experiences instead of merely living through another? Is that not important as well? Living in a perpetual dream world cannot . . . "
"I meet everyone Elrond does, Galadriel, yet you do not accuse him of having a restricted life. And I am not dreaming." He gestured about. "You see this study and pronounce it unreal, but it is simply the surroundings my soul chooses to occupy. You select your own surroundings, too, and tailor them to your needs, as you did in Lorien. Does it really matter if hands build a structure or if the mind creates it? Freed from my wrecked body, my soul can now remember all that it was, and look forward to what it can be. I perceive no limitations."
Galadriel just looked at him for a long moment, her expression blank. When she spoke, it was slowly and carefully, and she watched every nuance of his expression. "No one knows that you live still, except for myself and Gildor. What do you think the attitude of most elves will be to the news that you survived the war, were brought back to Lorien where your body died, and now live as a part of Elrond?"
"First my dear, you must understand that I am not a part of Elrond nor he of me. We share a body, true, but our souls and minds are as distinct as ever they were. Or do you think Sauron was a part of me all those years? I can assure you, that was never the case. As far as the elves reacting to my admittedly odd story, that will never be an issue unless they are informed of it."
Galadriel looked shocked. Gil-galad almost smiled to see it, for he remembered her as virtually immune to such common emotions. He had always liked both her and Celeborn, but secretly thought they should let go of some of their dignity and enjoy themselves more. He had never been able to see them having, say, a pillow fight or skinny-dipping as he and Elrond were known to do when they could get away with it. Dignity, he had always believed, was best served if it was not too much dwelt upon.
"You mean not to tell them, then?" A worried furrow appeared on Galadriel's pretty forehead, and she twisted her diaphanous scarf in her lap.
"Elrond and I have yet to discuss it, but I believe that is the idea we favour."
"But . . . but do they not deserve to know that their king has returned?"
"Deserve?" Gil-galad mused over that for a few minutes, trying to think of a way to say what he must without insulting the lovely creature opposite him. He did not want to create a sense of guilt in her, or to add to the heavy burden of cares he already saw reflected in her eyes. Oh Galadriel, he thought sadly, I would gladly give you some of the joy I feel if it were possible, for you look as though it has been years since you knew any peace. All he could do, however, was to explain his point of view as kindly as circumstances allowed.
"Galadriel . . . the elves reordered themselves after my disappearance. You and Celeborn govern here in Lorien, Elrond in Imladris and Thranduil in Greenwood. My years leading our people are done; I am not needed now." He shook his head at her mutinous look, and smiled. "You can argue with me all you like, but you know it is true. I feel that I have done as much for our people as I can, although, if my council is needed in future, you will certainly be able to avail yourself of it. But as far as the comment that I owe my people anything else--no, I don't believe I do. And I am tired, my dear, so very tired. The struggle with Sauron took all the strength I had. I wish now only to be with Elrond, and to help him overcome the guilt he has lived with for so many years. He has suffered more than you know, more, I almost think, than I did, for at least I never blamed myself for what occurred. My duty is to him now."
"But if you departed for Mandos, your spirit would be reborn and someday, you could be with him again."
"I am already with him," Gil-galad explained patiently, "why would I wish for us to be separated for thousands of more years? Especially when he needs me now?"
Galadriel sighed, and began to appear frustrated. "You have no body. You are only a spirit and . . . "
"Which is what we all will be in time." Gil-galad took her hand and held it gently, trying to find the words to make her understand. "The fate of all the elves is to fade to spirits alone before Arda passes away. I always believed, as we are taught to do, that such is almost a curse, and like most I was greatly distressed to think of leaving the material world behind. I have come to view things differently because of my experiences, for I discovered that I remain the same, however my soul manifests itself. I am still who I always was, just housed differently, so to speak. Someday, Elrond and I will leave this body, too, but our spirits will always be intertwined. Until then, I am content to dwell with him however I may. Do you understand?"
Galadriel looked at him searchingly once again, her eyes wet as she struggled with his explanation. He knew she could not fully comprehend what he was trying to tell her, but hoped that she would trust him enough to accede to his request nonetheless. "I was once sworn to your side," she finally said, "I cannot oppose your wishes. But I also cannot speak for Gildor, and I am not certain what he will do. I will try to explain to him that you are . . . content . . . as things stand, but I do not know whether he will accept it."
"That would be most kind of you." The king rose courteously as she stood, and was preparing to bid her goodbye when she suddenly spoke again.
"If you really wish things to remain unknown, there may be a way to avoid difficult questions, and to put Gildor's fears to rest at the same time."
"I would be greatly interested in hearing such a solution," he commented, and was pleased when a smile lit up her face.
"I am in Imladris now--Gildor sent a messenger bird to me with his request--but I will return to Lorien soon. Try to stay out of sight until I can see you in person."
* * *
TBC