Author's Note: I couldn't resist. I envisioned this happened, but it felt
so wrong to play with the LOTR universe like leggo blocks. Anyway, hope
this ending is okay. But watch out- if people like this then I have ideas
for an entire sequel to this fic!
Author's Note2: Set in Gondor, the day before Aragorn is crowned King.
-----------------------------------------
Aragorn knew that the party from Imladris had arrived. He had managed to meet the twins and Glorfindel before Faramir had snuck up behind him with that reproachfully discreet cough that made him ask his greetings be conveyed to the rest of the elvish congress.
So no, he had not seen the person he had wanted to meet the most. And what was more, Elrond seemed be deliberately avoiding him!
Legolas was even now refusing to listen to another word that Aragorn said on the subject. As he put it- "After everything you've told me of your feelings while we journeyed here, it will be a wonder if I can ever look Lord Elrond in the face again without blushing." So Aragorn had finally pitied his friend and stopped cornering him in private spots.
Which left him no one else to talk to about his cares. Gandalf knew already, that was true, but the last time Aragorn had tried to seek the wizard's advise, the discussion had ended with him undertaking another dangerous mission. The hobbits were no help at all; likely they would simply be scandalized and refuse to listen. Faramir... no, the man was run off his feet and grieving into the bargain.
"So be it," he sighed, staring out the window as one of his new advisors talked about the importance of proving Gondor's magnificence in the upcoming celebrations. So intent was he on his thoughts that he didn't pay any attention to the knock on his door. Or hear Verthor's abrupt silence, nor yet Faramir's quiet words of welcome. No, his eyes were caught by the sudden appearance of two well-known figures down in the courtyard. Elladan and Elrohir were not aware of his regard, too busy enchanting three young serving girls to look up to his window.
"Estel?"
That, Aragorn did hear. He spun, ashen and startled into betraying his surprise. What was Glorfindel doing... and that was where his brain stopped altogether. For the blond Vanya elf was only doing what he always did- stand at the right hand of his Lord.
"Aragorn, it is good to see you again in such auspicious times," Elrond said meekly, not quite looking the man in the eye.
Faramir looked from one to the other and realized he was intruding. "If you will excuse us," he murmured, grabbing Verthor by the arm and dragging him to the door. Verthor shut his mouth with a snap as Glorfindel stared coolly at him.
Elrond's grey eyes flicked to the retreating steward and he stopped him and handed over a small vial that he drew from his pocket. "Faramir, I meant to give this to you last evening. Take it before you take your night's repose and you will find proper rest. Without dreams, I believe."
Faramir thanked the Elf Lord and fled, leaving three alone in the room. Glorfindel melted into a corner and propped a shoulder against the wall, confident neither would notice him now. He did not want to interfere, but Elrond had insisted he attend.
"You will be King," Elrond began awkwardly.
Aragorn inclined his head in cold agreement, his blood running like fire in freezing veins. "Your duty is done," he said harshly, "I will be King of Gondor and my heritage is intact. Your brother's descendants rule once more. You have nothing more to care for here."
"It was not for duty and you know that!"
"Then what, my Lord? Dare I hope it was love?" the man scoffed openly, forgetting himself so far as to lose his tight control, the side of him no one else but Elrond ever saw. Even Arwen was never shown this youthfully passionate side of him.
Elrond would not say anything to do with that; he could not. Arwen was hiding in his room, intent on surprising Aragorn with her father's unexpectedly sudden acquisition to their match. His change of heart was not explained; Arwen had resigned herself to simply enjoying the gift given her. And so Elrond had ensured he would not give in to temptation.
"Whatever you may wish to believe," the Elf Lord answered carefully, "I have always cared for you. I merely wished to tell you that. And now I will leave you in peace. Accept my apologies for interrupting your work."
Glorfindel pulled himself off the wall and shot a sympathetic look to Aragorn. He knew this fit of Elrond's, had once seen something like it in bygone days. Ah yes, days when a reed-slim, dark-haired elf had never strayed far from Elrond's side. And the rashness of love was something that never ran smoothly with his old friend. He could only guess at Aragorn's frustrations.
"Elrond!"
The Elf Lord considered ignoring that perturbed voice. But he turned, unable to deny this man anything.
"Was that time in Rohan in vain?" Aragorn asked, needing to know so desperately that his gut was clenched in anticipation, "Those kisses- were they false? The touches?"
"I was not thinking," Elrond pleaded, holding a hand out to Aragorn, "I did not know what I was doing. Arwen was dying..."
And Glorfindel was tired! He suppressed a groan and stuck his nose in where he had sworn not to for the past fifty years- "And so were you! Vilya was taking its toll on your body and mind and you expended precious energy insisting that you were capable of handling business as usual! Your horse carried you back into Imladris unconscious, mellon nin; even your consciousness was clouded with the ravings of fever! I believe Estel deserves to know that too, do you not think?"
Aragorn gasped, feeling some thread of control inside him snap as the all- too vivid images crowded his mind. He had almost lost the one being he loved the most in his life and no matter what promise he had once made to a fair elf-maiden, it ripped at the very depths of his soul that, had circumstances differed, Glorfindel would stand there alone and tell him of death!
Elrond found himself grasped and slammed against a wall, a very angry human only inches away from him as battle-scarred fingers pinned him in place.
"You fool," Aragorn spat, "How dared you! What gave you the right to gamble with your life?"
"Tis my life," Elrond protested, "And Arwen lay dying! She needs you, melme, more than I ever will."
"Melme... you call me that now, as you did in a tent surrounded by warriors, men who would look down on you for mortals do not hold with the male lovers of males as elves do. But you kissed me that night." Aragorn had completely forgotten that Glorfindel was still behind him, or that the door was open and any passing were capable of hearing. "Would you do so again?"
"No!" The answer was emphatic. "Arwen..."
"Is not here," Aragorn finished, a predatory smile on his handsome face, "And you would not have given your permission for us to wed in any case. Every night I stood at her elbow, I loved her and promised to keep her happy. But you... I would fight and break and die for you, and you still insist on refusing me a kiss? I crown myself King for you and you would deny me?"
Elrond shut his eyes in despair. Lips- soft, warm, and oh so wanted- brushed the cloth on his shoulder. He shivered in response and opened his eyes. But it was not to Aragorn that he looked but to Glorfindel still standing behind them, a curiously blank look on his face.
Grey eyes begged for intervention, for the strength that he no longer had to pull away from what he desired most. And all Glorfindel needed to do was obey his Lord's pleas and pull the two apart. Dispassionately he watched Aragorn trail his lips up a taut neck, watched Elrond move his head to allow for more contact even as he moaned a protest. And the Vanyan made his choice- he left.
"You need this, mellon nin," were his parting words, "I cannot make your choices for you."
Elrond let out a cry as the door closed and Aragorn's triumph washed over his senses. The sound was muffled by the hard brutality of a mouth that claimed his own in a way none had for so long that it burned him from the hairs on his head to the soles of his feet. He shrank back as long as he could, letting the man kiss him as fiercely as he needed, hoping lack of response would stifle the fires. But as seconds crawled by, he kissed back, hands rising from pushing against a hard chest to clutching at strong shoulders. Heat and light and need and nothing in the world had felt so right to his whirling spirit as it joined in the most blessed dance of life with that of the mortal he had once raised in his household.
Decades later, the last battle was fought, the war was ended and neither victor nor captive emerged, but lovers. And Elrond knew in his heart that he was doomed to love this man just as surely as Aragorn loved him.
Author's Note2: Set in Gondor, the day before Aragorn is crowned King.
-----------------------------------------
Aragorn knew that the party from Imladris had arrived. He had managed to meet the twins and Glorfindel before Faramir had snuck up behind him with that reproachfully discreet cough that made him ask his greetings be conveyed to the rest of the elvish congress.
So no, he had not seen the person he had wanted to meet the most. And what was more, Elrond seemed be deliberately avoiding him!
Legolas was even now refusing to listen to another word that Aragorn said on the subject. As he put it- "After everything you've told me of your feelings while we journeyed here, it will be a wonder if I can ever look Lord Elrond in the face again without blushing." So Aragorn had finally pitied his friend and stopped cornering him in private spots.
Which left him no one else to talk to about his cares. Gandalf knew already, that was true, but the last time Aragorn had tried to seek the wizard's advise, the discussion had ended with him undertaking another dangerous mission. The hobbits were no help at all; likely they would simply be scandalized and refuse to listen. Faramir... no, the man was run off his feet and grieving into the bargain.
"So be it," he sighed, staring out the window as one of his new advisors talked about the importance of proving Gondor's magnificence in the upcoming celebrations. So intent was he on his thoughts that he didn't pay any attention to the knock on his door. Or hear Verthor's abrupt silence, nor yet Faramir's quiet words of welcome. No, his eyes were caught by the sudden appearance of two well-known figures down in the courtyard. Elladan and Elrohir were not aware of his regard, too busy enchanting three young serving girls to look up to his window.
"Estel?"
That, Aragorn did hear. He spun, ashen and startled into betraying his surprise. What was Glorfindel doing... and that was where his brain stopped altogether. For the blond Vanya elf was only doing what he always did- stand at the right hand of his Lord.
"Aragorn, it is good to see you again in such auspicious times," Elrond said meekly, not quite looking the man in the eye.
Faramir looked from one to the other and realized he was intruding. "If you will excuse us," he murmured, grabbing Verthor by the arm and dragging him to the door. Verthor shut his mouth with a snap as Glorfindel stared coolly at him.
Elrond's grey eyes flicked to the retreating steward and he stopped him and handed over a small vial that he drew from his pocket. "Faramir, I meant to give this to you last evening. Take it before you take your night's repose and you will find proper rest. Without dreams, I believe."
Faramir thanked the Elf Lord and fled, leaving three alone in the room. Glorfindel melted into a corner and propped a shoulder against the wall, confident neither would notice him now. He did not want to interfere, but Elrond had insisted he attend.
"You will be King," Elrond began awkwardly.
Aragorn inclined his head in cold agreement, his blood running like fire in freezing veins. "Your duty is done," he said harshly, "I will be King of Gondor and my heritage is intact. Your brother's descendants rule once more. You have nothing more to care for here."
"It was not for duty and you know that!"
"Then what, my Lord? Dare I hope it was love?" the man scoffed openly, forgetting himself so far as to lose his tight control, the side of him no one else but Elrond ever saw. Even Arwen was never shown this youthfully passionate side of him.
Elrond would not say anything to do with that; he could not. Arwen was hiding in his room, intent on surprising Aragorn with her father's unexpectedly sudden acquisition to their match. His change of heart was not explained; Arwen had resigned herself to simply enjoying the gift given her. And so Elrond had ensured he would not give in to temptation.
"Whatever you may wish to believe," the Elf Lord answered carefully, "I have always cared for you. I merely wished to tell you that. And now I will leave you in peace. Accept my apologies for interrupting your work."
Glorfindel pulled himself off the wall and shot a sympathetic look to Aragorn. He knew this fit of Elrond's, had once seen something like it in bygone days. Ah yes, days when a reed-slim, dark-haired elf had never strayed far from Elrond's side. And the rashness of love was something that never ran smoothly with his old friend. He could only guess at Aragorn's frustrations.
"Elrond!"
The Elf Lord considered ignoring that perturbed voice. But he turned, unable to deny this man anything.
"Was that time in Rohan in vain?" Aragorn asked, needing to know so desperately that his gut was clenched in anticipation, "Those kisses- were they false? The touches?"
"I was not thinking," Elrond pleaded, holding a hand out to Aragorn, "I did not know what I was doing. Arwen was dying..."
And Glorfindel was tired! He suppressed a groan and stuck his nose in where he had sworn not to for the past fifty years- "And so were you! Vilya was taking its toll on your body and mind and you expended precious energy insisting that you were capable of handling business as usual! Your horse carried you back into Imladris unconscious, mellon nin; even your consciousness was clouded with the ravings of fever! I believe Estel deserves to know that too, do you not think?"
Aragorn gasped, feeling some thread of control inside him snap as the all- too vivid images crowded his mind. He had almost lost the one being he loved the most in his life and no matter what promise he had once made to a fair elf-maiden, it ripped at the very depths of his soul that, had circumstances differed, Glorfindel would stand there alone and tell him of death!
Elrond found himself grasped and slammed against a wall, a very angry human only inches away from him as battle-scarred fingers pinned him in place.
"You fool," Aragorn spat, "How dared you! What gave you the right to gamble with your life?"
"Tis my life," Elrond protested, "And Arwen lay dying! She needs you, melme, more than I ever will."
"Melme... you call me that now, as you did in a tent surrounded by warriors, men who would look down on you for mortals do not hold with the male lovers of males as elves do. But you kissed me that night." Aragorn had completely forgotten that Glorfindel was still behind him, or that the door was open and any passing were capable of hearing. "Would you do so again?"
"No!" The answer was emphatic. "Arwen..."
"Is not here," Aragorn finished, a predatory smile on his handsome face, "And you would not have given your permission for us to wed in any case. Every night I stood at her elbow, I loved her and promised to keep her happy. But you... I would fight and break and die for you, and you still insist on refusing me a kiss? I crown myself King for you and you would deny me?"
Elrond shut his eyes in despair. Lips- soft, warm, and oh so wanted- brushed the cloth on his shoulder. He shivered in response and opened his eyes. But it was not to Aragorn that he looked but to Glorfindel still standing behind them, a curiously blank look on his face.
Grey eyes begged for intervention, for the strength that he no longer had to pull away from what he desired most. And all Glorfindel needed to do was obey his Lord's pleas and pull the two apart. Dispassionately he watched Aragorn trail his lips up a taut neck, watched Elrond move his head to allow for more contact even as he moaned a protest. And the Vanyan made his choice- he left.
"You need this, mellon nin," were his parting words, "I cannot make your choices for you."
Elrond let out a cry as the door closed and Aragorn's triumph washed over his senses. The sound was muffled by the hard brutality of a mouth that claimed his own in a way none had for so long that it burned him from the hairs on his head to the soles of his feet. He shrank back as long as he could, letting the man kiss him as fiercely as he needed, hoping lack of response would stifle the fires. But as seconds crawled by, he kissed back, hands rising from pushing against a hard chest to clutching at strong shoulders. Heat and light and need and nothing in the world had felt so right to his whirling spirit as it joined in the most blessed dance of life with that of the mortal he had once raised in his household.
Decades later, the last battle was fought, the war was ended and neither victor nor captive emerged, but lovers. And Elrond knew in his heart that he was doomed to love this man just as surely as Aragorn loved him.