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The rain fell steadily, soaking him but he wouldn't go under shelter. He stood at the bow, spray from the waves beyond falling fresh against his face. He was wet and cold but he didn't care, so desperate was he for the miles to fall away. Cirdan was sailing the vessel, peering into the darkness at the lone figure ahead. All the others had jammed the hold, filling every step and crevasse onboard. Crew labored on deck, the only others topside but Elrond and himself.
The night was deeply dark but he knew where to sail, his ship slipping through the rough water on the way to sanctuary in Valinor. But the safety there was temporary for Elrond, for Cirdan knew he would not stay and leave the world behind the way it was now. It had cost him enormously to leave Rivendell, to burn it with his own hand rather than give it to Sauron. Now he was coming home at last, to the homeland of his people and to the king that he loved with all his heart.
That Celebrian was also there along with his three children was something he tried not to think about now. He wasn't looking forward to the moment when that synergy would align in the same room as the King. He, himself would be busier than before, sailing against the wishes of some to Middle-earth. There were so many waiting and his ships were ever busy taking people to safety across the sea.
It was never intended that he be able to sail back, the Valar decreeing that the trip be one way. But they had not hindered him oddly enough, his ships coming and going, making their mercy runs without any trouble. He had wondered at that, why they hadn't stepped in but he didn't question too long their inattention to his work. Ulmo was his lord and he could feel his presence even as he sailed his ships across the stormy seas.
Perhaps they were being given a grace period, a slacking of the rules. Perhaps they were and maybe not. Celeborn might not think so, if he even gave it thought anymore. The big lord's doubt haunted Cirdan. He was losing his religion if you will, of that they were all clear. Celeborn, a traditional and very tough man was falling away somehow from their most deeply held beliefs and customs. That was troubling in the extreme for him. What would be the ultimate cost of their retreat into safety? A loss of faith that peace would not be able to restore?
The wind picked up and he bent to concentrate, compensating for the headwinds that slowed their progress. During the length of their rescue, the seas had been high, almost as if in protest of their return to Middle-earth. Concentrating on his task at hand, he steered their ship forward, heading toward that unknowable spot in the ocean that would be their sanctuary from war.
***************Early morning ...
They had been traveling all night, avoiding trouble and looking for signs of the enemy as they passed ever closer into the lands of the Isen River. There was surprisingly little sign, most of their reports of orc and Uruk activity coming from the eastern side of the mountains from deep patrols and fleeing refugees. Jogging on foot, they hurried southward, moving toward Isengard and the tower of the wizard. Legolas and Eomer had gone east, searching the forests for stragglers. Aragorn was going with Rangers and Faramir to Orthanc to see what could be found there.
Not much activity was happening at the ford and who was there, that had to be determined. They would be searching throughout the tower, rumored to be empty, looking for whatever they could, including the whereabouts of Saruman. The sun was beginning to rise and so they paused, looking into the distance at the still smoldering remains of the fortress grounds.
The Ents had retreated, falling into the forests nearby, leaving behind incredible destruction and disarray. Saruman had been trapped in the fortress, unable to defend it while the army of the huorns had passed by, heading for Helms Deep and the violence there. They had won the battle, erasing a huge contingent of warriors from the Enemy's slate. It was giving them time, the replenishment of these forces. Even though the Battle of Pelennor Fields had been a bloody one for Sauron, he had at last gotten the Ring. He would need time to form a new army, that was in their favor, but in the end without divine intervention, they would all be lost.
Aragorn considered this, as he always considered it, peering over the hill, Faramir ever at his side. They glanced at each other and then rose as one, moving with their people stealthily toward the road that would take them to the gates of Saruman's home.
***************Far away ...
They reached the docks in the early morning, a weak light breaking through the dark and cloudy sky. He walked across the slippery decks, suffused with fatigue and anticipation as his eyes scanned the cliff side and the buildings above the harbor. It was hard to tell that which was actual land and that which was constructed but there was a lone figure standing at the top of the staircase, silhouetted by lights from the buildings behind him.
Elrond paused, his heart in his throat and then continued forward, hurrying toward the steps. He climbed them by twos and threes, reaching the top landing before pausing to stare at the figure who was waiting. He was big, broad shouldered, a dark cloak covering his clothing and his hands were gripping the railing next to him. He reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing his face and his jetblack hair.
Elrond felt emotions wash through him, emotions so vast and complex that he stumbled, unaware that he was even moving until big hands gripped his arms. They stared at each other, two bound by love and honor and then they embraced, holding each other tightly as the rain fell softly.
Cirdan stood below, watching them as the ship unloaded and felt years falling away at the touching sight. It had been centuries upon end that they had been parted but now they were together at the end of times. He turned and looked at the people moving slowly off the ship and he knew in a few days he would have to go back. For now, they would talk, all the friends and comrades together as they assembled their case for the Valar to hear.
***************Isengard ...
They crouched in the bushes, staring at the tower, the gleaming black symbol of their almost annihilation. No one was around, at least there was no sign of activity and so Aragorn rose and boldly walked forward, sword in hand. They watched him, archers with arrows fixed, Faramir's eyes never leaving Aragorn's back. Then he paused, the big man staring up at the windows and turning, signaled the others to come.
Faramir rose, bow in hand and joined Aragorn at the steps of the tower. "What does this mean? That the tower is abandoned?"
"Saruman is on the run," Aragorn replied. "He must be afraid that the Beast will kill him for I am sure that he would know Saruman tried to get the Ring."
"I hope he does," Faramir said bitterly. He looked at the tower, his eyes traveling up its sleek sides, finding nothing to indicate that it was still occupied.
Pools of water stood around them, drowning the caverns below and it was slowly receding as the fires were quenched. The stench was strong, of rotting flesh and drowned foundries, the haze of smoke, punctuated by flumes of hot steam, hanging lazily over the grounds.
They climbed up warily, pausing at the door, listening to the silence that was nearly physical. Aragorn stepped forward and pushed on the door, half open as it was and as it swung backward, he stepped inside, looking around the great anteroom, ready to fight should even the smallest thing move. There was no sound and so they went in, posting a sentry by the door. Walking to the middle of the great room, they looked upward, toward the top of the tower hundreds of feet above them.
Winding all around the inside of the tower, a staircase ascended, showing rooms that hugged the outer walls and landings. Moving swiftly, Aragorn crossed the floor, entering Saruman's study sword in hand. Behind him, silent as a cat, Faramir followed, bow at the ready as he looked around. Aragorn walked to the desk, rifling through books and papers and then systematically checked the room, finding nothing of import.
They exited and then began the long climb, heading toward the top of the tower. As each room was passed, they peered inside, looking for anything that might help them in the long defeat ahead. Nothing seemed promising until they reached a room high up, with a balcony that opened onto the courtyard beyond. There was a single plinth a pedestal upon which an object sat, covered in cloth.
Aragorn paused, hoping against hope that it was what he wished it to be before he stepped forward. Faramir caught his arm, stilling his progress, his eyes anxiously flitting from his lover to the object. Aragorn nodded reassuringly and moved forward, removing the cover from a great glass-like ball. It sat silently, yet there was great energy exuding from it and Aragorn smiled for a moment. Then he covered it again and picked it up, tucking it under his arm. They continued on, finding more dispatch bags that were unopened by Saruman. He had left before they were delivered and Aragorn read them, coaxing letters for Saruman to come to Sauron. They suggested a leisurely consolidation of the world, a time of celebration before the final blows would fall.
Aragorn considered them, the respite they might give and the very real belief that their battles, all of them, had made an impact on Sauron's ability to wage war. He would have to regroup, grow an army and focus his forces. In the meantime they would have just that much more space in which to maneuver.
"Let's go," Aragorn whispered, Faramir nodding and by the time they cleared the tower, the sun was straight up. They melted into the bushes, heading for the mountains, Aragorn's acquisition carefully tucked in a pouch.
***************In a quiet room ...
He sat in his chair, wrapped in a silken robe, a cup of hot tea in his hands. He was chilled, a lingering affect of his human heritage and he was glad for the respite before the heavy emotional sailing began. Gil-galad sat next to him sharing the space, staring at Elrond's profile, memorizing its lines as memories surged. It had been so long, he had almost forgotten what it was like to sit quietly side-by-side with the most interesting and intriguing person he had ever met.
"Are you warm?" he asked, falling into silence as dark eyes filled with passion met his own.
Elrond nodded, not trusting his voice as he put the cup down and sighed deeply. He swallowed hard, gathering his thoughts and then looked at his lover once more. "I have despaired of ever seeing you again."
Gil-galad nodded, his expression filled with love. "I never hoped we would be together," he said. "Things have conspired, my brother. We are on the cusp of a tragedy so vast that it beggars the mind to put words to it."
Elrond nodded, sighing. "I know."
Gil-galad reached out, his hand cupping Elrond's cheek and then he pulled his herald to him, all thought of other things falling away. For centuries, he had waited for this moment and now it was here, all that he had dreamed and hoped. He kissed his lover with a passion he had forgotten, pulling him to his feet and holding him tightly.
Elrond capitulated, any reticence he even thought he had melting under Gil-galad's raging need. Hands fumbled and then slid past his dressing gown, clutching his naked body and roaming at will. He stood pinioned, unable to articulate how much he had dreamed of this moment when the lord of his life claimed him once more. His arms circled his lover, his mouth surrendering to the insistent lips of his king as Gil-galad issued his possessive claims.
'I need you," Gil-galad whispered hoarsely. "Do not deny me, Elrond."
"I can deny you nothing," Elrond whispered.
"Go to the bed and wait for me," he said, gripping the sleeve of the wrap Elrond wore. "Do not cover yourself from my eyes."
Elrond nodded and walked to the bed his gown falling away as he did. He pulled open the covers and climbed in, lying on his back as he watched the King. Gil-galad stood staring at him, his eyes raking Elrond's body and for a moment, a surge of pleasure nearly overpowered him. He licked his lips, dropping the gown in his hand and then tugged at the belt of his tunic.
He pulled it free and tossed it on the floor, his eyes never leaving Elrond for a moment. He pulled his own tunic off, throwing it aside as he felt the heat of Elrond's eyes on his body. He was muscular and taut, his scars and tattoos visible and he knew that the Peredhel was as needy as he. He sat on the chair, pulling off boots and socks and then he stood, tugging at the cords of his trousers.
He did so slowly, drawing out the moment before pushing them down and freeing his body. He stepped out of his clothes and stood before Elrond, the light of the fire and candles shadowing the curves and muscles of his big solid body. His black hair hung over his shoulder and he moved it away from his face with the flick of a hand. He stood, breathing heavily, his hand stroking his cock and as he came toward the bed, Elrond shifted with need.
"It has been so long, Peredhel," he whispered, his eyes narrowing in his growing lust. "I love you, Elrond," he said, moving forward. "Let me show you how much."
Elrond sighed, nodding as the king moved to lie beside him, his hand gripping Elrond's chin. "Show me," he whispered, sighing with pleasureas Gil-galad covered his mouth with his own.
It was a tidal wave of sensation, of pent-up emotion, his need blazing through him as it came back in a rush. Gil-galad moved on top of him, taking his time and his pleasure while giving it back in equal measure. His King was a dominating figure in all aspects and Elrond was the canvas upon which he poured out his private needs. There was nothing for him to do but surrender to his lover, something he never could do for anyone else.
Elrond moved onto his stomach the familiar and deeply longed for sensations at last commencing and when Gil-galad pulled him to his knees, he was ready. Invasion so sweet, pain ever so slight, he absorbed it with relish as his king made his way. He gasped and winced, so long had it been but by the time Gil-galad stilled, Elrond was ready. He nodded, his head resting on his arms and so it began.
He didn't make a sound, so intent was he in absorbing all the sensations he could. Gil-galad took him forcefully and possessively and when he came he cried out, falling onto Elrond's back. They lay together, connected and exhausted, some small part of their emotional need paid for in full. Gil-galad covered his lover, nuzzling his neck, his sense of anxiety partially assuaged. He should have moved off but he didn't, so warm and comforting was the contact and so they lay together for a long while in silence.
At last, he moved, rolling off to one side, sighing as he lay rubbing his chest with his hands. Elrond didn't move unwilling to end the relaxation that had overtaken him. Gil-galad sighed and looked at Elrond, memories of other evenings filling his mind. "You are as beautiful as ever."
Elrond smiled, opening his eyes, moving slightly to lay on his side. "You have not lost your touch."
Gil-galad chuckled, turning on his side to face his partner, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned. He draped a muscular leg over Elrond, holding him in place as he leaned in and began to suckle on the pale throat of his lover. Elrond sighed, closing his eyes in pleasure.
"You called for me. How long have you been here?"
"Too long alone," Gil-galad replied, brushing Elrond's dark hair out of the path of his lips. "For eons, I think."
"Things have happened, they have changed," Elrond began before a firm kiss cut off his remarks.
"I know about Celebrian," Gil-galad replied. "I met her when she first came here. I visited her out of respect for her family and found out about the two of you."
Elrond looked at him, his eyes haunted as he searched his lover's face for any sign of reproach.
"You married her and had children," Gil-galad replied, kissing Elrond over and over again. "I have met your sons. They hate me fiercely, something I expected from the first."
"I-" Elrond began before he was cut off with a kiss. Then a smile as warm as the sun formed on the lips of his king. "Do not even speak of it," Gil-galad replied. "I would too, in their place. They are loyal to you and their mother."
"But you are a part of who I am," Elrond protested. "I loved you before Celebrian."
"You love her?" Gil-galad asked, the ghost of a smile on his swallowed and sighed.
"In my own way, over time ... after a fashion." He shifted and pressed Gil-galad to his back, covering him and settling his own body over the king. He gazed down at the handsome face of his lover, a face that had haunted his dreams forever. "I love many things, Melme. I loved my home, Middle-earth, books, beauty ... but they do not come into the same realm of thinking as you."
"Celebrian was your wife. You had children ... you were intimate. It was more, at the time I recall, than I thought you capable of achieving. You were most certainly *my* lover in all the ways *that* encompassed."
Elrond smiled, shaking his head. "You always were for exclusivity."
"Of course. You *are* property of the King. Or have you forgotten that?" Gil-galad proffered, half earnestly, half facetiously.
Elrond paused, his expression gentling. "I have forgotten nothing about you, my lord. I have every memory of every moment stored against the grief of your loss."
Gil-galad reached up and gripped Elrond's neck, pulling him in for a searing kiss. He moved and they rolled over, Elrond pinned beneath his body as he gripped Elrond's wrists in his powerful hands. "Do not speak of things past, Melme, of moments we cannot change. I have loved only you for the entirety of my life. What comes next, we cannot determine but I will put it aside until better days come. I only ask of you one thing."
"Whatever you will, my lord," Elrond whispered, sighing against the lips that were so close to his own.
Come to my bed," Gil-galad requested, kissing Elrond softly. "Come to my bed, be with me when you can. That is all that I ask for now."
Elrond sighed, his mind a whirl of emotions but he nodded, swallowing hard. "I will."
Gil-galad smiled, his relief immense and then he gave himself to his lover, his complete attention. The fire crackled nearby, its weak light barely illuminating the corners of the room. On the bed, consummating a lifetime of friendship and shared experience, Elrond and Gil-galad sealed their devotion.