Riding into the lustrous sunset Elrond whistled irately. He wanted to talk, but his anger did not allow for a coherent soliloquy. How many times has Gil-Galad mounted Thranduil in his forgetfulness? Aye, how he swore he shall be forever faithful! With all his tragic memory loss he hasn't forgotten about his enormous old cock! Elrond frowned.
It was complicated, that bond that existed between him and the High King. It was so intuitive, so instinctive, and yet so charged with emotion, so powerful and utterly consuming that it clouded their senses. In the days of Gil-Galad's first rule they were mad, no doubt, for they ran after each other like wild dogs, coupling for days until fatigue and sore genitals forced their lust to subside. All the while the kingdom rested perilously in the hands of the many advisors, who cursed the runaway heart of the High King.
Could it be that the Valar refrained from granting Gil-Galad full memory for a reason? Perhaps I would be wise to retreat and permit the High King to do as responsibility dictates, rather than as groin demands. But he said I was special. The solemn half-elf found himself on the verge of nausea. He could deal with rejection, yes, at least then he would be free to die of a broken heart. But what to do now when Gil-Galad simply can't remember and there is no telling when or whether he ever would? He needed to think.
Reaching a circular clearing Elrond hopped off the horse and fell to his knees preparing to vomit, but nothing happened. He just sat on the grass for a moment, looking at the yellow disc of the sun. He thought of Sazaar. Where did the rascal go anyhow? He missed him right now. Elrond strained to remember the last thing the Southorn said to him, it was important somehow, but he couldn't recall. Branches cracked somewhere in the thick of shrubbery that circled the clearing. A heavy thud followed. Elrond cocked his ear. You old skittish hare, he murmured, pushing himself off the ground.
"Mist!" Elrond called. "Where is that horse? Mist!" The half-elf instinctively reached for his weapon, but recalled that in his reckless haste to flee Mithlond he foolishly opted to forsake the sword. Mist was either injured or dead, Elrond knew. This was an old and loyal animal. He would never abandon his master on whim. The scent of vomit returned, but it wasn't internal as Elrond first assumed. He wasn't nauseous. He smelled the Orcs, several of them, and very near. Several sets of red eyes glistened on either side of the peredhel. A very tiny Orc crawled out of the bushes hissing and aimed his miniature dagger at Elrond's throat. The half-elf almost laughed at the audacity of the ridiculous creature.
"Throw it!" he challenged. The Orc obeyed. Elrond effortlessly caught the slow-flying blade in mid-air and hurled it back at its owner. The power of Elrond's throw was such that the dagger crushed through the eye-socket of the Orc and dug deep into the bark of the tree behind the dead creature. The Orcs growled in unison. They came at Elrond in pairs, trying to attack from both sides. Still they were not fast enough to avoid the half-elf's furious defenses. He was vicious indeed. His rage at the injustices of life now found its exit through his swift arms that delivered bone-crushing blows. Gil-Galad had taught his Herald well. Elrond knew each weak joint there was in an Orcish body and he ripped at the weak spots with deadly precision. He was elegant in his fight, his body swayed and flexed with grace, as if dancing.
"Grrrowl!" Elrond dug both sets of his curled fingers into the red eyes of the one remaining Orc. Blinding the beast he grasped his brown chin and forcefully jerked it upwards, noisily breaking the Orc's neck. He kicked the form away from himself and straightened up to admire his accomplishment. And it was an accomplishment indeed. Eleven wide-bodied Orcs lie scattered on the clearing. Witless things, Elrond chuckled as he picked up one of the ragged swords. One unarmed and wounded Southorn or an Easterling would have put up a better fight than all eleven of you morons. He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. I am still the mighty warrior, the elf thought pushing against a tree. He was suddenly full of cocky arrogance.
Elrond looked up too late to see the danger hiding in the branches of the tree under which he stood. A shower of hard-shelled nuts fell to the ground. Elrond slowly blinked after a large, shiny brown nut shuttered against the middle of his forehead. He felt blood rush down the side of his face as his body collapsed on the rich grass.
"Elves are not so wise after all," a huge Orc smirked, poking at Elrond's side with his foot. "Stupid creature. Killed eleven of us without a sword and got knocked out by a falling nut! Drag him carefully, we need him alive."
Gil-Galad sized his proposed bride with a suspicious eye. He was warned she was petite, but that pathetic excuse for a maiden? "Thranduil," he finally declared, "I will strangle the next elf or man who dares to irritate me with another marriage proposal to that miserable lass! Do you hear!?"
This is a lost cause, Thranduil concluded. After seeing Elrond this morning he will hang himself before vowing to wed another. Matters were becoming sticky. Lord Faelor grew increasingly nervous as he watched Gil-Galad assume his royal duties. The man's once vibrant hope of maintaining Lindon under his control now waned. The city was no longer his. The troops from Lorien and Rivendell remained stationed in the Gray Havens. Faelor's army was outnumbered nearly two to one and rejection of his presence in the castle became obvious. Thranduil feared what desperation might do to a man who once thought himself to be king. Mithlond was in no danger of the ambitious human leader, but same couldn't be said for disconnected from reality Gil-Galad.
"I just wish you would consider it, for your own safety, my king." Thranduil walked to press himself against Gil-Galad's back. He ran his fingers down the king's side, caressing the rock-hard muscle. "These are dangerous times and elves aren't as strong in numbers as we once were. We need to secure your stronghold on the throne with at least one heir, in case."
"Enough about the throne," Gil-Galad interrupted. "I want to see the raven-haired elf I spoke to this morning. Summon him to me."
"Sire, your lack of memory distressed him greatly, I won't hide it. He needed time on his own and chose to take a long walk." Thranduil lied quickly. Gil-Galad sharply turned around to look Thranduil in the eyes. He cupped the blond elf's face with his large hands and examined Thranduil with icy austerity. His grip tightened.
"Your lips pleasure me well, but you're a lousy liar! Your sweet Legolas told me that Elrond took off into the forest alone and unarmed."
"My king, I do not rule over his decisions!" "You certainly rule well over mine!" Gil-Galad squeezed Thranduil's chin and brought the elf closer. Their foreheads nearly touched. "You had no regrets selling my soul to Lord Faelor, promising my hand in marriage to that limping little bitch! And Galadriel's brilliant plan to secretly smuggle Elrond over the sea to Valinor? Tell me," his hands coiled dangerously around Thranduil's neck, "was I worth the trouble? I hope to hell I was, because if misfortune befalls my Elrond, I will have your head. Find him, or die. Do we have an understanding?"
Thranduil mumbled something incoherent and fled the king's study. He breathed evenly once safely out of Gil-Galad's reach. Legolas! Thranduil curled his fingers into fists. Oh how the fair prince tested his fatherly patience. This time he went over his limit. The elf stalked down the hall, cursing.
"Ahhh! Damned be all men!" Thranduil screamed in Faelor's face after the man unexpectedly appeared in front him. "Have you no sense of direction!"
"I'll show you a sense of something else!" bellowed Lord Faelor, gripping the front of Thranduil's tunic. "Ever feared for your life?"
"Yes!" Thranduil plucked Faelor's fingers off one by one. "The king's darling ran off this morning and unless he runs back safely and quickly his highness will strangle me!"
"Is that so?" Faelor let out a hearty laugh. "So that was the legendary Lord Elrond. Mighty attractive, mmm, those hips, although a bit unsettled for my tastes. And is there a good chance he decides to run back?"
"No, not really, I'm afraid." Thranduil shook his head. "Not any time soon."
"Well then," Faelor grew serious, "since the problematic Lord Elrond took his leave and will no longer seduce our noble Gil-Galad, there is no reason why my daughter shouldn't be married to the High King soon, right?"
"He will not marry her with his feet held over fire, Faelor. Unless you have other daughters with more voluptuous breasts and buttocks to attract his attention, I cannot aid you in the matchmaking process. Excuse me now, I must discover and kill my son."
"It appears you have forgotten about our agreement," Faelor's fingers dug deep into the flesh of Thranduil's arm, "my aim is clear and unless you find a way to coax him better, I will make my move and some of us will not live to see the aftermath."
"You," Thranduil hissed, "to kill the High King? You won't dare. Tables have turned since the time the agreement was made. You men are outnumbered and you are watched by every pair of eyes in this castle. Make a wrong move and you'll regret it."
Thranduil pushed Faelor out of his way and continued stomping down the hall. Faelor's blood turned to steam. An elf, an arrogant slutty creature, a whole congregation of them, in fact, how did they come to dominate his territory? All was well until one stormy evening their leader was granted a second life. He came to sleep in Faelor's royal bed and wear Faelor's well-deserved crown. And he brought his long-haired tail-followers with him. The advisors, the court writers, the messengers, the bah! Faelor had short patience with elves and Gil-Galad in particular had outlived his graces. Faelor strode back to the black door of the Letters Library and re-entered the darkened room.
"Why do the damned creatures store old letters anyhow?" he muttered. In the poorly lit corner Sazaar's golden eyes glowed with green like those of a feline.
"Not everything must have a practical value, Lord Faelor."
"I hate it when you appear without warning. Where are the rest of your scoundrels?"
"Fair Mithlond has much to offer to a poor nomad," Sazaar chuckled.
"They are looting the city then."
"Only the stables, my men need horses. And you want as assassin, I presume."
"Smart boy," Faelor whispered, coming closer to look in the Southorn's eyes. The man fascinated him beyond words. Lord Faelor had no concept of an enemy. To him there were only two sorts of creatures, the ones he could negotiate with and those with whom he could not. He has not encountered many of the second kind. Without Cirdan's knowledge Faelor carefully negotiated his interests with the most ancient of Elven enemies and saw no harm in so doing. His secret ties with the belligerent Haradrim tribes on the outskirts of Gondor were long-standing, but the men from the distant Far Harad remained a mystery to the cobalt-eyed human.
"The one-eyed shaman Rezcus said you have not yet left these lands and swore you have no equals in the skill of murder. I will pay you enough to buy a herd of most tenacious stallions, but it will not be easy riches."
"You want me to murder the High King?" Sazaar's eyes lit up.
"Very shrewd, I see. Yes." Faelor found Sazaar's smile most unpleasant. He smiled with the corners of his mouth, the way a cobra does, and one could not see what thought lurked behind those eerie glowing eyes.
"Crowns taken by force never stay long on the heads of their new owners," Sazaar whispered back, "and the High King may have unexpected allies to spoil your plans. Be careful not to pay for your own death."
"You yellow-eyed dog," Faelor roared, "do you dare say I lack the wits to calculate everything thoroughly? Nobody besides you and me knows that Gil-Galad will die tonight! So what's it going to be? You'll do it or not?"
"How will you pay me?"
"That you will find out once the High King dies. Now is a very proper time."
Sazaar slid the black cloth back over his face and hair. He glided towards the door on silent bare feet. Faelor followed.
"You are coming with me?"
"Yes," Faelor nodded, "I prefer to ensure my foes are dead with my own eyes."
Gil-Galad stared at the map, willing his mind to obey. Rhoan. Rhoan. He couldn't remember. Long black hair, so silky, flowing. So his name is Elrond. How did I meet him? Why did I love him? Gil-Galad sighed. It was blank. He saw where Rhoan was on the beige paper, but the name stirred no memories. He glared at the black void outside the window and cold wave of painful apprehension swept over his gut. This morning it felt right to give into Thranduil's coaxing, to permit Elrond to flee his embrace. It seemed right and proper to maintain his composure, to let go just to prevent making a scene in front of the many watching eyes. But now, in hindsight, Gil-Galad cursed his momentary weakness. He should have chased them all out, should have held Elrond in place and forced him to understand, to be patient.
"Valar," he whispered, "all I ask for is another chance to see him again."
"I regret you may not be granted such luxury." Gil-Galad turned his head to glare at sneering Lord Faelor. The man mockingly snapped his tongue. "I don't know how it goes with you elves, but a man only gets once chance to fuck his whore. He also only gets one chance to become king. What are you waiting for, Sazaar! He's all yours!"
Gil-Galad turned to meet the glowing eyes of a tall Haradrim assassin. In his gloved hands he tightly gripped the body of Gil-Galad's own spear. The High King made no move. Like his mind, his body was dazed and disobedient, the legendary warrior was hopelessly asleep inside his muscular shell. He raised his eyebrows, challenging the Southorn to make his move. Faelor crept up closer to experience the vibes of the moment. Sazaar's strike was lightening fast. Gil-Galad's eyes followed the spear as its blade sheared through the air, seemingly aiming for his head. It sliced past his left cheek and burrowed deep in Faelor's windpipe.
"I said the High King might have unexpected allies," Sazaar carelessly shook his rich hair free. "And wise men take hints." He walked past the stunned king to jerk the spear free from the bleeding body. He admired the heavy weapon for a moment. "You look just like I pictured you in my childhood," Sazaar leaned on the spear, looking at Gil-Galad with the expression of a curious child. "A real elf king."
"Did you save me, or spare me out of pity, sir." Gil-Galad neared the stranger. The lustrous blue sapphire bracelet that sparkled beneath the leather forearm protector on the Haradrim's hand burned into Gil-Galad's memory. Sazaar read his mind. "Oh yes, magnificent, is it not? It belonged to my mother and the inscription bears your name."
"May I see it?" Gil-Galad accepted the jewelry piece, but quickly handed it back. Whatever the story was behind the fascinating bracelet, it was hopelessly buried in his fragmented memory along with the rest of his past life. "And your reasons for coming, young sir? I do not believe your people and my folk have a longstanding tradition of mutual hospitality. You are trespassing rather recklessly."
"Oh I have my business reasons," wistfulness vanished from Sazaar's eyes, "but I was curious, I must admit. My mother once called this city her home and she loved you more than life," Sazaar sighed in mock self-pity, "such a shame you weren't the one to sire me. Here," he handed the spear into Gil-Galad's uncertain hand, "I believe you will have your second chance with Lord Elrond. His allegiance to you is quite extraordinary."
"Wait." Gil-Galad gave the exotic visitor a long, perplexed look. He was a strangely handsome being, with luscious wavy hair of reddish tints and deep, even tan. His eyes, he had such bizarre eyes. "I knew your mother?" Gil-Galad's intent eyes examined Sazaar and his strangely-shaped ears. "Judging by how young you look I hardly see it feasible..."
"As crazy as it seems in the big scheme of things it all makes sense. Farewell." Sazaar winked his large eye and made his way toward the window.
Gil-Galad blinked at the empty room. Did I just hallucinate the most bizarre of circumstances? He winced at the pool of blood in which he stood. Disgusting! Redness soaked into the tail of his robe and made its way up the fabric. The blade of the spear he held upright dripped blood that trickled down his forearm and gathered at the elbow. Gil-Galad shook the bloodied limb, but it only aggravated the situation. Bloody drops flew in all directions, landing on the unfolded map and on his face. More disgusting!
Frustrated, the High King rested the spear against the table while trying the wipe his face with the sleeve of his night robe. The weapon shifted. Rushing to prevent its fall Gil-Galad caught the spear in his hand and immediately let out an angry hiss. The blade made a deep cut across his palm. He gripped the bleeding flesh cursing, but as the blood continued to pour from the wound Gil-Galad felt unusual vigor filling his body. Damn, this hurts! Like the time my horse bit me in Rohan. He frantically stared at the bloodied map. Mount Doom. Mordor. Sauron. He frowned as memories rushed in a flood of sensations. Lorien. Mirkwood. Misty Mountains. Rivendell. Gil-Galad allowed the spear to crush onto the floor. Rivendell. His mind produced the vision of the picturesque refuge. Elrond. The very first night in Rhoan, his virgin body resting in furs, Celeborn's ball, his gray eyes fluttering under my persistent kisses, the war, his worry-crossed, dirty face next to mine. The bracelet. Gil-Galad shuddered in panic. He was Lenara's son, her only child, and I let him escape....Valar.
"Wait!" He stopped short of reaching the open window.
"My king, I heard a-" Thranduil stared at the blood-spattered carpets. He cautiously raised his eyes to where Gil-Galad stood over the map. "I will summon the guards, my king, are you severely wounded? There is awful lot of-" Thranduil's weak hand slid off the door handle. Gil-Galad turn around, his eyes burned with vitality and anger. "You remember now." Thranduil did not wait for the reply.
"Hasten your horses," Elladan commanded to their escort party, "I see prince Legolas far ahead of us, I want to catch up with him." Anxiety gnawed at the heart of the young elf, and there was always that aftertaste of guilt whenever Adar entered his thoughts. Few days before Elrohir broke their lustful embraces, pushing Elladan off and retreating in fright. He saw a vision, Elrohir later confessed, and Elladan could not banish the horrid image from his mind. Ada's soft skin, black hooks burrowing into his ivory flesh, chains restraining his arms, blood trickling from under his blindfold. His eyes moistened. Elrohir saw a vision before the Orcs captured their mother and now the nightmare involving their only, beloved Ada destabilized their sanity. The twins raced out of Rivendell against all advice, galloping madly through mud and water, the few guards Glorfindel sent after them barely able to keep up. Ada, Elladan begged Valar to watch over his parent, he had to hold him, to smell and feel him, to tell him all the many things he always wanted to and never did.
He was egotistic, Elladan knew, a hungry, capricious pup who demanded Elrond's undivided devotion, and if before he only claimed Ada's spirit, in later years he became emboldened enough to claim Ada's body as well. He was insistent, grew angry if denied, and was never fully satisfied when Elrond permitted his shameless offspring to caress him. Elladan felt that both he and his twin were such spoiled consumers of Elrond's gentleness that they learned to take his presence as an unwavering constant. Ada was immune to illness, to danger and death. He would forever love them. Right? Elladan's horse dug his hooves into the soft forest path a few feet from the clearing. Seeing what Legolas held in his trembling hand Elladan let go of the reins and slid sideways off the apricot-colored stallion. He landed on his rear in the soft grass, soaked with the scattered flesh of decaying Orc bodies. A piercing, animal-like scream of mad grief and speechless horror escaped his mouth as he pulled on his black hair, rocking back and forth. He knew without being told.
"Ada! Nooo!," Elladan sobbed losing all restraint. Legolas dropped the bloody velvet robe and fell to his knees to embrace his wailing companion. "No! no no no!"
"Come away with me," he whispered, "we must get away from here. More of them may still be close."
"Noooo! Ada! No! I won't! Let me! no! I won't leave him!"
"Elladan, I fear little can be done now. Your Ada probably escaped without a single scratch, but if more Orcs come this way we aren't ready to face them."
"Take an army! Lay siege on their damned lands! Kill every Orc you can find! Burn everything and turn every root and cave inside out!" Gil-Galad's eyes flashed with mad rage. He growled like a wounded beast and fell back into his throne. "I want him found or his body retrieved! Do it or die! Now get out of my sight! All of you damned vultures!" Gil-Galad emptied the contents of the goblet onto the three scurrying elves. "Get the hell out of Mithlond! Stay in your spidery woods where I can't reach your throats! I have no patience with the likes of you!"
"My king, you are rising your voice most dangerously, calm down!" Cirdan ducked to avoid the goblet flung at his head. "Please! Restrain yourself! Have mercy!"
"Mercy!" Gil-Galad spat back. "Surprised you know the word! A Haradrim assassin was more merciful to me than all of you! And Elrond, oh my dear lover, I will never forget his eyes the morning he saw me. You all knew he loved me more than life and I him! And still you stalled our reunion in every way thinkable! Sometimes," he continued quietly, "I wonder what great injustice we have done to this world that so many insist on hindering our love. It could have ended so gracefully." Gil-Galad's grieving eyes settled on the slashed velvet robe stained with red and black blood. "Why did you run, my starlight, we were so close, it could have ended so well."
"It will, it has to, tell me it will." Gil-Galad stroked Elladan's and Elrohir's soft hair as the two young elves clung to him as if their life depended on it. "It will," Gil-Galad assured them. "It will."
Elrond stared up. Pain tore through his body when he attempted a cautious move. This cannot be happening, moaned the elf-lord when his eyes adjusted to the dimness of the caves. Captured by Orcs, I, the ancient and the wise. Elrond drew his eyes away from two large, claw-like hooks that anchored down his shoulders. The sinister black of the metal dug into his skin, not deep enough to cause serious injury, but enough to rip into the muscle and immobilize his arms. His robe and tunic were gone. So was the belt, the boots, and the leather lace that restrained his hair. Arrogant old fool, Elrond narrowed his eyes. He half-stood, half-hung in a peculiar position, with his arms outstretched in front of him and legs spread slightly apart. He did not like the seemingly intentional accessibility of his anus and passionately regretted parting with his ring Vilya. Now, chained to the rock and having nothing but thin, knee-length trousers to conceal his crotch from the glowing Orcish eyes, he regretted many things.
"Awake at last." Elrond turned his head toward the growling voice. A massive Orc stood watching the half-elf, his blackened lips twisted into a scowl. He emerged from the shadow of the corner and walked to stand over his captive. One of the muscular legs, smoothed with slime and sweat, firmly lodged between Elrond's parted limbs. "I always wanted to taste an elf," the Orc rumbled, running his clawed finger down Elrond's exposed spine, "word has it you are all so tight and tinder inside." Elrond shuddered.
"Why did you keep me alive?" he asked, stalling for time.
"Shut up. Or I'll put a ring through your tongue." The Orc was now out of Elrond's view. The creature panted and whistled in excitement, as his clawed fingers yanked at the silk string that held Elrond's trousers in place. "There, there," the beast soothed, "don't tremble so much. I won't damage you," he exploded in deep laughter, "I am not a cave troll! Ha ha."
The Orc paws roughly massaged his naked groin and buttocks. He suddenly wanted Celeborn. Yes, the soft, warm silver elf he adored so much. Celeborn, Celeborn, why was I enough of a fool to reject your beautiful embraces? Elrond cried an angry curse when the Orc's scaly long tongue, black and slimy as a swamp snake, slithered its way inside him. This thing must be a foot long! The tongue was dripping bluish saliva all over his crotch. And it began to hurt. Mortifying! Disgusting!
"You filthy beast!" Elrond roared, rocking from side to side. "May you be cursed for eternity! Get it OUT, you stinking piece of mud!"
Elrond panicked. It was an unwholesomely degrading feeling, to be a little and helpless bitch in the paws of a huge Orc that could, if bothered enough, rip him in half or worse yet, mutilate for life. In his younger days the half-elf would have been biting like a rabid cat to protect his honor, but today he wanted to live above all else. He bit on his lower lip, feeling blood trickling down his thighs. Suddenly a band of three no less imposing Orcs appeared from the mouth of the gaping hole in the corner. Their leader, a one-eyed Uruk-hai with a flat nose slashed in half, angrily gripped a black paddle in his hand.
"Get AWAY from him!" the creature shrieked. He brought the paddle over the head of the moaning in pleasure Orc. "Awaaay! I said." Before he brought the paddle down again the Orc retrieved his tongue from Elrond's depths and darted away, hissing. Elrond nearly vomited. It felt like giving birth to a snake, he wrinkle his nose.
"I wasn't going to damage him!" the Orc pointed a claw at the Uruk-hai.
"The Haradrim priest wants his elves unspoiled. Licking him is spoiling!"
"And getting him to fight is not spoiling? They can kill or maim each other!"
"Elf fighting is an exclusive treat for the spectators, and the Easterlings promised us arrows. More arrows than you could shoot. Besides," the Uruk-hai cruelly twisted Elrond's hair, lifting the half-elf's head, "this one is a healer. See," he patted Elrond's neck, "he isn't very aggressive. He won't fight too well. The blond one will win anyway. The priest will get his elf and the Easterlings will get their entertainment."
"And we get our arrows!" rumbled the other three Orcs.
"Put him on a chain and stick him in a cage," the Uruk-hai ordered. "Feed him well and," he shook the paddle at the Orc, "keep your clawed paws off his flank or you'll loose them!"
After the third day without food Elrond prepared to die. He concluded that it was a good and lucky thing that he should starve to death rather than be raped to death by the many inhabitants of the Orcish caves. He made himself comfortable against the solid wall of his rough cage and waited. But no, death wasn't coming. Instead he saw the clawed hand of the familiar Orc scratching at the lock.
"Didn't your master tell you to feed me well!" Elrond demanded as soon as the Orc walked in. "I am dying!"
"No you aren't." The Orc set two small buckets in front of Elrond. One had water, the other held something dark and thick. "Drink, or you'll loose tonight."
"Hisss," Elrond clawed at the Orc, but the chain restrained him. "Never!"
"You taste like haven," the Orc whistled, "I like you more than Larnen. I want you to be stronger and rip him apart. Drink, I tell you. Drink!"
"Larnen?" Elrond cocked his ears in disbelief. "What have you done to him?"
"Drink this first," the Orc winked, "then I'll tell you."
Elrond slowly took the rusty pint and stared at its contents. He smelled it and quickly put it down in disgust. "It's Orc blood!" he gasped. "Drink it? Never." He thought for a moment, then squeezed his eyes shut and took several long sips.
"There!" he spat, fighting nausea, "now tell me where is Larnin?"
"You'll see soon enough," the Orc winked again and quickly slid out of the cage. Minutes passed, Elrond glared with glistening eyes without moving. It was murdering the elf in him, the black, thick venom of Orc blood. All that filled him was unbound rage. His palms itched, hands trembled, muscles cramped up - he wanted to bite something. As soon as Orc stuck his hand inside to unlatch the cage's door Elrond tore into the paw with all his strength.
"Ahhh! Grrrr..." the Orc cried, gripping the gaping wound, "cursed elf, you bite like the desert lynx!" The Orc raised a long metal rod with a self-latching collar fastened at the end of it. Only when the collar snapped around Elrond's neck did the Orc open the door to let the angry half-elf out. He held him at rod's length, careful not to lose balance. "At least you're ready. It will be spectacular, my sweetness. Show the Easterlings a fight to remember!" Elrond blinked.
"What are talking about? I am not fighting anyone! Noo. I won't-"
"Get in," the Orc kicked Elrond through the heavy round door, "it's time to meet Larnen!" The elf-lord stared at the door that shut behind him.
Slowly the realization of what took place sunk in. He stood in a small ring with a sandy floor and a rusty cage dome mounted above the space. On the outside - dozens of Easterling soldiers. They seemed ghostly, their bodies completely concealed by tightly-fitting armor, their faces motionless, only their cold eyes glowed in anticipation. Elrond despised them above all else. They were an ugly people, warlike, proud, and cold, like the metals with which they worked, or the stone dwellings in which they lived. For the Haradrim killing was a craft, for the Orcs - an instinct, but why the Easterlings killed with such cruel determination Elrond did not quite understand. And for that he despised them.
"My dear teacher," he heard the familiar voice approach, "it pains me terribly that it is you of all elves that I must kill." Elrond stared at Larnen in terror. The tender, youthful face of his apprentice was twisted with unexplained fury, his body was malnourished and dark with cuts and scars. Deep gaping wounds encircled his wrists and ankles. He walked awkwardly, as if his body was claimed and torn many times.
"Traitor!" he growled, racing toward stunned Elrond. "I know you saved him! Damn you! Why didn't you kill him! You noble whore!" Larnen screamed, aiming at Elrond's jaw. The half-elf evaded the blow.
"Larnen, who? Child, wait!" Elrond fought the urge to tear into the young elf. It is the Orc blood that boils my own, he told himself, I must not give into its power. "Wait!"
Larnen picked up one of the flat rocks that littered the sandy floor. "Why?" he sliced Elrond's way, "because you liked his amber eyes? Look what he has done to me! Elrond," tears flooded the young elf's eyes, his muddy fair locks fell over his face. He begun to sob, clutching the rock the way an elfling clings on to a toy. "Elrond, do you know what it's like when an Orc tears into your body? His black seed flowing into you, his claws ripping your skin?" His shaking hand covered his bruised mouth. "He gave me to them, Elrond, the Haradrim with yellow eyes." Larnen chocked on his tears, "he kidnapped me and gave me to them for safekeeping, while he traveled to hunt down a female elf so he could then sell us both!"
Elrond's anger dwindled. He approached his apprentice and gently stroked his hair, whispering in Elvish the most tender of comforting words. Larnen swallowed, raised his eyes to the whispering peredhel, and then, without warning, attempted to drive the edge of the sharp stone across Elrond's throat.
"You could have killed him when you had the chance, but you didn't!" Larnen spat, attacking again, "damn your weakness, Lord Elrond, and damn you! May you and Sazaar be wed in hell!" He drove the rocky blade deep into Elrond's side. Elrond's vision blurred, he cried out like a wounded animal and as he screamed his moan transformed into a deep growl. Orcish blood rushed through his veins. No longer in charge of his reflexes he pounced on Larnen. He retreated when it was over, only to realize that he had mortally wounded the one elf he swore to forever protect. Larnen lie trembling, his lips still cursing Elrond's name. Two pairs of burly arms begun dragging Elrond away.
"He is too badly injured," the Uruk-hai ordered to an Orc that bent over Larnen, "finish him off."
"No!" Elrond dug in his feet. "Please, I can heal him! No!"
"Walk," the Uruk-hai ordered, "don't test my patience. You were supposed to passively resist his attacks, not tear into him, so shut up. This is not a good ending. Not at all. You ruined everything."
The Uruk-hai dragged Elrond who no longer resisted back into the depth of the cave. Behind them the Easterling audience expressed their satisfaction with a rhythmic chant.
"Sit, you whore," Uruk-hai pushed the bristling half-elf onto a cold boulder. Elrond hugged his knees and hid his face. Mere days ago he walked the luscious grounds of fair Rivendell. He slumbered peacefully in his bed, dined with his beloved friends, and accepted Celeborn and Galadriel's affections. Now he nearly mated with an Orc, drunk Orc blood, and mortally injured an innocent, wounded elfling. Where did everything get ruined? I should have strangled Sazaar, Elrond thought restraining tears. I should have remained at the castle and served my kind. I should have thanked the Valar for returning Gil-Galad to me, with or without memory, and for granting me such painless, trouble-free existence in my old age. But no. I had to wish for something other.
"I say we dye it," a small Orc pulled on Elrond's loose hair, "we still can."
The Uruk-hai, who stood silently examining the brooding half-elf, whacked the little creature in the head. "Idiot," he barked. "Dying his hair won't help! He is twice as big, his eyes are gray, and his ears are less pointed. What are we going to do about that?"
"Where are my elves?" a husky voice disturbed the tension. Elrond looked up. Before him stood a Haradrim priest. His short, slender body was wrapped in shades of brown and dusty red, but unlike the armor worn by Sazaar the priest had his arm and shoulder plates made of small animal bones. His skin was many shades lighter and blushing. He wore hundreds of beads, several glistening rings adorned his fingers, and his ears were pierced with bizarre ornaments. Part of his head was shaved and the remaining chestnut hair was long and braided. Golden stripes of face paint glistened in the poor light.
"There were two," the Uruk-hai started, "but-"
"Where is the blond one?" the priest interrupted.
"This big dark one ate the smaller blond one, master," a small Orc explained.
"Fools," the priest snarled, "elves don't eat each other. Where is my blond elf?"
"Little red-haired elf dropped dead a long time ago. Sazaar's blond one, Larnen, is dead too. We got them into a fighting ring, just for fun, but someone fed the big dark elf Orc blood. He got wild." The Uruk-hai confessed. "He injured the blond one too badly, we had to kill him. It can't be helped. This is the only live elf we have left."
The priest stalked over to Elrond. He lifted the half-elf's chin and examined the elf-lord with his piercing, pale blue eyes.
"He looks sturdy enough," he said finally, "he will do."
"Glad you like him," the Uruk-hai breathed in relief, "but he will cost you, my friend. A pint of red venom for each pound of his weight. Take it or-"
"I said I will take him! I have no choice," the priest suddenly looked nervous. "I have no choice now. Give me your hand," the priest turned to Elrond. The half-elf suspiciously eyed the Haradrim. Things could not get worse, he thought, stretching out his limb. He had too much on his mind to be worried about a handshake. The priest took and held Elrond's arm, carefully watching the elf's facial _expression. Elrond felt no pain, only the numbness that begun to spread up his arm. He yanked his hand back, but too late. His eyelids grew heavy and the surroundings grew dim.
I will never again touch, drink, or sniff anything with a potential to leave me without my senses, Elrond decided, sitting up. He paused momentarily to examine his reflection in the black granite floor. The stone felt smooth and pleasant beneath his well-rested body. He looked to discover that the room in which he sat had no walls. It was simply a well-lit square that lie at the cross point of two black marble hallways. Slender silver torches shot orange and green flames into the heated air. At the center of the room water and fire escaped from the mouth of a ruby-eyed Barlog that towered above a foaming, turquoise pool of water. The elf-lord instantly disliked the place. An ominous feeling that something sinister and evil lurked beyond the reach of light settled at the bottom of Elrond's stomach. This is what the Halls of Mandos would look like, he thought, looking up to the trembling priest. The short Haradrim stood chanting something over the water, his hands shook in anticipation and fright.
"Where did you bring me," Elrond asked calmly, hardly expecting to be surprised.
"Ahhh. Ah," the priest jumped at the voice. "City of Umbar," he blurted.
Elrond's lower jaw slowly dropped. Umbar, so far south of Gondor. I cannot be that far, Elrond shook his head in disbelief. No, it is impossible, unless...he looked to see how well the wounds on his shoulders healed. There were faint spots now. The elf-lord's forehead perspired. I must have slept for days if we traveled so far. And how will I return home? He looked up when the priest's motions became erratic. A gust of icy wind tore through the burning flames. The Haradrim shrunk in size, bend down a little, and uttered incoherent prayers, casting his frantic stares into the shadowy hall.
"You brainless little vermin!" Sazaar roared, appearing from the shadows. He noisily yanked one of the hefty torches from the ground and brought it down, aiming to crush the priest's head. Elrond covered his face to shield it from a shower of rocky fragments. "You stupid, useless, good-for nothing, treasure-squandering whore!" He smashed to bits the massive marble statue behind the cowering priest.
"Have mercy!" the smaller man whimpered, "he was the only live elf they had left!"
"Is that so?" Sazaar effortlessly lifted a glass water stand and brought it to the ground, spraying the trembling man with flying glass. "I sent you to buy a blond female elf!" he screamed, squeezing the priest's tender neck, "and this," Sazaar pointed in Elrond's direction, "is a male with black hair! Where did we misunderstand each other? Huh? Answer me?" he lifted the man high in the air by the throat. "Can you not tell a female from a male?"
"Forgive me, chief, I-"
"Shut up! To hell with your excuses! Where is Larnen?"
"Dead, my master, he's dead!"
Sazaar forcefully threw the man to the ground and walked over to where Elrond sat observing the scene with interest. Sazaar forcefully gripped the elf-lord's hair, pulling him up to his feet.
"Now look at this!" Sazaar cried, "what am I supposed to do with him now? Huh? Raniz, you coward, tell me? You paid a fortune for an elf that is too dark to sell! What am I going to do with him?"
"Kill him," the choking priest rubbed his neck, "or...better yet, you can still sell him to master Zartan of Bazhisa-Dar, he is always buying. Larnen would have cost more, but any elf is an asset, chief. Keep him. And spare my life."
"Looks like we meet again, desert lily, " Sazaar shook bristling Elrond, "but on my territory this time."
"I am not glad to see that you are still alive," Elrond forcefully broke from Sazaar's grip. "Filthy-hearted bastard! Is there nothing sacred for you in this world? You trade living beings like cattle! Death would be a reward to a viper like you!"
"And death is what you shall receive if you ever again cross me in word," Sazaar gripped Elrond jaw. "You saved my life, but I will shed no tears if you die. You will dine with me in one hour and if you behave well fortunes might still turn your way." Elrond angrily broke Sazaar's hold on his chin. Yes, he was still the same, maddeningly handsome and wild.
"Dine with you? I'd rather die. I mean what I say, I'd rather die."
"You solved my dilemma then. Don't take me wrong, you are beautiful, river pearl, more so than all the elves I've seen. But you are dark, and dark is not worth as much in the land of brunets. I don't need to keep you. See this sword?" Sazaar unsheathed a wide, crescent shaped blade with a golden tip, "for your kindness to me I will behead you. It will be quick and won't hurt. But you will dine with me first. Here," he pushed Elrond towards the priest, "make him presentable."
"You do not yet comprehend the worth of the creature you've captured," Lord Nazhdar leaned in closer. Sazaar granted his elder companion a thoughtful stare. He felt ill at east near the scar-faced ruler of Umbar. "A creature so ancient and wise, perhaps one of the greatest elves to walk Middle Earth, and you plan to decapitate him so senselessly? Having lived so long you ought to have far greater wisdom."
"What must I do with him then?" Sazaar chuckled tensely. "Escort him home?"
"You toy with things you do not understand!" Lord Nazhdar scolded. "His hands wielded a sword centuries before you were born!"
"Impossible," Sazaar slammed down his goblet, "he cannot be that old!"
"Oh yes, my friend," Lord Nazhdar whispered mysteriously, "he is old enough to have met your mother. He is the reason why your mother never became a queen."
"Silence," Sazaar bared his carnivorous teeth in a scowl,
"I wish to hear nothing of it! I don't care!"
"Really? Then you might as well kill him," Lord Nazhdar shrugged innocently, "indeed, you may have the most bizarre ancestry in all of Arda, but what of it?" Sazaar's face grew dark with fury. He took a slow sip of his wine and rose up.
"How do you know this?"
"Oh, my boy, the lore passed on through generations is never forgotten in Umbar. The High King's affair with your gray-eyed captive was rather legendary in its time. Fascinating, how you two should run into one another in all of Middle Earth's vast space."
"Order your servants to begin setting the table," Sazaar said quietly.
"Wise choice, wise choice indeed. To you and to magnificent Lord Elrond." Nazhdar raised his goblet.
Elrond made no effort to resist the guards who escorted him into a mirror room for the dressing. The servants craftily wrapped his body in a burgundy tunic similar to Elven in design, but cut open from the hips down on each side. A stiff midriff protector, close in appearance to Sazaar's armor, was fastened over the heavy silk. Its cost must have been exceptional. Elrond carefully touched the lines of rubies, pearls, and polished amber sawn onto the leather piece that squeezed his middle. A dwarf would have killed to possess such a work of craftsmanship. Elrond frowned. A wide decadent collar-necklace weaved with hundreds of diamonds sparkled brightly enough to bleaken the light of all stars.
Why such lavishness if Sazaar plans to murder me after dinner? Minutes later Elrond took his seat at the right side of what he surmised to be his captor's throne. Erestor was not wrong about Sazaar's status. Walking into the dinning hall the man carried himself like a king. The few Haradrim soldiers Elrond saw not merely bowed but cowered in front of Sazaar, fearing that at any moment their beast leader would bite open their throats. His growl was deep and sinister. Men did not growl. He must be part Uruk-hai, Elrond concluded when Sazaar settled next to the elf-lord.
Mead, wine, and honey brew flowed from countless pitchers into the hungry goblets of the dark lords. Eyeing the merry company Elrond surmised that only Sauron himself was missing from the feast. There were dwarf witches and Haradrim chiefs, Easterling commanders and wild-eyed shamans of the wild men from the planes, and there were, of course, the greedy-eyed human traders from all dark corners of Middle Earth. They tore into the mounds of bleeding meat, interrupted each other's bragging tales of gruesome slayings, and then laughed in unison, banging on the table and choking.
For incoherent hours Elrond observed the unholy merrymaking, slowly sipping the rancid mead. Every goblet went up in Sazaar's honor, but the chief himself hardly uttered a word. He consumed his own portion of bloody flesh and exchanged amiable phrases with the Mumak drivers seated next to him. Elrond grew drunk and bored. "How do they understand each other, they each speak at once and in a different tongue," Elrond finally asked Sazaar when the two Mumak drivers departed.
"They don't," he smirked, pouring the rest of mead down his throat. "Drink some more," he offered when his goblet was refilled, "the feast is in your honor. Enjoy it."
Nothing Elrond's eyes saw seemed real. The mead was weak, but considering how much of it the elf-lord consumed out of boredom, it became intoxicating. He yawned. The wide dining hall of black marble, the raging flames of the lined-up torches, the unfamiliar garb on his body, the faces of his mortal enemies, all turned in his direction and suddenly smiling. It was unreal. Sazaar gave Elrond a hard shove in the ribs.
"Behave like you are paying attention."
"Why must I?" Elrond declared in annoyance. He grew tired of the circus and wanted out of the dream. "To hell with you and your scoundrels, Sazaar," he angrily tried to get up from the table.
"Do it now." Sazaar barked at someone behind Elrond's back.
Elrond let out a pained cry, but Sazaar held him down until the half-elf's urge to break free and destroy his torturer subsided.
He smelled the scent of burning skin. A moment of considerate silence hung in the air until a bearded, one-eyed Easterling raised his goblet high in the air.
"To you, our friend!" The guests went wild with booming laughter and cheering.
"Forgive my slyness," Sazaar patted Elrond's arm in mock apology, "marital branding is usually a rather elaborate ceremony, but you are too inclined to fight what is forced upon you and you are a formidable fighter. I couldn't afford you injuring my comrades."
Elrond's fingers quickly journeyed to his burning neck. He felt the swollen patch of skin. There was a medium size symbol branded into it. Since his meeting with Gil-Galad a state of detached nonchalance hung over the elf-lord, but if reality wasn't sinking in before, it was now burned into his skin. Elrond came to comprehend a very chilling truth about his situation. He was property and now Sazaar's claim to ownership was solidified by an ancient custom.
"You will pay for this!" Elrond screamed, grasping Sazaar's fork and driving it into the eye-socket of the Mumak driver who still held the smoking branding rod. Elrond was pleased to find that his body hasn't forgotten its warrior days. He outmaneuvered the other Mumak driver and grasping one of the suspended torches he set the man aflame. Screaming horribly the burning creature ran in a frantic half-circle before crushing into the middle of the lavishly set table. Chaos broke out, as the startled guests, some with meat still dangling from their mouths, scattered out of the way. A hissing shaman, whose hand was burned in the stampede, ran into the chain that anchored the suspended chandelier. Seeing the tablecloth go up in flames Elrond nodded to himself. His injured pride was well satisfied.
He grabbed the spear of the burning man and sprinted out into the hall. He made several haste turns before stopping short in front of the most breathtaking piece of jewelry he ever saw. The wide bracelet sat on top of a small pedestal in the shadowy space. Elrond favored sapphires above all precious stones, for their tranquil color forever reminded him of Mithlond seashores and his most sacred love Gil-Galad, who always wore a sapphire pendant. Elrond slowly crouched over the bracelet, as its blue glow had an unexpected appeal. He examined the piece, feeling the hundreds of stones embedded in silver with his hot fingers. It was Elven made, he knew at once, for the design was well-known to him. Gil-Galad's pendant was made in the same manner. Elrond turned the bracelet over.
It's silver base was carved with barely discernable ancient writings in Elvish. Elrond drew in his breath and read the engraving.
"Lenara. My friend, my beloved. Forever grateful, forever loving. Forgive me, I could not force my heart to forget him. Gil-Galad."
"Charming little thing, is it not?" Sazaar quickly threw a chain over Elrond's neck. The half-elf blinked at him in disgust.
"Lady Lenara was a legendary elf healer and a maiden of noble blood. How did her bracelet end up in your possession," he demanded.
"I will let you contemplate that," the Southorn replied. His breath reeked of mead. "But it's yours to keep. Now get in!" He tried to force Elrond through the oval door, but the elf-lord resisted. Sazaar let out a whistling roar. "Get in!" His force was extraordinary. He slammed his hand into the oak door, nearly shattering it into two. He then pulled on the chain with such wrath that Elrond decided it was a bad time for rebellion. Sazaar effortlessly carried him for a few feet and then dropped onto a lush carpet in the corner of a darkened room. The chain was fastened onto a wall-hook.
"Now," Sazaar squatted just far enough to avoid Elrond's angry hands, "open your pointed ears and listen." His face looked unexpectedly sad in the reddish light of the burning fireplace. "Nothing seems to phase or break you, and I admire that, but tonight you destroyed the mate with whom I shared twenty-eight years of my life. It is your good fortune that a Haradrim cannot harm his wife on the wedding night, but-"
"Wife?" Elrond bristled. "Do you dare imply that your branding of my neck constitutes a recognized wedding?"
"Hold your tongue before I rip it out!" Sazaar pointed his sword at the scowling half-elf. "Don't get any ideas. Between us marriage is a term of trade. We own our wives much like we own our stallions and armor, and you, desert lily, are my belonging, like that bed, this blade, or the binding bracelet you so kindly put on. I can strangle you if so doing will please me and right now I want nothing more than to torture you to death. So be quiet and do not aggravate me. I grieve tonight."
They pushed on out of Umbar at dusk and by the dawn of the seventh day Elrond made his first steps in the sands of the great Haradwaith. He insisted on walking barefoot, hoping to eventually escape, but to his dismay the flat terrain surrounding Umbar provided no plausible cover for miles. Elrond snorted in frustration. It was one thing to be kidnapped and forcibly driven away by the enemy, but he was not even bound by a single chain. In fact he moved within the loose walking formation with absolute freedom and not one of the surprisingly chatty Southorns did so much as to order him back in line. He wore fitted knee-long riding pants of soft, beige material. The rest of his sweat-coated body was exposed to the merciless sun and the lewd glares of the nomads.
In his younger years Elrond would have attempted to escape almost immediately, but not anymore. He was too old and too wise to be reckless and he chose not to run. His chances of outrunning the arrows weren't great and even if Valar was merciful enough to let him safely reach Umbar, his chance of making it out of the enemy city full of Sazaar's friends was rather dubious. And now something else held him in place. Elrond glanced at the sapphire bracelet on his wrist. He wanted the sparkling piece to vanish out of his sight, but he could not ban the blurred memory of lady Lenara, Gil-Galad's intended bride. More than an age ago he managed to conquer Gil-Galad's heart and destroy the High King's betrothal to the maiden.
During the subsequent centuries Elrond had no notion of Lenara's fate. She sailed for Valinor, he heard, but war was coming, darkness moving in, and as he prepared to fight by the side of his king he had forgotten all about the nasty incident. Until now. He watched as Sazaar climbed a sandy hill. The bracelet. Where was the connection? Sazaar crouched down and removed one of his earrings. He whispered something over the sparkling circle before burying it in the ground. He sat still for a moment, watching the rising sun.
"I am not proud of killing him," Elrond offered, approaching from behind, "twenty-eight years is a lifetime for a man. I did not know he was your mate."
"You don't regret it," Sazaar responded quietly, "he was your enemy and in war all means are just. It is not the first time I must return to the desert alone." Elrond took a step closer.
Haradrim grieved silently, and Sazaar, above all, could not afford to show weakness before his men. But pain had a way of sipping through the skin. "I won't force you to follow me," Sazaar said quickly, "if you must have it, I will grant you your freedom. You are an admirable being. I ought not to enslave you."
Elrond stared at Sazaar, his ancient mind grew suspicious. If he wanted to release me he would have done so back in Umbar, Elrond thought, shaking his head. He is testing me. To see if I will run at first opportunity. He hesitated, for another thought begun to gnaw at his senses. The human merchants present at their unholy wedding would no doubt carry the news of Elrond's illegitimate marriage back to Gondor and the Elven realms. This would cause a horrid scandal, the kind he was not ready to face. No, it wasn't the scandal, it was his enraged lover Gil-Galad that the half-elf was terrified of. The High King had an explosive temper and the fact that Elrond had been wed to Celebrian would incite an eruption of jealousy as it were. When news about this new development reached the king's ears, he would strangle Elrond with his own bare hands.
Elrond shuddered, picturing Gil-Galad's deadly grip on his neck. No, he wasn't ready to return, as cowardly as it sounded, he realized he was not ready to go back until enough time had passed and the rumors had subsided.
"Smart old elf," Sazaar chuckled, reaching to fondle Elrond's loose hair, "you never fail to amaze me. You pass my test. Everyone Forward!" he commanded, and the men resumed their walking into the sands. Elrond gave the towers of Umbar one last look. Well, I always wanted to see the great Haradwaith.
Meanwhile in Mithlond...
Gil-Galad shuddered from the sudden release. Icy morning air slid under the weightless fur throw that carelessly rested over his nude body. A warm tongue was licking most insistently on his left stomach. Ouch! Mmm, my darling. Gil-Galad fondled the silky raven mane, pulling and gripping it with playful roughness. Still trapped in the world of dreams, the king arched his back against the pleasure cramp that tingled up his legs. Intuitively he searched out and bit into the moist, delicate lips of his lover, hungrily invading his mouth with his tongue. His body, the ageless body of the wise being born of tranquil elves and fierce men, has not aged a bit. It was still taunt, still trembling, and so achingly willing. He kissed harder.
"Elladan!" Gil-Galad's eyes went wide. He pulled away from his lover and bristled. "Elladan! I will strangle you for your promiscuity!" The king stared at the two identical elves who were equally naked and equally aroused in his bed. Elrohir, who so painfully reminded Gil-Galad of his lover Elrond, cautiously withdraw his moist hand from Gil-Galad's relaxing cock. He lovingly petted the king's forearm.
"It seems hardly plausible that you are real," Elrohir purred, "our beloved stepfather."
"I am glad you so willingly adopted me as your parent," Gil-Galad gently ran his hand through Elrohir's hair, "but it is all I should be for you, a `stepfather', but not a lover." Gil-Galad froze when his eyes met Celeborn's.
"You little, whoring pests!" Celeborn grabbed a hold of Elladan and Elrohir's ears and painfully twisting them he dragged his grandsons out of the High King's bed. "Arr, I'll show you how to respect your elders!"
"Celeborn," Gil-Galad waved his hand, "release the poor souls. Remember me when I was their age? I wanted to make love to all of Arda!" Celeborn dropped the twins from his grip.
"And you have! To my great regret Cirdan made no attempts to restrain your desires, which is why you grew up to be the most daring, stubborn, and sexually perverted High King in Elven history! I want no such future for these two. Leave us," he shook his fist at the hesitating youngsters. "Erenion," Celeborn begun as he settled on the edge of the bed, looking away to avoid seeing his companion's nude body. "The hour is early, I know, but I must speak with you, for something bothers me greatly."
"Speak then, my friend."
"My love for you is deep and long standing, and nothing pleases me more than to have you back with us, but I must ask this, forgive my pettiness. Why were you sent to Middle Earth from the Halls of Mandos? Why weren't you released to your kin in Valinor?"
Gil-Galad set up and moved closer to Celeborn. His eyes grew pensive and nervous. "I am not permitted to sail West, Celeborn," Gil-Galad drew his eyes away, "until I correct one great wrong I have done. Until I am forgiven for my transgressions against the Valar`s will." Gil-Galad rubbed his suddenly tired face. "I love Elrond," the High King sighed, "and that love is like fire, my friend, burning both of us and some innocent bystanders. Galadriel's healer, Lady Lenara, do you recall me telling you of our proposed betrothal?"
"Much time has passed, Erenion, and no one holds a grudge against you for letting her back out of the marriage. She made her choices, and so have you."
"The Valar meant for me to marry her, Celeborn, but on the night of her acceptance I could not resist the call of Elrond's youthful body."
"Erenion, perhaps I must not know of such intimate details– "
"No, Celeborn, this must come to light. I proposed, and then I cheated. Valar sees it, I cheated. Walking into our betrothal chamber my poor Lenara saw nothing other than my naked ass on top of Elrond, who himself was but an awkward elfling. She saw through time, saw that Elrond and I will be forever bound by love forever. And she released me, out of pity, for she loved me more than life and placed my happiness above her own. She had no faith in political marriages."
"You never spoke of this before."
"I said I was a coward! And she concealed my cowardice."
"Erenion, do you even begin to comprehend how much chiding poor Lenara and her family withstood on your and Elrond's behalf? Valar knows I love you both, but there must have been a more graceful way to handle this! If Elrond was a foolish elfling with an aching groin, you were a mature king with great responsibilities to fulfill! Didn't you see that by cheating you were inviting trouble?"
"I couldn't foresee the consequences. Besides, Celeborn, I could offer her nothing but an eternity of infidelity. I hoped, and with good reason, that Lenara would forget me and some day find a mate who would love her and be loyal to her. What I didn't know is that in the passion of the moment Lenara recklessly ran from Mithlond to get away and was captured by a Haradrim tribe that passed our Soutern borders on their way to Mordor. The chief was a man of stunning looks, young, vigorous, and hungry for a woman."
"Don't tell me. Don't even dare to confirm what I am fearing!"
"It wasn't a tale of rape and torture, I was told she instantly fell in love with him and eventually gave birth to his son. But the birth was difficult and after nearly dying my poor Lenara was dazed for days. She wondered into the forest in search of healing herbs and at the cursed moment a band of Gondorian scouts attacked the tribe."
"I remember, Erenion, the scouts carried Lenara back to us."
"Yes, her kin took her with them as they sailed to Valinor, but they were unaware that she had a child, Celeborn. Lenara told very few that she has given birth, but only I knew the truth about the child's sire. The chief's sister brought Lenara's son to us a few days later, but I..." Gil-Galad's voice trembled, "I was too scared to face the responsibility his presence placed upon me. The infant was beautiful, but he wasn't like the elflings of our kind.
His eyes were bright golden in color, a trait neither men nor elves carry. I never heard of any elves producing mutual offspring with the desert dwellers and I had no idea what to do with him. Elrond thought it wise to give the child back to his rightful sire. I saw no reason to object."
"Erenion, you, of all elves to ever walk the soil of Arda, you had the heart to hand a little defenseless child into the arms of a Haradrim chief? I am shocked by Elrond's stupidity, but granted, he was young and had no wisdom with which to judge, but you! The High King of Noldor? He belonged with us! He is the last surviving male in one of the oldest Elven families! Lenara had no other children! Damn you for this! A curse on your head, he should have been your son, oh I wish you never told me this!"
"And so the Valar's judgment is upon me, my friend. Lenara, I, and her misbegotten child will live in a torturous limbo until his forgiveness releases my guilt. Only his grace will grant me permission to sail to Valinor. And free me from this tormenting headache."
"But Erenion," Celeborn reached out to nervously fondle Gil-Galad's naked thigh, "how will you ever find him? I hardly doubt he was granted Elven grace upon birth, for he was separated from his mother at such young age, but even if immortality was granted to him...
He is probably belligerent as a wild cat and hardly interested in visiting."
"Oh he is, very much so. Whether he is belligerent is another matter, but I still owe him my life. He killed Lord Faelor."
"You can't mean what you're saying, Gil-Galad you are sleepy and you are losing your objectivity, come now, he-"
"He wore Lenara's bracelet, Celeborn. And his ears looked just like Elrond's, rounded but with slight points. I will never forget his eyes. He definitely inherited Lenara's beauty."
"But Sazaar is definitely his father's son," Celeborn abruptly rose up from the bed. "I befriended several spice merchants passing through Lothlorien on their way from Bazhisha-Dar. I once asked them on the origins of this man and they said all males in Sazaar's clan were cursed by madness. It begun with his great-ancestor who was, in fact, a real Uruk-hai, so here is the explanation for his amber eyes. His father was a great reformer, I was told, but he went mad and sold Sazaar to a cannibalistic black chief from the jungles of the Far Harad. They had quite a time ruling together until Sazaar matured, killed his aging master and husband, and inherited his freedom. He then advanced himself to a higher status and greater wealth through lucrative marriages to other powerful tribal chiefs and rich politicians. He sells others, and himself for that matter, to the highest bidder and Sauron was the last customer."
"Celeborn, I highly doubt that a child raised in his circumstances had much choice but to follow the laws of the desert, however savage they may seem to us."
"I would learn to live with that headache, Gil-Galad, because I do not believe looking for this lost child of yours will bring you much relief either. What is learned at a young age cannot be undone in maturity. You can neither reform him nor coarse him into forgiving you, if forgiveness is what you seek."
"Perhaps not, dear Celeborn," Galadriel walked in, carrying a thin leather lace and satin belt in her hand. "But I do believe we must find him, for he alone knows how these items came into possession of a slave merchant King Elessar's scouts have captured."
"They belonged to Elrond," Celeborn examined the belt.
"And the merchant claims Elrond belongs to Sazaar, who paid great fortune to buy him from the Orcs."
"What?" Gil-Galad collapsed in bed, gripping his head.
"When first I heard the rumors I was in great confusion, but this heinous story you just told clarifies many matters for me. Gil-Galad, Sazaar took Elrond with him into the desert, and if you want to see your lover again you best be thinking of how to lure him back to Mithlond. He won't injure or resell Elrond, I am confident, for they are quite attached to each other in a spiteful way, but he won't easily give up his trophy either."
"Spread tents in half-circle, two rows, back to back. Guards, facing north, Archers, all eyes to the south. Hunters, depart now, before the sun sets. Return with food when the Alibris star is in zenith. You two," Sazaar beckoned two slender youth, "I want fires set."
Elrond allowed the leather sack he was carrying to slide off his shoulders. In the waves of the setting red disc of the sun the grand Haradwaith was magnificent. Heat seeped from the fiery sands, spreading a spicy, tingling aroma of dryness. Elrond absentmindedly settled near the blaring fires, his eyes fixed on the dancing shadows. In the desert darkness fell suddenly. How eerie. How foreign. Back in Rivendell Elrond thought that in the desert the view of the stars must be a source of perpetual tranquility. Now seeing the sky he suffered from deep emotional unrest. In a bizarre way the fire and the tents reminded him of the last time he took up arms in the War of the Last Alliance. Right now, in the dark, he could almost hear the faint voices of generals planning the assault on the Mordor Gates, could smell the men boiling scant brew, the elves exchanging inspiration and encouragement. And there, at the edge of his vision, was his Erenion, disheveled and fatigued, looking aged and mortal, as if he knew that next sunrise will bring his death. Elrond tasted bitterness in his mouth.
"Eat this, if you don't, there will be no food for another day." Sazaar, who somehow already managed to get drunk, threw a gutted, half-cooked rabbit with most of its fur still intact into Elrond's lap. Elrond watched his new master remove his outer cloak to bare his flawless tan flesh. Sazaar produced a series of strange guttural calls and as Elrond watched in dismay a couple of silent-footed archers appeared from the shadows. Sazaar continued his wordless communication until the men obediently shed their robes.
"Oh you be damned!" Elrond picked up a stick and impaled the rabbit with it. "Don't you have any wish for privacy?"
"Why?" Sazaar roughly pulled on the long, patchy-tinted hair of his companion, steadying the man beneath himself. "This is completely natural." He lazily mounted the uneasy youth who briefly squeaked in pleasure. Elrond stuck the rabbit in the fire, disgusted to the bone. Sazaar made few attempts at foreplay with the nine lovers he possessed that night. He never kissed any of them.
"You filthy beast," Elrond angrily bit into the singed flesh, "not only did you reduce me to the life of a cursed Gollum, but you have to disgust me further by fucking with your harem before my eyes!" Sazaar wasn't fazed by Elrond's obvious resentment, in fact his monstrous libido seemed to have been aided by the thrill of voyeurism. When the last of his seed was spilled he thanked his companion and rose up. Elrond snorted.
"Some day you will catch a rotting disease on that horse cock of yours and die."
"It will be your lucky day then, you'll be free from all marital obligations to me." Sazaar walked past the half-elf to join a small band of his men for a session of socializing. They were a close-knit bunch, Elrond though, observing from his private space on the other side of the fire. Watching their casual grooming the half-elf gritted his teeth in fury. Sazaar intruded into his world without invitation and rewrote all the rules that governed the elf-lord's existence. He was the seducer who tempted Elrond's body and the murderer who oppressed Elrond's mind. He stood between Elrond and his righteous lover Gil-Galad, and he was the reason for poor Larnen's death. But he lived on, content as always, grooming his comrades and laughing without guilt. Elrond's fingers curled in the silky sand. I will watch you die like a dog tonight, the half-elf decided. The Valar sees it, I will. And if I will be punished with death, then be it.
"What is this?" Elrond ran his hand again over the rough surface his fingers encountered. "The black delirium root! Oh the Valar is merciful tonight!" Elrond hastily dug out the semi-circular poisonous black plant that hid itself in the ground. Elrond's lips spread into a small smile.
"Sazaar," he called innocently, "I am thirsty. Won't you have mercy on an old elf and bring me water?"
"First watch, stand guard. Second, off to sleep. Tomorrow morning we hold our course to the Dar port." The small band of men dispersed like ghosts. Yawning, Sazaar neared Elrond and handed the half-elf his black flask of mead. Elrond took a few sips, and before handing it back he slipped the venomous fragment of the delirium root into the container.
Why won't you just drink it and drop dead! The half-elf grew paranoid. He fidgeted, played with a small dagger, sat, stood, paced in a circle, then finally he came to lay down beside Sazaar, who half lay half sat in the shadow of the trembling tent. Elrond gazed at the man's face, trying to determine if the venom had been ingested. He killed many times, but only in honorable, face to face combat. He never murdered anyone in sly and the aftertaste of doubt begun to gnaw at Elrond's gut. He was a healer, not an assassin. And he was not cruel at heart. What if it will hurt too much? What if it takes several days of suffering before he dies? Elrond shuddered.
"Why do you sleep with your eyes open?" he asked in a hushed voice.
"I like to watch you," Sazaar's smile was pensive and weary. "Your face is still like an open volume. Of all my wives I think I knew you best."
"You said I am your only wife," Elrond bit down to fight the rising nervousness.
"You are now, you greedy thing." Sazaar gently patted Elrond's cheek. "My first wife died in childbirth, second was killed trying to rescue our children from captivity, third died in the great plague. I never married women since then. My fourth mate was male and he died in battle, and the fifth, well, you burned him alive."
"And you have no children?"
"The desert has my children. My youngest daughter married the son of a wealthy Gondorian merchant, against my advice. His relatives burned both of them alive. They could not allow "impurities" in their noble bloodline."
"I would do what you have done if my child was burned alive for her love." Elrond shook his head in defeat. "I would join the Orcs and fight to destroy the White City." He sighed. "Truth be told, there are two sides to every legend. I cannot say anything that would describe the depth of my regret. You lost everyone you loved so many times over and I left you a widower again. Twenty-eight years, it is a lifetime for a mortal."
"Yes, and his lifetime was coming to an end." Sazaar propped himself up. "He was not young when we wed and after three decades harsh life caught up to him. He was dying, it was only a matter of time. And it was his wish to die in battle, not my allegiance to Sauron or desire to pay back for my daughter's death, that brought us into the war you despise so much. I wanted to die alongside him, but when the Oliphaunt we rode was brought down, both of us lost conciseness falling. We slumbered beautifully through the entire battle. Instead of a sweet release from the drudge of life all we got was shame and guilt at having to bury most of our tribe in the foreign soil."
"And the ship bound for Valinor, tell me honestly, did you-"
"It's time, midnight. I think you know the answer yourself." Elrond grabbed Sazaar's arm and shook him violently.
"Wait," he pleaded, "the bracelet on your wrist, just tell me-"
"Lady Lenara," Sazaar's gaze grew distant, "was my mother.
Yes, a real elf. Isn't it ironic? I'm sure you know the story. It was your love that separated my mother from the High King. I despised him, and you. But I do no more. On the contrary, I came to understand many things since about the depth and purity of your affection for him. As for me, well, we write our own fate, desert lily, and I dug out my own grave. You are not to blame."
"I am sorry, in the name of all that is just and sacred, forgive me," Elrond leaned in to touch foreheads with his master, no longer able to restrain the flood of tears. "It wasn't your shortcoming, you were a baby. I, I begged the High King to do this, to give you back to your parent, so that all connections, all reminders of my rival, your mother, was out of Gil-Galad's sight. I was young and arrogant, with no other sense but lust and determination. I wrote your fate for you. No!" Elrond snatched the bottle from Sazaar's weakening hand, "don't you dare to drink this!"
"I already did, midnight. My Uruk-hai great-grandfather gave me more than yellow eyes, my sense of smell is keen like that of a desert lynx. Do you think I can't smell the rancid root on your hands? Tell me, my compassionate killer, where do elves go when they die? Will I ever get to meet the woman who cursed me with this inherited immortality? Whatever happens, I thank you for this. It is a beautiful and peaceful way to die. Much more than I could ask for. Return home, my beauty, to your rightful lover. You are free." Elrond sat up, trembling like a child. The weight of acidic guilt burned him from the inside as if he swallowed flame. For the first time in his ancient life he was scared speechless, scared to the point of mad panic and shock. This was wrong, all wrong. Elrond forced himself to get up. Away, I need to leave this place. The elf-lord walked out from the tent into the heated night. Nobody paid attention as he took his leave. The men were nervously watching the distant dunes.
Several hours later...
Elrond fell to his knees on the sand. Red flashed in his eyes, his lungs stung. Was it screams, that he was hearing. He called to the Valar, but his vision of the guiding light was weaker. He sensed it. I am losing my mind, Elrond cast his eyes to the merciless sun. He had violent visions, dark thoughts, places where an elven mind should never venture. Sauron's eye. Sinister whispers. Was it creatures or shadows, crawling on the shifting dunes. Elbereith, clear my mind. Elrond rose up. Sauron's grip remained strong on the land of sands. This desert a wicked. He turned to face the black smoke rising above the dunes. Instinctively he begun walking in the direction from which he came.
Insanity, what happened here? Elrond slowed his walk as he came down the dune`s top, carefully drawing in the burning air.
The spot where the camp was set the night before turned into a mortifying battlefield. Bloodied bodies and severed limbs dripped blood into the hungry, white sands. Thin swirls of black smoke rose into the cloudless sky from the burning remnants of the tents. Weapons, clothes, and golden coins littered the ground. Elrond carefully made his way to one of the burning fires, where Sazaar sat on his knees, his hair draping over the face of a young hunter, whose wounded body rested in Sazaar's embrace.
"You...didn't...."
Sazaar angrily looked up. "You actually came back to check if I was dead?"
"No, I...."
"Next time you decide to help me die in peace," Sazaar growled, "make sure you use something potent enough to finish the job! The delirium root you gave me was not ripe! It just put me to sleep, and you know what happens when the chief sleeps at night? Another tribe approaches undetected, because my men cannot smell and see as well as I do! They are taken by surprise and can neither run nor defend themselves fairly!" He gently closed the eyes of the dead hunter, laying his body to rest in the sand. "My mate's most beloved son, the last link to the past. I just wish I could follow you and your sire into oblivion right this second. What did you do with the rest of that root?"
"Everything happens for a reason," Elrond tried to sound casual, but his nerves were betraying him. "You are cursing me right now, and I had my share of hatred for you as well, but our paths were meant to cross. Valar brought us together for a reason."
"Clever old creature, are you trying to talk me into sparing your life?"
"My death will not bring them back, nor will it ease their souls to see you take your life. Your mother loved you beyond words, you were her only legacy in Arda, and I don't see your destiny ending here with the flash of a suicidal blade. Valar granted you immortality for a reason. You are meant to live for greater things."
"Oh spare your pity rhetoric! I wasn't about to kill myself,
Elrond, it takes more courage than I possess. Damn this," two small trails of crystal tears escaped his eyes, "I am returning home to Bazhisha-Dar, to live out the rest of my immortal life alone, in a drunken bliss."
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