Pairings: Elrond/Gil-galad
Summary: "Upon return to Imladris I did not sleep for fear of nightmares; the dreams that haunted my waking were bad enough as I struggled to front normalcy." Elrond must adjust after the fall of Gil-galad.
Rating: NC-17
Note: Thank you to Talullah for her invaluable beta reading
At first I liked him because we were so similar: dark hair, fair skin, light eyes, and a strong preference for quiet order instead of the raucousness of a large, merry gathering with too much wine. Simplicity was dear to us; we both loved the night sky and the two of us would often go out, and simply stare at all the stars in the heavens.
"Your Adar [father]," he would whisper - every single time - and we would both look to Eärendil.
That was when I was younger. He was a teacher, a guide, and two parents condensed into one. The fact that he was High King never really weighed heavily on my mind; he was just Gil-galad: ever patient, ever kind, always with a quiet smile. He took me under his wing and nurtured me, so caring. He rejoiced when I found a love for the art of healing and told me tales of old to feed my love of lore.
As a child I adored Gil-galad and strove to be like him in all ways, but as I grew older things changed, at least, for me.
There was one secret that I would share with no one. It was dark, it was terrible, and so I hid it from all until night fell and dared to think of it when I was alone. I would wander out into the gloom, hoping dearly that Eärendil could not see what was in my heart from where he watched on me in the sky. Surely if he could, he would call upon the Valar to strike me down where I stood.
I loved and desired Gil-galad. Such a strange thought, but once I allowed myself to accept it the idea was not so awkward in my mind.
It was not the love for him that betrayed my soul to sin, but the desire that came with it. I knew that my loyalty to him went beyond the deepest friendship when my body began to react to his presence. At first it began with a tingling in my chest and belly when I was around him, and my heartbeat quickened. I was not sure that I liked it, but found it thrilling and was left in constant want of more.
I viewed him in a different light, and every time he touched me it was like a jolt of fire through my body. Once I had actually gasped and pulled away. Gil-galad had given me a puzzled glance, and I mumbled some excuse of day dreaming.
The tingling mellowed over time to a feeling of contentedness when I was in his presence. I felt alive when I was around him, as if we shared one body and mind, and without him I was not whole and complete.
One day, I looked up from my book and instead of reading he was gazing at me.
"What is it?" I asked.
"Darkness stirs," he said, turning his face away so that it was hidden in a shadow.
"Yes," I replied, "But we are doing all in our power to keep it at bay."
"I fear for what will come. Take this, it is yours," he said simply, book sliding from his lap as he extended his hand toward me.
"I cannot take it," I shook my head vehemently, for gleaming in the center of his palm was Vilya, the Ring of the Air. "I cannot wield it."
"You must take it," he insisted firmly but calmly, hand still extended.
"It is too powerful," I protested.
Still he did not move, nor did he speak.
I shook my head again and covered my face with my hands as I began to understand: Gil-galad knew he was going to die. Why else would he bestow Vilya on me?
"Dearest, Elrond," he said quietly.
I started. Never before had he called me dearest.
Removing my hands, I saw that he still had the ring extended. I reached out one hand, shaking against my will and he dropped it into my palm.
"Keep it secret, Ring Bearer," he murmured, and his eyes were soft and glowing.
My lips trembled. I clasped my fist with the ring in it to my chest and drew a ragged breath. I did not want it, for I knew it meant that he would die, and the very thought of that possibility hurt me to my very core.
"Hush," Gil-galad said gently, and rising he kissed me soothingly on the forehead, both cheeks, and then the mouth. Then again, for a heartbeat longer, as his fingertips brushed my jaw.
It was a kiss and a touch that did not too far overstep the line between friends and lovers, but we did not speak of that day again. We went on as if it had never happened, though the bond between us was strengthened.
I hid Vilya but occasionally I would take it out and hold it, and sometimes at night, I would remember the kisses. My body would burn but my heart ached at the impending doom that, surely, would come too soon.
Six months later we marched to Orodruin, with the last of the men and elves that remained in Middle-earth.
I watched the silver and blue banners flutter in the wind, the streamers curling and dipping, and a feeling of doom and elation shrouded my heart. I always possessed foresight, something stronger than premonition but not bold enough to be proclaimed as fact. I knew many things about the ending before it happened: I would survive, as would several of my captains and warriors. Sauron would fall. This would be the end, for awhile, but there would be greater things to come. There was one thing, however, that weighed heavily on my mind and heart - the intuition that Gil-galad would also fall. It entered my thoughts and refused to go away, and I though wanted to believe that it was a foolish anxiety my heart told me that it would come to pass, and so the ending would be bittersweet.
The day before we attacked, we stopped briefly for a rest as the men in the army were in dire need of sleep. It was a last trace of merriment before the grimness of tomorrow. We traded stories, ones that had never been told before, and sang songs of love and of hope as if both could protect us.
Gil-galad called me to him at the deepest part of night and we walked a short distance out of the camp, stepping over sleeping men.
"Look at them," Gil-galad said. "As peaceful and innocent as babes at their mother's side."
I did not know what to reply. Was he wishing that we had never come here?
We walked on, beyond the sleeping men, until we were beyond hearing distance of the camp.
"There is Eärendil," he said, looking up and pointing.
"Do you think he sees us?" I said, a very childish question which he kindly indulged as we stood shoulder to shoulder.
"He sees us every night. Elrond," Gil-galad said softly, and though his eyes reflected the starlight they were sad. Not looking at me he asked, "You will remember all that I have taught you?"
He knew, I realized. He knew that he was going to fall tomorrow. "I will," I promised.
In a tone that was nearly an entreaty, he murmured, "You will remember me as Gil-galad, and not as King?"
"I shall remember you as both," I assured him. It was then that I realized he had no heir; he would be the last High King of the Noldor. "Why were you never married?" I asked, needing to know.
"I have never loved any...female," he replied, saying female so softly I was not sure if he had said it at all. Then he continued, "I have never had regrets, though." He turned to face me and changed the subject. "You have become great," he said, and there was the smallest bit of admiration in is voice. "You shall fare well in the ages to come." He touched my face with the back of his fingers, opened his hand to cup my cheek, kissed me ever so briefly, and turned and began to walk back toward the camp.
That was his good-bye, I said to myself and stood by myself in the starlight, watching him go.
The war was everything I anticipated, and a little bit more besides. In between fighting and tending the wounded as best I could - sometimes being called upon to do both at once - everything was a blur of clashing metal and blood.
We rallied and charged, then rallied and charged again and again, each time with less and less warriors. Despair began to poison through our hearts and minds, and I began to doubt my premonition. Perhaps we were all to die here on the slopes of Orodruin, I thought to myself, but one glance at the sneering face of an orc reminded me that I would rather die in battle than live to see darkness over come the earth.
Then, when all seemed nearly lost, it was over: Isildur, the young and slightly headstrong son of the King of Men, had bolted forward and lashed out, and it was over in a flash of broken metal and an unearthly scream. The orcs fled and we pursued them, and a few heartbeats later the smoking, stinking, black lands of Mordor were silent save the groans of the wounded and the dying.
I dug the point of my sword into the ground, leaned on the hilt, and heaved a sigh, a feeling of relief mingle with dread in my chest. Sauron had fallen, as I had foreseen, but where was Gil-galad? My eyes searched wildly over the landscape, but it was vast and littered with the corpses of men and elves and orcs.
I was not the one who found him; it was Erestor.
"Here," he called in a soft but hollow voice, and I rushed over to where he knelt in the mud.
It was Gil-galad of course, dead and broken, and no one - especially not me - could make him whole again.
That is the last thing I remember clearly until returning to Imladris. I forgot everything that happened in the time after the battle to the Peaceful Watch. I did not want to remember the wounded, both the ones who healed and the ones who did not. Nor did I want to remember the ones who mourned for their family and friends, or rejoiced in the reuniting of the ones who had lived.
I did not sleep for fear of nightmares upon return to Imladris; the dreams that haunted my waking were bad enough as I struggled to front normalcy. To have joy at our victory would have been impossible for in my heart I could not feel anything but empty loneliness, and eventually the strain was exhausting. I had to sleep, being too tired to deny that I was dependant on Erestor and Glorfindel poking to keep me awake.
"Drink this," said Glorfindel, leading me to bed firmly by the elbow and pushing me toward the mattress.
I tripped on the hem of my robe, and fell onto it.
"Drink this," he repeated, and I took a cup of something hot.
"Warm milk?" I mumbled, though I was so tired he could have handed me a spider and I probably would not have known the difference.
"It will soothe," he said gently, knowing my fears. "Sleep will be hard tonight. But the first dream is always the worst, and then it wanes after that."
"Will they ever go away?" I asked, clumsily pulling the blankets over me and sloshing the milk in the cup dangerously.
"No," Glorfindel said quietly. "But I think they are there for a reason. If they ever did completely, I would be worried."
I held out the half empty cup to him and he took it, and as I closed my eyes I heard the door latch shut.
Sleep was, at first, dreamless but then I saw images: Mount Orodruin, smoking and red, and spewing poisonous fumes. I saw Sauron's massive black-armored form towering over his army, and the sneering faces of the orcs. I saw my own kin rushing and yelling into battle and watched their bravery over come their fear.
I saw Erestor bending over Gil-galad, and for the first time I began to hurt. Something deep down in my chest began to ache, then the pain grew sharp and tears welled up in my eyes. Someone was screaming. It must have been me, for I felt the wetness on my face and the rawness in my throat, and then everything went dark and I let myself go limp.
"Elrond?"
The voice was familiar, but it could not be.
"Dear one, do not cry."
I knew that voice; it was Gil-galad. He was standing beside the bed, in his familiar blue and silver robes, no star on his forehead (for it irked him), and Vilya gracing his right forefinger. He sat on the bed, and feeling the extra weight on the mattress, I stared.
"I am dreaming," I mumbled to myself, then said to him, "I am dreaming...right?"
He smiled. "Does it really matter?"
"No," I replied at once.
Then he took my face in his hands, leaned forward, and kissed me.
I had never kissed anyone like this and neither had he, but this probably was a dream and so it did not matter. His lips were warm and smooth, dancing with mine as if he already knew how my mouth would respond to his. His tongue was inquisitive and wonderfully velvet, sliding into my mouth and gliding over my own, before pulling back to allow his teeth to nip at my lower lip.
"What is happening?" I whispered as he leaned his face against mine. "What is this?"
"It is everything I ever wanted," he breathed against my mouth. "You. Us." Gil-galad pulled back slightly and gaze at me, his eyes soft and gentle. "Undress for me, lovely one." Seeing me hesitate he added, "Please?"
I shifted slightly in the bed, pulling my tunic over my head.
His eyes grew round and eager and he took me in his arms and kissed me again, lunging and impatient with his tongue.
The mixture of the velvet and satin of his clothes rubbing against my skin was tantalizing. I made an willing sound in the depths of my throat, feeling my nipples harden into little peaks that sent shock waves through me. I whined through the kiss, pulling pleadingly at his garments, and he fumbled and I groped as we tugged clumsily, refusing to leave the other's mouth.
At length, we were forced to break apart and I watched eagerly as his clothes were done away with and tossed on the floor. The silver clip that held his hair away from his face was wrenched out and was sent clattering away on the floor to a far edge of the room, but neither of us noticed where it fell as he tackled me and threw the blankets from my body.
We both let out long breathless cries as he laid his weight atop of me, bare skin tingling and bodies lighting on fire. Limbs tangled around each other, fingers twined in hair and mouths locked, and he began to rock gently back and forth as we kissed long and deep. The friction began to drive us mad, and suddenly I was aware of my own hardness pressing into the thigh that pushed between my legs, and his was against my hip.
I pushed him back and stared a moment at his groin, erect and flushed, and as I watched a tiny drip formed on the tip. I reached out and dragged my index finger back and forth over the slit, smearing the drip and he moaned my name. I took the length in my hand and caressed it, finding him like myself yet much more tantalizing.
Then his hand found my erection too and I moaned as he began to stroke and tug on me immediately, a hungry look coming into his eyes. I moved my hand back and forth and across the head as I had learned with myself, the sheets rustling slightly at the movement of our bodies as we rocked against each other.
His mouth tangled with mine and we kissed, and all too soon my muscles began to tense and quiver and my groin drew fuller and I knew I would end soon. I felt heat rushing up inside me, my penis gave a jerk in his hand and I arched and cried out for the release that was to come.
Suddenly his free hand grasped my balls, rolling and tugging slightly as his other hand stopped, and I was left aching.
"Wait, love," he said in a husky voice, and he took my hand which still moved over him.
I whimpered, eagerly spreading my legs and wrapping them around him as I ground my hips against him hoping to relieve the burning between my thighs. "Gil-galad," I whispered against his slightly parted lips. "Why...?"
"Shh," he whispered against my mouth, and then there were two fingers pressing into the opening at the cleft between my legs. His fingers were slick with oil - stars above only knew how they came to be that way - but I was not about to question it. "I want everything that I could not have," he whispered, bending close to my ear.
His long fingers worked into me, strange at first but I loved any touch he bestowed on me so I did not complain. I clenched and released experimentally, rocking my hips into the rhythm he adapted to, until he hit something that made my mind splinter. Arching and splaying my legs as far as they would go I moaned and drove myself onto his hand.
"Again," I begged, and he complied, over and over until I was at my brink again.
Then he was pressing against me and then a heartbeat after into me, not with his fingers but with his erection. Before I could protest in pain he pressed in to the hilt and our hips were flush with soft balls pressing into the other's body. He was moaning and trembling in pleasure and fighting for control over himself, and I was mewing in pain.
"It hurts," I complained, sounding pathetic to my own ears.
"Dear one," he whispered breathlessly, showering kisses on my face and gasping. "Breathe," he urged, and the discomfort subsided and he began to rock back and forth.
I gripped his hips as things grew urgent and more rushed, feeling the muscles rippling under his skin, contracting and relaxing as he pumped into me. He took me in his hand and cupped, stroking as we moved and then we were both lost, crying out "Ai!" accompanied by the other's name. Recognizable words giving way to frantic nonsensical shouts, and everything in me tightened into white hot pleasure as I arched against him and spilled myself over his hand, muscles tightening around him.
He wailed, twitched, and his whole body stiffened in my arms as he reached his climax. Then he lay against me, heart pounding wildly and his sighs mingling with my own. Gradually we relaxed, nuzzling our faces again into the other's as we kissed.
"Is it over?" I whispered, and he kissed me again.
"It is," he said softly, sadly.
"But I do not wan-"
"Shh," he cut me off gently. "I will be with you. Look for me, in little things. You will do that for me, dear one?"
I was disappointed, but said, "Yes, I will."
He was pleased and kissed me again. "Do not be frightened of any more of dreams to come."
The next thing I was aware of was the sound of the birds in the trees outside. I woke slowly and groggily, feeling a deep peace of heart and better rested than I had in a long time. Gradually I became aware of the dry stickiness between my legs, and remembering the dream the night before I was hardly surprised. I shifted slowly and let out a soft grunt of pain as discomfort flashed through my backside.
Reaching my hand down I gingerly touched the pucker between my cheeks, and drew my hand up to examine. I rubbed my fingertips together, confused. They were oily, and flecked with tiny amounts of blood. Rolling on my side and lifting the sheet, I peered down at the mattress.
There were traces of blood and oil streaked across the white linen.
It had been a dream...had it not?
The End
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