Gilding the Lily
Maybe

A "gilded lily" and "to gild the lily" are expressions very much alike and so diverse in meaning as to confuse the unfortunate who has not stumbled across them before. This is particularly so when one realises that the first may have two meanings all on its own and which is appropriate depends entirely upon the context. A "gilded lily" is a term, when used by a male, that describes the virgin daughter of a high ranking lord or king; a fine prize for any man of equal rank to make his bride. However, to describe that self-same daughter with those words spoken by a female would be to slander the young lady – probably with just cause – and certainly to call into question her chastity. "Gilding the lily," however, means something quite different, not in terms of virginity - for it encompasses both meanings: that the one who is spoken of is chaste and equally that they shortly may not find themselves so - but in terms of sex for this term is solely applied to a male. Their gilder will be of the same sex as he who would claim the young lady. Of course, there are occasions when men will act like gossiping maidens, or women will use the male meaning in male company to ensure that the maid spoken of has her chastity respected. Language, you see, is a clever tool and one that must be used attentively, considerately, thoroughly and, above all, accurately.

Lord Elrond Peredhil, son of Eärendil, and loremaster in the kingdom of Lindon of the High King Ereinion Gil-galad, considered the example of his mentor and chuckled softly. Erestor's penchant for extensive and detailed annotation of any manuscript he was asked to edit did not go unappreciated. Elrond re-copied the corrected page of the draft, his careful tengwar script flowing out over the page with ease comparable to a spider spinning its web. Free to make detailed studies of the histories of his people and all other peoples in Middle-earth, Elrond's days were leisurely and long. He had chosen to study not only the histories, but also herb-craft and had developed a talent for healing that he would come to put to great use. He was, however, young, barely five hundred years of age and delighting in the peaceful times that permitted him to pursue his studies.

"You are idle, brother," his twin, Elros, would have accused, standing at Elrond's back looking over his shoulder, his sword on his belt and hands on his hips. "Eternity is the time it takes to extract you from your books long enough to do aught of any practical use."

Elrond lifted his head, tilting it backwards and imaging he could feel the hard set of Elros' stomach and rough fabric of his tunic catching at his hair. "There is practical use in all my pursuits," he countered softly to the empty library. "I am not of your kind, brother, I would not always fight the tides of time for supremacy and know that I would not see the conclusion of all that I would do, when time finally bests me."

Elros' answering snort sounded in his head and Elrond shook it, returning his eyes to his text. It had been no surprise when his twin picked the paths of mortal men, nor that he himself had followed the elves into eternity; their futures could have been enscribed on the stars for there had seemed to be no real choice to be made. Sometimes he felt Elros beside him still, though they had parted ways hundreds of years ago. He would not have been taken aback to turn and find Elros behind him; his brother had always seemed able to be in two places at once. Even now, some sixty years after his death, Elrond could imagine encountering him and discovering that Elros had in fact found a way to best time itself. Elrond himself had found the pace of life in the elven kingdom suited him, giving him time for reflection and consideration and study. And he put it too good use, everyday he found himself recalling or researching some aspect of his diverse scriptural interests to aid the high king and his advisors.

"Peredhel?"

Elrond swivelled in his chair and saw the High King Gil-galad himself making his way between the bookstacks. The king caught sight of him at that moment and smiled broadly. "Ah, good, I thought I might find you in here."

He lifted a chair out and joined Elrond at the desk, plunking his big frame down onto the spindly wooden seat, which creaked ominously. He shifted uneasily and glanced over his shoulder.

"My lord?" Elrond put down his pen and faced Gil-galad directly, the beginnings of a frown on his face. "Did you wish to speak to me about somewhat?"

"I did, yes," the king agreed, casting another, furtive, look over his shoulder. "Elrond, I wanted to discuss the recent reports we have received about the series of disturbances in..." He paused for a moment, cocking his head as though he were listening for some far off sound, and Elrond smiled.

"Dare I suppose that another marriage proposal has been received?"

The king's head snapped around to stare at Elrond. A startled laugh escaped him. He sat back in his chair with a shake of his head.

"Nothing gets past you, does it peredhel?"

"Ereinion," Elrond reproached gently. "You cannot avoid them forever. You know as well as they that, among other considerations, the continuation of the Noldor majesterial bloodline rests with you – lest you wish Galadriel to raise a queen who may read her subjects minds..."

The king grimaced. "You should join these councils, Elrond," he said waspishly. "You would be of great assistance to them. It is my misfortune that I cannot help but listen to your advice."

Elrond sighed, laying a hand on the king's arm to pacify him. "I will not remind you of what you already know and I fear my counsel would be ill. I am reluctant to be part of this handfasting machination; I could not countenance it for myself. Yet it must be done and duty may well prevent you from marrying for love. Will you not even hear the proposal?"

"Love?" the king laughed, a sharp bark of unamusement. "That was never a consideration, with the kingdom in need of an heir." He sighed. "You are right, as ever. I will hear the proposal at my own discretion and in my own time. I am not yet reconciled the practice that must accompany the theory, which I have long been aware of."

"You must be a great disappointment to your council," Elrond smiled. "Both in your dissention and in your comprehension. I think they would prefer you either ignorant or hard of hearing."

The king smiled too, but Elrond trailed off as he noticed the troubled expression lurking in the king's eyes.

"Never a consideration?" he said quietly.

Gil-galad met his eyes without flinching. A small sigh accompanied his answer. "Never."

"My lord," Elrond said carefully. "You are little older than I, and I am young by the reckoning of our kind, is it wise to so discount that which upon all our kind is once gifted?"

"You still believe that, do you?" The king's smile was humourless. "'Tis a story for elflings, peredhel. What of Finwë and his twice-found love? What of Ingwë? What of Cirdan? Both are as old as the world itself and still alone."

"There are exceptions to every rule, sire," Elrond reminded him. "Forgive me if yet awhile I do retain my faith." He watched the king shake his head, silent and dismissive. "But that was not really what you meant, was it?"

Again the king met his eyes squarely, but this time he did not speak. He rose and walked away to stand at the window. His hands behind his back and his gaze fixed on the middle-distance, he replied, "No, it was not."

Elrond looked down at the table and the words of Erestor's script seemed to shimmer in the sunlight falling through the ogival windows onto the parchment. The gilder will be of the same sex as he who would claim the young lady. He rose and joined the king at the window.

"What of you, peredhel?" the king asked, after a moment. His tone was conversational, in no doubt of Elrond's loyalty and therefore silence upon the previous matter.

"I believe we have already established that I am still bewitched by a youthful fantasy," Elrond replied, with a quirk of his lips.

The king kept his gaze on the spreading grounds of Lindon's cultivated gardens, the marble walkways veined and shining in the afternoon sunlight and the sea beyond the boundaries a shifting, sparkling blue. He looked at Elrond abruptly.

"You mean that, do you not?" he said suddenly, sounding surprised.

Equally so, Elrond nodded. "My lord, I do."

The king began to smile and hurridly squashed it. "Manwë's blood!" he said and shook his head. "Do you tell me you never think on alternative pleasures?"

Thoroughly startled, though he knew such liasons occurred both within the realms of Men – for Elros had spoken of it – and in those of his own people, Elrond shook his head. "My mind is mostly occupied," he answered. "No, my lord, I do not."

The king shook his head again, his lips moving silently as he tried to accommodate his astonishment. Then he smiled. He turned within the invisible bounds that seemed to extend beyond the window frame and faced Elrond, so close that the gold brocaided trim on his velvet cloak caught upon the russet silk of Elrond's own.

"Well," he said, "Seeing as neither one of us has the desire to see me wed," he raised his hand and touched Elrond's cheek. "Think on it."

With that he turned and was gone, only the warm pressure of his fingertips lingering. The library doors swung closed behind him, cutting off a call back over his shoulder, "Oh, Elrond? I really did wish to discuss the reports..."

Elrond stared at the doors swinging back and forth on their geometric hinges, feeling as though Aulë had just dropped an anvil in front of him. Then, he closed his mouth and slowly walked back to the table, sat down, picked up his pen, and focused very determindly upon his corrections.

Elrond took the corrected script to Erestor after the evening meal, along with the final draft of the map between the Greenwood and Lindon castle. He had spent the duration of the afternoon cross-referencing the trading agreement with the previous ones of the last three centuries. It had to be meticulously checked once more and then he was to draft a letter to accompany it, a complex and precise task, in order to maintain the tenuous and tenacious exchange between two kingdoms attempting, via the forests of a deep mutual dislike, to reach an entente cordiale. He knocked on the door and entered Erestor's study to find the advisor pacing the room, the silver trim on his black robes glittering like diamonds in the light of the setting sun. Elrond, pausing courteously in the doorway, thought that Erestor was not unlike a diamond himself, brilliant, chilly and full of sharp edges. Before the advisor stood the young captain of the guard, clearly the recipient of the wrong side of Erestor's tongue. At that moment, Lindir turned to leave, giving Elrond a quick rueful grin as he slipped out of the door and closed it behind him.

Lord Glorfindel, formerly of Gondolin and Mandos' Halls, was sat on the windowseat, an amused, bright presence like a mirror of Arien outside.

"Abandon hope if you enter here," he quoth cheerfully as Elrond crossed to the desk.

"I left hope in my chamber, was I supposed to bring it?" Elrond quipped, and then sobered with a smile at Erestor's severe expression.

"Nay, 'tis just as well you did not." Glorfindel rose and clapped Elrond on the shoulder with easy affection. "Now, if you'll excuse me – thrilling though it was to hear such well-prepared chastening, full marks, Erestor, by the way – I have a matter of utmost importance to which I must attend."

"Up-most importance, do you not mean?" Erestor muttered darkly. "Can you even spell the word, oh noble balrog slayer?"

"Does the raven croak?" Glorfindel riposted. "I-m-p-o-"

"t-e-n-c-e," Erestor finished smartly. "Which would be a blessing and not a curse in a case such as yours."

"I am proffessionally disadvantaged," Glorfindel protested.

"Nay, you are a disadvantage to your proffession."

"My dear advisor," Glorfindel countered, his hand still resting on Elrond's shoulder. "Should you emerge from behind your barricade of wit, you would find that I have a great depth of knowledge beneath my foppish ways."

"Glorfindel, you have the depth of a teaspoon," Erestor retorted. "Now go, be about your business."

Affecting a dramatic swoon, Glorfindel flashed Elrond a friendly wink and strolled out of the room.

"Now then," Erestor said abruptly, over the sound of the closing door. "Have you completed the documents?"

Elrond quelled his smile at the exchange and quickly nodded. He passed the sheaves of parchment to Erestor.

"Excellent. Now, if you would draft the accompanying letter, we may be approaching a completion. You had better stay here to do so, I wish to look over that as well."

Elrond inclined his head tolerantly and Erestor added, "Oh, and I believe the king asked if you would attend upon him at your earliest convenience – not tonight, he said to assure you – on the morrow, perhaps."

"Aye," Elrond nodded. "I thought he might. I will go to him tomorrow then. I need to collect my thoughts."

Erestor nodded, returning to his desk, and they worked in silence as the sun set.

Elrond drafted his letter and then, having handed it to Erestor, took notes upon the details from the last reports and compared the histories of disturbances in the past. But his concentration ebbed and eddied with the sea tide, which was shrinking and shying from the last blushes of the sun as she slipped into the unknown dark upon the horizon. The thought of attending the king disturbed Elrond, for he knew he would have to give answer to the question he had not yet been able to bring himself to consider and how to he did not know.

"Something on your mind, lord Elrond?"

Elrond looked up, startled by the sudden question, and found Erestor frowning at him. "No, no," he replied, keeping his voice calm, or so he thought.

"Then cease tapping your quill or you will destroy both the documents you are working on and my patience."

Elrond laid his quill down with a sigh, slightly annoyed with himself. "My apologies, Erestor. I am a little distracted."

"So," Erestor leaned over and crunched the quill Elrond had inadvertantly picked up again. "I noticed. Come, this is most irregular."

His dark, serious eyes invited disclosure but his careful, blank face assured Elrond that he would not intrude. Unwilling to prostitute for advice the king's confidance, Elrond shook his head.

"It is nothing."

Erestor nodded slowly and turned away.

From outside the door came a sudden trill of feminine laughter and Glorfindel's voice hushing her. The clicking of Erestor's tongue followed and the footsteps passed by. Elrond tried to return to his work. It was not the king's proposition but his own confusion that troubled him enough to make him pause once more and finally say,

"I know I can rely upon your silence, Erestor." The addressed laid down his pen and nodded for Elrond to continue. "I received an offer today, of... companionship... of a nature that is most commonly restricted to between married partners."

"The king?"

Elrond studied the inscrutable countenance, hiding his own surprise with a slow blink. How Erestor knew was not apparent, but he spoke without accusation. Puzzled, Elrond nodded. Erestor inclined his head.

"I thought he might. He has long admired you." He sighed tersely. "Elrond, this really isn't appropriate."

"No, I am aware of that, hence my..."

"No, I mean your being distracted by it. Make a decision and keep the matter close. It is exceedingly untidy to be constantly mulling it over like an oxen with its cud."

Elrond's eyes rose in astonishment. Though he had not come to expect judgement from Erestor, the advisor's disapproval of any practice which infringed the most ancient traditions and customs of their kind was as highly respected as the sharp edge of a sword, not just by his peers but also his unfortunate inferiors. Erestor sighed.

"Elrond, perhaps we elves are more reserved in such matters than the second-born, but given your upbringing with Maglor and Maedhros you cannot possibly belive that our 'reservation' is quite what we would wish it to seem." Elrond sat back in his chair, watching the serious expression craft only honesty onto Erestor's features.

"Clearly my education is not what you believe it to have been," he said, wondering what aspect of the intricate and complicated court life had managed to escape his careful studies. "Pray, would you explain?"

Erestor blinked once, then folded up his correspondances and nodded. "My dear Elrond, as you are no doubt aware, unlike our counterparts among Men, a male's reputation is quite as fragile as that of a maid. We are expected to make one match, for love or, in some exceptions, for politics. Under the former circumstances one's chastity must be intact or it is quite unacceptable to match for love, for who can know if you match truly for love not mere whimsy? In the latter case an alternative love match is permitted, provided that it occurs – or only comes into acknowledgement – subsequent to the marriage. To have it recognised before would dishonour the bride or groom's parents and so invalidate the alliance."

Erestor rose and walked to the fireplace, pouring two glasses of red wine from a decanter there. He turned to face Elrond again with a slight smile and held out the wine. Elrond took it and Erestor continued.

"But you are looking perplexed, therefore I shall come to my conclusion. I have worked long years holding my tongue and isolating myself from unecessary company in order that I cultivate the reputation necessary to appear suitable for marriage and to leave whosoever I may choose in no doubt of my affections. It is an appearance I can only recommend that you also maintain. Discretion is the better part of a man's valor – what little room courage, dignity, wisdom and honour may leave for it. Why then, dear Elrond, what one appears to be and what one actually is may differ as much as you please."

Erestor's hair had slipped forward as he spoke and from beneath a devious smile had risen. It was gone the instant his sentence completed.

Elrond considered him carefully, his thoughts awhirl. Erestor's prolongued absences during which no sight nor word of the advisor was required, sought or even located when had it been necessary, suddenly took on a new meaning. He licked his lips slowly and said,"Am I to deduce then from this that you propose I accept the king's offer?"

Erestor straightened up stiffly, his composure snapping down around him like the wings of a great eagle. "I propose, my dear Elrond, that you ensure you maintain your reputation in all circumstances. It is no business of mine for what purposes you seek to do so."

Elrond nodded himself and took a measured sip of his wine. "I understand." He glanced at Erestor once more, frowning almost to himself. "It would," he had to admit, "explain a lot."

Glorfindel's free and easy liasons with whomsoever in the court cared to tarry with him after hours, for one. Though Elrond had thought Glorfindel to be one of the exceptions to the rule; the antithesis, as it were, of Cirdan and Ingwë.

"If you do not believe me, Elrond, perhaps you would care to speak with our resident Balrog-slayer," Erestor suggested, watching Elrond with the expression of one who knows that the truth has not yet completely sunk into his listener's ears.

"I don't doubt you," Elrond said slowly. "But..."

"Like any true loremaster you will seek a second source to validate your first," Erestor nodded, understanding.

"Quite." Elrond almost smiled. "I think I should know more about these customs, before I embarass myself - although with that in mind I wonder at the wisdom of consulting Glorfindel..."

Erestor chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. "Oh there's wisdom there indeed – if he will let you for a moment to have access to it. If you go to him now I think you will find him in his chamber."

Elrond stopped. "Ah. Then I shall not disturb him, I think, until the morrow. I would not wish to interrupt him."

Erestor's smile quirked up still further. "Lord Elrond, if you are uneasy to witness such a liason taking place, are you truly considering taking part in one?"

Elrond clicked his tongue. "With your flair for the grammatic, Lord Erestor, I would have thought you aware of the linguistic and numerical distinction between intimacy between two persons and an orgy."

Erestor's laugh cracked like a whip. "Touché!" he acknowledged. Then he glanced toward the window. The interlunar sky was bright with Elbereth's stars. "Yet it is after two. I think you may safely go to Glorfindel. He never allows anyone to stay the night."

Elrond left Erestor's office and walked the torch-lit corridors, his brow furrowed. He paid little heed to his footsteps, knowing the palace interior as well as the accounts of Thangorodrim with which he had become thoroughly reaccquainted since the strange reports of disturbances in the East. He could not quite bring himself to believe that Glorfindel would be alone and quite apart from that he was still reeling with the revelation – if it was such a thing – of Erestor's promiscuous and unconventional private life. Assuming the councillor was not setting him up to draw his own conclusions, offering him the option of being either like Glorfindel, an anomaly, or more like Erestor himself and thoroughly dedicated to duty. Elrond shook his head. No, that was not the case. Blind as he had apparently been he had not missed Erestor's devious smirk and the loftiness of the advisor's tone, which carefully placed him above all reproof. It could be no less than a disguise. Interesting.

For a moment Elrond's thoughts were suspended as he concentrated on the process of walking up the stairs. They were uneven as the steps were set at differing heights, some close together, some a distance apart, making it impossible to climb at speed. Elrond had been part of the planning process for the construction of Lindon. Though some of the advisors had considered the young king overzealous in his caution, Elrond had supported him. Gil-galad was all too conscious of the threat to one's home in war. Twice he had been evicted, after the siege of Angband and the attack on Hithlum, after which he had been sent to stay with Cirdan; there, later, he had been subjected to the flooding of Balar. Elrond too had first hand experience, from the invasion of the sons of Feanor and his mother's flight with the Silmaril entrusted to her by the Valar themselves, which the red-haired Noldorin seven had sought to reclaim. His home in Beleriand had been breached; Elros and himself kidnapped and, as something of a second thought, adopted by Maglor and Maedhros. Atop this, the war of Thangorodrim had made the elves wary. Despite the quiet process of repopulation and development of the new realms, there had been a lingering awareness of the potential for war, now awakened, now aware of itself.

Elrond stepped out onto the second floor level, passing alongside and below two levels of ogival windows. The upper level far was above his head but just below the ceiling to create, from the outside, an impression of a floor which was not there at all, a sure complication to any raiding strategies. From there he climbed yet another set of stairs, these also uneven, onto the real third floor. He wondered, as he followed the lines of the torch-brackets, stepping through the patterns of light and dark the stars scattered across the floor through wider, picture windows, what Erestor's revelation told him about himself. Did his human blood reduce his capacity for promiscuous thought?

"I should say not, brother." Elros' footsteps echoed in time with his own. "You are quite uninhibited in thought. Such creatures run riot in the kingdom of your mind and like books or wild rabbits they breed with great vigour. Scarce has one appeared than there is a partner to it, and then a whole rabble."

"A thought in your head would be a lonely thing," Elrond countered, outloud.

He heard Elros laugh and smiled to himself. His brother's memory negated his own suggestion, for Elros had been bedded, wed, bedded again and father of both sons and daughters before he had been half Elrond's own age. And many of the elven blood were wed by their fiftieth year. It was not that the topic had not been broached, nor even that there had not been the odd occasion...

To the surface of his mind floated a brief interchange with one of the soldiers in Maedhros's camp. A night of wine and spirits and shared sacks amongst the warriors; he had been wandering the perimeter of the encampment, leaving Elros alone in the tent, trying to clear the wine-fumes fugging his head. One of the guards on watch had stopped him, identified him, and then asked what went on back at the camp.

"You may see for yourself," Elrond replied, though politely, "And in less than an hour you will join them; do not the shifts change over shortly? The festivities continue late this night." It had been the Midwinter festival, as he recalled, and he had lingered, chatting with the guard about traditions. They had walked a little way back together, when the posts were changed, speaking of the coming spiritual union of the Valar that would bring back the summer. The ice sparkled on the frozen ground beneath their boots. Elrond shivered slightly, his human blood making him more susceptible to the wintery chill. The guard had stopped him, unpinned her blonde hair, and shrugged out of her cloak to entwine it around Elrond's shoulders.

"Come," she said gently. "These nights are long and cold, but other fires may burn than Arien's in the sky." She touched Elrond's jaw lightly.

Unapproached before, Elrond had still shaken his head; he recognised her drift as he would the first flakes of falling snow.

"Come," she urged. "You are not a child among us now. Why, are you not in your five and twentieth year? Is not that of age for a peredhel such as yourself?"

He shook his head again, for this was a rumour and held no real truth. He aged neither as a mortal nor as an immortal and such distinctions between youth and maturity have little true value.

"I will not wed you so neither will I accept your offer, my lady," he replied.

She traced his brow with her fingertips, skimming his cheek, and ran her thumb over his lips. "A shame," she murmured.

Elrond jerked back. "My lady!"

She let her hand drop and suddenly Maedhros was there, his sword glittering at his belt, his eyes glittering with the same steel beneath the angry flames of his hair.

"To your tent and find yourself another lover, Aranis," he growled. "Stay away from the Peredhil." To Elrond, he said curtly, "And you, get to your tent as well. It's a high night and you are too young for such things." He cast a searching look out into the darkness. "And unarmed too! Elrond, Valar damn you, wear a sword if you wander late."

"I stayed within the perimeter," Elrond protested. Maedhros's fingers dug into his arm. Elrond bit his lip, refusing to wince.

"Think the orcs care about that you fool of a peredhel?" Maedhros spat disgustedly. He let go of Elrond roughly. "Now go. Get some rest."

He had known of such liasons, of course. Away from hearth and home, between consenting soldiers, many already within the bonds of matrimony, such couplings were overlooked in sympathy and understanding. To Elrond they had held little attraction; the examples of his parents and Luthien burned too brightly in his own line.

"You are a prude, brother."

Elrond snorted as Elros appeared beside him once more. "And what strange hour saw you in any but your lady's arms outside wedlock?"

Elros's colour did not rise, but his echo met and then quickly dropped Elrond's sideways glance. A sheepish throat-clearing and then Elros was gone, leaving Elrond alone in the corridor, but not in inclination.

He came to a halt outside Glorfindel's chamber, realising suddenly how much Maglor had upheld the examples of Elrond's own line in stories to the Peredhil. How much had Maedhros shielded them from, he wondered, when the big elf had protected them from little else, why had he chosen this to keep from them? The ending of a line, perhaps, or a desire to protect that in no other quarter could have been fulfilled.

A maid passed him with a puzzled glance and Elrond realised he was standing staring at Glorfindel's door. What awaited him within, he could not imagine. But the torches were burning low in their brackets and the upper half of the crimson drapes was fallen into wine-dark shades with the diminishing light. With some trepidation, he tapped on Glorfindel's door. There was no answer and, in the moment of silence, Elrond let out the breath he had held, knowing that if Glorfindel were occupied within it would not be so silent. He tapped again, for he would not answer an announced knock so late and called softly,

"Glorfindel?"

"If that's you, Master Erestor, the answer is still no."

"It's Elrond," he called back, immediately wondering what the question had been.

A moment, in which there might have been an unseen smile.

"Come in."

Elrond turned the handle and went into the small, flamboyant antechamber. Glorfindel's mithril armour was the centre piece, positioned carefully so that the light from the windows would illuminate it. The reconstruction of his great shield was emblazoned with the crest of the house of the Golden Flower, an emerald green disk with gold glowing around its circumference and worked into every delicate petal of the six flowers in the hexagonal segregation of the face. It was a room to make one feel a little inferior. Yet Elrond had never found it so, nor indeed Glorfindel's behaviour. He crossed the bold chamber and found the inner door open. With a light tap upon the chestnut wood, he stepped inside. To his surprise the inner sanctum was more modestly adorned. Stepping through the doorway and beneath the royal crimson, gold-patterned draft-shield was akin to seeing beneath Glorfindel's colourful attire. Though the door drape matched those on the four-poster bed that faced it and the windows, there was little else in the way of decoration. A single fat candle burned at the bedside. Glorfindel had looked up at his knock and Elrond paused, intrigued by the transformation, Glorfindel disrobed. His long hair hung loose, free of its ornate braids. Thick, straight and golden in the candle-light, it hung down his back. He sat with one knee bent, wrapped in a dark gold robe that neither complimented nor clashed with his bedsheets. A book was propped open on his knee. Glorfindel smiled and closed it.

"It's late, Elrond," he said, his voice lower and slightly more gentle than usual, muted by the night. "Did Erestor send you?"

"How did you know?" Elrond asked, suspicious now as he closed the door.

Glorfindel grinned. "Come and sit down," he invited, patting the bed.

His thoughts raised to awareness of such matters, Elrond arched a chary eyebrow. "If it's all the same to you, I'll use the chair."

Glorfindel's lips quirked suggestively and then he laughed, watching Elrond take a seat. "Yours would be a beautiful lily to gild," he acknowledged. "But I would not intrude upon the king's..." Catching sight of Elrond's pointed expression, he laughed. "Very well, I would. But I promise I shall not."

Elrond smiled, relaxing. Unlike Erestor, whose chambers he would definitely be avoiding after hours, Glorfindel's up-front honesty was not merely surface.

"Well, that's something," Elrond remarked. "Now," he leaned forward and clasped his hands on his knees, "my friend, tell me what it is that you and Erestor have been planning at my expense. Is this the reason that your guest has so early departed?"

"Nay, nay." Glorfindel laid his book on the bedside table. "I much prefer to rest alone – one gets such little sleep otherwise." He smiled and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "As for Erestor and myself, yes, we have been planning a little. There was a wager between us – as you have clearly guessed – upon who would be the first to take you to bed. But then the king expressed an interest in you. It's about time he said something, I've been getting tired of waiting. Has he?"

Elrond frowned. "The king knows of your intentions?"

"Knew, and few would not," Glorfindel shrugged. "Such wagers are not uncommon between us, though I am more reputed for them. Erestor will never acknowledge his participation outside a very select circle nor celebrate his victories in any but my company. I, however, must."

"Image."

"Quite." Glorfindel's tone was as soft as Elrond's. He sighed. "It's all image, Elrond. That's all it ever is." He rose and began to pace, waving a hand towards his antechamber. "All of that belonged to Glorfindel of Gondolin."

"Tell me," Elrond said gently, "were you as frivolous back then as you pretend to be now?"

"I tried to be." Glorfindel's smile was twisted. "'Tis only now I see the value in being who I was at heart and it is now that I must behave..."

"As you appeared to be."

"Exactly."

Elrond rose, though he was not sure why. "So, having planned on seducing me you two mean now to enlighten me?"

"Aye," Glorfindel said more briskly, "either method has the same end. This is the high king's court, Elrond – it's courtier eat oliphant," he smiled wickedly, "Or other parts more becoming to a man."

"That has not entirely escaped me," Elrond said drily. "Very well, had the wager stood, how would you have planned to best Erestor?"

"Why in the sword arena, of course," Glorfindel smiled. "It's a terrible cliché-"

"- and therefore appropriate-"

"- exactly. Consider all the mornings we train together, it would be very easy amidst the sweat and the phallic symbolism to initiate an entirely different form of tension release..."

Elrond's eyebrows rose and Glorfindel chuckled. "You need not fear for your breeches. Having come to know you, I do not think such methods would secure your consent. Erestor would have had much more success."

"Oh?"

Glorfindel's smile grew predatory. "I suspect," he said, his voice becoming uncharacteristically crisp, "That you would have been summoned to his office, Lord Elrond, for a minor misdemeanour that nonetheless bears immediate correction. Within, you would be required to think upon your error and you would find it would quite escape you." Glorfindel glided across the room, coming to stand behind Elrond. "Can you not think of it?" His breath crackled against Elrond's ear. "I assure you it is quite obvious. Come, consider." His presence ghosted along Elrond's skin and the peredhel jumped as Glorfindel's hands grasped him on either side of the ribcage. "Come." The fingers shook him a little, then smoothed his skin. Heat snapped outward from the touch. Erestor's voice continued, "I think you will find..."

Anticipation shivered along his skin, long, bony fingers worked at the buttons of Elrond's tunic. Confusion stirred, and lower things.

"...the error.."

Cool fingers slid inside his tunic, caressing, something flared inside him and Elrond arched into the touch. His hair was swept back from his neck and lips caressed the tender skin.

"...was in visiting me this late."

Hot, moist pressure trailed down toward his collar. The hands did not still. Elrond reached up to grasp them, stop them, keep them, move them - anything. The fingers curled around his own. In the heartbeat where sensation froze Elrond, with great presence of mind, turned and kissed his seducer firmly on the mouth.

Glorfindel stumbled back, laughing. "Oh, very good," he applauded. "You learn fast."

Elrond smiled, regaining his breath and smoothing his tunic down. "For several moments there I could have sworn you were Erestor."

"We have our moments."

"You are...intimate?"

"No." Glorfindel shook his head. He sighed, retreating, and sat on the edge of his bed. His hair slid forwards to cover his face. "No. I would," he shrugged, "but I must be seen to act only upon whim, and with him I could not. Any more, I think, than I could truly do with you."

He leant back on his elbows, regarding Elrond critically. Elrond watched him for a moment and then smiled, joining Glorfindel on the bed.

"As for Erestor, to do so – which would confound both of us, our acquaintances and all the eligible maidens – he would have to commit, and that does not suit him at all." Glorfindel spread his hands on the bed and tilted his head, looking up at Elrond through his hair. "Quite a conundrum."

"Clearly," Elrond said somewhat dryly. "It seems there is no limit to the games played to secure status and image herein."

"There is not," Glorfindel agreed more cheerfully. "Far estranged from Man's fables of elven love, is it not?"

"As far as we are from the West."

"The West itself seems like a distant dream," Glorfindel acknowledged. "Yet it is real." His eyes stared off into the distance, the shadow-grey shapes of the cliffs beyond the window. "Very real. Some will travel there and some have been and some will never do so. The king will not." Glorfindel looked up and met Elrond's startled eyes. "Not unless Mandos takes him first. His ancestors fought too hard for the right to remain here; his people belong here; however much he deplores their – our – actions he will stay for his people – us. Aman's pleasures are fickle, Elrond, such is love. We may all do very well in its absence."

"And in its presence?" Elrond asked, sceptical.

Glorfindel shrugged expansively. "Who's to know? Perhaps one day you will answer me that. But until then..."

"Appear not to stand in dishonour's shadow, do not hang hopes upon a fable and stop fretting about companionship because it is untidy?"

"I told you you were a fast learner." Glorfindel chuckled. "By all means, think as much as you like, but not in Erestor's presence. To him indeciveness is a sin second only to kinslaying!"

Elrond laughed. "I must say, for someone with 'the depth of a teaspoon', you give very good counsel."

"Well, it would not do for a loremaster to seem ignorant on any matter." Glorfindel rose with Elrond and threw an arm around his shoulder. "And you have the right to utilise all the resources at your disposal."

He pressed a sloppy, ambiguous kiss to Elrond's cheek and then clapped him firmly on the back.

"Apply the theory and then the practice, broaden your realm of experience and so acquire wisdom. Now go, the king will want your answer." He guided Elrond toward his bedroom door.

"At this hour?" Elrond's eyebrow rose.

"Well, it would show much of your well-known dedication to your tasks, but no. It would not do for you to appear like a common courtesan." Glorfindel released Elrond with a grin and held open the door for him. "Now, if you are satisfied, I will see you on the morrow."

Elrond chuckled. "You want to get back to your book."

Glorfindel pressed a chiding finger over his lips, winked, and let the drape fall between them.

Dawn slid between the sheets, trailing warm sunbeams over Elrond's skin. His eyes slipped back into focus and he blinked up at the russet crushed velvet canopy. He had not really slept, not as he, a peredhel, was won't to sleep in the way of Men, but drifted in the half-waking sleep. When he rose, he felt as though he bore now upon his brow the glass crown of reputation, heretofore unthreatened as Earendil's son and favourite of the king. Would that the king's favour stemmed not so far, he thought, rubbing a hand over his eyes and rising. His shoulderblades itched with frustration, like an elfling with an uncooperative bow who knows not whether to throw it down or pull again. At stake were higher things than a failed shot: his reputation, his standing in the court, his relationship with the king. His own peace of mind. His ablations cursory, he left the chamber quickly and strode out into the early dawn. Outside a fine mizzle of rain fell, shimmering on the short sea grass in the beams of the contrary sun and over the sea hung a thoughtful outline of a rainbow.

Arien had climbed almost to the midday peak and the rain had drifted away to leave behind a pensive, cloudy sky when Elrond finally attended upon the king. He had brought with him both the completed paperwork to finalise the trading agrement with the Greenwood that required the king's signature and what little he had gleaned from his searches of the reports. The king was not alone in his office, Erestor sat a small distance away occupied with other things.

"You're late this morning, Elrond," the king chided gently, taking the proffered papers.

"It was rather a late night," Elrond answered and, aware too late of the ambiguity in that statement, was not surprised to receive a searching look.

"Burning the midnight oil as usual, eh peredhel?" the king said finally. Elrond nodded and the king added, "Sit down."

Elrond pulled out a chair and sat at the king's right hand.

"What did you learn?" the king murmured, his head already bent and his eyes scanning the reports.

"Little enough," Elrond answered, leaning over to reread his own notes.

"I see no immediate cause for concern, sire."

"Thank you, Erestor," Gil-galad said repressively. He did not lift his head but his eyes ticked to meet the advisor's, a wealth of meaning glinting therein.

"I agree," Elrond said quietly. "There are rumours of movement in the East, the fires have flared in the mountains and birds and beasts begin to shun the valley. But," he shrugged, "That could be instabilities in the mountains themselves, some shifting of the rocks or natural temperature increase."

"And what of you?" For a moment, Elrond was taken-aback, but the king's searching look caught and held his eyes; Gil-galad's mind was still on the reports. "It is said that you foresaw the sky aflame and heard the clap of wings 'ere there was reason to suspect dragons would plague Thangorodrim; and did you not declare to Fionwe himself that you had felt your choice long made when you claimed your place among our people? You have the gift of foresight, Elrond, have you seen naught?"

"Nay," Elrond shook his head. "Nor has there been word from the Lady Galadriel whose talent far excells my own."

"Talent?" Gil-galad said, shaking his head. "Or price."

Elrond glanced at him

"For rejecting Aman and her people," Gil-galad expounded. "Though it is a gift known to be in her mother's blood also." He smiled. "And one should never underestimate the value of heritage."

"Quite.Your cousin is has her pride – even to exceed your own – and I'm sure that is a Noldor trait," Elrond teased and the king laughed. "But for all her ambition, Galadriel would not estrange her allies – or potential enemies."

"Indeed. We are fortunate to have her good grace; I would be loath to attempt her displacement from the high court spheres knowing she could know my mind before I myself did," Gil-galad chuckled. He glanced at Elrond, askance and added, "I hope, should your gift mature, you would warn me if you knew what I would say 'ere I said it."

"I should indeed," Elrond assured him. "It would be a great time-saver, would it not, if I were able to deduce what it is that you would say before ever I came to you; we might never need meet for discussion again."

"A shame," Gil-galad remarked. "And, alas, that it would be an ill-use for such a talent and not least very disquieting." He leaned back in his chair. "All in all you are quite right, Elrond. Whatever has caused this shifting in the East is for the present no concern of ours. It bears watching, no doubt, but little more than the weather that causes coastal storms."

Elrond cast a look toward the window and the calm sea, licking idly at the Gulf of Lune. The clouds meandered across a washy blue sky with the occasional lost sunbeam poking experimentally at the green canopy of a seaside forest triangulated along one of the peaks. It seemed indeed that there was little cause for concern.

Gil-galad rubbed the back of his neck and, laying the reports aside, turned his attention to the rest of the paperwork. He grimaced theatrically at the sight of the agreement and turned to Elrond once again.

"This only needs a signature, doesn't it? Good," he added when Elrond nodded. "Very well, if you wish to spend the afternoon in the healer's wing I think we can spare you. If you don't mind, first drop word to the scouts to keep an open eye but no due cause for alarm."

Elrond nodded, getting to his feet. Gil-galad flashed him a quick smile and, noticing something, Elrond halted for a moment.

"And you speak to me of late nights," he chided lightly, reaching out to straighten the king's crooked collar. "An early morning, perchance?"

Gil-galad lifted his hand curiously, his fingers entangling with Elrond's around the crumpled velvet. His broad, handsome face was suddenly sheepish. He leaned forward conspiritally and Elrond played along, stooping.

"I am my father's illegitimate son," the king said, deadpan. "Fine clothes are wasted upon me; I would far better suit a commoner's tunic and breeches."

Elrond laughed, gripping the king's hand for a moment. "Your ability to jest excells your ability to dress, that much may be confirmed."

Gil-galad joined him in a chuckle, leaning his crowned head against Elrond's arm in mock despair. His dark hair snagged on the fabric of Elrond's robes, red-black against the russet raw silk sleeve. Soft strands, cool and silken against the back of Elrond's hand. The king squeezed his fingers, a warm, affectionate pressure and then withdrew, reluctantly turning his attention back to his task. His hair slid over Elrond's hand as he pulled it back, brushing against his wrist. Elrond firmly swallowed a hitch in his breath. It was small wonder, he decided ruefully, that one had to put such effort into maintaining appearances once the sensual consciousness was raised. He closed his eyes, swallowed once more and touched Gil-galad's shoulder again, brushing his thumb across the sensitive skin beneath the king's ear. Gil-galad looked around slowly, a shiver in his eyes, and laid down his pen. Elrond stepped back.

"I have also considered the other matter we discussed, sire," he said, meeting Gil-galad's eyes to leave him in no doubt of his seriousness. "And I think your suggestion quite acceptable. What time would be fit for me to attend you?"

The king leaned back in his chair again, his eyes thoughtful. "Elrond? This is a very prompt decision – are you certain you have given it due consideration?"

"I believe I have given it the thought required. I fear any more would be...untidy."

The king's lips curved up and his eyes flicked ever so slightly toward Erestor, still bent studiously over his scroll. "Very well, Elrond, tonight at the eleventh hour." Turning his head he added, "Erestor, see to it that I will not be disturbed."

Erestor nodded tersely, without looking up.

Ignoring the sharp clench in his stomach, Elrond nodded. "As you wish. Tonight at the eleventh hour then."

The king allowed himself a small smile, which Elrond returned. Then he walked away toward the door. As he pulled it closed behind him, he chanced his own look at Erestor. The advisor did not look up, but he was smiling the smallest of smiles when Elrond stepped out into the startlingly cool corridor.

"It's warm tonight." The king remarked reining his horse around on the edge of edge of the beach.

"Aye, my lord," Glorfindel, to Gil-galad's left, concurred and Elrond nodded.

The sky was still cloudy and the slim cresent of the moon as yet unseen. Throughout the day the heavy clouds above had begun to thicken the air; it was humid, intense. Gil-galad, in a fit of unexpected restlessness, perhaps born of spending a tedious afternoon triple checking that no part of the trading agreement with the Greenwood would be likely to antagonise the irascible Sindarin king, had announced he was going riding shortly after the evening meal. Glorfindel and Elrond, it seemed, had been expected to accompany him. It came, to Elrond, as a welcome release for the evening had stretched out long and empty prior to his audience with the king. Before most meetings there was endless quantities of preparatory work to be done or they came amidst ongoing negotiations. Sometimes, of course, they took time simply to spend with a bottle of wine and the easy conversation of old friends. Yet this meeting was neither so idle an evening nor had did he know of any preparation that could be done. As was his won't he had briefly contemplated a few books, rejecting them almost instantly. The literature catered either for courtesans or wedded parties. He held rather to the moment of sensuality he had experienced in the king's chamber and banished the sketched images before they could put him off.

A blue-grey sea now lapped at their horses' hooves, which left dark curving prints in the impressionable sand at the water's edge. Grey upon grey the night filtered in around them. Only Gil-galad's horse and Glorfindel's stood out from the variations in the grey shades, their hides gleaming whitely. Elrond clapped the neck of his mare, her bay coat another shadow of the evening.

"A storm coming, perhaps?" he ventured. Gil-galad caught his eye, both recalling the king's earlier analogy about the state of the East and the king grimaced. "Let's hope not."

"A storm would clear the air," Glorfindel remarked, glancing slyly at Elrond and tilting his head up toward the sky.

Elrond followed his gaze, his own eyes alighting on the moon, now slinking out from behind a cloud, her face crimson veiled. A blood moon, he thought, feeling a sudden trill of unease down his spine. It jerked the knot in his stomach that had been there since the king's proposition, worse since his own acceptance. He was reminded again of Thangorodrim, of the potential for war, and of his chosen path.

"A blood moon," he said aloud.

"Or passion's paint." This time Glorfindel grinned at him, looking, Elrond suspected, for some indication of his final decision. Pointedly he looked away, out over the ocean, and smiled.

The king caught the exchange of glances. "Another conquest in line, Glorfindel of the Golden Flower?" he enquired. There was a slight edge to his voice and he glanced at Elrond, a glint in his eye that made the peredhel's frown deepen. Within the confines of his mind an identical expression crossed another face and Elros muttered jealously, "You're mine, brother. My brother."

"Quiet," Elrond murmured, wondering what he had got himself into.

But Glorfindel was answering cheerfully enough. "When do I not, my lord?"

"Come," Elrond interrupted. "Shall we ride?"

"Shall we race?"

"I think so," Gil-galad concurred. "To the cliffs?"

"To the cliffs!"

The drumming of the horses' hooves echoed in the pace of Elrond's heart as he walked through the castle corridors later that evening. Even his knock on the king's door mimicked it, resonant through the private quarters in the west wing. One of Gil-galad's guards answered it and exchanged places with him, taking up sentry duty outside the chamber while Elrond stepped within. The king's antechamber was a vast, ornate room. White on white patterned couches with rich old wood carved frames, gilding on the borders and thick drapes at the window comprised the royalty entertaining royalty appearance to the room. Another guard, stood at a tapestry-hung doorway, gestured for him to go through into a second chamber – a closet, the smaller, more personal antechamber inside the king's suite. The pure regality of the outer room was somewhat diluted, two couches and a winged chair were set around a long low table next to a fireplace that held instead of flames in the stormy, brewing weather a basket of dried wild flowers. The king himself, still formally attired, was standing beside the mantlepiece. He looked up as Elrond entered and gestured toward the couches.

"Would you care for some wine?"

"Thank you, yes." Elrond took a seat slowly and accepted a glass of a deep crimson liquid – Mirkwood's finest, from the scent. The king joined him on the couch, eyeing him curiously.

"You do not seem at your ease, peredhel," he said softly.

"This feels very strange," Elrond answered slowly. "As though I have come as your courtesan."

"No!" Gil-galad spoke vehmently. "No. Elrond, if you feel that way I would rather that you left now and we let this matter drop. I would not have approached had I for a moment thought..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"No." Elrond reached out and grasped the king's shoulder firmly. "No, Ereinion. I'm sorry, I spoke thoughtlessly. I have to own I had not envisaged this, but it was my choice to come to you tonight. It is merely unusual not to have spent hours preparing beforehand or to come bearing a bottle of vintage and collapse."

"Another drink can be arranged," the king assured him. He added with an impish smile "and collapse is almost inevitable."

"Oh, is it now?" Elrond asked, beginning to smile.

"Oh yes." Slowly the king leaned forward, his breath warm against Elrond's lips. "Almost certainly."

His lips brushed Elrond's, drew away and brushed again, a tantilising touch. Dark blue eyes met his and the king kissed him. Elrond's stomach jerked, a hook behind his navel pulling him into the king's arms. They kissed again. Hands made sweeping circles on his back and he gripped the king's shoulder with one hand, the other trying to keep his wine from spilling. Their lips met again and clung together.

A hand reached for his, guided it to the king's thigh and Elrond massaged the tight muscles, Gil-galad shifting appreciatively. Fingers found his hair, slipped through the strands and his hair clip was lost into the cushions. Gil-galad's fingers brushed his cheek as he drew back.

"Do you feel like a courtesan now?"

"Strangely, less so." Elrond smiled. "You would do this here, my lord?"

"Should it not be: you would do this? Here? My lord!" Gil-galad teased him.

Elrond's lips made a line. "Sadly your capacity for mockery has not lessened."

Gil-galad chuckled. "Give it time."

He rose and drew Elrond to his feet into another kiss. He managed to blindly set the glass on the nearby table as Gil-galad guided him toward the bedroom door. They hit it with a jolt, Elrond's back against it and Gil-galad's hands either side of his head as their kisses grew fiercer.

"Need to...open...it," Elrond managed, groping for the handle.

"Could go through," Gil-galad muttered, still half-joking.

Elrond's hands fisted in his tunic, Gil-galad opening the door behind him and they backed into the room. Elrond's clothes felt constricting, the fabrics a maddening abstract of rough and smooth material against his skin, raw silk too coarse upon his chest and arms, fine silk too smooth against his hips and lower. His hair, still wet from the bathing rooms, was hot against the back of his neck. Gil-galad's hand slipped inside his tunic, the air a brief humid pressure as the neck loosened and then his skin was alive, tingling as cooler fingers spread uneven patterns across it. He gasped, clutching Gil-galad's arms, his head bowing and his heart thundering as his nipples were held captive, rolled, pinched.

"Kiss me."

He breathed out in a rush and met Gil-galad's lips, understanding now, at once, why the courtiers sought one another – and why one should marry first. His stomach no longer jittered. When Gil-galad's hands paused, even fleetingly to loosen the ties still further, it ached, hollow, craving, like the need for food. Gil-galad stared at him, his chest heaving and his eyes dark, heavy-lidded. His hands moved over Elrond's shoulders, the cloak fell discarded. He fumbled for the edges of his tunic, lifting it over his own head and Elrond mirrored him, reaching out to run his fingers across Gil-galad's chest. The king closed his eyes, his head falling back. His breath ran out in a shudder.

"Here," he murmured, drawing Elrond's hands down until one could cup the growing bulge between his legs, the thick hardness strange and yet familiar. He rubbed the heel of his hand against it, experimental, and Gil-galad breathed in hard. Slowly, Elrond knelt and leant his cheek against the king's thigh. His hands slid down the muscular legs, feeling the dry friction of breeches against his palms. He began to unfasten the king's boots, tilting his head to press damp kisses against the thigh at his cheek. The king murmured something incoherent and Elrond rubbed his face against the bulge, drawing another muffled sound. Gil-galad's boots were shed and with them his trousers, Elrond watching from a sudden distance as the king stood before him in familiar nudity, yet changed beyond recognition. He was suddenly glad of his own remaining clothing, for a moment a veil that allowed him composure. He backed away toward the bed.

Gil-galad followed, catching him from behind, the lines and countours of his body pressed against Elrond's back. Lips found his ear. He shuddered, turning his head for a kiss. Gil-galad's hips bucked against him and he bent at the knees, half kneeling on the bed, conscious, very conscious, of what pressed between his buttocks. He put out a hand to steady himself and paused, straightening and half-turning.

"Silk sheets?"

"Mmm, ridiculous, isn't it?" Gil-galad shifted to sit upon the edge of the bed. His hands found Elrond's thighs, guiding him astride his lap. "I've tried to talk the servants out of it, but will they listen? No. It must be silk sheets here and in the guest chambers.

His eyes didn't quite meet Elrond's.

"You like them." Elrond chuckled. "It's a good thing I've slept in your guest chambers or we'd be slipping off onto the floor.

Gil-galad laughed. "Very likely.

His hands found the waistband of Elrond's breeches, tugging them steadily down. Elrond stooped and kissed him, his gasp swallowed as the last of his clothing was cast aside. The silk was cool against his back, clinging to his skin as moisture rose upon it. The humidity was airless and he caught his breath over and over as Gil-galad touched him, his own hands exploring any part he could find. Briefly they were facing, their hair scattered across the pillow and mingling. Gil-galad's diadem glinted.

The metal was still cool as Elrond touched it lightly, tracing the wrought mithril with a fingertip. "Aren't you going to take this off?"

"Would it make a difference? With or without it, I am still king."

Their eyes caught and held, understanding.

"Bloodlines."

"Heritage."

"Rank."

"Honour."

"Duty."

"Heart," Elrond added softly, tracing the path down Gil-galad's cheek to finish on the left side of his breast, his thumb idly playing over the peaked flesh.

"Mind," the king suggested, his fingertips brushing Elrond's damp brow.

"Spirit."

They kissed, a nearly superfluous meeting of lips and hands followed again, tracing the lines of each other's body as if it were their own. What was lacking in experience was made up in understanding and, briefly, amusement.

"Elrond...let me..." The king's voice was lowered, his words caresses against Elrond's ear. His fingers slid low on Elrond's back. "Inside..."

A nuzzle at the king's cheek, a nod, a frown. "Where?"

Their eyes met in confusion and Elrond laughed softly, his cheeks warm. "Sorry, I meant..." A line of kisses and his head fell back again. "I mean...yes..."

Then, a hand gripping Gil-galad's shoulder. "Wait – how?"

"Elrond..."

"No, I mean..."

"Oh, on your knees."

"Why?"

A frustrated frown.

"I meant any particular reason for your choice?"

Gil-galad growled. "Does it matter?"

The candlelight reflected in Elrond's impish eyes. "No..."

"Demon!" the king swore.

And then communication passed to tingling skin, fingers touching, the rise and shuddering fall of chests, hands gripping hips and lower things, weight supported on trembling arms, damp sheets beneath clenching hands. Elrond's breath hitched, held, fell out in a gasp. The sting of a bitten lip. Motion, a ship at sea. Black hair mingled with mahogany.

Gil-galad wrapped his arms around Elrond's chest, rubbing small circles. His lips touched Elrond's shoulder once, twice.

"I love you."

Elrond smoothed his thumb across the thigh Gil-galad had draped heavily over his own and stared into the darkness, wondering what to say. He heard the faint rustle of hair sliding on silk as Gil-galad lifted his head.

"Elrond?"

A moment. Then the king's lips brushed his shoulder again and he murmured something softly. Elrond closed his eyes, his face shielded by the forward fall of his hair. He whispered, "I love you too."

He'd tried not to repeat over in his mind what the king had said.

He'd tried not to hear it.

He'd said: "Lie to me."

The End

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~~~~~~ Gilding the Lily Maybe ~~~~~~

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