Header

~~~~~~
On the Shores of Valinor
Maybe
~~~~~~


Part 31. Careless Talk

Some hours before dawn, Elrond awoke once more. Beyond the window he could see the citric colours beginning to touch the sky, paling it to a creamy tangerine hue, a low blush on the horizon where the sun would rise brightly in a few hours.

"I thought you would never wake." Ereinion's voice was a soft surprise in the quiet.

"You woke me?" Elrond asked.

Ereinion nodded. Reaching over he brushed Elrond's hair back from his eyes, looping it behind the point of his ear. The younger elf's fingers intentionally caressed the sensitive rim and Elrond tilted his head into the gesture, smiling. Ereinion's other hand was laid comfortably on Elrond's knee, upraised and bared of bedcovers in his attempts the previous night to cool himself. He had fallen asleep with his back half-turned to Ereinion and now had to look over his shoulder at his lover.

"Why?" Elrond enquired, without resentment.

Ereinion did not answer with words. Instead he laid a finger lightly over Elrond's lips and then, leaning down, covered Elrond's mouth with his own. His kiss was long and lingering, as he teased lightly at Elrond's lips with his own, playing his tongue between them, and tracing the curves of Elrond's mouth. A sharp nip to the full lower lip spiced the sweetness of the kiss and Elrond slid his hand up to cup Ereinion's head, lacing his fingers into the thick, dark hair. Ereinion's hand slid down Elrond's thigh, drawing his lover against him until Elrond rolled over into his arms. Ereinion's immediately enveloped him, his hands splaying up Elrond's back. Elrond raised his leg, sliding it over Ereinion's and closing the distance between their bodies. He kissed Ereinion again, pausing to meet his lover's smoky, sapphire gaze and smile.

Ereinion drew back a little, relaxing away the pleasant tension of their proximity. Elrond raised a hand to stroke his hair, tracing his lover's jaw line with his fingertips. He brought their lips together again, in a light, chaste kiss, his hand reaching to capture Ereinion's and draw the wrist to his mouth. With the fingertips of his other hand he lightly traced the network of veins pulsing beneath the surface of the delicate skin. Keeping his eyes on Ereinion's, he brought the wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss onto the pulse point. The younger elf's breath caught as Elrond's tongue flickered out to follow the path still tingling from the touch of his fingers. Ereinion's eyes half closed and Elrond smiled, until Ereinion reopened them, his expression questioning and slightly suspicious. Lifting his head to free his mouth for speech, Elrond took Ereinion's hand in his own, his thumb still playing over the sensitive skin of the youngster's wrist.

Ereinion did not speak however, instead he simply adjusted the grip on their hands so that he could trail his fingernails lightly over the back of Elrond's hand, a touch the elder elf found as subtly erotic as the ministrations he had bestowed upon his younger lover. Elrond's smile widened, acknowledging the gesture and he leaned over to press a soft kiss to Ereinion's lips.

"I could not sleep," Ereinion replied finally, smiling.


It was a little after dawn when the door opened again. Elrond had lain awake for several hours watching Ereinion, who had, despite his words, fallen asleep once more. He had stretched out contentedly, his head resting on Elrond's knees, and one arm looped around them, while they watched the morning grow lighter. His night-hued hair was slipping across his face, despite the continual stroke of Elrond's fingers brushing it back. Ereinion's soft, sapphire eyes were unfocused in half-waking sleep, fixed sightlessly on the patterned divan. He blinked, his forehead crinkled into a confused expression as a knock at the door awoke him. Touching his shoulder gently, Elrond called for the visitor to enter and Ereinion sleepily lifted his head to eye the intruder. Círdan's jaw opened in silent surprise, then closed into a hard line as he took in the scene within the chamber.

"Círdan, you are returned," Elrond noted with surprise, and Ereinion smiled warmly as he sat up, pushing aside his hair.

"Ereinion," Círdan's voice was quiet, strained. "I was looking for you."

"I could not sleep," Ereinion explained, rubbing his eyes and flicking the ends of his robe closed.

"So you decided to disturb Elrond." Círdan sounded as though he was trying to keep his tone light, but the comment came out with a bladed edge.

Ereinion's expression hardened in defence, and Elrond rose swiftly. "Círdan, be at peace; I have said before that he might. I believe that you are aware that a common side-effect of recalling one's past is nightmares?"

Ereinion closed his eyes, his expression irritated, but Elrond ignored him, watching the shipwright warily.

"Ah," Círdan turned slowly to look at him. His gaze held silent reproach within, and Elrond sighed. "Ereinion, I would like you to know you can always come to myself - or Celebrían. Or if you need someone to sit with you at night it can be arranged."

Ereinion jerked to his feet, kicking aside the covers and yanking his robe belt tight. "I am not afraid of the dark, Círdan!" he snapped. "I do not need a guardian or a child-minder!" He cast Círdan an angry look and then swept past him out of the room.

Círdan closed his eyes. For a moment he stood in silence, then he shook his head and sighed.

"Everything that I say is wrong," he gloomily surmised.

"I think, my love, you are treating him too much like a child." It was Celebrían who spoke from the doorway. She entered, looking a little ruffled, for she had nearly collided with Ereinion as he stalked along the corridors.

"He has moments when he acts like one," Elrond remarked.

"He is a child," Círdan said flatly.

But Elrond shook his head. "No, Círdan, he is not."

Círdan cast him a startled look, and Elrond sighed impatiently. "I take it that you are aware that he and I have reformed our alliance?"

"Yes." Círdan's tone was quietly unhappy and he glanced uneasily toward the dishevelled bedcovers.

"Círdan," Celebrían gently chided. "I cannot believe that you would truly think Elrond capable of risking Ereinion so." She entered the room and closed the door. "But I am inclined to think that he is correct. We are treating Ereinion the same way as we do the other children of his age. He is not. He cannot be, not with what he is able to remember. Besides, he knows he is not a child, and that cannot help but affect his perceptions and behaviour."

Círdan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "He loathed from his earliest years being treated as a child, even before this life. Fingon, of course, had heavily impressed upon him his duty, his role. He was always, as so often the children of royalty are, less childlike than those of his age. Ardís stirred his mischievous streak from him when he came to me."

Though he smiled at the memory, Círdan's shoulders bowed in defeat, his long silvery hair slipped forward to cover his face. Celebrían crossed to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. Looking up at Elrond, she sighed herself.

"It is not the same with the other children who are returned they have not Ereinion's memories. Ereinion recollects so much of his past life, while I know not even if Oropher realises he is returned from the Halls. Ardis, of course, does, but she cares nothing for what she might remember: only what she can do now. But they are still so young! Ardís is barely forty and Oropher four years her junior. Glorfindel, when I spoke with him, says that he did not remember almost anything of his past life until he was nearly forty, and even then it was little. Yet Ereinion is two and forty, with memories that pass beyond the years you or I hold, Elrond."

Elrond was silent in his guilt, wondering if Ereinion would have ever learned so much, so fast, if it had not been for his presence.

"Ecthelion, so Tuor and Idril say, learned a great deal very swiftly, though," Círdan mused. "Aye, as did my poor Celairos..." His voice trailed sadly off and Elrond knew he referred to the youngster who had taken his own life, retreating back into the Halls of Mandos, though he had been released but a few years before. The shipwright's countenance grew grey and tense with old grief that he could not release.

"Ereinion is not Celairos," Celebrían soothingly said.

"Nay," Círdan's tone was heavy. "Nay he is not. But I cannot stand to lose another child. Once already I have seen Ereinion taken from this life; I cannot bear the thought that he might choose to take it himself." Again the eldest elf fell wretchedly silent, his mind all too obviously recalling the losses of his beloved adopted children he had witnessed over painful years.

"No more could I," Elrond replied, repressing a bone-chilling shiver at the thought.

"But you, my friend, have left Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen to that very fate," Círdan said softly.

Elrond froze in shock, guilt assuaging him threefold.

Celebrían snatched her arms from Círdan's waist. "Then I too am to be blamed for that," she said, her voice high and strained.

Círdan spun to face her. "Celebrían..."

"Nay! Speak not to me." Celebrían was shaking. She backed away, her soft eyes wide and glistening, oceans welling within. She stumbled back against the wall and slid down it, covering her face with her hands.

"It was their choice to make, Círdan," Elrond said quietly, his voice stern and steady. "Now would you please leave us for a few moments."

The shipwright wavered, staring anxiously at the curled, distraught form of his lady.

"Go," Elrond repeated. "Go and make your peace with Ereinion."

A pained spasm crossed the shipwright's face and he bowed his head, reaching for the door handle and backing out of the room.

Elrond turned to Celebrían, kneeling beside her and encircling her shoulders with a comforting arm. She made a feeble attempt to push him away, which aborted half complete and she leaned against his chest. She quaked, tiny shivering spasms that passed through her whole form. Tears leaked steadily from her eyes, marking thin silvery lines upon her blanched cheeks.

"I left our children," she whispered, lifting wide, wretched eyes to his.

Elrond cradled her close, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "So did I," he replied softly. "So did I."


Part 32. Acceptance and Anticipation

Ereinion closed the door to his chambers slightly harder than necessary, walking directly to the closet and yanking out a suitable set of clothing to greet the day. But he threw them onto the nearest chair without a second look and crossed to the window, leaning against the frame with a sigh. He spent so little time in his own chambers now. Though they had been his since the earliest memories of his second childhood, they felt now but a relic of false innocence, feigned familiarity, and long outgrown. He went there to wash and dress each morning, but it was to Elrond's chambers that he retired at night. And so it ever had been, he realised, for in the days of his kingship in Lindon Elrond's chambers had provided for him the same haven within his own home. He smiled to himself, for it had taken him nearly two decades to pinpoint the reason behind the sanctuary he took in the elder elf's bed. Long must he have subconsciously known it, retreating there almost every night since the dream of the third kin-slaying had ruptured his sleep.

His smile turned to a frown as he thought of Elrond's excuse to Círdan for their nightly habits. The nightmares were almost a thing of the past; indeed rarely now did they ever wake him. He gave his head a slight shake. It was ridiculous to be afraid of the works that Lorien, the dream-crafter of the Valar, weaved for those in slumber. Such states of wandering consciousness explored the mind and brought revelations. What was there to fear in that? He crossed to the chair and stepped into his breeches, roughly pulling closed the lacings.

Ai, Ereinion! You are a fool, he irritably reflected. Know you well that you have faced the armies of the darkest power our time ever saw, and that you bore the weight of two of the greatest works of Noldor craftsmanship, Vilya and Narya, for a time in your life. And yet you fear the insubstantial, the essence found in dream, the details of your own mind... He stopped sharply, suddenly uncomfortably reminded of the words that had haunted him for several years now: "You never could handle the truth, Ereinion - nor do you ever like to be wrong!"

"Damn you, Oropher," he said aloud. He walked back to the window and leaned his forehead against the cool stone of the chamber wall. "You are wrong."

A tap upon the door stirred him from his reverie, and a voice spoke from beyond the wood. "Ereinion? Are you within?"

"No, Círdan, I am standing atop the furthest mountain peak beyond the Helcaraxë," Ereinion answered with a sigh. "Enter."

Apparently ignoring the sarcasm, Círdan opened the door to the chamber. "May I speak with you?"

"You are speaking, am I not answering?" Ereinion asked neutrally. "Or do I take it you have something specific in mind?"

"I think it must be more than apparent that I have."

"As you wish then." Ereinion waved a hand toward the bed to indicate that Círdan could sit. He himself crossed to a chair, and took from the back of it his tunic.

"Firstly, I wish to apologise," Círdan said, his voice very calm. "I am treating you as a child when you are not one. The offer, however, of a companion to sleep with was kindly meant."

Ereinion repressed a sigh. "Perhaps it was. Círdan, I do not dispute that you are attempting to help me, but I am more than able to cope. There are none whom I trust so well as Elrond, and no one else who would suffice. I know that I could come to you, but you... have been absent lately," Ereinion quickly excused himself. He paused, turning his tunic the right way out. "Am I to think that you do not consider Elrond a suitable companion? Or - wait - has Celebrían told you...?"

Círdan bowed his head in acknowledgement. "She has."

Ereinion sighed testily. "I would rather have spoken with you myself, but let me confirm: I remember the bond that Elrond and I once shared. We have...spoken together, and wish to re-consummate it."

It was Círdan's turn to sigh.

Ereinion drew his tunic over his head in an abrupt gesture and faced Círdan, his fingers now moving to weave in his braids. "Have you naught to say? I find that rather hard to believe."

Círdan did not respond to the officious remark, seeming to collect his thoughts instead. Eventually he spoke: "Why?"

"I love him, Círdan," Ereinion said steadily. "What more do you need to know?"

Círdan considered him, his azure gaze lingering upon Ereinion's with equal steadfastness for interminable moments. His stare read beyond the surface, and Ereinion bore his gaze, awaiting the shipwright's reaction. They were not strangers to one another, though estranged they had become in recent years. It seemed to Ereinion that Elrond would shape him into the elf he had been before, while Círdan had steered him far from that course. Ereinion knew he could be neither Gil-galad, nor free of him. Elrond's calm acceptance of this was more tolerable than Círdan's unspoken fears. Trust me, Círdan. Know me, Ereinion silently requested. I know well that once you did. Tell me that you can do so again.

"Nothing," Círdan quietly acknowledged. "Nothing."

A smile crept across Ereinion's countenance, mirrored upon Círdan's, as they continued to eye one another. Ereinion could see innumerable questions rising upon Círdan's tongue: do you know what you are doing? Are you certain of your affections, or are you submerged in the well of memory? Do you understand what this even means? Yet he spoke none of them. Without words, he questioned. Without words, Ereinion answered.

Finally Círdan spoke, "I know not how love can outlast millennia, death, and more. Never have I felt such a bond. I envy you, my son, and I wish you well with all my heart."

Slowly he stepped forward, and drew Ereinion into a warrior vice, and as he had always done before, he changed the embrace into one closer and warmer, a fatherly ensnarement in both arms. Ereinion held him close, resting his chin briefly on Círdan's shoulder.

"Thank you," Ereinion said.

Círdan gripped him closer for a moment, and then stood back, regarding with clear affection his foster son. "Behave yourself," he chided fondly. "Elrond was at least beyond the years of his minority before 'ere you met him. I well know your present age, and memories that span millennia cannot override that. Promise me that you will not hurt yourself?"

Ereinion rolled his eyes. "Peace, Círdan! I could not if I desired it so; Elrond is as rigid in his morals as you are, and he will have none of such ventures."

"Aye, and sound you as though it is tiresome!" Círdan scolded.

Ereinion chuckled, but gave no words in answer.


Elrond looked up as the door to the great hall opened. A little of the water he was pouring from a jug spilled onto the breakfast table as he registered the arrival of Ereinion and Círdan. He caught Ereinion's eye, lifting a brow in silent question for he doubted conversation could have passed between child and guardian without raising the topic of the renewed relationship. His stomach lurched to view the grim countenance of the younger elf. Ereinion's lips were drawn tight, the planes of his features too still, too inexpressive. His eyes flicked briefly, darkly, to Círdan. Elrond followed his gaze to the shipwright, anticipating the grey clouds of discontent to mar the ancient visage. But there were none, and Círdan offered him a friendly smile, which melted away beneath Elrond's wary gaze.

Glancing sharply back at Ereinion, a vastly different expression met his eye. An insolent smirk graced the wide mouth, and the cobalt eyes held the glint of merriment. Elrond released the breath he had been holding. Very carefully he set aside the water jug and in silent mime reached for arrow and bow, taking slow aim and releasing the imaginary bolt. Ereinion's laugh rang out as he clutched at his chest, feigning injury, and staggering against Círdan. The shipwright tolerantly supported him, his eyes meeting Elrond's over the head of the smirking youngster and then lifting to the heavens.

"Wretched child, get thee gone," Elrond growled as Ereinion took the seat beside him. "Mean you to still my heartbeat with your games?"

"Never, love," Ereinion's chuckle accompanied his words, and he pressed his lips fleetingly to the top of Elrond's head. "I could not, however, resist such a perfect opportunity."

"Would that Mandos had taught you restraint while in his care," Elrond grumbled, reaching to pour Ereinion a glass of water and ignoring the unrepentant chuckle.

"I think perhaps patience is also in order," Círdan remarked, taking a seat between Elrond and Celebrían, "if you two are to continue to share chambers."

Elrond glanced up at that and nodded. "You may rest assured that shall be practiced," he promised.

Círdan smiled. "I have faith in you, Elrond."

"But not in me?" Ereinion asked, lifting his brows.

Círdan shot him a jaundiced look, and the youngster snickered, helping himself to a chunk of bread.


As various commitments drew them from the table, Elrond touched Celebrían's arm and she stepped aside while Ereinion and Círdan left the room. He did not speak, but instead searched her face for signs that the grief that had so shaken her in the bedroom had now abated. She met his eyes warily, knowing what he sought. Her own gaze, like the sea, shifted with colours of emotion, unreadable.

"How are you?" Elrond said quietly.

Little had they spoken after Círdan left the bedchamber, instead they had silently held each other, knowing no words could reach their hearts or ease the grief of losing their children. United once more in their sorrow, Elrond had felt the betraying twinge in his heart: if Celebrían had not left, would they have joined us instead? And what did she think of him? That he too had deserted their children, when he should at least have stayed until they passed beyond the lands of the living, if that was their wish. Each knew they could not have stayed. Each knew that the other could not have remained. Each would still wonder. Still doubt.

"I am fine," Celebrían answered, looping her hair behind her ears and glancing away from him toward the corridor. "Are you?" Briefly she looked back at him, touching his cheek lightly.

Elrond nodded, keeping his eyes on hers. She met his gaze determinedly, offering him an appeasing smile.

"Is Celebrían feeling better?"

She flinched visibly, her eyes widening, and she turned to walk away. Elrond caught her arm lightly, and, though she pulled from his grip, she stilled her retreat, darting a haunted glance at him. "Celebrían...is still upset," she falteringly replied.

Once again, Elrond nodded. Again she looked away, tension now radiating from her. She folded her arms across her breasts, her fingers curling tightly into the sleeves of her gown and dimpling the fabric. "I must go. I think I should speak to Círdan alone. He was worried about me."

She glanced back at Elrond, and eyed him for a moment, her blue gaze as intense as that of a little bird scrutinising a possible threat. "He does not understand," she said levelly, then quickly turned and walked out of the room.

Left alone, Elrond shook his head sadly. "That is why you feel safe with him, melyanna," he told the silence left in her wake. "He sees you as Celebrían, encompassing all that you are, and that you were. If you say that you are well, that you forgive his tactless remark, he will believe you. He will not think that another part of you is still hurting: a part that you would rather claim is not yourself. I cannot lie to you like that. Círdan does not have to."


Following in Celebrían's wake, Elrond departed the great hall and headed instead for the Healing Collegiums. The elves brought by Círdan's last journey had been admitted that morning, and Elrond had promised Aranel that he would go the healing houses directly after Círdan arrived. He walked briskly, knowing that he was already delayed, though he would have been of little use to Aranel fatigued and unfed. Healing required the healer in a fit state to carry out his duties. He sighed, recalling the twelvemonth following Celebrían's return to Imladris, brought back from her torments in orcish caverns. He had barely slept, barely eaten, watched the sun both rise and fall, negotiating the labyrinth of corridors in Imladris in a semi-conscious state, and regularly arrived at the wrong destination in his exhausted state. Glorfindel had been invaluable, shouldering Elrond's lordship and insisting that the twins bore the burden of state while Elrond sought every cure that could be found to assist his wife.

When she had departed, Elrond had grimly wondered if all had been in vain. Now, considering her as she was, he did not doubt the value of his work and its part in helping her to heal, though she was far from the woman she had once been. Not everything can be repaired, he sadly admitted to himself, a repetition that had reluctantly been his to speak many times over the years. But that did not mean that the attempt was invaluable.

Opening the door to the collegiums he was tersely greeted by Aranel, as he hastened back into the quiet suites beyond the antechamber.

"Standard drill. Elenwe and Brethilas are preparing the strengthening drafts - check the formula for miruvor is exact; it is not something that we have regularly used before and the colour seems not quite as you described it. Elrond," Aranel paused, casting him a troubled glance. "Are you able to work with the elements yet? I know you have been doing a little here and there, but..." He glanced uneasily around. "There are so many here this time."

He had no need to say any more. Elrond felt a coldness seep into his stomach. How much time had passed outside the mists? The fading of the elves had been slowly progressing for so long that their kind had come to accept it, believing there to be time remaining, and so there had been. If the numbers had suddenly risen again, time for the elves had to be running short.

"I will do it," he said without hesitation.

Aranel cast him a beady glance. "Do not put yourself under my care, Elrond," he warned. "I have enough to do already."

"Then go," Elrond replied firmly. The younger healer shot him a final cautionary glower and then hurried away, leaving Elrond to turn to the assistants.

Elenwe Elrond had trained himself while in Imladris, though she had left for the West a few years after Celebrían. He nodded to her, checking the decanters of miruvor that lined the surfaces, prepared during Círdan's absence and now ready. He poured a half-cup of the deep ruby liquid, sniffing it quickly, and then took a cautious sip. The cool, sleek texture of the liquid nevertheless warmed his tongue and throat as he swallowed it, feeling even in that tiny mouthful the strength imbued within the cordial, and the balm that soothed his senses.

"Tell Aranel he worries too much," he said, smiling quickly at Elenwe. "You have not forgotten the ingredients, or the preparation. The colour change is probably due only to the climate altering the colours of the herbs here. Who charged the potion?"

"I," Brethilas, a golden-headed sylvan elf and originally of Thranduil's realm, answered him.

Elrond cast an appraising glance at the younger creature. He had worked little with the sylvan, finding him in their short acquaintance somewhat haughty, with eternal mockery in his twilight gaze. Yet if this was his work, it was time to reconsider him.

"You are skilled, Brethilas," Elrond complimented him. "Distribute the cordial, both of you, to all present here, unless Aranel or I tell you nay. It is designed to strengthen body and soul, and will help at least to support these elves until such time as Aranel or I can attend them. It is stronger than the cordials that you have been using, so if you have administered any of the elves your own medicines then do not give them this one. We have not had the time to investigate the possible reactions of mixing the ingredients."

Brethilas nodded once. "Master Elrond, I am more than capable of working the elements as you do, so I shall..."

"No." Entering the room Elrond had heard Aranel's own tetchy refusal to the same proposition. The head of the collegiums had warned him several times before that Brethilas had not mastered the necessary balance of the water element in such close proximity to Ossë and Ulmo, despite the younger elf's persistence, and insistence that he had.

"I am in fitter condition than yourself, o most revered healer," Brethilas coldly returned. "Can you yet claim to be free of your reliance upon that Ring of yours?" His eyes drifted mockingly to Vilya.

Elrond met his gaze calmly. "For thrice the years you have been alive I have worked the elements, Brethilas. If you wish to discuss my abilities with me then I will listen to you. But it will not be now when such discourse detracts from the work we have to do. I will not compromise the health of our people."

He turned his back on the flushing healer and followed Elenwe to the nearby chamber, opening the door for her so that she might bear in the tray of miruvor. "My lord," she paused before she entered, casting a quick glance at him. "Erestor is within."

Elrond froze. Though outwardly he nodded calmly to the woman, his steps into the room were slow, his gaze swiftly scanning the chamber within. Five elves rested upon the oaken-framed beds, their curtains not drawn about them. One, whom Elrond recognised as Thranduil's second son, was curled up, his features crossed with resentment though tremors shook his body. It was upon the second bed that Erestor waited, propped weakly against the headboard. The chief counsellor of Imladris met his former lord's gaze with a small smile. "Good morrow, my lord."

"Erestor," Elrond crossed quickly to him, sitting upon the edge of the divan and taking the thin hands in his. Erestor's skin was cool to the touch, his features too pale and his eyes lightless. Elrond laid the back of his hand against the cold forehead and then Erestor's cheeks.

"Peace, my lord," Erestor shifted his head restlessly from beneath Elrond's touch. "Attend those who need your attentions."

"That would include you, my friend," Elrond replied, quirking a smile at his former counsellor.

Erestor snorted weakly. "Nonsense."

But he did not have further strength to protest when Elrond ignored him.

Elrond withdrew his thoughts from the conversation, feeling for the earth beneath the building with his mind, reaching for the roots and soil below. He felt the contained power of the land grounding him, letting his mind drift upon the currents of air, reaching for Manwë's air sprites, and then Ulmo's nymphs, feeling the fire of the elemental powers the Valar had crafted surge through him. The force was unlike anything felt in Rivendell, easily thrice the power he had ever touched there. Weaker without Vilya's support, yet stronger for not having to contain her, Elrond felt for the equilibrium. It came, a wavering sense of balance re-established, and slowly he began to feed the power into Erestor, channelling it through the physical body, reaching for the soul with his own.

"Your sons, my lord, send to you their love," Erestor said.

Elrond nearly lost the elemental balance, feeling for an instant the forces tussle within him, reckless, bounding, and wild in their strength. He gritted his teeth unconsciously, taming them, calling the assistants of the Valar back to his will.

"They are well?" he asked.

"They were last I saw of them," Erestor confirmed. "And Arwen too, though Aragorn grows old now. They have children, beautiful and kind. My lord, you are a grandsire now."

Elrond closed his eyes, allowing a painful chuckle to escape him. So much lost, and so much found. This then is Elbereth's final price? That I should regain the lord and king I love, and lose the family that filled my lonely heart in his absence? A hard bargain, my lady, hard indeed. One I have no choice now but to accept. And perhaps, perhaps that is for the best.

Elrond quickly reined in his thoughts, focusing his attention more closely on directing the energy flowing through him. Slowly, carefully he began to rebuild the strained bonds of spirit and body, for fading diminished the connection between soul and physical form. To re-create the bonds took time, and only a little could be done at once. He gradually lessened the flow, closed the channels and passed the energy back into the earth. The pulses of power faded and he opened his eyes once more, looking at his patient.

"Have you quite finished?" Erestor asked, gruff once more. "But stay a while," he added, touching Elrond's arm. "If I may be so bold as to enquire...? Your lady wife... Celebrían...?"

"Is here and she is well," Elrond confirmed, smiling as he rose, passing Erestor a glass of miruvor.

The counsellor's reserved visage broke into a brief smile. He raised his glass in teasing toast. "I am glad for you, my lord."

"Thank you, Erestor." Elrond took another glass of miruvor, this time drinking from it himself, and moved on to his next patient.


Late into the night his work continued, Aranel appearing only once to say curtly: "To sleep, Elrond. Now. I will keep watch until the moon begins to descend, then you must take over while I rest."

Greatly wearied, Elrond made no move to protest. Elenwe had retired for several hours after noon, and now flitted around, keeping company of those awake, or fetching water and doses of sleeping herbs while Brethilas rested. Elrond did not, however, retire to his own chambers; instead he settled in a chair, intending to read for a half hour.

He was woken again in the midnight hour. His book had fallen to the floor before ever he read beyond the first sentence. His gaze swept instantly over his charges, wondering what had disturbed him. But they rested peacefully. Cocooned in the worlds of dream their minds were bathed in beauty and stimulated with wonder, while their bodies slowly healed themselves. They were pale, Elrond observed as he watched them sleep; pale, insubstantial spectres encased in the soft down of their beds. They seemed, if one looked for too long, hardly there at all. Their breathing was so shallow, their skin almost translucent, and faintly glowing with the energy they unconsciously drew in while they rested. Signs of health these were, and of slow but sure recovery. Yet if one looked too long, they appeared as dying men, with their souls barely held by their fleshly prison. Elvin strength echoed of the fragility of men.

Elrond rose from the side of Lorindol, a border guard and friend of Haldir's, who had remained long in Lothlórien after the departure of Galadriel. And now Galadriel was building her new kingdom. Would Celeborn ever join her? Looking at the prone form before him, Elrond wondered.

He walked to the window, resting his gaze upon the night. Lorindol stirred in his rest and Elrond moved to the cupboards where the sleeping draughts were kept. A fleet motion caught his eye, and the moon-shadows briefly formed the shape of Lorien, dream-weaver of the Valar. The elven-formed Vala laid a cool hand upon Lorindol's brow, and the flaxen-haired guardian's tense body relaxed once more. Lorien's eyes, deep emerald even in the shadow, caught Elrond's for a moment before the Vala faded out of form once more. Elrond set aside the potion and smiled.


Some hours later, Aranel appeared and frowned at him.

"You are awake. Is there a problem?" His eyes flicked quickly over their resting charges.

"Nay, they sleep in peace," Elrond reassured him.

"Then you should be doing the same," Aranel chided, his low, calm voice barely stirring the quiet.

Elrond chuckled. "Fret yourself not, I am resting. Lorien soothes their dreams; I am not needed."

Aranel laughed softly. "Think not that the Valar displace us, fellow-healer, it is just their way of aiding us."

Elrond nodded. "I know. I am as yet still unused to their proximity so frequently, but I know."

Aranel smiled. "That is good. May I take rest, or need you a little longer to sleep? Though as you say, Lorien is close this night, and will guard their sleep in our stead."

"Go," Elrond assured him. "I shall wake you at dawn."


Part 33. Reversed Roles

That dawn came, and another, passing into another, and on, detailing the course of several weeks. Elrond did not leave the healing wing for the duration of that time, he and Aranel working around the cycles of both sun and moon restoring health to the recently arrived elves. Snatched moments of sleep were few, but welcome, despite the discomfort of sleeping in chairs as all the beds were occupied. It was in the morning of the fifth week that Elrond stirred from sleep to find Ereinion sat upon the wing of his chair, reading the book Elrond had not yet managed to do more than glance at.

"Morning." Ereinion's lips touched the top of his head, and he laid aside the book.

"What are you doing here?" Elrond sleepily enquired, rising and stretching his limbs.

"Making sure that you are not overworking yourself."

"The child now plays the minder?" Elrond teased, pouring a glass of water and refreshing himself with a sip.

"Hold your tongue," Ereinion snorted. "I am bigger than you." He closed his eyes, groaning aloud as he registered his slip into childish speech.

Elrond chuckled and then deliberately inverted the remark, saying teasingly, "In what respect?"

Ereinion arched his eyebrows, his lips twitching into a smirk. "If we need discuss that, it has been too long."

Elrond suppressed a laugh, trying not to wake the others in the healing wing. "You are too young to make remarks like that."

"That is open to dispute." Ereinion stepped toward him and glanced quickly around to ascertain that the other occupants of the wing were sleeping. Satisfied that they were, he drew Elrond close for a brief kiss. "And did you not start this dance of innuendo?" He smirked triumphantly at Elrond's sheepish smile. "Anyway, I should go, there is a meeting of the Lower Council this noon - do you want me to report the details to you?"

"What? Ah, yes." Elrond paused for a moment to register the strange sound of those words. Though they would automatically discuss the meeting had they both attended, Ereinion would have to stand in for him this time and the reversing of their ancient roles took him a little by surprise. "Please. Make my excuses, though I am sure Círdan will know where I am. You know my feelings upon many of the matters discussed, will you do me the honour of representing me formally?"

Ereinion nodded briefly. "Of course." He touched Elrond's cheek, letting his fingertips trail over his lover's lips, and then turned to depart.

Before he had taken two steps however, an incredulous voice arrested him.

"Gil-galad?"

Ereinion turned, startled by the unfamiliar address. His eyes flew to the beds in the chamber, and his jaw fell open. "Erestor?"

The counsellor shifted, struggling to sit up amongst his pillows, and stared at the younger elf in astonishment. "Dearest Elbereth, it is you! Glad greetings, my lord king."

Ereinion held up a hand, his fingers clenching nervously into a fist. "I am no one's king, Erestor. But it is good to see you again."

"And a surprise indeed to see you." Erestor's gaze ticked to Elrond, his eyes filled with something close to disapproval, and then returned to Ereinion's with a smile. "Though I welcome you back to Arda."

Ereinion smiled tightly. He nodded briefly and then strode out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Elrond moved to the cabinet, beginning to collect the various medications required for that day, yet with every motion he could feel the heat of Erestor's gaze upon him.

"Forgive me, my friend, for not telling you," he said at length, without turning from his task.

"It is not my business to know yours, my lord."

"But you knew Gil-galad, as he then was. It was discourteous of me not to mention his return."

Erestor did not reply. Elrond poured a vial of a herbal solution into a glass of Aranel's cordial and crossed to the counsellor's bedside, handing him the medication. Erestor took it without comment and drank. Elrond sighed, moving away to attend Thranduil's second son, who was waking now too. Erestor's disapproval would be assuaged only when he saw Celebrían, and learned from her of her health and acceptance of Gil-galad's return. The counsellor was not one to believe mere words, preferring the evidence his own eyes brought him.


It was a relief when evening came, and Elrond, after lengthy discussion with Aranel, was able to depart from the collegiums. It was the first time in the five-week period that either had left that wing of the house, save for snatched meals morning or evening, the others being brought upon trays by the maids or pages. Though he knew not quite when he had made the decision, Elrond knew that he would remain in the Welcome House, almost indefinitely. Working with Aranel and finding himself able to access, without exhausting himself instantly, his healing ability, Elrond had established his place within the collegiums, and was content to remain there. A permanent arrangement it was not, but with eternity stretching away before him, he had no reason to think that it would be short-term. Even in times of quiet there would be occupation. Aranel had indicated that there were a number of areas of research being investigated to advance the various methods of treatment the collegiums used, and there was always work to be done in healing. There were prospective youngsters to train in healing too, and now that Glorfindel was gone, Elrond had been teaching the young elves weapon-crafts alone; a task Ereinion had taken over in his absence, and one Elrond would relinquish to him in full.

Elrond quickened his steps, bypassing the great hall for Celebrían had provided a tray of supper a few hours before. He headed directly for his chambers instead, and found Ereinion within, stripping off sweated leathers and the guards he wore on his sword arm. His long, thick hair was bound loosely back in a single tail, strands of it falling free and damp around his face.

"They let you out for good behaviour?" Ereinion looked up with a grin. His bare chest was shining with sweat, several scarlet lines of unbroken skin marring the muscular torso.

"They beat you for poor behaviour?" Elrond countered, gesturing.

"Glorfindel," Ereinion said, as if that was an answer enough. "After the meeting, I was working with Aranel's twins. He came to watch and decided to test my tutelage."

"Does he live to tell the tale?" Elrond teased.

"I am not a kin-slayer, Elrond."

"I know. I did not mean..." Taken aback, Elrond stepped toward him.

"I know. Sorry." Ereinion slid his arms around Elrond's waist, kissing his forehead.

"Where is Glorfindel now?"

"Attending the banquet that Círdan set for this evening. Strange, is it not, how much more friendly the atmosphere becomes when it is only the lower council in attendance?"

Elrond chuckled. "And yet you did not stay."

Ereinion shook his head. "No. Gildor wanted to spar for a while, so I declined the meal invitation. The lower council members will remain here for at least another week. Círdan means to hold a circle gathering in a seven-day, before they depart. Do you think that you will be able to attend?"

"Yes, that should be fine." Elrond slid his hands to Ereinion's hips. He could feel the heat from the younger elf's body and the tension of exerted muscles that had not yet relaxed. So many weeks in the healing wing caring for the half-faded elves, weak in body and weary in mind, Ereinion's health shone from him a radiant beacon of energy. Without thinking Elrond moved his fingers to unlace the younger elf's breeches. His own strength had been drained by his work and Ereinion's was enticing; the gentle touch of the younger elf's hands on his waist indicated that he freely offered his own strength to Elrond: soul to soul support. Then Ereinion caught his breath, averting his gaze for a moment and his fingers tightened on Elrond's hips. Elrond gave himself a mental shake and took Ereinion's hands instead, giving them an affectionate squeeze. He allowed himself to draw a little power from Ereinion's aura, but firmly pulled away from further physical contact.

"Bathe with me?" he asked, stepping away to give clarity to the statement and reassure Ereinion that he meant only to keep him company.

Ereinion finished unfastening his breeches. He inhaled slowly, glanced up at Elrond, and then nodded. Elrond held his gaze for a moment to affirm Ereinion's understanding of the innocence of the proposition - and to convince himself of his own intent.


The outline of the council meeting was discussed while they washed, and the details were to be recapped during the circle gathering later that week. Sluicing water over himself, Elrond washed the taint of weary spirit from his aura. The bathing chamber was en-suite to his bedroom, a large copper tub bordered in stone. Candles were placed at each of the four quarters. Light streamed through the open arched windows that stood floor to ceiling and the branches of trees curtained them from the outside world. Though there was still sufficient light with which to bathe by, Elrond had automatically lit the candles and now reclined contentedly in the presence of the four elements, letting them envelop him and soothe his spirit without having to draw them into himself and channel them. Ereinion leaned his head on one arm, stretched out along the rocky border, the ends of his hair trailing in the water. He sat chastely opposite Elrond, for the bath could comfortably - or closely - accommodate both of them. Elrond's gaze took in the evidence of Ereinion's physical need for him beneath the water line, but the younger elf was paying no attention to the erect state of his appendage. Instead he traced patterns upon the surface of the water, idly following the ripples with his fingertips.

Elrond closed his eyes firmly. The isolated weeks in the healing wing and the drain on his strength were taking their usual toll. The need to restore the balance of energies inside him could easily be drawn simply from the earth, but the increased access to the water elementals meant the need for the counterbalance of fire was heightened, and its manifestation could be found in desire. The forced celibacy Elrond had been struggling with since Ereinion had recalled their true bond - and admittedly even before that - only served to increase the temptation. Had he been in the company of Celebrían or Círdan or even Aranel, Elrond knew the ardour would not have burned so brightly. It was Ereinion's connection to him; the automatic, if unconscious, reaching out of his spirit to offer the support to that which was as one with it that now caused Elrond the difficulty.

He does not know what he is doing, Elrond reminded himself. Yet he had been forced to explain the concept to even the high king Gil-galad, for Ereinion had never studied the laws of healing and elemental balancing. Yet then it had mattered not. The habitual tendency for each to offer what the other lacked - whether in advice, or physical touch, or spiritual, or all combined - had been acceptable for Ereinion had not been a child. Indeed it had been Elrond who was, but in his youth Elrond had never found it difficult to draw from the earth the balance he needed. He did not find it hard now, he admitted to himself, but the longing to break their enforced chastity was antagonising the situation. He is too young, Elrond repeated to himself. Control yourself, peredhel; this is not right.


Returning to the bedchamber some half hour later, Elrond pulled on a robe and climbed gratefully into bed, glad not to be sleeping another night in a chair. Some of the ardour had cooled in the quiet waters of the bath-chamber and Elrond relaxed into the bed, unperturbed now by Ereinion's closeness. A cold rinse had done much to pacify Ereinion's own ignored need and with the most obvious temptation thus removed, without ever being mentioned, Elrond was ready to rest. Ereinion too slung on a night robe and belted it closed, scraping his wet hair back into a tie to minimise the soaking of the pillow. He stepped into bed, spooning up behind Elrond and wrapped an arm tightly around his waist, drawing him close. Soft lips pressed against his shoulder.

"Missed you."

"And I you." Elrond leant back into the warm embrace, closing his eyes.

Teeth pressed into his shoulder and Ereinion bit down gently, tugging at the cloth between them. "How tired are you?"

Elrond laughed softly. "Subtle you are not, Ereinion."

"Never laid claim to it," Ereinion snickered, nuzzling his ear. "Kiss me."

Elrond smiled, rolling over to brush his lips against Ereinion's as he spoke. "Gladly."

The kiss was gentle at first, lips tentatively joining. Yet the moment they did the intimacy of the bedchamber seemed more poignant after the enforced separation of the previous weeks. Elrond slid his hand between their bodies, feeling the thrumming tension caged in Ereinion's breast. Beneath his palm the younger elf's chest rose and fell unsteadily, heat radiating from his skin like it rises from a fire to burn even when the flames do not touch. He remembered that fire, the all-consuming passion of the great king, wild yet tameable. He needed that fire. Elrond slid his hand between the lapels of Ereinion's robe. He felt the fabric slip as the belt loosened and knotted his fingers into it. Ereinion half-pulled back, but Elrond caught the lips parted for speech with his own.

"Shh," he murmured, nipping sharply at Ereinion's lip. "Just kiss me."

Lips met his again: more forcefully this time in a bruising kiss retaliating to the bite. Ereinion's hands slid to Elrond's back, hard fingertips deeply tracing the line of his spine until Elrond arched into him. The elder elf's hands moved to cup Ereinion's face, his fingers twining into the dark locks that framed his features. Legs snaked between his own and hands dragged across his back, clutching at his hips: the grip sure and strong. Lips trailed down his neck and he felt his robe loosen, roughly pulled from one shoulder. Ereinion lifted his head, his eyes darkened and his lips half-parted in silent enquiry. Elrond tilted his head back, closing his eyes. It had been so long...

Because Ereinion is too young. The thought came like lightning splices a storm-blurred sky. Ereinion was too young and the laws of their kind insisted that during physical minority no sexual interaction was permitted. The physical and psychological implications were too great. It would be too easy to injure a younger elf, or damage his or her psyche with needs awakened too early that could interfere with maturing and over-stimulate emotions that needed to be tempered. But Ereinion is not typical for one his age. A rebellious mental voice disputed the sharp reprimand of logic suddenly piercing the ardour-haze. He remembers clearly such intimate interactions, he will not be harmed mentally - and you would not physically hurt him... The straying of Ereinion's hands to places once familiar served only as a reminder of the unusualness of Ereinion's situation. He remembered, he clearly remembered. Elrond bit back a groan. He pressed his body closer to the younger elf and felt Ereinion tense slightly. That he was willing to touch did not mean he was quite willing to be touched in return. Damn it, he does not realise what he is doing!

"No." Elrond tried to pull away, and found the arms around him tighten. "No... No, Ereinion, stop. Stop!"

He gripped the younger elf's shoulders, giving him a rough shake. Ereinion lifted his head to meet his eyes, his tousled hair tumbling across his face. "What?"

"Stop it." Elrond grasped the wandering hands and gripped them tightly. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to calm his breathing. "We cannot go any further."

Ereinion gave a moue of displeasure, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "Why?" he murmured, leaning forward to brush his lips against Elrond's again.

Elrond stifled a groan as the youngster's mouth closed over his own, drinking in the silken heat of his kisses and feeling the long fingers frame his features once more. "You...are...too...young," Elrond managed, between the persistent kisses that claimed his lips. "Ereinion, no - no! You are still in your minority."

"I do not feel like a child," Ereinion whispered, his lips tracing the thin-skinned curve of Elrond's ear. The elder elf tilted his head back with a shuddering gasp.

"Not in mind perhaps, but still in body. No, Ereinion. Stop. It is too soon. You could get hurt."

Ereinion's fingers caught Elrond's wrists as the elder elf tried to restrain him. "I do not care!" he insisted. "If you trust me not, then take the initiative yourself. Please Elrond, I cannot stand this!"

For a moment Elrond stared at him. His heartbeat boomed in his ears like the roiling of the waves. The trust in the dark eyes...it would be oh so easy to...

"We must," he replied, freeing a hand to caress the youngster's tangled dark hair. "We have to."

Firmly he extracted himself from the invitation of the entwining embrace, until Ereinion roughly pulled away in frustration. The younger elf sighed loudly, twisting away from Elrond, exasperated, and for a moment all was silent as Elrond lay back, listening to the slowing of his thudding heart.


Part 34. As You Were

His heart still pulsing furiously in his chest, Elrond forced himself to reach for the earth: grounding, calming. Yet in his heart he knew it was not truly the elemental imbalance caused by weeks of prolonged healing that had driven him so close to the edge of what was acceptable in his new relationship with Ereinion. He was fighting himself, the need to fully consummate the rites of lovers between them, to right the wrong of their separation, to unite flesh and break the last divide between them. Yet it could not be done. Not until Ereinion was restored completely to his former self, not until he had recovered all of his memories. The reason-obscuring fog of thoughtless desire beginning to lift, Elrond relaxed a fraction. Ereinion was not yet truly himself again; there was too much he did not recall. And that above all other reasons would bind Elrond to chastity. To truly repair that which the Last Alliance had sundered that too would have to be remembered and, if they could survive that, then the divides between them were needed no more. But that was not yet the case. Not yet.

The slight creak of the bedsprings and then a sharp inhalation caught his ear, and Elrond tilted his head to look at Ereinion. The younger elf slowly and deliberately released the belt of his robe, letting it fall open. His legs were parted beneath, the long limbs sculpted with the muscle of years of riding. The robe draped sensuously across his body, concealing nothing, yet sliding tantalisingly against the youthful flesh.

"What are you doing...?"

Ereinion let his fingers drift slowly from his belt, brushing across the taut muscle of his abdomen, the skin flinching in desire beneath. He did not look at Elrond, but as his fingers curled around the column of flesh between his parted thighs, he lifted his eyes to meet the elf-lord's startled gaze.

"You would not..." Elrond breathed, alarm racing the currents of desire that swirled within him and sending a rush of heat to his groin.

"If you will do naught to sate the ache in my loins, what else do you expect?" Ereinion replied with dignity. The tone was cool but the sparkle in the cobalt eyes belied him, the affected haughtiness a mockery of self-control.

Elrond fell back against the pillows, forcing his gaze to fix upon the canopy of the bed overhead, and silently cursed to the Valar for the audacity of the child. Ereinion's breathing was unsteady, and the sheets whispered silkily together as he arched his back.

"Ereinion. Stop. Please."

"Do you remember the year after you founded Rivendell?" Ereinion continued, as if he had not heard Elrond's plea. "And the very first occasion that I visited you there?"

Elrond remained silent, trying to dissuade Ereinion from his game, but his traitorous mind was already travelling swiftly along the paths of his memory.

"I had not seen you since the battle of..." Ereinion gasped suddenly, his breath coming quicker and his voice growing unsteady as he continued. "Ereigon. All I had were your endless letters that I nightly read. It was all of you that could share my bed, until the day I came to you."

Elrond rolled off the bed, rose quickly, and moved to the window. The cool night air washed over him in rich ocean-scented waves, yet it could not hope to touch him within, where Ereinion's words spoke to and roused memories from the deep.

"The hours of that welcome banquet seemed to drag into forever! I knew not the truth in the tales that a gaze could scald with desire hidden therein until that night."

He laughed softly, a moan escaping his lips, and out of the corner of his eye, Elrond saw his head press back against the pillows, his lips parting in a gasp.

"If you looked at me now, would you look like that?" Ereinion continued teasingly, his voice low and amused. "And do you remember what happened when you 'escorted me to my chambers'?"

"Ereinion, do not... My control is not limitless!" Elrond dared not turn to look at him, knowing exactly what look would be in his eyes.

Ereinion chuckled again, the sound mingling with the sharp hitch in his breathing as his fingers continued to work his own erection. "Beloved, I am counting on that!"

Elrond groaned. His mind was filled with the images of that night, despite his struggle to focus only upon the fern leaves, green on green that patterned the drapes.

"Elrond, look at me," Ereinion murmured. "The curtains cannot be that interesting, unless you were considering the potential uses of the curtain ties...?"

Elrond cursed under his breath. "Ereinion...if you dare..."

"Dare to what? Remind you of the alternative use we discovered for my silk belt?" Ereinion's voice was almost musical with amusement. "I have not forgotten that either!" He laughed aloud, sounding suddenly much older than his years again.

Elrond leaned his forehead against the wall, feeling the fevered pulse in his groin at the remembered light glowing in the king's eyes as his herald knotted tight the silken cord around his wrists. The king's chest had shuddered with his gasping breaths as he surrendered physical strength, power of office, his own natural dominant will... The trust shared in that night, though the events had begun in play, resurfaced in a wave of emotion. He still trusts you, you must not break that. But the protest sounded weak...the prospect did not seem to unnerve Ereinion even now.

Elrond chanced a glance back at Ereinion, seeing the amusement dancing in the adamant-hued eyes. His features were jewelled with sweat, strands of dark hair wantonly clinging to his brow. Elrond's gaze trailed, despite himself, to watch the younger elf run his thumb lightly over the head of his shaft, seeing the shudder ripple through his body. His own flanks ached. He dug his fingernails into his palms. The desire to touch...to feel the skin beneath his fingers, and the arch of the king's body into his hand...to hear Gil-galad groan his name... He forced his gaze away, staring hard at the gritty texture of the stone wall. He is too young. He is not the high king now. No, but he is still as damn beautiful as he ever was. And does he not just know it!

"I was thinking that the ties might make a suitable gag!" Elrond replied, turning slowly to grin at the younger elf.

Ereinion's eyebrows shot up, and there was a brief silence.

"Interesting." Ereinion considered him for a moment, lazily fingering a nipple. A smirk crossed his features and he slid his hand up his length once more, keeping his mischievous eyes on Elrond's. "Why, do you think Círdan might hear us?"

"Ah, hold your wretched tongue!" Elrond growled, as the relentless throbbing that consumed his entire body with its passionate flame heightened its burning.

He crossed to the bed in three short strides and pinned Ereinion against the mattress, ensnaring the playing hands and nailing them against the pillow.

Ereinion looked up at him, his breath coming in hasty gasps, his eyes dark with desire. "Again, Elrond?" he taunted, trying, without much success, to free his wrists from Elrond's grasp. "How long had we been apart then?"

"Too long," Elrond muttered. "Too long."

"'Tis longer now."

"I know. Ah Elbereth! Do you not think I know?"

Ereinion slid one hand free of Elrond's grasp, raising his hand to stroke Elrond's cheek, his gaze softening a little. "I doubt it not," he said more gently.

"Ereinion, we cannot," Elrond sighed, sitting back on his heels. "We cannot. Quite apart from anything else, Círdan would dissect me for it."

His promise to the elder elf had returned to him when Ereinion mentioned Círdan's name, and another reason laid atop his unsteady tower of causes to stop this tempting game pulled Elrond back once more.

Ereinion's laughed a little, his fingers tracing Elrond's features repeatedly and slipping through Elrond's dark mane of hair. "Curse Círdan," he whispered, reaching out to pull Elrond close, the entreaty in his voice unmistakable. "Elrond, I need you."

Elrond braced a hand against the pillows and dipped his head, capturing Ereinion's lips in a deep, lingering kiss. As he drew back, Ereinion sat up, and Elrond let his arms enfold the younger elf, feeling the heat of soft, damp skin beneath his hands. His fingers slid over the light contours of muscle, and he rose on his knees, pulling Ereinion against his body. The youngster pressed against him, the hardness of his groin tight against Elrond's thigh, and he groaned as his own erection was crushed against Ereinion's hip. He could feel Ereinion trembling slightly: desire, or nervousness? Elrond smoothed his hands down the youngster's back, kissing him again and gasping as Ereinion bit at his lower lip. Then hands knotted into his hair, and Ereinion's lips claimed his mouth again. Elrond rocked against him, feeling Ereinion press closer in response. The youngster arched, a stifled cry drawn from him as the pressure against his loins exploded, the slick heat of essence spilling against Elrond's skin.

Ereinion sagged in his arms, his breath coming in heaving pants. His hair slid over his face as he hung his head, his fingers loosely gripping Elrond's forearms. "Sweet Elbereth," the younger elf breathed shakily.

Elrond's breathing was ragged, the pressure in his groin rolling like thunderous claps throughout his body. He closed his eyes, steadying Ereinion with a hand on the younger elf's back. "Easy, easy," he soothed.

Ereinion tilted his head to look up at Elrond, releasing his breath unsteadily. He frowned slightly at Elrond's tone, his eyes flicking briefly to the heavens. "Air and fire, I am not a virginal maiden, Elrond. Nor am I a frightened horse that needs steadying."

He reached for the edge of the sheet, slowly wiping the spent fluid from Elrond's flank. His skin tingled at the touch, and Elrond shuddered. A coherent reply to Ereinion's retort was dashed into the swell of sensation. He half-groaned an apology, the words lost somewhere as Ereinion kissed him again. A steadying hand laid upon the elder elf's hip, Ereinion traced the edge of the fabric against Elrond's unsatisfied shaft. Elrond cried out, pressing his knuckles against his mouth to stifle the sound. Soft lips suckled at the sensitive skin of his neck, trailing down his collarbone. Ereinion's fingers brushed over the skin of his inner thighs, sending a shudder through him. Lips closed around his nipple and he arched his back, a gasp escaping him.

"Ereinion," Elrond's voice was raw. His fingers clutched at Ereinion's hair, tugging to bring the younger elf's head up as Ereinion's kisses trailed still lower. "Ereinion, no..."

"Elrond?"

Elrond's hands were shaking as he released Ereinion's hair. Sweat trickled in a hot line down his back. He sat back on his heels, his limbs atremble, his breath coming in gasps.

"No."

Ereinion stared at him, sliding his hands to Elrond's hips and smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin. "Elrond, I want to."

"No." Elrond shook his head, closing his hands over Ereinion's and gritting his teeth. "I cannot let you. Ereinion, please, we have gone too far already. I cannot let you do this."

Ereinion sat back on his heels, letting his head fall back and resting his hands on Elrond's thighs. His body shaking, Elrond laid his hands over the youngster's, weaving their fingers tightly together. Ereinion stared at him for a moment, his gaze searching, and groaned aloud in disbelief.

"Elrond! Ai! Would that we were in Imladris now - I would be your king, and you would have to do as I say!"

"If that were so," Elrond sternly told him, levelling an eagle-eyed stare at the youngster. "I would surely have to gag you, or Círdan would hear us from as far away as the Grey Havens!"

Ereinion laughed, and then groaned. Reaching up he smoothed away the damp locks of hair sticking to Elrond's forehead, stroking his flushed cheeks. "Air and Fire, Elrond, where did you learn this sort of restraint?"

Elrond smiled, leaning forward to kiss the younger elf's lips. "I had a very good teacher."

"Oh really?" Ereinion murmured. "And who was that?"

"Celebrían. Ow!" Elrond winced as Ereinion's fist connected with his shoulder.

The younger elf snickered at him. "You deserved that."

Elrond arched an eyebrow, rubbing at his bruise. "And you deserve naught for all your teasing?"

"Not that." Ereinion mock-scowled. "But I can think of other things."

Elrond clapped a hand quickly over the youngster's mouth. "Do not even think about telling me!"

Ereinion's lips pressed softly against his palm. "Let me touch you," he whispered, his breath tickling Elrond's fingers.

Elrond started to shake his head again, but Ereinion's eyes met his, indigo dark, and his smile gentle.

"Hands only," Elrond said after a moment, keeping his eyes on Ereinion's.

"Request or command?" Ereinion teased.

Knowing the likely reaction to a command, Elrond managed to chuckle. "Request."

Ereinion smiled, leaning forward to brush his lips against Elrond's again. His hands slid slowly to stroke the sensitive skin of Elrond's thighs and moved higher, stealing the gasp that spilled from Elrond's lips in another kiss. "As you wish then."


Part 35. Turning Circles

The circle gathering took place on the eve of the seventh day of the sixth week since Círdan's return from Middle-earth. The twilight of the evening sparkled with stars overhead, and the darkness on darkness patterns of the shadows were interspersed with the glow of four tiny fires lit in the north, south, east and west points of the circle. Between the fires lay the evening banquet, and at the northern end Círdan sat, serving wine from a casket set beside the flame. Mithrandir and the hobbits, Bilbo and Frodo, occupied the southern end, and between these two points the lower council had arranged themselves.

"Before we settle down to the real purpose of the evening, which is, of course, simple pleasure, I must first make an announcement for those who were not present at the last meeting of our council," Círdan said, handing the final glass of wine to Ecthelion, who sat at his right.

"That means you, Elrond," Glorfindel remarked, taking a sip from his glass and smirking at his former lord.

Saluting the teasing jibe with his glass, Elrond turned to Círdan.

"I wish the leadership of the lower council to be in the hands of someone other than myself," Círdan explained. "I am aware that having travelled to and from these lands for many years, and also being the lord of a permanent domain here that I was, for a time, suitable to hold the high lordship. But it is clear to me, as I am sure you will agree, that it is not an apposite title for me. The heated circles of dispute do not suit my nature, and I would like someone more appropriate to take my place. We did not wish to discuss this matter in your absence, although there is much to be said, for we must name a new high lord to represent the lower council."

"That being said, we have made mention of this matter," Galadriel broke in. "And a number of suggestions have been made, including that you or I should succeed our shipwright. I cannot, for I am barred from Tirion, the home of my kin, where many of the meetings take place for the convenience of situation. This is the price I am to pay for abandoning my home in the years of Feanor." Though her steady blue gaze revealed little, Elrond felt the ache in her heart at that prohibition. To leave one's home by choice could bring the blunt pain of nostalgia and regret, but that was eased by the knowledge that the choice had been one's own. To be forever banned from home, for a folly long rued, would bring pain of a different kind. Haldir, who walked ever at his lady's side, spoke soft words to her that Elrond did not hear, and Galadriel smiled sadly.

"I am also aware," Galadriel continued, with a slightly bitter smile. "That a kin slayer is not likely to hold great sway with the Upper Council, and we cannot mistake the tensions that exist between these two parts already."

"I think the Upper Council has made it quite clear what it thinks of me too," Elrond remarked. "I do not reject your suggestion that I should consider this, but reflect if you will that I have no realm, nor in the foreseeable future will I. I cannot be high lord when I am not even a lord."

"Perhaps no longer in name," Glorfindel said loyally, "but always in ability and wisdom."

Elrond bowed his head with a smile. "Thank you for your faith, Glorfindel. But are you yourself not capable of assuming this title?"

Glorfindel smiled, shaking his head. "I have lived once before in these lands, yet never cared to linger and rule. Nor upon my return to Middle-earth did I seek to rule there. I came instead in service to the high king, and then to you. Leader I am not."

"You have many qualities that would name you so, Glorfindel of Gondolin and Rivendell," Elrond quietly replied. "Courage, sagacity, and unfailing belief in our kind."

"You describe also yourself, Elrond," Glorfindel smiled. "Nay, I shall not take this part. I am but a lord in the realm of a friend once more, and Ecthelion will not stand forth. Who am I to do so?"

"One with every right," Ecthelion spoke at last, taking Glorfindel's hand and pressing a kiss to the knuckles. "I am of the Upper Council, and I cannot take this place. The task must fall to one of you." He shook his head and chuckled. "Come, Galadriel, wise woman of our people, can you not foresee who will take this place?"

Galadriel smiled. "I see only that many options are open to us. High lords we have in quantity, some that were, and some that are, and some that perhaps should be. We must take all due advice, and choose wisely for there are those whom we may overlook."

"What of Mithrandir?" Celebrían suggested, turning to glance at the wizard. "You know our dealings well."

"It is not my place to order your affairs," Gandalf shook his head, chewing upon the end of his pipe. "Though I think that you are overlooking someone."

"That may well be so," Ecthelion said thoughtfully, his gaze passing over the entire circle.

"I think that you are overlooking the most obvious person," Frodo chipped in. "Particularly when Idril has spoken so well of him."

"Oh rare a thing is a true elven king, Renowned in the tales fair minstrels sing, Whose rule must be fair, and subjects free, In the lands of Valinor over the sea."

Bilbo suddenly awakened from his semi-permanent state of slumber. His reedy voice sung new words to an ancient tune, and Elrond started to hear it.

Galadriel smiled. "A worthy consideration, is it not, Elrond?"

Elrond did not look at her. Instead he turned his eyes to the one person who had not yet spoken among them.

"There is no pressure should you wish not to do this," he said quietly. "Ereinion?"

The younger elf met his eyes quietly, his expression thoughtful. "I have no realm, nor am I of age to carry this title. Scanter reasoning spoken this night has excluded others among you. Why would you ask me?"

"You are a mere seven years from majority, and it is not impossible for you to build a domain of your own," Ecthelion said. "To this we must add a previous high kingship in your name, with a reputation few would lightly dismiss. You have shown already an influence among us that without even rank you have managed to attain. You were raised this time in these lands, you are aware of our systems; yet you know much of Middle-earth, and are close to those who are newly travelled from there. Are these not reasons sufficient to ask?"

Ereinion was silent for a long moment. "I will give you no answer tonight," he said at length. "Let me think upon this, and I would suggest that you all do the same."

"Very well then," Círdan smiled, reaching out and giving Ereinion's shoulder a quick squeeze.

"Aye, let us turn to the real business of this night," Ecthelion agreed with a grin. Rising he picked up the casket of wine and began to refill the glasses.


The glasses reflected the firelight, thousands of tiny flames trapped in tessellated patterns within the sculpted crystal. Amber and golden and orange lights bounced off each other, refracting and reflecting, refracting and reflecting...How many glasses were there? Elrond set aside his drink. He could no longer count the number of glasses overturned around the banquet. The glass he had set down wavered on the twig he had accidentally put it on and toppled over to spill its contents into the earth.

From a distance he heard the excited shriek of a child and someone crying: "Race you to the sea!"

Footsteps reverberated through the earth and Elrond turned his head to see the younger children hurtling toward the beach. He moved too quickly and the sea swung left and right before his eyes. He steadied himself with a hand braced against the ground.

Somewhere to his right he could hear the lilting melody of Celebrían's voice negotiating the intricacies of a tune with the ability of one who has not imbibed alcohol. "*When we wore a heart of stone, we wandered to the sea, Hoping to find some comfort there, yearning to feel free...*"

"You are drunk," an accusing voice whispered at his ear.

"I am not," Elrond hissed back indignantly, turning to face his challenger and found Ereinion knelt beside him.

Ereinion snorted. "Of course not. And the world is not spinning." He sat down abruptly as though his balance had given way.

"It is not spinning," Elrond said firmly, slowly focusing on Ereinion and giving himself a mental shake.

"No?" Ereinion lay back against the dark earth and his hair spilled out around his face like an ebony veil. "Well, it is for me. And I think you are drunk."

"You think the world spins; you are thinking wrong," Elrond insisted, listening to his own words and groaning at his degenerating coherency.

"Prove it."

Elrond considered the matter. "How?"

"Sing. Join Celebrían in her music," Ereinion said, rolling over and propping himself up on one elbow.

Elrond shook his head. "I am not a minstrel."

"You used to sing for me, though," Ereinion murmured, his eyes softening to the dark depths of the ocean.

Elrond felt himself waver and paused for a moment, listening to the tune Celebrían's fingers were teasing from the strings of her lute. Ereinion's gaze compelled him; the bright spark of phoenix light that shone in the depths of his eyes touched its fire to Elrond's soul. Glancing across the circle he caught Celebrían's eye and joined her in the next verse.

"*We fell asleep and began to dream, when something broke the night. Memories stirred inside of us, the struggle and the fight...*"

The music washed over and into him, like the waves of the ocean sweeping a boat into the endless forever. He could remember nights before the fires in the king's chambers. In the depths of winter, his fingers cold from writing reams of lore, stiff, uncooperative, plucking tunes from an ancient instrument while Gil-galad finished his correspondences or reclined before the fire letting anger drain away with the music. How young then he had been! Elrond felt a smile trace his lips; barely out of his minority, he had sat singing for the king when a dozen minstrels, more, were regularly employed for the court. But his music had never been for the court. It had been something private, for himself and Gil-galad alone, when the day was done and the night was theirs until break of day. The strange intimacy of a sort he had never known, the music had woven a spell around them before ever they had touched, or realised what this enchantment with each other would grow to mean. The power of the song swelled within him and Elrond lifted his voice with Celebrían's.

"*In the still and the silent dawn, another day is born, Washed up by the tireless waves, a body bent and torn. In the face of the blinding sun, you wake only to find, That heaven is a stranger place than the world you left behind.*"

Ereinion's smile lit his features and his skin turned to amber as the firelight played over his features. He rolled sideways suddenly, up onto his knees and placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder to steady himself as several figures bounded past him, their footsteps carelessly quick in wild dance to the music. Haldir spun about the northern fire, a bottle of some stronger liquor in his hand. With him Glorfindel danced, his hair shimmering like the sunlight. Erestor had appeared, Elrond realised, watching the figures of his former counsellor, Glorfindel, and Haldir capering beneath the stars. Círdan was tapping the rhythm of the tune against his knee, and Haldir's bottle swung in the same conduction.

Forms, shining like quicksilver, flew from between the trees and, their naked bodies glistening with the pearly droplets of water, the children of the house came racing back from the sea, Ecthelion shepherding them before him. Glorfindel spun from the circle and into his partner's arms. Haldir leapt aside as the children skittered past him. He flung out an arm to catch an errant youngster bounding too close to the fire and the bottle of alcohol went flying from his hand...

Everything seemed to slow down in that instant, the bottle twisting in mid-air as it fell. Elrond heard the echoes of his own voice even before he realised he had cried a warning. Círdan leapt forward, hand outstretched, but on it fell. Glass shattered on the circle of rocks containing the fire, amber fluid splattering into the midst of the blaze. And the fire roared.

Continued...

Send Maybe feedback
Visit Maybe's website


The characters belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema. No profit is being made by the authors or the archivist and no disrespect is intented.

Do not post this work elsewhere without the author's consent.

Home