Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Elrond/Gil-galad
Summary: A certain book finds its way into the king's hands. Challenge from Dusk: "You can always try the sylvan karma sutra thing. Oh, here's a bunny. It belongs to Glorfindel and somehow Gil-galad gets his hands on it. Mental image of him and Elrond sitting in the library flicking through it in quiet amusement. Explain." Inspired by the mention of Silvan Karma Sutra in The Last Elf Standing - a must read.
"Sweet Elbereth!" Lindir dropped the rest of the stock reports, which disobligingly cascaded off the edge of the desk. He stared at the small, apparently innocuous silver book lying in the middle of his worktable and scowled. Despite its innocent appearance, however, the seneschal of Lindon knew that the contents of the book were considerably less so.
"Glorfindel," he muttered under his breath. Then he laughed. Leaning over he rescued the fallen paperwork from the floor and tossed it back onto the desk. "Nice try, advisor," he murmured to the book. "But actually I do look through the paperwork before giving it to the king. So that spoils your game." He began to restack the papers, leaving the book carefully aside to return to his friend at a later hour.
A knock on the door interrupted him and Lindir started as the king opened the door to his seneschal's study.
"Lindir - morning - paperwork?" Gil-galad said, with his customary minimalist speech.
"Good morning sire; yes, it's ready, here," Lindir said, flustered, hastily assembling the scattered paperwork and passing it into the king's waiting hand.
"Thank you," Gil-galad nodded briefly. "Anything to report?"
"No, um, sire," Lindir said, casting a sidelong glance back at his desk to see how conspicuous the book was. His heart stilled. The book was gone. "No, nothing," he repeated distractedly, glancing in horror at the handful of paperwork in the king's grasp. The corner of the book glinted between the layers of papers.
Gil-galad nodded again and then turned to leave, closing the door behind him. Lindir sat staring after him in horror. Amidst the records of trading agreements to be renewed and signed, lay The Silvan Karma Sutra.
Gil-galad set the last of the trading agreements into the completed pile, shook the drops of ink off his quill and laid it on the desk, grimaced, picked it up and pushed it back into its holder, using the cuff of his robe to wipe the ink stain off the pale wood. He could hear Erestor's tongue clicking mentally and pushed his inkpot over the mark left on the desk, not intending to allow the councillor to click his tongue in person. A more pleasing mental image was that of Elrond, who would respond to the mess only by running his fingers idly through Gil-galad's hair and murmuring "sloven" affectionately. Smiling to himself, Gil-galad sat back in his chair and turned his attention to his final task of the morning, namely what he was going to do about a certain book currently occupying the corner of his desk: The Silvan Karma Sutra. The prospect of returning it to its owner was not going to provide satisfactory entertainment. Glorfindel was frustratingly difficult to embarrass and would no doubt merely smile and graciously accept its return. Lindir, however, was another matter…
Gil-galad rose from his chair and collected the book, pocketed it, and took up the paperwork to return to Lindir to be dispatched. He retraced his steps to the seneschal's study and knocked on the door. Opening it he found Lindir sitting at his desk, staring at nothing; the seneschal jumped when he came in, and turned a rather wide-eyed stare on Gil-galad. A muscle jumped in his throat and he seemed to be holding his breath. Amused, Gil-galad put the paperwork back on the desk, and said calmly, "This is finished now, Lindir, could you see that it is sent off at once?"
Lindir nodded, watching him with the trepidation of a hare before a horse's hooves. Gil-galad relished the moment, laughing inwardly as he held the seneschal's eyes. He almost reached into his pocket to return the book, but, amusing as Lindir's suspense was, there was another, Gil-galad realised, whose expression would be well worth witnessing first. He broke the anticipation-weighted moment with a nod and then departed.
Inside the study, Lindir released the breath he had been holding with a hissing gasp. Gil-galad hadn't said anything. But his stomach was still curled up uneasily. The king still had the book.
Gil-galad took advantage of the brief respite before the castle broke for the midday meal to head for the library in search of his next victim. Tiresome hours shut up with endless reams of papers were the sole disadvantage of the current state of relative peace. He opened the library door, feeling the quietness wrap around him like a shroud, and negotiated his way through the maze of tome-laden shelves. The big windows at the far end looked out across the spreading green gardens of Lindon's grounds, but the light was limited by the heavy drapes angled to keep the books from fading.
Elrond was sat at a desk beneath the windows, the bright lines of sunlight illuminating his ebony dark hair to shades of mahogany as he worked, head bent over his research. He didn't even look up at Gil-galad's approach, holding up a finger in silent acknowledgement and simultaneously asking for silence. Gil-galad waited for a moment, until the peredhel nodded his head once to indicate he could speak, glancing his way with a fleeting smile and then back to his map. Gil-galad touched his shoulder gently.
"Can you spare me a minute to look over something?" he asked, placing the book in Elrond's grasp when the peredhel wordlessly stretched out a hand.
Gil-galad drew out a chair and sat patiently, waiting as Elrond finished sectioning the map and scribbled final note onto the edge of the paper.
"Certainly," he said, and drew the book in front of him. He frowned slightly, for it was an inoffensive-looking volume, silver covered, paler platinum tengwar script down the spine. Elrond flipped it open without scanning the title. His eyebrows rose to startling heights and he lifted his eyes to the king in astonishment. Gil-galad bit the inside of his lip to restrain his smile and met Elrond's eyes with feigned serenity. Elrond's gaze dropped back to the book as though he doubted his own eyes, then blinked and looked back to the king. He gave his head a slight shake and said dryly, "I think this will take more than a minute."
Gil-galad chuckled, "I hope so."
He shifted his chair to sit beside Elrond, resting an elbow on the edge of the desk as Elrond began to turn the pages, his expression slightly sceptical. Gil-galad glanced once behind him to check that they were alone and then smoothed his fingers through Elrond's hair. The peredhel closed his eyes, leaning into the caress - and then gently pulled away.
"Gil-galad," he gestured half-heartedly to the map still spread before him. "I don't have time for this - we don't have time for this…" He trailed off, his gaze returning involuntarily to the pages of the book. He sighed and then looked at the king, his gaze alone conveying the warning he did not voice: not now…later.
"Later," Gil-galad murmured into his ear, lightly kissing the pointed tip. Elrond sighed a little, tilting his head to nuzzle the king's hair.
Elrond scanned a few more pages, his mobile features reflecting myriad emotions: interest in the slight arch of an eyebrow; scepticism in the tiny crinkle that appeared between his brow; finally amusement, sparkling in his eyes, passing across his face like a sunbeam.
"That," Gil-galad said softly, gesturing, and Elrond nodded, his eyes flicking up to Gil-galad's face and he smiled, a warm, hopeful smile.
He turned another page and stopped short. "Not that."
He rotated the book a hundred and eighty degrees one way, then the other, frowning slightly. Gil-galad chuckled. "Why not?"
Suddenly realising what the picture depicted he too baulked. "No, actually, not that."
Elrond laughed. "I don't think my joints even bend that way."
"We won't make a study of it," Gil-galad agreed, grinning.
He continued to smooth Elrond's hair as they leafed idly through the pages, the peace in the library feeling like a sanctuary; the shackles of duty lay before them on the table: ignored. Gil-galad glanced toward the map, smiling to himself at their private defiance of the responsibilities and customs of their society.
He looked back at the book, gesturing to another of the suggested positions, but this time Elrond did not meet his eye. The peredhel had gone rather quiet and Gil-galad gently tugged a lock of hair to make Elrond look at him. For a moment there was no reaction then Elrond looked up, his features too neutral. He spoke quietly, "Do we really need this?"
He looked back to the book, sounding ever so slightly hurt. Surprised by the change, Gil-galad mentally winced.
"No," he whispered reassuringly, cupping Elrond's cheek and staring earnestly into the troubled grey eyes. "No, love." He smiled. "I just wanted to see the look on your face when you opened it."
Elrond smiled and relaxed against his partner's shoulder. He turned another page thoughtfully and rubbed his cheek against Gil-galad's. "Well, now that we do have it, it seems silly to waste the opportunity…"
Gil-galad laughed, kissing his lover's temple. "You want to?"
Elrond's smile turned mischievous. "Why not?"
Interminably the day dragged thereafter, exchanges between king and herald hampered by the identical glints of amusement in both pairs of grey and cobalt eyes. Yet years of practice told and composure was retained, even in the presence of Lindir, whose evident unease came severely close to reducing Gil-galad to paroxysms of laughter. Late was the hour when they were finally able to retire, Gil-galad detained the longest by Erestor wishing to speak to him about the recent accounts. The king tolerated the precise explanations with forced concentration and slightly gritted teeth. He was never certain as to whether the accountant was aware of his relationship with his herald, but Erestor always seemed determined to detain him after sundown for as long as possible. It would be a private way of showing his sincere disapproval; the accountant was too discreet and too aware of his position for anything else. Whether deliberate or unintentional, it was, Gil-galad decided, extremely irritating. He bid a final goodnight to Erestor and excused himself at long last
But before he could take two steps the accountant laid a hand on his arm.
"My lord, should you see Elrond before you retire, could you please mention that I shall need to see him in the morning?"
Gil-galad met the shrewd dark eyes of the accountant. Erestor knew, he concluded, oh yes, Erestor knew.
"Delivering messages are what we employ pages for, Erestor," Gil-galad replied with forced neutrality. "However, should I happen to see him I will convey your request. Goodnight," he added pointedly and departed.
He opened the door to his chambers, crossed the antechamber, and opened the inner door to his bedroom. The drapes were open so that the night stars glimmered through the window and the air was cool and fresh. Instead of the main torch brackets, a candle was lit on each windowsill and on the dresser. Elrond was lighting another candle as Gil-galad entered; his lover turned to smile at him.
"Setting the scene?" Gil-galad asked softly, touched.
Elrond smirked. "I have a high appreciation for atmosphere and attire; the setting is appropriate, the amount of clothing you are currently wearing is not."
Gil-galad chuckled, slipped his cape from his shoulders and slung it across the back of his chair. Elrond shook his head, crossing the room and stilling Gil-galad's hands as he reached for the fastenings of his shirt.
"Sloven," Elrond murmured, hanging the king's cape on the hook on the back of the door. He stood before Gil-galad, wrapped only in a light robe himself, and began to unfasten the king's shirt.
Gil-galad guided the rest of his upper garments onto the chair as Elrond pushed them from his shoulders and stood running his hands lightly over Gil-galad's torso. His fingers were long and slightly roughened from handling a sword as often as a quill; clever, dextrous fingers that made Gil-galad's skin tingle and recall every touch even as it passed. He took Elrond's face between his hands, smoothing the high-boned cheeks with his thumbs and sliding his hands down to caress the peredhel's neck. Elrond began to unlace the king's breeches. Gil-galad smoothed his hands over Elrond's shoulders, brushing back the long, thick, dark hair and gathering it into a tail at the nape of Elrond's neck, letting it fall free again out of the way. He traced the hard muscles of his lover's shoulders, feeling the knots of tension from the day's strains.
Elrond stooped to unbuckle the king's boots and Gil-galad sat on the edge of the chair as Elrond guided them off; then he rose as Elrond remained kneeling, easing his breeches down to pool at his feet. Gil-galad stepped free of the last confinements of state, tipped his crown onto the dresser, and gathered his lover to him for a long kiss. Elrond parted his lips, drinking deeply of Gil-galad's kisses, and the king slid his hands up his lover's muscled back.
"Come," he said at last, breaking the kiss.
Taking Elrond's hand he drew him to the bed, unfastened his robe and slipped it from the peredhel's shoulders. Elrond cast him a curious look as Gil-galad gestured to the bed and then returned to his cloak to search the pockets.
"Here, read this," Gil-galad tossed the silver book at his partner and began to unscrew the lid of the jar he'd picked up en-route to his chambers: massage-oil, filched from the healing wing.
"What are you doing?" Elrond asked, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows.
Gil-galad settled behind him on the bed, pressing Elrond's legs apart and kneeling between them. Desire rose within him at the simple touch of his lover's flesh, the assuming of that position, but he quelled it, pouring the oil onto his hands. He set the jar on the bedside cabinet, Elrond twisting his head to read the label. He looked back at Gil-galad in surprise, a smile crossing his lips and he laid his head on his forearms.
"You like atmosphere, my preference is for the preparation," Gil-galad murmured.
Elrond reached around to trace his fingers briefly down Gil-galad's thigh. "I heartily appreciate your preferences," he replied, smiling.
"Shoulders hurt?"
Elrond nodded. "My fault. Worked too long without a break."
Gil-galad slid his hands up to the peredhel's shoulders and began to work his fingers into the tight muscles. "You could employ someone to do this, you know."
Elrond smiled. "I like it when you do it."
Gil-galad smiled to himself, idly wishing he were adept enough in the masseur profession to properly alleviate the knots in the peredhel's back and shoulders. For one who was so outwardly calm and generally so laid-back a person, Elrond's body and aura betrayed the stresses and strains that he bore; but only one close enough to touch, to see, would ever know. As Gil-galad worked his way down the slowly unclenching back, Elrond lifted his head and opened the book Gil-galad had tossed to him; rolling his eyes as he unfolded the corners Gil-galad had bent to mark their places. "Which one?" Gil-galad asked, looking over his shoulder.
Elrond glanced back at him. "One?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "There are hours until dawn."
Gil-galad chuckled. "Eager are we, love?"
Elrond only smiled, twisting his head to press a haphazard kiss to Gil-galad's mouth when he leaned down.
Gil-galad reached over and idly turned another page, and then chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the sight of an elf bound with silver silk ropes. "Could be interesting," he observed, still smiling.
Elrond glanced at the picture - and his animated features stilled. His shoulders tensed beneath Gil-galad's hands.
"No," he said, his voice unexpectedly sharp.
Startled by the tone, Gil-galad shifted to lie beside him, glancing into his lover's face. He reached up a hand to brush back the hair that had fallen across the peredhel's eyes, looping it behind a pointed ear.
"Elrond?" he enquired, puzzled.
"I said no," Elrond repeated tensely, turning the page quickly. The tendons in his arms stood out and he swallowed hard.
Gil-galad reached over and drew Elrond's hand into his, smoothing his fingers up the clenched muscles of his forearm.
"You said that before," he said gently. "No means no. Relax, Elrond, you will undo all my good work." He tried to soothe the tension from the coiled muscles with probing fingertips, working his way back up to Elrond's shoulders.
Elrond closed his eyes, looking down through closed lids to the bedcovers. He tried not to see the threatening ring of faces, bloodied weapons, fingers stained with reddish-brown streaks: the blood of kin drying on the hands of the sons of Feanor; tried not to feel the biting grip of the ropes binding his hands behind him, the hard ground cutting his knees as he stumbled. Those first terrifying hours in the hands of his mother's persecutors, the executioners of his household, before Maglor and Maedhros among them had revealed themselves lesser terrors than he had believed. But the ropes of memory still burned.
Gil-galad's hands were moving across his upper back, the king had shifted to his knees, kneading the hard lines of stress Elrond could feel coursing through his body. He breathed out slowly, trying to release the tension.
"Love," Gil-galad said softly from behind him. "I would never do something you weren't happy with."
"I know." Elrond closed the book and exhaled quietly. One day he would be able to tell Gil-galad why the prospect seized his heart in the grip of child-like fear, but for now he wanted to forget and recapture the pleasure in the moment.
Uncertain as to what had caused the sudden change in Elrond's demeanour, Gil-galad was quiet for a few moments, knowing the peredhel would volunteer the information if he wanted to speak of it. He was always better at sharing his emotions, rarely requiring the sort of coaxing he often employed to encourage Gil-galad to explain his reactions. When Elrond didn't speak, Gil-galad reached for the jar of massage oil and slicked his hands once more, beginning to work on the muscles Elrond had knotted again. After a few moments Elrond sighed, releasing some of the tension and laying his head back onto his forearms. Though trained he was not, Gil-galad knew the peredhel found pleasure in his massages, relishing the time spent together and the touch of his lover's hands. When finally he moved to lie alongside the oil-laced form, slid his hands along the strong muscles and brought his lips to Elrond's, the peredhel opened to his embrace without a flicker of his former unease.
"Love you," Elrond murmured against his lips as they moved together.
The book fell forgotten to the floor, though its rituals suffused the chamber that night; the strange magic of the sylvan realms guiding them, misguiding them, and at one stage reducing them to bonelessness induced by uncontrollable mirth. Sated and entwined they finally lay, the pleasant ache of exertion suffusing relaxing muscles, the sweet smell of the oil that sheened both their torsos filling the air as final, sleepy kisses were exchanged and the dream worlds drew them from consciousness.
The knock on his door the following morning made Lindir turn in trepidation to his visitor. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of Elrond. He had asked Glorfindel the previous night, rather uneasily, if the king had returned the book to him, for it was Glorfindel's name inscribed in ancient quenya within the cover. The Elda had been reduced to tears of laughter on hearing of Lindir's blunder, but replied with an alarming negative. Which meant that the king still had the book.
Or not. Lindir found himself staring in disbelief at The Silvan Karma Sutra as Elrond finished his greeting, collected a few papers from Lindir's table with half heard pleasantries, and turned to go. Lindir stared at his desk where the book had apparently materialised and then glanced toward Elrond. The peredhel arched an eyebrow and smiled.
"Thank Glorfindel for that, would you," Elrond finished. "Good day, Lindir."
With a final nod and smile he departed, leaving Lindir staring at his desk. He picked the book up warily, flipping pages, and realised with a jolt of alarm that some of the corners were lined, as though they had been folded back a particular habit of the king's. But Gil-galad had no wife, nor had Lindir heard of a courtesan. Indeed the king's persistent refusal to wed and peculiar disinclination for the services of courtesans was a subject of much concern among his courtiers. It was not as though that particular book were light bedtime reading either.
A sudden thought occurred to him and in the instant that it did he wished it hadn't. It had not, of course, been the king who had returned the book, however obvious it was that he had read it: Elrond didn't fold page corners back. Lindir tried not to swallow as a bookmark too slipped free of the pages. How had the book come into Elrond's possession? There were two possible answers: that king and herald had decided to amuse themselves at his expense - his ears went hot at the thought - or that they had decided to amuse themselves another way… No, the rational part of his mind pleaded, no, don't be ridiculous. But his stomach didn't believe him as unease pooled low in his gut.
Lindir stared at the book for another moment and then dropped it onto the desk as he tried to swallow a bubble of rising amusement at his own blindness - and the hopelessness of the situation for the ignorant and well-meaning advisors planning to invite a number of new prospective wives to court next month. Then he slid the book into his drawer to throw at Glorfindel later, and firmly occupied himself with his paperwork. Who Gil-galad took to his chambers might technically be his business, but what happened in there most definitely was not.
The End
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