Rating: PG
Pairings: Elrond/Gil-galad; Elrond/Elros (implied)
Summary: The twins make choices.
Notes: This would not have been possible without an incredible amount of help from the world's most wonderful beta, Gabby. Thank you, lovely lady.
Warnings: angst, Elros, the viewpoint character, is a prude and a bit of a dimwit, the BDSM part is all offscreen.
Elros finally tracked down Elrond on a high bluff, staring down at the three ships in the harbor of their small island. Three ships – one bound for Valinor, one for the new home of men, and one for the new home of elves in Middle Earth. Of course he would be pondering their choice, although for Elros there was only one possible answer. Elrond always thought too much, brooded too much. Gave too much.
Perhaps the news Elros carried would shake him out of this mood, and prevent him from making a terrible mistake.
"Elrond, Elrond..." Elros paused to catch his breath. Elrond turned, and his face lit with a smile of greeting. But there was a sadness under that smile, and Elros grieved to think that Elrond might have already decided.
"What news?" Elrond asked.
"The Valar have confirmed it. Maedhros is dead." Elros smiled, hoping against hope to see his brother smile in return. It had been far too long.
Instead Elrond's face crumbled and tears filled the corners of his eyes. "Dead?" he whispered. "My heart told me so, but I did not want to believe. How... no, do not tell me how." He got to his feet slowly and trudged down towards the camp.
Elros followed close behind, puzzled. How could Elrond fail to find joy at the death of the one who had hurt him so badly? No matter how hard Elrond tried to hide it, Elros had seen the welts, the manacles he kept hidden under his bed. And he had caught them, when he returned early from patrol, heard Elrond's muffled sobs and seen the shadows on the tent as Maedhros took him. Elros could not understand why Elrond did not share his joy at their late tormentor's demise.
When they reached the lone tent at the foot of the hill they entered in silence. Their packs sat by the entrance, only a few bits of detritus still lay scattered about, hanging on the tent poles or shoved under their narrow cots, waiting for them to make the decision and depart their former nomad existence.
Elrond pulled off his tunic, and Elros noted with sorrow the fading reminders of Maedhros' last visit. Three pale green stripes marred the pale skin on Elrond's shoulders. Elros stepped forwards and touched one of the bruises.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But now you are free."
Elrond looked at his brother with narrowed eyes. "What are you sorry for?" he asked.
"I never thanked you properly for doing what you did, for protecting me from... him. I only wish I could have protected you in return," said Elros. "I tried, and Maglor tried, to tell him how wrong he was, how much elven society hated that sort of behavior. But we were always too afraid of him."
"He never truly meant you harm, and I never asked to be protected. You are not sorry that I lost him, you are only sorry that I had him." Elrond shook his head. He bent and picked up another tunic. It was heavy linen cloth, cut roughly in mannish style. He pulled his hair loose from the elven warrior-braids, and got out a knife.
Elros gaped, then stammered, "You – are you choosing to live among the Secondborn?" He grabbed Elrond's shoulder and spun him around. "Please, please do not. Come with me, come live with the elves!" He grabbed the knife out of Elrond's hand.
Elrond stared at the hand on his shoulder and Elros snatched it away. Elrond shifted his smoky gaze to meet Elros square on. "If Maedhros had lived I would be going with the elves. But how can I face eternity without what I had? You said it yourself. Most elves hate 'that sort of behavior'. I cannot go." He shrugged into the tunic.
Elros felt his brow furrow. "Do not go. There are so many reasons to live among the elves. There will be years ahead, for scholarship, for building, for art and making beautiful cities. Elven ladies are fair, and there are many you have not yet met. Perhaps among them...?"
Elrond laughed, but it was not a happy sound. "Do you hear nothing I say? Though we look alike I am nothing like you. The only elf besides Maedhros I was ever attracted to was you, my brother. And you do not want what I desire from our relationship." He paused, then pressed closer. Elros brought a hand up to squeeze his brother's shoulder, but it was a pat, not a caress
"Or do you? Do you love me enough to do what it takes to keep me?" Elrond stood close enough that his warm breath tickled Elros' ears.
Elros yelped in panic and pulled away. He had hoped that Elrond had forgotten their brief affair so long ago. Elros had gone on to discover girls, while Elrond had followed stranger paths. And Elros had known even then that one day he would have to produce heirs. He had locked the memory away with little regret. To have it dredged up now, and in such a way that it could hurt his standing among their new people... that would be political suicide. Elros cleared his throat, trying to think of a way to explain that would not cause Elrond to storm out of the tent.
But Elros did not need to say a word. Elrond must have read his thoughts in his features. Elrond shook his head. "Then there is nothing in the elven kingdoms for me," he said. His gaze dropped to the narrow cot. "Not any more." He knelt and pulled a riding crop out from under the cot. He stared at it a moment, then dropped it on the bed. He looked up at Elros, beseechingly. The crop lay between them like a challenge.
"I cannot give you... that," said Elros. He tried not to sound priggish, but he knew he had failed. "But is our long friendship and kinship worth nothing? Come to Middle Earth with me. Come, and you can be Grand Vizier in my kingdom."
"I do not want to be a Vizier," said Elrond, still on his knees between the cots. "And do not the elves already have a king?"
Elros made a throwing motion, to signify that was no matter.
"I was about to ask the same question," said a new voice. The tent flap billowed aside, and Ereinion Gil-Galad, the newly anointed high king of the elves of Middle Earth, stepped inside.
This was the first time the brothers had seen him up close. They knew he was tall, for they had seen him tower over other elves. But they had not realized he was taller than they. Tall, dark hair blowing in the breeze from the open door, fine carved features blazing with anger, blue eyes narrowed in a glower.
Elrond's hands trembled. He stayed kneeling on the floor, his face white. Elros turned to glare at the intruder.
"This is a private dwelling," said Elros. "Why do you intrude?"
"I came to sound you out on some issues, and I have already found what I was looking for. So instead, I come with a warning."
He glanced at Elrond, took in his mannish garb, and returned the full force of his gaze to Elros. "Join your brother on the ships bound for Numenor, or board a ship for Valinor. But if you journey to Middle Earth, you will find no kingship. Only pain."
"You cannot possibly rule all elvendom on Middle Earth by direct fiat. You will need underkings, and I do not see why I will not be one of them," said Elros. "By blood I have the right."
"I do not think you fully understand the political situation," said the king. He paced back and forth in the narrow aisle between the brothers' cots and the tent opening. "Manwe's herald has named me high king. All elves revere the messengers of Eru, but the elves of Middle Earth are here and not in Valinor precisely because they did not follow the orders of the Valar." He swirled and glared at Elros.
"My appointment, and the aftermath of the Great War, will give me a little time. But every decision I make will earn me an enemy or two. All too soon there will be a corps of people looking for a different high king."
Elros crossed his arms. "I am not the only alternative for any rebels to try to cozen," he said.
"No, you are not," said Ereinion. He paced to the end of the tent, and grabbed the riding crop from the bed. He did not look at Elrond, though Elrond tracked his every movement with intense eyes.
The king tapped the tops of his high leather boots with the crop as he restlessly strode around. "There are many others. But all of them have weaknesses. Galadriel wants power, but the Silvan elves do not trust her. Of her children, Amroth is not sensible enough to be a credible rival, and Celebrian is not smart enough. Celebrimbor is the son of a kinslayer, and has weak judgment about who to trust. Overall, my hold on the Noldor is strong. The problem will be with the Sindar."
"I have no true claim by blood for the throne of the Sindar. Of the Sindar royalty, Cirdan was my foster father and will ever be my ally," Ereinion smiled slightly in fond memory. "Celeborn is weakened by Galadriel. And Oropher looks attractive on first acquaintance, but his temper will always betray him."
Ereinion crossed his arms and stood still. "That brings me to you. You have a strong blood claim of kingship of the Noldor, and a better blood claim to the throne of lost Doriath. You will be the natural one that those who hate me will try to pit against me."
Elros drew himself up to his full height, still an inch short of the high king's stature but impressive nonetheless. "And so you wish to negotiate my position in your court? Or the eventual split of the kingdoms?"
Ereinion struck the cot with the riding crop. "I negotiate nothing with you!" he said. "I am here to tell you the conditions of your surrender."
Elrond leaned forward, eyes locked on the dynamic king. He looked glassy-eyed, as if hypnotized by Ereinion's movements.
Elros felt perplexed. "Surrender?" he asked.
Ereinion stalked towards him. "Surrender. You will rebel against me. I see it is your nature to seek power, and there will be many will be eager to help you. You have a good chance of taking the kingship from me, unless I act now, while your supporters are few."
He gestured towards the tent door-flap. "The guards outside your tent are loyal to me. Loyal enough that they will not come when you call. If you wish to be an elf and live in Middle Earth, you must swear yourself to my service, in public, with oaths that cannot be forsworn. And you will speak only with my voice, marry who I tell you to, breed with the one I choose."
"And if I refuse? If I rebel?"
Ereinion smiled. "Then I will break you. You will only come to my court as my loyal minion. One way... or another." He tapped his hand with the riding crop and raked his gaze over Elros' lithe form. Elros found himself blushing when the high king's gaze lingered low on his body. He stepped backwards, repulsed.
When Elrond stood Ereinion looked startled, as if he had forgotten the quieter twin's existence. Elrond stripped off the mannish tunic and stood bare-chested before the king.
"You propose to break my brother to your will if he rebels," Elrond said. "What if I were to change my mind and stay with the elves of Middle Earth? Would the same threat apply to me? You think you could stand against the two of us? We are strong in ways you do not imagine." He stepped into the place Elros had just vacated, standing even closer.
The king did not back up. Instead, Ereinion raised the hand that held the riding crop and trailed the loop down Elrond's bare spine. Elrond shivered.
Ereinion reached up, grabbed a fistful of Elrond's loose hair, and crushed him to his chest. "Strong? I am patient, and I am quite inventive. You have no idea of the trials you would face, should you oppose me."
Elrond shivered. "No, please...." he said. He twisted. Ereinion tightened his grip on Elrond's hair and pulled down, forcing Elrond to his knees.
Ereinion smiled. He turned and kicked Elrond's cot, still gripping Elrond's hair. It flipped over, exposing a few sets of boots, some books, and a set of leather manacles. The manacles were attached to the underside, and had obviously seen heavy use.
Elros gaped. He had known, intellectually, that Elrond's odd relationship with Maedhros had gone far beyond the norms of elven society. But he had never found it so painful as he did now, seeing the evidence exposed by this stranger.
"I do not think that I will have any difficulty breaking you to my will," said Ereinion. "I have heard rumors about Maedhros, and now I know them to be true." He let go of Elrond's hair and stroked it. "I know what you want. I know your weakness. Should you rebel, I will break you and your brother, worse than Maedhros ever did."
Elros winced.
Elrond stood. "Leave my brother out of it. I shall skip the rebellion part and we can go right to the breaking," he said. He slipped an arm around the king's waist and drew him close.
Erenion glanced down, and traced the line of a green-yellow bruise on Elrond's shoulder before grabbing a fistful of Elrond's hair and pulling him into a hungry kiss. The other hand, still holding the riding crop, traced the length of Elrond's spine.
Elros looked away. He remembered the gossip of the camp, when Maedhros first took Elrond to bed. He had noticed only nudges and whispers at first, but then propositions and mistaken identity. They could not condemn Maedhros, they feared him too much. So they had sneered at Elrond, and Elros, by proxy.
Could he stand another hundred years of that?
A hundred years? All the life ages of the earth! There was nowhere he could escape this, for all elves would eventually be reunited in Valinor.
He could not do it. And there was somewhere else to go, somewhere he could be king.
Elros pulled out a knife and hacked off his hair at shoulder length. It took some time, although he made no effort to make it neat. All the while he was looking and not looking at the other two in the tent.
He threw the discarded hair at Elrond's back.
Elrond turned around, surprised. The high king looked over Elrond's shoulder, glowering at the interruption.
"I can't watch this again," said Elros. "You and your sick desires, you disgust me."
Elrond grimaced, as though pierced by a dagger to the chest. He licked his lips and whispered, "I will always love you. But I am not you. We have always wanted different things. You have never understood."
"I understand now," said Elros. "And that is why we must part." He glared at the high king, but then his expression softened.
"I cannot even tell him not to hurt you," said Elros, bewildered. He looked down, then up. "Never betray him," he growled. "For my ghost shall lead an army of Men to destroy you."
"You will not go to Valinor?" asked Elrond.
"I never want to watch you degrade yourself again," said Elros. "I said I understood, but I don't. I do not want to see it. I do not want to know."
Elros tugged on the discarded Mannish tunic, scooped up his pack, and strode out of the tent. He had gone a good hundred yards before he realized he was headed up the hill, not down towards the harbor, so he had to backtrack past the tent to reach the ships. The tent flap was closed. He paused, for something in him wished to say a better farewell to his brother.
Through the thin canvas he could hear the slap of leather on bare skin and his brother's answering groan. "Harder," said Elrond.
Elros scowled and headed for the Sea.
The End
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