Elrond turned from the arched mirror wall of his spacious chamber to look at the fierce features of the young nomad who settled with fascinating grace on top of Elrond's pale wooden table.
"What are you doing, midnight?"
"Preparing to host the Remembrance Feast, to which you are cordially invited."
Sazaar's contagious laugh almost forced Elrond's own lips into a smile.
"You hardly exhibit any particular desire to attend. Come, take a nap instead."
"Yes indeed," Elrond sarcastically skewed his lower lip, "let us roll in bed."
Sazaar surrounded Elrond with flashes of his amber eyes. He glided off the table and circled the elf-lord like a predator on soft paws.
"Aren't you hot beneath these lush velvet rags? Do the braids not torture your scull, making it hard to speak and smile?"
"Some things must be endured," Elrond shrugged. He was not satisfied with the regal elf he saw in the mirror. Sure, none looked so spectacular in the glamorous robes of royal blue and golden as the former Herald, none spoke as eloquently and none drew as many wistful gazes of admirers. Still he felt weak and bored. Everything he saw ahead was predictable to tears. He pictured the cherry-wood hallway through which he will make his way to the dining hall. There will be many white Gondorian candles burning in the shadows, like spirits in the depths of Mandos Halls. Lord Celeborn will sit by his right side, but he will not say a word, just sip his mead and massage Elrond's groin in a dispassionate sort of way. Galadriel will give the longest toast, King Thranduil will boast about the greatness of Gil-Galad, Legolas will watch the oil circles in his soup, Glorfindel will retell the Barlog story for the thousandth time, Erestor will escape, claiming urgent business, and the twins, well, they will probably masturbate quietly while observing from distance. Then, of course, there will be the fine Elven elders. They will talk in hushed voices until Galadriel will hear the whispers about her beloved son-in-law and threaten murder. Accusations will be exchanged, then curses, then, maybe a blow or two.
"I am an old creature, Sazaar," Elrond muttered almost incoherently. "So old that I've outlived my usefulness. My existence is nauseatingly predictable. " Sazaar's speedy hand took charge of Elrond's elbow, he lead the elf-lord to the table upon which he sat moments ago.
"That is the reason for your waning desires. Make some adventure for yourself. "
Elrond smiled shyly. Sazaar held his ancient face between his rough palms, his golden eyes incinerated the still half-elf with their bizarre vitality. Elrond lazily reached out to touch several rows of sleek golden earrings that adorned the man's ears. One of the earrings had a large eye-shaped emerald embedded in it. The half-elf blinked, then leaned in to see the earring closer. Have I seen it somewhere?
"You blush to subtly, sand lily," Sazaar quickly interrupted Elrond's thoughts, drawing his hand away from the ear. His powerful arms snaked under the folds of Elrond's robes and settled around his buttocks. He bent down a little and lifted the elf-lord onto the pale wood of the table, all the while holding Elrond's eyes in place with his own. "Permit yourself to venture beyond the known," he purred, massaging the luscious flesh. "Let's improvise."
His fine hair sprawled on the age-old surface, eyelashes fluttering, Elrond struggled against the sudden onset of sleepiness. He closed his eyes and permitted the long fingers of his companion to caress freely. Sazaar leaped over him on the table like a giant feline. Their lips joined in an uncertain kiss. Elrond kept still.
He only parted his lips enough to allow Sazar's probing tongue to penetrate the dry cavity of his mouth. His saliva tickled and stung like potent spice, or venom. The half-elf breathed heavily, his tongue swelled and as he swallowed his throat ignited with sensation. He kissed harder. Tears flowed from his eyes as if a gate has been unlocked and waters held at bay were released to flow in raging currents. A grotesque animal cry rose from the depth of Elrond's chest, his entire body shuddered in the release of emotion so raw and unrestrained that it was almost unbecoming of a graceful elf. Sazaar moved on to kiss Elrond's chin and neck, a burning sensation followed the touch of his moist lips. Elrond dug his fingers into Sazaar's wild locks.
"Cry for all that saddens you tonight," the man whispered, "restrained tears will drown you from the inside."
Ah, my charms are only growing stronger with time, Sazaar thought examining the sleeping Peredhel. He grew nervous for a moment when Elrond's keen eyes focused on the emerald earring. Did he remember its previous owner, the fabulous, blond Larien? Of course, he was an apprentice in the art of healing and who else but Elrond himself would have been his teacher? Sazaar decided he was finished then. He imagined that the wise old elf had figured him out, or grew suspicious at the very least. But no. He dwelled in pure bliss. Sometimes the simplest of tricks defeated the most formidable of opponents.
"Sweet dreams," Sazaar blew a mocking kiss Elrond's way and slid out the door. His bare feet made no noise as he glided down the stairs and into the dark patio overlooking the main dining hall, where the many elves have gathered for the Feast of Remembrance. He flattened his body against the carpet and lie perfectly still, watching without blinking for a long moment. If one of the quietly talking elves would have looked up, he would have no trouble noticing two shiny eyes glistening in the darkness above, but the elves remained unaware of their observer.
Sazaar's gaze circled and sized Galadriel, but after lingering for a moment on the cleft between her conspicuous breasts he dismissed the lady and moved on. He watched a group of Elven maidens, but dismissed them all as well. They weren't blond. Too tall, too slim, this one must not be fully grown, that one, no, too fragile. Bah. Sazaar wrinkled his nose in disgust. This was proving harder than he imagined. After three weeks of his pampered stay in Rivendell he observed nearly every female elf in the vicinity and still the one he was looking for evaded him. The one healthy, blond she-elf of noble blood who would make him richer than the gods.
Sazaar's eye caught the lush fair locks of prince Legolas, who socialized amiably with the raven-haired twins right below. I should consider taking him in addition to Larien, Sazaar lamented, he is such a splendid creature. Worth a thousand fortunes. Pity is he is not from Rivendell. So where does the beauty reside? Only one way to find out. Sazaar got on his knees and crawled back into the hallway. Once out of sight he quickly rose up and headed back to Elrond's chambers.
Thunder roared and the slender window frames blew open simultaneously. Elrond's body convulsed into a sitting position. He froze, pupils focusing on the candle he lighted near his bed. Only a short stub of it remained. The Remembrance Feast! Elrond rolled in bed growing at the elaborate blanket that coiled around him like a snake. He kicked and ripped at the fabric with no success, his hands were slow and clumsy.
"Sazaar!" he cursed at the sneering man who hung himself upside down above Elrond's bed. "Some day that bar will snap and you will break your burly neck falling!"
"We always land on our feet." The man flipped over and gracefully landed without making a sound. With a comforting grin Sazaar pulled at the blanket, it slid from under Elrond with ease. The elf-lord groaned in disbelief.
"I know, I know," Sazaar assured, "it has that effect on Northerners, but I underestimated its intensity. I never kiss my lovers."
"I never volunteered myself into the ranks of your whores," Elrond narrowed his eyes. "Damn your poison! You put me to sleep!"
Missing the feast in remembrance of his beloved king because he too ardently kissed one of the Elven mortal enemies. No. He will never live that down. Never. Still, he had to admit the venomous saliva did something good to him that he could not explain. His tongue still stung. But there was something beyond the feeling of heat. He felt the sort of relief inside, the kind one feels after vomiting.
"I never made such grotesque spectacle of my crying fits," he confessed.
Sazaar hopped in bed next to him and lovingly embraced the stiff elf.
"I will take your secret to my grave, desert lily. You did sleep well."
"Did I?" Elrond examined the strange crescent scar on Sazaar's palm. It healed well, but the cut couldn't have been sustained too long ago. Looks like a bite mark, Elrond decided, caressing Sazaar's arms.
"Oh yes, very much so," Sazaar interrupted again, as if hearing Elrond's thoughts. "I saw your sons, by the way."
"Have you?" Elrond, no longer able to hold himself upright, melted in Sazaar's aggressive embrace.
"Yes. Darling young things, very sexually inclined. They take after you I'm sure. And the luscious blond with them?"
"Legolas, that is, the Prince of Mirkwood. And why would you take interest?"
Sazaar quickly distracted Elrond's suspicious stare with a kiss. He could not afford to let him think too long about any one thing. The game was becoming dangerous.
The sting of fire returned as Sazaar's tongue and Elrond's skin were reunited. Must be a potent venom, Elrond speculated as the liquid weakness washed over his upper body again. He relaxed and allowed his body to be manipulated into an unfamiliar pose, with his legs resting on Sazaar's shoulders.
"Mirkwood," Sazaar whispered, tickling the elf's lower stomach, "he must be determined to be taken by your vigorous children if he journeys so far to come here." Elrond's thoughts revolved slowly in his brain. He observed his tormentor run his tongue slowly up and down his naval, the fire penetrating his skin, sipping inside his stomach, twirling and coiling there like a serpent.
"Mirkwood is close, only four days of hard riding." Sazaar mentally thanked Elrond for the information.
"Enchanting. Do you naturally produce this scent?" Sazaar's mocking eyes rose up and smiled.
"Yes. But it is the only thing I still produce in that area of my body."
"Is that so?"
"No...wait. Don't touch that part!" Elrond struggled defensively against Sazaar's exploring fingers. "Don't!"
"So discrete, yet fully functional. Fascinating anatomy," Sazaar whispered, running two fingers on the edges of a small fold of skin. "Now I see why your twins look so much like you. They came out of you, didn't they?"
"You could say that...well, they did. A long story how that came about. Now I demand a change of subject."
"As you wish, my wise beauty," Sazaar chucked menacingly, sticking his tongue as deep inside the opening as it could go. Elrond's eyes grew round and wide.
"Get it out of me! It...burns like the devil!" Elrond moaned. Helpless, as Sazaar would not release him, he embraced the man's body with his trembling legs and shut his eyes. His hands caressed Sazaar's neck and back.
"Ahghhh. No!" He gasped, feverish from the enormous heat that built up from his genitals and rushed into his head. "Don't go any deeper, you will burn it raw!"
"It isn't acid, sand lily," Sazaar withdrew his tongue from Elrond's depth and grinned. "It will do you no harm other than incite some sensation and relax you."
Elrond did not answer. His forehead perspired heavily and his body grew moist under the layers of heavy robes. He removed his legs from Sazaar's body and positioned himself upright.
"I see why you had your way with me from the start. Your saliva, is that what it does," he exhaled, "relaxes and placates me? Creates artificial happiness?"
"Ahh, silver eyes, when will you trust me to-"
"As soon as you tell me where you acquired those scratch marks on your back," Elrond interrupted with sudden harshness. "And that earring." Sazaar's amiable smile dropped. The adorable playfulness of his expression vanished. Elrond stared into the intense features of a cold-blooded assassin. The Haradrim's lips curled into a vulgar sneer.
"I am a warrior," he whistled, "in battle you get scratched sometimes."
"Your opponent must have been an unskilled fighter," Elrond shot back, "if all he could do from such close distance was to helplessly scratch you. If you allowed me that close to you in a fight, I would have broken all your ribs after I gauged out your wicked eyes."
"That, sand lily, is precisely the reason I chose the softer approach with you."
Elrond glared into the mocking eyes and felt shame. Drunk on his treacherous kisses, Elrond had capitulated to the wild man. Most intimate of secrets, the deepest or fears, his unbound tongue entrusted it all to the creature with yellow eyes. The defeated Lord of Rivendell did not wish to face the truth he just conceived. The marks on Sazaar's back were defensive scratches of a victim trying to get away, not of a fighter on the offensive. And the earring, he knew it well. It was meant to be a ring, given to Larien the day he reached his majority, but the elf wore it in his ear.
"I will not seek revenge for whatever you have done to Larien and perhaps many other elves if you leave at once."
"So much like you, midnight," Sazaar smirked, "so willful and so lonely in your quest to bear the weight of all evil on your shoulders. My deeds are no fault of yours. And your voice is trembling."
"Don't test me, Sazaar. Leave," Elrond ordered, looking away. "And damn you."
Sazaar smiled. "You will miss me, but we won't meet again. Farewell." He wrapped the black linen cloth over his hair and face, leaving only the slit for two intense eyes and leaped through the window to dissolve in the stormy darkness.
Cirdan hated storms, all kinds, mild, furious, they were all the same sort of evil. He fearfully glanced outside through the gaping hole in the shattered window. It has been a bad century and as things currently stood the worst was yet to come. Ever since his beloved Erenion parted with life in the War of the Last Alliance, Cirdan has stirred Mithlond away from perils as one would a runaway ship, but at some point the fortune abandoned the wise elf. He speculated whether his luck ran out the day he took in and grew to cherish an orphaned human youth he named Faelor. Cirdan gave him a home when he was a boy and now, as a grown man, Faelor returned to demand a kingdom.
"So they will send reinforcements then. Well, I trust the Elven commanders will be cooperative. I have no time to spare before the battle-"
"There will be no battle!" Cirdan whirled around and slammed his fists on the ragged surface of the table. "No bloodshed!" He stalked over to where the tall man stood, dark as Sauron's shadow, and glared his fosterling square in the eye. "Elrond is the last elf who had a rightful claim on the crown, but he declined the throne. I am no king. And blessed be the man who can rule this land justly, but Valar help me, I will not aid a ruler who takes this land by force! Those folk in the South, ...they have no fight with you! You and your men provoked them and I will not permit you to force them into submission using the Elven swords and arrows!"
"The High King's former whore is holed up in Rivendell and you have no heirs," Faelor bellowed back, his lips twisted beneath the blackness of his beard, "nobody has a more righteous claim on this land than me! Who kept the borders safe from Orcs and other ghastly creatures when you hid in the shipyards during the War of the Ring? Who nourished trade and forged diplomatic connections? Who journeyed to the damned edge of the universe to seek cure for the plague that chocked your city?"
Cirdan held up his hand. He knew well that inside the veins of Faelor ran noble and spirited blood. He was not of royalty, but he was a natural leader, adored by men and revered by elves since early childhood. His only flaw was arrogance of immense proportion, the kind Cirdan feared above all things. Faelor was a conqueror at heart and knew not when to back down.
"All this I know, my son. And because I know I did something for you that I would not have done for my own king," Cirdan said gazing away. "I lied blatantly to the few elves who held the most faith in me Faelor. They will send their warriors to fight on your behalf as I asked, but I will not hesitate to disclose my scam if I sense that my transgression was in vain and that you plan to abuse the power given to you. Do you recognize that?"
Faelor smirked. "I do not need your assistance, sire. My men are strong and numerous and in the Southern Lindon there is nothing but peasants with pitchforks and mules. I will not wait for your elves. We are marching to Harlindon at sunrise and after we crush their pathetic resistance I will be back for my crown. Threaten all you want, it is you who stands to lose the most. Tell Galadriel that you misguided her about my, shall we call it, `conquest', and you will never see the shores of Valinor and your kin. Your kind will ostracize you for eternity. Think about that as you prepare the palace for my crowning."
Faelor winked his cobalt eye and retrieving his cloak bid farewell to stunned Cirdan. Minutes later the Sindrian still stared into the wicked storm. These were dark times indeed. Faelor had his eyes set on the king's chambers and Cirdan was not about to risk civil war to keep him out. Let him invade the resentful South Lindon, the bearded elf concluded. They will accept his rule soon enough and with a strong king and unified land all will benefit.
An age of walking the familiar path has not made it any less of a humbling experience for the elf-lord who despised shadows. Hours earlier many inhabitants of Gil-Galad's former castle fled lower levels in fear of flooding. The waves crushed into the stony shores of the Grey Havens with such fury that Cirdan wondered if the flooded beaches would remain submerged hereafter. At midnight patches of stars peeked through the black clouds as the storm quieted and rained ceased, but the ocean was still angry, throwing wall after wall of black water at the lonely dock protruding far into the bay.
Cirdan's eyes focused on something he at first dismissed as a vision. He blinked hard, shook his head, and continued down the hall, but the same image awaited him as he glanced in each window he passed. Cirdan froze in astonishment. Was his ancient vision finally growing dim? He blinked again but the solemn figure at the end of the dock did not vanish. The tall male stood so perilously close to the edge of the dock that each crushing wave broke right beneath his feet, showering his dark flying robes with icy water.
"Has he lost his senses?" Cirdan rushed out into the wind-beaten patio and down the slippery, rocky stairs leading to the dock.
"Martin?" he called, hurrying down with curses, "who let that idiot out on his own? Martin!" Cirdan slowed to a cautious stalk when he reached the wooden boards of the dock. The kind, slow-witted goof would have been swept away to his death a long time ago. This creature had no fear of the raging blackness of the ocean. His back straight and body at perfect peace, he gazed into the distance with composure of a king. Cirdan stumbled back on the suddenly slippery surface.
"Have you guarded my crown well in my absence, Cirdan?" The frightened Teleri grew weak in apprehension.
"Erenion. Yes...my king," he managed to whisper before bowing his head to Gil-Galad's imposing form. "I've guarded your crown." His voice trembled. He thought of Faelor and the impending conflict.
Thranduil's horse dug its hooves in the ground, nearly sending the king flying forward.
"Whatch where you going!" the elf screamed at a raggedy-looking man that darted in front of his horse and froze, blocking the way. "What in Valar's name is this!"
Thranduil's rounded eyes watched in shock as herds of travelers poured in through the main gates of Mithlond. There were many elves and men, some halflings, and others he couldn't quite classify. What united them all were the mounds of belongings. Thranduil turned to Legolas, who also observed the sudden liveliness.
"This is madness. What do you make of this?"
Legolas shrugged. Six weeks ago, at the Feast of Remembrance in Rivendell, he was entertained by many stories of apparitions said to haunt the depopulated town. Indeed, he pictured Mithlond as a ghostly and quiet city with a stable but low population that was rarely seen on the streets. Elves residing inland saw Mithlond mostly as the point from which they sailed to Valinor, but the Mithlond that lie before his eyes was far from a ghost town. Everywhere his gaze fell newly arrived inhabitants swept, scrubbed, and adorned their newly claimed dwellings. Bright throws and ornaments hung from hundreds of elaborate rock balconies far above the azure ocean.
"I see Lady Galadriel was wrong fearing the town would become abandoned," said Legolas spurring his horse.
"Was she now?" Thranduil eyed the clamoring surroundings with suspicion. He very much disliked this new Mithlond. Midst the freshly planted blossoms and smiling maidens with baskets of fruit he felt dismal and cold at heart. This was too much like the times of Gil-Galad, too much like living in a memory. Oh how Thranduil enjoyed the exhausting nude games with the High King, how he loved the fierce rivalry with Elrond, the heat of the castle intrigues, the grand balls, the open-air feasts, and the unforgettable moonlight orgies. The High King had a monstrous libido and driven wild by the scent of his peredhel lover he mated until the last drop of his seed was spilled and the last bottle of wine and mead emptied. They were living then, now it seemed he sort of dragged his feet, wasting time until he sailed to Valinor. Thranduil shook his head.
"Adar, are you paying attention?"
"What is it?" Thranduil demanded, annoyed at having his fantasies interrupted.
"The flags and banners crown the castle, is this Cirdan's custom to do this?"
Thranduil stared at the towers of Gil-Galad's former dwelling with eyes about to escape their sockets. Indeed, the royal blue and golden flags flapped lazily in ocean breezes. This can't be! Without saying a word Thranduil spurred his horse forward.
"Cirdan must have a satisfying explanation for this carnival! What a scam that cry for help was!" Thranduil briskly walked through the glamorously furnished castle, bristling at each new flower pot. The paintings were dusted, carpets cleaned, ancient crystal chandeliers shimmering. Creepy. The king shuddered, he felt small and confused inside his favorite emerald tunic. "Cirdan! Come out and speak with me! Cirdan!" Thranduil roared as he threw open each door he passed. Nothing made sense. He could not put his mind around the strange request for reinforcements Cirdan sent to Lorien and Rivendell. Was the bearded elf wrong about his fears of Mithlond's imminent invasion by hostile forces? Thranduil saw no trace of armies clashing on his way through the countryside and inside Mithlond the atmosphere was anything but war-like. So where was the truth? And where was Legolas? Thrnaduil searched the wide, sunlit hall.
"Aye, how dare he slip away!" Thranduil shook his fist at the empty air. He had to admit Elrond's 'accidental' heirs were much more obedient than his sweet Legolas. Aye, that old jackal Elrond. The king narrowed his eyes at the thought of his rival. Just then the corner of his eye sensed motion and Thranduil spun around to face the questioning stare of Gil-Galad.
"Lord Cirdan is occupied with an unexpected visitor, my lord, and I would caution you against shrieking. My head pains me this morning."
Thranduil blinked, then reached out to carefully touch the fur trim of the High King's morning robe.
"Is this real?" Thranduil whispered hoarsely. Astonishment, fear, and wild delight mixed in Thranduil's throat as he strained to speak. Reincarnation was hardly an unexpected outcome for elves slain in battle, but it never ceased to insight awe.
So here was the explanation for the stampede of new settlers. Gil-Galad's rule was legendary among the elves and the decentralized Eldar would be quick to relocate to Lindon to be reunited with their king. Men, displaced by the recent war upheavals, were also likely to call the kingdom their home in hopes of getting their share of stability.
My soul is rescued! Thranduil squealed in ecstasy, feeling his cock come alive inside his leggings. The elf threw himself over Gil-Galad and kissing wildly he remained hanging on the High King's neck in pure bliss. He imagined them having a savage lusty battle in bed, just to make up for the age of missed affections. Gil-Galad would have him on the table, then on the floor, then on the bed, then, maybe, hell, right in the center of the royal dining hall with all eyes present to see and to envy. All the eyes, except the pair of gray pair of his rival. No, Lord Elrond won't stand in the way this time. Ahh. Thranduil hugged harder, sensing the clear drops of his juices already moistening his underclothes. Gil-Galad snorted.
"King Thranduil," he carefully removed Thranduil's hand from under the folds of his robe, "I have no inclination to join you in your perverse play."
Thranduil released Gil-Galad's neck and took a step back. Gil-Galad waited patiently, rubbing his temples. His gaze was clear, yet distant and cool.
"Erenion," Thranduil stared at silent Gil-Galad. His features had not changed, the same tall forehead and powerful jaws that conquered Thranduil's heart, the same muscular body of a relentless warrior, the same dark eyes of a wise and just ruler. Thranduil carefully kissed Gil-Galad on the lips.
"I welcome you to Lindon, King Thranduil, and I thank you for your exceptionally lusty greeting, but I must attend to my headache in privacy. Lord Cirdan will see you shortly." Gil-Galad said nothing more. He nodded to Thranduil in formal acknowledgement and walked past him into the sunlit hallway. A sickening sensation of cold crept up Thranduil's buttocks. He doesn't remember me. Wetness built up in the crystal blue eyes of the Mirkwood king. His body trembled. He was suddenly glad that his counselors, his son, and especially his jealous-hearted lover Teathor weren't there to witness his pain. He almost wished Elrond had been there. They both shared the unbound love for their king and only the half-elf could fully understand Thranduil's suffering.
"You are not alone in regretting this most unfortunate circumstances." Cirdan walked over to comfort the stunned elf. "He recalls his duty to rule this land, my friend, but it is the memory of relationships from his past life that did not carry over. Not yet, in any case."
"How tragic indeed!" Thranduil hissed in distress. Just then the carved doors at each side of the hall swung open simultaneously. Thranduil's current lover Teather and a group of Elven advisors walked through the doors at the far end of the hallway, looking as if they have been chased by Sauron himself. Through the set of doors closest to Thranduil a man with raging black eyes and a curly black beard burst in with a company of burly soldiers in full armor.
"Cirdan! Tell me my sanity is not failing me!" Teather shrieked at the Teleri. "The dead High King walks! How?"
"He must not be dead then!" Lord Faelor spat from the opposite side of the hall with sarcasm.
"Cirdan," the man demanded, angrily pointing at the band of bristling elves, "I do not believe chatting with your royal whores must take priority over discussing our business!"
"Royal whores!" Thranduil cocked his ear. "What boldness! Have you no fear for your tongue!" Thranduil briskly unsheathed his sword. The weapon felt awkward in his hand, for he had not wielded one in some time, but the imposing blade had made its impression. Cirdan darted in the center to prevent further hostility.
"Please," he reasoned with Thranduil, "there is no necessity for this. The times are dangerous enough without great lords clashing over a foolish tongue-slip!"
"Dangerous times, heh," Thranduil dug his fist in his sides and pointed the sword at Cirdan, "I was about to bring this up, you cowardly old goat! Your tearful letter to Galadriel was indeed touching. So who is threatening to invade Mithlond ? Enlighten me, I beg you, for I am rather confused about the matter!"
"I am invading Mithlond!" Faelor casually poked at the tip of Thranduil's sword. "There is no confusion about it."
"And you are, sir?"
"Faelor," the man melted in a pernicious smile, "the foster son of your friend Cirdan here. He promised that I will become the king of Lindon, you see..."
"What are you doing?" Cirdan cried in panic. "I never promised such a thing!"
"He saw some, shall we say, talents, in me." Faelor glanced at his distressed foster father and continued with mock sweetness. "He even helped me to assemble a formidable army, my gentle friend, all equipped and trained in the best of warrior traditions. Oh, he was so supportive of my future kingship that he even called for assistance from your folk in Lorien and Rivendell when some provinces in South Lindon refused to accept me as the ruler of their land. As it turns out I didn't need you elves, we crushed them on our own, but it was generous of him, wouldn't you say?"
So this is why the southern provinces claimed sovereignty, Thranduil concluded, halting his breath to avoid smelling the sweaty human. This reeking brute for a king?
"I only meant what was best for the fair Lindon's future," Cirdan screamed, "he had all spirits to become king and the throne was empty!"
"Well, it isn't now!" Teather shot back indignantly. "Lindon has a rightful ruler and it isn't that hairy forest hog!"
"That is precisely my problem, my fair beauties!" Faelor spread his arms as if to highlight some obvious truth. "As much as I admire noble Gil-Galad and his miraculous resurrection, I cannot tolerate another alpha male on my territory! So..." he granted the elves a piercing smile, "I suspect the High King's second life will be rather short."
"You will not dare! He will tear you to pieces!"
Faelor winked at distressed Cirdan.
"That poor, placid creature that can't focus his eyes well and suffers from a perpetual headache? Spare me your threats, sire! I doubt Gil-Galad's hand remembers from which end the sword is held!"
The band of man behind Faelor erupted in booming laughter, while the elves instinctively drew closer to one another. Thranduil stood so close to Faelor he could see the man's throat contract as he spoke. Would he be fast enough to kill this vermin?
"Don't get any ideas, my fair one," Faelor shook his head anticipating Thranduil's thought, "we defeated the rebellious provinces within one night, think how short your time will be if you make the mistake of testing my temper."
"Maybe so," Teather stated nonchalantly, "but before dying we will be greatly comforted by seeing you and your scoundrels hung by the Elven warriors from Imladris and Lothlorien. Perhaps Cirdan's summoning them here was of some benefit after all."
Faelor's smile faded in brightness. Damn Cirdan. He had forgotten all about the armies of Elves. They were still coming. Quick-witted things would soon discover the truth about Faelor's plans and no doubt tear into him and his men. Matters could get bloody.
"Elves will not welcome more bloodshed," he replied, masking his worry.
"Elves would not welcome a ruler forced upon them through the slaying of the rightful king either, I should think."
Faelor glared at Teather's peaceful face, framed by cascades of honey-blond hair. Elves were strong-willed creatures. They will fight me to the death, Faelor calculated. He feared death above all things and could not deny that unless he was willing to risk dying in battle his plan of taking Gil-Galad's crown by force would not work.
"Well then," Faelor clapped his hands together, his tone changing from threatening to diplomatic, "the remaining alternative is to make peace through marriage. I have a daughter," he continued, "small in size but fair in form and fertile as an orchard. A loving father that I am, I would forsake my claim on the crown in her favor. Let her wed the High King and my loyal service will be his until death claims me. He will see no further threat from me or my army. Will this not please all parties involved?"
The ancient blond elves sent meaningful glances to Thranduil, as the offer did in fact please their pointed ears. The arranged nature of this marriage was a small price to pay for avoiding a potentially nasty conflict. Plus, the High King's binding to a noble daughter of a prominent human leader would strengthen the solidarity between men and elves of Lindon, unifying the kingdom from within.
"No!" Thranduil sized Faelor with a suspicious glare. "Fair though she might be, your daughter is a mortal and such marriage will result in a litter of miserable halflings, torn between immortality and death! I want no mortal for a queen!"
Faelor shrugged, still grinning.
"You could, of course, wait for the High King to chose an Elven bride, but in all likelihood he will simply run straight to his former lover Elrond and our most blessed Lindon will end up with a male queen. Would that be more to your preference?"
Thranduil's eyes narrowed to slits. Elrond, that...that scandalous old predhel. He had the power to awaken Gil-Galad's memory like no other. He would make him remember and then who knows...Elrond drove the High King into madness, there was no controlling it. Gil-Galad would forsake his throne, his crown, and the entire world, for another chance with his peredhel darling. Thranduil could not permit that. The elves needed their king now more than ever.
"Bring forth your daughter, Lord Faelor," Thranduil blurted, "I think this round of negotiations has come to an end. I am not at ease with it, but I will bless this marriage. And I would be quick about its arrangements."
Elrond stared at Celeborn's mounting erection. The Sindar elves were tall and larger in frame than their slender Wood-elf counterparts. They were also exceptionally gifted lovers. Middle Earth has not known the likes of Celeborn's impressive pride. His instantly erect organ towered thick and throbbing almost to his belly button. A drop of impatient liquid oozed from the tiny slit. Elrond reconsidered his earlier bravery but the silver elf already grasped the peredhel's shoulders, holding him in place. Galadriel's nude body shimmered in the reddish light of the sunset. A pair of hardened nipples that crowned her full breasts brushed against Elrond's side. "Nowhere to flee no, delicious, you're all ours!"
Galadriel gently caressed the head of Elrond's exposed organ with her fingers, savoring each subtle wrinkle and vein. She ran her tongue up and down the stem, pausing to play with the little nest of silky black hair that grew at the base of the penis.
"You are furry indeed," Celeborn remarked as he patted the hair with the back of his hand. "Furry all over, how enticing." The two elves grew silent as they actively examined their son-in-law. Elrond closed his eyes. His body was delightful, no doubt. No other elf was blessed with such graceful proportion of raw human power and smooth Elven grace. His legs were long and muscular, but without the bulkiness of human limbs. His shapely yet fleshy buttocks served as the standard of perfection in Elven anatomy books and few other elves could claim to possess such a harmoniously built upper body. Still, Elrond had to admit that the body that once drove Gil-Galad into madness needed some restorative work. His rear jiggled a little more seductively than was proper when he rode a horse. And then there was that irritating little pillow of fat on his lower stomach. None of that phased Celeborn, who intently spread the two voluptuous mounds of flesh to appraise his new possession. What? How disgraceful? Elrond growled in displeasure.
Just then Galadriel slipped his barely erect organ inside her mouth and sucked out the air. Elrond froze in surprise. Celeborn lifted Elrond's leg up and squeezed the mushy white flesh of some bizarre fruit between his buttocks. His probing fingers spread the sweet-scented chunks over Elrond's groin and inside his opening. Elrond suddenly bucked, seeing a fat buzzing insect circling the trio.
"Do bees like this fruit?" Elrond pressing his head against Celeborn.
"I never heard of anyone being stung," the silver elf chuckled. "Don't tremble like a virgin about to be raped, this will ease the passage. Your body is fighting me. It will hurt if you don't relax."
Elrond bid his muscles to obey but his anus still tightly gripped Celeborn's intruding fingers. He thought of Sazaar. He pictured his mocking amber eyes twinkling with delight if he saw the half-elf naked in the grass, finally cornered by his in-laws. As he laughed aloud Celeborn eased into him. The silver elf-lord was careful first but soon lost his control and begun slamming into Elrond as if he hadn't known the pleasures of mating for an age. He groaned and roared quietly, biting the tips of Elrond's ears. Galadriel curled between Elrond's legs, his organ still deep in her hot throat.
Celeborn reached over to insert three of his fingers into his wife's dripping moist vagina. Galadriel let out a wild groan as Celeborn's knowing hand squeezed and pinched her aching clitoris. Elrond shifted his hips as the trio moved in a seamless rhythm, accompanied with Celeborn's satisfied growling and Galadriel's muffled moans.
After Caladriel screamed in climax and Celeborn set free a river of seed inside Elrond, the three elves rested watching the setting sun, until the red disk vanished behind the hills. Galadriel gently patted Elrond's stomach.
"I sense great weariness within you. Elrond, I don't understand you. You mourned Celebrian, I know, and you are still mourning Arwen's choice, but starlight, I never felt such lethargy in your body and spirit. Your pride lies weak as the stem of an old man." She ran her hand over Elrond's forehead. "It's the Feast of Remembrance. It reminded you of your beloved Gil-Galad. I should have guessed." Elrond kissed the hand that caressed his lips.
"It isn't that," he said, slowly getting up to pick up his tunic, "I'm just bored."
"Bored? Child, you never-"
"Well I am now. I am bored with everything, Galadriel. My stupid cherry trees, my itchy robes, my dusty library, my entire monotonous, wretched, lazy, pointless existence. Everything bores me. I want nothing. Not food. Not sleep. Not sex."
"Then you came to the point of needing another child." Celeborn concluded. "I would very much enjoy a few more grandchildren. Think about that."
Galadriel silently walked to where the horses grazed and held up the reigns, signaling for the need to keep moving. Mithlond was minutes away, but so was the deadly nightfall.
"Watch your fingers, the blade is still sharp," Elrond warned. Galadriel touched the cold engravings of the spear that hung from Elrond's saddle.
"Dear, why did you think to take it with you?"
"I am going to get rid of it. It irritates me." Celeborn raised his eyebrows. "Why now after so long?"
"I said I despise the thing! The spear belongs in Gil-Galad's caste and I will leave it there." Elrond blushed at his sudden burst of anger. Celeborn's mischievous eyes immediately grew concerned. He reached out to stroked his son-in-law's cheek.
"I wanted you for so long I lost my senses while inside of you. Melnin, I just now realized how rough I was. And you were so surprisingly shy. It hurt, didn't it?"
Elrond forced a smile. He had to admit his groin felt pleasantly smooth after Galadriel's fierce licking and it was superbly fulfilling to have Celeborn's hard length inside his body, but he did not experience any particular release.
"No, you did no harm. I enjoyed it, really, it's just that the world weighs too heavily on my old shoulders sometimes and all my pleasures are very short-lived." Elrond looked wistfully at the picturesque outline of foggy Mithlond that lie ahead of them. Where were the times when he climaxed several times a day and grew painfully hard from the slightest touch? "Sometimes I just want leave everything and run away, like I did when I was a carefree youth."
"That is precisely my worry," Celeborn declared. "You whispered his name when pleasure loosened your tongue, Elrond."
"Whose name? And where is the connection?"
"Don't you fake innocence. You know who I speak of. Tell me, on the night of the Remembrance Feast, where were you? You laid with him, didn't you?" The half-elf's eyes grew wide with resentment when Celeborn caught his wrist and nearly crushed it in his powerful hand. All traces of warmth were gone from the Sindar's steel eyes. "I'm sure a homeless, wondering nomad who bears no responsibility for anything except keeping his own gut well-fed would have an interesting concept of freedom, Elrond, but I'd be damned if I allowed my son-in-law to run off with that yellow-eyed bastard just because you grew bored with your lordly existence!"
"Run away with him? How dare you!" Elrond yanked his hand back. "He was my patient and nothing-"
"How dare I? How dare you, an ancient Elf Lord, seen by men and elves as the beacon of wisdom and knowledge, reduce yourself to tangling with a Haradrim? Elrond, this is treason! Ever considered a burly handsome Orc? Might as well try them all! Right? Do you even begin to understand how disgusting and bizarre you are behaving? I lured you away to visit Mithlond in such haste because Rivendell is aflame with rumors!"
"Celeborn! Elrond!" Galadriel called to the belligerent lords. Elrond's eyes followed Galadriel's slender finger over the grand wall surrounding Mithlond and up the massive towers of Gil-Galad's castle. His heart shrunk and skipped a beat as he stared at the royal blue and golden flags of his king.
Thranduil lovingly removed a wet strand of hair from Gil-Galad's forehead. For hours now he was forced to watch the king's frightening delirium as he battled his demons in his feverish sleep. How gorgeous was his body. Thranduil felt torturous stirring in his groin each time he forced himself to pull away. His hands longed to touch his lover. He couldn't control it. Mere hours after their first meeting Gil-Galad's crisp coldness receded and he generously welcomed Thranduil into his embrace. The delighted elf dove into Gil-Galad's royal bed without so much as a thought, and he cried in pleasure when Gil-Galad's impressive maleness invaded his hungry body, but now he was beginning to regret his quick surrender. The High King held no memory of the tender caresses they once shared. Currently he was lonely in his unexplained handicap and he used Thranduil, the only being he remembered sufficiently to trust, for simple comforts. Thranduil basked in hopes that any day now Gil-Galad would wake up in full control of his grand body and with that thought the loyal blond elf remained at his king's side.
Erenion looked still more glorious in the light of the setting sun, his skin smooth and moist against the lavish linens and satins of his enormous bed. Thranduil caressed the taunt, muscular body next to him. His lips lavished the king's broad chest and stomach with kisses and in his brief periods of clarity Gil-Galad did not push Thranduil away. On the contrary, when the Mirkwood elf moistened Gil-Galad's body with tears, the High King reached out with a weak hand to wipe them away. Thranduil grasped and held on to the large palm, but Gil-Galad's gaze once again grew distant. Suddenly the he set up.
"Water," he demanded. Thranduil rushed from the bed to fulfill the request.
"Were you my lover before I died," Gil-Galad inquired. He looked softly at Thranduil, who stood naked in front of him with a silver-rimmed goblet.
"Yes, we were close, my king," Thranduil handed Gil-Galad the water goblet.
"Do you know what it feels like to be between two worlds?" Gil-Galad's stare grew more demanding. "To feel and hear the dead, but not remember the living? To know names, but not their owners?" He pulled Thranduil into a forceful kiss, his tongue invaded and explored Thranduil's dry mouth. "Is this what a kiss must feel like? Tell me, show me, I do not remember." The kiss was mechanic and emotionless, Thranduil thought. This was wrong, all wrong. "I desire nothing more but to remember," Gil-Galad confessed, "my mind searches for the past in the dark with such frantic urge that it pains me. I must remember, something, someone, I have to, but I can't."
Thranduil ran his hand through Gil-Galad's wavy black locks. He was so handsome, though so troubled. "It will all come back in time, my king. Have faith in Valar's mercy. You must rest now. Tomorrow morning you meet your bride."
"I have taken nobody as my bride," Gil-Galad unceremoniously dropped Thranduil onto his buttocks on the floor, "and you may as well leave the matter alone." Gil-Galad eased back in bed and closed his eyes. "Come now, I am barely alive! What marriage? Come here and please me now. Or get out."
"As you wish, my king. Good night." Thranduil silently rose up. Why... you miserable mean-spirited tyrant! he hissed once outside the door. Damn this! Oh my body! My most unfortunate, abused little rump! Damn this! He limped away, cursing. So the High King doesn't remember much, but still refuses to marry Faelor's daughter, Thranduil wondered slowly gliding down to Cirdan's chambers. His cock must remember dear Elrond, because his head certainly isn't set right! Oh! Oh! Thranduil's toes curled up, his leg violently convulsed from a cramp that traveled up his right buttock. This isn't what I wanted from the night of love with the glorious High King! Oh! Damn them both! The peredhel jackal and the tyrant king! Thranduil frowned. Annoyance aside, he truly feared thinking of what would happen if Gil-Galad couldn't be coaxed into marriage. Faelor was dangerous, more now than before. Sighing he entered the warmly-lit room.
Galadriel and Celeborn remained motionless in front of the fireplace. Elrond rested gracefully on the curvy-legged settee in the corner. Thranduil admired the sight of his sleeping rival. How appetizing. The jaded creature had not lost his appeal. Thranduil swallowed his sudden rush of desire, adjusting his tunic to conceal his ill-timed erection.
"We are in desperate need of your sharp smarts," Celeborn hissed without looking at Thranduil. "Did you intend on keeping this appalling situation secret?"
"Wait, he has no part in this," Cirdan interrupted, "curse me if you must curse someone. I underestimated the treachery of men. I felt the need to have an heir...I...I never imagined Gil-Galad would return from the Halls of Mandos...or that Faelor would grow into such a threat."
Celeborn straightened up. In the soft light of slender candles his face twisted with speechless fury. Deep snarl lines appeared on his face.
"And what HAVE you imagined?" he screamed. "He cherished your friendship, Cirdan! You were left to guard his kingdom! And what have you done instead? You promised the crown to a filthy, conceited human? Allowed the slaughter of innocent people in the southern provinces? And now that your fosterling serpent threatened to bite your ass you fell to your knees like a coward! You agreed to force your king, the friend who revered and adored you, into a loveless marriage to the little, bow-legged brat of Faelor's?" Celeborn pounced onto Cirdan, taking a firm hold of the elf's beard. Both elves crushed on the slender marble table that shattered into a rain of sparkling glass. Hissing and growling they struggled against each other, until Celeborn realized that neither Thranduil nor Galadriel would make a move to break the fight. He wasn't willing to kill Cirdan, he wasn't the sort to slay his own kind, although this seemed to be a good occasion to break the tradition. He released the Teleri and rolled off, cursing.
"I see you told them already," Thranduil offered his hand to breathless Cirdan.
"I learn my lessons, lies don't improve things." Thranduil walked over to Elrond and lifted the half-elf's lifeless arm. He pinched the limb slightly and let it fall back on the settee.
"I said I learn my lessons, I gave him slumber herb before I broke the news."
"Oh how kind of you," Celeborn snorted, "and what will happen when he wakes up?"
"I will sail to Valinor with him by then." Celeborn gaped at Galadriel with wild, disbelieving eyes. His head shook a silent no. Galadriel wrapped herself tightly in the woolen cloak and turned away from the fireplace to face the elf-lords. Moisture glistened in the corners of her bright eyes.
"Celeborn, after centuries with you by my side, I understood that every Elven heart is a kingdom. It can only have one true king, the one love that is unrepeatable and eternal. Elrond waited for an age to be reunited with the one who rules his heart, but what happens now that Gil-Galad has returned but does not remember him?"
"We must give him at least the opportunity to speak with Gil-Galad, to touch him, to be near him. It is his right. We cannot make that decision in his stead. Besides, what if Gil-Galad's memory returns upon their meeting?"
"And if it doesn't? Celeborn, Elrond will drop dead from a broken heart! We cannot risk it. We sail tomorrow morning. I trust you to remain behind and see to Lorien's affairs. And if the High King remembers, well, he knows how to reach Valinor to rejoin his beloved."
Galadriel briskly wiped away the tiny tear that escaped her eye and regaining her composure she strode past the stunned elf-lords. Celeborn grabbed her arm.
"What right do you have to wield his destiny with such arrogance? He is no elfling, he must stir his own course, painful or not. Halt! What are you doing?"
"I will lose my Arwen to mortality and the same fate may await my grandsons! Elrond and Celebrian are the only remaining stars in my universe, Celeborn, and I will turn the world upside down before I allow one of them to fade. Speak to his children, they will understand."
"Let the lady take her leave," Thranduil soothed, holding Celeborn by the shoulders, "this is the most sensible solution if one considers it."
"Bah! You would know! How many times have you bent over to entice the king to enter your tender rear since his miraculous return?"
"I believe it's time for me to take my leave as well, the hour is late," said Cirdan, nervously plucking at his beard. "I hope you will resolve your tensions quietly."
Celeborn stared angrily until the bearded elf was out of sight. He resisted his urge to tear into Thranduil and walked over to Elrond. How placid and content his features appeared in the face of the impending storm. Celeborn fondled his son-in-law as if the ancient elf was a sleeping child. He suddenly understood that nagging, biting worry that forced Galadriel to act so frantically. He loved Elrond in every way known to an elf, and he too begun to fear madly. Elves were capable of loving someone too much and love could kill if it spiraled out of control. Galadriel was right, he decided. Taking Elrond away was the ultimate cruelty in the name of kindness. "Get up, get up." Celeborn gently whispered into Elrond's ear. The half-elf rose into his arms without opening his eyes. Celeborn embraced his waist and the two made their exit. Thranduil settled on the velvet settee, alone in the suddenly eerie room.
"Well, wish you sweet dreams and a pleasant trip to the blessed land," Thranduil murmured. "You weren't such a tough rival to beat after all!"
"Does this really bring you much joy, Adar?" Thranduil looked up.
"You!" he glared at the slender figure. In the whirlpool of events during the last week he had utterly forgotten about his son. "Where have the devils carried you? You were needed here!" Thranduil stomped his foot. Legolas frowned, mocking his father with his glistening lips.
"I staid with Haldir and his soldiers. This castle gives me nightmares. Besides, I think you fared quite well without me. Lord Faelor is most fond of you, I heard."
Thranduil jumped up and stalked over to examine his son. He wondered how much damaging information have entered Legolas' pointed ears. He was his own creature, Thranduil knew. Legolas obeyed his sire every other time and watched out for Thranduil's interests only when doing so suited his own. And currently his interests lie in Elladan and Elrohir's passionate embrace. Thranduil found out about this newly forged love only recently and his wounded pride was still sore. He concocted an amiable smile.
"I am simply glad you are back."
"No," said Legolas moving away, "I do not plan to stay. I came hoping so see that you have a heart and a strong will, Adar. I discovered you have only greed and cruelty. I heard all about your brilliant negotiations with Lord Faelor. You know something, Adar, Lord Elrond has no enemies besides you, none that hate him with such zeal. That Southorn everyone is talking about in Rivendell, even he knew not to bite the hand that saved him. How many times Lord Elrond saved you? Who delivered me into this world? Who kept you alive when mother died? In illness and health he remained with you, more loyal than any mate, and this is how you repay him?"
"Child," Thranduil started.
"Don't even... He is the only rightful mate for the High King and some day you all will be cursed for hindering their reunion. Don't ever look for me in Mirkwood. I intend making Rivendell my home."
Thranduil blinked at the empty air. Legolas was gone. In the shadows of the dying candles Thranduil fought the quivering of his lips. If this was victory, it tasted bitter.
When the first rays of frail light begun to glow above the dark horizon, Legolas left the modest bed he shared with his comrade Haldir. What he overheard in Cirdan's chamber mere hours before now gnawed at his conscience. He shuddered at the thought of losing Elrond's unconditional affection. They had a strange relationship, the kind that cannot be classified in any simple terms. Elrond was his mentor first, his companion later, and at one point, the elf-lord became his lover. The prince recalled with a smile how the patient half-elf made love to him in the private of his study. He asked so many times if Legolas was sure he wanted to part with his virginity. The prince did, of course, and when Elrond's moist, throbbing length entered him cautiously, Legolas gave into his first time with unexpected confidence. He never thought he would lay with another. Not after his unpredictable tutor Teather, the dubious elf who later shared Thranduil's bed, had forced his drunk kisses and lewd fingers onto the struggling elfling. Legolas bore the abuse with silent defiance, but the bitterness was always there, just below his silky skin. It would have condemned him to a life of empty beds and failed romances if it wasn't for Elrond's healer touch. Yes, without question Legolas owed his lustrous love-life to the gray-eyed peredhel. It was time to repay his debt.
As he walked the deserted beach he saw the docks in the distance come alive with motion. At Cirdan's request a ship was being prepared for the sea crossing. Legolas paused. Was it wise to interfere with the plan of the sagacious lady elf? Yes, there was only one way to deliver justice. Elrond will meet his king this morning, he decided.
Celeborn stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the quivering rays of the sunrise. After carrying Elrond to his bedroom Celeborn collapsed on the bed in his stiff gown. He spent the most torturous night of his lengthy life intermittently convulsing with brief nightmares and waking up unable to blink his painfully dry eyes. When at last he entered shallow, nervous slumber he was startled into screaming by a naked, drunk elf Teather who had confused Celeborn's room with that of his Thranduil. For several minutes the goggle-eyed Elf Lord watched Teather's spectacular penis shaking display before dragging the resisting creature out. What a morning. Celeborn forced himself out of bed when he heard Thranduil banging on the door. "Where is Lord Elrond?" Thranduil demanded as he strode in.
"Sleeping still," Celeborn eyed the Mirkwood king.
"The ship is ready to leave the docks," Thranduil announced impatiently, "we've come to say our farewells."
"We?" Celeborn frowned at the crowd of sleepy elves and bickering men that crowded by his door. Lord Faelor granted him a toothy smile. Teacher seductively shook his hips. Seven blond Mirkwood elves wrinkled their noses at the display. Men laughed.
Legolas realized he was going in circles. In his haste to locate Elrond's chamber he ran the corridors without paying attention to the repeating scenery. Where was that wretched door? He would never find that indiscrete entrance, unless...Legolas' face lit up. Of course. Elrond always resided in the chambers he once occupied as Gil-Galad's Herald and those rooms were connected to the king's royal quarters with a secret passage few, if any, knew about. He raced down the flight of stairs and fearlessly jumped out of the wide window, landing silently on the vast, marble balcony of Gil-Galad's sleeping room. His body burned with adrenalin, he strode into the bedroom calling out the king's name. At the heart of the chamber the bed stood abandoned. Legolas nervously tweaked his slender fingers. Where would the High King be at such early hour? "Gil-Galad?" he called. No response followed. Suddenly a thought occurred to him. Swiftly glancing around Legolas located the massive, silver-framed mirror embedded in the wall. It was turned sideways on its axis, revealing the dark passage beyond. How did Gil-Galad remember to turn it? Perplexed, Legolas peeked inside the dark narrow hallway. At the far end of the dimness he saw Gil-Galad standing over Elrond's sleeping body. Legolas drew in his breath.
Insistent ocean scent carried in by the gust of wind invaded Elrond's nostrils. He shuddered and set up gasping for air, his body moist with night sweat. Few heated seconds passed before Elrond's mind ordered his heart to accept that the Noldor standing near him was not a surreal product of his imagination. An age of helpless dreaming flashed before his eyes, but no wistful fantasy could prepare him for the unexpected reunion. In rare instances of magnificent kindness the Valar reunited mates separated by death, but he never hoped for such extraordinary fortune. Elrond hesitantly climbed out of bed. Like an elfling trying to walk for the very first time, he stretched out his trembling arms and Gil-Galad gently accepted them, pulling Elrond into his embrace. Together they stood without moving or speaking, Elrond burrowed his face in Gil-Galad's shoulder while the High King's exploring fingers ran through Elrond's disheveled hair. Elrond finally pulled away. His weak hand traveled to cover his face as uncontrollable tears of emotion broke through. They cascaded in warm, clear streams out of his gray eyes, centuries of deep, poisonous grief draining with each drop.
"I remember swearing that I will return," Gil-Galad reached out to fondle Elrond's cheek. "I am late, but I've kept my promise." Elrond embraced him again. He gripped the king's hair, blindly kissing his chin and neck. His hands traveled around Gil-Galad's ribcage, over his muscular shoulders and down his forearm. He was flesh and blood, he was real. Gil-Galad hungrily returned Elrond's kisses.
"My past may be a dark cloud," said Gil-Galad taking Elrond's hands into his, "but your ebony hair and your body scent I will never forget, no matter how many times I die."
"I love you, my king, I love you a million times over. Hold me," Elrond shuddered in a crying spasm, "I bid you to never let go."
"Your name, my radiance, tell me your name and you will never leave my embrace."
Legolas squeezed his eyes shut in apprehension. His heart sunk as he watched Elrond painfully pull away, his moist eyes frozen in horror. He stumbled backwards one step.
"My...name?" his weak lips whispered pleadingly. "You...do you not remember me?"
Gil-Galad raised his hand. "Patience, dear beauty, it is true I recall no friend or foe from my first life. Many names escape my memory. Don't fear. My body remembers you, and the mind will follow its lead. I do sense that I knew you quite intimately."
"Quite intimately!" Elrond angrily removed his hand from Gil-Galad's hold and collapsed on the bed. "The winter we spent in Rhoan! The Midsummer ball you held in Lord Celeborn's honor. The War of Wrath. You don't remember. Not one thing."
He wept silently, without so much as a whimper, but from his secure observing spot Legolas saw the most raw and terrifying expression of agony he ever witnessed. Patient, Legolas silently begged his elder friend, be patient, give him time to remember, all can still end well. He will remember. The Prince swore under his breath. He heard a racket of voices approaching. His hands turned into fists. Elrond and Gil-Galad desperately needed more time. Sure the half-elf was shocked. But Legolas was sure that eventually Elrond's calm, sensible nature would win over the raging emotional currents and he will accept the temporarily hindrance in favor of a long-term bliss. But there was no time.
"I don't believe-" the door swung open and Cirdan froze in mid-sentence.
"What is it? Out of my way!" Thranduil pushed past the Teleri. "What? How?" He gaped at Gil-Galad, who stood in front of sitting Elrond.
"So the king finally meets his whore," Teather muttered with disgust. Thranduil's own heart sunk. A secret part of him wanted desperately to embrace Elrond, as the Mirkwood king instantly understood what took place between the peredhel and the king. His rival looked weak and broken on the inside as he sat stiffly on the unmade bed. His eyes glistened with fresh tears, his raven hair uncombed. He never saw Elrond like this.
Thranduil glanced at Gil-Galad, who gave him an amiable nod. The king's body was displayed in all its flawless magnificence beneath the thin layer of black silk. So gorgeous, so enticing. This is the one chance Valar will grant me to make him mine, Thranduil though. Only one chance. But what of Elrond? If I break their conversation, if I separate them now, who knows what will happen? I have no right to interfere. No. He hesitated, remembering Legolas' words. Am I the foulest of villains for wanting Gil-Galad? Will conscience eat me up later? Thranduil's fingers curled into fists. Well let it, I suffered no less than Elrond and I will fight for what is mine! With resolve Thranduil walked to embrace Gil-Galad from behind. He patted the king's shoulder when Elrond's lifeless eyes looked up.
"Lord Elrond looks ill, my king, let us leave him at peace. He must rest." Thranduil gave Elrond a meaningful look as he curled his hands around Gil-Galad's arm. "Your bride will arrive any moment now. My king. Please. Come along." Elrond only blinked. Gil-Galad had a bride?
"Oh be damned," he growled, pushing himself up on unsteady feet. "Be damned or be happy, whichever the Valar permits! I rested enough! You," he pointed at the carefully listening Mirkwood elves, "you all make me nauseous! All this does!"
"My beloved," Gil-Galad reached out to raging peredhel, "calm now, hush, come closer, let's talk!" Elrond stalked over to the corner where Gil-Galad's towering spear stood against the wall. "During the winter in Rhoan I gave you my virginity. At the ball given in Celeborn's honor you first declared your love for me. You died in the War of the Wrath. And this," Elrond removed the sparkling ring Vilya from his finger, "is the ring of power you gave me to bear. May it protect you from now on." Elrond handed the ring and the heavy spear to dazed Gil-Galad. "Farewell."
"Wait," Gil-Galad's hand caught Elrond's chin and stilled it for a moment, "forgive me for wounding you. You are special, I know that. Give me your patience."
"I will die loving you," Elrond whispered, "but I cannot wait any longer. I need time alone. To think."
The bright interior of the room grew hazy. Whispers of the men, icy stares of the Mirkwood elves, the flapping windows, roar of the ocean, it all blended into a background fabric of blurriness Elrond no longer noticed. Maids, messengers, a few guards, and several castle guests stampeded into the room to revel in the unfolding drama. He took no notice of the commotion as he glided past the many bodies.
"Elrond, wait! Where...where are you planning to go?" The half-elf did not turn to face his in-laws. "Please, listen to me! Passion-driven acts are foolish acts! You are acting like an upset elfling!
Stay a moment, let's converse about this!" Celeborn caught Elrond's forearm. "Be patient, for Valar's sake!"
"I have said, done, and felt everything there was," Elrond responded, twisting his hand free, "the High King is getting married and I don't like it! I ran out of patience."
Galadriel clasped onto Elrond's other forearm.
"Sail with me then, my son, it will heal your spirit. The ship is ready."
"I am going back to Rivendell."
"Elrond, no! You're too severely injured by this. I know you plan to make your grave in Imladris and I won't allow it!"
"I need nobody's permission," Elrond peeled Galadriel's fingers off his arm, "and no I do not plan to hang, stab, or drown myself. I merely want to go home. To think."
"What about your love, then, have you not said that true love outlasts all?"
Legolas blocked Elrond's path. "How can you abandon Gil-Galad in the company of these vultures!"
"Some standards are harder to live up to than to preach, child, and besides, I am certain Gil-Galad will fare quite well in the company of your father. And his future wife. Farewell."
"Valar damn your stubborn head," Celeborn screamed after his son-in-law as Elrond mounted his snorting white stallion, "you have no cloak, no food, no weapons! Hey! Just look at the idiot! There are things out there! Orcs! Take at least one guard with you!"
"The most vicious of monsters live in my head, Celeborn.
What's out there in the forest is tame in comparison. The worst they can do is kill me." Elrond tapped the glistening sides of the impatient horse and galloped towards the gates.
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