Tinker, Tailor, Bromance, Spar by Gwanath Dagnir

64 S.A.

The guest chambers that had been assigned to Elrond were on the opposite end of the residential wing in the capitol building. As Gil-galad traversed the distance there from his own offices, he put this on the ever-lengthening list in his mind of things to have rearranged. Now that Elrond’s place in his court is affirmed, he should reside nearer to the High King’s disposal. Ahead, he saw the door was left open as he finally came down the last hallway, and voices exchanged within. Thinking nothing of it, he walked inside without announcement.

On the edge of the foyer strewn with clutter, his own tailor knelt before Elrond who stood facing a mirror against the wall. Bainloth had been commissioned to design a respectable wardrobe for Elrond, who arrived at Lindon with little more than the clothes on his back. The tailor appeared to be in his usual state of self-inflicted agitation, but he rose at once to bow, ribbons of cloth draping over his arms like branches of a willow tree.

He removed pins from between his pinched lips to say, “I’m doing the best that he will let me, my Lord.”

Elrond turned around from the mirror, clearly nursing his own frustrations, and pulled off two samples of fabric draped over his shoulders. “What we agreed upon originally would have been quite good enough.” His face went blank to realize he had just stripped himself naked from the waist up in front of the High King. “Uhm, hello.” He bowed belatedly and waved one hand holding a swath of chartreuse fabric with turquoise stitching between himself and Bainloth. “We are working through some artistic differences.”

“Strange way to describe a battlefield.” Gil-galad stepped carefully through the plethora of shears and tapes and patterns and trims and spools scattered about the floor to come further into the room.

“So that’s final, are you refusing these masterpieces as well? Alas my fate!” Bainloth huffed at Elrond as he snatched the samples from his hands.

“Those were not even among the lot you showed me before, else I would have refused them at the time and spared us this trouble.”

Bainloth cradled the rejected fabric for either its own comfort or for his. “How was I to know back then that you would be named to the High King’s court? This changes everything, the whole aesthetic must be reimagined!”

“It does not change what is ugly or what is not.”

No stranger to the theatre, Bainloth gasped and withdrew to demonstrate his offense, clutching the bundle of obnoxious prints to his wounded heart as if anyone would want to take them from him.

Gil-galad knew this drama would escalate until Bainloth either got his way or was overridden by royal decree, so he interjected to say, “Dear artisan, you are a master of your craft, but it pains me to see you working this hard. Please, go take a stroll to reinvigorate your inspiration while I confer with Elrond for a moment. I insist.”

Bainloth sniffed once and with chin raised indignantly, spun on his heel before marching out of the room. “Perhaps some of your majesty’s refined taste will rub off on him while I’m gone. Good day!”

Gil-galad picked up a roll of fabric discarded on a chaise and turned it about, trying to determine if its needlessly complex pattern had a right or wrong direction. “Bainloth can be eccentric, but he means well,” he said, once the intentionally-thumping footsteps had gone out of hearing.

Elrond gave him a weathered look. “Tell that to the hapless bystanders who would be forced to look upon six-plus feet of the monstrosity in your hands, if I were polite enough to let him dress me in it.”

Gil-galad peeked both directions before dropping the spool to the floor and kicking it under the chaise where it might be overlooked and spared ill use, such as being made into clothing. He turned to Elrond and smiled to see his joke resonated. “Círdan mentioned you were looking for me.”

Elrond’s grin fell lopsided. “That was two days ago.”

“Ah yes, well, I have been… inundated. Apologies.” There followed a busy pause wherein Gil-galad simultaneously resisted the urge to give detailed excuses and contemplated the tangible possibility that he had in fact been avoiding Elrond. Since his arrival in Lindon, they had been nigh inseparable, until a drunken snafu some nights ago resulted in what Gil-galad could not be certain was a schism between them or if just by coincidence obligations kept them apart since then, being only so noticeable because of their previous closeness. (Were they not still close?)

The Half-elven eyed him in that indecipherable way, one species assessing the antics of another. “No need to apologize, my Lord,” he said evenly. “I wanted to relay that I met your captain Bellcrist by chance, and we debriefed regarding the regimen for the Guard.”

Nodding, Gil-galad skipped to the end of where he presumed this was headed. “I’m sure you will agree with him that it is subpar. He has been petitioning for resources to overhaul the program and indeed reconstruct the campus almost since it was built.”

Elrond shifted. “We spoke together of many things, though least of all his ambitions toward that which you have outlined. Rest assured he is not trying to influence you through me. But I would like to tour the grounds and observe their routines, if you would release me to do so.”

The training facility was a few hours by horse from town, and Gil-galad knew even the least rigorous mode of Bellcrist’s syllabus completed over the course of several days. “For how long?”

“A full cycle would be ideal, eventually, but as an introduction I thought just a fortnight.”

Gil-galad wandered closer as he considered. “I came to bring some news for you as well, perhaps now you will consider it ill-timed. A council is being formed in preparation for Celebrimbor’s expedition East, and I have designated a seat for you. Its first meeting is in nine days.”

“Then excuse me until then, when I next become useful to you once more.” Elrond looked away and down, idly toeing the boundary of discarded materials that encircled his feet. “That is, I mean-”

Before he could compose a rephrasing, Gil-galad caught a glimpse of his back in the reflection of the mirror behind him. Stepping still closer, he angled for an unimpeded view. The flesh of the muscled landscape was marred from shoulder to hip with lines like the scratching of claws, some thin and white and some jagged and red.

Elrond shifted his attention to being stared upon. “It was a long time ago,” he said, tensing under the inspection.

Gil-galad had thus far indulged Elrond’s reluctance to discuss his time in the war, never really considering what horrors went unsaid thereby. Now faced with it, he swallowed against a lump in his throat. “You were tortured?”

“No, I fell down on an Orc’s whip repeatedly.”

Equal in height, Gil-galad squared up to Elrond and met his gaze full on. “Do not make light of such dark things. I may never have seen warfare firsthand, but I have seen the devastation left in its wake – upon ruined lands once sacred to Elves, and within the broken hearts of my people. It is no laughing matter.”

“Yet you must know, lord, that we all express healing in our own ways,” replied Elrond unabashed, tilting his head as if he heard something unspoken. “Thank you for your concern.”

Now standing so close, close enough that their heat and scent and breath mingled, Gil-galad was struck with the intimacy- nay the vulnerability- nay the inappropriateness of these circumstances. He dreaded that Bainloth -chatty with every noble in Lindon- might find it amusing to ponder what the High King wanted Elrond for, alone in his room half-dressed. He dreaded someone else might walk in at any moment. He dreaded Elrond would sense his dread. He took a step back to release the tension and change the visual, leaning casually onto one hip and giving Elrond a pointed look over to prove how innocuous it was.
“I suppose, and perhaps you Half-elven do so in ways particularly strange to us. Come to think of it, I’m surprised such scars remain. Elves heal rapidly and thorough; usually only grave damage leaves a lasting trace. You seem otherwise as hale and hardy as our kind.”

“Indeed, enough so that my tormentors mistook me for one of you. And while Orcs are dim creatures overall, they do comprehend Elven resilience, and they hate it, and for that reason some bother to lace their weapons with poisonous substances to stifle the healing and worsen the pain. If there is a path toward cruelty, they will find it.”

Gil-galad went cold to realize this meant two orcs took a turn at him, one wielding a befouled lash whose wounds could not mend properly. It is said the hands of a king are the hands of a healer, and though Gil-galad did not possess that skill, he ached suddenly to try. He had to turn away and put space between them to quell the imagery of suffering in his mind.

“Bellcrist is a veteran as well, of course you’re aware,” Elrond went on. “In these peaceful times, his zeal for schooling on warfare and training for combat may seem misplaced. But he understands the cost of preparedness is less than the price of complacency. If ever evil arises again to threaten your realm, the generation that faces it must not be strangers to the mettle required to conquer such trials.”

“Hm. Seems I should cease to worry that someone might persuade you to influence me toward their will, since you are this skilled at doing it for yourself.” Gil-galad sent a wink over his shoulder. “The truth is, I have intended to visit the campus myself, it’s been years since I last did so. Depart as soon as tomorrow if you wish. I will come out to meet you there in one week’s time and make my own rounds.” He turned to watch the reaction when he said, “And then we can ride back together.”

Elrond did not flinch, nor did he outwardly rejoice. “All right,” he said, bowing his head.

“Is it truly?” Succumbing to an unkingly pang of insecurity, Gil-galad asked the floor, “Are things all right between us? After the other night.”

Elrond waited until their eyes were reunited, and long considered his response. “I hope so,” he said at last.

“Good, then we are aligned. See you next week. Oh-” With his foot, Gil-galad nudged a pile of cerise silk woefully embroidered with aubergine thread. “By the way, I will recommend to Bainloth that your colour scheme ought to be understated compared to my own tastes, and more likened to the Laiquendi you mingled with whilst sheltering in old Ossiriand under the Fëanorians’ charge.”

Elrond’s eyes narrowed, amused and curious. “I never told you about that.”

“How else would Maedhros hide his prize hostages and what remained of his host from me?” Gil-galad forced his grimace into a smile and released clenched fists. “Besides, you do seem a little ‘green’ by Ñoldorin standards. Bainloth will not question it, and what he designs under those criteria should please you.”

“I thank you, and on behalf of countless innocent bystanders no less. See you next week.”

~TBC~

Chapter End Notes

(Bainloth and Bellcrist are OCs)

Correctly, Gil-galad anticipated that the days’ work would not release him until late. Already the sun teased the horizon by the time he set upon the road with only a modest detail. They arrived under full darkness of night, and although not late by the standards of a bustling harbour capitol such as Mithlond, the guardsmen and their cadets were already dutifully at rest in preparation for drills that began before dawn, and breakfast before then. Bellcrist met them at the entrance square, chief Captain of Gil-galad’s army and personal commander of the Guard Academy.

“My Lord, I welcome you respectfully,” he said, bowing low as the company dismounted. The soldiers at his service followed in kind before they hurried to lead away the High King’s steed and those of his accompaniment toward the stables.

Gil-galad clasped hand-to-forearm with the captain in greeting, and gestured beyond the sparsely lit entrance to the main building where the barracks and gymnasiums and armories laid in shadow. “You still keep a disciplined house, my friend, all quiet so soon. In Mithlond we would have only just uncorked the wine by now!”

“The trainees are forbidden to imbibe whilst encamped,” said Bellcrist, but then he smiled, a rare enough occurrence, and added with uncharacteristic joviality, “Though I do have my personal stash, for special occasions such as this. If it would please your majesty, we can open a bottle and recline in my private study a while. It’s been years since these humble grounds were graced with your presence!” Before Gil-galad could respond, he continued with excitement in his eyes, “Or if you prefer, Elrond Half-elven has promised to partake in a going-away carouse tomorrow to commemorate his last night amongst us. The High King would be our most honoured guest to join, of course.”

“Ah, yes, that would be ideal,” said Gil-galad, quietly taken aback to be last-invited to a party for the first time in his life. “For now, lead on to my accommodations for the night, and I will share your good discipline and early rising. In your last digest you noted recruitment decreasing for the second cycle, tell me more while we walk.”
They proceeded into and through the reception of the main edifice, their voices echoing through the space as venerable as the relics and tapestries that lined the walls, as the discussion moved onto the next day’s agenda and other official matters. But no matter the topic, Bellcrist made a habit of incorporating Elrond’s name into his speech; Gil-galad suspected this revealed what change had uplifted the usually stoic captain’s spirits.

They were onto the subject of expanding the campus to include a center for healing arts. “It may seem counterintuitive, but since these things go hand in hand, the fighting and the injuries, it is natural that the schooling for each transpires in unison. This is how we knew it to be in the war of course, Elrond could attest. Did you know he trained in Tulkas’ seminars?”

Gil-galad nodded. He knew now, although Elrond had spoken very little of that time. “Speaking of Elrond, since you were, where is he?”

Bellcrist missed a beat and paused walking, saying in his more customary reserved tone, “I can show you to the room he is staying in, if you wish.”

“No, that’s not necessary, I only meant- well, he knew I would arrive today.”

“Ah, yes indeed, and he forewarned us. But he has adhered to the schedule of the master trainers and follows them through their morning routines, and they retire well before this hour.” Relaxing again, his cheerfulness returned. “Speaking of which, tomorrow has been highly anticipated since the Half-elven joined us, for it is sparring day! The fortitude and strength of great Men of old, Huor and Beren, are renowned and revered here, particularly among the younger cadets. As you can see,” he gestured to the portrait they happened to have halted in front of, a dramatic rendition of an epic scene of dubious accuracy: Tuor posed heroically atop a wall of white stone with arms up-reaching to hoist an elf wearing full armour overhead. “But I admit, even we elders are anxiously awaiting this day, to see the descendant of such legends move in the circle of combat! Watching him attack the daily exercises alone has been an inspiration.”

Under a raised eye, Gil-galad said, “Is that so? Splendid! In that case, I shall have my turn in your arena as well, only fitting since it is to be a day of legend.” He laughed at his own compliment. “In fact, it’s been years since I could spar with a new opponent, much less one so formidable. Pray you make arrangements to pair me against Elrond – ours should be the first match of the day, if you please.”

At first, Bellcrist opened his mouth without sound, then at length he swallowed. “Legendary, indeed. If I had known to expect this, I would have restricted admission to the bleachers for a price, and let the spectators pay for my sorely needed renovations. Achem- pardon my jest,” He bowed his head and continued forward to the door of a suite at the end of a long hallway. “May you rest well and rise renewed, my Lord,” he said, clicking his heels with a tight bow. “I look forward to the morrow all the more!”

Gil-galad watched as Bellcrist led his detail back the way they had come – and he watched his soldiers break decorum to quickly pass tokens to their designated bet-master behind his back. However many or few of them were audacious enough to wager against their king bothered Gil-galad little. He would surely triumph, and rejoice no less whether his subjects earned reward in coin for their loyalty or in just desserts for their underestimation of Orodreth’s only son.

Word spread overnight that the High King would spar Elrond Half-elven in the morning, and by dawn the bleachers were filled shoulder to shoulder with soldier, cadet, and staff alike, even extending to a standing crowd two layers deep that formed a crescent before the circle of combat. Gil-galad forsook the opportunity to meet with Elrond before their scheduled match, instead making certain their paths did not cross. Though personally inexperienced in warfare, he was extensively schooled in its tactics, and the first assault already unleashed upon his opponent targeted the nerves. He felt confident Elrond would be filled with uncertainty and driven to wonder why his friend would avoid socializing before a benign spar, if friends they were and benign it was.

The gymnasium stood behind the bleachers, and on opposite ends of its expanse, two doors allowed opponents to prepare and enter the ring separately. Gil-galad elected to take the field ahead of the starting horn, as combatants may choose to do, and he used the time to warm his muscles -and the onlookers- by showcasing his prowess with the spear. Every perfectly executed drill and expertly rendered trick garnered uproarious applause, so much so that when the starting horn finally did blare it had to blare a second time to be heard over the crowd. Gil-galad smiled to know his opponent had to listen to that cheering while waiting for the horn and considered his second strike -this time upon the ego- a success.

Gil-galad was momentarily distracted surrendering his bladed weapon to an aide, and when his attention returned to the field, Elrond had already crossed the yard before the gymnasium and continued with long, determined strides into the circle. A stifled hush swept through like wind, some in the audience even covered their own mouths. Elrond was shirtless and slicked with oil as is commonplace in preparation for grappling. His muscles, piqued from recent exercise, flexed with each step under flesh lightly stippled with fur in the manner of men and the likes of which most elves had never seen. His raven hair was wound in a knot as labourers do to ward hazard. He turned as he approached with a dancer’s confident grace, a formal gesture to prove there were no weapons tucked in his waistband. What it also ensured is that the crowd saw every side of his well-formed body, including the scars that told a tale of endurance and grit. Gil-galad turned as well to show his own back, regretting now the silken tunic he wore, and begrudging the astonished faces now fixated on the Half-elven.

“Well played,” he groused, certain this pandering was calculated. Next, he tried to strike a balance between confidence and moxie, “I hope you planned beyond how to steal attention, for victory will not be taken as easily from my grasp.”

“Your envy is sad and wasted,” came the retort, edged and quick. “These subjects are loyal to favour their child king above all. But that will not aid you against me upon this stage of your unmanning, Gil-galad.”

Gil-galad rightfully gawked, not noticing that Bellcrist approached until he stood almost between them. The captain recited the rules of engagement which Gil-galad knew and did not heed reminding. Elrond had never addressed him by his epessë before this moment and somehow, he made it sound like mockery. Before this moment, his manner had always been tempered if not overtly kind. Child king? Such venom, such gall! When his focus returned, Elrond and Bellcrist were negotiating which weapons would be used in the fight.

“The sword would give me an unfair advantage,” he told the captain while eyeing Gil-galad like prey unworthy to hunt. “For Maedhros first son of Fëanor trained me, a swordsman of terrible wrath and skill unsurpassed.”

Bellcrist offered Gil-galad a pause to speak before filling the silence himself. “Then perhaps batons would-”

“The staff,” Gil-galad interrupted, finding his voice.

Elrond replied unblinking, “None should deny the High King his heart’s desire. If he wishes to be subdued by a staff, so be it.”

The wooden weapons were promptly retrieved from a rack and presented to the pair. Bellcrist barked the number of their final countdown and abandoned the field. In twelve seconds, the horn blared again, and the fight commenced.

Expecting that Elrond would make a full charge early and hard, Gil-galad braced tightly – but the dance began almost delicate, circling each other while testing defenses and tempting patience to find fault. The forced restraint made his muscles ache for release, and he grew agitated to be so riled and then made to wait. Which, he knew, was exactly the point.

“Come now, Elrond, this is boring,” meaning to retake the advantage he felt had waned, he prodded more daringly at his opponent as he thought of a way to taunt, “Surely deep down you must want to hit me for something, hm?” They circled more, teetering this direction and back, too balanced in skill to give way or gain ground. “Come! Requite yourself! It is only fair to lash out after rejection.”

Elrond swung wide and predictably, leaving his core briefly unguarded. Gil-galad dodged easily and took quick advantage, landing a solid blow into Elrond’s center. Spinning to spend his momentum, he thought this might be the end – he had sent elves to the dirt gasping for life with a strike such as that. As Gil-galad reoriented expecting to see his opponent on the ground, Elrond stood tall and unmoved, as though nothing had touched him at all.

His look was close to pity. “Such a momentous conquest for you, to think so highly of it. Yet as you can see, I barely felt a thing.”

Gil-galad knew that was untrue, an angry welt already flushed across his middle. He also realized that amateurish vulnerability was purposeful baiting, as was the cutting double entendre of Elrond’s words.
Thinking it the most obvious and thus least expected reaction, Gil-galad leapt suddenly on the offensive, sheer force and perhaps surprise forcing Elrond to step back once, twice, as they traded hits. But his third lunge missed its mark, and dropping his own weapon, Elrond grasped the end of Gil-galad’s staff, using the considerable strength of both hands to pull him off-center. In a horrifying instant he was airborne. Instinctively splaying his limbs to catch the ground put him in the most vulnerable position to be manhandled. Elrond had ducked as he yanked and from underneath, pressed Gil-galad’s undefended body skyward. Mortified, he recalled the elf in the portrait, hoisted helplessly overhead of a mighty idol. No sooner was he sent up than he descended, exposed as a turtle stuck on its shell. Disbelief became dread as he was halted to stop just before Elrond’s knee. An enemy in his place would have been let to fall onto his own broken back. As Elrond stood up, Gil-galad rolled away, and recoiling at once for the next launch, they assessed each other and collected themselves, both out of breath.

The horn blared again, and the audience burst out into relieved applause, the first noise they dared make since the match began.

Flustered, Gil-galad called to Bellcrist who entered the ring. “Wait, hold now- how was that match point so soon? What was your total score for each?”

Bellcrist cocked his head. “This was a timed match, my Lord. I explained the rules of engagement at the beginning.”

Gil-galad murmured some excuse for misunderstanding when truly he had not listened, taking water and a towel from an aide while Bellcrist turned fawning to Elrond.

“Incredible, just incredible! The way you moved around and through each other, like birds in flight. Truly have you never trained as a pair before? At times I thought we watched a choreographed performance, so elegant, yet fierce!”

However chagrined by his disadvantage at match-end, Gil-galad rallied his nerve and lit the inner lamp of his kingly grace when it came his turn to receive the captain’s praise, then while interacting with the master trainers who left the audience to come mingle. This turned into a walking introduction of the cadets and soldiery since almost the whole of the academy came to watch. In the distance, Elrond toweled off while speaking alone with Bellcrist, eventually walking with their discussion back to the gymnasium together. He cast but one cool glance toward Gil-galad and made no effort to veer close enough that they might share words, much less clasp hands.

It occurred to Gil-galad, as he pondered the incongruity of what would seem to be a sore winner, that there may have been some err in judgement before ever stepping foot inside this circle.

Gil-galad opened the door of his suite at the knocking. The soldier sent to retrieve Elrond bowed tightly as he was dismissed, and Gil-galad pivoted to let Elrond enter the room.
“Do come in. I have a schedule to keep the rest of today and can spare but a moment.”

“You summoned me, my Lord – do with this time as you will,” said Elrond.

They settled just in the foyer, both cleaned and reclothed since the match that morning.

“I wanted to say well done, earlier. You certainly do justice to the reputation of your forefathers.” Gil-galad let that sit, watching how it absorbed.

“Same to you,” said Elrond, such few words saying much more. He angled suggestively, as though expecting -or wanting- to be dismissed with nothing more.

His manner gave Gil-galad the answer he sought. “Also, I wanted to make very clear that any tactics deployed to unnerve an opponent and gain advantage in the sparring ring are simply that. There should be no hard feelings between us.” As Elrond shifted, he added, “And if there are, then let us address it now and not separate from here peevish like quarreling… er, siblings.”

“I trust you have been extensively schooled in good sportsmanship, my Lord, and will not begrudge me for beating you at your own petty game.”

Gil-galad blinked, then ruffled. “Hardly. You bested me with just obscene brute strength alone. And anyway, if not that time ran out, I would have made you regret it!”

“Ha! Please. I had you so rattled from the onset that you forgot time even existed. And in that diminishing state of mind, you lost your patience and your poise long before you lost your footing.”

As if to demonstrate the truth of it, the tips of his ears burned red hot, betraying him. Gil-galad tried to change the subject, “Do you forget where we stand, to speak to me this way? I had you brought here to ensure that match was truly ended, not to start it again over in my bedroom of all places.”

Elrond folded his arms. “Yet you started that match already in my bedroom a week ago, though I knew it not at the time, and all the more bitter it tastes today.”

“That- what? I did no such thing. Explain yourself.”

“Agreeing to come here only to ambush me in the sparring ring. Oh, ‘we can ride back together’, how lovely indeed. After I have been publicly cowed to your pleasing, of course!” His arms uncrossed, opening the floodgates. “You expect constant servicing of your own pride but have no regard for mine. Did you not think what position this put me in, forced to duel you in front of these people whom I have only just met? Or worse – you did consider it, and reveled to imagine my dismay! I would have been honoured to demonstrate the modes with you -which is common practice for ceremony, that’s how it should have been between us- but you would not even speak with me beforehand. I sat in that lounge alone listening to the crowd as you bewitched them and only then decided to make you rue this ploy against me, using your own tricks against you. For you had decided long before this morning to tarnish my reputation here, either as the knave who bested the High King or the craven who forfeited to him!”

Silence strangled the room and hung these words in the air, slowly settling like poisonous spores that they breathed carefully not to disturb.

Suddenly Elrond turned as if to leave, but turned immediately back shaking his head, then fell to his knees, hands in a knot over his heart. “Ai, what have I… Forgive me. None of that should have been spoken. Please forgive me. I- I wall up these dams inside myself, and when they falter, the torrent goes swiftly beyond my control. After all the times I have been punished for getting swept up thus, I should learn better by now! Please do not send me away, though I may vex you and surely deserve your discipline, however you see fit. Just please deign to keep me here by your side, fair lord. This is the only place I have ever wanted to be.”

Gil-galad dropped to his own knees before him. “Send you away? Elrond, I have lied awake some nights devising ways I might persuade you to stay, if ever it came into your mind to leave.” He took his face between both hands. “My heart bleeds to hear the pain I have caused. None of this was my intent, though it seems clear with hindsight there could have been no other outcome – except if you bore such torment silently until it broke more inside of you than your dams. Pray you never do that, always be truthful and keep me in check! For what little it may be worth, I only learned of this ‘sparring day’ when I arrived, there was no long forethought – alas that there was not, else I might have seen the folly in it. If only you had been there to greet me last night when this idea was born, you would have shown me that which I overlooked, as you always do…”

“I waited, but you must have come very late. I thought you arranged it that way to avoid me.”

“Nay, yet I thought you retired early to avoid me! And Bellcrist was so taken with you, he could not keep your name out of his mouth. I- I did not recognize my own envy at the time, though I yearned to share the attention doled out in plenty here by your side. But I did not mean for it to come at your expense! Forgive me. I do not wish to be at odds with you, not you of all people, my favourite.”

They moved to embrace and instead locked into a deep and grasping kiss. If their first encounter grew from flirtatiousness to piqued hunger, this reunion began in the delicate bliss of absolution and matured swiftly to bold lust. Elrond wore his hair unbound and Gil-galad curled his fingers through it like ribbons of silk, while his other hand cinched them together tight at the waist, keeping him indeed. He regretted their sparring now in a new light, since it had not come to grappling after all. The body against his was strong and shapely and as Gil-galad was acutely aware, capable of impressive feats. Elrond moved his massaging hands from shoulder to neck before cupping the face before him, and from there his fingers traced the curve of both ears. Gil-galad groaned into the month that his tongue probed – if Elrond was unaware how sensitive an elf’s ears were, the responding hardness pressed against him would teach the lesson.

Gil-galad parted for air, dizzy and flush and realizing what just happened. “Eru strike me down,” he breathed, “I did it again!”

Although he was genuinely contrite, Elrond could not but laugh, the last of any tension in the room losing its power at the sound.
“Yet you are still standing… well, kneeling. Maybe that is the trick.”

They seized each others’ lips again and proved that theory true: Ilúvatar reserved his wrath, if either wrath or even his notice their indulgence would earn.
When they next broke and rested brow to brow, a heavy sigh went through Gil-galad, and he slackened his grip. They had neither the time nor the privilege to go where this road led, no matter how eagerly he imagined the journey.

“I know,” said Elrond, responding to the familiar sound. “Do not be troubled to remind me of all the reasons why this cannot be.” He added with a playful nudge, “If I were anyone else though. If only.”

“That’s not it- well, yes, it is,” Gil-galad said, “But I must go. Bellcrist is expecting me.”

“I know,” Elrond repeated. “I understand.”

Gil-galad combed the hair he had mussed with his excited clutching, replacing it to cover the ears that he liked to think he alone has seen this closely. “Is it well enough between us to part like this now? We can talk more later.”

“Yes, yes.” Elrond reconvened the chaste embrace that went off trail last time they made the attempt. “I will be hard to find until tonight, but think nothing of it – several things fell onto the last day’s agenda for me. There is to be a small send-off amongst the staff after dark, you should join us of course.”

“Bellcrist invited me, and I shall.”

They stood up, straightened their clothes, and assumed the visage of compatriots and dignitaries. With unspoken understanding of the unspoken plan, Elrond nodded from the door before letting himself out. Gil-galad would wait whatever he deemed an unsuspicious amount of time amounted to before leaving separately. He reflected wryly that considering their agreement not to have an affair, they were rather natural at practicing how to conceal one. As he waited, he paced the room, finding himself in front of a mirror where he paused to interrogate its reflection. This would be the last instance of wavering self-restraint, he decided, even as the taste of shared passion still lingered in his mouth – from now on he resolved to be steadfast and virtuous. (Did he truly call Elrond his favourite aloud?) The irregular mood between them after his first lapse was proof positive that their working relationship suffered from the interference of carnal frivolity, and Elrond is a political ally that the High King could not afford to put at risk. Now that ruffled feathers were smoothed, they must carry on in brotherly companionship, as it had been at the start. Before he ever touched his hair or tasted his lips or felt his body or yearned to coax sounds of pleasure from his mouth.

Gil-galad sighed, looking away from himself and looking within himself to find the fortitude to obey his own command.

It was still morning by the time they had exchanged farewells at the academy and set out on the road headed to Mithlond.

The High King’s company of guardsmen, whose presence in these peaceful times and within defended borders was predominantly ceremonial, nonetheless performed the appropriate protective maneuvers – four riders flanking two layers deep that circled in opposing directions, while two riders lead in front of the trail and two more followed as rearguard. They assumed this formation at enough distance that Gil-galad could enjoy his rare opportunity to ride in some semblance of solitude as he preferred, which pleased him all the more with Elrond at his side on this day.

“How’s your head?” he glanced sidelong at his companion.

Though Elrond squinted in discomfort perhaps from more than the sun’s rays, he smiled no less and spoke light of heart, “Worse than yours, I wager, and maybe better than I deserve. You were wise to avoid that cordial they passed around; it had a strong bite after a slow creep! But if this is the toll for all the week’s accomplishments, I am happy to pay.”

“Indeed.” Gil-galad thought back to the evening before. In alternating moments of admiration and reassurance, he had watched Elrond interact with the campus staff both at supper and during the after-hours soiree. His easy manner and quiet confidence had disarmed even the most brusque personality among them -to say nothing of the wartime reputation they all seemed to know him by- and after only a week he blended seamlessly with veteran and officer alike.
“We should debrief officially in the next few days so I may know your thoughts in full. In years past, I have sent Galdor to the academy for recognizance, but he must work hard for respect there, while they regard you as a brother in arms already. When we return, ask him to show you his old digests formatted to my liking so you can replicate them going forward. I will relieve him of this duty now that you are with us and better suited to serve as delegate.”

Elrond opened and closed his mouth. “Will Galdor welcome this change?”

“If he does not, he should have complained less about the task while it was entrusted to him!” At the prolonged silence (and absence of laugher) he added, “Worry not. I will think of some nominal appointment as substitute and smooth it over with him. He is not so petty to resent you for it – well, not forever. Anyway, let us not keep too busy with official matters just now. I enjoy riding and do not have the pleasure often enough. Keep at that canteen, by the way, I have a spare if you empty it – water will help your recovery.”

As they rode on in companionable silence, Gil-galad’s thoughts returned to the prior night. It’s true Elrond imbibed more than his wont and of stronger stuff, keeping pace in camaraderie with his new fellows, much to their delight. At one point, Gil-galad noticed his absence from the group, and only Bellcrist was also unaccounted for during the same period. After they both had reemerged, it seemed that they kept more distance than previously. Gil-galad thought he recognized the tell-tale signs of trying to appear detached after pledging farewell under different circumstances. But if they had a fling, then so be it. None of his business. Except that Bellcrist is wedded, which is most bothersome, and he really had only just met Elrond, and there is an arguable power imbalance, and a significant age difference, and the captain is far less comely and limited in charms, in fact, how did he even manage to attract the alluring Half-elven who could reasonably have anyone and should be harder to impress.

“I wondered about you last night,” said Elrond.

Gil-galad tried to convey nonchalance though he feared his very thoughts were overheard, “Oh? You needn’t worry. But why?”

“I said wonder, not worry. And you seemed a bit reserved is all.” Elrond’s nonchalance was genuine and it waited while he yawned, “That must have been a less elaborate affair than you are accustomed to. More of a buddying engagement than a proper soiree. Were you bored?”

Gil-galad released the breath he held, feeling the threat had passed. “No, no. Such unpretentious circumstances were a welcome reprieve. Also, I enjoyed watching you work. That is, you integrated remarkably well with the staff there after such a short time among them.”

“Familiar territory, I suppose.”

“Commendable all the same.” Bellcrist. Why Bellcrist, of all people? What manner of lover would a person be, who rarely smiles or laughs. What sort of man would eschew his own wife for a fleeting liaison with an almost stranger who is frankly of higher caliber. What sort of person is Elrond for that matter, to move so easily from the intimate consolation he shared with Gil-galad only earlier that same day -even if it must never happen again- to some hurried and drunken bump in the night. Clumsy – that is how Bellcrist kisses, probably. Clumsy and routine. He is not the type to cherish another and humble oneself until swooning in mutual surrender, or reward hungry pleading with crafted bounty. His disposition is to conduct motions structurally, a functional wagon wheel, not an erotic siren song. Not what Elrond deserves, not what his sensual kisses ask for with unguarded, unashamed longing.

“My lord. What troubles you?”

“Nothing.”

“Something.” Elrond peered at him for a moment, then rubbed his eyes. “Ai… this headache pains me the more to read you. Will you not have mercy and just tell me?” He married this with a smile, “It is a beautiful day for peace of mind.”

“Nothing is wrong.” One look of that irresistible smile destroyed by a pout and Gil-galad relented. “Truly. But if you want to know my random thoughts, I happened to be reflecting upon how quickly our good captain Bellcrist seems to have been taken with you. He was always a somber fellow before – yet since meeting you, he is spry as a puppy with a playmate.” Elrond went very quiet. In Gil-galad’s imagining, a whole society of Reasons carried on in the silence. He felt suddenly alone, looking through a window at others relishing what he forfeited. “It- that is naught of consequence, just an observation. I’m glad, of course. By all means, enjoy yourself.”

“Ereinion…”

“Do not make to explain! There is no need. Truly.”

“No, in fairness to you, I must. I’ve led you on toward a false impression, and I’m sorry. The nature of our relationship is not what you must think.”

With a hiss, Gil-galad startled an inch out of his saddle and forgot subtlety to swing his head around in all directions. His guardsmen kept their distance but were close enough for Elven hearing, if they dared to listen in. He spoke very low, “Hearken to me, Elrond. I am not some heart-swollen, dew-eyed swain who needs hard truths spelled out for easy learning. I know very well we are not in a relationship – do you think I would abide you scurrying away from a party to tussle with another in some broom closet if we were? And anyway do not call it that, not publicly, whatever ‘it’ is, or was, or is not, between us.”

Impossibly, Elrond went even quieter before saying, “Bellcrist and I, our relationship is not what you think.”

“Ah. Oh. I see.” Gil-galad found himself stricken with profound envy for the gift of Men to die at will, and he explored those feelings, searching for loopholes, while they rode onward for a time. “Well. Seems Elves cannot perish of embarrassment, I just discovered. You have more than a passing interest in physiology, so I thought you would like to know.”

Ever gracious, Elrond held back all richly deserved laughter at his blunder. “Duly noted, thank you.”

“I was of course insanely jealous, you realize.”

“The possibility had crossed my mind.” Elrond smoothed his mouth against his palm until composed again. “I admit it is flattering in a way, though it pains me to see you so bothered.”

“I deserve as much. That was a shameful overreaction on my part.” Gil-galad looked across at him, first gauging his mood, then distracted by the way his body undulated with the rhythm of the horse’s gait. Elrond caught him staring – his daringly narrowed and knowing gaze compelled Gil-galad to confess, “I wish I could ask your forgiveness. The way I did yesterday.”

Elrond acknowledged the insinuation with a sad look. “I wish you did not deem us obliged to repent at all.” He added, “There are other reasons we might be glad to assume the same position, if only free from the guilt of it.”

They left that alone to settle between them, an unopen invitation to a forbidden tryst, as their cheeks grew warmer although the sun passed behind a cloud. The outer ring of guardsmen switched positions with the inner ring as they passed, saluting to the High King as if it were part of the maneuver.
“So,” finally Gil-galad said. “Tell me of your history with Bellcrist. It hadn’t occurred to me that you might have been acquainted during the war, is that the case then?”

“Not as such,” said Elrond. “Or indirectly so, I should say. I knew his son, though only passingly. In fact, I may not even recognize him today, he was a young lad at the time.”

Gil-galad waited for more that did not come. “And thanks to a cursory familiarity with his son, he is besotted with you a century later?”

“Mayhap, though hearing it put that way sounds odd.” Elrond readjusted his position in the saddle, not quite disguising the internal discomfort. “It is not altogether a happy tale, is the thing. Perhaps you would rather ride in peace unspoiled by such matters.”

“Your company brings me peace. Please, go on.”

He sighed, but nodded, and seemed to turn his own gaze inward to the long reaches of memory, looking very elvish to Gil-galad in that moment as he did so. “I told you already I served under Finarfin. More specifically, within his host he commanded a specially trained force, his Liberators as they were called, a unit dedicated to locating and freeing those taken captive during Beleriand’s many conflicts and used as slaves in service of Morgoth’s evil designs. Elros and I, though otherwise inexperienced in warfare in those early days, were uniquely well-equipped to assist in this task – for we were small for our age and strong for our size, and crucially, we shared an effortless bond of mind and heart. Growing up, we did not know this as the practice of Ósanwë as the elves regard it – between us, such connection has ever been our natural state.
Now, to breach a slave labour cell is no simple endeavor; usually they are behind enemy lines and encamped with a faction of those they service. Before our intervention, the tactics in use were a balance of careful espionage and blind luck and not a little brute force, met with varying success. Elros and I, we changed the game.” A darkness came over him deeper than cloud cover, as though light could not penetrate what had transpired. “Orcs are gullible and opportunistic, always glad to replenish dwindling plunders from great Elven strongholds sacked over the years. As such, they can easily be baited with useful goods, but tracking them undetected back to their dwelling is risky and slow and often futile. Fortunately, another resource precious to Orcs is their thrall stock, and the temptation to abduct defenseless and malleable youth is especially irresistible to them. My brother and I devised that one of us acting as live bait and taken prisoner to a work camp could alert the other to its path and location, then be pursued with the Liberators in force. This method proved to be far faster, and never failed.”

Gil-galad stretched his back straight, trying to counter the sinking feeling in his gut at the thought of repeated capture and enslavement, even willingly, even temporarily. “However effective or quick, it does not sound any less risky -not for the bait, at least- especially for two so young as to be mistaken for children.”

“We were old enough. And the risks were… predictable.” Elrond seemed to hesitate, but then stretched out his arm across the distance between their mounts. This motion pulled back the sleeve to reveal faint white scars circling his wrist, where orcish bondage had worn. “If one feigned submission and obeyed well enough, this was the worst of it to bear, usually.”

Gil-galad had noticed those scars long ago but forced himself to look again, now knowing their origin. “But not always,” he said, his throat constricting to imagine it. “Not the time they lashed you.”

“Indeed. And now we have come full circle to the tale of Bellcrist, for it was during that same uncommon campaign you infer that his son was freed when my brother led the Liberators to our prison.”

The procession had paused, interrupting their discussion. Gil-galad’s chief guard rode back and offered a break while watering their horses at a pond near the trail. They had stopped at this same place on their ride toward campus, and knowing the path, Gil-galad led the way through sparse wood while his guardsmen formed a wide crescent on the path to barricade the entrance while waiting their turn.

At the edge of the still water, they dismounted to let their horses drink unburdened. Gil-galad turned to Elrond who looked more elvish than man standing in the patchwork-shaded cove, natural as a sapling at home amid the green. If they were permitted to engage in wanton indulgences, this secluded reprieve would be a romantic choice. If only.

“What is his name, the son?”

“Erestor.” Elrond reached up, idly petting a leaf hung by his head. “You mentioned Bellcrist’s solemn temperament. Well- that war left scars on us all, I suppose. Although freed from captivity, I learned from his father that Erestor is not free from torment even to this day. He lives with his mother in solitude by the hills of Evendim where they settled after evacuating Beleriand, before Bellcrist came here to answer your summons for military service. Poor Erestor cannot tolerate the bustle of crowds or confined spaces, though Bellcrist says he improves little by little over the years. I am embarrassed to relay that my service with the Liberators made me something of a celebrity in their household – still after all this time, if you can believe it!” Elrond paused to stretch and took a deep breath, maybe relieved to be free of the tale after all. The length of his arms reached the lowest branch of the tree he stood under and he grabbed ahold, rocking from heel to toe. “That all was a very long way to say, if Bellcrist seems to appreciate me excessively, it is nothing but a father’s undying gratitude for his son’s salvation.” He nudged a stone to roll by the king’s feet and added, “Anyway, he is not my type.”

“Too sullen?”

Elrond seemed to consider that as he swayed now in circles. “Mm, I have been accused of succumbing to my own morose introspection at times – I think I would not begrudge someone else their brooding.”

His growing whimsy seemed to invite a guessing game, so Gil-galad tried again. “Too plain?”

“Ha! Do you see me?”

There were times when Gil-galad could see nothing else in a busy room – but the point was made. Elrond was peculiar among Elf-kind in that he eschewed jewels especially and to a lesser extent shiny things. The clothing he reluctantly borrowed from Gil-galad while waiting for Bainloth to complete his wardrobe were the plainest pieces offered. Even Melian’s pendant he wore concealed beneath his inner shirt. And his hair, unadorned and untamed… Gil-galad put this on his mental list of things to influence. (At least he could keep it braided nicely – one status symbol couldn’t hurt.)

“Hm. It must be that he is a bad kisser.”

“No. Wait- what?” Elrond laughed, raising his feet off the ground to swing freely like a youth at play. “No one mentioned it, and I wouldn’t know firsthand. So, no.”

“I give up. What then?”

“Too married.” With a forceful kick back and forward, he popped off the branch to land a pace in front of Gil-galad. “I thought Elves could sense this about each other? Even I knew straightaway. He loves her dearly.”

“Yes, we can sense a mated bond. Yet although it should, that does not always prevent us from doing things we aught not.”

“Oh?” Elrond took a step closer, saying with exaggerated innocence, “What kind of things?”

Gil-galad tried his best to manufacture a warning look. “I will leave you to imagine.”

“With your permission, then.” The Half-elven dropped his gaze that it could study the map of Gil-galad’s body starting at the feet, lingering appraisingly at choice intersections as it ascended. By the time the journey ended eye-to-eye, Gil-galad flushed to have been so devoured, yet such hunger remained in that gaze. The responding urge to satiate any number of unspoken needs swelled inside of him. Whoever moved first, their hands met in the space between them and raised with bending elbows, bringing their bodies together. Gil-galad twisted his forearm to angle Elrond’s exposed wrist toward his mouth and kissed the scars there, eliciting a quick intake of breath and a noise between surprise and surrender, as the fingers entwined with his tightened.

He had it in his mind to stop there, offer some platitude about the virtues of chastity, and part as friends. But the instant his lips were free to speak they were seized in a kiss equal parts tender and imploring. He could not help but launch his own exploration, his tongue welcomed and surveyed in kind. Their joined hands untangled to clasp behind both necks, locking at an angle to encourage deepening penetration, and as they tasted each other their free hands mirrored a path down the chest and stomach, wrapping around to settle into the divot of the lowest back. From there they pulled taught, cinching their hips together like a well-fit saddle, and quelling any uncertainty as to each other’s willingness – their bodies were matched in fierce arousal, hard and straight as daggers tucked into the beltline. Gil-galad had been told by past lovers that he was particularly gifted in his formation, and now he understood the awe that inspired those compliments; in this way as in so many others, Elrond proved to be his equal.

They separated only far enough to catch breath, panting hot against moistened lips. Elrond said, “I’ve told very few about my ordeals in that war, though many have asked. All were moved to pity, and I to regret. Are your own thoughts of me shaded now by what I’ve endured? Do I seem to you gloomy as Bellcrist or the old veterans, jaded from hard trials and benumbed by suffering? Pray you not deign to dull your spirit, fair lord, brightest of us all, if another who is unscathed would make you shine more so.”

“Nay, dear one, my favourite. Gruesome circumstance may temper you in passing, yet only leave you stronger – for your shape was forged by the love of your kindred and your fate by their triumphs, unbreakable and blessed. Ever shall you surmount anguish with nary but a softer heart for the pain of others, bearing its scars as remembrance and never a burden. Ever shall I marvel at your fortitude in doing so, and strive to be worthy of your favour! May you swing from trees until the last Age of our days, and take solace to confide in me such things for your own sake, as you have done today for my reassurance alone.”

“I cannot bear to see you disquieted, as earlier you were. Whatever confession or sacrifice or boon, if it would ease your mind or aught else, know that it is yours to command of me.”

“Yet it is my relief and joy that I need not command one who knows my heart so well. Please, show me that you do!”

They rejoined with heightened passion, the motion of their clutching embrace causing the barest friction that nonetheless sent shocks of pleasure through engorged limbs. Their prolonged kiss stifled a harmony of moans, desperate for more, much more, and soon. Any hope that this union could be avoided grew distant and powerless before the strength of their combined desire. In that moment, overwhelmed by inevitability of the outcome, Gil-galad surrendered to it – yet if consequences should result, he would reap them for nothing less than the greatest possible reward.

“Wait, wait.” One hand had found its way to the nether muscles well-toned from horseback riding, and he squeezed firm while pulling forward, stealing one last tantalizing stroke against their groins. Then he repositioned his hands to that wild field of hair, twisting it around his fingers like reins to expose the vulnerable throat that he kissed between words. “Not like this. Not now. We can honour this occasion better than to simper out of the wood pasted with leaves in front of an audience.” He stretched both thumbs to trace the curve of the ears, admiring their unique shape. “You are inexperienced and must trust me. These things take time to do well. The more the better.”

Elrond made a strangled noise between a growl and a whimper, saying, “I offer to serve your wishes and already you test my resolve by denying them!” His tone lightened, mirth dancing into his eyes, “But I acquiesce, and shall persevere with a softer heart for the pain of others, true to your high opinion of me.” As he spoke, his hand came forward to drag a long finger slowly up the length of a longer member, making Gil-galad shudder. “Alas, fair lord, your state is pained indeed. Perhaps worse so for your expertise, to know what you miss!” With that and a roguish grin, he turned away and approached his horse.

After a wasted moment trying to will his loins to lose interest (impossible as he watched that well-formed backside saunter away and deftly mount a horse), Gil-galad followed suit, grateful for the layers of clothing that would hide his unyielding excitement in a seated position. They rode out of the cove where their secrets were kept, greeted first by full sunlight as the clouds passed, then by the chief guardsman leaving the path to meet them. Behind him, the detail split in half to take their horses for water in turns.

“All is well, my Lord?” he asked.

“Oh, you know how it goes,” said Gil-galad smiling. “Leave a horse around water long enough and eventually he will work out what’s best for him.”

~fin~