Tinker, Tailor, Bromance, Spar by Gwanath Dagnir

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Chapter 2

 

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.

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