Tinker, Tailor, Bromance, Spar by Gwanath Dagnir

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Chapter 3

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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~