A Dalliance Uncommon by Gwanath Dagnir

Chapter 1

circa 64 S.A.

Two months, three weeks, and four days ago the High King returned to Mithlond from the Guard Academy, having retrieved Elrond from a weeklong sojourn there. Along the journey home, during a too-brief reprieve in a secluded cove where they watered their horses, Gil-galad had forsaken his failing efforts to resist the impossible attraction he had developed toward the Half-elven. There in secret, they shared precious few moments of passionate intimacy – not their first encounter but the most fateful, as it set their eventual union upon the path of inevitability. Then, like a fool, Gil-galad insisted they wait for a more accommodating environment to finally consummate their affections.

And after that glorious mid-morning has followed the most duty-bound, inquest-riddled, time-consuming, attention-draining, maddeningly busy but agonizingly slowest-passing two months, three weeks, four days, and six hours in the history of Arda. Gil-galad had cause to interact with Elrond under sometimes more and sometimes less chaotic circumstances, but never privately. His heart, his flesh, ached for their reunion.

“My Lord…”

“I’m listening,” said Gil-galad, blinking away from the window.

Standing next to the desk, Galdor punched one fist against his hip and with his other hand, slid the parchment closer to the High King where he sat. Its edges scratched across the wood like claws. “I said, did you know that he devised this ere it came to you in writing? Compulsory military service – compulsory! Now, with nary a threat of war in all Eriador? It is unseemly, radical. Dare I say…” he withdrew to collect himself and stood as tall as his limited stature would allow. “It is un-elven, sire.”

“Compulsory Assistive Forces training,” Gil-galad corrected. He picked up the parchment in question, Elrond’s meticulous proposal for a prolonged and phased overhaul of the Guard Academy, which would incorporate healing arts among other ancillary fields of study. He followed the curve of familiar handwriting with fondness. Was the lingering scent of its author only his imagination, that enticing blend of sun-warmed spice and rain-washed earth?

“Aye, my Lord,” Galdor deflated enough to pinch the bridge between his eyes, “at the new and improved multi-purpose Guard Academy, cadets can learn to hew orcs and then with the same blade, attend cooking class before dance lessons. Bah! Dress this up with any number of distracting delicacies, it is still a pig on a platter.” He spun away, flinging his thick chestnut braid off one shoulder only to unfurl it onto the other, pacing as he continued, “Respectfully, I must relay that your subjects will not take kindly to loved ones, indeed their own children, being remanded to military service masquerading as some elaborate higher learning program. They aspire to prosper and to nurture a generation free of worry and of danger. Good riddance to dark days long past, when tragedy was as common as bad weather, and our energies sapped by constant preparation for conflict, or recovery from it.”

“Galdor, as always, I appreciate your perspective and your candor. Nonetheless, the Academy as it is received in its current incarnation presents a conundrum to solve – as evidenced by the statistics from your own digests while you served as delegate over the years. Recruitment continues to decline. We simply do not procreate fast enough to fill the ranks of a military force commiserate to the size of the region without conscription, unless voluntary registration more than doubles. And why would it, unless something changes? A more diverse syllabus may help allay public opinion of the Academy, especially in times of peace.” He flung the parchment to the desk, catching another whiff of Half-elven musk on the updraft. “At any rate, none of my advisors have presented better ideas, and I deem Elrond’s proposal has merit indeed. I will submit it for broader scrutiny at the next quarterly review and we can ruminate further. In the meantime, consider your concerns duly noted! Now before I release you, was there anything else?”

His pacing gave no indication of surrender, but the next pivot of Galdor’s heel faced him toward the entryway where Elrond had emerged, and his tongue tripped. “Oh. It’s you. Strange I did not hear your footsteps. How long have you been standing there?”

“Only an instant.” Elrond smiled, either delighting in Galdor’s disappointment or ignoring it. “May I be of service?”

Galdor glanced over his shoulder where Gil-galad beamed at the Half-elven from his seat. “Not to myself.” He turned and bowed to the king. “I leave you respectfully, my Lord. Good day,” passing Elrond to leave, he offered a one-directional nod that left his nose toward the ceiling.

Once the door had shut, Gil-galad said, “Still salty over losing his appointment at the Academy to you, I see. Do let me know if he acts out any worse than that, I will not tolerate overt disrespect.”

“No matter,” Elrond waved away the minor slight. “He is one of Círdan’s folk after all, I accept that some extra salt runs in his blood.” He approached the desk, gesturing to his own proposal that rested there. “I must say, Galdor seems more interested in my observations at the Academy than in his own, if he did not notice the trajectory his own digests spelled out through the years.”

“Now you understand my relief to have you replace him. Finally, insight from someone with an eye for the details and a vision for the bigger picture!” Gil-galad grinned, “By the way, you overheard quite a bit in only an instant. How long were you standing there eavesdropping, really?”

“I had just walked up! Before then I was at the opposite end of the hall, speaking with Celebrimbor – not that it made much difference. If Galdor wishes not to be overheard, he should learn to speak softer than the whistle of a kettle. I suspect they heard his mewling all the way to the kitchens. Someone is probably preparing milk for what they mistook as a disgruntled kitten as we speak…”

From behind a hand that smothered his laughter, Gil-galad sighed and said, “Ai, what an end to this grueling day, if I could spend it here bantering with you. Yet the way things have been going we’re bound to be interrupted soon. If there was something you needed, tell me while you can.”

“Two things.” Elrond found his place perched on the edge of the desk, balancing one foot on the seat of a chair. “The answer to one greeted me as I arrived. You will submit my proposal to your advisory?”

“Yes. But be prepared, I’m afraid you may find the nature of these proceedings very elvish. There will be many discussions over a long period of time before reaching any agreements to even begin making plans. The entire-” Gil-galad’s eyes narrowed. “There’s something different about you.”

“My hair.” Elrond pulled forward his hair in its long box braid to display.

“No, you’ve been wearing it that way for a few weeks now. Something else.”

“Oh!” Suddenly Elrond bounced up to stand. “The clothes you lent me. I forgot to return them after Bainloth delivered my wardrobe.”

“Ah-ha! Now I realize what I see. Turn yourself about, let me have a look at you.” The king stood up to appraise the new raiment as Elrond circled before him. Its base layer was on the beige side of gray, with accent pieces in tones of spruce and rust. Elrond wore again the belt he arrived with, dark leather engraved with bronze hardware, and a sash in faded shades of aubergine that must be meaningful to keep. With chin to fist, Gil-galad realized his tailor somehow managed to produce what most closely resembled a polished version of the clothes Elrond arrived wearing in the first place. “Hm. It did not occur to me when I instructed Bainloth to use the palette of Green-elves that he had never actually seen one of them. Well, so be it – you are a perfect picture of wild imagination and valiant effort. It suits you.” In truth, he concluded that the Half-elven’s physique would wear anything well – or nothing, even better. “So you could hear Galdor speaking from all the way down the hall?”

Elrond tilted his head at the question. “Yes?”

“Then you can hear no one is nearby now.” Gil-galad stepped forward.

Catching on, Elrond closed the remaining space between them. They touched at first gingerly, fingers and lips retracing paths discovered in past encounters until familiar again. Once familiar they grew cozy, then frisky, then bold. The king groaned into their joined mouths as he searched for a place to settle his hands that would stymy his racing desire, but every handhold he took on the Half-elven only enticed him further – the muscled ridges of his lower back, the meaty fullness of his rump, the lithe length of his strong neck. The exploration produced a mirror image of his own hardness, as Elrond kneaded away the tension in his shoulders while they kissed, somehow knowing exactly what was needed most. Soon Gil-galad inserted a little space between them while he still possessed the willpower.

“Look what you do to me – I will be stuck toiling behind this desk for the rest of the hour before I’m decent again.”

“At least you have business behind a desk,” Elrond laughed, “I will be forced to leave carrying one of these chairs for cover if you handle me that way again.”

“Ha! Not if I handle you how you deserve. Let-” They froze in the motion of rejoining at the sound of a door as it opened and closed down the hall. Footsteps and voices followed but diminished with distance until gone. Tamed by the ever-looming threat of discovery, Gil-galad sighed, “Alas to be reminded of this burrowed time. Quick tell me, what was the second thing that brought you?”

“Only that I missed you.” Elrond’s look grew studious as he scanned the scrolls and parchment sprawled before the king’s seat. “You’ve been very busy since we returned, I see that you still are. How are you keeping? Can I help?”

“Indeed, you alone can. This work would be hard enough without the constant distraction I must contend with.” At Elrond’s look turned to concern, he brought them close together again, resting one hand behind the head so his thumb could caress the delicate ear. “I am haunted by how we parted that day in the cove, though I have myself entirely to blame. After this temptation, I fear it will be unbearable, the unfed hunger now stirred. It must burn you as badly, judging by your state.” He pulled at the hip until their arousal touched, yearning for attention. “Will you come to my chambers tonight? Wait until past suppertime. Bring the clothes to return. I can instruct my night sentry to expect you on errand but to turn anyone else away so I may have some rest.”

“Of course I would, but- is that not too obvious?”

“If we wait for some serendipitous circumstance that brings us together at random, we are only bound to be intruded upon. We must trust in the discretion of those whose business is not to make judgements.” He stopped short of explaining how his sentries were well conditioned to keep their king’s confidence. It seemed unmentionable that others had come before – tonight he would have a treasure above all.

“As you wish, so shall it be, my King,” said Elrond with a bent knee, overly subservient in jest. “Yet the bells will ring for supper sooner than you seem prepared for, so I leave you to finish this… what-” something on the table caught his eye. He reached to pull out a sketched map aside notations regarding Celebrimbor’s expedition East that Elrond sat on the planning board for. “We agreed to navigate around the Tower Hills. These contradictions are in Celebrimbor’s own handwriting!” He huffed. “Is he so desperate to avoid Celeborn that he would needlessly complicate the journey by refusing to even veer toward Harlond?” He sat down and took up the nearest quill as if it were his own. “Where do you have a map at scale? I need a divider as well please.” He was already writing on fresh parchment as Gil-galad produced the requested tools, amused to be so casually ordered about – a degree of familiarity only Elrond could make charming. “He had the good sense to seek advice only to ignore it in service of his own pride. Well, he will rue the day, once this rebuttal reaches him. If he thinks he can host a meeting so boring that its attendees forget our own conclusions, he will meet his match to behold the punishing detail of my graphical surveying.” Lip between teeth, he committed to the task at hand.

The king sat down and returned to his own work, glad for the company as the air went calm, laced with scent of sun-warmed spice and rain-washed earth.

~tbc~