Skin and Other Stories by grey_gazania

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Skin and Other Stories

Written for a very old set of B2MeM prompts: skeletons in the closet, monogamy, intimacy, marriage, Laws and Customs Among the Eldar

SA 133

 

Winter had come to Lindon, but though the wind outside howled fiercely, buffeting flakes of snow through the air, and the frost had traced ferns on the window panes, Gil-galad’s private parlor was cozily warm, thanks to the flames crackling merrily in the hearth. Tallagor, her whippet, was curled up on a soft cushion in front of the fire, whuffing softly in his sleep as he dreamed doggy dreams.

 

Chasing rabbits, Gil-galad thought to herself. She and Elrond were stretched out on the carpet, sharing a bottle of light, dry wine. The day had been a long one, filled by a contentious council meeting and an audience with an argumentative contingent of Lindon’s craftsmen, and she was glad, now, to be able to relax in her friend’s company.

 

They had split a late supper, tender scallops in a garlic butter sauce, and played a few lazy hands of gin rummy. Now Gil-galad was admiring the play of the firelight on the line of Elrond’s jaw as he recounted a joke that he’d heard the day before. A fisherman walks into a tavern…

 

At times like this, she had to admit that she wasn’t entirely certain how she felt about Elrond. She cared for him, of course, and enjoyed his company. He was a dear and trusted friend. But sometimes, when the light caught his face in a certain way, or when he smiled that particular sly smile that he seemed to reserve just for her, the one that made her stomach flutter, she wondered if she didn’t want Elrond to be something a little more.

 

Romance had not, thus far, been a major component in Gil-galad’s life. The only other person she remembered feeling this way about was Maewen, her childhood best friend, on whom she’d had an intense crush as a young woman. And that right there was why she’d avoided romance. Most of the people she’d found attractive were women, and that wasn’t how things were done among the Eldar.

 

And she’d drunk a bit more tonight than she should have, and so had Elrond, and that was probably why, when he caught the direction of her gaze, and put down his glass, and leaned forward and kissed her, she closed her eyes and kissed him back.

 

After that, things got a little hazy, and by the time her brain finally caught up with her senses, she was topless, pressed against the back of the love-seat, her hands tracing circles on Elrond's bare shoulders as his warm fingers caressed her breasts.

 

"Elrond," she mumbled, pulling out of their kiss, and then bringing her hands up between them, "wait." He drew back reluctantly, and she laughed nervously. "I'm too drunk for this. Or maybe not drunk enough."

 

"We could remedy the latter," Elrond said. He flicked his eyes toward what remained of the wine and twined a few strands of her hair around one finger.

 

"Too drunk, then." She exhaled shakily, and he stilled his hand, a small crease forming between his brows.

 

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

 

"I don't know. Too much and too quickly?"

 

Elrond moved back to give her room as she made to sit up, and he asked, "Do you want me to go?"

 

Gil-galad didn’t answer right away, but fished around in the cushions until she’d located her shirt, which she hurriedly pulled back on, feeling a little less vulnerable once she was covered up.

 

“I don’t know,” she said softly, dropping her gaze.

 

She’d never done this before. She knew Elrond had walked out with a few women – that scribe with the green eyes, and that lobsterman’s daughter who had been so pretty. But Gil-galad had never even kissed anyone, not seriously. There had been pretend kisses with Maewen when the two of them were girls, what they’d called practicing, but that didn’t really count.

 

Much to Gil-galad’s relief, when she gathered the nerve to look back at Elrond’s face, he seemed sympathetic, not upset.

 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have gotten carried away. I just– I like you a lot. I have for a while. And the way you were looking at me–”

 

“I like you a lot, too,” Gil-galad interjected. “You’re…you weren’t wrong about the way I was looking at you. But…I’m nervous. I’ve never done this before. And we went pretty far for a first kiss. And I think maybe we’re both a little too drunk to be doing this right now.”

 

"Do you want me to go?" he asked again.

 

She hesitated for a moment before saying, “Maybe. But– this isn’t necessarily rejection, all right? This isn’t me saying no. This is me saying I need to sober up and think things over before I can give you a real answer.”

 

For a moment Elrond looked as though he was going to reach out for her, but the movement seemed to still before it had even begun. “All right,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait for your answer.” Flashing her that quick, sly smile she knew so well, he added, “I’m good at waiting. I’ve had a lot of practice.”

 

Then he was gone, closing the door softly behind him.

 

*************

 

“What’s going on with you and Elrond?” Erestor asked as he and Gil-galad ate a quiet lunch together two days later.

 

“What do you mean?” Gil-galad said, not meeting her friend’s eyes.

 

“You’ve been so damn polite to each other the past couple of days,” he said. “It’s making my teeth hurt. Did you have an argument?”

 

She shook her head, but could feel her face heating.

 

“All right,” Erestor said. “Did you have sex?”

 

“What? No! Why would you ask that?”

 

“You have a hickey behind your ear,” he said, tapping two fingers against the corresponding spot on his own neck.

 

“Damn,” Gil-galad muttered, her own hand flying to the indicated spot. She’d dressed carefully yesterday and today, and she’d thought – she’d hoped – that none of the marks Elrond had left on her skin would show.

 

“I’m not blind, Ereiniel,” Erestor said, his voice unusually gentle. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching. But I will admit to being a little surprised. I wasn’t certain you liked men. And don’t look at me like that,” he added, as Gil-galad gaped at him. “What do you think I’m going to do, go out and denounce you in the streets?”

 

He popped a clam fritter into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed, before saying, “I haven’t said a word to anyone before this, and I’m not going to say a word to anyone now, either. You are who you are. You like who you like. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, no matter what other people might say.”

 

“How long have you known?” Gil-galad asked, her voice hoarse. “It’s not obvious, is it?”

 

With a quirk of his mouth, Erestor said, “Well, I didn’t know until just now. But I’ve suspected for a while. You used to look at Maewen in a certain way, when we were younger. And there are hordes of men in this city interested in romancing you, but you’ve shown no inclination to even glance at any of them, let alone pursue something. Of course, that could easily be explained by you doubting that any of them are interested in you as opposed to your position, but like I said, you used to look at Maewen in a  certain way. I had what you might call a hunch.”

 

Gil-galad deflated. Erestor had always been sharp-eyed and hard to fool, and she should have known she wouldn’t be able to keep her inclinations a secret from him forever. And, well, he was Erestor. She’d known him practically her whole life. He was one of her best and most trusted friends, and for all that he might have a sharp tongue, she also knew that he was unshakably loyal to her. He wouldn’t reveal her secrets to anyone.

 

“You’re right,” she said, and lowered her voice. “I do…like women that way. And I did have a terrible crush on Maewen when we were younger. And I wasn’t even sure I liked men until recently. But I like Elrond. And for the record, we did not have sex. We kissed, and we touched a bit, and then I stopped things because we were both a little drunk and I thought we were moving too quickly. That’s all that happened.”

 

“And would you like more than that to happen?” Erestor asked, pinning her down in his level, grey gaze.

 

She could feel her face turning hot and red, and she looked away sharply. “What kind of question is that?” she demanded.

 

“A relevant one,” Erestor said. “Is this something you want to pursue seriously? The two of you aren’t so closely related that you couldn't marry. It’d be a good political move, too – uniting the ruling line of the House of Finwë with the last of the line of Elu Thingol.”

 

“I am not even going to think about mixing politics with marriage,” Gil-galad interrupted. “I saw how well that worked for my parents, and I am not making the same mistake.”

 

“Gil-galad,” Erestor said, “I say this with great affection, because you are my dearest friend, but sometimes you are really, really stupid. You’re the king. Any marriage you make will have a political component. The only way you’ll be able to avoid mixing marriage and politics is to not get married at all.”

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Gil-galad–”

 

She sighed and, her voice low, said, “Do you have any idea how often I used to hear my mother crying when my father came to Eglarest? Most nights he would sleep in one of Círdan’s guest rooms, and Nana and I would stay in our rooms, and she’d put me to bed, and then I’d hear her through the wall, crying herself to sleep. I didn’t understand why back then, but I know now. He never should have married her, not if he couldn’t love her the way she deserved to be loved. And I’m not going to do that to anyone. I may have…inclinations like my father’s, but I won’t risk hurting anyone the way he hurt Nana.”

 

“Someday, you’re going to have to learn to forgive him,” Erestor said quietly. “I know what he did hurt your mother, and hurt you, but you can’t stay angry forever. It’s not good for you, Gil-galad.”

 

“He should have broken things off with Maedhros as soon as he decided to ask my mother to marry him. And if he couldn’t bring himself to do that, then he never should have asked her for her hand in the first place.”

 

“And if he’d done that, you never would have been born. You’re wishing yourself into nonexistence. Listen to me. No, listen,” he insisted as Gil-galad opened her mouth to retort. “You’re not your father. Yes, you have some things in common, but you’re not him, and you’re not going to turn into him, no matter how afraid you might be that you will. You need to let this go, otherwise you’re going to let your fear get in the way of your happiness. Elrond likes you, and you like him. You’re going to slam the door on that because of something your father did? Don’t be ridiculous, Ereiniel.”

 

These days Erestor rarely called her by her birth name, only doing so when he particularly wanted her attention, so Gil-galad found herself forced to pause and consider his words. Was she afraid of turning into her father, as Erestor had just claimed? What did she want to happen between herself and Elrond? Was she turning her back on an opportunity and a future that could be happy?

 

Erestor seemed to realize that she was thinking, and he didn’t speak again, but tackled the rest of his lunch as he waited for her answer.

 

“I am afraid of turning into him, aren’t I?” she finally said, her voice a little hoarse. “You’re right.”

 

“Of course I’m right,” Erestor said, wiping his fingers on a napkin and looking back at his king. “I know you, Gil-galad – better, I think, than anyone else does. If I can’t help you get your head straightened out, who can?”

 

“All right, you’ve made your point,” Gil-galad said. “I won’t dismiss the idea out of hand. I’ll give it due consideration.”

 

Erestor smiled at her and, gently, said, “That’s all I can ask. Now finish your lunch; you’re due to meet with Lord Círdan in ten minutes to discuss the latest proposal but forth by the craftsmen’s delegation.”

 

*************

 

As Gil-galad undressed that evening and unbraided her hair, she continued to think about what Erestor had said. His articulation of that fear that she’d never realized she’d even had had felt like a monumental epiphany, and she wondered what else her friend knew about her that she herself didn’t.

 

She didn’t want to turn into her father. That was true. But she wasn’t going to, was she? After all, she was considering Elrond’s feelings and the feelings of any hypothetical spouse she might have – something Fingon should have done, but manifestly hadn’t. And she did like Elrond, in a way that she thought might easily turn into love.

 

It had always seemed unlikely to Gil-galad that someone would desire her for her, for who she was as opposed to what she was. The few men who had been bold enough to try to romance her had all seemed far more interested in her power and influence than they were in her as an individual, and she knew full well that her power and influence were her main positive traits. After all, she was hardly pretty and frankly didn’t try to be, dressing in men’s-style clothing and having adopted a male title.

 

She knew, because she did have agents on the ground and it was part of her job to know what her people were saying among themselves, that some in the city whispered that she was trying to be a man, to make up for the House of Finwë’s lack of a living male heir. But that wasn’t the case. She’d called herself king because the word carried more weight among the Noldor than queen, and she’d always found men’s clothing more comfortable, from the time she was a young girl.

 

Apparently Elrond didn’t mind any of that. And he could hardly be seeking power. He was already her heir, and in that role he wielded plenty of influence of his own. Elrond, it seemed, was actually interested in Gil-galad for her own sake.

 

Gil-galad could believe that.

 

I’ll talk to him tomorrow, she thought as she climbed beneath the covers of her bed. He always wakes up early to watch the sunrise. I’ll find him in the morning and I’ll tell him yes.

 

Chapter End Notes

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