The Water Is Fine by Gwanath Dagnir

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

Gil-galad emerged from the rinsing chamber to sparser reception than his infrequent appearance in Mithlond’s luxurious spa house usually attracts. Most of those Elves in attendance huddled like potted flowers around the perimeter of the hall, speaking discreetly behind fanned fingers or strategically draped hair. Behind him, the echo of spring water spilling against the stone floor muffled their musical voices, unnaturally pitched with restrained excitement. He followed the path of their darting and wondrous gazes to where a collection of lords stood in anxious formation before the heated soaking pool, as though each plotted how to snatch the same gem coveted by all unnoticed.

As he neared, the instigation of the night’s strange atmosphere revealed itself. “Ah, good…” Gil-galad smiled to see the newest addition to this court – a rare gem indeed. “I was beginning to wonder if my invitations had reached you. Welcome at last, Half-elven!”

The lords snapped to attention and parted with bows and hasty greetings, their rapture broken by the king’s cordial words.

Now unfenced, Elrond stood out like a tree in a lily farm: stripped down to the base layer of his regular clothes in contrast to the minimal coverings worn by the Elves, and suspiciously dry given the occasion.
“Thank you,” he said, “and for your invitations that piqued my interest. I may not have learned that this place exists otherwise – no one seems to speak of it outside of these walls.”

“Mm, unsurprising, I suppose. Not many here have developed a habit for it, as you can see,” said Gil-galad, looking around. Small alcoves lined the walls surrounding the central resting pool where physiotherapies or meditation could be taken, but any would-be participants instead milled around outside the abandoned rooms, trying not to stare at tonight’s unexpected guest but doing mostly that. “Perhaps it will grow more popular with time. Submersion in hot springs in-between dousing with fresh snow became a regular custom of the people of Nargothrond. This temple is but a humble recreation that I only recently commissioned to be constructed.”

“Interesting!” Elrond stepped past the lords who still lingered with hope of regaining his attention, joining closer to Gil-galad – perhaps a subtle demonstration of his preferred company. “The Laiquendi of Ossiriand had similar traditions. They built tight lodges to engulf with steam from coal and damp herbs. One would sit within and endure the heat for therapeutic effect.”

“Oh, we know of their weed craft, those funny Green-elves,” said Galdor, one of those who lingered, though he alone made it look like an obligation. He idly examined the wispy tail of his long braid, saying on, “My Ñoldorin friends in Eglarest ever speculated if imbibing all those herbs kept the Green-elves so notoriously passive and content with such a- let’s say, ‘uncomplicated’ lifestyle throughout the years.”

Elrond shifted, seeming reluctant to agree, “It’s true, they know a great deal about the various properties of plant life.”

“Please, take no offence! Since you had some association with their kind, after all.” Galdor flung the chestnut rope over his shoulder ceremoniously. “Of course, we Teleri are more accepting of our distant cousins, despite their quirks. And besides, the Ñoldor have made plenty famous examples of being too industrious for their own good, wouldn’t you say?”

Gil-galad interjected to spare Elrond the chore of conjuring another response out of sheer politeness, “Well, this at least is one Ñoldorin invention that should be considered harmless, and I for one am ready to test it. Elrond, did you come alone, or has anyone explained the ins and outs?”

Two lords took a step forward with open hands, as if competing to chaperone. Elrond pretended not to see. “Get wet, get hot, cool down, dry off?”

Gil-galad laughed. “Astonishingly prescient. Come then!”

They walked as a loose group toward shallow stairs that gave entrance to an eerie field of steam dancing upon the heated pool underneath. On the way, Alubenn kept pace with Elrond, and was heard speaking favorably of his own dealings with the Laiquendi as former Trade Administrator in Forlindon. “I have not visited where they dwell East of the Ered Luin since assuming my new position in Mithlond as Gil-galad’s treasurer, but we are glad for their allegiance. Ah – look here, even these we have their harvesting to thank for! This varietal only grows in the shade of those woods.” He raised a handful of fragrant petals large as oak leaves out of the water, but turning, realized Elrond stood halted at the edge of the pool. “Erm, you might wish to disrobe first.”

“Of course,” he said, but hesitated while the elves passed by on his right and left, discarding what little they wore before descending the stairs to submerge with a combination of grateful and laboured moans. They splashed and stretched and splayed their lithe limbs, like pale spiders grooming in a misty web. Alone as the last one standing and the only one dressed, he pulled off his shirt. Then he stood alone as the only one with a warrior’s physique and the scars to prove it, under skin stippled with hair in the manner of men. All talking ceased at once. A dozen pairs of bright eyes shone out at him from the haze, unblinking and wide. “What?”

“Nothing,” Gil-galad spoke first. Around him, some averted their faces to conceal a smile or made a wordless noise. To humble them, he continued louder, “I suspect you may find some practices of Elvish modesty rather nonsensical, as do many the same age as you and I. For example, nudity is perfectly mundane in situations such as this, yet the act of undressing is regarded as salacious. Never mind, carry on and join us.”

Elrond moved ahead to shed his breeches and loin cloth, muttering as he did so, “You all stripped naked…”

“But we were mostly there already, is the only difference.” Gil-galad threw up his hands. “It’s silly, I know! That’s why such persnickety sensibilities seem beneath the Wise. Now go easy as you come in, it can take time to adjust, especially for newcomers. We don’t want you fainting!”

Elrond sank into the depths without pause. “I have never fainted, lord. Not even at the sight of a man undressing.”

This roused hearty laughter from the elves, and the mood remained light as they settled into place around the social circle and resumed their casual chatter.

Gil-galad maintained his place beside the Half-elven, replicating their proximity that Elrond established earlier. “Gossip of those smoke lodges reached my ears as well, though I do not pass the same judgement as our friend Galdor. You seem to have more than a passing familiarity with the practice, so tell me, did you ever partake yourself? I’m always curious to learn what folk get up to for amusement outside of court.”

Elrond gave a measured answer, “In a word yes, yet not how you might expect.”

“After this, we ought to expect you to walk into a steam house fully clothed,” said Galdor. When few acknowledged his attempt at humour, he tried again, “Maybe you have those pockets stuffed with herbs and intended to dose us during this very soak!”

“I would pay a high price for such herbs, if they could improve your mood,” said Limnauth, earning the laughter withheld by the crowd before.

“You were saying.” Gil-galad moved to match Elrond, reclining against the edge with outstretched arms.

“Well, obviously the recreational application has gained notoriety amongst those unacquainted. But chiefly, the technique was developed for medicinal purposes, which is what led the Ñoldor to incorporate it into their own treatments, and that wisdom came with us to the battlefront of War – thankfully for me, and for many others.”

A fearful gasp escaped Alubenn. “Were you injured?”

Elrond laughed, such a stark diversion from his solemn words that it took the elves aback. “Injured, yes, and poisoned – and both, more than once. What noble folk feel entitled to call the ‘weed craft of those funny Green-elves’ can purge not only venom of creature or toxin of plant, but even evil effects of the Dark Arts. Be less smug to deride the tools in an armory that defends you! For the power to heal is a weapon the Eldar must forever hold greater mastery of than the Enemy.” Suddenly he stood full upright, again that tree amongst lilies grown imposing and hard, causing those already wary of his fey turn to make space. Then just as quickly he seemed to change back, and falter. “And… also it can soothe a rough mood, of course. Even mine. But sorry – I left all the good stuff in my other pants.”

The elves laughed, relaxing once again.

“Well!” said Gildor jovially, “I am good and tenderized now. Who will join me for a turn with the birch?”

Gil-galad made to speak, but Limnauth eagerly assumed the role of interpreter of Elven culture. “See there,” he said to Elrond, pointing to a recess wider and shallower than the darkened chambers on either side. “The whiskers feel wonderful against ripened skin.” On racking along the wall hung bundles of branch or braided twine in different varietals and sizes and shape, like specialized tools of torture designed to break any disposition.

Before he could continue, Elrond interrupted with a distant voice, “I get it. Thank you.” His eyes remained fixed upon the menace of that rack’s inventory.

“You all go ahead,” said Gil-galad, once the others were too far removed to change course gracefully. “I’ve been beaten quite enough throughout the budgeting summit today. Elrond, why not come keep me company. The cooling shower is my favourite, I’ll show you.”

The elves proceeded to their destination, though some cast back longing glances to where their king and the Half-elven retreated alone.

“How are you acclimating?” Gil-galad asked quietly as they walked.

“Ai…” Elrond groaned, “As clumsily as ever.” They turned to enter a bulbous chamber encircled by arching doorways and loud with water cascading from a network of faucets carved into the center of its ceiling. “Seems to always be the case that if someone isn’t inadvertently goading me into painful subjects, I manage to stumble into them all on my own despite how well I know the pitfalls.”

Gil-galad hesitated before reaching out his hand, stopping Elrond from going under the deluge. “I meant the heat. When you stood up that way in the bath, I thought it was getting to you.”

Elrond stared in a silent scream of disbelief, then burst out laughing. “Well, there I go again!” He bent forward, laughing harder, before regaining composure. “No, I’m fine. Truly.”

Reluctantly, Gil-galad let him go. “Because this is the last thing you want to do, otherwise.” He followed Elrond’s bold stride into the downpour, and no milder than the hundred times before, found himself shocked breathless by the biting cold against his primed flesh. Once his head rang with that familiar frenzied song of panic and gusto, he emerged with an exhilarated outburst, and cleared his eyes. Beside him, Elrond was doubled over again, but did not laugh nor seem to be able to move. “Curse me,” he hissed. “Please, don’t pass out, this floor is the worse place to end up. Here, sit, quickly.”

By the time he manhandled Elrond onto the nearest bench, something resembling laughter reemerged out of him between incredulous gasps. “Valar- have mercy,” he rasped. “I was- not prepared for that!”

“Sorry. I had a feeling it would hit you hard.” Gil-galad sat beside him and slapped his knee encouragingly. “Breathe deep and relax, it will soon pass. Your color is returning already.”

“Why is it so cold?”

Gil-galad laughed. “We siphon the water from an artic current. I think it’s splendid! Don’t you feel just so radiantly alive?”

“Cruelly punished, more like. Next time I might as well suffer the lashing.”

Gil-galad could only bring himself to nod, though he recognized by now when Elrond was making light of dark matters for his own sake. Against all intention, his gaze found its way to the lattice of scars upon the Half-elven’s back; the slow-fading legacy of an orc’s vile handiwork with a whip. Since his arrival in Mithlond and swift assimilation to the king’s court, Elrond had shared only sparse details about his childhood, or his role in the Great War that largely overlapped. The origin of those scars is one such rare tale that haunted Gil-galad – if the prospect of a friendly flogging with the birch recalled it to his own mind, he despaired to imagine Elrond’s turmoil.

“Thank you, by the way, for your intervention back there,” said Elrond, with the tone of one who could read minds. “Your tact is exceptional when it comes to negotiating delicate matters. And you anticipate enkindling situations better than any.” He made a small weave with his fingers, as though summoning more words. “Believe it or not, I am trying to integrate, I want to. This is all just- still strange. New, I should say. But good – at times overwhelmingly so. I’m glad to be here.”

Gil-galad roused himself from basking in the glow of those compliments. “No doubt the elves here would say they feel the same about you. Oh, not that you’re strange, you’re perfect- I mean, in the new and good sense.” He stood up. Was his stomach aflutter? He stretched his arms overhead. “Anyway! If you feel up for it, we usually make two rounds at least.”

“Yes indeed, I will have my redemption.” Elrond stood as well, tall and straight. Despite his insult to the shower, he looked refreshed by it, and smiled. “Besides, no one has yet posed awkward questions regarding intimate aspects of my mixed breeding, which seems to be a staple of Elvish conversation in my company. They shall have another opportunity before this night is through.”

Under the arch of the doorway, Gil-galad brought them to another pause. The elves were finishing with the birch and would soon head toward the shower to douse themselves before their next soak. “I know you jest, and ever have you been hospitable to the shameless curiosity of my people, but it must be vexing.”

A one-shouldered shrug did not deny it. “In this way I was born unlike my brother. He would relish such attention. I may demur, but I understand. It’s normal to scrutinize the abnormal.”

“Well- the nature of their interest may exceed your unique heritage, though it comes easy to mind for discussion. You are not exactly a burden on the eyes!” The way Elrond looked at him, like a blank page rapidly scribed with never-before imagined fantasy, made Gil-galad feel flush. He pointed with a quick glance to the subject of his talk. “Elves tend to divine significance from the subtlest of gestures. If you would indulge me, I can lend you some reprieve from their tiresome engrossment.”

Elrond inclined ever so slightly. “How?”

Gil-galad smiled. “By fixing your hair.” He brought up his hand, and very slowly, drew the tip of one finger under a wayward lock of black silk and over the muscled peak of Elrond’s shoulder, continuing the journey long after the job was done. “There. None would be so insolent to pursue their King’s desire, now that they presume to know my fancy. Feel free to break the spell any time, of course, should you wish to pursue your own desire in sooth.”

“How?” Elrond asked again, giving no indication that any of this was sinking in.

“Just… well, just do exactly as I did, or something.”

His innocuous look barely intensified as his own finger followed the line of Gil-galad’s collar bone, whether a hair was out of place there or not. The faintest smirk betrayed his overly innocent tone, “Like that?”

Stupefied, Gil-galad stared into the kaleidoscopic gaze fixed upon him, striving to glean the true intention that would be evident by a dozen different signals in a full-blooded Elf, but in the Half-elven read as a foreign language. Instead of a window into the heart of another, he saw a mirror into his own, and realized the real mystery to be solved: was he relieving Elrond of unwanted attention, or exercising his own affection? And by all that is holy: Did. He. Just. Flirt. Back.

In an instant they snapped out of it, blinked at each other, and burst out laughing.

By then the elves were close enough to pretend not to have watched the entire exchange, riveted and jealous and dying to tell the whole court in secret. They passed by with knowing smiles and idle pratter – and a subtly wider berth.

 

~fin~