Sleep would not come to the former High King. Once he had spoken with Galadriel, once *his* presence had been invoked, thoughts of Elrond would not let him rest. Frustrated and resigned to a sleepless night, he rose and stepped out into the evening air. Gil-galad’s hands tightly clenched the railing of his talan. *Elrond*. No thought had he given, or much chance of reflection was he allowed before he was thrust back upon Arda’s shores. But, was there still a place for a once-upon-time King, here. Now? And what of Elrond, his reason for returning? The half-Elf had been married, was still married according to Elvish law. He had children and was undisputedly a powerful Elf-lord, renowned for his wisdom and healing abilities. When he had served Gil-galad, Elrond had been young in Elvish years, and had looked up to the wiser King. But now, Elrond had more than grown into the promise the Valar had seen. *Was there a place in Elrond’s arms and heart for him any longer*?

Had Elrond loved Celebrían? That thought, though unfair, haunted Gil-galad. He had not wanted Elrond to bury his heart after his death, but the idea of *his* Elrond in the arms of another sent him into a rage. His anger at Galadriel unabated, Gil-galad knew he would not linger long in Lothlórien. But was he ready to travel to Imladris? No, Gil-galad knew he was not. Perhaps for the very first time, the brave warrior, who had not trembled even before Sauron himself, was afraid. His musings were disturbed by the entrance of Haldir. Gil-galad let go of thoughts of tomorrow, at least for this night.

Haldir hesitantly approached the High King. “Sire, I am sorry for the disturbance. Lord Celeborn felt you would not wish to join the crowds in the main talan for dinner so I have brought you a tray.” Haldir entered and deposited his burden on a small table. He backed away and gave the King a small bow.

Gil-galad eyed the proud Galadhel sadly. “Haldir, please, no more with the titles.” He gave the Elf a small smile. “As you are well aware, I am a King no longer. The Elves of Arda no longer have a High King.” He stopped Haldir’s objections with a raised hand. “I have not been returned for that purpose, Haldir. Indeed, that is the last burden I wish to carry once more.” Gil-galad moved closer to the silent guard. He warmly smiled into the Elf’s hazel eyes. “You see before you, mellonen, an ordinary Elf.”

Haldir reacted to the former King’s words at once. “No Sire, you are far from ordinary!”

Gil-galad squeezed Haldir’s shoulder. “Please, Haldir. I remember fighting along side you and your father. He was a brave and honorable Elf, and I was deeply saddened by his joining me in the Halls of Waiting.” Gil-galad sat and uncovered the tray Lórien fare. He drew a deep appreciative whiff of real food, his taste buds exploding. A huge smile spread across his face. Something else he had greatly missed!

Haldir moved back, smiling at the expression upon Gil-galad’s face. “I will leave you, Si-,” he broke off at Gil-galad’s mock glare. “My lord,” Haldir stressed, smiling. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Gil-galad eyed the broad back of the retreating Galadhel, an idea coming to him. “Haldir,” he called. When the younger Elf turned back, Gil-galad asked. “Would it be possible to spar with you and your men on the morrow?” He shrugged his shoulders, somewhat embarrassed. “It has been some time, and this reborn body of mine could use the exercise.”

Haldir laughed. “Of course, my Lord, it would be an honor. I will come for you in the morning. Rest well.”

Once the Galadhel left, the smile slipped from Gil-galad’s face. Even the long missed pleasure of food did not improve his spirits. He had spoken truly to Haldir; his place in this new Arda was unsure and unknown. The Elven realms were well ruled by their current Lords and Lady, no longer was there a place for one King. Besides, the crown when he had worn it had been a daunting burden. Many a day had he wished to shed the shackles of ruling for a more simple life. Well, now was his chance. The only problem was he did not know how to be a simple Elf. But, Gil-galad thought, a familiar challenging gleam in his eye, he would find out.

As expected, no rest did the former King enjoy that night. Instead, a firm decision was reached. Never in his first life did Gil-galad shy from hard choices or difficult tasks and he would not start his second life by doing either. He would take time to regroup, to relearn what it meant to live once more. When he had acquainted himself with this changed Arda, he would make the journey to Imladris and face another ghost of his past.

Morning brought him up and dressed and awaiting Haldir’s arrival. He greeted the guard in good spirits and followed him to the training grounds. Silence greeted his appearance among the guards. He walked among them, never feeling more isolated than he did at that moment. Haldir stopped before two other Elves both of whom bore a striking resemblance to the Marchwarden.

“My Lord, may I introduce my two brothers? This is Rúmil and Orophin.” Haldir placed a hand upon both brothers’ shoulders. “Orophin is the baby of the family.” He laughed at the scowl he received for adding that little bit.

Gil-galad warmly returned the warriors’ greetings, glad to ease some of the tension his arrival had brought. “Mae govannen, it is indeed an honor to meet you both. I fought along side your sire and was saddened that he fell in battle with me.”

Rúmil and Orophin both thanked Gil-Galad and moved back to their assignments, leaving Haldir and the King alone. Gil-galad looked at his partner for the morning. “Well, Haldir, what weapon shall we start with? Now please remember that this new form has not yet touched a weapon. I trust that you will take it easy on an old out-of-shape warrior?”

Haldir warmly clasped the King’s arm, laughing as he led the way to the armory. More stares and halted conversations followed their progress. The armory provided a few moments of ease, but the attention returned once they emerged back into the sunlight. Haldir noticed how the silence and uneasy looks were discomforting to the former King. He looked over at Gil-galad. “My Lord, I know of a place better suited for a sparring practice. Plus, it is blessed by being near a stream for a swim after we are finished. What say you?”

Gil-galad nodded gratefully at the guard. “That sounds excellent, Haldir. Lead on.”

The clearing where Haldir led them was indeed better suited to Gil-galad’s needs. The open area was big enough for two Elves to have ease of movement, but the surrounding trees and foliage gave some well-needed privacy. For the next hour the small clearing rang with the sounds of blade upon blade. After a sweaty draw was agreed upon, the pair collapsed in exhaustion. Gil-galad felt every muscle in his re-born form, but upon his face was a smile. He had forgotten the simple joy of working one’s muscles, the feel of exertion in one’s limbs, and the thrill of an evenly matched opponent. He glanced over at the heavily breathing Marchwarden, secretly pleased that he had provided such a fine challenge.

“Haldir, I enjoyed that immensely. Long has it been since I felt this alive!” The pair collapsed, hysterical at the High King’s unintended pun.

Haldir rose and offered the laughing King a hand. “None of your skill have you lost, my Lord. Now, how about that swim?”

Gil-galad accepted the limb. “Ah, that would be most welcome.” Tunics and leggings were shed quickly at the prospect of a refreshing dip. Gil-galad stepped into the pool of water, and at the first sensation of the cool liquid upon his skin he forgot all about his companion.

Enrapt he stared down into the clear depths. Goosebumps covered his skin and a shiver of reaction danced through his frame. Gil-galad kept his eyes open as he submerged under the water. Floating, he looked in wonder at the world revealed around him. Small fish and plants danced past him as he stretched out his arms and began swimming. He burst to the surface, a joyous cry upon his lips. So long! It had been so long since he had felt such pleasure. The cool water caressed his skin like a long past lover. The taste of the pure liquid on his lips and tongue…so precious, so taken for granted.

Only gradually did he become aware of Haldir’s stare. Finding the Galadhel eyeing him with amazement, he flushed. “I have always enjoyed bathing,” he simply said. He joined Haldir in laughter, not minding that it was at himself.

Over the next several weeks Haldir became a valuable companion to the former King. Sparring, exploring, or even just seated around a fire sharing stories and happenings, his presence helped Gil-galad greatly. Little did he see Galadriel or Celeborn, preferring to spend his time among the Galadhrim. Much as before, Gil-galad was more at home among the warriors than the politicians. Each morning, every sunset, every morsel of food... all were treasure to the re-born Elf. Gil-galad enjoyed everything he had previously overlooked. The simple pleasure one could find in a fresh fruit or a sweet wine no longer were simple pleasures taken for granted. Every Elf, from the smallest Elfling to the most battle-hardened warrior was of interest to the former King. Much time did he spend simply conversing.  Elflings loved to sit upon Gil-galad’s lap and hear tales of old. That their storyteller lived during the events he described never occurred to them, but how does one explain the concept of death and rebirth to the very young?

Gil-galad began accompanying the Galadhrim on their patrols, his unassuming and eager manner endearing him to the members of Haldir’s patrol. Many an evening he would tell of battles of old and answer question after question tirelessly. One evening, after everyone else had sought their bedrolls, he and Haldir remained by the fire. Gil-galad could sense that the other Elf was troubled by something and caught more than one hesitant glance in his direction. Finally, unable to tolerate the stifling silence between them, Gil-galad spoke up. “Come, Haldir, spit it out, will you? Whatever it is that has you so disconcerted, just say it.”

Haldir sighed, his eyes trained on the fire. After a few moments he seemed to have worked up his courage and turned to look at the former High King. “How much longer will you continue to hide here, my Lord?”

Gil-galad looked away, a flush staining his cheeks. “I know not of what you mean, Haldir. I am not hiding here, as you say.”

Haldir scooted closer. He waited until the King had swung his eyes back to Haldir’s. “You have become a dear companion these few weeks. I only say this because I have come to care for you, my Lord. Indeed you are hiding. You are hiding from the world and more importantly, you are hiding from Elrond.” Haldir looked regretfully at his friend. “I do not say this with any desire to see you go, I will miss your company greatly. But, mellonen, you do not belong here in the Golden Wood. Your place is with your heart’s desire, Elrond.”

Gil-galad looked into his friend’s concerned eyes. His shoulders trembled for a moment before he took a deep breath. Haldir was right. He had been hiding, avoiding, what ever one called it. He had been putting off reaching any decisions. Decisions about his future, about Elrond, decisions about anything. Now it appeared the time for hiding was over. He leaned in and drew Haldir into a hug, grateful for such a caring friend. “You are right,” he whispered. Gil-galad said no more, leaving Haldir next to the fire. He went to his bedroll and lay down.

Nothing more was said the rest of patrol, but upon their return to Caras Galadhon Gil-galad went to see Galadriel and Celeborn.  Both greeted him cautiously. He bowed and thanked them for their hospitality, all pretending that it had been consensually. Gil-galad met his cousin’s eyes, seeing in them some unease. “It is time for me to depart. I will be journeying to Imladris. Is there any message I may give your son-in-law?” He asked, no emotion in his voice.

Galadriel did not speak. Only Celeborn was brave enough to answer their former King. “No, Gil-galad, no message, just that of our love to our grandchildren.” Celeborn ignored his wife’s glare. “We will, of course, send an escort with you. I believe Haldir and his brothers would welcome such a task. You have made a great many friends here, Gil-galad and many will be sad to see you depart.”

Gil-galad simply nodded, unable as of yet to forgive his one-time friend. “I thank you, Celeborn.” Gil-galad left without a backwards glance. He packed the few possessions he had managed to collect and made calls to the friends he had made, wishing each a sad farewell. He had indeed enjoyed his time in the Golden Wood and would miss his friends. That night a surprised and grateful Gil-galad was lead to the main fountain where a feast was held to formally say goodbye to the King. Gil-galad was especially touched with the sword that all the Galadhrim had contributed in gifting him with. The gleaming mithril blade bore the Elvish inscription “Forget Not the Golden Wood.” It was with a saddened, yet nervously hopeful heart, that Gil-galad left Lothlórien and headed towards Imladris and Elrond.

Gil-galad knew as they stopped for the night that his unease and nervousness was noticed. Even his horse sensed its master’s unrest and danced nervously under Gil-galad’s weight. He could not stop his thoughts or keep his mind from traveling to the half-Elf and what welcome awaited him. How would Elrond react? What of the Peredhel’s children? Would they welcome him into their home, the former domain of their mother? All these questions and more kept the former King awake through out the first days of their journey. It was with a great deal of thankfulness a week into their trip that Gil-galad greeted Haldir’s suggestion of a hunt.

Silently Gil-galad crept through the forest, the borrowed Lórien bow at the ready. He stopped, ears picking up a sound not heard in centuries. Orcs! He stayed still, mind busy. He did not know the other’s position, having wanted the solitude of his own company. Quickly gaining a position in the trees, Gil-galad strained his ears for a better fix on the enemy’s location. He did not know if the others would recognize a Lindon warning call, but chancing it, he put his lips together and whistled: one high note, one low note. Faint rustling, too low for any but Elven ears could be heard and Gil-galad relaxed. The others were close.

Their smell announced their presence before the Orcs’ forms could be seen. Gil-galad fought the compulsion to cover his nose and mouth. Never had he thought to encounter that odor again! He emptied his mind of any images of battles past, and focused on the Orcs now moving below him. He caught the Galadhrim’s faint call on the air and made ready. When its sister call came, he released arrow after arrow into the screaming bodies below. The battle was quickly over, the creatures no match for the bowmen of Lothlórien. After the carnage, he silently helped the others dispose and burn the Orcs’ bodies. Gil-galad ignored Haldir’s concerned looks and once camp had been set, left the camp alone. The stream was welcomed gratefully. Gil-galad hastily shed his gore-covered garments and plunged into the water. Scrubbing fiercely at his skin, he was unaware of Haldir’s arrival. The Marchwarden voice startled the King. “Are you okay, Gil-galad?” Haldir asked.

Gil-galad looked up at the other Elf, his mouth trying and failing to form words. Gil-galad crumpled to his knees in the water, his eyes revealing remembered horrors. Haldir moved quickly into the water, clothes and boots still on, and caught the former King in a strong embrace. “It’s okay,” he whispered, between the King’s gasps and sobs. He held the trembling form tightly. “Your death?” he asked.

Gil-galad could only nod against Haldir’s shoulder, his body wracked by images of a battle fought in the last Age, a battle that had cost him his life. Gradually, Gil-galad calmed enough for Haldir to lead him to the shore, dry him, and dress him in the clean garments Gil-galad had brought with him. It was a numb, Gil-galad who returned to camp. He accepted the tea Rúmil handed him, gratefully recognizing the smell of sleeping herbs. He was unaware of the watch his sleep was guarded with that night.

As their journey brought them closer to Elrond, Gil-galad grew more withdrawn. His thoughts returned again and again to the words of the Valar. Elrond was suffering; he had been for most of his life. Each brief moment the Peredhel had found happiness it had been ripped from him. First his parents, then his brother; Gil-galad had too left him. Elrond’s wife had been attacked and left for healing in Valinor, and now his daughter, the Evenstar of their people, would choose the same path as Elrond’s brother. A path that would separate father and daughter forever, to become mortal. Gil-galad’s heart bled for his love. The Valar had revealed a further heartache for the Peredhel: his sons, were leaning towards the choice of their sister, to become mortal and die.

Gil-galad was not sure of the Valar’s task for him. It had only been revealed that they wished to ease some of the Peredhel’s suffering by returning a lost loved one to him. But any knowledge of the twins’ possible choice was to be withheld. “Was he perhaps to influence their decision in some fashion? And if so, could he”?

Gil-galad froze at Haldir’s words, “We are within Imladris’ borders.” The time was upon him. He would soon face the only person he had ever loved, but was he welcome?

Cries of “Halt,” were heard. Haldir halted the party as a golden-haired sentry appeared on horseback. Gil-galad recognized those noble features. Glorfindel, Seneschal to Lord Elrond, and the only other re-born Elf on Arda. Glorfindel spoke with Haldir, his attention focused on the Lórien guard. Haldir responded quietly to the Balrog slayer and appeared to be nervous.

Gil-galad turned to Rúmil. “I think it wise that the rest of you wait here a moment and let me greet the Seneschal alone.” He waited for Rúmil’s acknowledging nod before he urged his horse forward.

Gil-galad kept his eyes pinned to those of the Seneschal’s. He could see the same emotions that had appeared in many others at first sight of him: disbelief. He rode close to the Elda, waiting calmly for the blond to recover from the shock. He met those proud eyes blank-faced. Until he greeted Elrond and judged his welcome, it was better to remain calm and collected.

Glorfindel placed a hand over his heart, his words emotional. “If I did not know myself sane, I would swear that I’d consumed too much of Thranduil’s Dwarf wine.” At the Seneschal’s words, Gil-galad burst out laughing. Warmly he accepted the awkward, horseback embrace, his heart warmed by the Seneschal’s carefree welcome.

“You also consume too much wine, my friend. That is one of your many charms.” Gil-galad pulled back and smiled at his very much-missed comrade. “Are you brave enough, Balrog slayer, to lead me forward?” Gil-galad asked, his face becoming serious.

Glorfindel’s mirth too vanished. He gravely looked into the King’s eyes. “Do you not feel that some sort of warning is needed? To spring this on him with no advance notice, might be a bit much.”

Gil-galad looked to Haldir, and sighed at the Galadhel’s nod of agreement. He looked down then swung off his horse. Gil-galad looked up into the blonde’s eyes. “I only ask that you do not delay, Glorfindel. Now that I am this close, it is taking all my will to stand here, where he is not.”

Glorfindel gave the former King’s shoulder a brief squeeze. “I will hurry, though it may take much to convince him of this miracle.” With that, the Seneschal spun his horse around and fled back to Imladris.

Gil-galad did not know how much time passed, but it seemed forever. The agonizing waiting had him pacing and muttering curses to himself. Everyone and everything else was blocked out as he waited. He did not notice the others moving their horses away. Gil-galad felt that his very heart was exploding as he finally heard the faint sound of hoof beats. Closer the sound came, the horse closing the distance fast. Gil-galad kept his head lowered as the horse came to a sudden stop directly in front of him. He tightly closed his eyes. He heard the faint rustling of robes, and then he was overcome by a familiar, beloved fragrance.

Elrond.

Gil-galad dared not look. This could not be real! Tears streamed from under his closed eyelids and he tightly clenched his fist to keep himself still.

The voice, when it came, hit him and sent his body quaking. “Will you not look upon me? P-please open your eyes; look at me, so that I may know this is no dream!” Elrond’s voice was fearful, almost incomprehensible, in its emotion.

Slowly, Gil-galad raised his head and opened his eyes. Silvery-grey eyes like the mist on a rainy morning looked back at him. “Elrond.”

Gray eyes that reflected a silver-like glow, similar to Anor as it begins to peek through the rain clouds, stared back Gil-galad in disbelief. An almost fragile hope showed from Elrond's eyes, as if he did not dare believe what was revealed to him. “Is it really you,” he whispered, his voice quivering with emotion. Gil-galad stepped forward, and closed the distance between them. He cupped that beloved face in his hands. “It is I,” and he said, and pulled Elrond’s trembling lips to his and covered them with a hunger he had not felt in centuries. Elrond crushed his mouth to Gil-galad’s and flung his arms around his lost lover’s body. Joyously, they stood locked together with their lips touching, and their eyes open, each afraid to close them as if the other would then disappear.

Elrond broke away first but only to bury his face in Gil-galad’s black tresses. He tightened his hold clinging desperately. “D-don’t let go,” he cried.

Gil-galad clenched his eyes tightly shut as tears escaped from under his lids. His senses were filled with the long-missed scent of his Elrond. “Never again. I swear,” he whispered in reply to Elrond heart rendering plea.

Neither knew how long they stood with their arms wrapped tightly around the each other their bodies flush together and with tears streaming down their faces. All around them was silence as if the Valar had halted the world to watch their reunion. Birds, trees, and the very wind stood still, joyously allowing the lovers their moment. Gil-galad pulled slightly away and looked down into the Elrond’s face. His eyes greedily absorbed every new line and every new mark that the long centuries had added to Elrond’s beloved face. It was said that time does not show upon Elvish forms but Gil-galad had always believed that suffering certainly could. Elrond’s fair features showed the mark of each hurt, each pain, and each lose, but where his features were once boyishly beautiful they now reflected the wonderful loveliness that comes from experiencing all life’s joys and disappointments. Wisdom was reflected in Elrond’s eyes, and in the lines that had been added to his forehead. His smile was still breathtakingly lovely even though he had not known as many smiles as he once had.  Never had Gil-galad seen anything more awe-inspiring than the beauty of *his* Elrond’s face.

Lush red lips beckoned, their allure only enhanced by the wetness of tears. Unable to resist their pull any longer, Gil-galad hungrily took possession. His kiss was met with a full measure of returned passion. Elrond’s lips opened and his tongue swept in to reclaim familiar territory. Gil-galad groaned as the flavor of Elrond filled his own mouth. No one tasted like the half-Elf! The sweet eternal Elvish flavor of his lips, spiced with the mortal blood that flowed through his veins. Gil-galad moaned his knees weakening as Elrond’s tongue explored every bit of his mouth. No part of each was left unclaimed, untasted, or unaffected. The need, to breathe finally broke them apart. With arms still wrapped tightly around the each other, they gradually rejoined the world around them. They heard the birds singing, the wind dancing through the trees, and the sounds of the restless horses of their guards.

Elrond flushed and glanced back over his shoulder at Glorfindel and the other Imladris guards. He was sure that their faces bore shock at their usually stoic and controlled Lord’s behavior. But only Glorfindel’s slightly bright-eyed gaze met his. The other's faced away, the Seneschal’s orders, no doubt, to ensure his Lord’s privacy. Gil-galad flashed Glorfindel a grateful smile. He sensed that Elrond was uncomfortable with so many witnesses to their reunion. He gave the body in his arms a gentle squeeze returning Elrond’s attention to him. “My love, perhaps we should leave for Imladris and allow the warriors some rest. My escorts from Lothlórien have traveled far and could use some refreshment and ease.”

Elrond frowned. “You came from Lothlórien? I received no message from Galadriel or Celeborn.”

Gil-galad drew Elrond close hugging him tightly for a moment before releasing him and stepping towards their horses. “I will explain all but first let us adjourn to your Halls, Elrond.”

They moved to mount and make the journey to Rivendell. Now apart, Elrond's face grew blank, which meant that the half-Elf was deep in thought. Gil-galad knew where his thoughts had traveled. How would Elrond’s family react to find their father's lost love had returned? He knew that his presence would cause nothing but conflict for Elrond. It was one of the reasons why he had postponed the decision to travel to Imladris as long as he had. Gil-galad had no desire to cause his love more suffering. The Valar had shown him the aftermath that still existed from Celebrían's departure to the Undying Lands. The twins, Elladan and Elrohir, hunted the creatures that had hurt their mother with a single-minded vengeance that was making legends of them. Arwen the Evenstar of their people, spent much of her time in her grandmother's company, finding solace in the Golden Woods.

The closer they came to Imladris the more withdrawn Elrond became. Gil-galad left Elrond to his thoughts, instead focusing his senses on the power he felt once inside the Ring's reach. His skin prickled under the familiar power of Vilya. The power of the Ring of Air danced across his skin, raising the hair on the back of his neck. The power welcomed him it recognized him. Gil-galad shuddered at the very thought of once again having to control such an elemental power. He had no desire to hold Vilya and could not help the guilty thrill that the Ring now was Elrond’s responsibility and, not his own.

He glanced over at the half-Elf and met Glorfindel’s gaze over Elrond’s shoulder. The Elda gave him what he thought was a reassuring smile. As to what Glorfindel thought he had to reassure Gil-galad of he had no idea, but the slightly pained glance that had accompanied that smile sent a twinge of unease through Gil-galad. Elrond was so silent. Gil-galad sent the Peredhel a worried look and spoke, seeking to ease his love's fears, yet hoping his offer would not be accepted. “Elrond, if it would be better, I can wait, and camp out here away from Imladris. That will allow you to prepare your family and subjects first.”

He saw Elrond’s look of surprise, his interrupted thoughts obviously deep and troubling. To his relief, Elrond shook his head before the offer had fully left Gil-galad’s lips. “No, Ereinion. You are always welcome in my home.” Elrond smiled somewhat apologetically at Gil-galad. “I am sorry love, but my mind was filled with thoughts of my children. You must understand, Ereinion. They have been through much and are still trying to heal from their mother's departure.” At the mention of his wife, Elrond flushed and lowered his head, unsure what and how much Gil-galad was aware of his life since they were parted.

It was Gil-galad who grew quiet subtly pulling away though it was unintentional. He could not help the brief flash of betrayal he felt at the mention of Elrond’s children or their mother, *Elrond’s lawful spouse*. What would happen once they arrived at Imladris? If Elrond’s children did not accept him, did not allow him a place in their father's life, could he ask Elrond to choose? No! Never that, Gil-galad knew. He would not do that to the one he loved. But what then of the Valar’s plans? Would not having to choose between his children and his love not indeed add more suffering to the half-Elf? Gil-galad had to shake his head at the thought-out plan of the Valar. Sometimes despite their best intentions, their plans and schemes wrought more harm than good. He understood and appreciated their desire to reward such an honorable Elf. Elrond certainly in his eyes deserved much better than he had been dealt in this life. No, if Gil-galad presence would only cause his lover more pain, then he would remove himself from Elrond’s life. Perhaps he could return to the Golden Wood? Galadriel would not like that but he was sure that Celeborn could be persuaded.

Engrossed in his thoughts, it was with some surprise that Gil-galad looked up seeing that they were about to enter the courtyard. In the distance he could see several Elves awaiting their arrival. Gil-galad glanced over at Elrond. His loves face was pale and he was biting his lower lip. Gil-galad recognized that nervous habit and thought to reassure Elrond. He moved his mount closer and reached over to lay an innocent hand upon the half-Elf's thigh. Elrond responded with a smile but at its edges tension was evident. “My sons are away. They spend the warm months hunting the creatures that injured their mother. But my daughter, Arwen is at home. I am sorry, Ereinion. I know not how to tell them of this miracle.”

Gil-galad squeezed gently before removing his hand. “I know, melethron. I am sorry to add this burden to the others you carry. I will do what you think is best in this, Elrond. Simply tell me, meleth, what you would have me do.” Gil-galad kept his voice lowered; the guards already had witnessed more than their Lord was comfortable with and he did not want to add to the gossip mills.

Elrond sighed, weariness showing on his features. He shook his head and sent Gil-galad a smile that bore a little more ease. “I do not think there is anyway to prepare them for you, melethen. The truth will simply have to do.” Their party came to a stop before the steps of the Last Homely House. A dark-haired Elf awaited them and Gil-galad recognized Elrond's Chief Councilor immediately. He stared back into Erestor’s stunned dark eyes and almost let his smirk show. There was another revelation that the Valar had revealed to him before his departure from the Halls. Erestor had feelings for Elrond though the half-Elf was unaware of them. But what Erestor did not know was that the Valar had other plans for the Advisor, and they were not with Elrond.

He dismounted and awaited Elrond’s move. Glorfindel dismissed the troops and Haldir and his brothers came to stand close to the former High King. Gil-galad thanked Haldir with a smile for his show of support and went to greet Erestor. Elrond and the Advisor were speaking quietly and at Gil-galad’s approach broke off their conversation. Elrond turned and drew the former King forward. “Ereinion you remember Erestor?” Gil-galad greeted Elrond’s cankerous councilor, well remembering the stoic Elf from his early beginnings in Lindon.

Elrond looked almost hesitantly. “Erestor is going to show you to a guest chamber where you can refresh yourself.”

Gil-galad with effort kept his face blank. *So he was not sharing a chamber with Elrond*. The look on the Peredhel’s face showed that he expected some comment or complaint but Gil-galad said nothing. He could understand some of Elrond’s caution. They had not been together for centuries. In a way, they were now strangers. He did not know this new Elrond. His former herald was now a powerful Elf-lord himself. Gil-galad gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I would like a bath and perhaps a rest before the evening meal. Thank you, Elrond and will you also have Haldir and his brothers seen to?”

Elrond nodded not quite able to hide his relief. But as Gil-galad moved past him to follow Erestor, he placed a hand upon Gil-galad's shoulder. “I need to speak to my daughter, Arwen. I will be in my study if you need anything.”

Gil-galad gave one of Elrond’s hands a squeeze. “If you need to talk, after.” He saw the half-Elf nod and followed Erestor through the open doors into Imladris.

Gil-galad lingered in his assigned room only long enough to bathe some of the travel filth from his body and don fresh tunic and leggings. The lush garden of Imladris beckoned. Gil-galad was able to avoid curious eyes by exiting through the terrace of his room. He took great joy in shimmying his way down the large oak tree outside his window, laughing to himself. If anyone saw the former High King of the Noldor fumbling his way through tree climbing, the gossip mills would be awash with new material. Once safely upon the ground and with no little relief that he had made it, Gil-galad stretched and breathed deeply. The air smelled different in Imladris than it did in Lothlórien. Perhaps it was due to the differences in the two Rings, or maybe it was just that this was where Elrond dwelled. Whatever the differences, this felt like home.

The roar of the mighty Bruinen provided background sound to the happy chirping of birds. Nowhere else on Arda was the wind more welcomed, allowed to rustle and dance through the trees, than here, where the Ring of Air ruled. Elrond’s gardens were true treasures, every plant, flower, and tree, healthy, happy and a delight to the senses. Gil-galad had never told Elrond but what he had created here was sheer magic, and that he had done it long before the Ring came into his possession made it all the more incredible. There had been a time when Gil-galad had resented every inch of soil that made up Imladris. The building of Elrond’s refuge had taken his herald, friend, and lover from his side. It had become Elrond’s obsession, and Gil-galad could admit that he had wanted to be the only obsession in the Peredhel’s life.

But death had a way of changing one’s perspective. Looking back, he could see why the half-Elf had been so determined to create this sanctuary. Elrond had never really had one place he could call his own. He had been taken from the home of his childhood, when the sons of Fëanor sacked the Havens of Sirion. After their release by Maglor, Elros and Elrond came after a time to settle in Lindon with Gil-galad.

While none had dared show their prejudices openly, there were certainly whispers and Elrond had heard them. The *finer* Elves, and at that Gil-galad snorted, looked upon the half-Elf as less than them. The insults were subtle; their pure Elvish daughters were not allowed interaction with the Peredhil. Elrond suffered continuous doubts about his abilities, from warrior to healer to Advisor to the High King. But while these suspicions ate away at Elros’ desire to be counted among the Firstborn, they only seemed to fuel the fire that burned in Elrond, even brighter than the full-blooded Elves that shunned him.

Gil-galad knew Elrond had never fully felt welcome in Lindon. The silent censure became worse once they had to also hide their love. Each push by the nobles of the court to have Gil-galad married off and an heir underway only spurred the resentment Elrond began to feel towards the nobles of Lindon. So when Elrond discovered the valley, he had wasted no time in escaping from Lindon and its resentful Elves. Gil-galad had lost something of Elrond when the Peredhel first laid eyes on his valley, but while that knowledge had burned through him with a great deal of bitterness before his death, now it just made him glad. Glad that the half-Elf had had at least this one constant in his life.

Gil-galad reluctantly left his outdoor explorations and moved inside, curious to see what other changes times had wrought. He peeked carefully into the open libraries, knowing there was where Elrond poured one of his other loves. The libraries very impressive, with wall to ceiling volumes, some having been written by the half-Elf himself. Next he explored the dining halls, ignoring the many curious looks and stunned silences his presence caused. The Hall of Fire was welcoming indeed. He could well see it filled with laughter, dancing, and music.

It was the Hall of Memories that caused him the most joy and the most sorrow. Evidence was abound of the loss in Elrond’s past, his presence, Elrond’s brother Elros and his human descendants, and Celebrían. Gil-galad could almost feel the bitter-sweet sense of loss and love in this room. The victorious defeat of Sauron reflected in a mural, the beauty of Celebrían immortalized in a painting, this was where Elrond kept his ghosts. The shards of Narsil lay upon a shrine and the walls were covered in murals, some depicting the mortals who shared Elrond’s blood. There was even a chilling painting of Celebrían’s capture and torture by the Orcs. One mural drew Gil-galad for a closer look. Coming to a stop before the painting, he eyed the testimony of his death painted in vivid colors. There he stood, spear raised defiantly against the Dark Lord Sauron. His last great and foolish moment.

He knew not how long he stared at his image inscribed on the walls of Imladris. It was, finally, the gentle scent of rose that pulled his attention away. He turned and met the eyes of an Elf-maid. Gil-galad had not heard another’s presence and he silently studied the female just as he himself was studied. Her identity he knew immediately. Even though her eyes were a deep rich blue, everything else about her screamed Elrond. So this was Arwen, the Evenstar of their people. She was as lovely as the legends said. The pair regarded the other, each waiting for the other to speak. Since he was the intruder in her home, he broke the standoff.

Gil-galad bowed. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Arwen. From the Halls much was said of your beauty and grace, but the rumors failed to do you justice.”

Arwen strolled over and stopped directly in front of Gil-galad. “Should I address you as Sire, or curtsy perhaps?” While her words were mildly spoken, her eyes remained watchful.

Gil-galad smiled down at the Elf-maiden. “Gil-galad will be fine, and please, no curtsey.”

Arwen laid a hand upon Gil-galad’s arm. “Will you walk with me then, Gil-galad?”

He gave her hand a squeeze with one of his own. “With pleasure, my Lady. Lead on.”

The pair strolled silently back through Imladris' lovely peaceful gardens. Gil-galad waited for Elrond’s daughter to speak, her verdict laying the foundation for his welcome back into Elrond’s life.

“Do you resent me as you do my grandmother?” Arwen asked, shocking her companion with her forthright manner. But Gil-galad really shouldn’t have been that surprised, he thought. She was of Galadriel’s blood also.

He sighed sadly, shaking his head. “No, pen dithen, I do not resent you or your brothers. While my anger at your grandmother burned brightly upon my re-birth, the ire has since abated. What of you, Arwen? How do you feel about my presence here?” Gil-galad knew he should wait and speak to Elrond first, but he had never been one to sit idly by and wait for rejection or bad news.

Arwen sat on a small stone bench and indicated that Gil-galad should join her. Her bottomless blue eyes looked deep into his cerulean orbs. “It is the Valar’s will, is it not, that you were returned?” At his nod, she continued. “Their purpose, then, I place my trust in, believing that they have only my father’s good in mind. I wish only my father’s happiness and well-being. Much sorrow has he known and these last Ages he has been lonely and in need of comfort that neither I nor my brothers can provide.”

Gil-galad nodded once more. “I too have to trust in the Valar’s will. But this I can promise you. Only Elrond’s happiness prompted this decision on their parts.”

“Good,” Arwen said. She rose and looked down at Gil-galad once more. “I would ask that you tread slowly and carefully with Ada. He seemed overwhelmed and unbalanced when we spoke earlier.” Arwen went to depart, but Gil-galad could not help the brief flash of anger her words caused.

“Arwen,” he called, and when she turned he made sure she could see the prideful anger in his eyes. While he did not wish to cause any unease in Elrond’s house or alienate his children, he would not be cowed or denied what was his. “I have loved Elrond through Ages; even death could not deny that love. I have returned for him and him alone and nothing will change that.”

Arwen smiled at someone over Gil-galad’s shoulder, not responding to his words. Gil-galad turned and looked into Elrond shining eyes.

Gil-galad stared into Elrond’s shining eyes. He did not hear Arwen depart, leaving them alone.

“May I join you?” Elrond asked, moving forward towards the bench Gil-galad occupied.

“Of course. It is after all your gardens,” Gil-glad replied, still slightly angry from his earlier conversation with Arwen. Of all the suspicions he had expected to encounter, that anyone could think he wished to cause Elrond harm was the most laughable of them all. No, Gil-galad thought, before this was over, it was his own heart that stood to get hurt. He desperately wanted to come right out and ask the half-Elf if there was still room for him in Elrond’s heart.

Elrond sat silently beside him. Each knew not where to begin. Gil-galad observed the Peredhel. Just as he had once been able, so it was again that he could sense Elrond’s unease. It seemed as though the habit of the younger seeking wisdom from his elder occurred once again. Gil-galad took one of Elrond’s hands and brought it to his lips, and placed a gentle kiss upon that healing hand. “Speak, Elrond. Tell me what is troubling your heart.” Gil-galad waited silently for the half-Elf to gather his thoughts.

Elrond spoke hesitatingly as if he expected his words to anger. “Much time has passed, Ereinion. We are not the same Elves we once were” he swallowed and looked down into his lap, unable to bear Gil-galad’s gaze. Finally, after several awkward moments he looked up, his eyes beseeching the King to understand. “We cannot simply pick up where we left off. Too much time has passed for that.”

Gil-galad looked fully into that pleading gaze, letting Elrond see the pain that darkened his own deep cobalt orbs. Gil-galad tore his eyes away, unable to stand the silent begging for understanding. He did not understand! Had the Valar sent him back for this? Was this, then, his punishment for all past deeds, to live on Arda once again within arm’s reach of his heart’s desire only to be denied it day after day?

Gil-galad gave a bitter laugh, not caring that Elrond flinched. He flung the half-Elf’s hand off, jumped up, and turned his back upon the Peredhel. For the very first time ever, he did not want to look upon Elrond’s lovely face, not when he may never be able to touch it once again.

His entire frame trembled and he had to clench his fist and fight the urge to scream to the very skies in injustice. When he spoke, his voice was heart-rendingly bitter, Ages of pain evident in its tone. “Do you still have love in your heart for me, Elrond?” He turned to face the Elf-lord. If this was the moment the moment when his heart was going to splinter, then he would face it like the warrior he had been.

Elrond’s face was shattered, his eyes filled with unhappiness and desolation. For just a second, Gil-galad was tempted to rush forward and take the younger Elf in his arms and comfort him; promise him anything only to wipe the suffering from his beloved features. But he locked his legs, refusing to move until he knew if this second life was punishment or a joyous reward.

Elrond appeared to struggle to speak. “I-I still love you, Ereinion. That has never changed,” he whispered.

“But?” Gil-galad demanded, the “but” all too evident in Elrond’s tone. Elrond, however was silent a little too long for the former King’s patience. “Is love no longer enough for you, Elrond?”

“No, Ereinion. I need tim-” Elrond whispered, but was unable to finish before Gil-galad’s cry.

The anguished cry escaped Gil-galad’s lips before he could stop it. He turned, needing to escape, unwilling to let Elrond see him crumble so completely. But before he could flee, Elrond rose and moved towards him. Gil-galad stopped the half-Elf with a raised hand that trembled.

“Ereinion, wait, please,” Elrond cried. “I just wish for a chance! A chance for us to get to know each other again, for my family to learn to accept us.”

Elrond’s words hardened Gil-galad’s features. His dark blue eyes burned fiercely in rage and hurt. “I have not changed Elrond. For millennia I existed in Mandos’ Halls, only my memories of you to comfort me. No wife or children did I take,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He smiled bitterly at Elrond’s flinch, taking perverse pleasure in causing the Peredhel pain. “I am the same Elf I was when I stood on Orodruin and faced the Dark Lord. It is you, my Lord, who has changed. As it was before, Elrond, my love was all I ever had to offer you, and once upon a time, it was enough.” Gil-galad moved forward slowly, closing the distance between them. He cupped Elrond’s face, thumbs brushing his tears away. “You, melethron, must decide if my love is enough for the Elf you are now.” Gil-galad moved away and started to turn but paused and sent his heart a sad smile. “How can you expect your family to accept me, melethen, if you yourself do not?” Gil-galad left. He left before his pride completely crumbled and he stayed and begged.

Gal-galad sought out the only sanctuary he had in Elrond’s realm, the room he had been assigned. The path back to his quarters led past Imladris’ vast libraries, and he was almost past the open door when a voice from inside called his name. “My Lord, Gil-galad?”

Gil-galad recognized that voice. Erestor. He thought about moving on, avoiding what he knew would be a lecture. Elrond’s Chief Councilor had always known before anyone else when his Lord was upset and Erestor’s loyalty had also always only belonged to the half-Elf. Gil-galad shook his head in disgust. He was turning into a regular coward, afraid to face Elrond’s Advisor. Stiffening his spine, he moved into the bright and airy room, greeting the dark Elf with a short almost ironic bow. “Yes, my Lord Erestor? What can I do for you?”

The somberly attired Elf had risen up from behind his desk and was regarding the former High King with what seemed to be compassion. Compassion, from Elrond’s stoic Councilor? Surely not. Erestor indicated a seat across from his desk. Gil-galad raised a brow and calmly sat. “Get it over with, Erestor. Tell me what you think I am doing to your Lord and get it out of your system.” Gil-galad saw a flash of uncertainty flash across the Advisor’s face and he appeared to be contemplating something serious.

Erestor sat and folded his hands atop his desk. “I wanted to offer you my services, Sire.” Erestor allowed a small smile to show at the surprise Gil-galad was unable to mask.

“You services? For what may I ask, Erestor?” Gil-galad regarded the Elf with wariness.

Erestor calmly replied to the former King’s suspicion. “You have been in the Halls for quite some time and much on Arda has changed. I am offering my services in advising you on what you have missed.”

Gil-galad sat silently thinking about the Councilors offer. The idea had merit. He had been gone and a great many events had occurred in his absence that had reshaped Arda. Erestor was probably the smartest Elf on Arda and he was offering his services. Gil-galad looked at the Elf calmly regarding him. “Yes, Erestor, I believe you are correct. I could use your services in familiarizing myself with current events.” Gil-galad rose and moved towards the door. He paused and turned back to Elrond’s Chief Advisor. “Hannon le Erestor.” Gil-galad left after receiving the other Elf’s nod of acknowledgement and went toward his room.

He was approaching the corridor leading to his chambers when he saw Elrond pacing in front of the door leading to his room. He faltered, not wanting to face the half-Elf so soon after the incident in the garden. But Elrond spotted him and came towards him his stride desperate and his face anguished. “I thought you had left,” he cried out. Elrond grabbed a surprised Gil-galad and wrapped him in a tight embrace.

Gil-galad unconsciously wrapped his own arms around Elrond. “N-no,” he stammered. “I was speaking to Erestor.” He tried to loosen Elrond’s arms but the half-Elf only clutched him tighter. “Elrond?” he questioned his tone worried.

Elrond did not answer. He pulled slightly away and before Gil-galad could question him further, he captured Gil-galad’s lips in a frantic kiss.

Elrond’s mouth hungrily devoured Gil-galad’s; using the other’s surprise, he thrust his tongue inside, reclaiming familiar territory. It took mere seconds for Gil-galad’s shock to abate and for him to seize control of Elrond’s lips. Hunger roared through him as his senses were flooded by the sweet taste of Elrond’s mouth. His arms came up to crush the half-Elf to him, and his hands greedily roamed the robe-clad form. Sounds, their precarious position in the open corridor, all disappeared as he was thrust back into feelings not felt in Ages. His body responded as it had not for any other. Elrond’s whimpers and desperate hold on him undid the last of Gil-galad’s control and he picked the half-Elf up, kicking the door to his room open and slamming it shut behind him. He stumbled to the bed, his mouth still devouring Elrond’s. They fell upon the bed and Gil-galad rose up, legs on either side of Elrond's hips. His hands were frantic, clumsy, as he tried to get past the formal robes with their elaborate buttons and hooks. Every time he attempted to break his mouth free from Elrond’s kiss, the half-Elf moaned and arched back up, reclaiming Gil-galad’s lips again.

“E-Elrond, wait-let me-,” Gil-galad tried to get out in between frantic kisses.

Gil-galad growled, his patience ended. He captured the half-Elf’s hands and brought them over Elrond’s head, holding them tight against the bed. His mouth slid across high cheekbones and found a delicate ear. His tongue traced a path up the outer shell before slowly circling the tip. Elrond moaned, his body gradually calming under the gentle caresses of Gil-galad’s mouth and tongue. Gil-galad slowly slid his hands down Elrond’s raised arms. His fingers, more steady now, undid the clasps of Elrond’s formal robes. He parted the rich fabric and his lips descended to the freed skin of Elrond’s neck and collarbone. He sucked and gently nipped along the half-Elf’s throat, swiping his tongue over the sting his bite left.

Elrond plunged his hands into Gil-galad’s rich tresses before moving them down to tug at the larger Elf’s tunic. “Off,” he murmured.

Gil-galad pulled back only long enough to comply with Elrond’s request before his own hands set about removing the half-Elf’s undershirt. He groaned as the slightly golden-toned flesh was revealed. Gil-galad’s mouth watered at the sight of Elrond’s pink nipples and he leaned down, immediately drawing one into his mouth. Elrond’s body arched and he gave a gasp as Gil-galad began to suck. Elrond’s hands shook as they roamed Gil-galad’s powerful shoulders and back; every draw, nibble, and tug upon his nipple sent heat straight to his groin.

“Too fast,” Elrond whispered. He started to panic. Desire rushed through him and he began to shake. Too long, it had been too long since he had felt anything like this. This loss of control, the fire in his very veins, the ache to surrender, was all too much for him to handle. “Stop, please, Ereinion,” Elrond pleaded, pushing against the body atop his.

The struggles of the Elrond’s body under his did not register; it was only as he trailed his tongue down Elrond’s chest to circle the waistband of his leggings that the whimper reached his ears. Gil-galad froze, his eyes rose to meet the frightened gray gaze of Elrond.

“Too much, too fast, Ereinion,” Elrond whispered, his voice trembling.

Gil-galad groaned and rolled off Elrond’s body and onto his back.

“I am sorry,” Elrond whispered as he moved off the bed. He stood uncertainly, looking down at Gil-galad. Nervously he straightened his robes and hair. “I did not mean for things to go so far, Ereinion. I panicked when I saw this empty room.”

Gil-galad said nothing. He was too busy trying to calm his raging arousal. He lay with one arm thrown across his eyes and listened, amazed, as Elrond babbled. Something about a feast and how everyone had worked hard on it all day. The Peredhel had not stopped talking since rising from the bed. This nervous chatter was not like Elrond, and Gil-galad finally had enough control of himself to sit up and look at the Peredhel. He had not moved from beside the bed and was closely watching Gil-galad as if he knew not what to expect. Gil-galad frowned up at the half-Elf; he was truly puzzled by Elrond’s behavior. First he almost attacked him in the hall, devouring Gil-galad’s mouth ravenously as if it he was starved. Then the passion between them had swept both away. It had felt so good to hold and caress Elrond, but the half-Elf had pulled away with panic in his eyes. And now, this insane storm of words, meaningless chatter, and all the while Elrond stayed, appearing to not want to leave Gil-galad’s side.

“Elrond,” Gil-galad interrupted the half-Elf. “What are you doing, pen vuil?”

Elrond stopped speaking. His shoulders slumped and he sat back upon the bed beside Gil-galad. His head was bowed and his chestnut locks hide his face. They both were silent, until Elrond raised his head and Gil-galad saw the tears in the half-Elf’s eyes. Gil-galad’s own throat grew tight and he pulled the unresisting Elf into his arms. Elrond tightly clutched him and his body shook as Gil-galad held him and rubbed soothing hands on his back. Gil-galad kept quiet, letting Elrond gain control over his emotions, waiting for him to speak and tell him what was in his heart.

“I feel lost, Ereinion. I cannot gain any balance and my world feels tilted and unstable. For the first time in so very long, I do not know what to do,” Elrond whispered his head still buried in Gil-galad’s chest.

“Geheno nin, melethen.” Gil-galad spoke softly, a hint of resignation in his voice.

Elrond pulled back and looked up at Gil-galad. “For what, Ereinion?”

Gil-galad released Elrond from his hold and rose, pacing the confines of the room. “I have been so caught up in how I felt to back. How I felt to see you again. It took time for me to work up the courage to come to you, Elrond. That is why I stayed so long hidden in LothLórien. Being back on Arda, the very thought of once again holding you in my arms…this overwhelmed me. Time has no meaning for one in Mandos’ Halls. Time passes, but it has no effect, no impact.” Gil-galad stopped and turned to look at Elrond. The half-Elf was watching him, a serious look upon his fair features.

“Go on, Ereinion,” he urged.

Gil-galad took a deep breath, needing to explain to his love how it was for a faer in the Timeless Halls. How all the faer had was its memories.

“It is halted, Elrond. Everything you are. Everything that you felt, experienced, loved, is stopped that exact moment when life leaves your body. You enter the Halls and you do not change. Who you were, what you believed in, who you loved, it stays timeless and unchanged. There is no moving on in Mandos’ Halls, Elrond.  So when I was returned, the Ages that had passed were nothing more than flashes of remembered pain. I arrived as if I never left,” Gil-galad paused, struggling to put into words what his heart bled for Elrond to understand. “For you have moved forward, Elrond, you had your chance to grieve, to learn to live without me. But, to me it is yesterday that I made love to you. It was but a day ago that we rose and donned our armor and faced the Dark Lord. For me, melethen, my death was but a moment ago.” Gil-galad whispered the last words, watching as Elrond’s eyes filled with heartbreak.

“To me it was yesterday that I made love to you. It was but a day ago that we rose and donned our armor and faced the Dark Lord. For me, melethen, my death was but a moment ago.” Gil-galad whispered the last words, watching as Elrond’s eyes filled with heartbreak.

Gil-glad watched as Elrond lowered his head. He said nothing as the silence between them grew thick and uncomfortable. Gil-galad was beyond the point of anger; an hollow feeling settled in his heart. His words had made no impact; did not bridge the gulf of time that Elrond said divided them.  Elrond still pushed him away, and he did not comprehend why. His shoulders slumped and he turned away from Elrond, moving back to the window, watching as Imladris was bathed in the setting rays of Anor. The silence was finally shattered by a knock upon Gil-galad’s door.

“Yes,” he called out, without turning from the window.

“My Lord Gil-galad, I am looking for Lord Elrond,” a servant’s voice rang out behind the closed door.

Elrond left the bed, and Gil-galad heard him open the door and speak quietly to the servant. Gil-galad did not turn and he could feel Elrond’s indecision, to stay or go, but Gil-galad still said nothing.

“I have to go, Ereinion. Erestor says it’s important, and he would not disturb me otherwise,” Elrond hovered by the door, waiting for some acknowledgment that Gil-galad heard his words.

Gil-galad finally turned but could not bring himself to open his mouth and speak. He was not sure that he could control the venom that was building in his heart. He just nodded and turned away from Elrond once more. Gil-galad could not conquer Ages of time, and return them to how they once were. He now understood. Elrond did not wish to bridge the time that had passed. It was over. Only, Elrond would not speak the words.

Gil-galad knew not how long he stood at the window of his room. He vaguely registered the ringing of a bell as the signal for the evening meal, but it did not inspire him to move, let alone join the others in the dining hall. Gil-galad tensed as a knock sounded on his door. There was no one he wanted to speak with or see, so he ignored the knock. And the second and third when they came, only to whirl around with a scowl on his face as the door opened and the intruder entered. His frown faded, however, as he met the concerned gaze of Haldir.

“Ready to dine?” Haldir asked as he closed the door behind him and moved further into the room.

Gil-galad dropped his eyes, avoiding the younger Elf’s gaze. “No, you go ahead. I am not hungry.”

“Hiding again, are you?” Haldir’s voice was brisk, almost cold, as he moved closer to Gil-galad.

Gil-galad’s head snapped up and he glared at the Galadhel, anger and outrage stiffening his spine. “Watch your mouth, Marchwarden. You forget to whom you are speaking!”

Haldir met the former High King’s furious gaze challengingly and moved closer still to the furious Elf. “Who am I speaking to,” he spat. “Tell me, Gil-galad, who is hiding in this room, afraid to face his former lover?” Haldir laughed mockingly at Gil-galad’s snarl of outrage. “Yes, that is right. I said *former* lover and here you are, once High King of all Elves, hiding in your room feeling sorry for yourself.”

Gil-galad’s body shook as he fought the urge to strike the younger Elf. He looked upon Haldir’s coldly mocking face, but underneath the sarcasm he saw the concern, and yes, love. With a cry, Gil-galad turned away. “What am I doing back on this accursed Arda?” he whispered, his shoulders shaking as the battle against tears was lost.

Gil-galad felt Haldir’s strong arms wrap about him from behind, and finally Gil-galad released the storm that had been building in him since he awoke in the fields about Lothlórien.

Haldir stood silently, just holding him and letting him cry. Gil-galad’s sobs grew quiet and his body gradually relaxed in Haldir’s hold. Only then did Haldir release Gil-galad and move towards the washroom. Haldir returned with a damp cloth and gently bathed away traces of tears on Gil-galad’s face. He tenderly brushed away a few strands of Gil-galad’s black locks from his flushed face, tucking the wayward strands behind one pointed ear.

Gil-galad looked at Haldir’s lovely face. Those warm hazel eyes were filled with love and concern. He did not stop to think; Gil-galad bent down and captured Haldir’s lips. He poured all his loneliness and uncertainty into that kiss. Gil-galad wrapped his arms tighter around Haldir and heard the younger Elf moan in his arms. For a moment the Marchwarden returned his hungry kiss, but then with a cry he broke Gil-galad’s hold and stepped away from him.

“No,” Haldir said, shaking his head as he brought a hand up to his lips. He stumbled back away from Gil-galad, and Gil-galad made no move to stop him.

They stared at each other until Gil-galad broke the silence. “I am sorry, Haldir. I do not know why I did that, but I apologize, please forgive me, mellonen” Gil-galad dropped his head, deeply ashamed for using his friend like that.

Gil-galad glanced quickly back at Haldir’s softly spoken words. “There is nothing I would love more than to lie down with you, Gil-galad upon that bed and lose myself in your arms. But it is not my arms that you would be imagining, and I cannot do that to myself. For I already am too lost to you, and your hold on my heart is something I must overcome on my own. If I lay with you, I fear I would never be able to accomplish that.” Haldir’s voice was low and trembled with emotion. Gil-galad’s heart sunk even further at the suffering he had inflicted on one who had become so very dear to him.

Gil-galad did not know what to say to his friend, so he spoke from his heart. “You make me wish, Haldir that my heart were my own,” Gil-galad’s tone was sad, and he saw Haldir smile understandingly back at him. Somehow the tension between them washed away at those words.

“Come,” Haldir said. “My brothers and I leave for home on the morrow, and I know they would like to spend an evening with you before we depart.” Haldir beckoned, and Gil-galad no longer had the will to resist.

They arrived in the dining hall quite late and were immediately drew the attention of most of the Elves present. Gil-galad ignored the high table in favor of the one occupied by Orophin and Rúmil. He could feel Elrond’s eyes upon his back, but he pushed thoughts of the half-Elf away and lost himself in the welcome of his Galadhrim friends. Gil-galad was so very tempted to leave behind the uncertainty and pain of Imladris and return with his friends to the Golden Wood, but he knew he could not outrun his heart. For good or ill, he had to resolve matters with Elrond.

For the remainder of the evening, the Lothlórien table was the source of the happiest and loudest laughter. Many eyes came to fall upon the occupants of that joyous corner of the dining hall. The beauty of the silver-crowned Galadhrim was offset by the darker tresses of Gil-galad. His rich night-hued mane and midnight blue eyes drew many an interested glance from Imladris’ residents, none of which went unnoticed by their Lord.

Gil-galad was unaware of the lustful eyes that fell upon him as he threw back his head and laughed uproariously at Haldir’s comments. He did not mark how gray eyes looked at him again and again, or how those pewter-hued orbs narrowed when he rose and followed Haldir and his brothers from the hall. Gil-galad laughed at the bickering between Orophin and Rúmil and Haldir’s barely patient glares upon the pair. He would miss the brothers so much! He did not delude himself that the same welcome awaited him among the Imladris population, and he dreaded the isolation that would befall him once the Lothlórien contingent departed.

Gil-galad and Haldir bid Rúmil and Orophin good night and moved further down the corridor towards Gil-galad’s quarters. They entered the former King’s rooms to enjoy one more drink before parting for the night. Neither noticed the eyes that followed them into Gil-galad’s rooms or the sigh of despair that left Elrond’s lips as he departed for his own empty quarters.

Gil-galad sadly watched as Haldir and the Lothlórien contingent passed out of sight. He would miss his friend and the company of the other Galadhrim.  Gil-galad turned and made his way back to where Elrond and Erestor stood waiting. He glanced at Elrond’s blank face before the half-Elf turned and walked away. Elrond had been acting oddly all morning. He had been surprisingly cold towards Haldir and only greeted Gil-galad with a nod upon their arrival at the breakfast table. Gil-galad ran a hand through his long straight black hair, having not the time yet this morning to braid it. Frustrated, he did not understand what he had done now. He had stayed away like Elrond wanted, not pressuring the Peredhel. He did not know what else he could do, except maybe remove his very presence from the half-Elf’s life.

Gil-galad looked away from Elrond’s retreating back into Erestor’s cool black gaze. Feeling especially ornery, Gil-galad only raised a brow inquiringly, and when the dark-haired Elf said nothing, strode past him towards the training grounds. Glorfindel had promised him a morning of sparring, and that sounded just what Gil-galad needed. He found Glorfindel speaking to a small group of un-tried young recruits. Moving past the group and ignoring the curious eyes that followed, Gil-galad stripped off his heavy outer tunic, leaving him clad only in a light undershirt. He also by-passed the long poles used for spear training and instead chose a heavy broadsword. Warming up occupied him and let him focus on the pull and strain of muscles instead of frustrating thoughts of Elrond.

Gil-galad was unaware of the halt to the conversation as Glorfindel looked over to see what had his students so enthralled. The powerful sword swished through the air, catching glints of light and sending them dancing upon the ground, but that was not what had the young Elves’ mouths hanging agape. It was the sight of the sword-wielder himself who captured their attention. Gil-galad’s tall, broad-shouldered form seemed to glide and sway with each movement of the sword in his hand. His upper body taut, muscles outlined with the strain of his workout, and yards of his rich black hair floated down his back to dance at the top of his hips. Gil-galad’s noble face was fierce in its concentration, lips pursed highlighting the high cheekbones, and the sheen of moisture adding a gleam of pearl to the smooth skin of his torso. He presented a living, vivid picture of an image only seen up till then in books. The fierce and mighty High King of the Noldor.

Gil-galad only slowed the swings of his sword as Glorfindel came into view. He eyed the Elda, wondering what brought on the amused smirk that Glorfindel wore. “What,” he asked irritably.

“Nothing,” Glorfindel said. “Only admiring that you remember how to swing that sword is all. Ready to be dealt your first defeat since rebirth?” Glorfindel smirked at the former King as he removed his outerwear and began warming up as well.

“Some things one does not forget; it is like really good sex, you remember when needed,” Gil-galad replied to the blond, who laughed at his words.

The pair began slowly circling. Gil-galad took the first strike of Glorfindel’s sword, feeling the impact all through his shoulder. He swung his blade under Glorfindel’s, each now dancing out of the path of the other’s sword. Blows rang through the valley, the sounds of blades crossing attracting the curious more quickly than word of mouth. The prospect of seeing two great warriors even in a friendly sparring match drew attention, added to that the warrior’s beauteous forms, and Elves filled the training grounds to watch.

For the most part, Gil-galad and Glorfindel ignored their audience. Trading insults and banter, they put on quite a show for the watching masses. Gil-galad’s attention was caught by a flash of black out of the corner of his eyes. He stole a glance and saw the black-robed Erestor standing well back, almost hidden by some trees at the edge of the field. Those coal-hued eyes were trained on the sparring pair. Since he knew that the aloof Advisor had no interest in him, it must be Glorfindel who held the Councilor’s attention so completely. This distraction, no matter how brief, proved all that the advantage the great Balrog slayer needed, and Gil-galad groaned as his sword went sailing through the air.

“Ha,” Glorfindel crowed happily. “Was that a sign of age, oh King of old?” Glorfindel picked up the sword and handed both blades to a young Elf. He approached Gil-galad, who nodded his head in the direction of the trees.

“I was distracted and somehow I feel you are to blame, Glorfindel.” Gil-galad chuckled at the blonde’s blank look.

Glorfindel looked over Gil-galad’s shoulder, a perplexed frown on his fair features. “Erestor,” he called as the black-draped figure walked towards them. “What brings you to the practice yard this fine day, mellonen?”

Erestor bowed briefly before addressing Gil-galad. “My Lord Gil-galad, I thought if you wished, we could discuss some of the latest happenings like you requested?” Erestor’s obvious ignoring of Glorfindel brought a frown to the Elda’s face, but he said nothing, only watched Erestor with a look of desire not fully hidden.

Gil-galad spared a glance at the blond before addressing the Advisor. “That would be wonderful, Erestor. Just let me clean up a bit. Shall I meet you in the library?”

Once more a stiff bow was performed flawlessly and Erestor departed without a word to the one he had just moments before been unable to take his eyes off.

“You desire him?” Gil-galad asked Glorfindel, though he did not really need an affirmation, seeing the look of longing upon the Elda’s face.

“Ai,” Glorfindel said, his voice hoarse. “But piercing that cold exterior would amount to tackling the frost of the Helcaraxë. He has rebuffed all my overtures.” Glorfindel looked after the retreating Councilor once more before sending Gil-galad a mischievous smile. “However, I am persistent.”

Gil-galad had to laugh as the Balrog slayer walked off, cockiness in his every step. Gil-galad sighed, wishing he could hold such hope for his own desires. Gil-galad ignored the throng of Elves still littered about the practice yard and made his way back to his quarters. Once in his room, his gaze was drawn to the large canopied bed. Spread out in an array of colors were several formal robes and various tunics and leggings, all in colors the former King had favored. He picked up the notes and read.

It would appear that the Valar gave no thought to baggage. These should meet your needs.

Erestor.

Gil-galad chuckled. Leave it to Elrond’s ultimate efficient Councilor to notice that detail. Making his way to his bath, he grabbed a tunic and leggings in a deep royal blue. Once clean, Gil-galad made his way to the vast Imladris libraries. There he found Erestor bent over his desk, furiously scribbling away with brief glances at a text open in front of him. Gil-galad knocked upon the corner of the open door.

“Come, my Lord,” Erestor called, not looking up from his work.

Gil-galad entered and shut the door behind him. He did not know what the Advisor had to tell him, but just in case, he wanted privacy to hear it.

“Lord Erestor, if you need to schedule this for later?” Gil-galad asked as he took a seat, not in front of the Councilor’s desk but over by the windows where the bright rays of Anor could be felt.

Erestor rose and came to join Gil-galad. He stopped at a cabinet and poured two goblets of rich Imladris red wine. Handing one to Gil-galad, he took a seat across from the other Elf. “No, now is fine, my Lord.”

For several moments the pair was silent, each lost in his own thoughts, and enjoying their glasses of wine. Finally Erestor set his wine aside and folded his hands in his lap. He looked piercingly at Gil-galad, and Gil-galad could not help but feel apprehensive at what the wise Councilor had to tell him.

“You have been sent back during very precarious times, Gil-galad,” Erestor addressed Gil-galad frankly, his tone much more informal, as he knew that his words were going to be met with horror.

“Tell me,” Gil-galad simply ordered mentally trying to prepare himself.

“The Dark Lord has returned. The Nazgûl have been sent to reclaim Dol Guldur in Southern Mirkwood.”  Erestor barely caught Gil-galad’s wine glass before it hit the floor.

Gray. Imladris was shrouded in it, with pregnant gray clouds that carried within them a cold, steady rain. Hints of the approaching winter sent many of Imladris’ residents indoors and the first lighting of fireplaces warned off the chill of the evening. Gil-galad had sought shelter and large qualities of Miruvor in Imladris’ vast libraries. He now lay quite inebriated, staring mesmerized into the flickering flames that burned in the large fireplace. His thoughts were fuzzy, the earlier discord and torment but a distant memory. The knowledge that it had all been for nothing had sent him in search of escape; that he found solace in the bottom of a bottle led to his current prone state. What else was one to do when the evidence that their life and death had changed nothing has confronted them?

Erestor had left him alone after imparting the events that occurred after his death. That no one had bothered him or sought entrance into the libraries for hours gave credence to the suspicion that the Chief Councilor had warned all others away. The soft opening and closing of the door signaled that someone was brave enough to ignore Erestor’s warning, but Gil-galad’s fuzzy mind showed no interest in learning the identity of his intruder. It was the flash of jeweled-toned slippers out of the corner of his eyes that first caught his sluggish brain’s attention. His slightly blurred vision traveled up the burgundy-robed form to rest on Elrond’s slightly disapproving features.

Gil-galad smirked at the frown the Peredhel wore and raised his glass, mockingly saluting the Elf-lord. “G-good even-tide, Elrond,” he slurred, his words sounding fine to his ear.

Elrond sighed and reached down to remove the half-empty glass from Gil-galad’s unstable hand. “Erestor told me he had shared with you what Middle-earth is currently facing, but nothing was said of its fate sending you to drink,” Elrond moved away, and removing the glass from Gil-galad's reach.

“G-give me t-that,” Gil-galad cried and stumbled to his feet, but halted and clung to the sofa as the room tilted. Closing his eyes and regaining his senses, Gil-galad finally registered the remarks Elrond had just made. He opened his eyes to stare incredulously at the Peredhel. *Elrond could not understand how the news of the Dark Lord’s return might send him to drink!* Bitterness and anger fueled by alcohol overcame any inhibiters. “You see no reason why I might have turned to drink after receiving such tidings from Erestor?” Gil-galad spat at Elrond.

Despite the warmth from the fire, the atmosphere in the room became frozen as Elrond stared into the burning gaze of Gil-galad.

Gil-galad forced the hurt away not allowing it to show in his voice, but the fierce anger and injustice had found a target. “Were you too busy, Elrond? Or did it simply not occur to you that I might have wanted to hear from *your* lips the news that I died upon the slopes of Barad-dûr for nothing? ‘Tis enough to know my place in this Arda has been brushed aside by the Valar, that they would send me back without any warning as to the horrors I would find. Unprepared was I, yes, but always with the hope that this was a better Arda than the one I died for. One that existed without shadow. That I had some small part to play in that foolish dream of a peaceful Middle-earth was some comfort in Mandos’ Halls. That, and the dream of you.” Gil-galad said, unable any longer to keep the heartache from seeping from his voice and showing in his eyes.

Elrond turned away and spoke without looking upon Gil-galad. His voice if it trembled was brushed aside as his words ignited the fires of Gil-galad’s anger all over again. “Nothing was foretold of your coming. No visions of foresight showed a place in this conflict for you, Ereinion. Indeed, Galadriel and I have seen much of this coming war with the shadow and we are of like mind in that you have no place in this struggle.” Elrond still did not face the former King, not seeing the rage and pain that darkened the otherwise fair features.

Gil-galad felt his fragile hold shatter, and with quick strides and a soundless cry he grabbed Elrond and spun him around, too far gone in anger to read the fear in the half-Elf’s eyes. He roughly shook Elrond, furious hurt words pouring from his heart and lips. “Curse you and the Valar, Elrond! They send me back here to play consort to an Elf who rejects me at every turn. I will no longer be a pawn for them or you, Elrond, and I will play the eunuch no more!” Gil-galad pulled a shocked Elrond to him and fiercely claimed Elrond’s mouth.

Gil-galad’s ruthless hold pinned Elrond tightly against him, Elrond’s hands made useless by their trap against Gil-galad’s chest. Elrond’s cry of outrage allowed Gil-galad’s tongue to plunge inside and take possession of every inch of the Peredhel’s mouth. Hungrily and selfishly he explored the sweet depths that had been denied him. Gil-galad’s tongue captured Elrond’s and he sucked strongly on that muscle, pulling it unwilling into his own mouth and forcing engagement.

Gil-galad broke the harsh kiss, breathing heavily. One hand reached up to fist in Elrond’s hair and he pulled sharply back, arching the half-Elf’s throat. Gil-galad’s lips, tongue, and teeth took eager advantage of this new territory, marking the pale flesh with teeth and mouth. Elrond’s moan barely registered as Gil-galad once more took the Peredhel’s lips for his own. Kiss after kiss was roughly taken and then, eagerly returned as Elrond lost the battle over his own sense.

Elrond’s hands sought escape for entirely different reasons; freedom denied once more, his fingers sought clasp and hooks within his reach. The fumbling hands against his clothes finally reached Gil-galad’s passion glazed senses, and he moaned in rising ardor. His hands loosed their hold, only to grasp Elrond’s robes and raise them over the half-Elf’s head, too impatient to wait for a slower removal.

“Off,” Gil-galad growled, tugging on Elrond’s undershirt. His eyes watched every move as Elrond obeyed his command, drawing the offending shirt up over his head, sending his chestnut hair flying.

Gil-galad’s own garments were torn away with little regard. Nude, he dropped to his knees, his hands reaching up to circle Elrond’s bare waist. He looked up into those burning gray depths, his own cobalt eyes blazing just as fiercely, and with just as much want. Keeping their eyes locked, Gil-galad unlaced Elrond’s leggings and pulled them slowly down the half-Elf’s legs until Elrond could step free. Only then did Gil-galad let his gaze travel down the Peredhel’s body bared for him after so long a drought. He growled as his eyes fell on Elrond’s heavy arousal arched high and hard against the half-Elf’s stomach.

One hand circled Elrond’s hip before resting on one taut buttock. His other hand grasped Elrond’s hungry length, using this hold to pull the half-Elf to his waiting mouth. No prelude or gentle foreplay, just Gil-galad swallowing Elrond whole. The cry from above was ignored as his own groan sounded when the rich, heady flavor burst over his tongue. Gil-galad sucked strongly, tongue ravenous as it explored Elrond’s arousal. Gil-galad’s head slowly pulled back; each inch that left his mouth brought a tremble to Elrond’s frame. Pausing only long enough to swirl his tongue around the head and gather the juices there, back deeply did he once more take Elrond’s length. Again and again he tasted, until the sharp pull of Elrond’s hands in his hair brought him back to himself.

Deep blue eyes rose and locked on heavy lidded gray ones. Gil-galad waited, mouth still firmly wrapped around Elrond’s length; ignoring the pleading in those eyes. Only after a desperate cry left the Peredhel’s lips did he suck the rigid flesh back in mouth. No teasing now, just the fast thrust and withdraw as Gil-galad allowed Elrond to use his mouth. Gil-galad’s fingers tightened on Elrond’s rear and he pulled the half-Elf sharply forward. One movement of his throat around the head of Elrond’s arousal was all it took and with a loud cry Elrond exploded, shooting his seed down Gil-galad’s throat.

Gently his tongue bathed the sated sex and his arms provided support for Elrond’s trembling form. Gil-galad wrapped his arms tightly about Elrond’s waist and rested his own flushed face against the Peredhel’s stomach. Breathing heavily, he fought for some control over his own need. Gil-galad pulled away and looked up into Elrond’s gaze. He hid nothing. His eyes spoke of his love and his fierce want. Gil-galad watched his love, his body growing cold as Elrond’s warm gray eyes filled with fear.

Elrond’s face reflected an almost horrifying fear and his eyes, they held such pain and terror that Gil-galad’s own filled with tears. He watched as Elrond pulled free from his arms and bent down, picking up his robe. It was Gil-galad’s face that now filled with fear, a terror he had never shown not even at his own death. For this was worse, worse than any horror and torment he could imagine. Elrond was leaving him once more.

Elrond pulled the robe over his head. He tuned to look at the kneeling figure of Gil-galad. Gone from his features were any emotions. Indeed, the half-Elf’s face was as blank as the marble statues that graced his home. When he spoke, his voice was soft but oh so final. “I will not do this again, Ereinion. I cannot go through this again.” Elrond walked quickly to the door, his rush to leave Gil-galad’s presence sending a stab of ice into Gil-galad’s heart. Elrond paused briefly, his back trembling. “I-I would not survive a second time,” he whispered before leaving.

Gil-galad stared at the closed door. No more tears did he have to shed. No numbness could compare to this, not even the vast nothingness that was Mandos’ Halls. Gil-galad stumbled to his feet. His body heavy, he dressed, his movements old and resigned. He knew it was time long past time for him to go.

It did not take long to gather his meager possessions, and he encountered no one as he made his way to the stables. Gil-galad did not allow his mind to think past the details needed to leave, and only once did his fractured heart feel anything. That was when he took one last look at Elrond’s Imladris before he rode away.

Elrond stared out into the frosted valley of his home. His eyes did not see the beauty of snow-toped trees or the perfectly formed icicles that hung from his balcony. Elrond’s thoughts were on the one who had left more than a year ago. Ereinion. No word had been heard of the once High King; it was as if had disappeared off the face of Arda. Elrond had been sure that Ereinion would have returned to Lothlórien, but a messenger from the Golden Wood had known nothing of this. Elrond had been too proud, too stung by Ereinion’s departure to make direct overtures to Mirkwood and the Havens. No, his pride would not allow him to admit to any that Ereinion had left him.

Elrond wearily leaned his forehead against the cool glass. The only thing that had kept him from complete despair had been the instinctive knowledge that he would have known if Ereinion had once again passed to the Halls. He had sent Glorfindel into the woods after the fleeing Elf, but Gil-galad’s trail had been lost. There were moments when his thoughts began to torment him, and he felt his fragile hold on his emotions begin to unravel. Elrond did not know which fear was worse, the terror of never seeing Ereinion again, or the panic that gripped him when he looked upon the re-born Elf?

It had never been his intention to make Ereinion flee from him. Ereinion’s return had sent him into a panic that had not since abated. Oh, he knew that the Valar had told the re-born Elf that he was being returned to Elrond because the half-Elf had suffered so much loss. Elrond had seen their design when he first looked into Ereinion’s midnight-blue eyes, but Elrond did not believe the Valar.

No, he knew their real reason. It was to face the shadow that once again was rising in Middle-earth. Why else send back one of the fiercest warriors in the history of Elvendom? One who had faced the Dark Lord himself, one who had led the Last Alliance that united the races of Man and Elves? No indeed, he did not believe the Valar could be so concerned with his great loss and suffering.

Elrond knew he could not do it again. He could not stand and watch Ereinion consumed by the Dark Lord’s flame once more. The first time had almost destroyed him; he surely could not withstand the second. Elrond could no longer see the dark indigo eyes full of love, but only the charred remains of beloved’s body. With each glance, each touch, his mind was swept back to the slopes of Barad dûr and the horror of watching Ereinion burn. Was it so very wrong to try and protect himself from such hurt? Elrond did not know the answer to that. He hurt now; pushing Ereinion away had not prevented this pain.

It was true, what he had so coldly told Ereinion. Neither Galadriel nor he had seen any signs of the former King’s presence in future conflicts with the Shadow. His head told him that, but Elrond’s heart refused to listen. His plea’s had not brought Elros back or receded the tide of mortal death from his beloved twin. Nor had appeals to the Valar protected Ereinion upon the slopes of Barad dûr, and there was no Valar intervention given to ease Celebrian’s suffering after her abduction and torture by the minions of shadow. So, how was he now to convince his aching heart that this time, the Valar thought of his happiness?

Elrond sighed and dragged himself away from the frosted window. The dinner hour was approaching, and he had to once again present himself in the main dining hall. His frequent absences at mealtime and the increasingly loose fit of his robes had finally brought both Glorfindel and Erestor to see him. He had endured their concern and fussing, promising to take better care of himself, but the guilt of pushing and pushing Ereinion until he had finally fled Imladris ate at him, and made that difficult. Elrond jerked as the door was abruptly opened and, Glorfindel breathlessly appeared.

“Elrond, the gwanûn have returned, and Estel is with them!” Glorfindel rushed out in the same speed he had entered, Elrond quickly following in his wake.

Elrond sped after Glorfindel to the torch lit courtyard. His eager eyes focused on his returning sons. Elrond skidded to a halt, however, upon spying who had arrived with Estel, Elladan and Elrohir. Curses filled the air as the twin’s complaining companion was helped from his horse.

“Elrond!” Gil-galad shouted. “Only you, Peredhel, would raise sons more ornery than yourself,” Gil-galad continued to curse as he was helped, limping, towards the Healing wing.

Elrond could only watch, stunned, as Gil-galad was led off by Estel. He turned opened-mouthed to observe his smirking sons. “W-what, W-where?” he stammered.

“We had to practically tie him to his horse to get him to return here with us,” Elrohir said, approaching his Adar. “Really Ada, whatever did you do to the Elf to make him dislike Imladris so much?” Elrohir pulled his mute, shocked father into his arms, hugging him tightly.

“I, he, uhm, left angry-" Elrond mumbled as he accepted another strong embrace from Elladan.

“Obviously,” Elladan remarked with a raised brow, pulling back from Elrond’s arms.

Elrond struggled to gather his scattered wits, his eyes moving to the Healing wing. “Is he injured badly?” he asked, voice quivering.

“No, Ada, ‘tis only a sprained knee from a spooked horse. Come, we will see if Estel has need of your assistance,” Elrohir guided Elrond towards where Gil-galad had been taken, exchanging a concerned glance with his twin. Neither of the twins had seen their father this shaken since Celebrian had been rescued from the Orcs.

The trio entered the wing only to hear Estel arguing fiercely with an annoyed Gil-galad. “I do not want to stay here! Now move aside, Estel, I will not remain where I am not wanted!” Gil-galad shouted.

“Ereinion, stop tormenting Estel. He is just trying to assist you,” Elrond said appealingly as he entered the room where Gil-galad had been taken.

Gil-galad was sitting upon one of beds resisting Estel’s efforts to uncover his injured knee. “I would if he would stop trying to get my leggings off me!” Gil-galad fussed, slapping Estel hands away from the ties at his waist.

Elladan and Elrohir both roared with laughter at the blush that covered Estel's face.

“Out,” Elrond ordered. “I will see to Ereinion’s injury. Estel, you and your brothers need to clean up, and I am sure you could use some food.” Elrond did not look at Ereinion as he moved about the room gathering the supplies he would need. He ignored the suddenly concerned looks that his sons directed at him as they vacated the room. Silence descended as Elrond and Gil-galad were left alone.

Elrond approached the bed where Gil-galad sat. “Ereinion, you will have to remove those leggings for me to see how badly you have sprained your knee.” Elrond struggled to keep his voice detached and calm. But, he could not stop his eyes from greedily roaming over the former King, eagerly assuring himself that Ereinion was here and whole. Surprisingly, this time when he looked upon his former mate, he did not see the burning and ashes, but instead deep indigo eyes that followed his every move, frustrated desire in their depths.

Gil-galad said nothing as he stripped off his pants and modestly covered himself with a corner of the blanket on the bed. He watched as Elrond flushed and looked down at the swollen limb extended for his inspection. Gil-galad felt a perverse satisfaction as he observed the sign that his absence had affected Elrond. The Peredhel had lost weight, his robes much looser than when Gil-galad had left, and under his bright gray eyes were purple shadows that told of sleepless nights. Gil-galad flinched as Elrond’s badly shaking hands fumbled at his sore knee. Gil-galad frowned and without thought grabbed the Peredhel’s trembling hands in his own. “Why are your hands shaking, Elrond?”

Elrond looked up into Gil-galad eyes, unaware that his own revealed all the heartache he had gone through when Gil-galad left. He did not answer Gil-galad’s question. “I am so sorry, Ereinion. I never meant for you to leave Imladris,” he whispered, dropping his gaze once more to tend to Gil-galad’s knee.

Gil-galad’s eyes had narrowed at what he had seen deep in Elrond’s gaze. He saw *fear*. “Elrond, what are you afraid of?” Gil-galad pleaded, his tone beseeching Elrond to finally open up to him.

Elrond halted what he was doing, his hands no longer stable enough for such delicate work. Here was his chance to make Gil-galad understand, but could he face his fear? Would he look up only to see, instead of his lovers face, a burnt- out shell? Elrond felt the tears begin sliding down his face. He had not cried when Gil-galad had left, but now faced with him once more, he could no longer hold the tears in.

He looked up finally, his eyes gray pools swimming with misery. “I cannot watch you burn again, Ereinion.”

Gil-galad reared back, stunned. Of everything he had imagined- Elrond no longer loving him, worries that the Peredhel’s children would come between them, or Elrond blaming him for dying and leaving him so burdened, nothing could have prepared him for Elrond’s words.  I cannot watch you burn again. This is what had been holding his love back? The fear of losing Gil-galad again? He could say nothing, could not wrap his mind around the words needed to respond, and Elrond stared at him out of frightened, almost resigned, gray eyes.

Elrond rose suddenly and before Gil-galad could stop him, he left the room. Only the sound of the door-closing drove through his amazement, and without thought he jumped up to follow. Gil-galad cried out as his injured knee refused to support his weight and he stumbled, meeting the floor hard as he fell.

“Elrond!” he cried out, but it was not the half-Elf who responded to his cry.

Erestor opened the door and rushed to help Gil-galad from the floor. “He is gone,” Erestor said, his voice calm as if he soothed a spooked animal.

Gil-galad lay panting on the bed, face tense as pain spread up his entire leg. He flung an arm across his face, not wanting the Advisor to see his pain or the tears that threatened. When would Elrond stop running?

“I believe he went to speak to the gwanûn,” Erestor spoke as he went about wrapping Gil-galad’s knee.

“How did you come to join the twins and Estel? When you left, in the middle of the night,” there Erestor’s voice paused, reproach heavy in his tone, and Gil-galad flinched, chastised as only the Chief Counselor could accomplish. “We were sure you would return to Lothlórien, but the messenger knew nothing of your whereabouts.”  Erestor brought Gil-galad a cup of hot laced with herbs and watched closely as the Elf finished every drop.

Gil-galad winced as the bitter liquid left a foul taste in his mouth. He watched as Erestor pulled up a chair and knew that the stoic Elf would not leave until he answered his questions.  “I came upon them by sheer chance along the Sarn Gebir, and it was a good thing. They were in a fierce battle with many Orcs, Elrohir had taken an arrow to his sword arm. After the battle, they welcomed me and offered their companionship if I cared to travel with them. They did not know who I was and I did not enlighten them. It was not until Estel joined us and recognized me that the gwanûn came to learn my real identity.” Gil-galad sighed tiredly. He had not wanted to return to Imladris, instead he had planned on journeying to Lothlórien, but the hurt knee and the forcefulness of the twins overruled his desire.

“They accepted you?” Erestor asked, with some surprise at this notion.

“Yes,” Gil-galad answered, pride in his voice. “We had traveled some time together. The twins and I had fought together protecting each other. I came to like and respect them, and I had hoped the same from them. When Estel arrived and expressed his amazement that the pair had not recognized me, I think they were more embarrassed by that lapse than anything else.” Gil-galad gave the Advisor a startled look at hearing the usually serious Elf snicker.

Erestor actually giggled at the mental image of the gwanûn’s chagrin. The very idea that they had traveled with one whose face graced the very walls of their own home and had not recognized the Elf sent the Councilor into peals of laughter. Erestor struggled to control himself at the look of shock upon Gil-galad’s face, but he could not prevent the laughter in his voice. “They should have paid more attention to their lessons.”  This sent the Elf into fresh laughter.

Gil-galad could only shake his head at the peculiarities of Elrond’s household. He was weary, so very tired of having a woe-filled heart. Just a bit of peace had been found in the wilds, but that had disappeared when Estel had revealed his secret to the twins. Gil-galad had held nothing back from the pair. His guilt at deceiving them had not allowed that. Only the Valar’s reasons for his return still remained hidden. And he was no closer in figuring out what role he was to play in the twins’ lives. How was he to influence their decision? Even the time spent exclusively in their company this past year had not revealed any information.

Estel’s company had provided some missing pieces of the puzzle. The twins’ teasing of their foster brother had spoken volumes. Elladan and Elrohir had seemed to delight in bringing flushes to the human’s features with their references to Arwen and the eagerness young Estel showed in returning soonest to Imladris. Indeed, the very longing that entered the heir of Isildur’s voice when he spoke of Arwen Evenstar was telling in itself; that Arwen returned the young human’s affections Gil-galad did not doubt. So that part of the visions revealed by the Valar would come to pass. Elrond would lose his daughter. Arwen would choose the same path as Elros.

Gil-galad’s heart had bled for his love. To go through such torment of having a loved one chose the path of mortality for the second time was too much for an Elven heart, and if the twins should seek the same path; it would break the half-Elf. But Gil-galad had seen no signs that the pair longed for their sister’s fate. If they had made the choice in their hearts, they hid it well.  One thing worried Gil-galad; at no time during their journeying together did they discuss Celebrían. The twins asked no questions of their mother’s fate.

So lost in his thoughts was Gil-galad that he did not see when Erestor left him alone. Would the twins reveal their feelings to their Adar? Had they out of kindness or some misplaced feeling of atonement not revealed to Gil-galad that they resented his presence here? Would Elrond return, only to tell him that Elladan and Elrohir did not want him a part of Elrond’s life? Gil-galad’s thoughts were awhirl, and it was with a confused and troubled heart that he drifted to sleep.

Elrond had not gone to his long-missed sons. He had hidden himself in his study, a full glass of miruvor serving as his courage. That is where Elladan and Elrohir found him.  He accepted the embraces, but avoided their eyes. He stood once more, back turned, eyes unseeing out the window. “How came you to travel with Ereinion?” he asked.

It was Elladan who retold much of the same tale Gil-galad had imparted to Erestor, with one exception; Elladan did not gloss over Gil-galad’s timely intervention in the battle. “He saved Elrohir, Ada. That arrow had paralyzed Elrohir’s sword arm, and an Orc approached him from the rear, bent on ending his life. If it had not been for Gil-galad’s decapitating that Orc-...” Hear, Elladan could not go on, his voice too overcome with emotion at the very thought of losing his beloved twin.

Elrond too sent a prayer of thanks to the Valar for Ereinion’s presence at his sons’ side. Finally he turned and went to the twins, hugging them both tightly in thanks of their very presence. Elrond took a seat next to his sons and listened to the rest of the tale. Had his heart been lighter, he too would have laughed at the pair’s chagrin and embarrassment at not realizing whom their traveling companion was. Elladan defended them by saying, “One does not expect to see the former High King of the Noldor, who is supposed to be dead, wandering the wilds hunting and cooking like an ordinary Elf.”

After the brethren finished their story, silence hung heavy in the air, and it took great courage for Elrond to ask what was on all their minds.

“How do you feel about Ereinion’s return to my side, ynen?” Elrond did not shy away from their gazes; this question he had to brave through. (my sons)

Elladan said nothing. It was Elrohir with tears in his eyes who ask the question both brothers sought to understand. “Why not Naneth, Ada?” (Mother)

Elladan spoke before Elrond could. “Is it because he is the one you have always loved, and not Nana?” (Mom)

Elrond rose to pace, unable to look into Elrohir’s sad eyes or Elladan’s frank gaze. “I loved your mother, Elladan,” Elrond said, his steps taking him back to his lonely view out his window.

Elrond heard his sons rise also and felt their presence beside him at the window. “But not as much as you love Gil-galad,” Elrohir whispered, no question in his voice; just a simple acceptance of the truth.

“Yes,” was all Elrond could say.

Elladan laid a hand upon his Adar’s shoulder. “So why, Ada, did Gil-galad run from you and Imladris?”

Elrond turned to face his sons, his face grief-stricken. “I drove him away with my fears.”

“What fears, Ada?” Elrohir asked.

Elladan interrupted before Elrond could answer. “Wait have you told Gil-galad of your fears?” he asked his Ada.

Elrond stared blankly at his eldest. That Elladan would even ask such a question showed the esteem the twins had come to regard Gil-galad with. “I-I somewhat… no, n-not really,” he finally finished, both twins staring at their unflappable Adar in amazement.

“Why not, Ada?” Elrohir asked, moving close once more to touch his visibly troubled father.

But Elrond jerked away from Elrohir’s hold and paced the room, suddenly furious. “I cannot do this again and again!” he declared.

Elladan and Elrohir watched their usually self-possessed Adar fling himself about the room, hands nervously waving about. This was as close to full-blown panic they had ever seen Elrond in, and it frightened the stout warriors. Elladan finally had enough and roughly grasped Elrond’s shoulders, forcing him to stop. “Ada, enough! Talk to us! What is it that you cannot do again?” he asked.

Elrond looked to his sons, tears heavy in his gray eyes. “I-I cannot endure any more loss. I will not put myself through that again.”  Elrond all but collapsed in Elladan’s hold and the twin led his father to a chair, seating him and moving away to pour a healthy dose of miruvor. He pressed the drink into Elrond’s badly shaking hands and watched as he took a sip.

“So you will throw away this second chance to live with the only Elf you have ever truly loved because you are afraid?” Elladan asked, his tone sharply challenging.

“Elladan!” Elrohir scolded, shocked by his brother’s tone to their father.

“Hush, Elrohir. I am just asking Ada if he is going to be a coward and toss away this gift that the Valar have bestowed on him, or is he going to embrace this miracle and be happy?” Elladan took and held Elrond’s gaze the entire time he spoke.

Elrond stared into the challenging eyes of his eldest. Never has Elladan spoken thus to him! He shook his head, unable to wrap his mind around Elladan’s words. Elrohir seemed to come to understand what his brother was about, though, for he came and knelt at Elrond’s feet, grasping his father’s hands and gently squeezing them. “Ada,” he implored, waiting until Elrond’s attention focused on him. “Would you have given up any of your love for Gil-galad if you had known when you first met him that it would not be for eternity?”

Elrond’s eyes widened. “No!” he exclaimed. “I cherished all the memories of our days together. I would not have changed anything of my time with Ereinion.”

It was Elladan who asked the question that the brethren hoped would open their Ada’s eyes. “Then why are you denying yourself this opportunity to make more of those precious memories?”

Elrohir gently continued, “Can any amount of loss take that gift of love away from you? Should you not rejoice in the very privilege of having known it and been giving a second chance to experience that love once more?”

Elrond stared back and forth between his sons with amazement. He felt a smile threatening at the corners of his lips. “When did the pair of you become so wise?” he asked, allowing that rueful smile to break free.

Elrohir looked up at his brother, brow crinkling in mirth. “Us, wise? What say you, Elladan? When did we gain wisdom?” Elrohir rose to stand next to Elladan.

Elladan shrugged his shoulders and replied calmly, but his eyes danced. “Must be some mistake, I do not recall any lessons in wisdom from Erestor.”

Elrond laughed with the pair. “Better not let Erestor hear you say so,” he warned and laughed once more at the pair’s blanch of alarm.

Elrond led the brethren to the door. “You both must be dead upon your feet. Rest, refresh yourselves. I have some thinking to do.”

Elladan and Elrohir bid their Ada goodnight and closed the door softly behind them, leaving Elrond alone with his thoughts once more.

The hour was late; long abed were the residents of Imladris when Gil-galad made his way through the halls. He stopped in front of one door, listening careful for any noise from inside. When none came, he quietly opened the door and slipped inside. His Elven eyesight adapted to the darkness as he made his way through the outer rooms towards the bedroom. Gil-galad halted in the doorway, watching the sleeping figure upon the large ornate bed. He leaned his forehead against the frame of the door and just watched. For how long, he knew not.

Loneliness and a need so acute that it had physically hurt him had driven him from his bed in the Healing Halls. Elrond’s words from earlier that evening filled his head. Elrond had not said that he no longer **loved** Gil-galad. No, the Peredhel had admitted to a paralyzing fear of loss, a loss that spoke of deep want and need, not of indifference. The desire to be close, even it was only an illusion, drove Gil-galad. All those long agonizing months in the wilds, alone with only his memories of Elrond to sustain him, and now to be so close, but still to be separated by misunderstandings and fear, it gnawed at him, and hurt him.  It no longer seemed possible to stay away. Surely he could hold the one he loved close, for just a little while? *I will slip away before morning,* he thought.

Finally, unable to resist the siren call from that bed, he moved stealthily towards it. His clothes barely made a whisper as they dropped to the floor, and the sliding between the sheets was just as silent. Carefully he pulled the sleep-warmed figure into his arms, unable to prevent his sigh of longing as the other’s firm flesh nestled in his embrace. Gil-galad’s eyes greedily moved over the other’s features, made all the more lovely by Ithil’s grace. The eyes were closed, something that Gil-galad mourned, not being able to gaze into their piercing depths during slumber. The chestnut locks were tousled and spread about the pillows as if the owner had not slept without some restlessness. The sheets were pulled down low and twisted about the other’s hips, leaving the solid expanse of the Elf’s chest bare. With no small hunger and regret, Gil-galad let his eyes feast.

Gil-galad pushed those hungers away; contentment was found just in holding his love. Weariness won with the promise of peace in those arms, and Gil-galad unwittingly, drifted to sleep, a murmur, a slight whisper of a name upon his lips before sleep claimed him fully. “Elrond.”

Anor’s rays across his face pulled Elrond from slumber. Ignoring its call, he snuggled back into the warmth around his body. He felt such ease in the cocoon that embraced him that leaving the bed seemed an almost impossible task. Only gradually did awareness find him.

The facts invaded his senses one after another. No blanket could keep one this warm, nor did mere bed-covers provide safety and a sense of belonging. Sheets did not move under one’s head and no ordinary fabric would beat with the pulsing of a heart.

Elrond slowly lifted his gray eyes, feeling an almost unbelievable hope, despite himself, in his heart. The dark blue eyes that met his own were filled with their own hopes, fragile light shining from them.

“Ereinion,” Elrond whispered, before covering the Elf’s lips with his own.

Gil-galad fought to escape the sheets that trapped him in Elrond’s arms. No force, not even a horde of Orcs, could have sent his heart pumping faster than the fear that rose in him from the feel of Elrond’s lips against his. Finally the need for breath pulled Elrond away from him. Gil-galad eyed Elrond, not seeing passion-glazed eyes, but remembering a similar occasion when that gray gaze has turned cold and rejecting. Elrond had taught him to well to now accept this gift without some trepidation. Elrond’s mouth moved closer to his own once more, and Gil-galad could not help the flinch that pulled him away.

"Why do you move away from me, Ereinion?” Elrond whispered, his morning voice low and sensuous.

“I am waiting for you to wake up,” Gil-galad replied.

Elrond shook his head, fighting to clear the morning fog. He could see the fear and uncertainty in Ereinion’s orbs, but it took several moments for the reason for that apprehension to come to him. “He fears I will pull away, like before!”  Elrond knew not what to say to alleviate Ereinion’s fears, so he did not try. Elrond reached down and captured Ereinion’s lips once more. He placed a brief hard kiss upon Ereinion’s lips then pulled away. Elrond placed a finger against Ereinion’s lips when Ereinion tried to speak. “Do not say anything, I beg of you, Ereinion. I love you. I want you; please let me show you just how much,” Elrond pleaded, unashamed, knowing he did not deserve a second chance, but praying to the Valar that he be granted one.

Gil-galad could only nod. In his eyes were all his hopes, dreams, and love, laid bare once again for Elrond to accept or reject. He could not hide from the half-Elf, never could. Come what may, he was Elrond’s.

This time the kiss was tender and equally participated in by both. There was no reclaiming, only an almost tentative rediscovery, as if they had never shared intimacy before now. Their lips brushed, silk-like, skin against skin. Sweet moist breath mingled as each parted their mouths, tongues meeting gently, then retreating, and then meeting once more. Both Elves rested their hands lightly against the shoulders of the other, with their bodies still separate. They wanted not to rush this, now there was no need for haste or fear. Kisses grew from slightly tentative exploration to a hungrier pressure. Elrond’s earlier excitement rekindled by the taste of his lover, he eagerly explored Ereinion’s mouth, discovering all over again that addicting flavor.

Gil-galad remained passive, not out of fear now, but fully under the Peredhel’s spell. Willingly he surrendered to Elrond’s desire, and in return had his own ignited and sent blazing. He moaned as Elrond’s lips and tongue sought other ground. His ears received gentle bites and a much hungrier pull from Elrond’s mouth. His hands were drawn away from Elrond’s shoulders and pressed down onto the mattress. “Let me,” Elrond whispered. And Gil-galad did. Elrond’s lips and tongue next explored Ereinion’s neck. There Elrond paused to nibble, lick, and suck. Hungry lips left passion marks, and Gil-galad could do nothing but take it…and moan.

Elrond slid a knee between the legs flush against his own, so that he was kneeling between Ereinion’s wide spread thighs. Elrond purred as his lips traveled down Ereinion’s wide chest, his tongue flicking lazily across one nipple, then the other. Gil-galad groaned, and his hands reached up to grasp the ornate headboard of Elrond’s bed. Satisfied that his attention had caused the nipples to harden, Elrond proceeded to suck strongly, teeth nibbling, each rosy nub in turn. This feasting continued until Elrond was happy with the cries he wrung from Ereinion’s lips.

With his tongue licking like a cat with a bowl of cream, Elrond moved lower. Each hipbone received a sharp nip of teeth before Elrond attacked Ereinion’s belly button. His tongue performed an intimate dance, in, out, in, out, each thrust brought Ereinion’s hips off the bed. Elrond did not give in to the thrusting hips or the pleas that fell from Ereinion’s lips. His lips and tongue followed the line from hip to where it met thigh, lingering in the crease there with broad swipes of his eager tongue. Elrond knelt further back so that he was on his knees. He pushed Ereinion’s legs further apart and licked a path down to the inside of Ereinion’s knee. There he paused and lifted his eyes to meet Ereinion’s. His tongue started a slow journey, down to right before Ereinion’s groin. He stopped and gave Ereinion a devilish smile.

Gil-galad cried out and arched sharply off the mattress as Elrond teeth bit down on the inside of his thigh. He whimpered when the wound was then licked, and looked into suddenly blazing gray eyes that had lightened to piercing silver. He could do nothing but lie there and take Elrond’s torments. His stomach quivered and his thighs ached from being spread so far apart. Gil-galad’s body shone with a sheen of moisture, every muscle standing out in sharp relief. His length lay hard and hot against his stomach, and under the head, a pool of his seed gathered, released by Elrond’s talented lips, tongue, and teeth. Gil-galad panted as the gentle tongue licked along his thighs. He knew not how much more of this precious torture he could take before he exploded!

Elrond ran his hands up Ereinion’s shaking thighs, gentling the strained muscles with his healer’s touch. He laid a hand upon Ereinion’s stomach, feeling the rise and fall as Ereinion struggled for control. Only moments for recovery did he give, before leaning down and running his tongue from root to tip of Ereinion’s length. Using both hands to hold down the thrusting hips, Elrond hummed in enjoyment as his tongue circled the tip, gathering the drops there to roll around his mouth, savoring the flavor. The room, the late hour, the other occupants of Imladris awaiting him, all disappeared as Elrond feasted on the proud flesh in his mouth. He sucked strongly, again and again, drawing more of that salty, bitter flavor into his mouth.

Gil-galad reached down, fisting his hands in Elrond’s hair. Control was gone, reason deserted him, and only a need to end the torment drove him. Gil-galad pulled sharply, drawing Elrond’s mouth from his arousal. Elrond released Gil-galad’s length with a wet pop, and he looked up at Ereinion, the Peredhel’s hoary eyes fierce in their need. “N-no more, E-Elrond,” Gil-galad pleaded. “Take me!”

Any other time, Gil-galad would have found amusement in Elrond’s frantic glances about the room. It was obvious the half-Elf had not thought that far ahead, to plan for a need for oil to be close at hand. His frenzied gaze flew to Ereinion’s. “I have no oil,” Elrond whispered, horror and need in his voice. Gil-galad shook his head, sending more of his black tresses about the pillow. “No time for that,” he said and picked up the hand that lay upon his stomach. Bringing two of Elrond’s fingers to his lips, he pulled the digits into his mouth, coating them with his saliva. Elrond could only groan and watch as his fingers were sucked strongly and finally released.

Wasting no time, Elrond brought the lubricated hand down between Ereinion’s legs. Using one finger, he circled the tight opening, feeling the clench and release of Ereinion’s muscles. Slowly he eased the finger into Ereinion’s body, shutting his eyes at the exquisite tightness and heat he encountered. Unable to wait, he eased out the one finger, adding its mate before pushing both back into Ereinion. Gil-galad could not help the groan that escaped him as the two fingers breeched his body. Elrond’s eyes flew open, and he looked down at Ereinion in concern. Gil-galad bit his lip and nodded for Elrond to continue.

Elrond scissored his fingers, loosening Ereinion’s tightness before pulling his hand back and adding a third finger. He held his hand still, giving Ereinion time to adjust to being filled. When Ereinion had once again opened his eyes to look at Elrond, Elrond thrust his fingers deep and arched them, hitting Ereinion’s sweet spot. Gil-galad thrust down on Elrond’s fingers. The pleasure overtaking any pain, Gil-galad began riding that thrusting hand, each rise and fall of his hips bringing a cry from his lips. Gil-galad cried out again, this time in loss as the fingers were removed. He looked down to see Elrond quickly coating his own length with the pool of seed on Gil-galad’s stomach.

Elrond almost whimpered as his hand stroked along his length, preparing himself for Ereinion. Gil-galad pulled his knees to his chest, exposing himself for Elrond’s penetration. Elrond groaned and grasp his length, guiding himself to Ereinion’s entrance. They both cried out as Elrond breeched Ereinion’s outer muscle, sinking a little forward. Shaking, Elrond paused, struggling against the need to plunge forward, to thrust to the hilt. He wrapped Ereinion’s legs about his waist and looked down into blazing azure depths.

 “Claim me, love. Make me yours,” Ereinion whispered.

Elrond sobbed as he thrust his hips forward, sinking into that velvety hot channel. He leaned down to also claim Ereinion’s lips just as he claimed his body. Elrond could not stop or slow down his thrust into Ereinion. Gasping, he released Ereinion’s lips and leaned back, angling his thrust to wring cries from Ereinion’s mouth. Gil-galad’s hips rose to meet each downward plunge. His arms tightened about Elrond’s shoulders as he moaned at each breech of Elrond’s arousal. “Elrond!” he cried out as his length was grasped in a tight fist and stroked. Elrond’s hips pistoned faster, and he stroked Ereinion more roughly, wanting to make his love come crying his name.

Gil-galad felt his stomach tighten, and his hips rose once more before he came screaming Elrond’s name, his seed coating Elrond’s hand and his own chest. Elrond’s groan was part sob as the channel gripping him tightened. He thrust once, twice more before crying out his release. He held deep, pressed tight against Ereinion as his own seed filled Ereinion. “Love,” Gil-galad murmured drawing the exhausted Peredhel down into his arms. Each was silent, the only sounds in the room their heavy breathing. Finally, Elrond rose to his knees and pulled slowly free of Ereinion’s body. He moved to his side and drew Ereinion into his arms.

“Melin chen, Ereinion nin,” Elrond proclaimed.

It was raised voices, the slamming of a door, and a voice crying, “Ada!” that pulled Gil-galad from slumber. His hand unconsciously moved across the expanse of bed, but instead of warm flesh, all he encountered was cold sheets. Gil-galad rose groggily on one arm and looked to the door as it opened and Elrond returned to the room. The Peredhel looked upset, and a fierce frown was upon his brow.

“Was that Arwen I heard yelling?” Gil-galad asked voice still husky and rough with sleep.

Elrond sat beside Ereinion on the side of his bed. “Ah, she is angry with me.”

Gil-galad placed a hand upon Elrond’s tense back, ignoring the slight jump the half-Elf made at his touch. *They still had much to do to return them to the comfort they once felt in each other’s presence*.  “What is she angry about?” Gil-galad asked.

Elrond sighed. “She resents and blames me for Estel’s decision to seek out his kin in the North,” Elrond moved away from Gil-galad’s touch. He did not see the flash of hurt in Gil-galad’s eyes as he moved to a small table and poured himself a glass of juice.

Gil-galad rose and swung his legs to the floor. He dragged the sheet to cover his nude lower body. “Does she have grounds?” he asked simply, knowing too well Elrond’s need to manipulate his love ones’ lives for what he perceived as the greater good.  Elrond, Gil-galad knew, did not do this out of malice or any need for control, but the half-Elf felt strongly that he knew what was best for his loved ones’ and had no plans to ignore the means at his disposal to accomplish those goals.

Elrond glared at Ereinion, ignoring the flash of heat that rose in his loins, at the vision Ereinion made, sitting nude, draped only in a bed sheet. “No!” he snapped. “I had nothing to do with Estel’s desire to leave Imladris.”

“But you have in the past?” Gil-galad asked. Elrond looked guilty, and Gil-galad had his answer. “Why?” he asked simply, knowing that Elrond would understand what he was asking.

The look on Elrond’s face went from anger and irritation to heart-rending sadness. The emotion on the half-Elf’s face cause tears to prickle in Gil-galad’s eyes.

“I know what you would say. That it is the One’s will, and the Valar’s design. That a father should accept that his only daughter has found true love... nay, that the father should rejoice in that!  But tell me, Ereinion, how can any father not fight with every fiber in his being to halt that love, when it will cost him his daughter? Indeed, when that love would cost her very immortality? So yes, I have schemed and interfered.  I cannot sit idly by and accept this latest plan of the Valar as I have all the other fates they have tossed at my family. I would regret it for eternity if I did not at least try and keep my Arwen with me.” By the time he finished speaking, Elrond’s face was wet with tears.

Gil-galad rose and wrapped the sheet about his waist. He approached Elrond tentatively, not sure if the Peredhel would accept his comfort. But Elrond did allow himself to be drawn into Gil-galad’s strong arms and held tightly. Gil-galad knew that Elrond’s gift of foresight had shown that the Evenstar of their people would be joined to the King of Men, that Elrond’s blood would once more enrich the lines of the Kings of the West. All Elves had some endowment of foresight, but none to the extent that Elrond and Galadriel possessed.

Should foresight be called gift? Gil-galad did not truly believe so. He had suffered nightmares of his own death weeks before the actual event, and he did not possess even close to the full powers of Elrond. The Ring of Air, Gil-galad knew, enhanced Elrond’s natural abilities, and this sent a stab of guilt through Gil-galad. He had burdened the half-Elf with more than just his death. He could argue with Elrond about the futility of fighting against fate, but that would accomplish nothing. Elrond would do what he felt he must. All Gil-galad could do was what the Valar had wanted, and that was to be here, to offer his love, his comfort, and support to Elrond.

Elrond pulled back gently, giving Ereinion a small smile of thanks, embarrassed by his show of emotion. Wordlessly he moved to the wardrobe and pulled clean robes and leggings from within. Anxious to change the subject, he said, “The day is mostly gone. It amazes me that none have intruded.” Elrond pulled out a thick crimson robe and handed it to Ereinion.

Gil-galad showed none of his earlier restraint; instead, he flung the sheet back onto the bed and pulled the robe about his body, smiling to himself as his bare form captured Elrond’s attention. He indicated the tray Elrond had earlier obtained the juice from. “This speaks of Erestor’s fine hand, I imagine, and none would dare disturb his Lord and face Erestor’s wrath.” Gil-galad moved to the table and took a seat awaiting Elrond so they could share the bounty on the tray.

Elrond shook himself; the sight of Ereinion’s body had wiped away all thought but those of the morning and what had occurred between them. “Yes, it seems that Erestor has assured us some privacy this morn,” he moved to take a seat across from Ereinion, and once more the air between them became tense and uncomfortable.

Gil-galad cleared his throat and accepted the cup of tea Elrond handed him. “I have noticed that your Seneschal seems not to fear Erestor. Indeed, Glorfindel appears to hold the Advisor in high esteem and seeks to court him.”

Elrond laughed and flashed Ereinion a grin. “Ah, it has been quite amusing to watch such a courtship. Erestor has led Glorfindel about for months now, but he will not commit to the Seneschal until Glorfindel ceases his philandering ways. Glorfindel does not even realize what Erestor is about. My money would be on my Chief Councilor.”

The laughter eased the tension between them, and their talk became more light-hearted. Gil-galad went on to tell Elrond that he had agreed to assist Glorfindel with training and even take a turn or two at patrols. “Unless you also, Elrond, would like to put me to work?” Gil-galad asked, ignoring Elrond’s brief frown at the news he would be leading patrols soon. Elrond would have to accustom himself to Gil-galad’s new role on Arda. He might not be a King of Elves any longer, but Gil-galad was still a warrior and he could help defend his land and loved ones.

Elrond looked thoughtful for several moments, and then he pushed his plate aside and regarded Ereinion silently for several minutes. “Ereinion, well do I remember when our thoughts would turn fanciful in the days of old, and we would discuss our choices if given a second chance to do what we desired instead of what duty thrust upon us. So I ask you, Ereinion, what would you like to do in this day and Age, in your second chance?” Elrond smiled at the look of surprise dawning on Ereinion’s features.

Gil-galad laughed and bestowed a brilliant smile upon his love. He grew thoughtful, but quickly a light appeared in his eyes. “Metals,” he said, and his grin grew. “I would like to work in the forges and create with tools and, my hands. That is what I would do, Elrond!”

Ereinion’s joy and excitement were contagious and the rest of their meal was spent discussing what Ereinion wanted to create. Cleaning and refreshing themselves was also carried out still in light-hearted conversation, and only at the door to Elrond’s room did unease grip them once more. After they exchanged nervous smiles, Elrond finally reached out for one of Ereinion’s hands and placed a gentle kiss on it. “I will see you at the evening meal?” he asked.

Gil-galad nodded and leaned down for a slow careful kiss. He brushed his lips softly over Elrond’s, feeling the trembling in the Peredhel’s lips. “And then we can come back here, to bed, together?” Gil-galad asked.

Elrond could only nod. Already his body reacted to the promises in Ereinion’s voice.  He watched that broad back as Ereinion headed towards the barracks, before he too left and headed towards his neglected office. Elrond was unable to suppress the fanciful sigh that left his lips or the slightly naughty smile that followed.

Gil-galad was watching two of the young recruit’s spar, when his attention was caught by the twins’ activities across the training yard.  The pair, for all appearances, was engaged in their own sparring, but it was their manner that gave Gil-galad pause. Their efforts with swords were half-hearted, with frequent smiles and smirks at each other.  But it was the touching that was most revealing: a brush of an arm or hand across the chest, legs intimately pressed together as they thrust and parried, the telltale flush across high cheekbones as the two exchanged whispers. Gil-galad had seen the signs before, though not as far progressed as the twins’ actions, but the emotions were similar.

Gil-galad was taken back to a scene in Lindon Ages ago. Elros and Elrond were sparring together when suddenly Elros had thrown down his sword practically ran from the field, leaving his twin staring after him in confusion. Gil-galad had watched the match and had recognized Elros’ reaction for what it was… sexual attraction. Elrond had never realized the feelings his twin had for him. He had been oblivious to Elros’ struggle with emotions that were not brotherly. Gil-galad had suffered along with Elrond when Elros had chosen the path of Men, and had seen the desolation Elrond had felt, made all the worse for not understanding why Elros had chosen that fate.

Elladan and Elrohir had finished their exercise and were headed back towards the Halls. The touches were subtle, but to one who had seen the signs before, they were telling. Gil-galad could almost feel their arousal and hunger for each other on the air. Now, seeing this new pair of Peredhel twins, he could not but think that their love was the way it should be.

Gil-galad dismissed the young warriors and as he gathered together the weapons, his thoughts turned to the Valar. Had they known of the twins’ relationship was that their reason for wanting intervention and counseling by Gil-galad?  If that was their design, they were going to be very disappointed, he speculated.  Perhaps someone who had no knowledge of twins and their special closeness could find wrong in their love.  But, Gil-galad had spent much time around Elros and Elrond and had seen first-hand the bond between twins. He could not find it in his heart to denounce Elladan and Elrohir.

Gil-galad shook his head. He did not truly believe that the Valar disapproved of Elladan and Elrohir’s love for one another. They would not have placed such importance on the twins’ choice, if that were the case. Their words to Gil-galad had been more to the effect that they wished the pair to make the choice of the Eldar, not that of mortality. Surely, if the Valar planned on denouncing the brethren, it would please them if the pair stayed on Arda? To convince the twins to be counted among the Eldar has been a condition of his return, and now Gil-galad knew why the twins were conflicted about their choice. How to approach them with this knowledge was what Gil-galad needed to figure out.

Gil-galad had not been able to erase the image of the twins from his mind the rest of the day. He went about his duties, but always in the back of his thoughts was what to do about Elladan and Elrohir, and what he had witnessed on the training fields. Gil-galad knew his duty was laid upon him by the Valar themselves. He was to convince the Peredhil twins that they belong among the Eldar and not with their sister among Man. But how he was to accomplish that task was the quandary. The Valar had warned Gil-galad to say nothing of their designs, but he knew that Galadriel and Elrond himself knew some of the Valar’s plans. He had not broken the rules and told Elrond and Galadriel anything, but they in their wisdom suspected much of the Valar’s designs. If Gil-galad could say nothing of the Valar’s will, what could he say to the twins to convince them of their acceptance in Valinor?

Gil-galad’s thoughts were so occupied with the Peredhil twins that it was only as he approached a door that he realized it was the door to Elrond’s chambers and not his own guest room. He stopped, uncertain. They had agreed to meet later, but Gil-galad did not know if his welcome was, in fact, assured in Elrond’s rooms. It was too new, this being with Elrond, and Gil-galad still did not trust that Elrond had accepted him back into his life. Being in one’s bed did not a relationship make.  Gil-galad took a deep breath and opened the door.

“Elrond?” he called, but there was no answer.

Gil-galad walked through the study into the bedroom, only to find that it too was empty. He heard the sound of water running and noticed the bathroom door was ajar. Moving soundlessly, he glanced in the room. Gil-galad bit his lip, barely able to contain his groan. The view before him was stunning and oh so enticing. The figure before him was bent over at the waist, adding oils to the running bath. Gil-galad’s gaze was caught and held by the pert, tempting backside facing him so brazenly.

Gil-galad stepped back behind the door, grinning as the Elf went about the bathroom, humming while gathering towels and other soaps. In near record time, Gil-galad had himself stripped, clothes flung haphazardly about him. He crept back around the corner and watched, mouth watering as the Elf bent once more to run a hand through the bath water.

Perfect, Gil-galad thought. The Elf had not entered the bath as of yet. Soundlessly, putting the skills learned as warrior to use, Gil-galad crept up behind the unsuspecting form. His arms wrapped firmly around the form and his face buried itself in rich chestnut locks, chuckling at the squeal Elrond let out as Gil-galad wrapped him firmly in his embrace.

“A squeal, Elrond?” Gil-galad shook with laughter and tightened his hold as Elrond began struggling. “What would your subjects say to the Lord of Imladris squealing like an elleth?”

Gil-galad roared with laughter as Elrond turned in his embrace and struck Gil-galad’s chest several times with an angry fist. His laughter faded, however as he looked down into those silvery-gray eyes, falling into those tempting traps once more. Gil-galad’s hunger came roaring back, and he covered Elrond’s mouth with his own. He plundered, tasted, and conquered. Their first time this morn had been Elrond’s; this was all Gil-galad’s. Little time did he give the Peredhel to adjust before he swept Elrond along lust’s path.

Elrond could do nothing but moan into Ereinion’s mouth. Hands tangled in his hair, holding his head still for Ereinion’s mouth and tongue. Then those strong warrior’s hands swept down his back to cup his buttocks, squeezing firmly and bringing their bodies flush together so Elrond felt Ereinion’s arousal strongly against his own. Elrond whimpered and thrust his hips sharply against Ereinion’s, his arousal grown full and heavy. Elrond groaned aloud as a fist in his hair pulled his head back, and a hungry mouth attacked his throat, leaving red brands in its wake. Their arousals slid heavily together, both moaning at the heat this caused.

Ereinion pulled Elrond down onto the bathroom floor. He knelt between the half-Elf’s legs, spreading them wider with his hands. His sapphire gaze blazed down at Elrond, and Elrond could not help but shiver. Ereinion’s possession of him he remembered well, and his arousal weep freely at the thought of feeling that heavy length inside him once more. Ereinion’s hand reached down into the oil-slick water, wetting his hand, and he reached down, his fingers disappearing between Elrond’s legs. Elrond’s back arched and he cried out as two fingers entered his body without warning. His length twitched, and he moaned in bliss as Ereinion’s fingers curled, hitting his pleasure spot, changing the discomfort to bliss.

Gil-galad looked down at the vision laid before him. Elrond’s body glowed from of the moisture of the bathroom. His face was flushed also with desire, eyes pure silver, and his mouth open with moans spilling forth. Those eyes… they had always been Gil-galad’s weakness. Now they burned him with their need and desire. Gil-glad could not resist their lure any longer.

With barely contained need he added another finger, stretching Elrond’s opening and finding his pleasure spot again and again until the Peredhel was arching up and crying out continuously. He withdrew his fingers, ignoring Elrond’s cry of disappointment. Plunging his hand once more into the oil-rich water, he wrapped his hand around his own length, hissing in pleasure as he slicked himself well. Gil-galad moved back between Elrond’s raised knees. His hands grasped Elrond’s hips and pulled the half-Elf’s body flush against his own. One hand grasped his length as he guided it to Elrond’s opening.

“Ready?” he rasped, his voice hoarse with need. Elrond could only nod at him, and with that permission, Gil-galad slid fully inside, sheathing himself to the hilt.

Elrond cried out as Ereinion’s full length breeched his body. He had forgotten, his body had not remembered the fullness, the stretch, and the heat that came from Ereinion’s possession of his body. He heard Ereinion groan from above him, but could do nothing but gasp as Ereinion began thrusting, his full length striking that nerve in Elrond that had stars dancing in his eyes. Elrond’s hands hung onto sweat-dampened shoulders. He could do nothing but hang on as his body was repeatedly breeched.

The rush was like a storm… a bolt of lightening. No slow build up of desire, just fast and furious need. Orgasm did not gently arrive, no, it poured through them and out their mouths in moans and screams. Elrond sobbed, body shaking, and unable to speak, to plead for an end, yet never having felt this fire in his veins. His sobs turned to relief-filled moans as his length was grasped and stroked strongly. His seed pulled from him explosively to wet his chest and stomach.

Gil-galad roared as the passage around his arousal tightened and clenched. His cry of “Elrond!” bounced off the tile floors and walls and echoed out into the bedroom and beyond. Gil-galad fell onto Elrond’s exhausted body and was welcomed by open arms. Several moments did they spend just catching their breath and lying in each other’s arms. Gil-galad finally rolled off Elrond and lay dazedly, staring up at the ceiling.

Elrond grinned as he rose and stood over Ereinion. “Come, love, the bath is still warm enough. Join me.” Elrond held out a hand to assist Ereinion, laughing as the former King moaned as he rose to his feet.

“How can you move?” Gil-galad asked.

Elrond flashed Ereinion a wicked grin as he stepped into the warm water. “You did all the work, maethoren vorn.”  (My dark warrior)

Gil-galad could not help but laugh at the light-hearted and devilish look upon Elrond’s face. Such ease he had not seen since his own arrival. Gil-galad grinned as he joined Elrond in the tub. He leaned back, letting Elrond draw him back against the Peredhel’s chest. “Pen órn,” he growled and Elrond laughed again, lightening Gil-galad’s own heart even more. (Impetuous one)

Gil-galad could only sigh. They were all right…

Elrond had called him Love.

Ithil bathed the lovers in silver light. The only sounds that broke the stillness of the night were the gentle whispering and the faint rustle of bed sheets. “I believe now,” Elrond whispered.

“What do you believe, meleth?” Gil-galad asked. (Love)

“That the Valar did indeed send something back just for me,” Elrond stated before he covered Ereinion’s lips with his own once more. Then the soft night air was graced by tender moans and breathless sighs.

Over the next two moons, Gil-galad watched the gwanûn closely but no opportunities for approach came to him. Not known for his patience, finally Gil-galad snapped, and walking determinedly towards the twins, he asked for a moment of their time. Leading the perplexed pair outdoors, he headed for a private corner of Imladris' vast gardens. Taking a seat, he waved edgily for the twins to seat themselves.

Gil-galad ignored Elladan and Elrohir’s frowns and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, and just started talking. “I have not the skilled tongue of Erestor or the patient wisdom of your Ada, so I am just going to say what is on my mind.” At the pair's nod, he continued. “The Valar know of your love for each other and of your bond. They accept it and want you to choose the path of the Eldar and not that of Men.” Gil-galad’s breath left him in rush, the relief at finally being able to say that to the twins leaving him light-headed.

The twins said not a word, but regarded Gil-galad as if he had grown another head. They appeared stunned, disbelieving, and not a word passed their lips for several moments. Finally Elladan broke the silence, asking the question that was on both their minds. "How do we know this to be true? What if this is some kind of trap to get us to Valinor, only to punish us for our choice?"

Gil-galad flinched. What was he to say? Perhaps the Valar's exact words needed to be revealed. "I do not know what they would have me say to you. All I can do, it seems, is to break the rules they sent me back here under and reveal to you their exact instructions to me. But before I speak further, I must reveal some history. Will you listen?" Gil-galad asked.

Elrohir's face was blank, but Gil-galad could detect a hint of fear in the younger twin's eyes. Elladan, however, looked furious, the elder brother being well known for his shortness of temper. It was to him that Gil-galad's appeal was directed the most. It was Elladan's nod for him to continue that spurred Gil-galad on.

"You know some of the things I will mention, such as your Ada losing his parents at an early age, and that Elros chose the path of Men. Then Elrond faced loss again when I died at the Dark Lord's hands, and finally the passing of your Nana to her retreat over the Sea. The Vala Vairë had spun heartache after heartache in the tapestry of your Ada's life. After so much loss she felt that it was time the Valar rewarded your Adar for all his sacrifices to Arda. When I was summoned before them, I was given specific instructions as to the reason for my return. I was told not to reveal the reasons to you, but to help you see why I believe that the Valar accepts your love for one another. I am going to break that rule." Gil-galad paused and looked closely at the brethren. They in turn were watching him closely and this time, he received the approval to continue from both Elladan and Elrohir.

"I was to be returned to Elrond because the Valar wanted to give him some happiness and someone to comfort him. Elrond's role in the future of Middle Earth is important, and the Valar could not afford his loss from grief. I speak, of course, of your sister's future choice. Arwen will choose to join her destiny to the world of Man, just as Elros did. Your Ada has seen this, as has Galadriel. You also have had some foresight regarding her future. But what troubled the Valar was that you both had not made your choice, or perhaps that you were hesitant to be counted among the Firstborn. Either way, this worried the Valar, so in addition to my presence providing Elrond with strength and comfort; I was also to seek you out and convince you to accept the gift of the Eldar." Gil-galad mentally winched at that last falsehood, but explaining the subtle manipulations the Valar had employed on him would be a mistake, and not inspire trust in the twin's.

Gil-galad lowered his head, pausing in his telling to gather his thoughts. He was unsure just how much to reveal to the Peredhil twins, but it was Elrohir who asked the question, and Gil-galad could not refuse to answer.

"How did you know of our bond? Elladan and I are careful, and I am curious as to how you discovered our love of one another," Elrohir asked.

Gil-galad regarded the brethren for a moment before he answered. "I had watched as another pair of twins struggled through feelings much like your own, and the aftermath was one of heartbreak. I could not do that once again. So to answer your question, to one who has seen the signs, the secret is known." Gil-galad watched as understand lit the twins' features, and he knew no more needed to be said; they knew of whom Gil-galad spoke.

"So you believe that the Valar truly desire us to choose the path of the Eldar based on their instructions to you upon your rebirth?" Elrohir asked.

"Yes," Gil-galad answered.

"We have longed to be reunited with our Nana someday." Elrohir looked to his silent twin, and something seemed to pass between them. "We will think on all you have said, Gil-galad, and we thank you for approaching us." Elrohir rose and held out a hand to his brother. Of the pair, it was Elladan who appeared the most deeply troubled, and Elrohir seemed to almost tenderly lead his older brother away.

Gil-galad sat silently, watching them depart. He was deeply troubled, wondering if he had handled this task correctly. He only prayed that he had not made the situation worse.

It was with a heavy heart that Gil-galad joined Elrond in their quarters that evening. He had been preoccupied most of the day, his mind turning about what had been said and not said. Gil-galad accepted Elrond's welcoming embrace; if he hung on a little longer and more desperately than normal, Elrond did not remark upon it. Gil-galad inquired of Elrond about his day and honestly tried to listen to what the half-Elf was saying. They both went about refreshing themselves for the evening meal. Gil-galad must have asked the right question because they were able to depart for the dining hall without Gil-galad's absentmindedness being addressed.

The evening meal was as succulent as usual and the company as congenial, with one marked absence; the twins did not join their friends and family that evening. Elrond did not seem upset at their absence, but did direct the servants to take a tray to the brethren's quarters. Gil-galad made it through the evening meal, the after-dinner entertainment in the Hall of Fire, and all the way back to their quarters before Elrond finally spoke of Gil-galad's distraction, but the half-Elf's words were not of inquiry; instead, Elrond shocked Gil-galad.

"So tell me, Ereinion, did you convince my sons to follow the path of the Eldar?" Elrond asked, moving away from Gil-galad to sit on the bed. He watched Gil-galad closely, a slight almost smile upon his face. "Did you think I did not know? I knew before my sons did of their bond and their love for each other."

Gil-galad stumbled towards Elrond sitting heavily next to the Peredhel. "I did not think you knew," he whispered.

Elrond reached for one of Ereinion's hands. "Just as you did not think I knew that the love Elros felt for me was not only the brotherly kind."

Gil-galad knew not what to say. He would have never guessed that Elrond had known of Elros' feelings, or that he would be as accepting of his own sons' relationship as he appeared to be. Gil-galad really did not want to ask, but he had to know. "You knew of your brother's feelings?"  At Elrond's nod he continued. "But you did not return his feelings?" Gil-galad tensed, mentally bracing himself for the answer. He could not imagine that Elrond had not returned Elros' love. Never had he seen a bond like theirs, until he witnessed that of Elladan and Elrohir.

Now it was Elrond who looked down, unsure of himself, and so very sad at the memories this conversation invoked.

"By the time I realized what my twin was feeling, it was already too late for us." Elrond raised his eyes to meet Ereinion's gaze, frank honesty and heart-rending  sadness in his pewter gaze. "I could not return his love, for I was all ready in love with someone else," he stated simply.

"Me?" Gil-galad whispered.

Elrond nodded and gladly went into Ereinion's embrace allowing those strong arms to comfort him.

Elrohir lay upon the bed, arms wrapped tightly about his elder brother. Elladan had reacted the most emotionally about Gil-galad's revelations, and the oldest Peredhil twin was overwrought. Elrohir rubbed a soothing hand through Elladan's dark chestnut locks and rocked his beloved in his arms. Elrohir himself was not sure what he was feeling. Gil-galad had shared his knowledge of the Valar's will, and Elrohir found he believed the former High King. His assurances meant they could go home with the rest of their kind. Elrohir had not wrapped his mind about that notion as of yet, but now his biggest concern was Elladan.

"Elladan, meleth, speak to me." Elrohir pleaded. His twin had said nothing since they left Gil-galad in the gardens. They had come straight to their quarters, where Elladan proceeded to curl up in a tight ball upon their bed.

Elladan said nothing, but only rolled over, a fierce need in his silvery-gray eyes. Elladan roughly covered his twin’s mouth with his own, kissing Elrohir desperately, as if he were trying to lose himself inside his brother. He gave Elrohir no time to adjust. Elladan's hands frantically tugged and ripped at his brother’s clothes, hungry to touch flesh. He finally released Elrohir's lips only to attack the smooth, enticing skin of his twin’s neck, sucking and biting at the skin there until it was red with dark marks standing out brightly. His hands raced up and down Elrohir's body, each stroke rough and ravenous in its need, pinching nipples and fisting his brother’s length harshly.

Elrohir made no complaints or tried to stop his brother in any way. He could read Elladan’s need and could do would do nothing but offer whatever his beloved brother needed. All Elrohir could do was moan and arch up into his twin’s rough mouth. One particularly harsh bite around his nipple sent Elrohir’s hands fisting through the silky hair that draped over his body. Elrohir allowed himself to be rolled over, and he cried out as his back received the same rough kisses and caresses. "Elladan," he moaned, as his twin licked a path down his spine, ending at the swell of his buttocks.

"On your knees, seron vell," Elladan ordered his brother.

Elrohir groaned and pulled his body up till he was spread wide, his backside offered to Elladan's hungry eyes. Elrohir cried out and flung his head back as Elladan swept a wet tongue across his entrance. Strong hands spread Elrohir wide open, and his body shook, his hips moving back to meet Elladan's demanding tongue as it breeched his body. Pleas and cries spilled from his throat as that slick muscle thrust into him again and again, making Elrohir prepared and wet for his twin's possession. Elrohir almost screamed as Elladan wrapped a tight fist about his length, stroking from root to tip and gathering Elrohir's seed in the palm of his hand. Elladan grasped his own arousal, his tongue not leaving his brother’s body. Stroking himself roughly and gathering the excess moisture, he coated his length with their combined seed.

Elladan rose up and moved close behind his twin. "Ready, meleth?" he rasped.

"Ah, Elladan, now please!" Elrohir moaned, then he cried out as Elladan slid inside in one long thrust. The burn and stretch made Elrohir breathless, and he fought to unclench his muscles.

Elladan's hands grasped Elrohir's hips hard enough to leave bruises. He breathed heavily, trying to stave off his release, but the clenching and unclenching of Elrohir's channel around his length made that difficult. Elladan ran his hands up his twin’s tense back, smoothing the tight muscles, wrapping his arms about Elrohir's chest. Elladan rose up, sitting back upon his heels and pulling Elrohir with him until they both were upright. He wrapped secure arms about his twin, and kissed the moist shoulders. "Ride me, Elrohir nín," he ordered.

Elrohir trembled as his body adjusted to his brother's girth, groaning as Elladan pulled him upright, causing the tip of Elladan's arousal to rub against his pleasure nub. His hands went to rest on Elladan's thighs, fingers curling into fist. He answered Elladan's command and began moving up and then back down on his brother's length, each downward thrust striking deep inside him and sending his restraint spiraling more and more out of control. Elladan's hands played with his nipples and sucked and bit along his neck, making Elrohir cry out his twin's name.

Elladan thrust up hard, marking his brother’s neck with bite after bite. They moved together faster as release approached, Elladan driving forcibly upwards, and Elrohir slamming himself down hard harshly onto Elladan's length. Elladan stilled his cry of orgasm in the flesh of Elrohir's neck as his brother's channel tightened impossibly about his arousal, pulling his release forcibly from him, and milking his length with squeeze after squeeze. Elladan felt his brother's seed hit his hand as Elrohir came as well. Elladan collapsed atop his twin, still buried deep inside as tiny trembles shook his frame.

They lay still joined, Elrohir with arms flung out, pinned by his twin's heavy weight, boneless, and spent. "Talk to me now, Elladan," he whispered voice still heavy.

Elladan did not remove his face from its hiding place in Elrohir's hair, but his whisper could be heard. "I am confused and know not how to speak of what I wish," he murmured.

Elrohir urged his twin off him and rolled over quickly to pull his elder brother in his arms. He met those slightly ashamed gray eyes with his own calm gaze. "Tell me," he urged, squeezing his brother tighter in his embrace.

Elladan sighed and placed a small kiss upon his twin's lips. "I want to believe Gil-galad. I,” he paused and lowered his gaze as if unsure about what he said next. "I would like to be reunited with Nana, but I am afraid that she will not be the Naneth we remember.

Elrohir nodded. He too wished to see their nana again, but he sensed that was not all that troubled his elder brother. "What else, Elladan? There is something else troubling you. Spill it," he ordered.

Elladan pulled out of his twin's embrace and sitting up, folded his hands in his lap. "I have thought ahead several times to what our futures would be like if we chose one path or the other. Fear of our welcome in Valinor dominated my thoughts. The very thought of our love being judged wrong, and being parted, makes that choice seem impossible. But the alternative, the doom of Men to grow old and die that also causes me great fear." Tenderly he brushed strands of his beloved twin's dark locks back from Elrohir's face. "The very idea of watching as time changes your features, as it makes your graceful limbs feeble with age, and as it finally kills you… I do not think I would be able to stand that, Elrohir."

Elrond stood upon the balcony of his room, his gaze trained upward, focused upon his sire's bright light. He sighed as Ereinion's arms came about him, wrapping him tightly in their loving warmth.

"They have chosen," he whispered, his voice low and reverent.

Gil-galad's arms tightened further. He turned his head to look upon Elrond's profile. "The twins?" he asked.

Elrond nodded but did not look away from his Ada, as the star twinkled happily in the night sky, but a smile graced his lips. "Thank you, Ereinion," Elrond said.

The ringing of metal upon metal could be heard before one ever reached the forge. Elrond paused as the trees parted and the first glimpse of the figure furiously working at the forge could be seen. The strikes of the hammer upon the sword Ereinion was fashioning, to Elrond’s ears, sounded angry. Ereinion’s body was drenched with the toils of his labor, his raven colored hair was pulled sharply back from his face and knotted once at the nape of his neck. His face was flushed and glistened, and a fierce frown was upon his face. Elrond’s eyes traveled down Ereinion’s wet chest, admiring the way each muscle was made sharply pronounced by the swing of the hammer. Ereinion’s broad shoulders bunched with the effort he put into his swings, and the muscles along his stomach clenched and unclenched, drawing notice of their firmness. He was adorned only in leggings; the waistband was damp and fit low on the hips, allowing roaming eyes a view of the dark trail of hair that disappeared teasingly under the cloth. Elrond could have stayed in that exact spot the rest of the day, just feasting his eyes, had it not been for the intrusion of his sons.

It was the clearing of Elladan’s throat that had Elrond’s head swinging about. He flushed to be caught ogling Ereinion so, but the twins only smirked and made no comments. That should have been an indication to Elrond in that their minds were heavy with some serious matter, if the brethren resisted the opportunity to tease. Now Elrond frowned.

“Walk with us, Ada?” Elrohir asked, and the pair moved to either side of their Adar, linking arms much as they had done in olden days when they would walk and share their thoughts.

Elrond did not ask, just strolled along with his sons, enjoying the moments of peace before they began to speak. Finally, the trio stopped next to a large Oak that had at one time a mate that stood close to it, until a fierce storm had damaged the tree, forcing it to be cut down. Now all that remained was a large stump that Elrond seated himself on. The gwanûn sat in front of Elrond on the forest floor. The pair sat close together, thighs touching as if they needed that psychical reassurance for what was to come.

It was Elladan who blurted out what was on the brethren’s mind, in his typical brisk manner. “Ada, what are you going to say to Nana when you arrive in Valinor with Gil-galad by your side?”

Elrond was not shocked by their questions, it was not as if he had not been asking himself the very same thing. All he could do was be honest with his sons. “I do not know. I wish I did.” Elrond paused and looked at their worried faces, deciding they needed to know all. “Your Nana and I were never under any illusions about our joining. We did not court each other; indeed, we barely knew each other. It was revealed to us only that we would wed and sire children, children who would be vital to Arda’s future. I think, left to our own devises without the Valar’s interference, we would have never wed.”

Elrohir looked thoughtful and asked the next question. “Was it, then, their design that Nana suffer such hurt and depart these shores?”  Elladan’s face darkened angrily at his twin’s words, and he awaited Elrond’s response, body tense and about to explode.

Elrond took great care with his words, seeing his eldest poised on the edge of violence. “I believe firmly that all that happens is part of Eru’s great music, and as such, no one, including the Valar, can say what that music entails. This I know also, our fates are written in that song long before our birth, and that fate cannot be changed.”

Elladan’s face crumbled, he had so wanted someone to blame. It did not work any longer to blame himself or his Ada. He now understood ‘some things were just meant to be. “But Ada, what do we say to her when we face her once more?”

Elrond kneeled down in front of his eldest, drawing him firmly into his arms, and hugged his son tightly. “Ah, iôn, tell her how much you have missed her, how much you love her, and how you rejoice to be reunited with her.” Elrond pulled gently away and looked both his sons in the eyes. “Whatever your Nana and I decide about our marriage has no bearing on the fact that she is your Nana. Nothing will change that, and it should have no influence your reunion with her. I know deep in my heart how much she will celebrate and welcome your return in her arms, and I want the both of you to rejoice and to eagerly look to that reunion.”

Elrond sat aback upon his heels and gathered his sons’ hands in his own. “Celebrían and I grew to care for each other, and we were bound in our great love of our children. We were able to become friends, but I will not lie and say there was great love. Respect, affection, love for a close and kind friend, but not the great passion of a heart’s love. We both recognized this.” Elrond looked earnestly at the twins. “You know when you are with someone if their heart calls to your own, makes your blood sing, and owns your faer. Neither your Nana nor I ever felt that for one another. I believe that she has found her happiness across the distant shores, and it is not happiness that I could ever have given her.”

Elrond rose to his feet and looked down into their sad eyes. “Please,” he whispered. “Do not regret your choice. Focus on the love you have for her and the joy of your future reunion. I will do anything in my power to minimize her pain. That is all I can do.” Elrond turned and left the pair with those words to think upon, hoping it would be enough to settle their troubled hearts.

Gil-galad pounded his frustrations out by swinging a hammer and making a sword that could never be used. Gil-galad considered himself a fairly intelligent Elf, but it had not been till this morn, lying abed, and thinking on the twins, that the Valar’s manipulation of him had hit. It was useless to rail against them, he knew, but that did not stop him from calling them several choice names, all the while praying that lightening would not strike him. Oh, they had been quite clever. “Must not tell anyone of their reason,” he muttered angrily. The subtle hints of future heartache for his beloved Elrond, heartache they knew he would do anything in his power to prevent. “The twins’ were leaning towards the path of Men.” But do not tell! They had known all along that Gil-galad never followed the rules, had indeed used that very character trait against him, and for their own means. That the outcome had prevented Elrond from suffering further was immaterial, for the moment. Gil-galad wanted to curse the Valar for just a bit longer.

The sword was paper-thin by the time Gil-galad laid aside the hammer, and breathing heavily, he looked up. There in the clearing stood Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir. He watched as the trio headed deeper into the woods, but he did not call out to them. Perhaps the brethren were telling their Ada of their decision, unaware that their Adar already knew. But deep down Gil-galad suspected that the gwanûn had concerns that were none of his business  ‘Celebráin…'

Gil-galad glumly went about cleaning up his tools and shutting down the forge for the night.  Bracing himself, he plunged his head into the barrel of cold rainwater, flinging his head back with a gasp. He shook the droplets out of his face and hair, shivering as cold water dripped down his hot chest. He was about to dunk himself once more when hands came about him and a firm body pressed itself against his back. His shudder was of a different sort as the full hard groin of his guest pressed teasingly against his buttocks. Gil-galad laid his wet head back against the strong shoulder and moaned as a hot mouth attached to his neck.

“Elrond,” he whispered, as his nipples were ruthlessly pinched and pulled, the chilled nubs already hard.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Elrond murmured, mouth full of sweaty Ereinion. He rubbed his hard length against Ereinion’s rear more firmly. Elrond’s hands traveled down Ereinion’s body, playing with that treasure trail he had admired just a short time ago. Quick work was made of the laces to Ereinion’s leggings, and Elrond eagerly plunged his hand inside to wrap a firm fist around Ereinion’s hard flesh. Giving the gasping Elf a few strong, rough squeezes, Elrond shoved the garment down to Ereinion’s ankles impatiently.

Gil-galad tried to turn to take Elrond in his arms, but the Peredhel growled and placed Gil-galad’s hands back on the barrel. Gil-galad did not know what had gotten into the half-Elf, but he decided he liked it too much to complain. He spread his legs wider as he was gruffly instructed, and moaned aloud at the sounds of rustling fabric as Elrond freed himself.

The soothing salve Gil-galad used on his hands after a day working in the heat of the forge was put to good use, and Gil-galad shamelessly pushed back against the two fingers that thrust into his body. “More,” he groaned.

Gil-galad’s hips pumped back against the fingers impaling him, and when Elrond curled them and thrust sharply, Gil-galad’s cry sounded through the woods. The fingers were removed, despite Gil-galad’s moan of disappointment.

Elrond slicked his length heavily and moved back close behind Ereinion. Grasping Ereinion’s buttocks, Elrond squeezed and watched, mesmerized, as his arousal was welcomed into Ereinion’s body. The long, slow slide of Elrond’s heavy hot flesh wrung moans and sighs from his lover.  Elrond’s strong hands preventing Ereinion from thrusting back. All the High King could do was clutch at the barrel and take what Elrond gave. The burning started in his groin and spread to his stomach as his knuckles turned white against the wood of the barrel.

“Ereinion,” Elrond moaned as he drove up into his lover’s tight channel, the grip alone almost undoing him. Elrond slid his hands around Ereinion’s hips, down to his length, which Elrond wrapped tight in his hands, stroking slow and full like his thrusting into Ereinion’s body.

Now that his hips were free, Gil-galad was able to force his hips sharply back to meet Elrond’s. His body rocked back and forth as he moved into Elrond’s fist, then impaling himself further with Elrond’s length. Water started to slosh over the sides of the barrel as it was rocked by the power of their thrusting. Gil-galad cry out louder as his pleasure spot was stroked over and over by the tip of Elrond’s length. The fist sped up, Gil-galad’s hips following, until finally Gil-galad was undone, and with a loud groan spilled himself against the side of the barrel. The clenching of his internal muscles pulling a cry from Elrond’s lips as the half-Elf erupted into his lover’s body.

The pair leaned heavily against the barrel, struggling to stay upright.  Elrond now as drenched as Gil-galad. It was several moments before Elrond could pull gently out of Ereinion, and he stepped back, shakily tucking himself back into his leggings and buttoning up his outer robe. Gil-galad turned, and Elrond helped his shaky lover lace up his leggings, and then drew Ereinion into his arms. The pair shared a tender kiss and gentle words before heading towards the main house.

The Watchful Peace was at an end. Darkness covered the lands of Arda once again, but for one Elf, being alive and living on Arda once more, even the darkness could not spoil his joy.

The bed was large, soft, and contained all that was needed to make Gil-galad happy 'Elrond. Gil-galad lay upon his side, one hand cupping his head as he watched his lover sleep. The Peredhel’s face was peaceful, the eternal youthfulness of the Elves never as revealed as when Elrond rested beside Gil-galad. That when he awoke and the troubles and responsibilities that the half-Elf carried would again become etched upon his features, made Gil-galad guard and value all the more these peaceful hours they were together.

Life was not such a bad thing, Gil-galad reflected. The wind blew gently through the curtains, dancing upon their skin. He could smell the freshness of the trees and land, and hear Eru's creations greet the day. The birds were chirping and far below, the distant voices of Elves rose in song, as was their wont in fair Imladris. Gil-galad was warm, comfortable, happy… Moments of giddiness, of the need to throw himself upon the sweet grasses and roll about as an Elfling still gripped him, when happiness was at its fullness.

Estel had taken to wandering the wild, fitting to the title of Ranger. Elrond had gotten his way; for now, the lovers waited. But all knew someday Elrond would have to say farewell to his beloved Arwen, it was just a matter of time.

The twins still cleared the paths from Imladris to Mirkwood and Lothlórien. But their hearts were no longer filled with hate. Instead, peacefulness dwelt there, a promise of a future reunion with their naneth 'Celebrían, and perhaps the best of all, acceptance of their union.

Gil-galad had himself just returned from a fortnight of patrolling the borders. The lands bore the brunt of an increase in darkness. The sheer numbers of Orcs bore out the tale, and it was all Glorfindel and Gil-galad could do to keep the lands about Imladris free from their pestilence. Gil-galad had found his place, and his sense of usefulness was fulfilled. All of Elrond’s energy was focused on the coming battle against the shadows. This provided a means for Gil-galad to contribute, through the daily running of Imladris beside Erestor and helping Glorfindel keep their home safe. Gil-galad was happy, more so than he ever dreamed. No longer a king, being a simple Elf fit him now. Standing by his love’s side, shouldering the burdens the half-Elf carried, it was good to be alive…

Gray eyes regained awareness, and Elrond blinked up sleepily into Ereinion’s happy gaze. The twinkling blue depths were filled with all the joys that life had to offer, and they never failed in bringing a smile to Elrond’s face. But as Elrond glanced at the light coming in through the windows, a frown marred his features. As Elrond turned back to Ereinion, he found himself quickly pinned under the larger Elf and kissed quite breathless. Only when the frown had been replaced by a slightly glazed look did Gil-galad pull away.

“No frowns, Elrond.” Gil-galad warned. “I do not wish to see that fierce Peredhel expression until we have parted ways this morn.” Gil-galad ducked the pillow that was tossed at his head as Elrond existed the bed, laughing.

“Come,” Elrond called, disappearing into the bathing room. “The Council waits.”

The journey down the halls was made in silence, but their hands were clasped as they were each morning before they parted for the day’s duties. Gil-galad paused at the door leading to where the White Council awaited Elrond’s presence. None, knew this would be the last meeting of such esteemed, wise, forces of Middle-earth. Elrond looked through the open door, dread written heavily on his fair features. He turned back to Ereinion, that smile he could never withhold breaking across his lips. “I will see you later?” he asked, need evident in his tone.

Gil-galad lifted their joined hands to his lips and placed a tender kiss across Elrond’s before releasing it. “You may count on that,” he answered.

Gil-galad stayed and watched as Elrond joined the others in discussing Arda’s future, before he turned and went about his duties. He would be there, for his Elrond. That was why he had been sent back, after all…

The End