Spring, 3440, Second Age. Imladris
The Last Homely House, nestled deep in the Bruin Valley, was Elrond’s home and refuge. He’d been forced by Sauron's troops into the valley years ago and had used it to conceal his small elven company when the dark lord of Mordor waged war against the elves in his quest for the three elven rings. Gil-Galad, king of the Elves, would perish before he would see the great rings pass to Sauron. Elrond intended to stand by his side.
Troops moved daily into the hidden valley and Gil-Galad had used Vilya to protect the valley from prying eyes. Elves from Lindon and other distant locations came and went daily as Gil-Galad marshaled his forces for one last push. Already the siege had lasted six years and they seemed no closer to breaking Sauron’s hold. Gil-Galad hoped to change that.
Six years earlier, Gil-Galad had begun forming his alliance of elves and men. For the most part he had succeeded and troops from Lorien and the Gray Havens stood beside those of Gondor and other human realms. He’d sent Elrond to Mirkwood as his emissary, along with Erestor and Glorfindel, to try once more to win Oropher over to their cause. The trio had been successful, at last, and had returned to Imladris to finalize battle plans for one last push at Mordor’s gates.
Gil-Galad dismounted from his horse at the foot of the great staircase leading up to the house. Servants came and led his great white stallion to the stables as the King bounded up the stairs two at a time. The halls were crowded with elves and some humans, the descendants of Elros—the Numenoreans—each with important business.
“Erestor, my friend.” Gil-Galad spotted the dark haired elf lingering in the hall and approached.
Turning at the sound of Gil-Galad’s voice, Erestor bowed. “Sire, we were not expecting you until morning.” As if reading Gil-Galad’s mind, which in some respects, he was, Erestor continued. “Elrond is in the library pouring over maps and strategies.”
Gil-Galad patted Erestor’s shoulder. “That’s where I’ll be if anyone needs me, then.”
Erestor watched the King stroll off and hoped no one needed him for a while. Gil-Galad had not seen Elrond for nearly a year and they could use a moment’s peace together. Erestor turned to continue on his way and collided with a youth whose mouth still hung agape. Erestor did not roll his eyes, though he wanted to. Everyone had that problem around Gil-Galad and Erestor did not blame them. But for his part, he’d gotten over the infatuation and moved on.
“Close you mouth, young one. You look like a gold fish.” Erestor said as he moved around the dark haired elf.
“Sir?” The youth asked breathlessly. “Was that..”
“Aye it was, you heard me address him as such, did you not?” Erestor paused. “Who are you?” He realized he’d never seen the elf before.
Turning his eyes from Gil-Galad’s direction, the elf faced Erestor and pulled himself together. “I am Gildor of Lindon, sir.”
Erestor eyed the elf up and down. He was tall and lithe with honey hair and eyes that were dark and liquid and open wide with wonder and fear. His tunic and leggings were plain, unadorned and travel stained. A sword hung at his waist and a pack rested at his feet. “Welcome to Imladris, then. Are you attached to a company?”
“No, sir. I came on my own.” Gildor admitted. He was in awe of the older elf, though he tried very hard not to show it.
Erestor did roll his eyes then. Youth. “I take it you have some skill? You can use a sword, a bow?”
The one called Gildor earnestly nodded his head. “Aye, my lord, I can and well. I had hoped Lord Elrond would take me in to his company.”
“We shall see. Come with me, Gildor, and I will take you to see Glorfindel. He is in charge of assigning the fighters to groups.” Erestor beckoned with his hand and started towards a small door leading to the outside.
Gildor grabbed up his battered pack and rushed to follow.
Gil-Galad slowly opened the library door and peered inside. He grimace as he spied Elrond, leaning over a table with his nose practically pressed between the pages of some dusty tome. Warrior and scholar and healer, all rolled into one complicated and beautiful elf. Easing inside, Gil-Galad quietly closed the door and crept on cat feet to Elrond’s side.
“Ever my vigilant captain,” he purred against Elrond’s deliciously pointed ear. He barely managed to resist locking his lips around it. He had business that must be attended before he could indulge in his fantasies. Oh, and indulge he would, Gil-Galad promised himself.
Elrond smiled but did not lift his eyes from his book. “Gil-Galad, I did not expect to see you so soon. How are the forces holding up?”
The elf king removed his silver circlet and laid it atop the table. Next he shrugged out of his red cloak and tossed it over a chair. “Well enough, considering they are exhausted and frightened and nearly choking from the poisons pouring daily from Mordor. I see that more have come to Imladris since my last visit.”
Elrond bristled somewhat, uncertain if Gil-Galad was implying criticism at Elrond’s decision to keep so many in Imladris rather than sending them straight to Mordor. “Many of them have never seen combat, some do not even know how to wield a weapon. I have Glorfindel arranging for the training of those who need it. I am determined that they will be ready for the final siege.”
Gil-Galad nodded as he took a chair on the opposite side of the table. “I have been sent word from Mirkwood. Their forces are ready. Oropher will merge our forces with his and those of Elendil”
“Excellent,” Elrond sighed and straightened. “Forgive me, my king, for I am weary and feel as though I have done all I can do. Yet it does not seem enough.”
“My friend, you have done more than enough, believe me. I am well aware of all your sacrifices and how much of yourself you have given to this war. I know how much you have given to me,” Gil-Galad’s voice dropped to a husky purr.
Elrond studied his king and lover for a long moment. Gil-Galad was tall and dark with deep brown eyes that could sparkle with humor or glitter with anger. He was a superb tactician and leader and warrior and the respect and loyalty of his people was unquestioning. Elrond moved around the table and reached out to stroke his lover’s long dark locks. The tendrils slid through Elrond’s fingers and he curled the end around his finger.
“I was not begging for compliments, Gil-Galad. Everything we have, everything we are, relies on our being able to defeat Sauron soon. We will not be able to hold out much longer. We do not have the forces to keep throwing against those Black Gates.”
Gil-Galad leaned back and rubbed between his eyes. “I agree, my love. Put away your books and scrolls. We have planned and plotted and now it is time to set those plans into motion, for good or ill. Come, you and I have not seen each other in nearly a year and I have missed you. Let us talk of more pleasant things than war.”
Elrond eased down into Gil-Galad’s lap. “Let us discuss a bath and supper, my lord. I know you must be tired and I can think of no better way to relax you.”
The King snorted. “I can. But for the moment, my captain, I will bow to your wishes. First a bath followed by dinner. Then you and I will discuss better ways of relaxing me.”
Gildor found himself standing before a tall blond with a piercing blue gaze and trying very hard not feel extremely young. At 450 years of age, Gildor was by no means an elfling, but in the company of such elves as Glorfindel and Erestor, he felt his youth far more keenly. He kept himself still as the warrior looked him up and down.
“Welcome to Imladris,” the elf finally spoke. “We are glad you have chosen to join us.” The voice was stern and the visage somewhat intimating, there remained an underlying warmth that could not be denied. “I guess for tonight we’ll put you in the main house and find more suitable quarters in the morning. Is this acceptable to you, Gildor?”
More than acceptable, the elf wanted to say. Rather he maintained his severe demeanor. “Whatever is the most convenient. I realize I have not fought before in a real battle, but I hope that my service will suffice.” Humility was foreign to Gildor, but he felt that Glorfindel would not tolerate his normal cockiness.
“Lord Elrond is turning no one away who can wield a sword or bow, my young friend. Care you for a sparring match or are you too tired from your journeys? I would like to be able to tell Elrond something about you, as I know as soon as he sees you he will ask.”
Gildor tossed down his pack and unsheathed a battered sword. The blade was not of the finest quality, but then, his family was in exile and money to buy the best was in short supply. But he’d trained with the sword and felt comfortable with it. He offered it hilt first to Glorfindel.
The elda frowned at the weapon, noticing all the dents and the many times the weapon had seen a smithy. He would have to see how well the younger elf handled the weapon. If Gildor proved to be worthy, Glorfindel would see about getting him a better weapon.
His own sword cleared its sheath and he gracefully stepped into a fighting stance. Gildor did the same and they began circling, taking in each other’s mettle. Without warning, Glorfindel lunged and Gildor scrambled to parry the thrust coming at his chest. There was a clang and a hiss as steel slid against steel. Using all his strength, Gildor turned aside Glorfindel’s thrust and then rushed him.
Glorfindel allowed Gildor in close before moving to trip the younger elf. He almost succeeded, but Gildor was lighter on his feet than he appeared. He scrambled backwards and just managed to stay on his feet.
The elda smiled as he held up his hand, palm out. “Hold, Gildor. That’s enough for now. You have shown me that you know how to use the weapon you carry and that is all I needed to know. Dinner will be announced soon. I will show you the bath house so that you may wash away the grime and dust of travel before joining us at table.”
“Does everyone eat together?” Gildor retrieved his belongings.
“Certainly they do. Lord Elrond would have it no other way.”
Gil-Galad leaned against the side of the tub and sighed. The water was so hot he could see his skin turning pink. He pushed away his guilt. His troops were slogging through mud and noxious fumes, but he had not left their side in a year. He would allow himself one night’s indulgence. Surely they would forgive him this once.
Long arms slipped around his shoulders and warm lips nuzzled the side of his neck. Elrond’s hands splayed wide over his king’s broad chest and he felt the flat nipples pebble under his palm. He continued further down, sliding his hands beneath the water, and delightfully explored the flat plains of hard muscled stomach.
The King’s head tilted back against the tiles and he sighed deeply. “I’ve missed this…you.”
Elrond laid his jaw along side Gil-Galad’s and smiled. “I, too, have missed this. I fear it will be a long time before have this opportunity again.”
Turning his head, the elf laid soft kisses along Elrond’s dark tresses. “We will defeat Sauron. How can we not? All of Middle Earth has banded together. Afterwards, you and I will return to Lindon and rule together.”
Elrond pressed his lips together. “Gil-Galad, you know that is not possible. The elves, never mind the men, would never accept my ruling as your consort. I will serve you as I have always served you.”
Gil-Galad sighed. “Once this is over, I can step down. There are many who could take my place, those whose blood is as royal as mine.”
Elrond withdrew and sat back on his heels. “My King, you cannot do as you propose. Not only would the other elves no allow it, I will not allow it. I am your herald, you standard-bearer. I am your friend as well as your lover and I cannot stand by a listen to such musings without voicing my objections.”
In his heart, Gil-Galad knew Elrond was right. He could not step down as High King. He could not openly take Elrond as his mate; forever would their relationship remain a well-known secret. In as much as elves were open minded, there was a limit to what they would accept. That there were those among them who preferred others of the same gender, they would not accept their leader openly choosing a male concubine. Nor would they let him abdicate. He would die with his crown on his head. Still he dreamed that there would be a way for he and Elrond to be happy together.
“You are right. I cannot abdicate and I cannot take you as my consort. I can, however, dream.” The King pushed himself up in the tub and rose, sending waves of water cascading on to the floor.
Elrond jumped to his feet to avoid getting his robes wet. “Dinner will be ready in about an hour and we should hurry.”
The subject was closed, Gil-Galad realized, recognizing the shift in subject as Elrond’s way of ending a discussion. “I’m starving,” he admitted as he wrapped a robe around his wet body.
“We have a full house what with all the troops waiting to depart. The banquet hall will be crowded, even more so now that their king is back among them. You inspire the troops,” Elrond added.
Gil-Galad followed his lover into the bedroom and watched as the elf bustled around the room, selecting robes and laying them gently across the bed. The king had to smile at the selection. Elrond had chosen wine colored robes over deep, bark colored leggings and a cream colored silk shirt. Clothes suitable for a king dining with troops and advisors. Elrond wanted to see his love properly attired for any occasion.
As for Elrond, he’d chosen colors similar, but not exactly like those he’d picked for Gil-Galad. His leggings were beige, his under tunic bold white shot with peach thread and his robes plum. His circlet was of silver filigree.
He helped Gil-Galad dress, making sure his laces and toggles were straight and even. He brushed the long dark hair until it glistened and braided it away his face. He placed a mithril circlet over the braids and arranged the locks over Gil-Galad’s shoulders. Stepping back and away, he smiled at the image his king presented in the mirror.
Gil-Galad smiled back, liking the double image presented by Elrond and himself. In the mirror, Elrond stood just behind him and to his left. They were both dark haired, though Elrond’s skin was slightly darker, deeper olive. The deep colors Elrond had chosen accentuated their coloring, adding a rosy glow to their complexions.
Deep brown eyes met dark gray and a shiver went through Gil-Galad. Later, he knew, the delights promised in those grey depths would be fulfilled. He looked forward to the time when his duties as king would end and he could join Elrond in their bed. Their time together had been too infrequent. Nor was it all about sex, though his nights in Elrond’s embrace were unlike any he’d ever experienced. Theirs was a complex relationship of give and take and advisor and king. So much lay between them, yet they were separated by nothing. There were no secrets, no emotionally charged moments of grappling for supremacy in the relationship. There was no need for such posturing. Trust and respect began their friendship. Those same two emotions had become the cornerstone for their mutual love.
Rising from the stool, Gil-Galad turned and took Elrond in to his strong embrace. They stood together, wrapped snugly about one another for a long moment. In the distance a gong chimed and they reluctantly drew apart. The summons for dinner drew them to the door.
Gildor had changed his traveling clothes for a soft tunic and matching leggings of silver. He resembled a mist more than an elf as he glided quietly among the other guests. He knew very few of those assembled, and of those he did recognize, he was close to none. His age, of course, was the biggest problem. He was many years, in some cases centuries, younger than those around him. The second reason for the distance between him and the others were his family. Though he did not acknowledge it, though he had not claim to it, he was nobility. His parents were exiles of the first kindred war. Of course, they had lost everything when the elves had fought amongst themselves and had come to Lindon, seeking refuge. Gil-Galad had given it, willingly, for the High King wanted an end to the bloodshed and saw no reason to deny anyone safety.
Which of course led to the third problem in Gildor’s life. His parents did not want their only child fighting in the alliance. Not only were they worried that they would lose their only heir, but they were concerned about the long lasting ramifications of the so-called Alliance. They considered themselves enemies of Oropher and his Mirkwood elves, seeing the ancient Sindarin as the primary reason they were without home and title.
Gildor did not see it that way and had come to Rivendell to serve with the High King without his family’s blessing. He did not need their consent, but he would have liked to have their understanding. Giving himself a mental shake, Gildor dismissed his negative musings. There was no need to worry now, for his acceptance by Glorfindel was unquestioning. All he had to do was wait and see to which company he’d be assigned.
There was a murmur throughout the crowd and Gildor turned to see who caused all the commotion. His breath caught in his throat. High King Gil-Galad, followed closely by his advisor, Lord Elrond, entered the long room.
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