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Book of Endings
Author: Bernadette
Beta: none
Email: [email protected]
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Thranduil/Elrond
Warnings: none
Request: Thranduil/Elrond, a fireplace and melted cheese
Written For: Riina
A/N: Many thanks to Orchyd for running the whole thing and extending the deadline, else this would never have been written. Also, thanks to my muse, Paul, and to Daniel, who sparkles and shines like the star he is.
Title due to the influence of Adam Pascal, from the song 'Book of Endings'.
This is set post-War of the Ring, in Rivendell, before Elrond leaves for Mithlond. Italics denote a flashback to sometime within ten-twenty years after the Last Alliance.
I.
"Do you remember that night, many years ago?"
Elrond looked up, startled. Thranduil had not spoken for some time, and he had almost forgotten that the Mirkwood king was sitting with him.
"I recall asking you not to speak of that, Thranduil," he replied, allowing his more formal tone to dominate his voice, hoping to end the conversation.
"No," said Thranduil. "You asked me not to speak of it to anyone else. I do not wish to hide from you, Elrond, nor do I feel I have to. We have needed to talk about this and you have not been willing. My realm is suffering and I will not have relations between us soured because you are too stubborn to act like a mature Elf."
Elrond bowed his head and turned towards the fire, allowing the warmth in the amber flickering light to help cast his mind back to an evening where he had found himself in a situation not so different to the one he encountered now. Then, though, he had felt much more at ease, and most certainly not uncomfortable. He had thought that he could not feel embarrassed while in the presence of only one other Elf, yet he could not look at Thranduil, nor give the reply he knew the Mirkwood king was expecting.
II.
A knock at the door of Elrond's private chamber alerted him to the presence of another. He had not sensed an approach, nor did he welcome it, tired as he was. Yet he knew that ignoring the summons would displease the unknown visitor and therefore he rose from his chair, blinking away the vagueness of the half-sleeping state he was in. He hesitated, wondering if it would be best to just pretend that he had been sleeping, but found himself drawn towards the door.
Opening it just enough to poke his head out and see who was there and ask them politely to return another time, he was surprised to see Thranduil, son of Oropher and the newly crowned King of Greenwood the Great. Normally, an unannounced visitor would signify Glorfindel, who had not yet managed to adjust to living in Imladris, or one of Elrond's own counsellors. The latter, despite being closest of all the Imladrin administrators to Elrond, had never seemed to grasp the fact that Elrond too needed rest.
As such, he was stunned by Thranduil's appearance, and even more so by the platter that was precariously balanced on a slender, leather-encased arm, and forgot that he was intending to tell the visitor to leave.
"May I come in?" asked Thranduil, and Elrond opened the door, wordlessly allowing Thranduil to enter.
Soon Elrond found himself seated on the soft grey rug in front of the fireplace, discussing with the young king the finer points of the elegant robes they wore on formal occasions. He had noted the shrinking flames and silently reached for the poker, intending to try and stoke them. Thranduil, faster and infinitely less practical, casually aided Elrond's efforts by locating the spare wood supply and throwing a small piece onto the fire. Elrond barely managed to move the poker out of the way before the wood landed, and he glared at his companion, who only looked back evenly.
"That way the fire will last longer. Have you ever had toasted cheese?"
Elrond just looked at Thranduil, vaguely disbelieving.
"Toasted cheese?"
Thranduil nodded, and reached down to the platter between them.
"Cooked over the fire on wafers. We cook it when on patrol, it is really very nice, but nobody seems to think of it in the kitchens."
"I've never had it," Elrond replied. "I do not know if our patrol guards indulge in this activity, but we most certainly did not when we marched to war."
Thranduil seemed to have taken it upon himself to show Elrond the technique of cheese toasting, and Elrond found that he did not mind. Thranduil was very likable, and, somehow, Elrond was enjoying this incursion, unwanted though it was at first.
III.
"It was only a kiss, Thranduil."
"Yet you will not acknowledge it, nor the friendship we formed before it happened. Only a kiss would not break a bond such as that of any friendship destined to last."
"Then maybe, Thranduil, it was not a friendship."
Thranduil nodded, and Elrond felt slightly uncomfortable under the gaze of grey-green eyes, unwavering, unblinking.
"You are right, Elrond. It was not friendship that made me kiss you, but longing for something more."
Thranduil rose, and walked to the door. Elrond did not watch him, or look up from the flames.
"When you have decided I am a worthy companion, you will seek me. Until then, Elrond, goodnight."
Elrond only moved when the door clicked, reaching for a slice of cheese and a wafer, both remaining on the tray that Thranduil had brought with him when he had come to Elrond's rooms.
IV.
Thranduil had showed him how to lay out the cheese on the wafer, a thin slice of bread, not unlike the lembas Elrond had grown used to during the war. It was simple really, sliced cheese, not overlapping, placed on the bread, then held over the flames through the use of a flat device neither Elf knew the proper name of.
Elrond thought it was rather strange that Thranduil conveniently had two of the things, crafted metal with a long handle, so that the fire did not harm the Elf holding it. Then again, Thranduil had apparently been to the kitchens and requested the platter specifically, and Elrond supposed these devices were just in the kitchens for normal cooking purposes as well.
"When we were desperate, we'd use our swords. Of course, we were careful, but some did get hurt. Inevitable, I suppose."
Listening to Thranduil tell stories while toasting cheese was not something Elrond had had in mind at all. This one, a tale of three young Elves exploring the dungeons of the Greenwood, one of whom had been Thranduil himself, was interrupted when the cheese began to look waxy.
"Almost done."
Thranduil's hand was on his, and Elrond was almost distracted. The spatula, as Thranduil had named the wafer holding device after a few moments thought, wavered, but the wafer remained in place and soon Elrond steadied his hand.
When the cheese was near-liquid, Thranduil guided Elrond's hand, helping to remove the spatula from the fire. Elrond was skeptical, and looked at the yellow bubbly mess on the wafer as he took it in his other hand, and Thranduil slid the spatula away.
"It will be warm," the young king warned, "but it will not burn you."
Elrond took his first bite, and was not impressed, though not repulsed. The cheese tasted strange when warmed, though he could not place what was different - it could have been sourer, or sweeter. The only definable difference was in the texture. It was softer, and smoother, than the uncooked cheese that he was used to. The second bite, however, was nicer than the first, and the third nicer than the second, until Elrond decided that he could like this Greenwood delicacy.
He soon noticed that Thranduil was watching him, with a strange expression in the grey-green eyes that seemed to communicate more than mere words could describe. Seconds later, he detected a warmth radiating from something on his upper lip.
"The other thing you should be careful of, Elrond, is not spilling any," whispered Thranduil, and Elrond was stunned, as if Thranduil had not moved slowly or given him opportunity to decline. For now Elrond found himself straddled by the other Elf, whose hands rested on his shoulders, and whose face was so close to his.
Too close, thought Elrond, briefly, as Thranduil leaned in and traced Elrond's mouth with his tongue, cleaning the cheese away.
The thought of declining did not enter into Elrond's mind as Thranduil's lips touched his, and for a few seconds he may have even responded to the kiss, his lips parting slightly, a hand coming to rest on Thranduil's thigh, but when the kiss ended, Elrond blinked and Thranduil breathed.
"Do you want this, Elrond?" asked Thranduil.
Elrond appreciated the concern.
"I think, Thranduil, that you should leave."
The Greenwood king only nodded, and stood, careful not to reveal the hardening of his penis by accidentally brushing against Elrond's body. He slowly walked towards the door, respecting Elrond's wishes in the Elf-lord's own realm.
Elrond appreciated that, too, and also the silence in which Thranduil departed.
"I would appreciate it if you would not speak of this with anyone else, Thranduil."
Thranduil nodded, but didn't turn, as he opened the door, and stepped into the corridor, allowing the door to close with its customary quiet click.
Elrond found he did not sleep, and his rest was tormented by thoughts and memories of Thranduil's touch, signal of an attraction he did not understand or crave.
Until Thranduil left, they spoke only in the presence of others and on the most formal matters.
V.
Elrond did not speak to Thranduil outside negotiations for a military training exchange for three days. On the third day, he found himself knocking on the door of Thranduil's guest chambers, unsure as to why but knowing what had to be said.
When Thranduil opened the door and allowed Elrond in, there was a small flicker of hope in Thranduil's eyes, but Elrond did not allow himself to see it. He had deliberately chosen not to bring anything, and he did not sit down until Thranduil invited him to.
"Elrond, to what do I owe this honour?"
Elrond closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, a trick he had learnt several hundred years before. It focused him, steadying his nerves. So many things had happened in his life since that night. He had bonded with a wonderful Elf in Celebr�an, seen his three children grow up and choose their paths in life, and witnessed the End of the Third Age.
"I wished to apologise before I leave. I sense that I have not treated you as you deserved and for that, I am sorry."
Head bowed, he did not see Thranduil reaching for him. The hand on his shoulder surprised him, but he did not pull away. Though he wanted to, he sensed Thranduil's need for contact and allowed it.
"I forgive you."
Elrond's chin was guided upwards, and he looked into Thranduil's eyes, for Thranduil gave him no choice. As Thranduil leaned closer, however, Elrond found the inner strength he had been lacking in his dealings with the Mirkwood king.
He stood, and took a few steps backwards, moving towards the door.
"No, Thranduil. We cannot."
"Why not?" Thranduil asked. Elrond saw a light in the grey-green eyes, he saw it flicker as Thranduil suppressed the emotions that would have otherwise caused the Mirkwood king to rebel against Elrond's denial.
"I do not want it."
Elrond turned his back on Thranduil and was reaching for the door handle when he spoke again, remembering the reason he had come to Thranduil's rooms.
"I will be sailing soon. This will be the last time I see you this side of the Sea."
He looked back over his shoulder.
"Namari�, my friend," he whispered, and fled the room, holding back his own tears as he heard Thranduil's behind him.
The End
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