THE KNAVE
Overall rating: yellow/orange
Category: slash (two male Elves in love), romance, drama, ANGST, h/c, humour.
Pairings: Orophin/Elladan, Erestor/Glorfindel, Haldir/Rabbit - and some surprises
Warnings: mpreg, ANGST
Beta: Miss Eveiya
Author's notes: yes, I know – this should have been the last chapter, but it just happened that there will be a total of 12 chapters now, I hope you don't mind.
I do not like the name "Ereinion", and "Gil-galad" is far too long, so just like Glorfindel became "Fin" in the process, Gil-galad will be mostly called 'Gil' in future. And if anybody complains, I will let Elrond call him 'Pumpkin' – don't say I didn't warn you!
Warning – EVIL cliff-hanger! The last (well - for this story), I promise.
CHAPTER 11
Through the storm we reach the shore
You give it all but I want more
And I'm waiting for you
With or without you
With or without you
I can't live
With or without you
"With or without you" - U2
~°~
Rivendell was buzzing with activity. Legions of servants were dusting and cleaning the Last Homely House, the Great Hall got a new layer of paint and in the streets of Rivendell, Elves were chatting merrily. The shop owners were outdoing each other with the decoration of the shop windows, and even the blacksmith was balancing on a chair to polish the shield over his door. Glorfindel had made it very clear that he would personally rake over the coals anyone who dared to look less than his or her best on the day of his bonding-ceremony with Erestor, and so Rivendell sparkled like a diamond two days before the festivities.
Elrohir, who was on his way for his morning swim in the Bruinen and planned to visit his sweetheart later on, was in the best of moods. Somehow the sky was bluer and the birds sang more prettily now that the danger of Mandos claiming back Orophin had been lifted, and Elrohir, who had been deeply worried about his twin brother during this last year of mourning, felt he had never seen Rivendell this beautiful, peaceful and happy. Even his father, who was usually quite formal, had recently been caught whistling a merry tune and sliding down the banister of the main staircase like an Elfling.
Indeed, it was a beautiful day, and though the dramatic events surrounding Orophin's return were only a few days past, Elrohir already felt as if it had been years ago. He was not one to dwell on the past; he was more interested in what the future held for him, and as Elladan often jokingly remarked, he had the attention span of a trout.
Elrohir hummed a tavern song he had learned from Glorfindel (with lyrics he would have never dared to sing out loud, at least not in public), and finally left the centre of Rivendell, walked through the small woodland and headed for the path leading down to the Bruinen. He walked for a while along the river till he reached his favourite spot, a small beach, not covered with pebbles like most of the Bruinen's border but with fine black sand. He dropped his towel, unbraided his hair, slipped out of his clothes and had just taken a few gingerly steps into the cold water when he noticed the Elf who was stretched out on a large stone like a lazy cat, hands crossed behind his head, watching him.
Elrohir immediately sped out of the water, grabbed for his towel to cover at least the most vital bits, and cursed himself for not bringing his sword with him, but then again, a sword would have been utterly useless in this case.
"What are you doing here?" he called out, giving the Elf a frown that would have scared an Orc, but which did not seem to impress the other at all. "Are you here for me?"
The Elf rolled on his side, and cocked an eyebrow.
"Indeed, I am," he answered, and seeing Elrohir paling, he added "but not in the way you might fear."
Elrohir, who tried frantically to tie the towel around his hips, let out a sigh of relief, but still, he took a few steps back - after all, he was dealing with the Vala of Death here, and caution was appropriate.
"Are you here for somebody else then?" he asked, eyeing the other suspiciously.
"Child – am I not allowed walking this beautiful place seeking for some pleasant distraction?" the dark Elf asked, sitting up. Elrohir secretly admired how fluid his movements were, like the water of the Bruinen, and just as dark.
"Distraction? You mean – your are not here to – work?" the young Elf asked, unsure of how to word this without causing offence, and he was relieved when he saw the other smile.
"No, child. I am not here to 'work', as you call it. Nobody will have a heart attack, no blades will sting or axes fall, nobody will die of food poisoning resulting from Mistress Mauburz' latest stew-recipe, and you may be assured, my child, that nobody will drown, either, so please do not hesitate to take your swim."
Elrohir blinked.He couldn't help feeling that the other was making fun of him. Indeed, there was wicked amusement in the liquid black lights that were Námo's eyes, but Elrohir made no attempt to re-enter the water.
"With all due respect, my lord – if you are here for distraction, why do you seek me out during my morning bath? Why not visit my father or Lord Glorfindel?"
The other Elf rolled onto his front again, propping his elbow and resting his head on his hand, looking at Elrohir with amusement.
"Rest assured, young Elrohir, that you are a far more pleasurable distraction than your father or my cherished Glorfindel could ever be. This aside, I might be tempted to walk my own halls if I should have to endure the story of the Balrog one more time."
Elrohir couldn't help but blush, but before he found the right words to reply, he heard a lovely female voice calling for him, and he turned around, seeing Eldanorien coming down the path, barefoot and carrying a basket.
"Darling! I knew I would find you here! I brought some breakfast along, I thought we could have a little picnic!"
She laughed, and he managed a smile, then stared at the Elf on the stone again, who was watching the approaching elf-maid with interest.
Eldanorien was a little surprised to see her lover standing there, clutching the towel around his hips and staring at the large stone by the river with a rather scared expression, but then again, it was very early, and Elrohir had never been a morning person. When she reached the small beach, she carefully put down her basket, ran over to Elrohir, hugged him and then kissed him soundly.
She only stopped doing so when she noticed that he wasn't returning her embrace or kiss, but still held the towel, and she released him.
"Now, this is not the kind of reception I expected – are you not pleased to see me?" she asked, pouting.
"Of course I am – it is always a pleasure to see you," he answered, a little too quickly, and then he glanced over to Námo, who shook his head enthusiastically.
"What are you staring at, Elrohir?" Eldanorien asked, confused by her lover's odd behaviour.
"Well – at him!" Elrohir hissed through clenched teeth, and wriggled his eyebrows in direction of the large stone. Eldanorien looked in the direction indicated, but there was nobody, only a stone, framed by daisies.
"Elrohir – what are you talking about? There is nobody… are you jesting?" she asked, and Elrohir stared at Námo, who waved at Eldanorien.
"Elly – do you not see him? He is sitting on that stone, and he just waved at you!" he gasped, and she looked again at the large stone.
"Elrohir – are you not feeling well Do you feel feverish? Maybe you should go and see your ada or your brother?"
He shook his head. This morning certainly had taken on a surreal quality.
"No. No, I'm not running a fever. I… I guess I'm just tired," he muttered, glancing at the Vala, who yawned.
Eldanorien grinned wickedly.
"Tired? Well – then I must make certain you wake up, my love!"
With that, she grabbed for his towel, and quickly snatched it away, leaving him standing in all his naked glory.
Námo applauded, then he blew her a kiss.
"No!" Elrohir shrieked, and tried to get his towel back, but she ran away, laughing, and Elrohir could only escape further humiliation by diving into the river.
Námo pouted, then he shrugged.
"I am most afraid that I will have to leave you now, young Elf, but I am confident that we will meet again."
"With all due respect – I really do not hope so!" Elrohir, who had emerged from the water, groaned, shaking his head.
"What? Why not?" Eldanorien, who had shed her clothes and was now wading through the water towards him, asked, clearly hurt.
"No – not you, love, I was only…"
He broke off. There was no point, she clearly couldn't see Námo, and he would only make a fool of himself if he tried to explain to her that the Harbinger of Death was sitting on a stone, behaving in a most unexpected manner.
"Only what?" she asked, having reached him now, and put her arms around his neck.
"Oh – I was only… thinking how much I have missed you," he said, complimenting himself for his quick wit.
Námo rolled his eyes.
"Aw – you are such a darling, Elrohir," she said, and kissed him again.
"Ouch!" she suddenly yelped, jerked back and slapped his shoulder.
"What? What is wrong? Why did you do that?" Elrohir asked, and she glared at him.
"You just pinched my bottom!" she complained, rubbing her sore backside.
"Me? I did not pinch you!"
"Of course you did!"
"Did not!"
"Sure did – or do you see anybody else here?" she asked, and Elrohir quickly looked over to the large stone.
Alas – Námo had disappeared.
* * *
"With all due respect, Sire, it certainly looks like you are about to lose this fight," Amaris called cheerfully across the training ground, looking up briefly from the task at hand – he was making a chain of daisies and other flowers which Bramble, who sat on his lap and chewed on one of his braids, had collected, but he looked up every so often to enjoy the sight of the two bare-chested Elves sparring. Amaris appreciated beauty in all its variations, and he only regretted it wasn't raining – there was something oddly appealing about Elves covered in mud.
Gil-galad, who tried his best to keep Haldir at bay, ducked and blocked the Lórien Elf's blow with this sword at the last moment.
"I really do not think so, Amaris!" he gasped, trying hard to sound cheerful and confident, but by all the Valar but Námo, this Galadhrim sure knew every trick in the book! He was literally dancing around Gil, and though they had sparred for half an hour already, the younger Elf wasn't even breathing any faster, while the former High King of the Noldo was gasping for every breath.
"Oh, but I do," Amaris answered, putting the finished chain experimentally on Bramble's head to check the fit, "your tongue is hanging out and you sound like an asthmatic Balrog. I am afraid you have met your match there, Sire!" he said happily, then he began to hum a merry tune.
"What is an asmic Balrog?" Bramble asked, frowning, and then continued to chew on Amaris' golden braid.
"Oh, my lovely, that depends – it can be Lord Celeborn when he notices he has run out of hair dye, or former kings who are out of shape and embarrass themselves in front of their minions."
Gil-galad turned as red as a cooked lobster, and the veins on his neck stood out like two ropes.
"There is no match for me, you Mirkwood menace!" he barked, and with the strength of the desperate, he started one last, fervent attack on Haldir, who was caught unaware by this move, and found himself within the fraction of a second without his sword, lying on his back, the point of Gil-galad's blade at his throat.
"So, my lovely Lórien flower, it looks like this old war horse here still knows how to fight!" he called out triumphantly, and Haldir sighed. "You have won, my lord – but I hope you will allow me the pleasure of a revanche?"
Gil put his sword back in its sheath and offered Haldir a hand, helping him back to his feet.
"But of course, dear friend," he said, smiling smugly, "I am more than willing to teach you some new moves."
Haldir tried hard not to roll his eyes, but he had to admit Gil-galad knew how to fight, and he wished he could have seen him in battle. There was something wild about him, "uncivilized," as Lord Celeborn had put it, wrinkling his nose, but while this was certainly true and Gil-galad lacked the manners and elegance of a Lórien Elf, there was also nobility about the former king, wisdom and strength, joined with down-to-earth slyness and a good, though rough sense of humour. He liked Gil-galad, he decided, even if he could not understand what it was about him that had kept Lord Elrond captivated for so many millennia. But Haldir stuck to his Nana's saying that "Every Elf is silly, just in a different way".
"I shall look forward to that," Haldir replied, dusting off his breeches. Then, picking up his tunic, jerkin and sword, he walked over to where Amaris and Bramble were sitting.
"Look ada – I have a circlet!" Bramble crowed, pointing at the flower chain on her head.
Haldir admired the fragile decoration, and stroked her cheek.
"Shall we go and show Sia how beautiful you look today?"
Bramble hopped down from Amaris' lap.
"Yes want to show Sia!" she said, and, turning to Amaris: "I will pick more flowers tomorrow, Maris, and I can catch you crayfish, too. Do you like crayfish?"
Amaris, who refused to eat anything but fruit and vegetables, nodded. "Yes, I love crayfish, my darling, but I prefer them alive."
Bramble, who did not understand the meaning of this statement, clapped her hands.
"Oh! This is good! I eat them alive as well!"
With that, she returned to Haldir, who laughed, and Gil grinned like a fiend. "My, what a lovely shade of green you’ve suddenly turned, dear Amaris – most becoming, it suits your attitude."
Amaris wrinkled his nose in disgust, but refused to answer.
"We shall leave you to a pleasant conversation, my lords," Haldir grinned, bowed his head in greeting and left with Bramble, who walked proud as a peacock and straight as a broomstick, parading her flower crown.
Gil flopped down in the grass beside Amaris, who had started to make the next flower chain.
"Amaris – do you not think that you are too old for this?" he said after watching the blond woodland Elf connecting the flowers with nimble fingers for a while.
"Sire, if I am too old for this, then you are too old to roll around in the grass like an Elfling and lose a sparring fight with a Galadhrim."
"I did not lose!" Gil-galad barked, and Amaris sighed.
"No, you did not. But only because I made you angry."
"What? You did that on purpose?" Gil-galad glared at Amaris, who continued his task, humming.
"Of course. Or would you rather have Celeborn burst with smugness during dinner? Bad enough we owe him our lives – if you lost against one of his Galadhrim, he would be unbearable."
For a moment, Gil-galad stared at his trusted advisor in disbelief, then his laughter roared all over the place.
Amaris, as usual ignoring the king's behaviour, continued humming, occasionally stopping to watch a butterfly or an interestingly formed cloud. For a while, neither of the Elves said anything, then Gil-galad rolled on his front and looked at Amaris.
"Do you think it was wise to return?" he asked, and Amaris looked up.
"Whether it was wise or not, Sire, is of no importance. We are here, so we have to deal with it. I admit it is good to feel alive again, but…"
He broke off, trying to sum up his feelings in adequate words.
"I feel alive, but I do not feel that I belong here. It is not my time. We have missed many millennia, Sire."
Gil-galad sat up, contemplating Amaris' words. He spotted Elrond, who stood on the balcony, obviously overlooking the courtyard. The sight of the tall, dark Elf made him sigh, and he shook his head.
"I know what you mean. Elrond is so – different."
"Elrond has lived his life – he has married, fathered three children, lost his wife; he fought bravely, he has learned a lot, and he has become one of the wisest of our kin."
"He also got a receding hairline."
"My apologies, Sire – how could I forget such an important achievement."
"So what you are basically saying is that he has developed and I have not."
Amaris stopped his work and looked at Gil-galad thoughtfully.
"What I am saying, Sire, is, that he is, technically, a few thousand years older than you, and, if I may dare to say so, you will find it a hard task to catch up with him, and it could do no harm to try to adapt to the current situation."
"I should try to fit into his way of living? Robes and books?"
Amaris shrugged.
"It might help, Sire, if you would stop calling him 'Pumpkin' in front of his court."
"But I have always called him 'Pumpkin'!" Gil-galad protested.
"No, Sire, you have not. The Elf you called 'Pumpkin' was barely beyond his majority and you made him Herald for the sole reason that you were worried he might get lost on the way from your bedroom to the toilet while you were away. You called him 'Pumpkin' as you would have named your favourite dog; you thought for him, decided for him, but now you find yourself in the uncomfortable position of being a king without realm or people, with nothing to your name but the heroic deeds of ages ago, while he is a noble Elf of highest education and immaculate manners, greatly respected among our kin."
Amaris bent forward, looking deep into Gil-galad's eyes.
"In other words, Sire: there is only one 'Pumpkin' around here, and that is you."
Gil-galad swallowed hard – he was used to Amaris' straightforwardness, even appreciated it, but never before had his friend confronted him so bluntly with the truth. First he got angry, then his fury gave way to hopelessness, and he hung his head.
"Amaris – I hate to admit it, but I fear you are right. I do not fit in here. I am a warrior, but there are no wars to win anymore. What can I do?"
The woodland Elf thought about it for a while.
"Wars there are none, that is true," he finally said, "but there is another thing to win: Elrond's heart."
Gil-galad perked up.
"There is nothing I would love more, and I shall not fear this battle – but pray tell, Amaris – how could I win his heart?"
"Court him. Care for him. Elrond is, like every lord, used to carrying the weight of a realm and looking after his people; his life is filled with worries, and he probably yearns for somebody to share this burden with him, and longs to be looked after, too, for a change. If your heart still truly desires him, you must fight for his love."
He shrugged again.
"This is the only advice I can give you, Sire. Now it is up to you to decide what to do."
Gil-galad had listened carefully, and now he smiled at Amaris, brilliantly, a boyish, charming smile, which made him look like a mischievous Elfling.
"You truly are the advisor of all advisors, Amaris. I shall heed your words – this is a war I will win, no matter how many battles it takes!"
With that, he jumped up, slipped into his tunic and jerkin, then he looked at Amaris hopefully.
"Be honest with me – do you think Elrond might love me again one day?"
Amaris gave him a long, thoughtful look, then he shrugged, smiled, and returned his attention to the flowers, while Gil-galad quickly crossed the training ground with long strides.
The woodland Elf dropped the flower chain, his eyes following the tall figure heading for the Last Homely House. His shoulders dropped, and he looked very tired all of a sudden.
"Of course he will fall in love with you," he whispered.
"Who would not."
And as he was all alone, with only ants and butterflies for company, he let his tears flow freely, and they caught in the petals of the flowers like dew.
* * *
Elladan woke up to the sound of loud hammering and some muffled Orcish curses outside his window, followed by the whining complaints of a female voice. Mauburz had obviously designated Lady Firinwë to help with one unpleasant task or another; cleaning the outhouse or something similar delightful.
He had no idea what had possessed Erestor to make the Lady take quarters in the two small rooms above the shop; at times he wondered whether this was to punish Mauburz or Firinwë, for both complained vocally and repeatedly about this arrangement.
Though the sun was already high in the sky, Elladan felt no need to get up. His head rested comfortably on Orophin's chest, and he could hear his heartbeat – a trivial thing, you might say, but considering that Orophin had been dead not too long ago, the steady beat of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest filled Elladan's heart with happiness.
Elladan still had to touch Orophin every other minute to make sure he was really here and not just a dream. So many things had happened in these last few days – only last week, his days had been one everlasting walk in the darkness, and now the sun was shining, the birds were singing, and he was here, lying peacefully snuggled up to his husband.
His husband – also something he had to get used to first. Nobody would ever take Orophin away from him again, and they would live blissfully until the end of Arda – if his father did not decide to throw him to the Wargs, that was, for Elladan had so far conveniently avoided breaking the news to Elrond about his new son-in-law. While Elladan knew deep down in his heart that his father would finally give them his blessings, he dreaded the things which lay before the "finally". Elladan knew his father would be hurt that his heir had married without asking first, without announcement, without celebration. And also Elrohir, though understanding, would be hurt that he had been excluded from this important moment in the life of his twin.
Elladan sighed. He wanted to share his happiness, not spread misery.
"Is anything wrong?"
Elladan looked up. Orophin was awake and smiling at him. Another thing to get used to – gone was the odd, rusty voice; since Orophin had returned from the Halls of Waiting, his voice had the melodious quality that was so typical of his kin. It was deeper than Haldir's, and without the mocking undertone of Rúmil, and Elladan felt he would never get tired of listening to it. Gone also were all the scars, all bruises, the faint scar around Orophin's neck. Indeed, if it hadn't been for Orophin's eyes, which spoke of ancient wisdom, one could have mistaken the Galadhrim for an Elf of Elladan's age.
"No, everything is in order, beloved," he said, and pressed a soft kiss on Orophin's chest.
"I was only thinking about ada and Elrohir."
Orophin gently rubbed Elladan's naked shoulder, and the younger Elf leant into the touch.
"I will speak to your father. It was me who initiated this, so it is nothing but fair if I bear his anger."
"He will not be angry, beloved. He will be sad and hurt, which is worse. His anger I could live with, it's like a straw fire, bright and hot, but short-lived. I love my father very much, and I do not like to see him sad."
"I hope he will deem me worthy of you," Orophin said, letting his hand wander from Elladan's shoulder to his chest, where he circled the nipple with the tip of his middle finger, and Elladan shuddered.
"You are more than worthy, beloved"; he gasped, trying hard not to lose contact with this wicked finger, and Orophin chuckled.
"I am very glad to hear this. But maybe I should prove myself to you once more, just so you can be sure?"
Elladan, who had closed his eyes, nodded, and gasped: "Yes, that is a good idea, one can never be too sure, after all."
Orophin's hand hovered so close over Elladan's skin that he felt its warmth, but not its touch. He arched his back to make contact, but Orophin quickly moved his hand a little further away, and Elladan groaned in disappointment.
"Is there anything you wish, sweet prince?" Orophin purred, and Elladan, who had just discovered this new teasing side to his husband, couldn't make up his mind which of his wishes to voice first, so he moaned instead.
"You have such a wonderful way with words, Elladan." Orophin grinned, then rolled on top of his mate, nuzzling his neck.
"Mmmm… I like the way you smell," he murmured, and gently bit the lobe of Elladan's ear. "I also like the way you taste." Giving a long, slow lick up the ear to finish nibbling on the tip, he added: "You taste lovely."
Elladan laughed, and ran his hands lightly and lazily over Orophin's back.
"You know," he said, rubbing his cheek on Orophin's, "I still fear I might wake up and find this is all just a dream."
Orophin moved to look in Elladan's eyes. He gently stroked his cheek.
"I always thought of you, Elladan. There was not a second when I did not think of you. When I - when I died, I was still there for some time, watching you all. I heard Haldir's blessing, and saw your distress, and seeing you suffer was so much worse than knowing that I died. I have always been with you, Elladan - always, every moment, and never doubt, no matter what might happen in our lives, that I would be with you. There is nothing that could separate us - maybe in body, yes, but not in mind, not in soul, and certainly not in heart."
Elladan felt tears sting again in his eyes, and tried to stop them, but to no avail. Orophin kissed them away, covering the trembling Elf with his body.
"I love you very much, Elladan," he simply said, and smiled, an almost shy, young smile.
"And I love you very much, Orophin," Elladan replied, brushing his lips over his husband's, "and if you do not take me within the next ten seconds, I shall scream at the top of my lungs for all of Rivendell to hear what a tease you are."
Orophin chuckled, and his hands wandered down Elladan's body.
"Now that is not very advisable, beloved. Your ada would stand in this chamber within the minute."
Elladan, who had drawn up one leg and put it around Orophin's waist, dug his hands into his husband's back, pressing him even closer, and gasped: "Will you stop talking and fulfil your marital duties already?"
"Of course," Orophin grinned, "you know how seriously we Galadhrim take our duties. We excel when it comes to our sense of duty. The only thing we are better at is archery."
"Then shoot away, you master archer!" Elladan growled.
Which Orophin did.
Hitting the bull's eye, of course.
* * *
Glorfindel dreamt.
He dreamt of a battle, of heroic deeds, and right now, he dreamt of killing a Warg. The beast crashed on him, breathing out the life Fin had taken, and burying the Balrog-slayer under its body. He tried to struggle free from the heavy weight, but to no avail. The Warg didn't move a bit, and now it seemed to have come to life again, and was licking Fin's face.
"Leave me be, you beast!" Fin groaned, and tried to push the creature away.
"Beast? Did you just call me a beast?" Erestor, who was lying on top of Glorfindel and had just been nibbling on his mate's neck, jerked back, glaring at the blond warrior with annoyance.
"Uh? It is you, Erestor?" Fin muttered, slowly waking up.
"Of course it is me," Erestor said, his voice slightly ironic now, "or whom did you expect? Mauburz the Straggler? Or maybe the lovely Firinwë?"
"Oww, get away with that one, it is too early in the morning to mention her name," Glorfindel moaned, and tried to move out from under Erestor, but his mate wouldn't have it.
"Now this is charming," Erestor said, wrinkling his long nose, "here I am, trying to wake you in a pleasant manner, and all I get as a reward is one grumpy Balrog slayer."
Fin sighed.
"Darling - the Valar know I love you. I would climb the highest mountain, swim the deepest sea, fight the most terrible monster and even pick flowers for you, but whatever it is you have in mind now, and I have a pretty good idea what this might be, the answer is: no."
Erestor pouted.
"No? Why not?" He bent down, nuzzling Glorfindel's neck again, planting kisses along his jaw line and nibbling on his ear.
"I desire you greatly, Fin," he said huskily, and his long fingers danced over Glorfindel's body, but his mate seemed seriously reluctant to comply with his wishes.
"Erestor - I said: no. This is not a matter of wanting, it is a matter of being able to. You desired me greatly six times yesterday, and now I am all worn out. I am an old, battle-worn Elf, my love, and as much as I would love to comply with your wishes: I cannot."
Erestor rolled off of his mate, sat up and pulled the blanket almost up to his nose.
"You do not desire me anymore. Do not deny it, Fin, I noticed well - what is it? I know that my hair does not shine anymore as it used to before Estorel was born, and I might look tired, but is there nothing I could do to make you desire me again?" he said, and looked at Glorfindel with sad eyes, which almost broke the warrior's heart.
"Erestor - my love," he said, sat up and folded the other Elf in his arms, "I still desire you. I have never desired anyone like I desire you, and being with you is pure bliss. But there is only so much strength I can muster, and I am afraid that you have worn me out, beloved. Give me some time to recover."
Erestor rested his head on Glorfindel's shoulder, and the warrior felt his mate's hot tears on this skin.
"If you still desire me, why do you not want me, then?" Erestor sobbed. "Why do you deny us another child?"
Glorfindel stroked Erestor's hair, then he cupped his chin and made the advisor look at him.
"Erestor - I almost lost you when you gave me Estorel, the most beautiful gift I ever received. I will not take this risk again. I know that you go through a difficult time, you are right in the middle of your fertility cycle and this makes you act the way you do. Please do not despair, beloved, it will soon be over, and we can return to our normal life. Maybe you should go to see Elrond, he might have a draught to help you."
Erestor starred at Glorfindel, and there was an odd, unreadable expression on his face. He seemed to consider Glorfindel's words, then he freed himself of his mate's embrace, lay back down and turned his back to the warrior.
"This I will do. I shall go and see Elrond."
And though this was exactly what Glorfindel wanted to hear, he had an odd feeling in his stomach.
Had he just made a very big mistake?
* * *
It was not difficult for Elrond to locate Gil-galad. The laughter was loud enough, and stepping onto the balcony, he could see him, jesting and laughing with the guards, entertaining them with jokes of a rather questionable kind, and Elrond wondered how in Elbereth's name he could ever have found this behaviour charming.
Well. It was still charming, in a way. It was a bit like watching Rabbit - though Haldir would have been insulted for months if he had voiced such a comparison - a being of a time long passed. But while Rabbit and his tribe filled him with awe and respect, all Gil-galad ignited was a wish, daily harder to suppress, to smack his former king and lover on the head. Oh, he was still the fairest Elf Elrond had ever seen, and he still dreamt about seeing the dark hair with the red lights fanned on his pillow, but Elrond had changed, grown up, and Gil-galad was basically still the wild, carefree warrior he had always been. Not a quiet, observant ruler like Elrond, but strong, demanding, always willing to bend rules in his own favour and not always too aware of the needs of others. As a young Elf, this strength had impressed Elrond very much, he had hero-worshipped Gil-galad, but now, with the wisdom of millennia, he saw that what he had considered Gil-galad's strengths were also weaknesses.
'Do I still love him?' Elrond wondered, 'Or do I love the idea of loving him? Have I, over the years, cherished a picture of him in my heart which was false? Have I been delusional?'
He sighed. No – he still loved Gil-galad. He really did. But there was no way they could simply pick up where they had ended so many years ago. If this was supposed to work – and Elrond had every intention of making it work – they had to make a fresh start. He had tried to explain to Gil-galad how he felt, but while the other had nodded and agreed to take things slowly, Elrond was well aware that his former lover did not really understand why Elrond's bedchamber was closed to him, and he hoped that Gil-galad at least knew that locked door did not equal locked heart.
"Why so sad, Elrond? I thought I would find you singing and possibly even dancing on the table?" a familiar, mocking voice could be heard, and Elrond turned around.
"Celeborn – oh, I am happy. There are just a few things I had to think about."
Celeborn stepped to his side and looked down at the main square.
"I see," he said, "though I think it's not a few things, but rather one thing."
Elrond didn't answer, he just sighed. Celeborn rested his hand on Elrond's shoulder, gently squeezing it.
"Give him time, dear friend. He is not as carefree as he pretends to be – the time in the Halls of Waiting has taken its toll on him as well. You had your family and your friends – he had thousands of years of hopeless longing for you."
Elrond turned around, surprised.
"This coming from you, Celeborn? I would have thought you would be the last here to feel pity for him."
Celeborn grinned – a very cheeky grin, Elrond thought.
"Ah, Elrond – there you are wrong. I do not feel pity for him. If it was up to me, I would wrap him up in a parcel and send him to Mirkwood as a begetting-day present for Thrandúil, along with Amaris, but I know that you care deeply for him, and I have not seen you smile as you have done these last days for many, many years, and this fills my heart with joy."
Elrond fought down the lump in throat, and looked up at the former lord of the Golden Wood.
"I have not even thanked you properly for what you did. You risked your life, your soul for the three of them."
"Ah," Celeborn said, waving Elrond's words off, "I was only doing what I can do best: gambling. And what a wonderful opportunity to look like a hero… believe me, I did it for you, Elladan and Orophin, not for this cave troll of an Elven lord. This aside," he added, and a smile played around his lips, "I did have a little help there."
Elrond looked at him expectantly, but Celeborn did not continue, he simply smiled, and took his hand off Elrond's shoulder.
"I must apologize, Elrond – I should never have done it."
Elrond knew well what "it" was, he still couldn't believe that Celeborn had actually tried to kiss him, but even less expected was his apology now.
"You must not, Celeborn – I was not upset, I was just – confused. I did not expect you to … do that." he said, a little unsure, and Celeborn looked at him thoughtfully.
"No? Then you must be remarkably blind, dear friend. I hold you very high in respect, Elrond, you are honourable, wise, kind and courageous and, if I may say so, not exactly beaten with the ugly stick. You made my daughter happy. You are the father of my three wonderful grandchildren. But still, I should not have done it. It was not appropriate to do something which was so clearly against your will."
"Oh, I would not put it like that", Elrond said, running his finger over the armrest of his chair, "I was just – surprised."
Celeborn stared at him.
"You would not have objected if I – well, if I had asked you?" he gasped, and Elrond shrugged.
"I cannot tell, Celeborn – I like you better than you think, and I was very lonely. Who knows – if you had asked me instead of surprising me so, I might have agreed to – try."
Celeborn, after recovering from the shock of this revelation, towered up in front of Elrond.
"So then, you annoying Half-elf - let us forget for a minute that King Cave Troll is down in the courtyard, and let us forget all other unpleasant realities as well, such as my being married to your mother-in-law: Elrond, may I kiss you? Just so you and I know what it would be like?"
"I guess it cannot be helped. Go ahead."
Celeborn cocked his head and moved forward, picking up where they had been so rudely interrupted by Gil-galad's portrait not too long ago. Their lips met, and Celeborn almost sighed with delight when he felt Elrond opening up to him. He tasted lovely, as expected - no, lovelier. Very lovely. Maybe he should...
"Oh, my deepest apologies – I hope I have interrupted something?"
The two lords jerked back as if a snake had appeared between them, but it was only Gil-galad who stood in the doorway, an innocent expression on his face.
Celeborn certainly would have preferred the snake, and Elrond cleared his throat.
"No… no, we just finished our… meeting," he muttered, and Celeborn was silently counting to 27 to calm down before he turned around.
"Gil-galad – how very nice to see you," he said, and the smile he gave the former king was so menacing it would have frightened an Orc out of his armour, but Gil-galad only cocked an eyebrow, and marched across the room.
"If I had known that you had an important meeting, I would have come later. Shall I return in an hour, Elrond?" he asked, and Elrond shook his head, giving Celeborn an apologetic look.
"No - as I said, we are finished. How may I help you?"
"I hoped you would have the time to show me your remarkable thimble-collection, dear friend. I’ve heard so much about it, and before I ride out to whack the mentally deficient who sells my picture on thimbles with a fluffy pillow, I thought I should have a look at the items in question first."
Celeborn almost laughed out loud, and only didn't do so because he was not amused in the least. 'Thimble collection, my backside', he thought, 'his picture should be on archery targets, and I bet they would be a top seller. I would certainly buy one!'
"I hope we do not keep you from any important duties, dear Celeborn," Gil-galad purred, "an important Elf like you sure has many tasks that demand his attention."
"Indeed," Celeborn replied, delighting in mentally strangling the other Elf, "there is much work I have to do while you do Elrond - I mean, while you and Elrond do what you do - so I shall withdraw now to my chambers and wish you a most pleasant day. And Elrond," he said, already standing at the door with the handle in his hand, "while you are at it, do not forget to show our dear friend here those lovely commemorative mugs of yours, and the Gil-galad quill holder, calendar and collectable feather duster. Namaarië."
With that, Celeborn stomped out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him with such a might that the paintings in the hallway danced on the wall. One fell down, its heavy carved frame almost splitting Celeborn's head, and he only escaped because a large plant softened its fall and gave him time to jump aside. He stared at the large painting, then he picked it up, not really surprised to find it was a portrait of Galadriel.
There could be no doubt - the Valar hated him.
* * *
Fin didn't know why he was lurking here, hidden behind one of the tapestries covering the walls of Elrond's library. As a matter of fact, he felt like an idiot; the last time he had done such a thing was back in Gondolin when he had been an Elfling of 60 years, hiding to watch his cousin undress. She had found him and whacked him hard with her hairbrush as a result. Still, it had been worth it.
He had a premonition – a feeling something would happen here, so he kept still and didn't move when Elrond entered the study, crossed the room and stood by the balcony. From time to time, the lord sighed, and looked over his shoulder, as if he was expecting somebody to come for a visit, and indeed, soon enough, a soft rap on the door could be heard, and Elrond called "please come in". Fin could only see a small part of the room through the gap between two tapestries, but he knew the soft steps on the floor, would have known them in his sleep, and so it did not come as a surprise to him when he heard Erestor's voice: "You asked to see me, my lord?"
"Indeed, I did, Erestor. Please come here, to the balcony – you look pale, you need some fresh air."
Obediently, Erestor stepped to his lord's side and into Fin's angle of vision; he studied his mate and had to agree with Elrond: Erestor did look pale and exhausted, dark circles were under his eyes; eyes that shone as in fever, and the dark Elf opened and closed his hands without pause.
"Erestor", Elrond began, not looking at his advisor, "I have watched you carefully these last weeks, and I see that you are not well. I do not wish to intrude on your private life, but Erestor, I think you should get some rest. Let others take over your duties for a while."
Erestor stared at Elrond, and Fin held his breath – it was inevitable that Erestor would protest and get upset. Of course Elrond was right – but did he have to put it so undiplomatically?
But Erestor didn't protest at all. He stepped closer to Elrond, resting his hand on the lord's arm.
"You do not understand, Elrond, my friend," he whispered, "this is not an illness that will pass, and you cannot sooth my pain by locking me away."
Fin saw the cold sweat spreading over the ashen skin, and the hand which clawed into Elrond's arm. Never had he heard Erestor address his lord in such an intimate manner, and this scared him more than anything else.
"I wish I could understand, my dear, dear friend," Elrond sighed, studying his chief advisor with the eye of a healer, "but if I had the means to relieve you from your pain, I would do it, this you know."
To Fin's increasing discomfort, Erestor stepped even closer to Elrond, so close actually that his robes were rustling against the lord's, and his eyes were like two coals in his pale face.
"You have the means, Elrond," he murmured, and to Fin's horror, he saw his mate rub his face on Elrond's shoulder, his hands caressing the lord's side.
"Give me what Glorfindel is not willing to give!"
Elrond stared at his advisor in disbelief, and pushed him gently, but firmly away.
"Erestor! Come to your senses! You do not know what you say!"
"Oh, I know very well, fair one," Erestor purred, wrapping his slim figure around Elrond like ivy around an oak, "I have noticed how you watched me, have noticed long ago. Do you deny you have thought about me? Imagined what I would feel like, how I would taste?"
"Indeed I do deny this!" Elrond protested, trying to free himself from Erestor who had obviously gone mad, but he knew it was a lie, and Erestor knew it, too. Yes, he had thought of Erestor in an inappropriate way, had often secretly mourned that he had never pursued this, and then Glorfindel had come along, and though Elrond had thought the whole matter over and done with, his body was very willing to enjoy Erestor's caresses now, while his mind screamed to get out of this place before he did something he would regret until the end of Arda.
Fin wanted to storm out, to drag Erestor out of the room, but he was not able to move a limb, he was paralyzed, his legs refused service. He was glad he was still able to breathe.
Erestor knew exactly what buttons to push to break down Elrond's defences. He begged, he purred, he cried, his hands were everywhere, touching, caressing, teasing, demanding. The heat of his body was penetrating Elrond's robes the same way his scent was fogging Elrond's mind, and there was only so much the Lord of Imladris could summon up in resistance, a resistance that was crumbling like an old cake. He had been lonely for so long, and not felt a lover's caress, and it felt good, so good to be touched and wanted. So finally, he gave in to Erestor's ministrations, answering his advisor's demanding kisses, burying his hands in the long, dark hair and returning his passion.
Fin saw his mate and his best friend sink to the floor, saw robes being shed and heard the moans, and registered the caresses and kisses on the familiar pale skin. He only saw the two bodies, entwined, moving in an ancient rhythm, he couldn't see their faces, but he knew how Erestor looked in a moment like this, his mind replayed pictures of lips whispering terms of love and desire, he saw dark hair spread around the beloved face, a willowy body aching in passion. There was nothing Glorfindel could do but stand there and watch, witnessing his life falling to pieces, and an odd thought crossed his mind: what would Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen say when Erestor eventually gave birth to their half-sibling?
Finally, something broke free in Fin's soul, and he screamed like he had never screamed before, screamed like he would never scream again, screamed his anger and the pain of the betrayal, and finally, he sank to his knees and just sobbed, Erestor's name, over and over again.
* * *
Author's notes: Only one more chapter to go, dear readers - be strong. Things are not as bad as they might look - trust me. Credit for the cliff-hanger goes entirely to the Magic Rat.
Gil-galad and Elrond: I just can't imagine somebody being away for thousands of years and life just going on. Amaris is right - he and Gil-galad are anachronisms, they live in the wrong time and they have missed out on vital things that happened in the last couple of thousand years. Elrond is not a love-struck youngster anymore, something Gil-galad finds very difficult to adapt to.
This chapter and the 12th and last one contain quite a few hints for the upcoming sequel to "The Knave" which will be called "Finding Námo". Feedback is, as usual, very much welcome, and I am more than happy if you share your thoughts on Námo and Amaris with me.
See you in the last chapter!