And With Him Was Elrond by elfscribe

“In Middle-earth dwelt also Gil-galad the High King, and with him was Elrond Half-elven, who chose, as was granted to him, to be numbered among the Eldar . . .”
J.R.R. Tolkien. The Silmarillion. “Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath.”

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere. They're in each other all along.
-Rumi

S.A. 1598

Golden light dappled Gil-galad’s back under the forest canopy. His drape of silver hair slid forward as he bent over his horse’s withers to examine the ground.

Seated on his bay mare, Elrond watched from a respectful distance, his spear growing heavy in his hand. He shifted it under his arm, the sharp blade pointing downwards, so as not to become entangled in the branches overhead. “Appears we’ve lost our quarry, Gil,” he said. Turning, he looked behind them past the clearing into the forest. “And I fear we’ve wandered too far ahead of them. We should have waited for the dogs.”

“They will be here, anon,” Gil said, softly. “Oh look, mushrooms!” He pointed to a cluster under a tree. “Maybe we should gather some to take back to the lodge.” He grinned. “Do you remember that time near Emyn Beraid when we found a large clump of the black variety, and were congratulating ourselves on locating dinner?”

“I do,” Elrond said. “And we heard something moving in the brush, thought it might be orcs.”

“Orcs, or something worse. So, we pulled our swords, when a hare darted out . . .” His hands pantomimed the action, “and it . . .”

“Ran right between your legs, just as you were stepping forward, so of course, being clumsy, you tripped, and fell on me . . .” Elrond smiled.

“Knocked you flat on your arse—squashing them all flat!” Gil chuckled. “Then that hare, instead of running off, had the temerity to sit up on his hind legs and twitch his nose at us, as if to say ‘silly elves.’ How we both laughed!”

“Mmm, yes.” Elrond said. “That was the day I discovered that sitting upon that variety of Telum vorn will render it into a gooey black mess, stickier than mud. ‘Twas an unfortunate way to find out.”

“What a sight we were coming back into camp. You had to wash off the breeches in the pond and walk around half-naked all day while they dried. Can’t say I was sorry to see that.” Gil laughed, that deeply happy sound that Elrond so loved to hear. But the suggestive tone was something he’d been doing of late. Perhaps it meant nothing. Gil often joked in that manner with others. In any case, Elrond reminded himself, he couldn’t even contemplate exploring where it might lead.

Elrond scanned the small clearing again. “I only wish we were currently hunting something as innocuous as mushrooms or small as a hare. This beast is not to be trifled with.”

“Agreed. Oh aha!” Gil-galad swung off his black horse, Craban, landing quietly amidst the bracken. His cape settled rather sensually about his tall frame and he adjusted the long bow over his shoulder. Pinching a curled fern through his fingers, he examined it, then looked up at Elrond with keen grey eyes. “It’s blood. He looks to have come through here.”

“I see that. Have a care now,” Elrond whispered. He didn’t like the dense undergrowth on the ridge above them. Something felt monstrous up there. Where was the rest of the hunting party? “I don’t know why you insisted on joining an expedition to take down a rogue boar. We have soldiers and dogs for that task.”

“What kind of king would I be if I refused to help my people? No fewer than three envoys have pleaded for aid in slaying this demon that has destroyed gardens, attacked men in the fields, and worse, slaughtered several children.”

“I know that full well, having been at your side when the messengers came,” Elrond said, feeling grumpy and uncomfortable as Gil pushed through tall ferns, seeking the signs of the beast’s passing. “But you shouldn’t take unnecessary risks.”

“My dear Elrond, always worrying.”

“And you, my lord, don’t worry enough.”

“Huh,” Gil said, as his eyes swept the ground. “It’s been peaceful enough for long enough. And we’re both still here, against all the odds, I daresay.”

“True. But there are signs. I have heard rumors . . .” Abruptly, Elrond’s senses prickled sharp as knives. “Gil! Watch out!” he cried.

An angry grunt sounded in the underbrush at the top of the slope, causing both horses to startle. Craban threw up his head, jerked free from the king’s hands, and backed away, while Elrond reined in Filig. Gil whirled towards the sound and pulled his bow from his shoulder. None too soon.

A groaning bark shook the leaves and the massive boar, black as soot, and tall as Gil’s shoulder, lunged from his hiding place and bounded with unnerving speed straight down the slope towards them. He carried several arrows trailing lines of dried blood down his hairy sides. His neck bulged and tiny red eyes fixed keenly upon them. Elrond had never seen anything quite like it.

“Ai!” Elrond cried. He raised his spear and urged Filig to intercept, but the boar dodged them, and instead headed straight for the king. Gil released an arrow that hit the beast in the flank, which only increased his rage. Moments passed in blurred horror as the boar knocked Gil to the ground and his bow went flying. With an upward thrust of the beast’s vicious snout, he ripped open the king’s thigh.

“No! No!” Elrond kicked Filig forward and threw the spear with all his strength. It nicked the boar’s side, but it was like hitting the side of a wall and the lance barely penetrated flesh, instead hung limply from his side. Nevertheless, it must have hurt as the boar squealed, and continued butting the king, shoving him along the ground. Gil cried out, grabbed an arrow from his quiver, and thrust it in the boar’s eye. The roar was deafening.

Leaping to the ground, Elrond seized the end of the spear that still protruded from the boar’s flank, and putting it to his shoulder, attempted to drive it deeper. That had some effect. The beast stopped his assault on the king and wheeled upon Elrond. The movement jerked the lance from Elrond’s hands. Eye dripping blood, the monster pawed the ground and bellowed – a sound not unlike that of a wounded bear, then he charged.

Elrond ran with all he had in him. Grabbing his horse’s mane, he swung aboard, just as the boar collided with them, slashing at Filig’s legs. The mare squealed, half-reared, then kicked out her hind legs viciously, throwing Elrond to her neck. As he attempted to regain his seat, Filig sprinted away. Looking over his shoulder, Elrond was horrified to see that the beast had rounded on the king again, who was struggling to stand, blood streaming down his leg.

A pack of baying hounds poured into the clearing, closely followed by Erestor, Gildor, and a dozen guards and villagers. None too soon.

“Shoot him, shoot him!” Elrond yelled, as they surged past. There was a quick zip, zip, zip. Elrond wheeled Filig about only to see the boar stagger and then flee, leaving a trail of blood. “You lot, go finish him off,” Elrond barked. “Erestor, come attend the king!”

Heart pounding at what he might find, he rode back to Gil, who was sitting stiffly with one hand propped behind him, a confused grimace on his face. Bright red blood pumped from the ragged tear through his breeches on his inner thigh. Elrond knelt beside him. “Lie back, my lord. All the way down. I’m going to try to stop the bleeding.” He pressed as hard as he could, feeling the give of the King’s muscled thigh under his palm. Soon, his breeches, Elrond’s hands, and the ground underneath, were all soaked red. He pressed harder. Gil hissed in pain.

Moments later, the formidable Erestor, dressed in hunting leathers, appeared at his side, looking grim. “Do you have a kit?” he asked.

“Yes, in my saddlebags, hurry!” Elrond pushed his hand harder into the hollow between Gil’s hip and groin, and Gil yelped. “Forgive me, Gil, but it’s necessary. Bear it.”

“How, how bad?” Gil asked, struggling to look.

“Bad, my lord,” Elrond replied. “We’re ministering to it.”

Erestor knelt next to him with the leather bag in his hand. He pulled apart the strings and dumped it out on the leafy ground. “What do you need?”

“First bandages. I need to make a tourniquet. Bend your leg up, Gil.”

Erestor seized the torn edges of the king’s woolen breeches and ripped them apart, exposing the king’s upper leg and white loincloth-covered groin. An ugly wound sliced up the inside of his thigh, from which blood steadily issued. Elrond inhaled sharply. Steady now. Erestor handed him a long strip of linen and a slim metal rod. Elrond wrapped the bandage around the king’s upper thigh, then stuck the rod under it and used it to wind the bandage tight.

“Uhhhhah!” Gil grit his teeth.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Elrond said. “I know this hurts.”

“Hurts, yes,” Gil groaned.

“The bleeding seems to be contained,” Erestor said. “It’s not spurting anymore.”

“Mmm,” Elrond said. “This part here is sliced nearly down to the bone. Fortunately, the boar didn’t gore higher into the groin and he missed the main artery, just barely. There’s a lot of tissue damage. See how the blood is seeping. We need first to cleanse it. Use that vial there marked vinegar.”

Erestor pulled the cork with his teeth, and poured the vinegar on the wound, which made Gil gasp and squint. The coursing of blood had slowed due to the tourniquet. Good. “That other vial now. The one labeled ‘yarrow.’ Sprinkle the powder on the wound.” Elrond watched, worried. Yarrow was a good styptic, but would it be enough? The wound still oozed too much.“Now then, fold one of those bandages into a pad. Press it to the wound. Hold it.”

Erestor complied. The pad grew pink, but not as quickly. It seemed the blood was clotting. Slowing. Not enough.

In the distance, the note of the dogs’ baying changed. They had found their quarry. Voices shouted. Among the chorus, Elrond heard someone yell, “Tôl acharn!” and the boar’s angry, squealing response. For a moment, Elrond’s thoughts churned through visions of other battlefields, other disasters.

Yes, definitely their efforts were working. The pad wasn’t getting darker. But when Elrond checked on Gil, his eyes had glazed with pain and he seemed weak. He’d lost a lot of blood in a short space of time.

“The tourniquet can’t stay on for long, or he’ll lose his leg,” Elrond said. “But I can’t stitch him up here. We’ll have to keep the pressure on and loosen it periodically until the blood stops. Here, raise the pad a moment.”

Elrond pulled his roll of spider webbing from the supplies and packed the wound with it, then had Erestor press the pad onto it again, while he tightly wrapped more bandages over it.* Gil grit his teeth the whole time, trying not to cry out, but not wholly succeeding. “We’ve got to get him back to the lodge, Erestor,” Elrond said.

Gildor, along with several of the household galloped up, slid to a stop, as they leapt down. Gildor said, “We managed to slay the boar, not without some injury. By Oromë's horn, what happened?”

Elrond gestured. “The beast gored him. As you see. It’s grievous.”

Sitting back on his haunches, Erestor tossed his single dark braid over his shoulder. “Appears we’ve stanched the blood, due to our healer’s quick actions. It’s touch and go now. We need to get him back to the lodge. Gather the others and cut some branches to construct a stretcher.”

“Mandos! He’s gone white,” Elrond said. “My lord.” He shook Gil’s arm. Gil mumbled something, and his eyelids fluttered. His skin felt cold. Elrond looked at Erestor. “This is not good,” he said. “We must make haste.”

**************
It was late afternoon on the third day since they’d brought the wounded king back to his hunting lodge, a quaint stone structure with a peaked roof, gabled dormers, and a tower on one end. A colonnaded porch encircled the first floor with a rough flagstone front and stables in the back. The king was housed in the royal suite on one end of the lodge.

Elrond sat in the large upholstered chair near the bed where Gil lay, moving restlessly. A nearby western window brought the afternoon sunlight into the room, turning the rich furnishings a deceptive rosy-golden color. Through the unshuttered window, he could see Amon Lassen, the highest peak in this southern part of the Ered Luin, still crowned with snow, although it was now late spring. Another window on the eastern side of the room helped fill this suite with light during the day. Located deep in the woods, near a pass through the mountains and the small community of Dínoble, it was a stunning location for the king’s hunting lodge.

Elrond was now intimately familiar with this room and the chair, having kept watch over the king the past two nights. His eyes dearly wanted to close. Across the room on another chair, Erestor drowsed, his head propped on his hand, his dark braid hanging forward over his shoulder. Elrond stirred, rubbed his aching eyes. A fire burned brightly on a large stone-enshrined hearth, but it made little difference: the room still felt cold, damp, and dispiriting.

To say that Elrond and the rest of the household were weary was an understatement. That afternoon, Gil had finally seemed stable, so Erestor pushed Elrond out the door and ordered him to eat and bathe and lie down in his own room adjacent. But he’d had no appetite and did not rest.

Gil shifted, moaned. Elrond rose, went to his side, and took up his hand, which seemed hot. He felt Gil’s sweating forehead. “He’s burning up,” he said to Erestor.

“How can that be?” Erestor said, opening his eyes. “He seemed fine just an hour ago. I watched you clean and suture the wound and he seemed to be improved this morning.”

“Boar’s tusks are rife with poison,” Elrond said. “Which sometimes takes several days to manifest. And I don’t have the right herbs handy to combat it.” He drew back the quilt to reveal Gil’s muscular, bare legs. The king’s left thigh was red and swollen around the bandages. Elrond clicked his tongue. He reached into a basin on a nearby stand, withdrew a cloth, and applied it to Gil’s fevered brow.

“What do you recommend?” Erestor said.

“An infusion of Feverfew, which is a problem as we don’t have any more in the store here,” Elrond said. “And some of the grace of the Belain, which seems in short supply these days as well.”

Erestor rose with his characteristic feline grace, and padded to the door. “Summon Gildor,” he told the guard, then returned. “Elrond, shouldn’t we move him back to the Mithlond household? We have more resources there.”

“I daren’t do it, not while he’s in this condition,” Elrond said.

Shortly thereafter, Gildor strode in, dressed in green suede, golden hair braided back from his delicate face. He inclined his head at each of them. “Elrond, is there no change?”

“There is. The king suffers from ague now, which wasn’t the case before,” Elrond said. “Could you seek an infusion of Feverfew among the villagers here? They often grow it in their gardens, or failing that, find some fresh in the fields near here.”

“Yes,” Gildor replied. “And I have heard of another herb, brought here by ships from Andor. I will inquire.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Elrond said. “They say it has remarkable medicinal properties, but I’ve not had the opportunity to experiment with it myself. I’ll try anything at this point.”

“There’s a woman here in the household named Lisgil who is familiar with it. I will inquire of her and return as soon as I am able.” Gildor retreated with a swirl of his cloak.

Elrond looked at the king and his stomach knotted. Picking up Gil’s hand, he pressed it to his face. The flesh was burning. Elrond began singing a healing song taught him years ago by his foster-father Maglor. A song he had sung frequently these past two days.

“I remember that one,” Erestor said, shaking his head. “I heard it often after the fall of Gondolin. So much sorrow for so many years.”

Erestor had risen from his seat. His shoulders were slumped and his face looked as weary as Elrond felt. “Don’t exhaust yourself,” Erestor said. “You can’t be of help to him if you sap your own vitality.”

Elrond nodded and continued his breathy crooning. Erestor’s expression grew soft, contemplative. “I shall go get some dinner for us, and some broth for the king. It’s important to keep up his strength. Yours as well.” He left, closing the door gently.

********
Late that night, Elrond heard Gil cry out and struggle with the covers, thrashing, trying to rise. He roused himself from the mattress the household had brought in, sat down on the bed, and laid a restraining hand on the king’s shoulder. “Gil, where are you going? You are in no shape to get up yet.”

“Elrond, are you there? It’s so dark,” Gil whimpered like a scared child—a strange sound coming from someone so strong and capable.

“I am here.” Elrond squeezed his forearm.

“I had a nightmare,” Gil said, trying to sit up. “Horrific. It was dark, but there was fire all about, as if a Balrog had been unleashed. Around me, elves were screaming, dying. Something huge and black was moving towards me.”

“Perhaps you dreamed of the boar, or of the wars.”

Gil shook his head. “Didn’t feel like that. Felt . . . prescient.” He grimaced and tried to throw off the covers. “It’s hot as a bonfire,” he moaned. “My leg throbs so. Feels as if it might split in two. Don’t you have something to ease it?”

Elrond turned up the lamp, then leaned over and probed Gil’s thigh. It was indeed hot and swollen. Gently he peeled back the bandages over the ragged wound, stitched closed in such haste. Dangerous red lines emanated from it. Elrond chewed his lip. “I’m afraid, Gil, that I need to open it back up and drain it.”

Gil groaned. “There’s no need. It’ll improve soon. I heal remarkably quickly. You’ve said so yourself in the past. Remember that wound I received from those orcs we encountered in Emyn Uial?” He held up his arm to show the scar.

“Yes, and as I recall, you moaned considerably about it. You are a terrible patient,” Elrond said fondly.

“We should give it another day,” Gil said with authority. He attempted again to rise.

Elrond put a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the steady throb of his heart under his palm. “You must trust me, my friend,” he said. But he thought, I hope that trust is merited. He should be improving. Could I have erred in my treatment? Gil had said he thought his dream was prescient. Could he be dreaming of . . . no, I shall not even contemplate it!

Gil sagged back against the pillow. “If you must do it, then best get it over quickly. Hopefully, you can drug me better than last time.” He indicated the scar. “Sometimes, Elrond, with your penchant for cutting me open, I wonder why I took you into my household.” He flashed a wry smile.

“At least you still have a sense of humor, Gil. That’s something.”

**********
They laid an oil cloth on a padded table, stocked another one with linen bandages, heated water, sharpened and cleaned small knives, needles, thick thread and suturing tools, and small brass-tipped irons ready, if needed, to cauterize blood vessels. During the preparations, Gil had grown worse, tossing and turning, his touch fiery.

Elrond fretted. “Where is Lady Lisgil with the sedative?”

“They’re coming,” Erestor said. “I’m told it took Gildor considerable effort to locate the herbs you require and they needed to brew an infusion.”

A tentative knock came at the door. At Elrond’s call, a man and a woman entered. The man, Astoren, was the leader of the local village of Dínoble. He was short for an elf, dark-skinned, and wore a brown tunic and breeches. The woman, Lisgil, was a healer from the village, one of those who came to staff the household when the king was in attendance. She had wide grey eyes, blond hair covered by a netted caul, and was dressed in a buff-colored linen kirtle and a green apron. She held a tray carrying a dish of herbs and a silver flask. Behind them crowded nearly a dozen solemn-faced elves, dressed in green and brown; two carried small harps. Elrond recognized them as men and women from the village, largely Nandor in heritage. Last to enter was Gildor, his fair face stern with worry.

Astoren came forward and bowed deeply. “Lord Elrond,” he said. “We’ve come to offer our sincere thanks to Ereinion Gil-galad for aiding us in slaying that murderous beast, and to express our sorrow that he was grievously wounded as a result. Please accept these herbs, the most potent we have available, to help heal him.” He gestured at Lisgil, who came forward.

“Here are the medicines that you requested, Lord Elrond,” she said. “I’ve also brought this herb, which we’ve had dried in our stores. It clears the mind and uplifts the spirit. I’ve found it can have a miraculous healing effect.”

“Thank you, both. Lisgil, this is most welcome,” Elrond said. “So, you have experience with this?”

Lisgil nodded. “We cast the dried leaves in hot water and allow the essence to permeate the room. You’ll see the effect yourself. I’ve never known a patient to react negatively to it.”

“With your permission,” Astoren continued, “we should like to hold vigil here while he recovers. Just outside in the clearing. Our best singers have come.” He turned and indicated his retinue.

“That would be welcome,” Elrond said. The singers bowed and left the room, leaving Lisgil and Astoren.

“I’m afraid I must operate on the king,” Elrond said. “You may hear cries, which are unavoidable. Please do not let them disturb you.”

Astoren nodded. “We know and are prepared. We have songs to soothe his spirit during the procedure.” He bowed then, and also departed.

Through the open door, Elrond heard the harpists tuning up, then begin a lilting melody. A soft voice joined, then another, until they all sang together in blended harmony: a wood-elves song of healing. It swelled in Elrond’s heart, strengthening him. That song would be good to learn.

He closed the door. Lisgil prepared a basin of hot water, then immersed the herbs in it. The room became permeated with a wonderfully refreshing smell, like lilacs in spring. Elrond breathed it in and fell stronger, clear-headed, calm. “That’s good, Lisgil. Thank you.” He gestured at Gildor. “I need your help to lift him,” he said. “You and Erestor, both.”

**************
An hour later, finally it was done. Gil slept heavily on the bed, curled on his side, his silver hair sprawled out on the pillow. Swaying with exhaustion, Elrond pulled off his blood and pus spattered robe, retaining only his linen shift and braes. He handed his outer robes to one of the household, then washed his hands in the basin provided; the water slowly growing red. Lisgil and the others moved quietly about, cleaning the floor, bundling up the oil cloth, stained linens and bandages to take to the wash.

Erestor sat nearby, head in his hands, looking positively grey. “That was rough,” he muttered.

Elrond took the clean robe Lisgil handed him, slipped it on, then sat with a thump in the upholstered chair by the bed. “I . . . yes, horrendous. I thought the sedative would work better. Thank you both, for . . . um, holding him down.”

Gildor nodded and bowed. “I expect you need to rest. I can stay with him.”

Elrond shook his head. “No, my friends. I need to be here in case . . . in case.”

Erestor rose, came over and patted Elrond’s shoulder. “I understand. We all love him, you know and you, above all, have been most diligent. Be reassured, our Gil is stubborn and strong and I know he’ll come through. Call if you need us. We will be near to hand. Come,” he beckoned to Lisgil and her attendants, “let the king rest, now.” They padded quietly out of the room. Lisgil stood for a long moment, staring at the king sorrowfully, then her eyes flicked to Elrond. She nodded and followed the others. Elrond propped a pillow under Gil’s afflicted thigh, then sat down next to him in the upholstered chair.

It was past midnight. The fire flickered on the hearth. Vacantly Elrond stared at the rough-hewn wooden shelf over the hearth’s arched stonework. On the shelf were candles, colored stones, dried holly, and pine cones that he and Gil had gathered sometime in the past. Elrond found his eyes closing of themselves. He pulled a blanket up over his shoulders. Gil stirred, murmured.

**********
Abruptly Elrond awoke and caught himself before falling to the floor. Gil lay on his side, curled on himself. He’d thrown off the covers and his body shook with tremors. “Elrond,” Gil cried out, “Where are you?”

“Here, old friend, right here,” Elrond said. He sat next to him on the bed, felt his forehead. Still so hot. And now he had the shakes. Not good at all. As attuned to Gil as he was, Elrond felt the shivers crackle through him. “Hold on, I’ll get the Feverfew, what’s left anyhow.”

“No.” Gil clasped his hand, held it, his teeth chattered. “Stay here, please. Stay with me. I’m so cold.”

“Here, drink this,” Elrond said, giving him the last of the infusion. Gil could barely swallow down the liquid without it spilling.

Elrond lifted the covers, examined the bandages in the flickering fire-light. The swelling had gone down. Why in all Arda was Gil still sweating and cold? It was almost as if something evil had taken over him. Was it the boar? Was he something more than just a wild beast? He needed to examine the animal’s body tomorrow. But for now, Elrond clasped Gil’s face in his hands and kissed his fevered brow. “Please, my lord, my king, my dearest friend,” he whispered. “Summon that magnificent spirit and fight the poison in your veins.”

Gil moaned again. His sculptured face appeared grey and gaunt in Ithil’s blue light. His teeth chattered. At a loss for what else to do, Elrond slipped under the covers and took him in his arms. Felt his muscular body curl against him, legs twining together. Felt the unnatural heat of his flesh. Elrond had a moment of deep despair. He had lost so many others dear to him, friends and loved ones: his parents when he was barely old enough to remember; his brother, now gone forever; his lover from Harlond, who drowned in a storm. Please, not this one. He was not wont to appeal to the Belain for anything, as in his opinion, they had so often ignored his people’s anguish, but now he was moved to pray: Hear me, Shapers of Arda, who spared my father and mother and launched them into the sky to give us light and hope; who tend the First Born; and most of all, I beg of you, Eru Ilúvatar, who made us all. Please, don’t take the fine and noble Ereinion Gil-galad, last of all the Noldorin kings. He has done nothing to earn this suffering. Don’t let him die. I could not bear it.

Holding Gil in his arms, he began to croon his foster-father’s song of healing, while sending thoughts of mending, warmth, and love, feeding him strength. On through the night, he held his lord and sang to him. It would be so good to sleep, but he dared not, not until Gil’s fever broke. He bit the inside of his mouth to stay awake.

A thud, then breathy cooing came from outside. Elrond looked up through bleary eyes. A large bird hovered just outside the window. Sleek feathers glowed white in the moonlight. Elrond sat up and the bird cried, ‘Elrond, Elrond,’ as she beat wings softly against the glass. Transfixed, Elrond stared. A dove at night? Speaking his name? What magic was this?

Gil ceased shivering, his body relaxed, and his breathing eased. Sighing, he nuzzled Elrond’s shoulder and shortly thereafter, began softly snoring. A tear coursed down Elrond’s cheek, trickling into the corner of his mouth. Thank you, he murmured, looking for the bird. But she had gone.

*******************

Chapter End Notes

Amon Lassen (S) Snow Mountain. An elf-scribe invented name.
Arda (Q) the world. I’m using the Quenya word as, to me, it sounds better and is better known than the Sindarin version, Ardhon. Translator’s prerogative. :-D
Astoren (S) loyal one. Thanks to Chestnut_pod’s Elvish Name List.
Dínoble (S) village of the gap or pass. Another elfscribe invented name with help from the SWG Discord gurus who are way more knowledgeable than I. Thanks!
Craban (S) Raven. Gil-galad’s black stallion.
Filig (S) Little bird. Elrond’s bay mare.
Lisgil (S) reed/star woman from Chestnut_pod’s Elvish name list. Thanks!
Telum vorn (S) black mushrooms. Thanks Shihali! (I modeled these mushrooms after a type called Inky Caps, which, after discharging spores, do in fact disintegrate into a black, gooey mess.)
Tôl acharn! (S) Vengeance comes!

*About the depicted methods of wound treatment: Elrond may be onto something. Apparently using vinegar to disinfect a wound and spider webs to stop bleeding was a real thing, documented a number of times and places in history. I’ve now found references to using webs to treat wounds in ancient Ireland, Greece, Rome, other parts of Europe and in the U.S. If interested, here are a few sources you can go to, and then, if you like, research further to find the original sources:
According to “Medicine in the Crusades: Warfare, Wounds and the Medieval Surgeon,” by Piers D. Mitchell, the surgeons knew to prevent “wound fever” with use of antiseptics such as vinegar and wine and the use of tourniquets was known. https://www.quora.com/How-did-they-treat-wounds-in-medieval-times-Such-as-a-stab-wound-or-a-slash-from-a-dagger
There is some research indicating that spider webs have antiseptic properties, although other research says not. They say to pick the dead bugs out first. Euwww. But it seems to have worked.
https://www.quora.com/In-medieval-times-spiderweb-was-used-as-dressing-for-wounds-Was-this-a-real-practice-If-so-how-would-that-work-in-practice

*Regarding the image of the hunting lodge. After I wrote some of the description, I googled 'fantasy hunting lodge' to find inspiration, and the image posted at the beginning of the fic from Bright Studio online came up. (It may well be AI) I was astonished, as it so nearly matched what was in my head! So, thought I’d share with you all.

A warm band of light crawled across Elrond’s face. He opened one eye, weary beyond remembering and squinted at the morning sun streaming through slats in the shutters of the high eastern window. Next to him, Gil slept peacefully on his back, pressed along Elrond’s side. His chest rose softly with each breath, his thick, silver hair pooled over his bare shoulders. He was beautiful.

Sitting up, Elrond took the opportunity to gaze at him while he slept, admiring the king’s angular face with the long, prominent nose, sharp chin, gently parted lips. He stroked a lock of his vibrant hair that cascaded down his body like a waterfall. That beloved face was so familiar, yet he never tired of looking at him. This morning, unlike the cramped expression of pain he wore yesterday, his expression was untroubled, and his body calm, no longer shaking with ague. Elrond brushed Gil’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. It was a normal temperature. No fever. Bless the Belain! He ghosted a finger across Gil’s lips, which were dry and cracked. He should ask Lisgil for some oil. Now for the most definitive exam.

Throwing back the covers, he bent to look at Gil’s bandaged thigh, probed the skin around it. Also cool to the touch and no longer swollen. Elrond’s shoulders relaxed. I’ve been so frightened, Gil. His glance strayed admiringly over the king’s chest with his defined pectorals, latticed abdominals, and that beautiful curve delineating his loins. He knew well the exercises that went towards building that physique, as he’d often sparred with the king himself. Was there now a slight padding about his waist? Perhaps he should warn him about his penchant for sweet cakes. He smiled. But then Gil would argue with him and insist they go riding together to work it off. Continuing his exploration, he traced down the line delineating the king’s chest, across his navel, to the top of the loincloth, where his glance fell on that lovely bulge between his legs. He’d seen his quiescent cock many times in the palace baths, but now he appeared partially erect. A good reaction after his illness. It was tempting . . . just to make sure all was well. After all, the boar’s tusks had come perilously close. His hand hovered, descended, cupped.

The king’s breathing caught and Elrond glanced up into grey eyes that blinked once in surprise. Gil cleared his throat. There was a heartbeat of silence and Elrond’s face flushed hot. “Um, Gil, you’re awake. I was, uh, checking to see that all was well.”

“All is well there. But it could perhaps be even better.” Gil smiled teasingly. He raised himself on one elbow.

Elrond sat up abruptly, pulled away. “It was merely in my capacity as your healer. Making sure all was . . . my apologies, I should not have presumed.”

Gil gently slid his hand about Elrond’s wrist. “I liked your touch on my chest. But I thought you stopped much too soon.”

Panicking, Elrond pulled away and scrambled off the bed. “My lord, I am so very glad you are recovered enough to joke. I’ll get you some porridge.”

Gil shrugged, an expression hard to read.

Retreating as quickly as he could with any sort of decorum, Elrond fled the room. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against it, breathing hard. How long had it been since he’d known that his feelings for the king were no longer just that of loyal subject, friend, and confident? Several years at least. But of course, he brushed such sentiments aside. Even thinking of increasing his intimacy with the king was entirely inappropriate. His liege would no doubt one day marry. There had, in truth, been much talk about it in court the past few years. Gil had always side-stepped the issue, saying that he was too busy to think about such things, or that he hadn’t yet met the right woman. It wasn’t as if he’d never taken a lover before. Elrond knew for a fact that he’d had an affair of the heart with a woman back in Balar, that had ended tragically at Sirion, and there had been numerous other flirtations with both men and women, some of whom Gil had bedded. There had been one time when Elrond had opened the door to the king’s bedroom, foolishly without first knocking. Gil was lying atop a comely Sinda’s back, his strong arms wound around the elf’s chest, his rear rocking slowly and the youth had groaned with pleasure. How he’d replayed that image and that sound of pained delight in his thoughts! But nothing serious had come of those affairs. Of course, nothing could. It wasn’t as if Elrond hadn’t had his own affairs over the years, so there was that.

But lately, he’d begun to suspect that something had changed. He’d catch Gil looking at him, just looking as if trying to memorize his face, or he’d detect a lilt in his voice, a wink of the eye, an arm around the shoulders held a little too long. A shift like that in their relationship, well, it was unthinkable for so many reasons. Elrond had tried distancing himself, which was hardly possible considering how closely they worked together. But last night, as he clasped the shaking king in his arms and prayed for his deliverance, something had shifted in his heart, something that must be firmly pushed aside.

Standing on the wide porch that encircled the lodge, its supporting columns threading treelike into the roof, he inhaled the fragrant forest air, and tried to clear his head.

The day was turning fine; the sun burning off the dew. Just beyond, in a sunlit clearing of the woods, the musicians sat in their cross-legged pose, singing ever so quietly. Lisgil had joined them. Had she been there all night, along with the others? He must remember to mention her diligence to the king. He stepped off the porch, following the flagstone path and then across the grass. Reaching the group, he bowed, with Anor’s rays warm and cheerful on his back. “Greetings and good morning, my friends. I want to thank you for your all-night vigil. It was quite effective as the king is awake now and his health much improved.”

The elves left off their song and looked at each other with wide smiles.

“Blessed be the Belain,” a dark-haired harpist said. With a final glissando, she ceased playing. “We shall go now and come back this evening. As you know, Lord Elrond, the healing process takes time. Perhaps you’d care to join us when we return?”

“I would be most pleased to do so, once I’m satisfied with the king’s progress,” Elrond said. “I should like to learn some of your songs, if it’s permissible to teach them.”

“Of course!” Lisgil replied, rising with a bright smile. The others uncrossed their legs, rose, and departed on the path towards Dínoble.

Lisgil looked intently at Elrond, then nodded. “I shall go about my tasks,” she said and headed towards the kitchen at the back of the house.

Gil’s door was painted green, the frame formed of beautifully carved wood with tooled leaves and flowers. Beyond that door, Gil lay half-naked in his wide bed, now seemingly on the road to recovery. Elrond was tempted, sore tempted to go back inside and slide into the sheets alongside him. He recalled waking several times in the night to take pleasure in the feel of his body pressed close. But no! He must shove these notions aside! His association with the king was too precious to risk upsetting the balance they’d achieved. As king, Gil must someday wed and produce an heir. Elrond was merely his aide, and in this instance, his healer. There could never be anything more between them. Perhaps, it was time to put some distance between them and temptation. The enclave in Forlond needed someone to help run their affairs. Although the very idea of leaving Gil smote his heart with sorrow, duty to the kingdom might require such a move.

With leaden steps, he went to the kitchen to get some food.

**********
That evening, after supper, Gil cheerfully sat up in bed and asked Elrond to bring in some company. “Of course, Gil, but I counsel not for very long,” Elrond responded. He summoned Erestor and Gildor, and invited Astoren to join them. They pulled up chairs and sat together around Gil’s bed, drinking sweet, red wine grown in the king’s vineyards, while a log crackled merrily on the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the carved wooden beams.

“You’re looking much better, my lord,” Astoren said, as he sat comfortably, legs crossed at his ankles, drinking from a tankard. “Our singers were very concerned about you. They sensed you were in considerable pain.”

“Please extend my gratitude to them,” Gil responded. “I feel sure their songs helped. I am much improved, although the leg is still far from comfortable.” He shifted. Elrond’s keen senses picked up the dull throb in Gil’s thigh, which felt worse than merely uncomfortable. “I don’t much remember the past couple of days,” Gil continued. “Although I’m afraid I do remember Elrond’s surgery.” He made a face.

“My apologies for that,” Elrond said.

Gil gave a dismissive wave. “Don’t fret, my friend. I know it was necessary. Battle wounds. Haven’t we all had them? Tell me, Astoren, where did that beast come from? I’ve never seen a boar so massive.”

Astoren shook his head. “Neither had we. Herds of wild pigs do forage in the forests near here, and they can be fierce enough if crossed, but this one, úan vorn was unusual. Nearly half a year ago, he strolled into the village at dusk and terrorized us coming home from our gardens.” He chewed his lip. “It was a nightly occurrence for some time. Then he left for a time, so we thought we were rid of him, but a month ago, he returned. There was something preternatural about the crafty way he looked at us. After he gored and trampled Híthanar’s sons, we formed a hunting party. We were able to wound him with arrows, but he slipped away, almost as if he had disappeared.” He lowered his voice. “I don’t think he was truly a boar.”

Gil looked thoughtful. “I wonder then, what sort of night creature he could have been or where he came from?”

“Huh,” Erestor said. “Well, I heard he died like a normal beast and I saw the body. So, not a ghost boar.” His mist-grey eyes, enhanced by the kohl he wore, flickered thoughtfully.

Elrond fingered the rim of his goblet. “I examined the carcass, this afternoon. Massive in size. I’m told it took a sledge to draw him back. There were strange glandular growths in his neck. Certainly an aberration. I’d like to talk to the one who butchered him.”

“Well, the beast is dead now,” Astoren said. “Thanks to the king’s intervention, for which we are beyond grateful. When you’re feeling well enough, my lord, we’d like to honor you and your entourage with a celebration in the clearing.”

Gil inclined his head, “We’d be most pleased.” He shifted on the bed, grimaced. “In a day or so, perhaps when I am more fit.”

Astoren stood. “Then, with your permission, I’ll take my leave and rejoin the singers who have returned from the village.” He set down his cup, rose, and bowed. “Rest well, my king.”

Gil inclined his head.

Erestor said, “I shall go to my room and try to get some sleep. Elrond, are you staying here again tonight?”

“Yes, I have a mattress.” Elrond indicated the small rectangle, pushed against the wall.

“Is it comfortable?” Erestor asked.

“No. The chair is actually better,” Elrond chuckled.

“Your devotion to duty is noted,” Gil replied. Erestor snorted.

“As for me,” said Gildor, “I think I shall join the singers. I’d like to learn more about this group of elves. I shall return in the morning.”

They all departed, leaving Elrond and Gil with a rather awkward silence. Elrond busied himself, opening a wardrobe to remove blankets and spreading them on the mattress near the warm hearth.

“You could sleep in this bed,” Gil said casually. “There’s plenty of room and I’m told I don’t move much. And after all, we shared it successfully last night.”

Elrond’s face heated. “That was merely to calm your shivering. But your fever is gone now, so there is no need.”

“Huh,” Gil returned grumpily. “Must I become unbearably hot and near death before you’ll put your arms around me again?”

“My lord . . . ,” Elrond began, helplessly. Outside, the elven harpists were tuning up with a cascading plink of strings, the sound sweet as spring rain.

Gil plumped up a pillow and stuck it behind his head. “Elrond, I think we should talk.”

Sliding off his shoes, Elrond lowered himself onto the crunchy mattress, and pulled the blanket over himself.

“You’re going to sleep on the hard floor, in your clothes?” Gil persisted.

“I’ve slept on the ground plenty of times, as you know since usually you were there too,” Elrond said. “This is better than that.” Actually, the mattress was worse, overly soft and lumpy.

“You didn’t respond to my request.”

“Gil, what need is there for talk? You and I both know that we’re treading dangerous ground. I made a mistake this morning for which I have apologized. It was . . . not fitting. I won’t bother you that way again. Now if you’ll excuse me, I feel quite weary. I’ve been up most of the night— for the past three nights.”

“You are as stubborn as you are transparent,” Gil said with a snort. “I don’t need you to stand guard over me. I could call one of the actual guards to do that, and you could go to your room and have a good night’s sleep.”

“You do like to order people about, don’t you, my lord?”

“It was merely a suggestion,” Gil replied with a chuckle. “You’d know if it was an order. But you seem to forget that I am king, after all, and used to giving commands. In fact, people rather expect it of me. And I do like to look after the well-being of my subjects, as well as that of my friends. You should know that I count you my closest friend and perhaps . . .”

“Perhaps we should say good night, my lord,” Elrond said. “There is time tomorrow to talk.” He turned over, staring at the flickering fire, then turned again. The mattress was indeed miserable, even with the cushion of blankets. He heard Gil rolling restlessly as well. Outside, the healers’ song wove into Elrond’s consciousness, lifting something bruised to the surface. Why? He wondered. He was not the one who was wounded.

************
Elrond awoke abruptly, senses on alert. The room was filled with morning light meaning he’d overslept and now Gil wasn’t in his bed! Nor was he anywhere in the room. It must have been the sound of the door closing that woke him. He threw off his blanket, scrambled upright, and barefooted, took a moment to compose his hair and clothing, then lurched out the door onto the porch. The king was nowhere to be seen. Elrond tried to quiet his thoughts and listen. Ah, he could hear his voice. He wasn’t far.

Elrond circled the house along the porch walkway until he reached the kitchen area. To his relief, there was Gil, leaning on his elbows on the porch railing and chatting with several of the servants, one of whom was the healer, Lisgil. He laughed and they laughed with him. He should not have risen so soon and now he was busy charming the staff! Although this was normal for Gil, nevertheless, his leg wasn’t healed and he could have fallen and ripped the stitches.

Running his fingers through his loose black hair, which must look a fright, Elrond strode over to the group composed of Lisgil and two unknown villagers, all of whom, based on their rapt expressions, were clearly appreciative of the king’s attention. “My lord,” Elrond called as he approached. They all looked up. Elrond noticed one of the young men was quite comely, with auburn hair and sky-blue eyes. He seemed to be hanging on the king’s every word. Elrond came close and bowed. “I see you’re up. It is rather soon, don’t you think? Your muscles have barely had a chance to knit.”

Gil smiled at him. “And a good morning to you, Elrond Lag-a-bed. I woke feeling restless and I hate to lie like an invalid on a beautiful morning.” He winked at the others. “I thought I’d thank the cook and his assistant here for providing such delicious soup yesterday. But perhaps you’re right and I should return to bed.”

Lisgil said, “It is probably good to begin mild movement to stretch the muscles. But Lord Elrond is correct. Best not to overdo it.” She gave him a knowing look, which irritated Elrond all the more.

“Come along, my lord,” Elrond said. He slipped his hand in the crook of the king’s arm.

“See, my nursemaid is taking charge,” Gil said. Elrond’s irritation increased.

“How long have you two worked together?’ Lisgil asked.

“How long has it been, Elrond?” Gil replied. “Since we began constructing the Mithlond stronghold, wasn’t it?”

“Seems years beyond counting,” Elrond said. “And the better part of my life. But about fifteen hundred years, give or take.”

“Oh my,” Lisgil said, eyes twinkling. “That explains it.”

“Explains what, my lady?”

“The familiarity,” she said. She smiled at Gil. “My Lord, your seneschal is correct. You should take the weight off the leg. There is a bench on the porch outside your lodging where you could enjoy the sun, which I concur, would be good for healing. And I believe Gaellim has carved a staff that can assist you in walking.” The flame-haired elf gave her a dimpled smile, ran into the house, and returned shortly with a wooden staff, the knob embellished with an expertly carved and stained boar’s head.

“I made this for you,” Gaellim said. “I would be honored if you would accept it, my lord, as evidence of my family’s gratitude. My cousins were slain by that monster, so I thought its head deserved to be on a pike for all time.” He held it out, shyly.

“I am very sorry for your loss,” Gil said solemnly. He turned the staff around, admiring it. “Marvelous work! Such craftsmanship! Thank you, Gaellim. I shall be honored to accept this and will always remember your gift to the crown.”

Many times before Elrond had seen others look at Gil-galad the way Gaellim now looked at him. The king’s warmth and ability to make his subjects feel seen was why he earned such devotion among them. But this look was something more, an offer perhaps. Gil is such a flirt, Elrond thought grumpily. “My lord, shall we go?”

Haltingly, they took a path around the lodge back towards Gil’s room, and then further to a bench on its western side. Flowers, white and blue and yellow, had sprung up amidst the grass surrounding the lodge. Massive white clouds decorated a brilliant blue sky and encircled the snowy peak of Amon Lassen, an impressive sight. With a pained sigh, Gil settled on the bench and Elrond sat carefully on the far end.

“Now that,” Gil pointed at the mountain. “Is why we placed the lodge here. That, and the proximity to Dínoble and the pass.”

“It is indeed spectacular,” Elrond affirmed. There was a pause. So many topics to discuss and none particularly palatable. Elrond began, “Gil, it’s premature for you to be walking around. The boar severed muscle fibers with extensive damage. You need more time before testing them.”

Gil straightened and flexed his leg, with a little grunt. “It is painful, true, but healing quickly and that lovely young herbalist felt that a little exercise would not hurt.”

“Am I your doctor, or is she?” Elrond said, and immediately was sorry at how petulant he sounded.

“Is that jealousy I hear?” Gil smiled. “Perhaps we should take her to work with us in Mithlond. Such a talented young healer should be cultivated, don’t you think?”

Elrond folded his arms. “I think you are toying with me, Gil.”

“I think you’re enjoying the opportunity to tell me what to do,” Gil replied. He leaned back against the bench, with a slight sigh.

“No, I’m merely fulfilling my duty to my king. And as usual, that king rarely listens to my advice.”

“I always listen,” Gil said. “Then I act. Do you feel I act unwisely?” There was an edge in his voice. A double-meaning.

“I feel we both do, on occasion,” Elrond said. “Lisgil is perhaps right that we are . . . too familiar. The result of working together as closely as we have, for as long as we have.”

“Are you dissatisfied with your position, Elrond? Restless, perhaps? Do you wish something else?” The edge in his voice had sharpened.

“Gil, here is the reality. You must choose a queen sometime, probably soon, and when you do, our being so close would be, well, awkward. I doubt she would like it.”

“Who says I must get married?” Gil returned.

“Your counselors have hinted at this for some time,” Elrond said. “It’s important for the realm to have an heir.”

“I think you should let me worry about that, Elrond. And you should know, I am in no hurry to seek a bride. In any case, if I were to marry, that would hardly get in the way of our . . . friendship.”

Elrond felt his temper rise. How could he be so obtuse? “I think your queen may very well have a thing to say about it and I wouldn’t blame her at all!”

“About what? There has been nothing untoward about our friendship. Nor would there be if we . . .”

“If what! Say it, Gil.”

There was a pause. Gil’s face became red. “I won’t have anyone in my court telling me what to do with regard to . . . personal matters.”

This was what he’d feared. Elrond chewed his lip. Inhaled. “For some time, I have wondered if I should move to Forlond. It would be good to have someone from your court there to oversee the town.”

“What! Forlond! It’s much too far away.” Gil shook his head. “No, I need you with me. You are . . . . essential. I have no idea where you keep all the records, or the intricacies of our finances or the various agreements with the enclaves around here. In addition, you are one of the finest healers in these parts. We need you at Mithlond. I will not allow it.”

“You will not allow it!” Elrond cried. “Since when do you order my comings and goings? Or seek to keep me chained to your ankle?”

Gil’s back straightened. “Chained! Are you chained unwilling to me?” he yelled. “I had no idea you were feeling kept, smothered, imprisoned at my side. I’d always fancied you were happy! Perhaps if that’s what you think, it would be better if you did go to Forlond or farther even, perhaps, you would find peace in the West.” He closed his eyes a moment, clearly pained.

Erestor appeared, rather silently. With his kohl-rimmed eyes and wearing a black leather jerkin over a tunic and thigh-high leather boots, he looked formidable. He floated down the four steps to where they had been sitting. Padding over, he stood in front of them with his hands on his hips. “By the blesséd stars, what’s all this shouting?” He sounded irritated, as was his wont, but his lips quirked with amusement.

Elrond rounded on him furiously. “His highness won’t permit me to move to Forlond!”

Erestor lifted an eyebrow. “Hmm, I never knew you wanted to move to Forlond. What in Arda would you do there amongst all those fisherman?”

“Learn to fish,” Elrond snapped.

Gil snorted, then let out a guffaw, shortly followed by Erestor. Eventually, as their merriment increased, Elrond’s lips quirked.

Still chuckling, Erestor said, “Elrond and Gil, my good and dear friends, this is nonsense. Ask yourselves, what are you really angry about?”

“He’s impossible,” Elrond said, pointing at Gil. “He gets up and tries to walk around, after being wounded by a monster boar in a hunt that, by all rights, he should not have participated in. He doesn’t listen to my advice and then claims that I think he’s smothering me, when I never said that. And to top it off, he flirts with every elf in the vicinity.”

“I do not flirt with every elf,” Gil said. “Just the prettiest ones. And you, my dear, are always scolding me for conducting my duties as king if they are the slightest bit dangerous. It gets annoying. And now you want me to get married, to push me off to cohabit with someone I do not love, amongst all those boring financial records, while you roam the world. I am, I must say, unmoored hearing this.”

“I didn’t say I wanted you to take a wife, Gil. I said your position as king demands it!” Elrond paused, biting his lip.

“Elrond!” Gil exclaimed. “Stop meddling in my love life!”

“I am not meddling; I am merely giving sound advice as your counselor, my lord!”

“What I’m hearing from Elrond, sire,” Erestor said patiently, “is a concern for your well-being. I hear affection.”

“Of course, we are fond of each other!” Elrond exclaimed. “I should hope so, after all this time.”

“Umm,” Erestor pursed his lips. “And Gil, why were you so threatened by the notion that Elrond might leave?”

“He’s essential to running Lindon,” Gil said. “I need him.”

“You need him, just to administer the realm?” Erestor echoed. He threw up his hands. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, what nonsense! Why don’t you two just admit you’re in love. All the signs are there. You’re like an old married couple.” Gil’s mouth came open, he spluttered something as he glanced at Elrond. “And now,” Erestor continued. “I think I shall take a walk and leave you to sort out, whatever you need to sort out. Personally, I’d recommend just jumping in bed and reckoning with the aftermath later. I think you’ll find things much simpler.” He sauntered off.

Elrond and Gil sat in shocked silence. “Did Erestor actually say that?” Gil asked.

Elrond nodded. “I fear he did. I can’t imagine why he thinks we’re in love. We’ve just been friends, good friends, for many years.”

Gil sighed. “This is a knot I cannot untie. I find myself becoming weary, Elrond. Could you help me back to the room.”

“I can.” Elrond rose, then said, “Not for the purpose Erestor suggested, though.”

“You’re maddening,” Gil grumbled. Grasping the staff, he pushed himself upright. Elrond took his arm, led him back, and tucked him into bed. Gil gave him a questioning look, then his features schooled; he closed his eyes, and sank into slumber. Elrond sat on the upholstered chair, chin in hand. Was it true? Was he in love? Were they in love with each other? And if so, by Elbereth’s heavens, what should they do about it?

***********
While Gil slept, Elrond concluded he needed some distance to think things over. He moved his belongings to his own room, then found Erestor enjoying the sunshine in the garden, and asked if he could watch over the king for a while.

Erestor looked at him critically. “This is your answer?”

“I need to think,” Elrond replied. “There’s much to consider.”

Erestor sucked on his teeth a moment, then he said. “Yes, consider, Elrond. Do so carefully. May I say, I’m the last person on Arda to counsel anyone regarding unrequited love.”

“You? Erestor, I did not know. Who?”

Erestor held up a hand. “Some day I’ll tell you. It goes back to my life in Gondolin, during the time when I tutored your father, so ‘twas sufficiently long ago as no matter. But one thing I have learned, when the other elf feels the same as you do, as I happen to know this one does, then you should not let false impediments, such as politics,” here he emphasized the word, “get in your way. Now, you know me, I do not give advice often or lightly, as it rarely lands well, but in this case, I’m making an exception, because, not only do I love you both and want you to be happy, but I believe that your happiness is good for the realm at large.” He nodded. “Yes, ponder that one, my friend. Right now, you believe that sacrificing your desire is for the greater good, but consider the possibility that a joyful and acknowledged union with the king might well redound to uplift him in all that is coming.”

“All that is coming?” Elrond asked doubtfully.

“You’ve told me yourself that there are signs of something evil manifesting in our lands. I believe this unnatural boar is one of those signs. As the king’s intelligencer, I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t investigate further.”

Elrond paused, nodded. “That is certainly a larger consideration than my relationship with our sovereign.”

“He needs you, Elrond, as does the realm. Think on it.”

“I will. And thank you, Erestor, for your heart-felt advice.”

“It would not be good for the realm to have division at the very heart of it,” Erestor said, rising from his seat. Then he winked. “Besides, what are friends for? I’ll go watch over our injured sovereign and leave you to your ruminations. In any event, Astoren says rain is coming, so they’d like to have their celebration this evening. They will understand if Gil must leave early.”

“Very well,” Elrond nodded.

Erestor strolled towards the king’s room and Elrond went the other direction, across the clearing and into the woods. He followed deer trails through pine, flowering rowan and downy birch up the lower slope of Amon Lassen. As he walked, he thought about what Erestor had said. It had not occurred to him that engaging in a deeper relationship with Gil might not only be good for them both, but benefit the kingdom as well. Was that true? Or was he perhaps locked into thinking that good could only be achieved through sacrifice. He had certainly learned that lesson many times over in his youth, including the lesson taught by his mother and father, who had sacrificed so much for Arda.

Eventually, he came to a flat rock where he could look out over the rounded heads of the verdant forest trees onto the wide plain and sparkling waters of the River Lhûn beyond. He sat down.

What would happen if he upended the existing status? At the moment, he and Gil were . . . comfortable with each other. If they slept together, that relationship might change. Instead of strengthening their bond, it could be the unraveling of it. More than two decades ago, Elrond had an affair with Laerol, a jeweler from Ost-in-Edhil, he of the willowy body and long-lashed eyes. Elrond’s heart sighed with the memory of that endless seduction, the longing. Sometimes Laerol responded, other times he did not. It was maddening. Elrond often thought of returning to Lindon, but hopeful, he stayed. Then came that heady evening where they drank too much and fell in bed for a night of passion far greater than he could have imagined. For a time, they were happy as turtledoves, but then slowly Laerol became possessive, controlling. Elrond shuddered remembering that nasty fight after he found Elrond drinking wine with elves from the glass-smiths' guild. All the glass in his room had met doom at Laerol’s hands, so that for weeks, he couldn't walk barefoot without picking up slivers. Afterwards his lover became aloof, cold, and despairing, so Elrond returned to Mithlond. He’d never informed the king about it. But instead of chastising him for his moodiness, Gil had sought to divert him. He’d taken him searching for mushrooms out near Emyn Beraid, where he’d fallen on his arse and laughed for the first time in a year. And Gil had laughed too, not at him, but with him. This friendship, he realized, was true, and it meant more to him than anything in the world. He did not want to risk it.

A white dove landed on a nearby pine branch and cooed. Elrond looked up at her. Her feathers were marked by a dark band around the back of her neck. She cocked her head at him, most intelligently. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he cooed back, oo oorr ooh uh. To Elrond’s astonishment, the dove swooped to the ground, landing several yards away. She walked in a jerky circle, then paused and examined him with onyx eyes.

“How now, Cugu, do you wish to advise me on affairs of the heart?” Elrond chuckled.

She bobbed her head and astonishingly, flew and landed right on his knee, looking up at him. He held still, enraptured. Then she said, ‘Elrond,’ clear as day. Although Elrond couldn’t tell if the voice was in his head or came from the bird’s throat.

Startled, Elrond bent toward her. “Are you the bird that came to me the night the king was so ill?”

The bird’s head bobbed.

Elrond slowly extended his finger. She hopped onto it, clutching with dry, bony feet. A strange feeling enveloped Elrond. For a moment, he stood on the edge of that vast cliff, gripping his brother’s hand, while the clash and din of battle, accompanied by fierce shouts, came nearer and nearer. His mother, tall and pale, stood with them. She cast her glance desperately about, while fingering that bright jewel hanging from her neck. Its light bathed the vicinity like the rays of the sun through a cloud. Elrond wanted to douse it with his hands, to hide it from the monsters coming for them. But she knelt and gathered both of them in her arms, hugged them so tightly to her breast that Elrond was smashed against his brother and could barely breathe. She was wracked with sobs, which added to his terror.‘Always remember how much I love you,’ she said, ‘but understand, I must finally end this for all the ages of this world. Run now and hide, my sons. Be brave. You will be well, as I shall always watch over you.’ Then she drew back, smiling, as tears tracked down her cheeks.

The memory faded. He stared at the bird. “Are you . . .?” he began.

‘Trust love,’ the bird said. She flapped, flew off his finger, circled him once, then sped into the sky. A single white feather drifted down, landing on the ground near him. His heart full, Elrond bent to pick it up. He twirled it between his fingers, then put it in his pocket.

Chapter End Notes

Cugu – (S) dove. I kid you not, just as I was writing about the dove, an actual dove flew to a perch under the eaves of our house, which I can see from my desk. For many years doves have built a nest there and raised chicks. This one began busily plucking out the old twigs to rebuild it, soon joined by her mate. It’s the first dove of the season arriving earlier than usual. Coincidence?
Híthanar (S) mist brother. Thanks to Chestnut_pod’s Elvish Name List
Laerol (S) summer dream. Again, Chestnut_pod’s Elvish Name List
Gaellim (S) russet fish. Yay for Chestnut_pod.
úan vorn (S) Black monster. Thanks Shihali!

Actions

Twilight had descended gently. The air felt warm and moist as Elrond scrambled down a different leafy path than the one he’d used to ascend the slope. Puzzled, he looked for familiar trees. Was he lost? Then he heard Gildor’s soft voice call, “Elrond. Follow the lights.” A little distance downslope, there hung a silver lantern from a branch, and then another one further on. Sweet voices singing harmony floated on the air towards him. There was Gildor, coming up the path, his golden hair silvered in the light of the lantern he held up. “We were getting worried,” he said. “So the king sent me looking.”

“It’s not like me to get lost,” Elrond wondered.

“Oh, you are close; you would’ve found us. Come along. Can’t you hear them singing?”

“Yes, now I do.” It was a different song this time, one of joyous celebration. It made him want to dance. “Lead on, my friend,” he said.

Nearly one hundred elves had gathered in the clearing surrounding the lodge, all laughing and drinking from goblets or tankards. Many were seated on blankets in a large circle around a bonfire. Children ran about through the crowd, chasing several tail wagging dogs. Silver lanterns illuminated the trees all around. Some harpists seemed to be competing against one another as to who could play the quickest. They swayed and grinned at each other as their fingers plucked and strummed. Then the flutists and drummers joined in. Marvelous! This was a more informal gathering than Elrond was used to at court. Tapping his thigh to the beat, he found he preferred this.

Looking about, he located Gil at the other side of the circle. He was seated in a large wicker chair, wearing a blue robe, cinched with a wide belt, his head crowned with a circlet of wild-flowers, and his hair loose, but pulled back at his temples in small braids. He was drinking from a silver goblet as he spoke with Lisgil and Erestor, who laughed and clapped. The king raised his eyes and saw him; then smiled and beckoned.

With a sense of relief that Gil didn’t seem angry, Elrond followed Gildor around the circle of elves, who were getting more boisterous by the moment. When Elrond reached them, Erestor looked up at him with a conspiratorial quirk of his mouth. “Well met, Elrond, how did your meditation go?”

“A dove appeared and actually sat on my finger,” Elrond replied. “She gave me some advice.” He pulled the feather from his pocket and held it up.

“Ha, you have been blessed, my friend,” Gildor said, eyes aglow.

“Advice?” Gil’s eyebrow arched.

Elrond smiled at him. “I took it as such. I believe we should have that conversation you wanted, but not just now.”

Gil nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Agreed. Come sit beside me and we can enjoy the festivity together. That is, unless you still want to commune with birds.”

Elrond drew up a nearby chair. A dozen of the Dínoble elves released high-pitched yips, then skipped towards the center of the circle, joined hands, and began a sprightly dance. Others stood to the side, rhythmically dinging small metal cymbals, which now joined brassy horns and flutes. More joined in until there were dozens of elves, weaving around each other, some forming a chain around the clearing.

“This is one of the local dances,” Gildor leaned over to tell them. “It’s easy enough to learn.”

“I’m not up to that kind of vigor as yet,” Gil said with a laugh. “You go on.”

“Erestor, come, I’ll show you how!” Gildor grabbed Erestor by the hands and hauled him to his feet. Off they ran to find space between the others. They linked arms and began stepping forward then back, as the whole circle moved to the right.

Elrond smiled. How he loved to see them all having fun, especially after the past anxiety-ridden five days. His back moved to the beat and he tapped his hands on his thighs.

“So, what kind of advice are you hearing from birds?” Gil said, rather loudly with all the noise.

“‘Twas about trust,” Elrond replied.

“That sounds promising.”

“Later,” Elrond said with a smile. “Shall we enjoy the music?”

“Agreed,” Gil flashed a wide smile at him. In the repertoire of Gil-galad smiles, this was one of his most charming and flirtatious, and Elrond thought he’d seen them all. Close up, he noted that someone had woven the king's circlet from Evening Primrose, Feverfew, and Bluebells. Lisgil came around with a metal goblet of wine, which she handed to Elrond with a courtesy and a smile. He thanked her, took a swallow. The currant-flavored liquid slid warm and lively down his throat. He sat back in his chair and watched Gil, as he had so often in their long years together. He was at ease, acting his role as king, graciously greeting elves who came to see him, joking with Astoren and other villagers, and drinking their health. Elrond thought, I do love him; perhaps I always have.

The dance came to a wild finish and everyone clapped.

Gil rose, steadying himself on the staff, and held up a hand. “My friends and countrymen, thank you for your warmth and generous hospitality, as well as your courage in slaying that vicious beast. I fear I am still recovering from the attack, therefore, I must retire early and may not celebrate with you as vigorously as I’d like. But please continue your revelry, so that I may enjoy the celebration from my bower. And now, I bid you good night.” For a solemn moment, they all paused and bowed towards the king, then with cheers and clapping, the music resumed even more boisterously.

Gil said quietly to Elrond, “My dear friend, would you be so kind as to help me back to the room?”

“Of course,” Elrond responded. They waved goodbye once again and Elrond took the king’s arm, as they walked haltingly back to his end of the lodge. Once out of sight, Gil straightened. “Thank you, but I think I can manage now,” he said. He proceeded with only a slight limp into the room and gently shut the door.

“You’re improving by the hour,” Elrond said.

Gil said, “Your skills are excellent; I feel much stronger. Most of that hobbling was for show, so they would not be offended that we left so soon.” He smiled sweetly and Elrond smiled back, with a rush of feeling.

Several oil lamps were turned low. A servant had laid the fire and set a basin, towels, and several flagons on the table by the bed. Interesting. The quilt was turned down. The room was suffused with warmth and comfort. Elrond followed Gil as he kicked off his shoes and unfastened his hose from braes, an action that revealed those long muscular legs to good advantage. He sank with a sigh on one of the upholstered chairs, now positioned by the fire. Elrond did the same.

For a time, they watched the leaping flames. Then Gil said, “So, may we talk now? I’m finding this awkward as I do not know where to begin, except to tell you how . . . important you are to me. Not only for the sterling quality of your work, your wise counsel, the way you know how to handle my moods . . .”

“I don’t . . .” Elrond began.

Gil held up a hand. “You do and you know it. Not to mention saving my life.” He smiled. “But for some time now, I have sensed something changing between us and I need to know . . . do you feel it too?”

“Yes,” Elrond said, somewhat breathlessly. The time for truth had come.

Gil said, “Do you want this change? To have what we are to each other become something . . . deeper?” He turned to face Elrond, who noticed that his flowered crown had tilted to one side.

Elrond reached over with both hands to straighten it. Sitting back, he said, “Yes, for some time I have desired ‘something deeper,’ as you put it. We were both resisting for a long time, weren’t we? Telling ourselves it couldn’t be. You are the king and I your subordinate, the one who merely straightens your crown for you behind the scenes. And whether you want to admit it or not, there is the marriage issue and your need for an heir. I’m afraid the latter is something beyond my capability.” His mouth quirked.

Gil smiled, but grew solemn again, “The marriage issue need not come between us, Elrond. Don’t imagine that I haven’t thought long on this. There are other solutions if something were to befall me, which we can explore together in future. When my counselors mentioned it, as they have frequently in the last few years, you among them, I might add, I thought about it and realized I had no interest in finding a queen. But it took me some time to puzzle out exactly why, no let me finish or I may not get this out.” He laid a hand on Elrond’s arm and looked directly at him.“It is because the companion I want, the one who has stayed faithful through all the trials and problems of rebuilding our world, the one who makes me laugh and who heals my wounds, quite literally, well, that person has been here at my side, all along. It’s you, Elrond. There is no one else for me. Now, if you do not feel the same, if you would truly like to leave and learn how to fish in Forlond . . .”

Elrond’s heart lightened like a feather cast to the wind. “Not unless you’re there baiting the hook with me,” he said, with a laugh. “I, too, have pondered much today, with help from your intelligencer, Erestor, who, when he chooses to say what he thinks, does not mince words. It seems that your struggles to understand these new feelings have been concurrent with mine. I thought my duty required me to bury them, but they have burdened me to the point that if I had learned that you did not return my affection, I would have to leave and I knew it would break my heart. So, I pretended nothing had altered, and did not speak of it. And then a few days ago, I thought I might lose you, and that changed . . . everything.”

“How foolish we have been.” Gil held out his hands and Elrond clasped them. “Shall we begin anew?”

Elrond nodded. “Agreed, my lord, then let me speak plainly. I wish to declare, Ereinion Gil-galad, that I love you. Have loved you for many years, though for so long, I knew it not, as it was such a slow journey from camaraderie, to friendship, to . . .” he hesitated, then plunged ahead. “To desire.” He could not continue, his heart was thumping so.

Gil rubbed Elrond’s knuckles with his thumbs. His eyes shone with tears. “Your words echo those of my heart as well.” Then, he drew Elrond’s hands to his lips and kissed his knuckles, one after the other. “Meleth, how might we sate that desire?”

“Mmm,” Elrond said, “I can think of a few ways, but . . . perhaps, I should first lock the door.”

“You were always the sensible one,” Gil chuckled.

Elrond rose, and opened the door to glance outside, nodded at the guard stationed nearby. In the field, the elves were making merry, dancing and singing around the fire. The pulse of the drums throbbed directly to Elrond’s loins. Yes, at long last. He threw the bolt on the door.

Gil was pouring a glass of wine at the bedside table, when Elrond came up behind him, slipped his arms about his waist and buried his face in the king’s silky hair. His body felt so good in his arms and he smelled fragrant as the wildflowers in the circlet, which Elrond now removed and set aside on the table. Gil turned, set down his glass, and drew him into a tight embrace. Their bodies molded together as naturally as if they’d been born for this very purpose. They began to sway to the music, turning slowly.

Elrond said, “As long as I’ve known you, we’ve never touched quite like this before. It’s a new sensation. Now, I’m the one not sure of how we . . . ”

“I believe we both know the basics,” Gil replied. “And that it’s simply a matter of experimentation. But we can hold back, if you’d prefer.”

Holding him at last in his arms, Elrond’s heart overflowed with emotions long suppressed. He ached with desire; ached to join hearts. He didn’t want to wait any longer. “No more holding back,” he said. He tilted his head, clasped Gil’s cheek and their lips met with the thrill of the first contact, moving tenderly at first, together, over and over, changing position, pressure, trying out each new sensation, as Elrond’s senses opened to Gil’s. They breathed in each other, opening wider. Their mouths raked together, tongues brushed, danced, curled about each other.

Gil pulled back, breathlessly, stared at him, then went back to Elrond’s mouth, as he slid his hand around the back of Elrond’s neck. His other hand twisted in Elrond’s tunic, tugged.

Elrond spoke against his lips, “I believe this works better without so many clothes, Gil.”

“Let’s remedy that, shall we?”

Although Elrond had helped the king disrobe on many occasions before, usually when he’d drunk too much on a late night, how different this was! Because now, for some reason, Elrond couldn’t get Gil’s robe over his head. It became entangled with his undertunic and his arms. The more Elrond pulled, the more stuck they became. “Help,” Gil said, and began to laugh. Elrond started to giggle as well, as he wrestled the recalcitrant fabric. Gil became unbalanced and sat abruptly on the bed, with his arms held straight up, his head covered by the blue woolen robe. “Elrond, if you were my valet, you’d be sacked!” came his muffled voice, between fits of laughter.

“Who tightened the side laces, Gil?”

“Erestor,” Gil replied. “He’s sacked too.”

“Oh, that’s rich,” Elrond howled. “Hold still now. Best if I pull this down and then work it off.” Slowly, by dint of persistence, Elrond managed to free the king from the rest of his garments, until he sat, completely unclothed, on the bed.

“It’s your turn,” Gil said, overcome still with helpless giggles. He waved his hand. “Best do it yourself.”

Elrond busied himself removing his belt, tunic, chemise, breeches, hose, braes, the lot, casting them piece by piece onto the nearby chair (the same one he’d sat in all those nights) until he was finally fully naked. He sank down on the bed next to Gil, who pulled him into his arms and sucked on his neck. “There,” he said. “Marked, for any to see who can figure out how to disrobe you.” They laughed some more. “Mmm,” Elrond said, as he savored the feeling of the king’s warm chest pressed close, “The package is worth unwrapping.”

“I concur,” Gil said, bent his head and laved his tongue over Elrond’s nipples, lapping and sucking until Elrond gasped in delight. The king reached down and grasped Elrond’s cock, now unfurled to full mast, then with the other hand, brought his cock to press against it. With a movement of hips, he rubbed back and forth striking tingling pleasure throughout Elrond. “Is that better now, after that comic display,” Gil said.

“Oh, so much better,” Elrond groaned. He glanced down, noting that the king’s bandage was still intact. “You will tell me if you’re in any pain,” he said.

Gil chuckled again. “Likely I’ll groan, but it’ll be up to you to tell whether it’s pain or pleasure. You’re the expert, are you not?”

“Ha, so then, yip if it’s painful,” Elrond said. He fumbled a hand around Gil’s cock.

“Just now, all I feel is delight,” Gil replied. He kissed Elrond’s shoulder, then purred, “Wait a moment. Lean back.”

“Why?” Elrond said, but he did so, leaning his head on his hand.

“I just want to look at you,” Gil said. He ran fingers through Elrond’s hair, which caught on some hidden snag, so that they laughed some more, then the king lifted it forward, parted in two thick locks over his shoulders, where it flowed half way down his chest, the sable a contrast to Gil’s silver. Gil smoothed it down, then pulled a strand between his fingers. “I’ve always loved your body, so lithe and slender, yet so strong.” He stroked a hand over Elrond’s hip, then drew his finger down his chest. “I think I should repay you for the other morning.” He continued the path downward between his pectorals, over his tight stomach, swirled around the strands of hair that ran from navel to the fine nest around his cock. “Elrond Peredhel,” he said. “I’ve always loved this bit of hair, anytime I saw you without your shirt, in the baths, sparring practice. And I’ve imagined doing what I want to do now. If you’ll let me.”

“Have at it,” Elrond laughed.

“That’s the answer I’ve longed to hear.” Grinning, Gil rolled over, lay between Elrond’s spread legs. He stretched forth his tongue and licked down that trail, kept going until he buried his nose in the hair, and inhaled. Elrond’s cock jumped. Gil slid his hand around it, brought it upright, then swirled his tongue around the head. “You taste sweet, my love.”

He said, my love. Leaning back on his elbows, Elrond watched with increasing pleasure. “Go on, more. Be rough.”

Gil took the head into his mouth, teasing, coming off, blowing on it, then going back down half-way, coming off again, until Elrond thought he would go mad. “Gil,” he moaned.

All at once, Gil engulfed him down to the root. With a gasp, Elrond threw back his head. Ah yes!

Gil began to pulse up and down while he cupped Elrond’s balls and squeezed gently. Sensations surged through Elrond’s loins and he cried out, his hips flexed. Gil’s mouth formed a tight suction, gaining speed, up and down, swirling his tongue. “Ai, Gil, oh blesséd stars, how did you learn to do that? No, don’t tell me. Just keep going!” Elrond’s thoughts tumbled, fiery hot, spinning. Abruptly, Gil came off him, smacking his lips. And Elrond mourned the loss. For a moment, he lay breathing hard, tingling everywhere. Then, “And now, my lord, it’s my turn.”

“I won’t say no.” Gil rolled to the side. Elrond repositioned himself, taking care to miss the king’s wounded thigh, bent down and took him in his mouth, enjoying the feel of that hard pole as it slid slickly against his lips. He proceeded to give as good as he’d just received, perhaps longer and more vigorously, until Gil’s legs shuddered with impending orgasm, at which point Elrond sat up and wiped his mouth.

“What did you think of that, my lord?”

“Uhhh,” Gil panted. “I think that I was a fool to forgo your skills so long. Give me a moment here.” He raised up, stabilizing himself on one elbow, stuck his finger in his mouth, drew it out, held it up. “May I?”

“It’s been several years,” Elrond replied.

“Truly?” Gil laughed. “I thought sure that jeweler from Ost-in-Edhil knew how to ply his drill.”

“Ha, so you think,” Elrond said. “He took it all quite well.” He arched his back and spread his legs. “Very well, you first as long as I get a chance later.”

“If that’s what you want.” Gil’s finger probed, then pressed forward and crooked as Elrond gasped. “Is that it?” Gil said. Elrond’s hips came off the bed. “Oh yes, that’s good. Very good,” he said. “But I’d rather have your cock in there.”

Gil came back up and settled himself on Elrond’s chest, kissed him deeply, and rubbed against him, until Elrond visualized sparkling stars. “We need, uh, something slippery,” he said.

Reaching over to the bedside table, Gil picked up the smallest flask sitting there. “We’ve got oil.”

“You fox, when did you get that?”

“Today, just in case,” Gil replied with a wolfish grin. He poured a handful and rubbed it around his cock, then prepared Elrond, who spread his bent knees and then guided him forward, felt him ease past the gates, inch by inch, deep within, until he groaned with pleasure/pain, as Gil’s hips contacted his rear. So full.

“Gently now,” Elrond cautioned. “For your sake, as well as mine.” Gil flexed his cock, which Elrond felt deep.

“I will try to be gentle as spring rain, but those drums out there are having a powerful effect,” Gil said. He braced himself on his arms, then began easing back and forth, soon gaining speed, until he was thumping harder and harder, grunting with the effort. Elrond took hold of his own cock, stroking in time with the drumbeat, now exceeding it, double-time. He closed his eyes, felt how close they were now, becoming one together in rapture. Gil’s feelings and his own depth of emotion reached for each other, met, mingled, swirled to greater heights, until he didn’t know where each of them began and ended, it was all one. Closer, closer, then with a deep groan, Gil released, and Elrond came shortly thereafter in a pulsing wave of pleasure that continued, more, more, catapulting them both into ecstasy. Until finally it was done and they lay gasping, tingling. And sticky.

Gil pulled free, and landed next to Elrond, sighing with pleasure. He dragged Elrond into his arms and kissed him hard on the lips. “Magnificent,” he said. “As I knew it would be.”

Elrond still felt as if he were floating. “And to think that we could’ve enjoyed that all these years.”

“The night is yet young, however I fear my thigh is not happy with all this movement. Could you hand me a towel over there?”

Cleaned up, they lay in each other’s arms, inhaling each other's breath, drifting off.

In the middle of the night, Elrond woke to find Gil nibbling his neck, and they went at it again. This time, Elrond played the lance, finding the king receptive, if not practiced. Before passing out in pleasant exhaustion, Elrond stared at the embers of the fire gently glowing on the hearth, wondering how he could possibly be so lucky. Relief and bliss together, he reflected. Why did we wait so long for this?

***************
Dawn came, suffusing the room with a golden glow. Elrond woke to hear a tentative knock on the door. Erestor's voice called gently, “Gil-galad, Elrond?”

Elrond wrapped a blanket around himself, and made his way, somewhat unsteadily to unbolt the door. He opened it and stuck his head out. “Um,” he managed.

A misty rain was falling beyond the porch. Erestor stood at the door, balancing a tray with a steaming pot of tea and cups. He laughed.“Well, it’s about time you two did this! Here, I thought you could use some hot tea. The servers will be coming in about an hour with breakfast. Thought you might like the warning.”

“Yes, much appreciated,” Elrond said. When he took the tray, his blanket slipped and he caught it under his elbow, nearly upending the tray. Erestor whistled softly. “What charming bite marks! Looks like you two figured things out. I’ll come back later.” He left, humming a tune.

The blanket slid off completely, landing on the floor. So, quite naked, Elrond carried the tray back to bedside table. “Was that Erestor?” Gil said sleepily, turning his face from the pillow. He looked up, and smiled like sunshine. “I’ve always wanted a beautiful nude man to appear at my bedside—with breakfast, no less.”

Elrond set it down with a spritely dip. “Always at your service, my lord. Yes, that was Erestor. He is pleased with what has transpired. I fear we won’t keep this secret for long.”

Gil hauled him into bed. “Erestor won’t say anything. As for the others, I don’t care. Is that tea I smell?”

“You will care when the Council hears about this. I think, my lord, we should be discreet. This is not likely to go over well elsewhere in Lindon.”

“We’ll talk about tactics, later. But, Elrond, I have no remorse, do you?”

Elrond kissed him hard, then snuggled into his arms. “No, my love, none at all.”

**************
The End