here we go again by lonelyvisitor  

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when i dream i'm alone with you (i have a dream reprise)

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It was a wonder that they went on with the party, but Uinen had insisted.
Just as Celebrimbor said, thought Orodreth: Maiar are weird about weddings.

After taking her prisoner, the Lady forsook her squid-shape to calm the waters of the bay, and she’d set her naiads about preparing the beach cove with blossoms full of sweet hibiscus liquor and yet more of the finest oysters. Once everyone came down and removed their drenched formalwear it was actually rather nice.

Still Gil-galad insisted on not continuing with the ceremony.

“This was all my doing.” He shook his head and worried at the towel hanging on his neck. “How can you possibly want to marry me after everything that just happened?”

Celebrían draped herself over Gil-galad’s shoulders. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

“Indeed.” Divested of the silmaril, Elrond laid his head against Gil-galad’s chest. “It seems we’re all quite thoroughly wed.”

“Perhaps in the sacred sense, but not the legal.” Círdan was paging through his pocket-copy of the Laws and Customs. “Seeing as two of you are now first-cousins—oh, but that’s all Noldorin balderdash. Anyway, would anyone else like to get married while I’ve got the book out?”

Orodreth had managed to find a beach-chair, and was lying there in a half-mad state, giddy and exhausted and more than a little punch-drunk on a fragrant drink served inside a small melon. He turned again to Celebrimbor, taking the smith’s callused hand without a second thought.

“You saved us.”

Celebrimbor stared across the water. “I unwittingly endangered the lives of many in seeking to fulfill foolish desires, and then improvised a foolish solution that did not particularly work.”

This had the ring of history repeating itself. But Orodreth dismissed him.

“I don’t mean whatever you were doing with that frying pan—it was you who summoned Uinen’s protection!”

“It was you who started and finished that spell,” countered Celebrimbor. 

Orodreth supposed he was right.

“Tell me.” He brought a hand down the plane of his collar, which though he had otherwise disrobed was still adorned with gem-eyed silver snakes. “What were the foolish desires you wished to fulfill this time around?”

Celebrimbor drew Orodreth upward, toying with his jewels. “I always hoped you’d wear them this way.”

“I’ll wear them any way you’d like,” said Orodreth, pulling a strand of russet behind Celebrimbor’s ear.

When they broke their kiss, Círdan was standing there hopefully with his little book. “Hello. Keen to get married while I’m still on land?”

“Oh.” Orodreth flushed. “Well, we’re not technically—I supposed we’d need to—Tyelpe, do you...?”

Celebrimbor clapped the Shipwright on the shoulder.

“My lord, if you would but give us a quarter hour, I and my lord intended will find a private place in which to complete the most solemn of the marriage-rites.”

Somewhere offshore, in the company of the more vicious naiads—those who took the shape of orcas and dolphins, manta rays and stinging electric eels—Sauron’s screams echoed over Uinen’s uncaring waves.

### 

“A toast!” cried Finrod. “To my nephew.”

“To my son!” protested Curufin from Finrod’s lap.

Celebrimbor still seemed uneasy whenever he saw his father at the table. But Orodreth took his husband’s hand, and then raised his own cup.

“To my son. And Findaráto’s. And, well...”

Gil-galad took a chance on the awkward silence. “Uncle Tyelpe, it seems you’ve been my stepfather twice.”

It was a joke only he could truly make, and everyone laughed for a long time—except for Fingon, who was still muttering to himself.

“Maitimo and I must have a son around somewhere.” He looked up at the mysterious dark- haired elf across the table. “What did you say your name was again?”

Erestor, former Chief Counsellor of Imladris, archly drew a dessert spoon from his mouth. 

“I’ll have you know that I was born in Tirion forty years before your father.”

“Tyelko!” called Curufin at the other end, as his brother drifted away toward the sea’s edge. “What ever are you doing slinking off?”

Celegorm tallied reasons on his fingers. “As you recall, no one wanted us here in the first place; Elwing still looks like she wants to pluck me like a partridge; and lastly, as I have a great deal of experience in the service of a god, I was wondering if Uinen might not be accepting new acolytes.”

Curufin grinned and slapped his brother’s palm; together they performed the ancient, sacred, secret Fëanorian handshake.

“Don’t drown.”

“Don’t get eaten by a snake.”

“Oh, he will be,” muttered Finrod with Curufin in his clutches. “Frequently.”

On the bridal dais a little further down, Celebrían rested her head against Gil-galad’s shoulder.

“Where do you suppose we should honeymoon?”

“Avathar,” declared Elrond through a mouth half-full of cake. “Always wanted to go.”

“The realms of Unlight?” Gil-galad wondered at the suggestion. “Might there not be giant spiders?”

Elrond smudged frosting on his husband’s nose. “Maybe.”

“And many other fascinating specimens,” added Celebrían, “preserved from earlier ages of Arda. Yes, there may be peril there, and strange things. But I’m married to a couple of strange things, aren’t I?”

“And we have faced much peril together,” said Elrond very gravely, reaching his fork over to feed her a taste.

###

At twilight in his bedchamber, Orodreth watched as a little boat launched from the harbor and steered its sails southward.

“He thought he was being so selfish in asking you here,” he said, while Celebrimbor came behind to hold him. “And yet he was giving me a gift, as he always has—he was a gift to me from the moment I first saw him.”

“And you to him,” said Tyelpe at Orodreth’s ear. “Thereby you gave a gift to all of Middle- earth, Artaresto. Whatever Gil-galad was meant to be, he became a good king.”

In spite of his urge to protest that Gil-galad’s goodness was all his own doing, Orodreth let out a sigh that spoke agreement. His husband had a way of making him think differently about himself.

Husband. The concept drifted contentedly between them, nascent in the new connection of their minds. How impossible it would have all seemed only yesterday morning.

Orodreth turned about in Tyelpe’s arms, letting his lids go heavy. “As I recall we have yet to observe our proper wedding night.”

Celebrimbor looked on him with mocking pity. “Fifteen minutes in a sea-cave wasn’t quite sufficient?”

It had been, and quite scenic besides. But Orodreth found he was done with the merely sufficient, of being content with the leavings of life. Now he would take what was his.

There was a brief and spirited tussle that brought them both to the bed with Orodreth on top, straddling his husband’s hips and pinning his storied fists back to the sheets.

“I surrender,” Celebrimbor cried out laughing, though he seemed delighted to have given up the fight.

In both of their lives they had known more loss than victory. But there was always time to turn the tide, thought Orodreth as he bent to take Tyelpe’s lips—knowing his fate was here, and promising through the kiss that followed, and all kisses subsequent, that it would be forevermore.

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Chapter End Notes

THE END!