Chapter 16

The half light of early morning had entered the room and was slowly dissipating the night’s shadows and the birds had long since begun their dawn chorus, when Glorfindel woke to the sensation of moist lips tracing a path across his naked shoulder. He was lying on his side, his back to Gil-galad’s warmth, and the King was wide awake. He deduced this not only from the lingering kisses being applied to his bare skin but also from the strong hand stroking his side, pausing at his waist on each pass to gently finger the soft skin there.

Glorfindel yawned and rolled over onto his back and reached up a hand to draw Gil down for a lazy good morning kiss. He slid his other arm round him and lay savouring the feeling of thick, heavy hair slipping through his fingers and hard muscle rippling under his palm. Dark, wavy hair with a most un-Elven tendency towards disorder fell around him like a curtain as Gil bent to find his lips. As the kiss ended, Glorfindel smiled up in sleepy amusement and gently brushed the dark tangle back, before resting his hand against Gil’s cheek in an unconscious caress.

“Such a beautiful mess. I’ll brush it out for you later. You’re awake early…is there something you want?”

Gil-galad chuckled softly, sliding strong arms round Glorfindel and pulling him onto his side and into a hug that moulded their bodies together. “There was something I had in mind, yes,” he agreed, stroking golden hair out of the way so that he could suck teasingly at an earlobe before exploring the ear with the tip of his tongue. The effect, which should have been erotic, was rather spoilt by his efforts a few moments later to get rid of a mouthful of hair.

Laughing, Glorfindel shifted lazily against him, desire taking precedence over any thought of going back to sleep. “Give me a little time to wake up first,” he yawned, pressing closer and twining a leg around the King so that he could reach to rub the sensitive spot at the back of Gil’s knee with his foot. This never failed to get a response from his lover, and this morning was no different. An indrawn breath was followed by a low moan as Gil buried his face in Glorfindel’s neck and held him closer. They lay, touching and stroking one another, moving against each other with growing pressure and urgency.

Eventually Gil drew back and said huskily, “Turn over.”

Glorfindel lay shivering under the touch of strong hands that ghosted smoothly over his shoulders and rib cage, down to his waist and below. Gil, kneeling over him, brought his thumbs together to press firmly in the small of his back, causing waves of pleasure to radiate from the well-chosen spot. Then, moving those thumbs in small, firm, circles that raised tingling pulses of heat, he worked his way over Glorfindel’s buttocks and down to his cleft. Light fingertips explored the sensitive skin before his hands retraced their path, returning to the blonde Elf’s shoulders.

He leaned forward till he was lying almost flat, their bodies pressed together from shoulder to toe, his heavy erection nestled between Glorfindel’s cheeks. His right hand travelled slowly down his lover’s arm till their hands met and fingers entwined and then he drew Glorfindel over onto his side, into the curve of his left arm, so that their bodies spooned together in much the same position as when they had woken.

Freeing his hand, he trailed it down Glorfindel’s thigh with a touch so light it raised gooseflesh in its wake, tugging gently to indicate he should draw up his knee. Then he rested the hand on one firm cheek, spreading him open before pushing gently forward and entering him. Glorfindel gasped and pushed back instinctively against Gil, who slid smoothly up into him, filling him and making him hiss sharply, more from surprise than discomfort. Gil, on a panting groan, leaned over him to place a kiss near his ear before asking breathlessly, “You all right?”

Glorfindel gave a shaky laugh, edgy with excitement. “What happened to slow, gentle and careful? It’s all right, go on, deeper.”

“You sure? Sorry – I’m rushing this. You wanted time to wake up…”

“I’m awake. Stop talking and do it. I love to feel you inside me.”

“All right, sweetheart, all right.” The words were punctuated with lingering kisses along the side of his face and neck. “Don’t be in such a hurry. Should I get some oil…?”

Glorfindel pushed back against him insistently and said, “When you’re quite finished talking, do you think you could please shut up and fuck me?”

“Did you just tell me to shut up and fuck you?” Gil asked on a warm gust of laughter, grinning as he kissed Glorfindel’s cheek through soft fair hair. The golden head dropped back against his shoulder and he saw a flash of blue eyes.

“That would be right, yes,” Glorfindel said on an indrawn breath as Gil punctuated the sentence by pushing deeper into him. “Good and hard. Please.”

“What, like this?” Gil asked with laughter in his voice, demonstrating. “Was this what you wanted?” A deeper thrust struck Glorfindel’s sweet spot and caused him to claw at the sheet, curse and jerk back urgently.

“I can get on with this, yes,” Gil agreed breathily, moving his hand to clasp Glorfindel’s hip firmly. “Good and hard, I think you said? I can do that, yes.” Starting slowly he proceeded to oblige, driving into Glorfindel with ever-increasing force and speed.

At a point where he was sobbing for breath and blind to almost everything save the heat coursing through him and Gil pounding into him, Glorfindel moved onto his stomach, dragging Gil over with him in a scramble of limbs and whispered endearments and obscenities, then drew his knees under him, taking his weight on his forearms, lifting and pushing back into each stroke on a series of low, needful growls.

Gil, reaching blindly beneath them, found Glorfindel’s length and wrapped his hand around it tightly. He needed do no more than hold him, as the motion of their bodies was more than enough to supply the friction that brought Glorfindel to climax within minutes, carried finally over the edge by the sensation of Gil’s mouth fastening onto his neck, hard, moments before his seed covered Gil’s hand and the bed.

Kneeling almost upright now, Gil slowed his movements, savouring the contracting muscles clenching around his cock as he pushed slowly deep into the tightness, drawing back, driving in, both hands grasping Glorfindel’s hips. At last he thrust in as deeply as he was able and held still, not breathing, his eyes closed, his fingers gripping painfully, as the first wave of ecstasy swept through him. Moving again, he gave a dozen more hard, panting thrusts before he finally collapsed over Glorfindel, spent.

They lay still, breathing heavily, then slowly Gil drew back and out and Glorfindel turned almost as part of the same motion and came into his embrace. He wrapped his arms round Gil and held onto him, kissing his sweat-filmed neck and cheek and murmuring indistinct words of pleasure and thanks. And so they lay, intertwined and pressed together almost as though seeking comfort. Finally Gil-galad drew back a little to look at the flushed face with the kiss-swollen lips and half-closed blue eyes.

“You do this better than anyone else I’ve ever been with. Or heard talk of.” He was quiet for a minute and they stared at one another. “That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it?”

Glorfindel gave up his attempt to look insulted at this reference to past lovers, and flashed Gil an affectionate smile. “Completely wrong,” he agreed. “But I liked it anyway.”

“Círdan,” Elros said blankly. “Círdan? But you’re not even upset?”

Elrond shrugged. Clad only in a night robe, he was sitting cross-legged on his brother’s bed, the lightly woven, colourful blanket he had found there wrapped around his shoulders. It was early morning, but this had become the only part of the day when he could be certain that Elros would have time to listen. Laslech lay in the doorway, watching. Elros’ bedroom was forbidden territory.

“I can manage Círdan. You just have to look him in the eye and speak your mind. He isn’t used to that, it stops him in his tracks. Usually.” He dismissed his twin’s disbelieving stare with a gesture. “Glori’s explanation made sense. Círdan won’t push me to do things just to see if I can. He’s not – intense like Galadriel. And Ereinion said he could ask him to stop telling me how to behave, too.”

Drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms round them, he leaned forward, his voice becoming even more animated. “And in a few years I might go and spend some time studying with Gildor. That should be interesting. Erestor’s met him a few times, did I tell you? Ereinion wasn’t clear about what he’d teach me – he said something about self discipline. He would say that, of course.”

“Bit of self discipline couldn’t hurt,” his brother said a little caustically, getting out of bed and going to open the drapes. He took a look at the slate grey sky, pulled a face and went back to spend a last few minutes within the warmth of the bedcovers.

Apparently Elrond was experiencing one of his periodic enthusiasms, which Elros usually found exhausting. He was unsure whether to be relieved or saddened that these occurred with less frequency as they grew older, a result of regular disillusion and regret. Dragging back a share of the blankets, he wrapped them round himself as best he could and attempted to restore some balance.

“You know, if anyone else had suggested this you would be throwing a tantrum. Glorfindel opens his mouth and you act as though he speaks eternal truth…”

“Oh Ros, that’s not fair. I listened because he was right, that’s all. I don’t have to like Círdan, he doesn’t have to like me, we just have to be polite. He has to teach and I have to learn.”

Elros gave him a level, expressionless look and tried a different approach. “Have you discussed it with Erestor?” he asked.

“Why would I do that?” Frowning, grey eyes narrowing.

“Oh, I don’t know, just to see what he thinks. You say he’s lived quite a varied life, he should have an opinion of sorts – and it might be less biased.”

“Biased?”

“Gil usually agrees with Glorfindel, it’s becoming a habit. I’m sorry, Ro, but Glorfindel’s indulging in a bit of Aman logic. They look at things differently to us, and you know it. What worries me most is that I won’t be here to help soon, and you seen to think he can do no wrong…”

It was not meant to sound bitter, but it did. Elrond had looked to his calmer, more reasoned brother for advice and guidance for most of their lives and while Elros had felt no discomfort when his twin had finally begun accepting Gil-galad, who was a relative as well as High King, as an authority, the newly-arrived Glorfindel was another matter.

Elrond studied his brother thoughtfully. The slight edge had been there before at mention of Glorfindel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laslech half rise and edge forward a little, bringing herself wholly into the room but far enough from the bed not to invite attention. Elros felt dogs had no place in the bedroom and seemed to believe she slept in the little hallway that led through to the main body of the Palace as he had intended when he had first been given her. This arrangement had lasted no more than a few hours because, remembering too many confusing, frightening nights surrounded by strangers, Elrond had fetched her to his room where she had slept ever since, on a rug in the corner.

He leaned forward bonelessly to relax against his brother’s legs and reached over to pull the covers clear of Elros’ face so that they could look at one another clearly.

“What possible reason could you have to not like Glori?”

Elros sat up against the headboard, pushing braids impatiently behind his ears. “I don’t dislike him, Ro. I’ve not spent much time with him, but he’s pleasant enough when you can get him to talk. The problem is, you seem to think him incapable of making mistakes and I doubt he knows you nearly well enough to be making life altering choices for you.”

Elrond gave him a puzzled look. “Glori makes mistakes, lots of them. He’s sleeping with Ereinion – there’s nothing smart about that. But I trust him. He’s honest, and when he gives advice it’s good.”

“I just don’t want you to agree blindly to every suggestion he makes, that’s all. We might be able to write occasionally, but I will be too far away to give advice. You have to start sorting things out yourself, not just find someone else to ask for help.”

Elrond sat up, finally annoyed. Laslech, sensing his mood, sidled a little closer. Her tail started to wag by reflex but she stilled it, very aware that she had crossed the invisible line into the forbidden. “Then do you have a better suggestion? If I have this …this power, then I need to be able to contain it. Who would you suggest in place of Círdan?”

Elros frowned, his forehead crinkling. His skin was no longer as smooth as it had once been but, to Elrond’s mind, this simply gave him character. “I don’t know. Why do you have to be ‘trained’? I never heard of that before – you just grow into it naturally, surely?”

“Of course not, not things like farspeech and the like,” Elrond shot back at him. “You just don’t hear much about it because Elves born since the Return can’t usually do such things. Of course, we have to be different. Like Maedhros used to say when I upset him – we’re mongrels, totally unlike anyone else.”

He relaxed back onto the bed, smiling to himself at some memory. “And I don’t want to sort it out myself. If you don’t have a better idea, I’ll just have to put up with Círdan’s disapproval. I have no wish to find myself inside Galadriel’s head again.”

“Out of here, now. Right now!” Elros suddenly yelled, sitting up and swinging his arm to point at the door. Elrond started, then realised this was directed at Laslech, who had crept right up to the bed while they were talking. Knowing she had broken one of the primary rules in her world, she got up immediately and trotted out of the room, stopping at a point well beyond the doorway, but where she could still keep Elrond in view.

He compressed his lips slightly and glanced at Elros out of the corner of his eye, but his brother was already settling back down and there was little point in saying anything. He had no wish to mar their last few days or weeks with arguments. He guiltily pushed back his concern about how the dog would fare in her new home. She was a dog; he should be worrying about his brother.

“Well, she knows not to come into the bedrooms,” Elros pointed out in what he felt was a reasonable tone but which sounded suspiciously like a justification. Elrond nodded wordlessly. He thought it best not to mention that not only did she sleep in his room, but that she was also in fact allowed to get on his bed in the morning to say hello.

Around mid morning Gil-galad was informed that his aunt had arrived in the Palace as requested and was waiting to see him. The fire in his sitting room had been lit early to fend off the encroaching winter gloom, and upon entering he was unsurprised to find Galadriel standing before it, still wrapped against the outdoor chill in a voluminous, fur trimmed cloak. Despite their kind’s natural resistance to extremes in temperature, every Elf he had ever met who had crossed the Helcaraxë disliked being cold. Glorfindel, whose skin seemed always warm to the touch, was no exception.

“You wished to see me, Ereinion?”

Galadriel only addressed him formally in public or in the presence of outsiders. Normally this was something he liked, as it gave him a comfortable sense of family, but today it grated.

“I thought we should discuss Elrond,” he told her without preamble. Well, he saw no need for the small talk, which she professed to despise. He had seen her the previous night; her health was always excellent, if something had befallen her mate he would have been told, and she would not have come if all had not been well with the babe – his heir if male, though instinct told him this was a girl-child.

She inclined her head. “Elrond and I have talked, yes. He tells me he wants to be a healer.” She said it in an amused voice, as though quoting the wishes of a child who would know better with age. Gil-galad frowned at her.

‘Yes, he’s been interested in that for some time. I’m arranging for him to have some training, see if he takes to it.”

She raised a fine, exquisitely shaped eyebrow, then shrugged gracefully. “As you wish. He has skill there, I sense. It can do no harm.”

“As for the other things you want him to learn….”

“Ah.”

He had her attention; this was what she had come to discuss. Well, he though, she might not like what she was about to hear. Gil-galad understood his aunt better than most. Royal, ambitious; if she could not rule, she would mould. And as he was not open to her guidance – Círdan had been enough – he suspected she had been looking around for other work to turn her hand to. She reminded him of his father, never still, always busy with some project. The final one had led to the destruction of Nargothrond.

“Elrond’s young, his heritage is – unusual, and I feel this needs to be managed carefully,” he said. She was staring into the fire, standing very still. He went and sat on the arm of a nearby chair, trying discreetly to remind her of the difference in their rank even though he felt uncomfortable seated while she remained standing.

“I discussed it with Glorfindel, and we’re agreed that Círdan would be the best choice. His skills differ to those developed in the West, and this should make him more flexible, more aware that there are different paths that can be followed. As Elrond’s gifts are likely to be his legacy from Melian, this will be invaluable.”

He paused, then decided he might as well tell her the rest, hoping that the inclusion of another family member would mollify the growing outrage he saw on her face. “Later I think he should spend some time with Gildor – the mind and body disciplines he teaches might have future value and he has no political objectives. There’s no rush. When Elrond feels ready it will be time enough. And right now he is far from ready.”

“Gildor?” she asked flatly. “Gildor Inglorion? That gypsy?”

“The same,” he agreed equably, inwardly flinching from the gathering storm he sensed was about to break about him.

“But that is absurd!” she exclaimed, swinging round to glare at him, her eyes blazing. “And as for Círdan – I can hardly believe Glorfindel would be so irresponsible. I offer no disrespect to the abilities of one who woke here in the time before the Summons, but Elrond’s potential is too varied, too vast to be left to someone who has not studied these matters. As you suggest, his power is not wholly Elven… No, Ereinion, absolutely not. I studied with Melian; these are things no one is better qualified to teach him than me.”

Gil-galad shook his head firmly. “I don’t question the need for training, but in the absence of one of the Maia, I believe Círdan is the best choice to guide him. All else aside, he can be relied on not to encourage Elrond to fly too high, too soon – something I am not convinced you would be able to resist, to be honest.”

He was not about to admit that he saw her point, that when Glorfindel had suggested all this he had been more than a little dubious. He had been as much startled as surprised when Elrond had agreed, and had uneasily wondered what the response would have been had anyone else put forward the idea. He rose and went over to her, making his tone conciliatory.

“I’m sure it wasn’t intentional, aunt, but he had no grounding in these matters from Maglor, and your approach unsettled him badly. In any event, it’s out of your hands now. Elrond is my responsibility, and I’ll decide as I think best for him.”

Galadriel stood silent, her head tilted to one side as though listening to something. Gil-galad suddenly become aware of a coolness in the room, a sense of power moving through the stillness, and waited. He lacked many of the more common Elven gifts, but in their place had something of inestimable value – he could perceive power and energy being manipulated and bent to the will of others, yet it could hold no sway over him. He had walked through dark shadows that would have cowed or ensnared another Elf and had remained unscathed. This, however, was less perilous; Galadriel had the gift of farsight, and he waited with interest to discover what she saw.

“He remains your responsibility for a time only, son of my brother,” she said quietly, turning to him, her strange, sea-hued eyes looking into a time and place closed to him. “The destiny of the Peredhel will remain your concern for your lifespan, but when the time comes for Eärendil’s son to fulfill his destiny, he will stand alone. He will need wisdom and strength far beyond your imaginings when that time arrives.”

Gil-galad felt a rush of heat spread out from the pit of his stomach, though his skin felt like ice. Galadriel was speaking from some place between worlds, and he knew he could hardly blame her for simply telling him what she saw. Even if that appeared to relate to his death, the only logical explanation for his absence in Elrond’s future. Keeping his voice very even, therefore, he said softly, “Even so, aunt, at this time responsibility for Elrond’s training remains my concern, not yours. This is my final word, and in my Palace, in my kingdom, that is sufficient.”

Galadriel came back abruptly from the place her thoughts had walked, concern and distress beginning to form on her face. She reached out an instinctive hand to him, no longer the prophetess, once more his aunt.

“Ereinion, I’m sorry, the words were ill-chosen. I often see things without understanding their context. This was simply one of those times…”

He took her hand and brought it lightly to his lips, shaking his head and forcing an easy smile. “Things happen as they will. Don’t worry, I won’t live my life in fear of words or pictures seen in the depths of my hearth fire, any more than I can allow them to decide Elrond’s future.”

Galadriel wrapped her arms around him, holding him close to her, shivering slightly. She was tall, almost Glorfindel’s height, he realised. He returned the hug reflexively, and was almost amused to find he seemed to be the one offering comfort. He stepped back after a minute and put his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her worried face.

“You may have seen and spoken clearly, but I choose to believe this is something that will prove to have a less dark explanation. Put it from your mind, for the babe’s sake if for no other reason. This is not a time for you to worry unnecessarily.”

She nodded slowly, her face still troubled. “Whatever I saw, it was in a time and place far from here,” she confirmed. “And your absence may have been due to any one of a number of reasons. Ereinion, no matter how strong our disagreements, we remain family. Be certain I would never ill wish you…”

He shook his head. “No aunt, I know that,” he reassured her, giving her shoulders an affectionate squeeze before releasing her. “And I’m sorry about Elrond, but I really think this will be the best way forward for him.”

Bidding her enjoy the warmth of his rooms, and adding an invitation for her to share the midday meal with him, he took his leave of her. Just before he closed the door, he saw her draw the cloak close about her and rest a hand on her belly as though seeking comfort from the child within.

~*~*~*~*~

He wandered through the Palace after leaving Galadriel, trying to order his thoughts, and was on the final flight of steps leading up to the roof before he again took note of his surroundings. He seldom visited the area above the Healers’ rooms where, on warm days, patients were encouraged to spend time sitting in the sun in a sheltered corner which had been outfitted with benches for this purpose. It was one of Glorfindel’s favourite spots of late, and right now it seemed as good a choice as any.

He stepped out onto the roof and almost immediately saw sunlight glinting on golden hair. For a disoriented moment he thought it was Galadriel, but then realised he had found the other golden blonde in the Palace, Glorfindel.

He was leaning against a buttress and staring out over the farmlands, the wind tugging at his clothes. Gil-galad walked up behind him and slid his arms round his waist, resting his cheek against the warrior’s hair. Glorfindel covered a hand with his own and leaned back lightly against him. Gil-galad dropped his head slightly so that his chin rested on a powerful shoulder.

“I never had someone to hold onto before,” he said with a half-bemused smile.

“Something’s wrong?” Glorfindel asked, his light, clear voice warm and concerned.

“Uh-uh.”

There seemed no point in mentioning it. If death came, it came. He had been a soldier for most of his life, he had, unlike the majority of his kind, long since come to terms with the possibility. No need to concern those close to him. Perhaps he would share Galadriel’s words one day, but not today, not until he could treat them as no more than a reminder not to waste the time he was given. Instead he stood holding Glorfindel in silence, idly watching people moving far below while the wind whistled around them and the clouds scudded across the sun and the never-ending voice of the ocean rose and fell in the background.

Finally he drew Glorfindel round to face him, holding him by the hips while the warrior’s hands moved automatically to rest on his shoulders. “What could be wrong? I’m with you - the best place in all the world,” he said, speaking more seriously than he had intended.

Glorfindel reached up to stroke Gil’s face lightly before taking it gently between his hands and looking searchingly into his eyes. “You won’t tell me what troubles you?” he asked, his tone disappointed.

Gil-galad hesitated momentarily then shook his head. “No, it’s nothing. I spoke with Galadriel as I said I would, and she has a way of making you doubt yourself, question your future…”

“Let go of the doubt,” Glorfindel told him, his voice close and intimate. “I will not let you doubt yourself. Trust me,” he added, laughter in his eyes as he leaned forward and kissed Gil softly on the lips, “I am even quicker than doubt.”

Gil-galad laughed with him, and slid his arms around his lover, drawing him close. Bending, he claimed the sweetly curved mouth in a slow, deep kiss, putting Galadriel’s hints of a foreshortened future into a quiet corner of his mind where they would stay unless or until a day came when they would have relevance.

~*~*~*~*~