Chapter Five - Beginnings

The Palace at Lindon was in reality a series of buildings serving a variety of purposes: part administrative center, part military headquarters, and part royal dwelling place. It contained all the offices of government, an armory, comprehensive kitchen facilities, a healing center, and of course, extensive stables.

It also offered accommodation, at a nominal rental, for those employees who wished to take advantage of this convenience. Those who did so received two basic meals a day, laundry services, and access to the communal bathing facilities.

The sprawling complex was the first of its kind, bearing no resemblance to the walled, defensible strongholds of former Noldorin Kings. It was a new approach, a response to the dawning of a new Age.

Outside the palace, the town around it was growing and sprawling outwards. Settlements had sprung up in all directions, catering to many different groups and cultures. found it reassuring to live under the protection of the first High King ever to hold out the promise of some form of peace and security.

Inside the Palace, in the living quarters set aside for mid-level administrative personnel, Erestor stood in the middle of his small, plain room and considered his surroundings.

He had unpacked his sparse belongings within an hour of arriving, put them neatly away and thought no more of it, but he was now struck by how bare and unwelcoming the room appeared. There was no warmth, none of the little extras that suggested home. It appeared untouched, unoccupied.

Until now, this had been of no concern to him. The room had simply been a convenient place to read and rest. Now he looked at it through other eyes and found it to be wanting in the extreme. No one would bring a guest here for any reason other than brief, meaningless physical satisfaction.

Having assessed the room as a problem to be solved, he took a stick of graphite and one of the parchment discards he used for notes and proceeded to make a list of items that would address the solution. It was a methodical and comprehensive list, reflecting the sharp, observant mind that had led to his being employed in a potentially sensitive position despite his less than pristine past.

The idea of perhaps being able to invite someone back to his room for a cup of wine and a little conversation, had not fully occurred to him until earlier that evening, and then only vaguely. The thought that the guest might be the Half-elven Princeling he had encountered in the garden was something he firmly dismissed as unlikely in the extreme at this point in his career.

However, stranger things had happened in his life. There was also nothing wrong with being prepared. Anyway, he reasoned, a little colour and texture would be pleasant for a change.

Decisions made, list written, he fastened his hair back and then, putting out the lamp – oil was far from inexpensive in this fast-growing capital, he had discovered – he left the room. Once outside, he resumed his search for the most conducive spot to perform the exercise routine with which he had, for years, been in the habit of beginning and ending his day.

Meanwhile, lying on the rug in front of the fire, decision made, Gil found that he was in no hurry to proceed. Instead, he was taking his time and simply enjoying the closeness, the escalating heat between them, the shared caresses.

Glorfindel, to his delight, was no longer a tentative partner. Lips explored, sampled, hands tangled in hair, and all the while their bodies twisted and writhed almost as one.

Finally, when the moment felt right, Gil guided the blonde Elf onto his side, drawing one of Glorfindel's legs half over his hip, and moved a hand smoothly down Glorfindel's body, caressing his thigh, his firm behind, before using one finger to circle his lover's most intimate opening, lightly at first, then harder, deeper.

Glorfindel was vaguely aware of slickness - oil? Where would Gil have found oil? he wondered vaguely. Then the finger thrust inside, and even before his own cry, he heard Gil give a low moan of desire. The finger penetrated him, pushing against firm resistance. There was no real pain, just a feeling of strangeness, which was not exactly unwelcome, just – different.

After a few minutes, Gil carefully added more oil. Suddenly, despite a moan of protest from Glorfindel, one probing finger became two. The kissing and caressing continued, as Gil’s mouth roved from lips to nipples to throat, licking and sucking, balancing possible discomfort with proven pleasure.

The slick fingers meanwhile stretched, loosened, seeking and finally finding their sensitive target. Sudden pressure caused Glorfindel to swear graphically while instinctively jerking sharply back against the source of the unbelievable jolt of pleasure.

Gil drew him into a fierce, one-armed embrace, reclaiming his mouth in a passionate kiss, while he proceeded to thrust his fingers in and out of the blonde, striking the same spot each time and causing him to moan and writhe and attempt to cry out against the covering mouth.

Finally, ignoring some very vocal protests, he released Glorfindel and reached again for the little bottle of oil he had secreted earlier, optimistically, by the fire. Kneeling, he poured a generous amount into his hand and started smoothing it over his aching shaft, shuddering at his own touch.

After a moment, he became aware that Glorfindel was watching him with a less than encouraging expression in his eyes.

Gil paused.

“Is everything all right?” he asked in sudden trepidation.

“I can’t!” Glorfindel said flatly.

A little voice in the back of Gil-galad’s head screamed, “You idiot! Too fast, you moved too fast!” but he managed to keep his expression reassuring and his voice calm though a bit breathless as he asked,

“What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“No, no you didn’t do anything wrong, you’re wonderful, being with you feels like all I ever wanted. I just feel so…so…” he broke off, dropping his embarrassed gaze and blushing furiously. Gil knelt looking at him quizzically, an oil-covered hand resting, all but forgotten, on his penis.

“Well, what then, sweetheart?” he asked.

Glorfindel refused to look at him. “I‘m just still not completely sure how it all works,” he muttered, shaking his hair over his face like a shield.

In spite of frantic efforts to stop himself, Gil burst out laughing. Gathering Glorfindel into his arms, he wrapped himself around the desperately embarrassed Elf, resting a cheek against the golden hair. Gil’s genuine amusement finally infected Glorfindel, forcing him to see the humor in the situation and join in the laughter.

When they at last settled down, save for the occasional giggle, Gil brushed shimmering fair hair back from Glorfindel’s face and said, still grinning,

“My dear, I assure you that I certainly know how it all works and if I give you my word to be slow and careful, if I promise to be gentle, do you think we could at least try?” He cupped the flushed but lovely face with a strong hand. “If you would rather wait, I’ll understand, of course, but…”

Glorfindel gave a final chuckle and then put an arm round Gil’s neck, looking up into his eyes.

“Slow and careful and gentle sounds perfect," he said. “I think I’ve waited long enough. It’s time I found out.”

They lay kissing quietly for a few minutes, recreating the earlier mood, until Gil, with a final caress, released the blonde and retrieving the oil, told him to turn onto his side. When he looked back, Glorfindel was lying as instructed, stretched out like a golden cat and facing the fire.

Settling down behind him, Gil took his time, kissing Glorfindel’s neck and shoulders and stroking his hair, before placing his hand behind an upper thigh and pushing gently, murmuring,

“Draw your knee up to your chest – it will make this easier for us both.” He then slipped his left arm under Glorfindel’s shoulder, drawing him close, and whispered, “Give me your hand.”

Taking the long fingered hand, which was so much more like a musician's than a warrior's, within his own, Gil linked their fingers. Resting his free hand on Glorfindel's buttock and spreading him open, Gil pushed forward firmly and entered his lover. He paused a moment while placing a steadying hand on Glorfindel's hip, and then with his usual approach to difficult actions of 'getting it over with', arched abruptly forward, burying himself within his partner to the hilt.

Glorfindel’s head jerked back and his breath hissed sharply with a sound of pain, but on the third attempt, Gil found his pleasure spot and was rewarded with Glorfindel crying out and thrusting back against him. Gil nodded to himself, satisfied, and moved his right hand down to grasp his lover’s suddenly steel hard arousal.

“Careful enough?” he asked, resting his cheek against Glorfindel’s and laughing huskily at the response, which was an almost incoherent growl. Tightening his arm around his partner and squeezing the hand clasped in his, Gil began to thrust into him, slowly at first and then faster and deeper, finally burying his face in the golden hair, all caution forgotten, and giving himself over to ecstasy.

Lying beneath him, Glorfindel moved urgently in time with Gil, his mind empty of all else save the firm hand wrapped around his pulsing erection and the unbelievable sensation of Gil within him. At each thrust he experienced a fire-burst of agonizing delight, pushing him higher, and as Gil's hips moved harder, quicker, there seemed to be nothing else in the world, only an overpowering, nameless urgency.

He came at last, chanting Gil’s name like a litany and then, to the sound of Gil’s own shout of triumph and completion, he fell back through white light, sinking down into a dark nothingness.

The cool night air wafting in through the open window carried the scent of the sea into the quiet room where Elrond lounged, dog on lap, pretending to read. He was a voracious reader, devouring books with the hunger of one often deprived, which was close enough to the truth.

There hadn’t been all that many books available while they had been on the move. Furthermore, Maedhros, who had discovered it was the one punishment that seemed to make any impact on Earendil’s more intransigent son, had regularly forbid him access to those few books they had.

Gil-galad had at first teased him, asking if he was attempting to work his way through the entire library within a year. On learning a little of the past from Elros, however, he had simply told Elrond to take what he wanted when he wanted it and, should it not be available, to order it.

Elrond, taught by bitter experience to be suspicious of large gestures and vocal declarations, was reassured by Gil-galad’s matter-of-fact attitude. This increased in the face of the King’s genuine interest in his reading choices and his readiness to spend time discussing them.

Elrond was, in fact, developing a strong interest in the healing arts. He had an almost intuitive response towards illness or injury, and was surprisingly empathetic in a practical sort of way when dealing with pain or fear. Blood, gore, and strong emotions held no terror for him.

In the face of almost universal disbelief at the idea of Elrond as a healer, Gil-galad had been unexpectedly supportive of the idea, promising to arrange for his training should he decide to pursue this activity on a more serious level.

Tonight however, in an attempt to educate himself about an area of his family’s history, Elrond was attempting to read about Gondolin. It was a tome written by a respected author, one who had lived in the Hidden City and survived the Fall. He had made his way in the world afterwards by telling the tale of its years, until someone finally had the idea of getting him to write it all down.

Elrond hoped the author had been a better bard than he was a writer, as the text was dust dry. The more he read, the more certain he was that it would be easier to get Glorfindel to sit down and tell him the tale himself, blushes, disclaimers of eloquence and all else that might entail.

Thinking of Glorfindel made him frown slightly. He wondered how late he could wait before casually dropping by without making his intent obvious. He wondered, briefly, if it would be better to wait until morning. He finally decided that stopping by when he took Laslech out before bed would be just about acceptable.

Late evening, therefore, found Elrond and Laslech making their way slowly home after an unsuccessful visit to Glorfindel’s rooms, which had proved to be unoccupied.

Elrond, with his usual insatiable curiosity, decided that a not-so-casual scrutiny of Gil-galad’s sitting room window seemed to be called for. As far as he could tell, this could best be accomplished by climbing up onto the parapet of the terrace, which, after checking to make certain he was unobserved, he did.

A careful, precariously balanced scrutiny suggested that the room was either in darkness or else very dimly lit. Elrond made a mental note to go back to see Glorfindel around breakfast time. He found it difficult to imagine even Ereinion being able to convince the shy blonde Elf to stay and face the incuriously curious eyes of his personal staff.

Turning to get back down, he was confronted by the totally unexpected sight of Erestor looking up at him. He was casually dressed in a thin shirt, leggings, and soft-looking suede boots. He had picked up and was holding Laslech, who was licking his face in adoration. Elrond dropped lightly down, took a deep breath, and mentally straightened his shoulders.

“Lovely night for a walk,” they said simultaneously.

The first thing Glorfindel was aware of when he came back to himself was the soft crackling of the fire next to him. This was followed by the fact that he lay, utterly relaxed, with his head on a solid shoulder. Strong arms were holding him while gentle hands stroked his hair and back. His body felt strange to him, tired and well used in a different sense to anything he had ever experienced before.

He turned his head slightly and opened his eyes to see Gil watching him, a half smile on his face, his light, clear eyes content. “Welcome back,” he said, placing a soft kiss on Glorfindel’s cheek. His reward was smiling eyes and a more comfortable settling of the blonde head on his shoulder.

Glorfindel stroked his hand down over Gil’s chest and stomach, marveling at the solid feel of him, knowing that he was in exactly the right place and time at last. He did, however, have a question, the answer to which was becoming clearer to him by the minute.

Observing Gil’s slightly self-satisfied air and the proprietary way he was being held, he reached up and wound dark hair round his hand and pulled firmly. Gil slanted a look at him and raised a querying brow.

“Where did the oil come from?” Glorfindel asked softly.

Gil-galad briefly considered lying, but knew this would be a bad beginning. Glorfindel was someone with whom he wished to share very much more than just one night.

”I put it there earlier,” he admitted. “We have had a good chance to get to know one another, we were going to he spending the evening alone, I just hoped that, perhaps…”

“Dalbros and Erestor didn’t really cancel at the last minute, did they?” Glorfindel asked, keeping his grip on the black hair. “They were never invited, were they, Gil?”

Gil rolled his eyes then tried playfully to slap away the hand gripping his hair.

“No, they were invited,” he insisted cheerfully. “I have never planned a long term seduction in my life. I don’t seem to have the attention span for it. No, I uninvited them, this afternoon.”

“You told them not to come?”

“This afternoon,” he confirmed with a sigh, his voice now becoming more serious. He turned to study Glorfindel’s face as he continued.

“Almost since we met I’ve sought your company, found myself thinking of you when we’re apart. This morning I realized just how much I wanted to be with you, and I knew you felt it too. I hoped tonight you would be willing to act on those feelings. Which you were. Therefore the oil.”

“Therefore the oil,” Glorfindel agreed. A thought struck him and he half rose, almost spluttering in his disbelief. “And therefore all that wine! You tried to get me drunk, you - you…”

Gil was shaking with laughter as he pulled the almost speechless Elf forcibly back down to lie on top of him and held him tightly.

“Oh you didn’t have nearly enough to make you drunk,” he disclaimed. ”It was simply enough to help you relax, make you less likely to get up and run if I did something untoward like trying to kiss you. You’re really skittish about that sort of thing till you get used to it, I’ve noticed.”

“You tried to get me drunk.” Glorfindel subsided with bad grace, shaking his head. “I will never, never be able to trust you again. Of all the underhanded…”

Gil chuckled and rolled them over so that they lay facing one another, warm and at ease together, covered by a throw he had pulled from one of the chairs earlier.

“Be honest. Aren’t you just a little glad I am?” he asked, and with an air of finality silenced him with a kiss.

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