Chapter Six

Erestor was prepared to admit defeat. Half the inhabitants of the Palace complex appeared to be out for an evening stroll, and the gardens offered little in the way of the privacy he was seeking. He decided to leave his quest till daylight, and was about to ascend the final flight of steps that would lead him back to his room when his attention was claimed by a small whimper. Curiosity aroused, he went to investigate. Whatever his expectations, they hardly matched the reality, which turned out to be a sight unlikely in the extreme.

Elrond was standing balanced on the narrow stone balustrade that ran the length of the terrace, apparently studying one of the windows above him. He stood etched by torchlight, which traced the outline of his body, the curve of those endless legs. His hair was caught back loosely and sparkled dimly in the soft light, forming a nimbus around his head. Erestor stopped as though turned to stone and stared. Unbidden, a picture flashed through his mind of that body unclothed, that hair unbound, that head thrown back in similar manner, in ecstasy.

He was brought back to reality by another sad whine. The puppy was watching her companion in bemusement and had finally decided she didn’t like what she saw. Erestor pulled himself together, moved forward on silent feet, and bent to pick her up. As he was being rewarded for this action by having his face thoroughly washed, the Half-elf turned to descend.

For a moment Elrond froze, his body a study in arrested motion. Shadowed eyes met Erestor’s, a momentary look of dismay crossed the young face, and then he dropped down to the terrace with cat-like grace. Erestor waited, curious to see how long the Half-elf would need to recover from the unpleasant surprise of discovering he had an audience.

Elrond stood studying him. Light, either from the torch or the newly risen moon, reflected off gray eyes, giving them a dangerous, almost feral glitter. Erestor’s mind raced. He briefly wondered whose rooms faced this side of the grounds and made a mental note to enquire in the morning. Meanwhile he urgently needed to say something, anything, to set the right tone.

“Nice night for a walk,” he offered in a completely neutral voice. It took a moment to realize the echo he seemed to hear was in fact Elrond offering the same throw-away comment. They stared at each other, silenced by the likelihood of this happening. Elrond’s face lightened. He gave Erestor a quick, interested look from under raised brows as he reached out for the dog.

“Were you on your way somewhere in particular, or are you simply enjoying the night air?” he asked.

Erestor took his cue from Elrond’s approach. “There is an exercise routine I like to perform morning and evening,” he explained. “Nothing complex, just lunges and balance. I’m looking for a quiet corner, somewhere with a little space but also reasonably private.”

Elrond looked thoughtful for a moment, staring into nothingness. Then he put the dog down, pretending he had not first surreptitiously rubbed his cheek against her head, and said, “I think I might know somewhere suitable. Come.”

They went along the terrace, down some side stairs, following an involved and slightly circuitous route. Erestor would have no difficulty remembering the way, though most would soon have been disoriented. They eventually came out onto an area he was fairly certain was for the exclusive use of the King and his household.

Trees, flowers, rosemary bushes, and several varieties of lavender greeted him. Shuttered windows faced onto the garden and a door opened onto a small patio. Restraining the dog, who had been attempting to head straight inside, Elrond gestured vaguely.

“Would this be all right?” he asked. “It’s usually quiet here.”

Ordinarily the prospect of being watched from one of the windows would have made this location out of the question, but when he considered the possible identity of the watcher, Erestor found he could smile and say, with absolute sincerity,

“This is exactly what I was looking for.”

Elrond gave him a pleased sort of a look and sank bonelessly to the ground. They shared a moment of silence before he remembered. “Oh, you don’t mind me staying to watch, do you?”

Elrond sat on the grass, leaning back against a tree, Laslech lying close to him, seeking warmth. The wind had risen, rustling through the fragrant herb bushes, teasing at his soft, dark hair. The lamp on the patio had burnt low but the moon, dipping in and out of clouds, provided sufficient light to illuminate the scene.

He watched, absorbed, as Erestor followed the slow, almost sensual routine, dipping, lunging, out and up, moving under a swirl of heavy, night dark hair. Elrond absently stroked the puppy’s ears, while appreciating the effect of dappled moonlight playing across pale skin, occasionally lighting ebony hair.

He had planned to guide Erestor to the quiet corner Glorfindel regularly favoured, but had decided instead on the secluded area onto which his own rooms faced. There had been no premeditation in this; Elrond was a creature of impulse and instinct, often confused by his own choices. A steadily increasing pressure and warmth in the region of his groin suggested this choice had been a good one.

The sky was barely light when Glorfindel woke, not slowly but instantly and completely. At some point in the night Gil had woken him, interspersing the soft calling of his name with light kisses. In response to his sleepy murmur, the King had said, “Come, sweetheart, the fire has almost died, the floor grows harder by the minute. I think I can do better than this for us. Let’s get to bed.”

He had followed, the cover they had been sharing draped loosely around his shoulders, while Gil, naked and at ease with his body, led them through to his bedroom. Glorfindel had had an impression of a sparsely furnished room, small but airy, lit by a lamp that had burnt very low. Gil turned to him, his eyes sleepy and smiling, and pulled him into an embrace, removing the wrap with one hand as he bent to initiate a kiss. In moments, Glorfindel found himself being urged over to the bed.

They made love for the third time, in considerably more comfort than previously experienced. The act was quieter, briefer, and yet somehow sweeter, as they chose mutual pleasure above the urge to simply curl up and go back to sleep. Gil persuaded him onto his back this time, and Glorfindel instinctively drew his legs up around his partner’s waist, angling his body as directed by a quick, guiding hand, so as to make the experience both comfortable and satisfying.

The position felt somehow more ‘right’ to him. Some previously unsuspected part of him reveled in the sense of surrender, in giving himself so completely to his partner. He enjoyed holding Gil, being able to stroke his back, his thick, dark hair. Most of all, he loved the fact that not only could they continue to kiss, but also he could see Gil’s face as passion overtook him. He discovered that watching his lover’s pleasure aroused an answering excitement in himself of almost frightening intensity.

They had gone back to sleep almost immediately afterwards, Gil staying conscious barely long enough to withdraw from him. The King still lay sprawled across Glorfindel, his head nuzzled into the pillow and half covered by long, golden hair. Glorfindel, for his part, had one leg still over Gil’s upper thigh and a hand loosely tangled in his hair.

He insinuated his body out from under the King’s and sat up carefully, looking around. The lamp had burnt out, but there was sufficient light now to show him a simply furnished room, decorated in a variety of greens and blues. It occurred to him, hazily, that Gil-galad had a rather good eye for colour, something he had noticed but given no thought to before.

Gil was still sound asleep when Glorfindel left the bed and made his way through to the sitting room in search of his clothing. He knew the King was brought a hot drink followed by breakfast at dawn, and he did not intend to be there when it arrived.

Some time after breakfast, Glorfindel’s own uniquely personal view of reality reasserted itself. Self doubt was a habit too well entrenched to be set aside by a few weeks of friendship and an evening of endearments. He was in the garden once again, in his usual corner. He had wandered round his rooms for a time, but he never felt completely comfortable there. He was happier, somehow, in the garden. It was the place where he felt most at ease. In fact, if he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was back at home.

His favourite memories of Gondolin were of the colourful gardens, the sound of birdsong. He missed the birds of the Hidden City to a degree that regularly surprised him. He had never given them much thought when it and they had been no more than the backdrop to his life. He missed the clean lines of the city, the tall slender towers, and the surrounding mountains, which had always made him feel, incorrectly as it turned out, protected and safe.

He sat balanced between an urge to push away longing for a place that no longer existed, and a suspicion that it might be more comfortable to dwell in the past a little longer than to examine the memories of the previous night.

No matter how convincing it had all seemed last night, no matter how absolutely he had been prepared to trust Gil, morning’s light, unaided by firelight, laughter and wine, suggested otherwise. He found himself wondering if Gil was already regretting the events of the evening. After all, the King had had rather a lot to drink himself, perhaps more than enough to cloud his usually good judgment.

The blonde Elf contemplated his own probable naivety. Having managed, with very little effort, to get Glorfindel naked and willing in his arms, Gil had openly admitted to lying in order to create the situation that had made that possible. There was no reason to believe that, once the novelty wore off, he would have any further interest in continuing a relationship, which for him, would probably qualify as a fairly average seduction. For Glorfindel, however, it had been an act of deep significance.

Feeling eyes on him, he looked up, hoping that, despite a very busy morning schedule, Gil had made time to seek him out. He knew that five minutes in that confident presence would be enough to lay all doubt to rest. Instead of Gil, however, he found himself facing Elrond, accompanied, as ever, by Laslech. The young Half-elf, his hair in its usual disorder, was wearing immodestly sheer gray silk and carrying a small, covered basket and a flask.

Elrond took a moment to persuade the dog to sit – this being the first step in his plan to teach her good manners, as Elros seemed to have no time to spare for it. While doing so, he studied Glorfindel. Elrond had intended some joke about the small likelihood of receiving a decent breakfast from Ereinion, who had a preference for simplicity where the morning meal was concerned. A glance silenced him. The blonde looked terrible.

A flash of cold, white anger showed for a moment in Elrond’s eyes. However, the only witness was Glorfindel himself, and he had other concerns. Elrond took a deep breath, summoned up calm, and then said in a voice that would have been unrecognizable in its gentleness to everyone who knew him, with the exception of Elros,

“I got us breakfast. Let’s go back to my rooms to eat, it’s cold out here.”

The breakfast, which Elrond had intended to be shared while teasing facts from Glorfindel to compare against the rumours of his cousin’s bedroom prowess, consisted of little honeyed oat cakes, sliced fruit, handfuls of dried dates and raisins – an exotic and hugely expensive treat – and fruit juice lightly spiked with miruvor. They were alone as Elros was already up and out, his life a round of meetings, discussions, and lessons.

They ate for a while in silence, Elrond savoring the little collection of delicacies he had managed to beg from the kitchen, Glorfindel nibbling disinterestedly on an oat cake, until finally Elrond said in a quiet, firm voice,

“You’d better tell me what happened. Otherwise I will just go and ask Ereinion myself.”

Glorfindel looked up in undisguised horror.

“No, you will do no such thing,” he said, pure fright at the knowledge that Elrond was perfectly capable of doing so helping him to find the words. Impossible to intimidate, and well aware of his reputation, which had taken him some time and effort to entrench, Elrond proceeded to stare down his unhappy breakfast companion.

Finally, looking down at the remains of the oat cake, Glorfindel murmured, “Nothing happened that you’d want to know about. We had dinner, we had some wine, we –“ He stopped at this point, looking for the right words.

“Got naked?” Elrond offered helpfully, and was alarmed to see that, instead of simply blushing as expected, Glorfindel seemed to actually shrink into himself.

The blonde took a deep breath, gave up the uneven battle, and nodded. “All right, call it what you like. Why do you need to know? And why am I answering you?”

Elrond considered his words carefully. “I think I really want to know why you are sitting eating breakfast here with me, what you were doing out in the garden alone. In other words, why aren’t you with him now? I’m trying to understand what went wrong.”

”I left before he woke up. I couldn’t very well stay and be found when he was brought his early morning tea after all.” Glorfindel told him, making one final attempt to prevent Elrond from taking the conversation down unwelcome paths.

Elrond simply continued to stare at him expectantly, and Glorfindel realized that possibly he did need to talk to someone who might be able to help him make sense of it all. Elrond was young in years, but certainly not in life experience, which was what counted. Taking a breath, the blonde poured the words out quickly, before he could change his mind.

“I keep going round in circles. Erestor and Dalbros weren't there after all. Gil lied to them and to me. He told them he had a meeting and he told me they cancelled and I didn't even think it was strange because he kept filling my wine cup - afterwards he joked that the wine was to help me relax. And then, when he kissed me, of course it felt perfect, completely right....”

Elrond sat listening as this tumble of words trailed off into silence, his chin resting on linked hands, his face expressionless. Finally he said, “Glori, tell me something. Did anything happen last night that upset you or made you uncomfortable? Is that what this is about?”

“No, of course not,” Glorfindel exclaimed, shocked, once he had worked out what Elrond was trying to ask him. “How can you ask something like that? Nothing... I mean, I don’t really know if there was anything – unusual – about any of it, I’ve never done this before, but it didn’t seem…” His voice trailed off.

"Never..…”

Glorfindel shook his head, caught by surprise. He had not intended to mention that slightly embarrassing fact. Elrond sat, brows raised slightly, staring at nothing, and thinking his own thoughts. Finally, he got up and went to stand behind Glorfindel, resting sensitive hands lightly on his shoulders. He felt the tension in them, another crime to lay at Ereinion’s door.

“Nothing unusual at all. He just lied through his teeth and tried to get you to drink more than you were accustomed to. He was just being Ereinion, really.”

Mid morning found Ereinion Gil-galad seated in his workroom at the large table that passed for a desk. He had dismissed the more conventional design as being too small for his needs. He liked space, and worked best when everything he might need was available and within his sight. He drove his assistants to distraction, but in this one matter, he found it extremely useful to be King. It meant he could simply insist on doing things his way.

He was working on three projects at the moment. There was a long report on the establishment of a new settlement further up the coast. It sounded like a friendly, hopeful sort of place, which he planned to make an effort to visit sometime in the near future.

Next there was a disturbingly incomplete inventory of the contents of the armory at the military encampment at the foot of the Forland Pass, which was the guard post responsible for the security of the main crossing point of the Lhûn.

Finally, he had to finalize the details of a formal farewell dinner for Elros. He would miss his young cousin, whose departure oversea had been postponed as long as possible at Gil-galad’s personal insistence. He had been adamant that Elros first receive the kind of schooling that would benefit a King before sending him to shepherd the growth of the new land over the sea.

He had made a few notes on the page, with the idea of perhaps consulting with Elrond later. The Half-elf made every effort to avoid discussions that referred to his brother’s imminent departure. The attitude was quite understandable to Gil, but he could hardly object to being asked basic questions about such matters as Elros’ preference between red and white wine.

Putting the long, detailed list aside, he reached for the inventory again. He was about to write a note asking for a more complete accounting before he would be prepared to sign it, when a small sound made him look up. Gil-galad was confronted by a sight that made him put down his parchment and lean back in his chair.

Elrond stood watching him work. He was dressed in a sober, conservative outfit: gray leggings, a pale green shirt, and a loose gray tunic with green detail. His hair was firmly braided, not a lock out of place. The dog, for the first time since he had taken charge of it, was absent. He was impeccably turned out, neat to a fault. Gil-galad prepared himself for more or less anything. He knew trouble when he saw it.

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