The rain striking down upon the roof made the hall sound very large and hollow, empty and lonely. Elrond, sitting on the floor with his back to the glowing coals of an almost-dead fire, watched the rainwater falling beyond the window. He silently mouthed the words of a private song to the water's erratically regular rhythm. He and Gil-galad were to have taken a walk around the fortress that afternoon, but the driving rain would be sure to put an end to any thought of outdoor recreation.
Down the hall in the meeting room, the captains had gathered at Gil-galad's request. They had spent the entire morning, and much of the afternoon, in planning several scouting parties down into Eregion, where Orc activity had been reported. The king had those of the Noldor that still remained in Middle Earth and a fair company of Grey Elves, the soldiers sent by his friend and one time lover, Círdan the Shipwright.
"Are you in need of anything, my Lord?" said a quiet voice from the doorway. The mistress of the bakery was standing there, staring at him as though he had turned green with spots.
"No, thank you," Elrond said. He bowed his face away from her, uncomfortable under her strange gaze. "Unless it would not be too much trouble for you to find someone to bring more wood for the fire? And also, if possible..." he paused. "Is Gi- ...the king engaged with council? I wish to see him, if not."
"I'll send in someone with more wood," the Elf-woman said briskly. "As for the King, I don't pretend to know his business-"
There was a sudden sound of many footsteps in the hall and the murmur of voices heading down the main staircase. The baker stepped back and, framed in the doorway behind her, Elrond could see the outline of Gil-galad - the tall, well-muscled frame and long, flowing hair shadowed by the dim firelight. "Ah - there you are, Elrond. Good, good. Saves me running all over the house looking for you." He stepped around the woman and into the hall, smiling warmly. "What have you been up to this afternoon?"
"I was just watching the rain." Elrond stood, a wave of relief passing through his body. The sight of Gil-galad, one of the few familiar faces to be found within the wide foreign corridors, was comforting.
He had been in Lindon, in the king's house for less than two months. In that short time, he had convinced himself that he would never feel quite at home in large rooms with high ceilings. Though this was his home now, and since Elros preferred to live with the race of men, Gil-galad was his only family, and also, it seemed, the only one who acted kindly toward him. The others were so distant and formal, or even contemptuous.
Elrond glanced at the baker, who bowed to the king before turning to retreat. Watching her go, he stepped toward Gil-galad. The hall was cold away from the fire, and shivering, he pulled his tunic tighter around his slender shoulders. "I don't think your servants much care for me."
Gil-galad looked sympathetic and walked toward the younger Elf. "I don't think they much like anyone right now. We're all of us somewhat battered at the moment, and given what's happened it's really not all that strange..."
He noticed Elrond's shivering and pulled him close. "You feel like a block of ice," he murmured. "Come to the fire and get warm."
Guiding Elrond to the hearth, Gil-galad felt a strong stir of protectiveness towards the Halfelven. They had known each other only briefly by Elvish reckoning, having met when he and Círdan had found the twin sons of Ëarendil playing by the edge of Sirion's waters, yet from the beginning some strong pull had brought them together. Círdan had brought the boys back to Balar and Elrond, though still very young, had become Gil-galad's constant companion. Then the War of Wrath had come, sending the island and all of Beleriand under the waves. Only Círdan's ships had saved them and now they had come here - to Lindon - trying to gather those of the Eldar who still survived.
Coming out of the brief reverie, Gil-galad poked the fire to life and drew Elrond down beside him. "We have much work to do here," he said, staring into the flames. "Not only soldiering, but making this a true residence of kings." He was silent for a moment and then asked, "What would you have here that is lacking now?"
"Smaller rooms," Elrond replied. "Everything is so cold and open." He leaned in closer toward Gil-galad, resting his head on the king's shoulder and allowing himself to be comforted by the heat of the other's body. Sitting with Gil-galad he no longer felt the chill of the hall, but still he shivered. "I would also like to be included in your council with the captains. I know we've discussed this before, and you think me too young for such matters, but how should I ever acquire military experience when I've no chance to try?"
"I thought you've been happy enough with your lore," Gil-galad replied, letting his arm drape around the younger Elf. "But thinking of it now, you've hardly touched your books since we arrived, even after all the trouble you took to save them from the flood." He turned to look down into Elrond's pensive face. "Why is that? And why are you more interested in military strategy then digging up some wonderful story to tell around the fireside? Are you feeling unwell?"
Elrond dropped his head and glanced away. He couldn't bear it, the questioning gaze of Gil-galad. The intensity in the king's face was fascinating but frightening, and the bonding of their eyes made the blood rush hot through his body while at the same time he still shook with a strange chill. Wherever Gil-galad's arm lay across his back, his skin tingled in shock. "Only so much can be done with lore," he managed to say. "Often times a sword would do better work. I only wish to be capable in battle, should it come to that. I would fight alongside you." His words were slow and carefully chosen, but his thoughts were betrayed by his face and he felt a blush of pink creep into his fair skin. Gil-galad reached over and lifted Elrond's chin so that their gazes met.
"Don't be so eager for battle, dear friend. We can always hope that the Valars' wrath put an end to Morgoth's evil, once and for all." He smiled slowly, eyes roving over the younger Elf's face. "I would so much like to focus my attention on *other* things..."
"Other... things?" The words were choked by chattering teeth, and Elrond felt the flush coursing through his cheeks burn twice as hot. "What things?"
"Oh," Gil-galad said casually, turning away to look into the fire again, "lots of things. I should like to supervise the strengthening of the fortress, and help with the exercising of the horses..." He gave Elrond a sidelong glance. "And I should like to have you read to me... out of those books of yours."
"I could read to you any time, if you want me to. Right now, or perhaps... later..." He knew he spoke too quickly and too eagerly, but determination not to let his insecurities show kept his eyes fixed on Gil-galad's. "That is," he added, "if you're not busy."
The king made a face. "I am, unfortunately. I was told in the council that a messenger from Círdan arrived this morning from Harlond, and he's waiting on me even now." He stroked Elrond's cheek again and smiled. "But I wanted to stop in and say hello to you before I met with him." They gazed at each other just a moment longer than was necessary, and then Gil-galad pulled back. "Now, why don't you spend the next hour finding the perfect tale to tell me. Then, come to my rooms when the hour is up and I'll be waiting, all right?"
"All right."
Elrond remained seated for a long while after Gil-galad left, hugging his knees close under his chin and watching the fire slowly die.
~~~~~~
There were many books. Nearly eighty, Elrond guessed, some which he had brought and some which had been brought by others and left in his care. And as there was no shelf yet to hold them, they stood in stacks upon tables and chairs in an otherwise unoccupied room. Elrond ran his fingers over covers and down hard-bound spines, trying to create some small noise to fill the terribly quiet space. He hated hearing the sound of his own rushed and furious heartbeats echoing off of blank walls.
"Surely the hour is nearly up..." he whispered to himself. Through the window, he could see the rain had stopped and the sky outside was clear but darkening. "It must be up..." He smoothed his hair with his hands and straightened the plaits. Then with an unsure reach he took the nearest book, thick and bound in dark yellow. Holding it tight to his chest, he forced himself to walk slowly, confidently, toward the king's chambers.
~~~~~~
Gil-galad had just arrived himself and was in the process of taking off his outer robe when Elrond knocked. He looked up to see the younger Elf step into the rooms and smiled. "Good news from Harlond," he said taking off his shoes. "They've had no Orc raids for a week. Seems that last massacre has scared them off." He stood and hung his robe on a hook, facing Elrond in only a simple tunic and leggings. "And we've got a party of fifty of our kindred headed to the Gulf - probably day after tomorrow."
He moved around the room, drawing the makeshift drapes against the twilight at the windows. "You know, Elrond" he said softly, "every lost soul who comes in from the wilderness makes my heart glad. Perhaps the Noldor will not die out under my reign."
"No," said Elrond. "Under your leadership we will grow strong again, and rebuild the greatness of the stories of older days." Silence lingered for a moment before Elrond cleared his throat and continued. "I've, erm, brought a book to read. It's one I've not seen before, so it may have come with the company that arrived yesterday. Perhaps they will have recorded stories that neither of us have heard."
"Splendid," the king said, poking at the fire, which had been banked in the grate. He seated himself before it and, when Elrond was beside him, stretched out on his side and propped his head on his hand. "I like to watch you when you read," he murmured happily. "Your face shows all the emotions that are in the story, did you know that?"
Elrond blushed with a self-conscious smile, and said nothing in reply. He gracelessly fumbled to set the book in his lap and open the cover. "This, um, is a book about..." The light pink in his cheeks grew to red as he stared down at the title page. He bit his lower lip. Muttering in embarrassment, he continued, "It is a catalogue of plants native to the realm of Doriath."
Across from him, Gil-galad lifted one eyebrow in bemusement. "You were right, dear friend," he said in a low voice. "It *was* one we'd never heard before..." A slow smile stole across his lips. "...and hopefully will never hear of again."
"Hopefully..." Elrond mumbled. He set the book down beside him and pushed it away. "I should have looked to see what it was before I brought it here. Now I suppose I should go get a new one." He paused. "Or I could make up a story for you?"
Gil-galad's face lit up. "Would you really?" he said, grinning broadly. "I'd be a very appreciative audience, you know..."
"I can try." Elrond sat up straighter, cross-legged with his hands resting on his knees, and cleared his throat. "There is a land far away, further in the East than any of us has ever gone. No Elf has seen this land, nor man, and indeed only the Valar can be sure of its existence. And they say it is populated by a race much like the Elves, but far more powerful, and these beings call themselves the Vihatrë. They are taller than us, and all with white hair and red eyes, and many are terrible sorcerers with power enough to kill lesser beings with a glance. Also they have found ways to travel through time; this is why we can never hope to find them. If any ship comes near, they will move their island into the past or future, and it will disappear from our sight."
He paused for a moment, staring into the fire as if to think of what came next. Finally he continued, "There are two cities on their island, one made of silver and the other of stone. The silver city is called Nírewesh, which in their language means 'Flame of the Sea', because the outer wall of the city is crowned with sixty great torches that burn without fuel, for such is the power of the Vihatrë, and the firelight reflects from the silver domes and spires, casting all in bright flickering orange on blue-black, like fire on water. But the stone city is far poorer, and it is called Farharudesh, meaning 'City of the Dark Cold'. There is no bright fire to light the nights in Farharudesh, and so the citizens there are unhappy, without warmth or joy, and they have forgotten friendship and love.
"But it was not always so bleak. At one time a great king, Mahara, ruled over Farharudesh, and his brother, Harcaru, over Nírewesh. Then Farharudesh was named Faranu, the Green City, as it was filled with trees and covered all over in delicate leafy vines, and through the power of Mahara it was always springtime within the city walls. For a time during the twin reigns of the brother-kings, the island of the Vihatrë lay in a golden age of wealth and prosperity. But Mahara was weak in his passions, and he fell in love with a maiden named Shihadrep, who was promised to Harcaru. His love for her was so great that he could think of nothing but her, so that her constant presence in his mind drove him mad.
"On the morning that Harcaru and Shihadrep were to be married, Mahara rode to Nírewesh. He carried with him an amulet of dark silver, onto which he had cast an enchantment. Whoever took the amulet would forget all of the past and see only him, and love him. This was his plan for Shihadrep. He found her, alone, in the second spire of Harcaru's palace. She took the amulet willingly, thinking it a fair gift and not knowing of its enchantment. Immediately she fell into his thrall, forgetting everything of Harcaru, and she went with Mahara away from Nírewesh to hide with him in the protection of the vines of Faranu.
"When Harcaru found his beloved gone, he was overcome by sorrow. He ran to the fourth spire where he kept a collection of twelve mirrors, each able to show him a different vision from the present, the future, or the past. There in the third mirror, showing the near past, he saw Mahara take Shihadrep by the hand. And then his sorrow was even greater because he had been betrayed by his own brother."
Elrond stopped there, still staring into the fire. Throughout his speech, his fingers had been twisting slowly in the folds of his light robe, and they now lay still, tightly clutching knots of fabric. Gil-galad, watching the tension move through those long fingers, put and hand out and caressed them. "Caught up in your own story, eh?" he murmured, searching Elrond's face. "Please - don't stop there. You have me utterly captivated..."
"I just..." Elrond shifted to face Gil-galad, meeting his eyes. With a slow turn of the wrist, his hand clasped the king's and he returned the gentle touches. "I'm not sure where the story goes from here."
The King's eyes gleamed and he gave his companion a slow smile, the edge of one thumb trailing along Elrond's, just light enough to be felt. "Well then," he said in a low voice, "why don't you tell me where you *want* it to go..."
Elrond blushed with a coy smirk. "I could not say such things aloud." Raised eyebrows greeted this remark as Gil-galad brought Elrond's hands to his lips for a soft kiss. It wasn't a very bold move; they had been dancing around each other for a good month and the King had managed to slip in a few touches here and there, tokens of affection for chores well done and stories well told. Always small, always tasteful, and maddening to the core for Gil-galad, smitten as he was with the lovely man-child of Ëarendil. He longed for more, but while Elrond had not spurned any of these intimacies, neither had he shown anything of his own heart in the matter and the King would not push, preferring to allow the Halfelven to discover his own feelings.
"Of course you can say it out loud," he murmured at last. "It's only the two of us, after all, and I would hate to think that you have secret desires you couldn't share with me."
"I would share everything with you," Elrond replied in whisper. Slowly, he freed a hand from Gil-galad's, barely brushing his fingers along the curve of the king's lips and the angle of his jaw to rest lightly on his neck just below his ear. But this contact lasted only a second, until Elrond grew hesitant once again and pulled away.
"Would you?" Gil-galad said, eyes gone dark with desire. "I wonder... But come now - don't leave the story like that. Surely there must be something of happiness in the tale." He caught up Elrond's hand and held it fast.
"There is happiness. For a moment. But it ends with grief. I can see that in the fire..." He squeezed Gil-galad's hand as he stared into the flames. "When Mahara brought Shihadrep back to Faranu, he thought they would be safe, at least even for a while. She had forgotten everything of Harcaru, whom she did not truly love, and so all of her devotion was given over to Mahara. And he in turn loved her dearly.
"Shihadrep sang for Mahara, and danced, and he watched her with admiration, for she was in truth the most beautiful of all he had ever beheld. He desired above all simply to have her near him, to have her in his arms, to kiss her and to feel the locks of her long soft hair slip between his fingers. He desired to see the light of happiness in his own eyes reflected in hers as they lay close together, pure and unclothed, with all the bright stars above watching over them..."
With every word, Gil-galad relaxed before the fire, his gaze on Elrond, eyes half closed, like a very comfortable cat. His fingers teased the sensitive skin of Elrond's palm as the younger Elf spoke. "But that is all of the happiness in this story," Elrond said. "From here on it is only sorrow..." He pulled Gil-galad's hand toward him, closer, until it rested on his thigh near the hem of his tunic, and he held it there. "And I do not wish now to speak of that."
"But surely," Gil-galad mused, running his thumb just below the fold of fabric, "if this is *your* tale, then *you* can decide the fate of the characters." A soft heat came from underneath Elrond's leggings, the silk of his skin so close to that searching finger. "Do you not believe in happy endings, dear friend?" Gil-galad asked, letting his eyes trail down for a moment to where his hand pushed at the younger Elf's clothing.
"I do," Elrond replied. "But this is not entirely my tale. I just repeat what the fire tells me." Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he was pulling Gil-galad's hand higher, closer, further under the fabric.
"What does the fire tell you now?" Gil-galad said, his voice a low purr as his fingers teased and caressed. "What does it say about your own happiness...?"
"I do not know; it is hard to say whether I see my own fate or that of another. But I think that it must be the doom of another I see..." Elrond slid from his seated position and leaned over Gil-galad, so near that his hair fell over the older Elf's shoulder. "...because I can't imagine myself in anything other than happiness, as long as I am here with you..."
Softly as a pass of silk over grass, he kissed Gil-galad, on the cheek. It was still nothing they hadn't done before, although the fact that it lingered, warm and sweet on the king's skin, put it on the threshold of boldness. As Elrond pulled back a bit, Gil-galad turned his face so that they were eye to eye, noses almost touching. For a tantalizing moment their breath mingled and then the older Elf spoke, moving lips grazing Elrond's. "I would give you greater happiness still," he whispered, "if you would only take it..."
Elrond smiled at him. "I would take it." And he kissed him again, this time less softly, on the mouth.
Continued in Part 2