Pairings: Elrond/Celeborn, Elrond/Gil-Galad, Elrond/Other, Erestor/Glorfindel, various others (pairings vary by chapter)
Summary: Elrond is bored, but his wish for adventure is fulfilled twofold when his kindness to a wounded enemy takes him on a bizarre journey to the most distant corner of Middle Earth and makes his reunion with reincarnated Gil-Galad more complicated that he hoped for.
Rating: NC-17
Beta: Vega – thanks sis
Warning: Explicit sexual scenes, violence, incest references, Mpreg mentioned.
Feedback: absolutely! The more the merrier! E-mail them anytime!
As the outline of the earthy shore melted in the distance Elrond finally drew his gaze away. The land of men was harder to abandon than he imagined. His daughter Arwen was a queen, Estel, his fosterling, a crowned ruler. The twins were left entrusted with the burden of guiding the fate of Rivendell. All was well, he left Middle-Earth in good hands, yet Elrond was in no mood to enjoy his voyage to the blessed realm of Valinor. The sudden desire to return tempted him and if it wasn't for Celeborn's firm grip on his ebony hair he would, in no time, swim back to shore. Elrond snorted as Celeborn licked his temple and teased the cold ear tips with his pink tongue.
"Come," Celeborn pulled on Elrond's sleeve in coy invitation, "Galadriel swears the ship's quarters are most exquisite." Celeborn's tongue dipped inside Elrond's ear and made a tickling twist. "Your precious litter is fully grown and noble at heart, if not yet very wise. They will do fine."
Elrond's dramatic eyebrow flew up.
"Fine, say you?" His hands folded tensely across his chest. "Celeborn, why do I keep envisioning my fair Rivendell burnt to ashes?"
"Aye, let them burn it down once if it's meant to be!" Celeborn waved his large hand. "You were dying of boredom there in anycase. Come now, we have a long journey ahead of us. Let us get comfortable."
Elrond glared at his father-in-law. Celeborn boldly rubbed the conspicuous bulge between his legs. Sudden freedom was intoxicating for the former lord and lady of Lorien and as soon as the ship bound for Valinor parted from the docks, Celeborn and Galadriel begun their pursuit of their long lusted after son-in-law. Celeborn guided Elrond to the royal quarters, situated on the upper deck of the elegant Elven vessel. Hardly in the mood for lovemaking, Elrond dug in his heels before the open door.
"You will not have me tonight, Lord Celeborn."
"Elrond," Celeborn pleaded, "don't stall what's been long overdue already! Have pity on my aching stem! Come, let us-please you this fine night. I brought the gentlest of passion oils, you'll see, it's as if you are licked with a thousand tongues. Come, I tell you!"
He tried to push the resisting elf through the door.
"Ce-le-booorn! What's that noise? Is that you my stallion? Quick, oh, quick! I am reeady for youuu!"
"Celeborn, I have a headache." Elrond made a full turnabout and headed away from the seductive voice of the Lorien lady.
"Oh Elrond! My delicious, come you both! Elrond, dear, come quick. I'll let you ride me all the way to Valinnor!"
Elrond pictured Galadriel sprawled atop a mound of silk pillows and fur throws, a set of two slender fingers hard at work in her tender depths. Her lips whispering his name. Oh horror! Elrond fought to peel affectionate Celeborn off but the silver-haired lord had clasped his powerful hands around the half-elf's waist like a giant octopus, all the while tearing at the intricate hidden clasps on the back of Elrond's gown.
"Aha!" hissed Celeborn triumphantly. The dark elf narrowed his eyes when he felt the collar loosened and Celeborn's tongue rolling down the back of his neck.
"Old age is no hindrance to lewdness, they say," Thranduil remarked, casually gliding by. He gave a meaningful wink to fuming Elrond. By then Celeborn had unhooked the back of Elrond's tight gown down to his hips and was getting perilously close to reaching his target. Elrond inhaled sharply when Celeborn's moist tongue dove deep inside the cleft between his buttocks.
"Mmm, right here," Celeborn chocked on his lust, "Galadriel, come out here! Now beloved, now, we will have you right here..." Thranduil showed no intention of continuing on his way to the lower deck. The elegant Mirkwood king, clad in a simple tunic of deep emerald, brushed away his loose blond as he leaned against an wooden railing.
"Thanduil!" Elrond bellowed, simultaneously clawing at Celeborn's hair in the last attempt to escape the biting lord, "there is plenty of fresh air to be enjoyed on the lower deck! Must you invade my privacy so?"
Thanduil"s laughter rung in the air. "And miss the sight of Celeborn invading your most guarded opening in the most public of places?" "Elbereth help you if I reach your throat! Your flesh would be most delicious to consume!"
"Mmm, delicious is the word!" Elrond felt another intent hand deep inside his trousers. "Mmm," Galadriel sniffed Elrond's neck, "ohm, Valar blessed my child-in-law with such...oh..brutal size," the lady rubbed her hardened nipples that were clearly visible through the fragile white silk of her dress, "must be your human blood."
One of Celeborn's hands quickly journeyed down Elrond's naval to examine his wife's find for himself.
"My lady Galadriel, I do believe we have found our salvation!" Celeborn exclaimed. "We are going to loooove Valinor!" Cornered, Elrond frowned at the couple's merry laughter. Do they intend to take me right in the open? Elrond imagined the horror of the many Lorien and Imladris elves who had come to accompany them on their journey. At the moment the benevolent Lord of Lorien was on his knees behind Elrond, hungrily licking at the exposed rear of his beloved peredhel. In front of Elrond Galadriel was zealously fishing for Elrond's private organ inside his pants. Restlessness and worry at having to part with his children left Elrond no energy to resist the relentless lust hounds. But he was never too exhausted to want to punch Thranduil. Valar, what audacity! The Mirkwood king, now perched high on the railing, was most vulgarly sucking on his middle finger!
"Mmm, delicious!" he uttered, mockingly rubbing his nipple, "simply delicious!"
"You have most definitely outlived your immortality, King Thranduil!" Elrond growled. Thranduil shrugged.
"Rage sours the taste of your seed, dear Elrond, keep your emotions leveled or the lady will find your juices unsatisfying!"
"Why you..."
Elrond froze in horror. A group of ancient Mirkwood elves materialized at the top of the stairs. Panicking the half-elf tried to retreat, desperate to conceal his naked flank, but stopped as he realized that Galadriel still had a firm hold on his genitals. He embraced the lady passionately to conceal the location of her hands.
"Spectacular sunset, is it not my lords?" the Mirkwood king spoke joyously to the already suspicious group of elders. "Come, converse with me, keep the lonely king company."
Elrond did not feel at ease around these blond ancients who had no reverence for his lordship ever since an age earlier their mortified eyes observed from above as his mouth pleasured Gil-Galad. The High King shielded his shameless Herald from criticism following the incident, but Elrond's "oral" talents had become part of the secret Elven lore no one ever forgotten. Or forgave. It was universally believed that the High King's failure to marry and sire an heir was the fault of his promiscuous Herald, who distracted the king from his most sacred duty and thus ruined the royal line of succession. The need for unity during the War of the Ring forced the Elven elders to grant Elrond their respects, but now nothing hindered the irritated elves from casting the scandalous peredhel into the abyss of lewd rumors that would poison his reputation in Valinor for eternity. Elrond forced a nervous smile.
Soon more elves came from the lower quarters to watch the sunset. They established themselves in several small bands, some perched on the many railings, some settled on the stairs. Thranduil chirped pleasantly with his companions, who intermittently cast glares in the direction of Elrond. I'd be damned if Thranduil lived to reach Valinor now, Elrond swore under his breath.
"Lord Celeborn? Mind you if I inquire about the nature of your activity?" One of the group finally inquired after observing the peculiar embrace for too long. Celeborn indiscreetly slapped Elrond's naked rump and looked up.
"My lord, I've misheard the..bah" he stuck out his tongue and spat nosily, "little hairs everywhere!" Cough. "Elrond, you shed like a cat. Is it seasonal?" He turned his attention back to the questioning elf. "I do believe I have misheard your question, sir."
The elf did not respond. His lower jaw separated from the upper at an unnatural angle. He gasped in disbelief.
"Little hairs, you say?" the elder finally managed. Elrond tensed as he prepared to present his elaborate explanation, but before he could utter a word Galadriel pulled her hands away from his groin and pushed Elrond backwards in Celeborn's embrace.
"Watch the arrow!" screamed the lady as both lords hit the oak deck boards.
"He's Dead! My Lord he is dead!"
"Don't touch him!" Celeborn yelled back at the frantic voice. Shaken by the harsh jerk and sudden fall Elrond rubbed his temples. A few feet away Celeborn and Galadriel were already crouched down in front of a chestnut-haired elf sprawled on the deck, ocean wind carelessly spilling his satin hair. Elrond rose in alarm. He immediately saw that his healer services will not be needed. A heavy, wide-bladed arrow of beige color pierced the beautiful elf's neck and pinned the poor creature to the wall. Thick blood waterfalled from his full, slightly parted lips. His mouth still stretched a little, as if death interrupted a smile. The skin of Elrond's exposed back burned against the suddenly cold air. Who? Where did the arrow come from? Elrond's gaze raced to the not so distant shores of the bay. The land was obscured by a curtain of fog. And smoke. What could be burning?
"Elrond." Celeborn addressed the peredhel in a peculiar tone. His voice trembled. "Elrond, take off your robe."
"Why?"
"Elrond! Now!" Sensing a sudden flare and burning heat Elrond shed the burning fabric.
"Valar," he whispered, gaping at the speed with which the fiery tongues consumed the delicate silks. His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden commotion of the many fleeing elves. A multitude of worried stares climbed to the top of the sails where a lodged arrow burst aflame.
"Fire!" someone screamed when flashes of light cascaded down the sail in a wave. Elrond's nostrils shifted. The smell was real. He wasn't delusional. Now clad only in short trousers the half-elf briskly moved to where the dead elf lie, still pinned to the wood. Elrond's hand traced the outline of the arrow, his warrior eyes examined its strange tail. A small sack was attached to the feathery end and from the tiny cloth fine gray sand sipped onto the decks. Pyre sand. Elrond shuddered. The self-igniting substance ensured the hasty ignition of dead bodies even under the pouring rain, but in sinister hands it could just as easily destroy the living. Pyre sand flames did not fear water, they burned with frightening speed and produced such heat that the sturdiest of wooden structures collapsed in minutes.
"Everyone in the water!" Elrond commanded over the rising commotion, "now! The ship can't be saved!" He pounced away from the body just on time to evade the sudden fountain of fire that flared from the fine gray powder. "It's an order! Jump, swim back to the shore we came from! Jump!" The dead elf was now completely engulfed in flames.
One by one the beige arrows lodged in the ship's wood ignited with fury, support ropes and ashes of the charred sails begun crushing down, disintegrating into a shower of fire and smoke. Frodo was the first to hit the tranquil waters and following the lead of the splashing hobbit the elves gracefully abandoned the burning vessel.
"Miserable, slutty halfling," spat a blond elder elf swimming by, "this is aaalll your fault! Little hairs...I cannot believe the venerable Lord Celeborn! How distasteful! How scandalous! I am telling everyone, mind you."
Elrond paused to watch the placid waves swallow the burning wreck before swimming to catch up to his kin. I suppose I saw stranger things, the half-elf though. He had no regrets about having to return to Rivendell.
"Just look at this Erestor," Glorfindel leaned closer to the sleeping trio, his chin nearly touched Elrond's moist forehead. Counselor Erestor remained at the edge of his lord's bed. He shot shy glances at his companion, while fiddling nervously with the velvet trim of his black tunic.
"Glorfindel!" he finally hissed, "have you lost your wits? Get away from them!" Glorfindel leaned closer and bared his tongue.
"Glorfindel!"
Elrond's sensitive ear reacted swiftly to the thrill whisper and before Glorfindel could retreat Elrond sit up, hitting Glorfindel's jaw with his forehead. The golden elf moaned in pain and rolled off the bed snickering. Erestor guiltily cast his eyes to the floor.
"Good morning, Lord Elrond. I come to you with an urgent matter."
The order of things never changed in Rivendell. Elrond rudely yawned and fell back on the pillow. The first light of day had barely broken the thick of the night. His crystal gray eyes scrutinized the utterly blissful faces of his twin sons. They slumbered naked with their arms loosely embracing his body. They were brave, superior in agility, and relentless in their slaughter of the Orcs, but for all their seemingly endless fierceness the twins had a share of cowardice. They slept well only at his side. He tenderly stroked his sons' ebony hair, so smooth, so silky, so much like his own.
"Do you ever sleep, counselor?" said Elrond calmly.
"No, my lord, I find it less than pleasant. Please, this is something I'd rather young lords not hear."
Elrond's slender fingers curled up in the twins' thick locks. He shook the young elves with due roughness.
"Plan on camping here all night, aren't you?" The twins darted from under the covers without even opening their eyes. They knew the routine. Glorfindel shook his head.
"Such tenderness is rare even among our kind. They've grown to weigh as much as you do, but still, I suspect you wouldn't refuse them if they asked to suckle your nipples."
Elrond's eyes narrowed slowly as he contemplated whether to continue the old argument he always lost.
"Glorfindel," he started, "what the Orcs did to my wife on a stormy night such as this could have chased the bravest of creatures into hiding and my sons were tiny elflings then. It wounded them so deeply, I can't cure them. Can't I offer them comfort at the very least?"
Glorfindel's face showed no sign of conviction.
"Sure, but this has gotten beyond comforting scared children. Elrohir licks your chest with such zeal one might think you are happily wed. And Elladan, when he is around you he is like a hound that caught a scent of a bitch in heat. He barely restrains his desire to claim you. A few more weeks of this `comforting' and they both will be riding you nightly."
"You grow bolder each day, dear friend."
"I detest seeing you in such pathetic position, bedding your own children like a common whore. You can have any elf, no one would refuse you. You need a mate, Elrond. Why won't you take one? How about fair Legolas? Young, full of vigor?"
"It was my choice to remain alone and it continues to be so, Glorfindel!"
"Oh what foolishness! Lord Celeborn is a fine match, I think, and Galadriel desires you no less, why not-" Erestor raised both hands in urgency. His ivory skin glistened with moisture and Elrond suddenly disliked the peculiar shimmer in the worried eyes of his normally unemotional counselor.
"In the Halls of Healing, my lord, there is a wounded man begging to be killed but I believe you ought to attend to him." Elrond let out an uneasy laugh. "I am a healer, not an executioner. If the man seeks death he came to the wrong place."
"Ah, you just had to bring that up!" Glorfindel's eyes flared up. "He didn't come. He was dragged here by the scouts, but on your place I would remain in bed and return to sleep. Let the snake have his wish."
"So you aren't joking, there is a patient!" Elrond briskly slid out of bed and carelessly threw a thick velvet robe over his pale nightshirt. "You both have outlived your usefulness here if you toy with life and death of another in such careless manner. Where is the poor man? Why haven't you called for me earlier?"
"I was hesitant about the prisoner, Lord Elrond, we hardly ever keep-"
"You speak in riddles counselor and you are exhausting my patience! He was a patient first and now he's a prisoner. Now which is it?"
The two raven-haired elves raced out of the bedroom, leaving frowning Glorfindel behind. They silently made their way down the marble stairs and into the shadowy maze of passages leading to the Halls of the Healing.
"I do not know my lord, he is not aggressive, but he is a Southorn."
Elrond halted abruptly, his eyes intently searched Erestor's waxy visage for a trace of mockery. He saw none.
"A Southorn. In Rivendell?"
"Yes my lord, the men of Harad are barely known to me but I am confident in my ability to tell one from the local inhabitants. He is quite a fascinating sight."
"You brought a live Haradrim into my home, do I understand you properly?"
"Forgive me," Erestor confided as his eyes trailed to the gently lighted hall at the end of the passage. At the center of the distant room a figure lie upon a high examination table, three Elven guards paced impatiently around the visitor. "I should have exercised better judgment. I was curious about the man."
Elrond placed a weak hand over his mouth.
"A Southorn. You really do know little about them if you haven't killed him on the spot."
Erestor took a defensive stance.
"I wasn't with the scouts when they brought him from the Mountains," he protested, "these are the Mirkwood elves, my lord, they are young, lacking in experience, and never saw a Southorn in these lands before. They weren't sure what to do with him. He has so much gold on him he had to have been a leader among his folk. We decided we can always kill him if-"
"No." Elrond's mind raced in apprehension. He would never admit it, but he knew little about the Haradrim himself and it was always the unknown that worried the elf-lord the most. He knew what to expect from an Orc or an Easterling, but the Southorns were unexplored territory. "Killing him where he was found would have been considered fair, but taking his life inside my house would constitute murder," Elrond said rubbing his face, "I will have to treat him now."
"A rather foolish error on your part, my lord" Glorfindel declared as he appeared from behind the vast bookshelf that guarded a secret stairway to Elrond's bedroom. "The damned nomads riding their trampling Oliphaunt beasts caused as many deaths as did the Orcs at the Battle of Pelennor Fields. And since your memory obviously fails you, may I remind your lordship that Haradrim worship the dark lord in their wicked rituals and plunder the borders of Gondor at any opportunity. These are wild and peculiar people, evil at heart and savage in custom. They are just as bad, if not worse than Orcs! His hand would not hesitate to take your life, why must yours save his?"
Elrond stared at the figure in the distance. Its slow motions under the thin bloodied blanket appeared erratic, as if the man suffered in agony. The healer sighed. Glorfindel carefully stroked Elrond's cheek with the back of his hand.
"Come back to bed, with me if you desire, or alone if you wish. Just leave, do not speak with him," Glorfindel pleaded gently. "My heart is not set right about this. The desert men do not bring good fortunes to those who harbor them. I will have other healers see to him if it will settle your concerns, but you must not touch his flesh."
"Thank the idiot guards who had to drag him in here!" Elrond hissed, pushing Glorfindel's arm away. "I would prefer a live Orc, but being a healer carries certain obligations and now I must treat him." The agitated elf-lord shook his hair resolutely and pushed past the golden elf. "Carry on with your business counselors and let me attend to mine." He strolled into the light of the Halls of Healing and in a few moments the heavy doors to the spacious halls shut with a thunder, leaving the two motionless elves standing in near dark.
"The wicked meeen of Haraaad."
"Be quiet Erestor. I find it less than humorous. Did you receive any word from the kin of Larnen in Lorien?"
Erestor considered the matter momentarily, as the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of Elrond's most favored apprentice were indeed puzzling.
"No. Why must you ask of it now?"
"It is rather unlikely that an elf so well anchored here would take off with no explanation, out of his own free will. Perhaps we should ask our guest where Larnen is."
Erestor rolled his eyes from side to side with indecision. He had grown ill from discussing the matter at the many councils the worried Elven leaders held following the disappearance. There were searches parties, but no trace of the elf was found. For all the endless talk and speculation no conclusion was ever reached as to what became of him.
"It is likely that we will never know his fate, Glorfindel. These are dangerous times, death is never far from anyone."
"I still say the Haradrim's reappearance in these lands is not coincidental. I can bet my right eye it was their archers that burned our ship. Who else would think to use pyre sand against a vessel? And that man," Glorfindel grew more agitated, "he looks nothing like the skinny nomads from the barren land of Umbar, South of Gondor. That beast is from the Far Harad, so far South we nothing about those lands. What is he doing here?"
Erestor tilted his head slightly and begun to examine his mate.
"That, my lover, you should ask him when he awakens. Calm down now, or you'll develop a heartburn."
"I have one! And that man is the source of it!"
"Darling." Erestor massaged Glorfindel's firm stomach, "he is merely an unusual patient, alone and unarmed. Go, bath yourself, I will join you in the hot springs shortly."
Erestor planted a dry kiss on Glorfindel's lips and glided towards the Halls of the Healing.
Elrond motioned for the guards to release the struggling man. They obeyed and silently exited the room.
"He has a deep cut on his left thigh and it's gruesomely infected, my lord. But he is adamant we not touch it," Erestor explained, handing Elrond a white cloth.
Elrond gazed down at the agitated patient, who suddenly went limp facing away. A splendid specimen. Erestor felt the stranger's forearm with two probing fingers. His taunt, wind-kissed skin was nearly hairless and tinted with a breathtaking deep bronze tan, the likes of which Erestor had not seen in many centuries. A set of defined cheekbones extended into the sharp jaw like that of a wild stallion, powerful and perfect, as if carved from stone. There was no trace of fat under the skin of this desert creature. His body, solid with muscle and lean for deadly speed, was a lethal weapon. Erestor carefully pulled the blanket off the leg of the unconscious Southorn.
"The Haradrim I saw before were less impressive," speculated the counselor out-loud. "He must be the chief of his tribe." His dreamy expression tensed up when he saw the disturbed look on Elrond's face as the healer examined the cut on the man's leg.
"Right to the bone. I can smell the rot setting in and it's quite ragged," Elrond concluded looking up. "Was he bitten by something?"
"A troll of some sort, I was told by the scouts, my lord." The man shifted under Elrond's probing touch.
"No! Leave me whole, or take my life!" he whispered.
"I will bring the numbing potion and the saws, my lord."
"No!"
"Elrond, the leg must be removed, there is no-"
"Erestor, I mean what I say," Elrond objected firmly, "they are nomads and the desert does not forgive the crippled. If I cannot heal him I will give him poison, it would be the humane alternative to what awaits him in his native land."
"Troll saliva is poisonous, Elrond. What will you do if not remove the limb?"
"Counselor, I hardly need advice in the matters of healing. Glorfindel is sick with desire for you. Attend to him, and let me do my work."
Deeply troubled, the chief counselor bowed hesitantly and vanished. Elrond's eyes were drawn to the strange patient, to the radiant glow of his bronze skin, to the waves of heat his feverish body radiated. Elrond prepared a silver dish of sanitized water and begun to slowly run the moist cloth up and down the length of the wounded limb. How curious, his feet are padded more than usual, like the paws of a feline, the healer thought studying his subject. Eyelashes long and abundant to shield from sand and heat. Elrond gently repositioned the man's head so that he was facing up. Remembering something he once heard Elrond carefully pulled the man's lips apart to expose two rows of ivory teeth. They were indeed more pointed and carnivorous than those of Northern men. Curious. Elrond froze in surprise. Valar, his eyes are bizarre, light hazel, almost golden, like sand dunes. Like the sun at sunset.
The healer hesitated. He gazed once more at the amber-tinted irises frozen in place. Such a stunning creature was worth saving. With defiant reserve the half-elf settled on a high-legged stool before the examination table. He quickly positioned his left hand over a silver goblet and brought the crescent blade of the delicate slicer to his wrist. The cold metal dug into the peredhel's throbbing vein. Elrond watched as the blood poured out in a steaming trickle and gathered thickly at the bottom on the goblet. When the substance reached the half-way mark Elrond closed the cut with his mouth. He willfully squeezed his eye shut and by blinking it rapidly he produced three crystal tears that dropped like diamonds into the blood-filled goblet. He stirred the mixture and briskly poured it into the depth of the Southorn's wound. Well, so much for the forbidden shedding of the Elven blood. The healer's hands craftily bandaged the wound.
In his haste to complete the bandaging he took no notice of the man awakening. Amber eyes focused on the healer. One silent hand grasped the cascade of black hair that fell over Elrond's face. The Southorn leaned forward and forcefully brought his lips to join Elrond's in an aggressive but brief kiss. He released the stunned elf-lord almost immediately. Settling back onto the examination table he closed his eyes and grew still. Elrond blinked. I expected anything from him but this. The half-elf licked his lips. He could taste the saliva of the man in his mouth. It begun to burn his throat. Immense heat spread up his breathing passages. Suddenly lethargic and dizzy, Elrond leaned on the edge of the examination table. Damned beast. He poisoned me, Elrond realized as his vision blurred.
"No, my lady, he's been asleep in this manner for two nights now and nobody has been able to awaken him. Ada opens his eyes sometimes, but he is deeply delusional. I think he'll sleep right through the Feast of Remembrance. What ails him so?" Galadriel smoothed stray hair away from Elrond's tranquil face and looked up to the worried twins.
"Southern fever, my darlings. The men of Harad carry it without growing ill but in these lands it causes sickness. Elves merely sleep it off, yet it is wise to keep your distance from the man. Leave your Adar to rest, march, march out of here!"
After the door clicked shut behind the twins Galadriel briskly slipped her hand to Elrond's furred naval. "Oh I haven't forgotten about your treasure. I will come to retrieve it soon enough." The lady kissed Elrond's forehead and departed.
Elrond opened his eyes and breathed in relief. What treasure? What is she counting on? Haven't I said that my stem hasn't risen in wet desire for months! He glided out of bed and slid the deep violet robe over his shoulders. His body called for bath but somehow the half-elf's current state of sweatiness befitted his dismal mood more than clean skin. After two nights of most fascinating hallucinations and vivid dreams he could not tolerate the dull reality of being around his noisy family. My brother was wise for choosing mortality, Elrond thought pushing open the heavy oak door, what reason is there to live endlessly if life grows so bleak? The elf glided into the shades of the alley.
The sun blinded him at first. The spring burst into Rivendell like a zealous lover, sweeping the refuge off its feet with heaps of scented blossoms and rivers of lavish grasses. The Remembrance Alley remained bare. Elrond walked into the thickness of the intertwined branches where white statues surrounded a dead water fountain. Elrond stared into the marble version of the High King.
"That weapon was so inefficient," Elrond whispered, staring at the tall spear Gil-Galad held in his mighty hand, "but you never listened to me." He looked away when the taste in his mouth grew sour. His hand silently lifted open the folds of his tunic and held free the one organ that caused all the scandal and discussion. It felt soft and powerless in the cold air. "I miss you so much," Elrond confided out loud, careful to direct the flow of urine away from the white of the stature.
"So much grace in the simple act of urination." Elrond growled at the figure of the intruder he assumed to be his silent-footed Erestor, but with rising apprehension he sensed unfamiliarity in the husky voice. "And what intriguing aroma. Do all elves smell so well?"
The healer was uncertain of what to do other than turn around to face his patient. Elrond shuddered when he discovered that the man stood only one step away. He displayed no signs of injury that nearly killed him two nights ago. The uneasy elf-lord admired the creature he returned from the dead. The Southorn stood a few inches taller than Elrond's height, his jaw broader and sharper than those of elves and eyes larger than those of local men. His long, unrestrained wavy hair was of bizarre mixed tints, reminiscent of the fur of a spotted animal, with dark chestnut prevailing but gold and hazel strands shinning through. Beneath the thickness of his eyebrows two dark amber eyes shone like two miniature suns on the verge of setting. The Southorn smiled with the corners of his mouth.
"I see you converse well in the Western tongue. What is your name, young sir?" Elrond demanded, quickly straightening up and assuming the impenetrable air proper for the ruler of Imladris.
"I spent my share of time in this land," the man spoke coming yet closer, "I am hardly young, and the name is Sazaar."
"Who must I punish for letting you out of the Healing Halls, Lord Sazaar?"
Elrond could not avoid staring with childish curiosity at the attire of the man in front of him. His long garment underlay was of ragged dusty-red and brown linens. Intricate basketwork shoulder and forearm plates, along with a wide, corset-like midriff protector, were fastened over the fabric with a web of thin leather belts. Vertical lines of azure beads, fragments of amber, pieces of animal hides, and small animal skulls decorated the weave, adding savage and intimidating grandeur to the armor.
"Master Erestor," smirked the desert man, "he seems quite fond of me and can find no better way to spite his blond lover. Glorfindel, is that his name?"
Sazaar came so close to Elrond that the half-elf could see his pupils expanding in the poor light. His brow would normally fly up in disapproval of such bold invasion of his space, but instead of maintaining his stiff expression Elrond suddenly sniffed the air and sneezed.
"I see you like the shell spice," Sazaar offered the lord a lock of his hair, "keeps lice out quite well." They shared an awkward laugh. "Walk with me," the man offered, "my leg needs exercise."
"If you say so," Elrond shrugged, following the stranger deeper into the thicket of shrubbery. "Where did you acquire such gruesome injury in the first place?"
"I made the mistake of getting in between a rutting troll and his object of affection," Sazaar replied, leading the elf deeper into the thicket, "and paid the price for so doing."
"A rutting troll," Elrond speculated, "are there female trolls?"
"Never saw one. The thing he was about to mount wasn't a female. At least I didn't surmise so, it was simply smaller and obviously willing to…"
"Stop." Elrond interrupted. "I figured what it was willing to do."
"I see. I hit a sore spot with that story, didn't I? The marble statue, was that your mate?" Elrond's gaze slanted to the side. "I see. He has been dead for some time then and although you remarried you never stopped mourning him."
Elrond looked up. "How do you know this, can desert teach you to read minds?"
"Read minds?" Sazaar chuckled, "no. But it does teach you to be observant. You have three children, they must have come from somewhere. Besides, there is a charming portrait of you and a blond lady in the Halls of the Healing."
"Very good, what can I say." Sazaar refused to release the elf-lord's yielding eyes.
"And she too has been gone for some time now, correct?"
"Correct," he answered with elevating irritation, "and I am well content remaining without a mate. Really."
"Really?" Sazaar's eyes flashed with curiosity. He stopped his advance and turned around to search Elrond's face in open challenge.
"No," Elrond admitted after a tense pause, "not really."
"I figured," Sazaar declared triumphantly. "I should think you were starved for affection since you followed me into such isolated place so willingly. It's fair enough. I ought to repay my debt to you. Which pose do you prefer?"
"Which pose?" Elrond cast his eyes away from the heated stare of the stranger, understanding the implication of the question. It was as if he regained clarity after a brief dream. How did I end up following him so carelessly? He could not recall the events of the past few minutes. All he saw was that they stood nose to nose now, like lovers caught in the thrill of first privacy, and for a moment the half-elf almost expected the man to bridge the distance between their lips again, but Sazaar made no move. He just observed how Elrond's expression evolved from shock to anger.
"I'd rather you find other means of thanking me," Elrond growled, "love-making is unlikely to bring me any pleasure. And don't dare ask why. I despise that question. Just take my word for it! I fear my lusty mating days are over. There! I said it. I want no sex! There, I said it again! Now, must I climb a tree and yell it from the top so everyone can hear and quit pursuing me with propositions?"
Valar, how did I just allow myself to reveal such intimate pains to an enemy? Elrond cautiously glanced at the Southorn. The eyes of the desert man were utterly terrifying. One look and Elrond's tongue forgot all limits. He was disarmed, he could not lie or even think straight. There was something to Glorfindel's warning about the Haradrim after all, the half-elf decided. Sazaar had a strange power to manipulate and his raw, blunt appeal was so irresistible that despite danger Elrond was too intrigued to want to leave his company.
"Go on," Sazaar urged, his stare becoming softer, "anything else you want to tell me that you can't say out loud to anyone else?"
"Trying the kindness approach now?"
"No, simply keeping our conversation alive," Sazaar shrugged. "Can't we talk?"
"Care to take this conversation some place less private?" Elrond offered, gently evading Sazaar's advancing body.
"Your bedroom, then? You smell oh so enticing." Elrond eyed his new companion. This had the potential to turn into another grand scandal, he knew. As soon as the news about `the Haradrim' reached the pointed ears of the refined Elven elders, a wave of rumors would sweep to all corners of Middle Earth. Very well, give the old crows something to talk about, Elrond decided.
"My bedroom, then," he declared, "but with one condition. You will not have me. Not so quick, in any case."
"Elrohir!" demanded Glorfindel as the Elven youth strode into the grand Hall of Deliberation. All eyes turned to the annoyed twin. "Where is your Adar? Have I not asked to summon him?" The timid elf shrugged apologetically and took his place next to his brother Elladan, who immediately placed his hand on Elrohir's groin. Glorfindel shook his head in disapproval.
"I don't believe so, young lord," hissed the golden-head, "I'd be damned if I allowed you two rutting critters to soar on the wings of orgasm." The room filled with merry laughter. Elrohir shrugged again and relocated next to his grandfather.
"Rutting is healthy," Celeborn winked at his grandson, patting his leg.
"Elrohir definitely takes after his father," said one of Thranduil's counselors.
"Indeed," replied the king, "he definitely has trouble keeping his legs shut!"
Lady Galadriel stood at the head of the table, her taunt smile accurately reflected the nervous mood of the Elven leaders. King Thranduil stopped banging his fist on the table and looked up.
"Pay attention!" he kicked at the carved chair of his son Legolas, who has been absentmindedly tracing circles on the glassy surface. At the end of the row a napping Mirkwood ancient ceased snoring and propped himself up. Silence established.
"Recently," begun the lady, "I have discovered the reason for the prolonged silence of Cirdan the Shipwright, my lords. The last messenger arrived in Lorien with a parchment not long ago. He brought a sack with skulls of the other four messengers." The startled elf-lords exchanged apprehensive looks. "Lord Cirdan is alive and well," Galadriel raised her hand to silence the commotion, "but as feared the civil war cannot be avoided. Several provinces in South Lindon have challenged Cirdan's authority as the ruler of the land. They demand sovereignty and wish to crown their own king. The people of the Northern Lindon pledge their allegiance only to Cirdan and have taken up arms to keep the kingdom united. Many have been slain-"
"Aye, Galadriel, we have been down this path already." Thranduil no longer looked interested. He leaned back in the woven-back throne and folded his arms across his chest. Galadriel ignored the annoyed Mirkwood king.
"The city of Mithlond on the Gulf of the Great Sea is at the heart of the dispute, my lords, and as both armies claim it as their territory it is our Elven folk that bear the price. Cirdan writes that the city has suffered brief occupation this year already and in the coming months, as the rival armies grow stronger, the Grey Havens will turn into a battleground. Cirdan calls for our assistance at once." The lady paused to allow the lords to contemplate her words.
"Is the city not fortified, Lady Galadriel?" Legolas spoke first. "It has withstood volatile times before, why fear its fall now?"
"It is a city of tranquil elves and peaceful traders, young prince, no longer a military stronghold as in the times…of the High-King Gil-Galad."
Thranduil snorted in frustration. "You won't ignore me any longer, Galadriel! I am fed full with these pleas for help! Men, beasts, and all the various halflings, why must we defend everyone when perils knock on their door?"
"Not everyone, Thranduil. We speak of Mithlond, the ancient Elven home. Since when have we chosen to abandon our own kind?" Celeborn objected.
"Our kind?" Thranduil shook his slender finger. "Nooo, Lord Celeborn, your kind! The Teleri elves! What are they waiting for in that ghost city when they should have sailed for Valinor centuries ago?"
"The fleet of Cirdan's ships is burned," Celeborn narrowed his lustrous eyes. "If the city falls, you or your tail-followers will not be sailing anywhere any time soon either!"
King Thranduil signaled for his counselors to lean closer. One of the elves unrolled a giant beige map. Thranduil studied the ancient paper carefully, his fingers caressed the outlines of the familiar region. He could not comprehend it.
"I know South Lindon by heart," the king declared, "every house, every clan, every province. None of the noble South Lindon leaders ever had any sovereignty claims. They always upheld Cirdan's authority and I cannot see why they would suddenly denounce him."
"Cirdan is a wise but a shy ruler," Erestor speculated. "He guards the crown and governs Mithlond well, but he has permitted the affairs of the land outside the city to take their own course. Men hunger for power under a weak king."
"I still say there is more to this 'war' than meets the eye, my lords, but, if Lord Elrond agrees to send reinforcements to Mithlond, I'll do the same." The lips of the king spread in a cobra smile. "Where is Lord Elrond?" he asked with mock concern, "this haste council can use his wisdom."
"Where is he, indeed?" Galadriel reiterated.
"Resting, in his quarters," Elladan lied quickly. Erestor cleared his throat. "And as his chief counselor I give permission to send reinforcements to Mithlond on Lord Elrond's behalf."
"It's agreed upon then," Celeborn rose from his seat to signal the end of the council. "Our soldiers depart for Lindon at once."
"Oh very well!" Thranduil threw his arms up. "Damn Elrond! Oh that scandalous old jackal! It was his fault that Lindon ended up with that bearded goat Cirdan as a ruler in the first place and now look what mess it has turned into! And he is resting!" The king rolled up his map and forcefully slapped the back of Legolas' chair with the parchment.
"Get up!" he ordered. "As for your proposal," Thranduil pointed the map at Celeborn, "mind you that I have agreed to nothing! Not one of my brave warriors shall march to the Grey Havens until I travel there myself and see with my own two eyes what trouble Cirdan has gotten himself into! All these talks of war sound insane to me."
Elrohir exchanged spiteful stares with the lean Mirkwood elves on their way out. "My regards to your Ada," Thranduil smacked Elrohir's chest with the rolled-up map. "I hope to speak with him at the High King's Remembrance Feast. Farewell." Elrohir noisily shut the door behind the annoying elf.
"Ada is with our…guest, isn't he Erestor?" The counselor stared contemplatively at the questioning youth. Elladan nodded vigorously.
"The yellow-eyed hound, oh most definitely, dear brother, he just smells like lust and Ada has a good sense of smell, no doubt."
"Elladan!" Glorfindel painfully twisted the young elf's pointed ear. "Have you no sense of decency!" He showed the grimacing twin his hefty fist.
"But it is true that the Haradrim are fierce like gods in bed!"
"I hope to Valar that you will have better sense than to test that theory, young sir!" hissed Glorfindel, viciously twisting Elladan's other ear. "Your father's obsession with the creature is troublesome enough!"
"Obsession?" Celeborn cocked his head.
"He is with that he-witch from dawn to dusk, every minute of every hour!" Glorfindel cried. "We are fortunate to even catch a glance of our wise lord these days!"
Galadriel reached out to caress the forearm of the shrieking elf, but Glorfindel batted the lady's hand away and hissed in distress. "He is detached from everything, neglects his duties, sleeps late. This is the second council Elrond neglected to attend altogether since that vermin was brought in with a troll bite! Bah!
He is hardly the talkative type, Valar knows why they have so much to discuss!"
Galadriel frowned. "Is that all they do? Just talk?"
"Then what is so terrible about it?" Elrohir asked cautiously. "The man may simply be a good listener."
"And I am sure his `listening' organ is long enough to silence a mouth from one foot away," Elladan smirked.
"Where did you get that Southorn anyhow," Celeborn demanded of wary Erestor.
"He was drinking from a stream when the scouts discovered him and they had no heart to kill a defenseless, wounded man."
"Defenseless?" Celeborn shook his head. "I befriended many
Haradrim spice merchants and have a clear idea of what a common nomad looks like. Your Sazaar is nothing like them. His hair grows down his neck and his jaws are made to break spines. He may be part Uruk-hai. And he obviously no longer needs Elrond's care, so why keep him here?"
"One cannot be part Uruk-hai and be born with such stunning features," Elrohir offered, avoiding Celeborn's steel eyes. "Besides, he has shown no aggression here."
"Not yet! They are witch-folk, lads!" Glorfindel raged. "Have you seen your Ada? I don't know how but the desert man bewitched him into oblivion!"
Galadriel massaged her temples with her delicately carved fingers.
"Maybe that is what he wants," she said speculatively. "Elrond is unwell in his spirit. I watched him cut out a strand of gray hair. A graying elf is an unhappy elf, and the upcoming anniversary of Gil-Galad's death will only deepen his misery. He desperately seeks something to distract him and I suspect that is why he has kept his patient for so long. I dislike and distrust the Haradrim no less than you, but if Elrond allowed him so close, he must have his reasons. I trust that he will exercise good judgment. On your place, Glorfindel, I would leave the matter alone and observe, rather than participate in its development."
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