Title:  Interlude  In Imladris
Author:  Emma Keigh
E-mail:  emmakeigh@ithilas.com
Rating:  NC-17
Characters:  Elrond, Gil-galad
Pairings:  Elrond/Gil-galad
Category:  Excerpt from “A Season Apart” / stand-alone pwp
Status:  As a PWP, complete; as an excerpt, WIP.
Date:  9 January 2003
Archive:  Library of Moria and where posted; elsewhere please ask first
Series:  “A Season Apart” is the continuation of “Seasons of the Heart”
Website:  http://www.ithilas.com/chezemma
Summary:  Elrond welcomes Gil-galad to Imladris.

Disclaimer:  The characters and melieux from The Lord of the Rings are 
the property of The estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and New Line Cinema (AOL). 
I only play with them from time to time for my own amusement and 
without compensation. No harm; no foul; no profit.  Anything or anyone 
new, however, is mine (left-overs again!).  

Warning:  This story contains explicit scenes of sex between consenting 
adult male elves.  If you are under age or don't care for this, LEAVE 
NOW. Not Beta-read.  You have been warned.

Notes:  In “A Season Apart,” this is a flashback, but it stands alone as a 
PWP.  The Epilogue does not appear in “A Season Apart” (at least not at 
this point in the writing.)  It will be some time before “A Season Apart” is 
posted; it’s about 20% completed.


INTERLUDE IN IMLADRIS
By Emma Keigh

Excerpted from A Season Apart

Imladris:  2583 of the Second Age.

Alone in his study, the Master of Imladris was startled by the blaring of 
trumpets.  A broad smile crossed his face for a moment, then he carefully 
schooled his features to their usual severe expression before rising from 
his desk.  He shook the creases from his robes, straightened the drape of 
the full sleeves, then made his way to the main hall.  He glanced at the 
statue of Varda, his right hand automatically touching his heart in 
obeisance.  Liveried staff stood ready, and he took his place before the 
great double doors.  A touch on his elbow told him Glorfindel was in place 
as well, a step behind and to his left.  He took a deep breath and held it for 
a moment before exhaling.  A quick nod signaled the chief attendant to 
open the doors.

Master Elrond stepped into the midday sun.  Spring was nearly spent, the 
trees in full leaf of a dozen greens; roses bloomed red and yellow, pink 
and white amidst the foliage.  The air was sweetened with a fresh breeze 
that carried the song of the nearby river, but his senses were unaffected by 
the beauty of the spring day.  The grey eyes were riveted on the leader of 
the arriving troop of riders, the one for whom the trumpets had sounded.  
His ears heard only the creak of tack as the High-king vaulted from his 
saddle and strode toward Elrond, the long traveling cloak flaring.

As one, the master and seneschal of Imladris, as well as the waiting 
attendants, sank to one knee before their king.  Standing before his host, 
Gil-galad gestured for Elrond to rise.  The greeted each other as warriors, 
right hands clasping forearms, then the king pulled Elrond into an 
embrace, holding him tightly to his chest.

“My king,” Elrond said, a sigh in his voice.  “Welcome to Imladris,” he 
continued more loudly.  They drew apart, the embrace not a second longer 
than protocol dictated.  The grey eyes, however, were brighter than before, 
and a smile broke the usually stern visage.  “Glorfindel,” Elrond called 
without taking his eyes from the king’s.  “See to the king’s companions.”

With a wave of this hand the seneschal signaled to the waiting attendants.  
Grooms erupted from the stables, each seeing to one or two of the horses, 
and the household attendants hefted the packs and bundles of the king’s 
baggage.  By the time Glorfindel steered the newcomers toward the 
barracks, Elrond and Gil-galad were halfway up the curving staircase of 
the main hall.

They knew the precise spot in the upstairs corridor where they disappeared 
from view, and two steps beyond that were again in each other’s arms, the 
brotherly kiss of welcome replaced by a passionate kiss of reunion.  Gil-
galad held Elrond’s face between his large hands, his kiss devouring and 
plundering with desire.

“Milord,” Elrond sighed as they eased apart to breathe.

“My love,” the king whispered.  They kissed again, more slowly, more 
thoroughly, as their hunger for each other was eased, their appetites for 
more whetted..

“Come,” said Elrond, his lips at the king’s ear.  “Your chamber awaits us.”

Refusing to relinquish his embrace totally, Gil-galad kept an arm around 
Elrond’s shoulders as they hastened the remainder of the way to the king’s 
chamber.  Once inside the private room they did separate, and as Elrond 
secured the door, Gil-galad shed his traveling cloak and weapons.

The twin of Elrond’s own room, and joined to it with a common sitting 
room and terrace, the kings’ bedchamber was large and airy.  The high 
ceiling was painted as the sky, the stone floor covered with a soft, deep-
piled carpet.

For travel the king was dressed as a common warrior:  heavy woolen 
breeches and a linen tunic, open at the bottom but buttoned from waist to 
throat.  Both garments were sweat stained and dusty, but Elrond’s nimble 
fingers quickly unfastened the many buttons and slid the tunic over the 
strong, broad shoulders, letting it fall unheeded.

In an instant, Elrond’s heavy mantle lay in a heap, and the king’s fingers 
worked the mithril fastenings of Elrond’s silken shirt.  Garment by 
garment they undressed each other until their bodies were fully revealed.  
They were both aroused, their nearness and the anticipation of their 
reunion more than sufficient stimulus.

“Bath or bed?” Elrond asked as they regarded each other at arm’s length, 
their hands clasped like schoolchildren’s, eyes drinking in the familiar 
sight of the other’s body; memories refreshing after their long separation.

Gil-galad gathered the more slightly built Elf into his arms again.  “If you 
can stand the stink of the road,” he joked, “I would have you first — then 
we can bathe together.”

“I think I can…” Elrond began, interrupting himself with a gasp when the 
sensitive spot on his neck was nipped, then kissed.  “…ignore…” he 
paused to run his tongue along the tip of the king’s ear.  “…the stench of 
your horse.”

Robust laughter filled the room.  “Now,” the king said as he clasped his 
arms around his lover, nearly throwing them both onto the large bed.  
Rolling to cover Elrond’s body with his own, he went on, “I shall ride 
you!”

“Yes,” Elrond gasped as the high king attacked his body with mouth and 
hands.  “Oh, yes!”

The Master of Imladris knew his king’s most intimate desires, knew how 
to satisfy his every need.  Later their lovemaking would be slow and 
sweet, but now, the first time after so long a separation, it was fervent to 
the point of desperation.  Likewise, the king knew Elrond’s most sensitive 
spots, where a touch would send a shudder throughout the lean, ivory 
body.  Few words passed between them; soon Gil-galad’s mouth was 
filled with Elrond’s hardened flesh, and naught but gasping moans of 
pleasure passed Elrond’s lips.

So well they knew each other’s needs, Gil-galad’s outstretched hand was 
immediately filled with a phial of oil from under the pillows.  A slickened 
digit broached Elrond’s entrance, and the Elf-lord shuddered anew, unable 
to thrust his hips both back and forward at the same time.  Gil-galad kept 
the same rhythm with his mouth and his hand, and when he added a 
second finger alongside the first, Elrond thrashed his head from side to 
side, hands fisted in the sheets, the pleasure nearly too much to bear.

Clamping his free hand at the base of Elrond’s shaft, Gil-galad completed 
his preparations.  Soon his own throbbing member took the place of his 
questing fingers, and he smoothly sank himself into the body of his lover.  
He watched as Elrond’s features softened with pleasure, as he relaxed to 
accept the turgid intruder.  They found their rhythm together, giving and 
accepting, climbing as one to the summit of passion, tumbling in unison 
from its heights into a timeless limbo, their spent bodies snuggling into 
place in each other’s arms.

***

Later.

Gil-galad heard a decorous ahem at the doorway, and quickly spread the 
coverlet over himself and his sleeping lover.  “Come in, Glorfindel,” he 
said quietly, loud enough for the seneschal to hear, but not to disturb 
Elrond.  He knew no one but Glorfindel would dare intrude upon them, 
and indeed, it was the tall, blond Elf who entered the bedchamber, his eyes 
discreetly averted.  “Your discretion is appreciated, but unnecessary, old 
friend,” the king advised.  “There is no shame here.”

Glorfindel turned his head, raising his eyes to meet Gil-galad’s.  The king 
reclined against the head of the bed, his long, dark hair spread across the 
white bed linens.  Though the king’s bare shoulder and chest were 
exposed, his body was modestly covered, and Elrond’s head rested on the 
king’s other shoulder, his eyes closed in slumber.  “I am sorry to intrude, 
your majesty.  Will you be dining downstairs this evening?”

Gil-galad thought for a moment, considering the tedium of dressing for a 
public meal.  “No, not tonight.”

“I shall have a meal brought to the sitting room.”

The king nodded his approval.  “A hearty meal, please.”  A smile crossed 
his face.  “I have grown weary of trail rations.”

“Of course, sir.  Your things have been brought upstairs,” he went on, 
“and I’ve told your squire to await your call.”  Without a word, he moved 
a tray with wine and goblets to the table beside the bed, then picked up the 
discarded garments, leaving them draped them over a chair.  “If there is 
nothing further you require, your majesty,” he added, “I shall leave you 
and Master Elrond to your… conference.”  When there was no answer 
from the king, Glorfindel turned away and left them alone.

“I fear he does not wholly approve of us,” Elrond whispered against the 
broad, muscular chest before planting a kiss on the smooth skin.

Gil-galad in turn kissed his lover’s forehead.  “It is not his place to 
approve or disapprove, and he knows it,” he remarked.  “We are discreet 
in public, though the Valar know we have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I wager, though, you do not disappear into your bedchamber with Amdir 
when you visit Lothlórien.”

The king laughed as he poured wine into the goblets.  He waited while 
Elrond pulled himself to sit against the head of the bed.  “Jealous?”  They 
touched their glasses together.

“Never,” Elrond answered before drinking.  He swallowed the cool, sweet 
wine, then admitted in a whisper, “Always.”

A shadow darkened Gil-galad’s features.  “More than two and a half 
thousand years, and still your childhood haunts you.”  He grasped 
Elrond’s free hand in his own and raised it to his lips for a gentle, 
lingering kiss.  “You own my heart,” he continued, clasping the hand to 
his breast, feeling his heart pound against his lover’s hand.

Elrond turned his head and kissed him, but drew away just as their 
passions were again ignited.  “My heart is yours as well,” he vowed.  “As 
my hand would be were you only to ask.”

“I know,” the king answered solemnly.  He set his goblet aside and 
stroked the smooth, ivory cheek with the back of his fingers, then drew his 
fingertips along the line of Elrond’s jaw.  “I would take your hand, my 
love, and give you mine, were it mine to give.”  His voice held touch of 
sadness, for nothing would please him more than making the Master of 
Imladris his spouse, but as High-king, he would make a political match, if 
any.  The Elven realms of Middle-earth had not suffered for his consort-
less reign, and his dealings with the lesser kings of Men and Elves were 
eased for his supposed availability.

Touching only Elrond’s chin, he claimed another kiss, their lips molding 
to each other’s.  They shifted positions, Gil-galad leaning into the 
deepening kiss, taking possession of his lover’s mouth once again.

Elrond’s arms and legs snaked around the king, holding him in a double 
embrace, and they rolled, switching top for bottom.  Pulling back, Elrond 
smiled broadly, then sniffed loudly.  “Perhaps… it would… be wise… to 
have… that bath….”  He paused between words to kiss Gil-galad’s nose, 
his cheeks, his chin, until finally the king put an end to the teasing by 
pulling Elrond’s face to his own for a searing kiss on the lips.  Without 
breaking contact, the kiss softened, and the king’s hands moved over 
Elrond’s head, fingers tangling in the dark locks.

The kiss aroused them both, but grudgingly Gil-galad pushed Elrond away 
and sprang from the bed.  “Yes, we should,” he said, his voice raw with 
passion.  He tore his eyes from his lover’s inviting body, strode to the 
wardrobe cabinet and donned a dressing gown.  As he tied the sash around 
his waist, he took a deep breath, held it, and, after a moment, let it escape 
slowly.  “See to it,” he said firmly, the ardor banished, and he disappeared 
into the next room.

Without meaning to eavesdrop, Elrond discerned his lover’s voice from 
the sitting room.  A second, unfamiliar voice answered the king’s greeting.  
Gil-galad’s new squire, Elrond surmised.  The king’s sudden change of 
mood did not surprise him; he was long accustomed to sharing his lover 
with the duties of office.  In his mind he traced Gil-galad’s train of 
thought:  bath… clean clothes… luggage… squire…  With a wry smile 
Elrond rose from the bed and took his clothes into the adjacent bath.  

The king’s private bath had been designed to accommodate not only the 
tall, sturdily-built High-king, but also his lover.  An oversized, tiled-lined 
tub was the focus of the room, intended for relaxation as well as washing.  
Elrond dropped his robes to one side and opened the taps, filling the tub 
with water piped from the hot spring high on the mountainside.  Choosing 
one from a row of crystal bottles, he added an amber oil to the water.  A 
deep breath filled his lungs with the musky fragrance he knew was Gil-
galad’s favorite.  

“You remembered.”  Strong arms circled his chest, and Elrond shuddered 
from the nipping kiss on his shoulder.  

“Of course,” he answered.  “Five years is not an eternity.”  He turned in 
the circle of Gil-galad’s arms and returned the embrace.  “It only seems as 
such,” he added, “when I rest in an empty bed.”

Their bath was a languorous combination of washing and loving, the 
cooling water finally driving them from the bath.  The westering sun drew 
them to the terrace, and they watched as reds, oranges, and purples striped 
the sky, finally giving way to the star-speckled black of night.  

“You still watch for his star each night,” Gil-galad commented when 
Elrond remained at the parapet long after the sun had disappeared, the 
bright light of Eärendil still above the western horizon.  The king retreated 
into the bedchamber, claiming a place on a comfortable divan before the 
hearth.

“What did you mean,” Elrond asked as he took a seat next to Gil-galad, 
“when you said my childhood haunts me?”

“Orphans often find it difficult to truly trust those who love them, even as 
adults.”  Gil-galad paused long enough to push the still-damp strands of 
hair away from Elrond’s face.”  I see it more in children of men, whose 
parents are mortal….”

“My parents were mortal,” Elrond reminded him, “as was I as a child.”

“Yes.”  Gil-galad nodded.  “I remember.”

“I trust you with my life,” he affirmed.

“But you do not trust my heart.  You fear — just a little — that you will 
lose me too, as you did your parents and your twin.”

“Forgive…”

Gil-galad shushed Elrond with a soft kiss on the forehead.  “It is not your 
doing, my love.”  His fingers continued to caress the younger Elf’s hair.  
“I wish I could take away your fears, but I cannot undo the past.”

“It is enough that you love me, and I you.”  Elrond’s voice was quiet, and 
the king could hear in it the remnants of the small boy he had once known.

Taking Elrond’s hand in his own, Gil-galad first kissed it, then pressed it 
to his chest above his heart.  “I swear to you, Elrond Eärendilion,” he said 
in formal language, “I will never leave you.  We may be separated for a 
time, but you will be in my heart for all eternity.”

***

EPILOGUE

Imladris:  3434 of the Second Age

“We leave at dawn for Mordor.”  Gil-galad’s voice was somber.

Elrond rose from his seat beside the hearth and went to him.  The news 
was not unexpected; the leaders of the Last Alliance had been resident at 
Imladris for three years while their forces gathered and trained together.  
“So it begins,” he said.

“If I fall,” the king went on, “you must promise you will not follow me in 
grief to the Halls of Mandos.”  He clasped Elrond’s hands so tightly, he 
knew it must be painful, but he could not release his grip.  “You are my 
Herald, my Heir.  You must continue our battle against Morgorth’s evil 
until the time of the First Born has passed.”

“Do not speak of such things, Gil-galad,” Elrond begged.  He bent his 
head and kissed their joined hands.

“We must speak of them, and now.”  He released Elrond’s hands and 
removed the Ring from his finger, pressing it into Elrond’s palm.  “This is 
the Ring Vilya.  It holds the power of the Elves, and none of Sauron’s 
evil.”

Elrond did not move his hand, letting the Ring lie untouched in his palm.  
“Do not give me this.”

“For now, I would only have it hidden and safe, and far from Mordor.  If I 
do not return, it is yours.”  Gil-galad smiled wryly.  “Or more aptly, you 
will belong to it.  A Ring of Power is a heavy burden, Elrond.  I do not 
give it lightly.”

The Elf-lord closed his eyes.  “I understand,” he whispered.  

THE END


Notes:
Amdir was king in Lothlórien in the Second Age, but was slain during the 
Last Alliance.  He was succeeded by his son, Amroth, who was succeeded 
by Celeborn and Galadriel, though they never took the titles of King and 
Queen.

© 2003 Emma Keigh
2,845 words 
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