Title: Even Quicker Than Doubt 6/25
Author: Keiliss	
Pairings: Gil-Galad/Glorfindel, Elrond/Erestor
Rating: R 
Summary: Possibilities and assumptions.
Beta: Fimbrethiel


-----------


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.

==========



Title: Even Quicker Than Doubt 7/25	
Author: Keiliss	
Pairings: Gil-Galad/Glorfindel, Elrond/Erestor
Rating: R 
Summary: Glorfindel looks back, Elrond tries to be responsible, Gil-galad has an 
interesting morning.
Beta: Fimbrethiel


-----------


Glorfindel sat quietly as Elrond’s strong fingers massaged his neck and 
shoulders and felt the tension slowly beginning to drain out of him. In the 
comfortable silence, the rising wind could be heard, rattling the windows.

“I think I was over-reacting earlier,” he said finally. It was starting to occur 
to him that he had probably described Gil’s actions in a less than flattering 
light. “It’s not really about Gil, anyway. It’s about me. I get things tangled 
up sometimes, explain them badly.”

Elrond snorted. “I was wondering how long it was going to take you to start 
making excuses for him. Someone needs to point out to my cousin that it can’t 
always be about what he wants, and it can’t always be where and when he wants 
it, either.”

Glorfindel shook his head and said, his voice soft and a little sad, “It’s as 
though I threw him away, made him irrelevant.”

Elrond gave firmer attention to the tense shoulders. “What do you mean, Glori? 
Threw whom away?” he asked, completely confused at the apparent change in 
direction.

“Ecthelion,” Glorfindel said simply. “Every day I give up something more, and 
last night I finally gave him up for good. The worst part is that I try so hard 
not to dwell on the past that I didn’t even understand what was wrong to begin 
with."

Elrond continued massaging, keeping his movements smooth and even. “Do you want 
to talk about it?” he asked quietly.

Glorfindel seemed to think for a minute, then said slowly,

“I knew Ecthelion for years, and I loved him, but I always said no. What 
happened last night makes him look - smaller somehow.”

Glorfindel paused and then went on more animatedly, “It’s the same with 
everything – my past, my family, my city, my King. In the beginning, it felt 
like trying to be two different people, but now I think I’m starting to forget 
who I really am. No one will talk about the past; everyone acts as though I had 
no life before this one. I feel lost, cast adrift. Soon the only Glorfindel will 
be the one brought to shore at Mithlond a few months ago.”

“I don’t know about anyone else,” Elrond said thoughtfully, “but I was never 
sure if you wanted to talk about the past, or even how much you remembered of 
it. I wanted to ask you about Gondolin, what it was really like, but I wasn’t 
sure….”

Glorfindel flashed him a small, quick smile over his shoulder, his face lighting 
up. “I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he said.

“Talking about something has a way of keeping it alive, so we would both gain 
from it. I was trying to read about Gondolin, but the only book I could find was 
deathly dull,” Elrond told him “The writer somehow managed to make even the Fall 
seem boring. As for your fight with the Balrog….” His voice trailed off in 
something like horror as he realised what he was saying.

To his surprise and relief, Glorfindel just shook his head in something rather 
like amusement. “You might even know more about it than I do,” he suggested. “It 
all happened so fast in the end that I’ve never been clear about all the 
details.” He leaned back into Elrond’s touch. “If you’re interested, I’d love to 
tell you about Gondolin. Your roots lie there, after all. Your great-grandfather 
was my King.”

He started talking in a quiet voice about his city, speaking about small 
everyday things: her parks and buildings, her people, the birds, the encircling 
mountains. His voice stumbled a little on occasion as he bit back tears.

Ecthelion was a thread within this narrative as well, someone adored but never 
surrendered to. Elrond listened to the idealized description and quickly built 
up a picture of a self-absorbed Elf, large on demands, but with no apparent 
interest in anyone’s needs beyond his own. He silently applauded Glorfindel’s 
instincts. He would not have trusted Ecthelion for a moment.

Finally, as he had wished, Elrond heard firsthand about the end of the Hidden 
City, of his grandparents’ courage, of Dragons and of Balrogs. Ecthelion died, 
the High King fell. Buildings burned, death rained down on people attempting to 
flee in terror. Finally, as though it was a small thing, a matter of no great 
importance amidst all this destruction, Glorfindel described the stand taken by 
a lone Elf, neither the largest nor the strongest of Turgon’s warriors, holding 
a creature of fire at the point of his sword while those under his protection 
escaped.

And he spoke of death: fire and a roar like thunder and a whip of flame, and of 
smoke, burning his lungs, his eyes, feeling his eyelashes shrivel on his face as 
he fought a being of nightmares. He had known himself defeated before he began; 
he was facing something far larger, stronger, older. He had known, also, that he 
simply had to hold the demon back for a while – just a little while – long 
enough for the smallest feet, the weakest legs to make good their escape. No 
longer than that. A life measured once in eternity, now defined in minutes.

He had nearly beaten the monster too, by chance, by luck, by virtue of his 
determination to hold it off for as long as possible. Only at the last, the whip 
caught and tangled in his long hair, which he had not been able to find time to 
braid back. They had fallen together, and Glorfindel could remember his hand 
shrivelling, lost with his final sword-thrust into the depths of that being of 
fire and darkness.

He remembered pain that went beyond pain and turned instead to a deep biting 
cold, and an overwhelming sadness at this ending, at the loss of sun and wind 
and beauty and love. And then there had been a place of gray. He passed into 
mist, to emerge again in the boat off the quay at Mithlond, waking from mist.

There was silence for a time, save for the sound of the wind, then Glorfindel 
seemed to shake himself before saying,

“I wasn’t implying that I regret having been returned like this, even if I don’t 
understand it. And from the time I arrived, everyone has been wonderfully 
welcoming. Círdan was kind when I needed compassion and quiet; you and Elros 
welcomed me. And Gil…” Glorfindel was still for a minute. Finally he said, “Last 
night it was as though my entire life had brought me to that moment. It was as 
though everything before had been painted in shades of gray, and I saw colour 
for the first time.”

He sat quietly, trying to find the right words, while Elrond ceased any pretence 
at massage and stood instead stroking the shining golden hair that had dragged 
the Elf to his death. Something caught his eye, and thinking it a trick of the 
light, he looked closer. Faintly, as though painted on with a fine brush, was a 
thin line of palest bronze in Glorfindel’s hair. It began close to his scalp and 
twined down to a spot half way down his back, before fading again into bright 
gold.

With a fingertip Elrond traced the line imprinted into the hair, careful not to 
draw the blonde’s attention. He never mentioned it, and to the best of his 
knowing, no one else ever noticed it, but he understood what he had seen. 
Written softly, flame in gold, Glorfindel carried the mark of the Balrog.

“Last night I gave Gil the only thing that hadn’t been taken from me,” 
Glorfindel said at last. “There is nothing else. It was something I would have 
given Ecthelion, long ago, but…it never felt right, somehow. That’s why I felt 
bad about it, I suppose. I don’t even expect it to mean as much to Gil as it did 
to me. There must have been so many before me.”

He smiled wistfully. “It was nice to finally belong somewhere, just for a little 
while. I suppose I need to learn to enjoy it for what it is and not expect too 
much. I need to be realistic about something for once in my life.”

Elrond, still staring at the scarred hair, roughly wiped unexpected tears from 
his cheeks and took a breath or two to steady his voice and bring himself back 
from the unequal battle on the Cristhorn Pass, to the room in Lindon, the sound 
of the gusting wind. He remembered briefly his doubts at Glorfindel’s ability to 
tell a tale of any length, and smiled at himself and his instant judgments. He 
returned his hands to the strong shoulders and dropped his head so that his chin 
rested on the top of Glorfindel’s head.

“You have every right to expect to be more than just another name on Ereinion’s 
list,” he said firmly. “You are nothing like his usual choice, anyway. You’re 
smart and kind and funny and don’t even understand that you are a hero –“

“I’m not funny, Elrond. I wish I was, but I’m not.”

“Oh, you’re improving,” the Half-elf chuckled. “You just need to stop taking 
everything quite so seriously. Including Ereinion.”

-----------

As he made his way to his cousin's office, dressed with the sort of attention to 
detail suitable for an interview with one of the Valar - or possibly Lord Círdan 
in a particularly bad mood - Elrond contemplated the less convenient side of 
allowing people into his life. It was a very new experience for him. Well, there 
was Laslech, of course, but she hardly required the same sort of concern and 
involvement Glorfindel needed.

It was one thing to feel empathy and concern for Glorfindel, who was still 
adjusting to new people, new surroundings and was, therefore, highly vulnerable. 
It was something entirely different to take the next logical step and confront 
his cousin concerning his intentions towards the blonde.

He knew Gil-galad’s reputation for passionate but short-lived affairs and had 
drawn his own conclusions about what had transpired from Glorfindel’s admittedly 
brief description of their evening. Something had to be said, and Elrond hoped 
he could avoid being thrown out long enough to make his point.

When he reached the large office Gil-galad usually referred to as his workroom, 
it was to find the door open and neither of the assistants anywhere to be seen. 
The King sat with his back to the window, the light outlining his broad 
shoulders. He was bent over a small pile of documents selected from the larger 
sprawl on the table. The sun hinted at soft red lights in his lustrous black 
hair. Faint, daytime sounds drifted in through the open window. The room itself 
was quiet, peaceful.

Elrond cleared his throat gently, just sufficient to break the silence. Gil-
galad, the good soldier, responded immediately. For a moment he stared blankly, 
then he put down the parchment and leaned back, looking the Half-elf up and down 
expressionlessly. He nodded slowly, as though something had been confirmed for 
him.

“Good morning, Elrond,” he said mildly. “Something I can help you with?”

Elrond took a deep breath and released it slowly. He had recognised the routine 
Erestor had followed the previous evening as one practiced by warriors from the 
Wandering Companies. Besides their expertise in a variety of the killing arts, 
they were noted for the mental discipline that gave them, in time, the ability 
to distance themselves at will from fear and tension. He wondered if he could 
persuade Erestor to teach him this.

"I wanted a word with you about Glorfindel, if you have a moment,” he said 
carefully. “You were the one who pointed out that Elros and I owed him for the 
Balrog, and I suppose looking after his interests should correctly be our 
responsibility.

Gil-galad continued to study him, his face expressionless. Elrond knew that the 
matter between Glorfindel and the King was essentially none of his business. Now 
that he was actually facing Gil-galad, he wasn’t even sure what to say, how to 
explain his concern without going into detail about a conversation it had not 
been necessary for Glorfindel to tell him was confidential.

He was, however, determined to it made very clear to Gil-galad that using and 
discarding the blonde in his usual way was not going to be acceptable. Elrond, 
who had noticed early that appearances were important in setting a mood, had 
even gone to the trouble of dressing in a manner that would suggest he should be 
taken very seriously.

"I just wanted to be sure you realise how disoriented he still is. You do know 
he’s far from settled, don’t you?” Elrond asked, pushing ahead with the approach 
he had decided on while making his way to the upper level. “It’s also very 
difficult for him, I think, to get used to his changed circumstances. For the 
first time in his life he has nothing of his own and is completely dependant on 
others…”

The last point had been a mistake. Gil-galad’s eyes narrowed slightly, and he 
leaned forward, propping an elbow on the table’s edge and resting his chin on 
his hand, although he remained quiet. That unblinking stare was beginning to 
affect Elrond’s usually steady nerves.

"You are suggesting - what?" Gil-galad finally asked.

"I'm suggesting that he’s extremely vulnerable right now, and he seems to have 
developed quite – romantic - feelings towards you. I wanted to be sure you were 
keeping all these facts in mind,” Elrond said in an even voice.

Gil-galad blinked. "Are you suggesting I’ve taken advantage of him in some way?" 
he asked in a dangerously soft voice.

Elrond heard the warning, but kept going anyway.

“I’m suggesting,” the Half-elf said with careful patience, trying to pick his 
words, “that what you might consider a pleasant interlude may seem somewhat more 
important to him.”

“Ah.” Gil-galad said tonelessly. “Let me see if I’ve understood this correctly. 
Not only am I taking advantage of the fact that he is completely dependant on 
me, but I am also actively misleading him and preying on his feelings for me. Is 
that what you’re trying to say?”

“I think I’m trying to politely express my concern that you might end up 
treating him like yet another of your casual bedmates," Elrond retorted, his 
tongue responding without reference to his brain.

Gil-galad had always indulged his two young cousins, ever mindful of the trauma 
they had survived, and allowed Elrond more or less free rein with his tongue. 
But this time the Half-elf had gone too far, and he knew it as soon as the words 
left his mouth.

Gil-galad sat utterly immobile, looking at him. Elrond’s well-defined survival 
sense told him that, should the King start to get up, running might be the 
sensible option. Gil-galad’s usually friendly blue eyes had changed. They were 
very clear, very cold, like a winter sky. Elrond felt as though the air had been 
sucked out of the room. Finally, in a quiet, even voice, the King said, “What 
was that?”

Too far down the road to turn back, Elrond stood his ground. “You lured him to 
your rooms, you fed him alcohol, knowing he drinks very little, you took him on 
the floor – on the *floor*! You didn’t even respect him enough to offer him your 
bed. What else should I think? He trusts you, and worse still, he doesn’t even 
seem to realise he has a right to expect more from you…”

He never saw Gil-galad move. Elrond’s words were cut off as alarmingly strong 
hands grasped his arms. His next awareness was of being pinned up against the 
wall beside the door, held at eye level to the King. Alarmingly, where Elrond 
would have expected those eyes to be blazing with anger, they were still ice 
cool. Deadly.

“Is this how Glorfindel feels?” Gil-galad wasn’t even breathing hard. Elrond, 
who prided himself on being fit and physically quite tough, knew himself to be 
too far outclassed to even begin to consider struggling. He kept talking, 
however; he’d survived worse experiences during his time with Maedhros, whom he 
had irritated beyond endurance on numerous occasions. At least the King was 
mentally stable. He’d had his doubts about Maedhros.

“I got him to admit that there had been a lot of wine, and that it happened on 
the floor in front of the fire. And he implied that he knows it wouldn’t have 
meant anywhere near as much to you as it did to him. It wasn’t right, Ereinion,” 
he added recklessly. ”I know you wouldn’t deliberately set out to hurt anyone, 
but I think you might be forgetting that contrary to popular opinion, he isn’t 
some mysterious hero. He’s confused and alone and… I just wanted you to be 
careful and not make things even more painful for him. He has too much else to 
deal with right now. He just needs to feel safe, I think,” Elrond finished 
quietly. “You seem to give him that.”

The expressionless blue eyes considered him a moment longer, and then he was 
released. Elrond leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Unexpectedly a hand 
reached out and began to tidy his hair, which had somehow started to come loose 
again.

“No one was used, Elrond, give me a bit more credit than that,” Ereinion said 
quite gently. “I know how vulnerable he is. Not just right now, but probably for 
most of his … previous life, too. If Glorfindel feels I was less than sincere, 
then that is to my shame and a matter for me to rectify. I respect the fact that 
you were angry on his behalf, and I apologize if I hurt you.”

He dropped the hand to rest in an almost friendly manner on Elrond’s shoulder 
and gave him a very slight shake. “And if you should dare try to tell me how to 
conduct my private life again - ever - be warned. Next time I won’t be as 
tolerant.”

Gil-galad released the younger Elf, giving him a slight push in the general 
direction of the door. Elrond gave him an enquiring look, for once having the 
sense to keep quiet. Gil-galad nodded and pointed. Elrond, rather to the relief 
of both of them, left.

Gil-galad went back to the table and looked thoughtfully at the work awaiting 
his attention. His rule was that business came first, that more personal 
concerns could not be indulged in until such time as the tasks outlined for the 
day were completed.

However, Elrond had gone to a lot of trouble, right down to that impeccably tidy 
hair, before confronting him, and his concern had been genuine, even though less 
than diplomatically expressed. Gil-galad was good at getting his priorities 
right. For the first time since becoming King, he left the day’s work unfinished 
and went instead in search of Glorfindel.

==========


Title: Even Quicker Than Doubt 8/25	
Author: Keiliss	
Pairings: Gil-Galad/Glorfindel, Elrond/Erestor
Rating: R 
Summary: Elrond's day gets worse, Gil-galad has an interesting afternoon.
Beta: Fimbrethiel


-----------


Glorfindel had spent an unsatisfactory sort of morning. Having no duties or 
responsibilities had swiftly lost any attraction it might have held, and he 
intended making a point of asking Gil what plans, if any, had been made for his 
future. He had never known this amount of leisure in his life, and it was 
becoming increasingly difficult to find ways to fill the day.

Talking to Elrond had solved little of the confusion he had felt on waking, but 
sharing the past had certainly helped lift his spirits. He was often surprised 
by how genuinely caring Elrond could be, especially when he thought no one was 
paying too much attention.

Glorfindel knew that a large part of his apprehension was rooted in his personal 
inexperience. He had no idea what would happen next time he and Gil met, nor 
what was expected of him. What he did know was that if Gil placed as little 
importance on their night together as he feared might be the case, then 
something in him would die a little and Ecthelion’s memory would return to 
accuse him for a very long time.

He was, in fact, busy telling himself to stop worrying until he could see Gil’s 
response for himself, when, turning to take a shortcut across the lawn, he 
spotted the King striding purposefully straight towards him.

The previous night rushed back, a tumble of words and caresses, naked skin and 
life-altering pleasure. Glorfindel felt the colour rise in his cheeks and cursed 
himself. Gil-galad came to a stop in front of him, giving him an intent look 
before smiling his greeting.

“You’re a bit of a challenge to find, you know,” Gil commented. “This is my 
second attempt. The first time I seemed to keep missing you. Where do you get to 
when you're on your own?” His tone was easy, amiable, but his eyes were alert.

Glorfindel returned the smile, gesturing vaguely. “I just left the stables. I 
wanted to have a look at Carod; he was limping a little yesterday.”

Gil nodded. “I wondered if you might be there. Are you on your way anywhere in 
particular, or do you have time for us to talk for a few minutes?”

Glorfindel laughed a trifle wistfully. “Gil, time is something I have more than 
enough of. Please, whatever it is, go ahead.”

He marveled at the lack of awkwardness in their conversation. Gil had said 
nothing out of the ordinary, which was only natural as they were in that most 
public of places - the central courtyard of the Palace, but there was a look in 
his eye that had not been there previously, a warmth that effortlessly 
diminished Glorfindel’s concerns. Unbidden, his thoughts flew back and he could 
almost feel Gil’s mouth on his throat, and was startled by the sudden heat that 
washed over him.

Gil was watching him with interest, still smiling slightly. “Let’s get inside 
out of this gale,” he suggested, gesturing towards the entrance leading to the 
main staircase. “We can’t talk here. Not about the topic I have in mind, at any 
rate.”

They went inside together, up the staircase and along corridors, finally 
reaching Gil-galad’s workroom. Once inside, the King closed the door and 
wordlessly pulled Glorfindel to him and proceeded to kiss him. Glorfindel 
stopped trying to think and simply responded.

The kiss started slowly and unpretentiously enough, but quickly accelerated into 
something considerably more than a simple expression of affection. When at last 
they separated, both were flushed and panting, leaning against the wall and each 
other. Glorfindel’s long, blonde hair had somehow wound itself around Gil’s arm 
and hand, and Glorfindel’s hands were under the King’s shirt, pressed flat 
against warm flesh. There seemed to be very few questions left; Gil, however, 
had a couple.

“Tell me something,” he asked, between breaths. “Did you feel in any way used, 
taken advantage of, last night? That I was less than sincere? And where the hell 
were you when I woke up, anyway?”

“Gil, I didn’t feel ready to let the whole of Lindon know whom you amused 
yourself with last night…”

Gil broke in firmly. “I did not ‘amuse’ myself, as you put it. Is that the way 
it seemed to you? I spent the night with someone I haven’t known very long, but 
who means an immense amount to me.” He leaned in again and emphasized the words 
with a lingering kiss.

Glorfindel drew back, shaking his head. “Gil, no, of course I didn’t think that, 
not really. But there will be so much gossip and speculation…”

“What, more than what there is already? They’ve been laying odds on it for the 
last two weeks, I believe...”

Glorfindel stared into the light blue eyes in disbelief, seeking some hint of 
mischief, but they were completely serious. Something of his discomfort must 
have shown in his face because, after returning his stare, Gil leaned forward 
with a sigh so that their foreheads touched. “All right,” he said eventually. 
“I’ll give you a little time for discretion, but I am not prepared to act as 
though we are doing something wrong. It’s enough that I had to hear Elrond’s 
thoughts on the subject; I don’t want anyone else getting the same idea.”

“Elrond?” Glorfindel asked, puzzled.

Gil nodded, half laughing. “You saw him this morning, am I right? Let me guess - 
you got trapped into telling him where and how you spent the night, didn’t you?”

They stood, leaning together with their foreheads still touching, Glorfindel 
sighed. “He’s impossible. Before you even realize you’ve opened your mouth, you 
find yourself telling him things you didn’t even know you knew... Should I have 
kept quiet?” he asked with a sudden flash of concern. “I wasn’t discussing you, 
I just…needed to talk and he’s a good listener, strangely enough...”

Gil was struck by the wistful tone, and wondered for the hundredth time how he 
would have coped with being drawn out of his time and place and set down amongst 
strangers with no idea of what was expected from him - no reason for his 
continued existence. He drew Glorfindel closer, resting his cheek against the 
waves of soft, golden hair.

“Of course you can confide in him,” he said gently. “And in me as well, 
remember? At least he’s showing concern for someone other than himself for a 
change. He seems almost as fond of you as he is of that dog. Considering his 
opinion of most people, you can take that as a huge compliment.”

Glorfindel turned, his head against Gil’s shoulder, and glanced around the room, 
taking in the quiet disorder out of which the King was known to be happiest 
working. The table was in the process of disappearing under the sprawl of 
documents, although a corner had been cleared to make place for a tray bearing 
an assortment of bread, cheeses, and fruit as well as an untouched wine cup.

“Haven’t you eaten yet?” he asked, still leaning against Gil and nuzzling his 
neck softly, not exactly kissing his throat so much as caressing it with his 
mouth. He was quite content to stay there within the circle of Gil’s arms, 
savouring the reassurance that closeness gave him. Gil - solid, assertive and 
confident - was the perfect antidote to insecurity.

“Wasn’t really hungry,” came the answer, close to his ear. “After nearly 
throttling Elrond, I was more interested in finding you, making sure things were 
well between us. Food somehow didn’t seem very important.”

He gave Glorfindel one final hug and then released him, standing back to brush 
gleaming golden hair back from a face that was already looking far more relaxed 
than when they had first run into one another.

“When I found you’d left, I guessed, rightly I hope, that you probably didn’t 
want to be there when my staff started wandering through. It wasn’t till Elrond 
accused me that I though you might have been avoiding me instead. He has a way 
of making a point,” he added with a rueful smile.

Glorfindel looked concerned. “Looking back, I might not have explained myself 
properly. I did try and tell him that, but he doesn’t always listen. I was 
feeling – unsure about a few things this morning. I need to start watching my 
tongue, I suppose.”

Gil snorted with amusement. “With Elrond?” he asked.

He turned and went over to the table, scrutinizing the tray, before retrieving a 
peach slice. "Don’t waste your time. If he wants to know something, he’ll stop 
at nothing. He currently has nothing better to fill his time with. He’s bitter 
and angry and unhappy, and he makes it his business to share the pain. You like 
peaches, don't you? “he added, offering the fruit to Glorfindel who, joining him 
at the table, surprised him by resting a hand lightly on his wrist, leaning 
forward and allowing himself to be fed.

He licked the juice off Gil’s fingers almost unthinkingly and asked, “Angry 
about what? I know he’s unhappy, though getting him to talk about something when 
he doesn’t want to is impossible, but…”

Gil, who had been watching Glorfindel with a mixture of curiosity and increasing 
interest, selected an orange segment, which he held offered the blonde after 
first sampling it himself. “For most of his life, the only family he had was 
Elros. At the end of the month, they separate for life. Elros goes to Númenor; 
Elrond stays here.”

He paused, his face thoughtful. This was a decision that he had found puzzling 
and unlikely from the start. The twins were very dissimilar but nonetheless 
close. He would have expected them to wish to remain together. No amount of 
careful probing on his part, however, had elicited an explanation from either of 
them.

“They made their choices for whatever reasons appeared relevant to them at the 
time,” he continued. “Elros seems content enough with his lot. Elrond, I think, 
is finding it very hard to come to terms with losing his brother. Elros is the 
strong one – Elrond just puts on a very good face.”

Gil stopped talking abruptly as Glorfindel, who was still holding his wrist, 
turned it and began to lick the trail of nectar which had dripped down from the 
orange. Gil exhaled sharply in response. He found another orange portion and 
teased it lightly against Glorfindel’s lips, then watched, fascinated, as the 
tip of a pink tongue licked it slowly, sampling before accepting. Deep blue eyes 
watched him steadily from under golden brown lashes, as Glorfindel slowly sucked 
the fruit into his mouth.

“Considerably less inhibited than you were yesterday, aren’t you?” Gil murmured, 
reaching out a hand to stroke the fair hair which, worn loose for a change, fell 
in golden, sunlit waves to below Glorfindel’s waist. The only other person Gil-
galad could think of with similar hair was his aunt Galadriel. “When exactly did 
you turn into such a tease?”

Glorfindel was sucking Gil’s fingers now, running his tongue over each in turn, 
lapping like a cat. His eyes were mischief-filled as he released them. ”Are you 
objecting?”

Gil’s response was to wind his hand through the silky hair, closing it over 
bunches of soft brightness and drawing the blonde towards him, his eyes studying 
moist lips with serious intent.

“I like to think I learn something from every new experience,” Glorfindel said, 
drawing back slightly from Gil, blue eyes now alight with laughter. “May I show 
you what I have learned from you already? Perhaps you could tell me if I need to 
give extra attention to anything - if there are areas where further study might 
be indicated?”

Gil raised an amused eyebrow. “I’d be honoured to assist you in your studies,” 
he said, slowly allowing the hair to slide free from between his fingers.

For a moment they stared at one another, then Glorfindel leaned closer and began 
slowly running his hands down Gil’s body, before finally sinking to his knees 
and allowing cheek and forehead to take the place of hands, rubbing and pressing 
until reaching the place where hardness strained against the cloth of Gil’s 
leggings. He looked up then, sudden uncertainty in his eyes. Gil, both hands now 
kneading and bunching the soft, gold hair, met his glance and nodded wordlessly.

Glorfindel undid fastenings, moved inconvenient clothing aside. Then, with an 
unexpectedly clever mouth, proceeded to give Gil a detailed demonstration of 
what he had learned the previous night, with a few extra touches direct from his 
fertile imagination.

-----------

Although normally acutely aware of his surroundings, Elrond had been wandering 
aimlessly, his thoughts alternating between the sound of Glorfindel’s voice as 
he described Gondolin and the look in Gil-galad’s usually friendly blue eyes and 
his almost unnatural speed. Sudden awareness returned as he realized he was 
heading straight for a black haired Elf, who was busy wrestling awkwardly with a 
large crate.

“Why are you struggling like that? Get someone to see to it for you,” he said, 
speaking without prior thought for the second time in a matter of hours. As the 
words left his mouth, he heard the underlining of the unsaid division between 
himself and Erestor who, as a junior advisor, would obviously not have someone 
available to haul crates around for him. He wondered idly at what point his 
tongue had finally taken control of his brain.

Erestor blinked, surprised by both the question and the tone of voice, but chose 
to overlook the hopefully unintended lack of courtesy. “I needed to make a few 
purchases, and I though I could get them to my room without being late back to 
work,” he said by way of explanation. He straightened up, pushing braided hair 
out of his face and grinned. “This is heavier that I thought and taking longer 
than I could ever have imagined.”

He was about to ask jokingly if Elrond was offering to help him, but remembered 
in time the current chaos to be found in his room. He had purchased the majority 
of the items on his list and had simply deposited them on the floor or bed until 
he should had time to reorganize. He had been forced to take the morning off 
work, which had required some careful explaining, but Erestor was wonderfully 
inventive at need and had found plausible reasons for his absence.

He took in Elrond’s appearance with interest, noting the conservative clothing, 
the tasteful mithril hair clasps, and the painfully braided hair. “You must have 
something important to see to, please don’t let me keep you,” he said, smiling 
to take the sting from the words. At Elrond’s blank look, for he had completely 
forgotten the small matter of his appearance, Erestor said, “Well, the clothes, 
no dog….”

Elrond had recently been more or less pinned against a wall by a very large, 
rather angry Elf. Gil-galad had seriously frightened the Half-elf, though it was 
not something he would readily have admitted. His cousin’s speed and strength 
had been completely unexpected, and it would also be a long time before he got 
over the shock of those ice-cool eyes. Reaction set in, and it made his words 
abrupt.

“My choice in clothing is no concern of yours,” he snapped, ignoring the fact 
that the outfit belonged to Elros. “And I had no idea I was required to take my 
brother’s dog with me everywhere I went.”

He had locked Laslech inside when he left and, accustomed to spending her days 
with him, she had whimpered. The sound had followed him all the way across the 
garden, each small whine an accusation. Feeling guilty was a rare experience for 
Elrond, and he disliked it intensely.

Erestor’s amber eyes regarded him thoughtfully. “I apologize for presuming, My 
Lord,” he said in his most formal tones, bending to retrieve the crate which he 
had put down while they talked. It contained ornamentation for a room he 
suspected the Half-elf would not be visiting any time soon, if at all. “However, 
in the future, you might consider taking your ill humour out at the source, 
instead of on whoever happens to be unlucky or unwise enough to cross your 
path.”

Hefting the crate, he nodded with distant politeness, almost unbalancing himself 
in the process, and gritting his teeth, set off back to his lonely and extremely 
untidy room. Elrond stared after him, for once unable to come up with any kind 
of an appropriate response. Earlier the Half-elf had thought things were as bad 
as they were likely to get. He had been wrong. The day had actually managed to 
get worse.

With a final glance in the direction of the waning figure of Erestor, who had 
not looked back, he headed for home, and the one person – albeit four-footed – 
who he could rely on to still welcome his company.

-----------

They were sitting in the box seat beneath the window on the far side of the 
room, Glorfindel leaning back against Gil’s chest, his head against one broad 
shoulder, with Gil’s arms loosely round his waist. The window looked out over 
the far side of the grounds, towards the stables, and was high enough to ensure 
privacy

“You needed a break,” Glorfindel said lazily. ”If that mess on the table is 
anything to go by, you still have a lot to see to today.”

“No more than usual,” Gil said ruefully, “Anyone who thinks being King of Lindon 
is glamourous should come and spend a few days in this room. It would soon 
change their ideas. It’s never ending. I can’t believe some of the things that 
end up being my problem.”

“At least you have something to complain about,” Glorfindel said, one hand 
toying with Gil’s fingers that were currently laced together and resting on his 
stomach. “I’ve rested, and I understand that I needed to do that. I’ve met the 
people you seem to think I should know. I can find my way around without getting 
lost. Surely that’s enough? All this time on my hands isn’t good for me. I need 
to feel I’m doing something, being useful in some way.”

“Well, you did manage to find something useful to do with part of your day, at 
least,” Gil chuckled, turning his head to breathe in the clean fresh scent of 
the fair hair spilling across them both. “I know you said you’d rather wait for 
tonight, but I feel completely selfish. Are you sure I can’t…?”

“I need something to look forward to.” Glorfindel chuckled. “Otherwise the day 
just stretches ahead endlessly. That’s the heart of the problem,” he added, more 
seriously, tilting his head back to look at the King. “I don’t know why I’m 
here, Gil, in fact I have less than no idea. I remember falling into darkness, I 
remember waking on the boat, but there’s nothing else between. If I was given a 
purpose, I somehow failed to retain the memory of it. “

He settled his head back against Gil again, smiling, before adding, “One thing 
I’m sure of, though. I am quite certain I wasn’t sent back to provide an erotic 
break in the day for the High King.”

“And here I was thinking the Valar really loved me,” Gil said, stroking hair 
back from smooth skin, as well as out of his mouth, so that he could rest his 
cheek against Glorfindel’s forehead. “I don’t know what they want from you 
either, sweetheart. Foolish of me, it never occurred to me that it was bothering 
you, which it naturally would be. I suppose I just thought that in time you 
would tell me what you wanted to do with your life.”

“If only,” Glorfindel laughed wryly. “I lie awake at night worrying about it. I 
remember Círdan telling me there must have been a strong purpose, and then I 
think that maybe I won’t be where I should be, do what I should do, misuse this 
second chance…”

“Círdan,” Gil said thoughtfully. “Most of my life when I’ve needed advice or 
suggestions, that’s who I have turned to. I think the time might have come for 
us to see what he thinks your role should be. In addition,” he added, pressing a 
quick kiss to warm skin, “to your singularly important job of taking my mind off 
such important problems as which wines to serve at Elros’ farewell dinner.”

==========

Title: Even Quicker Than Doubt 9/25	
Author: Keiliss	
Pairings: Gil-Galad/Glorfindel, Elrond/Erestor
Rating: R 
Summary: Past experiences and future expectations... 
Beta: Fimbrethiel


-----------


“No!” Glorfindel said flatly. “Absolutely not!”

Gil-galad’s eyebrows shot up. He knew that Glorfindel, though not usually 
forceful in expressing an opinion, still had very much a mind of his own. This 
adamant response to what had appeared a reasonable suggestion was, however, 
completely unexpected.

A few days after their conversation relating to Glorfindel’s future plans, Gil-
galad had gone to speak to Círdan, who he knew would already have been giving 
the matter thought. He also knew that Círdan would prefer, in his usual quiet 
way, to wait until, as had happened in the past, Gil came to him for advice.

Círdan, who was spending a few days at the center of government, was in the 
suite of rooms kept for his use. He was having a quiet morning indoors, building 
a scale model to demonstrate the modifications he wished to make to the standard 
coastal trading vessel. He looked up from the plans spread out before him and 
nodded a wordless greeting.

Gil-galad waited, as accustomed, until his foster father had finished 
familiarizing himself with some detail. Círdan moved away from the table and 
over to chairs placed to catch the sunshine slanting weakly in through the 
nearby window. Winter would soon be upon them.

They sat and talked lightly of small matters, mainly concerning the preparations 
being made for the departure of the last ship to travel, with the blessing and 
guidance of the Valar, to Númenor. Gil-galad was careful to avoid asking about 
the model being constructed on the work table; Círdan could be somewhat 
enthusiastic on the subject of design. Eventually, without too much effort on 
Gil-galad’s side, the conversation shifted round to Glorfindel.

Cirdan had obviously given the subject of Glorfindel’s future some thought. 
Sensing this to be the reason for Gil-galad’s visit, he settled himself more 
thoroughly into his chair, folding his hands across his lap. The sunlight 
touched his hair, giving it the appearance of mithril.

“I do feel he has been given more than enough time to accustom himself to his 
surroundings,” Círdan said judiciously. “There has been a tendency to regard the 
elapsed time since Glorfindel last walked Middle-earth as eons long, when in 
fact Gondolin fell quite recently. A few things may have changed, but after all, 
it is not as though he has been sent to start over in the midst of one of the 
mortal realms. “

Gil-galad knew exactly how lost and disoriented Glorfindel had been, but thought 
it best to be quiet and allow the discussion to flow. Instinct also firmly 
suggested that he say nothing that might alert the aged Elf to his changed 
relationship with Glorfindel. Círdan was a little old fashioned about such 
matters.

“Be that as it may,” he said, refusing to be drawn, “I have no idea how best to 
employ him. They sent him back with no hint as to their reasons …unless you were 
told something?” It wouldn’t have surprised Gil-galad. The Valar thought well of 
the bearded Teleri.

“One evil has been defeated, but not all,” Círdan said firmly. “Others will 
rise. You have been sent a warrior who was high in Turgon’s esteem. He fought 
and acquitted himself well in open warfare, and he has faced and defeated one of 
Morgoth’s creatures of darkness. Who better to place as commander of your army?”

-----------

Glorfindel sat in the room where they had become lovers, and heard Gil-galad out 
without interruption, before offering his unambiguous response. Gil, in the act 
of bringing them both wine, frowned slightly. He handed Glorfindel his goblet 
and then perched on the arm of the chair, leaning slightly against the blonde 
and toying with his shining hair.

“I don’t understand,” Gil admitted. “You trained for war for most of your life, 
you were one of Turgon’s senior commanders, you had the personal skill to defeat 
a Balrog, you are the perfect choice. You bring experience, expertise, a 
reputation…”

Glorfindel got up abruptly, put his wine down on a nearby table, and walked over 
to the window, where he stood looking out at the gathering darkness. There was a 
sense of isolation and sadness about the blonde Elf, but Gil-galad stayed quiet, 
giving him time to gather his thoughts and choose his words before expressing an 
opinion. Without turning, Glorfindel said,

”So. I fought in a few notable battles, and I challenged a Balrog. This fits me 
to be commander of your army?” he asked. At which point Gil realised that the 
air of stillness heralded not sorrow, but annoyance. “Have you even thought this 
through, or are you just interested in giving me something to do that will look 
impressive? Something suitable for the King’s lover, perhaps?”

No, Gil-galad amended. Not annoyed. Angry. Before he could interrupt with a 
protest, Glorfindel continued, “You have no real interest in how I might feel 
about this, have you? The whole idea makes no sense, Gil. Have you even stopped 
to consider what my reputation is really based on?”

Gil-galad considered attempting to dispel the gloom and bring some warmth into 
the room by lighting the lamp, but chose instead to stay seated and do nothing 
that might stem the flow of words. This angry intensity revealed an unfamiliar 
side to Glorfindel, one which Gil found both intriguing and slightly unsettling. 
Furthermore, he was almost pleased to discover that, when roused, Glorfindel 
expressed his views completely without restraint.

“If you want to explain, I’m listening,” he said quietly.

The even tone, perfected during numerous military councils as a means to gain 
attention and calm heated tempers, made Glorfindel pause to take breath. The 
blonde gave the offer consideration, then nodded slowly and finally turned back 
to face the room. The light from the window outlined his body and his shining 
hair, but left his face half shadowed. Even so, Gil-galad could see the change. 
Glorfindel’s customary openness had been replaced by tension and a brooding 
sadness

“The first time I saw dead Elves was at Alqualondë, by firelight.” He stopped, 
frowning, following some private train of thought. “Did you know there were 
fires?” he asked, his eyes seeking out Gil-galad’s.

Gil met his gaze and shook his head; this feature of the Kinslaying was unknown 
to him. When he merged the words ‘fire’ and ‘Alqualondë ‘, the picture created 
for him was of the ships burning on the far shore.

Glorfindel nodded again, half to himself.

“I suppose lamps were knocked over, torches dropped. There was house to house 
fighting down near the harbour,” he said, his voice softer, anger giving place 
for a time to memory. He started to prowl the dusk-filled room. “There were 
little fires everywhere when we arrived. What I remember are the sounds of fire 
crackling and of sobbing. Many of the dead were still lying where they had 
fallen. Their kin had no idea what to do with their bodies. The Quendi had no 
experience of death…”

Gil studied his wine as he listened. He seldom, if ever, thought of Glorfindel 
as one of the remaining Exiles from the time of the Oath, which, of course, he 
was. For the first time since they had met he sensed, behind Glorfindel’s 
sweetness, the age and memories of one of Turgon’s most valued war leaders. The 
soft voice continued.

“We got used to the idea of death after that, of course. The Helcaraxë was a 
swift teacher. I lost my mother to the Ice. It opened at her feet. One moment 
she was there, the next, not.”

Glorfindel shook himself and crossed the room briskly, as though in retreat from 
the memory, to where Gil sat. He retrieved his wine and drank before continuing.

“That was how I learned about death. War came later. After the Crossing there 
was always fighting, always some enemy, some threat. After the Nirnaeth 
Arnoediad, I knew I had seen enough. I commanded Turgon’s rearguard, Gil, and I 
saw what we left behind us; bodies beyond count, death and horror. We who 
survived went back into the Hidden City and closed the gates behind us. We never 
rode out to war again.”

He stared, unseeing, down at the chessboard which displayed a game in progress. 
They had just discovered they were well-matched opponents, one being as easily 
distracted from the intricacies of the game as the other. He smiled without 
humour.

“War came to us instead. We practiced and prepared for over four hundred years 
in case we had to ride out again, and war came to us. And we weren’t ready. And 
yes,” Glorfindel looked up sharply, a trace of his earlier heat returning. “I 
killed a Balrog. People forget a small point about that. When I killed it, I 
went down into the dark in its company.”

He picked up one of the crystal pieces, turning it round and round between his 
fingers, and then said with finality, “No one should be asked to remember his 
own death. I do. I can describe every moment, every thought.”

They silently contemplated this, giving the horror the respect it was due, then 
Glorfindel came and sank down cross-legged on the rug in front of Gil. He gave 
him a level stare and said,

“My experience is of horror and defeat and death. I would not appoint someone 
with that background, nor would I feel safe serving under him. You need a 
commander who still believes, Gil. Someone like yourself, young enough not to 
remember The Tears. Someone,” he concluded, “who was not in Gondolin at the 
end.”

Gil-galad drew a breath, followed by another sip of his wine, waiting to make 
sure Glorfindel was finished speaking.

“I’m sorry you doubted my motives,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “It 
surprises me that you think I would give anyone a senior position based on the 
fact that we share a bed. It’s hardly my way. I badly need someone to take 
command of the army – I have more than enough work as things are without seeing 
to that as well on a day-to-day basis. Círdan and I both thought you the best 
choice. Why not at least consider the idea?”

Deep blue eyes, the colour of a summer sky, regarded him through the gloom. The 
blonde warrior looked down at his hands and said expressionlessly, “I suppose it 
would be easier for you, having your lover doing this. It would make things 
simpler. You could oversee matters without having to worry about the details.”

Glorfindel listening to his own voice speaking as though from a distance. He 
felt as far from Gil at that moment as though he had been returned to the Halls 
of Waiting while they spoke. He turned away to face the unlit fireplace, 
continuing to toy with the chess piece.

He knew that, as usual, he had expressed himself badly, had failed to clarify 
his bone-deep resistance to the idea of sending another Elf out to fight and die 
anywhere for any reason. Glorfindel‘s lesson on the priceless value of life had 
been a hard one, never to be forgotten, and it would forever colour his view of 
war. It was not something most people with a warrior background would understand 
and he was a little surprised that Gil-galad had even tried.

He was about to make one final attempt to explain his feelings when, without 
warning, he found himself enveloped from behind in a hug, and a voice close to 
his ear said,

“I would never, never try to force you into something you felt was wrong for 
you. I had no idea you felt this way, which is a bad excuse, of course, because 
I should have asked. But if not this, then what? I can see how much you need to 
have some kind of responsibility to fill your day. This has gone on for long 
enough.”

Glorfindel turned around and, letting his head drop against a broad shoulder, 
leaned into the hug, feeling the steady hand stroking his back, the strength in 
the arms around him. Anger and frustration and sadness drew back before the 
warmth and genuine concern that was Gil-galad.

“I’m a good swordsman,” he said slowly, firmly banishing all thoughts of 
Ecthelion. “It’s a skill I think I’d like to teach. It would give me reason and 
chance to spend more time with your warriors, and it would show them I have 
something of value to offer.”

He stole a look up at Gil, who was watching him with a carefully expressionless 
face and, with a soft laugh, shoved the King lightly.

”It just involves demonstrating attack and defense, and talking about it a 
little. Strange I suppose, but if I have to explain how to do something, and 
answer questions about it, I quite enjoy myself. It’s just – making small talk. 
I have no skill for that.”

Gil turned so that they could lean together comfortably. “You’re getting better 
at it all the time,” he said firmly. “And if teaching is what you want to do, it 
will be easy enough to arrange “

He bent his head slightly, nudging Glorfindel’s face with his chin in an effort 
to persuade him to look up, and then kissed him, closed mouth to begin with, but 
slowly teasing at his lips until eventually Glorfindel let go of the last of his 
annoyance and, turning his head, responded. It was a slow, very sweet kiss, with 
the promise of later.

At the end, Gil-galad, with his usual, incorrigibly, irreverent sense of humour, 
drew back slightly and murmured in Glorfindel's ear,

“If you want to attract large numbers of students, all we need to do is offer 
the lessons under the title of Basic Balrog-Slaying.”

-----------

“Is he still out there?” Elros asked, craning his neck back in an effort to see 
out the window without getting up. Elrond was curled up in a chair across the 
room with Laslech lying at his feet. She was watching Elros carefully while he 
ate as on occasion he had been known to drop delicacies where she could find 
them. Cheese was a firm favourite, as were apple cores.

Unlike his twin, Elrond had a clear view across the garden, including the 
sheltered corner where a black-haired Elf was bending and twisting with sinuous 
movements that stopped just short of dance. Elrond had given up all pretence of 
not watching; he was hardly likely to be able to convince Elros of his lack of 
interest. His brother always knew what he was thinking.

Erestor had arrived, as agreed, every morning just after sunrise and each 
evening around sunset. He was invariably dressed as he had been the night Elrond 
had first offered him the use of their private garden, and he carried himself in 
a manner that suggested he was at ease there. His body language said very 
clearly, however, that he had nothing to discuss with the inhabitants of the 
nearby suite of rooms.

Elros got up and came over to where his twin sat, and leaned against the chair 
while eating the remains of a pastry. “What, exactly, did you say to him to make 
him work so hard at ignoring you?” he asked, his tone reflecting long 
experience.

Elrond tilted his head to look up. ”Nothing much?” he suggested hopefully. Elros 
had left the subject of Erestor alone for the first few days, but was now taking 
an interest. This, in Elrond’s experience, did not bode well. It usually 
involved questions, advice, sometimes even personal intervention.

It crossed Elrond’s mind that this unsolicited involvement in his often 
complicated life was about to become a matter of history, but he pushed the 
thought aside firmly. Elros, possibly thinking the same thing, rested a hand on 
the back of his brother’s head and pushed, not very gently, but with great 
affection.

“In case it escaped your attention, he is doing a wonderful job of ignoring you 
while making certain you can see him,” he chuckled. “How bad could it have been, 
anyway? He obviously wants you to go out and talk to him.”

Elrond gave his brother a jaundiced look from the side of his eye. “I very much 
doubt that,” he said firmly. “He was pleasant to me, and I was…well, it was a 
bad day and I took it out on him, I suppose. At least, that’s how he saw it. I 
don’t think talking to me is something he wants to repeat. No, this is just a 
convenient place to exercise.”

Elros considered the Elf in the garden. He had a mind to go out and speak to 
him, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. “Don’t you dare,” Elrond said softly. 
“I hardly know him – how would it seem, my brother goes to make peace for me 
with an almost total stranger? I would look a complete fool.”

“A stranger who makes use of our garden twice daily at your invitation?” Elros 
asked lightly. However, he knew the tone. Elrond wanted things left alone. For a 
change, this apparently had less to do with stubbornness or a misguided sense of 
pride than with an awareness of having done something wrong.

Elros wondered, not for the first time, but with increased anxiety, how his 
brother was going to cope on his own. Elrond was useless when it came to things 
like discretion and diplomacy. Well, he was just going to have to learn. Elros 
sighed and gave one more push to the back of the dark head, so like his own, yet 
so unlike.

“I think that if you caused discomfort between yourself and someone else, it 
should be you who tries to make amends,” he suggested, straightening up and 
tidying his hair back. “I would also think it a good idea not to leave it too 
long.” He jerked his head in the general direction of the garden. “Someone with 
those looks has no need to spend too long waiting on your change of mood. He’ll 
soon find some one else to entertain him.”

He turned to leave, surrogate parenting complete for the morning, to be stopped 
by Elrond asking hesitantly, “Are you busy all day today?” He was leaning down 
to play with Laslech’s ears, his face hidden behind his dark curtain of loose 
hair.

“I might have time for dinner tonight,” Elros replied, only half joking. “I have 
meetings, maps to study, a lecture from Círdan on the importance of maintaining 
a strong fleet or some such topic…” He stopped and looked at his brother. “Is 
something wrong? Did we have plans, was there something you needed?”

Elrond shook his head. “No plans, no. And nothing I needed. Just asking, really. 
Showing an interest,” he finished, looking up and smiling convincingly. Elros 
studied him carefully for a moment, but he had no time for more questions. 
Giving his twin a final searching look, he left.

Elrond turned back to the window. He was in time to see Erestor begin his final 
sequence, the one that involved a back bend that made Elrond’s mouth go dry. He 
paused, then dropped his glance to Laslech, who was busy trying to chew the end 
off her tail. She was still not quite reconciled to the idea that it belonged to 
her. He took a very deep breath and got up, stretching cat-like and shaking back 
his troublesome hair.

“Come on, girl. Let’s go outside,” he said with a sigh. “What’s the worst that 
can happen, anyway?”

-----------

Erestor heard the door open and carefully kept his eyes focused on a point well 
away both from both the patio and the informal path leading back to the public 
areas. During his twice daily visits to this private comer of the Palace 
gardens, he had been very careful to show no curiosity about the whereabouts of 
the young Princeling whose sharp tongue and imperious attitude had startled 
and…disappointed him more than he would have expected.

The desire to keep a distance between them was obviously mutual; Erestor had 
been left very much to his own devices.

He was balanced on one leg, his weight on the ball of the foot, his arms 
stretched gracefully up and back, when he was struck just below the knee by a 
small, solid, and highly excited body. He hit the ground in a confusion of limbs 
and hair and for a moment lay motionless, with his eyes closed. His first 
coherent thought was of how ridiculous he probably looked.

The perpetrator of this disaster was standing behind him, her front paws on his 
shoulder and her back paws tangled in his hair, ecstatically licking his face. 
Erestor turned onto his stomach, gently urged the dog onto the ground, and 
rolled to sit up. He was busy pushing the heavy black hair out of his face 
before he finally looked up, only to find Elrond standing in front of him, an 
expression of genuine horror on his face.

They stared at one another and then, unable to help himself, Erestor started to 
laugh. What most struck him as funny was that this was the second time Laslech 
had instigated an unlikely, and potentially uncomfortable, meeting between them. 
Elrond gave him an uncertain look, then bent to pick up his offending pet, who 
gave a yelp of alarm at being handled almost roughly. Erestor leaned back on his 
arms and trying to restrain his laughter, protested,

“No, no, let her be. I was probably too good a target to ignore.” He met 
Elrond’s eye, his own sparkling with mirth. “Put her down, she was busy trying 
to apologise.” He heard himself and caught back the laughter, realising his 
comment could easily be thought to contain a reference to prior events.

Elrond quirked an elegant brow, and set Laslech down again before reaching out a 
hand in assistance.

“Unlike me?” he suggested.

Erestor took the proffered hand and moved gracefully to his feet, and found 
himself a little closer to his helper than planned. Their eyes met more 
seriously.

“I was coming to say I was sorry for my lack of manners,” Elrond admitted, 
finding it surprisingly easy to acknowledge fault once he made up his mind to 
it. “You were right – my temper was better aimed elsewhere. A bad morning is no 
excuse, I realise, but…” He paused, bit his lip lightly, shrugged. “I apologise. 
Elros is right, I just don’t seem to know when to stop sometimes.”

Erestor had stepped back, giving them both the security of a little more space. 
He found it disconcerting to be quite so close to the King’s cousin. Elrond was 
wearing leggings and a light, sleeveless tunic, and his unbound hair danced 
loose about his face and shoulders in the light breeze. He smelt, faintly and 
unexpectedly, of violets. Erestor tried to stop wondering whether the scent 
emanated from the Half-elf’s hair or his skin, and to stop picturing the more 
obvious ways to determine this.

He ventured a smile.

“I was late and harassed and took it more to heart than was called for,” he said 
in return, frowning unconsciously as he automatically started to tidy his hair, 
pulling it back and fastening the side braids behind his head to keep it all in 
place. Elrond stepped behind him, unasked, and their fingers met over the simple 
tortoiseshell clasp.

For a moment, Erestor’s entire awareness was centered on that touch, then his 
hair was fastened and Elrond was stepping back from him. He turned, their eyes 
met, and the air between them became alive, almost tangible, pulsing with 
expectation. Erestor was about to speak, to offer whatever random words happened 
to find their way onto his tongue, when the bell heralding the third hour from 
dawn - the hour when work officially began - started chiming. Life’s realities 
reasserted themselves. Giving the Half-elf a wry smile he said,

“Well, I am now officially late, my Lord, so, if you will excuse me…”

“Elrond,” the Half-elf said quietly. Erestor shot him an enquiring glance. “I 
mean, my name’s Elrond,” he explained, his eyes and body language showing just a 
fraction of uncertainty. “Please don’t call me ‘my Lord’. That’s only for formal 
occasions, and even then … I don’t know that I’ve ever really grown comfortable 
with it”

“Elrond, then,” Erestor responded with a smile, meeting the grey eyes.

Elrond bit his lip, a quick flash of tooth that sent a thrill of desire through 
Erestor, and said, with a small, unsure movement of his hands, “I’ll see you 
later, perhaps?”

Erestor, his thoughts racing, nodded. The interest in the storm grey eyes 
matched his own, but the situation argued against light dalliance. It was a 
well-known fact that Gil-galad was very fond of his two young peredhil cousins. 
Erestor, however, had spent most of his life living dangerously.

“Tonight,” he said, with a smile of irresistible charm. “I’ll be back tonight.”

-----------

Dressed in something more suitable for public view - and there was nothing wrong 
with yellow silk really, if one had the colouring for it - Elrond took Laslech 
for her long anticipated walk, following their usual route through the grounds.

Talking to Erestor had been a good antidote to his earlier, rather somber mood. 
They had said little of any substance to one another, in fact Elrond could 
barely remember more than ten words of the exchange; the smile, though, lingered 
in his thoughts. That smile, Elrond thought, coupled with those sparkling, jewel 
eyes, might conceivably have the power to melt rock.

Laslech, having spotted a friend, was currently doing everything in her power to 
get her companion’s attention and encourage him in the right direction. Her 
objective was sitting under a tree, his back to the trunk, looking for all the 
world like a wood Elf. Elrond let her run loose, and smiled as she charged over 
and flung herself on Glorfindel, about whom she was passionate.

He followed her with a little more dignity, halting to look down at Glorfindel, 
who was rolling the puppy over onto her back and rubbing her stomach. “You spoil 
her,” Elrond said disapprovingly. “She needs to learn to be more restrained with 
people. Elros won’t want her carrying on like this.”

He was unaware of the way he compressed his lips at the end of this sentence, as 
he pushed back the thought of the dog and his brother boarding the ship, 
crossing the sea, irrevocably gone. Glorfindel saw the look, made an intuitive 
guess as to the cause, but kept silent.

Elrond surveyed him, curiosity in his sea grey eyes.

“Nothing better to do at this hour of the day than sit out here under a tree and 
think?” he asked casually. He had known something was wrong from the moment he 
saw the golden haired form sitting still and pensive at an hour that would 
normally have found him searching for ways to occupy his time.

Glorfindel gave him a curious look. He was far from clear as to why or when 
confiding in Elrond had become a natural process. He had shared very little of 
his thoughts or fears with his few previous friends or acquaintances, yet he 
found he was strangely comfortable with the situation.

“Gil-galad and Círdan had the idea of giving me command of the army,” he said. 
“It was hard to get Gil to see what a really bad idea that is, and I doubt that 
he’s managed to persuade Círdan yet.”

Elrond, who had first-hand experience concerning Cirdan’s inflexibility, 
grinned. Glorfindel, who had known there was no need to explain his feelings 
about war and death to Elrond, who seemed to understand such things almost 
instinctively anyway, returned the smile wryly, then closed his eyes.

“I was sitting out here wondering, for the hundredth time, what the Valar wanted 
from me when they sent me back, and how I will know it. It was easy enough to 
turn down Gil’s offer. I doubt they would send me back to do something I was 
hardly successful at originally – I fought in some memorable disasters, after 
all. It reminded me, though, of how easy it would be to say no to something, not 
realising…..”

He sighed softly and glanced sideways at Elrond. ”I know it must be something 
fairly obvious. After all, it would hardly be fair otherwise.”

Elrond had been listening to him with one eyebrow slightly raised and a strange 
expression on his face. As Glorfindel’s words trailed off, he gave a small 
snort.

“And you, naturally, expect the Valar to treat you fairly and with justice, 
don’t you?” he asked sardonically.

Glorfindel shot him a startled look, and saw that his companion was completely 
serious. “Elrond, hush, you can’t speak so of the Shining Ones,” he said 
quickly, respect instilled in him since childhood making itself known.

He received an almost patronizing smile from Elrond, who shook his head, then 
settled down properly on the grass, his legs crossed, elbows on knees, and chin 
resting on linked hands.

“The Valar are neither fair nor just, my friend,” the young Half-elf said 
quietly. “They have their plans and designs, and we are nothing to them, only 
pawns on their gaming board. They move us where they will; there is no choice, 
there is no justice. Just their will and their amusement.” He smiled at the 
older Elf’s look of horror. “You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked, softly. 
“Listen, then, and I will tell you all about the fairness and justice of the 
Valar.”

==========


Title: Even Quicker Than Doubt 6/25	
Author: Keiliss	
Pairings: Gil-Galad/Glorfindel, Elrond/Erestor
Rating: R 
Summary: The will of the Valar. 
Beta: enismirdal, ford_of_bruinen, red_lasbelin


-----------


“Because he doesn’t feel it’s the right choice for him,” Gil-galad repeated for 
the fifth time. He had somehow managed to keep his voice calm and neutral 
throughout the conversation, but he was beginning to do some serious teeth-
clenching. The one person he would consider to be more stubborn than Glorfindel 
was Círdan, and he was currently having this opinion reinforced by the silver-
haired Elf.

They were in the large office Gil-galad referred to as his workroom, the scene 
of many similar discussions, all of which had ended with Cirdan’s viewpoint 
prevailing. This meant that, for the Teleri, the probability of his opinion 
being disregarded was somewhat less than unlikely. Tea had been brought in upon 
his arrival and he was currently sitting with a large cup in his hand while his 
fosterling paced the room. He sighed to himself and prepared to explain yet 
again. This matter was far too important to leave unresolved.

“Ereinion, consider please,” he said firmly. “The Valar are not fools. They 
would not do anything so unusual – nay, so unheard-of - as sending one of our 
kind back in this manner without a solid reason. I cannot be brought to believe 
that this purpose would merely involve passing on the sword skills of Gondolin, 
interesting though I do not doubt that study to be."

Gil-galad had reached the end of the room and was looking out of the window in 
the general direction of the stables. Something appeared to have caught his 
attention, but he soon turned back resignedly.

“If he’s determined he doesn’t want the position, I can hardly insist that he 
accepts it, Hirem. What is wrong with letting him do something he feels 
comfortable with while he settles in? Especially if it gives him an opportunity 
to start mingling with the warriors without the pressure of leadership.”

Cirdan shook his head in disbelief. “Ereinion, you are the King. If you insist 
upon something, it must be done. We have discussed this before.”

He had lost no opportunity to discuss it, Gil thought wryly. He rarely 
contradicted his foster father. This was partly due to a reluctance born out of 
respect but also, partly, because it was seldom that they disagreed on a course 
of action. True, they were often motivated by different reasons, but Cirdan had 
raised him after his father’s death and Gil was content to appear to give way in 
a discussion, when in fact he had simply seen an aspect that had originally been 
overlooked. If Círdan took this to mean his view had prevailed Gil was prepared 
to let him believe so.

This practice, which had started as a courtesy born of a warm, open nature and a 
desire to make sure Cirdan continued to feel important in his life, was slowly 
becoming problematic. He had known for some time that it needed to be addressed, 
but had previously lacked incentive. Glorfindel, he realised with something like 
surprise, provided a motive more than sufficient to make him dig in his heels 
and insist.

Gil returned to his seat, ignoring the tea that had been poured for him. He 
would have preferred a glass of good, strong dwarf brandy, but mid morning was 
hardly the time for that particular indulgence, never mind how much his backbone 
needed stiffening. Mentally he took a breath.

“When you raised me, Hirem, there were two things which you paid particular 
attention to as I recall it. Accepting responsibility and making decisions.” He 
turned and met his foster father’s eyes, “In this instance I have decided that 
Glorfindel should choose his own path, and I take responsibility for any 
consequences. I believe that whatever the Valar have in mind will happen without 
me trying to second-guess them.”

Círdan opened his mouth, glanced at Gil-galad’s set face, and was silent for a 
moment, gathering his thoughts. Ereinion, he had noticed, tended to be 
altogether stubborn and non-communicative when the subject of Glorfindel arose.

“Ereinion, if you have conceived a personal dislike for this gift from the 
Valar, or have concerns relating to the amount of time he appears to spend with 
your impressionable cousin, then I fear you are simply going to have to rise 
above them. If this is behind your reluctance to insist on his involvement with 
the army…”

Gil-galad took a deep breath, and considered his options. Eventually, knowing 
from past experience that once Círdan had an idea in his head it not only 
lodged, but swiftly became immobile, he sighed and admitted defeat.

“Hirem, sit down. There’s something I think I had better tell you.”

-----------

Elrond sat in silence for a few minutes, looking down while he smoothed his 
fingers back and forth over the grass as though considering its texture. 
Glorfindel took advantage of the lull in their conversation to stretch out on 
his side, propping himself on one elbow. The normal morning sounds of life in 
the Palace complex continued as usual, but somehow failed to intrude on the tree 
shaded area en route to the stables.

“This happened after we joined Ereinion, only days after Maedhros handed us over 
to him,” Elrond said eventually, breaking his silence. He glanced at Glorfindel. 
“I may as well tell you about that, too. Ereinion is one of your favorite 
subjects, after all. Don’t blush, you know he is. And if he isn’t, then you need 
to question the way you spend your evenings.”

Glorfindel gave him a dark look, though biting back a smile, and returned his 
attention to the puppy. There was a story here that would be told in its own 
time and not before. Elrond gave the smile a satisfied look and nodded.

“Everything changed after the time they’re calling the War of Wrath, when the 
Powers came out of the West, and the earth moved and shook and the sky was 
darkened. Eventually Maglor feared for our safety and hid us inland. At the end, 
we were sent to the High King, who happened to be our closest kinsman left this 
side of the Sea.” Elrond, sitting cross-legged, his back very straight, spoke 
quietly. His eyes were fixed on some distant point, and his usually mobile face 
was empty of expression.

“We were sent to our new guardian under cover of night, not with Maglor, who had 
always taken care of us, but with Caradur, a Sinda Maedhros had befriended and 
who stayed on past the end, unlike most. He never liked us much. Maglor told us 
in parting that he would receive a warmer welcome from the High King than he 
felt ready for, but that he would see us later, when matters were more settled.”

He smiled wryly. “You would have liked Maglor, Glori. Ever the optimist. I knew 
there would be no ‘later’, but why shatter his illusions? Things went quietly 
enough till we were close to the King’s camp, then Caradur insisted that we 
announce ourselves in style and ordered Elros to raise and carry Maedhros’ 
banner. And he refused. He usually did as he was told - I was the one who said 
no and was beaten - but this time….this time he told Caradur to see to it 
himself.” He paused, his expression reflecting the respect he had felt for his 
quiet, cooperative brother that day.

Glorfindel, who had recently learnt the horror of how Elrond and Elros came to 
be raised by the Sons of Fëanor nodded agreement The attack on their home had 
been carried out beneath that same banner, on the night the Haven burned and 
Dior’s daughter had sought death, whilst her children were captured and carried 
off mere hours ahead of aid. Elwing’s son had been right to refuse.

Elrond shrugged slightly, as though casting off memory.

“It was almost midnight when we finally arrived. There was no moon, and all we 
found to begin with was an open space and a few fires, in fact it looked like no 
major campsite I had ever seen before. These were Elves who had come out of the 
West and chosen to fight alongside the High King’s army I remember most that 
they had no tents, and they lit no watch fires. It may have been lack of need or 
just not their practice, no one seemed to know. Once we were pointed in the 
right direction, though, the King’s encampment was easy to find.”

He grinned slightly. “You’ll understand why when you’ve known him longer. There 
were guards set about, and everything was well lit, orderly. That’s his way; 
he’ll wander out in dead of night to make sure they’re awake on watch or that 
the fires are built up properly. He’s been a soldier most of his life, he’s a 
good commander.”

Laslech chose this moment to get up from where she had been lying to amble over 
and collapse next to Elrond, rolling easily against him. Glorfindel had no idea 
why anyone thought this was Elros’ dog. The animal had decided from the 
beginning where her world was centered. Elrond rested a hand lightly on her 
back, and continued talking.

“We were taken straight to his tent. You couldn’t mistake it, there was an armed 
guard at the entrance because, saviours from the West or not, there were 
strangers in the camp. We had spent so much time being hidden from him, being 
dragged away at speed from anywhere he might be, that I had half forgotten it 
was because he meant to rescue us, and I can remember feeling nervous. And 
tired, really tired.”

Elrond drew his knees up, wrapping his arms round his legs, and his eyes grew 
more distant with memory.

“We went in and a tall Elf was sitting on a chest, polishing a knife. I thought 
he was probably younger than he looked, and that he also seemed tired. His hair 
was in two simple braids down the front, and he had the bluest eyes I’d ever 
seen in my life. He sat looking at us for a while, then he nodded and said, 
‘Skinny. We’ll have to feed you up a bit.’ And then he smiled, Glori, and it 
felt as if we belonged there.”

The feeling so clearly mirrored his own on first meeting Gil-galad that 
Glorfindel actually blinked, before nodding and smiling at the memory.

“He’s always like that, isn’t he?” he said. “He knows how to make situations 
feel comfortable.”

Elrond raised both brows in surprise. “He was sent to the relative safety that 
could be found with Círdan when he was very young, after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. 
Then, when his father died, he became an orphaned dependant with no home to 
return to and no close kin to speak for his safety, surrounded by Elves who 
looked down on Noldor ambitions …surely he told you about it?”

Well, no, Glorfindel thought. We seem to focus mainly on my troubles, don’t we? 
Aloud he said, “We’re still busy getting to know one another, Elrond. 
Confidences take time. Anyway, I’m curious. What does all this have to do with 
the Valar?”

Elrond, who had been trying to decide if he would get away with asking what 
Glorfindel and Ereinion discussed, or if they actually talked at all, came back 
to the thread of his story immediately. His face closed and he dropped his eyes. 
He rested his hand on Laslech’s head and starting to finger her silky ear.

“Not that night,” he said. “The following week.”

-----------

They had been given a place to sleep in the corner of a storage tent, as well as 
furs and a couple of blankets to wrap themselves in, a jug of water and two 
plates containing what they assumed to be leftovers from the evening meal. Their 
belongings were already stacked neatly in the corner. Gil-galad, who had come 
personally to see them settled, had looked around with a rueful expression. 
“It’s a bit rough, I know, and unwelcoming, but I wasn’t expecting you so soon 
and we weren’t prepared. Tomorrow I’ll see to it that you have a few basic 
comforts.”

The brothers had exchanged glances. They had slept in worse accommodation on a 
regular basis. Elrond, however, established his reputation immediately by 
asking, “Will we qualify to sleep in beds instead of on the floor?”

Elros kicked him but it was too late, as usual. Gil-galad frowned slightly at 
the slender, defiant-looking young Half-elf. Deliberately provocative, his 
instincts told him. Well, he had been through enough to have earned the right to 
a little provocation.

“You’ll have beds tomorrow,” he said evenly, a tone which, had he known, was to 
become a regular feature in his dealings with this cousin. “I have no intention 
of rousing two of my warriors to tell them they can spend the rest of the night 
on the ground. We’ve had a long week, they need their rest. I said I’ll see to 
this in the morning, and I will. For tonight, make do as best you can.”

-----------

They were on the road for a week. True to his word, the following day the King 
made certain that his cousins, the children of Eärendil, with their heritage as 
princes of both Gondolin and Doriath, were given their own tent and decent 
horses. Everything was quite basic, including the food. This was an army on the 
move at the end of a bitter campaign, not a pleasure trip, as Gil-galad pointed 
out to them.

At the end of the week they came to a predetermined spot on the seashore, set up 
camp and waited. They were divided, as always, into two groups – those who 
followed the High King, and those newly arrived from the West, whose sojourn on 
the Hither Shore was set to be brief. There was little, if any, interaction 
between the two; they marched together, but that was the sum total of their 
sense of kindred.

From early the following morning, Elves began to arrive. They gathered in small 
groups, and either erected tents, or else settled under the open sky in a manner 
more conducive to the Elven desire to be at one with nature. They waited beside 
the sea; tents and banners as far as could be seen, proud and bright against the 
sky. Lords from across the Sea, waiting to leave, alongside Lords living in 
exile, waiting to hear their fate; whether or not they could return home.

The twins had kept to their tent, at the request of their cousin the King. The 
weather was inclement, there was nowhere to go, it was no hardship to obey. Mid 
afternoon they heard the sound of silvery trumpets and looked outside, but 
whatever was happening was hidden from their view. Several hours later, though, 
one of the King’s senior commanders came to them and told them to make ready to 
be presented to one of the Mighty.

A short time later, dressed in their best – in other words their cleanest – 
tunics and leggings, and wearing the cloaks Gil-galad had found for them as soon 
as he saw the lamentable state of their cold weather clothing, they made their 
way to the edge of the camp as instructed. Unexpectedly, they were met by their 
cousin himself, and two of the quiet Elves from Valinor. Gil-galad looked the 
twins up and down quickly.

“Elrond, what is wrong with your hair? Why does it never look tidy?” he 
muttered, hurriedly trying to tuck wandering strands behind elegant, if slightly 
rounded ears. Admitting defeat, he glanced from the corner of his eye to their 
two companions and then, in very quick Sindarin, he said, “Don’t be alarmed by 
this. Eönwë the Herald sent for you. He probably just wants to take a look at 
Eärendil’s sons, have a discussion about your future, nothing to be concerned 
about.”

The fact that the High King himself looked anything but unconcerned was small 
comfort to them, either then or a scant half hour later when they were left at 
the entrance to a pavilion of some kind, set near the water’s edge, slightly 
away from all others.

The structure consisted of a frame of sorts, hung with some fine, shimmering 
fabric of a type unknown to them, which eddied and swirled softly in the wind, 
undefined colours rippling and shifting unsettlingly. The sand around it lay 
flat and calm, as though untouched by the wind, and there was an air of 
strangeness about it all that made Elrond, the more sensitive to atmosphere, 
shiver. Elros rested a reassuring hand lightly on his arm as the drapes parted 
before them and a tall, very slender, light-haired being gestured them forwards.

Afterwards they had disagreed about many of the details: the clothing worn by 
the Herald, the décor of the interior of his pavilion – Elrond always maintained 
there were plants growing in pots and placed at intervals around the perimeter, 
while Elros maintained to his dying day that they grew unfettered in the sand 
and looked as though they had been there for years. The ground beneath their 
feet was patterned and coloured, giving the appearance of a mosaic, though still 
having the consistency of sand, and two globe-shaped lamps hung down from the 
frame on threads as fine as silk, casting a soft silvery glow, closely akin to 
moonlight.

The being – for he seemed in some indefinable way far more than an Elf – 
appeared to study them for a time and then sank gracefully onto a cushion, 
gesturing them to sit as well. The lamplight turned his pale hair to a shade 
close to silver, and caused his violet eyes to glitter strangely. He smiled, and 
it was not a comforting sight, infused as it was by no true warmth.

“Children of the Mariner,” he said softly, and his voice whispered and echoed 
with a faint, strange accent. “Bearers of the blood of both First and Second 
born, descendants of Melian. A choice I am given to lay before you. It has been 
decided, for your father’s sake, that to you alone of those termed Peredhil will 
it be given to choose the kindred amongst which you will be numbered. Know that 
all choices are good, and all choices will be binding from now until the 
Breaking of the World.”

There was no sound save the murmur of the sea inside this pavilion, where they 
sat amongst the unnaturally blooming flowers, and even the waves seemed to have 
drawn back to a distance, the sound coming faintly through the strange, swirling 
drapes. The Herald sat surveying them, his face expressionless, resembling 
something carved from marble.

“You may choose, of course, as your hearts dictate. None shall presume to sway 
your choices. However,” he continued, studying their faces, “I offer you these 
words in guidance. If you choose to follow one and the same path, then the 
eventual fate of Middle-earth, as you call it, is hidden in shadow and sorrow 
even from the eyes of the Lords of the West.”

He paused to give his words weight, and now even the sea appeared to have 
stilled. The strange, silvery lamps continued their unflickering glow, the wind 
still skittered around about, moving not so much as a single grain of sand from 
the coloured mosaic that surrounded them. After giving them time to digest his 
meaning, he continued.

“Should you display the courage and will of your father, and should you choose 
separately, one to be a Lord of respect and standing amongst the Firstborn, the 
other to be a King amongst Men, first ruler of a land the Valar, even now, are 
setting aside for the use of those of the Secondborn who have kept faith, this 
result would see the ones you name Valar most satisfied. Out of this choice, and 
this alone, do they see a sweet, final harvest for those who remain on this 
Hither Shore.”

“Separately?” Elros’ voice was little more than a whisper. They had been 
together since before birth, shared the fears, horrors and small triumphs of 
their harrowing and unusual life, the thought of being separated…

“One, an Elven lord of respect and renown, the other a King whose name will live 
down the ages of Men and Elves both. Your separation would be a small price for 
the promise of a final dawning of peace at the end of the labours of both your 
people.”

“How long do we have to decide?” Elrond asked bluntly, and Elros felt a rush of 
love for his brother and his habit of confronting things head on rather than 
attempting a more subtle approach.

“There is no time to spare for this,” the Herald replied inflexibly. “You must 
decide now.”

They looked at one another in silence, the horror of the choice being asked of 
them creeping up on them slowly like the incoming tide. Elros found he was 
holding his brother’s hand tightly, and loosened his grip a little. They 
communicated by facial expression alone, as they had learned to do in the time 
since they had been taken from their home by those who had come with fire and 
sword and changed their world.

“We have never been apart. How dare you ask this of us?” Elrond asked finally, 
driven by the edge of fear he was seeing in Elros’ eyes. He had never sounded 
less certain about being defiant. There was a coolness within this strange 
pavilion that was slowly chilling his blood. All he wanted to do was to get this 
over and done with and leave. He was far from certain how much he trusted their 
newly encountered cousin the King, but Ereinion Gil-galad, for his many faults, 
would never look at them with this air of cold implacability.

“The choice must be taken,” the Herald said firmly. “There is little time left, 
and this is all I will have to spare for you. You may choose to remain together, 
and disregard the needs of future generations; that is your right. But, whatever 
your decision, it must be made now.”

“We need to talk to someone – we can’t decide this without guidance…” Elros let 
his voice trail off. In truth, no one would be able to help them pick the best 
road. This nightmare was theirs alone. He glanced at Elrond, who at that moment 
looked very much younger than their years. He was starting to be afraid, and it 
was showing. Elros hated it. His usually insanely self-confident brother never 
showed fear, even when he had pushed Maedhros past endurance, past the rescue of 
Maglor’s interceding voice. He took a deep breath.

“So, you are telling us to decide today in favour of a future that one of us 
will definitely never live to see?” he asked quietly. The silvery head nodded 
wordlessly. Elros considered the Herald, then looked thoughtfully at his 
brother. Elrond was the one who carried traces of their foremother Melian, not 
him. Elrond had feelings that were more than intuition, sight that looked 
through deception as though reading an open scroll, and a voice filled with 
enchantment.

Elros had other strengths: calmness, thoroughness, a sense of duty and 
responsibility. He loved his brother dearly, but his mind found it difficult to 
entertain the idea of Elrond as a King. A great Elf lord someday, perhaps, but a 
Mortal King? He shook his head, an unconscious smile of affectionate denial on 
his lips.

“We have to do this,” he said softly to his twin, meeting wide grey eyes with 
his own, calmer stare. “And we have to do it properly. And we can’t be selfish 
about it. If you would rather, I will choose for us.”

“…but this isn’t right…” Elrond began, but he was quietly interrupted by his 
brother.

“We are in no position to judge if it is right or not, my brother. All we know 
is the preference of the Valar. I think we have to carry out their wishes. And, 
knowing me, knowing you, I think it would be best if I took the path of our 
Secondborn kin, while you remain within the shelter of Elvenkind.” Elrond made a 
gesture, but then dropped his hand and simply sat staring at his brother with 
disbelieving eyes, shaking his head slightly in denial. “I think you have the 
possible makings of an Elf lord one day,” Elros explained gently, with a sweet, 
sad smile, “and that I will make a far more likely King than you.”

-----------

“And that was it?” Glorfindel asked sitting up, outraged. “But that was no 
choice at all. That was…..”

Elrond nodded, quite calmly. “A ‘choice’ handed to us when we were barely of 
age, and amongst strangers. There was no one we could turn to for advice. Had 
Maglor been there we would have gone to him, but he and Maedhros were busy 
plotting the theft of the Silmarils, and we had only known Ereinion for a week. 
In your words, no choice at all. We just fell back on the habits of a lifetime; 
Elros always tries to do the right thing, I always used to follow his lead.”

“But what did Gil say when you told him? Surely…” Glorfindel was finding it 
difficult to drag out the appropriate words for this. Elrond’s matter-of-fact 
description of the Herald, his pavilion, the way the options were put to them, 
had chilled him with its quiet, implied horror.

Elrond shook his head. “We never told Ereinion. At the time he was still an 
unknown, and before we left we were told to hold our peace, let the matter stay 
between us and the Valar. Later, it was just better left unsaid. He would have 
felt guilty for not going along to support us. As it was, we just told him and 
Círdan that this was how we had chosen, for our own good reasons. You’re the 
first to know otherwise.”

He looked up at Glorfindel as he said this, his face younger than its years, 
very uncertain, but with a hint of stubbornness to the line of his mouth.

“I only told you because you needed to be warned. You were so willing to believe 
that their motives would be fair and good and right. I had to show you that 
sometimes they aren’t fair, and they don’t always make sense – they just 
maneuver their pieces as they choose, and we must pay their price. Barring 
accidents, I will live forever, or close enough. And Elros – will have a life 
span longer than Men count normal, but still less than nothing as we reckon it.”

Glorfindel looked down at the hand resting on the puppy’s – Elros’ puppy’s – 
head. Elrond had drawn his fingers back to avoid hurting her, but his knuckles 
were white. He was holding himself very still, as one does when attempting to 
control the response to great pain. Glorfindel reached out unthinking, to touch, 
to offer what comfort he could, but Elrond wasn’t there, his rising marked by a 
startled yelp from Laslech.

“I’ve talked about this enough now,” he said in a tight, controlled voice. “It 
happened, it’s done. I just wanted to warn you not to trust to their guidance. 
Rather make your own road, let things happen as they will.”

Glorfindel, too, had risen, and they were watching one another almost 
cautiously. As he looked into strangely blank grey eyes, instinct told the 
blonde to talk calmly about simple things for a few minutes, give Elrond a 
chance to regain his balance after sharing this story which had been locked away 
inside him up until now. However, the opportunity for this vanished instantly at 
the sound of an approaching voice.

“Ah Glorfindel, a few moments of your time, perhaps? There is a concern I would 
like to discuss with you. And Elrond, I hardly need to mention that yellow silk 
is hardly suitable outdoor wear.”

tbc.