Title: Open Window      
Author: GameShowVictim@yahoo.com
Pairing(s): Elrond
Rating: R
Summary: Remembering bad times during The Last Alliance of Men and 
Elves
Disclaimer: Not mine.
      

      
      Lord Elrond of Imladris slept with the windows open.  It was 
immaculate weather, as always in his fair realm and with each gentle puff 
of wind, the tender aroma of honey blossoms wafted into his chamber and 
settled into the elf’s sweet dreams.  Before bed each night, as the elf lord 
opened the window pane, he was thrilled with the anticipation of the 
white, silk wind that would caress him in his slumber.

      Despite these obvious pleasantries, his daughter, the effervescent, 
luminous Evanstar, had attempted to convince him that it was an 
unnecessary breech of safety and with the threat growing in the East, all 
precautions must be taken.

      “Sweet child,” Elrond had gently held his daughter’s face in his 
hands as if she were a newly unfolded bloom, “Our defenses are 
impenetrable.  You know as well as any other how impossible it is to enter 
these grounds!”  Indeed, as a child, Arwen had been known to run off at 
various intervals, either attempting to catch a butterfly or to find the most 
beautiful flower, and would find herself forbidden to reenter the borders 
long after she was expected to be in bed.

      As always, Arwen received this affectionate rebuke with grace and, 
although it festered at her heart, she let the matter lie.  However, this was 
one of the rare occasions where an Eldar would have been wise to heed a 
child’s advice.

~*~


      “There is a bitter taste this night that puts me at a great unease.”  At 
the border, the two elves who were patrolling the area took a brief respite 
from their duties.

      “Yes,” the second, younger elf replied, “Yet all night I have seen 
nothing.  It seems as if the wood itself is staying its breath in anticipation 
of the unknown.”  There was a brief moment when the air was as still as 
the earth before the young one spoke again, “They say the forces of the 
East are becoming more aggressive.  There are talks of an ancient evil 
resurrected. Do you think…”

      “Silence!”  though the older elf barked with intimidating authority 
there was no denying he was shaken by his companion’s words, “That is 
not our concern at this hour.  Collect yourself and continue your guard.  I 
will not see an enemy admitted by your negligence.”  Having been 
properly berated, the young elf dropped his shoulders and returned to his 
post, ashamed yet unaware that the enemy of whom they were speaking 
had already penetrated their defenses.


~*~


      The delicately crafted elven hangings next to the Lord’s windows 
sparkled and shone in the moonlight in grand praise of their makers, and 
with every gust of friendly breeze, they would come alive into the air 
before they were somberly released and still again, breathing their 
immortality.  

      Elrond sighed and in his deep slumber, kicked his legs and splayed 
his arms about his moonlit body.  The silken sheets lay draped lovingly 
against his body, and all was peaceful until something seemed to shift in 
the Elf Lord’s dreams, and his brow furrowed as if in confusion or pain.  
The beautiful curtains that had been dancing with the wind now pressed 
flat against the walls, and all of the candles that glowed softly in the 
chamber died a quick death as something wicked began to seep through 
the gaping maw of the window.  

      The color of ash, and as fine as silt, an unknown ribbon of mist 
wafted into the room and soundlessly slid across the floor.  Unlike any 
natural event, these wisps moved as if alive, plotting its course and 
navigating its way as if it had eyes.  The night was now silent with 
fascination and through the yawning window billowed a great measure of 
this striking black silk, and like a sweltering zephyr, it swept about the 
chamber, investigating hidden nooks and slipping in and out through key 
holes.  As if satisfied that everything was in its place, the black mist 
briskly began to sift towards the bed.

      And between the sheets, slumbering in unsuspecting peace, rested 
the Lord of Rivendell.  Not once during this inexplicable mist’s arrival did 
he shift, not even when it cautiously began to climb under the silk at the 
foot of his bed.  The unexplained force, much like a dog stuffing his 
muzzle under the blankets to seek its master, began a new and far more 
enticing exploration.

      Now, the Lord Elrond jerked.  He did not wake, but he was aware 
of the vague lapping of warmth at his feet, even in his wide eyed dream 
sate.  The silk sheet at the end of the bed began to swell as more of this 
peculiar specter insidiously slipped betwixt the linens.  The moonlight 
reflected the small rippling and ruffling of the moving sheets as they 
slowly shifted forward, licking at calves and expanding over knees.  In his 
sleep, the Elf Lord softly moaned and wantonly opened his legs, his back 
arching.  As the smoky breaths licked higher, it eagerly crested into the 
space Elrond had unwittingly created for it, wrapping around his thighs 
and hips, swirling and ever advancing.  

      Up and over his abdomen it whisped, curling at his sides and 
tickling his ribs.  Like investigating hands it laved over his nipples, lifting 
the sweet silk from his body and surging against him delightedly.  With his 
mind still lost in rest, Elrond groaned in pleasure and slowly began to 
undulate his hips, and writhe underneath the gentle caress of the ghostly 
energy.  Gentle cries escaped his lips as it swirled into his collarbone, 
fondled his shoulders, twined around his arms.  A lock of hair that had 
carelessly fallen across the elf’s face was tenderly swept away as the steam 
pooled about his lips and even allowed itself to be inhaled, taken into 
elven lungs, and expelled again into the cool night air.  By now the dusk 
had spread across the entirety of Elrond’s body, embracing and stroking 
him like a lover, taking liberties and prompting the most undignified 
sounds from the elf’s throat.  However, as the mist crept higher, climbing 
cheekbones and seeking ears, the elven lord began to wake.  For a 
moment, he consciously felt the entire sensation across his body, and 
sensing this, the offending specter leapt from the bed, flinging the silk 
from atop it, and tearing out the window, while Elrond bolted upright on 
his couch, panicked and gasping for breath.  As the lone elf stared into the 
darkness, an expression of dread marring his fair features, only one word 
was heard, whispered into the night.

      “Sauron!” 

~*~


      He hadn’t expected the ring to make its appearance so soon.  Upon 
receiving a beautiful, wounded hobbit into his care, Lord Elrond chastised 
himself for being twice caught unawares by the doings of the Dark Lord.  

      ‘I should have foreseen it,’ was the first of many criticisms he 
inflicted upon himself while healing the small creature, ‘This very 
morning, I should have known that my many years of peace would explode 
in this manner.”  However, that morning he had not thought of anything 
other than what had happened in his chambers the night before.

      After he had started awake, the realization of what had happened to 
him kept him from returning to his slumbers.  For hours he paced his 
gardens, and although for thousands of years his eyes had been trained to 
see only beautiful things, the glory of the newborn sun awaking in the 
arms of his resplendent Imladris left him feeling just as hollow and 
bewildered as had the gray of dusk.  With every breath he took, he recalled 
the wicked vapors filling him, rendering him imprisoned by the memory of 
his molestation.

      And now he was preparing to face it.  The small hobbit he had 
healed was he who bore the ring.  The hobbit was he, who, around his 
neck, wore countless ages of guilt and longing, fury and shame. 

      With a tremor rocking his hand, the Lord of Imladris placed the 
brush he had been using back against the wood of his dressing table.  For a 
moment, he gazed at it, knowing that if he were to raise his eyes, he would 
see a mirror, and he was not ready to confront what he saw there.  He 
knew that when others looked on him, they would see a regal, honorable 
man who was worthy of the songs and legends that would be regaled 
throughout the centuries.  No one, not even his closest companion 
Glorfindel could see what the lord himself saw – A distant, miserable man, 
hiding behind a finely crafted facade of splendor and glory, so formidable 
that only the man himself knew what lay beneath: The tattered, rent heart 
of a coward and the scars and bruises of a harlot that no amount of remedy 
could heal…

~*~


      The wind whipped fiercely about the forms of the two great elven 
warriors, as they stood atop the highest point for a better view of the 
barren wasteland before them.  Their army had been traveling for weeks, 
undaunted and pertinacious as they mounted their attack on the forces of 
the Dark Lord.

      Gil-Galad huffed in agitation as his hair lashed into his eyes, before 
he turned to address his companion, “And how, Lord Elrond, would you 
purpose to assail the enemy?  Should we walk to their gates, knock three 
times and hope they are in a hospitable mood?”  In times like these, the 
half-elf never could really tell whether or not his King was joking.  It set 
him quite off his guard, not knowing how to respond except with the truth, 
“There is a way in, I am certain, and it probably is not as complicated as 
we think.  He knows we are here, and He wants this battle.  We may not 
even have to knock before the black gates are opened to us.”  The words, 
though true, were beyond terrifying for Elrond to admit.  But he was 
certain in his assumption that the Dark Lord Sauron had anticipated this 
final battle since the war’s conception.  

      The king lowered his head, knowing full well that his companion’s 
words were true, yet to accept it meant leading his men into certain death.  
Out across the open wasteland before them, a few flames ignited out of 
what seemed to be their own free will, and Gil-Galad knew what he must 
do, “Very well.  We shall camp for the night but ready your men for the 
morrow.”  With that, the beautiful elf turned and began to saunter back to 
their established site, and muttered as an afterthought, “I would sooner 
watch each of my men fall before I would surrender.”  

      The metered crunching of stones behind him told Elrond that his 
king had left him and he was alone.  Immediately, the wind seemed to die 
down, and the elf lord could, surprisingly, breathe a little easier. The road 
had worn on him, dulling his armor as it dulled his spirits.  He was weary, 
and every thread on his overworked body seemed to weigh him down and 
burden him with worries.  Leaning slightly into the wet, hot breeze that 
was wafting directly over his face, Elrond drearily closed his eyes, and 
immediately…


What sweet ambrosia have I drunk from Elven tears
A Kingdom I could build on Elven Death
One deathless army raised on Elven fears
All to steal one Elven breath
My love, My own, I assure you it is My delight
To conquer your beauty amidst your world’s  despite…


      Elrond gagged, and his eyes snapped open.  He teetered backwards, 
slightly, feeling as if the very earth was shifting beneath him.  The bile slid 
up his throat, and after a few moments of vertigo, the elf found his footing 
and carefully raised his head.

      ‘He sings to me,’ the warrior thought to himself, ‘He sings to me 
again…’



      It was long before even the wisest council knew of the plans of 
Sauron the Valar that these songs had set upon him.  Never did they come 
to him at night, while his mind was far away, but only during the waking 
hours, sometimes ringing through his head in the midst of battle, 
distracting him and seizing him with panic.  Sometimes the verses came to 
him even when he was in conversation, so that he had to hear his own 
voice reciting the poison verses.  

      And now he walked through the camp in horror.  Since nearing 
Mordor, the songs had become only more frequent, despite the elf lord’s 
constant fear.  He told no one of his affliction, and as he shared glances 
with several elven warriors, he knew it was a secret he must guard forever.

      “Elrond!”  Turning his attention to the one who addressed him, 
Elrond turned his head to see Anarion before him, holding a steaming pot 
of broth, “Have you hunger, good friend?  Eat up, for we shall need our 
strength for tomorrow’s victory!”  The very notion of food made the half-
elf’s stomach lurch and he tried to keep his voice steady when he replied, 
“No, I am well, but I thank you for your consideration.”

      “Of course,” the brother of Isildur deferred, “But I would that you 
would not look so glum.  We will win this war, Elrond and our children 
will live to see peace and freedom.”  With a slight bow of his head, Elrond 
responded, “Indeed.  Perhaps I need only to clear my head a moment.”  
After taking an enthusiastic slurp from his soup, Anarion clapped him on 
the shoulder heartily, “A fine idea, friend.  But mind you do not stray far 
from camp!”  This, of course, put Elrond slightly off, so he gave the mortal 
a demeaning smile, that spoke of how far older he was, yet how childish 
he could behave. Anarion, being the son of man, did not catch this pointed 
expression, and went on his way, merrily slurping and daydreaming about 
the morrow.

      Elrond wished he had only been so lucky.  It felt as if centuries had 
passed since he went into battle with an optimistic heart.  Now, more than 
ever, his half-elven heart was brimming with dread, and the Eldar couldn’t 
help but think that knowing exactly what he was up against was what 
made it so… for in the songs and verses that were sung to him, the 
nefarious relish of that which was Sauron the Destroyer of Worlds 
resonated through his soul.

      Tortured, he moved away from the camp, feeling the noise and the 
brightness of the fires would nigh crush him.  He yearned for the cool, 
soothing blues of the Forest of Lothlorien, to have a drought of sweet 
water that actually satisfied him.  To be away from this place that turned 
even mellifluous thoughts into dust and muted even the sounds of clashing 
metal.

      The Peredhel’s feet began to sink into the earth further and further, 
and every breath he took robbed him of any moisture in his mouth.  He 
was breathing sand, yet at the same time, wading through mud. He simply 
wanted it to end.  No more wars, battles and death, no more strange voices 
and even stranger visions, no more of this paradoxical atmosphere.

      And as soon as he thought it, it became so.  He snapped open his 
eyes, which he had kept closed to maintain what was left of his tears, and 
found himself in a glade.  This was peculiar enough as it was, to find a 
glade in Mordor, what with all of the trees being scorched to the earth, but 
the fact that the climate had changed so entirely made a slight chill slink 
its way up Elrond’s spine.  Turning in a full circle, the half elf looked 
around him, and for as far as he could see, there were trees.  In every 
direction, large, lush trees loomed above him, each only allowing the 
slightest shafts of pale, blue light to slip between their branches.  

      “Where am I?”  Elrond, quite unintentionally said aloud.  Much to 
his consternation, he was answered by a voice that seemed to resonate 
from out of the earth itself, “You are exactly where you should be, 
precious…”  Elrond’s throat closed as if sewn together, and despite the 
ambiguity of this response, he knew exactly what it meant and exactly the 
company he shared.  

      “You have lured me here.”  Although he struggled to maintain 
some demeanor of calm, the elven warrior’s eyes were frantically darting 
about, desperate to find some means of escape.

      There was a deep, thundering laugh that Elrond was sure he felt 
beneath his feet, and he closed his eyes waiting for the tremor to pass.

      “It is not you, I think, that has been unfairly enticed,” a cool and 
undeniably refreshing breeze swept around Elrond like a misguided cape, 
and the voice continued speaking despite the elf’s crushing his eyes shut, 
“You know my name, yet will not speak it.  You hear my words but will 
not heed them.  You know my wish, my desire, my most simple request 
and still you will not give me what I want!”  The half elf stood trembling 
in the clearing when he felt a hand filled with more power than any man or 
elf, swing him around, where he could feel the heat of another body 
emanating toward him.  Although, like a child who believed there was no 
danger if there was no danger to be seen, he tightly kept his eyes closed, 
until, “It is not I who has played the agile seducer.”

      That was when the temptation became too great.  Before him, 
Elrond knew, stood the legend of old, an incarnation of the Eternal Vala, 
the mightiest being on the whole of middle earth.  It took great 
concentration on the Peredhel’s part to relax himself enough to unveil his 
eyes, and when he did, he was greeted by the sight of two razor edged, 
never-ending clavicles.  He was not surprised to note that this invulnerable 
creature stood a full head above him, but he could not help but wonder at 
the honey colored skin.  It was darker than his own by far, and spoke of 
someone who spent their life amidst fire. 

      He was, however, almost terrified to look at the rest.  The grip on 
his arms was firm and he did not entertain the fancy of flight, knowing it 
would be ridiculous.  So, he resigned himself to his fate, and slowly let his 
eyes wander the rest of the being before him.  

      With his head sagging towards the earth, Elrond conditioned 
himself to the idea of looking in the Vala’s face by starting at his feet.  
They looked strong and agile, large but not distractingly so, and the tops of 
them were being lightly tickled by the fringe on the garment he wore.   It 
was a sarong, made of only the richest fabrics of red and black, wrapped 
snugly around what Elrond perceived to be a gruesomely powerful set of 
calves and thighs, leading to the strong, bared hip bones.  The fabric ended 
there, leaving Elrond an unobscured view for the rest of his investigation 
and what he found there was shocking.

      Sauron, the Destroyer of Worlds, the Devourer of Souls, the most 
feared of them all had a navel.  It was difficult to imagine that a Vala, 
much less *this* Vala had a mother who had an umbilical cord through 
which she fed him.  Visualizing this creature as a child and with a mother, 
alone was too much of a stretch.  

      However, he knew he was stalling, and with blind courage, he 
raised his eyes past the gloriously masculine belly, the firm chest with 
blood colored nipples.  

      One thing, however, demanded his attention.  Around a nearly 
invisible mithril chain, there hung a ring.  It was identical to what he knew 
The One Ring looked like, but he did not understand why it was around 
his neck as opposed to his finger.  Quickly Elrond peered down, and saw, 
much to his consternation, that there, indeed, was the powerful ring of 
lore.  It sparkled brightly at him, but in response, Elrond turned his head 
away, and refused to hear its call.  His fear was the only thing which made 
this possible

      Again, he turned his attention to exploring that which no one had 
before survived to tell but, when he got to the clavicles again, he stopped.  
He stared at the broad shoulders and the wonderful keyhole at the base of 
the neck, but he did not dare lift his gaze any farther.  So, then it was with 
the aid of an arm who’s profile looked like the rolling mountains, and 
fingers, heavily armed with thick, black talons, The Dark Lord grasped the 
elven chin in front of him and lifted Elrond’s eyes to meet his own.  

      And for what seemed an eternity, they stood like that.  Elrond, 
having been ensnared by his prey was shivering and cowering like a 
cornered rabbit, and The Dark Lord Sauron smoldering at him like a 
python who was about to dislocate his jaw and swallow him whole.  

      Elrond was transfixed.  This terrible beast, this ferocious, 
abominable monster looked as beautiful and breathtaking as one of the 
Vala should be.  His long black hair was slowly curling about his face as if 
to accent the majesty of his unfathomable hazel eyes, and the brilliance of 
his high cheek bones.  His lips were full and red, but as Elrond noticed, 
most of this burgundy hue was due to the traceable amounts of blood that 
still clung to the weather beaten flesh.

      “You…”  Elrond knew not even in which language he should 
speak as he gaped at the vision before him.  The taloned thumb of the 
murderous hand rubbed gently across the elf’s bottom lip as he heard again 
the voice that had hunted and haunted him every moment of his waking 
journey, “I knew you would come…”  

      The Elven warrior licked his lips and fought a losing battle to free 
his eyes from the intense connection they made with his enemy, “I do not 
wish to be here…”  Obviously affronted by such an honest remark, the 
impressive creature despondently moved away, yet with his head still 
raised high and proud.  For a spell, he paced around the soothing wood of 
his creation, before turning again to the one he had enticed there, “You 
cannot win, you know.  Tomorrow, no matter what happens, Elrond, I 
shall prevail.  I always shall.”  The thought immediately had the elf 
seeking the gold he knew was around the Vala’s finger, but the powerful 
being kept his hands hidden behind his back. 

      Swallowing what moisture he could down his desperately dry 
throat, Elrond managed to ask sharply, “Tell me what you wish of me now, 
Dark One then leave me in peace.  I can no longer stand your menace.”

      The specter across from him grinned in what looked more like a 
practiced sneer, and exposed his long, white canine as he hissed, “If you 
do not know what I want of you by now, then you truly are a child among 
elves.”  The trees became very still and tense and the very wind quieted.  
The glade did not grow warmer, but the sweet kiss of coolness had crept 
away.  Elrond held himself straight, but he could feel his blood swirling 
around in him as he struggled to maintain his calm.  Again, he closed his 
eyes.  Orienting himself this way, there was yet no amount of meditation 
that could prepare a being for a confrontation with that which was now 
standing directly before him.

      “Open your eyes, precious.”  Several soft puffs of breath swept the 
hair from Elrond’s brow, yet he did not open his eyes.  He could not.  Not 
in the face of this reality.  

      “Very well,” His voice from beyond the darkness hummed, “If you 
are too frightened, my little one, you may stay hidden.”  Despite his rigid 
stance, Elrond felt his hand being lifted by a far greater one, and then he 
felt its partner pry his fist open.  

      “I have chosen you…”  The elf warrior was not sure whether it was 
Sauron that had spoken, or simply the sifting of the reborn winds.  “I have 
watched you, my precious, in battle and at rest…  You and I…  We have 
been alone too long… Yes, precious…”  There was a soft caress against 
his open palm and Elrond squeezed his eyes shut more tightly, wishing it 
all away.  What had begun as a gentle breeze was now stirring more 
violently and the ground beneath Elrond’s feet seemed to warm.

      “It is our time, now.  We are to be united, my precious, forever.  I 
will win this war, perhaps not today, but in the future, and when I do…  
You will be beside me…”  The grasp around his wrist began to hurt, but 
Elrond still would not move, not even when another taloned hand sunk 
into his waist and clasped him tightly to the large body before him.  The 
heat began to sting and the wind to roar.  The world around them seemed 
to shatter.

      “No one could defeat us, precious, no, neither man, nor elf, nor 
dwarf, we shall stand alone… I will give you land over which you might 
rule, I will give you the world.  You are mine…” Elrond’s breath began to 
fail him and he was panicking.  It seemed that even the body he was 
pressed against was now ablaze with flame and charring him to the bone.  
The wind tore ferociously at him as if trying to strip him not only of his 
clothing but of his own skin.  The lack of water made him feel as though 
he would turn to ash.

      “You will take this,” something hard and small was pressed into 
his hand, “It was made especially for you.  You, my love, my heart… 
my… my precious…”  In terror, the elf squeezed the object in his hand as 
he felt a pair of warm, full lips on his own, on his own hot, tired, aching 
trembling body.  The Vala was seeking his way into Elrond’s mouth the 
wet bud of his lips promising of sweetness and chill.  Too weak to protest, 
he allowed it, only to be totally and utterly drowned in the mouth of the 
Mad Lord, swept around all the rage and fear, and it made him feel like…

      Water.   
      

      ***
      

      The weather was good to Rivendell that day, if the circumstances 
were not.  The One Ring lay before them, glittering in the pleasant 
morning sun like a ripple of water kissed by a fraction of reflecting light.  
It burned to look at, yet none present at the council of Elrond could look 
away.  

      Especially its host.  Upon seeing it, his throat seized up, and it was 
almost as if he were there again, in that brutal glade with that ring’s 
creator, the feel of His hands, the flame, the cool, sweet water that he 
drank from molten lips…  

      “Do you not see, it is a gift!”  Elrond was jerked from his memory 
by the excited voice of the Son of Gondor.  For a few moments, disgust 
reared in him as he watched this insolent fool speak of things of which he 
knew nothing, suggesting courses of action that only the dullest of idiots…  

      Elrond stopped.  The noise and chatter around him was awash with 
silence, and although he could see and feel the world around him, all was 
muted to his ears, and for the first time in several millennia, he heard a 
song, seeming to drift towards him from very far away…
      

      Come, little child, come home to your bed
      Away from these nasty men, flying
      Come, little child, find your peace here, instead
      Of watching the world you love dying
      

      The time has come for the weapons you wield
      And to, from your homeland, depart
      These cowards you see would use you as a shield
      While I’ll defend you with my heart…
      

      “That is enough, Legolas!”  The stern, strong voice of his foster 
son was this time, the call that returned him to his senses.  Elrond blinked 
about, entirely unaware of what had developed before him, but little did he 
care.  He had heard the song of the Ring.  Its voice was His voice, and the 
very whisper of it continually sent his mind spiraling in the memories of 
what once was and what had once happened to him.

      All he could remember after the kiss was waking atop the cruel, 
steaming earth, alone and disoriented.  It had taken him several long 
moments to gain his bearings, and when he did, he had sought the source 
of the burning in his palm.

      And there, on a thin chain of mithril was laced a ring.  It was 
identical to that which he had seen on the hand of the Vala, plain, gold and 
vibrating with eternal power.  To say he had been terrified would be too 
much of an understatement.  He blanched, and threw the wretched token to 
the ground, shying away from it as one would a poisoned snake.  His mind 
was reeling, as were his feet as they stumbled and clamored over the 
vicious terrain, and eventually more panic set in as he considered what 
may happen if the ring were to fall into the hands of anyone, either mortal 
or otherwise.  

      Frantically, Elrond had scrambled back to the spot where he had 
smashed the ring to the ground, and began to madly dig into the earth with 
his nails, ripping away what was once a valley where green things grew.  
The hole he had created was not very wide but considerably deep, and 
without thinking twice, he dropped the hated object into the little well, and 
immediately filled it with dirt.  Again, he toppled away, not once looking 
back to notice that a small link of mithril was exposed and glinting in the 
hot, red sun…

      Elrond tried to remain focused, but the council seemed to have 
gone mad during his mental sabbatical.  The Elves were barking at the 
dwarves, the men were arguing with Gandalf, and the hobbit was sitting 
back, intimidated and exhilarated by it all.

      “I will take it!  I will take the Ring!  But I do not know the way…”  
For the first time in several years, Elrond was surprised.  He raised an 
eyebrow at the little one and watched in wonder as the Istari stepped 
forward to aid the small creature.  Soon, more men stepped forward 
offering their arms, his foster son, Aragorn Son of Arathorn, the Elf, 
Legolas Son of Thranduil, the dwarf, Gimli, son of Gloin, even the 
Gondorion Boromir, Son of Denethor.  Not only did the warriors state 
their intentions, but soon the other little hobbits appeared, much to 
Elrond’s delight.  What sweet, quaint creatures before him.  

      For a few long moments, The Lord of Rivendell searched the eyes 
of each member of the company, and found that there was a formidable 
strength in their joining.  Indeed, when the Ring had resurfaced, Elrond 
had supposed the long buried evil would rise again and quickly clothe the 
world in His black shadow.  The fellowship before him, however spoke of 
the slight possibility that the light would prevail and Middle Earth would 
be saved from eternal darkness.  And with that thought in his mind…

      He delivered them into the embrace of the enemies in Mordor.
      

      ***
      

      It was with a heavy sigh that Elrond Peredhel crumpled into the 
armchair in the cool corner of his chamber.  The council had exhausted 
him, having to explain things as if to children, and being expected to know 
the correct course of action.  Even Gandalf looked to him for the answer, 
and Elrond was convinced that if he told them it would be wise for them to 
all run off a cliff and try to fly, he would have done it just as willingly to 
the rest.  After all, if they agreed to go to Mordor on his word alone, what 
wouldn’t they do?  

      The sunlight gleamed on his silver robes as the half elf stood and 
moved not like an elf, but a very old man, toward the window.  The glass 
was well maintained, clear and perfect in its invisibility, but Elrond 
yearned for more.  With a swift, dexterous gesture, the window was 
opened and the elf felt the cool wind of the oncoming evening sweetly 
envelop him.  He breathed the soft, healing air, and feeling less burdened, 
he returned to his seat.  

      Absentmindedly, the Elven Lord reached for a small box that sat 
on the elegant end table beside him, and watched it as he rotated and 
twisted it in his lap.  He was weary, and the soothing passing of colors 
before his eyes did his mind good.  After a good while of this idling, 
Elrond patiently set the little box on his lap and casually lifted his eyes to 
the window.  Like a statue he sat, as if waiting, staring at the window as 
the sun outside slowly began to fall.  

      Perhaps he had dozed off, perhaps he hadn’t, but when Elrond 
oriented himself, something had changed.  In fact, he felt the change 
before he saw it, as it wrapped around his bare ankle and teased his leg.  

      Indeed, the yawning window was again heaving forward the 
ominous silver silk, and like a dying man crawling for salvation, it crept 
upon the elf who was quite tightly gripping the arms of his chair.

      “I thought you had left me,” the elf lord whispered into the 
apprehensive night.  And, like a maiden’s fan may create a waft that snaps 
her hair back from her face, this silver mist leapt forward, as it climbed 
higher and deeper into the elven robes.

      *Never, my precious…*  Elrond’s body was trembling and were he 
a mortal, his brow would have been glittering with sweat upon hearing the 
thin non-voice as it materialized from the darkness.

      *And what is it you have instructed them to do, my pet?*  A sharp, 
deep gasp pierced the night as the essence of Sauron pressed himself 
deeply into the Elf lord’s most sensitive areas, molesting and fondling him 
as agilely as any seducer.  At this stimulation, the Elven lord flung his 
head to the side, and with labored breath half cried, “I have sent the Ring 
to you, my love!”  

      *Wonderful…*  The silver stream now flooded the elf’s robes, 
slithering and licking across his chest before caressing his lips and ears, 
hissing, *Fear not, most precious, for soon I shall have my own body to 
make love to you again…*

      “Oh, how I have missed you!”  One silver, Elven tear fell from the 
half elf’s eye as he grasped for the intangible ribbon that was wound 
around him entirely, only to find it break and disappear inside his fist.

      With all that Sauron had, he made love to his elf, until Elrond 
parted his legs, allowing the small red box to tumble from his lap.  With 
the strength of an angry gale, the silver smoke curled around it and lifted it 
to the Elven lord’s eyes.

      *You will wear it, beloved?* The Dark Lord opened the box, and 
with ghostly conduct, He lifted the contents of the box into the air for His 
lover to see.  When Elrond forced his eyes to focus, he saw hovering 
before him a mithril chain, with a tarnished golden ring strung upon it.  
After several thousand years of lying beneath the harsh soil of Mordor, the 
metal was blackened and granite lumps of cooled lava still marred the 
lovely mithril.  

      Although his left hand was shaking, Elrond extended his arm 
enough to slip his fourth finger through the golden craftsmanship of his 
lover.  It fit perfectly, expanding to slip over the elven knuckles, then 
contracting to ensure a snug fit.     

	With the ring on his finger, the Elven lord calmed and focused on 
what some may perceive as an empty room.  He closed his eyes as he felt 
his Lord and Lover’s caress, breathing in a constant rhythm that created 
swirling patterns in the dusk before him.  

      He was shuddering, the mithril chain that was still laced through 
his ring writhing against his wrist, and tilting his head back into the night 
sky, Elrond Peredhel, half elven Lord of Imladris opened his lungs and 
passionately breathed as much of his lover’s ashes as deeply into his body 
as he possibly could.

      
      ***
      

      The next morning, all of Rivendell was quiet and still, as all 
watched the tattered little brigade make their way out of the walls of 
Imladris.  Gandalf was in the lead, the little hobbits behind him, looking 
like children amidst the warriors.  From his balcony, Elrond watched them 
trudge across his bridges, occasionally tossing an encouraging wave in 
their direction.

      Gandalf, beneath his wide hat, caught one of these friendly farewell 
gestures, and waved back, wondering only slightly about the unusual spark 
of reflected sun on the elf lords left hand.

      But again, he turned forward, ready for the task awaiting him, as he 
lead his forces on, to the land where no man dare tread, unless under the 
advice of one so noble, so wise, as the great Lord Elrond, half-human.