Chapter Two
Gil-galad – known as Gil to the carefully chosen few he considered friends – didn’t allow Glorfindel to be shy. The King was a practical Elf, possessing a quick, keen-sighted intelligence and a very sound instinct for the strengths and weaknesses of those around him.
He realized almost at once that Glorfindel, far from being aloof and unfriendly, was feeling lost and more than a little afraid and overwhelmed. Furthermore, during a brief visit to the Havens, carefully timed to coincide with Glorfindel’s arrival at court, he had had an extremely illuminating conversation with Círdan about Lindon’s latest celebrity.
This had helped him to gain a clearer understanding of the retiring nature of the new arrival, whose insertion into Lindon society would, in Cirdan’s opinion, probably need a fair degree of intervention and management.
Gil-galad fortunately liked managing things. It was an activity at which he excelled. One of his basic tenets was that the less complicated an action, the more likely it was to succeed. In this case, to his mind, the simplest approach was to take Glorfindel under his wing and into his innermost circle, personally organizing his immersion into his new life.
Over the following weeks and under carefully controlled circumstances, he introduced Glorfindel to a varied selection of people. The choices seemed at first glance to be completely random, but in fact were the result of Gil-galad’s personal, and occasionally eccentric, assessment of the person’s sensitivity and conversational skills.
It would naturally have been impossible to exclude his wards, the Mariner’s sons, Elros and Elrond, from this list. Glorfindel’s death had come about as a direct result of his successful effort to save their father and grandmother’s lives. Furthermore, Glorfindel was distantly related to the twins and had expressed an understandable interest in meeting them.
The request was perfectly natural. Gil-galad, however, felt the introductions would benefit from being preceded by a brief discussion between himself and the two young Half-elves.
With this in mind, he sought the pair out in the suite of rooms they currently shared while Elros still remained in Lindon. The elder twin was in the process of completing his education before journeying to Númenor, which would eventually become his permanent home.
The term ‘the twins’ was a trifle misleading, Gil-galad thought, as he surveyed them. They were alike, as often happens with brothers, but far from identical. He felt, personally, that this might have been due to direct intervention by the Valar, their way of making certain that there would only ever be one Elrond Eärendilion.
Elros was never a problem. Had it been him alone, a quick word in passing would have been all that might have been necessary. He sat, straight and respectful, his long dark hair neatly braided, his mist blue tunic and grey leggings impeccably neat, his expression eager but polite.
His sibling sprawled on his stomach on a cushion-strewn divan, chin propped on hands, the identical tunic and leggings clinging to him like a second skin. His unbound hair was a wild, smoky mass, spiderweb-fine, sinfully alluring, and his slanting grey eyes studied Gil-galad with an expression of such intensity as to be more than a little unnerving.
“So, what you are saying is, you want us to keep our distance from the Balrog Slayer, in case we should happen to frighten him. Did I understand that correctly, Sire?” Little glints of mischief sparkled in the storm-coloured eyes.
Gil-galad took a very deep breath and released it slowly. Losing your temper with Elrond was an instant admission of failure. At the least sign of weakness he would pounce, gleeful and heedless as a kitten, inflicting damage with surgical precision.
“Firstly,” he said, very calmly, “I know it is in common use at the moment, but should I hear the term ‘Balrog Slayer’ from either of you again, I’ll give you cause to regret it. It belittles an act of ultimate courage, without which your father would have died at the age of seven, and you two would never have been born.”
Elrond nodded gravely. “That was remiss of me, Sire. I take your point. Secondly?”
Gil-galad eyed him suspiciously, but his face was smooth, displaying nothing more than the correct degree of polite interest. Elros, on the other hand, was positively cringing, usually a reliable pointer to his brother’s intent.
The life of trauma and horror to which they had been exposed since they were toddlers had affected them differently, defining their separateness even more clearly than their appearance did.
Elrond presented an edgy, arrogant self assurance, a scalpel-sharp tongue, and gave no ounce of respect unearned. Elros manifested a calm, helpful appearance, and spent a fair amount of his time appeasing those his brother had managed, with a few well chosen words, to outrage.
“Secondly,” Gil-galad continued, “To put it simply, Glorfindel died in the destruction of Gondolin. He has been returned, not reborn but returned, memories intact, to what is for all intents and purposes a different world. He is naturally disoriented and unsure of himself. I expect you to take this into account and treat him with courtesy and consideration.”
Elrond scratched an elegant though slightly rounded ear thoughtfully. “Yes,” he agreed flatly. “It is a disorienting experience to have your life change in a flash of fire and violence. One would expect understanding and consideration to be the response to this, would one not?”
Gil-galad caught and held his bland stare. The twins’ lives had changed through fire and violence. They had heard those around them dying in fear and pain and seen their mother throw herself into the sea, the accursed jewel around her neck, choosing her death before it could be chosen for her. At the time understanding and consideration had been in short supply.
Remembering this, he swallowed back the angry response sitting on the edge of his tongue. However, he still held Elrond’s gaze, waiting until the Half-elf remembered whom it was he attempted to defy and finally lowered his sea-grey eyes. Gil-galad nodded slightly, whether to Elrond or to himself he was personally uncertain.
“Finally,” he said, “I want you to regard this point as an instruction not a request. You will leash your tongues, you will swallow your wicked wit – both of you, it is not always just Elrond – and you will make Glorfindel feel comfortable and at home, no matter what the temptation.”
He rose and looked from one to the other, and then continued, with the unmistakable undertone of a growl to his voice.
“Should you see fit to disregard my wishes, we will be having another conversation, and it will be considerably less pleasant than this one. Are there any questions?”
Elrond opened his mouth, caught his brother’s eye, and closed it again. Elros stood, gesturing his twin to rise as well out of respect to the King, and achieved what no one else could have as Elrond rose gracefully and stood, head slightly bowed, the picture of decorum and respect. Gil-galad felt an almost irresistible temptation to smack him.
“We understand your concerns,” Elros said quietly. “I assure you, we will both go out of our way to make Lord Glorfindel feel as comfortable and welcomed as possible. Won’t we, Elrond?” He shot his brother a long warning look under his lashes. Elrond offered his infinitely charming smile and nodded agreement.
“Absolutely. Your wish is our desire, Your Grace.”
Gil-galad left while he could still hold his tongue. However, halfway down the hallway, and not for the first time after a run-in with Elrond, he found his lips twitching with barely suppressed laughter.
~*~*~*~
Gil-galad was a practical Elf, and in Glorfindel’s case the list of the purely practical ways in which he could be helped to settle in were numerous indeed.
Since Lord Námo had sent his former guest back out into the world as naked as the day he had been first born, Gil-galad immediately set about supplying his latest dependant with new clothes, personal effects, armor and a very good horse, all out of his own pocket.
They tested the horse’s mettle with a series of hard-ridden excursions to see the surrounding countryside, in company with the twins and a small guard.
Elrond’s behavior was impeccable. He even went so far as to appoint himself Glorfindel’s informal guide, helpfully pointing out places of interest and being quick to furnish answers to any questions that arose, though Gil-galad noticed with amusement that Elros kept a close eye on his brother at all times.
Glorfindel enjoyed these outings. He liked being on horseback, the fresh air and physical activity agreed with him, although Gil-galad had worried that he would be tired by it, and he was fascinated at the pure scale of habitation in this, the largest and most secure of the Elven realms.
He was, in fact, so interested in how this had all come about that the King’s next course of action was to acquire the services of a lore master to join him in explaining recent historical, geographical, and political changes.
It was a natural consequence of all the time they spent in each other’s company that they should start comparing their personal preferences, searching for areas of mutual interest.
They were delighted to find they shared the same tastes in books – preferring general entertainment, as opposed to heavier works of lore and philosophy. They liked cats and horses, they were indifferent dancers, and shared an unexpected liking for board games.
They were pleased to discover they had in common a great love for music, despite having no personal ability, though the King did possess a good, strong singing voice. They began attending small concerts and musical evenings together, which they discussed afterwards in great detail.
The court watched the progress of this joined-at-the-hip friendship with a natural cynicism, which was kept carefully concealed as Gil-galad’s temper and his loyalty to his friends were held to be of more or less equal measure.
The younger of the Peredhil twins, Elrond, was heard to pass a few snide comments, though he was careful as to time and place, but he was generally rumored to have a large, juvenile, and completely unreciprocated crush on the King. His comments, therefore, were judged to carry the sickly green hue of jealousy.
~*~*~*~
The day arrived when Glorfindel started to feel restless, expressing a desire to start getting himself back into shape. The King, who took this as a sign that Glorfindel was starting to settle in, immediately pronounced it an excellent idea, and offered to be his first sparring partner in Lindon.
Being Gil-galad, what he actually said was, “I’ve never sparred with some one who’s managed to get close enough to a Balrog to get himself killed before.”
Had this or similar comments come from anyone else Glorfindel would have had no idea how to respond, but he had learned early to be at ease with Gil-galad’s questionable sense of humour, so he accepted the invitation with laughter.
He found himself laughing a surprising amount of the time. Gil-galad, although Glorfindel had no way of knowing it, gave quite a lot of thought to finding ways to get him to laugh, for the pure pleasure of watching the mirth light up that lovely though often over-serious face.
They chose as their venue one of the small outdoor enclosures, and picked the hour when most thoughts were turning to the midday meal, in the hopes of getting a little privacy.
Upon their arrival they spent a little time examining Glorfindel’s new sword, paid for out of the treasury this time, not Gil-galad’s pocket, and, pronouncing it sound, prepared to get on with the business at hand
At any rate Gil-galad, who had never had a problem taking his clothes off, got on with it. Glorfindel stood in an agony of shyness, fiddling with the buttons of his jerkin without going so far as to actually undo any. Gil-galad, already stripped down to almost indecently tight leggings, frowned at him and said,
“Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t fight like that. Get your shirt off; it’s hot as Mordor today. Do you think I’m going to run screaming at the sight of a male nipple?”
Glorfindel was forced to laugh and, turning away, started to undress. He glanced back to see the King standing openly watching him and blushing furiously, was stung into saying,
“If you don’t stop staring at me it stays on. I start feeling stupid and ugly when people stare at me.”
Gil-galad moved forward, laughing.
“Nonsense, come on, get this off and let’s get on with it,” he said, and reached out to help Glorfindel off with his undershirt, pulling it over the golden head in one smooth movement.
Stepping back, still chuckling, with the shirt in his hand, he took in the sight before him and his breath caught in his throat. Glorfindel, bright gold hair braided back neatly, stood facing him, a light blush staining his cheeks and an uncertain smile on his soft lips, clad now only in a pair of form fitting, black leggings.
Gil-galad looked at the perfectly sculpted body with the glowing, satin smooth skin and the delicate, rose tinted nipples, and the laughter died to silence, though the smile stayed in his eyes.
“Not stupid, “he said at last. “And quite literally the furthest thing from ugly that I have ever seen.”
They stood, their eyes locked, the world falling away into stillness, leaving both of them for the moment completely unaware of their surroundings. Then there were voices and Faeleron with two friends arrived, and the moment passed and they set to sparring, loudly encouraged by their impromptu audience.
They were evenly matched in speed and experience, save that the King had never been killed by a Balrog, nor had he ever been a guest of Lord Námo.
~*~*~*~*~
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Beta: Fimbrethil