The Heart of an Elf

Lord Elrond stood in his private garden, watching the starlit sky above. The music floated through the air from the ballroom and the Lord of Imladris closed his eyes to let the sweet melody balm his heavy heart. He sneaked outside for couple of moments to compose himself and hide his sorrow from his guests and his people .He felt so lonely, so overwhelmed. For centuries he had harbored a little spark of hope: that Haldir would forgive him and the love that they shared so long ago would come alive once more.
“How foolish of me, to think, that he would embrace me after what I did to him! Valar knows, I never meant to hurt him!”
It had been almost 3000 years, since that awful night, but in Elrond’s mind it was just like yesterday. The elf lord’s eyes came out of focus as the bitter memory swept him back in time.

Last Alliance; The Battle of Dagorlad, 3434 SA

The air was heavy with the smell of blood and the stench of decaying corpses, making it almost impossible to breathe. Death ruled the plains of the battlefield. Its iron grip took hold of the wounded that lay on the blood soaked earth, wishing for the end or screaming for help. Those screams chilled through the bone and ripped through the souls of everyone inside the camp of the Alliance. The sound of their dying fellow warriors filled them with helpless rage and sorrow. They could not be helped.

After the first day of the battle, the men and elves tried to collect their dead and wounded, but the enemy posted archers up on the gates and the slopes, shooting down everything that moved. On that first night they lost almost as many men as they managed to pull back to safety. The forces of Sauron abide no code of honor, showed no mercy or compassion. Over the last six weeks the pile of rotten bodies of the fallen was a feeding ground for the scavengers of the night. There had been couple attempts at rescue. Braving the arrows, some of the elves were able to bring back a few survivors, but it was just like picking up sand grain by grain from the desert.

Elrond was mixing herbs in the Healer’s Tent. His supply was running low already and the wounded kept coming as the night progressed. He tried not to give in to fatigue. He couldn’t remember how long he’s been on his feet or when was the last time he slept. Since the fight had begun, Elrond led his people to battle every day. When night came, he changed his clothes, grabbed some food to eat and headed to the Healer’s Tent. There was too much to do and so little time to spare. With grim determination, he pushed himself to the limit. It was better to be exhausted by work, than sit around and listen to the desperate sounds of those who had fallen. He doubted that any of the elves in the camp slept at all. Their exceptional hearing, which was praised and helped in times of danger, now became a curse. How he wished that he could just close out every noise, every sound to find only one moment of silence! He envied the mortal men, whose hearing was much less sensitive and when fatigue overcame them, they gave into sleep.

Elrond could not afford to rest. He knew as soon as he let his guard down, all the horrors of the battle would come crushing down on him.
The faces of those who lost their lives: friends, relatives, warriors and kinsmen. Some he had known since he was an elfling.
Perished in the brutal massacre. No, he could not allow himself to think about it! There will be time to mourn and grieve when the battle is over, ‘til then he must go on and do as much as he can to help to defeat this evil; for the next generation, and for the future of Arda.
The lord of Imladris stepped from one patient to another, checking vital signs, changing dressings on wounds. He was too absorbed in his task to notice the elf who entered the tent behind him. The newcomer stood there for a moment, watching his friend with a disapproving frown.

“Elrond, you must rest! I sent for another healer to take your place and he will be here any moment. I won’t allow this to continue any further!” said the High King of the Noldor. Elrond spun around on his heels. The leader of the Alliance stared at him with slight anger on his face. “ I told you before, I need your strength to get through this war, but it seems that my words fell on deaf ears. I have no choice but forbid you to enter this tent for a while. You won’t do any good to anyone working yourself to the brink of death. Your people need their leader and I need you by my side,” said Gil-galad.
“How could I rest, when there is so much to do? I can’t just sit around and do nothing, when I can help those who suffer! Do not ask me to abandon my work,” said Elrond.
“I’m not asking, I’m telling you! If you do not listen to reason, I will drag you out of here by myself! Look at yourself, my friend! You’re exhausted beyond belief! What will happen when your reserves runs out? Would you rather die on the battlefield by a lucky orc who strikes you down because you have no strength left to defend yourself anymore? How about your warriors? What would they think when they see their leader wobbling around like an elfling who just learned to walk? Like it or not, this ends right now! I’m going to my tent, and I’m expecting your arrival as soon as the other healer takes up his duty here,” answered Gil-galad, who exited the tent, leaving no room for argument.

The Peredhil stared at the empty space where his friend stood a moment ago. Deep inside he knew that Gil-galad was right. He could barely stand on his feet and every muscle in his body ached. Maybe, for couple of hours he could try to rest. Maybe he could find Haldir and they could spend a few precious moments together. It was more than two days, when last he saw his secret lover.
They had an argument that night and Elrond owed an apology to the Galadhel. Haldir volunteered to lead a small group of elves to the battlefield in the middle of the night, to try to save some of the wounded. Most of those attempts ended up losing more warriors then those saved. But the young Marchwarden did not care. After he lost his father and most of his friends and warriors on the first day of the war, he was determined to save as many as he could. Within two hours, his group returned with ten wounded, suffering only one casualty in the process. That was the best success so far.

Suddenly the door of the tent opened and a healer entered.
“My Lord Elrond, I’m here to relieve you from your post,” bowed the elf. The Lord of Imladris nodded his head and made his way out. He walked slowly towards Gil-galad’s tent. The night air was somewhat chilly and a light breeze tried to fight against the foul smell lingering around the plains. For the first time in six weeks, Elrond took the time to look upon the stars. Millions of tiny sparks lit up the horizon, oblivious to the devastation beneath their heavenly home.

Gil-galad stood in front of his tent. His gaze followed the nearing elf lord’s every step. The High King of the Noldo was glad to see his friend looking at the stars. It was about time that Elrond finally let his guard down and seek some well-earned rest. Gil-galad will make it sure personally, that even if it’s just for one night, his friend would be cared for.
The Peredhil walked up to his leader.
“I’m here at your request, my lord,” said Elrond.
“Are you so displeased with my decision, that you must call me ‘my lord’? Am I not your friend anymore?” asked Gil-galad with a gentle tone in his voice. Elrond looked deep into the Noldo’s eyes. “You are my friend, but tonight it was my lord’s command that led me here,“ replied the Peredhil.
“It’s true, that I had to use some pressure, but it was out of concern for my friend. Please, do not hold it against me,” answered Gil-galad with a slight bow of his head, putting his palm above his heart as a sign of an apology. Elrond returned the gesture, his right hand clasping Gil-galad’s left shoulder as an acceptance.
“ Come, Elrond, have some food and wine with me. You will be my guest tonight and I will try to do my best to ease your heart ‘til the dawn brings the next day.”
The Peredhil followed his leader inside. The interior of the tent was simple. A few blankets in the corner, a medium sized wooden chest and a small wooden table on the middle, standing only a few inches above the ground packed with food and wine. Nothing showed that a king occupied this space. All around the table soft furry blankets were laid out, to give some comfort. Gil-galad motioned to Elrond to sit.

“Let me pour you some wine. This bottle comes from Greenwood; it was a gift from Oropher,” said the Noldo sitting beside his friend. As soon as the words left his lips, Gil-galad silently cursed himself. The mention of the dead king brought a haunted look to Elrond’s face.
“Forgive my insensitiveness. I didn’t mean to upset you any further,” started the king, but Elrond interrupted him raising his hand. “You don’t need to say anything, my lord. It is me who should apologize. You were kind enough to invite me here and try to make me feel better,” said the ruler of Imladris.
“To tell you the truth, mellon nin, I think that I’m slowly going mad. I’ve seen many battles before, but this slaughter is beyond my comprehension. I lost more than 500 of my warriors, and the thought of leaving them out there to rot is unbearable. To hear the screams of the dying every single night and not be able to ease their suffering is ripping my heart out. When I close my eyes I see the faces of the fallen, who will never return home to their loved ones. That’s why I buried myself in work. Trying to keep hold of my sanity somehow,” explained the Peredhil with a hollow tone in his voice.

For a moment, the Noldo watched as his friend tried to compose himself. The agonizing pain was written all over the elf lord’s face and Gil-galad put down the wine and reached out to take Elrond’s hand into his own.
“I know how you feel. All of us have this burden to bear. That’s why I urged you to take some rest, to seek out some comfort. Nobody is strong enough to face this evil alone without any help,” replied the High King. Elrond looked at his hand, covered by Gil-galad’s palms, than raised his gaze to his friend’s eyes. Those deep blue orbs held such a compassion and gentleness that it brought tears into Elrond’s eyes. The Peredhil felt the dam that he had built around his ravaged heart broke, and the flow of raw emotions swept through him. His instinct took over, and the next moment he clung tight in the Noldo’s embrace, letting his tears fall down as a wild river that broke its dam, cleansing his soul.

The Peredhil didn’t know how much time has passed, when finally he was able to lose his grip on his friend and lift his head from Gil-galad’s shoulder, which was soaked through with tears. Their eyes met and Elrond saw the unmistakable question in Gil-galad’s eyes.
The king was offering the comfort of his body.
Elrond felt his heart pick up a beat and his mouth suddenly went dry. On impulse he tried to draw back from Gil-galad’s embrace, but the Noldo would not let him move away.
“Saes, mellon nin, let me ease your pain. Let me heal your heart. Give me the honor of your complete trust in me. I do not offer myself to you out of pity or charity. This is about friendship, about healing. Would you accept me? Would you let me care for you?” pleaded Gil-galad.
Elrond didn’t know what to say. His feelings swirled inside him like a vortex. What the other elf offered was very honorable and unselfish. The Lord of Imladris stared into his friend’s eyes, searching for a sign, a reason, an answer. What he saw in those blue depths were the mirror image of his own inner battle and sorrow.
It felt like touching the soul of another being, that reached out to him to find some light, some warmth, some solace. Before he could make up his mind, the other elf closed the distance between them and brushed his lips against the Peredhil’s for a gentle kiss. That feather soft contact blew away Elrond’s momentarily hesitation, like a strong wind the falling leaf.

The Peredhil’s answer came swift and hard.
He crushed his mouth against the Noldo’s lips demanding entry with his tongue. Gil-galad opened up to the invasion.
Elrond closed his eyes, drinking, savoring the taste and warmth of Gil-galad’s mouth. His arms formed a tight circle around the Noldo, keeping him as close as he could.
The world ceased to exist around the Peredhil. He concentrated only on the sensation of that probing, wet muscle that matched the erotic dance of his own. Elrond poured all his yearning, all his sorrow into that fiery kiss. Within moments both elves were shaking with need and gasping for air. Gil-galad reached out to discard the elven lord’s garment, pulling him down to the blanket beneath them…

The camp was unusually quiet that night. Elves and men went about their business, but all of them noticed the sudden lack of sounds.
For the first night in six weeks the battlefield was wrapped with an eerie blanket of silence.
Haldir sped up his steps as he returned from his scout mission. The enemy called for reinforcement and under the cover of darkness they tried to close a deadly ring around the camp. He must report to Gil-galad immediately. The Galadhrim made his way to the High King’s tent. At the entrance, the king’s personal guard recognized him and bowed his head in respect.
“Lord Haldir, I let my king know at once that you have returned.” Said the elf, then disappeared behind the entrance. The Marchwarden could hear the soft murmur of the guard and the king’s answer. A few moments later the guard returned.
“King Gil-galad will be with you momentarily, my lord,” said the elf.
Haldir found this a bit odd.
Most of the time the leader of the Alliance invited in his warriors to discuss matters without any further delay. The next moment gave Haldir an answer to the puzzle.
“Where are you going; is it morning already?” asked the unmistakable voice of Elrond of Rivendell.
“No, meleth, I have some matters to attend to. I’ll be back in a while; you just rest.” replied the king.

Haldir felt like his whole world spun around.
The same elf who claimed his heart not too long ago had spent the night in the High King’s arms!
First, his brain rebelled against such a thought.
Maybe Elrond was just sleeping there as a guest, for Haldir knew that the two elven lords were close friends. But his heart crumbled as he recalled the endearment used by Gil-galad.
The Noldo ruler called Elrond meleth; he called him love.
The High King stepped out of his tent and the undeniable truth hit the Galadhel with full force.
Gil-galad’s black silky mane was tousled, his lips were slightly swollen, and the guardian could tell that the king had put on his clothes in haste.

The Marchwarden forced himself to calmly bow to his liege.
“My lord, I have returned with bad tidings. The enemy called for reinforcements and a huge host of orcs and trolls are headed this way to surround the camp. Within three hours they will reach the plains,” reported Haldir to the king.

Gil-galad acknowledged this news with a nod. “Wait here for a moment, Haldir,” said the Noldo, and then turned back inside. Reluctantly the king knelt beside the blanket where his friend rested. They had such a short time together, but there was no time to delay.
“Elrond, I’m afraid that we must cut this night short. I just received the news that our enemy tries to close around us with fresh reinforcements. I need you to gather your warriors and meet me at the Western side of the camp.” Said the Noldo, brushing Elrond’s face gently with his fingers.
The Peredhil was on his feet an instant.
”As you wish. But before I go, I want to thank you for this night,” said Elrond, pulling Gil-galad to him for a gentle kiss.
The High King brushed away a loose strand from the Peredhil’s face.
”There is nothing to be thankful for,” said the Noldo, returning the kiss with the same manner.
Both elves shared one last peaceful moment before Gil-galad stepped away.
Elrond finished dressing and with a final glance at his friend he exited the tent.
The sight that greeted him outside burned into his memory for eternity.

Haldir stood near by the entrance with such pain in his eyes that the elven ruler’s knees almost gave way under him.
In that horrible moment, the Peredhil realized that Haldir heard every single word between him and Gil-galad.
It seemed to Elrond that time had frozen and he couldn’t move or speak, but stare at his lover.
The lord of Imladris knew that he had just lost the only being who had ever held his heart.

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The sound of soft footsteps brought the elven lord back from his painful memories.
“I stayed away too long. This must be Erestor, my dear advisor, coming to remind me that I’m a host and I must return to the Hall.”

“ I’m on my way, mellon. Thank you for your concern,” told Elrond to the elf who stood behind him, without even turning around.
The Peredhil could hear that his friend turned around and took his leave.
The next moment, without any particular reason, Elrond felt that he must turn around. The retreating form of the elf was just about to disappear around the corner, but the Lord of Imladris caught a glimpse of long silver hair.
Elrond’s heart skipped a beat.
That couldn’t be Erestor for his best friend and advisor had black hair!

To be continue…