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Trick of the Mind	By : squirrelchaser Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 920 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Trick of the Mind
- 1
Title: A Trick of
the Mind
Author: Squirrelchaser (squirrelchaser12@yahoo.com)
Warnings: slash
(Gil-Galad/Elrond), Gil-Galad dies, NC-17
Summary: �Upon
return to Imladris I did not sleep for fear of
nightmares; the dreams that haunted my waking were bad enough as I struggled to
front normalcy.� Elrond must adjust after the fall of Gil-galad.
Disclaimer: I don�t
own anything and if I did, I wouldn�t be doing this

~Thank you to Talullah
for her invaluable beta reading~

A Trick of the Mind
At
first I liked him because we were so similar: dark hair, fair skin, light eyes,
and a strong preference for quiet order instead of the raucousness of a large,
merry gathering with too much wine. Simplicity was dear to us; we both loved
the night sky and the two of us would often go out, and simply stare at all the
stars in the heavens.
�Your Adar [father],� he would whisper - every single time -
and we would both look to E�rendil.
That
was when I was younger. He was a teacher, a guide, and two parents condensed
into one. The fact that he was High King never really weighed heavily on my
mind; he was just Gil-galad: ever patient, ever kind, always with a quiet
smile. He took me under his wing and nurtured me, so caring. He rejoiced when I
found a love for the art of healing and told me tales of old to feed my love of
lore.
As
a child I adored Gil-galad and strove to be like him in all ways, but as I grew
older things changed, at least, for me.
There
was one secret that I would share with no one. It was dark, it was terrible, and
so I hid it from all until night fell and dared to think of it when I was
alone. I would wander out into the gloom, hoping dearly that E�rendil could not see what was in my heart from where he
watched on me in the sky. Surely if he could, he would call upon the Valar to strike me down where I stood.
I
loved and desired Gil-galad. Such a strange thought, but once I allowed myself
to accept it the idea was not so awkward in my mind.
It
was not the love for him that betrayed my soul to sin, but the desire that came
with it. I knew that my loyalty to him went beyond the deepest friendship when
my body began to react to his presence. At first it began with a tingling in my
chest and belly when I was around him, and my heartbeat quickened. I was not
sure that I liked it, but found it thrilling and was left in constant want of
more.
I
viewed him in a different light, and every time he touched me it was like a
jolt of fire through my body. Once I had actually gasped and pulled away.
Gil-galad had given me a puzzled glance, and I mumbled some excuse of day
dreaming.
The
tingling mellowed over time to a feeling of contentedness when I was in his
presence. I felt alive when I was around him, as if we shared one body and
mind, and without him I was not whole and complete.
One
day, I looked up from my book and instead of reading he was gazing at me.
�What
is it?� I asked.
�Darkness
stirs,� he said, turning his face away so that it was hidden in a shadow.
�Yes,�
I replied, �But we are doing all in our power to keep it at bay.�
�I
fear for what will come. Take this, it is yours,� he said simply, book sliding
from his lap as he extended his hand toward me.
�I
cannot take it,� I shook my head vehemently, for gleaming in the center of his
palm was Vilya, the Ring of the Air. �I cannot wield
it.�
�You
must take it,� he insisted firmly but calmly, hand still extended.
�It
is too powerful,� I protested.
Still
he did not move, nor did he speak.
I
shook my head again and covered my face with my hands as I began to understand:
Gil-galad knew he was going to die. Why else would he bestow Vilya on me?
�Dearest,
Elrond,� he said quietly.
I
started. Never before had he called me dearest.
Removing
my hands, I saw that he still had the ring extended. I reached out one hand,
shaking against my will and he dropped it into my palm.
�Keep
it secret, Ring Bearer,� he murmured, and his eyes were soft and glowing.
My
lips trembled. I clasped my fist with the ring in it to my chest and drew a
ragged breath. I did not want it, for I knew it meant that he would die, and
the very thought of that possibility hurt me to my very core.
�Hush,�
Gil-galad said gently, and rising he kissed me soothingly on the forehead, both
cheeks, and then the mouth. Then again, for a heartbeat longer, as his
fingertips brushed my jaw.
It
was a kiss and a touch that did not too far overstep the line between friends
and lovers, but we did not speak of that day again. We went on as if it had
never happened, though the bond between us was strengthened.
I
hid Vilya but occasionally I would take it out and
hold it, and sometimes at night, I would remember the kisses. My body would
burn but my heart ached at the impending doom that, surely, would come too
soon.
Six
months later we marched to Orodruin, with the last of
the men and elves that remained in Middle-earth.
I
watched the silver and blue banners flutter in the wind, the streamers curling
and dipping, and a feeling of doom and elation shrouded my heart. I always
possessed foresight, something stronger than premonition but not bold enough to
be proclaimed as fact. I knew many things about the ending before it happened:
I would survive, as would several of my captains and warriors. Sauron would
fall. This would be the end, for awhile, but there would be greater things to
come. There was one thing, however, that weighed heavily on my mind and heart �
the intuition that Gil-galad would also fall. It entered my thoughts and
refused to go away, and I though wanted to believe that it was a foolish
anxiety my heart told me that it would come to pass, and so the ending would be
bittersweet.
The
day before we attacked, we stopped briefly for a rest as the men in the army
were in dire need of sleep. It was a last trace of merriment before the
grimness of tomorrow. We traded stories, ones that had never been told before,
and sang songs of love and of hope as if both could protect us.
Gil-galad
called me to him at the deepest part of night and we walked a short distance
out of the camp, stepping over sleeping men.
�Look
at them,� Gil-galad said. �As peaceful and innocent as babes
at their mother�s side.�
I
did not know what to reply. Was he wishing that we had never come here?
We
walked on, beyond the sleeping men, until we were beyond hearing distance of
the camp.
�There
is E�rendil,� he said, looking up and pointing.
�Do
you think he sees us?� I said, a very childish
question which he kindly indulged as we stood shoulder to shoulder.
�He
sees us every night. Elrond,� Gil-galad said softly, and though his eyes
reflected the starlight they were sad. Not looking at me he asked, �You will
remember all that I have taught you?�
He
knew, I realized. He knew that he was going to fall tomorrow. �I will,� I
promised.
In
a tone that was nearly an entreaty, he murmured, �You will remember me as
Gil-galad, and not as King?�
�I
shall remember you as both,� I assured him. It was then that I realized he had
no heir; he would be the last High King of the Noldor.
�Why were you never married?� I asked, needing to know.
�I
have never loved any�female,� he replied, saying female so softly I was not
sure if he had said it at all. Then he continued, �I have never had regrets,
though.� He turned to face me and changed the subject. �You have become great,�
he said, and there was the smallest bit of admiration in is voice. �You shall
fare well in the ages to come.� He touched my face with the back of his
fingers, opened his hand to cup my cheek, kissed me ever so briefly, and turned
and began to walk back toward the camp.
That
was his good-bye, I said to myself and stood by myself
in the starlight, watching him go.
The
war was everything I anticipated, and a little bit more besides. In between
fighting and tending the wounded as best I could - sometimes being called upon
to do both at once - everything was a blur of clashing metal and blood.
We
rallied and charged, then rallied and charged again and again, each time with
less and less warriors. Despair began to poison through our hearts and minds,
and I began to doubt my premonition. Perhaps we were all to die here on the slopes
of Orodruin, I thought to myself, but one glance at
the sneering face of an orc reminded me that I would
rather die in battle than live to see darkness over come the earth.
Then,
when all seemed nearly lost, it was over: Isildur,
the young and slightly headstrong son of the King of Men, had bolted forward
and lashed out, and it was over in a flash of broken metal and an unearthly
scream. The orcs fled and we pursued them, and a few
heartbeats later the smoking, stinking, black lands of Mordor
were silent save the groans of the wounded and the dying.
I
dug the point of my sword into the ground, leaned on the hilt, and heaved a
sigh, a feeling of relief mingle with dread in my chest. Sauron had fallen, as
I had foreseen, but where was Gil-galad? My eyes searched wildly over the
landscape, but it was vast and littered with the corpses of men and elves and orcs.
I
was not the one who found him; it was Erestor.
�Here,�
he called in a soft but hollow voice, and I rushed over to where he knelt in
the mud.
It
was Gil-galad of course, dead and broken, and no one - especially not me -
could make him whole again.
That
is the last thing I remember clearly until returning to Imladris.
I forgot everything that happened in the time after the battle to the Peaceful
Watch. I did not want to remember the wounded, both the ones who healed and the
ones who did not. Nor did I want to remember the ones who mourned for their family
and friends, or rejoiced in the reuniting of the ones who had lived.
I
did not sleep for fear of nightmares upon return to Imladris;
the dreams that haunted my waking were bad enough as I struggled to front
normalcy. To have joy at our victory would have been impossible for in my heart
I could not feel anything but empty loneliness, and eventually the strain was
exhausting. I had to sleep, being too tired to deny that I was dependant on
Erestor and Glorfindel poking to keep me awake.
�Drink
this,� said Glorfindel, leading me to bed firmly by the elbow and pushing me
toward the mattress.
I
tripped on the hem of my robe, and fell onto it.
�Drink
this,� he repeated, and I took a cup of something hot.
�Warm
milk?� I mumbled, though I was so tired he could have handed me a spider and I
probably would not have known the difference.
�It
will soothe,� he said gently, knowing my fears. �Sleep will be hard tonight.
But the first dream is always the worst, and then it wanes after that.�
�Will
they ever go away?� I asked, clumsily pulling the blankets over me and sloshing
the milk in the cup dangerously.
�No,�
Glorfindel said quietly. �But I think they are there for a reason. If they ever
did completely, I would be worried.�
I
held out the half empty cup to him and he took it, and as I closed my eyes I
heard the door latch shut.
Sleep
was, at first, dreamless but then I saw images: Mount Orodruin,
smoking and red, and spewing poisonous fumes. I saw Sauron�s
massive black-armored form towering over his army, and the sneering faces of
the orcs. I saw my own kin rushing and yelling into
battle and watched their bravery over come their fear.
I
saw Erestor bending over Gil-galad, and for the first time I began to hurt.
Something deep down in my chest began to ache, then the pain grew sharp and
tears welled up in my eyes. Someone was screaming. It must have been me, for I felt
the wetness on my face and the rawness in my throat, and then everything went
dark and I let myself go limp.
�Elrond?�
The
voice was familiar, but it could not be.
�Dear
one, do not cry.�
I
knew that voice; it was Gil-galad. He was standing beside the bed, in his
familiar blue and silver robes, no star on his forehead (for it irked him), and
Vilya gracing his right forefinger. He sat on the
bed, and feeling the extra weight on the mattress, I stared.
�I
am dreaming,� I mumbled to myself, then said to him, �I am dreaming�right?�
He
smiled. �Does it really matter?�
�No,�
I replied at once.
Then
he took my face in his hands, leaned forward, and kissed me.
I
had never kissed anyone like this and neither had he, but this probably was a
dream and so it did not matter. His lips were warm and smooth, dancing with
mine as if he already knew how my mouth would respond to his. His tongue was
inquisitive and wonderfully velvet, sliding into my mouth and gliding over my
own, before pulling back to allow his teeth to nip at my lower lip.
�What
is happening?� I whispered as he leaned his face against mine. �What is this?�
�It
is everything I ever wanted,� he breathed against my mouth. �You.
Us.� Gil-galad pulled back slightly and gaze at me,
his eyes soft and gentle. �Undress for me, lovely one.� Seeing me hesitate he
added, �Please?�
I
shifted slightly in the bed, pulling my tunic over my head.
His
eyes grew round and eager and he took me in his arms and kissed me again,
lunging and impatient with his tongue.
The
mixture of the velvet and satin of his clothes rubbing against my skin was
tantalizing. I made an willing sound in the depths of
my throat, feeling my nipples harden into little peaks that sent shock waves
through me. I whined through the kiss, pulling pleadingly at his garments, and
he fumbled and I groped as we tugged clumsily, refusing to leave the other�s
mouth.
At
length, we were forced to break apart and I watched eagerly as his clothes were
done away with and tossed on the floor. The silver clip that held his hair away
from his face was wrenched out and was sent clattering away on the floor to a
far edge of the room, but neither of us noticed where it fell as he tackled me
and threw the blankets from my body.
We
both let out long breathless cries as he laid his weight atop of me, bare skin
tingling and bodies lighting on fire. Limbs tangled around each other, fingers
twined in hair and mouths locked, and he began to rock gently back and forth as
we kissed long and deep. The friction began to drive us mad, and suddenly I was
aware of my own hardness pressing into the thigh that pushed between my legs,
and his was against my hip.
I
pushed him back and stared a moment at his groin, erect and flushed, and as I
watched a tiny drip formed on the tip. I reached out and dragged my index
finger back and forth over the slit, smearing the drip and he moaned my name. I
took the length in my hand and caressed it, finding him like myself yet much
more tantalizing.
Then
his hand found my erection too and I moaned as he began to stroke and tug on me
immediately, a hungry look coming into his eyes. I moved my hand back and forth
and across the head as I had learned with myself, the sheets rustling slightly
at the movement of our bodies as we rocked against each other.
His
mouth tangled with mine and we kissed, and all too soon my muscles began to
tense and quiver and my groin drew fuller and I knew I would end soon. I felt
heat rushing up inside me, my penis gave a jerk in his hand and I arched and
cried out for the release that was to come.
Suddenly
his free hand grasped my balls, rolling and tugging slightly as his other hand
stopped, and I was left aching.
�Wait,
love,� he said in a husky voice, and he took my hand which still moved over
him.
I
whimpered, eagerly spreading my legs and wrapping them around him as I ground
my hips against him hoping to relieve the burning between my thighs.
�Gil-galad,� I whispered against his slightly parted lips. �Why�?�
�Shh,� he whispered against my mouth, and then there were
two fingers pressing into the opening at the cleft between my legs. His fingers
were slick with oil - stars above only knew how they came to be that way - but
I was not about to question it. �I want everything that I could not have,� he
whispered, bending close to my ear.
His
long fingers worked into me, strange at first but I loved any touch he bestowed
on me so I did not complain. I clenched and released experimentally, rocking my
hips into the rhythm he adapted to, until he hit something that made my mind
splinter. Arching and splaying my legs as far as they would go I moaned and
drove myself onto his hand.
�Again,�
I begged, and he complied, over and over until I was at my brink again.
Then
he was pressing against me and then a heartbeat after into me, not with his fingers
but with his erection. Before I could protest in pain he pressed in to the hilt
and our hips were flush with soft balls pressing into the other�s body. He was
moaning and trembling in pleasure and fighting for control over himself, and I
was mewing in pain.
�It
hurts,� I complained, sounding pathetic to my own ears.
�Dear
one,� he whispered breathlessly, showering kisses on my face and gasping.
�Breathe,� he urged, and the discomfort subsided and he began to rock back and
forth.
I
gripped his hips as things grew urgent and more rushed, feeling the muscles
rippling under his skin, contracting and relaxing as he pumped into me. He took
me in his hand and cupped, stroking as we moved and then we were both lost,
crying out �Ai!� accompanied by the other�s name. Recognizable words giving way
to frantic nonsensical shouts, and everything in me tightened into white hot
pleasure as I arched against him and spilled myself over his hand, muscles
tightening around him.
He
wailed, twitched, and his whole body stiffened in my arms as he reached his
climax. Then he lay against me, heart pounding wildly and his sighs mingling
with my own. Gradually we relaxed, nuzzling our faces again into the other�s as
we kissed.
�Is
it over?� I whispered, and he kissed me again.
�It
is,� he said softly, sadly.
�But
I do not wan-�
�Shh,� he cut me off gently. �I will be with you. Look for
me, in little things. You will do that for me, dear one?�
I
was disappointed, but said, �Yes, I will.�
He
was pleased and kissed me again. �Do not be frightened of any more of dreams to
come.�
The
next thing I was aware of was the sound of the birds in the trees outside. I
woke slowly and groggily, feeling a deep peace of heart and better rested than
I had in a long time. Gradually I became aware of the dry stickiness between my
legs, and remembering the dream the night before I was hardly surprised. I
shifted slowly and let out a soft grunt of pain as discomfort flashed through
my backside.
Reaching
my hand down I gingerly touched the pucker between my cheeks, and drew my hand
up to examine. I rubbed my fingertips together, confused. They were oily, and
flecked with tiny amounts of blood. Rolling on my side and lifting the sheet, I
peered down at the mattress.
There
were traces of blood and oil streaked across the white linen.
It
had been a dream�had it not?
- 1
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Trick of the Mind