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Gil-galad was seated on a marble bench in the extensive gardens when Elrond finally located him. Sunlight glinted richly off dark hair and the silver circlet that bound his brow, and he was poring over the large leather-bound book in his lap. After a moment he sensed Elrond’s presence under the rose-twined arbour in the gateway to the small glade, and raised his face, smiling with genuine pleasure when he saw who disturbed him. He beckoned to the peredhel to approach.
Elrond hesitated a brief moment, before stepping forward, feeling a sudden surge of nervousness. He was not shy because of the other Elf’s status – Elrond had known the High King of the Noldor all his so far short life, so he was accustomed to it. Indeed, he remembered when he was but an elfing, running to Gil-galad and demanding attention – much the way the young of most races would – to the embarrassment of his father, Eärendil, who would then admonish his son that there was a time and a place for that kind of behaviour and right then was neither. The High King always just laughed, however, and swept the elfing up into his strong arms. And sometimes when it was both the twins Gil-galad would end up with both Elrond and Elros clinging to him, giggling and chattering away in their unique twin-language as if the King could understand them as they could each other.
No, the reason for Elrond’s atypical bashfulness arose from the sudden rush of emotion and awakening he felt when he saw his King. Several years had passed since he had last seen Gil-galad – not long in the time of Elves, but long enough for him to have forgotten just how much the other Elf’s mere presence had come to affect him.
Gil-galad motioned again, one hand extended towards the peredhel, and Elrond slowly moved forward. The young King’s aura of royalty was sometimes near overwhelming – even to those who had known him all their life – but right then it was hidden behind the façade of a youthful, studious Elf. Elrond reached out tentatively to take his King’s hand, dropping to his knees on the soft, damp grass.
Gil-galad’s hand was warm and strong. ‘My Lord,’ Elrond murmured respectfully, bowing his head.
He felt the grasp on his hand tighten, and fingers light under his chin, tilting his face up. ‘So formal, Lord Elrond?’ Gil-galad teased.
Elrond raised his eyes to meet that glimmering grey gaze he’d found himself dreaming about. Suddenly his mouth went dry and he found he couldn’t match Gil-galad’s bantering tone. ‘You – you are my King, and it is only fitting that I refer to you with the respect you deserve.’ Elrond moistened his lips. ‘I am no longer a child to tug at your sleeve for attention.’
‘You may no longer be a child,’ Gil-galad said softly, ‘but I will always be Ereinion for you, you know that.’ He tangled his fingers through the Half-Elf’s hair, stroking the silken strands between his fingertips. ‘I have missed you,’ he admitted with a half-smile.
‘And I, you, my- ah... Ereinion,’ Elrond stutteringly corrected himself, flustered by how suddenly tactile his King had become in the time he was absent. Yet as unnerved as he was, he still wanted to take advantage of it, turn his face and press his cheek against the hand tangled through his hair, nuzzle Gil-galad’s wrist with his lips, flick his tongue over bared flesh to sample the taste of his lord’s skin. His heartbeat kicked up a notch as he became aware of the intentness in the way Gil-galad was watching him, that disconcerting half-smile still firmly in place.
‘My lord?’ The peredhel’s tone echoed the confusion in his eyes.
Gil-galad combed his fingers through Elrond's hair before lightly cupping his head. ‘I never before realised how beautiful you really are,’ he whispered. To the Half-Elf it seemed almost as if Gil-galad had not realised he vocalised the thought, not like it was a comment directed at him to respond to.
Suddenly Elrond gasped and flinched away from the other Elf as he felt the gentle but deliberate stroke of Gil-galad’s thumb down the edge of his ear from the tip to the lobe. He fell to his hands on the grass, shivering with shock at the sensual energy that had sparked through him at that light touch. It was so incredibly arousing and his face burned with humiliated at his extreme reaction. Oh Eru! What must Gil-galad think of him now?
Gil-galad, however, had shot to his feet, the leather-bound ledger he had been reading falling to the ground unheeded. ‘Elrond – I-’ He reached out to grasp Elrond by the shoulder, but the Half-Elf jerked away from his hand. ‘I am sorry!’ he bit his lip.
Elrond shook his head and hid behind the resultant curtain of hair, still unable to raise his face to look at his King, and uncertain as to what precisely Gil-galad was apologising for. If anyone should apologise it should be me, Elrond thought. So he did.
‘No,’ he said softly. His voice cracked, so he gently cleared his throat and continued. ‘No, it is I who should apologise. I – I overreacted.’ He closed his eyes for a moment and breathed deeply for a moment to steady himself, before pushing back and sitting up on his heels. When he opened his eyes it was to see Gil-galad standing anxiously by the marble bench, clutching to his chest the ledger that he had obviously rescued from the dampness underfoot. Despite the ease with which Gil-galad could pull around him the essence of his elevated station, at that moment he looked nothing but uncertain and concerned and, above all, normal. It was what Elrond remembered most about Gil-galad from when he was a child.
‘Are you... well?’ Gil-galad asked. He placed the ledger on the bench and extended his hands to help the peredhel to his feet.
Elrond hesitated for a moment, before accepting his King’s assistance to rise. ‘I am fine,’ Elrond said, feeling himself flushing brightly under the close scrutiny from the other Elf. His gaze slid away from Gil-galad’s. ‘I – your touch – I... I mean, you took me by surprise. That is all.’ His eyes wandered down until he realised he was looking at his hands still clasped within Gil-galad’s. Gil-galad’s grip tightened for a moment and Elrond’s gaze flew up to the other Elf’s face.
He trembled for a moment when he saw Gil-galad moisten his lips, wondering if Gil-galad was going to lean forward and- no. He tamped down on the sudden surge of anticipation that thrilled through him. One didn’t only wet their lips before a kiss, he had to remind himself sharply. But when Gil-galad released his hands to stroke his fingers lightly up Elrond’s arms, Elrond found his heart raced accordingly. He shivered again, this time at the brightness in Gil-galad’s eyes.
They were interrupted by a voice from the gateway. ‘My Lord?’
Gil-galad’s head jerked around to see a servant standing respectfully under the arbour where Elrond had lingered what seemed only moments ago. He stepped away from the peredhel, smoothly picking up the ledger. ‘Yes?’ he said as he straightened.
The Elf under the arbour bowed. ‘My Lord, forgive my interruption, but your presence is urgently requested in the council chambers.’
‘Of course,’ Gil-galad nodded in acknowledgement, before glancing back at Elrond. The disappointment the Half-elf felt at being robbed of the potential chance to kiss Gil-galad warred with relief that he didn’t make the foolish mistake of trying to impose himself and his desire unwanted upon his King.
Idly, Elrond fancied that he could almost see Gil-galad draw the glamour of royalty over him, High King of the Noldor once more. ‘I need you to show Lord Elrond to his new chambers,’ the High King said to the servant. He turned to Elrond. ‘There was a fire in that wing whilst you were gone,’ he said apologetically. ‘I have been assured that your belongings were salvaged and placed in your new suite. If you discover anything is missing or damaged, please let me know and I shall endeavour to have it replaced.’ After handing the ledger to the servant and instructing him on where it was to be taken to, Gil-galad was gone.
A fire? Sudden concern over the state of his few prized possessions wiped away the frustration the Half-Elf felt at what felt like a summary dismissal. The servant turned to Elrond. ‘If you would follow me, Lord Elrond,’ the servant said politely, ‘I shall show you to your new rooms.’
Elrond trailed after the servant as he led the way from the garden.