Title & Chapter Number: Revelations 1.1/1
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I own nothing, more's the pity. If I did, those beautiful elves would have a lot more fun than the good professor ever allowed them.
Warnings: Slash, duh. Tiny bit of BDSM, more implied than explicit, but don't say I didn't warn you.
Betas: Nope
Cast: Elrond/Celeborn
Timeline: Pre-LotR AU
Spoilers: None
Summary: Celeborn discovers that you're never too old to learn something new. A continuation of Unspoken (so read that one first.)
Notes:
Celeborn, Lord of the Golden Wood, lore-master, poet, warrior, and one of the most revered elves of his or any other age, had discovered the problem with immortality--it was boring. There simply came a point when you had read all the books, heard all the music, and composed all the poetry you ever cared to do. Even sex became dull after several thousand years bonded to the same person, especially one who, although as beautiful as the stars themselves, was decidedly not of an adventurous state of mind. But the worst was undoubtedly these endless council sessions in which the same subjects debated 500 years ago were still being brought up, and having the same arguments made for and against them. Celeborn sometimes thought he could have a stuffed doll made of himself which would suffice as well, as long as it could nod and occasionally throw out some placating comment when things became a bit heated. In truth, he was amazed that any of his advisors could still manage to get worked up about such over-discussed concepts, although recently, Celeborn envied anyone capable of feeling anything at all, as it almost seemed as if his own emotions had been reduced to one--this constant and ever-present boredom.
He shifted on his high throne and tried to look as interested as possible in the current debate, about whether or not an additional drainage ditch was needed near the high road, but his attention kept wandering off on other paths. He wondered how Elrond's youngest was doing, and when, exactly, the elder Peredhil planned to return Haldir to him. Celeborn had a strong suspicion that Elrond's request for someone to help Elrohir through his little fit of adolescent angst might actually have been a blind for what he really wanted--some new plaything for his free hours. Now there was someone who never seemed to grow bored. Perhaps it was his human blood, but Elrond had a seemingly endless zeal for life and for new persons with whom to enjoy it that never ceased to amaze his father-in-law. Having sent him an attractive young Galadrim, and one with a reputation for a certain amount of inventiveness himself, Celeborn supposed he shouldn't be surprised that said elf had not immediately returned when his original assignment had proven unnecessary. Still, it irritated him for some reason he couldn't quite name. It was not that he had any designs on Haldir himself. He was fair, of that there was no doubt, but Celeborn had had his fill of attractive young elves in his day, and somehow, making yet another conquest was not what he craved.
Strange, how that word had come up, almost as if there was something else, lurking around the corners of his mind, that he did, indeed, crave. Yet, like so many other things, Celeborn had felt no sense of covetousness, no longing, for at least an age, perhaps more. Even when he had been able to still feel much at all, he did not crave things, for what was there that was not his for the asking? He was lord of these woods, all was his to summon, his to command . . .
But how long had it been since someone had commanded him?
Now, where did that thought come from? Celeborn glanced casually around his council chamber, almost with the idea that someone had spoken the words aloud, so strongly did they echo in his mind. Yet his councillors were still debating the enthralling topic of environmental impact of additional drainage, and paying him no more mind than if he had not even been there. He, for one, fervently wished he wasn't. For a moment, he fiercely envied Haldir, free to roam to other lands, see new sights, have new experiences . . .
Elbereth! He had felt that! For someone long used to pale emotions, if any at all, the sheer passion of that sudden bolt of envy was enough to profoundly shock Celeborn, who managed to keep his seat only by a conscious exertion of will. What, exactly, was happening to him today? This was not at all normal, although, in truth, it was not unwelcome. At this point in his life, anything new was good, and this was certainly new. What had he been thinking about to prompt so deep a hidden emotion to the surface? Haldir? No, he still did not believe that he harboured any deep-seated lust for the pale youth. Then what, something the Galadrim had? But what did a mere woodsman possess that he did not? The ability to travel? No, for he could always leave his lands in his wife's capable hands and journey abroad, although he had not chosen to do so for many years. The last time had been shortly after the birth of his first grandchild, Elladan, when he and Galadriel had both gone to Imladris to see him . . .
Something about that thought rang true. Did he envy Haldir his journey to the fair city to the east? But why, when he could go there himself whenever he chose? Yet, the beauty of Elrond's valley did sound quite tempting, for a reason Celeborn could still not quite grasp. He somehow did not think that all he needed was a change of scenery. So, what did Haldir have in Imladris that he did not have in the Golden Wood, and that Celeborn so badly wanted?
When the answer finally came, it took him so by surprise that he stood abruptly, thereby accidentally signalling the end of the audience and cutting the meeting far short of its usual time. He fled the confused gaggle of courtiers, not willing to listen to any of their inane babbling at the moment. Reaching his private chambers in record time, he splashed cold water from a basin onto his suddenly flushed countenance, and stared at his own silver eyes, seeming suddenly alien to him somehow, reflected in the glass above the wash stand. He must undoubtedly have lost his mind. Perhaps that was what happened to the Eldar when they reached a certain age. Perhaps that is why so many went west, to escape incipient insanity . . .
Sitting heavily on the edge of his bed, Celeborn slowly faced the terrible truth. He wanted his son-in-law, something strange enough in itself, not to mention dangerous if anyone ever found out--Galadriel was fairly understanding about such things, but he had no doubts that this would push her tolerance too far. But there was more. For he had no doubt at all that Haldir was not the one in control of whatever games Elrond was playing with him in Imladris, and it was that image, he thought, that finally answered his afternoon's search. What did he crave? Could it really be, after so long . . . submission? He had certainly never experienced it before, but then, he had never before wished to do so. Why he did now was not hard to realise, however.
So many people envied him, thought he had the perfect life. They could not possibly understand just how tiring it was to always be the one with the last word. Galadriel wielded the ring of power, and she had abilities far more showy than any he could boast, but on a day to day level it was he who governed Lothlorien. Every decision, from large to petty, came before him to say yeah or nay, and no one, not even his fair wife, gainsaid his decisions. After several thousand years, this sort of thing did become a bit of a trial. He could not help but think how sweet, how refreshing, it would be to give all control over to someone else for a change. Let someone else make the decisions, let them have the power, let them rule . . . Of course, when it came to his realm, he had responsibilities he could not shirk. Ultimately, the safety and happiness of his people was his concern, and so it should be. But how nice, at least in his private life, to have a little less control for a time . . .
Celeborn sighed, and fell back against the soft contours of his bed. He tried to put these very wicked thoughts out of his mind, but they seemed to have taken control. He could, they told him, easily make an excuse to visit Imladris. He had not seen his youngest grandson in some time, and it had been a while since even Elladan had visited the Golden Wood. Wasn't young Elrohir's coming of age celebration in a few days? A swift horse could get you there, his traitorous brain whispered, and once you see Elrond, perhaps this longing will fade. Perhaps you'll find you are mistaken . . . but you'll never know unless you go.
A few moments later, two rather idle servants were surprised to see Lord Celeborn come striding through the stables, dressed quite unusually in a plain tunic and leggings, and carrying a small leather satchel. "Saddle Mithril," he told them, speaking of his beautiful grey stallion. "I ride for Imladris tonight."
~*~*~*~
Haldir watched as two elves rolled around the hillside beyond his window, apparently unaware, or unconcerned, that they were perfectly visible from the upper stories of the house. It was possible, he supposed, that they thought themselves hidden in their own private glade, as a thick ring of trees concealed, at least from the ground, the small meadow that stood beyond the cultivated part of Imladris' gardens. Apparently Lord Elrond liked some areas left a bit wild, and this was one that remained mostly untended. It was an attractive spot, bordering a small stream, with long, lush grasses interspersed with wildflowers. Many of the latter had become entangled in the unbound hair of the two frolicking elves, neither of whom seemed to care.
Haldir half-smiled as he idly watched them from his comfortable balcony. He was not usually a voyeur, but if they were going to do that in full view of anyone who glanced out a window . . . He thought Elrohir's technique needed a little work, but Glorfindel certainly seemed on top of things. As Haldir noted the loving care with which Glorfindel treated his young partner, he felt his smile slip slightly. He should be pleased for them; he was pleased for them. So why did watching them make him so . . . uneasy?
He tilted his seat back against the aged wood of the outer wall of the house and frowned. Something had been nagging at him for days, and avoiding the problem was not going to make it go away. Of course, in this case, facing up to it might not help, either, as what he was slowly coming to realise was completely impossible.
Glorfindel collapsed onto his lover, unbalancing Elrohir and causing the two to roll downhill towards the tiny stream, laughing uproariously. They managed to avoid a quick dunk in the water only because the bank on their side was slightly elevated, allowing them to regain purchase on the ground at the last minute. Haldir observed the expression on Glorfindel's face as he began picking wildflowers out of his partner's long, dark hair, and finally acknowledged what he wanted. He shook his head in disgust at his own folly. You wait a thousand years, he thought, go thorough hundreds of lovers, and finally fall for one of the only elves you can never hope to have. Elrond would never look at him the way Glorfindel did Elrohir. Not if he had all the ages of the world in which to try to convince him, instead of whatever little time he could steal in Imladris.
Haldir watched as the two lovers walked back up the hill to collect their discarded and now seriously rumpled clothing. He couldn't understand what was wrong with him--why did it have to be Elrond? Yes, he was beautiful, and more so than most, Haldir had to admit, but surely he wasn't that shallow? Besides, he had known other stunning elves--why, Glorfindel was almost as attractive as his lord, yet Haldir was able to view him with his usual detachment. Elrohir, whom he had originally been meant to seduce, was much like his father in appearance, if lacking some subtle, sensual quality that Elrond exuded even when doing something as mundane as official paperwork, but the elfling interested him not at all.
Love had always been sport to Haldir. He collected and discarded lovers as some did the fallen leaves in Lorien, using them for a moment's amusement, and then passing on to some new pleasure. It had been a game, a hobby for all those long, dull days on border patrol. After all, orcs didn't invade every day, and Haldir had always had more trouble than most passing time simply by communing with nature. Trees could be interesting--he'd had some long and amusing conversations with some of the mallorn, especially the older ones--but there was a limit to what a stationary thing like a tree (well, most trees anyway) could tell you.
Haldir had always had a restlessness about him alien to most of his kind. He was the first to volunteer when messages had to be sent abroad or when scouts were needed. He had travelled to Mirkwood several times and marvelled at the differences between its dark woods and Lorien's. He had found learning the common speech to be interesting, and even liked observing the villages of men when his road happened to pass close to one. He found them as dirty and unattractive as most elves did, but they fascinated him all the same. Anything new and different was interesting to Haldir, which was, perhaps, his problem-- Elrond was always different. Most elves had a calmness and a sameness about them, with only the youngest of elflings still mercurial in nature. Elrond was no elfling, and in no other way reminded Haldir of one, but it was undeniable that he was always a surprise. And just when you thought you had nothing left to learn . . .
Haldir sighed as the two lovers, now respectably dressed, moved into the trees and left his field of vision. They had been a useful distraction, and now he was left with only his thoughts as company, and truly depressing companions they were. Elrond Half Elven, warrior of the First Age, master of Imladris, wielder of Vilya, and as far beyond Haldir's grasp as the stars themselves, had managed to invade his heart and mind in a way no one else ever had. And he had no idea what to do about it.
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