Seeing in the Dark
Maybe (miztruzt@blueyonder.co.uk)

Rating: *Probably* PG-13
Pairing: Gil-galad/Isildur.
Disclaimer: The characters and world are the creation of J.R.R Tolkien; the rights are his and that of New Line Cinema. Just playing, don't sue, no money made.
Summary: Isildur discovers the advantages and disadvantages to the night blindness of humans.
Notes: Inspired by the pairings list from the Fuh-Q-Quest, but not part of the challenge.

"None can see what lies ahead, when sun is failed and moon is dead." (Gollum in TTT)

Night falling over Imladris came as a blessed relief for its exasperated lord, for, when Varda's bright stars illuminate the dark skies, mortal men sleep. Elrond Peredhel, founder of the great valley haven and herald to the high king Gil-galad, threw off his cape and flung himself into a chair with an exhausted exhale.

"Men," he spat disgustedly.

Gil-galad, already contentedly reclining in a plush chair of his private suite, raised amused eyebrows at his long-time friend. Rising, partly from courtesy, and partly from a desire to drown his sorrows in something less inebriating than the last of the wine from the evening banquet, Elrond crossed to the cabinet in the chamber wall and poured two glasses of miruvor. Gil-galad, accepting the glass he was offered, quirked a smile at his scowling herald.

"You speak of a single man in particular, I believe."

Elrond grunted, resuming his seat and glaring into the depths of his glass.
"Very astute, my lord. But I suspect that you would actually have to be blind to miss the rivalry that has arisen between us."

"I quite agree." The king's tone was tinged with warning. "Elrond, this sort of disunity is detrimental to the Alliance. I want it to cease."

Elrond sighed loudly. "And if I were able to prevent it I assure you that I would."

"You will prevent it," Gil-galad said severely, eyeing Elrond steadily over the rim of his glass until the herald bowed his head in acquiescence. "On the other hand, my friend, think not that I do not understand your frustrations. Isildur's treatment of you is quite beyond what you should have to tolerate and I mean to speak with Elendil about it. Although," he broke off suddenly to grin at the tension-creased countenance of his exasperated herald, "I think you might find the situation more amusing if you had realised the motivations behind Isildur's behaviour." Gil-galad paused, taking a sip from his cordial long enough to allow his herald to shoot him a puzzled glance, and then continued disingenuously. "Peculiar methods of courtship humans have, don't they?"

Elrond choked on his drink. "I beg your pardon?" he exclaimed.

Gil-galad chuckled. "I did not think you had noticed. Isildur desires you - it glimmers in his eyes as he watches you." He smirked at the growing horror reflected across Elrond's countenance, his grey eyes sparkling with amusement. "You have been too distracted by the words to notice the feelings behind them." Gil-galad twiddled the stem of his glass between his fingers, swishing the miruvor around idly as he watched Elrond gulp for speech.

"You - you jest!" Elrond spluttered eventually, glaring at his king. "*Tell* me you are teasing me!"

"I?" The king tapped his chest with a long finger. "Would I?" Faced with Elrond's disapproving frown, Gil-galad chuckled again. "No, Elrond, this time I taunt you not. Isildur is in love with you."

"Love!" Elrond snorted. "Love is not a thing shared between two men! - 'tis what that brutish creature should feel for his wife."

"Love come in many forms, Elrond," the king said quietly. "And I do believe that Isildur loves his lady. Perhaps it was a poor choice of words, but he still desires you. You must watch your blankets on the dark nights at the battlefield, should we ride out to war."

Elrond shuddered visibly. "I will have naught to do with that creature beyond the bounds of what duty will tell."

Gil-galad regarded him, his eyebrows rising and a smirk forming on his face. "I do recall demanding that all due courtesy be shown to our guests, and that their *every* need be satisfied..."

Elrond stared at him, eyes widening in alarm. "I am not a courtesan, Gil-galad!"

The king laughed, spinning his glass between his fingers and then taking a final swig from it. "This time I jest indeed. Fear not, my friend, I ask no such thing of you. But I believe this matter must be addressed, and soon. We cannot afford discord in the Alliance. Why, what would happen if Elendil and I were both to fall?"

Elrond leant forward, his features crinkling with concern. He twisted his fingers upon his knees, his grey eyes dark with worry. "My lord, speak not so, I beg of you."

The king reached out and covered his herald's hands gently with his own. "It is speculation, Elrond, naught more. But you do see my meaning?"

Slowly the herald nodded and sighed, running his thumbs absently over the backs of Gil-galad's hands. "What then would you advise? I have spoken always with due civility and react not to his jibes, yet still he would hold me in disrespect for being neither elf nor man."

"And for shunning your human ancestry by choosing this life in favour of that line of your twin's, which brought Isildur into the world." Gil-galad slowly drew his hands free of the unconscious strokes of his herald's fingers, the gesture too intimate given Elrond's oblivion to the king's feelings. Sitting back in his chair once more he picked up his empty glass and fiddled with it for distraction. "I suspect the king's son believes you consider yourself superior to him."

Elrond shook his head impatiently. "Elros and I made our choices according to our natures and desires, 'twas naught to do with any considerations of inferiority."

"I know that," Gil-galad answered. "But Isildur does not. And I think it is that very resentment of you that breeds his fascination - you are not elf, nor man entirely. He is intrigued by you, and despises that attraction, so disguising it in ill-temperedness toward you."

"Then what am I to do?" Elrond demanded. "I cannot change who I am, Gil-galad, nor demand any more respect beyond what he so forcedly gives out of deference to his father!"

Gil-galad chuckled, removing his crown and flipping it to his herald.
"Perhaps you should be king for a few days, if you believe pulling rank on him will make the slightest bit of difference."

Though he caught the mithril and bronze worked circlet, Elrond shook his head with another frown. "I cannot do that, as well you know. It is disrespectful to you, my lord."

"It would suit you well," Gil-galad answered, teasingly.

He rose and crossed to Elrond, gathering up the dark locks of hair and settling the crown amidst them. He smoothed his fingers through the ebony mane of his herald, straightening them beneath the crafted circlet. Elrond raised his hands in protest but Gil-galad caught them, pinning his hands against the back of the chair.

"No, leave it. You be the king for a time, let me have a little peace."

Elrond relented and relaxed in the king's grasp, a frown still marring his visage.
"Gil-galad, this is not proper."

"No, perhaps not." Gil-galad released him, but made no move to reclaim his crown. Instead he moved to stand before his herald, regarding him critically. "Although... come."

Stepping back he beckoned Elrond to him, removing his cloak and slipping it around the younger elf's shoulders. Cocking his head on one side he grinned at his herald and moved to pick up Elrond's discarded robe, shrugging himself into it.

"My lord..." Elrond objected.

Gil-galad held up his hand to still the protest; a wicked smirk gracing his features. "No, not a word. This is the penalty for your rivalry with Isildur. Wear my robes and bear my burden for a night, and I shall speak to Elendil on behalf of the Alliance tomorrow." Still smirking as Elrond's jaw dropped, he moved to the door. "You may stay here this night, and I will use your chambers."

"My lord!" Elrond shook his head, snatching Gil-galad's circlet from his brow. "This I cannot do - what if someone should summon you?"

"Then you will make my excuses as always," Gil-galad replied, smiling.

"And how," Elrond enquired waspishly, "am I to explain my presence in your chambers in the late hours of the night?"

Gil-galad smirked at him. "I shall leave that to your imagination, my dear herald. After all, the king does have the right to request a courtesan..."

Closing the door upon his herald's chiding glower, Gil-galad slipped out into the corridors to make his way to Elrond's chambers.

* * * * *

From the shadows dark eyes watched as a lone figure departed the king's chambers and made his way swiftly along the corridors. The night was without a moon and the pale light of the stars that scattered through the high arched windows briefly allowed a glimpse of the violet hues of Elrond's cape. The watcher in the shadows stepped silently into his tracks. Too long had that half-elf regarded him with supercilious glances, his features ever controlled, never once allowing his cursed composure to be ruffled. Too good for the race of men, Elrond? Isildur snorted to himself. I, for one, think not. Surprise his only advantage over the swifter, stronger being, he lunged, grasping one arm and throwing his body weight heavily into the elf, forcing the captured limb up at an excruciating angle behind the elf's back.

"Caught off guard, Elrond." Isildur clicked his tongue, hissing the words into the elf's ear and feeling his stubble scrape along the sensitive throat. "Not very perceptive of you, half-elf, if a mere man can surprise you."

He yanked the elf's arm further up behind his back, until the spine arched in protest. The movement brought his back against Isildur's groin, and the man was startled to feel a stir of desire ripple within him. The sensation of power at ensnaring such a creature was sweeter elixir than the famed fey wine he had imbibed in such quantities at the banquet. Isildur shifted, pressing a growing erection against the elf's buttocks and grinding his hips toward his captive.

To his surprise a chuckle escaped his prize, and an amused voice said calmly into the darkness, "Speak you of perception, Isildur? How unfortunate when I see that the rumours are true: men cannot see so well in the dark."

Isildur's throat went dry as he recognised the confident baritone, which did not belong to the wretched half-elf. For a moment he stood frozen, and then he staggered backwards as, with a single twist of his body, his victim whirled around to face him. The steely grey eyes of the high king Ereinion Gil-galad bored into Isildur's horrified gaze.

"My lord king..." he stammered, hearing his voice rasp dryly in the desert of his throat.

"Indeed." Gil-galad remarked wryly, settling Elrond's cloak straight about his shoulders. "And you should be thankful for it. Elrond would have slain you upon the spot. Fortunately for the Alliance, I am not quite so moved. Yet.

"Now perhaps you would care to explain to me exactly what it is that you object to about my herald."

Isildur swallowed rather hard. The king's voice had turned from acid humour to the deadly calm of water beneath which a fatal current flows. The elf stood proud in the shadows, his silver eyes the colour of a polished steel blade and the expression in them twice as deadly.

"I... 'Tis naught but his damned arrogance that raises my ire," Isildur spat. He was infuriated at his own foolishness, as the effects of the wine began to wane. "Forgive me, my lord, I meant no harm to him."

Gil-galad's eyebrows rose to the vault of the stars. "I find that hard to believe," he coolly contradicted. "It would seem that your father's honour is nothing to you. If I knew not better I would say you were the child of a wild man, bent to rape and pillage. None of your father's good breeding should have to claim such a child as yourself."

Impotent rage rose within Isildur and he clenched his fists. "I see now where that half-elf gets his arrogance from," he snarled.

"And as yet I fail still to see how you could be related to your fair father, or indeed any of your brothers," Gil-galad replied unmoved. "But come," he smiled suddenly, and Isildur fervently wished that the scowl had remained. "Clearly you loathe the elven 'superiority,' and for the sake of this Alliance we must overcome such matters." He stepped toward Isildur and laid his hand slowly over the man's crotch, rubbing his thumb over the confining material. Isildur stiffened at his touch, the predatory gleam in the elven king's eyes an eerie and arousing contrast to his calm speech. "And I believe that you thought you knew of a way to assert the dominance you so evidently desire. Care you now to make good upon your threat?"

Isildur stared up at the king, unable to repress the shudders tweaking through his body at the touch of the long fingers upon his groin. He had not anticipated this behaviour from the elven king, and a man with but half of Isildur's wit would have known not to attempt such an attack upon Gil-galad, had not Isildur mistaken him in the dark. But an open invitation...

Isildur slammed both hands into the king's chest and pressed him back against the wall. "This is not going to be on your terms, elf," he growled, crushing his lips against the king's.

Gil-galad's maddening chuckle stirred against his lips, and teeth grazed lightly across his lower lip. "I would not have it so. Come, man, show me what the strong blood of your line has bred. Prove to me that you are better than an elf, if you desire it so much."

* * * *

It was nearing dawn afore Gil-galad stirred from his peaceful walks in the world of elvin slumber, and drew himself from Isildur's bed. He had not dreamed the night before that he would allow himself to rest alongside the man, trusting Elendil's son no more than a wild man of the wood, despite his respect for the man's sire. Had it not been for his guilt in bringing upon Elendil's head the doom that had driven the Numenorean's from their realms, fleeing to the havens of the elves and so forcing the company keeping Isildur considered so unpleasant, even Gil-galad's respect for Elendil would not have spared his son from the dagger in the king's belt.

Isildur watched as the king rolled off the bed, rising and stretching with feline grace. Not the smallest flicker upon his countenance betrayed that even an inch of his flesh was sore or aching, though Isildur had ridden him with pace enough to punish the hardiest of steeds. Gil-galad strolled to the basin and sluiced water over himself, picking up a towel from the rail to dry his body, and stepped into his robes, shaking his hair loose. The sunlight streaming through the open window cast ivory hues into the shimmering obsidian dark mane and caused the silver thread of his sapphire state robes, which last night had been hidden beneath Elrond's cloak, to sparkle like the brightest of Varda's stars.

Gil-galad was beautiful, Isildur realised. The unshakeable force of nature the king represented, wild in his wicked abandon the previous night or carefully trammelled into composure that morning, showed a great strength; one that Isildur would be proud to fight alongside. He did not move from the bed, for his own body was bruised from their passions, but he watched pensively as the king straightened the robes of his herald that he wore still. Even in the light of day there was a strange resemblance to Elrond that made Isildur's humiliation at his mistake lessen somewhat. But still his cheeks were heated with the dark blush of shame, for the similarity between king and herald shone through, not in their arrogance, but in their strength of soul and spirit.

Gil-galad brushed off his herald's cloak and walked toward the door.
"I expect that you will be present for this morning's council," he said, addressing Isildur as he passed the bed. "The eleventh hour in the main chambers."

Pausing long enough to register Isildur's nod, Gil-galad opened the door into the corridor. But there he halted, turning to face the man once more.

"I would thank you for your company last night, Isildur, if you did not already owe me your thanks. The night blindness of your race has spared your life. It was fortune that you surprised me and not my herald, for you would not have lived to see this dawn. But a word of caution, son of Elendil, touch my herald or treat him in any way that will cause him offence, and I will personally make certain that this dawn is the last you ever see."

[End]