by Mac

Rating: Sort of R-ish

Pairing: Gandalf/Elrond

Feedback: If you want to (or as the Elves would say "Manka lle merna")

Disclaimer: I own no rights relating to these characters and derive no income from this story.

Pippin came to me tonight, feeling lost and alone in a world filled with foes. He reminded me that courage need not come in larger dimensions. A few words of hope I gave him out of the small store I kept for myself; his eyes brightened and his back straightened, and he returned to his bed to sleep. It seems that if Gandalf the White has said it, then it must be true.

So I sat out on the balcony on that last looming night and smoked my pipe as I watched Mordor rouse itself like an angry beast, breathing doom into the night. Of all the places for my mind to wander, it took me back to Rivendell, centuries before, to a nearly perfect spring day...

"Rwalaer, lle lava?"

The words were spoken in my ear, in a voice that few of the Eldalie would know. Husky and sensual, the voice of Elrond was hardly recognisable. His grey eyes that were normally so cool and clear, were bright with questions.

"Had I known this was a battle," I answered, quietly, "then I would have brought my sword."

His long fingered hand slid down between my thighs and stroked me there. "Yet here it is, your sword, and I do not fear it piercing me." When I lay still he squeezed and I gasped, arching into his

touch. His mouth came down to me, lips whispering over mine.

"Mithrandir, melar." Then, with one hand beneath my head entangled in my hair, the other arousing my desire, he kissed me. Like all of him, his kisses were a slow dominance, a blending of ageless power and perfect persuasion.

He was beautiful in his own spectacular fashion, dark and bright at once, that exotic mixture of Man and Elf that had fascinated generations of his people. He had seduced me to his bed with wine

and quiet laughter, with the kind of magic that runs in his veins as truly as his royal elven blood. I had thought rarely of the pleasures of the flesh, but they were natural to him, and few among his kind were worthy of his touch. Yet in me, I think, he saw all that he was not and much that he wanted. I was a Power too, one that he could not control, friend and guardian, the grey wanderer.

So we lay together that night, naked under the stars of Rivendell, and I learned everything about his skin, about how he breathed, how he shed the mantle of his fame to take me, entering my body till we were joined in breathless pleasure. The Reaching was a sort of magic, like velvet lightning coursing through me.

Strange that I should think of that far off night when the next morn might bring the end of the world. But better to reminisce on beauty than dwell on darkness.


Rwalaer, lle lava? = lusty one, do you yield?

Mithrandir, melar = Mithrandir, beloved