SONG FOR A SUMMER NIGHT

Athor's Notes: This is a work of Fan Fiction. I will not be receiving any payment for this work. The characters, settings, etc. are all the property of the Estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and possibly New Line Cinema.

In the bright summer afternoon, Galadriel sat in the tea house at the back of Thingol’s long formal garden, sipping her herbal brew of predominantly rose hips and sandalwood, and watching the blue-clad figure who was walking purposefully towards her. She noticed that if she turned her eyes to gaze inwardly upon herself, the figure grew blurry and hazy. She preferred to have it this way because she could not bring herself to look at him directly although she could not altogether look away from him either.

She sipped the fragrant tea as he approached and closed her eyes, finally blocking him out of her view and reveling in the scented warmth of her drink as it coursed down her throat, past the huge lump that had been dwelling there lately, causing an aching mist of tears to form instantly behind her eyes as she thought of her husband whom she had not seen now for a week.

Her glowingly handsome brother slid into the seat beside her. “Can I talk with you, Galadriel?” he asked, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he leaned forward, clasping his strong hands together and resting them on the table beside her tea cup. She wanted to tip the cup over and let the tea burn his hands while it was still hot. Those hands had touched her husband in places where he should never have been touched by her brother.

“Finrod”, she said with all the warmth of a spring glacier, “Please go away. You make me sick”.

“If you want him back”, said Finrod softly, soothingly, then we have to talk”.

Galadriel looked up at him then, at the earnest furrows in his forehead, at his warm blue eyes and the roguish dimples in his boyishly handsome face. How she loved him – used to love him – before he had bedded her husband and shamed her forever.

“You would use your hard body as a weapon to hurt some and make others submit to your wanton lust, brother”, she said.

“And you, sister, do use your hard tongue to drive away those you profess to love”, he countered.

Galadriel stood abruptly, knocking the small tea table off-balance and spilling her cup of tea. Finrod managed to grasp the table to keep it from falling but sustained a slight burn as some of the tea splashed onto his hand. Galadriel could not suppress a satisfied smirk.

“We seem to have come to an impasse”, she remarked coldly. “I do not wish to continue this conversation”.

“Hear me out”, Finrod pleaded as he sucked soothingly upon the burned hand. “He loves us both, sister. He still loves you, but he is the only one in all of Thingol’s palace who does not know that you are having an affair with the King”.

Galadriel took a deep breath and gazed down the long colonnade, taking in its splendid statuary and perfectly shaped topiary trees of cypress. She breathed in the fragrance of the soft pink roses twined in the lattice of the trellis above her head, and sighed. She would miss this palace and she would miss Doriath, but she must get away soon or she thought she would go mad.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Thingol had asked Celeborn to come to his private office, which was attached to his private chambers. Celeborn was feeling incredibly uncomfortable as he sat outside the royal office and tapped his leather-clad toes nervously upon the finely woven carpet as he glanced at some of the others occupying the seats in the waiting area. One of the unhappy people there was a surly-looking dark Elf clad in black, with his hair severely braided and pulled back in a scalp-tightening pigtail. His eyes were furtive and his hands remained hidden within the copiously full sleeves of his robe.

“Either a pick-pocket or a dishonest accountant”, thought Celeborn, trying to pass the interminable waiting time by guessing the occupations of the other Elves who were there. Glancing at the second Elf, Celeborn noted the stale odour of something old and rancid emanating from him and then saw the wine stains on his shirt front and his ragged cloak and scuffed boots. When the Elf raised one leg to scratch it and then the other, Celeborn noticed that he wore mismatched socks – one white and one grey.

“A portrait artist with a flea-ridden cat”, he thought. “Thingol probably commissioned him to paint Melian, paid him in advance and the poor wretch hasn’t made good on producing his painting. Celeborn snorted as an afterthought presented itself. “Poor bugger probably couldn’t find Melian in order to get her to sit for him”.

Before he had a chance to guess the occupation of the next Elf sitting miserably outside of Thingol’s office, but realizing that they, as well as himself, had probably all been called there in order to get a good tongue-lashing from the King and perhaps a thrashing as well for committing some crime against Elvendom, the door to the waiting area opened and a studious-looking clerk stepped through it.

“My Lord Celeborn?” enquired the clerk, looking around expectantly.

“It’s me, you sodding twit”, thought Celeborn. “Could you not see that ‘Lord Celeborn’ could not possibly be one of the decrepit zombies sitting out here?” But he stood graciously and cleared his throat. “I am Lord Celeborn”, he announced with a bow.

“Ah”, said the clerk who wore spectacles perched upon the end of his attractively upturned nose and whose hair was long, gleaming brown and unbraided, “Follow me please”.

“You pretentious twat”, thought Celeborn as he walked behind the Elf-clerk into Thingol’s offices, “You don’t really need those bloody glasses. I’d like to flick them off that pert little nose. I’ll bet you’ve been getting a good rodgering from Thingol on top of his bloody desk”.

“Oh, Gods”, thought Celeborn as he realized he was mentally critically savaging all people in his path just as Galadriel would have done, but out loud. He knew that he was doing it out of nervousness because he assumed that Thingol was going to possibly run him out of Doriath since he caught him having sex with Finrod and upsetting Galadriel, whom Celeborn knew to be Thingol’s most important political advisor, because she had told him so.

“Celeborn”, said Thingol with a gleam in his eyes, ushering the silver-haired Elf into his inner office.

“Fispol”, the King ordered his clerk, “Please ensure that Lord Celeborn and I are not disturbed for any reason for at least – erm – a few – cough – no, make that for four hours”.

“Was that four hours you said, Sire?” asked an incredulous Fispol.

Thingol threw him a look that would have caused Gothmog the Balrog to turn tail and flee in terror and proceeded to slam shut the door to his office with a conclusive bang.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Finrod and Galadriel faced each other across the now upturned tea table. Galadriel’s hair was disheveled and her eyes blazed with an unnaturally white light. “Are you actually considering using this threat to tell Celeborn about my affair with Thingol in order to make me leave my husband so that he can become your full-time lover?” she asked in a coldly controlled voice of fury.

“You have always wanted your own realm”, said Finrod quietly. “You can have Nargothrond. I give it to you willingly if you will but leave him”.

“I will never leave him”, Galadriel fumed. “We have bonded for life”.

“I have bonded with him also”, said Finrod, stubbornly standing his ground.

“You have not. You cannot have”. Galadriel looked at him with hatred in her eyes. “That is impossible”.

“Is it?” asked Finrod. “By treating your husband with such cold disdain, you have cleaved your bond with him. I, as your blood relative, have taken up the broken end of the cord and we have remade that bond between us”.

“Nonsense!” spat Galadriel. “You cannot take that which is fact and twist it so that it fits your own depraved description of Elvish Laws and Customs”.

“You, sister, have done just that very thing yourself”, retorted Finrod, closing in for the kill.

“I have not, you despicable, cowardly liar!” Galadriel’s voice rose to not quite a shriek as she almost lost her cool self-control.

“Oh, no?” Finrod’s eyes glinted a steely blue in the light of the setting sun as he rounded on her, thrusting his flushed face toward the pale, cold whiteness of that of his sister. “You broke that bond when you took Thingol as a lover. Do not speak to me of bond breaking or making”.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

“Please sit down, Celeborn”, said Thingol sweetly, offering the silver-haired Elf a seat on a comfortable chair in front of his huge, ornate desk. The white-haired King of Doriath eased himself into his own massive office chair and produced two goblets from a desk drawer. “Would you like some wine?” he offered.

All sorts of thoughts were running through Celeborn’s mind at this time, but he did not expect Thingol to offer him wine just before he was about to berate him. Celeborn was quite impressed by Thingol’s level of classiness. He always assumed himself to be an Elf of great taste and elegance, but Thingol was surely someone that he would be desirous of emulating. I mean, look at him. That regal white hair and those incredible cheekbones. And his eyes were a gleaming steely grey that held the essence of power and that were capable of alternating between the meting out of merciless punishment and the giving of great mercy, depending on the situation. Celeborn thanked him and accepted a glass of wine.

“Do you know why I have called you here today, Celeborn?” asked Thingol.

“Is it about Roddy?” asked Celeborn with as much innocence as he could muster.

Thingol was in the process of taking a sip of his wine when Celeborn answered his question with that unexpected one of his own, and almost choked on it. It took great fortitude to hold down the wine and maintain his dignity. He did not expect Celeborn to be so forthright.

“Er - yes – it is about – er – Finrod”, replied Thingol, and set his glass down on the polished mahogany surface of his desk.

“He didn’t use a coaster”, thought Celeborn. “Galadriel would have reprimanded me if I’d done that in front of her”.

“Now see here, my dear Celeborn”, the King went on. “I am afraid that this recent – er – business has greatly upset your poor wife”.

“I am upset that she is upset”, replied Celeborn. “And I am upset all by myself, too”.

Thingol was startled as he looked into Celeborn’s soft grey eyes that gazed back at him with an unassuming innocence and a tinge of melancholy. His eyelashes fluttered as he blinked several times. Thingol wasn’t sure if Celeborn was about to cry. Thingol’s heart melted. Celeborn was not only brave, honest and unassuming, but he was also soft-spoken and humble, and oh, so incredibly attractive.

The King came around to the front of the desk where Celeborn sat. “Stand up, Celeborn”, he said to him.

“Oh, oh”, thought Celeborn. “I’m in for it now”. He stood and Thingol took him by the hand. “Come and sit with me over here”, he said kindly, leading Celeborn to a velvet sofa by the fireplace. Once they were both settled, Thingol took a long look at his guest. Celeborn’s hair was caught loosely behind his head with a diamond-studded silver clasp, and the loose ends fell about his shoulders. He was dressed in a silver brocade tunic with diamond fasteners over black velvet leggings and tall black leather boots. He was the picture of elegance, serene and simple, yet impeccably tasteful.

“I have a proposition for you”, the King offered, his eyes narrowing, but a soft smile playing upon his curved lips.

“Oh, no, here it comes”, thought Celeborn, steeling himself for the inevitable. “I am to be banished to Nan Dungortheb or some other Eru-forsaken place such as Eithel Sirion, or perhaps Hithlum”.

“I would like to train you to become a soldier”, said Thingol. Celeborn looked stunned. “First a soldier, then a great warrior”, the King continued. “After that, I want you to be a leader of your own army. One that will not fail in battle, or to drive back the evil enemy when necessary”.

Celeborn was dumfounded. “But My Lord”, he began to say.

“Shhh. Say nothing yet”, said Thingol, placing a long, slender finger adorned with a giant ruby ring against Celeborn’s full lips. “I will explain. When I saw you with Finrod the other night, I saw in you something I had never known you to have before. It was that you had a certain affect about you – a certain way of holding yourself – I don’t know – it is hard to explain, but I saw immediately something that told me – put a weapon in that man’s hands – give him a worthy sword to wield – “

“I have been taking lessons of late”, Celeborn interjected proudly.

“The fact of it is, Celeborn”, said Thingol, “that with a wife like Galadriel, you need to become someone who is stronger than she is in order to gain her respect, and I can teach you that. I can see that you are capable of greatness”.

“My Lord, I don’t know how I can properly thank you”, said Celeborn.

“Do you not?” asked Thingol softly and drew closer, his face only mere inches from Celeborn’s.

“My Lord?” asked Celeborn in return, lowering his gaze until his long eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones and then looking up innocently into Thingol’s regal face.

“Would you mind very much if I – “the King whispered.

“If you what?” Celeborn responded, moving so close to Thingol that their breaths mingled.

Thingol then very slightly touched his parted lips to Celeborn’s and held them there against the other Elf’s. He did not force a kiss, but merely reveled in the sensation of lip upon soft lip, breath against sweet breath. Their eyes, both sets open, stared into each other’s, both searching for something that would prevent them from coming together as lovers. Then Thingol drew back slightly.

“Would you not have me as your lover?” he asked. “Or am I too old and hideous?”

“No, My Lord, you are as beautiful to me as the light within a Silmaril”.

Thingol gasped. “You speak to me of Silmarils”, he said breathlessly, “but what of Finrod?”

“Roddy is a gold coin compared to your Silmaril”, crooned Celeborn, leaning in closer to Thingol. “Do not misunderstand me, I love Roddy”, he said, “but I am thinking that no matter what I do now, how can I possibly hurt any more people?”

“Good logic”, said Thingol, placing his hand upon Celeborn’s arm and palpating the thick muscles there. “I do believe you’ll make a fine warrior”.

“Would you like to see my weapon?” asked Celeborn.

“I would like to very much”, replied the King.

“How long did you tell Piss–fol – what was his name? – to leave us alone?” asked Celeborn.

“Four hours – mmm – “said Thingol, placing a warm, wet kiss upon Celeborn’s lips.

“Mmm ---” said Celeborn, placing a kiss in return upon Thingol’s. “Your lips are so soft – and they taste like the finest fruit of Yavanna”.

“What does Finrod taste like?” asked Thingol curiously, now exploring Celeborn’s mouth with his kingly tongue.

“Honey”, was the muffled reply from Celeborn as he sucked upon Thingol’s long tongue. “Mmm – your tongue has a very good length”, he murmured.

“That is not the only length I’d like you to experiment with”, said Thingol between kisses.

“I think four hours is long enough to get our weapons out and engage in a little swordplay”, said Celeborn.

“That is just what I was thinking”, said Thingol, “except that we’ve used up too much of our time already in talking”.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Finrod and Galadriel had reached the point where words were no longer going to be of any use. Galadriel had attacked her brother with her long nails and had tried to scratch his handsome face, but he had managed to thwart her attempt by grabbing her wrists and then she had kicked him hard in the shin. He had winced in pain and then grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled it mercilessly. She shrieked and then tried to punch him, flailing out with a strong right fist to his jaw, leaving a nasty red mark upon his otherwise perfect face.

Finrod lashed out by grabbing Galadriel’s arm and tearing her dress in the process. Enraged, she came at him like a furious cat, all teeth and nails. He tackled her then, and both of them fell to the ground, grappling with each other and ripping each other’s clothes. Galadriel scratched and bit as Finrod tried to fend her off. Finally, he managed to slap her face hard, and that stopped her tirade for the moment.

She sat upon the ground, gasping and heaving, as did Finrod beside her. Her dress was torn irreparably, the gaping bodice exposing most of her bosom, and the lace from the hem trailing on the ground, muddy and ruined. Finrod’s shirt had one of its sleeves torn off and there were bleeding scratches all down his bare arm.

Furiously angry, Galadriel swept off without another word, and Finrod, after letting her get a good distance ahead, dusted himself and marched off towards King Thingol’s official quarters. Storming into the King’s waiting room, he demanded to see Thingol at once.

“I am sorry, but the King is busy now. You’ll have to wait”, said Fispol, looking Finrod up and down with much interest, as did the hapless Elves still sitting in the waiting area.

“Bugger the waiting”, said Finrod and kicked open the doors to the main office. “And bugger off”, he snarled to the quaking Fispol.