Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me! Nor am I making any money from this, it's purely for entertainment.

Title: Tomorrow

Rating: M

Summary: What if tomorrow will be the end of everything? What then? Elrond/Gil-Galad. Oneshot.

Warnings: MaleXMale, don't like it, don't read it. Angst. Lots of angst. Spoilers and canon character death.

Notes: I'm really proud of this, depressing as it is. Though it did make me cry and I feel like I should be ashamed of myself for that.

"Gil-Galad was an Elven-King.

Of him the harpers sadly sing:

the last whose realm was fair and free

between the Mountains and the Sea.

His sword was long, his lance was keen,

his shining helm afar was seen;

the countless stars of heaven's field

were mirrored in his silver shield.

But long ago he rode away,

and where he dwelleth none can say;

for into darkness fell his star

in Mordor where the shadows are."

-The Fellowship of the Ring

Tomorrow

There are only a few pages left in my journal now. Just enough for tomorrow, but nothing past that, I think. As I sit here alone, quill in hand, I cannot help but wonder if there will be anything to write after tomorrow's end. With a heavy sigh, I close the journal and push it aside. I cannot put words to my thoughts. It is all too overwhelming and I dare not analyze all the things going through my mind right now. And yet... Hope is fading fast, it would seem. This battle wages on, but the Dark Lord's power remains unbroken and our fragile alliance has suffered countless casualties. Seven years we have been here. How many more lives must be lost before this tragic affair comes to an end at last? I do not know, nor do I know how much more meaningless death I can stand to witness before I break. Berio ven Eru. (May Eru protect us)

The weight of Vilya on my finger feels alien. Not only is it a physical weight, but an emotional one. After all, why would my King entrust the Ring of Air to me with instructions to depart for Imladris with a small detachment tomorrow evening if all were well? No. Something has gone foul and the fear of what that may be blankets my soul with an icy dread no less cold than gold band encircling my left middle finger. Even the dread feels warmer than being alone in the healer's tent. I am not alone physically, but surrounded by the wounded and the dying lying about in makeshift cots. When will this all end? Will it ever end? The silence is stifling, pierced only occasionally by a soft moan from one of my charges. He is one of Elendil's men. There is nothing I can do to help him aside from numbing the pain in his last hours. He will be gone before dawn. ...Will these be my last hours as well? ...My king's last hours? I know not, but a young soldier from Elendil's army has told me that My King has requested the presence of his herald.

I try to gather my thoughts, but more and more I feel as though I am drowning. Ereinion Gil-Galad. He is my King, but also very much like a father to me. I trust him, and in turn, love him. He knows not the depth of that love, though. Nor does anyone else. It is my secret, and my shame to bear. And yet, tomorrow we could both fall to Sauron's flames and he will never know how much I love him. ...I do not wish to die alone in this place, as I with half-mortal blood, do truly understand. Like an elfling, I long to feel his touch - to be near to his warmth and the safety of his embrace.

Still clad in my bloodstained golden armor, I leave the healer's tent, pausing to give a pair of young ellyn (elves, male) instructions to watch over the wounded in my absence. Absently I wish I had time to clean my armor before going to see Gil-Galad. That is not so, however, as I have scarce little time even to sleep between leading troupes into battle and tending to the wounded. Sleep... When was the last time I was able to sleep without dreaming of friends being slain amidst helpless screams and consuming flames?

As I make my way to the King's tent, despair and doubt hang over the quiet camp in a nearly tangible veil. There is no laughter, or singing - only quiet conversation and much sitting about in silence watching the fire. Never have I dared imagine a gathering of elves without singing. Plenty of times before on the eve of a great battle, there was song well into the early dawn. But now there is silence, and my sense of foreboding only grows deeper and colder despite the nearly intolerable heat of Mordor. Valar, what has become of this world?

I stand in the opening to the King's tent; he has not yet noticed me. He has his back to me as he studies a hastily drawn map of the battlefield. His rich brown hair, which he usually prefers to keep in a neat braid, is loose and cascades over his shoulders. He is wearing a simple silver-hued satin robe that flatters his lightly muscled form, rather than his armor which is neatly stacked in the corner where it lies ready for tomorrow. Again, longing for his touch gnaws at my heart, and claws at my soul piercing through me like an icy dagger.

"You sent for me, my King?" I say quietly, folding my hands behind my back so the he does not see them shaking.

"Yes, Elrond, Mellon-nín. (My friend) Are you well? You seem pale." The Noldorin King asks, glancing at me with genuine concern in his sapphire eyes. He knows me better than most. I am by nature a healer. I may be skilled in archery and swordplay due to necessity, but conflict of any form does not suit me. Indeed, it plays havoc on my mind.

"I am tired, mostly." I reply with only partial honesty. "The preparations to depart to Imladris are in place. We leave at sundown tomorrow, Hîr nín. (My Lord)"

"Good. Vilya will be safe in Imladris." He says mostly to himself. "And so will you." I can almost hear him think.

Suddenly, the feeling of dread washes over me yet again and I look into the depths of his blue eyes. The thought crosses my mind that this could very well be the last time we speak. Normally, I have visions of things to pass - not feelings. But I cannot ignore this feeling any longer.

"I worry for your safety tomorrow." I say in a hushed whisper, not breaking the eye contact. He smiles endearingly and places his hand on my armor-clad shoulder. Something in the half-hearted smile tells that he is worried as well. More likely, he is worried about me. My king worries far too much for the well-being of others and forgets to look after himself sometimes.

"Whatever happens tomorrow, will happen. All things happen for a reason, as they are intended." He tells me calmly. "I called you here to make sure all the preparations were made, though you tell me it is all taken care of. You preform your duties to the letter, singyll nín. (My Herald) As have you always." Please do not tell me to leave. I think to myself desperately. The oppressing atmosphere of the healer's tent seems far away now as I stand here beside him in the candlelight. Just being near him once again fills me with hope; it will drive me mad to go back there now.

"May I stay a while with you, Hîr nín?" I find the courage to ask, still holding my trembling hands behind my back. He regards me with a concerned gaze and nods his head. Wordlessly I sit on the short wooden stool near the table where his map is spread out. It is Erestor's work, and the strategy is obviously well planned. My King has made a few small changes, but mostly it is a sound and reasonable formation. I wonder for a moment how he will make do without Erestor's stratagems as the tactician is part of my entourage for the trip to Imladris.

"What troubles you?" He inquires worriedly and leans against the table beside me. "I have not seen you so melancholy since Elros choose a mortal life." I manage a weak smile and looked up at him fondly. He has always been my strength, really. He gives me courage when there is far too little to be had and his presence brings light where shadows would prevail.

"I love you, my King." I find the nerve to say. "And each day, I wonder if tomorrow will be the last time I can hear your voice. ...If tomorrow will be the end of it all, for better or for worse. All I see around me as of late is death and fire." There is silence now between us with only the sound of muffled conversations outside. Finally, he speaks but in a somewhat subdued tone.

"This is why I am sending you to Imladris. Vilya is of great importance and must be kept safe, yes. However, my heart could not bear the thought of losing you, Elrond. Were it only that I could, I would never have you leave my side, mellon nín." He explains kindly and takes my hand in his. Thankfully, they are no longer shaking. Either I am no longer afraid, or simply far too weary to think much on it any longer. "Stay with me tonight. Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you here with me now. If tomorrow is the end of it all, I wish to make the most of the time we have left." I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding in my chest as my mind registers the meaning of these words.

"Yes." I whisper and lean against him as he is standing so close to me. He smells of the forest after a rainstorm, and wood crackling in a bonfire. "But the others will suspect something if I stay the rest of the night." I say sadly, realizing that it will not be possible.

"Erestor will see to that." My King tells me in the same calm manner. So, he has been planning this. That was why he sent for me. He need not ask about preparations for the trip. He knew I would carry out his orders without error or question. "Take off your armor." He adds, command coming naturally to him. But his tone is lighthearted. It is not an order, only a suggestion. A suggestion I decide to heed and slip the bracers off my arms. He helps remove the cuirass, making a face at the dried blood caked on it. I have not had a chance to clean it; he must know that as he says nothing and stacks the pieces in the corner beside his own armor. Elven armor is feather light and allows for excellent freedom of movement, but it still feels very good to be out of it for a while and wearing only my under-tunic. I yawn quietly and stretch.

"Better?" He asks, and wraps his arm around my waist protectively. Unconsciously, I lean into the embrace and rest my head against his shoulder. I nod silently and close my eyes. I feel the tension melt away as he very gently pulls my braids undone and runs his fingers through my hair. The other hand, he rests against my lower back to pull me closer. I wrap my arms around him tightly and loosely grip the silky satin robe. I could stay this way forever, in the safety and warmth of his embrace. I feel like a child, but it does not bother me as this is the first moment since leaving Imladris to come to this foul place that I have found any amount of solace. When was the last time I was held like this? Surely not since the fateful day that Maglor took pity on Elros and I and spared our lives. ...After we, a pair of elflings abandoned by our parents, witnessed the merciless slaying of the entire court. Maglor had held me just like this and assured us that we would be safe. Where would I be now if Maglor had stopped Maedhros from killing us as well?

My breath catches in my throat as I feel warm, calloused hands slip under my tunic and trace delicate patterns against my skin. I wonder how it is possible that the same hands that wield the great spear Aeglos with the fury of the Valar can touch me so gently. His touch feels like fire, as though it leaves a burning trail of flames across my flesh that is cold in spite of the insufferable heat of Mordor. I mumble a few quiet words appreciatively as I am guided backward towards the bedroll in the corner of the tent. The image of the High King of the Noldor and I, his herald, rolling about on the ground springs into my mind unbidden. It is an absolutely absurd image and I cannot help but laugh. That I can still laugh is a good sign, it means that there is yet some goodness in this broken world.

"What is so amusing?" The High King asks, coyly. "I simply must know."

"Of all places, we choose to make love on the floor of a tent in Mordor." I mutter with a hint of sarcasm. His laughter mingles with mine and for a moment it feels as though we are home in Lindon and not, indeed, about to make love on the floor of a tent in Mordor. He ruffles my hair lightly and begins untying the tight lacing on the collar of my tunic.

"You laced this so tightly just to make harder for me to get you out of it; I know it." He says playfully as he pulls the laces loose. I roll my eyes and tug at the loosely tied belt of his robe. It comes undone effortlessly.

"Ah, well at least you are making it easier for me, Hîr nín." I say with a sly wink as I slide my hands underneath the silky fabric and caress his chest.

"No matter. I am sure the reward will be well worth the effort." My King replies, his eyes sparkling deviously. I attempt to reply, but my words are cut short by his lips upon mine. For all the thoughts I have had of him, I never really imagined what his kiss might feel like. ...I am not disappointed. I gasp involuntarily and close my eyes as he gently parts my lips. I am glad for his hand resting on my back; without the support I might just fall over as my legs suddenly feel as though they might collapse beneath me. In this moment, it as if all the death and strife surrounding us has simply vanished and nothing exists but the two of us. So I have learned that even in the worst circumstances there can always be some small shred of peace to cling to.

"Melithon le anuir. (I will love you forever)" I manage to say in a breathy whisper when our lips finally part.

I am cold. Erestor is trying to pull me away and hopelessly pleading with me to leave the battlefield, or to remember where I am and pick up my sword which has fallen to the ground beside me. Even if I willed it, my shaking hands could not hold it. I fall to my knees. In front of me is a pile of ash, and beside it lays the great spear Aeglos, its blade tainted with orc blood.

"Elrond! We cannot linger here! If you have lost the will to fight then return to the camp until we leave for Imladris! Erio hi! (Stand now)" Erestor shouts over the chaos surrounding us. His pleas fall upon deaf ears as I make a strangled sound somewhere between near hysterics and nausea from the scent of burning flesh hanging in the air. His burning flesh. I want to die. I cannot fathom life without him. I silently pray that the orc making a dash for me with his crude blade brandished ends this cursed immortal life quickly so that I might be beside my love still. But alas, I watch brokenly as Erestor's sword severs the orc's head from its shoulders effortlessly. Blood spatters the ground in front me, a few drops hit my face. The warmth of it is sickening and it stings my skin. I feel faint; I am going to pass out.

"Get up now! E ú-'ar hired râd. (He is lost) He would not want you to die here!" Erestor says sharply and pulls me to my feet with a grunt. I sway unsteadily as he releases his grip and shoves my sword into my hands. Wordlessly I sheath it. "Go! Now!" Erestor commands firmly and gives me a shove away from the front lines. He is right, of course. Our king would not want me to die here. But no longer do I have any will to fight left. With my last shred of courage I lift Aeglos from the blood-soiled, lifeless ground and make my way through the fray toward the camp. As I go, I almost wish for a well aimed arrow to end it all. At the sight of me bearing the High King's weapon, many of the soldier's faces turn grim. It is as though all hope is finally fading. And just as I thought it could not get any worse, I watch wordlessly as Elendil meets the same fate as Gil-Galad. In horror I realize that the battle is lost. Everything is lost. I can only stand in silence, my mind a blank.

Beside me stands Isildur, son of Elendil who bears a similar expression of disbelief. He glances at the great spear held tightly in my bloody, shaking hands. With a cry of anger, he turns away and I can only watch in shock as he charges the Dark Lord Sauron himself and grabs the hilt of Narsil which had fallen from his father's limp hands and broken beneath him.

"Isildur! No!" I scream, running toward him as I am finally jarred back into reality. We cannot lose him as well! I must not let him perish! Of course, my path is quickly blocked a group of four blindly charging orcs. Without thinking, nor time to draw my sword, I lift Aeglos and swing its blade in their direction with all of my strength. They fall in a broken heap and the momentum from the swing nearly knocks me off my feet. I gasp for breath as I right myself. How did he make it look so easy - swinging this heavy thing around as though it were as light as a feather? But I am too late to reach Isildur. I can only watch helplessly as Sauron's mace bears down upon him. I close my eyes, I cannot bear to see anymore death. But in the darkness, I hear several shouts of triumph from the surrounding allies rather than Isildur screaming in pain. Uncertainly, I raise my head to look.

The one ring lies atop a small pile of smoldering ash that was once the hand of Sauron. In Isildur's hand is the broken hilt of Narsil, coated with the blood of the Dark Lord. It is hard to believe that this little trinket is the cause of everything. And yet, I now bear a ring of power so I do know their potential. As I look upon the one ring, I can almost hear it calling to me. Immediately, I know what must be done. I run to Isildur, shoving aside both friends and foe.

"Isildur! This way! We must destroy it!" I beg, dragging Elendil's heir to his feet. Wordlessly he nods and we set off into Mount Doom. The heat outside now seems like a winter's morning as we struggle to breathe within the heart of the volcano. My hair clings to my sweat covered face and I can tell that the tunic beneath my armor is fast becoming saturated. With a soft grunt I heft Aeglos and rest it on my shoulder, it is too tiring to carry it properly in this heat. How many countless times have carried this spear ceremonially as the King's herald as we rode to battle? Yet, I cannot ever remember it being so heavy. Perhaps it is the weight of his loss on my spirit.

"Cast it into the fire!" I tell Isildur as we stand before the fiery chasm from whence the foul thing was born. "Isildur!" I shout as he does not answer. He examines the ring in the palm of his hand, before giving me an odd look. Something is wrong; he eyes appear clouded as though he is in a trance. The thought crosses my mind to take the ring and end it myself. I must! He cannot withstand its power! The Alliance be damned; it has to end! I take a few steps forward, tentatively. I do not know what he is capable of under the influence of such an evil thing.

"No." Isildur says simply and turns away. Again, I feel cold. My chest tightens and I cannot breathe. Gil-Galad, my beloved, and countless others gave their lives for this moment - for nothing!

"Destroy it!" I plead desperately, but he keeps walking. "No. You fool." I whisper to myself. I should be grieving, but instead I feel only mindless anger and the bitterest sense of disappointment I have ever known. This... This is what has become of the blood of Numenor? This is what has become of Elros' - of my twin brother's legacy? All of these lives, wasted. And to top it all off the lives of Elendil and Ereinion Gil-Galad have been thrown away like the day's refuse.

Sure, there will be peace with the death of Sauron. But for how long? How long before the ring leads to another war and even more death? ...For surely it possesses of great power. And with power comes corruption, assuming it would even answer to anyone but the Dark Lord himself. I cannot help but to cry out in frustration. I fall to my knees and slam my fist into the dusty rock beneath me, which accomplishes nothing but to add physical pain to my mental anguish. Aeglos falls to ground beside me with a clatter as I bury my face in my hands and wail for the despair of it all.

"Elrond, I want you to promise me something." Gil-Galad whispers quietly in my ear. "Meleth- nín (my love), are you listening to me?" It is morning now, and I long to remain here tangled in his limbs with my head resting on his chest and his fingers gently twisted in my hair. Lightly, he runs his thumb over the tip of my pointed ear in an attempt to coax me to answer. A soft sound of surprise escapes my lips as I revel in the powerful sensation. It is truly amazing what a single touch in just the right place can do.

"I am... listening. Yes." I mumble inarticulately and finally open my eyes; only to close them again as morning sunlight assaults them.

"Whatever happens either today or by the end of this conflict - do not become bitter. Your heart has so much kindness, which is truly a blessing in this wretched place. Do not let hatred blind you. If I should fall, fall not into despair but live each day to its fullest. In the end, it is your choice to be melancholy. It is not so difficult, after all, to find more than enough joy in small things to make any pain bearable." He explains as he sits up slowly, pulling me along with him.

"You say these things as though you are planning to die today." I mutter somewhat sadly. Losing him in unimaginable, and I cannot fathom how anything would ease that pain. "I will keep your promise." I say, averting my eyes from his. I say it to ease his mind, really. It is a lie. I could never keep that promise for what happiness could there be without him?

"Well, my death is not written in the battle plan. So, I would assume it is not on the schedule." Gil-Galad replies with his characteristic good humor. I roll my eyes, but smile in spite of myself. "Always remember to keep that promise. Shall we get ready? We have a long day ahead of us. Today marks the end of the seventh year that we have laid siege upon Barad-dûr. There is no telling what will happen."

"It will be over, hopefully. Seven years is a short time for our kin, but it feels as though we have been here for millennia." I answer pensively. My King only nods his head as we get up and prepare to face whatever this fateful day will have in store for us. I glance off-handedly at Vilya, the large sapphire shines brilliantly as the morning light reflects from its many facets. It is an amazing thing that Arnor's light still touches this foul land. Perhaps there is yet hope for the future of Middle Earth.

As the memory of my promise to Gil-Galad floods my mind, I look down at my hands. They are stained with the blood of many orcs and the evil men that have sided with the Dark Lord. This battle, at long last, is over but at a great price. As long as the ring exists, so shall the forces of evil. But at this moment, none of that matters. I drag myself to my feet and find my way back outside.

From my vantage point on the slopes of the mountain, I can see that the forces of Sauron are in disarray and the remaining soldiers of the alliance are making short work of them. It is almost sad to watch how easily they fall as they are slain without remorse. Not wishing for any more blood to stain my hands, I lower myself onto a boulder and watch, clutching Aeglos close. I will see to it that the great spear is kept safely in Rivendell in memory of our fallen King.

Far from the eyes of anyone, I allow myself a few moments to grieve as I watch the battle below. I need to be alone for a while, to think. I am not presented the opportunity, however, as the sound of fast approaching armor-clad footsteps reaches my ears. Quickly, I rest Aeglos against the boulder and draw my sword. I sheath it immediately as it is Erestor who is approaching me.

"Elrond!" He cries and leans against the rocky wall near me breathing heavily. "One of Elendil's men told me they saw you leading Isildur here after Sauron's defeat. You didn't return with him so I feared the worst." Erestor does not appear to be any better for the wear than I am. His raven hair is matted and coming loose from its simple braid. His armor is cracked near the left shoulder - I am almost positive the bloodstain there is his own.

"I am still here, it would seem." I reply flatly.

"The ring?" He asks, hope shining in his eyes.

"Isildur kept the ring. I could not stop him." I answer, bitterly. The brief look of anger that flashes across Erestor's normally unreadable face is oddly gratifying.

"Then all of this was for nothing. Our King... Elendil... So many lives of men and our kin... For nothing." He stops to swear vehemently, which is most uncharacteristic, and collapses on the boulder beside me. Unconsciously I wrap my arm around his shoulders, hoping to offer him some small amount of comfort. Ereinion may not have been his lover, but it was no secret that they saw one-another as brothers.

"For now, let us return to Imladris. I grow weary of this accursed place." I say disgustedly. "We should return to the camp, as you know we must lead the army in our King's place."

"What should we do with Aeglos?" Erestor inquires, turning his gaze to the spear which is still resting against the boulder beside me.

"I will put it on display in Rivendell. In the Library, perhaps." I reply. "Unless you have a better suggestion, of course."

"I think that will be fine, he would not want to see it rot beneath the ground somewhere."

Erestor agrees. "We should return to the men. Once what is left Sauron's forces are routed, we will make ready to leave. I have no more desire to linger in this place than you do, Mellon-nín."

And with that, we are on our way back down to the battlefield. It may not be over as long as the ring exists, but at least for some time we should be able to enjoy a hard fought peace. Tomorrow I will be away from this place. I will be on my way home to Imladris. Tomorrow I will sleep alone and weep for my loss. But that is tomorrow. Today I must find my strength and return to the camp. With the fall of Gil-Galad, the men will look to Erestor and I for guidance. I must not falter for surely it is not yet over. I must not become bitter, either. No good can come of biased hatred of the race of men. I will, no, I must keep my promise to my King. Just as these thoughts come to me, something catches my eye.

A single, frail looking little golden flower is growing from under a small rock. It is the first living thing I have seen in this wretched land aside from the minions of Sauron. Immediately I recall the tale of Glorfindel who gave his life to destroy the Balrog so the people of Gondolin could escape with their lives. When he was laid to rest, golden flowers grew from his grave. I have been to that place, and I know this to be the exact same as the flowers that grow there. A powerful symbol of hope, surely. But in this place, it has even more meaning. I smile weakly and finally understand what my promise to my King really means.

"Joy in small things… Yes, I can do this. It is hard, but I can." I whisper to myself. A bit ahead of me, Erestor looks over his shoulder, questioningly.

"Did you say something?" He asks. I shake my head, still smiling slightly. I can see the confusion in his expression. Perhaps he thinks I have finally cracked. Though, it is surprising that I have not. But I cannot, it is not yet tomorrow and I have a lot of living to do if I am to keep that promise…