Title: Changing the Rules

Series: Winner Takes All

Type: FPS

Author: Fimbrethiel

Email: fimbrethiel@yahoo.com

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel, Glorfindel/?

Warnings: explicit depictions of homoerotic acts between consenting males, masturbation, very mild humor in this chapter

Disclaimer: Don't own the Elves, they are owned by Tolkien's estate. Master Tolkien, I mean no harm. No profit has been made.

Beta: Orchyd Constyne

Timeline: Imladris, the year 2951 of the Third Age, two weeks after Erestor makes his confession in the gardens during Learning the Game.

Feedback: Yes, please!

Summary: Erestor dreams. Glorfindel takes a trip, and comes to a realization. The Valar meddle.

Author's Notes: The eventual pairing is no surprise, but you will have to read in order to find out how they ultimately get there. My apologies to anyone who expected a different pairing. Erestor and Glorfindel just belong together. =)

Author's Notes 2: In his later years, Tolkien confirmed that
Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Imladris were one and the
same. It has also been strongly suggested that Glorfindel was
returned from the Halls of Mandos around 1,600 S.A. I have chosen
to have him returned as a fully-grown Elf.

*~*~*


Glorfindel growled angrily and slammed the door to his office behind
him, crossing the floor in long strides before throwing himself into
his chair. It had been two weeks since the incredible night he
spent with the Peredhil twins. Two weeks, less a day, since he had
learned of Erestor's confession. The confession that set his guts
on fire and his blood boiling.

Two rotten, horrible weeks of simmering rage bubbling just below the
surface of a slowly cracking faççade of mirth and good humor.

He crossed his legs and glowered at the wall, idly toying with the
lacings on his boot, and wondered, not for the first time, whom it
was he was the angriest with. His hand strayed to the handle of the
small but deadly knife he kept at the ready, tucked into the calf of
his boot, and withdrew it slowly. The shaft began a slow dance
across his fingers, rolling from one to the next with fluid grace.
In a fit of pique, he snatched the handle in his palm and with a
snarl that twisted his handsome face into a grotesque mask, threw
the blade viciously at the door. It sunk deeply into the scarred
wood where it hung, quivering, from the force of the throw before
finally stilling.

In silence he sat as the shadows of evening fell around him,
shrouding the office in darkness. He sat in the gloom, motionless,
for a very long time, alone with his thoughts. When the solitary
darkness became oppressive and the rumbling of his empty stomach
spurred him to motion, he finally stood and wrenched his knife from
the door, tucked it back in his boot, and closed the door behind
him, before heading toward the Last Homely House.

Glorfindel ordered a tray of cold meats and fruit to be sent to his
chambers. By the time he had washed and left his bathing chamber,
clean, bare-chested and dressed in loose trousers that hung
precariously on his lean hips, he found his meal had been laid,
candles lit, and his bed turned down. He ate quickly, ravenously,
then blew out the tapers and sunk tiredly into his bed to think.

Since the night Erestor had made his confession, Glorfindel had felt
unrest. That night he had nearly blown up at his best friend,
lashing out with uncustomary venom and sarcasm, and his behavior had
shocked him as well as Erestor. At the time he was able to pass off
his anger as fatigue, but he knew the Counselor did not quite
believe his falsehood. He went to his rest that night, but reverie
escaped him; he lay sleepless, his mind in turmoil, much as it had
been since.

The night he had spent with Elladan and Elrohir was, in a word,
blissful. The Peredhil had worked his body so thoroughly it had
taken two days for the ache in his backside to fully wear off. It
was not just the incredible sex. it *had* been incredible,
absolutely. It was also the sense of contentment among them; the
way they embraced, the easy flow of loving words uttered in the
aftermath of their passion. The three of them had spent the rest of
the night together, Elrohir sandwiched tightly between the dark
beauty of Elladan and the pale fairness of Glorfindel. In the
morning, they had awakened together and shared tender kisses before
he retrieved his clothing and returned to his quarters unseen. The
brethren had since begged leave from their Adar and departed on yet
another journey into the wilds, not expected to return for another
few months at the least. Then the very next night, Erestor had
confessed to sleeping with them years before.

The next few days passed, and Glorfindel buried himself in his
work. The strain of keeping up a false face of good cheer was
beginning to wear on him. He was tired, confused, and cranky. He
was not sleeping well, and his short temper was beginning to be
noticeable. In order to spare others from his increasingly foul
temper, he spent every moment either training or on patrol, and took
to avoiding everyone as much as possible when his presence was not
required by duty. Elrond noticed his Seneschal's preoccupation, as
did Erestor and the rest of the household, but they were not given
the opportunity to question him, as he spent his off-duty time
sequestered in his rooms, where he alternated between despondency
and irritation.

Glorfindel was not naïïve; he knew he was running from his feelings.
The trouble was, the feelings denied labeling, which was precisely
the problem. Damn Erestor and his secret. How could Erestor have
kept something like that from him, his best friend, for so long?
And then to tell him - the very next day - after *he* spent the
night in the twins' bed?

For the first time in his long life, he thought he might be
jealous.

Jealousy was a foreign emotion for the Elda. Never, since his
rebirth, had he ever felt envious of another, for what was there he
could be resentful of? The Valar had granted him an incredible
second chance, and he knew how blessed he was. Not a single moment
of regret had passed his mind since his return from Mandos. Náámo
had pardoned him for his transgressions in his first life, even
going so far as to blunt the most horrific memories of his final
terrible struggle with the Balrog on the pass of Cirith Thoronath.
Furthermore, he had the assurance that someday he would find the one
whose soul beckoned to his.


// flashback //


At the time of his release from Mandos, once again embodied in the
form he wore at the time of his death, Vairëë led him through the
vast House of the Dead, and had shown him her endless, ever-growing
tapestries that lined the corridors. What he saw writ upon the
heavy cloth had plainly been scenes of what would, or *could*,
happen in the future.

He saw a great battle-plain teeming with Men and Elves and fell
creatures. a Ring of fiery gold. a flaming mountain. a small
creature riding a horse across a river at break-neck speed. a dark,
forbidding tower. a terrible, tall dark shape crumpling to the
ground before a glowing silver form. the sparkling sea. a majestic
white city built against a mountainside. Many visions he did not
understand.

One of the last scenes Vairëë showed him was that of a dark-haired
ellon holding hands with a heavily pregnant silver-haired elleth,
while two identical younger Elves sat nearby. "They, Glorfindel,
are the reasons you are to be sent back," the Weaver
explained. "That family," she pointed to the drapery, "holds the
fate of Arda in their keeping; their destiny and yours are
inextricably entwined. They are the reason Manwëë is sending you
back." (male Elf, Elf-maid)

Glorfindel peered intently at the scene embroidered on the richly
woven cloth. It seemed to him that the ellon looked familiar
somehow, and the beautiful elleth reminded him of someone, but
before he could give the matter further thought, Vairëë took his hand
in hers and led him on again. She halted directly in front of
another panel and turned to face him. She gestured to the tapestry
and bade him look.

"This, brave one, is the final scene I will reveal to you. Look
closely, for in it is depicted that which will be your heart's
greatest desire."

Uneasily, Glorfindel turned his eyes upon the final vision.

The scene in the last of the Valiëë's tapestries was incongruous with
the rest. The tapestry showed two Elves, gloriously naked - a dark-
haired Elf making love to one with shimmering golden locks and
sparkling blue eyes the color of a summer's day.

More than a little discomfited to be looking upon such an erotic
scene in front of a Vala, and one in female form at that, he averted
his eyes and looked, puzzled, at the radiant Queen. "Look closely,
Glorfindel," she urged, giving him a gentle push forward. "Do not
be embarrassed."

He turned back to the tapestry and took a step closer. He gasped.
The blond Elf in the tapestry was he!

His face was clearly visible over the dark-haired one's shoulder; he
smiled radiantly up at his lover, their eyes locked together, his
long legs wrapped firmly about the other's waist. In shock, he
glanced at the Valiëë questioningly.

Vairëë smiled fondly at him and responded to his unasked question
with a twinkle in her eye. "Aye, Glorfindel, that is you. You have
an important role to play in the future of Arda. Did you not think
you would be rewarded?" she responded kindly.

Glorfindel shook his head in wonder and looked back at the tapestry
again, determined to absorb every detail. This darkling Elf's love
was to be his reward? But how would he know who the ellon was? The
sleek, lean body was characteristic of their race, and silky dark
hair that flowed like spilled ink across his back. The sensual
being who so ardently made love to him bore no other discerning
marks that could suggest his identity. The only thing he was
certain of was that his lover was of the Noldor; they were the only
race of the Eldaliëë with such coloring. (male Elf)

"But who--" he began.

Vairëë silenced him with the touch of a finger laid upon his lips and
shook her head gently. "Nay, valiant one. Who he is will be
revealed to you in time; it is not for me to say. You must look
deep within your heart to find that answer." Taking his hand again,
she said, "Now come, Manwëë awaits," and led him back down the
winding corridors of Mandos.


// end flashback //


Thousands of years later he lay in bed, remembering the scenes from
the tapestries. Some of the visions now made sense: the forging of
the One Ring and the hiding of the Rings of Power, the waste of
Eregion, the white, tiered city of Minas Tirith with its soaring
spires.

The moment he first laid eyes on Elrond Half-elven, he recognized
him from the tapestry as the son of Bright ËËarendil, the child for
whom he had sacrificed his life. Years later, he stood by Erestor's
side and celebrated his Lord's marriage to Celebríían. The birth of
the Lord and Lady's twins, and later, Arwen Undóómiel, completed the
prophecy which Vairëë had foretold. Some visions still did not make
sense, but he had faith in the Weaver that they would in time become
clear to him.

Still, he pondered the identity of the darkling Elf in the
tapestry. Virtually all the ellyn in Imladris were dark-haired,
being primarily of Noldorin descendancy. The number of
possibilities was overwhelming.

Mentally he ticked off the list of Noldor who still remained on the
shores of Middle-earth. He was absolutely certain the one destined
to be his mate was not Elrond; the Peredhel's heart was Celebríían's
alone, and the Elf-lord patiently bided his time in Arda until the
day he could be reunited with his beloved on the white shores of
Valinor. Their friendship was deep, but platonic.

Gildor Inglorion? Nay. They were fast friends, nothing more, never
having been compelled to share the pleasures of the flesh with one
another.

Lothvaen? Glorfindel chuckled softly to himself at that thought.
Gangling young Lothvaen was certainly comely enough, but he was
definitely not Glorfindel's type. He looked to the junior counselor
as a younger brother, and knew instinctively that the young Noldo
did not harbor romantic feelings toward him either.

Lindir. that was a possibility. The ethereal, graceful minstrel had
taken the returned Elda under his wing all those many years ago,
helping him to become reacquainted with living amongst flesh and
blood, rather than incorporeal beings. Theirs was a deep and
abiding friendship, and once upon a time they had discussed a
possible long-term relationship, even becoming lovers for a while,
but ultimately realized they were better off as friends. They had
parted on the best of terms, and still remained close. Nay, not
Lindir, then.

Could the figure have been either Elladan or Elrohir? If his
intended was indeed one of the gwanûûn, though, more questions
arose. How was he to decide: Elladan or Elrohir? But there was
something that just did not sit right with that entire line of
reasoning. It was well known throughout the Elven realms that the
bond of twins transcended all others, and that the Peredhil brethren
had claimed each other as their own. Was he intended to be the
third in a triad? But if that were so, would not Vairëë have shown
all three of them? Despite the glorious night he spent in their
bed, and the loving words that had passed between them, the pieces
of the puzzle simply did not fit. (twins)

Next came Erestor. True, they loved and took comfort with each
other on occasion, but their love was that of lifelong friends -
shield brothers. The sex was nothing short of amazing, for Erestor
was a responsive and sensual lover who gave back in return every bit
as much as he took, plus some. He was beautiful and exotic, and
wise, learned in lore and skillful in diplomacy, and a fierce
warrior when need arose. But they were friends above all.

Frustrated, he punched his pillow and drew the sheets up over his
head. These thoughts were futile. He needed to focus, if he was
ever to make any sense of things.

Turning back over, Glorfindel lay back and crossed his hands,
resting them on his stomach. He breathed deeply and slowly for a
few moments, then cleared his mind and brought forth the image of
Vairëë's tapestry. There must have been something he missed, some
clue that would reveal his lover's identity.

He remembered the warmth of the House of the Dead, the peace he
felt. The delicate scents, the beauty and serenity of Vairëë the
Weaver as she stood beside him. The sensual vision of two Elves
obviously so deeply in love. He imagined himself walking forward
slowly, taking in the vision she had shown to him.

Suddenly he gasped. There, what was that? Right there, in the
corner. Closing his eyes tightly, he forced his focus on that
particular spot. What he saw sent his mind reeling.

"Oh, no. it cannot be!" he whispered, stunned. He shook his head in
denial. The detail, which had escaped him until now, was a small
but telling one, at the very corner of the tapestry almost hidden
from view. On a table near the bed, close to the feet of the
entangled lovers, sat a box. A box approximately the size of a
large, thick book, made of dark wood inlaid with bits of polished
semi-precious gems, and exquisitely carved with vines and flora.
Erestor's box, the gift from the gwanûûn. (twins)

Erestor was the Elf in the tapestry, the one who made love to him.

A string of profanities left his lips in every language he knew:
Elvish, Westron, the ancient Quenya tongue and even the Black
Speech. How had things gotten so complicated?

Erestor was his soul mate?

No, it was not possible. They had been friends for thousands of
years, surely he would have realized before now? They had lived and
worked side-by-side for millennia - he would have *known* if Erestor
was meant to be his. The Counselor would never feel that way toward
him; he had never shown any interest whatsoever in him, other than
the mutual pleasure they shared on occasion, when the nights were
cold, or the loneliness became unbearable.

He lay awake the rest of the night.


*~*~*


Early the next morning Glorfindel washed and dressed quickly, ran a
brush hastily through his hair and plaited it in a long, single
shimmering braid. A thin leather strap was used to secure the end.
He buckled on his sword, strapped on his bow and quiver, and checked
that his throwing knife was seated securely in his boot. For long
minutes he paced to and fro in his chambers, until he could take no
more.

He threw open the door to his chambers and stalked into the
hallway. His eyes flashed blue flames as he thundered down the
corridor and bounded up the stairs to the upper level, taking the
steps three at a time. His pace only slowed as he neared Elrond's
private office. He paused in the open doorway, seeing with relief
that Elrond was already at his desk and working.

The Lord of Imladris sat in a plushly upholstered chair behind a
massive desk, deep in concentration, his dark head bent over a
parchment spread in front of him. A steaming cup of tea sat nearby,
its spicy scent mingling with the rich, earthy smell of books.
Every available horizontal surface of the desk was littered with
stacks of papers and scrolls heaped in precariously balanced piles.
Heavy shelves mounted to the walls were laden with thick tomes,
scrolls, and odd gadgets. A large basket in the corner was stuffed
to overflowing with rolled maps. It really was a marvel Elrond
could find anything at all, Glorfindel thought wryly. The Lord's
private office was a positive health hazard in comparison to the
almost compulsive neatness Erestor kept their public offices and
library in.

Damn, there was Erestor again. Could he have no peace from the
raven-haired Counselor?

Glorfindel signaled his presence with a light rap upon the open door
and waited for Elrond to look up. At the knock, Elrond jumped in
surprise and looked up from the pile of papers he had been engrossed
in. Carefully setting the document on the desk aside, he smiled
warmly at his fair Captain and motioned for Glorfindel to
enter. "Maer aur, Seneschal, how fare you?" (good morning)

Glorfindel crossed the room and dropped heavily into one of the
matching high-backed wooden chair that flanked the opposite side of
Elrond's desk. With a heavy sigh, he buried his golden head in his
hands.

Elrond's welcoming smile disappeared and he looked at the top of his
friend's head with concern. Dropping the formalities he
queried, "Are you well? What is the trouble, pen veleg?" (mighty
one)

"Elrond, I have to go away," Glorfindel's voice was quiet and
muffled behind his hands.

The Elf-lord stood in alarm and shoved the heavy chair out of the
way. Quickly he rounded the massive desk and sat in the wooden
chair next to Glorfindel. Leaning forward, his touch was gentle on
Glorfindel's shoulder. The Seneschal lifted his head from his hands
and met Elrond's confused silver gaze with his own tormented
one. "What has happened, my friend? Go away? Leave Imladris?"

"Aye. nay, Elrond. Aiya, I do not know what I mean." He exhaled
noisily and slumped forward in his chair, defeated. "I do not mean
permanently, meldir. Imladris is my home; I could live nowhere
else, and it is my sworn duty to serve you. That is not what I
meant at all."

Glorfindel rubbed his temples wearily. It was early in the morning,
and already he was exhausted. His head ached dreadfully, and he
made a mental note to ask Elrond for a headache elixir before he
left.

Elrond sat back and crossed his legs, waiting in expectant silence
for Glorfindel to continue. In truth, he was a bit apprehensive;
such misgiving was completely uncharacteristic of his fearless,
fearsome Seneschal.

"I am confused, Elrond. I need to clear my mind."

"Go on." Elrond looked curiously at him.

Glorfindel stood abruptly and paced about the spacious office. He
loathed this weakness within himself. Never in his life had he run,
not from *anything* - not war, nor hardship, nor even a Balrog. And
now he was running from an exotic, infuriating, sharp-tongued
Counselor. Who, if Vairëë's tapestry was to be believed, was
destined to become his lover and mate.

Elrond sat tolerantly, watching his Seneschal stalk about the room
like a caged beast. Glorfindel paused in front of the window and
turned, leaning back against the window frame. Defiantly he crossed
his arms over his chest and peered suspiciously at his Lord. "You
will not make this easy for me, will you?"

"Nay, I will not." He looked disapprovingly at the blond and arched
an eyebrow. "You know me better than that, Glorfindel. You came to
my office unlooked-for and stated in no uncertain terms that you
must go away. Now you are reluctant to tell me why, and seem to
expect me to grant permission without knowing more. I believe some
sort of explanation is in order."

"You are tenacious, Peredhel."

"Aye."

"Infuriating."

"So I have been told."

"Resolute."

"Agreed; it is why I am Lord of this valley and you are not.
Continue."

Overpowered and exasperated, Glorfindel said, "Elrond, my friend,
something has happened recently, and I need some time to think about
it. I cannot be more specific, but things have come to light
recently that causes me to question myself, to challenge my
beliefs. I find my mind in turmoil. I am unable to sleep, unable
to concentrate. I need to put some space between me and hi - this
situation," he quickly corrected his near slip, and hoped Elrond did
not notice, "in order to be able to see things clearly."

"I see." Elrond sat pensively, his elbows resting on the arms of
the chair, his fingers steepled together. "Is this so important to
you, then? Perhaps a break from your duties would help?"

"Nay, I do not think so. I believe I need the distance in order to
achieve clarity. Please, Elrond, do not ask more," Glorfindel
implored. "I have told you all I am able. When I return, I hope to
be able to explain everything to you, but right now, I cannot. I
just do not know, myself."

Elrond sat for a moment while Glorfindel leaned in against the
window. Neither spoke for a long while. Finally the Lord stood and
crossed the floor toward the tense blond, and nodded. "Go, pen
iaur, with my blessing. I was about to send a messenger to
Celeborn's wood, and I see no reason you cannot go instead. But,"
he cautioned, "I will expect your return in a fortnight. And take a
companion with you. I do not wish to lose my Seneschal in the
wilds," he teased gently, and Glorfindel gave a small, reluctant
smile in return. (ancient one)

Elrond raised a hand and gently cupped Glorfindel's face, caressing
the smooth cheek fondly. At the moment of contact, though, a look
of surprise registered on his face, and he stared, dumbfound, into
the piercing blue eyes of his friend.

Glorfindel pulled back and squirmed uncomfortably; something about
that dazed yet knowing look told him somehow Elrond had scryed
knowledge of his dalliance with his sons. Another second later, a
look of understanding dawned on the ageless face. Elrond smiled
slightly, as if the answers to an Ages-old question finally came to
him.

"Peace, Glorfindel. You will find the answers you seek. Now go,
before the day gets older."

Glorfindel nodded curtly, then turned toward the door. As he
crossed the threshold, he turned and looked back at his Ages-old
friend and Lord. "Thank you, Elrond."

*~*~*

Imladris, 2951 T.A.

Another morning arrived and Erestor awoke, once again sticky, his
eyes dry and gritty with fatigue. With each successive night the
dreams became ever more realistic, ever more graphic. The assault
on his body became ever more pronounced, as if his lover was trying
to wear down his defenses and *force* him into awareness. And he
grew ever more exhausted.

He awoke every morn reluctant to move, fully expecting to find the
pleasurable throbbing in his backside that comes from being well
used. Every morn he was dismayed when that sweet ache did not
come. For his ghostly lover did use him well, leaving him limp and
sated, the dream-touch alone often enough to wring shattering
climaxes from his frenzied body.

And every morn he awoke more enamored of his invisible paramour.

The waking routine he had become accustomed to over the past weeks
followed: the inevitable rinsing of sleeping trousers, then bathe,
dry, brush hair, dress. Head fogged with exhaustion, he headed
toward the kitchens before the first rays of dawn blushed the sky.

First on the day's agenda was a consultation with the head chef over
the supply of foodstuffs for the coming weeks, after which the
Counselor hoped to filch the remnants of the sweetly glazed fruited
pastry left over from last night's dinner. A rush of sugar and a
cup of strong tea would wake him nicely, he hoped.

Meeting completed and list of requested supplies committed to
memory, Erestor strode confidently out of the kitchens toward his
office, holding a steaming mug of tea in one hand and daintily
licking sticky sweet icing off the slim fingers of the other. A
movement outside the window caught his eye, and he looked up to see
two Elves on horseback, packs strapped to their mounts' flanks,
riding rapidly down the trail leading toward the river and toward
the outlet of the valley. His heart clenched when he recognized one
of the riders by the thick, shimmering golden braid that bounced
upon the broad back as the two rode out of sight. Alarmed, he
hurried down the corridor and headed straight toward Elrond's
office.

He skidded to a stop in the open doorway, seeing the slim, willowy
figure of Arwen seated in her father's chair. Her legs were propped
up on Elrond's massive desk, gown tucked primly about her legs for
sake of modesty. She held a slim volume of poetry in one hand, and
twirled a lock of hair around one finger as she read, deep in
concentration. He leaned casually against the doorframe and admired
the beautiful, relaxed picture she presented. As it always happened
of late, since the Lady's passing to the West, he was struck by
Arwen's resemblance to her naneth; the luxuriant dark locks and keen
grey eyes belonged to her adar, but otherwise she was Celebríían in
duplicate. Elrond and Celebríían had indeed made exquisite children.

"You look surprisingly at ease in that chair," Erestor teased, and
she looked up, smiling widely when she recognized the familiar face
of the raven-haired Counselor.

"Good morning, my Lord," Arwen grinned at Erestor, marking her place
in the book with a slender finger. "It is a rather comfortable
chair. I see why Ada spends so much time here." She dropped her
feet from the edge of the desk, settling them back on the floor and
straightening her gown.

He walked toward her, smiling, and leaned down to kiss her
cheek. "Good morning, Arwen. I am surprised to see you here.
Where is your father?"

Arwen tilted her face up to receive Erestor's kiss, and set the book
down carefully in the center of the desk after tucking a slip of
parchment in the place she had left off. "Ada was called away for
an urgent meeting, but he should be back shortly. I was just
waiting for him. Will you join me?"

He considered a moment, and then seated himself in one of the plush
wing chairs on the opposite side of Elrond's desk. After setting
his teacup down on a corner of the desk, he unconsciously reached
out and straightened a few piles of paper, tutting under his breath
over the mess Elrond always created of his paperwork. "I will join
you for a few moments, my Lady. We have not seen much of each other
since your return from Lothlóórien."

"I agree; it seems we have barely begun to catch up on the
happenings of the past years." Arwen stood and moved around the
desk, taking the chair next to Erestor. She sat and straightened
her gown under her before turning toward the Counselor. "There, now
we can speak properly without Ada's monstrosity between us."

Erestor chuckled. "I have often thought the only reason he feels it
necessary to have such a large desk is simply to have more available
space to clutter."

They spoke idly of mundane matters while awaiting Elrond's return.
Erestor smiled fondly at the lovely elleth and queried, "I
understand you have an admirer, aewithen." (little bird)

Arwen flushed in embarrassment and wrinkled her nose daintily. She
turned to Erestor and remarked, "Aye, I suppose I do. I had heard
from Galadriel of the latest scion of the line of Elendil, and of
Arathorn's passing, but I have been away since Lady Gilraen brought
the child here for fostering. I was quite surprised at how strongly
Estel resembles his father." She smiled mischievously and could not
resist teasing her overprotective Erestor just a tiny bit. "While
he is quite young, I will admit he is passing fair."

Erestor turned dour eyes upon her. "I do not think your father
would be pleased with that pronouncement, Arwen, and I confess I am
none too delighted, either."

"Oh Erestor," she scoffed, "I was teasing! I simply said he was
fair, not that I was *interested* in him. He is naught more than a
child."

"Your Ada should have kept you safely away in Lóórien, pen dithen.
One stare from Celeborn is enough to frighten any suitors away.
Even those young Galadhrim who compete with each other for your
attentions have thus far been dissuaded from their pursuit of you,
thanks to your grandparents."

"Erestor." she groaned, and playfully swatted the elder Elf on the
knee. "Honestly, you are every bit as impossible as Ada. With you
and Ada, Glorfindel, and two brothers hovering over me for
millennia, it is no wonder I have never wed, and let us not even
*speak* of Iaurada. The lot of you has managed to scare away anyone
who has dared approach me."

"Luckily young Estel will be riding North on the morrow in search of
his kin, a fact for which your father is rather grateful, if it
means keeping you out of his clutches," Erestor confided. He was
rather grateful as well; the thought of the sweet child he had
raised much as his own, betrothed and married off was enough to send
him into cold sweats of dread.

"You are impossible, Erestor."

"Aye, I suppose I am, but only because I love you as my own
daughter," he agreed.

Making his tone deliberately dispassionate, he changed the subject,
fighting the sudden flutter of anxiety that welled in his
chest. "Did your Adar mention Glorfindel going anywhere?"

"I saw Glorfindel myself just this morning as he was preparing to
go. Why?" Arwen looked at him curiously.

"I thought I saw him riding out from Imladris a few moments ago."
He flicked an invisible bit of lint from his sleeve in a studied
show of nonchalance.

"Aye, he said he was on his way to Lothlóórien. He carries a message
from Ada."

Erestor's eyes narrowed suspiciously. Glorfindel, carrying a
message? There were countless messengers at the ready, available in
an instant to undertake that duty. "Since when have the Seneschal's
duties extended to the carrying of correspondence between realms?"
he asked archly.

Arwen shrugged. "I did think it a bit odd. Glorfindel told Ada he
was feeling a bit overwhelmed by his responsibilities, and asked for
a bit of time off. He did seem agitated and anxious to be away,"
she confided. "He has seemed a bit out of sorts lately, very
distant and always storming about. Have you any thought to what his
black mood is about?"

His heart sunk, and vainly he tried to keep his face impassive, but
knew he had failed utterly by the concerned look Arwen gave him.
Aye, it was as he had feared, and Glorfindel's absence confirmed his
earlier suspicions were correct. Glorfindel was indeed angry about
his confession in the garden a fortnight past. One, or both, of the
gwanûûn, must now be the recipient of the Elda's affections, and
Glorfindel was rankled by the knowledge that Erestor had bedded them
first. Literally.

"We had a - discussion - recently and I fear he is angry with me.
He did not say so, in so many words, but he has been distant and
hostile ever since," he replied bleakly.

Suddenly he was overwhelmed with a need to get away. Crestfallen
and feeling sick to his stomach, Erestor made to stand, but Arwen
reached out and grasped the slick silk of his robe and gently tugged
him back to his seat.

"I am sorry, Erestor. Is there anything I can do? Do you want to
talk about it?" Grasping one of Erestor's slim hands in her tiny
ones, Arwen searched his tired eyes and continued, "My friend, I
will understand if you do not wish to discuss the matter which
stands between you and Glorfindel, but I ask only out of concern for
you. Are you well? I cannot help but note the circles under your
eyes and the drawn look upon your face."

Erestor closed his eyes tiredly. They burned and stung with barely
restrained tears of frustration and exhaustion. Heartily now did he
regret divulging his secret to the Elda, but never did he expect
that his confession would drive a wedge between them. He should
have never spoken at all. He thought back dully to the night in the
garden and the lighthearted jests he had made, unwittingly at
Glorfindel's expense, never imagining Glorfindel had actually
*fallen* for one of the gwanûûn.

Nothing more would he like at that moment than to pour out his heart
to the kindly elleth, but somehow he knew she would not understand.
How could he tell this child whom he had practically raised all that
had transpired in the past months? That his actions millennia ago
with her own brothers had inadvertently caused a rift between
Glorfindel and himself, so many years later? That he had likely
caused irreparable damage to a friendship that had endured millennia?

Avoiding Arwen's piercing grey gaze, which so eerily resembled her
father's, the Counselor picked up his mug of tea and took a sip. He
grimaced at the taste of overly sweet, lukewarm brew and set the cup
back down. "I have not been sleeping well recently," he skillfully
avoided a direct answer, a talent honed with many years' practice at
the tables of diplomats and politicians uncounted. "My dreams of
late have been. especially vivid."

"Is there anything you wish to discuss?" Arwen, always solicitous
and full of concern, asked. "I could ask Ada to prepare you a
sleeping draught, if you wish."

Aye, a sleeping draught was a possibility, he thought. Something
must be done, for he could not function much longer in this state.
Conceding, he nodded. "I would be most appreciative. If you ask
him, I will pick it up later today. I could formulate one myself,
of course," he said grimly, the level of fatigue evident in his
voice, "but I fear given my current state of exhaustion, I would
confuse belladonna with bergamot and only succeed in poisoning
myself."

Arwen nodded, relieved that an argument with the oft-intractable
Counselor did not appear to be forthcoming. "I will do that,
Erestor, I am concerned about you." Compassionately she touched his
hand and asked, "Will you tell me of your dreams? Sometimes it is
helpful to discuss them, for what Lóórien shows us in the imaginings
of our reverie is sometimes veiled, only to become clear in the
light of day."

Erestor tore his gaze from hers, feeling the heat rise upon his
cheeks as memories of lustful dreams came flooding back. To his
horror, he felt himself harden and shifted in his chair discreetly,
praying fervently that his burgeoning erection would be concealed by
his robes. He flushed crimson right up to his hairline and stared
determinedly at a point just above Arwen's right shoulder.

Arwen was quite surprised to witness the stain of embarrassment
spread across Erestor's features. Then her eyes widened as slow
realization came over her. "Oh." She queried hesitantly, almost
certain of the answer, "And these dreams would be of an - intimate -
nature?"

His voice was tight and pitched higher than usual when he
responded. "It would not be proper to discuss the nature of my
dreams with you, aewithen." Stiffly he stood and shoved the heavy
chair back out of his way, reaching blindly for his teacup, which
slid off the desk. Catching it one-handed a split second before it
hit the floor, he turned and near bolted for the door, almost
colliding with Elrond. He gave a curt nod to his Lord, and then
fled down the hall to the safety of his own office.

Elrond stared open-mouthed at his Counselor's retreating back, and
turned questioningly to his daughter. "Dare I ask what that was all
about?" he asked, walking toward Arwen, his brow furrowed in bemused
bewilderment.

A sly smile upon her face, Arwen rose and met him halfway to the
door. Standing on tiptoe, she reached up and fussed with a mussed
braid, tucking it back neatly into place in the ornate hair clip,
and kissed his smooth cheek. She pulled back, and taking his hand,
led him back to the desk, steering him to the seat Erestor had just
vacated. "You may want to sit down, Ada, because I can barely
believe it myself."

At his puzzled look, she took his hand and leaned forward toward
him. Briefly she relayed her conversation with the Counselor,
beginning with his anxiety over the Seneschal's departure and ending
with Erestor's fleeing of the office in panic. In a rush of giddy
excitement, she concluded, "If my suspicion is correct, Ada. Erestor
is in love!"

Elrond blinked. "Is that so, pen vain? Have you foreseen it?"
(beautiful one)

Arwen gave her father a scornful look. "Honestly, Ada, you males are
so blind sometimes. It was not necessary to foresee it; I just
*know*."

"This is most interesting, then," he agreed with the barest hint of
a smile, for his daughter's intuition was never wrong. "It appears
our bold Seneschal is in love as well."

"Have *you* foreseen it, Ada?"

He recalled the image of his Seneschal in bed with his sons, a
vision which had astounded him at the time, but which was rapidly
replaced by another, even more astonishing sight. He shook his head
in consternation. "I have foreseen something, daughter, and I do not
know exactly what to make of it."

Eagerly Arwen leaned forward and sought her father's grey gaze, her
eyes bright with anticipation. "Tell me about it, Ada."


*~*~*


Later that night..

Erestor grimaced at the stench of the noxious concoction Elrond had
brewed for him. It smelled revolting. In his estimation, with all
Elrond's talents as a healer he could have crafted something a bit
less distasteful, surely. He considered abandoning his plan for
even taking the sleeping draught, but after an enormous yawn nearly
dislocated his jaw, reconsidered. Taking a deep breath, the
Counselor held his nose and downed the bitter brew in one swallow,
shuddering as it burned a fiery trail down to his gullet.

The draught worked quickly; he staggered to his bed and lay back,
sinking into the comfort of his bed even as his eyes glazed over in
reverie.

* * *

Erestor moaned in his sleep, his slender fingers gripping the sheets
tightly, while soft, slick wetness traced a slow ring around the
pink circle of a nipple, tasting and teasing. He whimpered
pitifully, unmindful and unknowing of the sounds escaping his mouth,
breathless moans that went unheard in the stillness of night.
Searing heat latched upon his nipple, sucking wetly, coaxing the
flat disk into peaked hardness. He bowed sharply, his mouth open,
neck bent, silently entreating his phantom lover for more.

The specter obliged; the hot mouth released the straining bud and
ghosted down his lightly muscled stomach. Erestor cried out shrilly
when his unearthly seducer engulfed his length in one motion, and
his hips thrust upward, seeking relief from the unremitting, burning
ache in his loins. A faint ripping sound was heard as the sheets
gave way under his desperate grasp, but he took no notice, only
sinking deeper and deeper into the dream-state.

The heat surrounding his arousal disappeared, but before Erestor
could utter a reflexive sound of dismay, a phantom shaft penetrated
him powerfully, and he cried out sharply in pained relief.
Unwittingly his legs rose under the tangle of bedclothes, seeking an
invisible waist, demanding his spirit lover to take him more
forcefully. He writhed and panted roughly as the thick, silken rod
pierced him deeply. Waves of orgasm crashed over him, his release
coming in hot gushes and soaking his nightclothes.

The spasms of release slowly faded, and his dream-self calmed in the
aftermath of the storm. The sweetest touch of supple lips pressed
against his, and a calloused hand caressed his face. A quiet voice
murmured, "'Restor," then he knew no more until morning.


*~*~*

Meanwhile in Valinor.


The Valiëë spoke sharply to her companion. "Did we or did we not
have an agreement, Irmo?"

Irmo, Vala of dreams, master of what is or what might be, hung his
head and was abashed. "Aye, we did."

"And?" Vairëë tapped her foot impatiently.

"Well." he stalled for time, hopeful she would change the subject.

Alas, it was not to be, for the Weaver pressed on. "I am waiting,
Irmo."

The Vala sighed deeply. "I was hoping he would figure it out
himself."

"You. WHAT?"

Irmo shrugged helplessly and pleaded with her. "If the dreams were
too obvious, he would be suspect. He will find out himself, in
time. Be patient, Lady."

"Have I not been patient enough already? Glorfindel has waited four
and a half millennia for him, the least you could do is honor your
promise to me and help them along," she accused.

"I am helping them along. Yet how is it my problem your Edhil
cannot see the forest for the trees? Glorfindel sees the truth, yet
he runs!" Irmo argued.

Glaring, the Valiëë turned to him. "Oh, so he is *my* Edhel? And
what does that have to do with anything?"

"Aye, he is. You were the one who showed him your tapestries, you
are the Weaver; therefore he is *your* Edhel," he insisted.

"Your brother - my *spouse* - released his faer from his halls, and
Manwëë arranged for his return to Arda. I am but a pawn in their
plans," Vairëë said flippantly, with a dismissive wave of her
hand. "This - machination - was not my idea to begin with, so I
suggest if you take issue with that, you address your concerns with
our King."

"Let us not argue, Lady, for we have the same goal in mind. We did
have an agreement, and I intend to honor it. I simply do not wish
to make it so effortless for him. It would seem suspect, do you not
think, in light of Glorfindel's realization? If he sees it on his
own, he will never realize we have played a part. Erestor must come
to the realization on his own, much as Glorfindel did." He took her
hand in a gesture of pardon.

Vairëë sighed. "You are right, friend. I simply grow impatient.
Glorfindel has served us so faithfully, I am anxious for him to
recognize his love and claim his reward. I never imagined it would
take him so long to realize his heart."

He spoke gently. "Nor did I, Vairëë, which is why I agreed to lend
my assistance. He has been valiant in his fight against the
nameless one, and his single-mindedness serves him well. It is most
unfortunate that the same steadfast resolve has made him blind to
that which has been before him all along."

Vairëë nodded slowly. "Aye, you are right. And that same resolve
runs true in Erestor."

"Soon, my friend, soon," Irmo reassured her. "You shall see. All
will become clear to him, and oh, how Varda's stars will shine
blessedly upon them on that night!"

Looking upon their unknowing subjects from afar, the Valar watched,
and waited.

*~*~*

<<blah>> denotes mind-speak.


Lothlóórien, 2951 T.A. - the same day of Erestor's talk with Arwen in
Imladris


Within an hour of procuring Elrond's blessing, Glorfindel and his
companion departed for Lothlóórien. After leaving his Lord's office,
the Seneschal had headed straight to the training grounds to notify
his second of his impending absence and to recruit a traveling
partner. Young Arthadan was, Glorfindel considered, the ideal
attendant - he was a fearsome warrior, had no family remaining in
Middle-earth to protest his unanticipated absence, and was
enthusiastic about what would be his first visit to the Golden Wood.

After briefly returning to his chambers to pack a small rucksack
with necessities for the sojourn, and instructing Arthadan to do the
same, Glorfindel's final stop was back at Elrond's office to
retrieve the Lord's hastily penned memo for Lord Celeborn.
Glorfindel met Arthadan back at the stables, where they strapped
their packs on their horses and set off rapidly on the trail that
led down the valley and across the river toward the main exit of
Imladris.

The journey south was swift; they stopped only to allow their mounts
food and rest. Arthadan was eager to catch his first glimpse of the
legendary Laurelindóórnan, but Glorfindel's urgent haste was simply
to put as much distance as quickly as possible between himself and
the raven-haired Noldo who plagued his heart. He forced thoughts of
his predicament from his mind during their travels and concentrated
only on the beauty found in the Misty Mountains and the excited
chatter of Arthadan as they neared their destination.

Sentries hidden high in the mellryn observed their arrival at the
borders of the Golden Wood. The leader recognized the Seneschal of
Imladris and, after learning he and his companion were carrying a
message for the Lord and Lady of the Wood, allowed the two to pass.

It was with no surprise to Glorfindel that barely had the travelers
entered the Wood when he felt a delicate nudge against his thoughts,
and with a sardonic smile, he opened his mind to allow the
connection.

<<Mae govannen, my Lady,>> he greeted Galadriel formally, then
switched to a more relaxed tone. <<I wondered how long it would be
ere you scryed our coming.>> (Well met)

<< My Lord, you are quite aware I learned of your presence even as
you drew near to my lands.>> Tinkling laugher filled his mind and
brought a smile to Glorfindel's lips. <<It has been many years
since you have graced our Wood with your presence, Glorfindel o
Imladris. To what do my Lord and I owe this unexpected honor?>>

<<You are worse than a cat, Galadriel; I can feel your curiosity
from here,>> he teased his old friend. <<I come bearing a message
for your husband from Lord Elrond.>>

<<My law-son's message was of such dire import that he entrusted it
only to his Seneschal to deliver?>> Galadriel's tone became
clipped, alarmed.

<<Nay, Galadriel, do not trouble yourself. It is simply a
communiquéé regarding the training program,>> he hurriedly reassured
her. Trust Galadriel to assume the worst. <<I volunteered to carry
it myself, feeling the need for a brief respite from my duties.>>

That was stretching the truth a bit. Well, perhaps more than a bit;
quickly he safeguarded those thoughts from Galadriel, hoping he had
been quick enough before she ascertained the true reason for his
travels.

<<Very well. My husband and I would be pleased if you would join us
for dinner this eve, once you have refreshed yourself from your
journey. You and your companion will be met at the gate and shown
to the guest talans. Be here at dusk.>> At Glorfindel's acceptance
of the invitation and a word of farewell, Galadriel severed the
connection.

Dusk drew nigh by the time the travelers had circled southwest
around the great treed city and arrived at the gate of Caras
Galadhon. True to her word, Galadriel had sent an escort, who
ushered them inside and led them to plush guest quarters at the
center of the city near the royal talan. Glorfindel insisted on
accompanying Arthadan to the young warrior's quarters first, to
ensure his companion was settled in comfortably.

Arthadan struck up an immediate camaraderie with their Galadhel
guide. The Silvan Elf waiting while the young Noldo refreshed
himself, then the new friends escorted Glorfindel to the talan that
would be his own during his brief stay. The two younger Elves bade
him a good evening and left for a tour of the city and a night of
carousing with the younger wardens of the Galadhrim not on duty,
those yet untied by spouses and family.

Glorfindel hurriedly unbraided his hair and bathed, then dressed in
a clean, if slightly wrinkled, light tunic and snug breeches.
Leaving his hair unbraided and flowing loosely around his shoulder,
he pulled on his well-worn boots and set off for the enormous royal
talan set in the center of the city, Elrond's sealed parchment in
hand.

Galadriel and Celeborn, ever the gracious hosts, greeted their old
friend with honor and spread a sumptuous repast for him. If the
Lóórien rulers were suspicious of his reason for having left
Imladris, they were discreet enough not to mention it. A fine meal
and a glass of wine assisted him in relaxing, and he enjoyed their
company, relieved to be free of his brooding thoughts for a while.

Celeborn received his son-in-law's message and, after consulting
with Glorfindel and Galadriel on their opinions, excused himself to
pen his response. In his absence, the Noldu reminisced of bygone
days. Galadriel especially enjoyed recounting the tales of the
great ones of their race, for although she deeply loved her husband
and the Silvan folk she had dwelt among for many years, sometimes
she ached to recount the deeds, both fair and foul, of her own
people.

After a time, Celeborn returned and handed a sealed parchment of his
own to Glorfindel to bring back upon his departure. For a long
while, the ancient Elves discussed the state of the lands and the
harbingers of dark times ahead. Finally, Glorfindel bade the Lord
and Lady a fond good night and descended the hundreds of steps
leading down from the royal talan. At the very foot, he heaved a
sigh of relief. As mystical and beautiful as the Golden Wood was,
living in a tree was something to which he would never become
accustomed. The Galadhrim were a strange sort, he mused, but no
doubt they thought some of the customs of the Imladrian peoples odd
too.

A short walk later through the broad streets faintly illuminated by
the light of the many lamps hung about the city, and he arrived back
at his talan. He climbed the ladder and had barely begun putting
his few belongings in order when a musical voice beckoned from
below. "Ho, Glorfindel!"

Peering out the window and down into the gloom, he saw a head of
luminescent silver hair that glowed brightly in the faint light
bobbing beneath the talan, rapidly ascending the ladder. He smiled
broadly in recognition and crossed the floor quickly, throwing the
open the door. The diminutive Elf who stepped off the top rung was
amazed to find himself swept off his feet and crushed to a broad
chest. "Suilad, Rúúmil, it is good to see you!" Glorfindel hugged
his old friend and comrade tightly to him in a joyous reunion.
(Greetings)

Rúúmil slapped the Seneschal on the back and hugged him tightly in
return, grinning widely. "So the rumors were true, Glorfindel the
stalwart has indeed journeyed to our fair Wood."

Glorfindel laughed and released him, then ushered the Galadhel into
his talan and offered a glass of wine from the supply that was
thoughtfully left for guests. Rúúmil accepted and the two old
friends sat down in a pair of oversized, comfortable chairs and
chatted, catching up on news of each other's lives since the last
time they had seen each other years in the past. Much of what Rúúmil
told him of the lands the Seneschal had previously heard from his
dinner with the rulers of Lóórien. One bottle of wine was finished
off and a second opened as they talked.

"What of your fair valley, mellonen?" Rúúmil questioned, curious to
hear news of the beautiful realm he had only visited a handful of
times. "How is Lord Elrond holding up without his Lady by his
side? Lucky he was to have found his soul-mate, and to remain true
to her through the years since her departure speaks of love we
should all aspire to," Rúúmil looked a bit wistful. (my friend)

"He bears up as well as can be expected. He missed Arwen terribly
while she was here, and it seems his spirits have lightened
considerably now she has returned home. Imladris needs that
feminine touch it has missed since Celebríían's exodus."

"And that cute scribe. Lothvaen?" Rúúmil looked hopeful. Young
Lothvaen had been the object of intense scrutiny during Rúúmil's last
visit to Imladris. He had hoped to make the comely young Noldo's
acquaintance, but the elusive Elf had shown little interest in his
advances, a fact that Rúúmil hoped to remedy the next time he
journeyed to the valley by the Misty Mountains.

"Aye, Lothvaen it is. He is well. He has quickly risen in
seniority among the Counsel, and frequently Master Erestor
relinquishes the running of the meetings to him."

Rúúmil's dark eyebrows wiggled suggestively at the mention of the
Counselor. "Ah, Master Erestor. now *there* is a fine male
specimen. I cannot help but wonder what earthly delights are
hidden `neath those somber dark robes."

Unaccountably, Rúúmil's words sliced through his gut in a sharp stab
of jealousy at the mention of Erestor, and again he forced his
thoughts away from the Noldo, determined to enjoy relaxed
conversation with his old friend. <<I will not think of him now, I
will not.>>

Glorfindel smoothly changed the subject by reaching for the second
half-full bottle of wine and holding it up in an unspoken question.
He asked, "How fare your brothers? It has been long since our paths
have crossed. I trust they are well?"

Rúúmil seemed not to notice Glorfindel's unease. He chuckled and
covered his glass with his hand, signaling he had drunk
enough. "Haldir has a new lover, an ellon this time, and is quite
taken with him. It seems quite serious, and I am halfway expecting
them to announce their betrothal soon. With the way he discarded
elleth after elleth, Orophin and I figured he had not until now been
willing to admit he preferred the taste of male flesh." (male Elf,
Elf-maid)

Glorfindel nodded knowingly. The eldest of the three brothers had
developed quite a reputation for his cavalier attitude toward the
fairer sex, and his inability to settle down with one elleth now
made perfect sense. It was so typical of Haldir to have set his
course, and with the dedication that made him the Captain of the
March wardens, refuse to deviate from his set path until confronted
with irrefutable evidence. Which, apparently, was an ellon who had
stolen his heart.

"And news of fair Orophin? How are his children?"

Rúúmil beamed proudly. His younger brother and law-sister were
expecting their third child soon. "The little ones are fine and
growing like weeds. Nurael needed a bit of peace last night as the
babe's arrival nears, so the children stayed with me. I allowed
them to stay up `til dawn, pumped them full of sweets, and sent them
home this morning for their adar to deal with," he grinned
sheepishly. "My brother is most displeased with me at the moment,
but I can deny them nothing. I do adore them so." Glorfindel
laughed, well imagining the look on stern Orophin's face at the
prospect of keeping two hyperactive, sleep-deprived Elflings out of
their expectant naneth's hair.

"I am looking forward to having another nephew to spoil, but this
newest babe will likely be the last. Nurael has stated firmly that
if Orophin wishes another child, he will have to carry it himself."
The mental image of tall, slender Orophin with a hugely distended
abdomen made both of them chuckle at the absurdity of it.

Rúúmil tossed back the last swallows of wine and set his glass down
on the table. Standing, the silver-haired Elf strolled toward
Glorfindel, provocatively swaying his hips. Emerald eyes sparked
with mirth when he met Glorfindel's azure gaze directly.
Seductively he trailed his fingers over Glorfindel's broad
shoulder. Gently he tugged on the gold ring piercing Glorfindel's
left ear, sending shivers through the Elda's body and straight to
his groin. Rúúmil sauntered over to the bed, and over his shoulder
he tossed the astounded Seneschal a saucy wink and salacious smile.

"I adore children, so long as they are not mine own. The
impossibility of pregnancy is yet another reason I prefer males."

He lay down against the pillows, peering at Glorfindel through dark
lashes lowered seductively over pale sculpted cheekbones. "Males
who are big and blond." he purred, stretching languorously, ".and
beautiful."

Glorfindel caught his breath at Rúúmil's forward demonstration of
seduction, watching the lustful display with indecision. Rúúmil's
enthusiasm for life and love had appealed to Glorfindel from the
very first time they met and taken comfort in one another after the
Siege of Barad-dûûr and Gil-galad's death. Even in the midst of so
much death and devastation, the Galadhel exuded kindheartedness and
vivacity. In a way the two were kindred spirits, greeting each day
with joy and vigor, living each day and moment to the fullest.
Rúúmil simply chose to show his zeal for life in a much more physical
manner.

He was sorely tempted to throw his usual prudence to the wind and
bed fair Rúúmil. In spite of his own rather uncharacteristic sexual
liberty with the Peredhil twins, the flaxen-haired Noldo was not one
to share his body freely with anyone who crossed his path.

But perhaps this is what he needed. Rúúmil's ardor in bed was
contagious; coupling with the Galadhel was akin to taming a spirited
colt - unpredictable, exhilarating, and just a bit perilous. A
night of unbridled lust with Rúúmil, here in the Golden Wood, far
away from his troubles, was certain to purge Erestor's face from his
mind. If anyone could erase that solemn one's dark, ravishing
features, it was the pale beauty of green-eyed, impulsive, fair-
haired Rúúmil. The two were as dissimilar as fish and peas.

<<Get out of my head, Erestor. I do not love you,>> he thought
fiercely.

To Mordor with indecision. He would rid his mind and heart of the
Counselor once and for all and lose himself in Rúúmil's lusty
embrace. Purposefully he stood and advanced toward the bed with
long steps, stripping off his shirt as he went, revealing the
rippling muscles of his chest. "You forgot bold."

Rúúmil pushed himself up and sat, and pulled off his own tunic,
meeting the startling blue of Glorfindel's eyes with his own heated
emerald stare. "Aye, definitely bold." Glorfindel's member swelled
appreciatively at the sight; Rúúmil's lithe archer's frame was finely
muscled, slight and compact, his limbs sleek with tightly coiled,
nervous energy.

Leggings followed when Rúúmil lay back down and lifted his hips
invitingly to slide the soft fabric down over his legs, revealing a
shaft already swollen and rosy with arousal and glistening wetly at
the tip. Glorfindel licked his lips in anticipation; the clear
drops of fluid leaking from Rúúmil's cock caused his mouth to
water. "Now who is bold, friend tree-dweller?"

"My boldness serves me well, for it usually gets me what I want.
And you? What is it you want? Do you want me, `Fin?" The question
was rhetorical, the answer made painfully obvious by the prominent
bulge in the Elda's leggings, outlined starkly against the close-
fitting leather.

The Elda untied the lacings of his leggings and pushed the snug-
fitting garment down over the swell of his buttocks, dropping the
well-worn leather to the floor. He stood confidently in his nudity,
hands on his hips, revealing his own hard length, dark with blood
and jutting heavy and proud between his legs. "What do you think?"

"I think you need to stop talking," Rúúmil replied, and Glorfindel
pounced.

There was no romantic love between them, but a lust fueled of mutual
desire, respect, and long friendship. Their kisses were harsh and
aggressive, heated and torrid in their intensity. Glorfindel
claimed Rúúmil's lips roughly, thrusting his tongue into Rúúmil's open
mouth. Warm and willing, Rúúmil opened eagerly, suckling the Elda's
slick muscle, matching him kiss for kiss, his hands tangled in the
silken pale mass of Glorfindel's mane.

Glorfindel's larger swordsman's body blanketed that of Rúúmil's
diminutive form, their arousals grinding together, slippery with
early fluids. Wanton and shameless, Rúúmil wriggled about under him,
thrusting his hips upward eagerly in an attempt to impale himself
upon Glorfindel's length.

"You are impatient, Rúúmil," the Elda chuckled.

"I know what I want, I already told you that. And what I want is
you, inside me. Now," Rúúmil panted.

Glorfindel did not bother with preparing his partner, for he knew
Rúúmil had always preferred a rough entry, finding enjoyment in the
pleasurable pain of being breeched so thoroughly and abruptly. He
rolled over and brought the smaller Elf to sit astride his hips.
Shaking his head, he chided, "I do not think so, my friend. I am
the guest here; you do the work."

Rúúmil grinned and gave a lewd wink, stretching to the bedside table
and reaching for the vial of oil Glorfindel had conveniently left
there beside his sword, intending to whet and oil the weapon later.
Licking his lips, he poured a thick stream of the shimmering,
glistening fluid over Glorfindel's dusky arousal. He set the bottle
aside and crouched over the hard shaft, supporting his weight with
strong thighs. Brilliant green eyes never left Glorfindel's, an
unspoken challenge issuing forth from that piercing gaze.

Reaching behind him, he grasped Glorfindel's slippery shaft and
smoothed a bit of the oil over his own puckered opening, then
positioned the blunt, slick tip at the tiny hole. With a look of
fierce determination upon his face, slowly he worked himself down
upon the Elda's rigid member. Eyes closed tightly in concentration,
his nostrils flaring, through gritted teeth Rúúmil uttered a pained
groan deep within his throat. Gradually he took the heavy, oiled
shaft deep within him, whimpering as he was spread and breached
almost painfully. "Ai, meldir, I had forgotten how large you are,"
he managed to wheeze.

Glorfindel gasped as delectable heat surrounded his length. "You
could have stopped and allowed me to prepare you," he chuckled
throatily, knowing full-well Rúúmil would have allowed no such
thing. Rúúmil shook his head slightly and uttered a strangled sound
in the negative, unable to respond further, the searing fire in his
passage temporarily robbing him of his voice.

When at last Rúúmil had taken every inch of Glorfindel's length
within his aching backside and his buttocks rested against the
Elda's hips, he sat panting and groaning softly, the strong muscles
of his passage straining and quivering. A few moments passed while
his body adjusted to the invasion. He stroked himself slowly, his
head thrown back, mouth open, his molten silver hair brushing the
top of the Elda's thighs. "Oh yes, gods you feel so good."

Glorfindel closed his eyes when Rúúmil started to move and allowed
sensation to take over, to drive thoughts of silken raven hair and
limpid onyx eyes out of his memory. Moaning softly, he gripped
Rúúmil's pale hips tightly with his large hands, tight enough to
leave bruises, lifting the Galadhel up and forcing him back down
firmly. On each upward rise, Rúúmil clenched his inner muscles
tightly, relaxing them on each down stroke to take the thick member
deeply within him. Rúúmil wailed each time he descended, taking
himself brutally, striking his sweet spot and stroking his shaft
frantically. "Valar, yes, harder," he pleaded.

Rúúmil always had been vocal, Glorfindel remembered belatedly. He
cracked an eye open and glared at Rúúmil. "Will you keep your voice
down? I do not wish to announce to the entire city what we are
doing," he ground out, barely able to draw breath from the force of
Rúúmil's thrusts.

The Galadhel obediently lowered the volume of his cries a half step,
and Glorfindel resolutely closed his eyes again, intent on
recapturing the intense bliss. He was leaving in a few days anyway;
Rúúmil would be the one to have to bear the gossip, should the cries
of passion be overheard.

He was close, so close to coming. only a few more moments and he
could forget, overcome by the sweet oblivion release would bring, if
for a short while. The familiar tingle in his loins that signaled
his impending release spread outward through his limbs. Focused
only on the rising heat between his legs, he shut out all sounds of
Rúúmil's caterwauling. A particularly ferocious movement of his
lover's caused the first tendrils of release to sweep over him.

Glorfindel opened his eyes the moment his orgasm tore through him.
The eyes that bored into him from a flushed and sweating face were a
piercing green, and not smoky, gleaming obsidian. He spent
explosively, spilling his seed in the depths of Rúúmil's body, a
gripping pain in his heart and a name unwittingly falling from his
lips. A moment later, Rúúmil gave a hoarse shout and spilled hotly
upon his stomach.

* * *

"How long have you loved him, Glorfindel?" Rúúmil asked idly, toying
with a lock of the Seneschal's tawny hair. He sprawled inelegantly
beside the larger warrior, his head resting upon one of his lover's
broad shoulders, one leg thrown possessively over Glorfindel's
longer ones. A satisfied throbbing pulsed through his backside.

"Mmph? How long what?" Glorfindel replied groggily, jolted out of
near reverie. Rúúmil's words broke through the lethargic fog that
had overcome him after their frantic coupling. His lust sated, he
was exhausted, weary to the bone.

Rúúmil propped his head up on one hand and looked down at the blond
Elda. "How long have you loved him?"

"Loved *whom*, Rúúmil? Do not speak in riddles, I am too tired to
play word games tonight," Glorfindel glowered up at the slighter
Elf, cantankerous now that his drowse had been disturbed, an
uncomfortable suspicion beginning to gnaw at his conscious.

Piercing green eyes stared intently down into a tempestuous sea of
stormy blue. "It is bad form, gwador, to cry out the name of
another during the heat of passion." (sworn brother)

<<Damn.>> It was not necessary to ask whose name had spilled from
his lips. Glorfindel closed his eyes in shame, unable to continue
to meet Rúúmil's knowing gaze. "I am sorry, Rúúmil," he said quietly.

"Erestor is the reason you ran away." Rúúmil spoke frankly; it was
not a question but a statement of fact, in his opinion.

"I did not *run away*, Rúúmil" Glorfindel denied emphatically. He
narrowed his eyes and glared at the Galadhel. "I told you, I needed
a break from my duties. And I do not love Erestor. We are
friends. That is all."

Rúúmil snorted in disbelief. Glorfindel could be amazingly thick at
times - could he truly not see it? It was plain as unsalted
lembas. "Come now. Do you make a habit of calling out the name of
your `friends' when coupling with another?"

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and huffed. "By Manwëë's balls, I cannot
believe this. You are conspiring against me."

"I am not conspiring against you, I speak only the truth. I have
many faults, meldir, but subterfuge is not one of them. You are
spectacularly dense, `Fin, if you cannot see you are hopelessly in
love with your enchanting Noldo." (male friend)

"You know not what you are talking about." Good gods, would Rúúmil
not leave it alone?

"You can run from him, Glorfindel, but you cannot run from the
truth. *Do* you love him?"

Glorfindel refused to answer, but lay silently, staring at the
ceiling.

Rúúmil reached down and gently grasped the Elda's chin, turning his
head and forcing the blond to look at him. He repeated more softly
this time, "Do you love him, Glorfindel?"

He was beaten, and he knew it. It was fruitless to pretend any
longer, and in that moment resolved to acknowledge what he had known
intuitively for weeks but been too stubborn and cowardly to see. He
drew a deep, shuddering breath and finally admitted the truth.

"Aye, I do."

Rúúmil wrapped his arms around the shaken warrior and stroked the
golden head tenderly. "How did this come to be?"

Glorfindel's voice was muffled against Rúúmil's chest. "It is not
important," he muttered, "except that the outcome of a talk we had
was that I realized I was in love with him, and have categorically
denied it ever since." He had sworn to keep Erestor's confession
about the twins in the utmost secrecy. And divulge his own liaison
with the brethren a fortnight gone was unseemly, in light of his
recent activities with Rúúmil.

"Then go home, Glorfindel. Confess to Erestor of your love for him."

"I cannot, Rúúmil." The Seneschal's voice was small and broken.

"Why can you not tell him?" the Galadhel persisted.

Angrily Glorfindel lifted his head to glare at Rúúmil and snapped, "I
cannot tell him because I am a fool. Do my words satisfy you,
Rúúmil? I am ten thousand times a fool. I cannot go home and tell
one I have lived and worked beside for thousands of years that
suddenly I am in love with him," he spat bitterly. "He would laugh
in my face."

Rúúmil, ever tenacious, refused to back down and glared back at the
Seneschal, his eyes steely with resolve. "You know perfectly well
Erestor would not laugh at you. He is neither cruel nor heartless."

The Elda sighed and slumped back down on the bed. "Nay, you are
right, he is neither. But neither would he ever return my love,
this I know."

Rúúmil again cradled the blond in his arms, considering Glorfindel's
predicament. When he spoke next, his words were careful and
measured. "Glorfindel, I am trying very hard to understand your
reticence, but I confess you are making it difficult. Why say you
with such certainty that he would deny you?"

"Rúúmil, in our thousands of years of friendship Erestor has never
shown a bit of interest in pursuing a romantic liaison. We have
lain together, it is true, but even then he only craved
companionship and comfort, seeking assuagement for his loneliness."

"I see. Yet how do you know he would not be amenable to exploring a
relationship? It seems to me that he is of the sort who takes the
joining of the flesh very seriously."

Glorfindel opened his mouth to protest, then snapped his jaws
together suddenly with a click of his teeth.

"You will know nothing, Glorfindel, unless you go home and find out."

Eyes blue as the summer skies widened with uncertainty and the
beginnings of acceptance of his fate. "But what if he rejects me?"

Rúúmil smiled tenderly and affectionately kissed the Elda's
forehead. "Then he denies his love, and you make a fool of yourself
after all." Sensing Glorfindel's ultimate acceptance and resolve,
he teased gently, "It would not be the first time, mellonen. What
could be more humiliating than being dragged by your hair off a
cliff?" (my friend)

Glorfindel pulled away from Rúúmil's embrace and rolled to his side,
rising on his elbow and bringing him face-to-face with the smaller
Elf. At last his mind was clear; he knew what he must do. Even if
Erestor rejected his offer of love, at least he would *know* and be
through with this uncertainty and denial.

"You are astonishingly perceptive, for a tree-dweller," Glorfindel's
smile of gratitude was blinding. "You have unraveled in a matter of
minutes the riddle it has taken me millennia to figure out."

Rúúmil looked puzzled, but did not question Glorfindel; he had a
suspicion he would not understand anyway. Fingers roughened by Ages
of drawing a bow stroked the Elda's smooth cheek. "Go home,
Glorfindel," Rúúmil said earnestly.

Drawing back, he rose from the bed with a wince and began to gather
his clothing. Reluctantly Glorfindel stood and assisted Rúúmil in
finding his clothing, unconcerned with his own nudity. When Rúúmil
was finally dressed, having searched high and low for a boot that
was finally found wedged between the wall and one of the legs of the
bed, he embraced the Seneschal again. "Maer galu, Glorfindel."
(Good fortune)

Together they walked to the door, where Glorfindel returned the warm
embrace, pressing a loving kiss to the crown of Rúúmil's silver-
crowned pate. "Hannon chen, Rúúmil. You are a good friend." (Thank
you)

Grasping Rúúmil's arm a moment before he descended the first step,
Glorfindel stayed him. "Would you send word to my companion that we
will depart at first light? He will likely protest, but also tell
him that as recompense, he will be awarded the first training
exchange. That should go far in consoling him."

Rúúmil nodded and turned to go. He froze on the top step and turned
his head halfway. Over his shoulder, barely audible, he said, "And
if Erestor denies you, meldir, I will be here." And he was gone
into the night.

Glorfindel looked down from the talan into the sparkling twilight
below, following Rúúmil's glowing hair fade out of sight. It was a
risk, confessing to Erestor, but Glorfindel had taken many risks in
his two lifetimes. Rúúmil had spoken truly; he must go home
immediately. To not speak and never know if Erestor could someday
return his feelings was too awful to contemplate. This great
unknowing was the worst - if Erestor denied him, at least he would
*know*. He would go on, somehow, but at least the uncertainty would
be over.

Confident in his new resolve, he quickly packed his bag in
preparation of an early departure in the morn. Parchment, a quill
and a small jar of ink were found in one of the table drawers, and
he jotted a quick note to the Lord and Lady of Lothlóórien, begging
their pardon at his sudden departure. The stable master could send
a messenger to deliver it when he retrieved his horse from the
stables. Then washing quickly and brushing the snarls from his
hair, he climbed into bed.

For the first time in weeks, Glorfindel slept peacefully.

*~*~*


Erestor arched sharply on the bed, barely coming awake as he stroked his rigid shaft fast and hard. He had awakened abruptly, unbearably aroused, to find his hand already straying down into in his sleeping pants and beginning to stroke even as he struggled to loose himself from the clinging realism of the dream.

He groaned loudly as thick, white cream spurted in jets, coating his stomach and spreading wetness over his night garments. His length pulsed and twitched in his hand, the last few drops of his essence seeping out to join the warm, spreading puddle. Shuddering, he collapsed against the crisp white sheets and panted harshly, catching his breath. The heavy haze of sleep was still weighty upon him, and he shook his head to clear his mind.

"Dear gods, these dreams will be the death of me," he muttered darkly in the emptiness of his room. Spent, sweaty, and exhausted from being awakened just at the break of dawn once again by his mystery dream lover, he was in a foul mood. His rest was broken, and another pair of sleeping pants was in need of a surreptitious rinsing so as not to alert the laundress of anything amiss. The suspicious presence of a sopping wet pair of night trousers in the laundry was suspect enough; he could not bear the humiliation if the house servants were to see the stains of his seed. Somehow it seemed far easier to explain a wet pair of pants than a few spots.

Sighing deeply, he stood and pushed the sleep-mussed hair from his eyes with the back of his unsoiled hand. He probably should braid the mess before retiring for the evening, he knew, but he had never been able to grow accustomed to sleeping with braids. They were simply too uncomfortable, so he resigned himself to dealing with a rat's nest every morning. Of course, if not for the dreams that caused him to toss and turn and writhe in sensual ecstasy every night, his hair would not be such an atrocious mess in the morning anyway. Dealing with his unruly hair was simply another annoying after-effect of the dreams.

Erestor grimaced at the touch of the rapidly chilling fabric against his skin. He walked to the bathroom, gingerly holding the damp, messy clothing away from him. He stripped quickly and tossed the soiled garment into the clothesbasket to rinse later, then wet a cloth and cleaned the sticky leavings from his skin.

Returning to his bedchamber, he considered donning a clean, dry pair of trousers before returning to bed, but in the end decided against it. He was far too tired to bother. Nude, he climbed back into the softness of the bed and lay on his back, arms folded under his head, staring at the ceiling. With any luck he would be able to snatch a few more minutes of much-needed rest before he absolutely had to rise to greet the day. Ruefully, he glanced outside the window. The sky was just beginning to turn pink over the trees rimming the valley, and he knew sleep was not forthcoming.

Instead, he glared down at the offending piece of flesh between his legs.

"Well?" he growled. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Not surprisingly, his cock did not respond. It simply lay there, tucked snugly against the flat plane of his belly. It was still slightly plump and pink and looked rather pleased with itself, all in all.

"What is wrong with you?" He gave the traitorous organ a nudge with the tip of his finger, as if to prod it into some sort of response.

The silent flesh still refused to answer. It looked sleepily back at him with its lone eye, as if wondering what Erestor's problem was. Had it not performed adequately? It seemed to say. It certainly could not be faulted for the ill timing of the dreams. It did what it was supposed to, after all. Erestor should be thankful, if anything.

"You look far too pleased with yourself." He gave the rosy flesh one last poke and huffed in disgust. Embarrassed to finally realize he was actually having a conversation with his cock, he rolled his eyes in dismay. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," he grumbled. He curled on his side and pulled the sheets up to his chin, covering his over-warm body, and buried his face in the pillow. Allowing his mind to wander, he closed his eyes and mused about the unusual circumstances of the past few months.

//What in the name of Manwëë is wrong with me?\\ he wondered. He was a full-grown Elf, for Valar's sake, not some young Elfling on the verge of puberty whose hormones were growing faster than his body. He was thousands of years past those annoying wet dreams. This situation was becoming ridiculous.

For the past few months he had been awakened in the wee hours of the morning, and even in the dead of night, by dreams. At first, months ago, his awakenings had been infrequent, coming once or twice a week. The past two weeks, though, the visions were a nightly occurrence.

These were not your ordinary garden-variety pleasant dreams, either, or hazy memories of days spent picnicking in the sun, or even by the nightmares that had plagued him after the battle on Orodruin. Those dreams he could have understood, and accepted, and gone on with his life, safe in the knowledge that he was normal.

These dreams. gods, what were these dreams? Normal? Aye... for a 30-year-old Elfling just beginning to experience his body's awakening. Certainly not normal for an Elf who had lived two Ages and had seen more births and deaths than he could count.

Nay, these dreams were erotic, and not the fluffy, romantic, simplistic erotic dreams of his youth. The dreams surpassed those youthful fancies by far, with their horrifying realism. Not only were they shockingly vivid, they were arousing. Intense. Embarrassing.

Infuriating.

Aye, that was it. The dreams were infuriating. More than anything, they were overwhelmingly infuriating.

Over and over, he dreamed of a phantom lover. His lover was undoubtedly male. Very male. Exquisitely male. But his face was always shrouded in shadow, his features indiscernible. Hs nighttime specter's hair color was veiled, making it impossible to judge whether his seducer had the fair hair of the Sindar or the dark locks of most of the Noldor. In the dreams no words were spoken, so no voice was able to give him a clue to his identity. Even the eyes of his mysterious stranger were simply a piercing bit of light in an otherwise shadowy presence.

Muscular, well-defined thighs tapered to defined calves, ending in well-formed, highly arched feet. Broad shoulders flanked a sculpted torso, a narrow waist tapered to slender hips, perfectly rounded buttocks, and a magnificent, smooth, perfectly proportioned cock. The only certainty Erestor had was that his lover was Elven. No child of the Edain could possibly possess such smooth skin, sleek limbs or strength and grace.

If Erestor could just see his blasted face!

What was the purpose of the dreams? Were they the manifestations of unacknowledged desire for someone he knew? Someone from Imladris? One of the frequent visitors to the Last Homely House from one of the other realms?

Elbereth forbid. Thranduil? Erestor shook his head firmly. Nay, that was not possible, Thranduil loathed him! Erestor had been Thranduil's lover for a brief period of time, an Age ago when Oropher was King, Thranduil was Crown Prince, and the far forest was still called Eryn Galen. While the physical resemblance was there, it was highly doubtful that Erestor's mystery lover was Thranduil. They had not parted on the best of terms; Thranduil wanted more than Erestor could give him. He had loved Thranduil, but not in the timeless way Thranduil wanted him to. The stunning Sinda prince was not the one his faer called out to as the other half of his own, and with much regret, Erestor broke off with him. He owed it to both of them to set them free to find their soul mates. Thranduil had found his, eventually, and went on to father numerous daughters and young Legolas, but there was still a part of him that had never quite forgiven Erestor for breaking his heart. This made
relations between Taur-e-Ndaedelos and Imladris a bit strained, even now.

Perhaps his fantasy lover was a ghostly memory of someone long ago, who was now in the keeping of Mandos. That was not likely, either. Erestor did not take lovers lightly, but while he had cared deeply for those he chose to share his body with, none had captured his heart for all time.

Were the dreams simply a figment of his imagination - a product of wishful thinking for one who had been alone and lonely for too long? He knew not.

The most disturbing part of the visions was that he had fallen hopelessly in love with his shadowy nighttime specter. The nightly dreams were more a curse than a blessing, for although his body obviously enjoyed the release, which invariably came on the heels of the fantasies, they only served to remind him of his solitary existence.

Finally, he rolled over and cracked an eye open to peer blearily out the window. Birds chirped merrily and the pink blush of dawn had given way to blue, cloudless expanses of sky. The faint sounds of voices could be heard across the yard as the residents of Imladris began their day. At last his ingrained sense of duty warred with his deep longing to simply go back to sleep. Unfortunately, the memories of the dreams had caused him to stiffen again. Torn between arousal and annoyance, he debated whether to give in to his body's urge and give himself relief.

It was going to be a long day. He just knew it.

"This constant state of arousal is going to kill me," he groused. "Between sleep deprivation and self-gratification, I am doomed. It is just not right, I say." Erestor snorted in disgust. "Lóórííen, master of dreams, teller of what is or what might be. Bah. Leave it to a Vala to be so bloody cryptic."

Sighing deeply, he gave in to his body's urges and took himself in hand. Again. "I hope you appreciate this, you miserable piece of flesh," he muttered to the thick shaft in his hand. His eyes rolled back in his head and he surrendered to the familiar waves of lust, allowing the sensuality and raw animalistic power of the dreams to wash over him as he began to stroke, again dreaming of his mysterious lover.


*~*~*


Elvish translations:

Eryn Galen = the ancient name for Greenwood the Great


Taur-e-Ndaedelos = "Forest of the Great Fear", the Elvish name given to the renamed Eryn Galen in the Third Age, after Sauron's return to Dol Guldur

~*~*~*~*~*~

Author's Notes: We have come, faithful readers, to the end of the tale. I hope you have found as much joy in reading this trilogy as I did in writing it. Thanks to sue_ductive for the plot bunny, and to Denise (sian265) and Minuial Nuwing for their input on the storyline. Special thanks to Orchyd Constyne, who puts up with my bitching and talks me back in from the ledge.

Touch me
Take me to that other place
Reach me
I know I'm not a hopeless case

- Beautiful Day (U2)

~*~*~*~*~*~

Imladris, 2951 T.A.

After the first night of choking down Elrond's vile sleeping draught, Erestor resolved it would also be his last. While he did indeed succeed in getting some desperately needed rest, restoring his equilibrium somewhat, he woke the next morning with a sour taste in his mouth, feeling groggy and out of sorts. He also woke feeling incredibly frustrated, even more so than before. The dream was still there, even more intense than ever.

That voice. That quiet, lyrical voice that caressed his mind, with its ever-so-slightly exotic pronunciation and slightly rolled 'r'. He *knew* that voice. Somehow, some way. He knew that voice, had heard it before. The knowledge was so close, just dancing out of the periphery of his conscious. But it seemed that the harder he tried to identify that hushed voice, the more elusive the thought became.

It was at the moment of waking that Erestor decided to forgo more sleeping potions. With the identity of his dream-lover so close to recognition, he was convinced that within the next few days something would occur that would give him a definitive answer to whom his lover was. Fearful that drugging himself would cause him to miss some important clue, the rest of the potion was discreetly poured in the chamber pot. The dreams had not stopped, but neither did they come with the compelling intensity of that single night the voice spoke to him.

The one night of solid, albeit not dreamless, sleep gave him enough clarity of mind to fulfill his duties, all the while studiously avoiding the knowing, laughing gaze of Arwen. Elrond made no mention of Erestor's hasty departure from the Peredhel's office, and for that Erestor was thankful. He knew not how to explain to his Lord and friend of the happenings in the past months. It was bad enough Undóómiel had guessed of his ailment.

So it was that five days after Glorfindel's departure from Imladris, Erestor found himself only marginally more rested than before. The day's trials complete and the dinner hour over, he retreated to the sanctity of his chambers. Bereft of Glorfindel's sometimes-raucous company, he found himself adrift, foundering as a ship on stormy waters. The Seneschal was oft annoying, and irritating with his unfailingly high spirits and good cheer, but their antagonistic behavior toward one another was the hallmark of their friendship. Imladris seemed a cheerless place of late, in spite of the boisterous activity often found in the Hall of Fire. Without the Peredhil twins and Glorfindel's mischievous behavior, to Erestor the Elven realm seemed somehow lifeless. The golden Glorfindel was the sun, it seemed, around which lesser beings revolved.

Washed and dressed in a loose pair of black silken sleep trousers and a flowing crimson bed robe, Erestor blew out the lamps in the far corners of his bedroom, leaving a single one lit on the bed stand, casting the area not directly about the bed into shadows. Randomly he selected a book from one of the many shelves covering a single wall and returned to the bed, disinterested in anything he would have selected. Propping himself up on the pillows, he crossed one leg over the other and halfheartedly began to read.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Glorfindel and Arthadan thundered into Imladris late on the second night since their riding from Lothlóórien, making haste as though the great wolf of Angband was on their trail. Arthadan had finally been found just as the skies purpled with the dawn, looking slightly green around the edges and dotted with bruised marks of passion, sprawled naked in the bed of the Galadhel guide who had greeted them at the gates two days prior. Looking a bit sheepish, and distinctly ill, the young Noldo had nevertheless dressed and readied himself for the road. Assuaged by Glorfindel's message promising him the first training rotation, he kissed his newfound lover a passionate goodbye, with a promise to return to the Golden Wood in a month's time.

Arthadan did not question his captain on their haste; in fact, barely a dozen words were exchanged on their journey due to the speed of their passage. They stopped only long enough to water and feed their mounts, themselves partaking of dried berries, nuts and dried meats while riding.

At the stables, Glorfindel dismounted and began hastily rubbing down his mount, speaking quietly to his mare and thanking her for her haste, begging her forgiveness for pushing her limits. She nickered and nipped at his hand, nodding her understanding, but letting him know he was expected to make it up to her the following day. Arthadan, seeing his captain's preoccupation, insisted on taking over the currying and feeding, and actually pushed the Elda forcibly toward the house with a laugh. "Go, Captain, take care of your business." Glorfindel nodded his thanks, grabbed his pack, and set off for the Last Homely House at a dead run. Arthadan watched him go, scratching the mare's broad nose, and wondered at the Seneschal's odd behavior.

Stopping by his own rooms only long enough to open the door and drop his pack on the floor just inside, Glorfindel hurried down the hall toward Erestor's room, his heart thundering nervously in his chest. His guts roiled with anxiety, but he was unwavering. He was determined to see it through.

A faint sliver of light glowed under Erestor's door. Drawing up short, he reached up to knock, and then dropped his hand. //Do it, you fool,// he ordered. Again he raised his hand and knocked softly. No answer was forthcoming, so he knocked again, a bit more forcefully. Still no response from within came, so he took a deep breath and slowly turned the knob and opened the door a crack. He peeked around the corner, and what he saw made his heart leap in his chest.

Erestor lay on his back on the huge bed dominating an entire corner of the room, his onyx eyes glazed in reverie. His head was turned slightly toward the door, and the dim light of the lamp cast faint shadows across his face, emphasizing the high cheekbones and fine brow, making his fair skin appear pale and creamy as rich, newly drawn milk. Full, ruby lips were slightly parted, and silken midnight hair spread like a dark pool across the crisp white linens of the bed. The silk trousers clung to his lean thighs. A book lay open upon his chest, the slim fingers still marking the place he had left off reading, while the other arm was thrown casually above his head, as though Erestor had been resting upon it. The crimson bed robe had come partially untied, falling open to the navel, the deep V revealing a smoothly muscled breast and flat stomach.

Glorfindel drew his breath in at the tableau before him. Never before had he been more struck by Erestor's exotic, serene beauty than he was at that moment. Perhaps it was simply because of his newly realized love for the Counselor that colored his thoughts, but the picture was striking indeed. He did not wish to disturb Erestor, but he was unable to tear his gaze away.

The sound of a sharp intake of breath woke Erestor, who blinked sleepily and raised his head. "Glorfindel?" Erestor's melodious voice was raspy with sleep. Coming more awake, he set the book aside and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The surprise was evident in his voice. "You are back sooner than I anticipated. Elrond said you were to be gone a fortnight."

The Elda glanced at the floor guiltily. "My apologies, Erestor. I did not wish to wake you. I saw the light, but when I knocked there was no answer. I should not have entered unbidden."

"Come in, meldir. I was reading and must have dozed off," Erestor said. As he sat, the robe parted further, baring a rosy nipple, yet the Counselor made no move to tie the fastenings. Glorfindel stared at that peaked nub, mesmerized, aching to suckle it until Erestor moaned and wrapped his hand in Glorfindel's flaxen locks and begged for more.

Tearing his gaze away from that temptation, Glorfindel walked like the condemned into the room and closed the door behind him. Erestor looked at him curiously and patted the bed next to him, encouraging Glorfindel to be seated. "What is it, Glorfindel?"

Finally forcing his feet to move, Glorfindel moved leadenly toward his love. He froze just before the Counselor, at a loss for words. "I, uh."

Forgoing the seat on the bed, he stood in front of Erestor and slowly dropped to his knees. This was it. he had reached the point of no return. "Erestor, we need to talk."

Erestor paled. This was it - the moment he had been dreading for weeks. The moment in which Glorfindel would tell him he was furious with him, and that he had given his heart to Elladan. Or Elrohir. It was of no consequence; the end result was the same. That he was dissolving their friendship, all because of happenings millennia ago. "Go on," he said quietly.

Glorfindel paused, collecting his thoughts. How to approach this? Ai, this was much more difficult than he imagined it could ever be, back in the comfort of Rúúmil's embrace. "It is about the twins. Well, no, not *directly* about the gwanûûn. It is about us. You, and me."

"Aye, I figured as much."

"Erestor," the Elda began, but Erestor stopped him with a raised hand.

"First, before you go on, I need to know something." At Glorfindel's raised eyebrow and small nod of assent, he fixed the Elda with a dark, probing stare and proceeded. "Why did you run away?"

Glorfindel gulped. He drew a deep breath and plunged in. "I went to Lothlóórien because I was afraid. In my jealousy, and my blindness, I ran away. Thoughts of you with the twins filled me with rage. It was not until I reached Lothlóórien that I realized my anger was misplaced; I realized it was *them* I was jealous of."

Erestor blinked, perplexed. "You are jealous of the gwanûûn?"

"Let me finish, Erestor, before I lose my nerve. That is not completely the truth. That is what I told myself, that I was angry with you for bedding them first. I had spent the night before in their bed and fancied myself in love with them. The night before I left for Lothlóórien, though, I realized I was lying to myself. I ran because I was a coward. I could not bear the thought that I could not see what was right before me all along."

"And what is before you?" Erestor asked, genuinely confused.

"You," Glorfindel said simply. "You are. For I have realized, Erestor, that I am in love with you."

Stunned into complete silence, Erestor opened his mouth and closed it again. He shook his head as if to clear his ears, certain he had not heard Glorfindel's words correctly, and tried again, only marginally more successful. "You. Are in love. With me."

"Aye. I love you, Erestor. I have for a very, very long time. Even before the night you told me of your tryst with the twins. I could not admit it, for I could not believe I could have been so foolish as to not see it before, after all the years we have known each other," he concluded. Glorfindel's crystalline eyes searched Erestor's deeply, as if begging for his love to be returned.

Erestor stood and paced about the room restlessly. "And you know you love me, with certainty? How can that be, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel rose to his feet and moved toward Erestor, his arm extended. His stilled the Counselor's nervous pacing with a hand upon his arm and turned Erestor toward him. They stood motionless, each searching the eyes of the other. Glorfindel spoke then, telling of the vision he had seen writ upon the tapestries of the fate of Arda. "Vairëë has foretold it, Erestor; it must be so. Before my release from Mandos, she showed me a scene from her tapestry, a scene that showed of my fate. My fate is you, Erestor."

The darkling Elf stood silently for long moments. Finally he spoke, his voice uncertain. "I do not know what to say, Glorfindel. I am stunned. Never before have you spoken to me of love. I need time to digest all you have said. But mere moments ago, I was asleep, thinking you were in love with one of the twins. Now you come home and tell me you are in love with me and not them."

Slowly, Glorfindel nodded. "I understand. This is much to think about. I will leave you now to your thoughts."

Drained, he released his hold on Erestor's arm and turned to go. He had done it; he had admitted his love. Perhaps one day, in the future, Erestor would be able to love him in return, perhaps not. If not, he would bear it somehow, but for now, it was all he could do except wait, and hope.

At the door he turned the knob, then released it and walked back to Erestor. He asked hesitantly, "May I. kiss you, Erestor, before I go?"

"We have kissed before, Glorfindel," the Counselor countered, his brow furrowed. "How would this time be any different?"

"Aye, but just once more? For if I find you do not return my feelings, I would have us part with the taste of your sweet lips upon mine, and it will have to sustain me for all time. Never again can we come together in anything less than love, for now I know my heart and to join with you again, and know you do not return my feelings, would be the end of me."

The barest tilt of the Counselor's chin indicated his assent. "You may."

His heart in his throat, Glorfindel drew close to Erestor. Gently he cupped Erestor's smooth cheek, brushing the high cheekbone with the rough calluses of his sword hand and closed his eyes, barely pressing the soft petals of Erestor's lips to his own. Overcome with feeling, with love and fear, their lips barely touching, Glorfindel murmured, "'Restor."

Erestor froze.

A strangled cry escaped Glorfindel's chest, and he pulled away from Erestor with tears pooling in his eyes. It was true - Erestor did not return his feelings. The manner with which the Counselor had all but turned cold was all the Elda needed to know to confirm that his desires were without hope. He turned and staggered drunkenly toward the door, blinded by the pain, intent only on escaping the agonizing sorrow in his chest. He was a fool, damned for his love. Vairëë had been wrong.

Erestor stared, dumbfounded, and touched his lips in awe. "Blessed Elbereth. it is you," Erestor breathed quietly as the mystery lover who had haunted his dreams for weeks was revealed to him. That voice - that silken, lilting voice with its ever-so-slight trill - was Glorfindel.

A choked sob startled Erestor from his immobility, and he stared horror-stricken at Glorfindel's fleeing back. "No," he croaked, but his voice caught in his throat. Damn him, Glorfindel had run before, Erestor would not allow him to run again, not now. His only thought was to stop the Elda's escape. He tried again, and this time his voice was strong and clear, commanding as befitting the Chief Counselor of Imladris. "DARO!" he bellowed, the word resounding through the room like a clap of thunder. (Stop!)

Glorfindel halted at the threshold of the doorway and spun around. Shimmering tears tracked down the planes of his broad cheekbones. "Please, Erestor, do not make this harder," he begged.

The Counselor dashed across the room and clutched desperately at the sleeve of Glorfindel's tunic. The Elda tried vainly to pull his arm away, but Erestor's grip was strong as mithril and would not yield. "No, Glorfindel, you do not understand."

"I understand all too well, Erestor. Leave me BE!" the Seneschal cried, again attempting to wrest his sleeve from Erestor's grasp.

"No, you do not. Please, Glorfindel." Erestor held firm, pleading with the Elda to stay. "Please listen to me."

The Elda cried for the first time in his re-born life, the pain he felt poured forth with his tears. Even upon Orodruin he had been strong, commanding his troops fearlessly, never shedding a tear even as his High King fell under Sauron's sway. This misery surpassed anything he had ever felt. Even the pull of the Balrog and the burning fire that encircled him as he plunged to his death paled in comparison to this all-consuming agony, this wretched despair.

Erestor pulled him close, but Glorfindel stiffened in his arms. "No, Glorfindel, you do *not* understand," he repeated. "I love you."

"Do not toy with my affections, 'Restor. My heart cannot bear it." Glorfindel hung his head, the tears running freely down his face making dark patches on his tunic as they fell.

With loving fingers, Erestor tipped the golden head up and looked deeply into the Elda's startling pools of cerulean. Tenderly he brushed a silver droplet away. "Glorfindel, you stubborn, pigheaded fool. I love you, too. That is what I am trying to tell you."

Blue eyes opened impossibly wide as the meaning of Erestor's words began to penetrate his grief-stricken mind. "You love me," he said dazedly.

"I do," the Counselor nodded.

"But. why? How?" he stuttered.

Erestor led him to the bed and pushed the stunned Elf down to sit. Turning toward Glorfindel, he sat next to him and took one of those large, rough hands in his. "I do not fully understand it myself, but Lóórien has sent me dreams," he explained gently. Glorfindel looked confused, but Erestor silenced his questions with a shake of his head and lifted Glorfindel's hand to kiss it. "Nay, hear me out. I will explain more another time, but in the visions, I fell in love with you. The meaning of the dream was hidden from me, but I loved you even before I knew it was *you*.

"When you were gone, my loneliness and grief were unbearable. I ached with regret over telling you of my secret, fearful of your anger and jealousy. But I did not understand. When you spoke my name, I knew."

Glorfindel was stunned. "You love me," he repeated dumbly.

"Aye," Erestor confirmed. "I love you, Glorfindel o Gondolin a Imladris, and perhaps I always have."

The golden head fell forward, the tawny locks falling as a shield to hide his shame. "I have wronged you, Erestor. When in Lothlóórien, in my confusion, I bedded another. Though you already had my heart, I could not admit it. Can you ever forgive me?"

The Counselor pulled Glorfindel to him, wrapping him in a firm embrace. He kissed the crown of the tawny head. "There is nothing to forgive, melethen. How can I be angry when it brought you into my arms?" (my love)

Glorfindel's azure eyes shimmered again when he lifted his head. "I, better than anyone, know how precious life is. I gave my heart to you years ago, Erestor, and it fills me with shame that I did not realize it until now. How many years have we wasted?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

Erestor silenced his love with a finger against the Elda's sweet lips and shook his head. Tenderly he kissed the salty tears away. "Do not say such things, Glorfindel. The years were not wasted; can you truly think that? I regret we did not realize our feelings sooner, but I hold the years spent as your friend above all. You are fearless, loving, and loyal, and beautiful, and if we were to never have realized our love tonight, I would still cherish the memory of your friendship for all my days."

"But - -" Glorfindel protested.

"Nay, my beautiful golden love, speak no more of it. It is enough that we have finally come together," Erestor said softly. "No regrets, and no recriminations. Over the years we have shared our bodies and our secrets. Is it not fitting that we now share our hearts as well?"

His heart light at last, Glorfindel trailed his fingers over the downy softness of the Counselor's face. He kissed his love then, pouring all of the pent-up longing of the past weeks into the kiss. He claimed Erestor's lips fiercely and kissed him breathless. Erestor melted into the warrior's embrace and kissed him back, needing to assure the noble Elf-lord of his love.

When at last the need to breathe drove them apart, Erestor pulled back, gasping for air. Glorfindel clutched at him desperately, unwilling and terrified to let go of his newfound love, even for a moment. Panic filled his eyes when Erestor stood, but the Counselor simply shook his head and untied the belt of his dressing gown, dropping the robe to the floor. Sleeping pants followed, falling to the ground in a pool of shimmering black silk.

Suddenly he was naked, standing before his lover, long and lean and hard, his skin milky in the pale light. Wordlessly he reached out to Glorfindel and pulled him to stand before him. On tiptoes he leaned up and lightly kissed the slightly taller Elf, and turned to the bed, leaning forward and offering himself to Glorfindel for the first time in love.

They knew each other all too well and did not waste time on the subtle game of seduction. It was pointless, after all; they had shared their bodies with one another countless times over the millennia. They were too old and too world-weary to waste any further time on the niceties of courtship. Years uncounted they had spent apart, unknowing and blind to their love. It was with urgency and fervor that they came together this time, pouring all the emotion of the past years into their joining.

Glorfindel stripped off his clothes and fumbled in the drawer of Erestor's nightstand for the vial of oil he knew to be there. He dropped to his knees and parted the pale moons of Erestor's buttocks. Erestor shuddered at the touch of a warm, wet tongue probing at his entrance, and yelped when the tongue slipped inside, gently stretching him.

Hard and fell, Glorfindel could wait no longer to be inside his love. To be *home*. He stood and spilled oil thickly along his aching shaft, coating his fingers and sliding two into Erestor's tight heat, spreading the slick fluid well. Quickly, a third finger followed, and Erestor pushed back against him. "Enough, Glorfindel, I am ready," he barked, unrestrained in his need for Glorfindel.

Hands gripping Erestor's hips, with one forceful thrust Glorfindel was embedded to the root in the Counselor's velvet passage. "So tight, Erestor, so beautiful. Elbereth, how I love you," he groaned.

Erestor cried out at the sudden penetration, but immediately bucked back against his lover. "Move, damn it," the Counselor demanded, wanton and as desperate as his lover.

He had taken many in his life, been claimed by less, and belonged to none. Yet for the first time in either of his lifetimes, Glorfindel knew what it was to give completely of himself. He wept freely, his tears of joy falling like rain upon Erestor's slender back. He plundered the willing, heated depths of his lover, his lips pressed against the ridges of Erestor's spine, each thrust punctuated by murmured words of "Love you. love you. love you." and tasting Erestor's spicy scent and the salt of his own tears.

Erestor parted his legs further, spreading himself as widely as he could. Nothing was held back, for they had come too far to withhold anything from the other. He surrendered himself, body and soul, completely to the golden demi-god who claimed his heart.

With a roar of ecstasy, Glorfindel spent violently in Erestor's clenching heat. The pulsing of the heavy cock deep within him sent Erestor over the edge with nary a touch to his own dripping length. He cried out Glorfindel's name as pearlescent jets of his essence sprayed over his stomach and onto the bed coverings.

Trembling with emotion and exhaustion, the lovers collapsed onto the bed, still joined. Glorfindel pulled his softening length from Erestor's body and spooned the slighter Elf's body to him, neither caring that the sticky leavings of their passion coated their sweat-slicked forms. Sated, and content, they fell asleep in each other's arms, sweet dreamless sleep.

* * *

In the morning they woke, limbs entwined, golden and ebony locks all a-tangle, and made love again. This time it was Erestor who claimed his lover, as he had taken him only once before in all the times of their joining. Glorfindel gave himself willingly to Erestor, needing the Counselor to claim him as he himself had done the night before.

Their lovemaking, as the Anor bathed them in its bright light, was languid and tender, containing none of the urgency of the night before. Erestor rocked dreamily into the pale form below him, one hand fisted in his lover's lustrous mane, and the other between their joined bodies, stroking Glorfindel's shaft with long, measured strokes.

Glorfindel smiled radiantly up at his beloved, their eyes locked together, his long legs wrapped firmly about Erestor's waist, Erestor's hard length piercing him deeply. The Counselor's raven hair flowed like spilled ink across his back, spread upon their heated bodies in a blanket of silk.

This was the scene depicted in Vairëë's tapestry.

Glorfindel had looked deep within his heart and found his answer.

Erestor felt the tensing of Glorfindel's body as his release drew nigh, and halted his motions, remaining deeply embedded in his lover's depths. "Tell me, Glorfindel. Say it," the darkling Elf whispered in the shapely ear of his beloved. "I will not allow you release until you say the words I need to hear."

"I am yours, Erestor. Yours. Only yours."

"As I am yours, my golden beauty. Never again will you share yourself with another, nor will I. You are mine," he breathed, resuming his thrusting, "and I will never let you go."

"Never," Glorfindel gasped.

As Erestor stroked his beloved to completion, even while reaching his own release in the snug heat of Glorfindel's ivory body, the morning air resounded with gasping professions of timeless devotion and breathless words of love.

"I could become accustomed to this," Erestor sighed from the strong circle of Glorfindel's arms, warm and glowing in the blissful aftermath of their lovemaking.

"I certainly hope so, melethronen, because you have no choice in the matter. It took four and a half millennia to find you, and I have no plans to let you go." Glorfindel claimed Erestor's lips in another passionate kiss, his desire stirring anew. (my lover)

Hours later, bodies sore and voices hoarse from the exertions of lovemaking, they rose and bathed together in Erestor's chambers. The morning ablutions took far longer than usual, for the lovers exchanged many kisses and loving caresses before they finally deemed themselves sufficiently clean and ready to present themselves in Elrond's office. Their first order of duty was to reveal the change in their relationship to their Lord and friend.

The Counselor dressed in clean leggings and tunic, forgoing his stately robes of office. Scowling playfully at his laughing lover, Erestor arranged his hair to cover the stark purpled passion marks that began just beneath and behind his ear, trailing down his slender neck and ending at his collarbone.

Glorfindel pulled Erestor's discarded crimson night robe over his nude body, and then they made a brief stop at the Seneschal's rooms so Glorfindel could dress. It was Erestor's turn to tease his lover over the perfect impression of strong white teeth marring the milky flesh of the Seneschal's neck. Glorfindel was thankful his clothing concealed the other scarlet markings: leggings hid the mark at his groin and the tunic veiled the one next to his left nipple.

Together they strode through the wide, airy hallways of the Last Homely House, exchanging nods and words of greeting with those they met along the way. A few curious glances followed the two as they passed, for it was unusual to see the Elf-lords about this late, and together, at that; at the breaking of dawn, Erestor was typically closeted in the library or Council chambers with their Lord, and Glorfindel either training or out on patrols.

Arriving at Elrond's office, they paused outside the door and stole a quick kiss, tender and full of promise. Together they strode through the open door, hand-in-hand, into their Lord's office. Elrond looked up from his scrolls and quills, and a wide smile crossed his face as he noted their entwined hands and the glow that seemed to surround them.

"It is about time," were his only words, before he embraced them with joy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

High upon the pinnacle of Taniquetil, towering over the Pelóóri, in the vast halls of Manwëë and Varda, the Valar looked down upon them, and were glad.

~*~*~ FINIS ~*~*~