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April, 1693, Second Age, Lindon

Glorfindel stepped off the great ship onto the docks of the Grey Havens. The wind whipped his cloak and he drew it tight around him, the last remnants of winter blowing in and across the sea. He adjusted his pack and trudged into the wind, making his way to the High King’s court. His golden hair was pulled into a single braid behind his head and he was dressed in simple leggings and a tunic, the hood of his gray cloak pulled over his head.

Mandos rewarded him for his service to the last High King by sending him back to Middle Earth to serve Turgon’s successor. There were still some things he did not remember about his former life, but unlike the others who had been sent back, his life did not start anew. He returned to Middle Earth as an adult elf, his identity intact and the memory of his death fresh in his mind.

Few noticed him as he passed by; he was just another elf arriving in Gil-galad’s court. He approached the King’s seneschal, bowing his head in respect, his hand covering his heart, eyes cast down to the tips of the Counselor’s black boots.

"My Lord, I am seeking an audience with the High King and his advisors. I have traveled from Valinor to offer my life in service to him."

Erestor regarded the elf before him carefully. His clothes and belongings were humble; he carried only a small pack, his bow, quiver, and sword. While to many he appeared to be a simple soldier, there was an air about the elf that spoke of something greater. He addressed the newcomer flatly, "Those who wish to serve the High King must first take audience with me. Look at me."

Glorfindel raised his head and gazed into the Noldo’s eyes. His piercing gray gaze was somewhat intimidating, but he was devastatingly handsome; dark, mysterious, an air of confidence and control surrounded him.

Erestor stroked his chin thoughtfully as he looked upon the elf; he appeared to be a Vanyarian. Though his cloak covered his head, Erestor could still spy a bit of golden hair underneath it; only the Vanyar had hair of that particular color. "What is your name?" he asked.

Glorfindel cleared his throat and softly replied, "Glorfindel, my Lord."

Erestor’s eyes widened slightly before he covered his surprise and he leaned forward, as if to study the elf closer. "Glorfindel, is it? That is a distinctive name, how did you come about it?"

Glorfindel steeled his gaze and quietly replied, "It was given to me by my mother and father, my Lord."

Erestor nodded, stroking his chin once again. "Ah, of course. Well, what type of service do you offer, Glorfindel? Cook, stable boy, scribe?"

"Soldier, my Lord. I am skilled with both the bow and sword." He squared his shoulders, drawing up to his full height. As the great doors behind him opened, a gust of air blew through, knocking the hood from his head and exposing his shining golden locks.

Erestor grinned slightly. **This is indeed a handsome and formidable elf…** he walked around his subject slowly, looking him up and down. The Vanya was taller than himself, broad of shoulder and chest, yet not over large, long legs and arms, well muscled.

"Well, you do have the build of a warrior, that is apparent." He clapped his hands and motioned to a young elf standing against the wall to come forward. "Follow this youngster here, he will show you to the barracks. Report to me on the training grounds at midday, we will see if your confidence is backed by your skill."

Glorfindel bowed his head, a wisp of hair falling forward against his alabaster cheek. "Aye, my Lord, at midday." He turned on his heel and followed the young elf to the soldier’s barracks.

* * * *

As he stowed his pack beneath his bunk, he sat upon the side of the bed, a deep sigh escaping him. He closed his eyes, weariness overtaking his senses as he hung his head down. His hand drifted to his side and he absently rubbed the scar that remained, his reminder of Melkor’s evil. He thought to himself that he would have preferred to stay dead, but the Valar had their own reasons for what they did.

"Tired, meldir?"

He opened his eyes to see two brown boots in his field of vision and looked up to see a soldier standing before him. "Aye, it has been a long trip."

The soldier took a seat on the bunk opposite him and smiled kindly. "I am known as Gildor, from the house of Finrod."

Glorfindel smiled and extended his hand, "Mae Govannen, Gildor. I am Glorfindel."

Gildor smiled wisely. **So it is you…** he thought. "Mae Govannen, Glorfindel. From where have you traveled?"

Glorfindel took a deep breath and smiled. "From Valinor, I arrived just today."

Gildor nodded thoughtfully. "Well that is a long trip, from the Halls of Mandos to Lindon."

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "Pardon, my Lord?"

Gildor smiled. "Glorfindel of Gondolin. I dreamt you would be coming, Mandos was generous to send you to us." He bowed his head and continued, "It is an honor, Lord Glorfindel. I imagine you will receive your own regiment."

Glorfindel furrowed his brow and answered, "How did you know it was me? Were you at Gondolin?"

Gildor chuckled, "Well your countenance gave you away, first of all, any who knew of you before the Fall of Gondolin would not be apt to forget your face or bearing. I arrived as one of the contingent of those who were allied with King Turgon, but we were too late. I witnessed Echthelion’s fall as we fought back some of the Orcs that spilled forth. But by that time, the city had fallen, and all was lost." He sighed, "Many a song has been sung of the valor of your kin, not least among them, you. Were it not for you, Tuor and his offspring would have perished." He reached across and placed a hand upon Glorfindel’s shoulder. "We all owe you a debt of gratitude, my Lord. The High King will be most pleased to hear of your arrival."

Glorfindel put his hands up and sat back. "I would prefer that my identity not be revealed any more than is necessary. I do not want to be treated differently than anyone else is, I do not want to be given special privileges because of my rank or station. Besides, my house is no more, all of my kin have fallen."

Gildor smiled and nodded. "That I understand well, but the King does not stand on ceremony and we all share the burden of hard work here." He put his hand up. "But I will honor your request. I daresay, there are few who will not recognize you, especially when you tell them your name." He clapped the Vanya on the shoulder. "Rest well, meldiramin. Erestor will be looking for you soon enough."

Glorfindel nodded and lay back upon his bunk, crossing his ankles and folding his hands behind his head.

**Blistering heat, choking smoke, then nothing. Soft breezes, lilting voices, peace. ‘You have much to do yet, Glorfindel. You are still needed in Middle Earth.’ Gasping for air, pain wracking his body, pain he cannot put words to. Bright light, warmth, heaviness.**

His eyes snapped open and he sat up in his bunk. He took a deep breath and swung his feet over the side and to the floor, slowly rubbing his temples. He had the same dream each time he closed his eyes, his death, his reincarnation. Here he was in Lindon, all that was left of his House gone, no family, no friends, but one purpose. Protect Gil-galad. Or so he thought; the Valar told him to go, told him to serve the High King. Mandos said he would be needed, that there was one here who would need his protection. He looked out the window, noting the position of the sun in the sky, and rose from his bunk, grasping his bow and sword and walking to the archery field.

* * * *

Erestor stood with his arms crossed over his chest as he watched Glorfindel enter the training ground. He noted the weariness in the warrior’s bearing and wondered to himself just exactly what the Vanya was all about. He wondered if it was possible that he was looking upon the same Glorfindel that fell at Gondolin, he had not heard tell of one being returned from the Halls of Mandos as an adult.

Glorfindel came to a stop before him and bowed his head, placing his hand over his heart in respect. "My Lord, I am here for my test."

Erestor clasped his hands behind his back. "Shall we commence?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Aye, my Lord."

"We shall begin with the bow." Erestor escorted the warrior to the archery field and was pleased with his level of skill, Glorfindel was perhaps the best archer he had ever seen. After lengthy trials with bow and spear, Erestor called forward an assistant. "Now we shall see your skill with the sword and in hand to hand combat."

Glorfindel turned and came face to face with Gildor. Gildor was the best Gil-galad had in terms of close combat, not one member of their army had defeated him in sparring. The Noldo Lord smiled and handed the warrior a wooden sword used for training. Glorfindel took the proffered sword and bowed his head, and he and Gildor moved to fighting stance.

They slowly circled one another, watching each other’s movements, gauging one another’s reactions. Gildor was first to make a move, spinning and swiping the sword at Glorfindel’s midsection. The Vanya leapt backward, avoiding the blow and blocking with his own sword. They danced around one another, parrying and thrusting with their swords, occasionally making contact with one another. Gildor ducked and spun again, this time landing a sound blow upon the warrior’s side.

Upon impact of the wooden sword, Glorfindel felt a blinding pain shoot through his body, he felt the searing heat of the whip, and heard the roar of the Balrog. He fell to his hands and knees, dropping his sword as Gildor knelt beside him.

"Glorfindel? Have I injured you? Are you hurt?" the Noldo Lord asked.

He was unable to speak for a moment and shook his head, his hand coming to rest upon his side. He gathered his composure and replied softly, "Nay, my Lord. It is an old wound that will not seem to heal. I will be fine, do not worry."

Erestor placed his hand upon the warrior’s shoulder. "Nonsense, you are pale, Glorfindel. I insist you see the healer immediately."

Glorfindel rocked back upon his heels and held up his hand. "There is no need for a healer, my Lord. There is nothing a healer can do for me."

Erestor frowned and tugged the warrior to his feet. "I will be the judge of that. You will come with me to see the healer immediately."

Glorfindel furrowed his brow and acquiesced, "Aye, my Lord."

Gildor picked up the training sword and watched them depart. "Why would Mandos send him back in such a condition?" he whispered to himself. "He is clearly vulnerable." He shook his head and returned to the barracks.

To be continued…

April, 1693, Second Age, Lindon

Glorfindel sat upon the edge of the table in the healer’s quarters. The healer had just left and, as he knew would be the case, he could find nothing physically wrong with him. Erestor stood across from him, arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed. The color had slowly returned to Glorfindel’s skin and now the Counselor’s eyes rested upon the scar that ran the length of the warrior’s side, from hip to armpit. It was relatively fresh, but the skin was healed, and Erestor could not understand why Gildor’s hit had effected the warrior the way it had.

"Where did the scar come from, Glorfindel?" he asked, his tone even and without emotion.

Glorfindel hung his head, avoiding the Counselor’s gaze, preferring to study the floor instead. "I would prefer not to discuss it, if you do not mind, my Lord."

Erestor took a deep breath and answered, "But I do mind, Glorfindel. I am asking you a direct question and I expect an answer, it is your duty to answer me."

Glorfindel sighed and continued to stare at the floor. "I was wounded in battle, my Lord."

Erestor raised an eyebrow and stepped forward. "Indeed, I can see that." He grasped the warrior’s right arm and raised it above his head. "Looks like a whip mark, or a burn. Where did it come from, Glorfindel? Who gave you this wound?"

Glorfindel turned his head and quietly answered, "I prefer not to say, my Lord."

Erestor dropped the warrior’s arm and turned his chin so that their gazes met. "I will ask you only once more, Glorfindel, and I expect an answer. Where did this mark come from?"

Glorfindel met the Counselor’s gaze with as much determination as he could muster. He cleared his throat and answered, "From the whip of the Balrog that killed me, my Lord. I thought you would have surmised that by now."

Erestor’s eyes widened for a brief moment then he nodded, releasing the warrior’s chin. "So, it is as I suspected. You are Glorfindel of Gondolin." He turned his back and looked at the wall. "Why did you not just tell me this to begin with, Glorfindel? Why were you not honest with me?"

Glorfindel sighed. "I did not wish for all those around me to know of my identity. I am alone enough in this world without creating further division. I am an aberration, my Lord, I am not supposed to be alive."

Erestor turned and pulled a stool up in front of the warrior. "But you are supposed to be alive, Glorfindel. Mandos does nothing without reason." He placed his hand upon the warrior’s bare shoulder. "You should not be ashamed of who you are, Glorfindel. Rather the opposite, I think. You are a great hero as well as a great warrior."

Glorfindel leaned back away from the Counselor’s touch. "This is precisely what I wanted to avoid, my Lord. I do not want to be a hero, I am a simple warrior, a loyal servant to my King. Do you think what I did was heroic? It was foolish, it was rash, and I paid for it with my life."

Erestor placed his hand upon the warrior’s thigh. "It was not foolish, nor rash. Your actions saved the King’s family, you did what you had to do to ensure their safety." He put his hand up to stop further argument from the warrior. "But I will honor your wish for secrecy, if that is truly what you desire. However, this old wound will hamper you in battle; that was made plain today. I will have to find another role for you to fulfill, at least until you can fight without risk to your own safety or the safety of others."

Glorfindel made to protest, "But, my Lord, this is all I know how to do, I am a warrior, that is all I am."

Erestor smiled gently. "Oh, but you are much more than that, Glorfindel, ‘tis a pity you do not see it." He took a deep breath. "I will think upon it and summon you to my quarters when I have an answer. In the meantime, continue training with the bow. I will consult with my Lord."

Glorfindel grasped Erestor’s arm as he rose from the stool. "You will not tell the High King of my weakness will you?"

Erestor smiled and patted the warrior’s hand. "I serve Lord Elrond, the King’s Standard Bearer, it is he that I will consult with." He glanced over the warrior’s bare chest. "Now, put on your tunic and return to your quarters. Shadow Gildor, he will be helpful to you in acclimating to your new home."

Glorfindel gingerly pulled on his tunic as he watched the Chief Counselor depart. He absently rubbed his shoulder where the Noldo’s hand had laid, and left the healer’s quarters for the barracks.

* * * *

"It is as you suspected, my Lord. He is indeed the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower."

Elrond nodded as he sat at his desk, tapping his lips with his finger. "There is surely a reason he is here, though I am not sure I want to know what that reason is."

Erestor nodded. "It does not bode well that Mandos sent one of the greatest warriors known in our time back from the dead. Nevertheless, he is a loyal and brave soul, my Lord; I can see it in his eyes. But, his body is not the only thing that is wounded, I fear he suffers in silence."

Elrond nodded in agreement and rose from his chair. "I want you to mentor him, Erestor, teach him all you know, battle tactics, diplomacy, everything that can be of use. We must teach him to trust us, to look upon us as his family."

Erestor bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart. "Of course, my Lord. I will do all that you wish." He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * * *

Glorfindel lay upon his side on his bunk, staring at the wall, his left arm tucked under his head. He was so tired, but he did not want to close his eyes, he did not want to surrender to sleep, not if he was to have the same dream again.

"How are you feeling, mellon nín?"

He rolled to his back to see Gildor sitting upon the bunk beside him. He rose to his elbows and winced, quickly covering with a smile. "Fine, meldir. Do not worry, you did me no harm."

Gildor smiled wryly and nodded. "Indeed. So you are of the habit of falling to your knees and turning white as snow?"

Glorfindel furrowed his brow and grumbled. "I said I am fine."

Gildor grabbed the warrior’s arm and tugged him from his bunk. "These bunks are barely large enough for an elfling, you cannot expect to take any rest here. Come, take your rest in my quarters, they are far more comfortable."

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow and regarded the elf with some suspicion. Gildor laughed heartily and replied, "I am only suggesting you take some rest, I need not be there if it makes you uncomfortable."

Glorfindel rose from the narrow bunk and followed the Noldo to his quarters.

As they entered Gildor’s modest abode, Glorfindel looked around. Gildor grasped his sleeve and tugged him into the bedroom and asked him to sit upon the bed. He opened a drawer of a bedside table and softly instructed the warrior to remove his tunic.

Glorfindel gave him another suspicious look and the Noldo laughed again, producing a jar of ointment. "This is a balm made from sweet potatoes, it will soothe the ache in your side."

Glorfindel sighed and looked at his friend. "I fear nothing will soothe this ache."

Gildor wiggled the jar in his hand. "Could it hurt to try?"

Glorfindel smiled sheepishly and began removing his tunic. "I suppose not." He stripped his tunic and laid it across a chair as Gildor turned down the covers upon his bed. The air in the room was warm from a fire that burned in the hearth and the warrior took a seat on the side of the bed. Gildor tossed him a long nightshirt and told him to remove his boots and leggings and the warrior complied. The Noldo Lord turned his back as the warrior undressed, resisting the urge to steal a glance at his nude form. He turned back to the bed and lifted the sheets. "Under the blankets, mellon."

Glorfindel complied and slid beneath the covers. He had to admit, the bed was more than comfortable and the linen sheets were soft and warm against his skin. It had been a long time since he slept in a bed so comfortable, since he slept in his own in Gondolin.

"Lift your nightshirt, so I can apply this balm."

He rolled to his side and lifted the shirt as Gildor sat on the edge of the bed beside him, the sheets rested just above his hip. Gildor slid them down an inch, to where the scar began, and gently rubbed the balm into his side along the length of the scar, each touch of his hand sent a strange shiver through the warrior’s frame. As Gildor leaned over and applied the balm, Glorfindel could detect the scent of lavender and rosemary that came from the elf Lord’s hair and he felt a warming sensation from the balm. For reasons he could not understand, he was strangely comforted by Gildor’s presence, and he sighed as he closed his eyes.

Gildor gently pulled the nightshirt back down and pulled the covers up around Glorfindel’s chest. "There, now you rest. Sleep as long as you like, I will be in the other room."

Glorfindel grasped Gildor’s arm as he rose from the bed. "Thank you, mellon."

Gildor smiled. "It is my pleasure, Glorfindel." He blew out the candle next to the bed and quietly left the warrior to his well-deserved rest.

* * * *

"So where is he now?" Erestor asked, his shoulders filling the Noldo’s doorway.

Gildor motioned to his bedroom. "Asleep, in there. He is weary, my Lord. he carries a heavy burden."

Erestor nodded as Gildor invited him inside. He spoke in hushed tones, "I am worried about him, Gildor. He is damaged, wounded beyond what happened to his body. Why Mandos sent him to us in this condition is beyond me."

Gildor nodded in agreement. "Perhaps it is up to us to heal him, my Lord? He is all alone in this world, no kin, no friends, all whom he knew perished in Gondolin."

Erestor shook his head as he took a seat by the fire. "I know nothing of healing, Gildor. I am a soldier, a diplomat, nothing more."

Gildor leaned forward and replied, "As am I, my Lord. But we are all he has now, we must do what we can."

Erestor glanced through the doorway at the sleeping figure upon the bed, then sat back in his chair and stroked his chin. "How do you do it, Gildor? How do you sit here with me when he is in your bed?"

Gildor frowned and cocked his head. "I am not sure I understand your meaning, my Lord."

Erestor smiled wryly. "Come now, Gildor. Are you telling me you have not noticed how beautiful he is? Is it not tempting to have one so glorious in your bed?"

Gildor smiled in return. "But of course it is, my Lord. However, that is not what he needs now, he needs my friendship, and that is what I intend to give him."

Erestor nodded. "Yes, but he may be in need of a different kind of companionship. I know someone who would be more than willing to provide it if he expresses an interest."

Gildor smiled broadly. "And would that someone be you, my Lord?"

Erestor frowned. "Of course not. I am referring to Galdor, he is more than able to provide our warrior with some comfort, if that is what is needed."

Gildor leaned forward, propping his elbows upon his knees. "And how do you know this, my Lord?"

Erestor smiled wryly. "I have been a recipient of Galdor’s charms from time to time, ‘tis no secret."

A knock upon the door ended their conversation and Gildor rose to open it, finding one of Elrond’s secretaries. "My Lord Gildor. There is a group of Sindar at the gates requesting shelter. They look as if they have come under attack."

Gildor nodded. "I will be right there."

Erestor waved him on. "Go on, I will stay here. Send for me if you need me."

Gildor grabbed his cloak. "Aye, my Lord."

To be continued…

April, 1693, Second Age, Lindon

Gildor stood before the small group of Sindar, comprised of six males and three females. The males were battered and bloodied and the females were still wide-eyed with fear. There was a female among them who was critically wounded and Gildor instructed his guard to take her directly to the healers. As they drew away, two of the females and a young male elf, no more than one hundred and fifty years of age followed; he was badly wounded himself, but not mortally so. Gildor and his guard escorted the rest of the elves into the hall and called for more healers to treat the wounded and chambermaids to help feed, bathe, and house those who were not seriously wounded.

He sat at a long table, with whom he thought to be their leader, an elf named Amras. "What happened to you, Amras?" he asked quietly.

The elf Lord looked at Gildor, his expression conveyed weariness and sorrow. "We were ambushed by orcs, warg riders. Most of our horses were killed along with ten of our warriors. We are travelling west to the Grey Havens. The Queen travels to Valinor and we are her escort; we have her son amongst us." He sighed and looked at the ground. "That was she whom you sent to the healer."

Gildor’s eyes widened and he looked back over his shoulder toward the healer’s quarters. He turned back to Amras as the elf continued.

"Her son insisted on travelling with her, during the attack he tried to protect her, but was wounded, and we were forced to make a choice as to who to save first, the Queen or the heir to the kingdom. I chose as I thought the King would have wanted, I instructed our men to save the Prince first. We were able to save the Queen, but she has been severely wounded."

Gildor nodded. "Go, check on your Queen, our healers will do all they can to save her."

Amras rose and bowed before Gildor. "Thank you, my Lord. We are in your debt."

Gildor rose and returned to his quarters to inform Erestor of the evening’s events.

* * * *

Erestor sat in a wide chair, watching the sleeping warrior. Glorfindel sighed and mumbled in his sleep; his sighs soon turned to moans as he began to stir. The Noldo rose from his chair and crossed the room to the bed, gently sitting on the side of it as he watched the warrior in his fitful sleep. "Why? Why would they do this to you?" he whispered. "Could they not have sent your spirit back anew? Why burden you with so much pain and death?"

Glorfindel cried out softly and sat bolt upright, his chest heaving as he panted for air, a thin sheen of sweat upon his skin. He turned his confused gaze to the Counselor, and Erestor saw his azure eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"Do you have this dream each time you sleep?" the Counselor asked softly.

Glorfindel took a deep breath and nodded, his mussed braids falling forward. Erestor reached up and gently took down the warrior’s braids, combing through his hair with his fingers. "I do not know what to do to help you, Glorfindel," he whispered. "I am but a soldier, a diplomat, I know nothing of the healing arts."

Glorfindel looked at the bed and sighed. "I fear there is no help to be had, my Lord. What is done is done, there is no remedy."

Erestor furrowed his brow and laid his hand on the warrior’s leg. "Such a defeatist attitude for a warrior. Where is your fighting spirit, Glorfindel?" He sighed. "Gildor and I would be your friends, you have but to ask and we will do whatever we can to help."

Glorfindel looked up at him and quietly answered, "What is there to be done? I cannot change my lot in life, I did not ask for this Erestor. ‘Twould have been better had I stayed dead."

Erestor shook his head. "Nay, I disagree, Glorfindel. This is a new start for you, a chance to do all that you never had the chance to do before, a chance to learn from your previous life. Our lives are what we make them, mellonamin (my friend), make no mistake about that."

Glorfindel smiled weakly. "I am being pathetic." He sighed. "You are correct, Erestor. This is my chance, my chance to live my life as I would have had I not been burdened before." He patted the Counselor’s hand. "Now, if I could only get some sleep."

Erestor smiled. "Perhaps a nice goblet of fine brandy would help."

Glorfindel smiled in return. "Yes, I do believe that is just the remedy."

Erestor rose from the bed. "I will fetch it for you, I know Gildor keeps some here."

Glorfindel made to rise. "You need not wait on me, my Lord. I am not ill."

Erestor put up his hand. "Nonsense, let me do this for you. I need to feel like I am of some use."

Glorfindel smiled. "Alright then. Le hannon, hir nín (Thank you, my Lord)."

Erestor smiled and left the room to search for the brandy.

* * * *

When Gildor returned to his quarters, Glorfindel was once again asleep and Erestor sat in the chair across from the bed, watching him. He placed his hand on the Counselor’s shoulders and whispered, "How does he sleep, my Lord?"

Erestor smiled and mumbled to himself, "Beautifully…"

Gildor raised an eyebrow, hearing more than the Counselor intended. He pretended he had not and replied, "Pardon?"

Erestor took a deep breath and looked up at the elf Lord. "Peacefully, at last. I gave him some of your brandy, that seemed to do the trick."

Gildor nodded. "Aye, that will do the trick indeed. I think you should come speak with our newly arrived guests, my Lord. There is one among them that should have an audience with the High King."

Erestor rose from the chair and replied, "Who is it, Gildor?"

"Thranduil Oropherion, and the Queen, Idril. The Queen has been seriously wounded in an orc attack, we do not know if she will live. The Prince was wounded as well, but he will survive his injuries."

Erestor grabbed his cloak and made for the door. "What are they doing here?"

Gildor answered, "They were on their way to the Havens, the Queen was to sail west."

"Where are they now?"

Gildor held the door open for Erestor as he put on his cloak. "The Queen and her son are with the healers, their Captain, Amras, stands watch."

"This does not bode well for already strained relations between the High King and King Oropher. If his wife does not survive this, I fear he will blame us."

Gildor narrowed his eyes, knowing Erestor was correct, but failing to see the logic. However, logic was not a quality that Oropher was known to possess in great quantities. He closed the door behind them as he followed Erestor to the infirmary.

* * * *

Thranduil Oropherion sat on a stool beside his mother’s prone body, holding her hand. He was numb, having all but ignored the healers as they attended to his wounds, cleaning and bandaging the cuts and removing an arrowhead from his arm. Her breathing grew more and more shallow, her skin increasingly cold, and all he could do was hold her hand. He was vaguely aware of the healers scurrying around them, trying to do all they could to save her; but he knew, they were too late.

"I am sorry, Naneth…" he whispered to her unconscious form. "I failed to protect you, I let them take me first. Why can it not be me who lies in your place?" He took a deep shuddering breath. "I swear to you, I will kill every last orc in Arda to avenge your murder, or I will die trying."

Erestor and Gildor entered the room quietly, not wanting to disturb the young Prince in his moment of grief. Both Noldor had seen enough battle to know the look of one who was dying, and they could see she was rapidly slipping away.

Thranduil heard the last breath escape her body, a long, drawn out shuddering sound, and her limp hand slipped from his grasp. His tears wet the floor beneath his feet and he slowly rose from his stool, only to collapse into Gildor’s arms.

Gildor carried him to a narrow cot as the healers rushed to his side. They informed both him and Erestor that the Prince would recover, that he had collapsed from grief. Erestor and Gildor quietly left the Prince to recover and returned to speak with Amras.

* * * *

Glorfindel sat up in Gildor’s bed, rubbing his eyes. He had slept for several hours and slept deeply, and he stretched his still awakening limbs as he looked around the room. The elf Lord’s quarters were quiet and he quickly ascertained he was alone. He slowly rose from the wide bed and pulled on his clothes, sitting on the side of the bed as he pulled his boots up. He crossed to the bureau and looked in the mirror, starting to re-braid his hair before giving up and deciding to return to the barracks as he was. He wrote a note of thanks to Gildor for his hospitality and closed the door behind him as he left.

He barely avoided colliding with a chambermaid who gave him a strange look before he continued down the hall. As he rounded a corner he crashed into a young male elf and he grasped his arms to keep him from falling backward. He winced as he heard the elf hiss and saw the bandage upon his arm and immediately apologized, "Forgive me, meldir, I did not see you coming."

He furrowed his brow as he looked into the younger elf’s face, his skin was flushed and his eyes red. He touched the young elf’s cheek and his skin felt a bit clammy and he brushed his flaxen hair away from his face. "Are you alright, pen neth (young one)?"

The younger elf looked into the Vanya’s azure eyes and whispered, "I think so, I am trying to find the door. I wish to leave, I must find my father."

Glorfindel shook his head and replied, "You are in no condition to be traveling anywhere." He placed a supportive arm around the young elf and led him back to Gildor’s quarters. "Come, you need to lie down, you need to see a healer."

The young elf vainly tried to pull away. "No! I do not want to lie down! I have seen the healer, I want to go home!"

"Ssshh…. Alright, pen neth, no more healers. Come, I will take care of you, you will go home soon enough." He guided the young elf into Gildor’s quarters, closing the door behind him. He gently guided him to the bed and peeled off the filthy tunic he wore and retrieved the nightshirt he himself had worn. "Come, put this on and remove your soiled clothes."

The young elf did as instructed, merely because he had no more will to fight. He stripped his tunic and leggings after kicking off his boots, and pulled the nightshirt over his head. He sank into the soft mattress and sighed as the warrior pulled the covers up around him. He breathed in the heady scent of the nightshirt; it smelled like jasmine and cloves, deliciously sweet and spicy. "Who wore this last?" he asked sleepily.

Glorfindel smiled and whispered his reply, "I did. I apologize for not providing a clean one."

The young elf smiled and whispered, "’Tis all right, you smell good." He rolled to his uninjured side and sighed as he drifted into reverie.

Glorfindel sat beside him, wondering who this radiant youth was, his fingers trailing through hair as fine as silk and bright as spun gold. He could see that he was past his majority, that he was a warrior of some sort; he had an archer’s body, strong yet lean, beautiful in its efficiency. He distractedly thought it had been many years since he had seen one so purely beautiful, and he found it did his heart good to care for the young one. **Perhaps I have missed my calling,** he thought bemusedly, **Maybe I should be a healer…**

* * * *

It was near dawn when he returned from reverie. He blinked to focus his eyes and was met by the most striking sapphire gaze he had ever seen. Long fingers trailed through his unbound locks and his lips curved into a smile. The youth he had literally run into the night before was staring at him contentedly, his own pink lips gracefully curved into a smile. Despite the smile he wore, his eyes conveyed sadness and Glorfindel wondered what the cause of that sadness was. "Did you sleep well, meldir?" he asked softly.

The youth nodded and whispered, "Did you?"

Glorfindel realized it was the first time he had slept so much since being returned to his body. He smiled back. "Yes, very well. Are you feeling better?" He reached up and gently placed the back of his hand upon the youth’s forehead.

The young one smiled and whispered, "Aye, I am, thanks to you." The youth took a deep breath and sighed. "Are you a Vala?" he asked softly.

Glorfindel chuckled. "Nay, not a Vala. I am of the Vanyaran kindred. And what of you?"

The youth’s fingers brushed over his forehead. "A Sindar."

Glorfindel felt a strange, yet familiar sensation in his core at the touch of the youth’s fingers and his breath came roughly. He blinked slowly and opened his eyes to see that the young one had moved closer, his lips were slowly reaching for his own. "What are you doing, pen neth?" he whispered.

"Thanking you…" the youth whispered in reply.

Before he could utter another word, his lips were covered by those of the young beauty. Long fingers quested inside his open shirt and he shivered as they softly brushed over his nipples. A muffled moan escaped him as he felt the youth’s warm tongue slip past his lips, and he realized he was opening his mouth, drawing him in, drinking in his sweet taste. His arms encircled the lithe body; one hand traveling into the youth’s mussed hair, the other down to the curve of his lower back. The plaintive moan that the youth uttered reverberated throughout his entire being as he pulled the young one closer, careful not to handle him too roughly. **By Elbereth, he is addicting…** he thought to himself as he rolled to his back, cradling the youth in his arms as he continued to yield to his onslaught. **What am I doing?** his conscience screamed at him, and he pulled away, rolling the young one to his side and scrambling from the bed.

"What?" the young beauty asked with a frown. "Did I do something wrong? Do you not find me desirable?"

Glorfindel shook his head as if he were trying to emerge from a spell. He put his hand up and softly answered, "No, you did nothing wrong. It is just…"

"Just what?"

Glorfindel looked at the young beauty, sitting there in Gildor’s wide bed, the firelight causing his skin and hair to glow, the sheets pooled around his waist, the over-large nightshirt hanging off one shoulder. Never had he seen one so alluring, so decadently beautiful. He sat back down and traced the youth’s swollen lips with his fingers and sighed. "By Elbereth, you are a beauty," he whispered.

The youth smiled and reached for him, but he caught his hands and brought them to his lips instead. "You are injured, pen neth. It is too soon to be…"

The young one shook his head and smiled. "But this is exactly what I need, this is what will make me feel better."

Glorfindel smiled wryly. "Ai, you are stubborn, lirimaer."

The youth chuckled. "Yes, I get it from my father."

The warrior cocked his head and furrowed his brow. "I do not know your name…"

The youth opened his mouth to answer then stopped for a brief moment. He then replied, "Amras."

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes and replied, "Amras, is it?"

A sweetly innocent expression graced the youth’s features and he replied, "Yes, Amras."

The warrior smiled despite his furrowed brow, he could tell the youth was lying, but decided not to push it. "Well then, Amras. I shall seek you out later, I have rounds to make and I am expected on the training grounds after the breakfast hour."

"You are a soldier?" The youth asked with a smile.

"Aye," the warrior replied with a smile.

"Then I shall find you, for I plan to request admittance to the King’s archery corps."

Glorfindel bit back a chuckle. "Well then, Amras, we shall be seeing more of one another."

The youth pulled the warrior close and placed a soft kiss upon his lips. "That, I promise," he whispered against the warrior’s lips.

Glorfindel growled in mock frustration and rose from the bed, lacing his shirt closed. "Aiya, Amras, I fear you will be my destruction." He smiled as the youth laughed. "Stay as long as you like, Lord Gildor will return soon, but he will not object to you taking your rest here."

The youth frowned. "Is Lord Gildor your lover?"

Glorfindel smiled. "Nay, I have no lover. He is but a friend."

The youth shook his head. "That will not be true for long. You and I will be lovers, I can foresee it."

Glorfindel smiled broadly. "You can now? Well, fortunate am I that my soon to be lover as been blessed with sight." He gave the youth a quick kiss and pulled away before he could tempt him further. He left the room, casting one final glance over his shoulder and smiling at the young beauty that still sat in the middle of Gildor’s bed, before closing the door.

To be continued…

<><><>

April, 1693, Second Age, Lindon

Thranduil rose from the bed and picked up his tunic, looking at it with distaste. It was stained with the blood of orcs and elves and ruined beyond repair. He pulled on his leggings and boots and gathered the nightshirt up around his waist, tucking in what he could and tying the rest off in a knot at his waist. He was more than happy to leave it on, as it still smelled of his new friend. He crossed the room to the bureau and looked at himself in the mirror; his hair was disheveled and his braids were mussed, and a bruise was fading along his jaw from the battle two days before. As he took down his braids, he caught sight of a folded piece of parchment on the bureau with the name Gildor scribed on it. He picked it up and opened it, reading the contents; a note thanking said Gildor for his hospitality. He smiled as he saw the signature at the bottom. "Glorfindel…" he whispered. "Golden tress. Of course, a perfect name for so perfect a beauty," he whispered quietly, his fingers tracing over the script. He placed the note back where he found it, and quickly rebraided his hair as best he could without the proper tools to work with. He left Gildor’s quarters and returned to the infirmary.

* * * *

"Where is the Prince?" Erestor asked with some incredulity.

Amras and his followers had been frantically searching for Thranduil since they found him missing from the infirmary just past the midnight hour. "I do not know, my Lord. We have been searching for him all night." Amras answered, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He thought to himself that Thranduil would be the death of him before it was over; he always dreaded being assigned to the Prince’s person, it was a near impossible job to perform well.

Gildor shook his head in disbelief. "Well, we know he has not left the compound, not unless he possesses the magic needed to become invisible." He looked at the Captain. "How could you lose track of him? You were just outside the door?"

Amras flushed again and looked at the floor. "The Prince is crafty, my Lord, and does not take well to following orders. Once he has made up his mind on something, he is not easily swayed. He is very independent."

Erestor sighed. "Sounds like his father." He looked around the room before continuing, "Where would he have gone? Did he say anything to anyone?"

Gildor shook his head. "Nay, my Lord. We have questioned the healing staff, and none had spoken with him nor did they see him leave."

"I suppose they would not have, as I am trained to go without being seen."

The three elves turned around quickly to see the Prince standing in the doorway to the infirmary.

Amras bowed low. "Your majesty, we have been urgently seeking you throughout the palace."

Thranduil regarded his captain with some measure of impatience. "Yes, so I have heard. Interesting that I was able to walk in here without so much as a word from anyone." He turned his gaze to Erestor, who bowed his head. "Are you the one I should speak with to gain audience with the High King?"

Erestor nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I am Erestor, Chief Counselor and aide to the King’s Standard Bearer, Lord Elrond."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. "Do you consider it proper for me to go through such channels? I am not a commoner, Erestor."

Erestor took a deep, silent breath and answered. "I am well aware of that, my Lord. However, I am the first point of contact for the King, for commoners and royals alike."

Thranduil smirked; he liked the Counselor’s fortitude. "Very well then, I am requesting an audience with the High King, Gil-galad. As you have obviously surmised, I am Thranduil Oropherion, Prince of the realm of Greenwood the Great."

Erestor nodded. "Very well, my Lord. I will bring your request to his majesty’s attention immediately. In the meantime, my second, Lord Gildor, and I would like to express our condolences on your mother’s passing, and offer any assistance we may in seeing your party safely returned to your home."

Thranduil bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart. "My thanks to you and your people for the valiant efforts they made in trying to save my mother, and for your hospitality and protection."

Gildor stepped forward, bowing his head and placing his hand over his heart. "I am Gildor, my Lord. If I may be so bold, how did you escape the infirmary?"

Thranduil looked the elf over before answering, "Escape? Was I under arrest?"

Gildor shook his head. "No, of course not, my Lord. However, you were wounded and had just suffered a great loss. We were concerned about your safety and well being."

Thranduil raised and eyebrow. "I see. Well, let me assure you, Lord Gildor, that I am very capable of taking care of myself. To answer your question, I climbed into a laundry cart and waited until it was left unattended in the hallway. I then crept out and made my way toward what I thought, in my weary state, was the door to the palace. However, I became lost and a friend found me and took care of me." He smiled to himself as he recalled the warrior’s kiss.

Gildor and Erestor looked at each other with surprised expressions then turned back to the Prince. Erestor answered, "Did you happen to get this friend’s name?"

Thranduil shook his head. "I am afraid not, I was so weary that I did not ask. When I awoke this morning I was alone."

Erestor furrowed his brow. "Well, we are relieved to find your majesty safe and rested. I will arrange for proper quarters for you this evening. Please, if you will follow me, I will see your party fed and quarters prepared."

Thranduil nodded. "Thank you, my Lord." He placed a hand upon Erestor’s shoulder. "Would it be possible to see the training grounds and have a tour of your barracks today? I find myself most at home with other soldiers."

Erestor frowned slightly. "Why of course, my Lord. If you wish."

Thranduil and party followed Erestor from the infirmary toward the guest wing of the palace.

* * * *

It was sometime past the midday hour when Glorfindel left the archery range and returned to his bunk. He arrived to find his gear packed up and sitting at the edge of his bed. He frowned and looked around him and saw Gildor enter the room.

"Ah, mae govannen, mellonamin." Gildor smiled as he approached the warrior.

Glorfindel looked from the bunk to his friend and back again. "Am I being dismissed so soon?"

Gildor chuckled. "Nay, Glorfindel. You are being promoted."

Glorfindel laughed heartily. "After my superior performance yesterday afternoon?"

Gildor smiled. "Erestor thinks he can make better use of your talents leading and training a regiment. You are to partner with him on matters of training and military strategy. We have arranged for more fitting quarters, near his. I took the liberty of packing your things so we could move you as soon as possible."

Glorfindel nodded and looked at the ground. "He thinks I am a weakness on the field. I suppose I cannot disagree. Well, I do know something of tactics and training, I could be of some use in this area." He turned to Gildor. "Lead on, mellonamin."

He followed Gildor to his new living quarters.

* * * *

"Where is he now?" Elrond asked his Counselor.

"He is taking a tour of the training grounds with Gildor. He is scheduled to meet with the High King just before the dinner hour."

Elrond shook his head. "When will his party be prepared to return to Greenwood?"

Erestor sighed. "Several are wounded and will need several days to recover enough to travel. They will need an escort, my Lord. There are too few of them to fight off another attack should one happen. The Prince is a target for murder or abduction."

Elrond nodded. "Aye, such is the lot of one born to royal blood. The Dark Lord is preparing to make war. I sense a black cloud on the horizon, I fear we will all be in peril soon." He rose from his chair and walked to the window. "Any word from Celebrimbor?"

Erestor shook his head. "Nay, my Lord, not yet."

Elrond turned and looked at Erestor. "I would speak with the Prince before he meets with the King. He may be able to provide us some information on goings on in the east; the realm of Rhovanion is closest to the Dark Lord’s evil. Tell him I request an audience."

Erestor bowed. "Yes, my Lord, right away." He turned and left to seek out the Prince.

* * * *

Glorfindel strode down the hall, returning to his new quarters from his second shift of duty when a pair of hands covered his eyes from behind. He stopped in his tracks and furrowed his brow, trying to discern who would do this to him. A smile played about his lips when the answer came and he heard a soft, hushed voice in his ear.

"I hear tell you have new quarters. I would like to see them…"

He gently removed the hands from his eyes and turned to see his lovely young admirer. "Mae govannen, Amras. You look well this afternoon."

His young friend smiled at him. "Well, it is your doing. I am so overtaken with joy by the mere sight of you that I can barely contain my excitement."

Glorfindel chuckled. "Is that so?"

Thranduil leaned in close. "It is so. I would show you just how happy I am to see you, if you would show me to your quarters."

Glorfindel’s breath hitched in his chest and he felt that familiar heat flare in his core again. "Right this way, mellonamin." He took his young friend by the hand and led him to his chamber.

He held the door open for the young elf and thought to himself, **my chance to do all I had not done before…** He closed the door behind him and looked at the young beauty who stood by the bed. He watched his long archer’s fingers trace the coverlet and gazed upon the curve of a muscular shoulder that peeked out from the overlarge nightshirt he still wore. He slowly walked toward him, his heart pounding in his chest, a slow, steady throbbing building in his loins. He reached out and caressed the curve of that shoulder, and watched his head fall back and his eyes close. He pressed his mouth to it and shivered at the delicious sigh that escaped his lovely friend’s lips.

"Mmm… you taste sweet, lirimaer." He crooned.

His friend sighed as he turned in his grasp, guiding the warrior’s lips to his own. "As do you, malthen maethor."

He covered the Thranduil’s lips with his own, pressing a hungry and burning kiss to them. He moaned into the kiss as he felt his new lover unbutton his tunic and his hands slide inside, over his long ignored skin. He was afire with want, his hands running down the youth’s long back and over the swell of his perfect backside. He kneaded the muscles in his hands as he clasped him tighter still, plundering the Prince’s mouth with his tongue. They broke from their kiss; both aroused beyond reason. His fingers traced over the swollen lips of the Sinda as he stared into eyes the color of the midnight sky. "You are beautiful, pen neth (young one)," he whispered.

"No more than you, Glorfindel." Thranduil replied.

The warrior furrowed his brow and whispered, "I do not recall telling you my name. How do you come to know it?"

The Prince smiled. "I am wise as well as beautiful. Discovering your name was easy enough, you left a note on the bureau of Lord Gildor’s room, upon it was your signature."

Glorfindel smiled in return. "Ah, crafty as well as beautiful and wise. How did I come to be so lucky?"

Thranduil nipped his bottom lip before continuing, "Perhaps you have earned it from deeds done in the past?" The warrior’s expression sobered and his grip on him loosened. "What is it, my beauty? Did I say something wrong?"

Glorfindel smiled again and caressed his face. "No, lirimaer, you did not, I am fine." His hands drifted to his waist. "Come, let us take off this nightshirt… you have worn it long enough."

Thranduil sighed as he felt the shirt slide over his head and off his arms, and purred at the sensation of the warrior’s warm hands on his bare skin. "By Elbereth, you feel so good, Glorfindel," he whispered.

Glorfindel playfully growled, "No better than you taste, mir nín (my treasure)."

Thranduil’s fingers sought the tie to the warrior’s leggings and tugged it loose, earning him an appreciative growl from the warrior as the string popped free. He slid his hands beneath the soft cotton and over the warm flesh covering his buttocks. He could feel his own arousal beginning to throb as he explored the warrior’s body, his hands caressing every curve. He moaned as he felt his own leggings slide past his hips and his length spring free. Glorfindel’s wicked mouth moved to his ear and he moaned wantonly, struggling to kick his boots off and break free of his leggings.

"Aniron lle, hir nín (I want you, my Lord)," he whispered.

Glorfindel assaulted his lover’s ear with his mouth, as he clasped the youth tighter, desperate to feel his flesh next to his own. "And you shall have me, my beauty," he whispered raggedly. He guided his lover to the bed and flung his unbuttoned tunic to the floor before kicking off his boots and peeling off his leggings.

Thranduil purred in delight as the warrior’s sculpted body was revealed to him, and he thought he had never seen one so beautiful in his life. He held his arms wide as his lover crawled across the bed to him and lowered himself upon him. He wrapped his arms around Glorfindel as he again tasted the warrior’s heated kiss and arched against him.

Glorfindel shivered as his lover’s fingers traced the scar along his side, the Prince’s brow furrowed as he looked upon it.

"Does it still hurt?" Thranduil asked.

"From time to time," he answered.

"I will make it stop," his lover whispered softly.

He moaned desperately as Thranduil’s lips caressed the length of the scar, and tears fell from his eyes as the gentle beauty placed soft kisses along its length.

Thranduil looked up at his lover’s glistening eyes and whispered, "Is that better?"

Glorfindel looked down at him. "Yes, a’maelamin, so very much." He reached for him and drew those soft lips back up to his own, pressing a long, slow, passionate kiss to him.

They grappled with one another, hands and mouths questing, exploring, and teasing. Not one inch of the bed was left untouched as they rolled over one another, driving one another on to what seemed impossible heights of desire. Thranduil groaned as the warrior took him in his mouth, relentlessly sucking him, consuming him as he tangled his fingers in the warrior’s golden mane. He whimpered as the warrior’s mouth left his over-heated arousal and his warm, wet tongue lapped at the soft skin that lay beneath. He cried out and arched again as Glorfindel’s tongue breached his body, probing, slicking, testing his virgin entrance.

As a Prince, it would not be proper to let anyone beneath his station use him thusly, or so he had been taught. So he had never allowed another to touch him like this, never allowed another to take him as this warrior prepared to do. But, as a soldier, he could allow it, and as the young soldier he pretended to be, he would be expected to permit one of Glorfindel’s stature to be the dominant partner. It was unknown ground he walked upon now, and he found the mixture of excitement and apprehension more arousing than he would have imagined.

As the warrior snaked his way back up his body, Thranduil trembled with both desire and fear. He placed his hands on his lover’s face and drew him into a kiss, tangling his fingers in his hair as he yielded to the warrior and gave him dominion over his body. Glorfindel rose just long enough to fumble through his pack and retrieve a vial of massage oil before returning to the bed and kneeling above his lover. He spread the oil over his rigid arousal with one hand and slowly reached between the Prince’s legs, sliding one finger inside him.

Thranduil cried out and arched against the bed, wadding the coverlet in his fists as he tried to accept the strange intrusion. The slight burning he felt began to fade and he relaxed, only to have it return as a second finger was added; this time the burning was more intense but he forced himself to relax again and was able to accept it.

Glorfindel slowly rotated his fingers, scissoring, stretching, and spreading the oil deep inside his lover. He removed his fingers and placed his arousal at the Prince’s entrance, he looked into his eyes and whispered, "Are you ready for me, mir nín (my treasure)?"

Thranduil nodded and took a deep breath and let it out, silently telling himself to relax. He cried out as the warrior entered his body and he felt tears begin to prick at the back of his eyes. He was being stretched beyond what he ever imagined he could bear, the burning was intense and he felt his muscles clench tight around the rigid length that impaled his body.

The minute Glorfindel sheathed himself completely in the Prince’s body he knew he was the first to have done so. He remained perfectly still and waited for his lover to accept him. He berated himself for not seeing this was the youth’s first time, and for not handling him more carefully. He closed his eyes and lowered his face to his lover, his hands stroking Thranduil’s flushed cheeks. "Sshh, a’maelamin. Just relax and breathe, I promise you, it will feel better."

Thranduil nodded and ran his trembling hands into the warrior’s hair. "Kiss me, Glorfindel, "he whispered.

Glorfindel slowly and lovingly kissed his young beauty, his tongue gently questing inside Thranduil’s sweet mouth, slowly caressing his lover’s tongue with his own. He heard the Prince moan into the kiss and felt him begin to shift beneath him, and he withdrew a small amount and pressed back in, testing to see if his lover was ready. The Prince moaned again and moved beneath him and he withdrew a little more before delving back in. He trembled as he felt his lover’s body mercilessly squeeze him; his delicious velvet heat was utterly addicting. Slowly but surely he began to thrust in and withdraw as one hand slid down the Prince’s stomach and took his arousal, slowly pumping it in time with his thrusts. He heard Thranduil moan plaintively in his ear and he increased his motion on his arousal and angled his hips. He smiled against his lover’s ear as he felt him arch against him and heard him cry out into his hair.

Thranduil’s fingers dug into the warrior’s back as a sensation unlike anything he had that he ever felt before roared through his body. "Again… more…" he whispered breathlessly.

The warrior flexed his hips and angled for his target with each thrust, his lover’s cries driving him onward. He groaned as Thranduil found his release, and he spilled himself inside his tightening body. He nearly collapsed upon his lover and felt his trembling hands draw slow circles upon his back; his fingers sliding through the sweat that slicked his skin. He reveled in the warm afterglow of his spent passion, in the warmth of his lover’s body, in the comfort of his loving embrace. "Thank you, mellonamin," he whispered into the Prince’s ear.

Thranduil stroked his hair and hugged him tight. "Do not ever leave me, Glorfindel. I want to feel this way, always," he whispered.

As the warrior slipped from Thranduil’s body, he rolled to the side, drawing his lover with him into an embrace. Thranduil snuggled close to him, basking in the warmth and comfort of Glorfindel’s arms.

* * * *

After a short nap, Thranduil quietly extricated himself from Glorfindel’s arms and dressed. He silently left the warrior’s chamber, taking care to ensure he was not seen before returning to his own to bathe and change for his meeting with the King.

To be continued…

<><><>

April, 1693, Second Age, Lindon

Thranduil emerged from his quarters and made for Erestor’s office. He had bathed and changed into the tunic and leggings he had planned to say goodbye to his mother in. His hair was braided, and he wore a medallion around his neck that spoke of his office. Few that had seen him that morning would recognize him now, dressed in dark green velvet and silver silk, every part the prince. He strode down the hall, tall and proud, caring little for those who took notice of him. He stood before the Counselor’s door and knocked firmly before hearing the invitation to enter.

Erestor looked up from his work to see the Prince of Greenwood standing before him in formal attire. He rose from his chair and placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head in respect. He had half his staff searching for the Prince yet again for a good part of the afternoon, then, true to form, the Prince just appeared at his office door. "My Lord, my Lord Elrond requests to speak with you before you meet with our King. Would this be permissible?"

Thranduil narrowed his eyes for a moment, then replied, "Of course, lead the way, Counselor."

Thranduil followed the Noldo from his office, down the hall to meet with Lord Elrond.

* * * *

Glorfindel awoke and rolled over, reaching out for his lover’s warm body and finding the bed empty. He frowned as he sat up and looked around the room, finding the young one gone. He stretched and yawned as he realized he was no longer having difficulty sleeping; in fact, he seemed to be sleeping a little too much. He rose from the bed and wrapped a robe around him before building a fire in the hearth and putting a large kettle on to boil water for a bath. He then crossed to his bureau and unpacked the few personal belongings he brought with him, retrieving his comb as he began to work it through his hair.

He smiled as he took note of the disheveled state he was in; the young lad had truly tumbled him well. He chuckled to himself as he remembered the young one’s teasing glances, then smiled as he remembered his soft caress. His fingers trailed down his side, along the length of his scar and he sighed when he remembered how delicious the young beauty’s lips felt upon it. "Aiya, Amras, or whatever your name is… you have made a mess of me, melethron," he whispered to the empty room. He sat in a large overstuffed chair by the fire as he waited for the water to boil, his hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed. He shifted when he thought of his lover’s decadent heat, how tight he was, and how yielding. He whispered to himself, "You have been bewitched, mellon, bewitched by a fair youth… so fair a youth."

A soft knock upon the door caused the warrior’s lips to curve into a smile. "Come..." he called as he rose from his chair, expecting to see his young lover. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the chambermaid enter, and he wrapped his robe around himself tighter and tied it closed.

She averted her eyes and blushed prettily. "Forgive me, my Lord. I did not know…"

Glorfindel blushed a little himself, and answered, "’Tis alright, meldis. Enter."

She bowed slightly and continued, "Lord Erestor has requested that I deliver a few things to your chamber to make you more comfortable. I have some extra blankets and pillows, and some candles, and flowers to freshen the air."

Glorfindel bid her enter. "Please, come in. Go about your work, you are not disturbing me."

The chambermaid made her way around the room, placing lanterns, candles, and vases with flowers here and there. She placed extra blankets and pillows in a large armoire and finally brought out a long robe, colored in gold and cream and pale green and hung it in the other side of the armoire.

"What is that?" the warrior asked.

"That is a robe Lord Erestor had made for you to wear on formal occasions, such as this evening," she replied.

The warrior raised an eyebrow. "This evening? What is this evening?"

She answered, "A delegation arrived unexpectedly from Greenwood just yesterday. The Prince, Thranduil Oropherion, arrived with them and the High King is throwing a small dinner in his honor. Lord Erestor said you should attend. Half the seamstresses in the palace worked on this robe to finish it in time. I hope it meets your Lord’s approval."

He fingered the lush fabric and nodded. "Indeed it does."

She produced a carved wooden box. "Lord Gildor asked that I deliver this to you. He said you would need it this evening."

He took the box and nodded. "Thank you, meldis."

She blushed again and bowed. "I will leave you to your preparation, my Lord." She exited the room quietly.

He opened the box and found several jeweled clips inside. He slowly removed one and held it up. A lump formed in his throat as he turned it over in his fingers. They were his clips, ones he had once used as Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. How Gildor came to take possession of them, he did not know, and he wondered how many other things his good friend would surprise him with.

He heard the water begin to boil in the kettle and he placed the thick leather glove on his hand, lifting the heavy kettle and pouring the contents into the bath. He then refilled it from the pump in the corner of his room and heated the second batch.

Finally, he sank into the warm bath, finding an assortment of soaps and scented oils on a tray beside the large tub. He dunked his head beneath the water and applied shampoo, washing his hair and skin clean before finally emerging from the warm water. He dried himself with the plush cloths left by the chambermaid and walked to the armoire, retrieving the robe and laying it across the foot of his bed. He in the large chair, combing through his wet hair and allowing it to dry with the heat of the fire.

His thoughts drifted to his days in Gondolin, of his fine home, his stable of horses, to those who worked in his house and those who were his friends, to the one he once loved. "They are all dead and gone," he whispered. His house was in ruins, his homeland destroyed and lying at the bottom of the sea. All that was left of those days were six small, jeweled clips in a wooden box.

His thoughts then turned to his lover. He was sure that he was part of the delegation from Greenwood, and suspected their sudden arrival had something to do with trouble, considering the state his young friend had been in when he found him. He wondered again who this young beauty was, a soldier in the Prince’s service perhaps… His nimble fingers braided his hair and he began placing the clips in it as he worked.

* * * *

Thranduil sat across from Lord Elrond in his stately office. The Standard Bearer to the King observed his guest with some curiosity before finally speaking. "Let me offer my condolences to you, your majesty, for the loss of your mother."

Thranduil nodded. "Le hannon, Lord Elrond, it is much appreciated."

Elrond continued, "I was hoping you could provide some information to me, my Lord."

Thranduil sat back in his chair, his legs crossed and his hands in his lap. "What sort of information, Lord Elrond?"

"I believe the Dark Lord is gathering strength in the east. There has been rumor that he is building a fortress in the Land of Mordor," he replied. He rested his folded hands upon the desk and leaned forward. "I had hoped you would be able to shed some light upon this rumor."

Thranduil sighed. "I have not been to Mordor, Elrond, nor have any of my kin, so what goes on beyond the lands just east of our forest is unknown to us; we do not venture far from the great wood. What I can tell you is this, smoke pours from Orodruin ceaselessly, and those who roam the lands east of our borders do so at great risk." He looked down at his hands. "I have had dreams of late…"

Elrond swallowed. "What sort of dreams, your majesty?"

Thranduil returned his gaze to the Peredhil. "Evil dreams, dark dreams. My mother was plagued with them as well." He sighed. "’Twas why she left our lands for the west, she feared evil was coming."

Elrond answered softly, "What do you see in these dreams, my Lord?"

Thranduil closed his eyes. "The eastern sky grows dark. Swarms of black death pour from the mountains in the east, fires in my homeland, black death swallows all in its path." He took a deep breath and continued, "Scores of elves and men in a great battle upon the eastern plains, death all around. My father thinks they are childish nightmares, caused by rash talk from my mother. He does not believe there is an evil great enough to destroy the elves, now that Morgoth has been banished. He doubts the strength of the Dark Lord, Sauron. He counts him as no more than a petty servant to a exiled master." Elrond sighed and shook his head. The Prince continued, "I answered him that to underestimate an enemy is to look for our own downfall, but he dismissed me."

Elrond answered quietly, "You disagree with your father then?"

Thranduil nodded. "Aye, though to tell you this is to risk much on my part. If my father knew I openly disagreed with him, he would surely punish me."

Elrond smiled wryly. "You are wise, young Thranduil, and you are right. Sauron is not to be underestimated. However, your secret is safe with me, I will tell no one that you hold such an opinion."

Thranduil looked at his lap for a moment. "Is the King in need of good soldiers, Lord Elrond? For I have no more reason to return home, now that my mother is gone."

Elrond looked kindly upon the young Prince. "You do not wish to return to your father?"

Thranduil shook his head. "Nay, good Lord. I am but a burden to him and no comfort. I am well trained in both archery and use of a sword, I can ride better than any in my realm…"

Elrond smiled gently. "I will speak to the King about it on your behalf, my Lord."

Thranduil nodded. "Many thanks, Lord Elrond. I will not forget your kindness."

Elrond nodded and smiled. He rose from his chair. "We should go to meet the King now, my Lord. Will you follow me?"

Thranduil smiled and followed the elf Lord into the King’s private quarters.

* * * *

Glorfindel emerged from his quarters, adorned in his formal robes, with his hair braided as he had once done long ago. He closed the door behind him and turned to meet Gildor in the hallway.

"Mae govannen, mellonamin," the Noldo Lord said quietly. "You look stunning, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel smiled and placed a hand upon his friend’s shoulder. "Mae govannen, mellon. Attending the dinner tonight?" he questioned, noting his friend’s formal attire.

Gildor smiled and nodded. "Aye, it will be you and I, Erestor, Lord Elrond, the Prince of Greenwood, Thranduil Oropherion, and the High King himself." As they started down the hall Gildor clasped his hands behind his back. "So, what have you been up to this afternoon? You have been in your quarters all day, I assume?"

Glorfindel nodded and smiled. "Yes, I was resting. It seems I am no longer plagued by nightmares and I have been catching up on much lost sleep." He turned to face his friend. "By the way, I received the package you sent me this afternoon." He motioned to his hair. "Just how did you happen to come by these? I thought all remnants of my old life were lost."

Gildor reached up and gently touched one of the combs. "Aahh.. they are lovely, mellon. I was part of a search party sent in shortly after the orcs vacated the city. We were looking for any survivors. Unfortunately, we found none. However, I was able to rescue a few things from your home, as I was assigned to that area. I have a few more of your belongings in my quarters that I am happy to be able to return to you."

Glorfindel smiled. "And I am eager to receive them. This is an excellent copy, by the way, of my original ceremonial gowns."

Gildor laughed. "Lord Elrond is quite the lore master, Glorfindel. There is little he does not know about you or your city." He clasped his friend by the elbow. "Come, mellonamin, let us get there before the best wine is consumed."

Glorfindel chuckled and followed his friend as their pace quickened toward the King’s private dining room.

* * * *

The meeting between Lord Elrond, Gil-galad, and Thranduil had been successful. The King expressed his condolences and Thranduil graciously accepted them. Much of the conversation centered around goings on in Greenwood the Great and eventually turned toward the subject of impending war. Thranduil informed the King and Elrond that they had seen no sign of Sauron’s evil in Eriador until they crossed the river Baranduin. From that point they were tracked by a pack of warg riders until they were finally attacked some fifty miles east of Lindon. Lord Elrond informed them that Amras had been of the opinion that the purpose of the attack had been to kidnap the Queen and her son, but Thranduil disagreed. He stated the orcs had but one purpose, to murder each and every elf in the traveling company; they showed no intention of leaving anyone alive. After lengthy discussion the three elves adjourned for dinner in the next room.

Glorfindel was standing by the wine table near the door, chatting with Gildor and sipping his wine when the three came in the room. He set down his goblet and prepared to greet the Prince when he found himself face to face with his lover. Without thinking, he placed his hand upon the Prince’s shoulder and drew him into an embrace. "Amras! What are you doing here?"

Thranduil’s eyes widened in surprise and he found himself also embracing the warrior, suddenly wanting nothing more than to bury his face in those shining golden locks forever.

Erestor nearly dropped his goblet and exclaimed, "Glorfindel! What are you doing? Unhand the Prince immediately!"

Gildor, Gil-galad, and Elrond stood by in a state of disbelief. The warrior’s lack of decorum was utterly shocking.

Glorfindel’s heart skipped a beat when the truth of the matter sank in. **Now, how to cover this up?** he wondered to himself. He released the Prince, who was also at a bit of a loss as to what to do next, and bowed low, taking his hand and kissing a ring that bore the signet of his house upon it. "Forgive me, my Lord. Your resemblance to one I once knew is overwhelming. I have forgotten my place. I meant no offense."

Gildor chimed in, "He has been tired, your highness. He traveled far to come here and has had little rest since he arrived."

Thranduil took a deep breath and struggled to regain his composure. He smiled and answered as formally as he could, "No offense taken, Lord Glorfindel. I have often been told I remind others of ones they know. Please, rise."

Glorfindel stood up and looked his lover in the eye, trying to maintain his composure and his temper. "Many thanks, my Lord. ‘Tis an honor to meet you."

Thranduil smiled. "No, the honor is mine, Lord Glorfindel. ‘Tis not everyday I am introduced to so honorable a Lord."

Gildor let out the breath he had been holding as Erestor grasped the doorway to steady himself. Elrond merely chuckled and Gil-galad shook his head in mild disbelief. The party took their seats at the table and the first course of dinner was brought in.

* * * *

After a lengthy dinner, during which Glorfindel was seated next to Gildor, two seats down from the Prince, they adjourned to the King’s study to partake of some fine brandy by the fire. Each moment was more excruciating for Glorfindel; he had so many questions he needed answers to, namely, why his lover had masqueraded as someone other than who he was.

After several hours of conversation, the Prince rose and excused himself for the night, citing near exhaustion from the disastrous journey. Several minutes later, the gathering adjourned for the evening and each elf Lord made their way to their respective quarters. As they stepped into the hallway, Gildor chuckled, "Well, that was an interesting evening." He turned to Glorfindel. "Perhaps you should take the day off tomorrow, mellonamin. I believe exhaustion has impaired your judgement."

Erestor caught the warrior’s arm. "Just what was that in there, Glorfindel? How do you know the Prince?"

Glorfindel feigned innocence and answered, "But I do not, my Lord. I had never set eyes upon him until this evening. As I said, he reminded me of another."

Erestor frowned and answered, "Indeed. Well, perhaps Gildor is right. Take the day off from your duties tomorrow. I will see you in my office after the breakfast hour the following day."

Glorfindel thought to protest, then decided otherwise. Having the day off would give him an opportunity to question his lover further. "Thank you, my Lord," he replied. He bowed his head in farewell and turned toward his chamber.

* * * *

As he entered his chamber, he found the room dimly let by the fire in the fireplace. As he looked to his bed he found his young lover, whom he now knew to be the Prince of Greenwood, stretched out on top of his coverlet wearing nothing but a thin velvet gown. He furrowed his brow, unsure as to whether he should throttle the young Prince or ravish him; he was indeed of rare beauty.

"My Lord…" he bowed his head in respect.

Thranduil groaned. "Now this is exactly why I did not want you to know who I was. Now you are going to treat me differently."

Glorfindel stalked toward the bed and flopped on the edge. "What do you expect me to do, my Lord? You are of royal blood, you are above my station, to do anything else would be…"

Thranduil sat up and grasped the collar of the warrior’s robe in his hands and pressed a bruising kiss to the warrior’s lips.

As they broke their kiss the warrior continued, "When I think of how I handled you this afternoon, how I…"

Another bruising kiss, this time he pressed his tongue inside the warrior’s mouth, plundering its depths and earning a moan from the warrior. With that, Glorfindel was silenced and he gazed into Thranduil’s eyes. The Prince answered, "You did exactly what I wanted you to do, Glorfindel. Now please, I beg you, do not treat me as if I were some rare historical object, and do not address me as ‘my Lord’ again."

Glorfindel smiled. "Yes, m… Thranduil."

The Prince smiled and caressed his lover’s face. "By Elbereth, Glorfindel, you are radiant."

Glorfindel smiled and whispered, "As are you, melethron." He leaned forward and lowered his lover to the bed, covering the Prince’s body with his own as tasted his sweet mouth.

To be continued…

<><><>

April, 1693, Second Age, Lindon

Glorfindel awoke on his stomach with Thranduil draped across his back, his soft lips resting on his shoulder blade. He smiled in satisfaction as he enjoyed the warm press of his lover’s body upon his own. He awkwardly turned his head, and looked at the long window high up on the wall next to the fireplace and saw Anar’s bright light begin to shine through, casting a bright rectangle upon the floor. It suddenly occurred to him that there may be those looking for the Prince. He whispered, "Thranduil, wake, meleth. It is morning, someone might be looking for you."

Thranduil moaned quietly as he began to stir, his fingers drifting down the warrior’s arm to his hand and interlacing in Glorfindel’s own.

"Thranduil, melethron, wake…" Glorfindel tried to rise and earned a grumble from the Prince.

Thranduil shifted so that he lay completely on top of his warrior, and rolled his pelvis so that his awakening arousal slid between Glorfindel’s buttocks.

Glorfindel’s breath hitched as the sensation of his lover’s stiffening arousal brushed between his legs, his own responding and swelling beneath his body.

"Not yet…" Thranduil grumbled. "I want to stay in bed awhile, I am weary and need some special attention." He smiled sleepily against the warrior’s shoulder blade.

Glorfindel smiled and squirmed beneath him, arching his powerful back and pressing his backside against the Prince’s groin. "What sort of attention would you need, my liege?"

"Well…" Thranduil purred, "A little more of that could not hurt."

Glorfindel chuckled. "This?" he undulated teasingly beneath his lover, a delicious shiver coursing through him as Thranduil responded in kind, rocking his hips forward and back.

The Prince’s head shifted so that he buried his face in the warrior’s hair. "Mmm, yes, that is the remedy for all that ails me, my warrior," he purred into Glorfindel’s ear, his tongue darting out and teasing the curve.

Glorfindel whispered, "Do you propose to have me as I have had you, my Lord?"

Thranduil smiled and growled in his ear, "Ah, now that is a thought. I would very much like to have that privilege."

Glorfindel closed his eyes and moaned quietly as Thranduil continued to tease him to full arousal with his lips upon his ear and his arousal sliding between the cleft of his buttocks. He felt the Prince’s hands grasp his own, Thranduil’s fingers entwining in his and pulling his hands above his head. He arched against his lover, his body newly reawakened to pleasure after so long without it. The sensuous movement of his lover against him caused the pace of his heart to quicken and his arousal to quiver as it was crushed against the bed. Thranduil’s seductive moans and sighs flooded his senses, swirling around him like mist, enveloping him like a warm blanket. "Aniron lle (I desire you)," he whispered breathlessly.

Thranduil moaned as he drew the point of his lover’s ear between his lips, gently suckling it as the warrior began to writhe beneath him. "Say you will be mine, Glorfindel," he whispered.

"I am yours, melethron," Glorfindel replied.

"I have long wished for a lover like you, malthen maethor," the Prince answered. "One who knows what I want without me telling them, one who does not seek to bend to my will." His breath came heavy, as his arousal grew slick with the beginnings of his release. "I want to bury myself within you, melethron, and I want you to be buried in me."

Glorfindel moaned as he spread his legs and arched his back, offering himself to his lover. "Uma (yes)…" he whispered. "Fill me, Thranduil."

A sharp knock upon the door caused the warrior to groan in frustration. Thranduil whispered in his ear, "Ignore them, they will leave if you do not answer…"

"Glorfindel?" Erestor’s voice called from the other side of the door. "Are you awake, mellonamin?"

Glorfindel replied to the Prince, "He will not leave until I answer. Let me up and I will send him away."

Thranduil pressed his lover to the bed further, increasing his motion against his lover’s backside and strengthening the grip on his wrists. "If they find me here, we will have no peace. Call to him and send him away, my beauty," he whispered into the warrior’s ear.

"Glorfindel? Are you all right? Are you ill?" Erestor called again.

The warrior took a deep breath and struggled to maintain the tenor of his voice as the Prince tormented him beyond reason. "Nay, Erestor, I am not ill" he answered. I am in the bath."

"Have you seen Prince Thranduil? His guard are anxiously looking for him, it appears he has gone missing again." The Counselor replied.

"I have not seen the Prince, I have just risen. Perhaps he is taking a walk," Glorfindel replied.

Erestor pressed his ear to the door, his brow furrowed. He swore he heard another in there with the warrior. "Very well, I am sorry that I disturbed you on your day of rest, mellonamin. Perhaps we can lunch together later?"

Glorfindel trembled with want; Thranduil’s tormenting caress was driving him mad. "Yes," he answered with a voice that was beginning to betray him. "I would like that, I will seek you out."

Erestor stepped back from the door. "Good, I will look for you in my office around midday. Again, so sorry to have disturbed you."

Glorfindel held his breath and focused his warrior’s ear on the doorway, finally hearing Erestor’s soft footfalls lead away from his door and down the hall. He felt one of Thranduil’s hands leave his wrists and slide in between their bodies, the Prince’s fingers seeking his entrance. He groaned into the pillow as his lover slid his fingers inside his trembling body and caressed the curve of his ear with his tongue.

"Mmm… well done, melethron nín," the Prince purred. "I will instruct my soldiers not to bother me when I am with my lover. I cannot tolerate distractions when I wish to focus all my attentions on you."

"Are you sure you should let others know of our relationship?" the warrior questioned in hushed tones. He shuddered as Thranduil’s fingers left his body, and the Prince’s hands grasped his hips, pulling him to his hands and knees. He groaned as those fingers were replaced with the Prince’s slick length.

Thranduil moaned as he sheathed himself in Glorfindel’s powerful body and buried himself to the hilt in his heat. He thrust in and out slowly, leisurely entering his lover as he whispered to him, "I am proud of you, Glorfindel, proud that you choose to share yourself with me, proud that you would choose me as your lover… I want the world to know of it."

Glorfindel cried out and arched against his lover as Thranduil flexed his hips and found his target. His body was flooded with sensations; his flesh tingled beneath the Prince’s touch. All coherent though left his mind as Thranduil struck his mark again and again, and he felt the Prince’s long fingers wrap around his arousal, stroking it in time with his thrusts as he pushed deeper inside the warrior’s body. The Prince’s tempo increased as he drove further in, and Glorfindel cried out as he found his release, and heard Thranduil’s deep growl as he spilled himself inside his body. He held both their bodies off the bed as Thranduil collapsed upon him, the Prince’s trembling hands caressing his shoulders and arms. He slowly lowered himself to the bed, rolling over underneath Thranduil’s limp form and cradling him in his arms.

His mind swam as he stroked the length of silken gold in his fingers and felt the Prince’s long arms hold him close. **This is not my lot in life, to be the lover of a Prince,** he thought to himself. He took a deep breath and whispered to his lover, "I am a soldier, my Lord. I perform my service on the battlefield, not in the bed. I do not believe Mandos returned me to be the lover of a Prince, no matter how wonderful and beautiful that Prince may be."

Thranduil sat up and looked at his lover. In the short time he had known him, it had not occurred to him who the warrior truly was. His hands reached out and caressed the warrior’s face. **Glorfindel, Glorfindel of Gondolin…**, his mind raced as he realized who the warrior truly was for the first time. Since his earliest days he had been told stories of the Fall of Gondolin as well as the tale of the fall of his own kindred’s King. "How could I have not seen it?" he whispered. "Your name, the scar… how could I have overlooked who you really are?"

Glorfindel smiled sadly. "I suppose this is the end for us, is it not? To have an aberration such as myself for a lover is not fitting for one of your stature."

Thranduil sat up fully, straddling his lover’s waist and taking his face in his hands. "You are not an aberration, Glorfindel; you are a blessing. How could you not see that? How could you not know what you truly are?"

Glorfindel smiled and covered Thranduil’s hand with his own. "I know that I died, and that for a reason beyond my comprehension, my body was brought back to life and my spirit housed within it once again. I was sent here, to Lindon to serve the High King; I can have no other master, Thranduil, my life is pledged in service to him."

Thranduil lay back down, resting his head upon the warrior’s chest, his hand coming to rest upon the scar that ran the length of the warrior’s side. "I would not be your master, Glorfindel, I would only be your lover."

Glorfindel cradled his lover in his arms. "A lover that is a Prince, from a realm far from here. Ai, lirimaer, as much as I treasure holding you in my arms, I cannot hold you forever. The day is coming that you must return to your land, and I must stay here, where I have been sent."

Thranduil shook his head. "I will not go, I will not leave your side. I will remain here with you, I can fight as well as any elf here."

"But what of your subjects, my Lord?" Glorfindel asked.

Thranduil sat up, his eyes flashing with hurt. "Do not call me that. I am not your Lord. They are my father’s subjects, he is King, I am not."

Glorfindel sat up as well, reaching out for his lover only to have his hand pushed away. "But should your father fall, it will be up to you to rule his kingdom or your subjects would be leaderless. We cannot change who we are, a’maelamin."

"They were leaderless before my father came to them, they survived then, they can do it again." Thranduil looked at the bed, absently picking at a loose thread.

Glorfindel sighed. "Thranduil, war is coming, you know this as I do. You cannot…"

Thranduil rose from the bed grabbing his robe and furiously pulling it around him. He turned his hurt and angry gaze upon his lover. "I am not an elfling, I do not need yet another elder telling me what my responsibilities are." His angry gaze turned Glorfindel’s blood to ice. "The least you could do is be honest. So you tire of me so soon? I suppose I cannot blame you. What am I after all but a young Prince? How could one so naïve and inexperienced as I hold the interest of one such as yourself." Glorfindel began to protest but the Prince held up his hand and continued, "I will trouble you no further, Lord Glorfindel. I apologize for over staying my welcome." He quickly departed the room and left the warrior in stunned silence.

* * * *

Erestor sat across the table from his friend, watching him as he absently picked at his food. He took a sip of tea and placed the goblet back down, taking a deep breath before he broke the pregnant silence. "So, how long shall we sit here before you tell me what troubles you, mellonamin?"

Glorfindel continued to stare at his plate and shove the food around with his fork. "I cannot speak of it, Erestor. Forgive me, mellon."

Erestor nodded and took another bite of squash, carefully chewing it before he questioned, "Cannot or will not?"

Glorfindel dropped his fork with a clang. "Erestor, please, I said…"

Erestor held up his hand, silencing the warrior. "Forgive me, mellonamin. It is not my intention to pry or to cause you discomfort. I am only worried about you; you seemed to be coming out of your melancholy state, and now it appears you have returned to it."

Glorfindel picked up his goblet and took a drink of cool tea. He quietly apologized to his friend as he sat the goblet down. "I am sorry, Erestor. You do not deserve my harsh tone. But, I am not at liberty to discuss the cause of my poor mood, but I can assure you, it is not you."

Erestor nodded. "I did not think it was, as I have not seen much of you as of late." He quietly continued, "If I were to guess what the cause of this latest bout of melancholy is, I would say it has something to do with Thranduil Oropherion."

Glorfindel dropped his fork once again, burying his face in his hands with his elbows propped upon the table. "Ai, Erestor, please. I said…"

This time Erestor dropped his own fork and addressed the warrior in an impatient tone. "I heard what you said, Glorfindel. However, as Chief Advisor to Lord Elrond, as well as your friend, it is my business to know what goes on in this household. I am not a fool, Glorfindel. You were not in the bath this morning when I called on you, you were still in bed and Thranduil was with you." Glorfindel looked up at his friend, guilt clearly written on his features. Erestor continued, "Relations between the High King and King Oropher are strained at best, now his son has requested admittance to the King’s army and I imagine that request has something to do with you."

Glorfindel let out a deep sigh and slid back in his chair his head falling upon the back as he stared at the ceiling. "Erestor, I never…

Erestor interrupted the warrior, his tone growing ever more impatient, "What you did, Glorfindel, is take the young Prince to your bed. He has clearly fallen in love with you. What were you thinking, Glorfindel? Do you realize he has only just come into adulthood?"

Glorfindel slammed his hand upon the table, jarring the dishes and silverware. "I did not know who he was when I laid with him, Erestor! I thought he was one of the Prince’s guards, I had no idea he was the Prince himself. I did not learn that until dinner just last night."

Erestor sighed and shook his head. "Ai, this is a mess, mellonamin. Oropher will be most displeased when he learns of his son’s request, and the High King as decided to entertain it against my objections."

Glorfindel looked out the window and the rolling hills and mountains beyond the palace. "I do not think it will be a problem, mellon, not after this morning."

Erestor leaned forward his brows raised. "Why is that, Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel blinked slowly, swallowing the lump that threatened to form in his throat when he remembered how hurt Thranduil was when he left his quarters. "Because I said things that hurt him greatly, because I told him to go home."

Erestor folded his hands in his lap as he sat back in his chair. "And did he agree?"

Glorfindel’s gaze shifted to the tabletop, his golden mane shifting as he nodded his head. "I think so, but not before I had ripped his heart out and spat upon it."

Erestor rose from his chair and walked around the table, kneeling on the floor at the warrior’s feet. "I cannot believe you could ever do so unkind a thing, Glorfindel. You spoke the truth and said what needed to be said. Times are such that…"

Glorfindel shoved his chair back and rose abruptly. He focused his fierce gaze upon Erestor as the Counselor rose to his feet. "How can you be so cold? Is politics all that matters to you? I broke his heart, Erestor, and it was a heart that did not deserve to be broken. He was ever kind to me and I threw that back in his face because I was more worried about my own worth than his heart! I am loathsome, unkind, selfish, stubborn, wretched…"

Erestor grabbed the warrior by the shoulders and admonished him, "You are brave, loyal and honorable! Vent your anger upon me if it helps you, but I will not stand here and listen to you disparage yourself!"

Glorfindel shook his head and tried to pull away, but this time Erestor would not yield. He wrapped his arms firmly around the warrior and pressed his lips to Glorfindel’s ear. "No, this has to stop, Glorfindel. I do not know why you punish yourself as you do, but I will not allow it to go on any further."

Glorfindel’s voice cracked as he forced the Counselor away. "You do not understand! I keep hurting those who love me! All who love me come to ruin!"

He pulled away from Erestor and fled his chambers and the palace.

To be continued…

<><><>

April, 1693, Second Age, Lindon

Thranduil gathered his things, as few as they were, and notified Amras that they were leaving for Greenwood. He could not stay in Lindon after the humiliation he suffered that morning and as he sat in front of his mirror placing the last braid in his hair, he admonished himself for his behavior. "This will teach you to open your heart to others. Father is right, I am a Prince, of royal blood, I cannot live by the same rules others do; I cannot trust, cannot let any see that I am vulnerable. Never again will I make that mistake." He pulled the braid back, clipping it in place and rose from his chair, straightening his tunic. He looked at his reflection in the mirror and summoned what pride he had left. Never had he given up so much to another as he did to Glorfindel, never had he allowed anyone to touch his heart the way the warrior did. He absently placed a hand upon his chest, trying to soothe the emptiness he felt there. It had been a rough few days, first losing his mother, then losing his heart to the warrior.

"’Tis no matter," he mumbled to himself. "I do not need a heart." He strapped on his quiver and picked up his bow and his pack and departed the chamber for Erestor’s quarters.

* * * *

Glorfindel wandered in the hills outside Lindon; he needed to escape prying eyes, he needed to be alone. He sat upon the ground under a large tree, closing his eyes and listening to the sound of the wind in the trees and the birds singing. The sound of flags flapping in the wind haunted his thoughts, a cool breeze blowing in from the sea caused the trees to sigh and whisper and his mind drifted to a place far away, and long buried.

Images flashed in his mind, trees of gold and silver, walls of stone, mountains and green fields. He heard the splashing of water in the fountains and the low murmur of his city’s inhabitants. Suddenly he was there, in his mind’s eye, in his beloved Gondolin. He turned and saw his friend and lover, and smiled broadly. His raven hair shining in the sun like polished obsidian, his roguish smile and fiery eyes. A broad smile crossed his lover’s lips as he approached and he leaned in, whispering in his ear, "’Tis a miracle of the Valar that we have the same watch, meleth nín, I have not felt your touch nor seen your resplendent beauty in so long I was beginning to fear I would forget it." Glorfindel smiled and whispered, "I could never forget you, melethron, your image is burned upon my memory." A husky laugh followed by a deep whisper, "As it should be, Golden One, I would have it no other way."

The image faded, replaced by another. Screams, elves fleeing the city, discarding their belongings as their flight became more desperate. His lover again, this time donned in battle armor, his sword sheathed next to his hip, his quiver strapped to his back. "Agladir will cover the flank while Tuor leads the people through the pass. His own voice protested, "Nay, I shall watch the flank, I am the more seasoned warrior, Idril and Tuor must get through safely." He remembered how strenuously he argued for this charge until his lover relented. He and the warriors of his house left the city for Cirith Thoronath. He turned and saw his beloved by the fountain, his raven hair shining in the moonlight. That was the last time he saw his lover alive.

The next image that invaded his mind walking through the corridors of Mandos’ halls, hand in hand with his beloved as they awaited their return home. He viewed a tapestry on the wall, a great battle before an enormous black gate; he was carrying an elf with raven hair that was wounded. Another image, he was placing a small creature the like of which he had never seen before upon a white horse. Vairë’s voice drifted in his mind, **It is what is to come…** Mandos voice echoed in his ears, **It is not time for you to return, Glorfindel, you must go back to Middle Earth.** He gripped his lover’s hand but to no avail, for their bodies were not substance, only air. He watched as his lover faded away into mist, returned to Aman to forever dwell in peace, while he was returned to his recovered, broken body, and placed upon the white ship sailing east. He cried out for his lover, those tending to him believing he suffered from a fever, but his words were not to be heard by his beloved warrior.

"Why?" he whispered to himself. "Why did I not heed your words? Why did I insist on leaving you? Had I stayed, had I heeded your words you might still be with me, we might not have died. You are lost to me forever, a’maelamin, for I do not know if I will ever see you again."

Again, he wondered why Mandos sent him back, why he was wrenched from his lover a second time in the bliss that had come after his death. He saw Vairë’s tapestries, visions of events to come, but still he asked himself, why. Surely, there was another who could do what he was supposed to do; he was not the greatest warrior that had walked Middle Earth. He covered his face with his hands as tears rolled down his cheeks. It was punishment, he fell and was returned because of his pride, and for that, he believed he would suffer for the rest of his days.

* * * *

"Come," Erestor called. Thranduil entered the Counselor’s chamber and stood before his desk. Erestor rose and placed his hand over his heart and bowed his head. "To what do I owe this pleasure, my Lord?"

Thranduil’s face was expressionless as he answered, "Upon further contemplation, I have decided that my soldiers and I will return to Greenwood immediately. They are well enough to travel now, and I must bear word of my mother’s death to my father. I do not want him to hear it from another."

Erestor nodded. "Aye, my Lord. This is a wise decision. May we provide you with an escort, since your numbers are few and many of your guard are wounded?"

Thranduil shook his head. "No thank you, my Lord. Amras assures me we will be able to defend ourselves if we are attacked again. My mother’s handmaidens will accompany her body to Valinor where she will be buried near the home of our ancestors. As it is just me and my fellow warriors, we will travel swiftly."

Erestor bowed his head again. "Very well, my Lord. Our good wishes go with you, Valar’s speed on your journey."

Thranduil bowed his head. "My thanks for the hospitality you have shown us, please convey my apologies to the King and Lord Elrond for my abrupt departure."

Erestor smiled politely. "I will, my Lord."

Thranduil turned and left the Counselor’s chambers and gathered his men. They departed immediately and saw that the Queen’s body was placed aboard the ship, Thranduil saying a final goodbye to his mother, then the company rode east toward the Misty Mountains.

* * * *

Glorfindel returned to the palace just after the Prince left. He noted the conspicuous absence of the Prince’s men and made for the training grounds, bumping into Gildor along the way.

"Gildor, mellonamin. Where are the Prince and his men? They seem to be missing."

Gildor nodded. "They left this morning to return to their homeland. It seems that the Prince changed his mind about staying. He saw his mother’s body placed upon a ship then they left the docks to return home. He felt it was his duty to return home and inform his father of the loss of the Queen." He noted the look of sadness upon his friend’s face. "What is it, mellonamin? You look upset."

Glorfindel waved him off. "’Tis nothing, I am just tired, Gildor." He turned and left his friend standing in the corridor and made for his quarters.

* * * *

A short time after arriving in his quarters there was a knock upon his door. "Come," he answered.

Erestor entered, carrying a tray and a large, flat, wooden box. "Well, I decided to come to you since you left my quarters in such a hurry this afternoon. I thought you might like to indulge in some wine and while away the afternoon playing Ur."

Glorfindel looked up from his place by the fire. "I would have thought you had enough of my company this afternoon. Do you not have duties to attend to?"

Erestor sat across from the warrior and placed the tray and box on the table between them. "I am finished with my duties this afternoon, thank you. I would have also thought I had enough of your company. However, it seems I am a glutton for punishment. I seem to have taken a liking to a certain grumpy Vanya and have come to crave his witty banter and lighthearted demeanor."

Glorfindel looked back into the fire. "Will you not forsake this pointless exercise? I am of no comfort to those I spend time with."

Erestor smiled wryly as he handed the warrior a glass of wine and opened the box removing the game board. "Why you are bent on tearing yourself down, I do not know. I have chosen to ignore your feeble attempts to discourage me and seek your friendship anyway. Now, shall we?" He motioned to the game board.

Glorfindel reluctantly sat forward and picked up the dice, throwing them on the table and starting the play. Erestor did not broach the subject of the warrior’s melancholy or the subject of the departed Prince at first. He had run into Gildor before heading for the warrior’s room and learned of their conversation. Glorfindel clearly needed his support and friendship, no matter how he may deny it, and he was determined to give it to him. They sat quietly and played their game and sipped their wine for quite some time. Finally, Erestor could hold his tongue no more.

"I have asked Lord Elrond to see you," he said quietly.

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "Why?"

Erestor answered, "Your state of mind is clearly detrimental to your duties to this house. I know you to be a capable warrior, Glorfindel. You are a brilliant battle strategist, and adept at assessing situations quickly and making command decisions. However, your inability to sleep, and your state of melancholy effects your ability to see to these duties, and it must be resolved."

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. He held on to his temper by a thread. "How could you do this without consulting me first? How can you claim to be my friend and betray me this way?"

Erestor set his glass down and leaned back in his chair. "Oh please, Glorfindel. Must we do this? You know as well as I that you are in a bad way and you need help. After what you have been through it would be unbelievable for you to be in any other way. For Valar’s sake, Glorfindel, you were dead and now you are not! How could that not be a disturbing experience?"

The warrior rose from his chair, his fists clenched at his sides. "You are determined to undermine me, Erestor, and I have no idea why. I am coping with my problems and do not need your or Lord Elrond’s assistance. I will ask you now to leave my quarters."

Erestor stood up, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his muscles twitch in anticipation of what would come after he said his piece. "I will not leave your quarters, nor will I stop trying to get to the bottom of this, Glorfindel. I want you to tell me why it is that you act as you do? Why is it that you loathe yourself so much?"

Glorfindel pointed toward the door and shouted, "Get out! Leave me be!"

Erestor crossed his arms and calmly shook his head. "I will not."

Glorfindel grabbed Erestor by the arms, intending to forcibly remove him. However, the Counselor was stronger than he appeared and as Erestor struggled against him they fell upon the bed. They grappled with one another until finally Erestor was able to take advantage of the weakened state he was in and rolled over him, effectively pinning him to the bed.

"Tell me what plagues your thoughts and your dreams, Glorfindel. As your friend I demand to know what it is!" He held Glorfindel’s wrists to the bed and sat upon his upper thighs, pinning him beneath his weight. He felt the warrior’s struggle subside and saw a tear trace down his cheek. His voice was softer as he continued, "Please, mellonamin. Tell me what troubles you so, unburden your heart to me."

As Glorfindel blinked back his tears he gazed up into Erestor’s pale gray eyes, he looked at the fall of raven hair that surrounded him, the ends lightly brushing his cheeks. Images of his lost love appeared in his mind and he whispered, "You are so like him, but not. You look like him, but you do not act like him. You are more somber, more thoughtful. He burned with the fire of life. He was impetuous, impish, prone to mischief. You are eloquent, calm, serene."

Erestor softened his grip. "Who, Glorfindel? Whom do you speak of?"

Glorfindel sighed and continued, "My best friend, my lover, my brother in arms. He fell with the city, fighting until his last breath left his body. He would not yield, he would not flee, so strong was his duty to our King. I should have been with him, I should have stayed where I belonged, but my pride overrode my judgement. I insisted on taking charge of quarding the King’s son and daughter and aiding their flight from the city because I thought there was no other who could do it. Ecthelion bade me stay in the city and fight, but I would not listen. Instead I left and because of my pride, he fell at the hand of Gothmog, and I fell in the mountains. My pride brought he and I to ruin, my pride has forever separated us."

Erestor released the warrior’s wrists and caressed his face. "Were you bonded to one another, mellonamin?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "No, but we shared a bond of brotherhood, a bond of friendship, and given time, we may have bonded with one another as mates."

Erestor stretched out beside his friend and gathered him in his arms, cradling his head upon his shoulder. "So now I understand," he whispered. "You hold yourself responsible for Echthelion’s fall. Glorfindel, had you not chosen the path you did Tuor and Idril would not have survived, nor would have Eärendil. Where would we be now without them? Without Eärendil, my Lord Elrond would not exist. Without Eärendil, Morgoth would have vanquished the elves and Middle Earth would be covered in shadow." He stroked the warrior’s hair and continued, "We owe our survival to you in part, without your heroism, we would not be here now."

Glorfindel sighed, relaxing into the Counselor’s soft touch. "I miss him, Erestor, I miss him terribly."

Erestor placed a soft kiss upon the warrior’s head. "I know, mellonamin, I know. But, one day you will see him again. One day you will return to Aman and he will be there. You will know him when you see him, I am certain of it."

He held the warrior in his arms, feeling his breathing take on a regular rhythm, and his weight press into him as he relaxed into sleep. "Sleep, Glorfindel," he whispered. "You have earned your rest."

To be continued…

October, 1696, Second Age, Lindon

Lord Elrond came to see Glorfindel at Erestor’s request, and was able to help cure the warrior of his persistent fatigue and sorrow. While the pain of losing Echthelion was not gone entirely, Lord Elrond’s gifts, in conjunction with Erestor’s friendship, made the pain much easier to bear. Glorfindel took charge of training the High King’s troops, and many of the elves of Eregion knew war was coming.

A soft knock upon Glorfindel’s door caused him to look up from troop and equipment rosters and he softly called for his visitor to enter. Gildor opened the door and smiled warmly as he entered the room. "I have something you might like to see, mellonamin," he said softly.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow and set down his quill. "Really? And what might that be?"

Gildor grinned mischievously. "Well, you will just have to pry yourself away from those engrossing rosters to find out."

Glorfindel smiled and rose from his chair, following his friend from the room. As they walked down the long hallway they chatted amiably about troop training regimens, weapons stores, and general business of the realm. They arrived at the smith’s workshop, and Glorfindel imagined that Gildor had some new variation of weapon to show him. When they entered, Glorfindel stopped cold.

On a large wooden stand before him hung armor unlike any in Eregion, but its image was not unknown to his eyes; it was a very close replica of the armor he wore as a Lord of Gondolin. He approached it slowly, as if in a trance, his hand reaching out and his fingers lightly tracing the finely detailed plates of armor and chains of mail. A shield leaned against the base of the stand; it bore a rayed sun made of gold upon a shield of bright silver. A cloak hung across the shoulders of the armor, upon it was embroidered the flowers that were the symbol of his house. He slowly circled the stand, taking in all the details of the armor, cloak and shield, its resemblance to the original was striking.

He turned and looked at Gildor and smiled. The elf Lord smiled back at him. "A gift from Lord Elrond to you. He said that the armies of Mordor would quake in fear at the sight of Glorfindel of Gondolin riding with the host of Eriador."

Glorfindel crossed the room to his friend and embraced him. "Thank you, mellonamin," he said quietly.

Gildor smiled and answered, "I do not deserve your thanks, I have done nothing to earn it."

Glorfindel shook his head and answered, "That is not true, there are none here that would have known what my armor looked like, not to that degree of detail. The design came from you, my friend, I know it did."

Gildor pulled back from their embrace and nodded. "Alright, to that I will admit. But I am not capable of the craft required to bring the vision to life, for that your thanks need go to our smith, Agladir."

Glorfindel turned and placed his hand over his heart, bowing his head in thanks and respect for the smith’s craft. "Hannon le, hir nín," he said softly.

Agladir bowed in return and answered, "It was an honor, Lord Glorfindel. I will have it delivered to your quarters this afternoon."

Gildor took his friend by the arm and led him from the smith’s workshop. "Come, mellon. Let us take our lunch by the river." The two friends walked out of the smith’s shop, arm in arm.

* * * *

"My Lord, a herald from the east has arrived. He claims to be a member of Oropher’s court and the Prince sent him. He was told to ask for you."

Erestor looked up from his ledger and acknowledged his assistant. "Send him in."

The herald entered and bowed low, his garments and visage spoke of his hard and long journey from the east. "My Lord, I have been sent by Prince Thranduil with news that is of interest to you and your Lord Elrond."

Erestor furrowed his brow, he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that he was about to receive news he did not want to hear. "I will hear this news."

The herald relayed a message that was of grave importance to the High King. The elves of Greenwood were under attack by Sauron’s forces. The Dark Lord had rebuilt his army and began his assault on Middle Earth. The elves of Lórien were fortifying their defenses in case Oropher’s forces were over run, and it was expected they would be, they were grossly outnumbered. The herald had warned both Amroth and Celebrimbor on his way to inform the High King, he would depart Lindon and make for the Gray Havens to warn Círdan as well.

The herald departed and Erestor remained behind for just a moment, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The herald informed him the sun had risen almost thirty times since he departed Greenwood, and if the attack was as fierce as he had described, then it was likely Oropher’s forces were already overwhelmed and Lórien would now be under attack. They would be lucky to reach Celebrimbor in time. Lord Elrond’s fears were realized, Sauron had gained great power. He rose from his chair, calling to his assistant to gather Glorfindel and Gildor in the council chambers. It appeared they were going to war. He left his offices to seek out Lord Elrond and the High King.

* * * *

Glorfindel reclined on the side of a grassy hill with Gildor by his side. They lay upon a wide blanket and idly sipped mead and nibbled on the various delicacies that Gildor had gathered.

"I am going to lose my warrior’s form if you keep feeding me like this, mellon," Glorfindel chided.

Gildor chuckled and popped a ripe cherry in his mouth. "A little extra padding never hurts. At any rate, you are almost the vision of the soldier you once were, you have been entirely too thin."

Glorfindel laughed and tossed a strawberry at his friend who laughed and threw it back in return. His laugher faded, but a smile remained and he asked quietly, "Why do you have no lover, mellon?"

Gildor smiled and looked at the ground before answering, "I guess I have not found one that inspires me so."

Glorfindel nodded and looked up at the bright clouds traversing the sky. "That is reasonable. But there are many fair elves here in Lindon, not a one of them has caught your eye?"

"Aye, there are many, and there are several I find attractive to look upon, but none have inspired me to action."

Glorfindel lay back and folded his hands behind his head as he closed his eyes, a broad smile crossing his lips. Gildor looked at the warrior and questioned softly, "And whom might you be thinking of in this moment?"

Glorfindel opened his eyes and smiled at his friend. "A beautiful young elf I hope to meet again, one I hope to make amends with."

Gildor lay down next to his friend. "Ah, that would be the Prince Thranduil. He was passing fair, I have to agree. The two of you must have made a delicious vision, all golden hair and ivory skin tangled together amidst silken sheets." Glorfindel’s eyes widened and the Noldo continued, "Deep moans, soft sighs… I am sure it was a thing of rare beauty."

"Gildor!" the warrior exclaimed. "What makes you say these things?"

Gildor laughed and drew his finger along Glorfindel’s now bright pink cheek. "One can use one’s imagination in lieu of having the real thing." He smiled and rolled to his side. "What is this? My warrior friend is a prude? The great and powerful Glorfindel blushing like an elf maiden?"

Glorfindel rose to his elbows and furrowed his brow, but his lips curved into a smile nonetheless. "I am not a prude, and I am certainly NOT an elf maiden. You, however, are a wanton rascal, a wicked miscreant that I would do better to avoid."

Gildor laughed softly. "Now what fun would there be in that? Your life would be so very boring. Do not take me wrong, I love Erestor as much as you, but he is so serious an elf. Someone in your life needs to make you laugh, do they not?"

Glorfindel reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Gildor’s face. "Aye, mellonamin, they do, and you fill that role quite well."

"’Tis my honor, my Lord," Gildor chuckled.

Their lighthearted moment was broken as Erestor’s assistant came running up the hill. "My Lords, my Lord Erestor is requesting your presence in the council chambers immediately."

They both sat up and looked at each other with concern. They knew this could not mean anything good. They quickly gathered their things and hurried toward the council chambers.

* * * *

Lord Elrond sat next to the High King, with Erestor at his side. "We must assemble our forces and ride to Celebrimbor’s aid, if we are fortunate Amroth and his forces will be able to hold them back long enough for us to reach him."

Gil-galad sat at the head of the table, rubbing his brow with his left hand. "And what of Amroth and his people? What of Oropher and the elves of Greenwood? Are we to leave them to their fate? Leave them to fight alone?" he asked quietly.

Glorfindel and Gildor entered the chamber and heard the King’s reply. Glorfindel felt his heart skip at the mention of the peril that the elves of Greenwood were in.

Elrond leaned forward and placed his hand over the King’s own. "My Lord, we cannot traverse the distance and cross the mountains in time. It has been nearly thirty settings of the sun since the herald said Oropher and his soldiers came under attack, they are surely overrun by now. All we can do is hope they withdrew before the casualties were too great, Greenwood is large, there are many places a wood elf can hide. As for Amroth and his people, we cannot reach them in time; even by the grace of the Valar."

Glorfindel approached the table and protested. "We must try, my Lord. We cannot leave them to die. Oropher will not withdraw, he will not yield, not unless he has no other choice."

Lord Elrond looked at the warrior, a mixture of hopelessness and frustration upon his face. "What would you have me do, Glorfindel? Elves cannot sprout wings and fly to their aid, we can only do what we are able to help those we can reach." He turned his attention back to the High King when the warrior interrupted.

"So we are to abandon our kin then? Leave them to Sauron’s evil? Simply because we have not the spirit to try? If we can contact Oropher, we can bring his troops together with Amroth’s troops, together we can beat this back."

Elrond held on to his temper by a thread. He appreciated the warrior’s dogged determination and realized where this insistence came from; he was worried for his former lover as well as being concerned for fellow elves. "And how to get to them, Glorfindel? What happens if we meet armies of Orcs while in the mountains? How do we fight them in the narrow mountain passes? We will be vulnerable, Sauron has spies of all types, he will know of our approach to Eregion long before we arrive."

Glorfindel clenched his fists; he could not stand by and argue battle tactics while his kin fell in death. "I know something of mountain warfare, lest you forget, my Lord. I will take a small number of riders with me; we will traverse the mountain pass and reach Oropher and Amroth. We can bring what is left of their armies to Eregion using Redhorn Pass. We can launch a rear assault in the event Sauron’s forces have over run Amroth’s line. They will be trapped between your forces and those from the east. The mountain pass is too steep and narrow to allow escape."

Elrond opened his mouth to protest when the King held up his hand. "Very well. Glorfindel, take the riders you need and make haste to Greenwood, gather the forces and meet us in Eregion. Elrond, prepare the rest of the army to ride east to aid Celebrimbor. We have not much time, we ride at dawn." He rose from his chair and left the council chambers.

Erestor watched the exchange with cool detachment. While he understood the motivation behind Glorfindel’s offer, he had to admire the warrior’s tenacity in wanting to come to the aid of those that seemed impossible to save. He supposed Glorfindel saw in himself one that was a lost cause, and that drove him to say what he had. From a pure battle tactic and logistical standpoint, what Glorfindel proposed was not likely to succeed; but then, there had been more than one unlikely victory in history. Lord Elrond had proposed the plan that was most likely to succeed, and in the end, he would probably be correct. But how would they live with themselves if they left Oropher and Amroth’s people to torture and death. One thing that had not been discussed was what would happen to those in the path of Sauron’s armies once they were driven back. Erestor knew they would pillage and murder, torture and rape, and drag as many of those who stood against them as they could back to Barad-dûr as an offering in appeasement to the Dark Lord. It would be Amroth and Oropher’s people that would fall victim, and Kings and Princes would make handsome gifts to the Dark Lord, assuming they still lived.

Lord Elrond rose from his chair and looked at Glorfindel. He was not angry, but he was weary and he was more than worried about what Glorfindel and the men he took with them would find when they reached the east. The warrior had already lost one he cared for, whether or not the Vanya could bear it if he lost another was unknown. He nodded to Glorfindel, who bowed his head in respect and covered his heart with his hand, and he left the room with Erestor in tow.

Gildor placed a hand upon his friend’s shoulder and smiled wearily at him. "I will come with you, mellonamin," he said softly. He wanted to be with Glorfindel in case his friend found something he feared he could not take.

Glorfindel looked at his friend and smiled in return. "You will be needed to lead the main host, Gildor. Neither Lord Elrond nor the High King can afford to lose one as valuable as you. I will only take four or five riders with me. The fewer our number, the faster we can travel and the less likely it will be that we will be seen."

Gildor knew he was right, that his place was leading his regiment and fighting at their side, but he hated to let the warrior go without him. The thought that he might not see Glorfindel again stabbed at his heart and he felt a strange sense of panic well up inside him. He pulled his friend into an embrace and softly answered, "As you wish, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel pulled back from the embrace and smiled. "Hannon le, mellonamin. It is a great comfort to have friendship such as yours." He smiled and tugged at Gildor’s sleeve. "Come, help me pack for my journey."

Gildor smiled and followed the warrior to his quarters.

To be continued…

<><><>

Gildor sat in a large chair by the fire in his room. He had helped his friend pack for his journey and had just finished his own packing. As he sipped his brandy he ran combat scenarios and troop rosters over in his mind, anything to keep his thoughts from straying back to the persistent fear that something terrible was going to happen to those he cared for. He had lived long and seen much death in his life. He closed his eyes and listened to the crackling of the fire, feeling its heat warm his skin and his bare feet. He leaned back in his chair, conjuring the vision he so often sought when he felt lonely. Golden hair, alabaster skin, eyes of the brightest sapphire blue. He had never told Glorfindel that he had seen him with the Prince in the corridor, had seen how Thranduil’s hands glided across his lean form, how the Prince’s lips had caressed the warrior’s ear as he whispered into it. He often wondered what it would have been like to be in Thranduil’s place. It wasn’t that he loved the warrior in that way, but he certainly found him to be beautiful, and it had been a very long time.

As he set down his goblet, he allowed his imagination to take over; summoning the fantasy that kept him company on lonely nights as of late. His hands drifted across his chest, lightly scraping across his silk tunic, his fingers moving to unbutton it and expose his skin to the warm air of the room. His fingers lightly pinched his nipples before he rubbed his palm over the pebbled nubs and he moaned quietly in response. He felt himself hardening inside his suede leggings, his arousal beginning to swell against the fabric. He imagined it was Glorfindel’s hands that touched him that way, he envisioned the warrior kneeling between his open legs, his hands sliding across his skin, his lips caressing his flesh.

A soft knock on the door broke his moment of bliss, and he sat up in his chair and answered quietly. "Yes?"

"Gildor, mellon, it is me. May I come in?"

Glorfindel. He rose from his chair and took a deep breath, glancing down quickly to see that the evidence of his indulgence was not yet prominent. "Come…" he answered.

Glorfindel stepped into the room in all his damnable glory, wearing tight leggings of tanned leather, riding boots, and a loose, nearly sheer undershirt. His hair was unbound and fell around his shoulders and he carried in his hands two goblets and a bottle of fine mead. He smiled at his friend. "I thought we would share a drink together before we both depart on the morrow."

"Of course…" he answered calmly. "Come, sit. Please, pardon my appearance, I was not expecting a visitor, but I am glad you came."

**Gods, why now?** Gildor thought to himself as he struggled to regain his composure and cover what was raging in his mind. He wanted to grab his friend and throw him to the bed, he wanted to consume him, to vent all the long years of pent up frustration and loneliness on him. He had covered these thoughts well until that afternoon and their picnic on the hill. His musings on Glorfindel and Thranduil had been a little slip, one he hadn’t intended on making. He took a seat across from Glorfindel and accepted the proffered goblet with a friendly smile.

The two friends sat by the fire, sipping the mead and talking of goings-on in Lindon, telling tales of their youth, anything but talking of what was to come. Glorfindel thought about what Gildor had said to him that afternoon and wondered just how long it had been since his friend had held another in his arms. He watched Gildor’s fluid movements with his hands; the gentle smile that curved his lips, and found himself amazed that the elf Lord didn’t have a string of lovers to keep him company. But, it appeared that was not what he wanted. Glorfindel had grown to know Gildor, and what he found was a brave, loyal, and kind elf, one with a great capacity to love, one with a good natured humor that kept him afloat even in the darkest times. He admired Gildor, not only as a warrior and statesman, but as a friend. He knew that it was likely that many of them were going to their doom, himself included, and he didn’t want his friend to die lonely, to die without having known another’s loving touch. His concern wasn’t entirely selfless, he also wanted to know pleasure one more time before riding to what could be his own death.

He watched Gildor’s head come to rest against the back of the chair and his eyes close. He sat his goblet down and rose from his chair, the sweet, potent liquid steeling his resolve. He had no idea how Gildor would react to what he was about to propose, but he wanted to try anyway. He crossed the short distance to where Gildor sat and knelt on the rug before him, placing his hands on his friend’s knees and slowly parting them.

Gildor’s eyes snapped open and he lifted his head, looking down in amazement at Glorfindel, who was settling himself between his open legs. His breath caught in his throat as the warrior’s hands slowly slid up his thighs, and he felt himself harden almost immediately. "Glorfindel…" he said quietly. "What are you doing?" His head swam with the effects of the mead and the sensual touch of his best friend.

"Gildor, mellonamin…" Glorfindel answered softly. "I want to repay you for all your kindness, I want to give you…"

Gildor placed his fingers on Glorfindel’s lips and silenced him. "I do not require payment, your friendship is enough…"

Glorfindel leaned in, his hands sliding up Gildor’s sides and inside his tunic, as he answered, "I know you do not, but I wish to give it nonetheless. Please, Gildor, let me do this. I want to do this." He pressed his lips to Gildor’s chest and felt his reaction, as surely as he felt his own rising desire.

Gildor closed his eyes and moaned quietly, arching into his friend’s touch, his body betraying his will. When Glorfindel’s mouth moved to his pebbled nipple, he was lost. The warrior worked it with expert skill, lapping at it before suckling it, then gently tugging on it with his teeth. "Ah!" he moaned, "By Elbereth, Glorfindel…" He felt the warrior smile against his chest as he tangled his fingers in his golden mane. He pulled Glorfindel’s head back and looked into his darkening eyes. All thoughts of gentle touches and caresses were gone; he was filled with carnal desire and want. He hauled his friend’s mouth to his own and pressed a punishing kiss to it, thrusting his tongue inside Glorfindel’s mouth with heated intensity.

Glorfindel moaned into the kiss as he struggled to regain his feet, pulling Gildor with him. The two of them staggered the short distance to his bed, struggling with one another’s clothing as they went. Gildor’s tunic fell to the floor and Glorfindel assaulted his ear with his mouth, surprised at the level of intensity in Gildor’s touch. His shirt was the first casualty, as he heard the fabric rip and he moaned softly as Gildor tore it from his body and growled in his ear.

Gildor grunted as he impacted the bed, and gasped quietly as Glorfindel jerked his leggings free, leaving him naked atop the coverlet. He watched with rapt fascination as Glorfindel slowly unlaced his leggings, a feral smile curving his lips as he performed this sensual action for his friend. The warrior kicked off his boots and peeled the leggings from his body as Gildor slid back upon the bed, waiting in heated anticipation.

Glorfindel crawled onto the bed and on top of his friend. He lowered his body to Gildor’s and his breath caught in his throat as he felt his arousal slide against Gildor’s. He moaned quietly as Gildor’s mouth worked his ear with expert skill and his friend’s fingers dug into the muscles in his back. They consumed one another with their hands and mouths, touching, kissing, and exploring one another.

Gildor rolled Glorfindel to his back and began working his way down the warrior’s torso, pressing his mouth into his stomach as it shrunk away, brushing his lips through the fine dusting of hair that grew above his arousal, exploring the juncture of thigh and hip with his tongue. Glorfindel arched beneath him, tangling his fingers in his hair, moaning with increased urgency as he tormented him relentlessly.

"Saes, mellonamin…" the warrior whispered breathlessly. "Im baur…"

Gildor grasped his friend’s buttocks in his hands and slid his lips around his swollen length, causing Glorfindel to moan urgently as he took him deep in to his throat.

Glorfindel groaned and arched his back, wrapping one leg around Gildor as he felt his friend knead his buttocks and encourage him to thrust into his mouth. "Aiya, Gildor!" he moaned. "I will not last this way…"

Gildor let the warrior’s length slide from between his lips and he gazed up at him with a wolfish smile. He slid up the length of the warrior’s body and pressed a deep kiss to his waiting lips, allowing Glorfindel to taste himself upon his tongue. He replaced his mouth with his hand on the warrior’s arousal, squeezing and pulling it with long slow strokes. "I want to watch your face as you succumb to my touch, mellon. I want to hear your deep voice whisper my name." He closed his eyes briefly and moaned as he felt the warrior’s hand wrap around his own arousal.

"As I wish to see your face and hear you moan my name, mellon," the warrior replied.

They thrust against one another, staring into one another’s eyes, tasting of one another’s mouths until they found their release and collapsed against one another, as the aftermath of their spent desire took them.

They lay quietly with one another, Gildor’s head tucked beneath Glorfindel’s chin, their arms wrapped around one another, their skin slicked with sweat and each other’s essence. Finally Gildor broke the silence and whispered, "We are a mess, mellonamin."

Glorfindel chuckled and shifted beneath him. "Aye, that we are, and I am getting cold."

Gildor rose to his elbows and smiled down at his friend. "Wait here." He rose from the bed and left the room for a few moments. When he returned, he carried a bowl of warm water and a cloth. He sat on the edge of the bed, cleaning his friend, caressing his skin with the warm cloth. He watched as Glorfindel smiled sleepily and sighed. He then placed the bowl and cloth on the floor, stoked the fire and added wood, then returned to the bed. He tugged at the covers and Glorfindel squirmed beneath them; he slid in behind him and wrapped his arms around his best friend.

"Hannon le, mellonamin," he said quietly.

Glorfindel snuggled back against him and whispered in return, "No thanks are necessary, Gildor. I wanted to do this, I did not want to spend my last night here without you."

Gildor closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the back of Glorfindel’s head. "You are a good and true friend, Glorfindel," he whispered. "And a wonderful lover. It was a real pleasure."

Glorfindel mumbled something inaudible as he drifted into reverie and Gildor closed his eyes, breathing in his friend’s scent and finding rest.

* * * *

Erestor reclined on his bed, stroking the length of dark hair beneath his hand. Galdor’s satiated body lay between his legs, and the younger elf murmured something against his chest as sleep overtook him. His thoughts were consumed with worry for Glorfindel, for the elf that had become his close friend as well as his antagonist. He and Glorfindel had a complicated relationship, they shared few lighthearted moments and argued often; but they respected one another beyond measure and they were fiercely loyal to one another. He worried about Glorfindel often, and was usually at a loss as to what to do about it. As time went on, he found himself feeling increasingly responsible for the warrior, as if he were some wayward elfling in need of a guardian. This was ridiculous, he knew; Glorfindel was certainly capable of taking care of himself, but he could not help it.

He imagined the warrior lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, worrying for Prince Thranduil. He had to admit he was relieved when the Prince decided to return to Greenwood, and had convinced himself that it was relations with Oropher that drove that sense of relief. However, part of him wondered if that was entirely the case, if his relief was not in some small part due to jealousy. He was confused by his own feelings, he knew he and Glorfindel would never make a good match. Glorfindel was opposite of him in just about every way. Glorfindel was a soldier, a jokester, a bawdy warrior that liked naughty jokes, drinking ale, and carousing with his troops. He could be annoying and stubborn, he had a bad temper and could be irrational at times, and he possessed this calm arrogance that drove him insane. But he could also be tender, warm, and he had a big heart. He would rush in and defend the lost cause, put himself in harm’s way to protect others, and he always spoke his mind truthfully and never played games.

**Ah!** he chastised himself, **What is the point of this line of thinking?** He needed further distraction, he needed something to get his mind off Glorfindel. He nudged his lover’s lithe body and felt him shift against him. A feral smile crossed his lips as Galdor’s long fingers sought out his arousal. **Yes, this is just what I need to distract me.** he thought as his lover’s lean body slid down his own.

The King’s host was gathered before the gates of the city, regiments lined up in formation behind their captains. Elrond sat astride his horse beside the King, awaiting the command to ride east.

Gildor stood in front of Glorfindel and smiled, his hand reaching up to tuck an errant braid behind the warrior’s ear. "Be careful, mellonamin," he whispered.

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. "You be careful as well, Gildor. We will meet again in Eregion." He mounted his horse and signaled to his riders to prepare to depart.

Gildor stood beside Glorfindel’s horse and placed his hand upon the warrior’s thigh. "Do not do anything foolish, Glorfindel. We will need you soon."

Glorfindel smiled and patted his friend’s hand, then galloped down the line toward the gate, his men in tow. They stopped beside Elrond and the King and he bowed his head in respect and covered his heart with his hand. "My Lord, my riders and I are ready to depart, with your leave."

Gil-galad nodded and raised his hand in agreement. Glorfindel looked at Erestor, clad in battle gear, sitting astride his black gelding next to Lord Elrond. He noted how formidable the Counselor looked in black leather and velvet, his raven hair falling down his back in a single thick braid. He nodded his head in respect and said softly, "Be careful, Erestor. We will meet again soon."

Erestor nodded and answered, "Take care of yourself, Glorfindel, and Valar’s speed."

Glorfindel smiled and turned his horse, galloping out of the gate and heading east at great speed, followed by his riders.

To be continued…

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Glorfindel held up his hand to signal his riders to halt as his breath caught in his throat. It had been near two full cycles of the moon since the herald from Greenwood had left this forest, and what Glorfindel found was terrible to behold. The point at which they had arrived was deathly quiet; not a single sound issued from it other than the crackling of burning timber. Smoke hung thick throughout the injured wood, and they rode single file into the southern depths of the forest, constantly vigilant for any sign of the marauding orcs.

"By Elbereth…" came a hushed whisper from one of his men. "What happened here?"

Glorfindel’s horse began to shift nervously beneath him, and a scent that he had hoped to never smell again wafted into his nostrils. It was the smell of death. His band came to a halt and they dismounted as Glorfindel signaled to his men to spread out and begin the search for survivors. The fact that no one had greeted them as they entered the wood was of grave concern to the warrior; it was a bad omen. They picked their way through the underbrush and broken trees, when the Vanya stopped dead in his tracks. His foot came to rest next to what appeared to be an elf’s leg protruding from a bush. His heart pounded in his chest as he stooped next to it and when he tugged upon it, he found it had no body attached. His face flushed hot with rage when he saw what had been done, how the orcs had defiled his kin, and he howled in anger, causing his men to come running toward him.

"What is it, my Lord?" One of his companions asked.

He stood and turned away from it, unable to look his companion in the face. "We will find none alive here," he answered softly. "Salvage what you can in terms of weapons and ammunition. Pile the remains of our kin upon a pyre and burn the remains. We will not leave them here to be fed upon by carrion."

The other elves in his company gasped quietly when they saw what their leader referred to, and quietly sang a lament to their fallen kin as they went about their work. Glorfindel picked his way through the forest, praying to Mandos that Thranduil was not among the bodies they found.

* * * *

Thranduil leaned over his injured father, tending to his wounds as best he could. His own were severe; he shook from fever, his shoulder still bleeding from a wound caused by a black arrow. His heart was heavy with grief, over half of their total number had fallen in battle, leaving precious few warriors to protect the females and elflings that remained. They had retreated northwest, hoping to make the border of the Golden Wood and seek refuge from Amroth.

He nearly collapsed by his father, sinking down in a sitting position as he covered him with his cloak. He felt his father’s hand come to rest upon his arm and he looked up into his eyes. "How are you feeling, Adar?" he asked softly.

Oropher looked at his son, who had fought so bravely and valiantly to protect him and their warriors. "You suffer from fever, Iôn. You must rest and care for yourself; I must rely on you to help get our people to safety. I will be fine, I am strong, do not worry so for me." He reached up and caressed Thranduil’s cheek with his trembling hand. "I have never been so proud of you as I am now, my son. You have grown into a fine warrior and strong leader. I can rest in peace knowing you will inherit my kingdom one day."

Thranduil smiled weakly and answered, "But not today, Adar."

Oropher laughed quietly and grimaced, placing his hand upon his injured side. "No, not today, Iôn." He patted his son’s arm. "Now, lie down and take some rest. We will need to move again at dawn."

Thranduil lie down beside his father inside the large hollowed out tree. A skeleton crew of archers kept watch over their hiding place throughout the night.

* * * *

Glorfindel sat upon a fallen tree, his cloak drawn close around his shoulders. He worried for his friend and former lover, and hoped to find him alive somewhere within the forest. He and his companions had finished their grim task, disposing of the remains of the fallen woodland elves. They had spotted tracks leading west and surmised that what remained of Oropher’s people were making for Lórien. Now they waited for first light when they would continue their journey to the land of Amroth. What Sauron’s minions had wrought was horrible, but thankfully, there had been no females or elflings among the remains they found. Oropher and his people must have withdrawn before they were completely destroyed.

The scene of death and destruction before him was far too great a reminder of his last days in Gondolin before his own death. And as he sat alone in the dark he tried to purge those memories from his mind, but to no avail. A tear traced down his cheek as sounds of screaming females and elflings echoed in his mind, images of fire and blood and destruction flashing before his mind’s eye. He chanted a quiet prayer to Mandos for those who now journeyed to his halls and prayed to the Valar for the protection of those who still remained among the living.

He wished that Gildor or Erestor were with him now, offering the support of a strong arm around his shoulders, speaking quiet words of wisdom in his ear. But he was to bear the burden of this task alone, as he had asked. He wondered what it would be like to be a simple elf: a farmer, librarian, or stable hand. He wondered what it would be like to wake in the morning next to a bonded life partner, share breakfast together, and go about the day’s tasks unaware of the horrible things that were possible in this world. He longed for the innocence of his youth, when he spent his days reading tales of the Valar, basking in the sun, and riding his horse; his thoughts occupied with life and the simple joy of it.

He closed his eyes and saw the vision of his fallen lover, resplendent in his armor, his raven hair gleaming in the moonlight. He smiled when he remembered the wicked grin that would grace his fair face as he plotted some playful mischief on one of their kinsman. He imagined what he was like now, strolling through a meadow in Valinor. "Ai, Echthelion…" he whispered to the dark. "Be at peace, meleth nín. Wait not for me; find love, find happiness," he sighed. "Mine is a long road, a warrior’s march without end. Peace and joy and the simple things are not for me." He bowed his head, a single tear falling from his eye. "Namarie, a’maelamin. I will miss you always."

He raised his head, turning his gaze up to the night sky, watching the stars circle overhead. He released his friend and lover to find a new future, a new love for his new life. As he took a deep breath, he suddenly felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from him, as if he were finally free of the past. He closed his eyes again and saw Thranduil’s face: his sparkling sapphire eyes, his soft lips, his ivory skin, all framed in a mane of flaxen silk. "So young," he whispered. "So beautiful, so brave. I will find you, Thranduil, I will find you and see you safe."

He watched the night sky fade into pale blue as the sun rose in the east and he gathered his companions to ride west toward the borders of Lórien.

* * * *

Thranduil lay upon his belly, scanning the distance between the tree line where they lay and the beginnings of the wood west of the Anduin. An eerie silence hung over the forest, not a bird; not even the smallest creature made a sound. There was evidence of orcs passing through this way, they made no effort to cover their tracks or hide their presence.

"Perhaps they have continued west, my Lord? It looks quiet enough to cross now."

He turned and looked at his new second, his original one having fallen in battle, and answered, "It is too quiet. They must know we would come this way. They are waiting to ambush us when we are in the open. We must find another place to cross."

"But, my Lord, we have many injured, and females and elflings. This is the easiest place to cross, we will have to travel miles north and the great road is sure to be occupied by Sauron’s forces coming from the east."

Thranduil shook his head. "Precisely why we cannot cross here, if we were to come under attack we would not be able to protect those with us. No, we must find another way. We will travel south, to the edge of the wood and make for the gap at the southern tip of the mountains. We will make for Eregion and the realm of Lord Celebrimbor; it is there that we will seek refuge. Lórien is already under siege; I can feel it. We cannot risk going there, Amroth can be of no aid to us now. If his realm has already fallen, we would have to risk a mountain crossing to reach safety and there are too many among us that are too weak to survive it."

"But, my Lord…"

Thranduil wheeled on his second. "No more talk on this!" he growled. "I will not lose another one of my kinsman to Sauron’s evil. We head south, gather our people." He regained his feet and moved to inform his father of his decision.

* * * *

Glorfindel and his men rode quietly westward, making for the realm of Lórien. They spotted evidence of orcs crossing through the woods, as well as some tracks indicating elves had come this way. He knew if the elves were leaving tracks, then that meant they were bearing wounded and must be in a bad way. His sharp warrior’s hearing picked up a faint sound and he held up his hand, bringing his band of warriors to a halt.

Thranduil halted his followers and turned to face east, hearing something in the wood. He sniffed the air and discerned it was not orcs, the sound was not loud enough, nor was there a foul odor upon the air. His sharp eyes scanned the trees and underbrush when he caught sight of something that set his heart to singing. Bright light glinted off shining armor and a glimpse of golden hair caused him to walk toward the sight, motioning to his followers to wait for him. "Glorfindel?" he called, his voice barely above a whisper.

Glorfindel dismounted, his voice catching in his throat at first. "Thranduil…" came his hushed reply. He saw the Prince of Greenwood step through the underbrush, battered and bloodied, but still radiant in his beauty.

Thranduil rushed toward Glorfindel with hurried steps, into his open arms. He sighed as the warrior enfolded him in his strong embrace and whispered, "Thank the Valar you are here, Glorfindel. I feared I would never see you again."

Glorfindel buried his face in the Prince’s flaxen mane and breathed in the scent of pine and clover. "You are alive, mellonamin," he whispered. "I also feared I would not look upon your face again." He pulled back from their embrace and caressed the Prince’s face. "You have a fever," he said softly, feeling the heat radiate from Thranduil’s skin.

"It grows less by the hour," the Prince replied with a smile. "The healers have attended to me. My father was wounded in battle, it has been up to me to lead what is left of my people to this point."

"Where are the rest of your kin? We came upon the aftermath of a terrible battle just southeast of here," the warrior replied.

The spark in Thranduil’s eyes dimmed somewhat as he relayed the horrible tale of the battle and how their lines were overrun after holding for so long. He told of how they were able to retreat with their females and elflings, losing their home, but saving lives. He led Glorfindel and his followers to his kinsman and told of his plan to travel south and make for Celebrimbor’s realm.

Upon meeting those of Thranduil’s kin, Glorfindel’s followers attended to the wounded and offered their stores of food and water, as well as rearmed the soldiers with the weapons and arrows they had collected from the battle site. Thranduil took the warrior to meet his father and Glorfindel knelt on the ground next to the makeshift gurney he was carried upon. The warrior bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart as he took the King’s offered hand.

"My Lord," he greeted him softly. "I offer the service of myself and my men to help you and your kin find shelter. But I have to inform you that to leave the wood would be foolhardy. While I admire you and your son’s will to continue fighting and to come to the aid of your kin, your numbers are too few and are in too delicate a condition to undertake such an effort. You must hold up here in the wood, hide until it is safe to reemerge. The passage south that your son would make for is surely clogged with Sauron’s minions by now, we saw evidence of them heading that way as we came through several days ago. To risk a crossing west is too dangerous, we must find a safe place for your weaker ones to hide."

Oropher frowned and nodded in acquiescence, while it went against everything in his nature to withdraw, he knew the warrior was correct; he had to think of his subjects and their safety. "Your words are wise, Lord Glorfindel, and despite my warrior’s inclination to continue fighting, I must agree. My first duty is to my people. Your help is gratefully accepted and will not be soon forgotten." He took a ragged breath and coughed, waiving off the attempts of the healers to see to him. "But what of Amroth and his people? What of Lord Celebrimbor?"

Glorfindel softly answered. My men and I will ride to the aid of King Amroth. The High King, Gil-galad is in route from Lindon with his host to come to Lord Celebrimbor’s aid. My plan is to gather as many of those that can still fight and launch a rear attack through Redhorn Pass on the forces now attacking Eregion."

"An attack using Redhorn Pass?" the King questioned. "That is an ambitious plan, Lord Glorfindel, mountain warfare is always risky.

Glorfindel smiled grimly and answered, "I am all too aware of the risks of mountain warfare, my Lord. But to stand against Sauron’s evil is not without peril. We must do what we can to turn back this tide of death that threatens to overwhelm us."

Oropher nodded and patted the warrior’s hand. "Your words are true and wise, Lord Glorfindel." He took a deep breath and continued, "I know of a hiding place near here, an outcropping of foothills that have well hidden entrances. We can hold up there until we are stronger." His pale blue eyes scanned his group of travelers. "I can spare some archers for your quest, leave me with some twenty or so to guard the entrances to the caves and watch for signs of the orcs returning, take the remaining thirty to aid in your task."

Glorfindel furrowed his brow and answered the Sindar King, "But you will need archers to defend your people, my Lord."

Oropher shook his head in resignation. "Nay, there is no defense for us now, only retreat. What can fifty archers do against such an overwhelming force? We must hide if we are to survive."

Glorfindel looked at the ground, knowing the King was right. He nodded his head slowly and looked back into his wise gaze. "Your generosity and bravery will not be forgotten, my Lord. The High King will not soon forget this."

Oropher’s expression grew stern for a moment. "I do this not for Gil-galad, but for my kin. But if the High King sees fit to show his gratitude, then so be it."

Thranduil grimaced at his father’s harsh words; Oropher did not hold Gil-galad in high esteem as other elves did. Glorfindel, understanding the intent behind the words, let it go and bowed low, excusing himself from the King’s presence.

The Prince followed Glorfindel to the other side of the makeshift camp after speaking with his father briefly. He found the warrior standing next to a tall tree, away from the bustling of their camp. He approached quietly and placed his hand upon the Vanya’s shoulder, smiling as Glorfindel turned to face him.

"Do not take offense at my father’s words, Glorfindel," he said softly.

Glorfindel smiled at his young friend and nodded. "Not to worry, mellonamin, I did not. Whatever business lies between your father and the High King is not of my concern. Right now, all I am concerned with is stopping this tide of evil before it drowns all of Middle Earth." He saw a shiver wrack the lithe frame before him and he removed his cloak. "You should be resting, Thranduil, you still have a fever."

Thranduil’s soft eyes peered into his own and he heard him whisper, "I would rest better if you were to lie with me."

Glorfindel felt his heart skip for a moment, and he traced the line of the Prince’s brow with the tips of his fingers. "Alright, but you are to rest, and that means sleep. Understood?"

Thranduil smiled and captured the warrior’s hand, bringing his fingers to his lips and pressing a soft kiss upon them. "Understood." He tugged the warrior’s hand. "Come, I know just the place, it is quiet and we will not be disturbed."

Glorfindel followed his former lover through the brush to a small clearing. The ground was covered in soft, tall grass, and it was surrounded by brush and tall trees. Thranduil lowered himself to the ground and reached up, taking the warrior’s hand and pulling him down to him. Glorfindel took the young Prince in his arms and cradled his head upon his shoulder, stroking the length of flaxen hair beneath his hand. He listened to the rhythmic breathing of his young friend and felt his heart beat steadily against his chest. Soon, Thranduil drifted into reverie and Glorfindel held him in his arms while he slept.

To be continued…

<><><>

By the time the host of Gil-galad arrived in Eregion, the haven was already under siege. They rode into battle, banners held skyward, shouting their war cry. Elrond led a regiment of swordsmen and archers, as did Gildor and Erestor. Their forces, combined with what still barely held the refuge, was yet short of the number of Orcs that had flooded in from the east and north. The battle raged well into the night before the host of Lindon could breach the swarm of evil that surrounded the city. They drove back the orcs just beyond the city gates and there came a lull in the battle as both sides regrouped.

Gil-galad climbed the now precarious winding stairway to Celebrimbor’s chambers, most of the buildings in the city had been destroyed. The Lord of Eregion stood bent over his desk, his hand spread wide as he looked over the list of the fallen. His long, dark hair hung straight, surrounding his face like a shroud. He raised his head and looked up as Gil-galad entered and he smiled wryly.

"’Tis good to see you, Cousin."

Gil-galad crossed the room and clasped his cousin on the shoulder. "I am only sorry it took us so long to arrive. My men have driven the orcs out of the city and now hold the city walls. We have a brief respite before they launch another attack."

Celebrimbor sank into his chair and sighed. "Our losses have been great, cousin. They were upon us with little warning, in the middle of the night. A rider was dispatched from Oropher’s people, but he arrived just ahead of the marauders. I fear Oropher waited too long to send him. Had we known his realm had been under attack, we could have better prepared our defenses. I have had no word from Amroth or his people. I fear the worst."

Gil-galad sat in a chair across the large desk from his old friend and cousin, rubbing his brow with his right hand. Celebrimbor noted the absence of the ring from his hand and questioned him. "Where is the gift I gave to you, cousin? Where is Vilya?"

Gil-galad patted his breast. "Safe here, beneath my armor. I dare not wear it upon my finger, not with the Dark Lord’s powers grown so strong."

The elf Lord nodded. "’Tis a wise decision, mellonamin. But do not let it from your sight, keep it with your person always."

Gil-galad smiled, his gray eyes glittering in the candlelight. "I will, you have my word." He sighed. "Now, let us put our heads together for some battle strategy." He turned to his herald and sent him to fetch Elrond, Erestor and Gildor. He turned back to his cousin and sighed, "Alas, one of my finest is not here with me now. He has ridden to the aid of Oropher and Amroth, but I fear he is too late."

Celebrimbor smiled and relaxed back in his chair. "And who would this be? You have already sent for your Captains."

Gil-galad smiled devilishly and answered, "My secret weapon. Glorfindel."

Celebrimbor’s eyes widened and he answered softly, "Glorfindel? The Glorfindel?"

Gil-galad nodded slowly and smiled. "Yes, one and the same. I fear he underestimates his own power; but when Sauron sees him, the same elf who slew one of his master’s demons in Cirith Thoronath, then he will know his folly in this war. He will know just how strong we have become." He sighed and looked out the window, smoke clouded the air. "I only wish Mandos had seen fit to send Echthelion back as well, then we would be truly insurmountable."

Celebrimbor smiled and nodded in agreement. "Oh to have all the great fallen warriors on our side now, Fingolfin, Thingol, Turgon…"

Gil-galad nodded sadly, placing his hand over his heart as he whispered a short prayer for their fallen kin. "Aye, so many fine warriors lost. But we will not fail their legacy, we will not allow Sauron to overtake Middle Earth."

Celebrimbor smiled broadly and clapped his hand upon the desk. "No! We will not. By the Valar, we will not." His gaze drifted upward to see three Noldor enter his chambers.

Upon crossing the threshold, Elrond, followed by Erestor and Gildor, paused and they bowed their heads and covered their hearts. Elrond spoke first, "My Lords, the perimeter is ours, all orcs have been driven back beyond the city walls with the exception of the few we have taken prisoner. Thus far, we have been unable to extract information from them."

Gildor nodded and added, "True, but Lord Erestor has yet to make an attempt. I dare say, they will happily tell all they know before he is finished with them."

The corners of Erestor’s lips turned up in a wry smile before his expression grew somber once again.

Gil-galad rose and greeted his captains, clasping each of their hands. "Well done, my captains. Now," he turned and motioned to the chairs beside him. "To work."

Glorfindel blinked back from reverie and realized he had fallen asleep. He tilted his head down and gazed upon the mass of flaxen silk that lay spread across his chest. Thranduil still slept peacefully, his breathing more regular, the quiet rasping sound that had been a result of the fever now gone. He brushed the Prince’s hair back from his forehead and found his skin cool. He sighed gratefully; it appeared the fever had abated. It was dawn following the day he had come upon the weary band of Silvan elves and their Sindar King and Prince. He realized that he and Thranduil had slept the previous afternoon and through the night in their peaceful refuge. His arms were stiff, as was his back from lying in the same place for so long, but he did not mind; the Prince’s body had kept him warm upon the cool ground. He drew Thranduil’s cloak closer around his shoulders and stroked his flaxen hair, placing a feather-light kiss upon the top of his head.

The Sinda Prince was indeed beautiful, perhaps one of the most beautiful elves he had ever laid eyes upon, and he possessed a kind nature. Oropher was not nearly as stern and unreasonable as he imagined he would be; but perhaps he was feeling a bit humble at the moment, considering the state of his realm. **This war will humble us all…** he thought to himself, and he sighed, continuing to stroke the length of hair beneath his hand.

"You have done my son much good." A quiet voice broke his musings.

He looked up to see Oropher standing at the edge of their refuge, leaning upon an oaken staff to steady himself. He moved to wake Thranduil and the King held up his hand.

"No, let him rest. He has been through far too much as of late." Oropher moved toward them and shakily sat down upon a fallen log. He spoke softly, "I fear I was not as understanding as I should have been when his mother asked my leave to return to Valinor. I was angry and my son bore the brunt of it." He sighed. "I have tried to teach him to be strong, to teach him he can not be so generous and kind to all those who cross his path. One day, he will be King, and our realm grows more dangerous as time passes. My people are a suspicious and close knit clan, they do not take to outsiders well, and consequently we have become somewhat isolated from our kin to the west. I fear my son will inherit a violent reign, that war and strife will define his life. He will not survive it unless he learns to be strong, to need no one."

Glorfindel answered quietly, "But, my Lord, kindness and compassion are the marks of a great ruler. Your subjects are loyal to you and hold you in high regard, surely that is because they love you as their King, as their shepherd. You are their father, in many ways."

"And as their father, I must be strong, I must be unwavering in my conviction. They must know that they will receive my love as well as my discipline when they go astray. Thranduil is too kind, too gentle. He must grow stronger; he will lead in my stead." He waived his hand. "I worry too much, I think. My son has had to grow up far too fast for one of his short years." He blinked and looked up at the sky. "I see by the way you hold him, by the way you touch him, that you care for him deeply. And he loves you in return, though he tries to hide it from me. He will need to provide an heir, Glorfindel. I have nothing against those who seek love with those of their own sex. Contrary to what is believed, I am not a barbarian. But my son will need an heir one day, as I need him now, and another male cannot provide this to him." He leaned forward and looked the warrior in the eye. "What would you have me do, Glorfindel? Would you have me tell him to forsake his duty to his own people?"

Glorfindel swallowed, feeling a lump grow in his throat. "Nay, my Lord, I would not. I do care for your son, but my own path leads away from his, away from this great forest. I am bound by my service to the High King and to Lord Elrond; from that, I cannot waiver."

Oropher nodded and smiled sadly. "Then we understand one another, that is good." He rose slowly, leaning on his staff. "I want to thank you, Lord Glorfindel, for your assistance to my people and to myself. I also want to thank you for the kindness and affection you bear for my son; he will be a better elf for it." The King slowly turned and left the clearing, leaving Glorfindel and Thranduil alone once again.

The Vanya knew Oropher’s words were true, that Thranduil would one-day need to provide an heir. He had known all along that they could never be together, that each was meant for something other than this peace and bliss he felt now. He squeezed the Prince a little tighter, wanting to hold him close in the short time they had left together.

He felt Thranduil stir against him and he sighed; he would miss this, very much. He managed a smile as Thranduil lifted his head, his bright sapphire eyes gazing into his own.

"You are still here," the Prince whispered. "How long have I slept?"

Glorfindel brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Through the night, it is morning, mellonamin."

Thranduil rose slowly and sat up, rubbing his face and looking around him. "I dreamt my father was here, that he was speaking to you."

Glorfindel sat up and tucked a braid behind Thranduil’s elegantly pointed ear. "It was not a dream, he was here, he was speaking to me."

Thranduil cocked his head and reached out, caressing the warrior’s face. "What did you speak of?"

"I told him my men and I would see you safely to the caves, then we would ride for Lorien."

Thranduil rose to his feet and offered the warrior his hand. "I am coming with you, I am the best archer of my people."

Glorfindel accepted the offered hand and rose to his feet as well. He brushed the grass from his leggings and answered softly, "You must stay here, your father still needs you, Thranduil."

Thranduil furrowed his brow and retorted, "But you need me as well."

Glorfindel placed his hand upon the Prince’s shoulder. "Not as much as your father needs you. These are your people, Thranduil, they need your protection."

The Prince pulled away and looked at the ground. "So you send me away again. I should have known this would happen." He stepped backward, away from Glorfindel as the warrior reached out for him. "Fine. You and my father have obviously decided what is best for me and I will comply like a good son." He raised his head and looked Glorfindel in the eye. "We best get on with it, daylight is wasting." He turned on his heel and left the warrior standing alone in the clearing.

* * * *

Thranduil barely spoke to Glorfindel as they made their way toward the caves. Oropher gave the warrior a supportive look and walked slowly beside his son, his strength returning gradually. Upon reaching the caves, Thranduil busied himself with seeing his people safely inside and storing the meager provisions they had managed to rescue from their home. Glorfindel tried to speak to him but the Prince avoided him. Finally, he and his men were ready to depart. He stood at the mouth to the caves and said farewell to the King.

Oropher smiled gently and clasped the warrior on the shoulder. "He is hurt and angry. Do not fear, he will recover; he will come to see this was for the best. He will not always harbor such anger for you, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel nodded and bowed his head. "Best of luck to you and your people, my Lord. May the Valar keep you safe."

"And you, my brave warrior friend. Valar’s speed on your journey." Oropher raised his hand in farewell as Glorfindel, his men, and those of Oropher’s archers who were to accompany him rode out of the forest.

Thranduil sat upon the hillside, watching the warrior and his men ride toward Lorien. His heart ached and he wrapped his arms around his stomach, a tear falling from his eye as they disappeared into the trees. "I will miss you…" he whispered. "Namarie." He rose from his seat and climbed down the hillside, entering the cave and returning to his duty.

To be continued…

<><><>

Glorfindel and the soldiers he had been able to gather made their way up the Dimrill Stair toward Redhorn Pass. He had with him nearly one hundred archers from the realms of Greenwood and Lórien combined and they were making haste toward Eregion. The realm of Lórien fared a little better than Greenwood, as they had advance warning of the attack.

Amroth sent forth seventy of his archers to aid Glorfindel in his attempt to help defend Eregion. He remained behind to see to the refortification of his realm and preparations to fortify the Northern Fences for when the Orcs were driven back over the mountains and back to the accursed land they came from. He sent an additional twenty of his guard to the east to protect Oropher and what was left of his people.

As they climbed the long path up the side of the mountain, they kept an uneasy watch. The passing of Orcs was evident. Glorfindel stood upon a rock, his keen warrior’s sight searching out the east gate of Khazad-dûm and finding it shut; they would see no help from the Dwarves in this war. He turned his gaze back up the mountain and continued his march; there was little time to waste.

It took three weeks to traverse the unforgiving mountain pass on foot. In addition to the treacherous conditions, it seemed the Dark Lord had put yet another obstacle in their path, the elements. Winters in the Misty Mountains were never easy, yet in the weeks the elves under Glorfindel’s command crossed the mountain; it was the worst anyone could remember seeing. Even the elves had difficulty, trudging into the wind, nearly blinded by blizzards and crushed by avalanches of ice and rock.

By the time they reached Lord Celebrimbor’s realm, it was under full attack. Beside the main host of Orcs that attacked the city, bands of the fell beasts roamed over the lands, burning any homesteads they found. The road leading from the West was under their control, so the main host was cut off from any aid. They attacked the rear flank, but were only able to make enough of a dent in the orc line to gain admittance into the city. Once inside, Glorfindel sent his archers to the walls to fortify weakening defenses.

After seeing his archers to their assignments, Glorfindel went to meet with the High King and the other captains to make a full report. He entered Lord Celebrimbor’s chambers to inform them of what he had learned. Upon entering the chamber, Lord Elrond greeted him warmly and introduced him to Lord Celebrimbor before requesting his report. The warrior gave a grim accounting of what he found in Greenwood and Lórien, and the mountain crossing.

Glorfindel began, "Oropher’s folk were nearly decimated. He lost two thirds of his archers trying to hold back the advancing Orcs. They were surrounded and unable to hold the Great Forest Road, and unable to hold back the swarm that crossed it. He sent twenty archers with me here; it was all he could spare of what was left. He was gravely wounded, but he will recover; his son, Thranduil, remained behind to help defend their people. Amroth’s people fared a little better; they had more time to prepare. He sent an additional seventy with me, and is now refortifying the Northern Fences in case the Orcs come back over the mountain." He took a deep breath. "But, my Lords, the inflow of Orcs from the east has not stopped. Each day, our spies watch hundreds cross the Anduin. It seems their focus is on this land; they pay little attention to Greenwood or Lórien now. I believe the Dark Lord’s intent is to destroy Eregion."

Gil-galad nodded. "The Dark Lord’s anger has been roused since he learned of the forging of the three rings. This is his vengeance for what he sees as a betrayal of his will."

Lord Celebrimbor frowned and in a low voice akin to a growl answered, "His will be damned… I, nor will any of my folk, bow to his will, nor will we yield our lands."

Gil-galad smiled grimly and sat forward in his chair, answering, "Nor will any elf. We will fight to the end, cousin, that I promise you."

The elves of Lindon and the elves of Eregion fought valiantly to save the haven from Sauron’s forces, but they were overrun time and again. The battle waged on for weeks on end, each side giving ground and regaining it, but things began to look hopeless.

Glorfindel climbed the long stair to Lord Celebrimbor’s chamber to meet with the Captains. His heart was heavy as he ascended the stair; his hopes of winning this battle were failing with each step he took. It was all too familiar, too much like the fall of his beloved Gondolin. Upon entering Celebrimbor’s chamber, he found the High King, Lord Celebrimbor, and Lord Elrond closeted, pouring over battle maps and discussing what to do next. He stood quietly for a moment, waiting for them to acknowledge his presence, before he finally stepped forward and spoke up.

"My Lords," he began, bowing his head and covering his heart with his hand. "This effort is futile, we must break through the line on the west gate and get as many of the females and elflings out of the city as we can. The walls are ripe to fall, my Lords. The city will not be held much longer, and the Dark Lord will not be satisfied until every elf is dead, females and elflings alike."

Gil-galad slammed his fist upon the desk and growled in anger, Lord Celebrimbor sank back into his chair with a sigh of resignation, and Elrond’s pale gray eyes met those of Glorfindel’s. The standard bearer for the King made no reply for a moment, merely searching Glorfindel’s eyes for any sign he may be wrong, then he hung his head and turned to address the King and Lord Celebrimbor.

"My Lords, Glorfindel is correct. We must abandon the city, save those we can."

Glorfindel nodded. "The retreat must be made to the west. Durin’s folk have closed the gates of Khazad-dûm; we cannot retreat there. We must make for Lindon. We need time to regroup, supplies and ammunition run low. Soon we will be out of food and water."

Just then, a great cry arose from outside and they rushed to the windows to see what happened. The orcs were retreating again and the elves that drove them back were shouting in triumph. Lord Celebrimbor looked to his friends and said, "I am not ready to yield my home, there is still hope."

They conferred amongst themselves and agreed to try to hold out a bit longer. Glorfindel left the chamber, his head bowed with the news. "We will all die here…" he whispered to himself, "It is but a matter of time." He continued back down the stairs and returned to his men.

* * * *

The battle waged on. Food and ammunition were almost entirely depleted, rations were now going to females and elflings who were held up in the inner most buildings of the city and in the underground caverns.

It was quiet for the moment, and Glorfindel closed his eyes, listening to the wind cross the mountains.

"Mae govannen, mellonamin." A deep, soft voice greeted his ears. He opened his eyes, gazed up at Erestor, and smiled.

"I wish I could agree, but it is difficult to have a happy meeting in a place such as this."

Erestor sat beside him on the ground and looked him over. His friend was covered in soot and ash and black blood, his face and neck were marred with cuts and bruises. Yet, he still shined as bright as the sun on a June day, his golden hair still radiant despite the grime that marred it. His armor was a little worse for wear, but retained its use, a testimony to the fine craftsmanship that created it. He reached up and brushed the warrior’s hair from his face and smiled. "You look as I feel, Glorfindel," he whispered.

Glorfindel smiled ruefully, and answered, "I am sorry you feel so poorly, mellon."

Erestor chuckled and placed an arm around the warrior. "Well, killing and methods of persuasion can take the sparkle from one’s eye."

Glorfindel laughed softly. "Yes, I suppose they do." He turned his gaze to Erestor’s face and noted the look of grim determination written upon it. The Noldo nearly blended into the shadows except for his ivory skin and sparkling gray eyes, and again Glorfindel was reminded of Echthelion.

In an uncharacteristic moment of weariness, Erestor laid his head upon Glorfindel’s shoulder and sighed as he closed his eyes. "I am tired, mellonamin, and I do not know how much longer we can hold out here. My men look to me for courage, for hope, for faith, and I am afraid I do not have it to give to them."

Glorfindel cradled Erestor’s head upon his shoulder and whispered, "We must have hope, Erestor, it is most needed when times are dire." He sighed and continued, "Rest here with me awhile, mellon. You have given me much strength in the past, I will try to do the same for you now."

Erestor shifted, wrapping his arms around the warrior’s waist. "Le hannon, Glorfindel. You are a true and good friend."

Glorfindel held him close and closed his eyes. "I am afraid I am not good enough…" his voice trailed off before he finished his thought.

Erestor snuggled against him. "You are far better than you believe, Glorfindel. I am lucky to have you as my friend." He yawned and sighed; his body relaxing as he fell into much needed reverie.

Glorfindel held his friend and watched Ithil cross the sky, he stroked his raven hair and thought of all the words of wisdom Erestor had given him in the past. So often, he had leaned upon Erestor when he felt weak or lonely, now he had the opportunity to repay all that Erestor had given him. As he stroked his friend’s unbound hair and felt his warm, soft breath upon his neck, he contemplated his friendship with this reserved elf. He was both enamored and frustrated to no end by the complexities in Erestor’s personality. The Noldo was both warm and cool, open and distant. He always felt just a bit young and naïve in Erestor’s presence, although he was older than the Noldo. During the extended absence from his friend, he found he missed him more than he would have imagined. When he reentered the city and found Erestor commanding a regiment of elves at the gates he was both profoundly relieved to find him still alive, and grossly worried for his safety.

Time and time again, he had asked himself why he was there, why he was back in Middle Earth. He knew the reason he had been given; that he was to serve Gil-galad and Elrond. However, he could not help thinking it was more than that. Suddenly he had the strange idea that perhaps he was here not only to watch over the King and Lord Elrond, but also to watch over Erestor. A smile crossed his lips as he thought on that; the idea of Erestor needing anyone to watch over him was more than a little humorous. But he resolved to do it nonetheless, at least as best he could. He found himself pressing a soft kiss to the top of the Counselor’s head and as he closed his eyes, a name crossed his lips in the faintest of whispers, "Erestor…"

* * * *

Erestor awoke to the pale dawn. Smoke still billowed from the city and the air was filled with its stench. He shifted and looked up into Glorfindel’s sleeping face. He looked around and saw they were alone, leaning back against a wall in an alcove near the outer wall of the city. There was still a lull in the battle, which worried him, but for the moment, he was content to remain where he was. He snuggled closer, their bodies had shifted down during the night and they were nearly lying upon the ground. He gently pulled the warrior down, so that he lay flat, and he curled against him, wrapping his cloak around both of their bodies. He found it strange that he could be so content, lying upon the cold ground, curled against mail and steel and leather. But content he was, and he could not imagine wanting to be anywhere else at that moment. A wicked smile crossed his lips as he realized that was not exactly true, he would rather be curled against the warrior’s hard muscle and soft warm skin in an overstuffed bed in Lindon; but, one does with what one has.

He felt the Vanya shift against him and he closed his eyes quickly, but was unable to completely wipe the smile from his face before Glorfindel awoke.

Glorfindel blinked back from reverie, his neck was a bit stiff from leaning back against the wall, and he would have given his sword arm to take off his armor for just one day, but overall, he felt rested. He craned his neck and looked down at Erestor. The Noldo was still wrapped around him, one arm slung across his chest and one leg insinuated between his own. He felt his friend sigh and shift against him, his head now upturned so that his lips were presented to him in a manner so seductive that it was nearly impossible to resist.

He had not previously considered Erestor this way, but in that moment, the Noldo was breathtakingly beautiful. Erestor’s eyes were half closed and his lips were parted slightly, and he swore the corners were turned up in a smile. The sound of footsteps approaching broke his musings and he gently nudged the Counselor.

"Erestor, mellonamin, wake. It is dawn, time to rise," he whispered.

"Mmm?" the Counselor moaned slightly, shifting against the warrior and rolling closer to him.

Glorfindel swallowed; the feeling of Erestor’s thigh strategically placed between his own was stirring thoughts and feelings that he had not previously had toward the Counselor. "Ai, Erestor," he grumbled half-heartedly. "Wake before we are found in this position."

Erestor blinked back from his feigned reverie. "Glorfindel?" He yawned playfully and pretended to stretch as if he had just woken up. "Have we slept here all night?"

Glorfindel watched the Counselor ‘wake up’ with suspicion; suddenly he had the feeling that his friend was playing with him. "Yes, we have," he answered and sat up abruptly, nearly toppling the Noldo in his wake.

"Well," Erestor said quietly. "I apologize if I have caused any inconvenience to you, mellonamin."

Glorfindel, feeling ashamed of his reaction, answered quietly, "No, you have not. I am just… stiff, and tired, that is all." He rose to his feet and offered his hand to his friend. Erestor took his hand and rose from the ground with a grace that was nearly unbearable to watch. The Noldo smiled and bowed his head.

"Many thanks, Glorfindel. You have given me at least one night of peace." He bowed slightly and turned on his heal, stalking back out into the city.

Glorfindel watched him go, his black robes flowing out behind him, his hair shining in the pale dawn light, and he knew what passed between them in those hours forever changed how they would see one another. He sighed and walked out into the city, taking a different path and trying to get his mind off his mysterious friend.

To be continued…

<><><>

The attack upon Eregion waged on for another month; then, when things were at their worst, a fresh wave of orcs came swarming over the mountains with another up from the south. At the head of the battalion coming from the south was a tall figure that many might have mistaken for an elf; but no elf would lead such demons. The Lord Celebrimbor knew whom the fell creature was leading the final assault on his once fair city; it was the one whom he once trusted, Annatar.

Finally, the city could be held no longer. Gildor and his regiment, along with those from Eregion and the east that had fought with him retreated west, toward Lindon, almost having to drag the High King from the failing city. They provided a decoy to draw the incoming orcs from the east and the south away from the northern part of the city. Soon after the main host escaped, Lord Elrond, along with Erestor and Glorfindel, led the refugees safely north, where in time, Elrond founded the haven of Imladris deep in a hidden and sheltered canyon.

Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, celebrated smith and creator of the three most powerful rings possessed by the elves, refused to leave his city until the last resident was safe, then he was taken by orc captains. Glorfindel, covering the rear of the column of refugees, turned and saw the proud Noldo struggling against six orcs attempting to chain him. The hero of Gondolin and renowned Balrog Slayer raised his bow and took aim; he let fly an arrow that would bring swift and painless death to the once great Lord, thereby stealing Sauron’s greatest prize from his cruel grasp.

Erestor turned and saw the warrior’s final act of mercy and valor in the battle for Eregion, and tears rimmed his eyes as he watched his kinsman fall. He said a prayer to speed his spirit to the Halls of Waiting then continued ushering females and elflings along the narrow path through the foothills of the Misty Mountains.

It was a hard, tense, four-day trek through the rocky passes before they crossed into the valley; the sound of rushing water greeting their ears as they crossed the last hill. Once they arrived, they erected crude shelters to serve as homes while the craftsman of Eregion set about building a haven to replace the one that had been stolen from them. Long months passed, but before the turning of the seasons from summer to fall, the haven of Imladris had taken shape. It would grow over time to house guests from all over Middle Earth, but in the fall of the year 1697 it was a simple, comfortable place, a refuge from the growing dangers of Middle Earth.

Erestor settled into his role of advisor with customary grace, managing communications between Lindon and Imladris, seeing to the business of a growing community. Glorfindel became Elrond’s seneschal, overseeing the daily household operations and Imladris’ defenses, and he saw that the haven was well secured. A few orc scouts were found near the borders, but they never returned, their bodies burned well away from the outlying areas of the haven.

One unusually warm afternoon, before the autumnal equinox, the refuge of Imladris was abuzz with activity. The residents were preparing for a modest celebration of the coming of fall and the ending of the harvest. The fertile valley had yielded a great crop of fruits, grains, and vegetables, so the elves’ stores were loaded until bursting. Erestor oversaw the growth and harvest of the first crop of grapes that would be made into fine wine, and he was more than pleased with the result. He walked down the path to the lower levels of the refuge, where the soldiers’ barracks, stables, public baths, and wine cellars were being built, twirling a bunch of grapes in between his fingers. He whistled uncharacteristically and popped a ripe berry in his mouth, contentedly munching upon it as he rounded the bend.

What he saw caused him to stop dead in his tracks. A vision of pure strength and virility greeted his wide eyes. Before him was an elf, nay not just an elf, but one that surely had to be part Vala. Who this elf was, he did not know, as the elf was wearing his undershirt draped over his head, shielding him from the rays of the sun. The elf’s skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat, and his muscles rippled and danced beneath his alabaster skin. The elf was working with the smiths and builders, putting the final touches on Erestor’s beloved cellar. Erestor shrank back into the bushes as he watched the elf reemerge from the rough-hewn caves for another timber. Dirt peppered the elf’s chest and shoulders and Erestor swallowed, feeling a brief stirring sensation in his loins as he took in this vision of male perfection. The elf was looking back over his shoulder, listening to something one of the smiths was saying when a sound he would have known anywhere rang in his ears. The elf in question laughed heartily, bending over and slapping his thigh in response to a particularly bawdy joke told by one of the smiths. As the elf turned around Erestor’s shocked gaze took in the face of Glorfindel.

"What in Eru’s name?" Erestor whispered to himself as he watched the warrior pick up a particularly cumbersome timber and turn back toward the cavern. "Why is he here? Why is he doing this?" he continued to question himself. He swallowed and tugged upon his tunic, glancing down to make sure his appearance did not give his current state away, and stepped back onto the path, continuing down to the cavern.

"Mae Govannen," he greeted the workers politely.

"Mae Govannen, my Lord," the head of the crew responded.

Erestor perused the cavern opening and answered, "This is coming along quite well. You are ahead of schedule it seems."

The crew master nodded and smiled. "Hannon lle, my Lord. We have been working everyday to complete it in time for the delivery of the barrels." Glorfindel stepped out of the cavern and smiled warmly at his friend as the crew master continued, "Fortunately, Lord Glorfindel offered to assist us in his spare time and has been of great help."

Glorfindel smiled and removed the undershirt from his head, wiping the sweat and dirt from his brow and chest. He shook his head, his loose, damp, golden locks swinging about his head as he did so. "You are just being kind, Galen, " he replied. "I know nothing of your art; I merely do as I am told. I am but a workhorse."

"A magnificent one at that," Erestor murmured under his breath.

"Pardon?" the crew master asked.

"Nothing…" Erestor waived the elf off. "Well, may I see inside?" he asked innocently.

"Of course," the crew master answered, and moved to guide him inside.

A voice called from up the hill, "Galen! We have a leak in the bathhouse masonry, we need you up here!"

Galen grumbled then turned to Glorfindel. "Glorfindel, would you mind escorting the Lord Erestor inside and showing him what we have completed thus far?"

Glorfindel shook his head and smiled. "Not at all. Come, Erestor, watch your step." He picked up a lantern and guided his friend inside.

Erestor swallowed as the warrior took him by the elbow and led him inside the caverns, stepping over timbers and masonry blocks as they went.

"Galen and his smiths have done excellent work, "Glorfindel said softly. "He said your design was very good, he could not have done better."

Erestor nodded and uttered the occasional "um-hmm" as he tried to concentrate on where he was going, on anything other than the nearly unbearable allure of Glorfindel’s bare chest. The warrior grasped his hand and guided it up to touch the stone walls.

"See how perfectly fit these stones are? You can barely see the seams."

Even as his hand caressed the cool stone of the wall, his eyes wandered over the warrior’s sculpted chest. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to focus on the cellar, rather than the irresistible temptation of his friend’s intoxicating scent and smooth skin.

"Erestor?" Glorfindel questioned with a raised eyebrow. "Are you all right?"

His mind screamed at him to stop as his hand drifted from the wall and came to rest upon one perfect pectoral muscle, but it appeared his body had a will of its own, and he leaned forward, closing the distance between them. The sensation of Glorfindel’s hands upon his shoulders shocked him from his trance just as his lips came to rest upon the warrior’s neck. He quickly feigned dizziness to cover his indiscretion.

"Erestor?" Glorfindel asked with no small amount of alarm in his voice. He scooped the counselor up in his arms and quickly carried him outside and underneath the shade of a tree.

Erestor blinked as if he were regaining consciousness and uttered his best moan. "Oh… I am sorry, Glorfindel," he muttered. "It must be the heat, or perhaps it was the closeness of your… I mean the cave."

Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow and looked at the counselor. He had tended his share of wounded before and this did not sit right with him. His thoughts flashed back to Eregion and the night Erestor slept in his arms. **Was the counselor trying to tell him something?** He gathered Erestor up as the reserved Noldo barked in surprise and threw his arms around his neck to keep from toppling out of his grasp. "Well, I must take you to see Lord Elrond. We cannot have his most trusted advisor fainting." He bit back a smile as he carried Erestor, who was beginning to struggle against him, up the hill to Lord Elrond’s chambers.

Erestor wavered between leaning into the comfort of the Vanya’s embrace and feeling an intense need to escape him immediately. If Glorfindel got as far as Lord Elrond’s chambers, his ruse would be discovered and he would be more than embarrassed. He took a deep breath and answered, "No, really, I am fine, Glorfindel. Put me down please."

Glorfindel marched up the hill without pause, shaking his head and answering, "No, I really think you need to see a healer, and I am sure that Lord Elrond would insist upon seeing you himself."

Erestor began to struggle. "Glorfindel, really! This is ridiculous. Put me down, immediately!"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Nay, my friend. You took care of me even when I refused to let you do so, I think I should do the same for you."

Erestor could not seem to escape the warrior’s grasp, finally, like an elfling throwing a temper tantrum, he arched his back and yelled, "Put me down this instant, you brute!"

Glorfindel promptly dropped him in a deep pile of leaves next to the trail and fell upon him, covering his body with his own. He pinned the counselor’s wrists to the ground, but not without struggle, and leaned in. "So this is what you want then, is it? Why did you not say so, Erestor? I am no stranger to the occasional tumble now and again."

Erestor stammered and squirmed beneath him, now painfully aware of how aroused their current position was making him. "I do not want a ‘tumble’ as you put it, Glorfindel."

"No?" the warrior questioned. "You were not fainting in the cellar, Erestor, and you are no stranger to deeper and darker places than that one. If a tumble is not what you want, then what do you want?"

"I want you to let me up, now," Erestor answered flatly.

"Fine," Glorfindel replied, and he rose to his feet, extending a hand that was abruptly batted away. He shook his head and stepped back on the path, watching as Erestor rose and brushed the leaves off his robes.

Erestor stepped back onto the path and turned on his heel, heading back up to the main dwellings.

"Will I talk to you at the celebration?" Glorfindel called after him.

"It is doubtful," Erestor replied as he disappeared in a flourish of black robes.

Glorfindel shook his head and slowly walked back down to the cellar.

* * * *

The evening was warm and pleasant, and the night sky was bright with stars as the elves danced around the lawn. The gardens were decorated with candles and lanterns, and soft music played as the fall harvest was celebrated. Glorfindel strode among his fellow revelers, dressed in muted tones of cream and pale blue, and his hair was elaborately braided. He circulated among the members of Elrond’s council, as was his duty, but he spent most of the evening carousing with his fellow soldiers and the smiths of Eregion.

Erestor watched him from across the lawn, unable to tear his eyes away from the stunning golden vision that seemed to float amongst more common elves. He sat quietly with Elrond and the fellow council members as he drank from his goblet and watched the warrior. Glorfindel laughed heartily, clapping his fellow revelers upon the back as they joked and eyed the handsome young males and females that danced around them. He found himself wishing he could be more like the warrior, more casual, more lively, perhaps then he would not feel so strangely out of place when he was near him.

Their encounter turned confrontation near the cellar that afternoon had not turned out as he had wanted. He had asked himself why he did not take the warrior up on his offer of ‘a tumble’ as he had so plainly put it. But it seemed that something inside him wanted more than a casual physical encounter. He narrowed his eyes, **but we are too different, he and I, we would never make one another happy…** the more doubting side of his nature chided. **His brash demeanor, his bawdy jokes, he is like an oxen in a glass shop…** He swallowed another draught of brandy. "Though a magnificent one…" he muttered to himself.

Glorfindel felt Erestor’s eyes upon him but he did not look. He felt he handled the situation badly that afternoon but was not really sure what to do about it. He had taken things a bit too far, it seemed, and Erestor was not the joking type. It was times like this one that made him miss Gildor; Gildor would have known exactly what to do. He sighed as he thought on his good friend so far away in Lindon.

Arms slipped around his neck and a delectable young male, one of the Noldo smiths, with hair the color of pitch and eyes like twilight murmured in his ear, "Come, Glorfindel. I have had too much wine. Will you escort me to my quarters?"

Glorfindel smiled wolfishly and rose from his seat at the table, placing an arm around the young smith and replying in a husky tone, "Of course, mellonamin. I would not have you falling off the path and twisting your ankle."

The youth laughed softly as Glorfindel swept him up in his arms and carried him away from the celebration.

Erestor watched the Vanya go with no small amount of envy. "Oh to be so young and carefree…" he muttered under his breath. As the warrior left his field of vision, he turned his attention back to the council members.

To be continued…

<><><>

Autumn, 1701, Second Age, Eregion

The war between the elves and Sauron had waged on from the time Eregion was overrun. Finally in the autumn of the year 1701 of the Second Age, it seemed the end was near. Elrond’s haven of Imladris had continued to be safe, and elves traveled from besieged lands across Middle Earth to gather there and prepare for the next assault. Gil-galad was massing forces in the west, struggling to hold the Dark Lord at the River Lhun. He sent word to the eleventh King of Númenor, Tar Minastir, who sent a fleet from Númenor to aid the elves.

With the Númenorians help, the elves were able to drive Sauron’s forces southeast and a regiment sent by sea to the south was able to press the Dark Lord further east to Dagorlad. The main host that assaulted Eregion was caught between Gil-galad’s forces coming eastward and Elrond’s forces coming from Imladris. Precious few orcs survived to escape east.

The waning days of the year 1701 were days of recovery, rebuilding, and peace. Gil-galad returned to Lindon, Gildor remained in Eregion to oversee the recovery efforts, and he spent sometime in Imladris with his friends Erestor and Glorfindel as well.

November, 1701, Second Age, Imladris

Erestor stared out the window at the snow that fell gently upon the terrace outside his room. He shifted uncomfortably, his left hand falling to his groin. He grumbled under his breath, he was incapacitated, bed ridden, and utterly helpless. He had a few items that lay near his bed: a book, a glass and pitcher of water, a bell to ring when he needed assistance; other than those things, he was unable to do or reach anything for himself.

He supposed he should be grateful he was not dead, or maimed beyond repair. He was nearly killed in the last sortie. He was no stranger to pain; he had undergone the rights of Ansereg while serving Maedhros, but this… He shuddered when he thought about it and closed his eyes. The pain had been nearly unbearable, so bad he could not even cry out.

The orc was the largest he had ever seen and he was locked in close combat with him. Already weakened by an arrow in his right shoulder, he began to falter. With a blow that nearly shattered his hand, his sword was knocked from his grasp. The beast grabbed him by the throat and thrust a large spear into the gap between his armor and the greaves strapped to his thighs. The acrid taste of blood filled his mouth as he sputtered and choked upon it, impaled upon the large spear. In a daze he remembered seeing the bright silver point of Glorfindel’s sword come through the Orc’s chest from behind, heard the beasts guttural cry, then heard his friend’s voice calling his name as he fell toward darkness.

The next thing he remembered was being on a pallet on the ground. The moment his eyes opened, he howled in pain; the arrow had just been removed from his shoulder. He quaked with fever, pain mercilessly assaulting every part of his body, and underlying it all was a growing sense of numbness, of cold; he had never felt so weary in all his life. Blood was everywhere; all over him, all over the ground. His Lord was immersed in blood to his elbows, and he looked upon his stern and weathered face; his eyes were closed and his hands were upon him as he changed the healing incantation. He then remembered looking to his left to see Glorfindel. His beloved warrior was battered and bloodied, his once shining armor was covered in black and red blood. Glorfindel was kneeling by his pallet, holding his hand, tears streaming down his soot and blood stained face. He remembered watching his lips form the words, "Please… please…" then he fell into a deep sleep.

How much time had passed before he awoke again he could not be sure, but someone had told him it had been several days. His sore body swayed to and fro in the back of a wagon, and the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was Glorfindel’s face. "Mae Govannen, mellonamin…" had been the first words croaked out of his mouth, and the warrior laughed heartily, his red, tired eyes briefly twinkling with mirth.

Glorfindel had barely left his side until just a week hence, finally having to resign himself to his duties as seneschal. However, the Vanya still checked on him several times a day, everyday, and had moved his quarters next door to his own. Now he lay in bed, his long recovery dragging on, utterly helpless to do much of anything for himself. As the sun progressed in its path across the sky, he noted the time of day. It was time for the ritual changing of the bandages, as he liked to call it. He sighed, and closed his eyes, waiting for the ever-irritating healer to come do his worst.

"Mellonamin?"

He opened his eyes and to his horror saw Glorfindel standing before him, towels and bandages draped over one arm, a bowl of warm water and cleansing solution in the other hand.

"What are you doing here, Glorfindel?" he asked with a growing sense of apprehension.

"The healers are attending to a group of humans who were caught in a snow storm in the mountains. There are several among them, including women and children, that were exposed to the elements for far too long. Aredhel asked me to come and see to you," Glorfindel answered softly.

Erestor’s face was clouded with concern with this bad news. "Will they be all right? How bad are the children?" he asked quietly.

Glorfindel slowly shook his head. "’Tis hard to tell. Several of the adults’ extremities have been frozen, the healers may have to amputate some of their fingers and toes. The children seem to have been spared that ordeal, but they are nigh starved to death. Half of the household staff is occupied with attending to them as we speak, housing and feeding them." The Vanya shook his head. "This war has taken a hard toll on all of us, Erestor. Even those who were innocently trying to live out their lives."

Erestor suddenly felt guilty about the indulgent self-pity he had been immersed in earlier; seeing children or elflings suffer was never something he could take with ease. He had never needed anyone before, never wanted to, and Glorfindel was the last one in the world he wanted to need. Nevertheless, need him he did, for he could not complete the task alone.

"Have you done this before, Glorfindel?" he asked quietly.

Glorfindel nodded. "Aye, I have attended to many wounded when there were not enough healers to go around."

"Alright," he sighed. He reached down and pulled the blanket back to give his friend access to his wound.

Glorfindel set the bowl down on table beside the bed and lay the cloths beside him, then removed the pillows behind his friend’s back so that he could lie flat. Erestor rolled to his right side with a wince and Glorfindel put his hand on the Noldo’s hip to help him steady himself. He gently raised the nightshirt, sliding it out of the way so he could access the bandage.

"Have you seen it before, mellon?" Erestor asked quietly, as he stared out the window, trying to concentrate on the snow falling outside rather than the growing sense of humiliation he felt.

Glorfindel nodded slowly. "Aye, I have. I was there when Lord Elrond first attended to you. You probably do not remember that," he answered quietly.

Erestor closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as Glorfindel helped him roll back onto his back, a quiet hissing sound coming from between his teeth.

"I am sorry, mellon," Glorfindel said gently. "I know this is uncomfortable, I will be as gentle as I can be."

Erestor nodded. "You are doing fine, Glorfindel," he answered quietly. "It is just that it still hurts when I move."

Glorfindel softly stroked his hip and answered gently, "I know." He folded the sheet, lay it between Erestor’s legs to preserve his privacy, and went about removing the bandage. "You are lucky, mellonamin, very lucky. We almost lost you," the Vanya said softly.

Erestor closed his eyes as Glorfindel went about his work; he had no desire to look upon the accursed wound again. It had been one month since he was nearly killed, and still the deep puncture wound needed constant tending. The spear tip had been forged in Mordor and was tainted with poison; it had taken all of Elrond’s strength and skill to bring him back. By the grace of the Valar, the spearhead had missed his vital organs, but it had punctured his lung, missing his heart on its upward path through his body by a breadth of a hair. It had been a long and arduous recovery thus far and the Noldo could feel his limbs and muscles beginning to atrophy. While he healed internally, the wound was persistent and he grew weak from lack of activity.

He pushed thoughts of his injuries away and focused on the sound of his friend’s voice as he distracted him with mundane prattle about household goings on. He was surprised at how gentle Glorfindel’s touch was, how soothing and comforting his presence was to him. He had always thought of the warrior as just that, a soldier, strong, somewhat brutish, though more elegant than most. However, in this moment, Glorfindel was gentle and warm, kind, thoughtful and caring, and he found the Vanya’s presence to be of infinite comfort.

"There, all finished," Glorfindel said quietly as he rose from the bed and helped Erestor roll to his side and pull his nightshirt back down.

"Ai, I grow weak from lying in this bed," the Noldo grumbled as he rolled to his back.

Glorfindel dried his hands and moved the supplies aside. "I can help you with that, mellon," he answered gently. He took Erestor’s left arm by the elbow and began massaging and working the muscles of his shoulder and bicep.

"Glorfindel, really, you need not…"

"Sssh…" the warrior admonished. "Can I not be of help to a dear friend? Let me help you, Erestor," he finished softly, never pausing in his work.

Erestor grew quiet and relaxed, allowing the Vanya to massage his muscles and work his fingers. When Glorfindel finished with his left arm, he moved to his right. Erestor had to admit that his touch did him a world of good, he could feel the tingling of his blood coming to the surface and his skin coming alive again. After thoroughly rubbing down both his arms, Glorfindel moved to his right leg. The warrior pulled back the covers, again folding them to respect his privacy, and began rubbing the muscles of his thigh, calf, and hamstring. Glorfindel them moved to his foot, sitting with his back to him and holding his foot in his lap.

A long staccato sigh of bliss escaped Erestor’s lips as Glorfindel worked magic upon his foot. It felt so good, the Vanya’s hands were obviously talented in more ways than just those of a warrior. Erestor closed his eyes and relaxed, soon drifting into reverie.

Glorfindel gently placed the foot back upon the bed and covered his friend’s right leg. He looked down on the sleeping Noldo, a smile of satisfaction crossing his lips. He then folded the covers again, exposing Erestor’s right side, and began bringing life back into a limb that had hardly moved in a month. When he finished his task and covered his friend’s legs with the blanket, he leaned over, bestowing a gentle kiss upon Erestor’s forehead. He stroked his raven hair and gazed into the Noldo’s sleeping face. His fingers trailed over his brow, tracing his hairline, caressing his soft, dark brows, dancing across his cheekbones and ghosting over his lips. Every year, every day that passed he grew more fond of Erestor, and he never grew tired of watching him, looking at his beautiful face.

"Sleep well, mellonamin," he whispered and pressed a soft kiss upon his friend’s lips. He closed the door quietly behind him as he left the room.

As the door clicked shut, Erestor’s voice whispered, "Glorfindel…"

To be continued…

<><><>

Erestor was finally able to get up and move around, though he still depended on a cane for support. He resumed his duties as Chief Counselor and, true to character, dived back into work with a vengeance. Glorfindel felt more comfortable being away now that Erestor was more independent, but he had not yet moved his quarters back to the barracks. Every night the two friends shared an after dinner drink, consisting of either miruvor, or a fine brandy or wine from the human settlements to the south. They would sit opposite one another next to the fire, sometimes discussing happenings in and around Imladris, or sometimes not speaking at all, preferring to simply enjoy one another’s company.

The awkward silence that had existed between them before they left Imladris for war was gone; Erestor’s brush with death had solved that. Glorfindel was determined never to let a misunderstanding come between them again. Erestor’s fall in battle and long recovery had a dramatic effect on the Vanya. He had been incapacitated with grief and fear when his friend was wounded. He remembered climbing the stairs of the ruined fortress, hacking his way through the orcs that poured out from buildings that had once housed the Mírdain. He found his close friend locked in violent combat with the largest orc he had ever seen. Visions of that event still haunted him; often bringing nightmares that left him sweating and panting for air. He had some idea of the pain Erestor had felt with that attack and the ensuing recovery; at least he had been released from his own pain by death.

He stood at the window overlooking the balcony to his room, watching the snow fall soundlessly upon the terrace. His thoughts were occupied with where he would go next. With Sauron driven back to the east, Imladris and most of the lands west of the Misty Mountains were safe from his evil; he was no longer needed to protect Imladris borders. He thought of traveling to Lindon with Gildor when he returned; or perhaps venturing east, over the mountains though Amroth’s realm, back to the great wood. He thought about Thranduil, the young prince that had awakened his heart, and he wondered how he fared now that they were rebuilding what Sauron’s minions had destroyed.

He inhaled the warm air of the room, breathing in Gildor’s comforting and familiar scent as he felt the Noldo press his forehead against his back.

"Gildor, mellonamin," he said softly.

Gildor slid his arms around the Vanya’s waist and leaned his chin upon his shoulder. "Where are you, Glorfindel? You have the look of one lost in thought."

Glorfindel nodded. "Aye, my thoughts do wander, to places once visited and those I have left behind."

Gildor smiled. "To a certain Sinda prince, perhaps?"

Glorfindel sighed and smiled sadly. "Yes. I hurt him, Gildor. I do not know if he will ever forgive me."

Gildor stepped around in front of the warrior and caressed his face. "He will, mellon. Give him time, he will see that you did the only thing you could do. It is not your role to play lover to a prince, you are meant for more than that."

Glorfindel looked into his friend’s eyes and answered quietly, "I would be meant for only that if it were up to me, Gildor. I could find peace and happiness in his bed until the ending of the world."

Gildor narrowed his eyes for just a moment then responded, "Perhaps, but I do not believe that, Glorfindel. I believe you were meant for other things, and perhaps, other beds."

Glorfindel raised one golden eyebrow and smiled half-heartedly. "Is that so, mellonamin? Who’s bed might I be meant for?"

Gildor laughed quietly. "That is not for me to say, my Vanyarin friend. I merely state what you will not see for yourself."

Glorfindel grasped the Noldo by the shoulders and spun him around to face the window. He wrapped his arms around Gildor’s waist and slid his hands across the smooth suede of his doublet. "How long has it been, mellon? Since you were bedded properly, hmm?"

Gildor gasped and arched into the warrior’s touch, memories of the night they shared in Lindon returning to his mind. "Ah!" he gasped, as Glorfindel’s fingers slid over the seam of his leggings, traveling deep between his legs. "Too long," he whispered. "Far too long."

"Well," Glorfindel purred, "that will not do. We must remedy this immediately." He turned Gildor again and grasped him under the arms, lifting him until his friend’s legs locked around his waist. He moaned quietly as Gildor grasped his face in his hands and assaulted his mouth with intensity he had felt from no other. The Noldo was no fawning and flirtatious young elf, he was a warrior, like himself, and he was not afraid to reach out and take what he wanted.

They stumbled backward toward the bed, Glorfindel flinging Gildor down upon the mattress. Gildor reached up and grabbed Glorfindel’s collar, pulling him down and rolling over him, attacking his friend’s body with his hands and his mouth. Glorfindel groaned and arched into him, hardening almost instantly to Gildor’s assault. He pulled and struggled with Gildor’s doublet and tunic as the Noldo struggled out of it.

* * * *

Erestor sat across the small table from Lord Elrond, his eyes occasionally drifting toward Glorfindel’s empty chair. He ate his meal and conversed with his Lord, trying to hide the concern he felt for Glorfindel’s absence.

"It appears neither Glorfindel nor Gildor will be joining us for dinner tonight, mellonamin," Elrond said quietly.

"Gildor, my Lord?" Erestor pried his gaze away from the empty chair and focused on his Lord’s face.

"I had invited Gildor to join us for dinner as well," Elrond answered as he sliced into a juicy piece of beef. "It appears he and Glorfindel had other dinner plans." He brought the slice of beef to his mouth and chewed it quietly.

Several moments of silence passed, the only sound heard was the quiet clinking of silverware on china. Erestor broke the silence, "Perhaps they take their meal with the soldiers in the barracks. I know Glorfindel feels as though he has neglected them these past months."

Elrond smiled and waived his empty fork. "’Tis no matter. This is not a formal affair, they are free to come and go as they choose. At any rate, I have the feeling that Glorfindel may be leaving us soon."

Erestor’s eyes widened as he nearly choked on his wine. He dabbed his mouth with his napkin and questioned, "Leaving, my Lord? Why do you say so?"

Elrond smiled wryly, "Our Golden One grows restless I fear. He has done all he can with the border guard; they are well trained and seasoned in battle. His work as seneschal is boring for him, Erestor. You must have noticed this. I suspect he will return to Lindon with Gildor and offer his service to the High King. I must admit, I am envious. I have longed to look upon Lindon for many months now, and I have missed my service to my Lord."

Erestor sat, temporarily stunned into silence. He had no idea Glorfindel was unhappy; his friend had never mentioned it to him in all their talks. He felt a sudden, overwhelming surge of panic at the thought of Glorfindel leaving; he had grown quite accustomed to his friend’s company.

"Erestor? Are you alright?" Elrond questioned softly.

The Counselor cleared his throat and nodded. "Aye. Pardon me, my Lord. I was taken aback by your observation. I was not aware that Glorfindel was unhappy."

Elrond took a sip of wine and answered, "I do not believe he is unhappy, per say, just unchallenged. Glorfindel was not made to be an administrator, Erestor. He is not like you or I. Glorfindel is more like Gildor; he is a soldier, not a bureaucrat."

Erestor nodded in agreement. In that, his Lord was correct, Glorfindel was not an administrator.

"I will be sad to lose him," Elrond continued. "He has become a friend as well as an assistant. More than one of us owes our life to him."

Erestor swallowed and answered quietly, "I know I do."

Elrond reached across the table and placed his hand over Erestor’s. "As do I, mellonamin, as do I."

Erestor furrowed his brow and looked up at Elrond. "What do you mean, my Lord?"

"Just before he found you on the battlement, he and his regiment were covering the south gate. My regiment joined them and we were fighting side by side. I tell you, Erestor, few have taken my breath away as he did. Only twice before have I seen elves more fierce than he. I swear to you, there were Orcs cowering in his wake. If I had a doubt before, it was removed that day. He is an Eldar, Erestor. He has looked upon the glory of Valinor and seen the light of the trees. His sight pierces the veil between dark and light, he sees what the rest of us do not. There is no fear in him, and the Dark Lord’s minions sensed it. They fled before him like a black tide, only those too foolish to know better met his challenge." He took a deep breath and continued, "When Annatar reached the gate he hurled a spear through the breach. Glorfindel caught it in his hand, Erestor. As I sit here before you, I swear, he reached up and snatched it out of the air and hurled it back at the beast that threw it. If it were not for the Dark Lord’s power, he would have killed him on the spot. That spear was meant for me, Erestor; he caught it before it pierced my chest. Had he not been there, I would not be sitting here with you now."

Erestor listened to Elrond’s tale in shock. Glorfindel had never breathed a word of it to him, but then that was not surprising, the warrior never liked to talk about himself. "He never told me, but I am not surprised," he answered softly.

Elrond smiled and resumed his meal. "No, nor am I. Glorfindel is a most humble elf. It occurs to me that I owe him my life in more ways than one. Were it not for his protection and sacrifice during the Fall of Gondolin, I would not be sitting here with you now. So much would be different, Erestor; I often wonder what the world would be like if not for that one act of self-sacrifice."

The rest of their meal passed in silence and Erestor excused himself to return to his quarters.

* * * *

Gildor lay across Glorfindel’s chest, a blissful smile spreading across his lips. He took a deep breath and sighed, causing the Vanya to chuckle.

"Satisfied are we?" Glorfindel asked teasingly.

"Most satisfied," Gildor answered. "But…"

"Yes?" Glorfindel questioned.

"We missed dinner with Lord Elrond. Do you suppose he is angry?" Gildor asked quietly.

Glorfindel smiled and stroked Gildor’s hair. "I do not think so, Gildor. Lord Elrond’s temper is slow to burn. In the months that I have been here, I have grown to know him better. He is much like his grandfather. Tuor was the first Edain I had ever met. He was a kind and noble soul, slow to anger, wise for his years. The lady Idril loved him dearly, and the King loved him as a son before he took his daughter to wed. I am only sorry that my Lord did not survive to know his grandson and see his great grandsons come into this world. King Turgon loved Eärendil so, he doted on that elfling to the point that it frustrated Idril sometimes; he spoiled little Eärendil terribly. I think he would have loved Lord Elrond and King Elros just as much." He took a deep breath and sighed. "It is fitting that Eärendil carries the light of the Silmaril; its beauty will forever be safe in his keeping."

Gildor listened contentedly to Glorfindel talk of his kinsman; he so rarely heard the warrior reminisce and it was clear how much he had loved his home and those he swore to protect. After a few moments of silence he shifted against the warrior and grimaced. "Ai, we are a mess, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel chuckled and nodded. "That we are, mellonamin, that we are. Shall we rise and bathe? We could raid the kitchens and see what is left for dinner."

Gildor nodded. "Excellent idea." He slowly rose from the warrior and climbed from the bed, preparing a bath.

* * * *

Erestor slowly walked along the long corridor that led to his chambers, leaning upon his oaken staff for support. This walk always seemed to take forever at the end of the day. He knew he pushed himself too hard, but he could not seem to stop himself. After months of lying in bed and feeling useless, he could not bear to be idle. He came to a stop at Glorfindel’s door, noticing he had not picked up the schedule for the next day that was delivered to their door each night. He bent down with difficulty and picked up the scroll. He looked at it for a moment before raising his hand to knock.

Before his knuckles could make contact with the door, it swung open to reveal the Vanya in a thin silken robe, his hair still wet from the bath.

"Erestor," Glorfindel said softly, surprise coloring his voice.

"Glorfindel," Erestor answered, his eyes quickly perusing the Vanya’s form before bowing his head in greeting. He extended his hand and offered the scroll to him. "Tomorrow’s schedule…" his voice trailed off as he caught sight of Gildor treading toward the door in nothing but his leggings. "I am sorry," he murmured, "I did not realize you had company."

Glorfindel reached out and took the scroll, noting the small tremor in Erestor’s hand. "Erestor, your hand… you are…" he looked at the Counselor’s face and continued, "You are pale. You are pushing yourself too hard…"

Gildor stepped next to Glorfindel, his eyes widening in surprise for just a moment as he stammered a greeting. "Erestor…"

Erestor fought down the blood that threatened to rush to his face and he bowed his head again. "Gildor," he answered as calmly as he could manage. "Lord Elrond and I missed the two of you at dinner. Perhaps we can reschedule when you are free?" He stepped back and continued, "I am quite tired. I suppose I have pushed myself too hard today. Glorfindel, would you mind terribly if we postponed our drink tonight? I would like to go to bed early."

Glorfindel stepped forward to take Erestor’s elbow. "Of course not, mellonamin. But let me escort you to your chamber at least, you look very tired."

"I am quite alright, Glorfindel," Erestor snapped as Glorfindel recoiled. He took a deep breath and continued, "Forgive me, mellonamin. I am just tired. It is only fifteen paces to my door; I can manage by myself. Have a good evening." He turned on his heel and walked as quickly as he could to his door, entering his chamber and closing the door behind him.

Glorfindel turned and looked at Gildor, who replied, "That went well. Do you not think so?"

Glorfindel furrowed his brow and grumbled as he closed the door.

* * * *

Erestor sank back against the door and sighed. He supposed he should not be surprised at what he saw, Gildor and Glorfindel were more suited to one another than… he shook his head. "Pointless…" he grumbled. He righted himself and hobbled to his armoire, removing his heavy robes and changing into a thin silk nightshirt. He practically fell into the bed and in his weary state, drifted into reverie almost immediately.

To be continued…

<><><>

Gildor and Glorfindel sat at the table in the now deserted dining room, eating in silence. The Noldo watched his friend pick at the vegetables and meat on his plate, randomly shoving it around with his fork. He took a bite of succulent roast chicken and watched Glorfindel with curiosity, wondering exactly what had caused his change of mood. It certainly was not the first time Erestor had snapped at either of them, and Glorfindel was not one that he would characterize as over-sensitive. As he chewed the bite of chicken, something that he would have normally considered as highly unlikely occurred to him, but, given the events as of late, it seemed to be the most logical answer.

He took a drink of wine and softly addressed the warrior, "Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel looked up at his plate and smiled half-heartedly. "Yes, mellon?"

"Are you in love with Erestor?" Gildor asked plainly.

Glorfindel dropped his fork on his plate with a loud clang and stared at his friend with open-mouthed surprise. He regained his composure and sat back in his chair. "What causes you to ask me such a thing?" he stammered.

Gildor calmly went about cutting his meat and continued, "Your reaction to him this evening, and the way you are acting now. It is clear that you are upset, and I do not believe that his barking at you has anything to do with your current mood. I have seen the two of you engage in far more volatile shouting matches than that one."

Glorfindel picked up his fork and resumed moving his food around as he shook his head. "Surely, I do not know what you are referring to, nor why such a wild idea would occur to you in the first place. Erestor and I are friends, Gildor, nothing more. I am worried about his health, that is all."

Gildor nodded and chewed his food for a moment then placed his fork and knife on his plate. "Of course, and why should you not be?" Gildor continued, "After all, he is so young and fragile. Frankly, I am surprised he is able to make it up and down the stairs without twisting an ankle. I mean, really, Erestor is nothing more than a weak…"

Glorfindel held up his hand and interrupted his friend. "Point taken, Gildor. I know Erestor is not fragile or weak. Nevertheless, his injury was serious, how Lord Elrond was able to heal him, I know not. It is by the grace of the Valar that he is still with us."

Gildor nodded and sat back in his chair. "Yes, I agree. However, I have known Erestor longer than you, Glorfindel. He is the strongest, most cunning, most determined elf I have ever known. Erestor is no stranger to hardship, what he endured before coming to Lindon…" His voice trailed off for a moment and he closed his eyes. He opened them again and continued, "Life with Fëanor’s sons was no holiday, Glorfindel. The exiles lived for ages pursuing that which they could not have, driven by need and desire to fulfill the oath that doomed them." He took a deep breath. "Erestor has suffered much hardship, Glorfindel, and he has never let it crush him. He has fought long and hard to regain his independence. The pain in his face last night was not of a physical nature."

Glorfindel closed his eyes. Could his friend be right? Could there be more in Erestor’s heart than friendship for him? He remembered the first time he saw the Counselor standing in the hall of Gil-galad’s court, as the Noldo looked him over and questioned him. He remembered how hauntingly beautiful he was, his raven hair and gray eyes, his heavy, dark velvet robes draped about him like a shroud to hide his beauty from the world.

When he opened his eyes, he gazed into Gildor’s warm face. "I am afraid, Gildor," he nearly whispered, "he is so different than me, so… reserved, so… complicated."

Gildor smiled broadly and nodded. "So, then it is as I suspected, you are in love with him." He folded his hands in his lap and nodded. "Aye, he is reserved and complicated. However, he is also strong, kind, and passionate; and though he has had many lovers, he has never been in love. If you care for him as I suspect you do, Glorfindel, you must tell him. He is too proud to come to you, too afraid of being rejected by you. Both of you deserve love, Glorfindel, and though you do not see it, the two of you are truly meant for one another." He sat forward and reached across the table and took the Vanya’s hand. "Running away will not work, Glorfindel. His image and voice will haunt you for the rest of your days, you will always regret not trying, not finding out for sure."

Glorfindel’s eyes widened. "How did you know?" he asked softly.

Gildor shook his head and chuckled. "Ai, Glorfindel. You are like a book, lying open on a table for all to read. You do not want to leave Imladris. I see how much you love your home here, and I remember how uncomfortable you were in Lindon, how you felt you never fit in. You seek to go to Lindon to be away from this torment of being so close to one you have wanted for so long. Perhaps you are fooling yourself with this, but you do not fool me." He sighed and continued. "You said once you thought Mandos sent you back to serve the King. Perhaps it is not the King you are meant to serve. Have you ever considered that it is Lord Elrond that you are meant to serve? After all, were it not for your sacrifice, he would not be here today. Perhaps Mandos sent you here to protect Lord Elrond, for something in my heart tells me he has a very important role to play in the future of Middle Earth."

Glorfindel looked at Gildor with a furrowed brow. He had never considered that he had been sent here for Elrond; it was an accident that he ended up in Imladris in the first place. He had intended to make for Lindon with Gildor’s troops, but when the refugees needed more protection, he had gone north. Once in Imladris, there was so much to do, so many who needed help; he just never seemed to be finished. However, he had to admit, Gildor’s idea had merit. It would make sense that he was sent here to protect Lord Elrond, whom he was bound to through service to King Turgon. The question was why? What danger lay ahead for Elrond? How could it be more important to protect him than the High King?

He took a deep breath and answered, "Perhaps you are right, mellonamin. I always felt at a loss in Lindon, like I was never really sure what it was that I was supposed to be doing. Since I have come here, my life has had a clear purpose."

Gildor nodded and smiled. "Now," he answered, "it appears you have two more reasons to stay, if you needed them, of course."

Glorfindel nodded and said nothing for a moment. He felt his heart begin to race in his chest and his palms begin to sweat. "Gods, Gildor," he answered softly. "What do I do? What do I say to him? What if he slams the door in my face?" He shook his head. "I have all but flaunted my lovers in front of him. I did not think that was what I was doing at the time, but when I think on it now, I see that is the truth of the matter."

Gildor chuckled and shook his head. "Ai, Glorfindel. Just knock on the door. When he opens it, tell him you love him, tell him that you have been in love with him this whole time. He will either drag you to the bed or slam the door in your face. Either way, you would have your answer."

Glorfindel threw his head back and groaned. "I am so glad I asked you, mellonamin. You have been of so much help to me in this matter."

Gildor held up his hands. "I never professed to be an expert on the ways of the heart, Glorfindel. I am but a plain soldier who speaks his mind. Perhaps you should go to Lord Elrond about this. Or better yet, ask Erestor?"

Glorfindel’s head snapped forward, his eyebrows raised. "Ask Erestor? Ask Erestor? Are you mad? You expect me to ask the object of my affection how he would advise me to approach one I am in love with?"

Gildor shrugged. "Why not? Who better to ask? Erestor will tell you to woo your interest in the way he would wish to be wooed… then you are sure not to fail."

Glorfindel plunked his elbows upon the table and buried his face in his hands. "No, of course not. I am, however, most apt to make an utter fool of myself and cause Erestor to ask for my resignation."

Gildor laughed and answered, "You must tell him, Glorfindel. If you do not, the two of you will never come together, and frankly, I do not know that I can bear either one of you in this state one moment longer." He pushed his chair back and gathered his dishes. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have much business to attend to in the morning, and a long ride back to Lindon the following day. I am going to get some sleep."

Gildor left the confused and frustrated warrior in the dining room and made his way to his quarters.

* * * *

Erestor awoke in the early morning; he had the day off from his duties as Chief Counselor and typically, he and Glorfindel would have breakfast together. But that morning, images of Glorfindel in Gildor’s arms came unbidden to his mind and he tried to shake them off. He did not think he could face the warrior until he had pushed those thoughts way down to where they no longer caused his face to flush with envy. He lay upon his side, gazing out the window at the pale dawn light that caused the snow to glisten, and cursed himself for not acting sooner, if he had, he might have had a chance.

He pulled back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting there for a few moments before rising. He rubbed his side, something that had become a habit it seemed, then stood and crossed the room, making for his armoire. He chose a dark gray silk tunic and black velvet leggings and dressed for the day. As he sat in front of his mirror, combing through his straight raven locks, he thought of Glorfindel and remembered his words to him so long ago in Lindon. ‘This is a new start for you, a chance to do all that you never had the chance to do before…’ It seemed to him at times that Glorfindel had taken that advice a little too much to heart; the warrior threw himself into the pleasures of life with abandon. "But why should I fault him for what I have been known to do myself?" he asked his reflection. ‘Because you want him to do so with you…’ his conscience chided.

A soft knock interrupted his train of thought and he groaned inwardly, facing Glorfindel at that moment was the last thing he needed before his morning tea. "Come," he called. He was surprised to see Gildor’s reflection in his mirror and he turned around to face him.

"Gildor, mellonamin. What brings you here this morning? There is not a problem, I hope?"

Gildor closed the door behind him and gently shook his head. "No, Erestor, there is no problem." He stopped himself short and began again, "Actually, that is not true. There is a problem, Erestor."

Erestor rose from his chair and furrowed his brow. "What is it? Did the grain supplies not arrive? Are we missing anything from the list of items to go back to Eregion?"

Gildor sighed and shook his head. "Nay, mellonamin. My problem is of a much more… personal nature."

Erestor winced inwardly; this conversation was about to turn in a direction he was not comfortable with. He answered quietly, "Perhaps you should speak with Glorfindel about it? The two of you have always been quite close." He closed his eyes as soon as the words left his mouth. If he could have dug a pit for himself and climbed in he would have.

Gildor wagged his finger and answered, "This is precisely the problem."

Erestor groaned, audibly this time, and put up his hands. "I have no problem with your relationship with Glorfindel, Gildor, and frankly, I would prefer not to discuss it.

Gildor crossed the room and stood directly in front of Erestor. "This is ridiculous, Erestor!" he barked. "Ai! I grow weary of the two of you dancing around one another as you have done since he arrived! Admit it, you have wanted him from the day you saw him, you nearly said as much to me that first night in my chamber, and as time has gone on, you have grown to love him. Why you refuse to admit this to yourself is beyond me. But frankly, I grow tired of the entire affair."

Erestor looked at Gildor with his eyes wide and mouth open. He was in a state of shock. He had never seen Gildor do so much as frown, much less lose his temper. Even in the face of one of his own tirades, which he admitted to himself could be tough to bear, Gildor had not even batted an eyelash. Now, here the Noldo stood, in his chamber, dressing him down for not pursuing his love interest. He furrowed his brow and quietly answered, "I am confused, Gildor. I thought…"

Gildor began to pace in front of him. "You thought, you thought… that is always what you do best is it not? Think? The time for thought is over, Erestor. Now is the time for action." He ceased pacing and took a deep breath, regaining his composure. "Erestor," he began calmly, "what is between Glorfindel and me is not what you think it is. He and I have always been friends, we understand one another, we think alike, we share the same sense of humor, and yes, we have shared a bed, but only twice since he came to us. For all the things we have shared, one thing we have not, is our hearts. I care for Glorfindel deeply, but he is my friend, no more, and he feels the same way about me."

He placed his hand on Erestor’s shoulder. "His heart belongs to another, Erestor."

Erestor nodded and softly answered. "Aye, I know. His heart has always belonged to Ecthelion, he will grieve his loss until the end of his days."

Gildor smiled gently, a soft laugh escaping him. "By Gods, Erestor. How can one so brilliant be so thick?"

Erestor’s eyes widened. "I beg your pardon?" he asked with no small amount of incredulity.

Gildor fought to restrain the laughter that threatened to burst forth. "Yes," he answered, his voice wavering somewhat. "He will mourn Ecthelion’s passing, as will all who once loved him. But the one who I refer to, the one who holds his heart now, is you."

Erestor reached behind him and grasped the top of the chair to steady himself. There was a strange ringing in his ears and he poked his finger in one ear and wiggled it as he shook his head. "I am sorry…" he began with a shaky voice, "I do not think I heard clearly what you said, Gildor."

Gildor chuckled and clasped Erestor’s shoulder tighter. "Yes, you did, mellonamin. Glorfindel loves you; he has for years now, only he has been afraid to express it. He is afraid you are too different; he is afraid you do not feel the same way."

Erestor looked into Gildor’s eyes, momentarily afraid this was some sort of prank. As he gazed into the eyes of one of his closest friends, he saw the truth in them. "He… loves me?" he asked in a voice that was as soft as a whisper.

Gildor nodded and pressed his forehead to Erestor’s, answering softly, "Yes, mellonamin, he does."

To be continued…

<><><>

Erestor was still reeling from the conversation he had with Gildor that morning as he walked down the halls of the Last Homely House. His mind swam with both fears and possibilities. If Gildor was correct, and Glorfindel really did love him, then… He paused in mid-stride, his eyes closed as he leaned on his staff. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the thought of it, the mere idea that Glorfindel could be his was almost more than he could bear. He was surprised by how he felt; but then he had never really been in love before. Of lovers, he had plenty; he had shared bed and body with both male and female many times in his long life. But his heart had never been shared, it was still untouched.

He had always believed that the doom of the Noldor had been what had kept him from opening up to those who would have loved him. To be forever alone, his heart forever locked away from any whom would touch it, that was how the doom effected him. Now, now he had a chance to break free of this curse to open his heart and know real love for the first time in his life.

He resumed his trip down the long halls to the kitchens. He had a very special plan he needed to set in motion; this would be a night for both he and Glorfindel to remember in ages to come.

* * * *

Glorfindel paced fretfully back and forth in front of the large fireplace in his room. He mumbled to himself as he tried to find what words he should say to one of his dearest friends, to the one whom he had wanted almost everyday since his new life began. He paused in his gait holding out his hands as he imagined saying the words to Erestor for the first time. "Erestor," he began, "you and I…" He shook his head and muttered, "No, that is not right." He turned and resumed pacing and stopped again. "Erestor, your beauty has…" He shook his head again, harder this time. "Oh, by the Valar, no…" He placed his hands over his face and groaned. "Gods, I do not know the words, I am not a poet…"

He plopped down upon the carpet, sitting cross-legged and staring into the fire. "How do you tell your dearest friend that you are in love with him?" he asked the empty room.

A deep voice echoed in his mind, "How did you tell me?"

Glorfindel closed his eyes and whispered, "I did not. I was too afraid to ever say the words."

The deep voice answered, "Nay, meleth, that is not true. Your lips said volumes as you pressed them to mine. I knew what was in your heart the first time you kissed me."

"Ai, Ecthelion," Glorfindel whispered. "You and I were kindred spirits, alike in mind and temperament. Erestor is…"

"Oh, my golden one," the deep voice answered. "You forget who your love truly is. He is more than the somber advisor. He too is a warrior, a fire burns within him, it is merely buried beneath the façade he wears; he comes from the line of Fëanor, fire is in his blood. Find it, touch it, and he will be yours, as I was."

Glorfindel smiled as he opened his eyes, whispering to the empty room, "Yes, of course, mellonamin. You are correct as you always are." He rose from the floor, feeling calmer and more at peace than he had in years. He departed his chamber to seek out Erestor before attending to his duties for the day.

* * * *

Erestor carefully instructed the kitchen staff to prepare a very special dinner of succulent roast vegetables, fresh bread, rich cheeses and roast meats, and decadent desserts for him and Glorfindel that night. The chambermaids were instructed to prepare his room with candles and fresh flowers, a fire in the hearth, fresh silk sheets upon his bed, and to restock the oils in his bath. He was on his way down the path to check the wine stock and select the perfect bottle for that evening.

As he rounded the corner he nearly crashed headlong into his love interest, who was apparently just as distracted as he was. He reached out and caught Glorfindel’s cloak as his staff clattered to the ground.

Glorfindel caught Erestor by the arms and quickly pulled him to his chest, supporting the Noldo’s weight when he felt him falter for just a moment. His breath caught in his throat as he looked down at Erestor, who he just then realized was a bit shorter than he was. "Erestor…" he said softly. "Are you all right?"

Erestor closed his eyes, cursing himself for his lack of attention and the awkward way he clutched Glorfindel’s cloak. "I am so tired of not feeling like myself," he grumbled, "and I am so tired of that cursed staff!"

Glorfindel smiled gently, one hand coming up to caress the length of raven hair beneath it, the other hand travelling to the small of the Noldo’s back. "I think you feel just fine," he answered, "I think you feel perfect, in fact."

Erestor turned his wide pewter eyes up to meet the Vanya’s azure gaze. In that moment, he would have been happy to drown in Glorfindel’s eyes. The awkward grip he had on Glorfindel’s cloak relaxed and he opened his mouth to speak; but for the first time in his life, he could not find the words to say.

Glorfindel held Erestor in his arms so very gently, cradling him as if he were a precious jewel. "Erestor," he began. Then he remembered Ecthelion’s words to him that morning, and instead of finishing his sentence, he pressed his lips to those of his friend instead.

Erestor gasped quietly as Glorfindel’s lips descended upon his own, and as the warrior kissed him his hands traveled into his golden mane and he moaned quietly. Never in all his long life, with all his lovers, had he been kissed with so much passion, so much tenderness, so much… love. He returned the kiss in equal measure, trying to convey through it what he could not seem to express in words.

Glorfindel moaned quietly into the kiss; never had one tasted so sweet. He deepened the kiss, striving for more, needing, wanting more of this wondrous Noldo he held in his arms. He groaned quietly as he felt Erestor’s fingers tangle in his hair and he fought the urge to crush him to his chest, to touch every inch of his beautiful body. He felt so good, smelled so good, tasted so good; he could not believe he had waited so long to do this.

"Echem!"

Glorfindel and Erestor separated as their moment of bliss was interrupted by the sound of their Lord clearing his throat. Erestor started to step back and was caught by the elbow by Glorfindel as he started to falter. He was, in that moment, profoundly grateful for the warrior’s presence or he would have fallen backward into the brush and snow.

"Lord Elrond," he began nervously. "I… we…"

"My Lord," Glorfindel took over for him. "Please excuse the lack of decorum, but when I found Erestor in my arms I was unable to resist."

Elrond placed his hand over his mouth and stifled a chuckle that nearly escaped, and cleared his throat again.

Erestor blurted out, "I was not paying attention to where I was going, I was… preoccupied. I came around the corner and crashed into poor Glorfindel and dropped my staff. Glorfindel was kind enough to keep me from tumbling into the brush."

"Ah, yes… poor Glorfindel, that was kind indeed." His lips twitched as he struggled not to smile. "I see. Well, it is understandable that you would react in such a way, Glorfindel." He coughed again, still trying to conceal his mirth. "Please forgive me for such an untimely intrusion, but I am afraid I must see Erestor immediately, and I believe Gildor needs your assistance in the armory."

Glorfindel bowed his head. "Yes, my Lord. I will see to Gildor right away."

Elrond bent down and retrieved Erestor’s staff and returned it to him. "I will see you in my office when you are able, Erestor." He smiled and turned on his heel, heading back up the path toward his chambers. He was able to contain his laughter until he was well out of earshot of the two lovers, however, many wondered what the cause of their Lord’s laughter was as he walked through the Last Homely House.

Erestor looked up at Glorfindel as he leaned on his staff. A kind smile spread across the Vanya’s lips as he bowed his head, and he reached out and caressed his golden mane once more.

Glorfindel struggled to contain the tremor in his voice, "I take my leave of you, my Lord. Though I do hope we can continue this at a later time?"

Erestor answered softly, "Yes, I would like that."

Glorfindel smiled charmingly. "Until later then." He took up Erestor’s free hand, and placed a soft kiss upon it and turned to go back down the path toward the barracks.

Erestor ambled up the path back toward Elrond’s quarters when he realized he had forgotten to ask Glorfindel to have dinner with him. He turned around; his voice trailing off as he called him, realizing the warrior was already gone.

* * * *

Erestor sat at his desk in his office, signing an elegantly written invitation to dinner for Glorfindel. He dusted it with fine sand, gently brushed it off and folded it, sealing it and handing it to his assistant. "Place this under Lord Glorfindel’s door please."

Melpomaen took the invitation and bowed his head. "Right away, my Lord."

Erestor watched his young assistant leave and he turned and looked out the window. Melpomaen was ever diligent, always making himself available even on his days off.

It was late afternoon, the evening meal would be served soon in the large dining room, and he wondered where Glorfindel was at that moment. He leaned back in his chair. He imagined Glorfindel would be returning to his rooms to bathe and dress for dinner within the hour, and he would find the invitation waiting for him.

His business with Lord Elrond that morning had been a bit awkward, but his old friend and Lord had done his best to pretend nothing had occurred. It appeared Gildor’s return to Lindon via Eregion would be delayed until early summer. Lord Elrond was sending him and his followers to Greenwood with supplies to aid in the building of flets and the fortification of Oropher’s realm. Gildor would assist in training new troops of young elves having just entered their majority to replace the warriors and archers Oropher had lost in the assault on Greenwood years ago.

He was relieved that Elrond did not instruct Glorfindel to go with Gildor, but he feared the warrior would still offer to. A sudden pang of jealousy stabbed at his heart when he thought of Glorfindel going to Greenwood and seeing Thranduil again. He did have to admit the Prince was of a bewitching beauty, but the thought of Thranduil trying to tempt the warrior back into his bed made his blood boil.

He rose from his chair and grasped his staff as he made his way back to his chamber to prepare for dinner that night.

* * * *

Glorfindel made his way up the path toward his quarters to bathe for dinner. It appeared Lord Elrond was having dinner in the main hall that night so their nightly ritual of dinner in his private quarters was suspended. Gildor had informed him of Elrond’s request that he travel to Greenwood, and he had to admit, for a brief moment he wished he was going with him so that he could see Thranduil once more. However, after the kiss he shared that morning with Erestor, he would not leave Imladris now for anything in the world. He was on the verge of having what he wanted for so long and his heart skipped at the thought of it.

Upon arriving at his chamber door, he espied the parchment sticking out from underneath it. He opened the door, retrieved the note, and closed the door behind him, opening it and reading it as he tossed his cloak upon a chair. He recognized Erestor’s elegant penmanship immediately and saw that it was an invitation to dinner in his chamber. He smiled and placed the invitation upon his dressing table and began to unbutton his tunic. He realized he should bring something. Flowers seemed inappropriate; this was no maid he was wooing. Wine, that was it, he would go down and select a bottle of wine to bring.

In many of their long after-dinner conversations, Erestor had regaled him with his love of the grape. They discussed horticulture, cooperage, fermentation, harvesting, and many other wine related topics. While it may appear he had not really been listening, he actually was, and he had learned much about the art of wine making, as well as the art of choosing the right wine for the right occasion from his friend.

He gathered up his cloak and headed back out to the cellar to select a bottle of wine he thought Erestor would like, a smile gracing his lips as he quickly departed the main house.

To be continued…

<><><>

Erestor looked at his reflection in the mirror. He had chosen a tunic of deep midnight blue and black velvet leggings for the occasion. Two small clips held braids behind his ears and the rest of his hair fell unbound down his back. He looked around his chamber one last time; candles were lit, dinner was to be delivered within the hour, Glorfindel would arrive shortly, everything was perfect. Then it hit him. The wine! In his flustered state that morning, he had forgotten completely why he had headed down the path in the first place. He pressed his palm against his forehead and grumbled. How could he have forgotten something so important?

He looked at the position of Ithil in the night sky and realized he did not have enough time to travel down the path to the cellar; Glorfindel was due to arrive at any moment.

A soft knock upon the door caused him to jump slightly, and his heart to begin racing in his chest. He checked his reflection one last time and smoothed his tunic before opening the door.

His breath caught as the vision that was Glorfindel filled his doorway. The Vanya was dressed in a pale, silver blue tunic and dark gray leggings. His hair was braided and held in place by jeweled combs that were nearly as old as Arda itself. Erestor recognized the handiwork of his own people when he saw it.

"I brought this, I hope it meets your satisfaction," the warrior said softly, as he handed Erestor the bottle of wine.

A broad smile graced Erestor’s lips as he looked at the bottle and the handwritten label upon it. It appeared Glorfindel had been listening all those nights he had prattled on about his love of wine. He looked up at the warrior and smiled. "It is perfect, mellonamin," he answered softly, "Just what I would have chosen myself." He stepped aside and invited Glorfindel to enter. "Please, come."

Glorfindel crossed the threshold and looked around Erestor’s chamber. He had been there many times before, shared many nights sitting in a chair by the fire, but this night it was transformed into a romantic, lover’s oasis. He smiled and breathed deeply as the aroma of violets and lilac filled the room. His fingers lightly caressed the velvety petals of orchids in a crystal vase upon the bureau as his gaze drifted to the wide, iron bed. It was dressed in sheets of cream silk and a coverlet of deep burgundy velvet. The chambermaids had turned down the bed already and Glorfindel smiled when he thought of having Erestor in that bed.

He turned and watched Erestor move to the sideboard, retrieving a crystal decanter, that one of the Mírdain made for him in thanks for his efforts to see their people to safety, and poured the deep burgundy liquid into it.

"This will need to breathe for a little while, but should be ready when dinner arrives." Erestor fought to control the nervous tremor in his hand as he set the empty bottle down and retrieved two carved crystal goblets from the sideboard.

When he turned around to offer Glorfindel an aperitif, he found himself in the Vanya’s arms once again, and he watched Glorfindel’s lips descend upon him. He had just enough time to whisper the warrior’s name before Glorfindel’s lips covered his own. He moaned quietly and wrapped his long arms around Glorfindel’s back, his fingers clutching at the soft silk of the warrior’s tunic.

Glorfindel deepened the kiss, questing inside Erestor’s mouth with heated intensity. One hand traveled down the Noldo’s back, coming to rest upon his round buttocks, as the other traveled into his hair, his fingers tangling in Erestor’s raven locks. He pulled him closer, pressing his lower body to Erestor’s, making his need and intent known as his arousal swelled inside his leggings.

Erestor moaned plaintively as he felt Glorfindel’s arousal press against his own burgeoning one. Never had he felt so helpless to resist another’s charms, so needful of another’s touch. The kiss went on forever, tongues wrestling and caressing, hands and fingers clutching and exploring. As they broke their kiss, each quietly gasping for air, Erestor looked into Glorfindel’s eyes and smiled.

Glorfindel smiled in return, his strong swordsman’s hands caressing Erestor’s face. "I have thought about doing that all day," he said huskily.

Erestor laughed softly and answered, "As have I…" He swallowed and slid his hands across the silk of Glorfindel’s tunic. "Would you like a glass of brandy or miruvor?" he asked sultrily.

Glorfindel chuckled and asked, "Are you trying to get me inebriated, Erestor?"

Erestor gently shook his head and answered, "Nay, I would do nothing to impede your… performance."

Glorfindel laughed heartily and nuzzled Erestor’s ear, causing the Noldo to purr liked a contented cat. "Always thinking ahead aren’t you?" he whispered against the elegant curve of his friend’s ear.

"Tell me, Glorfindel," Erestor whispered breathlessly, "Just how hungry are you?"

Glorfindel chuckled again, his breath fluttering against Erestor’s ear and causing the Noldo to tremble and whimper quietly. "You have gone to so much trouble to prepare this evening. I do not wish to miss one moment of it." He reluctantly released the advisor and crossed the room, taking his customary seat by the fire. He propped one ankle up on the opposite knee, making no effort to hide his state of arousal.

Erestor’s eyes wandered over the form of his soon to be lover as he too crossed the room, handing Glorfindel a crystal snifter of brandy. Erestor settled into his chair, wishing he had chosen robes instead of leggings at that moment, and crossed his legs, beginning small talk with the warrior.

"So, how long, exactly, have you been in love with me?" he asked teasingly as he took a sip of brandy.

Glorfindel’s eyebrows rose and he nearly spit his brandy back in his glass. "Pardon?" he asked hoarsely, as he tried to recover from so surprising a question.

"I was told you were in love with me," Erestor answered matter of factly, swirling his brandy in his glass.

"Really?" Glorfindel asked with a wicked grin, "Well I was told you were suffering love for me."

"Suffering is a goodly term," Erestor retorted, "I do suffer love indeed, for I love thee against my will." He took a breath and continued, "I was told you were under a consumption for me."

Glorfindel shook his head, his soft laughter causing Erestor to smile. "I am consumed, Erestor, consumed and mad to think I could ever win a battle of words with you." He smiled broadly. "That I love you, Erestor, it is true. How could one do anything but love so brilliant and beautiful an elf?" He set his glass down and sank to his knees upon the carpet in a motion so graceful that it took Erestor’s breath away. He placed his hands upon Erestor’s knees, placing his head upon his lap and said softly, "I will live in thy heart, die in thy lap, and be buried in thy eyes. I am your devoted servant, my most beautiful and honorable lord."

Erestor found himself speechless for the first time in his life. He felt tears prick the back of his eyes as he caressed Glorfindel’s hair. "By Elbereth, I am the luckiest elf in all of Elvendom," he whispered.

Glorfindel, wanting to lighten the moment, continued, "So, for which of my bad parts did you first suffer love for me?"

Erestor chuckled and sat his glass down, taking the warrior’s chin and turning it so their gazes met. "For them all together," he answered, his eyes twinkling with mirth, "which maintained so politic a state of evil that they will not admit any good part to intermingle with them." Glorfindel laughed heartily, a sound that Erestor never grew tired of hearing. The Noldo continued, "Truthfully, I do love you Glorfindel, all of you, past and present, hurts and joys. No other will hold a place in my heart but you."

Glorfindel smiled and stretched up as Erestor bent down to kiss him, their lips meeting softly then opening, as they tasted one another again. A knock on the door caused them to break their kiss, and Glorfindel rose from his place on the floor.

"I will get the door, meleth nín," Glorfindel said gently. "You relax and stay comfortable." He crossed the room and opened the door and two of the kitchen staff entered with carts laden with food. Glorfindel lifted the lid of one of the chafing dishes and breathed in the aroma of roasted vegetables and pheasant. "Mmm… this smells delicious."

He turned to the members of the kitchen staff and bowed his head. "Hannon le," he said softly.

They bowed and answered in unison, "Hannon le, my Lord." They quietly left the carts behind and left Erestor’s chambers, smiling and whispering about what they saw as they made their way back downstairs.

Erestor rose from his chair and began pouring the wine as Glorfindel set the table. The two old friends, soon to become lovers, shared a feast fit for Gil-galad himself in the candlelit room. Erestor left the draperies open, and the light of the full moon illuminated the snow-covered balcony.

After dinner, Glorfindel rose and cleared the dishes away, ordering Erestor to sit and be comfortable. He removed the dessert course from the cart, which consisted of a large platter filled with small cakes, and squares of something he had not seen before, before pushing the carts back into the hall and returning to the table. He picked up one of the squares and held it out to Erestor. "What is this?" he asked.

Erestor smiled broadly and rose from his chair, taking the square from his friend and answering, "That, mellonamin, is the latest creation of our chef. He calls it fudge." He brought the confection to Glorfindel’s lips and said softly, "Try it."

Glorfindel opened his mouth and allowed Erestor to place the fudge on his tongue. He drew the Noldo’s fingers in his mouth and sucked on them for a moment, causing Erestor to gasp quietly, before chewing the gooey confection.

"Mmmm…" he said in a muffled tone. "It is very sweet…" He worked his tongue in his mouth to swallow the rest of the confection. "Would you like a taste?" he asked sultrily as he drew Erestor into his arms.

Erestor smiled and nodded, answering quietly, "Yes, please."

Erestor moaned as Glorfindel claimed his mouth in a heated kiss, mingled tastes of fudge and Glorfindel’s own unique flavor assaulting his senses. The warrior kissed him long and slow, plundering the deepest recesses of his mouth and making him weak in the knees.

As they broke their kiss, Erestor found his tunic being skillfully removed from his body and he groaned as Glorfindel’s hands caressed his chest.

"I will wait not one moment more, pen-velui," Glorfindel whispered against Erestor’s ear. "I yearn for you, meleth nín." He guided the Noldo to the bed, as Erestor removed his tunic and his mouth followed the path his hands were taking. He sank to his knees and he moaned quietly as he pressed his mouth to Erestor’s stomach. His fingers worked the laces on his friend’s leggings and he slid them over his hips and off his legs, exposing Erestor’s arousal to his hungry gaze.

Erestor moaned and arched into Glorfindel’s touch. It was so different than he had always fantasized; he had imagined he would be the one to seduce the warrior, instead it was he who was helpless under Glorfindel’s sensual onslaught. He shivered as he felt the warrior’s fingers trace the scar that still marred otherwise perfect skin, and he quickly moved to cover it with his hand, wanting to hide it from the warrior’s view.

"No," Glorfindel whispered as he caught Erestor’s hand. "Do not hide it from me, meleth." He pulled the Noldo’s hand away. "This is what brought my heart to you, Erestor." His fingers traced the line of the scar. "When I thought you were going to pass on to Mandos’ halls, that is when I first realized that I was in love with you. I knew if you died, I would follow soon after, seeking my own death at the hands of the Dark Lord, even if I had to ride out and challenge him openly." He caressed the scar with his lips, then traced it with his tongue before pressing a kiss to it. "Did you realize that it is in the same place my own starts?" he asked softly.

Erestor looked down at the top of Glorfindel’s head, remembering the first time he saw the faint scar from the whip of the Balrog that ran the length of his torso. He reached down and caressed his hair. "I feel broken sometimes, seron vell," he whispered. "I feel as though I am but a shadow of who I once was." He took a deep breath and continued as Glorfindel looked up into his eyes, "But when you touch me, I am alive again, and I believe that I am strong, that I can be proud of who I am."

Glorfindel smiled lovingly and answered, "You should be proud, Erestor. I am proud of you, proud to count you as my friend. And I am proud and profoundly lucky that I have the opportunity to love you."

"Amin mela le, Glorfindel," Erestor whispered, tears coming to his eyes as he spoke words he had waited for so long to say.

Glorfindel wrapped his arms around Erestor’s waist, pressing his face to the Noldo’s stomach. "Amin mela le, Erestor," he whispered against the soft skin of his lover’s abdomen.

Erestor sighed as Glorfindel caressed the soft skin of his stomach with his lips and he moaned as the Vanya’s breath caressed the swollen shaft of his arousal. He whimpered as Glorfindel ran his tongue along its length, his knees nearly buckling at the sensation.

Glorfindel guided Erestor to sit on the side of the bed as he turned and knelt in front of him. He placed his hands upon the Noldo’s knees, gently parting them and coming to rest between his thighs, resting his weight upon his heels. "I am going to savor this, melethron nín; we have all night and all day tomorrow to explore one another," he said in hushed tones.

The Vanya’s husky voice made the pace of Erestor’s heart quicken and he leaned back upon his hands and looked down at his new lover. "Maethoren vain," he whispered.

Glorfindel smiled and answered, "I am yours, ervainen vorn." He slowly ran his hands up Erestor’s thighs, watching them quiver in anticipation. He lowered his mouth to the Noldo’s legs, placing soft kisses upon his inner thighs, slowly working his way higher as Erestor spread his legs wider. Erestor’s breathless moans were driving him mad, his own arousal throbbed inside his leggings, and he fought to ignore it, to concentrate all his efforts on pleasuring his lover.

When his lips reached the apex of Erestor’s thighs, he heard the whimpering cry that issued from his red lips, and felt his lover’s body arch in response. He looked up at Erestor, admiring the graceful arch of his torso, the cascade of ink-black hair that fell over his broad shoulders. He swirled his tongue around the tip of his engorged arousal, lapping up the clear fluid that leaked from its tip. Like everything else about Erestor, even this was beautiful. As he took the smooth column of flesh into his mouth he heard Erestor’s whimpering cry and felt his body arch once again in response. He worked the Noldo’s length with unparalleled skill, savoring his taste, the feel of his heated, silken flesh sliding between his lips.

Erestor cried out and moaned deeply, words spoken in a long forgotten tongue spilling from his lips. He felt his release build within him, emanating from deep within his core and spreading out to his chest and thighs as he rolled his hips forward, thrusting shallowly into his lover’s mouth. The force of his release caused him to arch and cry out again as he fell to his back upon the bed. A blissful smile crossed his lips as Glorfindel slowly and sensuously cleaned him with his tongue, lapping up each precious drop that escaped his mouth. He moaned and undulated beneath the warrior as Glorfindel’s hands hungrily consumed his body, roaming, fingers spread wide to encompass as much of him as possible. He opened his eyes and looked into the Vanya’s face as Glorfindel hovered over him.

"You are beautiful when you smile, Erestor," Glorfindel whispered. "I would see you smile like that always."

A soft chuckle escaped Erestor, "Oh to always have such a reason to smile, meleth nín."

Glorfindel laughed softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You will have such a reason to smile each and every day if I have anything to say about it."

Erestor wrapped his arms around Glorfindel, pulling him into a deep and passionate kiss as he wrapped one leg around him. Glorfindel pulled back from the kiss and caressed Erestor’s face, taking note of the sleepy expression he wore. He slid off the Noldo, causing him to shudder slightly and pulled back the covers.

"Come, meleth, beneath the covers with you," he said quietly.

Erestor furrowed his brow even as the corners of his mouth began to turn up into a smile. "Only if you join me," he answered.

Glorfindel nipped at the advisor’s lower lip and growled playfully. "Oh I plan to, melethron nín."

Erestor groaned as Glorfindel pulled him up by the arms and gently shoved him under the blankets. No matter how Erestor tried to deny it, he was still recovering, and he grew tired easily. Glorfindel took down Erestor’s braids and combed his fingers through his silken hair.

"You are a beauty, Erestor. A rare beauty indeed." Glorfindel said softly.

Erestor tugged at the tie of Glorfindel’s leggings and growled, "Come to me, my great golden lion."

Glorfindel growled playfully and slid his leggings off, kicking them to the side as he joined Erestor in the bed. He gathered his lover in his arms and stroked his hair as he nuzzled the top of the Noldo’s head. "Rest, meleth nín," he said softly. We have until the end of time to enjoy one another.

Erestor fought back a yawn as his hand drifted down Glorfindel’s abdomen. "But you…"

Glorfindel caught his hand and whispered, "I will be fine. Rest now, I will be here when you wake." He felt Erestor’s body relax even as he mumbled his protest. Within minutes, his lover’s eyes were glazed over in reverie and Glorfindel himself drifted off, a contented smile gracing his lips.

To be continued…

Pen-velui = lovely one

Seron vell = dear lover

Maethoren vain = my beautiful warrior

Ervainen vorn = my dark beautiful one

<><><>

Erestor awoke on his side, as he always did, his eyes clearing as he returned from reverie. The pale dawn light caused the snow on his balcony to glisten and he stared at it languidly. Yet another morning in the Last Homely House, another day spent at loose ends trying to figure out what to do with himself as he had the day off from his duties.

His eyes widened as he felt the bed shift and heard the soft moan that came from over his shoulder. Next, he felt the warm press of Glorfindel’s nude body against his back as the Vanya rolled over and slung one arm and one leg over him. A broad smile crossed his lips as he realized what he had thought was a dream was not one at all. The warrior was in his bed, and they had professed their love for one another.

Glorfindel’s lips brushed the curve of his ear as the Vanya snuggled closer; causing his eyes to close briefly and a shudder of awakening desire to wrack his frame. A sigh escaped his lips as he felt Glorfindel’s still slumbering arousal lay against his buttocks, and he arched gently, pressing back against it.

Glorfindel took a deep breath as he returned from reverie, and smiled. "Erestor," he whispered into the Noldo’s ear. "’Tis a beautiful morning, meleth nín. I suggest we spend it in bed."

Erestor laughed softly and pulled the warrior’s arm tighter around him. "I agree, seron vell. Beside, I do believe it is my turn to pleasure you."

Glorfindel chuckled softly and rolled his hips forward against his lover. "Mmm… that sounds like an excellent way to start the day."

Erestor turned in his arms so that he was facing his lover and caressed his face. He chuckled and replied softly, "Your hair is a mess, mir nín. You did not take your braids out before sleeping."

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. "If I recall, there was no time. Had I not entered the bed immediately you would have crawled from it and dragged me in."

Erestor nodded and whispered against Glorfindel’s lips, "Aye, that I would have." He pressed a deep kiss to the Vanya’s waiting lips, earning himself a deep moan from the warrior. He slowly rolled over him, coming to rest between Glorfindel’s thighs as he deepened the kiss even further. He arched as Glorfindel’s hands caressed his back, his fingers gently kneading his buttocks.

Glorfindel moaned as he allowed Erestor to drink his fill, opening his mouth wider and drawing him in. The Noldo’s ivory skin was a soft as the petals of the orchids on his bureau and his kiss was as sweet as the confection he ate the night before. He gasped for air as Erestor released him, opening his eyes and gazing up at his lover’s face. The look of pure love and bliss in Erestor's eyes caused his heart to swell and a broad smile to cross his lips. "Amin mela le, Erestor," he whispered.

Erestor smiled gently and replied, "Amin mela le, Glorfindel. So very much." He pressed his mouth to Glorfindel’s ear, his lips and tongue skillfully working the curve and point. Glorfindel undulated and arched beneath him and he rode his lover’s body, his hands seeking ways to cause him to whimper and cry out. He rolled one pebbled nipple between his thumb and forefinger, losing himself in Glorfindel’s beautiful voice as it moaned and whispered his name.

Even after all the lovers he had taken in his long life, he still felt nervous and excited as he touched and explored Glorfindel for the first time. He felt as though this was his first time, and distractedly realized that it was in a way; it was the first time he made love with one he had given his heart to. He worked his way lower, his mouth exploring the juncture of neck and shoulder, finding a hard, amber nipple and suckling it until Glorfindel cried out in pleasure. He worked his way lower, over the rolling hills of muscle that was his abdomen, pausing to delve into his navel with his tongue, chasing it as it flinched away. He traced the line of the scar that ran the length of the warrior’s side and found a delightfully ticklish spot near his armpit. He made his way lower still, brushing his lips through the fine, soft hair that grew about the Vanya’s arousal, his breath fluttering along its swollen length. He heard Glorfindel’s whispered pleas as the tip of his tongue traced the vein that traveled the underside of his length before exploring the velvety pouch that lie beneath it. The Vanya smelled like spice and musk, heady, decadent, and utterly addicting. He circled the small entrance to his love’s body; gently caressing it with the tip of his tongue as Glorfindel spread his legs wider and arched against the bed.

"Aiya, Erestor!" Glorfindel gasped breathlessly, "You torment me so…"

"By the Valar, you are undeniably glorious, meleth nín," Erestor answered between kisses and caresses, "Your voice… your flesh… your scent… so very beautiful."

"Please, Erestor…" Glorfindel breathed.

"Iquista man?" Erestor responded.

Glorfindel’s eyelids fluttered shut, Erestor’s mouth tormenting him until he was on the brink of release, only to let him slide back again, his deep voice speaking the ancient tongue of their home, his bewitchingly soft hair teasing his thighs.

"Im baur lle…" he answered, his voice thick with want.

"Ve elyë méra," Erestor answered sultrily.

He took Glorfindel’s length in his mouth, sliding his lips along the swollen length, swirling his tongue along the heated shaft. He drew him in deeper each time, sucking, caressing, swallowing.

Glorfindel uttered a low growl as his release built, and as he found his climax, he arched against he bed and cried out his lover’s name, spilling his essence down Erestor’s throat. He collapsed back upon the bed, his alabaster skin glistening with sweat, his chest heaving with each breath, and a look of bliss upon his face.

Erestor licked his lover clean, caressing his trembling thighs with his hands before playfully nipping at his hip.

Glorfindel flinched and squirmed, and Erestor smiled, it seemed he had found yet another ticklish spot on his lover’s beautiful body. He smiled broadly as he heard the Vanya snort and chuckle; his fingertips teasing the juncture of his thigh and hip as he leaned over his lover.

"Ticklish are we?" he asked teasingly.

"Ai!" Glorfindel barked as he tried to bat the Noldo’s hands away. "Yes, by the Valar, yes! Stop!" He gasped and broke into peals of laughter as Erestor playfully tormented him.

"Mmm… where else are we ticklish?" Erestor purred; the sight of his lover undone and helpless under his assault was arousing beyond measure. "Oh Gods, Glorfindel," he crooned. "You are utterly irresistible. So very tempting…"

Glorfindel caught his wrists and rolled over his lover, pinning him to the mattress as he settled in between Erestor’s thighs. "You are wicked, Counselor. Wicked beyond hope of repenting," he teased.

Erestor shifted beneath him and purred, "If desiring you is something I must atone for, then I am afraid the darkest recesses of Mandos’ Halls await me. For I will never regret, apologize for, or stop wanting you, my beauty."

Glorfindel smiled gently and dipped his mouth to Erestor’s and whispered against his lips, "Nor will I, ervainen vorn, nor will I." He pressed a deep kiss to Erestor’s waiting lips, then pulled back and nuzzled his ear. "We yet have time to bathe before breakfast arrives," he whispered into the Noldo’s ear.

"Arrives?" Erestor whispered in return, "I did not order breakfast to be sent to my chamber…"

"No," Glorfindel purred, "But I did."

Erestor pulled back and smiled in surprise. "Well, we were confident in ourselves were we not?"

Glorfindel smiled broadly and chuckled. "Confident? No. Hopeful? Yes."

Erestor caressed the warrior’s face and smiled. "Always the humble one, maethoren vain."

Glorfindel nuzzled Erestor’s neck. "How could one be anything but humble when faced with one so desirable and wise?" He sat up and pulled his lover up by the arms. "Come, my wise advisor, into the bath we go."

The two lovers rose from the bed and prepared a bath before breakfast arrived.

* * * *

Gildor mounted his horse and nodded to Melpomaen who held two letters in his hand, one to Erestor and one to Glorfindel.

The young secretary looked up at the Noldo and asked, "Are you sure I should not rouse them, my Lord? They will be sorry they did not get to say farewell to you."

Gildor smiled knowingly and shook his head. "Nay, mellonamin. Let them sleep, I will return in time. Just give them the letters if you would."

Melpomaen bowed his head and covered his hand with his heart. "Namarie, my Lord. May the Valar grant you a safe and swift journey."

Gildor bowed his head in turn and then turned to his companions, raising his hand and signalling to them to depart.

As the group passed through the gate and out of the courtyard, they broke in to a gallop, their horses carrying them swiftly over the fields of Imladris.

* * * *

Melpomaen arrived at Glorfindel’s door, and heard nothing but silence from inside. He bent down and slid the folded parchment under the door then walked the few steps to Erestor’s door. Once there, he heard the sound of voices, then laughter and splashing water. He furrowed his brow as he bent down to slide the envelope under the door; his eyes widened as the next sound greeted his ears, causing him to cover his mouth with his hand as he suppressed a gasp. He then stood quickly and made his way down the hall, as swiftly and quietly as possible.

* * * *

Elrond came down the long hallway in long strides, his robes flowing out behind him. As he pushed the door open to the Hall of Fire, he found the Lord Celeborn standing in front of the hearth in travel stained clothing. He had not seen the Sindar Lord since he had fled Eregion with Gildor and the host of Gil-galad.

He bowed his head and covered his heart as he addressed the noble lord. "My Lord," he said softly. "Welcome to Imladris."

Celeborn turned and smiled, inclining his head and replying, "Many thanks, Lord Elrond, for your hospitality on so short a notice. Your staff has already begun to see to lodgings for my companions and myself."

Elrond nodded. "’Tis an honor to have you with us, my Lord. What brings you from Lindon?"

Celeborn turned and looked out the window as he answered, "I hope to find news of my wife, I have not seen her since she entered Moria Gate with our daughter, Celebrían."

Elrond walked toward the Sinda and answered softly. "Nor have we seen her here, my Lord. I am sure she is safe. Perhaps she took refuge in Loríen with Lord Amroth?"

Celeborn nodded. "’Tis my hope, now that I see she is not here. If ill had befallen her, I believe I would sense it." He turned and looked at Elrond. "However, that is not the only reason I sought you out, Elrond." He took a deep breath and continued, "The Dark Lord was beaten back, but not vanquished. His heart is now filled ever more with thoughts of revenge upon elves and men. He gathers his dark forces behind the mountains in the east. The ground will quake and the earth will belch forth fire and black smoke again. He is hard at work, always planning, always bent on destruction. He but licks his wounds now, in time he will grow strong again."

Elrond felt his skin grow cold and his mouth go dry as he listened to Celeborn’s words. He had known the day would come when they would have to face Sauron again, and while it was not upon them just yet, he could feel it looming in the future, just as Celeborn did.

"Aye, my Lord," he answered softly, "I know of what you speak, I feel it as you do."

Celeborn smiled and placed a hand upon Elrond’s shoulder. "We yet have time, mellonamin, time to regroup and to plan, time to rebuild our armies and prepare for war. However, this time the war must be taken to him, we must bring the battle to Morannon."

Elrond felt the heat and color fade from his face as he pondered Celeborn’s words, and he nodded in agreement. He knew the elf lord was correct. "To amass such an army will take hundreds of years, my Lord, time untold."

Celeborn nodded. "We must start afresh, Elrond, and we must strengthen our alliances with the Númenor."

Elrond answered, "Yes, I agree." He motioned to Celeborn to follow him. "Come, let us get you something to eat and warm, clean clothing. Then you and I will sit down and discuss how best to proceed."

Celeborn nodded and followed Elrond to his guest chamber.

* * * *

Erestor and Glorfindel emerged from the bath, and the Noldo tumbled upon the bed as Glorfindel retrieved a tray with steaming breads and fresh fruit that the kitchen staff had left for breakfast.

Erestor chuckled and suddenly realized he had not laughed so much or so hard in over an age. "Ai, Glorfindel. The chambermaid will throw a fit when she sees the mess we made in there."

Glorfindel chuckled and replied, "’Tis only water on a tile floor. How bad can that be?"

Erestor laughed and stretched. "Water, suds, oils, bath salts, flowers… You are a bad influence, meleth nín."

Glorfindel laughed heartily. "Well, a good water fight in the bath is a refreshing thing now and again. Did you not do so with your kin when you were young?"

Erestor rolled to his side, propping up on one elbow, opening his mouth as Glorfindel placed a bite of fresh baked cranberry bread in it. He chewed contentedly and tried not to smile as he swallowed. "Of course I did," he replied. "But it has been long since I was an elfling, and those water fights never ended so deliciously."

Glorfindel popped a slice of apple in his mouth, smiling as Erestor’s fingers caught a drop of juice from the corner of his lips. He swallowed and answered, "Nay, ‘tis not true, meleth. There is a little elfling in all of us, we just have to remember it is there."

Erestor pressed a kiss to the Vanya’s waiting lips. He withdrew and smiled at him as he answered quietly, "You make me happy, Glorfindel. I do not remember the last time I smiled so much or laughed so often. I am thankful for you."

Glorfindel tucked a damp strand of hair behind Erestor’s elegant ear. "As I am thankful for you, meleth nín. I hope to make you happy all the days of your long life."

Erestor fed the warrior a bite of blueberry muffin. "You will, meleth, you will," he answered.

To be continued…

Seron vell = dear lover

Iquista man? = Please, what? (Quenya)

Im baur lle = I need you (Sindarin)

Ve elyë méra = As you wish (Quenya)

Ervainen vorn = my dark beautiful one

Maethoren vain = my beautiful warrior

<><><>

Glorfindel and Erestor emerged from their self-imposed exile upon hearing of Lord Celeborn’s arrival from Melpomaen. Elrond summoned his two closest advisors to the dinner so that they would hear all of what Lord Celeborn had to say.

They entered Elrond’s private dining room together, Erestor dressed in his customary black robes he wore as advisor, Glorfindel in his usual tunic, leggings, and boots he wore as head of Imladris' military defenses. They each greeted Lord Celeborn and took their seats at the table, preparing for a long night of discussions on how to best address the problem from the East.

Celeborn had already spoken with the High King of the Noldor, having traveled to Imladris with the news and Gil-galad’s blessing. Círdan was fortifying the Havens against attack as Gil-galad strengthened Lindon’s battered defenses. The war between the elves and Sauron had taken a high toll on the elven communities, many were still recovering from having their homes burned and citizens murdered at the hands of orcs.

As dinner adjourned, Erestor and Glorfindel walked down the long corridor toward their respective chambers. Neither spoke for a long while, the somber topic of the evening’s discussion weighing heavily on both of them.

When Glorfindel arrived at his door he reached out and caught Erestor by the arm, gently tugging him to a stop. He smiled at his raven-haired lover and pulled him into his arms, purring into his ear, "What say we spend this evening in my chambers for a change of scenery?"

Erestor melted into the Vanya’s embrace and smiled. "Aye, that does sound wonderful, meleth," he answered quietly.

Glorfindel caressed his face and raised one eyebrow. "Are you feeling alright, Erestor? You look a bit tired."

Erestor shook his head and waived off Glorfindel’s concern. "The evening’s topic of discussion was a bit draining, that is all," he answered quietly. His fingers began to unbutton Glorfindel’s tunic, questing inside and finding an amber nipple that pebbled quickly beneath his touch. "I am never too tired to explore you," he purred seductively.

Glorfindel’s breath caught as he looked into Erestor’s pewter eyes, watching them turn from pale to dark. He threaded his fingers inside of Erestor’s and pulled him inside, kicking the door closed behind them. He nearly lost sight of his lover in his cold, dark room; he could make out the silhouette of him against the moonlit window. Glorfindel lit a lantern and moved to build a fire to warm the cold air of the room.

Erestor looked around Glorfindel’s chamber, at the comfortable but plain furnishings and accoutrements. Glorfindel’s rooms reflected who he was, a warrior, a soldier, and an advisor, but it revealed nothing more. Unlike his own tastefully decorated rooms, this one felt temporary, transitional, more like a guest suite than a lived in space. He gasped in surprise when the warrior snuck up behind him, sliding his hands over the velvet of his robes and caressing the curve of his ear with his lips.

"Do my quarters not meet your approval, melethron nín?" the Vanya purred in his ear.

"It does not look as if you ever really moved in here," he managed to say before a soft groan escaped his lips.

Glorfindel purred in his ear once again as his hand found its way past the myriad of buttons and enclosures, to palm his lover’s rising arousal through the thin fabric of his loincloth. "Mmm… I guess I never really did. I did not move into the barracks either, not in any permanent sense." He paused long enough to give a gentle nip to the point of Erestor’s ear before continuing, "I never thought I would stay, I suppose."

Erestor was quickly losing all train of rational thought as Glorfindel skillfully rubbed his hardening arousal. "And now?" he moaned breathlessly as he arched into Glorfindel’s touch.

"Now, my beautiful advisor, I will never leave, for I would be foolish to do so with so beautiful and wonderful a lover here."

Erestor closed his eyes as his fingers raked up the sides of the warrior’s thighs, causing him to groan. He slid from Glorfindel’s grasp and stripped his robes and loincloth as he moved toward the bed. "As wonderful of a lover as you have proved to be thus far, my Golden One," he said as he placed one hand upon the post of Glorfindel’s bed, "I do not believe I have yet seen your true talent. Come, my lion, treat me no more like a fragile doll, make love to me with the fire and heat I know burns inside you."

Glorfindel groaned aloud, Erestor’s words inflaming his already heated desire. He quickly stripped his tunic and kicked off his boots as he watched Erestor mount the bed and take down his braids. The Noldo licked his lips in anticipation and Glorfindel thought he had never seen a sight so desirable in all of his long life.

Erestor knelt in the center of his bed, his pitch black hair falling unbound around his broad shoulders and ivory skin, his dark gray eyes glittering with want and desire, his proud length standing against his stomach. Glorfindel removed his leggings and crawled to him on all fours, dipping his mouth to his lover’s rigid length, savoring in the drawn out hiss that escaped his lips.

Erestor was inflamed at the sight of his lover crawling to him, his strong arms and long legs moving with feline grace, his deep blue eyes riveted to him, burning him with want and desire, his golden mane falling haphazardly around his shoulders. His eyes caressed the long curve of his back, and his perfect, round, firm buttocks. He sighed; he had never had so beautiful a lover. Glorfindel’s mouth and hands consumed him with an intensity that he had not displayed the night before or that morning. As his lover’s soft tongue lathed the pouch of skin beneath his arousal he groaned aloud, tangling his hands in pure golden silk. When the warrior’s tongue flicked against his entrance he gave a soft keening cry and spread his legs further, words of desperate approval spilling from his lips. He gasped in surprise as Glorfindel grasped the back of his knees, pulling them out from under him and flipping him to the bed, and he groaned loudly as the warrior plunged his tongue inside his willing body.

Glorfindel diligently prepared his lover, opening him, slickening him with his tongue. He drew back long enough to growl out, "Give me the phial in the drawer, there by the bed."

Erestor blindly fumbled inside the drawer, feeling his increasing desire burn him from inside, his desperate need to be filled by his lover draining all sense and reason from him. His fingers located the small glass phial and he passed it to Glorfindel. Each moment he had to wait felt like an eternity as he moaned and arched against the bed in anticipation.

"Saes, melethron," he pleaded. He was rewarded by two oil-slicked fingers sliding inside him with expert accuracy, causing him to cry out and arch against the mattress.

He felt Glorfindel’s breath caress his ear and he heard the warrior purr, "Patience, meleth nín, you will have what you seek."

He wrapped his arms around the Vanya’s shoulders, tangling his fingers in his hair, and raking them down his back as he writhed around Glorfindel’s questing fingers. His arousal throbbed mercilessly between their bodies and he ground it against the warrior’s stomach, desperate for release. He groaned when Glorfindel’s weight left him and his fingers left his body, feeling bereft and empty. "Saes…" he pleaded hoarsely.

Glorfindel smiled wolfishly and whispered, "I wish this to last awhile, meleth nín. Do not fret, it will be well worth the effort and the wait." He resumed his leisurely exploration of his lover’s body, covering each and every inch of his flesh with his mouth and hands.

Hot, wet kisses trailed across his aching flesh, not one inch of his body was left untouched by the Vanya’s mouth. Glorfindel concentrated on one pebbled nipple for an eternity as he wadded the Vanya’s hair in his fists and arched against him. He felt his body tighten and he groaned loudly, his release denied by the grip Glorfindel had upon his arousal. He panted and went limp for a moment, but only until Glorfindel resumed his sensual torment of his body. Glorfindel’s fingers entered him again, probing, rotating, and stretching him carefully. A part of him was afraid; he had been so wounded, so torn up inside. But at the same time, he wanted this more than anything, he needed it as he had needed nothing before. His eyelids began to flutter and he whispered, "Glorfindel, please…"

The Vanya retreated from his onslaught, stroking Erestor’s face and pushing his damp hair away. "Ssshhh, meleth nín," he purred. "Do you remember the first time this was done to you? Did you plead and beg for release? Did you think you would burst before it was done? I do not imagine you did, ervainen vorn (my dark beautiful one), but I did. You are stronger than I, Erestor. I crumbled like an elfling, pleading breathlessly through my tears to be released." He caressed the Noldo’s lips with his own and whispered, "Remember who you are, meleth. You are strong, my Noldorian lover, no one can bring you to your knees."

Erestor moaned, his fingers clutching Glorfindel’s back as he replied hoarsely, "You can, seron vell (my dear lover), you always could."

Glorfindel shook his head slowly and replied, "Nay, meleth nín. I am not worthy of such a claim." He smiled and continued, "Look at me, Erestor."

Erestor opened his eyes and stared into the fathomless deep blue pools of Glorfindel’s.

"By the Valar, I swear to you, no one has ever frightened me as you have, pushed me as hard to be honest with myself, demanded so much, made me so angry… and here I am, mad for you, Erestor. I am mad for your touch, for your smell, for your taste. Now that I have held you, I can never be without you. I will follow you where ever you go, I will never stop loving you, never stop craving you, meleth nín."

Erestor forcefully pulled Glorfindel’s mouth to his own, claiming his soft lips and sweet, warm mouth with a bruising kiss. The desperate moan that issued from his lover caused a tear to fall from his eye. They had both fallen so hard, so fast, that he could hardly believe that it had finally happened. He released his lover’s mouth and whispered against his lips, "Fill me, Glorfindel. I long to have you inside me."

Glorfindel moaned deeply and nuzzled his lover’s soft mouth, removing his fingers and placing the tip of his arousal at Erestor’s entrance. He pushed forward, past the protective barrier, and into luxurious, velvet heat that fit him like a well made glove. "Melon le, Erestor," he whispered hoarsely as his length slid home.

Erestor arched and cried out the warrior’s name as he was impaled by his lover’s rigid length. He gasped and panted for air, willing his body to relax, fighting to bring his fear to heel.

"Erestor?" Glorfindel whispered, lying completely motionless inside his lover. When Erestor did not answer, he began to fear the worst. "Gods, Erestor, please… are you all right, meleth? Have I hurt you?"

Erestor opened his tear filled eyes and caressed his lover’s face with a trembling hand. "No, seron vell. You have not hurt me," he whispered. "I am overcome, Glorfindel." A smile curved his trembling lips. "You feel…" he paused as he struggled to find the words. "You feel as though you were meant for me."

Glorfindel smiled gently and responded, "I was, Erestor. I am." He slowly began to move inside his lover, withdrawing and pushing in shallowly at first, testing, trying to be sure that he did not hurt the Noldo. When Erestor moaned and began to move against him, he grew a bit bolder, his motion a bit larger, and he angled to touch the place he knew Erestor craved contact with. When he found his target he felt his lover’s body arch and tighten around him as Erestor whimpered in pleasure. He caressed his lover’s face and neck with his lips as he slid inside and withdrew, striking his target with unerring accuracy, finding the balance between heated passion and loving gentleness. He took Erestor’s length in his hand, stroking it in time with his motion, drawing him on toward release. As much as he wanted to stay inside him forever, for this to last forever, he did not wish to tax his lover beyond what he could bear. He brought Erestor to completion, his own climax following hard upon as his lover’s body milked his essence from him.

He lay his head upon the pillow next to Erestor’s as he felt his body quiver and shake with the aftershocks of his spent passion. Erestor trembled similarly beneath him and he nuzzled his lover’s ear. He sighed as Erestor’s hands stroked his hair and his soft lips formed loving words against the curve of his ear. He sighed quietly as his length slipped from his lover’s body and he slowly rolled to the side.

Erestor also rolled to his side to face Glorfindel and he smiled at the warrior. "That was simply delicious, meleth nín," he whispered sultrily.

Glorfindel smiled broadly and answered, "Oh yes, it most certainly was." He propped his head upon his hand and tucked a strand of raven hair behind Erestor’s ear. "Do you feel all right, meleth?"

Erestor nodded and sighed. "Aye, I feel wonderful. Though I will be happy when we no longer need be so careful."

Glorfindel chuckled and placed a soft kiss upon his lover’s forehead. "Should I be worried, mellonamin? This sounds somewhat ominous."

Erestor smiled and laughed. "Oh, I think you will be able to… rise to the challenge." He waggled his eyebrows and smiled wolfishly.

Glorfindel laughed heartily and gathered his lover in his arms. "Ai, Erestor. I do love you so," he said, his voice radiating joy. He rose from the bed, pumped warm water into a wash basin, and brought it back to the bed. He knelt beside the bed and cleaned his lover, caressing his soft skin and washing it clean. He then washed himself and returned the basin to the stand by his armoire. He returned to the bed and peeled back the covers, sliding underneath them as Erestor did the same. They curled against one another and talked quietly until both could stay awake no more.

As they drifted into reverie together, they both wore blissful smiles upon their faces.

To be continued…

<><><>

Gildor and his companions slowed their mounts to a walk as they entered the great forest. Evidence of orcs passing was still visible here and there in the shape of broken and charred trees. The smaller plants, thickets of blackberries, ivy, and various types of underbrush had recovered, and the wildlife had returned. Although Sauron had been driven back, remnants of his evil still existed in this once safe and peaceful forest.

Oropher and his clan of Silvan elves had retreated north of the forest road, both from the need to escape the minions that Sauron left in his wake, such as wolves and spiders, but also to evade the Dwarves that inhabited Moria. After the near decimation of his clan, Oropher and his people were suspicious of outsiders, even those that would be allies, and there was a long history of animosity between the Sindar and Dwarves after the murder of King Thingol. Therefore, they withdrew north of the Great Forest Road to the low-lying mountains in the north of the forest that they called Emyn Duir, the Dark Mountains.

Gildor heard of Oropher’s retreat north from the elves of Lórien, who were saddened by the departure of their kin. As the small band of Noldor approached Emyn Duir, Gildor sensed movement in the treetops and called for his band to halt. He whistled softly, a signal of greeting that he hoped some in Oropher’s camp would remember from the defense of Eregion. A small group of about ten elves dropped out of the treetops with their bows at their sides. Three of them he recognized immediately, as Silvan archers who had helped to defend Eregion, the rest were barely past their majority. The third, standing taller than the rest, and singled out by the mane of golden hair that cascaded around his shoulders, was the Sindarin Prince, Thranduil.

Gildor slid off his horse and bowed his head, covering his heart with his hand. "Mae Govannen, my Lord," he greeted Thranduil. "My companions and I have come at the request of Lord Elrond of Imladris. We bear supplies and weaponry for your people, and we are here to help rebuild your homestead and train your troops."

Thranduil bowed his head and replied, "Welcome to Greenwood, realm of my father Oropher, Gildor Inglorion. Your assistance is greatly appreciated." He motioned for Gildor to follow him. "Come, I will take you to see my father."

Gildor’s companions dismounted and walked along side their horses as Thranduil left the other Silvans behind to guard the border.

They walked in silence for sometime, and Gildor took note of how much Thranduil had changed in the years since he saw him last. The Sinda was taller, somewhat, certainly broader, well muscled, and he had an air of quiet confidence about him. He was no longer appeared to be the wide eyed, smiling Sindar Prince he had encountered in Lindon years ago. Part of him grieved the loss of so gentle and optimistic a youth, but the other part of him appreciated what the Prince had become, a noble and brave leader.

Thranduil looked over his shoulder at the Noldo, remembering him from Lindon. He remembered Gildor as a no-nonsense sort of elf, and a good soldier and brave Captain. When he saw the band approach, his heart sank when he saw no sign of Glorfindel, he had hoped the Vanya would be among those who came to their aid. He had a feeling he would see the Eldar again one day, but that meeting would not be what he wished it would be. As they walked along, Thranduil broke the silence and spoke to Gildor, "Tell me, my Lord. How fare your friends and companions in Lindon?"

Gildor nodded. "Well, my Lord. Lindon was hard pressed in the war, as your own realm was, but we are recovering."

Thranduil sighed. "My heart tells me this war is far from over. As long as the Dark One walks Arda, we will never be free of him or his wrath."

Gildor set his jaw. He knew the Prince was right, that Sauron had to be defeated, utterly, though when that time would come, he did not know. "You must feel the threat acutely, my Lord, being the elven colony closest to his realm."

Thranduil nodded. "Aye, Gildor, we do. Each passing year a darkness seems to grow closer to the wood." He grew silent for a few moments as they walked side by side. He took a deep breath and continued, "What of Lord Glorfindel, Gildor? How does he fare?"

Gildor smiled sadly, debating whether to break the news to the young Prince. The sooner Thranduil knew Glorfindel and Erestor were together, the less time he would spend on fruitless hope. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Lord Glorfindel has thought of you often, my Lord. He regrets he was not able to come with my companions, and me but he had pressing matters at home. He would have liked to see you again, you are a dear friend to him."

Thranduil winced at the term, ‘a dear friend’. He looked at Gildor and continued, "This pressing matter, I assume it is another elf. Is it not?"

Gildor’s eyes widened at the bluntness of the question. He nodded and answered softly, "Aye, but in addition, he does have duties as seneschal to Elrond’s house and leader of his armies."

Thranduil nodded in understanding. "Of course, mellonamin," he answered softly. He took a deep breath and pressed the matter further, "This elf, would I know him?"

Gildor chewed his bottom lip for a moment and looked the Prince in the eye. "I feel strange discussing this with you, my Lord."

Thranduil patted the Noldo on the shoulder. "Of course you do, Gildor. My apologies. I suppose I held out hope when there was none. I am sorry for placing you in an awkward position."

"No need to apologize, my Lord," Gildor responded quietly. "I know what it is like to have hope and see it fade."

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and questioned, "You do? Were you once in love with one who left you?"

Gildor nodded. "Aye, but it was over an age ago."

Thranduil turned his gaze to the trail ahead; they were nearing the encampment of his father. "Perhaps, one day you would share that tale with me and we could grow to know one another better. But I will leave that for you to decide." He motioned with his hand and addressed Gildor and his followers, "We have arrived, your horses may be taken over that ridge, we have a guarded meadow where they may mingle with our herd and eat their fill. Take care only to water them and fill your flasks from the troughs and buckets provided. Not all the water in this forest is fit for consumption." He clasped Gildor by the shoulder. "If you would come with me, I will take you to my father."

Gildor bowed his head and replied, "Hannon le, my Lord."

* * * *

Gildor sat upon a rock enjoying a fresh apple and watching the Prince of Greenwood. Thranduil sat on a rock in a pool of moonlight, fletching arrows and polishing his bow. The month had passed by quite uneventfully, and Gildor found Oropher to be a hospitable King, if not the friendliest one. He noted right away the Sinda’s deep distrust of the Noldor, and Gildor supposed he could understand why, given his history.

Oropher had been one of the few to escape the fall of Doriath and the wrath of Fëanor’s sons. He had been a noble Lord in service to King Thingol, and again to the King’s son, Dior. Both had fallen victim to treachery, Thingol at the hands of the Dwarves, Dior at the hands of the Sons of Fëanor. Oropher had fought to defend his home until there was no hope, narrowly escaping death with his new wife. He fled to the mouths of Sirion with her and from there, found his way east.

Oropher and his wife lost all of their kin, but a few refugees went with them, seeking to put as much distance as possible between them and the Curse of the Noldor. They arrived in the great wood years later and forged a bond with the Silvan elves already abiding there. The small group of elves took Oropher as their King, seeing he was from a noble line and possessed great wisdom.

As Gildor mulled over the history of the rift between his kindred and those of Thranduil’s he still saw hope, as Oropher had sent archers to defend Celebrimbor’s realm. If the Sinda King was willing to do that, perhaps there was hope that the long years of mistrust between them could fade into history.

Gildor remembered the one he had loved briefly, the one who had cared for him but had given his life in service to his King. He had lost Mablung, not to another lover, but to duty; Mablung had chosen his duty to Thingol over his love for Gildor.

As Gildor looked upon Thranduil now, he saw in the young Prince shadows of his old lover, though he mused that Thranduil’s beauty outshone even that of Mablung. He rose from his rock and crossed the short distance to where the Prince sat. He bowed his head and covered his heart with his hand as he greeted Thranduil.

Thranduil smiled and invited the Noldo to sit beside him. "Mae Govannen, Lord Gildor," he said quietly.

"Mae Govannen, my Lord," Gildor answered. He offered the Prince an apple out of his pack, and Thranduil, in turn, offered him a drink from his flask. He coughed quietly as he swallowed a gulp of what he had thought to be water.

Thranduil raised one eyebrow and smiled. "It is not what you thought, is it?"

Gildor cleared his throat and chuckled. "Nay, my Lord. I thought it to be water, not brandy."

Thranduil laughed softly and took a bite of the proffered apple. "Well, there is a chill in the air this night, a little brandy can go a long way in keeping one warm."

Gildor nodded. "Aye, it certainly can, my Lord."

Thranduil leaned over and bumped the Noldo with his shoulder. "Please, Gildor. Do not address me so formally. We have become friends, have we not?"

Gildor smiled. "Aye, we have."

"Then call me by my given name, please." He smiled charmingly.

Gildor suppressed a small gasp when Thranduil flashed the bewitching smile at him, and he shifted. "Very well, Thranduil," he responded and smiled in return.

"Tell me, Gildor," Thranduil began, "How many lovers have you had?"

Gildor’s eyes widened in surprise and he looked at the Sinda. "Pardon?"

"Lovers, Gildor. How many?" Thranduil asked silkily.

"A few, Thranduil, not a large number. Why do you ask?" He regarded the Prince with interest.

"What a shame," Thranduil answered, his voice deep and rich, like honey. "So handsome an elf should have leagues of admirers, scores of would be lovers. Of course, you could just be particular in your tastes."

Gildor could not believe his ears. The Prince was flirting with him. He had grown quite fond of Thranduil, and admittedly found the Prince extraordinarily beautiful.

A gust of wind ruffled the tree boughs and a twig of pine drifted down and landed in Thranduil’s hair. Gildor reached up and carefully extracted it, taking care not to muss the Prince’s braids. His fingers lingered in the bed of golden silk that framed the Sinda’s head and he found that he longed to plunge his hands into it.

The corners of Thranduil’s lips curved into a smile. "Hannon le, Gildor," he answered quietly.

Gildor slowly took down his hand and looked at the ground, trying to conceal what was in his eyes. "You are welcome, mellonamin," he answered quietly.

The sound of elves coming up the hill alerted them to the time, there was a change of guard occurring, and their privacy was broken. Thranduil stood and bowed to Gildor, his hair brushing the Noldo’s face and his lips lightly caressing the curve of his ear. "Maer dû, mellon," he whispered softly, and he placed a quick kiss on the Noldo’s cheek before turning on his heel and disappearing into the trees.

Gildor sat, unable to move, unable to reply, in a total state of shock. At first, he had thought Thranduil’s minor flirtations were just his way; he was a lighthearted and charming elf to be sure. However, after that evening’s events, he believed that there was more to the flirtation than playfulness. It appeared that the Sinda was interested in becoming more than just friends. He slowly rose from his place on the large rock and headed back down the hill to his flet, a large smile gracing his fair face.

To be continued…

Maer dû = Good night.

<><><>

Gildor walked through the woods of the great forest alone. The sun shone brightly that day, the light filtering through the branches of the tall trees, causing a mist to rise from the damp ground. It had become a ritual of sorts for him to take a walk after the morning meal, and this day was no exception. He crossed the meadow where the horses grazed in peace, nothing but the sound of the wind in the tree boughs and the horses contentedly chewing grass gracing his ears. He paused to scratch his gelding on the neck before continuing up the path that wound its way up the side of the mountain.

He had a brief respite for a day from the non-stop work he had been immersed in since he arrived in the great wood. He followed the path that wound up the mountain as he mused upon the path his life had taken. He was never one to plan things out, to set expectations or think about where he would be years ahead. So this latest change in plan did not unnerve him, he found it rather refreshing.

Greenwood and its elves were different in every way from Lindon. Lindon was a bustling elven community, made of elaborate stone halls and cobblestone streets, libraries, taverns, open air markets. Smithies, soldiers, noblemen, courtesans, and domestic workers all mingled among the winding streets and artfully constructed halls. Greenwood was a wooded paradise, trees and dense forest for as far as the eye could see, rivers and streams, fern and moss, blackberry thickets and groves of wildflowers. The mountains rose up out of the thick canopy, the hill tops covered in grasses and large stones, large fir trees covered the hills, and the air smelled clean and fresh. The Silvan community was also quite different from the largely Noldorian community of Lindon. Oropher’s people were largely hunters, gathering what goods they may need from the wood itself. Their clothes were simple; robes and tunics of woven cottons and wools, doublets and armor made from leather. Their weaponry consisted largely of bows and knives, but the occasional seasoned warrior also carried a sword.

Oropher resisted trade with outsiders, so the secretive community avoided contact with the Dwarves and Men that used the great forest road. Thranduil, however, had some contact with outsiders on his ill-fated trip to the west with his late mother. The Prince had brought back some fine goods from Lindon as gifts for his father, and he wielded a sword crafted by the King’s own smith. The Prince was very different from his father; he did not have the mistrust of other elves that Oropher did. However, he did not trust those not of his own kind, so he too avoided contact with the Dwarves and Men that traveled through the forest.

He thought on his new friend as the traversed the path winding up the side of the hill. He had not seen Thranduil but in passing over the last several days; he and the Prince were on opposite watch. He still thought about the sweet kiss Thranduil had bestowed upon his cheek that night, and each time it came to mind, it brought a smile to his lips.

As he rounded the bend in the path and came into a small clearing at the top of the hill, he saw the object of his musings reclining in the sun. The Prince lay upon his back on the hillside with his eyes closed, his arms stretched over his head, and his legs crossed at the ankle. His tunic lay open, the morning sun warming his skin, and a relaxed smile curved his lips.

Gildor stood in the shadows for a moment, admiring the Sinda. His hair seemed to glow even brighter when kissed by Anor’s light. His eyes lingered on those pink lips, curved so deliciously into a smile, before traveling down to his lean but muscled chest, over his rippled abdomen and the long curve of his thighs. He wondered what it would be like to have those legs wrapped around him, to have those sweet lips caressing his flesh and moaning his name.

"My Lord?"

He blinked back from his daydream to see Thranduil propped up on his elbows, his sapphire eyes pinning him to the spot upon which he stood. "Mae Govannen, mellonamin," he answered as nonchalantly as possible. "I did not wish to disturb you."

Thranduil smiled knowingly, he knew the Noldo had been watching him. "You are not disturbing me, Gildor. Please, come, join me," he answered softly. He held out his hand in invitation, knowing full well Gildor would not resist.

Gildor stepped from the shadows and crossed the short distance to where Thranduil lay. He took a seat beside him, leaning back upon his hands and crossing his legs. "Anor’s warmth does not reach the forest floor as it does here," he said, idly making conversation.

Thranduil shook his head. "No, it does not. That is why I like to come up here in the spring, it is far too cold in the winter." He motioned with his head toward the mountains to the west. "The winter wind blows off Hithaeglir and races over the tops of these hills, but it stops about this time of year. Naught but a gentle breeze floats across the tops of the hills, no more than a whisper. Anor’s warmth can linger now that Manwë’s breath does not send it away." He looked back at Gildor and smiled. "During these months the powers of the Valar exist in harmony. Yavanna is alive in the wood and Manwë’s gentle breezes begin the season of conception for the growing things in the forest." A deer slowly crept across the small clearing and Thranduil smiled. "Oromë is with us too, ever pursuing the fell creatures of the Dark One."

Gildor watched the Prince as he talked about the home he loved and it filled him with a sense of peace. He had missed wandering the woodland regions of Middle Earth. He smiled broadly as he listed to the Prince speak of nature and the ways of his people, and he saw why Glorfindel had been so enchanted with him.

Thranduil looked at Gildor and realized he had been rambling on about the wood and the Valar. He blushed slightly and looked at the ground. "Forgive me, mellonamin. I so rarely get to talk to those outside my father’s subjects. I forget myself. You did not come up here to listen to me ramble about the great wood." He lay back down, returned his gaze skyward, and closed his eyes again. "I would imagine you came here for the peace and quiet that I have so rudely kept from you."

Gildor leaned across, took the Prince’s face in his hands, and pressed his lips to those of Thranduil’s. The soft moan that came from the Prince made his heart stop in his chest and he felt Thranduil’s hands come to rest upon his back. He pulled back from the kiss and stared into darkening indigo eyes. "Forgive me, my Lord," he murmured against the Prince’s lips, "if I have caused offense."

Thranduil sighed, his breath caressing the Noldo’s lips. "Nay, my Lord," he whispered in reply, "you have caused no offense." He slid his hands into Gildor’s hair and pulled him back down, opening his mouth as their lips made contact again.

Gildor moaned and delved into the sweet, hot cavern that was the Prince’s mouth. Thranduil tasted of berries and sweet vanilla. He shifted so that his weight rested upon the Prince and moaned when he felt Thranduil’s legs part, allowing him to rest fully against him. He plundered the Sinda’s sweet mouth, tasting of his deepest recesses as he pressed his awakening arousal to that of Thranduil’s.

Thranduil groaned as Gildor released his mouth, the Noldo’s lips making their way down his neck to his chest. It had been far too long since he had allowed anyone to touch him; he had been so hurt when Glorfindel left. Something about Gildor set him at ease; he trusted him and he was beginning to care deeply for the Noldo. As Gildor’s mouth tormented one pebbled nipple, he whimpered and arched beneath him, his arousal now throbbing painfully against Gildor’s weight. "Ai, my Lord," he whispered breathlessly, "you undo me."

Gildor lathed the taut nipple with his tongue and gazed back up into Thranduil’s eyes. "Mmm… now that is something I would like to see, you undone beneath me, ernil vain."

Thranduil gasped and arched into Gildor’s hands as the Noldo tormented his body. "I do believe you will have your wish, my Lord," he answered in hushed tones.

Gildor rose off Thranduil and removed his cloak, spreading it upon the ground like a blanket. "Come, pen-neth," he said silkily, "lie upon my cloak."

Thranduil sat up and removed his tunic slowly, feeling Gildor’s hungry gaze upon him as he did so. He shifted to position himself in the center of the Noldo’s cloak and leaned back upon his elbows, his legs splayed open and bent at the knee. He watched Gildor remove his tunic and kneel between his legs as the Noldo’s lips descended upon his own. He slid to his back, his hands reaching up and tangling in the mass of raven hair that cascaded around Gildor’s shoulders. He reached for his lover with an open mouth, drawing Gildor’s tongue back inside as the Noldo moaned into the kiss.

Gildor balanced upon one hand as his other found the tie to Thranduil’s leggings, tugging upon it until it popped loose. He slid his hand inside the Sinda’s suede leggings, his fingers finding his silken length and slowly stroking it. A deep rumbling growl escaped him as Thranduil’s legs wrapped around him. The Prince sucked his tongue deeper into his mouth as he stroked him slowly, teasingly, wanting to prolong their act of pleasure. He felt Thranduil’s fingers slide beneath the waistband of his leggings, gently guiding them past his hips so that his heavy length sprang free. He encouraged Thranduil to lift his hips as he in turn pulled the Prince’s leggings past his waist. He gasped for air when Thranduil finally released his mouth and he buried his face in the Sinda’s golden mane. He moaned Thranduil’s name as the Prince took his length in his hand and began squeezing and stroking slowly. A smooth, sensuous rhythm built between them and Gildor covered Thranduil’s hand with his own, sliding their heated lengths against one another with increased intensity. He suckled and kissed the Sinda’s ear, earning a whimpering moan as he brought his young lover closer to climax. He felt Thranduil’s hand tangle in his hair as the Sinda groaned his name, spilling his seed between them. His own release followed hard upon as he moaned Thranduil’s name into his ear.

Thranduil sighed and pulled Gildor closer and the Noldo grimaced as he felt the viscous evidence of their spent passion spread between them. He chuckled and ceased to resist, allowing the warm substance to coat both their chests and stomachs. "We are a mess now, mellonamin."

Thranduil smiled and whispered, "A delightful mess, melethron."

Gildor sighed and nuzzled the Prince’s ear. "So, how do we explain this when we get back to camp?"

Thranduil laughed softly and answered, "We do not. There is a pool just on the other side of the ridge in which we can bathe."

Gildor caressed the curve of Thranduil’s ear with his tongue, earning a soft moan from the Prince. "It will be cold, pen velui (lovely one)."

"Not to worry, maethoren vain, I will keep you warm," he answered sultrily.

"Indeed you will," Gildor growled as he began assaulting the Prince’s neck and ear with his mouth.

Thranduil laughed softly and rolled over his lover, sitting up and pulling his leggings back up, leaving them untied and resting just above the line of down-like hair that surrounded his arousal. He held out his hand and pulled Gildor to his feet and whispered, "Come, melethron nín."

Gildor smiled and pulled up his own leggings, following the Prince to the pond to bathe.

* * * *

Erestor sat at his desk, pouring over goods and equipment rosters. He set down his quill and rubbed his temples. "Impossible," he grumbled. "we will all die, each and every one of us."

"My Lord?"

He looked up at Melpomaen who was looking at him worriedly from across the double desk they shared. He waived his hand and shook his head. "Not to worry, Melpomaen," he said softly. "I am just grumbling aloud, pay no heed."

Melpomaen furrowed his brow and looked back down at the manifests he was compiling. He cocked his head and tapped the point of his quill in the dauber.

Erestor looked across at his young secretary, taking note of the confused expression upon his face. "What is it, Melpomaen?"

Melpomaen looked up at his master and frowned. "According to these manifests, my Lord, the grain stores are five hundred pounds short, it looks as though a shipment is missing."

Erestor raised an eyebrow and questioned, "Are you sure?"

Melpomaen nodded and turned the parchment, sliding it across the desk for Erestor to peruse. "See for yourself, my Lord. I have gone over the calculations thrice."

Erestor looked at the manifest and began rubbing his temples. "No one indicated there was trouble when the last shipment arrived?"

Melpomaen shook his head. "Nay, my Lord." He frowned and asked softly, "Is it possible that the scales are incorrect?"

Erestor sat back in his chair and looked at his secretary. "No, it is not. However, I will ask Amdir to check them again. Nevertheless, I doubt we will find the answer there; the Mírdain’s work is flawless.

He noted the position of the sundial on the terrace outside their office. "It is time for the midday meal, Melpomaen. Leave this for now and we will try to discern the cause of this shortage later."

Melpomaen rose from his chair and bowed his head. "Yes, my Lord." He turned to leave then paused. "Will you be coming to luncheon? Or shall I bring something back for you?"

Erestor waived his secretary on. "I will take care of myself, Melpomaen. But thank you for thinking of me."

Melpomaen bowed his head again. "Of course, my Lord." He turned and departed.

Erestor sighed and closed his eyes as he sat back in his chair. "Five hundred pounds, that is an entire month’s stock," he grumbled to himself.

"Raiders."

He opened his eyes to see Glorfindel leaning in his doorway. "Pardon?" he asked.

"Raiders," Glorfindel answered again. "The Wild Men have been setting upon our caravans. They have been under armed guard for a few months now." He entered the room and took a seat on the corner of Erestor’s desk. "The wild men have attempted raids upon our returning shipments. I have been sending patrols out, but the last one is late. I have a regiment leaving to travel south in the morning to locate them." He sighed. "The human settlements have not fared as well as our own, meleth. Many of them are starving, scraping out a meager existence in the wild. Small farms are cropping up, but much of the land has yet to recover from the Dark Lord’s scouring. The peoples of those lands are desperate for food. Add to that the increasing population of Dunlendings in the southern reaches of our lands and you have trouble."

Erestor frowned and answered, "These wild men dare to attack shipments with armed escort?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, especially if the escorts are elves. The Wild Men hate our folk, the Dark Lord did his work well in that regard."

Erestor shook his head. "We must do something about this, Glorfindel. There must be some incentive we can find to bring the merchants inland, or some agreement we can reach with these wild men to bring about a truce."

Glorfindel smiled and caressed his lover’s face. "First, meleth nín, we must find our missing kin, and if they are safe and just waylaid, then we can attempt negotiations with the settlements of men to the south." He shook his head and sighed. "Many of these settlements are terrorized by the men who are still drawn to the Dark Lord, we may not be able to trust them. However, if harm has come to our kin, the wild men must pay the price."

Erestor placed his hand upon the warrior’s thigh. "Then we should offer these innocent families refuge in our valleys, give them a place where they can be free of fear."

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. "You have a kind heart, meleth," he answered softly.

Erestor furrowed his brow. "Not so kind as to keep from wishing for retribution on those who would do violence to our kin."

Glorfindel smiled and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss upon Erestor’s lips. "I will see that they pay, meleth, I promise." He nuzzled the Noldo’s mouth. "Now, if you are free, I would like to spend our midday meal together."

Erestor smiled against the soft teasing of the Vanya’s lips. "Mmm… that sounds delicious, melethron," he answered.

Glorfindel winked and tugged Erestor from his chair and led him from the office.

To be continued…

Ernil vain = fair prince

Maethoren vain = my beautiful warrior

<><><>

Gildor awoke, pinned to the floor in his bedroll under the weight of his lover. The Sinda lay nestled between his legs, covering him like a warm blanket. Thranduil had not left his sight, or his arms, since their first breathless kiss upon the hill over two months prior. Oropher had been less than thrilled at the prospect that his son had taken another male lover, much less a Noldor, but thus far he had yet to insist that Gildor leave.

Gildor played with the strands of silken gold that were spread across his chest and shoulders and he looked up through the tree boughs, watching the clouds meander across the sky. All was silent except for the sound of the light wind in the trees and the birds singing their welcome to Anor. He thought he would be happy to stay right where he was, lying upon the floor of his flet, his lover in his arms, with the forest as his home. He looked back down at his sleeping Sinda, so peaceful in his reverie, and he sighed. He had not felt so happy or content since… he closed his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer for his lost lover who had fallen doing his duty so long ago. He never thought upon Mablung without saying that little prayer.

He felt Thranduil begin to stir. The Sinda took a deep breath, his eyelids fluttered open, and a soft moan escaped him as he began to stretch. "Maer aur, meleth," Gildor said softly.

Thranduil blinked and rose up to look at his lover’s face. A sleepy smile crossed his lips and he answered, "Maer aur, seron vell." He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lover’s lips, a soft sigh escaping him.

Gildor smiled against his lover’s mouth and caressed his hair. As Thranduil pulled away, he slid the back of his hand down his lover’s cheek. "We have patrol after the morning meal, ernilen."

Thranduil groaned and flopped back to Gildor’s chest, smiling half-heartedly as the Noldo chuckled at his protest. "I do not want to spend the day patrolling, I would rather spend it in your arms, melethron," he complained softly.

Gildor shook his head and smiled. "Aiya, elflings," he playfully grumbled. "I do not want to study, I do not want to work, I do not want to sit still, I…"

Thranduil sat up and captured the Noldo’s bottom lip between his teeth, growling playfully. He silenced Gildor with a deep kiss, sliding his tongue inside his lover’s mouth and tasting of him thoroughly.

As Thranduil released his mouth, Gildor smiled and struggled not to fall to his temptation. "You are starting something we will not be able to finish, pen-‘waur," he chided huskily.

Thranduil frowned mockingly and growled in response, "I do not think I am hungry this morning… not for food anyway." He captured Gildor’s mouth again and moaned as the Noldo’s hands tangled in his flaxen hair.

Gildor moaned as he plundered Thranduil’s mouth, and wrapped one leg around him. His lover’s warm, soft skin slid against his own in a maddening dance of seduction and he knew he was lost to it. He could never refuse Thranduil anything he wanted. It appeared they would be eating upon horseback that morning.

* * * *

"What is this?" Oropher inquired of his Captain.

Amdir answered, "We found her, Sire, wandering the western border. She is mad, my Lord, unable to speak or respond in anyway."

Oropher knelt in front of the waif, noting her torn and dirty garments and matted hair. She looked as though she had been living alone in the wild for months. "She was alone?" he asked softly, taking care not to disturb the traumatized young female in anyway.

"Yes, my Lord. She will not speak and does not respond when spoken to and she becomes frightened when touched." Amdir shook his head slowly as the she-elf began to rock back and forth slowly, muttering unintelligible words. "This is all she is able to do, my Lord."

Oropher reached out very slowly, his fingertips slightly grazing one shoulder. The she-elf whimpered pitifully and withdrew, and the King removed his hand. He sighed and shook his head slowly. "The healers must see to her." He frowned as he looked upon the scratches and cuts upon her fair skin, he also noted discoloration that looked like fading bruises. "After they are finished with her, have my chambermaid attend to her, find her some clean clothing and a bath, and get her fed. She looks as though she has not eaten in days."

Amdir nodded, "Yes, my Lord." He bent down and spoke to the she-elf. "Come, pen-dithen, we will take care of you. You are safe now."

The she-elf mumbled and rose to her feet, wadding her torn gown in her fists as she followed Amdir to the healer’s talan.

Oropher sat down and bowed his head. He was so angry that such a thing could be done to so young an elf. The she-elf was near her majority, and had clearly been at the receiving end of some very heinous treatment. He feared her innocence had been taken as well. "Who would do such a thing?" he growled. It could not have been another elf, of that he was sure. It had to be either a man, or perhaps a dwarf, though he doubted it; dwarves had little use for that sort of thing. If it had been a raid, they would have just as soon killed her as despoiled her. No, this was the work of men or of the Dark Lord’s minions. He closed his eyes and prayed that she recover from her ordeal and not fade as a result of her treatment.

* * * *

"Come, meleth nín!" Gildor chided. "We are going to be late…"

Thranduil chuckled as he hopped into his boots, fumbling with the laces of his leggings as he hurriedly dressed. Gildor was already at the door to his flet, fastening the last clasps on his tunic. "My hair…" he groused, as he grabbed the brush from the low table by their pallet.

Gildor rolled his eyes and mockingly grumbled, "Vain Sinda."

Thranduil raised one eyebrow as he began quickly brushing and braiding his hair. "We would not have this problem if you would not make such a mess of it, melethron," he chided in return.

Gildor smiled wantonly and chuckled. "Well, I cannot help myself, pen-velui."

Thranduil tossed the brush upon the pallet and quickly tied off the single thick braid with a thin strap of leather. He hurried down the ladder, skipping the last several rungs before hitting the ground at a run, chasing after his lover as they ran toward the meadow. He made a quick detour, scampering through the communal dining area and snatching up a few apples and wafers of lembas and two flasks of water before racing toward his horse. He hurriedly stuffed the items in his pack, struggling to hold his bow. He skidded up to his gelding in the wet grass, giving him a quick pat on the neck and handing him the apple before he swung up on his back.

Gildor was already trotting out of the meadow, trying to catch up to the patrol that had left just minutes earlier. Thranduil cantered after him, his horse still spitting bits of froth from the apple upon his forelegs. "Avorn, Celeg, we are late…" he whispered to his horse, and the young gelding pinned his ears as Thranduil gave him a hard squeeze. "I know, I know, mellonamin," he whispered. "I will make it up to you later, I promise." The horse surged forward, chasing down the departing patrol at a gallop.

* * * *

The she-elf sat upon a low pallet in the Healer’s flet. The sound of hoofbeats caught her attention and she peeked over the edge. The healer saw her leaning over and rushed forward, afraid in her despondent state she would fall. She knelt beside her and heard the she-elf whisper, "Vala? Oromë?"

She looked in the direction the she-elf pointed and suppressed a chuckle. "Nay, pen-dithen. That is not a Vala, that is the King’s son, Thranduil. He is Sinda, not Vala." The she-elf looked at her with wide inquisitive eyes and she coaxed her back to the pallet. "Tolo, pen-dithen, let us finish up with you so that you may bathe and eat. Yes?"

The she-elf, who seemed to be relaxing somewhat to the gentle treatment by the healer, nodded and whispered, "Yes, hungry."

The healer smiled and nodded. "I am sure you are."

* * * *

"So glad you decided to join us, Lord Gildor, my Liege…" Thandvell said teasingly.

Gildor shot a glance over his shoulder at Thranduil, who suppressed a chuckle. "Thank you for the warm welcome, Captain," he answered smoothly. "Our apologies for the late arrival, it appears we overslept."

Thandvell nodded and smiled. "Yes, it would appear so."

Thranduil chuckled and tossed Gildor an apple. The Noldo looked at it and smiled, taking a bite out of it and winking at his lover.

* * * *

Glorfindel and his soldiers rode into the courtyard at the head of a column of weary and battered elves. Erestor rushed down the stairs, barely able to contain his relief at seeing Glorfindel unharmed. The warrior dismounted and walked over to him, openly embracing him in front of his men, placing a soft kiss upon the Noldo’s head. He stepped back and instructed his men to get the sick and wounded to the healer’s quarters and stow the goods and horses.

Erestor took his hand as they climbed the stair to Lord Elrond’s quarters.

"We found them hiding amongst the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil. When we came upon the marauders, they were released and fled. They have suffered grievous injury among them, Erestor. They have been beaten, half starved," he closed his eyes and continued, "some have been… despoiled. I do not know if all will survive such harsh and terrible treatment."

Erestor clenched his fists, barely able to contain the anger in his voice. "And what of the men that did this?"

Glorfindel looked at his lover. "They are all dead, every last one."

Erestor nodded. "Melpomaen has seen that lodgings are ready for them, when they are ready to retire. The kitchen staff is preparing a meal for them as we speak."

Glorfindel placed his arm around his lover. "All we can do now is give them our love and comfort, and a safe home." He sighed. "We lost one along the way, meleth. Her husband died defending his family and her daughter was taken from her months ago, she knew not where. She was unable to withstand the grief; she succumbed and passed not five leagues from here."

Erestor shook his head and said a quiet prayer to the fallen lady. "Come, meleth nín. Lord Elrond eagerly awaits your report."

They continued up the stair to give the sad news to the Lord of Imladris.

* * * *

Melpomaen sat upon a low bench, his head in his hands. The refugees were safely tucked away in their quarters, and bathed and fed. Never in his life, which was admittedly short for his kind, had he seen so sad a sight. He felt weary, drained, and was relieved to be given the rest of the day off.

He heard a shout from the sentinel upon the gate and looked up.

"Riders approach!" the sentinel called.

Melpomaen rose to his feet, wondering what could be happening now. Lindir approached him as well, hearing the commotion, and placed his hand upon his friend’s shoulder. "What is it, Melpomaen?"

"I do not know, mellon," he answered softly.

Two white horses galloped through the gate and Melpomaen’s breath caught in his throat. "It is the Lady!" he whispered. He turned to Lindir. "Quick, fetch Lord Celeborn and Lord Elrond. Tell them the Lady Galadriel has arrived."

Lindir nodded and ran up the stairs, leaving Melpomaen to greet their visitors.

The young secretary bowed low as he greeted the renowned Lady of Light. "My Lady," he said softly. "We were not expecting you, I fear it falls upon myself to greet you, as unworthy as I am."

Galadriel smiled gently and placed her hand upon Melpomaen’s shoulder. "Say not unworthy, gentle one," she said softly. "Rise and tell me your name."

Melpomaen rose and looked into her unfathomable blue eyes. "Melpomaen," he answered quietly. "I am Lord Erestor’s secretary."

She smiled and nodded. "Melpomaen, thank you for so warm a greeting. Tell me, is my husband, Lord Celeborn, here?"

"Galadriel, meleth nín!"

She looked up and saw her husband coming down the stairs and she smiled.

"Adar!" the young maiden beside her called and rushed forward, leaping into her father’s arms as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Ah, Celebrían, my beautiful child," he said softly, as he held her close. Galadriel joined them and the three embraced as Melpomaen, Erestor, Glorfindel and Elrond looked on with smiles upon their faces.

As the three parted Galadriel looked at Elrond and nodded. Elrond bowed his head and covered his heart with his hand. "Welcome to Imladris, my Lady."

To be continued…

Maer aur = good morning

Seron vell = dear lover

Ernilen = my Prince

Pen-‘waur = dirty one

Pen-dithen = little one

Pen-velui = lovely one

Avorn = fast

<><><>

Oropher sat on a low stool, watching the she-elf devour her food. The healer sat beside her and gently rubbed her back as she spoke with the King.

"She is less traumatized, my Lord. I think you may be able to speak with her now, if you are gentle."

Oropher nodded and quietly spoke to the she-elf. "What is your name, meldis?"

She looked up at the elf with large blue eyes and answered, "I do not remember my name, Lord, nor how I came to be here."

Oropher raised his eyebrows and looked at the healer, who smiled in return. "Well, this is quite a recovery. We feared you to be without your wits, elleth (elf-maid)."

The she-elf nodded and answered, "I fear I am lacking some of them, my Lord. But I no longer fear you or your kin." She took a large bite of an apple and pointed to the king’s hair, mumbling with a mouthful of food, "You look like my father, Lord. He had hair such as yours."

Oropher smiled. "You are of the Sindarin kindred, yes?"

She nodded and answered, "I think so, my Lord. But my memories are all jumbled in my head, like a book that is missing pages."

Oropher smiled broadly, this she-elf was quite charming. "What of your naneth, elleth? Is she the same?"

She nodded again and answered, "I believe so, my Lord. Though I am having trouble remembering her." She tossed the apple core into a basket and took a large drink of water, wiping the droplets that ran down her chin with the back of her hand. "I would very much like to stay here with you and your kin, if I may," she said softly. "I can work hard, I am a good seamstress and have a way with children, though how I know this I cannot be sure."

Oropher bit back a chuckle and reached out slowly, gently touching her hand. "You are part of our kin now, elleth. You may stay as long as you wish, we will find some way for you to be of use."

Her eyes widened and tears formed in them, tracking down her cheeks as she cowered. The healer looked at the King in confusion and Oropher gently held her hand, keeping her from withdrawing from him. "What is it, elleth? Why are you frightened?" the King asked.

She waived her free hand and shook her head violently. "That is what they said… they wanted to make ill use of me, but I would not let them." She looked at the king with wide eyes. "I stabbed one, I did, in the eye with a stick. I ran, as fast as I could and climbed a tall tree. I moved from treetop to treetop to escape them. They were so foul, they smelled horrible and were rough with me. They set their dogs on me, but the dogs lost my scent. I ran and ran, I was so cold, so frightened. I remember naught after that."

Oropher rose and rounded the table, ignoring the healer’s advice that he not touch her further. He remembered she said that he reminded her of her father, and he gathered her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her frightened and trembling form as he quietly sang to her as once he did to Thranduil as an elfling. The frightened she-elf sank into his fatherly embrace and closed her eyes, finally wrapping her arms around his neck.

He fought back the tears that threatened to rise to the surface. How anyone could harm so gentle and lovely a creature, he could not imagine. "Sssh, elleth," he whispered. "You are safe now, they will not seek you here. We will protect you now." He held the young female in his lap as she fell asleep, then took her to the flet they had prepared for her, lying her down upon the pallet and covering her with blankets. "Stay with her," he said quietly to the healer.

"Yes, my Lord," the healer answered as the King left the flet.

* * * *

Glorfindel and Erestor flanked Lord Elrond as they sat at a large round table in the Hall of Fire. Celeborn, Galadriel, and their daughter Celebrían sat across from them holding hands. Galadriel told of their long journey through Khazad-dûm, led by the Durin’s Folk to the eastern gate where they escaped to Lórien.

As they talked Elrond could not keep his eyes from wandering to the lovely Celebrían, and he smiled as she returned his gaze. Galadriel also noted the way her daughter looked upon the Lord of Imladris and she fought back a smile. It was good to see her take interest in another, she had been devoted to her mother for far too long.

Galadriel had foreseen what was to come, in greater depth than did her husband. Nenya heightened her foresight, and enabled her to see far into the future. She told all that she saw, warning of a great battle to come, and warning of the gathering strength of the One Ring that the Dark Lord bore.

They talked long into the evening before departing to share an evening meal with their host in his private dining quarters.

* * * *

Thranduil and Gildor slid off their horses after a long and uneventful watch along the western border of the forest. Thranduil bent down and clasped his ankles, groaning as he stretched. Gildor playfully slapped his backside and the Prince barked in surprise. He stood up and flashed his lover a scolding glance. "Aiya! Why did you do that?"

Gildor smiled wickedly and snatched up his pack. "What do you expect me to do when presented with so lovely a temptation?"

Thranduil scowled and rubbed his backside. "It is not as if I am not sore enough from the rough treatment you gave me this morn," he said quietly.

Gildor drew the Prince into his arms and purred in his ear, "Then, I must make it up to you, ernilen."

Thranduil smiled and leaned back, casting a suspicious glance at his lover. "Yes, I should think so," he chided playfully.

Gildor pulled him closer and nuzzled his ear. "Umm… I will, meleth, I promise you that," he purred.

Thranduil smiled and sighed before spotting his father as he came over the rise. "Here comes my father, meleth," he whispered.

Gildor sighed and released his lover turning to greet the approaching King. "My Lord," he said respectfully, bowing his head and covering his heart with his hand.

Oropher bowed his head and addressed the Noldo, "I would like a word with my son, Gildor."

Gildor nodded. "Of course, my Lord," he answered softly. He gave Thranduil’s hand a squeeze before releasing it and making for their shared talan.

Thranduil braced himself for another onslaught of dissatisfaction from his father on his choice of mate.

"What of the western border, Iôn?" Oropher asked.

Thranduil opened his mouth, his defense already prepared, then abruptly closed it upon seeing it was not what his father wanted to speak with him about. He furrowed his brow and answered, "All was clear, Adar, no sign of orc nor man about. Why do you ask?"

Oropher frowned and clasped his son by the elbow. "Come, Iôn, I have a strange and sad tale to tell you." Oropher led his son away from the meadow, telling him of their new visitor and the tale she told.

* * * *

Elrond stepped out onto the balcony as Galadriel and Celeborn adjourned for the evening. Glorfindel and Erestor had also departed, arm in arm, shortly before their guests. He gazed upon Celebrían as she stood on his balcony in the moonlight; she had excused herself from the table when talk turned to that of preparation for war.

"I am sorry if we bored you, my Lady," he said softly.

She turned around quickly and smiled, pressing her hand to her breast. "You startled me, my Lord," she answered softly. "Have my mother and father retired for the evening?"

Elrond nodded and stepped out onto the balcony, and leaned against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest. "Aye. They have much catching up to do, having been parted for so long."

Celebrían blushed and smiled. "I suppose they do, my Lord," she answered softly. "I know my mother has missed my father a great deal."

Elrond smiled. "Had I a lady as radiant as your mother, I too would have missed her the long years of the war."

Celebrían twirled a sprig of jasmine beneath her nose as she looked at the stone floor beneath her sandaled feet. "You have no lady, my Lord?" she asked shyly.

Elrond slowly shook his head. "Nay, my Lady, I have none. My life has been one of service to the High King and to those I foster here in Imladris."

Celebrían looked up into Elrond’s sparkling pewter eyes. She admired the fall of rich dark hair around his handsome face. She noted his broad shoulders and graceful hands, the fullness of his lips as they curved into a smile. She found herself seeking for those traces of him which were human, but found she could see none, though most of him was obscured from her gaze by the stately attire he wore. She realized he knew she was staring and she turned away quickly, her cheeks coloring. "Forgive me, my Lord," she began hesitantly. "I have never seen one with the blood of the Edain. I was staring, and it was rude. I apologize."

Elrond smiled broadly despite his efforts not to. "’Tis alright, my Lady. I too apologize for staring, for I have never seen one as radiant and lovely as yourself."

She turned around, her eyes wide in surprise. She had thought his smiles and gentle manner were merely out of respect for her lineage. "Do you mean me?" she asked innocently.

Elrond chuckled and nodded. "Aye, my Lady. I do mean you. Forgive me if I am too bold, but your very presence lends a grace to my humble home."

Celebrían smiled broadly, a small laugh escaping her. "My Lord," she began, hiding her smile behind the jasmine, "you are indeed bold." She passed by him and paused at the door. "But I do believe I like it."

Elrond tried not to stare at her as she paused in the lit doorway, the light from the room spilling through and revealing the silhouette of her lithe form through the pale folds of her gown. She bowed her head, her golden locks falling forward, and said goodnight, leaving the much-enamored Lord of Imladris in her wake. He turned and looked up at the night sky, smiling as his eyes rested upon the evening star. "Maer dû, Adar," he whispered softly, then turned and walked back to his chamber.

* * * *

Thranduil entered his father’s flet, and before him sat the most waifish creature he had ever seen. She had long, golden hair, that pooled upon the ground where she sat, and long, slender limbs. As she looked up at him, he gazed into her large blue eyes, they held so much emotion. Her rosebud-pink lips curved into a smile and she softly addressed him, "Oromë."

His eyes widened as he listened to the waif call him by the Vala’s name and he bit back a chuckle. He had long known that others found him fair, but to be compared to a Vala, that was a first. "I hate to disappoint you, meldis," he answered softly. "But I am no Vala, I am Thranduil Oropherion, son of the King."

She smiled and blushed and answered matter of factly, "So say you, but I still think you are Oromë."

Thranduil laughed openly this time and knelt before her. "I understand you are to be my handmaiden, elleth," he said softly.

She nodded and answered, "Yes, my Lord."

He smiled and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Then I must insist you not call me Oromë in front of the others. Yes?"

She laughed softly and nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I promise I will refrain."

"Good," he answered. He stood and looked at his father with a furrowed brow. He had not needed a handmaiden before, and was unclear as to why he needed one now, but to refuse would be a disservice to the maiden who so clearly wanted to be of use. He turned back to the maiden and asked, "What is your name, elleth?"

She shrugged and answered, "I am afraid I do not know, my Lord. My name escapes my thought."

He nodded and tapped his finger with his chin. "Well, you must have a name, I cannot go about calling you elleth all day." He looked at her thoughtfully and smiled. "Nessa," he answered. "How does that fit with you, elleth?"

"Nessa," she answered with a smile. "Oromë’s sister. I like it well."

He smiled. "Then come, Nessa, I will show you your quarters and introduce you to my friend Gildor. Ellegail will show you your duties in the morning."

"Happily, my Lord," she answered as she rose from her place on the floor. "I am eager to be of use."

Thranduil led Nessa from his father’s flet.

Oropher smiled as his own chambermaid crossed her arms over her chest. "My Lord," she chastised, "your motivations are as transparent as water."

He smiled and turned to address his chambermaid. "Perhaps they are, Asphodel, but if they work, then my son will provide the kingdom with an heir after my passing."

Asphodel shook her head and began turning down the King’s bed. "As if you are likely to pass, my Lord. You are too obstinate to pass on to Mandos’ Halls, he would not give you entrance as he would fear you would take over."

Oropher chuckled and shook his head. "Aiya, Asphodel, one day you will be the death of me."

"Not likely, my Lord," she scolded as she departed the King’s talan.

To be continued…

<><><>

Erestor stood on the balcony, looking at the gardens below, watching the human children and elflings running and playing beneath the tall trees. He looked back over his shoulder at the empty bed; the sheets and blankets were scattered haphazardly across it, some lying on the floor. A smile crossed his lips as he replayed the events of that morning in his mind. His lover had yielded so willingly, so completely, so beautifully. He took a deep breath and sighed. Each time he and Glorfindel lay together, they grew closer. He could still smell the warrior upon his skin, and his fingers traced the paths the Vanya’s mouth had taken but an hour ago.

He was feeling like himself again, like the elf he had always been before the battle at Ost-in-Edhil. He felt strong, and he felt whole. He was frustrated with what his life had become, limited to working behind a desk, his duties as Chief Advisor taking all his waking moments. His daily life had become so sedentary, days spent behind the desk, nights spent in his lover’s arms. A wicked grin crossed his lips as he glanced at the bed; it seemed his nightly activities were the only exercise he got anymore.

"No more," he whispered to the empty room. He turned and walked to the door to his chamber, opening it and calling down the hall for the chambermaid. He then crossed the floor to the armoire that stood in the corner and opened it. Pushing aside the heavy, dark robes that had become his daily attire, he found what he sought.

The chambermaid entered and promptly averted her eyes as he turned around. He furrowed his brow and glanced down, his robe was open nearly to his navel. He pulled it closed quickly and addressed the blushing chambermaid. "Fetch Melpomaen and bring him here to my chamber, quickly please."

"Yes, my Lord," the chambermaid answered, slowly turning and scurrying out of the room.

He turned back to the armoire and reached inside, retrieving a long neglected pair of black suede leggings and his tunic. His robe fell to the floor near his feet and he stepped into the leggings, pulling them up over his slender hips.

"Ehm."

Erestor turned and saw Melpomaen standing in his doorway. The younger elf bowed his head and addressed him, "My Lord. You sent for me?"

Erestor reached inside the armoire and pulled a silk undershirt over his head. "Yes, Melpomaen," he answered quietly. "I am leaving Imladris for several days, you will be in charge of the office."

Melpomaen’s eyes widened. "But, my Lord, the festival… there are preparations, invitations have been sent out… The High King and his entourage will be arriving. I… You…"

Erestor fought the urge to chuckle at his ever serious and diligent assistant. He crossed the room and placed a hand upon the young elf’s shoulder. "Melpomaen, there is a committee, of which I am but one member, in charge of preparations for the festival. You will sit on the committee in my stead. You have always been in charge of arranging accommodations for our guests here in Imladris; you will handle the arrival of the High King as well as you handled the unexpected arrival of the Lady Galadriel. I have faith in you, Melpomaen." He patted the elf’s shoulder and continued, "Attend the Council meetings in my stead; report on the business of our office. If something arises that you do not know how to handle, go to Daeron, he is the next senior member of the Council." He tucked his shirt in and laced his leggings as he continued, "You can do this, Melpomaen, you know your duties and perform them flawlessly."

Melpomaen swallowed and nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I will do my best."

Erestor smiled, something Melpomaen did not see often, and answered, "I know you will." He crossed to his nightstand and wrote out a note for Elrond, he then folded it and secured it with his seal. He turned and handed it to Melpomaen. "See that Lord Elrond gets this. I will return before Ithil rises full in the sky once again."

Melpomaen accepted the parchment and answered quietly, "Yes, my Lord."

Erestor smiled and answered, "Now go, so I may finish dressing."

Melpomaen bowed his head and turned on his heel, departing Erestor’s chamber to seek Lord Elrond.

* * * *

Glorfindel knelt in the floor of the stables; Asfaloth’s breath ruffled his hair as he rifled through his pack one final time. He grumbled as he searched its contents for his knife.

"Are you looking for this, meleth?" Erestor’s deep voice drifted over his shoulder.

Glorfindel looked up to see his lover standing over him and he rose to his feet looking at the Noldo in surprise. Erestor was dressed in a tunic, leggings, and boots. His hair was pulled into a single thick braid that fell down his back. He carried his pack and quiver, his sword was strapped to his hip and his bow was in his hand. In his free hand, he held Glorfindel’s knife.

"Erestor, meleth nín, what are you doing?" he asked, raising one golden eyebrow.

"I am coming with you, seron vell," Erestor answered, handing Glorfindel his knife before turning to stroke his gelding’s nose.

Glorfindel placed his knife in his pack and turned back to his lover, a confused expression clearly written upon his face. "But, your duties, the festival…"

Erestor smiled as he turned to face the Vanya, placing his hand upon Glorfindel’s chest. "Melpomaen can attend to my duties for a little while. I have not used him to his full potential, it will be good for him. Things are quiet now, preparations for the festival are well underway." He looked into Glorfindel’s eyes. "If I stay here behind that desk one moment longer, I will lose control of my wits, Glorfindel. I swear it."

Glorfindel’s lips curved into a smile and he pressed his forehead against Erestor’s. "My warrior returns, yes?"

Erestor nodded. "Aye. I grow weary of sitting behind a desk, meleth nín. I know I must return to it, but for just a little while I need to feel like a soldier again."

Glorfindel nodded. "I understand, meleth." He drew Erestor into his arms, pressing his lips against the Noldo’s ear. "It will be good to have you along, we can always use a skilled warrior in our ranks."

Erestor pressed his lips against Glorfindel’s ear and whispered, "Hannon le, meleth nín."

Glorfindel gave him a quick squeeze and released him. "Come, it is time to get underway."

* * * *

Thranduil sat upon the ground, his eyes turned skyward as he watched the thick clouds pass overhead. His heart was heavy; he had yet another argument with his father. The elves of Imladris were holding an autumn celebration; word had come to Greenwood via messenger. The High King would attend, and Gildor would be departing to greet his Lord upon his arrival at the Last Homely House.

There was no love lost between his father and that of the High King, Oropher refused to acknowledge Gil-galad’s rule. There was a long history of mistrust between the Sindar and the Noldor, and his father held the Noldor partly responsible for the fall of Thingol. Oropher had served Thingol since he had reached his majority, and the fall of the great King was a terrible blow to him. Then, when Fëanor’s sons sacked their beloved Menegroth and murdered the King’s heir, Oropher and his young wife had been forced into exile.

Oropher had made it plain that no son of his would attend a festival honoring a Noldo, and to make matters worse, he had done so in front of Gildor.

"It pains me to see one so beautiful look so sad," Gildor’s voice drifted into his ears.

Thranduil turned his gaze from the heavens to his lover’s eyes and he managed a weak smile. "I am sorry for all that my father said, meleth nín," he said quietly.

Gildor sat beside him and placed his arm around Thranduil’s shoulder. "Not to worry, seron vell, I understand why your father says such things. I am not proud of all that my kin have done." He looked up at the sky and sighed. "I only wish you were coming with me, I do not wish to leave you so soon after I have found you."

Thranduil leaned his head upon Gildor’s shoulder. "This seems to be my lot in life, to be forever trapped here and to watch those I care for leave."

Gildor caressed his lover’s hair and answered quietly, "He worries about you, meleth. The last time you left the woods you were nearly killed. He is a father who loves and wishes to protect his son, that is all."

Thranduil furrowed his brow and answered, "I was nearly killed in my own home, Gildor. I do not have to leave the wood to face danger."

Gildor pressed a kiss to the side of Thranduil’s head. "I know, and so does he. But he wants to keep you close, he wants to keep you safe, you cannot fault him for loving you so."

Thranduil sighed and snuggled close to his lover. "When will he see that I am no longer an elfling? When will he leave me to make my own choices and find my own path? His resistance to us is ridiculous; the kingdom does not need an heir. He will live forever, he is too stubborn to fall or fade."

Gildor chuckled and nuzzled the top of Thranduil’s head. "My own father wanted me to have children. He eventually saw that was not to be the case for me, your father will do the same. Give him time."

Thranduil turned and pushed Gildor to his back in the tall grass and covered the Noldo’s form with his own. "I do not want to talk about my father any more, meleth."

Gildor raised an eyebrow. "No? What would you like to do then, melethron nín?"

Thranduil smiled wickedly and whispered, "Make love to you in the warm sunshine."

Gildor smiled and gasped quietly as Thranduil caressed his ear with his lips. "Mmm… that sounds wonderful, ernilen."

"Melon le, Gildor," Thranduil said softly.

Gildor entwined his fingers in rich flaxen hair and whispered, "Melon le, ernil vain."

* * * *

Thranduil traversed the winding path down the hill, hand in hand with his lover. Twilight was upon them and they had the night watch. As they made their way back to their talan, they came upon a group of elflings sitting in a half-circle; their attention focused closely on Nessa. The elf maid leaned forward, she was telling them a tale, the story of Beren and Lúthien. Thranduil stopped and squeezed Gildor’s hand and the two of them stood by and listened for a little while.

Nessa sat upon a low stool, her eyes wide and hands dancing as she told the tale. The elflings gasped and smiled, so transfixed were they by her tale.

"And Beren came upon Lúthien in the summer, after a long and treacherous journey through the wilds and he managed to cross the Girdle of Melian. So weary and full of woe was he that he laid himself down upon the grass, thinking never to rise. Then he heard a sound so beautiful, more beautiful than all the songs of all the birds of Eru’s creation. He rose from the grass, and creeping through the wood, he came upon the maiden. None more beautiful had he seen, and her voice was like the sweetest songs of Aman. All his weariness and woe seemed to fall away as he fell under the enchantment of this maid…"

Gildor looked at his lover and admired the wide smile that graced his fair face. He had noted Thranduil’s fondness for elflings, and had even caught him chasing one or two around the meadow as they giggled loudly. He thought to himself that the Prince might indeed make a fine father one day, were he in love with a maid. His lover’s soft laughter brought him back from his musings and he looked up to see Nessa dancing and twirling, with all the elflings following suit, laughing and dancing with her.

"Never have I met so gentle a soul, " Thranduil said quietly. "It pains me to think she has lost all those she holds dear."

"Yet she endures," Gildor answered, "Nay, even flourishes in the care of you and your kin."

Thranduil nodded and smiled. "Aye, she seems quite happy here."

A shriek and loud laughter brought their attention back to the happy scene. Nessa lay upon her back with the elflings climbing all over her. She hugged and kissed them and laughed with them as they lay in the tall grass.

"You long to be with them, do you not?" Gildor said quietly. He gave his lover a gentle shove. "Go on, I will meet you by the horses when the moon is full risen."

Thranduil looked over his shoulder at his lover and smiled. "I will be but a short while, meleth." He broke into a run toward the elflings and several of them spotted him coming. They laughed and ran toward him, climbing upon him as he sank to his knees in the grass beside Nessa. She laughed brightly and hugged a small child tight.

Gildor smiled as he made his way back to their talan, watching his lover roll in the grass with the elflings they were sworn to protect.

To be continued…

Seron Vell = dear lover

Ernilen = My Prince

Ernil vain = Fair prince

<><><>

Thranduil stood beside Gildor as the Noldo placed his bags across his horse’s withers. He idly stroked the gelding’s neck as he looked at the ground, fighting to maintain a cheerful expression. He did not want to make his lover’s departure more painful than it had to be, he knew Gildor did not want to leave him. He felt his love’s strong fingers under his chin and he looked up into Gildor’s kind gray eyes. He smiled weakly, feeling the corners of his mouth begin to tremble.

Gildor sighed and drew Thranduil into his arms, fighting back his own tears that threatened to fall. He stroked the Sinda’s hair and whispered quietly to him. They had made such sweet love that morning, and it had been so hard to let go of Thranduil. "I will return, melethen," he said softly. "I promise you that."

Thranduil said nothing but nodded and squeezed the Noldo tighter. He took a deep breath and whispered, "Be careful, seron vell."

Gildor smiled and buried his face in his lover’s hair. "I will, meleth. You be careful on patrol, and stop volunteering to take point on every mission. You have proven your worth as a warrior, take no more foolish chances."

"Alright," Thranduil whispered.

"Promise me, Thranduil. Swear to me that you will be careful. If you were to fall…" Gildor found he could not bear to finish the thought.

"I promise," Thranduil answered quietly. He took a deep breath and sniffled, drawing away from Gildor’s embrace and wiping his eyes. "Now, go. Daylight is wasting."

Gildor nodded and caressed his face. "I will see you soon, meleth," he answered before pressing a kiss to his lover’s lips.

They parted and Gildor leapt upon his horse, signaling to his entourage to ride forth into the forest.

Thranduil ran and leapt upon a rock, waiving to them as they rode into the wood. He watched them ride away until he could no longer see them.

Oropher stood at the edge of his flet, watching Gildor and his men ride into the forest. His eyes drifted to his son, he could feel the pain radiating off Thranduil in waves. This saddened him, he never liked seeing his only son in such pain, but Gildor’s place was with Gil-galad, and Thranduil’s was in the great wood.

He looked down and saw Nessa standing several feet behind Thranduil; her delicate hands clasped together, her long neck bent as she looked at the ground. He smiled sadly, this maiden was to play an important part in his son’s life, he could feel it. He turned and moved back to the maps spread upon the floor as he returned his attention to the scout that sat patiently next to them.

Thranduil turned and hopped down from the rock as Gildor’s troupe disappeared from view. He looked up and saw Nessa standing before him, her fair face a mask of concern. He walked toward her and put his arm around her shoulders, leading her away from the meadow.

"Come now, elleth," he said softly. "Why do you look so sad?"

"Because my lord does," she answered quietly.

"Aye, I am sad, Nessa," he answered quietly. "Gildor is a kind and good friend, I will miss him while he is gone."

"You love him, do you not?" she asked quietly.

Thranduil smiled sadly and nodded. "Aye, I do."

She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her head upon his strong shoulder. "I will try to keep thee company, my Lord. I know I am not Gildor, but perhaps I can make you smile nonetheless."

Thranduil smiled and squeezed her tight. "You are a good friend as well, Nessa, and you do make me smile."

She pulled away and skipped ahead a step or two. "I know what will lighten my Lord’s spirits!" she exclaimed.

Thranduil laughed softly and responded, "What?"

Her eyes grew wide in excitement. "A fresh crop of fawns has arrived! The does and fawns make their home on the other side of the hill." She reached out and took his hand. "Come with me, I will show you!"

Thranduil smiled and nodded, the elf-maid never ceased to lighten his spirits. "Alright, Nessa. But first, let us pack some fruit and water to take with us. It is a long walk up that hill."

She smiled broadly and nodded. "A most excellent idea, my Lord," she answered. "Come, if we hurry they will still be asleep." She tugged him along and they quickly walked to where breakfast had been set up.

* * * *

Elrond stood under a tall tree, his arms crossed over his chest and a satisfied smile gracing his lips. He watched as Celebrían directed the workers hanging lanterns and various decorations around the large garden. He chuckled to himself as he watched half the population of Mírdain in addition to a large number of household staff dart to and fro, hanging finely crafted silver and crystal lanterns, birds made of fine wire and ribbon, and baskets overflowing with flowers. Tables were being set up and covered with fine white linen, chairs in various shapes and sizes being brought from inside the house and placed around them. Centerpieces of bright summer foliage were placed upon each table and a platform was being erected for the minstrels. This would be the most elegant and stately Iavas celebration Imladris had ever seen.

He heard the clattering of hooves and rattling of wagon wheels coming from the courtyard, and he turned to see the latest shipment arriving from the south. He raised an eyebrow and turned to make for the courtyard. A wicked grin graced his lips as he formulated the words he would say to Erestor. He planned to make the Counselor squirm properly for his abrupt departure. He was not truly angry, but he did so love to tease Erestor.

He walked up the short hill toward the courtyard, schooling his features into a properly stern expression.

Celebrían watched Elrond walk up the hill and smiled. She had known he was watching her and it made her heart flutter in her chest. She struggled not to blush and fawn like a young maid, but the Lord of Imladris was so incredibly beautiful and wise, it was hard not to do so. **You are the daughter of Galadriel,** she mentally chastised herself. **Act like it, foolish girl!** She struggled to mold her expression into one of seriousness, but found it soon reverted to the broad smile she wore moments ago. She turned back to her task, and began instructing the workers again.

* * * *

Elrond arrived in the courtyard just as Erestor and Glorfindel were dismounting. The two lovers were chatting and laughing amiably as they removed their gear. The men they had with them were assisting the kitchen staff in unloading the wagons with the provisions for the upcoming celebration.

A group of children and elflings, hearing the arrival of the riders and wagons, came running up the hill, bolting past Elrond as they headed toward the wagons laden with goods. One of the smallest became tangled up in the elf lord’s robes, and he carefully extracted it before sending it upon its way. Shouting and excited young ones quickly surrounded Erestor and Glorfindel, and Glorfindel laughed as he picked one up and swung it around. Erestor crouched down low, producing various trinkets from the folds of his robes, smiling and ushering the little ones off to harass the kitchen staff for sweets.

They were both road worn, their clothes and skin peppered with dust from the dry trails, but they looked otherwise no worse for wear. Elrond mused that they even looked happy. He placed his hands upon his hips, a proper glare affixed upon his face as he cleared his throat.

"Ehem…"

Erestor and Glorfindel turned around to see their Lord casting a disapproving glance their way. Glorfindel looked at Elrond with one elegantly raised golden eyebrow then glanced at his lover. He picked up his pack and began to make his way toward the stair.

Erestor reached out and grasped his cloak. "Where are you going?" he asked his lover in hushed tones.

Glorfindel shook his head, his great golden mane shifting about his shoulders. "Oh no, melethen, I was supposed to be there. This is your problem, not mine."

Erestor furrowed his brow and grumbled. "Thank you very much, seron vell," he mumbled as Glorfindel left him to his fate.

He straightened his cloak and quiver and took a deep breath, holding his head high as he walked toward Elrond. He stopped in front of his lord and bowed his head, covering his heart with his hand. "My Lord," he said calmly.

"And just what did you think you were doing when you ran off with Glorfindel like that, Erestor? Have you forgotten your position in this household? Do your duties mean so little to you that you can push them upon poor Melpomaen and just leave without so much as discussing it with me first?"

Erestor opened his mouth to reply and was quickly cut off by Elrond. The Lord of Imladris was really having fun with his second.

"Melpomaen nearly had a break down trying to cover for you, Erestor. He is in the healer’s quarters as we speak. Celebrían has had to step in and take over preparations for the High King’s arrival and the upcoming celebration. Trade negotiations have come to a halt with the settlements to the south." He threw up his hands in mock exasperation and raised his voice, "You have left a complete disaster in your wake! What do you have to say for yourself?"

Erestor blanched at the dressing down he was receiving. His brow knitted with guilt and his head hung in shame. He had never shirked his duties as Elrond’s second before. He opened his mouth and quietly replied, "I am sorry, my Lord. I did not think that my leaving would cause so much trouble."

"Well it did not!" Elrond barked, barely able to keep from laughing. "Little did I know my Chief Counselor was so gullible."

Erestor opened his mouth in shock, then closed it as he realized he did not know what to say.

A broad smile crossed Elrond’s lips and he placed a hand upon Erestor’s shoulder. "It is good to have you home, meldir. I have so missed teasing you."

Erestor heaved a sigh of relief. He answered, "It is good to be home, my Lord."

They turned and made their way toward the stair leading to the main house. Erestor began hesitantly, "Tell me, my Lord, Melpomaen…"

Elrond chuckled and answered, "Melpomaen is fine. He performed your duties with flawless skill. We have closed negotiations with the settlements to the south and we are prepared for the High King’s arrival. Yes, the Lady Celebrían did take over the celebration preparations, but only because she practically begged me for something to do. Melpomaen was reluctant to relinquish even the smallest responsibility, but he acquiesced when I convinced him she could handle it."

Erestor nodded and laughed softly. "You did a fine job of fooling me, my Lord. I truly thought Melpomaen was in the healer’s quarters."

Elrond raised one eyebrow and smiled wryly. "Well, truth be told, he is. But not for the reasons I mentioned."

Erestor looked at him with alarm. "Is he all right? What happened?"

Elrond grinned as he replied, "It appears the household staff has been waxing the rear stair in the middle of the night when they thought everyone was abed. Our dear Melpomaen chose to use that stair when sneaking back to his room after visiting Ariel. He has only twisted his ankle. He will be given crutches and allowed to return to his duties, and his liaisons, in a few days."

Erestor’s eyes widened and he placed his hand upon his mouth as he chuckled. "Oh, I am sure he will think twice before taking that route again," he answered softly.

Elrond laughed heartily and nodded. "Aye, I suppose he will, he is quite mortified."

They continued up the stair toward the Council chambers.

* * * *

Thranduil and Nessa trudged back up the mountain toward their home. It was unseasonably warm and she was beginning to tire. She stopped and placed her hands upon her knees and looked up at the Prince.

"I am sorry, my Lord," she panted. "I am afraid I need to rest."

Thranduil turned back to her and smiled. "Of course, meldis. Come, let us rest against a tree in the shade." He led her to a soft patch of ground under a large tree. They sat beside one another in silence, listening to the wind in the tree boughs and the birds singing over head.

She looked up at him and smiled gently. "I suppose this walk is easy for you, yes? You do not look tired at all."

He smiled and nodded. "Well, I have to run and climb trees everyday, I have since I was an elfling. So yes, I suppose I am more accustomed to this sort of activity."

She nodded and plucked a piece of clover. She looked up into the sky and saw the sun drawing lower on the horizon. "It grows late," she said softly. "Will we be safe returning if it grows dark?"

Thranduil smiled and brushed the hair off her shoulder. "You have nothing to fear as long as you are with me, Nessa. I will protect you," he answered quietly.

She nodded again and sighed. "I still have bad dreams sometimes," she said quietly. "But I feel safe most of the time."

Thranduil pulled her close and cradled her head against his shoulder. "I am sorry you have bad dreams, elleth," he said softly.

She shrugged and wrapped her arms around his waist. "They fade as time goes on," she answered quietly.

Thranduil pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Rest now, Nessa. I will keep you safe, I promise."

She closed her eyes and sighed, slowly drifting into reverie.

To be continued…

Melethen = my love

Meleth = love

Seron vell = dear lover

Meldir = friend, male

Elleth = maid

Ivias = Autumn

<><><>

Thranduil held in his hands a curled parchment. It was a letter from Gildor, stating he had to return to Lindon with the High King. The Noldo swore to remain faithful, he swore to return as soon as he was able, but to Thranduil, it was the beginning of the end of their love affair. He took a deep breath, and steeled himself against his loneliness, determined not to cry another tear for a lover that could not stay.

He was not angry with Gildor; he understood his commitment to his duty. Gildor had his place, just as he did, and his was with his father protecting their realm. With Gildor and his companions gone, more responsibility fell upon Thranduil’s shoulders. He was appointed Captain of his father’s armies, and he supervised the guardians of the great wood as well as trained the new recruits. The uneasy peace that had settled upon them left more time for husbands to be at home with their wives, and the number of pregnant females among them seemed to have tripled.

So the Prince of Greenwood occupied himself patrolling the borders of his father’s realm, spending his nights prowling the forest, and his days lying in his talan, watching the clouds pass over head. His friendship with Nessa grew stronger, and he adored watching her with the elflings. A dark cloud loomed on the horizon, the wood told him so, and he was ever watchful, always aware of the gathering darkness in the east.

Glorfindel lay upon a blanket in the sun, watching the clouds pass over head, enjoying the warmth of Anor upon his skin. The corners of his lips curved into a peaceful smile as he listened to the high-pitched squeals and frantic giggles coming from the playing children and elflings nearby. Elrond’s house and realm was a place of refuge to elves and men, and the young ones thrived in its safe and pleasant surroundings. He took a deep breath and inhaled the crisp fall air. Winter was coming and he wanted to enjoy every moment of sunshine he could before the days grew too short and the snow started to fall.

His smile faded when he thought about his dear friend Gildor. The Noldo had looked positively ruined when he learned he would be returning to Lindon with Gil-galad. He was too proud, too filled with a sense of duty to ask for forbearance, so he had drafted a letter and had it sent by courier to Greenwood. Glorfindel imagined how painful that letter had been for Thranduil to read, twice now he had been left by one he cared for. The Elda hoped that Thranduil knew how much Gildor loved him, and how it pained him to be so far away; the Prince had a kind heart and he did not wish to see it consumed with pain.

A shadow passed over him and he opened his eyes, smiling as he admired the fall of raven hair around his face. "Pen-vain," he whispered.

"Mmm, I cannot tell you how tempting and delicious you are lying there bare chested in the grass, meleth," Erestor whispered. "I could eat you alive, right here in front of all the blushing females and screaming children."

Glorfindel laughed wickedly, "Well, that would cause a stir." He gasped as his lover leaned down, his lips caressing his collarbone and moving to his chest. "Erestor," he purred, "what in Elbereth’s name are you doing?"

Erestor lapped at a pebbled nipple and Glorfindel moaned quietly, arching in response. "I am taking a brief respite from my duties, nauren."

"No," Glorfindel whispered before biting back a moan. "I mean what are you doing to me?"

Erestor looked up at the warrior and smiled wickedly. "Do you wish me to stop, melethen?"

Glorfindel grinned back and answered, "Not really…"

Erestor smiled and resumed his task as the Elda arched beneath him. He felt Glorfindel’s length awaken, slowly swelling inside the confines of his leggings. It appeared his break would last longer than he had planned, he mused. "Tolo, Glorfindel," he purred silkily, I have something I wish to show you."

He pulled his lover off the ground and led him by the hand down the path toward the wine cellar.

As Erestor pulled the Elda through the door and into the wine cellar, Glorfindel barked in surprise then laughed softly as Erestor quickly pinned him to the wall. Erestor’s hands swept over his bare chest, his fingers spread wide to encompass as much of him as possible. Glorfindel closed his eyes and allowed his lover’s heated exploration of his body. He moaned quietly as Erestor’s soft and warm lips caressed the curve of his ear before focusing on the point. An urgent cry issued from him as Erestor nipped it then soothed the flesh with his tongue.

Theirs was a complicated and ever changing relationship. They were friends and lovers, peers and comrades in arms. They argued and fought, got on one another’s nerves, and never saw the same thing in the same way. But they also loved one another with abandon, each fully giving all that they were to the other. There were times when Erestor came to him this way, filled with urgent, demanding need, and others when the Noldo was gentle and yielding. He yielded to his lover, as that was what Erestor requested with his grasping and probing hands and his heated kisses, Glorfindel did not need to hear the words. Erestor thrilled him and excited him in ways he had not previously imagined. He loved the serious Counselor with all his heart, he could never imagine loving anyone else.

"Do you remember the construction of this cellar?" Erestor purred silkily in his ear.

"Aye, I do, ervainen vorn," he answered.

"As do I," Erestor continued. "I watched you, moving beams and stone, your muscles rippling under your alabaster skin. Never in all my days had I seen so moving, so beautiful, or so intoxicating a sight. I knew then, Glorfindel, I knew my heart was lost though my mind refused to see it. It was the last stone of a long standing wall falling and crumbling to dust." His hand slid down the Elda’s abdomen and over the now prominent rise in his leggings. "I still swore to myself to resist you, I convinced myself we could never be." His lips hovered inches from Glorfindel’s as he whispered, "But as I lay dying on a blood stained stone wall, my body violated by the cruel steel crafted in Mordor, I cursed myself for being so foolish, I cursed myself for not saying all that I felt. I watched you attack that beast with ferocity I had never witnessed in all my long days. The sound of your voice calling my name, the touch of your hand upon mine, the soft caress of your lips upon my face, that is what saved me, Glorfindel. Without that, not even Lord Elrond’s skills could have brought me back." He caressed the Elda’s face and whispered, "Melin le, Glorfindel, uireb."

A gentle smile curved Glorfindel’s lips and a tear slid from his eye. "Melin le, Erestor, uireb," he answered. He opened to his lover’s claiming kiss, wrapping Erestor in his arms and pulling him close.

* * * *

Celebrían was balancing on her toes on top of a tall stool in Elrond’s library. She clung to the shelf with one hand, her fingers scrabbling for purchase on the spine of a book. The Lord of Imladris entered his library to find the maid in this most precarious position.

"I have a ladder…" he began. Celebrían squeaked in surprise and jumped, losing her grip and balance and falling backward off the stool. He quickly stepped forward and caught her in his arms, cradling her safely against his chest. "Should you need one," he finished softly. He looked into her bright blue eyes and admired the hue of her flushed cheeks.

"You startled me, my Lord," she answered, feeling more than content to be held in his arms. Her own arms were wrapped around his neck and she felt the strength in his chest and shoulders. She found herself wishing he would kiss her, wishing he would finally do more than just smile at her.

Elrond sensed the attraction between them, he had for many long months now, but Celebrían was the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn, and it was important he treat her in the manner in which she deserved. As he gazed down into her eyes, eyes that were beautifully framed with long lashes, that were so open and warm, he found himself lost in their sapphire depths. He gently set her down on the floor, but did not release her from his arms. She gave no indication she wished to be released; in fact, her delicate arms still rested around his neck.

"My Lady has an interest in history?" he asked quietly.

She blinked, returning from reverie, finding her way back from the warm depths of his pewter eyes. "I have an interest in your history," she heard herself answer and was shocked at her forwardness. He smiled, something that always caused her heart to race blindly in her chest.

"Perhaps you would rather learn it from me, than from a book?" he asked daringly.

She smiled broadly; relieved her forwardness had not caused offence. "Yes, my Lord, I would like that very much," she answered.

"Then come, my Lady, and I shall tell you all you wish to know." He took her by the hand and led her from the library toward his residence.

Long years passed in uneasy peace, as Sauron grew stronger in the east. Gildor had returned to Greenwood and Imladris as often as he could; but it was not often enough. Thranduil had grown distant, preoccupied with training and war craft. Gildor was concerned at the change that had come over his lover, at the cool detachment in which Thranduil approached his duties. The Prince had become a skillful and masterful fighter with both bow and sword.

He had written many letters to Thranduil, he had expressed his sorrow at being apart, he told him how much he loved him, and how he yearned for him each and every day. Thranduil answered the letters, also speaking of his love and how much he missed his lover. But each letter had grown more impersonal, more about happenings in the great wood and less about his feelings.

The time they had all dreaded had come; Sauron had waged war against the men of Middle Earth, Númenor lay in ruins at the bottom of the sea, and Isildur had been driven from Minas Ithil into the north. The men of Gondor still held the shaky and ever-shrinking ground of their realm, Anárion held Minas Tirith and Osgiliath, but all knew he could not hold it for long. Galadriel and Elrond had seen the turning of the tide, and the Lady had urged the High King to action.

Gil-galad and Elendil from the North were gathering their forces, and the Elves and Men of Middle Earth prepared to make war on Sauron for what they hoped would be the last time. Gildor and his troops had been sent ahead, to inform Oropher and Amdír of the gathering of leaders in Imladris. Gildor had known that Oropher would not attend, but it was an excuse to see Thranduil, and he hoped the Sindar King would be more willing to join forces with his fellow leaders in Middle Earth.

Two Noldo soldiers accompanied him from Lindon, his traveling companions and compatriots. He saw the nervous discomfort that came over them as they entered Oropher’s realm; the Sindar King’s reputation for being difficult had grown over the many years. He told his companions not to worry, that despite his reputation, Oropher would receive them graciously and they would be treated well. Five Silvan archers dropped from the trees in front of them, Gildor recognized the leader, he had trained him himself. He bowed his head and greeted the captain who welcomed him back, and they made their way without escort toward the center of the village.

As they dismounted, some of Gildor’s friends came forward to greet him. He clasped their shoulders and hands, smiling broadly but his eyes continued to scan the faces for the one he had longed to see more than any other. The Silvans quickly welcomed Gildor’s companions into their midst, showing them where to stow their horses and belongings and inviting them to breakfast with them.

"Gildor!"

He heard the bright, happy sound of Nessa’s voice, and he turned to greet her, catching her up in his arms and swinging her around. "Mae Govannen, elleth," he said happily, laughing as she showered his face with kisses.

"We have missed you, my Lord," she answered happily. "It has been too long since your last visit."

He set her down and cupped her cheek in his hand. She was as lovely and sweet as she was when her saw her last. "Aye, it has been too long," he answered quietly. "Tell me, Nessa, where is Thranduil?"

She smiled sweetly and answered, "He will be returning from patrol soon, he has been leading the eastern watch."

Gildor raised an eyebrow. "He leads the eastern watch at night?" He tried to mask the alarm in his voice. That was the most dangerous watch, the chances of encountering orcs or men under the yoke of Sauron doubled on the eastern border, especially at night.

They heard the sound of elves entering the village and turned to see Thranduil and his fellow guard returning.

"Eight, he took down eight before I had time to take aim upon my third!" one of the young elves exclaimed.

Oropher greeted his son and clasped him upon the shoulders. "Well done, Iôn," he said proudly, "you have grown into a fine warrior." Thranduil bowed his head and made no answer. "It appears we have visitors," the King continued, as he turned and motioned toward where Gildor stood with Nessa.

Thranduil looked up to see his lover standing with Nessa and his heart skipped. "If you will pardon me, Adar, I will see to our guests," he said softly.

Oropher nodded and watched his son walk toward Gildor.

Gildor smiled when he saw Thranduil, barely able to mask his surprise when he saw him. The Prince had been transformed from a lithe young beauty into a battle hardened warrior. Everything about him was different in some way, he was taller, broader, the gentle smile and bright laughter that had been in his eyes had transformed into the shrewd gaze of a soldier. He was still beautiful, perhaps even more so, but the mirth that had once been so a part of him seemed to have faded.

As Thranduil reached him, he took the Prince into his arms and held him tight, not caring who saw. Thranduil slowly raised his arms and embraced him in return, but the touch was tentative, reserved. Gildor pulled back and smiled, wanting nothing more than to claim the Sinda’s sweet mouth with his own, but knowing he could not, not there at least. "It is good to see you, mellonen," he said softly.

"’Tis good to see you as well, Gildor," Thranduil answered. "Have you been shown to your quarters?"

Gildor winced inwardly at the indifferent tone with which his lover greeted him. "Not yet," he answered quietly.

"Come," Thranduil replied, "Nessa and I will escort you, there is talan reserved for guests that overlooks the meadow." Thranduil took Gildor by the elbow and led him away, Nessa following close behind.

* * * *

Gildor placed his bags in the corner of the talan, Nessa had left the two of them alone. He looked at Thranduil, who stood at the edge of the flet, looking down upon the horses in the meadow. The Prince had hardly said more than a few words, and those were mostly idle pleasantries. He knew his leaving and long absences had been taking a toll on their relationship, but this was worse than he had imagined.

"Are you angry with me, melethen?" he asked softly.

"No," Thranduil answered. "Why should I be angry with you? You are only doing your duty, as I am doing mine."

Gildor cocked his head and answered, "So seeing me to my talan is your duty? Remaining here with me while I stow my belongings is your duty?"

Thranduil answered without turning from the view, "No, that I do as your friend."

Gildor hung his head. "Friend?" he asked. He crossed the short distance to his lover. "I have been laboring under the impression we are more than friends." He placed his arms around his lover’s waist and his head upon his shoulder.

"Laboring is a goodly term," Thranduil answered. "For that is what this has been is it not? Did you expect I would drop everything and rush into your arms, Gildor? I have a duty that is no less important than yours, that is the only thing I have to keep me warm while you are away." He turned in his lover’s arms and looked into his gray eyes. "Yours is not the only King, Gildor. My father is a King, I am a Prince and it is my duty to guard this realm. Is my duty less than yours? Is my King less than yours?"

"No, mellonen," Gildor answered. "You know I do not see it that way. It has pained me to be so far away from you, Thranduil. I have missed you, seron vell, more than I think you believe."

Thranduil looked at the ground and answered quietly, "I cannot do this, Gildor. Each time you leave me a part of me dies. The only thing that has kept me going is my duty and love for my father. Without that, I have no purpose. I have missed you, terribly. But if I give everything I am to you, what will I be left with when you leave again? For you will, as surely as I stand here, you will leave again."

Gildor embraced him tightly and whispered in his ear, "I am sorry for the pain I have caused you, melethen. But I cannot stop loving you, it simply is not possible. If you wish me to leave and never come back, then tell me now and I will honor your request. But do not ask me not to love you, for that I cannot do."

Thranduil’s voice grew very quiet and he whispered, "I do not wish you to leave, ever again. But we both know that is not to be the case. I too love you, Gildor. I fear that love will be my ruin." He drew back from the embrace and took the Noldo’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to those of his love and kissing him deeply.

To be continued…

Pen-vain = beautiful one

Meleth = love

Nauren = my flame

Melethen = my love

Tolo = Come

Seron vell = dear lover

Ervainen vorn = my dark beautiful one

<><><>

"Our guests are arriving, your highness," Erestor informed Gil-galad. "Elendil and Isildur have arrived, and have been shown to their quarters so they may bathe before dinner. His host is encamped in the fields outside the walls."

Elrond sat behind his large desk, staring out the window, Gil-galad sat in a large overstuffed chair by the fireplace. "And are our own troops ready, Erestor?" Elrond asked quietly.

Erestor nodded. "Aye, my Lord. Glorfindel assures me that the host of Elrond is well prepared for battle."

Gil-galad looked out the window and answered quietly, "I had hoped to never hear those words again."

Elrond nodded in agreement. "Nor had I, my Lord." Elrond turned to look at Erestor and smiled gently. "Hannon chen, Erestor. Go and spend what time you may in peace."

Erestor bowed his head and covered his heart before turning and departing Elrond’s study.

The Lord of Imladris turned to his King and spoke quietly, "Anárion awaits us in Gondor. Gildor remains in Greenwood, he will travel south with the hosts of Oropher and Amdír and meet us at the southern tip of the Hithaeglir, near the Fords of Isen. The smiths have worked day and night, forging armor and weapons. The day approaches, but will all we have be enough to vanquish the Dark Lord?"

Gil-galad shook his head slowly. "I know not, meldir. But if we do nothing, the day will come when we can no longer fend off his attacks, and we will either have to relinquish this world to him, or die."

Elrond set his jaw and answered, "I will not give up my home to him. He must pay for what he has done to my people and those of my brother."

Gil-galad nodded and smiled wryly. "He will pay, mellonen. He will pay dearly."

The two leaders turned and looked out the window again.

* * * *

The eerie quiet that had befallen the normally bustling community of Imladris unnerved Erestor. It reminded him too much of Lindon before the ill fated battle at Ost-in-Edhil. Even the elflings and children seemed to sense it, as their play was almost sedate.

He walked down the long corridor toward his office; he wanted to check on some details one last time before retiring for the night. The day would begin early with a final check on the stores required for the long journey to Mordor, followed by a long tactics meeting in the afternoon that would most likely last well into the evening. He made no sound as he traversed the corridors, the elves that he passed were also quiet, moving here and there, going about their business with a feeling of dread hanging over them.

He opened the door to his office to find Melpomaen still working. He smiled at the diligent young elf and quietly addressed him, "Melpomaen, you are still here."

Melpomaen looked up and smiled, "Aye, my Lord. There were a few more details I wanted to finish before we depart."

Erestor shook his head slowly. "You will not be coming with us, Melpomaen. Master Elrond had no need of secretaries upon the battle field." Melpomaen furrowed his brow, his master’s voice stung as if he had been slapped in the face. Erestor smiled gently and pulled a chair up next to his faithful assistant. "Mellon, my words are not meant to hurt you. What we go to face is not for those who have not known war. You are a secretary, Melpomaen, and a fine one at that, but you are not a soldier. You must stay here; Imladris will still need someone assuring things run smoothly while we are away. The Lady Galadriel and the Lady Celebrían will also need someone to look after them, yes?"

Melpomaen nodded and answered quietly, "I suppose so. But I do not want to stay behind with the females and elflings while my friends fight to defend us."

"Melpomaen," Erestor continued, "Someone must do my duties while I am gone. Someone must see to the day to day operations of a realm like Imladris. Humans and elves will still need to be fed, crops tended to, lessons taught to the young ones. Who will assure this is done if not you?"

Melpomaen nodded. "Yes, my Lord," he answered softly. "I understand." He took a deep breath and sat tall in his chair looking up at his master. "I have made a final pass over the equipment rosters, all is in order. Lord Glorfindel is leaving behind a small number of border guard to provide protection while the main host is away. All is ready for your departure in the morning."

Erestor nodded and patted the younger elf upon the shoulder. "Hannon chen, Melpomaen. I knew I could count on you to see this done."

Melpomaen smiled shyly and looked at the floor. "Nach maetolo, my Lord. Now, go, Lord Erestor, your last night here should be spent with your loved one, not me."

Erestor chuckled and rose from his chair. "I will heed your advice, Melpomaen. Do not stay too long, Ariel awaits you I am sure."

Melpomaen smiled and nodded. "Yes, my Lord," he replied quietly.

Erestor left his faithful secretary in his office and made for his quarters.

* * * *

Glorfindel stood back and looked around the room. The chambermaid had nearly throttled him when he made his last minute request, and the chefs thought he had lost his wits, but all had come together in the short time he had given them. Their chamber was transformed into a romantic oasis, the bed and windows draped in midnight silk, fresh flowers filling the air with the scent of lavender and orchids, and candles casting a warm glow upon the walls. A fire burned in the hearth, and their small table was set with the finest china and crystal. A bottle of Erestor’s favorite wine was breathing in his favorite crystal decanter that the Mírdain gave him. The bath was prepared, candles were set around the deep iron tub, and Erestor’s favorite sandalwood and ginger bath salts were nearby. All Glorfindel had to do was pump in the warm water to fill the tub.

The chambermaids and cooks prepared their bedroom per his instructions while they had been closeted away discussing preparations for the march upon Mordor. As Glorfindel had expected would happen, Elrond had asked Erestor to remain behind after the meeting had adjourned in order to discuss some business with him. That gave the Elda time to hurry back to their quarters and change before his lover arrived.

He stood and looked at himself in the mirror, he was wearing Erestor’s favorite, a pale blue sleeping robe that the Noldo had made for him back in Lindon. The robe was made of fine silk, and its thin fabric clung to his frame as a second skin. It lay open at the neck, nearly to his navel, and was tied shut by a thin silver cord. His hair was loose, flowing freely down his back and around his shoulders. Other than the robe that graced his body, he was naked, no undergarments, no shoes or adornments of any kind. Countless times his lover had told him how beautiful he was this way. He closed his eyes and smiled, thinking of the long years that he and Erestor had been lovers. Surprisingly enough, the staid advisor made him happy. He was content to while away the hours with his head in his lover’s lap as Erestor read poetry to him, or laying on the divan on the terrace, holding his lover in his arms as they listened to the minstrels play well into the night. He no longer sought the public dining halls and long nights spent carousing with the Mírdain, he craved the comforting solitude of the chambers he shared with Erestor. He did have to admit, Erestor had made some efforts to be more lighthearted and casual; and the Counselor had a wicked sense of humor.

He heard his lover’s footfalls outside the door of their chamber and he turned around to face the door, a gentle smile curving his lips. He crossed the room and quickly plucked up two crystal goblets and filled them with wine, greeting his lover as he crossed the threshold.

Erestor was tired beyond comprehension after the grueling tactics and strategy session; the walk to his chambers seemed longer than usual. He opened the door and stepped inside, only to have his breath stolen when his eyes took in their bedchamber. "Glorfindel…" he whispered softly.

Glorfindel smiled and approached him, handing him a glass of wine. "Good evening, ervainen vorn," he said quietly.

Erestor accepted the offered glass of wine in a state of pleasant shock. A broad smile began to cross his lips as he took in the form of his lover. "Oh, I do so love you in that robe," he answered quietly. He reached out and ran his hand over his lover’s finely sculpted chest. He whispered, "You could be confused with a Vala, Glorfindel, I swear it."

Glorfindel laughed softly and ran his hand around the back of Erestor’s neck, drawing his mouth to his own. "Hannon le, melethen," he whispered huskily, his lips caressing Erestor’s. He pressed a deep and heated kiss to the Noldo’s lips before continuing, "Come, I have a light meal prepared. It has been hours since you have eaten." He took his lover by the hand and led him to the table.

Erestor sat in the overstuffed chair, smiling as Glorfindel unfolded his napkin and placed it in his lap. He sipped his wine and felt all the tension melt away as he perused the delicacies on the table before him. There was a three-tiered serving dish in the center of the table, with various fruits and cheeses on it. Alongside, there was a platter with sliced breads and another with various sweets, including some of the chef’s famous fudge. He plucked a ripe berry from the plate and watched his love circle the table to sit on the other side.

The thin blue robe clung to Glorfindel’s every curve, accentuating his strong back and ample buttocks. The mere sight of it caused Erestor’s desire to awaken, he never tired of looking at his lover. The Elda’s mane cascaded down his back like a fall of pure gold, shimmering in the firelight. Glorfindel was indeed the most beautiful elf he had ever known.

"What have I done to deserve so rich a greeting?" Erestor asked coyly.

Glorfindel smiled as he set his goblet upon the table. "Just being who you are is enough to earn such a reward, melethen." Erestor chuckled and popped another berry in his mouth. Glorfindel continued, "I wanted our last night at home to be a special one, meleth. I hope you are pleased."

Erestor swallowed and answered, "Aye, that I am, quite pleased. Just having you greet me in that robe would have been enough, melethron, but the rest is quite special."

Glorfindel smiled wickedly and sat back in his chair, crossing his legs as his robe fell open, exposing one long, powerful thigh. He brushed his hair off his shoulder, exposing his chest to his lover’s gaze. He slowly traced the neckline of the gown, smiling seductively at his lover as he answered, "I intend to make this a special evening, pen-velui."

Erestor smiled wickedly and replied, "I can hardly wait to find out what you have in store for me, maethoren vain."

Glorfindel smiled and nodded. "I can sleep on horseback, can you?"

Erestor chuckled and nodded. "I have the feeling I will learn, and quickly."

The lovers finished their wine and the delicacies on the table. Glorfindel rose, clearing the dishes, placing them on a cart, and wheeling them into the corridor. He then re-entered the room to find his lover running his hand over the silken bed linens. He stepped in front of Erestor, raising his hands and slowly removing his lover’s braids.

Erestor sighed as Glorfindel ran his hands through his unbound locks, his strong fingers massaging his scalp as he did so. "That feels so good, meleth," he whispered, a deep sigh escaping him as he gave himself over to Glorfindel’s touch.

"I have always loved the feel of your hair in my hands, seron vell," Glorfindel replied. "I love the weight of it and its soft texture." He pressed a soft kiss to Erestor’s forehead. "It is nearly as intoxicating as your ivory skin."

Erestor smiled as Glorfindel’s lips caressed his forehead, then his brow, before moving across his eyelids and cheekbones then traveling lower to trace his jaw line, before finally coming to rest upon his mouth. He moaned softly as Glorfindel nudged his lips apart and gently pressed his warm tongue into his mouth. His hands came to rest upon the Elda’s hips and he pulled him closer, sliding his hands over the warrior’s firm backside. The kiss seemed to last forever, his lover’s tongue sweeping across his mouth, tasting of him, entwining with his own. Glorfindel tasted of a unique mixture of the rich wine and his own heady flavor, and it was addicting. Erestor’s arousal pressed into the Elda’s hip and he slowly leaned forward, seeking more contact with his lover.

Glorfindel eagerly claimed what Erestor so freely gave, drinking in his lover’s sweet taste, plundering the depths of his mouth until he could no longer breathe. He pulled back from Erestor’s lips and began opening the clasps that held his robe closed. The heavy velvet fell from Erestor’s shoulders, pooling on the floor around his ankles. Glorfindel’s fingers hooked inside the straps of his lover’s loincloth sliding it teasingly off the Noldo’s hips. He heard the quiet sound of the silken fabric landing on the floor and smiled as Erestor stepped free of it.

Glorfindel groaned as Erestor’s hands slid inside his robes, his lover’s fingers digging into his back as he was pulled forward and his robe fell from his body. They impacted the bed and Erestor immediately wrapped one leg around him, sliding the inside of his thigh against his hip. The Elda rolled his hips forward, thrusting their heated lengths against one another, earning a needful moan from his lover.

Erestor began sliding backwards across the bed with Glorfindel crawling with him. His hands slid beneath the pillows to grasp the iron headboard when he felt the back of his hand brush against something small and hard. He reached for it, fondling the object in his fingers as Glorfindel assaulted his neck and chest with his mouth. It was very small, round, no, two round objects tied together with what felt like ribbon, two round… His eyes flew open and he gasped. He felt his lover smile against his neck and he whispered, "Glorfindel…"

Glorfindel answered, "All that I am is yours, melethen."

"As I belong to you, seron vell," Erestor answered, his voice trembling with emotion. He drew his hand from beneath the pillow and held up two intricately carved mithril bands, tied together with a strip of midnight blue ribbon. "Oh Gods, Glorfindel," he whispered, tears pricking at the backs of his eyes.

Glorfindel held his lover’s flushed face in his hands, gazing into his shining eyes. "Bond with me, Erestor, be mine unto the ending of the world."

Erestor smiled broadly and nodded. "I will, nauren." He took Glorfindel’s face in his hands and pressed a soft, deep kiss to his lips.

Glorfindel sat up, straddling Erestor’s waist and taking the rings from him, untying the ribbon and tossing it over his shoulder. "I wanted to do this right, but we ran out of time," he said softly. "Araval worked nearly night and day to finish them before time came to depart. I wanted to give yours to you in a bonding ceremony before our friends, but they were not finished until this morning."

He handed the ring intended for himself to Erestor and took his lover’s hand. "I pledge myself to you, Erestor, as your bonded partner in life and death. I will take no other to my heart or my bed onto the ending of the world." He slipped the ring upon Erestor’s finger and brought his hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss upon it.

Erestor felt the tears fall from his eyes as he took Glorfindel’s hand. "I pledge myself to you, Glorfindel, as your bonded partner in life and death. I will take no other to my heart or my bed onto the ending of the world." He placed the ring upon Glorfindel’s finger and brought the warrior’s hand to his lips.

He sighed as Glorfindel covered his body with his own and whispered in his ear, "Melin le, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel smiled against his ear and answered, "Melin le, Erestor."

Erestor brought the warrior’s lips to his own once again before melting into his lover’s touch and giving himself to him, mind, body, and soul.

To be continued…

Hannon chen = Thank you

Meldir = Friend

Mellonen = My Friend

Mellon = Friend

Nach maetolo = You are welcome

Ervainen vorn = My dark beautiful one

Hannon le = Thank thee

Melethen = My love

Meleth = Love

Melethron = My Lover (male)

Pen-velui = Lovely one

Maethoren vain = Golden warrior

Seron vell = Dear lover

Nauren = My flame

Melin le = I love thee

<><><>

Glorfindel’s eyes snapped open and a gasp escaped his lips. He lifted the covers to find his betrothed nestled between his thighs. Erestor’s head rested upon his hip, the advisor’s left hand tucked snugly between his buttocks and the bed, his right drawing patterns in the soft hair that grew about his arousal. A broad smile curved his ample lips and he moaned softly, settling back against the soft bedding and stretching his arms over his head, his fingers curling around their iron headboard.

"Mmm, ervainen vorn," he purred, "what a wonderful way to greet the dawn."

Erestor chuckled softly, his warm breath fluttering along the Elda’s swelling length. "Yes it is, melethron. I could remain here all day."

Glorfindel laughed softly then uttered a soft "Ah!" as Erestor’s index finger traced the vein that ran the length of his arousal. "Mmm… please, do not stop, pen-vain."

"Gods how I love to hear you beg, Glorfindel," Erestor answered huskily.

Glorfindel smiled wickedly and answered, "Do you now, pen-rhovan?"

"Yes, I do…" Erestor growled seductively.

"Iqista, melendonya…" Glorfindel purred.

Erestor moaned, the sound of his lover’s voice speaking the forbidden tongue always drove him mad with want. He shifted so that he lay directly between Glorfindel’s parted thighs, propped up on his elbows. He took a deep breath as he watched his lover bend his knees and spread his legs further apart, wantonly offering himself to him. His fingers caressed Glorfindel’s swollen, moist sex, spreading the moisture that leaked from the tip along his length, the Elda’s needful moans fanning the flames of his own burning desire. He trailed hot, wet kisses along the insides of the warrior’s thighs, watching him arch and undulate beneath him. Glorfindel’s proud length now stood against his stomach, weeping and twitching with need.

Erestor lowered his mouth to the soft pouch that lay nestled between his lover’s legs, first lapping at it with his tongue, then taking its entirety into his mouth. The plaintive cry that escaped his lover’s lips caused him to moan deeply. Glorfindel’s pleading words were coming with greater intensity, the old language of their homeland falling from his lips with unpracticed ease.

"Yé, melda, maurinyel, merinyel…" Glorfindel pleaded. "Gods, Erestor, you drive me mad."

Erestor removed his mouth from the now hardened pouch of flesh, traveling lower to circle his lover’s entrance with his tongue. He could feel the need in Glorfindel’s body, it was drawn tight like a bowstring, his thighs quivered, his back arched, he was transformed by his need and desire into a wanton, beautiful picture of pure sensuality.

"A tul, vanima," he whispered, "Come for me…" He thrust his tongue inside his lover’s writhing body, Glorfindel’s keening cry causing his own arousal to twitch beneath him. He felt his lover’s body tighten as he arched, his back coming off the bed as his warm essence spilled over his stomach. He withdrew his tongue, moving to lap the slick essence of his lover from his stomach.

Glorfindel whimpered quietly; he was trembling uncontrollably, his release achieved, but his desire not abated. The Elda groaned as slick fingers replaced his lover’s tongue, Erestor’s assault on his senses not pausing. Immediately his length began to pulsate again and he rolled his hips up into his lover, thrusting his still erect length into Erestor’s chest.

"Take me, Erestor," he whispered.

Erestor smiled and brought his lips to those of his lover. "I intend to," he whispered against Glorfindel’s waiting lips. He claimed his lover’s mouth with a fierce intensity, moaning into the kiss as he plundered the depths of Glorfindel’s mouth with his tongue. He rolled to the side and he reached down, taking his own arousal in his free hand and stroking it slowly, rubbing his thumb over the head and spreading his essence along his length. The fingers of his other hand were still buried in the body of his lover as he prepared him. He curled one finger and found his target, earning another keening cry from Glorfindel as the Elda arched beneath him.

Glorfindel gripped the iron headboard in his fists, his heart was racing and he panted for air, a thin sheen of sweat forming on his skin. Each time Erestor touched that place inside him he felt as though he would burst, tears of love and need began to trickle from his eyes and he whispered words of love to his betrothed. His eyelids fluttered as Erestor gathered his thighs in his arms and he felt the tip of his lover’s arousal at his entrance. He groaned as Erestor sheathed himself inside his body, filling him, stretching him beyond comprehension. He willed himself to relax and began to ride his lover’s length as it slid in and out of his body.

As Erestor took his swollen length in his hand, Glorfindel moaned plaintively, breathless, pleading words falling from his lips. It was in these moments, when he was consumed by love and desire for the one whom was most precious to him that he felt whole. His release came like a great wave, washing over him, consuming him and leaving him spent. Erestor’s came close behind, his lover’s deep groan echoing in his ears as he felt his warm essence spill inside him.

Erestor collapsed upon his chest, his head resting in the crook of his shoulder. He smiled and brought his hands down to stroke his lover’s back and his raven hair.

"Melanyel, Erestor," he whispered into his betrothed’s hair.

"Melanyel, Glorfindel," Erestor replied blissfully.

They lay together quietly before slowly rising and slipping into the bath together.

* * * *

Elrond sat on the low bench in the private corner of his garden. Celebrían was resplendent in the soft light of dawn, her hair shimmered and her skin glowed. They had grown very close over the years she had remained in Imladris, and now they would have to part. She looked at the ground, her soft flaxen hair falling around her face like a veil of pale gold; her sapphire eyes shining with unshed tears. Her pink lips trembled occasionally as she fought not to weep, and the sight of it nearly cleaved Elrond’s heart in two.

"I am afraid, Elrond," she whispered. "I am afraid I will never see you again."

Elrond smiled gently and raised her chin, turning her heartbreaking gaze to his own. "Fear not, elril, I will return to you, that I promise."

She shook her head, her pale gold locks swinging about her shoulders. "You cannot promise me that, for none of us know what may come of this."

He nodded slowly, a gentle smile curving his full lips. "You are too wise for platitudes, my lady. I should know better than to try to comfort you with them."

She laughed softly, wiping at her eyes as she smiled at him. "Yes you should," she chided gently. Her expression grew serious and she took his hands in her own. "I will wait for you to return, for you are my Lord. I will take no other in your place."

Elrond leaned forward slightly and softly spoke, "Do you mean what I hope you to mean, my lady?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, I do. You are my pen-muin, you are the Lord of my heart."

Elrond took her in his arms and held her tight. "Long have I yearned to hear these words from you, pen-vain. They will sustain me through the trials I must endure."

"Mellon le, Elrond," she whispered into his ear.

"Mellon le, Celebrían, Lady of my heart," he replied softly.

* * * *

Galadriel stood beside her only child, her arm around Celebrían’s shoulder. So many noble elves and men were departing, and they stood upon the steps of the courtyard saying farewell to them. Her own husband rode with them; Celeborn had never looked more handsome or regal, adorned in pale blue and bright silver armor. Gil-galad and Elrond rode beside him, followed by Elendil and Isildur, then Glorfindel and Erestor. The glint of mithril caught her eye and she saw the bands that Glorfindel and Erestor wore upon their left hands. She smiled and was glad they had gone ahead and bonded, even if not in the presence of their friends. Glorfindel had asked her advice, and she had answered that the only witnesses that mattered were the Valar.

"May the Valar protect you and keep you safe," she said softly as the warriors turned their horses, and she and Celebrían raised their hands in farewell. She felt her daughter’s pain at watching Elrond leave; it mirrored her own at watching her beloved husband ride into such peril.

Celeborn smiled knowingly and raised his hand in farewell to his beautiful wife and daughter before he turned and rode through the gates. Elrond nodded to his beautiful Celebrían, no words were needed to convey the depth of love he felt for her.

Celebrían ran to the gate as the last horse passed through, her hand still held high as she waived farewell. She watched as they were swallowed by the larger host that rode with them and they faded into the horizon, only clouds of dust were left to mark their passing.

* * * *

Thranduil awoke as he felt the soft lips of his love upon his shoulder blade. He blinked back from reverie to see it was still dark. A breeze ruffled the boughs of the trees overhead and he rolled over to look into Gildor’s smiling face.

"Time to wake, melethen," Gildor whispered softly. "Anor will rise soon, the host of Amdír should be arriving anytime."

Thranduil nodded and sat up, rubbing his face as the blanket pooled around his waist. Gildor sat back on his heels and looked at his beautiful lover. His golden hair was tossed about his shoulders, his muscled chest so perfectly sculpted from the years of battle and training. Every time he looked at Thranduil, he felt his breath stolen from him, he knew he would never tire of watching him wake. He reached out and touched him, his hand caressing one perfect pectoral muscle. His knuckles grazed one flawless, amber nipple and he watched it harden beneath his touch. He turned his eyes up to gaze into his lover’s and he saw the mischievous grin that curved Thranduil’s lips.

"You are wicked, Gildor," Thranduil chided. "You should not tease me thus."

Gildor smiled and nodded. "I know, but I cannot help myself, melethen. It has been so long since I have tasted your sweet flesh, so long since I have heard you sigh into my ear," he whispered.

Thranduil furrowed his brow and whispered in reply, "Nay, has been but two nights, since we left my home."

Gildor shrugged. "Two nights, two years, two ages… ‘tis all the same, every moment without you in my arms feels like eternity." He sighed, the back of his hand still grazing over his lover’s pebbled nipple. "I should like to give you something, seron vell," he whispered.

Thranduil reached out and cupped the Noldo’s cheek in his hand. "What would that be, melethron?" he whispered sultrily.

"A ring," Gildor answered. He reached inside his breast pocket and withdrew a small ring of mithril. "I have been carrying this with me for quite sometime," he continued. "It is a token of my affection for you."

Thranduil took the ring from him and held it up. "’Tis very small, much too small for my finger." He cocked an eyebrow. "Where do you propose I wear this ring, meleth?"

Gildor smiled wickedly and gave his right nipple a pinch. "I thought here would be a nice place."

Thranduil gasped and caught his lover’s hand, pinning it against his chest. "You did, did you?" he responded coyly.

Gildor nodded and mumbled, "Umhm…" Gildor pulled his hand away and brushed his lips against the hardened nub. "Think of it as a right of passage," he whispered playfully before drawing the pebbled nipple between his lips.

Thranduil moaned quietly, letting his head fall back as he pressed his chest to his lover’s mouth. "I noticed you do not have one… ah! Anywhere on your… oh Gods… body…" he breathed.

Gildor withdrew his mouth and brought his lips to his lover’s. "I would wear one for you, ernilen," he answered seductively.

Thranduil whispered into Gildor’s mouth, "I am hardly able to refuse you then, am I?" He tangled his hands in Gildor’s hair as he pressed a bruising kiss to his lover’s mouth.

* * * *

Thranduil marched beside Gildor at the head of the column of Greenwood elves. Oropher marched opposite his son, next to Amdír. Thranduil shrugged his shoulders and tugged at the right side of his tunic, wincing slightly as Gildor flashed a wicked grin. He looked over at his father, relieved Oropher did not notice his momentary discomfort.

"It will not hurt…" he grumbled to himself.

"Did you say something, Iôn?" Oropher questioned.

"No, Adar," he answered innocently. His eyes widened as he felt his lover’s hand cup his buttocks briefly and he looked at Gildor with narrowed eyes.

Gildor chuckled and marched on, his eyes watching the trees and hills around them.

To be continued…

Ervainen vorn = my dark beautiful one

Melethron = my lover

Pen-vain = beautiful one

Pen-rhovan = wild one

Iqista, melendonya = please lover (Quenya)

Yé, melda, maurinyel, merinyel = Yes, beloved, I need you, I want you (Quenya)

A tul, vanima = Come, beautiful one (Quenya)

Melanyel = I love you (Quenya)

Elril = bright star

Pen-muin = dear one

Melon le = I love thee

Melethen = my love

Seron vell = dear lover

Meleth = love

Ernilen = my Prince

<><><>

The elves of Greenwood and Lórien camped together at the Fords of Isen, waiting for Gil-galad and the host of Elrond and Elendil to arrive. Thranduil stepped down from the rock he stood upon as he relinquished his watch to his second. So far there had been no sign of orcs, nonetheless, he felt uneasy. He strode toward where he and Gildor made their beds. Sleeping next to one another without taking pleasure in each other was difficult, but there was no privacy to be had camping out in the open, surrounded by elves. His sharp elven ears picked up the sound of footfalls; they were too light to be orcs, so he discerned they must belong to men. He quickly scaled a tree, looking out over the rolling foothills of the Misty Mountains. Among the mens’ footfalls, he picked up the sound of horses’ hooves and another sound that he would recognize anywhere, bright bells ringing.

His heart leapt in his throat and he whispered, "Glorfindel…" It had been nearly an age since he last saw the first one to ever touch his heart. He leaned out, peering around the branches and brush and he spotted him astride Asfaloth. His golden mane flowed out around him and his gray cloak billowed in the wind. Opposite him rode the dark elf he remembered meeting in Lindon, Erestor, and in front of them rode Elrond and Gil-galad, with the Númenorian King, Elendil and his son, Isildur.

He turned and whistled to the elves hidden in the trees that lined the approach to their encampment, signaling the approach of their allies. He scaled back down the tree and ran to inform his father and King Amdír of their approach as well.

He struggled to contain his excitement as he stood like a dutiful son behind his father. Oropher and Amdír walked out to greet the High King and his host, and Thranduil could barely contain his excitement at seeing Glorfindel again. He suddenly felt like that young elf that the Balrog Slayer had taken to Gildor’s bed, so in awe of his beauty, so astounded by his mere presence.

The elves and men dismounted their horses and the captains began preparing camp. Gil-galad stepped forward and greeted Oropher and Amdír, bowing his head and covering his heart with his hand. Oropher was cordial and respectful despite his suspicion, and he returned the gesture. Gil-galad, Elrond and Elendil walked with the two elven Kings into a tent where maps were displayed on the table. Thranduil remained behind, nodding to Isildur as he passed and tilted his head. He felt like he was rooted to the spot upon which he stood, unable to move as he stared at the ground in front of him.

He saw the tips of two dusty boots step into his line of sight and he held his breath.

"Thranduil? Mellonen?"

It was Glorfindel. Thranduil trembled slightly as two fingers turned his chin upward, bringing his gaze to that of the Elda’s. He managed a shy smile and answered, "Mae Govannen, Glorfindel."

"By Elbereth, Thranduil," Glorfindel whispered. "You have changed so much." The Elda placed his hands on Thranduil’s shoulders and smiled. "Look at you, you are so strong, you have become a warrior…"

Thranduil smiled and answered softly, "’Tis good to see you, Glorfindel." He laughed softly as the Elda pulled him into an embrace and he wrapped his arms around Glorfindel’s waist as he pressed his cheek to the warrior’s shoulder. It felt so good to just be there again, nestled in his first love’s embrace. He squeezed Glorfindel’s waist and smiled as he felt the warrior’s hands caress his hair. He knew Glorfindel loved another, and he loved Gildor, that had not changed; he could not see the harm in this little indulgence, especially when many of them would not return.

Glorfindel released his friend and smiled as he gazed into his sapphire eyes. Thranduil’s body may have changed, but his open and kind expression had not, within this warrior’s body lived that beautiful young prince that had once so enraptured his heart. "I have missed you, mellonen," he said quietly. "I have thought of you often."

Thranduil nodded and replied, "I have thought of you as well." He reached up and took Glorfindel’s left hand, running his thumb over the band that encircled his ring finger. "You are happy I see," he said softly.

Glorfindel nodded and smiled. "Yes, I am. Erestor and I belong together, just as you and Gildor belong together."

Thranduil smiled and looked into the warrior’s eyes. "Strange, is it not? How we have all ended up here? You with Erestor, and me with Gildor?"

Glorfindel chuckled as he replied, "Yes, it is strange, but in a wonderful way, do you not think so?" He watched Thranduil’s expression cloud over as he continued to look at the band on his finger. "Thranduil? Mellonen? Is everything well?"

Thranduil took a deep breath and schooled his expression to one of appropriate happiness. "Yes, of course, Glorfindel," he answered quietly as he released the warrior’s hand. "I am just preoccupied with the battle to come, that is all." He tugged at the sleeve of Glorfindel’s tunic. "Come, let me show you where you and Erestor will be sleeping this night." He led the Elda away from the Kings’ tents and to a small meadow.

* * * *

Erestor watched the exchange between his betrothed and the Sinda Prince with a smile on his face. The happiness in his mate’s eyes upon finally seeing Thranduil once more filled his own heart with joy. He knew Glorfindel would always hold a place in his heart for Thranduil, and it did not bother him, the Elda’s heart was big enough for them both.

"Erestor!"

He turned to see Gildor coming down the hill, bow in hand and a broad smile upon his face. He smiled and bowed his head, covering his heart with his hand. "Gildor, meldir, ‘tis good to see you again."

He huffed as Gildor drew him into a strong embrace, crushing him against his broad chest, and he chuckled as he put his arms around his fellow Noldo and patted him on the back.

Gildor drew back and spotted the ring that Erestor wore. He smiled knowingly and nodded. "It is time the two of you sealed your relationship," he playfully chided. "Now perhaps the rest of us can stop worrying about you."

Erestor raised one eyebrow and answered, "Worrying? Meddling is more like it."

Gildor chuckled and nodded. "Aye, meddling, but that was the only way to get the two of you together." He smiled and placed his hand upon Erestor’s shoulder. "You look happy, mellonen."

Erestor smiled and nodded. "I am, we both are."

Gildor leaned forward and answered, "Good, it is long overdue for the both of you." He took Erestor’s elbow and led him toward where Elrond’s troops would bed down for the night. "Come, put down your belongings and let us get you something to eat."

* * * *

Thranduil lay upon his back, staring at the stars. His thoughts wandered to Glorfindel and Erestor as he watched Ithil’s path across the sky and listened to the sounds of the nearby woods at night. They were well suited to one another, and it was obvious to all around them how much they loved one another. It made Thranduil happy to see one he cared for blessed with such love. However, it also made him reflect on his current situation with Gildor.

He loved the elf, often to the point of distraction. Their prolonged separations had grown harder and harder to bear, and the only way he could deal with it was to shut off his heart and withdraw into himself. He still acted the part of the kind and loyal Prince. He smiled at the appropriate times, he wore the mask of contentment that he believed he had to wear, and he took on more and more responsibility to fill the rapidly growing void within himself. But, each time Gildor left, his lover took a part of him, the Noldo left a slightly larger hole than he did the time before. He did not blame his lover; Gildor had a duty to do, just as he did. But it seemed that would be the sum total of his life, duty, nothing more. He would never bond, never make a life with the one he loved, for that one was always leaving. He believed Gildor when the elf told him he loved him, the Noldo was far too honest and good a creature to ever lie. Nevertheless, those words were no longer enough to keep him warm, as he lay in his bed alone, his arms aching to hold the one he loved.

He heard his lover’s footfalls as he returned from duty and he rolled to his side, closing his eyes as he tried to find rest. He felt Gildor slide inside his bedroll and wrap his arms around his waist, nestling his head against the back of his shoulder. A single tear fell from his eye and he squeezed his eyes tight against the others that threatened to fall, and waited for reverie to take him.

* * * *

A feeling of dread as heavy as the air around them settled upon Thranduil’s mind. He stood on the barren ground, feeling the heat from Orodruin radiate out past the Black Gates. The sounds of elves and men making camp and preparing for war could be heard behind him, but all his energy, all his effort was focused on the dark land beyond the mountains. He climbed a rocky hill, keeping low to the ground so as not to be seen. He knew the servants of Sauron were aware of the presence of the army that had come to defeat them, but they worried little about this foolish band of men and elves that had come to meet their doom.

He lay upon the ground, his eyes wide at the sight before him. The great iron gates of the Morannon loomed in the distance; a massive black wall of evil that guarded an even greater evil that lay beyond it. He felt his blood run cold as he looked upon the lifeless, desolate land. The great tower of Barad-dûr loomed in the distance and Orodruin belched fire and smoke from its peak. He imagined he could hear the tortured screams of elves and men taken long ago coming from the tower, their endless days filled with unbearable pain and torment, with no hope of escape, not even through death. He had heard that the Dark One had ways to keep even an elf alive while he worked his evil on them, ways to confound and trap their spirits in their bodies, preventing them from escaping torment through death.

Such could be any of their fates he thought. Better to fall, to die in battle than to be taken to that black tower, to suffer pain, degradation and torment beyond conception. He imagined he could hear the Dark Lord’s voice in his ear, whispering of his own demise, he saw his legion driven into the swamps, slaughtered and dragged away. He tried to close his eyes, to shut out the sinister voice whispering in his mind, whispering of his own long torment and defilement that would come in the pits of Barad-dûr.

A hand closed around his ankle and he quickly rolled to his back, his knife drawn.

"Thranduil, melethen, come down from there."

It was Gildor. It took him several moments to realize that what lay upon his ankle was not an orc’s filthy hand; it was the hand of his lover. He let out a breath he had not realized he had been holding and closed his eyes; the voice was gone. He slid down the barren hillside, regaining his feet next to his lover as he reached the bottom.

"What were you doing up there, ernilen?" Gildor asked softly as they walked back toward camp.

"I was just taking a look at the enemies defenses; they are formidable," he answered quietly. He brushed the dirt from his tunic and leggings as he walked beside his lover.

"You should not venture so close alone, melethen. It is dangerous." Gildor chided softly as he brushed the dirt from Thranduil’s back.

"We are all in danger, Gildor. We do not know what daybreak will bring; anyone of us could fall or be taken. This is war and we are in the realm of the enemy, no one is safe here."

Gildor caught his lover by the wrist and turned him to face him. "Thranduil," he said softly, "meleth, we cannot afford to be divided now, we must stay together."

Thranduil nodded and waved his hand. "Yes, yes, I know, Gildor. I promise, I will be good and not creep off again." He looked at Gildor’s hand upon his wrist then back up at his lover. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have to report upon what I have seen to my father."

Gildor knew that Oropher was well aware of what they faced and he opened his mouth to say so, but then closed it and released Thranduil’s wrist. "Of course, melethen," he answered softly. He watched his lover stalk toward Oropher’s tent; it made his heart heavy to see Thranduil in such a state.

To be continued…

Mellonen = my friend

Melethen = my love

Ernilen = my prince

Meleth = love

<><><>

Thranduil sat on a low stool in his father’s tent, watching him as he poured over maps and troop rosters. Oropher was silent, but Thranduil knew what he was thinking, he could read the frustration and apprehension in his father’s knitted brow.

"This is foolishness," the King grumbled. "Every moment we stay encamped here leaves us vulnerable to the enemy. We should be attacking, not planning!"

Thranduil said nothing. He had been privy to the conversations between his father, Master Elrond, Gil-galad, and Elendil. He understood the need to proceed with caution, they were in the Dark Lord’s realm, on his battlefield, and they were greatly outnumbered. There was a part of him that understood his father’s impatience. If he were to die, he would prefer that happen sooner rather than later; waiting for death was near unbearable. Oropher’s troops had always functioned as a solitary unit; each elf knew the other, knew how they would react. They knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, and they combined their skills with deadly results. They were primarily archers; however, each warrior had skill with the blade whether it be sword or knives.

Other than the small unit that had fought in Eregion with Glorfindel, they had never fought side by side with others before, and this battle was far different from the ones they fought in their woodland home. Oropher’s troops practiced stealth, they swooped down upon their prey from the treetops, dropping on them and dispatching them with lightening speed. They had never faced open warfare before on a field that provided no cover. Even in Eregion, those who had fought with Glorfindel had been used in a way that took advantage of their skills. They were placed in towers and along city walls, perched high in trees and under cover of brush to fire with deadly accuracy at the oncoming foe. Now, they would march into the open, no rock or brush to take cover in, and present a frontal assault upon the forces of Mordor.

The tension in the camp was thick; the air was still but for the soft murmuring of the men and elves that wondered what awaited them. Thranduil’s visions had been coming for weeks, since they had left Greenwood. They replayed at will in his mind now, his regiment falling in battle, driven into the swamps, surrounded and cut down by swarms of orcs, and wargs. He saw his own fall as if he were watching it from the outside. He saw the hideous face of the orc that ran him through, saw the point of the black spear reddened with his own blood as it came through his back, and he saw himself sink to his knees, falling face first into the black mire of the swamp.

He was going to die there, he was convinced of that. His last days before passing to Mandos’ Halls were to be spent in this desolate and dark place, where the air reeked of death and smoke. He stared blankly past his father, Oropher’s growling complaints barely registering in his ears. He thought of all that he would have liked to have done, of all those he would miss once he was gone: Gildor, his father, Nessa, Glorfindel…

"Thranduil… Iôn?"

The sound of his name on his father’s lips pulled him back from his thoughts and he looked up to see Oropher crouch in front of him.

Oropher placed his hand upon Thranduil’s thigh. "Are you unwell, Iôn?" he asked softly. He had never seen his son look so defeated or despondent.

Thranduil smiled wryly and answered, "Elves do not fall ill, Adar. You know that."

Oropher reached up and caressed his son’s face. "I do, but never have I seen you look thus, Iôn. You look as if you have lost someone dear to you."

Thranduil smiled wearily. "I am thinking of all that is to come, of all that will come if we fail, Adar."

Oropher smiled, it was a sight that he did not see enough, Thranduil mused. "We will not fail, Thranduil. The Dark Lord’s final hour approaches." He placed his hand upon the back of Thranduil’s neck and pulled him forward, pressing his forehead into that of his son’s. "I want you to promise me something, Iôn."

Thranduil softly answered, "Promise you what, Adar?"

"If I fall, promise me you will marry, promise me you will have a son." He placed his fingers upon Thranduil’s lips and silenced him. "You will rule in my stead should anything happen, Thranduil. As King, you must have an heir. Promise me this, Iôn, it is important to me."

Thranduil did not have the heart to tell his father of his visions. He nodded and answered quietly, "I promise, Ada."

Oropher reached up and drew his son into his arms and held him tight, he turned his head and whispered into his ear, "Melin chen, Thranduil, you have made me very proud."

"Melin chen, Ada," Thranduil answered. "I am proud to be your son."

Oropher drew back and patted his son on the shoulder. "Now go and get some rest. Tomorrow we make war."

Thranduil nodded and rose from his stool, leaving his father’s tent in silence.

Oropher watched his son go with a heavy heart. He had a vision, he had seen his son’s death in the marshes and he knew Thranduil had seen it too. The Dark Lord’s black arts hung heavy over the place they were in, and perhaps the evil one overestimated his talent for striking fear into the hearts of all that he touched. Oropher would not let his son fall, he would not let Sauron take him and use him cruelly.

He left his tent in the middle of the night, climbing to the top of a small hill and gazing into the sky. He smiled as his eyes beheld the light of Eärendil, and he whispered so quietly that no one else could hear him. He nodded and covered his heart with his hand and bowed his head, the words "Hannon le…" falling silently from his lips. He then returned to his tent and slid inside his bedroll, turning his sleepless eyes to the ceiling above him.

* * * *

Gildor awaited his lover in their tent, a single candle cast a pale glow inside and he threw some extra furs over their bedroll as a cold wind blew from the east. He was worried about Thranduil. His lover had grown so withdrawn and melancholy since they left the Fords of Isen. At first, he had thought it was seeing Glorfindel that had been the cause, but he quickly discerned it was more than that. Something heavy weighed upon his lover’s heart and mind, and Thranduil would not speak of it.

A gust of wind blew into the tent as Thranduil stepped inside before turning and tying the flaps shut. He walked to the edge of their makeshift bed and lowered himself to the ground, sitting and removing his boots.

Gildor crawled across the furs and heavy canvas of their bedroll and knelt behind his beloved, sweeping his lover’s golden mane over one shoulder and pressing his lips to the side of Thranduil’s head. "You look weary, melethen," he said quietly.

"Aye, I am," Thranduil answered. He shifted and turned to face his lover, his fingertips ghosting over Gildor’s brow. "I am sorry I am so dispirited, seron vell. The weight of all that is to pass sits heavy upon my heart."

"I know, ernil vain, I can see it in your eyes," Gildor answered. He took Thranduil’s face in his hands and drew his lover’s lips to his own. "Come," he whispered against Thranduil’s mouth, "let me make you forget all that troubles you."

"Promise me something, Gildor," Thranduil said softly as he pulled back from the kiss.

"Anything, melethen," Gildor answered.

"Promise me that should I fall, you will go on to love another."

Gildor sat back with his eyes wide. "Why do you say such things, Thranduil?" He shook his head. "No, you will not fall, I will not allow it."

Thranduil looked at his lover in earnest. "Promise me, Gildor."

Gildor shook his head violently. "No, I will not do this. I will not sit here and talk of your death. I cannot make such a promise, melethen. I cannot bid my heart to do other than it will."

A tear tracked down Thranduil’s cheek. "Please, melethen. I need to know that you will go on, I need to know you will be happy. I can face what is to come if I know this, Gildor. Please, promise me."

Gildor furrowed his brow. "What have you seen, Thranduil? Have you had a vision? You must tell me."

"Promise."

"I cannot. Please do not make me do this."

"Promise me, I beg you."

Gildor sighed and looked at the ground. In a voice so small Thranduil could barely hear it, he answered, "I promise."

Thranduil took him in his arms and held him tight. "Hannon le, melethen. I can face what is to come now with honor and dignity."

"Melin le, Thranduil," Gildor whispered into his ear. "I know I have not been the best lover, I know I have hurt you being so far away. Believe me when I say my heart aches as well, that each moment spent away from you is a moment that reminds me I am incomplete without you."

Thranduil pressed Gildor to his back and covered his form with his own. "Melin le, Gildor. Do not blame yourself for doing your duty. Yes, our separation has been hard, but I have not blamed you. I will love no other as I love you, Gildor, not for the rest of time."

Thranduil covered Gildor’s mouth with a deep and passionate kiss and he moaned quietly as the elf lord’s hands tangled in his hair. He sat up as they broke their kiss and he straddled his lover’s strong body, unbuttoning his tunic. He ran his hands across Gildor’s fine chest and smiled down at him. He wanted his last night in Middle Earth to be spent making love to the one he held dear.

Gildor looked up at his golden prince, his silken hair spilling over his shoulders, his breathtaking eyes turning a deep midnight blue, his soft lips curved into a beautiful smile. He arched into his lover’s hands, trying to forget all that had been said, trying to forget the sense of dread that had settled over his mind. As Thranduil lowered his mouth to his chest he felt a tear fall from his eye, and he made a promise to himself that he would follow Thranduil into death should he fall. For he knew he could never fulfill the oath the Prince had just made him swear.

They made love to one another that night and held each other. Neither slept, as they wanted to waste not one moment they had with each other.

* * * *

Elrond lay in his bed, his fingers caressing a lock of Celebrían’s golden hair. He smiled when he thought of her radiant beauty, of her gentle wisdom, and her infectious spirit. He prayed that should he fall she would love another, and he reminded himself that it was for her that he rode to war. He did it for her and all those like her, all those who must be protected from the hatred of the Dark Lord.

He tucked the lock of hair inside his tunic, into a small pocket near his heart, and then he rolled to his side and tried to find reverie before war began in the morning.

* * * *

**War,** Celeborn thought. **So it has come again.** He set his jaw as he gazed upon the Black Gate. He could feel the Dark Lord reaching out for him, his thoughts like tentacles trying to seize his mind and drive fear deep into the core of it. However, Celeborn was as old as time, he knew of the tricks and black arts of Sauron the Deceiver. "Nay, black beast," he said quietly. "You will not plant your seeds of death and doubt in my mind. Take your black arts and be gone, for you will fall, Dark Lord, even if I have to fall with you to see it done."

A loud blast issued from Orodruin; the mountain was its lord’s voice. Celeborn smiled wryly and growled, "Rail away, devil, for there is no escape this time. Elves and men will not leave you to crawl into your hole and regain your strength. You will pay for the havoc you have wreaked upon my people…"

"And you will pay for the defilement of Númenor," Elendil added.

Celeborn turned to see the proud King standing beside him and he smiled. "Yes, he will, meldir; he will pay dearly."

* * * *

Glorfindel closed his eyes as a loud blast issued from Mount Doom. Erestor curled against him, his satiated form molding perfectly to his own. It was strange to hold his mate here in this place, to hold such beauty and love in his arms in so black a place. Memories of the first time he saw Angband flashed into his mind, and he looked down into his love’s dark eyes to erase it.

"I know what you are thinking, seron vell," Erestor’s deep voice echoed in Glorfindel’s ears.

"Do you?" Glorfindel questioned playfully. "Then tell me, oh wise one."

Erestor pinched an amber nipple and chuckled. "You are thinking, what was I doing when I agreed to follow that damned Noldo to Imladris?"

Glorfindel laughed heartily and feigned surprise. "That is astounding! How do you read my mind like that, Erestor?"

Erestor chuckled and rested his head back upon his mate’s shoulder. "I am wise beyond even your years, rawen."

Glorfindel laughed softly and pulled his love closer. "Erestor?" he said softly.

"Yes, melethen?" Erestor answered, his hands gently caressing his mate’s chest.

"Stay close to me, tomorrow. Something tells me I must protect Master Elrond, but I know not from what. I need to know you will be with me."

"Of course, Glorfindel," Erestor answered quietly. "I will stay by your side, I will protect you."

Glorfindel smiled wearily and pressed a kiss to his mate’s head. "Hannon le, melethen. I will fight better for it."

They snuggled close and lay awake for the remainder of the night.

To be continued…

Melin chen = I love you

Hannon le = thank thee

Melethen = my love

Seron vell = dear lover

Ernil vain = fair prince

Melin le = I love thee

Meldir = friend

Rawen = my lion

<><><>

Dawn broke over Ered Lithui as the ranks of elves and men took their positions. Thranduil stood at the head of his column, as his father walked their ranks, making eye contact with each and every one of his soldiers. His glance lingered upon Thranduil, looking into the bottomless blue depths of his son’s eyes. He smiled and nodded, prouder in that moment of Thranduil than he had ever been in all his long life. It had been a hard fought battle thus far, weeks of sporadic skirmishes, and still they had not been able to break through the Black Gates.

As the sound of the battle horn blew, and the great black gates opened, Oropher turned and faced the enemy, his sword held high as he bellowed a great war cry into the air. An answering cry came from Thranduil and the Silvan elves that stood with their King.

The sound of orc horns split the air and Glorfindel drew his sword, the bright Elvish steel ringing in the dead air. Gil-galad turned, his spear held high and shouted, "Tolo! Let us send these devils back into the pits from whence they came!"

A great answering cry swelled from his ranks, and elves and men surged forth onto the field of battle.

* * * *

Amdír’s and Oropher’s ranks held back, their soldiers being the best archers in Middle Earth, and they fired volley after volley of green and white fletched arrows into the swarm of orcs, hill-trolls, and wargs. Thranduil’s regiment covered the northern flank and he shouted out commands to his archers, directing when and where their arrows should fall. Oropher took the western flank, what was originally Thranduil’s position, and directed his regiment with deadly efficiency. Amdír’s archers fired volley after volley from the east, covering the eastern edge of the battlefield. Gil-galad’s forces, led by Elrond and Gildor, were heavily armed and strode into the fray, doing battle with the orcs on foot. Elendil’s armies, led by his sons Anárion and Isildur, fought side by side with the elves of the west, felling orcs and beasts in large numbers.

Dwarves from the Mountains of the west scaled the steep sides of the mountains, preparing an attack on the gates from above; they slew orc in great numbers, hewing them with their sharp axes.

Glorfindel and Erestor flanked Elrond as they slashed their way through the swarm of black death. Many of the orcs shrank in fear upon seeing Glorfindel, for Sauron’s beasts feared all those who had once beheld the light of the Two Trees. Celeborn struck fear into their black hearts as well, as he danced and slashed his way through their ranks, his bright mail and silver hair gleaming in the fading light.

After many hours and countless number of wounded and fallen, the ranks of Sauron broke and began to flee back toward the Black Gates. Oropher watched in confusion as the Noldor and Men let them go once again, and he called to his men to give chase. Gil-galad called to them to stop, for as great as the number orcs had been on the battlefield, he knew many more waited behind the Morannon; the retreat was a trap.

Gildor ran up to the hillock where Thranduil stood, relieved to see his beloved still standing. He was weary, covered in blood, but the fear that had lay in his heart drove his weighted limbs onward. As he reached the top of the hill, he saw the horrified look on his lover’s face and he turned back to the battlefield.

Oropher’s regiment swarmed down the hillside with a great war cry, just as a large number of orc poured afresh from the black gates. Gildor stood beside his lover as the proud Sinda King and his ranks were turned back and driven westward toward the marshes. The Silvan elves were not armed as were the Noldor, and their casualties were heavy. Oropher fought valiantly, but was unable to turn back the tide that poured forth from the gates. They were driven into the marshes and overrun, as Elrond and Gil-galad tried in vain to rescue them from their fate.

Glorfindel looked back toward the black gate, the pursuit of Oropher’s regiment had left it lightly guarded and vulnerable, and he hastily grabbed Elrond. The Elves of Imladris, along with great numbers of Gil-galad’s troops and the Númenor of Elendil seized the advantage and attacked.

Thranduil watched in horror as his father was driven into the marshes with his troops. A sickening realization came over him and he cried out, "No! Adar!" He watched as his valiant father was impaled with the black spear of an orc, watched as his life’s blood spurted from his body. In his mind’s eye, he saw the light of his father’s spirit leave his body as he fell to his knees, a once proud King brought low by the hateful steel of Mordor. He saw Oropher fall to the ground through his tears; the vision that had haunted him both in waking and sleeping moments finally come to pass. He howled in pain, his legs buckling from beneath him as Gildor caught him, the soldiers in his regiment gathered around their grieving prince as they whispered prayers to Mandos’ for the fallen.

Gildor fought back his own tears as he held Thranduil’s sobbing and shuddering form in his arms, and he suddenly understood what had come to pass. Somehow, Oropher had seen his son’s death, and that was why he changed the position of Thranduil’s regiment. Oropher had taken his son’s place; he had given his life for Thranduil. His own regiment was charging in to Mordor, pouring through the Black Gates as they merged with the column led by Glorfindel. He shouted to Thranduil’s archers to take up positions in the mountains, and provide support by covering the advancing column from the mountaintops.

As Gildor held his lover in his arms, he watched the elves and men advance into Mordor, their victory dearly paid for with the blood of Oropher and his kin. Their numbers were lessened, they were not as strong, but they had broken the Black Gate and were able to hold it.

* * * *

Gildor held his lover in his arms that night, offering him what comfort he could for his grief. The tears had lessened, but occasionally they would still fall from Thranduil’s eyes. Gildor stroked his lover’s hair and whispered comforting words to him, his own heart breaking for his beautiful prince.

Elrond lay upon his back, weary and saddened by the events of that day. He had tended to the wounded and looked in upon Thranduil, but there was nothing to be done for the Sinda Prince, he had to be given time to grieve. Elves and men held Dagorlad and the Morannon, the tops of the mighty gates lined with Silvan archers and the towers held by Anaríon’s men. At dawn they would press forward again, on to Barad-dûr, and probably come to battle with the Dark Lord himself. He closed his eyes and summoned the vision of Celebrían to his mind, wiping the way the horror of the day that had passed, the loss of so many of his kin.

Celeborn knelt beside his bedroll, offering a prayer to Mandos to speed the journey of those that died that day. He grieved for the loss of so many of his kin, and for Oropher. He had known the elf for many an age, and it saddened him to see his end come in such away. His thoughts turned to Thranduil, still so young and now a King. He asked the Valar to keep him safe and give him comfort in so dark an hour.

Glorfindel collapsed upon his bedroll, and sighed as Erestor fell to his back beside him. Their limbs were heavy, as were their hearts. Oropher had dearly purchased their victory with his rash actions, and now they were encamped near the Black Gate itself. He had gone to see Thranduil; his friend had lain despondent in Gildor’s arms. He had offered his sympathies, kissed him upon the head, and left the two in peace. He had a feeling that this experience would forever change the prince, and that saddened him.

Erestor rolled to his side and rested his head upon Glorfindel’s shoulder. He whispered into his mate’s ear, "Come, melethen, let us wash the stench of orc from our skin before we defile our bed."

Glorfindel nodded and answered, "Aye."

They rose wearily and made their way to the wash basins.

* * * *

Morning came far too soon for many. The guard changed upon the Black Gates and in the watchtowers that flanked it. Dwarves now held the gate and a regiment of Isildur’s men guarded the tower. The orcs and beasts that had not been slain in the rout had retreated to Barad-dûr. The plains of Isenmouthe were now occupied by the Last Alliance, and before them lay the Plateau of Gorgoroth, Orodruin, and the Dark Tower of Sauron.

Gildor sighed and reached out for Thranduil, finding that side of their makeshift bed empty. He looked up to find his lover standing beside the bed, closing the last clasps on his tunic. He sat up and stretched, looking at the Sinda with concern. "Thranduil?" he said softly. "What are you doing, melethen?"

Thranduil looked at his lover and answered, "There is a war to be fought, Gildor. I have troops to attend to. We should press the advantage while we may."

Gildor furrowed his brow and answered his lover, "No one expects you to see to your duties this day, melethen. You have just lost your father, I think all would understand if…"

Thranduil answered Gildor in an emotionless tone, "I am not the only one who lost kin, Gildor. Members of my regiment had brothers who fell with my father. Should they be expected to do their duty while their prince lingers behind?"

"King, melethen," Gildor answered. "You are no longer their prince, you are their King."

Thranduil swallowed as Gildor’s words sunk in. He was King now; he was their leader. "All the more reason to show myself among them. They need to see me as strong, they will draw their strength from me now."

Gildor rose and stepped over their makeshift bed, wrapping his arms around Thranduil and pressing his lips to his lover's ear. "You are strong, melethen," he whispered. "But you cannot take care of them if you neglect yourself."

Thranduil raised his hands and placed them on Gildor’s strong back. "I will not neglect myself, seron vell," he whispered. "And I have you to be sure that I do not."

Gildor chuckled and nodded. "Aye, this is true, meleth." He pulled back and smiled gently at his lover. "If you will wait for me, I will accompany you to meet with Gil-galad and Elrond."

"Hannon chen, Gildor," Thranduil answered. He smiled sadly as he watched his lover pull on his boots and tunic. He stepped over their bed and combed through Gildor’s rich hair with his hands, separating it and braiding it behind his back as his lover buttoned his tunic. Gildor took his hand as they emerged from the tent and made their way to meet the leaders of the Alliance.

* * * *

Thranduil had felt the eyes of both elves and men upon him as he and Gildor strode through the camp. His own soldiers bowed their heads as he passed and he gave them reassuring smiles as he made his way through the camp. He noted with some surprise that the camp was quiet, eerily so. It appeared that there were no preparations being made to launch another assault.

Gildor lifted the flap to the command tent and they entered to find Gil-galad sitting behind a makeshift desk with Elrond at his side. Elendil and his sons, Anárion and Isildur were there as well, as was Glorfindel and Erestor.

Glorfindel strode out from behind the desk and approached Thranduil, coming to a stop before him and covering his heart with his hand and bowing his head in respect. "My lord," he said softly, "Please accept my condolences on your loss."

Thranduil smiled and placed his hand upon the Elda’s shoulder. "You need not bow to me, Glorfindel, I do not deserve such a gesture."

Erestor added from his place behind the desk, "But you do, my lord. You are King."

There it was again. King. The word burned in his ears like fired steel. He looked at the Noldo and said nothing. To reveal he was not comfortable in the role he had assumed through his father’s death would not be wise. It was time to display strength, not youthful weakness. He returned his gaze to the Elda and spoke quietly, "Many thanks for your respect, Lord Glorfindel."

Glorfindel met his gaze and smiled warmly before returning to stand beside Erestor. Gil-galad rose from his chair and bowed his head, covering his heart with his hand, as Elrond, Amroth, Celeborn, and Elendil and his sons did the same. Thranduil returned the gesture and moved to sit upon the stool at the near end of the makeshift table.

"Where is Lord Amdír?" Thranduil questioned.

"He fell, just last eve," Elrond answered quietly. "He was over run as he and his regiment attempted to come to the aid of your father."

Thranduil lowered his eyes in a silent prayer to the fallen elf lord. He looked up at Amroth and answered quietly, "I am sorry to hear it. You have my eternal gratitude, my lord."

Amroth nodded and smiled sadly. "I am only sorry that they could not have at least saved your father and his kin."

Thranduil smiled in return and nodded. "Tell me, my lord," he said quietly to Gil-galad. "Are we not ready to prepare another assault?"

Gil-galad slowly shook his head. "No, Thranduil, we are not. Our warriors are exhausted, they need time to rest before launching an assault on the tower."

Thranduil nodded, he had taken note of how weary his own archers were as he had walked through the camp. "I see, seems like wise council, though my heart tells me we should press now while we have the advantage." He raised his hand as Elrond began to protest. "But I will abide by your strategy. You and your wise counselors have more experience with warfare than I." Looked into Gil-galad’s eyes and continued, "Tell me then, my lord, what is our plan of attack then?"

Gil-galad smiled wryly, and heard the nearly silent sigh of relief that issued from Elrond. They were both concerned that Thranduil would be as divisive as his father had been. The High King sat forward and began explaining the strategy that he and the other lords had just finished discussing.

To be continued…

Tolo = Come

Melethen = my love

Seron vell = dear lover

Hannon chen = Thank you

<><><>

Many years had passed since the Last Alliance had marched on Mordor, seven long years of death and destruction, advancing and being driven back, but once inside the Dark Gate, the Last Alliance could not be moved from Sauron’s land.

Thranduil took up his father’s kingship with grace; he led his warriors in battle and fought side by side with them. He took up residence in his father’s tent, as was expected, and met Gil-galad and Elendil as their peer. He and Gildor’s friendship remained ever strong, but the toils of war and the heavy weight of Oropher’s legacy wore hard upon Thranduil. He remembered the promise he made his father the night before he died, he knew it was an oath he must fulfill. He had not spoken of it to Gildor in all these long years, but he knew he must before he returned home.

He sat in his tent; the bitter autumn wind setting the tent walls flapping, and the flames that burned in the lanterns that lit the room were flickering. It was one of those rare lulls in battle as their troops regrouped and found rest and the camp was quiet save for the rumbling of the mountain. He wrote a letter to Nessa, which was to accompany the official correspondence that would return to the Council that governed Greenwood in his stead. In it, he told her how much he missed her, and in truth, he did. He missed her bright eyes and gentle smile; he missed her innocent enthusiasm and love of life. He felt he could use some of that enthusiasm at the moment, for the long years of the war were draining his own, slowly but surely. He set the seal upon the letter with his ring and slid it aside, propping his elbows up on the desk as he rubbed his temples. He worried about returning home, as he felt ill prepared for Kingship. As long as they were at war, he was a warrior, a Captain first, King second, and that was something he understood.

He felt a gust of wind blow inside as he heard the tent flap open and he looked up to see his herald enter. The herald bowed low and softly addressed him, "My Lord, Lord Gildor wishes to speak with you."

He nodded and answered quietly, "Send him in."

The herald turned and raised the flap and Gildor entered, pausing before the desk and bowing his head, covering his hand with his heart. "My Lord," he said formally.

Thranduil looked to the herald and nodded, dismissing him as he rose from his place behind the desk and came round it to stand in front of Gildor. He reached out and lifted Gildor’s chin, his fingers trailing over his face as he turned his long time friend and lover’s gaze to his own. "Gildor, mellonen," he whispered. "I have missed you these many long days."

Gildor smiled and stepped forward, taking his lover into his arms and pressing his lips to Thranduil’s ear. "I have missed you as well, meleth. But now that you are King, things have changed, at least while we remain here."

"It must be hard for you," Thranduil whispered in his ear as his hands roamed the suede of the elf’s doublet, "being torn between allegiances, serving one King and loving another."

"I am not torn," Gildor answered. "I can do my duty to the High King and still love you."

"Things were once so simple," Thranduil sighed. "I defer to Gil-galad and Elendil as they have experience in war that I do not. But each time I give way to them I see the look in my warriors’ eyes. I am not as strong as my father was, I do not know how to do this," he whispered.

Gildor took Thranduil’s face in his hands and answered, "You do not defer, Thranduil, you do your part as a member of a greater force. Had your father done the same he would still be here and you would still be in my bed."

Thranduil turned his gaze to Gildor’s. "Perhaps not. Had my father not done what he did, it would be I that lay beneath the swamp and someone else in your bed."

Gildor shook his head and whispered, "Never. No one will ever occupy my bed but you, Thranduil. I have given my heart to you; I can give it to no other. Had you gone into that swamp, I would have followed, and we would be together in Aman."

Thranduil put up his hand and answered, "’Tis no matter, what is done is done. I am left to rule in his stead just as he said I would be. Whether I wish it or no, I am King now."

Gildor pulled Thranduil’s lips to his own and whispered against them, "And a fine King you will be, melethen. For you are strong and proud, and you are kind and noble. Your subjects will enjoy many years of peace under your reign."

Before Thranduil could reply, Gildor covered his mouth with his own and pressed a claiming kiss to his lips. Thranduil melted into the kiss, forgetting for the time being his oath and duty, and simply loving the one he had loved for so long.

Gildor’s hands traveled to Thranduil’s tunic, undoing each clasp as he tasted of him. It had been weeks since they had last lain together, weeks of lying in his bedroll, exhausted yet still aching for him. His hands slid inside his love’s tunic, over the finely sculpted muscles of his chest and shoulders, and he reveled in the quiet sigh that escaped his lover. After a long and slow perusal of Thranduil’s sweet mouth, he released his lips and made his way lower, along his jaw line and lower still to the soft flesh at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

Gildor’s fingers grazed the ring that pierced his nipple and Thranduil groaned, his arousal coming to life inside his leggings. He tangled his hands in Gildor’s hair as his lover’s mouth traveled lower to his chest, taking the ring between his lips and fondling it against his tongue. Thranduil gasped and hissed between his clenched teeth, pressing his chest to his lover’s mouth before lowering his own to nip at the point of Gildor’s ear.

Thranduil had changed so much; he had been changed by the weight of his crown and his duty. His body was transformed by days without end of battle; he was stronger, more powerful than he had once been. But he still tasted the same, he was still as beautiful a being as Gildor had ever laid eyes upon. He had often wondered how Glorfindel had walked away and left him, how the Elda had been able to turn his back and leave such a magnificent creature. He had envied his friend in knowing Thranduil as a youth, in having his lithe young body in his bed, in being able to gaze into eyes that were clear and unclouded with sorrow and the weight of duty. But his lover was still beautiful to him now; after all the long years of loving him, Gildor was still set afire by one look, one touch from his love.

He groaned as Thranduil bit the point of his ear and pulled his head back up to his lips. Never had his lover kissed him like this, it was heated, forceful, and claiming. He yielded to his beautiful Sinda, opening to him as his hands slid over Thranduil’s muscular back. After what felt like an eternity, Thranduil released his mouth and slid his hands over his chest. Gildor had not felt his doublet opened, nor his shirt unlaced, he had been so distracted by a kiss the likes of which he had never felt before. He arched into his lover’s hands as they roamed possessively over his form. He gasped as he was pushed to the bed and Thranduil fell upon him with his mouth. He was on fire, aching, burning for his lover’s touch. He felt Thranduil push his boots off with his feet and he lifted his hips as his lover pulled his leggings down past his hips, freeing his heavy length to the night air.

Gildor moaned as he felt Thranduil’s lips brush through the fine hair that grew about his arousal and his lover’s hands grip the insides of his knees, spreading his legs wider and leaving him open to him. He gripped the heavy blankets in his fists as Thranduil nudged his length aside, concentrating on the soft pouch of skin that lay beneath his arousal.

"Please, meleth," he whispered, "do not torment me so."

"Patience, melethron," Thranduil answered, his hot breath ghosting across Gildor’s heated flesh. "All in good time."

Gildor felt his legs spread wider as the King’s tongue made its way further back, flickering against his entrance as he groaned and arched against him. Heated words spilled from his lips as Thranduil continued his sensual torment, and he found himself begging to be taken.

Gildor had nearly always assumed a more dominant role in their lovemaking, though he had certainly not been the only one to initiate it. Thranduil had been happy in the role of the more subservient one, and had never been left wanting for love or affection. This was yet another way in which his lover had changed. The way he touched him, the way he kissed him, was forceful and possessive, these were traits that Thranduil had never shown before.

Gildor cried out as his lover’s tongue breached his body and he arched against him, his thighs trembling from being spread so wide. His heated length was leaking constantly, throbbing an insistent rhythm that matched the beating of his heart. He longed to be touched, craved the warmth of his lover’s mouth on his aching flesh. He whimpered when Thranduil’s tongue left his body and returned to the swollen pouch of flesh that lay between his legs. His arousal twitched again as the King lapped at it, and he felt tears of need begin to fall from his eyes.

"Please, melethen," he whispered, "I am desperate for you."

"Then you shall have me, meleth," Thranduil answered.

Gildor groaned as his length was engulfed by his lover’s mouth. He resisted the urge to thrust into that hot, wet embrace. Warm, wet suction and Thranduil’s wicked tongue were driving him faster toward his release. He set his jaw and groaned, fighting to stave it off, wanting it to last forever, yet also wanting it to come. A keening cry escaped him as he thrust deeply into Thranduil’s mouth, his lover milking his essence from him as he spilled down his throat. He panted and gasped for air as Thranduil leisurely cleaned him with his tongue, each soft, long stroke sending fresh tremors through his body.

After thoroughly cleaning his lover’s length, Thranduil worked his way back up his lover’s body, bestowing kisses upon each rib, each rolling muscle in Gildor’s abdomen. He gently suckled each nipple until it was a hard nub before placing a soft kiss upon it. He claimed Gildor’s mouth once again, plundering its depths as he pressed his own body to that of his lovers.

Gildor moaned into the kiss, tasting himself upon his lover’s tongue and plunging his hands into Thranduil’s flaxen mane.

"I want to take you, meleth, here in my bed," Thranduil whispered huskily into his lover’s ear.

"Yes," Gildor responded breathlessly, his heart still racing from his spent desire. "Melin le, Thranduil."

"Melin le, Gildor," Thranduil answered.

He rose from the bed, slid out of his leggings and boots, and retrieved a bottle of oil used for soothing sore muscles. He looked intently at Gildor as he coated his length with it, then returned to the bed, gently rolling his lover to his stomach and spreading his legs with his knees. "Relax, meleth, and tell me if I cause you discomfort," Thranduil whispered into Gildor’s ear.

Gildor nodded and wadded the covers in his fists. A gasp escaped him as the first finger slid inside him and he tensed for a moment. He heard his lover’s deep, soothing voice whisper to him to relax and he willed himself to do so. He breathed deeply as the burning subsided and Thranduil spread his legs further apart. A second finger was added and he groaned quietly, his body growing accustomed to this sensation after so long without it. Soon he was pressing back against his lover’s hand and moaning wantonly. His desire had returned, and his arousal pressed into the soft bedding. He rolled his hips forward, the friction of silk upon his heated length causing him to moan breathlessly.

Thranduil lifted Gildor’s hips, and his lover pulled his knees underneath him. "Are you ready for me, melethen?" Thranduil whispered into his ear.

"Yes," Gildor whispered in return.

Thranduil nudged his lover’s entrance with the tip of his rigid length as he steadied himself with his hands on Gildor’s hips. He sheathed himself inside Gildor’s body with agonizing slowness, not stopping until he was buried inside him. He leaned forward, pressing his cheek against Gildor’s back as he waited for his lover to adjust to him. He stroked his arms and back, whispering loving words in his ear as he began to slowly move within him. Gildor’s whimpering cries drove him onward and he began to move faster. His lover’s body squeezing his length, wrapping him in heated, velvet luxury. He reached down and pulled Gildor back so that he rested against his chest and he took Gildor’s length in his hand, pumping it in time with his thrusts.

Gildor cried out and bucked back against Thranduil as his lover found his mark, brushing against it with unerring accuracy each time he drove inside him. He threw his head back, his hair falling over Thranduil’s shoulder as he thrust forward into his hand, his body tightening as he cried out his release.

Gildor’s tightening body squeezing his length dragged Thranduil over the edge as he groaned, spilling himself inside his lover. He held Gildor there awhile, cradling his nearly limp form in his arms, his hand sliding through the viscous fluid that coated his lover’s stomach. "Melin le, Gildor," he whispered into his lover’s ear.

Gildor sighed and smiled as he whispered, "Melin le, Thranduil."

He slowly slid from his lover’s body and stepped off the bed, washing his hands and groin, and retrieving a clean warm cloth. He lovingly cleaned Gildor then tucked his lover beneath the covers. He tossed the cloth back onto the wash basin and climbed in beside him, taking him in his arms and feeling his body sink into the soft bed. They slept peacefully in one another’s arms until dawn.

* * * *

Glorfindel blinked as he returned from reverie. He lay atop his beloved, his head resting on Erestor’s back, and his lower body still resting between his legs. They were sticky but warm and happy, both having been too exhausted from lovemaking to even rise to clean themselves. He nuzzled his lover’s back with his cheek and smiled. His fingers were still entwined with Erestor’s and he looked at their matching rings as they lay side by side.

Erestor sighed and shifted beneath him and he heard a slight grumble come from his lover. He chuckled and slid up to place a soft kiss on Erestor’s ear as he whispered, "We should have bathed."

Erestor groused and answered, "We would have if you had been able to lift your bulk off me."

Glorfindel chuckled and nodded. "Aye, I was spent. You do that to me, seron vell."

"I slept in this damp spot all night, I am afraid I will not be able to peel myself from the bed," Erestor grumbled.

Glorfindel laughed and slowly rose off his lover. "I will make it up to you, melethen, I promise."

Erestor rolled over, a look of mock disgust on his face. "You most certainly will." His grimace turned into a smile as he sat up and caressed Glorfindel’s face. "Melin chen, rawen," he said softly.

Glorfindel smiled and answered, "Melin chen, ervainen vorn."

They rose together and bathed from a basin of water inside their tent.

* * * *

Reinforcements from Gondor and the north, as well as elves from the west arrived to help bolster the Last Alliance; casualties were heavy on both sides. In the waning hours of day, seven years to the day of his father’s death, Thranduil waded knee deep into battle, his face and tunic stained with both black and red blood, his arms weary as he cleaved through masses of orcs.

It was barely controlled chaos. Orcs and trolls streaming from the mountains and the Dark Tower nearly as quickly as the ones upon the field of battle fled the relentless onslaught of the armies of the west. The air was filled with sound of clashing metal, arrows singing, anguished cries of dying men and elves, guttural screams of perishing orcs. They were within reach now, the iron gates of the Black Tower in view, and Orodruin erupted ceaselessly.

The battle had raged since just before dawn, and the field was littered with the corpses. Elrond called for another volley and the white and green fletched arrows of the woodelves flew upward, finding their marks as the bodies of orcs fell from the battlements like heavy black rain. The Dwarves hacked their way to the foot of the gate itself, as the men of Númenor streamed in behind them; they could smell victory.

Gil-galad raised his spear, shouting again as the elves rushed the gates. The downfall of Barad-dûr was at hand.

A high-pitched scream split the air and Nazgûl descended upon them from the darkening sky. Men shrank back in fear, but the Eldar drove them on. Erestor thrust his sword deep into the chest of a large orc that had been poised to run his lord through the back. Glorfindel swung his sword in a large arc and cut the leg out from underneath a troll that advanced upon them from the north.

Glorfindel’s blood ran cold as he heard the inhuman screech of the Nazgûl, and the bellowing cry of the beast that bore him. He turned in time to see the winged beast cut a swath through Erestor’s line, snatch his beloved up in its claws, and take to the air. He howled in anger as he raced after the beast, it was circling back over his head toward Barad-dûr.

Thranduil heard the anguished call of his friend and looked up to see Erestor in the clutches of the beast. He called to his archers and directed their fire with his sword. "Hado i philinn!" he shouted.

A count of some fifteen arrows struck the beast at once, causing it to howl and release Erestor, the Noldo’s body falling upon those of dead elves and orcs. Glorfindel raced across the ground, cutting down orcs in his path to reach his beloved. He shouted, "No!" as he watched the Witch King run his beloved through with his blade before releasing him. Before he could reach Erestor he saw the figure of the Nazgûl impaled with Aiglos as the spear pinned the beast to the rock. The Witch King screeched and flung the spear aside falling upon Gil-galad with fierce vengeance.

What happened next was pure confusion. The great iron gates of Barad-dûr opened and Sauron himself strode onto the field of battle. Glorfindel cradled the broken body of his beloved in his arms, crying out in anguish, too crippled by despair to react. Thranduil called to his archers to release another volley upon the orcs that descended upon Glorfindel, and they fell in great numbers as the Sindar King rushed to his friend’s aid. Gildor also rushed forward, running to aid his fallen King, hacking his way through the orcs that remained.

Large numbers of orcs shrank back in fear as Sauron emerged and only the Elves, Elendil, and Isildur dared hold their ground. Sauron cut a swath through the line with his mace, and Elendil was struck as he shoved his son aside, saving his life. Elrond received a glancing blow and was driven to his knees, as Isildur rushed to his fallen father’s side. Sauron advanced upon the Prince and Isildur took up his father’s sword, only to have it break beneath the Dark Lord’s foot. With the shard remaining upon the hilt, Isildur swung wildly, cleaving the finger that bore the Ring from Sauron’s hand.

The Dark Lord howled in anguish and his form exploded in a burst of light and smoke. Both Gildor and Thranduil were pinned against the rock walls of Barad-dûr’s foundation, held by the Witch King of Angmar. But the destruction of his lord greatly weakened him, and he released the elves and fled into the dark.

Glorfindel called upon every ounce of strength he had as he ran toward the healer’s tents, carrying the broken body of his beloved. "Please, Erestor," he cried through his tears. "Do not leave me now, not when I need you most." His own blood poured from his veins as he raced across the barren plain, a black arrow protruding from his shoulder.

Thranduil gasped for air as he struggled to his feet, his hand upon his throat. He saw Glorfindel’s flight across the plain and grabbed Gildor. "Get Elrond, quickly!" Gildor nodded and raced across the ground, leaving his lover and his fallen King at the foot of the tower.

* * * *

"I do not know if he will survive, mellonen," Elrond said weakly as he dropped to the ground beside Glorfindel. "Perhaps he will, as the power of the Nazgûl is greatly diminished now."

Glorfindel shuddered with fever as the healers attended him, but he did not notice. All his thoughts, all his hopes lay with Erestor’s recovery and his Lord’s ability as a healer.

Elrond felt a hand upon his shoulder and looked up to find Thranduil standing over him. "You have been injured, Lord Elrond," The Sindar King said quietly. "You must be attended to as well."

"’Tis naught but some bruised ribs, Thranduil," Elrond answered quietly. "I will be fine. And you? What is this angry mark upon your neck?"

Thranduil’s hand drifted to his throat briefly and shrugged it off. "I had not known that cold could burn so," he answered quietly. "’Tis the mark of one who would have killed me, had the Dark Lord not met his demise when he did." He sighed as he knelt next to Glorfindel. "I will be fine, Elrond, it will disappear in time. Go now and find rest, I will stay with Glorfindel."

Elrond nodded weakly and slowly rose to his feet. "Try to convince him to rest as well, Thranduil. He suffers from fever and has been wounded."

Thranduil nodded slowly. As Elrond departed, he touched his friend on the shoulder and spoke softly into his ear. "Come, mellonen. I know you will not leave him, nor would I ask you to. Take your rest in my arms, Glorfindel, I will stay with you."

Tears finally took the warrior and he collapsed into Thranduil’s embrace, sobbing in the Sindar King’s arms as he held the hand of his beloved.

To be continued…

Mellonen = my friend

Meleth = love

Melethen = my love

Melethron = my lover

Melin le = I love thee

Seron vell = dear lover

Melin chen = I love you

Rawen = my lion

Ervainen vorn = dark beautiful one

Hado i philinn = Release arrows

<><><>

Weeks had passed, and the Last Alliance began to slowly depart Mordor for their respective homes. The host of Elrond remained behind to care for those who could not be moved, and to prepare the body of their King for his return to Lindon where it would lie in state. Thranduil sat in Elrond’s tent with Amroth and Isildur, looking at Elrond’s drawn face. He crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap as he sighed. The High King of the Noldor had fallen and pressure was on Elrond to take up his mantle. The Lord of Imladris was by rights the heir to the throne as Eärendil’s son, but as Elrond looked at the ring that lay before him on the desk Thranduil could see that the Noldo was loath to take it up.

"Your people need a leader, my lord," Amroth said softly. "Who will do this if you will not?"

Thranduil listened to the Sinda Lord plead the Noldor’s case. In one war, the leadership of three Elven nations had changed. The world would never be what it once was, and Thranduil understood Elrond’s reluctance to take up the crown. He sensed what the Noldo did, that the waning days of the Eldar had begun, that soon the world would belong to the likes of Isildur and his kin.

Thranduil shot a glance at the Númenorian. He was angry, he made an impassioned plea to the Lord of Imladris to bring the man down before he could take up the ring, and he watched with dismay as Isildur fitted it to his neck upon a chain. Thranduil had even gone so far as to offer to dispatch the new King in his sleep, but Elrond would hear nothing of it. The Sinda knew that as long as the Ring survived, Sauron had a chance, and that all they had fought for and lost would be for nothing.

"No more talk of this now, Amroth," Elrond answered softly. "I will take possession of Vilya, but I will not take the title of King. Gil-galad will be the last to bear that title."

Amroth sighed and bowed his head, seeing that his words would fall upon deaf ears. Elrond looked up at Thranduil and addressed him.

"What of you, mellonen? What will you do now?"

Thranduil answered quietly, "I will return home with what warriors I have left, and I will try to rule my father’s realm as best I can." Elrond nodded as the Sinda continued, "We will accompany Amroth as far as Emyn Muil then ride due north. We will set out at first light."

Elrond sighed and rose from his chair. "May you have a peaceful journey and return home." His guests took his words as a signal that he wished to be alone and they bowed to him before departing. Elrond caught Thranduil by the elbow as he began to depart. "A word, mellonen?"

Thranduil nodded and stood beside Elrond as Isildur nodded to the both of them and departed the tent. He turned to the elf that he had grown to respect beyond measure and asked quietly, "What is it, meldir?"

"What is to become of you and Gildor, now that your father is gone and you are King?" Elrond asked softly.

Thranduil looked at the ground and answered in a voice that was nearly a whisper, "I know not, Elrond. I care deeply for Gildor, but our lives are forever destined to walk different paths. His place is in Lindon, and I swore an oath to my father."

Elrond guided him to a low bench and sat beside him. "What oath?" he asked quietly.

Thranduil looked into the Noldo’s eyes. "The night before he died, I swore to him should he fall in battle that I would take a wife and provide an heir for the realm. I cannot forsake that oath, Elrond."

Elrond said nothing for a moment then answered, "And have you told Gildor of this oath?"

Thranduil shook his head. "Nay, I have not. But the time has come now that I must. He will hate me, Elrond, and perhaps that is best. Better for him to hate me than to suffer love for me."

"I do not believe he could ever hate you, Thranduil. The two of you have not bonded, but his heart belongs to you nonetheless. This will hurt him deeply; I will not lie to you about that. What will become of him, I do not know, but he is strong."

"My heart belongs to him as well, Elrond. Any wife I take will have my fidelity, they will have my protection and care, but my heart will always be with him."

Elrond rose from his seat and placed a hand upon Thranduil’s shoulder. "I am saddened by all that has come to pass, mellon. I am saddened by your loss and by the loss Gildor is about to experience. I will ask you to think on this, Thranduil. Your father could not have known the depth of your love for Gildor when he asked you to do this. He could not have wished that you spend the rest of your life without the one you love."

"Nevertheless, I have sworn to him. I cannot betray that oath," he answered quietly. "If it is any consolation to him, I will feel his loss everyday for the rest of my life." He turned and left Elrond alone in his tent.

* * * *

Thranduil walked through the camp, watching the elves and men of the west prepare for their departure in the morning. He found himself before Glorfindel’s tent and he stopped. He took a deep breath and pushed the flap aside and entered.

The warrior sat on the side of the makeshift bed he had shared with Erestor, staring blankly at the wall of the tent as he twisted his ring upon his finger. Never had Thranduil seen him look so tired, so drained, so beaten. He lowered himself to the ground and placed his arm around his first love. "How do you fare, mellonen?"

Glorfindel turned his red eyes and pale face to Thranduil. "Not well, Thranduil, not well at all."

Thranduil pulled the warrior to him and cradled his head upon his shoulder. "I am sorry, mellonen. What can I do for you? Is there anyway I can lessen this burden for you?"

Glorfindel shook his head and answered quietly, "Nay, it is mine to bear. I love him, Thranduil, without him I am lost."

Thranduil fought back tears as he answered quietly, "I know, mellon, I know."

* * * *

Gildor sat on the ground, staring up through a small hole in the roof of the tent. He could just see the Light of Eärendil. He smiled wearily and whispered, "You have watched over us yet again, my Lord. May you lessen the burden those of us who remain have to carry now in the wake of so much destruction and loss."

A soft murmur and cough drew his attention from the evening star to his friend. A smile crossed his lips and he leaned down, his dark hair brushing the Noldo’s cheek as he whispered, "It is about time. You are without a doubt the most stubborn elf in all of Arda."

"Glorfindel…"

Gildor smiled again, placing a soft kiss upon his friend’s head. "I will fetch him, mellonen. Rest now."

"I have rested enough," Erestor croaked out. "I feel as if I have slept an age."

Gildor chuckled. "He will be most displeased that you chose to wake when he was not present."

Erestor smiled wryly, his eyes narrow slits as he fought to focus. "I assume I will get a dressing down for this," he answered hoarsely. "But I do not care, as long as I can look into his eyes again." He reached out slowly with a trembling hand. "My dreams have been dark, Gildor. I have fought to keep the vision of him in my mind. It is what drew me home."

Gildor pressed his forehead against his friend’s. "And it always will, that is what love does, Erestor."

Gildor slowly rose and departed the tent at a quick run to fetch Glorfindel.

* * * *

Thranduil was holding his friend as he slept in his arms; it was a sleep born of pure exhaustion. He stroked his golden hair and dropped soft kisses to the top of his head. He remembered how their positions were reversed long ago, how the warrior held him in his grief upon losing his mother. He could not imagine what Glorfindel was going through, each day that Erestor stayed in his dark slumber hope faded that he would ever return. Elrond had been with him everyday, calling to him, but to no avail.

The tent flap was shoved open and Gildor entered. Glorfindel stirred from his sleep and looked up at the Noldo, fearing the worst.

"He has returned, mellonen. He is awake." A broad smile graced Gildor’s lips as he delivered the happy news.

Glorfindel lay stunned for a moment, unable to move or speak. Thranduil nudged him and said softly, "Did you not hear him, mellon? Erestor is awake."

Glorfindel leapt from the bed and departed the tent at a run, without speaking a word.

Gildor extended his hand and pulled his lover from the ground and into his arms. He gazed into Thranduil’s eyes as he caressed his face. "I thank the Valar everyday that I did not lose you, melethen." A tear fell from Thranduil’s eye and he pulled Gildor into a tight embrace. "What is it, meleth?" Gildor asked softly.

Thranduil pulled back from the embrace and answered quietly, "Come, melethen, let us return to my tent."

Gildor frowned as he allowed Thranduil to lead him by the hand back to his tent.

* * * *

Elrond sighed as he slowly sank into the bed. He had never been so weary in all of his life. Just as he began to drift into reverie his tent flap raised and one of his healer’s entered. For a brief moment, his heart stopped as he feared the worst had happened to Erestor.

"He is awake, my lord. He has returned."

Elrond blinked numbly for a moment before rising quickly, pulling on his robe as he left the tent with the healer.

* * * *

Glorfindel caught one of the support poles as he slid to a stop at the door to the healer’s tent. He burst through the doorway looking around frantically for his beloved. "Where is he?" he shouted.

His tired eyes caught sight of his lover lying upon his pallet, his hand raised slightly in a weak hello. He fell to his knees at Erestor’s bedside, alternating between crying, laughing, and telling him how much he loved him. Erestor placed one arm around his beloved, cradling his head upon his chest and stroking his golden mane.

"Ah, rawen," he whispered hoarsely. "I feared I would never feel you in my arms again. But your love was strong enough to call me home."

"Gods, Erestor," Glorfindel choked. "I was so afraid, so lost without you. Never leave me again, ervainen vorn. Promise me you will never leave me again."

Erestor smiled weakly as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of his beloved lion’s head. "Never, melethen, I will never leave you again."

To be continued…

Mellonen = my friend

Meldir = friend

Mellon = friend

Melethen = my love

Meleth = love

Rawen = my lion

Ervainen vorn = dark beautiful one

<><><>

Thranduil led Gildor into his tent. He turned as he closed the flap behind them and was met by his lover’s mouth upon his own. He closed his eyes as he let Gildor taste of him. His heart was pounding in his chest, he could hear the blood rushing in his ears; he knew he had to say something, but he could not find the courage.

Gildor felt the apprehension in his lover’s body and pulled away from the kiss, taking Thranduil’s hands in his own. "You are trembling, melethen," he said softly.

Thranduil swallowed and gathered his courage. "I need to speak with you, Gildor."

Gildor nodded, a bad feeling settling over his heart. He walked with Thranduil to the bed and sat beside him, still holding his hands in his own.

Thranduil looked at the bed, unable to bear looking into his lover’s eyes. "I love you, Gildor," he whispered.

Gildor cocked his head and replied, "I love you too, Thranduil."

A tear slipped from Thranduil’s eye as he continued, "Do you remember the night before my father’s death?"

Gildor nodded. "Aye, melethen, I do. What of it?"

Thranduil swallowed and replied, "Something happened that night that I have not told you of. I thought I was going to die, I had foreseen it in a dream. Had I known the truth, I never would have…" His voice failed him and he took a deep breath before he continued, "I never would have sworn the oath."

Gildor furrowed his brow, a growing sense of unrest settling over him, and asked, "What oath?"

Thranduil forced himself to look into Gildor’s eyes and he saw the confusion and fear in them. "I am sorry, melethen," he whispered. "I love you so much, you are so dear to me. You are everything to me, but…"

Gildor had long known of Oropher’s wish that his son bond with a female and provide the realm with another heir. He dropped Thranduil’s hands and sat back. "You are leaving me," he answered so softly that Thranduil barely heard him.

"I do not want to!" Thranduil pleaded. "I love you…"

Gildor stood and took a step back. "But not enough. You do not love me enough to forsake this oath. You did not love me enough when you made it to tell your father the truth."

"I thought I was going to die! I was trying to comfort him," Thranduil answered. "I never thought…"

Gildor put up his hand and turned his back. "So you hold to this oath, and you forsake the oath you made to me when you willingly took my love and my heart."

"You forsook the same oath when you left me years upon end in that forest, never knowing if I would see you again, never knowing…"

Gildor wheeled on Thranduil. "I never loved another!" he shouted. "I never forsook you, Thranduil. I had to do my duty!"

Thranduil rose from the bed and shouted back, "And I have to do mine! I am King now, Gildor. It is my duty to marry and provide an heir!"

Gildor looked at his beloved, his heart was breaking in two, and he saw Thranduil’s did the same. He knew it was over, even though neither wanted it to be. He did not want his lover consumed by grief, consumed with guilt over what he was doing, so he decided to release Thranduil from it. "Do your duty then, your majesty, and I will do mine." He turned and left a broken Thranduil in his tent.

Thranduil flopped upon the bed, his face in his hands as he wept silently.

* * * *

"Glorfindel!" Erestor barked. "For Valar’s sake… please. I am fine, stop fussing over me."

Glorfindel blushed as he clasped his hands in his lap. He had been fluffing pillows and tucking blankets, and stroking his lover’s hair for the better part of the morning. Erestor lay upon a bed inside a wagon driven by two of Glorfindel’s guard. His own horse and Asfaloth trotted happily behind as the wagon rolled toward the Fords of Isen.

Erestor looked up at his flustered lover and smiled despite his poor mood. "I am sorry, melethen," he said softly. "I am not accustomed to being taken care of, and this is twice in an age that I have had to bear it."

Glorfindel nodded. "I know, and I am sorry as well, ervainen vorn. I know this cannot be easy for you. It is just that I feel so helpless…"

Erestor reached out and clasped one of the warrior’s hands and pulled it to his lips. "I am sorry I frightened you so, rawen," he said quietly.

Glorfindel slid down in the wagon so that he lay next to Erestor and he smiled wearily. "Aye, I was frightened, but it could not be helped." He smiled wryly, "While I do not doubt you have pulled a prank upon me once or twice in the past, this was not your doing."

Erestor smiled grimly and shook his head. "You saved me, Glorfindel," he answered softly. "Your love is what saved me. Elrond’s voice showed me the way, but it was your voice, your love that brought me back, just like it did before. Melin le, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel smiled and caressed Erestor’s face. "Melin le, Erestor." He lay his head upon the pillow next to his beloved and sighed.

Erestor reached out and tugged at his tunic, encouraging the warrior to come closer, and he wrapped his arms around Glorfindel as his beloved snuggled close to his body. "Do you know what I wish to do as soon as we are home?" he asked quietly.

"No. What, ervainen vorn?" Glorfindel replied.

"I would like to lounge in the tub with you and take a long, hot bath. Then, I wish to make love to you in our bed, and stay there for at least two days," he answered.

Glorfindel smiled and looked up into his love’s gray eyes. "I would like that, very much," he answered with a smile.

Erestor caressed his face, brushing his golden hair back behind his ear. "Never, in all of my long life have I seen one as purely beautiful as you, melethen. You are perfection." His fingers trailed over the curve of the warrior’s ear and Glorfindel let out a breathtaking sigh. "So soft and lovely, yet so strong and fierce. You are the finest of all of Eru’s creations, seron vell."

Glorfindel’s full lips curved into a smile and he reached for his lover’s mouth with his own. "You are impossible, Erestor," he whispered against his lover’s lips. "You know what it does to me when you speak to me like that."

Erestor smiled against the warrior’s mouth as his fingers worked their way inside his leggings. "There is no reason why we should both go without," he whispered.

Glorfindel gasped and teased his lover’s lips with his tongue as Erestor’s fingers wrapped around his awakening length. "But it would be unfair for me to… ah… to enjoy… oh, Erestor…"

"Silence, melethen," Erestor playfully chided. "I will do what I will." He claimed Glorfindel’s mouth with his own.

Glorfindel moaned quietly into the kiss as Erestor stroked his hardening length. The advisor pulled away from his lips and whispered, "But we must be quiet, unless you wish your Captains to hear our coupling."

Glorfindel bit his lower lip to stifle a moan as he nodded. "You are a wicked elf, Erestor," he breathed as he felt his composure slip away.

Erestor smiled and tugged upon the warrior’s lip with his teeth. "Aye, but I am your wicked elf," he answered huskily. He pulled Glorfindel’s mouth back to his own as the wagon slowly rocked its way down the dirt road.

* * * *

Gildor sat astride his horse, solemnly riding ahead of the wagon that bore the body of his fallen King. Elrond rode beside him, bearing the standard of Gil-galad and the King’s ring upon his finger. Elrond took one look at Gildor that morning and knew what had passed between his friend and Thranduil. **So much despair,** he thought, **so much death and heartache. And all for naught.** He knew in his heart that the peace that had been so dearly bought was to be short lived in the lives of elves, for as long as the Ring existed, there was a chance that Sauron would return.

Thranduil and his Silvan Elves had departed at daybreak with the Elves of Lórien, and the Lord of Imladris had watched the Sindar King march away with a heavy heart. Thranduil suffered as much as Gildor for the oath Oropher made him swear, and Elrond wondered if the King had known what it was he asked when he made Thranduil swear such a thing. **Surely,** he told himself, **Oropher would not have wanted his son to live in such pain for the rest of his life.** But Thranduil would not be moved, and as a result of the oath, two hearts were broken.

He tried to focus his thoughts on his return to Imladris, to his beloved Celebrían. A smile crossed his lips as he imagined asking her to bond with him, and the happy life they would have. He had seen his children in a vision the night before, two sons and a daughter. He had dreamt of them running through the gardens, their bright laughter ringing through the Last Homely House. He felt a momentary pang of regret that Elros had not chosen the path of the Eldar, and that he would not be there to see his nephews and his niece be born. He worried for what was left of the blood of Númenor, for he feared the Ring would surely corrupt Isildur.

He sighed and returned his gaze to the road ahead and focused all his thoughts on his home.

* * * *

Thranduil walked at the head of his small band of warriors as they marched northward through the Wilderland. Since separating from Amroth’s band they moved under cover of darkness, as Sauron’s minions still roamed the lands and their number were few. He had not slept in days, each time he closed his eyes he saw Gildor’s face, and he saw his father’s death.

As they entered the cover of the trees and crossed the Enchanted River, he saw the first of his guard awaiting them. The shocked expressions on their faces when they saw the small band of returning warriors made Thranduil’s heart ache all over again. He vowed to speak with each member of his now small community that had lost a loved one in battle; it would take many days, he feared.

"Thranduil!"

He heard his name and looked up to see Nessa running toward him. He set his pack and bow upon the ground and huffed as she leapt up into his arms, wrapping her slender arms around his neck and her long legs around his waist.

"Oh, my Lord," she breathed into his ear. "’Tis so good to finally have you home."

He wrapped his arms around her slender frame and held her close; she smelled just as he remembered, like wildflowers and fresh clover. One of his advisors stepped forward to chastise the maid for such an inappropriate display of affection for the King, and he waived them off. She was exactly what he needed at that moment. He slowly set her down upon the ground and she reached up and caressed his face before picking up his pack.

"Come, my Lord. You are weary and have traveled far, let me take care of you," she said softly. She led him by the hand to the King’s talan.

To be continued.

Melethen = my love

Ervainen vorn = dark beautiful one

Rawen = my lion

Melin le = I love thee

Seron vell = dear lover

<><><>

Thranduil sat upon a fallen tree, his eyes drifting skyward as the clouds passed overhead. Spring winds carried the scent of snow from the mountains and he could hear the forest coming to life around him. He had always felt a close connection to the wood, felt the ebb and flow of its rhythm, and he took strength in its ability to renew itself. The War of the Last Alliance and his father’s death seemed like they had happened only a few days ago, and even though he was far from the plain of Dagorlad and the black lands, the memory of them was burned into his mind. It felt so strange to be sitting in his homeland, wearing his father’s crown and carrying his staff; it felt so strange to be King here in the great wood.

Nessa had tried to speak to him of his father’s death, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. She implored him to send for Gildor, but he would not hear of it, and it was with great reluctance that she abandoned the topic. She was with him always now, at his side whenever he needed her or called. She was the only one he really trusted aside from his comrades in arms and he found the business of learning to be King difficult. He missed the days spent patrolling and guarding his homeland, those days were now spent reading missives and communication from neighboring clans of men and the occasional message from Lórien.

The bright laughter of elflings caught his attention and he looked down to the meadow where they were playing. Nessa laughed with them as she chased them around, blindfolded, squawking as she tripped upon a rock. Thranduil took to his feet and ran down the hill, gently moving the little ones aside as he helped her up.

"Are you well, elleth?" he asked quietly as he brushed the grass from her arms.

She laughed softly and replied, "Of course, my Lord. ‘Tis not the first fall I have taken chasing these naughty little ones around."

"We are sorry, my Lord," one of the elflings said quietly. "We did not mean for Nessa to fall."

Thranduil smiled and patted the little one on the head. "No worries, aewithen." He helped Nessa to her feet and smiled. "I would hate for you to get injured playing these games, Nessa. Who would take care of me if anything were to happen to you?"

Nessa blushed and laughed softly. "You are quite capable of taking care of yourself, my Lord, and you know it."

Thranduil chuckled and nodded. "Yes, but you have spoiled me, elleth." His expression grew serious. "And in return I have demanded all your time. I have been selfish, Nessa," he said softly.

Nessa took him by the arm and shook her head, "No, my Lord. Do not say such a thing. You have cared for me; you gave me a family and a purpose when I had none. I adore caring for you, my Lord."

He caressed her cheek and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Go on now, back to your games. The little ones grow impatient and I have business to attend to." He motioned over his shoulder at one of his advisors waiting nearby.

She smiled sweetly and curtsied. "Yes, my Lord. I will see you at the evening meal." She gathered up the elflings and ushered them out of the meadow.

Ellegon approached his new Lord and cleared his throat. Thranduil turned to greet him with a less than enthusiastic look upon his face. "My Lord," he began quietly. "It is not proper for a King to be caring for a wayward elf maid."

Thranduil narrowed his eyes; the constant haranguing of his relationship with Nessa was beginning to grate on him severely. "Lest you forget, it was my father who brought Nessa into our fold; I honor his memory by caring for her. At any rate, whom I spend my time with and what I do with it is none of your concern, Ellegon. As long as the realm is attended you need not concern yourself with such things."

"But the realm is not attended, my Lord. You must marry and provide an heir, it is our way," the Counselor answered quietly. He put his hands up and continued, "Your people must know that there will be someone to rule should you fall, they need that security."

Thranduil looked at his advisor and answered quietly, "I know this, Ellegon. I admire and appreciate your dedication to your office. But I will ask you not to meddle in the affairs of my heart."

"Yes, my Lord," Ellegon answered. "Forgive my impertinence." He bowed low as he took his leave of the King.

Thranduil sighed and looked skyward before returning to his talan.

* * * *

Elrond stood before his honored guests, holding his beloved’s hand in his own. They smiled brightly as the Elves of Imladris cheered their Lord’s bonding and tossed petals into the air. Celebrían was resplendent in her robes of white, her golden hair cascading down her back in waves. Galadriel beamed with happiness now that her only child had all that she desired. Celeborn stood beside her, holding her hand and smiled broadly as Celebrían blew a kiss to him. Their daughter had grown and was embarking on a life of her own. Music drifted up from the lawn as the guests and the newly bonded couple made their way down to the celebration.

Erestor and Glorfindel walked behind the newly wed Lord and Lady of Imladris hand in hand. Warm smiles upon their faces as the party began.

"I wish Gildor could have been here," Glorfindel said quietly.

"Aye," Erestor answered. "He could not be found. He wanders Middle Earth now, seeking to bury his pain with duty, passing his days here until his time comes to sail west."

"What will become of Lindon, now that the King has passed?" Glorfindel asked his beloved.

Erestor sighed and shook his head. "I know not. I have heard many elves of the realm have sailed west already. Círdan says his harbor swells with their ranks and many ships depart each day."

"So it will be deserted then, our old home," Glorfindel answered.

Erestor nodded and answered, "It appears so, seron vell. The leadership of the Noldor has fallen to Elrond and Imladris will be the center of our nation."

Glorfindel squeezed his love’s hand tight and smiled. "Come, melethen, let us join in revelry, as a new age has begun and our Lord has taken a wife."

Erestor smiled and nodded. "Dance with me, Glorfindel. Dance with me beneath the trees of our homeland."

* * * *

Thranduil watched Nessa carefully fold his robes and hang them up. He sat cross-legged upon the edge of his bed, donned in leggings and a thin shirt. She turned and began carefully removing his crown and he looked up into her sapphire eyes that always twinkled with mirth. She placed the crown upon the table next to his bed and removed his braids, combing through his locks with her fingers. He caught her wrists, brought her delicate hands to his lips, and pressed a soft kiss to them before releasing them and patting the bed beside him.

"Sit with me awhile, Nessa," he said softly.

She smiled and placed the ribbons that had been in his hair on the table next to his crown and sat down beside him. She looked into his eyes expectantly and furrowed her brow as he took her hands in his own again.

"Is something the matter, Thranduil?" she asked softly. "You seem… preoccupied."

"I am to take a wife, Nessa," he answered quietly.

Her eyes widened in surprise and she replied, "But you love another, you love…"

He placed his fingers upon her lips and silenced her. "Do not speak his name again, Nessa. I forbid it."

She nodded mutely as he pulled his hand away. He continued, "I must take a wife and provide my realm with an heir, ‘tis my duty." He looked into her eyes and said softly, "I would that wife be you, Nessa. You are the only one I trust, the only one I have left that I love."

Nessa gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. She shook her head vigorously and stammered, "No! No, you do not mean that. Surely, you cannot mean that! How could you do this to him? How could you forsake…"

"Nessa!" Thranduil barked. "I have warned you not to speak of him, ever!" A tear traced down her cheek and she nodded. "Would you have me share my life and my bed with one I do not care for, with one I do not trust?"

"No," she whispered. "I would have things as they were."

"They can never be that way again, elleth," he continued softly. He sighed and looked away. "I have been selfish, I am selfish, asking you to bond with me and forsake any chance of your own happiness. I am sorry, please forgive me."

She took his face in her hands and turned him to face her. "Melin chen, Thranduil. You are dearest in my heart; I hold none before you. I will be your wife, if you think me worthy."

He reached out, pulling her into his arms, and holding her close. "Melin chen, Nessa. Hannon le."

"Oh, my sweet Thranduil," she whispered into his ear. "Is there enough love in all the world to mend so broken a heart?"

"You can mend it, Nessa," he replied quietly. "I know you can."

"I hope you are right, for it will surely kill me to see you go on this way."

He lay back upon the bed, pulling her with him. "Stay with me this night, meleth. I do not wish to sleep alone."

"I will," she answered. "Now close your eyes. I will stay with you, I will keep the nightmares away."

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips as he sighed and fell asleep.

* * * *

Elrond gazed into his wife’s eyes as they knelt upon the bed, facing one another. Celebrían’s hair cascaded over her shoulders, shrouding her form in living, golden silk. Elrond’s raven hair fell straight down his back, his lean, muscular body exposed to her eyes, his arousal standing against his thigh. He breathed deeply, letting his beloved drink her fill with her eyes, and he gasped quietly as she reached out and trailed her fingers through the dark dusting of hair upon his chest.

"You are beautiful, melethen," she whispered. "the best of both races, Eldar and Dúnedain."

He turned his darkening eyes up to her own and whispered, "I long to be sheathed inside you, to bring our bodies together as our hearts and souls have already been joined." He watched her eyelids flutter and her lips part as she sighed, and he reached out, brushing her golden hair behind her shoulder and exposing one perfect breast.

"Melethen," she whispered. "Come to me, make me your own."

He reached out for her with his hands and his mouth, pressing her back to the bed as he pressed a passionate kiss to her waiting lips. "Melin le, pen-vain," he whispered against her mouth.

"Melin le, seron vell," she replied, as she wrapped her long legs around him.

* * * *

Thranduil’s hands trembled as he slid the straps of Nessa’s gown from her shoulders. He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, "Melin le, Nessa."

She sighed as she felt his strong hands roam her virgin flesh, his lips ghost over the curve of her ear. She could not deny that she had long wished for this, that she had long dreamed of her beautiful Prince loving her. While she knew Thranduil would love her as long as she lived, she knew who truly held his heart. She pushed the thought aside as his lips moved to her neck and her fingers explored the rolling muscles of his chest, grazing the mithril ring that still adorned his chest. She had begged him not to remove it, and he had complied reluctantly. She heard the impassioned hiss that escaped his lips as she teased the long ignored flesh and she gasped as he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Thranduil covered her lithe body with his own, claiming her mouth with a deep kiss, groaning as her fingers raked down his back. His heavy length slid between her legs, her honeyed essence coating his heated flesh. "I will be careful, melethen," he whispered.

"I know you will, " she replied. "I trust you, Thranduil."

He slid inside her slowly, taking great care to allow her time to adjust to him. A long moan escaped him as he was finally sheathed inside her, her own soft moans echoed in his ears. He became lost in her sweet voice, in her loving caress as he thrust inside her, his release building, her own following and given voice with whimpering cries.

He groaned into her ear and whispered her name as he found his climax, spilling himself deep inside her as her body tightened around him. He breathed her name as a tear fell from his eye and she held him close.

"Melin le, Thranduil Oropherion," she whispered. "I will love you always."

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding her close to him and praying her love would be enough.

To be continued…

Elleth = maid

Aewithen = little bird

Seron vell = dear lover

Melethen = my love

Melin chen = I love you

Hannon le = thank thee

Meleth = love

Melin le = I love thee

Pen-vain = beautiful one

<><><>

Twin screams echoed from the bedchamber of the Lord and Lady of Imladris. Elrond’s eyes widened as he held his infant sons in his arms, hardly able to believe they were actually there. Erestor and Glorfindel looked up as they heard the caterwaul from behind the closed doors and smiled; the heirs to Imladris had arrived.

Celebrían lay exhausted as Galadriel held her hand and smiled. Her grandsons were beautiful, she could see already what they would look like as they grew. They had pale eyes like their father and dark hair, and pouty, rosebud lips like their mother. Their eyes were barely open, but the Lady knew they would be large and round like Celebrían’s. Their skin was a dusty ivory, like their father’s; they would indeed be beautiful.

"What are their names?" Galadriel asked her daughter.

Celebrían smiled and answered, "Elladan and Elrohir, in homage to their ancestors."

Galadriel nodded and smiled. "Fine names for fine sons, my daughter. They will grow strong and tall like their parents."

Elrond reclined next to his wife and handed Elladan to her as he held Elrohir. The infants reached out with their tiny hands until they found one another and held fast to each other.

"Already they are close, they instinctively seek one another out," he said softly. "Such is the way with twins."

Galadriel reached across and placed her hand upon Elrond’s leg. "I am sorry your brother was not here to see them, Elrond."

Elrond sighed and placed a soft kiss upon Elrohir’s head. "As am I, but my joy upon seeing them is not diminished by it. They are the most beautiful beings I have ever laid eyes upon, aside from my fair wife."

Celebrían smiled weakly and replied, "Yes, they are most beautiful."

Elrond leaned over and kissed his wife. "You are tired, seron vell. You need your rest."

Celebrían nodded and replied, "They are hungry, I will rest after they are fed."

Galadriel rose and kissed her daughter upon the forehead. "I will leave you to rest now. I am so proud of all of you." She gave Elrond a soft kiss upon the forehead and bestowed one upon each of the infant twins before leaving the new family alone.

"They have arrived?" Glorfindel asked as the Lady exited the chamber.

"Yes," Galadriel answered. "They are beautiful and strong, and will grow to be fine sons."

"What are their names?" Erestor asked.

"Elladan for the eldest, Elrohir for the youngest," she answered.

"Thank you, my Lady," Erestor replied as Galadriel turned and made her way down the hall.

"Elf-man and elf-knight," Glorfindel remarked. "It will be interesting to see if their names hold true, if one takes after our scholarly lord and the other becomes a warrior."

Erestor tugged upon his love’s sleeve and smiled. "Come, rawen. We have lingered long enough. I have much to do in the morning and you have patrol."

Glorfindel nodded and wrapped an arm around Erestor’s waist. "Yes, melethen," he answered softly. "Sleeping in your arms is just what I need this night."

* * * *

As their father was bringing twin sons into the world in Imladris, Thranduil held his own son up in the air and laughed as the infant giggled madly. He twirled around as Nessa laughed; she loved watching Thranduil with their son.

"My Greenleaf," he said gently as Legolas reached out with his tiny hand to touch his cheek. "My treasure."

"Eh!" the infant exclaimed and Thranduil laughed. "Is that so, pen-dithen?" He turned to Nessa. "Already he has an opinion on everything."

She laughed as she smelled a sprig of jasmine. "Just like his father," she teased.

He held Legolas in front of him as he stalked toward her. "Oh really? Your naneth is in a particularly playful mood this afternoon, Greenleaf," he teased. "Perhaps we should show her what the true meaning of playful is, hmm?" He held Legolas out as if to toss him to her, and the infant screeched and giggled and Nessa playfully cowered and laughed. He fell upon her, laying Legolas upon her stomach as he tickled her ear.

Nessa held her son and laughed as he squirmed upon her belly and her husband playfully tickled her ear with his finger. She was blissfully happy.

Thranduil was a good husband, kind and loyal, and he treated her with the utmost respect. Since Legolas’ conception, he had not come to her in a passionate way, and she had not approached him, as she never felt like she should. He held her in his arms each night and slept peacefully with her, but their couplings had been few. She knew why; she knew he still loved and ached for Gildor, despite his efforts to hide it from her.

Life as the Queen of Greenwood was quite different than it had been when she was just Nessa. She attended court, charmed visitors, and spent each day at Thranduil’s side in loving support of him. She no longer cared for the children and mended warrior’s garments. As Queen, there were those to do that for her. Other than caring for Thranduil, and now Legolas, she had no other purpose and this was sometimes difficult to accept. She refused to have a nurse for Legolas, preferring to do everything herself. She fed him, bathed him, dressed him, and played with him. She even took him to court with her unless Thranduil discouraged it, which was rare.

Her son’s voice brought her back from her thoughts, and she turned to look at Thranduil with wide-eyed amazement.

"Da!" Legolas shouted as he pointed at his father.

Thranduil smiled broadly and answered, "A-da…"

"A-da!" Legolas returned.

"Ada, Greenleaf," Nessa said to her son.

"ADA! GEELEEF!" Legolas shouted.

She looked at her husband and saw a tear track down his cheek and she smiled. "He called you Ada, melethen," she said softly.

Thranduil nodded and leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to his son’s head. "Melin chen, Greenleaf," he said softly. He turned and looked at Nessa. "How can I ever thank you enough, meleth? You have given me the most precious gift I could ever receive.

"I need no thanks, Thranduil. It is I who is blessed," she answered.

Legolas began to paw at the neckline of her gown and she laughed. "He is hungry again, never have I seen one so small eat so much."

Thranduil kissed his wife upon the head and rose to his feet. "I must get back to governing this realm, melethen; though I would much prefer to stay here with the two of you."

She smiled up at him as she cradled Legolas and he took to her breast. "Return soon, my lord," she said quietly.

"Aye, I will," Thranduil answered, and he departed their talan for his soldiers’ tents.

* * * *

The years of watchful peace drifted by. Old enemies and times of war were forgotten by all but those who had seen the worst of it, and of those times, little was spoken. The sons of Elrond and Thranduil grew strong and proud and were on their way to becoming young warriors.

A day of celebration approached as Legolas grew close to his majority. He had a happy life in the great wood, learning to ride and shoot his bow as well as his father; finding beauty in the forest with his mother. He was returning from a walk along a deer path when he heard something that caused him to grow sullen. It was the sound of his parents’ voices, and they were arguing. Arguments seemed to happen more frequently between them. They never shouted, were never cruel, and Legolas could never quite understand what it was they argued about.

As he grew older, he could see they were different from his friends’ parents. He always believed it was because they were King and Queen and could not act as others did. He quietly hid himself at the base of the tree and listened with his sharp hunter’s ears to their disagreement.

"This is madness, Thranduil," Nessa argued. "You deny yourself what you truly want. He did not know what lay in your heart when he made you swear it. He would not have…"

"Enough, Nessa!" Thranduil barked. "You are my wife, I am king, we have a son. There is no undoing what has passed. I would never wish it not to be, I would never give Legolas up."

"You need not give him up, my Lord," she persisted. "I see the toll this takes on you, I see how you suffer. Gildor suffers as well, as surely as you do now."

"You do not know that. It has been too long; I was too cruel. He could never forgive me."

"He loves you, and you love him. That does not change with time, that kind of love does not ever fade."

"Please, melethen," Thranduil answered softly as he sat heavily upon the edge of their bed. "I cannot do this any longer. I cannot keep talking about this and thinking about him. Can you not just let it pass? Can you not let me forget him?"

"But it will not pass, it has not passed in over forty years. You will never forget him, nor will he forget you. And as for me, I cannot live my life lying next to one that does not love me as I love them. I thought once that I could love you enough for both of us, but I was wrong, Thranduil. No one will ever hold your heart but Gildor." She sighed and turned her back to him. "I grow weary of this world, seron vell." She swallowed and gathered the strength to tell him what she wanted to do. "I wish to sail west."

Thranduil looked up at her as his heart sunk. It was the same with Nessa as it had been with his mother. He had failed her as a husband, as surely as his father had failed his mother. Now, Nessa would sail into the west with Legolas and he would be left alone. He began to protest, then stopped. He would no longer be selfish. "If that is truly what you want, then I give you my leave," he answered quietly.

Legolas felt panic seize him and he scrambled up the ladder and into his families’ talan. "No!" he shouted. "You cannot leave, naneth!" He rushed across the room and threw his arms around his mother’s shoulders. "Please!" he cried into her hair. "Do not leave us…"

Nessa looked at Thranduil with tears in her eyes. She did not want to leave her son, but the bond between Thranduil and Legolas was strong, as strong as any she had seen in her life. Legolas was nearly an adult, he no longer needed her.

Thranduil would give Legolas what his own father had denied him, the chance to make a choice. He rose from the bed and stood beside Legolas, placing his hand upon his son’s shoulder. "Do you want to go with your mother, Iôn?" he asked gently.

Legolas released Nessa and looked into his father’s eyes. No matter what he chose, he would lose one of them. As he looked from his mother to his father, he found the words to convey what he wanted. He looked back at Nessa, his eyes full of sorrow, and answered quietly. "No, I want to say here, I want to remain in my home."

Nessa smiled gently and caressed his face. "It is where you belong, hênen. I cannot stay here, Legolas. I feel the call of the sea, I must leave. But, we will see one another again, I promise." She embraced her son as tears fell from her eyes. She could not bear to look at her husband; she could see the sense of failure he felt. Nevertheless, it comforted her to know that Legolas would stay with him and he would not be alone.

* * * *

A month passed and Nessa departed Greenwood the Great to travel to the Havens and sail west to Valinor. Thranduil and Legolas had stood and watched her party until they disappeared into the trees. Leaving them was hard, but it was what she had to do. She could no longer be happy in a marriage without passionate love. She would always love Thranduil deeply, and she knew he would always care for her, but that was no longer enough.

Upon arrival in Lindon, their last stop before arriving at the Havens, they watered their horses and arranged for their belongings to be sent ahead. She stood stroking her horse’s neck and looking around the city she had been born in when her eyes found a familiar sight. She gathered up her gown and rushed toward the tall, dark elf that stood talking to one of the guards of the city.

"Gildor!" she cried.

Gildor turned and saw Nessa rushing toward him and he smiled broadly. "Nessa," he said fondly as she fell into his arms. He held her tight and pressed a soft kiss upon her cheek. "’Tis good to see you, elleth. What brings you so far from home?" As she pulled back, he saw the crown upon her head and his eyes widened. "What is this?" he asked softly as he reached up and touched the circlet.

She blushed and looked at the ground. "Much has changed since I saw you last, Gildor," she said quietly. "I would like to speak with you if you have a moment."

Gildor nodded and he guided her to a local tavern. "Come, I have not had my midday meal yet. Would you care to join me?"

She smiled broadly and waived off her escort as she walked into the tavern with her old friend.

To be continued…

Seron vell = dear lover

Rawen = my lion

Melethen = my love

Pen-dithen = little one

Melin chen = I love you

Meleth = love

Hênen =my child

Elleth = elf maid

<><><>

Glorfindel walked through the training room, watching his pupils practice hand to hand combat. He smiled as he watched Elrohir out of the corner of his eye, that smile spread when he caught sight of Elladan watching him from outside as well. The elder twin sat upon a stone bench outside the large archway, his hands folded upon his knees as he watched, enraptured. Both twins showed promise as warriors and statesmen; both were intelligent, eager to learn, adept in the healing arts, and physically powerful. However, as Glorfindel had once suspected, despite being identical twins, they were very different on the inside.

Elladan had a brilliant mind, a knack for languages, and a flawless memory; he could recite just about anything you asked for out of the volumes of history and lore that were in his master’s keeping. Since Elladan’s talents ran toward more scholarly pursuits, he was given over into the hands of Erestor for his tutelage, and spent many hours with the staid Counselor in his offices and the library. Elladan had inherited his mother’s gift for empathy; he could acutely feel the pain and joy of others. As a youth, it caused him some pain, but through his parents, he learned to control it.

Elrohir, on the other hand, had indeed lived up to his name and he excelled as a warrior. This did not mean he that he did not possess his father’s aptitude for learning, but his interests ran more toward the physical than the intellectual. He could be rash and impetuous, often acting before thinking, quicker to anger than Elladan, but he was also very sensitive and caring. He inherited his father’s extraordinary healing abilities, though he was yet to master them. Even at the tender age of fifty, Elrohir had learned how to use his slightly smaller size to his advantage against warriors far older and stronger than he was. In training, he was unbelievably fast and had soundly thrashed those twice his age; beating all of them, all save one.

Glorfindel was the only one he had yet to vanquish; the Elda’s combined physical prowess and experience born from ages of warfare was just too great a match for the talented young Peredhel. Elrohir was desperate for Glorfindel’s approval, though he hid it outwardly. He admired the Elda as much as he admired his own father. Glorfindel caught the shy and awkward glances Elrohir would cast his way out of the corner of his eye. The twins had just come of age, were beginning to grow curious about their bodies, and were looking at those around them differently. He had seen Elrohir watching him from behind a veil of dark sable hair. At first, he thought the Peredhel was studying his technique, but as the heat of the afternoon intensified inside the training room, he removed his shirt and caught the slight flush of Elrohir’s cheek.

He had dismissed the other recruits and his men and he and Elrohir were alone. Elrohir got more attention than the others, as he could one day be leading the defenses of Imladris. They circled one another slowly; Elrohir watched every twitch of the warrior’s muscles intently, looking for the sign that he was about to advance. Glorfindel quickly stepped forward, placing one foot in between Elrohir’s legs, hooking his ankle around the Peredhel’s and catching his wrists, forcing him to his back upon the mat.

Elrohir struggled but could not pull free of the Elda’s grip. He glared up into the cool blue eyes of his tutor, the only one he could not best, the only one he could never defeat. The heat of the training room was near unbearable and they were both soaked with sweat. He could feel Glorfindel’s heart beating against his own, and it was mesmerizing.

"Why so angry, Peredhel? You are not a poor loser are you?" Glorfindel teased.

Elrohir growled, "I am not a loser!"

Glorfindel smiled. "Of course not, that is not what I meant, pen-neth."

"Do not call me that!" Elrohir growled.

"I mean no offense, Elrohir." Glorfindel’s eyes widened when he felt the rigid desire of his student press into his groin. He gently shifted against him. "What is this then? Are you inspired by the heat of combat?"

Elrohir resumed his struggle, and in his fervor, his legs fell apart and his tutor came to rest in between them. His aching arousal began to throb inside his leggings, and he felt the damp heat of the beginnings of his release start to soak into the fabric. His cheeks flushed, for he knew his tutor surely felt it too; it would be yet another cause for Glorfindel to tease him. He meant to sound demanding, but only sounded pathetic as he whispered, "Let me go."

Glorfindel tried to find words to soothe Elrohir’s humiliation, but realized that the best thing was to do as he asked. He released his pupil and rose to his feet, offering Elrohir his hand. Elrohir did not take it, instead climbing to his feet and running from the training room.

"Elrohir!" Glorfindel called after him, but the Peredhel was gone.

"Best to leave him to himself, rawen," Erestor’s voice came from behind him. "He will get over it, in time."

Glorfindel turned to see his mate standing in the doorway and he smiled sadly. "I should not have teased him thusly. He is embarrassed, and it is my fault."

"He would have been embarrassed anyway, melethen. Do you not remember how it feels to be young and discovering these feelings?" He crossed the room to his lover and wrapped his arms around him.

"I am soaked with sweat, meleth," Glorfindel said softly. "You will soil your robes."

Erestor smiled as his hands slid through the sweat on Glorfindel’s back. "Mmm… yes I will, and I will need to change them." He leaned forward and whispered into the Elda’s ear, "I may even need to bathe before dinner."

Glorfindel smiled wickedly as he pulled his mate closer. "We shall both have to bathe, for I am already a mess."

"And a beautiful mess at that, rawen," Erestor purred. He slid his hand down the warrior’s arm and took his hand. "Come with me, seron vell."

* * * *

Elrohir sat upon a bench outside the private wing of the baths that was reserved for Elrond and his family and guests. He gripped the edge of the bench in his hands as tears traced down his cheeks. Once again, he had proven he was no more than an awkward boy to the Elda. He knew Erestor and Glorfindel were bonded; he would never try to interfere in their relationship. He berated himself for not being stronger, but he could not help the thoughts that crept into his mind when he looked at Glorfindel.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not hear his twin approach. He felt the soft brush of Elladan’s hand upon his cheek as his twin swept his hair over his shoulder.

"Elrohir?" Elladan’s voice drifted into his ear. "What is it, gwanunig? Why are you so upset? Did Glorfindel do something…"

Elrohir shook his head vigorously. "No, Elladan. This is not Glorfindel’s fault," he answered quietly. He turned his tear-stained face up to his brother’s and continued, "It is mine. I do not know what is wrong with me. I do not understand why I am acting this way."

"Oh, Elrohir," Elladan answered softly as he drew his twin into his arms. "Please talk to me, please tell me what is wrong."

Elrohir clung to his elder twin; Elladan was always there to help him, always there to comfort him when things became too much for him to bear. As he grew older, the intensity of his feelings grew a bit easier to manage, but sometimes, they still spiraled out of control, as they did at that moment. He buried his face in Elladan’s hair and focused on the long, slow caresses of his brother’s hand upon his bare back. Elladan’s voice and presence soothed him, and he took a deep breath as he felt the anxiety subside.

"Melin chen, Elladan," Elrohir whispered.

Elladan smiled as he stroked his twin’s hair. "Melin chen, Elrohir." He placed a gentle kiss upon Elrohir’s head. "Come, let us get you into the bath so we will not be late for dinner."

Elrohir nodded. He rose from the bench to follow Elladan into the bath and stopped, tugging upon his twin’s hand. "How will I look Glorfindel in the eye now, Elladan? He must think me a fool."

Elladan smiled and gently shook his head. "Nay, gwanunig. He would never think that of you, he loves you like a son."

Elrohir smiled sheepishly and nodded. "I know you are right, but I am still humiliated by how I behaved."

Elladan tugged upon Elrohir’s hand. "Come, Elrohir, one day and one task at a time. For now, let us just concentrate on bathing."

Elrohir smiled and nodded as he followed his brother into the baths.

* * * *

Legolas awoke on the bed next to his father; he had fallen asleep watching him the night before. He was worried for Thranduil. His father carried on his duties as king, watching over his realm and his subjects; but he rarely did anything for himself, rarely took time to relax or take care of himself in any way. As he watched his father sleep, he heard him mumble quietly; he seemed to be plagued with dreams that were both disturbing and sad. He heard his father cry out softly for Oropher and then again for Gildor. Legolas knew neither of these elves, though he had been told stories about Oropher since he was an elfling. One thing he knew for certain, Oropher had Thranduil swear an oath, then shortly after, he died saving his son’s life. That oath had something to do with his mother and with him, and he could sense Thranduil felt he had failed his father in someway.

He reached out and brushed a stray wisp of hair from his father’s face, then tucked his hand back underneath his head. He knew Thranduil would be unhappy with him for staying up all-night and worrying about him, but he could not help it; his father was the most important thing in his young life. Thranduil stirred, and Legolas heard the sound of the guard returning. He sat up upon the bed and listened intently as he heard the captain tell Thranduil’s second that an escort was arriving. He rose from the bed and peeked out the window of the talan. The guards looked as if there had been a skirmish of some sort, and he decided to wake his father.

He picked up his quiver and bow then gently nudged his father. "Ada? Time to wake, we have guests."

Thranduil blinked and looked up into Legolas’ eyes and smiled. He could not remember how many times he had seen this sight, his son waking him from sleep with his bow and quiver, Legolas’ gentle smile and bright blue eyes always warmed his heart. "I am awake, Iôn. Who is here?"

"I do not know, Ada," Legolas answered. "But it looks as though we there has been a battle of some kind."

Thranduil threw back the covers and quickly rose from the bed. He pulled his leggings on before removing his robe, and Legolas handed his tunic to him. "Are there wounded among them?" he asked hastily, as he quickly pulled on his boots.

Legolas shook his head. "I cannot tell, but I do not think so."

"Come, Greenleaf," Thranduil took his son’s hand. "Let us see what has happened."

* * * *

Gildor slid from his horse and winced as he reached up to pull his small pack from his gelding’s back.

"My lord, let me take that for you," the young Silvan guard took Gildor’s pack and asked him to follow.

"Are you all right, Gildor?" Orophin asked as he walked up behind the Noldo.

Gildor reached out with his hand and clasped Orophin on the shoulder. "Yes, mellonen. I am fine, thanks to you."

Orophin smiled shyly and looked at the ground. "I was but doing my duty, Lord Gildor. I am a marchwarden, that is what I do."

Gildor chuckled softly and drew Orophin up beside him. "Come, mellon. It is time to greet the king, and I may need your help still."

Orophin walked alongside Gildor and furrowed his brow. "Is there… unease between you and King Thranduil?"

Gildor’s smile faded and he answered quietly, "There did not use to be, but I fear he will not be so happy to see me now."

Orophin nodded and walked with Gildor toward Thranduil’s talan.

To be continued…

Pen-neth = young one

Rawen = my lion

Melethen = my love

Meleth = love

Seron vell = dear lover

Gwanunig = twin

Melin chen = I love you

Mellonen = my friend

Mellon = friend

<><><>

Gildor sank to one knee and bowed his head as Thranduil entered the clearing. Orophin followed suit and the surrounding guard bowed their heads to their ruler. Thranduil stopped in his tracks, his heart leaping into his throat as a fine tremor coursed through his limbs. Legolas stopped beside his father and looked up at him with a furrowed brow.

Thranduil’s captain spoke up. "My lord, we found Lord Gildor and his companion on the borders of the Anduin. They were being pursued by a large battalion of orcs and greatly outnumbered. We came to their aid and have brought them here to give them shelter. We were able to turn the orc hoard back, but there were still too many of them to defeat. I fear it is not safe for them to return to Lórien at this time."

Thranduil approached the elf lord slowly and reached out, placing his hand upon Gildor’s shoulder. "Rise, mellonen," he said softly. Gildor rose slowly, and as he winced again Orophin took his arm and helped him up. Thranduil swallowed as the Noldo’s gray eyes gazed into his own and he responded quietly. "You are injured, Lord Gildor. I insist you see my healer."

"I am fine, my lord," Gildor responded, his gaze riveted to sapphire eyes that he had missed more than he realized.

"He is not fine, my lord," Orophin spoke up, recoiling slightly as Gildor cast a perturbed glance over his shoulder. "He was set upon by a large number of orcs that clearly meant to kill him. He took a hard blow to his ribs, I fear they may be broken."

Thranduil answered Orophin without looking at him. "How did you come to be here? You are one of the Galadhrim, are you not?"

Orophin swallowed and answered as confidently as he could manage. "Yes, my lord. Lord Gildor was on his way to the northern fences when he was attacked. I was separated from my fellow marchwardens in my attempt to aid him. We were driven northward by the orcs."

Thranduil slowly turned his gaze from Gildor to the young Silvan. "What is your name, soldier?"

Orophin bowed his head and replied, "Orophin, my lord."

Thranduil looked back at Gildor and addressed his captain. "See that young Orophin has lodgings and that his horse is tended to."

Legolas touched his father on the arm. "I will see to Orophin, Adar."

Thranduil smiled at his son and nodded. "Hannon chen, Iôn."

Legolas placed his hand on Orophin’s arm. "Come, meldir. I will show you where you will be sleeping and we can get you some food. You look hungry."

Orophin followed Legolas out of the clearing and replied. "Aye, ‘tis been several days since I have eaten. You would not have something stronger than water to drink, would you? Three days and nights running has left me cold and weary."

Legolas smiled and answered, "Aye, we have some blackberry brandy that the cook thinks is hidden." He looked around and whispered, "But I know where he hides it."

Orophin chuckled and nodded. "Excellent well. I would like to try it."

* * * *

"’Tis good to see you, Gildor," Thranduil answered softly.

Gildor nodded and answered, "I have missed you, mellonen."

Thranduil took Gildor by the arm and began to lead him to the healer’s tent. "Come along, you stubborn Noldo. You are going to the healer if I have to drag you."

Gildor barked as the king pulled him from the meadow and took him to the healer’s tent.

* * * *

Elrohir awoke gasping for air. The sheets were tangled around his legs and his loins throbbed incessantly. "By Elbereth," he whispered to himself as he rubbed his face. "Will this ever stop?"

He looked out the window, grateful for the first time that he and Elladan no longer shared a room, and he tugged at the sheets, pulling them away from his pulsating arousal. "Dreams…" he whispered. "Such dreams I have. If anyone knew what it was I dreamt…"

He heard the sound of his door opening and he rolled over, turning his back to the door and feigning sleep. Soft brushes of Elladan’s fingers grazed his cheek and hair, and he heard his twin whisper, "Melin le, Elrohir… melethen."

Elrohir rolled to his back and stared into his twin’s wide eyes.

Elladan gasped and sat back upon his heels, his hand covering his mouth. "You are awake…" he whispered breathlessly.

Elrohir sat up and answered, "Aye, I am."

Elladan looked at the floor and muttered, "You heard what I said."

Elrohir nodded. "Aye, I did."

Elladan began to shake his head and scramble to his feet as he stammered, "I am sorry, Elrohir… I did not mean… I did not want…"

Elrohir reached out and caught his twin’s wrist, struggling to hold him by the bed. "Wait, Elladan. Do not leave, I need to tell you something."

Elladan shook his head violently, tears beginning to fall from his eyes. "You hate me, you need not say it. What I have done… I have betrayed your trust in me…"

Elrohir pulled Elladan into his bed and wrapped his arms around him tightly. "No! I could never hate you, Elladan, never!" He pulled back and kissed his twin’s cheek, tasting the salt of his tears upon his soft skin. "I love you, Elladan," he whispered. "I…" his voice failed him as he tried to find the courage to say what he now knew was in both their hearts. "I am in love with you, my brother."

Elladan looked into his twin’s face, his trembling hand reaching up and caressing his soft cheek. "You are?" he asked, his voice full of emotion.

"I am," Elrohir answered. "I am both blessed and haunted by dreams of you each night. I want you, brother, in ways I should not." He took Elladan’s hand and placed it upon his swollen arousal. "This is what you do to me, Elladan," he whispered hoarsely, "I am mad for you."

Elladan leaned forward, his hand gently massaging Elrohir’s arousal as his lips ghosted over those of his twin. "You do the same to me, Elrohir," he whispered. "I sneak out of the library so that I can watch you train with the others." He placed a brief, soft kiss upon his twin’s lips before continuing. "I love to watch you, Elrohir. The way you move, the look you get in your eye. I have pleasured myself while hiding in the bushes outside the barracks. I have watched you and touched myself, pretending it was you that touched me."

Elrohir moaned and tangled Elladan’s hair in his fingers as he pulled his mouth to his own, claiming it in a searing kiss. Elladan moaned softly as Elrohir plundered his mouth and he struggled to get at him underneath the sheets and his nightshirt. He gasped as Elrohir released his mouth and he whispered, "Take it off, let me touch you."

Elrohir jerked his nightshirt over his head before pulling Elladan’s off as well. They grappled with one another furiously, hands gripping and holding, mouths exploring and tasting. They were both so young still, neither had experienced pleasure unless it had been from their own hand. Elladan rolled on top of Elrohir and rolled his hips forward, bringing their heated lengths in contact with one another. Elrohir grasped the backs of his brother’s thighs, pulling them up and apart so that Elladan straddled him. Elrohir reached in between their sweat-slicked bodies, taking both their lengths in his hand and pumping them together. Elladan held Elrohir’s face in his hands, drinking from him like one starving. Elrohir moaned desperately into the kiss, then whimpered as his release took him. Elladan’s climax followed soon after as he groaned into Elrohir’s mouth and spilled himself between them.

Elrohir was overcome with emotion as he held his brother tight. He whispered into his ear over and over, "Melin le, Elladan."

Elladan smiled against his twin’s shoulder and answered, "Melin le, Elrohir."

* * * *

Erestor collapsed upon the bed, pulling Glorfindel with him as the Elda sighed in satisfaction. The Counselor’s chest rose and fell quickly as he stroked his mate’s back, his fingers tracing the curves of his muscles. "Rawen…" he whispered.

Glorfindel smiled against his beloved’s chest and chuckled softly. "Why do you always call me that?"

Erestor chuckled in return and answered, "I do not know. You have always reminded me of a lion with that golden mane of yours. I suppose it has just become a habit."

Glorfindel nodded. "I like it, ervainen vorn, very much."

Erestor smiled and kissed the top of the warrior’s golden head. "I am glad it pleases you, melethen."

"You please me," Glorfindel replied huskily.

"I do, do I?" Erestor teased. A small gasp escaped him as the Elda shifted upon him. He was still inside his beloved and Glorfindel’s movement caused his own desire to reawaken.

"Yes, you do…" Glorfindel nipped at a dark nipple, causing his mate to moan.

"Never, in the two ages in which I have lived, have I ever encountered one as insatiable as you, melethen," Erestor breathed.

Glorfindel sat up and rotated his hips, causing his lover to groan louder. "This watchful peace in which we live has left me with a great deal of energy, seron vell. I must find something with which to replace the heat of battle."

Erestor brought his hand down sharply upon Glorfindel’s backside and growled. "I know you think I cannot keep up with you. But that is where you are wrong."

Glorfindel reached down, grabbed his mate’s arms, and pulled him into a sitting position. "Oh I believe you have proven that already, melethen," he growled playfully. He stroked his lover’s cheek and softly continued, "I would like to have you, as you have just had me, ervainen vorn."

"Indeed you would, rawen, and indeed you shall," Erestor purred.

* * * *

Gildor woke upon his back in a wide, soft bed. He began to sit up when he winced and felt his head begin to swim. He groaned as he lay back down, one hand coming to rest upon his forehead, the other drifting to his ribs. A thick cloth bandage was wound around his torso and his vision was blurred.

"Where?" he began to grumble when he felt the bed sink beneath him and the soft brush of a hand upon his cheek.

"Ssshhh… mellonen. You are in my bed. The healer gave you a tea to help you rest, that is why you feel strange. You are under strict instructions to stay abed for three more days, then he will come back and see you again."

Gildor looked up at Thranduil and smiled weakly. "If I have to remain abed for three days, then I am happy it is your bed I am in," he said softly.

Thranduil smiled gently and answered, "Rest now, my handmaiden is just outside the door should you need anything."

"Where are you going?" Gildor asked groggily.

"I have some business to attend to, I will return soon." Thranduil leaned down and placed a soft kiss upon the Noldo’s forehead. "Sleep now, Gildor."

He rose from the bed and walked toward the door of his talan, casting a glance back over his shoulder at his sleeping Noldo before departing the room to speak with his second.

To be continued…

Mellonen = my friend

Hannon chen = thank you

Meldir = male friend

Melin le = I love thee

Melethen = my love

Rawen = my lion

Ervainen vorn = dark beautiful one

Seron vell = dear lover

<><><>

Three days abed in a groggy state left Gildor feeling restless and crawling out of his skin by the time the healer agreed that he could forgo the sedating tea and finally get up and move around. Thranduil stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest, his head shaking gently as he chuckled. The Noldo grumbled and cursed as the healer insisted on bandaging him for a few more days. He sat on the edge of the bed in one of Thranduil’s robes, which were too large, looking up at his one time lover.

"You find this funny, do you?" he complained.

Thranduil nodded. "Aye, I do find it quite funny." He crossed the room, sat beside Gildor on the bed, and then placed his arm around him. "You look like a young elf in these over-large robes, mellonen."

"I am older than you are, lest you forget," Gildor grumbled.

Thranduil chuckled. "I am quite certain that you will never let me forget that."

Gildor sighed and smiled gently at Thranduil. "Hannon le, mellonen, for giving me shelter and taking care of me."

Thranduil brushed a lock of hair over Gildor’s shoulder. "You would do the same for me, should I need it."

"Aye, I would." Gildor looked at the floor as he tried to find the words to say what he needed to say.

"How did you come to be here, mellon?" Thranduil asked softly.

"I saw Nessa," Gildor began, "in Lindon. She was on her way to the Havens, she said she was sailing west." Thranduil nodded. He continued, "She told me something and I am wondering if she is correct."

Thranduil felt his heart skip inside his chest and he answered softly, "What did she tell you, Gildor?"

"She told me that you still love me. She told me that you have always loved me, despite your oath, and despite your marriage to her," he answered.

Thranduil swallowed as he looked at the floor. "Aye, ‘tis true. I tried to do what my father wanted. I married her when I should not have; she deserved one who would love her, as she loved them. She gave me the greatest gift of my life, Gildor. She gave me my son, and in return, I drove her away because I could not love her as she deserved."

Gildor turned to face his beloved Sinda and took his face in his hands. He looked deep into Thranduil’s eyes and answered softly. "She will find the love she seeks, Thranduil. She is too beautiful and too kind an elf to remain alone. She told me to tell you that she releases you from the bond you swore to her, and she thanks you for releasing her as well. She loves you, Thranduil, she always has, but she is stronger than you think. She will find happiness in Aman."

A tear traced down Thranduil’s cheek and he answered, "Aye, she will, I know this. I am only sorry that I robbed her of so many years that she could have been happy. But I could never be sorry for Legolas, for he is the heart of me; he is my life."

Gildor nodded and smiled. "He is a fine son, Thranduil, and a good prince. He will grow strong and wise like you. He is a worthy heir."

Thranduil smiled. "I have missed you, Gildor, so very much."

Gildor pulled his beloved into his arms and buried his face in his flaxen hair. "I have missed you too, more than you could ever know."

Thranduil wrapped his arms around his love and whispered into his ear, "Will you stay this time? Or will you leave me again?"

"Never," Gildor answered. "I will never leave you again."

* * * *

"Where is this pond you keep telling me about?" Orophin questioned as he rode behind Legolas. His arms were wrapped tightly around the Prince’s waist and he leaned his chin upon the Sinda’s shoulder, peering out at the trail ahead of them.

"Not too much further," Legolas answered. "There is a waterfall and a large oak for us to lie under. ‘Tis hot today, yes?"

Orophin nodded. "Aye, it is. We do not have heat like this in Lórien. The Lady keeps the wood beautiful always."

Legolas nodded. "I have heard wonderful things about the Lord and Lady of the Wood. My father tells me that Lord Celeborn is a fierce and brave warrior."

Orophin smiled proudly. "Aye he is, fierce, brave, and cunning. He has personally trained the captains of our guard, my brother is one of them."

"You have a brother?" Legolas questioned.

"Two, one older, one younger," Orophin answered. "Haldir is the eldest, and the captain of my regiment. Rúmil is the youngest and he serves along with me." He sighed then continued, "I fear they worry for me."

"I am sure they have faith in your abilities, Orophin," Legolas answered. "They know you will return soon." They rode in silence for a few moments then Legolas continued, "What is it like to have brothers? What is your family like?"

Orophin beamed proudly and answered, "It is wonderful. We three are very close, especially since our parents sailed west. They waited until Rúmil had reached his majority, he is but two years younger than I am, and then they left. The sorrow of their parting is still fresh, as they left but one season ago, but I know they are happy in Aman. Haldir is stern at times, but I think that is because he has so much responsibility as captain. He is the youngest captain of all the marchwardens. Lord Celeborn has taken a special interest in him and has made him his personal guard when he travels from Lórien, which is not often. Rúmil is quiet, a bit shy, but not timid. He says little, only speaking when he truly has something to say, unlike me," he chuckled. "We are close, as close as brothers can be, and we love one another very much."

Legolas smiled as he listened to Orophin speak of his family. He wondered what it would be like to have brothers or sisters, but realized he would never know.

"What of you? What is it like to be a prince?" Orophin asked.

"It is much responsibility," Legolas answered. "I try to make my adar proud of me. I have trained hard with weaponry, and I have watched him in meetings with other cultures. I fear I will never be a diplomat though. I prefer the ways of a warrior to the ways of a statesman."

"Aye," Orophin answered as he nodded in agreement. "I could not imagine spending hours reading missives and requests and signing documents. I would rather be on the fences watching for orcs."

"Here we are," Legolas answered.

Orophin looked up and saw a wide swimming hole with a large waterfall. A massive oak tree overhung the bank, casting a broad shadow upon the soft ground. He slid off the horse and walked to the water’s edge, peering down into the sparkling pool. The water was cool and pale blue, and Orophin stood upon the bank, feeling the spray of the waterfall upon his face. "This is a fine place to picnic," he answered. He turned and looked back at Legolas. The prince turned away quickly and Orophin thought he caught a faint blush upon his cheek.

Legolas was a slight bit younger than Rúmil, and like his father, was an extraordinary beauty. In the short few days that Orophin had been in Greenwood, he had grown rather close to the prince. He and Legolas had spent their time walking in the woods and talking, and he had accompanied him on patrol twice. He admired Legolas’ elegance, his skill with the bow, and his gentle nature. He also admired his relationship with his father; the two were obviously close. He had heard tales of Thranduil, of how volatile he was, and how intimidating he could be, but he had seen no evidence of that since they had arrived. It had been Legolas’ suggestion that they picnic this day, and he was glad of it. Some time alone and away from prying eyes might allow their growing relationship to advance a step further. He found he liked the prince more than he had anticipated.

He crossed back over and helped Legolas unpack their goods, spreading the blanket upon the ground and pulling the various cheeses, fruits, and breads out of the pack he had worn. Legolas smiled broadly as he produced a bottle of the fine blackberry brandy that he had grown so fond of during his short stay.

"Excellent well!" Orophin beamed. "Sooner or later you will get caught pilfering that, you know this."

Legolas laughed softly and it made Orophin smile. "Perhaps," the Sinda answered.

They lay on the blanket, sipping brandy and snacking on the food they had brought. Orophin unfastened his tunic, laid it upon the blanket, and began pulling off his boots.

"I think it is time for a swim," he said, as he winked at Legolas.

"Excellent idea," Legolas answered, and he removed his boots as well.

Orophin was undressed first, and strolled to a large rock. Legolas slipped his leggings past his hips and began walking toward him, admiring the archer’s fine form as his pale skin glistened in the sunshine. Orophin looked over his shoulder and winked at Legolas before leaping into the pond, creating a great splash. Legolas took his place upon the rock and looked down at Orophin who was treading water.

Orophin looked up at the prince, and swallowed. Legolas was indeed the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. The Sinda raised his arms over his head and dove gracefully into the water, slicing through its surface with barely a ripple. Orophin treaded water, waiting for Legolas to surface, and became worried when he did not come back up immediately.

"Legolas?" he called, and began looking around. He barked when he felt something grab at his ankle, and he kicked out furiously as he began swimming backwards.

Legolas surfaced, his hand placed on his head. "Ouch," he grumbled.

Orophin placed his hand over his mouth and gasped in surprise. "Oh, Legolas. I am sorry." He swam toward the prince and pulled his hand away. "Let me see. Did I hurt you badly?"

Legolas grimaced and answered quietly, "No, I do not think so. I but I think I will have a bruise come morning."

Orophin suppressed a chuckle and answered, "I am sorry, but you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that. It was a reflex to react that way."

"It was foolish," Legolas grumbled. "I apologize, Orophin."

"’Tis all right, mellonen," Orophin answered softly. He placed his hands upon Legolas’ head and dropped a gentle kiss to his forehead. He swallowed and closed his eyes as he felt Legolas’ hands come to rest upon his shoulders, and he pulled back and looked into the Sinda’s sapphire eyes. He caressed his face and whispered, "So beautiful… never have I seen one so beautiful."

Legolas smiled gently, and very slowly reached for Orophin’s mouth with his own. It was a brief kiss; the first Legolas had shared with anyone besides his father or mother. He pulled back and looked questioningly at his new friend. Orophin’s eyes were still closed and a gentle smile curved his generous mouth.

"I am waiting," Orophin whispered.

"Waiting for what?" Legolas questioned softly.

"Waiting for you to do that again. But this time," he whispered huskily, "take your time, and take what you want of me. I will freely give it."

"What if I do not know what I want?" Legolas whispered, his lips drawing closer to Orophin’s.

"I think you know," Orophin answered. "If you are not sure what to do, I will guide you."

Legolas nodded briefly and pressed his mouth to Orophin’s again. He lingered for a few moments then opened his mouth slightly and tasted the Silvan’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue. A sigh escaped the marchwarden as he opened his mouth and Legolas felt a fine tremor course through his young body. He tasted Orophin again, this time pressing his tongue further inside his friend’s mouth. Orophin opened his mouth wider, inviting him in, curling his tongue around his own. A moan escaped Legolas as Orophin’s tongue touched and caressed his own, and he gripped his friend’s shoulders tighter.

His heart was racing in his chest, he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, and an unknown pulling sensation began to emanate from in between his legs. He was caught between throwing himself into Orophin’s arms and running away. So many sensations flooded his mind and body that he could barely cope with them. Orophin drew him closer, into his arms, as his strong archer’s hands caressed his back, and he gasped when he felt his growing arousal brush against his friend’s thigh.

In a momentary panic he pulled back, Orophin yielded but did not let go. He gazed into Orophin’s gray eyes and felt his heart hammering in his chest. "I… I am… sorry, mellonen," he whispered.

Orophin’s full lips curved into a smile. "Sorry for what? I see nothing that you should apologize for."

"I… my…" Legolas could not even find the words for what he wanted to say, and his eyes drifted down between their bodies.

Orophin followed his gaze and bit back a chuckle. It was the first time Legolas had experienced being aroused and it clearly rattled him. He looked up into the prince’s eyes and smiled. "That is nothing to apologize for, mellon." He pulled Legolas back to him and rolled his hips forward. He smiled as the prince’s eyes widened at the touch of his own arousal against his smooth thigh. "You do the same to me, ernilen," he whispered huskily.

Legolas smiled sheepishly and averted his eyes. "You must think me a complete fool," he said softly.

Orophin grasped his chin and turned it up to his own. "Nay, ernil vain. I find your chastity to be quite beautiful. I am honored that you have chosen to share this first experience with me." He caressed Legolas’ cheek. "You are in control here, mellonen. We will go no further than you wish."

Legolas nodded. He was embarrassed at how shy he was being and chastised himself for his lack of courage. He looked into Orophin’s eyes and a smile spread slowly over his lips. He grasped the archer’s face in his hands and hungrily claimed his mouth.

Orophin gasped then moaned into the kiss. Legolas plundered his mouth and he opened to him completely. He ran his hands down the prince’s back, clasping his firm buttocks in his hands and crushing him against his body. Legolas moaned plaintively and Orophin felt his arousal respond to the bewitching sound. Legolas bent one leg, wrapping it around him as he began to rock his hips into his body. Orophin was on fire. He pried Legolas’ mouth away from his own long enough to whisper, "Out of the water…" Legolas nodded and Orophin lifted him as the prince wrapped his long legs around his waist. He carried him to the blanket, and laid him down, breaking the kiss only long enough to position himself above Legolas’ body.

He lay on top of his prince, savoring his sweet mouth and silken skin. He moved his lips to Legolas’ ear and heard him whimper, feeling him dig his strong fingers into his back. After a long perusal of the graceful curve and succulent point of Legolas’ ear, he moved to his neck, nipping at the soft skin beneath his jaw before continuing lower to his smooth chest. Legolas was moaning wantonly. He lay beneath him; his long legs splayed open, revealing his smooth, perfect arousal and his most intimate of places as well. Orophin longed to press his face into his moist, warm sex, but he wanted to go slowly, to be sure that Legolas’ wanted him to do everything that he desired to do.

He worked his way lower, concentrating for long, delicious moments on his amber, pebbled nipples. He could feel Legolas’ fingers knotting in his hair as he nipped then soothed his lover’s inflamed flesh with his tongue.

"Please, Orophin," Legolas breathed. "I feel as though I would burst."

Orophin smiled and returned to the prince’s mouth, his tongue teasing his silken lips, and he whispered, "As you wish, ernilen."

He worked his way still lower, chasing Legolas’ stomach as it shrank away from him. He brushed his lips through the fine, golden hair that grew at the base of Legolas’ arousal, earning him another whimpering moan. He gently nudged the prince’s thighs further apart, lapping at the soft patch of skin beneath his heated length, then moving further back and flicking his tongue against that most secret and intimate of places. A needful wail fell from Legolas’ lips and Orophin pressed his tongue inside the prince’s writhing body.

His own arousal pulsed mercilessly between his weight and the soft blanket they lay upon. The temptation to gather the prince’s thighs in his arms and enter him was nearly unbearable. But it was too soon for that. He removed his tongue and felt as much as heard the shuddering moan that slipped past Legolas’ lips. He took his lover’s weeping shaft in his hand and drew his tongue along its length as Legolas’ hips hitched upward and a plaintive whimper issued from his sweet mouth. He swallowed his lover whole, mercilessly consuming and working his length with his tongue as Legolas cried out into the still forest. Orophin heard a deep growl issue from Legolas as he spilled himself down his throat, and he greedily swallowed each drop that issued from his lover’s quivering length.

Orophin let the prince’s length slip from his lips and looked up at him. His expression was one of utter bliss, a satisfied smile curved his lovely mouth and his eyelids fluttered over his deep blue eyes. He snaked his way up Legolas’ body, feeling the fine tremors of the aftermath of his climax take him. He lapped at his soft skin, leaving a wet trail from his groin to his chest.

Legolas chuckled as Orophin nuzzled his neck playfully, then sighed as he gazed into the stormy gray eyes of his new friend and lover. He reached up and caressed Orophin’s face, feeling the evidence of the Silvan’s desire pressing into his thigh.

"I wish to please you as you have pleased me, pen-velui, but fear I will disappoint you."

Orophin smiled and guided Legolas’ hand to his arousal. "You will not disappoint me, ernil vain," Orophin whispered. "Close your eyes and concentrate on what you feel, concentrate on my voice. You will see how much pleasure you can give me."

Legolas nodded as Orophin shifted to his side. He rolled to face him and wrapped his long fingers around the archer’s swollen shaft. He closed his eyes as Orophin held his face in his hands and wrapped one leg over him. He ran his hand along his lover’s length, feeling it swell and pulsate beneath his hand. He concentrated on Orophin’s voice, on the rhythm of his breathing, on the feel of his heated length sliding back and forth within his grip. Orophin’s breathing grew irregular, as he whispered words of encouragement to him. Legolas opened his eyes and gazed into Orophin’s face, watching him succumb to his touch, watching his eyelids flutter and his skin flush as his climax approached. He reached for Orophin’s mouth with his own, claiming it in a bruising kiss as he increased his grip on his lover’s length. Orophin groaned as his hips hitched forward and Legolas swallowed his cries as he felt Orophin’s seed spill over his hand.

They lay together, panting, limbs tangled with one another, their bodies covered in a sheen of sweat. Orophin drew Legolas close and kissed the top of his head.

"Hannon le, Legolas," he whispered, "for allowing me this honor."

Legolas smiled against the marchwarden’s chest and answered, "and I thank you for showing me what I have been missing."

Orophin chuckled and drew back, looking into Legolas’ bright eyes. "This is but a small part of it, ernilen."

Legolas smiled wickedly and whispered, "Then you will have to show me more."

Orophin nodded and pulled Legolas to him, tasting of his mouth slowly, savoring his sweetness. He pulled back and whispered against the prince’s lips, "But now, I fear they will be searching for us, and we have made a bit of a mess of this blanket."

Legolas looked down between them and chuckled. "It appears we have, and we have made a mess of each other."

Orophin nodded and twirled one of Legolas’ mangled braids around his finger. "We must clean up and head back, it is getting late."

Legolas nodded and extricated himself from Orophin’s grasp, rising to his feet and offering his friend his hand. They washed the blanket and quickly bathed in the pond, then gathered their belongings and rode back to the prince’s home.

To be continued…

Mellonen = my friend

Hannon le = thank thee

Mellon = friend

Ernilen = my prince

Ernil vain = beautiful prince

Thanks to everyone who supported me in the writing of this story: Vesta, Gilwileth, Karen, LK, Di, Laura, Manon, Ninie, D, TrinityC, Tessie, Sarah, Teri, & Haleth and anyone else I might have forgotten to mention. I especially want to thank my friends: Alex, Hawk, Laiqalasse, Khylaren, & Mirasaui for their support and patience with my whining, and my wonderful beta, Larian, for agreeing to edit this monster. I thank those of you who stuck it out to the bitter end, this has been a long and strange trip.

Summary: Questions answered, paths revealed.

In the second half of the Third Age, the long, watchful peace drew near its end. Imladris was still protected by the magic of Vilya, just as Lórien was protected by the magic of Nenya. Erestor had taken to staying in Imladris; as the strength of the One Ring increased, his connection to the Nazgûl was born. As long as the Nine existed, he would never be free of the bond that was formed when the steel of the Witch King pierced his flesh, and only in the haven of Imladris could he find peace and sanctuary from it. Glorfindel maintained the safety of Elrond’s realm, tirelessly patrolling the borders with his soldiers; the Elda sensed danger was in the air, and never did he roam far from his mate. Celebrían bore Elrond a daughter named Arwen Undómiel; many thought her to be the most beautiful elf since Lúthien.

Elladan and Elrohir grew strong and brave, and when the twins were some two thousand years old, Celebrían, having been attacked by orcs on her way to visit Galadriel, passed over the sea in grief. From that day forth, Elladan and Elrohir hunted Sauron’s minions with a tenacity that had not been seen since the likes of the Sons of Fëanor, or Oromë himself. They often rode far afield with the Rangers of the North, hunting orcs in the wild and the Misty Mountains. Elladan and Elrohir remained faithful to one another, twin souls bound together by a link that was stronger and more pure than anyone could imagine. While many marked that the twins were inseparable, their secret was never discovered and they remained lovers unto the ending of their lives.

Threats to Thranduil’s realm had increased over the years, and the elf king fought harder each year to maintain a safe place for those in his charge. Skirmishes were not uncommon, battles occurred frequently as well, and the Elves of Mirkwood became suspicious and hardened warriors. In the years that passed, Gildor took up the charge of Thranduil’s protection; the king went nowhere without his personal guardian. As the Third Age drew on, darkness fell over the forest, and Thranduil and his subjects retreated further north, past the mountains that had long been their home. Legolas had grown into a strong warrior, his keen sight and infallible instincts were an invaluable resource for Thranduil. Legolas and Orophin bonded in the 200^th summer of the prince’s life, and while he spent much time in what became known as Mirkwood, he saw his mate often.

During the waning months of the year 3017, a strange creature was brought to Mirkwood and left in Thranduil’s charge. The creature called Gollum resided for some months with his keepers, and they took pity on his loathsome state. The elves took him for walks in the forest, letting him climb trees and find respite from his days in the dungeons. In the warm summer months of the following year, Thranduil’s realm came under attack, and in the melee, the creature escaped. Thranduil knew in his heart this bode ill, and debated what the best course of action should be. His guard hunted for Gollum through the wood and surrounding valleys for weeks on end, but no sign of him could be found. Gollum was gone.

Summer faded into fall, and the tenuous peace in Mirkwood held. Legolas asked permission to bear news of Gollum’s escape to Lord Elrond, and Thranduil granted it. His son and three companions rode out of Mirkwood in the early dawn hours of a cool September morning. As Thranduil watched him ride away, he had no way of knowing he would not see his son again for nearly a year.

* * * *

Strange dreams kept Thranduil from restful sleep. He was haunted by the vision of his father beckoning to him, his lips moving but no sound issuing from them. Each night he awoke, panting, sweating; and each night Gildor was there to soothe his troubled spirit.

It was a cold, moonless night when he awoke from a fitful sleep. He sat up and looked at Gildor who slept peacefully beside him. A shuddering sigh escaped his lips as he carefully rose from the bed. He retrieved his robe that lay across a chair next to the fire and wrapped himself in it, standing in front of the hearth and gathering its warmth in the folds of his robe. Like all elves, he was impervious to heat and cold, but this cold was different from any he had felt before; it sank into his bones. He sighed and saw his breath vaporize before him and a feeling of dread passed over him. He felt the presence of another and turned slowly.

Standing before him, at the foot of his bed, was his dead father. Oropher was as he always remembered, tall, strong, and regal. He wore the same garments he did the last day he was alive, and his circlet sat proud upon his brow. He pulled his robe tighter around him and whispered, "Adar?"

Oropher beckoned to him as he turned and left the bedchamber. Thranduil followed him down the hallways and outside into the cold night. His breath caught in his throat as his father approached him; Oropher placed his hands upon Thranduil’s head and whispered one word, "See…"

A vision passed before him that was unfamiliar to his eyes. It was his life, yet it was not, as the things he saw before him had never happened. He saw himself riding in a meadow, saw the Lady Galadriel’s smiling face and her swollen belly. He heard the first cries of his infant son, and saw Legolas’ face smiling up at him as he held him in his arms. He saw Legolas as a young elf, at his majority celebration, saw the sadness in his eyes, felt his own heart break at his son’s sorrow. The images that came next were deeply disturbing, and Thranduil fell to his knees upon the cold ground. He saw himself holding his son in his arms, kissing him as he would kiss a lover, his hands roaming over his naked form. He buried his face in his hands and shook his head violently, whispering, "Please, no more, show me no more of this!" He saw Legolas as a grown elf, boarding the white ship and sailing west, knowing they would be separated for all time. He saw himself struggling with Gildor, wanting to die, but not being able to. Strange images of people and places he had never seen passed before him, a feeling of dread and hopelessness flooded through him, and finally he could take no more. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Make it stop, I beg you…" The vision faded and he was once again looking into his father’s face. "What was that?" he whispered. "Why would you show me such a thing? Legolas? I never… I have never have done that…"

"Sshh…" Oropher’s voice whispered. "Listen to me. I have shown you the other road, the road not taken. I was wrong about Gildor, Iôn. I nearly sent him away the first time he came to the wood, but something told me not to. Had I done so, that is the road you would have taken. What you have seen is the other life you would have led; a life of long suffering and pain, suffering and pain brought on because of my stubbornness. Carry no more this burden, Thranduil; think no more that you have failed me. I was foolish, I denied you happiness. Be free, my son; live and love as your heart desires to."

And with those words, Oropher faded into the night air.

Thranduil whispered, "Melin chen, Ada," as he watched his father’s form fade before him and tears tracked down his cheeks as he knelt upon the cold ground. Slowly, the feeling he had carried with him all his life began to lift from him, the feeling that he would never be what his father wanted. The feeling that he was a failure was fading. His father had been wrong, but had he not made him swear the oath, Legolas would not have come to be. He was profoundly grateful for his son, and finally, he could love Gildor with a free heart. He slowly rose from the ground and turned to see Gildor coming out of the door, his robe wrapped around him and a confused, sleepy expression upon his face. Thranduil smiled and approached him, wrapping his arms around his beloved and whispering in his ear, "Melin le, Gildor."

Gildor smiled and held him tight, burying his face in his beloved’s hair. "Melin le, Thranduil," he whispered in return. "Why are you out here in the middle of the night? I woke and you were gone."

"Strange dreams, nothing more, seron vell," Thranduil answered. But he knew in his heart it was not so, and seeing the path he might have taken made him all the more grateful for the one he was on. "Come, melethen," he said softly. "Let us return to bed."

Gildor nodded and walked back into the caves, arm and arm with his bonded mate.

* * * *

"I do not understand this. We have a full regiment of archers and riders. Why must you be the one to go and find them? Why must you ride alone against the Nine?"

Erestor paced the floor in front of the window he had shared with his bonded mate for well on two ages. He absently rubbed his chest; the old wound bothered him more and more as the years drew on.

"Master Elrond is sending all those that he can depend upon to seek the halflings and Estel. It is my duty, Erestor."

Glorfindel sat upon the edge of the bed, watching his beloved pace like a caged cat. Times were growing far darker, Erestor sensed it, and so did he. He saw the changes in his somber and strong lover; he saw the increased anxiety, the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. Every night Erestor awoke from the same nightmare, and it pained him to see his beloved this way.

"Please, ervainen vorn, do not do this," he answered softly, "Do not do this to yourself or to me. The day is coming that we can no longer hide here, melethen. The day comes when we must face the future or be swallowed whole by the Dark One’s hate."

Erestor turned and looked at his lover. Glorfindel was still so kind, so beautiful, so brave and strong; and Erestor thanked the Valar for him everyday. He walked toward him, kneeling in front of him and placing his hands upon the Elda’s knees.

"Long have I loved you, Glorfindel. So long that I cannot remember a time when I did not. I love your commitment to your duty, and I love the strength and valor with which you perform it. I do not ask you to be a coward or to refuse our lord’s request. But if anything were to happen to you; if they were to take you from me… I could not bear it."

Glorfindel gently raised Erestor’s chin so that their gazes met. "It would take more than the Nine to keep me from you, Erestor. You are my heart and soul, there is nothing that can keep me from you, believe that."

Erestor smiled sadly and answered, "I do, rawen, I do believe you."

Glorfindel pulled his lover into his arms as he lay back upon the bed. He cradled Erestor against his chest and ran his hands through his raven hair as he thought of the dark days to come.

The following morning, Glorfindel rode out in search of Aragorn and the Ringbearer. The rest of the story is well known. Glorfindel returned, Frodo was born to safety and healed by the magic of Lord Elrond and Mithrandir.

Legolas arrived in Imladris and was present at the meeting that decided the fate of the One Ring. Nine companions left Imladris for Mordor on a quest that would decide the fate of the world.

Celeborn and Galadriel destroyed Dol Guldur, and the Great Wood was once again free of the shadow of evil. Thranduil and Celeborn renamed it Eryn Lasgalen, and the Sindar King ruled there for many years before departing over the sea with his lover Gildor.

In the fall of the year 3021, Glorfindel and Erestor stood hand in hand on the docks of the Grey Havens, looking at the ship that would carry them and the Ringbearers to the undying lands. Glorfindel had strange dreams the last several nights of their journey, as did Erestor. The dreams seemed to be images of a life unlived, of times and events that had never happened. As was their way, they told one another everything, and both were surprised to find many of their dreams had been similar.

"Last night’s dream was the worst of all," Glorfindel said softly.

"Aye, I felt it too," Erestor answered.

Glorfindel turned and placed his arms around his beloved’s waist. "I could not have survived that, not if it had been true. I could never have stood and watched you sail away from me, never knowing if I would see you again."

Erestor nodded and leaned his head against the warrior’s broad shoulder. "I have heard that there is another world, one that is similar to ours, one that is a mirror of our own. Perhaps that is where these dreams come from, perhaps what happens in them is a reflection from that mirror?"

Glorfindel placed a kiss upon the top of his beloved’s head as he gazed into the west at the setting sun. "Aye, perhaps," he answered softly. "Perhaps it is where the images in the Lady’s mirror come from. Perhaps the mirror is a window onto another world, perhaps it reflects our other fate." He sighed and continued softly, "I learned long ago that there would always be questions without answers. I also learned to hold on to what I have here, now, in this life. I was reborn, Erestor, and in this second life, I have all I had wanted in the first. I have done what I was sent here to do, my quest is finished, and I have been rewarded with your love. For that I will be forever grateful."

Erestor squeezed his beloved around the waist and answered, "As will I, rawen, as will I."

* * * *

Vairë smoothed the tapestry that she hung upon the wall. In it were images that told the tales of battles fought and won, lives lost, evil defeated, and days of peace. At her feet lay another tapestry; one that held a different ending, one that spoke of long hardships and lost souls. While there were similarities between the two, there were also stark differences. While both tapestries told stories of love and loss, the one that hung on the wall before her had far less suffering. She smiled, her fair face lighting with happiness.

"Things are much better this way," she said to her husband. "This is how they were really meant to be."

Mandos nodded and placed his hands upon his wife’s shoulders. "Yes, beloved. Your work now is done."

She turned and smiled at her husband, then picked up the rolled tapestry and walked through the halls to their chamber.

~Finis

Melin chen = I love you

Melin le = I love thee

Melethen = my love

Seron vell = beloved

Ervainen vorn = my dark beautiful one

Rawen = my lion

Fate’s Mirror was an interesting journey for me. It was not always easy, as a matter of fact, it was rarely easy, but it was something I felt I needed to do as a burgeoning author. This story not only brought me a new appreciation for Professor Tolkien’s work, but I think it opened a whole new world of writing fiction for me. Of all the stories I have written, this one has come under the sharpest criticism. To me, that is a good sign, it is a sign that readers who think critically were reading it, and also that it reached an audience I had yet to reach with my previous work.

I won’t say it was a complete success, it turned out longer than I had thought, and I think I lost some folks along the way because of that. The story drifted at times, but that is part of learning how to write, being willing to fall on your face every once in awhile. However, I don’t think it was an utter failure either. This is one of the most plot driven pieces I have written to date, and for my first truly plot driven ‘epic’ tale, I will say I am happy with the whole of it.

I tried to infuse my vision of Professor Tolkien’s elves with as much strength, honor, kindness, and love as I could – hopefully I haven’t failed in that task. I tried to write a story of lifelong relationships, to show the evolution of characters over the course of their lives and I hope those who read this story saw that.

The reason I titled this story, "Fate’s Mirror" is that after the long and successful Lust and Devotion series, I had several requests from readers to tell a different story; one in which Glorfindel and Erestor could be together. That was how this story was born. This tale was a reflection, an alternate path for my beloved Glorfindel and his long-suffering Erestor. This story is the ‘what if’ of Lust and Devotion. While I am not entirely sure that I was successful in tying the two together, it was an interesting experience nonetheless.

Writing fan fiction has been an invaluable outlet for me to express how I wish the world was, it has opened new doors, brought me new friends, and helped me discover the passion I have for writing. I will be forever grateful to those who have supported me, for without you, I never would have written a word.

Hannon le,

Larien