Title: Gohen : Redemption
Chapter: Prologue
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: orchydconstyne@hithanaur.net
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from
the Tolkien world.  They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Archive: LoM, OEAM, AFF.net, Melethryn
Rating: NC-17 overall
Warnings: angst, vampy-ness
Beta: Ilye, Fimbrethiel
Cast: Erestor/Maglor
Summary: The continuation of Darthol i Aur.  We see how Erestor and
Maglor have continued after Darthol ended.
AN: This is, once again, Vesta's fault -- as well as Kit's.  No one
seemed very happy to see how Darthol ended, and there were a lot of
questions sent my way.  I hope this will answer those questions, as
well as give you something to think about when it is over.  :)

---

Prologue

It is raining.  It always rains here.

I shelf another book and proceed with the next.  Several new additions
to add this week, and I wonder how Marcus is fairing.  Leaving him
alone in the apartment is never a good idea; the guy doesn't sleep
much, and he can sure make a mess.

A mess *I* have to clean up.

The phone rings and I sigh in exasperation.  The fates enjoy annoying
me, I think.  I rush to the front counter, picking up the portable
telephone.

"Seattle Antique Books, this is Vincent.  How can I help you?"

I write down the name of the book the young woman is looking for,
adding her name and her phone number to the note.  No, we do not have
that in stock, I inform her, but I will be happy to let her know
should a copy come into my possession.  No, I do not have anything 'in
the back'... there is no 'in the back'!

She hangs up as I promise once more to call when the book comes in.

I return to my shelves, placing the books in the correct sections.  It
is not a large shop, my bookstore.  But, it is mine.  I feel at peace
around the ancient tomes, even if Marcus thinks I have lost my mind.
'Books!  All you do is read your books!' he usually exclaims when he
finds me in the old, overstuffed chair by the window in our apartment.
And I invariably roll my eyes, pick up my mug of hot tea, and return
to my book.

For someone so educated, Marcus hates books.

He says he hates history.

I say he is afraid of history.

We avoid the topic of books unless he is poking fun at me while I
read.  Which I allow; it amuses me when he does it.

I put the last book up and look out of the windows at the front of the
store.  It's still raining, but the light has left the sky.  Almost
time to close up for the day.

I hear his footsteps coming down the stairs that connects our
apartment to my little haven of history.  His grey eyes meet mine, and
he smiles.  He is beautiful when he smiles.

"Are you done with your books?" he asks, brushing long, dark locks
back from his shoulders.

"Yes, I am," I reply coolly.

He rests on the counter, watching me finish up for the day.  "Will you
come with me?"

"Later."

He sighs and cups my cheek with his hand, bringing our lips together
for a brief kiss.  "Then I will see you later, love."

I smile and nod.  "Yes.  After ten."

"Ok."  He slips on his duster and picks up an umbrella.  "Be careful,
Erestor.  Drive carefully."

I nod again.  "I will.  I love you, Maglor."  It is a phrase I do not
say too often, but it feels right tonight.  He winks at me as he steps
out into the Seattle night, head bent and umbrella up.

TBC...

Chapter One

He walked through the club.  It was not like an ordinary nightclub.
This was a respectable establishment.  Tables and chairs were
strategically placed around the intimate space, consisting of a small
dancing area, a well-stocked bar, and live, classy entertainment.  The
lights were low, and there were dozens of people watching the figure
up on the stage.  Erestor's eyes were drawn to the singer whose low,
musical voice crooned about lost love.

Maglor's tall, pale form was huddled around the microphone, his eyes
heavy-lidded and his body moving in a sensual sway.  The music
accompanying him was deep, slow, throbbing.  It called to Erestor's
blood and set him on edge; it called to the hunger within him.  His
dark eyes raked down Maglor's body.  He was clad in crimson silk; the
poet shirt was tucked into skin-tight black jeans and black boots
poked out from under the pant legs.  The dark sable tresses hung free
about Maglor's slender, aristocratic features, and glittering grey
eyes held the audience captive.

The last son of Fëanor to walk Middle-Earth was a sight of gothic
beauty.

As Erestor came closer to the stage, the glances cast his way were not
lost on him.  If Maglor was gothic beauty personified, Erestor was
living darkness.  He was fluid, graceful, tall and fell.  His black
eyes took in all activity around him, unblinking and hard.  His black
tresses were tied neatly back from his face, though he hid the pointed
tips of his ears with carefully placed locks.  A simple, thin black
dress shirt covered his torso, the silk hanging perfectly from his
body.  Just like Maglor, his lower body was hugged in tight black
jeans, though his feet were covered with fine leather loafers, not
heavy black boots.

Erestor slid into a chair by a table in the corner.  He scanned the
surrounding mortals, sensing from each what had brought them to the
club this night.  The progression of time and necessity had worked to
hone their particular talents and gifts, and now Erestor could skim a
mortal's thoughts with a lingering glance, while Maglor's ability to
influence emotion through song and music became eerily acute.  Such
nights as this were now part of an intricate dance between Maglor and
Erestor.  As Maglor sang, distracting his audience with his spell of
sound, Erestor would seek a partner for them for the evening.

Partner, of course, was a contrivance to hide the true meaning.  It
meant that they had to feed.  Mortal blood, sadly, was a pale and
bland thing compared to the richness of Eldarin blood.  As the world
that had borne them slipped from history into myth into fiction,
Maglor and Erestor had been forced to feed more often to sustain
themselves. By now, it had become a nightly occurrence.  Finding
victims from which to feed naturally became more difficult as well.
To that end, Maglor had purchased a failing nightclub and converted it
into this haven for "alternative lifestyles" that they called
'Melindor' as a private joke between them.  The ancient Quenya word
for "male lovers" seemed an appropriate title, even if no one else
remembered it.

It amused Erestor in a sad sort of way to witness how societies
through the ages attempted to deal with those with preferences
contrary to the majority.  In varying measures, so-called "civilized"
society tried to ignore them, shun them, destroy them, and "cure"
them.  Yet for all of that, there was never a shortage of that
particular type of Man whose loves ran to those of the same gender.
For instance, the gentle-faced youngster sitting at the bar nursing
the same drink for the last fifteen minutes.  Erestor brushed across
the preoccupied mind.  It seemed that David had been rejected by his
lover of the past year.  That lover had bristled at the suggestion of
a long-term commitment, and left David in order to return to his
estranged wife, who David had known nothing about.

Erestor subtly attracted Maglor's attention and indicated the young
man with his eyes.  The elder Noldo nodded almost imperceptibly, and
turned slightly, focusing his power on the single target.  Erestor,
meanwhile, stood from his chair and wove through the crowd with
catlike grace, easing gently onto the barstool beside David.  The
tawny-haired mortal had turned to stare at Maglor on the stage, drawn
by the power infused into that silky voice, and had not noticed
Erestor at all.  Only when the song ended and Maglor stepped off the
stage to enthusiastic applause did David blink and realize that the
empty stool beside him was now occupied.

"I apologize for startling you," Erestor began coolly, "but you seemed
so engrossed that I didn't want to disturb you."

"What?  Oh, the music.  Yes, I guess I was," David stammered.  He
moved to hold out his hand, and seemed surprised to find that it still
held his drink.  He tossed the double back in a sudden, jerky motion
and set the glass back on the bar, and then offered his hand again.
"I'm David," he continued.  "Can I buy you a drink?  Least I can do
for not noticing you there."

Erestor shook David's hand, favoring the youngster with a sly smile.
"No, no, I insist.  My stake in this club should be worth something."
He signaled the bartender for two drinks identical to the one David
had just finished.  "I am Vincent Laurel.  Pleased to meet you,
David."  Erestor wrapped his lips around the name as though he could
make love to the word itself.

David's eyes widened.  "You're Vincent Laurel?  *The* Vincent Laurel?
Half-owner of this place?  Wow!  You're virtually a legend at the
Pride Foundation.  I've volunteered there a few times, and there was
hardly an hour that went by that someone didn't mention your name or
the hundred thousand dollars you donated to help them get started."

"And to think, Vincent, you wanted to donate it to Greenpeace," Maglor
teased as he approached Erestor from behind.  He placed his hand on
his partner's shoulder and smiled at David.  "Are you going to
introduce me to your new friend?"

David's jaw fell open.  "Oh, my God.  You're Marcus D'amras!  I'm
David, David Selman."  He clasped Maglor's free hand in both of his
own and shook it vigorously.  Maglor shot Erestor an arrogant smirk;
Erestor simply rolled his eyes.

Maglor retrieved his hand from David's overeager grasp and reached for
one of the shot glasses -- now numbering three, thanks to the
attentive bartender -- and raised it as a toast.  David quickly picked
up his own glass, and Erestor followed suit a moment later.  "To the
Power of Pride," Maglor said simply.  He started to bring the glass to
his lips, and then playfully added, "And money."

The three shots were drained and the empty glasses disappeared from
the bar soon thereafter.  Maglor leaned down to Erestor and said,
deliberately loud enough for David to hear, "Vincent, love, I'm half
dead.  What do you say we get out of here and grab a coffee
somewhere?"

It took only the subtlest nudge of preternatural influence for David's
mind to fill in the rest.  He cleared his throat just as Erestor was
opening his mouth to reply.  "Umm... look, if you two don't really
have any plans, you want to drop by my apartment?  I mean, it's not
much to look at, but it's only three blocks from here, and my lover --
well, my ex-lover -- always said I made a hell of a cup of coffee."

Maglor shot David another of those killer smiles, and Erestor was
certain the Man was going to burst into flames right there.  "What do
you say, Vincent?" he asked needlessly.  "Fancy going for a stroll?"

Erestor forced a smile.  Now that the moment was so close, the hunger
began to gnaw at him.  His control was never as finely honed as
Maglor's, and he struggled with it even into this modern Age.  "By all
means.  Lead the way, David."

They followed the Man to his apartment, a small, modest loft.  It was
sparsely furnished, and David continued to apologize for how shabby he
thought it was.  Erestor smiled at the nervous youth.  "Don't worry
about it, David.  Really.  It's lovely in its simplicity.  Too many in
this day and age believe material possessions equal class."  Erestor
leaned in close, inhaling the musk of his soon-to-be bed partner.
"And that is by no means true," he finished, his lips inches from the
flushing Man.

"D-d-do you want decaf?" David managed, still rooted to the spot,
staring at Erestor's full lips.

Maglor moved around behind David, whispering into his ear.  "No, we
are not interested in coffee, dear David.  We are interested in...
other delicacies we hope you don't mind indulging us with."

David's eyes seemed to glaze over as Maglor spoke, and Erestor's
hunger burned.  "Other... delicacies?" the boy asked quietly, his pink
lips parted and moist.  Erestor could no longer resist and closed what
little distance there was between them, kissing David slowly.  He
slipped his tongue into the hot, eager mouth that tasted of vodka, and
sensually stroked and caressed David's mouth.  Through half-lidded
eyes, Erestor watched Maglor bend his head to David's throat, kissing
and sucking his way up the slender neck.

It was a seduction they were well acquainted with.

Erestor left David's mouth, stroking the dazed Man's cheek with his
fingers.  "Where is the bedroom?" he asked, lapping at the swelling
lips before him.

David blinked twice, surfacing from the fog of desire the two Elves
had submerged him into, and led them back behind the kitchen.  The bed
was large, and made, which actually surprised Erestor.  He had thought
the boy would have still been too depressed to bother with such
cleanliness.  David stood between the dark beings again, moaning
quietly as his clothing was slowly stripped from him and his skin was
teased by lips and hands.  Before long, the three had moved onto the
bed, David still between them, their hard and nude bodies pressing
together.

Maglor pulled a condom from his jeans and handed it to Erestor,
smiling darkly at his partner who continued to coax the Man into a
sexual frenzy.  Erestor nipped at David's ear, looking into the hazel
eyes, pupils wide and his gaze glassy.  "I am going to fuck you now,
David," he informed him simply.  David whimpered and nodded, the
youth's cock twitching with the words.

Erestor scooted back to rest himself against the headboard, rolling
the thin piece of latex down his shaft.  As he stroked himself through
the condom, he watched Maglor prepare David.  The Man was exquisite,
and Erestor thought the lover who left him was missing so much.  David
mewled as he was stretched and lubricated, his eyes focused entirely
on Erestor's dark gaze.  Erestor could feel David's need, his desire
to please and be pleased.  This one was special.  Maglor moved away,
wiping his hand on the bedspread.  "We want to pleasure you, lover,"
the elder Noldo said, his deep voice like liquid fire.  Erestor pulled
David back against him, allowing the Man to face Maglor while Erestor
impaled him from behind.  He sunk easily into the young, tight body,
and a low moan slipped from his lips while David cried out in
pained-pleasure.

They set a languid pace; David rode Erestor's length with skill.
Maglor crawled between their spread legs, taking David's neglected
arousal into his mouth.  As he undulated his throat around the firm
flesh, wringing sharp cried and whimpered pleas from David, Erestor
brought his lips to David's shoulder.  He nipped and kissed up the
soft skin until his lips rested over the tender meat of where David's
throat met his shoulder.  Erestor's blazing eyes met Maglor's for a
moment before his fangs sank into David, the pain of the puncture
almost immediately swept away by the lust in Erestor's mind invading
David's.

David continued to grind against Erestor, his eyes closed as he
brought himself closer and closer to climax.  Maglor let David's shaft
fall from his lips, though he continued to stroke him with his hand.
He sought instead a spot on the Man's thigh where there was no danger
of puncturing an artery.  When he located a safe area, he bit into the
flesh, his mouth flooding with the rich, coppery fluid and his mind
reeling with the sexual potency of David's blood.

As they fed, David was unaware of their activities.  He moved
relentlessly on Erestor's length while Maglor stroked his own.
Finally, Erestor pulled away from the boy, swiping his tongue over the
seeping wounds until the pinprick marks stopped bleeding.  As David
stiffened in Erestor's arms, his seed coating Maglor's hand, the elder
Noldo released David's thigh.

The sandy-haired Man fell back against Erestor's chest, already in a
deep, sated sleep.  Maglor helped David off of Erestor, and they
carefully put him to bed.  They dressed and removed all trace of their
presence from the loft.  Still high and aroused from the feeding, the
two Elves quickly and silently returned to their little home above the
bookstore.  Though Erestor could have reached his own completion with
David, he had held back.

Tonight, he was Maglor's.

Smelling of sex and blood, Maglor pulled Erestor along, entering the
small bathroom.  Steam filled the room as they stripped, tossing their
clothes carelessly to the floor.  Hot water pulsed down their pale
bodies, and their mouths met in a fierce kiss.  Maglor forcefully
turned Erestor around, running his hands along the slick back.

"You enjoy the game, don't you?" he asked, his fingers resting against
the entrance to Erestor's body.  "Teasing them, working them up into a
frenzy so we can take what we need."  Maglor suckled on Erestor's neck
as he pressed into the eager body.

Erestor moaned loudly.  "It is a game you taught me," he panted, his
cock still achingly hard.  "Why should I not take pleasure in it?"

Maglor breached Erestor's channel with his length, burying himself
easily into the body he had loved for centuries uncounted.  He reached
around Erestor's body, taking the heated flesh in his hand, and
stroked in time to his furious thrusts.  "You tease me," he whispered
harshly into Erestor's ear.  "Do you not think I can sense it,
Erestor?  Hmm?  Your thoughts rolling through their mind, enflaming my
passion through their blood?"

"You know you love what I do," Erestor replied, crying out sharply as
Maglor squeezed his hand.

"You are a dark one, melethen," Maglor said, his voice hitching as his
orgasm approached.  "You always were."

Erestor pushed his slick length through Maglor's fist once more, his
hand reaching out to steady himself as he spilled himself over the
talented hand.  As his body convulsed around the thick shaft filling
him, Maglor hugged him close, his essence flooding the younger Noldo.
They remained in the position, locked together, their hearts beating
as one; the Man's blood still was coursing through their bodies.

The water began to cool, and Maglor withdrew from Erestor's body.
They washed quickly and in silence.  Once dry, they fell into the
soft, large bed they shared.  The sunrise was still a few hours off,
and Maglor held Erestor close in the quiet of their room.  Soon,
reverie found them, though Erestor's sleep was troubled.

It was always troubled.

Blue eyes, full of warmth and laughter, haunted his rest.

Eyes he simply wanted to forget.

TBC...

Chapter Two

They woke late.  It was a day off for them both.  Sundays were lazy
days, even for them.

The two Elves had a routine, a sense of domesticity to their daily
lives.  Maglor brewed tea in a press while Erestor separated the trash
into the recycle bins.  Erestor chose some eggs from their
refrigerator, stocked with organic, locally grown foods, and Maglor
prepared whole grain toast.  The food would not nourish them, of
course, but the bounty of this world was not to be denied.  They
chatted idly, scrambling eggs in a bowl and pouring tea into delicate
china cups.

It was almost normal.

Maglor shooed Erestor to the small terrace outside their living room.
He slathered the thick pieces of hot bread with cream cheese, piled a
tray with their breakfast fare, and joined his lover outside.  The sun
had risen, though Maglor could smell rain still in the air.  Erestor
squinted as he looked into the grey sky.  He lowered his dark gaze to
the tall Noldo setting the table.

"It always rains here," he said, lifting the tea to his lips.

Maglor sighed and sat down.  "You didn't like LA.  You didn't care for
Chicago.  And let's not speak of how you behaved in Miami."

Erestor set his cup down firmly.  "Well, those poor dolphins!  What
did you want me to do? "

The elder Elf lifted a berry from the tray and threw it at the
indignant librarian.  "Eat your breakfast."

They ate in silence, looking out over the city.  When Maglor finished
his second helping of toast and eggs, he spoke.  "What do you plan to
do with your day?"

"I am not sure.  There are books I should catalogue," Erestor said,
pouring them each another cup of tea.  "But, I know how you feel about
my books."

Maglor smirked into his cup.  "Yes.  I feel about them as you feel
about the television in the living room."

Erestor scoffed.  "Come now, Maglor.  Why on earth would you need such
a big thing?  Your genitals are perfectly satisfactory, so I am not
sure why I had to sacrifice most of my wall space for that
monstrosity!"

"That television *does* have the History Channel on it.  I got the
extended cable package specifically for you, you know," Maglor shot
back.

"Of course!  And it has nothing to do with the fact that you can watch
Queer as Folk on no less than 8 different Showtimes!"  Erestor stacked
the tray and re-entered their apartment.  "For someone so revered for
his poetry and music, you are a historical dud."

Maglor laughed, closing the doors behind him.  "*I* am a historical
dud?  I wrote of the plight of the Noldor, don't forget.  I recorded
our histories until I felt smothered by it!  You, though -- you hide
in your archaic books, never seeing the world around you.  Times have
changed, and you either change with them, or you are left behind."

The younger Elf slammed his hand on the counter.  "I would not be here
if it were not for you!" he shouted.

"No!  You would have died in that pit!  You would have wandered about
Mandos' Halls for an Age and then be reborn into the perfect world you
have so idolized in your mind!  This song and dance is becoming old,
Erestor."  Maglor walked up to Erestor, forcing the dark eyes to meet
his.  "We have survived.  Be content with that."

Erestor pulled from Maglor's grip.  "Content with what?  This?" he
asked, gesturing about them.  The rooms were an eclectic mix of modern
and antique -- a meshing of the old world and the new.  The massive
plasma television had an early-century radio resting atop it; the sofa
was supple leather and beside it was a table Erestor had picked up in
the early 1600's, the controls for the television and DVD player
resting carelessly on the dull surface.

Maglor rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.  "Really, Erestor.  Every
decade or two, we go through this.  And always on the same day."  The
elder Elf leaned in, his face near the shocked librarian's.  "Oh yes.
I know what day this is, lover.  It's the day--"

Without thinking of his actions, Erestor swung his hand, palm open,
landing a solid blow to Maglor's left cheek.  They stared at each
other in stunned silence, the sound of the strike resounding in their
ears.

"Do you feel better now?" Maglor asked, his eyes cold and distant.
"Can we return to our lives or will you wallow in your self-pity?"

Erestor looked away, swallowing hard.  "Forgive me," he whispered.  "I
did not mean--"

Maglor held up a hand.  "Yes, you did.  I'll be at the club; I need to
go over some records and the payroll."

Without another word, the elder vampire donned his jacket and walked
out.  The door did not slam as Erestor expected, but fell silently
closed, which was almost worse.

*****

The club was empty except for the bartender, who was in the back,
taking stock of their supplies.  Maglor sat at the bar, hunched over
the highly polished surface, staring into his empty tumbler.

"'I would not be here if it were not for you!'" he sneered, imitating
Erestor.  "Perhaps not," he mumbled drunkenly.  "But, had it not been
done, you never would have met *him*, would you?"  Maglor picked up
the half-empty bottle, focusing on the black Bushmill's label.  "*I*
am a historical dud?  No, my dear Erestor, I think I am a well-rounded
individual.  *I* can appreciate a twenty-one year old whiskey, after
all."  He went to pour more of the amber liquid into his glass, but
stopped himself.  "Fuck it," he said, bringing the bottle to his lips.

As he sunk further into his alcohol-induced stupor, his mind began to
wander.  Maglor did not like to become this drunk; to become so drunk
would mean his memories would surface.  His memories were not
something he cherished.

No.

They were meant to be forgotten.  But, this afternoon, the whiskey
helped his take a giant leap into his past.

*****

Maedhros looked at him over the rough table.  Chill wind blew through
the open window, and the sound of screaming children assaulted his
hearing.  He sighed and covered his face with his hands.  "We are the
last, tôren," he whispered.

The elder Elf nodded.  "And we will not survive under this oath,
Maglor."

"What do you suggest we do?"  Maglor fixed his grey gaze on his
brother's.  "A foolish decision, was it not?  We have watched each of
them die, and I am sure we will see each other die as well, before
this curse has run its course," he laughed bitterly.

Maedhros looked out the window, his eyes far away.  "We could just
stop."

Maglor's brow furrowed and he looked at Maedhros in confusion.  "What
do you mean 'just stop'?"

Those haunted eyes turned to him, a sad smile on the proud face.  "Who
says we cannot just *not* do this anymore?  We have seen the folly
that has led our father and brothers to their doom, and we can choose
not to follow them.  We can make amends, tôr dithen, and regain our
place!"

"Maedhros, I do not think it is so simple..." Maglor said hesitantly.
"We swore, tôr iaur; we took an oath."

"Our *father* took an oath, Maglor.  We and our brothers followed him
out of loyalty.  And look at the reward their loyalty has given them!
I choose to be loyal to myself!"  The tall Elf leapt to his feet and
crossed to the window in a single stride.  "Do you hear me?" he
bellowed into the night. "I renounce my loyalty!  I renounce my oath!"
Maedhros turned flashing eyes on his brother.  "You see?  I am still
here!  I am free, tôr dithen!  Now, do you join me, or join our
father?"

Maglor let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  Just
words.  Nothing mystical or sacred loomed about their fates.  They
were just words!  "Aye, brother, I will follow you.  I renounce my
oath," he said softly, forcing the statement past the sudden lump in
his throat.

Maedhros turned back to the window and Maglor closed his eyes, letting
out a long, shuddery sigh.

"So be it."

Maedhros spun around and Maglor's eyes shot open, only to find his
sibling's vacated seat now occupied.

And there was no mistaking who sat in the wooden chair.

"Námo," Maglor whispered, his heart beating swiftly with fear.

The Vala's bright blue eyes were fixed on Maglor's large grey ones.
He wore only a simple tunic and his dark hair was free, hanging to his
waist.  "Aye, Kanafinwë."  Námo turned then to Maedhros, seeming to
ignore Maglor.  "Nelyafinwë.  Just as proud as you always were.
Melkor did nothing to quell that fire that burns brightly in you."

The copper-haired Elf stared defiantly at Námo.  "Why have you come,
Lord of Mandos?"

"Why, to grant your request," Námo replied, blinking as if in
surprise.  "You have asked to be released from your oath.  And so you
are.  You need no longer fear sharing the doom of your brothers."

Maedhros smiled ferally at his brother.

"However," Námo continued, "your choice is not without its
consequences."

"What consequences?" Maglor asked with a slight quaver in his voice.
He watched Maedhros' smile fade from his lips, and saw the first hint
of true fear in his brother's eyes.

Námo's demeanor stiffened.  "You have a very large debt to repay,
Kanafinwë.  You both do.  You wish to make amends?  You will have that
chance, but only on my terms.  You and your brother have spilled
rivers of Quendi blood; now that blood must be cleansed from this
world."

"And how are we meant to do that?" Maedhros snapped.

"By drinking it, naturally."

Maedhros pounded the table with his fist.  "What madness is this?
Speak not in riddles!"

The Vala stood up slowly, and the room seemed to grow darker.  "I
speak only the truth, Nelyafinwë, literal and complete.  Your body and
that of your brother will no longer find nourishment from the food and
drink of your kin, but only by consuming their living blood!"

Maglor stared in stunned silence.  Even Maedhros stepped back in
shock.  The elder Fëanorian recovered quickly, though.  "I see your
truth now, Vala!  We escaped the prison of your Doom, so now you
revenge yourself by inflicting upon us this... vilification, this
filth!"

A smile crossed the Vala's usually impassive face.  "Why this
reaction?  You have preyed upon your kin for centuries; now you merely
have to do it yourself instead of commanding armies to do it."

Maglor could sense Maedhros was about to unleash another tirade
against the Vala, and he gently laid a hand on his brother's thigh to
silence him.  His eyes silently pleaded with Maedhros not to risk
angering Námo further.  Maedhros nodded reluctantly, and stood behind
Maglor's chair while Námo continued to lay out the nature of this
punishment.

He reiterated that they could still eat and drink the food of their
youth, but that only by drinking the blood of living Quendi or Atani
would they be able to sate their hunger.  They would become creatures
of the night, able to move about by day like any other, but not
without some measure of discomfort and weakness.  The night, though,
would be their domain, and they would dominate it utterly.  "Lest you
think that I am without concern or compassion, I will not abandon you
to this fate as you are," he explained.  "I have petitioned the other
Valar for such gifts as they might bestow upon you at this parting.
For you see, as long as you shall bear this mark upon you, you shall
never be permitted to return to the Blessed Realm."

The two Elves gasped at this.  Their father may never emerge from the
Halls of Waiting, but he at least had a hope of once again walking the
shores of Valinor.  Maedhros gripped Maglor's shoulder, but could not
bring himself to say anything at this pronouncement.

"Manwë grants you the speed of the winds; Tulkas, the strength of the
mountains; Aulë, sure-footedness and agility.  Oromë will give you the
claws and fangs of a predator, and Varda will light your eyes in the
darkness of night.  Vána confers upon you eternal agelessness
surpassing even that of your race.  Yavanna's gift is a friendship
with the birds and beasts of Arda.  Estë seeks to ease your guilt at
feeding from others by bringing pleasure to both you and your victims
during the act.  Vairë gifts you with the ability to cloud the memory
of those around you, while Nessa bestows the power to influence their
emotions with voice and music, and Irmo offers passage through his
realm into the dreams of others.  Nienna regrets that her gift does
not compare to others', but has vowed to protect you both from the
weariness of spirit that the long stretches of time would otherwise
burden you with.

"Understand that the path you will walk," Námo continued, "will be
longer than any who have come before or will come after you.  Not only
will you be ageless, but because of *my* gift to you, death will only
find you in the primal fires of Arda or should a shaft of cold steel
cleave your heart."

Maglor and Maedhros shared a quick glance.  It was not lost on them
whose name was missing.  Ever the friend of the Teleri, Ulmo was
unlikely to grant them any assistance.  More probably, judging by the
look on Námo's face, the Valar had had to restrain him from creating
some worse punishment.  Maglor had to admit a small amount of relief
at that; there were doubtless worse fates to which they could have
been condemned.

His message delivered, the Vala's stern composure began to crumble.
He walked around the table and embraced Maedhros firmly, then pulled
Maglor to his feet and did the same to the younger Elf.  When he
stepped back, tears glistened in the corners of his eyes.  "Whether
you believe it or not, the journey we send you on is far better than
the one your brothers have chosen.  Namárie, nildonyar.  I fear we
shall not meet again while the world yet remembers you."

Námo walked out the door and was gone.

*****

Maglor stared blearily at the bottle still in his hand, still half
full.  "And we never did," he growled out, drawing back and throwing
the bottle into the far wall.

"That was a hundred dollar bottle of whiskey you just shattered."

The drunken vampire looked up to see his dark lover standing in the
doorway, arms crossed and eyes veiled.  "No," he replied.  "That was a
five hundred dollar bottle of whiskey I just shattered."  Maglor stood
when Erestor slowly walked to his side, his eyes cast to the floor.
"Why are you here, Erestor?"

"I came to ask you to come home," Erestor said quietly.  "It is late."

Maglor laughed.  "'Late'.  You say that as if it means something to
us.  Do you mean you want me to come back to that farce we call a home
and argue with you as if we were a married couple?"

Erestor was silent for a moment while they stared at each other, but
he finally broke the eye contact.  "You are my lover."

"No, I am your corrupter -- or did you forget that?" Maglor demanded,
grabbing Erestor's shoulders and shoving him against the bar.  "Tell
me, is your pain so much worse than mine, Erestor?  You wouldn't know,
now would you?  You have never asked!" Maglor spat.

"Maglor," Erestor began in a soft voice, becoming pliant within
Maglor's grip.  "With you, I forget the pain for a while.  Do you
never find a respite from the pain when you are with me?"

Maglor made a sound that was between a sob and a groan as he captured
Erestor's lips in a brutal kiss.  He swept passed the younger Elf's
lips and tasted him deeply; it was a taste uniquely Erestor, of cream
and vanilla, even after the slighter Elf had fed.  Maglor fumbled with
the buttons on Erestor's jeans while Erestor did the same to his.
"Up," Maglor panted against Erestor's lips and the librarian braced
his arms on the bar top, lifting his body off the floor so Maglor
could strip him of his pants.

The moment the dark jeans hit the floor, Erestor's bare legs snaked
around Maglor's waist.  Maglor pressed the head of his shaft against
Erestor's backside.

"Wait!" Erestor cried, reaching behind the bar and grabbing a bottle
of olive oil.  "I cannot tell you," he said, pouring a small pool of
oil into Maglor's hand, "how much I appreciate you deciding to serve
cold foods in this place."

Maglor coated his length and smiled down at his lover.  "You were just
tired of walking out of here with a sore bottom."

Erestor groaned and clung to the counter as he was penetrated roughly.
"You should try it sometime," he managed before Maglor began thrusting
quickly within his body.

"I have," Maglor whispered, bending down and kissing Erestor again. He
took the Elf's hard flesh into his hand and stroked firmly; this was
not about tender lovemaking.  This was simply how they made up after
an argument.

Erestor reached his climax first, crying out his pleasure into
Maglor's waiting mouth.  He trembled in the older Elf's arms as Maglor
withdrew and plunged back in with violent force, spending himself deep
in Erestor's passage.

They rested like that, Erestor hanging onto the bar, his legs tight
about Maglor's waist, and Maglor's arms around Erestor's back, still
joined together.  Maglor raised his head, kissing Erestor softly on
the lips.  "Yes," he said.  "You ease my pain."

TBC...

Quenya/English

Namárie, nildonyar : Farewell, my friends

Chapter Three

He rolled out of the bed, his head pounding. It had been a week, and
his head still ached. He stumbled into the bathroom, relieving himself
while leaning his forehead to the wall. He fought back a wave of
nausea before pushing away from the toilet, moving to the sink to
brush his teeth. No time for a shower this morning; his guest should
arrive soon, so he shaved and washed his face quickly.

In the mirror, the face looking back seemed haunted. Tired. And he
was. He leaned his head to the side and peeled back the bandage. The
bruising and swelling had finally gone down, and the two small wounds
were almost gone. He put his foot on the edge of the tub and removed
the gauze from his thigh, revealing a similar wound.

Two names formed in his head immediately: Vincent and Marcus.

David poured himself a cup of coffee and walked into his small living
room. He pulled out a large book and laid it on the low table by the
couch, along with his mug. He retrieved a few-weeks-old Seattle Gay
News, a pair of scissors and some archival tape. David made himself
comfortable on the sofa, sipping the coffee as he turned to one of the
last pages in the large book.

Slowly and deliberately, David cut an article from the newspaper. He
trimmed it, read it for the hundredth time, and then adhered it to the
empty page of the book. The article showed Vincent, smiling brightly
for the camera, with the head of the Pride Foundation; it told of the
generous donation and all the work Vincent Laurel had done for the
community.

While he waited for his guest to arrive, David idly turned back the
pages in the scrapbook. There was the Miami tabloid article about the
famous Dolphin Incident, of course. A few pages before that was a
photocopy of the passenger manifest for the Italian cruise ship
Antonia Doria. Two names in particular were highlighted: Marius
D'amras and Vincenzo Laurellio. Both names were followed by the words
"PRESUMED DECEASED". Presumed, of course, David thought, since the
Antonia Doria and all 1,753 passengers and crew disappeared without a
trace in the mid 1960's.

More pages back, and Marcus and Vincent's faces stared back at him
from a faded black-and-white photograph. They were standing on a
gangway, waving as they boarded a steamship. The picture was slightly
out of focus, but not enough to blur the letters "RMS Titanic" on the
side of the massive liner. Several pages before that was a yellowing
newspaper clipping dated October 9, 1871. The city of Chicago had been
engulfed in flames the previous night, and the article spoke of the
heroism of individuals who tried to fight the blaze and rescue
survivors. The picture accompanying the article showed a figure
cradling a child in his arms -- a figure with Marcus' face.

David's personal favorite, though, was at the very beginning of this
volume. The first page held an authentic "Wild West" wanted poster.
The sketch was badly out of proportion, but to anyone who had met the
man himself, it was clearly Vincent Laurel. According to the poster,
Victor Logan was wanted by the authorities in Kansas City for "crimes
of an unspeakable nature". David had spent many hours wondering
exactly what could have been bad enough in those times that they could
not be spoken of. Whatever they were, though, the Kansas City police
apparently satisfied their desire for justice because the facing page
held Victor Logan's death certificate with a notation that he had been
"hanged by the neck until dead".

He was still musing over the possibilities when he heard the knock at
the door. His guest was finally here. David set the scrapbook on the
table and went to open the door.

"I want to see these wounds. How are you feeling? Any aftereffects?
Have you seen them since then?"

David was pushed to the side as his father stormed into the loft
apartment. "Hello to you, too, Dad."

*****

Maglor heard Erestor's distinctive chortle for the third time in as
many minutes, and finally had enough. He had few guilty pleasures, but
the Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle was one of them. It was
very difficult, though, for him to remember an eight-letter word for
"Gounod vocal composition" with his hyena of a lover braying in the
next room. Huffing in annoyance, he placed the newspaper on the side
table and stood the quill he'd been using in its place beside the
inkwell. He got out of the recliner, wiping his blackened fingertips
against his faded blue jeans rather than risk damaging the T-shirt
that proclaimed "Dragon: The Other White Meat" that he bought at the
local Renaissance Festival three years ago.

The small personal library was directly off the living room, and
Erestor had left the door open, as usual. Maglor leaned against the
doorframe and was about to scold him for it, but words simply failed
him. Erestor lay draped across the overstuffed chair, head resting on
a pillow against one arm, and legs crossed hanging over the other. He
wore his favorite black silk pajama bottoms, and his chest was bare
and smooth, almost glowing in the lamplight. He had not noticed
Maglor's approach, or at least gave no notice of it. Maglor leaned in,
trying to catch the title of the book that Erestor found so amusing.

"Oh, Valar, not *that* again!" he groaned.

Erestor looked up from his battered and dog-eared copy of The
Silmarillion. "What?"

"Why do you keep reading that rubbish?"

"Excuse me, you *lived* this rubbish, remember?" the younger vampire
chided, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I lived *that*," Maglor insisted, pointed a slender finger to a
large red book on the far shelf, wedged between "Screw the Roses, Send
Me the Thorns" and "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix".

Erestor followed Maglor's finger with his eyes, and then shrugged.

Maglor rolled his eyes. "All right, then. What is it that you find so
amusing that you feel it necessary to chortle like a madman?"

"This whole passage about Ecthelion is hilarious. Do you know, it
actually says that he killed Gothmog on *purpose*? As though he would
consciously decide to stumble head first into a Balrog and then fall
backwards into a fountain! Not to mention, this makes it sound like
that fountain was 50 feet deep! It was barely chest deep, and he
managed to drown in it."

"Well, he did have a Balrog lying on top of him."

"He was also drunk at the time."

"And how do you know that?"

Erestor cocked his head toward the far shelf, indicating the same red
book Maglor had pointed to earlier.

Maglor shifted his weight, moving slightly away from the doorframe.
"Really?" he asked with genuine interest in his voice. "Maybe I should
read that one after all."

The black-eyed Elf laid the book on a side table and regarded Maglor
coolly. "I don't think you'd enjoy it that much. There aren't any
pictures at *all*."

"Ha ha. Watch out, or I'll rig the DVD player to replay The Council of
Elrond over and over and turn the volume way up. Again."

Erestor groaned. "Oh, all right. I need a brandy. Do you want one?"

"Do I ever say 'no' to that question?"

Erestor stood and started for the door. "No, I asked 'Do you want
brandy? ', not 'Do you feel randy?'" he teased, earning him a swat on
the backside from Maglor as he passed.

Maglor noticed that Erestor had knocked the book onto the floor, and
he bent to pick it up. The book fell open in his hand at Erestor's
bookmark. Sure enough, there was Ecthelion in his heroic glory,
valiantly sacrificing himself to destroy the Lord of the Balrogs. His
curiosity piqued, he wondered about what this Tolkien fellow had to
say about the *real* hero of that day.

The elder vampire turned the page, and his mouth fell open. Erestor
had blackened the entire passage that would have dealt with the
passage through the Cirith Thoronath. Flipping back a few pages,
Maglor found other passages blacked out. He turned to the end of the
book, to the index. Sure enough, there it was -- one thick black mark
between Glóredhel and Golodhrim.

Erestor walked through the door again, carrying two snifters of
brandy. He stopped short, his eyes wide as Maglor held up the index of
the Silmarillion, displaying the dark mark.

"Was it *that* far off?" Maglor asked, his grey gaze boring into
Erestor's.

Erestor was still for a moment, and then kicked back the small amount
of brandy in one of the glasses. His eyes fell to the second glass,
which he promptly kicked back as well. Erestor calmly placed the
fragile glasses on the nearby bookshelf and said in a low, dangerous
voice, "Give that to me."

Maglor closed the book slowly, handing it to Erestor who snatched the
volume from him. "You have to talk about it eventually, Erestor."

Erestor purposefully turned his back to Maglor, retreating to their
bedroom with Maglor close behind him. Maglor's voice was tight, sharp
as he called after Erestor. " Dammit Erestor, how long do you intend
to keep this up? Pretending he didn't exist?" The book flew past
Maglor's nose, thudding heavily against the wall. Maglor took a deep
breath, willing himself to remain calm in the face of Erestor's pain
and anger. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, less harsh. "Why
do you do this to yourself? You wallow in the past, in those musty old
books downstairs. And yet, you deny your own past, no matter how much
it hurts you to do so."

"Let it go, Maglor," Erestor warned, his face tight with anger.

Maglor crossed his arms, his temper flaring. "How about this time we
*don't* let it go? How about you face up to the truth and tell me what
happened?"

Erestor looked out one of the large windows. "It doesn't matter. It's
done."

The elder vampire stepped forward, raising his voice at his lover.
"You loved that Elf for so very long!"

"Haven't you heard?" Erestor sneered. "This is the twenty-first
century; there is no such thing as Elves."

"Well, you sure as hell aren't Doctor Spock with those ears!" Maglor
spat.

Erestor shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's
*Mister* Spock, you idiot," Erestor said, waving his hands at Maglor.
"*Doctor* Spock wrote books about raising children!"

Maglor smirked. "Really? Did he ever write one on how to deal with
temper tantrums? Children in denial?"

"Yes," Erestor replied calmly. "It was called 'Leave Me the Fuck Alone
If You Don't Want A Steel Rod Through Your Chest'."

Ever the sarcastic one, Maglor replied, "Does it come in paperback? Or
better yet, Books On Tape?"

Erestor began making their bed... again. "You know, just go back to
your crossword, Maglor."

" Erestor!" Maglor yelled, grabbing the shorter Elf by the shoulders
and forcing him to meet his gaze. "He existed! You cannot wipe him out
by never saying his name, by crossing him out of books! He was real.
He was alive. He was your heart. He was your goddamn soul!"

" Fine!" Erestor cried out, tears forming in his eyes. "If I tell you,
will you fucking drop it? Forever? " he asked, amazing both himself
and Maglor with the extent of his vulgarity this day.

Maglor released Erestor's trembling shoulders, taking his lover's hand
in his and drawing him to the bed. Erestor rested his head wearily
against Maglor's shoulder and drew in a deep breath.

"1679 was when it started to go wrong," he began. "We were Prague. The
Black Plague was rampant; death was all about us. We didn't know then,
but there was another plague starting that year. A plague with only
one victim.

Glorfindel."

TBC...

Chapter Four

Prague , Kingdom of Bohemia, Winter of 1679

Glorfindel settled himself on the edge of the marble basin they used
for bathing. His azure eyes scanned the opulent bathing room, a smile
tugging at his lips as he drew the silver hairbrush through his golden
locks. Though he remained beautiful and his body was sculpted from his
years as a warrior for one king or another, he had begun to show age.
His hair was long and thick, shimmering in the candlelight, and his
features youthful in appearance, but Glorfindel could see it when he
glanced into a mirror.

He chuckled to himself. He did not appear as Círdan had when he had
last seen the Telerë; his face was still free from hair and the weight
of the years only marred his smooth features marginally. Glorfindel
did not truly care about his appearance. His only concern was
Erestor's happiness, for when Erestor smiled at him, all was right
with his world.

The Elda closed his eyes, slowly dragging the brush through the thick
mass, humming a cheerful Irish ballad he had picked up a few years
before. Erestor had taken him all over the continent, moving to a new
city when their presence began to cause the local to talk. They never
stayed more than a decade in any one place, and never returned to
cities before fifty years had passed. It was in their best interest.

The Inquisition had been keenly interested in them. Their relationship
could not be one of open love, since the acts they performed were
considered immoral and illegal. Religion, politics, disease and time
were all factors that forced them to conform, to hide themselves or
risk drawing attention to them. It weighed heavily upon Glorfindel's
spirit, but he refused to let Erestor see that burden. His lover
devised means to distract him, but there were moments when the long
years threatened to suffocate him.

He continued to hum to himself, the sounds of Erestor in the outer
room comforting him as he directed the servants delivering their meal.

A sudden clatter forced Glorfindel from his reverie and he looked down
into the bottom of the basin. The silver hairbrush rested on the
marble, glinting in candlelight. Glorfindel's heart sped and he stared
in wide-eyed fear at the hairbrush. He had not dropped it.

He knew he had not dropped the brush.

The brush had simply... slipped *through* his hand.

Glorfindel pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, forcing back
the tears. He took several gulps of air, steadying himself before he
reached down, his heart thundering in his chest. He reached down, his
hand trembling slightly, and he touched the cool silver.

The Elda picked it up, feeling the solidity of the item in his hand.

It had begun.

*****

Luxemburg, The Netherlands, Autumn of 1694

The weather was chill, but the room was glowing with the warmth of the
fire. Erestor held out a dried piece of fruit, watching with hungry
eyes as Glorfindel ate from his finger. The blond wrapped his tongue
around Erestor's fingers, removing the sweet fruit from the digits,
and smiling as he withdrew. Glorfindel's hair was untamed, his nude
body golden in the firelight, and his cheeks still flushed from their
lovemaking.

"You look like a debauched angel, love," Erestor said quietly,
crossing the small space between them on his hands and knees.

Glorfindel smirked, his midnight blue eyes dancing in amusement. "You
cannot possibly want to roll about on the floor again."

Erestor captured Glorfindel's lips and drank deeply. "I always want to
roll about, whether be on the bed, sofa or floor. To have you above
me, thrusting into my body and claiming me all over again, is heaven
in this dirty, worn out world."

The Elda moaned , his desire flaring as the vampire ravaged his lips.
Erestor leaned back slightly, his dark eyes intent on Glorfindel's
face. "What is it?" Glorfindel asked, smiling lazily at his lover.

"I am simply struck silent by the love I feel for you," Erestor
whispered, reaching out to cup Glorfindel's cheek. His features
darkened, though, as his fingers did not find the heated, slightly
damp skin -- simply suddenly cold air. Erestor snatched his hand back,
an iron vise of fear surrounding his heart. "When did this begin?" he
demanded, standing up.

Glorfindel drew his knees up to his chest, resting his hands on his
knees and his head upon his hands. He gazed into the fire, tears
shimmering in his eyes. "About fifteen years now."

Erestor's mind replayed the last decade and realized they had been
slowly moving west. "Why did you not tell me?" he hissed, crouching
before Glorfindel's weary face. "You should have spoken to me,
Glorfindel! How *dare* you keep this from me!"

"Tell you what, Erestor?" Glorfindel asked, his eyes narrowing. "We
both knew it was inevitable. We were loving on borrowed time, and I
did not want that time marred with regret. It is happening and there
is naught we can do; just accept it!" Glorfindel shot up and stormed
to the bathing room, but Erestor followed him.

"We do not have to simply accept it! Glorfindel, we continue to move
westward." Erestor jumped in front of Glorfindel, grabbing his lover's
face between his hands. "You will continue west," he said quietly,
looking into Glorfindel's blue gaze.

Glorfindel tore away from him, the tears finally falling. "No! No,
Erestor, I will *not* leave you! You cannot force me to go." The Elda
shook his head, deep sobs coming from his slender frame. "You cannot
send me away," he breathed out, his cheek slick with his tears.

The Noldo drew Glorfindel into a tight embrace, his own tears coming
silently. "You must go," he said brokenly. "If you remain here, you
will leave me forever. Go to Aman; go back to your family, your home."

"Go home?" Glorfindel pulled back slightly, staring down into the face
he had loved for over an Age. "What happiness is there if you are not
by my side?"

Erestor brushed the new tears from Glorfindel's cheeks, smiling sadly.
"I would rather know you are safe and well in Aman, Glorfindel, than
see you slip from me, never to be seen again by any. You will go, and
you will go soon."

Glorfindel shook his head again, burying his face into the crook of
his lover's neck. They slowly fell to the floor, Glorfindel curling
around Erestor's body while the dark Elf stroked his hair and
trembling back. The sadness of the golden warrior was palpable and
Erestor soon found his own tears falling into the shimmering hair he
would soon never see again.

The two, light and dark, remained on the cold floor, in a tight
embrace, shedding tears that their time in this world together had
ended.

*****

Brest , France , Summer of 1696

Night had come, and the lovers lay in each other's arms. The night was
warm, and they lay nude among the soft bedclothes. Erestor caressed
Glorfindel's face, his eyes never leaving the fair visage. They had
traveled for a month from their home in the Netherlands to this
seaside village in France.

During the last few years, since Glorfindel's admission, the Elda had
been restless. Only when that restlessness had become acute and
Glorfindel was practically clawing at the walls did they leave for the
sea. They had taken their time moving west, riding for five and six
hour days, dining together, and making love wherever they could.
Erestor would fight down the urge in the wake of their passion to hold
Glorfindel tight, to forbid the heartsick Elda from leaving him.

But, he knew this was best.

"Will you not have me tonight?" Glorfindel asked. Though Erestor had
always preferred to be taken by Glorfindel, they had switched
positions as of late. Glorfindel insisted on feeling Erestor inside
him, the possession he felt.

Erestor shook his head, a gentle smile on his face. "Nay, melethen. I
will not."

Glorfindel sighed, disappointment written in his eyes. "Why do you
deny me this?"

The Noldo let his hand drop to the mattress. "It would pain my heart."

"And mine is *not* pained?" Glorfindel pushed Erestor to his back,
straddling the vampire's hips. "It is the last night, my darkness. You
do not want to spend yourself in my body? Taste my life and love
coursing through my blood? Know that, even in Aman, my life and my
soul are ever yours?"

Erestor felt the tears fall from his eyes. "If I know that, I am
afraid I will not be able to let you go," he said softly, rubbing the
hollow of Glorfindel's hip with his thumb.

"When the sun rises," Glorfindel said, reaching behind his body and
fondling Erestor's length, "I will sail from you. We have this moment
left. Will you squander it?"

The dark Elf arched and moaned softly, his eyes closing slowly. "I am
yours," he panted, his shaft filling quickly. He heard the bottle of
oil open, the scent of lavender filling the room. A hot, slick hand
stroked him, and he opened his eyes to see Glorfindel watching him
intently.

"Do not look away," the golden one murmured, sitting up and
positioning himself. Erestor's eyes remained focused on the azure gaze
as Glorfindel slowly impaled himself; the Noldo sunk into tight,
velvet warmth, taking a sharp breath in.

Glorfindel rocked atop Erestor, his hands traveling over his own body.
Erestor reached for Glorfindel's erection, but his hand was pushed
away. "Nay," he breathed. "I will be alone for a very long time, and I
desire this memory to be what sustains me while I am far from you."
Glorfindel gripped his own length, stroking in time with his rocking.
"I will lie in my cold bed, tears on my lashes as I touch myself,
remembering the thickness of you, how you filled me so perfectly, and
I will find my release with bittersweet happiness."

Erestor began to thrust up, offering himself a little more friction,
though the movements were still slow. Glorfindel moaned, his thighs
tensing and the fluttering of his passage warned Erestor of his
release. Heavy, warm drops spattered over his belly and he watched
Glorfindel draw out his orgasm as long as he could. The Elda slumped
forward, nestling his face in Erestor's neck. Erestor held onto
Glorfindel's hips, thrusting firmly into the slack body.

"Feed from me."

The command was raspy, thick with emotion, and Erestor could not
refuse his lover. He bit gently, making the intimate connection he
would long for. His climax came upon him quickly, Glorfindel's own
lust and love spurring him upward to that peak. As his seed filled
Glorfindel's body, a wave of intense loss and sadness washed through
them. They clung to one another, crying softly, kissing each other
thoroughly and memorizing every contour and sound, smell and movement.

It would have to last them forever.

*****

Dawn came too soon. They dressed in silence. Erestor touched
Glorfindel's cheek, offering him a watery smile. "I love you. You are
my light and my life, my soul and all that is good about me."

Glorfindel's lips brushed his. "I love you, too. You are my darkness
and my life, my soul and all that is wonderful about me."

They gazed into each other's eyes until the sun drenched their room,
illuminating the golden warrior with her rays. They held hands and
walked from the room, strolling through the streets to the wharf. The
sea crashed, and the gulls shrieked above them. Erestor had purchased
a small ship, knowing that the actual vessel meant little. They stood
on the dock, still holding hands, eyes glistening with tears.

"I will come back for you," Glorfindel vowed, his voice firm even as
the first tear left his eye. "Even if I have to do battle with the
Valar themselves, I *will* come for you." The golden head dipped, and
the yellow silk of Glorfindel's hair mingled with the dark satin of
Erestor. A single kiss, deep and true, sealed Glorfindel's promise.
When they parted, Glorfindel took Erestor's hand and placed a ring
upon it. "I am Glorfindel of Gondolin, Chief of the House of the
Golden Flower and lover of Erestor, Chief of the House of Elrond, and
I pledge my fidelity, my love, and my heart to you. Even when the sea
sunders us."

Erestor swallowed the lump in his throat and pulled a shimmering
string from his pocket. He fastened the locket about Glorfindel's
neck, and whispered his own words. "I am Erestor of Tirion, Chief of
the House of Elrond and lover of Glorfindel of Gondolin, and I pledge
my love, my heart, and my soul to you. Carry with you this small bit
of me, to always know I am close, even when you cannot see me," he
finished raggedly, embracing Glorfindel tightly. "I love you."

"I love you," the golden Elf whispered.

They parted again, and Erestor watched in despair as Glorfindel
boarded the small boat. His dark eyes never left the golden figure
until he was no more than a speck on the horizon. When he was certain
Glorfindel could no longer see or hear him, Erestor crumpled to the
rough dock and let a tortured, anguished scream erupt from his throat.

His light was gone.

*****

Malaga , Spain , Winter of 1700

Maglor opened the door to his home and gasped. Erestor, who he had not
seen for six centuries, stood on his doorstep. His old lover's eyes
were dull and he was clad in all black. Erestor looked like death:
pale, dark, and lost.

What Maglor noticed was that the younger Elf was not accompanied by
his ever-present golden counterpart.

"Come inside, Erestor," he said softly, moving aside to let his
heartbroken companion inside. Erestor walked by him in a daze,
acknowledging nothing as he entered the heated home. Maglor gazed
outside, scanning the estate as far as he could, hoping Glorfindel was
merely lagging behind. When he did not see the blond head, nor sense
the pure light of the Elda, he realized what he had feared had finally
come to pass.

Glorfindel had passed from their world.

TBC...

Sindarin /English :
Melethen : My love

Chapter Five

Seattle , Washington , 2004

"Why did you never speak of this, Erestor?" Maglor asked as Erestor
finished his tale. He gazed at Erestor's long fingers, stroking the
palm of his lover's hand with his thumb. "Why did you carry this
sorrow alone?"

Erestor chuckled mirthlessly. "You could not ease my heart, Maglor. By
not telling you, I was able to just... forget it. Never speak of him,
never think of him..." he trailed off.

Maglor looked at both of Erestor's hands and his brow furrowed. "I do
not remember you ever wearing a band. Where is it?"

"I took it off before I reached Spain," the younger Elf said simply.

"Where is it now?"

Erestor's dark eyes swept to the small jewelry box on their dresser.
Maglor released Erestor hands and slowly walked to the mahogany box.
He opened it and shifted some of the items around; his eyes became
wide when he found what he was seeking. Maglor lifted the heavy
mithril ring from the velvet box and brought it to the bed. He turned
the intricate ring over in his hands, amazed at the detail and
craftsmanship shown in the small band.

"It was all that he had left of Gondolin," Erestor said quietly. "He
said that Rog, Lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, had it
crafted as a gift for the bright Chief Glorfindel. Ecthelion had one
similar, encrusted with glittering diamonds."

The band shimmered with topaz, diamond and emerald, creating a domed
golden glower surrounded by green leaves. It was beautiful. "Why do
you not wear it?" Maglor asked.

Erestor brought his stormy eyes level with Maglor's. "How could I? A
daily reminder of what I lost."

"No! It is a daily reminder of what you had. Something so precious and
sacred; do not let it go because there is pain associated with it."
Maglor took Erestor's left hand and slid the band onto the ring
finger. "Though it is not our custom to wear such things upon this
finger, I believe this century demands a slight change in our ways.
Wear it, Erestor. Think of him. He loved you; how could you wish to
forget that?"

The librarian looked at his hand, adorned once again with Glorfindel's
mark. Glorfindel. He had not spoken the name in over three hundred
years. Maglor tenderly cupped Erestor's cheek and brought their lips
together in a sweet, loving kiss. Erestor opened his mouth, inviting
Maglor to deepen the kiss, which the elder Noldo happily did.

They shed their clothing, their touches light and hesitant. Though
Maglor had taken Erestor to bed thousands of times, this time felt
much different.

Maglor knew it was not him Erestor saw, thought of as his body was
breached and filled. Though Erestor clung to him, cried out and
writhed under his hands, Maglor knew it was a golden ghost Erestor saw
behind his closed eyes. He took Erestor carefully, gently, nipping and
suckling at lips, chin, neck, shoulders. Maglor did not speak, just
gazed at the dark beauty he had bound to him in darkness.

He pressed their bodies close, his belly offering Erestor the
necessary friction to slowly move toward his completion. Maglor
brushed his lips over the high, proud cheekbones and lightly kissed
the tip of Erestor's nose. He rarely watched Erestor closely when the
coupled. Their trysts were typically hard, fast, furious and rolling
in the euphoria of their feeding. To not have a mortal's lust roiling
in their blood, spurring them on, was a rarity and Maglor gazed
lovingly down at his bed partner.

That Glorfindel had loved Erestor for so long was of no surprise to
Maglor. That Erestor had been determined to put that love from his
mind had been. Maglor thrust deeply, groaning as Erestor arched
beneath him, the younger vampire's muscles fluttering around his
length. "Bright and shining, gold and sapphires," Maglor murmured
against Erestor's temple. "Your light, his darkness."

Erestor whimpered. "Do not speak of him."

"Come with his name on your lips, Erestor," Maglor encouraged, lapping
at Erestor's lips.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

Erestor shook his head, his chin trembling.

"If you do not, I will stop, Erestor. I will leave you like this. I
know your thoughts turn to him now, to the memory of his girth within
you, not mine. Call his name." Maglor pumped inside the confines of
Erestor's body with more force, lying heavily above his lover. The
younger Noldo's erection pressed hotly into Maglor's belly and he felt
it swell further. "His name."

Erestor arced sharply, his lips parting as he spilled his seed between
their bodies. "Glorfindel!" he cried out, the name a raw and bleeding
wound upon Erestor's soul.

Maglor groaned and buried himself to the hilt, his own orgasm
shuddering through him. He held Erestor tight to him as the Elf cried,
centuries of mourning rushing in and swallowing Erestor completely in
sorrowful memory.

The sun was low in the sky and the room was bathed in reds and oranges
when Erestor finally raised his swollen eyes from Maglor's shoulder.
"I have never asked. Was there a great love in your life, melethen?"
he inquired softly, running the pad of his thumb over Maglor's full
lower lip.

The grey eyes closed for a moment, hiding the pain briefly from
Erestor's keen gaze. When he opened them again, Erestor was still
watching him. He answered honestly. "Aye. I had a great love."

"Did he love you?"

"Aye, he did. And I him. Deeply and completely we loved one another,"
Maglor said sadly.

Erestor nuzzled Maglor's neck, cuddling closer to the broad body.
"What happened?"

Maglor was silent for long moments and Erestor thought he would not
answer. "What had to happen. His destiny was separate from mine and we
parted ways long ago, before the earth changed."

In the late afternoon sunlight, bound together in grief, they held
each other, lost in their memories.

*****

David sipped his tea, his eyes scanning the small, cozy room. His
father, Graham Selman, stood near the open sliding glass door leading
out to a patio, drinking his beer and staring at his son. The other
three men in the room watched him just as closely.

Terry, his uncle, sat in an easy chair, his brown eyes dark and hard
as he regarded his nephew. His uncle had never been fond of him; he
had even thought Graham was insane when he brought David to his first
meeting. But, David was smart, and he proved himself time and time
again to the group. He had even gone so far as to receive his Masters
in History, studying any and all areas of the world. His skills were
now invaluable, but Terry would never admit such a thing.

On the small loveseat sat Michael and Eric. Michael was a
fifty-year-old businessman; he was powerful, influential, and his
money backed their little 'organization'. Eric was his smartass son,
barely twenty-two, who was afforded more respect and consideration
than David was -- and David was seven years older than Eric. They had
known each other from a very early age, but they had never been, and
would never be, friends.

"I can only see one course of action," Terry finally said, his eyes
narrowing slightly. "David has to leave Seattle. Now that they know of
him, have tasted him, he cannot continue to observe them. He will give
us away."

David gazed at him in shock. "Leave Seattle?" he asked, looking to his
father who was nodding.

Graham finished his beer and tossed it into the trashcan. "You can't
stay here, son. I mean, what good is an observer who can't observe?
No, you should go to Spokane and stay with your Mom until they move
on."

"Dad! I am not going to pack up and move in with Mom. I have a job, an
apartment, friends... I am not going to be shuffled off to Spokane
because I happened to make contact with them," David insisted.

Michael cleared his throat and sat forward a bit in his seat. "David,
it is not wise to remain here. They know where you live--"

"Yes! They do. And I know where they live. Hell, we know every move
they have made over the past 150 years! And we know that because *I*
found out. Not your money, Michael; not your connections, Dad; and not
your family histories, Terry. We know what we know because I searched,
I scoured, and I spent endless years finding their trail." David stood
and glared at his father. "I will not be sent away because I dared
what none of you would."

Eric scoffed. "As if you did something amazing. You walked into a gay
club, David. You let them seduce you and then bite you. What is so
noble about that?"

"David," Graham began, eyeing his son suspiciously. "Why did you seek
them out, and what exactly happened?"

He knew his face was flushed, and he would not meet anyone's gaze. "I
wanted more than logical observation," David said hesitantly. "I want
to know them; I want to know what they have seen and experienced. So,
naturally, I went to Marcus' club. Vincent hit on me; I invited them
back to the loft and..." he trailed off. He could not finish his
statement. No one knew he was gay, and this was not the venue to
announce it.

"And what?" Eric prompted viciously.

"Yes, what, David," his father urged, though David could see the cloud
that had passed over Graham's face. His father had a pretty good idea.

David swallowed visibly. "We had sex," he said simply.

Terry chocked on his drink. "You didn't like it, did you?"

"Actually, I did," David admitted, finally meeting his father's eyes.
"They weren't my first, if that's what you are wondering," he said
softly.

Graham cleared his throat. "You will go to Spokane, David," he said
calmly. "You will not argue with me, and we will discuss this later."

"No, Dad. We will not discuss this later. There is nothing to discuss.
I am gay, and I will not move from Seattle," David said firmly.

"Do not disobey me," Graham said in a low voice.

David lifted his chin defiantly. "I am twenty-nine, Dad. You can't
just order me about. I have done your dirty work, and I find them
fascinating. I will see them again, and I will learn whatever they are
willing to teach."

Michael stood. "If you do not agree to move to Spokane, you will no
longer be welcome in this circle."

"As if I ever was," David said bitterly. He walked to the door. "I am
keeping my research, and I will be moving. Don't try to find me.
Hell," he sneered, "I doubt the four of you could find an elephant in
a bookstore. What am I worried about?"

David slammed the door and quickly made it to his car. He sat in the
plush interior, his mind whirling. No longer would his every move be
dictated by the group; he was now free to pursue Marcus and Vincent to
his heart's content.

He smiled to himself as he started the car, backing out of the
driveway and heading toward the loft. His heart raced in his chest and
he fidgeted as he drove. The sun would not set for hours yet, but
David was eager for night to come.

Tonight, he would visit Melindor again.

TBC...

Chapter Six

David sat at the bar, sipping his drink, and scanning the crowd. He
had come to Melindor every night for the past week, trying to catch
Marcus' attention. The dark singer had not spent much time after his
sets carousing the floor as he usually did, and David thought the
handsome man seemed restless. His hazel eyes followed Marcus' figure
as he wove through the crowd, wrapping an arm possessively around the
slighter frame of Vincent, who had just entered the club.

His heart sped up as he saw the two men kiss softly in the shadows,
oblivious to all those around them. David had not seen Vincent in the
club, so he hoped this was a good sign. He wanted to speak with them,
touch them, be touched *by* them. David kicked back the rest of his
drink, declining another, intent upon the couple in the dark corner.

*****

"He is here again," Maglor said quietly. "Every night he arrives when
we open and leaves with the last of them. He watches."

Erestor reached out, brushing the mortal's thoughts. His brow creased
and he looked to Maglor. "He seeks us."

" Aye." Maglor leaned in close, brushing his lips along Erestor's ear,
reveling in the shiver it sent through his lover. "I must return to
the stage. Be careful of him."

They kissed once more before Maglor took the stage again and Erestor
mingled. He spoke with several of the employees, made small talk with
some of the regular patrons, his eyes always flickering to David. The
sandy-haired Man still sat perched on his stool, his eyes focused on
Maglor's sensually writhing form on the raised platform. Erestor took
a moment to admire his lover's movements, growing aroused as they
sparked memories of those types of movements in a much different
position.

He looked away, leaning against the bar and ordering a drink, ignoring
David's presence several barstools down. When the bartender handed him
his drink, Erestor made his way along the bar, purposefully passing by
David. As he walked by, though, he heard the Man speak -- far too low
for any to hear *but* him.

"I remember."

Erestor continued to walk, as if he had not heard the Man. He calmly
entered the dressing area next to the stage and waited patiently for
Maglor to come to him. He sipped his Bloody Mary, but the amusement of
such an apropos drink was suddenly gone. If David remembered their
night together, then he knew what he and Maglor truly were. That meant
they were compromised and would soon be forced to relocate yet again.

The alternatives were unthinkable.

It didn't take long for the music to end, the applause to sound, and
Maglor to stroll into the dressing room. He looked at Erestor's stern
expression, the half-finished drink and then sighed. "All right. What
happened?"

"He remembers," Erestor said simply, playing with the celery stalk in
his drink. Maglor lifted an eyebrow as he stripped out of the mesh
shirt and leather pants, revealing his nude form. "You know, you
should wear something under those if you ever desire to sire
children," Erestor quipped.

Maglor snorted, pulling on a pair of boxer shorts. "I do not believe I
need to worry about siring children, Erestor. No matter what it said
in that story between you and I that you found..." he said, crossing
his arms and winking at his lover.

Erestor shook his head. "I told Justyn to show David back here. We
need to talk with him. Find out just what he thinks he remembers."

"Ever the practical one," Maglor said, slipping his arms into the silk
button down shirt. "Do I have time to actually get dressed?" He
received an answer to the question as a knock sounded. "I suppose
not," he mumbled. "Come in!" he called, turning his back to the door
and buttoning the bottom three buttons of his shirt.

David entered the room, jumping slightly when the door closed.

"Welcome, David," Erestor said softly, crossing his legs and reclining
in his chair.

"Yes, David, please," Maglor purred, gesturing toward the couch.

David sat slowly, not leaning back. "I'm surprised you brought me back
here."

"Why shouldn't we?" Maglor asked. "We had an enjoyable evening
together, did we not?"

"You... bit me. Both of you."

"Ah, yes. Well, we do tend to get a little carried away. I hope we
didn't hurt you." Maglor's voice was low and sensual, carrying as much
influence as he could mange.

David blinked, forcing himself to look at Erestor instead of meeting
Maglor's eyes. "And drinking my blood? Was that 'getting carried
away', too?"

Erestor narrowed his eyes and sat forward, extending his senses into
David's mind as deep as he dared. Not only did he find evidence of the
intact memory of that night -- which he would have thought impossible,
but he also had the bizarre feeling that he was being watched, as
though David were aware of his presence -- another impossibility.

"Blood?" Maglor inquired with surprise in his voice. "You're joking
with us now, surely! Do you hear this, Vincent? Blood! Really, David,
do you know how you -- " He broke off suddenly, catching the glare
from Erestor. The younger Noldo's thoughts rang in his mind, and
Maglor swallowed, looking at David with a revised appraisal.

David seemed to sense the unspoken discourse. "Cards on the table?" he
asked innocently.

Erestor ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "As you suspect,
Marcus and I are what your society would call vampires, although our
name for it predates your language."

David's eyes widened at that. "Exactly how old *are* you?"

Maglor cleared his throat. "No secrets? Very well then. My grandfather
was the first sentient being to awake on this planet. Think on that
one a little while."

He did. Then David's eyes rolled back into his head, and the Man
slumped back against the couch, clearly unconscious.

Erestor leapt across the room with a yelp and pressed his fingers
against David's throat. " Dammit, Maglor, he's out cold!"

"Pity," Maglor sniffed. "I was hoping the shock would kill him. It
would have simplified things."

Erestor rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless. Come on, help me get him to
the car."

*****

When David opened his eyes, the room was dark. He was also in a bed,
which he was certain was not where he had been. The Man sat up and
looked around. The room was not large, but not small. The bed took up
most of the space, joined only by a tall bureau and overstuffed chair.
There were several windows, open to the night breeze.

David hadn't the first clue where he was.

"Welcome back." The sultry voice was to his right and he slowly turned
to face his captor. Erestor stood in the bathroom doorway, steam
rolling out into the gloomy room. The vampire was dressed in only
loose silk pajama bottoms, drying his hair with a towel. "We wondered
how long it would take you to wake."

David's eyes followed Erestor, and his cock responded to the slender,
pale body still damp from the shower. He flushed and put his hands in
his lap, bunching the sheets up slightly, hoping to hide his arousal.
A chuckle made him look up guiltily.

Erestor had crossed the room so silently, and swiftly, that he now
towered over the seated human. "You may try to cover yourself, young
David, but the scent of your arousal, the faster heartbeat and your
elevated breathing give you away." He bent down, cupping David's
cheek. "You are quite beautiful, if not bothersome."

"Vincent." Maglor's voice was sharp and cold as he watched his lover
taunt the Man.

David was certain Erestor pouted as he backed away, seating himself in
the chair by the windows. "You have found us out. I am not sure how,"
the younger vampire said, his dark eyes focused on David, "But, you
have. Now, what is it you want from us?"

"What do I want from you?" he asked, still a little groggy.

Maglor walked to Erestor's side, placing his hand on the bare
shoulder. "Yes. I don't think you have come to the club every night
for the past week to simply enjoy the music. You are here because you
wanted us to know you knew our secret. Now, what is it you want from
us?"

The Man looked at his hands. Though he had come to the club looking
for them, to confront them, he had not fully thought of what he wanted
from them. So, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Nothing
more than to know you. You have lived a very long time. You must have
seen much. I am a historian by trade, and it is my passion. I would
ask that you let me know your lives."

"That is a very large request, David," Erestor said quietly. "And all
you want are the stories we have to offer? So you can write them up in
a book and expose us? Making our lives *much* more difficult than need
be?"

David moved without thinking, crawling toward the two dark vampires
across the bed. "No! Just... tell me. That is all I want." He rested
before them, clad in only his under shorts, kneeling with his hands
clasped before him.

Erestor stood and sat on the bed, leaning in close to David. His hot
breath tickled the tiny hairs on David's neck, and Erestor ran his
finger over the tiny scars his bite had left. "And what of what we
want?" he asked in a low voice. "I admit , you were sweeter than most
we have had, David."

"You would ask me to give that in exchange for your stories? Is my
silence not enough?" David heard the tremor in his own voice and
closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

Maglor watched the two, his own hunger rising as he gazed at Erestor.
"You were not so reluctant the last time you lay with us."

Erestor's tongue snaked out to lap at David's neck, and was pleased
when the Man trembled. "You are still weak, young one. Remain abed.
Sleep. In the morning, we shall discuss the details of our
arrangement."

David looked from Erestor to Maglor. "How do I know you will be here
when I wake? More importantly, how do I know I *will* wake?"

"You don't," Maglor said, glaring at the Man.

Erestor nipped lightly at David's throat. "Ignore him. You shall wake,
dear David. And we shall be here."

The Man allowed Erestor to move him back to the head of the bed,
drawing the covers up over his chilled body. Erestor seemed to
hesitate a moment, making some decision, and then bent down, kissing
David softly on his lips.

"Come, Vincent," Maglor demanded, taking Erestor's wrist. "Let your
pet rest."

David's eyes followed the figures out of the room, his heart hammering
as the door closed. He turned over, cuddling down in the sheets, his
lips still burning from Vincent's kiss. As he fell into a fitful
sleep, he knew his mind was made up.

To learn their stories, he would do anything.

Anything.

TBC...

Chapter Seven

Erestor closed the door, walking softly across the plush carpet to the
sofa where his lover sat.

"You will wake him if you keep looking in on him, Erestor," Maglor
warned.  The horizon was pale as dawn greeted them, and they had still
not come to an agreement.

The younger vampire folded himself elegantly on the couch.  He picked
up his glass of wine and sipped it thoughtfully.  "We cannot simply
kill him, Maglor."

Maglor snorted.  "Because you are taken with him."

"Of course not.  And it wouldn't matter if I were.  My feelings have
nothing to do with this."  Erestor paced nervously, resisting the urge
to look in on David again.

"Then what does?"

"Maglor, we have not taken a human life for decades!"

"And I say that we are overdue!" the elder Noldo hissed.  "Erestor, he
knows!  He cannot leave this place alive.  It will compromise us."
His voice softened, and he smiled indulgently at his lover.  "If you
will not allow him to die, then we will simply have to relocate.  And
I know how eager you are to move and reestablish ourselves."

"No, I do not want to move, but I also don't want him dead!  That is
not how we do things, Maglor," Erestor insisted.

"Don't we, dearest?  Come now, do not tell me you have forgotten our
dear Antonia Doria!"

"As though I could," the younger vampire spat.  "She continues to
haunt my dreams to this day."

"But, that is precisely my point.  What is one more added the massive
body count our years have accumulated?"  Maglor leaned close to
Erestor and smiled.  "You are so fond of him; you can do it.  I know
you can also make it very pleasant for him to find his end."

Erestor shook his head again.  "No.  There is something very familiar
about him, about his mind and his spirit."

"All the more reason," Maglor insisted.  "We know that he can resist
us; we know that he remembers when he should not.  And now you say
there is something more, something hidden?  Be done with him,
melethron!"

"I would rather not destroy him before we know all about him and what
*he* is hiding."

Maglor reclined against the couch, finishing his brandy.  "Very well.
Then you know what has to be done.  And since you are more proficient
in this particular art, *you* can find that truth from him."  Maglor's
pewter eyes skewered Erestor.  "But, if he is truly a threat, one of
us will kill him.  I don't care if you force me to sleep on the couch
for a century, he will not add to our unhappiness.  We have both taken
more than our share of it already."

*****

Erestor climbed onto the bed, moving like the predator he was,
carefully easing himself astride David's body.  Maglor stood to the
side, holding David's hands by the wrists, pinning the Man to the soft
mattress.

"David," Erestor crooned, bringing his lips close to David's ear.
"Time for you to wake."

The young Man's eyes shot open and he yelped, instinctively struggling
against the weight across his hips and the vise-like grip on his
wrists.  The panic was visible in the hazel eyes as they darted from
the pewter gaze to ink-black one.  "What?" he asked sleepily.

"If we are to do this," Erestor said, firmly placing his hands on
either side of David's face, "then we shall do it on even playing
ground.  You know too much about us," he continued, leaning close to
David.  "It is only fair that we should know more of you."  Erestor
focused his gaze on David's eyes and "pushed" with all his power into
the Man's mind.  This sort of blatant intrusion was as distasteful to
him as it was uncomfortable, but David had already proven resistant to
their casual powers, and no lesser strategy would give them answers
they could trust.

To David, the vampire's face seemed to swell until it filled his field
of vision.  The only sound he could hear was Vincent's steady
breathing, and a droning hum that he realized was his own voice.

Erestor strained to break through David's considerable mental
defenses.  His muscles tensed after a minute, and after two, beads of
sweat appeared on his exposed skin.  His eyes were clenched so tightly
closed that Maglor began to fear for his lover's safety.  Erestor
fought for every inch of ground into David's mind, adamant about
discovering the truth behind this unique individual.  Any other
person's mind would have laid its innermost secrets bare within three
minutes.  It took Erestor five full minutes to finally begin drawing
useful information from *this* mind.

He heard fragments of an argument between David and other men over his
night with 'Vincent' and 'Marcus'.  He saw images of news clippings
and photographs carefully preserved as a record of his own travels.
He felt past intrusions into David's mind -- training sessions to hone
David's abilities to counter the vampires' powers.  More fragments and
shards of memory began to form a more complete picture of a Man who
had been trained from boyhood to observe and record Erestor's and
Maglor's actions and movements.  David did not know their true names,
thank Eru, and it seemed none of the others in this hazy group did
either.

Erestor was beginning to withdraw from David's mind when a ghost of a
face flickered across his senses.  The shock of it jostled Erestor's
concentration, and he recoiled from the mental connection all at once.
The force threw him across the room with a shout.  That face...
impossible!  How the *fuck* could these bumbling mortals have possibly
made that connection?

Erestor staggered to his feet, clutching his head.  The backlash from
the sudden withdrawal assaulted him from all sides.  He felt nauseous;
waves of hot and cold took turns washing over him.  His throat felt
dry, his tongue swollen.  He croaked out in a raspy voice, "Kill him."

"What?" Maglor asked, shocked.

"Kill him!" Erestor repeated, stronger as his body began finally to
fight away the backlash.  "He knows too much!"

Maglor hesitated, uncertain of what brought this sudden change over
Erestor.  He released his grip on David's wrists and began to walk
across the room.  He got as far as the edge of the bed when David's
feet lashed out and caught Maglor in the kidneys, sending him
staggering.  David rolled off the bed on the other side from Maglor,
landing lightly on the balls of his feet.  His eyes were clear and
bright, his movements solid and sure.  He had recovered from his
mental ordeal with a speed and efficiency that Erestor would have
believed impossible.   It was almost inconceivable that David would
know how to destroy them, but so was everything else about this
situation.  All things considered, Erestor had to admit that David
could pose to them a genuine threat.  With that admission came the
second admission that Erestor, in this state, would not be able to
stand against him.

As the two squared off against each other, forming and reforming
opinions about the other's abilities, David suddenly fell backward,
landing heavily on the ground.  Maglor followed through with his sweep
into the back of David's knees, and rolled the rest of the way out
from under the bed.  He pounced on David's prone body like a panther,
straddling the Man's hips and pressing his shoulders to the floor with
iron hands.

"Wait!" Erestor called out as Maglor bared his fangs.  He staggered
forward, looking down into David's face.  "Who are they, David?  The
others, who are they?"

Maglor did not relax his grip, but looked up at Erestor questioningly.
"Others?"

Erestor nodded.  "I saw them.  Heard them.  They've been watching us
for at least a century.  Who are they, David?  Tell us now and I will
make sure that my lover kills you quickly."

David squirmed uselessly under Maglor's grip.  "It's true," he whined,
the panic evident in his voice.  "My family has been watching you for
over one hundred and fifty years.  I don't know how it started, I
swear.  I only know that I was brought up knowing about you, hearing
the stories, and looking at the pictures.  My father trained me to
avoid detection, to overcome your abilities."

"Why?" Maglor growled.  "Do you think you can destroy creatures such
as us?"

"No!" David yelped.  "We only observe!  We watch and record!  I don't
even think we know why anymore.  My uncle wants to be sure that you
aren't influencing history in your favor.  My father believes that it
is so you will lead us to the others."

"And you?" Erestor asked, some of the life coming back into his voice.
"What do you believe?"

David swallowed, then continued in a calmer voice.  "I don't believe
there *are* others.  I think you two are the only ones.  I believe
that yours must be a lonely life, but one filled with such wonders and
stories that someone like me could only dream of.  I believe that I am
no longer content observing.  I want to know these stories.  I want
you to tell them to me."

Maglor narrowed his eyes.  "I don't trust him."

"What he says about the others is true," Erestor maintained.  "We
cannot simply kill him.  It is likely they know where he is and will
come for us."

"Okay, so we don't kill him.  We just send him back to these others a
piece at a time."

"No, please!"  The fear returned to David's voice.  "I beg you,
listen!  I have left them!  I have cut my ties to them!  I can tell
you what I know!  I can protect you from them!"

Maglor laughed deep in his throat.  "More likely, you are protecting
them from *us*!  Make no mistake, boy.  *We* are the predators here,
not your family."

"Let me tell you what I know.  Let me help you!  All I ask is that you
share your stories with me in return."

"You presume to bargain with the wolves?" Maglor taunted.

"There is more," Erestor interrupted.  "More that you and I should
speak of in private."

Maglor heard the finality in Erestor's voice.  Until they knew
everything, harming David would be unwise.  He sighed heavily and
stood up, quickly moving out of striking distance, though he remained
alert.  He nodded to Erestor, indicating his agreement.

Erestor took David's hand and helped the Man to his feet.  "Very
well," he said, clearing the last of the uncertainty from his voice.
"We'll exchange stories for now.  But if anyone else comes near, I
will take great pleasure in twisting your head off."

TBC...

Chapter Eight

"I am the sixth generation of my family to watch you," David began
later that morning.  He paused to sip at the Irish coffee Erestor had
prepared, licking the cream from his upper lip.  The combination of
the caffeine and alcohol helped to clear his head some, as he hoped it
was doing for the two vampires.  So many questions he had to ask, but
they had insisted he answer theirs first.

"It started with my great-great-great-grandfather, Jonathan Selman.
He was a newspaper reporter in New York.  Early one evening, he was
walking through the streets, hoping to find a story.  The lamplighters
were just starting their nightly duties, and most respectable members
of society were in their homes, trapped in that limbo between the
evening meal and the night's activities.  He wrote in his journal that
it was then that the most interesting stories played themselves out.

"He turned a corner and glanced down an alleyway between two
buildings.  He saw a couple locked in what appeared to be a passionate
embrace.  He would have kept walking, he wrote later that night, but
he noted that the woman's dress marked her as high society.  That a
woman of that class would be in an alley so far away from the bastions
of... propriety and..." David thought for a moment, searching for the
proper word.  "And etiquette," he said finally  "To see her with a man
in such a situation smacked of scandal to my progenitor.  He lurked in
the shadows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman's face and, with
luck, the man's as well.

"The woman moaned in the embrace and seemed to swoon, slipping from
her lover's arms.  Jonathan leaned in and was horrified.  Instead of
the flushed cheeks of a secret tryst, the woman's face was deathly
pale and her eyes stared, glassily, at nothing.  He looked up at the
man then, and saw bloodstained lips and sharpened fangs.  Then a rush
of wind knocked him back into the wall as the creature sped past with
unthinkable speed."

Erestor glared at Maglor.  "That was foolish of you."

"Me?  What makes you so sure that it had to have been me?" the elder
Noldo bristled.

"Because I have never taken killing as lightly as you, and I would
never have left a body in an alleyway."

"On the contrary, Vincent," Maglor replied, careful not to use their
true names.  "I consider death to be a very serious subject and never
trivialize it.  As it happens--"

Erestor held up a hand.  "Another time and place, Marcus," he said
curtly.  "David, please continue."

David watched the ease with which the vampires discussed killing.
There was something surreal about the exchange, something so
unconsciously absurd about a lovers' quarrel over the importance of
the death of innocents.  He was so engrossed that he almost did not
hear Vincent's entreaty for him to continue his tale.  He shook his
head quickly and forced his attention back to the moment.

"My great-great-great-grandfather had grown up in a small town near
Gloucestershire, England," he continued.  "He was raised on the
Christian Bible and English folklore, so he learned how to be both
God-fearing and superstitious.  In other words, he knew a vampire when
he saw one.  He also knew that no respectable newspaper would print
such a story, and how dangerous it would be for him should he sell it
to the disreputable ones.  Instead, he recounted the story in his
personal journal only.

"In the weeks and months that followed, he used his journalism
credentials to make discreet inquiries about the man he had seen.  He
identified the man as Mitchell Devereaux, and includes a sketch that,
I'm sorry, Marcus, looks just like you."

Maglor shrugged.  "I never denied that it was me that your
thrice-great-grandfather saw.  I was merely trying to point out that
the young woman's death was not as trivial to me as my dear Vincent
would like to have you believe.  I take it that this journal contains
no information on the fate of her remains?"

David cleared his throat nervously.  "It does say that she was never
identified and no missing person reported to the police that matched
her description.  Her body was never claimed, so she was interred in a
mass grave, and the matter was forgotten."

"So it should have been.  The poor woman had lost her husband and
children in a fire some years earlier and was reduced to selling her
body in the street just to earn enough for a rat-infested room and one
meager meal a day.  Her eyes begged for release, and I granted her
wish.  I bought her that beautiful dress, treated her to an enormous
feast and a night at the theatre.  I made her last night a wonderful
experience, so that she might die with that simple happiness as her
last memory."

David listened with morbid fascination.  The gothic tragedy of the
story spoke to him of an almost erotic sensuality for life and only
intensified his curiosity for these unnatural creatures.  He was aware
of the way his lips had parted and his breathing had sped while Marcus
recounted the tale.  He knew the plain facts of the incident from his
ancestor's journal, but to hear the particulars explained in such
detail and with such fondness was an enthralling experience.

"If we could move along?" Erestor asked.

"By all means," Maglor replied sardonically.  He knew how
uncomfortable the subject of death was to Erestor, but could not help
indulging in the memories from time to time.

David finished the last of his coffee with a grimace, as the liquid
had grown cold.  "Jonathan continued to keep a careful record of
anything relating to Mitchell Devereaux or his mysterious and
reclusive friend Virgil.  He had several theories regarding where you
two might have come from.  By far, though, his favorite was that the
two of you had been soldiers in the Union army, and shared what he
called 'a carnal friendship of Sodom's ilk'.  He decided that you both
must have been killed in battle and that you were condemned to live
soulless existences as a result of your sins."

"Actually, only Vincent was in the Union army," Maglor interjected.
"I fought for the Confederacy."

"And I took great pleasure in saying 'I told you so' for the next
seventy years," Erestor replied with the first trace of a real grin.

Maglor rolled his eyes.  "Suffice it to say, dear David, that you have
since learned that we predate that little skirmish by several orders
of magnitude.  Please continue."

"The turn of the century came, and with it, the birth of my
great-great-grandfather, Jacob," the Man continued.  "The last journal
entry that my great-great-great-grandfather ever wrote was that
Mitchell and Virgil boarded a ship bound for Europe in 1902.  He hid
the journal away in his attic, probably intending to retrieve it
should you two ever return.  He died in 1908, though, and the journal
was simply forgotten.

"It wasn't until the house burned down in 1924 that it was discovered.
My great-great-grandfather, already a father himself, was picking
through the ashes and happened to find the journal lying in the ruins,
a little singed on the edge, but otherwise completely unharmed.  After
reading through it, he became convinced that God had spared the book
and led him to it because he was to continue his father's work.  He
believed God was charging him with the task of keeping watch over
these two demons and ultimately destroying them if they threatened
decent society.

"It took him years to track you down, because you were obviously using
different names by then.  He was certain that you must have come back
to America, because he believed his father's Civil War theory and felt
that you would always be drawn to return here as a result.  He spent a
lot of time visiting old battle sites and graveyards, his wife and
child in tow, thinking that you might be living nearby.  The strain of
all the moving was too much on my great-great-grandmother, and she
caught pneumonia one winter and died before the next spring.  Jacob
saw her death as a test from God to see if he would abandon the quest.
Instead, he redoubled his efforts to find you, moving more easily and
under rougher conditions now that he did not have the 'delicate
sensibilities' of a woman slowing him down.

"All the same, it must have been pure luck that you two had settled
near Richmond in the late 30's and that he happened to spot you, still
identical to the sketches his father left in the journal.  Once he
found you, though, it was easy to keep watch over you, especially with
a fifteen-year-old son to help.  My great-grandfather was raised on
that journal, always knowing of the creatures that prowled the
darkness and his family's holy quest to keep vigil over them.  He got
a job as a newsie, selling newspapers on the street corner near where
you two lived."

Erestor interrupted suddenly. "I remember that young man!  We must
have bought papers from him a thousand times!  Damn!  And I tipped him
well!"

"I told you that you should have killed him.  I never trusted him
after he called out that headline 'Blood-Sucking Monsters on the
Loose' and it turned out to be a story about the abnormally high
mosquito levels that season," Maglor added with a grimace.

"You were just sore because he suckered you with that bet about your
shoes."

David cocked his head.  "This wasn't in the journal.  What bet?"

Maglor started to speak, but Erestor cut him off.  "I wouldn't expect
it to be written down.  It's an old gag.  Your great-grandfather,
William Selman -- the other boys called him Billy the Sell-Man -- was
selling a paper to Marcus one day and said to him, 'I bet you a dollar
that I know where you got them shoes.'  Marcus shrugged and agreed.
Billy looked down and studied the shoes for a moment, then announced
proudly, 'You got the right shoe on the right foot and the left shoe
on the left foot.  Gimme a dollar, chump!'"

David burst into laughter, quickly covering his mouth with his hand
when Maglor shot him a glance that could have melted steel.  "He
cheated," the ancient Noldo said sharply.

"No, you just didn't listen," Erestor scolded.  "And it's not as
though you couldn't spare the dollar."

"A dollar was a lot of money back then!"

"And we should know because we had so many of them!"  Erestor turned
back to David and explained in an offhand manner, "We collected the
rather hefty life insurance policies on ourselves following our deaths
on the Titanic.  We never trusted the stock market or banks, so all of
our funds stayed in hard currency, untouched by the Depression."

Maglor nodded.  "Then the Japanese hit Pearl Harbor, and we converted
the bulk of it into War Bonds and returned to military service.  With
our considerable mental influence, we were able to contrive a past of
some note and secure ourselves officer postings fairly quickly."

"Yes," David added, "the journals did talk about how you two left for
the war.  My great-grandfather had just turned eighteen, and he
enlisted as well -- partly from a sense of duty, but mostly under
pressure from his father to follow the two of you.  Of course, he had
to go the long way through the enlistment process, and from his
correspondence, he never managed to catch up to the two of you again."

Maglor visibly winced.  "That's not entirely true.  We did see William
Selman once more.  Early November 1942, General Patton led the Western
Task Force in the North African invasion.  They called it Operation
Torch; the hope was for the Allied forces to gain a foothold in Africa
and form a second front from which to attack Hitler.  Most of the
assault force, including your great-grandfather, were fresh out of
training, untried in combat.  The expectation was that the French
forces in Casablanca would not fight, so the resistance would be
minimal."

"The expectations were wrong," Erestor said with a sigh.  "At least
initially.  At Port Lyautey, the French put up a hell of a fight, and
there were a lot of casualties on both sides.  Billy was shot in the
back while he crouched between two buildings.  The bullet pierced his
spine, and he was left paralyzed and bleeding to death.  By the time
we found him the next day, he was already dead."

There was a solemn pause, and then David continued.  "William married
his sweetheart before he left, a fellow newsie named Lillian Birch.
They had almost a week together until he was shipped off to boot camp,
and Lillian turned up pregnant shortly thereafter.  His son was born
in September 1942, and William insisted on naming him Abraham, after
Abraham van Helsing.  After William's death, Lillian collected the
death benefits from the Army, and promptly married William's father,
Jacob.  The two of them raised Abraham as their own, teaching him
about his family history and the 'Holy Quest' that was his birthright.

"While you were in Europe, Jacob spent the time researching vampiric
lore from any source he could find, and drew several diagrams in the
journals detailing how he thought you could be killed.  He always
suspected that the two of you had killed William when you found him
following you.  When the official cause of William's death was listed
as exsanguination, Jacob became convinced and decided, quest or no
quest, that you had to be destroyed.

"Of course, he never got the chance to try.  He died of a heart attack
in 1961, two years after the birth of Abraham's son -- my father --
Graham, and three weeks before the birth of my uncle Terry.  When the
journals passed to Abraham, he learned for the first time that Jacob
was not his father, but his grandfather.  The shock of learning about
his true father was enough to cool the burning hatred that Jacob had
instilled in him, and Abraham rededicated himself to pure observation.
He and his sons spent years researching and tracking down the smallest
reference that could be linked back to the two of you, trying to put
together a coherent picture of your travels and your lives.

"It was to that project that I eventually added my talents as I grew
up.  I majored in History, and even went to graduate school to better
understand the intricate threads of events and how the two of you were
woven into it.  You showed up in America again in the '70's, and by
then, information gathering had reached a point where it was much
easier to track you down.  Well, that and your stubborn and
inexplicable adherence to keeping the same initials through every name
change.

"When my grandfather died eight years ago, the responsibility of
keeping up with what was by now a library filled with newspaper
clippings, old photographs, every book on vampiric lore ever written,
and those original journals, passed to my father and uncle, and would
have been given to me until I stormed out and turned my backs on
them."

The three sat in silence for a long moment, as Erestor and Maglor
thought on the extensive story and the covert observation that had
existed right under their noses for so long.

"You broke the rules," Erestor stated simply.  "Why?"

David shrugged.  "I told you.  I wanted more than simple observation.
I was the one who compiled the full picture of your history, and I
knew that you were not what everyone thought you were.  I could feel
the story behind the facts, even if I didn't know all the details.  I
think it helped that I discovered my homosexuality in college.  I
think it helped me to understand you better, or at least, more than
everyone else in my family.  I hoped that if I could meet you and get
to know you, that I could learn enough to prove that you were not
monsters and that this whole silly idea of a quest had to end."

Maglor seemed to growl low in the back of his throat.  "I know a way
to end it."

Erestor put a hand on Maglor's arm.  "Down, boy.  I want to know more
about this library first, and about what you truly think you know
about us."

"No way," David said, shaking his head.  "We had a deal, remember?
It's your turn now to be the storyteller."

Maglor glared, but Erestor smiled, surprised yet again by this Man's
tenacity.  "Very well, David.  What would you like to know?"

David reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of
yellowed parchment.  He unfolded it and showed the old Wanted poster
to the two vampires.  "I want to know about Victor Logan and his
'unspeakable crimes.'"

Maglor burst out laughing.  "It's your poster, so it's your story,"
the elder Noldo chided.

Erestor's face fell.

TBC...

Chapter Nine

Van Buren County, Missouri, 1843

This was Maglor's fault, Erestor thought, his mood continuing to
darken the more his thought of the predicament he found himself in.

Erestor stared out of the dingy window into the street below.  He was
beginning to truly hate America.  The Noldo longed for the cool
summers of Europe and the gentle refinery of the upper classes.
Maglor had wanted to see America, so they had come.  Now all Erestor
wanted was to board a steam ship east again.  But, no, he had to hide.

And hide he did.

He had been running from the sheriff for a month now.  The other day,
while in the general store, he had seen that the damned Sheriff had
issued a 'Wanted' poster for him!  'Dead or Alive' and a bounty of
$100 on his head made him someone the locals wanted to find.  Erestor,
though, did not want to be found.  He sighed and scanned the crowd in
the busy evening streets and, for the thousandth time, prayed to the
Valar to let him make the six o'clock train out of Missouri.

Erestor stood and looked about the small room one last time.  He did
not have luggage; he carried only cash for his trip.  The vampire
would be happy to leave the trials of the western life behind.  He
left his room and started down the stairs, his heart racing.  He
stopped just before he reached the bottom, his dark eyes widening as
he gazed over the figures milling about the lobby of the hotel.

One of the men, an elder gentleman Erestor recognized as the lackey of
the Mayor of Kansas City, turned his head to the stairs.  Their eyes
met; the man's lips curved into a cruel smile.  Erestor turned and
sped back up the stairs, the shouts of the men and their footfalls on
the floor ringing in his ears.  He had to get out.  His eyes, wild as
a corner animal's, sought an exit.  The only thing on the second floor
for an escape was a window.  And no ladder.

Erestor took a deep breath and lifted the window open, sticking his
head out to scan the ground below his perch.  The sun was setting and
the folks who usually walked below the establishment were having their
evening meals.  The street was clear -- no one would see him -- and so
Erestor climbed out the window and jumped.  He landed soundlessly, his
muscles easily absorbing the shock of his fall.

"Logan!"

The shout was rough and angry; Erestor lifted his head and saluted the
man.  He turned and ran off, not thinking of where he was running to,
just that he needed to be as far away from those men as was possible.
As he ran, Erestor pulled out his pocket watch.  "Dammit!" he growled,
glaring at the clock face.  It was almost six -- he would miss his
train.

"Logan!  Stop!"

Erestor bit back his annoyance.  Would these humans ever stop?  He
continued to run, determined to elude his hunters.  There was a sharp
sound behind him, something that made his ears ring, and then he was
on the ground.  His knee throbbed from the bullet that had pierced him
from behind.  Damn this race and their weapons!  He glared up at the
man who still held the instrument of his capture.

"Ya ain't gettin' away 'rom us this time, Logan," the Mayor's lackey
said.

The vampire laughed.  "I'll disappear before we ever return to Kansas
City, Zack."  He could already feel his body repairing the torn
muscle, cartilage and ligaments.

Zack smiled evilly.  "I don' think we'll hav' ta worry 'bout that,
Logan.  You're never gonna make it back ta Kansas City.  Mayor's happy
to have ya hang here."

Well, what had he expected?  His 'crimes' were punishable without even
a trial, though he was entitled to one.  Erestor did not put up much
of a struggle when the other men arrived, tying his arms behind him
and forcing him to march to the Sheriff's station.  He needed to feed
for his knee to heal enough for him to run again, but with so many
people around, it was an impossible task.

He was trapped.

*****

Erestor rested against the cold cell wall, watching as the stars began
to light the night sky.  Once again, he reminded himself that his
current predicament was all Maglor's fault.  That Elf would be the
undoing of him, he just knew it.  Erestor could hear the low din of a
crowd, which came closer and closer.  So, it was time.  The Mayor, who
was safe in his warm bed in Kansas City, would have his revenge.  The
Noldo sighed and stood, wincing in pain when he put pressure on his
left knee.

Zack appeared at his cell door.  "Ya ready, Logan?  The crowd's
waitin' on ya...  See, they don' like yer kind here."

"I doubt they like much of any kind here, Zack," Erestor snapped,
crossing his arms.  "Do I not get a trial?"

"No, don' think so.  Mayor was very specific in 'is demand.  Victor
Logan was not to leave this city alive.  And ya won' be.  It's been
weeks since this town has had a hangin'!"  Zack's eyes were wild with
anticipation, and all Erestor wanted to do was reach through the bars
of his tiny cell and strangle the man.

Instead, he smiled.  "Then hadn't we best give the crowd what they
want?"  If he was to be lynched then so be it, but he was not going to
give this pathetic excuse for life the pleasure of seeing him panic.
Erestor turned around, offering his clasped hands to his warden.  Zack
quickly and securely tied Erestor's hands and then opened the cell
door.

Zack tugged at the sleeve of Erestor's shirt.  "C'mon.  Don' wanna
keep yer public waitin'."

Erestor was led from the small building and into the streets.
Everyone in the town had assembled, holding torches and jeering at him
as he was walked to a tall, thick-trunked tree.  Erestor's heart beat
wildly in his chest, and he limped painfully alongside his captor.
Zack's hand tightened on his upper arm, reminding Erestor that escape
was not an option.

Another man, taller and more muscular than Zack, tossed a long length
of rope over one of the thicker limbs of the tree.  Dangling on the
end that now hung loose was a noose.  He closed his eyes as he was
turned to face the crowd of onlookers.  Erestor opened his eyes again
when the noose was tightened around his neck; Zack laughed near his
ear.

"We should jus' string you up, let ya die slowly.  But, we have women
folk in the crowd, and they won' like that much."  Zack motioned for a
cart, drawn by a horse, to be brought to the tree.  "Up ya go, Logan."

Erestor climbed onto the back of the cart awkwardly, his injured knee
throbbing and his bound hands hindering him.  He stood tall, his eyes
forward and his lips set in a grim line.  Hanging was not something he
had endured before, and there was a small knot of fear in his stomach.

"Let 'im drop!"

The cart was wrenched out from his feet.  Had Erestor been mortal, the
sudden jerk of the rope would have broken his neck.  Even with his
enhanced stamina, the pain of the rope was not inconsiderable.
Erestor did not need to breathe; that is, the lack of oxygen would not
kill him, but it would still be damned uncomfortable and do damage to
his body that only feeding would remedy.  The rope was tight around
his neck, cutting into his flesh and working to collapse his throat.

He struggled enough to satisfy the gathered crowd, made strangled
noises, and counted to one hundred before he sagged heavily from the
rope.  Erestor remained still, listening to Zack recount the 'crimes'
he had committed followed by the crowd's hissing and derision while
someone else tied the rope off to a stake in the ground.  In his mind,
though, he was ticking through all the reasons he still had not killed
Maglor.

*****

By the chill and silence, Erestor supposed it was well after midnight.
His neck hurt from the weight placed on it, and he had one hell of a
splitting headache.  The soft sounds of a horse, laden with rider,
came close to where he hung.

"You know, Zack is a bitter man," the musical voice called up to him.
"And he hates you."

Erestor pulled at the rope behind his back, easily pulling his hands
from his bonds.  He slipped his fingers under the tight noose and
looked down into the glittering eyes of Maglor.  "Really?" he rasped
out sarcastically.  "I couldn't tell."

"Now, now, is that any way to behave?" Maglor chided.  "It isn't my
fault that Zack convinced the Mayor that it was you he'd seen leaving
the saloon that night."

Erestor pulled himself up as much as he could so that he could bellow,
"Of course it's your fault!  You're the one that was leaving!"

"Twaddle!  I'm sure Zack would have tried to pin it on you even if it
hadn't been me."

"And the fact that from the back, in the dark, we look almost
identical had nothing to do with it, I'm sure."

"After the way you cleaned him out in the poker tournament, he'd been
looking for something to blame on you."

"How nice of you to provide him something, then.  Now, are you going
to get me down or not?"  Erestor's fingers were beginning to ache from
the strain of holding his body up.

Maglor sighed.  "Oh, very well."  He drew a revolver from his holster,
took a casual aim, and fired.  The bullet split the rope just above
the tie-off at the stake, and Erestor fell heavily to the ground in a
heap.

The younger Noldo struggled to his feet.  His knee was still twisted
at an odd angle from the gunshot wound, and his muscles were weak from
the lack of oxygen and the strain of hanging for so long.  "Thanks,"
he muttered.

Maglor reached down with one hand and lifted Erestor onto the horse
behind him.  He turned the mare and started slowly back on the road
out of town.  For a long time, the only sounds were the dusty
footfalls of the horse and the whistle of the wind.  Finally, Maglor
said softly, "Well, I suppose I owe you a dollar, then."

Erestor chuckled roughly.  "I told you he was the Mayor's son."

"Yes, but who would have thought that such an uptight man would have
had such a beautiful son!"

"Even so, Maglor, you could have shown a little more discretion!"
Erestor wrapped his arms tighter around his lover's waist and leaned
in close.  "I mean, honestly, renting a room for your little tryst in
the saloon and not expecting anyone to notice!  Especially with the
way you carried on!"

"If you'd had that mouth on *you*, you'd not have been able to control
yourself either!" Maglor laughed.

Erestor shook his head, unable to control his own laughter.  "Oh, very
well.  Keep your dollar.  Just tell me all about it!"

TBC...

Chapter Ten

Seattle, Washington, 2004

"So, your 'unspeakable crimes' were actually Marcus' unspeakable
crimes?" David asked, taking the glass of wine Erestor offered.

"Yes," Erestor said, smiling at Maglor.  "He slept with the Mayor's
son and left me to hang for it."

Maglor put his glass down.  "Now, Vincent.  You could have easily run
from them."

Erestor's eyes narrowed.  "I did, Marcus, and they shot my kneecap!"

The elder vampire scoffed.  "A mere inconvenience."

David chuckled.  "You sound like a married couple."

"Well," Erestor said, smiling sideways at Maglor, "we have been
together a very long time."

Maglor looked out the window, noting the sun had set, and he felt the
tug to hunt.  "Vincent, we should go to the club."  His silver eyes
met Erestor's meaningfully, and Erestor nodded.

The temperature in the room seemed to David to drop noticeably.
Perhaps it was his proximity to them after having been their victim,
or perhaps it was the same force that gave him the strength to resist
their powers, but whatever it was, he seemed to sense the vampires'
hunger.  He silenced his initial urge to run -- the instinct of the
prey faced with a predator.  Instead, he took a deep breath and said
slowly, "If you need to feed, use me."

"No, David."  Maglor's voice was soft, a smile on his full lips.
"Though we appreciate the offer, it is not a very good idea."

"Why?" the human asked, a note of offense in his tone.

"If it was a normal night, I am certain we could easily have you as
our meal," Maglor chuckled.  "But, it is not a normal night.  We have
expended a lot of energy in the past forty-eight hours, and need to
each feed from our own mortal.  If we were to take you, we would
surely kill you, David."  The elder vampire cast a look of
mock-concern.  "And I am certain Vincent would not like to see you
meet your end in such a manner."

Erestor smiled sweetly at David.  "Would you like to come with us?"
He turned to Maglor.  "We can go to Carnality instead of Melindor;
those men may be watching the club."

David watched Maglor consider the suggestion, and then slowly nod.
"All right.  Carnality it is."

"Carnality?" David asked, his stomach knotting in apprehension.

"Aye," Maglor said, smirking darkly.  "It is a very... open club.
Lots of lovely, hot gay men just waiting to be devoured."

Erestor fwapped Maglor upside the head.  "Would you *please* behave
yourself?"

Maglor raised an eyebrow.  "You aren't likely to be hanged in this day
and Age, love."

"True," Erestor said, standing up and beginning to walk to their
bedroom.  "Now all I have to worry about it being clubbed over the
head or having some psycho plow his car into mine."

Maglor rolled his eyes.  "I knew getting you those Queer as Folk DVDs
was a bad idea."

*****

David's eyes were wide as he followed Marcus and Vincent into the
club.  'Carnality' was an appropriate name for such a place.  The
whole gay male population of Seattle had to be assembled in the large
club, dancing and gyrating to the deep, pounding music pouring out
into the smoky atmosphere.  He gazed over the pulsing throng of
man-flesh, feeling a blush creep over his fair features as he took in
the sight before him.

Tall, short, slender, plump, old, young... all moving as one to the
beat of the music.  Some dressed in jeans and tight t-shirts, others
in short shorts with midriff shirts, and yet others still wearing
nothing more than underwear-like shorts.  There were cages set about
the room, populated by half-nude dancers thrusting and grinding their
bodies.  Laser lights, smoke and strobes set the fast-pace movements
of the occupants.

Groping, touching, caressing, kissing, sucking... various pairs,
sometimes threesomes, finding ways to couple on the dance floor.
Fingers roaming over bare chests, over taut bellies and lower,
stroking over bulging groins.  David felt his heart race, his cock
stiffen and did that guy in the chaps with his bare ass hanging out
just pinch his backside as he passed by David's very still form?

"So, David," Vincent said, grinning down at him.  "Welcome to
Carnality!"  David watched Marcus step behind Vincent and run his
hands over Vincent's bared stomach.  He had been surprised when
Vincent had emerged from the bedroom, declaring the bathroom free for
use.  The vampire was wearing his hair down this evening, long and
sleek and reaching to his waist; David had wanted to run his hands
through the raven tresses.

What had made David's blood race through him was that the stoic,
somber Vincent wore only low leather pants that clung to his skin.
The waist of the pants rode dangerously low, and David still expected
to see the crevice of Vincent's backside to peek out any moment.
Vincent's flesh also shimmered; the vampire had dusted himself with
silver powder and lined his pewter eyes with kohl.  He was an exotic
sight consumed by all eyes in the club.

But, Vincent was Marcus'.  And all one had to do to know this was to
see the way Marcus possessively held onto the slim hips of his partner
as they swayed to the music.

Marcus, on the other hand, was the image of sensual sophistication.
The taller vampire wore his hair down as well, though two strands from
the front were drawn back and plaited into a single, thin braid that
rested on the nest of his dark hair.  Marcus' hair was not as long as
Vincent's, but the effect was still as stunning.  He wore a simple
pair of tight black jeans, low like Vincent's, and a long-sleeve,
white Armani button-down shirt.  Though the shirt was only buttoned in
one place -- just above the vampire's navel.

David, having still not returned to his apartment, had been forced to
borrow some of Vincent's clothing.  More accurately, Vincent had
dressed him up for Carnality.  David was uncomfortable in the
skin-tight blue jeans and tight black t-shirt; he felt exposed even
though he was completely clothed.

"Don't look so down," Marcus shouted before nuzzling at Vincent's
neck.  The two were an erotic vision, and arousal coursed through his
body.  He wanted them, wanted to be theirs.  "Wait here!" Marcus
commanded, pushing David toward the bar.  "We'll be back for you in a
few moments!"

They walked away, the crowd seeming to part for them, and then they
were swallowed up, gone from David's sight.  He sighed and ordered a
beer as he sat and watched the mass of people on the floor.

*****

David tossed back his second shot of Jagermeister, hissing as the
bitter alcohol burned his throat.  He put the shot glass down and
picked up his beer again as he turned back around to the dance floor.
Vincent and Marcus had been gone for the better part of an hour, and
David had become restless, choosing to quickly become drunk.  He was
not a heavy drinker, and the liquor was swiftly going to his head.

Slender arms snaked about his waist from behind and he was drawn back
against the slighter build of Vincent.

"Forgive us, David," he purred against the shell of David's ear.  "It
took us a bit longer than anticipated to find what we were seeking."
Vincent's tongue came out, hot and slick, sliding up the outer edge of
David's ear, and he trembled in Vincent's arms.  David let his head
fall against Vincent's shoulder, and the vampire eagerly took
possession of David's mouth.  When David was hard and whimpering,
Vincent pulled back and licked his lips.  "You have been drinking."

"Yes," David breathed.

"Are you able to dance?" Marcus asked from beside David.  "We want you
to dance with us."

David's eyes were glazed with lust and alcohol, but he nodded, taking
in a shaky breath.  "Yes."

"Good boy," Vincent murmured, pressing his leather covered arousal
along David's jean-clad crevice.  The music began as he was dragged
onto the dance floor.  A single female voice with a light beat behind
her words enticed them further to join the writhing mass of humanity,
teasing them with a lilting melody before the song truly began.

When the introduction ended and the hard, thundering bass line began,
it was impossible not to be swept up by the raw sensuality that
pounded from the speakers all around them.  Marcus stood behind David,
hands on the Man's hips, while Vincent pressed his body close to
David's front.  Together, the three began to grind their hips to the
pulsing rhythm as though they were one being.  Vincent wrapped his
arms around David's waist, rubbing himself against David's slighter
form and caressing the exposed flesh of David's back as they danced.
His eyes moved from the hazel gaze of the Man to the smoldering grey
gaze of his lover.  Vincent's hands were hot on his skin, and Marcus'
mouth on his throat brought moans of desire from his lips.  He was
tightly wedged between them, their hands roaming his body and laying
claim to him.

He was theirs, if only for tonight.

Vincent stepped back a bit, his body still swaying to the driving
beat, and Marcus' hands slithered beneath David's t-shirt.  Before he
could protest, David felt Marcus pull the thin black fabric from his
torso, revealing his slightly golden chest to anyone who cared to
look.  He opened his mouth to demand the shirt back, but Vincent was
again touching him, teasing his newly bared skin with agile, knowing
fingers.  David also felt Marcus' bare chest against his back, and the
silken skin gliding over his sweat-dampened flesh.

It was a fog of lust, a haze that David clung to as they slid against
each other.  Marcus' lips returned to his neck, suckling, biting,
marking him, and Vincent's hand slipped lower, following the golden
trail of hair from David's navel to the button of his jeans.  David's
heavy-lidded eyes were captured by Vincent's dark, bottomless ones as
that hand deftly unbuttoned his jeans, pulled the zipper down, and
delved between their grinding bodies to stroke his eager flesh.  He
gasped, but the sound was cut off when Vincent brought their lips
together roughly, thrusting his tongue into David's mouth.

Marcus' arousal was pressed against his backside, teasing him with
promises of what pleasures the thick shaft could bring him.  Vincent
caressed him to the beat of the music, the three of them still moving
as one.  His lips burned with the force of Vincent's kisses, his neck
ached with various bruises Marcus's lips were leaving in their wake.
He felt his orgasm building swiftly, and he became weak in his knees.
Marcus held his weight effortlessly, his fingers pinching and pulling
at David's nipples as the two vampires brought him quickly to a peak.

David cried out into Vincent's mouth, his body trembling in Marcus'
arms as he spilled his seed into his boxer shorts, over Vincent's
questing hand.  He was oblivious to any and all around him; Vincent
finally released his mouth, and David panted heavily, his head lolling
against Marcus' shoulder as they continued to move before and behind
him to the song.

Vincent released his softening cock, brought his hand carefully from
David's jeans and licked delicately at his glistening fingers.  His
eyes were smoldering coals of desire and he smiled wickedly, offering
the fingers to Marcus' smirking lips over David's shoulder.  The
taller vampire sucked the slender digits into his mouth, grazing his
teeth along the skin.

"Let's get out of here," Marcus called out over the music.

David nodded, his legs still shaky from the combination of alcohol and
orgasm.  "Take me drunk, I'm home," he quipped with a slight slur in
his voice.

Vincent leaned in and kissed David deeply, rubbing more of the silver
powder off on his chest and face.  "Oh, we intend to," he said
wolfishly.

*****

Maglor easily opened the door, leading a wobbly David and a grinning
Erestor into the dark interior of the apartment.  A trail of clothing
was left behind as they kissed and fondled their way into the bedroom.
Erestor pushed a nude David back onto the bed, causing him to land in
a wide sprawl across the dark sheets