The Grey Shores

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Gandalf/Glorfindel
Rating:  NC-17
Summary:  When Olorin first arrives in Middle-earth, Glorfindel helps 
him adjust to life as an Istar.
Disclaimer:  No rights claimed, no income earned.
Feedback:  Yes, please, but don’t bother to tell me that Gandalf having sex 
squicks you.  I am unrepentant.  (If you tell me that Gandalf having sex 
squicked you before but no longer does, you will make my day.)
Author’s note:  Book-canon. The basic ideas concerning Olorin’s 
relationship with Glorfindel (and his earlier experiences of Middle-earth)  
derive largely from two short draft manuscripts concerning Glorfindel 
written late in Tolkien’s life and included in the twelfth volume of the 
“History of Middle-earth” series.  According to Appendix B of LotR, the 
Istari arrived in Middle-earth about 1000 years into the Third Age, or 
roughly 2000 years before the story action.  Cirdan’s speech at the end 
comes from Appendix B.  (For film fans who have not read the book, 
Mithrandir is Gandalf’s name among the Elves.)

I am deeply grateful to Elanor for betaing, for urging me to improve the 
structure of the story, and for generally being a wonderful muse.  River 
Woman and Sarah both have been enormously encouraging.



The old man leaned on the ship’s railing and gazed fixedly at the shore 
that had gradually drawn closer until it was clear that the vessel would slip 
alongside the quay in a few minutes.  The Grey Havens.  Grey indeed, he 
thought.  Grey shores, rocky and inhospitable.  A grey sea under an 
overcast, late afternoon sky.  Grey clothing for his newly embodied state.  
The pine forests beyond the shore added only a touch of dark, somber 
color to the view.

He struggled to remember his previous visits to this huge continent that 
was to be his home indefinitely.  He knew he had been there at least once 
in the distant past, explored it, admired it.  But during the days of travel to 
this harbor, his thoughts had often been confused, and so many memories 
hung tantalizingly just out of reach.  He had never felt this limited, this 
inadequate, and consequently this frustrated.  And even if he could 
remember more about his visits long ago, he knew that much of Middle-
earth had gone through cataclysmal changes.  This western shore was no 
longer anywhere near where it had been then.  So many people had 
struggled and died.  The great evils of the world had been different in 
those distant days, and yet now here he was, sent to oppose the new ones 
that had arisen to replace them.  For how long?  Hundreds of years?  
Thousands?  It did not bear thinking about.  And besides, he had not yet 
had a chance to experience time passing in the way that Men perceived it.  
In short, he was not sure just how difficult his sojourn in Middle-earth 
would be to endure.

He glanced down at the wrinkled hands that rested on the railing and the 
long white beard that stirred slightly in the sea breezes.  The days of 
journeying had not yet fully accustomed him to his body—much less 
reconciled him to it.  Rationally, he somewhat understood why Manwe 
had sent him and the other Istari in this aged form.  Ultimately the evils 
perpetrated by Sauron were the business of Middle-earth.  Its inhabitants 
must deal with them themselves.  The Istari were there only to help them 
to do so, not to bludgeon evil out of existence with their own power—
which was tamped and contained by embodiment as old men.  Just 
bringing together the peoples of Middle-earth in a united struggle against 
Sauron would require power, but power of a different sort.  Power to 
persuade, power to strategize, power to explain.  From what he had heard 
of the various cultures of this continent and what he had seen of the great 
struggles in the Uttermost West long ago, uniting people would be a 
maddening task.  But it was his task, for however long it took.

Rationally, yes, such embodiment made sense.  Emotionally, he simply 
felt trapped.  So much was lost to him.  Confined in a clumsy form that 
took an astonishingly long time to get from one place to another, far 
weaker than he had imagined, and distractingly alien in the limited ways it 
experienced the sights, scents, tastes, sounds, and feel of the world.  The 
strange needs that that body exhibited baffled him as well.  The needs to 
sleep, to breathe, to eat.  It would all take a great deal of getting used to.

But get used to it he would.  He was here, there was no help for it, and he 
had formidable tasks to accomplish.  At least he could explore this 
continent, learning its beauties and sorrows by using the human senses he 
now had—such as they were.  He could belong to it, for a time, and 
experience it as deeply as he was able.  At that thought a little tickle of 
excitement came into his mind, and he smiled slightly.  Yes, the prospect 
of discovering this place was beginning to intrigue him, he had to admit to 
himself.  He suspected that he would be trammeled by the burden of 
Middle-earth, yet he would also be able to escape into its abundant variety.  
The continent was, after all, one of the beautiful products of the Music of 
the Ainur, and the parts that had been sullied by Morgoth were now 
largely gone.  Surely it would contain much to comfort him in his exile.

Now, as the ship neared the quay, the old man curiously surveyed the little 
group who had come down from the large house halfway up the slope, a 
house that looked welcoming in the approaching dusk, with its windows 
glowing bright yellow.  His eyesight, he had discovered, was not quite as 
good as that of the ship’s Elven crew, but he had been grateful to find that 
he could see things clearly at a considerable distance.  There was a tall, 
bearded Elf—and that was in itself intriguing, since he had never heard of 
an Elf looking so old, with a long grey beard.  There were several others 
drifting down to join him.  Suddenly a relieved, delighted grin transformed 
the old man’s face.  As he had dearly hoped, Glorfindel was among the 
group ready to greet him.  The Elf’s pale golden hair, the source of his 
unusual name, was unmistakable even at a distance and surrounded by 
other blond heads.  No doubt he had traveled all the way from Rivendell to 
meet the old man and would escort him to the places where he would need 
to establish initial contact with the Wise.

The idea of seeing Glorfindel again had been one thing that sustained him 
during the long days and nights of the sea voyage.  Long ago the Elf had 
been his follower and dear friend in Eldamar.  He loved and admired 
Glorfindel.  True, he had been one of the Noldor who had rebelled so long 
ago.  But many admirable Elves had taken part in that dreadful conflict, 
and many had come to regret it.  Glorfindel at least had taken part only 
through his kinship with Turgon, and he was relatively innocent in the 
worst deeds of that era.  And he had moreover paid for his actions and 
been redeemed through his battle with the Balrog, plunging to his death 
himself in killing it.  Yes, through long expiation Glorfindel had changed 
greatly, becoming almost as much a Maia as an Elf, and he had been 
reincarnated in his original dazzlingly beautiful form.  How wise and 
compassionate and powerful he had become, and the old man liked to 
think that his tutelage had something to do with that.  He had himself 
learned pity of Nienna, and his pity had allowed him to recognize 
Glorfindel’s underlying worth.  The old man had greatly missed 
Glorfindel when the Elf finally returned to Middle-earth to aid Gil-galad 
and Elrond in the dreadful battles against Sauron late in the Second Age. It 
was immensely comforting to know that he would finally be reunited with 
the Elf and have his aid in the daunting tasks that lay before him.

As the ship gently bumped against the quay, a gangplank was quickly set 
in place, and the old man walked along it to set foot on the stone 
pavement.  The bearded Elf stepped up to him and with the ghost of a 
smile stared deep into his eyes for a short while.  His smile broadened as 
he gently laid his hand on his guest’s shoulder.  “Welcome, Master,” he 
said in a soft voice that none of the onlookers would hear.  “I am Cirdan.”  
The old man knew of this powerful and ancient Elf, and he simply nodded.  
Cirdan’s gaze had so riveted him that he had briefly ignored the presence 
of the tall Elf standing behind his left shoulder.  But then Cirdan moved 
aside to allow Glorfindel to face the old man directly.  The Elf surveyed 
him from head to toe, his lips pressed together to stifle a chuckle.  Then 
his eyes returned to those of the newcomer, who gave a rueful little smile.  
Glorfindel laughed quietly, then moved forward and rather hesitatingly 
embraced the old man.  “Olorin,” he whispered against the man’s ear.  
Startled at the physical contact—the first embrace he had experienced in 
this body--Olorin hesitated, then somewhat clumsily put his arms around 
his old friend.

As the other Elves bustled about, greeting and talking with the crew, 
Cirdan and Glorfindel drew Olorin onto the shore for a more private talk.  
“What are we to call you?” Cirdan asked.  “For though a few of us know 
who you are, it can hardly become common knowledge.”

Olorin looked at him blankly for a moment.  “Call me what you will,” he 
finally replied, shrugging.  The two Elves glanced at each other, then 
began to talk in low voices.  As they did so, the old man turned aside and 
wandered a few steps, looking down and slowly scuffing the toe of his 
boot against one of the rough, weathered granite boulders sunk in the sand 
along the shore.  As Cirdan and Glorfindel turned back to him, he was 
bent at the waist, absorbed in gazing down at a small crab that was 
scuttling across the sand toward the lapping waves.  Cirdan moved to his 
side.  “I was suggesting that perhaps Mithrandir would be appropriate.  
My heart tells me that you will seldom be at rest during your time here.”

Olorin straightened up.  “Yes, it sounds well.  Why not?”

Cirdan glanced at the Elves unloading the small ship.  “We can go ahead 
up to the house and allow them to bring your luggage.”

Mithrandir again stared at him for a moment, then said, “Oh, I have no 
luggage beyond this little bag and my staff, and no one needs to carry 
these for me.”

Cirdan frowned in puzzlement for a moment, then turned to Glorfindel 
with a brief smile.  When he turned back, Mithrandir was looking upward, 
following the flight of a small shore bird as it swooped down to catch a 
fish.  Cirdan said, “Fine.  We can supply you with whatever you need, 
Mithrandir.”

The three walked up toward the house, built of pine logs.  Mithrandir kept 
stopping and asking them questions about the trees and rocks and other 
aspects of the surroundings.  At last Glorfindel took his arm.  “Let us go in  
. . . Mithrandir.  The time for dinner approaches.  I assume that in this 
peculiar form you inhabit you probably do eat?”

Mithrandir tore his attention away from the environs and looked into the 
Elf’s eyes with an utterly delighted smile.  He was overwhelmed by the 
joy that had suddenly flooded over him when he stepped onto the shores 
of Middle-earth.  He felt torn, dizzied by all the possible things there were 
to investigate in this world that had seemed so unpromising when seen 
from the ship.  Yet indoors there would be more new things to experience.  
“Yes, I eat.  Definitely!  And drink!  I’m sure whatever the house of 
Cirdan has to offer will please me.”

Although he had enjoyed the meals on the ship—which were of necessity 
fairly simple--Mithrandir had found it difficult to appreciate anything 
thoroughly, given his apprehensions about the arrival in Middle-earth.  
Now, as he approached the table, the odors of the various dishes being 
brought in were pleasing indeed, and he realized that he was quite hungry.  
He was introduced to a few Elves who had not been part of the welcoming 
party at the quay, including Galdor, a key adviser to Cirdan.  Galdor sat 
beside Mithrandir and explained how he was the one who typically carried 
important news from the Havens to other Elven enclaves, and who 
attended various council meeting as the representative of Cirdan, who 
seldom went far from the Havens now.  Mithrandir began to get a better 
understanding of how his mission in Middle-earth could be organized and 
what kinds of help he might expect to have.

During the meal, he reveled in the new tastes and smells and textures of 
the delicious dishes that circulated around the large, informal dining table 
of Cirdan’s house.  Upon seeing this, Galdor began to recommend certain 
foods to him, and soon all the Elves joined in welcoming the Istar, 
delighting in urging him to taste this or that delicacy and pouring fine 
vintage wines into his glass.  By the end of the meal he felt at ease among 
them, and the whole group sat long at table, talking and laughing freely.

Thus began Mithrandir’s discovery of Middle-earth.


In consultation with Glorfindel, Cirdan, and Galdor the next morning, 
Mithrandir agreed that it would not do to set out for Rivendell right away.  
Anxious though he was to begin meeting the various leaders whose help 
would be vital to him, he had to admit that he was scarcely prepared to get 
along in this new body and this new world.  There was much he needed to 
know.  About riding horses, since that would be their means of transport to 
the distant Elven settlements.  About the languages of Middle-earth, since 
the only one he knew was Elven.  About camping out, about the etiquette 
and different cultures’ customs that he would need to know for his 
diplomatic missions.  About the many spells recorded in the books and 
scrolls of Cirdan’s library.  His brilliant mind allowed him to pick up 
everything he was taught quickly—but there was an enormous amount to 
learn.

During the day, Mithrandir tried to be outdoors as much as possible, and 
he took to horseback riding quickly.  He found it difficult to ride without 
saddle or bridle, however, and Glorfindel, who had undertaken this 
particular series of lessons, allowed him—after some teasing--to outfit his 
horse with the necessary tack.  Fortunately the gentle mare chosen as the 
Istar’s first steed was patient with this unaccustomed mode of riding.

After the third lesson, the pair walked their horses back to the stable.  
Glorfindel led his own horse into its stall, and when he returned, he found 
Mithrandir staring into the mare’s face with a frown and shaking his head 
at intervals as the animal uttered low, whickering noises.  Glorfindel 
walked back to stand beside them.  “Are you talking to that horse?” he 
asked amusedly.

“Well, at the moment she’s talking to me, but I can’t quite make out what 
she’s saying.  As you can imagine, the language of horses is fairly simple, 
and I do not think it will take long to learn.  Apparently she’s trying to tell 
me about something I was doing wrong while riding her, but I can’t 
understand what.  Oh, well, I shall learn.”


One evening a few days after Mithrandir’s arrival, he and Glorfindel stood 
on a broad platform not far from the house.  It was used for outdoor dining 
in warmer weather, as well as for viewing sunsets, as the pair was doing 
now.  The cloudy weather had finally cleared, and this was the first sunset 
the Istar had witnessed since his arrival.  Because of the fair weather, rare 
at this time of year, a number of other Elves had also wandered down from 
the house to watch alongside them.  The Firth of Lune broadened so to the 
west that its waters resembled an open sea, though the Blue Mountains 
were visible in the distance to the right and left, now that the persistent 
mists had dissipated for a time.  As the sun nearly touched the horizon and 
flamed into a deep, rich pink color, Mithrandir was disturbed by the 
sudden sense of loss and longing for home that the sight created in him.  
He had slowly been reconciling himself to the long stay in Middle-earth 
that faced him, and he had thought that perhaps his yearning for Valinor 
would fade—and yet here it was, welling up strongly once more.  He 
sighed.

Mistaking the reason for the sigh, Glorfindel smiled at him.  “Yes, 
beautiful, is it not?  I was afraid that the clouds would remain for your 
whole stay here and that you would miss this sight.  There are few places 
in Middle-earth better suited for watching the sun go down.”

As the dusk deepened, the other Elves gradually returned to the house in 
little groups, but Mithrandir touched Glorfindel’s arm and detained him.  
Despite the cool wind, the pair continued to stand leaning on the railing at 
the edge of the platform, still facing West and watching the stars quickly 
kindle.  The Istar seemed uncharacteristically quiet, and Glorfindel 
glanced at him curiously a few times.

“You have made wonderful progress in learning the skills of a wizard, 
though that hardly surprises me,” the Elf remarked encouragingly.  
“Perhaps we can depart for Rivendell in a week or so.  I can of course 
continue to offer you instruction while we are on the road—particularly in 
the Common Tongue, which you will need to learn first among all 
languages.  I hope I am not rushing things, but I must confess that I prefer 
the gardens and woodlands and mountains of Rivendell to the flat sea and 
the dark pines of the Havens.  Perhaps someday I shall develop the sea-
longing so common to Elves of Middle-earth, but so far it holds little 
interest for me.”

“Yes, I shall be glad to see your home and meet Elrond and the others.”

It was a curiously short remark, and one delivered in a somewhat absent 
tone.  Glorfindel stared at his friend’s face, seeking a clue as to his 
thoughts.  It was too dark, however, and the Elf moved to light a few small 
torches ranged along the railing, then returned to stand beside Mithrandir.  
He raised his eyebrows inquiringly and tilted his head sideways to bring 
his face more firmly within the Istar’s view.

Mithrandir glanced at him and frowned, then looked back out toward the 
now invisible horizon.  Finally he said quietly, “I do not know how to 
bring this up, but I hope I will  not offend you.  It is strange, after having 
been a sort of teacher to you for so long, to become the pupil instead.  I 
feel clumsy and naïve, despite the progress which, as you so kindly say, I 
have made.  I knew when I was embodied in this fashion that I would have 
the frailties and needs of mortal men, and I accepted that idea.  Well, what 
choice did I have, really?”

Not knowing fully the circumstances that lay behind Mithrandir’s mission 
to Middle-earth, Glorfindel could not reply but only wait for his friend to 
continue.

Mithrandir took a deep breath.  “The point is that, rather to my surprise, I 
seem to have been given absolutely all the needs of mortals—beyond 
simply sleeping, breathing, eating, and so on.”

Glorfindel frowned briefly in puzzlement, then gave a startled little snort 
of amusement.

Mithrandir looked at him quickly.  “I am sorry.  As I say, I do not even 
know whether I am offending you by mentioning it.”

“Oh, far from it.  I am not offended.  It is just that this comes so 
unexpectedly.  I have known you for such a very long time and naturally 
never thought of you in that way—there was no opportunity, really.  And 
forgive me, but I suppose that to the extent that I thought about it at all, I 
assumed that your current form meant that you would not be interested in 
such things.”

“Well, I was not aware of it myself until after my arrival.  But in recent 
days I have increasingly been thinking about things that make me very 
aware of it.  Things like, well, like touching you and seeing you unclothed.  
And . . . well, doing things--I’m not exactly sure what—just whatever will 
quiet the urges that I feel.”

“You feel them strongly, I take it.”

“Yes, more each day.  I find that at times it is rather difficult to 
concentrate on other things.  Oh, not when I am learning about or 
exploring Middle-earth.  Such activities fully occupy my attention.  But in 
more idle or quiet moments, my mind does tend to wander in that 
direction, I must admit.”

“Do you . . . and believe me, you will not insult me however you answer 
this question . . . do you feel this way about any of the others here?”

Mithrandir hesitated, looking into Glorfindel’s eyes, but seeing the candor 
in them, he replied, “Yes, sometimes, though not as strongly.  But I know 
you well, and I feel more comfortable asking you about such things.”  He 
smiled, almost impishly, the Elf thought with a rush of fondness and an 
answering grin.  “And you are more beautiful than any of the others here 
in the Havens.  I have always thought you extraordinarily beautiful, even 
among Elves—but in the way a flower is beautiful or a mountain or a star.  
But now, my reaction is quite different.  Suddenly yours is a beauty that I 
want to touch, to hold . . . nay, to clutch and devour, so strong is the 
feeling.”

Glorfindel lowered his head, closing his eyes in some confusion and 
pressing his fingertips to his forehead, just between the eyebrows.

Mithrandir turned again to gaze out to sea.  “I have embarrassed you.”

Glorfindel struggled to find words.  “No!  You mistake me . . . I, well, 
perhaps just a trifle, but beyond that I am  . . . glad that you have spoken 
so openly to me.  Am I right in assuming that you are inviting me to 
initiate you sexually?  Adding another series of lessons to your program?” 
he added with a quiet chuckle.

The Istar smiled again.  “It seems rather odd to put it that way, but I 
suppose so.  Of course I have long known about sex in general, but I know 
little of the specifics.  The means for satisfying other human needs seem 
obvious, but . . . well, I find myself wanting to take you in my arms, to 
press against you, to kiss and taste you, my dearest Elf.  To touch your 
flawless body . . . but as I say, I am not quite sure what else.  Simply to 
enjoy your beauty as much as I possibly can.  And, to be blunt, to satisfy 
these confounded urges, which will not let me alone!”

Glorfindel laughed.  “Well, in future I would suggest that you not be quite 
so blunt with those whom you desire.  Later on we can have a discussion 
of the art of seduction.”  Despite the Elf’s light tone, the Istar’s frankness 
and need tugged at him.  He moved against his friend, staring into the 
deep, dark eyes as he rested his forearms lightly on the wizard’s shoulders.  
He smiled slightly with affection, then leaned forward to press his full lips 
delicately against the man’s thinner ones.  He moved slowly and tried to 
vary what he did, sucking now at the upper lip, then the lower, and finally 
brushing his tongue lightly over them.  Within seconds Mithrandir began 
to suck and lick in similar ways, and soon the kiss deepened slightly as the 
Istar wrapped his arms tightly around Glorfindel’s waist and pulled his 
body closer.  The Elf felt his companion’s erection swelling rapidly 
against his upper thighs, and he pushed away slightly.  They stared at each 
other in mingled arousal and amusement, with perhaps a trace of lingering 
embarrassment.  The wizard was slightly flushed and had begun to pant.  
The Elf was startled by the depths of the desire that he already could read 
in the intense eyes by the torchlight.  

Glorfindel whispered.  “I think it would be best to retire to my room 
before we take this any further.” 

“Why your room in particular?  My room is a bit closer, and it has quite a 
comfortable bed.  For I believe that that is where such activities usually 
take place, is it not?”

“No doubt beds are the most common arena for lovemaking.  And I am 
sure yours is very comfortable.  But, well, depending on how far these 
lessons proceed tonight, there are things in my room that might prove 
useful.”

Mithrandir simply nodded, but then he gasped and tried to press against 
Glorfindel to kiss him again.  The Elf pushed against his chest, holding 
him back, and glanced downward.  He grinned.  “Best not start that again.  
Indeed, I think we should both wait a short while before going inside.  No 
one here would be shocked by what we intend to do, but I would rather not 
stroll through the halls of Cirdan’s house with such an obvious erection, 
and I imagine you feel the same.”

“Yes,” the Istar said, reluctantly letting go of the Elf.  “Sex, as I 
understand it, is considered a very private thing.”

“Yes.”  

The wizard licked his lips and looked at his surroundings, avoiding staring 
at the beautiful Elf and trying to ignore how much he longed to kiss him 
again.  He had had no idea how difficult passion was to dampen, once 
enflamed.  

Glorfindel watched this little struggle play out in the Istar’s face and 
smiled at him fondly.  “I must say, Mithrandir, I am finding all this quite 
arousing, more than I at first thought I would.”

Mithrandir could not help glancing back at him, in a mixture of 
amusement and concern. “Why, because you thought it would not be 
particularly interesting to lie with an old fellow like me?”

“No, that was not it at all.  I could never think of you as an old man, 
despite your current appearance.  No, I simply feared that it might be 
awkward for us both, given how very long we have been friends.  Now, 
though, I do not think so.  I look forward to showing you the ways of this 
very joyful aspect of life  . . . and I suspect that ultimately we shall both be 
very glad that Manwe endowed you with the full range of human needs . . 
. .  Well, I think we look respectable enough to go in now.”

The pair walked slowly back toward the house, glancing at each other in 
quiet anticipation.  Again, the desire was apparent in Mithrandir’s eyes, 
and the Elf suspected that his friend, however inexperienced, would bring 
to lovemaking an enthusiasm that belied his aged form.  And if he learned 
as quickly in this as in other subjects . . . then this could be a schooling as 
pleasant for the teacher as for the pupil.

In fact they met no one as they entered the house and mounted the stairs to 
the upper-level hallway leading to the bedrooms.  As they reached the top 
of the stairway, they joined hands, and their fingers stroked at each others’ 
palms as they walked to Glorfindel’s door and entered.

Mithrandir had been in this room before, sitting and talking with his friend 
for hours.  But now the chamber seemed distinctly different, and the bed, 
which he had barely noticed before, now appeared wide and inviting.  He 
moved and sat on it, planting his hands firmly on the mattress and leaning 
back on them, watching Glorfindel expectantly.

The Elf paused, looking at the floor.  Mithrandir found his sudden nervous 
smile quite charming in so powerful a being.  Glorfindel began to undress, 
gracefully and quite completely. Having in his fantasies always envisioned 
himself as undressing the Elf, Mithrandir was startled and captivated by 
this boldness.  He stared with rapidly mounting desire as the clothing 
slipped away from the broad shoulders, down to reveal the rosy nipples, 
the flat belly, the swelling sex, and finally the sturdy, shapely legs.  
Initially the wizard struggled out of his cloak and boots,  but then he 
stopped undressing to concentrate on Glorfindel.  His body shifted slightly 
on the bed, and his breath came faster.  Glorfindel paused, enjoying the 
stark longing he saw in the wizard’s face.  Suddenly he found it difficult to 
hold back and proceed with the slowness appropriate to his companion’s 
inexperience.  It would be a tantalizing lesson.

The Elf stepped forward to stand directly before the wizard, putting out his 
hands to unbutton his shirt.  But abruptly Mithrandir slid his arms around 
Glorfindel’s waist and lay back on the bed, pulling the Elf with him.  
Startled, Glorfindel was unable to catch himself, and he fell somewhat 
heavily on the smaller body beneath him.  This seemed to bother the 
wizard not at all, for his mouth quickly caught the Elf’s in a slightly 
clumsy but definitely eager kiss.  The wizard rocked his hips, stropping his 
erection against Glorfindel’s and moaning at the jolts of pleasure that 
passed through him.  He sought to roll over on top of the Elf, managing to 
get both of them on their sides facing each other, with one of  Mithrandir’s 
legs up over Glorfindel’s hip as he continued to thrust slightly against the 
Elf.

Glorfindel freed his mouth and laughed breathily.  “Just who is giving the 
lesson here, Istar?”

Mithrandir managed to smile, though he was deeply flushed with arousal.  
“No skills involved there, I’m afraid, simply instincts and desire.”  He 
surveyed the Elf’s torso and rigid member and gasped, “You are every bit 
as beautiful as I imagined.”  He reached out and gently ran his fingers up 
the underside of the long, slender erection.  “I wish I already had the skills 
to pleasure you as you deserve.”

“You are making quite a good start as it is,” Glorfindel replied, reluctantly 
pushing the hand away.  “But let us proceed with the lesson.  Move up and 
lie against the pillows.”

Pushing himself backward, Mithrandir settled down as instructed and 
watched avidly as the Elf straddled his thighs and leaned forward to undo 
his shirt.  As he spread it wide, he examined the thin, muscular body, then 
lowered himself to tongue and suckle at one dark brown nipple.  The man 
arched convulsively up off the mattress once, then lay back, moaning 
loudly as the Elf switched to the other little nub, pinching the moistened 
one between two scissoring fingers.  Soon the Istar was whimpering with 
desperation, and Glorfindel decided to take pity on him and reserve his 
exploration of Mithrandir’s body for later.  He moved slightly lower along 
the wizard’s legs and quickly unlaced the trousers, freeing the pounding 
member.  He paused and traced his fingertips lightly up and down the 
shaft as Mithrandir writhed, pinned beneath him.

Glorfindel grinned.  “I see that Manwe has been quite kind to you, 
Mithrandir.  Some compensation, I suppose, for making you into an old 
greybeard.  Most impressive!”

The Istar’s eyes opened slightly, and he grinned in return.  “Is it really?  I 
have had no means of comparison, obviously.”

Glorfindel pursed his lips and nodded, “Well, take my word for it.  I am 
sure that your future bedmates will confirm my assessment.  But enough 
of talk.  I think that you have been teased to the edge of endurance.  This 
first time will probably not last long enough to make a proper lesson, but 
you may pick up a few pointers.”

Despite his prediction, the Elf tried to delay the Istar’s release a little, 
licking the large tip and roughly veined shaft slowly and delicately at first.  
Though he was once again achingly ready for relief, Mithrandir managed 
to note what Glorfindel did with hands and mouth as he continued to 
gently caress his length.  Seeing this, the Elf murmured, “A diligent pupil 
indeed,” and he blew provocatively on the wet skin, making the man 
quiver.  Soon he felt that he had provided enough of a demonstration to 
begin with, and he lowered his mouth over the tip, pushing nearly halfway 
down the shaft before beginning to move up and down, sucking hard and 
pumping the thick base quickly.  Almost at once the Istar grimaced and 
dug his heels deep into the mattress, involuntarily trying to thrust upward.  
Glorfindel’s free hand pressed hard onto his belly to prevent that, and he 
gulped the long series of hot jets that cascaded down his throat.   His 
mouth and hand coaxed as much ecstasy as they could, and finally 
Mithrandir’s body went limp.

Immensely aroused himself by the sight of his friend’s first climax, 
Glorfindel slid up to lie beside him, trying discretely to rub his own 
painful arousal against the wizard as he kissed the bearded cheek gently.  
Finally Mithrandir’s eyes opened.

“You seemed to enjoy that,” Glorfindel murmured.

“Unimaginably pleasurable,” the Istar sighed blissfully.  He smile faded 
slightly as he turned to look the Elf in the face.  “But it lasted such a short 
time, that intense part at the end.”

The Elf threw his head back and laughed loudly at that.  “Well, I assure 
you, I did my best, and that was quite a lengthy and forceful climax by 
most standards, at least from my reasonably extensive experience.  But no, 
you are right:  however long it lasts, it never seems enough.  Still, that is 
not the only point, of course.  There is the pleasure of the anticipation, the 
foreplay, the build—and the afterglow.  You said you wanted to rid 
yourself of those ‘urges.’  No sign of them now, I dare say.”

Mithrandir smiled lazily at him.  “No, not now.  But obviously you are 
feeling those urges!  I have recovered enough, I think, to take the other 
part of this lesson.”

Glorfindel hesitated.  “If you wish, the next step could simply be your 
learning how to use your hand for this purpose.”

The Istar reached out and stroked the bobbing erection gently, as if petting 
a cat.  “Well, I suppose so, but really, I could do a little of that and then 
find out what it feels like in my mouth.  I think I saw enough to be able to 
pleasure you fairly well—and I can always put in more practice later.”

Glorfindel nodded and lay back as Mithrandir rose.  He stared down at the 
superb body as he shed his own loosened clothing and, once naked, lay 
down on his side, propped on his elbow, by the reclining Elf.  He leaned 
down to slide his tongue tentatively between the slightly parted lips and 
received a slow and very thorough demonstration of the many ways in 
which mouths could explore each other.  At last he moved on, finding that 
Glorfindel’s soft moans were in themselves instruction enough as to where 
the Elf’s sensitive spots lay.  In this fashion the Istar made his way around 
the throat and up to one ear, which he tentatively licked.  The response 
encouraged him to probe harder and soon he was swirling his tongue wetly 
through every fold and hollow.  By now Glorfindel was writhing and 
bucking up slightly off the mattress.  A strange thing to cause so much 
pleasure, the Istar thought, but there could be no doubt at all as to its 
efficacy.

Moving down to the silky smoothness of the Elf’s chest, he ranged slowly 
across it until his tongue encountered the small, relaxed mound of the dark 
pink nipple.  As he sucked gently at it and felt a hard little peak form, a 
tiny moan of desire escaped him and mingled with the Elf’s louder sounds.  
Unprepared for how much such caresses excited him, he sucked faster and 
more insistently, dimly aware of Glorfindel’s fingers combing through his 
white hair to cup the back of his head and press him slightly more firmly 
against his chest.  The Istar felt his own penis, so recently spent, stir 
slightly.  The sense of giving the Elf such pleasure made him giddy, and 
he hungrily sucked and tongued each nipple in turn, rubbing his budding 
erection slowly against Glorfindel.  Time seemed to drift imperceptibly, 
but finally the Elf released his head and gasped, “Please, Mithrandir!”  

The Istar rose and slid down to Glorfindel’s straining erection.  After a 
moment’s hesitation, he leaned over and seized it around the base with one 
hand to steady it, then touched his tongue to the tip and lapped it around in 
a leisurely fashion.  Closing his eyes, he dragged his relaxed lips wetly 
down the shaft and up again, moving his head from side to side to explore 
the entire surface, as Glorfindel had done with him.  The feel of the 
smooth skin and slightly raised veins of the Elf’s erection under his tongue 
and lips was intoxicating, and he listened with joy to the soft groans that 
his companion was emitting.   As he continued, he opened his eyes and 
glanced up into Glorfindel’s face, seeking guidance, but the Elf merely 
smiled at him and nodded, his eyes clouding with approaching bliss.  Thus 
encouraged, the Istar rose slightly and pushed his mouth down over the 
tip, sucking slightly and beginning to pump his hand up and down on the 
pulsing member.  Glorfindel ceased to look at him and grimaced, tensing 
his body and clutching at the sheets on either side.  Not much guidance 
there, Mithrandir thought with amusement, but probably not much needed.  
He tried to push his mouth further down, but could get only about an inch 
beyond the round tip.  It seemed to be enough, however, judging from the 
way Glorfindel was barely able to restrain himself from thrusting up 
against him.

Suddenly the Elf gasped, “I’m . . . I’m going to . . .”  Despite this warning, 
the wizard was startled to suddenly have thick warm liquid flood the back 
of his mouth, and he struggled to swallow.  It came too quickly, however, 
for him to accept it completely, and he choked slightly, allowing some to 
leak from his lips and dribble down the Elf’s shaft.  He managed to 
continue sucking and pumping as the flow diminished.  The panting Elf 
relaxed and, after a moment of dazed reaction, smiled rapturously at him.  
He reached over to the bedside table and passed Mithrandir a small cloth, 
which the Istar used to wipe the trailing drops of semen from the shrinking 
penis and from his own lips.  He rose to kneel and looked down at 
Glorfindel with a delighted and slightly smug smile.  “I must have done 
something right.”

The Elf laughed quietly.  “I have no complaints.  Very satisfying indeed.  
And you did manage to swallow a bit, which is fine for a first attempt.  I 
hope you did not find the taste too unpleasant.”

Mithrandir considered.  “No, not unpleasant.  I’m sure I shall quickly get 
used to it.”

Glorfindel laughed harder.  “Very diplomatic!  Come here and kiss me, 
my dearest Mithrandir.”

He had intended that to mean that the Istar should lie beside him for a 
while, kissing and caressing gently.  Mithrandir, however, quickly rose to 
place his body partly on top of the Elf’s and began to kiss him deeply 
again, sliding his fingers across the sweat-slicked skin of his torso and 
rocking his hips against Glorfindel’s groin.  Soon his tongue moved down 
to trail across the Elf’s throat.  Still slightly woozy from his recent climax, 
Glorfindel smiled and moved languorously under the increasingly fervent 
caresses of the wizard.

“Another lesson so soon?”  He chuckled.  “Yes, I can feel that you are 
well on the way to needing one.”  He put on a small frown of 
disappointment.   “So, I have not satisfied your urges after all.”

The Istar’s head rose so that he could look into Glorfindel’s eyes.  “Well, 
as far as I can tell, since that last, intense pleasure is so fleeting, one must 
repeat the process to get enough of it.”

“Never enough, perhaps, but yes, one can try to achieve it.”  He grinned as 
Mithrandir again pressed his lips against the Elf’s neck and nibbled at his 
ear.  “Again I wonder who is giving the instruction here.”  He took the 
wizard’s head between his hands and gently drew it back until they were 
gazing into each other’s eyes.  “I had not seriously thought to go any 
further tonight, for the next lesson is more difficult.  But as you are so 
eager . . . well, I think I will get no rest tonight unless I provide you with 
even more intense pleasure.  You must, however, make me as eager for it 
as you are.  Let me see what you have learned so far.”

The Elf watched with quiet delight as Mithrandir shifted fully on top of 
him and moved against him, his mouth trailing down from his ears and 
again dwelling on the taut nipples as his hands kneaded and rubbed the 
firm buttocks and thighs.  After this went on for some time, Glorfindel 
could feel the wizard’s erection sliding between his knees, and he rolled 
slight to one side to separate their bodies enough so that he could guide 
Mithrandir’s hand to his own reviving cock, murmuring “yes” as the 
fingers began to stroke him.  Having climaxed so recently, he hardened 
slowly, but the Istar seemed willing to spend any amount of time enjoying 
his body and encouraging his returning desire.  He had not known quite 
what to expect in taking the Istar to bed like this, but the result surpassed 
his hopes.  Mithrandir needed few explicit directions, noticing the slightest 
responses and letting them guide him in his lovemaking.  

At last Glordindel felt ready to take their intimacy to another level, and  he 
reached down to caress the wizard’s erection.  It was fully hard, and he 
whispered in his lover’s ear, “I want to go inside you, Mithrandir, if you 
are willing.  It will give us both great pleasure, but you must follow my 
guidance carefully.  And I fear that it will inevitably cause you some pain, 
though obviously I shall as far as possible avoid hurting you.”  He reached 
up to the table again and picked up a small jar of thick, clear ointment.  
Pushing the Istar onto his back and then kneeling between the spread 
thighs, he looked down into the deep, intense eyes.  He handed the jar to 
the wizard, who opened it and looked up inquiringly.  “Prepare me for 
you,” Glorfindel whispered, glancing down at his member, which he held 
around the base to steady it.  The Istar dipped his fingers in the ointment 
and tentatively began to smear it over the tip.  Glorfindel swallowed hard, 
then gasped as the fingers drifted down a bit further.  When another 
questioning glance brought a nod from the Elf, Mithrandir moved more 
confidently, coating the shaft down to Glorfindel’s hand, rubbing in slow 
little circles over the skin as he felt the erection gain full hardness beneath 
his fingers.

Finally the Elf reached to take the jar and gently bent the Istar’s knees and 
slid a pillow beneath his hips.  “I’m going to prepare you now, and it will 
feel odd at first.  Let me know if I hurt you or go too far or too quickly.  It 
will be easier if you try to relax as much as possible rather than fighting 
my entry.”  With a hint of trepidation in his eyes, Mithrandir breathed 
slowly and deeply, trying to relax as instructed.  He quivered and clenched 
his teeth briefly as he felt the Elf’s finger slowly enter him and then begin 
tiny movements that gradually increased.  As the wizard relaxed again, 
Glorfindel pushed further in and gently pressed over the spot of deepest 
pleasure.  Mithrandir, who had been watching as much of the Elf’s 
movements as he could see, suddenly clenched his eyes shut and groaned, 
then panted raggedly as the caresses intensified.  He opened his eyes again 
in disappointment as the finger withdrew, then lay back whimpering as 
two fingers slid in and continued the process, rubbing and swirling and 
stretching until the Elf felt that his companion was prepared for the final 
invasion.

Glorfindel murmured, “This is where it may hurt most,” and very slowly 
pushed the tip inside.  Despite registering some pain, the wizard was soon 
eager for more, the Elf’s stroking fingers having given him strong hints at 
the pleasure to follow.  Gently Glorfindel began to thrust, taking a long 
time to get in far enough to slide the tip along the pleasure point again.  He 
moaned, blinking and gasping at the tight heat clasping him.  He paused to 
gauge whether the wizard was still in pain, but a little grunt of frustration 
led him to thrust somewhat harder, moving slightly deeper inside until he 
felt the wizard tense and gasp in discomfort.  At once Glorfindel withdraw 
a bit and settled into a moderate pumping rhythm that would prolong their 
pleasure.  Both hovered in a haze of bliss during the long, slow ascent.  
Finally Glorfindel reached down and softly stroked the wizard’s pulsing 
member, and Mithrandir moaned hoarsely in encouragement.  Soon he 
was writhing and whimpering again, trying to push against Glorfindel, and 
the Elf leaned forward slightly, resting one clenched fist on the mattress 
beside the man’s waist.   He thrust faster, all the while restraining himself 
from allowing the force to increase.   Finally the wizard groaned loudly as 
he shot his seed up over his own chest.  At once Glorfindel spilled inside 
him, snorting and gasping as he managed to open his eyes and watch as 
the sharp ecstasy slowly drained from Mithrandir’s face, lapsing into utter 
contentment.

Glorfindel remained exactly where he was for a few moments, panting and 
watching the Istar shift against the sheets as he gloried in his satiated 
body.   The Elf pulled gently out, and after using the same small cloth to 
wipe them both, moved to lie beside his friend.  They joined hands, and 
the Elf lifted them to his lips to kiss Mithrandir’s palm lightly.

The Istar sighed, then glanced into Glorfindel’s eyes, which held a note of 
inquiry.  “Yes, my dear Elf, the ‘urges’ are definitely banished for now.  I 
think sleep is far more likely than further passion.”  He was silent for a 
moment.  “But all this has helped me to realize something.  I may have 
been sent here on an enormously difficult task, and I may be exiled from 
my beloved home for a very long time.  Still, the limitations of a human 
embodiment do come accompanied by considerable pleasures.  You have 
shown me a joy that I never expected to find.  One which I suspect will 
offer a wonderful respite from my worries and duties.

“Quite apart from any pleasure, however, in my days here in the Havens I 
have begun to sense how much this continent has in it that is worth 
struggling to save.  And I have barely seen any of it yet!  I shall no doubt 
continue to long for my home, but perhaps I shall develop a nearly equal 
longing to explore Middle-earth and its riches.  Well, time enough to talk 
about that another day.”

He yawned, and his eyelids were drooping.  Glorfindel remarked, “Yes, 
you said that you need to sleep in the way Men do.  Well, go ahead, my 
dear pupil.  You have earned it.”

“I neglected to thank you for this marvelous lesson, my dear teacher.”  
Mithrandir stretched his head out to brush his lips gently against the Elf’s.  

“The only way you need thank me is to allow me to give you another,” 
Glorfindel whispered.

“In lovemaking, of course--but perhaps we won’t need the one on the art 
of seduction.  Note that on my very first attempt I managed to lure the 
most beautiful Elf in the world into my arms.  Quite impressive for a 
beginner!”
____________________________________________________________


A week later, on the evening before Mithrandir and Glorfindel were to set 
out for Rivendell, Cirdan invited the wizard to sit alone with him by the 
fire before retiring.  They talked for a while of the Istar’s plans and hopes, 
then fell comfortably silent.  The warmth of the fire on this damp, chill 
evening was agreeable indeed, Mithrandir reflected.  He was beginning to 
become accustomed to the idea that weather affected him now, that 
extreme heat and cold could be quite unpleasant.  It appeared that the 
autumnal clouds and the chill he had experienced at the Havens were mild 
in comparison with some seasonal conditions he could expect to 
encounter.

It was as he sat thinking about such things that the Elf astonished him by 
suddenly producing Narya and handing it to him.  Mithrandir had felt 
challenged by the vast, amorphous task before him, and now unexpectedly 
he had this amazing and encouraging offer of support and strength.  He 
knew something of the history of the Great Rings, and he realized that 
there could be no better way to start his great labors here.  He thanked 
Cirdan many times over for offering such a gift.  Eventually, however, it 
occurred to him with a pang to ask why the Elf had not presented the ring 
to one of the Istari who had arrived before him, in particular . . . well, he 
realized he had no idea what their names were here, and even to Cirdan he 
hesitated to speak the name of Curunir.  When at last he reluctantly hinted 
to Cirdan that the ring might better be bestowed elsewhere and offered to 
return it, the Elf continued to gaze into the fire for a short while.  Then he 
turned his wise eyes to Mithrandir and replied, “Take this ring, Master, for 
your labors will be heavy, but it will support you in the weariness that you 
have taken upon yourself.  For this is the Ring of Fire, and with it you may 
rekindle hearts in a world that grows chill.  But as for me, my heart is with 
the Sea, and I will dwell by the grey shores until the last ship sails.  I will 
await you.”

Thus began Mithrandir’s defense of Middle-earth.


The Grey Shores    2/6

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Gandalf/Glorfindel
Rating:  NC-17
Summary:  Mithrandir and Glorfindel travel to Rivendell and struggle to 
arrange their future relationship.
Disclaimer:  No rights, no income.
Author’s note:  Book-canon.  This episode takes place shortly after 
episode 1, where Olorin arrived in Middle-earth, was given the Elven 
name Mithrandir, and started getting lessons in love from Glorfindel.

Profound gratitude to Elanor, beta and inspiration.  Many thanks also to 
Sarah and River Woman, who take so much time to encourage and guide 
me.
____________________________________________________________

Glorfindel and Mithrandir rode through the gathering dusk until they could 
distinguish the trees from the sky only as dark silhouettes blotting out the 
myriad stars.  Finally the Elf chirruped to his horse to stop, and Mithrandir 
reined in his mount.

Glorfindel sighed regretfully.  “I had hoped that we could reach Rivendell 
tonight, but there is still at least an hour’s ride ahead of us.  The paths 
leading down into the hidden valley are difficult to find and steep in 
places.  It would be dangerous to essay them in darkness.”

“I could provide some light with my staff.”

“No doubt, but I think it would not suffice.  I must be able to orient myself 
by the mountains that rise on the eastern side of the valley, and besides, 
the horses are probably too tired to be sure-footed over some of the steeper 
stretches, even with a wizard’s magical light.  No, your staff would be 
better employed in quickly starting us a campfire.  You have not got so 
accustomed to doing that that you would consider it a bore, have you?”

Mithrandir had already lit up the tip of his staff slightly so that they could 
see each other.  Now he grinned.  “On the contrary, I could use some 
practice in even such a simple task.  I suppose I shall eventually find it 
routine, but for now it’s quite a pleasure to be able to do such a thing.”

“Good.  I feel the need of a lively blaze.  This is the coldest night we have 
yet had this autumn.  I had truly hoped that we would be able to spend this 
evening cozily in the Hall of Fire at the Last Homely House.”

They walked their horses a short way, peering through the gloom until 
they found a suitable clearing against a worn, lumpy limestone bluff with 
a slight overhang.  Gathering a bit of wood, they laid a fire.  The wizard 
held up a thick branch and said in firm tones, “Naur an edraith amen,” as 
he tapped it with his staff.  A small flame arose from it and quickly spread 
along its length until the brand was burning hotly enough to kindle the 
small heap of wood.  Glorfindel smiled with affection as he watched its 
light reflected in the wizard’s dark eyes and saw too the delight in the old 
man’s face as the fire grew.  Soon the soft tan stone behind them was 
glowing dusky yellow, and they had their blankets spread.

Although they had long since passed beyond areas where they could find 
inns and rural markets, they were trying to get a little variety in their meals 
by having lembas only for breakfast and lunch.  Glorfindel used his 
considerable skills as an archer to procure game, and he took advantage of 
their time on the road to teach Mithrandir some simple ways of cooking in 
the open air, using preserved foodstuffs and herbs available in the wild.  
Today he had shot a plump rabbit, and he used some prunes from their 
dwindling store of dried fruit to make a stew.  Wrapped in their blankets, 
the pair sat close to the fire to eat.

“Glorfindel, this is delicious!  I would never have expected that one could 
make such a tasty dish under such limited circumstances.”

“I’m delighted that you like it.  It is certainly one of the most interesting 
items that I know how to make while on the road.  Of course, it would be 
better with some onions and a few additional herbs, but it is the wrong 
time of the year for that.  Ideally, of course, one would also have a nice 
wine to accompany it, and some greens.  Never mind, you shall soon dine 
splendidly in Imladris.”

“Given my experience in Cirdan’s house, I’m sure the meals will be 
spectacular indeed.  Still, there is a certain pleasure in camping out.  A 
peace and contact with the woods and countryside that I find quite 
appealing.”

Glorfindel laughed.  “I’m glad you do!  I for one much prefer the warmth 
and comfort and conviviality of places like Rivendell and the Havens.  I 
camp out when I must, but I confess that I do not much like it.  Though 
our conversations and other very pleasant activities by our campfires have 
certainly made this a much more enjoyable journey than most of its kind—
indeed, more than any other I have experienced in a very long time.”

They smiled tenderly at one another, and Mithrandir carefully balanced his 
plate as he leaned over and moved his lips briefly against the Elf’s mouth.  
They quickly finished their meal and sat for a while talking, wrapped in 
their blankets and leaning against the rough stone.  At that time of year, 
the sun set long before either felt drowsy and rose late enough that getting 
out onto the road early was not possible, at least in this terrain.

Mithrandir gazed up into the thick, brown leaves still clinging to the 
nearby branches and dancing in the firelight.  “I am very curious to meet 
the Master of Imladris.  I have heard that Elrond is the wisest of all Elves 
in Middle-earth.  Is that true?”

Glorfindel considered.  “It is hard to say.  I would hate to have to choose 
among him and Galadriel and Cirdan.”

“But what of you yourself?  You are the wisest Elf I have ever known.  
You have reflected long and learned much, in the Halls of Mandos and in 
Eldamar, and I am sure that your experiences here in Middle-earth have 
only sharpened your mind.”

Glorfindel smiled and sat quietly for a moment.  “Perhaps many 
experiences, both bitter and sweet, have taught me something.  Not to 
mention your own generous patience with a wayward Elf who had to 
relearn much—and learn it better the second time.  Let us put me aside in 
this discussion, though.  Elrond has the enormous advantage of having 
Vilya, which perhaps does not confer wisdom but gives its owner the 
power to see how it may be applied.  I know less of Galadriel, keeper of 
Nenya since its creation, since I have spent most of my time in Middle-
earth here in the North.  I think, though, that few are capable of judging 
just how profound her wisdom is.  Cirdan of course has rendered his Ring 
to you—an action, I must say, that only confirms his own wisdom.”

“Do you think so?  Far be it from me to question Cirdan’s wisdom, but it 
would seem only logical to bestow it upon . . . Saruman, as you tell me he 
is now called.  Why should not the leader of my order be the one to keep 
it?”

“Well, it is true that Saruman is a wise and powerful Istar, but I fancy that 
Cirdan had his reasons.  I met Saruman at the Havens, you know, upon his 
arrival a few years ago.”

“Yes, I suppose each of us needed a guide to Rivendell—and a teacher in 
the ways of Middle-earth,” Mithrandir added, glancing with a slightly 
inquiring and bemused smile at Glorfindel.

Glorfindel blushed slightly.  “Yes, I taught him much, as did others of 
Cirdan’s household.  He never, however, confessed any ‘urges’ to me.”

They laughed, and the Elf continued, “If he had, I should not have been 
taken aback when you spoke so frankly to me that night.  Indeed, I 
suppose the fact that he seemed to have no such needs was part of what 
gave me the impression that none of the other Istari did.  The ones who 
had come before, as far as I know, did nothing of the sort either—though I 
did not meet all of them at the Havens.”

“Well, perhaps Saruman found someone else to give him those most 
delightful of lessons.  You are truly the most beautiful Elf I have ever 
seen, but there are others at the Havens who are extremely attractive as 
well.  I would hate to think that Saruman and the others failed to learn 
about this wonderful aspect of embodied life.  Perhaps he simply preferred 
a dark-haired Elf.  There were certainly some there that I might have 
turned to if you had resisted my seduction,” he added with a teasing grin.

Glorfindel smiled.  “Perhaps, but if so I saw no sign of it.  And news of 
such liaisons tends to spread quickly in a little closed community like that.  
As it does in Rivendell, I might add, and other such places.  You will need 
to learn to be discrete about these things.  Elves tend to be quite open and 
understanding of such activities, but being too frank and talkative about 
them can cause jealousies and resentments.”

Mithrandir nodded thoughtfully, then replied.  “Well, I think Saruman 
wasted a wonderful opportunity.  I hope he later found someone to teach 
him about such things.”

The conversation died down, and the pair sat in companionable silence for 
a while.  They had made love every night since Glorfindel had initiated the 
Istar into sex, and both were assuming that they would do it again this 
evening, despite the cold.

Glorfindel smiled at his friend.  “Now that we have been on the road for 
weeks, I’m afraid I have taught you most of what you should know of 
physical love.  You will no longer need me to do things like this with 
you,” and he leaned over slightly to kiss the wizard.

Mithrandir responded enthusiastically, sucking Glorfindel’s tongue 
quickly into his mouth and cupping the Elf’s cheek and jaw with his thin 
hand.  Withdrawing, he said with a grin, “I need practice, though!  I like to 
be able to do things well.  Indeed, you have probably realized by now that 
I am something of a perfectionist.  Feel free to test me at length and to 
offer suggestions about any little improvement I could make! . . . My 
darling Elf, I would love to touch you unclothed, but I am already 
shivering under this blanket while fully dressed.  There is quite a chill in 
the air tonight.”

“Yes, I sense that we may even see some frost by morning.  I do wish we 
had made a bit faster progress on the road, but I have felt it foolish to pass 
up chances to show you things and places you need to know in Middle-
earth—and to display its beauties as well.”

“Of course, and I have enjoyed it all.  It would not have been worth 
passing anything by just to spare us one chilly evening.”

Glorfindel pursed his lips and looked at the Istar speculatively, “Here, 
move until we are facing each other.  Yes, keep your blanket on over your 
cloak.  Now spread your legs and hold your knees bent, like this.  Fine.”

The Elf slid his own legs, slightly less bent, under his partner’s thighs and 
edged forward until their crotches were pressed together and he could 
rearrange the blankets to form a sort of tent, encircling them entirely apart 
from their heads.  Sharing their body heat made the air trapped around 
them grow quite pleasantly warm.  Already they could feel each other’s 
erections beginning to swell.  Mithrandir leaned forward eagerly, trying to 
kiss the Elf.

Glorfindel moved his head back quickly and smiled.  “Always so 
impatient when we begin to make love!  Here, sit still—if you can.  Now, 
put your tongue out—further.”

Slowly the Elf licked Mithrandir’s tongue, circling it and barely brushing 
his partner’s lips with his own.  Soon the Istar was panting and tried once 
more to pull Glorfindel into a deep kiss.  Again the Elf pulled back.  “No, 
no, just sit there, follow my lead.  Put your tongue out again.”

After a little look of puzzlement and frustration, Mithrandir did so, and 
Glorfindel again licked it, slowly at first, then flicking around it, then 
lapping hungrily at it as he felt the wizard panting into his mouth, moving 
his own tongue with increasing confidence against the Elf’s.  Mithrandir’s 
hands hovered over his companion’s shoulders, where the blankets had 
slipped down slightly.  His fingers brushed occasionally against the Elf, 
but he seemed to have forgotten even his intention to embrace Glorfindel 
in his fascination with the feel of the other’s moving tongue.  By the time 
the Elf retreated slightly, their members were hard and pressing together.

Mithrandir opened his eyes, which were glazed with arousal.  “Why in 
Arda should a silly thing like that be so exciting?”

Glorfindel, slightly giddy with arousal himself, laughed breathily.  “I only 
teach you these things—I don’t explain them.”  He reached down and 
cupped his hand along the wizard’s erection.  Mithrandir lowered his hand 
to do the same for the Elf, but his partner whispered, “Let’s take turns. I 
want to watch you, if you don’t mind.”  The Istar put both hands up to 
comb his spread fingers through the Elf’s long hair and grasp the back of 
his head.  As Glorfindel unlaced the wizard’s trousers, Mithrandir opened 
his mouth, inviting his lover to resume the sensual caresses of tongue 
against tongue.  The Elf drew out Mithrandir’s erection and stroked it 
slowly at first.  As the Istar’s excitement rapidly mounted, he became lost 
in bliss and forgot the kissing, lowering his hands to the Elf’s shoulders 
and squeezing tightly, gasping in a shallow, quick fashion as he 
concentrated on the now rapidly pumping hand.  Glorfindel slid his other 
hand up under the wizard’s beard and found one nipple, pinching and 
rubbing it through the cloth of the shirt.  He watched as little flinches of 
pleasure played across Mithrandir’s rapt face.  Listening to his 
companion’s soft, desperate whimpering, he felt a thrill of joy at being 
able to give this much pleasure to a being that he had known and admired 
for so long as a friend.  And how marvelously uninhibited the Istar was!  
The Elf’s own erection was throbbing a bit painfully by now, and he 
managed to rub the side of his fist up and down his own shaft as he 
pumped much harder at Mithrandir’s, eager now to proceed to his own 
release.  As the wizard’s face twisted into an intense grimace, Glorfindel 
quickly lowered his other hand to catch the hot spurts, then grasped the 
shaft with both fists, rubbing the thick liquid over the skin and feeling the 
cock twitch with small and then finally tiny spasms.  The wizard collapsed 
forward against him, his forehead resting on Glorfindel’s shoulder as he 
panted.

Reaching between the two blankets, which had slipped partway down 
unnoticed as the pair’s excitement shut out all other sensations, Glorfindel 
grasped a cloth and wiped the wizard’s shrinking member gently.  After a 
short time Mithrandir raised his head and smiled into the Elf’s face in the 
blissful way that was by now completely familiar—and delightful—to 
Glorfindel.  The Elf darted his tongue teasingly into the slightly slack 
mouth, and his hand guided the still somewhat dazed wizard’s hand to his 
own erection, which he had freed from his trousers.  Mithrandir circled the 
long, slender, blue-veined shaft with his fingers and began to pull 
rhythmically at it.  As his panting slowed, he imitated Glorfindel exactly, 
staring into the Elf’s face, watching it relax and the eyelids droop with 
arousal.  The wizard slid his hand partway inside his partner’s shirt and 
played with the responsive nipple.  He found the sight of Glorfindel’s 
abandonment of control and slide into complete sensual pleasure 
enthralling, and he stroked slowly to delay the end.  At last Glorfindel 
began mewling, wordlessly begging for release, and the wizard pulled 
faster, leaning in to swirl his tongue over the Elf’s ear.  Within seconds his 
climax erupted,  and Mithrandir tried to catch the emerging seed as the Elf 
had done, though a bit escaped through his fingers and dripped onto his 
own trousers.

Glorfindel hugged the Istar tightly to himself and waited until he had 
caught his breath somewhat.  “And that, my dear wizard,” he whispered 
into the other’s ear, “is one way to pleasure each other and not get cold.”

“And a very effective way it is, too, despite its simplicity,” Mithrandir said 
against Glorfindel’s neck, where he had pressed his sweat-moistened face.  
“Well, it would have been lovely to be in a comfortable bed in Rivendell 
tonight, but it is good to know that there are such options when I am on 
the road once more—and I assume I shall sometimes have companionship 
when I have to camp out.”  He kissed the Elf’s neck softly and sighed, and 
Glorfindel tilted his own head sideways to rest lightly on the Istar’s.

Finally Mithrandir raised his head and gazed at his companion with a 
contented smile.  “That reminds me, however, of how difficult it will be to 
leave you, my dear Elf, when I have finished my visit to Rivendell and 
move on.  For I gather that you must stay there, and that someone else will 
escort me to Lothlorién.  Still, during my travels I can always look 
forward to seeing you again, and I imagine that that might help sustain me 
on nights when I am camping alone.  Well, my dear Elf, I was beginning 
to wonder if you were going to run out of things to teach me, but you 
continue to surprise me.”

As always after they made love, the Elf was enchanted by the joy in 
Mithrandir’s smile.  A sudden awareness of their impending parting hit 
him, however,  and he swallowed, trying to keep his tone light.  “Soon I 
shall have to see if I can invent new ways to make love, so that I can teach 
you those and keep you in my bed the longer.”

The Istar laughed.  “You will have no trouble keeping me in your bed.”

Glorfindel did not laugh but was silent for a long moment before replying.  
“Do you mean that you assume we shall be doing this sort of thing after 
your ‘lessons’ are over?”

The Istar shook off his drowsiness, and his blissful look faded as he stared 
at Glorfindel.  “Perhaps I am being presumptuous.  You may have reasons 
for not wanting to.  I suppose it would be absurd to think that you do not 
have someone in Rivendell—maybe more than one someone—who would 
be jealous if we did.  I certainly do not want to cause difficulties for you.”

Again Glorfindel thought long before he responded.  “It’s not that I do not 
want to.  In fact, I do not think that I could bear the thought of never again 
doing this with you.  These last few weeks have made me feel all such 
joys anew, helping you experience them for the first time.  I have not 
enjoyed lovemaking so much in . . . well, a very long time.  I should tell 
you, however, that I do in fact have some with whom I am on intimate 
terms.  None is a deep, permanent relationship, however—and you have 
made me forget them.”

“Until you return to them, perhaps, but you will soon remember them very 
well.”

“No doubt, but I quite honestly think that our time together has been the 
happiest that I have spent in the whole of the Third Age of Middle-earth.”

They stared at each other for a long time.  Finally Mithrandir smiled 
mischievously.  “I would say the same to you, but it would not seem much 
of a compliment.”  They both laughed briefly, but the Istar continued, 
“But seriously, my dear Elf, have you come to feel so strongly toward 
me?”

Glorfindel simply nodded.  Mithrandir looked down, frowning, and said 
wistfully.  “Could you not come with me, at least on some of my 
journeys?  No doubt eventually I shall be past the point of needing 
lessons—not just in love, but in other things.  Still, I would never tire of 
sharing the joys we have found together.”

The Elf shook his head sadly.  “In a way, it does make me wish I could go 
with you, at least on some of your journeys, as you say.  I realize that so 
far you know little of my duties here in Middle-earth—my specific duties, 
that is, beyond aiding in the struggle against Sauron.  I have long been 
Elrond’s chief advisor in matters of defending Rivendell and parts of the 
North in general, and in times of trouble I have led his forces in battle.  
Even before you arrived, I have occasionally regretted not being able to 
travel more.  Still, I love that valley dearly, and the thought of invaders 
despoiling it appalls me.  I could never leave it long for fear of such 
things.  I make these occasional trips to the Havens not just to meet 
arriving visitors, but because Cirdan shares in my task of guarding the 
North.  For there are very real and considerable dangers not too distant 
from Rivendell and the Havens.  You know about some of them, for they 
will be a major part of your concerns, and Elrond and I can explain more 
fully after we reach his home.”

Mithrandir nodded thoughtfully.

Glorfindel returned to their previous line of discussion.  “Well, you will 
find others on your journeys.  I realize I cannot possibly ask you to 
promise yourself to me.  You have so recently arrived and have 
experienced these pleasures with no one but me.  You need to know more 
of this world before you can know your own heart fully.”  He smiled.  
“Besides, from what I have learned of your ‘urges,’ they are too strong to 
allow you to go for weeks or months . . . or perhaps years, without 
recourse to such pleasures.  And I must confess, I would find it difficult, if 
not impossible, to refrain from such activities myself under the 
circumstances.  I am sure, however, that from now on I shall think of you 
as my . . . favorite and shall long for those times when we can be 
reunited.”

He looked hopefully at Mithrandir, who stared in wonder at him.  “Given 
my tasks, I could ask no more of you, Glorfindel.  Or, I am afraid, promise 
more to you.  I think you are right, both about my need to experience more 
of . . . well, simply of life, and about our physical needs.  Even with my 
brief experience, I can easily imagine that attempting to refrain from such 
activities when we are apart could eventually cause us to resent our duties 
or our promises to each other, or both.  Or I might become so desperate to 
be with you that I would commit errors of judgment, simply in the hopes 
of hastening back to you.  I could almost wish that Manwe had not 
endowed me with this particular physical need, for I see that it will at 
times be most inconvenient.  Yet having experienced so much joy with 
you in such a short time, I can only be grateful that he did allow me such 
desires.  And you have been such a skilled teacher, I suppose I should 
apply some of the wonderful lessons you have taught me.”

Glorfindel tried to smile.  “Yes, you are becoming so skilled that it seems 
greedy to try and keep you only for myself.”

Mithrandir looked at him tenderly.  “Still, I suspect that you will remain 
my favorite as well, despite all my journeying.  I feel quite confident that 
there cannot be others who would attract me more.  A continent full of 
Elves as entrancing as you would be more heavenly than Valinor itself!”

“Oh, well!  With such an eloquent tongue you will indeed have no trouble 
in finding other partners.”  They laughed, as much in sudden joy as in 
amusement, but then the wizard added earnestly, “Already I know that you 
will ever be the lodestar that guides my travels and brings me back to 
Rivendell.”  He twisted his finger in Glorfindel’s hair so that a golden lock 
slipped in spirals around it.

Glorfindel took a deep breath.  “Perhaps some day . . .”

“Yes, a day neither of us can foresee, when all my labors—and yours—are 
over, and if all goes well . . .”

Glorfindel nodded, watching his face intently, “We finally would not need 
to part.”

Mithrandir leaned his head back to look up at the stars and sighed.  
“Perhaps we can return together to the house on the grey shores and . . . 
but, no, I think we should not speculate on such things too soon and too 
much.  I am only at the beginning of huge tasks, and so many ‘ifs’ lie 
between now and then.  Through such longing we might make our 
respective burdens all the harder to bear.”

They embraced and sat silent for a while.  Finally Mithrandir whispered, 
“First I am given such strength with Narya and now such joy with you.  
Middle-earth is indeed a land of unexpected treasures.”
____________________________________________________________
________

Once dawn arrived, the pair easily made their way along the short 
remainder of their road and down the steep, narrow path leading into the 
deeply delved valley that sheltered the Elven enclave of Imladris.  The 
dramatic cliffs and bluffs revealed unexpected and stunning vistas around 
every curve, and Mithrandir turned this way and that, trying to take it all 
in.  At last Glorfindel stopped and pointed, and the Istar saw an 
impressively large house to one side of the river at the bottom, blending 
modestly into the huge valley despite its size.

After the remainder of the quiet journey to the house, their arrival was 
confusing and a bit noisy.  The household was far larger than that of 
Cirdan’s dwelling at the Grey Havens, and word of the newcomers’ 
presence had obviously spread very rapidly.  The Istar found himself in a 
bustling hallway, being introduced by Glorfindel first to Elrond, the dark-
haired, wise-eyed head of the establishment and then by Elrond to his wife 
and children and to other Elves so numerous that Mithrandir soon felt a bit 
overwhelmed.  In the midst of all this and out of the corner of his eye, he 
saw Elves greeting Glorfindel as well, some embracing him in a manner 
that could possibly indicate that they were the ones with whom he had said 
he was on intimate terms.  The wizard tried not to stare or feel upset by 
this.

He realized uneasily that he and Glorfindel had not discussed specifically 
enough how they would behave toward each other initially here in 
Rivendell.  He had no idea how close Glorfindel was to these other Elves, 
but presumably he did not want to break with them.  He would need their 
companionship when the wizard was away.  Given that, it might take some 
time for Glorfindel to explain the situation to them.  Mithrandir knew so 
little of such relationships yet, but he could easily imagine that his beloved 
Elf might have some tense conversations.  The Istar only planned to stay 
in Rivendell for a couple of weeks, as he had at the Havens, before 
moving on to meet the members of the Wise at Lorién.  He hoped they 
could sleep together at some point before he left, or at least get a chance to 
talk in private.  At one point Glorfindel glanced at him through the cluster 
of heads separating them, and the Elf smiled, though with perhaps a trace 
of embarrassment or nervousness.   Mithrandir wondered if the look was a 
signal that he should not approach Glorfindel for a while or show any 
signs of undue attachment to the Elf.

And there was no opportunity for him to do so anyway, for Elrond drew 
him into his study for a drink and a quiet talk, welcoming the Istar more 
personally and filling him in on some aspects of how the household 
operated and some recent news that had arrived from Lorién.  Mithrandir 
was pleased to discover that he could follow this fairly well, recognizing 
most of the names mentioned and understanding what the background to 
these developments was in most cases.  Glorfindel and the Elves of 
Cirdan’s household had, he realized, taught him quite effectively in a short 
time.  Finally Elrond led him to the door and turned him over to one of his 
own sons, who showed the wizard to a pleasant, airy bedroom that was to 
be his—not just for this visit, he was quickly led to understand, but for his 
entire stay in Middle-earth, to be kept empty when he was elsewhere in 
case he arrived unexpectedly.  It was, he realized, probably the closest 
thing to a home that he would ever have on this vast continent, for both 
Cirdan and Elrond had told him that Rivendell would be a logical center of 
operations for him.

After unpacking what little he had brought with him and examining the 
splendid view from his window, he paused, at a loss.  It was only late 
morning by that point, and he was not feeling particularly tired—certainly 
not enough for a nap.  He felt, he realized, a bit sad and lonely.  In 
Cirdan’s house, he had slept each night in Glorfindel’s room after their 
“lessons” had begun, and most of the rest of the time he had spent in 
various activities with him and with other Elves.  He had almost never 
been alone in Middle-earth except to sleep during those first few nights 
after his arrival.  Clearly trying to find Glorfindel was a poor idea.  Even if 
someone could direct him to the Elf’s room, it was quite possible that the 
wizard would not find his friend alone.  Well, there is no reason he should 
be, the wizard reminded himself.  That was what they had agreed on, and 
it made perfect sense.  That did not mean that he had to like it, but there it 
was.  He sighed and went out to explore the gardens near the house, since 
the weather was getting close to being as warm as it would be on this 
autumn day.

By the time dusk was settling over the valley, Mithrandir had come to 
realize why Glorfindel loved this place so much and dedicated virtually all 
his time to protecting it.  The juxtaposition of the low-lying river with 
steep cliff-faces and woods in the immediate surroundings was spectacular 
enough, but from certain vantage points one could also see the distant, 
snowy peaks that he was told were part of the Misty Mountains, with 
waterfalls in the foreground.  Returning to the house, he spoke with 
several Elves sitting about having a pre-dinner glass of wine in a small 
room with a roaring fire.  As at Cirdan’s house, he soon was talking freely 
with them, giving news of doings at the Havens and amusing them with 
anecdotes about learning to ride his horse and about the various curious 
sights the wizard had seen while traveling from the Havens.  They in turn 
filled him in on more details of the household schedule and, when the first 
dinner gong rang, guided him to the large, torch-lit dining hall.

Mithrandir sat at the main table, with Elrond and his beautiful wife 
Celebrian, as well as their twin sons and enchanting daughter, Arwen.  
The young Elves, especially Arwen, took to him at once, delighting at 
knowing so much more about Middle-earth than did this apparently aged 
man and chattering away at him until he again felt a bit overwhelmed with 
information.  Glorfindel sat a few seats away, smiling at all this and 
looking fondly at the Istar from time to time.

Finally, when dinner was over and the company had stood up, Elrond 
moved to Mithrandir.  “I know you are eager to talk with me and some of 
the others more seriously about our doings and policies and how we 
envision working with you, but that can begin tomorrow.  Except at times 
of crisis, evenings here are reserved for music and conversation and story-
telling and generally for reflection on the joys of the present and the past.”  
He took the wizard’s arm and escorted him to the Hall of Fire, of which 
Glorfindel had occasionally spoken.  The evening that followed was a 
revelation to Mithrandir, for the music and the chanting were the closest 
things he had encountered yet to the beauty and sounds of his home in the 
Uttermost West.  At first the yearning to return there rose in him so 
intensely that he winced and sat breathing more deeply and quickly, 
tempted to get up and leave the Hall.  Soon, however, he conquered the 
feeling and sat sadly listening.  Eventually, with an effort, he came to 
perceive and understand the strains in this music that marked it as 
distinctly of Middle-earth.  After that, he could listen to it with growing 
happiness, trying to discern those distinctive strains all the more subtly.

At first all sat quietly, listening to the singing and chanting.  Eventually, 
however, things became a bit more informal as quiet instrumental music 
played and the Elves began to talk among themselves.  Mithrandir looked 
around and marveled at their beauty.  He felt no pressing physical desire 
as yet, but he could not help speculating rather nervously as to how he 
might eventually go about approaching one of these splendid creatures 
when he did wish to.  It had been possible to joke about how easy it had 
been to seduce Glorfindel—but after all they had known each other for a 
great long time.  Here he was among strangers, and he had no idea how to 
proceed.  His feeling of being naïve and ignorant, which had nearly 
prevented his speaking to Glorfindel that lovely night of the sunset at the 
Havens, came back to him now.  In that case the beautiful Elf had offered 
him “lessons” in love, but that could hardly be an excuse here.  Still, he 
reasoned, asking for information or help of another sort would be 
reasonable and might allow him to strike up a closer acquaintance with 
someone.  He noticed one of the Elves he had chatted with before dinner, 
Findur, sitting nearby.  Findur seemed to have some sort of role as a 
record-keeper for the community.  He had been quite friendly and 
charming in answering the Istar’s initial questions and offering to show 
him how to find books and documents he might need.  Thinking about it 
now, Mithrandir realized that he also found Findur quite attractive 
physically.  His lovely face held a suggestion of good humor, and his hair 
was so very jet-black as to contain a striking hint of blue.  Mithrandir 
hesitated, thinking how ironic it was that he would have to face 
unthinkable dangers in the years to come and yet here he was, nervous 
about speaking to a perfectly friendly Elf.  It took a very different sort of 
courage, he realized, and making a sudden decision, he moved to sit 
beside Findur.

The Elf smiled in welcome, and Mithrandir began to ask him questions—
questions about things that did indeed intrigue him, and he listened closely 
to everything that the Elf told him.  It was useful and fascinating 
information, and he only allowed himself to be partly distracted by 
Findur’s finely-chiseled features and flowing, dark hair—so different from 
Glorfindel’s and yet so silky and shiny.  He began to wonder what it 
would be like to kiss him—similar to kissing Glorfindel, or a completely 
different experience?

At last they passed to a discussion of the lands eastward, on the other side 
of the Misty Mountains, and Findur suggested that they go to the library 
and consult a map.  By this point Mithrandir was quite delighted at the 
idea of being alone with this beautiful Elf, and he agreed eagerly.  He had 
not been in Elrond’s library up to this point, so Findur gave him a brief 
tour, then pulled out a map from one of several shallow flat drawers of an 
inlaid wooden case in one corner.  He spread it carefully on the central 
table and leaned over to explain the terrain that they had been discussing.  
Mithrandir leaned over beside him to examine the map, and abruptly he 
felt a surge of desire pass through him.  Without thinking he placed his 
hand over the Elf’s on the table and gazed at him hopefully, realizing that 
he had not the faintest idea what to say.  Startled, Findur turned to look 
into his eyes inquiringly, then pulled his hand away and straightened up.

The Elf hesitated, then spoke in some confusion.  “I’m sorry, but . . . this 
is a bit fast for me.  I . . .”

Mithrandir straightened up as well, feeling awkward and embarrassed.  
“Yes, I . . . I suppose so.  I am sorry, I . . . excuse me.”  He turned as if to 
leave, but the Elf detained him by touching his arm. 

“I did not mean to drive you away.  I only said that it was, well, a bit fast.  
That’s all.  Perhaps in inviting you here I gave you the impression . . . But 
now, I would be happy to show you where the area we were discussing 
lies.”

Blushing, Mithrandir leaned over the table again and paid close attention 
to what Findur was describing, finding that his embarrassment had driven 
away any hint of desire.  Their discussion continued and eventually 
concluded in a somewhat more relaxed fashion.  

Indeed, to Mithrandir’s relief, the handsome Elf did not seem to resent the 
incident in the library but continued to spend time with the Istar, giving 
him tours of the intricate layout of the Last Homely House, explaining 
details of the various inhabitants’ relations to the history and ongoing 
struggles of the Elves, and answering the wizard’s questions on a wide 
variety of subjects, from the names of plants to the tense relations between 
Elves and the Dwarves who lived far to the east.  Mithrandir was careful 
not to make any remark or gesture that could be interpreted as seductive, 
despite the fact that he felt more and more attracted to the Elf physically—
and the fact that at times he thought he detected a reciprocal interest.

This situation stretched on for three days.  On the fourth night, Mithrandir 
sat again with  Findur, listening to the music until late into the evening.  
At last he stretched slightly and glanced at his companion, who smiled and 
said,  “It is a bit warm in here tonight.  Would you care to step out onto the 
porch for a few minutes?  A nearly full moon should just be rising, and it 
is still not the customary time for retiring.”  Nodding, the Istar followed 
him outside, self-consciously feeling several pairs of inquiring eyes fixed 
on them as they went.  He had already realized that Glorfindel had been 
right:  gossip traveled fast among at least some elements of these close-
knit communities.

The air was cold but not unpleasant after the somewhat stuffy atmosphere 
of the Hall.  The pair chatted for a while about the change of seasons in 
Rivendell, and Mithrandir gazed out of the corner of his eye at the 
beautiful dark hair reflecting the pale moonlight, wondering whether he 
dared to try and kiss Findur.  He suspected that the Elf had probably 
brought him here for that very purpose, but it might be best to test the 
waters, he thought.  “I hope you are not still offended by my actions in the 
library the other evening.”

“I assured you then and I assure you now, I was not offended.  It was 
simply, as I said, that it all seemed a bit too fast.”

“Yes, well, I know I look as if I should have a great deal of experience in 
such matters, but I’m afraid I am in fact fairly new to them.”

Findur chuckled.  “I have sensed that, and although it surprises and 
puzzles me, it seems a charming contradiction.”  His eyes lingered on the 
wizard’s just a little longer than necessary, and Mithrandir’s heart began to 
race.

The Istar hesitated, at a loss as to how to proceed.  He wished he 
possessed the self-assurance and charm that Findur displayed so easily.   
He also wondered with a tiny thrill of surprise whether the Elf might in 
fact be the one trying to seduce him.  It was a very pleasant thought.  
Could two people seduce each other simultaneously, he wondered.  
Probably, why not?  Indeed, it would seem to be the ideal situation.  At 
last he said uncertainly, “I take it I am no longer going too fast.”

Findur grinned.  “Not at all.  Indeed, I think you are now perhaps going a 
bit too slowly.”  He leaned over and kissed the wizard.  Mithrandir 
responded immediately but with as much restraint as he could manage.  
He immediately felt his cock begin to stir, and very gradually he 
intensified the kiss, slipping one hand to the back of Findur’s neck and 
delving his tongue carefully between the Elf’s warm lips.  There were 
definitely subtle differences from kissing Glorfindel, and he was quite 
enjoying them.  At last they broke the kiss, and the wizard’s mind fumbled 
for what to do next.  He remembered what Glorfindel had said to him at 
about the same stage in similar proceedings.  He murmured, “I think it 
would be best to retire to my room before we take this any further.” 

Findur stared at him with a surprised little smile, and Mithrandir feared he 
might have made another mistake.  “Too fast again?” he asked, trying to 
return the Elf’s smile.

“Perhaps just a trifle.  It is very hard to find the right balance, I realize.  
Why don’t we take it just a bit further right here?”  He pulled the wizard 
into another kiss, and Mithrandir embraced him tightly and delved more 
confidently into his mouth.  Findur was soon sucking on his tongue, and 
the wizard realized that his rapidly growing erection must be quite 
obvious.  Desire was rapidly overtaking caution, and he trailed his mouth 
across the Elf’s cheek and swirled his tongue over the ear.  Findur gasped 
and laughed softly.  “Ah, now I understand why you wanted to retire to 
your room so quickly.  I had thought perhaps your inexperience extended 
to the physical side of love as well, but clearly that is not the case.”  He 
pulled away and looked into the wizard’s face, where trepidation and 
desire were mixed.  “Yes, why not?  This all promises to be very 
pleasant,” he breathed, and holding hands the pair walked along the maze 
of corridors to the wizard’s bedroom.  As they went, Mithrandir initially 
felt a simple mixture of relief at not having been rejected and anticipation 
at having this gorgeous Elf in his bed.  After the initial surprise and 
arousal, however, he also sensed a considerable delight welling up within 
him, and he could barely suppress a little laugh as he congratulated 
himself inwardly on having successfully seduced the second beautiful 
partner he had approached!  Watching sunsets and moonrises, he thought 
giddily, that must be the key.

He had expected not to enjoy making love with Findur as much as he had 
with Glorfindel, but he soon realized that the sex was so intense and 
satisfying that he had no reason to be at all disappointed.  His new partner 
was fully as passionate as Glorfindel.  Once Findur realized that, for all his 
apparent inexperience, Mithrandir was eager and quite skillful, they made 
love all night, with the wizard sleeping between sessions and the Elf at 
intervals playfully urging him awake and into renewed arousal.  By the 
time they rose and washed and went down to breakfast, Mithrandir was 
feeling not only marvelously satiated but a trifle smug.
____________________________________________________________

Glorfindel had from a distance watched this little romance unfold, 
suppressing his impulses to step in and advise the wizard—and his deeper 
desire, which he hardly admitted to himself, to stop the whole thing.  He 
realized that he had no right to prevent the Istar’s pursuing the course they 
had both agreed upon, however precipitate this first flirtation seemed.  
After all, his own romantic relations seemed more tangled than he had 
expected, and it was not easy to reconcile his companions to the idea that 
the Istar seemed to have gained a great hold on the lovely Elf’s affections.  
Moreover,  Mithrandir needed to learn to manage his love life on his own, 
since he would seldom have Glorfindel hovering about, ready to offer 
advice.  And he might as well learn here in Rivendell, so that he could at 
least come to Glorfindel for advice if he badly needed it.  The Elf 
determined to stand back and see whether the fledgling lover would learn 
to fly.

At breakfast after Mithrandir’s first night with Findur, Glorfindel 
immediately noticed the new contentment and delight in the wizard’s face, 
as well as his absorption in his new partner, and he managed to be happy 
for his friend—reasonably so at any rate.  In Findur, Mithrandir had at 
least chosen quite well, though whether that was by sheer good luck was 
unclear.  Glorfindel liked the dark Elf and admired his kindness and 
humor.  How Glorfindel was to arrange some intimate time together with 
the wizard under the circumstances, however, was increasingly unclear.

Over the next week the affair continued, and Mithrandir seemed 
ebulliently happy.  Still, Glorfindel began to suspect that Findur had not 
been able to resist boasting a bit to other members of the Rivendell 
community, perhaps also at least hinting at the Istar’s skills in bed, for a 
few others began to take a decidedly increased interest in Mithrandir.  
Apparently the fact of the wizard being an “old man” would not offer his 
friend as much protection as Glorfindel had hoped.  Some had been quick 
to sense the underlying vibrancy and power of the Istar.

Mithrandir seemed all too eagerly and naively responsive to the attentions 
of the bolder ones among these Elves, who flirted with him quite 
obviously.   Reluctantly Glorfindel began more closely to monitor these 
relationships, which seemed to be developing all too quickly, and he found 
himself participating more in the gossip around the household than he 
ordinarily liked to do.   After witnessing one Elf kiss the wizard on one of 
the house’s many porches—with the wizard making no effort at all to back 
away—Glorfindel decided that he must have a heart-to-heart talk with 
Mithrandir, little though the prospect appealed to him.  That afternoon he 
invited the wizard to walk out into one of the stunning dells that wandered 
off on various sides of the main river valley.

As they reached a broad path partway up one of the cliffs along the side of 
the dell, they came across a small overlook with a bench and sat down to 
watch the afternoon sun reflecting dazzlingly off the snow that now crept 
down the sides of the distant peaks as winter approached.  Glorfindel 
paused in thought, then plunged abruptly into the subject that he had 
intended to raise.  “ I feel a bit silly having offered you a lesson in the art 
of seduction.  You seem to have been very successful at it without any 
tutelage from me.”

Mithrandir blushed slightly and looked at him questioningly for a moment, 
but as usual he saw nothing but candor in his friend’s eyes.  “Somewhat to 
my surprise, yes.  I still feel I have to apologize for my inexperience, but I 
must say, some of the Elves seem to find my clumsiness rather appealing--
luckily for me.”

“Yes, well, I am delighted in a way, but I fear you are perhaps exposing 
your emotions too readily in your eagerness and possibly leaving yourself 
open to being hurt.  You may not welcome my saying this, but you should 
not be so forthcoming, so praising, so adoring, so enthusiastic . . .  You are 
flattered that so soon after our arrival one beautiful Elf has succumbed to 
your charms—it is still only one, is it not?  But do you truly know his 
motives?  That is, I am not saying that they are anything other than delight 
in sharing joys with such a wonderful lover.  Findur is a wonderful fellow.  
Yet there are those here who might simply be curious about what it is like 
to make love with someone who is not an Elf.   Or who might perceive 
you as a powerful being and want to be able to brag about having been in 
bed with you.  Yes, I know, no one here other than Elrond and I know who 
you truly are.  But it is clear that you are an important being, sent from 
somewhere distant to aid in our struggle—that by itself is impressive and 
potentially attractive.  Others might simply find it an amusing or novel 
experience to bed a vigorous old fellow like you.  And I fear there might 
even be one or two who hope that it would give them some sort of 
influence with you.  I think it would be well if you learned to wonder 
about your potential partners’ motives and eventually gained the skill to 
detect and understand them.   If you give yourself too easily or seize too 
quickly upon every advance made to you, you might leave yourself open 
to gossip or to unwanted obligations.  You might even find yourself losing 
your heart without realizing it or you might draw someone else into losing 
his heart to you when you do not intend it.”

Mithrandir looked up at the mountains and then shifted his eyes across the 
length of the valley before returning his eyes to his friend’s face.  “I can 
understand why you suggest the former.  I am aware that my inexperience 
could lead to my losing my heart, though I assure you, I do not intend for 
that to happen.  But I doubt that anyone would easily lose his heart to an 
old fellow like me.”

Glorfindel stared at him for a moment, then said quietly, “I can imagine it 
happening.  Those qualities that I see in you may well be apparent to at 
least some others.  You must not dismiss the possibility so easily.  
Frankly, though, I am more concerned about you than your partners.  You 
will be in Middle-earth a very long time, I fear, and you will see people 
you care for grow old and die, since your travels will take you much 
among mortal races.  What you may think of now as opportunities for 
pleasure could well be opportunities for pain as well.”

Mithrandir sat silent for a moment, a frown creeping over his face.  He 
said quietly, “Are you sure, Glorfindel, that you say this out of concern for 
me?  Or could some jealousy underlie your words?”

The Elf sat staring in surprise and then annoyance.  He had to admit to 
himself that there might be some truth in that gentle accusation, and yet he 
strongly believed he was primarily speaking in the wizard’s own best 
interests.  “If you believe that, then I suppose I could abandon my warning 
and let you learn these particular lessons for yourself the hard way.  But I 
cannot bear to see you hurt as badly as you well might be.  I have hesitated 
as to whether to tell you something about my own experiences, but now I 
think I probably should.  And I tell you not in a bid for your sympathy but 
in the hope of showing you that I know whereof I speak.”

Mithrandir sat looking at him in puzzlement, and the Elf continued.  “You 
see, when I returned to Middle-earth in the Second Age, to aid in the 
initial fight against the growing evils creeping over the continent, I fell in 
love with another leader in that struggle—the great Elven king Gil-galad.  
He was an extraordinary leader—the only one who had not been deceived 
by the seductive overtures of Sauron.  His realm, Lindon, survives only 
partially above the waves, but ironically, its remnants of course include 
the area within which the Grey Havens lie.  I presume that you are aware 
of his doomed efforts to help the Elves of Eregion and the fact that he 
originally held Vilya, which he passed on to Elrond as he died.

“I was lucky enough to have him fall in love with me as well, and we were 
together for many years.  Everything seemed wonderful.  We were united 
in our goals, and we dreamed of how things would be if we ever defeated 
our enemy.  And, as you know, our enemy was indeed defeated, but Gil-
galad was killed in that great final battle—a battle which led to a bitter 
victory that really settled nothing and only prolonged the seemingly 
endless conflict.  I shall not go into my profound grief, but I must say that 
I suffered enormous guilt over his death—unreasoning guilt perhaps, but 
real nevertheless.  You see, Elrond insisted on going as one of the leaders 
of the Last Alliance.  That meant that I had to stay here and make sure that 
Rivendell remained safe during his absence.  I was not there that dreadful 
day, and yet I have wondered ever since whether, if I had been at that 
battle, I could have prevented Gil-galad’s death.  I might even have forced 
Isildur to destroy the One Ring, though I am sure that Elrond tried his 
utmost to convince him to do so.  At any rate, my decision to remain here 
and supervise the protection of the north results partly from the fact that in 
doing so, I, along with Cirdan, help to preserve what remains of Gil-
galad’s ancient realm by guarding the lands between here and the 
Havens.”

He fell silent, gripping the hand that Mithrandir had slipped into his in the 
course of his story.  Glorfindel resumed, “Since then I have understood 
only too well the dangers of losing one’s heart in this troubled and 
uncertain world.  Even the bravest and most powerful, those who seem so 
unlikely to fall, can suddenly be wrenched away.”  He looked at the 
wizard.  “I do not counsel you to avoid the pleasures of intimate 
companionship or to reject friendship.  Obviously such things are precious 
and offer enormous solace.  I embrace them myself, though I have taken 
care not to move into a deep relationship again.  No, I simply beg you to 
be cautious and to hold yourself back just a little.  For you are not of this 
land, nor ever will be.

“And perhaps I am indeed a bit jealous.  I have begun to wonder if I 
should have immediately invited you into my bed here in Rivendell.  But 
as you see, I have friends here, very good friends, lovers whom I do not 
wish to alienate.  As we have acknowledged, we both shall need such 
relationships.  Now I am determined, however, to make it clear to them 
that in future, when you are here, I shall be only with you—if you will 
accept that offer, of course, as I hope you will.”

Mithrandir gazed sadly at him.  “I had not known about you and Gil-galad, 
and it pains me to think of your long grief, my dearest Elf.  And now I 
understand much better why you choose to remain here so steadfastly.  
Believe me, though, I am sincere when I say that I do not intend to lose 
my heart in Middle-earth.  Indeed, I have thought long and hard about this 
very subject, before I left Valinor, during my journey, and after I arrived at 
the Havens.  While I was still in Valinor, Varda herself warned me about 
the risk.  She knew that it was in my nature to care deeply about things 
and beings, but usually from a distance and secretly, or occasionally 
passing among them unperceived.  She said, however, that once I was 
plunged into the variety and physicality of Middle-earth, there would be 
many temptations to love people or become enchanted with things.  She 
made it abundantly clear that I should not—not fully.  I must resist 
Middle-earth to some extent, attractive though I find it, for of course 
inevitably I shall leave it one day.  And I realize that she is right.”

He paused.  “But you, Glorfindel, are not of Middle-earth either, not 
ultimately.  I accept your offer gladly, that we shall not share each other 
with anyone while we are here together in Rivendell.  I am sorry, by the 
way, for my little remark earlier that you were speaking out of jealousy.  
Clearly that was not the case.”  He gave the impish little grin that 
Glorfindel had come to treasure.  “By the way, can our new arrangement 
begin with my next visit?  I shall be leaving for Lorién in a few days, and I 
assume you have not been able to explain all this to your friends so 
quickly, or at least to reconcile them to it.  I hope you will not resent my 
taking some last pleasure with Findur while I remain here.  Perhaps I am 
being naïve again, but I do not think he has lost his heart to me.  We have 
made no promises to each other, and he does not seem to expect any.”

“Given my own situation, how could I resent your spending some 
additional time with him?  And I assure you, Mithrandir, this conversation 
has calmed some of my fears for you.  Obviously you have thought about 
all this more than I had realized.  And if you and Findur have enjoyed each 
other without serious entanglement, then you give me confidence that you 
will fare reasonably well when you leave here.  I should not overreact to 
the initial enthusiasm you display as you discover the joys of Middle-
earth.  It will fade all too quickly, I fear.  And I shall endeavor not to 
resent your taking delight in others, as long as you do not give your heart 
entirely away.”

“Trust me, my dearest Elf, when I say that I do not want to give my heart 
to any one else.  I shall save it, hidden like Narya, finally to reveal if and 
when I may.”

TBC



The Grey Shores   3/6

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Gandalf/Glorfindel
Rating:  NC-17
Summary:  After a crucial battle produces discouraging results, Glorfindel 
and Mithrandir assess their goals and prospects.
Author’s note:  Book-canon.  The opening scene takes place in late 1974 
of the Third Age, shortly before the Battle of Fornost, which occurred in 
year 1975; the remainder takes place in the days immediately after the 
Battle.  The story is based largely on the description of that battle and 
Glorfindel’s role in it given in Appendix A of The Return of the King.  The 
appendices give no clue as to Gandalf’s whereabouts or activities between 
his arrival in Middle-earth c. 1000 TA and his visit to Dol Guldur in 2063.  
Elsewhere Tolkien suggests that he spent this time in traveling and 
familiarizing himself with the places and people of Middle-earth.  I have 
assumed this but taken the liberty of having him present at the Battle of 
Fornost as a strategist and healer.

He and Glorfindel have been lovers for nearly a thousand years by this 
point.

Deepest gratitude to my dear Elanor, who not only betaed this and made 
many valuable suggestions but also forced me to liven up my exposition.  
Many thanks to Sarah and River Woman for unwavering friendship and 
encouragement.
____________________________________________________________
______

Elrond glanced around the solemn faces gathered in his study for a 
strategy meeting.  Galdor and a couple of other Elves from the Grey 
Havens had just arrived after the long—and very dangerous—journey 
bringing urgent news.  Several Elves of his own household and Mithrandir 
had responded to Elrond’s hasty summons to hear what the newcomers 
had to report.  All knew that Imladris itself could easily come under attack 
in the not too distant future if the Witch-King of Angmar gained further 
sway over the vast territories between there and the Havens.

“Galdor,” he began, as soon as all were seated.  “I shall not waste our time 
in courtesies.  What news from the Havens?”

“You probably guess already, all of you, the news I have to tell.  Of late, 
the Witch-King of Angmar has ridden out with his troops from his capital 
at Fornost.  More often than not, the battles have resulted in the Dúnedain 
being pushed into a smaller and smaller territory.  Now, finally, he has 
essentially overrun the entire kingdom of Arnor.  Arvedui has fled, and we 
fear that he will perish, if he has not already, in the cold lands to the north.  
I fear, too, that he will prove to have been the last king of the northern 
realm for a very long time.  The Dúnedain have become exiles, nomads, 
resorting to stealth in their efforts at resistance against a far stronger foe.”

The group had stared at him during all this.  They were appalled, despite 
the fact that the Witch-King had long been making successful incursions 
into Arthedain, the last remaining piece of the ancient Númenorean 
Kingdom of Arnor.   Finally Mithrandir spoke.  “What of the fleet from 
Gondor?  King Eärnil II swore to me that he would send a mighty force to 
aid his comrades in the north.”

“They arrived too late, alas.  The Northern Kingdom was lost by the time 
they arrived.”

Mithrandir closed his eyes and sighed in exasperation, then glanced 
around at the others.  “Exactly as I feared!  This tardiness is all too typical 
of how our allies respond to appeals for help—even in this case, when the 
help was needed by their own people!  You should understand, Galdor, 
that during this year I have spent months in Minas Tirith, attempting to 
persuade the King to act.  It was one of the most frustrating periods of my 
entire time here in Middle-earth, watching him dithering.  Making my way 
back here after the order for the fleet to depart was already given, I could 
not help but feel that they would not come in time.”

Glorfindel gave him a little sympathetic smile.  “Perhaps he had fears for 
the Southern Kingdom as well.  Gondor has seen so many invasions over 
the past few centuries.”

Mithrandir tapped his fingertips on one arm of his chair and shook his 
head.  “No doubt, but his fears are largely groundless—for now, at any 
rate.  It took over a century to accomplish, but the Wainriders were 
defeated, and there has been peace there for over thirty years now.  
Gondor even controls the entries into Mordor, though I must say, I have 
begun to wonder if they are vigilant enough to ensure that evil does not 
creep back into that ruined land.  Moreover, although Prince Eärnur is a 
valiant warrior, in my honest opinion, he is also rash and not over-wise.  I 
talked much with him during my weary stay in Minas Tirith, and it did not 
bolster my confidence.  Once he inherits the throne, the situation at Minas 
Ithil is not likely to improve.  I shall, of course, do my best to persuade 
him to strengthen the guard there, but . . .”

He trailed into silence for a moment, letting that grim thought sink in, 
before concluding,
“At any rate, supporting his northern kindred should have been Eärnil’s 
primary concern.  Now he has failed them.”

Galdor stared at him.  “Yes, and now that the Dúnedain are so decreased 
in power, I fear that the Witch-King could threaten us at the Havens—or 
you here in Imladris.”

Elrond replied, “No doubt.  I realize that we have long kept these precious 
enclaves safe through our defensive strength.  But that strategy can no 
longer protect us.  We must attack the Witch-King as soon as possible, in 
my opinion.  I assume that Prince Eärnur’s troops are still at the Havens, 
awaiting our decisions here?”

Galdor nodded.  “Naturally I assured him that we would travel quickly 
and, with good fortune, return with a plan agreed upon by the Wise here.  
Already, however, much time has passed in our journey.  We had to travel 
far out of our way to avoid the widening threat of the Witch-King.”

Elrond resumed.  “Well, I think we have no real option but to send our 
own troops to join with those of Gondor and of the Havens and then to 
attack Angmar as forcefully as possible.  We cannot lose this opportunity 
of having much of the might of Gondor so close to hand.  And as you say, 
the Witch-King might attack either the Havens or Imladris—or eventually, 
of course, both—now that he has gained sway over so large an area.”

Mithrandir glanced up at him in mock surprise.  “Attack?  My dear 
Elrond, do my ears deceive me, or is an Elf counseling us to march out 
and attack?”

Elrond gave the smallest of wry chuckles.  “Yes, my dear Mithrandir, you 
heard me correctly.  And I hope it makes you happy.”  He raised his 
eyebrows inquiringly.

“Naturally, since, as you say, we have no real option.  It is good that we 
agree on that and can waste no time in debating it.  We should begin to 
plan immediately, for I fear that such a large campaign cannot be 
organized until the New Year has come.  In the meantime, Galdor and his 
comrades can take news of our intentions to the Havens and make sure 
that Eärnur makes no foolish decision, such as returning to Gondor or 
attacking Angmar on his own.  He has a distinctly too much confidence in 
his own power, that young man.”

With just a hint of hesitation, the wizard turned to Glorfindel.  “You, I 
assume, will lead the force from Imladris.”

“Of course.”

“So be it.  And now, since we are all agreed on our basic strategy, let us 
turn to the more mundane details of how to launch into this campaign.  
Galdor’s group will not, alas, enjoy the hospitality of the Last Homely 
House for very long, for they must hasten back to Cirdan, and they must 
be able to carry with them as precise a description of our plans as we can 
devise before they leave.”

A few hours later, when a more detailed scheme for the campaign had 
been drawn up and the tasks of organizing its execution had been assigned 
to various members of the group, the meeting broke up.  Mithrandir 
detained Glorfindel and shut the door after the others had gone out.  They 
embraced briefly, then stepped back to stare at each other for a moment.

Glorfindel was the first to speak.  “We have faced many grim and 
dangerous tasks over the centuries, but I think never one so threatening.”

“True.  I realize there is no help for it, but you know how I dread the idea 
of your confronting such a foe.  The Witch-King is immensely powerful, 
of course, but just how powerful . . .”  He shrugged.

“What will you do during the campaign?  Not return to Gondor, I 
presume.  From what you said there is little to be done there.”

“No.  I shall come with your army, I think.  Not as a soldier, for I am far 
less powerful in that way than in others.  I know that you will have mighty 
warriors in your company, and that if any one is most likely to be able to 
defeat our foe, it is you yourself.  There will be need for devising tactics, 
however—and, alas, for healing.  Those things I can do well, and there is 
no greater threat in all of Middle-earth that claims my attention just now.  
And, I must confess, it would be very difficult for me to be elsewhere 
when I know you are in such danger.”  He paused.  “On the other hand, 
the idea of your being carried from the field, broken and wounded, 
urgently requiring my aid . . .  Well, as Elrond says, we really have no 
choice.  Any help that I can possibly give to reduce the risk to you and the 
others, you know I will gladly provide.”

“Of course I know that, and it will be an enormous comfort having you 
with me at such a time.  Naturally I would not want you to go into combat.  
The aid that you give us with your wisdom and insight is far more 
precious than anything you could do for us on the battlefield.  I would 
never risk your life in such a way unless it became absolutely necessary.  
And you need not urge me to be cautious for my own sake.  I am not the 
rash young Prince of Gondor, you know.  Well, at least we can take 
encouragement from the fact that, if we can defeat the Witch-King, it will 
mark an enormous step forward in our tasks here in Middle-earth.”

“It will indeed,” the wizard said softly, hugging the Elf against himself 
again.  They stood there for a short while, then went out to join the others 
for dinner.
____________________________________________________________
____

The Battle of Fornost had been over for nearly two days, and the Grey 
Istar straightened up from having assisted one of the Elven healers in the 
small field hospital the held the wounded from among the Imladris 
soldiers.  The healer looked into his face sympathetically.  “I think, 
Mithrandir, that you have done enough for now.  We have tended to all 
those who have sustained serious wounds, and you look as if you will soon 
become a patient yourself if you do not get some sleep.  Thank you for all 
your help. I’m sure we have managed to save many that would have been 
lost without your expertise and special powers.”

The wizard smiled and nodded wearily.  He looked around and had to 
admit that they had reached a point there was nothing more that required 
his skills.  Others could handle what needed doing.  Lifting a hand briefly 
in farewell to his colleague, he went out and walked the short distance to 
his tent.  Glorfindel had gone off shortly after the battle ended to help 
supervise the surrender of what few forces remained in Fornost and to 
survey the lands nearby for any lingering pockets of resistance.  
Mithrandir had barely had a chance to exchange a few words with him 
before plunging into the healing work.  He wondered vaguely where 
Prince Eärnur of Gondor was.  The Istar was happy to have had an excuse 
not to speak at length with the Prince after the battle ended.  The reckless 
young fellow had been furious that the Witch-King had fled and that 
Glorfindel had not allowed Eärnur to give chase.  The Istar himself had 
felt nearly crushed with disappointment that the battle had not brought an 
end to that vicious enemy, second only to Sauron himself in power and 
cruelty.  He still wondered why Glorfindel had rushed to that part of the 
battlefield where the sudden appearance of the Witch-King was spreading 
terror among the alliance forces, only to permit him to escape.

Now, entering his tent and sitting down at his small portable desk, he 
reflected on the irony of his earlier fears for his lover.  The idea of 
Glorfindel confronting the Witch-King in direct combat had haunted him 
ever since their conversation at Imladris, but he had accepted it.  That was 
the Elf’s duty, and no one else was nearly as likely to succeed.   Why, why 
then had he not seized upon that opportunity to kill their enemy? the 
wizard asked himself yet again.  He certainly did not relish questioning the 
Elf on the subject.  The medical work had allowed him to forget his larger 
worries for a while, but now he felt near despair at the outcome of the 
battle, and on the face of it, Glorfindel was primarily to blame.  He 
quickly ate a piece of fruit and collapsed onto his cot.  Such was his 
exhaustion that, despite his worries, he fell asleep almost immediately.

He must have been asleep for a few hours, he realized, for the tent was 
bathed in dim candlelight when he woke up.  Glorfindel was sitting at the 
tiny desk beside the tent’s entrance, staring at some documents in front of 
him with unseeing eyes.  The Elf turned his head slightly but did not look 
at the wizard as he rose and crossed to stand behind the chair.  Leaning 
down, Mithrandir wrapped his arms around Glorfindel’s neck from behind 
and rested his chin on the Elf’s shoulder so that their cheeks were pressed 
together.  Neither spoke for nearly a minute.  “So, we have won,” the 
wizard finally murmured with a trace of bitter irony in his voice.  “I take it 
you encountered no serious problems in dealing with the aftermath of the 
battle.”

“No, nothing serious,” Glorfindel said, raising his hands to grasp the 
wizard’s forearms gently.  “It is essentially all over, and I hear that our 
wounded have been attended to, in part through your good offices.”

There was another rather tense silence, and finally Mithrandir raised the 
subject that was on both their minds.  “No sign of the Witch-King in all 
your searches?  You did not find an opportunity to do what I would have 
expected you would do on the battlefield—or at least allow Eärnur to 
attempt, as he was so keen to do?  To dispatch our enemy according to 
plan?”

Glorfindel could not miss the restrained puzzlement and anger in the 
Istar’s voice.  “No, there is no sign of him.  He has, I think, vanished from 
the north.  With the combination of Cirdan’s forces from the Haven and 
Eärnur’s from Gondor and mine from Imladris, we have finally expelled 
him and can take back some considerable degree of control of the northern 
lands, from the Misty Mountains to the Blue.”

“That’s all very true, and yet Arnor lies in ruins.  It will be very, very long, 
I fear, before the Men of Númenor can truly take control of these lands.  
The remnants of the Dúnedain will endure a wandering existence well into 
the future.   Worse yet, the Witch-King has been allowed to go freely 
whither he will, and I have not the slightest doubt that he will appear 
again, creating perhaps worse evil elsewhere.  We have not seen the last of 
him by any means, and I cannot take great joy in this victory.  Frankly, I 
am baffled—“

“Yes, I know, Mithrandir!” Glorfindel said sharply, and the Istar 
straightened up and stood looking down at him.  “I know, you are baffled, 
Eärnur is baffled—and you are both angry, and I am a bit baffled myself.  
That is, I know that it was right to let the Witch-King flee, but I do not 
understand why.  All I know is that we could not have killed him, despite 
the great armies we had arrayed here and the power of some among us.”

The wizard turned to try and pace but was stymied by the small size of the 
tent.  He faced the Elf once more.  “Oh, yes, your prophesy.  Eärnur 
reported that to me when he returned from the battle.  He was not in the 
best of moods, so I excused myself to return to tending the wounded.  I 
hope he has calmed down by now, by the way, but I would advise you to 
be careful in approaching him.  I thought that in his rage he might have 
misremembered your words, but others later confirmed that in restraining 
the Prince from giving chase to the Witch-King you said, ‘Do not pursue 
him!  He will not return to this land.  Far off yet is his doom, and not by 
the hand of man will he fall.’  Would you care to elaborate on that, my 
dear Elf?”

Glorfindel twisted in the chair to look up at him.  “If you mean, can I 
explain it, no, I cannot.  Does ‘man’ mean an adult male of any race?  I 
suspect so, but I am not certain.  And as to who or what else might fell 
him in the end, I have no idea.  I am convinced, however, that a foresight 
was on me.  I know in my heart that what I said is absolutely true and  that 
we would have risked great harm to ourselves if we had pursued him.  
None of us had a chance at defeating him.  That foresight was given to me 
as a warning, and it saved us from hideous losses.  You must believe me, 
Mithrandir . . . my dearest Mithrandir, for that prophesy must inform our 
strategies for the future, and we must not make any rash moves to assail 
him when he inevitably, as you say, resurfaces to plague us once more.”

After a short pause the wizard replied quietly, “I do believe you, 
Glorfindel.  We have trusted each other’s judgment for nearly a thousand 
years now, and I have never known you to act unwisely or recklessly—
beyond your utter folly in taking an old greybeard into your bed and 
allowing him to share your life whenever possible.”

Glorfindel swallowed and smiled rather shakily, stretching his arm out to 
take the Istar’s hand.  “Oh, that.  Everyone is entitled to one mistake.”

Mithrandir pulled suddenly on his hand, bringing the Elf abruptly to his 
feet and embracing him loosely.  “Yes, but you have gone on making that 
mistake for an absurdly long time, and you seem determined to perpetuate 
it in the future.”

Glorfindel stared tenderly into his eyes and shrugged.  “Yes, well, I’m 
afraid it’s too late to do anything about that now.  I must suffer the 
consequences.”

The wizard grinned.  “I think the immediate consequence will be that I 
shall take you into this rather rickety little bed that they have supplied me 
and try to make love to you without either its collapsing or one of us 
tumbling off.  I have been harboring rather unpleasant and, I’m afraid, 
unfair thoughts about you for two days, and I believe that that would be a 
very effective way to banish them from my mind.”  He paused.  “I should 
ask, though, if you have some pressing matter you should be attending to 
at the moment.”

Glorfindel shook his head slowly.  “No, the most pressing matter for me 
was to convince you that my foresight was real, and I half expected you to 
take a great deal of persuading.  I should have trusted you to trust me, my 
darling Istar.  Now I think we can put our worries aside for a little while.”

The grin faded from Mithrandir’s face.  “Yes, they are far from gone, 
aren’t they?  But yes, let us put them aside.”  He pulled Glorfindel more 
tightly against himself and brushed his lips teasingly against the Elf’s.  
Having been reunited after days of danger and worry, and having largely 
avoided what both had feared might be an acrimonious conversation, they 
continued these light, tantalizing movements for some time, gently tasting 
each other and savoring the first small twitches of arousal in their cocks.  
At last Glorfindel snaked his tongue inside the wizard’s mouth and the 
eager sucking in response made their mutual arousal suddenly soar.  At 
last their mouths came apart with a wet little sound.

“You have amply demonstrated your skill as an archer on the battlefield, 
my brave warrior.  Allow me to show off my own aim now, if you don’t 
mind.”

“Of course.  This is the one sort of surrender I would not shun.  I fear, 
however, that you will indeed have to depend on precision for this 
maneuver.  A more vigorous attack might well lead to the collapse of this 
little battlefield.  It looks, as you say, a trifle rickety.”

“Yes, and it squeaks.  A very vigorous charge would be evident to half the 
camp.”

They unbuttoned each other’s shirts, and as Glorfindel removed them 
both, the Istar leaned in to tongue and suck the Elf’s small pink nipples.  
He continued this as Glorfindel moaned softly and unbuttoned their 
trousers, pushing at these a slightly until they slid down.  Stepping out of 
the crumpled garments, they pressed together and stroked each others 
bodies slowly, lingering over the nipples and kneading the buttocks until 
they were both fully rampant.

Mithrandir, however, continued to slide his tongue over Glorfindel’s hard, 
pointed nubs, humming softly with pleasure.  After moaning in response 
for a while, the Elf opened his eyes and whispered, “I know you love that, 
Mithrandir, as do I, but another part of my body demands more urgent 
attention.  Shall we move on?”

The wizard pulled reluctantly away, staring at one pink bead as he 
continued to rub it with a fingertip.  “Just a little longer,” he begged with 
exaggerated regret.

Glorfindel arched his chest luxuriously against the Istar’s finger and 
smiled as if anticipating a familiar answer.  “How long?”

Mithrandir flicked his tongue roughly over the tiny peak, sighing, “Oh . . . 
hours.”

The Elf laughed, but carefully, so as not to dislodge his lover’s eager 
mouth from his chest.  “Beware.  Someday I shall actually take you up on 
that offer and indeed let you go on for hours.  I’m sure you would lose 
interest long before such an interval passed.”

Rolling both hard little peaks between finger and thumb, Mithrandir gazed 
at them fondly.  “It’s hard to imagine, but I suppose it’s faintly possible.  
All right, my lovely, exciting, frustrated Elf.  Let us proceed.”

They pulled apart slightly and glanced down at the cot.  “Shall we risk it?” 
the wizard asked with a grin.

“Well, the ground is certainly too stony for that to be a pleasant option, 
and there is nothing solid to lean on.  We shall just have to be careful.  
Though after a certain point, I suppose the bed could probably collapse 
and we would not notice.”

“You may be right.  I’m glad to hear you express such faith in my 
prowess.”

The wizard guided Glorfindel to lie on his stomach, opened a drawer in 
the desk to remove a jar and small towel, and  then lowered himself onto 
the Elf’s back.  Glorfindel slowly writhed beneath him, pressing his 
erection into the thin mattress as the wizard explored his back with lips 
and tongue and slid one hand between his thighs to tickle the back of his 
testicle sac.  Eventually Mithrandir opened the jar and delicately began to 
smear a dab of ointment around and over the little puckered entrance with 
one fingertip.

The Elf moaned impatiently.  “That feels splendid, but you seem oddly 
determined to torment me with your slowness.  I am aching for you to go 
inside me.”

Mithrandir chuckled and slid the tip of his finger through the tight hole.  “I 
suppose I am just delighting in the fact of having you back safely after the 
battle.  Or perhaps it’s just that I am still a bit tired from working with the 
healers.”  He slid his finger in and out, gently circling and stretching.

“You pick a fine time to tell me that, after you have laid me down here.  
Shall we change places, my poor, exhausted fellow?  I am feeling anything 
but tired.”  He thrust a few times against the mattress to prove it.

“Oh, I am not that tired.  Here, I shall stop tormenting you and prove it.”  
He rose and knelt between the Elf’s thighs, urging him onto his hands and 
knees with legs spread.  Quickly now the wizard worked to loosen the 
entrance.  “Pass me that pillow, please.  I fancy if I raise myself just a 
little, my aim will be perfect.”

Glorfindel handed it to him, remarking, “This is a poor excuse for a 
pillow, but I certainly hope it will work.”

Mithrandir doubled it over and knelt on it, lubricating his erection and 
pressing it slowly and steadily into the Elf.  Soon Glorfindel’s entire body 
flinched, and he groaned loudly as the wizard began to thrust.  
“Remember, my dear, that we are in a tent,” Mithrandir managed to say, 
and he reached around to stroke the Elf’s straining member.  The cot had 
immediately begun to squeak rhythmically and ominously, and the wizard 
laughed despite his arousal and murmured, “Hopeless.”

At once he heard various gasps and snorts as the Elf struggled to quiet his 
reactions.  “You have proven your aim, Mithrandir . . . now can you 
demonstrate your vigor and speed?  I can’t keep quiet forever!”

The Istar sighed happily.  “As you like it.”  He pumped faster and harder, 
eliciting more strangled moans.  He admitted in a strained voice, “It’s not 
easy . . . keeping quiet . . . is it?  Besides . . . this wretched bed is making . 
. . more noise than we are.  I think . . . we shall just have to . . . finish 
quickly.”

Glorfindel gave a snort of laughter and managed to mutter, “I’m glad you 
finally realize that.  Harder!”

The Istar pounded into him as hard as he could, keening softly as his own 
bliss rushed suddenly toward him.  Almost immediately he felt hot spurts 
coat his hand as the Elf gave one harsh, loud groan, then sucked his breath 
in between clenched teeth and emptied his balls in near silence.  Soon 
Mithrandir spilled within him, moaning despite himself as the pleasure 
seared through him,  He leaned against his partner’s hips as the last 
spasms faded.  After a short while during which the only sound was their 
panting, Mithrandir straightened up and wiped his hand, then carefully 
cleaned them both as he withdrew.

They shifted about until they had contrived to lie more-or-less side by 
side, with Glorfindel hugging the wizard up partway over his muscular 
chest.  After a little period of contented silence Glorfindel remarked, 
“Neither of us managed to remain discreetly quiet there at the end.”

“Mmmmm.  No.  Neither did the cot.  Oh, well, at least it did not 
collapse.”

“Yes, rather disappointing, that.  We shall have to try again.  With me on 
top this time.  That might do it.”

“Oh, fine!  Then where would I sleep?”

“In my tent.”

“Isn’t your bed just as narrow as this one?”

“Yes.  But perhaps we could find a second bed.  Or perhaps we could 
manage to put this one back together.  Don’t worry so much, my dear 
Istar.  Have we not always found a way?”

Mithrandir yawned.  “Yes.  Well, it’s a good thing that this bed is still 
usable.  My nap does not seem to have precluded the need for a good 
night’s sleep.  I certainly do not feel like rising, let alone dressing and 
walking to your tent.”

“All right, I will leave you to a well-deserved sleep.  Don’t take my 
teasing too seriously.  Your actions were marvelously vigorous, my dear 
Mithrandir.  If they didn’t collapse the bed, I’m sure I would not be able 
to.  Before you sleep, though, I should tell you that I would like to set out 
for Imladris with a small band of my soldiers tomorrow.  We can leave the 
rest to strike camp and follow after the wounded have had time to recover 
enough to travel.  I would like to get back and report to Elrond as quickly 
as possible.  The outcome of this battle will require a profound rethinking 
of most of our policies.  I assume you will come with me.”

“Of course.  I want to be there for that discussion.  For one thing, you will 
need somebody there who believes and is willing to back up your 
explanation as to why the Witch-King is still at large in Middle-earth.  
And we still face enormous difficulties and, as you say, changes in our 
policies.  Well, I shall endeavor to put all this out of my mind for now, or I 
shall never get to sleep—despite the fact that every muscle in my body has 
gone delightfully limp.  We shall have much time for discussion on the 
road.”
____________________________________________________________
_______

“Despite their drawbacks, I begin to look back on your cramped, flimsy 
tent and its narrow, squeaky cot with great fondness,” Glorfindel remarked 
with a rueful look as drops of water slid over his face and trickled from his 
golden hair.  It had been raining since before dawn, and the ruined 
countryside of ancient Arnor contained no inns or hospitable farmhouses 
to afford a temporary respite from the weather.

“You should wear a hat, my dear Elf,” Mithrandir said, raising the brim of 
his own to look at Glorfindel, who was riding beside him at the head of a 
small band of Elven warriors.  They had been on the road for only a few 
hours and faced a long journey back to Imladris.

“I doubt I would look very impressive in something like that,” the Elf said, 
glancing up to the peak of the pointed blue hat. 

The wizard, despite being fairly miserable himself in the cold rain, bristled 
in mock annoyance.  “What’s wrong with this hat?  A wizard must look 
like a wizard, after all.”

“Oh, I’m not saying there is anything wrong with it.  It suits you much 
better than it would me, and rather surprisingly, it does enhance your air of 
dignity and wisdom.”

“Ah, well, that’s better.”

They both lapsed back into gloom and rode for a while in silence.  At last, 
after nearly another half hour of riding, the rain diminished to a soft 
drizzle and finally ended altogether, and lighter patches in the clouds 
suggested that the weather would gradually clear.  Now that the pair was 
able to ride more comfortably, Mithrandir glanced around to make sure 
that they were far enough ahead of the lead soldiers that their conversation 
would remain private, then again turned to the Elf.  

“I assume you are feeling as discouraged as I am, my dear Glorfindel.”

“Quite discouraged, yes.  I had steeled myself to facing the Witch-King 
and, with great good luck, defeating him or seeing him defeated by 
another.  Believe me, no one regrets his escape more than I.”

“Yes, but your foresight about his fate worries me even more than does his 
disappearance.  How are we to deal with such a foe?  For the first time, I 
really wonder if we can.”

“Well, we can but go on trying.”

“Yes, go on . . . and on and on.  I knew when I first arrived in Middle-
earth that I would be here for a very long time, perhaps millennia, given 
the immensity of the tasks that were set before the Istari.  Still, to find 
myself at this stage, with nearly a thousand years gone by and our cause, 
as far as I can judge it now, in a somewhat worse state than when we 
started—well, it is enough to discourage anyone.  And you know that I 
have ordinarily been quite hopeful.  The North Kingdom now totally lost, 
its great warriors left homeless and kingless.   A dark power long 
ensconced in Dol Guldur, and still we have no real evidence that it is, as 
we fear, a Nazgul.  The great forests continue to shrink, and lands lose 
their inhabitants.  Dragons are creeping back from remote regions, 
probably to pose a real threat eventually.  The Dwarven rings disappear, 
one by one.”  He sighed.

Glorfindel felt the weight of all these problems no less than did the Istar, 
but he felt compelled to try and cheer his lover just a little.  “You do not 
list the encouraging signs.  The Southern Kingdom is now safer than it had 
been in centuries.  Minas Tirith holds sway in that part of the world.  
There are prosperous areas here and there, strong and relatively safe.”

The wizard looked at him with the trace of a smile.  “True.  And over the 
past few hundred years I have noticed that some of the lands just south of 
here are becoming inhabited again.”

“Really?  Surely not by Elves, or I would know of it.  By Dwarves, then, 
or Men?”

“No, by a small and rustic race that I believe are called Periannath by the 
few Elves that are aware of them.  Their fields and villages lie along one 
of the natural routes between the Havens and the Misty Mountains.  I 
rather like them.  Have you never encountered them?”

“No.  I have seldom been able to visit the Havens since that memorable 
time I went to escort you to Imladris.  And not at all in many years now.  I 
have relied on messengers of various sorts to exchange news and plans 
with Cirdan and Galdor and the rest.  Well, if these lands are supporting 
new, productive, friendly populations, it is a hopeful sign indeed.  Perhaps 
the trend will continue, and we shall see these more northerly lands 
regenerated as well.  For now, though, this victory reminds me all too 
much of that other one, where Gil-galad fell before the Black Gate in the 
defeat of Sauron, and yet evil was merely pushed back for a while.  Except 
for the Havens, Gil-galad’s kingdom lies more desolate than ever.”

They rode on for a few minutes without speaking before Mithrandir spoke 
again. 

“Yes, for now I cannot help but feel that we are taking two steps backward 
for every one in advance.  Still, perhaps one day we shall see Gil-galad’s 
realm renewed . . . You know, my dearest Elf, that you are one reason why 
I long to accomplish my mission.”  He reached out, and the two held 
hands as they rode.

“I am well aware of it, Mithrandir.  The ways in which you convey your . . 
. feelings have always been most eloquent.”  He swallowed and looked 
down.  “I too had hoped that after such a long time there would be more 
signs of real progress . . . some indication as to when the longed-for day 
might come . . .”  He glanced up to find the wizard’s dark eyes fixed upon 
him.  Mithrandir simply nodded.

After another short silence, the wizard said sadly, “We shall, I fear, have 
to be separated even more than usual for the foreseeable future.  My sense 
is that the worst danger now lurks in southern Mirkwood.  Dol Guldur’s 
mysteries will eventually have to be solved.  And if Gondor’s guard over 
Mordor falters . . . At any rate, I must leave you to the sad, watchful 
vigilance that will be Imladris’s lot.  The north is far from safe, even 
now.”

The wizard squeezed Glorfindel’s hand.  “I have so far neglected to tell 
you, by the way, my dear Elf, how much I admired your handling of the 
campaign against Angmar and your bravery in battle.  Many spoke of it to 
me.  You have truly acted in a manner worthy of Gil-galad’s memory.  
And although his ancient realm remains in dire straits, but at least you 
have done much to stop its decline and prepare for its re-growth.  And 
perhaps new populations will indeed begin to move into it.”

“I dearly hope so, and thank you, my sweet Istar, for your kind words.  I 
think now one of my main duties must be to help the Dúnedain to regroup 
and organize for their new, homeless way of life.”

“Exactly, and it occurs to me that you should help gather the heirlooms of 
ancient Arnor.  The scepter of the King, for example.  It should be taken 
and preserved at Imladris, in the hope that someday it can be handed over 
to the rightful heir.  Someday.  It will be a very long time, I fear, before 
the situation changes enough for us to sense real progress in our struggle.”

Glorfindel glanced behind to make sure that they speech was still secret 
and then asked, “What of your fellow Istari in all this?  I realize that 
Radagast has given us aid in monitoring the shadow in southern 
Mirkwood and in sending messages via birds and beasts, but . . .”

“Yes, well, those are useful contributions, of course, but I doubt that we 
can count upon him for much more.  Each time I visit him he seems more 
withdrawn, less knowledgeable about what goes on in the wider world.  
And he travels far less.”

“And Saruman?”

“Since his long journeys far into the east, he has spent much of his time in 
Gondor.  Exploring the southern lands thoroughly and in particular doing 
research in the archives of Minas Tirith.  It is possible that his work there 
holds some potential.  His thought is to try and rediscover the means by 
which the great Elven rings were created.  If he could do that and if new 
rings could be made, it would presumably enhance our power 
considerably.”

“Do you think there is really much chance that he can do such a thing?”

“Not a great chance, no, but I suppose the advantage would be so 
tremendous that it is worth his trying.  If he succeeds, it might prove the 
dramatic breakthrough that we long for.  And if anyone can do it, he can. 
Though I cannot help but worry that he too spends less and less time 
exploring the peoples of this continent and getting to know them.  To me, 
it seems more likely that the inhabitants of the various lands offer us more 
power and hope than any rings made by Saruman could.  Who knows what 
potential lies hidden in some little-known corner of this continent?  I told 
you about my visits to the Ents of Fangorn Forest.  Marvellous creatures, 
and very strong, I deem, though they may have forgotten it in their slow, 
quiet way of life.  My wish is to continue to travel and get to know all 
such beings.  I wonder if Saruman dreams of the unsuspected help and 
friendship that seem to exist in almost every part of Middle-earth—at least 
those parts untouched by the shadow.  Discovering them, I must say, is 
part of what has sustained me in the face of many setbacks, and there are 
probably many that I do not know yet.  I am not sure what all these people 
can actually do in our struggle, but I suspect that it may someday be vital 
to be familiar with them and be able to call upon their aid.  For the Istari 
will not save Middle-earth, if it can be saved at all.  Its own people will.”  
A smile had spread slowly across his face as he spoke, and he looked more 
hopeful than he had all morning.

“Have you discussed all this with Saruman?  Perhaps he should divide his 
efforts somewhat, rather than researching one area so much, and one that 
might never bear fruit at all.”

Mithrandir hesitated before answering.  “I have talked with him about it, 
and he knows my opinions.  Frankly, though, I find it more than a little 
difficult to understand Saruman at times.  His concerns seem so different 
from mine, despite our common mission.  I can’t grasp how he feels about 
Middle-earth and what we should be doing here.  Oh, I can talk to him 
about strategies and exchange information and so on.  But later, when it 
comes just to having a chat over a meal or taking a walk outdoors and 
discussing the things we see . . . well, I find myself a trifle uncomfortable 
and, strangely, even at a loss to find something to say—and you know that 
is seldom a problem of mine.”

Glorfindel laughed loudly.  “Far from it!  And I find it hard to believe.”

“Oh, I assure you.  If ever you think I am chattering away too long over a 
dinner table or by the fire, just fetch in Saruman, and he will absolutely 
cast a pall over the entire group—including me!”

Glorfindel continued laughing more quietly during this.  “True, I did not 
find that I had much to say to him or he to me on those rare occasions 
when we have spent any time together—but I rather assumed that that was 
simply because we knew each other so little.”

“Yes, well, I have spend much time with him, and still I feel I know him 
little—in any personal way, that is.  He is so guarded in his conversation 
and seems to think over twice every little thing that he says.  No, I think it 
comes down to the fact that we just don’t like each other very much.  A 
real pity.  Still, he is brilliant and powerful and a great support to our 
cause.

“No doubt, but getting back to all these various peoples that you say may 
someday save Middle-earth.  How are they to be brought together?  Most 
of them are either unaware of each other or even at odds with each other.  
Indeed, I am not quite sure myself just what peoples you are referring to—
not all of them are familiar to me, I am sure.  Like the Periannath you just 
mentioned.  The Ents I had at least heard of before you first visited them.”

Mithrandir shook his head.  “Well, that, of course, is precisely the 
problem—bringing them together.  You are quite right.  The various 
people do seem surprisingly unaware of each other’s existence.  In all 
these years I have grown more and more to feel that our efforts can best be 
directed in trying to organize their various policies and beliefs around an 
overarching vision of creating a united front against our enemies.  The 
problem,” he added with a little laugh, “is just what that vision should be.”  

“Well, Saruman does not seem to be providing it.  I believe it may fall to 
you, my dearest Istar.”

“Oh, I hope not!  I do not think I am adequate to such a mammoth task.  
At this point I cannot imagine what such a vision would be.  That which 
we are fighting is so amorphous, and no one blow that we strike seems to 
diminish it.  Always it slips away, reforms, regroups.  If you asked me 
right now to formulate a way by which we could make a decisive move 
against the shadow—assuming, that is, that we could indeed coordinate 
the various peoples into a sufficient force—I would frankly have no idea.  
There seems to be no center of power among our opposition, no target at 
which to aim . . .  No real goal to pursue.  Only vague and dark suspicions 
and the occasional localized outbreak of violence of the type we have just 
experienced.  No, it seems to me that my efforts can best be spent in 
continuing to explore just what the various people’s policies and beliefs 
really are, so that I can contribute that knowledge when the time comes.”

“Contribute it to whom, though?  To what?  It comes back to the question 
of who should formulate this overarching vision?”

“The Wise, I suppose.  The Istari and the various high Elves, in 
cooperation with the Kings of Gondor and the great Dwarf chieftains.  
Even as I say that, though, I sense the enormity of the task.  All such 
groups tend to decide on measures that protect their own territories, not 
sally forth to unite with others.  Elves are not alone in that.  Eventually, 
however, we simply must become more organized and tight-knit, but after 
all this time we are still, alas, just groping in that direction.”   He sighed 
again.  “And I cannot see even that process ending any time soon.”

Glorfindel was still holding the wizard’s hand, which he now raised and 
pressed to his lips.  “Do not be too discouraged or lose the great patience 
that has so far sustained you.  I know our victory here was heavy with 
disappointment, but I suspect that during your journeys around Middle-
earth, you have made more progress toward our goals than you realize.”

“Have I?  Well, perhaps you are right.  You lighten my spirits somewhat, 
my dearest Elf.  And truly, what can we do but go on trying?  After all, as 
I always say—“

“Even the Wise cannot see all ends.”  The Elf grinned at him.

“Do I say it that often?  How tiresome!”

“Oh, not really.”  Glancing back toward the soldiers behind, the Elf smiled 
and shrugged, leaning over to exchange a brief kiss with Mithrandir.  “Not 
all ends, perhaps.  But you have given me a vision to guide me through 
even the worst setbacks.  A vision of one way that all this could end.  I 
shall not be entirely discouraged as long as I have that.”

Mithrandir squeezed his hand.  “Nor I, my dearest Elf.”

TBC



The Grey Shores  4/6


Author:  Nefertiti    nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Gandalf/Glorfindel  
Rating:  NC-17
Disclaimer:  No rights owned, no income received.
Summary:  Despite a joyful reunion at Imladris, Mithrandir and Glorfindel 
find themselves on opposite sides of a debate at a meeting of the White 
Council.
Author’s Note:  Book-canon.  This story takes place in 2851 of the Third 
Age, when the White Council met in Imladris.  It is based largely on a 
mention of this meeting in the chronology in Appendix B of LotR, plus a 
brief draft of an argument between Saruman and Mithrandir that takes 
place at the end of that meeting; this is from the section “Concerning 
Gandalf, Saruman and the Shire” in the Unfinished Tales, and part of the 
dialogue and description is taken directly from that draft.

Endless gratitude goes to beta extraordinaire Elanor for her inspiration, 
encouragement, and plain old good advice.  Many thanks also to Sarah for 
her more-than-generous comments and yet more encouragement.

____________________________________________________________


Mithrandir urged his horse into a faster pace as they reached the foot of 
the steep mountain path.  The night before had seen darkness overtake the 
Istar still high up, and he had been forced to camp in a small cave.  Now, 
however, he was approaching the path down into the hidden enclave of 
Imladris.  He was glad he was approaching it from the east.  From the west 
the paths were complicated and hidden, but here the mountain road led 
fairly directly to the main path down into the valley.

The wizard was eager to arrive at the Last Homely House.  It had been 
many months since he had seen Glorfindel, and he knew those months had 
been a time of worry for his beloved Elf.  Both had known when 
Mithrandir departed for southern Mirkwood that he was pursuing one of 
his most dangerous tasks ever, the investigation of the interior of Dol 
Guldur.  Messages concerning the outcome of those investigations—and 
his own safety—had been sent to Imladris via bird messengers, but he 
knew that the anxiety that Glorfindel had undergone would make him all 
the more eager to be reunited with his lover.

Thinking ahead to that highly anticipated reunion, the Istar felt his desire 
intensifying, and, thinking also about how they might initially satisfy their 
longing for each other, he realized that he had not had a chance to bath 
since he started over the mountains.  He hardly wanted to greet Glorfindel 
in his current rather scruffy condition.  Reluctantly he decided to stop 
beside a small waterfall, where he could wash a bit and take some 
breakfast.  That way he could perhaps go straight to the Elf’s room, and 
they could be alone for a while before they had to greet and dine with the 
other members of the Wise who were gathering for the upcoming meeting 
of the White Council.  At least the sun was now high enough to shine 
through the pass behind him and warm the little clearing where he had 
chosen to refresh himself.

As he washed and ate, Mithrandir anticipated seeing Saruman again and 
sighed at the battle of wills that would inevitably take place at the meeting.  
The Grey Wizard was not at all confident that he could persuade the other 
members to vote his way—despite the fact that the danger of not acting on 
his advice seemed obvious.  Getting Elves—or indeed members of other 
races—to act to their mutual benefit was almost inevitably a ponderous 
process.  

Shaking off such thoughts, he looked around appreciatively at the lush 
foliage of late spring that clung to every crack and bit of soil on the 
precipitous sides of the deep dell.  Visiting Imladris was always a joy, but 
at such a splendid time of year and with such weather, it was particularly 
glorious.  He looked forward to long walks with Glorfindel, and perhaps to 
a bit of open-air love-making in the more secluded areas of the woods 
surrounding Elrond’s rambling house.  At that his thoughts returned to his 
more immediate desires, and he hung his small bag on the saddle and 
remounted for the short remainder of his journey.

When he arrived at the main entrance, he turned his horse over to a groom 
and quietly went inside.  One of Elrond’s sons greeted him.  “Shall I let 
Elrond know you are here?  He is in his study, consulting with Saruman, 
who arrived yesterday.”

Mithrandir tried to keep a small frown from crossing his face.  “I think I 
shan’t interrupt them, Elladan.  I am here early enough in the day that 
there will be time later for conversation.  Now, though, as you can 
probably imagine, I would like to find Glorfindel.”

Elladan smiled.  “He was in the library a little earlier this morning, 
Mithrandir.  I wish you joy in your reunion.”

Nodding happily to the dark-haired Elf, Mithrandir strolled quickly along 
the corridors to the large, long, book-lined room that lay in a quiet area at 
the back of the house, nestled up against a steep bluff.  The thick wooden 
door swung open silently on well-oiled hinges, and the wizard poked his 
head in.  Glorfindel was seated at a table, flipping slowly through a large 
volume and skimming each page.  He did not hear the door open, and 
Mithrandir stood for a moment admiring the sheen of his pale yellow hair 
and the graceful shape of his back as he leaned forward over his task.  
Soon the wizard moved inside and pushed the door shut hard enough for it 
to make a muffled thump.

Glorfindel spun around and with a joyful grin leaped to his feet 
immediately.  The book fell shut, completely forgotten in the Elf’s utter 
delight.  Before Mithrandir could take more than two steps into the room, 
Glorfindel had hurried across and pushed him back against the door, 
seizing his head in both hands and pulling the wizard into a deep, 
devouring kiss.  After a few seconds, Mithrandir, who had been holding 
his hat, bag, and staff in one hand, made a vague attempt to toss them in 
the direction of a nearby table.  Given his somewhat constrained position, 
however, all three fell short.  The staff clattered briefly on the tile floor, 
but the pair ignored it.  The wizard slipped one arm tightly around 
Glorfindel’s waist and cupped his buttocks with the other, pressing their 
hips together so that their rapidly growing erections rubbed against each 
other.

Mithrandir pulled his mouth reluctantly away, looking around the room to 
make sure that no other scholars were present in the shadowy corners of 
the room and that they were indeed alone.  As he attempted to survey the 
library, Glorfindel made things very difficult for him by sliding his lips 
across the wizard’s cheek and nibbling insistently at his ear.  “Why are no 
beds provided in this library?” the wizard murmured, flinching with 
pleasure as Glorfindel’s hand cupped his erection and kneaded it through 
the stretched cloth of his trousers.  He moaned.  “I certainly cannot make it 
all the way to my room if you keep doing that sort of thing.  It’s miles 
away.”

Glorfindel chuckled softly into his ear and agreed in a whisper, “Miles 
indeed, but I am not going to stop doing this sort of thing.  We’ll just have 
to find the means here,” he added, reaching with one hand over the 
wizard’s shoulder to slide the elaborate iron bolt of the door into place.

Mithrandir laughed, leaning his head back against the wooden panel as 
Glorfindel nuzzled under his beard and licked his throat wetly.  “What if 
someone needs to do some important research?” he asked.

“I suspect we would not delay him long,” Glorfindel replied, raising his 
head and shaking it slightly to free his silky hair from the clinging beard.  
He glanced at the nearby table.  “That looks about the right height.  Would 
you rather take or be taken, my dearest Istar?”

The wizard draped his arms around Glorfindel’s neck and smiled up at 
him, thrusting slightly against his hand.  “Given my long journey, I am a 
trifle tired.  And you seem very energetic!  Perhaps I should let you do the 
hard work, and I shall reciprocate later.”

“I fear, though, that I have nothing to ease the entry,” the Elf said 
regretfully, looking around.

“Don’t worry.  I have all my luggage here,” Mithrandir said, moving to the 
table and picking up his bag as he went.  He turned, placed his hands on 
the surface, and heaved himself up slightly with his hands to sit on the 
table, kicking off his boots and then fishing a familiar little jar out of the 
bag.  Glorfindel moved between his spread knees, opening his own 
trouser-front and pulling out his rampant cock.  The wizard leaned 
forward, and they swirled their tongues together as he coated Glorfindel’s 
member quickly.  As he did so, the Elf unlaced his trousers.  Mithrandir 
raised himself slightly on his hands to allow his companion to pull the 
trousers off, then lay back on his elbows and raised his heels to the edge of 
the table.  As swiftly as possible, Glorfindel dipped two fingers into the 
jar, then slid them inside and prepared the wizard, making him clench his 
teeth and throw back his head as the fingertips stroked the front of the 
velvety passage firmly.

Soon Glorfindel leaned forward to kiss the Istar hard, then slipped the tip 
of his erection inside.  “Keep going.  Not quite . . . wait,” the wizard 
instructed between gasps, bending his knees more as he slid his hips 
slightly toward the table’s edge.  The Elf began to thrust again, and 
Mithrandir started and groaned, “Oh, yes, that’s it.”  At first Glorfindel set 
a moderate pace, but soon the wizard was whimpered with eagerness.

“Shall I not delay our pleasure a bit?” Glorfindel asked softly, though the 
film of sweat on his face and his uneven panting testified to his own 
rapidly mounting need.

Mithrandir shook his head.  “Later,” he growled.  “But now . . .”

“So impatient,” Glorfindel murmured with a smile as he switched to a 
faster pace, pushing in harder and stroking the wizard’s bobbing erection 
swiftly.  Almost at once Mithrandir came, writhing on the smooth wooden 
surface and sending ribbons of his come onto it.  His movements pulled at 
Glorfindel until he too erupted, groaning and savoring each sharp little jolt 
of pleasure as his climax slowly subsided.  Producing a handkerchief from 
an inner pocket, he wiped them both clean as he carefully withdrew.  The 
wizard’s legs relaxed and hung over the edge of the table, and Glorfindel 
stood breathing heavily and watching him gradually refocus his eyes and 
look up to smile at his partner.

“Welcome to Imladris, Mithrandir,” Glorfindel said teasingly as he tied up 
his elegant grey trousers.  He leaned over to swab the semen off the table.

“Do all of the visitors to Imladris receive such an . . . exhilarating 
welcome, my dear Elf?”

Glorfindel grinned.  “Hardly.”

“I thought not.  If they did, the overgrown paths leading into this valley 
would be much easier to find—beaten down by a heavy flow of regular 
traffic.”  He sat up, and Glorfindel handed him his trousers, which he 
pulled onto his legs before sliding off the table to fasten them.

Glorfindel loosely embraced the Istar and stared into his eyes.  “Joking 
aside, it is wonderful to have you safely back here.  I hope I need not tell 
you how much I worried and wondered during those terrible weeks when 
you were investigating the Dark Tower of southern Mirkwood.”

Mithrandir gave him a gentle kiss and pulled away, leaning over to pick up 
his hat and staff.  When he straightened up, he shrugged.  “It was 
necessary—and it is over.  I only hope I can convince other members of 
the Council that action is now vital.”  He looked doubtfully at the Elf, for 
he was not at all sure how Glorfindel would vote once all the arguments 
had been presented.  He could hardly expect the Elf to take his side simply 
because they were lovers.  They were both too honest to tolerate such bias.

Glorfindel looked down at the floor and sighed.  “I cannot say.  It is such a 
crucial issue—one of the most important that has faced us in this age of 
Middle-earth.”

“True.  Well, I shall not press you for your opinion now.  You should hear 
everything I have to tell the Council . . . and everything that Saruman and 
the others have to say, of course, before deciding.  Let us simply take 
advantage of the fact that I have indeed returned safely, as glad to see you 
as you are to see me.  I would suggest that I go and say hello to Elrond 
briefly, then join you in my room.  And then we can be patient and take a 
little more time over our pleasure.”
____________________________________________________________

Later, during the height of the mid-afternoon heat, Saruman and Elrond 
stepped out onto a covered, raised porch outside the Elf’s study.  It 
overlooked a long strip of garden and lawn, sloping down toward the 
rocks above the river, the rushing water of which could be dimly heard.  
To one side there was a large tree which contained a platform in its lower 
branches.  From most vantage points foliage would screen the platform 
from clear visibility, but Elrond’s porch faced a gap in the branches.  
Saruman saw two figures seated on a bench with a high back.  He 
recognized Mithrandir immediately, and his eyes narrowed.  The other 
Istar was lounging in a relaxed fashion against a cushion in the corner of 
the bench where the arm met the back, and leaning against him was an 
exquisite blond Elf.  Here in this enclave of mostly dark-haired Elves, this 
lovely figure was all the more striking.  So was the fact that he and 
Mithrandir were kissing in a leisurely fashion, sucking lazily at each 
other’s lips.  The wizard’s left arm encircled the Elf’s shoulders, and his 
fingers played softly over his companion’s cheek.  It was perfectly 
obvious that the two had recently made love until both were blissfully 
satiated.

As the pair pulled apart briefly to gaze into each other’s eyes in fond 
contentment, Saruman recognized the Elf as Glorfindel.  He had initially 
met the Elf nearly two thousand years earlier when he had arrived at the 
Grey Havens, and Glorfindel had been very helpful in orienting him and 
guiding him to Imladris.  He had encountered the Elf only a few times 
since, when the White Council met in the Last Homely House.  Glancing 
out of the corner of his eye, Saruman saw that Elrond was smiling at the 
sight of the lovers.  Inwardly the Istar was seething.  He had grown 
increasingly jealous of Mithrandir over the years and not just sexually, 
although he had found himself strangely curious about the other wizard’s 
love life.  He was also envious of his colleague’s enjoyment of such trifles 
as good ale and smoking, his ease at making friends of all sorts, and his 
ability to command the respect of the others among the Wise, even when 
they disagreed with him.  That respect often seemed to exceed that which 
they accorded to Saruman.  And now he found that Mithrandir also had 
this maddeningly beautiful Elf for his pleasure.  The White Wizard vividly 
remembered lusting after Glorfindel when they had met in the Havens, but 
it would never have occurred to him to approach the Elf in such a fashion.

Saruman’s control of his voice was superb, and he easily managed to 
sound quite casual and amused as he turned to Elrond.  “Mithrandir seems 
to have found quite pleasant companionship here in Imladris, Lord 
Elrond.”

Elrond’s smile broadened, for he sensed none of the prudish disapproval 
and jealousy lurking behind the Istar’s remark.  “Oh, neither one makes 
any secret of the fact that they have been lovers since Mithrandir arrived 
in Middle-earth.”

Saruman mentally cursed the many spies that he had had following 
Mithrandir over all these years.  His agents had from time to time told 
Saruman of the Grey Wizard’s liaisons with various Elves and Men and 
even, ridiculously enough, Hobbits, but they had entirely missed this long-
running affair with one of the most powerful Elves of all.  Admittedly his 
agents had no ability to enter Imladris and keep tabs on Mithrandir while 
he was there, and Glorfindel never came to the Council meetings held 
elsewhere.  Nevertheless, Saruman was irked by this disturbing discovery.  
His jealousy flared even hotter upon learning that Mithrandir had had this 
enticing creature all along.  Not only was that galling in itself, but it might 
also give Mithrandir a strategic advantage in the Council meeting the next 
day and generally in the future.

He responded in a tone of carefully calculated surprise, “Oh, really?  I had 
received the impression that Mithrandir had lovers in various places over 
the years.  I seem to recall that he has been quite friendly with at least one 
Elf at Lorién when the Council has met there.”

Elrond continued to smile, but his brows formed a puzzled little frown as 
he glanced more closely at Saruman.  The Istar seemed quite friendly, 
however, apparently more pleased at his colleague’s good fortune than 
merely hungry for gossip.  Elrond nodded, “True, unfortunately 
Mithrandir and Glorfindel are seldom able to be together, and I am the one 
who attends the meetings when they occur in the Golden Wood or 
Orthanc.  Often these two must be apart for months and even years.  Yet 
their affection for each other has remained strong despite these other 
relationships.  Perhaps, if all our strategies eventually bear fruit, they will 
no longer have to be apart.  At least, I believe that is their hope.”

At this juncture Elrond was summoned away to greet Galdor, who had just 
arrived with a small group from the Havens.  Saruman sat down and stared 
at the couple on the bench, no longer bothering to suppress the annoyance 
that he felt.  Mithrandir had apparently drifted into a doze, his head on 
Glorfindel’s shoulder, and the Elf was gently stroking his hair.  Saruman 
pressed his lips together.  He was not sure which he envied and desired 
more.  He let his mind wander into fantasy, picturing Mithrandir asleep in 
that same fashion in the White Wizard’s bed, reduced to this limp, blissful 
state by Saruman’s own persistent, skilled lovemaking—fawningly 
grateful for such ecstasy, unable to oppose his fellow Istar in any of his 
policies.  How much easier and more pleasant his life would be under such 
circumstances, with his main opponent effectively tamed.  It was far from 
the first time that his thoughts had strayed in that direction.

After a few minutes of this, his imagination drifted to the idea of seducing 
the glorious Elf away from Mithrandir, fucking him so skillfully and often 
and vigorously that Glorfindel would forget his devotion to the Grey 
Wizard and attach himself instead to Saruman as an acolyte, supporting 
his aims as he now presumably supported Mithrandir’s.  Finally he sighed.  
Both fantasies were quite arousing, but neither was remotely likely to 
come true.  With so much experience, Mithrandir was undoubtedly a 
better lover than he, and he was hardly likely to abandon this beautiful Elf 
in favor of a colleague with whom he was on somewhat tense terms at the 
best of times. 

How could the other wizard be so open and easy about such things?  
Saruman had frequently eyed not just Glorfindel but also the other 
beautiful Elves he encountered, initially at the Havens and later on in 
Imladris and Lorién.  He had fantasized about doing many things with 
them.  The thought of actually approaching one of them, however, always 
appalled him.  It was one thing to coerce some of the Men who were his 
subordinates at Orthanc into submitting to his desires, as he did fairly 
often.  Those trysts were quite secret, with his partners sworn to silence.  
To confess such desires, such needs to high-born Elves seemed shameful.  
He watched as Glorfindel’s hand hovered over Mithrandir’s fluffy white 
hair, barely touching it as he tenderly caressed the sleeping wizard.  Even 
in his fantasies he could not fathom how one would go about gaining the 
love of such a splendid being.  His teeth ground slightly against each 
other, but then he snorted slightly.  Why should he envy Mithrandir for 
being so undignified as to indulge openly in such low desires?  Let him 
have his pretty Elf.  He, Saruman, would win out in more important 
matters.  He had little doubt that the upcoming Council debates would go 
his own way.  Mithrandir would not prevail there, where it really counted.  
And someday, if he managed to obtain the object that was increasingly 
occupying his mind, he would gain great power over his fellow wizard and 
over all the others as well.  He took a deep breath, rose, and with one last 
glance at the peaceful couple, went back into the house with a stately 
gait—thinking of how he could get one of the Dunlanders from his escort 
to suck his cock in his room, while he closed his eyes and imagined that 
Mithrandir or Glorfindel was the one pleasuring him so compliantly.
____________________________________________________________

In the mid-afternoon of the next day, the Council was beginning to wind 
down toward the crucial vote.  For much of the morning Mithrandir had 
described his daring visit to Dol Guldur and the evidence he had found 
there for Sauron’s reviving power.  Time and again he had urged an attack 
on the fortress, arguing that Sauron’s strength could only increase over 
time.  The questions of many among the Wise, however, showed a 
skepticism and perhaps an underlying fear that boded ill for the Grey 
Wizard’s success.  Glorfindel sat sadly, feeling the air crackle with tension 
as the debate became more acrimonious.  During lunch, Mithrandir had 
been withdrawn and silent, answering questions with a polite smile and a 
brief comment only.  

After lunch the Council resumed.  Saruman took the floor now, presenting 
his own belief that caution was necessary, and that they had little way of 
knowing whether their strength would be enough to overcome Sauron.  By 
waiting, they might themselves invent some weapon that would be more 
effective than any they now possessed or devise some more sophisticated 
stratagem that would foil their enemy.  Upon returning to the room, 
Mithrandir had sat not at the Council table, as before, but moved to a chair 
near the cold fireplace.  He listened without glancing at Saruman as the 
White Wizard laid out his position and promised that he personally would 
devote himself to the devising of effective weapons and stratagems.  His 
melodious voice made his words a pleasure to hear, and most of the 
questions that he received were couched in a more friendly and deferential 
way than those of the morning.  Saruman’s increasing joviality reflected a 
genuine inward delight at his obvious advantage over his fellow Istar.  
Perhaps his belief that the other Council members had more respect for 
Mithrandir than for him was unfounded.  He noticed the worried looks that 
Glorfindel occasionally leveled at his lover and wondered whether it might 
even be possible that by triumphing over the Grey Wizard now he could 
drive a wedge between the two that might lead to the lovely blond Elf 
becoming his.  Nothing seemed impossible, given the unexpected ease 
with which Saruman was winning over most of his auditors.

Meaningful glances flew back and forth during the entire proceedings, but 
none more so than when Mithrandir sighed audibly and pulled out his 
pipe.  All present were familiar with this absurd pastime that the wizard 
had picked up recently in the rustic lands off to the west, but it surprised 
them that he should pursue it here.  Saruman looked at him, pausing 
awkwardly for a moment in his otherwise smooth flow of speech, then 
casting a look of amused exasperation around the group at the table as he 
resumed.  

As the afternoon passed and Mithrandir refused to comment on the points 
that the others were discussing, Saruman became visibly annoyed.  What 
was the other Istar up to, he wondered.  Was he trying to make him, the 
head of the Council, look ridiculous by showing so little respect?  
Saruman had to try hard not to let Mithrandir’s behavior throw him off his 
concentration.

By the time of the vote, the room was heavy with blue tobacco smoke, 
despite the gentle breezes wafting through the open windows.  Saruman 
was glad that the meeting was nearly over.  He feared that Mithrandir’s 
actions would goad him into some unwise statement that could ruin the 
excellent effect that he had created so far.  And, to the surprise of no one 
in the room, the vote went heavily in Saruman’s favor.  Only Galadriel 
sided with the Grey Wizard, then sat staring stonily at the table.  Saruman 
was again surprised at how easily he had won, commanding nearly all of 
the votes—including that of Mithrandir’s own lover.  The idea occurred to 
him that he might somehow drive a wedge between them and gain one or 
the other for himself.

Once the outcome was decided, most of the others relaxed a bit, talking 
quietly among themselves.  Some stood up to stretch, while others 
remained seated, as if pondering the events of the day with doubts still 
lingering.  Mithrandir made no move but continued to sit and smoke in 
apparent peace.  Saruman suspected that he should let well enough alone, 
but he could not help trying to put his fellow Istar at an even greater 
disadvantage—and to extract a little revenge for the rudeness of his 
behavior.  He turned and stared at the Grey Wizard, then spoke with a cool 
irony that could equally have been friendly banter or quiet contempt.  
“When weighty matters are in debate Mithrandir, I wonder a little that you 
should play with your toys of fire and smoke, while others are in earnest 
speech.”

Mithrandir was noted for his enormous patience, and as he turned his eyes 
to Saruman, it was clear at least to Glorfindel that he had already resigned 
himself somewhat to the outcome of the vote.  Presumably he was 
determined to try and display a good humor, hoping to have better fortune 
another day.  He laughed and replied, “You would not wonder, if you used 
this herb yourself.  You might find that smoke blown out cleared your 
mind of shadows within.  Anyway, it gives patience, to listen to error 
without anger.  But it is not one of my toys.  It is an art of the Little People 
away in the West:  merry and worthy folk, though not of much account, 
perhaps, in your high policies.”

There was an awkward silence, for the gentle rebuke seemed aimed as 
much at the group as at Saruman.  Why was Mithrandir raising such 
trivial, divisive ideas at this point, when everything was settled?  All 
present could sense that Saruman, despite a somewhat fixed smile, was 
greatly irritated.  His tone was cold as he said, “You jest, Lord Mithrandir, 
as is your way.  I know well enough that you have become a curious 
explorer of the small:  weeds, wild things, and childish folk.  Your time is 
your own to spend, if you have nothing worthier to do; and your friends 
you may make as you please.  But to me the days are too dark for 
wanderers’ tales, and I have no time for the simples of peasants.”

There was a tingling silence for a moment, for although all present were 
somewhat aware of the tension between the two most powerful of the 
Istari, it had never surfaced so openly before.  They stood, almost afraid to 
breathe, as they watched the smile fade from Mithrandir’s face during the 
White Wizard’s speech.  He did not laugh again, and he did not answer, 
but looking keenly at Saruman he drew on his pipe and sent out a great 
ring of smoke with many little rings that followed it.  Then he put up his 
hand, as if to grasp them, and they vanished.  With that he got up and left 
Saruman without another word; but Saruman stood for some time silent, 
and his face was dark with doubt and displeasure.

After a few moments the others moved about and began to talk again.  
Glorfindel continued to sit, torn with uncertainty.  On the one hand, the 
insolence of Saruman’s speech to Mithrandir was upsetting.  On the other, 
he could not wholly banish the thought from his mind that Saruman might 
be right:  the Grey Istar’s smoking and indeed his general attitude could be 
seen as equally insolent, and for no good reason that he could see.

Shortly after Mithrandir had left the room, Galadriel rose wordlessly and 
hurried out.  Glorfindel hesitated, wearing a worried little frown and 
looking after them.  Abruptly he began to rise, but Elrond quickly put a 
hand atop his arm to detain him.  “Let them have a bit of time to talk,” he 
said in a low voice.  “I do not think that you want to be one against those 
two at this moment.”

Glorfindel looked at him uncertainly but sat back down.  “I wonder if we 
have done the right thing,” he murmured, glancing into Elrond’s grey 
eyes.

The other Elf stared back at him briefly.  “I sincerely hope so.  Saruman 
seems so sure of his facts and strategy, and you know that Mithrandir is 
sometimes inclined to be a trifle reckless when he sees a chance to solve a 
problem quickly . . . wait, you need not defend him to me, Glorfindel.  
Perhaps he is right, but it simply seems a bit risky to me.”

Glorfindel sighed.  “It is he who has taken all the risk in seeking out this 
vital information in Dol Guldur.  Perhaps we should trust him more, since 
only he has directly witnessed the things he described to us.”

Elrond sat silent for a long moment.  “I am not entirely happy with this 
vote, but I like the alternative even less.  Well, go to him and offer what 
comfort you can—or what comfort he will allow you to.  Make it up with 
him after Galadriel and he have finished their discussion.”

Glorfindel sat sadly, thinking of the many little quarrels that he and 
Mithrandir had had over the centuries—always conducted in reasonably 
good humor, with banter and teasing rather than raised voices and harsh 
words.  He realized that he had never thought of his having to “make it 
up” with his lover, and the idea frightened him a bit.  “Surely it won’t 
come to that,” he said, though his tone was less sure than his words.  He 
rose and went out slowly.  Saruman’s eyes followed him, though he 
concealed his flare-up of jealousy as he chatted casually with some of the 
other Elves at the far end of the room.

Glorfindel wandered about the house, finding no sign of Mithrandir until 
he spotted the Istar, still with Galadriel, through a window.  They were 
standing in a little side garden by a fountain.  Galadriel was listening as 
the wizard spoke animatedly and gestured broadly.  She occasionally put 
in a brief comment but mainly nodded at intervals.  Glorfindel sighed and 
watched for a short time, after which Mithrandir fell silent and walked 
quickly back into the house.

Glorfindel waited a bit longer, pacing aimlessly, and then went along the 
corridors until he reached Mithrandir’s room.  He stood uncertainly, then 
knocked.  There was a pause, and he had almost decided that the Istar 
must have gone elsewhere when he heard the familiar voice say, “Yes?” in 
a less than inviting fashion.  Glorfindel opened the door slightly and saw 
Mithrandir standing by the window, staring out, his hands clenched tightly 
behind his back.  After an awkward pause, Mithrandir turned his face to 
the Elf.  Although his features wore a relatively neutral expression, his 
eyes and stance hinted that he was far angrier than Glorfindel had ever 
seen him.  How much of that anger was directed at him the Elf could not 
judge.  “May I come in?”

“Yes, of course.”

Glorfindel entered and closed the door behind himself.  Ordinarily he 
would have moved across to the wizard, for the two almost never met, 
even after a brief time apart, without an embrace.  He sensed, however, 
that Mithrandir was not in any mood for even a quick hug, and the Elf 
instead crossed and sat on the bed.  “I am sorry to have found myself on 
the side opposing you, Mithrandir, and believe me, I debated internally 
long and hard, as did the others, I am sure.  I simply thought that Saruman 
might well be right in urging caution for the time being.”

Mithrandir frowned and expelled an small, exasperated snort.  “Yes, Elves 
are nothing if not cautious.”

Glorfindel could think of no reply.  He had long known that the Istar 
found the cautious, defense-oriented strategy that Elves tended to pursue 
frustrating, while the Elves often shied away from the Istar’s more active, 
daring plans.  Elrond had once remarked to Glorfindel, “We must 
remember that Mithrandir possesses Narya, and it seems to make his 
nature more volatile and eager than it might otherwise be.”  Glorfindel, 
who had come to know the Istar intimately before he was given Narya, 
doubted this opinion, but he had not said so to Elrond.  He was aware that 
indeed some of the Elves on the Council considered Mithrandir hot-
headed and impetuous at times, and he had had little success in persuading 
them otherwise.  No doubt they dismissed this as Glorfindel’s bias in favor 
of his lover.  He also knew that more recently there was another reason 
why his fellow Elves might be a bit skeptical of some of the Istar’s more 
daring schemes, but he was reluctant to bring it up when Mithrandir was 
already angry over the vote’s outcome.

Mithrandir began to pace slowly.  “Caution is one thing, but I fear that 
inaction at this juncture will simply cause greater danger in the future and 
make all our tasks much harder in the long run.  And who will bear the 
brunt of that additional danger and difficulty?”  He paused and smiled 
briefly and bitterly at Glorfindel, tapping his own chest with his fingertips.  
The Elf felt his stomach twist.  He had never encountered such bitterness 
in the Istar.  That part of it should be directed at him saddened him greatly.  
The wizard went on.  “I simply do not understand how you and the others 
can vote against both Galadriel and me.”

Glorfindel hesitated, fearing that he would anger the Istar even further, but 
he felt compelled to be frank.  “We all know, Mithrandir, that Galadriel 
nearly always votes with you, as much through her great admiration for 
you as because she agrees with you in any specific situation.  Perhaps 
some see her as a bit prejudiced.  Some listen to Saruman’s complaint that 
her nomination of you to head the White Council was a bid on her part for 
greater influence.”

Mithrandir stopped and stared at him, his great brows drawing together 
into a formidable frown.  “He has said such a thing?” he asked with quiet 
anger.  Glorfindel simply nodded.  The wizard stood thinking for a 
moment, then resumed his pacing.  He finally said quietly, “She certainly 
has little enough influence with him as head of the Council, despite her 
deep wisdom . . . .  And speaking of influence, perhaps I am wrong, but 
Saruman seemed to direct many of his remarks to you today.   He paid 
more attention to you than he has at past meetings where you were 
present—and certainly more so than he did to any of the others.  I wonder 
why.”

“Perhaps he sensed that I was more likely to vote with you than were the 
others.”

Mithrandir turned to stare at him once more, though now with a slightly 
less clouded face.  “Is that true?  Were you seriously thinking of voting on 
my side?”

“Naturally, as I say, I considered my vote long and carefully, and I felt 
dreadful taking Saruman’s side against you.  I suppose Elves are overly 
cautious at times, but Saruman presented his case quite forcefully and 
persuasively, I must say.  Though looking back on the meeting, I am not 
sure that his arguments are as well-based as they seemed.”

Gandalf snorted again.  “Yes, the famous voice of Saruman has its effect 
even on the Wise.  Sometimes I even find myself beginning to think that 
he makes sense—but I, at least, am able to shake off that eerily convincing 
speech.  Well, I know I am right, so I suppose it is easier for me.  
Somehow my voice does not seem to have that effect.  Maybe it could if I 
tried very hard, but I would scorn to persuade others by such wiles rather 
than by logic and truth.  I wonder to what extent Saruman does it 
deliberately.  Quite a lot, I should think.”  He smiled sadly and sat down 
by Glorfindel.

Since the Istar seemed to be emerging from his angry reaction to the 
meeting, Glorfindel said hesitatingly, “If you will forgive me, my dearest 
Mithrandir, I cannot help but feel that you undermine your own case a bit 
by your demeanor at such meetings—at least today.”

Mithrandir looked inquiringly at him.

“Well, as Saruman pointed out, your smoking so much during the meeting 
may hint to some that you take the proceedings less seriously than he does.  
After all, it is not very dignified to indulge in a trivial pleasure picked up 
on your journeys among silly, rustic little people like those in the Shire.  
And, well, I try not to think about it, but I must admit that it bothers me a 
bit to realize that you have probably had a Hobbit lover or two—or more.  
It seems very strange.”

Mithrandir stared at him with lowering brows at first, then laughed bitterly 
and shook his head.  “A typical attitude among high Elves. You must 
realize, Glorfindel, that I was not embodied as an Elf but as a Man.  And 
there are probably several reasons for that, including the fact that I take a 
different attitude toward such things.  Elves tend to be cut off from the 
larger world.  They withdraw, they defend, they are self-sufficient.  But I 
must take the opposite tack, understanding all the races and drawing them 
together—nearly impossible though it seems at times.  I do not do this 
only because I must, but also because I genuinely find great attractions in 
all the races—Ents, Men, Beornings, Dwarves, and yes, Hobbits.  Indeed, 
in the Shire I find the epitome of all the simple things I am trying to 
protect—not just the ‘high’ places like Imladris and Lorién and Minas 
Tirith.  After all, you must remember that Elves have the option of leaving 
if things become impossible here.  Mortals do not.  And do not forget 
either that for the foreseeable future I am in that same position.  Like all 
these mortals, I have no option of sailing to the West—not until my 
mission is accomplished.  And someday, if the Elves do stay, as I expect 
they will, they will inevitably have to fight again, side by side, with these 
other peoples.”  He glanced over and saw Glorfindel’s melancholy 
expression.  He shrugged and laughed, but now not in bitterness.

“Don’t worry, though, my dear Glorfindel, I realize that you can’t help 
being an Elf!  I shall not drag you off to the Shire and make you sit in a 
pub and smoke pipeweed.  I can’t quite picture that!  You stay in your 
beautiful home and defend it, and let me come to you whenever I can.”  
They smiled at each other with genuine fondness for the first time since 
the Council meeting had begun.  “For there is another side to the Elves’ 
caution and insularity and loftiness:  their power and wisdom, their high 
dignity and beauty.  All of that drew me to you in the first place.  Do not 
fear that I shall never lose my taste for beautiful, powerful, wise Elves—
and one in particular.  I have seen almost all of Middle-earth by now, but I 
have never found anything more wonderful than you.  Still, you must 
understand that I have come to love aspects of Middle-earth that 
apparently I shall never be able to share with you.  Jokes and gossip and 
sheer unreserved friendliness of a type you can only find in a country pub 
in the Shire.  These things may seem ‘low’ to you, but they are of great 
worth, I am convinced of it.”  He hesitated thoughtfully.  “My heart tells 
me that these ‘low’ things will be just as important in the long run as all 
the great beings who sat around that room a short time ago and debated the 
fate of this continent.”

Glorfindel followed every word of this speech intently, and after a short 
silence he replied, “Perhaps I can never quite grasp why you say all this, 
but I realize now that you have come to understand Middle-earth in a way 
that I never can—even though I have been here longer.  You have 
discovered it so thoroughly that it baffles and amazes me.  I am sorry that I 
reproached you merely for knowing things that I never shall.  It makes me 
sad that we cannot share such tastes, but there it is.  Your duties and mine 
again force us apart, in spirit as well as in space.  I do not, however, want 
that to affect your . . . your feelings for me, or mine for you.”

Mithrandir stood up and lightly kissed the top of his head, and Glorfindel 
breathed a quiet little sigh of relief.  Mithrandir moved away, however, 
and settled down onto the window ledge, looking out moodily again.  
Despite having “made it up” with the Istar, Glorfindel felt sad and wistful.  
Glancing at him, Mithrandir noticed this.  “What is wrong, my dearest 
Elf?”

Glorfindel smiled only briefly at this.  “I was just thinking how very much 
you have changed since that lovely autumn so long ago, when a wise, 
brilliant, kind—and naïve and eager wizard stepped onto the quay at the 
Havens and started peppering me with questions about everything.  Of 
course, you could not retain that fresh enthusiasm for every new 
experience over nearly two thousand years here—and yet obviously you 
are still occasionally discovering things that give you joy.  Now I feel that 
I should be the one asking the questions.  You are still many of the things 
you were then, but your enormous patience, that was so much in evidence 
as you learned the huge number of things that you needed to know, seems 
finally to have frayed distinctly.”

Mithrandir stared at him with an enigmatic expression, then cleared his 
throat and looked out the window again.  Finally he said, “Well, I shall not 
harangue you with all the reasons that I have become more than a trifle 
impatient at times.  You are all too well aware of most of them.  
Saruman’s obstructionism, though, seems to have increased recently, and 
it worries me—and, yes, annoys me.  And to see so many of the Wise side 
with him . . . . It is as if I care more for this continent than do its 
inhabitants—I, who still long to leave it and return to my home.  Why can 
they not see . . . well, there is no point in such speculation.  At any rate, 
patience seems to yield little in such circumstances.  Yet perhaps you are 
right, for impatience seems to yield no more!  I hope you are not too 
disappointed in me, my lovely Elf.  I realize that I am not exactly the Man 
you fell . . .”   He hesitated as Glorfindel’s head snapped up and the Elf 
stared at him in surprise.  “Are we never even to be permitted to use the 
word, Glorfindel?  I am sorry, but I am tired of dancing around it.  The 
Man you fell in love with so long ago—and who fell in love with you.”

Glorfindel felt his eyes grow moist as the pair stared sadly at each other.  
They had never allowed themselves to say this so baldly before, referring 
always to desiring each other, to being fond of each other, to enjoying 
each other, and such circumlocutions.  Glorfindel had anticipated that if 
they ever did come to a point where they could speak more openly with 
each other, it would be a joyful moment—yet Mithrandir’s use of the word 
had only made the uncertain future all the more oppressive.  How much 
they both stood to lose, he thought, and he knew that the Istar was thinking 
precisely the same thing.

Finally Mithrandir rose and crossed to stand in front of Glorfindel again.  
“Well, let us forget all these solemn thoughts for a while.  Right now, my 
dear Elf, I am far more in need of a bit of cheering up than of further 
argument.”  He smiled fondly, and Glorfindel’s face lit up with relief.

The Elf slipped off his light shoes as he sat back against the headboard and 
spread his bent knees.  The Istar paused briefly, admiring the grace of his 
relaxed posture and kicking off his own Elven shoes.  With a weary sigh 
he climbed onto the bed and settled with his back against his lover’s chest.  
The taller Elf settled his chin lightly on the white hair and crossed his arms 
over the wizard’s slim, hard torso.  Mithrandir rested his hands on 
Glorfindel’s bent knees.  They sat silently for a long time as the Elf felt the 
wizard’s body slowly relax and shift slightly into a more comfortable 
position.

At last the Elf brushed Mithrandir’s hair back behind one ear and gently 
tickled the lobe with his tongue.  “Mmmm,” the wizard sighed, twisting to 
present the side of his head more directly to Glorfindel’s mouth.  Slowly 
the Elf licked and sucked at the ear, finally digging the tip insistently into 
the opening.  Mithrandir continued to hum softly with pleasure.  
Glorfindel felt a flood of joy at having finally coaxed the wizard out of his 
dark mood, and he opened a shirt button to slip his fingers inside and 
pluck delicately at the sensitive nub of the wizard’s nipple.  A faint moan 
was followed by a series of louder ones as Glorfindel pinched and rolled 
the little bead with gradually increasing insistence.  “That’s lovely,” the 
Istar whispered blissfully.

Soon the wizard began to writhe slightly against Glorfindel’s chest, and 
the Elf could see a slight bulge slowly forming at the front of his trousers.  
He reached down and caressed it through the cloth.  The wizard was only 
half erect, and he spread his legs slightly to allow Glorfindel to unlace the 
trousers and pull out the swelling member, stroking it gently as it 
hardened, then pumping it more rapidly as he pressed his open mouth over 
the ear and lapped at it hard.  Mithrandir struggled to remain still enough 
that he did not pull away from the Elf’s lips or the hand inside his shirt.  
His body tensed as his ecstasy mounted, and he moaned with growing 
desperation.  Pinching the nipple hard and putting on a burst of even 
greater speed, Glorfindel sent him over the edge, and long spurts of pearly 
liquid arced up and fell onto the bed between their legs.  Gradually they 
diminished, and Mithrandir lay back heavily against his lover, panting.

At last he turned his head to glance up at Glorfindel.  “I notice you 
managed to get all of that on my bed and not a single drop on your 
clothes.”

Glorfindel grinned.  “Always complaining these days.  I suspect Saruman 
would not mind if I caused  his seed to spray all over his bedclothes.”

Mithrandir sat up and twisted to stare at Glorfindel more intently and with 
a surprised little smile.  “Do you think he lusts after my precious Elf?”

Glorfindel looked at him a bit smugly.  “For the first time, during this 
particular visit to Imladris, I have caught him looking at me in a fairly 
unmistakable fashion, though he always looks away when I catch him at it.  
Certainly he has made no effort to flirt actively with me.  Mind you, I 
think he’s lusting after quite a few of the Elves here—and quite possibly 
after you as well.”

Mithrandir began to laugh, then stopped and stared at him quizzically.  
“Me?  You are full of revelations today.  Do you really think so?” 

“It is hard to judge the way he looks at you, for he is skilled at hiding his 
feelings and he also seems to have a great many emotions mingled in his 
thoughts about you.  I would not be at all surprised, however, to learn that 
he wants you.  Don’t worry!  I have not been boasting to him about what a 
wonderful lover you are.  As it is, I have enough competition for your 
affections when you are on the road to want to worry about your dashing 
off to Orthanc and Saruman’s bed!”

Mithrandir grinned, also a bit smugly.  He slid down until he was leaning 
against the inside of one of the Elf’s spread legs, his arm draped over one 
thigh and his head just above the nearly erect cock.  “I may be more 
impatient than I used to be in some ways, my sweet Glorfindel, but I am 
quite content to wait a long time for you to come.  I shall prove it to you 
by making this last a good long time—assuming that you have not become 
dreadfully impatient yourself.”  The Elf grinned and shook his head.

The Istar began to lick and kiss the slender shaft slowly, using all his long-
accumulated skill to tantalize Glorfindel.  The Elf watched him at first 
with delight, until his heavy lids drooped and his head lolled back 
blissfully.  Finally the wizard sucked at the tip and tongued it before 
drawing it slowly into his throat.  Glorfindel flinched and tensed, then lay 
back again as Mithrandir moved his head up and down on the long rod.  
His lips and tongue dragged along the sensitive surface over and over, and 
the Elf drifted into a timeless haze of arousal that the Istar was content to 
prolong indefinitely.  Eventually, however, they both heard a distant gong 
that was the first warning for dinner.  

Mithrandir withdrew his mouth from Glorfindel’s erection and pumped it 
slowly with his hand as he looked up at the Elf.  “Ah, dinner-time.  Since 
we are both so very patient, let us put off the rest of this exceedingly 
pleasant session until later, shall we?” and he made as if to rise.  
Glorfindel quickly caught at his sleeve.

“Oh, no you don’t, my dear Istar!  We still have five minutes, you know.  
I’m not that patient, and I want you to finish what you’ve started . . . 
soon.”  

“Really?  But if you walk into that dining room with the look of utter bliss 
that will result from the climax I intend to give you, every Elf—and 
Istar—will surely be after me to do the same for them.”

“I’m afraid that’s a risk I must take.  Please, I want your sweet mouth to 
do what it can do so well, quickly.”

Without another word, Mithrandir again took the Elf’s member deep into 
his throat and sucked quickly and insistently, stroking the clenching balls 
with his fingertips as Glorfindel soon spilled his ecstasy.  The wizard 
swallowed and coaxed more shudders of pleasure with his swirling 
tongue, until finally Glorfindel bent over Mithrandir and stroked the white 
head and bearded cheek gently.  “Who would not be impatient for that?” 
he whispered, hugging the wizard’s head to his belly.

After a brief pause for Glorfindel to recover a bit, they rose and  began to 
fasten and straighten their clothing preparatory to going to dinner.  The Elf 
hesitated before he spoke.  “You said you wanted cheering up.  I hope that 
this has to some extent helped you to get over your disappointment in the 
result of today’s meeting.”

“Oh, to a considerable extent, yes, but not entirely.  When I see a possible 
opportunity for defeating Sauron slip through our fingers because of what 
I see as undue caution . . .”  He sighed.  “Perhaps I am too hasty.  Perhaps 
I see a chance of ending my mission, of being free of the burden, free to . . 
.”  He gazed sadly into Glorfindel’s eyes, and the Elf felt a thrill of joy.  
The Istar had seldom looked at him in quite that way, with a depth of 
longing that matched Glorfindel’s own long-concealed hopes.  He felt a 
sudden need to reassure his lover.

“I cannot believe that you could ever be reckless or hasty, much though it 
may seem to some that you are.  I know all too well how many of your 
own yearnings and desires you have put aside in pursuing your goals.  And 
you may be right about the high Elves.  Of all the peoples engaged in this 
long struggle, we are the ones who can leave it behind, much though we 
may regret what we lose when we do so.  The others, as you say, the 
Dwarves and Hobbits, stand to lose all.  For ultimately we are not of 
Middle-earth, as you say.  Not forever.”

Mithrandir continued to stare at him for a moment and then nodded, 
stroking the backs of his curled fingers down the side of the Elf’s 
breathtakingly lovely face before kissing his lover’s cheek and replying 
simply, “No, not forever.”

TBC



The Grey Shores  5/6

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Gandalf/Glorfindel
Rating:  NC-17
Summary:  After the Council of Elrond, Mithrandir tells Glorfindel what 
happened during his imprisonment at Orthanc, and they face their 
impending separation.
Disclaimer:  I have no rights; I gain no income.

Author’s Note:  Book-canon.  The action begins on October 20, 3018 of 
the Third Age, with Glorfindel’s arrival at Imladris bearing the wounded 
Frodo, and covers the slightly more than two months before the departure 
of the Fellowship on the Quest.  (Basically the chapters “Many Meetings,” 
“The Council of Elrond,” and the beginning of  “The Ring Goes South” in 
The Fellowship of the Ring.)

Immense gratitude to Elanor for betaing, for guiding me through some 
particularly risky shoals, and for giving her expert seal of approval to the 
angst at the end.  Thanks as ever to Sarah and River Woman for help and 
encouragement.

____________________________________________________________

Glorfindel and his companions rode down the last stretch of the winding 
paths into Imladris as quickly as they dared.  The light was beginning to 
fail, and Asfaloth, though surefooted, was tired and might well stumble 
after dark.  Frodo, however, was fading rapidly.  At times Glorfindel 
thought he had died and had to search anxiously for a faint sign of life in 
the Hobbit.  The fleeting minutes were now far more dangerous than any 
potential fall from a horse.

At last the group of mounted Elves reached the level path leading over the 
bridge, through the belt of trees surrounding the Last Homely House, and 
across the broad lawn.  Asfaloth halted before the steps leading up to the 
main entrance.  At once the Elves who had been escorting Glorfindel and 
the stricken Hobbit from the Fords of Bruinen dismounted, and one came 
forward to receive Frodo into his arms and carry him quickly into the 
house.  Dusk had fallen by this point, and the golden light from within 
streamed out suddenly as the door was opened.  Glorfindel slid down from 
Asfaloth and turned the horse over to a groom before hurrying wearily up 
the stone steps.  Now that his mission had been accomplished and Frodo 
had reached Imladris alive, Glorfindel allowed his mind to turn fully to 
Mithrandir.

After the flood that swept away the Black Riders had subsided, Glorfindel 
had crossed and mounted Asfaloth once more, taking Frodo as Aragorn 
handed the unconscious Hobbit up to him.  Before he could move on 
toward the valley and the House, however, a group of mounted Elves had 
arrived.  Some undertook to escort Glorfindel quickly back to the House, 
while others lingered to guard Aragorn, the other Hobbits, and their pony 
as they made their way more slowly along the last part of their road. 

As soon as they set out, Glorfindel moved close to Elrohir, who had led 
the rescue party, casting a beseeching look at him.  Before the blond Elf 
could utter a word, Elrohir reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder and 
said softly and quickly,  “He has arrived and is safe.  Mithrandir is 
awaiting us at the House.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes and gasped raggedly.  He had not realized how 
much he had contained his fear until it was relieved.  He had tears in his 
eyes as he looked at Elrohir again.  “When did he arrive?  Where was he?  
What kept—“

“He arrived two days ago, on foot.  He had journeyed far out of his way to 
lure the Black Riders away from Frodo and the others, but he took no 
harm from them.  He asked me to tell you that he will explain all and that 
he longs to see you.”

Glorfindel drew a deep breath and smiled shakily.  “Then it only remains 
for me to deliver this brave little fellow to him alive.  Let us make haste.”

Now, as Glorfindel entered the Last Homely House, he scanned the small 
group clustered in the hallway.  Elrond was lifting Frodo to carry him to a 
room where he and others could begin to try and draw the Hobbit back 
from the brink of death.  Behind him, Glorfindel spotted the familiar mane 
of white hair.  The Istar was a good six inches shorter than the Elves 
surrounding him, and Glorfindel had to crane his neck to try and catch his 
lover’s eye.  As the small group began to move away with Elrond, 
Mithrandir noticed Glorfindel and smiled regretfully, gesturing toward 
Frodo.  Glorfindel smiled in return and nodded, and the Istar hurried away 
beside Elrond.

The Elf felt weak with relief and joy, and he breathed slowly and deeply, 
then leaned his back against the wall, not caring who witnessed all this.  
After a few minutes he walked wearily back to his own room to collapse 
onto his bed, moving quickly into the state of waking dream that passes 
for sleep among Elves.


Five long, tense days went by, with Mithrandir remaining at Frodo’s 
bedside.  At last, after much probing Elrond located the splinter that the 
Istar had insisted must have remained in the wound, and Frodo at once 
began to improve rapidly.  Eventually late one morning the Hobbit woke, 
and the Istar had a chance to talk with him.  They talked for over an hour, 
and Mithrandir felt reassured to find that Frodo was already stronger than 
he would have believed possible.  Once Frodo fell asleep again, the wizard 
felt confident enough about his recovery to leave the sickroom and go to 
Glorfindel.  It was just getting on for noon when Mithrandir knocked 
quietly at the Elf’s door and entered.  Glorfindel could see the fatigue in 
his eyes and took his hand to lead him to a seat by the window.  The 
October sun had warmed the air, and a breeze stirred the white hair and 
the golden as they embraced and sat quietly in each other’s arms for a long 
time.  Finally Mithrandir drew back and looked into Glorfindel’s eyes with 
a tender smile.

Glorfindel found it impossible to smile in return.  “Do I need to tell you 
that I have been frantic with worry over your disappearance?  What 
happened to you?  No one I have been able to question since my return 
seems to know much about it.  Such a thing has never happened in all your 
two thousand years—you, the soul of reliability and punctuality!”

Mithrandir sighed.  “It is a long tale, and I cannot possibly tell it to you 
now.  It involved Saruman and a lengthy enforced visit that I paid to him 
at Orthanc.  You shall hear a longer account of my fellow Istar’s treachery 
tomorrow at the Council, my dear Elf.  Let us just say for now that our 
earlier worries about him were more than justified.”

Glorfindel stared at him, but clearly the wizard was not inclined to talk 
further.  The Elf laughed quietly.  “I find it difficult to believe that we both 
have been in this house for nearly six days and we have not even kissed 
properly.”

 Mithrandir reached up and ran one hand through Glorfindel’s hair, pulling 
the Elf’s mouth gently against his own.  Instinctively Glorfindel pressed 
his tongue against the Istar’s thin lips, begging for entry, but Mithrandir 
pulled back.  “I am sorry, my sweet Elf, but I am exhausted.”  He leaned 
forward heavily against Glorfindel, with his head on his shoulder and his 
face pressed against his neck, making soft, contented moaning noises 
every now and then as Glorfindel suppressed his own desire and stroked 
the wizard’s back and shoulders.

At last the wizard sat up and yawned.  “I have napped in the chair by 
Frodo’s bedside these five days, to be sure, but I have not had any real 
sleep during that time.  Otherwise—“

“Yes, yes, I am well aware that otherwise you would have been on top of 
me by now—“

“Yes, or you on top of me.”  Mithrandir rose and moved to recline on the 
bed.

Glorfindel lowered himself to lie beside the wizard, supporting himself on 
his shoulder as he pushed Mithrandir’s thick white hair back from his face.  
“How did you know that there was a splinter in Frodo’s wound?”

Mithrandir had closed his eyes, but now he opened them again and 
shrugged slightly.  “I know Hobbits.  Frodo would have begun recovering 
right away if the wound had been thoroughly cleaned.  Surely as you 
brought him here on Asfaloth you sensed his strength.” 

“Truly, there were many moments when I wondered if he was dead or at 
least close to it, and I was astonished at how he continued to struggle on.”

Mithrandir yawned again and murmured drowsily and affectionately, 
“Yes, well . . .  Hobbits.”

Despite himself, Glorfindel pressed the length of his body against his 
lover’s, his penis rapidly swelling.  He murmured, “I wish I could make 
love to you while you sleep, so long have we been apart.”

The Istar opened his eyes partway and grinned.  “Don’t do that!  I want to 
be awake to enjoy that experience.  After ten weeks at Orthanc, an arduous 
journey to reach here, and five days by Frodo’s bedside, I assure you, I 
shall be ready for you—soon.”

Glorfindel raised his head to look down into the wizard’s face.  “Don’t 
worry.  I shall strive to be content to lie here for as many hours as you 
wish, just enjoying having you here and not, for a change, having to 
agonize about your safety.”

Mithrandir raised his head slightly and pulled Glorfindel’s down until they 
could brush their lips together softly, then settled back into the pillow and 
quickly drifted to sleep.

Lying there beside his sleeping companion, Glorfindel realized suddenly 
and painfully the full depths of his love for Mithrandir.  They had 
occasionally acknowledged to each other that the hopes that they had so 
long delayed and tempered were indeed love, but neither dared to think 
too far about what that meant.  Now, however, Glorfindel had gone for 
months with no news of the Istar.  Elves visiting Rivendell from the West 
had all brought the same story:  Mithrandir had vanished in June, 
mysteriously and completely.  The coincidence of the vanishing with the 
reappearance of the Ringwraiths had left Elrond and him terrified for the 
Istar’s safety. 

As time passed, Glorfindel had gradually had to acknowledge in a little 
corner of his mind that his lover might well be dead.  The Elf had 
volunteered to search the road west of Imladris for Frodo and his 
companions, for he reasoned that if Mithrandir were alive, he would try to 
join them.  Once he met Aragorn and the Hobbits and learned that even 
the Ranger had no idea of the Istar’s whereabouts, he was near despair.  
He had clung to hope and focused on helping the Ringbearer reach the 
safety of Imladris.  He realized, however, that if news ever reached him 
that Mithrandir had indeed been killed, he would plunge into the same 
dark, fathomless grief that he had felt for Gil-galad.  It was supposedly to 
avoid such grief that he and Mithrandir had made their agreement, not to 
exchange their hearts too hastily but to hide them away, waiting for the 
slim chance of a happy outcome to their respective missions.

At this point, all the advice that he had given the Istar about not losing his 
heart in Middle-earth seemed naïve.  His own heart had long since been 
utterly given.  He wondered if Mithrandir’s had as well, and whether the 
Istar was aware of it.  Ironically, his own realization came at the worst 
possible time, and he even felt as if he had betrayed the wizard in a way.  
Mithrandir was undoubtedly now facing the most dangerous situation of 
his entire mission in Middle-earth—worse even than his visits to Dol 
Guldur.  A complete declaration of Glorfindel’s love at this point would 
perhaps be too great a burden to place upon Mithrandir, who would soon 
have to endure a long separation from the Elf.  One more worry, one more 
longing, one more reason to turn back and abandon the Quest.

Inwardly he vowed he would keep quiet, not declaring his love openly 
now.  They had nurtured their hopes for two thousand years, and a few 
more years should not matter.  Yet Glorfindel knew that he would soon 
see his lover walk away, with more chance than ever that this time he 
would never return.  He ached to pour out his love in dramatic, romantic 
words and to hear such words from the wizard.  He longed to know that, if 
Mithrandir died while on the Quest, he at least would do so with the Elf’s 
name on his lips.  Tears stood in Glorfindel’s eyes, but he struggled not to 
shed them.   He lay quietly for three hours as the Istar slept, striving to 
forget the future and be content with what they could share now.
____________________________________________________________

At last the wizard stirred slightly, and immediately Glorfindel slid closer 
to him, gently moving his lips over his lover’s neck.  Mithrandir moaned 
softly, struggling up from the depths of sleep, and Glorfindel could see the 
bulge where his erection was rapidly swelling.  He brushed the backs of 
his fingers softly across it, and the wizard gasped.  His eyes opened 
slightly, and he smiled at the Elf.  Glorfindel continued his feathery 
caresses with his fingers as he leaned on his elbow and flicked his tongue 
delicately into the wizard’s ear, not sure just how awake his lover was. 

The Istar grinned and stretched, luxuriating in the sensual pleasure, turning 
his head slightly and presenting his ear more fully to Glorfindel’s open 
mouth.  “Now why could it not have been you who lured me away from 
my duties and locked me up on top of a tower for ten weeks?”

Glorfindel rose to straddle the wizard’s slender waist, pinning his wrists 
gently to the bed at either side of his head.  “That’s a thought.  Elrond 
hinted that you may be here for weeks or even months.  Maybe I shall lock 
you in this room and make passionate love to you day and night.”  He 
leaned down and sucked at the side of Mithrandir’s neck.  

The Istar could feel Glorfindel’s erection pressing against his stomach.  He 
sighed and writhed slightly.  “Do so, my good Elf.  I am yours for the 
taking.”

Glorfindel straightened up and looked down into the wizard’s flushed, 
aroused face, gently rocking his hips against the hard belly.  “But did you 
have no companionship all that time?  You didn’t become desperate and 
seduce Saruman?”

The Istar pulled his hands free to run his fingers up the sides of 
Glorfindel’s thighs, looking up at him with mock seriousness.  “By the end 
I was beginning to entertain that idea.  Even the orcs who brought me my 
meals were not looking quite as ugly by that point.”

Glorfindel laughed and leaned down to kiss him deeply and wetly.  He 
pulled up slightly.  “Do you mean that I am about to make love to a wizard 
who has not had anyone in months?  A heavy responsibility.”

“In a way, though as you can imagine, it would not take much work or 
skill on your part to bring me to a thunderous climax.”  Glorfindel shifted 
until his buttocks were pressing down on the wizard’s cock.  Mithrandir 
closed his eyes and whimpered, thrusting gently upward to make certain 
that the Elf was aware of his rapidly growing desire.

Glorfindel brushed the Istar’s beard aside and unbuttoned his shirt, licking 
his fingers and pinching both nipples.  “Oh, I am not afraid of a little work 
where you are concerned.  Maybe it would be more work—and more 
interesting work—to hold off that climax for a while.  Don’t you want 
your return to such pleasures to be memorable?”  He pulled the erect 
nipples up into little peaks.

The Istar half-opened his eyes, panting and looking up at him with a 
frown.  “It will be quite memorable, I am sure, however it happens.  Right 
now, though, I would rather it be rapid and quite . . . lively.”  He wrapped 
his arms around Glorfindel’s neck and pulled him down into an eager and 
demanding kiss, humming with arousal into the Elf’s mouth.  His hands 
clutched their way down the Elf’s back until they were cupping his 
buttocks and pressed the spread fingers deep into the flesh as he ground 
Glorfindel’s hips against his own.  Their erections met and rubbed each 
other, swelling rapidly to an aching hardness.  The Elf realized that his 
threat to tease Mithrandir during a long, slow build would be absurd.  He 
had been able to enjoy such pleasures many times at Imladris during the 
previous months, but the wizard had long been deprived and now simply 
needed relief, intense and quick.  He moved down to suck at one nipple 
and pinch the other.   Mithrandir groaned with desperation, demanding 
satisfaction.  He thrust so frantically upward that Glorfindel’s torso, 
although larger than the Istar’s, was lifted slightly each time.

Carried away by the wizard’s need, Glorfindel reached for the small jar of 
lubricant on the table beside the bed and rose, pulling the Istar up and 
turning him to kneel facing the headboard of the bed.  Mithrandir gripped 
it as the Elf quickly knelt between his spread knees.  Glorfindel reached 
around with one hand and unlaced the wizard’s trousers, pushing them 
quickly down to bunch around his knees.  The Elf dug a large dollop of the 
ointment onto his fingers, more than he had intended, spreading it 
generously over the small puckered opening.  He placed the jar back on 
the table and began to work one and then two fingers inside while stroking 
the wizard’s quivering erection.  He saw the Istar’s head loll back and his 
hands clench the edge of the carved wood until his knuckles turned white 
as he felt Glorfindel touch his most sensitive place within.  “Yes . . . yes,” 
he whispered softly.

Glorfindel hurried freed his own swelling member and leaned forward, 
hugging the wizard’s back against his lower torso.  He pulled his fingers 
out of the wizard’s opening and slid his erection between Mithrandir’s 
thighs until the upper side became coated with the ointment as it rubbed 
into the cleft and the tip bumped against the back of the wizard’s testicle 
sac.  Mithrandir’s gasps urged him on as Glorfindel’s moist fingers rubbed 
over the underside of his own member to coat it as well.  He curled his fist 
around the shaft and placed it at the entrance, pressing the end against the 
relaxed ring of flesh to signal the wizard that he was about to go inside.  
Mithrandir groaned hoarsely and pushed firmly back onto it until the tip 
slid suddenly in.  The wizard began to ride Glorfindel’s cock, pulling 
himself up toward the headboard and then bending his knees to drive 
himself onto it.  The Elf gulped at the jolts of arousal as he felt himself 
slip effortlessly into the hot, clinging passage, then began to thrust hard in 
time to the wizard’s movements.  Soon Mithrandir stopped pressing down 
and steadied himself, his arms outstretched, his hands still clutching the 
edge of the headboard tightly.  “Hard!” he begged through clenched teeth 
as he strove to spread his knees further, though the trousers stretching 
between them prevented it.

Glorfindel tightened his arm around the wizard’s waist until their torsos 
were pressed firmly together, then began to thrust quickly and deeply, 
arching his back slightly so that his cock’s tip rubbed firmly against the 
wizard’s prostate.  Mithrandir dropped his head forward and keened with 
impending bliss.  The Elf stroked his throbbing shaft rapidly, and at once 
the wizard groaned loudly as his hot seed jetted over and over against the 
dark, shiny wood of the headboard and ran slowly down over its carved 
surface.  Finally the wizard collapsed forward onto the headboard, 
supporting himself by resting his forearms along its upper edge.  
Glorfindel edged his knees forward to follow the wizard and thrust a few 
times more as the Istar gasped in total completion, then shot his own come 
deep within Mithrandir.  He fell against the wizard’s back, catching 
himself with his hands on the edge of the headboard to either side of his 
lover’s elbows.  As soon as he regained his breath somewhat, he nuzzled 
into the wizard’s hair to kiss his neck softly.  They waited awhile, moving 
as little as possible, beyond the Elf languorously shifting and rubbing his 
body slightly against Mithrandir’s back.

At last Glorfindel reached for a cloth to clean them both as he pulled 
slowly out of the wizard.  He lowered his lover to the bed, then lay beside 
him.   After another brief interval during which their breathing returned to 
normal, Glorfindel asked, “Did you enjoy that?”

Mithrandir opened his eyes and stared at the Elf quizzically.  “Did I seem 
indifferent, my dear Glorfindel?”  His lover shook his head with an 
amused smile.  “Did I seem bored, distracted, listless?”  Another shake of 
the head.  “I thought my reactions would be indication enough, but yes, I 
think it is safe to say that I thoroughly enjoyed that.  A trifle quick from 
your point of view, no doubt, but we shall have plenty of time after 
dinner.”

Suddenly Mithrandir sat up.  “That reminds me.  I imagine that Frodo will 
be awake soon, if he is not already.  I should go and see what the Hobbits 
are up to and make sure they find their way to the banquet.  I shall see you 
at dinner, and we can talk further.”

“Without a doubt.  We are to sit to Elrond’s right and left, and he and I can 
fill you in on what has been going on here.”

“Oh, I have heard much of it from Elrond during the anxious hours by 
Frodo’s bedside, and I had been here two days before you arrived.  But I 
am sure that there is much more to tell.”  As Mithrandir was talking, he 
rose, moved to wash quickly, fastened his clothes, and crossed to the door.  
Before opening it, he turned back.  “By the way, thank you for saving my 
Ringbearer.”

Glorfindel smiled.  “No need to thank me.  He is the Ringbearer for us all, 
is he not?”

The Istar nodded gravely.  “If things go well at the Council tomorrow and 
I can persuade the others to adopt my plan, yes.  Elrond and I have talked 
a great deal about that, too, in the long watches of the night, and we are 
agreed.”

“And what is your plan?”

Mithrandir hesitated.  “Frankly, I would rather not tell you.  I want to hear 
the arguments and positions of everyone tomorrow, yours included, of 
course, and I wish them to be honest and spontaneous.  If people have 
objections to my plan and alternatives to offer, then I want them brought 
forth without bias.”

Glorfindel grinned.  “Before you insist on us following your own plan.”

The Istar smiled wryly.  “Only if I can persuade the group of its 
superiority to other plans—nay, to its inevitability.”

Glorfindel’s grin softened into a fond smile.  “Well, I know you to be a 
very persuasive fellow.  Now that Saruman is no longer among us, I have 
no doubt that you will prevail.”

Mithrandir sighed, his smiled fading.  “Probably.  Yes, I have gained some 
considerable skill at coaxing and persuading and making eloquent 
speeches.”

Glorfindel was now also serious.  “Yes, as I have said before, you are not 
the brilliant but naïve wizard that stepped off the boat with such boundless 
enthusiasm at the Grey Havens so long ago.  You have learned to discern 
the beliefs of others and to couch your ideas in very carefully chosen 
language.”

“Yes, well, one has to be careful in dealing with politicians and trying to 
bring together races who have such divided interests.  I had not realized, 
though, that I had changed so very much.  As you have pointed out before, 
I have inevitably lost my naivete and some of my patience.  Now, though, 
you almost suggest that I have become cynical.  Are you disappointed by 
the result?”  For the first time he seemed almost afraid of the answer that 
he might hear.

Glorfindel’s fond smile returned, and he shook his head.  “Never.  Your 
passion and enthusiasm may be less evident than at first, but they are still 
fully there, joined by a level of knowledge and skill and understanding 
that fulfill all the promise that you showed during those first weeks.  I 
would be a fool to be disappointed.”

Mithrandir stared at him unmoving during this, then looked at the floor 
and pursed his lips slightly.  “You exaggerate, my dear Elf, but at least 
you give me some hope that I am not entirely inadequate to the new and 
yet more vital tasks that I must take upon myself tomorrow.”  He looked 
up into Glorfindel’s eyes as his hand grasped the door handle.  “Whether 
anyone could be equal to those tasks is another matter.  Well, until dinner, 
then.
____________________________________________________________

As the banquet was ending, Mithrandir leaned over and whispered to 
Glorfindel, “I shall take Frodo to the Hall of Fire.  He is well enough now 
to meet with Bilbo and to sit a while and listen to the songs and stories, as 
he has long wished to do.  I’m sure the two of them will want to spend 
some time together alone after that.  Why don’t you go to your room, use 
the interval to digest this magnificent meal, and I shall join you there in a 
little while.”

Glorfindel nodded happily and broke off from the main party of Elves as 
they exited the dining hall, moving quickly along the corridors to his 
room.  There he lit some candles and stoked the fire, which had burned 
low, and soon the place was warm and comfortable.  After about half an 
hour, the door opened and the Istar slipped quietly in.  They went to bed 
and made love, now taking their time, tantalizing and tormenting each 
other, delaying release until neither could bear to hold off the final 
pleasure any longer.  Afterward the pair lay in each other’s arms, lazily 
kissing and caressing for many minutes, whispering briefly at intervals, 
but largely content to remain silently united in the intense afterglow of 
their bliss.

Suddenly Mithrandir pulled away and sat up.  “What is it?” Glorfindel 
asked with amusement.  “Hobbits again?”

“Yes, I should make sure that Frodo realizes how late it is.  Hobbits can 
gossip endlessly, believe me, and he and Bilbo might lose track of the 
time.  I must say, they take a deal of looking after, especially once they 
leave the Shire—as Tom Bombadil and Aragorn both learned.  Still, they 
have managed to survive in the face of unthinkable dangers, and Frodo is 
far braver than one would think to look at him.  Well, this should not take 
long, my darling Elf, and I shall return to see if you are ready to continue 
this very pleasant reunion.”

The wizard dressed and hurried down the hall toward Bilbo’s room.  
Before he had taken more than a few steps, however, he saw Sam pacing 
slowly along the hall, clearly killing time rather than heading anywhere in 
particular.  “All to the good,” Mithrandir thought.  “Let the Hobbits take 
care of each other as much as possible.  I should not try to run their entire 
lives just as they have gained a bit of self-reliance.”

“Sam!  Well met.  It is time for Frodo to go to bed, and I wonder if you 
would go and see that he does so.”

“Yes, Master Gandalf.  I’ll take care of it and report back to you once I’ve 
seen him safely tucked in, sir.”

Realizing that that process might take some time and involve his returning 
to his own bedroom rather than hurrying back to Glorfindel, the wizard 
replied, “Um, don’t bother to report to me.  I’ll trust you to make sure that 
he does not stay up reminiscing all night with Bilbo.  And Sam?”

“Yes, Master Gandalf?”

The Istar sighed.  “Don’t call me ‘Master Gandalf,’ would you?  I think 
we have got to know each other well enough over the past five days that 
you can shorten it to just ‘Gandalf.’”

Sam blushed and nodded, clearly not quite sure if he could bring himself 
to obey this particular order, and hurried away.  Mithrandir shook his head 
and turned back to re-enter Glorfindel’s room.

“That was quick.”

“I was able to delegate my duty to Sam.  He has turned out to be a most 
loyal and reliable companion for Frodo.  I assure you, I shall not be 
popping up after each time we make love to play nursemaid to the 
Hobbits.  It is only today, when Frodo has just got up for the first time.  
They do not need constant rescuing—although the younger ones are a bit . 
. . unpredictable.”  Mithrandir stood looking for a moment at Glorfindel 
lounging in the bed, his naked torso glowing in the firelight and the sheet 
failing to cover quite all of the curling golden hair of his lower belly.  The 
wizard smiled.  “Delicious,” he murmured, and moved toward the bed, 
shedding the clothes that he had hastily assumed for his abortive errand.  
Glorfindel moved aside to make room for him, throwing back the sheet 
entirely.  The Istar slid into bed beside him and embraced the Elf, pulling 
him into a deep, eager kiss.  Soon his open mouth was moving over 
Glorfindel’s neck and chest, and one hand slid down to stroke the Elf’s 
reviving erection.

“Don’t forget,” Glorfindel whispered with a soft laugh, “that there is an 
important Council meeting tomorrow morning.”  He moaned as the 
wizard’s fingertips rubbed softly over his erect nipples.

“Exactly.  And I do not want to sit there while important matters are being 
debated thinking, ‘Ah, why did that entrancing Elf and I not make love 
just one more time last night when we had the chance?’  Besides, I want to 
gloat a little more over the fact that I have you and Saruman, that 
wretched, misguided fellow, does not.  The sooner you satisfy my desire, 
the sooner I shall be able to sleep in preparation for that important Council 
meeting.”

Glorfindel whimpered blissfully as the wizard sucked eagerly at his 
nipples.  “Well, now that you have begun that, I know it is hopeless trying 
to get you to stop.”

Mithrandir pulled his lips away only briefly to mutter against the Elf’s 
chest, “Why would you want to?”

“Why indeed?”
____________________________________________________________

The day after the Council was warm for late October, and Mithrandir 
strolled out onto one of the many broad porches that surrounded the 
House.  He found Frodo seated on a bench, staring out across the lawn 
with vacant eyes.  He seemed quiet and withdrawn.  The wizard stared at 
him for a moment, hoping that the moodiness resulted more from worry 
over the upcoming Quest than from a worsening of the Hobbit’s physical 
condition.  He sat down by Frodo and was delighted to see that the Hobbit 
perked up a bit and smiled at him.

“Good morning, Gandalf.  I have been meaning to ask you.  Glorfindel is 
the Elf that you’ve been in love with all this time, isn’t he?”

“Yes, the one I told you about during my long visit to Bag End last spring.  
It pleased me that he should be the one to rescue you and bring you here.  
It seemed fitting, somehow.  He is a wonderful Elf,” Mithrandir said with 
a fond smile.

“And a beautiful one.  All Elves are beautiful of course, but in many 
different ways.  Glorfindel seems so serene and yet so powerful beneath, 
and wise.  He’s . . . well, he’s radiant, if you know what I mean.”

Gandalf nodded with delight to hear his lover so described.

Frodo grinned teasingly.  “But how did an old man like you manage to 
make him fall in love with you?”

Gandalf glanced at him in mock annoyance.  “You are very 
complimentary this morning, my dear Hobbit.  Yes, I realize that going by 
appearances we make quite an odd couple.  Still . . .”  He looked around to 
make sure that no one was nearby to overhear their conversation, then 
murmured near Frodo’s ear.  “I did it by simply asking him to take me into 
his bed.”

Frodo uttered a surprised chuckle and stared at him with a skeptical smile.  
“Really?  That was all you had to do?  And he agreed?”

Mithrandir nodded smugly.  “Yes, well, a certain wizard is perhaps a little 
more lively than you give him credit for.  Glorfindel agreed immediately 
and indeed took me into his bed--and as a result, of course, he fell madly 
in love with me.  And I with him, of course.”

Frodo’s smile faded.  “If you go on the Quest with me, will Glorfindel be 
able to come too?  I assume you would like him to.”

Mithrandir sighed.  “We shall consider it, but I suspect he will not 
ultimately make one of our party.  He and I have faced long separations 
from the start, and this will likely be another case where he stays here to 
help Elrond defend Rivendell and the north in general.  I wish he could go, 
but . . .”  He shook his head.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad.  I know something that might make us 
both cheer up.  It’s such a nice day.  Could we take a picnic up into those 
pine woods that I told you yesterday I wanted to explore?  All of us 
Hobbits and you and Glorfindel?  And Strider?”

“Aragorn has already set out to try and see what happened to the Black 
Riders after the flood.  As to the picnic, it sounds a splendid idea—if you 
really feel strong enough to climb those steep paths.”

The party was quickly organized and set out northward from the House.  
Bilbo had declined to accompany them on such a strenuous outing, but the 
other four Hobbits hiked and laughed and talked as they climbed the 
footpaths leading up toward one of the side dells of the huge valley.  For 
now they tried to forget what lay ahead and behave as if they were on an 
excursion in the Shire—an unusually hilly and rocky version of the Shire.

The Istar and Glorfindel walked a short way behind them.  They were glad 
for a chance to get outdoors and away from their worries after the long 
meetings of the day before.  After the Council and the lunch following it, 
Mithrandir had visited Frodo’s room, trying to calm the Hobbit’s worries a 
little by suggesting that he was probably going to act as a guide on the 
Quest.  Then the Istar had been closeted with Elrond for the rest of the 
afternoon, assessing the outcome of the Council and going over the 
requirements for a group to accompany the Ringbearer.

Now Glorfindel sniffed the crisp autumn air appreciatively and turned to 
the Istar.  “The time has come, my darling Mithrandir, to tell me of 
Saruman and Orthanc.  You have been very tightlipped about that time.  
Am I right in suspecting that your fellow Istar had more on his mind than 
information about the Ring?”

“Well, I must admit, your insights about Saruman during that meeting of 
the White Council have been proven most accurate.  I thought it quite 
plausible that he would lust after you!  Indeed, however, he lusted after me 
as well.  Bizarrely enough, I think that his initial offer to share the Ring 
with me if I would help him to find it was a sort of attempt at seduction or 
even courtship.  I did not realize it at the time, but I later came to 
understand that by turning down his proposition, I was apparently, in his 
eyes at least, scorning his offer of—well, for want to a better word I shall 
say, his offer of love.”

“Really?  Well, he should have come to me for a lesson in seduction.  One 
of the first things I could tell him is that one should not threaten to 
imprison and torture the person whom one is attempting to lure into bed.”

“Yes, I think Saruman came to regret those threats once he had time to 
cool down a bit.  He left me to my own solitary devices on the roof for a 
few days, perhaps hoping that my physical desires would begin to build to 
an unbearable level—“

“He seems to know you quite well, then.”

“Thank you very much for that contribution, my darling Elf.  Helpful as 
usual.  May I go on?  I must say, once he had me as a prisoner,  Saruman 
offered me an impressive vision of domestic bliss with him.  A fine, lavish 
establishment to call our home.  Who would not find a 500-foot-tall 
impregnable tower a charming and regal dwelling?  And a Ring to share—
perhaps not on an equal footing, but still . . . as long as I bowed to his 
authority, a Ring that would bind us together in dominance over Middle-
earth.”

“Wait, my dear wizard!  Some details, if you please.  How did you 
manage to spend ten weeks at Orthanc and not give in to such 
blandishments?  Or did you, indeed, resist?  Did Saruman have his wicked 
way with you?  Must I count him as another among my many rivals for 
your affection?”

Mithrandir laughed heartily.  “You have grown either extremely jealous or 
extremely unsure of yourself if you fancy that Saruman could possibly 
supplant you in my affections, even for a moment.  Still, preventing him 
from having his wicked way with me, as you put it, was quite a touchy 
business.  If you want some lurid details, I shall supply them.”

Glorfindel’s teasing grin faded.  Suddenly he realized that he might hear 
some disturbing things that Mithrandir had managed to conceal up to then, 
both from him and from the Council members. 

“As I say, I did not see Saruman for a few days after that nasty little 
argument.  Naturally I was at first terrified that he would carry through on 
his threat to torture me until I revealed the whereabouts of the Ring.  He 
seems to have thought, though, that he could make me forgive that threat 
if he could persuade me to fall in love with him—or at least to give in 
willingly to his lust.   I suppose he assumed that love would follow.  The 
man has tremendous powers of persuasion, of course, given his voice, but 
he has become overconfident about how much he can accomplish by 
persuasion alone.  I suppose that memorable meeting of the White Council 
left him with the impression that he is unstoppable.  He certainly seemed 
quite buoyantly happy by the end of it, apart from the unpleasant exchange 
about my smoking.  By the way, I later realized that Saruman had already 
taken up smoking himself—but in secret, can you believe it?  That gives 
you some sense of his rather warped outlook.

“At any rate, I learned something of his intentions a few days later when 
he visited me.  When first he appeared, I braced myself against one of the 
great horns of stone that rise up from the platform, expecting that he 
would order his minions to drag me off someplace to begin the torture.  He 
was alone, however, and making an effort to be agreeable.  Had I not 
already been familiar with him, I might indeed have taken him to be a 
likeable fellow.

“’So, Gandalf, I hope my servants are giving you all that you need,’ he 
said, and I could tell that he was trying to appeal to me through the heady 
persuasion of his voice.  He sounded quite the genial, concerned host, not 
the jailer that he was.

“I tried to keep my own voice level and neutral until I could assess what 
he was up to.  It had not yet occurred to me that he wanted me as much as 
the Ring.  ‘Enough to eat and drink that I am not in danger of wasting 
away and dying, certainly.  And I am given water to wash and so on.  I 
don’t know whether that adds up to “all that I need.”  At least you have 
not yet carried through that last very unfriendly threat that you made the 
other day.  I gather that you have not come now for such a purpose.’

“He laughed in a calculatedly offhand way.  ‘Oh, that!  You should not 
take that seriously, Gandalf.  At the time, I was admittedly most 
disappointed at your attitude toward what we were discussing, but I have 
no plan to torture you.  I do apologize for my lack of self-control.  I assure 
you, I do not want to damage your body in any way.  Far from it.’

“His eyes flicked down over me for a moment, just enough to make it 
quite clear what he meant.  I suddenly recalled your remark after that 
meeting of the White Council, that Saruman lusted after me, and I realized 
that you were right.  All my assumptions underwent an abrupt switch, and 
I struggled not to betray any emotions as he went on.

“‘So, you are getting enough to eat and drink, and perhaps I can arrange 
for the quality of your sustenance to improve significantly.  Some books, 
perhaps, to wile away the time more agreeably.  And eventually, some 
comfort of a different sort.’

“It was rather amusing.  He glanced down at my trouser-front, perhaps 
thinking that I was so desperate already that I would get an erection just 
from his presence.  Needless to say, he was having no such effect on me.

“My mind was racing, of course, trying to adjust to this idea of Saruman 
actually courting me.  It would seem prudent not to reject him out of hand.  
Pretending to consider his wishes and to gradually succumb to the lure of 
his voice might buy me precious time—and prevent his resorting to 
torture.  I could not, however, seem to give in too easily, or he could not 
possibly take my apparent surrender seriously.  I had to keep up the rather 
edgy bantering that had long been our mode of communicating.  So I said, 
in a teasing way, ‘Oh, are you offering me the company of one of your 
guards, those Dunlanders?  I imagine that you use them for your own 
pleasure fairly frequently.  It’s very kind of you.  Not at the moment, 
thank you, but if I spot one that strikes my fancy, I may accept after all.  
Some of them are not bad looking.’

“He knew that I was teasing him, of course, for he put on that familiar, 
tolerant little smile that I think he reserves just for me and my foibles.  I 
could also, however, see anger in his eyes, and shame to learn that I knew 
of the uses he made of his guards for his own pleasure.  He seemed about 
to deny it, but he realized that that would demean him even further in my 
eyes, for I knew that it was true.  I expected that he would linger on and 
press his insinuations on me further—but my little teasing had had its 
effect.  Shame won out, and simply shaking his head, as if amused, he left 
without another word.  Again days went by before I saw him.”

Glorfindel remarked, “Saruman seems not to have pressed you very hard 
for what he wanted if he left you alone so much.”

“Well, it probably took him a long time to conquer his shame—and what I 
suspect was his fear of looking foolish in the face of my broader sexual 
experience.  Not that I think Saruman has not had a great deal of sexual 
activity over the years, but ordering some good-looking young soldier to 
kneel and such your cock or to drop his trousers and bend over hardly 
requires any great skill at seduction or lovemaking.”

Glorfindel wrinkled his nose.  “Do you really think that he is that crude—
and callous—about it?”

“Oh, on many occasions I’m sure it was exactly that impersonal.  I had 
plenty of time to hear talk among the guards and even in a few cases to 
converse with them briefly.  I gathered that some of the more favored ones 
occasionally shared his bed for a semblance of lovemaking, but if he was 
in a hurry, well . . .

“I have no doubt, though, that I would have received far more attentive 
treatment than that if I had eventually given in to him.  The next time he 
actually had me brought to his study—the same room where he had 
received me upon my arrival.  Again he sized me up, as if trying to 
calculate how susceptible I might have become to his desires.  He even 
offered me a drink.  After so much deprivation, sitting in a comfortable 
chair and sipping quite a pleasant glass of wine, I thought it was rather 
remarkable how my situation was improving without my having held out 
the slightest hint to Saruman that I would ever have any romantic or 
sexual interest in him.  Whether he was being overly confident again, 
perhaps, or naïve, or desperate, I had no way of telling.  I determined to 
find out, however, for there was a chance that I could exploit his need.  I 
had no objection to accepting his wine or any other little luxuries, as long 
as he refrained from being too insistent in his demands or even using 
force.  I tried not to think about what I might need to do to stop him if he 
renewed his threats of torture.  I suppose it would have been worth 
submitting to him in order to prevent that.  I like to think that I would 
never reveal the whereabouts of the Ring to anyone, even under torture . . . 
but one never can truly be sure of how much one could endure under the 
circumstances.”

“Wait, I thought that Saruman was attempting to seduce you, and yet now 
you bring the Ring back in as his motive for torture.  I don’t understand.”

“No, well, Saruman’s mind was working in convoluted ways, as I 
discovered over the next weeks.  Indeed, I quickly began to wonder if he 
had not gone a little mad. The fantasies that he seemed to have harbored 
and the apparent belief that he might make them come true do not suggest 
rational thinking.   His two objectives apparently were linked in his mind:  
to obtain the Ring and to seduce me.  It did not particularly matter which 
goal he accomplished first, for the other would, he thought, inevitably 
follow.  If he could seduce me and make me fall in love with him, then 
presumably I would take him up on his initial offer, revealing the 
whereabouts of the Ring and agreeing to hold it in common with him.  On 
the other hand, if I rejected his propositions and he managed to find the 
Ring, he could use it to break my resistance and make me as enthralled 
with him as ever he could wish.  The one problem he had was that Sauron 
knew he was holding me prisoner.  I have no idea how he knew, but I later 
learned that he did.  Still, the point is that eventually he would grow 
inconveniently curious about why Saruman was not rendering me up to his 
messengers.  Saruman may have thought his plan foolproof otherwise, but 
he had to accomplish his goals quickly.  As to finding the Ring, certainly 
he had kept numerous spies in the Shire for many years, and he would 
already have narrowed the possibilities down to Hobbiton, probably to 
Bag End.  If he assumed that Bilbo still had the Ring—and no one had 
ever voluntarily given it up, so Saruman would not imagine that he would 
pass it on to Frodo—his agents might be spending all their time fruitlessly 
searching for the wrong Hobbit.  Elrond and I had long since virtually 
ordered Bilbo to stay in Imladris, where he would be safe.

“At any rate, during that second conversation, he definitely became more 
open about his plans for me.  Once he had settled me opposite him, he 
began in a quiet tone that suggested mild reproach, ‘I regret that I left you 
so suddenly the other day, my dear Gandalf, but I must say that I was 
somewhat shocked that you should mention your . . . your needs so openly 
with me, even in jest.’

“I found it quite amusing that he should put the blame for his 
embarrassment over his own secret sexual doings squarely onto my 
shoulders!”  Mithrandir laughed briefly. “Despite his abilities to 
manipulate people, however, his shame in this one area made it 
remarkably easy to manipulate him as well, at least in the short run.

I decided to try being conciliatory and see what that got me.  “’I regret in 
turn that I would say anything to shock you, Saruman, but you must 
realize that I was only joking.  I had no intention of asking for such favors 
from your soldiers.’

He smiled and nodded, apparently willing to pass over as mutually 
forgotten my reference to his demanding such favors from them—
something about which I had not been joking at all.  He went on, ‘I 
suspected as much.  I know that you have had many liaisons over the years 
with a great variety of people of different races—but still . . . common, 
ignorant soldiers?’

“I wanted to avoid seeming too friendly that soon, so I said with a touch of 
annoyance, ’Yes, I am well aware of your spies and have been for 
hundreds of years.  I realize now that you have them hunting for the Ring, 
but long before you could have been aware of its survival and rediscovery, 
you have had me under nearly constant watch.  For what purpose, may I 
ask?’ 

“He smiled in quite a good semblance of friendly amusement.  ‘Let us just 
say that I have always admired your brilliant tactics and strategies.  I want 
to learn from you if I can.’

“This was utter nonsense, though he undoubtedly did want to keep close 
track of my strategies—and my smoking and other little quirks, including 
my lovers.  I didn’t believe him for an instant, but I simply nodded, hoping 
that I looked as if I did.

“‘Very flattering.  My taste in lovers, though, has little to do with my 
mission and how I go about accomplishing it.  Why so curious about such 
trivialities, Saruman?’

“He gave a little snort of laughter and replied in a tone of friendly 
reprimand, ‘Such affairs are not wholly unconnected to our mission,’ he 
responded, stressing the ‘our’ where I had said ‘my.’  ‘Lovers, if chosen 
unwisely, can distract one from one’s goal and can even prove to be 
treacherous.  I am surprised that you put yourself in such a position, and so 
often.’

“I gave a little self-deprecating smile, determined to hint just faintly that I 
might have weaknesses that he could exploit, and replied, ‘Perhaps, but I 
find it difficult to avoid such relationships, given that I am on the road so 
often.  I do not, alas, have a beautiful home like yours,’ I said, looking 
around rather wistfully.

“He noticed the look and smiled with what appeared for the first time to be 
genuine pleasure.  ‘No, and I have long wondered why you persisted in a 
wandering life that at times must be quite uncomfortable.  Still, I am glad 
that when you have a choice, your preference is for lovers of a higher sort.  
Your dear Glorfindel, most notably.  Quite a suitable alliance for an Istar, I 
must admit.  And trustworthy, no doubt.’

“For an instant I was surprised to hear him praising you in this fashion, 
since he would presumably regard you as a rival, but I quickly realized in 
what direction the conversation was tending.  He was simply implying that 
if I wanted a suitable lover, he would be an even more worthy one for me 
to aspire to.  I had been right:  Saruman might well believe that I envied 
him his sumptuous home and possessions, his settled existence.  I might 
gain some advantage—some privilege that could offer me a chance of 
escape.  At the very least I could obtain some little luxuries that would not 
be forthcoming otherwise.  My meals had indeed improved slightly since 
Saruman’s first rooftop visit, and I definitely wanted that trend to 
continue.  I tested his tolerance by holding up my empty glass inquiringly.  
Saruman nodded and gestured toward the carafe on his desk, and with that 
permission I rose and poured for myself.  It was a trivial thing, but I felt 
for the first time that I had some tiny ability to control him.

Saruman hesitated for a long time, then went on.  ‘Now, however, you and 
I have the opportunity to make the most suitable alliance of all.  We are 
the two most powerful of the Istari, Gandalf, and I want you to stay here 
with me and share both our lives and our mission.  You need not be 
constantly on the road.  I am offering you the possibility of sharing this 
luxurious and well-fortified place.  I . . . I am not ashamed of the desire I 
feel for you, but you are mistaken if you think I would feel drawn to lesser 
beings.’

I realized as he spoke that earlier he had only been making a slight effort 
to control me with his voice—just testing my attitude.  Now his voice 
changed noticeably, and I must admit that it had a remarkably powerful 
effect.  I am still mystified as to how he does it.  Images came into my 
mind unbidden, images of he and I ruling Orthanc, living in a way which I 
had experienced only rarely during my travels.  I struggled to remind 
myself that all of this was entirely opposed to our true mission—but he 
worked to undermine even that belief.

“Much though I despise his treachery, I must admit that he was 
remarkably persuasive as he went on.  ‘I know, Gandalf, that you are 
admirably dedicated to defeating Sauron.  I am, too, I assure you.  The 
Ring cannot simply be hidden forever.  If the Nazgul find the one who 
bears it, our cause will be hopeless.  We would have to admit defeat and 
leave this continent that we both love so much.  By using the Ring 
together, however, we stand a very good chance of defeating him and then 
of having the means to restore Middle-earth to order and prosperity.  We 
are both enormously powerful.  Surely we could resist its corrupting 
influences for that long, and then . . . destroy it or keep it safely hidden 
away, unused.’

“It was bizarre, but while he was talking, I think I did despair of my plan 
for a moment.  Sending a Hobbit to Mordor—for of course I had long 
known that Frodo is fated to be the Ringbearer to the bitter end—seemed 
lunatic.  Saruman must have read that despair in my face, for he was 
clearly suppressing a look of jubilation.  I put forth a great effort, however, 
reminding myself of those threats of torture, of the fact that we could 
never wield the One Ring jointly, of the dreadful corruption that it would 
inevitably force into our minds long before we could accomplish the 
things that he described.  I thrust aside the visions induced by his voice, 
but I pretended still to be in their thrall.  I was not quite sure how to 
behave as if I had given in to his voice, but I sat silent for a while, staring 
at him uncertainly and with a fascination which I was far from feeling in 
reality.  He was watching me avidly, and I fancy that I managed to deceive 
him into thinking that I had yielded to him just a trifle.   I decided that this 
was the time to hint further at my susceptibility.

“I said hesitantly, ‘You . . . you may be right, about that and about my 
wandering life.  I admit that I have somewhat low tastes—for smoking and 
the like.  And, I might add, rather a low sense of humor, which you must 
forgive.  Long ago, however, I began to weary of life on the road.  I have 
wished for a home, and now to be offered one as fine as this is tempting 
indeed.  Yet you too have sacrificed much for our great mission.  You 
must lead a lonely existence here, wrapped up in your work.’

“As I listened to myself talking, I could not believe that he would take 
anything I said seriously, and I feared that he would become angry with 
me and send me back to my bleak existence on the roof.  I had not, 
however, reckoned on the extent to which even a brilliant wizard can 
delude himself when it comes to love—and no, my dear Glorfindel, that 
remark was not aimed at you or at our relationship!  I am fairly confident 
that I have not needed to delude myself in any way over you.  At any rate, 
Saruman had seen the effect that his voice had on me—though I know he 
underestimated my ability to resist it.  Nevertheless, I was very pleased 
that Saruman could be played upon when it came to his desires—and his 
supreme confidence in his voice.

“Indeed, he simply nodded solemnly at my compliments on his dutiful and 
abstemious existence, clearly approving of my attitude.  He undoubtedly 
had noticed that I said, ‘our mission’ this time.  He sat silent for a while, 
nodded slightly, and looked at me with a faint smile.  Finally he rose and 
moved over to stand beside my chair.  ‘I am afraid that I cannot change 
your place of imprisonment from the roof into more comfortable 
accommodations.  I must first learn whether I can trust you, and that will 
take a long time.  You could of course prove that I can trust you by telling 
me where the Ring is.  Think about it, Gandalf.  I shall, in the meantime, 
try to make your stay up there somewhat more pleasant.’

I stared back at him as if in some confusion.  He rang a small bell, and my 
guards entered to escort me back to the roof.  I gave Saruman one last little 
puzzled frown, as if wondering what had come over me, and went out. 
Once I was back on my bleak rooftop, I realized that, in a way, my 
situation was still quite dire.  I had little hope for escape, but at least the 
prospect of torture or rape had receded considerably, for the present.  How 
long Saruman would remain patient with my reticence was another matter.  

“Again he gave me a few days for thought.  And again my living 
conditions improved distinctly.  Then he had me brought back for another 
little visit to his study.  The whole thing went much the way the other visit 
had, with some nice wine and a seductive speech picturing our life 
together with the Ring and how his plan was the only possible hope for 
achieving our mission in Middle-earth.  The same maddening visions of 
easy success and physical luxury—and even romantic bliss with 
Saruman—went through my mind.  I strove to thrust them away, however, 
and was relieved to discover that his repeated temptations had no 
cumulative effect.  I was able to resist them with no greater difficulty than 
before.  This time I made no teasing remarks but only stared at Saruman, 
as if taking in everything he said quite seriously.  As he talked, I stood up 
and moved around the room, looking at every book and every strange 
instrument, every map and splendid decoration, as if I were trying to 
picture them as my own.  He watched me with barely suppressed glee.

“At last he finished his persuasive speech and smiled at me.  Clearly the 
meeting was drawing to a close, and I tried to move to the door, as if ready 
for my guards to take me away.  He intercepted me, however, seizing my 
arms and forcing me to face him.  It was quite apparent what he wanted, 
but as he moved even closer to take me in his arms and kiss me, I held him 
off with one hand, dropping my eyes from his as if in embarrassment.  
‘You must realize, this whole notion is still new to me.  We know each 
other well , in a sense, but to prepare for this new relationship . . . well,  I 
need more time to become accustomed to it.’

“He looked quite disappointed but to my amazement, he simply nodded 
and let his guards take me up to my rooftop prison.  I had acted like a coy 
village maiden in the Shire, and he had let me get away with it!  I waited 
until I was back on the roof and the door closed before I laughed out loud.  
Apparently I had acted in accordance with Saruman’s peculiar notions of 
propriety.”

Glorfindel had begun laughing quietly at intervals during this, amused and 
also relieved that apparently he was not going to hear a grim tale of 
coerced sex.  “Really, I find it difficult to believe that Saruman could have 
taken you to be sincere in any of your words or behavior.”

Mithrandir thought for a moment.  “True, but he had obviously been 
fantasizing about all this for hundreds of years.  He had become 
accustomed to his notion of what he wanted me to be to him.  He must 
have had some belief that it could all come true if he would go to the 
lengths of luring me there and imprisoning me.  He would greatly fear that 
I would reject him, but he would seize upon any sign that he was 
succeeding.  And, as I said, I am not sure that he was entirely sane by that 
point.”

“Did you go on being coy, my dearest Istar?”

“Dreadfully, yes.  Well, why not?  It was working.  Those two 
conversations definitely improved my situation.  I was given a chair, some 
books, and so on.  It wasn’t much really, but in my stark situation it was 
most comforting.  The problem was that I was still imprisoned on the roof, 
and to have any real hope of escape I would have to induce Saruman to 
move me to some spot lower in the tower.  A few more days went by and I 
received an invitation to dine with the great Saruman.  Apparently he had 
sensed at the end of our last meeting that I was ripe for a conversion to his 
way of thinking, and he had also been giving me time to become 
accustomed to the honor he was doing me—and perhaps to become even 
more desperate for his attentions.  I quite looked forward to that dinner.  
Apart from having a decent meal, I would gain a chance to gauge how 
seriously Saruman had taken my gradual change in attitude.  He obviously 
considered Orthanc the one thing he had that I would envy, so my 
professed admiration of it during both my visits to his study had clearly 
rung true.  Naturally I still found it difficult to believe that he thought I 
was seriously considering his generous proposition.  Of course there was 
also the risk that he would become impatient with my slowness in 
accepting him as a lover and just use force—but that risk was always there 
anyway.”

“And what was that extraordinary dinner like?”

Mithrandir chuckled.  “Very romantic.  Saruman definitely does well for 
himself in that tower.  Superb food served by candlelight, splendid wine.  
He was clearly making an effort to be, well, at least pleasant.  Indeed, I 
think I had by that point half convinced him that I had been considerably 
subdued by the power of his voice, and now he thought he was being 
terribly seductive.  It would have been quite funny if my situation had not 
been so precarious.  At any rate, the meal was such a change from my 
grim diet up to that point that I almost thought it would ultimately be 
worth a kiss—a reluctantly given kiss, of course.  I did not believe that I 
could really put Saruman off yet again without at least some physical hint 
that I was eventually going to be his.”

“You didn’t!”

“Wait, don’t jump ahead!  Let me give you some of the detail you insisted 
upon.

“After I had eaten a great deal of the wonderful food that was served at 
that very peculiar dinner, Saruman inquired tolerantly, ’Are you enjoying 
the books and other things that I have sent to you, Gandalf?’  So peculiar 
that, as if he had been generously providing for me in a situation that I had 
got myself into!

“I had long since ceased to tease him or be mocking in any way.  By now I 
was acting in a most docile fashion.  And I noted that he was not bothering 
to put much effort into using his voice to divert and cloud my mind.  That 
very fact led me to believe that he felt me largely in his power by then.  I 
decided to act in a far more servile manner, confirming his notion that he 
had subdued me.  ‘Very much.  I am grateful indeed.  In fact, it 
encourages me to take the liberty of asking whether I might now be moved 
to a bedroom inside the tower.  Locked, I realize, but still, inside out of the 
weather.  The sun is quite scorching in these summer months, on that 
black stone.’

He clicked his tongue sympathetically.  “No doubt, but I am afraid that the 
roof is far and away the safest place for you.  I have lived here long, and I 
know all of Orthanc’s strengths and weaknesses.  There is, however, one 
bedroom that you will always be welcome to visit.’  He actually smiled 
and lifted a glass as a toast to that entrancing announcement.  I pretended 
to be a trifle embarrassed at that and touched glasses with him.  Oddly 
enough, it obviously still very much pleased him that I should be 
embarrassed at the thought of having sex with him.  Probably he thought it 
very fitting.  Why he thought I should have suddenly developed this 
shame over such things I have no idea, except that it suited his fantasy of 
what he wanted me to be.”

“More like him, in other words.”

“Exactly.  Do you know, my dear Elf, I’ve never wanted to you be more 
like me in any way.  I find you quite fascinating just as you are.  No doubt, 
though, Saruman thought himself the ideal role model for his errant fellow 
Istar.”  He shrugged.  “And I seemed to be playing right into his hands.

“I was tempted to ask him about his research on the method of making 
Elven rings, but that seemed a bit too blatant, so I simply asked if he had 
any interesting experiments underway.  I think he doubted whether he 
should tell me, but I looked so earnestly interested and he was so proud of 
his accomplishments that he told me about some of his work.  It was rather 
disturbing news, in fact, about breeding tests he has tried, hoping to 
increase the strength and endurance of certain types of orcs.  Very 
worrisome for us, if half of what he boasted of is true, and I imagine it is.  
Why would he lie, since, after all, he presumably thought I would 
eventually aid him in such experiments, once he had fully won me over.  
At any rate, the rest of the meal passed with me struggling not to let my 
face betray my disgust with everything he said.”

“Mithrandir, I had no idea that you had this talent for deception.  You are 
always scrupulously honest.”

“Well, oddly enough, I discovered that all the flattery and rhetoric that one 
must use in persuading kings and chiefs and other powerful people to 
follow the right course can be very easily twisted into deception.”

“Sadly true, I am afraid.  I trust that you made Saruman believe you.”

“Yes, apparently, at that point anyway.  Finally the meal was over, and we 
sat talking a bit.  Eventually though, his eyes grew dark and intense, and I 
knew that I had best take some initiative to end this cozy little evening.  
Getting back to that rooftop had never looked better!  I stood up rather 
suddenly, and he rose as well, startled.  He moved around the table as if to 
take me in his arms, but again I held him off.  Before he could express 
annoyance or impatience, I put on my best coy-Shire-maiden manner and 
shook my head.  I recalled something that a potential lover had once said 
to me, long, long ago.

“I’m . . . I’m afraid this is still a bit too fast for me.  I’m sure if we have 
further—‘  I was about to say ‘meals,’ but that seemed a little too obvious, 
so I said, ‘conversations like this, I shall continue to warm to the idea.’  I 
decided to risk even stronger measures in order to prevent his seizing 
control of the situation.  I stared briefly into his eyes, as if fascinated 
despite my reticence.  ‘Already I find myself . . .’  And I slid my hand 
around to the back of his neck and pulled him forward into a kiss—don’t 
look so disgusted, my dear Elf, it was really not nearly as unpleasant as I 
expected, though of course I did not enjoy it.  Fortunately Saruman very 
much did.  I fancy I gave him quite a tantalizing little sample of what he 
wanted.  Not that I let it become too deep or go on very long.  Just enough 
to be convincing.  Then I moved away toward the door, as if a little 
flustered.  For a moment he stared after me, and when I turned back to 
him, I feared that he had seen through me at last.  Then he smiled, and I 
realized that in a sense, I had behaved just as the proper wizard should, in 
his eyes.

“Well, this story is becoming overlong, but obviously Saruman would not 
wait much longer.  He did not have me brought down to his rooms again, 
but visited me a few times on the roof.  And these visits came each day, 
each ending, of course, in a kiss—each time longer and more passionate, 
and I realized that my attempts to buy time were rapidly running out.  
Foolishly though he was behaving in some ways, Saruman took enormous 
care never to allow me the slightest chance for escape.

“Then, all too soon, one of Saruman’s visits led to a kiss that did not end 
when I tried to withdraw.  He was clearly becoming too aroused for me to 
prevaricate plausibly any further.  Finally, he took my arm and started to 
lead me to the door, obviously to retire to his bedroom.  I gave up any 
pretence of cooperation and abruptly switched tactics.  My hope now was 
to humiliate him, so thoroughly and painfully that if he retained a shred of 
self-respect, he would never try to have me.  I halted and jerked my arm 
out of his hand.  He turned to me in surprise.

“I poured as much cold contempt into my voice as I could and deliberately 
spoke so coarsely that he would be revolted and ashamed.  “Saruman, 
have you really sustained this pathetic fantasy that I would willingly come 
into your bed?  You’ve dreamed about me, haven’t you?  For a long time.  
About fucking me.  About having me kneel and suck your cock.  About 
me lying, completely passive, in your bed, while you force yourself into 
me.  But of course, no matter what you did to me, you imagined that I’d 
want it, didn’t you?  In your fantasies, I’d be aroused and I’d come, very 
hard, harder than I ever had with Glorfindel, and I’d be so grateful that I’d 
fall in love with you and become your willing helper.  You’d have me in 
your bed; you’d brush me aside in the Council’s debates over policy.  I 
would submit to you in every way, in your dreams of power.  Well,  now 
you know that those dreams will never come true.’

“I managed to laugh, for contempt would grind into his heart more 
painfully than fury.  ‘Under ordinary circumstances, I would never say this 
to anyone, but you have forced me to it:  Saruman, I don’t find you at all 
appealing.  Do you know . . . I have never had any fantasy, no matter how 
fleeting or silly, about kissing you or touching you or fucking you.  I 
suspect that being in bed with you, even willingly, would not be terribly 
rewarding—not for me, at any rate.  Doesn’t it occur to you that if I did 
submit to you, all the time you were making love to me, or whatever you 
call it, I would be thinking about Glorfindel and the Elves and the others 
that I have had and remembering how good they were in bed?  Because 
you don’t want to rape me or hurt me, do you?  You want me to tell you 
that you were the best fuck I ever had.’

I stopped and shook my head with one last tiny snort of contemptuous 
laughter.  He had gone deathly pale during my tirade, and I thought it 
perfectly possible that I had gone much too far and that he would beat me 
or call his guards to torture me.  Disappointment and shame, however, 
drove him away, and he disappeared down the steps quickly, slamming the 
heavy door behind him.

I never saw him again during my stay.  Clearly he decided to let others 
exact his revenge.  My living conditions reverted to the grubby, barely 
adequate meals of the early days.  Saruman made sure that the guards 
informed me that messages had gone back and forth between Orthanc and 
Barad-dur, arranging for my transfer to the dungeons of the Dark Lord, 
and that Sauron’s most trusted guards were on their way to escort me.  It 
was a grim and frightening wait, and I often wondered whether I should 
have submitted to Saruman and gone docilely to his bed.  It was too late 
for that, though.  Very fortunately for me, only a short time before the 
escort from Mordor was due to take custody of me, Gwaihir arrived—and 
the rest you know.”

Glorfindel shook his head, struggling to rid his mind of images of his lover 
imprisoned in Sauron’s Dark Tower and undergoing eternal torment.  He 
slipped his arm around Mithrandir’s waist, and they finished the long 
climb up to the pine woods in silence.
  
The Hobbits had gone on ahead, somewhat more slowly on the steeper 
parts than usual in deference to Frodo’s weakened state.  By now, though, 
they were exploring and looking at the views back out over the valley.  
Mithrandir and Glorfindel paused on the path, leaning against a railing on 
the edge of a cliff overlooking a particularly beautiful vista.  They smiled 
as they turned and watched the Hobbits running and shouting among the 
slender trunks of the tall trees.

Glorfindel said, “After a few days of their acquaintance, I begin to 
understand why you enjoy the company of these little people.  They are 
indeed delightful, and, as you say, surprisingly strong and determined.”

“Yes.  ‘Stubborn’ some might say, I suppose.  That strength will serve 
Frodo and Sam well during the Quest.  I know it seems absurd to pin our 
fates upon two little chaps like that.  After all, though, if our strongest ally 
has turned traitor, then perhaps our seemingly weakest friend will prove 
loyal to the bitter end.”

After a short silence, Glorfindel said reluctantly, “I have been thinking 
about the possibility of making one of the Fellowship.  I would dearly love 
to travel with you again.   The last time we were able to journey together 
was during that return from the Battle of Fornost, so many years ago.  I 
think I know the answer to what I am about to ask, but could I conceivably 
be of any use to the group that no one else could?”

Mithrandir considered carefully for a time, then said reluctantly, “I doubt 
it.  Not in comparison with the use you could be here.  Sauron will attack 
on several fronts, and one of my greatest fears is that we should somehow, 
against all odds, triumph far to the south, only to find upon our return that 
the north has been devastated.  A burned and ruined Imladris would make 
our victory hollow indeed.  No, I am all too tempted to ask Elrond to make 
you one of the group to accompany Frodo—but this is one of those cases 
where we could risk seeing our long patience come to naught because of 
personal temptation.  And I am all too well aware of how tempting you 
are, my sweet Elf.  All too well aware,” he added with a fond smile.

Glorfindel smiled sadly in return.  “That is the answer that I expected, for I 
too feel that it is my duty, as always, to remain here and protect this 
splendid place.”  They looked out over the huge valley, glowing with 
autumn colors in the full sun of the early afternoon.  “The thought of 
Imladris vulnerable to the Enemy’s forces would hover over me every step 
of the way toward Mordor.  I dread parting from you yet again, for this 
will be the most agonizing of all our separations, but I trust to you and 
Aragorn to guide the Ringbearer and to Elrond to choose the rest of the 
Nine Companions well.”

“Yes, Elrond wants to have a meeting soon to fill out the list of the Nine 
Companions.  Will you come to it, or shall I simply present your wishes as 
my own?”

“I think I shall not attend, if you don’t mind.  It is one thing to know that I 
should not make one of the Fellowship.  It is another to have to be present 
at that meeting and know that I shall have to watch you depart on such a 
perilous mission, one that will see a conclusion to our hopes, for good or 
ill.”

“Very well, my dearest Glorfindel.  I shall convey our decision to Elrond 
and draw him into choosing some other Fellowship member in your stead.  
Still, though you may not participate directly in the Quest, you have 
already contributed vitally to it.  In saving Frodo, once again you were 
face to face with your old nemesis, the Witch-King.  That must have been 
quite a bizarre experience, confronting him at the Ford.”

“Yes, knowing that I could not defeat him and yet having to keep him at 
bay in order to save Frodo.  The flood commanded by Elrond worked 
wonderfully, sweeping our enemies away for now—but once again he has 
only been temporarily disposed of—and not ‘by the hand of man.’”

“Yes, well, you need not gloat, my dear Elf.  I have long been convinced 
that your prophecy is accurate.  I shall be more impressed when you 
prophesy how he can be disposed of.”

Glorfindel laughed quietly.  “That is the great difficulty, of course.”

Mithrandir sobered at once and said quietly.  “I must confess that I also 
think it would be best for you not to be a member of the Fellowship 
because there is the distinct possibility that you might be tempted by the 
Ring.  I have just had all too vivid a demonstration of what such 
temptation, even from afar, has done to Saruman.”

“No doubt, but might you yourself not be corrupted by it?”

Mithrandir was silent for a long time.  Finally he said, “That, of course, is 
why there is a Ringbearer.  A brave, admirable, but simple little fellow 
who could never wield the Ring effectively if he did seize it.  It remains a 
distinct possibility, however, that I might fall into that evil.  I must deal 
with that temptation myself, but for the Fellowship to contain two 
members who are powerful enough to seize the Ring and wield it 
effectively—well, it simply doubles the danger!  And if, as also seems 
quite possible, we both fell victim to the Ring’s corruption, we would 
grow to hate each other as rivals for its possession.  It could destroy our 
love, as it can destroy anything else.”

“I cannot deny what you say.  Still, if anyone can fight off the temptation 
of the Ring, it is you.”

“Yes, ’if.’  I remember long ago, when we first discussed our feelings for 
each other, I said that many “ifs” lay between us and the fulfillment of our 
tasks.  The lure of the Ring is, for me, I fear, one of the biggest ‘ifs’ of all.  
Well, enough of worries.  Let us call the others and have lunch.  And I 
should warn you, when dining with Hobbits, do not hold back politely in 
taking your own portion or you will find yourself with nothing to eat!”


Nearly two months later, the night before the Fellowship was to depart, 
Mithrandir and Aragorn checked their baggage again, with Sam’s help.  
Everything appeared to be ready, and they said good-night and went to 
their rooms, anticipating an early start.

As the Istar entered Glorfindel’s room, he found the Elf leaning on the 
mantel, staring gloomily into the dying embers.  Glancing curiously at his 
lover’s face, Mithrandir stooped and placed two small logs on the fire and 
stirred it into flames once more.  Rising, he attempted to embrace 
Glorfindel, but the Elf turned away slightly.  

Mithrandir frowned at him, puzzled.  “In all the times we have been 
together—far too few, granted, but still many—you have never withdrawn 
from me this way.  Must I seduce you, my dear Elf?  I have got reasonably 
good at the art, but I did not think I would ever have to use it on you 
again!  Now perhaps you are trying to give me a belated lesson in dealing 
with a coy lover . . .”  He paused as realization dawned in his face.  “. . . or 
a jealous one.”

Glorfindel moved away from the fireplace and paced slowly around the 
room.  “I know it is ridiculous, but seeing the nine members of the 
Fellowship—well, they are handsome individuals, and they come from 
most of the races of Middle-earth.  I know you have had lovers among all 
these peoples—“

“Never a Dwarf.”

Despite being upset, Glorfindel glanced at him curiously.  “No?  Why 
not?”

“Dwarves have a strict prohibition on sexual relations with members of 
other races.  Very stubbornly adhered to, I gather.  Certainly I gave up 
long ago.”

Glorfindel smiled wanly.  “Well, most of the peoples, then.  I know that 
occasionally you have companionship when you are on the road, but 
somehow, imagining you with this group, traveling long and far from 
inhabited areas . . . I suppose it is partly the fact that I know these people.  
Two of them are good friends of mine, and all the others I have grown 
quite fond of during this time before the Fellowship departs.  In the past, I 
have been acquainted with  very few of your lovers.”

“On the other hand, I believe I have known many of yours, so I don’t see 
why that should make a difference.  Do you picture me as having a 
different Fellowship member sharing my blanket every night?  No, I 
assure you, my dear Elf, I shall not approach any of them in that way.  I go 
with them in the role of guide and leader, and I would not presume to form 
such a liaison with any one of them.  I shall wait until Lorién, where I no 
doubt shall find such companionship.  In any case, I hardly think that you 
will sleep alone every night while we are gone.  I try not to think about 
you, here in the midst of a large number of highly attractive Elves, but I 
know it will happen.  That was what we agreed.  We may neither of us like 
it, deep down, but it has been a viable arrangement for a very long time.  I 
have always believed that a little jealousy was better for our relationship 
than resentment over long and frustrating celibacy would be.”

Suddenly Mithrandir grasped Glorfindel’s wrist to stop his pacing and 
gently pushed him against the wall, planting his hands high  above the 
Elf’s shoulders, so that he was staring Glorfindel directly in the eyes from 
only inches away.   “But why, after two thousand years of this 
arrangement, are you suddenly openly jealous, my dearest Elf?  I assure 
you, three hundred sixty-five days a year in every one of those years, I 
have thought of you!  Sometimes I have been in your arms and thought 
blissfully about how marvelously we can pleasure each other.  And 
sometimes I simply pause in my travels or duties and wish for just a short 
moment that I could fly across the great expanses of this continent to be 
with you.  Believe me, Glorfindel, for you know that I would never lie to 
you.”

Glorfindel struggled to smile.  “You are right.  For every time we have 
been able to make love, there have been many other times when I longed 
to be with you as well.  So many times I have next to someone else and 
wished it were you.”  He surprised the Istar by laughing suddenly.  “Some 
beautiful Elf with no wrinkles or beard, so bland and boring!”  Mithrandir 
grinned to see his lover looking more cheerful, but the humor quickly 
drained from the Elf’s face.

Glorfindel spoke slowly and reluctantly.  “Perhaps what is really wrong 
with me is that I now sense the end finally approaching.  The Ring has 
been found, the Quest undertaken, and the vision that was needed to unite 
the peoples of this continent in a single struggle has emerged.   And as a 
result, the day of which we almost never allow ourselves to speak may 
finally arrive.  The Elf looked at Mithrandir with a sadness in his eyes that 
made the Istar clench his teeth.  “Perhaps . . .”  He breathed heavily and 
looked down for a moment.  “I promised myself that I would not mention 
this, but . . . perhaps tonight we could finally promise our hearts to each 
other.”

Mithrandir straightened up and looked away into the fire.  “Glorfindel, I 
want and need you.  All through the Quest, I shall dream of returning to 
you.  The thought of seeing you again will sustain me when little else can.  
Yet I have also secretly faced the fact that that may never come to pass.  
When the Fellowship leaves and you and I part, we may never see each 
other again—at least not in these forms and in the world as it is now.  I 
cannot foretell such things, and even you, with your gift of prophecy, 
cannot.  We both have enormous goals and duties and burdens—no less so 
than when we first met--and we must accept that they come first, before 
our love.  After all these years and this close to the end, I still dare not risk 
the possibility that a promise made to you in a moment of passion could 
affect my judgment in the crucial tasks ahead.”

Mithrandir moved to press against the Elf, moving his hands restlessly 
over his body and soon rubbing a growing erection against his thigh.  He 
murmured hoarsely in Glorfindel’s ear, “Believe me, I would love to be 
able to tell you things . . . things that have nothing to do with mere 
seduction.  Perhaps someday, I shall be able to.  But right now, as you can 
feel, I need very badly to seduce you.”  He pulled Glorfindel’s hand to his 
swelling member, thrusting slightly against it and panting as he went on, 
now staring into the Elf’s eyes.  “What must I tell you?  That your lovely 
hair is like the pale gold of dragons’ hoards?  It is.  That your limbs are as 
smooth and lithe as a fawn’s?  They are.  That your eyes hold depths of 
passion that shine as bright as the Silmarilli themselves?  They seem to, 
for me at any rate.”

Looking into Mithrandir’s eyes, Glorfindel read a wealth of love and 
desire that made him joyful and confident once more, despite the 
impending separation and all the dangers ahead.  He hugged the wizard’s 
head to his chest, enveloping it in his powerful arms and resting his cheek 
on top of the white hair.  He whispered, “You have learned the art of 
seduction well, Istar.  And for tonight seduction is enough.  Someday, as 
you say . . .”

Mithrandir pulled his head free to look into the Elf’s eyes once more, his 
own glazed with passion.  “Yes, forget your doubts, Glorfindel, at least for 
tonight.  This is our last opportunity.  Let us not squander it in talk.  Be 
silent now and let me remove those cumbersome clothes of yours—and 
then I shall show you something that a very dear, beautiful Elf once taught 
me by the grey shores of the Sea.”
____________________________________________________________

Before sunrise on the morning of the Fellowship’s departure from 
Imladris, the nine members assembled in the Hall of Fire to say farewell to 
members of the household.  Gradually the others drifted outside and sat or 
stood about, waiting finally only for Mithrandir.  The Istar had walked 
with Glorfindel from the Hall to the great front door, but the Elf finally 
pulled him aside into a small room where heavy winter gear was stored 
and hugged him close, then released him, looking away and struggling to 
hold back tears.  “I have kept thinking the same thing over and over as I 
have watched you prepare for this journey.”

“What, my dearest Elf?”

“That a little over three thousand years ago I stood almost on this spot, 
embracing a lover who was setting out for the Land of Shadow—and he 
never came back.  He perished before its gates.”

The Istar pressed his hands flat against either side of Glorfindel’s head, 
pulling the blond hair back and the face up to look at him.  “You know I 
must go, as he did.  If Sauron regains the Ring, well, then, ere long 
Imladris will cease to be a shelter that could harbor our love.  Middle-earth 
will be lost to us.  And if that happens, it is quite possible that I shall 
perish far from here.  You must promise me that if I do not come back, 
you will take ship with Elrond and the others and return to Eldamar.  I do 
not want you to sit and mourn in this deserted valley while the leaves sear 
and fall for the last time and shadow overtakes all.  I do not know what 
would happen to me if this body should die—if I fail in my mission.  
Perhaps, somehow, long from now, we might meet again upon the other 
side.”

Glorfindel took a deep breath and nodded, “Yes, although I know from my 
experiences in the Halls of Mandos that that time might be very long 
indeed, even by the standards of Elves . . . even perhaps by the standards 
of Maiar.”  Tenderly the wizard drew him into a long kiss that neither 
could bring himself to break, for the last excuse to delay their separation 
would end.  Finally Mithrandir pulled free and moved to the door.  
Turning back, he asked, “Are you coming to see us off?”

Glorfindel stood staring at the floor, his teeth clenched and his arms 
crossed.  He shook his head.  Finally he spoke.  “There are other ways of 
dying than falling in battle before the Black Gate.  I know that you will be 
cautious, for the sake of the entire Fellowship and indeed of all of Middle-
earth, yet . . . just as there are unsuspected allies in many parts of this 
continent, there are also unsuspected dangers.  Be ever vigilant, for you 
must come back to me.  I could not bear such grief a second time.”

Mithrandir sighed.  “Fear not, my sweet Glorfindel.  You and I shall ride 
to the Havens together someday.”

Glorfindel looked at him with a sad little smile.  “I hope so . . . for I find 
that I am at last suffering from the sea-urge that eventually drives the High 
Elves westward.  I long now to stand again beside you and gaze across the 
evening waves at the sunset—and then to depart together.”


TBC




The Grey Shores  6/6

Author:  Nefertiti  nefertiti_22002@yahoo.com
Pairing:  Gandalf/Glorfindel
Rating:  NC-17
Summary:  Glorfindel grieves after the death of Mithrandir but later is 
reunited with his reincarnated lover.
Disclaimer:  No rights, no income.
Author’s note:  Book-canon.  The action begins at Imladris in February of 
3019, after the death of Gandalf the Grey.  The Minas Tirith section takes 
place on 1 Lithe, the eve of Mid-year’s Day of the same year; passages 
describing the arrival of Elrond’s party at the city gate are taken directly 
from the end of “The Steward and the King.”  The last two scenes take 
place in September of 3021, just before the end of the Third Age.

Elanor, my dear, thank you once again for superb betaing for this whole 
series—oh, and I owe you another wizard-hobbit orgy.


At first there was nothing but black despair.  Later Glorfindel realized it 
must have been three days that he sat in his room, barely moving, his mind 
unable to wrench itself away from one endlessly repeating thought:  
Mithrandir was dead.  Dimly he was aware of others coming to him with 
food and drink, speaking to him, and leaving him in the solitude he 
desired.  As he sat, he realized that the agony of soul that he felt was akin 
to what he had experienced in the Halls of Mandos when first he had 
arrived there—loss, fear, hopelessness.  Eventually he became capable of 
other emotions.  Anger at his lover for having neglected the Elf’s final 
warning and gone into such danger.  Agonizing guilt over the idea that he 
should himself have gone with the Fellowship, to save the Istar, even if it 
meant dying in his place.  Or if he failed to do that, at the very least he 
could have taken over as Frodo’s guardian, striving to see Mithrandir’s 
crucial goal reached.  Had he learned nothing from the great loss of Gil-
galad, he wondered.   Bitterly he thought that the Istar had been right:  the 
Elves were too cautious.  Why had he stayed here, guarding a place that no 
longer meant anything to him in his loneliness?

That thought opened a crack in his overwhelming grief.  Believing that 
Imladris now meant nothing to him betrayed his lover’s trust.  The Istar 
had always put their missions in Middle-earth ahead of their love.  He had 
refused to promise his heart to Glorfindel so that both of them could focus 
as fully as possible on their tasks.  That the Elf had secretly already given 
his heart, completely and irrevocably, was no fault of Mithrandir’s.  He 
struggled to steer his mind back to protecting the hidden valley.  He could 
not, however, do so, since hope for Middle-earth seemed non-existent to 
the Elf.  Mithrandir had been their great hope, and he had pinned his upon 
a Hobbit.  What chance was there now of Frodo succeeding?  Much 
though the Elf loved and admired Aragorn, he could not imagine the 
Ranger being able successfully to guide Frodo to the Mountain.

Eventually Glorfindel’s mind drifted into another obsession as he 
speculated over and over on different ways that he might, be it eons in the 
future, somehow meet Olorin again.  For Mithrandir no longer existed, and 
what was left of him now was only the Maiareme spirit.  Perhaps, 
somehow, somewhere in the Undying Lands . . . and with such thoughts 
he suddenly realized that a dim ray of hope, as if emitted by the smallest 
star in the sky, had entered the darkness of his mind.  If ever he did meet 
his lover again, he would want to be able to say that he had kept trust with 
him and gone on protecting Imladris to the end.

That evening he forced himself to join the others in the dining hall, and 
though he was not able to speak to anyone, he managed to eat a little. 
Afterward Glorfindel moved as if to return to his room, but Elrond  took 
his arm firmly and stared at him with infinite pity when he tried to pull 
away.  The dark-haired Elf led the blond one to the Hall of Fire.  
Glorfindel sat unmoving on a bench along the wall.  Suddenly his eyes 
focused on the fire itself, and a vision of the horrible death Mithrandir 
must have suffered, surrounded by the flames of the Balrog, came to him.  
He cringed and swung to sit sideways, with his temple pressed against the 
wooden panel, struggling not to weep.  He had forced into a neglected 
corner of his mind his memory of being enveloped in pain and finally 
oblivion during his own fatal struggle with one of the powerful creatures, 
but now it came rushing back to him.  He sat for hours.  When the evening 
finally ended, Glorfindel had no idea what had been said or sung that 
night—nor even noticed when the last instrument was lowered and the 
music quieted.  The music in his own heart had long since ceased.

After that evening, the other Elves of the household tried to draw him into 
various activities.  He could return their greetings but nothing more.  
Resistant to anything that distracted him from his grief, he took to walking 
out into the valley each day, wandering through the cold aimlessly, 
wincing when he came upon a place where over the years he and 
Mithrandir had strolled or sat and talked or, in a few cases, made love.  
Whenever he recognized such a place he paused, vivid memories rushing 
into his mind and leaving him more forlorn than before.  Gradually, 
however, the bleak beauty of the valley in winter worked upon him, and 
his desire to protect it returned.  Thereafter he abandoned his walks and 
stayed at the house, struggling to focus on the day-to-day routine of 
keeping Imladris safe—the reports from various scouts who patrolled the 
north, his meetings with the Rangers who visited regularly for his aid in 
coordinating and advising the activities of the remnants of the Dunedain.

Until nearly four weeks after the arrival of the message from Lothlorién 
that had ripped his world apart, he managed to carry on in this way, 
attending to his duties with a bitter determination.  On some evenings he 
went to the Hall of Fire with the others, but just as often he returned to his 
room and sank back into his grief.

One morning he was dressing, and his thoughts were just beginning to 
grope toward recalling what tasks he had for that day when he heard 
running feet.  The door burst open, and Elrohir leaned against the frame, 
panting.  There were tears in his eyes, but his face wore an expression of 
joy.  “More news from Lorién—and this time welcome news, my dear 
friend.  Mithrandir has been rescued!  He is alive.”

Glorfindel stared at him.  He began to tremble, and he found that his chest 
was so constricted that he had to force air deep into his lungs in a great, 
shuddering gasp.  The ghost of a smile played briefly about his lips, but he 
was too stunned and puzzled for full joy to seize him yet.   “How . . . how 
could he have survived?  Where has he been this long, dreadful month?”

“We know little more.  Galadriel sent Gwaihir with the message 
immediately after he carried Mithrandir to the Golden Wood.  According 
to Gwaihir, he had been lying on the mountaintop where he finally slew 
the Balrog, dreadfully injured, burned—no wait! Remain calm . . . She is 
tending to him and hopes to restore him fully.  She will send another 
message when she learns more from him, but for now –“  

Glorfindel looked around the room in some confusion.  “I must go!  I have 
to join him there and—“

Elrohir stepped quickly to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
“No, no, Glorfindel!  Please, do not do anything rash.  Galadriel begs you 
not to try and go to Lorién.  She knows that Mithrandir will want to 
continue with his journey and his mission as soon as he is able—almost 
certainly days before you could possibly arrive there traveling over the 
mountains in the middle of winter.”  Glorfindel had quieted to listen to 
him, and now he stood as if dazed, torn between his elation at the news 
and his aching disappointment of not being able to hasten to Mithrandir’s 
side.  Elrohir squeezed his shoulder and shook him slightly.  “She also 
promises that as soon as he has healed a little, Mithrandir will himself 
send you a message.  I fear that you must be content with that.  But be 
joyful!  That is enormously better than what we have thought.  He lives, 
and you will see him again, I am sure of it.  Now we all can rejoice, for 
this news brings us renewed hope that the Quest can succeed.”

Glorfindel managed to nod, but at once he leaned forward and wept 
against the other Elf’s shoulder for long minutes.  Elrohir embraced him 
and waited patiently until the tears finally ceased.  Glorfindel lifted his 
head and whispered,  “He is going on into still greater danger, and joy will 
be overshadowed by fear for a long while to come.”  He managed a shaky 
smile.  “Still, as you say, fear is far better than grief.”  He crossed to a 
pitcher and basin near the window and splashed some cold water on his 
face to help erase the traces of his weeping.  Drying himself, he turned to 
Elrohir and let out a great sigh, then smiled with delight and relief.  “Now 
I can truly begin to live again.  Let us go to Elrond and talk over what is to 
be done next.”

+++++++++++++++

Upon the very Eve of Midsummer, when the sky was blue as sapphire and 
white stars opened in the East, but the West was still golden, and the air 
was cool and fragrant, the riders came down the North-way to the gates of 
Minas Tirith.  First rode Elrohir and Elladan with a banner of silver, and 
then came Glorfindel and Erestor and all the household of Rivendell, and 
after them came the Lady Galadriel and Celeborn, Lord of Lothlorién, 
riding upon white steeds and with them many fair folk of their land, grey-
cloaked with white gems in their hair; and last came Master Elrond, 
mighty among Elves and men, bearing the scepter of Annúminas, and 
beside him upon a grey palfrey rode Arwen, his daughter, Evenstar of her 
people.

As soon as the sentries had announced that the riders had been sighted in 
the distance, many had come down to the gate of the city to watch their 
arrival and greet them.  Mithrandir and Frodo came, riding together on 
Shadowfax.  The wizard lowered Frodo to the ground and then 
dismounted himself,  looking around at the considerable crowd that had 
gathered.  “Frodo, let us go up onto the wall and gain a better vantage-
point from which to view the procession up to the entrance.”

Knowing that the wizard wanted to see Glorfindel as soon as possible, 
Frodo smiled and followed him up a long set of stone steps that hugged 
the inner side of the wall to the broad pavement atop it.  They approached 
the battlement, and Mithrandir leaned his staff against the wall and lifted 
Frodo to sit cross-legged in one of the broad crenels and look down upon 
the approaching group.

At once Mithrandir saw the beloved face, since Glorfindel was close to the 
front of the group.  He waved, and the beautiful blond Elf quickly spotted 
him and smiled up so luminously that the Istar felt tears come to his eyes.  
Soon the van passed below them, into the great arch, and they watched as 
the rest rode forward.  When Frodo saw Arwen come glimmering in the 
evening, with stars on her brow and a sweet fragrance about her, he was 
moved with great wonder, and he said to the wizard, “At last I understand 
why we have waited!  This is the ending.  Now not day only shall be 
beloved, but night too shall be beautiful and blessed and all its fear pass 
away!”

Despite the fact that his thoughts were bent on Glorfindel, Mithrandir 
blinked and turned to the Hobbit for a moment.  That was something that 
the young Mr Frodo Baggins of Bag End would never have said.  Frodo 
had become more reflective and insightful as a result of his experiences, 
he realized—and even a bit poetical.  He smiled and nodded, putting his 
hand lightly on the Hobbit’s shoulder.  Soon the last of the riders 
disappeared beneath them, and Frodo scrambled down.  They walked 
together back to the top of the long flight of steps.  Below them, the King 
welcomed his guests, and they alighted; and Elrond surrendered the 
scepter, and laid the hand of his daughter in the hand of the King, and 
together they went up into the High City, and all the stars flowered in the 
sky.

As the group of Elves and the nobility and citizens of the city moved to 
follow the King and his bride, Frodo began to descend the steps.  He 
looked back in puzzlement, for Mithrandir did not follow him but still 
stood looking down at the crowd.  “My dear Frodo, it will be quite some 
time before Elrond’s and Galadriel’s people can make their way up 
through the throngs and the winding streets to the palace.  Would you be 
so kind as to mention to Glorfindel that I have stayed up here?  I would 
prefer that our reunion not take place amid such a bustle of activity.” 

Frodo chuckled and nodded, descending the steps.  Mithrandir turned with 
a slight smile and strolled over to a nearby sentry station, briefly glancing 
in through the open door.  He walked slowly back to the crenel and looked 
out across the fields of the Pelennor, now empty but for a few tardy 
farmers who had paused to watch the beautiful group pass by and had now 
resumed driving their animals back toward their barnyards.  The moon that 
was just rising, the glow of dusk in the west, and the myriad stars above 
bathed the scene in a soft white light.  The Istar closed his eyes and beat 
his open palms lightly on the flat stone as he listened, then turned as he 
heard soft footsteps approaching.  Soon Glorfindel appeared, running 
lightly up the steps.  He paused at the top and stared at Mithrandir.

Both had dreamed many times of this reunion, and both had expected to 
rush into each other’s arms in a fierce embrace.  Now they stood, however, 
separated by the width of the thick wall, barely moving, their eyes shining.   
Simply looking at each other seemed joy enough for a little while.  
Glorfindel’s neck worked as he swallowed hard, and Mithrandir sighed 
and removed his hat, placing it carefully on the deep stone opening behind 
him.  Finally Glorfindel’s gaze went slowly down the Istar’s body, now 
clothed in the same spotless white as he himself, and back up to his face.  
The Elf  looked a trifle uncertain.  In outward facial and bodily 
appearance, his lover looked no different than he had before—yet the 
power that he had always sensed as hidden in the Istar now seemed to 
radiate from him, adding a glow to the scene that did not come from the 
sky.  

Slowly they walked toward each other, reaching out and clasping hands, 
curling their fingers tightly around each other.  Mithrandir lifted 
Glorfindel’s hands, side by side, up to his mouth and lightly kissed the 
knuckles, one by one.  The Elf looked curiously at him, seeing him now 
from so close.  “I feel in awe before you, as I once did, long, long ago 
when I first met you upon the other side, after my reincarnation.  It is not I 
who have become small again.  You have grown high above me.  You 
have changed.”

Mithrandir pulled the Elf’s hands against his chest and continued to hold 
them tightly as he stared into his eyes.  “Not in my feelings toward you, 
my dearest Elf, believe me.”  He smiled the impish little grin that 
Glorfindel remembered so well, and suddenly he began to recognize in 
this powerful being the man he loved. 

“Is that true?  After all you have been through?  I remember my own 
death, and the long dreary time after.  When I was finally granted pardon 
and allowed to be embodied once more, I found myself so transformed 
that I thought my friends would scarcely recognize me—not transformed 
in my appearance, but in nearly every other way.  Perhaps death has 
transformed you as well.  That is what I have feared, at any rate.”

“Really, Glorfindel?  What would put such fear into you?”

“As we traveled south, we naturally passed through Lorién to visit and to 
allow those who were there to join our group.  Galadriel talked much with 
me, telling me of your death, your return and rescue, and your recovery.  It 
was then that I began to get an inkling of how you had changed—from 
humble grey to pure white.  The White Istar.  She told me of your new 
power, your greater ability to see things far off, and your deeper wisdom, 
to understand and counter the strategies of the Enemy.”

Mithrandir pulled Glorfindel toward himself and rubbed the side of his 
head against the Elf’s.  “Surely she did not hint to you that I had changed 
so much as to forget my darling Elf?”  

Glorfindel hugged him and laughed softly.  “Oh, no, I think that worry 
was entirely my own invention.   I had been cut off from you for so long, 
had grieved for you for so long.  Well, a month, a short time in the greater 
scheme of things, but to me it seemed as if my misery occupied an age of 
Middle-earth.”  The Istar stroked his head with one hand, holding him 
tight with the other, and turned his face slightly to nuzzle into the fine 
blond hair. The Elf fell silent for a moment and closed his eyes, feeling the 
sharp nose and warm lips brush against his neck.  “So long,” he repeated 
quietly.

“You did get the messages that I sent, I hope,” Mithrandir said quietly into 
his ear.

Glorfindel pulled back to smile at him.  “Yes, the one you sent from 
Lorién to reassure me about your recovery—and the one from here, asking 
me to make one of the group with Elrond and Arwen and the others.  Do 
you know, when I first read that, I said to myself, ‘What can he be 
thinking?  He knows I cannot leave Imladris unprotected.’  I had to laugh 
at my foolishness, for now of course I was free at last to do just that.  It 
has taken some getting used to.  Being able to leave, to travel on the 
continent that you have crisscrossed so often in pursuing your mission.  To 
follow you, for once, as I have so very often wished to do, and soon to ride 
beside you back to Imladris, confident that we shall find it untouched by 
dark forces.”

Mithrandir said softly.  “I was not able to speak long with them of private 
matters , but Elrohir and Elladan told me something of that black month of 
despair for you.  I am so sorry that that had to happen to you, but . . .”  He 
sighed.  “Well, it is over now.”

On common impulse they leaned forward into a long, gentle kiss, brushing 
and sucking  at each other’s lips, then teasingly withdrawing to move on.  
They took turns softly skimming their mouths over each other’s cheeks.  
After minutes of such tantalizing caresses, their mouths met again, this 
time gradually surrendering, opening, and beginning to invade.

Glorfindel finally broke the kiss.  “I wondered when—and indeed if—you 
would get around to this.”

Mithrandir looked at him quizzically.  “What do you mean, ‘if,’ my lovely 
Elf?”

Glorfindel hesitated.  “I must admit that I had visions of you being such a 
lofty, spiritual being now that you no longer would have any ‘urges.’”

The Istar laughed loudly.  “You seem to have imagined all sorts of strange 
things about me.  I assure you, my urges are quite as strong as they were 
that wonderful night at the Havens.  Shall I prove it to you?”

“Please do.  I long for reassurance . . . a great deal of reassurance.”

They resumed kissing, but now their mouths pressed together more 
urgently until at last Glorfindel struggled free, gasping.  “I have gone so 
long without this sort of thing—for months.  You are exciting me so 
much, Istar—too much for such a public place.”

Mithrandir stared into his eyes, panting slightly with passion, surprised.  
“Months?  That is strange.  I too.  Ever since the Ring went into the fire, 
there has been no one else.  I have felt that I am utterly yours, and I could 
not bear to be with another—much though I felt I needed to at times.  
Indeed, it has been very difficult.  After a while, the very thought of you 
was enough to . . . Well, let us say that not even Aragorn looked forward 
to this day more than I did.”

The Elf’s eyes widened during this.  “Exactly.  Yes, from when the Ring 
was destroyed.  Even in Imladris, we sensed when the end of our great 
enemy occurred.  It was an event that shook the continent, in a thrilling 
and exhilarating way.  Soon we set out to journey here for the culmination 
of everything—for the wedding.  During all that time, I too found it 
impossible to desire another.  I have waited.”

Mithrandir turned and looked at the moon, brightening from dusky orange 
to pure white as it climbed above the clouds still hovering over the Black 
Land.  He looked back at Glorfindel, then laughed softly.  “For hundreds 
and hundreds of years I have waited for the moment when I could bring 
my heart forth from its hiding place and tell you that it is yours for all time 
and hear those same words from you.  And now I discover that the 
exchange has been made already—when we were far, far apart, each 
thinking of other things, not even realizing what had happened.  Not that I 
consider the result any less wonderful because of that.”

“No.  A gift given freely, without thought or words, can be as generous as 
one given with elaborate planning or speech.  I believe you are right, Istar, 
we now have each other’s hearts in our keeping . . . for all time.”

They embraced and stood tightly pressed together, unmoving.  Finally 
Mithrandir began to kiss the Elf, more deeply than before, and his hands 
roved over the muscular body eagerly.  Glorfindel responded immediately, 
and soon each was aware of the other’s rapidly growing erection.  
Mithrandir released him and said with a breathy little laugh.  “Even 
knowing that we now have a great deal of time to spend together . . . I 
cannot delay our fulfillment.  I have never wanted you so much!”  His hot 
tongue moved over Glorfindel’s neck and ear, and he found one nipple 
through the soft cloth and pinched it.

“I can certainly tell that!  I hate to mention this, but shouldn’t we go on 
after the others?”

“Hardly.  It is a long way, though narrow streets, and with such a crowd, 
the newcomers will not even have reached the uppermost level of the city 
by now.  Then there will be the business of settling in and preparing for 
dinner.  Things will be quite hectic up there for a while.”

“Well, if you’re not going to stop doing that, we need some privacy.  
Where are you living?”

“In a house—far up, nearly at the top of the city.  Very far, and through 
streets crowded with people.  And as dinnertime approaches, that house 
will be full of Hobbits, and most likely a certain Elf and Dwarf of your 
acquaintance.  That whole area is perhaps the least private place in the city 
right now.”

“So, you are proposing that we satisfy our desires here on the city walls?”

Despite his arousal, Mithrandir laughed.  “Well, in a sense.  Not on this 
very spot, however.  There are people living in those houses opposite—a 
few of whom seem already to be exhibiting quite a bit of curiosity about 
our activities.  No, I shall provide some privacy.  Not all of the sentinels’ 
stations that you see along the wall are occupied.  Less guarding is needed 
now, naturally.  And I have noted carefully that that one over there in 
particular is empty.  We can hide ourselves away from this crowded city 
for just a little while.”

“Aha, you have planned this carefully.  True, a skillful seducer scouts out 
the ground.”

“Oh, I don’t think I should need much seductive skill to get what I want 
from you.”

The Elf laughed with the sheer joy of the moment, wanting to savor just a 
little longer the prospect of their lovemaking.  “No, I don’t suppose you 
would, and yet it seems a pity to let all that skill go to waste.  What if I 
held off and were coy, what would you say to persuade me?”  He grinned 
challengingly at the Istar.

Mithrandir smiled as he thought, but the smile faded as he studied 
Glorfindel’s face.  “I would say that I had forgotten just how beautiful you 
are.”

After a pause in which he expected the wizard to continue, the Elf gave a 
tiny snort of laughter and looked at him in genuine surprise.  “Is that all?  
Where has your honeyed eloquence gone?  And besides, if you have not 
changed toward me, how could you have forgotten what I look like, after 
all these years, after all our times together?”

Mithrandir shook his head slightly, tracing a fingertip slowly down the 
center of the Elf’s face, from the top of the forehead, between the 
eyebrows, and down the nose as he resumed,  “Neither the imagination nor 
the memory can hold onto such beauty.  It astonishes me anew every time 
I see you.  Your face is so perfectly shaped, with such precision of brows 
and cheeks and nose and lips.  You are like some newly finished statue, 
fresh from the chisel of the greatest artisan who ever lived, carved from 
the fine white stone of Mount Tanquetil itself—but far more breathtaking 
than any statue could be, because of the starlight that shines in your eyes 
even on the darkest night and the smile that pulls those perfect features 
into life and warmth and joy.”

Glorfindel’s mocking little smile had disappeared as the Istar spoke.  “And 
desire,” he whispered.  By now Mithrandir’s moving finger had slid past 
the end of the nose and down the philtrum to the center of his lips.  They 
gazed into each other’s eyes as Glorfindel slowly kissed the tip of the 
finger, then tilted his head to rub his slightly open mouth down and up its 
length, finally drawing it inside and sucking with a growing hunger.

Mithrandir’s breath quickened again, and he nodded.  “And desire.”  He 
reluctantly withdrew the finger and grasped Glorfindel’s hand, turning 
briefly away to pick up his hat and staff.  Now they moved more rapidly as 
Mithrandir led the Elf along the short stretch of wall until they reached the 
deserted sentry station, a small, round enclosed room of the same stone as 
the wall.  Once inside, Glorfindel pushed the door closed behind them and 
locked it as the Istar quickly lit a lamp on a small wooden table in the 
center.  In the height of summer, it was still somewhat hot and stuffy 
inside, but neither complained of that as Mithrandir returned and pressed 
Glorfindel against the wooden panels and kissed him.  The Elf opened 
wide to him, cupping his hand at the back of the wizard’s head and pulling 
him more ravenously into the kiss as he sucked at the insistent tongue 
delving into him.  His other hand gripped Mithrandir’s buttocks until their 
hips were grinding together, their erections striving to meet and rub at 
each other through the layers of white cloth sandwiched between them.  
Glorfindel raised one leg and crooked it around the Istar’s thigh, thrusting 
harder without his cock finding enough contact.

Finally, frustrated, they pulled apart and quickly surveyed the tiny room.  
The table and two heavy square stools looked singularly unsuited to 
lovemaking, and there was no other furniture.  “How--?” Glorfindel 
began.

Mithrandir chuckled.  “I have scouted the ground, as you say, and I think 
this would serve.”  He picked up one of the stools and placed it below the 
barred window and just to one side.  He beckoned to the Elf and turned 
him to face the window, standing on tiptoe to nuzzle briefly into his neck 
before flipping the back of Glorfindel’s knee-length tunic up and tucking 
it into the tie at its waist.  The front of the tunic slid up into thick folds 
bunched against the Elf’s lower belly.  Glorfindel leaned against the sill 
with one hand and stroked himself slowly, twisting to watch the wizard.  
Quickly Mithrandir reached around to undo the loose white trousers, 
letting them slide down to pool around the ankles of Glorfindel’s soft 
suede riding boots.  As he did this, he thrust his member rhythmically 
against the Elf’s buttocks, gasping with need.

Seeing what the Istar purposed, Glorfindel lifted one leg from the trousers 
and placed the foot firmly on the stool, edging his other foot away until his 
cheeks were well parted.  He then grasped the bars of the window with 
both hands, shifting impatiently as he longed for the wizard to probe his 
most intimate part.  “Hurry!” he gasped, resisting the temptation to pump 
his own cock hard and relieve his pounding arousal immediately.

Moving back slightly, Mithrandir quickly undid his own trousers and 
pulled out his iron-hard, purple erection, which bobbed in front of him as 
he fished the small jar out of his pocket and began to prepare the Elf.  
With a moan, Glorfindel leaned forward and arched his back slightly, 
giving the Istar even greater access to his puckered entrance, pressing back 
as one slick finger entered him.  The Elf’s arousal, already at fever pitch, 
soared as the wizard skillfully pressed and manipulated his sensitive spot, 
and he whimpered in abject need.  “Now, please,” he managed to say.

Mithrandir was coating his own shaft with his free hand as he pushed a 
second finger inside the Elf to press and swirl and stretch.  “Too soon, my 
love, you are not quite ready.”

“I’m ready enough!  Now!” Glorfindel begged.

After an instant’s hesitation, Mithrandir removed his fingers and gripped 
his own erection, placing the tip against the tight ring of flesh.  Slowly he 
pushed, but Glorfindel gave a hoarse groan and abruptly impaled himself 
down half the wizard’s length.  Mithrandir grimaced and froze, willing 
himself not to spill immediately as the moist heat seized him.  Glorfindel 
grunted briefly in pain and waited, sensing how close the Istar was to 
finishing.  As the Elf’s pain faded, he began to keen pleadingly.  
Mithrandir stood panting a few seconds longer, his eyes screwed shut, 
then finally opened them and began to thrust in small increments deeper 
into the Elf’s passage, finally burying himself entirely.  Glorfindel soon 
was drifting in ecstasy, beyond making any sounds except the hissing of 
his ragged breath through clenched teeth.  The Istar slowly rocked his hips 
and reached around to stroke the Elf’s member, which was twitching each 
time the invading cock’s tip pressed along the front of its velvet sheath.  
At last Glorfindel was trembling with excitement, and he felt the wizard’s 
thrusting falter somewhat as again he sought to stave off the end.  “No, I 
need to finish now!  Harder!” the Elf gasped.

At once Mithrandir gripped the Elf’s waist tightly to brace himself as he 
switched to rapid, short, sharp jabs against the prostate, his tight fist 
pulling at Glorfindel’s erection.  After a short time, Glorfindel uttered 
something between a scream and a groan as his climax hit him with 
dizzying force, and spasm after intense spasm sent his seed splashing 
against the stone wall.  As the Elf’s ecstasy slowly faded, Mithrandir 
pulled back until only the head of his cock was inside, then pushed it all 
the way in, repeating a few such long, hard strokes until he too toppled 
over into rapture, throwing his head back and continuing to thrust as his 
come spurted deep inside the Elf.  

Glorfindel released his grip on the window and crossed his forearms on 
the sill, leaning his head upon them, still dizzy after the searing climax.  
Mithrandir settled against his torso, panting and rubbing his cheek slightly 
over the cloth covering the muscular back.  They stayed there for long 
minutes, until the Istar felt his shrinking penis about to slip from the Elf.  
He dug in his pocket and produced a cloth, gently wiping his lover as he 
withdrew, then rubbing his own cock with it.  Glorfindel resumed his 
trousers and sat on the stool that had recently supported his leg, and 
Mithrandir moved the other against the wall and sat down beside him.  
They joined hands, leaning blissfully against the cool stone and smiling at 
each other.  Glorfindel glanced at the pearly trickles of liquid that were 
slowly running down the wall.  “Perhaps you should remove that little 
decoration as well, in case anyone does want to use this room.”

Mithrandir leaned over to swab at the stone with the cloth.  “I would 
imagine that this is not the first time that these walls have been so 
adorned, but I suppose we must not sully  the room’s elegant furnishings.”

“At least it comes supplied with two stools.  Just the right number.”

“Yes.  I don’t fancy walking down those stairs to find Shadowfax quite 
yet.  I should probably topple off.  Very dangerous, those steps, with no 
railing.”

“Exactly.  A hazard to lovers still a bit unsteady on their feet.”  The Elf 
grinned.

“Do you know, I shan’t say that I would not have preferred for you to 
arrive sooner, but this was certainly worth waiting for.”

“Yes, you have convinced me beyond any doubt that your transformation 
has not removed your urges.  If anything, it seems to have made them even 
more powerful.  Or at least your actions while satisfying those urges.”

Mithrandir raised his eyebrows.  “Oh, probably just a matter of long 
abstinence.  Still, it would be lovely to think that now I could give you 
even greater pleasure than before, my sweet Elf.  We must experiment a 
bit later.  As always when we meet, we have a great deal of lost time to 
make up for.”

“Yes, well, at least we can hope that this has been our last long 
separation.”

The Istar nodded and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his 
eyes peacefully and with a very pleased smile.  Glorfindel took advantage 
of the moment to study his lover’s face in the combination of lamplight 
and soft moonlight streaming in the east-facing window.  He had always 
seen an underlying beauty in the aged face, but with the long toil and 
worry and fear drained from the Istar, replaced by joy and contentment, 
that beauty seemed more apparent than before.  Mithrandir had aged 
slowly but distinctly during his long time in Middle-earth, and yet now he 
looked no older than when he had stepped off the ship at the Grey Havens. 

After about ten minutes,  Glorfindel rose and leaned down to kiss the 
wizard’s cheek.  Mithrandir opened his eyes and extended a hand to him, 
and the Elf pulled him up from the stool.  The Istar stretched.  “Well, that 
will certainly help me to sit quietly next to you during the wedding 
tomorrow.   I worried that somehow you might be delayed and arrive just 
before the ceremony, and I pictured us next to each other, squirming and 
perspiring with pent-up desire.”

Glorfindel laughed.  “I find that quite easy to picture myself.  Well, I am 
glad you found us this charming love nest.  Perhaps later tonight things 
will quiet down at your house, and we can conduct a few experiments.  
Right now, though, I think we should hurry if we are not to miss dinner.”  

Mithrandir picked up his hat and staff, moving to the door.  “Yes, although 
I’m sure that Shadowfax and Asfaloth will carry us to the highest level 
quickly, now that the streets have cleared.  The others will have moved at 
a much slower pace.”

Once outside, the pair paused to enjoy the breeze after the stuffiness of the 
sentry’s station.  They looked up at the levels of the city stretching away 
above them, gleaming in the radiant moonlight.  Mithrandir said, “You 
have never been here, have you?  Well, it is still somewhat scarred by the 
siege, but the citizens are making remarkable progress in repairing it.  
Come, I fancy we have just enough time to go up to the house, wash a bit, 
and still be in time for dinner.  First, though, let me introduce you to 
Shadowfax.”

A few minutes later, as they were riding up the stone streets toward the 
palace area, Glorfindel asked, “Mithrandir, presumably now that your 
great tasks are accomplished, you have begun to think about your 
departure from Middle-earth.  Elrond and the others have talked much 
about that, and of course I have begun to long for it very much myself.  
They seem to think that it will be some years yet before the situation here 
is stable enough for the Elves to leave in any great numbers.”

“Yes, a year, two or three perhaps.  Soon, though, in relation to how long 
we have struggled toward this moment.”

“In the meantime, how had you thought to occupy your time?  Will you 
stay here and advise Aragorn?”

“Oh, not the whole time.  He has grown into his full wisdom and strength 
now, as you will soon see, and I do not believe he needs much more help.  
Undoubtedly I shall return here a time or two to make sure, but I have 
great confidence that he is ready to assume the burden of Middle-earth.  
Indeed, I have told him so.  No, I have thought to use my remaining time 
much as I did my early time here—in traveling about, not with any 
specific purpose now.  More simply to check on the state of various 
peoples and places now that the War is winding down.  And to say 
farewell to the many friends that I have made in all these many years.  I 
would love to be able to have you with me.  It would be a shame for you 
to leave never having seen so many of the beautiful things that the 
continent contains.  Your company would also help to console me for I 
shall part with much that I have grown very fond of—and alas, no doubt 
find that some of my old friends have died since last I passed their way.”

“I would love nothing better than to accompany you, of course.  I feel that 
my duties at Imladris are over, and Elrond has agreed with me.  The north 
is not utterly safe even now, but between Elrond’s forces and the Rangers, 
they should be able to cope quite well.”

Mithrandir glanced at him with a grin.  “I’m afraid all this would involve 
quite a bit of camping.  There will not be cozy inns along every road for 
many years to come.”

The Elf sighed, then looked fondly at the Istar.  “I realize that.  I am sure, 
however, that you will offer me many compensations for any discomforts I 
may undergo.”

They emerged through an archway into the street outside the house where 
Mithrandir was living with the Hobbits.  Once they had seen their horses 
safely stabled, Mithrandir turned to Glorfindel.  “Well, our romantic little 
interlude has allowed enough time for most of the activity to die down.  
Let us go in, and you can reacquaint yourself with the members of the 
Fellowship.  I can also show you the bedroom—and bed—that we shall be 
sharing.”

Glorfindel stared at him in mock incredulity.  “Make love in a mere bed?  
What a novel idea, my dear Mithrandir!  Surely, though, there are more 
nooks and crannies hidden about the city where we could snatch a moment 
of passion, safe from prying eyes.”

The Istar laughed and took his hand, drawing him into the brightly lit 
house and the babble of excited Hobbit voices.

+++++++

Late on a September evening of 3021, Mithrandir and Glorfindel arrived at 
a prosperous inn in Frogmorton, a village in the East Farthing of the Shire.  
They were gradually making their way west, heading for the Grey Havens 
but still traveling at the leisurely pace they had maintained for over two 
years now, as Mithrandir bade farewell to the continent that he loved and 
showed its beauties and pleasures to his dear Elf.

The innkeeper came bustling out, waving and shouting, “Gandalf!  
Welcome!” and arranging for the stabling of their horses.  Quickly they 
went inside and depositing their sparse luggage in the one room in the 
inn—seldom used—which had man-sized furniture.  When the pair 
returned to the common room for some ale and dinner and conversations, 
not everyone recognized the wizard, but the older ones hailed him 
cheerfully.  Glorfindel felt a bit out of his element with these little people, 
who seemed to him noisy and even boisterous, and he spoke little, leaving 
all the arrangements to the Istar.  Still, he had learned something about 
Hobbits from Frodo and the others who joined the Fellowship.   He 
gradually struck up conversations with some of the more forward ones.  
He noted that most were uncharacteristically shy with him, but Mithrandir 
came over to him briefly and whispered, “Hobbits tend to be a bit awe-
struck by Elves.  You are, after all, so very beautiful, and I’m sure most of 
them have never seen anything remotely like you.  Remember how Sam 
reacted to being in Imladris?”  Glorfindel chuckled at the memory and 
realized that the Hobbits were as uncertain as he was himself.  He relaxed 
somewhat and enjoyed the company far more.

Eventually he sat back and simply looked on, sipping the good Shire ale 
that he had rapidly come to appreciate.  The Hobbits clustered around 
Mithrandir—Gandalf, as they called him—asking for magic tricks and 
exotic tales.  The wizard obliged them with some simple magic, at one 
point turning the ale in their mugs a startling shade of bright blue—
though, as they all admitted when they tentatively tried it, not affecting its 
taste at all.

Glorfindel’s mind drifted back over the travels that would soon come to an 
end.  Once the Elves and Hobbits had returned to Imladris and Mithrandir 
had set out to accompany the Hobbits part of the way back to the Shire, 
Glorfindel had spent a little time wrapping up his business and packing 
what little he needed to take on the road.  He had then made his way to 
join Mithrandir in the house of Tom Bombadil.  That extraordinary 
meeting had been the first of a long string of visits to the many people and 
places of Middle-earth that he had never encountered and that the Istar 
knew so well.  They had remained at Tom’s house for a few weeks, taking 
long walks, talking at great length in the evenings with Tom about the 
woods and the creatures that dwelt therein, then retiring to make love and 
lie in each other’s arms as the wizard slept and Glorfindel dreamed, 
perhaps more peacefully than ever before in their long time together.

When they had moved on, they headed eastward again, stopping only 
briefly at Imladris, where Glorfindel enjoyed the novelty of being merely a 
guest.  They had crossed the pass over the Misty Mountains and turned 
south, stopping for a longer stay in Lothlorién.  There plans concerning the 
final departure at the Grey Havens were confirmed, and they enjoyed 
splendid banquets and the timeless beauty of the mallorn groves.  
Galadriel and Celeborn and a few other Elves had ridden with them to 
display the ruins of Dol Guldur, which Galadriel had destroyed at the end 
of the War of the Ring.  Glorfindel had been touched by the quiet mutual 
pleasure that Mithrandir and Galadriel took in the fulfillment of all their 
early plans and hopes as they walked slowly around the grim rubble.

One day Mithrandir had taken him deep into the forest, up onto a isolated 
flet high in the forest canopy.  There they had undressed each other and 
made love with exquisite, tantalizing slowness for hours amid the breezes 
and shifting shadows of the leaves.  Eventually they had eaten a leisurely 
meal of fruit and bread and cheese and wine, and at dusk made love once 
more before the Istar fell asleep and Glorfindel slid into dreams that were 
no more perfect than what he had just experienced.  Looking back, 
Glorfindel remembered that as perhaps the most splendid of the many 
wonderful days they had shared.

They had gone south then, and Mithrandir delighted in visiting Fangorn 
Forest and introducing Glorfindel to Treebeard and some of the other Ents.  
The Istar clearly had a great admiration, verging on reverence, for the 
Ents, and Glorfindel immediately saw why.  He found them enormously 
moving and felt privileged to see them at last for himself.  Treebeard, in 
his slow, quiet way, eventually made it apparent that he immensely 
enjoyed Mithrandir’s company.  “The only wizard who really cares about 
trees,” the old Ent remarked to Glorfindel a number of times.  Thinking of 
Saruman, the Elf could only nod thoughtfully.  Later, when he told the 
Istar what Treebeard had said, Mithrandir smiled fondly and replied, “Oh, 
he always says that.”

After they left Fangorn, the journey became more purposeful, as 
Mithrandir kept his promise to Aragorn and returned to Minas Tirith for a 
long stay.  There he offered all the advice he could to the new King, but 
clearly he expected Elessar to think and make decisions for himself.  As 
far as Glorfindel could tell, most of Mithrandir’s counsel was of a rather 
obvious sort, and the Istar treated Elessar like a beloved son who had 
finally reached manhood.  His pride in the King’s competence and wisdom 
was apparent.  Glorfindel deliberately stepped into the background during 
this visit, allowing the Istar to spend as much time as possible with 
Elessar.  Clearly their impending separation would be difficult for them 
both, and the Elf could do little but offer Mithrandir his support and 
comfort.  He did not witness their final parting, but Mithrandir returned 
from it withdrawn and fighting tears.  He sat long that night staring into 
the fire, and Glorfindel simply remained nearby, ready to offer solace but 
not extending it.  They departed early the next morning, before dawn’s 
light, riding far in nearly total silence, and it took days for the Istar to 
recover his accustomed cheerfulness.

From there they had traveled briefly to Ithilien, where Legolas and other 
Elves were busy transforming the battle-scarred region into one of the 
most beautiful forests in Middle-earth.  Glorfindel was particularly fond of 
that visit, for the area seemed to represent one of the most obvious signs of 
Middle-earth’s regeneration.  He and Mithrandir had wandered far amid 
its groves and even ventured up to the foot of the mountains surrounding 
the Black Land.  He also enjoyed meeting Faramir, whose youthful 
admiration for the wizard reminded Glorfindel of his own time as a friend 
and follower of Olorin long ago in Eldamar.  The Istar seemed somewhat 
relieved to find that the marriage of Faramir to the Lady Eowyn was quite 
blissful, though he would not explain to the Elf why he would have been 
concerned about that.

Then their travels had taken them northward through Mirkwood, where 
they visited the Istar that Glorfindel had met only a couple of times, long 
ago:  Radagast.  The Elf had never felt that he knew the quiet old man 
well, and Radagast had eventually stopped coming to Council meetings.  
He seemed a pleasant enough fellow, but Glorfindel found it hard to 
believe that he had ever been a being on the level of Mithrandir.  Radagast 
was completely obsessed with the birds and beasts of the forest, but he 
lacked the enthusiasm and friendliness that had led Bombadil to share his 
insights about them with his visitors.  They nevertheless spent a pleasant 
interlude with him, but when Mithrandir hinted that the time for a return to 
Valinor was approaching, his fellow Istar seemed singularly uninterested.  
Clearly he was too devoted to his home and the creatures living there to 
want to return in the ship with the others.  Mithrandir was puzzled and a 
little disturbed by the other Istar’s attitude, but he eventually abandoned 
his attempts to persuade Radagast to change his mind.  When Glorfindel 
questioned his lover about this, Mithrandir simply shook his head sadly.  
Both were relieved to move on.

Their next visit was more cheerful.  They spent a few days with Beorn, 
about whom Mithrandir had told him so much.  The giant fellow had been 
instrumental in saving the wizard, Bilbo, and the Dwarves after their 
misadventure with the goblins in the Misty Mountains.  Equally 
importantly, his had tipped the balance in the Battle of Five Armies.  
Mithrandir had always spoken most highly of him.  By now Beorn was 
greying and had some younger Beornings living with him and helping him 
take care of his prosperous farm, but he seemed hale and happy.

Glorfindel initially felt a bit awkward meeting Beorn, for the wizard had 
never made a secret of the fact that he and this giant fellow had been 
lovers on those occasions when Mithrandir’s travels took him to that part 
of the continent.  Beorn had greeted the Istar with considerable delight and 
had examined the Elf closely when Mithrandir introduced them.  
Glorfindel was amused by the Man’s approving little eyebrow waggle at 
the Istar, obviously congratulating him at his good fortune in having such 
a beautiful lover.  A forthright fellow indeed, just as Mithrandir had 
always described him, and Glorfindel could hardly feel offended—or 
jealous.  Clearly the Istar and Beorn had been good friends as well as 
bedmates.  After that, the Elf relaxed and took great pleasure in the visit.

Glorfindel had mixed feelings about their subsequent travels eastward.  He 
had visited Thrandruil’s realm a few times in the distant past, consulting 
on strategies for protecting the northern regions east of the Misty 
Mountains, and he was happy to renew his acquaintance with his 
woodland brethren.  He was less pleased by the Istar’s determination to 
move on further east and visit the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain and 
the Men of Laketown.  It had been one thing to welcome the occasional 
Dwarf, coming on official business, to Imladris.  It would be quite another 
to be the only Elf in a city of Dwarves.  Mithrandir sensed his doubts and 
teased him slightly about them.  In the event, the visit had proved less 
tense than he expected, but he could not really say that he had ever 
become entirely at ease.  He had to admit, however, that the Dwarven 
craftspeople had restored their underground realm with enormous skill, 
and he and the Istar wandered through its halls admiring the 
breathtakingly beautiful objects that filled them.  Eventually he got used to 
the strange Dwarven music as well, though it sounded very lugubrious to 
him in comparison with the light, high tones of Elven playing and singing.

Now, watching Mithrandir gossiping and laughing with the Hobbits, he 
reflected that it had been the same everywhere they went.  The Istar fell 
easily back into friendships with people that he had not seen for many 
years, and he seemed to know virtually everyone except the youngest.  
Quite apart from his great tasks, Mithrandir had spent his time in Middle-
earth well.  Glorfindel was delighted that he had finally been able to go 
with the Istar and see the many places that he had discovered and the 
many people that he loved.  He was also glad, however, that their 
journeying was coming to an end.  More and more his dreams were filled 
with the sea, and above all else he wanted to arrive with his lover at the 
Havens, to recall their early days together, and to depart for the lands that 
they both had missed so much.

As he sat thinking about all this, a stout, red-faced young Hobbit arrived 
with their meal, and Mithrandir excused himself from the group and 
returned to sit opposite Glorfindel.  The food was simple and hearty, but 
well-cooked and tasty.  The Istar began to eat with obvious pleasure, but 
he glanced up anxiously at Glorfindel to see if the Elf was enjoying the 
repast.  They has eaten a great variety of types of cooking on their travels, 
but the Shire diet was somewhat heavier and less subtle than most.  Seeing 
this anxiety, the Elf smiled at Mithrandir.  “Don’t worry so much.  This is 
a very pleasant meal, and indeed, a pleasant place in general.  Having 
known Frodo and the other Hobbits, perhaps I am finding it relatively easy 
to adjust to the Shire.  I will admit that most Elves would probably not 
enjoy this sort of thing, but, knowing you as I do, I can definitely see now 
why you have found it so appealing all these years.”

The Istar stopped eating and grinned.  “I am delighted that you feel that 
way, my sweet Elf.  After all, such people as these have made a portion of 
Gil-galad’s ancient realm grow again, in peace and prosperity.  As you 
know, Aragorn intends to see to it that the lands north of here are 
repopulated as well.  Quite a contrast to the bleak, barren land through 
which we passed on our way back from the Battle of Fornost, is it not?” he 
asked, indicating the cheery scene with a wave of his fork.

“Yes.  It is vastly better than anything we could have imagined during that 
discouraging time.  True, it is nothing like the great Elven kingdoms of 
past ages, but . . .”

Mithrandir stared at him.  “No, but the Elves’ fate is to diminish and 
eventually leave Middle-earth.  They have been fortunate in enjoying the 
beauties of this continent for so long, I think—though of course at the cost 
of great sorrow and much pain.  As a home for the mortal races, though, 
this part of Middle-earth is doing quite well, I think.  And that is in large 
part due to your long efforts and vigilance and bravery.  The fact that I 
accomplished my mission here was obvious:  the destruction of the Ring, 
the restoration of the monarchy in Gondor, and so on.  Your mission, 
however, was also accomplished, in a quieter way, and you should be very 
proud, my dear Glorfindel.  I know I am proud of your accomplishments, 
and I am sure that Gil-galad would be as well.”

Glorfindel thought for a moment.  “I hope so.  Looking back, I am glad to 
say that I do not think I passed up any opportunity to preserve this part of 
Middle-earth.”

A silence fell between them as they continued to eat, and each suspected 
what the other was thinking.  At last Mithrandir spoke.  “I do not know 
how to broach this subtly, Glorfindel, so I shall be simple and blunt.  
Obviously there is a distinct possibility that you will encounter Gil-galad 
when you return to Eldamar—if not soon, then almost certainly further 
into the future.”

Glorfindel stretched his hand across the table to rest it upon the wizard’s.  
He thought for a while, then replied, “True, I gave my heart once before—
and that is a precious memory to me.  That was all very long ago, and I 
assure you, after much grief I eventually had my heart again, and I gave it 
to you entirely and you have it still and will forever.  I know that there 
were others for Gil-galad before me, though I never questioned him 
closely.  I hope that after his great deeds he spent a short time in the Halls 
of Mandos and has been reunited with the one for whom he pined most.  If 
I meet him again, as I hope I shall, I know that he will wish nothing but 
joy for me and for you.”

A raucous burst of laughter from those gathered around the fireplace 
nearly drowned his final words, and Mithrandir glanced indulgently at the 
merrymakers, then leaned forward to say softly,  “I’m sure that you are 
right.  I love you, my dearest Elf.”

“I know it well.  And I you, for all time.”

They finished eating in silence, listening to a comic song that broke out 
among the younger Hobbits.  Glorfindel watched Mithrandir watching the 
Hobbits, chuckling from time to time with affection and delight, then 
glanced over and surveyed the ruddy, laughing faces himself.  Suddenly 
the Istar pulled out his pipe and filled it.  Most of the Hobbits were 
smoking already, and the Elf reluctantly had to admit to himself that he 
was a bit curious about this strange habit.  Mithrandir saw this and smiled.  
He gestured to the barkeep, who fetched a long clay pipe to the table.  
Mithrandir snapped off the used end of the stem, filled the bowl with his 
own pipeweed, and handed the pipe to Glorfindel.  The Elf looked a bit 
dubious but put the end in his mouth and drew a breath through it as 
Mithrandir lit the little shreds of dried leaf.  The taste was quite 
unpleasant, and he exhaled the smoke with a quick puff.  Seeing the Istar 
calmly sitting and sending various smoke shapes into the air, he tried 
again.  Mithrandir glanced at him every now and then,  sympathetically 
and with a trace of anxiety.  Glorfindel tried again and again, managing to 
draw the smoke in and blow it out slowly, in reasonable imitation of the 
experienced smokers around him.  The taste, however, did not seem to 
improve.  His distress must have been obvious in his face, for eventually 
the Istar smiled and leaned over to grasp the pipe and pull it from his 
fingers.

Mithrandir moved around to sit beside Glorfindel on the bench in the 
dimly lit corner, slipping his arm around the Elf’s shoulders and 
continuing to smoke and watch the Hobbits.  Feeling the warmth of the 
thin body against his own, Glorfindel suddenly wanted to be in their room, 
making passionate love to the Istar.  His lips slid inquiringly across the 
whorls of Mithrandir’s ear.  The old man cast him a fond look, then took a 
sip of ale.  “Ah, so you are going to be standoffish, are you?” Glorfindel 
whispered in his ear.  His hand was resting on Mithrandir’s knee, and he 
slid it with soft caressing strokes of his fingers up the inside of the thigh.  
He sensed the wizard’s quickening breath, but his lover continued to 
survey the room with a benign smile and smoke his pipe.  He licked 
eagerly at Mithrandir’s ear and moved his hand further up toward what he 
suspected was a growing erection.

“Keep going,” Mithrandir whispered.  “You are enhancing my reputation 
in these parts immeasurably.  Too late, it is true, to be of any practical use 
to me in my romantic activities here, but still . . . An old fellow like me, 
being lusted after by such a gorgeous creature as you . . . I would like to 
think that I shall leave these lovers of gossip something to talk about for a 
long time!”

Glorfindel laughed quietly and nuzzled against the wizard’s neck.  His 
hand confirmed that his lover was quite interested in the same thing that 
he was.  “Fine.  I shall play the infatuated wooer, if you like.  Just don’t 
keep me waiting too long.  I have ways of making you regret that, after 
all,” he said, pressing his fingers slightly against the wizard’s balls.  
Mithrandir flinched and grinned, soon tapping his pipe to empty it.  A 
trifle ostentatiously, Glorfindel thought, the wizard rose, and the group 
quieted and turned toward him.  He bade them a cheerful goodnight, going 
out toward the corridor leading to their room.  Glorfindel followed 
quickly, sharing a laugh with the wizard after they exited and a loud choir 
of voices suddenly filled the taproom.

++++++++++

Several days later, early in the afternoon of a cool, damp autumn day, 
Mithrandir and Glorfindel rode down the slope to the Grey Havens.  They 
saw an Elf wave from the porch and go inside quickly.  Soon Cirdan 
appeared and came down the steps to embrace them both as they 
dismounted.  “Come inside and have something warm to drink by the 
fire.”

They followed him gratefully and were soon comfortably seated.  Cirdan 
inquired politely about their journey, then turned to Mithrandir with what 
looked suspiciously like a mischievous little smile.  “I see that you have 
used Narya well.  Now are you convinced that I was right in not bestowing 
it on Saruman?”

Mithrandir responded with a reluctant, somewhat exasperated little laugh 
and shook his head.  “I knew you would say, ‘I told you so.’  Yes, I am 
convinced, my dear Cirdan.”  He turned and softly stroked Glorfindel’s 
hair.  “On the other hand, perhaps another jewel that I received here has 
had just as much to do with helping me to stay true to my tasks and avoid 
Saruman’s fate. If he had had such support, he might not have gone so 
badly off course.”

Cirdan watched as the wizard’s fingers toyed lightly with a strand of the 
pale golden hair.  “Perhaps, but one must discover such jewels as this for 
one’s self.  The Istari, after all, arrived here with little to aid them in their 
tasks beyond some limited physical and magical powers and their own 
minds.  In order to have the slightest chance of succeeding, they had to 
seek here for what they would need in order to carry on.  From the very 
start, my heart told me that Saruman would never fully understand how to 
look or where.  You, on the other hand . . .”  He shrugged.  “Well, you 
began looking the moment you arrived, and you never stopped.  You were 
patient, and you looked everywhere.  You found what you needed, and for 
the most part you found it for yourself.”

As Glorfindel listened to them, he had to blink back tears, and at the end 
he leaned over and rubbed one cheek against the Istar’s before settling 
back in the circle of his arm.  The talk turned to plans for the ship’s 
departure a few days hence, and eventually Mithrandir and Glorfindel 
retired to the room they were to share.  The Istar looked around and 
laughed as they entered.  “Ah, Cirdan forgets nothing.  The site of my 
most pleasant set of lessons during those early days.  I think I shall sit here 
on the bed and watch you undress, if you don’t mind.  I’m sure it will have 
the same effect on me now as it did then.”

A few hours later, Glorfindel lay sprawled across the heap of pillows, his 
eyes closed and his blond hair in considerable disarray, uttering a satisfied 
little “mmmm.” at intervals.  Mithrandir lay draped over his torso, his 
cheek against the Elf’s broad chest, staring through half-closed eyes at the 
erect dark-pink nipple that he was rolling gently around with his 
forefinger.  When he switched to pinching it delicately, Glorfindel’s body 
jerked slightly, and he opened his eyes and smiled in a  blend of affection 
and tolerant amusement.  

“You cannot be ready again so soon . . . unless the White Istar has new 
powers that he has for some inexplicable reason kept well hidden from me 
all this time.”  He felt little puffs against his chest as Mithrandir laughed 
gently.

“No, I am not trying to lure you into anything more vigorous just yet, but 
you know how I love your nipples.  Maybe now that we shall have so 
much time together, you can at last let me play with them for as long as I 
want to.”  He rolled the little bead between thumb and finger.

Glorfindel grunted softly and stroked the white hair.  “For hours?  I have 
never been quite sure whether your claim to want to do that was an offer 
or a threat.”

The Istar raised his head briefly to look indignantly into Glorfindel’s 
mocking eyes.  “I should hope that you would regard it as an offer, my 
dear Elf.”

“Perhaps, but surely if you ever were to carry through with it, they would 
become quite sore by the end.”

Mithrandir frowned skeptically as he studied the little peak.  “I would 
never do anything to make them sore.”  He leaned forward and kissed the 
nub with a feathery touch.  

“Even the lightest caresses would surely have that effect after hours.  And 
you have not always treated them quite as gently as you are now.”

“Not in the heat of passion, of course, but I have never noticed you 
complaining.  Quite the contrary.  Besides, even granting that you are 
right, wouldn’t a little soreness be worth it?”

Glorfindel glanced down at him warily, but the wizard’s head was down 
on his chest again.  The Elf said cautiously.  “Possibly.”

Mithrandir shrugged as well as he was able to in his position.  “There is 
only one way to find out.”

The Elf stretched lazily.  “Well, given that I have not the strength left at 
this point to stop you, and as far as I can tell, you would never stop on 
your own, this may be your opportunity.”

During half an hour in which the Istar displayed considerable imagination 
in the ways in which hands and lips and tongue could play with nipples, 
the Elf became increasingly amused and eventually, somewhat aroused.  
By that point the wizard was pushing his half-hard member against the 
Elf’s thigh.  He glanced up hopefully and found Glorfindel smiling at him.  
“All right, but you will have to bring that to me.  I’m not moving.”

With a grin Mithrandir rose and pivoted until his growing erection was 
beside the Elf’s face.  He bent his knee so that Glorfindel could rest his 
head on his thigh and lick the swollen shaft.  The wizard leaned on one 
elbow and returned to pinching and rubbing the Elf’s nipples with his free 
hand.  He moaned as Glorfindel pulled the head of his cock into his mouth 
and circled it slowly with his tongue.  As it continued to harden, it pushed 
further into the Elf’s mouth.  The wizard chuckled.  “You see, all this with 
minimal effort needed from you.”  He twisted his head to observe the Elf’s 
own member swelling distinctly, and he shifted his elbow until he could 
lean down and run his tongue up the ridge on the underside of the slender 
shaft, managing still to pinch and roll the erect nipple.  He was rewarded 
by Glorfindel’s beginning to suck in earnest, faster and deeper, until the 
Istar groaned at the sensation of his cock’s tip being pulled into the Elf’s 
throat.  Finally he removed his hand from Glorfindel’s chest and grasped 
the base of his nearly erect cock, kissing and licking the head until the 
shaft was rock-hard in his grasp and he could taste the drops that emerged 
from the slit.  He lowered his open mouth over Glorfindel’s cock, drawing 
it in slowly to prevent the Elf from thrusting involuntarily into him.  He 
heard a harsh groan from his lover, muffled by his own cock deep in the 
Elf’s throat.

Glorfindel seemed to have forgotten his weariness, rising onto his elbow 
and squirming slightly as he began to suck and lick eagerly, tickling the 
wizard’s testicles with one hand and reaching around his thigh to insert a 
saliva-slicked finger into his tight opening.  As it slipped further in and 
pressed at the front of the hot, moist passage, Mithrandir tensed and 
removed his mouth from the Elf’s cock, managing to pump the shaft 
rapidly with his hand as he grimaced and groaned and spurts of thick 
liquid filled Glorfindel’s throat.  As the spasms slowly diminished 
Mithrandir licked the Elf’s member, his panting sending little gusts over 
the wet skin and making Glorfindel shudder with need.  As soon as the 
Istar caught his breath, he quickly drew half of the Elf’s erection into his 
mouth and continued pumping the base with his fist as he sucked hard.  
Soon he was swallowing jets of Glorfindel’s come as the Elf moaned and 
rolled his head hard against his thigh, clutching the sheet beneath the 
Istar’s buttocks.

At last Mithrandir rose slightly and pivoted again so that he was lying 
alongside the Elf with his head against his shoulder.  “Glorious,” he 
murmured.  He reached down and touched one pink nipple softly.  “Not 
sore, I hope.”

Glorfindel chuckled without opening his eyes.  “No, not sore.  Of course, 
that wasn’t ‘hours’ either.”

Mithrandir grinned.  “Well, I’m not sure I would want to keep going 
literally for hours.  On the other hand  . . .”  He leaned down and swiped 
his tongue slowly across one nipple.  Glorfindel laughingly pushed him 
aside.

“Get away from there, you randy old fellow!  Am I never to be left in 
peace?”

The Istar raised himself onto one elbow and looked at the Elf in mock 
exasperation.  “Can I help it if you behave in such a provocative fashion?”

“I’m just lying here!”

Mithrandir grinned and shrugged.  “Exactly.”

Glorfindel wrapped his arms around the wizard’s neck and pulled his head 
against the front of his shoulder, rubbing his cheek over the white hair.  He 
blinked as the brightness of the sun, now low in the sky, shone directly 
through the window and into his eyes.  “My sweet Mithrandir, the weather 
seems to have cleared.  Do you feel energetic enough to go out and view 
the sunset?  For so long we have been looking forward to sharing that 
again.  I know we shall have a few more evenings here, but our last days 
in Middle-earth are so precious.  And especially in this place . . .”

Mithrandir sat up at once and looked at the burnished globe, hanging low 
above the horizon.  “Decidedly, yes, we must go out and savor that 
beauty—and all that it recalls.”

The pair quickly washed, dressed, and went out, reaching the viewing 
platform while the sun was still a little way above the flat horizon.  They 
noted that the platform’s design had changed slightly as it was maintained 
and rebuilt over the years, but it was marvelously familiar nevertheless.  
Glorfindel, his heart filling with pleasure as he looked out over the waves 
toward the open sea at the end of the Firth, noticed a large white ship 
bobbing gently beside the quay far down the slope and to their left.  He 
pointed it out to Mithrandir without comment.  Each knew that the other 
felt a strong pang of the same longing.  “Well, it will come soon enough,” 
the Istar murmured.

“You seem sad, Mithrandir.  Is it only because of your desire to depart for 
home?”

“Not entirely.  I had long expected to go back with all the members of my 
order—or at least most of them.  Not one is here.  I suppose Radagast will 
be happy in the life that he has chosen.  But Saruman.  Despite all that he 
did, I cannot help but grieve at his downfall and wonder what caused him 
to go so wrong.”

“Given that only one Istar has remained true to the end, one might rather 
wonder what caused you to endure so long without betrayal or 
abandonment of your mission.  I have often pondered that question, in 
fact.  Perhaps it was because your love for this place is stronger than any 
temptation that the Ring could offer you.”

Mithrandir glanced at him, then looked thoughtfully out to sea as the sun 
touched the horizon.

Glorfindel went on, “Yes, you loved this place but cautiously.  I suspect 
that all the others gave their hearts away rashly.  Not to lovers, but in 
Radagast’s case to the beauties of the forests and the living things he 
found there.   Saruman, too, in a very different way, came to love Middle-
earth but only to possess it and keep it for himself.  Much though you 
loved what you found here, though, you never fully surrendered yourself 
to it—as Varda cautioned you not to.  How you managed that, I do not 
know, but I am very grateful that you gave your heart only to me, and only 
when you could.”

They indulged in a long, soft kiss before watching the sun disappear 
entirely.  The pair looked at each other simultaneously and grinned as they 
realized that they were undoubtedly both recalling the same moment.  
After a short silence, Mithrandir chuckled.  “Do you know, I came very 
close to not confessing my needs to you that night?”

“Were you embarrassed?”

“Somewhat, I suppose, but more unsure of how such things were viewed 
and dealt with here.  You were very kind to take an old man into your bed.  
Of course, I already knew you were kind, or I would never have dared to 
ask.”

“I told you, I did not think of you as an old man, even though I was a trifle 
amused when you first stepped off the ship.  Not that the other Istari did 
not look like old men as well, but I simply had not known any of them on 
the other side.  In the distant past, though,  I don’t believe I really had ever 
had much of a single visual impression of you.  I thought of you more as a 
feeling, a voice inside me, even though I did occasionally see you in 
physical form.  A wise being whom I admired and respected, to whom I 
was grateful for his patience, and who during that time was, I think, my 
best friend in the world.  Despite being a bit taken aback by your 
revelation that first night, I soon realized that a sexual relationship could 
only enhance all the feelings that we shared.” 

“It has indeed done that—wonderfully.”  The Istar gazed down toward the 
white ship, then back at Glorfindel.  “You know that I truly meant what I 
said to Cirdan this afternoon:  that you have sustained me during all my 
long tasks and journeys here in Middle-earth.  Your beauty, your warmth, 
your wit while we were together, and when we were apart—thoughts of 
you cheered me when little else could.”

Glorfindel sighed and said simply.  “I am glad, Mithrandir.”  He stared at 
his lover for a moment.  “Is there any reason why you still keep Narya 
hidden?”

The Istar turned to him, startled, then smiled.  “Not really.  Its power is 
greatly diminished now.  It is no longer invisible to all but a few—anyone 
can see it.  And it is very beautiful, with its fiery red jewel.  I suppose I 
can wear it now.”

He reached deep inside his shirt and unfastened a little hidden pocket, 
drawing out the heavy ring, its band traced with foliage in Elven fashion 
and its bezel set with the great red stone holding a perpetual fire at its 
center.  The wizard slipped it onto his finger, then shrugged.  “There.  
Nothing hidden.  Once we arrive on the other side, of course, I shall not 
wear it.  Actually, I offered it to Cirdan, so that all three Rings could 
belong to Elves once more.  He refused, however, and could not be 
persuaded.  So, I intend to give it to you when we arrive in Eldamar.”

“So that I may see your heart when you are away from me and comfort 
myself that you will return?”

Mithrandir smiled.  “If you like to think of it that way.  Certainly my love 
for you will burn as steadily and eternally as does the flame in the heart of 
this jewel.  I have long thought that if you had been with Gil-galad at that 
great, dreadful battle, he might well have given Vilya to you rather than to 
Elrond.  It seems fitting that the most glorious Elf I know should have 
such a Ring—though nothing can compete with your own beauty.”

Glorfindel swallowed and said softly, “I shall treasure it.”  He hugged the 
Istar and finally pulled back to look into his face, holding his hands.

Mirthrandir gazed down at his aged hands, held in the graceful, youthful 
ones of the Elf.  “Well, at least in future you will not need to put up with 
this old man’s body.  I can embody myself for you in a guise as beautiful 
as you yourself.  Many different guises in fact.”

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows and grinned.  “That will be very pleasant.  I 
suppose sometimes I can make requests and sometimes you can surprise 
me.  Dozens, hundreds of beautiful lovers, and all of them you.  Still, I 
hope that once in a while you will come to me as you are now, an old man.  
I have got used to this body--very fond of it indeed.  I should hate never 
seeing it again, given that you were thus when we fell in love.”  

“Occasionally, why not, if you like?”  Mithrandir reached up and stroked 
the Elf’s cheek gently.  “We shall have all the time that there will ever be 
in this world.”

The End

This series is dedicated to Sarah, whose kindness and enthusiasm for 
wizard slash have given me tremendous pleasure and encouragement.