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 a