Title: Resurrection, 21/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Gildor rides to war, and Erestor does something rash. War came faster than anyone wanted or imagined. Erestor watched Elrond’s face as his lord studied the maps spread upon the table, his gaze moving from the parchment to his advisors. What needed to be done was clear, yet still he was reluctant to give the order. Celeborn had returned to Lindon after spending the winter in Imladris. The venerable elf lord would soon be preparing his regiments to march upon Eriador, and while assistance was coming from Nûmenor, he would still need more if they were to drive Sauron out of the western lands. Erestor could feel his stomach knotting; one, possibly two elves that he loved so much that he could not bear the thought of losing them would be leaving, and there was a distinct possibility that one or both might not return. Sauron’s power was increasing; orcs and corrupted men were running wild throughout Eriador, burning, raping, and killing at will. They had two choices: they could sail and leave the Second Born to their fate, or they could stay and fight, regardless of the cost in terms of lives, human and elven alike. Elrond took a deep breath and turned his gaze to Erestor. “Sauron is close to discovering our haven,” he said, resignation tingeing his voice. “We must bring those who live outside the circle of the mountains inside the valley. The borders are too vast to protect as they are. You will be tasked with building shelter for the refugees as they arrive, Erestor.” “Yes, my lord. I will commence immediately.” The Lord of Imladris then turned his gaze to Glorfindel. “This place and the lives within it are precious, Glorfindel. We must protect those who live under our charge at all costs. You will remain here and fortify the borders; we cannot permit Sauron’s hoards to enter this valley.” Glorfindel bowed his head, though he was concerned about his lord’s decision. “Aye, my lord. We shall hold him at bay.” Elrond then turned to Gildor. “That means that you will lead Imladris’ warriors into battle, Gildor. You will take three regiments and travel westward, meeting with Lord Celeborn and a battalion from Nûmenor. You have served me well these many years in this regard, I know you will not fail me now.” Gildor smiled determinedly. “I shall not, my lord. We will give the black beast a battle he will not forget.” “You must leave in two days.” Gildor bowed his head. Erestor felt his nails begin to dig into the tabletop. If Elrond was sending Gildor, it could only mean one thing: the elf-lord had little hope of Gildor, and those who followed him, coming home – Elrond would never risk losing Glorfindel. He quickly glanced at Glorfindel, as if he thought there was something his friend could do about Elrond’s decision. Glorfindel’s brow was furrowed, and he turned his gaze from Erestor’s to his lords. “My lord, perhaps…” Gildor placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s arm. “The decision is sound, Glorfindel. Lord Elrond needs you to protect our home and the hundreds of innocent souls that live here. You must protect those who cannot protect themselves.” He quickly glanced at Elrond before returning his gaze to Glorfindel. “It will not be the first time I have faced Sauron and his horde, I am well aware of what it is I am to do.” Erestor gathered his courage and began to speak. “My lord…” Elrond shook his head and held up his hand. “These decisions are never easy, Erestor. However, sometimes life leaves us no choice. This must be done.” He stepped away from the table, leaving a crestfallen Erestor and a worried Glorfindel in his wake. Glorfindel followed Elrond, pausing to place his hand upon Erestor’s shoulder in friendly support. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and then he left the council chambers. Gildor sighed as he looked at his lover; he looked so frightened and so pained. He rounded the table and took the councilor in his arms. “I would tell you not to worry, but I know it would be a waste of words.” “Why you?” “Why anyone? It is what I do, Erestor; it is my duty. Would you have me shirk it?” “Yes. No. I do not know, Gildor. What I do know is I cannot lose you, not now. Not ever.” Gildor caressed Erestor’s hair. “You will not, Erestor.” He sighed. “I have not had a reason to avoid charging headlong into battle, because I have not often had a real home and a real family to come back to.” He pulled back and took Erestor’s face in his hands. “I do now. You have given me that Erestor. You have given me a home, a place where I feel that I belong.” He wiped at the tear that tracked down Erestor’s cheek. “This is why I fight, to protect this.” He placed a gentle kiss upon his lover’s lips. “Fear not, my love. I will return.” Erestor wrapped his arms around Gildor’s shoulders and buried his face in the warrior’s flaxen mane. “I love you, Gildor,” he whispered. “I truly do.” Gildor smiled. “It is that love that will give me strength and bring me home.” He nuzzled Erestor’s ear. “I love you, Erestor.” * * * * As Ithil began to fade, Erestor stared out of the open window, listening to the crickets chirp and the birds begin to sing. He was already dressed, not having slept at all the night before. He and Gildor had made love slowly, tenderly, much like the first time they coupled. Each whisper-soft touch, each warm, wet, slow kiss broke his heart. He loved Gildor - he truly did, both as a friend and as a lover – yet, still his heart clung to Glorfindel, as hopeless as it was. Each time he and Gildor made love it was as if he were betraying him nevertheless, because each time a secret part of him yearned for another. He looked at his sleeping lover who was so peaceful despite the horrors he was bound to see when he rode to war. He owed Gildor so much, so very much, and he would pay his debt, regardless of the cost. Motioning to Gwathel, he paused at the door and picked up a pack, then quietly left their room with his she-wolf in tow. * * * * Gildor stirred in his reverie, slowly waking and reaching out for his lover only to find Erestor’s side of the bed empty. He sat up, frowning as he looked around the dimly lit room. His lover was at work already; it was Erestor’s way, to bury himself in work to escape the things that were beyond his control. He rose and bathed, then donned his traveling clothes, strapping on his quiver and sword, then picking up his bow and pack, before departing their bedchamber. He paused at the door, looking around the empty room with its windows open wide to the mountains; breathing in the soft smell of jasmine floating in upon the breeze; glancing at Gwathel’s favorite rug by the hearth, covered in hair despite Erestor’s best efforts; and gazing long at the unmade bed where his stoic, reserved lover had taught him to let down his guard and share his heart as well as his desire. He sincerely hoped he saw this place, his home, again. He closed his eyes, and then closed the door behind him. * * * * He first sought Erestor in the library and was surprised when his lover was not there. He then went to the kitchens, the feasting hall, the Hall of Fire, and finally the gardens and woods beyond. He could delay no longer, his warriors were gathered, as were those who would see them off to their fate. He did not want to leave without saying farewell. He would not let Erestor know what was in his mind, but he was not sure he would be coming home. An elf’s luck can only last so long and he knew it. Unable to wait any longer, he walked to the stables, pushing open the large, heavy, rough-hewn doors. Erestor was there, his mare prepared and Gwathel sitting at his feet. “What are you doing here?” he asked with surprise, setting his pack beside his already groomed gelding. “I am going with you,” Erestor said matter-of-factly. He approached his lover, surprise evident on his face. “What? No, Erestor, you cannot go; you have things you must do here.” Erestor shook his head, placing his fingers upon Gildor’s lips. “I have given Lindir complete instructions. He knows what to do and is more than capable of doing it.” Gildor began to protest again and he pressed his fingers harder upon the warrior’s lips. “Do not try to dissuade me, Gildor. I know what it is I am doing. I can be of use; I can help manage supplies and the camp. I can arrange communications…” He sighed, a tear tracing down his cheek. “Please, I beg you, do not leave me behind.” Gildor frowned, then pulled Erestor’s fingers from his lips. Caressing his lover’s face, he leaned against him, pressing Erestor’s back against the wall. “I love you, you mad elf,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Erestor opened his mouth wide to Gildor’s possessive kiss. When he felt his wrists pulled over his head and quickly bound with a leather strap that had laid on the edge of the table next to him, he began to struggle. “No! Gildor, no… please, please…” It was no use. Gildor lifted him, hooking his bound wrists over an iron bracket that once held a lantern. He could barely touch the ground with his toes. Struggling, fighting not to cry, he begged Gildor to release him. “I love you, Erestor,” Gildor said quietly. “Remember that.” He bent down and placed a comforting hand upon Gwathel’s head. The she-wolf was confused and frightened. “Find Glorfindel, girl,” he said softly. “Seek!” Gwathel bounded out of the stable toward the courtyard as Gildor leapt upon his horse. He smiled sadly at Erestor, who hung helplessly against the wall. “I do love you. I will always love you, whether in this life or the next. I promise, I will do everything I can to come home.” He then galloped out of the stable. Erestor cried out as he heard the cheer of those who said farewell. * * * * Glorfindel looked down with confusion at the wolf that tugged upon his boot. “What is wrong with her? And where is Erestor?” Gwathel let out a high-pitched bark. “I think she is trying to tell you something,” Lindir said, his brow furrowed. “I think she wants you to follow her.” “Show me Erestor,” he said to Gwathel, then followed the wolf as she ran toward the stable. * * * * Glorfindel, Lindir, and Elrond arrived at the stable, fearing that something terrible had happened to Erestor, as Gwathel was clearly upset. As the Elda pushed open the large doors, he found Erestor dangling from an iron bracket. “Sweet Elbereth!” He rushed forward and lifted his friend, setting him down and untying his wrists. Lindir stood aghast, his hand over his mouth as he quickly looked around for signs of foul play. Elrond said nothing; his sad gaze spoke loudly enough. Spying the pack and Erestor’s groomed mare he murmured, “Gildor, he did this.” Erestor pushed past Glorfindel, and stood in front of Elrond. “This is your doing!” he shouted. “If he does not come home, I will never forgive you!” “Erestor!” Glorfindel barked, but his friend left the stable at a run. “Leave him be, Glorfindel. I do not blame him for being angry at me.” Elrond sighed and looked at the ceiling. “I would feel the same if I were him.” He quietly left the stable as Lindir followed, casting a concerned glance back at his lover. Title: Resurrection, 22/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Erestor breaks down. It had been nearly a year since Gildor left and several months since anyone last had word from the warriors who had gone to war. The fighting had been terrible, and heavy losses were felt amongst both Men and Elves. The months had been unbearable. Erestor buried himself in work, often forgetting, and sometimes refusing, to eat, and he could not sleep, despite Lindir’s best caretaking efforts. Nightmares plagued him; he was consumed by the fear that Gildor would perish and he would never have the chance to show the warrior how much he meant to him or to atone for the betrayal that was always present in his heart. He had apologized to Elrond for his outburst, and rather than coolly accepting his apology as Erestor thought he would, his lord had taken him into his arms and held him while he wept. Erestor knew that Elrond was also plagued with worry for Gildor, and if anything happened to the warrior, Erestor feared Elrond would never forgive himself. On a pleasant spring day, he was probably too far away from the Last Homely House, but he had been lost in his thoughts as he and Gwathel wandered through the woods. His silent companion tread quietly beside him, her sharp eyes always scanning their surroundings as she sniffed the air and her large ears kept alert to anything that should cause concern. The she-wolf stopped in her tracks, her nose twitching slightly as she stared down the path. Erestor looked at her then looked ahead, before looking back at his companion. “What is it?” he asked softly, then he saw her tail slowly raise and begin to sway back and forth. She uttered a high-pitched bark, and then began jogging down the trail. “Gildor?” he asked, his heart beginning to race as he followed her. Glorfindel’s powerful, white stallion rounded a bend in the trail and snorted as he saw the wolf jogging toward them. Reaching down he rubbed his mount’s neck. “’Tis only Gwathel,” he murmured, and then his stallion settled beneath him. “And Erestor,” he added as he saw his friend jogging toward them. His smile faded as he saw the expression on Erestor’s face; it was clear his friend was hoping to see someone else. “Mae govannen, Erestor,” he said as he slid off his stallion’s back. Erestor gathered his composure and smiled, albeit a bit sadly. “Welcome home, Glorfindel,” he returned. “How are things on the borders?” He held out his hand. Glorfindel glanced at the outstretched hand and his friend’s sad face. “Better now. We have sent out patrols and seen no sign of evil men or orcs.” He took Erestor’s hand then drew his friend into his arms. “He will come home, Erestor,” he murmured into Erestor’s ear. “He has good reason to.” “Please do not…” “Do not do what? I am only trying to offer you comfort.” Everything was just so present, so raw, and so close to the surface. He breathed in Glorfindel’s scent, reveled in his strong embrace, his deep voice, the feel of his breath upon his ear. “I do not deserve…” Glorfindel pulled back and held Erestor’s face in his hands. “You still believe that? After all these years, all these good deeds, all of your brilliant work you still think that you do not deserve…” “I do not!” “Yes you do, and by denying it you slight me and Gildor, for we believe it. Are we fools? Are we wrong?” “Oh, gods, I miss you…” Erestor blurted out. “Me?” Glorfindel asked, holding Erestor close despite the councilor’s attempt to pull away. “Gildor, I miss Gildor.” “Aye, I imagine you do. But you said you miss me. It is permissible for you to miss me, Erestor. We are friends.” “Friends, of course. Yes. We are friends, I can miss you.” “Stop hiding from me.” He grasped Erestor’s jaw and turned the councilor’s face so that their gazes met. “We must stop this . . . this dancing around one another.” Tears began to fall down Erestor’s face. “I am so wretched,” he whispered hoarsely. “Why say you? You are not wretched…” “Yes, I am! My lover is fighting for his life, assuming he is not dead already, and I am thinking about this . . . how this feels . . . how much I miss this…” Glorfindel caressed Erestor’s face. “Oh, my dear, beloved raven,” he whispered. “I love you…” Erestor murmured. “I…” He grasped Glorfindel’s face and kissed him deeply. There was a brief moment when Glorfindel’s reason still had hold, but it disappeared when Erestor kissed him. Rather than pull away, he pulled Erestor closer, opening his mouth to Erestor’s questing tongue, moaning his long denied passion. Erestor was right, this did feel good and this felt right, as if it were how things should be. They were both wretched. Staggering back into the trees and away from the path, they grappled with one another’s clothing, desperately seeking contact with each other’s flesh. “I want you. Valar, I will die if I don’t have you,” Erestor groaned as Glorfindel’s teeth marked his neck, just below his ear. Glorfindel was lost in the feeling of Erestor’s hands in his hair, of them clutching his back, and gripping his backside. With one hand he opened the clasps of Erestor’s robe, with the other he cradled the counselor’s head as he laved the spot he had just marked with his teeth. Erestor’s needful, emotional moans were breaking his heart. He loved Erestor, he always had, and it was now no longer possible to deny it. Erestor gasped as the Elda’s hand slid inside his leggings and grasped his quickly swelling length. “I love you,” he whispered repeatedly, fumbling with the laces on Glorfindel’s leggings. As Glorfindel answered him in kind, he sobbed through his moans, his fingers closing around his beloved’s exquisite arousal. The encounter was brief, owing to the long years of denied passion they had for one another. Erestor leaned against Glorfindel’s chest, clinging to the love of his life, sobbing uncontrollably like an elfling. His beloved was weeping as well, holding him tightly and whispering how much he loved him through his tears. “What are we going to do?” Glorfindel whispered. “How can I break Lindir’s heart like this? He has only ever loved me and trusted me.” Erestor sniffled, his tears subsiding and his heart slowing in its rhythm. “I do not know. I love Gildor and I do not want to hurt him. Somehow, I think you have the harder part to play; Lindir is still so innocent at heart, whereas Gildor has always been strong. I love Lindir dearly; I do not want to see him hurt either, but how do we go back to how we were after this?” Glorfindel sighed. “I do not know. But I cannot be so callous as to just walk away from him.” The truth of the matter fell upon Erestor like a cartload of stone. “You cannot walk away from him; you will not.” He took a deep breath and straightened. “Nor will I abandon Gildor; I could not live with myself if I did.” He straightened his clothes, pulling up his breeches and closing the clasps on his robe. “All of my life I have avoided making choices,” he said as his eyes focused on the task at hand. “I have blamed Celebrimbor for the ills that befell me before I came here. I took Gildor as a lover because I could not have you when the truth is, I could have had you, had I been brave enough to tell you how I felt.” He looked at Glorfindel’s sad face. “I am tired of acting as though I have no choice in what I do, as though my choices are merely reactions to things outside of my control.” He reached up and caressed Glorfindel’s cheek. “I love you, Glorfindel; I always have and I always will, but I will not ask you to break the heart of one you hold dear. I have made my choices, and I will abide by them. You will go back to Lindir, and I will wait for Gildor. We shall not speak of this again.” He held out his hand to his beloved, who accepted it and rose to his feet. “I do not know if I am strong enough to let you go,” Glorfindel said softly. Erestor smiled sadly. “You are, and I am strong enough to let you go.” Reaching out, he gently touched Glorfindel’s face, caressing his lips with his thumb before placing a soft kiss upon them, and then he turned and walked away. * * * * Lindir heard his lover in the bath when he returned to their chambers. A smile curved his lips as he saw the trail of travel-soiled clothing that led from the door to the bath. As he picked up each piece, he held it to his face; he loved the smell of the woods intermingled with his beloved’s scent. He still held Glorfindel’s undershirt in his left hand as he looked at the rumpled breeches in his right. It was as if someone had rammed an arrow into his heart. Normally, he would have thought his lover had pleasured himself during the long ride home from the border, however this time, it was not only Glorfindel that he smelled. He swallowed the lump in his throat and quickly placed the soiled garments in the laundry basket, and then he slowly walked out onto their balcony. He could not breathe or think; he would have screamed if he could have found his voice. All he could do was turn his dead gaze to the hills as his head spun and his heart broke. When Glorfindel emerged from the bath, he found his clothes missing. Time seemed to crawl as he walked toward the open doors leading to the veranda. He placed a trembling hand upon the doorframe and softly called his lover. “Sparrow?” Lindir turned and looked at him and his heart stopped. He opened his mouth to speak, yet he could not. A tear traced down his cheek as Lindir’s broken gaze shattered what was left of his heart. “Tell me it was just once; that you did it to comfort him. Tell me that and I can get over this, Glorfindel. Tell me that you have not betrayed my love and my trust.” Glorfindel swallowed. Erestor’s final words rang in his ears and he said, “Yes, I was trying to comfort him, I did not intend…” Lindir knew his lover was lying, but he was not yet ready to let go. He turned his back to Glorfindel and gripped the smooth stone railing. “I need some time to deal with this; I cannot speak with you now.” Glorfindel closed his eyes and reentered their chambers, donning fresh clothes and leaving Lindir alone. * * * * Erestor had returned to his chamber and bathed. He scrubbed his skin until it glowed red and taken his clothing directly to the laundry, desperate to remove any evidence of his weakness. He was entering the library to immerse himself in work when he heard the call come from down the corridor. “They have returned!” “Gildor!” he breathed, and then he ran down the long hallway with Gwathel following close behind. Title: Resurrection, 23/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Gildor returns and Erestor is determined; Glorfindel and Lindir come to an agreement. Erestor bolted outside into the courtyard with Gwathel on his heels. Despite the late hour, the area was bustling with activity. To Erestor’s dismay, the healers were busy at work, shuttling wounded warriors from the wagons that had bore them home to the healing house. Erestor desperately searched the crowd for Gildor, when he saw one of the young stable hands leading Gildor’s large gelding toward the stable yard. He caught up with the ellon and clasped his shoulder. “Where is Lord Gildor?” he asked, trying to conceal the fear in his voice. Each moment that he did not hear Gildor’s voice struck terror into his heart. The young one shrugged and Erestor released him, but not before noticing the poultices on the gelding’s legs and flanks. “Please, please…” he whispered in prayer as he frantically searched the crowd. In his panic, he did not notice the arrival of Glorfindel or Elrond. He heard Gwathel’s high-pitched bark, and he turned. She was standing on her back legs with her front paws on the back of a covered cart. He dodged warriors and squires carrying large bundles as he made his way toward his lover. “Gildor? Gildor!” he cried as he climbed into the back of the cart. His gaze finally came to rest on his lover’s pale form. He felt his heart stop and a searing pain tear through his chest. Gildor lie on a litter, shirtless, a thick, bloody bandage wrapped around his torso. As Erestor came to rest on his knees beside him, he reached out and touched his lover’s shoulder. “Cold, you are so cold…” Gildor’s breathing was shallow and despite the coldness of his skin, sweat beaded on his forehead. “No…” Erestor whispered. “No, no, no, no, no…” Slowly Gildor’s eyes opened and he drew a ragged breath. “I told you I would come home,” he croaked. “Oh, Gildor,” Erestor whispered, smoothing the damp hair from his lover’s face as he showered him with kisses. “Please, my love, you must hold on. Do not leave me behind twice…” He turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Help! I need help!” Glorfindel appeared in the opening to the cart. “Sweet Elbereth,” he murmured. “Get Lord Elrond, quickly!” Erestor cried, and Glorfindel disappeared, running through the courtyard to find their lord. * * * * Erestor stood behind Elrond, wadding his sleeves in his fists as his lord and the healers worked on his lover. Glorfindel stood behind him, one hand on his shoulder. “Do something,” he whispered to his friend. “There is nothing I can do,” Glorfindel answered. Erestor turned. “You brought Lindir back. How did you do it, Glorfindel? How did you convince Mandos to release his fëa?” “Erestor…” “Do it for Gildor, Glorfindel. You have to try. He is your best friend!” Glorfindel drew Erestor away from Gildor’s bedside. “I cannot, He will not.” “How do you know? He did it once, perhaps...” “Because He told me, Erestor. He told me He would only do it once.” He gathered Erestor in his arms as he remembered Mandos’ words. ‘This fëa for another in the future.’ “I am sorry, Erestor,” he murmured as he held his beloved close. Lindir appeared in the doorway. He closed his eyes briefly as he saw Glorfindel holding Erestor, then he moved to stand beside Elrond and picked up Gildor’s cold, limp hand. “Not you,” he murmured. “Not my savior…” He looked at his lord. “How can I help him?” he asked. Elrond, his eyes closed and his head bowed, whispered, “Sing, perhaps he will follow your voice.” Lindir nodded and he rounded the table to stand near Gildor’s head. Softly, in a whispered voice, he began to sing one of Gildor’s favorite songs; it was a tune about the beauty of Eru’s creations. “He cannot pass on,” Erestor whispered into Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Not like this, not now.” “He is strong,” Glorfindel murmured, his heart breaking as he held Erestor and watched Lindir. There was so much pain in this room, so many things unsaid, so many bruised hearts. * * * * Time passed slowly as they waited, Erestor sat on a low stool next to Gildor, holding one of his hands. Elrond gently held Gildor’s head in his hands, deep in a trance, trying to reach his dear friend and call him back. Lindir sat opposite Erestor, softly humming the same tune, and Glorfindel stood beside the minstrel, one hand upon his shoulder and his eyes fixed on Gildor’s pale form. After what felt like an eternity, Gildor drew a deep ragged breath and Erestor felt the warrior’s grip tighten upon his hand. “Gildor?” he whispered, and he looked up to see his lover’s pale blue eyes gazing back at him. A smile curved his lips and he laughed softly, from pure relief. “Gildor…” “Erestor,” Gildor replied, his voice a rough, cracked whisper. “I always keep my promises.” Erestor stood and took Gildor’s face in his hands, kissing him gently on the lips. “Yes, you do, my love. You most certainly do.” Glorfindel sighed in relief and leaned his head back against the wall. Lindir smiled and stopped humming, giving the warrior’s hand a gentle squeeze. Gildor turned his head and smiled weakly at Lindir. “I love that song,” Lindir smiled in return. “I know…” “’Tis good to see you back, my friend,” Elrond murmured, smoothing Gildor’s brow. “Forgive me for tarrying,” he answered. “I had some unfinished business with those I saw on the path.” Elrond nodded knowingly. “Rest well, Gildor. It will be sometime before you have your strength back.” Gildor closed his eyes and nodded, and then Elrond, Lindir, and Glorfindel left Erestor alone at the warrior’s bedside. Erestor laid his head on Gildor’s shoulder, fighting back tears of relief. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For what?” Gildor responded softly. “For returning to me. I know it could not have been an easy choice.” Gildor pressed his lips against the crown of Erestor’s head. He had seen many things while he lingered in the misty world between life and death, some had been a surprise, some had filled him with dread, and some had been painful. Yet, he had returned, despite all he had seen, and deep inside, he knew it was not a mistake. “It was not as difficult a choice as one might think,” he whispered. “The Halls of Mandos are not the most exciting place to be.” Erestor sniffled and chuckled, wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve. “I imagine He was glad to see you go, yes?” Gildor chuckled, then groaned in discomfort. “Aye. Oh….” “Ssshhh…. Sleep, my love. There will be many days and years yet for you to tell me your tale.” Gildor smiled and brushed his lips through Erestor’s hair. “As you command, my love.” He closed his eyes and found reverie with his lover’s head upon his shoulder and his hand in his own. * * * * Lindir stood on the wide veranda that overlooked the gardens of the Last Homely House. It was just this place that he first posed the question to Glorfindel; it was just this place that a new life had begun for him. Now, as he listened to the crickets and smelled the jasmine, he wondered what life had in store for him. He was not yet ready to let Glorfindel go; yet, he would not hold him either. He had no wish for the Elda to stay out of obligation or pity. Was it his fault? Had he somehow failed to be everything that Glorfindel needed? “Sparrow?” He heard his lover’s deep voice come from behind him and it caused his heart to ache. “Am I?” he asked. “Am I still your sparrow?” Glorfindel stood close behind Lindir. “You will always be my sparrow.” “If you do not love me anymore, if you never did…” “Do not speak thusly. You know I did, and I still do.” He caressed Lindir’s pale, almost silver-gold hair. “I cannot explain why I did what I did, not in a way that makes any sense. But what I did does not affect how much I care for you, how much I love you.” Lindir turned and looked into Glorfindel’s eyes. “You love him.” “I do, and I love you as well. I do not want to hurt you, sparrow, but I cannot lie to you.” Lindir swallowed. “Have you always loved him?” Glorfindel sighed. “I suppose I have, but not in the way you think. He has always kept me at bay; he still does. Even when he needs us most, he holds us all at arm’s length.” Lindir nodded and looked at the ground. “He does not like to accept help.” “Please do not blame him, Lindir…” Lindir took a deep breath and looked up at Glorfindel. “I do not. I blame myself.” He slowly reached out and touched Glorfindel’s face. “I have always loved you, from the beginning, from before that first night. The way you loved me, the way you looked at me, touched me, I believed you loved me too. I am not blind; I saw how the two of you looked at one another when you thought I was not aware. Yet still, I persisted; I thought that somehow my love would win you over and make you forget about how you felt for Erestor. I thought that if I just loved you enough…” A tear fell from Glorfindel’s eye, “Oh, sparrow. You have loved me so much more than I deserve.” Lindir felt his own eyes well with tears. “I do not want to lose you. Perhaps that is the stubborn part of my heart that clings to this dream I have been living in. Nevertheless, I cannot be with you knowing that you want to be with another. I cannot live that way.” “What are we to do?” Glorfindel asked. “I do not want to lose you, either.” “I think it would be best if I were to move back into my own quarters and if we were to spend some time apart. We both have decisions we must make, and sleeping in the same bed would be too difficult for me now.” Glorfindel nodded. “I will abide by whatever you decide. But know this, know that every time I have said I love you, I have meant it.” Lindir tried to smile. “I know,” he whispered, and then he left Glorfindel alone as he went back to their chambers to pack his belongings. Glorfindel looked up at the night sky. “Give me the strength and wisdom to do the right thing,” he whispered to the air, hoping his voice would find Manwë’s ears. Title: Resurrection, 24/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond, Thranduil Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Gildor recovers and Imladris receives a visitor. Gildor’s recovery was long and arduous. Erestor was at his bedside day and night until he had enough strength to rise and get around on his own. Only when Gildor was ambulatory did he return to work. Things between Erestor and Lindir were strained, but he saw hope that their friendship might survive. He knew that Glorfindel had confessed, but he did not know the circumstances surrounding the admission, and he dared not ask. The entire house knew that Glorfindel and Lindir had a falling out, for the minstrel had moved back into his old quarters, that consequently were right next door to Erestor’s. As for Glorfindel, the Elda found many excuses to be away from the Last Homely House – patrols, hunting trips, excursions into the wilderness surrounding Imladris. This latest excuse was to provide escort to one Prince Thranduil Oropherion. Everyone in Imladris knew of the special bond of friendship between Oropher and Glorfindel, so it came as no surprise that Oropher would request Glorfindel himself to train Thranduil in the more advanced methods of warfare. What was surprising was that Oropher requested that this training take place in Imladris, rather than their own home of Greenwood. It was a warm summer day when the Crowned Prince of Greenwood arrived in the Hidden Valley. It was unusually warm for so early in the season, and even though Elves tolerated extreme temperatures well, Erestor was still fanning himself as he stood in the bright sunlight, waiting to receive the prince. Gildor stood beside him, a supportive hand upon his lower back. “As usual, everything is perfect, my love,” Gildor murmured. “Are you sure you should be out here? It has only been three months since…” “Only three months? Do you realize how long three months can be when you are flat on your back for reasons that are less than titillating?” Erestor snorted. “Gildor! We are about to receive the Crowned Prince of Greenwood and you are playing the baud.” Gildor grinned. “Is it not comforting to know that some things never change?” He winked. Erestor shook his head then straightened up as they heard the party approach. “Here they come.” Glorfindel and Thranduil rode through the gates, followed by the few guards that had traveled to Greenwood and back with Glorfindel. Oropher had not sent a Greenwood escort, owing to his implicit trust in his good friend Glorfindel. Erestor was impressed with the young prince’s bearing. He was of age, but still young, yet he had the look of one who had already seen much in his life. He was quite tall for one of his years, with bright, pale golden hair the color of summer wheat. He was most fair, with large sapphire eyes, soft lips, and an aristocratic nose. He was gentler in appearance than his father, who had the sharp look of one who did not suffer fools. In this regard, Erestor imagined the prince must take after his mother, who was widely considered the most fair of the Silvan kindred. Thranduil took his hand and smiled gently, bowing his head though his own rank did not require such an expression of respect. Erestor bowed in return, welcoming the prince to their land. “Is Lord Elrond present?” Thranduil asked quietly, walking up the stairs beside Glorfindel after having greeted Gildor in a friendly fashion. “I am.” Thranduil looked up to the top of the stair and smiled. As they arrived on the landing, he knelt before Elrond, as was the custom of his people. “You need not kneel, prince,” Elrond answered, lightly touching the prince’s shoulder. “That custom is not required in Imladris.” Thranduil smiled and rose to his feet. “Not required, perhaps, but freely offered,” he answered, “as a measure of the respect I have for you.” “It is most appreciated,” Elrond answered with a smile. He placed his hand upon the prince’s shoulder. “Come, tell me of how things are in your homeland.” He led the prince toward the entrance to the Last Homely House, noticing the way Thranduil’s eyes lit upon Lindir and lingered as the minstrel played his lyre. “That is Lindir, my Chief Minstrel,” Elrond said softly as he motioned to the prince to step inside. “He has the most beautiful voice I have ever heard in all of my long life.” “I look forward to hearing it,” Thranduil answered, prying his gaze from the lovely Noldo and returning it to his host. “And you shall, we have a welcoming feast prepared this eve; Lindir will perform, as is customary when we receive honored guests.” Thranduil smiled and bowed his head slightly, then followed Elrond into the house and toward his study. Glorfindel was not far behind them, and he could not help but notice the way the prince looked at Lindir, or the way Lindir returned the prince’s gaze. He would have thought that it would have made him feel good, to see this interest; instead, he felt jealousy prick at his heart. He had no right, he admonished himself, no right at all to feel jealous after what he had done, and Lindir had every right to pursue happiness without him. He wondered if he would feel the same if Erestor had followed suit and left Gildor for him. However, the counselor did not, and despite Glorfindel knowing that Erestor did indeed love him, he could not deny that the love and affection he saw in Erestor’s eyes when he looked at Gildor was genuine. It was a cruel truth that one could really be in love with more than one other. He smiled at Lindir, who smiled in return, albeit sadly, then he entered the house, following Elrond and Thranduil toward his lord’s study. * * * * Erestor frowned as he unbuttoned the clasps on Gildor’s tunic. “You have overdone it again,” he grumbled. “Look at you; you are pale and perspiring.” Gildor sat on the edge of their bed, trying valiantly to hide how weary he felt. He did not like it when his lover worried so. “I will be fine, my love,” he answered softly. “Leave me to this. I know you have duties to attend to.” Erestor shook his head, his jaw set in determination. “No, I will stay here with you and ensure that you rest.” Gildor sighed and lifted a weary hand to Erestor’s cheek. “You are too good to me, my love.” Erestor smiled and swallowed a lump in his throat. “I am not nearly good enough,” he answered. Gildor caressed Erestor’s cheekbone with his thumb. “None of us is perfect. If I had to recount my past transgressions to you, I doubt you would think so highly of me.” Erestor closed his eyes briefly and pressed his face into Gildor’s hand. “I have finally learned, at long last, that beauty does not lie in perfection; it lies in all that is imperfect, for that is what makes us who we are.” Gildor slid his hand around to the back of Erestor’s neck. “Well said, my love,” he murmured, before drawing Erestor’s lips to his own in a kiss. Erestor savored the long, slow, soft kiss his lover bestowed upon him. Gildor’s gentleness never ceased to surprise him. As they parted, he smiled a bit and whispered, “I love you.” Gildor looked at his lover’s face. Erestor’s eyes were still closed and there was a hint of a smile playing upon his lips. “Rest with me.” “I will.” Erestor opened his eyes and slid Gildor’s robe from his shoulders. He then helped his lover stand, noting the slight tremor in Gildor’s legs, though the warrior tried to play it off by joking that the kiss made him weak. He pulled the robe out from underneath his lover, and turned back the covers. As Gildor sat once again, he removed his shoes and lifted his legs up onto the bed. Gildor could not help but sigh in relief as he came to rest. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was still weak and it frightened him a little. He had never had so much difficulty in recovering before. He knew, and Elrond knew, that essentially he had been dead for a very short time. It was not everyday that one died and returned – his best friend could attest to that. He remembered Glorfindel’s account of his death and rebirth; while the Elda’s experience had been more drastic, Glorfindel was the only other one who knew what Mandos’ Halls looked like. He had been given a choice and he was not sure why. The Vala, in cryptic fashion, had laid his choices out to him. He knew when he returned what lie ahead, and he chose to return despite the fact that his life in Aman would have been free of death and war. It was Erestor that he returned for; his lover was not ready to let him go. Now, as he held his dark beauty in his arms, he wondered if he had made the right decision. This was prolonging the inevitable, and he knew that it would be easier if he just left and did not return. Perhaps, he would find the strength to do so, but now he was too tired and too weak. As Erestor snuggled against him and sighed, he knew that the time was not right; too much had happened. “Do you remember what we promised one another that first night?” he asked softly. “Aye,” Erestor answered. “We swore we would always be friends, above all else.” “Does that promise hold?” Gildor murmured. Erestor swallowed. “No. Forgive me, but I love you too much for you to be my friend above being my beloved.” “Can I not be both?” “Of course, but one holds sway over the other. Do you not feel the same?” He could not lie. “Aye, I know of what you speak.” Erestor propped himself up on one elbow. “Do I make you happy, Gildor?” Gildor smiled. “More than anyone ever has.” He caressed Erestor’s face. “But the question is not my happiness. It is yours. When we started this, I did not know we would end up this way. I wanted you, yes. I cared deeply about you as well, but I suspected that you were in love…” Erestor placed his fingers on Gildor’s lips. “I am where I want to be. You are the one I want. You are the one I have and will continue to devote my life to. I love you.” Gildor nodded and cradled Erestor’s head. “And I love you, Erestor.” He closed his eyes and Erestor leaned in for a kiss. Title: Resurrection, 25/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond, Thranduil Rating: NC-17 Beta: Kenaz Archive: Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn. All others please ask. WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all. Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this. Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more attention and another shot at Glorfindel. He’s hard to refuse… As usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise, I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you. If not, then I hope you enjoy it. Set in the Second Age. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Thranduil’s training commences and he finds himself distracted by a certain minstrel. Thranduil sat on a stool with a large harp between his legs. He leaned forward slightly, placing his fingers upon the strings as instructed. He had musical training, but there were no such instruments in Greenwood; his folk only had flutes and small lyres. He tried to concentrate on the instrument, rather than on the softly floral scent of his tutor, and he tentatively began to play. Lindir was impressed by the dexterity in the prince’s fingers; typically, warriors were not so nimble and did not possess such a sensitive touch. “Very good,” he murmured as he instructed the prince. “Yes, that is correct, very nice. You have been practicing.” “Some,” Thranduil replied, “when I have had the energy.” Lindir smiled. “I am sure that Glorfindel is putting you through your paces, yes?” Thranduil chuckled slightly. “That he is.” “Who first trained you in music?” “My mother,” Thranduil answered. “She feels it is important that I have an appreciation for beauty in all its forms.” “She is correct,” Lindir answered. “A prince must be more than a warrior; you are a diplomat and a leader as well.” “It is a large responsibility.” “Aye, but one I am sure you are capable of handling, my liege.” “Lindir?” “Yes, my lord?” “Would you call me by my name? I realize that in some settings protocol calls for a formal address, but when it is just you and I, I would feel more comfortable if you would address me by name.” Lindir reached out and adjusted Thranduil’s finger position. “As you wish, Thranduil.” Thranduil smiled. “Thank you.” Lindir smiled in return, thankful that he stood behind the prince and therefore, Thranduil could not see the slight blush upon his cheek. It had been months since he and Glorfindel separated, and just a month since Thranduil arrived in Imladris. The prince would stay through the winter and into mid-spring, so they still had much time to get to know one another. In addition to being fair, the prince was also kind and patient, he was a diligent student both on and off the training field; Thranduil approached the study of history and music as enthusiastically as that of battle tactics. Lindir stood up straight and watched the prince play the harp; while Thranduil would never become a master musician, he played well nevertheless. “I think that is enough for today,” he said softly. “You are playing quite well for so short a time with the instrument.” Thranduil reached for a soft cloth and gently wiped down the harp. “Thank you, Lindir. I doubt you have much to worry about in terms of competition, though.” Lindir laughed softly as he walked toward his desk and began placing sheets of music in their respective files. “I am to train with Glorfindel this afternoon, but I was hoping that when I am finished you and I might be able to spend some time together – that is if the idea is appealing to you.” Lindir looked up from his work. Thranduil was focusing on the act of cleaning the harp in an attempt to make a refusal easier. “I would like that very much,” he replied. “Shall I meet you at the training field?” Thranduil turned and looked at him. “Yes, that would be a good idea.” He placed the cloth upon a small table near the harp. “I will see you later this afternoon then? Two hours prior to the dinner bell?” Lindir nodded. “Very well.” Thranduil smiled as he left the music room, and Lindir watched him leave with a smile upon his own lips. * * * * Thranduil stood with his legs apart, slowly shifting his weight from left to right, trying in vain to anticipate what his tutor would do next. Glorfindel stood in front of him, training sword in hand, slowly rocking the wooden blade back and forth. The rhythmic motion reminded Thranduil of the way Lindir would move a slim baton, keeping the rhythm during their music lessons. A slow grin curved Glorfindel’s lips and Thranduil gasped as the sword came around to his left. He leapt backward and blocked the blade with his own weapon, barely avoiding being struck in the shoulder. “You must concentrate, Thranduil,” Glorfindel said as he stepped backward, pausing his assault to correct his pupil. “All it takes is one brief moment of lapse and your head can be removed from your shoulders.” Thranduil nodded and took a defensive posture again. They circled one another slowly, Glorfindel thrusting and Thranduil blocking. The prince took a few hard blows to his arms and one of his legs, each time shaking off his frustration and trying again. Glorfindel suggested they take a break and Thranduil nodded in agreement, lowering his weapon, and wiping the sweat from his brow. “You are doing very well, my prince. I know that the sword is a weapon you are not accustomed to.” “Thank you, my lord,” Thranduil replied. “I am also not accustomed to training with one as quick as you.” Glorfindel grinned and bowed his head slightly in thanks. “That quickness is how I have managed to survive so many battles. As our training progresses, you will be just as quick with the blade. You are very light on your feet, and your archery skills are beyond compare – finer than any that I have seen in Imladris.” Thranduil blushed a little. “Thank you, my lord.” Over Glorfindel’s shoulder, Thranduil spied Lindir coming down the path toward the armory. Glorfindel noticed the change in the prince’s expression and turned to see his former lover. “Have I come too soon?” Lindir asked as he arrived. “We have concluded for the day,” Glorfindel answered. “Master Lindir and I are going for a walk,” Thranduil responded. The look upon Glorfindel’s face was unmistakable. He paused for a moment then continued, “Would you care to join us?” Asking the question was a blunder, he could tell by the look in Lindir’s eye when he posed it. Glorfindel held up his hand and shook his head. “No; thank you, my liege. I have things I must attend to.” Thranduil looked at Lindir and smiled. “I will be but a moment.” Lindir nodded and watched as the prince jogged into the barracks. He then looked at Glorfindel, who seemed to be torn between following Thranduil and staying where we was. “It is but a walk,” he said softly. “What you do with your time is your concern,” Glorfindel answered kindly. “You need explain nothing to me.” Lindir nodded and an uncomfortable moment of silence followed. “I…” Glorfindel stepped forward and placed his hand upon Lindir’s shoulder. “I want you to feel free to do whatever you wish to do. This present situation is my fault entirely, you should feel no guilt for getting on with your life.” He reached up and gently cupped Lindir’s cheek. “I am truly sorry, sparrow. Hurting you was the last thing I ever wanted to do.” Thranduil stepped into the doorway of the barracks to see Glorfindel gently touching Lindir’s cheek. He might be young but he had lived long enough to know what he was seeing. He waited a moment then made some noise so that they would hear him, then he stepped out into the sunshine. As he approached, Glorfindel cast one, quick, sad glance toward Lindir, then the warrior said, “Enjoy your walk.” Then Glorfindel departed the training field. Thranduil looked at Lindir thoughtfully as the minstrel watched the Elda depart, then he smiled as Lindir’s gaze returned to him, and he held out his arm. Lindir accepted the gesture, placing his hand in the crook of the prince’s arm, and then they headed down the trail toward the woods. * * * * They had walked some distance in a silence that was briefly and sporadically punctuated by small talk, when Thranduil made a bold move. “There has been something between the two of you,” he said quietly as they slowly descended the stair that led to the Ford of Bruinen. “Aye, there was, but that is finished now,” Lindir answered quietly. Thranduil nodded. “It is impossible to simply stop loving someone. He still loves you, I can tell by the way he looks at you.” “Perhaps,” Lindir returned. “But he loves another more. I cannot be someone’s second choice.” “You should not be,” Thranduil replied. “You are kind, beautiful, and you have the most extraordinary voice I have ever heard. You should be no one’s second choice.” Lindir smiled and then reached out for Thranduil’s offered hand as they reached a particularly difficult part of the stair. “We are near the bottom,” Thranduil said. “Where should we go from here?” The last step was particularly steep, and as Lindir came down he gasped and reached for his left leg. “Are you all right?” Thranduil asked with concern, as he saw his friend bent over, grasping his leg. “I am fine,” Lindir replied, his voice calm if not a bit strained. “It is a remnant of an old wound that gives complaint from time to time.” “Shall we take a rest?” Thranduil asked, guiding Lindir to sit on the last step. Lindir nodded. “Aye, I would like that. Thank you.” Thranduil sat beside his friend, his eyes scanning the landscape. He was in unfamiliar territory, which meant he was automatically on guard. He did not have a bow with him, but he did carry a set of knives in his boots, just in case. “We have gone too far, have we not?” Lindir sighed; his leg was not feeling any better. “”Tis my fault. I know my limitations and I ignored them. I suppose I was hoping things would be better and I would be able to walk further.” “Had I known that you…” Lindir placed his fingers on Thranduil’s lips. “My fault, not yours,” he said softly. Thranduil smiled and nodded as Lindir removed his hand. “Let us rest awhile, then I will carry you home.” “You are going to carry me all the way back . . . up the stair?” “I am not going to leave you here alone, and we are not prepared to spend the night out here without supplies.” He looked at Lindir and smiled. “Although it is tempting to take advantage of the opportunity to spend the night with you.” He winked. Lindir chuckled then shook his head. “Ai. I am so sorry, Thranduil.” Thranduil held up his hand. “I will hear none of that, Master Lindir. This is an opportunity for me to prove my fitness.” Lindir snorted. “I dare say it is.” Thranduil placed his hand upon Lindir’s back. “Luckily, you are not Glorfindel, or I would find this task more daunting.” They sat for a while and slowly the pain in Lindir’s leg began to subside. “Perhaps I can make it back on my own now,” he said, then he stood and took a step. He grimaced as the pain returned. “No more heroics, my friend,” Thranduil said. “Climb onto my back, it will be the easiest way.” Lindir sighed and then climbed onto the prince’s back, placing his arms around Thranduil’s neck. “Off we go then,” Thranduil murmured, looking up the long stairway. “Do not drop me,” Lindir murmured near the prince’s ear. “Never,” Thranduil replied, gently leaning his head against Lindir’s cheek. To be continued…