Title: Resurrection, 26/? 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: Glorfindel and Lindir seek comfort in the familiar; Thranduil sees his future. Glorfindel stood on the wide front porch of the Last Homely House as Anor set. His eyes scanned the courtyard and the hills beyond; there was no sign of Thranduil or Lindir. Erestor stood behind him, with Gildor at his side, noting the worry in Glorfindel’s posture. “I am sure everything is fine. Thranduil is capable enough should they run afoul.” “Shall I go look for them?” Gildor asked, one eyebrow raising as Erestor shot him a reproachful glance. “Do not be ridiculous,” Erestor grumbled. “You are in no shape to…” Glorfindel turned. “I will go. They have been gone too long.” He paused, placing his hand upon Gildor’s shoulder. “I am going to change into garments more appropriate for riding, then I will leave. Make my apologies to Lord Elrond for missing the meal.” Gildor nodded and watched his friend walk into the house. “Wait!” Erestor called. Glorfindel turned and saw Thranduil walking into the courtyard with Lindir upon his back. He jogged down the stairs as Thranduil sat Lindir upon the ground. He could tell with one look that Lindir was in pain. “Where have you been? I was just going out to look for you.” “’Tis my fault,” Thranduil said. “I wanted to see what was on the other side of the hills and Lindir was too gracious to spoil my plan.” “That is a bold-faced lie, Thranduil Oropherion,” Lindir chided. “It is my fault. I know my limits and I ignored them; I did not tell the prince that I could not walk so far – he did not know…” “Are you all right, sparrow?” Glorfindel asked softly. “’Tis nothing that a warm bath will not cure,” he answered, his eyes widening in surprise as Glorfindel scooped him up in his arms. “I will massage your leg, just for good measure,” he said as he climbed the stairs toward the house with Thranduil in tow. “I truly am sorry,” Thranduil said quietly as he followed. “There is nothing for you to be sorry for, my liege,” Glorfindel replied. “Thank you for seeing him home safely.” Thranduil stopped at the door and watched Glorfindel carry Lindir up the stairs. “How far did you go?” Erestor asked, also watching his friend carry the minstrel. “To the bottom of the stair that leads to the Bruinen.” “And you carried him all the way home on your back?” Gildor asked in surprise. “I could not leave him there alone, and there was no one in sight.” Gildor clapped the prince on the back. “I think you need a warm bath and a massage just as badly as Lindir does, my prince.” Thranduil smiled begrudgingly. “Aye, I am sure I smell less than regal.” Erestor sighed. “Perhaps it is best for you rest this evening, my lord. I will have some food sent to you in your quarters, if you desire.” Thranduil nodded. “My thanks, Erestor. I am quite weary now.” “I will also send one of the healers. They are quite skilled in working soreness out of one’s muscles.” Thranduil nodded and walked up the stairs toward his guest chamber. Erestor turned to make for the kitchens when he saw Gildor looking at him with a less than pleased expression. “What?” “Do not treat me as if I were a piece of crystal or some addled fool, Erestor.” “What do you mean?” “You know what I mean. I offered to go look for Lindir and the prince, and you treated me as if I were an elfling.” “I was merely worried about…” “I know what you were doing, and it is high time you stop. You cannot keep me wrapped in linen and safely ensconced inside this house. I will return to my duties and resume my life as it was before the war.” “I . . . I just want you to be careful. I came so close to losing you . . . I…” Gildor stepped forward and took Erestor’s face in his hands. “I know you do what you do out of love, but you simply must stop, Erestor. I am not fragile, and I cannot be cautious and safe for you. I cannot be anyone other than who I am…” Erestor pressed their foreheads together. “I know. Forgive me, my love.” Gildor smiled and nuzzled his lover’s lips. “Forgiven, this time…” He winked. * * * * Lindir sat on the side of his bed as Glorfindel removed his shoes. “I am sorry I worried you,” he murmured. “No harm done. I am relieved that you are home safe,” Glorfindel answered. “Do you need help disrobing?” “No. I can do it myself,” Lindir replied, rising from the bed and hobbling into his bathing chamber. “Can you get into the bath by yourself?” “Yes.” Glorfindel sat in a chair and listened as Lindir bathed, then he rose and retrieved a sleeping robe for him, and turned down the bed. Reaching inside the door, he hung the gown upon a peg. “Here is something to sleep in,” he said quietly. “Thank you,” Lindir answered. He gathered some towels and a phial of massage oil, then removed his formal robe and draped it upon the back of a tall chair. Lindir emerged from the bath, dressed in the robe, and limped to the bed, climbing in and sighing as he stretched out on his back. Glorfindel placed towels beneath Lindir’s leg then poured a small amount of oil into his hands. “Will I ever be as I was?” Lindir asked quietly, his gaze focused on the canopy of his bed. “I cannot answer that, sparrow,” Glorfindel murmured as he began slowly, gently working the muscles in Lindir’s leg. “I think you should speak with Lord Elrond. There may be more he can do.” “Perhaps you are right,” Lindir answered in almost a whisper as his eyelids began to flutter. “That feels good,” he murmured. Glorfindel slowly worked the muscles, starting at Lindir’s ankle, gently squeezing and running his hands up the minstrel’s calf, past his knee, finally reaching his thigh. This used to be a sensual experience for them both; Glorfindel tried to forget that and focus on simply making his sparrow feel better. Once reaching the apex of his thigh, he worked his way back down to Lindir’s foot, and then repeated this process until the minstrel’s skin was flushed and warm to the touch and any hint of discomfort had faded from Lindir’s face. The sleeping gown Lindir wore was made of a light material, and the affect his touch had on the minstrel was becoming evident from beneath the thin gown. His own body was responding in kind; he could feel the growing heat in his core and his length was beginning to stir inside his breeches. He paused, his thumbs working small circles on the inside and outside of Lindir’s thigh. Lindir’s eyes were closed, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling with an increasing rhythm. He knew his sparrow so well, he knew every nuance of the Noldo’s body, how it moved, how it responded to him; no one knew Lindir like he did. “What do you want me to do, sparrow?” he murmured. “You have but to ask it of me.” A tear slipped from Lindir’s eye and he whispered. “I want you to love me more than anyone in the world. I want you to love me, alone.” The aching, gnawing pain that had been present since he and Erestor had come together in the woods flared bright inside him. How could he love and want Lindir so much, while aching for Erestor so badly? Lindir’s eyes opened and he looked at Glorfindel. His warrior did not need to say a word – Lindir could read his thoughts on his face. He reached up slowly, his long fingers closing on the collar of Glorfindel’s undershirt. “But since I cannot have what I truly want, I will take your touch instead.” He pulled the warrior down and kissed him. Glorfindel’s body immediately responded to Lindir as if it had a mind of its own. He lowered himself to the bed, taking care not to rest his weight upon his lover’s sore leg, kicking off his shoes as he took Lindir’s face in his hands. They kissed slowly, their hands rediscovering one another, their bodies falling back into the familiar dance of lovemaking. * * * * Thranduil sat by the fire, dressed in a pair of sleeping pants, his skin flushed and softly glistening from the massage he had just received. He held a letter from his mother in his hand; in it, she relayed the good news that she and his father had chosen a perfect mate for him. It was the custom in his land that the parents should choose the mate; only his father had broken with that tradition, taking his mother of his own accord shortly after their arrival in the great wood. The courtship would be long, the ceremony auspicious, and it was expected that he would provide an heir. It was his duty, he knew that, and he imagined he would end up like his father, having a wife and lying with ellyn when the mood struck him. He had hoped that he and Lindir might make a good match, despite knowing that it was expected that he have children. It was also clear to him now that whatever was between Lindir and Glorfindel was not over. He sighed and laid the letter down, his gaze focusing on the stars in the sky and his mind wandering to a fair minstrel. To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 27/? 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: Lindir realizes the truth and accepts a lie; Gildor worries about Glorfindel; and Erestor offers an apology. Lindir lay on his side, his gaze focused on the softly billowing curtains that covered his windows. Glorfindel was curled against him in a comforting and protective embrace. The lovemaking had been physically satisfying, there was no doubt of that, but now he was left facing the hollow truth that the one he loved would always love another more. The overwhelming flow of emotion that used to be a part of their coupling was no longer present. Glorfindel was guarded in that respect and so was he, for that matter. He did not want to see into his lover’s heart, not any more. He wondered if it would always be this way, or if the Elda would eventually love him the way he hoped and wished he would. He knew deep down that Erestor felt the same way about Glorfindel, though his friend did his very best to hide it, and Lindir wondered if Gildor knew or suspected the truth. One thing he did know for certain about his good friend Erestor: he was loyal above all other things. Erestor would never leave Gildor, not ever. Glorfindel sighed and stirred, molding his perfect body against Lindir’s back. He still loved the way the Elda felt against him, however, it also reminded him of what he had lost. He had lost an illusion; he knew that now. Given the choice between cold reality and beautiful lies, he would take the lies any day. He thought about Thranduil, about how kind the prince was, and how clearly interested the Sinda was in him. He liked Thranduil, he genuinely did. The young prince’s unguarded honesty was refreshing given what he had been through these past months. He was tired of secrets and carefully avoided truths; the fact was that he was tired, period. As Glorfindel stirred against him, he realized one thing about himself: he was not nearly as principled or strong as he would have once believed. He rolled over in his lover’s embrace and reached out, gently touching the warrior’s face. Glorfindel was still the most beautiful elf he had ever seen, and despite the fact that the Elda had kept the truth of his heart from him, he was still kind, gentle, and loving. Their brief separation had been difficult for them both and where it would lead now Lindir did not know, though what he found was that it was easy to accept this reunion – far easier than living the truth. Principle made a cold bedfellow. “Sparrow,” Glorfindel whispered. “Yes,” Lindir replied. “I love you.” “And I love you,” Lindir answered. “I have not stopped.” Glorfindel opened his eyes. “Is it possible that you might forgive me for what I have done?” “Let us not talk about that,” Lindir murmured, tucking his head beneath Glorfindel’s chin and wrapping his arms about the Elda’s waist. There was a moment of strangely comforting silence, and then Lindir spoke. “When Gildor returned from the war and it looked as if he would die, Erestor said something to you. He said you brought me back. What did he mean?” Glorfindel softly drew small circles on his lover’s back as he remembered that awful day. “I struck a bargain,” he answered quietly. “What sort of bargain, and with whom?” Lindir asked. “With Namó,” Glorfindel replied. “I asked him to release you to me, to let you come back to your body so that we could be together.” Lindir blinked and held his breath for a second. “What was the price?” he finally whispered. “Your life for another’s in the future. He said that one day someone else I cared for would fall, and he would not be able to release that fëa to me. He said he could only do it once.” Lindir pulled back and looked into Glorfindel’s eyes. “And you chose me? Glorfindel, what if it is Elrond, or Gildor, or Erestor?” Glorfindel smiled sadly. “How am I to choose which life is more valuable? How can one calculate the value of a life? All I knew was that I could not lose you – that I needed you back. I could not let you go.” “I hope it is a decision that you never regret,” Lindir murmured. “Never, sparrow; I will never regret it.” Glorfindel slid his hand behind Lindir’s neck and drew him into a kiss. * * * * Erestor sighed; his fingers slowly released the sheets as warmth flooded his limbs. He smiled lazily and slowly blinked as Gildor’s lips caressed his sweat-slicked back. He trembled then laughed softly as his lover’s fingertips trailed down his sides with a whisper-soft touch. “That tickles,” he murmured, his voice partially muffled by the pillow. “Mmm… I know,” Gildor purred, his mouth following one of his hands and leaving a wet trail down Erestor’s left side. “We are a mess.” “Yes, we are, my love. A sweaty, sticky, delicious mess.” Erestor chuckled. “You have made me late for my duties again.” “It was my pleasure, if not my duty,” Gildor replied huskily. “And you? What shall you do this day, my wicked lover?” He moaned softly as his lover’s length slipped from his body. “I shall take you into the bath, make sure you are presentable for your duties this day, take Gwathel out for a long walk, and then report to Glorfindel.” “Are you sure you are ready?” “Erestor.” “I know, I am sorry. I only worry out of love.” Gildor smiled. “I know, and you are dear to do so, but I would prefer it if you expended your energy in other ways.” “Such as?” Erestor whispered as Gildor rose from his back and rolled him over. “I think Glorfindel needs your help,” Gildor answered, coming to rest between Erestor’s legs and propping himself up on his elbows. Erestor frowned. “What do you mean?” Gildor caressed Erestor’s face with the backs of his hands. “The ending of his relationship with Lindir has wounded him. He needs someone to talk to.” “Why do you not talk to him?” “Because, I know not what to say about these things. I have never been good at counseling others in matters of the heart.” Gildor raised an eyebrow. “Are the two of you quarreling?” “No… not at all.” “Then I think you should talk to him, and to Lindir for that matter.” Erestor closed his eyes. “I am not so sure that is a good idea. Thranduil and Lindir have become close friends. Would the prince not be a good confidant for Lindir?” Gildor sighed. “I suppose so. But you must talk with Glorfindel, the two of you have always been close and he truly does need someone to confide in.” “All right, I will do as you ask,” Erestor murmured. Gildor took Erestor’s face in his hands. “Thank you, my love,” he answered softly before kissing his lover again. “Now, ‘tis time we departed the bed.” He rose and pulled Erestor with him, then entered the bathing chamber and prepared a warm bath. * * * * Erestor caught movement out of the corner of his eye and saw Glorfindel standing in the doorway of the library with Lindir. They were talking quietly, and then Glorfindel reached out and touched Lindir’s face, smiled, and drew the minstrel in for a soft kiss. As the Elda turned to walk away, Erestor quickly returned his attention to the ledger in front of him. “I beg your pardon for being so late,” Lindir said quietly as he entered the office that he shared with Erestor. “How is your leg?” Erestor asked, looking up from his work. “Much better, thank you. It was foolish of me to overtax it so; I hope the prince has stopped blaming himself for my poor judgment.” Lindir took a seat on his side of the doublewide desk and retrieved the task list for the day. “He was merely worried about you,” Erestor answered. “You two have grown quite close, yes?” “We are friends, good friends, I hope.” “He is very fond of you.” “And I of him.” “Would you like some tea? I was just preparing to hail Nessa for a fresh pot.” “Yes, please.” “Lindir?” Lindir looked up at Erestor. “Yes?” “I know that things have been . . . awkward as of late. I want you to know that I care deeply for you and I am most profoundly sorry for having caused you any pain.” Lindir looked at Erestor thoughtfully for a moment; it was the first time they had spoken of what had happened between his lover and his good friend. “I know you would never willingly hurt me, or anyone else for that matter. Let us put it behind us, shall we?” While Lindir’s words were kind, Erestor saw the pain in his eyes; he wondered if they would ever again have the easy rapport they once had. He nodded and rose from the desk, crossing the room and pulling a soft rope to hail the kitchen staff. To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 28/? 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 tells Lindir of the plans for his future; Erestor and Glorfindel have a confrontation; the prince returns to Greenwood. Lindir stood next to Thranduil, slowly moving the thin baton back and forth, keeping rhythm as the prince fingered the harp strings. His eyes were closed and he let the music take him away to a place where things like deception did not exist. A smile curved his lips until the prince struck a sour note, then he chuckled as Thranduil cursed and immediately began to apologize. “’Tis a part of learning. One cannot always do everything correctly,” he said softly. Thranduil shook his head. “I am not altogether sure I am suited for this,” he said, a sheepish grin curving his lips. Lindir patted the prince on the shoulder. “It is not the outcome but the effort that matters, my prince. I think that is enough for this day.” “More than enough, if that last note is any indication,” Thranduil murmured, a grin on his face as he reached for a soft cloth to wipe down the harp. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly. “Much better, thank you for asking. I did quite enjoy our walk, though I am most embarrassed and regretful that you had to bear me home on your back.” Thranduil stood and smiled. “It was no hardship…” Lindir cocked an eyebrow. “I beg to differ, that was a very long climb.” “But the journey concluded with a downhill stroll; I was fully recovered by the time we reached the house.” Lindir grinned. “Indeed…” Thranduil snorted. “All right, not completely recovered, but close enough. It was good exercise for me.” Lindir noted the far away look in the Sinda’s eye. “Is all well? You seem distracted.” “I received word from home yesterday.” “Is everything all right?” Lindir asked, placing his hand upon the prince’s arm. “Yes, yes, everything is fine.” Thranduil placed the cloth next to the stool and looked at Lindir. “My parents have chosen a mate for me.” Lindir tried to hide the look of shock on his face, but was not successful. “It is a strange custom I know, but one my kin holds to. My intended is a distant cousin to my mother on her mother’s side. She is a fair elleth who is kind and wise despite her lack of years.” “You know her?” “Aye, in passing. My parents believe that she will make a fine queen and mother one day.” “Do you wish to have elflings?” “It is not something I have given a great deal of thought to, largely because it is something expected of me, so what I want is secondary to that.” “How do you feel about this?” “My wishes will always be secondary to my duty, Lindir; it is the price I pay for who I am. I had hoped that our friendship would become more in time, but that is an unfair expectation when I am to be betrothed upon my return to Greenwood.” Lindir nodded. “We will always be dear friends, Thranduil. Know that I will always be here should you need anything.” Thranduil smiled and drew Lindir into an embrace. “Your friendship will be a comfort to me in the days to come,” he said softly. Lindir smiled and leaned his head upon the prince’s shoulder. “I wish you all the happiness in the world.” “And I you,” Thranduil replied, giving his friend a gentle squeeze. * * * * Erestor paused to speak with Gildor on the training field. His lover was supervising archery training as a way to ease back into his duties as a warrior. Erestor was armed with a basket containing lunch for Gildor and Glorfindel as he entered the barracks, and he quickly found Glorfindel’s office. The Elda sat behind a desk, going over training and equipment rosters; by the expression on his face, it was one of his least favorite duties. “I can see you are enjoying yourself,” Erestor said as he stood in the doorway. Glorfindel looked up from his work and smiled in relief. “I have never liked this, which is why it has been Gildor’s duty for so long.” “Why do you not have Gildor perform it now?” “I think he has been indoors long enough.” He stood and set the paperwork aside. “What do you have there?” “The midday meal, for both you and Gildor,” Erestor answered, setting the basket on the corner of Glorfindel’s desk. “Do you mind if I sit?” “Not at all,” Glorfindel returned, motioning to a large chair across his desk. “How are things with you and Lindir?” Erestor asked, avoiding the Elda’s gaze by focusing on smoothing his robes. “Better. Has Lindir spoken with you?” “No, it is a difficult subject for us to discuss.” “Of course. And how are you and Gildor?” Erestor looked up at Glorfindel. “He does not know what happened between us, and that is how I would have it remain.” “Agreed. No sense in him knowing if…” “I am not leaving him, Glorfindel, not now, not ever. I love him, he has been too good to me for…” Glorfindel held up his hand. “You need not tell me, Erestor. I have accepted that you and I will never be together, and I hope you know me well enough to know that I would never do anything to hurt Gildor.” Erestor lowered his gaze and sighed. “Of course I do. Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that you would do otherwise.” “This is how things are going to be between us? The two of us always dancing around one another, carefully choosing our words, carefully avoiding any physical contact, carefully being friends?” “How can it be any other way?” Erestor asked quietly. “Regardless of my choice, there is still a large part of me that loves you so much I can barely breathe…” “How is this right, Erestor? How is it right that you and I each deny ourselves the other and pretend that all is well? How is this fair to Lindir and Gildor?” “It is easy for you to say that; Lindir knows the truth, Gildor does not. How is it right for me to return all his love, devotion, and kindness with betrayal and hurt?” “It is not fair… “Life is not fair, Glorfindel, that is something I learned long ago. I will honor the love, faith, and trust Gildor has placed in me by being his faithful lover from this day forward. How can I do any less?” “So you deny yourself, and me, true happiness out of honor?” “I love him, that is no lie.” “And I love Lindir, but not like I love you.” “No more!” Erestor barked as he rose from his chair. “If you continue with this, we will not even be able to be friends.” Glorfindel lowered his head. “Forgive me for being selfish; I guess I am not as strong as you are.” Erestor sighed. “Perhaps you are stronger seeing as you are so willing to face the truth, but that is of no matter now. Things are as they are.” He turned and walked away, returning to the house as quickly as possible. * * * * Winter came and went, and Thranduil’s training progressed quickly. When the time came to leave Imladris, he was skilled with not only the bow and lance, but also with the sword; Glorfindel had made the prince into a deadly warrior. Elrond’s tutelage also prepared Thranduil for what might one day be his role as king; the Sinda was on the road to becoming a skilled negotiator and wise ruler. Lindir had seen to it that the prince was as cultured as he was schooled in politics and trained in war craft. Gildor jokingly said that perhaps they should bill Imladris as a school for future leaders. As for Gildor, he had returned to duty as Glorfindel’s second and had begun leading patrols of Imladris’ borders. Now that Sauron was banished to the east, an uneasy peace had fallen on Elvendom and the western lands were free of evil men and orcs. Lindir and Glorfindel reconciled, and the minstrel moved back into Glorfindel’s chambers. On the surface, things were as they had been before the war. Lindir stood beside the prince’s horse, softly speaking with him as they awaited his escort. Glorfindel emerged from the stable leading his stallion, approaching Lindir and giving his lover a kiss before mounting his horse. “Have a safe journey,” Lindir said softly, giving Glorfindel’s knee a squeeze before backing away. “I shall be home within the month,” Glorfindel answered. Thranduil raised his hand in farewell to Elrond, cast one more smile at Lindir, then they turned and galloped out of the courtyard. To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 29/? 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: Time goes on, war comes to Middle-earth again, and Lindir has a talk with Erestor. The years marched on as Glorfindel and Lindir, and Erestor and Gildor lived uneventful lives. Erestor remained dedicated to Gildor, pushing his love for Glorfindel deep inside to some inaccessible place where he could keep it hidden. Glorfindel did the same, numbing himself to the ache in his heart and finding solace and comfort in Lindir’s generous arms. Lindir chose to live the lie because it was easier than living the truth, and Gildor waited for the inevitable, keeping what he knew in his heart to himself. Heartbreak came in the form of Gwathel’s passing. Erestor’s faithful companion and good friend finally succumbed to time, her brave spirit departing her form in her sleep one night. Gildor helped Erestor bury her remains in the woods where they so often walked. Erestor remarked that he was glad that her heart gave out before her body, and that her last days were spent walking in the woods she loved and playing with her family. Thranduil and Lindir’s friendship endured through letters passed between their realms. In them, Lindir learned of Thranduil’s long courtship of his bride to be, and their eventual wedding beneath the boughs of spruce in the northern reaches of the great wood. He wrote a song for the auspicious event, which was performed by Greenwood’s renowned flutists. His friend became a father as the princess gave birth to a son. His name was Legolas, a good name for a woodland prince. Lindir could not help but wonder how things might have been if Thranduil had come to him at a different time, under different circumstances. He wrote another song, this one for the elfling prince, one that Thranduil said caused Legolas to smile and coo when his mother sang it to him. Lindir promised to visit Greenwood, someday. Centuries of peace in the western lands caused complacency to set in amongst all Imladris’ residents except one. Despite the long, uneventful years, Elrond still felt the presence of Sauron’s evil. Rumors of unrest were coming from Nûmenor; the great citizenry of men was dividing. There were those known as “Elf-friends” who maintained their ties of friendship with the Firstborn, despite the risk of persecution from their rulers, and they somehow found a way to maintain communication with Círdan and the Elves of the Grey Havens. Ar-Pharazôn took Sauron prisoner and held him in Nûmenor, which was of great concern to all the elves in Middle-earth. Sometime before this, dark creatures were seen in the Northern Wastes. It was said that they were Nazgûl, the men corrupted by Sauron when they accepted the Nine Rings of Power, devices made by the Dark Lord in order to ensnare the hearts and minds of men, who were now turned into shadows of what they once were. Elrond believed that Nûmenor was perched on the edge of destruction as Ar-Pharazôn’s lust for power and immortality increased. If Nûmenor were to be lost, and if the rumors of Nazgûl were true, then their hard-earned peace was about to end. Erestor entered Elrond’s chamber, to find his lord shaken. The Lord of Imladris sat in a high backed chair, his pale grey eyes gazing out of the window. He held letter loosely in his hand; it dangled from his fingers as if it were ripe to fall. “My lord?” he asked quietly. “They are dying,” Elrond murmured. “Who, my lord? Who are dying?” “The Elendili,” Elrond answered. “Sauron’s wickedness has taken hold and Ar-Pharazôn is murdering them in sacrifice to Melkor.” Erestor placed his hand over his mouth as he felt tears prick his eyes. “All that Elros brought to fruition, all that he hoped and dreamed, has fallen into darkness. He chose mortality so that he could begin a new civilization of men. I lost my twin to that dream, and now his dream is dead.” Erestor crossed the room and knelt beside Elrond’s chair, taking the letter from his lord. His fingers closed around Elrond’s hand as he softly spoke, “He will not have died in vain. We will help them as we always have done. We will shelter those who have remained true to Elros’ sacrifice.” Elrond turned his gaze to Erestor and smiled weakly. “We shall, my friend,” he answered. Glorfindel burst through the door of Elrond’s study. As Erestor looked upon his friend, he thought he had never seen him look so stunned. The Elda’s normally peaceful and warm face was transformed into a mask of shock, his breath came in sharp gasps, as he had ridden hard from the valley and ran up to his lord’s chambers from the courtyard. “War,” he breathed. “War has fallen upon Nûmenor. Ar-Pharazôn has set out to attack the Valar.” Erestor stood in shock. What would drive men to such an end? What madness had taken hold in what was such a noble place? Elrond stood beside Erestor. “How came you by this knowledge?” “The Eagles,” Glorfindel replied. “Prepare to ride to Lindon. This violence could spill upon our own shores.” Glorfindel nodded. Elrond turned to Erestor. “Make preparations to bring our people inside the circle of the mountains; we may yet be at war. Sauron never forgets his enemies.” Erestor nodded and followed his lord out of his chambers. * * * * Lindir stood with his hands tucked inside the wide sleeves of his robe. He watched with a mixture of awe and fear as Glorfindel stood beside the great bird. No words left his lover’s lips; he and the Eagle communicated without sound or voice. Lindir had seen the Eagles fly overhead many times before, and he knew of the special relationship his lover had with them, but he had never seen one so close. The massive bird inclined its head, slowly moving it a little to the left then to the right as it seemed to listen, then Glorfindel bowed his head and covered his heart, backing slowly away before the great beast took flight. Glorfindel cast one glance at his lover and smiled sadly, trying to import some sense of confidence. He then turned and made for the barracks, leaving his lover standing upon the hill. “Promise me you will be careful,” Erestor said as he helped Gildor pack clothing into a knapsack. “You know I will be,” Gildor replied, turning and collecting his quiver and bow. “You cannot come back to me half-dead again, Gildor. I do not know if I can bear it.” Gildor smiled and drew Erestor into his arms. “I am not eager to endure such again myself, my love.” He tucked a braid behind Erestor’s ear. “Your happiness is what I want most, above all else. You know this, yes?” Erestor nodded and wrapped his arms around Gildor’s waist. “I do.” “Should something happen to me…” He placed his fingers on Erestor’s lips to silence his lover’s protest. “Should something happen to me, I want you to be happy. I do not want you to wander these lands in mourning for eternity.” He smiled. “Life can be short, Erestor, despite our long years. One never knows what waits around the bend or what the future may hold. It is important to live your life in such a way that you have no regrets.” He caressed his lover’s face. “No matter what comes, I have none. My time with you has been something precious to me.” “You speak as if we will never see one another again,” Erestor whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I have the feeling that there is still much to be between you and I; but I have learned the importance of not leaving things unsaid.” He pressed their foreheads together. “Never leave anything unsaid, Erestor.” “I love you,” Erestor whispered. “And I love you,” Gildor answered. * * * * Months wore on as Erestor and Lindir awaited the return of their loved ones. Thankfully, the need for bringing Imladris’ residents back inside the circle of the mountains had not come to pass, for the war that raged in the West did not touch the lands east of the Blue Mountains. Erestor found Lindir sitting on a low chaise in the sunshine, his arms wrapped around his waist, and his clouded gaze focused on the ground. Drawing a deep breath, he sat beside his friend and tentatively placed an arm around the minstrel’s shoulders. “Why do you deny him?” Lindir asked quietly. “What?” Erestor asked in surprise. “Why do you deny him your love? We all know that the two of you love one another – even Gildor knows such.” So, it had finally come to this, after all these long years. Erestor withdrew and stood. “What have you said to Gildor, Lindir?” Lindir looked up at Erestor. “Nothing. Think you so ill of me that you believe I would meddle in what you have with him? Think you so ill of me that you believe I would hurt him with this knowledge, as Glorfindel hurt me?” Erestor swallowed. “No. No, I do not think that. I love Gildor…” “I know you do, but you are in love with Glorfindel, you always have been.” “No . . . no I am not.” “You lie.” Lindir did not flinch from Erestor’s piercing gaze. “You lie to me, to yourself, and to Gildor. If only you had lied to Glorfindel. If he did not think you loved him, it would be easier to walk away from you. Instead, he lingers near you, hiding in my love to keep from becoming a shell of what he once was, always hoping that one day you will change your mind.” “You are free enough with your love,” Erestor quipped, immediately regretting his words. Lindir laughed; it was a hollow sound. “Aye, that I am. I am shameless, if the truth be told. I am shameless and weak, because I would rather live this lie than live alone. I have not found the strength to face the truth, so I continue to hope for what will never be. I am sure it is quite pathetic, but it is all that I have.” Erestor swallowed the lump in his throat and knelt in front of Lindir, taking the minstrel’s slender hands in his own. “Valar forgive me for what I have done, but I can do nothing else. I have hurt you without ever meaning to, and if Gildor were to learn the truth…” “He will not, not from me,” Lindir murmured. “I have tried to hate you, Erestor. I have tried to place the blame for all of this squarely on your shoulders, but I cannot. I own some of the responsibility for this, we all do. Despite all, you are one of my dearest friends and though I envy you, I still love you.” Erestor gathered Lindir in his arms and held him close. “Oh, my dear, dear friend. I love you and I bear the guilt for your pain. What can I do?” “The truth needs to be told, Erestor. This must end, all of it, but I am too weak and too afraid to do it myself.” Erestor closed his eyes. “It will pass, Lindir. One day, Glorfindel will realize that he holds onto a dream; he will open his eyes and see you as he first did, as the beautiful, kind, loving soul you are, and he will forget about me. I promise this.” He held his friend close as they watched the sun slowly set. To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 30/? 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: The refugees from Nûmenor arrive, Elrond finds love, and Erestor hangs on by a thread. Their arrival was a solemn one. Gildor came first through the gates, followed by those warriors who remained loyal to Elendil even if it meant losing their lives. The eldest of the warriors clasped Gildor’s shoulders, and then led his men to the barracks where they would be housed until lodgings that were more permanent could be arranged. There were hundreds of them, loyal, brave soldiers who were now without a homeland. Elrond followed, riding between Glorfindel and Elendil; the man’s sons followed. Erestor embraced Gildor as his lover reached him, and he held on tightly. It was so good to have him home, so good to have him in his arms again. He smiled sadly at his lord, as Elrond led the men up the stairs to the Last Homely House, then watched as Lindir embraced Glorfindel. His old friend looked so tired, so downtrodden, so unlike the Elda he had known and loved these many, many years. He turned his worried gaze to Gildor as Glorfindel and Lindir departed. “How bad was it?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “The island is no more,” Gildor answered. “Galdor saw their ships coming and far off in the distance he said he could see a black cloud and smoke. A tumultuous storm approached, lashing the shores with the tallest waves he had ever seen. It was a few days before pieces of timber and cloth, and worse, began washing ashore. It was several weeks later that Isildur and Anárion came from the south. In the storm, they were driven to Pelagir.” Erestor closed his eyes and sighed. He felt Gildor’s hand on his face and he opened them again, gazing into his lover’s eyes. “The Eagles came again when it was through. Glorfindel said that they told him the sea opened up and the cliffs of the Pelóri fell, and all the men who had sailed to Aman were lost.” “What of Sauron?” “His corporeal form was destroyed with the island; the Eagles believe that his spirit has fled back to the East.” Gildor caressed Erestor’s cheek. “The best we can hope for is to hold him at bay; there is no destroying him.” “All those people who died,” Erestor murmured. “There were women and children on that island; there were those who did not choose nor seek the evil that befell them.” “They are in a better place now, my love. They are far from the darkness and hatred in this world, and for those envious and wicked who brought this doom, they will spend an eternity reaping their reward.” Erestor wrapped his arm around Gildor’s waist as they slowly climbed the stairs. “’Tis good to have you home,” he said softly. “I have missed you.” Gildor pressed a kiss to the side of Erestor’s head. “And I missed you.” * * * * Lindir helped Glorfindel out of his tunic and tossed it in the laundry basket. As his lover sat on the side of the bed, he climbed onto the mattress behind him and began removing his braids, working a brush through his golden locks once they were freed. Neither said a word; Glorfindel stared blankly at the wall, and Lindir hummed softly as he went about his work. After a few moments, Glorfindel reached up and caught the minstrel’s wrist, then turned and gently pulled Lindir to lie in his lap. He caressed his lover’s face, tracing fine cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. “You give me such comfort,” he said quietly. “Your touch can erase all the ills of the world for me.” Lindir smiled sadly. “I am sorry, Glorfindel. I know you cared deeply for the Dúnedain.” “So many of them died because of the evil of a few; so many women and children; so much smoke, fire, and death. I know what they went through; it must have been like the fall of my beloved city.” Lindir wrapped his arms around Glorfindel’s waist and pressed his head to the Elda’s stomach. “You have seen too much. You have been asked to bear too much.” Glorfindel stroked Lindir’s hair. “I chose this, sparrow, and I would choose it again.” “That is because you are brave and you seek to help those you love. It is why I love you, Glorfindel.” He bent down and kissed the crown of Lindir’s head. “And I love you, sparrow.” “Come, let me draw you a bath.” Glorfindel nodded and allowed Lindir to rise before removing the rest of his garments and following his lover into the bathing chamber. * * * * Elrond gave shelter to the men of Nûmenor for several months, allowing them time to regroup and recover from the traumatic loss of their homes and kinsmen. In the autumn of the year 3320 of the Second Age, Elendil traveled to the north where he founded the realm of Arnor; his sons, Isildur and Anárion traveled south and founded the land of Gondor. There the men of Nûmenor would keep vigil over the Dark Lord in his shadowed land. They could all feel the slow turning of the tide as Sauron gained strength again. Bolstered by the destruction of Nûmenor and many of his enemies of old, the Dark Lord refortified his desolate fortress of Mordor, and the Dark Tower. His form had been destroyed as the island collapsed in a tumult of fire, smoke, and ash, and he would never again be able to take a form that could be borne by the eyes of Men or Elves; rather, he became the physical manifestation of evil, with a great fiery eye that kept malicious watch over his land. So terrible was this visage that few could bear to look upon it; indeed, few ever survived to tell the tale. His dark borders were patrolled by orcs and rank with poisonous fumes that erupted from Orodruin. The Nazgûl withdrew to Mordor at the command of the Dark Lord, where they also grew in strength; they were Sauron’s most deadly weapons. Imladris was sheltered for a long while from the growing darkness, but the Eldar knew that war would come in time; so in secret, they prepared. Elrond communicated via messenger with Gil-galad and Círdan in the west, and Amroth, the Lord of Lórien, and Oropher in the East. He also kept communication with Elendil and his sons, and the Dwarven kings that dwelled beneath the mountains. Sauron would once again seek dominion over the earth, and they all knew that no less than a combined effort of all free peoples would be able to mount an assault on Mordor and defend their home. So, as Sauron’s power grew, Elves, Men, and Dwarves prepared for war. Lindir continued to exchange letters with Thranduil; their friendship had grown strong despite the miles between them. Each letter from the prince caused a smile to curve his lips as he read about Legolas’ latest exploits, or how he climbed his first tree. Thranduil was as proud of his son as any father could be, and it warmed Lindir’s heart to know that what begun as an arranged marriage had become such a source of joy to his friend. Other than talk of how his wife was an excellent and doting mother, the prince did not speak often of his princess. Yet, Lindir had to wonder if this was the way love was supposed to be; if real love was but a shadow of what he wrote in poetry and song. Erestor immersed himself in his daily life. His responsibilities on the council had greatly increased. He had grown into a trusted and wise advisor to Elrond; indeed, the Lord of Imladris relied on him often. He also kept in close contact with his old friend Galdor. While plans for war were never shared in missives, owing to the danger of their plans being found by Sauron’s spies, the states of their realms were often discussed. Galdor often told Erestor how proud he was of him and how he had grown into his own as an advisor. Erestor had to admit, he was proud of himself too; he had earned the right to be such. Gildor and Glorfindel increased patrols and stepped up the training of as many new recruits as they could muster. Each of them knew what was coming and they were determined to meet the challenge. The Lady Galadriel traveled to Imladris, bringing her daughter, Celebrían with her. Upon meeting Celebrían, Erestor noted he did not recall ever meeting an elleth who was so utterly disarming. She was tall, like her mother, with a generous fall of flaxen hair and large blue eyes. She had a quick wit, a gentle disposition, and wisdom that was beyond her years. Elrond was completely enamored. It gave Erestor great joy to watch the budding romance between the Lady Celebrían and his lord. Elrond deserved happiness. It was a cool spring afternoon when Erestor stepped outside onto the veranda that joined the library to get a breath of fresh air. He had been cloistered in his office since before Anor rose and his thoughts were muddled from pouring over rosters and ledgers for hours. He placed his hands upon the stone railing, breathing in the cool, fresh air and feeling Anor’s rays upon his face when he heard soft laughter, akin to bells ringing in the clear air. Celebrían ran out onto the grass, barefoot, with her gown flowing behind her and her hair billowing on the soft breeze. Laughter of a deeper timbre followed, and Erestor spied his lord following the lady into the garden. They stopped beneath an arbor draped in flowers, and he gently took her into his arms. Erestor had never, in all the years he had served his lord, seen Elrond smile like that; it caused warmth to flood his chest and tears of happiness prick at his eyes. His lord gently cupped the lady’s cheek and softly drew her in for a kiss, after which she smiled and laughed again, throwing her arms around Elrond’s neck as he lifted her into the air. “It gives one hope, does it not?” Erestor turned to find Glorfindel standing behind him. “It gives me joy to see him in love,” the Elda said quietly. “I feared I would never witness such.” “Aye, it makes me happy as well. He deserves the best that love can offer.” “We all do,” Glorfindel murmured. “When will you be leaving?” “As soon as the weather clears. We are to travel south to meet Gil-galad, Elendil, Celeborn, and Círdan, before turning east. Oropher and Amroth will ride south and meet us south of Greenwood before heading toward Gondor.” “I do not understand why I cannot come with you; you could all use my help, and Galdor will be there, will he not?” “Nay, Galdor will remain behind at Círdan’s request. He must prepare the ships at the Havens in case we do not succeed.” “What happens then?” “Then all Firstborn must flee these shores or die.” “And what of the Edain and the Dwarves?” “I imagine the Dwarves will seek shelter beneath the mountains where they will defend their homes, and the Edain will fight until there are none left standing.” Glorfindel stepped up to stand beside Erestor. “You must prepare for the worst, Erestor. If we do not return, if we do not succeed, then you must take our people and travel to Mithlond, from there you must board the ships and sail to Aman.” “What if I do not want to sail without Gildor . . . or you?” “I cannot force you to do what you will not. Nevertheless, if Gildor and I do not return, then our spirits will have already fled this earth. Perhaps, if this comes to pass, we will meet again, in Aman. If you stay, you will die a gruesome death – I could not bear that, my raven.” Erestor closed his eyes. “What have I done, Glorfindel? I have tried to do what I thought was right, but…” “You have done what you thought was right, and you have done right by Gildor. I expect nothing less from you.” “Do you still love me?” Erestor whispered. “Every day,” Glorfindel replied. Erestor felt the Elda’s hands on his shoulders, then Glorfindel kissed the top of his head and left him alone on the veranda. To be continued…