Title: Resurrection, 31/? 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 truth is known. Erestor awoke in Gildor’s arms, his cheek pressed against his lover’s chest. He listened to Gildor’s slow, steady heartbeat, and tried to concentrate on the rising and falling of Gildor’s chest as he breathed. How had things gone so awry? Glorfindel and Lindir were going through the motions as lovers; though there was no doubt that each cared deeply for the other. As for he and Gildor – his lover was devoted to him, but somehow, for some reason, he seemed to have withdrawn a little since his experience in Eregion. It was as if Gildor were waiting for Erestor to reveal how he felt about Glorfindel; indeed, it was as if Gildor were almost baiting him to do so. He cared about Gildor, of that there was no doubt, and hurting him was the last thing in the wide world he wanted to do. Gildor had always cared for him, been his friend and staunch supporter, and been a most generous and excellent lover. Despite all that he had with the warrior, he still yearned for Glorfindel’s arms, for his lips, for the taste of him, the smell of him. ‘I am truly wretched,’ he thought to himself, even as his fingers softly caressed his lover’s chest. The warriors of Imladris would leave that afternoon to travel to Mordor, and Erestor did not know if he would ever see any of them again. He had come across Celebrían in the garden a few days prior; she was clearly worried, but despite her fear, she put on a brave face. Galadriel had returned to Lindon, to bid farewell to her husband before he rode off to war. She had tried to convince Celebrían to go with her, to await their fate in the Havens, but Celebrían, being of like mind and strength, refused; she wanted to wait for Elrond in Imladris. Erestor had taken it upon himself to befriend the lady; indeed, it was no hardship. She was bright, witty, and most interesting to talk to, so he had encouraged her to spend time with him and Lindir in the library. Gildor stirred beneath him, drawing a deep breath, then slowly blinking as he woke. A slow smile curved the warrior’s lips and he drew his hand down Erestor’s back, bringing it to rest upon the curve of his buttocks. Giving them a gentle squeeze, he murmured, “Good morn, my love.” Erestor placed a kiss upon his lover’s chest. “Good morn, my warrior.” “Mmm… I am not feeling much like a warrior this morn, given the treatment you bestowed upon me last night.” Erestor smiled and chuckled softly. “Aye, I rode you right well, did I not?” Gildor laughed. “Indeed you did, my lusty librarian, indeed you did.” Erestor laughed aloud. “Ai, Gildor, you always know just what to say to make me laugh.” “That is because your laughter lightens my heart, Erestor, and I aim to bring pleasure to myself with it,” Gildor murmured into his lover’s hair. “I love you, Gildor.” “And I love you, Erestor.” Gildor bestowed a smack upon Erestor’s bare bottom. “Come, you wicked elf, we need a bath and there is much to do.” “Can we not stay here, forever?” “I fear that love alone will not sustain us, as tempting as that is.” Gildor tilted Erestor’s chin up so their eyes met. “I know you are afraid, I am as well. Nevertheless, we have no choice left, Erestor. We cannot abandon all hope. Elrond knows of a way to destroy him, and we must try.” Erestor nodded. “I only wish I could go with you.” “I will fight much better knowing you are here, safe.” “But I will not sleep for worry of you.” “Ah, but sleep is where we can meet, my love; in dreams we can be together even if we cannot be in body.” Erestor took Gildor’s face in his hands. “I do not know what I have done to deserve so rich and full a love.” Gildor slid his hand around the back of Erestor’s neck. “You are you. You need do nor be anything else.” He drew his lover down into a kiss. * * * * The house was bustling with activity. The kitchen staff was rushing to and from the pantries, stocking the wagons with provisions to get the regiments as far as Gondor. Gildor was supervising the loading of weapons stock while Glorfindel and Erestor were in council chambers with Elrond. Lindir managed the loading of goods, checking items off his list as they were placed into the wagons: supplies of water, miruvor, tea, lembas, dried fruits and meats, tents, pots, lanterns, small tables with folding legs that Erestor had designed, maps, parchment, quills, ink pots, everything that they might need to set up camp for extended periods of time. It was like overseeing the moving of a small city. It was when he and Nestagar took inventory of supplies for the infirmary that reality set in. There were surgical tools, bandages, small folding cots of similar design to Erestor’s tables, various herbs to ward off infection and to provide anesthetization; all these things and more would probably be needed before it was done. Fully two-thirds of Elrond’s healing staff, the best trained and most experience healers in all of Elvendom, would travel with the army, leaving behind only enough healers to tend to whatever bumps, bruises, or possible births might occur in the Hidden Valley. Elrond and his advisors emerged from the chamber, and he found Celebrían waiting for him on a small bench in the corridor. Without a word, he took her hand and led her away, as the rest of the council dispersed. Erestor and Glorfindel stood near the doorway to the chamber as the others left. Glorfindel drew a deep breath and released it. “The time has come,” he said softly. “He will fall, or we will.” Erestor reached out and clasped Glorfindel’s hand tightly. “Please, do not say it like that.” Glorfindel smiled wanly and turned to face Erestor. “You have changed so much over these long years, Erestor. You have grown into your own and I am so proud of you. I remember the first time we spoke, in the healing tents, remember?” “Aye, I remember,” Erestor whispered, his voice thick with unshed tears. “You were so lost, so unsure of yourself and what was to come. Now look at you – you designed this house, you have built the finest library in all of Elvendom, and you have become Lord Elrond’s most trusted advisor. I knew when I first saw you that you would accomplish great things…” “Stop it. Stop saying goodbye. You are coming back; you have to come back.” “I wish to leave nothing unsaid, my raven.” “Then say what I long to hear, my lion,” Erestor whispered. “I have loved you these many years, though I could not prove that to you in the way you needed me to. I love you now and will always love you. You are the keeper of my heart,” Glorfindel whispered. Erestor squeezed Glorfindel’s hand. “By the Valar, how I love you, Glorfindel. I have loved you since I first saw your smile and heard your laugh. I have been so foolish, so cowardly; I let you go when I should have fought for you. I withheld my heart when I should have given it freely. For that I will always feel regret, but for loving you, I shall feel none, and I shall love you until I draw my last breath.” Erestor turned to look into Glorfindel’s eyes then he reached up and touched the warrior’s face. “If you die, then I die, how that happens is unimportant.” He gasped quietly as Glorfindel swept him into his arms and kissed him deeply. They embraced, their mouths moving against one another, trying to convey all that they felt in that kiss. Gildor withdrew around the corner before he was seen. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall, he felt his heart sink. He had known all along; he had known that Erestor loved Glorfindel since the day Lindir was attacked. He knew it when he made love to him the first time, and he had known it every day since. Now, what he knew in his heart to be true was proved in the seeing. He felt no malice toward Erestor; they had promised one another long ago that friendship would always come first. What he felt was regret for not trying to do something to put them together. That cold autumn afternoon, he made a solemn promise: he would protect Glorfindel with his life, he would see that the Elda returned to be with Erestor, even if that meant he did not. He loved them both so much. He turned and trod silently down the hallway, descending the stairs and making for the courtyard. * * * * Lindir had to take but one look at Gildor to know what the warrior was feeling. The look in the Noldo’s eye was one that had stared back at him in the mirror for many long years now. He walked toward Gildor slowly, trying to think of what to say – what was there to say? As he reached the warrior, he opted to say nothing; instead, he placed a supportive hand upon the warrior’s arm and just looked at him. Ah, there it was. As Gildor looked into Lindir’s eyes, he recognized that expression of calm acceptance that things were not as one would have them be and never would be that way. Gildor knew that the minstrel felt what he felt, knew what he knew. “How did we get to this place?” he asked quietly. “By following our hearts,” Lindir answered. “It is not something I have done before.” “Nor I. But just because our hearts led us astray this time, does not mean they always will.” Gildor tucked a braid behind Lindir’s ear. “How did you become so wise?” Lindir smiled sadly. “By having my heart broken.” Gildor drew the minstrel into his arms and held him tight. “We will get through this, Lindir. That I promise.” “Aye,” Lindir murmured into Gildor’s ear. “We will get each other through this.” To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 32/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond/Celebrian, 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 and Third Ages. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Tearful goodbyes and the long road to war. Elrond held Celebrían in his arms as he stared at the warm glow of Anor’s rays upon the tops of the Misty Mountains. “You know what to do,” he said softly. She nodded. “But I will not leave this place until I know beyond doubt that you are lost to me.” “You will be safe here, my love,” Elrond whispered. “I know,” she answered. “I am going to worry about you.” Elrond smiled sadly. “I would not dream of trying to dissuade you.” Celebrían laughed. “You know me well.” “And I love you well,” Elrond responded, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Upon my return, I am going to ask your parents for permission to bond with you.” Celebrían smiled. “You had better do just that. I have not invested all this time in wooing you to have my plans fail now.” Elrond laughed aloud. “Oh, my love, you do know how to speak your mind.” Celebrían giggled. “I get that from my father.” “Aye that you do. I look forward to that day, when our bodies as well as our hearts can be as one.” Celebrían looked into Elrond’s pale grey eyes. “I do wish you were not so noble sometimes, but then, if you were not, you would not be the one I love.” She caressed his cheek. “We will have three children, two sons and a daughter, I predict.” “Foresight comes in most handy during times like this, no?” Elrond grinned. Celebrían laughed and playfully pushed at his shoulder. “Do not make light of my wisdom, Master Elrond.” “I would never dream of doing such a thing, my love. Two sons and a daughter sounds perfect; I will have two to mentor and one to dote upon.” “You will spoil her, I can tell that already.” “That is what fathers are supposed to do, spoil their daughters. You should know this.” “Are you implying that I am spoiled?” Celebrían asked with a smile. “I am implying that you are your father’s daughter, and a most beautiful, wise, and witty daughter at that.” “There is no use in me telling you to be careful, for I know you will be. That is what I love most about you, Elrond, your wisdom and your love of your people.” “I have many reasons to want to return home, not the least of which is to bond with you,” he said softly, pressing their foreheads together. “I will miss you,” Celebrían whispered, her eyes closed. “And I will miss you,” Elrond replied quietly before canting his head and leaning in for a kiss. * * * * Gildor watched Erestor descend the stairs toward the courtyard. So many times he had witnessed that same sight, only this time he was wide awake for the first time in nearly an age. He took note of the way the counselor’s hair seemed to almost float around his shoulders, of the deep crease in between his eyes that came out when he frowned, and of the careful and deliberate way he moved, as though each step were controlled. His lover approached him and he took him in his arms without hesitation. He held Erestor close and whispered into his ear. “Promise me something.” “Anything.” “That if I do not return, you will go on and live a happy life.” Erestor swallowed. “I promise.” “And if I do return, that you will go on and live a happy life.” Erestor frowned and drew back, opening his mouth to question his lover when the horn blew. “I love you, Erestor,” Gildor murmured. “I have always loved you in one way or another. Nothing in all of Arda will change that.” He then took Erestor’s face in his hands and kissed him soundly before turning and mounting his horse. * * * * Lindir clung tightly to Glorfindel. “Take good care of yourself,” he said softly. “Take no unnecessary risks.” Glorfindel squeezed his lover tightly. “I will, sparrow,” he replied. “And you take care of yourself.” “I will miss you.” “And I will miss you. I love you, Lindir.” “I love you, Glorfindel.” Lindir drew away, accepting one last kiss from his beloved warrior before watching him mount his stallion and lead the procession out of the gates. Erestor stood clasping his own elbows tightly as he watched Gildor ride away. His lover turned once, casting one last long glance at him. Erestor blew him a kiss and saw Gildor smile, and then his lover turned his back and passed through the gate. He had no way of knowing it would be the last time he would see him for over ten years. He felt one hand upon his back and another upon his arm. He found Lindir on his left and Celebrían on his right. He took each of their hands and held them tight. It was left to the three of them to keep the Last Homely House until their beloveds returned. * * * * Gildor patted his breast pocket; in it, he held a letter from Lindir to Thranduil. He had promised his friend he would deliver it upon meeting the Greenwood warriors on the way to Gondor. “What lies ahead of us, none of us know,” Glorfindel said quietly as his stallion settled in beside Gildor’s mare. “Is that not always how life is?” Gildor asked quietly. He turned and looked at his best friend. “So here we are again, my friend, riding to war.” “We have been here too many times,” Glorfindel replied. “Perhaps this will be the last.” He turned his eyes to the trail ahead. “I yet have hope.” “That is what I hold most dear about you, my friend; you always have hope to spare.” Gildor smiled. “Someone must.” “We are fortunate that you are on our side, Gildor,” Elrond said as he joined the two warriors. Gildor smiled. “I could be on no other, my lord.” He reached down and rubbed his mare’s neck. “So, we best get this battle over with. I doubt the Lady Celebrían will have much patience with us if we do not bring you home quickly.” Glorfindel chuckled and nodded. “Aye, I am not sure who she takes after most, her mother or her father.” “Both are fine elves,” Elrond responded with a grin. “And it is wise of both of you to recognize her determination, for she will one day be your lady.” “A finer lady we could not dare wish for,” Glorfindel responded with a smile. “Nor a more beautiful one,” Gildor added. He grinned then snorted. “Who I feel sorry for is Erestor and Lindir, for they will have to keep her distracted until we return.” “I dare say she will have taken over the household before then,” Glorfindel added with a grin. Elrond laughed. “And I predict that Erestor’s hair will be white and Lindir will be bald.” All three elves laughed aloud as some of the warriors began to sing an old song that once came from the Edain. * * * * Thranduil stood on the low rise of a hill watching Anor set across the valley. The elves from Lindon and the Dúnedain from Arnor had already arrived, and they awaited the coming of Amroth and Elrond’s regiments. He had never seen such an impressive display of men and elves at arms. He worried for his own people. For whatever reason, his father and Amroth had both turned down offers of heavy armor from Gil-galad and Elrond, so the Silvan warriors would have no body protection such as that of the Noldor and Sindar from the west, or the men of the north. This would be open warfare, conducted on an exposed battle plain; it was nothing like what they were accustomed to. The Greenwood and Lórien Elves were archers, comfortable with having the cover of trees and shrubs, they were used to fighting from a distance, not doing combat in the open. He could only hope that when plans were laid for assault, these things would be taken into consideration. Upon his return from Imladris, he had taken charge of training Greenwood’s warriors in close combat, and sharpening their skill with the lance and sword, yet still their forte was archery, and he was unsure how any of them would react when they were exposed and fighting face to face with the most fearsome beasts of Sauron’s creation. His parting with his wife and son had been painful. Legolas had put on a brave face for one so young, but Thranduil could feel the fear in his son’s body as they embraced the last time. He promised Legolas he would return, and then he placed one final kiss upon his wife’s damp cheek. His mother had sworn to look after them for him, and he knew she would; but it was the first time he would sleep in a bed without his wife and child since the day Legolas was born. He could not help but worry about them. He spotted dust upon the horizon, and his sharp eyes spied the tip of Elrond’s standard as they entered the narrow pass. He whistled to his second, who passed the word on. It was time to ride to war. To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 33/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond/Celebrían, 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 and Third Ages. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Oropher falls and those left at home worry for their loved ones; a homecoming in Greenwood. "You are bleeding," Glorfindel said softly as he knelt beside Thranduil. The prince's hand was bloody - the Valar only knew how many arrows had left his bow that day. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, then reached for his flask. He poured water over the prince's hand and then began bandaging it. "I cannot believe it," Thranduil said, staring vacantly into the darkness. "Why?" Glorfindel shook his head. "I know not why, my prince, I only know that my heart grieves alongside your own." "Foolish, stubborn elf," Thranduil murmured. "He never listened, he never heeded anyone's advice..." "Your father was proud, and he had a right to be. He proved himself long ago." "That pride has put him in a shallow, murky grave and has left me to lead what remains of our warriors." Glorfindel placed his hand upon Thranduil's shoulder. "You are king now, but tonight you can still be just a son who grieves his father. Use this time to grieve, my lord, and tomorrow, we will stand beside you as king." He made to rise when Thranduil caught his wrist. "I do not want to be alone." "Then I shall stay with you, my lord," Glorfindel replied, and then sat down on the ground next to Thranduil. * * * * At first, they received regular word of the progress of the Last Alliance, but as the siege intensified, it became increasingly difficult for messengers to ride the dangerous routes between Gondor, Lórien, Lindon, and Imladris. Erestor kept communications open between himself and his peers in the other Elven colonies, and deep inside the lower levels of the Last Homely House, stores were already prepared in case they needed to evacuate. Celebrían had taken over the everyday duties of running the household, leaving Erestor free to spend his time on political matters; Lindir in turn, took over the running of the library while Erestor was otherwise occupied. They all tried to assure that things went on as if there were no war waging in the East: gardens and flocks were tended, laundry was done, chambers were cleaned, and manuscripts were copied. On the surface, it was as if nothing were different. One day, Erestor appeared in the doorway to his office in the library, holding a post in his hand and looking pale. Lindir set down his quill, his hands beginning to tremble as he looked into Erestor's eyes. "Who?" he asked, knowing someone had fallen. "Oropher," Erestor replied softly. "Along with nearly two- thirds of the Greenwood regiment. He broke ranks with his warriors and led a charge upon the gate. They were turned back and driven into the marshes where they were slaughtered." Lindir dug his fingers into the desktop. "And Thranduil?" "He survives. He was leading the archers on a nearby hill, providing cover for the front line. It was not in vain, the attack allowed the Alliance to break the gates; they have entered Mordor." Lindir placed his hand over his heart and murmured a soft thanks to the Valar, then immediately he felt pain for his friend. "Dear Thranduil," he whispered. "And Glorfindel must be greatly grieved." "Aye, they were close; I am sure he feels the loss most acutely. We can only pray that Oropher will be the last to fall, but my heart tells me it will be otherwise." "So many have already fallen," Lindir murmured. "Celebrían has suggested a vigil this eve. Would you compose something for it?" "Of course. I will do my best to honor those who have died for us." Erestor nodded. "It will be fitting and beautiful; I am sure of it." He turned and left Lindir to his work, his own heart torn between relief that it was none of their own kindred and sorrow for the folk of Greenwood. * * * * Ten years. It was an interminably long time to wait when one was in love. As the frequency of letters from the front decreased, worry for their friends and loved ones increased. It was a stormy day when Erestor received the last post he would receive from the East. Dark clouds were hugging the mountaintops and a cold wind blew snow from their peaks. Slowly, he broke the wax seal that bore Elrond's insignia, then he opened the letter and read. Celebrían and Lindir both sat across the table from him; they both held letters in their hands, and two more lay on the table in front of Erestor; one bore Glorfindel's insignia, and the other bore Gildor's. However, the date on these three was earlier than the one Erestor held, so they all feared to open them until they knew the ultimate fate of the battle. A change had come; they all felt it. Whether it was ill or no, they could not decide, but they knew that it was spelled out in the letter Erestor held. They watched as his expression clouded and tears welled in his eyes. Celebrían reached for Lindir's hand beneath the table and squeezed it; Lindir felt his heart stop in his chest. "The battle is done," Erestor said softly. "Sauron has been defeated but not destroyed; his tower has suffered great damage but the foundation remains." He drew a deep breath and continued. "Elrond, Celeborn, Thranduil, Círdan, and Amroth survive, as do Glorfindel, Gildor, and Isildur, Son of Elendil. However, Elendil, Anárion, Amdír and Gil-galad have fallen." Lindir and Celebrían both gasped and clasped their mouths. "Our king has fallen," Erestor said so softly that his voice was barely a whisper. "They will return via the road from Gondor. Elrond will accompany Gil-galad's body back to Lindon, where there will be a state funeral. He requests that we join him; Gildor will provide us with an escort upon his return. Glorfindel will accompany Elrond to Lindon, then return with him to Imladris after the funeral rites." Lindir closed his eyes and murmured a prayer to the Valar for all the lost yet valiant souls who had perished. "We will sing their souls to the heavens this night," Celebrían whispered, "then we will prepare to welcome our warriors home." Erestor nodded then watched as they departed the council chamber hand in hand. As the door closed behind them, he picked up two letters addressed to him personally: one was from Glorfindel, and one was from Gildor. He opened the letter from Gildor first: "My dearest Erestor, It is with sadness that I write this letter. I have witnessed our king's fall and the weakness that resides in men's hearts. I am returning to you soon and will take you, Lindir, and Celebrían to Lindon where our king will be buried. This has been my last battle; I find I have no more stomach for death or for war. I look forward to seeing you upon my return. Knowing you have been safe has sustained me through many a long, cold night. With love, Gildor" Erestor wiped at the tears that were falling down his cheeks. Gildor sounded so broken, so tired, hopeless. It broke his heart to read those words upon the page. He sat for a long while, staring into the gathering darkness, then he lit a small lantern and opened Glorfindel's letter. "My raven, So many good souls have left this earth in these long years. I know now what Namó meant so many years ago when he told me that Lindir's life was in exchange for another; Gil-galad has fallen and I was powerless to prevent it or to bring him back. Were it not for Gildor, I would not be writing this letter, for your lover risked his life more than once to safeguard mine and his friendship has kept me strong in the face of what seemed to be insurmountable odds. I am forever in his debt. My words to you upon my departure have never been more true than they are in this moment - I love you, with all of my heart; but I cannot be the cause of pain for Gildor, I cannot betray his trust and his friendship. I know not how I will be able to be near you and love you so much, but I cannot hurt him. I understand what you said to me when we last talked of this; I understand now why you stood by him and denied yourself, and me, the easier comfort of our love. I will see you again soon, and that brings me joy; but I will never again succumb to the temptation of holding you in my arms. I hope this letter finds you hale, even if grieved. I look forward to seeing you soon. Glorfindel" Erestor laid the letter down, and then laid his head upon his folded arms. Tears flowed freely from his eyes even as he thanked the Valar that so many he cared about still lived. * * * * Thranduil rode into the glade where his people had lived for years uncounted. His mother, who was pale in her grief, stood beside his wife, and there between them was his son. Legolas had grown so much; he was tall, and fair. He was no longer the impish, wavy-haired elfling who had called him ada and clung to his neck before he left. He was a tall, elegant prince, with hair straight as an arrow and as golden as the summer sun. Legolas smiled and called, "Adar!" then left his mother's side, running toward him. He quickly dismounted and took his son up in his arms. He no longer needed to stoop to look into his eyes, he need only look down; Legolas reached his shoulder, he was so tall. "Oh, my Greenleaf," he murmured, holding tight to his son. "I have missed you." "I am so glad you returned," Legolas breathed. "I told everyone you would; I told them you promised." He reached out and his wife stepped forward, taking his hand and joining in the embrace. "Welcome home, my husband," she said softly. "We have missed you." He held on to both of them for a long time; it did not seem real after all he had been through. Was it possible that his home was unchanged? Nay, it had changed. It looked the same but its people did not. They were pale and weary from grief and waiting, and they looked worried about their uncertain future. He released his wife and child, and then strode to where his mother stood. He took her frail form in his arms and held her gently. "I am sorry, Naneth," he whispered. "I tried to save him..." "I know you did, my son," she replied. He held her long as tears fell from his eyes. He may be king now, but a grieving son still needed his mother. To be continued... Title: Resurrection, 34/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond/Celebrían, 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 and Third Ages. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: The truth is spoken; a new age dawns. “Gildor!” Erestor cried as he ran down the steps. His lover caught him in his arms and held him tightly. “I am so glad you are home,” he whispered, showering the warrior with kisses. “I missed you,” Gildor said softly, holding Erestor close. He knew he would have to let him go, but he did not have to just yet. “I am sorry,” Erestor murmured. “I know how much he meant to you.” Gildor made no reply, he merely nodded and buried his face in Erestor’s hair. “Come, you have traveled long and must be weary.” Erestor took Gildor by the hand and led him up the stairs toward their chambers. * * * * Glorfindel entered Elrond’s old chamber to find his lord standing on the balcony, his gaze turned westward. “’Tis strange to be back in Lindon after so many years,” Elrond murmured. “I only wish it were under happier circumstances.” “Aye,” Glorfindel agreed. “My old rooms look just as they did when we once lived here, long ago.” He stepped forward and placed his hand upon Elrond’s back. “You should have left me; you might have saved him.” Glorfindel closed his eyes. “My sworn duty is to protect you; you know this.” “And mine was to serve him. I ordered you to go to his side, yet you disobeyed me.” “You were quickly becoming surrounded, I could not leave you unprotected.” “And now our king is dead.” “You blame me.” Elrond closed his eyes and sighed. After a moment, he answered. “No. No, I do not; forgive me, my friend. I am angry and I have no one left to be angry with. Isildur has taken that cursed Ring with him to Gondor despite all good council and warnings to the contrary; the Dark Lord is beyond the reach of my sword; and I can find no more orcs to kill. I suppose I am now lashing out at whomever I can reach.” Glorfindel nodded. “Then take your anger out on me, my lord. I shall bear it for the both of us.” Elrond shook his head. “Nay, you do not deserve it.” He turned and looked thoughtfully at his old friend. “Of all the elves and men I have ever known, you are without a doubt the most selfless.” “Why say you, my lord?” “You gave up everlasting peace to protect me; you have stood by and watched Erestor love Gildor all these years despite your love for our councilor; and then there is your loyalty to Lindir. While I know that you love Erestor, and indeed, Lindir knows it as well, you have stood by the minstrel and cared for him. Never have I known one to put others ahead of himself like you do.” “Perhaps it is not selflessness as much as cowardess,” Glorfindel replied. “And you have never been comfortable accepting a compliment.” Glorfindel smiled a little. “True.” “I am most grateful that you are my friend, Glorfindel.” “And I am honored to be such, my lord.” They stood in silence and watched Anor sink beneath the horizon. * * * * The funeral of a king is both a solemn and extraordinary event. The streets of Lindon were filled to capacity with the faithful and with nobles who had traveled long and far to say farewell to the last High King of the Noldor. The king had no wife or heirs, and by rights and blood his mantle would have passed to Elrond, had the peredhil accepted it. However, Elrond would not – Vilya had passed to him and that was enough. Whether Elrond accepted the title or no, the Noldor that remained in Middle-earth would look to him for guidance. Lindir composed a funeral dirge that was sung by the best musicians and singers in Imladris and Lindon. Their voices rose in a chorus, floating upon the air, bringing tears to the eyes of the listeners. Soon, more voices joined in and all those who had loved Gil-galad, the star of radiance, sung his praises to the heavens. Glorfindel watched the Eagles soaring overhead, their cries piercing the high winds as they sang their own song of sorrow. The ceremony concluded with the internment of Gil-galad’s body in a tomb beneath the castle in Lindon. There his body would lie until the world changed and the last of the Elves departed the earth. * * * * Four old friends who had known one another for nearly an age came together on a veranda of the former king’s home. Erestor and Glorfindel each sat at a table in silence: Erestor’s gaze focused on his lap, Glorfindel’s blankly directed at the tabletop. Gildor leaned against a tall railing with his back to the Sea, and Lindir stood with both hands upon the railing, watching the ships slowly rock back and forth while they were moored to the docks. Not a one of them spoke for a long time. It was the end of an age and the world was changing. They had all heard talk in the streets of leaving, and indeed, many elves were. The Queen and Queen Mother of Greenwood arrived the day before the funeral, escorted by the king and prince. They were sailing into the West where the queen mother would grieve the passing of her husband; many of her folk traveled with her. Thranduil’s wife sailed as well, it seemed that a marriage of arrangement could not survive the toll war took upon it. The princess found herself to be a queen, and her husband was not the same elf she had wed now that the war was done. It was not only the Sindar and Silvan folk of the east who were leaving; many Noldor were leaving as well. Lindir had seen Thranduil and they had a subdued reunion. He too could see the change in the Sinda, but it was one he did not mourn. Thranduil had grown into an introspective king with a proud bearing. But beneath that pride was a strong, noble, and valiant heart. He had already heard enough tales about the war to bear out what he saw in his friend’s eyes. War had changed him, but perhaps for the better. Gildor looked first at Lindir, then at Glorfindel, then finally at Erestor. He had been governed by a sense of numbness since he left Imladris to go to war, and suddenly he found himself filled with a sense of urgency. “What are we doing?” he asked matter-of-factly. Erestor looked up first. “We are grieving,” he answered softly. “No. I mean what are we doing,” he stressed, “all of us.” Glorfindel and Lindir both looked at him. Lindir nodded and turned to face his friends. “It is clear to each of us here what the truth is, yet still we persist in living a lie. I, for one, have seen too much death to live one more day in a lie.” Erestor slowly stood, his heart pounding hard in his chest and his palms beginning to sweat. “Gildor, what are you talking about?” Gildor looked at his lover. “You are in love with Glorfindel; you always have been. And Glorfindel is in love with you.” “What are you talking about? Why are you saying this?” Erestor stammered, dumbfounded. “Erestor, stop lying to protect me. I love you for it, but I cannot live like this.” “Nor can I,” Lindir joined in, reaching out and clasping Gildor’s hand in support. “Sparrow?” Glorfindel also began to rise, despite the growing sensation that his legs might give out. “We both know that you and I are together out of some sense of familiarity and a desire not to be alone. I cannot do this any more. Familiarity and companionship is not love, not the kind of love that lasts through the ages,” Lindir responded. “I want a love that lasts; I want a love that makes me breathless, that makes my hands tremble and my knees weak, I want…” his voice trailed off and he fell silent. “I will not do this one more day,” Gildor replied to Erestor, “and I will not aid you in doing this anymore either.” He stepped forward, meeting his lover as Erestor began to walk toward him. Taking Erestor’s face in his hands, he pressed their foreheads together. “Friendship first, remember?” he whispered. “This is what friends do for one another.” He kissed Erestor softly on the lips, then left his stunned lover standing on the veranda. Glorfindel reached out for Lindir’s hand, then lowered it as his lover refused to take it; it was time to let him go. He watched in sorrow as Lindir followed Gildor into the house. “I am sorry, sparrow,” he said softly, his voice drifting out to sea on the gentle breeze. “Sweet Elbereth,” Erestor murmured. “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…” Glorfindel quickly stepped forward and steadied his friend. “Erestor.” “My life is coming undone, it is unraveling, I…” “Erestor.” “I have to stop him; I cannot let him leave like this, I cannot let him believe that I never loved him!” “He does not believe that,” Glorfindel said softly. “I have to talk to him. I have to make him understand…” Glorfindel turned Erestor to face him and gave his shoulders a gentle shake. “Understand what? That you do not love me? That is a lie and you know it. Erestor, our lovers just did what we could not find the strength to do. They let us go. They let us go so that we can be together.” “Together?” Erestor murmured. “You and I?” Glorfindel began to smile. “Aye, you and I, together.” “Oh gods, oh gods, Glorfindel. What have we done?” “We fell in love,” Glorfindel answered. “Now let us hope our friends love us enough to forgive us.” Glorfindel took Erestor into his arms and held him close. “I am never letting you go again,” he murmured into Erestor’s ear. To be continued… Title: Resurrection, 35/? Author: Larien Elengasse Type: FPS Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel (implied), Lindir/Glorfindel, Gildor/Erestor, Elrond/Celebrían, Thranduil, Legolas 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 and Third Ages. Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com Summary: Lovers part ways and new friendships are formed. Lindir paused at the bottom of the staircase that led to the guest chambers. “It just became clear to me what it is that I want,” he said quietly. Gildor stopped beside him and looked at his friend. “What would that be?” Lindir looked at Gildor. “Thranduil. I want to get to know Thranduil as more than a friend.” Gildor smiled and nodded. “Aye, and I have a notion that our king might feel the same way.” He began climbing the stairs with Lindir in tow. “You do? How so?” Lindir asked. “He was most pleased to get your letters, especially the one after his father died. I swear to you, he kept it in his breast pocket and never took it out.” “He did?” “Aye, he did.” Lindir paused on the landing, a smile starting to bloom upon his face. “For the first time, in a long time, I feel excited about the future. I feel . . . free.” Gildor smiled and patted his friend on the back. “That you are, my friend.” He began to walk away when Lindir spoke again. “What will you do now, Gildor?” “I do not know. I am certain that I cannot go home now; I do not want to watch Erestor and Glorfindel fall in love all over again.” Lindir nodded. “Nor do I.” “Where will you go, Lindir?” Lindir smiled. “Greenwood, if Thranduil will have me.” “I am most confident that he will.” “Gildor?” “Yes?” “Come with me. I could use a good friend on this journey, and it appears you have no other plans.” Gildor thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Aye, I will come with you.” He turned to climb the stair then turned back. “He leaves upon the morrow, you know.” “Oh! Valar! I must find him!” “He is in the east wing, on the third floor.” “Thank you!” Lindir cried as ran back down the stairs. Gildor noticed that it was the first time in a long time that Lindir did not move with a limp. * * * * Glorfindel smoothed Erestor’s hair beneath his hand as the afternoon breeze began to come in from the Sea. “Free,” Erestor murmured, “body and soul, free.” He looked up into Glorfindel’s eyes. “We are free to be together.” Glorfindel smiled. “Yes we are, my raven.” He slid his hand beneath Erestor’s hair and drew him into a kiss. It was long and deep, full of warmth and love, and most of all, passion. “I must speak with him,” Erestor whispered as they parted. “Aye, and I want to speak to Lindir.” “Shall we seek one another out, once it is done?” Glorfindel nuzzled Erestor’s lips with his own. “Aye, and then we shall make love until the sun rises.” Erestor nodded, capturing his lover’s lips in a kiss, then parting from him and going to seek out Gildor. * * * * Glorfindel entered his old chambers to find Lindir packing. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he watched his sparrow carefully place his garments into his pack. “I am sorry, Lindir,” he said quietly. “I am sorry that I was not strong enough, nor good enough to love you the way you deserve.” Lindir turned to face Glorfindel, then walked toward him. “It is not your fault, Glorfindel. I suppose I gave you no other choice. I was naïve; I thought that if I just loved you enough I could change how you felt about Erestor. I know, and have known for a long time, that it just was not meant to be.” He reached up and caressed Glorfindel’s cheek. “You have given me many years of happiness, and you gave me a most precious gift – you taught me how to love. I will never forget that.” Glorfindel wrapped his arms around Lindir and squeezed him gently. “Where will you go?” “To Greenwood. Thranduil is my dear friend, and he needs friends now.” “Aye, that he does. He loved his father dearly. Now that his wife and mother are sailing, he will be left to rule his people alone.” “Not alone. He has Legolas, and he will have me.” Glorfindel smiled. “Then he needs no others.” He took Lindir’s face in his hands and kissed the crown of his head. “Thank you, Lindir.” “For what?” “For having the strength I lacked.” “Do not thank me,” Lindir answered. “Thank Gildor. It was he who was brave enough to first speak the words.” He retrieved his pack and slung it upon his shoulder. “Be good to Erestor, Glorfindel, and be good to yourself. I will miss you.” “I will miss you, sparrow,” Glorfindel said softly as the door closed behind Lindir. * * * * Erestor watched as Gildor placed the last item in his pack. It was so strange; he had witnessed this act so many times, yet this time it felt so permanent. It was permanent. He felt he would see Gildor again, but he knew that things between them were forever changed. “I am sorry,” he said quietly. Gildor secured the ties on his pack and looked up at Erestor. “It is not your fault, Erestor, it is mine. I knew how you felt about him even that first night we made love, and I did it anyway. You need not blame yourself.” “I have loved you, that has not been a lie.” “I know,” Gildor said as he took Erestor into his arms. “And you reminded me what it is like to love. For that, I thank you, my friend.” Erestor held tight to Gildor. “Please tell me you are not leaving for good. Tell me I will see you again.” “You will, someday. But I need some time away; I need to clear my mind.” “I understand,” Erestor murmured into Gildor’s shoulder. “You have made me so happy, Gildor. I want you to know that.” Gildor smiled and kissed the side of Erestor’s head. “I do, and I will not forget it. I will miss you, my curmudgeon.” Erestor made a half-laughing, half-crying sound as he wadded Gildor’s tunic in his fists. “I will miss you, my rogue.” Gildor smiled despite the tears that welled in his eyes. This was harder than he imagined it would be. He took Erestor’s face in his hands and kissed him softly on the lips. “Live well, Erestor, and love Glorfindel.” He quickly pulled away, gathered his belongings, and left before his nerve failed him. * * * * Thranduil held out his hand to Gildor as the warrior approached. “Welcome to our traveling party, my friend,” he said gently. He clasped Gildor’s hand, then reached for Legolas. The prince stepped forward bravely, a smile upon his face as he extended his slender hand. “Welcome, Gildor. My father has sung your praises,” he said softly. “It is an honor, my liege,” Gildor responded, gently clasping the prince’s hand and bowing slightly to look the prince in the eye. “I look forward to our travels together.” Legolas smiled and tugged on the warrior’s hand, leading him away from where Thranduil and Lindir stood. “My father tells me you are a good storyteller,” he said, casting a glance and a smile over his shoulder to Thranduil. Gildor looked at the king as well, his eyebrows raised in surprise as he allowed the young prince to lead him away. Thranduil chuckled and shook his head, then turned to Lindir. “He has surely inherited his charm from his father,” Lindir said with a grin. “I hope he does not frighten Gildor away with demands of tales of Beleriand.” Lindir chuckled. “Nay, my lord. There is little on this earth that can frighten Gildor.” “This is good, then. For Legolas can be formidable for one so young.” He extended his hand. “Come, the stars shine brightly this night and I would enjoy a walk with you along the beach.” Lindir accepted the king’s hand with a smile and followed him toward the sea. To be continued…