Title: To Feel You Breathe (5/6) Series: The Games of Love (formerly Winner Takes All). Unless you’re familiar with the series, many of the references in this story may not make sense. Author: Fimbrethiel Website: Iavas e Guren ~ http://fimbrethiel.com LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fimbrethiel/ Fiction update list: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FanSfictionupdates Email: fimbrethiel @ yahoo.com Type: FPS Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel Rating: NC-17 Warnings: explicit depictions of homoerotic acts between consenting males, cavity- inducing FLUFF! Disclaimer: Don’t own the Elves, they are owned by Tolkien’s estate. Master Tolkien, I mean no harm. No profit has been made. Beta: Minuial Nuwing *massive hugs* Any remaining errors are mine. Summary: After millennia, and some misunderstandings, Erestor and Glorfindel finally bond. This is the final installment in the Games of Love series. Author’s Note: For the Giant Pink Fluffy!bunny gang. You know who you are. ;) My deepest gratitude and much love to Miss SayAye for allowing me to use her artwork as inspiration for this story. http://fimbrethiel.com/artwork/SayAye/SoulMates.JPG The previous parts in this series can be found here: http://fimbrethiel.com/fiction/gamesoflove.htm *~*~*~*~* Into a clearing in the woods, under a twinkling night sky, they walked hand in hand and, surrounded by loved ones, they gathered to make their promise to one another. There was snow on the ground, such that under Elbereth’s light they walked on a blanket of silver, flecked with diamonds. The tranquil sound of night and the rustle of a winter breeze, the creaking of trees and the roar of the distant Bruinen thundering in the distance, these were their accompaniment. Under a star-studded firmament, with the Yuletide moon hanging fat and low in the sky, Erestor and Glorfindel made their vows. Erestor turned to his beloved and took those roughened warrior’s hands in his own, blinking desperately for a moment to keep the tears that threatened from falling. As Glorfindel watched him with shining eyes, he began to speak, his rich baritone ringing through the trees, carrying sweet and clear to the group gathered in witness nearby. “I am not wealthy, nor do I carry a title, and I cannot give you riches and gifts untold. All I can offer is my love, my heart, and this.” “Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours, for one lone soul another lonely soul, each choosing each through all the weary hours, and meeting strangely at one sudden goal. Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers, into one beautiful and perfect whole; and life's long night is ended, and the way lies open onward to eternal day.”* With a clear, steady voice, he spoke his declaration of love and fidelity, his eyes, alight with joy, never leaving Glorfindel’s. “I take you, Glorfindel o Imladris, as my friend and love, as you are, loving in you what I know, trusting what I do not yet know, in all the ways that life may find us. I give my heart into your keeping, and ask that you hold it for all your days, as surely as I will hold yours. Oh Manwë Sulimo and Queen Elentári, hear my vow and bless this union, in the name of Ilúvatar.” A strangled gasp escaped from Glorfindel’s chest and he valiantly fought against breaking down altogether. When he made his own promise, it was with a voice wavering with emotion and eyes brimming with tears of elation. “No poet am I, but a humble soldier, my tools not of parchment and ink, but of sword and bow. Yet I offer these words to you, in love and commitment, until the end of our days.” Raising his hand, he brushed away a single glistening drop of moisture from Erestor’s cheek and trailed lingering fingers along the strong curve of his lover’s jaw. “I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes; I would empty my soul as the dreams that have gathered in me, I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads.”** Glorfindel paused for a moment to compose himself, and took a deep breath. “Manwë and Lady of the Stars, hear this vow, and give your blessings to this union, in the name of Ilúvatar Almighty. I take you, Erestor, to be beside me and apart from me, in laughter and in tears, in conflict and tranquility, and to love for all time. I receive your heart and give you my own, to care for and cherish for all my days.” With trembling hands, each removed the silver betrothal band from his own forefinger and handed it to the other; their fingertips lingered against one another as plain gold rings slid into place, replacing silver. The ring on Erestor’s finger felt strangely heavy, far more substantial on his hand than the thin silver of their courtship. A gentle smile curved his lips, then, realizing that though sometimes duty would dictate that they be apart for a time, this trinket of gold was tangible proof of their bond, a continuous and reassuring reminder of Glorfindel’s love, regardless of the miles that might separate them. But even with no ring at all, they would be forever bound by souls, and that knowledge was worth far more than all the precious minerals in the world. He leaned up and pressed his lips to Glorfindel’s. His kiss was light and almost chaste, but within it was all the promise of a lifetime. A hand, with fingers almost reverent in their touch, gently traced the aristocratic arch of Glorfindel’s cheek and the finely drawn golden brows. In the next second, he felt as though his world had turned upside down. Something slammed into him with the force of a whirlwind, making his stomach flip and roll and his head whirl. He felt splintered and disoriented, a thousand shards of glass skewering him from the inside out, as though a part of him was being torn out by the roots. There was a second of emptiness, and then a white-hot flash of heat in the very core of his being. For the very first time, he could feel Glorfindel’s conscious within him, the swell of his emotions, a whisper of his thoughts, indistinct fragments of memories, and as he felt his lover stagger against him, he knew that Glorfindel could feel the same of his. There was so much, too much, to take in at once, so overpowering was the barrage of sensations and thoughts that for one awful minute he thought he might be going insane. He moaned as his stomach gave another lurch, and felt Glorfindel’s arms tighten around him. Then little by little that unsettling feeling subsided until it was just a prickling sensation crawling through his body, and then it faded. “It is done,” he heard Glorfindel’s voice mumble shakily against his ear. He sagged against Glorfindel and rested their foreheads together, his eyes closed and breathing deeply to quell the lingering discomfort of churning stomach and lightheadedness. “Aye,” Erestor answered faintly, “and despite the fact that I now feel like I want to be sick, I have never been happier.” They were abruptly enveloped in a warm circle of arms, tears of happiness, and laughter as their friends gathered around to offer congratulations and best wishes. “Come,” Elrond said, his own eyes strangely moist, “let us go home. A feast and dancing await!” Yes, let us go home, Erestor thought, taking Glorfindel’s hand. Home is such a wonderful word, especially when one has someone to share it with. *~*~*~*~* A sumptuous feast, in honor of both the Yuletide and the bonding celebration of two favored lords, lay spread on trestle tables in the Hall of Fire, and a trio of minstrels played in the corner. Erestor and Glorfindel ate and drank sparingly, pausing often to accept words of congratulations and embraces from the folk of Imladris. Only a few morsels of roasted fowl and a sweetmeat or two passed their lips, and each abandoned his single glass of wine half drunk, after the Lord of Imladris toasted the newly bonded couple and wished his guests a most blessed and joyous Yule. In a slightly less boisterous corner of the Hall, Glorfindel, who generally favored a more sedate form of dancing, stood chatting with Elrond and sipping at the goblet in his hand, watching the revelers whirl by in a blur of bright colors. Elladan was a flash of burgundy and gray, his arm twined about Lindir’s waist, followed closely by a dervish of royal blue and emerald that was Elrohir and Arwen. Then suddenly, the twins each dipped and twirled, and then Arwen was in her eldest brother’s arms and Lindir was dancing with the Elf-knight. Both Arwen and Lindir were rosy-cheeked, energized, and looking slightly bewildered to discover their partners had seemingly changed without them even being aware of it. Erestor paraded by a moment later, breathless and laughing, as he spun Gildor’s lady around the dance floor. This was the way Glorfindel loved to see Erestor the most – free of the worry and stress of his office, and in high spirits, laughing as though he had not a whit of care in the world. Elrond glanced amusedly at the amber liquid in Glorfindel’s goblet. “Cider, mellonen? And free of spirits, even? And it appears that your better half has also abstained.” “I wish to retain my reason, and my libido, for my wedding night, thank you. This night had been far too long in coming to risk an ill-timed inability to perform.” Elrond chuckled, earning himself a mock glare from his companion. “Somehow I doubt that would ever be the case. Do you require any last-minute advice ere you whisk my counselor off to your quarters and debauch him thoroughly?” “Very funny, Elrond. Nay, I believe we are adequately informed on what is expected. There is, however, something I wish you would explain.” Elrond smiled and sipped at his own drink. “I expected this question would come. You wish to know about the bonding, I imagine.” “Somehow I expected it to feel subtle and gentle, like a summer shower or something soothing like a warm bath. That… that was… not.” Elrond chuckled softly, a nostalgic look on his face. “Aye, I know what you mean. It is a rather disconcerting feeling.” “Why did you not mention it? We could have prepared ourselves better. For a few moments, I was truly afraid I was going to be ill. That would have boded poorly for us, for I am certain that vomiting on one’s new spouse is considered a gross breach of etiquette.” “It is prohibited for a wedded Elf to speak of it to one not yet bound in matrimony,” Elrond replied, his voice turning serious. “Though I have long suspected that to speak of it is forbidden only because if it were widely known that the first part of the bonding would be such an experience, marriage would quickly become an event consigned merely to legend and lore.” “The first part? You mean there is more?” Glorfindel looked horror-struck at the thought of being subjected to another phenomenon akin to having his entire body turned inside out and put together backward. “Aye, there is more,” Elrond acknowledged, his voice dropping to a bare whisper. A sparkle was in his eye. “And believe me; it will be wholly unlike the other, and an experience you will never forget. Now forget I ever mentioned it, ‘afore the Valar strike me mute in punishment.” “Forgotten,” Glorfindel agreed, though his mind was awhirl with imagining the possibilities. The dance over, Erestor deposited his smiling partner back at Gildor’s side and crossed the floor to his lover, dark eyes shining with untold delights Silently Erestor took Glorfindel by the hand and tugged him toward the door, while the Yuletide merriment went on in the Hall of Fire. As he was smoothly but insistently led away, Glorfindel leaned close to his lord and whispered one last thing, too quietly for anyone but Elrond to hear. “Whatever gave you the idea that I will be the one doing the debauching?” As Elrond’s lips formed a moue of surprise and his eyes widened at his seneschal’s bold repartee, Glorfindel gave him a wink and followed his new mate out of the Hall. ~*~*~ to be continued ~*~*~ Elvish translations and notes: mellonen = my friend The rites of Elven marriage are excerpted from Laws and Customs of the Eldar. Traditionally, the betrothal period was one year, with the couple exchanging silver rings as a promise, worn on the index finger of the right hand. You will note, perhaps, that Glorfindel did not feel it necessary to wait the full year. ;) * The poem “Destiny” by Sir Edwin Arnold, 1832-1904 ** The poem “I Would Live In Your Love” by Sarah Teasdale, 1884-1933