Title: Unbroken Author: Lyric Homepage: N/A Email: lyricoflorien@hotmail.com Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel Warnings: None really. Memory of a rape though. Angst, I suppose, although who could leave Erestor suffering? Certainly not me. Summary: Author’s Note: Ok, I have a bit of explaining to do. First of all, yes, this is kind of a songfic. **Shock gasp and horror**. I am terribly sorry, but my PMS-ish muse was ripping my bloody hair out. **Whimpers** And I like my hair. Anyway, I don’t know the name of this song. You see, my friend Nima made me a CD that had happy songs on it, and she put this song on it because it reminded her of our poor little Erestor, so abused and such. Second of all, I know this is a country song, and I HATE country music with a wicked passion, but the words were kinda sweet, so now I love the song. No offence to people who like country. But right now, even if I get hate mail from that Shania Twain bint or something, it’s still feedback. Which I want. So there. Thanks. I’m done now; you can read the bleedin story. Wait, wait, wait. Also- Yes, my default language on MS Word is English (Ireland), so for all of you fellow American people or people who speak American English, I am not a horrible speller, I’m just using a different form of English, alright? Hey, at least I didn’t write it in Gaelic. Chapter 1 …………………………………………………… No…Please…Stop… He thrashed in his sleep, open eyes seeing nothing and everything at the same time as the pain-riddled images flitted across his mind’s eye. A flash of black, those painfully sharp eyes, and the memory of a harsh agony from the ruthless and unwelcome entry into his body slithered before his field of vision, whilst he wrestled to fight them back. Struggling with the sheets, the Elf whimpered pitifully at his intense memories as sweat ran down his forehead, drenching his deep brown, almost black hair and stinging the wide dark eyes, the whites of which shone in fear. It is your fault, he heard the malicious voice hiss inside his head, as the dialogue that had forever damned him replayed in his mind throughout his disparaging existence. You brought this upon yourself, you know. You kept Idril from me… No, he protested to it weakly, no, it’s not my fault. She doesn’t love you! The eyes flashed and a strong hand connected sharply with his face again and again as he fell to the floor in a weeping huddle, trying in vain to make himself as small as possible. Even now you grovel before me! He cowered before the larger, elder Elf. Strangely, a much-too-sweet smile now twisted his lips. So young…So fresh. He shivered. Oh yes, my dear, you must be an innocent, mustn’t you? I…I…The perilous meaning suddenly dawned upon the young Elf. No! No, please, you can’t, you won’t- Yes, my little Elfling. Yes, I can, and yes, I will…Remember what I told you? The young Elf looked down, and spoke in a small voice. Yes. You said you would take care of me. The young Elf looked up at the suddenly much kinder Elf. Well, my little one, you must remember that now. Don’t you love me too? Y-yes… Then come with me… The now much older Elf shot up with an anguished scream that echoed throughout his rooms before he collapsed against the headboard of his bed. Shaking like a leaf in a storm, he pulled the duvet around him and sobbed brokenly into his pillow, soaked with the disheartened sweat and tears of utter panic. Shattered sunlight poured in through the windows onto the slim Sindarin Elf, who, very gradually, was calming himself down; the ragged breathing returned to normalcy and the pounding heart slowed to a steady flutter. The sound of a comforting Eldarin song floated in through the window. Glorfindel…He knew that voice. But he dared not think on it. Raising his head and blinking at the bright light, the head counsellor of Elrond stared blankly into the air around him. So the nightmares had returned…Just when he had though he had finally driven them off, they come back to haunt his fitful sleep in the terrifying waking dreams that seemed so dreadfully real. As his intelligence slowly drifted back into his mind, having been nearly driven mad with fear, he first truly realized the time of morning. With a cry he untangled himself from the covers and leapt out of the bed as the world around him spun, seeming to him as if he had just very quickly shot down a glass of strong Mirkwood vintage. Ignoring the dizziness that rushed through every inch of his body, he ripped off his sleeping-tunic and threw open his dresser. Hurriedly pulling one of his robes on, he made an effort not to look down at his right hip, already knowing what he would see there. Fingers flying, he managed to clasp both his undertunic and robes in a matter of moments and then slip on his boots. Time seemed to slow down for a moment as he stared into his looking-glass, taking in the sight of his salt streaked face and despairing eyes before he viciously splashed ice-cold water onto his skin. How was Erestor going to explain if he was late? …………………………………………………… Glorfindel paced the halls around the council room, knowing both that he had to go inside and that he did not want to. He still had little more than five minutes before he had to confront all the troubles of this world. With a tired, lengthy sigh, Glorfindel ran a slim, tapered hand through his fair hair and rolled his shoulders slightly in a vain attempt to relieve some anxiety. His body suddenly tensed and his heart beat nervously at the soft lilting voice behind him. “Stressed, my friend?” he heard Erestor say before he felt firm but gentle hands kneading his shoulders. Feeling his muscles relax at the much-wanted touch, he turned around after a few moments of soft massage and smiled. “No more than any other Elf in Imladris, Erestor. I hope you were fortunate to sleep more than I did.” To his bemusement, Erestor flinched slightly. Before he had the chance to answer, however, a call rang throughout the corridor that the ever-remembered Council of Elrond was about to begin. …………………………………………………… Rubbing his temples tiredly, Glorfindel took a sip of his wine and stared out the window of Elrond’s study longingly as Erestor walked by, before he glanced back at Elrond. It had been a few days since the Council, leaving the Elves to mull the decision over and the Fellowship to prepare to depart. The exasperated Peredhel raised an eyebrow at the blonde. Glorfindel groaned inwardly; how many times had they had this conversation?! “When are you going to do something?” he asked Glorfindel, who shook his head vehemently. “I do not plan upon doing anything!” Glorfindel shot back at Elrond more viciously than he had intended. Why couldn’t he understand? Why couldn’t he leave him alone? It was useless. “Why?” countered the Lord of Imladris, “Why won’t you do anything? How do you-“Glorfindel interrupted him angrily. “Because he doesn’t want me! He never would want me…” Glorfindel stood up and walked to the window, back facing Elrond so that the Half-Elf could not see the very faint glimmer of controlled tears in his sapphire eyes. He heard Elrond sigh behind him. “But why, Glorfindel? I cannot comprehend why you would not even wish to try, not when you’ve wanted him for so very long.” Elrond silently stepped over to where Glorfindel stood, not understanding how Glorfindel could live with this supposedly unrequited love for his dark counsellor. “He’s so perfect…” the blonde Elda whispered, “He’s so maddeningly, wonderfully perfect. I have never seen him falter, never seen him receive even a scratch in battle, never witnessed him back down in a debate. He’s so sure of himself, and he doesn’t even realize, he never has realized that he’s so…so…” Glorfindel faded off. “So what, my friend?” Elrond inquired gently, smiling slightly. Glorfindel turned and locked eyes with Elrond. “So breathtakingly beautiful.” So beautiful it hurt, the angular face and the piercing eyes of a charcoal-brown colour that no one could quite place. Many praised his loveliness, his exquisite features, but Erestor never seemed to realize this. Glorfindel ached every time Erestor’s deep eyes dulled at the compliments. And every time a traveller saw the dark- haired counsellor and made an off-hand comment about his looks, Glorfindel felt an unexplainable surge of protectiveness. “I’m going to bed, Elrond,” Glorfindel said tiredly. His cold, empty bed, he thought bitterly as he walked out the door and closed it on the troubled Half-Elf. No one was good enough for his friend, his Erestor. And no one included himself. …………………………………………………… Late that night, Erestor walked slowly through the corridors of Imladris, staring intently at the smooth stone floor as he fought to keep his breathing steady. Why had Ardúlin chosen that lay? Of all the other songs and poems, she had to unwittingly pick that which would cause him the most grief. The Fall of Gondolin and the Betrayal of Maeglin Her sweet, floating voice could lighten not the darkness of the son of Eöl and Aredhel. “Neither fear nor hate shone in yonder Elfling’s eyes, yet soon enough would fleetly come, trailed by pain and lies…” It was just a nightmare…Just a terrible, terrible nightmare, sent to haunt him and torment him with the twisted needles of shame. There had been no preparation…Maeglin entered him with one sickening thrust as Erestor screamed around the constricting hand. Just keep walking, he told himself; just keep putting one foot after the other. He could feel the flesh tear, feel the blood begin to spill inside him and drip down his thighs. Maeglin bit his arm so hard that he had kept the scar for a year’s time. He made an attempt to get away; but it would be his last. Maeglin is long dead; he can torment me no longer. Slain by Tuor…Slain by Tuor, who loved Idril as she should be loved. “Do not try to escape from me! I will teach you, you sorry little wench.” The voice grew compassionate. “Here, little one, you just aren’t feeling it correctly…” A cold white hand began to stroke the younger Erestor’s un-aroused member. The young one gasped and squirmed. He did what was right, he did what was right. He kept Maeglin from Tuor’s wife. He kept Maeglin from hurting the fair lady like he hurt him. Erestor began to walk faster. He felt Maeglin climax hard inside him, the accursed seed burning him inside and out, but to his horror he continued to thrust as the sickening Elf grew aroused again. As Erestor grew more and more alarmed, he picked up speed. “See? Now everyone will know to whom you belong. The black hilt of a knife gleamed in the pale moonlight. Erestor gasped and struggled violently as he begged, hoping to reach some Elven instinct inside Maeglin that would not allow him to hurt the young Elf anymore. Fighting back tears, desperately clinging to his pride, Erestor broke into a run. With practiced, exaggerated malevolence, Maeglin carved his name into Erestor’s hip with the knife, while Erestor screamed himself hoarse. He drew his knees up to his chest after he collapsed to the floor against the corridor wall and buried his face in his hands. Finishing his iniquitous work deliberately, Maeglin leaned in closer to Erestor’s face. “If I cannot have her, I will have you. You will always be mine, Elfling. No one else will ever love you like I do. Everyone else will use you and leave you behind… Erestor heard soft footsteps coming down the hallway, but he could not bring himself to care anymore. You are mine…” …………………………………………………… “Erestor!” Glorfindel, coming from Elrond’s study, had seen Erestor crumple to the ground and was now running toward the slender Elf. Dropping ungracefully next to him, he looked desperately into the hidden face of his Elf. His Elf…Where had that come from? This surge of protective possessiveness… “Erestor?” Glorfindel asked, helplessly pulling the svelte hands away from the counsellor’s delicately-featured face. A small gasp fled his lips before he had the chance to bite it back. The dark eyes, no longer a cold, fuscous chocolate but a deep shade of an undeterminable colour that hovered between brown and violet, were filled with tears. Never had Glorfindel seen such raw emotions portrayed in his dear friend; a maelstrom of a million shades of pain shimmered mockingly throughout the widened, lachrymose orbs. Glorfindel was overcome with a mind-numbing urge to gather Erestor in a tight embrace, but he held back when Erestor’s paroxysmal state worsened. “No, please…Maeglin?” Erestor whispered, shrinking back into himself, not seeing who kneeled before him. “No Erestor, no, it’s me. Glorfindel. It’s Glorfindel,” he soothed, trying to hide the puzzlement from his voice. Erestor looked up into worried sapphire eyes and then sighed in relief. “Glorfindel…” He smiled a brilliant but tired smile up at the surprised Elda, who melted under his gaze and finally succumbed to the desire to embrace Erestor. He hugged the Elf to his body in an attempt to comfort both the counsellor and himself, but Erestor remained stiff and non-responsive in his arms. Reluctantly pulling back from the lean sinewy body, Glorfindel stared into Erestor’s eyes. To his dismay, they had dulled slightly, as often they did upon praise or intimate contact. “Erestor?” The Elf in his arms tensed slightly, obviously not in fear but an age-old habit of shunning physical contact with others. The golden-haired Elf-Lord gently shook Erestor’s shoulders. “Are you alright?” Erestor shook his head as if to exonerate the image of the Elda before him. “I’m fine. I’m fine…Thank you Glorfindel.” With one last reassuring smile, the advisor struggled out of Glorfindel’s embrace and swept off down the hall, leaving a very confused Elf behind him. Title: Unbroken Author: Lyric Homepage: N/A Email: lyricoflorien@hotmail.com Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel Warnings: None really. Memory of a rape though. Angst, I suppose, although who could leave Erestor suffering? Certainly not me. Summary: Author’s Note: Ok, I have a bit of explaining to do. First of all, yes, this is kind of a songfic. **Shock gasp and horror**. I am terribly sorry, but my PMS-ish muse was ripping my bloody hair out. **Whimpers** And I like my hair. Anyway, I don’t know the name of this song. You see, my friend Nima made me a CD that had happy songs on it, and she put this song on it because it reminded her of our poor little Erestor, so abused and such. Second of all, I know this is a country song, and I HATE country music with a wicked passion, but the words were kinda sweet, so now I love the song. No offence to people who like country. But right now, even if I get hate mail from that Shania Twain bint or something, it’s still feedback. Which I want. So there. Thanks. I’m done now; you can read the bleedin story. Wait, wait, wait. Also- Yes, my default language on MS Word is English (Ireland), so for all of you fellow American people or people who speak American English, I am not a horrible speller, I’m just using a different form of English, alright? Hey, at least I didn’t write it in Gaelic. BTW- Slashes indicate thoughts. Chapter 2 With a lengthy, contemplative sigh, Glorfindel moved onto currying Asfolath’s shining haunches as rain poured down in icy sheets outside, accenting the night and hiding the stars. Moving the rigid brush in fast small circles, the Elda let muscle memory overcome his actions so that he could think in peace. The image of Erestor’s pleading, unguarded eyes had haunted him throughout the entire night, allowing him little sleep. Each time he began to lose focus and drift into numb reverie, the voice of the dark-haired counsellor returned inside his mind. “No, please…Maeglin?” he had whimpered. Maeglin? Why Maeglin? Though millennia has passed since the fall of his beloved Gondolin at the hands of Maeglin, Glorfindel still felt the familiar archaic spark of anger inside him. What did Erestor have to do with Maeglin? Sighing once more, Glorfindel set down the currycomb and picked up the stiff- bristled brush from the shelf where it sat, removing the remaining dust with brusque sweeping strokes. Though he might wish to dwell more upon the troubles of his fair fellow advisor, Glorfindel knew that more pressing matters lingered. Darkness had risen, and the fiery eye of Sauron once again lusted after the powers of Middle Earth. Much to his relief, the sinister whispers that seemed to slither throughout the forests of and surrounding Imladris were gone with the Ring and its bearer, though he would not have the hobbit suffer to listen to them. Instead, there was a subtle cloud of dread, waiting and watching for the strength of Elrond Halfelven and his people to fail. Whilst the Elves of old remained here, however, shadows would not prevail. The Nazgul had left Rivendell, moving on to guard the Black Gate and stalk the Fellowship. Reports from the four riders who had been sent out to challenge the Nazgul, including Erestor and himself, proved that Elrond’s ill-boding sense of foreshadowing indeed had both purpose and truth. War was coming. Before Glorfindel could reach for the soft brush and the hoof pick however, his favourite counsellor rushed into the stables. “Glorfindel,” he called breathlessly, his hair plastered to his head in wet, thick strands from the rain. As always when he saw Erestor, Glorfindel found himself thinking that the counsellor had never looked so beautiful. His drenched hair and slightly flushed cheeks shot straight to his groin. “A rider is here from Lórien. She has given her message to Lord Elrond, but needs a fresh horse, and quickly. She was pursued, and needs one of our best mounts if she is to get back to the Golden Wood in safety.” Glorfindel nodded curtly as Erestor sprinted back outside, black cloak flying behind him. While all Elves trained for battle or athletics had incredible endurance, Erestor was amazing at sprinting shorter distances; Glorfindel had never seen anyone move that quickly in his life. With one last pat to Asfolath’s neck, he turned on his heel to head to the stalls where the best distance stallions and mares were housed. As he led the dark bay mare from her stall, he heard he light clip of an Elven horse’s hooves on the cobblestone floor. He found the rider standing by the proud horse, her lean, sinewy form visible beneath her soaking-wet cloak. She had not pulled down her hood, and from the looks of her stance, she did not intend to. “Lord Glorfindel,” she acknowledged with a curt nod as he brought the horse to her side. “Do you ride with or without tack?” he asked her as she stroked the neck of her fresh horse whilst keeping a comforting hand on the withers of her previous, now exhausted, ride. “Without. I find it less hindering. ‘Tis easier to handle a bow or blade without cumbersome reins,” she replied as she made to mount the mare. “Wait,” said Glorfindel, stepping over to the supply cabinet where they kept sustenance for messengers. “Here.” He handed her a skin of miruvor and a wafer of lembas. “You have ridden hard to make it here. You are not leaving here before you have rested for at least a quarter hour.” The she-Elf nodded again. “Thank you.” She leaned against the frame of a stall as another attendant rushed to take her tired horse for care. Taking a rejuvenating sip of the miruvor, she studied the Elda before her. “Tell me, Lord Glorfindel,” she began as the blonde Elf once again faced her. “The Elf who led me here…Lord Erestor, I believe.” “Yes, that was he.” Glorfindel said, turning away slightly to look at the mare, who whinnied encouragingly and nuzzled him. He was familiar with the intuition of the Elven women and their uncanny skill at reading both the faces and eyes of others; he wished for no such confrontation. The Lórien Elf was silent again, finishing both the miruvor and the lembas and stretching with renewed strength. “I thank you for your hospitality. May darkness never cloud the brilliance of Rivendell and its seneschal,” she said as she lightly leapt onto her mount. “Be swift and skilful on your journey home to Lothlorien,” said Glorfindel gravely to the rider, who walked her horse over to the open doors of the stable. “And Glorfindel?” she said, turning her head to look at the Elf Lord once more. “Yes?” he asked. “I am very concerned about Lord Erestor. Those who have been in the shadows often cannot stand the brightness of the morning, so they seek the stars instead, where they may see the light but remember the ache of darkness,” she said cryptically. “I…” Glorfindel was stunned, but the Elf-woman continued to speak, though pain laced her tone. “I see in his eyes the bitter remains of a coupling not born from the gift of the Valar. I fear I understand his agony as keenly as my own, for I have felt it too, as Celebrìan and Aredhel have felt it before me. Fading is not set in stone, and often the strong remain, cheated out of death. Help him Glorfindel. Help him.” And with her last words ringing like a thousand icy bells inside of Glorfindel’s head, the rider galloped off into the night, hood thrown back and hair streaming behind her. ……………………………………………………………………… Glorfindel sat on the hearth in the Hall of Fire, staring into the flames of the winter blaze as he wrapped his rope tighter around him. He shivered, not from cold but the powerful emotions surging through his veins like a shot of strong Mirkwood vintage. What in Arda had that Lórien rider meant? Her words confused him. He needed to organise his thoughts in the swirling pools of his mind to a more orderly fashion. “’The bitter remains of a coupling not born from the gift of the Valar’,” he murmured to himself. The gift of the Valar…What was the gift of the Valar? Immortality? /No, that could not be it./ Beauty? /What sort of coupling was born from beauty?!/ Love? /A coupling not born from love…/ But that would mean a coupling of lust, and such was uncommon among the Eldar, if not for comfort or affection at the least. Celebrìan and Aredhel…Aredhel had been forced to marry Eöl. Celebrìan had been tortured and- Raped. But no, Erestor could not have suffered rape. All Elves immediately begun to fade such as Celebrìan had. But Aredhel didn’t fade. No, Aredhel had not been raped, through the consent of her marriage was questionable. However, there was the question of Aredhel’s temperament. Glorfindel doubted whether even rape could have broken Aredhel, proud and strong as she was. And yet that did not explain the situation of the strange rider from Lorien, who claimed to have felt Erestor’s pain before. Another layer of sorrow draped itself over the Elda at the memory of the messenger. /Another lonely soul,/ he thought sadly, staring up out the window into the brooding night sky. /Another lonely soul who suffered from the darkness./ And with that last musing, Glorfindel’s passion to rid Middle Earth of its shadow strengthened tenfold, and also his love for Erestor. ………………………………………………… Erestor peered into the cavernous hall as the fiery light of the flames locked itself in an intricate dance of eternity with the shadows across his face and the walls. By the large, inviting fire sat his dearest friend and companion, the Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin. For one precious, liquid moment, Erestor allowed himself to forget his demons and gaze affectionately at the warm-hearted blonde who had captured the still-innocent part of his heart. The light from the fire and the various torches along the walls lit his face becomingly, somehow making the ridiculously high cheekbones seem higher, the dark, dusky eyelashes longer, and the crystalline azure eyes brighter. The advisor sighed dreamily. Varda, how he loved that Elf. Instantly, an angry voice inside his head crushed that lone happy thought in the same thorough way that a twin son of Elrond smashes the head of a wayward orc. Keep it to yourself, snapped the malicious tone, you know you have been claimed. Brushing away the nasty little voice, Erestor stepped forward to where Glorfindel sat looking into the flames with an expression of heartfelt longing on his face. If the knowledge that he could never have this wonderful creature accomplished one good thing, it was that Erestor never felt the awkwardness many would feel upon friendly contact with the one he or she loved. Erestor and Glorfindel were close friends, and the former saw no reason to shy away from the touch of a near-brother, as long as it stayed as that and only that. “You are looking extremely thoughtful tonight, my friend,” Erestor said in the gentle, teasing murmur he reserved only for the Elda as he took his seat next to the blonde. “You act as if that surprises you,” quipped Glorfindel cheekily, “I am capable of normal patterns of musing, not that you’d ever doubt it, of course.” “Heavens no,” replied Erestor with mock seriousness. Glorfindel laughed lightly. “Mmn, just having you around can clear me of my dark mood. You know that, don’t you?” Glorfindel gazed up at Erestor through half-lidded eyes. “I do now,” said Erestor with a smile. A peaceful silence reigned for a moment, settling comfortably over them like a much-needed embrace. ………………………………………… “Erestor…” began Glorfindel cautiously, as the councillor turned to look at him with his fathomless dark eyes. The blonde sighed once, and then fought on, knowing that it was now or never. “I…I wanted to ask you about the other night. Are you feeling better?” Glorfindel watched, saddened, as Erestor seemed to draw into himself again. “I’m feeling perfectly fine, thank you, my friend. Now, if you’ll excuse me-.” Erestor started to stand up, but Glorfindel quickly clasped his arm and gently tugged him down. “Erestor, please. I need to talk to you. I know this has something to do with Maeglin-.” Erestor visibly flinched, confirming Glorfindel’s suspicions. “Glorfindel, this is not your concern. Let the past fade to nothing so that it may take the pain with it.” Erestor looked almost desperate to get away, but as he made another attempt to stand, Glorfindel grabbed him again. This time, however, Erestor’s struggles were more profound and Glorfindel pulled him down with more force than intended. Erestor landed lightly atop the other Elf, and Glorfindel locked his arms around him, preventing Erestor’s escape. Soon the thrashings desisted and Glorfindel found himself in a very compromising position, with the other Elf pressed tightly against him. “Please talk to me,” whispered the blonde, gazing at Erestor pleadingly, “Please, I want to help you. I won’t hurt you, I promise.” He spoke soothingly, as if soothing a frightened horse; Erestor had the same wild-eyed look, but he could not resist the Elda’s calming, silky voice. “I cannot,” he said softly back. “I cannot tell you. ‘Tis my fault, ‘tis my fault, and I should not speak of it. Besides, Idril is safe, and that’s all that matters.” Warning bells were ringing ominously in Glorfindel’s mind. Idril, Maeglin…Surely Erestor spoke of the fall of Gondolin, Glorfindel’s own fall into fiery oblivion. “Tell me. I swear that none other shall know of it. My lips shall remain silent unto the end of the world or my death, I swear it to you.” Glorfindel stroked Erestor’s hair tenderly, waiting for an answer as he looked adoringly up into Erestor’s beautiful face. “I-…None must know of this,” Erestor said fiercely. “’Tis wrong for me to merely speak of it to you, my dear friend, let alone for others to-.” Glorfindel cut off the other’s raving. “Shh, none other shall know of it,” he repeated quietly. They stared heatedly at each other for a few more moments before Erestor settled down slightly atop the other Elf. Varda, all Glorfindel wanted to do was pull him closer and kiss him absolutely breathless- “I lived in Gondolin, long ago. I had barely reached my majority when it fell.” Glorfindel gaped at Erestor. “Why did you never tell me that you lived in Gondolin?” he gasped. Erestor looked down and studied the silvery stone floor, worn smooth by years of light Elven footsteps. “I do not like to think of it,” he mumbled, “’Twas not a particularly shining time in my life.” “But you survived,” Glorfindel insisted. “You did what many others could not, what most young ones could not have done. You survived.” Erestor made eye contact with the Elda again, and the almost casual intensity of his stare sent shivers coursing through Glorfindel. “That is my way Glorfindel. I survive. I have my scars and I have my demons, but I survive. My pride allows nothing less of me,” he said calmly, “Though I doubt even that would have helped me with a Balrog.” Glorfindel smiled weakly. “There is…very little that can help one with a Balrog, as I have so aptly learned. But please, continue. I shall not interrupt you again.” Erestor looked at him darkly. “Believe me; your golden respite is welcomed. This tale is not a happy one.” Glorfindel opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again, opting to merely nod. “Anyway, when I had come to a somewhat matured stature, I was introduced to Maeglin through my mother, who was of high rank in the army of Turgon. My father, a smith, talked never-endingly of Aredhel’s son and his skill, so I was prodded to make myself known to him.” Youngest sons of Elven families were often made to bond with other respectable males in the military. Fortunately, your soul mate was purely destiny, and there was not much a family could do to change that. “He…he confused me. He told me that he loved me. And he made me promise that I loved him and that I’d never leave him. “I also knew Idril, being distantly related to her, and she begged me to keep Maeglin away from her. I was so young…I did not see why she would not want to be around her fair cousin, but I swore that I would occupy Maeglin.” Erestor bit his lip hesitantly, an act that Glorfindel found quite fetching. Of course, there was not much about Erestor that Glorfindel was not absolutely infatuated with. “Maeglin…was not pleased with the arrangement. He would ask me to…service him, but he always moaned Idril’s name when he came. I finally realized what the princess had meant.” Glorfindel closed his eyes; Maeglin had been so twisted. “On the night before the sack of the city, Maeglin saw Idril and Tuor together. He was raving, and he found me and…and…” Erestor’s throat closed painfully. “No!” he cried, “Nay, I cannot speak of this, it is folly. Please, Glorfindel, let me go.” Glorfindel attempted to soothe the counsellor, but Erestor merely whimpered and continued with hushed, desperate pleading. “Please, let me go…Let me go…He’ll hurt me again, he’ll hurt me again. Please, please Glorfindel.” Glorfindel pulled Erestor’s face up to look at him in the eyes. “No one will hurt you ever again, Erestor, I promise. Tell me.” Erestor shuddered, but nevertheless he spoke again. “He…He…” Suddenly Erestor’s eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped limp onto Glorfindel with a gasp. “Erestor,” Glorfindel called with fear as he shook the other gently. “Erestor!” The Elda’s heart nearly stopped as he realized that Erestor wasn’t breathing. His basic instincts kicking in, Glorfindel tilted Erestor’s head back and places his mouth over the other’s, prepared to breathe life back into the counsellor. He was, however, /not/ prepared for darkness to suddenly overwhelm him as his spirit was pulled from consciousness. Title: Unbroken Author: Lyric Email: Lyricandlegolas@msn.com Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel Warnings: None really. Memory of a rape though. Angst, I suppose, although who could leave Erestor suffering? Certainly not me. Summary: Can Glorfindel find the strength in himself and in his secret love to make Erestor whole again, or will the counsellor be consumed by the ghosts of his past? Author's Note: Wait, wait, wait. Yes, my default language on MS Word is English (Ireland), so for all of you fellow American people or people who speak American English, I am not a horrible speller, I'm just using a different form of English, alright? Hey, at least I didn't write it in Gaelic. Chapter 3 When Glorfindel came to, all around him was smothering darkness. He stood cautiously, not exactly sure what he was standing on. But even this paled in importance with finding Erestor. “Erestor?” he called, casting about frantically, “Erestor, where are you?” Glorfindel tensed suddenly as he heard a sneering voice behind him. “Do not concern yourself with my Elfling, Glorfindel of Gondolin.” The Elda wheeled about and, to his horror, saw Erestor lying crumpled at the feet of Maeglin, whose lanky form made the counsellor seem even smaller. It was not until then that Glorfindel noticed that the three of them were strangely illuminated, as if they were standing in light. Yet somehow all around them remained suffocating darkness. “What do you want with him Maeglin?” Glorfindel asked coldly, an underlying hint of menace lacing the dulcet voice. Maeglin laughed, a short violent noise that belied little joy. “I do not believe you understand, Glorfindel. Erestor belongs to me; hasn’t he informed you?” The arrogance with which the Elf spoke made Glorfindel’s skin crawl, and his eyes were both fair and terrible as they bore down upon Maeglin. “Erestor belongs to no one. Let him go.” The Elda left it clear that there was little room for argument, as he felt his hands curl into fists. Maeglin tossed his head back like an impatient war-stallion inauspiciously. The son of Eöl stepped around Erestor’s unconscious body and drew closer to Glorfindel. “Perhaps you have not heard the full tale. You do seem a bit…confused,” The Dark- Elf paused, “But then, that always was your nature.” Maeglin’s taunt oozed venom but Glorfindel hardly noticed. “You raped him,” Glorfindel managed to say, his voice shaking, “You raped him. How could you be so sick-“ “You were obviously misinformed, my friend. Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the fact that Elves fade upon forced violation. It seems you are merely unwilling to admit that Erestor gave into me.” Maeglin raised one eyebrow in pointed insolence. Before Glorfindel could form n answer, he replied, “Fading is not set in stone, and often the strong remain, cheated out of death.” The words of the Lórien messenger. “Your lyrics may be poetic, but there is no excuse. I own the pathetic Elfling, even if you want him as your whore,” Maeglin said coolly. Glorfindel leapt forward with a snarl. “You will live to regret that, Maeglin!” Maeglin smiled cruelly again, the white of is teeth glinting dangerously in the darkness as a knife slid through the air, hilt proffered to Glorfindel. “You wish to fight me? Fine. Your death will be no loss,” Maeglin answered the threat casually. Glorfindel snatched the knife and dropped his weight down into the proper stance. The two Elves locked eyes just moments before they locked blades. The siren shrieking of the knives sang through the air like the piercing bells of death, jarring the air thickly, but neither Maeglin nor Glorfindel had a second to spare for listening. “Stop!” came a sudden, frantic call. Both Elves spun wildly around to see Erestor, standing at his full and considerable height with a short sabre poised straight at his own heart. “Erestor!” cried Glorfindel, stepping toward the other. His path was cut off by a sweeping downward parry of Maeglin’s knife. Glorfindel countered-parried with a quick bind to pass, but could not move any closer. Maeglin’s lip’s curled upwards. “Not another move, both of you,” Erestor ordered commandingly, turning his surprisingly controlled stare to Maeglin. “Riposte that cut and I die. You know you will go with me. Long have I carried this sword with me through the halls of the Last Homely House, knowing that this day would come.” Maeglin glared back Erestor but did not move. Glorfindel felt the creeping tendrils of numbing fear and horror wrap around his mind, the sort of terror that one can only feel for someone they truly love. “Oh Elbereth,” he whispered fervently, more to himself than Erestor. “Save him…” He was so paralyzed with dread he did not consciously recognize the heated argument between Maeglin and Erestor until he heard Erestor’s shout. “No!” Erestor was once again on the ground, with Maeglin towering over him. He lunged upward with his sword but was blocked. Glorfindel warily moved closer, trying to find a way to get Erestor away from Maeglin. “This ends now, Elfling,” Maeglin roared, his voice echoing like shattering glass, “I have nothing left but you, and you will remain mine for eternity.” Erestor gave a choked whimper but did not flinch. “Maeglin!” Glorfindel yelled menacingly, his rage coming forth in one powerful shout. “The choice is not yours!” Maeglin leapt away from Erestor to once again spar furiously with Glorfindel, advance after insistence after tierce. “And who would make it for him then?” panted Maeglin, just over the ear-splitting ring of cast-iron on cast-iron. “You?” Glorfindel fleched ferociously past the other Elf, grunting after deflecting a particularly strong attack. As both lunged brutally at each other, set to collide with the fury of Ossë’s waves, they found themselves abruptly and inexplicably unable to move. “It is my choice, and my choice alone,” said Erestor with a grave beautiful anger, rising from where he had lay prone on the ground with majesty previously unseen. The darkness seemed to swirl around him, and there was neither panic nor mercy in the heliotrope-brown eyes. Glorfindel searched Erestor’s face and found, to his growing alarm, the grim determination of one who accepts his dim and distant destiny. Silence reigned for long, swelling moments, before a strong declaration broke the quiet. “I love you Glorfindel,” said Erestor quietly, without flair or dramatic emotion. It was clear, and strong, and somehow more powerful that any of the Eldar’s poetry or songs could ever hope to be. For amidst the joy of so pure a statement, there was the undeniable truth that Glorfindel now saw: Those simple words would cost Erestor his life. Maeglin’s ire broke with a frenzied, inelven howl, and whatever control Erestor had previously had over him was lost, for he leapt forward with an animalistic vengeance, knife poised. While the blade sunk to the hilt into the advisor’s breast, so did Glorfindel’s and Erestor’s sink into Maeglin’s back and heart. With sickening squishes, the knives sunk deeply into Elven flesh, slicing the very flesh Illuvatar had gifted with immortality. Yet as the daggers found their marks, light suddenly erupted around the three Elf-men, cascading around them brilliantly until their eyes could adjust. No longer night-blind, Glorfindel saw that the brightness around him was not just light, but sparkling images of ages past. /Memories/, he realized, /these are Erestor’s memories/. Gondolin swirled everywhere, glittering triumphantly for a moment before Maeglin’s face loomed all around them, younger and fairer but still with a hint of malice to come. Then a much younger Erestor stood on a balcony speaking with Maeglin, and next, to Glorfindel’s horror, he saw Erestor, bloodied and bruised, beneath Maeglin as savage thrusts rocked his body. For a few instants all was a myriad of dark colours, and then Rivendell burst into life. Glorfindel’s saw himself and Erestor laughing and smiling together secretly after a long meeting, and that night when he had found Erestor huddled in the corridor. The last picture that was shown was of his own face, brow furrowed with worry, before everything returned to the strange darkness. The spell broken, Glorfindel jerked his dagger out of Maeglin’s back and then wedged it back in again, finding a fatal spot just below the neck. As Maeglin fell to his knees, the Elda sidled around to the other side, where Erestor also knelt, blood flowing from around the knife thrust into his upper-right torso. He reached forward urgently to try to push Maeglin back, but a faint plea held him back. “Wait,” coughed Erestor, his eyes locked with Maeglin’s in an evocative battle of wills, “Wait. I must win this alone.” The very air between the two gravely injured Elves seemed to crackle with tension before splitting with an overwhelming shot of energy. Maeglin slumped back onto the floor, bleeding profusely, while Erestor stumbled to his feet. “Be gone from Arda, Maeglin,” Erestor murmured with a victorious smile, “Your link is severed. I live again.” With these final words, he collapsed again. Glorfindel leapt to catch and lower him gently to his lap. “I love you too, Erestor,” Glorfindel choked, tears running down his face as he stroked back the dark hair. “I love you too. It will be alright. I’ve always loved you.” Erestor smiled again, and his eyes slipped closed as Glorfindel pressed his lips to the other’s mouth, pitching them back to where they had come from.