Title: Windows of the Soul
Author(s): Fimbrethiel & Sian
Beta: Alex
Contact: Fimbrethiel@yahoo.com & Sian265@aol.com
Type: FPS AU
Fandom: LOTR
Pairing: Erestor/Gildor & Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Strong sexual situations between Males, Extreme Violence
and Graphic Images.
Disclaimer: We are shamelessly playing with Tolkien’s Elves, but we
swear it is just for fun! All the lovely Elves are the property of
the esteemed Prof. Tolkien’s estate.

Summary:  By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked to Lindon
comes... a serial killer is on the loose

A/N: Many thanks to Alex for the beta!



**********
Chapter: 7/11


One moment, fire burned the very flesh from his bones. In the very
next instant, the breath was frozen in his lungs.  He could not feel
his feet; ice encased his body as he struggled forward. The air was
filled with screams -- the cries of the wronged. Swords flashed,
their bright blades stained with Elven blood. Harsh voices
whispering, "Kinslayer!" brought him awake with a stifled scream.

Glorfindel sat up, the damp sheet falling unnoticed to his waist.
His head swung frantically around the room, but no one was there. He
was alone.

Glorfindel swung his legs to the side of the bed, wearily raising a
hand to push back sweat-dampened strands of blond from his flushed
face. Would he never have relief from the nightmares of his past?
The large room that had seemed so grand upon his arrival now felt
like a prison. Glorfindel could *hear* the guard outside his door.
Although his guardian did not speak, his silent presence was as loud
as the slamming of iron doors. The four walls were closing in on
him, and Glorfindel knew he would find no more rest this night. The
moments after the nightmares left him feeling confined, caged, and
restless. Only the freedom of his nightly excursions promised
relief.

Their angry, tortured voices still called to him, begging for mercy
and cursing the Noldor for their betrayal. The image of the red
flames sparking high into the night sky as the ships burned
tormented his memory; still the rumble and cry of the Valar echoed
in his mind.  Glorfindel growled -- he needed out of this room!

Glorfindel pulled on the leggings and tunic he had worn earlier. He
approached the door and schooled his features. The young soldier
turned to face Glorfindel as the door opened. 

"Híren, may I help you?" The guardsman asked anxiously.

Ah, Glorfindel thought. This one is perfect. The awed look on the
young ellon’s face told Glorfindel everything he needed to know.
This will be too simple. Glorfindel did not need to try very hard to
look pale and strained, the confinement and nightmares took care of
that. He looked into the younger Elf's eyes, letting his own proud
shoulders droop just a touch.

"I-I had a nightmare," Glorfindel said, letting his voice slur and
reflect weariness. "Lord Elrond has made a tonic that helps me to
sleep. Unfortunately, I forgot to send for it earlier.  If you do
not mind?" Glorfindel flashed his best, charming smile and moved a
bit closer to the infatuated Elf.

The guardsman seemed to snap to attention, whether it was from being
in the presence of the great Glorfindel, slayer of a Balrog, or his
future commanding officer, he appeared all to happy to help the Elda
out. "Of course, Híren," he said eagerly. "I will be back quickly
with your medicine.” The young Elf turned and hurried away down the
hall toward the healing wing as if the Balrog were on his own heels.

Glorfindel felt a flash of guilt over the trouble he knew the young
Elf was going to get into when he returned to find his prisoner
gone. That fleeting bit of remorse was not, however, enough to stop
Glorfindel from quickly leaving his room. Besides, he thought as he
walked briskly down the hall in the opposite direction, this would
be an invaluable lesson for the young guardsman. Never underestimate
your opponent. 

**********

After Erestor questioned Glorfindel, Elrond had relayed the
happenings to the High King. Although a suspect was under guard,
Glorfindel was innocent until proven guilty, and there was simply
not enough evidence –yet—to prove his guilt. Gil-galad decided it
would be prudent to issue a city-wide warning to all ellith living
alone, but he knew as well as Erestor did that such a warning was
pointless. All the evidence indicated that the victims knew their
killer. Until Erestor’s investigations were conducted, there was
simply nothing else that could be done except wait, and hope the
killer did not strike again.

Erestor had returned to the lab after questioning Glorfindel. Alone,
he sat in his office, crime scene drawings and interviews spread out
on the desk before him. He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face.
There had to be something he was missing.

This killer was highly organized, that much was clear. The crime
scene displayed a high level of control, and the killings themselves
were very well planned. Each scene was carefully arranged to fit the
details of whatever this killer's fantasy involved. The murderer
also collected trophies: Brennil’s robe and Cuileth’s sewing basket.
Erestor deduced that the killer was well thought of, bright, and
considered a pleasant addition to society. 

"Planning, then the victim selection, hunting, and finally…the
murder..." Yes, Erestor thought, this is what you are doing...

The killer's modus operandi was evident in the lack of forced entry
into the victims’ homes, the seated placement of the bodies, the
same method of subduing his victims, the mysterious contents of the
teacups. Part of his MO, Erestor also figured had to be how he
became close enough to the victims to allow entry into their
quarters. Their killer also had to have established some element of
trust – the same MO, the same killer. 

The mutilation of the eyes and the robe, Erestor thought, was the
ritual. The ritual, as compared to the MO, was something that the
killer felt played a necessary role in the fantasy he created for
himself.

Erestor cursed in frustration. Going over the information repeatedly
resulted in nothing new.  He needed answers, and he knew just where
to start looking for them. Determinedly, Erestor shoved the chair
back and left his office. Striding the down the hall of the guest
quarters, he came to an abrupt halt at the sight of one of the
King’s guardsmen running from Erestor's prisoner’s room, a look of
panic on his face.

The ellon paled at the sight of Lord Erestor in the hall.  He
swallowed. "Lord Erestor, I am sorry, but it appears Lord Glorfindel
has escaped."  The young Elf's voice broke only once, and Erestor
arched a brow as he moved to the nervous Elf's side.

Erestor glanced into the empty room and turned his attention back to
the guard. "Yes, it does appear as if my prisoner is missing. Would
you know how that came to happen?" Erestor asked calmly. His quiet
tone seemed to do more damage to the young Elf's composure than if
Erestor had raged and raised his voice.

"Y-yes, sir. He complained of nightmares and said Lord Elrond had
medicine to help him sleep. I was only gone for a moment, and when I
came back, Lord Glorfindel was gone." The guardsman stared straight
ahead; already he could hear the Captain's voice sending him to the
worst duty in the realm. Erestor could not help but admire the young
ellon’s courage – he held his head high and met his fate straight
on.

Erestor only shook his head. He should have spoken with Dórion about
the type of guard needed; this had not been the assignment for a
rookie. "You are dismissed. Please inform Captain Dórion that I want
to speak with him immediately. I will wait here in case Lord
Glorfindel returns." Erestor's voice was stern, but not unkind. He
should have taken into account how the guards would feel guarding a
hero such as Glorfindel. He was one of them, a fellow warrior, and a
legend.

After the young guard bowed smartly and left to seek out his
commanding officer, Erestor entered Glorfindel's room and shut the
door behind him. Calmly, he started a methodical search of the room.
If Glorfindel was going to disobey an order, from Lord Elrond no
less, then Erestor was going to break the rules. Normally, he would
obtain the suspect’s consent or provide the King with enough
evidence to allow a search. Elves valued their privacy highly, even
in a crowded realm such as Lindon, and to invade that privacy was
unthinkable.

But not this time.  Erestor went through the wardrobe, finding only
a few simple tunics and one robe, nothing resembling what the
victims wore. The drawers revealed nothing either, and Erestor
frowned at the lack of personal items. The walls were bare, the tops
of the bureaus and even the mantelpiece were devoid of adornments.
There were no mementoes; nothing that spoke of the blond’s
illustrious past, not even a token from an admirer. Even creature
comforts were sparse in the Elda’s room.

After his search, Erestor doused all the candles in the room, and
selecting a chair in a dark corner, sat down to wait for the blond's
return. He did not have long to wait. Only an hour or so passed
before the door was cautiously opened and Glorfindel crept into the
room.  He smelled of the outdoors, Erestor noticed, and he waited
until the Elda was in the center of the room and had frozen as his
senses picked up on an intruder. 

Erestor's cold voice broke the silence. "Am I now to be called to
the scene of another murder, Lord Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel's head swung around toward Erestor’s voice, and the
moonlight that shone through the window was enough to reveal the
fury in his eyes.  "What are you doing in my room, Lord Erestor?"
Glorfindel spat.

Erestor rose and approached Glorfindel. "I came here to question my
chief suspect, only to find him escaped from his room. Why did you
leave your room, Lord Glorfindel?" Erestor stopped directly in front
of the Elda, now wishing for more light. He wanted to see the Elda's
eyes, the windows into his soul.

Glorfindel took a step back. A flash of what could have been
indecision or insecurity appeared on his face, before he quickly
schooled his features. "I needed to walk," he stated simply,
offering no further explanation.

"Walk?" Erestor said, sarcasm and disbelief heavy in his voice. "You
deceived a member of the royal guard and defied an order -- a
*direct* order -- from Lord Elrond, for a walk? Do you really expect
me to believe that?"

Glorfindel began pacing the room, his every move frantic, as if the
walls were closing in on him. "Believe what you will, but yes, I
needed to walk," he retorted.

Erestor stalked toward the blond. "Did you walk, or did you perhaps
proposition some elleth, and once in her room you strangled her to
death and cut out her eyes?" With every word Erestor moved closer
and closer, until the blond was backed against the door with no
means of escape. He pinned the shocked blue orbs with his fierce
black gaze. "What did this one do to you? What imagined fantasy
placed her in your path? Or is that you had a taste of Kinslaying at
Alqualondë and decided to continue the slaughter of your own kind?"

Glorfindel shoved past Erestor and swung around to face the
investigator furiously. "No!" he shouted. "I have nightmares of
those times. I cannot sleep for the visions of blood and fire and
ice, so I walk. That is all I do, Lord Erestor. I have nightmares,
so I walk..." Glorfindel's voice broke and he lowered his head.

Silence built between them. Erestor studied the bowed head. He was,
for one of the few times in his life, confused. His analytical mind
failed him now. Mentally, Erestor ticked off the evidence that
pointed overwhelmingly toward the Elda. The killings began shortly
after Glorfindel arrived in Lindon. A witness placed him in the
vicinity of the second murder. The story of passing through the
hallway and discovering the first murder was entirely too
convenient. He was wily enough to escape the guard placed on his
room. The answers Glorfindel gave to questioning were nervous and
evasive. And finally, he was tainted with the blood of the Teleri.
It stained his hands already – the blood of the Kinslaying.

But for reasons unknown to him, Erestor believed the Elda. He simply
could not in his heart believe the stunning blond, the Balrog slayer
and hero of Gondolin, could have committed such atrocious crimes. 

The silence was broken by a knock upon the door, and without a word
to Glorfindel, Erestor moved to answer it. It was with no surprise
that the grim face of Captain Dórion himself greeted Erestor.
Undoubtedly, the young guard had informed his superior of what had
happened, and Dórion took personal responsibility for the mishap.
For once, Dórion had no derisive comment to make.

Erestor turned back to look at the blond, but Glorfindel had not
raised his head. "Captain, I would like a more experienced guard
posted on Lord Glorfindel.  One who will not be so awed by our
Lord's reputation as to not do his job."  Erestor stepped briskly
out into the hall, but paused. With one last look at the blond, he
added one more order.  "And allow Lord Glorfindel to walk the
grounds with a guard accompanying him.” With that, Erestor turned
again and walked down the hall, not once looking back to see if
Glorfindel had heard his last order.

Erestor returned to his lab, stopping only to pick up the two
teacups recovered from the crime scenes. He needed to see someone
who would be able to tell him what the purplish substance was in the
cups. Lord Elrond...

Evidence in hand, Erestor did not make it to the door before it
swung open and Gildor appeared.  The younger Elf was flushed with
anger.  "I heard that Glorfindel escaped his guard and left the
palace," he exclaimed.

Erestor calmly sat on a corner of his desk.  "It has been addressed,
and Lord Glorfindel is safely back in his quarters," Erestor stated,
struggling to keep the impatience out of his voice.

Gildor nodded, then his face softened and he came to perch next to
Erestor, pressing his body firmly against the other Elf's side. "Are
you finished for the night?" he asked hopefully.

Erestor's mind was not on the younger Elf, but on Glorfindel and
their confrontation earlier that evening. The Elda had seemed so
sincere and had reacted so horrified to Erestor's accusations.
Erestor only murmured a response to Gildor; his mind was firmly
interlocked with his case.

Gildor placed a hand upon Erestor’s thigh, stroking up and down the
tight muscles. "Then if you are finished, what do you say to going
back to your quarters and working off a little of your stress?"
Gildor waited, but Erestor said nothing, only stared off into space,
his lips pulled into a frown. "Erestor?" Gildor pressed.

But Erestor did not hear Gildor, or even notice the hand caressing
his thigh. Abruptly, he rose off the desk, Gildor's hand falling
away unnoticed. "I have to speak to Elrond," Erestor said, and
walked out the door, leaving Gildor seated open-mouthed upon his
desk.

Gildor stared at the open door in shock.  His face flushed and he
stared down at the floor for a moment, before the hurt changed to
anger. Squaring his shoulders, Gildor left the lab, closing the door
behind him.



**********
Chapter: 8/11


Erestor lay in his bed, but sleep would not come. His mind would not
rest after the discoveries Elrond had revealed.

Nightshade.  

The purple residue in the bottom of the teacups was Nightshade. The
herb was toxic.  When ingested, it would cause one to develop
weakness, difficulty breathing, or paralysis. Symptoms could include
a loss of voice, along with continuous movements of the fingers and
hands. Most commonly the herb was infused with a tonic or strong
liquor. 

It fit…

But *why* was the question Erestor had no answer for. Why would
these ellith drink the tea? Elrond had explained that Nightshade had
a distinct odor and taste.  Even diluted or masked by the infusion
of liquor, would have given the tea a strange flavor, which surely
would have been noticed by the victims drinking it. And why was
there only one cup? If they were offered a spirit, why drink alone?
How did the killer convince them to drink? Erestor had no answers,
just more questions.

Elrond had also explained that this bit of herb-lore was specialized
knowledge. Oh, everyone knew Nightshade was toxic, poisonous even,
but those specific symptoms fit the killer's MO. How else could the
killer have incapacitated his victims enough to undress and re-dress
them, then strangle them to death?  Also, it would explain why they
did not struggle, and why no cries for help were heard. 

But the one question that tormented Erestor the most was how
Glorfindel, a warrior, could have knowledge of that particular herb. 


Erestor rose with the dawn. He wandered through the gardens, his
thoughts still troubled. Lindon was quiet; for most, the day had not
yet begun. The gardens grew wilder and more untamed the further
Erestor walked, and before long, he was in the woods, following a
winding path. Here amongst the trees, the light was dimmer, the
morning not yet taken hold this deep under the canopy created by the
leaves and branches. The trees grew closer together as he drew near
a secluded glade, known about by but a few. It was peaceful, and
quiet, just what Erestor needed.

But a sound did disturb him as he moved deeper into the wood. It was
a swishing noise, a bit like a fast-moving bird diving in for a
kill, though it sounded like no bird Erestor had ever heard before.
He stepped around a tree and that was when he saw him. Glorfindel…

Erestor quickly stepped back and concealed himself behind a tree.
What was Glorfindel doing in the woods, alone and unguarded? I will
have Dórion's head on a platter for this, Erestor fumed, while he
decided on the best course of action. Was it better to confront the
Elda out here in the forest, or to remain hidden and follow
Glorfindel and hope he returned to Lindon, where Erestor could call
for assistance if a confrontation became unpleasant?

Safely out of sight behind the tree, Erestor scanned the woods,
assessing the situation. As he looked around, a motion in the
treetops caught his eye. At first, he thought it was just a bird,
but then gave a small, quiet sigh of relief. Nestled comfortably up
in the fork of a tree, almost directly across the glade, bow clasped
loosely in one hand, was Glorfindel's guard. Erestor recognized
Pedhrin, one of Dórion's officers. His fury gave way to grudging
respect for the disagreeable Captain for taking the threat of
Glorfindel's escape seriously after his dressing-down the previous
night. Pedhrin was a highly skilled warrior, one of the High King's
top ranking officers, second only to Captain Dórion himself.

The Elda stood in the center of the glade. His flaxen hair was
unbound, unbraided, and hung down to dance at the small of his back.
Glorfindel was shirtless. His broad upper form glistened in the
dawn's light, and Erestor could not take his eyes from the golden
vision. The mighty sword swung through the air, and Glorfindel’s
shoulders and arms moved powerfully with the weapon. Muscles stood
out starkly as he panted with the effort of his practice.
Glorfindel’s legs were braced apart, each thigh highlighted by the
sweat-dampened leggings that clung like a second skin. 

Erestor's eyes followed a drop of moisture as it fell from
Glorfindel’s chin down onto his chest. It trickled past one pale
pink nipple, over a flat stomach and disappeared into the waistband
of his low hung leggings. The warrior was a magnificent sight as he
spun in a circle, back bowed, buttocks flexing as he thrust and
avoided an imaginary opponent. The blond’s hair swung about,
catching the light and the eye. His strong hands grasped the sword
firmly; his fingers gripped the handle as he swung his weapon in an
arc, whirling around and finally coming to rest, facing Erestor once
more. 

Erestor’s gaze rose to the Elda’s face. The blue eyes were burning
fiercely, concentration heavy on that noble brow. And Erestor
suddenly had doubts whether this legendary warrior who had
sacrificed himself in Gondolin could have taken the lives of those
ellith. Despite the evidence, Erestor could not believe he was
looking at his killer. 

As heat pooled and built in Erestor’s groin, he stumbled back away
from Glorfindel. He no longer trusted himself. Erestor turned and
fled.

A frown was heavy on his own brow as he headed back to his lab.
Erestor did not know if he could trust his own judgment any longer.
Did he believe in Glorfindel’s innocence because he truly *believed*
the blond was innocent and that it was simply a series of
coincidences that indicated Glorfindel's guilt?

Or was it because Erestor wanted him? Was he seeing what he wanted
in the Elda, because he was attracted to Glorfindel?  The
uncomfortable throbbing in his loins made Erestor terribly afraid
the answer to that question was yes.


Eyes followed the dark-haired Elf’s path back to the palace, but
they were not Glorfindel’s eyes.

There he goes, the oh-so-so smart Erestor. I watched him, followed
him, only to find him gazing like a lovesick elleth upon that Balrog
slayer. How pathetic they are, so stupid- all of them. Did they
actually think the blond smart enough to have done what he had done? 

He remembered the Elda. Oh yes, from the crossing, the Kinslayings…
Across the fires of burning ships their eyes had met. Panic had
seized him when the blond stopped him in the halls, but the
expression on Glorfindel's face had been one of confusion, not
recognition. 

He had stood among the trees, watching. They were not close, did not
see the pieces, the answers right in front of them. But what if the
blond remembered? Had he seen?

No one followed him back to his quarters, he made sure of that. No,
the only eyes that could still see him were lying in his palm,
staring up at him with their dead gazes. So harmless they looked,
devoid of the veins and tendons that connected them to a mind that
remembered and recorded his deeds. But no longer.  Now they were
small, already losing their blue color, fading to a milky paleness,
until they finally would see no more.

*Her* eyes had remembered him, accused him. He had seen the horror
and blame and damnation shining from their depths. Everyone had
always said he had his Nana's eyes. How many times had he seen those
eyes reflecting indifference, when he had wanted to see love and
interest. But it was not until the end, when their light had almost
been extinguished, that they had seen him, known him. Those
betraying eyes! 

His fingers tightened on the orbs in his hand, squeezing until his
fingers and palms were coated with tissue and jelly, until the blue
of their eyes was crushed beyond recognition. Those eyes would see
no more.

His Nana had been so beautiful, right up until the moment he had
killed her...



The knock on the door sent a flash of panic through him before he
calmed himself and wiped his hands clean, and quickly tossed the
gore-covered towel out of view. The sight of his Lord Elrond had him
blinking in surprise, but he quickly recovered.

"Híren, how may I help you?" Garafon's voice showed his surprise at
finding Lord Elrond at his door, but he bowed respectfully to the
King's herald.

Elrond smiled at the earnest healer. Now matter how many times they
worked together, the formal Elf always maintained the respectful
distance Elrond's position demanded. Garafon was an excellent
healer, but a very reserved individual. 

"Garafon, I am sorry to disturb you on your time off, but I need a
sleeping potion made for Lord Glorfindel." At the mention of the
name, Garafon twitched with what Elrond assumed to be surprise over
being asked to assist in the treatment of the legendary Balrog
slayer. "He has suffered nightmares and insomnia since his re-birth,
and now with the influx of returning memories, he is deeply in need
of our assistance."

Garafon bowed once more and accepted the parchment Lord Elrond held
out to him. "Of course, Híren. I will gather this together
immediately," he replied, looking down at the list of ingredients
Lord Elrond specified.

Elrond once more thanked Garafon, and Garafon closed the door behind
him, still staring thoughtfully down at the written instructions. So
the Elda's memories were returning? Would he recall a glimpse across
raging fire of an elleth dying? 

Garafon smiled. Without him knowing it, Lord Elrond had just handed
him the perfect solution to the problem. The blond was getting too
close...



Saelbeth knocked on the heavy door and wrung his hands nervously.
His stomach was in knots and he felt slightly foolish.  He was a
grown Elf, a number of years past his majority, but he really needed
to talk to someone.
 
Gildor blinked when he opened the door and saw his visitor’s
identity.   Saelbeth had never been to his rooms before.  Taking in
the young Elf’s pale face, he quickly grasped his hands and pulled
him into the room.  “Saelbeth?  Are you all right?” he asked with
concern, guiding Saelbeth to a chair and pushing him down in it.
“What is the matter?”  
 
“I am sorry to bother you…” Saelbeth said hesitantly.  He sat
stiffly on the seat, looking small and frightened despite his years.
 
“Pfft,” Gildor waved away the apology with the toss of a hand.
“Nonsense, it is not a bother at all.  Can I offer you a glass of
wine?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before moving toward the
sideboard where an impressive selection of bottles and fine
glassware was displayed.  “You look in need of something a bit
stronger than tea.”
 
“That would be most appreciated, my Lord,” Saelbeth responded with a
small smile.
 
“Saelbeth… if I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times.
My name is Gildor, not ‘my Lord’,” the dark-haired Elf chided
playfully as he pressed a glass into the other’s hand.
 
Saelbeth accepted the glass gratefully and took a hearty swallow.  A
bit of color came back to his face and he sighed as the wine began
to set him at ease.  “Thank you, my— Gildor.  I needed that.”
 
Gildor chuckled.  “Aye, you did.  Now what brings you here,
Saelbeth?"
 
The younger Elf closed his eyes and grimaced, as if to shut out an
unpleasant memory.  “Those ellith – today I – how – “ Saelbeth broke
off and shook his head as though to clear it.  He set the wine glass
down on the table.  Gildor sat patiently, waiting for him to
continue, and finally the Sinda collected his thoughts and spoke
again.  “Does it get any easier?  Seeing we saw today?”

Gildor sighed heavily and rubbed his weary eyes.  “I wish I could
tell you otherwise, my friend, but the truth is that no, it does
not.”

“How can you bear it?  How does Lord Erestor do it without going
mad?”  Saelbeth stood suddenly and paced about the room, running his
hands through his long blond hair.  “Try as I might, I cannot rid my
mind of the memories, of seeing those poor ellith.  Visions of their
ruined faces haunt my thoughts.”

Gildor stood and walked across the room.  He reached out and grasped
Saelbeth’s arm, forcing him to halt his restless pacing.  Gently, he
turned Saelbeth toward him and enfolded the trembling Sinda in his
arms.  “The horror does not end, Saelbeth… not if you are sane.
Sometimes I even envision myself walking away, just leaving Lindon
behind.  Removing myself from death, wandering in the wilds with
only my wit to sustain me, getting far away from the horrors that
one being can do to another.”  He stroked the silky blond hair
tenderly, and slowly Saelbeth’s trembling subsided under the
soothing touch.

Hesitantly, Saelbeth’s arms came up to encircle the broad back.  His
voice was muffled against Gildor’s shoulder.  “How do you do it?”

“I will not tell you it is easy, but it is necessary.”  Gildor
removed his arms from around Saelbeth’s slender shoulders and lifted
the blond head from its hiding place against his chest, forcing
Saelbeth to meet his eyes.  "We are all the victims have now. Their
voices were silenced, so if we do not stand for them, who will?" He
kissed Saelbeth’s brow gently and pulled back to meet Saelbeth’s
gaze again.  “Can you understand that?”  

Saelbeth nodded cautiously.  “Thank you, Gildor,” he said, and a
tiny smile curved his lips.  “And please do not leave Lindon just
yet, the King would not be pleased.  Nor would I,” he said softly.

He will be all right, Gildor thought, relieved at hearing Saelbeth’s
mildly teasing words.  “I will not, my friend,” he said, dropping
his hands to the young Sinda’s shoulders.  He gave Saelbeth a brief
hug and impulsively leaned over to give the younger Elf a chaste
kiss on the cheek. 

In a move that startled even himself at its intimacy, Saelbeth
turned his head at that moment and met Gildor’s lips with his own.
Saelbeth’s clear blue eyes met surprised grey ones.  Neither moved;
they stood motionless, their lips barely touching.  

Finally, Saelbeth pulled back and muttered an apology, breaking
their gaze.  His face was crimson in embarrassment.  “I am sorry,
Gildor, I do not know what possessed me to do that.”

Gildor cupped the young Elf’s smooth cheek in his hand and gently
turned his head.  Quietly, he said, “Do not be sorry.”  He searched
Saelbeth’s eyes, haunted yet so clear and wholesome, and uttered a
silent prayer to the Valar that the young Elf would never lose that
innocence.  Leaning forward, he captured Saelbeth’s lips again in a
sweet kiss.

The tension melted from Saelbeth’s body, and he relaxed into
Gildor’s strong, protective embrace.  Gildor’s lips were moist and
warm, and wonderfully soft against his.  Moaning softly, he parted
his lips and allowed the Noldo to explore his mouth with a slick,
strong tongue.   

At last, the kiss ended and they broke apart reluctantly.  Gildor
stroked the young Sinda’s chin with the back of a finger, his voice
quiet and serious as he spoke.  “Will you stay, my friend?  I would
offer you the comfort of my bed and my body tonight.”
 
Saelbeth's response was equally serious when he answered, “I will
stay, Gildor.”



************
Chapter: 9/11


The stroke of midnight found Erestor prowling the halls of the
palace, lost in thought.  He had changed into nightclothes, but knew
sleep was hours away.  He thought to clear his mind by taking a
brief walk through the vast and winding corridors, but soon lost
track of time.

Most of the palace residents were long abed, though as he passed
like a quiet breeze through the halls, snatches of sound could be
heard from various rooms.  From a few the murmur of hushed
conversation could be heard, though the words were undistinguishable
through the heavy wooden doors.  A ringing peal of hearty laughter
from one, the clinking of glassware from another, the raised voices
of a quarrel from still another.  

With a start, Erestor became aware as he passed Gildor’s quarters of
the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking resounding from within.  He
stared at the door, dumbfounded.  Never had he and Gildor pretended
what they felt for one another was love, but neither had Erestor
ever seen the younger Noldo with a lover, nor had he ever spoken of
someone who had claimed his heart.  The impassioned moans brought
other things to mind, and Erestor felt his groin tightening at the
spontaneous vision that popped into his mind, that of a golden,
blue-eyed Elf spread out beneath him, wanton and undone in passion.
Immediately he suppressed that image, and with a shake of his head
at his own folly, he continued on, quickly consumed again by his
musings.

Erestor became conscious of his whereabouts a short while later.  It
was with little surprise that he realized his wanderings had brought
him all the way to Glorfindel’s chambers, two levels above his own
and in a completely different wing.  “Good eve, Pedhrin,” he greeted
the guard seated in a straight-backed chair stationed a few feet
away from the Elda’s rooms.  The same guard who had accompanied
Glorfindel to the woods earlier that day.

Erestor’s stomach lurched uneasily.  Had Pedhrin seen him watching
Glorfindel’s swordplay?  Seen his cheeks flush with lust as he hid
behind a tree, lurking like a thief?

Pedhrin nodded in greeting.  “Lord Erestor,” he responded politely.
“Captain Dórion told me what happened earlier.  I can assure you,
sir, that Lord Glorfindel has not been unguarded all day.  He asked
leave to practice with his sword early this morning.  I accompanied
him to the woods myself.”

The elf-Lord barely restrained a sigh of relief.  From Pedhrin’s
words, he had been unaware of Erestor’s presence.  It would make
sense that the guard’s focus was on Glorfindel – he would have had
no reason to suspect the Elda was being watched.  “Excellent. He
would not still be awake, by any chance?” he said. Now what made me
say that? he wondered.

“I believe he is.  There is light showing from under his door, and I
have heard some rustling about.”

Erestor nodded. “Thank you.”  He knocked sharply and waited until
the door opened a crack, revealing a tousled golden mane and a
single blue eye that peered suspiciously out into the hall.

“Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor said.  “May I come in?”

The door opened wider and Erestor stepped through into the spacious
anteroom.  A small dining table was in one corner, the pristine
white tablecloth bearing a plate, some cutlery, and a small tray
that evidently had held Glorfindel’s dinner that evening.  Beyond
the common room were two doors, one to a private bathing chamber,
and the other to a bedchamber.

“What do you want?” Glorfindel asked.  “Have you come to hurl false
accusations at me, Lord Erestor?  Did you not do enough of that
earlier, and thought you decided you needed more?” Glorfindel’s
voice was hostile, and he did not offer Erestor a seat.  “Have you
found me guilty of stealing the King’s silver, perhaps?  Or of
drowning a litter of puppies?”

Erestor sighed heavily.  “No, Lord Glorfindel.  I was simply
walking, and found myself near your chambers.”  He rubbed his eyes
tiredly.  “I thought we could talk.”

“No?” Glorfindel came straight to the point.  “If you have not come
to cast further aspersions upon my character or to heap falsehoods
upon my head, then why are you here?”

That is a very good question, Erestor thought.  Why exactly am I
here?  Because I saw you in the forest today and had doubts about
your guilt?  Because I found myself aroused and wanting you?
Instead, he settled for a half-truth.  “You profess your innocence.
I want to know why I should believe you.”

“Why would you believe me now, when you refused before?” The blond’s
lip curled into a sneer, the handsome face twisted into a gruesome
mask.

Because I have trouble reconciling the beauty and grace that I saw
today with the actions of a cold-blooded murderer, Erestor thought,
but did not say.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to
ten.  Slowly.  Then counted again, for good measure.  “You say you
are innocent.  Convince me,” he said again.  “Make me believe you
did not kill those ellith.”

Glorfindel harrumphed.  “Whatever happened to ‘innocent until proven
guilty?”

“You are a murder suspect, Glorfindel,” the Noldo stated, dispensing
with the formalities of titles. “A suspect with a somewhat
questionable past.  You must admit that the evidence against you is
damning.”

“There *is* no evidence, Erestor,” the blond retorted.  “The only
thing I am guilty of is being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I killed no one.”  

“You killed no one?” Erestor mocked.  “Did Námo purge your memory
when he released you from his Halls?  Does ‘Kinslaying’ mean nothing
to you?”

A white light seemed to suddenly shimmer around the Elda, and he
took a menacing step forward.  His eyes sparked blue fire as they
bored into Erestor’s.

“I killed no one,” Glorfindel hissed.

“Then tell me.  I want to believe.  I *need* to believe you.”  

Make me believe, Glorfindel, or I am lost, Erestor implored
silently.  I am dangerously close to falling in… something… with
you.  I need to know that I did not misjudge you.  I need to believe
that there is something good and pure in this world.  Please.

The Elda leaned closer, so close that Erestor could smell honey and
chamomile on his breath from his evening tea.  “Turgon was my liege
lord, and where he bade me go, I followed.  He spoke out against
Fëanor and counseled against leaving Tirion, though in the end,
Fëanor’s desire prevailed and we set out.  

“Turgon would not be parted from Finrod, his cousin, and lagged
behind with the house of Finarfin.  A sense of foreboding was upon
us, our hearts filled with dread.  Fëanor’s fury drove his sons on,
all of them filled with the lust for the Silmarils and their
terrible vow.  

“He was mad, Erestor, blinded by desire to recover his jewels, and
would not be gainsaid.  By the time Finarfin’s host arrived in the
Havens of Alqualondë, Fingolfin’s House had joined the fray,
believing wrongly that the Valar had decreed Fëanor be stopped at
any cost.   It was a massacre, and we could do nothing to stop it.
We did everything we could, but it was only after most of the Teleri
were slain and the rest cowed by Fëanor’s rage that we could draw
close; by that time, he had taken their ships and set sail.
Finarfin turned back then.  He begged pardon from the Valar, but
Turgon went on, driven by guilt and fear.”

Glorfindel took a step closer, that unholy white aura flickering
brighter.  Erestor took an uneasy step back.  “I can only imagine
the horror of that day,” Erestor murmured, beginning to understand
the full impact of the tragedy from one who witnessed it firsthand.
He was only a small boy then, though he had heard the tales from his
parents of the sorrow of the Kinslayings.

“You have no idea what horror is, my friend.  That was only the
beginning,” the Elda spat.  “Horror is living with the guilt of
being helpless to stop what amounted to wholesale slaughter.”  

Another step closer.  His nostrils flared with his anger.  “Horror
was hearing the crackle of the flames even from miles away as the
ships burned at Losgar, the screams of the Teleri carried on the
wind as they burned to cinders.”

Step.  Retreat.  “Horror was the crossing of the Ice, hearing Turgon
cry out in anguish as Elenwë stumbled and fell through, her mouth
forming soundless screams under the ice.  We could only stand and
watch as her body was carried away beneath our feet.  I restrained
Turgon when he thought to throw himself in after her.  I could do
nothing to save her, and it was only sheer chance that I managed to
keep him alive.”

Erestor paled.  His voice cracked and he shook his head.  “I have
heard enough.”

His chest heaved and his voice shook, but Glorfindel went on.  “You
have not heard nearly enough, Erestor.  Shall I tell you about
Gondolin?  I counseled Turgon not to trust Maeglin, but he would not
heed my warning.  Idril and Tuor escaped with Eärendil, but the rest
could not flee.  Almost an entire city – dead.  I could not save
them, either.”

“Then I died, too.  And in a twist of supreme irony, I found myself
sharing that dark prison with the one responsible for my own death –
Maeglin the Traitor.”

Glorfindel advanced on the dark-haired Elf, backing him against the
wall with no means of escape.  Tears of frustration and anguish
shone brightly in his eyes.  “And the burden of thousands of years
spent in silent reflection of my wrongs, the blood shed, the guilt
and pain…   No, beautiful one, you cannot *begin* to imagine what
horror is.  It is no small wonder I have nightmares.”  His eyes
burned into Erestor’s, their lips only a hair’s breadth apart.

Erestor, shaken, could only whisper.  “I had no idea.”

“No, I cannot imagine you would,” the blond said heatedly.  “And now
I am here, supposedly purged of my transgressions, yet nothing is
the same.  All that I know and loved is gone.  I go to bed alone,
and I wake screaming in the morning, with only my right hand to give
me comfort.”

The heat poured from Glorfindel’s body.  The scent of his anger was
sharp in Erestor’s nostrils, the tang of his rage palatable.  Like
the energy in the air before a lightning storm, his fury enveloped
them.  Erestor shivered; the raw, untamed power rolling from the
Elda went straight to his groin – his wrath was a potent
aphrodisiac.  Those eyes, gone blue-black, sparked feverishly.  Like
Fëanor’s eyes must have, Erestor thought randomly.

Glorfindel reached out, trapping Erestor in place against the wall.
Erestor’s fear and arousal in turn fueled the Elda’s hunger.  He
pressed against the dark-haired Elf, letting Erestor feel the extent
of his desire.  His length ground painfully into Erestor’s hip.
“Now do you understand, Erestor?  Can you finally believe I did not
kill those ellith?  I *could* not.  The very thought of bloodshed
turns my stomach.  Never will I forget the screams and the horror of
those who were so brutally slaughtered that day.  We could not stop
it, Turgon, Finrod, and I.  We were powerless, and we all died
knowing of our guilt.”

He clenched Erestor’s jaw in his hand and claimed those ruby lips in
a bruising, harsh kiss. 

Erestor was stunned.  He could not move, could not respond.  He
stood motionless while the blond ruthlessly plundered his mouth.
Glorfindel’s lips mashed against his, a slick tongue forcing its way
between his lips.  Only when the blond’s strong white teeth caught a
bit of tender lip and drew blood did he come back to his senses and
begin to struggle.

Glorfindel’s body was strong and immovable, pressing him firmly
against the wall.  Erestor was pinned in place, on hand gripping his
jaw, the other knotted in the length of his hair.  He struggled to
work his hands in between their bodies to push the Balrog-slayer
away.  

The Elda finally broke the kiss and raised his head, panting.  “You
want me.  Do not deny it.”

“You are wrong.”  Erestor could not meet the blond’s eyes.

Glorfindel dropped his hand to the bulge between Erestor’s legs and
squeezed lightly.  He leaned close, his lips stirring the silken
ebony hair over Erestor’s ear and breathed, “Am I?  This tells me
otherwise.”

Erestor whimpered, conflicted.  This was wrong – Glorfindel was a
murder suspect, for Elbereth’s sake.  But after everything the Elda
said, Erestor simply could not believe the famed and revered
Glorfindel of Gondolin was a murderer, no matter how strongly the
evidence spoke otherwise. The anguish in his voice and the pain
reflected in his eyes was genuine.  And by Manwë’s crown, he wanted
this.  More than anything he could remember in recent history.  Oh
Valar, he wanted Glorfindel.

He forced his eyes to meet Glorfindel’s lust-darkened sapphire gaze.
“You do not need to take what I am willing to give.”

Understanding dawned on Glorfindel’s face, and he loosened his grip
on Erestor’s jaw.  His features relaxed, and he leaned down to kiss
Erestor again, but more gently this time.  It was not a soft kiss by
any means, but gone was the rage and fury of before.  The white
shimmer surrounding his body slowly faded as his anger abated.

Glorfindel swiped his tongue over Erestor’s swollen lip, cleaning
the tiny drop of blood away.  He pressed against the smaller Elf’s
body, roaming his hands over his slender frame, feeling the hidden
strength in those deceptively slim limbs.

Erestor’s arms rose to caress the broad shoulders and he leaned his
head back against the wall, allowing the blond warrior free access
to his body.  

Strong, white teeth nipped as the tendons of his neck stretched
tightly, his head thrown back in rapture.  His breathing quickened
when the warrior’s battle-hardened hands slid under his robe and
drew it down over his shoulders.  Glorfindel drew one pebbled nipple
into his mouth, rolling it around wetly while his fingers tweaked
and pulled its mate. Glorfindel’s hand continued to stroke Erestor’s
arousal through the silk of his bed pants, the Elda’s hand roughly
gliding, stroking along his length, causing Erestor to moan in need.

“I want you, Erestor.”  

“Valar, yes,” Erestor groaned. “Here, now.”

Glorfindel pulled away, panting.  He strode the two paces over to
the table and with a broad sweep of his arm, sent crockery and
silver crashing to the floor.  

Erestor watched with lust-darkened eyes as shards of porcelain and
crystal littered the tiled floor.  This would be no gentle coupling,
he knew, with pretty words and romantic trappings.  No, this would
be unrestrained and forceful, and that was fine with him.

A loud rap sounded at the door, and Pedhrin’s voice called out
sharply, “Lord Erestor?  Is everything all right?”

Erestor’s head jerked toward the door, his eyes wild and feral.  He
had forgotten about the guard just outside.  Erestor swallowed twice
before his voice would finally work.  “Aye, Pedhrin, everything is
fine.  Lord Glorfindel simply, er, dropped his dinner tray.”

“Shall I send a maid to clean it up, my Lord?” came Pedhrin’s
solicitous voice, muffled through the door.

Erestor’s voice was high-pitched and wheezy as he responded, “Nay,
we will take care of it.  Thank you.”  For at that moment,
Glorfindel pulled Erestor toward him.  With one hand, he snapped the
knot on the advisor’s bed trousers, and they fell to the floor,
freeing a long, slender shaft, purpled with arousal and weeping
freely.  The Elda pushed Erestor roughly face down over the table
and kicked his ankles apart, spreading his legs wide.

Breathing harshly, he loosed his own trousers and stepped out of
them, and a heavy, thick shaft sprang free.  Frantically he looked
about the room.  “Oil…” he muttered, “No oil.”

Spotting a small dish of fresh, soft butter left from the remains of
his dinner, he grabbed it and slathered the greasy substance over
his cock.  He returned to the dish, scooping up a bit more, and with
no warning slid a slippery finger into Erestor’s passage.  Erestor
barked in surprise but before he could utter another sound,
Glorfindel thrust in a second finger, pumping them in and out a few
times, coating Erestor’s channel well.  

He is tight, oh gods so tight, Glorfindel thought.  He could wait no
longer, and removed his fingers.  He positioned the blunt tip of his
arousal at the greasy entrance to Erestor’s body and pushed steadily
until he was fully sheathed.  

Erestor, bent forward, face pressed against the rumpled tablecloth,
could do nothing but whimper as he was breached.  His fingers
gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles white, tensed against
the pain.  Glorfindel was not small, and the preparation was barely
adequate.  Before his body could fully adjust, Glorfindel withdrew
and thrust forward again, wringing a protracted moan from Erestor’s
lips.

The sound seemed to break through Glorfindel’s lust-haze, and he
stopped his reckless thrusting.  Mandos, what have I done? he
thought, distressed that he had lost control so easily, and so
quickly.  Ever so slowly, he withdrew slightly from Erestor’s body,
biting his lip at the pained sounds from his lover.  Carefully he
examined his shaft where it pierced Erestor, checking for blood.
Seeing none, he heaved a sigh of relief.

He curved around Erestor’s slender back and reached below, wrapping
his fist around Erestor’s length, and found that it had wilted from
his discomfort.  “I am sorry, Erestor.  ‘Twas not my intent to harm
you,” he said quietly, beginning long, slow strokes of the flaccid
flesh.  “It has been a long time for me, and I lost control.  I will
make it good for you, I swear.”  

Erestor nodded slightly and closed his eyes, letting the warm,
strong hand coax him back to full hardness.  At last, the gripping
muscle around Glorfindel’s cock loosened as Erestor’s channel
finally adjusted, as he surrendered the pleasure of Glorfindel’s
pumping fist.

Glorfindel sensed his partner’s readiness and finally began to move.
He shifted forward and gripped Erestor’s hips with both hands,
silently urging the dark Elf to raise his bottom a bit more, and
adjusted his angle.  As he began thrusting, the slightly changed
position caused his shaft to brush against Erestor’s prostate.

Growling, Glorfindel lunged forward, impaling the pale figure over
and over.  
His thrusting became more erratic as he neared climax.  Mesmerized,
he could not tear his eyes from the sight of his own cock,
glistening from the greasy butter, disappearing repeatedly between
the pale curves of Erestor’s buttocks.  It had been so long since he
had felt this – the blissful heat stretched around his girth, the
pooled warmth deep in the pit of his belly, spreading outward in
waves.

White heat consumed him, and Glorfindel snarled with his release,
filling Erestor’s passage with his milky seed.  He slumped over
Erestor’s trembling form and caught his breath, and as his heart
slowed, he realized belatedly that the dark Elf had not yet reached
orgasm.       

Tiny mewls escaped Erestor’s mouth when Glorfindel pulled his
softening shaft from Erestor’s body.  Erestor remained sprawled
across the table, his anus red and raw, while a slow trickle of the
Elda’s seed seeped from his body.  Weakly he attempted to stand, but
his legs were unsteady and would not hold him, and he fell forward
again.   

Glorfindel wiped himself with the shirt he had cast off, and gently
swabbed Erestor’s abraded bottom of his essence, thankful there were
no signs of blood.  He threw the garment on the floor, and then
helped Erestor to stand up.  As though the advisor weighed no more
than a child, Glorfindel picked him up, carried him through the door
into the bedroom, and tenderly laid him on the bed.  You are so
beautiful, Erestor, he thought.  A feeling he had not experienced in
Ages, or ever thought to feel again, welled in his chest.  If only
you could believe I speak the truth.

Erestor moaned softly, pumping his hips against the air.  His hand
sought his erection, engorged still and dripping constantly,
creating a small pool of clear fluid on his taut stomach.  A cry
escaped his lips as Glorfindel’s large, warm hand covered his own,
encouraging him to move.  In unison they stroked, until Erestor
shuddered and bucked, coating their joined hands with his pearly
essence.

While Erestor lay spent, his eyes glazed, Glorfindel stood and
retrieved a warm, wet cloth from the bathing chamber and wiped the
flushed body clean.  Each finger was carefully cleansed of any trace
of fluids.  Finally he discarded the cloth on the floor, then
climbed onto the bed next to Erestor.  He lay down and pulled the
darkling Elf near.  “I am sorry if I hurt you, Erestor,” he said
quietly.

Erestor mumbled drowsily, “I am well, Glorfindel.  Do not fear.”

“I am glad,” Glorfindel smiled softly into Erestor’s raven mane.
The lovers rested together as their breathing slowed.

Glorfindel’s eyes began to glaze in reverie, when Erestor’s quiet
voice broke the silence.

“Glorfindel?”

“Mmmm?” the Elda responded sleepily.

“I believe you.”

A tiny, tired smile graced the Elda’s golden features.  “Will you
stay with me tonight?” Glorfindel asked, sounding for all the world
like a shy youth and not a formidable, reborn warrior.

Erestor curled up on his side and wrapped an arm around Glorfindel’s
broad chest. “Aye, I will stay.”


TBC…