Title: An Affliction of the Heart, 1/?    
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type:	FPS
Characters: Legolas/Elladan/Elrohir, Glorfindel/Thranduil
Rating:	 NC-17 for slashy goodness - eventually
Beta: Minuial Nuwing – you’re the best, darling!
Archive:  Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn.  All others please ask.

WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between half-elven twins and a prince, and 
between a warrior and a king.  Allusions to violence. Brotherly incest. Rampant angst.
 
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate, 
and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this.

Author’s Notes: The twins come to Greenwood with Glorfindel to expand their education and 
everyone learns more than was intended.  Yet another exploration of the dangers and delights of 
love – I’m nothing if not a hopeless romantic.  Canon disclaimer is in place, as always.  The 
Donne poem quoted at the start is one of the Holy Sonnets, however, I think that in lieu of God, 
Love would stand quite well.
 
Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com

Summary: Glorfindel and the twins travel to Greenwood via Lórien, and Glorfindel shares 
secrets with an old friend.

I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit you, but oh, to no end,
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue,
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy,
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
John Donne – Batter My Heart

On a bright, cool, late-spring day in the one hundred and eightieth year of the Third Age, 
Glorfindel, formerly of Gondolin, now of Imladris, escorted the Sons of Elrond, Elladan and 
Elrohir, along the southern road toward Greenwood the Great.  Though the distance was thrice 
that of Redhorn pass, springtime brought great avalanche danger in the mountains and there was 
word that orcs were beginning to patrol the great peaks.  The twins traveled with only the ancient 
warrior as their protection, for evil had not yet begun to flourish in the world west of the 
mountains, and there were few who would openly challenge the great Balrog-slayer of Gondolin.

They passed through the gap that lay between the southern tip of the Hithaeglir, or Misty 
Mountains, and the range known as Ered Nimrais, or the White Mountains in the common 
tongue.  They then turned north, skirting the wood known to the Secondborn as Fangorn Forest 
and then made for Lórien, where they would rest for a week in the shelter of the massive trees 
under the hospitality of Amroth, Lord of Lórien, and visit their grandmother, Galadriel, who also 
dwelt there.  Both Lord Amroth and Lady Galadriel were happy to see the legendary warrior, and 
Galadriel was happier still to spend time with her young grandsons.  A close bond existed 
between Lórien and Imladris; it had been forged during the Fall of Eregion, and strengthened 
when Galadriel and Celebrían came to live in the Golden Wood.  Amroth and Elrond had long 
been friends and allies, and when Celebrían and Elrond fell in love, the tie between the two lands 
became unbreakable.

Amroth had great respect for Glorfindel; he had seen the warrior in battle and knew well the tale 
of his sacrifice on the steep slopes of Echoriath.  Glorfindel did not see his actions of so long ago 
as worthy of praise – he always said it was what any good warrior would do – but deep down the 
Elda knew different.  Behind his polite humility lurked a nagging question – what madness made 
him climb those slopes and confront that horrific beast?  

But he knew the answer; he did it for love.  

He knew the sacrifice had been worth the pain even if he never knew the love of the one he 
committed the sacrifice for, for the lord he served now was the issue of the one whom he had 
loved and protected that day.  It was oft said that he had given his life for Eärendil, and now he 
spent his second life protecting two more generations of the royal family he had once served.  In 
truth, it was another he had given his life for.  

There were many ways to die and that particular one would not have been his first choice, even if 
it were the most appropriate – fire was said to have purging qualities, after all.  Often he was 
asked to relay the tale of his heroic battle with the Balrog, just as he was that first night 
underneath the trees of Lórien.  

“How does one describe what it is like to burn and fall to one’s death?” he responded to the 
young marchwarden.  “The stench was unlike anything I had ever smelled – it was like sulfur 
and . . . death.  Thankfully, we had not too far to fall, and the ordeal was over soon.”  He gazed 
into the fire yet he spied the shudder that rippled through the young marchwarden’s frame.  
Turning his head, he looked the archer in the eye and he said, “One never knows what one is 
capable of until they are presented with such a choice.  Remember that, young Haldir, and be not 
so quick to pass judgment on those who choose life over death.”

“I will, my lord,” the fair-haired archer answered.  “I do not know how I will choose when my 
time comes, but I swear I will try to be brave and choose well.”

Glorfindel smiled.  “Death is not always the most difficult option, Haldir.  Sometimes, life is the 
harder and braver path to walk.”

The young marchwarden smiled and bowed his head, then left the ancient warrior alone by the 
fire.  Some time had passed with Glorfindel gazing blankly into the flickering orange glow when 
a voice broke his musing.

“Fire is fascinating, do you not think?”

The deep voice was one he knew well, and he turned his gaze upward to find Amroth standing 
beside him.  The elf lord was incredibly beautiful, as many of the Sindar were, and there was a 
certain sadness in his eyes that only augmented his ethereal appearance.  He was a tall, finely 
built warrior, who now wore the garb of a simple wood-elf.  Despite his mean garments, one had 
but to look into his pale blue eyes to see his nobility.

“It breathes, it eats, it both destroys and supports life; it seems sometimes as if it dances in 
celebration.”

“I suppose so, my lord.”

“You hate fire.”

“I have a . . . love and a hate for it.”

“’Tis understandable.  It is not everyday that one burns to death.  I suppose that would give 
anyone cause to hate it.”  Amroth sat on the ground beside Glorfindel.  His words seemed 
insensitive, but Glorfindel knew him well enough not to mistake the meaning.  “Yet, fire is not 
the only thing that burns, is it, Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel closed his eyes.  “No, my lord, it is not.”

“Love burns as well – it eats, it breathes, it destroys and supports life.  Strange that two things 
that seem so different could be so much alike.”

“Are you in love, my lord?”

“You know I am.”

Glorfindel smiled wryly.  “Yet she still keeps you at arm’s length.”

Amroth sighed.  “Aye, she does.  You know something of that as well, do you not?”

Glorfindel swallowed and turned his head to look the elf lord in the eye.  “You and I are friends, 
I would like to keep it that way.”

“Aye, we are friends, and as friends we can trust one another.  I know the burden you have 
carried, Glorfindel.  Secrets are as destructive as fire, you must purge them before they consume 
you.”

“You would see me dishonored?  You would see me cast from my home and my duty?”

“You loved Idril from a distance, you never defiled her.  You never touched her.  There is no 
dishonor in love.”

“I betrayed the trust of Tuor and my lord Turgon.  I wanted her even though I knew she belonged 
to another.”

“Do you still love her?”

“She is gone from me; she is where I cannot reach her.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I died by burning alive before being crushed beneath the flaming, smoking hulk of that monster.  
I smelled the stench of my own flesh and hair burning; I gave my life so that she and her husband 
and child would live.  What do you think?”

Amroth sighed again and nodded.  “Aye, sometimes I think love will destroy us all.”  He looked 
up at the stars.  “But there is another choice you have.  What is this, the third time you have 
visited the Great Wood?”

This time it was Glorfindel who sighed.  “You of all people know that he loves no one except his 
son, and himself.”

Amroth grinned wryly.  “It is true enough that he used me well, and I did not wholly object.  It 
was war, neither of us knew if we would return home, and we were still young then.  It is true 
that he is crafty, arrogant, stubborn and hard-hearted, but beneath that cold exterior burns a heat 
that you could never imagine.”  He placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s shoulder.  “In truth, he is a 
grieving, frightened young prince still, despite the throne, crown, and power he wields.  Inside, 
he grieves the loss of his father and is frightened that he will never be the king that Oropher once 
was.  He has closed his heart to all but his son.  If you want to know him, you must fight to do 
so.”

“You are assuming that I want to know him better than I do.”

Amroth chuckled.  “Oh, my friend.  If I know anything at all, I know the look of one who has 
been bewitched by him.  I have seen that look in my mirror often enough.”

“Yet, you want him no more.”

“Enough time has passed, I have come to see what we had for what it was.”  He smiled.  “Now I 
respect him, and I count him as a friend; besides, I know who I am meant to love now.”

“He will never let me in.  I know his kind – no matter how much I give up, no matter how much 
I sacrifice, he will never let me in.”

“Ah, now you confuse him with her.  Knowing him as I do, and knowing you, he is dying to let 
you in.  He needs to be loved, he wants to love you, but he is too frightened to see the way.  It is 
you who are stronger, Glorfindel.  It is you who much teach him – I promise you, the reward will 
be worth it.”

“Spoken like one who truly is drunk with love.”

Amroth laughed aloud.  “Too true, my old friend, too true.”  A soft sound drifted through the 
trees; it was the sound of an elf-maid’s voice raised in song.  Amroth closed his eyes and took a 
deep breath, as if trying to breathe in the sound of her voice.  “Ah, ‘tis my siren’s call.”  Gaining 
his feet, he squeezed Glorfindel’s shoulder.  “Consider my words, Glorfindel.  I would never 
lead you astray.”

Glorfindel nodded and watched his old friend follow the sound of Nimrodel’s voice deep into the 
wood.

~ To be continued…