Wanderlust

Wanderlust

Pairing(s): Gildor/Figwit (Anárion), Lindir/Rúmil

Rating: NC-17 (in later chapters)

Summary: Gildor is visiting Imladris in order to allow him and his Wandering Company some time for rest from their endless journeying. Over the years, he meets and comes to know the young Anárion quite well; their relationship goes from that of mentor and pupil to friends, and then eventually into lovers.

A/N: Hello everyone! And a Merry Christmas! Thus begins another of my fanfic endeavors. "Wanderlust" is the story of Gildor and Figwit, name changed to Anárion, and the love affair they have. Named after the Nightwish song, this story will span some 3000+ years, beginning at the end of the Second Age and moving through the Third.
The character of Anárion is, in actuality, the Elf extra so affectionately called Figwit ("Frodo is grea...who is that?!"). Since Figwit is distinctly not an elvish name but the only means of identifying Bret McKenzie in the pool of Elf extras in the LoTR films, for the purpose of my story his name has been changed to "Anárion" which is Quenya for "sun-son." Imagine Figwit in his brief moment of glory in RoTK (where he speaks!) and that is Anárion's image.
Lindir, in particular, and Rúmil will also feature quite prominently in this story as Lindir is Gildor's cousin (in my twisted mind of a world). Hope you all will enjoy this story and please leave reviews; I like to know how I'm doing with the story telling of this pairing.

Wanderlust
Second Age 3340, Imladris

It had been less than a year since he had last left Imladris for Lindon. Though the life of a wanderer was more suited to Gildor’s taste, he still desired to have a home to come back to now and again. Imladris was that home, and the closer he approached the valley dwelling, the more light his heart became. The sounds of the valley was welcome to his ears as it was the sound of a homecoming.

It helped that Gildor had family in Imladris; one of his cousins, Gilion, and his wife, Aerien of the Falathrim, resided in the valley with their son, Lindir. Gildor smiled as he thought of young Lindir, who had only recently turned twenty years of age. The white-haired Elf had inherited traits from both his parents: a dingding of their hair, his father’s eyes and Noldorin spirit, his mother’s ability to sing sweetly and her love of music. Lindir was aptly named and a true delight. Gildor looked forward to seeing his young relative soon.

“Gildor, ‘tis good to see you again.”

“Glorfindel, Erestor, ‘tis been a while.” He smiled upon seeing the two Elves, one with golden hair and the other raven, riding towards his party with a few guards. Gildor took hold of Glorfindel’s outstretched arm as the pair firmly clasped the other’s wrist; when he was released, Gildor performed the same motion with Erestor before they headed in the direction of Imladris.

“I’ve missed the valley,” Gildor murmured as the rushing waters of the Bruinen reached his ears.

“You have been away for a full year, mellon,” Erestor said. “It would seem the High King was in need of your council during the year.”

“Aye, that he was. When you are a wanderer, you are able to gather some information that spies cannot because people do not suspect you for holding any loyalties.”

“’Tis true,” Glorfindel remarked. “But are you not glad to be home, even if your stay will be short?”

“I do believe ll ell endeavor to make this stay as long as my heart allows. But aye, it is good to be home.”

“Gildor!”

The familiar, long missed voice of his cousin broadened the smile already on Gildor’s face as his blue eyes caught sight of Gilion’s golden hair waving in the sunlight. Slipping off of his horse once the company rea reached the manor, the lord of the Wandering Company enfolded his cousin in his arms and buried his hands in the golden hair shades more radiant than his own wheat gold locks.

“Gildor, I’m so pleased to see you,” Gilion said, his green eyes smiling. “I didn’t know you would be arriving today; I wasn’t expecting you for a few days yet.”

“We travel quicklyusinusin,” Gildor teased as Aerien approached, her silver hair shimmering in the sunlight as she smiled upon her husband and his kinsman. “Aerien, how do you fare?”

“I am well,” the Falas lady replied, accepting the welcoming embrace. “’Tis good to see you again and well, Gildor. It is good to see you home.”

“Aye, home. It is good to return.” His smile widened when a flash of white came streaking towards him. Gildor was about to kneel to gather the bundle of energetic Elf, but Lindir merely raced past him, a mop of dark brown hair following closely behind. Elfling giggles filled the air as the pair chased one another around the bewildered Gildor, who could do nothing but stare as the dark-haired elfling darted behind him, using his legs as a shield.

“Lindir!” Gilion reprimanded firmly as his son sped past him. “Behave yourself! Gildor is here.”

As if yanked by an invisible cord, the whirlwind of white instantly stopped and turned. Emerald eyes identical to Gilion’s own widened and lit up when thlighlighted upon the amused Elf in question. “Gildor!” With a flying leap, Lindir bounded into Gildor’s arms, hugging him tightly about the neck, the other elfling momentarily forgotten.

Gildor laughed richly as he returned the elfling’s embrace, pressing a chaste kiss to his hair before swinging him about in playful circles. “Ai, Lindir, have you been behaving yourself?” Gildor teased when he ceased spinning and the child’s musical laughter died away. He grinned at the white head bobbing enthusiastically. “And what have you been learning whilst I was away?”

“Nana taught me some new songs, Ada has been taking me riding, and Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor have been telling me stories about Gondolin,” Lindir said as he began to ramble absentmindedly. “Lord Elrond told me about the time he was in Maglor’s care, and the High King has been to visit once, as has Lord Círdan, and…oh, Anárion!” Quickly scrambling out of Gildor’s embrace, Lindir practically bounced over to his friend, whom had taken a few steps back when the two Elves had been greeting one another.

“Anárion?” Gildor knelt, eyeing the shy brown-haired elfling. He smiled when the child began to blush, averting his eyes from Gildor’s gaze as he fiddled with the front of his tunic.

“Aye, ‘tis my friend,” Lindir said, tugging on Anárion’s hand. “This is Anárion.”

“He is Amdir’s son,” Gilion said, naming one of the smiths of Imladris.

“I know Amdir,” Gildor said, smiling at chilchild before him, whose blush seemed to increase. “He is a good man and does excellent work. I have not seen him in some years, but last time I was in his presence he fixed a dent in my sword and shoed my horse. You must be very proud of him, pen-neth.”

“Aye, my Lord,” Anárion whispered shyly, succeeding in amusing Gildor even more.

“And what, pen-neth, has caused you to become so bashful in my presence? Why, just a moment ago you were giggling and chasing Lindir around as if you were the only Elves in all of Arda!” Gildor couldn’t help but laugh softly as Anárion’s blush intensified.

“It is your status, Gildor,” Aerien replied, taking mercy on the child. “He is ever shy in Lord Glorfindel and Lord Elrond’s presences as well. Stories of elder Elves fascinates young Anárion; you should see him sitting quietly in a corner as Lord Glorfindel relates the tale of his battle with the Balrog.”

“Is that so? Well then, young Anárion, you and I will have to have a talk one day. I dare say my stories are not as mesmerizing as Glorfindel’s, but perhaps I have a few you will find interesting enough to listen to. What say you, aier?”

“I would like that,” came the whispered reply.

“Then it is settled. I have business to attend to, but I shall see you tomorrow.” The elven lord smiled as he rose to his feet, brushing the grass from his knees. With a kiss to Lindir’s head and a nod to the child’s parents, Gildor turned and made for Elrond’s manor to discuss the tidings of Lindon with the valley lord.

~~~~~~~~~~

It was just past luncheon of the next day when Gildor quietly left the Halls of Fire, where Elves were gathered to exchange songs and pleasantries after the meal. Young Lindir had been asked to accompany his mother in song, his sweet voice filling the halls as he sang the lays of yesterday. Gildor had stayed long enough to listen to a few verses before excusing himself; he had promised another little elfling some time to regal some stories.

Walking the curving paved paths, it was not long before Gildor found himself at the forges where but a few smiths were attending to the blades of some of the elven inhabitants. The flames were high, heating the semi-open area as steam wafted from large basins of water the smiths were using to cool their work. The area around the forges felt like a warm sauna, calm and inviting. Gildor found it strangely relaxing to walk and watch the smiths working, the sound of hammers beating anvils and heated metal soothing to his ears whilst sparks danced at his feet.

“My Lord Gildor.” A smith with dark brown hair and calm green-gray eyes set down his hammer and turned to the elven lord. He had a kind expression on his face, and seemed pleased to see Gildor at the forges. In a shaded recess of a corner of his work area was a wooden stool, and upon the piece of carved furniture sat a young child, fiddling with a fine chisel, oblivious to the two elder Elves.

“Ah, Amdir,” Gildor said, greeting the smith as they clasped hands. “’Tis good to see you again, meldir.”

“I am pleased you remember me, my Lord,” Amdir replied with a smile as he removed a glove, and wiped his brow clean of the droplets of water that collected there from the steam.

“How could I forget? You did exquisite work on my sword, and my steed was pleased with his shoeing.”

“You do me too much credit, Lord Gildor. I am naught but a humble smith, and my work is not extraordinary.”

“But I beg to differ.”

Amdir couldn’t help as his smile widened. “How may I help you today, my Lord? Do you have something else in need of repair? Or is there something you would like to have crafted as a gift?”

“Nay, I am in need of neither. Actually, I came in search of your son.”

“Anárion?”

At the sound of his name, the child in the corner looked up. When his eyes, an identical color to his father’s, alighted upon the elven lord, he instantly dropped the chisel. Anárion flinched at the sound the delicate tool made as it hit the ground; in an instant he scrambled down from his perch, reclaiming the chisel and holding it close to his chest as if it were a cherished toy. “I’m sorry, Ada,” he whispered in apology.

“’Tis all right, aier,” Amdir soothed, raising his hand and motioning to his son. “Come, Lord Gildor is here to see you.”

Anárion nodded, placing the chisel next to his father’s other tools, before shyly making his way over to the elder Elves. He blushed weakly when Gildor knelt and lifted him easily, his small hands clinging to the front of the elven lord’s robes.

“Come, pen-neth. I promised you some stories, didn’t I?” When Anárion nodded, he bestowed a gentle pat to the child’s back as if in encouragement. With a smile and a nod to Amdir, Gildor turned, carrying off the elfling to the shades of the trees of one of Imladris’ gardens.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you really fend off fourteen Orcs on your own? With an arrow embedded in your leg too?”

Gildor laughed at the incredulous and fascinated look that was etched upon Anárion’s young features. The elfling sat in his lap as the elven lord rested against the trunk of a tree. For nearly three hours, Gildor had been relating the last hundred years of his traveling to the curious child, telling him stories and songs. He had just regaled a tale of an ambush, which had succeeded in both shocking and fascinating Anárion.

“Aye, I did,” Gildor replied with a nod as he leaned back further against the tree. “It was not an easy task. The arrow was not poisoned, fortunately, but when you are alone, and your friends are wounded around you, you will do anything to avoid capture by servants of the Dark Lord.”

“Were you scared?”

“A little.” He felt the slight shiver that coursed through Anárion’s small frame; raising a hand, he patted the dark brown locks in hopes of soothing the child. “But I was more frightened of letting my friends down and being captured by Orcs. Knowing that Glorfindel was coming with help kept me going. Somehow I defeated the enemy just as the riding party came. They took the injured back here, to Imladris, and tended to us. We recovered in time, and have been more wary on our travels.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“My wound? Nay, it has long healed thanks to Elrond and his healers.”

Anárion gazed up at the elven lord as he spoke, his head tilted slightly to the right as if in concentration. “I am glad they did not take you,” he said quietly, loosely grasping Gildor’s hand.

“So am I, pen-neth.”

For a time the pair sat in silence, enjoying the peace and calm around them, and the company of one another. It was young Anárion that broke the moment as he spoke again. “Lindir says he is your cousin.”

“Aye, that he is,” Gildor confirmed. “His father, Gilion, is really my father’s cousin. That makes him my uncle, though we are of the same age. That means Lindir and I are cousins.”

“Lindir also says he is related to the Lady Galadriel.”

“That is true also.”

“Then you are related to the Lady?”

“Aye. Galadriel is the daughter of Finarfin, King in Tirion of Valinor. Lindir and I are from the House of Finrod, thuse use of her elder brother.”

“Finrod was a king. Then, does that make you a king as well?”

“In a manner of speaking. I am a lord of a small band of people.”

“Does that make Lindir a lord too? Do I have to bow to him every time I see him and call him polite names?”

At the childish curiosity displayed before him Gildor couldn’t help but feel amused. His laughter echoed across the gardens, causing Elves who passed the open corridors of the manor nearby to turn and smile at his merriment. “Nay, pen-neth,” the elven lord managed to say through his giggles. “Lindir is no lord as he and his father do not choose to be such. I do not think Lindir would want you to bow to him.”

“Good, because I didn’t want to do so anyway.”

Such defiance brought on more giggles from Gildor. The laughter turned into a smile when he saw Anárion snuggling up again his chest, the elfling’s hands tangling into his tunic and hair.

“How come I never see you here?” the boy whispered, staring up at Gildor with curious green-gray eyes.

“I’m not here often, pen-neth,” Gildor explained. “Imladris is my home, but I wander from realm to realm.”

“Why?”

He thought long and hard about what kind of answer to give. Gildor had never been confronted with such a question before; to have someone so young ask him to explain his tendencies seemed somewhat awkward. “My heart wants to travel,” the elven lord explained. “It wants to see what the world holds, what lies ahead and behind. Imladris is my home, where I come back to when I want to rest and be at peace. But my heart wishes to see as much of the world as it can.”

“How long have you been traveling?”

“Almost since I was born.”

“Is that a long time?”

“For an Elf, no. Perhaps for a mortal it would seem like a very long time.”

“How long is long?”

“You are full of questions today, pen-neth.” Gildor smiled as he patted the boy’s hair. “I’ve been traveling for near two thousand years now.”

“Don’t you get lonely when you travel?”

“Nay, I am not alone. There are always people traveling with me, my friends and companions.”

“I’d be lonely.”

Gildor gazed in curiosity at the forlorn expression that appeared on Anárion’s face; the elfling did not meet his gaze as he continued to fiddle with the fastenings of Gildor’s tunic. “Why would you be lonely, pen-neth? ‘Tis best to travel in the company of friends whilst on the road, especially in these times.”

“I do not know.” Once again, Anárion snuggled into the warmth of Gildor’s chest, listening to the elder Elf’s heartbeat and feeling strangely content. He hardly knew the elven lord, was rather embarrassed to meet him the previous day, and yet he felt as if Gildor was someone he could trust. “I think I would be lonely on the road, not knowing when I would come home. I don’t think I would like going to strange places and meeting people who aren’t like me.”

“’Tis a fascinating endeavor in reality, pen-neth. Think of all the things you will see; new sights, smells and sounds will assault your senses. You‘ll learn so many things from the places you will go and the people who live there. You never know; it is quite possible that you will never want to return to Imladris once you have set foot on the road.”

Anárion didn’t seem completely convinced, but did not say anything otherwise. “Will you go with me? If I take to traveling, will you come with me? I dowantwant to be alone on the roads.”

The innocent question stirred something within Gildor’s heart as he listened to the almost pleading voice of the young child in his lap. This child was a wonder to him, so different from Lindir or any other elfling he had ever known or come across. Anárion was somewhat detached, more like an observer of events rather than a participant. His curiosity, like any other child’s, was boundless and yet there was something strangely mature about the way he spoke despite his tender age.

Realizing an answer was expected of him, Gildor smiled whilst gazing into the large eyes focused on him, a hand tenderly petting the dark brown locks. “If you wish it of me, pen-neth, then I shall accompany you wherever you may go. You will never be alone on your journeys.”

The statement seemed to satisfy Anárion, who resumed snuggling as he issued a yawn. Green-gray eyes began to mist over with impending sleep as he clung to theen len lord, somewhat reluctant of letting go. In time dreams claimed him, the bright eyes growing vacant and his body relaxing.

Gildor sat for a time, observing the child in his lap whilst Anárion drifted in reverie. The child both fascinated and confused him. “You are a wonder, pen-neth,” he whispered to the sleeping child. “You are not like any other child I have met; not even Lindir shares your curiosity and unquenchable need to know. I shall enjoy watching you grnd mnd mature over the years. But now I believe it is time to return you to your parents. I have monopolized your time long enough today.”

Placing a chaste kiss to the dark crown, Gildor gentle gathered the small child into his arms. Cradling Anárion gently so as not to wake him, he set off in the direction he had came to seek out Amdir.

TBC...