I COULD NEVER SEE TOMORROW

CHAPTER TEN


THE FREE SPIRIT RISES


“He is fast asleep,” said Glorfindel. He dropped to his knees beside Fëanor, who was in the process of removing his shirt. Fëanor had intended to slip between the blankets with Maglor. It was late evening, the sky was dark and the new moon shone a thin sliver of whiteness above them.

Fëanor looked up at Glorfindel. His brow creased. “He will miss me,” he whispered to his lover, glancing at him and looking away again quickly to avoid the effects of the intoxicating creature’s close proximity.

“But I have bonded with him,” said Glorfindel, leaning closer to Fëanor so that he could stare into the other Elf’s eyes. He grasped Fëanor’s chin and turned his beautiful head so that they were nose to nose and could not ignore each other’s gaze. “You and I have not yet done so,” he said. “We need to complete our bond.” He spoke in earnest, squeezing Fëanor’s chin slightly, pulling his face so close that they were almost touching.

Fëanor stared back at him. “But why?” he asked, blinking several times in an attempt to avoid the golden Elf’s intoxicating stare.

“But why?” Glorfindel repeated. He released Fëanor, sitting back on his heels. “It is important to the quest,” he stammered after a few seconds of floundering in his mind for something to say. He was shaken, disbelief at Fëanor’s reluctance clouding his thoughts.

“Is it?” asked Fëanor, his expression giving away nothing of his feelings.

“Yes,” replied Glorfindel, aghast. “All three of us must bond. I do not understand. Do you not want to do it?”

“It is not a question of want,” said Fëanor. “It is more a—a—“ he broke off while he searched for the right words.

“A what?” asked Glorfindel. “You do not have free will anymore. You must do as you are bid.”

“Must I?” Fëanor stared at him intently, his enigmatic expression telling Glorfindel nothing of his innermost thoughts or feelings.

Glorfindel was flabbergasted. “I don’t understand you, Fëanor. How can you resist me? You are attracted to me, are you not?” His eyes fluttered open and closed with the shock of near-rejection.

“Yes, it is true. Your proximity drives me almost to distraction,” said Fëanor. “I am immensely attracted to you. But I have bonded with my son Maglor already, and therefore I cannot bond with you too, Glorfindel.”

“But—but—“ Glorfindel stuttered. “Yes you can. You must. It is to bind us together to ensure the completion of the mission.”

“I understand what you are saying, Glorfindel,” said Fëanor. “But please understand me. It is of the utmost importance to me that my son trusts me. Our relationship is very delicate, and it is new. It has changed from what it was an Age ago. At the present time my bond with Maglor is fragile, and I sense that my son is an Elf at risk of fading. I must tread carefully in my dealings with him from now on. Please understand me, Glorfindel.”

Fëanor reached out a slender hand in order to stroke Glorfindel’s well-muscled arm. “I am very attracted to you,” he said with a whispery sigh that caught in his throat as he fluttered long, black eyelashes at the golden Elf. “I will kiss you. I will continue to fondle you and suck your magnificent cock as much as you want me to.” He licked his lips with a moist, pink tongue flicking out from between their petal-softness, and made sure that Glorfindel’s gaze was riveted to him before he continued. “But I will not penetrate you, nor you me, for some time yet, my glorious warrior. But I am not saying that it will never happen.”

Glorfindel swallowed hard, and sat down heavily on the ground. He stared wordlessly at Fëanor, who smiled back at him, his lips very slightly upturned, and his eyes half-closed, his long lashes drifting upon his cheekbones.

When Glorfindel could find his voice again, he sputtered. “But you—you sound as if your will is—is your own—and yet it is not—it was the Valar who planned for us to have this bond. It is what they wanted to ensure that the three of us stay together—“

“But Maglor is not part of that, I thought,” said Fëanor. “He is the unknown factor. I left the Halls before I was given my ‘orders’. The Valar did not know that I would have come across my son in my wanderings.”

“Perhaps they did,” said Glorfindel. “Perhaps they knew that he would be on your route. They must have foreseen that you would take a ship and sail to Balar, and from there try to find Eregion. And they must have known that Maglor would be there for you to find.”

“Perhaps,” said Fëanor. He arched his back and raised his arms in the air to stretch, and then he spread himself out, cat-like, before he curled on top of his blanket to sleep.

Glorfindel’s breathing grew heavy while he watched his lover. “Come over here to me,” the golden Elf whispered. “Come into my bed and let me love you. The things I wish to do to that exquisite body of yours are making every inch of my flesh tingle. I am hard for you, Fëanor—so hard. Come to me and feel how hard I am for you.”

Fëanor sighed, his breath turning ragged at Glorfindel’s words. He was aroused by them and by the sight of the flagrantly beautiful creature lying under the blanket next to him. Glorfindel threw back the blanket, revealing the splendid form that never failed to captivate Fëanor. The raven-haired Elf slid onto the blanket beside Glorfindel and slid his hand along the warrior’s hard body until it reached the hard length rising from between his powerful thighs. With a groan he pressed his groin against Glorfindel’s thigh, the bulge in his leggings rubbing against the taut flesh of the warrior, causing an enticing friction. This sent both Elves into a frenzy, and they were soon locked into an embrace. Glorfindel made short work of tearing off Fëanor’s leggings, and before long their two bodies became sweat-soaked as they hungrily devoured each other.

In the near distance, Olórin snored, only briefly disturbed by the sounds of the passionate lovemaking nearby, and Maglor, sleeping as soundly as one does who has not slept in weeks, kept a silent, unaware vigil.


Many days later the Elves and Olórin stopped their horses on the crest of a hill overlooking the banks of the river, called Adurant in Beleriand, but was now known as the Baranduin in this part of Middle-earth.

“Ah,” signed Olórin, breathing in the cool, damp air. A slight breeze wafted through the leaves of some nearby trees and lifted some strands of the Elves’ hair, making them glint golden, black and golden-brown in the sunlight. “Look there. A village lies on the far banks of the Baranduin.” He raised his arm to indicate the scattered farm buildings stretched out along the plains below and an area of more clustered dwellings to the southwest of where they stood. We must find a suitable place to ford the stream and then we shall have entered the realm of Minhiriath. We are now truly in the Hither Lands.”

“We have come to civilization,” remarked Fëanor.

“It will feel good to mingle again with folk other than ourselves,” said Maglor.

“Do you not enjoy yourself in our company, my comely little minstrel?” asked Glorfindel, his smile teasing his lover.

“Yes, but I worry that its exclusiveness might bore you after awhile,” the minstrel retorted. He shared a horse with Fëanor while Glorfindel and Olórin sat astride the other. He turned to Glorfindel and grinned, a sigh escaping his lips. “You know that I enjoy myself too much in your company, perhaps.”

Since the time they had first bonded, he and Glorfindel made love many times. The routine over the past few months had consisted of Maglor spending one night sleeping with Glorfindel and the next night with his father. During the daytime on most days, when they stopped for meals and to rest, Glorfindel and Fëanor would wander off together to satisfy their need for each other, although Fëanor would not allow a bonding to take place between them. Sometimes Maglor would join them in their walks and the three would take pleasure in each other.

“It will be nice for a change to sleep in a real bed, wash in an actual bathtub, purchase new clothes and eat food that has been cooked in ovens and prepared by people other than us,” said Maglor.

“Yes,” said Olórin. “But I must make some enquiries in this village, and it may take some time. I need to learn everything I can about the lands that we are about to enter, in particular the area to which I have been summoned, which is in Eriador—called The Shire, I believe—as well as Eregion, to where the three of you will travel. We may be here for more than a fortnight while I gain the information I need.”

“Fëanor let out a breath of resignation. “I suppose I do not mind,” he said, “although I am not in need of complicated, over-prepared food or any fine clothing. I never liked it in my previous incarnation and that part of me seems not to have changed. I am happy to be alone and traveling in the wild, free of clothes, with a horse my only companion.”

“You are a wild creature,” said Glorfindel, looking at Fëanor through narrowed eyes, lust for his would-be mate creeping into his groin. Fëanor’s words had conjured images of the wild and abandoned, naked Fëanor wandering through woods and swimming in forest streams, talking to horses and riding bareback with nothing at all to cover his sensitive skin, but not caring one whit for convention. The pure joy of living, free of all bonds and confining things, Glorfindel finally understood was what the reincarnated Fëanor took from his new life. At last, Glorfindel could understand what had caused Fëanor to leave the Halls of Mandos before the Valar had deemed him ready. He tried to forsake the bonds of duty to become a free spirit.

Glorfindel was a warrior—trained to fight, to do his duty to his masters—to fulfill quests and succeed at every task to which he directed his attention. He was bound to his tasks and he reveled in the dependence that others had on him. He flourished under the auspices of duty. But when Olórin had said that Glorfindel and Fëanor had no free will, surely he was wrong about Fëanor. For the resurrected Prince of the Noldor did have free will—he said so himself—he had left the Halls before he had been fully ordained by Manwë for this mission.

Glorfindel was confused, and glanced again at the enigmatic Fëanor, who sat behind Maglor and gazed back at Glorfindel with a smile gracing his curved lips, his grey-blue eyes flashing. Overcome with love for this ethereally beautiful Elf, all of Glorfindel’s fleeting thoughts drifted away like feathers on the wind, and he forgot everything except his desire to bed Fëanor as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Olórin and the three Elves dismounted and made their way through the streets of the village, delighting in the sights, smells and sounds of people walking about, children playing and sellers plying their wares. This small town certainly wasn’t as splendid as Tirion or Gondolin, but after many months of traveling through the countryside of Ossiriand and through the great forest of Taur Im Duinath, the four companions found that their senses pleasantly assimilated their new environment.

They led the horses to a drinking trough situated outside a small blacksmith’s shop and tied them to an empty post before going inside to speak with the smith.

“My good fellow,” said Olórin to the proprietor, a sturdy-looking Sinda with a somber expression on his dark-skinned face, “we are travelers from the west, dusty and bedraggled. We seek shelter for ourselves and our horses. Could you point us in the direction of a bed, bath and food, and perhaps a stable?”

“The horses can stay here, my lord,” said the Elf, whose pleasant voice and manner belied his stern countenance. “I have two extra stalls, and it will not be expensive for you to board them here. Around that corner,” and he pointed to his right-hand side, “is a nicely kept inn that overlooks the water. The innkeepers serve food as well, and it is palatable.”

“Thank you, my good man,” said Olórin, and paid the smith his fee for taking the horses. He joined his three companions who were already meandering into the street.

“Look at that. Children,” said Maglor, his eyes misting at the sight of some young ones playing with ball and jacks up against the side of a building. They were dirty, scruffy little urchins, their faces streaked with soot that had probably been there for weeks, but Maglor could not help but shed tears at the sight of them.

Glorfindel regarded him with an amused smile. “You are not growing sentimental as your years stretch on, are you, gannadar-nîn?” he asked.

“You need not show your callous insensitivity at every opportunity, Glorfindel,” retorted Maglor, wiping the tears away as they coursed a trail down his cheeks.

Glorfindel was taken aback. “Am I so insensitive?” he asked, a hand flying upward to press against his chest. “How can you say that about me?”

“You seem always to think about only yourself,” said Maglor. “And I would like to point that out to you, so that you can refrain from doing it in future.”

Glorfindel looked aghast. “I cannot believe these words,” he said. He looked over at Fëanor. “He does not speak the truth, does he, my beautiful one?”

Fëanor, who had been watching the two other Elves with sad eyes and downturned lips, was about to say something when Olórin stepped in.

“Glorfindel—Maglor—please do not do this. It is painful to watch two people who love each other fall out over a mere difference in their personalities. Come. We are all tired of traveling and are in great need of a rest. Let us find this inn and once we have bathed, eaten and relaxed, we can all discuss the things about each other that fray our nerves. At the same time, however, we should also remember the things that we admire about each other and that have compelled us to stay together.”

The three Elves nodded their agreement, Glorfindel’s usual exuberant manner having been subdued for the moment. They urged their horses down the hill and toward the village.


The inn was a pleasant surprise for the travelers. It was small but clean and comfortable. They were the only people who were currently staying in it. The proprietors were hospitable and discreet, a man and his wife who left the Elves alone while Olórin went out amongst the villagers, trying to learn what he could about the upcoming journey that they would have to make across the plains to Tharbad.

Their room had a bathtub but was otherwise small. It was decided that the four of them would occupy two rooms, with Olórin sleeping in one alone because he snored, while the three Elves would sleep together in the other room. It contained two beds of large size, which along with the small bathroom, left little space for walking around.

When they first arrived, they decided to bathe immediately, although they were hungry. But the grime of the road was caked onto their skin. They had become so used to it while traveling that it did not really bother them, but it was a funny thing—when they reached the village they all felt the need to make themselves appear as civilized as possible, and not appear as wild creatures that were found in the deep forests or the remote mountains.

The Elves were carrying fresh clothes which were quite wrinkled, but the innkeeper provided a device for pressing garments, and when the bathwater was being drawn, they hung their clothes near it in order to let the steam in the small bathroom loosen the wrinkles in their clothing. Glorfindel let the other Elves bathe before him, and while they were doing so, he ironed the robes that they intended to wear for dinner.

Maglor took the first bath, letting Fëanor pour water gently over his head and shampoo his long hair. He stretched his head back to rest on the rim of the tub and let his tresses hang down into a basin on the floor beneath them. He closed his eyes so that he could enjoy the blissful sensation of Fëanor’s fingers stroking his hair and kneading his scalp, cleaning Maglor’s hair thoroughly. While they bathed, they reminisced about their old lives and Maglor’s childhood.

“When I saw the way you were affected by those children playing earlier, I could not help but remember our past lives when you and your brothers were children,” said Fëanor.

“We had a good life when I was small,” said Maglor quietly. “But the good times were too short.” He gave a sad sigh. “When the change in our lives occurred, it seemed to me that it happened so abruptly that I have the sense that I have not yet been able to catch my breath.”

“For me it is the opposite,” said Fëanor. “The life that we had when you were a child seems suspended in time and is so colorful and animated that I feel I can look back at it and experience it all again, anytime. It is as if it will always be there for me to do so. And I experience the joy of living in those days all over again.” He picked up the water pitcher and poured it gently over the long strands of Maglor’s hair, letting the suds wash into the basin beneath them.

Maglor laughed, a sudden happy sound that caused Glorfindel to pause in his ironing and turn to look toward the two Elves in the bathroom.

“Was Maitimo your favorite son in those days?” asked Maglor, reverting back to the old Quenyan names that they used when his family lived in Tirion. “I always felt like the ignored one while you focused your attention on Maitimo, though I loved him too. And he was Amme’s favorite as well—everyone loved Maitimo. He was the perfect being—so beautiful, so serene in his nature—I sometimes thought that I was gifted with the ability to sing and compose music solely to sing the praises of my older brother and pay homage to his splendor.”

“It is true that in those times we doted on him,” said Fëanor. “But that adoration was not helped by the fact that you were always distant with me—and we did not think the same way on any issues.”

“No, and when Tyelkormo came along, I felt ignored and neglected while you and Amme doted on the spectacularly beautiful new baby.”

“Ah, Tyelkormo was the golden child,” said Fëanor, picking up a soft sponge and dipping it into the bathwater. “He was spectacular-looking wasn’t he? Like Glorfindel is now.”

“Yes, he was,” replied Maglor, closing his eyes and remembering, while Fëanor soaped his body with languid strokes.

“But he was very like you in spirit,” said Fëanor. “He preferred to be by himself and follow his own pursuits.”

“And you and he did not get along either,” said Maglor. “And then came Carnistir, the strange one. He lived in his own world as a child, didn’t he? How strange that in his later years he became so skilled at diplomacy and ultimately became the wealthiest of us all. But it was not until Kurufinwë was born that you had found your perfect child.”

“Mmmm…” Fëanor’s breathing became soft as Maglor relaxed. He continued to sponge his son’s body, rubbing the sponge in circles around the erect nipples and over the hard ridges of Maglor’s well-developed pectoral muscles. Fëanor continued with his reminiscences. “Later on, you and Maitimo became superior warriors—I was told about it in the Halls.”

“Yes, we did become elite soldiers,” said Maglor, smiling as he thought of his brother.

“Were you and he ever intimate?” asked Fëanor suddenly.

For a moment Maglor paused. Then he opened his dark gray eyes and gazed steadily at his father. “Yes,” he said simply, “we were.”

“When did that intimacy begin?” asked Fëanor.

“Not until after you died,” said Maglor. “Not until long after that. Not until all Maitimo and I had left was each other, and we were both so damaged that we were each other’s only source of comfort.”

“I am glad of that, Macalaurë,” said Fëanor, dropping the sponge and embracing his son, his arms thrown around Maglor’s shoulders, his hands resting on his chest in the water, his chin pressed against Maglor’s shoulder. “I am glad that you found comfort with him as you and I are finding with each other in these days.”

“It is odd, is it not?” asked Maglor. “That you and I had perhaps the unhealthiest relationship as father and son while I was growing up, that continued until your death, and now we have found a symbiosis in this relationship. It is a wonder that I have not fallen completely into madness.” He laughed.

“When I died, that relationship between us ended,” said Fëanor. “Your father died. That is what I have been trying to tell you all this time. What we have now is not an incestuous relationship. I am a separate being not connected anymore to you in a familial way. And since I found you all those months ago, your madness has drifted away with the wind.”

“However, we share the same memories,” said Maglor.

“So do husband and wife,” said Fëanor, “because they live together and experience the same things. Our relationship was always strained and remote when you were young. Only that one time—when I trained you in how to use a sword—did we sense what was to come. Do you remember how a spark ignited between us when we fought?”

“I remember it,” said Maglor, “but I knew not it was a portend of the sexual relationship to come.”

“I think we were meant to be two separate beings,” said Fëanor. “I do not believe we are the makers of our own destiny. Although I do detest that idea. I do not want to be manipulated by some puppet-master, but wish to be master of my own destiny.”

“That is pretty obvious, I think,” said Maglor, smiling in amusement. “I have never met a spirit as free as yours. Look at poor Glorfindel. He is quite happy to be bound to his duties as set out before him by the Valar and Olórin as their representative. I wonder what he would do if Olórin were to disappear?”

“The Maia will disappear,” whispered Fëanor into Maglor’s ear. “Do you not remember that Olórin told us he will be parting from us at a place called Tharbad? That time is fast approaching, I believe. Then Glorfindel will no longer have Olórin to tell him what to do.”

Maglor positioned his hands on either side of the tub and hoisted himself into a standing position, then climbed out, swinging each of his long legs over the side. Fëanor shrugged out of his robe and exchanged places with Maglor, easing his lithe body down into the soapy water. He ducked his head under the surface, soaking his hair. Then he let Maglor pull the glossy strands over the edge and shampoo his hair as he had done with Maglor’s.

“I have bonded with Glorfindel,” whispered Maglor. “What does that tell you about my freedom?”

“I do not yet know,” said Fëanor. “I have not yet bonded with him, yet he wants me to do it. Before I do aught, I must think upon what it would mean for us.”

“I have not thought about freedom as profoundly as you,” said Maglor.

“I suppose I need to remain free from too many bonds,” said Fëanor, “and to hold on to that sense of being free, for as long as I can, but I know not why I am so different from other Elves.”

“But you have bonded with me,” said Maglor. “Does that not inhibit your sense of freedom?”

Fëanor regarded him carefully. “For some reason it does not. I feel that we are bound together for some purpose. I suppose then that I am not as free as I would like to be.”

Maglor considered for a moment. “You are not Eru himself, you know,” he said. Fëanor graced him with an enigmatic smile.

Glorfindel, who had finished ironing their robes, suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Are you finished yet?” he asked. “I am quite ready for a bath now, if the two of you would be willing to scrub me clean.” He opened his wide mouth and blessed them both with a radiant smile.

Fëanor stood and stepped gracefully out of the bathtub. He looked down at the murky water. “Should we draw a fresh bath for you?” he asked. “This water is rife with our filth.”

“No,” said Glorfindel, dropping his clothes and plunging in. “Come on. Wash me all over,” he said, grinning lasciviously. At the first touch of Fëanor’s hands upon his chest, he grew erect.

Maglor immediately began soaping the sturdy member, sliding his hand up and down its smooth length.

“Don’t let me come too fast,” groaned Glorfindel, leaning his head back and letting Fëanor wash the golden tresses.

“Are you not hungry? I am starving,” said Maglor. “I want to go to dinner.”

“Let us finish him quickly despite his protests,” said Fëanor, bending to press a kiss to Glorfindel’s lips and stopping him from saying anything in the way of objection. He plunged his tongue into the depths of the familiar mouth, and let his fingers trail over the expansive chest until they found a pearly nipple.

At the other end, Maglor took the warrior’s splendid column into his mouth, soap and all, and licked down the sides of its considerable length before sucking it as far in as he could, applying all the skill with his tongue and lips that he could muster. He held the warrior steady with one hand pressed to his hip, while the other traveled up the side of Glorfindel’s long frame to meet Fëanor’s hand atop a rigid nipple. Their fingers brushed and a longing for each other ensued. It made their sensuous ravishing of Glorfindel feel all the more acutely pleasant. They lusted for each other in this moment, but they applied their heated strokes and feverish caresses to the warrior’s body until he came seconds later in a shrieking climax.

Spent, Glorfindel moaned and lay breathing rapidly in the bathtub, while Fëanor and Maglor retired to the bed to satisfy their own hunger.