Glorfindel Unleashed

Title : 'Glorfindel Unleashed', 12/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
Email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
Feedback: Yes please!
Type: FPS
Beta: Nienna, keeping me on the straight and narrow!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor eventually
Warnings: M/M; implied child abuse; angst; character death
Archive: Of Elves and Men; Melethryn; AFF.net

Author's notes: AU as in it is my idea, but canon where possible with regard to LOTR history.

Chapter 12


T.A. 150 - onwards


The elf refuge of Imladris had always been a blessed place, empowered by its lord - a descendant of kings, a healer, and one wise and deeply woven into the magics of Middle Earth. In his care Elrond held the elven ring Vilya, one of the rings of power, and he used that power to protect and promote his realm. Now Imladris was doubly blessed.

Glorfindel had returned from Valinor. His original arrival had brought a tortured, tormented, rejected soul full of anger and grief and pain. No more was that elf thought of; that return remembered. The reborn lord had been re-born anew on that morning of Tarnin Austa, and he was a different creature entirely. He was now filled with light and he exuded grace. His laughter was heard always in merriment and never in cruelty or self-deprecation. He eschewed the excesses of his first return and instead only partook of wine to enhance a meal or celebrate a happy moment - never to drown in dismay. He shone with the grace of Valinor and was filled with the blessings of the Valar. Now he was truly loved by all the inhabitants of the elven haven, who partook of his grace. His star waxed - yet Erestor's waned.

Elrond felt for his dark counsellor. On the morning of that traumatic deposition he had felt that Erestor had started to break free of his self-loathing and had begun to hope for redemption. Glorfindel's return and the golden lord's avowal to hold true to the Valar's tasks had slammed that hope into the ground, had cut off the counsellor from the love he had realised he needed. From the previous torment of the golden lord, now there was complete reversal and it was Erestor who was suffering. Elrond had tried to console his old friend but his inquiries were rebuffed by a patently fading elf. Always Erestor had been quiet, always reserved but now he became a recluse, withdrawn, paler - if possible - and thin. He was wrapped in a cloak of despair. He would not respond to the elf-lord.

"I am well, Elrond," the dalf hlf had said after another impassioned plea from the Peredhel. "I have nothing else to say."

Elrond had grieved to see the Noldo so gaunt within his trappings of black. Always Erestor had favoured this non-colour, the colour of mourning, and never had Elrond seen him otherwise. Now for the first time it endowed less of the refined dignity it had been before, enhancing the darkling beauty of Erestor's sculpted features. It had now become a shroud, a covering for the living dead. Elrond's heart was fit to burst in pain for his long-time confidante.

"Always we have stood side-by-side, in joy and in sorrow, and if you have kept to yourself trials that pain you, I have accepted your judgement and reserve. But I can take this no longer! It has been months since Glorfindel returned, recovered in body and spirit, and yet you ail still. What has happened between you, Erestor? Why are you not reunited? No word have I heard from either of you, save a brief notification by Glorfindel that 'All is resolved and I have returned to take up my duties'. I think I deserve more of aplanplanation than that!"

Erestor had shaken his head, drawing his robe tighter around his frail frame. Elrond now remembered how his chocolate-brown eyes had seemed haunted as he spoke.

"I am Erestor of Lindon. Glorfindel has accepted that now. I have prevailed." His voice had quavered. "I am Erestor of Lindon - and may the Valar have mercy on me..."

In a reverse to his relationship with Erestor, Elrond was now becoming closer to his seneschal. Glorfindel's new approach to life touched all who knew him and they felt the special grace of the twice-borf. Tf. Though his grace had not diminished since the Gates of Summer, he now promoted a very comforting presence, less awe-inspiring and more approachable. He was still adored by his troops but they knew that he could still press upon them to work harder, to improve and they felt his tongue if he was dissatisfied with their work. He was no god, and he was not infallible. He was Glorfindel of Rivendell.

Now Elrond approached Glorfindel with his fear for Erestor. Glorfindel nodded in agreement of Elrond's assessment.

"Aye, I have seen it too and am of the same mind. I did not wish to cause such a reaction to my re-birth. It seems I am the cause and I thus must rectify the matter. I will talk to him."

"Please do, Glorfindel, for he will not listen to me." Elrond paused, as if he was trying to determine how to proceed. Finally he spoke. "My friend, although I am thrilled that you are well again, it is as I have said. Erestor is not. He has been fading since your return on the morning of Tarnin Austa, since your talk on the east terraces. I had such high hopes on that morning, that the two elves who have become so dear to me might at last be reunited in the love which is so apparent. That Erestor finally spoke to me of his grief, his torment, his deep love for you... Why did you reject him, Glorfindel? Why did you turn aside that for which you had so longed? Why did you hurt him, my lord?"

Glorfindel shook his head, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I did not mean to wound him so, Elrond. I wished only to give him the peace he seemed to need. I had no way of knowing that he had opened his heart to you. If he had been able to do that earlier, then my soul would have soared and my heart rejoiced. I love him with every fibre of my being. I want him and need him every minute of every day. Every sway, every motion of his raven locks is like a sweep across my brow, every pen stroke he makes is a touch on my flesh. I yearn for him - yet that day I forswore my right to him, until I have completed the job I was sent to do."

Elrond cried out in frustration. "They cannot ask this of you, Glorfindel! They cannot demand Erestor's life for yours! How can the Valar deny that which Ilúvatár has placed upon you - your divided souls crying out to be united?"

The golden lord waved his hand in annoyance, knowing that Elrond did not understand.

"And how many times can I defy the Valar and break an oath? I denied Manwë's edict and rebelled, leaving Aman to follow Turgon and Fëanor in their defiant refusal of His wishes. I broke my sworn oath to Turgon when I kissed Erestor in love and need before the battle in Gondolin. I ran from the duty I had accepted when I stood on the cliff face and prayed for my second death. And now I have sworn to address my attention and focus upon my task, to protect you, Imladris and Middle Earth!" He checked himself, realising that his voice had become raised in a tirade against his lord. "Aye, I love him, my lord. I will talk to him, try to make him understand that I do not reject his love but must yet defer the time of our union. I long for that time, Elrond, with all of my heart."

And talk to Erestor he did, though none knew the nature of their discussion. Shortly thereafter it was noted at mealtimes that small plates of treats would be found near the advisor's place, or that a dish of strawberries or a plate of cookies would be brought to the office next to the library. Elrond knew who had done this and was heartened to see that Erestor looked less thin and worn. He thanked Glorfindel.

"I know you love him, Elrond. So do I. I wish him naught but well," Glorfindel said, but did not elaborate on his methods.

It was through this newfound friendship with Rivendell's lord that Glorfindel found the cause of Erestor's flight from the training grounds so long ago. Glorfindel had always preferred to bathe alone in the comfort of his room, as he was aware of the network of fine scars upon his body and the sheen that was peculiar to them. He did not wish to be the constant topic of conversation in this regard so he also refrained from sparring bare-chested as so many warriors preferred. He was always reminded of the effect the sight of his scars had upon his love on that ill-fated morning.

On this day however a fault had occurred in the plumbing to his bathing chamber, so he had been forced to go forth to the public baths within the grounds of the House. The baths were utilised by most of the elves residing in Imladris, for only a fortunate few had access to private bathing facilities. They were also popular as a recreational activity, when ellyn and ellith could relax and talk and bathe together. As well as the main pools there were smaller rooms, which catered to groups of two or three. All the baths were well-stocked and well-maintained by the dedicated staff, and were somewhat luxurious in their appointments.

It was very early in the morning when Glorfindel made his way to the baths. The tree-lined paths were deserted and he had hoped that he would be able to bathe alone, so he was disappointed to see that another ellon had arrived just before him. His chagrin was assuaged when he realised that the ellon was Lord Elrond. The dark-haired elf smiled in greeting.

"Maer aur, Glorfindel. You are an uncommon sight here."

Glorfindel bent his head in greeting, smiling in response. "It is hard to get clean when the bath is filled with cold, dirty water from my previous ablutions - my own will not empty. Saelbeth is to have it repaired but until then I have been forced to bathe elsewhere. And you?"

Elrond grinned, his eyes twinkling with a hidden joke. "Ai, my wife took a very long, very perfumed bath yester eve, and the stench still permeates the chamber. I have an early morning meeting with men from Gondor and they see elves as strange enough. I have no wish to add to their store of fanciful legends regarding our race!"

Glorfindel laughed heartily, enjoying the vision the description brought forth. Glorfindel now took part in many councils within Elrond's office but fortunately trade agreements did not fall within his purview. Elrond led the way to a private pool and started to disrobe.

" Shall we bathe together, mellon nîn? I find company and conversation a most enjoyable way to start the day." Elrond's request was nothing out of the ordinary and Glorfindel knew that if there were any he could trust with regard to his scars it was Elrond. He agreed willingly.

When Glorfindel began to disrobe he was aware of the lord's eyes upon him, and he was grateful that Elrond made no comment on the silver marks adorning his strong frame. However, when he turned to place his clothes upon the pine bench beside the pool he was disconcerted to hear Elrond's sharp intake of breath. He spun round quickly, and was startled to see tears in the elf lord's eyes and a look of pity upon his face.

"What? What is wrong, meldir?"

Elrond shook his head in disbelief, and the tremor of deep emotion was evident in his voice.

"Ai, dear friend - the scars..."

Glorfindel was nonplussed. Yes, they were extensive, he knew. He was a warrior who had fought for survival after the desperate Crossing, who had faced Melkor's hordes numerous times up to, and including, his death. He did not think that a fellow warrior such as Elrond would flinch from a few silver marks. So what was marked on his back that repelled the Peredhel so? He was almost afraid to ask, and reluctant to know - yet he must know, for was this not why his beloved had run from him all those months ago?

"Are the scars not the same as on my front, Elrond? What - what are they that you would shed tears for me...?" he asked in trepidation. Elrond shook his head again, trying to formulate the words, trying to articulate the syllables that could possibly describe those terrible wounds. He came to a decision, and moved to stand behind his friend. His hand lifted to touch Glorfindel's back.

"May I? They do not - hurt?" he asked gently. Glorfindel shook his head and shivered as he felt Elrond hesitate before placing his spread fingers on the skin at the nape of his neck. Slowly, he began to move them, caressing the rough skin there.

"They look like claw marks, a vicious tear down from the base of your neck to mid-spine. They are black, burnt and charred. The black is not dull, but shines with a darkness, a gleam, as if they still throb." He moved his hand to Glorfindel's right shoulder, this time placing three fingers at the start of this new scar.

"This one," Elrond sobbed, "is a vivid red, dark as blood yet glowing as if it is a chasm in the earth, open to show the living fire within. Its edges too are black and burnt. They hold the chasm open, preventing any possibility of healing."

His fingers had traced a wide path from right shoulder across the scapula, down the spine and ending in the soft flesh of the left buttock. Elrond removed his fingers, stinging with an inherent cold that had emanated from the brutal wound. He clenched his hand tight, both to revitalise the circulation which had frozen therein, and in deep distress for his friend. These were not wounds such as he could heal. These were the work of evil and the Valar had chosen to retain them, for whatever reason. Glorfindel had not moved, was too shocked to move, and now Elrond circled to face his friend again.

"Glorfindel, I do not think - I have no power..."

Glorfindel knew what Elrond was trying to say, what he could not say - that these inflammations would have to be borne without succour. He smiled faintly.

"At least they do not hurt," he said simply. At these gentle words Elrond's tears began to fall in compassion for the brave elf. He took Glorfindel into his embrace as the golden lord finally broke. Heavy sobs wracked the giant frame and broken words spilled forth in grief. There were not for himself, but for another. And though it was not stated, Elrond knew for whom the gentle lord cried.

"Oh, that he saw them... The pain he must feel - the memories they must invoke... He ran from them... He ran from *me*!"

Murmuring soothing words Elrond waited until Glorfindel wept no more. He asked no questions, but completed their disrobing and guided the seneschal to the sunken tub. In silence, a gentle quiet, he assisted Glorfindel through his bath, washing his hair, cleansing his skin. He stroked the washcloth over the dreadful marks, an act of reverence for the sacrifice the Lord of Gondolin had made, three thousand years ago. Once dry and clothed again, Glorfindel faced Elrond.

"My lord, I ask of you - please tell no one of what you saw today. I do not want pity from my friends, nor gawking elves who still look on me as a curious historical aberration. And I ask - I request -" he broke off, anguished eyes pleading with Elrond for understanding. "Please, do not tell Erestor. Please. I will talk to him, I will help him..."

Elrond nodded, placing a reassuring hand on the seneschal's arm. "He will not hear it from me, mellon nîn. Nor will anyone else, in this realm or any other."

Glorfindel smiled briefly in thanks. "Another boon, my lord. My duties today - I do not know if I can undertake them, if I can concentrate..."

Once again Elrond nodded in agreement. "You will be missed, my friend, but Andrann will manage. Go and rest. Perhaps take one of your potions to help you sleep?"

As Glorfindel left the chamber Elrond hoped that the potion would be all that the golden lord would take. He hoped indeed that Glorfindel would not return to his former source of comfort and forgetfulness. Yet he did not have much faith in this hope.

Elrond's hope was not realised. No one saw Glorfindel again that day, and there was no answer from his locked chambers. Elrond wondered if he had lost the reformed lord and was witnessing a return to the wretched elf of a year past. He made no comment but he saw a worried look in Erestor's eyes when he mentioned that Glorfindel would not be joining them for their morning briefing.

"Lord Glorfindel is unwell?"

"Yes," said Elrond softly. "He learned of something... He is not well."

Elrond heard later that day that his advisor had been seen hovering in the shadows near Glorfindel's chamber.

****

The middle of the night was some hours behind them when Erestor heard a noise outside his room. He had changed earlier into sleeping trousers buthad had not retired to bed. Instead he had curled into a comfortable chair in his living room, a rug draped across his knees. An open book was testimony to his intentions but unseeing eyes had stared at the same page for hours, the mind wandering elsewhere.

On hearing the noise outside his chamber Erestor tensed, though in the safe haven of Elrond's home he knew not why. In the silence following he thought that he had been mistaken, and was starting to relax when there came a thud, as if a great weight had falleastiasting aside both book and rug he crossed to the door, undid the lock and flung the door open. No one was before him, but he gasped as he saw the crumpled form to the left of the doorframe, huddled against the wall. His golden hair was a matted mess, his clothes were askew and his shirt was wide open. He bore in his hand a bottle that tilted precariously, spilliropsrops of miruvor onto the wooden parquet.

"Glorfindel!"

The elf looked up with bleary sapphire eyes, which he had difficulty in focussing.

"Pen-neth?" he slurred, his tongue seemingly refusing to co-operate. "It is my pen-neth, my sweet, my darling one," Glorfindel hiccupped. "So many names - but I can't call you mine anymore, can I? They won't let me. You won't let me." The lord began to cry, drunk and pathetic. Erestor felt his heart twist.

"Come, hir nîn," he said softly. "Let me help you back to your chambers." He reached under Glorfindel's arms, lifting his large frame upright with difficulty. Placing one long arm across his shoulder, the advisor coaxed Glorfindel into staggering down the corridor to his rooms.

It was the first time Erestor had entered Glorfindel's chamber since he had prepared them before the reborn lord's arrival. Little had been added to them save a few cushions, rugs and books to personalize it to the golden lord. Passing through into the bedchamber, Erestor reached the huge four-poster bed and almost collapsed on it, dragged down by the weight of the drunken elf. He had some difficulty extricating himself from Glorfindel's grip as the golden lord was reluctant to release him, but finally he succeeded. Erestor knew that Glorfindel was more likely to suffer from his recurring nightmares in this state, and so he turned to the bottle of herb potion on the small bedside table. He was familiar with the dosage prescribed by Elrond for he himself had written out the order to the apothecary. As he lifted the bottle to pour the dose he heard the golden lord speak. He turned his head, startled to see the sapphire eyes watching him, perusing him. Devouring him.

"Meleth. Meleth-nîn. Ind-nîn. Fëa-nîn."

Erestor quivered, a heat sweeping through him as he registered the desire, the longing in those worlds. He fought for control of his body, concentrating on pouring the potion into the glass. He leant over the golden elf, raising his precious head, tilting the glass so that the liquid poured into Glorfindel's mouth. The elf swallowed the medication.

"They don't hurt, you know. They may be ugly but they do not hurt."

Erestor was puzzled. What didn't hurt? He was paralysed at the next words, shock hitting his mind and body.

"The whip hurt me when it hit, pen-vuin, but I ignored - ignored the pain. It didn't matter. You did. I saw your eyes when I fell and I saw the hurt I caused you. I...am sorry, my love... I am ...sorry that I ... upset you..."

The words trailed away and Erestor stood, dumbfounded. He was sorry? Glorfindel was sorry? *He* was *sorry*?

With a cry Erestor collapsed to his knees by the bed, casting caution and reserve to the wind.

"No, no!" he wept, the sorrow in his heart finally bursting forth in the presence of his love. "Do not apologise to *me*, my lord! My dearest lord!"

In a moment Erestor was grasped tight, lifted and rolled in one swift movement, pinned onto the bed under the weight of solid muscle. Hs mouth was claimed in a brutal kiss, ddingding, determined. He had no way to move, no power to break free. He was helpless. He was trapped. He was -

A strong tongue pressed against his teeth, demanding entry, demanding control and Erestor relinquished that control with little demur. His breath was taken from him by both the strength of the raid upon his senses and the weight of the elf above him. He could not resist. Did not want to resist.

Did not resist.

Erestor's defences collapsed as he relished the pressure of the longed-for body upon his. His hands eagerly swept across Glorfindel's chest, stroking those powerful muscles, feeling that supple skin, kneading and revelling in the flesh pressing against his lean body. His lips pressed tight against Glorfindel's, feeling the sinuous muscle delve into the warm crevices of his mouth; his own tongue dancing, tangling with his love's, revelling in the sweet taste of his lord. Finally he was touching, holding Glorfindel in the way he had dreamed of for millennia. His Glorfindel.

The seneschal moved his lips from that rose-red mouth, dipped them to that creamy white throat. He proceeded to nibble at that flesh, feeling the pulse that Erestor knew had speeded beyond counting. His lord was licking him, tasting him, owning him. His mouth suckled fiercely, marking Erestor as the true possession of his golden lord. And Erestor wanted to be possessed.

He lifted his chin, arching into the contact; gasped as a hand moved from shoulder to bare chest. It brushed the roseate nipple, teased, pid, hd, hardening the flesh as his own member had hardened. He could feel Glorfindel's shaft pressing against his thigh and Erestor rotated his hips to increase the friction, causing Glorfindel to growl in rough desire. Erestor was aching for this ellon, aching for his touch - aching for *him*, body and soul. The logical part of Erestor's mind cried out in warning but was beaten into submission by his heart. By his love for Glorfindel. There was only love and lust and Erestor and Glorfindel.

Sensation was all. He barely registered when Glorfindel's hand abandoned his nipple, when it slipped lower to fumble at the laces of his sleep pants, then at the front of Glorfindel's own leggings. The fingers were unsure, controlled as they were by a brain fogged by drink and lust, but eventually they were successful. His arousal was finally free of its trappings, and lustfully collided with Glorfindel's - two hot, swollen rods rubbing in a long-awaited welcome.

Glorfindel's mouth swiftly found the fondled nub, and the moist lips elicited a strangled cry from Erestor as they clamped over the swollen nipple. The golden lord's tongue was expert, the pink tip licking lightly and constantly over the excited flesh as the lips applied tight suction and pressure in turn. Erestor was overwhelmed, writhing eagerly in response to the darts of joy flaring from the teat, spreading like a lightning strike through the rest of his over-sensitive body. His stiffened, swollen shaft jerked in response, its tip dripping the evidence of his need. Some small part of him wept, pleading that this feeling was wrong, that this act shouldn't be this way, in drink and in violation of his self-imposed denial. He didn't deserve this bliss. He didn't deserve this love, he didn't deserve Glorfindel. It shouldn't be happening.

His neglected body would not be denied, not now, not when he was so close to uniting with the other half of his soul. He could feel Glorfindel's erection pressing hot in needy pressure against his belly. He lifted his pelvis, increasing the friction on his own lusty member, pleading with his body and with Glorfindel for fulfilment. Glorfindel answered his unspoken prayer, wrapping his large hand around both slick shafts and gently stroked the velvet flesh together. Perhaps he too realised that their union should not be completed in a drunken tumble.

His strokes were sure, even. His thumb slipped across the weeping slits, causing Erestor to arch in ecstatic shock and the dark elf pushed into the grip, trying to increase the strength and pace of the strokes, desperate for release. His mouth pressed against Glorfindel's neck, sweet kisses and licks lapping at his firm skin. From Glorfindel's lips poured sweet endearments, slurred by desire and alcohol.

"My Erestor. Mine. My love, My heart. Mine. Melin le, Erestor-nîn."

The longing and love evoked in those words served to spur Erestor on, and he reached for his lord, pulling him by the shoulders, lifting the glorious mouth to his own rose-red lips. He plundered the depths of his lord's sweet cavern, floating on a haze of uncontrollable ardour. Erestor's slender fingers entwining in those golden tresses of silk and sunshine in heated frenzy until he could withstand the escalating sensation no more. In his passion he cried out to his love and his lord.

"Glorfindel! My love, my lord. I am yours, I am yours!"

Tears rolled down Erestor's cheeks when he saw the ecstasy on his lover's face as he came in a roaring shout. Erestor cried out too in sweet rapture, reaching that same zenith in tandem with his golden lord.

"Glorfindel!"

He gripped tight to that treasured body, the melethron he had ached for through three thousand long, lonely years. The heat of his seed, the mingled seed of their completion, spread across his taut stomach, and he rode the turbulent waves of intense sensation crashing through his body.

In the dazed aftermath, the pressing weight and soft snores told Erestor that the alcohol and the medicine had finally taken their toll upon the golden lord. As much as he wanted to stay there, to be enfolded into that warm embrace, he knew that he could not. He pressed upwards, using weapon-honed muscles to slide his shaking body from under the dozing elf, and made his way to the bathroom to collect a washcloth. Cleansing himself he noted absently that the repairs he had authorised via Saelbeth had been completed. He returned to the bed and Glorfindel, and cleansed his darling lord then disposed of the cloth in the laundry basket. The cool, composed counsellor was now in control, sealing the medicine bottle, smoothing the sheets, removing all traces of the torrid lovemaking that had occurred. Finally he positioned Glorfindel onto his side, the safest position for sleep in his drunken stupor.

Erestor looked down at his golden lord, and could not resist sitting on the side of the bed, stroking softly that shining mane. He bent over Glorfindel, pressing his lips to the golden tresses, savouring the texture, memorising the sweet scent.

"I love you, my Glorfindel. I will always love you. Perhaps - perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you *can* forgive me. Perhaps I can forgive myself..." Silent tears began to flow down the pale cheeks as Erestor smiled wistfully. "One day, my love. One day I will prove myself to you and then, if the Valar will permit it, I can be in your arms once more."

He stood and quietly crossed the floor, turning one last time to look at his soulmate, before returning to the solitude of his rooms, his heart soothed by the memory of this special night.


****

It was in trepidation that Erestor entered the dining hall that morning, not knowing if the events of the night had been overheard. The greeting from Elrond and Celébrian was cordial, no different to any other morning. Erestor took some items from the food arrayed before him, but could only toy with it.

What had he been thinking? So many barriers built, so much denial and doubt - yet he had tumbled into bed with Glorfindel with such ease. Erestor felt his face beginning to flush. No, that was not quite true. Glorfindel had pulled him into bed, and if the gn lon lord had not been drunk then Erestor *would* have resisted - forcefully. It was the intoxicated state of the seneschal that had caused him to abandon his resistance, for surely Glorfindel would not remember the events of the night in his alcoholic haze. But now, in the light of day, Erestor was filled with dread for he believed his assumptions unsound and that he faced a declaration, here, in front of the Lord and Lady of Imladris. He was not ready for this, not ready for Glorfindel's love, not ready for *his* love to be known. He did not want to face this moment.

A movement at the door behind him and a hearty "Good morning" told Erestor that the seneschal had arrived. Steeling himself he raised his head and nodded to Glorfindel in greeting. The nod was returned warmly.

As the seneschal took his place Erestor observed him closely. In the bleary eyes and pale complexion there was evidence of Glorfindel's excessive intake of the day before, but he had obviously taken care with his appearance, and his clothes were fresh and neat. His movements were careful and the odd wince indicated that the effects of the miruvor had not yet worn off fully, but still he seemed mostly recovered. As the conversation at the table turned to daily events Erestor slowly realised that, between the miruvor and the medication, Glorfindel had categorised their tryst as a drunken dream.

In contrast to his earlier thoughts, Erestor did not know whether he was relieved or not. He only knew that he would long hold the memory in his heart, in blessed hope for a sweeter future. A future that would perhaps be brighter for them both.


Elvish:

ellyn - male elves (pl)
ellith - female elves (pl)
ellon - male elf (sing.)
meldir - friend
mellon nîn - my friend
pen-neth - little one
meleth-nîn - my love
ind-nîn - my heart
fëa-nîn - my soul
pen-vuin - dear one
melethron - lover (male)
melin le - I love you
Erestor nîn - my Erestor

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