My Heart's Desire - Part 2. If You Go Away.

Chapter 12. By The Whim Of Fate.


Glorfindel and Gildor were sharing wine and a talk behind the curtain of Gildor’s favourite window-niche while the revelry of the Solstice ball went on around them.

“I wish I could go to Mirkwood with you,” Glorfindel sighed.

Gildor looked at him in surprise. “What makes you think I’m going there?”

“Elrond is sending an envoy to Thranduil. I assumed it would be you.”

“Well, you assumed wrong.”

Now it was Glorfindel’s turn to be surprised. “You are not going?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Gildor raised his glass up to his eyes and looked at the candle light through the wine, enjoying the rich colour.

“As we have fully established diplomatic relations with Mirkwood now, it is not likely Thranduil will kick Erestor out of his kingdom. So this time our Chief Advisor will have to do his work himself.”

Glorfindel leaned back against the wall and scrutinized Gildor with narrowed eyes.

“This is the first time you refuse to go see Thranduil.”

“I do not need an official cause to go see him, don’t you think? I could have done it any moment I wished.”

“Exactly my thought. So why haven’t you?”

Glorfindel could tell Gildor was not enjoying the topic but still the Vanya replied.

“Thranduil will not let me off until I have answered all his maddening questions. I will have to tell him everything. He will make me look into my heart, searching for reasons and motives, and I am not ready for that sort of quest yet.”

“And when do you think you will be?”

“How do I know? Can we drop this subject for now, please?”

Gildor’s testiness was an indication for Glorfindel that he must have touched a sore spot.

“But you are not planning to shirk Legolas’s majority ceremony, are you?” he asked after a pause.

“No. I promised him I would come.”

The silence that fell between them after that was broken by a sudden loud peal of laughter as a boisterous company of young elves settled on a bench on the other side of their curtain.

“Just get him!”

“ ‘Everything that moves’?”

“Come on, Randir, admit it’s a whopper!”

“He didn’t strike me as licentious when he lived here.”

“He was different then,” Randir argued. “And now he is quite a rake. Actually, I know it… firsthand.”

“Did you bed him?” one of his friends asked incredulously.

“Well… yes.”

The confession was followed by an outburst of surprised exclamations and eager questions.

Glorfindel threw a glance at Gildor. The Vanya was looking down at the wine he was swirling in his glass. A faint smile was playing round his lips and for some reason this smile worried Glorfindel more than a fit of Gildor’s anger could possible have done. He was about to step out and shoo the over-talkative company away when he heard Elladan’s voice.

“What is this all hubbub about?” the elder twin inquired.

“Randir is telling us about his exciting experience with a certain Marchwarden of Lórien,” one of the elves explained laughingly.

“Oh.”

Glorfindel pulled the curtain away a little and Elladan caught the slight movement, turned his head and met Glorfindel’s significant look. The prince’s eyes widened a little and he mouthed a silent curse.

“Come on, Randir,” he said then. “Such tales are better told over a bottle of miruvor.”

And he led the company away to the tables with refreshments.

Glorfindel turned back to Gildor. His friend looked calm and unperturbed as if he had not heard the conversation or had not understood who it was about; or simply did not care. Even his lowered lashes did not flutter. Glorfindel was almost taken in by his cool appearance when suddenly the glass in Gildor’s hand burst and the wine ran down his fingers and wrist, mingling with his blood. Glorfindel gasped and Gildor looked up at him, his eyes dark and stormy.

“I want to kill them all, those elves he sleeps with,” he admitted in a fierce whisper. “Why can they have what I am denied?”

Glorfindel collected himself quickly.

“It would take you a lot of time and effort: they are too many,” he muttered grumpily, taking out a handkerchief and bandaging Gildor’s hand. “Would it not be easier to kill only one - the cause of your problems?”

“I think I am already close enough to being able to do it,” Gildor smiled bitterly. Then he jerked his hand away impatiently. “Look at me, Mallos,” he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes feverishly bright. “Look at me and tell me: do you want Legolas to go through the same anguish? Is the pleasure you find in your meaningless trysts worth his tears and heartbreak?”

Glorfindel stared at him, shaken to the core. He had never given much thought to the way Legolas could react, should he learn of his means to assuage his desires. He simply assumed that Legolas would *never* know. Now, seeing his friend bleed literally and figuratively, he realized for the first time what a disaster it could be; how badly his young lover could be hurt by something he himself thought so little of. Even if his, as Gildor had rightfully called them, meaningless trysts cost Legolas only one single tear, only one moment of pain – it was a too high price to pay for his fleeting pleasures. Glorfindel knew for sure at that moment that he would never be able to cheat on Legolas again; for nothing but cheating it was, no matter what he had preferred to call it.

Glorfindel raised his head to look Gildor in the face again.

“Ah. Now you understand,” the Vanya smiled slightly, though his eyes glittered with unshed tears.

Glorfindel swallowed hard. “I do. Come on, you must see a healer,” he added then, pointing at the blood-soaked handkerchief around Gildor’s palm. “There may still be some shards left.”

Gildor nodded, hid his injured hand in the wide sleeve of his tunic and they left their hiding place.


Gildor and the twins rode out of Imladris along with Erestor and his escort and traveled with them as far as the Misty Mountains. Then they turned north in the direction of the High Pass while Erestor’s party took the Redhorn Pass, as they were to go to Mirkwood via Lórien.

Haldir and Amarion rode slowly through the city gate, returning from their day’s long trip about the forest. Haldir had showed up at Amarion’s doorstep at dawn, announcing that he badly needed to get out of the city and that even more did he need his best friend by his side. Amarion sighed and complied as he had done many times before, in spite of his lover’s open displeasure. So they spent the day in the forest and headed back only when the golden daylight started to turn into blue twilight. They met Narmacil halfway to their talans. The Noldo was wearing his uniform. Amarion looked at him in surprise.

“You did not tell me you were on duty today.”

“I was not initially,” Narmacil replied coolly, obviously still angry with his lover. “But the Lady wants us all present as the guard of honour: a delegation from Imladris has arrived today.”

Haldir froze on the spot, blood draining gradually from his face. The Noldo gave him a smirk.

“Do not worry: *he* has not come.”

“Who has, then? Glorfindel?” Amarion asked, drawing Narmacil’s attention back to himself and away from Haldir.

“No. It is Erestor this time. Would you excuse me now? I have to go or I shall be late.”

Narmacil moved to leave but Amarion caught him by the arm, pulled him into a kiss and did not let him go till he overcame Narmacil’s resistance and got just as heartfelt a kiss in return.

“Ah, true love, so sweet,” Haldir murmured darkly as they resumed their way. The first moment after he heard that Gildor had not come he was relieved but what he felt right now was very much akin to disappointment. “Well, since your lover is busy, you might as well join me at the Silver Goblet later tonight.”

“No, thanks. I’d rather stay at home and wait for Narmacil’s return.”

“Come on,” Haldir drawled. “There is no fun in sitting alone in an empty house. Besides I want you badly by my side. Don’t you see that I am dreadfully upset and in need of moral support?”

Amarion smirked. “Why should I risk riling my lover again for your sake?”

“Because you are my best friend and you love me so much.”

Amarion laughed and shook his head. “You are incorrigible. I’ll meet you in an hour.”


Haldir put his and Amarion’s goblets on the barstand for the barmaid to refill.

“Shall I bring you some food?” the girl asked. “Or is it no-thanks-only-wine-for-me-Alfirin again?”

“You know the drill so well, so why do you always have to ask?” Haldir gave her a sweet smile.

Alfirin huffed at him angrily and poured wine into the goblets.

“Actually,” she began but suddenly stopped, staring at something behind Haldir’s back. “Sweet Lady of the stars!” she murmured in admiration. “Who’s that beauty? He is so… exotic!”

Haldir looked over his shoulder. “Oh, that. That, my sweet, is Lord Elrond’s Chief Advisor. And stop gawking, girl, as if you have never seen a Noldo before.”

“Well, not the like of this one.”

Haldir turned around and leaned his elbow on the barstand, watching Erestor come up to him unhurriedly. He had to admit that the Advisor did make a striking sight. He was dressed in a tunic and tight leggings and this sort of clothes did him much more justice than his usual long robes. The deep russet colour of his tunic complemented his pale complexion and dark eyes. His loose raven hair streamed down his shoulders and back like shimmering silk. Haldir raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down appraisingly: the Advisor certainly seemed quite a different elf when away from his office.

Erestor stopped in front of Haldir and smiled.

“Haldir, it is a pleasure to see you again.”

“I can say the same about you, Advisor,” Haldir replied without altering his casual pose. “Though I must admit I am surprised to see you here in this tavern. I thought you would be feasted in the Lord’s hall.”

“Well, I am not,” Erestor smiled again. “It is not an official visit. We just stopped here on our way to Mirkwood. So I decided to take the chance and to say hello to my Lórien friends.”

“Indeed?” Haldir gave him a lazy smirk. “Who could they possibly be?”

“You, for one,” Erestor replied, his voice acquiring mellow, sensual timbre. He leaned against the barstand, mirroring Haldir’s stance.

“I am flattered.” Haldir brought his goblet up to his lips, still preserving their eye contact.

“Would you like some wine, sir?” Alfirin asked Erestor and the Noldo nodded without taking his eyes off Haldir’s face.

“I told you I am your friend,” he said. “And I told you my door is always open for you.”

Alfirin put a filled glass in front of Erestor and he took a sip from it. Haldir watched the tip of Erestor’s tongue slowly swipe a droplet of wine from his lower lip.

“Aye, you did,” he murmured softly.

“My offer still stands.” Erestor looked deep into the Galadhel's eyes.

Haldir gazed back at him thoughtfully, contemplating whether to take the Noldo up on his offer or not. He had come to the tavern to find company for the night and Erestor was a perfect choice for a bedmate: he was beautiful and undoubtedly skillful. But for some reason Haldir felt very bad about bedding him. He knew for certain Erestor would not keep their tryst a secret and he had a feeling Gildor might be upset to hear about it. Though why he was worried about that – Haldir had no idea.

From the corner of his eye Haldir saw a movement and turned his head to find Amarion by his side. He looked back at Erestor and smiled.

“And I still prefer blonds,” he said, hooking his arm around his friend’s neck.

Erestor’s pleasant countenance never wavered. “Who could have thought. It is so different from what *we* heard in Imladris.”

Haldir felt a sudden stab of pain in his heart and berated himself for it silently: he should not be bothered any longer by Gildor’s opinion of him. But he was. However, he managed to preserve his calm appearance.

“Gossip is not a reliable source, Advisor. You of all people should know that. Would you excuse us now? Something tells me that my friend here is eager to go home to play. Aren’t you, my pretty one?”

He pulled Amarion closer to himself so that their lips almost touched. Amarion tilted his head back and to one side, avoiding Haldir’s lips but he still played along.

“Yes,” he muttered.

“See?” Haldir gave Erestor a little apologetic smile, his hand caressing Amarion’s neck. “But I am leaving you with a light heart because I know you will not stay alone for long. A lot of people here find you… exotic.”

He winked at Alfirin. The girl blushed and threw him a murderous look.

“So allow us to wish you a pleasant night, Advisor. Enjoy your stay in fair Lórien.”

With that he sauntered away, pulling Amarion along with him. Erestor watched him go with an amused smile and Haldir’s fellow Geledhil did it with a sigh: it seemed it was one of those rare nights when Haldir went to bed alone.

Glorfindel ran up the main staircase and walked briskly along the corridor, heading for Erestor’s room. The Advisor and his party had returned when Glorfindel was on the training grounds and he had to finish his practice with his soldiers before he could go and learn the news Erestor had brought. And collect his letter, of course. The one he had been waiting for eagerly for these two months. Glorfindel smiled self-consciously: he had been behaving like an elfling in the excitement of his first love. But he could not help it. The young Sindarin prince had managed to awake in him the feelings he thought he would never experience. He had come to believe that he was incapable of having them because no one had ever been able to make him feel that way. But Legolas proved him to be wrong. With a mere smile he managed to break the evil spell, and suddenly all the long millennia of loneliness and longing, of sleepless nights and cold beds, of futile hopes and dashed illusions molded into a feeling of such scorching power that Glorfindel knew from the very first moment that it was the love of his life. Legolas made him feel strikingly alive, vibrating with energy and young again. He thanked the Valar from the very deep of his heart that his love was not unrequited.

‘Nine years,’ he reminded himself as he walked up to Erestor’s door. ‘Just nine years more.”

But these nine years seemed longer than nine centuries to him.

He knocked and entered without waiting for permission.

“Of course you can come in, seneschal. How kind of you to take the trouble to knock at all before rushing in.”

Glorfindel ignored the quip. “Have you got any letters for me?” he asked eagerly.

“No,” Erestor replied. “But I do have some news, though. I think you should better sit down.”

“What is it?” Glorfindel demanded.

“Will you not take a seat?”

“Do not dance around it. Speak up!” Glorfindel exclaimed impatiently, a vague foreboding stirring in his heart.

Erestor shrugged. “As you wish. It seems Legolas has learned that you were unfaithful to him.”

Glorfindel cursed dirtily and sank down onto a sofa. “How did he find out?”

“How do I know?” Erestor shrugged again. “I can only try and make a guess. Your liaisons are not much of a secret in Imladris. And Thranduil has always been very well informed of everything that comes about here or in Lórien. So… ”

Glorfindel stared at him intently and silently.

“What?” Erestor asked, irritated. “For the Valar’s sake, Glorfindel, do not look at me like that! It was not I to let the cat out of the bag. It is enough that I had to negotiate with Thranduil under such crappy conditions – and do you have any idea just *how* furious he was? – so don’t you try to lay the blame for your mucking things up on me!”

Glorfindel sighed heavily and looked down on his clasped hands in his lap.

“Was Legolas mad at me?” he asked quietly.

“Mad? No,” Erestor chuckled. “At least, not when he spoke with me. Actually, he was very calm and sensible.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes for a moment. “What did he say?”

“He asked me to tell you this: he was angry with you for your infidelity at first. But then he realized that it had been stupid of him to expect you to remain faithful to him all these years, for it would imply real attachment from your part. And to think that the great and legendary Balrog slayer could really be interested in a Sindarin princeling hardly out of the nursery *was* folly.”

Glorfindel moaned, mortified.

“He also said,” Erestor went on relentlessly, “that he is sensible enough not to fade because of the disappointment; that he would take his father’s advice and find someone closer to himself in age and in place of residence.”

“Is this some sort of joke?” Glorfindel exclaimed incredulously.

“I do not think so,” Erestor replied calmly. “He is believed to be getting rather… friendly with one of his brother’s companions. I saw them together quite often for myself. Perhaps, the young prince is going to invite him to his bed with time. If he has not done so yet… ”

“What?!” Glorfindel jumped up to his feet. He took several deep breaths to calm down. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” Erestor said in a carefully neutral tone. “King Thranduil has banned you from his realm. You will not be permitted to cross the Mirkwood border under any pretext, so you’d better not attempt it.”

“We’ll see about that,” Glorfindel growled and stormed out of the room.

Erestor watched him go in amusement.

“Well,” he murmured, “I can only congratulate Prince Legolas on his smart move. But then, our dear Balrog slayer is touchingly predictable.”

The peace and quiet of summer evening was disrupted by the fierce clashing of metal against metal, cries and curses in the Black Tongue and in Sindarin. When the battle had just begun, the elves were much outnumbered. But now there were just a few orcs left still fighting, the rest lying dead or fleeing to their dens deeper in the mountains. It was almost over.

Gildor feinted and cut with a swift motion the throat of the beast he had been fighting. A spurt of dark blood hit him in the face, blinding him for a moment, and he saw a movement on his left barely in time to catch the charging orc on his sword. He could not stop the momentum though and as the dying creature pressed further on his blade, he was forced to take a step back, then another... Suddenly he felt stones under his feet shift and give way and he toppled over the edge of the cliff. He heard Elladan’s horrified cry and then he hit the rocky surface below, the body of his dead enemy falling atop of him and knocking out what little air remained in his lungs after connecting with the hard ground. The hilt of his own sword protruding from the orc’s chest caught him in the solar plexus and he blacked out.

Elladan scurried down the slope to the spot of Gildor’s fall while Elrohir remained behind to make sure that all the felled beasts were really dead.

“Gildor!” Elladan rolled the corpse of the orc off the Vanya and kneeled by his side, checking for wounds and broken bones. “Gildor, please, speak to me!”

“Stop shaking me,” Gildor wheezed out.

“You are alive!” Elladan breathed with relief.

“I am fine.” Gildor struggled to sit up, moaning and cursing. Elladan tried to support him but Gildor pushed his hands away. “I said I am fine!”

“You certainly do not look it,” Elladan replied, unfazed. “Let Ro examine you.” He nodded at his twin who had just joined them.

“No need. I am… ”

“Yes, I heard it: you are fine,” Elrohir interrupted, swiftly running his hands over Gildor’s body, slightly touching here and there. “Fine, except for the concussion, two broken ribs – the same ones you had had fractured by the way – and a lacerated wound in your arm. It looks like you do need help so let me help you.”

The initial shock had passed and Gildor started feeling all his major and minor pains and aches. His head was reeling and he was afraid he could be sick any moment.

“Help me? Like what? Finish me off?” He inquired grumpily. “Well, be my guest.”

“It is a bit early for that. What you need is a healer… ”

“You are a healer.”

“… and a safe place to rest and recuperate. You will not be able to make it across the mountains to Imladris in your current state.”

In spite of his nausea and spinning head Gildor understood at once where Elrohir was steering it.

“No way!” He made to get up, anger giving him strength. But his vision suddenly went black, his legs gave way under him and he slumped down, gasping and clutching at his side. “I am not going there!” he rasped stubbornly.

Elrohir’s patience was running thin.

“Now listen to me, Gildor Inglorion! Are you listening? Because I am not going to say it twice. We have to move, whether you like it or not. First, I might be a healer but I am short of medical supplies: we have not been home for I don’t know how long. So we have to get them somewhere. Second, we cannot stay here. You damn well know it is not safe. With you crippled, we will not be able to fight well enough if we are attacked. And I will not put my brother’s life into jeopardy because of your asinine stubbornness and overdeveloped pride. And last, you are not the only one in need of rest. So you *are* going to Lórien even if I have to knock you on the head and bind you hand and foot.”

“Easy, Ro,” Elladan raised his hand in a placating gesture. “He is bleeding. Can you fix that first before you knock him out?”

Elrohir took a deep breath, gave a silent nod and went to collect his medical kit from his saddlebag.

“I almost could hear your grandma speaking,” Gildor muttered. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

And he was.

“Valar,” he wheezed. “Why couldn’t I just be decently killed in battle instead of going through this humiliation? To be pathetically weak, sick and miserable and, as if it is not bad enough, to have to go *there* in such a state.”

“You know,” Elladan said, offering Gildor a flask of water to rinse his mouth, “we do not have to go all the way to Caras Galadhon. We can just get as far as the border of Lórien and stay at one of the talans patrol guards use. And Ro can get the stuff he needs from the reserve stock they keep for a case of emergency.”

Gildor looked at Elladan silently and the elder twin smiled. “Lórien has more than one patrol, dagnir-e-guren. [bane of my heart] And even if it is *his* shift, I shall find a way to get rid of him. If you do not want to see him, I promise you will not.”

Gildor smiled too. “Thank you, mellonen vuil. Thank you.” [my dear friend]


Elladan rode along the path, expecting to be hailed by Lórien’s guardians any moment and wondering whose patrol was on duty. When a tall figure stepped out of the shadows, he cursed silently.

“Welcome to Lórien, my Lord,” Orophin greeted him.

“Thank you,” Elladan replied.

More elves emerged from the forest, looking clearly surprised to see him alone, without his twin. Elladan gave them a quick scrutiny and turned back to Orophin.

“Where is your commander?”

“I am in command of this patrol, my Lord,” Orophin answered with a little frown.

“Oh. And what happened to your brother?”

Orophin’s frown deepened. “He is off duty after a double shift on the border.”

“A double shift? What zeal. But then, overkill seems to be his way to do everything, as we have been told.”

Orophin heard Rúmil growl quietly by his side.

“Is your business with Haldir alone, my Lord?” Orophin asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He wondered if Elladan had come to confront his younger brother. With the Peredhel being their Lord and Lady’s grandson and the Crown Prince of Imladris, Haldir could find himself in a tight corner, should that happen. “Maybe *we* can be of any help to you?”

“I have no wish whatsoever to meet your brother, Lieutenant. Actually, I am glad he is not here for we shall be staying with you for several days.”

“We?”

“You heard me correctly.” Elladan smiled pleasantly.

“Dark flames of Mordor!” Rúmil muttered under his breath as two more riders appeared out of the wood.

Orophin kept silent but he felt genuinely grateful that Lady Galadriel had made Haldir stay off duty, for here came his brother’s worst affliction. Ice Blade had once again crossed the border of Lórien.