Glorfindel Unleashed

Title : 'Glorfindel Unleashed', 13/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
Type: FPS
Beta: Most excellent Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR
Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor in later chapters
Warnings: M/M, implied child abuse, angst, character
death


Summary : When Glorfindel becomes a child's protector,
he does not realise what Erestor will be to him when
he reaches majority. Can love survive the trials of
death and destiny?

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


Chapter 13

T.A. 160 - 1300

The years rolled by, swiftly for some, slowly for others. Imladris stood calmly in the eye of the storm as the world of Men swirled around them, and it seemed that barely had one king of Men been crowned that he died, and his successor was raised to the throne. Elrond Peredhel watched the progression of Kings, of the Lords of Arnor and Gondor, carefully. For indeed, through generations untold, they were kin to him - his beloved twin had chosen the fate of mortal men, and these lords of the Secondborn were his descendants, and thus vital to the future of Middle Earth. It had been an Alliance of Elves and Men that, in accord with the Valar and the Naugrim had fought in the War of Wrath, causing the expulsion of Melkor beyond the bounds of Arda, thus signalling the end of the First Age. Similarly the end of thcondcond Age brought the downfall of Sauron - but there the strength of Men had faltered and Isildur had succumbed to the power of the One Ring. This Ring was now lost but Elrond was, as always, wary of relaxing his vigil. There were already signs that evil was on the move once more, as Glorfindel's presence in Imladris showed. Thus the fates of both lines of ancient Númenor were watched with keen eyes and fearful heart.

The turning years brought changes for Glorfindel too. His power, position and prowess as seneschal of Imladris became renowned throughout elvendom and he soon became familiar with most of the realms of the Eldar. He travelled across the Misty Mountainsenteenter the enchanted realm of Lothlórien as escort to the Lord and his Lady, on visits to Celebrían's parents. His sojourns in Lórien were entertaining and informative, and soothing to his soul. He found delight in his converse with the rulers of that realm, for he had known the Lady Galadriel from his first life in Valinor, then later when she wed Celeborn, Prince of Doriath. As a Noldor Glorfindel had never been admitted past the Girdle of Melian, but he had encountered the Lord and Lady in councils outside of Thingol's realm. His thirst for contact with those he had known in the First Age, *his* Age, was sated whenever he entered the Golden Wood, though he resisted all persuasions of Galadriel to view her blessed mirror.

"It is no longer my place to question the will of the Valar. They forgave me for my misdeeds in the rebellion and allowed me to be reborn. They forgave my recalcitrant behaviour on my return to Imladris. I will not seek out knowledge of my future but instead treasure what joys I have at present."

In a different wood his dealings were not so calm for Thranduil, King of the Greenwood, was the son of that Oropher who had defied Gil-galad and the Lords of the West to make that ill-fated charge at the Battle of Dagorlad. The ruler of the Sindar elves was an edhel who bore a mistrust of the Noldor as his father had done, yet he knew that one realm could not stand alone against possible evils, especially when not protected by a magical ring. He thus had entered into an alliance with the other elf-havens. He would never break a treaty but it did not mean he had to *like* his fellow lords - yet he liked Glorfindel. In him he saw a warrior of great deeds and mighty stature - and a strong head for drink. Glorfindel did not truly indulge in the way he once did, in the dark year of his rebirth, but he knew how to make it look as if he did, and he thus won the admiration of the golden king, who lived a lusty and luxurious life. Everyone knew that negotiations with the Greenwood always went smoother if Glorfindel was there.

For Círdan and the Havens, Glorfindel always held the strongest affection. Círdan had been the first to greet him on his return and had promoted his resettlement in Middle Earth. There was a keen understanding with him and so Glorfindel revelled in his trips to the coastal port. For the golden lord did not feel the call of the sea. No indeed, not until his work was done and his destiny run its course would he feel the pull of the true home of elvenkind. Instead he could tread the cliff paths and imagine himself back to the time of his arrival - the time when had such hopeful dreams of finding Erestor.

Erestor. The love he felt for the dark elf had not diminished. Oh no, in no way had he relinquished his pen-neth's hold over his heart, or the call of his own. The overwhelming grief of separation from the other half of his soul was, however, somewhat soothed by the gift of peace laid upon him by the Valar. In his travels through Middle Earth his only regret was that Erestor did not always travel with him. He rejoiced in the company of his dark darling when the counsellor was a member of a diplomatic party or an ambassador on a state occasion. He missed him dreadfully when Erestor's talents were required in Imladris. Separations, be it for a day on patrol or months or years in missions, were always a trial to Glorfindel. For Erestor had become to him something that he had never been before.

A friend.

It had started slowly - very slowly. He didn't know when the tension had started to fade, when Erestor had stopped flinching whenever he approached him. Never again had Glorfindel indulged in miruvor to the point of insensibility, as he had done on the night of the second dream. Why Irmo had bequeathed it upon him he did not know, but it was even more real to him than the one in Gondolin, for he could still feel Erestor writhing beneath him, panting, pressing their sleek and demanding members together in lustful need. He could still hear Erestor's voice calling out his name in his rapture, declaring his love, over and over. Ai, as much as he longed for that dream to have been repeated, he would not dpt tpt the newfound respect and rapport he had felt with Erestor by living through the haze of alcohol.

It was only the little things at first - a gentle greeting, a quiet remark; a simple comment upon the clemency of the weather. The day when Erestor turned, a genuine smile on his face at seeing the seneschal approach, was one that Glorfindel treasured in his memory, for he had longed to see once again a certain brilliant smile, one that was meant for him alone. Small steps had been taken towards a calmer relationship than that which had torn their sanity apart in that first year of Glorfindel's return. Over the centuries both had striven to support Elrond and supply Imladris with that which it needed most - two devoted and determined chief officers. They worked, apart and together, to promote the relationships between the elven realms with those of dwarves and men. They combined their expertise to maintain the safety and security of the elven refuge, and they had united to provide the twin heirs with a full and rounded education. The twins learned of politics and arts, healing techniques and the skills of diplomacy. They also learned the art and application of the martial skills of hand, sword, knife and bow. Of the first two Glorfindel was the undisputed master; of the third, Erestor led the field; and for the last, the Lady Celebrían's parents had provided and sent one of their finest archers to teach them - Haldir ó Lórien.

Thus it was at the Coming-of-Age celebrations for the twins that the three tutors stood together in satisfied accomplishment and pride when the young princes received their Blessing from the hands of their father. In joy and unity Haldir had grasped a hand of each of his fellow educators and pronounced them an unequalled fellowship.

"For if we can survive the teaching of those two young hellions, we can survive anything!" he laughed, joined in merriment by both sable and golden edhil. When the blonde archer left them to partake of the fine wines on offer Glorfindel realised that Erestor had not released his fingers from his grasp. He smiled down at the dark elf who was standing quietly, unconscious of his continued hold on the golden lord.

"I am sorry I missed your fiftieth begetting day, Erestor," he murmured softly, Erestor looked up quickly, an automatic rebuff on his lips, but he saw the honesty and sadness in the sapphire eyes. Instead he squeezed the large hand.

"I am sorry too," he said, lifting those expressive brown eyes. "Yet we are both here now, for Elrohir and Elladan. Let us take some comfort in that."

And so they were at peace. An overjoyed Elrond watched them from across the Hall of Fire, delighted to witness the beginning of a new phase in his friends' relationship.

Similar happiness was found in the next century when Celebrían was delivered of a girl child, Arwen. Inheriting Elrond's dark hair and her mother's beauty, the sweet baby found willing protectors in the Chief Counsellor and the Seneschal of Imladris. They took it in turns to hold the smiling babe, rocking her and uttering sweet inanities in their besotted enchantment. They each envied the other when it was not their turn to cradle her, and the jealousy became totally irrational and aimed towards her father when they had to return the little elleth to his arms. They did not reminisce in speech but instead communicated through knowing glances their memories of Elrond's father as a baby in Gondolin.


Time brought another joy to Glorfindel - the arrival at the end of the first millennium of the Third Age of the Maia Ólorin, whom he had known on his rebirth in Valinor, now embodied in the guise of an aged human male. Ólorin was one of five Maiar who came to be known as the Istari, and they were led by Curumo, Curunír in Sindarin - the 'Cunning One'. In the speech of Men he was called Saruman. Ólorin was given the name Gandalf the Grey for his habitual garb of mid-grey tones; his elvish name was Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim.

"And that is the name you must call me by, young Glorfindel!" the Maia laughed, lifting his glass of ale in salute. "If we are to be effective against the Dark Lord then we must hold back the knowledge of much of our powers - including knowledge of our origins. The darkness is rising again, meldir. Already there is movement in the southern ranges of the Greenwood. Thranduil will find it difficult to maintain hold of his realm against the regrouping forces of Sauron."

Glorfindel nodded, his hands cradling the glass of wine he had held for near on an hour of their talk in the Hall of Fire. His need for liquor had diminished greatly since that dark year of his return, and he partook only to give appearance of camaraderie with his troops. He glanced at Gandalf, his face disbelieving of the old man before him.

"Ai, Ólor - Mithrandir. I understand the need for subterfuge but this - disguise - that you have adopted... You were so bright, so pure and beautiful on Taniquetil!"

Gandalf grinned, his lips not hidden by the straggling beard nor the twinkle in his blue eyes diminished.

"Needs must, my dear Glorfindel. And speaking of beauty, how fared your quest? I see that you found your Erestor, but I dare say that Vairë had the right of it? That your return was not necessarily welcomed by him?" His smile gentled, knowing full well what had passed between Erestor and Glorfindel. Glorfindel smiled ruefully.

"Aye, Vairë was truthful in her warning. As always, I had to be the one who was right, the one who would prevail. I did not, but since my revelation on the cliffs of Imladris my relationship with Erestor has become more - settled. I will never give up my love for him but I will abide by the creed of the Valar. My life, my soul is in their hands until I have fulfilled my duty."

Gandalf nodded and laid a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder, squeezing it hard.

"Take comfort in this - the Valar are not cold-hearted. They can lay restrictions upon you - but they can also promote great joy. Have faith, my golden friend."

****

Another happy reunion took place in the most unexpected way. The one leader of an elven community that Glorfindel had yet to meet was Gildor Inglorion, Prince of the House of Fingon. His principal home was in the elven port of Edhellond, a coastal town in Gondor near to the settlement of Dol Amroth. His was an active spirit though, one not meant to stay in one place for long. Thus he had set up a travelling community, a Company of Elves who wandered throughout Middle Earth, maintaining contact between the settled realms of the Eldar. That Glorfindel had not met him earlier was amazing, but sadly Gildor's previous arrivals in Imladris always seemed to coincide with his own journeys to the other realms of the Havens, Greenwood or Lorienrien. And so Glorfindel was delighted when he stood beside Elrond in the courtyard of the Last Homely House and saw the procession of colourful elves make their entrance.

Gildor Inglorion was a bright lord, light of spirit and beauty. Fair of countenance, his fine-boned face was framed by delicate light-gold hair. Whereas Glorfindel was the epitome of Anor aflame at the height of the day, Gildor's tresses reflected the pale yellow of a hazy early-morning sun.

The greetings were joyous, the introductions informal and the gathering was welcomed into the house for a midday feast. As the throng dispersed, Glorfindel spotted Erestor moving aside to greet an elleth who had arrived in the Company. The greeting was enthusiastic, at least on the elleth's part, as she enfolded Erestor in her embrace. Glorfindel watched in amazement, then his mouth flew open as he realised who she was.

"Díwen!"

The cry was loud and the elleth turned in shock, a shock that was compounded when she realised who had called her name. She immediately tried to drop into a curtsey but Glorfindel would not allow it, scooping the slight figure into a bear hug.

" Díwen, as I live and breathe! Ai, this miscreant did not tell me of your coming, nor indeed that you still resided in Middle E!"
!"

The elleth breathed deeply and rapidly, trying to reclaim the breath that had been squeezed out of her by the elf lord, as well as trying to slow her speeding heart.

"Ai, my lord, praise to the Valar for granting the mercy of your return to us!" She looked at the two elves, Erestor and Glorfindel, and grinned widely. "I wager that the reunion was an occasion of delight and wonder!" She laughed at seeing the discomfort on their faces and misinterpreted it as embarrassment. "We were never fooled, Mirieth and I. We knew of your love long before you did, I am sure. I am so happy that you are together again."

Erestor hastened to change the subject, to avoid awkward questions.

"How is your family, Díwen? Are they not with you?" The elleth smiled fondly.

"Nay, for Pathon sails with the fishing fleet now, having taken to the life of a mariner with great enthusiasm. And Nienna is married and had her first child some fifteen years ago." She turned to Glorfindel. "I am a grandmother now, my lord."

"Then you are truly blessed," responded Glorfindel, smiling. "Though I wish that you would not call me 'my lord'. I am Lord of the Golden Flower no more, but simply Glorfindel of Rivendell."

Díwen shook her head. "You will always be *my* lord, as Erestor is my gwador, but I will try - Glorfindel."

The golden lord hugged her again, though this time her ribs did not feel as if they would crack. Erestor coughed lightly behind them. Glorfindel grinned.

"I think that is a warning that we are expected at the festivities." He looked into her eyes, a more serious mien on his face. "I need to talk to you later, Díwen. Please."

Díwen glanced at Erestor who looked somewhat alarmed, but then nodded in resignation.

"Very well, my lord - Glorfindel! Later."

Another hug in farewell, then the counsellor and the seneschal walked slowly towards the dining hall. Glorfindel looked carefully at his companion, considering what to say. Finally he spoke.

"I will not ask her," he said softly. "If you do not desire it, I will not ask her. I will abide by your wishes, mellon nîn." Erestor sighed and shook his head.

"No, you need to talk. And ask. Ask Díwen, she will tell you what happened after-"

The pain lanced across his face and Glorfindel took his hand.

"Oh pen-neth, I never wanted to hurt you so."

He stroked his thumb over the back of the creamy skin, marvelling at its softness. He ached to pull Erestor into his arms, to just hold him and comfort him. He looked into those chocolate-brown eyes, fearing to see rejection again. Instead, he saw gratitude and also acceptance of the divide that had been placed between them by the Valar. And the same ache he felt? Perhaps. He would not, could not dwell on that thought, for it would bring forth all the longing that he had hidden for centuries. Just to know that Erestor had started to accept their former relationship, even in a minor way, brought tears to Glorfindel's eyes. Erestor reached up and stroked Glorfindel's cheek hesitantly.

"That the Valar gave you back to us is a miracle, meldir. I will abide by their ruling. As long as you are back in my life again, as a friend if nothing more, then I will abide."

As their eyes met so did their hearts and in this moment of sweet acceptance Glorfindel knew that one day Erestor would be his again. Another gentle smile from those rose-red lips and a final pressure on his fingers, then their hands parted and they walked, side by side, into the awaiting feast.

****

The morning light shone down upon Glorfindel's meeting with Díwen. He had quickly performed his morning duties as seneschal, delegating some of the tasks to Andrann, and he knew that his meeting with Gildor and Elrond regarding security matters was yet some hours away. Now he took Díwen to one of the summerhouses in the extensive gardens, where they could be alone.

Díwen studied Glorfindel's face as he searched for the right words in which to frame his questions. In the dappled light which filtered through the traceries of the elegant framework, and the green ivy twining around the graceful arches, Díwen could see that her original hopes had not been fulfilled. She leaned across to the golden lord and placed her hand on his knee. He raised his head in inquiry.

"I was wrong, wasn't I?" she asked. "You are not united with Erestor."

The ellon shook his head slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly. Yet there was a slight smile on his face.

"No, not in the way you mean, though it was not without want or need on my part. I love Erestor and always will, but Erestor was not ready. And now I am bound to await my destiny."

Díwen did not fully understand his meaning for she knew little of the reasons for his return. Her heart bled for the elf lord.

"You wish to know what happened on Cirith Thoronath after you - fell? What happened to Erestor?" She was hesitant but Glorfindel's determined face urged her on. Her mind sped back to that fateful night.

"I was not beside Erestor when you fell, my lord. I was still caught in the crowds, the press trying to flee from the balrog - but I heard the screams. We all heard the screams. They echoed through the mountains, crying out in loss and despair. When I reached Erestor, Mirieth was trying to pull him up, to drag him away from the cliff edge and up the mountain track. He would not move. He was transfixed, staring only at the point where he last saw you. We were terrified, terrified that the orcs would take us, kill us. Then the eagles came. They fought the orcs, driving them over the cliffs, tearing them apart with their vicious talons. The filthy creatures were no match for those majestic eagles. We were safe. Then the king of the eagles came. He bore - he bore your body, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel nodded. He had heard of this before and he patted the trembling Díwen in encouragement. He said nothing for he wanted - needed - to hear more
"T
"The remaining warriors of our House carried you with reverence and, with the aid of many, raised a cairn over your resting place. Lord Tuor led a brief eulogy. Erestor - Erestor had stopped his screams but stared only ahead of him, unconscious of the crowd around him. Some of the guard, some of those who had been his tutors, his weapon-masters, his friends...They carried him in turn, over the rocky scree, over the mountains. Every so often, unexpectedly, Erestor would rave. Screaming, shouting, calling your name. Always your name, my lord. And a few words, over and over again. 'My fault'. 'I killed him'. 'My fault'. Nothing, no one could break through his barriers, could reassure him or console him. He was locked in his own world, the pain coursing through him in cycles. He often went into spasms, becoming rigid. They were the most frightening of times, Glorfindel. We feared that we would lose him too."

Glorfindel could make no response. He had felt the blood drain from his face at the horrific description of his beloved's broken heart and broken mind. He knew he must look pale for Díwen's glances at him were full of concern. Yet he could not articulate, could only plead with his eyes for her to continue the tale. She read and understood those pleas.

"We walked with our fellow refugees to the banks of the Sirion; to Nan-tathren, the land of Willows, where we were able to take our rest for a short time. Here we grieved, here we wept - for our lost loved ones; our beautiful home; our shattered sheltered peace. We grieved for our king and our fallen defenders - and we sang for you, Glorfindel. Our shining Lord. The ragged remnant of the House of the Golden Flower led the dirge but every House sang for you. And we sang for Erestor, for he was your pen-neth - and our new Lord.

"Yet he did not know and could not respond, and as the days passed we realised that when the exodus moved on in its journey, we could not go with them. Erestor was no better, if anything he was worse for when he raved he also ran. He ran to the river to try to throw himself in; he ran to the forest, determined to climb the highest tree and throw himself down. By whatever means, he was determined to follow you, my lord. He wanted to d

Glorfindel closed his eyes, the grief for his pen-neth's sorrow twisting his heart. He didn't know, hadn't known the extent of the madness that Erestor had faced. How could he have survived? How *did* he survive? Díwen continued, her own voice trembling in the enforced remembering. They had all been torn, all wounded by the horrors they had faced, Glorfindel realised. Yet they had stood firm by his bereft beloved. Gratitude swelled within his heart for the gentle elleth.

"Finally Mirieth made the decision. We had learned by that time that her husband and her eldest son Brôglon had fallen in the battle, though Aradol had been found. She refused to fade, she refused to leave her third son - Erestor. He was her son too, he was unwell and she would not leave him. Nor would I."

Glorfindel leaned across in gratitude. "Ai, Mirieth truly loved him as did Aradol and Brôglon. I never understood how they were not jealous of the attention their mother paid to him," he said with a smile. Díwen claspes has hand in return.

"He was but a babe when he came into our lives and they were near grown. He was their baby brother, even though he looked to you and not to them so much."

Glorfindel pressed her fingers. "And to you. He looked to you too, Díwen." She smiled.

"My gwador. Such a sweet child, such a devoted brother. I could not leave him, my lord. Not my little Erestor. So we were to stay, whilst the others moved on. Erestor, Mirieth, Aradol and I. Lord Tuor asked for volunteers for a small escort. The entire guard of the Golden Flower stepped forward, my lord, in honour of you and of Erestor. Finally four were chosen, a small group preferable to a large force. We would hide, set up a small encampment, hunt through the winter and wait for Erestor to recover. The warriors were chosen because they were either unbound, or had lost their kin and had no other ties. Laindir, Orthored, Galudirn and Eruant."

The golden lord nodded. They were all experienced warriors, masters and tutors to Erestor in his youth. They all had fought alongside Glorfindel for centuries, in the Battles of Beleriand. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to his friends for their care of his beloved Erestor. He focussed upon Díwen again. She was becoming distressed by these recollections and although he did not want to stop her - no indeed, he *needed* to know all - he would not prolong her distress by endless questions.

"That year was hard, Glorfindel. We had to take shelter in caves, hunt for food and for furs to keep us warm. Mirieth and I searched for herbs where we could, having been instructed in simple draughts by an apothecary who had escaped the city. In this wa kep kept Erestor calm and reduced his ravings to a minimum. At one point we thought that we would lose him, for he refused to eat. I think that he forgot *how* to eat. In the end Mirieth persuaded him, settling his frame upon her lap whilst she fed him sops. It reminded me - it was the night you rescued him, my lord! It was that night once again and, when he finished eating, Erestor curled against Mirieth and his eyes glazed in sleep, one thumb in his mouth. He, a grown elf! He murmured your name. He said - 'My Glo'fin'l!'"

Díwen burst into heavy sobs, the memories overwhelming her as she fell into Glorfindel's arms. Finally the lord succumbed to his own pain, aching with sadness at the trials that Díwen and Mirieth had borne. He felt that he could ask no more of this faithful sister, but she dashed the tears from her eyes, determined to finish.

"It was more than a year later when tragedy struck again. Erestor had seemed to improve, so we had reduced his medication. He now fed and clothed himself, though he did not speak, and his cycle of stupor and storm had abated somewhat. However our danger had increased. Orcs now regularly delved into the forest near to our encampment and though we stood watch, we chose to keep silent in the hope that they would pass us by. We forgot about Erestor - forgot about how he might react. He heard them, their screams and their cries. It sparked something within him. He picked up his knives, the ones given to him by Lord Ecthelion and neglected by him for so long. He picked them up and ran out of the cave into the forest. He was swearing, cursing, damning them for killing you, for killing Ecthelion. He cried out for them to kill him too. And they tried.

"It was only a small patrol, twenty at the most, but we only had five warriors. Odds of four to one. In the aftermath the evil ones were all dead but so were Laindir and Galudirn, in defence of us and defence of Erestor. Erestor sat, looking at their bodies and his eyes focused, they truly *saw* for the first time in a year. He lifted his head and spoke, intelligible yet terrible words. 'Why must I kill all my friends?' he said, and his voice was hollow. 'Everyone that I love, dies.'

"We held him, we reassured him in our sorrow, yet our hearts rejoiced that his sanity had returned. He helped us to bury them, for we could not risk the fires of a pyre. He said the prayers of the dead for them, and then he fell beside their graves and wept.

"Erestor improved very quickly then, at least physically. He started to interact, ask questions about his missing year. He did not mention your name once, and ignored us if we tried to introduce your name in conversation. It was as if he refused to acknowledge that you had ever lived. He frightened us again when he started to disappear before dawn, taking his knives with him, but he always returned before breakfast. Orthored found him one morning, practising with his knives. He was in tears of frustration, for he handled them poorly and had forgotten much of what he had been taught. He was angry at first at being discovered but then he asked Orthored for aid and soon he was sparring with them all. Erestor, who had never taken to a warrior's life! He told me later that he would never let anyone die for him again.

"Now that my brother had recovered, there was talk of leaving, of moving south to rejoin the rest of our people. Erestor remained quiet, not jog ing in our plans. On the night before our journey he made his declaration. He would not come with us. He would not take up the lordship of the House of the Golden Flower. 'Its Lord is dead. I am dead. I will not go, though I urge you all to follow your hearts. I love you all, most dearly, but Erestor of Gondolin is dead and I will not go.'

"Mirieth pleaded, and he sat beside her and comforted her through the night. She thought that her pleadings had succeeded and she fell asleep in his arms, sure that her third son would be beside her on the long road to the Mouths of the Sirion. When we awoke, Erestor was gone.

"We searched the whole day but he had truly gone, taking his knives with him. In time we knew we had to go too and so we left, our hearts heavy once more with loss. We settled in the HavenSiriSirion and Orthored and I wed, for we had discovered in our life in the wilderness that our hearts and souls were one. Mirieth and Aradol lived with us. Mirieth grieved ever for her lost Erestor and she said prayers every night for his safety. Then war returned once more, first with the attack of the sons of Fëanor, then the War of Wrath, in which Aradol died.

"Mirieth took this hard, and she determined, when the call came, to sail for Valinor, for she hoped one day for her sons return from the Halls of Waiting into the Blessed Realm. A hundred years after the War, Orodreth and I escorted her to the Grey Havens. I do not know why she wished to leave from there rather than the Haven of Sirion. Perhaps she had faith that Erestor still dwelt in the north. On our way we passed through Lindon and the Court of Gil-galad. Imagine our surprise and happiness at finding Erestor, alive and settled.

"The reunion was emotional beyond belief as Mirieth fell into his arms and wept for all her children. The Lords Elrond and Elros, and the High-King, were most kind and freed Erestor from his duties so that he could spend time with us. We spent days walking the gardens, sitting by the fountains in memories and reminiscences - at least on our part. To Erestor, Gondolin was no more and you had never existed. He would not speak of you, would not say or hear your name. He had built his ownld, ld, his own history and he would admit no other. He was Erestor of Lindon.

"The parting of foster-mother and son was painful yet peaceful and Mirieth was calm when we placed her onboard her ship. She carried her son's love with her. Orodreth and I joined Lord Gildor's company later and since then we have been reunited with Erestor many times, both in Lindon and here, in Imladris. Orodreth fought beside him at the Gates of Mordor, and said that there was no reconciling the skilled warrior that day with the Erestor of his youth. Erestor of Gondolin was dead, and Erestor of Lindon prevailed."

Díwen trailed off, her tale told and centuries unfurled for Glorfindel's edification. The golden lord sat in stunned amazement, wondering how in Arda they had all survived such a traumatic experience. Then he thought of the trials and torments of the Firstborn since their Awakening on the shores of Cuiviénen. The Eldar had never chosen easy paths in their lives; the history of the Firstborn was littered with stories of great pain and great sacrifice. Thank Eru that they had been given the fortitude to face such obstacles.

He turned to Díwen again, gratitude and sympathy for her shining from every fibre of his being. He thanked her, embracing her as kin, as Erestor's sister.

"Be always welcome in my home and my heart, gwathel. You are my kin, now and forever."

Díwen accepted the offered kinship with grace, but released him soonest, knowing that Glorfindel need to return to Erestor.

"My love and my prayers go with you both, my lord, and may all your dearest wishes come to fruition.


****


Glorfindel found Erestor alone on the east terrace, staring at the tonnage of water falling in the Great Cascade, falling in its endless descent over the cliffs of Imladris. The golden lord halted, entranced for a moment by the glorious profile Erestor presented to him. His beautiful, most beloved, most elegant Erestor. The advisor sensed him there and turned, a gentle smile welcoming Glorfindel to his side rea reached up his hand to stroke the golden lord's face.

"No tears, Glorfindel. There have been too many shed for me. Too much blood, too many tears. I beg of you, no more."

Glndelndel looked into those chocolate-brown eyes, so exotic, so gloriously framed by dark silken lashes, and saw only peace and acceptance - and love - there. His heart swelled with the knowledge that his love was finally accepted and returned. He gathered Erestor into his arms, pulled the raven head to his broad chest. His hand stroked the fall of black strands and he pressed his lips to the velvet locks.

"No tears," he promised, murmuring against that sweet head. From his love he heard two soft words spoken.

"My Glorfindel."

Throat suddenly clenched with emotion, Glorfindel tightened his arms around his love, and the two stood for a long time, the outside world excluded.

"Always, pen-neth. Always."

Elvish:

edhel - elf
pen-neth - little one
edhil - elves
elleth - female elf (sing.)
mellon nîn - my friend
pen-neth - little one
meldir - friend
gwador - sworn brother
gwathel - sworn sister