By Sunlight and Moonlight
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
6,019
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
6,019
Reviews:
28
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Interlude
Title: By Sunlight and Moonlight
Author: Elvensong
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Glorfindel wishes to know more about the elusive advisor to Elrond and in so doing gets caught up in his story and his curse.
A/N: Work has been a nightmare and I wish I could say I am exaggerating. My ability to write or even think about writing was drained out of me by late nights, early starts and constant worrying even when not at work. This chapter is a short retrospective piece that I hope you enjoy. I began writing this part on the one-year anniversary of my best friend’s death and dedicate it in her honor. My feelings were that it fit in the story and I hope you agree.
Interlude
These recent events brought into my mind images from my past. Not this past wherein I serve Elrond and have relative peace, but another one. A past from another life, one where peace would flee from me and leave everything I held dear and everyone I cared for lost in a great wide ocean.
My own life fell from my grasp like fine sand slipping through my fingers.
When I returned to life, reborn to the world, I fell into an enormous chasm of grief. All I could see were the images of my own death, the fire and the smoke. Even beyond that, though, there was something more. Deeper in my memories. Untouchable.
Some said I grieved for Gondolin, some say I ged fed for the betrayal of my kin, but I think I grieved for myself and all that was taken away from me. One thing that was taken from me specifically; a dark haired elf of Imladris may have caught my heart now, but it used to be in the keeping of another with hair also of the night sky.
Ecthelion.
Imladris has beautiful libraries, as I’m sure you’re well aware, and in those stacks one night I found something that scorned and comforted me at the same time. It was a simple book, recounting the fall of Gondolin in dry, historical facts and my eyes were drawn to my dear friend’s name.
The accounting told of his bravery, that he was a gallant warrior who fought the Lord of the Balrogs. Indeed, he did, for I saw the fight yet could do nothing to save him from his own fate. I could not get it to him time. Perhaps I c hav have saved him, but I will never know now and I think maybe in that moment came my greatest failure, the moment his helm pierced the Balrog and he was dragged down to die alone.
Reading the recounts of his death in that book brought me back to that square so long ago, but not on that fateful day.
If only I was a poet, then I could tell you of my lover of old. I could tell you of his beauty, his hair as the night and his eyes…. you could look into those eyes and feel completely lost. His wit would then be brought back from death and something more of him could still remain. I’m afraid, though, that he will always and only be complete in my memory. The image of him standing in that square on a quiet afternoon will always be gone, lost in the winds.
And when I let fall my tears for Gondolin onto the pages of that dusty book, some few were for him.
Moments that were never caught by scribe or painter come clearly to me. No book or painting depicts when he would hide behind the great statues in the plaza to scare the children. Oh, they would scream out in freight, then tackle him in revenge and he would let them bring him down and be at their mercy.
When we were alone, his childlike demeanor would dim, but never disappear. His love was like a fine wine, something to be cherished, but not truly worth anything unless uncorked, unless sampled.
I still sometimes find myself cursing the Valar! How could they take away my memories of him from the Halls of Mandos? Many nights are spent wondering if I found him there, what we did, e wee were still lovers even in death. I ponder if within those Halls we could still make love as we used to; with passion and without humility, free and unbound. Hope still is within me that one day I can remember that time and find a bit of piece.
Let me tell you, no one knew how to have a good time more than Ecthelion. He invented the drinking contest! An elf! Who would have thought? But please, do not tell the dwarfs.
His looks earned him quite a few glances from the ladies as well, but he returned their affectionate looks with polite declines. One night, while out on the town was when I first met him. While enjoying a glass of wine I looked up when the door opened, saw his eyes and lost my heart all in one moment. The rest of that night, and every night until his and my deaths was a happy, blissful blur of being surrounded by Ecthelion’s love.
At times in the night when I look up at the stars I ponder about why I was chosen to lead this life and he was not. Why he is still dead and I am not and we cannot be together anymore. The Valar’s will one would comment, cruel twist of fate I would reply.
Does he miss me from so far away?
Forgive me. All this outpouring of emotion is odd for me I know, but bottling it all in is not very healthy on one’s soul. It will become a poison inside of you and eventually drive you to madness.
I do apologize for getting off course and my story about Erestor’s tale needs finishing. Let me tell you what happened next…
TBC
Author: Elvensong
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Glorfindel wishes to know more about the elusive advisor to Elrond and in so doing gets caught up in his story and his curse.
A/N: Work has been a nightmare and I wish I could say I am exaggerating. My ability to write or even think about writing was drained out of me by late nights, early starts and constant worrying even when not at work. This chapter is a short retrospective piece that I hope you enjoy. I began writing this part on the one-year anniversary of my best friend’s death and dedicate it in her honor. My feelings were that it fit in the story and I hope you agree.
Interlude
These recent events brought into my mind images from my past. Not this past wherein I serve Elrond and have relative peace, but another one. A past from another life, one where peace would flee from me and leave everything I held dear and everyone I cared for lost in a great wide ocean.
My own life fell from my grasp like fine sand slipping through my fingers.
When I returned to life, reborn to the world, I fell into an enormous chasm of grief. All I could see were the images of my own death, the fire and the smoke. Even beyond that, though, there was something more. Deeper in my memories. Untouchable.
Some said I grieved for Gondolin, some say I ged fed for the betrayal of my kin, but I think I grieved for myself and all that was taken away from me. One thing that was taken from me specifically; a dark haired elf of Imladris may have caught my heart now, but it used to be in the keeping of another with hair also of the night sky.
Ecthelion.
Imladris has beautiful libraries, as I’m sure you’re well aware, and in those stacks one night I found something that scorned and comforted me at the same time. It was a simple book, recounting the fall of Gondolin in dry, historical facts and my eyes were drawn to my dear friend’s name.
The accounting told of his bravery, that he was a gallant warrior who fought the Lord of the Balrogs. Indeed, he did, for I saw the fight yet could do nothing to save him from his own fate. I could not get it to him time. Perhaps I c hav have saved him, but I will never know now and I think maybe in that moment came my greatest failure, the moment his helm pierced the Balrog and he was dragged down to die alone.
Reading the recounts of his death in that book brought me back to that square so long ago, but not on that fateful day.
If only I was a poet, then I could tell you of my lover of old. I could tell you of his beauty, his hair as the night and his eyes…. you could look into those eyes and feel completely lost. His wit would then be brought back from death and something more of him could still remain. I’m afraid, though, that he will always and only be complete in my memory. The image of him standing in that square on a quiet afternoon will always be gone, lost in the winds.
And when I let fall my tears for Gondolin onto the pages of that dusty book, some few were for him.
Moments that were never caught by scribe or painter come clearly to me. No book or painting depicts when he would hide behind the great statues in the plaza to scare the children. Oh, they would scream out in freight, then tackle him in revenge and he would let them bring him down and be at their mercy.
When we were alone, his childlike demeanor would dim, but never disappear. His love was like a fine wine, something to be cherished, but not truly worth anything unless uncorked, unless sampled.
I still sometimes find myself cursing the Valar! How could they take away my memories of him from the Halls of Mandos? Many nights are spent wondering if I found him there, what we did, e wee were still lovers even in death. I ponder if within those Halls we could still make love as we used to; with passion and without humility, free and unbound. Hope still is within me that one day I can remember that time and find a bit of piece.
Let me tell you, no one knew how to have a good time more than Ecthelion. He invented the drinking contest! An elf! Who would have thought? But please, do not tell the dwarfs.
His looks earned him quite a few glances from the ladies as well, but he returned their affectionate looks with polite declines. One night, while out on the town was when I first met him. While enjoying a glass of wine I looked up when the door opened, saw his eyes and lost my heart all in one moment. The rest of that night, and every night until his and my deaths was a happy, blissful blur of being surrounded by Ecthelion’s love.
At times in the night when I look up at the stars I ponder about why I was chosen to lead this life and he was not. Why he is still dead and I am not and we cannot be together anymore. The Valar’s will one would comment, cruel twist of fate I would reply.
Does he miss me from so far away?
Forgive me. All this outpouring of emotion is odd for me I know, but bottling it all in is not very healthy on one’s soul. It will become a poison inside of you and eventually drive you to madness.
I do apologize for getting off course and my story about Erestor’s tale needs finishing. Let me tell you what happened next…
TBC