Glorfindel Unleashed

Title : 'Glorfindel Unleashed', 15/16
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?

A/N: AU as it is my story, but canon to LOTR where possible

Chapter 15

T.A.1975

The road home to Imladris was long, made longer by the slow speed of the wagons, but Glorfindel was not worried. Each day that he could spend by the side of his recovering love filled him withpinepiness, and he cherished every moment. Elladan and Andrann had gone ahead with the main of of the army, taking the young Dúnedan, Arahael, with them to safety. Elrohir had stayed back with the healers and a small body of men to protect the wounded, and Glorfindel had simply refused to leave Erestor - though Erestor had chided him about it.

“I will be fine,” he assured his meleth, from his cot within the slow-moving wagon. “Elrohir has given me plenty of medicn ton to ease my pain, and my breathing has returned almost to normal. I would not have you neglect your duty for me.”

Glorfindel gave a mock frown, looking down from his position on Asfaloth’s back. “Ai, Master Erestor, and do you not think it is my duty to give a fine escort to those most excellent elves who have been injured in a dangerous and deadly battle? Nay, I pay my respects to those who travel alongside you. You do not think that I would stay back just to comfort a half-d eld elf who does not look to see whether he will blunder into an angry troll?” There was merriment in his voice and a twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes and Erestor could not help but laugh - then wince as his ribs made forcible complaint. Glorfindel immediately reached in anxiety for his love but Erestor waved him back.

“Nay, meleth, I will be fine - *if* you stop making me laugh!” His face softened, and those rose-red lips curved into a sweet smile. “Though indeed, seeing you smile is the best medicine I could ever possibly want.”

Glorfindel reached across once more, stroking that creamy skin, cradling the soft cheek. “ And *you* are all that I ever want, pen-vuin. Nothing and nobody will ever part us again. I promise.” Those sapphire eyes had darkened and Erestor felt the desire emanating from the golden lord, desire that welled forth in him too. Yet Erestor hardly dared hope that they could finally be together, finally share their love in a physical and permanent bond.

“What about your oath, my lord?” he said hesitantly. “ I would not want you foresworn -“

Glorfindel leant down, claiming those soft lips with his own, sending Erestor’s unfinished words into oblivion as the dark elf surrendered to the passion of that kiss. As the kiss ended, Glorfindel repeated his words with a ferocity that would have put a dozen Nazgûl to flight.

“Nothing,” he said. “And nobody.”

****

Glorfindel had to eat his words on their arrival back at the Last Homely House Elrond had taken one look at Erestor and had ordered that he be taken to a room within the Halls of Healing.

"Erestor needs rest, mellon-nîn. I know you, and I know that you will not give him that if you hover around him constantly. At least a week, I would say. His ribs are almost healed, but I want to check his lungs, and to give him some inhalants which may open his air passages more effectively. I should check his head injury too, but I can see that he is still madly in love with you - the emphasis being on the 'mad' - therefore I must assume he is otise ise recovered in that way."

The infectious joy seemed to have affected Elrond as well, and Glorfindel could only grin in feigned embarrassment. As his access to Erestor was somewhat curtailed, he resigned himself to taking up his duties as seneschal once more, to the relief of his captain. Thus his days were full, rising before dawn to take the early patrol, and then returning to lunch with Erestor. The afternoon was a time of prescribed treatment for Erestor and Glorfindel used that time to catch up on his hated paperwork.

"And no, Glorfindel, you *cannot* bring them into the healing rooms for Erestor to do!" Elrond had remonstrated when he had one day done precisely that.

"Oh, but I don't mind…" Erestor had tried to interject, but he was shot down by Elrond's elevated eyebrow.

"No! When you have recovered you will find plenty of work in your office. Poor Saelbeth has had to recruit a young assistant to try to keep the paperwork from toppling off his desk; it has piled up so high in your absence. Melpomaen is a fine young elf, but I think the scribes of this House have a new respect for your hard work, meldir!"

Every evening was a delight for them though. The cooks had always had a soft spot for the gentle counsellor and sent him all his favourite food in double quantities, so that they could both feast on the excellent cuisine. They whiled away their time playing chess, or talking and once, Lindir had come into the Halls and entertained all those recovering there with melodies and lyrics to ease their pains.

Happiness too came in the form of the arrival of Mithrandir, and Glorfindel was glad to see him. The Istar shared with the household of Elrond the relief at the fall of Angmar, but he especially seemed to want to speak to both Glorfindel and Erestor - privately. The time never seemed right, until late one morning at the end of the week when he spotted Glorfindel about to leave the main house to go to Erestor for their usual lunchtime meal.

"Glorfindel, my old friend! Will you not take a few moments to have a drink with me?" the grey wizard called from his chair on the veranda. Glorfindel turned but hesitated, and Mithrandir knew why. His blue eyeske ake a lake in summer, twinkled with mirth, knowing full well the dilemma in Glorfindel's mind. "I saw Erestor this morning whilst you were gone and I think that he is now undergoing one of Elrond's interminable treatments."

Knowing the need that his beloved had for these breathing exercises, Glorfindel finally nodded in acquiescence. He quickly mounted the steps to the veranda, taking a comfortable seat beside his old friend. He took the proffered glass from the wizard with a thankful nod, sipping the refreshing fruit drink.

"So," began the Maia, "are you satisfied with the outcome of recent events? That it is all over?"

Glorfindel looked at him through lidded eyes.

"Is it over, Mithrandir? Was that my appointed task? I cannot believe that the Valar sent me back just to hurl a few insults at a fallen king. Four thousand years of loneliness, and loss, and separation from my soul, for that?"

His voice was scornful and doubting. As much as he loved this 'old man' in front of him, his heart was still filled with doubt where his use to the Valar was concerned. Mithrandir nodded, his visage taking on a serious if sad look, and Glorfindel saw in him the restrained power and wisdom of Ages uncounted. The Grey Pilgrim leaned forward.

"It was not only the words you spoke, but the force you gave and the meaning they held. The Valar are bound to their own oath, Glorfindel, not to interfere directly in the affairs of Middle Earth. Too many times they have taken that approach and first Melkor, then Sauron have worked against their well-meaning intervention. Even I, and my brethren, have been forced to restrain the use of the powers we could have brought to bear. This Age is the Age of Men and, to a small extent, of the Elves. It is your words and deeds that have shown the Dark Lord and his minions that the Light will never be defeated. *You* are part of that Light, Glorfindel - a physical representation of the determination of Eldar and Edain to prevail against the evil forces of Sauron. Upon that battlefield you carried the essence of Valinor, as well as the power of a Firstborn, and of a Re-Born Lord of Gondolin. The Valar to some extent spoke through you, but *you* had to formulate the words to be spoken and generate within you the force with which they were delivered. The Captain of Sauron ran from that power, Glorfindel, ran like a whipped dog with his tail between his legs. His personal downfall will come to him in the future; have no doubt. You have given hope to the Children of Ilúvatar. As another will give them a new Hope, one day."

Glorfindel felt humbled by the speech, realising that his resentment of his duty had blinded him to the result of his confrontation with the Nazgûl. Mithrandir leaned forward once more, but the smile on his lips did not cover the conflict that obviously still lay within him.

"And so, my friend - you have done your duty. Your oath is fulfilled, and yet - the Valar would ask more of you, if you will but hear it?" Glorfindel began to protest but the grey wizard raised a wrinkled hand to beg his peace. "No, my friend - fear not. It is only a request, not a demand, and it is one that you must discuss with your soul mate first. The struggle is not yet over. Sauron has returned, I fear, and will not go away just for our wishing it. By taking in young Arahael, Elrond has committed this house to the protection of the heirs of Isildur, their education and direction. There will be many, but ultimately they will lead to the One. The sword that was broken *will* be re-forged, and the young edain who must wield that sword will need your skill, as will the House of Elrond.

"You and Erestor are now free of all that has held you back. The choice of the direction of your future belongs to you both. You could travel, see Middle Earth, or return to the Undying Lands - but will you perhaps not consider staying here, in Imladris, and help Elrond in protecting this elf haven, this refuge, and the future king of Men?"

Glorfindel could not think. No indeed, he could hardly breathe. It was true! It was true and he was free! His mind whirled, settling on only one thought. Erestor. His beloved. His - melethron - at last? Glorfindel stood abruptly, knowing only that he had to go to Erestor, right now. They were free!

"Excuse me, Mithrandir - but I must - I have to-"

The wizard laughed, his heart lifted by the unleashed excitement his old friend was exhibiting.

"Go, my friend, go -"

He needed no permission. Glorfindel vaulted over the rail of the veranda and treated the startled elves below to the spectacle of the seneschal of Imladris running at full pelt down the hill, golden tresses flying in the wind. He scarcely slowed as he reached the entrance to the Healing Halls, flinging himself through the doors and down to the room where Erestor lay.

It was empty. The bed was stripped and the shelves were bare. His heart pounded as panic rose within him, only to be assuaged a moment later as a young apprentice came in with fresh bedding.

"Oh, are you looking for Master Erestor, my lord? Lord Elrond released him from the Halls but an hour ago, I think he has returned to his rooms in the main House…"

Glorfindel did not wait to hear the young ellon's words but continued his flight back to the house, mounting the stairs to the family wing two at a time. He finally came to a halt at Erestor's door.

What to do? How to proceed? Glorfindel realised that he had dreamed of this moment for nigh on two millennia, yet he did not know the words he was going to say.

'I have fulfilled my oath, my love. Now come to bed so that I can fill you' ?

Glorfindel snorted at the vision, so giddy in his relief and joy that his mind was filled with the most ludicrous thoughts. He now took a moment to breathe deeply, to calm himself so that this moment could be filled with the depth of meaning it deserved. He turned the handle on the door and walked in.

"Erestor?"

There was no answer. He glanced around, recognizing that today was the first day that he had set foot in these chambers. He looked around, trying to sense the presence of his beloved. Erestor was not here, he realised. He looked with increased interest at the décor, seeing in the creamy walls and dark wood furniture a reflection of his love's colouring. The stark contrast was softened by the use of pillows of different textures - wool, silks, even soft white furs. Mixed with them were cushions of deep reds and golden hues. A glance into the bedchamber showed the same neutral colours, but he smiled when he saw, in a place of honour upon the dresser, the statuette of Hirnîn. Elladan had returned the gift to Erestor with no little embarrassment some time after his majority, when the Peredhel had belatedly found it in a discarded box of toys from his childhood. There had been no real damage done during the boyhood games, and Glorfindel saw that it was lovingly polished and cherished. Erestor had been saddened when he had realised the fate of the poor horse of that name that had him carried on the field of Evendim, but was consoled to know that the noble beast had left a colt grazing in the paddocks of Imladris.

A quick glance around the bathing room showed a similar starkness, though Glorfindel was pleased to find sandlewood as one of the perfumed oils at the side of the bath. Erestor's study was as neat as his office, filled with scrolls and books revealing his preferred pastimes and studies. Returning to the main drawing room Glorfindel began to feel worried when he suddenly noticed the two items on the side table - an open carved wood box, and a cream parchment - folded, sealed - which rested upon it. His name was inscribed on the parchment in Erestor's hand.

A tremor of fear suddenly ran through Glorfindel. What now, when all was resolved? Why this message from Erestor? A faint heart had never won any battles, and so Glorfindel picked up the letter and broke the seal.

'My love,' he read. 'Do not fear, for I am not gone far. Mithrandir came to me this morning when you were on patrol and told me all. At last we are free. At last we can be together. I find that I am suddenly overwhelmed and so I have gone for a walk, gone to sort my jumbled thoughts. I have few secrets left, my love - yet I have one more to confess to you, one that I hope that will help you will understand the events of the first year of your return. You have heard my story, from Elrond, from Díwen. This last *I* must speak to you.

'If you will it, I will come to your chamber this evening. As a signal that you wish for this meeting, please take the ring that you find in the box. Yes, my heart. It is our ring. I never lost it, never gave it away. I could not, for it was one of my last links to you. The other object that used to lie beside it I have taken and placed around my neck. Finally, I feel worthy to wear it.

'You hold my heart, Glorfindel. You are my soul. Melin le, Glorfindel.'

There was no signature. It did not need it. Glorfindel lifted the parchment, pressed it to his lips, then laid it aside. He looked at the box and saw the ring within. The mithril ring, the ring he had placed upon Erestor's finger on that last fateful day. Gently he stroked it, then grasped it lightly and lifted it, examining the unblemished shine with loving eyes. He hesitated then placed it in a pocket in his tunic. He would not wear it, for only one elf could do that now. Looking one last time into the box he saw an empty indentation in the velvet lining, oval in shape, and a pattern beside it that looked like the links of a heavy chain. He gently closed the lid, then with a happy smile left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

****

The time passed slowly and Glorfindel prowled through his rooms like a caged lion. He checked every last detail - the flowers in their bowls, the candles lit and ready for the dusk, plates of sweetmeats scattered on tables, wine opened and glasses polished. The phial of oil by the bed. He looked at his own garb, a simple white tunic over blue leggings and soft house shoes. His hair was brushed and brushed again, burnished gold, unbound and swaying into the curve of his back. Oh, and one last item.

The ring, placed in the centre of a small circular table of dark wood, shining bright in its contrast. Perfect.

Now, the only thing - the only *one* - missing was Erestor.

There was a small tap at the door, and Glorfindel crossed the floor in two strides and flung it wide, a smile of welcome and relief to see the elf standing there. Erestor was beautiful. No, he was more than beautiful. He was stunning. His waist-length raven hair was unbound, and shone with the lustre of burnished ebony, red highlights reflecting the candlelight. He wore a tunic of deep forest green, embroidered at collar and cuffs with copper braid, warming his creamy skin. Dark brown leggings gave the contrast of earthy colours and his delicate feet were shod with forest green slippers also embroidered in copper. He was beautiful. He was stunning. He was unearthly. He was perfect.

Glorfindel found it difficult to restrain himself, to stop himself lifting and carrying this most perfect of Ilúvatar’s children to the huge bed within, to lay him upon it and ravish him with all the love and lust and desire and want of more than four thousand years. So near, so near, yet Glorfindel *did* restrain himself, for within those chocolate-brown pools he saw a hesitation, and he knew that there was one last thing for Erestor to tell him, one last obstacle in their path - then he would have him forever. He stood back and allowed Erestor to enter.

The dark elf glanced about thom, om, seeing the devotion and care that had been put into the preparations for this evening and his heart rose in spirit. With a gentle smile on his face he turned to face the elf that he had loved, and lost, and loved again.

“Thank you, Glorfindel,” he said softly, and to Glorfindel it was as if a bird had trilled a sweet tune. “Thank you for understanding that I need - I need to tell you something. To tell you one last thing.”

Glorfindel sensed that Erestor was uneasy, and gestured to the nearby day bed. “Please Erestor, seat yourself, and I will sit in this chair over here. I will listen to what you need to say.” He moved slowly, as if he were afraid of frightening this delicate bird. Erestor followed his motions, and sat carefully on the edge of the daybed, his hands in his lap, gently ringing them together. Glorfindel saw the action. What was it that Erestor feared? He waited silently, knowing that whatever it was, the outcome of the night would be the same. Nothing that Erestor could say would ever change his feelings for his pen-neth.

“I know that Elrond told you of my history from the time I arrived in Lindon,” the soft voice began, “and Díwen told you of my time of grief and madness. What they did not tell you they could not tell you, for until this night I have spoken of it to no one. I could not, for it was something that was seared on my sight and my heart forever.” The voice faded slightly, and the anguish of millennia resonated in those soft tones. Glorfindel maintained his silence, for the moment seemed to demand it.

“After you fell, on the cliffs of Cirith Thoronath, I screamed until I could scream no more. You were gone, and so was my soul, my heart, my mind. I was a shell, empty, unseeing - yet I saw. I did not recognise that what my unseeing eyes saw that dawn I would see forever, for my sight recorded those moments unknowing to my mind.” There was a pause, a hesitation, and then Erestor began once more. “The eagles came. Thorondor came, and lifted your body from the abyss. It was unrecognisable. It was black, burnt, charred. The heat twisted into horrific contortions what were once your strong limbs; your broad chest was shrivelled and burnt, as the breast of an ox charred on the turning spit. Your golden hair was no more, save for black strands of stubble on the malformed head. And your sapphire eyes, once shining like the fabled jewels of the Noldor, naught but blackened holes. All that was you, was gone. And I had caused that.”

Glorfindel choked, tried to protest but a pleading look from Erestor stalled his attempt.

“I know. I understand now. After I broke down in Elrond’s arms on the anniversary of Tarnin Austa, he told me that it was not my fault and, after we made our peace, you and I, Elrond counselled me many times over many months. It was not my fault, but still my heart would not forgive me. I have despaired of ever ridding myself of this guilt, of ever truly entering the fold of your arms with an open and unburdened heart and yet - now I feel I have a chance. Now I have found a way.

“When I saw that troll attack you on the plain of Evendim I reacted instinctively. I could not stand by and let harm come to the one who I loved above life itself. I spurred Hirnîn on, and I took the blow that would have ended your life for a second time. When I woke and saw you beside me, your face so taut with fear, I knew that my action had succeeded and I had saved you - and perhaps saved myself. In saving you I felt that my action had redeemed me, redeemed my worth in your eyes so I ask you now, Glorfindel. Can you forgive me? Can you forgive the foolish, selfish youth I was then? Can you forgive me for not saving you then, since I have saved you now, here in our new time?”

Glorfindel bit back the response that had flown to his lips. Erestor was never to blame. There was nothing to forgive. But those were not the words that his little love needed to hear. He gathered the strength and the will to speak those words now.

“I forgive you, Erestor. I love you and I forgive you, and I beg you to forgive yourself, meleth-nîn.”

It was gone. The guilt was gone. It had flown and Erestor’s heart and soul were clear. The sobs came out suddenly, heavily, with thousands of years of pain and self-reproach expelling their darkness from his body. Erestor barely felt Glorfindel’s arms close around him, barely recognised the soothing words of love in the heaving, sobbing joy of his release. It seemed to last forever, but finally it faded as Glorfindel pressed those beloved lips to forehead, hair, cheeks, lips, stroking his unbound locks, rocking him, soothing him. Finally it faded, and Erestor was cradled in peace in his beloved’s arms.

“Ai Erestor, I love you so, my pen-neth, my sweet love.”

Erestor turned in his arms, turned to face those eyes, so brilliant and blue, and he knew that he would never see those blackened holes again. “I love you too, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel smiled. “Then there is one last thing I ask, my love. What of our ring? What do you want to do with it?” He gestured with his head, glancing over at the table where it lay, solitary in its splendour. Erestor blushed.

“I had hoped… I prayed… that you would place it on my finger again, as symbol of - of our joining?”

Glorfindel shook his head, but smiled to forestall the shock he knew he would engender in Erestor.

“Go pick it up pen-neth. Go on,” he encouraged. Erestor rose, uncertain of Glorfindel’s meaning, but he picked the ring up from the table. “Now,” continued the golden lord, “place the ring on the index finger of your left hand, Erestor. The betrothal finger.” Hesitantly the dark elf did as he was instructed, gazing uncertainly at the ring which was upon his finger for the first time in four millennia. Glorfindel rose, came to him and gathered Erestor firmly into his arms. He looked down into those chocolate-brown eyes, certainty and love abundant in his gaze.

“I swore, when I last placed that ring upon your finger, that the next time I would do so would be on our binding day. I would wed you, Erestor of Gondolin, of Lindon and of Imladris. I would bind with you in all honour and light and in the presence of our friends and family. Will you, my love? One year hence, will you take me as your bound mate, until the world’s end?”

There was no hesitation now, no demurring.

“I will, Glorfindel of Gondolin and Rivendell. I would be bound to you, forever.”

That was enough. They were the words that Glorfindel had longed to hear and he would wait no longer.

“Then we will bind, my love, in one year. But tonight - tonight I claim you. Tonight, I make you mine.”

Bending his head he placed his lips on those rose-red ones, brushing them lightly, teasing and tantalising in their soft exploration. His tongue flicked out lightly, tasting the sweet salt of Erestor’s skin, prising the willing lips apart so that he could delve into the moist cavern.

Erestor could bear the teasing touch no more and pulled his lord close in a tight grip, increasing the pulsing pressure of that mouth, claiming it fervently. He welcomed that sweeping tongue, revelled in its motions, and his hands crept up to Glorfindel’s neck, lacing at the nape, entangled in the soft strands of sunshine. Erestor pressed the length of his lithe body forward against the giant frame, begging for its domination by the lord of his heart.

Despite their desire, so long delayed, the two elves did not rush. No, this was a time to be savoured, every moment etched on their memories; mapped on their skin; writ upon their hearts; seared upon their one soul. Hands wandered, stroked, pulsed in their explorations. Each curve was counted; each pulse was paced. Light touches to the tips of sensitive ears elicited breathless gasps; soft suckling at the base of a throat brought forth red marks of possession and yearning groans of desire. Careful fingers undid yielding clasps - gently, efficiently - exposing creamy throats, golden muscles. Glorfindel smiled, blinking back unbidden tears when he recognised that mithril locket, emblazoned with a golden celandine. He leaned forward and kissed that precious gift, glowing in the knowledge that the keeper of his soul had kept this little trinket given with such love.

Erestor wrapped his arms around the generous torso, feeling the strong sinews of a well-honed physique – and feeling those scars. Never again would he run from them, for now they were part of him as he was part of Glorfindel. He accepted them, luxuriated in their rough texture and stroked them soothingly. They were one, they were nearly one, and now nothing could come between them.

Their desire was rising beyond tolerance; the urge to unite was overwhelming. Shoes had been slipped off, leggings unlaced and discarded and their revealed members pressed hard and firm in eloquent need against their exposed flesh. The two elves stood, revealed in all their glory in the dying rays of the sun. Glorfindel let one hand slip down, hold tight underneath the firm buttock and lifted his love easily, cradling him against his body. Erestor lifted his legs, wrapped them around Glorfindel’s waist and rested his sable head against the strong shoulder as the golden lord brought him into the bedchamber and laid him gently upon that waiting bed.

“Magnificent,” Glorfindel breathed, his fervent eyes devouring the beauty of his little love as he lay against the pure white cottons and deep green velvets. The sun had followed them, pouring in homage through the open casements and the roar of the cascades were but a murmur as tribute was paid to the exquisite beauty of this elf. His elf.

Erestor raised his arms, his hands beckoning his love forward, down, laying his heavy form over him.

“Make me yours, Glorfindel. Melin le, melin le.”

There was no hesitation as the golden elf growled his response.

“You *are* mine. Mine, Erestor. All mine…”

There was no escape, though he wanted none. There was no ease, though he begged for none. Glorfindel devoured him, ate him, swallowed him whole. The hands and lips moved without ceasing, every inch of flesh was touched, taken, used. Erestor writhed, gasping for air in the heat of lust and love. Nipples were teased, licked, touched, suckled, swathed in moisture and want. Arching bodies entwined in rapture and Erestor cried out in his ecstasy, then screamed as his swollen member was taken into a hot mouth. His hands flailed, grasped and twisted the golden strands as the mouth moved slowly, quickly, taking the whole length of purple need to the back of Glorfindel’s throat; then slipping back to the throbbing head, licking at the slit, tongue tasting the copious pre-come weeping from its tip. Up and down, its rhythm increasing, Erestor thrust up again and again, crying out in rapturous torture. He barely noticed when a slick finger slid between his cheeks, explored down the cleft to rest against the puckered opening. Gently it pressed against the pink rose and unconsciously Erestor raised and widened his thighs to permit its entry. He did not know what to make of the feeling; for though there was no pain the pressure was – unusual. A frown creased his forehead and he resented the pressure for it took away from the delirious pleasure that wet warm mouth was bringing him. He squirmed away from it - and yelped in shock as the finger stroked against a spot inside him. The warm mouth curved in a wicked smile on his engulfed member and the finger moved again.

Yes! Oh gods, yes. Yes. Hot darts of pleasure shuddered through him. Yes. He pressed down, wanted to feel it again. Yes! It was too much. Yes! He couldn’t take it. Yes! He lurched, rocking between that moist heat and that pleasing digit, overcome, sobbing with need.

Yes!!

“GLORFINDEL!”

Erestor soared like one of Mithrandir’s sky-rockets and detonated in an expanding orgasm of exploding stars; shooting his bittersweet completion into Glorfindel’s mouth, down his welcoming throat as he whirled in a plane above that of the heavens. He could not sense as his love licked him clean, did not feel that finger leave his body, could hardly comprehend when it returned with an oiled companion and started to stroke, stretch him, twist within his puckered entrance. Glorfindel leaned over him and claimed his gasping mouth, taking what little breath he had left. He felt the hardness of Glorfindel’s unrelieved member pressing against his thigh.

“Meleth… you have... not come,” he gasped when he could breathe again. Glorfindel’s sapphire eyes shone down in to his, a glorious smile curving the firm lips.

“I will, my love, I will. May I take you, melethron? I long to fill you, I long to join with you, to be complete…”

A thrill of nervous pleasure ran through Erestor. This was it! He nodded, his desire tempered with apprehension, but Glorfindel reached down to claim his lips once more and he knew that he wanted this, wanted it more than anything, and he gave himself completely into Glorfindel’s hands.

Glorfindel leaned back and took Erestor’s now-flaccid shaft into his large hand, and started to stroke it gently whilst he turned his large fingers within that precious hole. He removed them and dipped them in the oil, smiling as Erestor groaned in complaint, then reinserted them, three this time. He was thorough, and he used the varying speed of his stroke to distract Erestor from any discomfort his large fingers might bring in their widening of the heated passage. For Erestor was small and Glorfindel was not. In only a short time he knew that he had done what he could, and that he would have to take care in his penetration of his love. He removed his fingers from the body and instead lifted and parted his lover’s legs, bringing them wide and high around his waist. He took a copious amount of oil and coated his bulging, neglected shaft, then placed his large hands on either side of Erestor, leaning over that beloved body. As he pressed forward he felt a resistance in the surrounding guardian ring, but Erestor simply smiled up at him, total trust and love emanating from the liquid chocolate eyes. Glorfindel groaned as the swollen head of his member slipped past that ring and into Erestor, his hebursbursting with joy at finally, finally, being in his love.

He rested for a few seconds, allowing Erestor to grow accustomed to the penetration, and then delved slowly forward until he was totally engulfed in moist heat. Erestor was gasping beneath him, his slender fingers gripping tight into the muscles of his shoulders. He paused, revelling in the moment, allowing Erestor to adjust to his wide girth. When he felt the tension of Erestor’s inner muscles relax, Glorfindel started to move, slowly, deliciously, in tiny rocking motions; adjusting until he felt Erestor buck beneath him as he once more stroked that tiny gland from within. He maintained the angle, increasing his pace only when his little love started to press back, to seek his strokes avidly in his desire to attain that height of pleasure once more. It was almost too much for the golden lord, this combination of heat and moisture embracing him and it took great restrain not to thrust wildly into this body for which he had yearned. Sweat beaded his body, dripping down his forehead but he took no notice, his moans of pleasure expressing his need. His golden hair swirled forth between them, stroking Erestor’s chest and adding to the sensations shuddering through the dark elf’s frame. Erestor was moving, shifting, thrashing his head from side to side, his raven locks flying in the power of the vibrations thrumming along his nerves. The little cries grew loud, yelling, calling his name, pleading for release as those slender hands gripped and tore at the white sheets in his exquisite torture. Glorfindel could not resist those calls and he curled his hand around Erestor’s demanding cock, weeping once more, and stroked it. Deep, strong, firm strokes; deep, diving, demanding thrusts.

Glorfindel unleashed all that he was, all that was contained in his soul, all his repressed love of four millennia in his frantic lunges. Unleashed it and freed it as his soul soared. Erestor let go too, let go with all his passion, all his desire for this wonderful elf - and his soul soared too.

Though neither had said the words of binding, though neither had quoted those phrases normally needed to unite two souls, the Valar had heard them. Erestor screamed his soul-mate’s name once more as the hot cream spilled over Glorfindel’s firm hand. The contractions of inner muscles gripped Glorfindel’s shaft and he was taken over that edge, he flung himself into the flight of fulfilment, crying out for the only one who had ever held his heart - his pen-neth.

“Glorfindel!”

“Erestor!”

Their souls soared, divided, then recombined as they fell, gently cradled in Varda’s hands, back down into their replete bodies. Neither noticed the tiny stars that fell with them, sparkling in acknowledgement of the true love that had finally been expressed, acknowledged, and completed.

Their souls were one, and they were united.

Forever.

Elvish:

meleth - love
pen-vuin - dear one
mellon-nîn - my friend
meldir - friend
melethron - male lover
pen-neth - little one
meleth-nîn - my love
meleth - love