Wanderlust

A/N: Part two of this story! Thank you to everyone who has read, and especially to the reviewers. And an extra thank you to Mirasaui for giving this part a read through. Hope you all enjoy! I am hoping to finish and upload the next part shortly after New Year's.

Second Age 3380, Imladris

“Gildor!”

“Ai, Lindir, you have grown since I last visited.”

Lindir laughed richly, allowing Gildor just enough time to dismount from the saddle before hugging his cousin tightly. “It is really good to see you,” the younger Elf said. “The last time you were here was for my majority, and you did not stay long. A mere three days, if I remember correctly. I was sorely disappointed to see you leave so soon.”

“Aye, and I regret having to depart on such short notice and at a time of great importance to you.” Gildor smiled as he and Lindir began to walk, leaving the maids and stable hands to attend to the horses and the rest of the wandering party. The elven lord was pleased to see his young cousin again. Lindir had grown and matured much over his ten yabseabsence; the white-haired Elf seemed older, though Gildor could not explain why. He felt as if he were walking and speaking with an equal, not a younger cousin nearly two thousand years his junior and barely come of age.

“What have you been doing all these years?” Lindir asked with childlike curiosity, one quality from his recently departed youth he never released. It pleased the elven lord to know that, though couscousin had grown physically, Lindir was still the same Elf he had always been.

“You know me, coming and going, here and there,” Gildor replied with a faint shrug of the shoulders. “The only places I ever settle in long enough are here and in Lindon; even on the shores with Círdan I do not tarry long. The sea beckons but I cannot answer her call, not yet.”

“You were a wanderer since you were born, cousin. Your heart is always looking to the horizon, never wanting to be at peace unless you are walking the least traveled roads. Or so my father has told me countless times.”

“Has he now? I do believe I shall have to talk with Gilion about his loose tongue. This is the very reason why Gilion was never entrusted with any secrets when we were children. Before long, everyone would know things about me I didn‘t want discovered, much to my embarrassment. Really, a decent punishment is in order.”

Lindir couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image of his father being berated by Gildor. It was much too amusing to his young mind as, to him, Gildor never seemed the type to reprimand anyone seriously. The elven lord was always cheerful, forever jesting with friends and family; trying to imagine him otherwise was near impossible.

“And what have you been doing in my long absence, Lindir?” Gildor inquired, turning to the other Elf and fingering a lock of white hair affectionately.

“Oh, nothing of particularly importance.” It was Lindir’s turn to shrug as the pair found themselves passing through the forges, the smiths hard at work and paying them no mind. “Lord Elrond has assigned me as one of the minstrels of his household.”

“’Tis an honor to be sure, cousin. One you deserve I must say; your voice is exquisite.”

“I am already embarrassed enough by the offer. Do not make it worse, Gildor.”

Gildor looked stricken as he clutched his chest in mock agony. “Valar forbid! Would I ever do such a thing to you? You are a cruel person to think so ill of me, Lindir!”

Peels of silvery laughter wafted through the surrounding area, causing some of the smiths to pause in their work and smile at the delightful sound. “Dear Gildor, with your jests and mockeries, you yourself would make an excellent addition to the Halls of Fire. Imagine the animation you could add to stories!”

“I am glad you think so, though I hardly think I am adequate to perform in the great Halls of Fire. Just imagine the looks of utter disdain Glorfindel and Erestor would give me when I tell stories about them.” The cousins shared another round of laughter as they traveled through the forges.

They were nearing the end of the row of stone furnaces when Lindir paused and smiled, turning to the smith hard at work on his right. “Amdir, how are you this day?”

The smith in question paused in his motion of raising a hammer to strike a sword he was reforging. Turning to the white-haired Elf, Amdir smiled and placed the hammer aside, putting the sword fragment back into the fire until he was ready to work again.

“I am well, young minstrel,” the smith said before noticing Lindir’s companion. “Lord Gildor! It is good to see you in the valley again. I had heard word of your expected arrival.”

“Word travels fast in Imladris, it would seem,” Gildor replied, inclining his head to Amdir’s bow. “You are looking well since last we met, meldir.”

“Thank you, my Lord. And you yourself are looking fine this day. The roads have been kind and spared you from any Orc attacks, I imagine?”

“For the most part. If otherwise, I am always ready for them.”

“’Tis good news to hear. The roads are treacherous these days, and growing more dangerous each passing day. One can never be too careful when traveling.”

“To be sure.”

“I have not seen Anárion this day, Amdir,” Lindir commented, addressing the smith again. “Do you know where he has disappeared off to?”

“Anárion has just left for the barracks to deliver some swords that I have finished forging,” Amdir explained. “The sentries were in need of new blades and some arrow points. Lord Glorfindel asked if I would be kind enough to make some replacements for his men. I had asked Anárion to deliver the equipment since his duties in the household were finished for the day, and Lord Erestor had not yet assigned the rest of his tasks.”

“Anárion works for the household?” Gildor questioned, remembering a shy elfling he had met so long ago.

“We both do,” Lindir replied. “After Anárion’s majority in the spring, Lord Elrond assigned us as assistants to Lord Erestor. We are to help supervise and assist in the running of the household until we are assigned more formal tasks.”

“’Tis a surprise. I have not seen Anárion since the first we met.”

“Aye, I had sent Anárion to Lindon when last you were here, my Lord,” Amdir said. “It has been what? Forty years since you last saw my son? After your departure, he could not stop telling the stories you related to him. My wife found them quite amusing at first, but soon grew tired of his rambling and endeavored to find him tasks to keep him otherwise occupie
G
Gildor had the decency to look sheepish at the news. He had not expected his stories to cause so many mishaps, in a manner of speaking. He was about to say more when a shadow drew close and footsteps could be heard heading in the direction of the small party. Turning, Gildor saw something--rather someone--that completely took him by surprise.

There, conversing quietly with another smith not fifteen paces from where the three Elves were standing, was Anárion. He was tall and of similar height as Lindir; but while Gildor’s cousin was a pale beauty, Anárion was dark. His hair, a rich chocolate brown when he was a child, had darkened a few more shades as he had aged and was nearly black in color. The tresses were neatly braided into one, thick plait which hung nearly to his hips. The green-gray eyes were more or less the same but in a slightly darker green, filled with knowl yet yet still possessing youthfulness; they were set above high cheekbones, a sharp nose and rose-tinted lips. The slender frame was encased in a simple tunic and dark leggings, a thick leather apron protecting his clothes.

“Anárion,” Amdir called when his son had finished speaking with the other smith.

Anárion smiled as he stepped closer, laying two slender knives upon a table. “I’ve delivered everything as you asked, Ada,” he said. “Save for these. I could not find Lord Glorfindel at the barracks. I assume he’s in council with Lord Erestor. If you like, I will see that he gets these later in the evening.”

“Aye, that might be the best. But never mind that for now. See who has arrived in the valley as of late.” Amdir gestured in Lindir and Gildor’s direction. He well remembered his son’s fascination for the stories the wandering lord had told in Anárion’s youth. The smith was beginning to wonder if the fascination was the beginnings of something more.

“Lord Gildor!” Anárion exclaimed when he caught sight of the golden-haired Elf. He bowed deeply, a smile coming to his face when he stood upright again. “I did not realize you were entering the valley today.”

“’Tis all right, pen-neth, as few knew I was coming.” Gildor smiled, glad to see the young child he knew had grown into a fine Elf. “You have grown, pen-neth. Much to my disappointment, you are perhaps too old to listen to my traveling tales anymore.”

“Never, my Lord!” Anárion replied in mock horror, his eyes wide as he turned to Gildor. “They were wonderful entertainment, a wou would gladly recall those tales when my days seem dark. Why, implying I should ever grow tired of hearing your stories is like saying one would grow tired of listening to Lindir sing in the Halls of Fire night after night!”

“Really, meldir,” Lindir said with a blush. “Must you bring me into the conversation and make me the center of attention? You know how I hate having all eyes on me.”

“What’s that you say?” Gildor asked, staring at his cousin in shock. “You? Embarrassed of being watched? When all eyes and ears turn to you each night? Lindir, that is unheard of for a minstrel!”

“Gildor, stop please. ‘Tis embarrassing.”

Anárion smiled and laughed softly, having mercy on his friend. “Forgive me, Lindir. I did not mean to embarrass you; I only meant to compliment your talents. If it will appease you, Lord Elrond has asked me this morn to accompany you in song tonight.”

“That is a rare request,” Lindir replied. “Even more rare that you would accept such an invitation, for it is you who are embarrassed to perform before others. We will have to discuss and choose our selection carefully for the performance tonight. When you have a moment free, of course.”

“Aye, that we must. But I cannot tarry long. I must go to see Lord Erestor for any other tasks he has assigned me; if I am to perform tonight, then I must complete the tasks now. And Lord Glorfindel is awaiting his order. We can dss wss what to play tonight in your chambers before the evening meal, mellon.”

“I shall be awaiting you then, meldir.”

Anárion nodded, a small smile surfacing on his fair face. With a flick of his wrist, the leather apron was off and hung securely on a peg nearby. Anárion then bowed to the other Elves before taking the knives laid out and departing. He paused only long enough to spare Gildor a fleeting glance before he was off.

Gildor wondered about the longing look he saw in the younger Elf’s eyes. He did not have long to dwell on the matter as Lindir was politely excusing the pair from Amdir’s presence to allow the smith to return to work. Soon the elven lord found himself whisked away to his chambers to prepare for the evening feast that was sure to be held.

~~~~~~~~~~

“If I had not heard you for myself, I never would have imagined you to be in possession of a voice to rival Lindir’s.”

Anárion had the grace to blush at Gildor’s compliment. It had been nearly a month since the elven lord had arrived. Since then, the Last Homely House had been host to more than one evening feast, as many other companies of Elves had decided to pay visits during the time. Anárion had been requested, on more than one occasion, to accompany Lindir in the Halls of Fire after meals, whether it be on an instrument or uplifting his own voice. Each time, Gildor never failed to compliment the younger Elf. It soon became a habit of the pair to take nightly walks when the Halls had emptied and most were readying for bed.

“You do me too much credit, my Lord,” Anárion replied quietly. “’Tis Lindir who is the better at singing songs and telling tales. I am merely his accompaniment; I would never be able to entertain with his level of natural talent.”

“I do believe you are too humble, Anárion,” Gildor said with a reassuring smile. “Though you may not aspire to be a minstrel as my cousin does, you do have some skill with the lyre and the flute. And your voice is very pleasant to listen to.”

“I k yok you, my Lord.”

Gildor allowed a laugh to escape him as the pair journeyed through the gardens, moonlight streaming down on them to illuminate their hair. The rich, formal velvet robes they each wore caught the pale light, causing a sheen about them and intensifying the natural luminescence that surrounded all Elves. Casting a glance at his companion, Gildor was rather startled by the sight he saw, for he had never seen anything so ethereal.

“My Lord, may I ask you something?”

Anárion’s voice gently cut the silence that had invaded, bringing Gildor back to the present. “No titles between us, pen-neth. I did not suffer you to address me so formally when you were a mere elfling; I would not suffer to hear you address me so now.”

Another blush crept over the pale cheeks of the younger Elf as he nodded. “Then…Gildor?”

“Ask me what you will, pen-neth.”

“What keeps you in Imladris for this visit? When last we met, you did not stay a fortnight before you took to the roads again. Lindir has told me of your last visit during his majority, and you did not stay even a week then. Yet you’ve tarried here nearly a month already. The seasons will be changing soon; winter approaches the valley. Will you stay until the snows have melted? Or will you soon take your leave until your next visit?”

He contemplated the question presented before him. In truth, Gildor was rather sisedised himself that he had stayed in the valley so long. Anárion was right, normally the elven lord and his company would be journeying upon the least used roads by now. Yere hre he had stayed much longer than he had originally planned. Many of his company had inquired about the extended stay, but Gildor had never answered any of their questions, avoiding the matter whenever possible. But this time he could not avoid the inquiry.

Pausing in mid-stride, the elven lord raised his eyes skyward, gazing long at the stars and Ithil as they shimmered in the dark sky. Lights twinkled down at him as if in encouragement, but for what he could not understand. A rustle of robes to his right caused Gildor to tear his eyes for the sky and settle them upon Anárion’s face. For long moments all he did was stare at the being before him.

Green-gray eyes, the color of the deepest sea in the stormiest of times, stared back at him in patience and curiosity. Dark brown hair wisped about the pale face, stray strands lovingly caressing the smooth skin as they were stirred by the wind. Slender hands were clasped before the lithe form, keeping the large bell sleeves of the deep gray robe from hindering the slightest of movements. Anárion stood before Gildor, the child grown into an Elf, but having lost none of the qualities Gildor had liked about the child. And then, he knew.

“You,” he whispered, smiling at the confusion that washed across the youthful face before him.

“Me? My…Gildor, I don’t understand.”

“’Tis you that have kept me here.”

“I…”

Raising a hand, Gildor lightly placed a fingertip against Anárion’s lips to silence the younger Elf whilst his other hand dropped lower to rest over the other’s clasped hands. “Just listen to what I have to say for a moment, Anárion.” He smiled when the other Elf nodded; his fingertip brushed Anárion’s lower lip lightly as he drew his hand away, the gentle action eliciting a shiver from the younger Elf.

“I stayed so long,” Gildor began, “for what reason I did not know. You are correct when you say I should have left weeks ago, should have been on the road and far from here by now. But I didn’t leave; no matter how much my company questioned me on the matter, I could give them no answer, no reason for our staying. In truth, I myself did not know why I had lingered here so long. Until now.” Looking up, he met Anárion’s gaze, his hand tightening over the other’s.

“Why?” Anárion asked in a quiet voice. He felt his heart thundering in his chest when Gildor’s hand moved upwards to touch his cheek. The finger pads, which had always known the roughness of the sword, now brushed against smooth, flawless skin, caressing it gently, lovingly. Anárion waited for Gildor’s response, hearing the blood suddenly pounding in his ears as his throat went dry.

“Because of you,” came the whispered reply. “I did not know why I stayed, until I saw you tonight. Really saw you here, in the moonlight.”

“Gildor, I…”

“I know you little, Anárion. I spent three days with you when you were a child, and a month now since my arrival. It is hardly enough time to say that I know a fair amount about. B. But I do know myself. I know when to listen when my heart speaks and tells me what it is I want, truly want.”

“What is it you want?”

The touch of a smile graced the corners of Gildor’s lips as he stepped forward, noticing the soft blush that came to the other Elcheecheeks at his suddenly closer proximity. He dipped his head slightly to whisper into a delicately pointed ear. “You. I find that my heart yearns for you, and that I cannot deny what it is asking for.” He could feel Anárion’s quickened breathing stirring his hair and brushing warmly across the skin of his neck. “If you would have me, then I would have you.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.”

“Do not answer right away, Anárion. It is no light matter I ask of you. Take some time to think the matter over.”

“I do not need the time you are giving me.” Slowly, Anárion pulled away, gazing up into Gildor’s eyes. He read hope mingled with fear. Smiling reassuringly, he reached up to tangle his fingers in some wheat gold hair, caressing the strands in a loving manner. “I need no time,” he repeated in a hushed whisper, “because I already know my answer.”

He said nothing, merely nodded his head. Gildor felt his heart thundering in his chest as he waited, fearing for the worst but hoping for the best.

“I would have you court me, Gildor. Court me as you see fit. Win my heart as you will, though I warn you: you will find that you already have it.”

With a nervous laugh in an attempt to ease his maddening pulse, Gildor enfolded his new lover into his arms. “I would court you then, as is the custom of our people.”

Anárion smiled, hiding his blush as he buried his face into the soft folds of Gildor’s robes. For days he had been on his guard, hiding the attraction towards the elven lord that had been building in him since their first meeting. Long nights of thinking about the Elf who told him stories as a child had come to an end…or had they? Anárion let out a short giggle as he thought of more nights dreaming about the Elf now holding him, but the purpose of those dreams would be different than before. He didn’t mind in the very least.

“Now this places us in a somewhat odd predicament,” Gildor said, gently shattering the moment.

“How so?” Anárion asked, turning his head and lifting his eyes.

Gildor gazed down at the beauty in his arms, afraid of what emotions and thoughts his next words would bring. But they would have to be said, and the obstacle overcome, if either of them were to continue on. “There is the fact that I will have to leave in some time to go journeying again. I am a wanderer, as is my people, and we will not tarry long in placplace, though Imladris will always be our home. But you are a different matter all together.”

“I cannot always go with you. But I will always wait for you.”

The elven lord smiled at the declaration and the voice full of love it was uttered in. Whispering a kiss against a smooth brow, Gildor spent the rest of the evening holding his new lover beneath the gazes of the stars and Ithil.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You best hurry back, Gildor,” Lindir chided whilst helping his cousin saddle his steed. “I would like to see you more often than once every century.”

“Please, Lindir, you know me better than that,” Gildor countered as he strapped a bed roll and a bag of food to his horse. “I’d never stay away for a whole century.”

The minstrel merely rolled his eyes as the last of the supplies was stowed away and the wandering Elves were beginning to mount their rides. “In any case, you promised to return to the valley after winter passes. I’ll hold you to that promise, cousin.”

“Worried I’ll break my promise?”

“More for another’s sake than my own.”

Gildor did not have to ask whom Lindir was referring to. He merely nodded in understanding just as Anárion was approaching, a cloak draped over one arm. The younger Elf stepped up to Gildor, returning the smile the elven lord gave him. “I was hoping to see you before I left,” Gildor said quietly as Lindir bridled his horse, the white-haired Elf feigning deafness.

“I couldn’t let you leave without wishing you well on the journey,” Anárion replied, smiling gently. “Here. Your last cloak was becoming threadbare. This is one of mine you may use whilst on the road.” The cloak Anárion slipped about Gildor’s shoulders was made of a dark gray velvet that held just a touch of green in its sheen. It draped elegantly about the shoulders, beautiful in its make but produced especially for cold nights on the road despite the fact Elves did not feel the change in temperatures. Anárion fastened the cloak in place with a silver brooch to Gildor’s left shoulder, the curling weave simple and delicate in design.

“Hannon le, lirimaer,” Gildor whispered, delighting in the blush that surfaced on the younger Elf’s cheek at the endearment. Leaning forward, he gently captured Anárion’s lips in a sweet, loving kiss. Wrapping an arm around the slender waist, he brought his lover closer, deepening the kiss for a moment before slowly pulling away. Gildor smiled as the blush upon Anárion’s cheeks deepened, a slender hand coming up to finger his lips after the unexpected first kiss.

“I’ll return at the first of spring,” Gildor promised, pressing their brows together.

“I’ll be waiting,” Anárion whispered in reply, smiling at the chaste second kiss placed upon his lips. He watched as Gildor slowly pulled away, turned and mounted his steed. Clasping the hand that stretched out to reach for him, Anárion reluctantly let go when the elven lord began to ride away, leading his people through the arched gateway of Imladris.

“He’ll keep to his promise,” Lindir whispered at his shoulder. “I tease him about it, but Gildor has never broken a promise.”

“I know, Lindir. And I’ll wait for him, like I promised.”

Lindir smiled at his friend, resting a hand upon Anárion’s shoulder as they watched the party depart. The pair stood in silence, watching until the last Elf disappeared through the archway. They turned then and made for the library to receive the day’s assignments and carry out their work.

TBC...