Torn Alliances

Glorfindel flinched away from the Elf’s touch. Where were these " friendly" faces when he was up to his armpits in crawling vines? Of course he was angry....Haldir had been asking him to kill the Elf Lord at one minute and then chastising him the next! Elfling indeed.
Glorfindel was beginning to wonder if Haldir knew what he wanted at all. " Feredir....." Glorfindel grumbled...." Well Feredir.....it is certainly not and never will be Golden anything!"

With a sigh , he blew out his anger through his mouth, and reached out to touch the seemingly unfazed archer on the arm. " I apologize.....I am Glorfindel...I'm afraid you’ve caught me not at my best."

Feredir cocked his head to one side and arched a dark brow. “Glorfindel, you say?” The name rolled from his tongue sounding much like “Glorrrrfeendel”, for the Gypsies often seemed to speak with an exaggerated pronunciation that was not commonly heard amongst most elves. “By the Valar,” Feredir said at last, “not Glorfindel who slew the Balrog when. . . “ he shook his head and touched Glorfindel’s hand again, as if making certain the elf before him was real. “I have grown listening to tales of your battle, but forgive me, I thought you to be dead, having given your life to save your kin.”

Glorfindel’s eyes widened at the Elf who was practically showering him with praise. He knew not what say.....

" Feredir,,,," he began, "You exaggerate my honor...." Glorfindel covered the elf’s hand with his own, his eyes darting towards the others that stood nearby. " Indeed, the foul beast met its fate...."

The golden Lord paused, having not recanted his tale in millennia. " As did I ....but I was given another chance, by the grace of Mandos, to serve all Arda and its people"

Glorfindel let his hand drop back to his side, and nodded respectfully. " I am simply Glorfindel...no more, no less......."

“Mellon, your humility is too great for such valor,” Feredir continued, inclining his head in return. “Come, Glorfindel, Knight of the Golden Flower, let me show you a Gypsy’s hospitality.”

He placed a hand upon Glorfindel’s shoulder once more aed hed him down the dirt pathway towards the vine cloaked forest.

“We are honored to have one such as yourself among us,” Feredir said as he pushed the curtain of vines aside. “Many elflings have learned the stories of your deeds among my people, the Gypsy Elves.” He pointed to a small clearing with the tip of his bow which was canopied by the shade of many interwoven trees. “We shall wait for your friend here.”

Feredir seated himself up one of the felled logs, combing his fingers through his dark hair with one hand in a rather catlike manner. “Ithildin,” he called to one of the archers who was standing nearby, “please light the fire for our guest.”

The young elf nodded and stepped forward, his starkly white hair spilling over his shoulders as he bent to the task. Turning to Feredir, the elf spoke in strange tongue and the Gypsy responded in the same language with fluent ease, yet Ithilidin seemed to look past Feredir rather than at him, his eyes a glassy shade of a blue so pale that they nearly matched his hair.

“Ithilidin is blind,” Feredir explained. “He and his brother, Gildin, were abandoned near our borders shortly after they were born. It is believed that they are descended from the Elves of Lindon, but were outcast because of their. . .condition.” Smiling, Feredir said, “Ithilidin is one of our finest archers.”

Nodding towards Gildin, who was nearly identical in appearance, Feredir said, “Gildin is deaf, yet there is none that can see farther than his sharp eyes.”

Gildin grinned widely at Feredir’s comment, watching the Gypsy’s lips as he spoke. He tossed his shockingly pale hair and turned a curious gaze to Glorfindel and the golden Lord noted with surprise that one of Gilden’s eyes was of the darkest blue yet the other was pale green.

Glorfindel followed the gypsy deeper into the wood, his anger and tension melting away with every footfall. Perhaps he had judged these Elves to harshly ,he thought ,as they approached a canopy of vines. Glorfindel colored slightly at Feredir’s admonishments.

The older Elf had not spoken of his illustrious past in many centuries, and come to think of it, oncea ana and Elly had come of age, they had quite tired of hearing about it as much as he had telling about it. It was however quite refreshing to learn that he was known among the younglings of this group of gypsies.

Glorfindel seated himself across from Feredir, as the Elf summoned another to light the fire that stood ready between them. It seemed from the archers introductions, and the tales that accompanied them, that this band of forest dwellers were of quite a unique variety.

Many seemed to have infirmities or oddities of some sort, setting them apart from their kin. Their differences, thought Glorfindel , admiring the beautiful eyes of the one called Gildin, were their strengths.

The golden Lord smiled and nodded his head to the Elf that tended the fire, before turning back to address Feredir.

" It is I that am honored , my new friend, for it is rare that one is accepted so readily among strangers."

Feredir smiled rather roguishly. “We turn none away without good reason,” he said, removing a wine skin that hung at his side and popping the latch with his thumb. Taking a quick sip, he offered it to Glorfindel. “Have you tasted the fineries of Gypsy wine, mellon? I am certain that you will find its flavor most. . .alluring.”

The white-haired twins eyed each other with a smirk, Ithilidin seeming to look directly into his brother’s eyes despite his visual impairment. Gildin giggled rather impishly and took his brother’s hand saying something Glorfindel could not understand for his tone was rather guttural and raw. Ithildin merely nodded, but appeared to be suppressing laughter of his own as he took his twin’s and lead him away, surprising for one who could not see.

The golden Lord took the proffered wine with a nod, and sipped a healthy draught of the hearty liquid, shivering a bit as the potent nectar swirled about in his mouth before sliding rather roughly down his throat. Choking at the sudden heat that seared at his throat, Glorfindel handed the skin back to the smirking archer, his eyes watering from the assault.

" I am afraid I may have swallowed more than my share." The golden Lord handed Feredir the wineskin and dabbed lightly at the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

Feredir patted Glorfindel’s knee lightly. “Nonsense, mellon. There is plenty more where that came from.”

Reclining against the rock that resided behind the fallen tree upon which they sat, Feredir stretched languidly. “So tell me, mellon. . . the fair haired creature. . . he is your mate?”

His tone was conversational, but he watched Glorfindel with casually lurid interest. The golden Lord was more splendid than he imagined him to be, for the tales of his childhood never spoke of his beauty. Yet, magnificent, he certainly was.

The absinthe within the wine of the Gypsy’s bag was far more potent than he had let on. Perhaps Glorfindel was not used to such enhancements of drink. Although it was not his intention to drug the golden Lord, the other looked as if he may very well be feeling the effects of the wine rather swiftly.

Glorfindel rubbed at the bridge of his nose and raked his hand through his hair, his face feeling a bit flushed from the choking spell. It was quite comfortable here in the grotto, the fire crackling at his feet. The golden Lord stretched out his long legs and watched the archer with interest.

He had an exotic quality about him, not just his accent, though that alone was quite drawing. The dark hair and the pale of his green eyes offered up a haunting combination that caught Glorfindel’s eye.

“Yes. . ." the golden Elf replied holding out his hand for another taste of thee. \e. " He is my mate...... Haldir... Haldir of Lorien."

Glorfindel took another sip of the Gypsy wine, this time letting the potent liquid trickle slowly into his mouth before swallowing.

“He is most beautiful,” Feredir said, watching as Glorfindel partook of the absinthe laced wine with zealous relish. “It is easy to see why one would desire such a creature for his own. . .”

Leaning forward, Feredir allowed his hand to brush Glorfindel’s arm lightly. “And it is easier still to see why he would desire you. . .”

The wine snaked down his throat in a thin stream, warming his body from within. Glorfindel sighed, his eyes glassing over slightly from the effects of both the contents of the skin ,and the close proximity of the dark gypsy.

A soft brush of a hand along his arm left a trail of gooseflesh, his skin suddenly sensitive to even the gentle waft of the breeze.

" Yes......" Glorfindel breathed, a small shiver crawling up his spine. " Most beautiful."

“As are you,” the dark elf said in his softly, his accent lilting the words in a spicy rhythm.

He must touch. . .had to. . .

Feredir slid his hands over Glorfindel’s face, his thumbs tracing the full lips with a gentle caress. Glorfindel, Knight of the Golden Flower. Here. Before him. And mated to another. He must not. . .he would not. . .

Against his will, Feredir was drawn closer to the inviting curve of Glorfindel’s mouth, for the other’s beauty was so rare, so pure, it seemed to radiate a glow of eminence that surrounded the elf with light. Feredir’s lips parted slightly.

“Lirimaer,” he breathed, his words stirring the stray hair that clung to Glorfindel’s cheek, the golden strands fluttering with the captured rays of the sun’s final light. “Elbereth, forgive me, “

He captured Glorfindel’s pliant mouth with the warmth of his lips in a slowly sensual kiss, his tongue sliding between the lips of the golden Lord in gentle exploration, tasting the honeyed sweetness of the moist cavern as his fingers threaded through the flowing flaxen tresses. When Glorfindel did not pull away, he drew him into his embrace and kissed him deeply, thoroughly. . .with sacred reverence that stirred his being to the very core, shaking his depths with the potent elixir of the other’s mouth.

Glorfindel’s eyes fluttered closed at the tender caress of fingers to his parteds. Ts. The touch causing ripples of warmth to snake down his belly, and coil restlessly in his groin.

A soft puff of breath upon his cheek brought his face to tip slightly towards its source, the tiny hairs upon his neck rising as the heat of the gypsy’s mouth hovered close to his.

A gentle press of a heated mouth to his ,stole the golden Lords breath as the soft slide of sensuously sweet lips dissolved any conscious thought of resistance. A moan of pleasure slipped from Glorfindel’s chest as tongues tentatively tested uncharted territory.

The kiss was exquisitely executed, drawing Glorfindel into its embrace and pulling him under to drown in the gypsy’s passion. The golden Lord was lost in the tempest of his own swirling desire, all consequence of his actions seemingly forgotten in the heat of the kiss.

Reaching out, Glorfindel slipped one hand beneath the fall of Feredir’s ebon hair , tangling his pale fingers in the dark silken tresses., the press of his knee sliding sensuously against the gypsy’s thigh.

“A’ meree’ finith lasamalion. . .” Feredir murmured near Glorfindel’s ear, unaware that the golden Elf probably did not know the language of the Gypsies.

My desire, you have long been. . .

His hand slid downward from Glorfindel’s shoulder, tracing a path of heat through the material of the golden Lord’s tunic as it came to rest upon his stomach where it crept ever closer to the edge of the garment until it slipped beneath its folds, fingers brushing across the lithely muscled tautness of Glorfindel’s abdomen.

Never had he thought to have the chance to lie with one so exquisitely refined, much less a legend far greater than he would humbly admit. Glorfindel’s modesty intrigued him far more than his ethereal beauty, yet the combination of the two could prove most lethal if his roaming hand were to change its course but slightly.

Glorfindel shuddered involuntarily as the Gypsy purred darkly into his ear, the hum and lilt of the words strangely erotic and exceptionally enticing.
His body responded eagerly to the dark beauties touch, his back arching slightly against the play of cool fingers across his heated flesh.

Glorfindel allowed himself to slip closer and tighter against the sensuous Elf, his hand moving slowly from the gypsies thigh to skid across the cusp of a hip and caress the his rounded backside as he leaned into the golden Lords embrace.

Glorfindel knew he was playing with fire, but he was helpless to deny himself the pleasures of this desirable creature.

Feredir slid his tongue along the smooth planes of Glorfindel’s chiseled jawline lasciviously, a heated rumble rising within in his throat. Even the smell of this elf aroused him. . .warm, like melting amber glistening in the sun’s rays.

“Oh, Glorfindel. . .” he purred, “how I. . .mmmmm…” the sentiment was silenced by another kiss, conveying that which words could not. “Such beauty does not wander often into my midst.”

He bathed the other’s lips with teasing nips and gentle flicks of his tongue, wanting to devour this pale being who returned his amorousness with such artlessness.

Glorfindel smiled against the Elf’s lips, a soft pleasurable chuckle bubbling from his throat as he stood suddenly and lifted Feredir to his feet . Sliding his hand around the others slender waist he pulled the gypsy against him and purred hotly into the Elf’s ear.

"Mmm, Feredir...lirimaer, you are quite skilled at seduction....yes?" Glorfindel growled low, and caught the Elf’s earlobe in his teeth, nipping it slightly before tracing the edge of Feredir’s ear with his tongue.

The golden Lord slid his hand to the small of the gypsy back and pressed his hips forward, the heightening of his desire quite evident.

Feredir trembled deliciously at the whisperinckleckle of Glorfindel’s breath against his ear, for hearing the Elf speak his name was erotically euphoric. Everything about the golden Lord aroused him on so many different levels, the effect was dizzying. Never would he have imagined that the legend he admired for so many centuries would bear such elegant beauty, for none had mentioned before that Glorfindel embodied the Golden Flower that he protected.

The rising hardness of Glorfindel’s excitement pressed suggestively against the curve of his hip, practically daring Feredir to run his finger along the bulging outline beneath the soft leather of the other’s breeches. Was it the absinthe directing Glorfindel’s lust. . .or perhaps, something more?

“Such beauty you have,” Feredir murmured, arching against the golden Lord, begging with the heated shift of his hips for Glorfindel to touch him in a more intimate manner, yet fearing his demise if it were to be so.

One hand lifted to tentatively brush a wispy lock of gold from Glorfindel’s face, the back of that hand sliding worshipfully down the smoothly cool skin of the other’s face. . .the warrior who’s legend had spurred him on when none would instigate faith in his abilities. And yet he was spoken for by another. Feredir’s eyes fluttered closed. This moment was to be savored. . . and he relished the mere touch of his hand against the other’s cheek as if it were an enchanted elixir which he may never sample again.

Letting the moist digit drop from his lips, Glorfindel stripped his tunic from his body, the rush of cool air against his skin arousing him even more.
With a guttural moan, he reached forward and slipped a finger into the knot that held Feredir’s wrapped tunic secure, loosening it easily.

Pulling the Elf against his aching flesh ,and pressing his lips hungrily to the gypsy’s ,Glorfindel slipped a cool hand beneath the soft folds of the tunic, his desire to touch greatly overpowering his fear of the consequences of such an action.

Glorfindel’s hand was inside of his garment before he could react and dangerously close to. . .

Feredir gasped and jerked away with a flinching shudder, his hand clamping over Glorfindel’s. “Mellon. . . I. . . you cannot touch me there. I have. . .”

His fingers curled beneath the warm palm, for he so desperately wanted to feel the touch of the golden Lord upon his bare flesh, yet the unperceived horror of his aberration lay so close to questing fingertips, he could not allow them travel further than this point, for surely Glorfindel would think him most hideous should he see. . .


The gypsy’s skin was softer than he had imagined, the smooth firmness of the Elf’s belly drawing his hand further inside the fabric. With a sudden jerk ,Feredir broke the contact, his hand coming protectively to wrap around Glorfindel’s fingers, halting their exploration.

The gypsy seemed quite self-conscious about something, and Glorfindel eyes flicked quickly to the opening of the tunic, spying a raised pink scar that peeked just beyond the darkened folds. This could not be the reason for such rejection of touch, thought Glorfindel, as he searched the gypsy’s pleading green eyes.

Wrapping his fingers around Feredir’s hand, the golden Lord placed it upon his own bare chest allowing the Elf to explore the warmth of his skin and the steady calming beat of his heart. Still holding the Elf’s pale gaze, Glorfindel tentatively reached forward and trailed a finger lightly along the exposed scar.

Sensing Feredir’s discomfort, Glorfindel leaned closer, his lips placing soft kisses on the gypsy’s lips, as his fingers traveled the length of the scar, running from sternum to beneath the waist of his breeches. Breathing softly against his neck , Glorfindel followed the trail of his finger with the soft press of his lips, each kiss leading him lower down the Elf’s body.

"Feredir, meleth.....you are most exquisite....do not hide beauty such as this........" Glorfindel whispered against the warm flesh, as he swirled his tongue around the gypsy’s navel " It is a badge of honor, not shame......" The Golden Lord trailed the raised pink scar with his mouth as it slipped beneath the leather of straining breeches.

Feredir shuddered, praying that none bore witness to Glorfindel’s unabashed lust, yet trembling for him to do far more than just touch him. . .even that which brought painful memory upon him.

But someone did watch. . .