Half the Distance

Title: Half the Distance
Series: Innocence Stripped Away
Chapter: One : I Wanted to Believe
Author: Orchyd Constyne
Contact: soultornasunder@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Beta: Fimbrethiel, Alex

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Imladris, Spring, Third Age 2086

"Lord Círdan's host will be given the upper floors of the West Wing, while Lord Celeborn's will be given the middle," Erestor explained as he made notes on the paper before him. "Is King Thranduil planning on joining us this year, or have we received his polite, but firm, rejection?"

Elrond shook his head. "Nay. It was surprising, but we received an acceptance letter two days ago."

Erestor lifted his head, but the glance he shot Glorfindel could not be missed by those assembled. He cleared his throat and tried to focus on the list of rooms he held in his hand. "I suppose we could section off the entire West Wing, giving the delegations all the suites there. Thranduil could take the lower level, unless his host will be larger than the other two?" he asked anxiously.

"Nay, his host will be quite smaller," Celebrían explained. Glorfindel and Erestor gave her questioning looks, and the Lady continued to smile serenely. "He is only bringing his son, perhaps six warriors, and a muvael." (lust-slave)

"Which is why he asked for special quarters to be prepared for him," Elrond continued. "His suite will be on the family's floor, Erestor," he said, his pewter eyes never leaving his Councilor's midnight gaze. "I will prepare the rooms myself, so you must make ready the West Wing for the other delegations, as well as Legolas and the remaining Mirkwood host."

Erestor clenched his jaw at the mention of the forest Prince, and the glance Glorfindel shot him said that his mate noticed. The Noldo was thankful, though, that Glorfindel did not question his reaction. He was not certain that he was ready to confide in Glorfindel the details of the failed relationship with Thranduil's son, which had made his decision to come to Glorfindel in Mirkwood the previous season even more difficult. He cleared his throat and made a few last notations. "Very well. I believe everything is now in order, and preparations can begin immediately."

Celebrían stood up and smoothed down the folds of her dress while the males stood with respect to her. "I intend to see to Legolas' suite, Erestor, so do not worry yourself with that. I think it is best to give him the large suite that looks out on the courtyard. Would you mind having one of the house staff air out the room this afternoon, and I will begin preparing it on the morrow?"

"Aye, my Lady," Erestor replied, bowing as she passed him.

Glorfindel donned his cloak and nodded to both his Lord and his mate. "I will send out three scout parties to watch for the delegations and have them send back runners when the hosts are a day away."

"Thank you, Glorfindel." Elrond quickly embraced the Elda. "I have appreciated all your help in this matter, as I do every year we hold this gathering."

"You are most welcome, my Lord." Glorfindel turned to Erestor and smiled down at the slighter Elf. "Will you spar this afternoon?"

Erestor felt the corner of his lips tug with a smirk. It seemed Glorfindel had begun to watch his weekly sparring matches on the training field, marvelling at Erestor's abilities. Erestor had reminded him after the first match he witnessed that he had taken part in various wars. In fact, he had served alongside Glorfindel in the Last Alliance, if the old oaf would recall, but his lover had just shrugged and excused the forgetfulness as part of battle fatigue. "Of course. One of these afternoons, seron vell, you must spar with me."

Glorfindel grinned. "Oh, no, I would not want to embarrass you upon the field, Councilor." He quickly bent and kissed Erestor lightly on his lips and waved to Elrond once more before leaving the two darkling Elves alone together.

Elrond watched with a steady gaze as Erestor collected his belongings and pointedly ignored his old Master's heavy stare. When Erestor turned to leave the room without even bidding Elrond farewell, the Elf-lord stopped him. "Erestor?"

Erestor turned to him, his eyes hooded and unreadable. "Aye, my Lord?"

"That is no way with which to look upon me," Elrond chastised. He leaned against the far wall and crossed his arms, his eyes never straying from his dear friend. "I invite him every season; it is not my sole fault he chose to accept the invitation this year. What happened in Mirkwood? What did you and Glorfindel do that would make him swallow his pride and come here? With his *son*, no less!"

"We did nothing," Erestor assured Elrond quickly. "He is doing this to be a bane in my life, nothing more." He shook his head, offering Elrond the first honest expression in weeks: fearful astonishment. "I cannot believe he would drag Legolas here."

"Aye, I had to reread the response several times to be certain I was not mistaking Thranduil's intent," Elrond agreed. "Will you be all right with his return to the valley?" he asked quietly, absently tossing a stray lock of long hair over his shoulder.

Erestor's face immediately closed off again, all semblance of life evaporating like morning dew under the hot sun. "Why should I not be? It was a very long time ago, Elrond. I am the bond-mate of Glorfindel, and that is all I need."

Elrond pushed off of the wall and walked past Erestor, speaking as he exited the meeting room. "Sometimes I worry about what it is you need, Erestor."

Had Elrond looked back, he would have seen the sour frown that crossed Erestor's face, but the expression passed like a cloud over the sun. Erestor sighed and made his way to his office, mumbling to himself as he went. "Celebrían worries about Legolas, and Elrond worries about me. What do I worry about?" He laughed bitterly. "I worry about Thranduil," he spat out as he shut the door of his office.

*****

He knew Erestor was aware of him, even though seventy metres separated him from the match he watched. Glorfindel's sapphire eyes followed every move the dark Elf made; Erestor was deadly with his knives as he and his partner moved in a savage dance. His eyes moved over the lean, muscled body he had known intimately for many, many years, and he felt his breeches becoming tight the longer he gazed.

Erestor's hair was an ebony waterfall, a thick cascading mass of blue-black silk that stopped just behind the Elf's knees. During such matches, Erestor would braid and bind his hair high, away from the sharp blades of his opponent, which gave Glorfindel a rare opportunity to gaze at Erestor's bare torso. Glorfindel bit his lower lip lightly as he appraised the muscles of Erestor's arms as his mate swung his long knives perfectly, landing a point on the younger Elf. Those arms, Glorfindel reflected, had mastered him in such exquisite ways, and how he longed to feel them do so again.

Glorfindel eased himself to the ground, resting his back against the broad trunk of the tree that offered him shade. Erestor's leggings rode low on his body, and Glorfindel could see the small marking just above the cleft of his lover's backside that declared Erestor as *his*. It was the one thing, other than the gold band on Erestor's index finger, that showed all who saw it that he belonged to someone. Glorfindel's markings were different, though, and numerous.

Over the years, he had been marked with brand, with needle, with ink, and with blade. His hand slid down his suede-covered thigh, distractedly stroking the small burned brand hidden by the thin cloth. The pain of that mark was forever emblazoned on his memory, but it was something he wore with pride. The fabric of his shirt caressed his impaled nipples, the rings he now wore warm against his flesh. What he could not see was the script across his lower back, written in Erestor's fluid hand, spelling out the Noldo's name in ancient Quenya. It had taken them four sessions, four hours each, to complete the painful marking, but Erestor was pleased with the results, often running his tongue along the flowing lines.

The newest stamp of Erestor's possession, though, had just finished healing. The hand that had been stroking his thigh moved up, coming to rest just to the left of his groin. It had taken Erestor an entire night, and while there had been pleasure, Glorfindel could truly only recall the pain he endured. His eyes darted to his spouse who landed a fourth point on his opponent, but his mind was darkened by the memory of that night.

Upon returning from Thranduil's realm, Erestor had dominated him, aggressively whipping him, tormenting his body with phallus, clamp, and cane. It was nothing he had not endured and enjoyed before, but this time Glorfindel felt Erestor's anger through his actions. When his lover had exhausted himself in the playroom, they had moved to their bed. It was there that Erestor had taken a blade to the sprinkling of hair that surrounded the root of Glorfindel's sex, leaving nothing but smooth skin in his wake. It had been erotic, the cool water, sharp blade, and Erestor's tender hand stroking him into a frenzy.

"I wish to mark you," his lover had whispered, his eyes wide and wild as he held the blade.

Glorfindel could refuse Erestor little, and he needed release, so he agreed. What followed was something Glorfindel had never imagined, but was certain had been born of Erestor's buried rage over Thranduil. Erestor used the knife to carve the rough image of the wolf found in his family crest. It was not ugly, the scar left behind, but Glorfindel had begun to seriously question Erestor's motives. If these things were done out of love and desire, Glorfindel would have no objection, but it seemed that the last marking was done more out of punishment, as a reminder of who *owned* him, than out of passion.

The fifth point was landed, and the two distant Elves bowed respectfully to each other. Sweat shimmered on Erestor's skin, his pinkish-brown nipples dark against his pale flesh, and Glorfindel again found his arousal growing. Such things Erestor could make him feel! Since that night, Erestor had not again opened the playroom door; he had not raised blade or whip. They slept beside one another, they kissed and talked, but Erestor rarely asked to take pleasure with Glorfindel, and the Elda's heart and body ached with that loss of closeness. When Erestor withdrew his body, he also withdrew his spirit, his mind, leaving Glorfindel alone for the first time in many years.

It was a loneliness he was not accustomed to, nor did he much care for it. Since their session with Thranduil in Mirkwood, Erestor treated him more like an afterthought than a spouse, and it ignited Glorfindel's temper. He did not often become angry, and Erestor seemed to be the one catalyst that could send him on a rampage. He could feel his anger simmering just below his skin, and knew it would not take much for Erestor to bring that rage to the surface.

Thranduil would be here for three months. Glorfindel closed his eyes as Erestor left the field, his mind whirling with so many thoughts. He desired Thranduil. He wanted to feel the Elvenking's hands on his body, feel his shaft pierce him, but more than that, he yearned for the golden King to master him. He wanted Thranduil to bring him to the heights of pleasure and pain he knew existed, but that Erestor seemed incapable of bringing him.

And that need, that desire, frightened Glorfindel.

Erestor already believed Thranduil intent on taking him from his spouse, and Glorfindel could not deny he believed that to be the King's intention. What he did deny, in both spoken and unspoken ways, was his sinful wish to be taken from Erestor.

He loved Erestor, yes; there was pureness, a trueness about his love for the dark, quiet Councilor he had bound his soul to, but Erestor's love was not the same. He loved with a darkness, a desperation that Glorfindel could not understand and that Erestor would not explain. Thranduil desired; he wanted, he offered, and his was an offer of potent sexual sensuality -- and Glorfindel found such an offer hard to refuse.

TBC...