Wanderlust

A/N: Elbereth alive, it has been a long time since I updated this story! Fear not, I am stiritiriting it; all the chapters are planned and waiting to be written. Mostly I'm concentrating on finishing Shattered Light and The Flower and The Fountain (FF should be done before it's first anniversary scheduled for mid-April; actually it should be done by March if I can help it) and a Lindir costume I am planning.
Hope you all enjoy this chapter. Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. And please review review review! :D


Second Age 3400, Imladris

The once quiet woods suddenly became filled with the sounds of rushing horses ahouthouts. The trees swayed, bending to and fro as the riders raced through the forest, their horses deftly avoiding roots and loose ground foliage. Fear, determination and panic were written on the fair faces of the riding Elves. Hair, skin and clothing were caked in mud, dirt and blood, both those of their injured companions and the slain enemy. The handful of women and children of the troupe rode together and in front of the company of men, all of whom were armed. Bows were drawn, arrows nocked and at the ready, swords, spears and knives unsheathed and glistening in the sunlight overhead. And behind, close at their heels, was the enemy. Orcs on Wargs, yelling in the foul tongue of the East, black blades smeared with the blood of fallen Elves.

“We are nearing Imladris’ borders, my Lord!” one Elf yelled over the din of the rushing horses, turning back briefly to fire arow.row. “The sentries should have spotted us by now!”

“Whether they have or not, keep going!” Gildor shouted in reply whilst ducking, a black fletched arrow whizzing past his ear. “Do not stop until we reach the manor! The safety of the women and children are our first priority! Keep them safe!”

“Aye, my Lord!” replied all the Elves who heard him as they raced on, never looking back at their pursuers unless it was to aim and fire in retaliation. They continued onward, the riders at the front leading on the women and children, the riders in the rear holding off the enemy.

The Wargs were coming too close for their comfort; with a flying leap, one of the fell beast landed upon Gildor’s steed. Both horse and rider fell to the ground, startled and frightened but surprisingly unharmed. The Warg eyed Gildor predatorily as the elven lord attempted to remount his wide-eyed stallion. The animal was too fidgety, causing the reins to slip from his master’s hands as he darted off.

“My Lord!”

Gildor ignored the call as he drew his sword, brandishing a curved knife in his other hand. He was quickly surrounded by four Wargs, their riders sneering at him and laughing with malicious glee as the beasts‘ teeth gnashed savagely.

/I will not walk the Great Halls yet. ‘Tis not my time!/ Grim determination set into Gildor’s face as he raised one of his blades before his face, readying himself as one of the riders urged his mount forward. The Elf prepared him for the attack, digging his heels into the ground. There was movement from the corner of his eye, causing Gildor to lose his focus for a few moments, just enough time for the Warg to strike.

But the blow he had been expecting never came. Instead, a slender form darted out of the trees to Gildor’s right, diving for the Warg rider and effectively toppling both beast and master. While the Orc and Warg were still recovering from the shock, the attacker, garbed in a hooded cloak of dark green, pulled two knives from thigh sheaths, quickly burying both blades in the necks of the fell creatures.

“Gildor!”

Gildor tore his eyes from the sight of the cloaked Elf--for the slender, agile frame could only belong to one of the Firstborn--to find Lindir, Glorfindel and a contingent of Elves racing towards him on horseback. He watched in utter shock and astonishment as Lindir leapt from the back of his racing steed, pulling two knives from his back before landing on another Warg. The white-haired Elf effectively took out the rider and beast without blinking an eye at the black blood that now coated his hands.

“What…” His voice left him as horses danced around him, their riders leaping off to engage in battle. Lindir and the cloaked Elf had taken to attacking whilst they circled one another, backs pressed together and knives dancing in the dim light of the moon.

Mere moments passed between the time the Imladrian forces arrived to the retreat of the Warg riders--or the few that remained. Gildor was motionless the entire time, his limbs feeling heavy as the skirmish raged on around him. It wasn’t until hands had clasped his shoulders, shaking him lightly and emerald eyes bore into his that Gildor snapped out of his shock.

“Gildor?!” Gilion nearly shouted, shaking his cousin. “Gildor, say something! Are you injured?”

“Gilion…no, no I’m all right. What…”

“The Warg riders must have caught your scent when you passed into the far borders,” Glorfindel said stepping up to the pair with Erestor at his side, both Elves cleaning the blood from their swords. “They’ve been scouting out the lands lately, trying to press further into the valley. Our sentries have managed to stop them thus far, but this pack must have gotten past the watches.”

“My company?” Gildor inquired, worry etching his features as he thought of the women and children of his traveling troupe.

“They are fine,” Erestor reassured. “We sent a few of the sentries with them, ensuring they arrive safely at the manor. Some of your men turned around when they saw us coming for you.”

Gildor sighed in relief as Gilion folded an arm around his shoulders, hugging him briefly for comfort. “The roads are becoming more treacherous than we expected. We had hoped to make it to Imladris before Ithil rose, but we were waylaid. We should have stopped for the night rather than continuing on.”

“That might have made for a worse situation,” Gilion said. “If you have stopped and erected an encampment, there would have been a massacre, and none of us would have been able to arrive in time to help you. ‘Tis best, I believe, if you weather in the valley for a time.”

Gildor sighed, nodding in agreement, as did Erestor and Glorfindel. Lindir approached them then, a worried expression in his eyes as he gave Gildor a once over; strands of white hair had come loose from their careful braiding in the skirmish, clinging to Lindir‘s cheeks in a light sheen of sweat. The elven lord smiled, reassuring his cousin before he caught sight of the figure beside, and slightly behind, Lindir. “I should thank you,” Gildor said, addressing the cloaked Elf. “If it had not been for you, I might not be standing here now.”

Lindir snorted quietly at the statement. “Believe me, cousin, when I say you are in for a surprise.” He grd atd at Gildor’s bewildered expression as the Elf reached up to remove his hood with a blood-caked hand. A thick plait of dark hair was the first to emerge, falling over a shoulder to sway slightly at the hips. Green-gray eyes emerged next, set in a fair face splattered lightly with some black blood. Like Lindir, a light sheen of sweat clung to the Elf’s skin, glistening in the moonlight as rose-tinted lips curved into a soft smile.

“’Tis good to see you are unharmed, meleth,” Anárion whispered, relief mingled with amusement at Gildor’s unharmed but shocked expression.

“Anárion?!” His mouth opened and closed a few more times like a fish out of water as Gildor stared at his young lover in utter astonishment. “How…when…why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“’Twas not safe to say in our letters,” Lindir explained. “As I do not believe it safe for us to stay here.”

“Aye, I agree,” Glorfindel said, azure eyes darting about at the slightest out-of-place sound. “Mount your horses. We must make for the manor--and quickly.” In silence the gathered company complied, some helping the injured onto horses. As one, they set off for the valley dwelling at a quickened pace. Gildor’s eyes never left the form of his young lover and cousin, both of whom he had not seen in nearly three years. There was a lot of explaining to do, on both their part and his.

~~~~~~~~~~

Once clean of the dirt and blood of battle, Anárion, sporting a simple robe, soon found himself wrapped tightly from behind in a pair of arms as he stepped out of the bathing chamber. A kiss whispered across his cheek whilst wheat gold hair tickled his skin. “Gildor,” he said between giggles.

“I see I am not forgotten,” Gildor teased, turning his lover about. He folded his arms around the lithe form, eyebrows furrowing when he encountered taut muscles beneath the thin satin of the bathing robe.

“Never forgotten, meleth. Just missed.” Anárion leaned forward, bracing his hands on Gildor’s shoulders as he claimed a long and lingering kiss. Slender arms wrapped about the elven lord’s neck when the caress was answered, tongues sparring as one tried to dominate the other. Throughout the twenty years of their courtship, the lovers had not yet moved beyond loving touches and slow, sometimes fierce kisses. Both hoped to change that now after so long, but there were questions that needed to be answered first.

Slowly Gildor pulled away, bestowing an apologetic kiss on his love’s slightly swollen lips. For long moments he gazed into the green-gray eyes, wondering if he still knew this Elf he held in his arms. Anárion seemed to read his concern through their gaze, for the younger Elf drew Gildor closer, hugging him tightly and whispering in his ear.

“Much has changed since we were last together. But my love for you has not; it has only grown more during our long days apart. Do not doubt me.”

“I do not, but I do wonder.”

“Come then,” Anárion said, taking his lover’s hand as he led them away from the bathroom and into the adjourning bedroom. “Let us sit and talk.”

Gildor followed his lover and seated himself upon the large pile of pillows that rested on the floor before a roaring fire. He waited until Anárion was also seated before pulling his lover into his arms. The younger Elf melted into Gildor’s embrace, silence drifting between them for a few moments as they took in one another’s long missed presence. Finally Anárion spoke, his voice soft and even.

“After you left last, things began to happen,” he explained. “Wounded from Lindon arrived, requiring Lord Elrond and the healers’ help for their injuries. At the same time the sentries noted the increased Orc activity along the borders. Lord Glorfindel rode out every morning with the patrols, keeping the borders safe throughout the day before returning in the night; at times Lord Erestor would go with him and lend a hand. But soon we were running out of people to protect the borders as more sentries became injured in the battles that ensured.”

“So those in Imladris capable of wielding a sword were sent into training?” Gildor questioned, resting his chin upon his lover’s head.

“Aye, that is what happened. Lindir and I volunteered, and Gilion and my father as well. Our fathers went straight to the borders since they had fought in Lindon before. Lindir went to Thalion for training; Lord Elrond had requested that Lindir be trained as a messenger.”

That news seemed to surprise Gildor as he lifted his head and gazed down at his younger lover. “Lindir is to be a message runner?”

Anárion nodded, his green-gray eyes staring into the fire. “The High King requested that Lord Elrond find one, and our Lord has asked Lindir to carry out the task. He has the skills and natural talent for the duty that is demanded of him. He has completed the training--earlthanthan most others I should add--but there is no need of him…yet. So Lindir helps to protect the borders until his other duties demand his attention. He still manages to sing now and again in the Halls of Fire in the evenings.”

“And you, lirimaer? What is your duty to Imladris?”

“I am a sentry of the Bruinen.”

Gildor had heard of such sentries. They were some of the more respected of Imladris’ border patrol, not for their skill but for the responsibility placed upon their shoulders. The Bruinen was long and vast, some of its banks shallow and easily crossed, others more broad and treacherous with raging waters and currents. It was no easy task protecting the river, especially the ford, as it was a tiresome job. Most of the sentries assigned to its protection mimicked the Rangers of the North. They hid using stealth and secrecy, taking out the enemy one-by-one and unawares, inflicting as many casualties as possible before reporting back. Gildor was more than riserised to learn that his lover had become one of them.

“How long have you been protecting the river?” the elven lord asked quietly.

“A few months, not long. I am mostly assigned to the western bank, to prevent trespassers from crossing the river. Most of the time I am sent to report to Lord Glorfindel, and the task is done with relish. But there are days, like today, where there is no time to report and one must merely act. I loathe such days; I loathe what it is I do, though I do not deny that I wish to see these lands safe by any means necessary.” Anárion sighed deeply, closing his eyes as he took a moment to briefly recall the recent days of defending his home.

“We have all become warriors in these dark times. Cooks, servants, scholars, stable boys--everyone has taken on the new responsibility of keeping the lands safe. I wish at times, whilst on patrol, that I never had to learn the ways of the blade. But I do not regret what it is I do.”

“You have a noble heart, meleth,” Gildor said lovingly, kissing the dark crown. He watched enraptured as Anárion turned, love swirling in those green-gray eyes.

“I am glad you are safe,” the younger Elf said, bestowing a chaste kiss upon his lover’s lips.

“I am glad you saved me.” Cupping Anárion’s face in his hands, Gildor brought their lips together again; this time the kiss was long, sensual and left both Elves wanting more. Gildor smiled when his tongue flickered over an ear tip, causing his young lover to shudder. “I think I have courted you long enough, melme. Shall we consummate this relationship?”

“Yes, please,” Anárion replied breathlessly. “I have waited twenty years for this. I will wait no longer. Claim me, melethron-nîn. Have me.”

Gildor grinned mischievously as he pulled on Anárion’s arms until his young lover was straddling his thighs, the satin robe the dark-haired Elf wore rising to his hips. Running his fingertips over his love’s back, Gildor slowly and languidly began to lay kisses across Anárion’s face; cheeks, nose, brow and ear tips were brushed gently and lovingly with lips. He took an earlobe gently between his teeth, nibbling on the skin lightly and smiling when the dark-haired Elf hissed in pleasure. Gildor felt hands fumbling with his tunic, undoing buttons with slightly trembling fingers.

“Meleth-nîn,” Gildor whispered, undoing the robe’s sash.

Anárion moaned softly as warm hands touched the skin of his hips. “I’ve thought of this night for years,” he whispered. “I’ve longed for it.”

“I hope I do not disappoint you then.”

“You could never disappoint me.”

Gildor smiled at the statement and the love that was hidden behind the words. Seeking out his lover’s lips, he kissed the lightly bruised skin, his tongue pressing past parted lips and teeth. The golden-haired Elf obediently raised his arms when Anárion silently beckoned, allowing the younger Elf to slip Gildor’s tunic off. Gildor watched enraptured as Anárion pulled away from his lips and got off his legs; the satin robe slipped from the Elf’s shoulders as he all but tore Gildor’s leggings off. The elder Elf chuckled softly as their clothes were discarded and Anárion settled himself back into Gildor’s lap, the pair of them moaning softly when their flushed skins touched.

“Melethron…” Aná whi whispered before devouring his lover’s mouth again. Lips entwined, he blindly reached for Gildor’s hand, guiding his lover to his already aching arousal trapped between their bodies. A deep groan sounded in his throat when Gildor began to stroke him.

He broke away from the kiss to move and explore the rest of his lover’s skin. His tongue darted out over an ear tip, and Gildor delighted in the hiss of pleasure his lover sounded. Taking the tip between his teeth, Gildor began to gently suckle on the skin whilst the pace of his hand quickened. A growl sounded when Anárion loosely grasped his rock-hard erection, a soft fingertip brushing the weeping slit.

“Not yet, melme,” Gildor whispered hoarsely around a mouthful of ear. “What do you have?”

The question was rather vague, but Anárion understood the meaning. Glancing around the room with half-lidded, lust-filled eyes the young Elf quickly spotted the phial of lavender oil he sometimes used on his skin. Reluctantly detaching himself from his lover, Anárion reached for the phial resting on the mantle. He handed the delicate crystal ware to Gildor, smiling as his lover kissed him before laying Anárion back on the pile of pillows.

“Relax for me.”

Anárion nodded whilst taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he closed his eyes. He heard the pop of the phial’s stopper as it was removed; his sensitive hearing picked up the sound of oil slowly being poured, the scent of lavender permeating through the air. He did not protest when Gildor rested a hand on his hip, directing Anárion to lift one leg. A slick digit massaged his entrance before gently pressing in. The momentary pain of the intrusion quickly faded when Gildor brushed that hidden spot within him, tearing a surprised and pleased mew from Anárion’s lips.

Gildor smiled wickedly at the sight of his lover trembling and writhing beneath him. He leaned closer, the ends of his golden hair tickling his young lover’s skin as he inserted another finger. He effectively swallowed Anárion’s moan as he found his lover’s prostate again. Once Gildor was able to insert three fingers--and tease his lover mercilessly as he twisted them about--the elder Elf applied a generous amount of oil to himself. Braced on his hands placed on either side of Anárion‘s head, Gildor gazed deeply into his lover’s eyes whilst pressing inward.

Unable to wait much longer for Gildor to inch inside, Anárion boldly gripped is lover’s hips, pressing bahilshilst pulling Gildor forward. Twin gasps filled the room once they were fully joined, Gildor buried to the base. Together they laid for a moment, attempting to compose themselves; that moment was killed when Anárion shifted below his lover, mewing when the tip of Gildor’s erection brushed his prostate.

Spurned on by the charming blush on his lover’s face, Gildor began to thrust slowly, pulling out nearly all the way before pressing back inwards. He increased his pace with each thrust, pulling first moans then sharp cries from both Elves’ lips.

“Im mela le, a’maelamin,” Anárion whispered, wrapping his arms about Gildor’s neck and his legs around his waist.

“Im vithel, lirimaer,” Gildor replied, leaning forwards to claim another kiss as a hand sneaked between their bodies, seeking out Anárion’s sex and stroking it in time with his thrusts. He could feel something tightening within him as his vision blurred and his breathing quickened. Gildor watched in awe as Anárion arched his back, lifting his shoulders off the pillows as he came, a sharp cry leaving his lips as he spilled himself and his muscles clenched. Gildor bit back his own cry of pleasure when the satin smooth walls surrounding him contracted, pulling his own orgasm from him. His arms trembled, no longer able to support him as he felt forward into the welcoming arms of his lover.

For a long time neither moved, their breathing slowly returning to normal and the flush of their skin fading. When he felt strong enough, Gildor gently pulled out of his lover; rolling onto his side, he hugged Anárion close, tucking the dark head beneath his chin. He smiled and kissed his lover’s forehead when Anárion sighed and wrapped his arms around Gildor, his breathing deepening as sleep glazed his eyes.

Gildor spent some time simply holding his lover, gazing into Anárion’s sleep-filled eyes. He thought he loved this Elf before, but whatever it was had not been true love. Placing a loving kiss upon his lover’s brow, Gildor sighed deeply and allowed the lands of dreams to pull him in as he hugged Anárion tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sunlight filtered in through the open windows, illuminating two entwined figures resting on a bed of pillows as a gentle breeze stirred the curtains. Birds playfully twittered on the window’s ledge, peering curiously at the Elves still asleep before the fireplace. A little robin dared to enter, hopping closer and cl as as it tilted its head to stare at the little river of wheat gold hair at its feet. In an innocent manner, the little bird clipped some glittering strands in its beak, tugging incessantly as it attempted to fly away with its catch.

A muffled moan came from one of the slumbering Elves; Gildor frowned when he felt his hair being tugged. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he looked around in an attempt to find the source of the annoyance. His gaze alighted on the robin, who seemed oblivious to the Elf’s presence and continued to make for the window with its prize.

“Daro, mellon-nîn,” Gildor said, gently loosening his hair from the bird’s grasp. “That stings.”

The robin complied and stared at him, twittering incoherently. Gildor merely ignored it as he turned back over, burying his face into Anárion’s dark hair. His movements, however, caused his slumbering lover to awaken, awareness filling the green-gray eyes. “Good morning, meleth. Did I wake you?”

Anárion smiled at the muffled voice and warm breath ghosting over his skin. He merely shook his head, stretched as best as he could and sighed as he buried his face in Gildor’s neck. “I do not mind being awakened by you,” he whispered, kissing his lover’s skin.

“Good. Now if you do not mind, let us rest here a while. I am in no hurry to rise this morn as I have nothing important to attend to, or anywhere to go.”

“This is turning out to be a pleasant morning then.” Another sigh escaped Anárion as Gildor pulled him closer, silencing the dark-haired Elf with a kiss. Once they parted, the lovers returned to cuddling one another, occasionally whispering loving words and endearments. They ignored the little robin who continued to watch them curiously as they shared the morning together in blissful love and serenity.

TBC...