A Warrior's Destiny

Author’s Note: Thank you so much to everyone who has commented so far! Owing to a rather ‘confused’ review I got… It seems that one of the characters is playing his part extremely well, though I think it should be pretty clear just who ‘Thenindhír’ is. The only questions should be exactly how big the lie is, and why it’s there at all.


Chapter Three

Another couple of weeks passed, and once more the elves stopped for a few days. They weren’t even halfway to their destination yet, but here was where they would cross the river Baranduin, and make their way east following the regular route used by those in the service of Gil-Galad’s army. It would become the Great East Road, but for now it was merely a well-worn track across the land.

There were plenty of things for Glorfindel to organise, and he was kept fairly busy for the first day of their stop, but then as soon as he could, he sought out Thenindhír, and wasn’t surprised to find him once more among the books. Love for the written word was one of his peculiarities, and one that Glorfindel found frivolous. Most of these books were history, some recent, some not so recent. Glorfindel wondered why his lover would seek knowledge here when there were so many who could tell him things of bygone days with all the passion and colour of personal experience. Elves such as himself.

He walked up and embraced his lover from behind, enjoying the startled gasp before Thenindhír realised who it was. Gently, Glorfindel took a book from the elf’s hand noting the subject matter, and replaced it carefully, before turning his lover around to face him.

“I can tell you of Gondolin if you like,” he purred seductively into the elf’s ear. “I was there.” Thenindhír’s hands fluttered against his chest for a moment before settling submissively in place while Glorfindel’s own hands roved over the other elf possessively.

“What are you scared of?” he asked seriously. “Touch me if that’s what you want.” When Thenindhír made no move to obey, Glorfindel withdrew to take the elf’s hands and run them over himself. Their eyes caught, and Glorfindel smiled as he guided one of his lover’s hands lower. He saw desire flare in the dark depths of Thenindhír’s eyes, before he pulled his hands away violently. Glorfindel was nonplussed. He had never had that effect before.

Thenindhír looked down and away submissively. “Please, I’m sorry. I just can’t… that is I –” He stopped babbling when Glorfindel’s hand covered his mouth. He removed his hand only to replace it with his lips, and Thenindhír surrendered totally to the kiss. One might almost say with relief. Glorfindel determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. But as the kiss continued, and Thenindhír gave way before him, allowing him to take what he wanted, letting Glorfindel push him back until there was nowhere to go, Glorfindel decided it wouldn’t necessarily be today. The other elf’s behaviour was so tempting, so inviting, and Glorfindel had never been one to turn down an invitation…

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Some time later, when they lay together, warm skin against warm skin, drifting, Thenindhír spoke.

“Tell me of Gondolin, then,” he suggested softly, and Glorfindel began to recount the city that was as real to him as yesterday. Sometimes it was still difficult to grasp that so much time had passed. He glowed with pleasure as he described the white, hidden city; his love for it would always be strong. He became lost and drowsy in his recollection while Thenindhír listened, occasionally giving him an encouraging word or two to make him continue. Glorfindel was happy to oblige as long as the elf played with his hair like that. It was so relaxing…

In the midst of recalling something of a particularly beautiful part of the woods, there was a shout outside. Glorfindel shook the cobwebs from his mind. Woods? When had he begun speaking of woods? But then the voice outside called again, and his heart turned cold.

“Orcs! Around ten miles away from here! Ready the camp!” Glorfindel stood immediately and began pulling on his clothes; aware of Thenindhír by his side, replacing his own hastily removed garments. Glorfindel had time to smile a little, but a thought struck him. Should he tell Thenindhír to remain here? Suddenly it was important to Glorfindel that he was safe. But then something completely unexpected happened.

Glorfindel watched in shock as Thenindhír produced a swordbelt from a hidden place between the books and strapped it around his waist. Thenindhír caught Glorfindel staring.

“What?” he demanded, a small smile beginning to play on his lips. “Did you think I don’t know how to defend myself?” Glorfindel tried very hard to imagine Thenindhír killing orcs, and couldn’t. Yet that was very clearly exactly what he planned to do.

Shouts for all to take their place in defence of the camp rang outside, and soon voices began to shout for Glorfindel. He hesitated. His lover suddenly kissed him so passionately that Glorfindel was driven back against the canvass covering the wagon, but it was over much too quickly, and there wasn’t time to repeat it. “Go!” Thenindhír urged him, and though they left the wagon together, they were soon lost to each other in the melee outside.

The elves had a solid defence plan that Glorfindel had devised, and it seemed to be working fairly well. Some of the roving band had fallen before reaching them, killed by the archer’s arrows who were posted at various places away from the camp, but there were still enough left to necessitate a real fight. Glorfindel watched in the eerie silence as they came closer, still out of range of arrows from the camp.

In the calm he distanced himself from everything else, making himself ready to fight. Even thoughts of where Thenindhír could be fled his mind. The archers struck first as soon as the first orcs were in range, and the first line fell. The second fell a moment or two later, but the orcs were already rushing forward. Glorfindel hefted his sword, his mind clear and uncluttered, and when the orcs arrived, they found Glorfindel a deadly opponent.

He became lost in the familiar sound of clashing steel and mud. The scent of blood began to fill the air, and Glorfindel displayed the same single-mindedness of those around him as the battle began in earnest.

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He walked among the wounded, searching for one face in the confusion. Everything smelled of earth and blood, it was like a battlefield, and Glorfindel fought to keep calm. A voice called his name, but he didn’t look around. Where was Thenindhír? The voice caught up with him, because suddenly there were hands turning him around. Glorfindel turned and met Elrond’s eyes.

“Glorfindel! What are –” Then Elrond seemed to realise, and he gave a strained smile. “Oh, no! He’s fine,” Elrond assured him. Glorfindel grabbed Elrond’s arms and closed his eyes briefly in gratitude.

“Elrond! Thank the Valar! Where is he?”

The half-elf gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “You know him,” Elrond stated. “One of the wagons was attacked, and he fought them off almost single-handedly.” He shook his head in exasperation, and sighed. “Now he is cataloguing the books.” Glorfindel looked around them at the confusion. He watched an elf draw a blanket up to cover the lifeless form of one of the fallen, and he couldn’t believe it.

“He’s cataloguing books?” he asked in disbelief. Elrond nodded, but then his face tightened, and he moved back from Glorfindel.

“I’m sorry… but I have work to do here.” Glorfindel nodded and let Elrond go. Cataloguing books indeed! Did he have no priorities? Glorfindel stalked off to find Thenindhír, determined to make him come and give a hand to those who needed healing and prayer.

He found the elf seated on the riser leading into the back of the wagon. He had picked several books out of the mud, and was now carefully wiping them off with a soft dry cloth. Glorfindel couldn’t believe it. He was going to say something, but then Thenindhír noticed him.

“Come and sit down, Glorfindel,” he said softly, indicating the place beside him. Glorfindel had no intention of doing any such thing. Although he was glad to see that Thenindhír was unhurt, he was becoming angry. How could he be sat here, looking after these books as if nothing had happened?

“What are you doing here?” he asked, shaking his head. “There are people that need help back there,” he stated, waving his hand towards the head of the camp where the makeshift healing area had been set up.

“Sit down beside me for a moment,” repeated Thenindhír softly, and it was only the slight sadness in his tone that stopped Glorfindel from dragging him away. With a sigh, he obeyed, and then looked questioningly at his lover. “Don’t worry, Glorfindel. I am helping, in my own way.” He had to admit that Thenindhír looked at peace with what he was doing, but this was madness! There were people suffering! Some had died! Thenindhír pressed a book into his hand.

“Take this book,” Thenindhír mused softly. “It was written by someone who was present at the oath taken by Fëanor and his sons. It gives an account of their journey to Middle-Earth down to the smallest detail, and gives one an impression of how such terrible consequences can come to pass.” Glorfindel looked at the book. To him, it looked just like any other.

“Ah, and this one,” Thenindhír smiled at the book he was holding now as he dabbed the mud from the leather binding. “This is an account of Beleriand as it was before the destruction.” Glorfindel craned his head to see, and saw the name Ereinion.

“Gil-Galad,” he said in some confusion. “Why is that important?”

Thenindhír smiled. “You think this book was written by the King,” he said softly. “But you are wrong. This was written by a boy who was not yet a King. Although Gil-Galad lives, and his Kingdom is great, the boy has perished. Now he only lives within these pages, in his words.” Glorfindel began to understand, and he took the book when Thenindhír gave it to him. The way Thenindhír had described it made him want to open the book and begin to read. But Thenindhír continued.

“This one is perhaps the most interesting of all,” Thenindhír noted. “It was written by many different people, the biggest part of it was written by someone who was only a small child at the time. It was written in thanks. Although the one this book commemorates was never likely to see it.” He smiled, and gave the book to Glorfindel. “It was written about an elf who challenged a Balrog in the encircling mountains, and contains a description of the fight, as well as details of the lives the elf saved that day.” Glorfindel gasped, and Thenindhír looked at him seriously. “As I say; there were many contributors.”

He held the book in his hands as if he was holding a life, his breath momentarily taken away by what this was. These were the words he longed to hear. These were the friends he had longed to see when he returned, instead of the elves who had greeted him. In this book, trapped in time – their voices. Glorfindel longed to read it, he ached to open the book, but now was not the time and he laid it aside regretfully, and carefully, fully intending to come back to it.

Glorfindel watched as Thenindhír stood and began to pick up more books from the mud surrounding the wagon. One of them had been trod into the mud, and Thenindhír brought it back immediately, laying it down carefully on the clean wooden floor. He opened the book to see the damage. The words were still clear, but much longer and the book would become unreadable. Patiently, Thenindhír began to layer blotting paper between the pages in an attempt to limit the damage. “This one is a story, written by someone in love,” Thenindhír said quietly. “It contains an early version of the ‘Lay of Leithian.’” Something in Glorfindel’s mind clicked.

“You are saving lives,” he breathed, understanding it at last. He jumped from the wagon and began to carefully gather up the last of the books that still lay in the mud. Thenindhír smiled at him thankfully.

“Truthfully, I am saving lives long passed away. But, yes, I believe these things are important to keep safe.” Glorfindel nodded. Then he remembered what else Elrond had said, and he looked concernedly at Thenindhír.

“Are you all right? Elrond said that you were alone when they came to you.” Thenindhír looked at him quickly, something like fear flashing in his eyes, then he went a little pale.

“Elrond…?” But then he relaxed so suddenly that Glorfindel had to doubt what he had seen. Thenindhír gestured at the fallen orcs around the wagon. “Don’t worry,” he said with a little smile. “They came off much worse than me.” Glorfindel looked at the dead. Again, he tried to imagine Thenindhír killing orcs, and couldn’t. But that was surely what had happened. As he looked around he caught sight of a head without a corpse. He looked questioningly at his lover, who shrugged. “He had fire,” Thenindhír stated mildly, as if that was sufficient enough a crime to be beheaded. Glorfindel stared for a moment, but then he couldn’t help it – he laughed.

“What are you laughing at?” Thenindhír asked in obvious consternation, and Glorfindel just laughed harder.

“You! You’re…” He gave up trying to find the right word and grabbed hold of Thenindhír to kiss him soundly instead and let his actions speak, once more feeling the elf almost melt before him until they were both sprawled on the floor of the wagon. Glorfindel moved down Thenindhír until he was biting at the elf’s neck. Thenindhír moaned, and Glorfindel moved to lie on top of him, rubbing the front of Thenindhír’s breeches with a muscled thigh so that the elf opened his legs and allowed Glorfindel to settle between them. He ran his tongue over the bitemark he had made and then lifted his head. Thenindhír gazed back at him steadily, but his attitude was one of complete surrender. Glorfindel realised that Thenindhír would probably let him do anything.

“Are you real?” he breathed, his mind and heart captured by Thenindhír’s contradictions. His answer was a kiss that threatened to make him forget where he was as surely as the battle had. “I don’t have time for this now,” he murmured regretfully against Thenindhír’s lips.

“I know. Come and find me later,” Thenindhír replied huskily, and there was such promise there that Glorfindel moaned. But this really wasn’t the time. Regretfully, he stood and pulled his lover back to his feet, then left Thenindhír to go back to where he was needed.

To be continued…


Author’s Note: As usual, comments and/or constructive criticism very much appreciated. Please review, or email me: pippychick_uk@yahoo.co.uk But please, if you are submitting criticism, try to refrain from swearing at me. I will delete any reviewer who does not have the necessary vocabulary to adequately and politely express their emotions.