Glorfindel Unleashed

Title : 'Glorfindel Unleashed', 5/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
Type: FPS
Beta: Beloved Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR Tolkien – I’m only playing with them.
Rating: (NC-17 for this chapter, NC-17 overall)
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor in later chapters
Warnings: M/M, implied child abuse, angst, character death

Author’s notes: Author's notes: AU as in it is my idea, but canon where possible with regard to LOTR history. Please note - I subscribe to a very moral position and Tolkien's ethics regarding underage elves. There will be NO illicit carnal connotations in this story.

Summary : When Glorfindel becomes a child’s protector, he does not realise what Erestor will be to him when he reaches majority. Can love survive the trials of death and destiny?

Chapter 5


F.A. 510


Glorfindel groaned as he breached the puckered opening of the elf beneath him. His breath coming in short gasps, Erestor fought not to tense against the invasion; chocolate-brown eyes wide open, trust and love for the golden lord shone through the pain. His grip on Glorfindel’s hand had clenched as the Elda embedded himself to the root of his shaft and the tight channel enveloped him in delicious heat. Though thoroughly prepared, Erestor was small and Glorfindel was not. Glorfindel grieved at the pain he knew he was inflicting upon his dear one and he leaned forward to kiss the parted lips, sweeping his tongue into the depths of the sweet mouth. The slender elf in turn reached up to welcome his lover eagerly. Glorfindel waited, not moving until the lithe body adjusted to his girth, and when he did move it was in gentle strokes, easing the angle of his motion until he obtained the reaction he yearned for.

Erestor cried out, his body arching. A flood of intense pleasure swept through his body as his lover’s shaft pressed against his prostate. Erestor pushed up again, seeking the touch which would repeat the ecstasy, clamping his legs firmly around Glorfindel’s waist in an attempt to make the Elda drive deeper into him; to claim him, body and soul. Glorfindel fought the urge to dive forcefully into his beloved’s tight chasm, knowing that the sweet Noldo would be more than sore in the morning anyway. He maintained the steady rhythm of his gentle thrusts, watching Erestor writhe beneath him, grasping fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders. Black strands clung to the sweat on Erestor’s face and his musical voice cried out, pleading for release.

Glorfindel could hold back no more, needing Erestor as much as his darling needed him. His large hand reached between their bodies, pulling at Erestor’s turgid erection with firm strokes as he increased the pace and force of his thrusts.

Erestor screamed one last time as he came undone, the cream of his completion surged over Glorfindel’s fingers and smeared onto his belly in thick spurts. The clenching spasms of Erestor’s passage brought Glorfindel over the edge and he spilled his hot semen, filling his love as he released his soul.

“My love, my heart!”

****

“Elbereth!”

Glorfindel sat up in the bed, panting heavily in the aftermath of the intense orgasm, sweat covering his broad frame. The evidence of the reality of the dream stained the single sheet which was draped over his long legs and he grimaced in distaste at the mess. Using the corner of the sheet he cleaned himself quickly then flung the fabric off him, swinging his long legs over the side of the large bed. His breath had slowed almost to normal and he cast his mind back over his dream. He smiled grimly as he realised he had called out the wrong name on waking, for it was the Vala Irmo who controlled the world of dreams. He silently sent acknowledgement to the Vala but he did not know whether to send his thanks. The past eight years had been an extreme exercise in self-control for both him and Erestor. The reality of the dream would in no way help him to maintain his restraint in expressing the love he felt for his pen-vuil.

The sun had risen and looking through the open doors of the balcony he could see it had been up for some time. It had not disturbed his rest – no indeed, something else had done *that* - for his room faced west, not east. Glorfindel could hear the daily clamour of an awakened city and without thought for his nakedness strolled out onto the balcony. His nonchalance stemmed from the knowledge that the balustrade covered him to above waist height and also that this building, the House of the Golden Flower, was not overlooked by any other. Indeed the view was stupendous. Two streets away he could see the bustle of the Great Market, alive with activity as always – in fact more so today, the eve of Tarnin Austa. Beyond the Great Market, to the northeast, were the gleaming spires of the King’s Tower and the adjacent palace. Beyond that again he could see the Main Gate of the city and the long incline down to the road to the outer gates. To the south was the curve of the city wall against which Tuor and Idril had built their dwelling. Glorfindel smiled at the thought of little Eärendil, the shining light in Turgon’s heart. The King doted on his young grandson and the little elfling was a frequent visitor to the House of the Golden Flower. Finally, on turning to the right Glorfindel knew he would be able to see the North Gate of the city, a warning that the North held the dangers of Morgoth and his evil hordes.

Glorfindel sighed thinking of the events of the past years. First the fall of Nargothrond to those hordes, a devastating blow to the Elven residents of Middle Earth; then only three years before, following the death of Elu Thingol at the hands of the dwarves, the final destruction of the royal family of Doriath. Fëanor’s sons had descended upon that realm, destroying Menegroth of the Thousand Caves and slaying Dior, Nimloth and their sons in pursuit of their mad oath. Of their daughter Elwing there was no sign though it was rumoured that she had escaped to the south taking the Silmaril with her. Would that it had been found by Celegorm and his siblings, perhaps this insane kin-slaying would cease. Never had he thought when he grew up in the gentle city of Tirion that such devastation would be wrought for the sake of jewels yet he too, in a youthful desire for adventure, had hearkened to the call of Fëanor.

Glorfindel passed his hand over his eyes in pain at the remembrance of Alqualondë and the first kin-slayings. That his hands were free of the blood of his kin was a miracle but he, like so many others, had thought that no such could happen again. Still Menegroth had fallen. Would the Fëanorans never be sated? Glndelndel tried to take comfort in the beautiful city which was now laid before him, but even that was poor solace. When Tuor had arrived in Gondolin from the outside world he had brought with him a warning for the king from Ulmo of death and destruction and of need to flee the Hidden City. Turgon had been reluctant to take such a step and Glorfindel could see why. In his remembrance of Tirion he could only draw favourable comparisons with this magnificent settlement the High King had sculpted. Glorfindel could hardly bear to think of leaving, but in the end he had voted with Tuor and Idril in favour of exodus. Unfortunately Maeglin’s influence was strong and Turgon had listened to his sister-son. At least Idril had taken the warning to heart. Glorfindel was one of only a few who knew of her secret way out of the city.

The calls from the streets below roused him from his musings and he smiled happily as he remembered again what day it was. The eve of Tarnin Austa – and Erestor’s forty-ninth begetting day. The significance was not wasted upon him. The time now until they could unveil their love would be counted in months not years, in days not months. Time had weighed heavily on them both and more so on Erestor, for his dear one was inflicted with the impatience of youth. It had been very difficult to convey their love to each other when there were so many restrictions. Only by the sweetness of smiles or chaste kiss upon forehead or cheeks could physical expression be given reign. They had developed subtle signs, looks or words which held meaning for their hearts alone and with these they must be content. Not even amongst their closest friends could they show their love, so strict was Turgon’s edict.

With that thought Glorfindel was prompted to move and make haste to bathe. The late morning awakening had been in preparation for tonight’s vigil but they were expecting company for a celebratory lunch for Erestor. He had better hurry if he was to have any time alone with his pen-neth before their arrival.

His ablutions, though somewhat hasty, were thorough and he dressed with care. A sky-blue tunic edged with gold-embroidered celandines was matched with form-fitting deep blue leggings. High fitting, highly-polished boots completed his ensemble. His hair shone like burnished gold and hung almost to waist length, with warrior-braids to hold it back from his face. His ornamentation was little, a solid gold ring bearing the symbol of his house and the mithril ring upon his smallest finger. He smiled at the thought of this little ring, a trinket he had brought with him from Valinor. It had been a gift from his parents and was engraved with the rune of the letter ‘G’. He planned soon to have a second ring made to fit his index finger, with Erestor’s initial emblazoned on it. Thus on this day next year he would place the first ring upon his beloved’s finger as a symbol of betrothal, to be exchanged to the right hand on their day of binding. Erestor’s fingers were long and slender and what barely fit on Glorfindel’s little finger would find a perfect home on his perfect elf. He looked at the ring again. It had been many years since it had been used as the pledge it had once been, for Erestor had grown sure of his returns before he reached the age of thirty and thus he had gently dropped the ritual.

So many memories. A young Erestor crying out for him in the night, needing to be held before returning to sleep; waking in the morning to find an elfling bouncing on his stomach; taking baths together using perfumes and oils which would foam in water, so that Erestor could place upon him a human’s ‘beard’. These gentle pleasures had ceased decades ago when Erestor was still an elfling, but they still brought forth sweet smiles. Of course, since their oaths such innocent intimacy had been totally forbidden. By mutual consent neither visited the other in their personal chambers but met only in rooms where their privacy was not assured, thus removing temptation - which was why Erestor would now be waiting for him in their dining chamber. Patting his tunic pocket to ensure that he bore a special gift, Glorfindel exited the room.

On his arrival in the family dining hall Glorfindel was struck dumb once more by his darling’s beauty. Erestor stood gazing out of the window, his face in profile. The arched brows, the piercing eyes, the high cheekbones and straight nose, all were strong features of his dark beauty. Erestor was dressed in his finest garb, a rich red waistcoat edged with silver braid worn over a crisp white shirt, and teamed with slim black leggings. The red of the tunic glowed in the sunlight streaming through the window and brought forth otherwise unseen highlights in the raven hair. Glorfindel’s heart leapt to see him thus framed in Anor’s glory. BlesBlessings on your special day, pen-neth.”

Erestor’s head whipped round and he immediately broke into a blazing smile, crossing the room in four strides to throw himself into his beloved’s open arms, pressing tight against that firm body. Glorfindel felt Erestor’s head next to his heart for the youth was a full head shorter than him, and he desired nothing more than to hold him there forever. But he drew upon his strength of will and held Erestor away from him, his large hands upon the young elf’s upper arms.

“So, do you feel one whole year older?” He joked. Erestor grimaced.

“Aye, I suppose I do – but I wish I were but one year older still.” He glanced up, his brown eyes shining through dark sweeping eyelashes, tempting, teasing. “I know that then you would not hold me thus, would you, my lord?”

Glorfindel knew that look and also knew not to respond. Nevertheless a small smile broke through and a penitent Erestor laughed aloud.

“I know, I’m sorry!” he cried. Glorfindel again said nothing but patted his pocket instead.

“May I give you your begetting-day gift now, pen-neth?”

Erestor’s eyes lit up and Glorfindel laughed in delight. No matter how old an elf became, presents were always welcome.

“I don’t have to do a treasure hunt this year?” Erestor asked. The previous year Glorfindel’s gift had been a beautiful black gelding, and Glorfindel had set clues about the house for Erestor to follow to the stables. A delighted ward had named the horse ‘Hirnîn’ in honour of his guardian, the guardian of his love.

Glorfindel produced the soft silk pouch from his pocket, placing it in Erestor’s hand. Curious, Erestor ed ted the pouch then gasped in delight. In his palm lay, hung upon a thick gold chain, an oval locket made of that most precious of metals, mithril. Emblazoned on the front was a flower wrought in gold, a celandine.

“It is beautiful!”

Glorfindel looked at him with eager eyes. “Open it,” he urged. Erestor needed no prompting. Carefully releasine cle clasp he opened the two halves to reveal a tiny portrait on each side, one each of Glorfindel and himself. Erestor lifted his head, mouth open in astonishment.

“I had them done at the same time as I commissioned our paintings for the main hall, pen-vuil. Do you like it?”

“Do I…?”

Glorfindel found himself enfolded in a fierce grip as Erestor expressed his delight in a physical manner. He allowed himself a moment, a vocal expression of his feelings – a statement which could sound innocuous. He pressed his lips to Erestor’s black hair.

“I love you, my dearest ward,” he murmured. The grip tightened briefly before Erestor released him to fasten the locket about his neck.

There was a knock at the door then it opened slightly, a head draped in raven hair peeking round the wood. A mischievous grin punctuated his question.

“Is this a private begetting day or can we join in the celebrations too?”

The lord and his ward laughed in merriment as Ecthelion entered followed by Tuor, Idril and their little son Eärendil. Erestor came forward quickly to take the elfling into his arms, for he had great affection for the young prince, and the child for him. Mirieth and Díwen joined them and Erestor was thus surrounded by those he loved most. The celebratory lunch was soon served and the servants released so that they could celebrate as a family, albeit an extended family. The presents came forth as the food was consumed, forming a large moundund und Erestor. Tuor and Idril had given him a fine set of quills and ink; Mirieth gave him a new tunic of deep green, a colour he had only recently taken to wearing, and Díwen’s gift was leggings to match. Erestor opened Ecthelion’s gift, a mahogany box containing a pair of long elvish knives. Their handles were also wrought of the dark wood and were inlaid in silver. Erestor thanked Ecthelion profusely.

“Well, pen-neth, since you decided to concentrate on the knives your skill has improved – not that much, mind – but I hope that these will encourage you to apply yourself. I’ve given up on your wielding the sword or the bow to any great extent. The knives are very fine-edged and *very* well balanced. Use them with honour, mellon nîn.”

The two dark elves bowed to one another in respect. All knew that Erestor leaned to a more scholarly life. Indeed, Turgon had become aware of Erestor’s keen analytical mind and had invited the youth to sit in on many council meetings. It was a great honour to do so amongst the lords of the Great Houses and often afterwards Turgon questioned him on his opinions and understanding of the issues. Glorfindel could see the day when Erestor would become one of Turgon’s advisors. Talk now within the chamber turned to events within those council halls. Mirieth and Díwen understood the delicate nature of some of the discussions and had shown their discretion in the past, so the talk was not stinted.

“Maeglin is gaining too much influence over the king, “ moaned Ecthelion. “Sorry, princess, but it is true – and I trust him not.”

Idril nodded in agreement, not at all offended. “Since my aunt’s death my father has tried to compensate for his loss, but I fear that Maeglin knows only too well my father’s weakness – his love of riches. That he would not listen to my dearest love and Ulmo’s warning is proof of that.” She squeezed her husband’s hand and reed aed a grateful smile in return.

Erestor, who was still cradling Eärendil, shook his head. “I fear that something is going to happen, and very soon. His trips to the jewel mines in the Encircling Mountains have been regular and frequent as we all know, but in the last few months especially I have noted a change in his demeanour. There is a tension, a secret that is either exciting or frightening him.”

Glorfindel shook his head in bewilderment. “I have seen no such change in him pen-neth. He is still the manipulative little rat I have always known.” Ecthelion laughed but Erestor remained serious.

“It is evident in the body movements, the way he holds himself. He knows something, something evil – and he gloats!” Idril shuddered and Tuor moved to comfort her.

“Aye,” said the human. “His attentions to Idril have not lessened since our wedding or Eärendil’s birth. He is untrustworthy. Our hidden passage is now finished in case some need arises.”

All present were in agreement for Mirieth and Díwen had been entrusted with the knowledge of the tunnel only recently. They were in charge of any evacuation of the ellith and children of the House and had laid plans for such. Mirieth tried to lighten the discussion by turning the topic back to Erestor.

“What will you do for the rest of the day, Erestor? Have you any plans?” Erestor nodded enthusiastically.

“Aye, Glorfindel and I will ride on the plains to our favourite lake for a swim. I love riding Hirnîn.” He paused, schooling his face into a picture of innocent speculation. “I wonder what it feels like to be ridden by one who loves you - to feel that weight press upon you in excitement and exhilaration. It must be very - fulfilling.”

Eyes widened in alarm and Ecthelion sucked in a breath. Fortunately Mirieth and Díwen did not notice.

“Oh Erestor, I am sure Hirnîn loves you and is proud to be your mount,” she smiled. She was so proud of her former charge and took as much pleasure in his achievements as in those of her own grown children. The awkward moment passed and the conversation took a more innocent bent and turned towards the imminent celebrations. Finishing the delicious repast, their guests took their leave in a flurry of hugs, embraces and, from Eärendil, sloppy kisses. After waving their farewells Glorfindel and his ward were left alone. Erestor knew what was to come as Glorfindel turned on him.

“Are you mad? What was that in aid of? For so long we have held our oath - I will not be forsworn when the end is in sight and I will not allow you to be either!”

“I am sorry!” came the desperate cry. Glorfindel was not mollified.

“Aye, so you said before!” He was shocked when Erestor in an astounding fit of frustration picked up a crystal glass and threw it against a wall where it fractured in a satisfying crash. Erestor sat heavily on a chair, tears welling in his eyes.

“I cannot help it! All day I have felt this way, aroused and strained, for this morning I woke from a dream so intense and real -“ He stopped as Glorfindel gasped, and looked urgently at him, seeing that the golden lord knew of that of which he spoke. “You too?”

The elf lord nodded slowly. “I too. Ai, pen-neth, to what end has Irmo tormented us so?”

Erestor winced. “It was indeed a torment. Glorfindel, I am a virgin. How could I dream so vividly of that which I do not know, have not experienced, if Irmo had not placed the dream in my head?” He looked up shyly at his beautiful love. “Is it truly so - wonderful - to lie with someone? For though I dreamt of a little pain, I also felt as though I reached the stars, and I tumbled with joy and rapture back to the earth when you - filled me.” He reddened slightly at the last, knowing that it was something of which they should not speak. Glorfindel nodded.

“When you are with the one you truly love, yes, I believe so. I have pleasured and have been pleasured by many, but with none have I experienced that sharing of souls. Yet, it is a delight beyond reckoning. Only with you will I reach true ecstasy, ind nîn.”

Glorfindel was troubled by their shared experience. Was this dream a blessing or a warning? He could not decide, nor could he let this conversation continue. He stood abruptly, for he too had sat in shock.

“We should continue our day as planned, pen-neth, for we must return and be ready at sundown for the vigil.”

And so they left, Glorfindel upon Asfaloth and Erestor upon Hirnîn, galloping freely across the Plains of Tumladen. As they left behind the city a sense of wild abandon overtook them and they yelped with delight as they raced over the flat ground. Erestor had for once only partially braided his hair and the raven strands flowed behind him, whipping around in the strong breeze. Glorfindel could feel the sense of liberation in his beloved and both understood it and felt it himself. Out here they were not observed. Out here they could be themselves. Out here – if they wished – they could speak openly. But they wouldn’t. Oaths had been sworn.

They reached their favourite lake and spent the next few hours swimming, splashing, diving. They wore their loincloths throughout their sport. It was late afternoon when they returned to the city where they dressed themselves as befitting their House for the Festival. Strolling the streets as twilight fell Glorfindel walked beside Erestor, his arm draped across the youth’s shoulders, Erestor’s dark head leaning against his neck. Music played softly and the festive lights twinkled high in the trees. The stalls were bedecked with tempting wares, sweetmeats and fine wines yet there was none of the raucous calls that would assail the ears during daylight hours. Voices would not be heard until the chorus greeted the dawning light of summer. Glorfindel smiled at the thought of Ecthelion’s beautiful voice raised in praise. The finest vocalist in Gondolin, the Lord of the House of the Fountain was always the first to call the city to song.

They made their way to the eastern wall, to the section reserved for the House of the Golden Flower, and settled on the seats there. It would be a long night but it was a vigil no-one begrudged in their spiritual silence. Further to their left Turgon and his household were seated under jewel-coloured canopies, and Idril, Tuor and Eärendil joined him in familial harmony. Time passed and the stars began to shine. Glorfindel sat, Erestor leaning against him, staring up at the gems of the sky. Suddenly a child’s voice called out into the silence, long before it should have been broken.

“Look, Nana! The sun!”

All turned to face the east, bewildered as the sky there remained dark. Then mutterings began against all precepts of the vigil. Erestor stood, turning to face the north and he urged Glorfindel to rise too.

“Look!” he whispered, pointing north. There, above the Encircling Mountains, was a glow; a red glow which could have been that of the rising sun, but which was obviously not. The mutterings became louder and a palpable fear ran through the spectators. It increased as the glow passed over the mountains as if the sun came down the slopes to the city. A voice cried out, speaking that which they all feared to say.

“Melkor! Melkor comes!”

A strong shout came from the left of them, cutting through the incipient hysteria. Turgon, High King of the Noldor, stood proud upon the battlements.

“Warriors of Gondolin – to arms!”

Elvish:

pen-vuil – dear one
pen-neth – little one
ind nîn – my heart
Hirnîn – ‘My Lord’
ellith - female elves (pl.)
elleth - female elf (sing.)