A Warrior's Destiny

Author’s Note: Ok, thank you to everyone who has commented so far, I’m glad that there are people enjoying this.

Chapter Four

They spent around another week in the same place. When order was restored and stock taken, aside from some injuries; three elves had fallen to the attack. They were solemnly buried and prayers said over the cairns that marked their graves, and the elves remained in quiet contemplation to a one for a while after that. A swift runner was sent back to Lindon to deliver the sad news to the families of the fallen. No one voiced the thought, but it was there. They had been unfortunate.

Most, if not all, of Sauron’s forces were concentrated in the south and east of Eriador. There were still many bands of orcs roaming the countryside, but few were large enough to attack so successfully. Small comfort could be taken from the thought that such a terrible day would probably not come again. Glorfindel too, sought comfort in his lover’s arms, and he received it. Nothing more was said between them about the day. But Glorfindel found he understood Thenindhír’s actions with the books and he was grateful that Elrond didn’t feel the need to mention it again. He knew he would have to back Thenindhír on it.

However, the day came when they had to be moving on or never move at all. It took a few hours for them to reach the Baranduin, and then Glorfindel found himself with time on his hands. It was still morning. The problem of how to transport the wagons across the river had fallen to the advisor, Erestor, and so Glorfindel decided to find Thenindhír. He went to the familiar wagon, and was a little disappointed when Thenindhír couldn’t be found. He considered asking, but then decided against it. There was something else here he wanted.

He remembered the place the book belonged, and he found it nestling between its brothers, looking wholly unremarkable. Glorfindel stood with the book in his hands, resting one of his palms against the leather cover until it became warm beneath his touch. He tried to imagine what he would find within its pages, and a smile lit his face, despite the saddened and sombre mood of the last few days.

Sounds outside tore him from his daydreaming, and Glorfindel considered whether to read the book here. Around the wagon there was activity, as the elves who had volunteered to help readied other wagons for the crossing of the river. Although the fact that there were others within hearing distance didn’t stop Glorfindel from pursuing Thenindhír in here most of the time, he didn’t relish the thought of reading this book while life went on around him. Thenindhír was a part of the world of life. Whatever was contained within these pages deserved to be perused in peace. Glorfindel came to a decision. He tucked the book beneath his tunic and stole quietly out of the wagon, heading for the horses.

He took a stallion that had become one of his favourites during the journey. He wasn’t Glorfindel’s horse. Glorfindel liked to think that they belonged to each other. And true enough, he was as silent as Glorfindel was. He offered no explanation when he appeared at the ford that had been painstakingly built up, and no one thought to challenge him. Why should they? Glorfindel and the stallion crossed the Baranduin, and once on the other side, Glorfindel mounted him and rode for a while.

He wasn’t the first to cross the river. Those who scouted ahead had already crossed a long while ago, on the lookout for more trouble. But soon Glorfindel came to a stop. He had taken himself from the road and found a peaceful copse of trees where a small stream flowed, bubbling and splashing over the stones on the streambed, towards the larger river. It was perfect. He dismounted, and left the horse to enjoy the sweet grass while he found himself a comfortable place to sit beneath one of the trees.

He uncovered the book and once more held it in his hands. The sunlight had broken from the clouds, and it warmed Glorfindel where he sat, the golden dappled light played on the stream, making the water sparkle. If there was peace left in Eriador, then it was surely here. He felt a little silly all of a sudden, stealing off like this to read a book. Surely there were those who would laugh, and rightly so; Glorfindel was not known for reading. But then he thought of Thenindhír, and he realised that his lover would understand his reasons for this little excursion. He smiled at the thought, and felt a rush of love well up in him towards Thenindhír. Satisfied, Glorfindel reverently opened the book.

At first he was shocked by how many elves had added their voices to the book. Whether that was a sentence or a page. All of their thoughts flowed together perfectly, and Glorfindel read things that would have sounded preposterous to someone else reading this book. Little details about their lives after the fall of Gondolin. To Glorfindel, it was exactly what he wanted to see. It was the missing link between the past and the present, and he devoured it all gladly, silently thanking every single person who had spared a word or two. All of a sudden he felt that had he still been there, he would have been able to face those in Lindon.

When he at last came to little Eärendil’s contribution he was shocked at the length of it. As a child he had filled in several pages in neat, if slightly oversized script. He described how the battle had looked from his eyes, and then told of the things Glorfindel had done with obvious admiration. But then the tone and tenor changed, and he realised from looking at the date that Eärendil had continued to write in this book right into adulthood. He told of his first and only love, Elwing, and the birth of his sons. He did not speak of his wandering at sea after Tuor and Idril, his parents, but it was there layered in between his words. Glorfindel thought on all he had been told about their fate since his return, and he found himself entranced by this account of a life, forgetting just what he was reading.

But there was really nothing more, Eärendil’s fate had intervened, and the book of his life was unfinished. At the back of the book was a child’s drawing. It was a burial mound, overgrown with green moss and golden flowers. It was his resting place. The childish script likened the yellow blooms to Glorfindel’s hair, and a sad verse followed about how sorrowful it was that Glorfindel had been taken from them.

As he stared at all this, Glorfindel’s feelings underwent a change. He found himself a little uncomfortable that his body had been buried, and yet he was here – alive. He thought back over what he had read of Eärendil and his life, and what he had been told about his and Elwing’s role in ending Morgoth’s influence in Middle-Earth; and he realised that his sacrifice had made that possible. But it wasn’t really his sacrifice, was it? He traced the picture of the grave thoughtfully, a slight frown drawing his eyebrows together.

No, the Glorfindel this book commemorated was not him. He had died. As the people of Gondolin had changed – becoming exiles, and then subjects of the King Gil-Galad – so too had Glorfindel. The idea of Glorfindel had continued to grow and change in his absence, and he was not the elf this book made him into. He smiled sadly. Everyone would disagree with him, he was sure. Even Thenindhír would. But he knew the truth, and suddenly he realised that his decision to go with Elrond had been the right one. How could he possibly live up to this if he had remained in Lindon? He wouldn’t have. He would have spoilt it for them. It was right that he had a new life to begin, just as it was right that those Noldor who had known him before held their legend and their ‘beloved’ Glorfindel unspoilt in memory.

He sat for a while longer in contemplation, until it became clear that the afternoon was certainly early evening, then he stood and secreted the book once more for the ride back.

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He was just replacing the book, noting that the fording of the river had been accomplished in his absence, when a shadow fell over him.

“Hello, Glorfindel,” a soft voice said, and he looked around, hoping that Thenindhír would not ask him anything about his day. He knew he had been missing for most of it. But Thenindhír was sharp, and he gave the bookshelf a long and knowing look before turning to face Glorfindel again. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I have now,” he said quickly, laughing when his words made his lover blush. Then Glorfindel took pity on his kindly meant question. “Yes, I did. Thank you for showing it to me,” he said seriously, and Thenindhír smiled at him. “Where were you today, anyway?” he asked then.

“Oh… I volunteered to help out. I was concerned,” he replied, and Glorfindel thought there was more to his words than it seemed. Thenindhír spoke too slowly.

“Concerned?”

Thenindhír nodded, and looked around. “About the books.” Glorfindel laughed, and pulled him close, only then realising that his lover had something concealed behind his back. He reached around.

“What do we have here?” he asked in delight, taking the wine bottle and goblets from Thenindhír’s hands carefully and stepping back. His lover shrugged.

“It’s been a long day without you. I thought you might consider spending the evening with me.” He was shy in the asking, and Glorfindel thought that he hadn’t heard such a good idea for days. Still, he couldn’t help teasing a little.

“Oh? And what about everyone else? Do you want to deny them your company yet again and make them think me incredibly selfish?” Thenindhír blushed again but didn’t say anything. But it had been a long day, and Glorfindel decided not to push the issue tonight, especially if Thenindhír had been helping with the work today. It meant he must have been a little sociable. “I should make you join them with me, but I find I like being selfish,” Glorfindel said, pulling the cork from the wine bottle and filling one of the goblets. “What I really want to do is get you drunk and then take advantage of you.”

“You want to take advantage of me?” Thenindhír asked, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. But that changed to alarm when Glorfindel pulled Thenindhír down with him to sit on the cushions they had scattered on the floor some days ago, admitting this was usually where they ended up. He took the wine from Thenindhír’s hand and placed it next to them, along with the bottle and the other goblet. He ran his hands through his lover’s dark hair, dropping little kisses on his cheeks and jaw as he did so. Finally, he claimed Thenindhír’s lips, pulling the elf fully onto his lap as he did so.

Glorfindel smiled against Thenindhír’s mouth when he felt his lover’s hands come to rest on his waist as he leaned into the kiss. He deepened the kiss, and his lover gave everything to him as usual. Glorfindel felt himself get hard and hungry for more, and he moved against his lover a little, letting him feel it. Suddenly it was important that Thenindhír accepted him for who he was, not who he was meant to be. When he had tasted enough of his lover to make up for not seeing him all day, Glorfindel drew back. Thenindhír had his eyes closed, and his lips were parted in invitation, made wet and tempting already by Glorfindel.

“Something tells me I won’t even have to get you drunk, will I?” he asked deeply, deliberately making this about lust, wanting to ruin any illusions Thenindhír might have. “Well?” he asked when the elf remained quiet. He moved his hips quickly, thrusting upwards so that his lover moaned and threw his head back. “Will I have to get you drunk?”

“No, you won’t.” Glorfindel smiled at the confirmation. “I am yours already.”

“Then look at me,” he commanded. Thenindhír obeyed, and his beauty suddenly overwhelmed Glorfindel. They were so different. Light and dark. Thenindhír was so sensual in his darkness, he looked sinful, his eyes clouded with desire. For a moment, Glorfindel once more had the wish that his lover would take a more active role. How would it be to be beneath him, pleasuring him? The thought made him even hotter, and he knew that words would soon be beyond him. “Who am I to you?” he persisted, wanting to hear the truth, wanting to know that this was right, and that Thenindhír was not with him for any other reason than that he liked what Glorfindel did for him.

“You are Glorfindel,” he said quietly, “my Glorfindel,” he added, as if he knew what his lover was thinking. Maybe he did. Thenindhír was far from stupid. Glorfindel decided it was enough. With his arms around Thenindhír, it was a simple task to roll them over until their positions were reversed. He heard the breath catch in his lover’s throat as he began to immediately untie the laces that held his tunic together, letting his long, golden hair brush against the uncovered skin as he moved down still further.

He had meant to make this hot and immediate, to claim the other elf completely, leaving him in no doubt that this was sex as well as it was love. But instead, Glorfindel found himself making love to Thenindhír in a way he perhaps hadn’t so far. So slowly, he undressed his lover with teasing little kisses and caresses until Thenindhír was moaning his name under his breath. He shed his own garments at the same time, and then was shocked when Thenindhír’s hands began to roam over his body. Glorfindel settled down beside his lover to allow it, captivated by the look in his eyes. Sultry, dark, and almost possessive. He wondered if his earlier taunt about selfishness had been far from the mark, and closed his eyes at last, submitting to Thenindhír’s attentions.

Soon, Glorfindel found himself moaning and arching up into Thenindhír’s touch, sure that if the beautiful teasing carried on much longer he would be beyond all reason. And indeed, it continued until Glorfindel once more trapped his lover beneath him with a growl, needing to satisfy them both. He resisted the urge though, and prepared Thenindhír slowly, looking deep into his dark eyes all the while. He stole a lingering kiss when he was done.

“Turn over,” he whispered, before moving his weight so that Thenindhír could comply. Gently, he brushed the long, dark hair to one side so that he could run his palms down over Thenindhír’s back. The elf had one of his arms flung out high above him, but rested the side of his head on his other arm where it folded to cushion him. His eyes were closed, and he whimpered a little when Glorfindel’s hands reached his buttocks. He kneaded them a little, watching, before finally giving in and using some of the oil he had used to prepare his lover to cover his own hardened flesh.

He took Thenindhír without further warning, but pushing inside him slowly enough so that the joining was pleasurable for them both. He held still for a moment or two before beginning the smooth strokes that seemed to please them more than anything else. His lover moved with him, making it perfect, and Glorfindel only lasted a few minutes before spilling inside him, carried over the edge by Thenindhír’s deep, throaty moans.

He left the warm embrace of his lover’s body carefully, and encouraged him to turn over again. Glorfindel covered the palm of one hand in the oil, and reached down to take Thenindhír in hand, drawing more of the low pleading from him until he too found release at Glorfindel’s touch.

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“You are Glorfindel of Imladris,” Thenindhír said some time later when they lay spent and relaxed in each other’s arms. The light had completely faded now, and they were in darkness. Neither of them felt compelled to light a candle though. They were comfortable together. He had shared his day with Thenindhír, and told him of his feelings towards the book. He was surprised when Thenindhír didn’t contradict his idea that Glorfindel of Gondolin was dead. Glorfindel of Imladris. He liked it.

“Will you tell me of somewhere else, this time?” Thenindhír asked softly, breaking into his thoughts.

“Where?” Glorfindel was happy to talk about old times if that was what his lover wanted. It was clear that Thenindhír had a real thirst for knowledge, not for romance, and Glorfindel loved him all the more for that.

“Valinor,” he sighed. Glorfindel took a deep breath at the challenge. He had travelled with the Noldor back to Middle-Earth, but strangely memories of Valinor tended to fade quickly, and it had been so very long ago. He remembered the two trees though, and he began to speak about them, certain that he was not doing them justice with his words. He drifted off still speaking, wrapped in Thenindhír’s arms…

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Over the next several weeks the elves made better progress. There were no more attacks, although several smaller orc bands were despatched by the guards who travelled ahead. Still Thenindhír would not consent to join the others of an evening, preferring instead to spend time with his books. But no one asked about him, and Glorfindel spent evenings with his new friends, talking of the challenge before them, and nights with his lover. Life was good.

They neared the place that Imladris was going to be built, having crossed the last river in their path a few days ago. The crossing was easier this time, the army having built a substantial artificial ford for their own use. Everything was confusion. There were many tents set up for the army, and many more had been hastily erected for the refugees that came from Eregion. There were terrible stories of loss and destruction, and so their arrival was not quite as hopeful as Elrond or Glorfindel would have liked. It was a reminder that they were at war, and almost as soon as they arrived, Glorfindel found himself busy with plans. He organised teams of elves to begin collecting the stone for the defences and the main house that would be required if Imladris was to stand against an attack. He had little time for Thenindhír, which dismayed him. But then it seemed his lover was kept busy too. The advisor, Erestor, had drafted in anyone who was talented with a pen to help draw the detailed diagrams Glorfindel and his teams would need to follow.


To be continued…


Author’s Note: Thank you for reading, I hope you are enjoying it. If you liked this chapter, please leave a review to tell me, or email me: pippychick_uk@yahoo.co.uk