Ahyamë

Title: Ahyamë : Change
Chapter: Nine
Author: Orchyd Constyne and Ashek Thordin
Contact: ashekandorchyd@gmail.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/
Update List: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/nairn_orchyd/
Fandom: LOTR
Archive: OEAM
Feedback: Yes! Always!
Disclaimer: We do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slash, het, incest, twincest, rape, torture, BDSM, kink, mpreg (eventually), violence, angst
Beta: Helena Snow-Renn, Chloe Amethyst
Cast: Thranduil/Erestor, Thranduil/Gwindor, Gwindor/Erestor, Gwindor/Thranduil/Erestor, Maglor/Maedhros, Maglor/Daeron, Maedhros/Fingon, Daeron/Thranduil, Thranduil/OMC, Daeron/OMC, Erestor/OMC, Glorfindel/Gelmir, Amrod/Amras, Legolas/OMC, Námo/Ingwë, OMC/OMC, OFC/OFC, OMC/OFC... just to name a few!
Summary: In the Fifth Age of Man, all the Elves who had wandered through Arda have returned to the shores of Aman.
Author Note: This fic is dedicated to the memory of Di, who had been a great lady. She left us far too soon.

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November, Tirion, Aman

As Gwindor entered the estate of Lord Elrond, one thing was strikingly clear: the architecture of this estate and that of Thranduil's were constructed after very different times and locations. Where Thranduil's home in Tirion resembled the sturdy dwellings of the Noldor from the late First Age, with simple pillars, vaulted ceilings, and an abundance of windows, Lord Elrond's manor and the surrounding grounds looked unlike anything Gwindor had seen before his death. The masonry was carved expertly, each detail of the woven arches and tiered levels of the main house a delight to the eyes. It seemed that Elrond had a love of fine sculptures and wide, open spaces, for there was an abundance of both as he walked through the courtyard and into the most prominent structure.

When he asked a young Noldo maid where he could find Lord Glorfindel, he was immediately directed to the practice fields behind the main residence. The early afternoon had brought pleasant sunshine to the chilly morning, and Gwindor could not help but smile as he approached the large clearing. A sparring match was in progress, and while he could not identify the dark-haired Noldo wielding a curved sword with elegant precision, there was no mistaking the golden Elf who circled him with a smirk on his face, easily dodging each attack that was thrown at him.

Glorfindel had been out on the field since early morning, working his way through warm-ups, and then trainees. Now that the sun had begun to creep higher, Glorfindel shed his outer tunic, his undershirt wet with sweat and clinging to his body. Within moments, he had disarmed his opponent, standing above him with a grin, point of his blade hovering over the Elf's throat. "I win, Lothvaen, and thus, you must do my paperwork for the week," Glorfindel crowed.

Lothvaen glared as he shoved the sword away, hauling himself up and dusting dirt from his clothes. "Lord Erestor warned it was not wise for a scribe to challenge a warrior."

"Not usually, no," Glorfindel agreed. "But, it was educational. You look particularly lovely sprawled on the ground before me."

A flush crept over Lothvaen's features. "Cheeky bastard."

"Aye," Glorfindel laughed. "Will I see you tonight?"

Lothvaen was quiet, as if debating, before he nodded.

"Good." Glorfindel pressed a kiss to Lothvaen's cheek, but his eyes were drawn to the edge of the field. "Ah. My appointment has arrived."

"Is that Thranduil's new pet?" Lothvaen asked.

Glorfindel frowned, not appreciating his lover's comment about Erestor's friend. "That is not a kind way to refer to him, Lothvaen. Gwindor is Thranduil's cook, nothing more."

"No one lives with Thranduil and does not offer additional services," Lothvaen said snidely.

"This Elf does," Glorfindel insisted. He crossed the field, smiling brightly at Gwindor. "Lord Gwindor! Lord Erestor told me to expect you today. How do you fare this morning?"

Gwindor smiled softly. Glorfindel's manner was pleasant, and he felt instantly welcomed by the tall Noldo. "I am as well as can be expected, Lord Glorfindel. It is an honour to finally meet you. We may have been on the same battle field, but our paths never crossed."

"But they do now," Glorfindel said with a chuckle. "All paths eventually cross, I would think. Now, Erestor said you were in need of a sympathetic ear?"

Gwindor looked down a moment, nodding solemnly. "I have nightmares, vivid nightmares of Angband. Erestor suggested I speak to you about them. They are rather," he swallowed, "difficult to bear."

Glorfindel motioned with his head for Gwindor to follow him. "The nightmares following trauma can be debilitating. Almost as if the mind believes the memory is not simply a memory, but the experience itself. Yes, I am familiar with the pain of such nights. Fire and shadow, smoke and pain." Shadows clouded Glorfindel's usually cheerful blue eyes. "The lash of a Balrog's whip, remembered within Irmo's domain, is just as potent and painful as the moment it truly happened."

"I only read of your downfall recently," Gwindor said as they walked, looking up into those vibrant eyes and seeing the same depth and darkness he was certain was often visible in his own eyes. "You did a very brave thing." There was a note of admiration to the words, though his expression was still weighted with the dreams he had endured the past two nights. "Unfortunately, you are right that the memories do not lose their intensity. Fourteen years in Angband leaves quite an impression."

"It was stupid, not brave," Glorfindel said dismissively. "Do you ever have a night when the nightmares do not haunt you?"

"Only when I do not sleep, or when I take a strong sleeping draught," Gwindor sighed.

Glorfindel nodded. "And they are always of your time in Angband?"

Thinking back, Gwindor shook his head slightly. "I have had more than one dream each night, but it is the nightmares of my torture that have caused me to be woken by Erestor and, just this morning, Thranduil. The other dreams are not... distinctly unpleasant, compared to the more intense nightmares. They are more like single moments from my past, frozen in time so that every detail becomes overwhelmingly apparent."

"Tell me something," Glorfindel said as they reached the weapons house. He entered, replacing the sword borrowed for sparring, and then turned to face Gwindor. "How do you feel about your time in Angband? Do you feel you served your purpose there? Served your lord and realm while imprisoned?" His eyes were keen as he gazed at Gwindor, the light in the blue depths alive with something few of those reborn possessed.

Leaning against the doorway, Gwindor rested his head on the stone frame with a slow exhale. Guilt and shame were clear on his features, though he did make an effort to conceal them from Glorfindel. "I... did nothing of great note. They broke us, one by one; they tortured us until we gave in, becoming little more than mindless chattel, fearful of punishment and receptive to anything that would bring relief of any kind, though even relief became a mockery. I simply held stubbornly to hope." It had been a hope that was quickly destroyed upon his return to Nargothrond, and the mere memory of it caused him to visibly wince.

"Of course you did something of great note, Gwindor," Glorfindel said, his voice firm. "You survived."

Gwindor's jaw clenched, and he was silent for a long moment before he turned tormented grey eyes to Glorfindel. "I wish I hadn't," he breathed, regret nearly palpable in the soft words. "I wish I hadn't survived, Glorfindel."

A blond eyebrow arched. "That is a shame. Life is the greatest gift, no matter the packaging. I would have thought one who lost his life would understand that more than one who hadn't."

"Aye, life is precious," Gwindor agreed, for had he not been struck to his core by the slightest of blessings since his rebirth? "Life was the gift I could have ensured for my realm if I had never escaped and brought Túrin to Nargothrond. Why was I allowed to live? Just so I could witness my love and hope crumbling to pieces before my eyes? To be back in my beloved realm, with Faelivrin at my side..." He closed his eyes, a wistful smile briefly curving his lips. "Ah, it was such bliss, Glorfindel! And then... it was twisted, just as brief moments had been in Angband." His eyes filled with tears as he looked imploringly at Glorfindel. "If I was to die, why could it not have been in *there*, where my mistakes were paid for in my own blood and not by those I loved?"

Glorfindel let out a slow breath. "Do you believe that I am responsible for the loss of Gondolin? Or Ecthelion was? Or perhaps Turgon?" A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "After all, Ecthelion and I lost Aradhel, and Turgon allowed Maeglin into Gondolin. Had we chosen differently, perhaps Gondolin would not have fallen. So, does the blame lie with one of us?"

Gwindor shook his head vigorously, wiping at his face when the tears from his eyes fell with the movement. "No, but--"

"Of course not," Glorfindel said, cutting Gwindor off. "We were no more responsible for the loss of Gondolin than you were for the fall of Nargothrond." He walked out of the weapons house, back out into the sunny winter day. Glorfindel looked up at the crystal blue sky. "I learned something long ago, Gwindor, and perhaps it is a lesson you will benefit from. In the beginning, Eru created the Ainur, and the Ainur Sang into existence Eä, its tale from beginning to end." The old, wise eyes turned to Gwindor. "I believe we do have some choices, freedoms Eru bequeathed us out of love and a desire for the unknown, but the *events* of our world?" Glorfindel shook his head. "Nargothrond was meant to fall, meldir. With or without your actions, it would have fallen."

Though Gwindor opened his mouth to protest, he felt the words die in his throat. He could not argue with the wisdom Glorfindel shared, and for many moments he simply stared at the blond, unable to form a response. "Then..." he hesitated, his voice trembling with strain as he tried to keep his despair locked inside. "Then all I did, all I suffered, was for nothing?"

"No." Glorfindel's eyes held Gwindor's. "Your deeds and your suffering protected other Elves, did they not?" He had done some research on the Elf before him; Glorfindel had even tracked down the handful of Elves in Tirion who had been in Angband at the same time and, because of Gwindor's aid, had escaped. "When you could have escaped, you did not. You freed others instead. Those lives, Gwindor, would be worth a hundred years more in Angband if it meant they were free, would you not agree?"

Tears escaped his dark lashes against his will as he nodded. "Knowing that they had a chance... was worth all the risk, all the torture and more."

"You have your answer, then, Gwindor, from your own mouth," Glorfindel murmured. "You know your deeds were not in vain, if you would allow yourself to see that." He smiled fondly, his eyes gentle. "You will eventually allow yourself to see your actions without the haze of guilt." He paused, looked at his dirty hands, his brow slightly furrowed. "I know that when I did see my actions for what they truly were, the nightmares lessened. I still have a nightmare on occasion, but when I wake from it, I know..." his words trailed off, and then he looked up at Gwindor. "When I wake, I know I am safe in my bed with my lover at my side, and there is no burning shadow waiting to consume me a second time. That is the comfort that drives away the lingering demons of my previous life."

Gwindor was shocked to silence as he realised that he had been expertly manoeuvred to where he refuted his own arguments. While his heart was still heavy, he felt something give slightly, letting the light of the day shine through the sliver. A tentative smile slowly brightened his face, and he sniffled as he closed the distance between Glorfindel and himself. In a sudden movement, he wrapped his arms around Glorfindel, squeezing the blond Noldo in a tight embrace for several moments before pulling back. "You have a way with words, meldir," he said softly, brushing his bangs from his face. "And you have someone you love by your side? I am glad to see that there is life to be lived after death."

Though surprised by the gesture, Glorfindel quickly returned the embrace, chuckling. "So I have been told." He tended to talk too much, and Erestor never ceased to remind him of the flaw. "I care about them, yes, but sadly, they are not the mate I have been searching for. They warm my bed, ease my loneliness, and I do the same for them. It is an acceptable arrangement to us both for the time being."

His brow furrowed in confusion and disapproval as he regarded Glorfindel. "You mean you just... use them?" His thoughts turned to Thranduil, and Gwindor fought against his reflex to tense, not wanting to ruin what had just been shared between them.

"Use them?" Glorfindel asked, frowning. "Of course not. Lothvaen and I care very much for one another. He is one of my closest friends. One of the few Elves who never saw me as some sort of hero and merely saw me as Glorfindel. Our choice to be intimate has nothing to do with the slaking of just physical needs." His eyes narrowed some as he took in Gwindor's posture and gaze. "Why did you automatically assume I was using him?"

"Because they--" Gwindor cut himself off, his face turning crimson with shame. "I would never choose to be intimate with someone I do not love."

Glorfindel smiled kindly. "Then you are lucky to have such restraint. Many of us cannot tolerate loneliness indefinitely, and so we choose to be intimate with those we find attractive and are fond of. Love is not so easily found..."

"It is not just restraint, Glorfindel. I can't..." his voice trailed off as he looked down, worrying the sleeve of his shirt with restless fingers.

Glorfindel may have been many things, but he was no idiot. His expression became one of soft understanding. "Ah. I see," he murmured. "And you believe love will make that leap to the physical bearable?"

"Perhaps," Gwindor whispered, his brow deeply creased as he tried to put all he felt into words, "but even then, I am not certain. May I speak openly with you?" He looked up to see Glorfindel nod and swallowed, holding the deep blue gaze as he continued. "When I returned to Nargothrond, I was filled with joy to be around my betrothed again... but thoughts of being intimate, even with Finduilas, whom I loved with all my heart, frightened me to my core."

"What frightened you, Gwindor?" Glorfindel asked, keeping his voice level and soft.

"The shame," he breathed, forcing himself not to look away. "The shame I felt with even the slightest stirring frightened me. And there was the thought of making her feel such shame, hurting her... as I was hurt." Gwindor bit his lip, teeth grinding into the soft skin to keep the tears from his eyes. It was an admission he had made to none other than Erestor, and even the kind scribe had not heard so much from his lips.

Glorfindel reached out and reassuringly gripped Gwindor's shoulder. "It isn't about hurt," he said, his words carefully chosen. "It should never be about hurt. What was done to you is unspeakable, and the shame does not lie within you; it is within those creatures who abused you. I hope you find someone you can trust, Gwindor, who will show you the joy of giving and taking, what the dance is truly like. It's pleasurable and beautiful, when you trust and care for the person you invite so close." He might not be in love with Lothvaen, but he valued the Elf, counted him among his closest friends, and the pleasure they shared was among the best Glorfindel had been privy to. Glorfindel smiled, a sparkle of mischief in his eyes. "You may wish to start with a kiss when you find someone you fancy. See if there is any heat that ignites inside you... You might learn that intimacy is not something to be afraid of when consent is asked and given."

"Trust, consent, pleasure..." he softly repeated the words back to himself, still confused but trying with all his might to understand. "I have never felt those things, Glorfindel." Gwindor was silent for many moments, considering all the wise Elf had said. "Thranduil asked to kiss me this morning."

"I believe you will feel them when you are meant to," Glorfindel replied, and then he laughed softly. "Did he? The gossip around the main square is that you already share Thranduil's bed."

Gwindor's eyes widened until they looked far too large for the rest of his face, which turned a slightly deeper shade of pink. "They are lies! I just cook for him!"

"Those of us who know Thranduil know that it is nothing more than gossip," Glorfindel assured Gwindor, finding the other Elf's shock amusing.

Gwindor blinked several times. "I would never! I don't trust him. He does not even like me, and yet he asks to kiss me! I realise I came from Nargothrond, but surely I am not the only one to reject such blatant advances." His realm had been one of deep conservative values. Kissing was quite a personal act, never done in public and always with profound meaning behind it. Anything beyond kissing was left to those who were betrothed or bonded mates. The younger generation had challenged those values, dancing more provocatively and showing their affections in a less discrete manner, but Gwindor's protest to the way Nargothrond was structured was never extreme like his brother's had been. He had found the one he wished to wed quite early, and so he had never quite understood what made Gelmir so promiscuous.

"No one denies Thranduil," Glorfindel said, laughing at the thought of Thranduil's advance being rebuffed. "He also never asks. King Thranduil of Laicanan takes. I find it odd he asked you instead of merely doing it. Even the Noldor in Tirion, Gwindor, have fallen to the charms of Thranduil. His seduction is not easily refused."

Gwindor's head tilted to the side and a small frown curved his lips downward. "It was easily refused by me. Thranduil... confuses me. His forwardness frightens me most of the time, and yet I find myself wanting to please him, doing my best in the kitchen so he will not look at me in annoyance as he so often does." He paused, thinking back on the events of the early morning. "The moments when he is kind are so rare, but it is in those moments that I feel the most satisfied with how I work... and with the small steps I am taking to open up." Talking to Glorfindel in and of itself was a step forward for him, and it seemed to be helping even more.

"Everyone seeks to please Thranduil... his youngest son has the same odd trait. You simply want to see them smile, no matter what you have to do. Thranduil's displeasure is especially difficult to bear," Glorfindel admitted. His blue eyes focused on Gwindor, his expression guarded. "Thranduil has suffered a great deal in his life. His means of combating the sorrow is to drown himself in the physical. However, he would *never* force anything from anyone. Never. If you have told him no, he will not force any intimacy, though I must admit, I would not like to be in your boots at the moment."

"Why not?" Innocent curiosity coloured Gwindor's features as his charcoal eyes stared at Glorfindel.

A smile tugged at Glorfindel's lips. "Because one of two things will occur, if I know Thranduil. He will either pursue you, seduction his game with the prize being you in his bed, or he will ignore you utterly in favour of a new bedmate every night to show you he does not care that you rejected him. My bet? The latter. And the louder he can make his playmate, the better. He is spiteful, Gwindor, so watch how you cross him. I would hate to see you hurt by him, and I do not mean physically." Glorfindel knew Thranduil's cold cruelty was legendary, and none who annoyed him dared to do so again.

"It is not my fault he asked for something I could not give. Can he not just accept the rejection with some dignity?" Gwindor did not like the idea of Thranduil's conquests being pushed into his face. It made him uncomfortable already to hear such things from down the hall, which was why he always left the manor when he knew Thranduil had company.

"I am only warning you," Glorfindel said, his tone gentle.

Gwindor nodded, repeating the phrase he had told Erestor, "I don't want him to hurt me."

Glorfindel's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Tread carefully with Thranduil, Gwindor. He is cold darkness that wears a beautiful mask. His heart froze Ages ago, and what was left behind when Sauron was done with him is but a shadow of the Elf I knew in Lindon so many years ago. That Elf laughed... this one... does not."

He chewed his lower lip as his mind was overtaken with questions and possibilities he could not voice. Something deep inside him wanted to know what made Thranduil the way he was, all the intricacies that built the imposing, arrogant, unashamed character he had seen from the moment he arrived on the outskirts of Tirion. "I will tread carefully as you suggest, Glorfindel. Thranduil certainly has nothing to fear from me. I am just a simple Elf."

"There is where you are wrong, meldir," Glorfindel said, crossing his arms as he began to walk towards the main house. "You are anything but a simple Elf."

The dismissal in the words was impossible to miss, especially to someone like Gwindor, who had commanded troops of his own, and he looked after the receding figure of the Noldo until it disappeared into one of the larger buildings in Elrond's manor. Glorfindel had given him much to think about, and Gwindor meandered through the streets of Tirion, letting the words sink in and attempting to straighten out his emotions as he slowly found his way back to Thranduil's estate. As he hung his cloak and stepped out of his boots, replacing them with his warm indoor shoes, he thought about his guilt, wondering if he would ever find a way to accept all that he felt responsible for in the First Age. But when he went to tie his hair back from his neck and begin preparations for the midday meal, a distinct cry shattered the peaceful hush of the winter afternoon. Groaning, he leaned his head forward on his forearms as more cries and impassioned moans flooded his sensitive ears.

It was going to be a very long afternoon, and if Glorfindel knew Thranduil as well as he said, it was likely just the beginning of a long demonstration by his employer.

Gwindor just hoped Glorfindel was wrong.

***

It was their habit.

Each evening, the three Elven lords gathered in Elrond's private study, the massive doors thrown open to the chilled early winter night. Glorfindel sat, his legs draped over the large armchair he occupied, a glass of wine held gently between his fingers as he gazed at Erestor. "He is a complicated Elf, and Thranduil is making him even more complicated," he observed, a frown to his lips. "Though, what does Thranduil ever simplify?"

"Indeed," Erestor agreed, taking a sip from his own glass of wine before setting it down on a low table set before the loveseat which he shared with Elrond. "They are complete opposites and yet, historically, they share certain commonalities. Both have fought in wars and been tormented by the enemy. Both found love, and then lost it, though the circumstances were quite different, and both have been left severely altered by those losses. It is fascinating, if you ask me."

Elrond arched an eyebrow. "And who asked you?"

Glorfindel chuckled as he shook his head. "He rejected one of Thranduil's advances. Thranduil actually *asked* to kiss him, and Gwindor declined. I can only imagine the sour taste that left in Thranduil's mouth."

"He will make Gwindor pay for that slight," Elrond remarked, swirling his wine.

"Thranduil is not the forgiving sort. I am certain he is already making some ellon scream, simply out of spite." Erestor laced his fingers atop his knee. "Gwindor will not handle it well. He is quite innocent despite all that he experienced before his death."

Elrond gazed out the door, a thoughtful expression on his face. "What I have to question is why Thranduil asked Gwindor for anything... and why Gwindor did not give in, as many of us have."

"He isn't being coy, if that is what you're thinking, Elrond," Glorfindel said before finishing his wine. "Gwindor possesses as much sensuality as a rock, honestly. He is completely unaware of his body and what positive uses it can be put to."

"That is to be expected," Elrond said with a nod. "With what he endured, any Elf who chose to take on the task of bedding him would have to have an infinite well of patience."

The room fell silent for long moments, and then Glorfindel spoke, his voice very soft. "Thranduil possesses an infinite well of patience."

It was an indisputable fact, and Erestor picked up his wine glass again, swirling the liquid as he thought. "His interest has obviously been piqued. I worry for Gwindor. The slightest show of sexual interest toward him causes a very violent reaction. Patience is not all that is needed; patience in tandem with care and tact would be best. It is not Thranduil's patience that I doubt."

"Gwindor demands love," Glorfindel murmured.

Elrond snorted, placing his glass on the table. "Thranduil will love no one, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel sighed, hanging his head over the arm of his chair. "This is a dangerous game being played, and I don't believe either player is fully aware of that fact."

"The pieces are already in play, though," Elrond said, eyes on his chessboard across the room. "The King desires to capture the Pawn, and he will be ruthless in his methods."

"Perhaps with the help of a knight or two, the pawn can 'mate' the king," Erestor smirked over the edge of his glass.

Glorfindel laughed softly. "We're too old to play matchmakers, Erestor."

"You are right," Erestor sighed, emptying his glass. "It is a pleasant thought, though."

Elrond continued to stare at the chessboard, a small, sly smile on his lips. "I think the two of you have already done enough, don't you? Erestor has flamed Thranduil's curiosity, and Glorfindel has given Gwindor much to think on with regards to our golden king. My experience tells me it is only a matter of time before one of them compromises their personal set of beliefs for the other." His eyes glittered as he looked between his two friends. "The question is, which one?"

Erestor smiled as he leaned back against the cushions of the loveseat, unable to answer the question, finding each possibility more unlikely than the next. "I should thank Gwindor. Tirion is much more exciting with him stirring everything up."

"I am not certain this is the sort of excitement Tirion needs!" Glorfindel laughed. "We had enough scandal with Thranduil prowling the streets each afternoon for that night's company."

Elrond's grey eyes shifted to Erestor. "Why, yes. Thranduil's prowling stopped until just recently. Have you spurned the king's bed, meldir?"

"Of course not," Erestor chuckled. "I have more sense than that. I believe Thranduil simply grew tired of how I silenced myself for Gwindor's sake."

Glorfindel smirked as he glanced at Erestor. "You will not play his games?"

"Not to compromise Gwindor's state of mind. He is too sweet an Elf to be plotted against," he answered with a fond smile. "Besides, Thranduil is being an ass."

"He tends to be an ass quite frequently," Elrond agreed. "But, you have to admit, it is strange behaviour for him."

Glorfindel nodded. "It is. No one has ever told him no before." It still amazed Glorfindel! "What do you think this means, Erestor? You are closest to him."

Erestor pulled his long braid over his shoulder, his fingers stroking the dark, woven mass absently as he thought. "I think Thranduil will eventually let Gwindor close. How close depends on many things, timing not the least among them, but there are too many small oddities in his character to ignore. The fact he brought Gwindor to his own estate is out of the ordinary. He repeatedly states his dislike for Gwindor's innocence, and yet he goes to great lengths to bring out that innocence himself. And asking permission... If I did not know you so well, I would have thought you lied, Glorfindel. I cannot recall the last time Thranduil asked permission to visit attentions on another! I would even hazard a guess that it has not happened since Arasiel was alive."

"I don't believe he asked her much." Elrond stretched, wincing as bones made noise. "While I believe he loved her as much as he is capable, she was such a quiet, sweet woman that he was able to traipse all over what boundaries she meekly tried to erect."

Glorfindel nodded. "They seemed happy, though."

Elrond smiled then, memories vivid in his mind. "They were. Even with all his catting about, they were happy, and had those four beautiful children. She was his life, and when she died, so did he." He shook his head as he stood up. "It's a shame. We all remember a much different Thranduil..." His words trailed off, and each Elf was drawn into the memories of who Thranduil had been, long before darkness and death.

"Gwindor might be able to bring him back," Glorfindel said, uncurling from his chair, yawning as he rose.

Erestor nodded as he also rose from his seat, a speculative look on his sharp features. "He just might, Glorfindel... if he can find the strength he lost when his spirit was finally broken."

Elrond ushered them both to the door as night settled heavily around them. "Let us pray to Eru that those two broken spirits can manage to not make things worse, hmm?"

"Knowing Thranduil as we do," Glorfindel said, grabbing his cloak as he ducked out of the room, "he will make this all a world of worse before reason finally overcomes his baser instincts of rutting for the sake of rutting."

Smiling at them both, Erestor wrapped his own warm cloak about his shoulders. "Thranduil may have brought home a mouse, but perhaps it is a mouse who can tame the beast within."

TBC...