A Warrior's Destiny
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
4,224
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
4,224
Reviews:
12
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A Warrior's Destiny
Author: Pippychick
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: N/C 17
Warnings: Slash; explicit sexual content; mild violence
Summary: Glorfindel returns to Middle-Earth for a reason. But what is it?
Disclaimer: Middle-Earth and all of the elves mentioned herein are the property of the Tolkien estate, and I am only borrowing them for a short while. I write only for my own enjoyment, and hopefully as a compliment to the original author. I make no money from this.
Author’s Note:
First of all, my sincere thanks go to Milly for beta reading this.
I have endeavoured to stay as true to canon as is possible here, although Tolkien himself had more than one idea about the when and wherefore of Glorfindel’s return, which makes that a difficult task. I hope that you can still enjoy this, however, and will forgive any small mistakes in that area.
Thenindhír is an invented name, and means ‘true one.’
A Warrior’s Destiny
Prologue
The white ship glided through the still waters of the sea. It was black without and within, the kind of night that only existed on the ocean. Loneliness here was close, as if the mood could take a lover. A slight splashing of water at the prow was the only audible sign of the ship’s passage. It was as finely crafted as any vessel this sea had seen. It was an elven ship, and that was nothing so very unusual. But it was heading in the wrong direction. Even now, most of the ships were heading away from Middle-Earth to the shore of the ancient havens, not towards the world of men, as this one was.
There were only two fëar on board. One, a singular elf with the most extraordinary golden hair; his name was Glorfindel. And the other passenger was his long-time companion, an old man. He had many names, too many to mention, but Glorfindel thought of him as ‘the grey wizard.’
Gandalf smiled at Glorfindel where he lay on the deck. Since the beginning of the voyage he had insisted on sleeping under the stars. He had agreed to return, and he didn’t even know why. Truth be told, not one of them did know why he was important. Only intuition, a certainty that this elf still had a role to play in the fate of Middle-Earth. It was enough to ask. And it had been enough for Glorfindel to accept.
Ah! He would miss Glorfindel very much. He would miss their walks, their discussions. He smiled again. He would even miss their arguments. But it was time for knowledge to pass from Glorfindel’s mind. For him to arrive in Middle-Earth with awareness of the nature of his return was too heavy a burden. Really, the memories of his long life were enough. But to take away his memory was to draw a line through that part of his existence, and Gandalf regretted it more than he could say. Glorfindel had to die. Again.
One day he would either fulfil his part, or return to Valinor, and then he would remember. But for now… Gandalf stared until the mist of Glorfindel’s breath stopped rising, his body too still. There was not far to go; the journey was nearly at an end, and soon he would leave Glorfindel alone. Gandalf sighed rather regretfully and looked out to sea, watching in the grey early morning light for the first sight of land.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Fire flashed at him in the darkness. Impossibly big, fantastically immense. Glorfindel faced the threat, and he knew with a sudden certainty that he couldn’t survive. For a moment there was fear in his fëa, so strong and bright he could taste it on his tongue. Bitter. But Glorfindel swallowed hard and stood his ground. He smiled in the face of his doom; he would die but he would fight. And fight well.
He didn’t fall straight away, and he didn’t die as soon as he thought he would. Glorfindel could smell his own burning hair, the sweetened smell of his skin as it cooked. Even when he lost his sight the warrior continued fighting. His eyes were useless, but he could still sense and still seek out the source of the heat and strike at it.
Glorfindel gasped, breathing suddenly with lungs that were burning. Get up! His hands curled reflexively in the cool green grass, tearing it from the ground in clumps. Impossible! This was a trick – he must stand again. In a movement so quick that it scared away the birds that had been watching him in his stillness, Glorfindel sprung to his feet and drew his sword. He heard the flickering sound of the monster’s fiery whip, and he lunged towards the sound, narrowly missing the branch the birds had been perched on before they departed on fluttering wings. Then he opened his eyes.
He didn’t look for long. But the image burned into his mind didn’t make sense. He had seen a flash of a wood, not a cave. Sunlight instead of fire. Glorfindel paid attention to his other senses, and realised that somehow he had moved. Somehow he was somewhere else. He looked around him now, and he didn’t recognise the place. What was this? Glorfindel staggered as he tried to make sense of it. He remembered the battle, he remembered the enemy overrunning Gondolin, and himself, helpless to stop it. He tried… and he knew he had died. Why didn’t he remember Mandos? Was this Valinor?
He began to walk slowly through the woods, searching for a clue, and it came in the form of a halfling. The little man looked at him for fully half a minute, before turning and bolting through the undergrowth. Glorfindel didn’t have the heart to follow. Not Valinor then – he was still in Middle-Earth. Suddenly Glorfindel felt very tired, more tired than an immortal should feel. He felt cheated of something, robbed of a memory that should have been his. He shook his head, still confused, and began walking again more purposefully. He would find out where he was first.
As Glorfindel walked his steps became lighter and he seemed almost jaunty. It was an attitude he would become famous for. If he was still in Middle-Earth, and still alive, then he would live. It was faultless logic, and now Glorfindel smiled in the sunshine as he looked around him, finally relaxing. He breathed in deeply. Wherever and whenever it was – it was spring. He always loved spring.
Glorfindel began his journey. He didn’t know where he was going, but he was heading in the right direction. Almost as though the choice wasn’t his, every step brought him closer to the people he had left so long ago. He walked in the direction of Lindon, and the kingdom of Gil-Galad. Some would take his coming as a sign, for Gil-Galad was on the eve of war with Sauron in Eriador.
To be continued…
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please review, or email me: pippychick_uk@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: N/C 17
Warnings: Slash; explicit sexual content; mild violence
Summary: Glorfindel returns to Middle-Earth for a reason. But what is it?
Disclaimer: Middle-Earth and all of the elves mentioned herein are the property of the Tolkien estate, and I am only borrowing them for a short while. I write only for my own enjoyment, and hopefully as a compliment to the original author. I make no money from this.
Author’s Note:
First of all, my sincere thanks go to Milly for beta reading this.
I have endeavoured to stay as true to canon as is possible here, although Tolkien himself had more than one idea about the when and wherefore of Glorfindel’s return, which makes that a difficult task. I hope that you can still enjoy this, however, and will forgive any small mistakes in that area.
Thenindhír is an invented name, and means ‘true one.’
Prologue
The white ship glided through the still waters of the sea. It was black without and within, the kind of night that only existed on the ocean. Loneliness here was close, as if the mood could take a lover. A slight splashing of water at the prow was the only audible sign of the ship’s passage. It was as finely crafted as any vessel this sea had seen. It was an elven ship, and that was nothing so very unusual. But it was heading in the wrong direction. Even now, most of the ships were heading away from Middle-Earth to the shore of the ancient havens, not towards the world of men, as this one was.
There were only two fëar on board. One, a singular elf with the most extraordinary golden hair; his name was Glorfindel. And the other passenger was his long-time companion, an old man. He had many names, too many to mention, but Glorfindel thought of him as ‘the grey wizard.’
Gandalf smiled at Glorfindel where he lay on the deck. Since the beginning of the voyage he had insisted on sleeping under the stars. He had agreed to return, and he didn’t even know why. Truth be told, not one of them did know why he was important. Only intuition, a certainty that this elf still had a role to play in the fate of Middle-Earth. It was enough to ask. And it had been enough for Glorfindel to accept.
Ah! He would miss Glorfindel very much. He would miss their walks, their discussions. He smiled again. He would even miss their arguments. But it was time for knowledge to pass from Glorfindel’s mind. For him to arrive in Middle-Earth with awareness of the nature of his return was too heavy a burden. Really, the memories of his long life were enough. But to take away his memory was to draw a line through that part of his existence, and Gandalf regretted it more than he could say. Glorfindel had to die. Again.
One day he would either fulfil his part, or return to Valinor, and then he would remember. But for now… Gandalf stared until the mist of Glorfindel’s breath stopped rising, his body too still. There was not far to go; the journey was nearly at an end, and soon he would leave Glorfindel alone. Gandalf sighed rather regretfully and looked out to sea, watching in the grey early morning light for the first sight of land.
Fire flashed at him in the darkness. Impossibly big, fantastically immense. Glorfindel faced the threat, and he knew with a sudden certainty that he couldn’t survive. For a moment there was fear in his fëa, so strong and bright he could taste it on his tongue. Bitter. But Glorfindel swallowed hard and stood his ground. He smiled in the face of his doom; he would die but he would fight. And fight well.
He didn’t fall straight away, and he didn’t die as soon as he thought he would. Glorfindel could smell his own burning hair, the sweetened smell of his skin as it cooked. Even when he lost his sight the warrior continued fighting. His eyes were useless, but he could still sense and still seek out the source of the heat and strike at it.
Glorfindel gasped, breathing suddenly with lungs that were burning. Get up! His hands curled reflexively in the cool green grass, tearing it from the ground in clumps. Impossible! This was a trick – he must stand again. In a movement so quick that it scared away the birds that had been watching him in his stillness, Glorfindel sprung to his feet and drew his sword. He heard the flickering sound of the monster’s fiery whip, and he lunged towards the sound, narrowly missing the branch the birds had been perched on before they departed on fluttering wings. Then he opened his eyes.
He didn’t look for long. But the image burned into his mind didn’t make sense. He had seen a flash of a wood, not a cave. Sunlight instead of fire. Glorfindel paid attention to his other senses, and realised that somehow he had moved. Somehow he was somewhere else. He looked around him now, and he didn’t recognise the place. What was this? Glorfindel staggered as he tried to make sense of it. He remembered the battle, he remembered the enemy overrunning Gondolin, and himself, helpless to stop it. He tried… and he knew he had died. Why didn’t he remember Mandos? Was this Valinor?
He began to walk slowly through the woods, searching for a clue, and it came in the form of a halfling. The little man looked at him for fully half a minute, before turning and bolting through the undergrowth. Glorfindel didn’t have the heart to follow. Not Valinor then – he was still in Middle-Earth. Suddenly Glorfindel felt very tired, more tired than an immortal should feel. He felt cheated of something, robbed of a memory that should have been his. He shook his head, still confused, and began walking again more purposefully. He would find out where he was first.
As Glorfindel walked his steps became lighter and he seemed almost jaunty. It was an attitude he would become famous for. If he was still in Middle-Earth, and still alive, then he would live. It was faultless logic, and now Glorfindel smiled in the sunshine as he looked around him, finally relaxing. He breathed in deeply. Wherever and whenever it was – it was spring. He always loved spring.
Glorfindel began his journey. He didn’t know where he was going, but he was heading in the right direction. Almost as though the choice wasn’t his, every step brought him closer to the people he had left so long ago. He walked in the direction of Lindon, and the kingdom of Gil-Galad. Some would take his coming as a sign, for Gil-Galad was on the eve of war with Sauron in Eriador.
To be continued…
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please review, or email me: pippychick_uk@yahoo.co.uk