Razor's Edge

Beta: Silvara

2: a kiss in the darkness

Eryn Lasgalen - December 8th, 6 of the Fourth Age

"Ecthelion!"

Haldir cringed with memory as Glorfindel's voice reverberated through the talan. He turned to Celeborn. "This cannot go on."

"It goes as long as he refuses to see." Celeborn looked through the doorway into the small room. Glorfindel, the proud golden warrior of Gondolin, sat on the bare floor clad only in leggings. His arms were bound with mithril cuffs that were chained together and then to the floor. They gave him some mobility, but not much. It was as much for his own protection as it was for theirs.

"He has been here for years. He does not improve. The Ring has long been destroyed; was that not what held him so bound?"

"No, the tendencies were already within him. The Ring simply woke them, brought them to his attention. Now, he needs to deal with them." Celeborn entered the talan with Haldir, walking slowly to his charge. "Good morning, Glorfindel."

Damp hair hung before wild eyes, the bare chest heaving with exertion to rid himself of his confines. "Good morning, Lord Celeborn," was the sneering response.

"I see we are more lucid today. Perhaps we should continue where we left off?" Haldir was always impressed with how Celeborn remained unphased by the Balrog-slayer, no matter what the warrior said or did.

"By all means. I believe you were explaining to me the nature of the faer, and I was calling your mother an Orc-loving whore."

"At least your memory has not suffered," Celeborn said dryly.

"Not a lot of other things to do in here," Glorfindel said calmly, rattling his bonds to make his point.

"If you cooperate today, I'll bring you some charcoal and parchment to draw on. How does that sound?"

"Like a pathetic bribe to elicit supplicance."

"Perhaps."

"I promise nothing," Glorfindel spat. A moment later, though, his shoulders slumped and a change came across his eyes. In a voice something more like what the Lórien Elves remembered, the Elda added, "But I will try."

"Fair enough," Celeborn allowed. He stepped further into the room, seating himself on the floor in front of Glorfindel, but just out of his reach. He crossed his legs and placed his hands, palms up, on his knees. He closed his eyes and stilled his mind.

Haldir held himself at the ready. It would not be the first time that Glorfindel had attempted to attack Celeborn during this moment of meditation. Today, however, the warrior sat silently, eyes filled with a pronounced ache. Celeborn opened his eyes and flexed his fingers. Slowly, a blue glow grew in his palms. In moments, each hand now held a small ball of light, spinning and pulsing with the Lord's heartbeat.

Celeborn drew in a deep breath, and exhaled, squeezing the lights in his fists. His eyes shone silver, and the light swelled, bursting from between his fingers in crackling bolts that struck Glorfindel in both temples. The Balrog-slayer screamed as the connection was made, and Celeborn plunged into the maelstrom of Glorfindel's mind once again.


Tirion, Aman - August 21st, 68 of the Fourth Age

Erestor grabbed hold of Gildor's hand, pulling the warrior as Turgon pulled him. "You're coming with me!"

"What?!" Gildor tripped after his lover, eyes wide with apprehension.

"I am not going with him by myself, Gildor. I barely know Turgon!"

Turgon laughed, drawing the two Elves after him. "You worry over nothing, Erestor of Imladris. He will not harm you."

"I am not worried about harm," mumbled the Councilor. "I just know that most Elves are not given a private audience with the Valar."

"You'd be surprised," was Turgon's response.

Erestor fell silent as he followed the Gondolin King and gripped Gildor's hand tighter. They wound their way through the immense Elven city and soon both Gildor and Erestor were hopelessly lost. Finally, Turgon stopped before an immense home and motioned for them to enter.

"Where are we?" Erestor cautiously entered the grand home, looking at the rich tapestries and dark furniture that populated the main room.

"We are in my home. Can I offer you something to drink or eat?" Erestor watched Turgon enter a room to the left and assumed it was the kitchen. Turgon came back out, bearing three goblets and a dark bottle. He offered them glasses and then poured the rose colored wine.

Erestor sipped the cool liquid, tasting sweet berries on his tongue. "Thank you."

"You are so timid, Erestor. Nothing like I expected you to be." Turgon sipped thoughtfully at his wine.

The younger Noldo shifted uneasily. "Why do you all seem to have been expecting me? And me specifically?"

"You'll see. Come, sit. He will join us shortly." Turgon lead them to the main room, Erestor and Gildor sitting close to one another on the large sofa that dominated the room. Turgon thought it amusing how Erestor gripped Gildor's hand. This was not the Elf he had known so long ago, but then again, Erestor was not who they had all expected.

Gildor looked about them. "Why are we in your home, my Lord? I thought you said Manwë wished to speak with Erestor."

"He does. He will meet us here." He laughed lightly at their surprised looks.

"I was under the impression he had a home we could openly visit..." Gildor continued, slightly confused.

"Of course Manwë has a house, but do you really want to go trekking up Taniquetil to get to it?" Turgon shook his head. "This will suit his purpose -- and ours."

Erestor chewed at his lip and fidgeted with his wine glass. He felt very unprepared, something the Councilor rarely felt. This was not how he envisioned his time in Aman. Thus far it had been the idyllic land he had always thought it would be. But this... This worried him. He looked over to Gildor who was watching Turgon with a wary expression. Erestor felt lucky that he had a friend such as Gildor. He could fall in love with the warrior, but Gildor would not allow him to. He kept reassuring Erestor that Glorfindel would arrive in Aman any day now and that the golden Elf and the gloomy Noldo would find their happiness -- together.

The Councilor did not delude himself, though. He knew Gildor also waited for a love to come to him on one of the white ships. He had never spoken of the lover, but Erestor knew that the love existed. He could feel the lonely ache in his friend's heart at times. But, they chose to share the comfort of one another for as long as they needed. Erestor started when there was a gentle tapping at the door and stood when Turgon went to answer it.

"Calm down, meldir," Gildor whispered. "If you keep breathing like that, you will faint."

"I think I will faint regardless of my breathing, Gildor." He felt dizzy, like all his blood had rushed from his head down into his feet. He was lightheaded and swayed slightly on his feet.

"Sit down." It was command, not a request, and Erestor felt Gildor pull him back onto the sofa.

Erestor looked up and saw a fourth figure in the room. Tall and blonde, with piercing blue eyes that looked at everything and nothing. The former Imladris Councilor did not need to be told that this was Manwë, Lord of the Valar, second only to Eru Himself.

Manwë held up a hand. "It's just Manwë. Before you start with the 'my Lord's or 'gracious Sire's or whatever; it's just Manwë."

Erestor nodded dumbly, Gildor making a similar gesture. Turgon just leaned against the door frame and chuckled.

"Manwë, come on now. You're scaring them."

The Vala rolled his eyes and smirked. "What's the use of being Lord of Arda if you can't remind people of it?" he joked.

Turgon motioned for Manwë to take a seat as he came back into the room with a tray of breads and cheeses along with a bottle of wine. "I'm simply afraid that our friend Erestor here may explode from terror, and that would hardly be conducive to a conversation with him."

"You have a point, my friend," Manwë conceded. He turned to face Erestor. "I'll come right to the heart. What do you know of the Fall of Gondolin?"

Erestor's brow knitted in confusion. "The Fall of Gondolin? But surely Lord Turgon would be better suited--"

"I know what he has to say about it. I'm asking you."

"Er... It occurred in 510 of the First Age. Morgoth led a host of Orcs through the Orfalch Echor aided by the treason of Maeglin. The Houses fought bravely, but were pushed back into the King's Square. Tuor and Idril escaped with Earendil, but Lord Turgon was killed, along with Glorfindel, Ecthelion of the Fountain, and a host of others."

Manwë shook his head. "No. That's what you've been told of the Fall of Gondolin. What do you know?"

"I... I don't understand."

"Yes, you do. You have dreams of it, don't you? Dreams you've never told anyone about?"

Erestor cast his eyes downward. "They're just dreams."

"Nothing is just anything. I should know."

"I'm... fighting," Erestor began, a numbness to his voice. "I'm surrounded by Orcs, except behind me where there's a huge fountain. The Orcs keep coming, but I keep cutting them down as soon as they approach. My sword is black from all the Orc blood, but I don't dare stop to clean it.

"Then, suddenly, the Orcs scatter. I turn around and see this enormous beast -- a Balrog. But larger and broader than any Balrog I've ever seen or heard of. It raises a black axe over my head.... and then I wake up."

"Who do you suppose that Balrog was?" Manwë asked gently.

"I know who it was. Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs. Slayer of Fëanor and Fingon."

"So who does that make you in the dream, seeing that you are by the great Fountain in King's Square of Gondolin facing down Gothmog?"

"That would mean I was dreaming I was Ecthelion." Erestor's voice still held no emotion, though his insides were trembling, afraid of what was coming next.

"And if I told you that those were not dreams, but memories?"

Erestor closed his eyes, an expression of pain and shock etched on his face. His head fell forward into his hands and his shoulders began to shake. Gildor immediately wrapped his arms around his lover, holding him tightly. The Noldo glared at Manwë. "In Arda," he began casually, "we have a word called 'tact.' I don't know who of the Valar was responsible for singing it into being, but it's obvious that it wasn't you!"

The Vala stood. "I apologize. Believe it or not, this was the best way. When you are ready to hear more, Erestor, Turgon knows how to find me." And with that, Manwë strode from the room.


Imladris - September 14th, 68 of the Fourth Age

Thranduil was walking through the halls of the family wing heading for the kitchens when a commotion from Celeborn's room drew his attention. He was used to hearing strange noises coming from that room, but this sounded more like a scuffle. The door burst open just as Thranduil approached it, and Celeborn looked out. The silver-haired Elf was bleeding from a split lip, his hair was disheveled, and his robes torn.

"Lord Thranduil," he said with a calmness that belied the situation. "I wonder if I might entreat upon you to assist me."

Thranduil's eyes widened. "You look like you've just come from a battlefield, Lord Celeborn!"

"That isn't far from the truth. Come in and see for yourself."

The Mirkwood King stepped through the door and stared in shock and amazement. The room was completely devoid of furnishing save for a cot in the corner by the door. But even more amazing than that was the state of the various occupants of the room. Haldir lay slumped against one wall, blood coming from his nose; Rúmil and Orophin were both nursing cuts on their arms; Elrohir was dousing a cloth with the contents of a dark decanter; and in the center of the room....

Glorfindel.

Thranduil blinked and looked again. It was still Glorfindel, crouched down on his fingertips and the balls of his feet. He wore no shirt and a pair of thin, threadbare leggings. His golden hair was dirty and wild, and the red stain across his mouth made Thranduil realize that Rúmil and Orophin weren't nursing cuts, but bites. Glorfindel was bound with mithril shackles, connecting his wrists with a thick chain, while a second chain linked to the middle of the first and tethered to the floor.

But the worst part was Glorfindel's eyes. Thranduil physically flinched when the Balrog-slayer looked at him. His eyes were black -- completely and utterly black.

"What in the name of Morgoth---" he began, but Elrohir cut him off.

"We need to get him sedated. We need your help to hold him down. He can't punch, but he can damn well kick and bite!" the younger twin called out.

"Sedate me?" Glorfindel mocked with a sadistic chuckle that sent chills up Thranduil's spine. "Put me to sleep like all of you? You're sheep! And I... am the wolf!"

Celeborn turned to Thranduil. "Just ignore him. He only does that to get a response."

"He only does what?! Celeborn, what is going on?"

"I will explain, my friend, but later. Now, we need to restrain him so that Elrohir can put him to sleep."

Rúmil and Orophin nodded to each other and approached Glorfindel from opposite sides. They each made a grab for one of the Elda's legs, but Glorfindel was faster. With an agility and flexibility that Thranduil didn't know he possessed, Glorfindel threw his weight onto his hands, pushed up into a handstand and kicked out with both feet, striking both brothers solidly in the chest and knocking them back out of his reach. In less than a second, the warrior had returned to his position on the floor with barely a grunt of exertion.

Thranduil revised his assessment of the situation. It was obvious this was a more difficult task than it first appeared. Whatever was happening to Glorfindel, it hadn't robbed him of his warrior reflexes or instincts.

Celeborn got his attention. "Try to distract him. I'll attempt to get an arm around him while Rúmil and Orophin go for the legs again."

The Sinda shook his head. "I have a better idea." Before Celeborn could ask, Thranduil reached into his robes and pulled out a small dagger. Elrohir gave a startled cry, but Thranduil ignored him. He took careful aim and threw, causing four Elves to call out in alarm.

Thranduil knew what he was doing, though. Bound by his wrists to the floor, Glorfindel could not move his upper body as easily as his lower. There was no way he could dodge far enough, quickly enough, to avoid the flying blade. What no one noticed until it was all over was that the Mirkwood King had deliberately thrown the dagger backward so that the hilt struck Glorfindel between the eyes rather than the point. The force behind the throw was so great that the Balrog-slayer was knocked unconscious instantly, crumpling to the ground in a heap.

Celeborn stared at Thranduil in wonder. "Now that is something that I would not have been capable of."

Elrohir tended to Haldir while Celeborn led Rúmil and Orophin out of the room. Thranduil retrieved his dagger, and then he and Elrohir put an arm around Haldir and helped him up and into the hallway. Thranduil suggested his suite, as it was closest, and the six made their way inside. While Elrohir laid Haldir on the bed, Thranduil motioned the others to chairs in the sitting room. Elrohir joined them a moment later, pronouncing Haldir to be sleeping peacefully. "He'll have a monster of a headache when he wakes up, but otherwise he's fine."

Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief, nor was he the only one. "All right," he said slowly, "what just happened?"

Celeborn leaned forward in his chair, too exhausted from the ordeal to keep even the pretense of formality. "That was one of Glorfindel's fits. They are coming more often now, and each one is stronger than the last."

"More often? How long has this been going on?"

"Since the Ring passed through Imladris."

"Seventy years?!"

"He wasn't always this bad. He's been getting worse for some time now. It's getting harder and harder for me to hold back what is coming."

"And just what is coming?" Thranduil asked, certain he did not want to know the answer.

Celeborn seemed to ignore the question. "How much do you know about his death at Gondolin?"

"Just that he fell while fighting a Balrog."

"Fell is the right word," came a weak voice from behind them. Haldir was leaning against the door. Rúmil jumped up and ran over to him. Haldir waved his brother away and staggered to a chair, collapsing into it. "I was there in the Cirith Thoronath when the Orcs ambushed us. Ecthelion had just dragged Gothmog to their mutual doom in the Fountain, and we were trying to get as many of the ellith and children to safety as possible. Then, the Balrog stepped into the path and blocked the way. Glorfindel; he didn't even pause. Just turned to me and said, 'Get them out of here!' before charging the thing. He lured it away from the pass, up the mountainside. When he knocked the creature off the ledge, I was amazed. I turned to beat back the next wave of Orcs when I heard Idril gasp. All I saw was Glorfindel's legs disappearing over the precipice into the darkness."

"But the Balrog did more than just pull Glorfindel over the edge," Celeborn continued. "I am convinced that it somehow... infected him; forced some of its essence into Glorfindel's body."

Thranduil frowned. "Why would it do that?"

"Because it knew that the Elf would be reborn while it would not. And when he was, that essence would be there, growing inside him until he was consumed by it."

The Sinda's eyes narrowed. "Are you trying to tell me that there is a baby Balrog in the next room?"

"That's one way of putting it," Elrohir admitted with a sigh.

Celeborn nodded. "We think that when the One Ring came to Imladris, the power was so great and so close that it called to the fragment of the Balrog and awoke its potential. It would have destroyed Glorfindel years ago, but he was sent to me just after the Fellowship departed, and I have been able to hold the evil at bay for some time now. But I have not been able to reverse it or remove it, only slow it down."

Haldir coughed. "And now time is running out."


Tirion - September 17th, 68 of the Fourth Age

Erestor slowly made his way to Turgon's home. He had left Gildor with Elrond, saying he needed to do this on his own. In truth, he was mortified by his behavior a few weeks back when Manwë had told him what he had always truly suspected. Now he needed answers, and he was sure that it would not be a simple conversation.

With his heart pounding, Erestor mounted the front steps to the large home Turgon claimed as his own and knocked softly. He felt timid, in uncharted waters and it was not a feeling he was accustomed to. He was Lord Elrond's Chief Councilor. He had fought in many wars, he had negotiated peace among the various people's his Lord had dealt with, and he had even survived the loss of Glorfindel. Lord Erestor of Imladris had always been in control of every situation he had ever gotten himself into.

Now he was not even in control of who he was.

The door opened and Turgon greeted the nervous eyes of his old friend. "Erestor! Now, this is a surprise!"

Erestor smirked. "Is it?"

"Not really." Turgon chuckled. "Are you ready to see him again?"

Erestor nodded.

"I will send him word and he will seek you out, meldir."

The Councilor nodded again, knowing he was being dismissed. He turned to make the trek back to his home when Turgon called out to him.

"You need to relax, Erestor. You already know most of what he will tell you, so why fear the truth?"

Erestor smiled weakly at the former King and inclined his head in respect. Turgon smiled brightly and returned to his home, closing the door behind him.



Elrond and Gildor had gone off to see Lindir and Galadriel, wanting to visit their friends. Erestor chose to remain behind, wishing to brood about his predicament. He had told Elrond what he had been told, and Elrond seem a little surprised, but not shocked. Erestor sighed and sipped his tea, watching the sun sink lower in the sky. He loved the balcony. He sat on the floor of the small terrace, gently reclining against the wall with a thick pillow beneath him. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds around him.

When he opened his eyes, the landscape before waved with his tears. Glorfindel would have been seated next to him, allowing him the comfort of his body. How he missed his warrior. He sniffed slightly, hating himself for still being upset. It had been years. He had to let it go. Glorfindel would never come back to him.

A shuddering sigh escaped his lips and he let the few tears he had in him fall down his cheeks, refusing to give in to the deep ache he still felt in his heart.

"Erestor?"

Liquid night eyes rose to meet the impossibly blue ones. Erestor came back to the present and his eyes widened as he realized Manwë stood beside him. The Councilor began to stand when the Vala shook his head and raised his hand.

"Nay, Erestor. Remain seated." Manwë then took a seat on the railing of the balcony, perched gracefully like an eagle. Erestor put his tea cup down and folded his hands in his lap, inspecting his hands carefully. "Are you ready to hear what I have to say?"

Erestor nodded once.

"All right. As I told you before, you are Ecthelion. Reborn in Arda as a reward for your selfless act in defending the doomed city of Gondolin. You received the same choices as Glorfindel, only you received them a few centuries before he did."

"But Glorfindel came to Imladris knowing who and what he was. I did not. I have always known I was Erestor, born in Lindon to noble parents in the early Second Age. I do not look like Ecthelion, I do not behave like him, and I do not have his memories. I have vague wisps of a former life, nothing more." He was confused. This was not what he had been taught about the reincarnation of Elves.

"Well, Mandos did not tell Ecthelion that Glorfindel would be joining him in Arda once again. Ecthelion loved him with a burning that blinded most that looked upon it. When the choice was given to Ecthelion to return to Arda or simply stay in Aman, he chose to go and defend his people once more. He only had one request. He did not want to remember his former life, it would only bring him grief. He would miss his love, pine for him, and he would not do right by his people. Mandos agreed and a new form was chosen for Ecthelion and the memories of that previous life were buried deep." Manwë's voice had a lulling quality to it and Erestor felt more at ease this time, trusting the Vala and believing in him.

"So why tell me now? I am not Ecthelion, I am Erestor."

"Yes," began Manwë. "You are Erestor, you have a completely different life, one that rarely had the same qualities that Ecthelion's did. You were a great warrior, but you have always preferred study, scrolls, and strategy. Ecthelion was an Elf more prone to action and merry making. You are the complete antithesis of what Ecthelion was. But, you must keep in mind, your faer is Ecthelion's. In essence, both lives are the same. His feelings and desires will always color your own."

"If Ecthelion loved Glorfindel so much, why did it take he and I over four thousand years to come together? I would have thought my faer would have called to his."

Manwë looked away and Erestor found it odd to see a Vala look uncertain. "Glorfindel... things happened when he died that changed his faer some. He is not the same Elf who died in that abyss with the Balrog."

Erestor put his hand to his cheek. In a strangled voice he said, "He struck me."

The Vala turned compassionate eyes on the distressed Noldo. "Aye, he did. You must understand, Erestor, he was not -- and still is not -- in control of himself. Ecthelion's death caused a fracture in his faer and now he has to fight once again. It will be his last battle that he will either win and return here or die and remain in the Halls of Waiting without a chance of returning."

"What are you talking about?"

"I have said as much as I will on the issue of Glorfindel. We are here to discuss you."

"What more is there to talk about? I do not have any questions..."

"You may not have any questions, pen-neth, but you have a choice." Manwë hopped from his position on the balustrade and crouched in front of the confused Elf. "You can remain as you are, knowing who you were and regaining snatches of that existence... or I can restore those memories to you, reawaken that part of your faer and you can once again be whole. I leave the choice up to you."

"Whole?" His voiced sounded so small.

"Whole," Manwë repeated. "You will always feel that you are missing something. Do you wish to remain this way or do you want to remember?"

Erestor became lost in the bottomless blue pools that had captured his gaze. He knew what he wanted. He wanted to stop feeling lost and out of control. He wanted to know what was always just out of his grasp. He wanted to remember.

Manwë nodded. "Then you shall."

What happened next was not what Erestor expected. Manwë reached out with his slender, pale hand and grasped the back of Erestor's neck. The electric rush that happened when the Vala touched his skin set Erestor on edge. But then, Manwë leaned in and let his lips touch those of the shocked Noldo. In an instant, Erestor was flooded with images. He barely registered the warm lips against his, all he knew was that he remembered.

When Manwë pulled back, there were tears streaming down Erestor's face. With a choking sob he whispered, "I did not want to live without him."

The Ainu smiled softly and wiped at the tears, his own eyes glistening. "You have touched me in a way, Erestor of Lindon, that few have. Your heartbreak is two-fold and deep. But, do not despair. All will be right. Please, cease your tears."

Erestor tried, willing himself to stop sniveling, but the tears fell in earnest. "I... can't," he hiccupped.

Manwë drew the shaking Elf into his arms and sang softly to him. In the dying light of Aman, Erestor took comfort in the warmth of Manwë, Lord of the Valar.


Tirion - October 30th, 68 of the Fourth Age

Erestor had spent a month sequestered in his rooms, allowing only Gildor in. The Councilor felt awful. He could no longer lay with Gildor and knew the warrior did not understand. With all his memories came the realization of his bond with Glorfindel... or Ecthelion's bond. It made the whole relationship very muddled and Erestor wished he could clear his head.

As he lay in bed, Gildor's warm body pressed against his, Erestor would be awake far into the night. Visions of the past flitting before his eyes.

Beside the Fountain, dipping his fingers in the cool water and bringing the moist digits up to the blond's lips, a shudder running through him when Glorfindel would wrap his tongue around his fingers.

Tumbling in the grasses in Nevrast with his childhood friends, playing children's games and running to his Nana with scrapes and bruises from rough play.

His first assignment to Turgon's Royal Guard in Nevrast, the pride in his Adar's eyes as he was given the uniform to wear with the honor.

His somber upbringing in Lindon, where his Adar kept the house cold and dark after the death of his mother. His only retreat were his studies and his books, the dreams of a vast white city populating his imagination.

Elrond's desperate touches and needy kisses, begging him to alleviate the pain of Thranduil's departure.

Defending his home, his House and men, fighting and fighting, his arm aching, his shield lost. The fear and panic when the fire drake broke in and Tuor fell back.

Elladan and Elrohir running to him, crying that Haldir was being mean and Rúmil was yelling at them for not paying attention.

Glorfindel spread out before him, face flushed with desire and his name on his lips, "Ecthelion..."

Being named the Chief of his proud House and the defender of the King's Fountain. Glorfindel and Haldir celebrating far into the night, laughter and friendship, love and life.

His Balrog-slayer touching him, caressing his skin and whispering how beautiful and exotic his large, dark eyes were. Forcing whimpers and desperate pleas from the proud lips of the pale, noble Noldo who ran Elrond's home with military efficiency.

His lungs filling with the cold water, his armor pulling him down into the depths of the Fountain. He had not seen Glorfindel or Haldir escape, had not seen Tuor or Turgon flee. Gondolin was lost. He was lost.

Eyes wild with anger, flashing with an inner fire that caused him to tremble. His jaw aching from the blow, fighting the tears and the shame as he lay sprawled on the floor, his glorious warrior towering above him...

Erestor sobbed into his pillow, wishing Glorfindel were there to comfort him, to ease his fears and his hurts. Instead, he felt Gildor pull him closer, kissing his hair and telling him he was not alone, that he and Elrond loved him and would not let him sink into his despair.

The Councilor turned in his friend's arms and brought his trembling hand to the warm cheek. "I do love you, Gildor. You and Elrond. But, I need him. I chose not to remember our bond because it would hurt too much to be without him. And still, here I lay in Aman... without my soul, without my light."

Gildor leaned in and gently kissed Erestor's lips, just holding the sorrowful Elf close and rocking him slowly. Soon, Erestor's eyes grew vacant and he entered a troubled reverie, filled with bright, azure eyes and a heart-breaking smile that had set him on fire long ago in Nevrast.


Imladris - November 2nd, 108 of the Fourth Age

Celeborn, along with Haldir and his brothers, and the Peredhil twins, stood anxiously around the room waiting for some sign from either Thranduil or Glorfindel. The two had been locked in trance for over half a day; neither had moved other than to breathe or to blink.

The Mirkwood King, after understanding the danger to Glorfindel and to them all, had insisted on aiding the other Elves in their task. Between the two powerful Elf Lords, they had succeeded in bringing the Elda back from the brink, if only just. Both of their powers had been dwindling since leaving the forests to which they were bound, but together, they could draw upon more than either one alone.

Slowly, gradually, Glorfindel had regained some measure of control over his swirling thoughts and the dark desires that plagued him. That was the only thing that made this day possible. Thranduil and Celeborn had pooled their resources in order to push Thranduil's Fëa into Glorfindel's. The Mirkwood King had argued that the only way to heal the Balrog-slayer was from the inside. After much discussion, Celeborn had reluctantly agreed. With Glorfindel more coherent, they were able to create a solid link rather than constantly fighting to force their way into the Elda's mind.

Failure would mean the death of both Elves; worse than death, as their Fëai would be completely shredded -- unmade, wiped from all existence. This was Thranduil's requirement. He was coming out with Glorfindel or he wasn't coming out at all. The risk was too great that the Balrog could infect his Fea as well, and Celeborn was nowhere near powerful enough to hold back both their transformations.

Once Celeborn had confirmed that the fusing was successful, there was nothing to do but wait. And pray.



Thranduil shrugged off the freezing cold of the blizzard, but had to struggle to keep his footing nonetheless. He trudged through the barren wasteland, leaning into the biting wind that threatened to throw him from his feet and bury him in the blinding snow.

Metaphorically speaking, of course. The entire scene was a mental contrivance from within Glorfindel's faer; a subconscious attempt to stop Thranduil's advance into the Elda's mind. None of that mattered especially at the moment, though. The scene still felt real, and the consequences of failure were just as deadly.

Abruptly, the wind stopped. Thranduil, his weight pushed forward, fell onto his face. Instead of hitting snow, though, the smell of fresh grass assaulted his senses. The Sinda pushed himself up and looked around. He was surrounded by trees on all sides; the snowy tundra had disappeared completely.

Thranduil stood up and smiled. "Forest. I can do forests."

The Mirkwood King started through the woods at a much increased pace, weaving through the trees and avoiding patches of thorny brambles and clinging ivy with relative ease. More than once, he caught a glimpse of a blonde Elf running through the forest, but when Thranduil turned to give chase, the Elf was gone.

As he ran, Thranduil noticed that the ground cover became thicker, the canopy more oppressively dark. Thick vines began to block his path, but Thranduil would not be diverted. He may not have had the ability to affect the environment the way Glorfindel could, but he could still affect himself. With but a thought, Thranduil pulled a pair of intricately engraved short swords from the sheathes that simply appeared on his back. He continued through the forest, cutting his way through the vines as he went.

When he emerged into sunlight again, he was standing in a cleft between two mountains. The way behind him was obscured by darkness, as was the terrain that lay beyond the pass.

"You should not have come here, Thranduil King."

Thranduil turned and saw Glorfindel to his right, standing near the top of the mountain. He was wearing thick leggings, knee- high boots, and a warrior's tunic emblazoned with a crest that Thranduil had only ever seen in woodcuttings and history books.

"This is the Cirith Thoronath, isn't it? This is where all this started," he called up.

Glorfindel walked down the mountainside as he answered. "Fitting, wouldn't you agree? Nice sense of symmetry to it all. Circle of life, and all that."

"So what happens next?"

Glorfindel stepped from the slope onto the pass several yards from Thranduil. He turned away, looking into the darkness. "Any time now, the Balrog should be coming for me." Glorfindel looked over his shoulder, a deadly calm penetrating his voice. "If I were you, I wouldn't be here when that happens."

Thranduil stepped closer. "I'm not leaving here without you."

Glorfindel turned around to face the Sinda. "Then you aren't leaving."

"It's beginning to look that way."

"You're a fool, Thranduil. What did you hope to accomplish by coming here?"

Thranduil did not mince words. "To save you."

"There is nothing left to save."

"If that were true, you would not be here."

"I've always been here. I never left."

"You feel guilty. That's clear. You think that you ran away and left Ecthelion and all the others to die."

"Of course not. I saved lives. Haldir and Earendil survived because of me."

"But Ecthelion didn't."

Glorfindel looked down. "No. Ecthelion didn't."

Thranduil pressed his advantage, the realization coming to him from the tone of the Elda's words. "You watched him fall."

Glorfindel nodded.

"And it broke your heart."

Another nod.

"You wanted to die because it hurt so badly," Thranduil continued, not waiting for a response. "You led the Balrog away from the pass, but you did not fight your best. You wanted to die, so you let it take you down with it."

"It won't have to work so hard this time."

"So that's it. Glorfindel of Gondolin, the great warrior, sworn enemy of evil, has given up to a Balrog of Morgoth."

"It's beginning to look that way," Glorfindel replied, mocking Thranduil's earlier comment.

"I can't let you do that."

"And how will you stop me?"

Thranduil answered by rushing Glorfindel, swords drawn at the ready. Glorfindel barely had time to draw his blade before the Mirkwood King was upon him. Glorfindel blocked the first attack and spun adeptly to parry the second blade as well. Thranduil was an accomplished fighter, but he was clearly outmatched by the much older, more experienced Elf. Even with two blades, he could not even come close to Glorfindel.

"Is this your solution?" Glorfindel called out. "Kill me before the Balrog can? The end result is the same! It lives, and I die."

"Then why are you fighting me?"

"Because you are not worthy enough to defeat me."

"And the Balrog is?"

Glorfindel paused, clearly caught off guard by the question. Thranduil used the opportunity to step behind the Elda and slam the butt of his sword into the back of Glorfindel's head. "Sorry, old friend," he said as the golden warrior fell to the ground, "but if you won't fight it, I will."

No sooner had he made the statement than the Balrog stepped from the darkness. Thranduil put himself between the beast and the unconscious form of Glorfindel. The Balrog was clearly confused, as evidenced by the fact that it did not immediately attack. Thranduil took the offensive, forcing the creature to defend itself against this unexpected Elf.

Thranduil pushed forward relentlessly, driving the Balrog up the mountainside. Try as it might, the shadowy beast could not regain the upper hand. It was strong, but without the death of Glorfindel's faer, it could never attain the full strength so well-known among its kind. Again and again it was driven back. Thranduil maintained his onslaught unhindered by the physical limitations that would have held him back outside of this realm of the mind, pushing the Balrog to the brink of the very same precipice that Glorfindel had first stood.

With one final drive, he forced the creature from the ridge, sending him into the darkness. Or, that had been the idea. The Balrog grabbed Thranduil by the hair, causing the Mirkwood King to slide forward toward the edge. He threw his weight back, but the Balrog had braced against the side of the abyss and pulled with all its might, and Thranduil continued to lose ground.

A glitter of something flashed in the corner of Thranduil's eye, and an instant later, the Balrog's hand released its grip, a sword impaling its arm. The creature fell alone, howling its anger and frustration until it could be heard no more.

Thranduil looked down to the pass and saw Glorfindel standing there, arm still outstretched from the throw.

"You're not going anywhere until I get a rematch," the Elda called up to him, a genuine smile on his face.

Thranduil shuffled down the slope, taking Glorfindel's offered hand. "You're on," he laughed.


Tirion - November 2nd, 108 of the Fourth Age

Manwë walked through the room and out into the brightly lit terrace. Gathered there were Turgon, Elrond, Gildor, and Erestor. The Vala smiled, seeing how much Erestor had changed since he had held the Elf as he sobbed. He was telling the truth that afternoon; he had a special fondness for the dark-eyed Noldo. Now, it was time for him to learn the rest of the story.

It had been years since Erestor had seen Manwë, but the effect was still as startling. The brilliant eyes regarded him with warm compassion and he felt himself smiling at the Ainu. He had never forgotten the taste of Manwë's lips or the comfort he had taken in the Vala's arms. He also knew that Manwë had something new to spring on him, he was just happy that his closest friends were to be there with him.

He and Turgon had immediately reconnected. Once Erestor had been able to mesh his two existences into one cohesive past, he felt drawn to the King. And Turgon was very receptive, eager to reclaim a great friendship he had sorely missed over the years. Although he felt an immense emptiness within him, he was consoled by his friends and their love for him. Manwë had told him that with his memories he would once again feel whole, and in a way he did. But, with those memories came a new sense of hollowness, a large chasm in his soul that cried for Glorfindel.

Manwë seated himself and leveled his gaze with Erestor's. "You once asked me what I meant when I told you that Glorfindel's faer was not the same as it was before he died. Do you remember?"

Erestor nodded. "Aye," he whispered. Manwë was discussing his love. Why would the Vala torture him so? He had spent over a century without Glorfindel and had long given up hope the warrior would journey to the Undying Lands.

"When Ecthelion-- when you fell, Glorfindel's faer was torn asunder. He was literally broken. But, he continued to fight, to defend Gondolin and his people. He fled with Idril and Tuor, taking Haldir and what few of his men were left. But, his heart was black... angry." Manwë's eyes narrowed. "He took on the Balrog, not out of duty, but out of a wish to die. To have the pain of his loss removed from him. When he fell, the Balrog infected the wound in Glorfindel's faer. Since Balrogs are fallen Maiar, it was the perfect way for the Balrog to ensure that his legacy would continue -- even after its defeat."

Elrond cocked his head to the side. "Glorfindel was not, is not, a Maia."

"Not in the strictest sense. Those Elves who are reborn and are offered the chance to dwell once more in Middle-Earth are all but Maiar. Their faer contain such power, such desire to aid their people that they can be corrupted just as a Maia could. And Glorfindel has been corrupted. He fights, as we speak, to regain his soul... to regain himself. The golden warrior is lost in his demons, in his grief."

Erestor let out a strangled sound and Elrond wrapped his arms around his friend, pulling him into his lap. "If this is true, why is Erestor not suffering the same fate? He defeated four Balrogs -- one the Lord of them." Elrond stroked Erestor's hair as if the Elf were a child, trying to calm the shaking figure in his arms.

"Ecthelion's faer was not broken. He drowned in that Fountain with a soul pure in his desire to protect his King and his loved ones. He fought valiantly, his death was the price for his courage. The Balrogs could not infect one such as Ecthelion." Manwë stood and knelt in front of Elrond, taking Erestor's hand in his. "You, my dear Elf, were so brave. Your final thoughts were not of yourself, not of your love, but of your city and how you felt you had failed them. Most who die such deaths do not think on things as others. They think on themselves. You did not." He brushed a lock of hair from the stricken face. "Have heart, pen neth. I have told you all there is to tell. Now, you need to have faith in the Valar and their plans for you." He leaned in a kissed Erestor's cheek softly, smiling at him. "I must go now. If you have need of me, Erestor, call."

Manwë stood and took his leave of the Elves, walking silently through the rooms and disappearing before he reached the front door.

Erestor looked up into the chuckling face of Turgon. "What?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

"He must really like you. Not many can simply call for him and expect him to show up." Turgon's eyes sparkled.

Erestor felt his face heat up, embarrassed to have caught the attentions of such an illustrious figure. The group laughed then, seeing Erestor's discomfort, and the pouting Elf soon joined in, laughing and shaking his head as he slid from Elrond's lap.


Shores of Aman - January 16th, 126 of the Fourth Age

Glorfindel set foot on the dock, following Thranduil, Lothvaen and Rúmil. He breathed deep, feeling at home and at peace. It hadn't been an easy journey to get here. Even after Thranduil's unexpected aid, it had taken time to purge the last of the evil from him. It had been much easier, though, once the worst of it had passed.

He laughed quietly as Thranduil scolded his son and held him close, pleased to see the King show an expression other than a scowl for the first time in months. Try as he might, Thranduil was unable to best the golden-haired Elf as he had in the mindscape. He was, understandably, a little miffed.

Glorfindel saw the raven-haired Elf he had longed to see for years. Erestor stood several feet away, his eyes bright with excitement and love. He was sure the Noldo was there to greet Lothvaen or Thranduil, and since he did not see Elrond or Lindir, Glorfindel was sure there was no one there to greet him. Glorfindel hung his head slightly and made for the road into the city. He would need to acquire himself a dwelling.

Erestor's eyes clouded with confusion. Glorfindel was walking away from him? He rushed past the Elves gathered on the shore and made his way to Glorfindel.

"Glorfindel!" he called out, desperate for the Elf to stop.

The Elda stopped and turned, shocked to see Erestor coming up to him. "What is it, Erestor?"

The cool detachment in his lover's voice chilled Erestor. "What is wrong, Glorfindel? I came here for you... I wanted... to see you."

Glorfindel looked away from the soulful eyes that had haunted him for endless nights. He remembered everything he had done and said to the only being he had ever loved, other than Ecthelion. He averted his eyes in shame. His guilt was doubled with the unconditional love he saw shining in Erestor's gaze. "I didn't think you'd want to speak with me."

Erestor threw his arms around the Balrog-slayer. "Why would you think that, melethen?" He inhaled deeply, relishing in the scent that was solely Glorfindel, almost like heady hot-house flowers.

"Melethen?" he whispered, his eyes wide and glistening with tears. He slowly brought his arms around Erestor's waist, burrowing his face in the long, thick ebony locks. "Melethen."

Erestor squeezed him tight. "No regrets. I understand."

"But, I hurt you ---"

"You'll hurt me more if you reject me, faunen." He pulled back and smiled at the odd look Glorfindel gave him.

"Faunen? Only Ecthelion called me that... called me his cloud..." he trailed off. "Why did you call me that, Erestor?"

"There is much I need to speak to you about, Glorfindel. Come with me." He began to pull the bewildered Elda with him.

"Where are we going?"

"Home, seron vell, home."



Glorfindel woke with the sun the next morning. He looked fondly at the Noldo sleeping blissfully at his side. Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore that he could see traces of his lost lover reflected in Erestor's face.

He was still somewhat in shock over the news that his past love and his current were almost the same person. The 'almost' was important, the Elda thought. Erestor and Ecthelion were two different people, and while there may be some similarities, Glorfindel still had to remember that fact. It would be difficult, Erestor had told him last night, but they would get through it.

Erestor stirred under Glorfindel's gaze. His eyes slowly regained their awareness and he blinked. A sleepy smile crossed his lips when he looked at Glorfindel. "Good morning," he said with a yawn.

Glorfindel slid a fingertip down Erestor's cheek. "Yes, I rather think it will be."

The simple touch set Erestor's desire aflame. "And what makes you think that?" he teased.

"This does." The Elda leaned in and kissed Erestor sweetly. Their lips parted and their tongues brushed across each other, warm and moist. Glorfindel wrapped his arms around Erestor's shoulders and pulled the Noldo closer. He could feel Erestor's arousal hot and hard against his thigh. "Mmm..." he murmured. "That does, too."

Erestor chuckled, reaching over to brush his hand over the Elda's stiffening rod. "And what about this?" he asked playfully, wrapping his fingers around and stroking gently.

"That most certainly does," Glorfindel replied with a gasp.

Erestor laughed and began to slide down the bed, tilting his head toward Glorfindel's groin. The golden Elf stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, no, you had that last night. It's my turn now."

Glorfindel kicked the sheets off and pulled the Noldo between his legs, causing Erestor to laugh again, a bright tinkling sound in the early morning air. "My, aren't you eager?"

"Why should I not be? I have missed you in my bed for far too long, melethen."

Erestor wasted no more time. He retrieved the phial of oil from the floor where it had been placed the night before. He quickly lubricated his fingers and rubbed them against the tight opening to Glorfindel's buttocks.

The Elda gasped at the coolness of the liquid, then again when Erestor pressed a finger inside him followed by a second. Glorfindel shifted his hips to allow his lover to penetrate him more fully, reaching down to caress Erestor's arm with his fingertips.

When Erestor was satisfied that Glorfindel's passage was sufficiently prepared, he poured another palmful of the oil and coated his arousal thoroughly. Settling back onto his knees, Erestor eased the head of his erection into the Elda's warm sheath. Glorfindel moaned and began to slide down the bed, pulling Erestor further into him until the Noldo's thighs were pressed against his own.

Erestor took Glorfindel slowly, sliding out of him and then back in with agonizing patience. At the same time, he stroked his oil-slick hand over Glorfindel's shaft, keeping the same slow pace. Erestor watched his lover's eyes slowly flutter shut and he squeeze his hand more firmly, causing Glorfindel's eyes to snap open. He smirked at the flushed being beneath him. "Look at me," he panted.

Glorfindel stared into the depths of Erestor's ink-black eyes. It was immensely erotic to watch him, seeing his body shift with each controlled thrust. The rhythm Erestor had set was enough to keep him on edge, but not quite fast enough to bring an end to the sweet torment. Glorfindel thought he would drown in the half-lidded, lust misted eyes.

The Councilor was not unaffected by the situation. He had to exert all his control not to move them to a quick release. Erestor had waited over a century to feel the Elda around him again and he wanted to savor their first opportunity. Glorfindel's lapis orbs watched him intensely, his eyes unfocusing and glazing over when Erestor would trust particularly deep. Erestor began to notice things he had never seen before, like how Glorfindel's pink bottom lip was caught between white teeth in an effort not to beg Erestor for release.

He smiled wickedly at his lover. "Melin chen, Glorfindel," he whispered, leaning in to capture the alluring lips with his.

Glorfindel groaned into the kiss, pressing against Erestor in an attempt to silently plead with him to finish it. When Erestor pulled back, his face inches from the Elda's, eyes filled with love and desire, Glorfindel lost his pride.

"Please... Erestor..."

Erestor shuddered, hearing the golden warrior ask, to see the tears of frustration shimmer in the bright gaze caused Erestor's cock to throb within its tight confines. "Please what?"

The blond let out a keening moan, fighting with himself. Erestor would not grant him what he wanted unless he asked for it. "Please, Erestor..." he pleaded. "Finish it..."

Erestor chuckled deep in his chest, his eyes still not wavering from Glorfindel's. "Ve elyë méra, melda." Erestor began to move his hips in a more frantic pace, stroking Glorfindel firmly and quickly.

So close to the edge were both the Elves that their release came almost immediately, Erestor pouring himself into Glorfindel as Glorfindel coated Erestor's hand with a flood of his own seed. They fought to keep their eyes open, gazing deeply at each other throughout their mutual orgasms.

Panting and exhausted, Erestor rolled beside Glorfindel, heedless of the mess that the motion caused. He looked to his lover, still breathing heavily, and grinned. "I think you're right."

"How's that, meleth?"

"It does appear that it will be a good morning."