Title & Chapter Number: Fate's Mirror 10/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website:
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: do not own these characters, they are the property of Tolkien, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this…
Warnings: This story is rated NC-17 and contains male slash pairings and explicit sexual content. If you find this offensive, or you are under-age, I strongly suggest you stop now.
Betas: Larian Elensar
Cast: Erestor, Glorfindel, Gildor, Thranduil
Timeline: SA
Spoilers: None
Summary: Set during the second half of the second age. Reincarnated Glorfindel returns to Lindon from the Halls of Mandos to pledge his service to the High King. Glorfindel arrives to find a decimated clan of wood elves and searches for Thranduil, the host of Gil-galad draws closer to Eregion.
Notes: I have yet to read the Unfinished Tales or History of ME, so I know there will be inaccuracies in this - so consider this AU.
October, 1696, Second Age, Lindon
Glorfindel held up his hand to signal his riders to halt as his breath caught in his throat. It had been near two full cycles of the moon since the herald from Greenwood had left this forest, and what Glorfindel found was terrible to behold. The point at which they had arrived was deathly quiet; not a single sound issued from it other than the crackling of burning timber. Smoke hung thick throughout the injured wood, and they rode single file into the southern depths of the forest, constantly vigilant for any sign of the marauding orcs.
"By Elbereth…" came a hushed whisper from one of his men. "What happened here?"
Glorfindel's horse began to shift nervously beneath him, and a scent that he had hoped to never smell again wafted into his nostrils. It was the smell of death. His band came to a halt and they dismounted as Glorfindel signaled to his men to spread out and begin the search for survivors. The fact that no one had greeted them as they entered the wood was of grave concern to the warrior; it was a bad omen. They picked their way through the underbrush and broken trees, when the Vanya stopped dead in his tracks. His foot came to rest next to what appeared to be an elf's leg protruding from a bush. His heart pounded in his chest as he stooped next to it and when he tugged upon it, he found it had no body attached. His face flushed hot with rage when he saw what had been done, how the orcs had defiled his kin, and he howled in anger, causing his men to come running toward him.
"What is it, my Lord?" One of his companions asked.
He stood and turned away from it, unable to look his companion in the face. "We will find none alive here," he answered softly. "Salvage what you can in terms of weapons and ammunition. Pile the remains of our kin upon a pyre and burn the remains. We will not leave them here to be fed upon by carrion."
The other elves in his company gasped quietly when they saw what their leader referred to, and quietly sang a lament to their fallen kin as they went about their work. Glorfindel picked his way through the forest, praying to Mandos that Thranduil was not among the bodies they found.
~*~*~*~
Thranduil leaned over his injured father, tending to his wounds as best he could. His own were severe; he shook from fever, his shoulder still bleeding from a wound caused by a black arrow. His heart was heavy with grief, over half of their total number had fallen in battle, leaving precious few warriors to protect the females and elflings that remained. They had retreated northwest, hoping to make the border of the Golden Wood and seek refuge from Amroth.
He nearly collapsed by his father, sinking down in a sitting position as he covered him with his cloak. He felt his father's hand come to rest upon his arm and he looked up into his eyes. "How are you feeling, Adar?" he asked softly.
Oropher looked at his son, who had fought so bravely and valiantly to protect him and their warriors. "You suffer from fever, Iôn. You must rest and care for yourself; I must rely on you to help get our people to safety. I will be fine, I am strong, do not worry so for me." He reached up and caressed Thranduil's cheek with his trembling hand. "I have never been so proud of you as I am now, my son. You have grown into a fine warrior and strong leader. I can rest in peace knowing you will inherit my kingdom one day."
Thranduil smiled weakly and answered, "But not today, Adar."
Oropher laughed quietly and grimaced, placing his hand upon his injured side. "No, not today, Iôn." He patted his son's arm. "Now, lie down and take some rest. We will need to move again at dawn."
Thranduil lie down beside his father inside the large hollowed out tree. A skeleton crew of archers kept watch over their hiding place throughout the night.
~*~*~*~
Glorfindel sat upon a fallen tree, his cloak drawn close around his shoulders. He worried for his friend and former lover, and hoped to find him alive somewhere within the forest. He and his companions had finished their grim task, disposing of the remains of the fallen woodland elves. They had spotted tracks leading west and surmised that what remained of Oropher's people were making for Lórien. Now they waited for first light when they would continue their journey to the land of Amroth. What Sauron's minions had wreaked was horrible, but thankfully, there had been no females or elflings among the remains they found. Oropher and his people must have withdrawn before they were completely destroyed.
The scene of death and destruction before him was far too great a reminder of his last days in Gondolin before his own death. And as he sat alone in the dark he tried to purge those memories from his mind, but to no avail. A tear traced down his cheek as sounds of screaming females and elflings echoed in his mind, images of fire and blood and destruction flashing before his mind's eye. He chanted a quiet prayer to Mandos for those who now journeyed to his halls and prayed to the Valar for the protection of those who still remained among the living.
He wished that Gildor or Erestor were with him now, offering the support of a strong arm around his shoulders, speaking quiet words of wisdom in his ear. But he was to bear the burden of this task alone, as he had asked. He wondered what it would be like to be a simple elf: a farmer, librarian, or stable hand. He wondered what it would be like to wake in the morning next to a bonded life partner, share breakfast together, and go about the day's tasks unaware of the horrible things that were possible in this world. He longed for the innocence of his youth, when he spent his days reading tales of the Valar, basking in the sun, and riding his horse; his thoughts occupied with life and the simple joy of it.
He closed his eyes and saw the vision of his fallen lover, resplendent in his armor, his raven hair gleaming in the moonlight. He smiled when he remembered the wicked grin that would grace his fair face as he plotted some playful mischief on one of their kinsman. He imagined what he was like now, strolling through a meadow in Valinor. "Ai, Echthelion…" he whispered to the dark. "Be at peace, meleth nín. Wait not for me; find love, find happiness," he sighed. "Mine is a long road, a warrior's march without end. Peace and joy and the simple things are not for me." He bowed his head, a single tear falling from his eye. "Namarie, a'maelamin. I will miss you always."
He raised his head, turning his gaze up to the night sky, watching the stars circle overhead. He released his friend and lover to find a new future, a new love for his new life. As he took a deep breath, he suddenly felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from him, as if he were finally free of the past. He closed his eyes again and saw Thranduil's face: his sparkling sapphire eyes, his soft lips, his ivory skin, all framed in a mane of flaxen silk. "So young," he whispered. "So beautiful, so brave. I will find you, Thranduil, I will find you and see you safe."
He watched the night sky fade into pale blue as the sun rose in the east and he gathered his companions to ride west toward the borders of Lórien.
~*~*~*~
Thranduil lay upon his belly, scanning the distance between the tree line where they lay and the beginnings of the wood west of the Anduin. An eerie silence hung over the forest, not a bird; not even the smallest creature made a sound. There was evidence of orcs passing through this way, they made no effort to cover their tracks or hide their presence.
"Perhaps they have continued west, my Lord? It looks quiet enough to cross now."
He turned and looked at his new second, his original one having fallen in battle, and answered, "It is too quiet. They must know we would come this way. They are waiting to ambush us when we are in the open. We must find another place to cross."
"But, my Lord, we have many injured, and females and elflings. This is the easiest place to cross, we will have to travel miles north and the great road is sure to be occupied by Sauron's forces coming from the east."
Thranduil shook his head. "Precisely why we cannot cross here, if we were to come under attack we would not be able to protect those with us. No, we must find another way. We will travel south, to the edge of the wood and make for the gap at the southern tip of the mountains. We will make for Eregion and the realm of Lord Celebrimbor; it is there that we will seek refuge. Lórien is already under siege; I can feel it. We cannot risk going there, Amroth can be of no aid to us now. If his realm has already fallen, we would have to risk a mountain crossing to reach safety and there are too many among us that are too weak to survive it."
"But, my Lord…"
Thranduil wheeled on his second. "No more talk on this!" he growled. "I will not lose another one of my kinsman to Sauron's evil. We head south, gather our people." He regained his feet and moved to inform his father of his decision.
~*~*~*~
Glorfindel and his men rode quietly westward, making for the realm of Lórien. They spotted evidence of orcs crossing through the woods, as well as some tracks indicating elves had come this way. He knew if the elves were leaving tracks, then that meant they were bearing wounded and must be in a bad way. His sharp warrior's hearing picked up a faint sound and he held up his hand, bringing his band of warriors to a halt.
Thranduil halted his followers and turned to face east, hearing something in the wood. He sniffed the air and discerned it was not orcs, the sound was not loud enough, nor was there a foul odor upon the air. His sharp eyes scanned the trees and underbrush when he caught sight of something that set his heart to singing. Bright light glinted off shining armor and a glimpse of golden hair caused him to walk toward the sight, motioning to his followers to wait for him. "Glorfindel?" he called, his voice barely above a whisper.
Glorfindel dismounted, his voice catching in his throat at first. "Thranduil…" came his hushed reply. He saw the Prince of Greenwood step through the underbrush, battered and bloodied, but still radiant in his beauty.
Thranduil rushed toward Glorfindel with hurried steps, into his open arms. He sighed as the warrior enfolded him in his strong embrace and whispered, "Thank the Valar you are here, Glorfindel. I feared I would never see you again."
Glorfindel buried his face in the Prince's flaxen mane and breathed in the scent of pine and clover. "You are alive, mellonamin," he whispered. "I also feared I would not look upon your face again." He pulled back from their embrace and caressed the Prince's face. "You have a fever," he said softly, feeling the heat radiate from Thranduil's skin.
"It grows less by the hour," the Prince replied with a smile. "The healers have attended to me. My father was wounded in battle, it has been up to me to lead what is left of my people to this point."
"Where are the rest of your kin? We came upon the aftermath of a terrible battle just southeast of here," the warrior replied.
The spark in Thranduil's eyes dimmed somewhat as he relayed the horrible tale of the battle and how their lines were overrun after holding for so long. He told of how they were able to retreat with their females and elflings, losing their home, but saving lives. He led Glorfindel and his followers to his kinsman and told of his plan to travel south and make for Celebrimbor's realm.
Upon meeting those of Thranduil's kin, Glorfindel's followers attended to the wounded and offered their stores of food and water, as well as rearmed the soldiers with the weapons and arrows they had collected from the battle site. Thranduil took the warrior to meet his father and Glorfindel knelt on the ground next to the makeshift gurney he was carried upon. The warrior bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart as he took the King's offered hand.
"My Lord," he greeted him softly. "I offer the service of myself and my men to help you and your kin find shelter. But I have to inform you that to leave the wood would be foolhardy. While I admire you and your son's will to continue fighting and to come to the aid of your kin, your numbers are too few and are in too delicate a condition to undertake such an effort. You must hold up here in the wood, hide until it is safe to reemerge. The passage south that your son would make for is surely clogged with Sauron's minions by now, we saw evidence of them heading that way as we came through several days ago. To risk a crossing west is too dangerous, we must find a safe place for your weaker ones to hide."
Oropher frowned and nodded in acquiescence, while it went against everything in his nature to withdraw, he knew the warrior was correct; he had to think of his subjects and their safety. "Your words are wise, Lord Glorfindel, and despite my warrior's inclination to continue fighting, I must agree. My first duty is to my people. Your help is gratefully accepted and will not be soon forgotten." He took a ragged breath and coughed, waiving off the attempts of the healers to see to him. "But what of Amroth and his people? What of Lord Celebrimbor?"
Glorfindel softly answered. My men and I will ride to the aid of King Amroth. The High King, Gil-galad is in route from Lindon with his host to come to Lord Celebrimbor's aid. My plan is to gather as many of those that can still fight and launch a rear attack through Redhorn Pass on the forces now attacking Eregion."
"An attack using Redhorn Pass?" the King questioned. "That is an ambitious plan, Lord Glorfindel, mountain warfare is always risky.
Glorfindel smiled grimly and answered, "I am all too aware of the risks of mountain warfare, my Lord. But to stand against Sauron's evil is not without peril. We must do what we can to turn back this tide of death that threatens to overwhelm us."
Oropher nodded and patted the warrior's hand. "Your words are true and wise, Lord Glorfindel." He took a deep breath and continued, "I know of a hiding place near here, an outcropping of foothills that have well hidden entrances. We can hold up there until we are stronger." His pale blue eyes scanned his group of travelers. "I can spare some archers for your quest, leave me with some twenty or so to guard the entrances to the caves and watch for signs of the orcs returning, take the remaining thirty to aid in your task."
Glorfindel furrowed his brow and answered the Sindar King, "But you will need archers to defend your people, my Lord."
Oropher shook his head in resignation. "Nay, there is no defense for us now, only retreat. What can fifty archers do against such an overwhelming force? We must hide if we are to survive."
Glorfindel looked at the ground, knowing the King was right. He nodded his head slowly and looked back into his wise gaze. "Your generosity and bravery will not be forgotten, my Lord. The High King will not soon forget this."
Oropher's expression grew stern for a moment. "I do this not for Gil-galad, but for my kin. But if the High King sees fit to show his gratitude, then so be it."
Thranduil grimaced at his father's harsh words; Oropher did not hold Gil-galad in high esteem as other elves did. Glorfindel, understanding the intent behind the words, let it go and bowed low, excusing himself from the King's presence.
The Prince followed Glorfindel to the other side of the makeshift camp after speaking with his father briefly. He found the warrior standing next to a tall tree, away from the bustling of their camp. He approached quietly and placed his hand upon the Vanya's shoulder, smiling as Glorfindel turned to face him.
"Do not take offense at my father's words, Glorfindel," he said softly.
Glorfindel smiled at his young friend and nodded. "Not to worry, mellonamin, I did not. Whatever business lies between your father and the High King is not of my concern. Right now, all I am concerned with is stopping this tide of evil before it drowns all of Middle Earth." He saw a shiver wrack the lithe frame before him and he removed his cloak. "You should be resting, Thranduil, you still have a fever."
Thranduil's soft eyes peered into his own and he heard him whisper, "I would rest better if you were to lie with me."
Glorfindel felt his heart skip for a moment, and he traced the line of the Prince's brow with the tips of his fingers. "Alright, but you are to rest, and that means sleep. Understood?"
Thranduil smiled and captured the warrior's hand, bringing his fingers to his lips and pressing a soft kiss upon them. "Understood." He tugged the warrior's hand. "Come, I know just the place, it is quiet and we will not be disturbed."
Glorfindel followed his former lover through the brush to a small clearing. The ground was covered in soft, tall grass, and it was surrounded by brush and tall trees. Thranduil lowered himself to the ground and reached up, taking the warrior's hand and pulling him down to him. Glorfindel took the young Prince in his arms and cradled his head upon his shoulder, stroking the length of flaxen hair beneath his hand. He listened to the rhythmic breathing of his young friend and felt his heart beat steadily against his chest. Soon, Thranduil drifted into reverie and Glorfindel held him in his arms while he slept.
~ Next Chapter ~
~ Previous Chapter ~
~ Library Main ~
~ Author Index ~ Character Index ~ Title Index ~
~ Hall Of Fire ~ Gallery ~
~ Links ~ Shops ~ Map ~ News ~ Rules ~ Lists ~ ~
This page is in no way affiliated with New Line Cinema or Tolkien Enterprises, and no profit is being made.
The information contained herein is NOT to be used to spam or in any other way harrass its members. Be advised that abuse of this site will not be tolerated, and the appropriate legal action will be taken.
Hall-Of-Fire.Com v.4.0, Copyright © 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009 by Cristine Cook-Fireheart. All rights reserved. This web site may not be reproduced in any form, except as occurs in normal browser caching, without express written permission from the author.
Website by Infinite Connections Design.
