Title & Chapter Number: Fate's Mirror 21/?
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. Gildor arrives in Greenwood and he and Thranduil get to know one another.
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. Thanks to Orchyd Constyne for Quenya and Sindarin translations.
January, 1702, Second Age, Greenwood the Great
Gildor and his companions slowed their mounts to a walk as they entered the great forest. Evidence of orcs passing was still visible here and there in the shape of broken and charred trees. The smaller plants, thickets of blackberries, ivy, and various types of underbrush had recovered, and the wildlife had returned. Although Sauron had been driven back, remnants of his evil still existed in this once safe and peaceful forest.
Oropher and his clan of Silvan elves had retreated north of the forest road, both from the need to escape the minions that Sauron left in his wake, such as wolves and spiders, but also to evade the Dwarves that inhabited Moria. After the near decimation of his clan, Oropher and his people were suspicious of outsiders, even those that would be allies, and there was a long history of animosity between the Sindar and Dwarves after the murder of King Thingol. Therefore, they withdrew north of the Great Forest Road to the low-lying mountains in the north of the forest that they called Emyn Duir, the Dark Mountains.
Gildor heard of Oropher's retreat north from the elves of Lórien, who were saddened by the departure of their kin. As the small band of Noldor approached Emyn Duir, Gildor sensed movement in the treetops and called for his band to halt. He whistled softly, a signal of greeting that he hoped some in Oropher's camp would remember from the defense of Eregion. A small group of about ten elves dropped out of the treetops with their bows at their sides. Three of them he recognized immediately, as Silvan archers who had helped to defend Eregion, the rest were barely past their majority. The third, standing taller than the rest, and singled out by the mane of golden hair that cascaded around his shoulders, was the Sindarin Prince, Thranduil.
Gildor slid off his horse and bowed his head, covering his heart with his hand. "Mae Govannen, my Lord," he greeted Thranduil. "My companions and I have come at the request of Lord Elrond of Imladris. We bear supplies and weaponry for your people, and we are here to help rebuild your homestead and train your troops."
Thranduil bowed his head and replied, "Welcome to Greenwood, realm of my father Oropher, Gildor Inglorian. Your assistance is greatly appreciated." He motioned for Gildor to follow him. "Come, I will take you to see my father."
Gildor's companions dismounted and walked along side their horses as Thranduil left the other Silvans behind to guard the border.
They walked in silence for sometime, and Gildor took note of how much Thranduil had changed in the years since he saw him last. The Sinda was taller, somewhat, certainly broader, well muscled, and he had an air of quiet confidence about him. He was no longer appeared to be the wide eyed, smiling Sindar Prince he had encountered in Lindon years ago. Part of him grieved the loss of so gentle and optimistic a youth, but the other part of him appreciated what the Prince had become, a noble and brave leader.
Thranduil looked over his shoulder at the Noldo, remembering him from Lindon. He remembered Gildor as a no-nonsense sort of elf, and a good soldier and brave Captain. When he saw the band approach, his heart sank when he saw no sign of Glorfindel, he had hoped the Vanya would be among those who came to their aid. He had a feeling he would see the Eldar again one day, but that meeting would not be what he wished it would be. As they walked along, Thranduil broke the silence and spoke to Gildor, "Tell me, my Lord. How fare your friends and companions in Lindon?"
Gildor nodded. "Well, my Lord. Lindon was hard pressed in the war, as your own realm was, but we are recovering."
Thranduil sighed. "My heart tells me this war is far from over. As long as the Dark One walks Arda, we will never be free of him or his wrath."
Gildor set his jaw. He knew the Prince was right, that Sauron had to be defeated, utterly, though when that time would come, he did not know. "You must feel the threat acutely, my Lord, being the elven colony closest to his realm."
Thranduil nodded. "Aye, Gildor, we do. Each passing year a darkness seems to grow closer to the wood." He grew silent for a few moments as they walked side by side. He took a deep breath and continued, "What of Lord Glorfindel, Gildor? How does he fare?"
Gildor smiled sadly, debating whether to break the news to the young Prince. The sooner Thranduil knew Glorfindel and Erestor were together, the less time he would spend on fruitless hope. He took a deep breath and sighed. "Lord Glorfindel has thought of you often, my Lord. He regrets he was not able to come with my companions, and me but he had pressing matters at home. He would have liked to see you again, you are a dear friend to him."
Thranduil winced at the term, `a dear friend'. He looked at Gildor and continued, "This pressing matter, I assume it is another elf. Is it not?"
Gildor's eyes widened at the bluntness of the question. He nodded and answered softly, "Aye, but in addition, he does have duties as seneschal to Elrond's house and leader of his armies."
Thranduil nodded in understanding. "Of course, mellonamin," he answered softly. He took a deep breath and pressed the matter further, "This elf, would I know him?"
Gildor chewed his bottom lip for a moment and looked the Prince in the eye. "I feel strange discussing this with you, my Lord."
Thranduil patted the Noldo on the shoulder. "Of course you do, Gildor. My apologies. I suppose I held out hope when there was none. I am sorry for placing you in an awkward position."
"No need to apologize, my Lord," Gildor responded quietly. "I know what it is like to have hope and see it fade."
Thranduil raised an eyebrow and questioned, "You do? Were you once in love with one who left you?"
Gildor nodded. "Aye, but it was over an age ago."
Thranduil turned his gaze to the trail ahead; they were nearing the encampment of his father. "Perhaps, one day you would share that tale with me and we could grow to know one another better. But I will leave that for you to decide." He motioned with his hand and addressed Gildor and his followers, "We have arrived, your horses may be taken over that ridge, we have a guarded meadow where they may mingle with our herd and eat their fill. Take care only to water them and fill your flasks from the troughs and buckets provided. Not all the water in this forest is fit for consumption." He clasped Gildor by the shoulder. "If you would come with me, I will take you to my father."
Gildor bowed his head and replied, "Hannon le, my Lord."
~*~*~*~
February 1702, Greenwood
Gildor sat upon a rock enjoying a fresh apple and watching the Prince of Greenwood. Thranduil sat on a rock in a pool of moonlight, fletching arrows and polishing his bow. The month had passed by quite uneventfully, and Gildor found Oropher to be a hospitable King, if not the friendliest one. He noted right away the Sinda's deep distrust of the Noldor, and Gildor supposed he could understand why, given his history.
Oropher had been one of the few to escape the fall of Doriath and the wrath of Fëanor's sons. He had been a noble Lord in service to King Thingol, and again to the King's son, Dior. Both had fallen victim to treachery, Thingol at the hands of the Dwarves, Dior at the hands of the Sons of Fëanor. Oropher had fought to defend his home until there was no hope, narrowly escaping death with his new wife. He fled to the mouths of Sirion with her and from there, found his way east.
Oropher and his wife lost all of their kin, but a few refugees went with them, seeking to put as much distance as possible between them and the Curse of the Noldor. They arrived in the great wood years later and forged a bond with the Silvan elves already abiding there. The small group of elves took Oropher as their King, seeing he was from a noble line and possessed great wisdom.
As Gildor mulled over the history of the rift between his kindred and those of Thranduil's he still saw hope, as Oropher had sent archers to defend Celebrimbor's realm. If the Sinda King was willing to do that, perhaps there was hope that the long years of mistrust between them could fade into history.
Gildor remembered the one he had loved briefly, the one who had cared for him but had given his life in service to his King. He had lost Mablung, not to another lover, but to duty; Mablung had chosen his duty to Thingol over his love for Gildor.
As Gildor looked upon Thranduil now, he saw in the young Prince shadows of his old lover, though he mused that Thranduil's beauty outshone even that of Mablung. He rose from his rock and crossed the short distance to where the Prince sat. He bowed his head and covered his heart with his hand as he greeted Thranduil.
Thranduil smiled and invited the Noldo to sit beside him. "Mae Govannen, Lord Gildor," he said quietly.
"Mae Govannen, my Lord," Gildor answered. He offered the Prince an apple out of his pack, and Thranduil, in turn, offered him a drink from his flask. He coughed quietly as he swallowed a gulp of what he had thought to be water.
Thranduil raised one eyebrow and smiled. "It is not what you thought, is it?"
Gildor cleared his throat and chuckled. "Nay, my Lord. I thought it to be water, not brandy."
Thranduil laughed softly and took a bite of the proffered apple. "Well, there is a chill in the air this night, a little brandy can go a long way in keeping one warm."
Gildor nodded. "Aye, it certainly can, my Lord."
Thranduil leaned over and bumped the Noldo with his shoulder. "Please, Gildor. Do not address me so formally. We have become friends, have we not?"
Gildor smiled. "Aye, we have."
"Then call me by my given name, please." He smiled charmingly.
Gildor suppressed a small gasp when Thranduil flashed the bewitching smile at him, and he shifted. "Very well, Thranduil," he responded and smiled in return.
"Tell me, Gildor," Thranduil began, "How many lovers have you had?"
Gildor's eyes widened in surprise and he looked at the Sinda. "Pardon?"
"Lovers, Gildor. How many?" Thranduil asked silkily.
"A few, Thranduil, not a large number. Why do you ask?" He regarded the Prince with interest.
"What a shame," Thranduil answered, his voice deep and rich, like honey. "So handsome an elf should have leagues of admirers, scores of would be lovers. Of course, you could just be particular in your tastes."
Gildor could not believe his ears. The Prince was flirting with him. He had grown quite fond of Thranduil, and admittedly found the Prince extraordinarily beautiful.
A gust of wind ruffled the tree boughs and a twig of pine drifted down and landed in Thranduil's hair. Gildor reached up and carefully extracted it, taking care not to muss the Prince's braids. His fingers lingered in the bed of golden silk that framed the Sinda's head and he found that he longed to plunge his hands into it.
The corners of Thranduil's lips curved into a smile. "Hannon le, Gildor," he answered quietly.
Gildor slowly took down his hand and looked at the ground, trying to conceal what was in his eyes. "You are welcome, mellonamin," he answered quietly.
The sound of elves coming up the hill alerted them to the time, there was a change of guard occurring, and their privacy was broken. Thranduil stood and bowed to Gildor, his hair brushing the Noldo's face and his lips lightly caressing the curve of his ear. "Maer dû, mellon," he whispered softly, and he placed a quick kiss on the Noldo's cheek before turning on his heel and disappearing into the trees.
Gildor sat, unable to move, unable to reply, in a total state of shock. At first, he had thought Thranduil's minor flirtations were just his way; he was a lighthearted and charming elf to be sure. However, after that evening's events, he believed that there was more to the flirtation than playfulness. It appeared that the Sinda was interested in becoming more than just friends. He slowly rose from his place on the large rock and headed back down the hill to his flet, a large smile gracing his fair face.
~*~*~*~
Maer dû = Good night
~*~*~*~
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