Title & Chapter Number: Fate's Mirror 22/?
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 and Thranduil grow closer, trouble brews in the south.
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.
March 1702, Second Age, Greenwood the Great
Gildor walked through the woods of the great forest alone. The sun shown bright that day, the light filtering through the branches of the tall trees, causing a mist to rise from the damp ground. It had become a ritual of sorts for him to take a walk after the morning meal, and this day was no exception. He crossed the meadow where the horses grazed in peace, nothing but the sound of the wind in the tree boughs and the horses contentedly chewing grass gracing his ears. He paused to scratch his gelding on the neck before continuing up the path that wound its way up the side of the mountain.
He had a brief respite for a day from the non-stop work he had been immersed in since he arrived in the great wood. He followed the path that wound up the mountain as he mused upon the path his life had taken. He was never one to plan things out, to set expectations or think about where he would be years ahead. So this latest change in plan did not unnerve him, he found it rather refreshing.
Greenwood and its elves were different in every way from Lindon. Lindon was a bustling elven community, made of elaborate stone halls and cobblestone streets, libraries, taverns, open air markets. Smithies, soldiers, noblemen, courtesans, and domestic workers all mingled among the winding streets and artfully constructed halls. Greenwood was a wooded paradise, trees and dense forest for as far as the eye could see, rivers and streams, fern and moss, blackberry thickets and groves of wildflowers. The mountains rose up out of the thick canopy, the hill tops covered in grasses and large stones, large fir trees covered the hills, and the air smelled clean and fresh. The Silvan community was also quite different from the largely Noldorian community of Lindon. Oropher's people were largely hunters, gathering what goods they may need from the wood itself. Their clothes were simple; robes and tunics of woven cottons and wools, doublets and armor made from leather. Their weaponry consisted largely of bows and knives, but the occasional seasoned warrior also carried a sword.
Oropher resisted trade with outsiders, so the secretive community avoided contact with the Dwarves and Men that used the great forest road. Thranduil, however, had some contact with outsiders on his ill-fated trip to the west with his late mother. The Prince had brought back some fine goods from Lindon as gifts for his father, and he wielded a sword crafted by the King's own smith. The Prince was very different from his father; he did not have the mistrust of other elves that Oropher did. However, he did not trust those not of his own kind, so he too avoided contact with the Dwarves and Men that traveled through the forest.
He thought on his new friend as the traversed the path winding up the side of the hill. He had not seen Thranduil but in passing over the last several days; he and the Prince were on opposite watch. He still thought about the sweet kiss Thranduil had bestowed upon his cheek that night, and each time it came to mind, it brought a smile to his lips.
As he rounded the bend in the path and came into a small clearing at the top of the hill, he saw the object of his musings reclining in the sun. The Prince lay upon his back on the hillside with his eyes closed, his arms stretched over his head, and his legs crossed at the ankle. His tunic lay open, the morning sun warming his skin, and a relaxed smile curved his lips.
Gildor stood in the shadows for a moment, admiring the Sinda. His hair seemed to glow even brighter when kissed by Anor's light. His eyes lingered on those pink lips, curved so deliciously into a smile, before traveling down to his lean but muscled chest, over his rippled abdomen and the long curve of his thighs. He wondered what it would be like to have those legs wrapped around him, to have those sweet lips caressing his flesh and moaning his name.
"My Lord?"
He blinked back from his daydream to see Thranduil propped up on his elbows, his sapphire eyes pinning him to the spot upon which he stood. "Mae Govannen, mellonamin," he answered as nonchalantly as possible. "I did not wish to disturb you."
Thranduil smiled knowingly, he knew the Noldo had been watching him. "You are not disturbing me, Gildor. Please, come, join me," he answered softly. He held out his hand in invitation, knowing full well Gildor would not resist.
Gildor stepped from the shadows and crossed the short distance to where Thranduil lay. He took a seat beside him, leaning back upon his hands and crossing his legs. "Anor's warmth does not reach the forest floor as it does here," he said, idly making conversation.
Thranduil shook his head. "No, it does not. That is why I like to come up here in the spring, it is far too cold in the winter." He motioned with his head toward the mountains to the west. "The winter wind blows off Hithaeglir and races over the tops of these hills, but it stops about this time of year. Naught but a gentle breeze floats across the tops of the hills, no more than a whisper. Anor's warmth can linger now that Manwë's breath does not send it away." He looked back at Gildor and smiled. "During these months the powers of the Valar exist in harmony. Yavanna is alive in the wood and Manwë's gentle breezes begin the season of conception for the growing things in the forest." A deer slowly crept across the small clearing and Thranduil smiled. "Oromë is with us too, ever pursuing the fell creatures of the Dark One."
Gildor watched the Prince as he talked about the home he loved and it filled him with a sense of peace. He had missed wandering the woodland regions of Middle Earth. He smiled broadly as he listed to the Prince speak of nature and the ways of his people, and he saw why Glorfindel had been so enchanted with him.
Thranduil looked at Gildor and realized he had been rambling on about the wood and the Valar. He blushed slightly and looked at the ground. "Forgive me, mellonamin. I so rarely get to talk to those outside my father's subjects. I forget myself. You did not come up here to listen to me ramble about the great wood." He lay back down, returned his gaze skyward, and closed his eyes again. "I would imagine you came here for the peace and quiet that I have so rudely kept from you."
Gildor leaned across, took the Prince's face in his hands, and pressed his lips to those of Thranduil's. The soft moan that came from the Prince made his heart stop in his chest and he felt Thranduil's hands come to rest upon his back. He pulled back from the kiss and stared into darkening indigo eyes. "Forgive me, my Lord," he murmured against the Prince's lips, "if I have caused offense."
Thranduil sighed, his breath caressing the Noldo's lips. "Nay, my Lord," he whispered in reply, "you have caused no offense." He slid his hands into Gildor's hair and pulled him back down, opening his mouth as their lips made contact again.
Gildor moaned and delved into the sweet, hot cavern that was the Prince's mouth. Thranduil tasted of berries and sweet vanilla. He shifted so that his weight rested upon the Prince and moaned when he felt Thranduil's legs part, allowing him to rest fully against him. He plundered the Sinda's sweet mouth, tasting of his deepest recesses as he pressed his awakening arousal to that of Thranduil's.
Thranduil groaned as Gildor released his mouth, the Noldo's lips making their way down his neck to his chest. It had been far too long since he had allowed anyone to touch him; he had been so hurt when Glorfindel left. Something about Gildor set him at ease; he trusted him and he was beginning to care deeply for the Noldo. As Gildor's mouth tormented one pebbled nipple, he whimpered and arched beneath him, his arousal now throbbing painfully against Gildor's weight. "Ai, my Lord," he whispered breathlessly, "you undo me."
Gildor lathed the taut nipple with his tongue and gazed back up into Thranduil's eyes. "Mmm… now that is something I would like to see, you undone beneath me, ernil vain."
Thranduil gasped and arched into Gildor's hands as the Noldo tormented his body. "I do believe you will have your wish, my Lord," he answered in hushed tones.
Gildor rose off Thranduil and removed his cloak, spreading it upon the ground like a blanket. "Come, pen-neth," he said silkily, "lie upon my cloak."
Thranduil sat up and removed his tunic slowly, feeling Gildor's hungry gaze upon him as he did so. He shifted to position himself in the center of the Noldo's cloak and leaned back upon his elbows, his legs splayed open and bent at the knee. He watched Gildor remove his tunic and kneel between his legs as the Noldo's lips descended upon his own. He slid to his back, his hands reaching up and tangling in the mass of raven hair that cascaded around Gildor's shoulders. He reached for his lover with an open mouth, drawing Gildor's tongue back inside as the Noldo moaned into the kiss.
Gildor balanced upon one hand as his other found the tie to Thranduil's leggings, tugging upon it until it popped loose. He slid his hand inside the Sinda's suede leggings, his fingers finding his silken length and slowly stroking it. A deep rumbling growl escaped him as Thranduil's legs wrapped around him. The Prince sucked his tongue deeper into his mouth as he stroked him slowly, teasingly, wanting to prolong their act of pleasure. He felt Thranduil's fingers slide beneath the waistband of his leggings, gently guiding them past his hips so that his heavy length sprang free. He encouraged Thranduil to lift his hips as he in turn pulled the Prince's leggings past his waist. He gasped for air when Thranduil finally released his mouth and he buried his face in the Sinda's golden mane. He moaned Thranduil's name as the Prince took his length in his hand and began squeezing and stroking slowly. A smooth, sensuous rhythm built between them and Gildor covered Thranduil's hand with his own, sliding their heated lengths against one another with increased intensity. He suckled and kissed the Sinda's ear, earning a whimpering moan as he brought his young lover closer to climax. He felt Thranduil's hand tangle in his hair as the Sinda groaned his name, spilling his seed between them. His own release followed hard upon as he moaned Thranduil's name into his ear.
Thranduil sighed and pulled Gildor closer and the Noldo grimaced as he felt the viscous evidence of their spent passion spread between them. He chuckled and ceased to resist, allowing the warm substance to coat both their chests and stomachs. "We are a mess now, mellonamin."
Thranduil smiled and whispered, "A delightful mess, melethron."
Gildor sighed and nuzzled the Prince's ear. "So, how do we explain this when we get back to camp?"
Thranduil laughed softly and answered, "We do not. There is a pool just on the other side of the ridge in which we can bathe."
Gildor caressed the curve of Thranduil's ear with his tongue, earning a soft moan from the Prince. "It will be cold, pen velui (lovely one)."
"Not to worry, maethoren vain, I will keep you warm," he answered sultrily.
"Indeed you will," Gildor growled as he began assaulting the Prince's neck and ear with his mouth.
Thranduil laughed softly and rolled over his lover, sitting up and pulling his leggings back up, leaving them untied and resting just above the line of down-like hair that surrounded his arousal. He held out his hand and pulled Gildor to his feet and whispered, "Come, melethron nín."
Gildor smiled and pulled up his own leggings, following the Prince to the pond to bathe.
~*~*~*~
March 1702, Last Homely House, Imladris
Erestor sat at his desk, pouring over goods and equipment rosters. He set down his quill and rubbed his temples. "Impossible," he grumbled. "we will all die, each and every one of us."
"My Lord?"
He looked up at Melpomaen who was looking at him worriedly from across the double desk they shared. He waived his hand and shook his head. "Not to worry, Melpomaen," he said softly. "I am just grumbling aloud, pay no heed."
Melpomaen furrowed his brow and looked back down at the manifests he was compiling. He cocked his head and tapped the point of his quill in the dauber.
Erestor looked across at his young secretary, taking note of the confused expression upon his face. "What is it, Melpomaen?"
Melpomaen looked up at his master and frowned. "According to these manifests, my Lord, the grain stores are five hundred pounds short, it looks as though a shipment is missing."
Erestor raised an eyebrow and questioned, "Are you sure?"
Melpomaen nodded and turned the parchment, sliding it across the desk for Erestor to peruse. "See for yourself, my Lord. I have gone over the calculations thrice."
Erestor looked at the manifest and began rubbing his temples. "No one indicated there was trouble when the last shipment arrived?"
Melpomaen shook his head. "Nay, my Lord." He frowned and asked softly, "Is it possible that the scales are incorrect?"
Erestor sat back in his chair and looked at his secretary. "No, it is not. However, I will ask Amdir to check them again. Nevertheless, I doubt we will find the answer there; the Mírdain's work is flawless.
He noted the position of the sundial on the terrace outside their office. "It is time for the midday meal, Melpomaen. Leave this for now and we will try to discern the cause of this shortage later."
Melpomaen rose from his chair and bowed his head. "Yes, my Lord." He turned to leave then paused. "Will you be coming to luncheon? Or shall I bring something back for you?"
Erestor waived his secretary on. "I will take care of myself, Melpomaen. But thank you for thinking of me."
Melpomaen bowed his head again. "Of course, my Lord." He turned and departed.
Erestor sighed and closed his eyes as he sat back in his chair. "Five hundred pounds, that is an entire month's stock," he grumbled to himself.
"Raiders."
He opened his eyes to see Glorfindel leaning in his doorway. "Pardon?" he asked.
"Raiders," Glorfindel answered again. "The Wild Men have been setting upon our caravans. They have been under armed guard for a few months now." He entered the room and took a seat on the corner of Erestor's desk. "The wild men have attempted raids upon our returning shipments. I have been sending patrols out, but the last one is late. I have a regiment leaving to travel south in the morning to locate them." He sighed. "The human settlements have not fared as well as our own, meleth. Many of them are starving, scraping out a meager existence in the wild. Small farms are cropping up, but much of the land has yet to recover from the Dark Lord's scouring. The peoples of those lands are desperate for food. Add to that the increasing population of Dunlendings in the southern reaches of our lands and you have trouble."
Erestor frowned and answered, "These wild men dare to attack shipments with armed escort?"
Glorfindel nodded. "Yes, especially if the escorts are elves. The Wild Men hate our folk, the Dark Lord did his work well in that regard."
Erestor shook his head. "We must do something about this, Glorfindel. There must be some incentive we can find to bring the merchants inland, or some agreement we can reach with these wild men to bring about a truce."
Glorfindel smiled and caressed his lover's face. "First, meleth nín, we must find our missing kin, and if they are safe and just waylaid, then we can attempt negotiations with the settlements of men to the south." He shook his head and sighed. "Many of these settlements are terrorized by the men who are still drawn to the Dark Lord, we may not be able to trust them. However, if harm has come to our kin, the wild men must pay the price."
Erestor placed his hand upon the warrior's thigh. "Then we should offer these innocent families refuge in our valleys, give them a place where they can be free of fear."
Glorfindel smiled and nodded. "You have a kind heart, meleth," he answered softly.
Erestor furrowed his brow. "Not so kind as to keep from wishing for retribution on those who would do violence to our kin."
Glorfindel smiled and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss upon Erestor's lips. "I will see that they pay, meleth, I promise." He nuzzled the Noldo's mouth. "Now, if you are free, I would like to spend our midday meal together."
Erestor smiled against the soft teasing of the Vanya's lips. "Mmm… that sounds delicious, melethron," he answered.
Glorfindel winked and tugged Erestor from his chair and led him from the office.
~*~*~*~
Ernil vain = fair prince
Maethoren vain = my beautiful warrior~*~*~*~
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