Title & Chapter Number: Razor's Edge Trilogy 2: A Kiss in the Darkness 1/2
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Hith a Naur
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Warnings: Slash
Betas: Silvara, the most patient beta in existence...
Cast: Erestor/Glorfindel, Erestor/Gildor Implied
Timeline: Winter of Fourth Age
Spoilers: None
Summary: In Arda, Glorfindel battles his demons, while in Valinor, Erestor must come to grips with a past more sordid than he knows.
Notes: This follows the "One Step Closer" trilogy. This trilogy will answer all the questions and more. ^^ There is a companion trilogy staring Haldir and Celeborn, since they made an appearance in "One Step Closer" and in "Razor's Edge." I will be posting "Before The Dawn" sometime next week, after all four parts of this trilogy have been released. I hope everyone likes the finale! ** A thank you goes to Ilye for pointing out a small, but important, omission on my part. **...** denotes a memory
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 Fëa, 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 Lorien 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, Valinor - 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 continues, 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 Valinor. 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 Valinor 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 Feanor 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; Rumil 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 Rumil 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."
Rumil 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 Rumil 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 Rumil 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. Rumil 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 Valinor, 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 Fëa *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 Fëa 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 Fëa 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 Fëa 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 Fëa 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 Valinor, Erestor took comfort in the warmth of Manwë, Lord of the Valar.
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