Rating: R
Pairings: Elrond/Glorfindel (Implied Elrond/Gil-galad. Implied Círdan/Gil-galad)
Summary: After the fall of Gil-galad, Glorfindel tries to rid Elrond of his grief at the risk of breaking his own heart.
Feedback: Please!!/p>
Notes: Big hugs and kisses to Aredhel, for all her help on things of which I am truly ignorant. Thanks! Xoxox
"There is nothing left," he whispered as he knelt at my side, staring vacantly at the charred ground, tracing the ashes and the earth with his fingers as though he was trying to find some semblance of remains. "Nothing left." He shook his head, dirt-clogged strands of dark hair falling in front of his face. "Nothing at all."
He had returned from the Cracks of Doom nigh on an hour before, but had not moved from that spot. When Isildur had come back without him, charging past me with barely an upward glance, I knew he had kept the Ring, binding himself to it's evil from the second he had put his hand upon it. Then when Elrond had not followed him for some time after, my heart had feared the worst. Though I kept myself rooted, waiting for him. He would not have appreciated my approach. I was to wait for him to come to me. And he did. He wanted no other's presence but mine. Indeed Círdan had been brushed aside the second Elrond had appeared from Orodruin and dismissed back to camp.
Sauron had fallen, but so had Gil-galad, Elendil, Anárion, and so many nameless others, and the Dark Lord's life force still lived in the hand of a reckless and wilful Man. There was no joy to be found that day. The Men had lost their King also, but while the Elves found their solace in lamentation, the Men found theirs in silence. The field had become a sombre place, the hush of mourning following eerily gentle in the wake of the screams of battle. Faintly more than a whisper, a cry of a tortured soul upon a cold breeze.
All around, the oppressive stench of battle hung heavy in the air blood, dirt, smoke. Dead Orc piled upon dead Elf piled upon dead Man, nearly impossible to tell which was which save for the still-bright armour and hair of our soldiers. Though there were no more bright eyes, no more bright souls shining through.
These Elves had fallen, had wives, children, mothers, lovers ... but their passing seemed to pale to insignificance at the fall of the High King. There would be a crude cremation for these victims of War later in the day. Ereinion had already suffered his. There was indeed nothing left to burn or bury.
I had seen it. I had stood at Elrond's side as Gil-galad vanished before our eyes. A flash of flame, and he had gone, as swiftly and brightly as a falling star. No sound had come from either him or from Elrond, as he watched incredulously from my side. Then with blank eyes, he had thrown himself back into the midst of battle, fighting with a vehemence that unnerved even myself.
But once the battle was over, he had no choice but to stop, no excuse not to think.
I did not know what to say. I did not know what to do to comfort him. If there was indeed anything I could do. He had watched his lover be reduced to a pile of ash, and there was nothing I could do to help him. I could not even begin to imagine how he felt. I had never had a lover, at least not one who I had ever loved as much as they loved me, not one that I could ever love as much as I love Elrond. And as much as he loved Gil-galad.
His anguish tore my heart in two like someone cleaving me with a knife. Not a single tear showed on his face, but I could see his pain warring in the stormy grey of his eyes anger, despair, disbelief... Though no emotion would escape him, I knew what was in his mind: he could not believe that never again would he feel the warmth of the King's body against his own, never again would he see those soulful eyes staring into his. A look that I would kill for him to give to me.
And never again would I have to watch the secret glances that passed between King and Herald that many had suspected but only Círdan and I had known the depth of. Never again would I have to hear the sighs and moans in the night...
As hard as I tried to push the feeling down, some small part of me felt relief at Ereinion's passing. Some wicked and lustful part of my conscience saw it as a way at last into Elrond's heart and a way for him to come into my arms. But the decent part of my mind cast this aside as I saw my beloved friend kneeling dejectedly upon the burned ground where his lover had stood but hours before to face the wrath of Sauron. Noble and brave and beautiful. A true hero... Ai, heroes! Mandos' Halls are full of them! Heroes always do end up dead, a passing of a bright star into the shadow, a legend to be sung in time. I knew this.
I was a hero. The Balrog Slayer. The Reborn. I returned. A painful journey through life to death, into waiting, and back into life again. A journey that - at least in my waking moments - I remember little of these days, save for Mandos telling me I was needed more in the world than in his Halls. I had never understood why, but as I stood at Elrond's side after the battle, for the first time in my second life I understood.
And I was utterly helpless to appease him.
"Glorfindel..." he turned his face to me for a second before casting his gaze back to the ground. "Why, Glorfindel? Why can I not feel anything? Why does it feel like it is all a dream? Is it a dream?"
"No, my Lord," I whispered, hardly daring to say the words to him. "It is not a dream."
"Then why do I feel nothing?" He rose to his feet in an uncharacteristically stiff motion. The Peredhil was always as fluid in his movement as any Elf, even though his carriage was more Mannish. "Why does the grief not burn in my heart as he burned upon this ground?!"
I could not answer him. Words failed me. Movement failed me as I tried to raise my arms to take him within them. My hands fell back limply against my sides, and he reached out to me. Something stopped me. As Isildur with the Ring, I was scared to touch him, afraid of what touching him might do to me. Unlike Isildur, I paid heed to my conscience and not the lure of the beauty before me. Elrond needed my comfort, and looked hurt when I withdrew it, but I could not hold him in that second. It was better for all of us that I should not.
I dropped my gaze from his face to his hands, like mine, filthy with black blood and dirt. The hands of a healer should never look that way, I thought.
"We should clean up," I suggested, waiting for him to join me at my side before we walked the distance back to the sparse camp that had been erected. Tents and shelters dotted the black ground; campfires spoke of warmth and comfort. Sauron's fires still burned in the distance, like candles of mourning. I knew the night would be short, and we would have to take what rest we could before moving on. No one wished to linger any longer than necessary.
Many were wounded and all were weary, but none approached the healer for help. All could see that his wounds were greater than any they had suffered by blade or arrow. No one uttered a word to him as he stumbled over the rocky ground to the tent under which he had spent many a night in the arms of the King.
I was not sure if he meant me to follow him, or to leave him there. It was not my place to intrude in that shelter, something Gil-galad had reminded me of often enough. It was almost as if he had suspected me - as much as he had been my friend, for my part. Why should it not have been obvious to the lover of the one that I love? For we shared the same feelings.
As I stood undecided, I received a nod from Círdan, and a turn of the eyes that commanded me to follow after Elrond and comfort him. He wanted to comfort him, but knew he was not permitted to. If I could have only comforted them both. The shipwright needed as much as Elrond; felt the loss of Gil-galad just as much, if not openly. Maybe that was why he had approached Elrond at Orodruin. He had needed the comfort of the one who had loved the one that he loved, although that very one had been the one who had stolen his lover from his bed. Círdan had spoken to me at Orodruin, sadly whispering that he had lost Ereinion long before that day, he had lost him the second the High King had laid his eyes on Elrond. Just as I had known that any chance I might have had with my Lord was gone when Elrond had turned his sights to Gil-galad. Only I could begin to understand the feeling in Círdan's heart, and I did not understand at all. At least the shipwright had been granted the chance to love his love. I never had, and I knew had Elrond been stolen away, my soul would have surely fled on his heels. Maybe Círdan's soul was tempted to, but he busied himself with the wounded. Maybe we should have found solace together instead.
Smiling solemnly at Círdan as he turned his gaze back to his task, I followed after Elrond, stopping only to grasp a bowl of water that was heating over a fire.
Fire...
My eyes flashed to it as the flames leapt up at me. I remembered... I could never forget the feeling of the burning... Had it been like that for the Noldorin King? Or had it been so fast that he had felt nothing. It had seemed fast to my eyes, though for Elrond the vision had surely lasted an Age. He would have noticed things that my eyes had not been able to see.
I followed him into the tent to find him staring blankly at the empty space beside his bedroll. His eyes were lowered and his brow was creased, as though he was trying to comprehend what had happened. The pity in my soul swelled and threatened to overtake me, but I composed myself. He needed me to be strong for him. I tried to tell myself that my own feelings mattered little, but my heart did not want to hear my appeal.
"Glorfindel." He whispered my name, but he did not look up at me as I placed the pan of steaming water on the floor. "I do not wish to spend this night alone."
"Then you shall not," I told him as I knelt to remove his armour. My hands were eager and reluctant all at once to pull at the clasps and buckles, cuts on my fingers hindering my speed.
Soon his armour - and my own - had clanked to the floor of the small tent and was pushed aside. Like a child, he let me undress him and wash the spoils of battle from his fair skin with a wet soft cloth and what little bit of soap I had managed to scrounge from my pack.
Never had there been any shame or coyness between Elrond and myself. We were Elves. Lords. Warriors. Nudity had never bothered either of us, though my eyes had often strayed in the baths of Imladris. But as I bathed him, cleansing each inch of his beautiful form with reverence, I could feel the heat creeping to my cheeks and I swiftly moved on to tend to my own state of disarray before the heat moved to a more unfortunate place.
I washed myself, wishing more than anything in that moment to be immersed in a steaming bath, unsure if I would ever be free of the smell of War again. I could feel his eyes on me, though my back was turned to him. Moments before his attention had been wandering; now it seemed to be firmly fixed on me. It was an uncomfortable sensation.
"Isildur," he whispered then, and he shivered. "He has made this all in vain."
A light drumming noise upon the canvas, and the clamour of folk from outside, informed me that it had begun to rain. At least it would put out the fires...
"Worry not about him this night, my Lord," I wrapped a blanket around his quaking shoulders as I eased him back against the bedroll and settled beside him. Even sitting beside him felt awkward. I did not know how to comfort him without aggravating my own wounded heart, and I was ashamed at myself for being so selfish. Maybe it was because I had never felt that I had had a chance before while Gil-galad was alive, and maybe that my guilt over this thought was eating at my conscience. Or maybe I just did not know how to handle the grief of my dearest friend. Truly, I would have rather faced Morgoth's beast again. I have never liked to admit that I am a weak - I can face the most fiendish foe with no fear - yet in affairs of the heart my cowardice is second to none.
I became faintly aware that he was talking to me, and I turned to face him.
"I think he knew this would happen. He foresaw it. That strange night when he passed Vilya into my care. He tried to tell me.... he tried... but I did not want to know."
I felt his fingers press into my hand and I took them gently. He would not want my pity; my comfort and presence was all I could offer him and both were pledged wholly to him for the remainder of the night. Nothing would pull me from his side, not even Sauron rising from the ashes. I would protect and comfort him, as Mandos had sent me back to do. Had the Vala only known the weight this would put on my heart, though I could hardly blame him.
"Why can't I feel anything Glorfindel?" he asked me again. "Why doesn't it hurt?"
If he had truly wanted to feel the pain in his heart that only love can bring, if he had truly wanted to embrace that sort of pain, he could have had the pain I was feeling for him.
"Give it time," I reached to caress his cheek. "You are still in shock, my friend. Your mind will not admit that it is true." Pathetic words, spoken to many a grieving loved one.
"Yet I know that it is true!" he cried. "And I want it to hurt, I want to grieve for him right now, but I cannot feel anything but this numb emptiness!" He clasped both my hand firmly and rose to his knees, the blankets falling away from his body. "I want to feel something for him, anything at all - fear, pain, regret, I care not! Just anything other than this icy void in my heart!"
He stared at me for answers but I had no answers to give him, I could only gently stroke the backs of his hands with my fingers, and fight the rising urge to kiss him. It would not do well. I would have been taking terrible advantage of his sorry state. Despite the love I had hidden from him for more years than I knew, he was still my friend and I had sworn that would always come first.
Yet, I have never wanted to kiss him more than I did in that moment. So beautiful... his vulnerability as beautiful as his strength had always been... the slightest threat of tears welling in the tormented grey of his eyes, his lips trembling as he gasped on his breath, his strong chest rising and falling rapidly. His hand clinging to mine like I was a lifeline in the storm, like he was afraid to let go of me.
He was trying to probe into my mind, I was sure of it, and I turned my eyes from the intimidating gaze. He had always had an unnerving way of looking at folk when he wanted to know something. He had never before used the gift on me and I was glad. I don't think he would have liked what he would have seen. What was he looking for now?
Somewhere, in the midst of the fog, it dawned on me what he was about to do out of nothing more than sheer desperation but I was too late to stop it happening.
"You are like a shining light, my friend," he whispered, as he closed the gap between us. "My beacon in this darkness." He pressed his lips to mine. "Help me Glorfindel! Help me, lest I drown in this sea of pain!"
My first thought was to pull away and I obeyed it. "No!" I held him back firmly by the shoulders, and I could feel him shaking as much as my own hands were. "No Elrond, you do not need this." He did not need it. I wanted it, I wanted it so much, but I did not need it either.
He formed a similar grip on my shoulders, pushing me back against the blankets. "It is the very thing that I need!" he cried. "Do not deny me this Glorfindel!" The plea was undeniable. It made me sick to the stomach to see my strong and light-hearted Lord reduced to such a wretched state by his grief.
More years than I cared to remember had I longed to feel those lips against mine, but it did not feel right. It hurt. I was nothing more than a substitute. Though I surely would have whored myself to him five thousand times in a thousand nights had he requested it... It did not feel right.
"I... I am not him!" I gasped and fumbled trying to hold him back as he attempted to catch another kiss from me and that time he stopped like he had been slapped.
"I know you are not him," he whispered, fingering my hair. "That is why I need you." He sank both hands into my hair, pulling it loose from its braid. "He was dark, you are gold. I cannot compare. I wish not to compare. He was my lover, you are my friend. And he is gone, and I need you." I did not resist the next kiss. "I need you to make me feel something again."
I rolled him onto his back and leaned over him. "I will make you feel," I promised, and lowered my head to kiss him. In that second, I had crossed the line that I had promised myself I would never cross. I was meant to comfort him, but as I kissed him my own heart ached so much I feared it would burst. Like little more than an Elfling, the heat in my loins stirred as soon as I was pressed alongside him. I would have been mortified had I not felt a similar heat from him pressing urgently against my leg. Demanding, even.
It is strange the things folk are driven to do when they are upset.
His hands never left the grip on my hair and he pulled my head down to deepen the kiss. His tongue entered my mouth as soon as I took a breath, pushing desperately past my lips and teeth. He drank my kiss like it was life's breath and I let him take all he needed, and more than I could afford to give.
Before I had barely comprehended this simple gesture, he was upon me, hands scrabbling to remove the remaining blankets from our bodies. There was no tenderness, just animal compulsion, a clawing desperation to fill his heart with something, anything. Not with me. With lust, and ardour, and pain and passion; zealous rutting beneath a canvas cover on the battlefield. Like so many soldiers.
"Glorfindel!" he gasped my name into my ear as his teeth scraped at my neck, his hands and nails scratching down my sides.
I moaned at the touch. Quite easily could I have lain there and let him ravish me... but it was not what he needed or desired. He needed to be loved, to be taken, to be pushed beyond all barriers of pleasure or pain, into a void of nothingness, where he could just float on a cloud of sensation and forget all that had happened. Hopefully I would reach the same summit as I claimed his body, before my heart claimed me.
I loved him enough to grant him this. If my touch would heal him just a little, I would do it. I would do it for anyone, though not as easily as I would do it for him. Even though I knew it was not the way to go, and it would not help him at all, I did do it. Perhaps my motives were selfish.
"Lie back," I told him, as I reversed our positions, settling him comfortably in the soft nest of blankets. "Lie back and be still. Let me care for you." I was shaking like a youth in the first flush of romancing.
He pulled my mouth into another kiss. "Do not speak," he whispered against my lips. "Just take me. Take me... make me feel..."
He did not want to hear my voice. Only the grip he kept on my golden hair kept me safe from the fact that he was not imagining I was Ereinion. That was what he wanted, needed. A contrast. I was nothing more than a contrast in which he could lose him. A contrast that loved him, for he was my Lord, and more than he could have ever known.
The time for words was gone for him, time for words to be replaced by moans. And the time for reflection was gone for me. I first needed to find that void of nothingness, in order to pull him into it with me. And in order to do that I had to forget my love for him and go back to where every foolish desire first starts. Lust.
I returned his kiss with a hunger for him that I had not felt for long years since we had become well acquainted, feeling his body melt into the strong grip my arms had found around him. I claimed every inch of his flesh with my hands, drawing first sighs from his heaving chest, then as I worked lower down his body the sighs became moans, and as I moved even lower, the moans became keening whimpers.
I should have known that he was not the type to merely lie back and be tended to, yet I was somewhat surprised at the intensity with which he threw himself upon me, shoving me on to my back and clambering atop me. His mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, on my lips, at my ears, biting my neck, my nipples... If he had sensed my reluctance at all he seemed determined to rid me of it quickly. As his hand found my shaft, any reluctance sped away on the wind. His grip was warm and firm and determined. I met his eyes, dark with lust, and I grasped his face between my hands to pull him down into another kiss.
He rolled our positions sideways, wrapping a strong leg around mine as he ground himself against me. I bit his neck as he moaned at the friction. His hands clawed at my shoulders, fingernails digging into my skin and I hissed at the pain even as I grasped his firm buttocks and pulled him tighter to me. My hands combed through his hair, fingertips caressing the points of his ears and at this, I found myself on my back again, with him biting at my collarbone hard enough to leave a mark come morning. That would be the only reminder come morning.
His hand found it's way between my legs again, stroking and kneading with a fast and intentional touch. His hair fell around his face as he bucked against my leg, closing his eyes, allowing me the oppurtunity to get back on top.
He seemed to want to fight me as I pushed him back, but I would not let him up, using my weight to hold him down. I could feel the heat of his arousal against my own, and I pushed my hips down. He gasped, rising up to meet me. We moved like this for some time, his eyes closed, my eyes never leaving his beautiful face, watching intently as each bead of sweat formed on his forehead, at the flush that spread evenly over his cheeks, as he bit into his lower lips to try to stifle his cries...
I ducked my head to kiss him, but he fisted a hand in my hair, urging my head downwards. I moved down his chest, taking each nipple between my teeth on the way, suckling each to a hard point. I dragged my tongue down his abdomen, across his navel, nibbling gently at the sensitive skin at the top of his leg, before moving between his thighs to take him in my mouth.
I had had enough lovers in each of my lifetimes to know just how to use my mouth, though as I took his sweetness inside it I nearly choked upon my own bitterness for the sorry situation. For him, for me, for both of us to be reduced to this...
To forget... we both had to forget... nothing else mattered.
To be pleasuring him, knowing he was crying out because of me, was beyond any dream and my own desire ached for it. I could still feel the ghost of his touch upon me. I could feel the clammy heat of arousal rising from his skin underneath my hands and I dared to glance up from between his legs to look at him.
His eyes were half closed, heavy lidded and rolled back in pleasure. He was panting, whispering pleas like a prayer the second I ceased my movement. He urged me down the column of his flesh once more. Once more his hands clawing in my hair, causing it to fall around my face. Perhaps that was deliberate. I could feel the tips of his thumbs rubbing against the tips of my ears, sending hot flutters down my body to my groin and I moaned around him.
To rise above all emotion...we had to find that peak... to forget... to feel... To lose myself to my desire... To heal his pain... to take his pain from him, for but a moment, a second...To grant what my body had always ached for...
It was not about me. It should not have been about me. It was about him. It was for him.
I forced myself to concentrate on nothing more than the pulsing heat within my mouth. It had to become my world, lest I lose myself again. I could feel him writhing and bucking beneath me, trying to force himself deeper and I let him. My hands joined my administration, eliciting heightened cries that I was certain the whole of the camp could have heard but I did not care. He was begging me, all at once to stop, and never to stop. I would not stop. I needed to pull him to the height of arousal that bordered on pain... that was where the summit would be found... perhaps he would leave his body to float in the strange world above for a moment... How often had Gil-galad made him touch the stars?
How I would have longed to have pleasured him long and slow, until he was clay within my hands, but he needed nothing more than release. No tender caresses, no utterances of love and devotion whispered into the pointed shell of an ear. His cries told me that he could last no longer, my own body screamed with tension, and I withdrew, rising on my knees to reach for the oil used on our armour. It would suffice. I am sure it had sufficed many times before.
"Do not bother," he panted. "I do not care if you hurt me, I need to feel you in me. Please!"
I ignored his plea. Without some modicum of preparation, I knew I would not last out a second inside him. His hand joined mine, stroking me only twice with the oil before he urged me down between his legs and I entered him with one push. He threw his head back, biting down on a scream as his arms and legs wrapped around my back. I stilled, gasping, giving us both a moment to adjust to the tightness.
"Glorfindel!" he cried my name. "Please... oh, please... move, for pity's sake! I care not if you hurt me! Just take me please!" Tears welled in his eyes as he gazed up at me, reaching down to take himself in his hand. "End it now!"
"Hush," I whispered to him as I drew back out of his body, slipping my arms behind his knees pull his legs up against his chest. "I will release you soon." I thrust back into him. "But hush."
Now I could not hear him speak. I did not want to know personally that it was him. Just an impossibly tight heat wrapped around me, long strong limbs wrapped around me, a hot hand against my buttocks urging my movement to hasten.
He was shaking, pained cries escaping his lips with every thrust I made into him. I knew I was hurting him, I knew there would be blood to show for it, but my own pleasure was so great that I did not care. It seemed to be what he wanted; he was pushing his body down to take me in every time I withdrew. I could feel his hand between our bodies, moving up and down his own desire. I felt his body begin to twitch, and for a second our eyes locked before his rolled back and I lowered my head to press into his neck and fucked him with abandon, hearing his gasps and cries rise in pitch with every second.
It did not take long for either of us to surrender to release. I bit into his shoulder to try to muffle my final shout as the world exploded in stars of black and white. My body shook on the precarious precipice of climax for more seconds than I could count, and I dragged him through with me and held him before we both dropped back to earth.
I had not even noticed when his cries had become sobs; only when my own cries had ceased and the heaving of his body had replaced the shuddering of my own. And as my heart resumed a steadier pace, and my flesh slipped from his trembling form, I cradled his head against my shoulder and held him tight as a flood of tears that refused to stop poured from him.
I knew I had broken him, and that had needed to be done; festering grief can be a lethal thing. I had lain with him. Something I thought I had always wanted to do. But not like that. I should never have done that. There could have been another way. There had to have been some other way. I had not had to use the situation like that but I had, knowing it would be my only chance. I did do it for him, but only as much as I did it for myself, if I am honest, and the thought has wounded my conscience ever since.
I had got what I thought I wanted, but it was as far from my every fantasy as it could have possibly been. He had not wanted me he had only needed me - I was just an escape from his pain. And had Gil-galad survived this day I would have been in the neighbouring tent listening to the muffled gasps and moans from behind the canvas screen separating us. It had happened many times, though long before had I stopped soaking my pillow with tears for him. Acceptance had forced it's wisdom into my heart, though it had never stopped it hurting... that final cry of completion, that always seemed to be simultaneous, had burned as much each time....
I would never have to hear it again. He would never hear it again. He would never cry out in such a way. I may have made him cry out, as he made me; but for each of us, for different reasons, it had only been a cry of pain.
I stayed the remainder of the night with him, as promised, but come morning we awoke and rose and not a word was spoken of the night's events. That was how he wanted it. I would never be foolish enough to try to tell my heart it would be otherwise.
The End
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