Fic: "Möbius" 9/?
I'm leaving this Sunday for a week, so I decided to try and write something for you all before I went. =) So here is chapter 9 of Möbius! =D
Title: Möbius - Chapter 09/?
Author: Nemesi.
Beta: None… be warned. ^^;;
Genre: Romance.
Couple: Erestor/Glorfindel.
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings, its characters, places and themes do not belong to me, no matter how much I may wish. All the characters here portrayed are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien.
Warning: AU. Most noticeably because there is no forest like the one I describe on the way to the Grey Havens. It *could* be the Old Forest, but that forest is not this evil, or dark, especially not at the time when the Elves sail. On the contrary, the concept that when Elves make love they are bonded for eternity, is wholly canon. So, for the sake of this story, Glory and Ery are still unbound and… virgins!
Summary: Recipe: Take one aloof advisor, one handsome Balrog slayer, a cold and evil forest where to get them lost, leave them alone for some time, and then…
Dedicated to: Fishy. I hope you will like it, sweetie ^^
* * * * *
Chapter 09 - Prelude to an Epic Battle
Glorfindel emerged from the greenery at dawn, a staggering shadow haloed in liquid gold. He was naked to the waist, and his leggings, damp with sweat and caked in mud, were rolled up to the calves, with the waistband low on his hips, enough to show a glimpse of golden hair underneath. His appearance was unkempt, his bare torso was covered in wounds, old and new, and his hair was a study of tangles, but Erestor stopped dead in his tracks at the sight. A mixture of longing, worry and hope coloured his features, as he watched Glorfindel drop like the dead on the rumpled beddings.
“What was it, this time?”
Glorfindel groaned, turning, and pulling one arm out from under himself he rested it against his face.
“You do not really wish to know.”
“I do.”
Barely keeping himself from running over, Erestor took his time in collecting their frugal meal, and went to Glorfindel with calculate steps. He did not want to sound, or even appear eager, but it had been two days since Glorfindel had to fight a ‘real’ demon. It seemed that the Balrog had run low on lies, and was torturing Glorfindel with things the Golden Lord would never - could never - blame himself for, like Arwen’s feelings for Aragorn, or the Three Elven Rings losing power.
“So?”
Glorfindel let his arm flop back down, seeming to struggle to stay awake, and squinted at Erestor with bleary eyes.
“The twins.”
“Oh.”
Erestor went down on his knees and looked aside, busying himself with mixing nuts and berries together in a concave, cup-like rock they had found on the riverside. “It was not your fault,” he offered quietly.
“That they chose mortality? I know. Even their own father had no say in their choice, how could I sway their mind?”
“They had to stay behind. You know why.”
A moment of silence. Then Glorfindel exhaled loudly through his nose. He sat up crossed legged and rubbed his face harshly with one hand.
“I know. That is why it was easy to rid myself of this particular nightmare. They would not be happy, in Valinor. They would be separated and judged, and their bliss frowned upon. I am glad they can live in peace, at least for a few years. Not to say I will not miss them, but I can understand their reasoning. A few years of happiness are a far better doom that an eternity of regret.”
Like a tapestry, threads weaved through his voice, entwining filaments of regret, affection, hope, longing and pain, the pain of loss.
Nodding in acknowledgement, Erestor let a moment of silence pass, and then:
“Glorfindel?”
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
The Golden Lord (who once more deserved such title, as his mane had regained all its glitter) threw back his head and laughed; a hearty sound that seemed to spread around him in waves.
“Never stop saying that, Erestor. Ever.”
“I do not plan to. Ever.”
Smiling, Glorfindel reached out to Erestor, and he went willingly, placing his cheek against Glorfindel’s shoulder. The Golden Lord ran his hand through Erestor’s hair and rested it at his neck, feeling the pulse flutter beneath the skin.
“It is time,” Erestor whispered, voice muffled.
“The Beast has nothing to defend itself with anymore,” Glorfindel agreed quietly.
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Tonight I will face it.”
“I will come with you.”
“Erestor…” Glorfindel began, voice low and warningly. Erestor wrenched away from their embrace, eyes blazing.
“Why not? All we need is a different rite, something that can make me reach inside you, something that--”
“It would be dangerous. I will not permit it.” Even though his words were firm, his eyes showed only understanding and gratitude.
“You know me, Glorfindel. I am no fool, nor do I take my decisions rashly.”
“Indeed, you are many things - smart and stern and beautiful, but never a fool. Rather, fool was the name you had for me, was it not?”
“It was said in jest, and you know it. Glorfindel…”
“It worries me, that you would face such dangers because of me.”
“We both know the truth of this matter, Glorfindel. If you fall, I fall. If you die, I die. At least, if I am with you, I could be of help.”
“I do not want the Beast to touch you, or know of you even,” he admitted quietly.
Erestor leaned up with a sigh, to rest his forehead against Glorfindel’s.
“Do not fool yourself. It knows of me, already. And it wants me. Take me with you, Glorfindel. If only to better protect me?”
Glorfindel tightened his arms around Erestor’s waist, bringing him closer. But he was tired and sleep tugged at his mind, and so his hold was slack and feeble, whereas he wanted it to be firm and reassuring.
“I would die for you, Erestor.”
The Advisor said nothing, but lightly pushed his beloved down on the pallet, covering him with his light body.
“Live for me. I would much prefer it,” he joked lightly, pressing a loving kiss on Glorfindel’s slack lips. the Golden Lord’s eyes flashed, nostrils flaring.
“I need your light. I need your strength.”
“And I will give it to you. I would give anything to you.” His breath was sweet and warm against Glorfindel’s lips. Alluring. So alluring. Sweet water for the wandered lost in the desert. Then Erestor’s mouth was covering his, hot and tender, and his tongue was slipping inside - his tongue and his breath were slipping inside. And there was warmth, and coolness, and there was comfort and passion, and love and pain. They kissed. Oasis for the senses. Haven for the soul. Torture for the body. Alluring, so alluring. Their tongues met, stroked, danced. There was nothing else but this - this Elf, this kiss. Glorfindel’s whole word narrowed to focus into that one instant, that one million of feelings. Pleasure. He was drunk - he was drowning - he was burning - he was turned into - living - pleasure.
Erestor pulled away, reluctantly, like a flower being tugged from its stem and fighting not to leave it, and then put his brow to Glorfindel’s brow, and breathed quietly of his scent.
“Mhhhh… love you.”
Glorfindel smiled, rubbing circles on Erestor’s long, graceful back; but sleep enveloped him quickly, and he was staring now at Erestor as if through a shimmering white mist. He struggled to stay awake. “You… you put a charm on me.”
Erestor kissed him again, quickly.
“I hope so, my love.”
“Erestor…” he began, warningly, but his voice was raspy with sleep, and his lids fluttered close on their own volition.
“Hush, my love. You need the rest. Sleep tight, and when you wake, I will be here. Always here. For you.”
“I… do not want you… to be… in any danger.”
“I know, beloved. But think this: nothing could be more dangerous for me, than to be separated from you. Without you, I die. Alone, I die.”
“Me too… I… oh, Erestor! Erestor! What I feel… I… I want… I…”
“Shhh. I know, beloved. I always knew. Now sleep, Glorfindel. Sleep.”
And that is what Glorfindel did.
* * * * *
He woke up some time before sunset, and was surprised to feel so refreshed and restored, and not at all famished. Erestor was asleep beside him, looking fragile and yet impossibly beautiful in the feeble light, as thought something out of a dream, strong and real as long as you can see it, but instantly gone, forever gone, if the faintest trace of dawn comes from behind the horizon.
Glorfindel felt a lump in his throat, thinking how strong that fragile-looking creature really was, how brave, and how much danger he had - and would have - to face, because of him, to save him, to love him. Always had Glorfindel been the one to protect and cherish, the knight whom everyone turned to for protection. Never in his life had he felt safe, loved and protected, as when he was with Erestor.
Sighing, the Golden Lord tucked Erestor’s head under his chin, and lightly stroking the long, sinewy back he pondered on what to do. Bring Erestor along to the battlefield of his mind would really be more dangerous than not? Or, rather, having his beloved close would help - make them both safer? After all, the Balrog knew of Erestor’s existence, of his life and strong Elven light already. It was no use hiding him away. And yet Glorfindel burned with rage at the thought of the foul Beast resting its eyes on his Erestor. It the monster all but tried to touch one single hair of Erestor’s raven head, it would regret it forevermore.
But leaving Erestor behind was something Glorfindel could - and would - not do.
Not when Erestor was both the source of his strength and the treasure he would give his life to protect.
Before, Glorfindel’s nightly battles had been, in truth, but nightmares where he lost himself and drowned, without return. With Erestor’s aid, he had been able to fight - to swim back up towards the surface - to recognize the lies for what they were, and the guilt that ate at him as dangerous and needless. But now, the battles had changed - they had done so the day when Glorfindel had been told of the darkness he kept inside.
It called to him, now, that darkness.
As he slept, disembodied voices entered his mind, and whispered to him of power, and passion and dreams fulfilled. But their sweet lies had no effect in swaying Glorfindel’s mind and taking him to the dark side.
“If I give my light to you willingly, you will not make me Lord, nor God. You will make a puppet of me, or a corpse, and burn the world as you burnt my city and beloved all.”
So the murmurs - the sweet and insisting murmurs - became visions, still pleasant, colourful shards like those a diamond could reflect, when hit by light. Gently he would be dragged by the hand through many a paradise, and met with the forgiveness of those he had failed.
But still Glorfindel would resist, laugh at his tempter, and spit on its lies, knowing that after doing so, the visions would turn into nightmares, fever-dreams like that he had the night before, were the twins died because of him, pleading and crying and cursing as age and care slowed them, and made them wither.
In his dreams, Glorfindel had cried all night with his tormentors, and cradled them, and kissed their brow as a father would, holding their fragile hands as they became first bone, and then dust.
It was then that the Balrog had showed itself for the first time, laughing and growling at him, sat like a King on the burned remains of Gondolin.
And then screams, cries and accusations had risen from the smoke, and faces had come forth, the faces of those he had let die in Gondolin, their skeletal hands reaching for him, charred lips blurting curses, blurry eyes watching him with malevolent fire.
Unable to answer, unable to move, intimately convinced he could have done more - saved more lives - kept the City from crumbling - Glorfindel had remained in place, as the dead went to him on hands and knees, crying in pain and rage.
It had been in that moment, when the dark mass had almost reached and drowned him, that the thought and memory of Erestor had come to his rescue, blossoming like a sun in the night-dark sky. And Glorfindel had felt elated, and had felt guilty, but had reached out for that light, and had followed it into awareness.
“Forgive me,” he had said to his people, just before waking. “Forgive me, but I have something to protect now, and I will fight for him, and protect him, like I couldn’t protect you.”
And, it may have been his imagination, or a ploy of his guilt-wretched heart, but he thought he had heard them all sigh and smile and nod, as they all had disappeared like mirages from view.
But it was not his imagination.
The Balrog’s enraged, painful scream had told him it was all true.
He had another chance, another life, a love, and with it, had come redemption, and peace.
And the Balrog had no other weapon to hurt him with.
“I will protect him,” Glorfindel vowed anew, and just then Erestor’s eyes fluttered, his breathing deepened, and he woke, rubbing against Glorfindel’s side. Glorfindel half-expected him to meow, and reach up to lick his face, like a cat, but Erestor only turned to lay flat above Glorfindel, circling his neck and kissing his chest.
“Good morning.”
“It is evening, Erestor.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, you know me and my mouth. Kiss me may be the only chance to put me to silence.”
Erestor snorted.
“I know not if I am relieved or rather annoyed, that you are back to your brash self.”
Glorfindel caressed Erestor’s head, and placed a kiss on his hair.
“You love it, admit it.”
“Maybe. Another day.”
Erestor raised his head, in time for a kiss to be delivered in his brow.
“Sleep?” murmured Glorfindel hopefully. “Together?” he added, lower, just against the elegant shell of Erestor’s ear. Erestor’s eyes gleamed at the hidden meaning, now not so scary anymore.
“You know we cannot, Glorfindel.” A kiss. “I would go and collect some dinner, if you but released me.” Another kiss.
“I have no hunger for berries and nuts, this eve.”
Erestor chuckled.
“Ah, but the Elf-flesh you crave you cannot have, not until we are out of this place.”
“Then… more kisses?”
“Glorfindel, really! We have to dine, and prepare ourselves. Remember? The rite and the-”
“Later…” Glorfindel murmured, as he twined his fingers in Erestor’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss.
“Later,” Erestor agreed, just before he was flipped on his back, with Glorfindel above him, robbing his breath away with his mouth and setting his body on sweet, white fire.
Oh, if only they were out of the forest already, he thought.
If only…
- TBC