FIC: Of a Kindred Nature (#50 of 50passages), warning: slash, NC-17
Title: Of A Kindred Nature
Fandom: LOTR
Characters: Elrohir/Glorfindel
Prompt: 050 (“I think we had better not move out from here again, until it has gone quite dark.”)
Word Count: 3. 077
Rating: NC-17 (just to be safe, but probably a hard R)
Summary: A confused Half-Elf discovers a kindred spirit in the legendary Balrog-Slayer. Also featuring... cupid?
Author's Notes: Set a few years after Learning to Love a Brother, but can also be read as a stand-alone. Part of my Ardaverse where same-sex pairings are not looked upon kindly.
Written for Valentine’s Day 2006.
Elrohir had volunteered for what should have been a fairly innocuous task of transporting several samples of a new hilt design from the smithy to Glorfindel’s office. He was the most sober of the twins of Elrond, and technically the worst that could happen would be for him to drop one of the heavy hilts onto his foot.
Which was why he could be found near the entrance to the barracks hopping and rubbing a thinly shod foot whilst throwing curses to an oblivious broadsword hilt lying on the grass next to the path. He was grumblingly bending to retrieve it when a slight movement caught his eye.
A bush nearby gave a conspicuous shudder. Elrohir stepped back, visions of a stalking elleth leaping out of the bush driving more terror into his heart than an attacking Warg would have. Ever since the twin sons of Elrond had achieved their majority, they had been hounded by what seemed like every unwed ellyth on west of the Misty Mountains. Their noble heritage notwithstanding, both had the beguiling beauty found only amongst the Peredhil, an unique blend of dark Noldor and light Sindar, with the solidity of mortal Men. So sought after were they that had neither twin shown interest in their very willing admirers, doubtless a scorned elleth might have begun rumours concerning their strange closeness. Fortunately Elladan, at least, had taken to gracing a fair number of these ellyth with his attentions.
Elrohir, on the other hand, could not summon any such interest. He tried, and the Valar knew that those ellyth had done everything short of tying him down and having their way with him, but the most he could feel for the fairer half of the Firstborn was affection and platonic admiration of their beauty. He did not know what was wrong with him, though the meaningful looks that Elrond occasionally cast his way made him wonder if his father suspected that he still harboured unseemly feelings towards his twin.
Even though these days he regarded Elladan with little more than brotherly love, he felt that the single night of passion they had shared years ago was part of the problem whilst missed the mark entirely.
The bush gave another shudder, and a tortoise appeared from the other side. Having gotten used to the creature, Elrohir was not so much shocked at seeing it as by its appearance. For someone- undoubtedly an elfling with time on his hands- had glued what looked like a pair of little wings onto the weathered shell of the tortoise, using feathers from several species of bird. It seemed that the tortoise- who belonged to Glorfindel- had retaliated by stealing the elfling’s practice bow, which it was dragging by a thick thread tied around one end of the bow. Elrohir wondered if the elfling had noticed the disappearance of his bow, yet. Quite likely he had wandered off to find another distraction before the wings had even dried. In any case, the Half-Elf couldn’t help but laugh at the ridicules image the tortoise presented.
“It seems you are quite capable of mischief as well, little one,” he said to the tortoise. “Stay there. I shall put these away, and then we can search for your master.”
He quickly stashed the hilts in Glorfindel’s office, and confirmed that the seneschal was not in the barracks. Returning outside, he saw that the tortoise had indeed stopped and waited for him, crawling to stand on the bow itself. Elrohir chuckled and picked up the tortoise, bow and feathers and all. The creature retracted its stubby legs into its shell, making itself easier to carry, leaving only its head poking out as if to monitor where Elrohir was going.
Strangely enough, no one seemed to know where the seneschal was. Even after several centuries, most of the inhabitants of Rivendell were still enamoured with the legend living amongst them, and it often took no more than a few questions to locate Glorfindel if he was within the valley. Having seen him that morning, Elrohir was certain that the Balrog-slayer had not left for patrol, though it was always possible that an emergency had occurred requiring his attention.
He was about to give his search up for a lost cause when the tortoise suddenly began to move its head about. Elrohir stopped, puzzled, and the creature looked at him, then nodded clearly towards a garden path. After mentally reviewing his knowledge of the grounds, the younger twin remembered that the path led to a very isolated grove of trees beyond the meadow where the horses were often walked. He knew that his father would go down there if he needed a respite from his, and realised that there was no reason why Elrond would not have allowed his trusted seneschal the use of it as well.
Wary of intruding on Glorfindel’s privacy, Elrohir stepped softly as he reached the grove. There was no sign of another soul near the path, so the Half-Elf ventured into the thickest area of the wood, assuming that that would be where he would go if he wanted complete privacy.
So it was that he suddenly came upon Glorfindel sitting cross-legged and close-eyed on the ground with a light cloak drawn about himself. The fair-haired Elf did not seem to hear his approach, which was strange because the warrior was the most alert person Elrohir knew.
The younger twin paused in the shadow of a tree, his eyes trained on the seated Elf. He had always admired the seneschal, but not with the near-worshipful awe held by the rest of the realm. He might have, if Glorfindel’s face had not been in many of his earliest memories. As far as he could remember, he had always felt the sense of safety exuded by the skilled warrior and famed elf-lord. He even had a snippet of memory, from when he was still in his cradle, of reaching out and clutching a silk-soft lock of that magnificent hair. In a realm consisting largely of dark Noldorin Elves, Glorfindel’s golden beauty was like the Sun amidst storm clouds. As well as being beautiful, Glorfindel was kind and honourable and just, not to mention skilled with any weapon in existence.
Forgotten, the small bow slipped out of Elrohir’s grasp and clattered against his still-aching foot.
In a flash of gold, Glorfindel was on his feet and facing him, but reflexively searching hands found no weapon to draw. Nor any sheathe or belt, for that matter. For Glorfindel, beneath the cloak, was utterly naked.
Elrohir suddenly forgot how to breathe. All of his training in etiquette and propriety collapsed like a house of sticks in the face of a gale, as his eyes developed a will of their own and travelled inexorably downwards, over the golden chest, the muscled abdomen, the navel… to the clearest proof of Glrofindel’s masculinity. Elrohir had seen the seneschal in such a state of total undress before, of course, but this was no training ground or trip to the river. He became aware of the fact that he was in a secluded area, alone with an Elf who was naked and the epitome of masculine beauty and naked and whose every muscle had been toned to perfection- and, oh yes, naked. Very, very naked.
Strange, the day was considerably warmer than he had first noticed.
As he tried to stop his eyes from crawling out of their sockets, something stirred within Elrohir that had been dormant since that fateful night Elladan and he had transgressed into a level of love forbidden between blood siblings. He was overwhelmed by a rush of heat, and not from shame or anger, that was fiercer than any reaction ever elicited from him by an elleth. With Elladan, he had wondered if the rush of mannish blood during their achievement of their majority had caused his love for his brother to run to such an excess. Yet now, with Glorfindel in all his golden splendour, bathed in a light not of the Sun’s- who was hidden from view by the thick canopy of the grove- Elrohir at last began to perceive the core of his difference, the source of his uninterest towards the maidens vying for his attention.
For though Glorfindel was the exact opposite to Elladan in all aspects of appearance, they were both undeniably male.
His inner turmoil and patent admiration plainly displayed in his eyes, he dragged his gaze upward again, quivering uncertainly but not having the time to fully absorb the implications of his insight, and saw in Glorfindel’s eyes neither disgust nor damnation.
“I found this outside the barracks,” Elrohir’s slightly breathless voice said, his arms sluggishly holding out the tortoise.
Glorfindel shook his head, like one emerging from a trance, and his gaze dropped to the proffered creature, who was looking at him calmly. A smile tugged at the corners of the seneschal’s lips as he took in his pet’s appearance. “I cannot understand how Eth manages to land herself in such unusual predicaments.”
Elrohir blinked. It took a few seconds for him to remember that the tortoise was female. It was quite endearing to see how Glorfindel cared for the little creature, considering it wasn’t a conventional pet for a legendary elf-lord and had no particular use other than as a paperweight. The seneschal took the tortoise and set her down on the ground a little way behind him. As Glorfindel bent over, his light cloak floated up to reveal the lower half of a pair of firm, nicely-muscled buttocks. Elrohir felt his internal organs undergo a slight rearranging at the enticing sight.
“She led me to you,” he heard himself whisper, stifling a sigh of regret when Glorfindel straightened up again and returned to where he had been standing before.
“Did she?” the older Elf said just as softly.
Pale blue eyes held storm-grey. With a sharp intake of breath, Elrohir saw that, wonder of wonders, he was beholding a kindred spirit.
Borne by the wings of uncertainty, the younger son of Elrond reached up and deftly undid the lacings of his tunic. Glorfindel stood still, perhaps frozen by disbelief, though his warrior’s eyes latched onto the movements of Elrohir’s slender fingers. Once the ties were loose, the Half-Elf drew the garment, along with the under-tunic, over his head, so that he was bare from the waist up. Fighting to keep his breathing steady, he kept his gaze on Glorfindel’s face as the other perused his form with unmistakeable intensity.
As his life-blood picked up speed in his veins, time slowed for Elrohir, so that he saw with distinct clarity the markings of passion appear on the body of his mentor and childhood guardian; from erratic breathing and a slight flush to the skin, to the final proof rising from a nest of golden curls as it was engorged with blood. The evidence of his effect on another only stirred him further, and he suddenly felt uncomfortably tight in his breeches. The bulging between his legs did not escape Glorfindel’s attention; the seneschal reached up and undid the clasp of his cloak. The light material seemed to caress that golden body as it slipped to the ground, leaving Glorfindel standing tall and proud and unashamedly erect.
A still-sentient part of Elrohir that was rapidly dwindling felt admiration for the Elf’s self-confidence.
“Do not worry, young one.” the seneschal said quietly. “We need not go further than this today. It is enough that you have admitted your nature to yourself, and to me.” The words puzzled the younger twin, until he realised that Glorfindel must have thought him entirely new to this form of love-play.
A wolfish grin that more rightly belonged to Elladan graced Elrohir’s identical face, but before Glorfindel could have a moment to think on it, Elrohir strode to stand before the seneschal, attempting to project his own feeble air of confidence, and seized the other’s sizable arousal in a firm swordsman’s grip. “I do not wish to stop here,” he voiced hoarsely. Delivering smooth, sure strokes, the younger twin chuckled at the usually composed elf-lord’s sudden gasp and instinctive bucking of the hip, and he closed the distance between them to suckle on the inviting paleness of Glorfindel’s throat.
After that, it was a blur of sensations, of lips and tongue and occasionally teeth, of two bodies clutching and rubbing and grinding against each other, of moans and whimpers and startled shouts that marked the progress of their passion. Elrohir only dimly heard the sound of fabric being torn by desperate hands before he, too, was utterly bare to the world, with the cold earth beneath him and the windless air of the secluded grove around, and Glorfindel’s weight pressing down on him, all heat and friction. Not having felt such sensations for years, Elrohir nearly screamed when Glorfindel demonstrated that he was quite skilful at manipulating their velvet-clad versions of the sword, using callused fingers and an agile tongue to bring the Half-Elf to the very edge, and then denying him at the precipice, over and over again until tears wet Elrohir’s cheeks.
They only paused once, when Glorfindel suddenly said, “Eth! I have forgotten about Eth!” As a very sensitive part of Elrohir’s anatomy was inside his mouth at that time, the words sounded understandably muffled, though the pleasure brought by the vibrations made Elrohir arch his back and moan something between a curse and a plea.
Panting heavily, it took Elrohir a few moments to piece together what the seneschal was referring to. He cast his gaze around, and saw that the silly tortoise was right where Glorfindel had put it down earlier, dozing inside its shell next to the stolen practice bow. When the Half-Elf managed to convey this to the seneschal, the Elf nodded and returned his attention to the task at hand, chasing away further sentient thinking for a good while.
After milking him dry and drinking him down, Glorfindel took advantage of his temporarily boneless state to prepare him for a mounting. Elrohir hardly noticed, and was thus taken by surprise when what felt like a steel-hard and glowing hot rod was pushed inside of him. After a few experimental thrusts, a blinding burst of pleasure caused him to buck up and his shaft to grow turgid again. The mighty warrior proceeded to repeatedly spear him, not hard but at a fairly brisk pace. It was all Elrohir could do to hang onto a couple of convenient tree-roots over his head.
When he finally climaxed, he shouted Glorfindel’s name to the very skies, uncaring then who heard them. Fortunately they were a considerable distance from any dwellings, and the dense wood probably absorbed their voices. In any case, Glorfindel proved to be even louder when he himself came, adding a few adjectives in what sounded like Quenya that Elrohir did not recall ever being taught in his lessons.
Then Glorfindel decided that it was Elrohir’s turn to be the dominant one. At first the Half-Elf was a little timid, remembering foremost his childhood mentor, but Glorfindel overcame this by barking orders and encouragements in a voice fit to command armies, as if they were in the middle of a training session: “Drive it into me! Again! Harder! Yes, that is a good warrior. Oh, yes!” There were few things, Elrohir later decided, more erotic than reducing his superior in the field to a half-wild, frenzied thing.
By the time they exhausted themselves, the Sun was half-hidden behind the hills surrounding the valley. Looking at the state of Elrohir’s breeches, Glorfindel laughed and said, “I think we had better not move out from here again, until it has gone quite dark and the rips cannot be clearly seen. Otherwise I daresay there might be some questions.”
Grinning, Elrohir asked, “Did you bring clothes here, or did you walk all the way in naught but your skin?” The very thought of a naked Glorfindel walking casually around Rivendell sent a delightful shiver down his spine. “And, not that I am complaining, but why were you unclad?”
“This is a very special day in Gondolin,” Glorfindel explained, tone softening and growing serious. “It is a day honouring love. It is meant to be celebrated with loved ones, and many of those unwed chose it as the day to reveal their interest in another. I was unclad as an offering to the land, and the Valar. With no lover to dote upon, it is my way of honouring the day.”
Elrohir nodded, aware of his friend’s need to remember his beloved City. “Is… is this the reason you remain yet unbound?” he hesitantly asked, uncertain of how to phrase the question.
Glorfindel smiled sadly. “Aye, dear one, I prefer ellyn. From your fear earlier, I am sure you know are aware of that is viewed here. I have had a few discreet dalliances, but only with Silvan visitors from Lorien. It is more accepted amongst that folk, especially the warriors.” He looked away. “In Gondolin, love was seen as a blessing, no matter if it were between ellyn or elleth.”
“You must have been so lonely, all of these years.” Elrohir reached out and took Glorfindel’s hand in his.
The seneschal smiled at him. “It was not overly terrible, dear one. Especially when I had three excitable elflings to watch over.” He traced Elrohir’s jaw on side with a finger on his free hand. “I wondered about you, but I could not be sure.”
A comfortable silence settled between them. Finally Elrohir quietly uttered, mostly to himself, “Why do people think it so wrong?”
“I do not know,” Glorfindel answered with a sigh. “Some fear it within themselves, others simply because they dislike change and view it as unnatural, as if an ellon and elleth to being wed without desire or love was not more unnatural.”
The younger twin studied his childhood guardian’s face for a moment, then quietly asked, “Who is he?”
Glorfindel tensed, then answered, “Erestor.” He chuckled bitterly, and looked at Elrohir. “And you?”
“There is no ‘he’, yet,” the Half-Elf answered. “But when there is, I hope he is like you,” he added with a smile.
The compliment made the golden-haired Elf smile in turn. “You are a born diplomat, son of Elrond. But you will not evade my questioning so easily. Who was your first, then?”
Fixing his eyes on his feet- he had kicked off his light shoes at some point, and could see that a bruise was blooming on one foot- Elrohir whispered, “Elladan.”
Once again Glorfindel stilled, and Elrohir belated remembered that it was partly due to Maeglin’s unnatural love for his first-cousin Idril and hatred of her husband Tuor that he revealed to Morgoth the location of the Hidden Kingdom, thus causing the fall of ancient Gondolin. If any could have a justifiable cause to condemn them for their actions, it would be Glorfindel.
After a time, Glorfindel said, “That must have been a sight. The only ones able to rival the beauty of the Undomiel, entwined together in passion.”
Elrohir released a breath he had not been aware of holding. “Thank you,” he said, then frowned. “He is not… not like us, however., save for that one time. He is attracted to ellyth.”
“There are some who dally with both their own gender and the opposite,” Glorfindel explained gently. “Who knows, perhaps your own love will turn out to be an elleth, after all. Do not put restrictions on love, dear one. For love is wild, and may be the only untameable force in this world, for even the Valar cannot control it.”
“Your words are wise as ever, my captain. Yet my heart tells me that my love will be for an ellon, like yours, and already I fear it, for what it could do to my family’s honour.” He sighed heavily. “Forgive me my questions, Glorfindel, but I do not yet know what to think. What shall we do now?”
“Pine like proper tragic Elves suffering from unrequited love,” Glorfindel answered lightly. In a more serious tone, he said, “We continue as we always have, and hope that one day things will no longer be so strict. Mayhap over time, we can show them, in little ways, how our form of love is no different from that between an ellon and elleth.”
“It will be a difficult road,” the son of Elrond said gravely.
“No worthy road has ever been simple. We can only trust that, one day, we will find our peace; if not happiness, then contentment.”
“At least we are no longer alone.”
“I suppose not.” One of the few elf-lords remaining from the Elder Days bestowed a light kiss on younger twin’s brow. “Thank you, Elrohir, for sharing this day with me.”
Translation
elleth - female Elves (singular)
ellyth - female Elves (plural)
ellon - male Elves (singular)
ellyn - male Elves (plural)
See the Table of Prompts
Fandom: LOTR
Characters: Elrohir/Glorfindel
Prompt: 050 (“I think we had better not move out from here again, until it has gone quite dark.”)
Word Count: 3. 077
Rating: NC-17 (just to be safe, but probably a hard R)
Summary: A confused Half-Elf discovers a kindred spirit in the legendary Balrog-Slayer. Also featuring... cupid?
Author's Notes: Set a few years after Learning to Love a Brother, but can also be read as a stand-alone. Part of my Ardaverse where same-sex pairings are not looked upon kindly.
Written for Valentine’s Day 2006.
Elrohir had volunteered for what should have been a fairly innocuous task of transporting several samples of a new hilt design from the smithy to Glorfindel’s office. He was the most sober of the twins of Elrond, and technically the worst that could happen would be for him to drop one of the heavy hilts onto his foot.
Which was why he could be found near the entrance to the barracks hopping and rubbing a thinly shod foot whilst throwing curses to an oblivious broadsword hilt lying on the grass next to the path. He was grumblingly bending to retrieve it when a slight movement caught his eye.
A bush nearby gave a conspicuous shudder. Elrohir stepped back, visions of a stalking elleth leaping out of the bush driving more terror into his heart than an attacking Warg would have. Ever since the twin sons of Elrond had achieved their majority, they had been hounded by what seemed like every unwed ellyth on west of the Misty Mountains. Their noble heritage notwithstanding, both had the beguiling beauty found only amongst the Peredhil, an unique blend of dark Noldor and light Sindar, with the solidity of mortal Men. So sought after were they that had neither twin shown interest in their very willing admirers, doubtless a scorned elleth might have begun rumours concerning their strange closeness. Fortunately Elladan, at least, had taken to gracing a fair number of these ellyth with his attentions.
Elrohir, on the other hand, could not summon any such interest. He tried, and the Valar knew that those ellyth had done everything short of tying him down and having their way with him, but the most he could feel for the fairer half of the Firstborn was affection and platonic admiration of their beauty. He did not know what was wrong with him, though the meaningful looks that Elrond occasionally cast his way made him wonder if his father suspected that he still harboured unseemly feelings towards his twin.
Even though these days he regarded Elladan with little more than brotherly love, he felt that the single night of passion they had shared years ago was part of the problem whilst missed the mark entirely.
The bush gave another shudder, and a tortoise appeared from the other side. Having gotten used to the creature, Elrohir was not so much shocked at seeing it as by its appearance. For someone- undoubtedly an elfling with time on his hands- had glued what looked like a pair of little wings onto the weathered shell of the tortoise, using feathers from several species of bird. It seemed that the tortoise- who belonged to Glorfindel- had retaliated by stealing the elfling’s practice bow, which it was dragging by a thick thread tied around one end of the bow. Elrohir wondered if the elfling had noticed the disappearance of his bow, yet. Quite likely he had wandered off to find another distraction before the wings had even dried. In any case, the Half-Elf couldn’t help but laugh at the ridicules image the tortoise presented.
“It seems you are quite capable of mischief as well, little one,” he said to the tortoise. “Stay there. I shall put these away, and then we can search for your master.”
He quickly stashed the hilts in Glorfindel’s office, and confirmed that the seneschal was not in the barracks. Returning outside, he saw that the tortoise had indeed stopped and waited for him, crawling to stand on the bow itself. Elrohir chuckled and picked up the tortoise, bow and feathers and all. The creature retracted its stubby legs into its shell, making itself easier to carry, leaving only its head poking out as if to monitor where Elrohir was going.
Strangely enough, no one seemed to know where the seneschal was. Even after several centuries, most of the inhabitants of Rivendell were still enamoured with the legend living amongst them, and it often took no more than a few questions to locate Glorfindel if he was within the valley. Having seen him that morning, Elrohir was certain that the Balrog-slayer had not left for patrol, though it was always possible that an emergency had occurred requiring his attention.
He was about to give his search up for a lost cause when the tortoise suddenly began to move its head about. Elrohir stopped, puzzled, and the creature looked at him, then nodded clearly towards a garden path. After mentally reviewing his knowledge of the grounds, the younger twin remembered that the path led to a very isolated grove of trees beyond the meadow where the horses were often walked. He knew that his father would go down there if he needed a respite from his, and realised that there was no reason why Elrond would not have allowed his trusted seneschal the use of it as well.
Wary of intruding on Glorfindel’s privacy, Elrohir stepped softly as he reached the grove. There was no sign of another soul near the path, so the Half-Elf ventured into the thickest area of the wood, assuming that that would be where he would go if he wanted complete privacy.
So it was that he suddenly came upon Glorfindel sitting cross-legged and close-eyed on the ground with a light cloak drawn about himself. The fair-haired Elf did not seem to hear his approach, which was strange because the warrior was the most alert person Elrohir knew.
The younger twin paused in the shadow of a tree, his eyes trained on the seated Elf. He had always admired the seneschal, but not with the near-worshipful awe held by the rest of the realm. He might have, if Glorfindel’s face had not been in many of his earliest memories. As far as he could remember, he had always felt the sense of safety exuded by the skilled warrior and famed elf-lord. He even had a snippet of memory, from when he was still in his cradle, of reaching out and clutching a silk-soft lock of that magnificent hair. In a realm consisting largely of dark Noldorin Elves, Glorfindel’s golden beauty was like the Sun amidst storm clouds. As well as being beautiful, Glorfindel was kind and honourable and just, not to mention skilled with any weapon in existence.
Forgotten, the small bow slipped out of Elrohir’s grasp and clattered against his still-aching foot.
In a flash of gold, Glorfindel was on his feet and facing him, but reflexively searching hands found no weapon to draw. Nor any sheathe or belt, for that matter. For Glorfindel, beneath the cloak, was utterly naked.
Elrohir suddenly forgot how to breathe. All of his training in etiquette and propriety collapsed like a house of sticks in the face of a gale, as his eyes developed a will of their own and travelled inexorably downwards, over the golden chest, the muscled abdomen, the navel… to the clearest proof of Glrofindel’s masculinity. Elrohir had seen the seneschal in such a state of total undress before, of course, but this was no training ground or trip to the river. He became aware of the fact that he was in a secluded area, alone with an Elf who was naked and the epitome of masculine beauty and naked and whose every muscle had been toned to perfection- and, oh yes, naked. Very, very naked.
Strange, the day was considerably warmer than he had first noticed.
As he tried to stop his eyes from crawling out of their sockets, something stirred within Elrohir that had been dormant since that fateful night Elladan and he had transgressed into a level of love forbidden between blood siblings. He was overwhelmed by a rush of heat, and not from shame or anger, that was fiercer than any reaction ever elicited from him by an elleth. With Elladan, he had wondered if the rush of mannish blood during their achievement of their majority had caused his love for his brother to run to such an excess. Yet now, with Glorfindel in all his golden splendour, bathed in a light not of the Sun’s- who was hidden from view by the thick canopy of the grove- Elrohir at last began to perceive the core of his difference, the source of his uninterest towards the maidens vying for his attention.
For though Glorfindel was the exact opposite to Elladan in all aspects of appearance, they were both undeniably male.
His inner turmoil and patent admiration plainly displayed in his eyes, he dragged his gaze upward again, quivering uncertainly but not having the time to fully absorb the implications of his insight, and saw in Glorfindel’s eyes neither disgust nor damnation.
“I found this outside the barracks,” Elrohir’s slightly breathless voice said, his arms sluggishly holding out the tortoise.
Glorfindel shook his head, like one emerging from a trance, and his gaze dropped to the proffered creature, who was looking at him calmly. A smile tugged at the corners of the seneschal’s lips as he took in his pet’s appearance. “I cannot understand how Eth manages to land herself in such unusual predicaments.”
Elrohir blinked. It took a few seconds for him to remember that the tortoise was female. It was quite endearing to see how Glorfindel cared for the little creature, considering it wasn’t a conventional pet for a legendary elf-lord and had no particular use other than as a paperweight. The seneschal took the tortoise and set her down on the ground a little way behind him. As Glorfindel bent over, his light cloak floated up to reveal the lower half of a pair of firm, nicely-muscled buttocks. Elrohir felt his internal organs undergo a slight rearranging at the enticing sight.
“She led me to you,” he heard himself whisper, stifling a sigh of regret when Glorfindel straightened up again and returned to where he had been standing before.
“Did she?” the older Elf said just as softly.
Pale blue eyes held storm-grey. With a sharp intake of breath, Elrohir saw that, wonder of wonders, he was beholding a kindred spirit.
Borne by the wings of uncertainty, the younger son of Elrond reached up and deftly undid the lacings of his tunic. Glorfindel stood still, perhaps frozen by disbelief, though his warrior’s eyes latched onto the movements of Elrohir’s slender fingers. Once the ties were loose, the Half-Elf drew the garment, along with the under-tunic, over his head, so that he was bare from the waist up. Fighting to keep his breathing steady, he kept his gaze on Glorfindel’s face as the other perused his form with unmistakeable intensity.
As his life-blood picked up speed in his veins, time slowed for Elrohir, so that he saw with distinct clarity the markings of passion appear on the body of his mentor and childhood guardian; from erratic breathing and a slight flush to the skin, to the final proof rising from a nest of golden curls as it was engorged with blood. The evidence of his effect on another only stirred him further, and he suddenly felt uncomfortably tight in his breeches. The bulging between his legs did not escape Glorfindel’s attention; the seneschal reached up and undid the clasp of his cloak. The light material seemed to caress that golden body as it slipped to the ground, leaving Glorfindel standing tall and proud and unashamedly erect.
A still-sentient part of Elrohir that was rapidly dwindling felt admiration for the Elf’s self-confidence.
“Do not worry, young one.” the seneschal said quietly. “We need not go further than this today. It is enough that you have admitted your nature to yourself, and to me.” The words puzzled the younger twin, until he realised that Glorfindel must have thought him entirely new to this form of love-play.
A wolfish grin that more rightly belonged to Elladan graced Elrohir’s identical face, but before Glorfindel could have a moment to think on it, Elrohir strode to stand before the seneschal, attempting to project his own feeble air of confidence, and seized the other’s sizable arousal in a firm swordsman’s grip. “I do not wish to stop here,” he voiced hoarsely. Delivering smooth, sure strokes, the younger twin chuckled at the usually composed elf-lord’s sudden gasp and instinctive bucking of the hip, and he closed the distance between them to suckle on the inviting paleness of Glorfindel’s throat.
After that, it was a blur of sensations, of lips and tongue and occasionally teeth, of two bodies clutching and rubbing and grinding against each other, of moans and whimpers and startled shouts that marked the progress of their passion. Elrohir only dimly heard the sound of fabric being torn by desperate hands before he, too, was utterly bare to the world, with the cold earth beneath him and the windless air of the secluded grove around, and Glorfindel’s weight pressing down on him, all heat and friction. Not having felt such sensations for years, Elrohir nearly screamed when Glorfindel demonstrated that he was quite skilful at manipulating their velvet-clad versions of the sword, using callused fingers and an agile tongue to bring the Half-Elf to the very edge, and then denying him at the precipice, over and over again until tears wet Elrohir’s cheeks.
They only paused once, when Glorfindel suddenly said, “Eth! I have forgotten about Eth!” As a very sensitive part of Elrohir’s anatomy was inside his mouth at that time, the words sounded understandably muffled, though the pleasure brought by the vibrations made Elrohir arch his back and moan something between a curse and a plea.
Panting heavily, it took Elrohir a few moments to piece together what the seneschal was referring to. He cast his gaze around, and saw that the silly tortoise was right where Glorfindel had put it down earlier, dozing inside its shell next to the stolen practice bow. When the Half-Elf managed to convey this to the seneschal, the Elf nodded and returned his attention to the task at hand, chasing away further sentient thinking for a good while.
After milking him dry and drinking him down, Glorfindel took advantage of his temporarily boneless state to prepare him for a mounting. Elrohir hardly noticed, and was thus taken by surprise when what felt like a steel-hard and glowing hot rod was pushed inside of him. After a few experimental thrusts, a blinding burst of pleasure caused him to buck up and his shaft to grow turgid again. The mighty warrior proceeded to repeatedly spear him, not hard but at a fairly brisk pace. It was all Elrohir could do to hang onto a couple of convenient tree-roots over his head.
When he finally climaxed, he shouted Glorfindel’s name to the very skies, uncaring then who heard them. Fortunately they were a considerable distance from any dwellings, and the dense wood probably absorbed their voices. In any case, Glorfindel proved to be even louder when he himself came, adding a few adjectives in what sounded like Quenya that Elrohir did not recall ever being taught in his lessons.
Then Glorfindel decided that it was Elrohir’s turn to be the dominant one. At first the Half-Elf was a little timid, remembering foremost his childhood mentor, but Glorfindel overcame this by barking orders and encouragements in a voice fit to command armies, as if they were in the middle of a training session: “Drive it into me! Again! Harder! Yes, that is a good warrior. Oh, yes!” There were few things, Elrohir later decided, more erotic than reducing his superior in the field to a half-wild, frenzied thing.
By the time they exhausted themselves, the Sun was half-hidden behind the hills surrounding the valley. Looking at the state of Elrohir’s breeches, Glorfindel laughed and said, “I think we had better not move out from here again, until it has gone quite dark and the rips cannot be clearly seen. Otherwise I daresay there might be some questions.”
Grinning, Elrohir asked, “Did you bring clothes here, or did you walk all the way in naught but your skin?” The very thought of a naked Glorfindel walking casually around Rivendell sent a delightful shiver down his spine. “And, not that I am complaining, but why were you unclad?”
“This is a very special day in Gondolin,” Glorfindel explained, tone softening and growing serious. “It is a day honouring love. It is meant to be celebrated with loved ones, and many of those unwed chose it as the day to reveal their interest in another. I was unclad as an offering to the land, and the Valar. With no lover to dote upon, it is my way of honouring the day.”
Elrohir nodded, aware of his friend’s need to remember his beloved City. “Is… is this the reason you remain yet unbound?” he hesitantly asked, uncertain of how to phrase the question.
Glorfindel smiled sadly. “Aye, dear one, I prefer ellyn. From your fear earlier, I am sure you know are aware of that is viewed here. I have had a few discreet dalliances, but only with Silvan visitors from Lorien. It is more accepted amongst that folk, especially the warriors.” He looked away. “In Gondolin, love was seen as a blessing, no matter if it were between ellyn or elleth.”
“You must have been so lonely, all of these years.” Elrohir reached out and took Glorfindel’s hand in his.
The seneschal smiled at him. “It was not overly terrible, dear one. Especially when I had three excitable elflings to watch over.” He traced Elrohir’s jaw on side with a finger on his free hand. “I wondered about you, but I could not be sure.”
A comfortable silence settled between them. Finally Elrohir quietly uttered, mostly to himself, “Why do people think it so wrong?”
“I do not know,” Glorfindel answered with a sigh. “Some fear it within themselves, others simply because they dislike change and view it as unnatural, as if an ellon and elleth to being wed without desire or love was not more unnatural.”
The younger twin studied his childhood guardian’s face for a moment, then quietly asked, “Who is he?”
Glorfindel tensed, then answered, “Erestor.” He chuckled bitterly, and looked at Elrohir. “And you?”
“There is no ‘he’, yet,” the Half-Elf answered. “But when there is, I hope he is like you,” he added with a smile.
The compliment made the golden-haired Elf smile in turn. “You are a born diplomat, son of Elrond. But you will not evade my questioning so easily. Who was your first, then?”
Fixing his eyes on his feet- he had kicked off his light shoes at some point, and could see that a bruise was blooming on one foot- Elrohir whispered, “Elladan.”
Once again Glorfindel stilled, and Elrohir belated remembered that it was partly due to Maeglin’s unnatural love for his first-cousin Idril and hatred of her husband Tuor that he revealed to Morgoth the location of the Hidden Kingdom, thus causing the fall of ancient Gondolin. If any could have a justifiable cause to condemn them for their actions, it would be Glorfindel.
After a time, Glorfindel said, “That must have been a sight. The only ones able to rival the beauty of the Undomiel, entwined together in passion.”
Elrohir released a breath he had not been aware of holding. “Thank you,” he said, then frowned. “He is not… not like us, however., save for that one time. He is attracted to ellyth.”
“There are some who dally with both their own gender and the opposite,” Glorfindel explained gently. “Who knows, perhaps your own love will turn out to be an elleth, after all. Do not put restrictions on love, dear one. For love is wild, and may be the only untameable force in this world, for even the Valar cannot control it.”
“Your words are wise as ever, my captain. Yet my heart tells me that my love will be for an ellon, like yours, and already I fear it, for what it could do to my family’s honour.” He sighed heavily. “Forgive me my questions, Glorfindel, but I do not yet know what to think. What shall we do now?”
“Pine like proper tragic Elves suffering from unrequited love,” Glorfindel answered lightly. In a more serious tone, he said, “We continue as we always have, and hope that one day things will no longer be so strict. Mayhap over time, we can show them, in little ways, how our form of love is no different from that between an ellon and elleth.”
“It will be a difficult road,” the son of Elrond said gravely.
“No worthy road has ever been simple. We can only trust that, one day, we will find our peace; if not happiness, then contentment.”
“At least we are no longer alone.”
“I suppose not.” One of the few elf-lords remaining from the Elder Days bestowed a light kiss on younger twin’s brow. “Thank you, Elrohir, for sharing this day with me.”
Translation
elleth - female Elves (singular)
ellyth - female Elves (plural)
ellon - male Elves (singular)
ellyn - male Elves (plural)
See the Table of Prompts