Out Of The Darkness

Out Of The Darkness

Posted: January 12, 2007
Title: Out of the Darkness
Author: Fimbrethiel
Type: FCS
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel/Thranduil
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Don’t own the Elves, they are owned by Tolkien’s estate. Master Tolkien, I mean no harm. No profit has been made.
Warnings: explicit depictions of homoerotic acts between consenting males, angst, romance
Beta: the most amazing Minuial Nuwing *hugs*
Author’s Note: Written for Athos Silvanus for the http://www.geocities.com/slashysanta/ fiction exchange. She said, “Erestor is always good, maybe with Thranduil or Elrond or Glorfindel....or all of the above…hurt/comfort, maybe with one of the pairing (or triple) feeling terribly insecure, and another elf making it all better, first time is fine, snowy evening, cold outside, snuggling under a bunch of blankets, hot mulled cider, admiration of someone's hair.”

Many sources state that Thranduil did not begin to move his folk underground until near the end of the first millennium of the Third Age, when the shadow of the Necromancer began to darken the Greenwood, but other sources suggested this may have begun earlier. Forgive this minor deviance from canon. I’m not sure I hit the hair fetish dead-on, but I did my best. *grin* Happy Holidays!

** denotes mindspeak **

Summary: “Can you hear me tonight? Take me out of this darkness and into the morning light.” - ‘Out of the Darkness’, Chris Rea

*****

“A message arrived for you today from Eryn Galen,” Glorfindel said, stepping into the front room of his chambers and pulling the hallway door closed behind him. He crossed the room in a few long strides and pulled his lover to him for a one-armed hug, taking a moment to bury his nose in Erestor’s raven locks and appreciate the scent of his beloved’s fragrant hair.

“It is a curious thing; the handwriting is not Thranduil’s, but it bears seal of the king’s household,” he said at last, releasing his mate and holding out the roll of parchment.

“Oh?” Erestor’s fine brow arched, and he reached to take the scroll. “How unusual.”

He took the rolled parchment and peered thoughtfully at the unknown, but somehow familiar, handwriting that spelled out his name. “It is not from any of his advisors, that is certain. I would recognize their script. The writing resembles Thranduil’s, but yet not so…”

“Open it,” Glorfindel gently urged, releasing his lover and giving him an encouraging little nudge toward the window seat, Erestor’s favorite place to read, then moving away to allow his mate some privacy.

Erestor settled down on the plush cushions, broke the wax seal on the letter, and began to read. He was silent for a few moments, and then finally cleared his throat and looked across the room to where his golden-haired lover was standing, arranging some books on a shelf that needed no organizing and trying not to appear too anxious to learn what the letter said.

Glorfindel felt the weight of Erestor’s stare upon him and looked up in feigned nonchalance. “Well?”

“The letter is from Legolas, Thranduil’s youngest.”

Glorfindel quirked one golden eyebrow in surprise. “His son wrote to you? Is everything all right with Thranduil?”

“No, not really. I think you should read this, darling, because it involves you, as well.”

Dropping down beside Erestor, Glorfindel reached for the scroll and began reading.

Master Erestor,

I am writing on behalf of my father, Thranduil of Eryn Galen. He does not know that I have written to you – this message was sent with utmost secrecy and one I trust implicitly arranged its delivery.

I have known since I was a child that before my parents were wed, you and my father were very close. It does not bother me that Father had a lover before he married my mother; she always spoke well of you, and she was an excellent judge of character, or so Father says. I will have faith in her opinion, and trust that you will be able to offer your guidance.

You are doubtlessly wondering why I would write to you, when we have never met, so I will come directly to the point.

The trouble with Father began soon after Nana died and has become more pronounced in the past few years. He is often distracted, and has withdrawn into himself. It is subtle, but I see that he is not the same person he was.

I have spoken with my brothers about Father’s condition, whatever it may be, but they tell me not to worry, that he will be fine. They have many other obligations that often take them away from home, so they do not see him as I do. While I have oft cursed being the ‘baby’ of the family and being told I am too young to be away from home, I am now thankful (at least in this!) that my lack of years has kept me close to Father, where I can keep an eye on him.

Erestor, please come, if your lord will allow it. I would not ask you to make the journey, unless I felt that the situation were serious enough to risk Father’s anger at my imposition on you. Father loved you once, and I know that he still considers you among those dearest to him. Perhaps my brothers are right and I am overreacting, but am not willing to let it go without asking for the advice of one whose judgment I can rely on.

Father told me that you have been bound for many years now, and I do not wish to cause any trouble between you and Lord Glorfindel by asking this of you, but for the sake of the memory of what you once shared with my father, please consider my plea.

It is presumptuous of me to even ask this, and I beg your forgiveness and understanding, but I ask only out of love and concern for my father. Please, Master Erestor. I do not know where else to turn, and I am worried about him. Use any means necessary to bring him back to us.

I will anxiously await your answer.

Regards,
Legolas Thranduilion

Post script – please send your reply to the attention of Galion, our family steward, so my father does not suspect we have been in contact!

“Hmm.” Glorfindel scratched his nose and looked down again at the parchment. “Rather protective of his father, it seems. How old is he now?”

“About forty or so; certainly not yet at his majority, or Elrond would have arranged to send a gift.” Erestor’s voice was uncharacteristically hesitant. “Well? What do you think?”

Glorfindel patted his knee and dropped the scroll back in Erestor’s lap as he stood up and stretched lazily. “I think you had better write to the young prince and tell him to prepare for a visitor.”

“How soon can we get away?”

Glorfindel chuckled to himself over Erestor’s certainty of the fact; in his mate’s mind, the decision was already made and all that remained to be determined was how soon they could arrange to depart.

A lesser Elf could have been, probably would have been, jealous.

From the beginning of Glorfindel’s courtship with Erestor, they had kept no secrets from one another, and he was aware that his intended still harbored strong feelings of affection, even love, for the golden-haired Thranduil. The two had met in Lindon as mere children – Erestor, the young son of the High King’s seneschal, and Thranduil, the only child and heir of Oropher, a Sinda noble exiled from the ruins of Doriath. The two had become fast friends, and virtually grew up together.

As they reached maturity, the deep feelings of friendship blossomed into a full-fledged love affair, and it was not long after that they initiated one another in the ways of physical love.

But they had suspected, even then, that their affair would be short-lived. Thranduil’s formidable father had not been kindly disposed toward ‘those troublesome Noldor,’ and had often expressed his desire to find a home for his followers, somewhere with mountains and trees, away from the bustle of the city.

One day, the inevitable happened. Oropher decided the time was right for him to move on, and Thranduil, ever the dutiful son, had bid a tearful goodbye to his lover and childhood friend, and followed his father. It was a sorrowful day that the lovers parted, and for years, they lost track of one another.

A twist of fate brought them together again, albeit in the form of letters and second-hand news. Erestor had become advisor to Elrond Peredhel, Gil-galad’s herald and commander of the High King’s army during the siege of Eregion, and was with Elrond when he founded his refuge of Imladris.

Erestor wondered often throughout the years what had become of his childhood friend, for no word had come from Oropher’s folk, other than the news that he had settled in the southern part of the distant forest of Eryn Galen.

It happened that a few years later, Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin, passed through the Hidden Valley, and with her was her daughter Celebrían. Erestor was overjoyed to learn that Celebrían, through her father’s side, was distant kin to Oropher. When Celebrían departed Elrond’s valley a few years later, she was bearing both a mithril betrothal band on her finger and a lengthy letter from Erestor to her distant cousin, Thranduil.

It was another three years before he received a letter in reply, and learned that Thranduil had eventually married a beautiful and well-bred maiden with a keen sense of humor and a fondness for adventure. Erestor was relieved to learn that his childhood friend and lover had found someone to love, and hoped that Thranduil had been as happy with Gilethiel as he himself had been for the past five hundred years of wedded bliss with a certain golden-haired Noldo.

No, Glorfindel was not a jealous Elf. The fact was, he knew that Erestor loved him to distraction, and in turn, felt the same way about his raven-haired mate. He could not imagine what his life – his second one, that was – would have been like without Erestor, and was wholly confident that their bond was nigh indestructible.

So, he bent over to press a reassuring kiss to Erestor’s lips and then turned for the door.

“As soon as it can be arranged, my dear Counselor. Now get writing, and I will inform Elrond that we will be wintering in Eryn Galen. I have been curious to see these caverns that he has been building, anyhow.”

~*~*~*~*~

In the following weeks, letters between Erestor and Legolas were surreptitiously exchanged, facilitated on the young prince’s end by Galion, Thranduil’s trusty steward, and dispatched via messenger on horseback, and occasionally by means of carrier fowl.

In the course of their correspondence, it was mutually agreed that an unannounced visit from his ex-lover would seem far too suspicious to Thranduil. Elrond, a friend of long standing with both Erestor and Glorfindel, and who had had more than passing acquaintance with Thranduil’s late father in the tumultuous times of the Last Alliance, and from Lindon, was well aware of his counselor’s past liaison with the Sinda king. He, along with his lady wife, became willing conspirators in Erestor’s plan, and they thereby endeared themselves to the youngest prince of Eryn Galen for their complicity.

It was Celebrían, in fact, who fashioned the perfect explanation. Under her instruction, Erestor penned a letter to the king to apprise him of his intention to visit, under the guise of seeking Thranduil’s input about the increased level of unrest throughout Middle-earth. This was not wholly an untruth; even in Imladris, Elrond had sensed awakening darkness and wished to share counsel with his contemporaries. It was plausible that Elrond would dispatch his two most senior advisors; he had aids aplenty who could counsel him most aptly until their return in the spring.

~*~*~*~*~

It was, in the end, nearly two months later before the preparations and correspondence was concluded to everyone’s satisfaction. The mountains were already tinged with frost, and the winter was near at hand. Their departure must happen soon, or not until the spring.

Although Glorfindel was lethal with both double- and single-edged sword and fighting knives, though Erestor was deadly with the longbow and could split a fly in two with a throwing knife from a distance of thirty paces, Elrond positively insisted that four of his most trusted and able warriors would accompany them.

It was the evening before departure, and Glorfindel lay on his back in bed, winding a long lock of Erestor’s hair around his finger. Erestor curled on his side, resting his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder, one leg draped over his mate’s slender hips, while his fingertips traced idle circles across the flat plane of Glorfindel’s belly.

Hesitantly, he asked, “Are you certain that you are all right with this, Glorfindel? Me seeing Thranduil again, after all this time?”

Glorfindel did not answer right away. Finally, after a long and somewhat unnerving pause, he answered slowly, “Well, no, to be honest, I am not entirely comfortable with the situation. Legolas’ letters are entirely too cryptic for my liking, but I know that you would never forgive yourself if you did not go, so I will go with you, and do what I can. I like and respect Thranduil too much to do anything else, and would do my part as well to pull him through this, if I can do nothing other than be by your side and lend you my support.”

Erestor lifted his head, bracing his palm against Glorfindel’s stomach so that he could look down into his lover’s eyes. “I am afraid of what we might find, and it is a relief that you will be there. I cannot see him fall into despair. I did love him once, and he is still dear to me, even now.”

He gasped as he was abruptly pulled down to his mate’s chest and enfolded in a possessive embrace. “Do what you must, melethron, but do not forget who you belong to,” Glorfindel whispered in his ear.

“Never,” Erestor breathed, before he was flipped onto his back and a slick tongue parted his lips to ravage his mouth almost desperately.

~*~*~*~*~

Legolas, the fourth and youngest prince of Eryn Galen, was a comely young Elf, as Erestor learned a few days later. Legolas was tall for his age, not as broadly built as his father had been at a like age, but with promise of his father’s height and breadth. He resembled Thranduil somewhat, having inherited his father’s gleaming golden hair and piercing blue eyes, but was otherwise the spitting image of the sketches Thranduil had sent of his late wife, a devastatingly beautiful woman. In late adolescence, Legolas was striking, and would only become fairer as he reached adulthood.

Two fair-haired and heavily armed Elves, both clad in brown and green, dropped down out of the trees as the Imladris party turned off the Forest Road and veered north toward the part of the forest where Thranduil’s folk had, until recent years, abided. In heavily accented Elvish, the two introduced themselves and bade their guests follow, setting off at a brisk run up a hard-packed dirt road. Erestor, Glorfindel, and their escort followed on horseback, keeping the guards in sight.

Legolas met Erestor and his entourage at the bridge leading to the gate of the royal caverns within moments after the group had turned off the road. Glorfindel, discreetly watching Erestor’s face for his reaction to this first view of Thranduil’s kin, saw a flicker of disappointment pass his mate’s face when Erestor realized that it was Thranduil’s offspring and not the king himself who had come to greet them.

With Legolas were two more fair-haired Elves, also armed and again wearing the earthy greens and browns of the Elves of the region, and another Elf who looked to be only slightly older than Legolas, and was introduced as Legolas’ personal aide and closest confidante and friend.

Legolas’ smile of welcome was genuine, but the dark smudges under his eyes were evidence of his unrest and worry over his father. Clasping their forearms firmly in a warrior’s greeting, he quickly impressed both Erestor and Glorfindel with his confidence and maturity. Even at a young age, the prince carried himself regally, already showing the assured poise that was the mark of any successful ruler.

Legolas motioned the group to follow him, but Glorfindel looked around before asking the obvious.

“Excuse me, Legolas, but what of the horses? My men will take care of them, if you would but show them the way.”

Legolas laughed. “Bring the horses, as well. There are stables and barracks both within the caves. Come, you must see what Father has done, it is quite impressive.”

It was then that the Elves of Imladris had their first sight of the newly delved caves of the Elvenking of Eryn Galen.

He led the group, including the horses, through two enormous doors and into a cavernous front hall. A quietly murmured few words with his manservant, and the Elf led Glorfindel’s guards and the horses down a wide tunnel and out of sight.

Neither Erestor nor Glorfindel had seen the legendary Thousand Caves of Elu Thingol, but both had heard stories that described incredible beauty and seen grand pictorials depicting Thingol’s famed caves. If Thranduil’s mountain home was but newly delved and already so magnificent, then the Caverns of Doriath must have been exceptional, indeed.

Thranduil, despite his aversion for the race of the Naugrim, had consulted their finest builders and architects on the design of his people’s home. Thanks to their skill, it was pleasingly cheery and dry in the caves, the air surprisingly fresh. Natural clefts in the stone had been carefully expanded here and there to provide shafts that would channel fresh air from the outside into even the deepest recesses of the caves.

Intricate carvings embellished the archways between corridors, and brightly colored murals and drawings were painted directly on the walls, reminiscent of summer settings of fertile meadows and wintry scenes of snow-capped peaks and ice-encrusted rivers. Among these lushly rendered scenes, lit by many candles in sconces and oil-burning lanterns set into discreetly carved recesses, it was almost possible to forget that one was nearly forty feet underground.

Legolas led the way through many winding corridors, deep into the heart of the earth. At length, when Erestor and Glorfindel both were virtually certain they would never be able to retrace their steps and find their way outside, Legolas guided them up a short flight of carven stone stairs and halted in front of an elaborately and cunningly engraved wooden door. Turning the handle, he stepped inside a luxuriously decorated suite.

“These will be your chambers,” he said, gesturing for his companions to enter. “I hope they are suitable.”

Glorfindel dropped his pack on the bed, looking around him in appreciation. “They are beautiful, and more than acceptable, Legolas. Thank you.”

“Your father has done well,” Erestor added, fingering heavy brocade tapestries that hung on the walls, softening the effect of cold stone into a cozy and homey room.

“Your rooms have been supplied with everything you should need – there is fruit and wine on the table, and someone will be along later to see to your clothing and bring some hot water for bathing, if you would like to freshen up before dinner. If there is anything you require, just let one of the servants know, and it will be taken care of. Please, sit and rest after your journey. Would you care for some wine?”

“That would be nice,” Erestor replied, sinking into a deep armchair in front of a crackling fire.

Legolas, already the consummate host, moved to a small table and poured two glasses of wine, passing one each to the Imladris lords. He gestured for his companions to be seated and dropped to the floor, pulling his lanky legs up to his chest.

“Now we may talk more freely. I did not want to speak of my father on the way here, for though he is well-loved, one never knows when the walls may have ears, and it would not do to have his people suspect that there is something amiss, any more than they may already.”

“I am surprised he did not come to greet an old friend. He did receive word that we were coming?”

Legolas flushed. “He did, and was pleased by the news, or as pleased as he gets these days. He would have met you, but, ah…”

Erestor noticed the prince’s hesitancy and ventured a guess. “But he does not yet know of our arrival.”

“Exactly,” Legolas concurred with a small, sheepish smile. “I have been waiting for our scouts to report of your coming, and when they sent word that a party had turned off the Road, I intercepted the message and came to greet you in his stead. I thought it would be best that we spoke privately before you saw him.”

“An underhanded move that your father will doubtless take you to task for,” Erestor replied, though his words were without censure, but rather, approving of the young prince’s craftiness.

“Well, as I wrote in my letter, he keeps to himself most of the time. He joins us for meals and sees to his duties, but aside from that, he stays out of the public eye as much as possible. He is careful to keep up appearances, for the most part, but those who know him well can see that he is… you will see what I mean, and then we will talk again.”

He quirked his head. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

Erestor smiled. “Just marveling over how much you remind me of your father when he was young.”

Legolas pushed himself up off the floor and gave a small smile. “So it has been said. I only hope to live up to the expectations.”

~*~*~*~*~

In the idle hours before dinner, Erestor and Glorfindel finished the remainder of the wine, nibbled from the tray of cheeses and dried fruits that had been left for them, and then made love slowly, lazily, for the first time in nearly two weeks of travel. They rose from bed, bathed, and dressed for dinner.

Erestor dressed casually, but with great care, ensuring that his garments were free of wrinkles, his belt and boots were polished, and took an extra few minutes to brush his hair, his one concession to vanity, until it gleamed and flowed down his back like a waterfall of polished ebony.

Watching his mate’s atypical primping and preening gave Glorfindel an indication of exactly how nervous Erestor over at seeing Thranduil again, and under these circumstances. A somewhat sporadic reunion in the form of letters and erratic correspondence had brought them in touch once again, thanks to Lady Celebrían, but they had only seen one another once since their parting in Lindon. Upon the plain of Dagorlad, what should have been a joyous reunion was overshadowed by the horror of war and the grief of death.

Glorfindel was concerned over what state of mind they would find Thranduil in, and what effect this would have on Erestor.

~*~*~*~*~

They followed a pretty maid who had been sent to escort them to the dining room, but as it turned out, Erestor’s concern over their reception was for naught. Thranduil did not make an appearance at dinner that evening, to Erestor’s dismay.

Legolas took him aside and relayed a message that his father had been apprised of their arrival, but regrettably, he would not be able to greet them until the following day. An envoy from the Mannish town of Esgaroth had arrived, and the king would be unavailable for the remainder of the evening. Legolas would play the host in his stead, and passed along his apologies, along with a promise that Thranduil would seek them out in the morning.

Glorfindel and Erestor made the best of the evening and spent an otherwise enjoyable dinner renewing old acquaintances and meeting others for the first time. Some of Thranduil’s folk Erestor remembered from Lindon, and of course, Glorfindel was a legend in his own right. The folk of Eryn Galen were pleased to learn that Celebrían was happy in Imladris, and overjoyed by the news of the birth of Celebrían and Elrond’s twin sons.

After dinner, many of the king’s household adjourned to a side room for drinks and music. The Imladris lords joined them for a while, but soon pleaded exhaustion from their journey and retired to their chamber. Erestor was preoccupied and unusually quiet as they undressed and climbed into bed. Glorfindel held him until he went to sleep, and then joined him in slumber.

~*~*~*~*~

True to his word, Thranduil did send a message first thing in the morning.

Erestor had risen early, as was his habit, and crept out of the bedroom, leaving Glorfindel sprawled face-down in bed and still fast asleep, and was seated at a desk in the front chamber, reviewing Elrond’s notes and jotting comments of his own in his journal. A page knocked at the door, bowed, handed him a short message, and was gone again.

The message was brief, and so typical of Thranduil’s often-quirky sense of humor that it brought a hint of a relieved smile to Erestor’s face. Perhaps the situation was not as dire as Legolas had implied, after all.

Dearest Erestor,

You cannot believe that I would not see through Elrond’s flimsy excuse? My rooms, seven thirty, and bring the blond. Your blond, not my son – I shall beat him separately. Come hungry.

Yours,
Thranduil

Post Script – I am glad you are here, old friend.

“The esteemed king requests your presence on this fine morn? I assume it is morning, anyway; it is a mystery to me how these people can live underground like a pack of moles. My heart yearns for the open air and to see some trees again.”

Erestor glanced up from the note to see Glorfindel standing in the doorway leading to their bedroom, a towel slung over his shoulder, braiding his hair.

“Good morning, love, I did not hear you get up.” Erestor crossed the room and gave his lover a kiss. “Aye, in his chambers for breakfast, at half-past the hour. Will you be ready?”

“Is this attire appropriate?” Glorfindel gestured with his free hand at his nude body, a twinkle in his eyes, and ran his fingers up and down over his breast in what Erestor considered a most distracting manner.

“Only if he is serving eggs. Biscuits and jam, on the other hand, require breeches, at the very least,” Erestor replied, his mood lightened immeasurably by both the tone of Thranduil’s message, and by the stirring vision of Glorfindel’s lusciously sculpted naked body. He lightly smacked his mate’s bottom with the flat of his palm and pushed him back toward the bedroom. “Now hurry up and get dressed, sluggard. I expect it will take the full measure of time for us to find our way there.”

~*~*~*~*~

Unfortunately, the reunion did not go quite as Erestor had envisioned.

Thranduil greeted Glorfindel cordially, as both friend and contemporary, and embraced Erestor warmly. Outwardly, Thranduil seemed little changed from the young prince that Erestor had once known. His shoulders had broadened with age, certainly, and his face had gained a few angular planes, thanks to maturity, but otherwise, he had not changed overmuch. His eyes were still as blue as cornflowers, his hair still lush and thick as molten gold, his bearing still regal, his legs still every bit as long and sinuous as ever, his voice still the same honeyed baritone that had once made Erestor’s knees go weak and was, even now, capable of giving him a little tingle right at the base of his spine. The beauty of his former lover was still enough to astound him.

But there was a pall over Thranduil’s soul, a shadow in his eyes that was not there before.

Thranduil smiled in all the right places, made pleasant and witty conversation, was as ever a gracious host, but there was something missing – something that disturbed Erestor greatly. It was as though the Thranduil that Erestor had once known and loved had been replaced with a slightly flawed replica – an Elf that looked the same, but lacked the genuine warmth and innate enthusiasm for life that was the heart of Thranduil Oropherion.

“So my son put you up to this, it is clear. I assure you that whatever Legolas told you is more likely than not a figment of an overactive adolescent imagination. I am perfectly well, as you can see for yourself,” Thranduil said.

Erestor wisely did not reply, only poured more tea and passed the cups ‘round.

~*~*~*~*~

Erestor did not see Thranduil for the remainder of the day. After breakfast, the king had hugged him, slapped Glorfindel on the back, and ushered them out the door, pleading a grueling discussion with the Esgaroth contingent before they returned to their lakeside town. Legolas would be sitting with him and learning the finer points of trade negotiations, so the two would be on their own until evening.

The Imladris Elves spent the day exploring the great caverns, hunting down the stables, and checking in with their soldiers to ensure they were settling in among the Sinda Elves. A few of Thranduil’s folk still regarded their Noldorin kindred with some suspicion, but, to their relief, the guards reported they had been accepted into the fold with nary a word, and had, in fact, already been asked to provide Thranduil’s troops with a demonstration of swordsmanship. The Elves of Eryn Galen were far more accustomed to weapons hewn of wood and strung with hair than those of forged steel, and were eager to learn new crafts from their fellow warriors.

Back in their chambers at the end of the day, Glorfindel sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, wearing a dressing gown and unbraiding his hair, while Erestor hung their clothing in the wardrobe.

“So, now that you have spoken with him, what do you think?”

Erestor paused in the middle of shaking out a tunic and, hanging it on a peg, turned to face his lover. “Well, Legolas has a right to be concerned. Perhaps the situation is not as sensational as he made it sound, but without a doubt, there is something about Thranduil that is not right.”

“How so? You obviously know him better than I, and would be a better judge.”

“He seems determined to make light of it, but did you notice how distracted he was? I asked him about the excavation he was planning on the underground river, and for a moment, I could swear there was a blank look on his face. Then he recovered and offered to arrange a tour for us. It was almost as though he forgot about it.”

“So what do you think ails him?”

Erestor hesitated and turned. “I think that he is terribly, terribly lonely.”

The expression on Glorfindel’s face indicated his doubt that something that affected Thranduil so deeply could be attributed to simple loneliness. The king had children and subjects aplenty who adored him. He was a king, for Manwë’s sake. How could someone so blessed possibly be lonely?

“Do you believe it really is as simple as that?”

Glorfindel patted the covers beside him, and Erestor crawled up onto the bed and settled himself beside his mate, turning his back so that Glorfindel could brush his hair as well. He closed his eyes and let the smooth, slow strokes of the hairbrush soothe him as he considered how to best put his thoughts into words.

“It does sound simple to someone bound as we are, but to Thranduil, it is not simple at all. Some of our kind never mate, and are content. Take Gildor, for example. He has never felt the stirring to bind himself to another. Perhaps he has not yet met the one for him, or perhaps it is simply his inclination to remain unwed, but his ‘unfettered folly,’ as he calls it, suits him.”

Glorfindel nodded understandingly. The incessantly unwedded state of the wandering Elf was a source of concern to both Elrond and Celebrían, who interrogated him about any likely candidates each time he and his band of Exiles passed through the Last Homely House. Invariably, Gildor would laugh and reply that he would not return to the Hidden Valley until he was married and had four children in tow (and considering Gildor’s tastes ran in an entirely different direction, it was improbable that would occur). Yet return he did, every few seasons, still unattached, and apparently blissfully so, at that. Glorfindel had mused privately to Erestor that he had the impression that it was not so much that Gildor was personally against marriage, but that he was waiting for something. Or someone.

“Thranduil is not one of those solitary folk,” Erestor went on, turning around to face his mate. “At his core, he has always craved the companionship of another, whether that of a parent, a confidante, or a lover. Thranduil needs someone he can share his burden with, someone to ease his cares in the deep of night, an ear he can whisper to of his uncertainties, and a heart that will share in his joy and make it their own.”

Glorfindel again nodded. “I understand, believe me, now that you put it like that. I remember the lonely days and a cold, empty bed – “

Erestor snorted, and Glorfindel flashed him a scapegrace look. “All right, I concede the point. My bed was not always empty, but it was lonely. I never realized how unfulfilling my life had been until I met you. It was as though when we came together, a veil lifted from my eyes, and I could see things I had never noticed before. Everything was brighter somehow, more vibrant, more complete.”

“Glorfindel, that is the largest load of horse dung I have ever heard.”

“Scoff if you will, but it is the truth,” Glorfindel answered with a gentle smile, giving his lover a soft kiss. “I loved Duilin deeply, much as I imagine you loved Thranduil, but when he died – when we died, I should say – it was not until I met you that I really understood what it was to feel that pull between souls that binds them together. My life felt whole, in a way it had not before.”

Erestor leaned into him and savored the closeness of his mate, just for a few moments. He was incredibly lucky to have found his heart’s desire, and he knew it.

Finally, Erestor broke the silence. “He never wanted to be king, you know. He used to say that one of the advantages of our race was that we were long-lived, so the succession of the kingship was not as vital as for other races. Unfortunately, that is often not so.”

“I can understand now why Elrond refused the kingship, even though he was next in succession. At least he had a choice, and Thranduil did not. What a terrible burden it must be, to bear the crown!”

~*~*~*~*~

Over the subsequent weeks, Glorfindel grew increasingly frustrated with Thranduil’s behavior, and his heart ached for the strain this was putting on both Erestor and young Legolas.

Many times, Erestor had attempted to create an opportunity to speak with the king alone and perhaps finally reach the heart of the matter, but thus far he was having little luck. Erestor had the distinct feeling that his old lover was doing his best to avoid that happening.

Thranduil did, as one would expect of a king, face an extreme demand on his time, and the Imladris Elves did have the opportunity to discuss the state of affairs in Middle-earth with the king and his council, the ‘official’ purpose of their visit, and heard Thranduil’s honest assessment of the growing shadow that he felt in the south. But the moment Thranduil’s business was concluded, he found an excuse to run off to yet another of what seemed a continual string of engagements.

There was a newborn babe to bless, a dispute to settle among his folk, expansions of the caverns, trade for goods and services with the Men of Esgaroth and, to his annoyance, even the arrival of the Naugrim of Dale, whose ruddy and bearded faces were seen roaming the passageways, mumbling to themselves and tapping here and there with tiny hammers.

One wintry day, when the Imladris Elves had been in Eryn Galen for a month or so, and Thranduil had skillfully avoided yet another occasion to answer those questions that he must have known Erestor was aching to ask, Glorfindel reached the end of his tether.

A hard freeze had set in, followed by a slight warming trend, bringing the first real snowstorm of the season. It had snowed for two days straight, according to the sentries who were returning from forest patrol, ruddy-faced and invigorated. It was glorious outside, they said, shaking errant snowflakes from their hair, now that the sun was finally breaking through.

“Damn him,” Glorfindel swore, slamming his hand on the tabletop as Erestor returned to their chambers downcast and depressed from yet another attempt to catch Thranduil alone. “This is going to stop, right now.” He jumped out of his chair and thundered toward the door, leaving a trail of loose papers fluttering to the ground behind him.

“Where are you going?” Erestor asked with alarm. Glorfindel was easy-going and rarely lost his temper, so this outburst was highly out of character for him and gave Erestor an indication of how long Glorfindel must have been holding his tongue, and how truly irate he was.

“To knock some sense into that blasted king. This pig-headed behavior has gone on long enough.”

“Glorfindel, please do not do anything rash!”

Erestor’s pleading finally reached his ears and he halted, slightly mollified, as he reached the door, raising a placating hand to his mate. “Erestor, stop. When have you known me to resort to unnecessary violence? Never fear, I will not harm him, love. Meet me in the front hallway in fifteen minutes, and be sure to dress warmly.”

He brushed out the door, pausing only to toss a rather brusque command over his shoulder before the door clicked shut behind him. “Bring my cloak and boots when you come.”

The door opened a crack, and a blond head peeked back through.

“Please.” He winked, and was gone again.

Erestor made it to the entry hall in ten.

~*~*~*~*~

Glorfindel anticipated resistance, and Thranduil did not disappoint. He bluffed and blustered, and positively insisted that he was really far too busy to leave his work for such a frivolous activity as a walk in the snow.

But as luck – or fate – would have it, Legolas was with Thranduil, going over some account books and learning, under his father’s keen eye, where grain prices from the farmers of Esgaroth were perhaps higher than they should have been, and where the Sinda traders had negotiated an exceptional bargain in the price of mutton.

Legolas showed surprising grit and determination in rebuffing every one of his father’s protests and stood steadfastly at Glorfindel’s side as Thranduil found himself being virtually frog-marched away from his desk, down the corridors, and out into the main foyer of the caverns. Legolas trailed behind, bearing an armful of his father’s outerwear.

Erestor was waiting expectantly in the front foyer, leaning against a soaring stone column, clad in sturdy boots and a thick woolen cloak, his mate’s winter garments draped over his arm. Elves might not feel the effects of the cold as keenly as the mortal races of Middle-earth, but that did not mean they enjoyed being cold and wet.

In the main hall, heedless of the Elves passing here and there going about their duties, Glorfindel demanded that Thranduil put on his cloak, “or else.” Exactly what ‘or else’ entailed, Glorfindel did not say, and Thranduil was savvy enough not to press his luck any further than he already had – an irate Glorfindel was a force not to be denied. He resignedly allowed Legolas to wrap him in a thick fur cloak, and protested only a little when Erestor knelt and worked warm boots onto his feet. Legolas stood on tiptoe and kissed his father’s cheek, and the trio was off.

Being aboveground was bliss for the Imladris Elves after being cooped up in a cave, however luxuriously accommodating it was, accustomed as they were to trees and airy views of breathtaking mountain vistas.

For hours, Thranduil led his companions over hill and dale, often following paths he had once walked with his wife and children. In the glaring afternoon sunlight, the trees were a blinding white, their branches heavy with snow, and the river was a ribbon of blazing crystal. The snow was light and fluffy, and in many places, the trio was forced to flounder through drifts as deep as their waists.

It was one such drift, at the top of a small rise, where Thranduil slipped on a small patch of ice buried under the snow and lost his balance. He yelped and as he began to fall, grabbed at Erestor’s arm for support. Erestor, himself struggling through the deep drift, was thrown off balance by the unexpected drag of the king’s not-inconsiderable weight, and stumbled. In turn, he clutched blindly at the most handy thing he could find – a fistful of Glorfindel’s golden mane, and down they went, arse over teakettle, to the bottom.

Erestor landed at the foot of slope, falling on his back with a hard ‘whoof’ that knocked the breath out of him. He lay silent and still in the snow, his long dark hair spread out around him like a shroud.

“Erestor!” Glorfindel cried, wallowing out of a deep drift and eyeing his mate’s motionless form worriedly. “Erestor! Oh Valar, Thranduil, is he all right? I think I killed him!”

After their tumble, Thranduil had landed under the shelter of a copse of pine trees, where the snow was relatively thin, and was able to free himself quickly and rush to Erestor’s side. He crouched over the still form and patted his cheek lightly. “Erestor… Erestor, come sweetheart, wake up.”

A great whoop shattered the air and the formerly ‘dead’ Elf grabbed Thranduil by the scruff of the neck and dragged him down into the snow.

“Ai, that was not funny!” Thranduil cried, spitting out a mouthful of snow in between laughs, while Erestor, grinning widely, sat up and brushed the snow from his cloak. “We really thought you were hurt!”

“You shall pay for that, my love. Prepare yourself, for that was a declaration of war!”

Glorfindel had extricated himself from the snowbank and was advancing on his lover, a devious glint in his eye. He launched himself at Erestor and caught him around the chest, driving him back down into the fluffy white snow. Falling backward, Erestor caught Thranduil around the knees with his legs and wrenched him down as well, and before long, a full-fledged snow fight was in progress.

A passerby would never have believed that the raucous, snow-covered, laughing creatures hurtling themselves and invectives at one another were in fact, highly respected Elven lords with some of the most calculating and perceptive minds in all of Middle-earth.

Erestor shrieked as a handful of the cold white stuff was shoved unceremoniously down the neck of his cloak. In retaliation, he scooped up a handful and rubbed it into Thranduil’s face (though it had been his own devoted mate who had been the deliverer of that particular assault, in the heat of ‘battle’, Erestor neither knew, nor particularly cared.)

With a howl of mock outrage, Thranduil caught him around the waist and attempted to drive him head first into a drift. Erestor deftly outmaneuvered him and rolled away, slinging good-natured insults over his shoulder.

“You shall not get away so easily, rascal,” Glorfindel called, and reached out to catch Erestor’s ankle as he tried to crawl off. With a mighty yank, Glorfindel hauled him back and deftly flipped him onto his back. He straddled Erestor’s waist, pinning his arms to his sides, and sat back on Erestor’s thighs, both gloved hands full of snow and poised for another whitewashing.

“Hold, fiend, I yield,” Erestor laughed, pink-cheeked and exhilarated, looking up at his lover with dark eyes sparkling with mirth. “I declare you the victor in this battle.”

“You must pay a forfeit to earn your freedom, knave. Are you prepared to pay it?”

“What is your price, my lord?”

“I demand only the simplest of things, my sweet. The price is… a kiss.”

“And I shall pay your price willingly.”

He moaned as Glorfindel’s warm tongue traced a path of fire across his own icy lips. The brightly shining sun overhead, the cold rivulets running dripping down his back, the chill of the flattened snow under his back, and even Thranduil’s presence disappeared as Glorfindel kissed him, there in the snow.

Unnoticed, Thranduil stood up and silently walked away, following the path they had trampled earlier.

The distant snapping of a branch underfoot finally brought the lovers back to their surroundings. Thranduil was almost out of sight, walking slowly and with head bowed. A look of chagrin passed between them, and they quickly brushed each other free of snow the best they could, and then hurried up the path after Thranduil.

The king looked neither right nor left, only continued to trudge through the snow, his head down, as his companions closed in on him and linked their arms with his, one on either side.

Erestor was alarmed to feel Thranduil trembling, and to see a trail of moisture trickling over one finely etched cheekbone that was far too regular to be melting snowflakes. Could Thranduil be… crying?.

**Glorfindel, we must get him back to the palace as quickly as we can,** Erestor sent worriedly to Glorfindel. **There is something wrong with him, and I know not what it is. Can you feel him shivering?**

**Yes… his clothing is wet straight through, as is ours, but he should not be feeling the cold this keenly. Come, beloved, let us hurry.**

The foyer was mercifully empty as Erestor and Glorfindel escorted Thranduil through the arched doorway and hurried as much as the king’s near catatonic state would allow. By some miracle, they encountered not a soul on the long walk to Thranduil’s chambers.

By the time they arrived at the king’s suite, uncontrollable trembling had beset Thranduil and he was in danger of collapse, had he not been supported on both sides. Glorfindel held the king steady while Erestor fumbled with the doorknob, and when the door opened suddenly, the three nearly fell into the room.

Galion, Thranduil’s ever-faithful steward, gaped for a second at the sight of his liege being supported by the two Elvenlords and immediately took charge. He instructed Erestor to wrap the king in warm blankets and for Glorfindel to stoke the fire, while he hurried to the bathroom to begin filling the bathtub with scalding water from the always-ready copper boiler, tempering it with buckets of cold from a spout fed through the wall.

Erestor and Glorfindel stripped off Thranduil’s wet cloak and wrapped his shivering body in a blanket while they waited for Galion to return. They chafed his chilled hands and fed the fire until it was near sweltering in the king’s chamber.

Galion reappeared at the doorway to say that the king’s bath was ready, and was quickly dispatched to the kitchens for hot mulled cider and food – something mild but hearty, and whatever he thought Thranduil would most stomach.

When he returned quicker than anyone would have believed (he had nigh sprinted to the kitchens, and hurried back as fast as he could without spilling his burden), carrying a large tray laden with a glazed earthenware pitcher filled with steaming cider, mugs, and a few small covered baskets and dishes, Erestor and Glorfindel had managed to strip Thranduil of his wet clothing and get him into the tub.

Glorfindel was poised to pour a hot drink for the king, when Galion asked him to wait for a moment. He pressed a cleverly concealed latch in a wooden wall unit and a panel swung open to reveal an impressive cache of liquors in varying size bottles and stages of consumption. He moved a few aside and finally withdrew one (“Dwarven make – this is what puts that nasty hair on their faces,”) and poured a generous amount into the mug that Glorfindel held.

“Why does his lock up his liquor?” Erestor queried.

Galion replied dryly, “He raised four sons, my lord.”

~*~*~*~*~

Once the shaking had finally tapered off to an occasional shiver, and the worst of the chill had subsided, Thranduil slowly became alert and accepted the cup that Glorfindel handed him, the steaming beverage accompanied by a stern order to drink up.

Erestor helped him wash and rinse his hair, and when that was done, Thranduil asked for a few moments alone in order to collect himself before the questioning that he could no longer avoid. Glorfindel and Erestor left him soaking in the warm water, sipping gingerly at a mug of scalding, spiked cider, and retired to the front room to wait.

Galion had, of course, been worried nearly sick by his liege’s state of mind, and protested vociferously when Erestor gently but firmly pointed him toward the door and dismissed him for the evening. He would have refused outright to leave Thranduil with anyone but Erestor, but accede he did, reluctantly, with a solemn promise not to breathe a word of what he had witnessed. They would not be disturbed, Galion would see to it, with his last breath.

Thranduil finally emerged from the bathroom some time later, dressed in a thick cotton robe and toweling his hair dry, to find Erestor and Glorfindel in the sitting room before the fire, drinking mulled cider and nibbling from the tray Galion had left.

Unnoticed as yet, he leaned against the doorway watching them for a moment. Glorfindel lounged in a wingback chair, with Erestor sitting cross-legged at his feet, leaning back against his legs. As Thranduil looked on, Erestor tipped his head back and opened his mouth to receive a bit of bread spread with soft cheese. Glorfindel did not immediately draw his hand away, but let it rest a moment, tracing the curve of his lover’s jaw. The gesture was so simple, but so sweet and intimate, that the old, by now familiar ache again swelled in Thranduil’s chest.

Thranduil slowly backed away from the room, but even that cautious movement drew Erestor’s eye, and straightening up, he patted the floor next to him and then held out his hand.

“Not this time, Thranduil. Come, sit with us.”

Swallowing the words of protest that immediately sprang to his lips, Thranduil sank to the floor at Glorfindel’s feet, allowing Erestor to loosely link their fingers together. Then the king sighed.

“So, do you want the long version or the short version?”

“Whichever tells the story, my friend,” Erestor answered.

His tongue loosened by the heat of a warm bath, the closeness of friends, and a few cups of brandy-laced cider, Thranduil told his story. His words were heard by both, but directed primarily toward Erestor.

“I vowed many times on the journey from Lindon that I would find my way back to you someday, consequences be damned, but in the end, I could not. I could not leave my father. I thought of you, missed you every single day and night, but I knew that there was no going back, so I did what I had to do and tried to move on.”

Erestor nodded, remembering his own sorrow, of the sense of unfairness and his anger at Oropher for making them part. It had never occurred to him to be angry at Thranduil, for making the choice to follow his father.

“When I thought I could not bear it one more day, there was Gilethiel, and what I thought could never happen again, did. I fell in love with her. Our days were happy and our nights…” a faint smile crossed his face, “oh, the nights! She was incredible, my lovely wife.”

The rest of the story came out in a great rush.

“She kissed me and sent me off to war at my father’s side, and with love and patience, and the occasional swift kick in the bottom when I needed it, eased my grief when I returned home without him, bearing the weight of a crown I never wanted, and the burden of the welfare of his people. Then shadows came to the forest, and we withdrew further and further from the outside world, deeper into isolation.

“It was not all darkness, though. Legolas was born, and my eldest and heir married – with good fortune, he will return before you leave in the spring.

“One day, she went for a walk and never came home. We searched for days, and found nary a trace of her. Her body was found a week later, washed up into an eddy in the river. Her throat had been cut. We never caught her murderers.”

He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“It was just too much to bear. Legolas found me one day in the wine cellar, sobbing like a babe. I had gone down to check the inventory, and I remembered when you and I stole those bottles of the king’s wine. Do you remember that, Erestor? I was never so ill in my life as I was the next day, and I could not look your father in the eye for months.”

That memory was vivid in Erestor’s mind, even millennia later. He and Thranduil had been a few years shy of majority, at that age that all young ones in late adolescence go through – too old for the games of childhood, but not yet privy to the privileges of adulthood, and curious to sample that which was forbidden. Curious, they had snuck into the king’s wine cellar and had pilfered three bottles of sweet, syrupy wine. Knowing little about wines, they did not realize this vintage was of a particularly potent variety, intended to be sipped and served with savory appetizers. Erestor’s father had found them a few hours later in Erestor’s room, drunk as lords, improvising raunchy songs and giggling like little girls, three empty bottles lying at their feet. At seeing his best friend’s father’s glowering visage, Thranduil had crumpled to the floor and passed out. Erestor threw up on his father’s shoes, and then passed out.

“Aye, I remember it well, as did my backside after Father took a strap to it the next day,” Erestor answered, with an unconscious wince in recollection of the reprimand his father had given him the morning after, not so much in punishment for drinking to excess, as for the act of stealing.

Thranduil choked back a sob and his voice wavered.

“And that made me remember when Gilethiel and I accidentally locked ourselves in the supply room. We were bored out of our skulls, waiting for someone to discover we were missing, and started sampling the stock, just to pass the time. We wound up making love on top of the wine barrels. Legolas was conceived that very afternoon.”

“When I saw you two kissing in the snow, and saw the love you have, I thought about my wife, and how it was back in Lindon, and it was too much to bear. I had to get away.

Heartache is an unwelcome beast that creeps out of the dark, and will never give me peace. I cannot escape it.”

Thranduil dropped his head to his hand and cried.

Glorfindel understood all too well those feelings of bleak despair, and leaned over to press his cheek to Thranduil’s, wrapping his arms around the king’s broad chest in comfort. Erestor held his hand and rocked against him, shushing him until he quieted.

When the flood of tears had ended, Thranduil was leaning against Erestor, drained and exhausted.

While Glorfindel stoked the fire, piled the mugs and pitcher back on the tray, and placed it on the floor outside the door to Thranduil’s chambers, Erestor took Thranduil by the hand and led him to the bed. He pulled off Thranduil’s robe and helped him under the covers, and kissed his cheek. He stood and turned to leave, when Thranduil caught his sleeve.

‘Please, stay with me, I do not want to be alone tonight,’ the pleading, haunted look in Thranduil’s eyes seemed to say, though he had not spoken a word.

Erestor looked at Glorfindel and a wordless exchange passed between them. He nodded, once, and silently began removing his clothing. Glorfindel did the same, and leaned over to douse the lantern.

“Leave it on. The darkness is oppressive,” Thranduil whispered.

“As you wish.”

They climbed onto the bed, one on either side, and crawled under the blankets. With Thranduil nestled safely between them, they lay in silence, listening to the pop and hiss of the fire in the hearth and the faint but steady drip of water from somewhere deep in the caverns.

Thranduil’s breathing evened and slowed, and at last he fell asleep, his hand still entwined with Erestor’s, Glorfindel’s strong arm encircling his waist. A long while later, Erestor, Thranduil’s breath gently rustling his hair, finally dropped off to sleep to the sound of Glorfindel’s soft snoring.

~*~*~*~*~

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Glorfindel woke gradually from his peaceful slumber. During the night, their positions had not changed; Erestor was on the far side of the bed, his back to the door, with Thranduil facing him, and Glorfindel was curved around the king’s back, holding him securely as they slept.

He was not certain what it was that had awakened him, but he listened for a moment, with sleep-dulled senses, and soon heard a quiet murmuring and felt a slight swaying of the bed.

Neither had yet realized that he was awake, so Glorfindel lay where he was, watching them over the curve of Thranduil’s shoulder. He could see Erestor’s hair draped like a curtain of shadow as he leaned over Thranduil and stroked his cheek with the back of one finger, whispering something that was too quiet for Glorfindel to make out.

As he looked on, Erestor lowered his head and lightly pressed his lips to Thranduil’s. It was apparent, even to a covertly watching spouse, that the kiss was intended to be chaste, comforting, that of one friend giving encouragement and solace to another. His eyes widened as Thranduil’s hands rose and clutched great fistfuls of Erestor’s hair, and their kiss deepened before his very eyes.

Rather than being taken aback, Glorfindel was struck by how beautiful they were, and wondered what it would have been like to watch them making love. Had Erestor even then made the same little mewling noises deep in his throat when Thranduil was buried deep inside him? Was it from Thranduil that Erestor had learned how to do that trick with his tongue that turned Glorfindel inside out and make his knees weak?

When they parted, Thranduil fell back on the pillow, his eyes closed. Erestor glanced guiltily over at his mate and realized with a sinking heart that Glorfindel was awake and was watching him intently.

Erestor felt the alien but not unwelcome flicker of Glorfindel’s thoughts brush his mind.

**What in the name of all that is sacred are you doing?**

**Forgive me, Glorfindel, I should not have let things go so far.**

Over Thranduil’s shoulder, Glorfindel smiled at him. **Nay, you misunderstand me, sweet. What I meant, was, why did you stop? Things were just getting interesting.**

It was then that Erestor realized that what he had mistaken for the dark glimmer of anger in his mate’s eyes was nothing of the sort.

**Glorfindel! Whatever are you implying?** Erestor returned his lover’s twinkling gaze with a querying look.

**Oh no, do not deny that you do not desire him still! I can feel your blood aflame even from here.**

**No… I will not deny it, but I am not certain it is a good idea.** He glanced uneasily at Thranduil, who still had his eyes closed, and seemed oblivious to the silent dialogue going on around him.

**This would not be the first time we have shared our bed with another; why does the idea bother you?**

**Because it is Thranduil,** Erestor protested, as though that were explanation enough.

**And because you love him? But that is even more reason, sweetling. He is vulnerable and needs to feel connected to another, to a piece of his past that is real and solid. I know of what I speak.** A brief surge of nearly forgotten pain flared in Glorfindel’s memory, hot and fierce.

In the shadows, Erestor dipped his head in apology. **Forgive me, my love.**

**Always, beloved. And together, we shall help him heal.**

Finally noticing that Erestor had not moved, Thranduil’s eyelids fluttered and he peered up at Erestor, his face flaming with humiliation.

“Ai Elbereth, I am sorry. I have made a fool of myself, and have taken advantage of you.”

“Hush, sweet. There is nothing for you to be ashamed of.”

Erestor bent and kissed him again, so sweetly that it brought tears to Thranduil’s eyes. “We would give you succor, if you would permit it.”

“We? By Morgoth’s iron crown, Glorfindel knows what I have done?”

“Glorfindel not only knows, but he approves heartily.” A throaty chuckle from behind him made Thranduil risk a wary glance over his shoulder, and met two darkened eyes staring back at him, glimmering in the flickering light.

“Thranduil… “ Glorfindel stopped, considering, and began again. “Please, just say yes. Do not make this difficult, and do not ask for reasons.”

“But – “

Glorfindel sighed. “I understand how you feel, better than you probably realize. I have been there, my friend, and it was only by the kindness and love that was shown to me that I was able to reconcile the pain of my past and begin to move forward.”

Thranduil knew better than to ask such a personal question, but could not stop the words that slipped past his lips. “Who – who was it?”

Glorfindel shook his head, his lips pressed tightly in refusal. What had happened in those first months following his return from the Halls of Waiting was of no one’s concern but his, and Erestor’s, of course. “It does not matter now, but know that we do not make this offer lightly.”

“Thranduil, please. Trust him. Trust us.” Erestor added, touching Thranduil’s shoulder.

Glorfindel noticed, with no small amount of amusement, that his lover’s earlier protestations had apparently disappeared like a puff of smoke on the slightest breeze.

Thranduil rolled onto his back and stared at the shadows dancing across the domed cavern ceiling. Finally, he nodded.

Without giving Thranduil time to reconsider, Erestor kissed him once more, nigh stealing the breath from his very lungs. Glorfindel curled around Thranduil’s warmth and nipped the nape of his neck, his ears, tweaked his nipples, his own erection pressed against his belly, nestled in the crevice of Thranduil’s backside.

Erestor and Glorfindel were relentless in their seduction – there was no way they were going to give him time to change his mind, for now that the decision was made, they wanted Thranduil as badly as he wanted them.

Thranduil turned his head, craning his neck, and Glorfindel kissed him deeply, taking the king’s throaty moans into his mouth as Erestor bent to lap at Thranduil’s nipples.

Erestor nipped his ribs, the little dip at Thranduil’s hipbone, and down the crease of his thigh, until he came to Thranduil’s growing erection. He took just the tip into his mouth, running his tongue around the rim and hollowing his cheeks, applying gentle suction, quickly bringing Thranduil to full hardness.

Thranduil moaned and tried to thrust into that wet warmth. Glorfindel palmed the long, smooth, shaft and encircled it, just managing to close his fingers around its girth.

“Dear Valar, Erestor, you fit this inside you?” he said, his voice mingled with equal parts amusement and awe.

“It was usually - the other way - around… oh gods,” Thranduil gasped, jerking forward, as Erestor’s hot mouth suddenly closed around his shaft and took him in deeply.

Glorfindel moved his hand up and down the thick base, working in tandem with each of Erestor’s movements. Up and down, in and out, first quickly and then more slowly. Erestor was sublime at oral pleasure, and Glorfindel knew exactly how good it must have felt to Thranduil. Already, the king was moaning, his body quivering as Erestor’s talented mouth brought him near the crest of pleasure, but never beyond.

Glorfindel swept Thranduil’s hair back, baring an ear, and traced the conch with his tongue, flicking the tip lightly. This did not elicit an especially enthusiastic reaction, so Glorfindel moved on to his neck. Hoping for a more eager response, he pressed a row of kisses from the top of Thranduil’s spine to his hairline, then along the fine wisps up to his ear, and down the tendons. Thranduil moaned a bit louder and turned his head a bit more, exposing more of the smooth flesh of his neck.

Encouraged, Glorfindel ran his tongue down the tendons and to his collarbone, catching a bit of skin between his teeth and nipping gently, not too hard, but enough leave a tiny red mark. The effect was instantaneous – Thranduil shuddered and thrust forward so sharply that Erestor retched and pulled away.

Erestor wiped his saliva-slicked lips with the back of his hand and glanced up at his mate, who was gazing worriedly down at him, Glorfindel a sheepish half-smile. “I should have warned you about that spot.”

“Aye, probably,” Glorfindel agreed. He climbed out of bed and shivered in the chill air. “I will be right back.”

Padding barefooted and naked across the room, he tossed another log on the fire, then disappeared into Thranduil’s bathroom. He returned a moment later, carrying a stoppered glass vial of bath oil, and crawled back into bed, tucking the small bottle between his thighs to warm it.

“Now, where were we?”

“About here, I think,” Erestor answered. Thranduil was unresisting as his lover gently pulling his leg forward, exposing his most private of places for Glorfindel’s use, while he used mouth and hands to lick and nip at those sensitive places that he remembered drove Thranduil into a frenzy.

Glorfindel wiggled toward the foot of the bed, kissing his way down the long, curved back, and set about gently but insistently opening Thranduil’s tiny pucker with wet swipes of his tongue, until Thranduil was trembling and gasping, eagerly thrusting himself back and forth between Glorfindel’s wicked tongue and the slow, steady strokes of Erestor’s warm hand on his erection.

When Thranduil was soft and pliant (which was, thankfully, before the heat of the heavy blankets over his head became stifling), Glorfindel slid up the king’s body and helped Erestor position him on hands and knees.

Glorfindel leaned over and kissed first Thranduil, and then Erestor, the piquant, musky taste of the king still sharp on his tongue.

Thumbing open the stopper on the small glass bottle, he spilled a palmful of warm oil onto Erestor’s shaft, giving his mate’s erection a few long, smooth strokes, grinning wickedly to see Erestor’s eyes roll back in his head, and then Glorfindel quickly spread the slippery liquid deeply into Thranduil’s body, mixing it with his own saliva.

In one long, drawn-out glide that he remembered Thranduil used to love, Erestor slowly pressed forward, pushing only halfway into the king’s tight heat, and stopped until Thranduil could adjust. Thranduil keened softly – it hurt, it always hurt at first – and Glorfindel kissed him deeply, swallowing Thranduil’s heartrending moan, until the pain ebbed and he relaxed and began pushing back toward Erestor, enticing him to begin thrusting.

“Wait a moment… there is something missing from this picture,” Glorfindel mused, sitting back on his heels and casting a shrewd eye over his lovers.

Erestor, on his knees, his hands gripping Thranduil’s hips lightly, buried halfway in the king’s comely backside, bore a grimace of determination on his face as he fought not to simply slam forward and pound Thranduil into the mattress. Thranduil was on his hands and knees, his golden mane sweeping the pillows, his cock thick and heavy between his thighs.

“Pray, hurry and figure it out, darling,” Erestor ground out, gritting his teeth. “You may have all night, but we certainly do not.”

Glorfindel snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes, I know. Thranduil, scoot up a bit, and sit up on your knees, if you can manage it, then grab the headboard.”

Groaning in frustration, Thranduil did as he was told, wriggling forward so that he could raise his upper body and fold his arms over the carved oak bed frame.

Erestor scooted along behind on his knees, struggling to keep them joined. “You could not have thought of this before, I suppose?” he snarled.

Glorfindel gave him a mischievous wink. “One cannot rush genius, my love.”

He eyed their positions with a critical glance. “There, this is much better,” he remarked approvingly, and dropped down among the pillows to crawl underneath the king. Thranduil’s head dropped froward to rest on his own forearms, and he groaned as his aching length was taken into Glorfindel’s mouth.

As Erestor finally began thrusting, slow, long, and deep, Glorfindel worked the king’s splendid shaft with his mouth, one hand skillfully massaging the fleshy pouch underneath, and the other stroking his own erection, spreading slick oil and his own fluids from base to tip. They drew out Thranduil’s pleasure as long as possible, until they were shaking from the strain of restraining themselves.

Thranduil’s climax came upon him with the force of a thunderclap – sudden and intense, He shuddered and shouted as he rode out the waves of orgasm, flooding Glorfindel’s mouth with hot cream. Neither was surprised to hear that the name he cried out at the pinnacle of his pleasure was not theirs.

As the waves of Thranduil’s pleasure finally sent Erestor hurtling over the edge, he reached blindly for Glorfindel, still wildly stroking his own shaft, and the touch sent them spiraling into ecstasy together.

As gently as possible, Erestor pulled his softening length out of Thranduil’s body and he and Glorfindel lowered the king’s limp form to the bed. Thranduil was able to do little more than allow his lovers to maneuver him onto his back and rest his head on the pillow. They curled up again on either side of Thranduil, and pulled the blankets back over their bodies.

As their breathing slowed, and sleep once again claimed them, Thranduil snuggled against Glorfindel, Erestor’s arm tucked about his waist.

“Douse the lamp,” Thranduil mumbled, already slipping into a light doze. “The darkness is gone.”

~*~*~*~*~

Erestor and Glorfindel shared Thranduil’s bed often during the remainder of that long winter.

They were careful to keep any hint of the physical nature of their relationship from reaching Legolas’ ears. The youngest of Thranduil’s brood was remarkably mature for his age, and all three were certain that he would understand, but the fact was, there are simply things that adults do not discuss with their children. Especially when the child in question, no matter how perceptive or mature, has yet to reach his majority.

The time would come, one day far in the future, when Legolas would ultimately learn of the nature of his father’s friendship with the Imladris lords that cold and snowy winter, but that was not for many years, until Legolas was full-grown and had, himself, experienced firsthand the joys of love and perils of heartache.

Galion knew, of course – it would have been impossible to keep such a secret from him. Each night that Thranduil’s lovers stayed with him, the faithful steward vigilantly searched his liege’s chamber in the morning for a stray item of clothing, a slipper, a mislaid hair clip, or anything inadvertently left behind that would betray Thranduil’s secret. By the time Legolas arrived in his father’s chambers in the morning for their morning tea, as he had done since he was a toddler and able to climb out of his cradle on his own, all evidence was discreetly disposed of, the linens changed, and the air scented with aromatic candles and pine, every trace of spent passion eliminated.

It was not without cause that Galion had secured the enviable position as the king’s most trusted aide.

If Thranduil’s people noticed a subtle change in their king’s behavior and occasional minor lapse in etiquette, such as a furtive touch of the hand that lingered a few seconds too long, or a long, lean body held a trifle closer than typical during a dance at the traditional mid-winter festival, it was attributed only to a dear and close familiarity between their king and his Noldorin friends.

None of the three was so naïve as to believe that a long-term union was to be had, but they shared a great love and respect for one another in that long, cold season. Despite the acute, almost fervent obsession that Erestor had once harbored for the glorious Sinda king, his infatuation had matured and tempered into something more steady – the strong, mellow love born of shared memories and a long friendship. He loved Thranduil still, it was true, and always would, but not in the same soul-deep manner that he loved Glorfindel, his mate, his lover - an unshakeable, indissoluble bonding of two minds and two hearts that would endure until the breaking of Arda.

Glorfindel, on the other hand, had always admired and respected Thranduil, but prior to that winter, had not known the king well on a personal level, except as a peer and comrade, through Erestor’s anecdotes of their days in Lindon and their brief meeting at Dagorlad. Thranduil was charming, warmhearted, passionate, and so utterly enchanting that Glorfindel could easily see why Erestor had loved him so, and grew to love him as well.

At last, the day came when the winter snows melted from the passes and the trees were ripe with swollen buds, the breeze carrying upon it the scent of springtime.

It was time to go home.

Their true goodbye was said in private, where they made love slowly, and slept together all that night long, their bodies entangled in a jumble of limbs and sheets.

In the morning, under a bright and sunny sky, the king of Eryn Galen and his staff and family gathered at the Gate to bid their guests farewell. Young Legolas struggled against the urge to weep, but stood stoically at his father’s side and clasped their forearms one by one as the Imladris Elves said goodbye.

Erestor was the last to pass through the line. He kissed Legolas’ cheek and whispered something to him that made the young prince’s face light up, then winked and moved on to Thranduil. They embraced, and unseen by any other, into the king’s hand Erestor pressed a small object.

Glancing down, Thranduil saw that it was a talisman, made of hair – glossy black, sun-ripened wheat, and shining gold – woven into a slender braid, and bound at the ends with bits of ribbon. Glorfindel had made it, furtively removing a few stray strands of Thranduil’s from his hairbrush, and twining them with those he had clipped from Erestor’s head and his own, heating the ends to keep the braid from fraying, then securing them with bits of silk.

“Look to the heavens at night, and you will see the light of Eärendil, guiding your path,” Erestor said quietly into his ear. “Giltheliel walks among the trees of the Blessed Realm, watching those same stars, and waiting for the day that you will be reunited. Until then, carry this with you, and when sorrow again threatens to overcome you, remember us, and know that you are loved. Do not squander your days, Thranduil. Fill them with love for your family and people.”

With a final squeeze for the king, Erestor mounted his horse and the Imladris party set off into the woods. Thranduil waved until they were out of sight, then took his son by the hand and led his people back to their home.

~*~*~*~*~

Epilogue

Dearest Erestor and Glorfindel,

I hope this letter finds you both well. So many things that have happened here since you left that I scarcely know where to begin! Before I forget, Father sends his love to Lady Celebrían, and his regards to Master Elrond, and hopes to visit your fair valley within the next few years. He has even promised that I shall accompany him!

Do you remember my eldest brother Faelon? You met him briefly, ere you returned to Imladris. He was returning just as you and Lord Glorfindel were preparing for your journey. He must have had quite a welcoming, because within three months of his return, he announced the most joyous news of all.

Erestor, come next spring, I am going to be an uncle!

Father is elated at the thought of being a grandfather. He is making the babe a cradle, woven of spring grass and decorated on the outside with dried flowers and leaves that he has gathered, lacquered with some sort of shiny glaze, and padded inside with the most wonderfully soft wool that you could ever imagine. Faelon swears that the babe will be spoiled beyond belief, but Father only laughs and tells him that he has earned a grandfather’s right.

I have taken to heart what you said to me the morning you left, and have kept a careful eye on Father since then. He truly does seem to have recovered from his malady; he still has spells of melancholy, but unlike before, they do not overwhelm him. Father is… the change is nothing sort of wondrous. Once again, there is a light in his eye that I had feared gone forever. I do not know what happened while you were here, nor do I really wish to know, but thank you, Erestor. Thanks to you both for bringing Father out of darkness.

May the Lady’s light shine upon you until we meet again, my friends.

Devotedly,
Legolas Thranduilion

*~*~ *~*~*

Notes:

Eryn Galen = the ancient name for Greenwood the Great (source: Unfinished Tales)
Gilethiel = thanks to CoE for the translation “daughter of star-maiden”

*****

THE END

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