~ A quiet, still morning; threshold of a new Age.
A cock crowed, somewhere a door banged and a dog barked, a redbreast called from a bare branch, the scent of new baked bread mingled with the sharp aroma of dawn. The sun rose in a flaming ember globe until it vanished behind high cloud, leaving a cool, windless winter day.
Could there be any place more simple to begin his new life Vanimórë wondered, as he closed the leaded casement. A small town called Bree, an inn, an unpretentious room where in the bed, the Elf he had risked everything to bring back to life, slept in the complete relaxation of trust.
He had laid a touch of power very gently on Elgalad's mind, no more than a breath. He had to be careful. He did not truly know what he could do as yet, and wanted Elgalad to sleep, (Liar. My father once said I was a better liar than he. That is not what I wanted at all.) while he sat before the hearth and told over in his mind all that had happened. When he noticed the fire was dying down to sullen red embers, he lifted a hand, tapped the stream of Power within his mind. The flames leaped up in hungry red tongues.
So much to learn.
He left the room and went down the creaking wooden stairs, finding a curly headed Hobbit, and asked for mulled wine, cold meat, fresh bread and fruit. He carried the tray up the stairs himself, smiling away the Hobbit's protests, and set it down. Wisps of fragrant steam curled from the brass jug, and he poured and drank, then set the cup down and silently crossed to the bed.
Elgalad's hair was a pale cloud over the pillows, half hiding his serene face . A blanket had slipped to show one shoulder.
I killed him. I almost lost him.
The horror of that moment thudded through him again.
He spun, on reflex...
Elgalad sank to his knees
''Do n-not leave m-me again...'' Words forced through clogging blood...the terrible noises of a plea for air...
Didst thou ever...love..me?
Then Elgalad died and madness took him. He would never otherwise have attempted what he had and of course, without aid, he would have died himself. He had been guided and guarded by Eru, whom had moved those he chose into position to effect what had happened after.
Glorfindel and I...
It made sense. Glorfindel had lived two lives, knew the sorrows of his people, knew what they desired and needed.
I will go south, far south to the shores of the Straits of the World, lands that I never visited as Sauron's Slave.
His eyes dropped again to Elgalad, feeling as if he had brought something indescribably precious out of danger. But had he brought him only into greater danger?
I am more perilous than he knows, and I would be without any power. I cannot set my fingerprints all over him.
Elgalad's firm lips looked velvet-soft, his lashes thick as as fan above the grey eyes which were glass-blank in slumber.
Eru, thou hast given him unto me, and I may not touch him...! But, oh! I could show him what heat lies under his sweetness and his courage...!
Elgalad blinked. His eyes opened wide, and shocked realization entered them: memory, pain and relief intermingled. His fingers felt his throat, then rose to Vanimórë's cheek. The gesture was so touching that he bent his head to kiss the lovely mouth.
It was supposed to convey reassurance, but it was more than that. It would always be more. Running fire coursed within him as Elgalad's lips parted under his. He raised himself into the kiss, which deepened into passion, wilder than Vanimórë imagined. Elgalad pushed aside the coverlets, and their bodies met hungrily. One naked, one fully clothed, they tumbled down on the bed. The glide of the silken skin under his fingers, the slip of the hair over them, blasted an inferno through Vanimórë. They were fully aroused, and he felt the rigid and aching tension in Elgalad as he molded himself closer, seeking any release for his need, writhing against the iron hard muscles.
''I n-need thee...'' he arched against Vanimórë's body. Hard arms locked around him, and they moved together in a primal hunger until both broke in an explosion of pleasure, though flesh had not even touched against flesh.
Tremors shook through Elgalad as he sank back, lashes fluttering shut, his breath coming in gasps. He felt himself enfolded close and clung to Vanimórë, his heart pounding like a forge hammer.
''Peace, my dear.''
''I n-need thee.'' His mouth moved blindly over Vanimórë's warm throat. ''Take m-me. I want t-to feel thee within m-me, I w-want to be thine !''
''And I want thee.'' Vanimórë rose and watched as Elgalad opened his eyes and reached out. Cursing in an undervoice, raking back his hair, he said:
''I cannot. I would destroy thee.''
''Never. I trust th-thee.'' Elgalad looked so desirable that Vanimórë felt himself grow hard again. Something in his eyes must have communicated his hunger, for Elgalad whispered: "Please."
''No. It is not that I do not want thee ! I could take thee now, but I fear what I would do, not to thy body, but thy soul.'' He poured wine, sat down on the edge of the bed.
''Drink,'' his voice softened as he ran his hand through Elgalad's disheveled hair. ''I do love thee, and oh Hells, I do want thee, but I have to be so very careful. Thou art wanton, but so sweet. What would be left but the long fall in blackness if I extinguished that?''
''Thou c-canst not. I was m-made for thee, I was born f-for thee ! Do I not p-please thee?''
''Too much.'' H smiled,drank off the wine and glanced down at his clothes, damp from Elgalad's release. He was stunned at the passion his gentle-eyed Meluion had exhibited.
''I am s-sorry.'' Mortified, Elgalad ducked his head, and Vanimórë tilted it back up.
''I almost took thee. I did not realize it would be so hard to withhold, but I wanted thee to feel some pleasure.''
Elgalad's face glowed. ''I d-did. But I still want th-thee.''
''If thou doth look at me like that, thou wilt test me beyond what even I can endure, beauty,'' Vanimórë growled. ''Eat, and then we must talk. I wanted thee to rest last night, but I must tell thee everything that happened, and then we should leave.''
''We? Thou w-wilt take m-me with thee?''
''Thou art mine.'' At the smile which lit the beautiful face, he shook Elgalad gently. Who laughed with soft delight.
''Forever.'' And privately, he said to himself.
And I hope, Meluion, that thou wilt never regret it.
The great ships crested the surged and swell of the ocean like dancers, Teleri swan-ships, this time freely given to those who chose to depart Aman. Dolphins leaped before the vessels boughs in playful curves, and the wind was in the sails as if the Valar sent it to speed their passage away from Valinor.
Glorfindel looked back at the receding shore, the fleet of white sails which followed the lead ship, then turned his face east. There were warriors of his house here, their families. Fëanor, in a somewhat unexpected moment of empathy, had chosen to sail with his other sons and give Maglor and Tindómion this time alone.
Time was something they did have now.
Gil-galad had likewise gone with his father and Fingolfin. Ecthelion was with his own House.
Legolas was standing in a whipping cloud of pale hair and as Glorfindel crossed to him, he glanced around with a strange expression, which only eased when Glorfindel smiled.
"I am still Glorfindel," the comment, the smile, were wry.
"But not that alone, are you?"
"No," the new-made Vala admitted. "But some things do not change. Come. I will have wine brought to my cabin. This will be a long voyage after all."
Legolas' eyes burned up, but he paused. "Glorfindel, what of Elgalad? Will he be safe?"
"As safe as any-one would be with Vanimórë. As safe as thou wilt be – with me." ~