Shades of Glory by Anu

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Shades of Glory

I don't know quite what to say, except mabye - I love the Noldor!

“Whereas the Elves remain until the end of days, and their love of the Earth and all the world is more single and poignant therefore, and as the years lengthen ever more sorrowful. For the Elves die not until the world dies, unless they are slain or waste in grief (and to both these seeming deaths they are subject); neither does age subdue their strength, unless one grow weary of ten thousand centuries; and dying they are gathered to the Halls of Mandos in Valinor, whence they may in time return.”

-The Silmarillion, Of the Beginning of Days, p42

  

After the battle of the Last Alliance, Elrond was devastated. Gil-Galad was dead, Isildur had claimed the ring, and all was lost.

He was stunned, dazed. His men returned him to Rivendell, and he sat for hours gazing out the windows of his study. Celebrian and his children could not comfort him.

His thoughts were sluggish, confused. He was utterly devoid of all hope until fall began, and then an idea came to him. The festival of the dead was coming shortly. He could hope to speak with Gil-Galad again on that day, or he could do what he had sworn never to undertake; and cast that evil spell he knew, to return his lover from the dead.

He deliberated over this for a long time. It was an evil spell, as foul as the ones that had made elves into Orcs, and not to be wrought lightly. But he alone knew the making of it, he had learned of it as a child, growing up among the survivors of Doriath and Gondolin. He had seen it done. Had seen it fail, and had seen it work.

And so, with great trepidation, the night of hallows came. And he sought not to beseech Erenion Gil-Galad, son of Fingon, but to return him from the dead. But whether the fault was with the spell or its caster, it seemed to fail. Elrond found himself bereft of all hope then, and as dawn’s first rays heralded the ending of that night when the living and dead were closest; he at last began to grieve.

But the spell had not come to nothing.

Mandos, in his halls, had heard Elrond’s mad, desperate plea. And he had there many in his halls; but only one did he return, granting him life, and a body. And he laid that one on the shores of Valinor, and that one knew not who he was; and was mad for a time, until he met another wanderer of the shore, and that other knew who he was.

--

Maglor had wandered the shores for ages now. He was very tired, very weary of this world. But he found himself unable to give up and die. The silmarils were long since lost, and all that he had ever known dead or gone. But unable to forgive himself, he wandered ever on. At night he took shelter in the dunes, and by day walked along the sea.

And then, as suddenly as the sun rising over the waters; he came upon another mad elf, lying there in the sand. As it was now the hottest part of the day, Maglor paused a moment, brow furrowed; and then stooped and picked up the other. He carried him to the shade, and sat watching him. After a while, the other no longer slept, but opened his eyes, and the two stared at one another for a very long time.

Malgor finally spoke, his voice unused to speaking, more used to singing endlessly. “Who are you?”

The other did not answer, only looked confused. Then he replied, “I do not know. I was in the halls of my fathers, and now I am here. Where is here?” His eyes were green and blue, his hair long and thick and golden, it fell in a thick waterfall down his back.

Maglor contemplated. He knew that the Eldar were welcome to return, but he had never yet met one who had.

“I am Maglor.” He said only.

“And who am I, then?” Asked the other.

 Maglor shrugged. “Do you remember the time when you were last alive?”

The other thought for a moment, face furrowed in concentration. “Do the mountains still stand? Are there still eagles upon Thangorodrim?”

Maglor sighed and shook his head. “No, the mountains are no more. All the world is changed. Melkor is gone, and so are the Silmarills. We are upon the shores of that place which I may not enter, Valinor.”

A look of grief and sorrow swept over the other’s features. “And Gondolin? Earendil? What came after the Fall?”

Maglor studied him carefully. “Were you there in that fall?”

The other looked surprised, searching within. “Yes, I was. But I do not know my name.”

“You are Glorfindel.” Maglor told him with surety.

“Yes. That was my name. I remember…Balrogs, and Turgon. Idril – where is Idril and Earendil?”

“Idril has gone with Tuor long ago across the sea from that land where you lived before.  Earendil – he is now that star there, that shines brightly even by day.”

“How did this come to be?”

And having nothing but time, Maglor told him. But he did not tell him of Elrond and Elros, remembering the part he had had to play in that, and would not tell Earendil’s sworn defender of such things.

By night, Glorfindel was sane once more, and knew most of what had happened since his death, two ages before.  He and Maglor feasted on fish and seafood, and Maglor built up a fire in the dunes, and lay down to sleep. Glorfindel lay down beside him, pressed close for warmth against the cool wind.

And the two eldar of the ancient world slept. Malgor was long and lean, being of the house of Feanor, his body was tall and strong, his legs long and chest broad, arms and hands slender and long. Glorfindel too was lean of limb, but being of the Gondolthlim, his legs were short and powerful, his shoulders broad and chest deep, his waist whittled lean by years of training for warfare. His hair was golden and long, glorious, as he was only partly Noldor, of the house of Finarfin; he was most likely a quarter Vanyar.

During the night Maglor moved in his loneliness, and drew a long bare leg over Glorfindel’s hip. In his sleep Glorfindel sighed, and moved back into Maglor, seeking warmth. Maglor was long and hard behind him, his cock was thick and hot against Glorfindel’s full buttocks. Glorfindel woke without waking, and turned toward him. Maglor opened his eyes, and met those of his companion.

“Would you like to celebrate being alive once more, as only the living can?” He asked softly.

The sand was warm and soft and deep beneath their bodies. Glorfindel lay fully on his back, and nodded, seeking Maglor’s mouth with his own. Their lips were warm and soft, very dry, and the kiss, however sweet, was heated. Maglor grasped Glorfindel by the shoulders, and lay his long body overtop, covering him. Sand sifted down, and Glorfindel closed his eyes, one hand seeking Maglor’s rump, the other massaging the base of his skull through the long, thick black hair.

Their hipbones, sharp beneath warm skin, grated together, and Maglor moved atop him for a time. Lulled by the sensations, Glorfindel rocked upward, until both met their need with gasps and sighs. Maglor’s face was lifted in supplication, eyes closed, mouth ajar, his breath quick and uneven. Then he stilled, and both enjoyed the crash of the waves, and the sensation of sharing lust, well met; in over two ages.

Maglor rose slowly, and laid on his side, and Glorfindel returned to the warmth, with his back against Maglor’s belly. Both were well satisfied, and returned to sleep almost at once.

But Glorfindel dreamed.  

He dreamed that he was in a high and bright place, where the sun shone for ever, and Earendil was there, a man grown; and Earendil spoke to him.

“I see ye there, lying with one of the worst of Kinslayers, and I rejoice that ye have returned to life, but yet, how do you think it came to be?”

Glorfindel had no answer for him, he was blinded and awed by the brightness of the Silmarill upon Earendil’s brow.

“It was I who beseeched Mandos to return thee. Do you remember that old vow thee swore to me, in the days of my youth, before thy death? I intervened to have you return, because I wish you to fufill that vow. I have no need of you myself, but you not only swore to me, but to all those of my line. I have had a wife, and sons, and one of them now needs your aid. It has been many years since that elf you lie beside knew him, for he kidnapped my children in their youth, as part of the evil vow that he made. My sons are grown, and one is gone; but the other, Elrond, in Rivendell, has need of you yet. I will take you closer, that you might aid him, but you must think of this Kinslayer no more.  Now wake, for soon the sun will rise, and if you stay here upon Vilingot, you shall burn, and there will be no aid for thee.”

And Glorfindel woke with a start, to find himself alone on the shore, without any sign of a fire, nor of Maglor, who was revealed to him at last.

Maglor too, woke suddenly, and was surprised to find himself alone, but did not know where Glorfindel had gone, nor that the sea now seperated them, for Glorfindel had travelled in dream during the night, and now lay on the far shore, the shores of Middle Earth.

--

And so Glorfindel found himself naked on the shores of Middle Earth. Knowing now his purpose here, he would first seek out garments, and then the location of Rivendell, that he might go to Elrond, Earendil’s son.

He found shelter and clothing in the house of Cirdan the shipwright, who was Teleri, and minded not a Vanya in need of aid. He understood that Glorfindel was reborn, and gave him the location of Rivendell, and also a horse to get him thence at once.

And so it was but a few days past the hallow’s night when Glorfindel rode into Rivendell. The watch stopped him at the gate, and learning of his identity, he was entrusted to Erestor, a quiet dark elf of the Noldor who acted as Elrond’s steward. He had fought alongside him, and indeed been his steward from the time Elrond had made his choice; so he knew of all that was between Gil Galad and Elrond, he knew also of Elrond’s conjuring, which until now had come to nought.

Erestor would have gone first, to warn Elrond, but the elf of Gondolin would not wait, nor be dissuaded. Like a dog upon a bull, he stormed the halls of Rivendell, Erestor fluttering alongside.

At the door to Elrond’s study, he made to block him, but Glorfindel shouldered Erestor aside and entered. The chamber was like a tomb, dark and dull and gloomy. Elrond raised his gaze from the windowsill where he sat, and stared at Glorfindel in awestruck horror.

“Who art thou?!” The lord of Rivendell spoke.

Glorfindel went to the nearest window and flung open the drapes, continuing so across the room. He paused, and grinned at Elrond over his shoulder.

“Did thee not call back one from the Halls of the Dead?”

Elrond stood, infuriated at the invasion of his enviroment, and gaped at him. “Thou art not Gil-Galad!” He shouted at the blonde.

“Nay. I am Glorfindel of Gondolin.”

“Glorfindel! Of Gondolin!” Elrond sputtered. “Why have thee come, and entered my house, even my private chambers, so?”

“Because by your conjuring, and by your father’s behest, I have come to fufill a vow I swore to him on the day that Gondolin fell. Art thou not pleased?”

“Nay, I am not pleased! I wish you to go back to the Hells from which you came!” Elrond snarled, snatching a tapestry from his fingers as he examined it. It fell from the wall and clattered on the floor.

Glorfindel came toward him then, and Elrond gave ground before the force of the being before him, daunted by the flaming green-blue eyes, the great fall of gold behind him that seemed to fill the room. Glorfindel backed him until his heels struck the wall, and gently, almost absently, straightened the crown upon Elrond’s brow.

“From whence I came was no Hell. It was a place of peace, and great beauty. Gondolin was utopia, and Mandos’s Halls a paradise. I know nothing of Illuvatar, for I am always pagan. I knew Mandos not either. The shades I saw there I knew, but what is there to say when life has ended and all deeds done? Yet it was not a lonely place. It was a place where worn souls rest forever more.” Glorfindel paused, and turned away.

Elrond caught a deep breath, but Glorfindel continued to speak.

“And you would have brought thy lover out of such a place, into this world of suffering to ease thy own pain? Be glad it was I the Vala returned. I think not Erenion Gil-Galad would have liked your breaking his rest. I think you would have been very surprised if you tried to deny him that. Is not the life of High King hard enough that you would make his rest uneasy? Know that he still cares deeply for you, Elrond, and let the knowing be enough.”

And with that, Glorfindel left the room, and a stunned silence followed him. Elrond still stood in shock by the wall, gazing at the hallway whence Glorfindel had come.

Later that evening, Elrond sought him out, leaving his study for the first time since the Battle of the Last Alliance. Glorfindel was in the stables there, brushing out the horse Cirdan had given him; a magnificent stud named Asfaloth. He did not turn when Elrond entered, and said nothing.

Elrond watched him for a moment, studying his muscles as he worked on the horse, bare-chested, his famous hair gathered up and tied at the nape of his neck. It hung fuller and longer than the tail of the horse, and had a deep rich color, true gold with highs of sunlight and lows of copper and bronze. Fixated, Elrond stared, Glorfindel’s hair was like a living thing, with a mind and will of it’s own.

He spoke at last.

“I cast that spell nearly a week past. Where have thou been?”

Glorfindel did not laugh, but there was laughter in his voice. “I was quite naked and mad for a while, you see, Lord of Rivendell. I came upon a kinslayer on the far shore, and he happened to recognize me. After that, well, your father carried me to the shores here on his bright boat; and I found Cirdan, thus I came to thee.”

Elrond scoffed, suddenly angry. “You need not lie to impress me, Gondolthlim. But keep your secrets if you will, you shall still have a place in my house.”

Glorfindel turned then. “I came not for a place in thy house, proud Elrond. I came to renew my vow, and this I will do, whether  thy will it or not. I understand you have sons and a daughter – I would swear my fealty to them if thee wouldst not accept it.”

Elrond softened, sighed. His body lost its tension. “Yes, of course, I will accept thy fealty. Come into the house, Lord Glorfindel , and we shall sup there, and thee can make thy vow, if thee will.”

And so, Glorfindel arrayed himself properly, and they went into the house. They took feast in Elrond’s private chambers, for his wife Celebrian and the children had long since gone to rest, and Glorfindel watched him all the while they ate. Elrond cleared his throat against the feral look in Glorfindel’s eyes, and asked him, “Why do thee stare at me so?”

Glorfindel looked away then. He toyed with the fruit on his plate, then met Elrond’s eyes again. “Because thou put me in mind of someone I once knew, very well.”

“Who, then?” Elrond asked softly.

“My lord Turgon, thy grandsire.”

“Didst thou love him, as is spoken in the lays and tales?”

Glorfindel sighed. “More than thee shall ever know.”

Elrond broke his gaze, and having also lost his appetite, played with his food.

Glorfindel sat up straight suddenly. “I would swear to thee now.”

“Why? For my face, which is like to that of my gandsire? Or for my father’s sake?”

Glorfindel rose, and took a knee before Elrond’s chair. The mighty lord of Rivendell remained sprawled there, glaring at him from beneath his lashes.

“Neither, but for thy own; for thou couldst become dear to me, if thou so willed. Elrond, how long has it been since we felt alive? We both loved the High King of the Eldar, but mine was but two ages past, and thine not even a year since. I ask only this, that I might swear to thee for thine own sake, that thee might take courage, and renew thy strength; and cease this brooding which will lead you to fade.”

Elrond relented then, and laid his hand atop Glorfindel’s bright head in acceptance. Glorfindel did not kiss his ring; but he did swear, one hand on the top of Elrond’s thigh, and the other over his own heart. When this was done, in the very same breath, Glorfindel leaned forward and kissed him. It was very sudden, unexpected, but not unpleasant. His mouth was warmer and softer than Celebrian’s, and Elrond remembered that it had been a long time since he had had the embrace of either man or woman – since before the death of Gil-Galad.

With a soft sound, he gave in to it; and his surrender was not only to Glorfindel, but to the will to live again.

Chapter End Notes

These stories never turn out quite how I plan them...

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