Healing wounds by firstamazon

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Healing wounds

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Glorfindel wasn’t used to this. He had spent centuries beside Elrond in Imladris, centuries fighting Sauron’s evil and driving orcs back. He was now used to his sword – even more than he had been in his first life, in safe Gondolin. Oh, he had been a high lord of his house, friend and cousin to the King himself, but he could still remember the times where he picked up his sword in an actual fight: far too few for his liking. In Imladris, however, despite its secrecy and protection, he never felt really safe. There were always orc raids, trolls from the mountains, and the evil that spread from Angmar and had returned not so long ago.

And now… it was all gone. He was left alone to deal with lords and ladies, marriages, and other things that interested him far less than battle. It had been centuries since he had the company of a nér or nís in his bed. Glorfindel had gained fame in Imladris not only for his prowess as a warrior but as an unreachable bachelor. He would have snorted at that if the only person with whom he still dreamed of sharing a bed – and with whom he had had a fall out back in the First Age – hadn’t happened to be the main guest that evening.

Glorfindel swallowed at the thought and stared at his perfectly lordly light blue robe in the mirror, trimmed with gold and mithril – a relic from Ost-in-Edhil that he hadn’t used in an age. The necklace hung heavy around his throat, the flowers of his house shining a thousand little specks of diamonds and emeralds, matching the delicate circlet woven around his hair. He was a handsome Elf – that he knew for a fact, no modesty necessary – but, suddenly, everything seemed out of place.

He bit his lips and stared at his bare, calloused hands. He needed something there. You couldn’t expect to meet the son of the greatest craftsman in the world barehanded. It didn’t matter his reputation, nor his lack of jewelry of late; Glorfindel wanted to be as princely as his aesthetics allowed, to remind that son of Fëanor that he too was a scion of the house of Finwë. He slipped three rings on his fingers, admiring their polished blue, red and yellow gems.

A loud knock on the door nearly made him drop the jewelry box he held in his hands, and Elrond’s trusted counselor barged in without an invitation.

“Not ready yet?” Erestor looked him up and down. “Oh, but you look dashing! Been a long time since I last saw you primp yourself like a little swan, Balrog slayer,” he added with a smirk. “I wonder if our guest is the reason for all this fuss?”

Glorfindel turned at him and couldn’t help the heat that crept up his neck. How on Arda did Erestor guess? Was he that obvious? Erestor snorted, obviously picking up on his reaction, and Glorfindel cursed himself. The last thing he needed was someone teasing him about this very old, very secret infatuation that went back to a time of bliss where Glorfindel was but a boy with many talented cousins.

“No need to worry. I won’t say anything to him,” the counselor grinned wolfishly, and Glorfindel cursed himself again. Of course, if Erestor claimed he wouldn’t say anything, it was because he probably already had, and Elrond might even be aware. Elrond, of all people!

“Will you stop? I’m not in the mood,” Glorfindel mumbled, and the sound he made was that of a cornered animal.

“Oh, come, my friend!” Erestor clapped him in the back. “Tonight is a merry night, and you could even discover that your not-so-secret crush might reciprocate your feelings.”

Glorfindel snorted without mirth. “I seriously doubt it.”

“Well, you will never find out if you keep stalling. The meal is almost served, and you’re not even half-drunk yet!”

Erestor flung an arm around his shoulder, and Glorfindel tilted his head, trying to conceal his amusement but failing when he saw Erestor’s wine-stained lips.

“I see you have already begun without me.”

“I can’t wait until you put on all the fucking jewelry from your mother’s house, can I? Not even Findaráto was so diligent.”

Glorfindel let out a little laugh. “Shut up, you brute.”

He couldn’t deny that no matter how irresponsible and irreverent – and sometimes plain rude – Erestor was, he never failed to brighten his spirit. He let himself be led out to the main hall where most of Imladris’ people were assembled. The twins were there, of course, talking to their captains and soldiers, sharing jokes and ale. There was the shadow of sadness in their smiles, and Glorfindel understood it at once: he also wished Estel and Arwen could be here one last time before Elrond sailed.

But his eyes were irrevocably drawn to the tall, handsome warrior speaking quietly to Elrond on a private corner. His head and Elrond’s were almost touching, and they held hands in a gesture of such tenderness that something snapped inside of him. Maglor Fëanorion was far from his former glory. He was somewhat emaciated, and an impenetrable aura of sadness enveloped his every move. His smile, though, was every bit heartfelt as Glorfindel remembered it from Valinor. It looked like he had finally found some scrap of happiness to hold on to – and was about to lose it again unless he chose to return and beg for forgiveness at the feet of the Valar.

He snorted, knowing the impossibility of that, and Maglor’s molten mercury eyes turned to him as if his loud thoughts had attracted them. Glorfindel’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he chastised himself. How could his knees feel so weak and his mouth so dry for a kinslayer? A betrayer of his people and a murderer? But as those eyes looked him up and down, and an elegant hand beckoned to him, Glorfindel felt his feet taking him closer to the Damned against his will.

“Well met, Laurefindë. You look well,” that unforgettable musical voice said softly. Glorfindel wanted to say the same, but he was robbed of words. Maglor didn’t look well. There were haunted shadows around his eyes, and his mouth stretched in a gentle smile that Glorfindel didn’t want to receive. Not from him. His silence spoke for him, and the Fëanorion continued. “It has been a very long time since I saw you last, and even more so dressed like this.” His eyes lingered on the bit of skin that showed from the crevasse on his robe, and Glorfindel felt that little spot burning up and turning helplessly red. “The Mereth Aderthad, perhaps?” Maglor smiled sadly. “It was our last peaceful family reunion.”

“The first and the last,” he added tersely, resisting the urge to cover that bit of naked skin that made him feel strangely vulnerable.

Maglor threw back his head and laughed, a gesture that reminded Glorfindel so much of Fëanor that he felt a pang of regret bubbling up his stomach. The elf before him was every bit as doomed as the rest of the lot, yet he had survived all of it. All the disappointment, suffering, loss, loneliness… for a brief moment, Glorfindel felt the staggering grief that threatened to drown Maglor whole at every corner, and he looked down guiltily, thinking that, in times of peace, he couldn’t allow himself such low hatred.

When he looked up, Maglor was staring straight at him, and Glorfindel wondered again if the other could sense his thoughts, even guarded as they were.

“Come, sit with us.” Maglor gestured to a chair beside him, closing a small circle. “If you don’t mind, that is,” he said gently to Elrond.

“Not at all, atar. Glorfindel is my trusted friend, and he is most welcome in our family reunion.”

Another pang of guilt – and another wave of heat – silenced Glorfindel. He had forgotten that his lord and friend was still there, witnessing as he made a fool of himself in front of the damned kinslayer. No, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. I won’t call him that. Not here. Not today. He couldn’t do that to Elrond. He moved to sit between the other two, caught in what they were calling a family reunion – and, as ought to happen in Finwë’s house, an unwanted one.

He sat there uncomfortably, listening as his friend and distant half-cousin shared memories and news of ages past; when a servant passed with a tray of honey mead, Glorfindel didn’t hesitate and drank a long gulp before he even tasted the savory drink. He couldn’t help his eyes from glancing at Maglor every now and again, noticing new things as he did – how his long, black hair curled around his shoulders, how his lips twitched, how his eyes were riveted on the one he called “my son,” the enticing curve of his collarbone showing from the opening of his shirt, how his tongue would slowly dart to sometimes moisten his lower lip…

Wait, what? Glorfindel blinked quickly and stared down at his cup with a frown so deep it could have split his head in two. Valar, what was he thinking? He bit his lips hard and chastised himself once more. Not that Elrond would have cared if there was a liaison between two males – there had been cases in Imladris before since Erestor never shied from flaunting his preferences – but certainly, Elrond would not approve of something between his foster father and best friend – not to mention their kinship.

No, what was he thinking? Was he seriously considering Maglor’s lips – the kinslayer’s lips? He shouldn’t, oh Valar, he shouldn’t! He had endured the Ice and more because of him! His mother had died in that accursed battle because Fëanor’s army should have been there to aid Fingolfin’s host, and he had agreed with Turgon – most of the time – about the enmity they all had against Fëanor’s brood. But Elrond trusted Maglor like a father, and Erestor still called that kinslayer “my lord.”

As he glanced back up, a well of confused emotions flickering over his face, he caught Erestor’s eye in the distance, smirking as he whispered into a pretty nér’s ear and making him laugh. Glorfindel had the unnerving feeling Erestor was making fun of him, but then he caught sight of something even more disturbing. Elrond was slanting glances in his direction, perhaps aware of his own eyes straying to Maglor all the time in an unspoken triangle of very different intentions.

Glorfindel looked one last time to his half-cousin, only to see him looking at Elrond, then at Erestor in the distance. The old Fëanorian immediately straightened up like a wolf called out for a hunt, but he didn’t approach their group. Maglor smiled and nodded at him, and Erestor bowed low, silently offering his services to the lord he couldn’t stop talking about and still loved, even after millennia. Trying not to stare directly at him, Glorfindel still saw when Maglor tipped back his head and closed his eyes.

“Elrond, do you mind if I speak to Laurefindë in private for a moment?”

“Not at all,” Elrond quipped, standing up like he had been waiting for the queue. “You must have many things to discuss. I will oversee the preparations in the kitchen. The meal shan’t take long,” he said, looking at Glorfindel in the eye, and Glorfindel frowned.

“Walk with me?” Maglor stood up and moved to the double panel doors that led to the inner gardens.

Glorfindel followed him, wondering what on Arda they would have to discuss together and in private.

They strolled silently for a while, turning at a bend under a cherry tree and walking towards the falls at the very end of Imladris’s garden. They sat down on the bench Glorfindel generally used to discuss personal matters with Elrond, and he heard Maglor breathing deep. The scent of moss and humidity was heavy as sprinkles of water splattered against the rock at their feet. He sat at some distance from the other and looked up, searching the stars through the boughs and blooms of the apple tree. The faint twinkle of Eärendil’s star stared down at him.

“I know what you’re thinking, you know?” Maglor said quietly without taking his eyes off the waterfall. “It’s written in your eyes and in that frown on your face.” He turned then, gaze so intense – combined with what he had just said – that Glorfindel felt his insides melting. Could everyone read into his most intimate thoughts tonight? What was wrong with his mental barriers?

“I don’t—”

Maglor huffed. “You don’t have to pretend you aren’t offended by my presence. In fact, I would be surprised if you weren’t.”

Glorfindel opened and closed his mouth like a dying fish. Offended? Well, unquestionably, Maglor being there was a stone in his boots. He wouldn’t deny that their distance over the ages had helped to mend some of the wounds inflicted at Alqualönde, then at Losgar, then at every deed the Fëanorians perpetrated against their own kin that dimly reached Gondolin. Only Maedhros’s capture and later the Nirnaeth had had some effect on smoothing Glorfindel’s anger against his half-cousins. But that was long ago.

And now… this was definitely not what was hovering in his mind at the moment. He was acutely aware of Maglor’s magnetic eyes on him in the same handsome face that had made him sigh and daydream as a youth. They hadn’t been the best of friends – certainly not like Turgon and Finrod – but they had been friends nonetheless. They had liked each other, even shared some camaraderie, and had had their share of misfortuned adventures and funny stories.

“Ah, well…” he continued. “I thought that after so long, you, at least, would have… you know…”

“What, forgiven you?” Glorfindel said far briskly than he intended, and he flinched. Maglor didn’t. He just stared at Glorfindel with a mix of sadness, disappointment, and defiance – that was the Maglor Glorfindel remembered from Beleriand.

“No, I didn’t expect forgiveness, nor shall I ask for it. Not from you, not from Artanis, not even from Elrond. I’m not proud, but I did what I did, and I would do it all again if I could have saved my brothers from their fate, if I could have kept them from swearing the Oath, if I could’ve…” he stopped and exhaled. “I expected that you, at least, would have missed my company,” he mumbled, not meeting Glorfindel’s eyes.

Maglor stood up brusquely and was already a stride away when Glorfindel blinked himself out of his stupor. He didn’t miss the sad undertones of Maglor’s words.

“Macalaurë!” He cried, and the other froze. His back was tense as a bowstring, and Glorfindel saw his hands clenching nervously. “Wait. Please.” He reached out to Maglor but withdrew his hand before it touched the other’s arm. “Honestly, what did you expect?” he asked in a low voice. “That I would welcome you with open arms, after everything? The Doom claimed my life in the end, as it has so many others, and it wasn’t, it hasn’t been easy.”

Glorfindel shut his eyes. Damn his tongue. He never was known for his political abilities, nor was he gifted with words like the elf before him.

“No, you are right,” Maglor turned, and his eyes were as cold as polished steel. “I don’t know what I expected, Laurefindë. Perhaps some kindness, but I’d forgotten ‘tis a broken concept in a still broken world.”

He turned away and walked back to the house, and Glorfindel was left to ruminate on his own thoughts, his chest too tight and his anger barely reigned in. He hadn’t realized someone had stalked over him, and he instinctively reached out for his sword – which he didn’t wear in Imladris, of course – before he saw it was Elrond who came quietly behind him. He probably had heard those last harsh words as Maglor had made no attempt to keep his voice down. So much like his father…

Glorfindel plopped on the bench and sighed. That was not how the conversation should have gone, and yet, Maglor roused in him all sorts of mixed feelings – anger and exasperation, not the least of them.

“I am sorry to have made a scene,” he side-eyed Elrond. “It wasn’t my intention to ruin the evening.”

“You have ruined nothing,” Elrond dismissed it with a wave of his hands.

“I thought that, if he apologized for all his crimes, perhaps it would’ve been different. But I was an idiot to expect – no, to hope! – that he would have changed. He is just as arrogant and unrepentant as the last time I saw him. Just like his brothers and father before him.”

Elrond hummed in agreement but said nothing else. He had picked up a fallen flower and turned it over in his fingers.

“You think I am in the wrong,” Glorfindel raised his eyebrows.

“I didn’t say anything,” Elrond chuckled. “This is something beyond my skills to heal, Glorfindel. I, for one, didn’t expect you two to hit it off from the start. You have a relationship to rebuild, my friend. Give yourself time.”

“What relationship, I wonder?” Glorfindel mumbled. “It’s been thousands of years since we shared more than brisk words… I was surprised when he called me out here to talk.”

“Did he get to say what he wanted?” The lord of Imladris asked gently, and Glorfindel frowned.

“I… don’t really know.”

They sat in companionable silence for some time until Elrond stood up.

“Going already?”

“I still need to speak to Círdan’s envoys. They think I have been avoiding them all night, and perhaps I have,” Elrond sighed. “As much as I want to leave… sometimes my heart plays tricks on me,” he smiled sadly. “I also think you need time with your brooding.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “Fair enough. Good night, my friend. And thank you for the company, even if I made a poor one.”

Elrond put a hand on his shoulder – Vilya’s hand – and Glorfindel felt its blue calm spreading from that spot through his entire body, soothing and relaxing his nerves and tense muscles. He sighed when Elrond’s hand left him and kept to his “brooding” a little longer, running over in his head, again and again, his almost-conversation with Maglor.

Looking at it through Elrond’s angle, neither was right nor wrong – they were just injured people who needed all the healing they could get. It hadn’t escaped Glorfindel’s notion that if he – dead once and returned to Middle-earth – still had his ghosts and traumas to deal with, Maglor’s were still raw and bleeding.

When Isil was sinking towards the east, Glorfindel finally stood up and went to his quarters, closer to the waterfall than any other Imladrian captain. He had never asked for privileges, but Elrond had given him some comforts, and given the privacy of such a chamber, he couldn’t really complain – not that he had ever used them for anything other than rest and work.

After divesting himself of fancy clothes and jewelry, he felt more like himself as he settled on his bed. A captain and a fighter. No more. He was still a lord, by Imladris’s standards – and nothing he had said had changed neither Elrond nor Erestor’s mind about it – but he had long stopped being a prince. Not even the fancy clothes could do that for him.

And somehow, Maglor was every bit as kingly as he ever was. During those tragic days when he had ruled in Maedhros’s stead, Glorfindel had thought (begrudgingly) that the crown suited him. Maglor had refused any notion of kingship, of course, but it still sat well on him. Glorfindel laid down, an arm behind his head, and thought about Maglor’s smoldering eyes, the raven fall of his hair over his face, the beautiful curve of his lips that promised bliss and burning in equal measure…

Just as he was drifting to sleep, he thought he heard a faint melody, so hauntingly beautiful it threatened to break his heart. He tried picking up fragments of the lyrics, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around them: the moment he focused on a verse, another overlapped and was even more entrancing than the last. It was sung in Quenya, but he didn’t need that to know to whom the melody and the voice belonged.

He realized his pillow was wet and that tears escaped his closed lids. A massive wave of sorrow engulfed him, and he wept unashamedly. For himself. For the magnificent city he once lived in and that no other could rival – not even Tirion. For Idril and Tuor. For poor Eärendil, condemned to sail the skies forever and alone. For Ecthelion and all the friends he had lost. For his dearest uncle Fingolfin. For his merry, doomed cousins whom he had once loved. For Maglor and his brothers. For the curse that still divided his people and forced parents to sunder from their children.

***

Glorfindel woke up to the sound of the household to and fro. Merry voices laughing in the gardens dimly reached his ears, and once his eyes were open, he discerned Elladan and Erestor’s laughter – probably because of a dirty joke or one of Erestor’s improper remarks. A knock at his door made him sit up straight.

“Yes?”

Elrohir opened up the door a fraction and popped in his head.

“Oh, awake, I see. Do you know what time it is, my Lord Captain?” Elrohir said in a sing-song voice, entering the room. They had enough intimacy for that, so Glorfindel didn’t bother concealing his sleeping clothes. Elrohir didn’t wait for his answer, either. “Two hours past breakfast. My father asked me to check if you were still in your chambers.”

“As you can see, I am.”

“And alone,” the twin pointed out with a smirk and raised brows. “Everyone thought that, after you were summoned, you would end up in better company.”

“Everyone?” Glorfindel growled.

“Well… Elladan, Erestor, and myself, if that brings you peace of mind,” he grinned.

“How is it that my private thoughts are being ravished so thoughtlessly? Do you think me a subject for your jokes?” He took two strides in Elrohir’s direction, and the other widened his eyes, though he did not retreat. Elrohir was a toughened up warrior and would not have backed up for anyone. It was a feeling out of place, but it made Glorfindel proud of him.

“You are no joke, Glorfindel,” Elrohir said softly. “And no one pried into your thoughts. But the way Maglor and you looked at each other last night spoke for itself.”

Glorfindel blinked. “What?”

“It was clear to me, at least, that you had some unresolved issues. I understand why you couldn’t resist his summoning, though; few would have been able to stay away if he had been giving them the same glances and hungry looks as he gave to you.”

Glorfindel exhaled a tired sigh. “You speak nonsense, child. There were no such glances and certainly no hungriness of any kind.”

Elrohir raised his brows skeptically. “Alright, then, believe what you will. I saw it, my brother saw it, and Erestor saw it.”

“Erestor! I bet he was the one to fill both your heads with this… lunacy!” Glorfindel whirled on the spot and started dressing with vigor, like the clothes he was putting on were the ones that had offended him.

“Ha, now you are just prejudicial,” Elrohir grinned – a grin that Glorfindel was sure he had learned from Erestor, along with the obsession for other people’s romantic lives. “Erestor was the one who was worried all night. He came looking for you once Maglor stormed into the Great Hall – and by the looks of him, Erestor was right. You did quarrel, didn’t you?”

“What’s it to you?” He shoved his boots on. But when he looked again, Elrohir was frowning, and his eyes shone with hurt. He sighed aloud. “I am sorry.”

“It’s nothing,” Elrohir said quietly.

“I know you’re worried, and I appreciate it, but there’s nothing to worry about, Elrohir.” He stood up and squeezed Elrohir’s shoulder. “Truly.”

“Indeed!” Elrohir’s brows shot up. “I am not going to force you to confide in me. You are my elder and my better, and I merely sought to cheer you up, not to anger you.”

“You haven’t,” Glorfindel smiled. “I woke up in a bad mood, that’s all. And there is nothing to confess. We have quarreled, yes, but it was expected. Maglor is… a very complicated person, and a dark past lies between us.”

Elrohir frowned and nodded.

“Go on. You can tell that tattletale of a counselor that I’ll be down in a minute, then he’ll be able to pester me as much as he wants,” he forced himself to smile.

He didn’t feel the least inclined to explain anything to anyone, let alone a Fëanorian to boot. Erestor would no doubt take Maglor’s side, and Glorfindel pictured them finally coming to blows about it like they almost had so many times. Once Elrohir closed the door behind him, Glorfindel washed his face and tidied his hair, but he did not overthink it. Today was a working day like any other, and no fancy clothes or jewelry were needed.

He was surprised, however, to discover that the hall was empty and there was no sign of Erestor. Glorfindel shrugged: the counselor was probably helping Elrond with last-minute preparations, and so he busied himself that day with one quick scouting mission. There had been rumors of trolls and orcs wandering about mindlessly, puppets without their puppeteer. The Enemy might be vanquished, and with him the will to compel to evil, but orc raids could still bring trouble if they found a Mannish settlement or if they decided they wanted to burn down a forest just because. So Glorfindel went with two archers to the borders of Imladris, where the Bruinen ran swiftly and merrily.

They had found old tracks, remains of a fire, and some bones; other than that, it was all quiet and peaceful: even waning, the power of Vilya could still be felt from here. It felt good to be out in the open again. The house could be strangely oppressive, sometimes, and Glorfindel knew it had to do with his own anxiety: he hadn’t decided yet if he should sail. The twins had insisted for him to stay with them a while longer, to watch over Estel, while he knew Elrond wished for his company. He knew Erestor would do whatever Maglor did, now that they had found each other again, and as for Maglor…

“My lord?”

Glorfindel snapped his head up. He had been so caught up in his daydreams he missed the two archers standing beside him expectantly.

“Yes, Faelir?”

“It’s almost midday, sir. We wondered if there’s another region that needs our attention or—”

Glorfindel raised his hand and smiled. “Nothing else for you to do. You can head back. I’ll stay here a while.”

The two archers nodded and left him. He listened as the hooves of their horses got dimmer and dimmer until they faded, and only the rustling of leaves and the whisper of the river remained. Glorfindel rested his head on a tree and closed his eyes, thinking of a pair of molten mercury eyes; a faint song reached his ears.

His heart leaped in his chest like a wild stallion. That voice… regret welled up in his throat, and he straightened, trying to discover from whence it came. He followed the river upstream, where it pooled lazily on a small lake, perfect for bathing during summer days such as these. As he got to the lake, the melody grew stronger, and the voice beckoned him on. Glorfindel knew he was caught up in the spell even before he stepped into the glade.

Maglor was waist-deep inside the lake and had his back to Glorfindel. He ran his fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp as he hummed softly, and Glorfindel was suddenly aware that he wanted to do that, bury himself in that glorious mane. He took a step forward, and a twig snapped under his feet. Maglor whirled around in surprise and froze.

They stared at each other for a while in muted embarrassment, and if Glorfindel was the first to blush, Maglor was the first to speak.

“Never took you for a sneaker, Laurefindë.”

“I was not sneaking!” Heat climbed up his neck and cheeks, and he knew he was blushing furiously. “I heard you sing, and I was conducted here – you brought me here with your song!” His tone was clipped.

Maglor stared at him for a while, then huffed without mirth. “Well, for bringing you here against your will, I am sorry. My spells are not what they used to be,” he murmured the last part, and Glorfindel frowned. He took a cautious step forward, and Maglor barked a bitter laugh. “You may come closer. I don’t bite, despite what most people say.”

Glorfindel’s frown intensified, and he knew he must look ridiculous, making faces and all flushed. He had so many things to say, and yet none of them seemed the right one. He was trying very hard not to stare at Maglor’s beautiful nude torso, lithe and muscled, and trying even harder not to imagine what the rest of his body, hidden beneath the water, looked like. No matter how diminished he was, the second-born of Fëanor was still a breathtaking sight.

So, instead of saying anything stupid, he sat down beside Maglor’s heap of clothes and took his boots off, dangling his feet in the lake. He let out a small sigh as the cool water lapped up at his calves, refreshing and inviting. He looked sideways only to find Maglor watching him intently, unsmiling, with a hard stare that could have belonged to Maedhros.

“I have paid, Laurefindë,” Maglor’s low, melodious voice startled him, eyes of tempered steel. “A thousand times over. I am agonizing, but never dead. Someone always succors me before I draw my last-ditch breath. It doesn’t get any easier – and I know it’s not supposed to,” he lowered his eyes. “But I can’t apologize if I’m still paying the price.”

Deep down, Glorfindel could still do with an apology, even though he knew it was useless: the only thing Maglor ever apologized for was not going against his father in burning the ships, but that was… so long ago, so buried beneath all the despair that came after, that it seemed really unfair to ask for repair now. That intent gaze held its ghosts closely to heart – far closer than anyone else Glorfindel knew, even one who had gone through so much, like Elrond.

“I am sorry,” he started quietly after a while. “For what I said yesterday.”

“You were not the first,” Maglor simply shrugged, but Glorfindel knew him better than that, even after all this time apart.

It was the same nonchalant shrug the king used to give when confronted with the possibility that his brother was still alive in Angband, but that he had been given strict orders by that same brother and there was nothing he could do; the haunted shrug that hid, behind a carefully constructed mask, all the bottomless horrors that Glorfindel could see now reflected in those pewter depths.

“I may not have been, but… we are still family, Macalaurë. And… now you’re here, and you’ve found us again, and I—”

“It’s alright, Findë,” Maglor interrupted with a soft smile. “I’ve had my share of being fed up with my name and what it represents, and who it represents. For my part, I am sorry too.”

Glorfindel looked at him in astonishment, then a broad smile spread across his face. He let out a little laugh and lowered his gaze to his feet. Maglor swam to his side and propelled himself with both arms on the bank, water trickling down his back in such an enticing way Glorfindel swore he looked more like a Vala than any of those who sat upon Taniquetil. He swallowed hard.

“Now that we have understood one another, why don’t you swim with me? The water is marvelous.”

For a moment, Glorfindel considered it and almost said yes. But it would be improper, wouldn’t it, to swim naked with the cousin he clearly still had unresolved feelings for? In truth, he was terrified his body would betray him and scare Maglor off.

“Oh, come on,” his cousin insisted, “I know it’s been a long time, but you don’t have to look so sheepish around me,” Maglor grinned and tugged at the edge of his rolled breeches. “Take these off and join me.”

“No! I mean — I really shouldn’t, I’m on patrol — I should go back soon and—”

Maglor pulled at the sleeve of his shirt. “Stop being so stiff, Laurefindë! Am I your dearest cousin or not?” He threw one of those sinful smiles of his.

“Well, technically you’re my half-cousin – as our families always made sure to point out our whole lives – but yes, you are dear to me, though I really shouldn’t—”

But Maglor tugged his sleeve with more force than both realized, and Glorfindel’s rear slipped from the bank. He fell literally on Maglor’s arms, and they sank with an ungraceful splash. Glorfindel swam back up and caught his breath; Maglor followed him laughing like a child.

Glorfindel glared at him. “I didn’t bring any extra clothing! What will people say when I ride back to Imladris dripping all over?”

Maglor didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at Glorfindel’s pitiful state with something new in his eyes – it was more than tenderness. He was so close that Glorfindel could see water droplets hanging from his lashes. Thick, black lashes, soft like the feathers of an umbrellabird. Maglor raised a hand and brushed a strand of hair out of his face with such gentleness as Glorfindel didn’t think possible for a son of Fëanor – although he knew it to be an unfair accusation. Fingon would say so if he could have listened. His cousin always claimed that Maedhros was one of the kindest people he ever knew, even after everything.

Glorfindel realized he had been holding his breath and, as Maglor’s fingers curled around a golden lock, their eyes didn’t stray.

“What are you doing?” He whispered, and Maglor moved closer to him. He could see every water droplet clinging to the sun-tanned face and glistening like an invitation – Glorfindel could slake his thirst drinking from Maglor’s skin.

“Looking at you, little cousin,” Maglor said hoarsely. “I’d forgotten how beautifully the sun shines in your eyes.”

Glorfindel sucked in a breath. He could have said the same if his tongue wasn’t glued to his mouth. Their bodies were so close now that he could smell the fresh scent of herbs and cool water from Maglor’s hair.

“Káno-” he started, but was interrupted by the press of lips against his, soft like a butterfly’s wing.

And as his mouth opened in a surprised gasp, Maglor darted a tongue across his lower lip and pushed inside. Glorfindel’s mind reeled with the realization that he was kissing Maglor – finally kissing Maglor! – and he let out a little moan, giving in to the sensation.

He cupped Maglor’s face and tilted his cousin’s head just like that, holding him in place so that their angle was perfect for the deepening of the kiss. Maglor followed his lead – which surprised him even further – and ran calloused hands over Glorfindel’s shoulders, arms, waist and tightened them on the small of his back, sliding beneath the soaked linen shirt.

Glorfindel didn’t have to think twice, not anymore. He broke the kiss only to yank the shirt over his head and toss it over the bank, where it landed on the grass with a wet plop.

“It will not dry well like that,” Maglor smirked.

“Who cares?” He breathed with impatience and grazed his teeth on Maglor’s neck. A furious thrill ran down his spine when Maglor gasped and rocked slightly onto him.

Glorfindel licked his way up to Maglor’s neck and earlobe, utterly satisfied to hear his cousin groaning.

“Eru, coz…” Maglor panted, “had I known you’d be so eager, I’d have done this much sooner.”

“How soon?” Glorfindel bit the tip of his ear, relishing the sounds he drew out of Maglor. “In Valinor?”

“Hm… maybe. Is that what you would have wanted?”

Glorfindel huffed with laughter, and his breath was hot on Maglor’s throat – causing him to squirm in delight – before he paused.

“Yes?” He pulled back and stared into his cousin’s quizzical look. “Yes,” he repeated with more conviction. “I have longed for your touch since I was of age; since I knew what wanting another was.”

The beautiful silver-gray eyes widened. “Findë! How come you never told me this?”

“Well, I was awkward and shy, and you had so many admirers even back then… I figured you wouldn’t want to be tagging along with a silly young cousin when you could have had anyone you wanted, as I know you did,” he smiled mischievously.

Maglor, though, looked appalled, and he shook his head in disbelief. “I swear to you, I never realized… or I would have done something about it. You were always the prettiest among us, and I thought that, because you were friends with Turukáno, you resented us like he did. Hells, I never even suspected you were inclined towards males!”

“I was — I am inclined to you,” Glorfindel admitted, blushing like he was still that same youth, and when Maglor didn’t reply, the heat on his neck and ears intensified. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh,” Maglor put a slim finger over his lips. “I was the one to kiss you first,” he cupped his cheek. “And if I’m honest with myself, I have always wanted to do it. Even when you hated me and spoke ill of me.”

“No! Macalaurë, no! I—”

“It’s alright, Findë, I understand. The world was rougher in Beleriand, and I don’t—”

“No!” Glorfindel grabbed both sides of Maglor’s handsome face. “Listen, I know Turgon could be a little arrogant…”

Maglor snorted. “A little?”

“… and Pengolod wrote a very biased history, but that doesn’t mean I agreed with them! I mean, of course, I was angry with you and your brothers for a long time, but I never, ever spoke ill of you! How could I, Káno? I have always loved you!”

It escaped his lips before he could stop himself. He closed his eyes briefly, regretting his words at once. Maglor blinked, lips parted, and he looked suddenly so sweet and innocent – like all the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders – that Glorfindel had to resist the urge to kiss him once more.

“Look, I… forget I said that, alright? I don’t know why—”

“Do you mean it?” Maglor asked quietly.

“What?”

“Is it true? Do you really mean it?”

Glorfindel swallowed hard and licked his lips self-consciously. “Yes. It’s true. But you don’t have to—”

For the second time that day, Maglor silenced him with a kiss, an insistent press of lips that pushed Glorfindel against the bank.

He broke off and spoke over Maglor’s lips. “Káno, you don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t have to, but I want to.”

“I don’t want you to pity me! I have survived this far without your commiseration; I can keep going!” He sounded angry to his ears, but Maglor didn’t flinch; he didn’t pull back.

“I don’t pity you, Findë. I am sorry that you have kept that for so long inside of you, and it doesn’t matter how I wish you hadn’t. What matters is now. And, right now, I want you.”

Glorfindel smiled sadly, and his cousin frowned. “We Eldar are bound to Arda and doomed or destined to share its fate. Once, eternity seemed like too heavy a burden for me, and I have learned to live in the present, not thinking ahead.”

“Always looking back,” Maglor murmured, and Glorfindel nodded. “What are you trying to tell me?” He asked gently.

“I have wanted this my whole life, but I’m not sure I’m quite ready to give you up after ‘right now’.”

He couldn’t believe he was spilling all these truths to the cousin he had loved from afar. He lowered his head and sighed, but Maglor took his chin and raised it so their eyes could meet again. Something was shining on his gaze, unreadable like the stars, and Glorfindel was lost in their gleam.

“Why don’t we take this slowly? I want you, Findë, but I won’t ask for anything you’re not willing to give. I am afraid I can’t say that I am in love with you, but I could be. Hells, I could be…”

“I am willing to give my heart to someone worth it. If you’ll have me,” Glorfindel murmured.

Maglor outright laughed, and it sounded like a hundred chiming bells that poured over Glorfindel’s spirit like crystalline rain. He couldn’t help smiling at the infectious sound.

“That’s better,” Maglor’s knuckles brushed his cheek. “And if my words are not enough, coz… let me show you.”

Maglor pinned him against the bank and kissed him, slow and passionate, hands roaming over his hair and back and chest. Glorfindel’s heart was beating so fast he was sure Maglor could hear it, and if he wasn’t there to hold him, he was sure his knees would have given in. He had never been kissed like that before – like he was the haven where the thunderstorm sought to take harbor. And he wanted to be all of that for Maglor.

So far, Glorfindel had been careful – and succeeded – to not look down at the rest of his cousin’s body beneath the water. But as they kissed, he could feel Maglor’s growing hardness brushing against his breeches – that suddenly felt awfully tight. With a tentative hand, he reached behind for Maglor’s buttocks, kneading them, pressing him closer, and slipping a finger between his cheeks. As he rimmed with circling, slow movements, Maglor gasped into his mouth and pressed impossibly closer, plastering himself against his chest.

“Oh, stars, yes,” he muttered against Glorfindel’s neck. Maglor raised and hooked a leg around Glorfindel’s thigh so he could get better access, then his fingers fumbled with the laces on Glorfindel’s breeches, trying at the same time to keep rutting and get rid of the oppressive fabric — like he, too, was a little nervous with all of it. 

“You’re far too dressed,” he said at last.

Glorfindel chuckled and pushed Maglor gently back. He propelled on his elbows and got out of the water, and Maglor followed in his glorious nakedness, that now Glorfindel couldn’t avoid seeing. The Fëanorion was hard and gorgeous, and as he watched, entranced, Maglor reached down to his cock and started stroking himself slowly.

“Like what you see, little cousin?”

Glorfindel’s eyes, fixed on that moving hand, didn’t as much see the smirk as he heard it. He traveled his eyes lazily up Maglor’s body, memorizing the ripple of muscles and his lean figure – a little worn out and thin, true, but sinfully stunning nonetheless. When their eyes met again, Maglor’s breast was heaving, and his hand had sped up. 

“Like to see me watching you, cousin?” Glorfindel smiled and ran a hand through his wet strands, and Maglor bit his lips in an impossibly sensual way.

“Come find out for yourself.”

Glorfindel didn’t need to be told twice. He got off his wet breeches with some difficulty, and when he was ready to pounce, Maglor had laid down on the grass, wet black hair like molten obsidian pooled all around him. Glorfindel stared for a moment, wishing he was an artist capable of recording all that beauty with words or paint. He knelt between Maglor’s legs and leaned down to kiss him – and to allow both their marble-hard erections to press maddeningly against each other.

Maglor jerked his hips up and sought more friction, and they rocked together, hands roaming, tongues licking and sucking on wet skin. Glorfindel folded his fingers around Maglor’s cock and pumped him, slowly at first, loving the little moans that escaped his cousin’s sensuous lips. He brought his other hand to Maglor’s mouth and pressed two fingers inside, moaning himself when he was slicked. 

Maglor spread his legs open for him, and Glorfindel relished when Maglor threw back his head with a long moan at the curl of his digits. At last, he slid his eyes close and growled, hips jerking erratically up as he came in several long jets.

“Beautiful,” Glorfindel said huskily. “You are beautiful.”

Maglor smiled, sweet as honeydew, and traced the shape of his jaws with a trembling hand, pulling him down for a kiss. When he caught his breath, Maglor pushed Glorfindel back, and they switched positions.

“Look who’s talking,” he drawled, one hand reaching down on his chest, his belly, down, down… Glorfindel gasped.

Maglor pressed open-mouthed kisses where his hand had been until his hand and mouth met. Glorfindel’s eyes were riveted on his new lover, drunk from the beauty of having Maglor hovering over his erection, eyes eager and hungry.

“Let me take care of you now.”

That alone was enough to hypnotize even the sun above them, but the sight of those red-bitten lips closing around his length almost to the hilt at once, giving him pleasure such as he’d forgotten how it felt… stars appeared behind his closed lids, and he cursed, throwing back his head against his will in sweet abandon.

***

When they finally returned to Imladris, it was night already, and Elrond was a little agitated.

“There you are,” he almost ran to them with a nervous-relieved smile. “I thought something might have happened, and we were about to send a rescuing patrol.”

“We’re fine,” Glorfindel told him. “We just needed time to… sort out our differences,” he shared a long look with Maglor.

Behind Elrond, Erestor snorted. “I told you, Elrond. You worry too much! It’s a time of peace. What could possibly have happened?”

“Orcs and trolls are still out there, you know perfectly well.”

“I think both Laurefindë and myself know how to deal with those by ourselves, but especially being in each other’s company,” Maglor chided him, but not without a gentle smile.

Elrond huffed. “You are right, atar, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to doubt you. Do you wish to refresh yourselves first? The meal is almost ready.”

“No, we’re refreshed enough,” Glorfindel said, and Maglor chuckled, gaining a puzzled look from Elrond and an insolent laugh from Erestor.

The meal was as good as Glorfindel could remember, and he ate ravenously.

“Someone needs to get back the lost energy. Swimming, eh?” Erestor whispered beside him with that wolfish smile of his.

Glorfindel laughed. “Get off, you nosy elf! Never saw a counselor who liked gossip more than you do!”

“It’s not gossip when it’s written in red tengwar over your forehead,” Erestor grinned.

“Maglor, have you decided what you are going to do?” Elladan asked from across the table, and Glorfindel’s attention was stolen.

The Fëanorion gave Elrond’s son a puzzled look, then he raised his brows in understanding. “I have been on these shores far longer than I have lived in Aman, and I’m not particularly keen on going back,” he grimaced. “I will stay with the two of you until you sail if that’s what you’re asking,” his face softened, and he smiled at the twins.

Elrond had his eyes on his plate, but Glorfindel was sure that he had listened to the conversation. He said nothing, though, perhaps guessing that this would be his foster father’s choice all along.

“What about you, Glorfindel?” Lindir asked.

Glorfindel felt his heart thudding hard against his ribcage. With the corner of his eyes, he saw that Maglor had stopped in mid-action, spoon half-way from the plate to his mouth, and he stared at him attentively.

“Well, I… haven’t decided yet.”

“I thought you were sailing with Elrond,” Lindir said with a little frown.

Elrond looked up at Glorfindel with a spark of amusement in his gaze that made him want to laugh. When his eyes met Maglor’s, what he saw there made his stomach give a delicious swoop: undeniable, expectant hope.

“I thought so too, but maybe I’ve found a reason to stay a little longer.”

A slow grin birthed slowly on that beautiful face, and Glorfindel’s mouth curled up in an involuntary smile in return.

---

Chapter End Notes

A lot of thanks to Aipilosse for the beta, and to Keiliss for the unfailing motivation! I was in need of it, and couldn't have done without her boost!