Second Lives, Second Chances by chrissystriped

Glorfindel felt his horse’s gait become uneven and brought him to a halt. He cursed under his breath when he found that Fananto had thrown a shoe. Patting the black horse’s neck he looked around.

He was on his way to his family’s lands on the south-western slopes of the Pelori, on the other side of Oromë’s Forest which he found himself currently in the middle of. There was nothing to do but continue.

Glorfindel clicked his tongue, asking Fananto to follow him and started to walk. He knew there was a reasonably sized village ahead — though not exactly how far it was — and he hoped they’d have a blacksmith. He couldn’t ride Fananto like this and he didn’t look forward to walk all the way to his family’s estate, if he couldn’t get a new shoe for him.

At least the weather was nice. The air was warm and the sun shone through the leaves of the trees to both sides of the road. Glorfindel started to whistle a tune, refusing to let the incident cloud his mood.

It was evening when he reached the village, a little footsore and hungry. He walked straight to the inn.

“Stabling for my horse and a room for me, if you’d be so kind”, he told the innkeeper. “What’s for dinner?”

“I can offer you roast boar.”

A short while later Glorfindel sat at a table in the cosy common room, a jug of mead and a plate with roast meat before him.

“Do you have a blacksmith in the village? My horse threw a shoe.”

“You’re in luck. He spends a lot of time in the forest, he came back only three days ago. The smithy is along the main road, on the south side of town.”

“Thank you.”

Glorfindel dug into his meal.

Rog was forging a door handle for one of the villagers. It felt good to make things for everyday use — in his old life he’d spent too much time on forging war gear — though it was still strange sometimes, this new life. He’d spent so long fighting Morgoth, seeking revenge for the pain he’d suffered in Angband’s forges that he sometimes didn’t know what else to do with his life.

He heard his gate squeak — he intentionally kept the hinges unoiled — and put his workpiece back in the coals before turning around.

“What can I… what are you doing here?” He stared at the golden-haired lord. Glorfindel blinked at him, looking startled, and Rog was relieved that he didn’t seem to have thought him out on purpose. He muttered: “Of course you wouldn’t recognise me without the scars on my cheeks.” An orc had given him those.

“Rog?” Glorfindel’s face lit up. “Is that you? I hadn’t heard you were alive!”

“I’ve been for a long time. I’m not a Noldo. What do you want?”

Rog couldn’t see why they should act like they were friends. They’d both lived in Gondolin, but they’d never been close. The Golden Lord and the Ex-Thrall. The one beloved by everyone in the city, the other barely tolerated and that only because Turgon respected him.

“My horse threw a shoe yesterday. Can you give him a new one?”

“Of course.” Rog followed Glorfindel to the fence where his horse was waiting and looked at the hoof.

“I’m on my way to my family’s vineyard in the mountains”, Glorfindel said. “It’s abou a day’s ride from here, I think. I haven’t been there since… before the Darkness.”

Rog worked quietly. He’d always thought Glorfindel talked too much. Why was he telling him this?

“I’ll be there for a few months. Would you accept an invitation to dinner one of these days?”

“Why?” Rog threw him a quick glance before concentrating again on shoeing the horse. “We aren’t friends.”

“Why are you so off with me?”, Glorfindel asked, hurt in his voice. “I never was against you.”

“No, that’s true.” Rog sighed and wiped sweat off his forehead. “You never whispered behind my back.” He finished shoeing the horse and straightened up. “Look, if I was too gruff, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to insult you. But we have nothing in common. You’re a noble, I only led my House, because my people wanted me to. It’s bad enough that I’m stuck in Aman. I like my solitude, I have it here, that’s why no one knows I’m alive — and I’d like it to stay that way.”

“There are songs about your House’s last stand, you know? We both killed a Balrog. Isn’t that something we have in common?”

“And died killing it.”

Glorfindel grimaced. “Yes, that too. Come, will you not accept my invitation?”

“I’ll think about it”, Rog said, just to get rid of him. He enjoyed his quiet life, he did not want his past to intrude. Even if it was in the person of sun-bright Glorfindel.

“Welcome, welcome!”

Glorfindel shook Rog’s hand enthusiastically. He’d almost been ready to give up. For a month now he’d invited Rog every week to have dinner with him and his messenger had always returned with a polite refusal until now.

“I’m so glad you could find the time.”

Rog’s hand was warm and firm in his and Glorfindel tried very hard not to think of how it would feel on his skin. Seeing him again so unexpectedly had woken feelings in him he’d almost forgotten.

“Yes, thank you for inviting me”, Rog answered a little stiffly. “This is a nice spot of land, you have here.”

“It is, thank you. I’m glad I could get the estate back after my rebirth. Want to try the wine?”

He led Rog to a terrace overlooking the vineyard. It was bathed in sunlight at this time of day. Rog nodded and Glorfindel poured him a cup.

“It’s good wine”, Rog stated after taking a sip. “Worth the ride here.”

Glorfindel smiled wryly. “I hope, you didn’t think my invitations too annoying.” He’d hate if Rog had just come to get rid of an obligation. They sat down at the table and Glorfindel motioned for the servants to bring their meal. “But I really wanted to see you again.”

“Why?”

Rog gave him a suspicious look. Glorfindel tried hard to not be offended. Rog had always been wary of everyone and rebirth didn’t seem to have changed that.

“Because this new life is a second chance.” Glorfindel hoped Rog didn’t see the blush he felt on his cheeks. “We never were close in the old life, but I’d like us to be now.”

Rog cocked an eyebrow at him. “You are beating around the bush, my lord. Say what you mean.”

Glorfindel felt his face heat even more, Rog was seeing right through him. He straightened in his seat.

“Well then. I’m attracted to you. I have been in Gondolin and when I saw you again, I realised I am still.” That was putting it mildly, but he didn’t want to come out with the compete truth just right now. Let Rog think it was just physical attraction.

“You mean to tell me, you found my scarred face pretty?” Rog’s voice was flat and Glorfindel winced.

“That’s not… I did not intend to insult you. I was attracted to your kindness — towards Turgon, towards Idril, when they grieved for Elenwë and none of us knew what to do —; your courage; and yes, your body, too."

“You never let it show. I had no idea…”

“You always felt distant — unapproachable. I didn’t dare… I was afraid you’d react badly to my advances.”

Glorfindel’s heart skipped a beat when Rog reached out and touched his cheek with calloused fingers.

“I’d like to say, I would have accepted them gracefully. But in truth, I might have considered it a cruel joke by people who didn’t think I belonged with them.”

“I never thought that!”, Glorfindel protested.

He’d been surprised when Turgon had come back with Rog after one of his lonely walks in the lands around Lake Mithrim, but he had quickly realised that for all the differences between them, Rog was a highly competent leader.

“Maybe not. You’ve always been so nice.”

Rog’s fingers still caressed his jawline and Glorfindel thought that a good sign. The touch was sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Anyway, I believe you now. What is it you wish, golden boy?”

Rog’s tone was slightly mocking, but it held no sting and Glorfindel felt heat starting to pool in his belly. He also was acutely aware of the servers.

“I’ll tell you, once we are alone”, he croaked.

“Bashful?”, Rog said with a twinkle in his eyes. “As you wish.”

He stroked Glorfindel’s earlobe with a fingertip and the fire in Glorfindel’s belly flared up. They finished dinner quickly.

Rog sank into a comfortable chair beside the fire that burned merrily in the hearth. He felt Glorfindel’s eyes on him and looked up.

“We are alone now”, he stated with a smile.

If anyone had so much as hinted that the Lord of the Golden Flower wanted him, he’d have laughed heartily or thought himself mocked — depending on the person telling him. He’d appreciated Glorfindel's looks, true, but he’d never dreamed that there could come more of it, if he’d just acted a little less reserved towards him. Maybe Glorfindel was right, this second life indeed held some second chances.

Glorfindel took his hand, stroking his knuckles. “Allow me to court you.”

Rog chuckled. “I’m no blushing maiden you need to court to get her in your bed.”

Glorfindel’s cheeks took on a rosy hue.

“But maybe you are, hm?”, Rog teased gently. He knew he often came across as scathing and usually he didn’t care, but right now he didn’t want the words to sting. Then another thought crossed his mind. “You are not married…”

“I am not”, Glorfindel whispered.

“Because…?”

Glorfindel’s throat moved as he gulped. “Because I did not dare to approach the one I had set my eyes on.”

Rog squeezed Glorfindel’s hand. He didn’t know what to say. He’d thought this were simply about sex. That it was far more serious for Glorfindel felt a little overwhelming. It touched his heart, no one had ever wanted him like that, but it also frightened him. He liked his solitude, he liked to live in the forest with no obligations toward anyone. He did not wish to be caught in the Laws and Customs of the Noldor. Glorfindel let go of his hand, looking down.

“I see, you don’t feel the same way. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

“Glorfindel, that’s not…” Rog took a deep breath. “I’m not a Noldo, your customs are different from my people’s. I would allow you to court me, but you need to know that I will never again live in a city. The forest is my home and I won’t give it or my freedom up.”

“I do not ask you to.” Glorfindel looked more hopeful again. “I won’t try to force you into a shape. We don’t have to rush anything, either. We are elves and this is the Blessed Realm. If you’d just tell me I can still hope…”

Rog bit his lip. His heart was racing with fear of being caught in a cage. But Glorfindel’s eyes were honest and  how could it hurt him to allow it? Glorfindel was right, they had all the time in the world. He could always change his mind. Rog led Glorfindel’s hand to his lips.

“I allow it.”

The way Glorfindel’s face lit up at his words made him feel warm.

“Will you tell me about the customs of the Kwendi then?”, Glorfindel said. “I’d like to understand you better.”

Rog felt a smile tug at his lips. So rarely had the Noldor cared to acknowledge their differences and just expected everyone to adjust to them — at least in Gondolin, where they were the vast majority. He’d heard it had been different in other places. Rog kept Glorfindel’s hand in his as he leaned back.

“For one, we don’t equal sex with marriage — or think of marriage as something that binds two people together for all eternity. We don’t make promises of that kind, too much can change in a life that is eternal and our dead usually don't come back. It is quite normal for us to have more than one partner in the course of our life. If the union is graced with a child, the parents usually stay together until the child is grown up — well, that’s not something we have to consider, is it?”

Glorfindel laughed at his wink. “No, indeed.” He hesitated, his face becoming serious. “Do you have children?”

“No.” Rog shook his head. “I enjoy the company of men above women and I never desired children.”

“I sometimes wondered how it would be to have a child of my own when I saw all the other couples being so happy, but… I never desired women. I’m not a blushing maiden, by the way. I’ve had partners, though… uhm, penetration is where I’d draw the line. That is, indeed, part of a marriage — a permanent partnership — for me.”

“I can accept that.” Rog led Glorfindel’s hand to his lips. “There are lots of other things we can do in bed.” Glorfindel sucked in his breath and blushed again. Rog hid a grin, he found he liked making him blush. “If that is allowed.”

“It is.” Glorfindel leaned forward and kissed him. “It is very much.”

Glorfindel savoured the kiss. Rog was allowing him, if reluctantly, to court him and now he was kissing him. It was more than he’d hoped for. He was glad Rog had seen right through him, otherwise he wouldn’t have had the courage to confess his feelings even now. He shuddered when Rog’s hand slid up his neck into his hair, his thumb rubbing a circle behind his ear.

“Let me show you my bedroom”, he whispered breathlessly.

As he led him up the stairs, Glorfindel realised: “Rog, I don’t even know your given name…”

He felt Rog halt in his step. “I haven’t told anyone my given name for a very long time. Would you mind, if I remain Rog for you a while longer?”

Glorfindel felt a stab of disappointment, but he smiled and said: “It’s alright.”

He reminded himself that Rog was an intensely private person. He would tell him, when and if he wanted to. Glorfindel opened the door to his bedroom.

“Come in, Rog.”

Rog embraced him, giving him a heated kiss, before he whispered against his lips: “So, I’ll ask again: What is it you wish?”

“Your hands… on my body”, Glorfindel croaked. Pleasure thrummed through his body.

“That’s a good start.”

Rog grinned at him and slid his hands under the rim of his tunic and up his sides. Glorfindel reached for the buttons of Rog’s shirt, slowly opening them and pressing kisses on the freed skin, while Rog’s hands roamed over his back.

Rog was shorter than him, but he had the build of a smith while Glorfindel would freely admit that he didn’t yet have his old muscle mass back. Death had left him lean and almost clumsy with weapons. People told him he had no need of that here, but he felt better training his skill, knowing he could still take on an enemy, sword in hand, should he need to.

Glorfindel let his hands slide over muscled shoulders and arms while his lips teased one nipple into hardness. Rog hummed appreciatively and tugged on Glorfindel’s shirt. He lifted his arms to allow him to pull it over his head. Rog tossed it aside unceremoniously before gripping his hair — Glorfindel’s heart skipped a beat, but he pulled himself together —  to drag him down for a heated kiss.

“You are too tall”, he growled when they parted, panting.

“I’m sorry.” Glorfindel grinned, his head feeling light. “I could lie down and remedy that, I suppose?”

He slowly walked backwards, loosening the ties of his trousers and pushing them down before stretching out on his bed. Rog’s eyes strayed to his obvious arousal and Glorfindel let his own hand slide down to wrap his hand around himself.

“Come to me, lover?”, he asked. Anticipation made his heart thunder.

Rog relieved himself quickly of his own trousers and knelt beside him on the bed.

“Golden everywhere”, he said, pushing Glorfindel’s hand aside.

His fingers slid through the blond hair around Glorfindel’s cock. So close… Glorfindel held his breath. He stifled a whimper when Rog’s hand vanished, but he hardly had time to be disappointed. Rog straddled him and moved his hips so their erections met. Glorfindel moaned loudly and arched his back. Rog’s hands slid up his chest, nails scratching lightly at his nipples, before he bowed forward to kiss him again.

Glorfindel met his motions, the two of them soon finding a rhythm that built and built and built, their pre-cum slicking their skin, until Glorfindel came, moaning and clinging to Rog. Rog shuddered, his thrusts jerky as he came too, his warm seed spilling over Glorfindel’s belly and mixing with his own.

Glorfindel shivered, sweat drying on his skin.

“Want to take a bath?”, he asked. “There’s a pool in the cellar, the water gets heated by the kitchen oven.”

Rog stretched with a groan. “Hmm, a bath would be nice before I leave. Yes.”

“Leave?”, Glorfindel sat up to stare at him. “I hoped you’d stay the night…”

“I can’t.”

Glorfindel saw Rog’s face harden and realised he’d somehow overstepped. He didn’t probe. Whatever it was, he was sure Rog wouldn’t tell him now. He hoped Rog would open up to him in time. He’d accept his peculiarities — he hoped he wouldn’t leave him guessing forever.

“Alright. But you’ll take a bath with me before you leave? I’ll lend you a horse so you can get home quicker.”

It hadn’t escaped Glorfindel that Rog had arrived on foot. It wasn’t as far as he’d initially thought, only a few hours’ ride but on foot it likely took closer to a day.

“Thank you. Both bath and horse would be very welcome.”

Rog kissed his lips gently, the hardness from before had left his eyes again. Glorfindel stood and pulled Rog with him.

“Come, I’ll lend you a bathrobe.”

“I’ve noticed you’re coming here quite often”, Rog said softly. Glorfindel caressed Rog’s arm as they lay beside each other.

Glorfindel always took care to let him know when he’d be here well in advance and Rog admitted to himself that he timed his travels in the forest so he’d be in the forest town when Glorfindel was here. He liked to see him.

“Because I wish to be with you.” Glorfindel smiled at him. “And you hate the city. And also… I’ll admit, I feel more at ease here than in Tirion, too. All the attention I’m getting there…”

“You don’t like being famous?”

Rog lifted his head to look at him with surprise. Glorfindel had always been a sociable elf, who seemed to like being in the middle of a crowd.

“No.” Glorfindel shook his head. “Not that way at least. Everyone wants to hear about it — and I just want to forget that fight. I can understand why you stay in your forest.”

“It’s the closes to what my home in Middle-earth was.”

Glorfindel’s fingers traced the pale lines that remained of his story. In the strange way of rebirth, the pictures that had been inked under his skin were now a part of his body — because his fea had felt it that way.

“What do they mean?”, Glorfindel asked softly.

“It’s my life”, Rog answered. “The pattern of my family, my deeds and achievements.”

“I think it is very pretty.”

"I'm glad you like it", Rog answered.

He snuggled closer, although he knew he should leave. His eyes drooped, tiredness seeping into his muscles after the sex, Glorfindel’s fingers caressing him.

He startled awake from a few seconds’ sleep. He longed to fall asleep in Glorfindel’s arms, but he couldn’t.

“I need to leave”, he mumbled and sat up, averting his gaze from the disappointment in Glorfindel eyes.

He knew he was hurting him with keeping his distance, but he couldn’t let him see him like that. The wrongness of it would only make Glorfindel turn away from him — and although he tried to tell himself that this relationship was not serious, he knew deep down he cared. He kissed Glorfindel good night.

“See you tomorrow afternoon.”

Glorfindel thought, he was riding home each night. He didn’t need to know that Rog had made camp in the eaves of the forest, as close to the house as possible without being seen.

“You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet all day.”

Glorfindel started at Rog’s words. They had taken their dinner out into the vineyard, sitting on a blanket between the vines. He sighed and looked out into the distance.

“I have something to tell you and I don’t know how.” He took a deep breath. “I’m leaving. And I want you to come with me.”

“Leaving? Where to?”

Rog’s brows were drawn together and Glorfindel squirmed a little. Maybe he should have told him before petitioning the Valar…

“To Middle-earth. Our people are still fighting Sauron and I want to help them. And I know you want to go home. So when the Valar decided to allow me this grace, I asked them, if I could take someone with me and they agreed.”

Rog stared at him, his face a blank mask, and Glorfindel fidgeted nervously.

“Are you angry with me? I know I should have told you earlier, but I didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case they denied me…”

“Angry?”, Rog shouted and embraced him so passionately that Glorfindel ended up on his back. “You make it possible for me to go back home and you ask if I’m angry?” He peppered his face with kisses. “You foolish, wonderful person! When are we leaving?”

Glorfindel laughed relieved. “Soon. Before the seasons turn again.”

Rog sat up, his mirth gone. “I will not fight, though”, he said. “I put that behind me.”

Glorfindel squeezed his hand. “I won’t try to keep you. I know you’ll want to wander.”

“And I will not leave you forever. I’ll always come back to you, I promise.”

The sun kissed their skin as they made love between the vines. Rog did not stay this night, either, for all that Glorfindel had hoped, he would. Sometimes he wanted to ask: “Do you not trust me?” But he didn’t — because he did not know what would become of them if the answer was Yes.

Actions

The rock under his feet shook. Rog stumbled, narrowly avoiding to fall into the forge fire. A smell of sulphur and hot metal was in the air, ash at the back of his throat. Rog coughed and wished he could have some water. He stifled a scream when the whip of an overseer licked over his bare back…

Rog woke with racing heart and bathed in cold sweat. The ground was still moving, it was pitch dark. Woken from a nightmare into the same awful reality. Someone’s arms were around him, the thrall's quarters were confined and they often clung to each other for warmth but he couldn’t bear a touch right now. They wouldn’t let go when he moved, so he rammed his elbow into the person’s gut.

Rog stumbled to his feet, colliding with a wall. He found a handle, opened the door, stumbled forward unseeing. He just wanted to get away! He came to his senses when he stepped on deck, the cool, salty sea-wind slapping his face. Sails billowed above him, ropes creaked.

The ship that was bringing them to Middle-earth.

The watch hailed him.

“I’m fine”, he called back with a croak in his voice.

Rog realised he was naked and remembered he’d punched someone. Still feeling a little befuddled he walked back down to his cabin.

Had he fallen asleep in Glorfindel’s bed? He started to tremble. No! That would destroy everything they had. Glorfindel — the Golden Lord, the favourite of the Valar who was even allowed to go back to Middle-earth — wouldn’t want to be with him, now that he knew how broken he still was.

“Rog, what’s wrong?”, Glorfindel asked with a voice rough from sleep. He had wrapped his blanket around himself and stood in the door of his cabin opposite from Rog’s. “What happened?”

Rog felt sick as he met his eyes. “Do you have to ask?” He fumbled with the latch of his door. “Please, just leave me alone. As soon as we’ll reach the shore, I’ll be gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

Glorfindel gripped his shoulder and Rog froze, before slapping his hand aside. His heart raced, muscles tense and ready to fight.

“Don’t touch me”, he snarled.

Glorfindel stared at him, his eyes brimming with tears.

“You’re leaving me?”, he whispered. “What did I do wrong? Please, Rog, please tell me! I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s not you, it’s me!”, Rog shouted at him, his own tears running down his cheeks. “Can’t you see I’m broken? I left Mandos. I should be healed but I still have nightmares! Something’s clearly wrong with me! And you deserve better.”

“You think I don’t want you anymore because you have nightmares?” Glorfindel reached for him but jerked back before he could touch his skin, remembering his reaction. “Is that why you never wanted to stay the night with me? Rog! I still have nightmares, too! I dream of fire and falling. There’s nothing wrong with you or there’s something wrong with both of us. I love you, please don’t leave me.”

Rog sobbed, feeling all tenseness leave his body, and he sank into Glorfindel’s arms.

“You still want me? You don’t think there’s something wrong with me?”

“Yes, I still want you, and no, I don’t think anything’s wrong with you. Let’s go inside?”

Rog nodded against his chest, the fabric of the sheet smooth on his cheek. Glorfindel led him into his cabin and pulled him on his lap, wrapping them both in his blanket and holding him in a loving embrace.

“It’s alright, I won’t turn away from you”, Glorfindel said and kissed Rog’s hair. “Who gave you the idea you aren’t allowed to be affected by your memories?”

“No one talked about it and everyone seemed to think that I would start a new life and forget about the old one.”

Rog sniffed and clung to him. Glorfindel was incredibly relieved that he knew now the source of Rog’s worrying withdrawnness and that it lay not in his person.

“Well, I didn’t particularly invite questions about my old life”, Rog continued. “I’m sure most of the people in that forest town don’t even know who I was. Or would recognise the name of Gondolin, for that matter. Most of them never reached Beleriand in life.”

“I see.” Glorfindel pondered his answer. “I won’t pretend to be an expert in the studies of Mandos, but what I think is this: We stay in Mandos to heal from the life we have led, to make a peace with it, so that we can be reborn again. That does not mean, we forget our first life when we are reborn — or that it does not affect us at all any longer. I don’t think either, that it means, that healing has to be complete when we return to life again. We return, when it is the right time for us and some things might have to be resolved in life.

"For example: I have a fear of heights since that day. How am I to overcome this as long as I lack a body? And also maybe… some things shape us so much that we just have to live with them. I talked to someone about my dreams and he told me to think of the situation before going to bed. To visualise it and imagine how I would change what is going on.”

Rog looked at him, eyebrows drawn together. “How do you do that, when your nightmares are about something that already happened to you?”

“You haven’t yet told me, what you dreamed about”, Glorfindel said and felt Rog fidget in his arms. “You don’t have to”, he hurried to add. “I won’t pry. But you can, if you think it would help. My dreams are usually about the fight with the Balrog, though it isn’t always that clear in the dream. So what I imagine is heavy rain coming down and dousing the flames, someone throwing me a rope as I fall, things like that. It doesn’t always help, but I feel better for doing something about them.”

“It sounds like a strange idea, but maybe it won’t hurt to try.” Rog sighed. “I should have talked to you sooner. I should have trusted you more.”

Glorfindel shrugged, not intending to put blame on him. “I’m just glad it is out now and it is not my fault. I suppose that also means, you won’t leave each night and we can instead spend many nights to come together.”

“Lecher!” Rog chuckled and wiped the last tears off his cheeks.

“If you mean by that, that I’m enjoying to touch you and make you moan and find your pleasure under my hands, then yes I am.” Glorfindel relaxed a little as Rog did, it seemed the crisis was over. “You won’t just vanish the moment the ship reaches shore, will you?”, he asked.

“Not in the way I meant it earlier, no…” Rog took a deep breath. “But I wonder. I don’t want to be recognised, I think. I doubt they’d just let me go, if they do. Maybe it would indeed be better to just slip away discreetly.”

“And you are still sure, you won’t fight? Your hammer could be useful in the battles to come.”

Glorfindel had been briefed about the situation in Middle-earth and the worry of the darkness that was growing in the East. He doubted there would be peace for much longer.

“I am sure. I had my revenge. And that is something I learned in Mandos. I won’t fight the Noldor’s battles.”

Glorfindel thought that the fight against Evil was the business of them all, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t begrudge Rog his wish to live in peace.

“I won’t try to persuade you. I hold to my promise, I won’t cage you.”

Rog turned around and kissed him. “Thank you. I appreciate that. You are very dear to me, never doubt that. But I want to see my home again.”

“The captain says, we’ll reach Lindon in the morning”, Glorfindel said as he entered Rog’s cabin, carrying a tray with two plates of stew.

“Good, I’ll be happy to have earth under my feet again”, Rog said.

He folded the map he’d been poring over for most of the journey and accepted his plate. He motioned for Glorfindel to sit on the bed while the stayed seated on the single chair.

“And room around me when I sleep.”

It hadn’t helped his nightmares that he felt like he was underground in this shoebox of a cabin. What had helped was Glorfindel sleeping beside him. He’d always been a solitary person and he liked to think he could take care of himself, but it felt good to be woken when Glorfindel started to notice him becoming restless, and a light already kindled when he opened his eyes — not to mention being able to cling to his lover until the webs of memory had dissolved.

“I’ll be glad to be able to stretch my legs and don’t bump my head into low beams”, Glorfindel answered. “It will be good to be on land again. But it also means tonight are our last hours together.”

Rog touched Glorfindel’s cheek with the back of his hand. “You sound as if I’ll be gone forever. I won’t, I promise.”

Glorfindel smiled sadly. “And I’ll look forward to your return.”

Rog was relieved that he didn't try to persuade him to stay. He knew of course that Glorfindel didn’t want him to leave, but it felt good that he accepted his decision. He hadn’t told him, but he hoped to maybe find some of his family again. He knew it was not impossible that they’d never left the area they had lived in before he’d been captured, but the lands had changed since then and he did not know if he would still find it. The maps of the Númenóreans didn’t reach that far east.

He took the plate from Glorfindel’s hand and pushed him back on the bed to be able to slide on top of him.

“Let’s make the most of these last hours”, he said, kissing Glorfindel and starting to undress him.

Glorfindel’s skin was sun-kissed and almost seemed to glow in the gentle light of the lamp. Rog pressed kisses down his neck and chest, enjoying the soft sighs and little moans he could draw from Glorfindel. He’d learned to read him, in the past years, knew all the most sensitive places of his body.

(Knew also that he didn’t like his hair pulled, although he’d never actually told him — he wondered now, if that was a remainder of the past, too.)

He nibbled at the skin right above Glorfindel’s navel and hear his breath hitch, his still clothed erection was pressing against him and Rog cupped it, running his thumb with slight pressure over the bulge. Glorfindel moaned loudly. Rog grinned and stood up. Glorfindel looked at him with lust-dark eyes, his face flushed. He reached down to open his trousers and stroke himself as Rog undressed, his eyes roaming over his body. Rog shuddered with arousal.

“Come here”, Glorfindel said with husky voice and Rog crawled back over him. “Not like this.”

Rog let himself be turned on his side, it was a tight fit on the small bed, but Glorfindel clearly had something in mind. Glorfindel reached for his hand and led it to his cock.

“I want to make you come, while you do the same to me”, he said, wrapping his long fingers around Rog’s arousal.

Rog thrust into his hand as he started to stroke Glorfindel’s cock. Their bodies moved together, breaths and moans mingling. Rog sank into the blue of Glorfindel’s eyes who held him with his gaze.

“Beautiful”, Glorfindel moaned. “Your face… so beautiful… in the throes of… of passion.”

Sometimes he really didn’t mind Glorfindel talking so much. Rog leaned his forehead against Glorfindel’s shoulder as he came, his body shuddering, mind aglow. His hand squeezed Glorfindel’s arousal, thumb sliding over the wet head, until Glorfindel came, too, moaning his name over and over. Rog wished they didn’t have to part, but he didn’t say it out loud, Glorfindel had his duty, he couldn’t come with him.

‘What have you done to me’, he thought. Before they’d met again, he’d been happy alone, now his heart ached at the parting. Glorfindel did not need to be afraid that he wouldn’t come back, he couldn’t bear the thought himself.

Glorfindel stepped onto the stone of the harbour, it still felt like it was moving under him after all the time at sea and he tried to not look drunk as he walked toward the crowd of people awaiting him. There were guards keeping the folk back — it looked like all the elves left in Middle-earth had decided to come and look at him. Glorfindel winced inwardly at the thought of how often he would be forced into recounting his ‘heroic’ death.

He had no difficulty picking out Gil-galad. He only wore a circlet that could almost be called modest, but his robes were the blue of the House of Fingolfin and he had the family-resemblance — as had the elf standing next to him and carrying the staff of a herald. Elrond, great-grandson of his king — his old king, Glorfindel corrected himself, he still thought of Turgon that way. He noticed the broach of an eight-pointed star that held his cloak together and wondered if the things he’d heard about the sons of Eärendil being raised by their kidnappers and coming to love them were true.

“Glorfindel, Emissary of the Valar, Lord of the Golden Flower”, Elrond called, executing his office.

Glorfindel thought with amusement, that neither of them had ever met him before. He could be anyone, for all they knew. He bowed to the king, concentrating on the situation at hand.

“My King Gil-galad, I am returned by the grace of the Valar to fight at your side. Allow me to pledge my sword to you.”

He drew his weapon and knelt, offering the hilt to Gil-galad. The king laid his hand on the pommel.

“I accept your fealty, Lord Glorfindel. Rise.” As the crowd broke out in cheers, Gil-galad added under his breath: “And now let us get to somewhere more quiet. We have to talk, I think.”

Glorfindel nodded and followed the king and his herald through the crowd, a way being opened by the guard. He wondered, if Rog had already managed to slip away. It likely hadn’t been that hard in the commotion. They walked through the paved streets of the city towards the palace that seemed to stand in the centre of it but behind its own walls.

“My arrival seems to be common knowledge here”, Glorfindel remarked once the streets got a little quieter. He’d known Gil-galad had been informed, but…

“If a giant eagle waits on the palace walls to bring a message, it’s not really possible to keep things secret”, Gil-galad said flatly.

“Ah, not known for their subtlety, the Valar, are they?”, Glorfindel said with a wry smile.

He’d always felt slightly uncomfortable whenever he’d chanced to be present when one of the eagles brought a message to Turgon. It had always seemed to him that they scrutinised him, wondering if he would taste good.

“You’d know, I guess.” Gil-galad huffed, a smile tugging at his lips.

Glorfindel decided he liked the king. “I haven’t had nearly as much contact with them as you seem to think.” He'd only went to Ilmarin every year for ten years on the day Manwë listened to the petitions of everyone who wished to talk to him. He thought that maybe it was more them wanting to get rid of this disturbance than a real understanding of his desire that finally had made them agree to him travelling back to Middle-earth.

They’d reached the palace and Gil-galad led him to his office. He offered Glorfindel a seat and sat behind his desk. Elrond fetched a chair that stood behind another desk — his own, Glorfindel guessed — and sat beside him.

“What brings you back, Lord Glorfindel?”, the king asked, folding his hands and following every motion of his with his eyes.

Glorfindel had the disquieting feeling of being seen through.

“I want to help you here. I could not find peace in Aman, knowing that you still fight the Darkness.”

Gil-galad lifted an eyebrow and for a moment he looked so much like his uncle that Glorfindel’s heart hurt.

“The eagle made it sound like the Valar sent you — and you specifically — to remind us we are not forgotten.”

“The Valar allowed it after much deliberation”, Glorfindel felt compelled to state. “It is true that they haven’t turned their backs on Middle-earth like they did before. They watch. But they won’t intervene again. Not after what happened to Beleriand.” Glorfindel had been horrified when he’d heard. The continent, he and so many of his friends had fought and died for, gone. Drowned in the sea. “But it was my wish, my initiative, that brought me here, not a command by them.”

“That’s good to hear. I was a little worried.”

About him? Had Gil-galad expected him to try and take command, because the Valar had sent him?

“I am your servant, my king”, Glorfindel said and stood up to bow to him.

Gil-galad gave him a warm smile. “We can certainly use your knowledge and experience. Now, my herald would like to ask you something, if I’m not wrong.”

Elrond was pale when he looked at him. “Do you know anything about my parents. Eärendil and Elwing, I mean.”

“I know who your parents are, Elrond Peredhel”, Glorfindel said with a kind smile. “And in fact, I do. They asked me to bring a message to you.”

Eärendil had been a boy when he’d last seen him, now he was a man. He’d left the Silmaril on Vingilot, anchored near the Door of Night, when he and Elwing had visited him shortly before his departure.

“These are their words: We love you, being parted from you pains us, but thus is our Doom. We do not begrudge you the love that grew between you and the Fëanorions. We would not have wished you to grow up loveless and lonely.

Elwing said: I did not know you and Elros were alive when I jumped. There were so many bodies and you’d been at the beach, without cover, when they came. I could not think clearly at the time. My mind fancied I was in Doriath. I thought of you as my dead brothers half of the time. I’m sorry. I would have fought for you, if I had known.”

There were tears in Elrond’s eyes and Glorfindel politely looked away.

“How can I be of service to you, my king”, he said to Gil-galad. “A lot of the veterans of the War of Wrath have sailed and after the sinking of Beleriand we were more intent on building up an infrastructure than an army. But there’s Darkness growing in the East and it is high time we readied ourselves. I need someone who has trained recruits before. I’ll introduce you to my other captains tomorrow.”

“I will do my best to build you an army ready to fight”, Glorfindel promised.

He hoped there were at least some battle-hardened soldiers left. It would make things a lot easier for him.

Glorfindel sat with his back against the battlements, closing his eyes for a moment — until the next attack. He had fought on the walls for days, he’d maybe slept four hours in the whole week. The air was thick with oily smoke. The enemy had shot at them with casks of liquid fire that clung even to the stone. The king should have left when Ulmo’s messenger came.

Glorfindel shook his head, rubbing his eyes with a groan. No. This wasn’t Gondolin. It was Imladris. He had trouble to keep the present straight. Lack of sleep. The thick of battle. They were defending Imldris with all they had.

Gil-galad was separated from them, all the lands between Imladris and Lindon now occupied by the armies of the Enemy, and likely as hard pressed as they were. One of his soldiers handed him a bottle and he gulped down the water thirstily. He was so proud of them all — people he’d trained himself — they were holding up admirably although things looked dark.

Their only hope lay in the Númenóreans coming to their aid, but they were late. Some already muttered that their human allies had deserted them, but Glorfindel kept up his hope. He remembered Tuor’s loyalty and steadfastness and he could not believe that his descendants would break trust.

“There’s something going on. They are pulling back!”

The elf who had handed him the water bottle was one of the refugees from Ost-in-Edhil, the name escaped Glorfindel right now, he just was too tired. He was staring intently over the battlements. Glorfindel stood up with a stifled groan, his armour was weighing heavily, but he tried not to show it. Keeping up the morale was essential these days as their supplies ran out. He knew he didn’t flatter himself overmuch, when he thought that some days they’d only pushed the enemy back, because his fellow soldiers knew that Glorfindel of Gondolin, Balrog-slayer, was fighting with them.

He leaned on the battlements, taking weight off his aching feet. Indeed, the army before the walls of Imladris seemed to be in motion, turning around. A wind was blowing from the West. Glorfindel strained his ears. Was it the sound of horns, he was hearing on the wind? He smiled and allowed the hope sheltered in his heart to grow.

“I’m with Elrond”, he told his captain. “Report any changes immediately.”

If the Númenóreans indeed had finally arrived, they needed to make up a plan. He would not hide behind these walls and let others win the fight they’d fought so desperately.

He was tired, so tired, his arms feeling leaden, his skin drenched in sweat under his armour. They had made a sally as Gil-galad and the Númenóreans attacked, forcing the enemy to fight on two fronts. Glorfindel shouted orders and encouragements while he fought, trying to stay close to Elrond all the while, who had insisted on fighting in this last, desperate battle.

Only when he noticed the strange looks some of the Sindar threw him, he realised he’d slipped into Quenya some time ago. He shrugged and plunged his sword into an orc’s throat. They knew who he was and this felt like Gondolin all over again — minus the Balrogs; he was glad there were no Balrogs. He dearly hoped it would end better than Gondolin, it didn’t look too bad with the armies coming to relieve them. But he was so exhausted.

He fought on. He could do nothing else. When he saw Rog among the lines of the king’s army, he was not surprised — he was thinking of Gondolin again. He stumbled in his step and took a second look, but the warrior who had looked and moved so much like Rog had already vanished again. Glorfindel shook his head. He must have been dreaming him up the same way he had been dreaming up Gondolin all these weeks. He had not had enough sleep. Rog was somewhere in the East, walking in the forests of his youth and likely didn’t even know about their fight here. A blade whistled past closely beside his head and Glorfindel turned his mind back to the fight.

The whole army was partying, elves and men mingling and drinking to a battle won, the siege on Imladris broken and the last remains of Sauron’s army in Eriador routed. Only one Kwende was sneaking through the crowds, in search of another. When Rog had heard from a wandering merchant that things were going wrong in the west, he’d said goodbye to his rediscovered family and hurried back.

He’d promised himself not to be caught up in battles that weren’t his own again, but Glorfindel being in danger meant this battle was his own, he’d discovered. He’d thought of little else on the endless leagues from the primeval forests of the East, but coming here only to find out Glorfindel had died a second time fighting the Enemy.

He’d arrived in time to join Gil-galad’s forces at what was now called the Battle of the Gwathló. He tried to keep a low profile, fought with a sword rather than his signature weapon, but nonetheless word had started to go around, of the elf that fought like a hero of the First Age, always vanishing after the fighting was done. Some called him a ghost, some a Maia — he’d even heard someone argue he was Eönwë, come to their aid.

He’d only come for one elf’s sake. He was looking for him, right now. He’d heard with relief that he still lived. The stories springing up about Glorfindel’s role in the siege were as grand as those about the fight with the Balrog, but he hadn’t been with Elrond and Gil-galad at the high table — which was probably just as well, because Rog wouldn’t have been able to approach him there unnoticed.

He smiled when he finally found him, sitting with a few common soldiers. He should have expected something like that. As much as Glorfindel had sunned himself in his glory, he’d also always been very approachable for the people serving under him.

“I’ve never seen you with your hair done up”, he said, approaching from the shadow of a tree and enjoying the look of confusion on Glorfindel’s face turning to delight, when he recognised him.

Rog could see he had his name on his lips and tensed, but Glorfindel caught himself.

“I’ve learned my lesson”, he said dryly to his remark and stood up. “Comrades, I haven’t seen my friend here fore a long time. You’ll excuse us?”

Glorfindel gripped his hand and dragged him back to the house and into his room.

“So it was you, I saw on the battlefield. I thought I had seen a ghost.” Glorfindel embraced him tightly. “How I have missed you!”

Rog held him tight. He’d missed him, too. The light in his eyes, the silkiness of his hair, the smell of his skin.

“I’m so relieved you’re alive”, he said. “When I heard of the war…”

“You told me, you’d never be dragged into other people’s wars again.”

“Yes, well…” Rog caressed Glorfindel’s cheek with his thumb. “I was too worried for you to keep out of it. Are you injured?”

He could see the white of a bandage peeking out from under the neck of Glorfindel's shirt. Glorfindel touched his shoulder. “A blade found a chink in my armour. It’s not deep. Elrond bandaged it himself.”

“Eärendil’s boy?”

“Yes.” Glorfindel smiled. “Though he’s much more than that. He’s a good leader — and he has learned a few things about war from those Fëanorions who raised him.”

Rog smiled at how indignant Glorfindel looked at that. “You’re not telling him what you think of them, do you?”

“No. I admire him too much. But enough of me.” Glorfindel offered him a chair and a cup of wine. “Tell me about your travels.”

Rog let the wine run down his throat. The tart taste of it was welcome after the years drinking mead and sweet berry wine.

“There are still places in the east that look exactly like I remember it. Some places the forest is so deep, the sun doesn’t make it through and it is almost as dark as in the Time of the Stars. And…” Rog felt the happiness bubble up in his chest again. “I found my family!”

“Your family”, Glorfindel whispered. “They are still there.”

“Yes! They almost didn’t believe I was me, but the story on my skin convinced them.”

Glorfindel beamed at him. “Oh, I’m so happy for you. You didn’t say you were looking for them!”

“I knew how little chance there was after all this time. I didn’t want to get my hopes up by talking about it.”

Rog spoke long of his family. Of his mother the huntress, fledging arrows with the feathers of grey geese. Of his father carving intricate buttons from antlers. Of his sister spinning linen and weaving cloth died with sap of leaf and juice of berry. He talked of family he’d known before and family that had been born after he’d been caught. Of people so old they called each other brother and sister because they’d woken beside each other at Cuiviénen and his littlest relative who’d been born the year he’d found them again.

There was a light on his face, a brightness in his smile, that Glorfindel thought he’d never seen before. He felt his heart sing, because Rog had found his family and he was happy, and he felt his heart ache, because Rog had found his family and he didn’t need him any more.

‘Don’t be stupid’, he tried to tell himself. ‘He came back for you.’

But doubts were starting to grow in him, telling him he shouldn’t count on Rog coming to his bed tonight — or staying for very long.

Rog emptied his cup and Glorfindel expected him to tell him, he’d be leaving now, but instead he said: “I’d like you to meet them.”

Glorfindel was so startled that he could only stutter. “Me… them… you mean, your family?”

“Yes.” Rog smiled guardedly. “If you’d like?”

“I’d be honoured!”

Glorfindel was never sure how serious their relationship was for Rog, but he felt this was significant. He surely wouldn’t invite him to travel across a whole continent to meet his family, if he were just a diversion for him.

“I can’t leave right now, of course…”

“No, I can see that. I can stay awhile, they don’t expect me back immediately.”

“That’s nice.” Glorfindel felt his heart unclench. He leaned forward to give Rog a kiss. “What should I call you, then? Or are you fine with people finding out who you are?”

“No, that better stays a secret. What name would you give me?” Rog winked at him.

“Òrenya”, Glorfindel answered. “But that would be rather revealing. How about Aldandil?”

“I like that.” Rog did not show what he thought of being called Glorfindel’s heart and Glorfindel did not push. He always feared Rog would vanish, if he pushed too hard. “But in private, it is still Rog.”

They kissed again, moving closer together. Glorfindel felt desire lazily start to wake in his body, but he knew, he wouldn’t be able to keep going.

“I’m sorry”, he said, moving back a little. “I haven’t slept through a whole night for weeks and I’m deadly tired. I won’t be much use for that tonight.”

Rog chuckled and cupped his cheek. “Then lets go to bed and sleep. Just sleep.”

“You’ll stay?”

Glorfindel let himself be pulled to his feet and allowed Rog to undress him.

“I’ll stay.”

Rog kissed his shoulder. They curled up under Glorfindel’s sheets. Glorfindel fell asleep with his head resting on Rog’s chest, who was picking out the pins from his hair and combing it with his fingers.

Elrond found him on the glade in the pine forest behind the House, where he went through his sword forms without anyone watching. Every time he sparred with his soldiers he drew a crowd and sometimes he just needed to be alone with himself. Glorfindel lowered his blade and wiped his face with the towel he’d brought with him.

“What can I do for you, my lord?”, he asked calmly. Elrond didn’t look like some catastrophe had happened.

“I’m sorry for disturbing you here, but I wanted to talk to you alone, and that is a little hard right now.”

Glorfindel nodded. Gil-galad and the Númenóreans had left a week ago, but the king had left a large force behind and it had been decided, that Imladris should become a permanent settlement. They were patrolling the mountains and the lands south as far as the Gates of Moria. There were still orcs to be driven out. Elrond was busy laying the plans for repairs, extending the fortress and make it a more comfortable place while Glorfindel led the soldiers. They were both in high demand these days.

“What is it, you want to talk about in private?”

They sat down in the shade of a tree and Glorfindel took a draught from his water bottle.

“Your friend. The one who showed up just after the last big battle.” Elrond threw him a shrewd look. “Forgive me, but I doubt that Aldandil is his real name. Who is he?”

It went against Glorfindel’s sense of loyalty to deny Elrond an answer, but: “I… promised him to not tell anyone. He does not want people to know.”

“But you’ve known each other for a long time. You are absolutely sure he can be trusted.”

“Yes.” Glorfindel met Elrond’s worried look. “He is no traitor. He proved that many times.”

“Then I won’t ask you to break your promise.” Elrond smiled at him. “Will you allow me a guess?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “What is your guess, then?”

“I’ve heard people talk about how he fought, much like they talk about you. A warrior from the First Age, come back to help us in our need. And you say, you’ve known him long. So, someone from Gondolin. I also think he’s neither Noldo nor Sinda. I think, he’s an Avar, he reminds me of someone I knew when I was a child.”

“You are startlingly good at this”, Glorfindel admitted. “Although I’m not really surprised that you are.”

“Because of my mother’s ancestry?” Elrond raised an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know your mother or her family. I know of Melian of course, but no, that was not what I was thinking of. Idril had that kind of power of deduction. She would sit in a council meeting and not say a word, just listening. But later she’d come to you with some idea and you’d realise that she’d heard much more than what was said. She could figure people out.”

Elrond had that wistful look on his face Glorfindel often saw when he spoke of his father’s family.

“I think, I know who he is then”, Elrond said. "And I won't say any more. You care a lot for him, don’t you?”

“I do, yes. He is dear to me.” Glorfindel felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He saw the next question in Elrond’s eyes and hurried to add: “Although we are not joined in marriage.”

“I will keep his secret”, Elrond promised. “Though I’m curious: How did he come here?”

“With the same ship I did.” Glorfindel smiled wryly. “He sneaked away in the excitement of my arrival. He went east to where his home is. He came back because he heard about our troubles, but…” Glorfindel took a deep breath. He had to tell Elrond sometime. “He’ll want to go back sooner or later and he wants me to come with him. I told him, I can’t right now, but once things are settled here… Do you think, you could give me leave?”

“I think that can be arranged. You deserve it after this war. I think we’ll have peace for some time.”

“It is to be hoped.” Glorfindel sighed. “But if I’ve learned anything about Evil, it is that it always comes back.” Something Elrond had said earlier struck him: “Who is he reminding you of?”

“He was one of Maedhros’s people. An escapee from Angband, Himring was one of the few places they were welcomed. He had an… intensity about him that I can see in your friend, too.”

“I can’t say, I’m surprised”, Glorfindel answered. “He and his people, they all were like that. Though he’s not as hard as he was before the Fall.”

To say he wasn’t nervous would have been a lie. His family lived so far east that they’d never met a Noldo — apart from the rare adventurous traveller, maybe — only heard rumours of what had happened in the West. Rog had told them a little, but they weren’t that interested in the lives and deaths of foreign elves if they didn’t concern their long lost son directly. And they didn’t get what was so special about a bunch of jewels — well, here Rog was totally with them.

And now they’d meet Glorfindel. Glorfindel with his golden hair and blue eyes that was almost unheard of among his people because all the Vanyar had went to Aman and never come back. Glorfindel who was glowing.

Oh, his eyes no longer held the reflection of the Light of the Trees, this body never having seen them, but his whole body seemed to emanate a soft light. Rog had thought his eyes were playing tricks on him at first. (Maybe it was the sun reflecting off his hair, maybe it was him transferring Glorfindel’s sunny disposition to a physical attribute.) But he’d seen him in the dark of the forest now and he was definitely glowing — it was like his fea was somehow lighting his body from within.

Luckily this seemed to be something only elves could see or they’d have had to chase off predators every day. He could only guess at how intimidating he would look to his family. He’d told Glorfindel nothing of his doubts. His… friend? companion? partner? — he hadn’t yet found a term for him that satisfied him, (though his heart whispered lover) — desired to be liked by everyone. Rog didn’t want him to fret about things he couldn’t change anyway.

Glorfindel felt a little disorientated as he was introduced to Rog’s family. His parents, his sister, an assortment of uncles and aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews and other relatives Glorfindel couldn’t quite place, who had come together to greet them. He didn’t particularly like to be gawked at, but looking around at the dark-haired, brown-eyed elves around him, all at least a head shorter than him, he realised belatedly that he was a rare sight for them.

“Have they had contact with the Exiles in the past?”, he whispered at Rog while he smiled at Beldoron, Rog’s father, who was inviting him to sit at his fire — at least he thought so, the dialect of Quenya they spoke was strange to his ears.

“I don’t think so”, Rog answered. “Please sit and drink from the cup my father is going to offer you. It’s how we welcome guests.”

Glorfindel sat down at the central fire that burned in the middle of the circle of tents and accepted the horn cup he was offered. The honey-taste of mead swept over his tongue as he drank.

“He welcomes you in our midst”, Rog translated softly. “As honoured guest and as…” Rog hesitated. “Well, as melotorne of his son.”

Glorfindel smirked at him. “Melotorne, yes?”

“It’s not as binding as with your lot, it only means that we decided to share this part of our lives”, Rog answered, looking distinctly embarrassed to Glorfindel.

“Yes, of course”, Glorfindel answered, letting his lover keep his distance, but feeling it was more.

He thanked Rog’s parents for the welcome and then was content to let Rog answer his family’s questions. He’d had a secret hope that he’d hear Rog’s given name here, but everyone seemed to call him ‘Rog’. After listening for some time he found it easier to understand them and answered some questions that were directed at him.

He found it refreshing how they didn’t seem to be all that interested in his heroic past and instead wanted to know about his family tree back to before the Great Journey. He tried hard to dig up the lessons of his childhood to satisfy their curiosity. His family, on his fathers’s as well as on his mother’s side, had been very proud to be descended from close companions of Finwë and Ingwë respectively.

He was listening to one of Rog’s uncles who seemed to have known his great-grandfather on his father’s side when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Glorfindel looked down to see one of the children, a girl of maybe twelve years, crouching behind him.

“Did the Kasari spin your hair from gold?”, she whispered.

Glorfindel tried not to laugh out loud at that. He saw a few other children behind her, looking wide-eyed at him. They must have sent her ahead.

“Nothing that fancy, I’m afraid”, he answered. “I was born with it, all my mother’s family is fair haired.”

“It’s so pretty! Please, can I touch it?”

Before Glorfindel could answer, not sure if he’d invite all the children to do the same if he agreed, one of the adults had noticed what was going on and reprimanded the children, shooing them away.

“I’m sorry”, she said. “They haven’t ever seen someone like you.”

“No harm done”, Glorfindel said reassuringly. “I’m used to curiosity.” Among the Noldor he’d stuck out with his fair hair, too, though his hair-colour was usually not what he was approached about. He smiled at the elves sitting around the fire. “I might look different from you, but I am a Quende, too. I’m not special in any way. I wish to live with your for a while, because you are Rog’s family and I care about him. I hope I will be allowed to get to know you and your way of life better.”

“Nothing special?”, Rog whispered into Glorfindel’s ear as they lay together in his tent. “You are the emissary of the Valar”, he teased.

“Oh, shut up!” Glorfindel swatted his shoulder playfully. “I am not, here. And I won’t make the same mistake the Noldor made in Beleriand, thinking themselves above the Sindar. This is your family, your life. I’m a visitor and I intend to learn about and adjust to your way of life.”

Rog’s heart felt like it would flow over with happiness — and yes, love. He was so used to the Noldor eyeing him strangely, and even though Glorfindel had never been one of the judging ones, he’d not been completely sure how he’d look at his family. He’d always known Glorfindel was nice and kind to everyone. He had been worrying too much.

His family had seen the glow, but it had taken Glorfindel only an afternoon to dismantle any reservation they might have had. In the other life, Rog had sometimes been slightly resentful at how everyone seemed to instantly like Glorfindel, while he himself only drew distrustful glances, but now he was just glad that his family liked him, because he did, too. He kissed Glorfindel gently.

“You are wonderful, melotorne”, he said, trying out the new endearment. He had been intent on not calling Glorfindel ‘lover’, on keeping things casual. He was losing that fight, he knew it. His family had seen right through him and that Glorfindel didn’t was maybe due more to the fact, that he let him keep up the pretence than to him being fooled. Rog shrugged at himself. Maybe he was a coward to not tell him the depth of his feelings. But he couldn’t, not yet.

Glorfindel found himself incorporated into the daily life of Rog’s family. He and Rog shared a tent and while that would have been scandalous behaviour among the Noldor, no one seemed to think it noteworthy here. He went hunting with them, helped prepare the meals, carried his share when they moved camp — and he enjoyed being treated like everyone else.

As the days became shorter and the nights cooler, they moved towards the family’s winter village. The wooden huts were mended and made cosy with the things from their tents. Rog’s father showed him how to carve buttons with intricate patterns from antlers in the evening while Rog helped spin the flax they’d traded for with skins and healing plants in a village of men on the fringes of the forest.

The winter village was situated close to a grove of wild apple and nut trees which would add to their stores in the coming winter. Glorfindel helped with the harvest. He’d never led such a simple life. Even when times had been rough, he’d always been a noble, responsible for other people’s lives. Here he was only one elf of Rog’s family, expected to do his part. It felt good.

And he loved to see Rog among them. Happy, laughing, joking. He’d never seen him so relaxed. How could he think of tearing him away from them again?

The years wore on. Glorfindel sometimes thought of going back west, to do what he’d come back to Middle-earth for and help his kin, but always he told himself: ‘Not yet.’ They’d manage without him for a while longer. After the war against Sauron, there were others who’d learned to lead, he’d left Imladris’s defence in the capable hands of his lieutenants.

Chapter Text

Glorfindel raced his horse south-west, Rog right beside him. They’d been riding for weeks, Glorfindel urging them on, resting only when the horses couldn’t go on. The dark line of the mountains of Mordor had appeared on the horizon in the morning, dark clouds looming above it.

It was said, Sauron recruited his armies from the Men of the East, but maybe Rog’s family lived too far east even for his reach. They had not heard of the war that was brewing in the West. Only when one of Rog’s relatives, who’d been travelling as they sometimes did, came back from his journey, had they heard of the siege on the Black Land that had been going on for years.

And Glorfindel had not been there to fight beside Gil-galad and Elrond! A feeling of dread had gripped his heart some days ago. He was too late. He knew not for what, but he knew he was too late.

He stood beside his king’s dead body, tears clouding his sight. Gil-galad lay in state beside Elendil of Númenor in the city of Men. The precious robes he was dressed in hid the burns that had killed him. Glorfindel fell to his knees and hid his face in his hands. They’d needed him and he hadn’t been there. It helped little that he had had no idea of what was going on and had raced west as soon as he found out.

He’d only been a week late. A week sooner and he would have stood beside Gil-galad when Sauron attacked. Glorfindel lifted his head and looked at the carving of an eagle that spread his wings above the dead kings.

“You chose a bad representative”, Glorfindel told Manwë. “I was not with the king when I should have been. I was neglectful of my duty. I will not be so again.”

Elrond did not intend to accept the crown, but Glorfindel would take him as his lord nonetheless — last of the line of Fingolfin on Middle-earth. He would not leave Imladris again, even if that meant to have to part from Rog for long stretches of time. He could understand that Rog didn’t want to leave his family, Glorfindel had felt at home there, too.

Guilt stabbed at his heart again. He’d felt too at home there. He’d fallen in love with the deep wood and a way of life that was so different from anything he’d ever experienced and had forgotten why he had come back to Middle-earth.

“I’m sorry, my king.” He stood up and kissed Gil-galad’s forehead (the skin tasted of the herbs the Númenóreans used to preserve the body). “I will do better for your cousin. And I will beg your forgiveness, when we meet again on the other side of the sea.”

Rog had waited in the room they’d been given in this city of white stone. It was built by Men, but it reminded him of Gondolin in ways Imladris had never done.

Glorfindel had wanted to pay his last respects to the king alone. He knew how guilty Glorfindel felt, he wished he could do something. He’d been so happy living with him among his family. Maybe he had been selfish when he had convinced Glorfindel to stay a little longer each time. But how could he have known that there was war again in the west. The last they’d heard, Sauron had been dragged off to Númenor. And now the King of the Noldor was dead and Glorfindel blamed himself for it, because he thought he could have prevented it.

Rog had his doubts, as formidable as he knew Glorfindel to be, he doubted he’d have fared any better. Isildur had been lucky, if anyone asked him. Glorfindel didn’t look at him when he came back. He walked through the room and out on the balcony, leaning against the railing.

“Can I do anything for you?”, Rog said softly. Glorfindel shook his head, his shoulders were shaking.

~*~*~

A terrible silence had grown between them and Rog did not know how to push through it. Glorfindel insisted on everything being fine, whenever he asked him, but he knew it was not.

Glorfindel had thrown himself into work. Already on the long ride back to Imladris, he’d taken up his old post — Elrond had promised him that it would wait for him when he’d left.

On their stay with Rog’s family, they’d shared a tent, but now Glorfindel didn’t ask him to move in with him. He had on their first stay in Imladris, Rog regretted now that he’d turned him down at that occasion. As it was, they barely saw each other. It scared him. Since they’d met again, Glorfindel had always actively tried to be close to him. Rog didn’t know what it meant that he closed himself off now and he cursed himself that he’d kept him at arm’s length.

He had wanted to protect his heart, even when he’d already known that he had fallen for Glorfindel. All his family had known how much he meant to him. Why had he never told Glorfindel he loved him? Had he really been that scared of going a step further in their relationship? Glorfindel had never left any doubt that he wanted to marry him. But now… now that he realised he wanted to, there never seemed to be the right moment for telling him. Rog didn’t know what to do.

Imladris had never felt like home to him — the valley too narrow; the settlement that had sprung up around the former fortress too populated — but he’d endured it for Glorfindel. He felt lonely in this place like he’d never felt even when he’d been travelling alone. If Glorfindel didn’t want him any more — and his heart ached at the thought — what was he doing here?

Rog felt the overwhelming urge to leave. It was too late to protect his heart, but at least he could make it so Glorfindel never knew how much he’d hurt him. After another week, when he’d only seen Glorfindel for a few moments at dinner, he found himself packing his bag. As he was closing the buckles, he felt tears coming to his eyes.

He did not want their relationship to end! And he knew if he left now, they’d likely never see each other again. Rog wiped his eyes and straightened. When had he stopped saying out loud what was on his mind? When had he ever run from a problem? This was beneath him! He would talk to Glorfindel, even if it meant making himself more vulnerable than ever before.

Glorfindel was not in his rooms although it was already late, but Rog had no longer any qualms to let himself in. He busied himself with building a fire and then waited on the settee before the fireside. It was a long wait. Rog had found a piece of paper and was doodling designs for a garden gate when the door finally opened. Glorfindel looked tired and it took him way too long to notice him.

“You are inattentive”, Rog remarked softly.

Glorfindel jumped. “If you have come to scold me…”

“No!” Rog stood up and came towards him but Glorfindel shied back from his touch. He tried to hide the stab that shot through his heart. “I’m sorry. I… I want to talk with you, Glorfindel. Please?”

Glorfindel rubbed his face. “I’m tired, Rog.”

‘Maybe that’s because it’s almost morning and you barely sleep’, Rog thought, but he assumed saying that would lead to a fight. “I know, but… Glorfindel, we have barely talked in the last two months.”

“I have a lot of work, Rog”, Glorfindel said impatiently.

“Yes, of course… Glorfindel!” Rog gripped his shoulders when he tried to push past him. “I packed my bag today, I wanted to leave, but I just can’t without talking to you! I do not want us to end like this, Glorfindel!”

Glorfindel blinked numbly at him. “If you want to leave, then leave. I told you, I won’t catch you. But I can’t go with you. I won’t risk losing another lord I swore to protect.”

Rog bit down on the sob that was rising in his throat.

“Please, Glorfindel, don’t push me away. I know you took the High King’s death hard, but don’t do that! Don’t shut me out. I know, I always was the one who held you at arm’s length and I’m sorry. I was scared. I love you!”

Glorfindel blinked down at Rog. He was woozy with lack of sleep and wondered, if he was, in fact, dreaming. Rog had never before said these words. Rog had always kept his distance, insisted that their relationship was nothing too serious, nothing permanent. And Glorfindel had let him, although it stabbed at his heart. To be honest, he had not been surprised, when Rog had said, he wanted to be gone again. A part of his heart wanted to go with him, but the other part of his heart, the one that grieved for Gil-galad, knew he couldn’t. He would not forsake Elrond like he had Gil-galad. He had expected Rog to leave; he had not expected to hear ‘I love you’. Glorfindel felt tears rise into his eyes.

“I love you, too”, he croaked and leaned into Rog’s arms that held him. “I wish you could stay.”

“I would. I will. I’m so lonely here without you, Glorfindel. We haven’t been alone in weeks.”

Glorfindel knew he was right. He’d drawn back in on himself, had heaped work on himself to bury the grief.

“Let me help you, my love.” Rog’s voice hitched on the last words, Glorfindel knew how much it cost him to say them. “Let me share your grief and let me share your happiness. Let me be a part of your life.”

Glorfindel gulped. “Why, Rog, that almost sounds like a proposal”, he said lightly, trying to laugh it off so as not to be disappointed when Rog inevitably denied that it was meant that way.

But maybe he was in fact already asleep and dreaming, because Rog blushed — he’d never seen Rog blush before — and mumbled: “Well, maybe it is. It’s not a proper noldorin one, of course, nor of my people, but… If you indeed still want me, I’m finally ready to lay my hand in yours and join our spirits. I know I’ve made you wait long enough.”

“Do I still want you? Of course!” Glorfindel sobbed. “Rog? Am I dreaming?”

Rog smiled at him and kissed his lips. “If you do, we are dreaming together. I’m happy, Glorfindel.”

“I am, too.” Glorfindel embraced Rog tightly. “Although… he’s dead because I was not at his side and I don’t know if I can forgive myself.”

Rog pulled him to the settee and held him tight as he cried and Glorfindel clung to him.

“I know, you probably don’t want to hear that”, Rog said hesitantly. “But do you really think, you could have defeated Sauron?”

“Isildur did”, Glorfindel sobbed. “If only I’d been there.”

He felt Rog shake his head. “Isildur cut off his finger, when Sauron lay on the ground. Gil-galad and Elendil threw him down — and paid for that with their life. Elrond was there, Círdan was there. Do you think they were not trying to protect their king? Gil-galad and Elendil rushed forward, because they were brave. Even if you’d been there, there’s nothing you could have done.”

“But I will never know, because I was not there”, Glorfindel said.

Rog sighed and stroked his hair. “I understand that you can’t let it go right now. Grieve, that’s your right. But let me be there with you.”

“I will. I’m sorry I drew away from you. I thought…” Glorfindel sniffed. “Well, I thought I wasn’t worthy of you.”

“Oh, my dear.” Rog kissed his forehead. “I’ll say it until you grow tired of disagreeing with me: It was not your fault. You didn’t even know about the war.”

“I should have.” Glorfindel laid his hand on Rog’s lips to stop him arguing. “I should have been more interested in news from the West. But I was happy with you and… I feel torn. I was so happy with you while my lord had need of me and I regret that. But I also do not want to sully that happiness with regret.” He spoke slowly, not sure if anything of what he said made sense.

“I understand”, Rog said. “Don’t you know I felt torn in two, after my escape from Angband? I wanted to fight, take revenge, but I also knew that I deprived my family of a highly accomplished smith while I stayed in the west. The other escapees from Angband needed me, too. And so I was torn, because I had two families that needed me.”

“And do you not feel like this now?”, Glorfindel asked, worry coming over him. “I will not leave Imladris on any long journeys again — and your family won’t leave their home of many millennia.”

“Maybe it’s my fate to travel… You know I can’t stay here forever, do you?”

Rog looked worried and Glorfindel caressed his brows, to make the frown go away.

“I know. I promised not to cage you and I still mean it.”

Rog kissed him and Glorfindel sunned himself in the love that emanated from him.

“Thank you. You have been always so mindful of me and I’m grateful for that. I will always come back to you.”

“When will you leave? You said, you packed already.” Glorfindel felt his heart sink at the thought.

“Because you were keeping your distance and I thought you didn’t want me any more!”, Rog said. “My plans have changed, I will stay. Do you have any thoughts on when our wedding should be?”

“Spring next year?”, Glorfindel asked. “I know that’s almost a year, but… Imladris is still in mourning — and I am, too. It would feel wrong to have a celebration now.”

“Yes, I understand. And isn’t a year also the minimum engagement time according to your ridiculous customs?”

Glorfindel chuckled — he didn’t remember when he’d last laughed and it made him feel good and guilty at the same time. “I asked to be allowed to court you three millennia ago, I doubt anyone would find fault with the time passed.”

Rog grinned at him, a twinkle in his eyes that made him look almost boyish.

“But maybe with our lack of chastity?”, he said, but kept his hands on Glorfindel’s back.

Glorfindel was glad for it, for all that he was happier now than when he’d come to his rooms, he didn’t feel like having sex.

“Spring it is, then”, Rog continued. “And I’m more happy than you can imagine. But I’m keeping you awake, you must be tired. Let me bring you to bed.”

Glorfindel allowed him to pull him to his feet and undress him and snuggled into his arms as they slipped under the covers together.

“I love you”, Rog said again, Glorfindel drifted off with a smile on his lips.

Glorfindel stood at the quay of Mithlond, looking up the main road of the town. He’d not seen Rog for almost a year, but by then the date of Elrond’s departure had been set. Glorfindel had been nervous when he’d told him he would leave with Elrond — he knew, after all, that Rog had never really planned on sailing back to Aman. But Rog had only said, in that case he wanted to say goodbye to his family and had left the next day.

Glorfindel had become more and more nervous when the time of their departure came closer and closer and Rog had not shown up. What if he’d changed his mind? What if he’d decided to stay with his family after all?

“Glorfindel.” Elrond walked up to him. “We have to leave soon. The tide…”

“I know. Just a moment more”, Glorfindel whispered.

‘Please’, he thought. ‘Please, my love. Don’t stay, don’t leave me.’

They’d finally married in what was now considered the second year of the Third Age in a mixture of noldorin and avarin customs, but Glorfindel knew — had been told by Rog from the start — that Rog’s people didn’t consider a marriage as binding as the Noldor did. Rog was a freedom loving person, he wasn’t one to be caught and kept — and Glorfindel had been able to accept that, knowing Rog loved him indeed. But to think that it would mean in the end to let him go…

A figure was walking briskly down the main road and Glorfindel gripped Elrond’s arm.

“That’s him.”

It had to be! His heart might break if it was not.

Rog had fallen into a trot, he’d probably seen that the ship was ready to sail.

“I want to come with you!”, he called. “Glorfindel, I want  to come with you!”

Glorfindel laughed and ran towards him. They fell into each other’s arms.

“You did not think I would let you leave without me, did you?”, Rog said, smiling gently up to him.

“I… admit I doubted towards the end.” Glorfindel kissed him on the lips. “You cut it close, my love.”

Glorfindel took a deep breath and cupped Rog’s face in his hands.

“I would not wish you to make this journey just for me”, he said, the words catching in his throat. “I want you to be happy and there won’t be a way back this time.”

“I know.” Rog’s face was hard — Glorfindel knew by now that he was hiding his feelings that way. “But I also know that the time of the Quendi in Middle-earth is over. My people don’t want to see it, yet, but I can see it everywhere. The Secondborn grow more numerous by the day, the forests are dwindling. I cannot say I feel not resentful about that, but I know I can’t change it. My people will fade with the forest in the end, but I do not wish to fade. I want to be with you.”

Rog rose on his tiptoes and whispered into his ear: “My first name is Tamwë and I give it to you to keep save, my love.”

Glorfindel felt tears rush to his eyes. He’d given up hope of ever hearing Rog’s given name and he knew how much it meant to learn it now.

“I feel honoured by your trust, Tamwë, my love.”

Glorfindel jumped when Elrond coughed from where he’d stepped back to give them some privacy.

“I hate to break up this reunion, but…”

“The flood, I know.”

Glorfindel took Rog’s — no, Tamwë’s — hand in his and led him up the gangplank. On his wedding day he’d thought he was as happy as he’d ever be in his life, but now he was even happier — because today he’d found out that Rog had indeed chosen him. To be with forever.