~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Now, you’re almost as good as new. With your healing
abilities there shouldn’t be a scar left within a few days, Mithrandir.” Elrond
had cleaned and bandaged the wound Gandalf had carried away from the fight with
the orcs.
“Thank you so much, Elrond.” Gandalf stood, ready to
leave the healing-houses. He wasn’t used to being the patient and he thoroughly
disliked the experience.
“Tell me, how is Saruman?” Elrond asked while they
walked back towards the main house.
“He was traveling eastward and was gone for a long
time. Before I left we had a rather harsh argument about Dol Guldur.” Gandalf
did not know if Elrond wanted to know more about the subject.
“How so?” They had reached the small study
again and Elrond invited Gandalf inside with a graceful gesture.
“He does not want me to go there. He is worried that I
may come to harm if I do. He...well, you know that we are very close, that we
only have each other and the memories of Valinor we share...” Gandalf ventured.
“And that you love each other. I know. I accepted that
a long time ago, Mithrandir.” Elrond told him mildly.
“Aye, he is very dear to me. When he realized that I
would not refrain from going there simply because he, my lover, would not want
me to go, he ordered me – as my superior, as head of the order.” Gandalf sighed
heavily. “I feel that is the wrong decision. Now I don’t know what to do:
follow my instincts or obey my superior?”
“Well, I cannot tell you what to do, Mithrandir, but
so far your instincts haven’t misguided you – why should they now?” Elrond
poured them some wine.
//ah, you don’t know, Master Elrond. You don’t know!//
Gandalf sipped his wine – it was red, sweet and strong, one could taste the
earth on which it had grown. “This is a very good vintage, I may say.”
“Why don’t you stay for a few days and make up your
mind? Summer Solstice is only a week from now and you will certainly find
pleasure in the festivities. Some rest wouldn’t be hurting you, too. Please,
Mithrandir, be my guest!”
The prospect of dwelling in Imladris once more without
too pressing matters at hand was extremely tempting and so Gandalf agreed,
thanking Elrond for his generosity before he retired to his rooms. A week at
Imladris would mean a week of song and music, of story-telling and of endless
marveling at the immense beauty of the Eldar, for Gandalf had fallen in love
with the firstborn ever since he had seen them first. To him they were the most
beautiful creatures sung into being. He fell asleep with a smile on his face.
+++++++
The day before Solstice the elves had gathered on the
great terrace that lead to the Hall of Fire. For the summer-evenings were not
to be spent inside. They were singing or listening to Gandalf telling tales
from unknown or forgotten regions of Middle-Earth.
Although the elves never tired listening the the
13923th interpretation of the story of Luthien, they also liked to hear
something new and Gandalf had traveled into regions they usually did not bother
to visit because only men lived there and elves no longer bothered about men’s
business. Still they loved their myths and lore, even if they often could not
understand why one had acted the way he had done.
And those stories were told in a new way – for Gandalf
refused to sing them! Who had ever heard of such outrageous idea? Lore had to
be sung – even Men knew as much. But Gandalf could not risk singing – too
strong were the creative powers even of one of the lesser Maiar. “My voice is
an insult to all Ainu and I would not make you suffer to hear me sing. I want
to be welcome next time as well.” He used to say. To make up for the
unconventional way of telling, Gandalf was able to create a dense atmosphere,
to describe with such detail that the elves wondered if he had been there when
the stories happened. Little did they know how right they were with this
suspicion!
Now, on the evening before Solstice their gathering
was interrupted by the arrival of another guest: The Lindonian minstrel Lindir
arrived with his harp. The gray-eyed, dark-haired minstrel spent most of his
time traveling with Gildor Inglorion’s group, but he would spend the winters at
Imladris. His coming at the high time of summer was unexpected but very
welcome.
He was brought to Elrond and bowed courteously,
greeting the Lord of Imladris with finely chosen words.
“Well met, Lindir! I hope we will be so happy as to
listen to your talented voice and harp-play?”
“I would be honored, my Lord, if you would find
pleasure in my limited skills.” Lindir bowed once again with a small smile
on his face. After exchanging the required pleasantries and politeness, Lindir
excused himself, mingling with those who listened to Gandalf telling a story
about a man who had drunk a love-potion to fall in love with the first creature
he would see upon waking and unfortunately that creature had happened to be a
donkey. It was a hilarious story, indeed and everybody was laughing hard.
After the wizard had finished and the elves had calmed
down, Lindir tuned his harp without much ado, then played a short bit before he
stopped to announce his newest composition “I called it ‘Mithrandir’s Song’ for
it is my homage to our beloved Grey Pilgrim who never ceases to amaze and
entertain us.” This was followed by murmurs of assent and Gandalf indeed
blushed slightly until he met the nasty grin of Glorfindel’s.
The song mentioned some of the Istar’s more dangerous
travels as well as the questions of his mysterious origins. Lindir’s clear
voice and swift fingers wove a wonderful fabric of music and lyric, bright and
dark, powerful yet sweet at times. When he ended nobody moved at first, then
applause burst forth. Lindir stood and bowed deeply, glad that his newest song,
too, had pleased his audience. Gandalf stood as well, bowing to Lindir.
“I feel very honored, Master Lindir. Yet I insist that
dedicating so many beautiful words to one old man is more flattery than is good
for me.”
“To the contrary, Mithrandir. Not a single note or
breath that praised you would be a waste.” Lindir beamed, the smile so bright
and the elf so ethereal that it hurt Gandalf’s heart and he wondered if he was
able to endure so much beauty or if he would be scorched by it. Being among so
many of the fair folk for such a long time somehow reminded him of trying to
get closer to Laurelin’s hot light and his eyes shone brighter that week.
++++++++++++++++++
During the festivities of Summer Solstice there were
still enough duties left. Letters had to be written and Erestor was glad he had
something to keep him busy. Elrond would never have asked any elf to work on
that day but Erestor insisted and so the Lord of Imladris had given up one
year. Erestor had long ago stopped to attend those merriments completely. He
stayed only when it was with an emphasis on music and song for the dancing was
too painful for him to watch
Oh, how he had loved to dance prior to his captivity!
And although he had not been a brilliant dancer, he had had a certain natural
grace of movement superior to the mass of his peers. Alas, that was history.
Nowadays he was glad when he did not trip on a threshold and he hid his awkward
motions under heavy robes. His feet hurt most of the time anyway – to dance
would not be possible without suffering and making himself a complete fool in
public. He was too proud for that.
Yet Lindir’s music was too beautiful to be ignored and
so, after Legolas was tucked in, he sneaked into the hall of fire, unnoticed,
as he thought, and listened, watching the dancers on the terrace with great
longing.
“Would you like to dance?” out of the blue Glorfindel
stood behind him.
“Nay. I don’t.” Erestor answered coldly. Why would the
smelly brute not leave him alone?
“I can see it in your eyes, Erestor.” Glorfindel said.
He was clad in his best tunic and leggings, his hair extravagantly braided in
the newest fashion and a faint scent of sandalwood was around him. Usually the
captain did not spend so much time decking himself out, but solstice was a
special occasion on which the elf wished to shine in all his splendor.
“I can’t. You of all people should know that!” Erestor
hissed angrily.
“Ai, peace! I know… I merely wanted to offer you some
help. I know you cannot dance with some maiden, but you can with me. I can
support you. Give it a try. Nobody will laugh.” Glorfindel was serious – his
conversation with Gandalf was still rather fresh in his mind - and suddenly the craving was too much. Erestor
nodded.
Glorfindel hid his surprise quickly – he had only
wanted to tease the ancient Noldor, to at least pretend he cared. It never came
to his mind the crippled elf would indeed give in to such an offer.
To Erestor’s amazement Glorfindel bowed courteously
and then took the lead. It was easy for the strong warrior to keep a fast hold
on the overly slim elf. The dance was a slow one and it was easy to help
Erestor keep his equilibrium where the man’s missing toes would have prevented
Erestor to do so himself. Slowly the raven-haired elf relaxed and moving became
easier. Still Glorfindel kept a firm hold on him.
Nobody laughed. In fact, Glorfindel had been casting
threatening looks around, enough to stifle any laughter before they had even
started the dance. So, in fact, nobody wanted to laugh. Not a single elf would
want to feel the captain’s wrath upon him – captain Glorfindel was known for a
quick temper. The odd couple did look a bit awkward but there was no reason to
ridicule them. They complimented each other nicely.
They did not stop after one dance. Erestor’s face lit
up with a genuinely happy smile until he was tired from the unusual exercise.
“I enjoyed this very much, Glorfindel. Thank you for this evening, but I think
I will retire now. Good night, captain.” Erestor excused himself, yawned and
turned away. He felt wonderfully: for a whole millennium he had not dared to
dance and now the most unlikely elf in Imladris had given him an opportunity
unhoped for.
It was as if he walked on broken glass. He had ignored
his feet for too long and now they hurt so badly he could hardly walk at all
lest keep himself upright and his face straight. Glorfindel caught his
stumbling in the corner of his eye and was at his side in no time, supporting
the crippled elf.
“Your feet. You should have stopped earlier.” He
chided the dark haired counselor. Glorfindel blamed his protective streak for
his behavior. He had always protected the weak ones and in his eyes Erestor was
such. Thus the ancient elf deserved his protection, no matter how dour and
cynical the lore-master might be.
“I am used to the pain.” The advisor replied, trying
to save his dignity.
Glorfindel sat Erestor down in a chair and took off
the shoes, baring the deformed feet and ignoring Erestor’s protests. He fetched
some salve from Erestor’s bathroom and crouching down he applied a gentle
massage to the sore and neglected organs. Erestor sighed and closed his eyes.
It felt good! It eased his pain and the cramps subsided.
“You should take more care of yourself.” Glordindel remarked
with a frown.
“For whom?” Erestor said bitterly.
“For yourself! Eru deserves as much. He did not sing
you into being so that you neglected yourself.” Glorfindel stood. “Come, let me
help you to bed.”
“I can do myself.” It was enough! Erestor had let down
his guards far too long and now the situation became unbearable. He wanted to
be alone. He had been glad when Legolas had finally moved to his own rooms two
days ago. The counselor valued his privacy and he was loathe to let Glorfindel
see how weak he was at times.
“I know but you can hardly stand. Why not make it
easier for a change?” Glorfindel did not budge.
“I….I’m no longer used to….to expose myself to
others.”
“I saw you and I did not run, did I?” Glorfindel
smirked.
“No.” Erestor managed a weak grin “But I doubt you
would run even if there were ten balrogs behind you!”
“True. Only that I would be facing them. Now, let me
help you! That’s an order.”
“Alright.”
Glorfindel supported Erestor when the elf stood to get
out of his heavy, long robe and undergarments. Helping the meager elf to sit
again Glorfindel then followed the directions to fetch Erestor’s sleeping
–robe. “There. Better?” the blond elf wrapped the robe around Erestor’s
shoulder.
“Yes. Much better. Thank you so much.” Erestor pulled
the robe hastily around his ugly body and managed a weak smile.
“Good night.” Without further thinking Glorfindel
leant in and kissed Erestor’s hair before he left without looking back.
The crippled elf stared at the door for quite some
time, incredulity painted all across his face. This had not been Glorfindel,
had it?
+++
Outside in the hallway a very puzzled Balrog-slayer
leant against the wall, wondering what orc had ridden him just moments ago? Had
he really done what he thought he had done?
~~~ Flashback ~~~
Elrond’s young family was having a picnic at the
Bruinen, the twins were just learing to walk and proudly made their first
steps, clinging to the hands of Elrond’s chief advisor. The Noldorin elf had
already raised Elrond’s father and had stayed with the family ever since. Being
more or less part of the family had finally put an end to his restlessness and
he had fully devoted his service to their well-being.
The ancient warrior carried his long knives in a
harness on his back, understanding himself as the twin’s bodyguard. It was as
much fighting as he was willing to do. He had been in too many battles, had
seen and spilled too much blood for his tastes. Here at Imladris he could live
an almost peaceful life, delving into lore, trying to forget about all those
wars.
When the twins suddenly let go of his hands and ran
for their mother, the advisor did not even attempt to follow, knowing they
would make it safely into the arms of their parents. He straightened his back,
glad for the break and looked across the river.
There stood a figure, tall and slim, staring over at
them. It had to be an elf, for the sentries had not bothered to stop him. But
something was strange and Erestor’s hair stood on end. “My Lord Elrond.” He
said.
Elrond was about to remind the Noldor he needen’t be
so formal when his eyes fell
on the forlorn figure on the other side. “Who is this?”
“I have no idea.” Erestor gripped his long knives,
ready to defend the family when the tall figure started to cross the Bruinen at
the ford, wading towards them. His tunic and leggings were torn, he wore no
shoes and his hair was unkempt. The figure was dirty and meager, but obviously
unarmed. The azure eyes were almost blank.
“Mae govannen, stranger.” Elrond greeted the elf with
his open palm outstretched in a gesture of peace.
The stranger’s brows knotted and his head tilted
slightly but he said no word.
“I am Elrond, the Lord of Imladris. May I ask your
name?” Elrond spoke calmly and slowly almost as he would with an animal that
would not understand the words but the tone of his voice. Still there was no
sign of understanding in the stranger’s eyes. The twins cooed and the bright
blue eyes flashed into their direction. Erestor immediately tensed, inching the
knives slowly out of their sheaths. He was ready to throw himself into the
stranger’s way.
The unknown elf licked his lips.
“I think he is hungry.” Celebrian stood and walked
over to them with a plate of white, sweet cakes.
“My Lady, you should not...”
“Erestor, please! I am here with two brave elves and
he is unarmed. What should happen to me?” her silver-clear laughter sounded in
the air as she offered the stranger the food. It was greedily devoured within
seconds.
“Va, hen! (no, child!)” Erestor stopped a twin
unlacing his boots, falling back to Quenya, his mother- tongue, as he often
did. It seemed for the first time that some kind of discern flickered in the
stranger’s eyes. Erestor lifted the toddler up and softly spoke to the child.
“Where am I?” the brittle voice of the stranger spoke
a clear Quenya.
“You are in Imladris, in the valley of the river
Buinen.” Lord Elrond now explained again, using the old high-elven language. He
spoke it well, yet it was a foreign language to him and came not as fluent as
from Erestor’s lips.
“I never heard of such a place. I do not know this
part of the world...” the stranger muttered.
It took months until the stranger had regained his
memory and bit by bit the pieces fell into place. It turned out to be the
mighty Balrog-slayer Glorfindel of the Golden Flower. How he had returned to
Middle-Earth and why, he could not tell. The last thing he remembered was the
sack of Gondolin.
“And the next thing I remember is.....waking up in the
rain about four weeks ‘ere I arrived here.” Glorfindel ended his story.
~~~~~ end of flashback
+++
Gandalf had retired shortly after midnight when most elves had
started to disappear in couples to celebrate the more private aspect of Summer
Solstice. He was about to extinguish all candles in his room and was surprised when he heard a soft knock
at his door. It was Lindir!
“Master Lindir! How can I help you?”
“May I come in?” the minstrel asked shyly. Gandalf
stepped aside to let the willowy elf enter his room.
“I am glad you liked the song I made for you,
Mithrandir.” Lindir said softly, a small smile
playing around his lips.
“It was beautiful, indeed! Being honest, I doubt that
any song made by you could no be. Even if it dealt with orcs alone. But that is
certainly not the reason for your visit, is it?” the wizard could not find any
reason why the elf was in his room, at this time, to this occasion.
“Tis a special night, Mithrandir. Nobody should be
alone tonight...” Lindir gracefully tilted his head and smiled.
Gandalf found that smile VERY seductive! “Then why are
you?” he asked hesitantly.
“Am I? Do you find me not desirable, Mithrandir?”
Lindir took a very small step towards the
wizard. Gandalf suddenly thought the room had grown too hot!
“I think you are one of the most beautiful elves I’ve
seen, Lindir, but – oh sweet Eru!” Lindir had opened and dropped his robes. The
minstrel stood naked and ready in the moonlight that seeped through the thin
curtains of the high windows. Gandalf was certain he had never before seen
anything as beautiful as the slim form of Lindir’s.
Gandalf gingerly reached out to touch the naked elf.
His large hand traced the elegant curve from neck to shoulder, felt the silky
quality of the smooth, creamy skin. “So beautiful...” he whispered.
“Then have me, Mithrandir.” Lindir took a step
forward, his slim hands seeking entrance to the wizard’s robes but finding
none. “I see it is not easy to get through to you...”
“Lindir, I – I may be quite a disappointment: I am not
too experienced in matters of physical love.” The Istar confessed with a
becoming blush.
The minstrel’s finger closed the wizard’s lips. “You
will do alright. I trust you and you should trust me. Do you not feel the tide
pulsing in your veins?”
“Oh, yes!” Gandalf moaned. More than anybody else in
Middle-Earth did the Istari feel the turn of the tides, the spinning of the
sun’s wheel. He threw off his robes, revealing an amazingly firm, straight body
that was soon wrapped up in the elf’s embrace.
Gandalf worshipped the Elven beauty that offered
himself so willingly. His hands and mouth explored Lindir’s delicious body. The
elf tasted so sweet, so intoxicating that Gandalf felt almost dizzy. The small
whimpers and soft moans drove the wizard crazy. He was just paying homage to
the perfectly shaped shaft of Lindir’s. It was – engorged as it was now – of a
dark pink coloring with a purple head. It was longer than a Man’s, yet of same
girth and the head was less blunt with a more accentuated crown. Gandalf had a
hand wrapped around the base while he lapped at the tip. The trickle of pre-cum
tasted of honey and the Maia had just started to suckle at the member to get
more of the delicious essence from the moaning elf.
“Please, Mithrandir, stop teasing!” the minstrel
begged, spreading his legs wide.
“I’m afraid to hurt you...” Gandalf whispered, indeed
afraid to cause harm to the delicate Elda.
“I shall tell you a secret, Mithrandir:” Lindir panted
while he oiled himself, impatient to be taken “we do not break like glass, dear
wizard.” With that he elf wrapped his legs around the hovering wizard and
impaled himself on Gandalf’s weeping cock. “Oh, by the Valar!” Gandalf cried
out and threw his head back. He would have expected the elf to be less tight,
but the clenching muscles seemed to cut off his member. The torture was a sweet
one.
Moving in and out in a speeding up rhythm, Gandalf
kept his eyes open, wanting to see every nuance of emotion on Lindir’s face.
The minstrel’s soft sounds became more and more a continuous melody, indeed the
sweetest song imaginable to Gandalf. It all came to a climax so perfectly timed
that for a moment the world seemed to come to a rest and the wizard thought he
would die.
“Thank you for this song, my sweet Lindir.” Gandalf
held the elf in his arms, his head buried in the sweet-smelling mass of dark
hair.
“I thank you, my dear Mithrandir. I...I SAW things.
Beautiful things.” With that the elf slid off into reverie, dreaming of the
things Gandalf had let him see.
TBC...
