Question: what happens when you gather your Shakespeare, Victor Hugo, George Martin and Tolkien influences to combine them all in one story?
This mess happens!
The script and the dialogues had been nagging at me for days driving my brain into sleepless insanity (yes all those characters are alive in my head, get over it!) and I realized that I HAD to write it and put it out of my head, so here it goes! I had not envisioned to post it here but I thought that perhaps others might enjoy a very dark and alienated taken of Tolkien's work! (Bear with me, I'm crazy!)
AUTHOR'S BABBLING: I wish to apologize to all the Tolkien purists. I myself am quite the Tolkien fanatic and yet, I have dared to write a story with an OC as a main character! May I burn in the atheist Hell for my blasphemy! I had wanted to write with Eowyn instead not to scare readers away but it just did not feel right, for my brain had been creating a character of its own which incorporated the story by itself. Ever since I read the books as a teenager, I became fascinated with the different races and the not so subtle racism between them, especially as far as the elves are concerned. In this story I wanted to explore a darker aspect of the elves; are they so different – so much better – than the humans as Tolkien claimed them to be? I know that they were drafted to embody the christian morality (no premarital sex, fidelity, chastity as a whole blah blah blah) but we all know they are capable of horrors as it was the result of their banishment from Aman... Besides, I read that in one of Christopher Tolkien's letter, it was stated that elves like Glorfindel slept with several elleth everyday. I do not know if this is true - this certainly goes against the original drafting of the elven morality but oh well (and I do not find satire Glorfindel appealing at all!).
Tolkien would have probably had a heart attack reading this following piece of madness but although I admire the man, his work was rather sexist; I mean if you look at all the biracial couples, they all follow the same pattern: human man falling in love with elven female who abandon their immortality for the man! Yet you do not have the equivalent for elven males! I know patriarchy was a complete normalcy back then but it has always annoyed me, and oh well, I have a soft spot for tragic romanticism (my readers in other fandoms know it all too well!)!
In my defense, I have tried to remain as true to Tolkien as I could.
WARNING: dark themes, mild-graphic erotica, death, alternate universe, depression, general macabre atmosphere (It's rated M for a reason kiddies!)
Enjoy! \o/
SWIRLING SOULS IN AN ABYSS OF GOLD
ONE-SHOT
Of course, she knew him. Everyone did. His imposing and deadly stature forced admiration and fear into mortal and immortal hearts alike. She knew he had slain a Balrog, long ago. He was a keen and dangerous warrior from whom she did not like being too close. Like all the elves, he was a vision to behold, his physical perfection a mockery to her plain looks; with his hair the color of the sun and his fair and eternally young features. He could appear as wise as joyful, living life at its fullest only as a Firstborn was gifted to. He had seen so much of the world and beyond. The length of his knowledge intimidated her; he probably was one of the oldest elf to walk the lands of Middle Earth; thousands and thousands of years old, which did naught to ease her discomfort while in his presence. She could not grasp the concept of his immortality. It felt too alien to her, she whose very existence was tied to the whims of time.
He had winked at her once, but Glorfindel was known to be a player, with elleth and humans alike. An exotic demonstration of strength and beauty such as he was out of any mortal's reach; not that she would have nourished any hope of a connection, he made her feel terribly uneasy and she tried her best to avoid him, as she did with all the immortals.
Elves and humans did not belong together. Humans were flawed. Elves were not, they blossomed and remained constant in their grace and their existence. It was how Illuvatar had designed the Music to be played.
He watched her from afar. She was an embodiment of humanity; petite and curvy, with dirty blond hair and blemish skin. She was clumsy and loud; he had witnessed her stumbles on many occasions. She did not bear the grace of the Eldars. Her beauty was not akin to the Undomiel or the Queen of the White Woods. Her features were rough and asymmetrical, albeit quite fair in a pure human perspective. They reflected no perfection; there was something terribly animalistic about her, carnal even, with her full breast and large hips, and her mouth – such a beautiful mouth he longed to touch and kiss. The sight of her awoke the beast within him in a way that not even the prettiest elleth ever did. Elven beauty was a painting, a work of art, but this human girl, she was carved for consumption. It was a trait of her he had found himself to grow found of. It was different, unsettling, exciting. She inflamed his senses and scorched his soul, making life pulse through him in a lascivious dance of burning lava.
After the death of Isildur three thousand years ago, the social order was reorganized. Humans now integrated the lowest caste of Arda and were deprived of any right to settle political governments of their own – for safety issue; in the aftermath of the War, the elves and the dwarves agreed that humans were too weak to be trusted with power. It was the race of Men who had allowed the Ring to survive. It was because of Men that Darkness had temporary blinded Arda in a blood frenzy. The Eldars, the first and most strongly-willed children of Iluvatar, became the keepers of the race of Men. Humans lived in their own villages and could go about their lives under strict Elven tutelage and supervision to insure peace for all.
But at what cost...
If humans were technically not seen as property, the hatred between the two races had reached the seemingly point of no return. Some elven realms soon fell victim to a terrible affliction of misconduct mostly considered criminal if committed on a fellow elf. But humans were just humans, they were made to be used and discarded.
Human subjugation gradually ruined the elven spirit and planted a seed of Evil in their once pacific hearts. Elves often wielded their power of control in the harshest display of racial disdain. For many elves, humans were not people, they were alike cattle; weak, dirty, crude and impossible to save. They were a race of passing, forged in the ephemera, unworthy of notice and consideration. It was something Glorfindel abhorred. Humans were mortal and different from the elves but it meant not that their lives were less valuable. Life was precious, in all its forms, just like hers.
When Galadriel was a mighty divinity, Malia was a rose; likewise, she would fade and wither, and as long as Glorfindel could bask in her presence on this Earth, he wanted to know her better so that when she would pass, he could cherish bittersweet memories of her. He would live forever, young and beautiful. She would grow old, lose her peachy freshness and die. The thought hurt.
He wanted her short life to become a part of his.
He had tried to connect with her but for an obscure reason, the young human seemed afraid of him and averted her gaze whenever he tried to make eye contact. It pained him immensely. Her restrain was not unusual though. Most mortals seemed wary of the Firstborns, as if prone to jealousy and misconceptions. They thought the elves arrogant and too bright, surreal somehow. In their defense, the elves did not exactly try to temper the stereotypes. Many acted quite arrogantly indeed, appallingly so.
One of the worst was the great elven King Thranduil, son of Oropher, who ruled the biggest part of the Elven realm. His disdain for all things that were not an Elf - or himself! - was well known and the realm of the wood elves sadly famous for its unfair treatment of its human residents. If Men lived in relative poverty all around Middle Earth, those who dwelt in the Woodland were blatantly miserable and often died of starvation and medical complications caused by the insalubrity of their homes.
The state of the human alienage shocked Glorfindel when he first left the cozy confinement of Imladris to pay a visit to the King for matters of warfare. In all his long life, he had never witnessed such misery. In Mirkwood humans had never exactly fared well, but during the reign of Oropher their suffering had limits his son obviously cared very little for.
The human alienage in Thranduil's realm was a pit of horrors carved by Melkor himself. What Glorfindel had seen there would mark him forever.
He had seen mortal children who looked more like skeletons than children, too exhausted to stand on their young feet, vaulters patiently awaiting in the corner for one of them to exhume their last breath and feed on their corpse. He had seen mortal women and men being harshly mounted by lust driven soldiers, when it was evident that the human did not partake in their amusement; physical abuse was a crime the Eldar did not commit, ever. The soldier weakness was a human weakness. He had seen the elderly harshly pushed forward when pace was deemed too slow, thrown onto the ground and be forsaken in the mud. He had seen the small cabins that served as homes filled with sickness and filth of all kind, sheltering a dozen of humans when one already was too much for the space. He had seen the eyes of the humans filled with a white terror only the vision of an army of Orcs could strike in one's heart upon the arrival of the elves in the alienage; all humans had abandoned their post and ran away, their screams sickeningly similar to the ones expressed by the fallen elves of Gondolin as the forces of Morgoth lashed their flaming fury on the hidden city. But they were no Orcs neither Balrogs nor Dragons, they were just elves. Elves danced and sang and honored the passing of the seasons but they did not terrify, they did not maim, they did not starve innocents.
Glorfindel soon learned that in Mirkwood they did. Mirkwood was not Imladris and Imladris was not Lothlorien. The humans in the realm of Lord Elrond were fairly treated. If they did not benefit from any official representation in politics, they were happy. The crops they had grown and nourished themselves were theirs to collect. They had food, water and proper welfare. Lord Elrond being a Peredhel himself would have tolerated no abuse. In the Valley, the alienages were not even called alienages. They were villages and humans enjoyed as much freedom as the ancient elf could grant them.
The contrast with the Woodland was just too much. Hither, the humans worked on the fields till exhaustion but the profits of the crops were to be collected and enjoyed by the elves only. To survive, humans stole and searched the garbage. Those who were caught were killed with no Mercy. How could this be any different when even the lowest caste of the wood elves already were ill-treated themselves?
The first time he had finally been able to exchange with her, Malia had been caught stealing food. Three guards cornered her, ready to strike.
She had crouched on herself, waiting for her punishment. In all honesty, she could have defended herself but those were royal guards and she did not wish to enrage the King any more; he already despised her enough already, casting her deadly and hateful glances whenever their eyes met for a reason that she had learned to understand. Her eyes were closed, her breath shallow. She braced herself for the impact of the blade but the only impact she heard was a thud and the floor around her trembled. She heard a fight then nothing.
When she opened her eyes, there was a hand extended in front of her. She lifted her gaze and met stormy sapphires full of wisdom and mirth. She could feel her blood run cold.
The Vanya elf probably sensed her discomfort for he spoke in a gentle tone, "Fear me not, little one. You are safe now." A trembling hand seized his; her fingers were small and cold. He helped her on her feet. Her body was shaking, she was terrified. He looked so immense, so bright, "Are you well?" he spoke again.
She nodded shyly, "Aye, my Lord," she looked around her. Her three attackers were knocked down, "I thank you," she said, "but I could have defended myself!" There was fire in her voice, defiance in her eyes. Glorfindel's mouth stretched into an amused smile. Within him, the beast began to growl.
"Then why did you not?" he asked, his eyes locked on her full raspberry lips.
The fire in her eyes burned with more intensity, "Those were royal guards. I have no wish for death!" she snarled.
"Then perhaps had you better not stolen in the royal kitchens in the first place?" he suggested with a smirk.
"The guards are usually not so smart, my Lord!"
He chuckled, breathing deeply. She smelled delicious, so unlike the earthy smell of an elf. It was strong, spicy and potent in the air, making his head spin and the blood in his veins surge forward at an incredible pace. Images began to form in his mind eye. He could see himself lift up a pant of her skirt and her leg, pressing their bodies together. What spell was this? He took in their close proximity and how he had forced her to back up against the wall. He was losing control and she looked more wary by the minute.
"Fear me not, for I mean you no harm."
Did he? Then why was he looking at her like a lion ready to devour the antelope it had just caught?
"If not, then could you let me go?"
Reluctantly, he let go of her. He missed her warmth already.
"Thank you, my Lord," she replied swiftly before running away from him. He closed his eyes and inhaled; her smell still oozed around him. What spell was this?
"You should stay away from her!" a voice stated behind him, forcing him to turn around. He recognized him as one of the guards of the King.
"I mean her no harm," he objected and accused, "You certainly are more dangerous to her than I would ever be!"
The younger elf held his gaze, "What you wish to do with that human is none of my concern but the King would not be pleased."
Glorfindel arched an eyebrow, "I was not aware that the King cared that much for the humans!"
"This one is special. If you value your life, stay away from her," the guard warned before turning around, leaving the Vanya deeply puzzled.
What he had meant by that, Glorfindel found out a few weeks later. After their first and only conversation, Malia avoided him even better than before. It was hopeless, she would never stop fearing him.
He had decided to return to Imladris. He had had enough of the sordid atmosphere of the Woodland and missed the bright and peaceful Valley. Darkness had corrupted those woods and the Kind had gone insane, this was much certain.
As he head to the main door, he heard the echos of an argument. Interest peaked, he peered through the Throne Room. Thranduil stood murderous on his pedestal. Before him, Malia was forced on her knees, head bent against her will. She was held by two guards who kept her in her submissive stance.
"Where is it?" he asked in a low, growling voice.
"I know not, my Lord, I do not have it!" she replied, exasperated.
Glorfindel stepped into the room, "What is the matter?" he asked one of the guards.
"Apparently she stole an elvish dagger!"
Despite the gravity of the situation, he could not help but be amused by her wit. She was a little thief that one!
The King however looked ready to spit fire. He half knelt in front of the girl, "I shall find it, and when such happens, you shall be sorry to have robbed me!" he threatened in her ear, grabbing a fistful of her hair, making her whimper.
Out of reflex, the Balrog Slayer put a defensive hand on the pommel of his sword.
The doors opened, revealing a few guards back from a mission.
"We searched her cabin throughfully, my Lord. We found no dagger."
The King did not look pleased by the guard's answer. He made sign for the two elves to put the girl back on her feet, which they awkwardly did. She was so small, the King had to bend to reach her chin.
"The dagger is not in your cabin... I see..." he noted, dangerous folly dancing in his eyes, "You are a clever little monkey, are you not?" he whispered disdainfully.
He let go of her chin and began to pace. Glorfindel swallowed; no good would come out of this. After what seemed to be an eternity, Thranduil stopped his pacing and turned to face her again. What he asked of the guards after that, Glorfindel could not believe his ears.
"Disrobe her," he ordered.
The Vanya's eyes widened in shock and he immediately stepped forward, ready to put this impudent King back in his place. Thranduil might have been the King, he was the best swordsman of Arda and much older and stronger. A hand slammed in his chest to halt his interference. He looked up, his features deformed by a cold fury. Legolas, the young Prince and son of the King, was shaking his head, sadness and hopelessness in his eyes.
"He'd have both your heads," he told the elder elf.
Glorfindel growled beneath his breath and focused back on the scene. The guards were ripping the young human girl's dress, leaving her in her undergarments. They stepped aside, but the King was not satisfied.
"Completely," he ordered, strange venom in his voice.
Humiliation was one of the Elvenking's favorite method of punishment, were you elf or human.
The two guards exchanged an uncomfortable glance but complied and ripped her remaining clothes, leaving her bare and exposed to the eyes of the Eldars present in the room. Most of them had the decency to pry their eyes away, so did Glorfindel; yet, the soft curves of her breast and buttocks left a feverish mark in his memory forever.
Thranduil, however, had not looked away. He was staring straight at her, devouring her naked body with his eyes so fiercely Glorfindel feared he might act upon his desire and claim her in front of everyone.
Malia was hardly trying to cover herself. She stood proud and defiant, holding the King's burning glare.
"Satisfied, Sire? I told you that I didn't have any dagger! But you had to check, had you not?" she spat.
"She is crazy!" one of the elf commented. She had some nerve, Glorfindel would grant her that.
Thranduil did not appreciate her wit for his brow furrowed and he looked ready to grab a dagger of his very own, "How dare you speak to me like this, you little piece of filth?" he hissed like a snake, "I should have your head for your insolence!"
She looked at him, hatred openly expressed on her features, "Oh, I do know what you want, my Lord! And tis not my head! Why won't you take what you really want?! You're a big boy!" her eyes shone with unrestricted rage.
Glorfindel blinked, stunned by her eloquence. Beside him Legolas bit his lip in unrequited amusement.
The King paled, significantly offended beyond measure. He raised a trembling hand and for a second all thought he would hit her. Yet, he did not. He let his fist hung in mid-air, the muscles in his jaw working out his silent frustration.
"How typical of your race to soil the minds with impure thoughts!" he spat "How dare you? How can you imagine for one second that you may stir such a vile interest in me, you scum!"
"Because it's true!"
"Don't flatter yourself!" he turned to his guards, "Take that away from me, I shall deal with it later..." he faced her again as she was taken away, flashing him one last glare.
The King looked deflated and left in a swirl of silky robes. Gradually, all the elves vacated the Throne Room, leaving Glorfindel alone with the young Prince. He still had to register what he had just witnessed. What in the name of Eru was this? Never in Gondolin nor in Imladris would such a scene have taken place! Turgon was known for his temper but never would he have humiliated an innocent child! As for Elrond, the question was self answerable.
"There was a time he was a loving father and a wise King," Legolas spoke after a while. Glorfindel turned to him. The youngster continued, "But then, my mother died, darkness took over the woods and he began to change," he paused for a short while, trying to push painful memories away, "Then the human girl arrived. She drove him to slow insanity. He has never been the same ever since her coming hither."
Glorfindel frowned, "What trouble does he have with her?"
Legolas turned to face him, "Isn't it obvious?"
The Vanya looked down and gulped. It was painfully obvious, indeed, "Has he ever..?" He could not bring himself to say the word. Elves were spiritual creatures. They did not do such things.
Legolas shook his head in disgust, "I know not and I do not wish to."
Glorfindel's nostrils flared in anger.
Locked in his bedchambers, Thranduil was dawning yet another glass of Dorwinion. He could still taste her scent on his tongue, feel the ghost of her curves against his palm. He replayed every single one of her words in his mind. She knew – who did not? - and had inferred it in front of everyone. Had she offered herself? No, he was being ridiculous! The girl had not offered herself, she had mocked his desire; the desire of an ancient Eldar for a mortal child.
He rose from his chair, and stared at the roaring fire, bright flames dancing in the altar like dozens of strands of her blond hair, inviting him to come hither and set his jeweled fingers ablaze. He closed his eyes. There she appeared, bare and proud. He was standing behind her, holding her close, his face buried in the crook of her porcelain neck. His hand trailed from her sternum, swirling lightly between two round breasts, onto her toned and creamy stomach until his fingers brushed against soft curls. He trembled, eager to feel the flesh he supposed wet and pink.
His grip crushed the crystal glass in his hand as he realized what sinful fantasy had yet again taken over his mind. He reopened his eyes and grabbed the bottle beside him to throw it angrily into the fire, feeding it, making it burst with more passion.
He stumbled, closed his eyes again and let himself fall into the armchair, all strength abandoning him as he put his face in his hand.
What had she done to him?
He was a first age elven King! She was merely human. Humans were disgusting! They were ugly and filthy, prone to disease and death! How could he have sunk so low? How could he lust after a human, betray his beloved wife so? He shuddered, disgusted with himself. He was not weak. He was not dominated by his emotions – elves were spiritual and rational! They sought the long lasting serenity of the soul. They did not abandon themselves to fleeting passion. Yet, the mere vision of her was enough to send him into a frenzy of want. She devoured his every thought, turned his slumber into burning frustration. She was a demon created by Morgoth himself!
Before he could come in awareness of his actions, he had left his chambers and was heading toward the dungeons. The stench that welcomed him made his nostrils burn. He wrinkled his nose. Humans were disgusting!
She was in one of the cells, still naked. She had crouched in one of the corners and was playing absentmindedly with a small stone against the floor. Upon seeing him, she stood up in a haste, exposing herself to him once again. Unable to withstand her nudity, even in his drunken state, he cast dirty rags at her.
"Cover yourself!" he hissed.
She raised an eyebrow and accepted the torn tunic which she put on swiftly, "If I recall correctly Sire, you are the one who asked your guards to disrobe me completely!" she dryly noted.
"Shut up!" the King hissed. She complied and lowered her head. He remained silent for a while.
After a moment she lost her patience, "For how long am I to stay here?"
"You shall be freed when you tell me where my dagger is."
"I don't know where it is for I do not have it!"
"Stop lying to me!" he thundered making her tremble.
"I'm not..." she began but the King cut her harshly.
"I am the King of this realm, you are nothing but a worm I tolerate on my lands and I have grown tired of your constant insolence! Have you no shame at all?"
She glared at him, "I did not bare a girl in front of everyone for personal enjoyment!" she challenged him.
Thranduil's muscles tightened. How dared she? He would teach this impudent mortal her place. He only had to open the door and she would know. His body stirred.
"I find you quite playful for someone who is locked up in a cage!" he whispered darkly, "I can let you rot hither and you have no idea how much I wish to make that happen!"
She did not reply. She knew he spoke the truth.
"Enjoy this given time to think, little girl. You're just human, you'll be dead in a few decades and decades are nothing for an Immortal!" he said as he climbed the stairs back to his chambers.
She would grow old and fade.
His shadow on the wall disappeared and she was alone again, cold and hungry.
"You should really not aggravate the poor King like that, you know," a deep voice resonated on the other side of corridor. The Blarog Slayer smirked at her, his arms crossed against his broad chest, "You're making it no better!"
Her heart began to race in her rib cage. Another elf with whom to deal! How wonderful! As he walked toward her, she flattened herself against the dirty wall, a gleam of fear in her eyes.
Glorfindel sighed, "How is it that you have no shame disrespecting the King in person but when it is I you must deal with, you react as if I were a Balrog myself!"
She shrugged, "Well, you did slay one!" she noted lightly.
He quirked an eyebrow, "So you have heard of me?"
"Everybody has," she spoke without emotion, "You are Glorfindel, the mighty Balrog Slayer, the one who left the Halls of Mandos to come back! The only one. You are a legend!"
He smirked, "Your admiration touches me!"
She growled and looked away. For one so ancient, he sure was childish! "It is not because I respond to the King that I do not fear him..." she admitted, "I am proud, not stupid!"
"Umh... Pride can make you reckless at times!" he observed her for a moment. The clothes the King had thrown at her were completely torn and filthy, her hair was dirty and messy. She was far from impeccable, but had she opened the door for him, he would have passed the threshold without hesitation.
"What are you looking at?" she snapped at him when she realized he was watching her. The insistence of his gaze made her feel terribly self-conscious. She knew how dirty she appeared to a polished Firstborn such as he, "I'm a human slave, not an elven Princess!" she defended herself even though he had not attacked her.
"You are no slave!" he replied promptly.
"Am I not? How do you call a girl who was sold by her own father for two cows and one goat?"
Glorfindel frowned, "The deed of your father is unacceptable, but you are no slave, Malia. There is no slavery in Middle-Earth."
"How do you know my name?"
He shrugged, "I'm the Balrog Slayer! There is only so much that I can ignore! And you are no slave!"
She had a humorless laughter at that, "I know not whence you come from, my Lord, but this is the Woodland. Hither humans are nothing. We are a race of passing."
"This you are," he admitted, his throat constricting with pain, "You belong to an unfortunate social class but you are free to choose your own Fate."
"If I tried to run away, the King would have my head! I'm not stupid but I could never outrun elves. He already has decided to let me die of starvation in here! So unless you tell me that you have the key, I'm afraid that my Fate has reached a dead-end!"
"No, I do not have the key," he started reaching behind him, "But I have brought these," he gave her some bread and an apple. She accepted them shyly. "How old are you?" he asked as she devoured the bread.
"Seventeen, I guess" she replied in between munches.
Seventeen? Was she that young? "You guess? You know not?"
"How could I? I was but a child when I was given away!"
"Wherefrom did you hail?"
"I remember not... In a small village of one of the colonies perhaps."
"Have you got any family left?"
"Is this an interrogatory?"
"It's called making conversation!"
She observed him intently, pondering whether or not he was worth of honesty, "I had a brother," she slowly confessed, "But I know not what has become of him!" she bit in the apple, "He was the boy of the family. Father did not sell him..." she sounded bitter.
A moment passed. She finished her apple greedily. He watched her.
"Are you still scared of me?" he eventually asked.
"You are quite intimidating," she confessed.
"I will not hurt you."
She shrugged, "Why are you so interested in me, anyway? I don't suppose you care about all the humans you meet where you live!"
"In Imladris I need not to. Lord Elrond would never allow such abuse."
"Is he a King?"
"No. Not officially. He is the founder of the city and rules it. I am his Seneschal."
"But you're older than him!" she noted with a frown.
Glorfindel smirked, "You do know your history!"
"I'm a good listener!"
The Vanya looked up. People were coming. If he was caught with the girl, she would be in bigger trouble. "I must go. I shall come back!" he promised.
"Your dedication touches me!" He chuckled at the turn of his own words against him. She smiled a bit before being serious again, "The King wants me to confess something that I cannot. I am stuck hither for a very long time. I don't think that you should come back, my Lord. In a very short while this cell shall be even dirtier I'm afraid, and I already am enough uncomfortable as it is."
Glorfindel held her gaze, "I have seen the best and the worst of life. Naught that you could do would shock me!" he joked.
She licked her lip; his eyes immediately fell on her pink tongue, "Be careful what you wish for!" she noted.
He chuckled and left.
After two days of humiliation and captivity, Thranduil released her.
"Consider yourself lucky!" he had told her, "Next time, I shall not let you out!"
She ran to her favorite spot in the forest where the spiders had not yet dared to venture and unburied her sword. It was an unsharpened elvish blade, but it was all she had. She began to exercise with it, reproducing the movements she had seen others do. As she flipped, her sword collided with another, much heavier. Her breath caught in her throat. Glofindel's sword was blocking hers. The ancient elf was staring at her with fire in his eyes. Annoyed to have been interrupted – and caught by a much more experienced warrior, she stepped back.
"Are you following me?" she accused him.
"I heard the King had let you go. I merely wanted to see how you fared."
She observed him. He was equal to himself. Did elves never change? Were they always so clean and smooth? It was unnerving!
"I fare well, my Lord, thank you!"
"I was not aware that humans were allowed to carry arms!"
"We are not."
"Whence came the sword then?"
"I stole it!" she simply replied making him chuckle.
"So it was not a dagger which you stole after all!" he smirked.
She gave him a hard look, "Are you to turn me in?"
"Why should I?"
She shrugged, "You are the elf lord, my Lord!"
He changed the subject, "Do you always steal everything you use?"
"I am not given much. Should I want something I must get it by myself!" she fiercely replied.
He observed her. She looked adorable, like an angry little kitten. She would have been lovely in nicer elven attire. "Who taught you to wield the sword?" he asked. He had seen her; although she lacked proper technique, there was a determination about her which he found terribly endearing.
"No one. Humans are not allowed to carry weapons, do you remember?"
"I could teach you," he offered.
She stared at him in disbelief, "You would teach me to defend myself?!"
"Yes, I think it could come in handy, given your predicament."
"Us humans are not allowed to rebel against elves in this realm!" she slowly noted.
"I hail not from this realm!"
She stared at him, thoughtful. Learning to fight with Glorfindel? The idea was ludicrous! "You would lose your time, my Lord."
"I am Immortal. Time means naught to me!" he had noted the way her cheeks had turned pink. She looked lovely.
"I am no elf," she replied.
"I know!" No elleth had ever made him feel that way. All the nerves within his body were pulsing with energy and vigor. His feet were drawn toward her.
"I have not the speed nor the agility of your people," she stated again.
He smiled at her and put a strand of her blond hair behind her rounded ear gently. She gasped at his touch and licked her lip nervously. His fingers tickled with the lingering touch of her.
"There is a fire burning inside you," he began, "I am certain that you can be proficient with a blade." She lifted up her gaze to his, "Would you let me teach you? Even the basis." He wished to spend more time with her, "Besides, the time that you'd spend with a guest of the King such as myself would diminish your working hours! What says you?"
She nodded weakly, bewitched by his elven aura, unable to bear their suffocating proximity any longer.
They began to train regularly. For hours, they would dance in a swirling of swords and metallic clashing. He taught her basic moves of attack and defense, with a particular insistence of the defensive part. As Glorfindel predicted it, she was rather good. Although no elf, she was quite fast and determined. The most difficult had been to tame her fear of him and make her feel comfortable around him.
He could never have enough of her; the way she stumbled on herself and cursed her own feet for their lack of agility, the way her mouth twitched in the most adorable of pouts whenever she missed her blow or did not reproduce the movement right, the way her tongue poked from the corner of her mouth when all her being was focused on doing it right. She was like a butterfly; her frail body used all the life and energy it could muster for the short amount of time it was allowed on this Earth. The Eldar in their immortality never were that enthusiastic. It was refreshing to hear someone laugh and talk with none of the restrain the elves had walled their behavior in.
At night, when they had parted, she remained alone in the suffocating narrowness of her cabin. Her hand would travel down her body and satiate the strange forbidden hunger that the memory of his strong hands and pointed ears had grown within her. Tears of shame accompanied her release and she would curl up, repentant to have desecrated him so.
They spent many hours in each other's company for several weeks. When they were not dancing, they spoke – it was Glorfindel who did most of the talking and she listened with rapt attention; he had seen so much, it was fascinating. He told her of Gondolin and his friendship with Etchellion.
"What was Gondolin like?" she once asked.
"White and bright, blessed by the warmth of the sun even in times of nocturnal rest. It was a haven of magnificence and joy," he shared, lost in memories of days bygone.
"Were you born thither?"
He shook his head, "No, I was born in Valinor, the fairest land of all; the land where nothing never dies, the land of the Immortals!" she looked down in bitter sadness for those were places where admittance would always be denied to her. Glorfindel remained oblivious to her chagrin.
"Were you never married?" she asked, carving patterns in the forest ground with a small twig she had found nearby the tree beside which the sat.
"No."
"Why not? I thought elves found a spouse very early in their lives!"
"Most of us do, but I have yet to meet anyone with whom I wish to spend my eternity."
"Your eternity?" she asked, confused.
"Elves only marry once and remain faithful to their spouse for the rest of their lives!" the Eldar explained.
"Oh!" she replied, perplex.
He smiled, "Is this so difficult to accept?"
She mimicked him, "You have lived for millenia and yet, you have never known love?" Was it what he meant?
"My search has not been particularly vehement either!" he confessed with a wry smile.
"But you have known moments of passion, have you not?" It was inconceivable that such an ancient being was still foreign to the matters of the flesh!
Glordinfel recognized the signs of confusion on her face and laughed as he guessed its source, "Tis true that elves and humans seek different forms of love. I know humans to be easily tempted by desire and entitled to change of companion many a time during the course of their short lives. All about your race seems to be ephemeral, replaceable," he noted with sorrow, "Nothing never lasts; not even your love..." She frowned as he lost himself in chagrin, "Elves do not indulge in fleeting desire as Men do. We have very little interest in a rushed and superficial collision of the flesh. My race is not drawn to the treachery of passion. We care only for a bonding of the soul."
"Humans want to make the most of their lives, short as they are," Malia offered to explain, quite deflated by his confession; she was not immortal and as such could not compete for the place in his selective heart.
Glorfindel nodded, "I understand. But as an immortal being this desperate haste is foreign to me and shunned by my kind." Although he had a much better understanding of this strange need to collide in a haste now that he knew her!
She still was pretty much perplex and saddened to be indirectly rejected, "Are you meaning to tell me that an elf as old as you has never indulged in?" she mocked him.
He found her lack of modesty amusing but declined to give her the answer she wanted, "You think me old?" he asked instead in fake offense.
"How old are you? Five thousand? Six thousand?"
"Seven thousand and two hundreds ninety-one," he corrected her.
She blinked at him, trying to make sense of what he had just stated, "I am a decade and a half!" she replied in shock.
"I know," he replied softly. Her impossible youth seemed terribly confusing to him.
"Seven millenia! How can you be seven millenia? It makes no sense to me! How can anyone live so long?"
"Would you not wish you were immortal?" he genuinely inquired.
She shrugged, "Why? I enjoy being mortal! Everyday matters, every hour counts. Who would want to live forever? I mean, I understand the enthusiasm in being immune to the passing of time but after a while days must seem terribly dull and repetitive... If you have no limits, why achieve anything at all?"
"To try even better?" he suggested equally lost to their philosophical diatribes, "Immortality provides you with endless opportunities to improve yourself till you can master whatever it is you wish completely!"
"But if it never ends, then why choose to succeed in the first place? If there is no end, there is no success. It's a never-ending loop! As if being locked in the maze of time forever, with no chance of escape! You try and succeed only to try and succeed again! The very first success loses all essence. It's nullified, void of meaning! In the end, it is just about filling the emptiness of life. Immortality is a quest to perfection, but I do not think that perfection makes you real."
Glorfindel was listening to her. Immortality was what it was, a poisoned gift. Days and years passed him by in a never-ending pattern of sunrises and sunsets. Elves were by definition not sensitive to the changes around them for themselves never changed. He looked at this bright girl. She was alive, full of a passion he had not felt for thousands of years, when he was still a young elf discovering the beauties of life. One day, the discoveries had stopped and he had frozen within himself.
"Do you think me unreal then?" he asked with a half smile.
She stared at his flawless features, "Sometimes!"
He chuckled, seeing what she meant. He was so far away from her. Even though she was beside him, there was a veil between them that could not seem to be crossed, "Mortality and immortality both have their advantages and flaws. But I do suppose that we have a different conception of time and how we should occupy it!"
She nodded, straightening up, "Speaking of which, let us go back to the training!"
He smiled at her and follower her suit. She resumed her defensive position, determination back on her face. Glorfindel smiled softly and went to correct her stance.
"Not like that," he breathed in her ear, positioning himself behind her to arrange her arms and legs, "If you put your arm this way, you shall not be able to block your opponent. You must curve your elbow like this," he had bent so that their faces could be at the same level, his breath ghosted over her cheek, making her shake as if caressed by a cold breeze. Her hair tickled his nose; in his large hands, her limbs felt impossibly small and soft. "Like this," he corrected in a whisper, "You see?"
She did not see anything. She could only focus on the way he smelt and felt against her; lithe and heavy, immensely strong and gentle. She closed her eyes and listened to the music he spoke in her ear, each breath, each word, each touch of his immortal hands commanding time to stop, pooling liquid fire between her legs. Her breath became deep and slow. She needed more of this unattainable creature.
Glorfindel's vision blurred. His hands had trailed on her hips, his fingers dug into her flesh. He rested his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes, holding her in an embrace of steel. Her sword stood limp by her side. Around them Nature sang and swirled.
She turned to face him. She had meant to speak but their proximity stunned her. Her eyes were just at the level of his mouth and she could not look away. She lifted her gaze to his, questioning and confused, scared even. Glorfindel swallowed, responding to her hesitancy with equal mute intensity. They stared at each other, trying to decipher and understand the emotions in the eyes of an individual so different from themselves; he so ancient and resistant, she so new to the desires of this world.
Her eyes lowered to his lips again. She wanted to feel them so terribly. What an offense to his name! She looked up. The same fire burned in his eyes, or had she lost herself so deeply in her fantasy? Would he cast her away?
He put his hand to her cheek, his fingers trembling against her flushed skin. He could feel her desire, smell it heavy in the air. His resistance was slipping, he who had not lost control for such an eternity. He lowered his eyes to her full lips, conveying his permission, sharing her will. She breathed deeply. He realized that she was too shy to make the first move and obliged. His lips lightly met hers in a most timid kiss, as if braving the very chords of the Music, changing its tune and rhythm. He opened his eyes to look a her, asking for silent permission to keep on composing. She wet her lip with a pink tongue, inhaled a much needed gulp of air and nudged him. He kissed her again; a succession of small and chaste kisses, each one of them awaking him to a twister of lust he was sorely unaccustomed to. The succession turned into one firm connection of their lips which she eventually parted to let him in. His hands had moved to embrace her. The sword fell to the ground in a thud. Her fingers brushed against the silk of his sunny hair without touching it – she would not dare.
The twister carried him away in its whirling. Life was pulsing through his veins, pushing against the constriction of his leggings.
He pressed her to the trunk of the tree, kissing her with a passion and a need he knew not, his mouth devouring hers in complete abandon. He no longer felt like an elf, or a Balrog Slayer, or someone in existence at all. He could only feel her and the terrible hunger she induced in him. His fingers brushed against the softness of her bare thigh, lifting her leg on his hip. He began to open his leggings. He needed her, he needed to claim her, to become her. The first time he had felt this alive went back to his very first gulp of fresh air after his re-embodiment on Arda. He let go of her mouth to attack her neck, biting it, marking her skin, rubbing against her, growling in her ear. As he readied himself to slip his hands under her dress to rid her of the garment which prevented them to fuse, her panicked voice startled him out of his trance.
"Wait!"
He looked up. She was trembling. He realized how much he had let himself been carried away by his emotions and unusual needs.
"Are you alright?" he asked, still dazed by barely known sentiments.
She avoided her gaze and squirmed out of his grasp, "I can't... Forgive me..."
He watched her disappear in the dark forest. He had not felt that much of a fool ever since his young years, when he was still but an impetuous elfling pursuing the fair Idril in what had been an adolescent crush. His desire for Malia had taken the best of his judgment. The fright she may have had!
He went to find her after the night sky had replaced the brightness of the day. She was in the alienage, sat on a the stairs of a stone patio. Upon the arrival of a mighty elf, the humans fled into their homes. Their wariness pained him. When she saw him, she tried not to flee. She kept her position and followed each of the steps he took toward her with her eyes.
"I wish to apologize for my poor behavior," he began softly.
She shook her head, "There is naught to apologize for, my Lord."
"Quite contrary. I have taken liberties with you that I should not have without you voiced consent. This was vile of me." He had a grimace of disgust.
"I thought elves were not drawn to the treachery of passion!" she turned his words against him with a small amused smile.
He licked his lips, feeling more foolish than ever, "We are not," he asserted with a voice less steady than he had hoped.
Her smile turned into a smirk, "Then what was that?"
He looked away, terribly uncomfortable, "I know not. I do not understand it either."
She took pity of him, "Whatever this was, you have not done anything that I did not want you to do," she replied all the while avoiding his eyes, "I myself am not insensitive to your charms," she blushed and met his frowning expression, "But I cannot do this. Not with you."
Rejection twisted his heart in a vicious and tingling agony. His ears began to ring, as if suddenly filled with water.
"I do not understand," he began, "You have just stated otherwise." He knew of the desire which had shaken her senses but a few hours ago.
She sighed and stood. She headed to the cabin in which she dwelt. He followed her suit. The constriction and the darkness of the place made him suffocate.
"You must understand how confusing this situation is to me," she said as she poured herself a cup of muddy water from an earthenware jar.
"As it is to me, I can assure you!"
"But not for the same reasons! See, all my life I have grown and struggled amidst the vermin of this world. My existence is substantial. I am human. You are an elf, one of the Firstborn; prized and cherished by the Valar when my people has only known death and torment. We do not belong together. Your beauty is too bright, your wisdom too massive. I cannot compare to your perfection. With you, I feel too small, too soiled, too limited. With the humans, I care not; we are all the same. But you... The emotions you awake in me are too strong and too capricious to tame. I want none of it."
He swallowed and approached her slowly, "You are scared, this I understand."
"You are seven thousand of years old! I, merely seventeen! You have lived through all the ages of this world! All I know is the alienage. The elves with whom I have grown are unchanged! They are still small children when I shall be an adult in a few moons! Do you have any idea how odd it feels? How quaint?"
He sighed and looked away. The difference of growth rhythm between the Eldar and the Adan was quite problematic indeed. It was as though the Valar themselves had not wanted the two races to mingle. Glorfindel was determined to prove them wrong, just as Luthien and Tuor had before him.
"I can understand that my age frightens you..."
"Aye, it frightens me!" she insisted.
He ignored her, "But never in my long life have I felt the way I do when you are by me." She gave him a puzzled look, "I speak the truth, you have been my witness," he began to gently caress her face, "You make me feel alive, like no one before. I am drawn to you. There is a fire within you Malia, a fire so bright and so powerful that I cannot stay away." They had grown closer. He took her chin to make their eyes meet. She tried to look away, "Do not be shy. Do not pry away from me."
"What is it you want from me?" she asked in a small voice.
He ran a thumb on her soft cheek, "I want you to speak with your heart. Let go of your fear and prejudices. Do you want me as much as I want you?" She lost herself in the blue of his luminous eyes.
A tear fell on Glorfindel's thumb, "Yes..." he erased it and smiled.
He bent to kiss her slowly. She tasted of salt and mortality. He embraced her, caressing the small of her back. She moaned in his mouth, the vibrations of her voice echoing directly into his groin. Conscious of the thinning of his restrains, he let go of her and kissed the tip of her nose. Their foreheads touched, their breath mingled.
"You do realize that if the King catches us we are both dead?" she asked him.
"The King does not own you!"
"He is the King."
Glorfindel did not reply. Thranduil was the closest to a tyrant, and he was impossible to reason with.
"I will protect you. I shall not let anything happen to you, this I swear!"
She looked down, "My Lord..."
"Glorfindel," she looked at him questioningly, "My name is Glorfindel."
They lost themselves in each other's gaze; ageless blue becoming passionate green.
Time with him felt surreal. He was like the ocean, sometimes tempestuous, sometimes calm, unaffected by the striking chaos around him for he was the chaos. She wanted to melt in his embrace, pray the Valar to be granted the right to remain; remain by him, remain as she was. Could she even love him?
He often wondered if she would ever be completely comfortable with him. Even though they spoke and laughed, there still lingered traces of wariness and restrain he was eager to see gone.
A few weeks later, he received the unexpected visit of the Lord of Imladris in pro se. He had been made aware of the warrior's infatuation for the human and urged him to return with him to the Valley and forget about her.
"Do you have no compassion at all for this girl whose heart you shall break with a fake promise of love?" the Peredhel inquired.
"My love for her is genuine," Glorfindel fought back.
"What you feel for this child is a mere infatuation, nothing more. Your love for her is a fantasy. You love her exoticism. Humans are naturally abundant with pheromones elves do not have! Your attraction to her is the result of biological curses! It is not real!"
"It feels real! It is real!"
"It is her youth and difference which you find endearing, but it shall not last. In but a few years she will have changed and you will betray her love for a fresher candidate. The beauty of the elves is perilous for the mortals, Glorfindel. She will fall victim to your charm and give herself entirely to you. Do not be cruel. Let her go."
Glorfindel grew enraged, "I am no Man! I have not shared the bed of a woman in centuries! Do not accuse me of being a switcher!"
"We are immortals and far less prone to lust than humans. Your inactivity is thusly justified, but it does not equal to you remaining faithful to her - human!, for this you shan't."
The Balrog Slayer gave him a fierce look, "I will bind myself to her!" he challenged.
Elrond blinked, "Do not be idiotic! You shall do no such thing!"
"I will take her away with me and share every moment of her short life till her passing," he promised with emotion.
"Then you shall know heartbreak of the worst kind," Elrond warned, "Elves and humans do not belong together. My ancestors paid the folly of their love with their lives!"
"It is a price I am willing to pay!"
"You are for the moment blinded by the desires of your heart. They prevent you from seeing the gravity of the situation. But when you will have satisfied your lust for that girl, it will be too late. I have been told that the King is obsessed with her. If you were to steal her from Thranduil, you would sign her death sentence."
"The King abuses her!"
"But he is the King! No harm shall befall you for you are Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer but she, she would know the King's wrath. If you care about her half as you claim to, you will stay away from her."
"Thranduil does not own her!" he repeated stubbornly.
"Glorfindel, we are not in Imladris, this is the Woodland realm. Humans hither are slaves. Thranduil has right of life and death upon all the inhabitants of the Kingdom, elves and humans alike. He is possessive and unreasonable. According to his son he has grown positively mad over the years! It is suicidal folly to challenge him! Do not be foolish! Come back with me! Leave this place of chaos!"
"I am not leaving without her!"
Sudden sadness clouded Elrond's eyes, "Then you are lost to me, my friend."
He departed the same day with the elves of the Valley who had accompanied Glorfindel six months before.
In retrospect, Glorfindel should have listened to the wisdom of the Peredhel. But blinded by love and desire, he ignored his warning and drank in the sight of her.
Her body rose and fell with each stimulus of passion. Knelt between her legs, he watched as his hands trailed from her thighs to her stomach, cupping her tender breast as they reached their destination, caressing the rosy peaks with a gentle thumb before trailing backward again. He closed his eyes and gasped at the searing wetness of her intimate flesh against his fingertips. She felt so warm, so soft, so wonderfully sweet. He found with ease the small appendix of her pleasure, sending her into a frenzy of sensations. He teased her over and over again, always refusing her the deeper caress she was adamant to feel, watching in bewitchment as she gradually opened for him, like a beautiful flower in a fresh morning dew. She arched her back, extended her arms behind her and gasped, breathing deeply, moaning his name. His heart swelled. She was so beautiful, so full of an animal sensuality which was natural to her and so foreign to him.
"Please," she begged him again, flushed and impossible to resist.
He obliged, unable to deny her what she needed any longer, and slipped one of his long fingers inside her which he soon completed with another after slow, gentle caresses, eager to feel more of her. She squirmed beneath him and jolted as he pressed against a most sensitive spot, sending hot waves of pleasure down her spine, bringing tears of delight to her eyes. He observed her, mesmerized by the reactions he incited in her. Passion pooled onto his fingers as she exalted the ecstasy his expert hands had worked within her; those hands which had probably provoked equal sentiments to hundreds before her and to an infinity after her passing; in his bed and this world, no matter if the elf had claimed otherwise. The thought momentarily froze her.
"Are you well?" he asked with a frown, sensing her sudden shock.
She reopened her eyes only to be met with questioning bright blue. She did not reply and was bold enough to kiss him to soothe his worries. How many before her had abandoned themselves in his embrace? Had he enchanted them all with the same facility? His same spell of elven beauty? She was but a grain in the sand of his life.
She heard ruffles around her and rose to her elbows. There he stood, tall and broad, long and thick, his hairless skin glowing with the aura of his people, a golden mane framing his sculptural perfection. The sight of his bare magnificence awoke a sudden shyness in her heart and she gathered herself together, shielding her human body from his view. His brow furrowed in concern as he went to embrace her.
"Why the sudden fright?" he asked softly. She met his eyes only briefly. She was shaking, he realized, "Tis the first time?" She shook her head vehemently, "Tis me, then?" the tip of her tongue pocked her top lip. Glorfindel thusly obtained the reply he dreaded, "I do not wish for you to be wary of me, not in such a moment!"
She looked up, "I am not wary... I just..." she trailed off. How could she say that she could not handle so much beauty? That she was afraid of the pain?
"What ails you?" he pressed, "Speak to me!" he observed her, searching for signs he would recognize, "Do you fear I might hurt you?" he asked softly, "I shall bring you no pain, this I swear!" she looked down; there was always pain.
"I have never shared the bed of an elf before," she replied instead even though it was a lie.
He smiled gently, "As I have never with a human!" he too confessed, nuzzling her worries away with soft kisses and gentle words, "Do not fear, all shall be well!" he kissed her again, making her deliciously moan, "You're a jewel!" he laughed lightly, "Beautiful jewel!"
She rubbed impatiently against him and he smiled against her lips. His mouth traveled from her jaw to her neck to the crease between her round breast to her stomach and reached its destination on the soft wet mount of flesh between her trembling legs. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized what was bound to happen. She gripped the sheets as she felt a soft and firm muscle caress her, bringing her heart to the rim of combustion. There was something terribly enthralling in having this ethereal creature doing such primitive chores. Lost in herself, she brought her hands on his golden hair and enclosed him between her thighs, her heels rested on his shoulder blades. He flickered his tongue inside her and she arched again. She tasted sweet and a bit bitter, like the passing and losses of an immortal life. He devoured her until she fell apart beneath him, pouring more nectar into his eager mouth. He licked his lips to gather the last remnants of her and trailed onward, imitating the same pattern of worship as he had before. Hey eyes were glassy, her cheeks flushed, her breath deep. She looked lost in an in-between, lovelier than ever before.
He brushed her cheek with his thumb, "Love becomes you!" He kissed her again, aching for his own release.
Their two bodies fused in the intimacy of a midsummer night. He joined their hands and dove into scorching velvet. He closed his eyes, lost in bliss. This was where he belonged; sheathed up to the hilt inside her. He set a slow and gentle rhythm, making sure to adopt the curves of her anatomy not to hurt her. She braced herself for the usual pain but gasped when instead of pain, she was assailed by a delicious thrill. Her eyes shot open. What an odd sensation!
Upon hearing her moan, he met her eyes instantly, "Am I hurting you?" he asked, not quite sure of how to behave with a human so young.
She lost herself in the blue of his eyes and smiled, shaking her head. He returned her smile, kissed her and resumed his moving.
His hair fell on her shoulder, tickling her skin with its silky touch. Her warmth and tightness overwhelmed him and he bit into her collarbone. She silently screamed and allowed trembling hands to rest on his broad waist as he pounded inside her, filling her so completely she thought she might absorb him – if only she had. He kept rocking above her, his mouth hardly leaving hers, his eyes drinking in the sight of her features contorted with intense pleasure. He straightened up and dug his hands on her thighs to reach a better depth within her. She opened her eyes in ecstasy and stared mid-aware at the rolling muscles of his abdomen before her then to his head thrown back in utter abandon. It was hypnotic.
Time had stopped; they were no longer mortal nor immortal. Time mattered not for there was Time no more.
He suddenly pulled her up with him and gathered her in his arms, helping her bob in his lap. She looked down. He looked up. His hands rested on her hips to support her. He looked suddenly so much like her; naked and vulnerable, full of need and trust. She cupped his face and kissed him on the lips. Their eyes met again and they smiled at each other.
He let himself fall on his back and she put one of her hand on his firm torso for better leverage, the other joining down to complete the elf's inner touch. The sight of her glowing body rocking above his in the moonlight was too much to withstand. Unwilling to depart before her, he flipped them over and indulged in a few rapid thrust, eyes closed, his arm circling her waist, his open mouth locked on her shoulder blade, tongue poking out to taste the salty skin beneath. He reached her to the deepest and made sure to bring her to the land of undoing before his immortal heart died a little. As she came for the last time, pinned underneath the heavy Eldar, she felt small.
They remained spooned in silent satisfaction, playing with each other's fingers.
"Are you well?" Glorfindel abruptly inquired, breaking the sacred contemplation.
"Yes! Why would I be not?" she replied as she pushed her index against his.
He bit his lip, feeling suddenly foolish, "Forgive me. My knowledge of humans is not exactly expansive, I'm afraid!"
"Are elleth that different?" she asked, enjoying the feel of his naked skin against hers.
He paused and thought her question for a moment before answering what should have been an evidence, "No."
"Then why would you have hurt me?"
"Usually, elleth your age are..."
"Still learning to walk, I know!" she completed for him making him burst with laughter. She looked up at him with a smug smile. They remained silent for a short while, admiring the milky way from the window across Glorfindel's bed, "My people believes that when one of us dies, they join the Stars and become one of them," she suddenly shared.
The Vanya quirked an eyebrow, "This is a much poetic theory."
She raised her hand toward the stars, "What does dying feel like?"
The question took him aback and brought dark memories to his dazzled mind, "Like failing."
"Were you frightened?"
The agony of the fire tugged at his heart, "I was weary. I just wanted the pain to recede." She turned to him and kissed him with compassion. They stared at each other. She extended a hesitant hand toward his beautiful face, brushing his cheek before removing her fingers just as quickly. He frowned, "Do not be shy! You were not shy if I reckon but a few moments ago!" he reminded her in jest making her blush, "I shall not break, you can touch me!"
She smirked lightly and stroke his cheekbone, then his nose, his mouth and his leaf-shaped ear, brushing the contours of the pointy tip in awe, "You do not seem real," she whispered.
He shuddered under the delicious tingling sensations her gentle touch provoked, "I can assure you that I am much real, or have you failed to feel me?" He asked in fake offense. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson and she rested her head on his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat, "We will leave this place of madness together and I shall never leave you!" he promised her.
She did not reply. She closed her eyes and focused on his scent. She knew that he was lying, but there was comfort in the deceit; it spoke of light and dreams, of freedom and eternity.
Thranduil had not left his chambers for days, spending them in the dark confinement of his room; a shadow of himself drowning his longing for her in bottles of expansive wine. He was slowly fading for humanity, wishing to join it for the sole reward of her.
He walked to the window, watching her from afar as she filled a bucket with water. The familiar ache gripped at his heart, pouring its molten mockery down his veins. He watched as Glorfindel reached to playfully take the bucket from her, making her chase him to retrieve her property. Cold jealousy overcame him. He knew of the rumors, of course; the Vanya was terribly fickle for an elf! Jealousy turned into envy as he witnessed the kiss that terminated their childish game.
He pried his eyes away with a grimace of disgust. How shameless! How crude of them to be sharing intimate gestures for all to see! And yet, he could not help but feel admiration for the older elf; Glorfindel had dared when Thranduil had shamed himself away. He had yielded to his weakness. There was no glory in being weak, the King reckoned, but the persistent yearning he felt was slowly driving him to insanity.
He turned to the window again. She was still embracing the Eldar. He frowned. Elves were not weak. The craving of the flesh held little appeal to them. Yet, when he imagined the feel of her beneath him, his resolved were vanquished and he called one of the guards.
When Glorfindel saw the shuddering elf approach them, he should have known that danger was near. The young guard – for it was evident to the Vanya that he barely was a few centuries old – spared a constricted glance to the odd couple.
"I am sorry to disturb you but the King wishes to speak with you, my Lady," he began in a stutter.
Glorfindel spoke his suspicion, "What is that he wants with her?"
"I didn't do anything!" she completed.
The guard looked away, "I merely am the messenger, my Lady. The King has required your presence. It is all I was told."
She frowned. As she stepped forward Glorfindel blocked her, his breath stuck in his throat in silent disagreement. She shook her head at him, "It is alright. I shall be fine," she assured him as she passed by him, following the uncomfortable guard back to the wooden castle.
The guard let her enter the King's chambers, closing the doors behind her in ominous warning. The room was unexpectedly dark for an elvish den. It was as though no window had been opened for days, leaving the air thick and oppressive.
"Come closer," a dark voice growled.
The King was spread across a large sofa made of red and golden cushions. He was draped in robes of silver silk, his crown forgotten on the seat by him. There was a goblet of wine held neglectfully in his hand which he had obviously been filling a copious amount of time; he looked quite flushed, even for an Eldar.
"You asked for me, my Lord," she began, hesitant.
He put the glass on the table beside him and turned a dangerous glare to her, "Malia..." he whispered like a lament. She began to shake. He looked haunted and prone to the foulest of deeds. He straightened up and kept his burning gaze lifted at her. There were pain and hatred in his eyes, "Come closer," he ordered again in a barely audible voice. She complied and now stood between his legs, his hands circling her waist to keep her in place.
Hither she was, in his arms. He only had to extend his hand to remove the last barrier between them. He could feel the tenderness of her hips beneath his fingers and dug them dipper into her flesh, sensing the turbulence of his desire blending with the alcohol he had been consuming all day. He let his hand trail on her dirty dress and let them rest on her stomach just beneath the curve of her round breast. His heart was pumping blood furiously, each beating resonating in his ears, making him deaf and blind to all that was not a part of her. Satisfactory joy overwhelmed him. He would claim her. He would quench his thirst of her.
"Just once," he whispered more for himself, squeezing her in anticipation.
As he was about to demand her to remove her dress, he looked up and froze. Tears strained her porcelain cheeks. Her lips were quavering. There was a glimmer of despair in those green eyes.
His fantasy shattered into reality.
Realization of his impending treachery dawned on him and he released her, as if burnt all over again. Beyond the body was a frightened child whom he had almost abused in the most horrendous of ways. He stood up and took a few steps, lost in the monstrosity of his thoughts.
"Go away," he whispered wearily. He turned to her. She had remained frozen and still conveyed signs of shock. The sight was nauseating, "Go away!" he said more firmly.
The girl looked confused but obliged and fled the cursed room. He remained unmoving for a while, still shocked and horrified with himself. Eventually, his shock turned into a white anger and he grabbed the last bottle of wine to throw it violently against the wall. The crystal smashed to pieces in a metallic cry and spilled its red content on the portrait of his deceased wife.
She did not run back into Glorfindel's arms to cry; no tear was shed. She only walked. When the Vanya inquired about what happened, she shrugged and replied that the King was gone.
The sun no longer set into the royal chambers. The trays that the servants brought remained untouched day after day. He would only ask for more wine.
She was everywhere; her face reflected on the rich vermilion in his goblet, her touch embraced him through the moist sheets of his bed, each embroidery was a strand of her hair, each breeze her breath against his neck. As Thranduil lost himself in heated dreams, she and Glorfindel lost themselves into each other; in the confinement of a bedroom, on the softness of a mattress or the urgency of a rug, the wall or the trunk of a tree. She had grown in confidence and was now daring enough to take the lead, to bite and pull, to turn this pristine creature into a disheveled mess of begging. There were still times when a sudden anxiety would dim her lust and and she would shy away from his touch. When such happened, he would embrace her tightly and kiss her brow, sensing the undefeated phantom of past memories still gripping at her heart.
"Do you remember when I told you that my father sold me when I was six?"
Glorfindel frowned. He could feel an impending confession weighing above their respite, "Yes."
"I was sold to farmers who sold me to a brothel a few months later," she confessed softly and Glorfindel lowered his eyes, a pang in his chest. "I escaped when I was fourteen. I walked for days until I passed out of exhaustion. The Prince found me near the borders. He thought I had tried to run away from the alienage and brought me back with him."
No question was asked, no distress spoken out loud. There was no need to. Everybody knew what happened to little girls in a brothel owned by humans. The Vanya nudged her closer to him, as if trying to erase evil touches from the soul of her skin.
The Healers were summoned. After they had examined the King, they concluded that he had fallen victim to a malady of the mind. He twisted and turned, restless in his sleep; his skin growing duller and colder. Legolas remained powerless by his father's side as he watched him slowly fade.
"Get me the girl," Thranduil whispered, prone to a fever caused by the abuse of liquid poison.
Legolas frowned, confused. If that human girl was all that his father needed to recover then he would sacrifice her, no matter how horrid the prospect was; the abuse of an innocent and a shameful betrayal to the Queen. Just as he left the bed, a panicked hand grasped his arm.
"No!" Thranduil exclaimed, "Let the girl! She is innocent! I wish her no harm!" he put his head in his hands, delirious, "It is all her fault! She has done this to me!"
The mighty King began to cry and Legolas wished a breach would open beneath their feet to take all the madness away.
After a month and a half of training, she managed to block his sword and knocked him down, pointing a victorious blade to his throat. He smiled up at her grinning expression, proud.
"Well played," he began, "But I let you win!"
Her smile turned into a smug smirk, "Is that so?" she asked as she straddled him, playing along.
He embraced her, "I am the Balrog Slayer! No one can beat me unless I want them to!" he explained, "And certainly not a small human girl! You distracted me!"
She raised an eyebrow and pouted, "A small human girl! You offend me, my Lord!" He smiled against her lips, "I think you deserve to be punished!"
"By all means!" he kissed her, reaching to cup her cheek but she grabbed his hand and led it to the dampness under her skirt instead. The elf arched a very much amused eyebrow at her bold move but complied to grant her what she was silently asking.
As he emptied a new glass his shaking hand was desperate to keep in place, he saw her. She was on his bed, laughing, mocking him, her dress half lifted, her cheeks flushed in merriment. The King grimaced and stumbled forward, sweat perspiring from his brow.
"What are you laughing at?" he slurred, hateful.
He looked up again and gasped. Before him the Queen stood, stern betrayal flashing in her eyes.
"I am sorry, my love," he whispered. Her gaze darkened, "Please forgive me! It is she! She has done this to me!" he looked away, prone to a new wave of folly, "A witch! She is a witch!" It all made sense! She had poisoned him with human magic! "A dangerous witch!" he whispered again, eyes widened in sudden revelation.
He looked by the bed again. The Queen was gone and the laughter had ceased.
He brought a hand to his burning forehead and let the content of the goblet spill on the carpet as he thought of green eyes and broken promises of eternal love.
"Let us leave," Glorfindel announced as they rested against the tree which had witnessed their growing passion.
"To go where?"
"I'll bring you to Imladris with me!"
She looked confused, "You want me to leave one elven realm for another elven realm?! To what aim?"
"In the Valley humans are happy!"
She frowned, "But they're still slaves! I shall still be a slave!"
Glorfindel sighed, "No! There is no slavery in Middle-Earth! The situation in Mirkwood is exclusive, Malia!"
"We are cattle!"
"It is not true and you know it! You simply need to be supervised!"
She turned to him, suddenly enraged, "Why? Because we are weak and dangerous for the well being of all?"
Glorfindel blinked, bemused by her passionate outburst, "The race of Men has proven many a time that without solid support it was prone to folly!" he tried to reason with her, "The elves have only wanted to protect the humans from their own treacherous nature! I agree that there has been incontestable abuse conducted in the very name of safety and that the way humans are handled hither is unacceptable, but the ancient agreement was for your own good!"
"Protect?" she exclaimed in disbelief, "They want to protect us? Have you been listening to yourself?" she spat and Glorfindel sighed, "I have lived under the protection of your glorious people my whole life!" she stood up abruptly, "I have been forced to go through hunger, humiliation and physical abuse! And those were perpetrated by your so-called protectors!"
"The situation in Mirkwood is special but in the other realms..."
"You have claimed it yourself!" she cut him off, "Humans are weak and need the elves to behave!" she looked hateful, "I am human!"
"And I have loved you as such!" he confessed softly but she would not listen to him.
"But you do not consider me your equal!" she completed, pain in her voice, "I'm just some stupid little girl to you!"
He remained mute for a moment, too stunned by her statement to find a suitable answer. His silence was as much of a reply to her and her eyes shone with the bitterness of betrayal.
"Malia..." he began, terribly uncomfortable.
She grimaced at him, "Rot in Hell!" she spat before running away in the dense forest.
He watched her go, feeling more foolish than ever.
Legolas walked pressingly to the meeting chambers. Smuggler attacks had become more frequent by the borders of the realm and it was now urgent to extend the patrols after nightfall. Those combined to the constant advance of the spiders and the Kingdom of the Sindar elves would not last much longer!
He presided the table around which all the advisers of the Kingdom sat.
"Good morning," he began awkwardly, "As my father your King is presently unavailable," he coughed, "I shall lead the discussion of the day." The young Prince sat on the royal chair, feeling terribly out of place, "I have been made aware of important disturbances around our borders after nightfall."
"The attacks have been going on for weeks your majesty. The smugglers await for the trading chariots to be filled before they spring out the shadows and rob it all."
Legolas furrowed his brow, "Do you think those smugglers human?"
"I see not why they should be elves!" an elder elf exclaimed.
"There have been protestations from the sylvan elves, my Lord," another countered the argument, "The situation for their caste is dire, your Majesty."
"What about it?" Legolas inquired, uncomfortable.
The adviser looked away, "They demand a better retribution of the working hours. They claim that they work almost as much as the humans for barely higher food ratios in return."
The Prince's frown increased, "I thought their request had already been subjected to my father?"
"It had your Majesty, but the King has not acted upon it as of yet."
"I see..." Legolas sighed.
"The spiders have been spotted closer to the safe borders. We must push them back before they invade us any further!"
"I shall lead new patrols shortly!" the Prince solemnly promised.
"Something should also be done with the human alienage, my Lord. A new plague has infested it and the humans keep dying. The growing decay attracts the spiders! We need to treat the insalubrity before the number of bodies becomes too concerning for the sake of the realm. "
"Elves are immune to human diseases," Legolas noted, "Besides we have had waves of plague before. They come and go with the passing of time. They are a natural condition of humanity I was told."
"But starvation isn't!" a dark haired elf pointed out darkly earning himself sighs of annoyance from his peers, "I paid a visit to the alienage not long ago Sir, the humans are underfed. They are dying of starvation."
"Good riddance! They reproduce like rabbits! And they cost too much! We should get rid of the alienage altogether!" the elf on his right grumbled.
"And who would work on the fields? The Sylvan caste? They would not work that long! And they require payment!" he ignored the huff he received from the older elf, "Humans are the best workers that we have for humans are free and disposable!"
"But elves live longer and are more productive! There would be a saving of workers and resources!"
"Tis not the little that the humans are given that is ruining the Kingdom, Valendil!" the dark elf spat, "Tis all the mithril and fancy stones we buy from the dwarves in Erebor!"
"We must clean the alienage, I insist. Human riots are impending."
"If we cast the humans away from their home, there shall be riots indeed!"
"We could send them to one of the colonies! The city of Dale is in dire need of fishermen! And we still have the trade agreement with Lothlorien!"
"Do not be absurd! The Kingdom of Lord Celeborn already has three alienages full! They have more humans thither than room to put them!"
"What about Imladris?"
One of the advisers, a tall and proud elf sent his opponent a disbelieving glare, "You want to sell people to the Peredhel? But of course!" he mocked, "I am sure that Lord Elrond shall be thrilled! Besides, we cannot legally sell people, should they be human!"
"Not sell per se but... let us say... an exchange of some sort!
"Humans against what? A waterfall?! Not to mention that Lord Elrond would never separate human families as we would a bunch of cows!"
"Then we shall give the whole family away and be glad!"
"Again who would work on the fields? In the castle? The kitchens? Who would perform the lowest tasks of the Kingdom if not the humans?"
"The sylvan elves used to fill all those posts before the Reorganization!"
"That was more than three thousand years ago! No sylvan would ever reintegrate a part of society held by humans!"
Legolas watched the debacle with constrained indifference; his advisers seemed to have forgotten about his presence throughfully. He could feel a migraine take its toll behind his temples. "I thought we had gathered today to discuss the robberies!" he interjected.
"Yes, your Majesty," the dark-haired elf apologized.
"Your speculations seem to lead to the conclusion that humans are the culprit," the Prince continued.
"They are probably stealing the food to give to the alienage or the near villages, your Majesty."
"Were they properly fed, such would not have happened!"
"Enough!" Legolas called, "I want a patrol of guards to be dispatched in the trees by the borders tonight, after sunset. If you catch any thieves, I want them arrested and brought to justice. If the thieves are humans, you have permission to shoot." They all nodded in agreement, "Discussion aborted." The advisers left their chairs. The Prince turned to the young blond elf, "Valendil, take me to the alienage!" he ordered.
Glorfindel found Malia in the kitchens of the castle, a few hours after their heated argument in the forest. When she saw him, her expression darkened and grew hateful, "You should want to take a later appointment, my Lord, my body's not available at the moment!"
He sighed, displeased by her vernacular "I have come to apologize," he clarified.
Her eyebrows shot upward as she carried what looked like to be quite a heavy cooking pot, "Again? My, I knew not Vanyas so prone to repentance!" she mocked, attracting confused glances from the surrounding humans
"Malia..." he began, warning lingering in his tone. He did not appreciate being an object of mockery, especially with such an audience, "I wish to speak with you in private."
"I can't! I'm busy!"
The foolishness of her youth aggravated him and he snatched the pot away from her hands to put it harshly on a table nearby before grabbing her arm and lead her away from the prying ears. She squealed at the brutal assault. The humans watched them leave with confusion and concern.
He led them to an empty corridor and released her. She rubbed her aching limb in protest. Her eyes gleamed with apprehension.
"Fine!" she snapped, "Speak away!"
"I have thought of my words to you and after a deep contemplation I have come to the conclusion that I had offended you!"
She blinked, "You called my people stupid and weak and you basically justified the enslavement of my race but it took you a deep contemplation to realize that it was offensive?! Blimey! I thought elves were supposed to be smart!"
"I am sorry!" he insisted, ignoring her disrespectful retort, "I meant no offense! My words came out wrongly!"
"Agreed! I was right not to trust you in the first place! You are no different than the other elves; you're just as arrogant! The Legendary Glorfindel knows better! A true Master!" her eyes shone with rage.
"You speak with the passions of the youth!" he replied, unaffected.
"Stop this! Stop considering me like a child! I am no child!" she snapped.
"Everyone under one hundred years old is a child to me!"
"You fuck children, then? How glorious of thee!" she spat.
He sighed, aggravated by her rudeness and stubbornness, "If you do not wish for me to consider you a child, stop acting like one!"
"If you have come to insult me again you shouldn't have bothered!"
He sighed, "Forgive me. Tis this place. It has caused the darkening of my judgment! There is an Evil corrupting those woods..."
"Aye, it's called elf!" she hissed.
The Eldar sent her an irritated look, "Do not fall victim to this wicked game of racial hatred!"
"I did not fall victim to anything! I was born a victim!"
"Then come with me!" he pleaded, "Let us leave tonight! In the Valley the humans are well treated!"
Her nostrils flared in annoyance, "I will not come with you to your elven paradise which shall be no paradise to me but a new place of torment! I shall not leave an alienage for another!"
"There is no alienage in Imladris!" Glorfindel repeated loudly, his patience thinning, "And I shall not let you fare on your own! We will be together!"
She looked at him as if he had grown mad, "Together? As what? A noble elven lord such as you with a human such as me! I'm not coming with you!" she asserted again, "You won't make me! I shan't be your whore!"
He grew enraged at this, "Do not insult me so!" he spat with a grimace, "You shall not be my whore!"
"What shall I be then? Your human companion? Your servant? A new housemaid? Or the body that you will fuck countless hours a day? Your whore!"
The crudeness of her words hit him like a dozen blades, "Our carnal activities seem not to repulse you!" he noted, enraged.
"They do not to me! But in a few years they shall to you!" she objected darkly, "When my body changes and loses of the youth and freshness which you now find endearing, your interest in me shall wane and you will leave me for a pretty elleth with whom you will marry and have plenty of elven babies and I shall be left alone to wither and die in the human non alienage of your precious Valley! End of the love story! End of the dream!"
"I will not have you imply that the affection I have for you is purely physical!" Glorfindel spat; her words a painful echo of Elrond's accusation.
"But it is!" she insisted, unmoved.
"Do not accuse me of such vile baseness! I am no Man! Do you know so little of the ways of my kin? Contrary to humans, elves do not indulge in meaningless debauchery! We love beyond the body! I thought I had made myself clear on that!" he hissed, offended beyond measure.
She gave him a pointed look, "I know quite well how the elves are supposed to behave, and I know even better how the elves do behave! Should I remind you that I have grown in a brothel! Elves do not indulge in meaningless debauchery!" she turned his own words against him, "Do you truly think that humans were the only clients that we had?" he looked away, unable to bear her inclusion in such sordid affairs, "Would you also care to enlighten me as to why you were no virgin with me? For an elf who has lived his life in solitude you sure know how to work those hands of yours!"
Glorfindel bit his inner cheek, "I have never said that all elves were inclined to a chaste life!
"Aye, you have!"
"Nay! I am well aware that some elves – a large minority – are more easily tempted to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh than most; I admit to be one of those! But contrary to humans, understand that it is not a common behavior. Before you I had not shared a bed for more than nine hundred years," he confessed, "And I have never felt so much raw desire for anyone before either. With you I can hardly control myself and this is unique!" his eyes darkened, "You make me lose my mind!"
She shrugged, "Do not worry so, I'm sure it will have passed when you leave those woods to return to your haven and forget all about me!"
"You really won't come, then!" he looked down, defeated, "Do you really wish to stay hither? With a King lost to perversion who is counting your heartbeats?!""
"I shall not leave one alienage for another!" she firmly repeated.
"What if we were not to live in the Valley but in a home just for us?" he proposed instead.
She rolled her eyes, "Glorfindel..."
"We could be happy!"
She turned to him with a look of sadness and despair, "Why won't you see that you're living a fantasy? That you love me for the adventure and the forbidden thrill I offer you? This infatuation shall pass and leave only burning ashes on its trail."
"Why won't you accept that my love for you is pure?"
"Because it cannot be! I am human, you are an elf! We cannot love each other! Not us! Not in this world! This is not meant to be! We are too different, too far apart; in but a few decades I shall be dead while you shall remain young and beautiful forever! It cannot be real!" How unfair, it was!
"It was real enough for Beren and Tuor!" the elf dryly noted.
"Beren was the son of Barahir of the royal House of Beör and Tuor chosen by Ulmo and fostered by your people! I am nothing! A human whore! A servant! I shall live and pass without remembrance!"
"I shall remember you always!" the Eldar reached forward and grabbed her hands, "Malia, I know that you are human and that you shall grow old and die and I wish to remain by your side when such happens," he paused for a moment, searching his words, "I am even prepared to share your Fate."
She frowned, "Share my Fate?"
The elf's eyes suddenly shone with passion, "I wish to bind myself to you, Malia!" he announced gravely.
She looked stunned, "What? You mean, die?" she clarified.
"When your time has come. So shall mine!"
"But you cannot die!"
"I have died once and so many nights ever since. Luthien was granted her wish and Tuor became immortal. I have done what the Valar have asked of me. I now deserve my just reward!"
"Death? Death is not a reward! Death is the end!"
"It was not for me!"
She put her hand to his face, "Glorfindel, look at me!" he obliged, "I shall not have you die for me! Not now! Not ever!"
"Tis my choice!"
"No!" she vehemently countered, "Remember what you told me about death! Death is not a choice! Death is a failure!"
"Remember when I told you that I had yet to find the right soul with whom I should bind myself? I have found it now!" his thumb brushed her cheekbone, his eyes shinning with affection.
"I meant another elf! Someone like you!"
"There is no one else like me!" he meant to kiss her but she turned her face away and snatched her hands from his.
"No! This is madness! I shall not let you do this! I shall not sit and watch idly as you lose the warmth and light you were blessed with! No!"
"Malia.." he tried to reach to her.
She turned her back to him, her eyes pricking with tears yet to be shed, "You must leave! Go back to your Valley and live a fruitful life as you were supposed to! I shall bear no such tragedy!"
He looked down, defeated by her rejection, "Very well! I shall leave tonight. I no not wish to be burdened with official formalities. If you ever change your mind, you shall find me at the borders after sunset."
He left her, hearts twisting and soul crushing.
Legolas looked around him, disgust evident in his eyes, his hand on his face to shield his senses from the stench. Most of the humans had fled into their homes; those who did not remained wary in a corner, watching with apprehension as this noble creature walked the soiled ground.
"What is this place?" he hissed to the elf who had brought him here.
"The alienage, your Majesty!"
The Prince's eyes widened in disbelief, "When was the last time my father came?"
"Sixty years ago, my Lord."
"Sixty years?" he repeated, his eyes falling on the rotting corpse of a child flies had claimed to perform their dance upon, "This place is a disgrace!" the other elf remained silent,. The Prince turned to him, "I want it to be cleansed throughfully! Get rid of the corpses!" his eyes met the puny bodies of humans too weak to move, "And for Erus' sake, feed them!"
"Yes, your Majesty!"
She had wished to return to the alienage but the unexpected visit of the Prince urged her to go hide in a tree instead. She would miss him terribly; without his warmth and his light she could feel a cold decay downing over her. It had been a beautiful dream from which she ought to have never awoken.
The sun had almost given way to his white sister. His things were packed. Asfaloth fidgeted nervously beside him, apparently as eager as he to leave this place. He stopped by the borders draped in a dark cloak which hid his figure completely and watched the sun set, a weight upon his heart. As he readied himself to ride away, he felt a presence behind him. He furrowed his brow and turned toward the source.
There she was, a small smile gracing her lips, "I have changed my mind!" she explained shyly.
Joy swelled in his chest and he dismounted, sweeping her off her feet in a swirling embrace.
"I cannot be partied from you," she confessed before her expression darkened in warning, "But do not bind yourself to me! I refuse to bear the burden of your death! We shall spend some time together and then we shall see. Life thither cannot be harsher than the brothel and hither anyway!"
His smile broadened, "I'm glad!" he replied before kissing her with passion, "We shall be happy! I promise!"
She pouted in uncertainty but accepted the kiss. He handed her a cloak similar to his in which she draped herself.
"Why bother with the cloak?" she inquired.
"You do not wish to be recognized now do you?" she shook her head in agreement. "Can you ride?" he asked as he presented her to Asfaloth who bounced in eagerness.
"I can try not to fall!" she corrected him as she grabbed a handful of the horse silver mane to counterbalance the weight of her leg.
Glorfindel helped her adjust her position and mounted with ease behind her. He grabbed her by the waist to prevent her from falling and gave instructions to his friend, urging him to be gentle with their untrained rider.
The horse set a slow pace and they walked away from the borders of the realm oblivious to the prying eyes in the trees around.
The guards waited for a couple of hours until they saw two mysterious figures emerge from the forest. One of them drew their attention but another shook his head in disagreement.
"They have a horse. They cannot be thieves! Humans do not have horses!"
"Then they are even better equipped than we thought!" One of the two figures turned their head ever so light and their keen eyes recognized the shape of a round ear. "Humans!" he hissed and gave sign to prepare the bows.
"Wait!" one of the guards exclaimed.
"You have heard the Prince, if they are humans we have permission to shoot!"
"But we do not know for sure if they are thieves!"
"Two cloaked humans sneaking out the forest at nightfall, what more proof do you need?" The unconvinced elf looked sheepish. It gave more confidence to the latter, who confirmed his order "Prepare to shoot!"
"Wait!"
"What again?"
"I know this horse! I am sure that I have already seen it somewhere!"
The elf by his side rolled his eyes in unrestrained annoyance, "We do not have time for this! They are galloping away! Shoot them before we lose their sight!"
Asfaloth was now galloping smoothly. Glorfindel's attention was entirely focused on Malia; on the waist his hands were protectively circling, on her scent, on the prospect of their life together. Ever since his re-embodiment, he had been filled with a hollowness, a longing for fulfillment. He had suffered unspeakable agony and had been forced to come back to aid and fight, disrupted of the rest his sacrifice ought to have earned him. His bitterness for the Valar had yet to pass. Malia was the peace he had been waiting for. She had brought warmth and fulfillment in his life and he was ready to forsake his elven privileges to follow her in the abyss of fallen eternity.
A searing pain in his chest terminated his trail of thoughts. His respiration was cut off. He felt his head hit moist solidity and darkness engulfed him.
Asfaloth reared up in a dreadful whining as Malia was brutally propelled on the ground. Beside her Glorfindel laid unconscious, an arrow deeply embedded in his chest, dark blood oozing around it.
"Glorfindel!" she called in despair but the elf would not awake. He could not die! He was the most resilient creature of all!
Cries startled her. Elves hopped off the trees and approached her swiftly.
"An elf!" one of them whispered in horror.
They examined the fallen warrior closer.
"Lord Glorfindel! Cursed be the cloak!"
"I told you that I knew this horse!"
They gasped, "The King shall have our heads!"
"What shall we do?"
As if in silent agreement, they all turned toward Malia, decision shinning in their bright eyes.
"Bring her to the King!" the captain guard ordered, "Let it be known that the witch has killed the Balrog Slayer and tried to flee on his horse!"
"No!" she cried out, snapping from her trance, as she was grabbed by the arm forcefully.
Acting upon reflexes she seized the sword on her side and hit her attacker, using one of the movements Glorfindel had taught her. The elf yelped in agony and she was knocked unconscious by another who came to aid his comrade.
"Bring this harpy to the Prince! He shall deal with her!"
She awaited in a cell for hours, her face strained with tears of terror and grief. Steps startled her and the Prince stood before her, looking murderous.
"I have not killed him!" she said before he spoke.
His brown furrowed, "You were carrying an elvish blade covered in blood!"
"I was merely defending myself!"
"A blade you had stolen!" he pressed.
"I needed protection!"
"From whom? The elves?!" she did not reply, "You stole an elvish blade which you used to hit a guard who caught you sneaking out the borders of the realm in the middle of the night!" Legolas summarized looking down at the defeated child before him, "May I inquire where you were heading in such discretion?"
"To Imladris!" she replied, "I had decided to accompany Glorfindel! I thought I could be happy!"
"With an elven Lord of a lineage so much higher than yours!" he noted, arching his brow, "Do not be deluded, child!"
She rose shinning eyes to his, "I shall die, shall I not?"
The Prince looked away, suddenly uncomfortable, "You shall be trialed in the morrow! The King shall decide of your Fate!"
She smiled bitterly, "The King!"
Legolas swallowed, "You should have thought better than try to run away like a thief!" he turned away. Before he climbed the stairs he abruptly paused, "The Balrog Slayer lives! The wound has plunged him into a deep slumber but he shall recover!"
In spite of her tears, Malia smiled.
In his chambers, the King contemplated the shades of pink in the wakening sky. The witch had been caught red-handed! The witch would fall and he would be delivered from this horrendous spell! He closed his eyes, feeling cleansing remedy slowly sweeping the could of madness away.
She looked absent, as if already resigned to her demise. Her hands were bound behind her back, her bare feet were dirty and cut, her dress was torn, her face covered in dust and dried creases, her eyes empty and dull. Thranduil felt a pang in his chest. She looked so small and broken. He wished to reach forth and embrace her, shielding her from condemning eyes. Could he really bring pain upon this innocent child? Had he lost himself so terribly to murderous folly? He remembered days of wisdom and compassion and tried to reach them back to the surface but the poison was too thick and the memories smothered and died. No! She was no innocent! She had caused his torment, brought madness upon his soul! She had pushed him into the abyss!
He listened distractingly as the verdict was given.
"Human, in the name of the King Thranduil, son of Oropher, you are presently accused of having stolen elvish artifacts which you used to hurt the protectors of the realm and a mighty elven Lord in a mad attempt of clandestine escape. You have been spotted practicing witchcraft, poisoning the soul of the King with dark magic and perilous enchantment, leaving him unable to perform the daily tasks expected from his name. You have manipulated the minds of your weaker fellows in order to organize treacherous robberies of the Kingdom's resources, leading your kind to crime and betrayal. As a result of the following announcements, the court has decided that you deserved the highest form of punishment. You shall be executed and honor the tradition of your people for such crimes; you shall be led to the alienage and burned at the stake as an example for your peers."
Tears gathered in her eyes as she set them on the King who looked straight back at her, the poison of his soul glowing in gray pools. Legolas stood by his right, his head shaking in silent disagreement.
She was brought back to her cell and forsaken there.
Legolas paced in the Throne Room, trying to talk some sense into his father.
"You know she is no witch! She merely is a child! She has only tried to run away!"
"She deserves to die!" the King asserted.
"No! Father! You cannot burn a child alive! The other Kingdoms would never tolerate such offense!"
"Can't you see what she has done to me!" the King hissed, his old scar resurfacing in white anger.
"She is no dragon!" Legolas firmly replied. The King's face contorted in rage, "She is a burden to you, this I have come to understand, but there exists other ways to be rid of her which do not involve a gruesome death!"
"As what?"
"Let us give her away!" he proposed eagerly, "We could use the trade agreement with Lothlorien! You'd be rid of her and she'd live!" The King's nostrils flared. He knelt in front of his father, "I beg you father! Be the wise King you once were! We can avoid this shame! Let me send the papers to Lord Celeborn!"
The King looked down at his pleading son, urging the poison to retreat enough to see through the fog, "Very well! You have one week! If no agreement is confirmed by then, she shall be executed as planned!"
The young Prince inhaled a relief, "Thank you, your Majesty!" he bowed.
She thought of him; of his strong arms and bright blue eyes, of his leaf-shaped ear and musical voice. She closed her eyes and wished he would appear and save her. But she would never see him again. She remained prostrated in her narrow cell, waiting for down to arise.
She had lost herself in thought when she received the visit of the Prince who presented her papers she was asked to sign.
"You would leave for Lorien! You shall never be allowed to see Glorfindel again but you would live! You would escape the fire!"
"Why are you trying to help me?"
"I shall not let a child burn! Tis too sordid! " he replied with a grimace of disgust, "You are what you are but you are no witch! My father has lost himself to despair and shall do anything to be rid of you!" Legolas observed the girl and tried to understand what was so special about her.
She stared at the foreign symbols beneath her eyes.
"Sign!" Legolas pressed her, "I only have a week!"
"One week to reach Lorien? It's impossible!"
Legolas stared at her smugly, "Nothing is impossible for an elf!"
She looked at the symbols again and at the quill the Prince was handing her. She took it with trembling fingers and drew a cross at the end of the text.
The Prince gave her a short nod, "I can't guarantee anything! Do not hope too much!"
"Thank you, your Majesty!"
Legolas urged the best messenger of the realm for the task and he left with the documents the very day. Malia listened to the echo of the horse's feet, her heart heavy with prayer.
The King spent the next two days locked up in his rooms, thinking of releasing her then chastising his own weakness. It was the fault of that damn spell! He eventually decided to visit the dungeons.
She was weakened by hunger and her lips were cracked with thirst. She looked dirtier and smelt sour.
"Well, well, well!" he began, walking gracefully to the cage, "You are finally standing on the edge of the abyss!"
She glared at him with as much strength as she could gather, "I have not done anything and you know it!"
"You have robbed me and wounded two elves, one guard and your precious lover!"
"Glorfindel was shot by your guards! You know very well I could have never hurt him! He was shot by an arrow! They mistook us for thieves!"
"Which you are! A thief and a spawn of Morgoth!"
"I am human!" she spat.
His mouth contorted in a grimace of disgust, "Aye! This you are! Manipulative! Filthy! Unworthy of the life you were given! Just like all of your kin!" And how he desired her in spite of her nature!
Her glare shone brighter, "You know I do not deserve to die! I have not done anything to deserve the pyre!"
"You must answer for what you have done to me!" the King hissed.
"I have not done anything to you! How could I? I'm just a seventeen year-old human girl! I don't know any magic! I am not responsible for what ails you!" The muscles in Thranduil's face tensed in mid acknowledgment of the truth. She stood up and walked feebly to the bars, "Let me out! Please! I will do everything you want me to!" she pleaded.
Her words hit the King like thunder. She was offering herself! He would have her! His mind clouded with sudden fantasy. He would open the door and never let her go! She would be his forever! He would find a way to make her immortal or even share her Fate if it was all it took not to ever be partied from her! Images of her body squirming beneath him invaded his hazy mind and he almost snatched the door from its hinges; her human body.
She observed the darkening of his orbs and knew of his thoughts.
He lifted his gaze up and realized how wrong all this was; she would never be his. She would never love him. He would never share himself with a human; he would never sink that low.
"I want you to disappear," he whispered with emotion, "I want you to cease to exist altogether!"
She swallowed, "Why have you accepted the delay then?"
"My son was right on one point, for diplomatic reasons I cannot execute you without looking out for alternative peaceful solutions. But should the mission fail, I would watch your body turn to ashes with the greatest delight!"
Her eyes stung and released their salty cries. The King flashed her one last hateful glance and left in a swirl of robes, his crown steady on his pristine blond mane.
The messenger traveled through the Rhovanion as fast as his steed could be pushed. He made no halt for rest. On the fourth day, the borders of the Golden Woods appeared to his view. He was accosted by Haldir, the Marchwarden who led him to the Lord and Lady of the realm.
Meanwhile, Malia was waiting and the King sat on his Throne.
Lord Celeborn accepted the documents and read attentively the letter the Prince had enclosed in which he explained how his father the King had succumbed to a terrible madness and meant to burn a child wrongly accused. He turned to his wife and handed her the letter which she too examined. They nodded to the Messenger and announced that they were retreating to discuss this in private.
Meanwhile, Malia was waiting and the King still on his Throne.
On the fifth day, Lord Celeborn decided to accept Malia in one of the alienage in exchange for new silk and weapon supplies. The Messenger nodded, bowed and went to retrieve his horse to leave.
On the sixth day, he had reached the borders of the Anduin and galloped through the plains of the Great River.
Meanwhile, Malia was brought food. She could feel the tangy breath of Death ghosting on her skin. Thranduil was having a glass of wine on his Throne.
On the seventh day, the Messenger urged his horse through the Wilderland, the trees of the realm erected in the distance.
Meanwhile, Malia cried. Legolas came to tell her that no further delay would be granted and that the healers had departed Glorfindel to Lord Elrond for better care.
On the morning of the eighth day, the guards came to fetch her. The Messenger passed the borders. She was led to the alienage; her hands were bound, her face blank. The Messenger dismounted and ran to the castle. Her hands were freed only to be bound again behind the pyre. Around her, guards gathered to protect the stage from enraged humans. Some elves had come to witness the demise of the human witch – Isildur's apprentice as they called her; she who had poisoned the King with human magic. The Messenger found the King and the Prince in the Throne Room, awfully silent.
"I had given you one week. The delay has passed," Thranduil replied as calm as one could be.
Legolas opened his mouth to argue but realized that all had gone according to plan; his father would have never let her go, he was determined to see her die.
She looked up in the sky, silently pleading the Valar to come to her aid. But they would not for they had never cared for mortals; they would abandon her to her fiery grave as they had all of her kin before her. An elvish prayer was said. A few children hid behind their mothers. Beneath her, the wood felt hard and cut into her skin. She was tired and ironically cold. Her mind withdrew into itself and she saw his eyes, blue and comforting, his smile. She heard his voice as he told her about Valinor – the Land when nothing never dies – and its beauties. She thought of herself and of stars; would she really join their steamy evanescence? Or would she disappear and evaporate into nothingness?
The executioner – a bulky and stern looking elf – approached the pyre with a torch. Her heart began to drum, as if stomped by a dozen of feet performing the dance of steel Glorfindel had taught her. Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes watered in fear. She prayed the Valar again, urging them to aid her and allow her to stay a little longer. She did not want to die! Glorfindel was not dead!
But if the Valar heard her, they remained unaffected by her plea. The pyre was inflamed. She watched the flames leaking at the wood, crawling closer to her feet. The unbearable heat made her sweat and cut the passing of the air, suffocating her, making her head spin. She tried to step away, to no avail. The fire caught with her and she knew the most vivid of pain.
From the Gates of the alienage, Thranduil listened to her agony, his eyes closed, his heart heavy. Legolas had not left the Throne Room. The girl's screams were so fierce, they reached the castle and resonated through the entire realm and for once, even the elves measured the relative meaning of an hour.
The King walked to the pyre when silence had conquered and the flames turned to smoke. The stench of burnt flesh made his eyes water. His lip quivered as he looked down to find a small pile of gray dust amidst the calcified wood. He felt a sudden nausea as his fingers caressed what was left of her.
Although she was gone in body, peace had not returned to his heart and his ears were filled with the sound of her screams at all hours of the day, at all hours of the night; his heart hurt with each beating it took, his lungs burnt with each breath he exhaled, his tongue twisted at each of his thoughts, at each if his lies.
At the foot of the cliff upon which he stood, Ulmo urged the ocean to strike the reef with all the strength of his supremacy, inviting him to purge and expiate his crimes in the foam of his mighty embrace. The King accepted the invitation. He looked at the sky, searching for her eyes beyond the white clouds, expanded his arms in silent repentance and dove.
He remembered a resonance of pain through his chest cavity, then the calling of his name; the voice filled with terror and despair. His eyes shot open and he gulped a much needed breath. White light attacked his pupils and he blinked, as if to shield himself from its burning rays.
He rose on his elbows and gasped at the pain. He was in a bed of white sheets. The warmth and clarity of the room informed him that he no longer was in Mirkwood. A door opened in haste to a dark-haired elf he recognized instantly.
"Elrond?" he asked, still confused, and tried to leave the bed only to be pushed back.
"Peace, my friend! Peace! All is well!" Elrond said, "You are in Imladris!"
The information did not appease him, "Imladris? How did I come hither?"
The Lord of Imladris arched his eyebrows, "You were brought back by Woodland emissaries. Do you remember not?"
"I remember riding away with Malia, and then..." he frowned.
"You were ambushed by Mirkwood guards who mistook you for smugglers. An arrow reached you in the shoulder."
Remembrance dawned over him, "Malia!" he breathed his apprehension before struggling with the sheets again, "I must go back! I must save her!"
"Glorfindel!" Elrond reached forward to stop him but the older elf fought his grip.
"I shan't abandon her!" he replied, frantic.
"Glorfindel!" the Lord repeated, a bit firmer, "It's too late!" he announced, harsher that he had intended, "The girl is dead!"
The Balrog Slayer stopped struggling and turned slowly toward his friend, his eyes widening in confusion and denial, "What?" he whispered barely audibly.
"She is dead. She was accused of your injury, this and other crimes," the Peredhel licked his lip, uncomfortable, "She was executed. Thranduil had her burnt as a witch."
Glorfindel remained silent for a while as his brain registered every information, every lie. Malia was dead. No! Malia could not be dead! They were supposed to live together and be happy! "No!" he cried, "You're lying! Tis impossible!"
"I am sorry, my friend!" the gravity in Elrond's voice told him that the Peredhel was not deceiving him.
"Burnt!" he repeated as the most horrid of all the information he had been given was finally processed, "Alive?"
"She was accused of having enchanted the King with dark magic!"
"But it is a lie! Thranduil's obsession for her was his own curse! Malia was not a witch! She was... gentle and... sweet... and so young! Far too young, far too gentle to be condemned to such cruel agony!" he put his face in his hands, unable to bear the thought of his beloved suffering the same plight as he had. At least, he had been protecting his home; his torment had had a meaning.
"I am terribly sorry," Elrond continued, "The Prince tried to spare her by giving her away to Lord Celeborn but the messenger took too long," his spoke softly, "I know how much you cared for her. Her death was utterly unjust and cruel."
"I loved her. I wanted to bind myself to her but she refused! She said I should not wish to die, even for love!"
"A great wisdom for such youth!"
Glorfindel did not speak again. He lost his gaze on the horizon, looking for shades of green on the bright walls. The Lord of the House handed him a small box.
"Legolas trusted me to give you this," he said, "He thought you should want to have them!"
The Vanya accepted the box and opened it. His heart swelled and burst upon seeing the tiny grains of silver. He looked up to his friend. Elrond gave him a small sad smile. Glorfindel shut the box with a loud thud. He closed his eyes briefly. She was dead. The King had eventually consumed her.
"Thranduil!" he whispered as he remembered the identity of the sinner, a white anger growling in his throat.
"He's dead!" Glorfindel turned to him, confusion on his face. Elrond talked further, "He went to the Halls of Mandos on his own accord."
Glorfindel nodded. He wished he could have felt compassion and sadness for an Eldar who had chosen to take his own life, but the madness in which he had fallen was too deep to ever be vanquished; he had gone too far to be saved.
He stared at the box again and held it tight against his bandaged chest. Around him all felt suddenly cold and decaying.
Over the following months, Elrond grew worried for his friend for no elf could survive the loss of the one they loved. Grief overcame them till it consumed their immortal soul.
The warmth and the brightness of the Valley no longer reached the Balrog Slayer's heart who remained unmoved and unaffected by his surroundings. He spent his days by the waterfall near the Last Homely House, blinking blankly at the golden rays of the sun. Nightmares made rest impossible for he was assaulted by dark visions of biting whips, pyres and giant monsters; and the screams, how loud were they!
He thought of her and of her absence – of her excruciating death – and he wondered whether there really was any sense at all to the conundrum of life; his seemed terribly endless.
"How did you survive the loss of your brother?" he once asked Elrond as the Peredhel visited him.
The half-elven stopped on the edge of the bridge and observed the rapid flows of the water below, "I never did."
"Yet, you have remained among us," Glorfindel noted.
"But have lost half of myself forever." Glorfindel looked away; of all his friends, Elrond was one of those who had suffered the most. Elrond continued, "I could have perished of grief; I chose not to." He had built a Kingdom instead.
Glorfindel remained silent for a while as they both listened to the coursing water.
"I wish to sail west," the Balrog Slayer eventually announced, his eyes still lost before him.
Elrond did not give any answer for he knew it to be the only solution to avoid Glorfindel's passing.
The sand was white, almost silver, and the ocean the purest of turquoise. Flowers around were as huge as he and blossomed in beautiful shades of dark pink and blue. The colors were almost too bright and too vivid, even for his elven eyes. Trees stood, strong and proud. Before him, in the distance, the white habitations overlooked the far away mountains and the lush forest and the vast plains; their architecture a great reminder of Gondolin. He closed his eyes and breathed. Nature was at peace. Valinor was exactly how he remembered it to be.
The elves who had sailed with him hurried to retrieve their loved ones whom they had not seen for centuries. His own heart swelled with bitterness as he watched their joyful reunions.
He stared at the small box he was protectively holding and the bitterness grew. A sudden gust of wind disturbed the summer tranquility of the beach. He looked up with a frown, lost in thoughts, then back at the box again. A smile of understanding graced his lips. He closed his eyes briefly in silent thanks to Manwe and with a drumming beat of his heart opened it.
He watched heavy with emotion as Malia was blown away, laughing, dancing, swirling, flying freely up into the Aman sky.
That night as he stared at the sky, Glorfindel was almost certain that a new star was born.
I must say I feel much lightier even though now I have already started to write the chaptered version of this - an anlternate version of this alternate story!
I hope you liked it! Fell free to let me them know of your thoughts!