Title: Wild Justice 25/?
Author: Rune Dancer
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline.
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
* * *
Elwyyda nudged open the door to Lord Elrond's room with her foot, and edged inside. The heavy tray she carried was loaded down with food and wine, and she intended to see that every bit of it was consumed before she left. It was just as well that her other patients seemed to be improving, for their healer was himself in need of aid, but everyone else was too much in awe of him to do anything about it.
Elwyyda had noticed, when she made her now daily visits to Zirak, that Lord Elrond was ALWAYS there. It didn't matter when she dropped by--early morning to middle of the night--the healer was either sitting beside Zirak's bed holding his hand, or else taking him to the baths, or feeding him, or reading to him from one of the huge historical tomes Lord Elrond seemed to prefer. It greatly annoyed Elwyyda.
At first, she had simply been upset because she could never manage to see her friend alone. As the days passed, however, she became steadily more concerned over the deteriorating state of Lord Elrond's health. She might not be a healer, but even she knew you had to eat sometime, and rest occasionally, if you were to remain functional. Elrond had started to take on a slightly feverish air similar to those who had been long in the mines, deprived of good food and fresh air. Elwyyda had started leaving his window open, to try to aid with the latter at least, and when he asked why, she simply replied that Zirak preferred it that way. That had been that, and her supposed knowledge of Zirak's wants had enabled her thereafter to persuade Lord Elrond to modify his behaviour somewhat. However, it did not escape her notice that, although Zirak was beginning to look better--his eyes were brighter and some colour was blooming in his cheeks for the first time since she'd known him, Lord Elrond was steadily weakening.
Elwyyda sat the tray on the bedside table and observed the two figures curled up together on the great bed. At first she was pleased, for both seemed asleep, and since it was mid-morning that was a sign that perhaps they'd had a decent night's rest for once. But she became concerned when neither stirred, even though she had made no effort to be quiet when setting down the tray. She coughed, to let them know that breakfast had arrived, but still there was no response. She briefly thought about going to get help, as their stillness was becoming worrying, but the haughty servants who ran this household had done nothing to earn her trust. Deciding to be a little more forward, she reached out a hand to tug at Lord Elrond's sleeve, and an instant later the room fell away.
* * *
The minute the orcs came pouring through the forest, Glorfindel knew what he was seeing. Not just an attack--THE attack, the one Vairë had shown him all those centuries before. He had not been able to tell Thranduil and Celeborn about it, as he did not know when it was destined to occur and he would not risk altering the future in any way. Things had to go as they were meant to do--at least up to a point--or he had no chance of changing the one point that mattered. It pained him greatly to think that the scene shown in Vairë's tapestry had to take place just as he and Elrohir were once again back together; he had hoped for a few years at least . . .
Glorfindel had not spared much time to worry about his lover when Gondolin fell. He had been frantic to find the princess and get her safely away, and with the chaos, noise and frenzied crowds, he had had little time even to think about Ecthelion until he saw him fall. Until then, Glorfindel had honestly believed that nothing could hurt his lover. Ecthelion had always been larger than life and supremely confident--and experience in battle had shown that he had every reason to be. But that day had proven that even the greatest of warriors can die, if the odds are sufficiently against them. Glorfindel had seen his lover do so not once, but twice: on the day they lost Gondolin and in the scene from Vairë's tapestry. But Lord Ulmo himself had said it--the past is just the future decided. He had not understood that at the time, but in the centuries since he had given it much thought. What he hoped Ulmo meant was that everything remains in flux until it actually occurs. He had seen Elrond die in a future that, thanks to Ulmo's interference and his own refusal to leave Elrond's side at Barad-dur, had not happened. Likewise, he was determined that the future Vairë had shown him would be proven a lie.
As a tide of orcs burst into the glade, Glorfindel made sure to stay alongside Elrohir. It was almost like the old days--fighting back to back as they once had done against Morgoth. But the orcs were not Glorfindel's primary concern. He fought them off with only part of his mind, while keeping a sharp eye out for the sneak attack he knew was coming. A large orc appeared to his right, just as Glorfindel was holding off two others with his knives. Elrohir swung about to face the new attacker, forcing Glorfindel to have to move several paces to the left. He ran an orc through with one of his knives, and was so busy trying to slip his other weapon past the second creature's guard that he almost failed to see prophecy come true, even with his forewarning.
A flash of green came from the right, heading straight for Elrohir. Glorfindel knew what it was without having to see it distinctly--he had been expecting it. The last time he had seen the great spear, large enough around to skewer a wild pig or, in this case, an elf, it had been sticking out of his lover's back in Vairë's weaving. Glorfindel had only a split second to intercept it, so he pushed the orc he was battling into the path of the weapon. The spear was traveling with such velocity that it passed completely through the creature, who looked down at his punctured abdomen with an air of surprise, and then continued on to tear through Glorfindel's side.
He and the orc tumbled to the ground together, momentarily attached by the spear, but Glorfindel quickly pushed it back out of his body and finished the goblin with a cut across its throat. He judged his own wound to be severe, but not under most circumstances life threatening. A glade filled with orcs is not, however, most circumstances, and he knew he was in trouble. He did not know who the hidden assassin was, or if he had any more great spears with him, he only knew that he had to protect Elrohir at all cost. Just then, a sound he had never thought to hear echoed across the forest, and, insanely, the battle in the glade stopped momentarily as all paused to listen. Elrohir looked as stunned as Glorfindel knew he himself must--the sound was an elvin horn calling for full retreat.
"What is it? What is happening?" Elrohir looked confused, as if he could not quite believe what his ears were hearing. Then he saw Glorfindel's tunic, rapidly changing colour from bright green to deep red. "You're injured!"
The orcs seemed to realise this at the same moment, and the fight resumed in earnest. Glorfindel could feel himself weakening, and although he was taking out a large number of their attackers, he would not be able to continue this pace for long. Yet the orcs just kept coming, even though he had the impression that the ones they were dealing with were just a small part of the whole, for they had gone a good way from camp earlier. If the main elvish host was the point of the attack, how many must they be facing? No wonder a retreat had been called! Still, the battle was up to Lord Celeborn and the king to direct, and he had no doubts of their ability; his sole concern was Elrohir's safety.
Elrohir had always had the Sindarin attachment to the natural world, and Glorfindel hoped if he could get him into the trees, he could make his escape over the roof of the forest. He managed to slowly move them across the glade to the roots of a large tree, which had limbs that spread out, touching those of many others around it. "Climb up, quickly!"
Elrohir nodded and scrambled up the straight trunk almost as easily as if he had had one of the Galadrim's ladders to help him. "Give me your hand!," he shouted down, after reaching the first juncture. But Glorfindel knew he did not have the strength left to attempt any tree climbing, not and hold off the orc attack at the same time.
"Go ahead; I'll follow you!" Elrohir used his vantage point to begin shooting arrows at the orcs remaining in the glade, but did not budge from that spot. He did not have to say anything; Glorfindel should have known--he simply would not leave without him. "Elrohir, you have to get away!"
Glorfindel never received an answer, because all fighting suddenly stopped once more. Through the trees came a sight Glorfindel had never thought to see--en elf walking casually alongside two huge goblins, almost as if they were friends. He recognised the elf in question immediately. "Tuor, what . . . "
"You didn't really think I would let them deprive me of the pleasure of finishing you off, did you?" The handsome blond, so close in appearance to Glorfindel himself, looked mildly inquisitive, rather as if he had simply asked what he would like for lunch. His blue eyes were almost gentle as he surveyed him, and his smile held none of the haughtiness Glorfindel remembered. "It is a shame it had to come to this. I always admired you, you know. Even after you humiliated me in Mirkwood, I felt no real rancor. After all, you gave me a great gift, did you not? Too bad you have recently decided you wanted it back."
"I have no idea what you mean." In truth, Glorfindel had a pretty good idea, but keeping the elf's concentration on him would allow Elrohir time to get away, if only he would use it!
"Oh, no? I suppose, then, that you did not notice the fool my lover has been making of himself lately? Yet it was a rare sight--a king following around a mere seneschal, so enamored that he would do anything for him. It completely escaped your notice?" For the first time, a trace of venom found its way into Tuor's tone. "It did not escape mine! You left me with him when it suited you, but he never really forgot you. I tried everything to make him do so, and for a while I thought I had succeeded. Then one day, after we had had centuries together, he suddenly decides to go to Lorien without me. It was not long before I began to receive reports from friends in his entourage of exactly why."
Tuor looked Glorfindel over, from head to toe, a slight sneer appearing on his face. "I see no reason why he should prefer you over me! We are almost close enough in looks to be twins. I may not have your reputation, but I, too, am a warrior! And a strategist, as I have proven this day. Oh, don't worry," he commented with a smile, seeing Glorfindel's expression. "The rest of the elves will be allowed to retreat. Just as soon as you and your companion are dead."
* * *
Elwydda woke to find herself in an almost pitch black room. The only light came from shards of glass that someone had carelessly left lying about the floor. How they could reflect light when no lamps were visible was strange, but enough illumination was provided to enable her to see that no one else was there. Elwyyda called out, but the room absorbed her voice, making it sound muffled even to her own ears. No one answered her call; not even an echo came back to her.
She cautiously went forward, determined to find a way out of this strange place, when a sudden flash of colour surprised her. She walked over to a large mirror that reflected back not the darkness and her own face, but a comfortable room lit by firelight and filled with books. The mirror's surface shimmered and rippled then, and she put out a tentative hand to it, only to find herself able to pass through as easily as if no barrier existed at all. Her arm was lit by the rosy firelight of that other room and she felt no pain. She withdrew it and examined her limb carefully, but no harm appeared to have been done to it. Gathering up her courage, she decided to continue with her search. Although the room seemed empty, there were parts of it not visible from where she stood. Very cautiously, then, she stepped through the shifting barrier.
As soon as she had done so, it closed behind her, and Elwyyda almost panicked when she could no longer see it. Her hand dimmed, however, when it passed through the area where the barrier had been, and she sighed in relief. It was still there, then, just not easily visible from this side.
From far off, she could hear a strange sound, a metallic clang like swords ringing together. She carefully stayed in the shadows, using the skills she had learned in the mines, and moved slowly down a long corridor towards it. Peering around a corner, she saw a strange sight. Two elves, one of whom was Lord Elrond, were fighting together, and something in their demeanor told Elwyyda that this was no practise session. Elrond's opponent was tall, with long dark hair that almost reached his waist. Elwyyda thought he looked somewhat familiar, but could not place him until she saw his eyes. She almost cried out then, but a hand clasped over her mouth from behind and she was jerked back around the corner. For a moment, she thought she was seeing double. The same dark haired elf who was battling Lord Elrond now stood before her, but there was a very different expression in his bright blue eyes. This one looked as she remembered him, not half crazed like that other . . . whoever he was.
"Zirak!," she hugged him quickly, then stood back, admiring his beauty. She truly would not have known him except for the eyes.
"Elwyyda--what are you doing here? No, never mind; it doesn't matter. You must come with me!" He took her hand and quickly towed her back down the hall in the direction from which she had just come.
"Zirak, what . . . "
They reentered the library and Zirak pointed out the faint outlines of the portal. "Can you see it?" At her nod he smiled, and hugged her close for an instant. "Good. Now think carefully. A connection was made between you and Elrond, do you know how?"
"I . . . I just touched him, to wake him up for breakfast, and then . . ."
"That's good, that's fine." Zirak smiled at her reassuringly, and brushed one of her braids out of her eyes. "What I need for you to do is to go back through the portal to that other room, then concentrate very hard on Elrond's bedroom. See it clearly in your mind, and when you open your eyes, you will be there. Don't panic if it doesn't happen at once--just keep trying and you'll succeed. Can you do that?"
"Yes, but . . . "
"And once you have," Zirak continued, a sense of urgency in his voice, "it is very important that you go find help immediately. I need an elf, Elwyyda--a warrior. One loyal to Lord Elrond who will do whatever has to be done for his safety regardless of what it is. Preferably someone fairly young, who does not remember Lindon. Do you know any such elves?"
Elwyyda nodded. Of course she did. "Gildor."
"Good, then you must go get this Gildor. Bring him to me Elwyyda; have him touch Elrond as you did, and show him how to get here. And you must hurry! Elrond is weakening, and I am of little use to him." Elwyyda saw tears come into Zirak's blue eyes. "Please, Elwyyda, please don't fail me. He is the most important thing in my life--the best thing. He always was. I MUST save him, do you understand?"
Elwyyda nodded. If Zirak wanted to see Gildor so badly, she would make certain Gildor was brought to him. She didn't understand all this, but perhaps they would explain it to her later. Zirak helped her up to the portal, which hovered a few feet off the ground, and she was once more enveloped in darkness.
* * *
Glorfindel's mind was working quickly, and he had by now realised that the depiction he had seen of his lover's death on the wall covering in Mandos had been an accident; the spear had been thrown at him, not at Elrohir, who must have stepped in front of it in that other time. Glorfindel had, then, already changed the course of events once; all he had to do now was insure that the future he had seen did not come true in another fashion. "Let Elrohir go; he has no part to play in this. It is between the two of us."
Tuor shrugged. "He had no part, until you dragged him into it. He has seen me now, and I cannot very well leave him alive to tell the king any of this, can I? With you two out of the way, Thranduil is mine. In time, he will learn to appreciate all I do for him, to love me as he always should have done--as he would have, if his mind had not been fixed on you!" He gestured up at Elrohir's tree. "Kill him," he told the orcs briefly, "but leave the other to me."
Two orcish archers took aim at Elrohir, but before Glorfindel could make a movement in their direction, arrows sped out of the encircling woods, burying themselves in the creature's backs. An instant later and the glade was filled with elvish soldiers, Noldor by the look of them, and a dark figure emerged behind them, fussily brushing pine needles from the sleeve of his wine coloured tunic. He looked annoyed and petulant, his lips set in a definite pout, but Glorfindel had never been so happy to see anyone in his life.
Erestor walked casually through the glade as his Noldorin soldiers slaughtered the remaining orcs with brutal efficiency. Side stepping a severed head that rolled into his path, he finally reached Tuor, who one of the Noldor had grabbed by the shoulders and was holding in a manner that looked particularly painful. Erestor ran a soft touch down Tuor's cheek, but his eyes were on Glorfindel and he wrinkled his nose. "You look dreadful. Why don't you get yourself patched up while I deal with this one?"
Glorfindel found that his vision was going blurry and he was having difficulty thinking. "We need to question him. There has to be more going on here than . . . "
"I will tell you nothing!" Tuor spat, glaring daggers at Glorfindel.
Elrohir had meanwhile dropped onto the ground at Glorfindel's side, and he slipped an arm about his lover's waist, pulling him off to the side of the glade where he could minister to him. Glorfindel rested his head on Elrohir's shoulder, hearing Erestor's soft laugh behind him. "Oh, I think you will," Erestor told Tuor briefly. Glorfindel smiled slightly; rather thought he would, too.
* * *
Haldir was looking crossly at Gildor, who had on what he had begun to think of as his "reasonable face." It meant that Gildor was silently telling himself to ignore his lover's ravings until he cooled down, and then they would make up. Only Haldir had no intention of cooling down, and the only way they were going to make up was if Gildor decided to properly submit.
"I don't understand why you are upset, Haldir," Gildor was commenting quietly. "If I have done anything to hurt you, truly it was unintentional." He let his fingers softly caress the skin of Haldir's chest, visible through the opening of his nightshirt. "Perhaps I can think of a way to make it up to you?"
Haldir pushed the questing hand away. "You are not going to distract me. We need to come to an understanding . . . " He was interrupted by the door to his room bursting open to reveal the little dwarf, who was looking even more crazed than usual.
"You must come!" She ran over to Gildor and began tugging on the hem of his shirt. "Please, Gildor! Quickly!"
"What is it? Elwyyda, what is wrong?"
Haldir could not believe that his lover would turn away from him when they were in the middle of a serious conversation, just to bother with the maddening dwarf. It was, however, a symbol of everything that was wrong with their relationship. "Gildor--put her out now! We need to finish this."
"In a moment, Haldir," Gildor said absently, as Elwyyda did her best to pull him towards the door.
"No, now!"
Haldir's words had no effect on his lover whatsoever, except to make him pause and glance back over his shoulder briefly. "I think this is important, but it should not take long. I will be right back . . ."
"Gildor." Haldir put as much force into his words as he could. "If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back."
Gildor sighed. "I'll see you in a few minutes, Haldir," he said, and he was gone. Just like that. Haldir stared at the door in disbelief. The dwarf came by with some trivial problem--probably stubbed her toe on the stairs in frustration that she hadn't been able to assault Haldir recently--and Gildor went off with her with barely a word for him. If Haldir had had any questions about the way in which his lover saw their relationship, he had just had them answered.
Fine, he thought, glaring at the closed door. Let him go. It doesn't matter. Haldir briefly amused himself thinking how easy it would be to replace Gildor--there were, after all, dozens of elves falling over themselves to get close to him. He could have anyone he wanted . . . the only problem was that there was only one elf he really, truly DID want, and he had just watched him walk away.
Haldir glared at the door some more, then sighed and got up, hobbling over to the wardrobe to find something suitable to wear. He and Gildor were going to have this out. His lover could not merely walk out of his life without having to give some explanation for his actions. If Haldir meant so little to him, fine. But he was going to have to say it, was going to have to put his rejection into words. Pulling a blue tunic over his head, Haldir wrenched open the door to his room and looked out at an empty corridor. So where had that cursed dwarf taken Gildor, anyway?
* * *
TBC
Author: Rune Dancer
Rating: R
Paring: Thranduil/Celeborn/Elrond; Elrohir/Glorfindel; Haldir/Gildor; Elladan/Orophin
Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plotline.
Warnings: BDSM.
A/N: This is a continuation of my previous Unspoken story arc. Read them in order--Unspoken/Revelations/Changes/One Last Time/Quid Pro Quo--or prepare to be confused.
* * *
Elwyyda nudged open the door to Lord Elrond's room with her foot, and edged inside. The heavy tray she carried was loaded down with food and wine, and she intended to see that every bit of it was consumed before she left. It was just as well that her other patients seemed to be improving, for their healer was himself in need of aid, but everyone else was too much in awe of him to do anything about it.
Elwyyda had noticed, when she made her now daily visits to Zirak, that Lord Elrond was ALWAYS there. It didn't matter when she dropped by--early morning to middle of the night--the healer was either sitting beside Zirak's bed holding his hand, or else taking him to the baths, or feeding him, or reading to him from one of the huge historical tomes Lord Elrond seemed to prefer. It greatly annoyed Elwyyda.
At first, she had simply been upset because she could never manage to see her friend alone. As the days passed, however, she became steadily more concerned over the deteriorating state of Lord Elrond's health. She might not be a healer, but even she knew you had to eat sometime, and rest occasionally, if you were to remain functional. Elrond had started to take on a slightly feverish air similar to those who had been long in the mines, deprived of good food and fresh air. Elwyyda had started leaving his window open, to try to aid with the latter at least, and when he asked why, she simply replied that Zirak preferred it that way. That had been that, and her supposed knowledge of Zirak's wants had enabled her thereafter to persuade Lord Elrond to modify his behaviour somewhat. However, it did not escape her notice that, although Zirak was beginning to look better--his eyes were brighter and some colour was blooming in his cheeks for the first time since she'd known him, Lord Elrond was steadily weakening.
Elwyyda sat the tray on the bedside table and observed the two figures curled up together on the great bed. At first she was pleased, for both seemed asleep, and since it was mid-morning that was a sign that perhaps they'd had a decent night's rest for once. But she became concerned when neither stirred, even though she had made no effort to be quiet when setting down the tray. She coughed, to let them know that breakfast had arrived, but still there was no response. She briefly thought about going to get help, as their stillness was becoming worrying, but the haughty servants who ran this household had done nothing to earn her trust. Deciding to be a little more forward, she reached out a hand to tug at Lord Elrond's sleeve, and an instant later the room fell away.
* * *
The minute the orcs came pouring through the forest, Glorfindel knew what he was seeing. Not just an attack--THE attack, the one Vairë had shown him all those centuries before. He had not been able to tell Thranduil and Celeborn about it, as he did not know when it was destined to occur and he would not risk altering the future in any way. Things had to go as they were meant to do--at least up to a point--or he had no chance of changing the one point that mattered. It pained him greatly to think that the scene shown in Vairë's tapestry had to take place just as he and Elrohir were once again back together; he had hoped for a few years at least . . .
Glorfindel had not spared much time to worry about his lover when Gondolin fell. He had been frantic to find the princess and get her safely away, and with the chaos, noise and frenzied crowds, he had had little time even to think about Ecthelion until he saw him fall. Until then, Glorfindel had honestly believed that nothing could hurt his lover. Ecthelion had always been larger than life and supremely confident--and experience in battle had shown that he had every reason to be. But that day had proven that even the greatest of warriors can die, if the odds are sufficiently against them. Glorfindel had seen his lover do so not once, but twice: on the day they lost Gondolin and in the scene from Vairë's tapestry. But Lord Ulmo himself had said it--the past is just the future decided. He had not understood that at the time, but in the centuries since he had given it much thought. What he hoped Ulmo meant was that everything remains in flux until it actually occurs. He had seen Elrond die in a future that, thanks to Ulmo's interference and his own refusal to leave Elrond's side at Barad-dur, had not happened. Likewise, he was determined that the future Vairë had shown him would be proven a lie.
As a tide of orcs burst into the glade, Glorfindel made sure to stay alongside Elrohir. It was almost like the old days--fighting back to back as they once had done against Morgoth. But the orcs were not Glorfindel's primary concern. He fought them off with only part of his mind, while keeping a sharp eye out for the sneak attack he knew was coming. A large orc appeared to his right, just as Glorfindel was holding off two others with his knives. Elrohir swung about to face the new attacker, forcing Glorfindel to have to move several paces to the left. He ran an orc through with one of his knives, and was so busy trying to slip his other weapon past the second creature's guard that he almost failed to see prophecy come true, even with his forewarning.
A flash of green came from the right, heading straight for Elrohir. Glorfindel knew what it was without having to see it distinctly--he had been expecting it. The last time he had seen the great spear, large enough around to skewer a wild pig or, in this case, an elf, it had been sticking out of his lover's back in Vairë's weaving. Glorfindel had only a split second to intercept it, so he pushed the orc he was battling into the path of the weapon. The spear was traveling with such velocity that it passed completely through the creature, who looked down at his punctured abdomen with an air of surprise, and then continued on to tear through Glorfindel's side.
He and the orc tumbled to the ground together, momentarily attached by the spear, but Glorfindel quickly pushed it back out of his body and finished the goblin with a cut across its throat. He judged his own wound to be severe, but not under most circumstances life threatening. A glade filled with orcs is not, however, most circumstances, and he knew he was in trouble. He did not know who the hidden assassin was, or if he had any more great spears with him, he only knew that he had to protect Elrohir at all cost. Just then, a sound he had never thought to hear echoed across the forest, and, insanely, the battle in the glade stopped momentarily as all paused to listen. Elrohir looked as stunned as Glorfindel knew he himself must--the sound was an elvin horn calling for full retreat.
"What is it? What is happening?" Elrohir looked confused, as if he could not quite believe what his ears were hearing. Then he saw Glorfindel's tunic, rapidly changing colour from bright green to deep red. "You're injured!"
The orcs seemed to realise this at the same moment, and the fight resumed in earnest. Glorfindel could feel himself weakening, and although he was taking out a large number of their attackers, he would not be able to continue this pace for long. Yet the orcs just kept coming, even though he had the impression that the ones they were dealing with were just a small part of the whole, for they had gone a good way from camp earlier. If the main elvish host was the point of the attack, how many must they be facing? No wonder a retreat had been called! Still, the battle was up to Lord Celeborn and the king to direct, and he had no doubts of their ability; his sole concern was Elrohir's safety.
Elrohir had always had the Sindarin attachment to the natural world, and Glorfindel hoped if he could get him into the trees, he could make his escape over the roof of the forest. He managed to slowly move them across the glade to the roots of a large tree, which had limbs that spread out, touching those of many others around it. "Climb up, quickly!"
Elrohir nodded and scrambled up the straight trunk almost as easily as if he had had one of the Galadrim's ladders to help him. "Give me your hand!," he shouted down, after reaching the first juncture. But Glorfindel knew he did not have the strength left to attempt any tree climbing, not and hold off the orc attack at the same time.
"Go ahead; I'll follow you!" Elrohir used his vantage point to begin shooting arrows at the orcs remaining in the glade, but did not budge from that spot. He did not have to say anything; Glorfindel should have known--he simply would not leave without him. "Elrohir, you have to get away!"
Glorfindel never received an answer, because all fighting suddenly stopped once more. Through the trees came a sight Glorfindel had never thought to see--en elf walking casually alongside two huge goblins, almost as if they were friends. He recognised the elf in question immediately. "Tuor, what . . . "
"You didn't really think I would let them deprive me of the pleasure of finishing you off, did you?" The handsome blond, so close in appearance to Glorfindel himself, looked mildly inquisitive, rather as if he had simply asked what he would like for lunch. His blue eyes were almost gentle as he surveyed him, and his smile held none of the haughtiness Glorfindel remembered. "It is a shame it had to come to this. I always admired you, you know. Even after you humiliated me in Mirkwood, I felt no real rancor. After all, you gave me a great gift, did you not? Too bad you have recently decided you wanted it back."
"I have no idea what you mean." In truth, Glorfindel had a pretty good idea, but keeping the elf's concentration on him would allow Elrohir time to get away, if only he would use it!
"Oh, no? I suppose, then, that you did not notice the fool my lover has been making of himself lately? Yet it was a rare sight--a king following around a mere seneschal, so enamored that he would do anything for him. It completely escaped your notice?" For the first time, a trace of venom found its way into Tuor's tone. "It did not escape mine! You left me with him when it suited you, but he never really forgot you. I tried everything to make him do so, and for a while I thought I had succeeded. Then one day, after we had had centuries together, he suddenly decides to go to Lorien without me. It was not long before I began to receive reports from friends in his entourage of exactly why."
Tuor looked Glorfindel over, from head to toe, a slight sneer appearing on his face. "I see no reason why he should prefer you over me! We are almost close enough in looks to be twins. I may not have your reputation, but I, too, am a warrior! And a strategist, as I have proven this day. Oh, don't worry," he commented with a smile, seeing Glorfindel's expression. "The rest of the elves will be allowed to retreat. Just as soon as you and your companion are dead."
* * *
Elwydda woke to find herself in an almost pitch black room. The only light came from shards of glass that someone had carelessly left lying about the floor. How they could reflect light when no lamps were visible was strange, but enough illumination was provided to enable her to see that no one else was there. Elwyyda called out, but the room absorbed her voice, making it sound muffled even to her own ears. No one answered her call; not even an echo came back to her.
She cautiously went forward, determined to find a way out of this strange place, when a sudden flash of colour surprised her. She walked over to a large mirror that reflected back not the darkness and her own face, but a comfortable room lit by firelight and filled with books. The mirror's surface shimmered and rippled then, and she put out a tentative hand to it, only to find herself able to pass through as easily as if no barrier existed at all. Her arm was lit by the rosy firelight of that other room and she felt no pain. She withdrew it and examined her limb carefully, but no harm appeared to have been done to it. Gathering up her courage, she decided to continue with her search. Although the room seemed empty, there were parts of it not visible from where she stood. Very cautiously, then, she stepped through the shifting barrier.
As soon as she had done so, it closed behind her, and Elwyyda almost panicked when she could no longer see it. Her hand dimmed, however, when it passed through the area where the barrier had been, and she sighed in relief. It was still there, then, just not easily visible from this side.
From far off, she could hear a strange sound, a metallic clang like swords ringing together. She carefully stayed in the shadows, using the skills she had learned in the mines, and moved slowly down a long corridor towards it. Peering around a corner, she saw a strange sight. Two elves, one of whom was Lord Elrond, were fighting together, and something in their demeanor told Elwyyda that this was no practise session. Elrond's opponent was tall, with long dark hair that almost reached his waist. Elwyyda thought he looked somewhat familiar, but could not place him until she saw his eyes. She almost cried out then, but a hand clasped over her mouth from behind and she was jerked back around the corner. For a moment, she thought she was seeing double. The same dark haired elf who was battling Lord Elrond now stood before her, but there was a very different expression in his bright blue eyes. This one looked as she remembered him, not half crazed like that other . . . whoever he was.
"Zirak!," she hugged him quickly, then stood back, admiring his beauty. She truly would not have known him except for the eyes.
"Elwyyda--what are you doing here? No, never mind; it doesn't matter. You must come with me!" He took her hand and quickly towed her back down the hall in the direction from which she had just come.
"Zirak, what . . . "
They reentered the library and Zirak pointed out the faint outlines of the portal. "Can you see it?" At her nod he smiled, and hugged her close for an instant. "Good. Now think carefully. A connection was made between you and Elrond, do you know how?"
"I . . . I just touched him, to wake him up for breakfast, and then . . ."
"That's good, that's fine." Zirak smiled at her reassuringly, and brushed one of her braids out of her eyes. "What I need for you to do is to go back through the portal to that other room, then concentrate very hard on Elrond's bedroom. See it clearly in your mind, and when you open your eyes, you will be there. Don't panic if it doesn't happen at once--just keep trying and you'll succeed. Can you do that?"
"Yes, but . . . "
"And once you have," Zirak continued, a sense of urgency in his voice, "it is very important that you go find help immediately. I need an elf, Elwyyda--a warrior. One loyal to Lord Elrond who will do whatever has to be done for his safety regardless of what it is. Preferably someone fairly young, who does not remember Lindon. Do you know any such elves?"
Elwyyda nodded. Of course she did. "Gildor."
"Good, then you must go get this Gildor. Bring him to me Elwyyda; have him touch Elrond as you did, and show him how to get here. And you must hurry! Elrond is weakening, and I am of little use to him." Elwyyda saw tears come into Zirak's blue eyes. "Please, Elwyyda, please don't fail me. He is the most important thing in my life--the best thing. He always was. I MUST save him, do you understand?"
Elwyyda nodded. If Zirak wanted to see Gildor so badly, she would make certain Gildor was brought to him. She didn't understand all this, but perhaps they would explain it to her later. Zirak helped her up to the portal, which hovered a few feet off the ground, and she was once more enveloped in darkness.
* * *
Glorfindel's mind was working quickly, and he had by now realised that the depiction he had seen of his lover's death on the wall covering in Mandos had been an accident; the spear had been thrown at him, not at Elrohir, who must have stepped in front of it in that other time. Glorfindel had, then, already changed the course of events once; all he had to do now was insure that the future he had seen did not come true in another fashion. "Let Elrohir go; he has no part to play in this. It is between the two of us."
Tuor shrugged. "He had no part, until you dragged him into it. He has seen me now, and I cannot very well leave him alive to tell the king any of this, can I? With you two out of the way, Thranduil is mine. In time, he will learn to appreciate all I do for him, to love me as he always should have done--as he would have, if his mind had not been fixed on you!" He gestured up at Elrohir's tree. "Kill him," he told the orcs briefly, "but leave the other to me."
Two orcish archers took aim at Elrohir, but before Glorfindel could make a movement in their direction, arrows sped out of the encircling woods, burying themselves in the creature's backs. An instant later and the glade was filled with elvish soldiers, Noldor by the look of them, and a dark figure emerged behind them, fussily brushing pine needles from the sleeve of his wine coloured tunic. He looked annoyed and petulant, his lips set in a definite pout, but Glorfindel had never been so happy to see anyone in his life.
Erestor walked casually through the glade as his Noldorin soldiers slaughtered the remaining orcs with brutal efficiency. Side stepping a severed head that rolled into his path, he finally reached Tuor, who one of the Noldor had grabbed by the shoulders and was holding in a manner that looked particularly painful. Erestor ran a soft touch down Tuor's cheek, but his eyes were on Glorfindel and he wrinkled his nose. "You look dreadful. Why don't you get yourself patched up while I deal with this one?"
Glorfindel found that his vision was going blurry and he was having difficulty thinking. "We need to question him. There has to be more going on here than . . . "
"I will tell you nothing!" Tuor spat, glaring daggers at Glorfindel.
Elrohir had meanwhile dropped onto the ground at Glorfindel's side, and he slipped an arm about his lover's waist, pulling him off to the side of the glade where he could minister to him. Glorfindel rested his head on Elrohir's shoulder, hearing Erestor's soft laugh behind him. "Oh, I think you will," Erestor told Tuor briefly. Glorfindel smiled slightly; rather thought he would, too.
* * *
Haldir was looking crossly at Gildor, who had on what he had begun to think of as his "reasonable face." It meant that Gildor was silently telling himself to ignore his lover's ravings until he cooled down, and then they would make up. Only Haldir had no intention of cooling down, and the only way they were going to make up was if Gildor decided to properly submit.
"I don't understand why you are upset, Haldir," Gildor was commenting quietly. "If I have done anything to hurt you, truly it was unintentional." He let his fingers softly caress the skin of Haldir's chest, visible through the opening of his nightshirt. "Perhaps I can think of a way to make it up to you?"
Haldir pushed the questing hand away. "You are not going to distract me. We need to come to an understanding . . . " He was interrupted by the door to his room bursting open to reveal the little dwarf, who was looking even more crazed than usual.
"You must come!" She ran over to Gildor and began tugging on the hem of his shirt. "Please, Gildor! Quickly!"
"What is it? Elwyyda, what is wrong?"
Haldir could not believe that his lover would turn away from him when they were in the middle of a serious conversation, just to bother with the maddening dwarf. It was, however, a symbol of everything that was wrong with their relationship. "Gildor--put her out now! We need to finish this."
"In a moment, Haldir," Gildor said absently, as Elwyyda did her best to pull him towards the door.
"No, now!"
Haldir's words had no effect on his lover whatsoever, except to make him pause and glance back over his shoulder briefly. "I think this is important, but it should not take long. I will be right back . . ."
"Gildor." Haldir put as much force into his words as he could. "If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back."
Gildor sighed. "I'll see you in a few minutes, Haldir," he said, and he was gone. Just like that. Haldir stared at the door in disbelief. The dwarf came by with some trivial problem--probably stubbed her toe on the stairs in frustration that she hadn't been able to assault Haldir recently--and Gildor went off with her with barely a word for him. If Haldir had had any questions about the way in which his lover saw their relationship, he had just had them answered.
Fine, he thought, glaring at the closed door. Let him go. It doesn't matter. Haldir briefly amused himself thinking how easy it would be to replace Gildor--there were, after all, dozens of elves falling over themselves to get close to him. He could have anyone he wanted . . . the only problem was that there was only one elf he really, truly DID want, and he had just watched him walk away.
Haldir glared at the door some more, then sighed and got up, hobbling over to the wardrobe to find something suitable to wear. He and Gildor were going to have this out. His lover could not merely walk out of his life without having to give some explanation for his actions. If Haldir meant so little to him, fine. But he was going to have to say it, was going to have to put his rejection into words. Pulling a blue tunic over his head, Haldir wrenched open the door to his room and looked out at an empty corridor. So where had that cursed dwarf taken Gildor, anyway?
* * *
TBC