Author: Estelrond

Disclaimers and all that good stuff can be found in Chapter one. I appreciate reviews though. I'm a feedback junkie. (Plus, if you don't, I'll send my assassin elves after you.)

I have to give a hug to Sio and Carol, my most faithful reviewers; I don't think they've missed a chapter! You rock, ladies!

Trinka- Thanks for sticking with me. I know I'm just a confuzzled little girl, but you tolerate me anyway.

San, Claudia, Any, Morwen and Sa… my world wouldn't be the same without you.

The rest of this story can be found at (reviews there are nice as well)

Gah, I think this is almost the end. We will flashback later for certain, but this is it for now. Next chapter we go back to the boys. My brain can't take much more of this. And I could do without Farlest would stop writing his own history. There's some stuff in here that he couldn't possibly have done. Grrr….I think 'Ros has been in here too. Oh you don't know about 'Ros? Well hang onto your hats (Or whatever happens to be around) and you'll see in another chapter or three. Trust me, you'll enjoy this guy. Darn am I a sucker for red hair.

Ok, I am seriously rambling. I will blame this on my many squabbling plot bunnies and the naughty little muse who keeps whispering in my ear.

Part Seven

Son of My Heart

I am crossing the bridges of sorrow
Empty with yearning and full of tomorrow
The river is high and the bridges are burning
I know I've been hurt but I keep on returning

-October Project

It was the blonde warrior who brought the remembering. So often something or someone would trigger a memory, and one of the lost pieces would fall into place. His memory had returned very reluctantly and was still not complete. Some of his past he'd rather have done without. Some of it had shocked and appalled him. And now another gap was being filled.

And, as always, the remembering was anguish.

He lay curled on the bank, in as small a ball as he could make himself. Pain bursting like white star fire through his head, he gasped, long sobbing breaths, while trying desperately to ignore the suffering that the breaking of the dam brought.

Then the memories came. The terrible, barely endurable pain lessened as remembrance returned. And with remembrance came a face.

And with a face…a name.

And though the pain had gone, he wept. He cried for what he had lost. Because for once, his eyes must have betrayed him. And disappointment was cruel.

He almost wished he had not remembered.

Glorfindel strode into camp. It was already dark and to his relief the young vagabond had not decided to run away, indeed, far from it. For he had built a small fire that sent pangs of guilt through the warrior, as he remembered the firewood he had supposedly gone off to gather when he had made his ignominious exit earlier.

There was also a rabbit roasting on a spit. A wordless tribute to the skill of the younger elf, for he had had no weapons at his disposal save the dagger which Glorfindel had left with him.

The dark-haired elf sat before the fire, his back to the golden warrior behind him, seemingly unaware of his approach. Asfaloth had apparently taken a liking to the gaunt being and lay behind him, as the elf leaned gently into the horse's flank, taking comfort from the touch of another, friendly, being.

Glorfindel moved forward and sat beside them, the elven steed and his silent companion. The younger elf said nothing, only stared into the flames that made shimmering waves dance in his clean, silken, black hair. And Glorfindel, for one of the first times in his long life, thought, just for a moment, that he might be on the verge of fainting and he was rendered utterly speechless. His heart was in his throat, and his chest seemed painfully tight as he battled the emotions that the sight of this, this wild elf, brought to him.

The elf beside him was older, surely than he had been and his body showed the fearful price that starvation and hardship had demanded of it. And those eyes, those fathomless, emerald eyes had had the innocence stripped from them brutally, to be replaced by a haunted, tortured gaze that was a mirror of the elf's soul.

But there was no way he could be mistaken for anything other than who he was.

His skin, now washed free of dirt and grime, was flawless and perfect. His angular features, made more acute by the brutality of his recent years, were highlighted ethereally by the blaze into which he stared so intently.

And his hair, no longer a muddy color and no longer coarse and unkempt, streamed down his back in a glossy, raven wave.

So perfect.

Save for the torment in his eyes, embodied in the tear that coursed down his cheek. One solitary tear that betrayed the impassiveness he was trying so desperately to convey.

Glorfindel felt unshed grief stinging his own eyes. "Look at me." He said the words softly, but they were a command nonetheless. And he was amazed to find that his voice still worked after all.

"I can't." It was only a whisper, roughened by the sorrow that he held so fiercely in check.

"Why not?"

The elf bowed his head, his raven tresses cascaded forward to cover his face from the blonde's view with an impenetrable black curtain.

"Because I know you can't be who I would wish you to be. And if I look…I-I'll fall apart!" He tried to hard to hide the desperation he felt, but it came through all the same. Glorfindel thought his heart might shatter at the other's pain.

"Then look." The blonde warrior said gently, "And do not be afraid."

"You cannot know!" the younger elf now made no effort to disguise his feelings, "I fear no living being, my lord. I have been hurt too many times and I know the limit of cruelty. There is nothing that I fear." His voice became defiant, but to Glorfindel, the others lie seemed to jump out at him. This elf had so much to fear. Glorfindel was suddenly angry.

"Who hurt you?" The blonde warrior felt the instinctive vengeance rise in him, and he wanted to get his hands around the throat of whoever had caused the tortured look in those eyes that were too old for the seeming youthfulness of the body they inhabited.

"They are dead." It was said simply, without feeling or empathy and Glorfindel felt as if he had been cut to the very heart. He had not been there for this elf, this son of his heart.

"Farlest." The word hung in the air, laden with all the emotion – sadness, love, pain, grief, even anger – that was in the warrior's heart.

And the other looked at him, finally. It was a reflex, for if Farlest had thought, he would not have chanced a glance at the other.

The result was instantly apparent. His features changed, from statuesque to suddenly alive with wonder, fear, and confusion. His lips parted reflexively and a sudden light swirled in those sad green eyes.

"How? You…" then, without warning, he launched himself into Glorfindel's arms, and sobbed like a frightened child, who has sought his father in the darkness to chase away the terror of his nightmare.

Glorfindel stroked his hair, and simply held him. "I am so sorry, Farlest. So sorry. I was not there for you, ion-nin."

"I thought you were dead." The words were somewhat accusatory.

"I was." Admitted Glorfindel, "But I came back. I should have sought you out as soon as I returned. I should have and I didn't Farlest, I'm so very sorry."

The black-haired elf continued to weep as the golden elf's strong arms held him close. Glorfindel had much to make up for with this son of his, and he would see to it that he would be safe for the rest of his days. If it killed him he would.

When Farlest finally ceased to cry, when no more tears would come, he finally let weariness claim him, and for the first time in more years than he wanted to remember, he felt completely and utterly safe.

Glorfindel leaned gently back against Asfaloth, who waited faithfully beside him. "I'll make it up to you, Farlest. And I'll drive away the terror in your eyes, ion-nin. If it takes the rest of my immortal days I swear I will. And tomorrow, we will go home. And home we shall stay." Planting a fatherly kiss on the top of Farlest's head, he kept watch through the night, dozing ever so slightly in elven dreams, which were suddenly more pleasant.

TBC