Title: By the Grace of the Valar

Author: Morgana
Author's Email: morganalebeau@yahoo.com
Web page: http://www.paranoid.nl/avalon

Pairing for this part; Erestor/Glorfindel

Rating: NC-17.

Summary: Erestor hopes for a happy reunion with Glorfindel in his father’s Halls. But Glorfindel is no longer the same Elf he was in life. Námo is forced into action to set things straight.

Disclaimer: Not mine, Tolkien’s.
Warning: AU of course!

Author’s Note: Completely AU. Plus, I am taking huge liberties with Erestor, Námo and his wife, Vairë.

Beta reading, translations and research by Patricia Pleasant, thanks! I couldn’t have written this story without your help!

All remaining mistakes are mine!

By the Grace of the Valar

Part 3

Ereinion looked up from the book he was reading and surprise spread across his features. Círdan had left him about an hour ago to watch the sunset and when his teacher had left the Shipwright had definitely been alone. But Círdan wasn’t alone any longer. In his arms Círdan carried a fair-haired Elf, apparently injured and unconscious.

“What has happened? Who is he?” Ereinion placed the book aside and slowly pushed himself to his feet, cursing his own stupidity that had caused him to come away with an injury received during sparring practice that morning. For some reason he had been distracted and had tripped, landing gracelessly in a heap at Círdan’s feet. He had sprained his right ankle, and although the injury would be healed shortly, Círdan had ordered him to rest and to keep his weight off his foot.

“His name is Lindir and I found him on the shore.” Círdan decided against telling his ward just yet about the light that had instructed him to look after Lindir. He headed for his bedroom and placed Lindir onto the mattress. Behind him, he heard Ereinion limping – his ankle obviously still troubling his protégé. “I need to fetch a healer and I want you to sit with him in the mean time.” He would have preferred to stay close to Lindir himself, but fetching the healer would take Ereinion too long and cause him additional discomfort.

Ereinion pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down. “Is there anything I can do until the healer arrives?”

“Lindir was conscious earlier and showed distinct signs of panic and shock. Should he wake, try to keep him calm and in bed.” Círdan hurried back toward the doorway. “I should be back shortly.”

“I will look after him,” promised Ereinion.

Círdan hurried down the corridor and headed for the healer’s house, leaving Ereinion to care for Lindir. He hoped that the young prince could deal with a panicking Lindir.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Lindir…” Ereinion repeated the name, admiring its musical timbre. His fingers swept aside the dirty hair, realizing it would be snow-white after being washed, but right now it was covered with blood and dirt. He winced in sympathy, finding major bruising on the normally delicate features, which were now swollen due to the beating he had suffered. “Are you from Gondolin?” Ereinion whispered the words, unwilling to wake his charge. He had heard rumors that Gondolin was under attack and that most of the inhabitants hadn’t survived Morgoth’s charge. “Nay, you cannot hail from Gondolin. You could not possibly have covered that distance in such short a time.”

Lindir stirred beneath his touch and Ereinion prayed the injured Elf wouldn’t wake up yet. He wasn’t a healer and didn’t know how to handle a traumatized Elf!

Thankfully, Lindir remained unconscious and Ereinion released a sigh of relief. His fingers moved lower now, hovering above the bruising left on Lindir’s throat, but never touching the sensitive flesh. He carefully moved the cloak aside, as he wanted to check for additional injuries. His brow furrowed, finding deep gashes on Lindir’s chest.

In the end, he sadly realized that almost every inch of the white-haired Elf’s body was covered in bruises and he suspected that Lindir’s attackers had also broken one or two ribs. Lindir’s right wrist was also oddly shaped, suggesting a fracture. Inside him, his feelings raged. Only a foul creature could treat one of the Firstborn like that and he vowed to protect Lindir – like he had vowed to protect all Elves. A deep sense of responsibility had been ingrained in him since birth and he wanted to live up to their expectations – most especially Círdan’s.

Ereinion frowned, realizing he had taken to stroking the dirty hair in what was hopefully a soothing manner. His musings were stopped, as Círdan stormed into the room, dragging a perplexed-looking healer behind him.

“Examine him, but do so carefully.” Círdan pushed the healer into the room and went to stand behind Ereinion. “We should give them some privacy.”

Had it been up to him, Ereinion would have preferred to stay, but he couldn’t ignore Círdan’s order to leave the room with him. Ereinion rose to his feet and was grateful that Círdan walked slowly so he could keep up with his guardian. He followed the Shipwright into the living area.

“Sit down, pen-neth. I do not want you putting your weight on that foot.” Círdan assisted his ward in sitting down and then walked over to the window to look at the Sea.

“What do you know of Lindir?” Ereinion raised his leg onto a footstool and sighed, now that his foot was resting comfortably.

“Not much. I was wandering the beach when I came upon him.”

“Was he awake?”

“Not at first, but then the eyes opened and he looked at me. He raised a hand, as if to touch me, but then convulsions shook him and he fainted.”

Ereinion gave his teacher a warm smile. “You will gain a reputation for taking in youths!”

Círdan chuckled, softly. Ereinion had been ten when Fingon had sent the boy to live with him. Círdan had felt honored and vowed to raise young prince the best way he could. The former Elfling had become a valiant warrior. An adult now, Ereinion had become most pleasant company and Círdan feared the day Ereinion would leave the Isle of Balar to become their next High-King. “You youngsters need someone to look after you!” He tried for a joking tone, but failed.

“We will have to ask him where he is from when he wakes up,” said Ereinion, eager to feed his curiosity. “And we should learn what has happened to him – who attacked him!”

“I do not think it is wise to question him yet.” The healer stepped into the living room and walked over to Círdan.

“What did you learn?” Círdan turned and looked the healer in the eye. Ereinion shifted on the chair, growing curious, but also nervous.

“Personally, I think Orcs attacked him,” started the healer, only to be interrupted by Ereinion.

“Orcs? There aren’t any Orcs on the Isle of Balar!” Círdan’s guards made sure of that!

“I examined the lashes on my patient’s chest. Whoever cut the skin there had sharp and dirty fingernails.” The healer met Ereinion’s eyes and said, “No Elf would leave such injuries on one of their own kind. It must have been Orcs.”

“What about his other injuries?” Círdan forced himself to remain calm. Like Ereinion, he was filled with anger and he wanted to exact revenge on those vile creatures.

“He was severely beaten. They broke two of his ribs and his right wrist is also broken. He will be bed-ridden for the next few days. And then there is his mental state. I cannot comment much on that as I have not seen him awake yet. But it is safe to assume he will be in some sort of shock upon wakening.”

“What do you suggest we do?” Ereinion didn’t want to make any mistakes when it was his turn to sit with the injured Elf.

“Do not push him into revealing what happened. Not yet. You can try that later. Right now, he needs reassurance and to feel safe.” The healer opened the bag he was carrying and placed several vials onto the table. “Use this soothing balm to further the healing process. I already rubbed it onto his chest. The bruising will go away in the next few days, but the broken bones will take longer to mend. I set those and bandaged his chest and wrist.” The healer looked at Círdan and added, “I will return here tomorrow to check on him.”

“What do we do when he wakes up?” Círdan picked up one of the vials to study its contents.

“You will have to radiate calm and a sense of safety. It is hard to predict how he will react to your presence.” The healer walked toward the doorway. “Should you find you do not know how to deal with him, send for me.”

“I will.” Círdan let the healer out and then returned to Ereinion. “I want to sit with him for a while.”

“I will relieve you once you grow tired.”

Ereinion’s words made Círdan feel proud. He had done a good job in raising Fingon’s son.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Círdan leaned back against the comfort of the chair and studied his newest charge. /It must have been one of the Valar who brought you here,/ he decided. What other being possessed such powers?

“Did he wake up yet?” Ereinion leaned against the doorframe, observing their patient. Lindir’s features were more pronounced now that the healer had washed away the blood and grime, and he could tell a rare beauty was hidden beneath the bruising.

“Not yet.” Círdan frowned. “And didn’t I tell you to rest? This way, your foot will never heal!”

Ereinion smiled, smugly, and then carefully seated himself on the side of the bed. Looking at Lindir, the grin quickly fled his features. “Have there been Orc sightings?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Círdan’s concern increased. The rumors which had started yesterday that Gondolin was under attack persisted, and Círdan was afraid they contained some truth. If Gondolin *was* under attack, many Elves would lose their life and there was no guarantee Turgon would survive. And if Turgon died, his title would go to Ereinion, who would become the next High-King. /If Gondolin has fallen I will be informed./ Until then, he would concentrate on Lindir.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was Ereinion’s turn to sit with Lindir when the white-haired Elf stirred again. Ereinion placed the book he was reading aside, and concentrated on his charge. “Lindir?” He felt excited and nervous, seeing the large eyes open and stare blankly at the ceiling. “You are safe here.” He had never dealt with a traumatized Elf before and trusted on his instincts to guide him through this experience. He shifted a little closer and gently gathered Lindir’s good hand in his. “You are safe with me.”

Ereinion’s voice – the voice of a stranger – finally registered with Lindir, who promptly released a keening wail. The blank stare broke and the blue eyes filled with the memories of the horrors he had witnessed. Unable to identify the voice or his surroundings, Lindir panicked. He tried to launch himself from the bed and onto his feet, but he doubled over in pain instead. There was not an inch on his body where he didn’t hurt and he gasped for breath, as his ribs reminded him of his injuries. Keeping still, Lindir waited for the waves of pain to dim.

“You are safe here, meldir¹,” said Ereinion, in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Lindir’s hand still rested in his – the injured Elf hadn’t pulled it away and that encouraged Ereinion to gently squeeze the trembling fingers. “You are on the Isle of Balar and you are staying in Círdan’s house. You are safe here. No one will hurt you. I won’t allow it.”

Lindir’s eyes, which had been beaten half-closed, tried to focus on the form at his side. His eyes, still recovering from the blows aimed at them, only saw a dark-haired form and his mind identified him as Erestor. “Help me…”

Relieved that Lindir wanted him to help, Ereinion left the chair and sat down on the side of the bed. “I am a friend, Lindir. I mean you well.” He didn’t know what was going on in the injured Elf’s mind, but he was grateful that Lindir wasn’t rejecting him or fighting him off when he loosely folded an arm around the abused form.

Lindir bit down the pain radiating from his ribs and leaned heavily against Ereinion. “You are here… I was afraid you had deserted me.” He closed his eyes, which were aching, and sobbed softly in the loose embrace. “You were just in time… Only a moment later and… and… he would have… that creature would have…” raped him, but he couldn’t say those words yet. “They made me watch… made me watch them rape and murder my friends… How can anyone be so cruel? I still see their shocked eyes and… and…” The sobbing intensified and he buried his face in the other Elf’s clothes.

Ereinion sensed Círdan’s arrival and looked at his teacher from over his shoulder.

Círdan nodded; encouraging Ereinion to continue the conversation. It was important that they learn what had happened for only then could they help Lindir best.

Ereinion’s head reeled with the new information Lindir had just supplied. /You saw your friends being raped and murdered? That did not happen on the Isle of Balar. Círdan and I would have been notified by now if such a gruesome attack had taken place here./ “Lindir, where did this happen?”

“In the rose gardens… Why are you asking? You found me there, Erestor.” Lindir melted against the strong body holding him. “Never let me go again.” His greatest fear was being left alone.

Círdan’s frown deepened. “There are no rose gardens on this island,” he said softly.

Ereinion nodded, thoughtfully. “He called me Erestor.”

Círdan didn’t know an Elf with that name. “Try to find out more.”

Lindir relaxed against him, and even though his ribs must be causing him pain, the injured Elf seemed to be begging for him to tighten his hold, so Ereinion did. Lindir’s cries became subdued, but the body resting against him still shook with sobs. “Can you tell me what happened, meldir?”

Lindir rested his head against the strong shoulder and clung to the Elf, who he thought was Erestor. “You surely witnessed the attack? You were at Glorfindel’s side, like always, weren’t you?”

“Glorfindel!” Círdan *did* know that name!

And so did Ereinion. “Please continue.”

“We were in the gardens. We had gathered there to compose a song in honor of Idril’s upcoming begetting day and…” His voice faltered, as he was being overrun by memories of those Orcs taking them by surprise.

Círdan had heard enough to draw his conclusions and so had Ereinion. Gently rubbing Lindir’s shaking back, the younger Elf said, “This took place in Gondolin, didn’t it?”

“Of course it did!” Lindir’s eyes opened slowly, trying to focus on Erestor, who was asking him such strange questions. “You have lived here for seven years and now you ask me such a question?”

“You think I am Erestor,” realized Ereinion and Lindir’s accepting manner now made sense.

“But… you must be Erestor! You saved me from those Orcs!” Lindir’s eyes narrowed, trying to discern the other Elf’s features. “Erestor? You are Erestor, aren’t you?” Waves of fear coursed through him.

Ereinion sought out Círdan’s eyes. What was he supposed to say?

“Tell him the truth.” Círdan filed all this information away, so he could make sense of everything that had happened later, once Lindir was asleep again.

“I am sorry, meldir. But I am not Erestor. My name is Ereinion.”

“Not Erestor?” The other name didn’t even register with Lindir, whose panic started all over again. “Not Erestor?”

“I do not know this Erestor of whom you speak, but I do know you are safe. I won’t let anything happen to you,” said Ereinion, soothingly.

Círdan judged the time had come to make his presence known and he joined the other two Elves. “You are not alone, Lindir. Ereinion and I will see that you recover.”

“Who are you?” Even though he now knew that it wasn’t Erestor holding him, he pressed back against the warm body in search of protection and shelter.

“My name is Círdan and you are on the Isle of Balar – in my home. And I promise you that you are safe here.”

“Círdan…” Lindir had heard that name before and Círdan had always been referred to as an Elf of honor. He decided to trust these two Elves. After all, Erestor had brought him here and he knew his friend would leave him in capable hands. “The Isle of Balar? How did I get here? I was in Gondolin… the gardens…” Speaking the words caused the memories to return and he clung to Ereinion, crying softly, once more reliving his friends’ torture and death. “They did not deserve that…”

Ereinion tucked Lindir’s head beneath his chin and carefully rocked the distressed Elf.

Círdan, who had spotted the tea the healer had left behind, poured a cup and handed it to Ereinion.

Ereinion nodded in understanding. “Drink this. It will help you fight the memories.” That was a white lie though – the tea would make him fall asleep.

Lindir obediently sipped the tea.

Ereinion and Círdan exchanged a meaningful look and watched as Lindir’s eyes closed again. “This time it is a healing sleep,” said Círdan, who assisted his ward in lowering Lindir back onto the mattress. “Someone needs to sit with him at all time. I will relief you in two hours.”

Ereinion nodded and tucked the soft, silken sheet around Lindir’s still trembling form. “We know who he is and where he is from. We also learned what has happened to him. But we still do not know how he managed to travel such a distance in so short a time.”

Círdan recalled the light – and the voice addressing him. Lindir had said that someone called Erestor had brought him here. If that was correct, this Erestor possessed powers like those of the Valar. “Sit with him and make sure he rests comfortably.”

“What will you do in the mean time?”

“I will send a messenger to Gondolin to find out if Lindir told us the truth. If Gondolin has truly fallen then you are the new High-King.”

Ereinion briefly closed his eyes. That was one burden he had hoped he wouldn’t have to carry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lindir awoke hours later, feeling warm and safe, though his body still ached and his memories were chaotic. He recalled Erestor saving him and taking him away from all that death and pain… but what had happened next?

“How do you fare, meldir?” Círdan, whose turn it was to sit with their charge, poured fresh spring water into a goblet.

Lindir’s eyes opened marginally and allowed him a vague impression of the Elf sitting next to him. “Who are you?”

“I am Círdan,” said the Shipwright, realizing he might have to repeat his name many more times. “And I am here to help.”

Lindir cringed, feeling an arm slip beneath his neck and he yelped sharply.

“I am sorry that I startled you,” said Círdan in an apologetic tone. “I should have told you what I was doing. Your eyesight is still poorly, isn’t it?”

“Aye…” Lindir swallowed, which was extremely painful as his throat felt like sand paper.

“I am going to raise your head so you can drink some water,” explained Círdan, once more slipping a hand beneath Lindir’s neck. Lifting Lindir’s head slightly, he placed the goblet against the chapped lips. “Drink, meldir. You must be thirsty.”

Lindir drank, eagerly swallowing the precious water. Once he had emptied the goblet, Círdan eased him back onto the pillow and Lindir closed his eyes to fight the dizziness, which made his head spin. Questions, memories and pain raced in circles through his mind and Lindir felt at a loss.

Círdan sensed Lindir’s turmoil and said, “Erestor brought you to me, placing your recovery in my hands. I will do the best I can to see you healed.”

“Erestor… where is he?” Lindir’s eyes partly opened, trying to focus on Círdan.

“He left.” Círdan saw the hurt expression on Lindir’s face and immediately soothed him. “Erestor knew you were safe with me.”

“You are… Círdan?” Lindir felt confused and wasn’t sure he remembered correctly.

“Aye, I am. And you are in my home. Ereinion and I will take care of you.”

Had Lindir been in his right mind, he would have recognized that name, but his mind was otherwise occupied. Tears leaked unwanted from his eyes, seeing the Orcs hurt his friends over and over again. “Why? Why did they do that?”

Círdan, sitting on the side of the bed, scooted closer. “Lindir?”

“They had never harmed anyone in their lives! They loved and lived for their music and poetry! Why? Why?” Lindir tried to curl up into a fetal position, but his broken ribs hampered him and he gave up. He cried, letting his tears fall without shame.

Círdan’s mind worked quickly. “Are you speaking of your friends who were killed in the attack?”

“They were minstrels, not warriors!” Emotions overwhelmed him and Lindir sat upright with a start, not truly registering the pain radiating from his chest. “They raped them! One by one! And they made me watch! Telling me I was next! I saw them… saw them all die!”

Círdan moistened his lips, feeling nervous. In the end, he followed his instincts and loosely wrapped his arms around Lindir, who allowed it. “Tell me.” He truly believed that it would hurt less if Lindir talked about what he had witnessed.

“They raped them… Tore their clothes off their backs and… violated them! Why did they bother killing them? They would have died *anyway*!” Anger, fear, grief and confusion mingled inside Lindir, making him scream out his pain.

That scream alerted Ereinion, who stumbled into the room moments later. “What is amiss?”

“His memories overwhelmed him.” Círdan hoped that was a good thing. In his opinion, the worst thing Lindir could do was to keep it all inside. Ereinion’s arrival sparked a reaction in Lindir, who raised his good arm in the Noldo’s direction. “He wants you. Come over here.”

Ereinion sat down on the other side of the bed and suddenly found his arms full of sobbing Elf. “You are safe now – safe from evil. Círdan and I will protect you.”

Although Lindir knew it wasn’t Erestor offering him comfort, he clung to the dark-haired Elf who reminded him of his friend. “Hold me… Please hold me.” Erestor’s words returned to haunt him. One day you might find that music is a very cold and inattentive lover, Lindir. It cannot hold you when you need it most. Oh, Erestor had been so right!

Círdan left the bed and stood close to the window, watching Ereinion comfort Lindir. The messenger he had sent to inquire about Gondolin’s current state and Turgon’s health wouldn’t arrive for a few more weeks and he remained worried. If Lindir’s words were true, the dark forces had achieved a major victory!

Ereinion rocked Lindir and kept murmuring soft reassurances. “You are safe here. Nothing bad will happen to you. We will protect you.” Lindir’s half-open eyes tried to lock with his, but failed.

The rocking motion and the soft crooning soothed Lindir, who eventually glided into a trance-like sleep.

“I will stay with him,” said Ereinion, realizing his presence had a calming influence on the frightened Elf.

“I will prepare dinner,” said Círdan. “I will make some soup.” Lindir wasn’t capable yet of eating solid food.

“Círdan, do you think he will recover?” Ereinion made himself comfortable on the bed, pulling Lindir close and supporting the injured Elf.

“It is still too early to say,” whispered Círdan. “He witnessed his friends being violated and murdered…” he paused, thoughtfully. “We do not know if they tried to force themselves upon him as well.”

“Do you think…?” Ereinion didn’t dare finish that question.

“They might have attempted to rape him. We do not know, Ereinion.”

“But the healer did not mention injuries of a more intimate kind,” said Ereinion, phrasing it as delicately as he could.

Círdan nodded. “I believe this Erestor appeared before the Orcs could follow through, but Lindir was forced to watch it happen to his friends. That will leave scars on his soul.”

“He *must* recover,” said Ereinion in a determined tone. Although he had only known Lindir for a day, he felt fiercely protective of the injured Elf, and by looking into Círdan’s eyes, he could tell that the Shipwright felt the same way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ecthelion!” Glorfindel spotted his friend and ran toward him.

Ecthelion’s eyes widened, finding Glorfindel in the Halls as well. He had hoped his friend had survived the attack. How had Glorfindel died, then?

The two, now dead, warriors, caught each other, hugging close. All around them were familiar faces. These were the warriors they had defended Gondolin with. These were their comrades in arms!

“We are in the Halls of Waiting,” whispered Ecthelion, unwilling to raise his voice in Mandos’ Halls. “We died.” The memories of his death had dimmed, making it possible for him to carry on without being burdened by the horrid circumstances of his demise.

Glorfindel nodded once. “I died defending Tuor and the refugees. A Balrog had followed us and took me down with him.” Glorfindel closed his eyes, remembering the shocked expression on Erestor’s face when the Balrog had dragged him into the abyss with him. “My last thought was for Erestor… Erestor! Is he here as well?” Frantically, he searched the faces of his fallen comrades, identifying one warrior after another, but it appeared Erestor wasn’t among them. “He is still alive then!”

Ecthelion guided his friend to a corner where they sat down on a bench, watching the assembled souls trying to come to terms with their deaths.

“I am grateful Erestor survived,” said Glorfindel eventually. “I told him to live his life for the two of us, should I die.”

Ecthelion took a moment to think his answer over before actually speaking the words. “He promised me a love of my own, you know.”

Glorfindel, not expecting such a statement from his friend, raised an eyebrow. “He did what?”

“When it became clear that the two of you were in love, I felt jealous for a short while. Erestor talked to me, telling me he’d had a vision of the future, showing him I would find a love of my own and that his name would be Elrohir. He lied.” Ecthelion felt cheated. “It would have been kinder to tell me the truth – that I would always remain alone – without having known love.”

“Erestor would never lie to you,” said Glorfindel, coming to his beloved’s defense. “I do not know why that vision did not come to pass… Maybe that future was ruined the moment Morgoth attacked?”

“Speaking of the evil one… Where is Maeglin?” Ecthelion searched the assembled crowd, but the traitor wasn’t among them.

“I made special arrangements for Maeglin. Do not concern yourself with him.”

A deep voice, coming from behind them, made the two friends jump to their feet. Spinning about, their eyes widened, seeing the dark-clad form.

“I am Námo,” said the Vala, confirming their suspicions. “I am here to welcome you to my Halls.”

“Welcome us?” Glorfindel’s first reaction was to lash out at the Doomsman of the Valar, but then realized that Námo was only carrying out his duties. “I did not think I would enter your Halls that quickly.”

“Neither did I,” said Ecthelion, standing beside his friend. “What will happen to us now?” Looking over his shoulder, he found that the fëar² were leaving this hall. They departed via a door to the right, leaving them alone with Námo.

Námo waited for the doors to close behind the fallen souls and then addressed the two Elf-Lords once more. “You will stay here until the moment of your rebirth arrives.”

Glorfindel shuddered, violently. “What will our life –” He stopped himself, realizing what he had been about to say.

“These Halls were built to resemble the things you knew in life. I am not here to punish or reward souls.” Námo studied Glorfindel, and realized what had attracted his son to this radiant soul in the first place. Glorfindel truly was one of the finest specimens the Firstborn had ever produced. “I have arranged for you to share quarters. You might find comfort in each other’s company.”

“Aren’t we allowed to mingle with the others, then?” Ecthelion wondered why they were receiving Námo’s special attention.

“Of course you can mingle.” Námo managed a weak smile, which lit up his serious features. “I cannot promise you that you will find joy in my Halls, but you won’t feel tormented either. See it as a continuation of your life on Arda until the moment of your rebirth.”

“How can I see it in that way?” Glorfindel’s shoulder slumped forward. “My Lord, you seem kind – kinder than I had thought you would be – but my heart is broken and will remain broken without the presence of the one I love.”

Námo was tempted to explain Erestor’s true nature to him, but didn’t. That was something his son should do himself. “Follow me, I will show you to your quarters.”

Numbly, the two Elf-Lords followed the Vala. They departed the halls via a door on their left and followed Námo into the next corridor. Tapestries adorned the walls and Glorfindel came to an abrupt halt, finding one that depicted Erestor’s arrival in Gondolin. His love rested in the shade of the weeping willow and had never looked more beautiful before.

“You can come here and watch those scenes as often as you like,” said Námo, leaning in closer and whispering into Glorfindel’s ear.

Ecthelion wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders, seeing Glorfindel could no longer hold back his tears and was now weeping.

“Looking at these will bring me no joy,” said Glorfindel, averting his gaze and staring at the floor. He fell into step beside Ecthelion when Námo resumed walking.

“Námo! A moment please, husband-mine.”

Glorfindel and Ecthelion looked up in surprise. At the end of the corridor stood Vairë. Her long, mithril hair danced against the small of her back, and her silver gown resembled liquid metal. Her piercing gray eyes fastened on Glorfindel, who looked away, unable to maintain eye-contact for long with such a magnificent vision.

Vairë walked toward them, and once she stood in front of Glorfindel, she placed a finger beneath his chin and raised the Elf’s head so Glorfindel had no other option than to look at her. She studied him for minutes and then exchanged a quick look with her husband. Next, her gaze shifted from Glorfindel to Ecthelion. “I commend you for your courage, my Lords. You fought well.”

“Hannon le³,” said Ecthelion, when Glorfindel remained quiet. “We merely performed our duties as the Lords of our Houses.”

“Oh no, you did more. Especially you, Glorfindel.” Her gray eyes swam in a sea of silver and her smile melted the ice that had begun to form around Glorfindel’s heart at being separated from Erestor. “You really love Erestor, do you not?”

Surprised to hear his beloved’s name roll of her lips, Glorfindel nodded. “I love him… I always did. Even in death I continue to love him.”

“Your love will be put to the test,” said Vairë, cryptically, ignoring her husband’s warning look. “There are certain things you need to know, Glorfindel. Come with me and I will tell you.” Seeing Ecthelion’s disappointed expression, she added, “Please join us, Lord of the Fountain, for this concerns you too.”

Glorfindel and Ecthelion felt both ill at ease, but entered the room after Vairë opened the door.

“Wife, do you not think this is too soon?” Námo wondered what had prompted his wife to do this now. He would have preferred for their fëar to settle in and grow calmer. They had just died!

“We must do this *now*.” Vairë looked her husband in the eye. “I do not want them to learn Erestor’s identity from the other souls. That would do damage beyond repair.”

Námo nodded. “I trust you to handle this, then.”

Vairë knew that much depended on Glorfindel’s initial reaction to learning Erestor’s true identity and she hoped his love was strong enough to see him through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Erestor?” Glorfindel stared in shock at his lover, who stood timidly in the back of the room. Erestor’s expression showed torment and his beloved was nervously wringing his hands. “But I thought… I thought you had survived!” Glorfindel freed himself of Ecthelion’s arm and ran toward his lover. But, just before reaching him, he halted, sensing the power Erestor radiated. This was no ordinary Elf! He had only felt such power when Námo and Vairë had directed their attention toward him.

Ecthelion approached more cautiously, realizing something wasn’t quite right. Erestor should be rejoicing and embracing Glorfindel, yet, the dark-haired Elf remained motionless.

Vairë closed the door behind her and crossed the room to stand at her son’s side.

Erestor felt terrified. He didn’t know how Glorfindel would react upon learning the truth. What was he to say? How to start? “Melethen⁴, I…”

Glorfindel took a step back and bumped into Ecthelion, who steadied him. Erestor’s voice sounded different! Sounded deeper and more powerful! “I do not understand. Why are you here? I ensured your safety by taking out that Balrog! Do not tell me you died shortly afterwards!”

“Tell him the truth, Erestor.” Vairë sensed her son’s inner struggle and hoped he would find the strength to follow through, as she was convinced that Glorfindel deserved to know the truth.

“Truth?” Ecthelion eyed Erestor closely, noticing subtle changes. Erestor carried himself differently, and there was strength in him – strength he had never sensed in his friend before. Erestor radiated power and beauty and Ecthelion’s eyes widened, stumbling upon the truth. “You do not belong to the Firstborn, do you?”

Erestor’s eyes were trained on Glorfindel and he saw his beloved cringe at hearing Ecthelion’s words. “I tried being like you, melethron⁵, because I love you.” He took a step toward Glorfindel, feeling relieved when his beloved didn’t move away from him. “I could not tell you the truth because my father forbade me to confide in anyone.”

“Your father?” Glorfindel shivered and pressed back against Ecthelion. His friend acted and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, letting him know he didn’t have to face Erestor alone. “Who is your father?”

“Námo.” Erestor averted his eyes and stared at the floor. “I have watched you for many centuries, seeing your heroic deeds depicted in my mother’s weaving, and some time ago, I fell in love with you. I beseeched my father to give me a chance to win your love and he granted me that opportunity. He sent me to Gondolin under the condition that I was not to use my powers.”

Glorfindel swayed and it was only due to Ecthelion’s support that he remained on his feet. “What?” What was Erestor saying?

“I tried hard to fit in, but it was difficult. Life as a Vala differs greatly from that of the Firstborn, but I managed, and you accepted me as your lover.” Erestor peeked at Glorfindel and was shocked at his beloved’s expression. Yet, he continued. “I sacrificed that part of me to be with you. The seven years I spent at your side were the best in my existence.”

Ecthelion sensed Glorfindel’s rising anger and hoped his friend would remain calm instead of voicing his fury.

“You belong to the Valar? You are not one of the Firstborn?” Glorfindel glared at Erestor.

“That is correct,” replied Erestor, his unease growing now that Glorfindel’s tone was clipped and his glare venomous. “I wanted to be with you because I loved you. I love you still, Glorfindel. I hope that now we are both in my father’s halls we can start anew and…”

“What?” Glorfindel shook his head. “You lied to me! You manipulated me into thinking you were someone you were not! You never were real, Erestor! You lied to me from the first day we met!”

“It was not like that,” said Vairë, coming to her son’s defense. “My husband had forbidden Erestor to confide in you. Erestor had no choice in the matter.”

But that mattered little to Glorfindel, who jerked his shoulder away from beneath Ecthelion’s hand. “You lied to me!” He pointed at Erestor and his anger came to a boil, seeing the normally chocolate brown eyes turn liquid mithril, betraying his true heritage. “You possess the powers of a Vala and you allowed Gondolin to be destroyed! You could have stopped that attack! You could have saved many lives, but you did not! You let them walk to their doom! What order did your father give you? To harvest as many souls as you could, including Ecthelion’s and mine? I thought you loved me!” Glorfindel spat the words in a poisonous tone. “I loved you!”

“I love you still!” Erestor advanced on Glorfindel, but came to a stop when the blond Elf threw another brutal glare at him. “I am here because I violated my father’s rules and ordered the King of the Eagles to retrieve your body from the abyss!”

“If you really loved me, you would have broken those rules when Morgoth attacked! You are the reason so many died, Erestor! You could have stopped the slaughter but you did not!”

“I could not meddle! My father would have taken me back to these Halls right away and I loved you too much—“

“You were utterly selfish, Erestor! And I cannot love someone like that! You condemned the inhabitants of Gondolin to death when you could have saved them!”

“Glorfindel, it was Turgon and not I, who—“

“Excuses!” spat Glorfindel.

Námo took on shape in the corner of the room and gave his wife a sharp glance. /I told you it was too soon. Even though I dimmed their memories, their death and the Fall of Gondolin is very prominent in their minds./

Vairë sighed. /Maybe I made a mistake, but how do I make amends?/

/I do not know if you can./ Námo sent a wave of fatherly love to Erestor, whose face was contorted in pain.

“You lied, Erestor! You lied to me starting the very first day we met!” Glorfindel laughed, embittered! “And I told Ecthelion you would never lie to him!”

“I never did!” defended Erestor himself.

“You told me I would find a love of my own,” said Ecthelion in a hurt tone. Like Glorfindel, he felt upset by Erestor’s deception.

“I told the truth!” Erestor felt cornered.

“Tell me, how am I to find love in death?” Ecthelion gave Erestor a sad smile. “I believed you. I believed every word you said.”

“I want to leave!” Glorfindel averted his eyes, making it very clear that he no longer wanted to look upon Erestor. “I cannot bear your presence any more.”

”But Glorfindel! Melethen—” Erestor sensed he was losing Glorfindel, but wasn’t ready yet to give up this fight. He had to make Glorfindel understand that even he wasn’t allowed to meddle in such affairs. Eru’s song had contained the Fall of Gondolin and he could not change that!

“Don’t call me that!” Glorfindel’s voice dripped with hatred. “I want to leave *now*.”

“Follow me,” said Námo, judging it best to give Glorfindel some peace and quiet so he could think everything over.

Glorfindel glared at Erestor one more time and then followed Námo out of the room. Ecthelion lingered one more moment and said, “We trusted you, Erestor. We accepted you into our lives and made you a part of us.”

“I…” Glorfindel’s rejection had devastated Erestor and he no longer knew how to explain himself to them.

“You lied to us.” Ecthelion then turned his back on Erestor and followed Glorfindel into the corridor, unable to carry on this insane conversation with Erestor.

“Mother?” Erestor pleadingly looked at Vairë. “I never wanted for that to happen!”

“I know that, my son.” Moved by her son’s misery, she wrapped her arms around his shaking frame and curled her feelings of love around his being, hoping to soothe him. She hadn’t expected things to go so bad so quickly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lindir pushed himself into an upright position, gnashing his teeth in order to keep himself from yelping and waking the Elf asleep in the chair. He focused his eyes, wondering if it was the Elf he felt so comfortable with or Círdan. Although both Elves had treated him kindly, he had taken a liking to the younger one with the dark hair. His eyesight had improved, allowing him to take in his injuries. Oh, those Orcs had beaten him badly, but he also realized he would recover. His Elven healing ability would see to that.

He fought the urge to close his eyes, knowing the horrid memories of the Orcs’ attack would reappear on his retina, tormenting him all over again. So he kept his gaze trained on the sleeping Elf, as far as that was possible.

Lindir didn’t know how many days had passed. He remembered screaming himself awake, being fed more herbal tea and lulled back into sleep again. He shifted on the bed and a moan fled his lips, as he made the mistake of supporting himself by leaning heavily on his broken wrist.

That moan woke Ereinion, whose eyes immediately fastened on his patient. “Lindir?” Had another, horrid nightmare awoken the injured Elf? But no, Lindir seemed rather calm. Not a nightmare then? “How do you fare?”

“Better, I think.” Lindir tried focusing his eyes again. “Is it… you?”

Ereinion frowned and exchanged his chair for the side of Lindir’s bed.

“Are you Círdan or the other one?” Lindir wished he could remember the name, but these last few days were hazy.

At last, he understood. “It is I, Ereinion.”

Lindir startled at hearing that name – a name, which was very familiar to him. “Ereinion, son of Fingon?” That couldn’t be, could it?

“Aye.” Concerned, Ereinion reached for Lindir’s hair, brushing a stray strand back behind the pointed ear.

“Sire, I…” Lindir was stunned; he should have realized the other Elf’s identity before!

“Do not call me that,” said Ereinion, reaching for the soup Círdan had left for Lindir to eat.

“But you are... Turgon, he did not survive the onslaught… You are our new High-King!” Lindir tried to show his respect by bowing, but his ribs wouldn’t allow it.

“He is dead? You are certain?” Círdan’s messenger hadn’t arrived yet.

“Aye, it was the last thing I heard before the Orcs attacked. A murmur of grief went through the city the moment the King's Tower fell with him in it.” It was then when he had known that the city was lost and his death certain.

Ereinion closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. All his life he had hoped that Turgon would live long and that the burden of ruling wouldn’t fall to him. Hearing Lindir groan in pain, he quickly opened his eyes and stopped the injured Elf from bowing. “Do not do that. You are injured.”

“But, you are King.”

“In this room I am Ereinion and I am here to look after you. Do not treat me as your King when I am your caregiver instead. I do not want to be High-King. I never wanted it, but I will accept my position and carry out my duties, but not here. Not when it is just you and me. Grant me that, Lindir. It won’t be long before I will be surrounded with bowing Elves, eager to pay me their respect. Please, when I am alone with you do not look upon me as the King, just as a friend.” His voice had taken on a pleading tone, but he didn’t care. He needed Lindir to understand how he felt about this!

And Lindir – even in his currently confused state – did. “I will do as you ask, meldir.”

Ereinion felt relieved now that Lindir no longer addressed him as ‘sire’. “Círdan left some soup for you to eat. Are you hungry? You should try to eat something.”

“How long have I been here? I do not remember…” Lindir watched as Ereinion placed the bowl, filled with soup, on his lap. He tried taking hold of the spoon, but using his left hand was awkward and he resigned in frustration.

“You have been here for five days now.” Ereinion’s curled Lindir’s fingers around the spoon and then guided the trembling hand close to the other Elf’s lips so Lindir could eat his soup. “You have been asleep for most of that time.”

Lindir swallowed the cold soup, which was still rather tasty. “I should thank you – and Círdan – for taking me in and looking after me.”

“It is the least we could do to help.” Ereinion assisted Lindir in eating the soup and once his charge had finished, he poured a cup of the herbal tea.

“That will put me back asleep, won’t it?” Lindir didn’t want to go to sleep yet.

Ereinion understood and placed the cup aside for a few more minutes. “Are you still in pain?” He had wanted to ask Lindir how he had arrived on the Isle of Balar but not if he was still in any pain, so he had changed his question at the last moment. The healer had told them to let Lindir open up in his own time, and Ereinion now remembered those words. “The last time the healer visited he said you were recovering.”

“My eyesight is improving – I think,” said Lindir, unconvinced. “But I still cannot discern your features. Your face is a blur.”

“And your ribs? Do they still hinder you?” Ereinion reached for the cup and placed the rim at Lindir’s lips.

Lindir sipped, reluctantly, and then pulled away. “They still cause me discomfort and my broken wrist hampers me as well. But I will survive.”

“Most of the bruising is already fading.”

“But the bruises on my soul will never fade.” Lindir instantly regretted his words, feeling Ereinion tense against him.

“I will do my best to help you deal with the memories.” Ereinion made Lindir sip the rest of the tea and then lowered his charge back onto the mattress. “Go back to sleep now. It will aid your recovery.” Only now did he realize that Lindir’s good hand had a tight hold on his wrist.

“Stay with me – stay close.” Lindir feared the return of the nightmares and hoped Ereinion’s closeness would keep them away. “Hold me?”

Ereinion couldn’t deny such a plea and lowered himself onto the bed. He raised one arm, allowing Lindir to snuggle up to him if the injured Elf desired so.

Lindir gratefully accepted and pressed close, momentarily ignoring the fact that it was the High-King of the Noldor holding and comforting him. He could worry about that later – when he was better again. Though, he doubted he would ever make a *full* recovery. He might heal in body, but his mind would remain forever scarred.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glorfindel quickly lost track of time as there was no way of telling if it was day or night in the Halls of Waiting. Candles illuminated the great Halls and a dim light made it into the rooms, but there was no sun. Neither Anor nor Ithil warmed the Halls of Waiting.

“Glorfindel, you cannot remain like this.” Ecthelion sat down next to Glorfindel on the bed. When Námo had said that their existence here would resemble their life on Arda he had only partly spoken the truth. Aye, their surroundings reminded them of their former life, but the atmosphere didn’t. The Halls felt suffocating to most souls and so they huddled close in the main Hall, trying to find comfort in each other’s presence. “Talk to me.”

“What is there to say?” Glorfindel shrugged his shoulders. He still felt betrayed. “Erestor could have stopped the mass murder, but he did not because he did not want to be separated from me. I never thought he could be that selfish.”

“Aren’t you doing him injustice?” Turgon entered and walked toward his former Captain.

Glorfindel glanced at his former King, but didn’t bother to rise to his feet or to bow.

Turgon went down on his heels and caught Glorfindel’s hands in his. Once the warrior had made eye-contact, Turgon said, “I do not know how long I have been here. It feels like an eternity to me. Time passes differently here.”

Glorfindel’s gaze hardened. “What are you trying to say?”

“I have realized my mistake. My pride misguided me and caused me to listen to Maeglin’s advice when I should have listened to you and Ecthelion instead.” Turgon drew in a deep breath. Making this admission was still hard on him. “I was convinced we could defeat Morgoth and made my people stay when I should have told them to flee the city. The Fall of Gondolin was not Erestor’s fault. It was mine and you know it.”

“He is a Vala, Turgon! He could have stopped it from happening!” Glorfindel freed his hands from Turgon’s hold, jumped to his feet, and began pacing his room.

“Nay, he could not.” Námo entered the room and came to a halt in front of Glorfindel, thus forcing him to stop pacing.

“Of course would you say that! He is your son! You would defend him!” Glorfindel didn’t know where this anger came from but it consumed him. In his rage, he even dared to defy Námo himself.

“You do not understand, my child.” Námo placed his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder to keep the soul in place. “The Valar are not allowed to meddle in what takes place in Eru’s song. We might know what will happen, but that does not mean we are allowed to make any changes in Eru’s creation. Our hands are bound. All we can do is observe. And Erestor already did more than he was permitted to. He fed Idril the visions that led to delving the tunnel that guided the refugees out of the fallen city. If it had not been for my son, none would have survived.”

“So, Erestor *did* meddle, when he was not supposed to? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”

“And he was punished, aye. He broke the rules and his being was called back to my Halls. You must understand, Glorfindel. I love my son and missed having him here. He is a shining light inside my darkness, but I let him go because he loved you. You have no idea of the sacrifices he made in order to be with you.”

“I do not want to discuss him any more. He lied to me. He manipulated me. Erestor pretended to be someone he never was. I do not love him any more!”

Even Ecthelion appeared shocked at hearing Glorfindel’s words. “You do not truly mean that.”

“I do!” Glorfindel marched out of the room and slammed the door shut – hard.

Námo shook his head at such folly. “He has no idea what he is throwing away.” Erestor was hurting as much as Glorfindel was, but for different reasons. The blond warrior was just too stubborn to admit the truth to himself and made Erestor suffer for his inability to confront himself.

Ecthelion rose from the bed and studied Námo’s facial expression. The Doomsman of the Valar was nothing like he had thought him to be like. “I never knew you had a son.”

“Vairë and I decided to keep it private. The Firstborn do not need to know everything.” Námo read sympathy in Ecthelion’s eyes and smiled. “I do not find pleasure in harvesting souls, Lord of the Fountain. But it is my given task and I perform my duties to the best of my abilities. I take the best care I can of the fëar entrusted to me, but my means of making them comfortable are limited.”

Turgon rose from the floor and stood beside Ecthelion. “I have learned much during my stay here. I finally learned to identify my arrogance and pride and I feel like I am dealing with it. I just wish I had reached that conclusion in life instead of death.”

Námo nodded once. “In time you will receive another chance – in Aman.” But his gaze shifted from Turgon to Ecthelion and filled with interest. Now there was an extraordinary soul. “My son did not lie to you, Lord of the Fountain. Elrohir will find you, but it is not his time yet.”

Ecthelion grew hopeful, hearing Námo’s words. “Are you certain of that, my Lord?”

Námo nodded once more and smiled kindly at Ecthelion. “I know much, Ecthelion. And I know that Elrohir will come for you.”

Ecthelion drank in those words – they would keep him sane during the long years ahead of him, which would be filled with waiting and longing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erestor walked the Halls, trying to comfort the souls who just didn’t want to accept their death. It was a depressing task, but still the one he was best suited for. He had always possessed great empathy, allowing him to soothe them in the best way. It had also helped him when he had been with Glorfindel.

His beloved’s name caused great pain and sorrow in his heart and his steps faltered. At the edges of his mind he felt his parents’ loving presence, but what he really needed was Glorfindel’s love and acceptance. However, the blond avoided him. He had once approached Ecthelion, asking his former friend to mediate and Ecthelion had accepted, but still, Glorfindel had refused to talk to him. Condemned to loneliness, Erestor entered the next Hall in search of souls, which needed his guidance. He encountered Ecthelion instead.

“I have been waiting for you,” said Ecthelion, who had come to know the route Erestor took when walking the Halls. “Would you sit with me whilst we talk?”

Ecthelion’s request surprised Erestor, but he complied nonetheless and seated himself beside the dark-haired Elf. “What do you wish to discuss?”

“Glorfindel.” Ecthelion’s eyes narrowed, seeing Erestor flinch. “His hatred is poisoning him.”

“I never thought he would call me a liar. I never meant to manipulate him, but I could not tell him the truth.”

Ecthelion nodded once. “Aye, your father explained that to me. But Glorfindel refuses to accept that. Maybe you should approach him and talk to him.”

“I tried,” said Erestor in a melancholy tone. “But he turns his back on me and then walks away. He refuses to talk to me.”

“Maybe you need to try harder?”

A weak smile surfaced on Erestor’s face. “I must admit that I am surprised to hear you say this. I thought you felt I was a liar as well?”

“Unlike Glorfindel, I listen when someone tries to explain something to me. And I listened when your father spoke.”

“My father? What did he say?”

“I want to apologize for doubting you. Your father confirmed that you spoke the truth when you said I would find a love and that his name would be Elrohir. Your father gave me the same name and told me to be patient.”

“My father knows the future. He knows more than I do. If he tells you to be patient and that your love will come to you, I would trust in his words.”

‘Then put your trust in me, Erestor. Talk to Glorfindel. At least one more time. Try to get through to him, for I do believe he still loves you. Glorfindel loved you more than life itself and I refuse to believe that his feelings could have just disappeared.”

“Maybe they changed into hatred?”

“Nay, Erestor. I do not think so. But I do believe that Glorfindel has been hurt. Go to him and try to make amends. Make him listen to you.”

Erestor raised his hand and caressed Ecthelion’s face. “Thank you for your advice, meldir. I will take it and act upon it.”

“Good.” Ecthelion gathered one of Erestor’s hands in his and rubbed the warm skin. “I marvel about the ways of these Halls. You feel alive to me.”

Erestor lowered his eyes. “That is because I am alive.”

“And I am dead.” Ecthelion began to understand why so many souls were drawn to Erestor, asking him to sit with and comfort them. “Your father said that you are the light in his darkness and until now I did not understand.”

Erestor lifted his head and timidly studied Ecthelion’s eyes. “Like my parents I try to bring light and warmth to the souls that dwell here.”

“And now Glorfindel dwells here as well. Don’t you think he needs your light, warmth and love the most?”

“Aye, he probably does,” said Erestor, nodding once. “I will talk to him.” Ecthelion had given him new hope when he had thought that all hope had been lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Círdan watched Ereinion and Lindir, as the two Elves walked toward the shore. A month had passed. A month in which Ereinion and Lindir had grown surprisingly close, and now that Lindir’s ribs had healed, the healer had judged the time right to allow the white-haired Elf to venture outside for the first time.

Círdan felt some measure of concern, seeing the dedication to Lindir in Ereinion’s eyes and he wondered what that spelt for the future. Ereinion was now officially the new High-King of the Noldor and would shortly assume his responsibilities. For now, Círdan acted in his stead, but the Elf-Lords wouldn’t accept that for much longer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Slowly,” cautioned Ereinion, who kept his hand against the small of Lindir’s back. “This is the first time you've left your bed in over a month!” He was thrilled to see Lindir smiling at him. During this last month Lindir had made remarkable progress. Lindir had not only allowed him in, but Círdan as well. Ereinion knew that Lindir’s acceptance of them had been the Elf’s salvation. Had Lindir rejected them, and wallowed in self-pity, he wouldn’t have recovered. But Ereinion didn’t delude himself. He also knew that emotionally Lindir was far from healed, but he was also determined to take it one step at a time.

Lindir smiled warmly at Ereinion. “There is no reason for you to be this troubled! The healer declared me fit enough to walk unaided and yet, you continue to support me.”

Ereinion laughed. “Lindir, I grew up an only child and the only Elf I ever felt close to was Círdan. But Círdan is my teacher and much older than I am. You, on the other hand, could be the brother I never had.”

Lindir had never felt more relieved to hear such words. During the last month he had grown worried that Ereinion’s feelings were of a different nature. He wouldn’t have been able to deal with that. Hearing that Ereinion looked upon him as a brother reassured him. “I am much older than you are.”

“Then you can be my older brother!” Ereinion guided Lindir onto the beach and watched carefully whilst the white-haired Elf sat down on the warm sand. He sat down beside Lindir, keeping the other Elf’s hand cradled within his. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Reading worry in Ereinion’s eyes, Lindir wondered why. Fear sneaked into his heart and cold sweat formed on his skin. “Have there been Orc sightings?”

“Nay.” Ereinion shook his head. “I did not mean to scare you. Círdan received more messages and learned that Tuor, Idril and the rest of the refugees are heading for the Mouths of the Sirion. They will join us shortly.”

“I will see little Eärendil again!”

Ereinion felt relieved, seeing the warm smile on Lindir’s face. He had been worried that the news would upset him. “They will arrive within the next few months.”

“Lindir, Ereinion, am I interrupting?”

Ereinion looked up at Círdan. “You can never disturb us. Will you join us?”

Círdan seated himself and studied the two Elves. “Did you tell Lindir of our impending visitors?”

“He did,” said Lindir, replying in Ereinion’s stead. “And I am looking forward to being reunited with them. We were friends when we lived in Gondolin.” Lindir frowned, wondering about the look in Círdan’s eyes. Something troubled the Shipwright, but what was it?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Círdan waited another month before approaching Lindir. He found the white-haired Elf on the beach, practicing on a lyre, which Ereinion had given him.

“Círdan.” Lindir smiled, always happy to see his savior.

Círdan sat down and watched Lindir’s fingers get reacquainted with the strings. “Does your wrist still bother you?” He noticed the stiffness in that joint.

“It does. I need to practice more.”

“Lindir, I would like to speak with you.”

Lindir tensed. “What about?”

“Two things…” Círdan drew in a deep breath, tackling the less troubling matter first. “How do you fare? You seemed to have recovered, but sometimes I catch a glint of terror in your eyes.”

The old Lindir, who had lived in Gondolin, would have pushed Círdan away. But the new Lindir knew how important it was to share his burden. Ereinion had taught him that, by giving him his unconditional support. “I have healed in body.”

“But not yet in soul.”

“The memories are still very fresh and torment me at night.”

“Is that why Ereinion shares your bed?” Círdan hadn’t wanted to breech the second subject so briskly, but one question had led to the other.

Lindir paled visibly and then nodded his head. “Aye, that is why.” Gathering his courage he studied Círdan’s eyes. “There is only brotherly love between us. I am not capable of more and I doubt I ever will be again. He holds me and comforts me when the nightmares strike.”

“It is none of my business why Ereinion shares your bed, but… I raised him, Lindir. To me, he is the son I never had and I worry for him, knowing you are still dragging ghosts with you.”

“I would never take him as a lover or allow him to bind with me if that is what you are worried about. Past experiences have damaged me and Ereinion deserves better than what I now am. We are friends.” Lindir laughed, mirthlessly. “He looks upon me as a brother.”

“And do you look upon him in the same way?” Círdan thought he read the answer to that question in Lindir’s eyes and what he saw there saddened him. “You do not. You love him.”

Lindir never considered lying. “Aye, I fell in love with him whilst he cared for me, but I will never approach him in that way. After all, he is the High-King.”

Círdan felt deeply ashamed. “Lindir, when I saw the two of you together, I knew you had feelings for him. My first instinct was to tell you not to confide in him. I wanted to tell you that he deserved a chance to marry into a renowned house and sire children.” Looking into Lindir’s eyes, he didn’t avert his gaze, seeing the pain in the sky-blue orbs. “But I have changed my mind. Ereinion would be blessed to have you as his lover.”

“Do not worry, Círdan. As I said before, I do not plan on telling him.”

“Why?”

“Those Orcs broke something inside of me when they made me watch those rapes and… and then…” His voice faltered. It had happened too recently to discuss this in a rational manner.

“And then they laid their hands upon you as well.” Círdan reached out and placed the palm of his hand against Lindir’s face, gently rubbing the cheek. “And now you feel unworthy of Ereinion’s attention.”

“Erestor rescued me before they could have their way with me, but I still feel their hands upon my body – the way their fingernails cut open my skin and tore off my leggings.” Lindir leaned into the touch – trusting and open.

Círdan moistened his lips. “Lindir, I want you to listen to me. Their touch did not decrease your worth – not in my eyes and certainly not in Ereinion’s. I do not know if he will ever love you in that way. I do believe he looks upon you as a brother, but if he ever takes that step, I hope you will accept him. For you *are* worthy of him.”

The dam broke and Lindir flung himself into Círdan’s arms. “Thank you… Thank you for those kind words.”

Círdan smiled, rested his chin on Lindir’s head, and held him tight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ereinion was worried. Now that he was approaching Lindir and Círdan, he could tell that his friend had cried. Lindir’s eyes were red-rimmed and his face was still wet with tears. He didn’t like that – didn’t like that one bit.

Círdan looked up and smiled at seeing Ereinion’s protective expression. He freed himself of Lindir’s hold and rose from the sand. “Stay with him. He needs you.”

“What did you do to make him cry?” Anger echoed in Ereinion’s voice.

“He told me the Orcs tried to rape him. That was a very big step for him. And now he needs you to be there for him.” Círdan tucked a strand of Ereinion’s hair behind his ear and then returned to the house, leaving Ereinion to comfort Lindir.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Lindir?” Ereinion gathered Lindir close to him and wiped the tears away with his thumb. “You do realize I always suspected they tried forcing themselves on you?”

Lindir nodded once and his eyes slowly dried. “It was not that hard to see, was it?”

Ereinion smiled in a reassuring way. “I am so relieved you finally faced that truth and shared it with us. I truly believe it will aid your recovery.”

Lindir looked deeply into Ereinion’s eyes, knowing he truly loved him. But he could never make Ereinion happy. Could never call the High-King of the Noldor his, simply because Ereinion didn’t love him back. “You are a good friend.”

Ereinion’s smile brightened at hearing that. “I will be your friend as long as I shall live.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Erestor felt nervous, entering Glorfindel’s rooms. He had decided to follow Ecthelion’s advice and to try reaching his beloved, one last time. “Glorfindel? Melethen?” Why was his beloved resting on the bed? The dead didn’t need to sleep, but Námo granted them the illusion of sleep, allowing them to escape into the lands of dreams, his brother Irmo's territory.

Glorfindel instantly recognized Erestor’s voice, but wasn’t prompted into action yet. He lay on the bed with his back toward Erestor and stared at the wall, listening to Erestor’s footfalls, which told him his former lover approached the bed. “Go away.”

”Nay, I want to talk to you.” Erestor hoped he had enough courage to face Glorfindel. Would he find a way to make his lover understand why he had made those choices in the past? “Will you at least look at me?”

Glorfindel rolled onto his back and pushed himself to his feet, giving Erestor what his lover wanted.

Erestor cringed, seeing the cold, dead, hurt expression in Glorfindel’s eyes. “Melethron, I—“

“Do not call me that. I am not your lover any longer.”

“Why? Why, Glorfindel? How have I wronged you? Make me understand!” Erestor grabbed hold of Glorfindel and shook his lover. “Why shun me?”

“You lied to me, Erestor,” said Glorfindel in a numb tone, which revealed none of his inner turmoil. “You encouraged me to fall in love with you, whilst I thought you were an Elf.”

“Would it have made a difference if you had known I belonged to the Valar?” Erestor released Glorfindel, but didn’t step away yet.

“I do not know that, Erestor. I have not wondered about that yet.” Glorfindel felt cold inside – dead. “I fell in love with an illusion.”

“You fell in love with me! What you saw was me! I did not change my ways to please you!”

“I saw an Elf and I fell in love with him. But in truth I fell for a Vala *pretending* being an Elf.”

“Why won’t you understand that I love you? Still!”

Glorfindel shook his head. “It does not work that way, Erestor. I do not know who you are. I feel like I never knew you. How could you accept my gifts and words of love, knowing I loved an illusion?”

“You are determined to misunderstand me,” realized Erestor. “Did I hurt you so badly? Is there no chance left for us?”

“I loved Erestor – my sweet Erestor – an Elf. Not someone who belongs to the Valar and pretended being my lover. You used me.”

“Nay,” said Erestor in a broken tone. “I loved you.” Realizing that Glorfindel was unwilling to forgive him, he walked toward the doorway. “For what it is worth, know that I wish you well. I hope that your heart will heal and that when the moment of your rebirth comes you will find it in your heart to love again. I will not bother you any more. This is the last time you will see me, except perhaps at a distance in my father's Halls.” Against all odds he hoped Glorfindel would call him back and wrap his arms around him – hold him.

“Good, that will lessen my suffering,” said Glorfindel in a clipped tone before turning around and lowering himself onto the bed again.

Erestor’s eyes leaked bitter tears when he stepped into the corridor, where he found Ecthelion and Turgon waiting for him. “He refuses to listen – to truly listen to me.”

“I am so sorry,” whispered Ecthelion, who now wrapped an arm around his friend and pulled him close. “I understand why you acted the way you did in the past. You loved him. But what I do not understand is why Glorfindel is acting in this way now. I *know* he still loves you.”

Erestor buried his face against Ecthelion’s shoulder and hugged him tight. “At least I won your friendship back, didn’t I?”

“Aye, you did,” whispered Ecthelion into Erestor’s ear. “Do not despair yet. I will continue to talk to him.”

But Erestor’s hope had deserted him. Ecthelion might be convinced Glorfindel loved him still, but he wasn’t. Glorfindel didn’t love him – his former lover hated him!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Years passed by and many things changed on Arda. Tuor and his family were reunited with Lindir and little Eärendil stopped being little. The Elfling grew into a fine half-Elf and fell in love. Elwing returned those feelings and before anyone realized what had happened, those two had bound themselves in their love.

Whilst Elwing and Eärendil chose to live at the Havens of Sirion, Círdan, Lindir and Ereinion remained on the Isle of Balar. The High-King came into power and named Círdan his Chief Advisor, though the Shipwright seldom left the shadows to step into the spotlight. Lindir was always close – always at Ereinion’s side to support him.

Sadness, pain and regrets ruled Arda when the third Kinslaying took place. Most of the survivors of Doriath and Gondolin were slaughtered by the remaining sons of Fëanor. Lindir cried bitter tears when the news of Elwing's fate reached him. Ereinion consoled him, but Lindir felt like something had broken inside him again. The worst news that reached them was that of the disappearance of the small sons of Elwing and Eärendil. Lindir was afraid that the children had been killed in the attack, like their twin uncles during the second Kinslaying years earlier, but later on, word reached him they had survived and were now in Maedhros and Maglor’s safe-keeping. He didn’t know how he felt about that, but at least the twins were alive.

Círdan visited them often, discussing Morgoth’s attempt to gather his army again and a shadow spread over the lands, worrying Ereinion, and thus also worrying Lindir.

When the swan ships from Valinor sailed into the harbor, Círdan, Lindir and Ereinion were relieved to learn that Eärendil had succeeded in reaching Aman, with the help of Elwing and the Silmaril. Ereinion was intent upon joining their army, but was dissuaded by both Círdan and Lindir, stating that he was the last of his line and must survive. Bitterly, he agreed to stay on the Isle until the war was over. By that time, it was apparent that the Sea was rising and that Balar would soon be underwater, so Círdan gathered everyone and loaded them onto ships, along with their possessions and they sailed into the East, seeking a new safe harbor to call their home. They settled in a sheltered bay, surrounded on either side by a new opening in the Ered Luin in what once was Ossiriand and called it the Gray Havens or Mithlond. Here, the Falas Elves under the lordship of Círdan returned to their lives as shipbuilders for those who wished to return to Aman. Ereinion built his palace across the bay, in Lindon, and ruled all of the Elves who had survived the War of Wrath, the Noldor and the descendants of the Teleri alike. With the fall of Morgoth, life was peaceful, for a time.

Then, one day, Lindir’s life changed once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“My name is Elrond Peredhel⁶ and I am here to serve my King!” Elrond’s voice was alive with enthusiasm and dedication. The half-Elf went down on one knee, now that he was presenting himself to Ereinion for the very first time. He even felt reluctant to look at the High-King. In spite of his bold words, he felt shy and nervous.

Ereinion exchanged an amused look with Lindir and then approached the young half-Elf. “Rise, I do not require anyone to kneel before me.” He placed his hand on Elrond’s shoulder and waited for the young half-Elf to rise from the floor. “Look at me. I do not bite – hard,” he added, teasingly.

Taken aback by the teasing, Elrond lifted his eyes and met the High-King’s. “Sire…” Feeling breathless, he took in the High-King’s appearance. Ereinion didn’t look like a King, he mused. Instead of luxurious, formal robes, Ereinion wore brown leggings and a gray shirt. Dirty riding boots completed the outfit. The only thing that told Ereinion apart from the other Elves was the mithril circlet that adorned his head. “Sire, I do not know what to say.”

“Then be silent,” said Ereinion in an amused tone. “So, you aspire to be my Herald?”

“I firmly believe that is my destiny, aye.” Elrond felt mesmerized, looking into Ereinion’s eyes, which radiated wisdom and compassion. He instantly felt drawn to the older Elf.

“Lindir, join us, please.” Ereinion watched Lindir closely when the white-haired Elf joined them. Lindir had become the other half of his soul, and aside from being his minstrel, had also become his trusted advisor. They hadn’t been apart since those days on the Isle of Balar and still shared a room, though nothing intimate had ever taken place between them. Somehow, Ereinion had never stopped holding him in his sleep.

“Elrond, this is Lindir, my most trusted council.” Elrond hoped the two Elves would like each other, for they would spend long hours together.

“I am pleased to meet you,” said Lindir, inclining his head in respect.

“Your name is legend, Lindir. Never before has a more talented minstrel walked upon Arda’s earth, save my foster father, Maglor.”

“Thank you for your kind words.” Lindir’s first impression of Elrond was a positive one, but the minstrel didn’t trust easily – not since that fateful day in Gondolin. “I asked the servants to prepare rooms for you. After you've refreshed yourself, we would like for you to join us for dinner.”

“I am honored and accept,” said Elrond, grateful that the introduction had gone well. He followed the servant to his rooms, eager to join the High-King and Lindir for dinner later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You are tense tonight,” whispered Ereinion in concern. “Is that because of Elrond’s arrival?” He folded an arm around Lindir’s shoulder whilst they made their way to their rooms to freshen up.

“Nay, it is not Elrond’s presence. I think I already like him. He is very refreshing in his enthusiasm, reminding me so much of his father. He will serve you well.” They had reached their rooms and after Ereinion had closed the door behind them, Lindir headed for the bed. Sitting down, he began to undo his braids.

“Then what is it?” Ereinion sat down beside Lindir and swatted the minstrel’s hands playfully away to undo the remaining braids. He loved feeling the strands of Lindir’s hair glide through his fingers. “Why are you tense?”

“Do you remember what night it is tomorrow?”

“The Tarnin Austa, the Great Feast of the Gates of Summer…” Ereinion grew silent, suddenly realizing why this would be upsetting to Lindir. “The night Gondolin fell.” Although his people celebrated the feast year after year, neither he, nor Lindir had ever taken part in it. “The memories are still there.”

“Aye, they are, but your presence keeps them at bay.” Lindir turned toward Ereinion, causing the last braid to slip from the High-King’s fingers. “Did I ever thank you for being there for me? Even after so many years?” His love for Ereinion had only deepened and he cherished these private moments in which Ereinion was his.

“I do not need to hear the words. Your eyes are the mirror to your soul and I read so much in them. Maybe even too much.” Ereinion had long suspected that Lindir loved him, but so far, he had lacked the courage to address the matter. But now that Sauron was stirring and building his army, their time had become limited. If there would be another war, many would die, and as he would be fighting in the front line, there was a chance he would be one of the casualties.

Lindir averted his eyes, afraid of what Ereinion would read in them now. “You should bathe and get dressed, meldir.”

Ereinion let Lindir go and rose from the bed, wondering if he should act upon his feelings or not. For his feelings had changed over the years as well. /I do not know when I fell in love with you, Lindir, but I did./

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Námo sat beside his son, maintaining his Elven appearance as they were surrounded by the dead souls, who found comfort in seeing him in that way. He tried comforting the restless ones, the fëar still mourning the life they lost, but he had never thought he would one day be called upon to comfort his son.

“Erestor?” Námo placed his hand – which was surprisingly warm and soft -- on his son’s and waited for Erestor to lift his eyes and make contact. “I sense your pain.”

Time didn’t pass the same way in his Halls as it did on Arda. To the inhabitants of Arda millennia had passed by, but for the souls in the Halls only minutes had ticked away. Glorfindel, Ecthelion and the other fallen souls had no idea just how many years had past by. Only the Valar did. “’Tis Glorfindel,” he said with conviction. He had seen Glorfindel and Erestor dance around each other for many centuries.

Erestor’s dark and burdened eyes met his father’s. He could no longer shed any tears, even though he wanted to, for there were no more tears left. “He shuns me and it hurts.”

“The Firstborn differ from us, Erestor. Glorfindel refuses to understand that your hands were bound during your time in Gondolin.” Námo clasped his son’s right hand and ran his thumb along the palm. “I talked to Manwë and we have reached a decision.”

“Concerning Glorfindel?” Erestor’s voice sounded hollow – as if all emotion had fled the Vala.

“Aye. Glorfindel will shortly be reborn. He will fight in the upcoming battle against Sauron, and serve Elrond.”

“Will he die in that battle?” Erestor’s big eyes questioningly met his father’s. “For if he does, I beg of you to reconsider. He does not deserve death twice.”

“He will survive the battle, which will take place at the foot of Mount Orodruin, but Ereinion won’t.” Erestor’s soft yelp surprised him.

“Lindir’s heart will break.” Erestor felt deeply for his friend.

“Lindir and Ereinion’s love is not meant to last.” Námo leaned in closer, offering Erestor comfort by saying, “Be at ease, for there is another love in Lindir’s future. He has not been born yet, but he will heal all the hurt Ereinion’s death will cause. He will compliment Lindir and truly be the other half of his soul.”

“Your words *do* comfort me, thank you.” Erestor managed a weak smile. “But what of Glorfindel? What will happen to him after that battle?”

“He will serve Elrond Peredhel as his Captain. He will be happy in Imladris.”

Erestor rubbed his father’s fingers in return and asked, “In what state of mind will you return him to Arda?”

“I will erase some of his memories.”

“Which ones?” Erestor felt apprehensive.

“He won’t remember you, Erestor. He won’t remember the love you once shared, or the hatred that poisons his heart now. He will be at peace. Glorfindel will again be the Elf he was in Gondolin. Carefree and radiant. Do you approve of that?” Námo cocked his head. “If you love him, you will grant him this. Instead of the bitterness and the hatred, which surround him now, he will radiate love again.”

Erestor closed his eyes. “I want him to be happy,” he said, eventually. “And I know that he is not happy here. He is withering away. Most souls come to us for comfort when they fail to cope with their new state, but he shuts us out.” His eyes opened and fastened on his father’s face. “Allowing him to be reborn without certain memories is the kindest thing we can do for him.”

Námo caressed his son’s face, marveling at Erestor’s selflessness. “You will still be able to watch him through your mother’s tapestries. And you will see a happy Glorfindel, instead of a depressed one.”

“I just wish…” Erestor stopped himself from speaking such foolish words.

“I know – you hoped he would forgive you. But he did not. Let him go, Erestor. By setting him free, you will set yourself free.”

Erestor bowed his head in defeat. “I always thought that letting him go would be hard, but it is not. I want him to be happy.”

Námo wrapped an arm around his son’s frame and pulled Erestor close. The Doomsman of the Valar had only revealed part of his conversation with Manwë, the rest of it, he kept to himself. Erestor’s selflessness wouldn’t go unnoticed and would be rewarded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What?” Glorfindel’s large eyes revealed surprise. Námo had just told him that he would be send back to Arda to battle Sauron’s forces, but he still thought he had misheard. “Why me? Why not Ecthelion?” His friend stood at the back of the room. Námo had asked Ecthelion to accompany them because the Lord of the Fountain’s presence usually had a soothing effect on the blond Elf.

Glorfindel’s question made Ecthelion uncomfortable and he wondered why Glorfindel was so determined to question the Valar’s motives. His friend should accept Manwë’s decision without protesting so much! Especially now that they had decided to allow him to be rehoused! Glorfindel was so lucky to already be allowed a second chance at life!

It was Ecthelion’s greatest desire to walk upon Arda once more – to inhale the sweet fragrance of dew-covered roses, to feel a ray of warm sunlight on his skin and to hear the laughter of children. And now, all this and more was granted to Glorfindel!

Námo’s gaze shifted from Glorfindel to Ecthelion. He had received most of the Lord of the Fountain’s thoughts and wanted to tell him that he also deserved to be reborn – but not just yet. The time wasn’t right.

Looking at Glorfindel once more, Námo said, “We have our reasons for sending you back and making you serve Eärendil’s son.”

Glorfindel and Ecthelion had watched the present unfold by looking at Vairë’s tapestries and knew of Elrond, who had become Ereinion’s Herald. Serving Elrond would be an honor, but Glorfindel didn’t want to be reborn alone. “Allow Ecthelion to accompany me.”

Námo shook his head. “Nay.” His answer obviously annoyed Glorfindel and the warrior fought to control his temper. “You will return to Arda and serve Elrond. That is our decision.”

“But Ecthelion…!” Glorfindel felt sorry for Ecthelion, who had to stay behind whilst he would return to Arda. “That is not fair!”

“Neither life nor death is fair, Glorfindel. I thought you had learned that lesson by now!” Námo studied the Elf, who had caused his son so much pain. “Do you wish to say your goodbyes to Erestor before you leave?”

“You should, you know,” said Ecthelion, coming to a halt behind Glorfindel.

“I know that you do not think he deserves my wrath, but he does!” Glorfindel’s gaze hardened. “I will face Morgoth’s forces once more, under Sauron's command this time, because Erestor did not have the courage to face the Evil One at Gondolin!”

Námo and Ecthelion exchanged a glance. Both worried about Glorfindel – and Erestor.

Glorfindel turned, hugged Ecthelion close, and whispered his goodbyes. “You will always be my best friend.”

Ecthelion hugged Glorfindel back. “I love you, Glorfindel. Do not do anything stupid – I won’t be there to fix it.”

Glorfindel chuckled with much bitterness. “I will try to behave!”

Námo raised his right hand and pointed at the doorway. “The moment you leave this room your new life on Arda will begin.”

Glorfindel determinedly headed for the doorway and stepped into the corridor. Then, the Halls faded and he was thrust back into life once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“My Lord?” Ecthelion approached Námo, surprised to find a smile light up the normally serious face. “Does Glorfindel’s rebirth please you?”

Námo raised an arm and folded it around Ecthelion, who gave him a dumbfounded look, as the Vala wasn’t in the habit of allowing souls that close to him. “Can you keep a secret?”

Puzzled, Ecthelion nodded. “Of course, my Lord.” Who was he supposed to tell anyway?

“After the Battle of the Last Alliance has been fought, I will send Erestor to Imladris. My son does not know that yet, so I’d advise you against telling him.”

“My Lord? I do not understand why you would do that. Glorfindel is determined to hate Erestor.”

“Ah, that is why I have erased Glorfindel’s memory of Erestor. When they meet, Glorfindel and Erestor will have a second chance at falling in love. ”

Ecthelion was delighted to find Námo had engineered this cunning plan. “I did not know you were a romantic, my Lord.”

“I am very much a romantic,” said Námo, smiling in a conspiring way. /And I will help you find your love too./

The end of part 3

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¹ meldir (sing.) -- “male” friend (Sindarin, noun) mell + dir

² fëa (sing.), fëar (pl.) -- spirit (Quenyan, noun)

³ Hannon le -- Thank you (Sindarin, verb, pronoun) literal: I thank thee

⁴ melethen (sing.) -- my love (Sindarin, noun)

⁵ melethron (sing.) -- (masc.) lover (Sindarin, noun)

⁶ Peredhel (sing.) -- half-elven (Sindarin, noun)

From the Council of Elrond Quenyan and Sindarin dictionary