Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and any OC's.

Summary: Glorfindel/Erestor. When Glorfindel returns to ME, he finds his attention caught by a haunted advisor with a dark past. Between the outbreak of a war, and Erestor's own demons, can Glorfindel win his love, and survive the darkness?

Author's Notes: This is SLASH, people. This means a male/male relationship. If you are homophobic, don't read past this point.

You have been warned. No flames accepted because of this as proper warnings have been given!


Lindon, the year 1610 of the Second Age.

fire and blood… the sharp clash of steel and the sound of fair Elvish voices twisted in anger and malice… he ran through the crowded streets, full of the dead and the panicking hordes, his little dagger clutched tightly in his hand… when the sons of Fëanor came bearing wrath and ruin, his father had said, 'twas best to have cold steel in your hand to meet that in theirs.

His adar (father) had fallen to such steel, the cold sword of the Fëanoriath slicing him open from chest to navel. His naneth (mother) had screamed then, bereft at the loss of her mate, and had rushed her bereth's (spouse's) murderer with little concern for her own safety. It had ended as many things had that day; in death and tears.

Little Erestor, a mere stripling of only twenty years at the time, recognising the futility of such a challenge, had fled, an action that would haunt him throughout the long years of his life. Racing through the mad and swarming streets of Arvernien, he had ran for his very life, dodging the big Elves with their shining swords, and instinctively heading for the horse's paddock, where the only friend left to him in the world resided. But as he reached the stable, his parents' bloodied forms materialised in front of him; scorn and shame on their faces and malice on their tongues.

"Erestor, my shameful son, why did you not try to save me?" his naneth hissed, her fair face warped with rage.

Erestor shrank back from her dark wrath, and behind her, his adar approached, blood still pooling from the wound that killed him, "Is this my son?" the deep voice rumbled in disgust, "Is this the coward I have sired? You let those dogs run us down! So take the name you have earned, - Kinslayer!"

Erestor's eyes went rapidly from deep reverie to shocked awareness as he bolted upright. Placing a hand over his chest to try to calm his racing heart, he frantically scanned the room for intruders, but the only sounds were the harsh, panting breaths of his own fear, and the faint sound of waterfalls in the background.

Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to will his fear away. He was safe. Safely ensconced in his chambers in Lindon. Lindon, not Arvernien. Arvernien would never be again, and her horrors rested on the bottom of the sea in Ulmo's care.

When he had regained enough of his composure to stop the trembling of his limbs, he pushed the soft bedcovers off of himself, and rose from the warm bed, ignoring the slight chill seeping through his sleep clothes.

The moon was not yet waning, and 'twas a time where sane Elves were lost in reverie or locked in sweet slumber with their loved ones. But as was the case so often of late, such a fate was not for him. He padded silently into the next room, wearily seating himself in front of his desk, overflowing with the mounds of papers and records that went into the governing of Gil-galad's household.

Following his established pattern when the fear within him boiled over, he would work himself until either morning came or slumber took him without the dark claws of nightmares. For there was no return to sleep when he woke from their torment, and he would not demean himself so by admitting to Elrond that he needed an herbal aid to sleep.

The dreams had been steadily increasing in intensity as the years had passed by, for no apparent reason that the sharp witted counsellor could discern. But as they became more frequent in their torment, so did he become more fatigued and his temper more short. Steadily but surely, the sweet tempered Erestor of old was being replaced by this cool counsellor, ever ready with sharp glares and even sharper words.

And he could not find it within himself to stem the tide of change.

Pushing such dark thoughts out of his mind, he forced his tired mind to focus on the task at hand and picking up the quill, he serenely set about working himself into a stupor.


The sun had had been up for quite a few hours ere any soul wandered near Erestor's secluded chambers. But as the advisor had been missing from an arranged meeting with them, an unthinkable occurrence when it came to Erestor, Elrond had decided to seek out his friend to see what was the matter, and Gil-galad, eager to get this most mundane matter out of the way, came with him.

Tapping lightly on the solid wood of the dark advisor's door, Elrond frowned when he heard no response.

Pushing open the door, his face deepened with concern as he observed his friend, slumped over his desk in the far corner of the room, silky dark tresses spread atop the wooden surface, and his fair face locked in a restless slumber, half-buried amid a large mound of papers and documents.

Making sure that Gil-galad could see this disturbing sight, Elrond entered in. The Eldar did not normally sleep with their eyes closed, unless they were weary beyond endurance, and Erestor slept so strangely; and from the dark circles under his eyes, he had obviously worked himself to the bone again, with nary a thought to his own health.

Silently slipping into the room, he was followed by the High King, who also considered himself a friend of Erestor, even if the advisor would not have dared presume that a king would bother with one so lowly. The Noldo's low opinion of himself was something that grated on his friends' nerves, but though they had made many attempts, it seemed there was no assuaging it.

"He is exhausted beyond measure," Elrond said, after a moment of checking on his sleep-locked friend, "And his sleep if yet fitful. I fear it does him little good."

"Will he not accept one of your tinctures to aid his sleep if he is so weary?" Gil-galad asked, "Or does he still deny that ought is wrong?"

"Erestor would deny that anything was the matter if a sword was protruding from him," Elrond answered wryly, "And he is remarkably clear about ensuring that you know not to bother pressing him farther without actually saying so."

"Aye, he is good at that," Gil-galad agreed, "But what do you propose we do now? I am loathe to wake him for the sake of a mere discussion on supplies. It can be delegated to some less hardworking advisor. Eru knows that there are enough of them! Indeed, I think I shall have to forcibly order him to take a few days of rest, and even then, I am sure, that he will find some way to get around that order."

Elrond smirked and nodded, "A true assessment, mellon nín (my friend) but for now, I think that he should be left to his rest, albeit in a more comfortable place. The very sight of him sleeping on that desk gives me a crick in my neck."

"Can you handle him or should I?" Gil-galad ventured, trying to figure out how to move the ellon (he-Elf) without waking him.

Elrond sensed the direction his thoughts had taken, "He sleeps the sleep of the bone-weary, my friend, he will not wake unless he senses danger."

The half-Elf gently scooped his friend up, frowning once more at the too light weight of the Elf, and carried him into the next room, depositing him on the bed after Gil-galad had turned down the covers, and gently covered him before exiting.

Closing the wooden door behind him, Elrond did not bother to hide his concern from the king. "His problem worsens."

"We cannot help him if he refuses to tell us what is wrong, Elrond, Erestor is too prideful to admit he needs help. He will suffer in silence until he collapses."

"Something troubles him, I can tell," Elrond said, musing aloud, "Some dark matter weighs upon his mind. Ai! Curse his stiff neck! He cares nothing for his own welfare, and it pains me to see him so worn."

Gil-galad placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder in a comforting gesture, "You cannot cure all the ills in the world, pen neth (young one), especially in those who refuse to acknowledge them. He is a strong Elf, he will come through whatever is bothering him. All we can do is let him know that we shall be there if he needs someone to talk to."


Erestor's shame upon waking to find that not only had he slept the day away, but had so inconvenienced his lords, was most considerable. Endeavouring to make up for, what he thought, was an abominable transgression; he poured himself into his work all the more to make amends for his supposed slip.

And so when it came time for Elrond to meet with him to discuss the plans for the upcoming winter solstice festival, Erestor's desk resembled a tottering mountain made of paper more so than any construction of wood.

"Erestor!" Elrond exclaimed in annoyance as he took in the advisor's massive workload, "I thought Gil-galad told you that you were to rest!"

Erestor just looked blankly at the Elvenlord, "My lord, I need to get these plans done." he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "The solstice cannot be found lacking just because of… one Elf's ill-advised mistake."

"Ill-advised mistake!" Elrond repeated incredulously, "You worked yourself into a exhaustion! You should be resting!"

"With all due respect my lord, there are matters that will not wait." Erestor said deferentially, only increasing Elrond's ire at his friend's sheer stubbornness.

"Erestor," Elrond said slowly and deliberately, "Your King ordered you to rest. Why are you not doing so?"

Erestor did not even stop his paperwork frenzy to answer Elrond's question, "I know full well that I let him down," he said, "There is no need for you to blunt the truth Elrond. I erred, and I intend to make amends for it. Now, what are the King's preferences for the feast?"

Elrond could only stare at the wily advisor, before groaning inwardly. Erestor was Erestor, stubborn to a fault and ever willing to twist your words round until he got what he wanted.

If the dark advisor would not listen to the him, then obviously Elrond would have to bring in someone of more consequence. He would really like to see Erestor try to refuse Ereinion Gil-galad.


The Grey Havens, the year 1610 of the Second Age.

As he disembarked the white swan ship, he was acutely aware of the silence that proceeded him. No ship had come out of the West to Middle Earth since the War of Wrath, and even if such an occurrence had not been so rare, the traveller's glorious past and reputation would have been enough to ensure that the Elves of Mithlond gathered on the docks to see him arrive.

To the onlookers, he made a striking sight. Tall and well-built with the obvious strength of a warrior without peer; his golden hair, the colour of Anor herself, fell down his back like a river of silk; his eyes, as blue as the most precious of sapphires, bore wisdom and merriment in their sharp glance; and as he descended from the Telerin ship, the glow of the Blessed Realm shone about him, marking him as powerful amongst the Eldar.

Uneasy with all the attention he was getting, Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin in an age past, walked down the docks to the silver-haired, bearded figure that awaited him; one familiar face in a sea of strangers.

"Círdan!" he greeted happily, pulling his long time friend the mariner into a hug which the Shipwright delightedly returned.

"Glorfindel, mellon nín," Círdan said, "'Tis a delight to see you on these Hither Shores again. Long has it been since we last met."

"An age, my friend, an age." Glorfindel agreed, ignoring the crowd of gaping and awestruck Elves to follow the Shipwright into his halls.

"It would seem that you have quite the legion of admirers," Círdan said, lips twitching in mirth.

Glorfindel rolled his eyes at the Sinda, glad to see that the easy camaraderie of yore was quickly being restored between them, "They stare at me like I was Morgoth himself." he complained.

"Tales of your deeds exist in all the Elven realms," Círdan said, "And many songs are sung about the deeds of Glorfindel the Valiant. You are quite famous on these shores, my friend, and especially for the younger Elves, you are as a legend come to life. And with your rebirth… well, let me just say that your fame is assured, and that you will most likely have Elves falling all over you wherever you go."

Glorfindel grimaced at the very notion, and was glad to gain the safety of Círdan's private suite, "I come here at the Valar's will, not to be sport for gossip."

"Your death cemented your glory, Glorfindel, you cannot erase the memories of your deeds from their minds. They adore you most likely."

"My death was painful enough without having to listen to its dramatisation." Glorfindel said tightly.

"Lord Elrond will most likely take that into account and mention to the High King that tales of Gondolin should be kept to a minimum, but I fear your arrival in Lindon will cause a great stir. It is to Lindon that you are to go, yes?"

"Yes, to guard what remnant there is of the kin of Eärendil," he answered.

Círdan's surprise was patent, "But not Gil-galad?"

"The High King? No, the House of Elrond is my charge, though the Valar were most closemouthed concerning the details of what I am supposed to be doing here."

"Elrond is the only one of that house left on these shores," Círdan said, "And he is a scholar, a healer and a warrior. He does not need such protection for Gil-galad helped raise him after he was released from the clutches of the Fëanoriath, and took both Elrond and Elros under his wing."

"I know not the reasoning, only the charge," Glorfindel said wearily, "The world has changed mellon nín. So much so that I scarcely know what I am doing here."

"Aye, much has changed since Beleriand sank into the sea," Círdan agreed solemnly, "But you must not despair, pen neth, the Valar would scarcely have levelled such a burden on you without ensuring that you would have some reward or succour for your labours."

A comfortable silence reigned until the sharp grey eyes of the Shipwright landed on Glorfindel's weary expression and he urged his friend to take some rest, bidding him to sleep away his fatigue and leaving the Elda to his thoughts.

Staring out the window at the strange coastline, so much changed since his first arrival in Middle Earth after the terror and toil of the Helcaraxë, the Grinding Ice that he had crossed with the host of Fingolfin and he wondered at the Valar's reason for sending him back after nearly two millennia in Mandos Halls.

While the Valar had given him this task, Elbereth had hinted that something awaited him in Middle Earth which he would not want to miss. He knew not what she meant, but he did know what he hoped he would find here.

He was eager to see the sole remaining son of Eärendil, whom he had known as a child and had loved him as the Prince of Gondolin; what tales he had heard of Elrond all marked him out to be an Elvenlord of such calibre that there were perhaps one born in an age of his like.

Also he had been grateful to meet Círdan again, the Shipwright had awoke with the first of the Elves and was the oldest Sinda to still dwell in Middle Earth, and had vowed to stay there until the Last Ship sailed into the West.

Of Lindon he had heard much also, and while he was curious to see the realm of Gil-galad, nephew to the mighty Galadriel, he wondered how he was to manage his service to Elrond when the Half-Elven Lord both served the High King, and dwelled with him in his halls.

But what he really wanted to find on these shores was such a thing that he could only dream of. Even when he dwelt in Gondolin in happier times, he had never found the one who was a partner to his soul, had never taken a mate, or known love.

While he had had countless lovers, none had ever stirred his heart, and though he had not been aware of the loneliness of such a position at the time, after his rebirth, he felt it most keenly.

Now that he had earned himself such renown as to have ellyth (she-Elves) and Ellyn (he-Elves) chase him just for his name and past deeds, he was all too aware that his chances of finding one to share his heart with were very small indeed.

Ever since his rebirth in Aman, he had been cognizant of a gaping hole in his very soul, a part of him that wished to love and be loved in return that he had long ignored in his previous life.

It was ironic that at the time he had been free to seek a love, he had not wanted one; and now that he wanted one, he was bound to serve the House of Elrond for as long as the Lord dwelled in Middle Earth.

Stretching himself out on the bed, he let himself drift into reverie rather than dwelling on wishes that would not be realised, but as he walked in Elven dreams, Irmo, the Vala of visions and dreams was nudged by Vaire, the Weaver of fates, and concentrating on the golden lord, he sent him dreams of a love not yet found, but that may well be within his grasp soon.


Ereinion Gil-galad looked at the missive on his desk with no little amount of surprise. Círdan's letter had been no small shock, but it did tell them that a great boon was coming his way most unexpectedly.

Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, hero of Gondolin, had returned to Middle Earth by the will of the Valar.

Círdan's letter also said something about the reborn Elf seeking out what remained of the kin of Tuor and Eärendil.

But that powerful and renowned Elvenlord was coming to Lindon, and if Gil-galad could persuade him to stay on as one of his captain's, then he just might have enough trusted and skilled captains to prepare for the war that he knew in his heart was coming.

But first, it was time to spread the good news.


"Glorfindel of Gondolin?" Elrond gasped, "Reborn? And coming here? Ai, this will cause uproar!"

The High King of the Noldor smiled with wry amusement, "I wager he will detract much attention away from the winter solstice festival."

Elrond groaned, "Erestor will kill him if he interrupts his plans," the half-Elf said in a long suffering tone, "Balrog slayer or no, he just try to might toss him into the river."

"Nonsense!" said Gil-galad, "Erestor would never do something so obvious. I wager instead, that if Lord Glorfindel displeases him, then Lord Glorfindel will find himself running out of sheets, laundry, food, supplies and whatever else Erestor decides to withhold from him. But this is a great boon from the Valar that he has been allowed to return. If I had ten Elves of his ilk, Sauron would quake."

"Be that as it may, I will have to be the one in the range of danger," Elrond protested, "You will be not be buried in arrangements for festivals and feasts, when no doubt the whole of Lindon will have their heads full of thoughts and gossip of Lord Glorfindel."

"Indeed," said Gil-galad, "I also wager that I shall hear far more tales and lays of Gondolin than I ever wanted to hear. But as you said, mellon nín (my friend), I shall not have to do it."

Sometimes, Elrond really wished that Gil-galad could be the victim of his own wiles once in a while.


When Elrond entered his friend's office, the Noldo was seemingly inundated with work, and dutifully dispatching it with more efficiency than Elrond himself was ever able to manage.

"Erestor," he half-sighed, "Will you ever take a break from this work? The very sight of that pile makes my hand ache in sympathy!"

"The work must be done, whether I will it or not," Erestor replied, "Is there ought I can do for you, my lord?"

"How many times have I told you to call me Elrond?" the Half-Elf replied.

"In an official capacity, I cannot address you so, my lord." he said seriously.

"Well since, officially, I am here to spread gossip, I say that you can safely address me by my name."

"Gossip?" Erestor repeated in surprise.

"Yes, we shall have a great lord visiting shortly. He will be travelling from the Havens and should be here before the solstice."

"Who?" Erestor asked in alarm, wondering how he was going to fit in a feast to welcome this 'great lord'.

"Glorfindel of Gondolin, returned to Middle Earth by the Valar."

"The Balrog slayer?"

"Aye, the same one." Elrond answered. "But don't worry meldir (friend)," he reassured, seeing the agitated look in his friend's eye, "I am in charge of dealing with his housing and such, so you need not fret, and should just enjoy whatever forms of gossip the Edhil (Elves) of Lindon shall come up with to greet him."

"I thank you for your appraisal, Elrond," the Noldo answered thoughtfully, "But I have much work to do…"

"Of course, Erestor, I will see you later," Elrond said, getting up to leave. But as he was passing through the door, his foresight came to him suddenly, and he stiffened in the hallway in shock.

He knew not what it portended, but he had just had the strangest feeling that something important was going to happen to Erestor soon….

Now if he could only have known what……


A/N: So? Opinions please! Please READ AND REVIEW!!!


Adar - father

Naneth - mother

Bereth - spouse

mellon nín - my friend

Ellon - he-Elf

Pen neth - young one

Ellyth - she-Elves

Ellyn - he-Elves

Meldir - friend

Edhil - Elves


Avernien - the city on the mouths of Sirion, where many of the survivors of Doriath, Nargothrond, and Gondolin dwelt. Was destroyed by the sons of Fëanor, who initiated a kin slaying and sacked the city.

Círdan - also called 'the Shipwright'. Lord of the Grey Havens. The only Elf with a beard.

Eärendil - Elrond's father. Now sails the sky with a Silmaril. Can be seen as a star in Middle Earth.

Ereinion - 'scion of Kings'. High King of the Noldor after Turgon's death. Also known by his épessë (surname) Gil-galad.

Gil-galad - Last High King of the Noldor. King of Lindon.

Mithlond - the Grey Havens. Ruled by Círdan.

The Grinding Ice - When the host of the Noldor left the Undying Lands in rebellion against the Valar after the theft of the Silmarils by Morgoth, Fëanor instigated the First Kinslaying when he slew the Telerin Elves of Alqualondë for their ships. But as there were not enough to carry all the Noldor from Aman at once, he chose those most loyal to himself to go first and instead of sending the boats back for the other host of Elves, which was larger than his, he burnt them. The remaining Noldor under Fingolfin, though Galadriel was also one of the leaders, were forced to cross the Grinding Ice (think of something like polar icecaps.) to get to Middle Earth. Many perished on the journey, and the crossing was long, hard and treacherous.

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«´¨ Asha D ¨»
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