My Heart's Desire - Part 1. To Wait for you.

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Chapter 11. A Bolt from the Blue.

When Thranduil woke up the second time it was truly morning. The room was flooded with sunlight and birds were chirruping merrily in the garden outside. He stretched with all his body and sat up in bed, feeling as carefree as the singing birds. At this moment Gildor walked into the room from the terrace. Thranduil stared.
Obviously, the Vanya had got up some time ago as he was fully dressed and looked as bright and fresh as the morning itself. He wore light leggings, which clung to his shapely legs with alarming tenacity, and a sleeveless tunic with a low neckline, generously revealing his collarbones and the upper part of his chest. His bare arms were encircled with bracelets and armlets of intricately woven mithril lace and he had a mithril choker around his slender neck. He looked mouth-watering. Literally. Thranduil swallowed and clasped his hands in his lap hastily to prevent the sheet from tenting. Gildor did not try to hide his amusement.
“Do you like what you see?” he asked.
Thranduil’s eyes darted up to his face. “You bet,” he muttered. When he saw Gildor’s smug smile, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “You did it on purpose!”
“Yes,” Gildor admitted cheerfully. “I could use some advantage when we discuss the clauses of the treaty I brought.”
“This is dirty play!” Thranduil complained.
“No, as far as I know this is called diplomacy. Come on! Get out of bed. I’ve taken the tray with our breakfast to the terrace.”
“The tray with our breakfast?”
“Yes, it was left for us outside my room.”
“I do not remember asking for it.”
Gildor walked up to the bed. “Thranduil, I’ve been visiting you for centuries now. You do not have to *ask* for certain things to be done. You’ve got a very efficient household. Won’t you get up already? I’m starving.”
He tugged at the sheet but Thranduil wouldn’t let go of it. “So am I. And I *am* up. Cannot we have breakfast in bed?”
He gave Gildor a seductive look but the Vanya ignored it.
“We cannot. I certainly prefer to put in my mouth something I could bite and chew on.”
Thranduil winced visibly at that.
“You are welcome to join me on the terrace,” Gildor went on, “or you can stay here all alone. The choice is up to you.”
“The way you are behaving right now is not very diplomatic, you know,” Thranduil pouted.
“No, it isn’t. But it’s practical because it will work.”
It did work, and they had breakfast outside to the accompaniment of bird songs and the merry bubbling of a garden fountain.
“What is your schedule for today?” Gildor asked when they had finished eating. “What are you going to do?”
Thranduil shrugged. “Just the usual stuff.”
“And that is…?”
“Ruling my kingdom, things like that,” Thranduil’s tone was deliberately casual.
“Oh, I see,” the Vanya chuckled. “Do I possibly fit into your plans?” Seeing a mischievous smile appear on Thranduil’s lips, he shook his head. “As an official, I mean. I’m an Imladris envoy, remember?”
Thranduil sighed. “As an official… Well, I have to look through the draft of the treaty you’ve brought. Then we can discuss it. Before lunch, perhaps?”
“Good. Then I’ll spend my morniith ith Legolas and shall learn his new songs.”
Thranduil’s eyes warmed at the mention of his son’s name. “Yes, do. He missed you.”
As they rose from table to return to the room Thranduil suddenly remembered, “Oh, and in the evening we are going to have a party in your honour. A lot of elves here would like to talk, to dance and to flirt with you.”
Gildor gave him a scornful look. “As if any of your subjects would dare flirt me me in your presence. If you want to give them a chance, do look the other way at the party, at least from time to time.”

Thranduil’s braids were ruined by their early morning activities so Gildor had to replait Thranduil’s hair for him.
“May I return the favour?” Thranduil asked when he was finished.
“All right,” Gildor agreed after a short hesitation. “But make it just a plain Mirkwood style, will you?”
“Nothing of Mirkwood is plain!” Thranduil argued vehemently.
Gildor smiled. He always admired Thranduil’s unwavering patriotism. “Oh, well… Do as you please then,” he relented. “I think I might as well humour you, considering the negotiations we are to have. Do not start having ideas, though,” he added hastily at the dreamy expression of Thranduil’s face he saw in the mirror. “This is the last concession I’m going to make.”
“We’ll see about it,” Thranduil murmured.
As Thranduil started arranging Gildor’s hair in the style he liked on him most, Gildor sat for some time silently, contemplating the way to bring up the subject he wanted to discuss with Thranduil. He really needed to know how Thranduil felt about Legolas’s crush on Glorfindel. And though Aranaur had been right, saying that his father would willingly listen to what Gildor had to tell him, decisions Thranduil made were always his own. At last, Gildor ded thd that a direct approach was the best one.
“Tell me, Thranduil,” he inquired nonchalantly, “have you talked with Legolas about birds and bees yet?”
“What?” The question took the king completely by surprise.
“What I want to know is when you’re going to consider your son grown-up enough to have a love-life of his own?” Gildor explained patiently.
Thranduil was not particularly happy with the topic, but he knew that if Gildor had raised it he would not drop it easily.
“When he is older,” he replied reluctantly. “He isn’t even of age yet!”
“As far as I remember, you were about as old as he is now when we first met,” the Vanya remarked smoothly.
“I reached my majority two decades prior to that!” Thranduil argued.
“And what a paragon of innocence and inexperience I found you those two decades later,” Gildor chuckled. Thranduil glared at him via the mirror. “Thranduil, Legolas is your son in more than one way. He knows what he wants and he’ll get it, whether you like it or not. You won’t be able to control him better than your father was able to control you. But where you enjoyed your occasional rebellions against your father, Legolas takes your disapproval really hard. ”
Thranduil sighed. “I simply do not want him to get hurt.”
“I know, my friend. But you cannot baby him for ever.”
Thranduil shook his head. “I wish to spare him possible mistakes; the likes of mistakes I made in my youth.”
“I do not believe he’ll repeat many of them. In fact, your younger son acts much more maturely in the ways of love than your elder one. I do think his wise heart has made a good choice. Glorfindel is noble and true of heart. He loves Legolas. He will not hurt him.”
“He’d better not!” Thranduil scowled. Then he sighed. “Why does it have to be Glorfindel? First, he stole *you* away from me. Now he must have my son.”
“Thranduil, he didn’t steal me. We parted ways long before he was returned. I thought I would never see you again... And then Glorfindel came back to Arda and appeared at Elrond’s doorstep. Eru, wasn’t that a shock for me! He was a part of my former life; of the world I had left behind and missed so much. What’s more, he was a living proof that elves *could* return from Mandos’s Halls. And for him, I was the only one he knew in this changed, unfamiliar Middle-earth. We needed each other. That was all. It is different with Legolas. Glorfindel truly loves him, trust me.”
The king played with the tiny braid he had just made above Gildor’s ear. “Legolas is still very young. He can change his mind and have a swing in his affections.”
“Is it Glorfindel’s heart you are now worried about?” the Vanya smiled. “This is the risk Glorfindel is willing to take. Though, I do not believe that will be the case.” Gildor caught Thranduil’s hand and squeezed it. “You should think about your son, meldir. Do you not wish to see him happy? Your approval means very much for him. He’s feeling guilty for having fallen in love with the elf his dear Ada isn’t too fond of, the elf who comes from the realm his Ada has rather strained relations with. He is torn between his love and loyalty to you and his feelings for Glorfindel. Your consent will make all the difference for him. For your son’s sake, please, try to accept his choice.”
Thranduil sighed, still not very happy with the whole business. “I wish you hadn’t brought Glorfindel with you when you came here last,” he said, putting his hands on Gildor’s shoulders.
Gildor turned his head and kissed one of them by way of apology. Suddenly he chuckled. “Try to look at it from another point of view. You think Legolas could have made a better choice. But he could have made a much worse one.”
“What do you mean?”
“He could have fallen in love with me, for example.”
“Oh!” Thranduil was taken aback but then he laughed. “Gildor, is this your idea of comforting a worried father? Thank you very much!”
“You are welc” th” the Vanya replied lightly.
Thranduil fell silent for some time, his hands caressing Gildor’s shoulders absentmindedly. Finally, he came to a decision.
“All right. I do wish to see my son happy so I’ll give Glorfindel a chance. He may come to Mirkwood in fifteen years to the celebration of Legolas’s majority, along with an Imladris delegation. Until then, he’ll have to be content with letters.”
“An Imladris delegation?” This was the part Gildor found the least clear in the king’s declaration.
“Yes, you heard me correctly. Why are you surprised?” Thranduil pulled playfully at one of Gildor’s silky strands. “Haven’t you been pestering me for centuries now, trying to persuade me to forget the old feuds and to restore relations with Elrond? Well, you’ve succeeded at last. I only hope it doesn’t mean that Erestor will be coming to Mirkwood instead of you,” he added in mock dread.
“W he he is the chief counsellor after all. Why should I go on doing his work for him?” Gildor teased.
“There’s no fun in having Erestor in your place.”
Gildor’s lips quirked up at the double entendre of Thranduil’s words. “If you think so, then you do not know him at all.”
“Oh, I know him. It’s just that he has a very… peculiar idea of having fun.”
“One can learn to enjoy his ways, you know.”
Gildor tilted his head up and smiled at Thranduil mischievously. The king leaned forward, cupped Gildor’s face in his hands and gave him an inverted kiss. “Perhaps. But I prefer blonds.”
“So do I,” the Vanya breathed.
Thranduil resumed his ministrations on Gildor’s hair. When Gildor saw him take the fourth clasp from the table in front of the mirror, he whined, “Enough of those, Thranduil, please!”
“Shush! Mithril becomes you. And I’m almost through. Here. You’re ready.”
Gildor rose and turned around. Thranduil gazed at him for a long moment, his irises gradually changing shade from bright to dark emerald. At this, Gildor’s eyes widened slightly and he started sidling back. Thranduil followed at once. Gildor did not have much space for manoeuvring and in two steps the backs of his thighs were pressed against the edge of the table.
Thranduil gave him a feral grin, closing the little distance that was left between them. “You look delicious enough to be eaten,” he murmured against Gildor’s parted lips and drew him into another kiss, this time a deep and demanding one. Still holding the Vanya’s mouth captive, he swept off the hair clasps and brushes of the table, hoisted Gildor up on it, pushed his legs apart and stepped in between them. Gildor tried to tear his lips away but Thranduil caught his head between his palms and held it firmly in place, refusing to break the kiss. Only when his lungs started to burn for the lack of air, did Thranduil pull away at last. The kiss left them both gasping and flushed.
“Thranduil,” Gildor panted, “I honestly think you should go and rule your kingdom. Right now!”
Thranduil nodded, his thumbs still caressing Gildor’s jaw. Gildor licked his kiss-swollen lips unconsciously and Thranduil moaned. “Stop it!”
“Then move away from me.”
Thranduil obeyed reluctantly and with some space between them, they were finally able to regain their composure. They left the room soon after, Thranduil heading for his study and Gildor going in search of Legolas.

It cost the king an earnest effort to concentrate on what he had to do. But when he managed it at last, he became completely absorbed by his work. When his concentration was broken eventually, it was with some surprise that he found that it was almost lunchtime. The sound which had brought him back to reality was Legolas’s laughter. He rose from his desk and came up to the window to see what had caused his son’s merriment.
Legolas and Gildor were sitting on the grass cross-legged. Gildor had a lute in his hands. As Thranduil watched, he started playing it and sang something.
“No! Wrong words!” Legolas squeaked and collapsed on his back in another fit of laughter.
Thranduil shook his head in amusement. He only hoped the alterations Gildor was making in the lyrics of Legolas’s song were decent enough for his son’s ears. Then he looked at his friend thoughtfully. He liked to watch Gildor when he was with Legolas, for this was the only time when Thranduil could feel it in the Vanya: not the icy cold of his usual countenance or the scorching heat of his passion, but the gentle warmth of genuine affection. At these moments Thranduil had a feeling that the elf Gildor used to be long ago was still living, imprisoned within the high fortress walls Gildor had erected around himself. Legolas was the only person who could breach his defences and bring that elf out for a short time.
It often seemed to Thranduil that Gildor was warily regarding the world around him through the slits of his visor and when the world looked back at him, it was only a warrior that it saw, intimidating and dangerous. Gildor’s protective armour had since long become a part of his nature and though it bore heavily on his shoulders he refused to lay it down. True, the armour was a good defence against hurts and disappointments of life but it did not let joy and happiness through, either. Thranduil thought he knew a remedy for his friend but, unfortunately, he was not the one who could give it.
Thranduil looked around, checking if anyone could see him, then he jumped out of his window nimbly and walked up to where his son and Gildor were sitting, engrossed in their talk.
“And then I told them they should hear you singing, then they would know the difference,” Gildor was saying.
“I would rather you didn’t boost my son’s vanity with flattery,” the king remarked dryly.
“Ada!” Legolas almost jumped out of his skin, suddenly discovering his father by his side.
Gildor smirked at Thranduil’s attempt to look stern and lay back, propping himself on one elbow. “That was not flattery but well-earned praise.”
Thranduil sat down on the grass between them. “You should have your own children instead of spoiling mine,” he said.
Gildor smiled at him lazily. “Why should I have my own children if I can spoil yours? Legolas, would you wish me to spoil someone else instead of you?”
“No,” the prince laugh “Th “This is very selfish of you, son,” Thranduil chided him.
“Do not listen to him, Leafling. He doesn’t really mean it. And I love spoiling you.”
Thranduil reclined on his elbow, mirroring Gildor’s pose. “If you are so bent on playing daddy with my son, *you* speak with him about birds and bees,” he said.
Confused, Legolas looked between them, trying to understand what they were talking about. Gildor smiled at him encouragingly. “What your father means, Legolas, is that you needn’t keep your love for Glorfindel under wraps any longer.”
The young prince gasped and blushed violently as it was the first time that his feelings were so openly spoken of in front of his father. Then he looked at Thranduil hesitantly. “Ada?”
The king could not help smiling at the mixture of shock and hope on his son’s face. “It’s true,” he confirmed.
Legolas gave a joyous whoop and threw himself on Thranduil’s neck, toppling him over. Gildor watched them in profound pleasure, drinking in the sound of their laughter. When they finally sat up on the grass again, Legolas looked at his father with wide happy eyes. “Can he come to see me?”
“In fifteen years, when you’ve reached your majority,” Thranduil replied.
“Oh,” Legolas breathed, taken aback, and looked at Gildor, silently pleading for help.
The Vanya smiled apologetically. “That is a fair condition, Leafling. But,” he winked at Legolas, “no one said that letters are forbidden in the meantime.”
Legolas’s face lit up again. He was too overwhelmed by his dropped-from-the-clouds luck to let minor setbacks upset him for long.
Thranduil turned to Gildor. “Will you walk with me? I’ve looked through the draft of the treaty. We can discuss it now.”
Gildor nodded. They rose and headed for one of the garden alleys, leaving Legolas to bask in the sunshine and in his happiness.
“He’ll worship you now, you know,” Thranduil remarked in amusement.
“Hm? Whouldould he?” Gildor feigned ignorance.
“He’s no fool. Yesterday you came to Mirkwood and today he gets his heart’s desire.” Thranduil chuckled. “It looks like you’ve managed to choose just the right moment to talk me into it. Was it what Aranaur asked you to do?”
Gildor gave him a sidelong glance. “You are too clever for a person to feel safe around you, Thranduil.”
The king laughed, but then made a face. “I’m afraid, quite soon I’ll have my ears talked off by my younger son about Glorfindel’s innumerable virtues.”
The Vanya smirked. “I wonder who of you two will be waiting for the end of these fifteen years more impatiently. So, what about the treaty?” he asked, changing the subject. “How did you like the draft?”
“Now, this is one very smartly written paper,” Thranduil chuckled. “I recognize Erestor’s hand in it. The treaty has been drawn up very much in favour of the Imladris interests. But then, this is what Elrond pays him for. I have the interests of my own realm to think of, though. So I’ve made some emendations.”
When Thranduil told him what they were, Gildor shook his head. “You’ve managed to avoid all the pitfalls Erestor prepared for you. And he was so smug about his draft. Are you going to discuss the treaty with your council now?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Are you in such a hurry to leave?” Thranduil inquired in mock offence.
“No. I ask because I have to be present when you do it. After all, I’m paid for defending Imladris interests too.”
The king laughed. “You always manage to make me forget about it somehow.”
Gildor gave him a faint smile. “I swear I’m not paid for *that*.”
They walked in silence for some time and then Gildor said, “I want to leave for Valinor.”
Thranduil felt as if he had been struck on the head by a cave troll. “You want what…?” He stopped so abruptly that Gildor made two more steps before he realized Thranduil was no longer by his side.
“You cannot be serious,” the king shook his head in shock. But when Gildor turned around to face him, Thranduil saw his eyes and his heart sank. “But why?”
Gildor sighed and looked away. “I’m tired… I’m tired of this world, which will never know peace. I’m sick and tired of continuous wars. Even if we ever manage to defeat Sauron and to rid Middle-earth of all his foul creatures, there are still the mortals who simply do not know how to live in peace. They will always find a reason to fight each other, and *us*. We’ll never be left alone. My sword has since long become a part of myself. And I hate the feeling.” Gildor sighed. “It was never my wish to be a warrior. I used to be a singer once, you know; like Legolas. And I hate the very thought that I’ll see your son put away his lute and take up a sword or a bow to become someone like me. There is no happiness along that path.”
Gildor walked up to an old maple tree and put his hands on its trunk, seeking support in its solidity and warmth. “And I’m homesick,” he admitted quietly. “I have a sister I have never seen. For all I know, I can have nephews and nieces by now. I wonder if they are even aware of my existence. I miss my family.”
Thranduil had managed to overcome the initial shock and was listening very attentively. He did not interrupt Gildor, but now he asked softly, “And what about Ermenor?”
“Ermenor,” Gildor breathed and pressed his forehead to the tree between his hands. “I’m afraid,” he said in a muffled voice, “he is not coming back.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Nothing. And this is the problem. I’ve been waiting in vain for millennia. And now I start to think that maybe he hasn’t come back because he does not *want* to come back; to come back to *me*.” The last words were hardly more than a whisper.
Thranduil’s eyes narrowed in indignation. “I see you have talked with Galadriel again.” He walked up to his friend and turned him around to face him. “Gildor, how many more times do I have to tell you – it was not your fault that Ermenor was killed. As it was not your fault that he left Valinor in the first place. And it was not your fault that he fell in love with you and not with Galadriel. She has no right whatsoever to put the blame for *his* choices and *his* decisions at your feet. Do you understand me?”
Gildor nodded but Thranduil could still see doubt deep in his eyes. The king sighed in exaspion,ion, walked back and forth several times and then stopped in front of the Vanya again. “You cannot shoulder all the wrongdoings and faults of this world. No one can carry such a burden and survive it. It’s no wonder you feel dead-tired. You have to let go from time to time. Even the finest bow must have its string loosened now and again, otherwise it’ll snap. There is no shame in feeling weak or hurt, or frightened. And there is no shame in admitting it. You’ll feel better even if you simply talk about it with someone.”
“I talk with you,” Gildor argued.
“Yes, sometimes, over your shield.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that even with me you never open up completely, never lay down your armour.”
“It’s not true!”
“Isn’t it? No matter what, you always present the façade of shining self-assurance and unwavering strength. You never feel safe unless you are in control. Even in bed you do not feel secure enough to let me dominate you. Gildor, as long as you live behind the walls you erected around yourself you will always be alone. No one but you can break them. You must allow yourself to live, to feel. You must allow yourself to be loved and to love.”
“I cannot,” the Vanya said stubbornly. “I promised I would wait for Ermenor.”
Thranduil sighed. “You are not being logical. First, you say that you do not believe he will return and then you refuse to give yourself a chance because you must wait for him. But even if he does come back, how do you know that you’ll be able to love him more than you did long ago in Valinor?”
“I do not know. All I can do is wait and find out when he’s back.”
“And if you cannot love him, what then?”
Gildor shrugged and refused to answer.
“Gildor,” Thranduil said very earnestly, “you *must* set yourself free before this inner fortress of yours becomes your tomb. You are already different now from what you were when we met first. The elf you used to be is fading away slowly. There is less of light in you and more of shadow with each passing year. Wait a little longer – and Ermenor will not know you when you meet again.”
Gildor managed a lopsided smile. “Perhaps, this is why the Valar let me preserve my looks – for him to be able to recognize me.”
Thranduil searched Gildor’s face trying to understand if his words had reached his friend’s heart at all but could see nothing. If Gildor chose to hide his feelings nobody could decipher them. Thranduil sighed and decided not to p the the issue any further at the moment. Instead he said, “I wanted to ask you for a long time now, why did you not return to Valinor immediately after the War of Wrath? You could as well wait for Ermenor there, couldn’t you?”
Gildor remained silent for a long while and Thranduil even thought he would not answer at all. But then the Vanya spoke. “It was one of the conditions of his return,” he said quietly.
“There were conditions?”
“Yes. Two.”
Thranduil was surprised: Gildor had never mentioned it before. “And… you fulfilled both of them?”
“Oh, yes,” Gildor answered bitterly. “I met my end of the bargain. It looks like, though, the Valar chose to forget about theirs.”
Thranduil pondered hard on what he had heard. “Gildor,” he said at last thoughtfully, “can you remember exactly what the Valar promised you?”
The Vanya looked up at him, surprised.
“The Valar cannot lie,” Thranduil went on to explain. “So, maybe, you misunderstood them somehow or missed something in what they told you. Can you remember precisely what you asked and what they promised?”
Could he remember! He had gone back to that day in his memory for so many times that he could recite the whole conversation word by word.


* * *


“Please, let him return!” Nairalindë pleaded urgently. “He has done nothing wrong! He went away not because he wanted to leave but because he could not stay. If it was anyone’s fault, then it was mine. Please, let him come back. You *must* let him return to me!”
His grandfather’s worry and disapproval was palpable, Nairalindë felt Ingwë’s stern look on his back but he could not care less. All that mattered was Ermenor’s fate and the decision the Valar would make. There were only three of them present in the hall. But even three of them would have been enough to make Nairalindë feel awed and intimidated under other circumstances. But not now, when he was desperate and, as a result, reckless.
The Valar were silent but Nairalindë knew they were talking among themselves. He waited for their verdict with pounding heart. It was Varda who spoke to him eventually. “What Ermenor did was his own decision. He, not you, will have to answer for it. Though, we are willing to grant you your wish. If this is what you really want, you will get Ermenor back.”
“Thank you!” Nairalindë almost fainted with relief.
“You must understand, Nairalindë,” Varda warned him, “that it must be your most fervent desire from the very deep of your heart.”
“And you have two conditions to meet,” said Mandos.
“Conditions?” Nairalindë turned to look at him, surprise written plainly over his face.
“You did not honestly think you would get it for nothing, did you?” Mandos asked and Nairalindë thought he could hear a hint of amusement in the Vala’s deep voice.
The young elf raised his chin. “N did did not. What do I have to do?”
“You will become a warrior and will answer our call to fight when we need it.”
A warrior… Nairalindë was not very happy with the prospect but it was a small price to pay for Ermenor’s return. “Very well. I will. What is the second condition?”
“You will learn it when you have fulfilled the first.”
Nairalindë was taken aback. It did not bode well somehow. The Valar saw his doubt.
“Do you accept?” Mandos asked him.
Nairalindë squared his shoulders. “Yes, I accept,” he answered firmly.
Manwë smiled at his grandfather over his head.
“Remember, young prince: your most heartfelt wish,” Varda said again.

* * *

Gildor’s knees grew suddenly weak and he slid down to sit on the grass. He desperately tried to collect his scattered wits. Could it be true? Could he really have been so stupid? Had he failed to wish for Ermenor’s return with all his heart? Was that the reason for his fruitless waiting? The Valar promised to grant him his heart’s desire. But as Ermenor had not come back, was it possible that Ermenor’s returning was *not* his most fervent wish? And if it was not, then *what* was?