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The Lost and the Hidden City	By : pip & BronxWench Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2742 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: We do not own Middle Earth, any of Tolkien's world or characters. We make no money from this work of fanfiction.

Chapter List
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Chapter Nineteen
They set out for the place they had fought the day before, and he was not afraid when they faced each other. He did his best to watch Glorfindel, to read the small signs in the other elf which might signal a readiness to move, and he was heartened when he did manage to anticipate a lunge once or twice. And as he had requested, Glorfindel stopped frequently to teach him.
“Ai,” he groaned, as his sword met Glorfindel’s sword, and the vibration ran up his arm painfully. Glorfindel stopped, and stepped to his side.
“No, you’re holding your sword wrong.” Strong fingers closed around his hand. “Do you see how white your knuckles are? You are strangling the hilt, and there is no give. When your sword meets mine, the energy must go somewhere, and that is here, up along your arm. At best, you tire yourself faster. At worst, you will drop your sword.”
He looked up at his lover, as wide-eyed as any elfling at his first lesson. “Why did no one ever think to tell me this before?”
“Because you are a cartographer, and not a guard.” Glorfindel smiled, and adjusted his fingers. “There. Like that. Try it.”
He took his stance again, and Glorfindel lunged. He parried, and to his amazement, it did not feel so awful this time. “It’s better!” he cried in amazement.
He waited for Glorfindel’s smile, and lunged, managing to catch Glorfindel off guard and land one slap of the blade on his lover’s leather bracer. Then he was tumbled to the ground, laughing up at the warrior. “Point to me?”
Glorfindel grumbled about it, but released him, helping him to his feet before they began again. Gildor did much better, mostly because he was more relaxed, and it was only as his leg began to tire that Glorfindel scored several light hits, none of which hurt in the least.
He actually enjoyed it, and yet when Glorfindel finally disarmed him, he was ready to surrender. He pulled out his knives, only to lay them on the ground at Glorfindel’s feet. He wouldn’t be needing them for the next half hour or so. He looked up from his knees, and seeing Glorfindel victorious above him didn’t sting like it did the day before.
The warrior gestured with his sword. “On your feet,” he said, “and over there.” Gildor followed the point of the sword and scrambled to obey, heading for the longer, cool green grass, followed closely by Glorfindel, still armed.
He turned, and again there was an eloquent gesture with the sword. “Undress,” Glorfindel said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Gildor felt an answering thrill in his own heart as he did what the warrior commanded, stripping with haste until he was quite naked, remembering just in time to retain the oil from his pocket.
It was a warm day, and Gildor sank down into the grass with a happy sigh, feeling it cool and welcoming against his skin. He settled on his front, legs slightly parted, darting a glance back at his lover. “Will you join me and claim your reward?” he dared, turning back to the grass and plucking daisies and clover from it while he heard Glorfindel divesting himself of armour and clothing behind him.
Everything was different to the day before. Gildor relaxed as bees buzzed lazily around him in the sunshine, the air smelled sweet and when Glorfindel at last joined him on the grass, it was perfect. He turned onto his side, resting his head on his hand, propped up by his elbow, and stared into Glorfindel’s eyes.
“Írima mahtarnya,” he whispered, and Glorfindel smiled, reaching to pull him close.
“Melin tirie hendutya sílale yá lalat,” Glorfindel murmured, his fingers teasing through Gildor’s hair, and undoing the thick plait. “There. You are most beautiful with your hair loose, like the night sky. It makes your skin look like alabaster.”
He looked up at his lover, and he could not help but laugh from pure joy. “You are becoming such a poet. Is this the way you warriors claim your prizes?”
It was Glorfindel’s turn to laugh. “Only when our prize is a cheeky cartographer who shows some promise with a sword.”
“And which sword is it which shows such promise?” He watched heat flare in Glorfindel’s eyes. “Perhaps you could demonstrate for me again?”
It happened again, the world revolved in an instant. He marvelled at the blue of the sky above him, the grass cool beneath his back. Glorfindel had the oil already in hand, and he spread his legs accommodatingly, his arms flung over his head. He could smell the clover and daisies, sweet and green, and he arched his back in a manner he hoped was pleasing.
“I will have you, mîr nín, and you will know you have been claimed.” Glorfindel’s growl sent lovely shivers through him, and he felt his cheeks warming with anticipation.
Glorfindel laid one warm palm against his face. “If all my foes were as fair as you, I would never leave the battlefield,” he said.
“You…!” Gildor said, not having to fake his shock since Glorfindel chose that moment to penetrate him with a finger, and he bit his lip to keep in the moan. “You? Leave the battlefield? I do not believe it!”
Glorfindel laughed in delight, but did not stop. Gildor would have loved to continue teasing his warrior lover, but then Glorfindel was kissing him so he could not speak. He moved his hands to Glorfindel’s hair, feeling his fingers sliding through those perfect curls.
He was not passive, but then the hand that caressed his face moved to his ear, rubbing the tender tip between roughened fingers. Gildor cried out as Glorfindel drew back from the kiss, the slow arousal he’d been feeling suddenly speeded up. So, so fast. He felt dizzy and hot, his hands falling to the ground at either side of him in surrender.
Glorfindel chuckled and leaned over so he could torment Gildor’s other ear with a series of light nibbles. “Ai! I will come!” Gildor cried, pressing his hands against the warrior’s shoulders now. “Glorfindel, please!” Actually, he was not sure he could, just from that touch alone, but it felt as though he might.
“That is better,” Glorfindel praised. “Beg me, little mapmaker. That is the right behaviour for a prize.” But despite his words, he did ease back a little. Gildor was surprised to find the day had not darkened, that the sun had not moved behind a cloud. There was something so darkly sensual about Glorfindel like this. He was so single minded, even more so than usual. Gildor wanted it just as much, and he could not contain his moan of excitement when Glorfindel deemed the preparation enough, withdrawing his fingers, only for Gildor to feel the head of his cock right there.
Glorfindel gazed intently into his eyes as he pushed forward. “My reward,” he said, and for Gildor all of those half-formed thoughts about being promised to Glorfindel suddenly returned to his mind. Despite all of their time together, the first moment of feeling Glorfindel’s possession still made his breath catch in his throat. “That is what you are, is it not?”
“Perhaps you are mine,” Gildor managed, a last bit of cheek before he was lost to the sensation of being so completely filled by Glorfindel once again. “Ai, move, meleth, or I will lose my mind.” He registered Glorfindel’s deep chuckle right before pleasure surged with his lover’s movement. This was what he wanted, to be claimed and loved as though nothing else existed outside the two of them.
He had never considered what it would be like to be the subject of obsession, but he found he did not dislike it. Perhaps Glorfindel’s single minded focus was alarming at times, but behind it was nothing hurtful. For his part, he had never been so central to anyone before this, nor had he ever expected to find himself Glorfindel’s lover. Had the Valar truly arranged for them to meet again? If so, perhaps he owed them thanks. He was exactly where he wanted to be.
Glorfindel moved again, and it was impossible to hold his train of thought. He was hot again, and he could feel his need spiralling through his belly. There was not enough friction, but it did not matter. Desire would do what was necessary, and Glorfindel was pressing on all the right places as he thrust into him. His fingers slid down, to grip iron-hard biceps, to hold on as he felt himself rising, fever hot and lost to anything beyond this moment.
“Glorfindel,” he cried out, and he knew he spilled because he felt even hotter for a moment, incendiary, and Glorfindel was the sun which ignited him. He felt himself stutter around Glorfindel, knew he had become impossibly tight, and dimly he registered his lover’s groans of pleasure. It would not have mattered one whit were the entirety of the guard of Imladris to assemble around them. He would not have cared, so long as he could soar like this.
As he came back down from his climax he became aware that Glorfindel had not followed him this time. Instead, the warrior took hold of Gildor’s legs, placing Gildor’s ankles against his shoulders, then took his weight onto his hands as he looked down, his body moving in slow, long thrusts.
His body was spent, yet Gildor moaned, aware that if he wanted to, Glorfindel could keep up this pace for some time. He reached up with his hands, to pull Glorfindel down to him, but the warrior resisted, taking Gildor’s wrists and pressing them into the grass. His gaze smouldered, as if the sight of Gildor below him was the very thing that goaded him on.
“Please…” Gildor whispered, tightening his body now consciously, feeling Glorfindel push through it nevertheless. Easily, with all of the strength at his command. Gildor turned his head to the side. It felt too raw, to feel how Glorfindel moved in him, and to look into his eyes at the same time.
“I said you would know you had been claimed,” Glorfindel said, his golden curls damp and dark around his face now as Gildor sneaked a look. “Did you doubt me?” he questioned, and Gildor shook his head, closing his eyes.
“Doubt you?” Gildor echoed on a heartfelt whisper. “Never! You are Glorfindel, melindonya. Yáressë marlmë.”
And with his words, he had what he wanted as Glorfindel gathered him up, pressing close, sinking deep. “Melinyet…” Glorfindel said in response. Gildor felt the proof of it as Glorfindel came, the sensation warm inside him. He almost sobbed, feeling overcome and thoroughly loved.
For a few minutes afterwards they stayed side-by-side, pressed close to each other in the grass, with the sun beating down on them. All their words spoken for now.
Finally, they bestirred themselves to dress again, and Gildor had to admit to himself he had been well and truly claimed. It was not pain. It was a deep seated feeling of having been filled, and even now, even empty, his body held that memory.
Glorfindel’s fingers tangled with his as they walked back to the great house. There was still no pressing need for words. Touch said all they needed to say, fingers entwined, and palms pressed together. Glorfindel’s calluses stood in sharp relief against his skin, and he relished the feel of the roughened texture, so familiar from the way it felt when Glorfindel stroked him. Was there ever so perfect an elf as his lover? He thought not.
Lord Elrond greeted them as they walked through the garden, his keen eyes taking in their leather armor, Gildor’s loose and rumpled hair, and Glorfindel’s air of cheerful satisfaction. It was more than apparent Elrond did not entirely approve, but in the face of Gildor’s smile, he could not object.
The lovers bathed, taking advantage of a quiet period to kiss and hold each other for a while in the warm water, which Glorfindel insisted was obligatory after sparring. After sufficient time to soak away any sore muscles, they dressed in a leisurely fashion and managed to arrive on time for dinner for once.
That evening, Glorfindel did not play any of his usual games, and Gildor was quite relieved, since the day’s activities had again left him feeling quite hungry. Though they still looked to each other often, they also participated in the general chatter around the table, which seemed to soften Lord Elrond’s regard whenever he looked in their direction.
Much the same after dinner, it was a slow dawdling walk back to the nearest of their chambers, which happened to be Glorfindel’s. The warrior’s hand tightened on his, and Gildor felt his heart hurt a little, because he already knew what would happen now, and it did not seem natural for them. Not at all.
“I’m not going to invite you in,” Glorfindel said, “because the temptation is too much.” Gildor nodded quickly, pasting a bright smile on his face, even though he felt like arguing. Glorfindel was right, really. He found his gaze straying to the bandages his lover still wore on his wrists. He’d remade them earlier, after their bath. It would only be a couple more nights. The ropes Lord Elrond had lent them awaited.
“I could not chance falling asleep with you,” Glorfindel said, and Gildor looked up, seeing the same hurt in the warrior’s eyes as he felt himself.
“It is nothing. A couple of days,” Gildor said casually, feeling foolish even as he said it, but perhaps it was not far from the truth at all to say he was addicted to Glorfindel. And perhaps Glorfindel was just as addicted to him. Was it any wonder, really? Considering all of the centuries they had wasted, Gildor thought not. They’d been making up for lost time.
Gildor raised Glorfindel’s hand to his lips to kiss it. “Then, I will have you back,” he said, smiling slightly. “And my mornings.”
Glorfindel moistened his lips. “I was beginning to anticipate your mornings,” he said, and Gildor suddenly pulled Glorfindel into his arms, feeling himself held closely in return for a long moment. Then, determined, he broke free.
“Until tomorrow then,” he said. Glorfindel nodded, and Gildor walked away, pretending to a lightness he did not feel. Neither of them had dared so much as a kiss. He heard the click of Glorfindel’s door as it closed, and turned back as he walked, but there was no longer anything to see except an empty corridor.
He occupied himself with reading until his eyes were drifting closed, then fell into a deep reverie, the book falling out of his hand to land with a quiet thud on the floor.
He did not know what roused him. Perhaps it was the lack of a warm body beside him, no strong arm wrapped around him to make him feel secure. It might have been the difference in the moonlight, since his windows faced the side gardens, and not the expansive back garden vista of Glorfindel’s room.
Whatever it was, he roused, and blinked owlishly, trying to focus his eyes in the ridiculously unfamiliar room. He had left the windows open just a bit, and the night breeze wafted the pale silk curtains into spectral shapes. He snorted a bit at the dramatic imagery his mind offered up, induced by what he had been reading before he fell into reverie. He felt around for the book, frowning as he patted the duvet to no avail.
With a sigh, he sat up, meaning to slide to the side of the bed, and look on the floor for his book. The librarian would have his head if a page had gotten foxed, or Valar forbid, the spine broken. He grimaced at the memory of past lectures over his carelessness. He almost did not notice the darker shadow near the door, at least not until his feet were dangling over the edge.
“Áse nuhta.” The voice was dark and foreboding, the words grated out as if they caused pain. He was so startled, he could not stop his slide toward the floor.
“Áva care.”
He cried out in wordless fear as he scrambled to the top of the bed, the menace in the words chilling him to his very core. Without thinking, he began to count the steps he would need to get to his chest, where his sword waited. Why had he not thought to put a dagger under a pillow? Truly, peace had addled him, and Glorfindel was right. “Who are you? What do you want?”
The shadow moved, disengaging itself from the deeper darkness and stepping into the moonlight. The pale light framed the golden curls in a nimbus. “Ma lavil?”
“Glorfindel? Why are you here? What’s wrong?” He could feel his heart hammering behind his ribs. “Was it another dream?”

“Ma lavil?” There was threat in the tone now, and he looked at his lover in dismay.
“I yielded this afternoon, don’t you remember?” In desperation, he reached for the candle at his bedside, meaning to light it. “When we were sparring?”
“Áva quete!” Glorfindel frowned, and threw one hand over his eyes as Gildor managed to light the candle.
They remained as they were for long moments, and he was sure the beating of his heart was audible in the strained silence. He must have been bordering on pure hysteria, he decided, because he could not help noticing Glorfindel’s robe hung open to the waist, revealing his broad chest with its golden hair. His lover’s eyes were wide and dilated, though, and he was sure Glorfindel saw only what was in his mind.
“A ná férima ohtan.” Glorfindel turned and left, his steps silent.
He stared at the open door for several minutes before he was able to summon up the presence of mind to leave the bed and close it. He hesitated, and then fastened the lock with trembling fingers, all hope of reverie gone as he huddled under the duvet to wait for dawn.
The morning light came but slowly, and Gildor watched every passing second, fearing that Glorfindel would return. Even when it was full light, he waited. He was cowering and he knew it, hated it, but it only took the memory of Glorfindel’s menacing presence in the dark to start him shivering again.
At last he rose from his bed and dressed - not in a robe as he usually would, but in a full set of clothing. Somehow, it made him feel more protected. He waited by his locked door until he heard voices passing by, then unlocked it and slid stealthily out, alert in case Glorfindel should be waiting for him even now.
He was torn between seeking out Elrond, or checking upon his lover first. What if Glorfindel had not returned to his room? What if he was in trouble somewhere? Walking sleep was not unknown, but not with those dreams Glorfindel was being subjected to.
As if his feet had made up his mind for him, he found himself slowing as he reached Glorfindel’s door, hesitant but needful. He needed to know! Gildor knocked on the door, almost timid, fearing what would happen if Glorfindel answered. Fearing what may happen if he did not.
No voice called out to him, even though he stood close to the door so as not to miss any invitation to enter. He was about to step back and seek out Elrond when the door opened a crack. Then it opened wider and he was pulled inside before he could even draw breath.
Inside Glorfindel’s room, the dawn was a riot of golden light, and he was momentarily blinded by it. A finger was placed to his lips, and it was Glorfindel, awake and made harmless again by the light. “Áva quete,” whispered the warrior, and Gildor opened his eyes wide, suddenly afraid that Glorfindel might still be dreaming, even now. His knees felt weak as he was pressed back into the closed door.
Glorfindel’s lips were on his, crowding him, and Gildor cried out.
“I have missed you, bain nín,” Glorfindel told him, between kisses, oblivious to his distress. “I roused from reverie, and my side was cold without you beside me. I was hoping you would come, or I was going to have to come looking for you.” The warrior looked down at Gildor, his expression one of puzzlement. “You are dressed. Do you not want to spend a little time with me? Am I being punished for sending you away last night?” Now Glorfindel looked reproachful.
He looked at his lover, and it was clear to him Glorfindel remembered nothing of the night before. The blond elf leaned in for another kiss, and he could not stop himself from flinching. It was a small movement, but Glorfindel stepped back as though he had been slapped.
“I am sorry!” he cried out, and he reached out to Glorfindel. “It was just…” How did he tell Glorfindel about last night? How would he find the words to explain what it had been like, that dark presence, the menace in the quiet words?
He could not bear the hurt in Glorfindel’s eyes. Even if he stumbled over them, he needed to find some words. “You had a walking sleep last night. You came to my room.”
Glorfindel shook his head. “How could that be? Nothing was disturbed in my room, not even my robe, which is still on the foot of the bed.” The warrior turned, and gave a soft cry. His robe was tossed not on the bed, but on the floor, near the window. When he turned back to Gildor, he looked lost. “What did I do?”
“You spoke to me.” It sounded so harmless in the bright dawn sunlight. “You wanted me to yield, and then you told me to be ready for battle.” He swallowed hard. “It was much more frightening in the dark, when I woke from reverie.”
“I did not harm you, though?” The question had a desperate edge, and he shook his head.
“You only spoke, and then left. Believe me, it was enough.” He stepped forward, hesitant, wanting the comfort of Glorfindel’s embrace. “You said those very words to me last night. Don’t speak, you said. Áva quete, exactly like that.” He did his best to duplicate the deep growl Glorfindel had used.
Seeing as how Glorfindel seemed afraid to touch him all of a sudden - and Gildor could not blame him - he simply stepped forward again and linked his hands around the back of Glorfindel’s waist, resting his chin on the warrior’s shoulder.
“What are we going to do?” he asked. Then Glorfindel embraced him in turn, and everything was alright for a few moments between them, despite the threat of the night to come. Every day ends. Gildor thought for a moment. “I could always sleep somewhere else… secret,” he suggested.
Glorfindel’s arms tightened a little. “Oh, I don’t think that will work, meleth nín,” he said, and Gildor had a sudden vision of Glorfindel tearing Imladris apart looking for him. He shivered.
“Point taken,” he replied. “But we cannot tell Lord Elrond of this. Your own guards would be posted at my door to protect me from you, and they would never forget such a task. They would no longer trust you.”
Gildor stepped back and drew one of Glorfindel’s hands into his, unlayering the bandage around his wrist carefully. He winced when the flesh was still shiny pink and sore. That was out of the question then.
He looked into his lover’s eyes. Glorfindel was strangely quiet, and yet he suddenly didn’t seem as worried as Gildor himself. “What is it?” he asked tentatively.
“Bain nín, you have thought of it already!” Glorfindel said with a smile. He threw an arm around Gildor’s shoulder. “Come. We will both go to your room. I am awake now, and I am the head guard. I will personally check your security against unwanted guests.”

To be continued...

Authors' Note: Thank you for reading - we hope you had fun. Please leave a comment on your way out. :)

Translations:
Írima mahtarnya – My beautiful warrior (Quenya)
Melin tirie hendutya sílale yá lalat – I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh (Sindarin)
mîr nín – my treasure (Sindarin)
melindonya. Yáressë marlmë... – my lover. Once upon a time, we live...(Quenya)
Melinyet – I love you (Quenya)
Áse nuhta – Stop that (Quenya)
Áva care – Don’t do it (Quenya)
Ma lavil? – Do you yield? (Quenya)
Áva quete – Don't speak (Quenya)
A ná férima ohtan – Be ready for battle (Quenya)
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The Lost and the Hidden City