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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 Twenty
Some time later, when Glorfindel had made several alterations to his room, including adding locks to his windows and installing an inside latch with a padlock to his door, Gildor felt much happier too. Surely tonight would be safe. Hadn’t Glorfindel himself tested the arrangements?
They ate a hasty breakfast, and packed a light lunch, heading off for the training arena. Gildor was more than happy to face off with his lover, and if he was not very much improved, his enthusiasm made up for it. He reduced Glorfindel to tears of laughter more than once, until the warrior declared the sparring over, and named the birds the winners, since they had been watching the foolishness and cheering both elves on with bright songs.
They spread out the luncheon, and nibbled on fresh bread, rich yellow cheese, and sweet berries, and shared a flask of the effervescent cider which was a specialty of Imladris. Replete, Gildor stretched out alongside Glorfindel, his head on his lover’s shoulder, and his arm around the warrior’s narrow waist.
“Thank you, meleth,” Gildor said, feeling warm and lazy. “I have learned three new things I should not do when attempting to defend myself. Before long, I will actually learn the things I should be doing.”
Glorfindel’s chuckle was muffled in his hair as the warrior nuzzled him. “There are always things you should be doing, you know. I can think of one or two at the moment, unless you are too tired, of course.”
He turned his head, lifting it to give Glorfindel an incredulous look. “You won no prize, though. You declared the songbirds the winners, so I would not be so hasty, wicked elf.” He shifted to straddle Glorfindel, looking down at the warrior with a cheeky grin. “Maybe I will claim a prize today, for being so entertaining. You did not think I could be a jester, did you?”
To his surprise, Glorfindel did not attempt to throw him off or reverse their positions, nor did he even argue. Instead he slid his hands up Gildor’s thighs until they came to rest on his hips, gripping him there tightly.
“What are you up to now, wicked elf?” Gildor asked, though he knew very well, and he wasn’t surprised at all by the first sharp thrust upwards that Glorfindel gave him. They were still dressed, and Gildor could feel that his lover was not hard, not yet. Then, instead of repeating the movement, Glorfindel rubbed insistently back and forth against him. Gildor closed his eyes.
Another sharp movement, and Gildor almost lost his balance, reaching down with his hands to Glorfindel’s chest as he caught his breath. There it was, harder now and so big. Sometimes, Gildor forgot just how impressive his lover actually was. His own body was responding, just at the thought of it, at the suggestive way Glorfindel was moving while holding him quite still.
Yet those movements never resolved into any kind of discernible rhythm, and each one took him by surprise, until he was moaning softly at each one with his eyes shut, perched atop Glorfindel’s body. With each thrust, Glorfindel was almost taking Gildor’s entire body weight, and the reminder of his lover’s strength surprised him pleasantly too.
“Mmm…” Gildor said at last, still responding, knowing he was as hard as Glorfindel now. “You win,” he capitulated. “We will do it your way.”
He opened his eyes slowly, seeing Glorfindel staring up at him. The warrior smiled.
“Would you like to go somewhere more private first?” he asked, and Gildor gasped in sudden shock, looking around them, seeing one or two of the guards loitering not far away. Suddenly he let his upper body down, resting against Glorfindel’s chest. He would have moaned in dismay, but suspected he’d already done enough moaning in public.
“You made me forget myself,” he lamented in a harsh whisper. “You wicked tease!” He lifted his head and glared. “Yes. I want to go somewhere private with you.” Glorfindel laughed in response.
He thumped Glorfindel’s shoulder. “And you laugh as me as well? How much did they see?” He slid off Glorfindel, trying to adjust himself discreetly, a task made easier by his waning arousal. He was sure his cheeks were brighter than the coals of the fire in the great hall, late at night when almost everyone was abed.
“Do not be so irritable, bain nín.” Glorfindel sounded supremely relaxed, and he shot his lover another glare.
“I prefer not to be tumbled in public, if you do not mind.” He tugged his leather tunic back into place, and ran his fingers through his hair. “I am not one of the trollops of the edain.” His heart was beating hard, but it was not from desire, for once. He did not dare look in the direction of the guards, lest he see amusement in their eyes.
Glorfindel stood as well, and pulled him close. “They would never think that of you. They know you are my beloved, and I value your life above my own. But I will tell you this. You are even more beautiful when you are indignant. We had best hurry, before I decide I need to kiss you, right here.”
He looked up at Glorfindel, and he wanted to hold on to his anger. It was a cruel jest, to let him moan like that in front of the guard. But the love in Glorfindel’s eyes warmed him in all the right ways, and he could feel his lover’s heart beating through the leather of his armor. It came to him he had missed their night, and their morning more than he expected. He recalled his worry as he made his way to Glorfindel’s room that morning, his fear for the warrior.
“You are wicked indeed, to toy with me like that.” It was a feeble grumble, and he knew it, just as he knew Glorfindel would feel the tension leaving his muscles, and loosen his hold. He took advantage, twisting free and he called over his shoulder as he began to run. “I thought you were in a hurry?”
He could hear Glorfindel’s heavier footfalls as he ran, but did not look back. He expected Glorfindel to be slower than him, but couldn’t be sure, and the sensation of being chased was so thrilling he knew he wasn’t making very good time.
Still, he made it Glorfindel’s door, laughing so hard his knees felt weak, and wrenched it open just as Glorfindel reached him. Gildor ran to the bed, laughing in delight as his lover closed and locked the door behind them.
He felt exhilarated and free as he began to pull off his clothes, noting that Glorfindel was doing the same as he walked to the bed. His arousal had returned. No one could look upon Glorfindel’s naked form and not be stirred.
“That really was a rotten trick, you know,” he said, trying hard to sound disapproving, and Glorfindel did not laugh at him this time as he climbed onto the bed. As he felt Glorfindel’s proximity, something in him seemed to tune in to a different frequency, his breath becoming short as he reached out to touch the warrior wherever he could reach.
For his part, Glorfindel seemed just as hungry for him, hands stroking over his body restlessly. “I know,” Glorfindel said at last. “Truly, I did not mean to go so far with it. But you were so tempting, and you were beautiful when your body responded. I…” Glorfindel paused, so in earnest Gildor could not resent any more. “I apologise. I kind of forgot for a moment myself where we were.”
Gildor found himself in a familiar position, trapped beneath Glorfindel, yet it was the most wonderful place to be, especially since Glorfindel seemed minded to continue with the slow suggestive rubbing of their bodies, only this time there was nothing in their way. Glorfindel’s cock moved alongside his own, and the friction felt amazing. Glorfindel smiled as he looked down. “Do I still have my nightingale?”
“Oh, yes,” Gildor said, teasing free an errant golden curl, and twining the lock of hair around his forefinger. “I’m quite sure I’ll be singing for you very prettily, too, especially if you keep moving like that.” He yearned upwards into Glorfindel, wanting more of the delicious friction. The irritation from the training grounds was completely gone, and all that was left was desire, and love.
Glorfindel was quite right. It was an addiction, this craving he had to be possessed by the golden warrior. Glorfindel’s touch both slaked his thirst and awakened new desires in him, needs he knew his lover would note and satisfy, beyond his wildest expectation. Every time they lay together, he was taken to new heights, and he would never be able to go back to his staid life as the master cartographer of Imladris, a quiet elf in the library dappled with ink and flecks of gilt.
He sighed in longing as he heard Glorfindel unstop the vial of oil, knowing he would feel the touch he wanted, knowing he would be moaning over Glorfindel’s name soon enough. He might even find himself spilling before he was taken, so much did he need this.
In the very back of his thoughts, he wondered what it would have been like, had they acknowledged this desire back in Aman. He would always wonder, he knew, but he did not think much would have changed, He would still have chosen to follow Fëanor, and Glorfindel would still have chosen to defend them all with no thought for his own safety. Neither of them could have chosen any other path, and how much more would it have hurt to lose Glorfindel if their love had been acknowledged sooner?
He had been avoiding it, but they would have to make that list, the names of the elves they had known, and the fates of those elves. It was all the more pressing now, to ease Glorfindel’s mind and perhaps still those restless dreams. He would remind the warrior, later, in the bath, after he gave himself over one more time to the pleasures only Glorfindel could offer.
As he felt the familiar pressure of Glorfindel’s forefinger, all such thought ceased. His lover moved slightly so as to watch what he was doing with his hand, giving Gildor more room. It was easy for Gildor to lift a leg, resting the sole of one foot lightly against Glorfindel’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, breathing through the pleasure of Glorfindel’s touch.
“You, like this… each time you are the most beautiful thing I have seen since my return,” Glorfindel said quietly. Gildor blinked his eyes open, and found himself the subject of Glorfindel’s intense regard. He could not look away, nor hide the way Glorfindel’s touch made him feel. His breath hitched, and he could not think to formulate a reply, only shiver with arousal as the blood him him pooled low down, making him move slightly in misplaced urgency.
“I have never wanted any lover the way I want you, mîr nín,” Glorfindel continued. Gildor felt pinned by that piercing gaze. Did Glorfindel know how many times he seemed to Gildor to be one of the Valar themselves?
“Sometimes I wonder if you were born to elfkind, or if you came into existence by the wish of Eru Ilúvatar, sent to reside with us to fulfil some great purpose, unknown and unknowing all at once.” Gildor blushed at these thoughts, but they were true. “That you were not sent back, but chose to return and have since forgotten.”
“I would have chosen it in any case, to be with you,” Glorfindel responded. He drew back his fingers, and the moment had arrived. Gildor gasped.
“Will you restrain me?” he asked. “I will not last!”
“Do you wish it?” Glorfindel paused, considerate.
“I do not know,” Gildor confessed. “I only know I want you.”
“Here, I will help you,” Glorfindel whispered, and as he pushed forward, Gildor felt a hand enclose his own cock, the palm so hot, but a thumb pressed the base of it, holding back the rushing affirmative his body tried to give. He moaned, low, the first of many. It wasn’t love he felt in these moments, but sheer lust, a longing to be taken hard, to raise his voice freely.
Love was part of the song, and just for an instant Gildor understood lust would be part of it too, when it was woven anew at the end of things, at the new beginning. Remade.
It was enough to make him feel hot and crowded, need tugging at him as he was filled just to that fine edge between pain and pleasure. There was no room left for anything but Glorfindel, nothing past the burning need to give himself over to his lover. He no longer cared who heard him, or what they thought. Nothing mattered except this moment.
Glorfindel seemed to know what he needed, and barely gave him time to settle before he was moving, deep, unhurried thrusts which rocked him on the wide bed, and brought him to the point of keening, in his need. His hands were wrapped around solid biceps, his fingers digging into the corded muscle beneath Glorfindel’s silken skin. Even with the thumb so firmly pressing him, he felt himself drawing closer.
“Ai, Valar, I cannot bear it,” he moaned, his back lifting off the bed as he clung to Glorfindel. “I cannot last!”
Glorfindel thrust again, deeper, harder, and he cried out loudly. He felt hot tears sliding from the corners of his eyes, to melt into the damp hair at his temples. “What do you need, bain nín?”
“You,” he answered. “It has always been you I needed.”
“Show me.” Glorfindel moved his hand, withdrew, and pressed in again, hard and deep.
He cried out as he felt himself give way, his eyes fluttering closed as he spilled between them with a sob. He knew he was closing around Glorfindel, pushing at him, but he could not help himself. It was too powerful, made more so by the brief glimpse of what could be. Of what would be, he resolved.
When he returned to the here and now, Gildor was surprised to find Glorfindel had ceased moving, and in fact was draped over him heavily. Gildor forced himself to be satisfied with shallow breaths while he ran his fingers through Glorfindel’s hair.
“I could not stop it,” Glorfindel murmured throatily. “Your body felt so good, I could not…” Gildor wondered what he meant, then felt it, and he smiled suddenly.
“That is good,” he said, trying to be reassuring, thrilled that he seemed to have the same effect upon Glorfindel as Glorfindel had upon him. He lifted up the curtain of Glorfindel’s hair, and uncovered his face, his cheeks burning pink in shocked embarrassment.
Grunting, Glorfindel burrowed closer into his neck so he could not see. Gildor let him, for a minute or two, glorying privately in his new-found power.
“Glorfindel,” he said at last, trying ineffectually to throw the warrior off him. “We should bathe. Get up, before you crush me.” When Glorfindel only growled in response, Gildor reached down and tapped him smartly on the backside. That made him move.
“You are wicked,” Glorfindel complained, looking at Gildor from beneath his eyelashes, still a little put out.
“I learnt from you,” Gildor said lightly, already getting up from the bed to select a robe. “Let us bathe, then we should go to the library before dinner and make a start on that list.”
It was hard not to gloat, just a little, GIldor realised, but he did his best as they bathed and each washed the other’s hair. It was leisurely, and relaxed, and Glorfindel let Gildor brush his bright mane until the curls looked like spun gold against his fingers.
They went back to Glorfindel’s room to dress, and despite the restorative effects of the bath, Gildor managed to resist Glorfindel’s kisses and sweet touches, instead digging in his heels.
“We need to make a start, if we are to have any hope of solving our mystery.” Gildor was firm. “If it helps, we can get a small bottle of wine, and see if we can stimulate our memories that way.”
“Wine in the library? Now I know you are serious,” Glorfindel replied, but his tone was teasing, and Gildor just laughed. “I imagine as long as we don’t run afoul of Erestor, we could do that.”
“We will use my desk, which is far enough from his work to be safe.” He did not want to think about so much as a drop of water touching some of the ancient tomes Erestor consulted in the course of his researches. Many were irreplaceable, as lost to them all as Gondolin and its magnificent libraries. “But it is important to at least begin, meleth.”
Glorfindel heaved a sigh, looking out his windows at the gardens longingly. “If we make enough progress, could we have a walk in the garden before we dine?” He sounded as wistful as any elfling sent to his lessons on a bright summer morning, and Gildor was hard pressed not to laugh out loud.
“You must have driven your tutors to despair,” he remarked. “But I’m sure we can make time for a stroll, to whet our appetites for the fine meal the kitchens no doubt have in store for us.” He held out his hand to Glorfindel. “But the sooner we begin, the sooner we finish.”
They settled around one of the common tables, each with parchment and a quill, struggling to remember names one by one. Gildor quickly realised the task would never be accomplished in such a fashion.
“Stay here, meleth, with the wine,” he said, giving Glorfindel a wink. “I shall go and see if there is an easier way to accomplish this task.”
Glorfindel smiled thinly with a nod. Gildor could not blame him; this task was testing memories that were vague and many of which Glorfindel had lost. It was a lot to ask of him. Yet Gildor had an idea or two.
He wandered off to find one of the librarians, and instead encountered Erestor who gave him an inquisitive look. “You seem like you are looking for help,” he observed.
“It is not something I should bother you with,” he replied warmly. The queries he had could be answered by one of the scribes here… if only any of them were about. He and Erestor were on friendly terms, both spending large parts of their day in the library, although Gildor had been exempted from that task of late.
“Pfft!” Erestor smiled. “I know you are here to help Glorfindel in some way. Let me be of assistance.”
“Well, I was minded to ask if anyone had taken note of the survivors of Gondolin in any of the reference books,” Gildor said, hesitant. Even as he said it, he realised it was a slender hope.
“The more illustrious figures, certainly,” Erestor said, inclining his head. “Others would need to be sought for in the histories. Unfortunately, while there is an index of sorts, not all of the books have been scrutinised.”
Gildor sighed in disappointment, while Erestor tilted his head.
“However, if you merely wish to know who was there, we have a surviving census, taken fifty years or so before the fall. It was passed to Doriath, where it remained until the end of the First Age. It reappeared in Lindon and was brought to Imladris upon its foundation. Would that help you?”
With a relieved smile of thanks, Gildor nodded. “It would, mellon nín, thank you!”
“Come then, and I will show you where it is.” Erestor led him into a very quiet corner of the library, the scent of ancient parchment stronger here. He hummed a moment under his breath, and Gildor realised Erestor knew every book on these shelves with the familiarity of old friends. He watched as Erestor selected one leatherbound tome, lifting it down gently.
“It has seen some rough days, this one, but it is not going to fall apart if you breathe on it.” There was quiet amusement in Erestor’s voice. “It should withstand even Glorfindel’s touch.”
He felt his cheek warm a little, and hoped he was not too terribly pink. “We will be careful with it nonetheless. Thank you for this, truly. It will make the task much easier than if we had to rely on memory alone.” He took the tome and headed back to Glorfindel, half expecting the warrior to have wandered off.
Glorfindel was still at the table, although the wine was much diminished. He looked up and arched a golden brow at Gildor and his dusty prize. “You look quite pleased with yourself.”
“As I should be. Erestor has loaned us a census taken in the last days of Gondolin. If we read the names, we should be able to make note of those we know, and see if we can remember their fate.” He sat down beside Glorfindel, and opened the leather cover with care.
“Why is it all the prizes in this place are dusty, and smell like old leaves?” Glorfindel wrinkled his nose, but he poured Gildor some wine and settled back in his chair. “Read them aloud to me, bain nîn. I like to listen to you.” He closed his eyes, his arms folded across his broad chest.
Gildor huffed a breath. “I see. So, shall I take the notes as well, oh mighty Lord of the House of the Golden Flower?” He hid his smile as he dipped his head over the book, well aware Glorfindel had sat up. He could imagine the glower directed at him, but did not look up. “Let me see. Ah, yes, let us begin here.”
“I shall take notes.” Glorfindel sounded somewhat peevish, but Gildor did not meet his gaze.
“Well, then. Aranwë. Do you remember him?” He read the names, and after a few, as he listened to the scratching of Glorfindel’s quill over the parchment, his urge to giggle faded, and he was able to lift his head. “Just write the ones we remember, meleth. I am reading them all because you knew elves I did not, and I knew elves you would never have encountered.”
They worked together for perhaps an hour, oblivious to all except the roll call, until the bell rang to announce dinner. Gildor put the ledger back, while Glorfindel seemed relieved. Erestor found a pigeon hole for their list, and they went to dinner hand-in-hand.
“We missed our walk,” Glorfindel noted. “Perhaps we could do it after dinner.”
Gildor squeezed his lover’s hand. “Of course we can.”
Dinner was a more subdued affair than usual, and afterwards they strolled through the gardens. They shared the evening with other couples, and yet Glorfindel’s pensive mood seemed to lighten even so, until he was pulling Gildor into little alcoves for secret kisses, until neither of them could wait to get back into the house. It was early yet, they did not need to sleep, and though a foreboding voice in Gildor said they should return to the library, he did not mention it. He, like Glorfindel, was only interested in one thing.

To be continued...

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The Lost and the Hidden City