I COULD NEVER SEE TOMORROW

Maglor and Olórin had waited as long as they could tolerate for Fëanor and Glorfindel to return. They looked at each other, exchanging worried glances. The sun was setting, red and orange rays spraying outwards, marred by streaky patches of grey clouds. Maglor spoke first. “I have decided to go back to see what has become of them,” he said, his face pale and drawn with worry. “Would you stay with the horses and let me go to find them, Olórin?”

“Yes, of course,” said the Maia. “You may have sold your sword, but you have still your dagger, do you not? Are you wearing it?”

Maglor turned to look at Olórin, alarm causing his eyes to grow wide. “Do you think that they have come to harm?”

“No,” said Olórin, shaking his head of bushy grey hair. “But it is better to be prepared for anything, since we know not what has become of them.”

But just as Maglor was setting off down the hill, he spied two figures rounding some bushes and starting up the slope. The larger one, with hair of radiant gold lit by the sun’s setting rays, reached out and pushed the smaller figure suddenly and violently. The slighter one stumbled and almost fell, only to be pounced upon by the larger one, and Maglor could see some wrestling going on as he ran down the hill toward them.

“Tinumír!” he cried. “Tinumír, are you alright?”

As he got closer he could see the larger Elf help the smaller one to his feet, reaching out one long arm to pull him up with ease. With a sense of foreboding, Maglor saw that Tinumír’s shirt was ripped in the front, torn down its length to his navel, and his hair was loose and tangled. There were streaks of dirt on his face and chest.

“Tinumír!” he cried again, and threw himself at the black-haired Elf. “You have been hurt! What has happened? Tell me!” He cast an angry but puzzled look at Glorfindel.

“Oh. It was nothing,” said Fëanor. His cheeks reddened as his gaze sought Glorfindel’s.

“We had a disagreement and came to blows,” Glorfindel said suddenly, thinking that what he said, although a fabrication, was not a lie. “I tore his shirt while we were—er—struggling. I am sorry.”

“Oh, no!” cried Maglor, his worry turning to horror. “My poor Tinumír! Are you hurt?”

“No. No, not at all,” said Fëanor, giving Glorfindel a reproachful frown. “I am fine. We have since settled our differences.”

Glorfindel hid a smile behind his hand and approached the fire, where Olórin cast him a fierce look of reproach. “Mmm,” said the golden-haired Elf, ignoring the wizard. “What delicious fowl is that I smell roasting?”

“It is a pheasant that Maglor has caught for our dinner. It is a pity that you did not do the courtesy of joining us when we sat down to eat,” said Olórin in a voice meant to chastise him.

“Did you not hear?” asked Glorfindel with a bold stare at the Maia. “Fëanor and I disagreed about some matter and came to blows. It took awhile before we settled our differences.”

“You had better be careful, Glorfindel. Your reputation as a fabricator of tall stories may come to surpass your renown as a skilled warrior in defense of his allies.” The wizard spoke his warning in a low voice meant only for Glorfindel to hear.

The warrior shrugged and tore a chunk of meant off of the pheasant, stuffing it into his mouth. He chewed it for a few minutes, looking at length at Olórin. “This is good,” he said boldly. “I worked up quite an appetite this afternoon—fighting off the beautiful Fëanor.”

Olórin was just about to say something to admonish him when Maglor and Fëanor came up to the fire.

“Please sit, Tinumír, and I shall bring you a meal from what is left of our dinner,” said the brown-haired minstrel, and he picked up a piece of bark in the shape of a bowl and filled it with pieces of meat, berries, nuts and greens. He carried this over to Fëanor and set it into his hands. “Eat. You must recover your strength after being attacked so,” he said.

Fëanor looked at Maglor with the redness of guilt coloring his fair face. Glorfindel rolled his eyes behind Maglor’s back, and Olórin threw him an admonishing glare, his bushy eyebrows knitting together above his ample nose.


Midnight and a full moon found Maglor and Fëanor lying on one blanket with another pulled over top of them. Beneath it they had both wriggled out of their clothing and Maglor was lying pressed against Fëanor’s side. The raven-haired Elf was lying on his back, holding one of Maglor’s hands atop his belly. Maglor was stroking Fëanor’s chest and whispering in his ear. “Let me—please,” he pleaded.

“I cannot tonight, love. I am sorry,” Fëanor said with a sigh. “I am still too drained by what happened earlier today.”

Maglor grunted disapprovingly in Fëanor’s ear. “I wish you would let me go and settle things with him,” he said. “I would call him out to fight me—blade against blade.” Maglor nodded toward Glorfindel, who was lying about thirty feet away from them, on Fëanor’s side.

Fëanor gave a short laugh. “I would love to see the two of you fight each other,” he said. “It is a pity that you sold your sword, is it not? Did I not tell you that you would regret it?”

Maglor sighed. “That is the second time today that the selling of my sword has been mentioned. I am now beginning to think that I made a mistake by getting rid of it.”

“Hmm,” said Fëanor, and rolled over, facing away from Maglor. He had to suppress a sudden gasp as his gaze rested upon the sight before him.

Glorfindel was not sleeping. He was lying fully exposed, having swept his blanket aside. His golden hair fell unbound over his shoulders, one long swath lying on his chest, almost reaching to his waist. He was stroking the length of hair with one hand while the other was languidly fondling a huge erection that seemed to tower into the sky. The fingers that had been in his hair now moved to a nipple and played with it quietly and lazily as he stroked his arousal.

Fëanor gasped again and grew hard immediately, like he had done earlier that day, the first time he had seen Glorfindel’s body when the glorious Elf stood naked among the trees.

Glorfindel arched his back and thrust his swollen shaft into his own hand while pinching his nipple and uttering a moan.

Fëanor flinched and tried not to utter a sound.

“What was that?” Maglor asked, jolting upright.

“Ahh, Maglor, my love,” said Fëanor, turning away from the golden Elf’s display, and pushing the minstrel back down onto the blanket.

“Aahh!” cried Maglor. “I can feel your hardness. Have you changed your mind about making love tonight, my darling?”

“Yes, my love,” sighed Fëanor. “I want to feel your lips upon me, my sweet one.”

And while Maglor took Fëanor’s hard shaft into his mouth, the raven-haired beauty cast his glance toward Glorfindel once more and moaned his newfound passion for the golden Elf while his hands gripped handfuls of the grass that lay beneath him.

Glorfindel looked toward the two Elves and saw movement beneath their blanket. He sighed, coming to climax under his own hand, jets of milky fluid spurting first upward and then falling in droplets to cover his hand and stomach. He wiped away his essence with a corner of his blanket, turned over, and thought about how he could improve upon the present situation before he fell asleep.


When Olórin and the Elves awoke in the morning, it was raining lightly. They packed their belongings in a hurry, and led the two horses out of the valley to head east again. The rain became heavier as they made their way to higher ground, and it persisted all day long. The travelers decided not to stop until late afternoon or early evening, until they chanced to come across a forest where they would have some shelter. They were traveling across open country that was still part of the lowlands, and the trail they were following had become very muddy in the rain that had fallen all day. Their feet, and the horses’ hooves, kept sinking into the mud and becoming stuck, unless they kept to the rockier ground, but that was hard on the horses’ hooves. They found their way was very slow going and they were filthy, all of them covered in mud by the time they reached a small lake rimmed with trees, where they decided to stop for the night. It was late afternoon, and while it was still raining, it was not coming down as hard as it had been.

All three Elves stripped off their clothing, intending to wash it and themselves in the lake, and turned to look curiously at Olórin.

“Go on,” he told them, chuckling, as he drew on his pipe under shelter of a large tree branch. “This is only mud and when it dries it will fall off of me. You go and play in the water as if you are children and enjoy yourselves. I will sit here and watch you. He gave Glorfindel a knowing wink, as if to warn him against indulging in lascivious behavior.

Glorfindel laughed, either ignoring Olórin’s warning, or purposefully intending to challenge him. He sauntered confidently toward the water, aware that all eyes followed every movement that his sensuous body made. Although Fëanor was more splendid in his reincarnated form than he had been in his original embodiment, which had been beautiful, Glorfindel was magnificent in his warrior’s muscled physique, set off by his crowning mane of golden hair.

When he had waded knee-deep into the water, Glorfindel turned around to look back at his companions standing on the shore. Olórin was sitting and smoking. Maglor and Fëanor had undressed and were standing side-by-side. Glorfindel noticed how similar they were in appearance, and yet how different at the same time. Maglor was taller and slimmer than Fëanor, with hair of brown flecked with gold, and large, dark eyes set in a pale, somber face.

Fëanor’s body was incredibly beautiful, and his appearance was ethereal and god-like, whereas Maglor’s seemed more bound to the earth. Fëanor’s exquisite features, with his dark-fringed blue-grey eyes, were set off by his gleaming, raven-black hair, which framed his face and upper body. His lips and his nipples were rosy and both were inviting, and Glorfindel ached with desire to kiss them when he looked upon them.

In fact, Glorfindel had become erect immediately upon glancing back and seeing the two Elves as they stood on shore, and he stood motionless in the water, with his muscular physique and his golden skin, showing off his enormous arousal with a look of supreme innocence on his face.

Olórin coughed and called out, “Cover yourself, Glorfindel,” to no avail. The other two Elves had seen the magnificent nakedness of the golden Elf and had become aroused by the sight.

Maglor and Fëanor walked toward the water, both of the same mind. How pleasant it would be for the two of them to frolic together with Glorfindel, the three of them enjoying themselves in the lake’s fresh waters after traveling all day in such trying circumstances.

Olórin clucked his disapproval, but then he thought about what Glorfindel was doing, and shrugged it off, realizing that the hedonistic pleasure in which the Elves delighted was something peculiar to their species, and not to his own. He turned away to busy himself with taking the horses into the shelter of the trees, unpacking them and setting up camp for the night. This day had been a long, dreary one, in which they had made little progress. And yet, time was not a factor in their journey. Olórin knew that it was much more important for the three Elves to get along with each other so that they could work together seamlessly when the time came for them to do so.

Fëanor approached Glorfindel until he was standing so close to the golden Elf that their erections almost touched. Maglor, more reticent, stood a little further away, and noticed with anxious dismay how close the others were to each other.

Glorfindel looked toward the minstrel and gave him a welcoming smile. “Come closer, Maglor,” he said, “and join us.” His voice was soft, and dripped with seductive sweetness.

Maglor became mesmerized by Glorfindel’s sweet attractiveness, and approached like a bee to honey, until he stood with his erection pointing at the others, all three only a fraction of an inch apart.

Glorfindel looked down. “Isn’t it funny,” he asked, “but I am the tallest, Maglor is next, and Fëanor is the smallest, but our hardnesses lie all at the same level.”

The two others stared at him, mesmerized by his seeming fascination with this piece of triviality.

“Mmm…” they both responded in unison, mouths gaping open at him.

“There must be a reason,” he said, smiling, his full lips parting to show even, white teeth, and he moved forward until the tip of his cock touched the other two.

Fëanor and Maglor both felt an electric current pass through them at the touch, but instead of jumping away from it, they leaned in toward Glorfindel, pressing all three of their erections together. Maglor thought he had never felt anything so erotic as this, and almost could not breathe for the lust he felt.

Glorfindel wrapped his arms around both of the other Elves’ shoulders and held them tightly against his body, kissing first Fëanor on the lips and then Maglor. “Let us bond,” he said.

“All three of us?” cried Maglor. “How could that be possible?”

“The Valar have a reason for wanting us to do this. They have put the idea of it in my mind,” said Glorfindel. “United we must be for the mission that lies ahead of us, and Fëanor and I have no choice in the matter. But you, Maglor, can decide for yourself whether you will join us or whether you will leave our company. My hope is that you will join us.”

Maglor sighed, and dropped his head, despairing of the complication he was afraid this would make. But Glorfindel held him close, and squeezed him with an arm held tightly around his body. Maglor could feel the radiant warmth spreading from Glorfindel’s dynamic body into his, and trembled from the feeling of exhilaration that it gave him. “I don’t know,” he said.

“How shall I convince you that the three of us belong together? Like this, perhaps?” And he held Maglor by the back of his head and kissed him on the lips, first softly and slowly, and then harder, pressing the solid curves of his muscular body against the slim planes of the minstrel’s.

Maglor melted into the intoxicating embrace of the warrior, letting his senses be overcome by the presence of the powerful Elf who held him and felt as if he were trying to pour a healing essence of love and affection into the minstrel’s starved body. How could he not succumb to such an offer? He decided for once not to overthink the situation, but just let his body and his consciousness slide into the hedonistic pleasures of this experience.

Fëanor felt overcome with delight and threw his arms around both of his loved ones. He stroked Glorfindel’s hair with one hand, and with the other, Maglor’s backside. Then he moved around to Maglor’s back, and let his arousal slide into the cleft between Maglor’s buttocks, pressing the head upwards so that it lay against the cleavage at the top of the divide.

With his hands around the back of Glorfindel’s head, he stroked the warrior’s thick hair and then the sides of his face as Glorfindel continued to kiss Maglor.

Maglor groaned with pleasure, jolts of ecstasy coursing through his body. His erection throbbed and ached against Glorfindel’s, the hard, intoxicating warmth of the warrior’s shaft pressing back insistently against his. From the back, Fëanor’s exquisite, silky shaft caressed his sensitive tailbone, causing waves of pleasure to course through him. And the sensation of Glorfindel’s sweet, soft lips against his and the slick, sensuous tongue in his mouth almost sent him over the edge.

“Please…” he squirmed, and moaned into Glorfindel’s mouth. “Please….”

Glorfindel pulled Maglor back into the water until they were waist-deep. At the same time, Fëanor turned so that his back was against Maglor’s. Then Glorfindel turned Maglor around so that the minstrel’s back was pressed against Glorfindel’s front, and Glorfindel’s magnificent shaft was now lying against Maglor’s cleft. The minstrel’s own erection poked at Fëanor’s opening. Maglor, overcome with lustful emotion, almost swooned in Glorfindel’s arms.

Glorfindel placed his lips against Maglor’s ear. “Are you ready to take your father?” he asked.

“He is not my fa—“ Maglor started to cry, but Glorfindel silenced him with a nip on his ear-tip.

“Shh—shh—be at peace with it,” he said quietly. “Accept what is not under your control anymore.”

With tears spilling from his eyes—he knew not whether they were tears of joy or sadness—Maglor pressed his lips to the side of Fëanor’s neck and his arousal into the opening in his deep cleft. “I love you, Ada. I love you so much,” as he slide inside the warm entrance.

Fëanor yelped as he was breached, and then sighed with contentment when Maglor slipped into his passage and filled him. He reached a hand behind him to stroke the minstrel’s soft brown hair. “I love you too, my darling,” he whispered.

Glorfindel held a hand to Maglor’s buttocks, helping him push forward into Fëanor, keeping his rhythm steady. “Are you ready for me to take you?” he whispered into Maglor’s ear, grasping hold of Fëanor’s hand at the same time.

“Oh Gods!” cried Maglor. “Will it hurt?”

Glorfindel chuckled, and eased the tip of his huge, hard member into the entrance of Maglor’s passage. “I will make it easy,” he whispered. He held his hands on Maglor’s buttocks, controlling the minstrel’s thrusts into Fëanor, and entered him slowly, easing his big cock into the tight passage.

Maglor screamed aloud as he was breached, but it was a shout of ecstasy, the sensation of being taken and of being sheathed at the same time almost too much to bear. He dropped his head forward and lay his cheek on Fëanor’s shoulder, his lips against his father’s neck. “Ai,” he sighed, and spilled his essence into Fëanor’s beautiful body. He felt as if encased in a warm golden glow, as if all three of them dwelt inside the sun. He threw his head back against Glorfindel’s chest.

“Gods, but you are so tight. It feels—it feels—wonderful,” cried Glorfindel, and he also threw back his golden head and came in seconds, filling Maglor with his seed, and also experiencing the golden glow.

Both Maglor and Glorfindel withdrew a moment later, and collapsed into the water, Glorfindel treading easily and holding Maglor against him with a strong arm wrapped around his chest.

The minstrel was exhausted and overcome by the flood of sensations that had invaded his body and spirit, and now threatened to send him into a deep sleep, such as he had not experienced for many years. Glorfindel lifted him up into his strong arms and carried him to shore, taking him into the campsite that Olórin had prepared and laying him down upon his blanket so that he could sleep. Then Glorfindel walked back toward the lake, where Fëanor was striding up to the shore, then stopped and stood ankle-deep in the water, holding his aching arousal in his hand.

Glorfindel dropped to his knees in front of the beautiful, raven-haired Elf. “I am your slave, Fëanor,” he said. “Never before has such an exquisite creature as you existed in all of Arda.”

Fëanor removed his hand, and his beautiful cock stood straight out, waiting to be encased by Glorfindel’s ravishing mouth.

The golden Elf parted his lips and Fëanor lay his exquisite member upon Glorfindel’s tongue, as a king’s scepter is placed upon a velvet cushion.

Glorfindel licked the underside of the delicious shaft, gazing up at Fëanor with huge blue eyes full of love, before wrapping his soft lips around the throbbing member and sucking it with such passion that it took only seconds for Fëanor to come.

“Ai!” he cried and spent his pearly fluids into Glorfindel’s hungry, waiting mouth.