Storm
by Maybe (miztruzt@blueyonder.co.uk)

Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Elladan/Glorfindel

Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation; they belong to Tolkien and whoever else can legitimately claim them. They are borrowed for the purpose of amusement; no profit is made. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: A brief look into Glorfindel’s past. Notes: This is an interlude to the series. ‘Promises - to Keep?’ will follow. Series: Days of Light and Darkness. (Awakening, Dawn Confessions, The Learning Curve, Caverns of the Heart, What is Love? To Love with Hate and Twinned so far.) References to Glorfindel’s history are from: ‘The Silmarillion, ‘The Encyclopaedia of Arda’ and ‘The War of the Glorfindel’s’ from Suite 101

A fuller account will be given at a later date. As you have probably guessed I have decided that Glorfindel of Gondolin and Glorfindel of Imladris are one and the same. Given that this is a matter of debate there is obviously no exact date for his return from the Halls of Mandos. There is a suggestion that it may have been some time in the Second Age, therefore I have set it for around the time Elrond joins the Eldar, given Glorfindel’s connection to the family. Forgive me any anomalies.

At the front of the house, stood upon the steps, Arwen, her nightshift clinging to her body like a second skin of silvery silk, spread her hands to the rain and tipped back her head. Her hair flowed in an ebony river down her back as the water poured through it. Elrohir, barely even dressed, leapt with each bolt of lightening, shying like a spooked horse. He spiralling like a leaf caught in the gale upon the grass, his dark hair flying. Nearly the full duration, one hundred years, which Elrohir was to have spent alone in Lorien had now passed away.

As it was both twins had been to the Lord and Lady of the Golden Woods abode for a time, to free them from the ache that sat in the heart of Imladris. The visit had been a revelation, in terms of what they had learned about both their parents. Celeborn, for all his solemn countenance, set quite a store by tales and Galadriel’s far-seeing detachment concealed a subtle humour that she was more than willing to share. The twins had found within them also, wise counsellors, all the better for being slightly distant to them. They had talked, finally. They had promised Elrond, when they had petitioned his permission for them both to take the trip, and they had kept their word, talking together for hours about the single night they had spent in each other’s arms. Talked until there was nothing more to say, be it regrets, apologies or even simply teases.

Celeborn had spoken of a pair of twins he had known, over a seven thousand years before, who had raised children from their unity. In doing so they had finally managed to break the desire for each other’s flesh and become once more brother and sister. Stories of comfort. Then Galadriel had recollected another tale, of a young half-elf who had once been kissed by his brother and refused to speak to him for a week, because the maiden he had been sleeping with at the time had made the false assumption that they were together and retreated into high dudgeon. The twins had been distinctly delighted to hear that the story had come to Galadriel’s ears through their mother – having first hand heard it from the unfortunate victim, Elrond. Incidentally their father had buried his head in his hands and groaned when they had repeated the story with some relish, adorned with Elrohir’s remark that incestuous behaviour clearly ran in the family.

They had been able to speak of their mother, listen to stories about her and been somewhat comforted by Galadriel’s assurances that Celebrían had not stopped loving them, indeed that she loved them was in part her reason for leaving. It seemed that Glorfindel had not been so wrong in his theory after all. Elrohir however, had been more comforted than Elladan felt himself to be. Elladan was still unable to think of his mother, without first his mind returning to what she had become within the Redhorn pass, it chafed against his heart that she had been reduced to so painful a memory.

Elrohir, when Elladan had asked him, had replied that such was not the case for him. He found the source of his pain to be in that she was no longer as he remembered her most clearly. To hear familiar things spoken of had been a balm to him, recapturing the lost days. Elladan felt instead, vaguely cheated. He could not recall such things, save in a detached fashion, as though it was the happier woman that was not real, rather than what she had become.

Returning home, however, they had both found it easier to sweep down the cobwebs of painful memories and begin to re-carve their lives. With one change. Having found a source of comfort alike to them, they hunted the Orcs that slunk around their home with one accord. To kill them. All.

A little distance from Elrohir, Tharin and Lindir slithered and slipped upon the wet grass, the occasional flashes of white amidst the driving rain showing their swords as they duelled with each other and the weather. Lindir’s mocking challenge proving easily enough to stir Tharin when the elements battled for supremacy overhead.

Looking to the right, Elladan could see Elrond stood out upon his balcony, his hair curling around his face in long dark streamers. His robe had slid down his shoulders and his bared chest shone with water. Elrond turned his head, laughing, to look at Elladan. His lips moved and faintly, as the wind paused to draw breath once more, Elladan heard his voice call.
“Do we not make such fools of ourselves in this weather?”
Elladan nodded in return, for the wind howled into his face and stole away his words. But how could they not? he wondered, when the air was so charged with electric energy and the elements raged about them. Caught in their own power they drew the Elves along with them. The dance of the storm irresistible.

A sudden gust slapped up against the houses. Dimly, Elladan could see emerging from the other houses in the valley, dark shapes of Elves. The high-pitched squeals of delighted children competing with the bellow of the wind. Excitement tingling in every vein of his being, Elladan spun away from the window, half running from his chamber to join the others outside. All along the corridor doors hung open, the rooms abandoned by their occupants in favour of the wilds and wall-less sanctuary of the night itself.

But one door remained closed. Elladan checked his hasty step; somewhat surprised to register that it was Glorfindel’s. Elladan hammered on the door, the power of the storm pulsing through him. << How could Glorfindel miss this – the first storm of this magnitude Imladris had seen in hundreds of years? >>

“Who knocks?” The voice from within was startled, suspicious.
Elladan opened the door. Glorfindel was folded up on the bed, his knees drawn up to his chest, arms clasped around them. He lifted his head sharply, his long hair falling over his face, his eyes were wide and the knuckles of his interlocked fingers white. He looked pale, fragile almost, like a moth shivering in a draft.

A guttering candle lit beside his bed cast enormous shadows upon the wall that weaved threateningly with every blast of wind. The drapes, wide open, clapped against the stones, leaving wet shadow prints behind. The floor ran with water, tiny streams rushing between the flagstones from the pool beneath the window. “Glory, its only me.” Elladan was slightly taken aback by the gaping blue eyes that glanced fearfully his way. Still fired by the storm however, he found a smile playing across his lips as he registered the meaning of the situation.
“Glory? Tell me not that you are afraid of the thunder storm?”
Glorfindel’s lips made brief twitch, his eyes narrowing a fraction.
“Shut up,” he said, a shamefaced parody of his smile crossing his tense features. “Just shut up.”
Elladan lifted a hand to cover his mouth – and his smile.

A bolt of lightning lanced from the heavens, lighting the room in sudden white relief. Glorfindel flinched noticeably, his eyes closing and his fingers tightening around his knees. Elladan, despite the similar bolt of fire that burst through his soul in tandem with the sky, stepped across the room, concern for his lover warring with his desire to join his kin beneath the night. He moved to sit upon the bed, gently prying Glorfindel’s hands away from his legs to grip them in his own. Glorfindel’s fingers closed around Elladan’s painfully as the thunder crashed above them.

Glorfindel opened his eyes, inhaling deeply of the momentary lull.
“Elladan,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm. “You do not have to stay. Go and join your family for I know you love this weather.”
Elladan was tempted, that he would not deny, but he shook his head, clasping Glorfindel’s hands more tightly.
“I also love you,” he countered. Glorfindel frowned at him.
“Elladan, since when have we had a storm like this one? I shall be fine. Go, you are wound as tightly as those coiling clouds. Why not allow yourself the same release as the rain?”
Elladan stared out of the window for a moment, watching the burst of another cloud and the forked tongue of white light flicker out to lash the sky like a Balrog’s whip.

He turned back to Glorfindel, reaching out to smooth the tangled fall of icy blond hair and run his fingers down the ashen cheek.
“Because I cannot leave you.” He placed his finger across Glorfindel’s lips as his lover formed a protest. “I could not enjoy the storm knowing that you are here alone now. Besides, I wanted to spend the time with you *and* the storm.”
Glorfindel shook his head.
“I am sorry, but I will not go outside in this, Elladan. I told you once that there is little that I would not do for you. This, however, is that limit.”
“It is all right,” Elladan replied soothingly, stroking back another lock of hair that had fallen across Glorfindel’s eyes. “I am not asking you to. But ask me not to leave. I can spend time with you and the storm – here.”

“Elladan…” Glorfindel began.
Elladan placed the flat of his hand across Glorfindel’s mouth.
“Hush,” he urged.
The older Elf reached up to draw the intrusive palm away, taking it back in his own hand.
“Elladan, do not be so ridiculous. You do not need to barricade yourself into a room because I am afraid of a thunderstorm. I do not need company like a little child seeks and you do not need to be kept from the call.”
“Do you not feel it?” Elladan asked curiously, more convinced than ever that he should ignore Glorfindel’s protests. Glorfindel’s open admission sent a nasty frission of unease through Elladan. A denial of fear would not have been convincing given that every crack of thunder sent shivers through his frame, yet a lie would have been more soothing. Glorfindel closed his eyes.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Ah Elbereth, yes.”

“Then what is it?” Elladan asked, holding Glorfindel’s hands more tightly as the cry of the wind reached the pitch of the Sirens in the ocean.
Glorfindel opened his eyes, a frown forming on his brow.
“This is a feeble attempt to delay your exit, Elladan,” he said severely.
“Do you want me to go?” Elladan asked, feeling uncertainty twinge deep inside him. Despite the years since his foolish night with Elrohir, he still half anticipated Glorfindel’s rejection of him that had never come. He still believed himself to deserve it.

Glorfindel met his eyes, conflicting emotions rippling in the blue depths of his own.
“I want you to enjoy yourself,” he said.
The words lacked conviction though they were spoken firmly enough.
“Well,” Elladan shifted onto the bed a little further, nudging Glorfindel’s legs apart with his own so that he could sit between them. “Then let me stay.”
Glorfindel stared at him for a long time, a muscle flexed in his jaw as he considered. Finally he lifted his shoulders, but the interweaving of his fingers between Elladan’s belied his casual gesture.
“As you wish,” he murmured.

“It is,” Elladan wrapped his arms around Glorfindel, feeling his lover lean into the embrace and the grateful kiss that touched his shoulder. The room illuminated glaring white as lightening flamed out once more. Glorfindel tensed, leaning his forehead against Elladan’s collarbone.
“Elladan? Could you close the curtains please?” Elladan nodded, extricating himself gently and moving to the window. He stood for a moment, framed in the dark window, a silhouette against the violet sky. A flicker of light cast his face into monstrous relief as he gazed out at Elrohir, grappling with Elrond. Arwen launched herself onto her father’s back, flattening him into the sopping grass.
“Elladan…” Glorfindel started once more.
Elladan pulled the drapes tightly shut, giving Glorfindel a quelling glower and moved back to the bed.

The darkness closed around them like a cloak, the candle flame dimming for a moment and then brightening to a steady glow.
“So, explain to me,” Elladan snuggled down beneath the bedcovers, flipping them over Glorfindel’s legs and pulling his lover into an embrace. “If you feel the pull of the storm, why do you fear it?”
His voice was lit only with honest enquiry.

Glorfindel laid his cheek against the younger Elf’s shoulder, gripping the comforting forearm that was wrapped around his waist.
“Why?” he said slowly. “Because, Elladan, it makes me remember.”
He sighed, drawing Elladan’s hand up so that he could clasp it to his chest.
“The storm…is shadow, and flame. It calls to us…” The boom of the thunder rolling overhead silenced him for a moment. Glorfindel waited, his fingers tight around Elladan’s until it had passed. “Because it is dangerous and beyond all control. That is what our kind loves so deeply about it. To play among the wild elements is to dance upon the knife-edge of our measure of mortality. It is a stimulation that is not soft or beautiful, but explosive and savage. It transfixes us, sets us alight and stirs us from our immortal serenity. I have felt that before, but not in the storm. I felt it when I faced the Balrog.” His voice was very soft, but it seemed to Elladan that the storm itself had fallen silent to listen. “The colours and the power that envelops are the same. The taking of life and casting it to the mercy of the Lady.” His fingers twisted with Elladan’s again and he shivered. “The call of the storm reminds me of it, it reminds me of my death.”

Elladan lifted his head to look at Glorfindel, but the older Elf was staring distantly into space.
“The night I was called back from the Halls…it was a stormy night. The screaming of the wind was like the crying of the lost souls and the swirling darkness all too reminiscent of what had taken me from this life first. And the first feeling I recall, amidst the confusion, the bright glaring lights and the helplessness of being once more in physical form, was the desire to throw it away again, fall endlessly…” He closed his eyes, unwinding his fingers to trace meaningless patterns on Elladan’s arm. He inhaled deeply and continued in the same soft voice.

“And I knew the price for life, for death. I respect it too greatly now for that sensation to do aught but shake me to the core. The storm reminds me of it, every time.” He closed his other hand over Elladan’s, holding on a little tighter. “I seldom recall a time in which I was so beyond the reach of anything. I…it was my choice, to return - yet I railed against it once it was done. As I recall,” the tone of his voice grew wry and the sound of the storm outside lifted again. “I was particularly unpleasant to your poor father, who was the unfortunate soul tending me as physician. Fitting, I suppose, in that it was for *his* father’s father that I died in the first place.” He lifted slightly more humorous eyes to Elladan’s face.

Elladan brushed the back of his hand across Glorfindel’s cheek, cupping the pale face, having no words to offer his lover. He felt a stillness inside as he tried to imagine the sensations, picturing in his mind’s eye the solid wall of cloud rising into the shape of a Balrog, the forked serpent tongues of lightening growing tails that struck with sky like a Cat ‘o’ Nine. The deadened sense of knowing that death stood to the fore and to the aft, life, life that required protection, whatever the penalty. He had felt it, when first he and Elrohir had entered the Redhorn pass, searching for their mother. He felt it each and every time they faced fresh Orcs.

The whip of altruism seemed a harsher master than his own internal ache of loss. He fought, in part, for himself. To assuage the hollowness inside, fill it with something, anything, blood, his own or others. Glorfindel had not. Glorfindel had stood to his death for the love of others alone. And fearsome death, in shadow, in flame. Elladan stared into the ancient face, the stricken, haunted eyes and longed to ease away the pain of reflection. He knew its grip well enough to know that the barbed coils bit deep.

The drapes flapped up, thick and dark like an enormous phantom and the candle went out. The roar of the wind reverberated around the bedchamber and Glorfindel tensed beside him. Elladan felt himself coil too, but despite Glorfindel’s tale, the knot of anticipation that squirmed inside him was the fault of the storm’s call alone.

White fire exposed the room and framed in the door, that they had not heard open, a dark figure was fiendishly lit. Elladan jerked backwards against the pillows, a silent cry escaping him. Glorfindel started up, his hand shooting beneath his pillow to grip the hilt of his knife. He relaxed a moment later and laughed shakily. From the door Elrond spoke, holding aloft a guttering candle.
“I came to see if all was well,” he shouted, above the wailing of the wind.
He was wet to the bone, water running in rivulets down his face, his sodden hair slapping at his face with every blast of wind, his robe half opened and plastered to his body. Though his eyes flicked to Glorfindel with concern, they sparkled with a light reflected in the smile of sheer delight at the weather, which he could barely contain.

“Yes,” Glorfindel assured him. “Everything is fine. Thank you,” he added, darting a quick smile at Elrond.
“Are you staying, Elladan?” Elrond asked. “Only I am quite wet enough and am retiring, so if you wanted to join your brother…”
He was offering to stay instead, but Elladan shook his head.
“No. I want to stay here, Papa. I can laugh at you all from the dry. Besides,” he gestured to the room, which was still trickling water from every channel. “Why should I go out when we have half of the weather in here?”
Elrond chuckled, bidding them goodnight.

Glorfindel collapsed back against the pillow with an exhale that hissed outwards between his teeth.
“Ai! That scared me,” he groaned. “Logic would tell that within this valley I am unlikely to meet with such a monster as a Balrog, but to see your father then…”
“I shall tell him that,” Elladan threatened, teasingly.
Glorfindel opened his mouth to reply but a sudden bellow from the heavens silenced him. Elladan bolted upright, feeling his heart leap into his throat at the power behind the tumult of water that hammered down upon the roof of the building. Glorfindel however, remained pressed flat against the mattress, his hands suddenly clenched around the sheets. He closed his eyes tightly.

A soft chuckle made him reopen them again. Elladan looked down at his lover with a smile upon his lips. Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed.
“I am sorry,” Elladan said, covering his mouth with his hand. “It is so infrequent that I see you stirred from your tranquillity. I apologise, Glory, it is not so amusing for you.”
Glorfindel sucked in a long breath and shook his head. Directly above their heads a rending crack reverberated through the air. The scuttling rattle of a tree branch slithering over the rooftop made Glorfindel flinch again. Elladan felt his heart skitter in his chest. The rush of the rain upon the roof cascaded inside him and he sat rigid, his chest rising and falling like the gasping of the wind between its mournful howls. He felt Glorfindel’s eyes upon him and quashed the beat of the thunder within him. Yet it surged upwards again, buoyant with its own power.

“Elladan…”
Glorfindel pushed himself free from his crucifixion against the mattress and turned to his lover, coiling his legs beneath him. His long hair fell across his face in a blond curtain, lifted back as wind screamed through the chamber, flinging wide the drapes. Elladan shivered all over, his skin tingling with the slap of the wind upon his back.
“Shut up, Glory,” he whispered, the glow of the sky reflected in his eyes.
Glorfindel opened his mouth once more and Elladan claimed it with his own, a hard, urgent kiss to silence all hope of objections. The room blazed with fire again and Glorfindel clutched his lover to him, fighting the call of the storm with the need for Elladan searing his body in its stead.

The younger Elf’s hands threaded through his hair, weaving the locks between his fingers and binding them together. Elladan pushed Glorfindel back against the sheets, feeling the strong arms snake around him as Glorfindel gripped his back. Urgent fingers pushed away his robe, smoothing against the tense muscles beneath the pale skin. Glorfindel’s mouth caught his own in short, breathless kisses, his hands closing against the small of Elladan’s back, yanking him closer. Elladan spread his legs, straddling the strong form beneath him and leaning down into a bruising kiss, lips crushed against blunt teeth, the coppery tang of blood reminiscent of the faintly metallic taste to the rain.

Glorfindel splayed his fingers against Elladan’s ribs, dragging upwards, making his skin burn at the friction. Elladan bit at the tip of his lover’s ear, relishing the sharp hiss issuing from the reddened lips lapping at his jaw. Glorfindel’s legs rose to grip his body and Elladan moaned. The burning inside him rose as flesh slid warm against flesh. Fingers clenched around his buttocks and he arched his spine. The roar of the thunder deafened his own cry and his ears rang. The roof vibrating at the watery onslaught reverberated through his being and he shuddered. Grinding his hips against Glorfindel’s he slid down, down to lock his lips about a dark nipple and suckle, as though to drink the spasms of fear from his lover’s body. A hand tightened into his hair. Glorfindel’s arousal nosed at his belly wetness sticky upon his skin.

The rough caress of the sheets sliding across his thighs brought a groan to his lips and he pulled Glorfindel’s leg up onto his shoulder, groping blindly for the bedside cabinet. The cool glass of a vial pressed into his palm, solid but slippery from where Glorfindel had grasped it, spilled its slightly warmed contents easily into his hand. Elladan cried out as Glorfindel’s hands brushed across his, stealing the silky fluid from him and catching his aching hardness between oily fingers. The fist closed tight around him and Elladan dug his fingers into Glorfindel’s thigh, reaching with his other hand for the dark cleft before him. The blond head snapped back against the pillow, eyes closing. Glorfindel gasped at the invasion, his body twisting and his fingers stilling for a moment as Elladan pressed his deeper inside. His lover’s harsh panting breaths penetrated the emotional fog. Elladan paused, leaning down again to flicker his tongue his lover’s shaft. Glorfindel grasped at the bed frame behind his head, abandoning Elladan’s heated arousal.

“Easy,” Elladan murmured in a voice that rasped in his throat. “Glory, do you want this?”
Blue eyes widened, surprised, curious, sweat fetchingly jewelled upon the lashes. Thunder whip-cracked across the sky, the frightening burst of wild light illuminating Elladan’s flushed face. The storm fear had not yet been quelled, for it shivered for a moment in the sapphire depths of his lover’s eyes.
“Take me,” Elladan whispered, handing over control even as his own need gathered like the brewing of another thunderclap.

Glorfindel’s lips pressed against his in a hard, grateful kiss as they shifted to lie with Elladan beneath. Blood pounded in his ears and the pulsing of the storm engulfed him as the wave after wave of searing, aching pleasure cored into him. Elladan reared into the touch, his head slamming back onto Glorfindel’s shoulder, feeling teeth nip at the tender skin of his neck. Fingers bruisingly clamped into his hips, closed around his length. They moved together, riding the line between pleasure and pain, dancing the dance of unity, tossing and surging like the storm itself. The howling of the wind swept around him, through him, his own cries torn from his throat to mingle with the raging air. The chamber blurred like the colours of the sky, exploding into white stars as lightning coursed through his body.

Far off he could hear the dying sobs of the storm like the faint call of the gulls. Heat rolled over him in a wave and he sagged, boneless, like the clouds emptied of rain. Sinking downwards into the cocoon of damp sheets his eyes closed. Glorfindel’s quiet exhale against his shoulder and relaxed wrap of an arm around his waist told him that the storm had passed. The tingling in his body ceasing he could hear the rain falling steadily on the roof, but the air was quiet, still.

A soft touch on his shoulder made Elladan reopen his eyes.
“Look at that,” Glorfindel murmured in his ear, pointing across him to the sky beyond the window, pale and washed out into violets and hazy, chalky orange. The faint pinpricks of the stars, like shattered fragments of lightning glinting from the fading sky.
“The stars?” Elladan asked.
Glorfindel nodded, reverent, his eyes filling with their usual serenity like water pooling in the grass as the rain dissolved into air.

“What is your preoccupation with the stars?” Elladan mumbled, nestling against the warm contours of his lover’s body.
Glorfindel’s teeth gently closed around the tip of his ear.
“They were the first thing I can remember seeing clearly after I was brought back,” Glorfindel answered, his voice soft with old wonder. “The starlight…it just is.”
Elladan twisted to glance at his lover’s face, finding in the azure depths of the eyes a faint reflection of the starlight and the source of the tranquillity in just being.
“Yes,” he echoed. “It just is.”

[End]