Lost In Time
Yay, writing again! Kay, tell me what you think, and if Glorfindel’s character seems a bit OOC, it’s just the way I think he’d be. C’mon, he died! Anyway, review!
I do not own any of this, except the plot, and even then, it’s not very original because someone’s already done the entire BTVS/LOTR thing three hundred times.
This story is definitely gonna be NC-17, so leave if you don’t like squicky sex scenes. Oh, and this first chapter has some slash in it, not explicit, and future chapters might, too. You have been warned
Creative criticism is always appreciated; it helps me become a better writer (if that’s possible! LOL)
Prologue: What Dreams May Bring
Lord Glorfindel sat at his desk, chin propped up with his left hand, elbow on the table. His right was holding a quill, and said quill was currently moving over a blank piece of parchment with no distinct pattern; just doodles.
Sighing heavily, something the old Lord seemed to be doing more of lately, Glorfindel glanced out the window wearily. The sun shone brightly on Arda, sparkling off the dew drops that stubbornly clung to leaves, fracturing into little rainbows pleasing to young and old alike.
But there was no pleasure for Glorfindel. Hadn’t been in the three thousand years he had been on Middle Earth since his rebirth. Hadn’t been since his beloved Ecthelion was torn from him violently and unexpectedly.
Heaving another deep sigh, the Lord turned back to his work, a weapons count, when he suddenly cursed, his eyes dark with annoyance.
His doodles had decided to take up the entire page, making the numbers illegible. Cursing again, he took the parchment, crumpled it up, and threw it angrily against the far wall.
“My, my. You started early,” a smooth voice commented from the door. Glorfindel glared at Elrond’s Chief Advisor, blue eyes sparkling angrily.
“You would do well, Advisor, to leave me alone and not bother me again,” Glorfindel snapped, turning away. Grabbing a new piece of parchment, the Lord began to write again. He worked this way for five minutes before he slammed his quill onto the wooden desk.
Looking up, he met dark eyes filled with bemusement and pity. Glorfindel sighed with disgust and turned away again, this time staring resolutely at a corner. He waited for the inevitable conversation to start.
“You know,” Erestor began, coming around the desk, sitting on the edge and carefully placing his hands on Glorfindel’s shoulders, “it’s a beautiful day out. Will you not leave your study for one minute to bask in the sun like other elves do?
Glorfindel shrugged off Erestor’s hand, stood up, and walked to the far end of the room. Erestor waited patiently, watching the Vanyar. Glorfindel held himself straight, turned away form the advisor, his black clad shoulders tense. “And why should I act like the other elves? They fear me, and respect me. They do not like me." After a pause. "They do not have my dreams.” Letting his arms fall to his sides, Glorfindel leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the wall.
Erestor sighed, gathering his own green robes about him, and hopped lightly off the desk. “Glorfindel,” Erestor began, slowly, knowing he was about to touch on a subject that was strictly taboo in the house, “Ecthelion is gone and you will not-.”
The advisor was cut off by Glorfindel’s hand around his throat, pinning him to the desk. Erestor gave a small struggle, but knew the blonde would never hurt him. This was just a scare tactic, which worked on most people. Not Erestor.
The dark haired advisor stared up at the golden lord with sadness and pity in his dark gaze, and the grip around his neck loosened. Erestor pushed the hand away and sat up, rubbing his throat.
“Are they worse?” Erestor asked quietly, referring to Glorfindel’s nightmares. The golden Elda merely nodded, head hung in shame and despair, tears falling to land with a soft plop on the smooth desktop.
Erestor smoothed back the bright hair, murmuring comforting words whilst guiding Glorfindel’s head to his shoulder. Kissing the hair, Erestor slowly made his way down, kissing the tip of an elegantly pointed ear. Glorfindel’s breath caught, the tears stopping for a moment.
“Erestor,” Glorfindel whispered hoarsely against the dark haired elf’s shoulder, “I cannot use you.” Contrary to his words, however, the Captain held the other elf tighter, needing the contact.
“You use nothing,” Erestor whispered back, raising Glorfindel’s face. “I give this to you freely, mellon-nin,” the Advisor whispered against the Captain’s lips.
Unable to hold back, Glorfindel took the sweet lips harshly, bruising soft skin as he did so.
Even as he thrust into the tight body of his best friend and confidante, black hair spread out on the mahogany desk, Glorfindel closed his eyes and saw brown hair and large blue eyes bright with ecstasy. Spending himself with a groan, Glorfindel cried out a name.
A dimension and several thousand years later, Dawn Summers awoke with a gasp, her cheeks flushed as she whispered one word.