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There were dragons filling the sky above Imladris. Glorfindel looked up with a sinking heart, knowing that there was no possible way to save the little valley, its people, his Lord, his friends, his –
Glorfindel pushed that thought away, feeling his heart twist. The old Bonds that were still connected to him warmed slightly, filling his chest with a heat he had not felt in an Age. Ecthelion and Elemmakil were gone, safe on the far western shores of Valinor...for now. Glorfindel did not know if these dragons flooding the sky were of Sauron's make and measure or if they came from an older, Darker, source. Had the Door of Night broken? Were his partners even still alive? Were they safe? Were they...
A thump and a flurry of robes announced the arrival of the one whose presence had made Glorfindel's heart ache once more on Arda's far shores. He had never thought he would feel such a connection again – and especially not with someone like this. Erestor, emissary from the far eastern elven tribes, half feral and marked with signs of their kind's torture from Ages past, was crouched on the edge of the railing, his veil hanging free for once from over his face. All of his attention was on the dragons filling the sky. He did not see the elves staring at him, at the wild light in his eyes, at the inked marks across his cheekbones and on his chin, and how they too were starting to glow.
Glorfindel still felt a burn of shame when he thought back to his first meeting with his – with Erestor. Long had there been rumors that Morgoth had taken Moriquendi elves and tortured them into the twisted beings that were orcs. Many had hated that thought, had even hated the poor beings who had been subjected to that fate, casting all the blame onto them, chastising them for not running fast enough, far enough, to escape their doom.
It had been a thought Glorfindel had held, right up until he had met Erestor and all his preconceived notions went flying out the window.
Erestor had come with a contingent of his people, large, hulking elves that had caused Glorfindel to alert all of Imladris' soldiers that they were being attacked. This party of elves had scattered at Glorfindel's charge, with Erestor alone holding his spot, chin raised and defiant even as Glorfindel bore down on him. It had been Asfaloth, in the end, who had reared up sharply and almost knocked Glorfindel from his seat. All of the horses of Imladris had refused to continue their charge, had lowered their heads before these strange elves, before Erestor, almost in penitence.
It should have been the warning Glorfindel heeded. Alas, he had not.
There had been a great deal of shouting on Glorfindel's part and silence on Erestor's part as the two sides settled into an uneasy standoff. Then Lord Elrond had come and Erestor had stepped forward, bowing to the lord of Imladris.
“Elrond, Lord of Imladris, I, who am called Erestor of the Crow Tribe, greet you.” The Westron was oddly accented. All Glorfindel could see of this Erestor had been his eyes, darkened by kohl, strangely colored with an outer gold ring and a pale blue interior. Later – much later – Glorfindel would learn that the pale blue part of Erestor's eyes would reflect the light like a cat's, allowing him to see far better in the dark than any elf in Imladris.
But that was much, much later.
“Well met, Erestor of the Crow Tribe,” Elrond had said and bowed back, much to Glorfindel's disgruntlement. “You are correct, I am Elrond, lord of this valley. May I know how you know my name?”
This Erestor had tilted his head to one side. It was a tell Glorfindel would learn to mean that Erestor was amused or smiling. “Long, we have, to look...” He paused, a faint line appearing between his brows. “To...seek out? Understand? To find...others, like us,” Erestor had made a motion that meant nothing to Glorfindel then. Now he knew it meant family...in a way, though Erestor had not spoken much about such gestures or his tribe's language. “The Last Homely House was told to us, so to this House we have come.”
“I...see,” Elrond had said after a beat of silence. “And your...guards?”
“Guards? No. Cousins, yes.” Erestor turned his head and those hulking figures had melted out of the shadows, causing more than one of Glorfindel's soldiers to hiss with surprise. These figures were far more orcish in appearance, with wide shoulders and the strangely colored skin. Two of them had crowded close to Erestor's sides and in that moment Glorfindel had realized that these huge brutes were...scared.
Of them.
“Laksha and Meren,” Erestor introduced the ones at his sides. “They wished to make sure I made it here, to this Last...Homely House,” one thin eyebrow had gone up. Glorfindel had bristled. Elrond, however, had bowed his head. Then Erestor had turned to the two other...elves and spoke in a language that was not the Black Speech of Mordor or even what Glorfindel remembered the hordes of Morgoth using when his army had swept down on Gondolin so many centuries before. The two larger elves had seemed to argue with Erestor for a moment before Erestor said something sharp in that strange, lyrical language they spoke. Then the two had bowed to him, had touched his shoulder, then their chests, then their lips, and they had stepped back, vanishing before Glorfindel's gaze. He had no idea how they had done it.
Erestor had been left alone with a handful of trunks that were delivered later, turning up in the middle of the main house's courtyard without a single guard seeing who had brought it there. Such stealth abilities in a race of people Glorfindel had not known of and did not know the capabilities of had kept him up at night. He had stalked Erestor through the halls of Imladris for years, always trying to catch him in a lie, in some deception, that would prove that this Erestor was actually an agent of their old enemy.
Glorfindel would find himself falling for this Erestor instead.
It had happened so slowly Glorfindel had not realized it, not until one day he had come out and seen Erestor standing in a sunny patch in the garden, his robes drawn tight around him, with his face tilted up to the sun. It would be the first time Glorfindel ever saw Erestor without his veil on. That angular face was as pale as any orc, which made the lines on his cheeks and chin stand out all the brighter. He wore dangling earrings and often wore his hair in intricate twists and braids, which would later influence even Elrond himself and all the rest of the elves of the valley. It was his expression, though, that had drawn Glorfindel up short. Erestor had looked sad and a part of Glorfindel in that moment had wanted nothing more than to wipe that expression away and make him laugh once more.
Glorfindel had fled instead, hiding himself away until he had sorted himself out and realized just what he had done. By then it was too late. That quiet part of him had already been reaching out towards his Erestor, wanting to create a Bond with him as Glorfindel had with Ecthelion and Elemmakil in Ages past. But to his dismay no Bond was created. He did not know why. Not for years, as he tried to slowly patch up his relationship with his Erestor, trying to mend the hurt he had caused.
It had been a long, slow process. Sometimes Glorfindel thought Erestor knew what he was doing. Sometimes it seemed as though Erestor had no idea what Glorfindel felt for him at all. It wasn't until they had become...friends – or at least friendly – that Glorfindel learned a devastating truth.
“Bonds?” Erestor had said at the time. It had been late and the flames in the hearth had died low in the Hall of Fire. Erestor had let his veil down and was sipping from a cup of wine. The languid way he lay in his chair, as if he had no bones at all, had made Glorfindel look away from that tempting sight.
“Yes,” Elrond had said. There were still shadows that lingered under his eyes from time to time. They had lost Celebrían years before and Glorfindel still blamed himself for her loss. “Celebrían...” The pause had been long. Then Elrond drew in a stuttering breath and said, “When we first met, Celebrían and I formed a Bond, one that we knew meant that we two would be connected, forever more. Most of those who have such Bonds end up married.”
“I see,” Erestor had sat up at that, setting his cup aside. The shadows from the dying flames had accented the marks on his face. “There is a story,” he said to the fire and not to them. “Of our people. How the Dark One took us into his dungeons and broke us, using the Bonds of our people to do so. It created...quite the mess,” a strange smile had flickered over his face then. “With more unintended consequences than I think even the Dark One had imagined. Either way, ever since then, we do not form Bonds. Not as you describe,” his expression grew somber. “I am sorry again for your loss.”
It was that night that Glorfindel had mourned for the loss of any Bond with Erestor. He thought his other lovers and Bonded would have wanted to know and Bond to him as well. Such Bonds had been rare in Aman and rarer still in Beleriand after the Noldor's exile. That Glorfindel had Bonded to Ecthelion first, and then Elemmakil, had been a scandal in Gondolin at the time. By the time the city fell, though, they had been accepted by their people. To know that Morgoth had ruined that for Erestor and his people had lodged an ember of fury in Glorfindel's heart that would never go out. Morgoth was still ruining the world, ruining the Firstborn, ruining the wonder and the magic that made up Arda even now. It was something Glorfindel would never forgive him for.
And now, here they were, staring up at a sky that had not seen the like since the Dagor Bragollach. He stood next to Erestor as their death came to them from above, the roar of the dark armies echoing against the valley walls.
“I lied,” Erestor said, still staring up at the oncoming hordes.
Glorfindel blinked and looked to him, not understanding. “What?”
“When I said my people do not form Bonds,” then Erestor looked to him and Glorfindel found himself rooted in place. Those strange eyes were glowing. “We do form Bonds, but they are...a tangled thing. Do you understand?”
“No,” Glorfindel whispered. “I do not.”
Erestor crawled along the railing until he was in front of Glorfindel. Those pale hands cupped his face and for the first time Glorfindel could feel that cool touch against his skin. “Do not cry for us, my dear,” Erestor whispered to him. “I felt what you wanted, what you tried to do,” he hushed Glorfindel when he went to apologize. “It was not time, yet. Forgive me,” then Erestor kissed him, in front of all the elves of Imladris, in front of the dragons raining fire down onto their valley, in front of the hordes pouring in through the passes. “I saw this vision during my dark quest,” Erestor whispered against Glorfindel's lips when he drew back. All Glorfindel could do was clutch at him. “This vision of terror has haunted me through all the years of my life. I knew this would be where I died. I knew it from the moment I stepped foot into this valley, I knew it from the moment I saw your face.”
“Erestor,” Glorfindel whispered.
“Do you remember what I said that night?” Erestor pulled back, his hands still on Glorfindel's face. His eyes were growing brighter and brighter with each beat of Glorfindel's heart.
“I do,” he said.
“Our Bonds are not broken, not exactly. Just...misplaced,” Erestor smiled at him. “Remember that, my dear. We will meet again, you and I.”
“What? But how –,” but Glorfindel found his words cut off with another swift kiss.
“Things will change, but then all things do. When we meet again I hope to see Ecthelion and Elemmakil as well.” Then Erestor was gone, leaping into the air with a twist of power that rang through the valley, through the air, through the ground itself, turning all the hordes' attention to him. It felt...it felt like a giant hand had come down to Arda, ripping the world apart at its very seams. Glorfindel fell to his knees, unable to stand the brunt of it, even as he looked up to see Erestor standing tall, ablaze with a Power Glorfindel could not name, facing the oncoming horde with his head held high.
That was the last that Glorfindel knew.
...Until he woke with a gasp, Erestor's name on his lips, reaching for him. But when Glorfindel fought free of the blankets piled on top of him, when Glorfindel came to his knees in front of the tent pitched upon a green field in Aman, he looked around in wonder – and then in terror. For he knew this field. It was the field where they two had first met Elemmakil so many years before, in their time in Aman, during a wandering adventure they'd had through the forests of Oromë.
“Glorfindel? Glorfindel!”
Hands drew him back into the tent. Glorfindel looked up to see Ecthelion staring back at him, pale and worried and alive. Glorfindel threw himself at his lover, his friend, the first Bond he had ever had...
Except that was not true. For there, nestled against his heart, was another Bond, warm and humming with life. A Bond named Erestor, just waiting for him to be found once more.
“Glorfindel,” Ecthelion whispered into the silence between them. “Fin. You – we were – how is this possible?” Cold hands held him tight.
It was then that Glorfindel realized that his Bond with Ecthelion was there...and so was the Bond he had with Elemmakil, when the front of their tent was ripped open and another body joined their pile.
“We were dead,” Glorfindel said as he clutched them both close. “But now...now we are not.”
“How did this happen?”
Glorfindel stared up at the top of their tent, his mind whirling. “Erestor,” he breathed out the name and felt them both jolt. “He said...he said their people had been tortured by Morgoth. That Morgoth had used their Bonds against them, that their Bonds had become misplaced.”
“What?”
“He sent me back, sent us back,” Glorfindel murmured, the pieces clicking into place. “And as we have come back, so has he.”
And, even as he spoke the words, Glorfindel felt the Bond in his chest warm him through. Somewhere out there their Erestor was also waking up in a world where they had a second chance to get things right . Glorfindel held his lovers close and held onto that Bond nestled deep in his chest. This time...this time they had time to change things, change everything.
But the first thing they had to do was get to Arda. Immediately.