* In the tradition of the Tarot, Cups represent the element of Water and also feelings (specifically love) or moods, among other things.
2 Third Age.
The defeat of Sauron did not ensure peace for the elves or the races of men. The end of the Last Alliance did bring immediate joy to all the races of Middle Earth. All living creatures face sorrow and pain, joy and pleasure, as the wheel of fate turns ever round and round. Every creature is touched by it in turn. Sometimes it seems as though there is more sorrow and pain than joy. But that, some wise ones might claim, is because we remember the pain more vividly since we learn from it. Others, less wise, might say that it is the lot of mortals, and maybe even elves, to suffer. And the wise might respond, is the cup half empty or half full?
And the elves of Arda might respond, be the cup half empty or full, bitter or sweet, we will drink it to the dregs.
In the land of Lorien, Amroth returned with the remnants of his army. He would find no peace in his great forest and the cup from which he drank would be bitter. His son and heir, Amdir, injured on the Dagorlad Plains, perished before he could reach his woodland home. Amroth's wife, Nimrodel left Lothlorien in her grief, to travel south. She was lost in the mountains and not seen again. Amroth was not content to sit and wonder, rather his passion for his love would not let him. Instead, he brought Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel from Lindon and made them his regents and he abandoned his kingdom to search for his lost love.
He climbed the White Mountains and searched among the snowy peaks for his beloved. With no trace of her to be found, Amroth traveled to the Gray Havens and went before Cirdan, the Master Shipwright, and begged for a boat to carry him over the sea. Cirdan thought to refuse his friend, for his sight was long reaching, but he knew Amroth would not be swayed. Therefore, with a prayer to the Valar, Cirdan granted Amroth his request of a ship, gave him provisions, and watched with heavy heart as the small boat left the Havens on the clear waters.
After five weeks, the elves of the Gray Havens awoke one morning to a frightful event. During the night, a terrible storm washed ashore a ship of elvish making. Her golden sails were shredded and hung limply from her mast. Her delicate spine, the great central beam, was broken in two and she rested partially submerged in the shallows where she thrashed the last of her death throes. The elves gathered on the shore and stared at the ship, for all knew it belonged to Amroth. Of the noble king of Lothlorien, nothing could be seen.
Cirdan walked down to the water and stared for
a while, stroking his silky beard. He did not need to look for Amroth. He
did not hope that the elf would be seen again on this or any other shore again.
He had foreseen Amroth's lonely end and he had despaired for his friend. Fate
would not be denied and a hero of the elves was lost to time. Word
passed from the Gray Havens and traveled the width and breadth of Middle Earth
and even those exiles deep in Mirkwood heard and grieved.
Elrond Peredhil, half man and half elf, uncle to the kings of Gondor and Standard Bearer to a great king, placed his heart and soul into building an exile. Even as timbers and stone shaped the Last Homely House, he knew he was creating his own prison. He felt the daily joys drain away from him and he retreated deeper in to the recesses of his broken heart. In the deep of the night, he spoke to Gil-Galad, pouring out his heart and soul as water from a bucket. Ink flowed across parchment and still the grief in his heart was not poured out.
In his mind, he heard Gil-Galad's chiding voice. Or, perhaps it was only Vilya's voice he heard, when he chose to listen at all. The voice whispered that it was time to put away his grief and anger. Gil-Galad would not have recognized his lover. Maybe he would not even like what Elrond became in those years. And Elrond knew shame, too, for he understood the bitterness and admonished himself for it. His loneliness grew and he retreated further in to his work. And each fed on the other so that the lonelier he became the deeper into his work he delved in a seemingly endless cycle until a chance event in Mirkwood would cause him to throw out the cup from which he drank and pour himself a new one.
Thranduil had already tasted the first bitter sip of his cup. He grimaced and tipped the goblet anyway. After the death of his father Oropher, and lover, Anarion, he took the remains of his battered army and traveled back to his woodland kingdom. While Elrond strove to turn Imladris into an unequaled haven for the races of Middle Earth, Thranduil built a fortress unequaled in elven history. He rebuilt his forces and added to his hall and his wealth, replacing the ache in his heart with precious metals and brilliant stones. Middle Earth grew leery of him, but he took no notice. His heart lay on the Dagorlad Plain and he no longer cared what the rest of the elven race believed. And as he thought to drink longest and fullest from his cup, one event in his life over shadowed all preceding events.
He discovered, much to his surprise, that the wine was not so bitter. In the Fifth month of the Second Year of the Third Age, Thranduil's wife gave birth to their son. Her labor was long and exhausting and even as her son entered the world, she left it, fading quietly in the manner of elves. Thranduil looked in to deep blue eyes and stared at the fuzzy white-blond down on his son's small head as the healers pulled sheets over his wife's still face. His heart beat more tenderly as he held in his strong hands the product of a political union and he grieved for his wife and he blessed her for the gift of his son. At last Anarion's shade rested.
Not long after the death of Amroth, Cirdan awoke from a troubling dream. In it, he saw the evil forces of Mordor rising like an ocean wave and crashing upon the shores of Middle Earth until all those who dwelt there drown. The ring on his finger burned him and he tugged at it. The slim band slipped easily from his finger and he held it, glimmering, in his palm.
He rose from his couch and walked to the window. Pulling back the drapes, he stared over the rooftops of the Gray Havens and brooded. The sun was still asleep and the stars sparkled in the velvet canopy and cast their diamond glow upon the sea. His internal clock told him that it was the fifth hour of the fledgling morning. His dreams spoke of portends and people. Turning from his window, he dressed and placed his ring in his pocket before he made his way down to the docks.
He did not have long to wait, for as the sun poked her sleepy head through the firmament, a ship appeared on the horizon. The ship grew in size as it drew nearer and Cirdan's sharp eyes saw aboard her men who were neither young nor old. He saw their hearts and knew that some would be corrupted. He saw that some would perish on the foreign shores of Middle Earth. But his heart remained light, for he saw the one of whom he dreamed. He withdrew his ring from his pocket and bounced it once in his hand. He felt the ring's withdrawal and knew that world was changed. His face wreathed in smiles as the one whom he sought at last stepped from the ship and he held forth his hand in greeting and gift and shared his cup with the Istari.
Life was as mixed for the mortals as it was for the elves. Wars tore their fledgling nations apart. Tribes overran neighboring tribes. Treaties were made and broken. A king, who was never meant to be king, sat uneasily on his throne and plotted and brooded. He was the line of the Numenor and he had neither wife nor heir. His brother, Anarion, had once had both. But Anarion lay on the plains before Mordor's gates and his children were Isildur's heirs. Isildur cared nothing for heirs or wives or his kin, left rotting on a battlefield. He turned in his finger a golden circle and stared deeply in to the shiny surface as if mesmerized by the sparkle of the lights playing upon the band.
From his hand alone was the cup of Middle Earth replenished.
~*~
Darkness had not completely overtaken Mirkwood in the year of Legolas' birth and so from all over Middle Earth came celebrants. Cirdan came from the Havens, bringing with him such elves as desired to make the trip, and there were many. Galdor and Gildor both came, as did Damroth. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, rulers of Lorien brought their daughter, Celebrian. From Imladris came Elrond and his entire court. Saelbeth of Lindon came. Thranduil was touched by the extent of affection shown to him and his son by the elves of Middle Earth.. Great feasts and dancing was planned in honor of the birth of the heir and the elves looked forward to the celebrations with great anticipation.
Cirdan's group arrived first and they were given quarters in the western part of the keep, each elf according to their station. Galdor was assigned a room of his own, as a counselor, though he spent more time in Gildor's suit than his own. Word came that Elrond of Imladris had arrived and in a great flurry of activity and excitement, the elves of the sea went out in to the great hall to welcome their brethren and cousins.
Gildor stood behind the advisors, waiting his turn to greet his former lord when a shock of long blond hair caught his eye. He stared and his mouth grew slack and his heart ceased beating. He stepped back and his movement, jerky and uncontrolled, drew the attention of others.
Lindir stared at Gildor with something that might have been hate or maybe sadness. He did not know what he felt. He had not expected Gildor to be there and he did not know what reaction he should have. Blindly he turned to Erestor, seeking some sign of what he should do. Erestor felt the blue eyes on him and despaired. He wanted to comfort Lindir and take him in his arms, but he could not. There was no forward movement in their relationship that warranted such behavior. He'd explained to Lindir about Gildor's absence and Lindir had to face the situation on his own and come to some conclusion about his emotions, at least that was the logical solution. His heart wanted something different.
"Lindir?" Gildor found his voice and stepped forward as though seeing a ghost. His hand reached out to touch the emaciated form.
Lindir drew back. "Aye, 'tis I, Gildor. Alive and well."
"Maybe we should find a private room and retire," Elrond quickly interjected, sensing Gildor's confusion and Lindir's anger. "There is much explaining and I believe the tales would be better told without an audience."
Gildor swallowed and bowed to Elrond before fading back in line. Galdor's eyes narrowed as he studied Lindir and Elrond, wondering which of the two elves held his lover's heart. As introductions were made and greetings given, Galdor suddenly found himself face to face with an elf he'd heard of but never met. Up close, Glorfindel was everything his reputation proclaimed and Galdor felt his face flush as the ancient elf caught his open stare.
The formalities at last ended and Lord Elrond signaled to Gildor and Lindir to follow him to a private chamber that had been lent by Thranduil. Erestor silently followed, leaving the rest of Elrond's retinue to do with their time as they willed. Glorfindel chose to seek out the dark hair elf who'd been so open in his admiration. Not that he needed admiration, but because he was intrigued. Galdor, confused by his physical response to the warrior found an active interest in dwarven architecture.
Elrond seated himself in a high backed carved chair and motioned for the others to take their seats. Lindir sat to his left while Gildor sat to his right. Erestor remained standing beside the door. "I know this must seem a surprise," began Elrond.
Gildor shook his head wonderingly. "What
miracle has brought Lindir back to life?"
He desperately wanted to reach out his hand and touch his friend, if for no
other reason than to assure himself that Lindir was real.
"I recovered, whether miracle or no, I cannot say," Lindir spoke quietly, uncertain of his feelings. He remained confused, often alternating between feelings of betrayed and cool understanding.
Gildor looked to Elrond hopefully. "Please, Lord Elrond, can you not shed light on this miracle? I left Imladris believing my friend lost."
"So you did, Gildor. We searched for you in Lindon, but found no trace. I did not send messengers to the Havens as I did not know you had reached Lindon safely for none said they saw you."
"Nay, I left Lindon the same day I arrived and saw only a servant to my family. She remained behind to pack up the last of the family belongings. My mother chose to sail rather than remain in Middle Earth after my father died."
"Then you did not reach him in time?" Elrond laid a compassionate hand on Gildor's.
"No, my lord," Gildor felt his blood sing in his veins as the warm hand clasped his.
"You have my sympathy. As for what happened to Lindir, I cannot say. Indeed, we intended to administer a lethal poison," he cast an apologetic smile to Lindir. "But, not long after you left, he opened his eyes and we delayed."
"I am thankful that the opportunity for delay arose. Lindir, you cannot imagine how I have grieved for you. I thought you were lost to me and my heart near broke with the sadness."
"If you had returned to your duties in Imladris, you would have known."
"I did not return because I did not think there remained anything for me there. Imladris could never be my haven." Gildor clamped his jaw shut.
"You are always welcome in the Last Homely House, Gildor," Elrond frowned.
"I apologize, Lord Elrond, for I did not make myself clear. Knowing that Lindir died there, at the hands of the greatest healer in Middle Earth, I did not think I could dwell Imladris in peace. Nay, my lord, please do not think that I hold grievance against you, for I do not. Lindir's illness was grave and your decision just and wise. I am grateful that you never had to carry out that decision. I wish I had sent word of my whereabouts, but there seemed no need." He turned to his old friend. "I was not in hiding, Lindir, anyone could have found me had they wished. Had I known you lived, I would have come to Imladris to be with you during your recovery. I missed you."
Lindir's eyes lit up with something akin to hope at those words. "Did you really?"
"You are my friend and I vowed it would always be thus, Lindir."
"Then there is no reason for you not to return to Imladris and resume your duties with Lord Elrond."
"You assume Lord Elrond would still have me in his service." Gildor smiled. "But no, my dear Lindir, I cannot. I have obligations in the Gray Havens."
"You have taken service with Cirdan?" Elrond inquired.
"Nay, my lord. My obligations are of a different nature." Gildor did not mention that he could easily break said obligation, for Galdor knew his heart. His true reason for remaining in the Havens he kept to himself for he knew he could not remain so close to Elrond and without revealing his feelings.
Lindir wanted jump up and scream at Gildor, but he knew that he would be in the wrong. Gildor had never professed anything but friendship, nor had he willingly left Imladris. Both Elrond and Erestor had assured him that familial duty had been the cause of Gildor's desertion. And who was Lindir to argue with family duty? He understood that Gildor had taken a lover by his use of the word obligation. Whether or no that lover was a deep commitment or a casual relationship, Lindir did not know and he could not ask such a personal question in front of Elrond and Erestor. Nor did he begrudge Gildor. He couldn't. "Gildor, I have judged unfairly, even though I was told the truth. I wanted to hold anger in my heart, not that you left, perhaps, but because you did not feel for me what I feel for you." Lindir at last replied.
Sinking to his knees before his friend, Gildor embraced Lindir tightly and kissed his pale cheek. "I cherish you as my dearest friend. Is that not enough?"
And at last the bonds around Lindir's heart snapped. He understood that what Gildor offered was more than any lover would ever offer. Lovers betrayed. Lovers left. He may never share Gildor's bed, but he would have something that was far more valuable in the end. He put his arms around Gildor and held him close. "It is enough."
Elrond looked to where Erestor stood as immobile as the door he guarded and smiled encouragingly. He knew that Lindir's heart was now free and Erestor could pursue his dream if he so desired. He watched the tension leave Erestor's shoulders and felt his own relief. "I am glad that you two remain friends. Now there is no reason for you to remain a stranger to my home, Gildor."
"Nay, my lord, there is none." Gildor turned his face into Lindir's hair and squeezed his eyes shut.
~*~
Galdor tried to focus on the wondrous pillars holding up the roof and the fanciful carvings crawling along the ceiling, but he could not. He was sublimely aware of the large, golden warrior stalking the room like a wild beast. He had never before been so sexually aware of another and he had no idea what to make of his feelings. Even Gildor had not affected him so. Surely Gildor was handsome. But he was like a puzzle to be pieced together and there remained about him a contemplative air and, at times, a gaiety that had its own unique appeal. Glorfindel was different. He was larger than life and vibrated with sensuality. His piercing blue eyes cut beneath skin and sinew. Galdor's body thrummed its own response.
"Master Galdor," the warrior purred in the elf's ear. "I see you have an interest in architecture."
Galdor took a calming breath and tried not to stare at the sculptured lips. "I am interested in all beautiful things." As soon as the words left his lips, he could easily have pulled his tongue out by the root and flung it in the fire.
"Do you?" mused Glorfindel. He wondered if the young elf had meant that as suggestively as it sounded. "I love beautiful things, too."
Galdor's leggings grew tighter in the groin and he shifted his stance. "I had heard that King Thranduil had built a fortress, and I came expecting a cold and dank place. Instead I find a place of light and air and grace."
"Yes," responded Glorfindel. He really hadn't heard a word Galdor said. He was too busy staring in to dark brown eyes and wondering how they would look half lidded with passion.
"His highness is a gracious host," babbled Galdor, his nervousness growing in relation to his sexual arousal. He was not in love with Gildor, he did not delude himself in that fashion. After their talk, he'd closed his heart to that possibility and refused to become overly attached, knowing that it would only end in heartbreak. So he steeled his heart and now, when he least expected it, found the silly organ completely misbehaving. How could he suddenly find himself so attracted to an elf he just met?
Glorfindel at last forced his eyes too look around. Dancing had begun in the center of the hall. "Would you care to dance?"
Galdor frowned. He did not want to give the impression that he was promiscuous. Nor did he want to upset Gildor. He should discuss the situation with his lover, but his lover had taken himself off with Lindir and Lord Elrond. But what harm was one little dance? "I do not know.."
"You have a lover? Or," Glorfindel suddenly realized that Galdor might prefer females. "If I have given offense—"
Seeing where the warrior's thoughts were headed, Galdor quickly held them off. "Nay, I have a lover. But he and I are," how to explain, he mused.
"Say no more," Glorfindel was deeply disappointed but he would not intrude.
"Wait," Galdor shook his head. "Let us say that I am free to chose. I only hesitate because I do not wish to give a wrong impression."
Now what did that mean, thought Glorfindel. "Does this mean you would like to dance?"
"I would," replied the other.
"Do I know him?" Glorfindel asked as he led Galdor out in the center of the hall.
"Know who?"
"Your lover."
"He is Gildor Inglorion of Lindon."
Glorfindel stopped. He liked Gildor and respected the young elf for his valor and steadfastness. Did he have any right to seduce his lover? And was that what he was doing? What harm in a dance? What harm, indeed, responded his conscious, when you so obviously lust after the lover of the one you profess to call friend.
"Lord Glorfindel?" Galdor immediately recognized his mistake but had no idea how to correct it.
"I did not know he had a lover," Glorfindel said. "Come, let us dance a round or two. I am sure he will come claim you after he has visited with his friend."
"I was told that Lindir was dead."
"He nearly was. I do not believe Gildor knew he remained alive or he would have returned to Imladris."
"Were they lovers as well as friends?"
Glorfindel knew that he was being asked dangerous questions and that his answers could easily ruin the relationship between Galdor and Gildor. "I cannot say what the nature of the relationship was, Master Galdor."
Sensing that Glorfindel did not wish to discuss the matter, Galdor let it drop.
~*~
Elrond remained seated as Lindir, helped by Erestor and Gildor, left the small chamber. The elf still tired rather easily and between the stress of travel and the emotional duress over Gildor, Lindir needed to rest. The one-time contender for the crown leaned back in his chair and quietly thought about his life over the last year and a half. First there was the death of his lover Gil-Galad, and then there was the energy required to establish and build Imladris. He had accomplished much of his vision but he felt alone. He was, in fact, alone. Gil-Galad would not have wanted him to mourn, and he knew that. How did one go about replacing a love as deep as the one he felt for Gil-Galad? Elrond did not know, but he knew that it was time to move on and accept his lover's death.
He smiled to himself. Gildor was one of the noblest creatures he'd ever seen. He steadfastly refused to compromise and fill Lindir's head with empty promises. Yet he remained a loyal and true friend. How did he manage to keep his humor and his love of life in tact, Elrond wondered. He envied the younger elf for that. Gildor remained unscarred by what he'd witnessed and been through. Somehow, Gildor carried about him an air of innocence and peace that Elrond would love to possess.
He thought about the way Gildor had knelt before Lindir and embraced him so lovingly. The tenderness warmed his heart. Perhaps he'd been locked away in Imladris too long. The trip to Mirkwood seemed to rejuvenate him and he was glad he came.
~*~
Gildor helped Lindir to his room and then embraced him once again. "I will leave you to rest for a while. But I will insist on a dance later, and, if you are up to it, a full accounting of yourself."
Lindir laughed at his friend. "I have nothing to account. You, on the other hand, have much to tell and I will have the full measure from you before the celebrations are over."
"Then we will strike a bargain, you and I, that we will find a moment to ourselves where we can talk and laugh to our heart's contentment."
"I shall hold you to that, Gildor Inglorion." Lindir gave his friend a quick hug and sent him off to find his lover.
He bowed to Erestor who hovered close by. "Thank you, Lord Erestor, for taking such good care of my friend."
Erestor looked flustered. "I consider him my friend, as well, Master Gildor. His welfare is no burden."
After Gildor gone, Lindir lay down on the soft bed and sighed in relief. He had not been in a saddle for a long time and his back and legs ached. He was still a little sad over the ending of his dream, but he was not angered or embittered by it. He had no right to be either.
Erestor cleared his throat. "I'll leave you as well, Lindir."
"Erestor, stay and talk with me awhile. I am tired, but your company is so soothing."
Of course, the advisor could not resist such a sweet request nor could he deny his secret love anything. "As you like." He seated himself on a stool, looking for all the world like a skinny black crow.
"I have never properly thanked you for your care."
"There has never been any need of thanks, for I spoke truly to Gildor. Your welfare is no burden to me."
"I thank you, anyway. I do not know if my recovery would have been near so swift if you had not been here for me."
Erestor glanced down at his boots. "Rest now, Lindir. I will watch over you."
"You watch over us all, Lord Erestor. But I wonder, who watches over you?" Lindir stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.
Erestor shook his head in mock agitation. "To reverie with you, young one."
~*~
A knock on the door disrupted Elrond's thoughts and he looked up as it opened. Lord Celeborn stuck his head in the door. "Lord Elrond? I was wondering if you had a moment?"
"Of course," Elrond smiled and waved his hand to an empty seat. "My business with Gildor and Lindir was not as tedious as I had feared and took a far shorter time to sort."
Celeborn sat in the chair recently vacated by Lindir and placed his hands on his knees. "I wanted to speak to you about Celebrian."
"Celebrian?"
The Lorien Lord nodded. "She is of marriageable age."
"You seek a suitor for her among those of Imladris?" Elrond considered who would be a good match for Lady Galadriel's daughter. There were many nobles, but none of a high enough status for a princess and he said as much to Celeborn.
"That is not so, my lord. You are still
the next in line for the throne, even if you chose not to accept it."
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