Chapter 20 - I think you broke your elf

[Author's Note: This chapter contains censored smut (no graphic body part descriptions) that is essential to the plot. I hope you don't mind, and if it is bothering you, please skip the marked paragraph beginning and ending with (*). Enjoy!]

***

"My lord?"

"My lord?"

Elrond visibly flinched when he heard the familiar voice of his advisor. Eyes still squeezed tightly, feebly hidden behind his lifted hands, shielding him from the opposing light. When the lord of Rivendell braved himself to open one eye, he was expecting to be completely blind. Instead, he saw Erestor's wary expression through the space between his fingers that was in front of him, still shielding his eyes.

Blanched and bewildered, Lord Elrond carefully removed his hands from his view. Gone was the blinding light that had violently stabbed into his cornea, even through his closed eyelids. Gone was the garden and the serene music of crickets and the myriads little garden bugs of night. In its place, the ancient elf found himself sitting at his study room, in his chair, with Erestor, Gandalf and Saruman. Then he noticed with confusion, amongst them were Arnor, the leader of the Rangers of the North; Indossa, the emissary from Greenwood, and finally Haldir, representating Lothlorien.

The company that surrounded him differed by their looks and their origins, yet one thing was similar about them: they were all looking at him with wariness and–

Glorfindel. He was standing at the corner of the room in his full armor, his sheathed sword by his hip, standing like a statue as he had his body turned away, his keen eyes scanning Rivendell through the window of his study. Unlike most people, the golden one favored being on his feet during councils if he can help it. Pacing slowly, critical eyes observing his surroundings in whole. More often than not, he would gaze out through the windows, or at available exit points, as if looking for any first sign of trouble. Always alert, preparing for the worst at any given moment. Such was the golden one's habit during indoor meetings. He would perk his ears at the matters of the discussion, listening attentively, critically turning everything he heard in his mind, yet a part of him that was a soldier to the bone, would always be wary with his surroundings. Nothing escaped the captain's ever watchful eyes. For millenias, it had been long become his second nature.

The sight of Glorfindel, how he stood so straight, almost proud with his calm and controlled visage, put a stop to all of Elrond's train of thoughts immediately.

Erestor was the one who moved first. The wise elf came towards Elrond, placing a hand on Elrond's shoulder as he approached with worry in his expression. The wise advisor had never seen the lord of Rivendell so out of it, and in such a blink of an eye.

"My lord," Erestor repeated again for the third time, "What is it? Is something amiss?" he inquired, "Are you unwell?"

Erestor's voice had apparently startled Glorfindel. The golden one remained in his spot by the window, yet when he turned his head towards Elrond's general direction, his ancient gaze were stunned.

It took only seeing Glorfindel blinking, taking in the room as if for the first time, to let Elrond know that whatever this was that had transpired, didn't just occur to him.

Elrond observed the faces of his guests and recalled his memory. This had been the council, the day of the first breach at the village. But how was that even possible? How on Arda were they return to the past?

With widened, almost strange looking eyes, Elrond stood up from his chair. "My apologies, my friends. But I must adjourn the council. I have a pressing matter to attend to," he said with urgency in his tone, "We will reconvene tonight. Everyone may leave–"

Elrohir burst through the door. Immediately, every swordsmen in the room–that was Haldir, Arnor and Glorfindel, had their hands respectively on the hilt of their swords. Now all attention was at the youngest twin. Elrohir was panting, expression bewildered, if not almost comical as his steel grey eyes scanned the room wildly before he met his adar's eyes.

Elrond cleared his throat. "Everyone, except Elrohir and Glorfindel, may leave," he corrected himself, added, "Thank you."

His guests weren't particularly shocked with his sudden request, knowing that the lord of Rivendell possessed the gift of sight, collectively assumed that something was amiss in his land that required his immediate intervention. The room cleared until the ones left were him, his son, and the balrog slayer.

The three elves gathered in the center of the room, Elrohir having the same expression as his father. But Glorfindel...

Glorfindel had a tortured, almost burned look about his eyes that he hid beneath his stony expression.

"What in the world is happe–"

Elladan burst in just like the way Elrohir did earlier, gaining the elves' attention. His eyes were wild, a perfect copy of his brother's a minute ago when he did the same. The oldest twin looked back and forth between his father, brother, and Glorfindel, breathing raggedly as he eyed them wildly.

Elladan had a hand in front of him, eyes hard. "Manwe's breath. Someone explain what just happened," he demanded, catching his breaths. When he saw the same baffled look on his father and brother's expression, he turned to Glorfindel, who just stood there with an unreadable expression. "Glorfindel."

Now everyone was staring at him.

"Vilya," Glorfindel muttered to Elrond, "Your ring."

Not his sons, nor Glorfindel was able to see his ring. None but Elrond himself. He lifted his hand, studying the ring of power in his finger. With astonishment, the lord of Rivendell watched the light encased within the blue stone that jeweled the ring. Along with his awareness, he felt the thrum of energy from the golden band, dormant from its full capacity, yet powerful, strengthening his mind's eye and fea.

With a blink of an eye, the lord of Rivendell had his inner eye scanning the expanse of his land. From an eagle's eyes point of view, he found himself flying across Imladris. Over the mighty Bruinen River; the borders; the livelihood of the village underneath, bustling with life; over his own home, of the friendly match still going on down in the training ground.

Elrond stared at Glorfindel, in shock at the silent torrential energy flowing from the ring still; the kind that he had never felt since the Second Age.

"Vilya's power is restored," he said with a mix of amazement and question in his eyes at Glorfindel. "Mellon nin–"

Gandalf suddenly burst in through the door. Again, gaining everyone's attention. The old wizard had a baffled look about him, his pointy hat fell off his head as he entered, yet he didn't bother to fetch it.

"I think my eyes deceived me," he said in his deep, old voice, mumbling, almost to himself, "Something strange is happening with..."

The wizard trailed, fixing his gaze solely on Elrond, who in turn passed on the similar inquiring gaze to Glorfindel.

"Glorfindel," Elrohir broke the silence, his eyes widened upon realization, "This means–"

"–Don't," snapped the golden one harshly to Elrohir, making the youngest twin looked taken aback. Clenching his jaw, Glorfindel bit the inside of his cheek, then the veil of impassiveness in his expression fell, replaced with dread and brokenness that haunted his eyes, "Don't give me hope."

The balrog slayer was at loss. Letting numb overpowered his utter disappointment and brokenheart, he unceremoniously sat himself at one of the chair, regulating his own breathing.

There was silence stretched across the room like blanket so thick that one could almost rip it with a blade. Even so, at least three in the room knew to give Glorfindel some time. They knew they could use some of it it too, if not to gather their own wits.

Of all people in Arda on that fateful night, those present that beheld the light of the Two Trees directly were blessed, or cursed, according to Glorfindel, to have the memory of their past lives intact. He'd rather he didn't. He'd rather he cease existing altogether. That was what he wanted. That was what he was denied from.

He was broken in more ways than one, a pottery shattered to the ground, only to have someone's boots pulverizing what was left of him to fine pieces. To dust. Shoulders sagged, he felt boneless. Cold. He felt very cold. Icy, even.

But cold was good. Cold meant numb. Numb meant absence from pain. From disappointment. He didn't want hope. He didn't need hope. He couldn't have hope, and he refused with passion from hope, because he knew for sure that hope will eventually betray and destroy him, though he didn't even think that he had anything left of him to destroy.

If everything that went by had taught him anything, it was that he realized now that his existence had been doomed from the very beginning. From the very moment he was conceived within his mother's womb. His ultimate fate was to eventually crash and burn.

In the heart of his heart, he had known that it was impossible for him to be happy. To find solace. To be the recipient of her love. He always knew then that he didn't deserve even the chance to kiss the ground she walked upon. Yet he deceived himself foolishly, selfishly lusting after that happiness.

Now, he had learned his lesson. This reality was but a dream to him, one he didn't want but was forced into. Because in the grand scheme of the universe, he was but a disposable pawn.

Sometime while Glorfindel was still brooding with himself, Lord Elrond had took it upon himself to tell his children to speak with Gandalf privately through their family bond. Uncharacteristically, it missed Glorfindel's keen eyes and ears that the twins and the wizard had left the premises. Loyal and faithful to the bone, Elrond remained, unsure how to approach and console his grieving friend.

But Elrond knew in his heart that he should not conceded to grief no more. Between then and now, with his magic restored and the border fortified, the mortal woman–

She'd live now, would she?

This was grace. He knew, believed it with his whole heart even before seeing her with his own eyes yet. But how would he even begin to inspire hope back in Glorfindel's heart?

"Search her, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel shook his head, jaw hardened at the dangerous notion. The lord of Rivendel moved to place a hand on the balrog slayer's icy hand, only to flinch upon contact, as if his skin burned his hand.

"Mellon nin..." Elrond trailed, his eyes struck with shock and pain for his dear friend, "Your hands are cold."

Glorfindel sat immobile like a statue. Unflinching. Uncaring. His eyes downcast to his boots. Numbness had completely overtook him, his mind that usually was engaged in many things and purpose at once, now only had one line of thought in motion: that he was a spectator in his own dream. Whether it was a good dream or a nightmare, remains to be seen.

***

Glorfindel lived, breathed and moved on autopilot. Detached, believing so much in the lies he told himself that it had became his reality. He didn't even know how Elrond had managed to convince him to leave the safe encasement of the study, into the open space of the training grounds.

Someone wrapped their arms around his stomach, over his armor from behind. When he looked down and see those delicate, small hands on him, one corner of his lips turned upright.

So it was a good dream, he thought.

"Don't turn around."

Her beautiful, tinkling voice entered his ears like music. His favorite. His eyes fluttered close momentarily, relishing her sound and the almost realistic warmth that radiated off of her from behind him.

"I have a bad news and a good news," the voice behind him said. He could almost imagine her grimace in her next sentence, "Which one do you want to hear first?"

"Bad news," he replied with a flat tone, knowing that bad was his default. His fate.

"Okay. Bad news is... I might just billed you something ridiculous over one object I saw in the market today." When he didn't respond, the voice behind him continued, "In my defense Erussiel was the one nudging me to that direction. She was very convincing."

Responding to that vague explanation, Glorfindel quickly assumed his role in this utopian dream he had. "How much?"

"Umm..." the voice behind him trailed, sounding apprehensive, "About two months my wage."

Having no response from him, Mila quickly added, "The good news is, I think you're gonna love what I get for the price. It's a bit ridiculous for an object, I know..."

"..."

"Are you mad?" she said with a whimper, that to Glorfindel just sound so adorable, just like the way he remembered her.

Elrond watched the exchange with furrowed brows, disturbed by the way Glorfindel's smile distantly. The balrog slayer seemed to have shut himself down. He was neither happy, relieved, nor shocked. He was just... existing.

As if without a soul. As if not being present.

She couldn't take his silence anymore. She released him, only to stand before him, giving him a look under her long, dark lashes.

"Please don't be mad. At least wait until you see what I bought," she pouted, giving him her best puppy look with her night sky eyes glittering at his blue ones.

Those eyes...

Glorfindel plastered an insincere playful smile on his lips, resuming his role in his dream. "I can't believe you fell for that."

The mortal woman let out a dramatic groan, shoulders sagging in relief. "Ugh, nice one," she mumbled. "You not only have a poker face, but also a poker voice."

He maintained the smile on his face at the beautiful creature that his own subconscious had created. She was just as radiant and bubbly, like she was taken straight out of his memory. The mortal woman placed her both hands on his shoulder that was clad with metal armor, smiling cheekily at him.

Her hair, unlike his last memory of her, was now so lustrous, falling in soft waves down her shoulder and chest that reminded him of the gentle flow of the Bruinen River in the darkest of night. He dared himself to touch her hair, feeling the soft strand between the tips of his fingers.

So life like.

The exquisite mortal woman pulled him down slightly and leaned up to press their foreheads together, the tips of their noses touching. Glorfindel couldn't help but close his eyes, relishing this pleasant dream while it lasted.

A voice sounded from behind her, breaking their little bubble.

"Mila, would you be so kind to escort your husband back to rest?" asked Elrond. Mila frowned at the request.

"Rest?" she repeated, looking back at Glorfindel in question but received no response from him.

"Yes. I may have overworked him a while. He deserves some days off," explained Elrond diplomatically, vaguely, knowing that it wasn't actually a lie. He turned his ancient eyes to Glorfindel's blank ones, "You are hereby relieved from duty immediately. Rest for as long as you need. Understood?"

Coming from Lord Elrond, somehow it sounded like Glorfindel was being fired. Was he? The fact that Glorfindel only nodded without much fight raised a red flag in Mila's mind. She turned her eyes back to lord Elrond.

"Make sure he rests. Don't leave him," he said with an emphasis on the latter, "We shall talk later," said Elrond, giving her a fond smile.

Mila squinted her eyes suspiciously at Lord Elrond upon seeing the sadness in his thousand years eyes. That alone was enough to set off an alarm in her mind.

Was Glorfindel sick? Could elves get sick? But Glorfindel seemed alright, just as the way he looked earlier this morning. Not wanting to waste more time, Mila quickly nodded and took him by his arm, over his armor, silently leading him towards their room.

Glorfindel acted more like a mute lamb, being herded away by a shepherd. By the time they had returned to their chamber, Mila had noticed how weird Glorfindel was behaving. For once, she couldn't read him.

She couldn't feel him.

Not too well versed with the whole elvish soul bond, she waved the strange feeling off and instead focused on her husband. With a tug, she led him to sit at the edge of their bed, and to Mila's concern, he did as he told without giving much response or even bother to start a conversation with her.

Maybe, he was indeed very tired.

She initiated helping him take off the clasp that secured his metal armor to his chest while he just looked at her.

"Up," she murmured, and Glorfindel wordlessly lifted his big arms, allowing her to get the metal breastplate off of him.

She then knelt before him, undoing the laces that secured his boots, then freed his feet, setting the leather elven boots aside. When she stand and cupped his cheek, Mila was startled at how cold his skin was.

"Glorfindel!" she blurted with bewildered eyes, "You're freezing! Are you sick?" she demanded with anxious eyes.

He merely shook his head, and gave her that off looking smile to her. "No."

Of course Glorfindel would never admit it. Mila gritted her teeth, but decided to let go of it now. Her expression softened.

"Lie down and rest with me?"

So he did.

Uncharacteristically, Glorfindel turned his back on her, giving her his cold shoulders. Hurt suddenly constricted her chest at Glorfindel's cold demeanor. Unlike the usual, unlike the warmth of his affection this morning. But then Mila was quick to put herself from his point of view.

He was a soldier, a captain even. Though Mila had never seen her husband in such a bad day before, she realized one of these days, she eventually would. Maybe this was how Glorfindel would be on one of those bad days. She made a mental note to see Lord Elrond or Elrohir later.

Mila scooted closed to him, wrapping her arms around his middle, and slipping her leg between his, spooning him. The ice that was on his broad back startled her again. Ignoring it, she pressed her chest and her cheek to his back, as if the cold didn't bother her.

Though disappointed that Glorfindel made no move to return her gesture, even as small as rubbing his palm on hers, Mila chose to close her eyes after covering them both under the elven blanket on their bed.

She was a wife now, she realized. She couldn't just hope for flowers and petals on their bed every single time and not accepting cold shoulder once in a while. Besides, she loved Glorfindel with all of her being, that there was no way this would put her off, or drive her away from him. If anything, deep down in her heart, Mila sensed like Glorfindel needed her. So she decided to be that now. She decided to be his loyal supporter, like the way she knew he would do for her.

Night came, and Glorfindel had lightly declined her suggestion of dinner. He didn't think eating in a dream would do much or even taste like much. Even so, he had gently nudged her to have hers.

So she left him alone in their room, not for food, but to find Lord Elrond.

Glorfindel watched her leave, watching from the inside of the thick wall of numbness he had built around himself. For once, even in his dream, he appreciated solitary; that way he didn't have to be forced into any role he was supposed to be in this world his mind had created for himself.

***

Sobs wracked Mila's shoulders upon the end of Sanwë-Latya that Lord Elrond had performed for her. Being the worst at handling the ladies cry, Elrohir was the one who pulled her into his chest, rubbing her arm in an attempt to comfort her.

It was such a whirlwind of revelation, one that got her head in a spin and her heart taut in knots. She cried pitifully, having put the pieces of more than one puzzles together.

"G-Glorfindel," she choked between her sobs, her eyes rimmed with red, puffy as she looked up at Lord Elrond and Elladan in front of her, "Oh, Glorfindel..."

Her pained cries wracked her again, her heart went out to her beloved.

Poor Glorfindel, she thought woefully.

Mila would be nothing if not expressive, unafraid to put her feelings on her sleeves. Not that it helped the twins, for they didn't know how to handle a crying girl. They even still didn't know what to do had their own sister cry.

But Elrond was not as clueless as these two sons of his. He was a father; a husband once in a lifetime ago. He went through the ages that gained him wisdom and understandings, enough to know what to do to comfort a heavy heart.

The lord of Rivendell took Mila's hand and knelt in front of her, his sympathetic eyes fatherly. "Cry as much as you need, little one, for not all tears are evil," he said gently, and Mila did just that, crying harder, not helping the anxiety in the twins' hearts. "When you are done, you are to go back to your mate, and be with him. That's all he needed right now. If there is anyone who could go through that defense he had built around himself, it would be you, Mila." Lord Elrond squeezes her hand, "Bring him back to us."

Nodding through her tears, Mila had set her heart in grim determination.

Upon reentering their private chamber, she ran to Glorfindel who was standing with his back to her at the balcony. She turned him to face her and threw herself at him, holding him tightly. His nose caught a whiff of faint jasmine from her hair as she tried all her might to suffocate the much bigger elf.

She murmured his name like a prayer, her voice muffled in his tunic. She even tried to tell him how much she loved him through their bonds, yet he said nothing in return.

She was okay with it. She understood now.

Mila pulled back a little, starry night eyes looking back into the void that was in his jeweled blue eyes. She grasped his biceps; her nails would probably form a crescent moon on his skin with how hard she clutched to him.

"I'm here," Mila cooed like one would to a child, her eyes moistened with tears, "I'm here, sweetie."

Sweetie. That was a rather childish though pleasant nickname, one that she never uttered to him before when she was alive. Why now? How had his mind conjure such detail?

Mila wrapped her arms around his neck, their chests pressed together. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, you hear me??" demanded her.

Lies. Liar.

An ancient monster that he long had harbored and buried within lurked behind his mind, whispering into his thoughts. Glorfindel agreed to it; for once clearly seeing the truth that he had worked so much to deny.

That her existence was but a cruel twist of fate that carried him too close towards the sun, so close that he burns.

He gave a nod for her sake, but the faraway look in his eyes let her know that what she had told him in earnest bore no depth to Glorfindel. Swallowing her own heartbreak at seeing him like this, Mila wordlessly intertwined their fingers, pulling him inside their room.

Stopping by the bed, she pulled him down for an open mouthed kiss. She smiled to his lips when she felt him kissing her back, parting his own lips to grant her entrance. She slipped her tongue inside his delightful mouth, gently tasting, teasing him, in ways that she knew he would never be able to resist.

When she pulled away, she waited for him to grab her, or pull her down with him to the bed. Anything. Glorfindel only stared at her; his expression gave nothing.

"I'm really here, Glorfindel. I'm alive. I'm okay," she murmured desperately, clinging to his middle as she looked up at him, "We're okay, right?"

He only managed to place his hands warily on her waist, his beautiful blue eyes scanning her face.

She kissed him again, her hands slid under his tunic to feel his strong abs and chest, slowly pulling the fabric over his head. Letting the tunic fell to their feet, Mila ran her small hands against his flawless, broad chest, relishing the feel of the shape of his hard body. Then she slowly pressed wet kisses down his chest. His stomach.

Mila's sweet, gentle kisses somehow managed to slowly crack the stone wall he had built all around himself. Glorfindel began to feel something, because then, how could a dream be this... This tangible?

He felt her warm lips on his skin. So real, so present, so heart-wrenchingly loving. He felt her delicate hands on his hard body, on his back, exploring him, feeding into his touch deprivation. If this was only a dream, how could her touch made him feel so alive?

No.

He shouldn't have let her touch him. She shouldn't have undressed herself, offering herself like that to him. She should have run and leave him alone when she got the chance. Because now, slipping through the cracks of numbness in his mind and heart, she had unknowingly released a monster–one that even Glorfindel had no strength to fight, even if he tried.

The thing is, he didn't want to fight it anymore. In his twisted mind, all that he wanted more than anything was to punish her, for all the heartbreak and the misery she had inflicted on him.

For making him love her.

A throaty growl left the balrog slayer when he saw her glowing honeyed skin. Without a single thread covering her, all naked, all his for the taking.

All mine.

Punish her.

(*)

Glorfindel hovered above her on the bed, his usually gentle hands were rough when he took her chin, pressing his mouth on hers lustfully with abandon, his tongue intruding her mouth, kissing her with everything but gentleness. His other hand hungrily felt her curves and squeezed her breast in a way that made Mila moan with a confusing mixture of pain and pleasure. Then he attacked her neck, running his tongue over her sensitive skin heatedly before sucking on it roughly, leaving red marks all over that may turn blue tomorrow morning.

Punish her.

His uncharacteristically inconsiderate advances continued down her chest. Again, Mila let out a pained moan, though not without pleasure as she felt him suck eagerly on the sensitive nubs of her chest. Gone was the warmth that was usually on his skin; in his touches. Mila shivered from the coldness of his skin, her heart pounded loudly against her chest.

Mila had never feared Glorfindel before. But at that moment, she found herself not only being aroused, but also scared. She was scared of him, but Mila kept her mouth shut.

His hand trailed down her lower stomach, and without as much as an introduction, he thrusted two cold fingers inside her, in and out in pistoning motion. Mila cried pitifully, her head swam with lust and she bucked her hips to him as he finger fucked her fast and hard, hitting her sensitive spot.

Punish her.

Her climax sneaked up on her, out of nowhere, and her whole body shook as he continued his torture on her. Laying limp, Mila felt him leaving her, thinking that he went to give her some time like he used to every night after he made her come. But his loving embrace and his sweet lover voice were absent. Suddenly he was above her again, his strong, cold arm slipped underneath her back before dragging her body none too gently further up to the bed.

She wrapped her arms around his back and shoulders, running her hands on his skin sensually when he abruptly took both her wrists and forced her arms up above her. Mila opened her eyes, startled at seeing both arousal and anger in his azure blue eyes. The way his jaw clenched and his lips tight across his fair face as his eyes hungrily scanned her made the hair behind her neck stood up.

Punish her.

Skillfully, Glorfindel wrapped the elven rope that he had found in his desk drawer, tying both her hands to the headboard in a tight knot. Mila yelped, shocked when she felt him secured the binding on her wrists too tightly. It hurts, she wanted to say, but held herself back. Even now she felt the blood circulation to her hands being blocked by the rope, the binding too tight, scraping at her skin whenever she tugged at it.

Looking at her with an equal mix of unbridled lust, anger and frustration, knowing that she was at his mercy, Glorfindel cupped her jaw in his rough hand again and kissed her hard. Having taken off his remaining garment earlier, he was now free to do to her as he pleased.

Punish her.

Wordlessly Glorfindel brought her knees up with his hands and aligned himself to her entrance before suddenly ramming into her, not giving her a moment longer to rest, or adjust to him. Mila gasped and moaned pitifully as he fucked her fast and hard. The golden one, not being himself, let out a carnal growl and cursed, his expression fierce, tainted with pleasure and something else that got Mila sobbing helplessly.

Yes, they played rough before. No, he was never this rough with her. Yes, she was scared. And no, she didn't want him to stop, because she was about to fall off the edge of an ultimate ecstasy, and to her own surprise, she wanted him to destroy her.

Destroyed perfectly described what she felt when he brought her to another release. Her mouth were agape, her cries died in her throat as she rode another high. And then she was blind.

Punish her.

He wasn't done with her. Panting hard, chest heaving, Glorfindel undo the knot that connect her bond to the headboard, releasing her from it, but not freeing the rope from her tied hands. Mila squealed when she felt him roughly turned her body, her cheek pressed against the soft silk that was their bed. A gasp escaped her when she felt him elevating her hips to him, then pressing another big hand on her upper back, forcing her head down, holding her immobile.

A whimper escaped her. She wanted to protest, still feeling too sensitive from the rapid, short interval climaxes that he gave her. But her incoherent protests were ignored as she felt his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips. She writhed helplessly when she felt him thrusting his impressive, rock hard length into her again, the force throwing herself forward, making the bed creak.

Mila was crying now, sensing another wave of pleasure coming in, and the woman didn't know if her body could take it. She begged and begged for god knows what, and Glorfindel fucked her senseless, with as much love and anger that he harboured for her. In a punishing pace, the elf gave his all to rip the small woman in half, his attacks unrelenting. Unforgiving. He forced himself on her roughly, vengeful with every strokes. An animalistic growl escaped his lips as he neared his own release. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh, her body shaking from the sheer force of the thrusts of his hips.

Suddenly Mila let out a long, high pitched moan of ecstasy as he felt her pulsing and clenching his member tightly, forcing him to his own release. Riding his high, he shot his seed inside her, joining her as he groaned lowly, deep in the pleasure of their bodily union.

(*)

When the smoke cleared before his eyes, and his sanity returned to him, then Glorfindel saw the aftermath of what he did to her.

Mila laid on the bed, trembling, her honeyed skin glistening with the afterglow of their union. Her eyes were closed; lips parted as she gasped for air. Her wrists were bound above her head. His stomach dropped when he saw how blue the skin of her hands had turned, blood flow being cut by the knots he tied to her wrists.

Mortified, Glorfindel quickly undo the knots, freeing her. Mila jerked her arms, wincing from the sharp pain at the graze of the rope. He turned her body to him gently, unlike the way he took her earlier, and brought her hands down in front of him to inspect them.

A blend of remorse and shame pained his heart when he saw the red mark on both her wrists, some part of her skin scrapped and raw from his doing. His chest tightened.

Then he saw the marks he left all over her. Her neck. The mark on her chest that resembled the shape of his teeth. But the worst of all, was her hip. There were marks of his fingers there where he dug his nails into her, no doubt about to form a nasty bruise on her sensitive skin.

That was when Glorfindel began to lose it.

His mortification and self loathing quickly turn into a full blown panic attack. The walls were seemingly closing in on him; the air grew thin. His mind was racing with time as he contemplate how to form any words to explain his heinous, shameful ministrations on her. But he couldn't find the words.

He couldn't explain that he was a sick monster all along.

Suffocating and afraid, of everything, Glorfindel crashed, and suddenly he didn't know how to function.

Mila felt a raw, unadulterated fear twisting deep at her heart and mind. It jerked her awake, coming onto her abruptly, its weight suddenly crushing her, making her just want to curl up into a hole and die.

No. No. This wasn't her.

"Glorfindel!" she cried and jumped in her skin when she saw him crumple above her.

Mila had never known Glorfindel to be afraid of anything. But right now, the fear in his glassy blue eyes were so evident, his expression crunched in pain and desperate panic. His forehead were covered in cold sweat, every part of him trembling severely.

She quickly pulled his head to her chest, holding his bigger frame close to her, as tight as she could manage, as if protecting him from an invisible enemy. His ragged breathing suddenly turned into a cry, one that broke Mila and constricted her heart.

Suddenly, there was no more secrets left between them. No stones were left unturned, no more skeleton hidden in the closet. For now, during his weakest moment, Mila saw and felt everything that was in Glorfindel's heart through the marriage bond they shared.

The small woman began sobbing along with him, feeling his excruciating pain crippling him. This perfect elf in her arms–she couldn't comprehend how he could even begin to resent and loath himself with such force. Or how he had blamed himself for everything that had happened, for things that were out of his hands, way long before she even crossed his path. Having met her and loving her with an even greater force than he hated himself was only the last straw–one that would make even the strongest and bravest warrior to snap and crumble.

Mila cried with him, holding and rocking him in her arms as he held on to her for dear life. She gathered that all that pent up heartbreak and loneliness that he endured alone was only lying beneath like a magma. Slowly adding and layering over the centuries. Waiting to explode.

This ancient darkness that he managed to hide for thousands of years from everyone else behind the facade of immoveable strength and stability, Mila realized, was also a part of him. It was his insecurity that he hadn't managed to show until now when he was at his breaking point.

Ultimately, Mila realized that Glorfindel had always been, a broken man. He was never perfect–far from it. But the revelation didn't and would never change the way she felt for him. If anything, Mila grew to love this enigmatic elf more than she thought was possible. The good, the bad, and the ugly. And now, he needed her more than ever to be his rock.

Mila placed loving kisses on top of his golden hair, sending him her affection and comfort. Only his heart-wrenching cries could be heard in the room. None of them opened their lips to speak.

But when he thought to himself that he deserves death, she told him that he deserves happiness. When he inwardly cursed and loathed himself, she told him that she loved him more than anything. And when he saw himself as a sick monster that doomed everything and everyone he touched, she told him that he was her hero, and that his touches made her feel loved and safe.

***