Fae-Feeding

Children were normally considered precious amongst the Elves; however, relationships amongst Elves could go awry just like they could amongst Men, Dwarves, or any other Folk. While there was nothing Lord Glorfindel could do about his little warrior’s past, he could nurture his future.

“fëa (pl. fëar), and hröa (pl. hröar), are Quenya terms for ‘soul’ (or ‘spirit’) and ‘body’. The Sindarin equivalents are fae and rhaw, respectively.”

Tolkien Gateway wiki.

Elves are cuddly vampires instead of crunchy vampires. Lord Glorfindel is also your old fashioned grandpa raising a 20-something-by-human-standards horrifically abused elf lad adult.


Lord Glorfindel held Morfindel against his chest, smooching the boy’s forehead for good measure. It said a lot that the boy didn’t squirm or feign protest as he usually did. Instead, he lay in Lord Glorfindel’s arms, practically falling asleep in five minutes.

“I knew you were pushing yourself too hard, tithen magron,” the man chuckled.

Everyone was young compared to Lord Glorfindel, but especially this boy. He was only 200 years old. The comparisons to Maeglin were too readily apparent, and not just in hair color. However, unlike Maeglin, Morfindel didn’t have the benefit of his mother knowing something was wrong with their household. Or rather, she believed what was wrong with their household was him.

His fae was egregiously undernourished. Normally, an Elf received proper feedings throughout their childhood and then could sustain itself throughout adulthood with a yearly feeding or two. Morfindel’s fae, by contrast, regularly ran on starvation mode, dipping into even more dangerous levels at the drop of a hat. It was a miracle the boy was alive.

The less he said about his flesh family, the better. Lord Glorfindel had heard enough, as had his healers. Several had even needed their own healing after healing him.

Lord Elrond had his own household, as well as the city, to manage. And well, Lord Glorfindel wouldn’t lie. He was lonely. An ominous peace lay about the Third Age at the moment. His mission from the Valar weighed heavily upon his mind. Having this lamb to tend to in the meantime kept him grounded in the present. And most importantly, finders keepers! Hence the boy’s new father-name: Morfindel. His hair straggled down to his neck like tendrils. When he’d originally arrived, it’d been shorn down to his scalp as if he was an actual, literal sheep.

Morfindel fancied himself a fighter, and indeed, he did fight well. He would unleash onslaughts with a fire worthy of Caranthir. He put the fear of Ulmo in the rest of the warriors. However, afterwards, he would have hardly any strength left for what remained of the day. Later, Lord Glorfindel would simply try to steer this highly battered, highly adrift ship back onto something of a course; but for now, there were more important matters at hand.

Lord Glorfindel smooched Morfindel again. The boy knew nothing of affection. He flinched from a kiss yet endured a slap without complaint: more painfully obvious signs of his starving fae.

To his pleasant surprise, Morfindel began nuzzling Lord Glorfindel’s breast. The nuzzling was slow and gentle. Lord Glorfindel smiled, relishing being on the receiving end.

“I’m tempted to move your hair so that I may see more of your glorious eyes,” Lord Glorfindel said in a hushed tone, to keep the boy under as long as possible. Part of properly feeding another’s fae was ensuring they rested. Perhaps later, Lord Glorfindel could add groomings to help the boy settle down for feedings, but even that much attention would break him at the moment.

All too soon, Morfindel began to blink awake.

“Shhh…” Lord Glorfindel said, once the boy began struggling, netted in nightmares of his old life. Lord Glorfindel held him tighter so he wouldn’t fall to the floor or have some other harm befall him. “You are in Imladris, little one. You are safe―with me!” Once light began to dawn within Morfindel’s eyes, Lord Glorfindel asked: “Can you tell me who I am?”

Ada…” Morfindel said with all the innocence of a child―innocence he hadn’t been allowed to have while he himself was one. “Milord!” Morfindel buried his unwarranted shame in Lord Glorfindel’s chest.

Lord Glorfindel took the boy’s chin gently in hand, lifting his face up to look at him. “Child.” Lord Glorfindel smirked. “I loved you the minute I saw you.”

Lord Glorfindel then had to assuage Morfindel’s alarm. He found great difficulty in explaining the concept of parental love at first sight to someone who’d never known parental love at all. And admittedly, Lord Glorfindel had once derided his lord and lady over this phenomenon. Not out loud! He simply wasn’t a baby person. Never had been. Too fragile, too noisy, and too chaotic for his liking. But a lion in need of a proper pride, that Lord Glorfindel could handle.

“When we sail to Valinor, we will feast with the princes of my House,” Lord Glorfindel said, for he was not leaving his little lamb behind in Middle-Earth. Apparently, it’d become taboo to “attempt to influence” another’s decision to sail West since his re-embodiment. Lord Glorfindel didn’t care. Some people needed to be influenced. “All will know your name as one of them. This, Morfindel, I swear unto you as your father.”

Morfindel’s eyes began to shine with hope. Lord Glorfindel smiled and held him closer, smooching the boy’s forehead once more for good measure.


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