It was New Year's Eve. Earlier in the month, Sören, Mark, Anthony and Dooku had decided that while they wanted to spend Christmas in Corvallis, it would be nice to go to Sausalito for New Year's, where it all started with Sören and Mark in the summer of 2017. The very same beach house that Sören and Mark had shared that summer was available for the last weekend of December through the first week of January, and so they, the cats and Huan had come down on the twenty-eighth, and were going back to Corvallis on the fifth.
Sören was happy to be back in Sausalito again - especially to see the Bay Area in the winter, when the land was lush and green from the rains and wildflowers were already in bloom - but it was also bittersweet, knowing this would be one of the last times they'd see Sausalito for a very long while. Though Mark had until February to do so, he had already told the FBI he had three people coming with him, a package deal, and after the next semester ended in June the FBI would arrange to fake their deaths and give them new identities for a new life in Anchorage, Alaska. Anthony was reluctant to sever ties with his family, so an arrangement was being worked out with MI6 that would find a balance for Anthony remaining in contact with his family in London while not exposing the necessity of their secret. Going to Sausalito again after June was a bad idea, not for a long time, long enough for them to be forgotten by any locals who might recognize them, like Marguerite, Sharon's friend. But Sören tried not to dwell on all the last times between now and June, and just focus on the beauty of the world around him.
The beauty of the men he was sharing it with. Though the future held uncertainties, Sören's heart was full, a far cry from the pain and loneliness he'd known for most of his life. After years of wandering his inner Helcaraxë, the flowers blooming in winter felt like a microcosm, finding his invincible summer.
Sören, Mark, Anthony and Dooku spent most of the last day of 2018 hiking Muir Woods, taking the Canopy View Trail to the Lost Trail to the Fern Creek Trail to the Redwood Creek Trail. Even though Sören had been here a few times now it never got old, never ceased to fill him with wonder. More than once Sören was brought to tears, needing to pause to take it all in, the silver mists of fog swirling around the tall, ancient redwoods, the dew-spangled ferns, the creek gushing along strong and quick after the rains. The forest felt enchanted, like a trip to another world, another time. Mark's presence there - daring to go unglamoured on an overcast December day with so few people around - made it even more magical.
Of course, Sören couldn't resist a bit of mischief. In his backpack of supplies he'd packed Hells the Unicorn, the KISS dolls, and Anthony's wig, George. On one of the rest stops close to the end of the line he took them out and arranged them - two of the KISS dolls riding Hells, two of the KISS dolls riding George - and snapped photos while Dooku, Mark and Anthony rolled their eyes but gave into laughter.
Sören was still feeling awed and humbled by the time they'd completed the trail circuit - they all were, riding back to the beach house in a state of hushed reverence. When they were minutes away from the house, Sören's cell phone rang, jarring him back to reality.
Sören answered right away, not even bothering to look at the caller ID. "Hello?"
"Hello... is this Sören?" came a deep, gruff male voice.
"Jæja, who's calling?"
"This is Edmund Billingsley, the owner of the house you're renting on Airbnb through January fifth. I forgot something at the house, is now a good time to come and get it?"
"Oh! Yeah, sure that should be fine. How soon is now?"
Mark started singing under his breath, "I am the son, and the heir..." Sören kicked his seat.
"Sometime within the next hour but probably sooner."
"That should be fine," Sören said, "but let me check first." Sören held the phone away from his ear. "Hey guys, the owner of the house forgot something and needs to swing by, maybe in about an hour or less, is that OK?"
"Yeah," Mark said. Dooku and Anthony nodded.
Sören spoke back into the phone. "It's fine."
"All right thanks, I'll see you then."
Sören put his phone back in his pocket and leaned back. He had never met Edmund Billingsley in person - the Airbnb arrangements had been done solely online, the keys picked up and returned at a business office. Sören noted now that Edmund Billingsley had an Australian accent, though he also had a slightly rolled r and spoke on the in-breath like Icelanders did, which Sören found curious - his own accent had been fading in intensity after so many years away, first in Canada, then in the States, though it was still there, and Sören could usually recognize another Icelandic expat even if he didn't know their name and their accent was milder, not that he'd met many Icelandic expats over the years. Of course, Edmund Billingsley wasn't an Icelandic name. Sören found himself more curious about the owner of the house than he should be, feeling a little self-conscious about it, but the interesting accent had gotten the gears in his head spinning... something he now recognized as one of his "background Fëanor tendencies". An insatiable curiosity that probably would have led him to one of the sciences if he didn't have such a passion for art.
Back at the beach house, Dooku put on tea and Mark and Anthony did some very quick tidying up, even though the house wasn't really messy. Sören tried to keep from pacing, making himself sit down and review his latest sketch on a WaCom tablet Anthony had bought him for his birthday last month, but he felt strangely on edge. He leapt up when he heard a car pull outside, and ran to the window.
He watched a man get out of the back seat of a white Toyota, and give instructions to the driver; the driver gave the thumbs up. Then the man turned and began walking towards the house. Sören didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this - he and the man were the same height and build, but the man otherwise looked like a cross between The Dude from The Big Lebowski and George R.R. Martin, except with piercing, almost unnatural light grey-blue eyes, and a greying beard that ZZ Top would envy. Grey hair hung to his shoulders and he was wearing a red, yellow, green and black tie-dye T-shirt under a red plaid flannel shirt, khakis, and Doc Martens boots like Sören's.
Sören opened the door. "Edmund, right?"
"Yes, thank you for letting me stop by."
Dooku was right there, ever the gentleman, putting out his hand. "Good afternoon. Would you care for some tea?"
"I can't stay long, I have an Uber parked outside."
Sören thought that strange - he was so used to people driving, but he decided not to ask about it. He remembered the eco-friendly detergent down in the basement, maybe Edmund didn't have a car for environmental reasons. Whatever it was, it was none of his business.
Sören expected Edmund to march straightaway to whatever room he had left the forgotten object in, but instead when Mark and Anthony came out from where they'd been making the bed in the master bedroom - and probably making out a little bit, judging from mussed hair, flushed cheeks, sparkling eyes and just slightly swollen lips, breathing a little harder - Mark froze in his tracks, eyes wide. He blinked. "Olórin," Mark said.
Edmund grinned and waved. "Hello, Macalaurë. Or is it... Mark these days?"
"Wait, hold up," Sören said, putting up both hands. "That's Gandalf?"
Olórin bowed with a little flourish. "Hello, Fëanor."
A chill went through Sören, hair standing on end. He heard himself meep, and clapped a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. His heart beat faster and the gears in his head spun even harder. He knew it had been an amazingly big coincidence for him and Mark to rent the same beach house for the summer, not knowing they would be sharing it with a fellow professor at Oregon State University... not knowing they were this close to finding each other again, after eons. Now it seemed like they might have had a bit of help.
Sören, Mark, Anthony, and Dooku sat on the couch. Olórin took an armchair but as soon as he did he reiterated, "I told you I can't stay long and I have to keep to that -"
"But obviously you didn't forget something," Mark said.
"Oh, I did. I have a belated Christmas gift for you and wanted to make sure you got it." Olórin stood up then and reached into the right breast pocket of his flannel shirt. Sören still couldn't get over the fact that Gandalf was living among mortals disguised as apparently an aging Australian hippie, but then Mark was living among mortals playing Metallica on the harp, so wonders would never cease.
Olórin walked from the armchair to the couch. He held what looked like a twenty-ounce bottle of water in one hand, and his other fist was clenched. He handed the bottle of water to Dooku, and held out his fist to Sören. He opened his fist to reveal a Silmaril.
"I believe this belongs to you," Olórin said.
Mark gasped, looking with disbelief at the stone, and then back up to Olórin. "How... what..."
Olórin just gave a cryptic smile. "It doesn't really matter where I found it, does it? It matters that I gave it to you."
Sören held the third and last Silmaril in his hands, pulsing, glowing, casting rainbows over himself, Mark, Dooku, and Anthony. Mark's eyes filled with tears and he let out a little sob. Sören put an arm around him and kissed his cheek, and then Olórin moved in to gently tousle Mark's hair, his brown eyes also too bright. Eyes kind and sad.
Another chill went through Sören. Just a moment ago, those eyes had been grey-blue. Now they were brown. Sören knew of course that Gandalf was a wizard and he could use glamour like Mark did - he was probably glamoured right now - but he was still taken aback, flinching slightly.
Dooku shook the bottle of water, then cringed like he maybe shouldn't have done that. "What is this?"
"That," Olórin said, "is water from the Fountain of Youth. Whoever drinks it, will be given immortality. It doesn't take much - just a sip. There's enough for you, your pets, and should you encounter others on your journey, who also wish to follow you through the ages, you can offer it to them. Do be careful - there are no takebacks. Also, the water will only arrest your aging process and give you the stronger constitution of an Elf, making you immune to most human illnesses, including cancer and the common cold, and it will make you harder to injure. But you can still die, or lose a limb, so don't do anything foolish."
Now it was Sören's turn to get teared up. Ten years ago he wouldn't have wanted something like this, but now... this meant Mark wouldn't ever have to be alone again. Immortality didn't guarantee happiness, but Sören knew so long as they had each other, things would probably be OK.
Dooku narrowed his eyes, looking a bit incredulous. "The Fountain of Youth. You expect us to believe that legend is real."
"You're asking a Maia if a legend is real. Really."
"So where is it, then?"
Olórin put a finger to his lips, smiling that cryptic smile again. "Now, Ñolofinwë, you know I can't tell you where it is. The more who know a secret, the less likely the secret will be kept, and that could be dangerous information in the wrong hands. None of you want an immortal Donald Trump, do you?"
Sören made an involuntary gagging noise and shook his head vehemently. Dooku snorted and Anthony made a vomit gesture.
Dooku gave a curt nod. "Very well."
"Good," Olórin said, and then he turned to Mark. "The next time our paths cross, do me a favor and pretend this conversation never happened. The less this is discussed, the less information any of your enemies looking in on you will have. Understood?"
"Yeah." Mark raised an eyebrow. "Since when were you in Australia?"
Olórin just laughed, and waved on his way out.
They sat with the third Silmaril and the bottle of immortality-giving water, in silence and shock. Sören kept turning the Silmaril over and over in his fingers, watching it sparkle, almost in disbelief. He had all three Silmarils back. After all he and his family had gone through... the Silmarils had returned to him.
And he, Dooku, and Anthony had been given a bottle of liquid hope. There was no reason to disbelieve what Olórin had told them - after all, he had given them the last Silmaril - and when Sören reached out to put his hand on the bottle, it seemed to vibrate faintly, less of a strong pulse than the Silmaril, but there was still power.
Sören already knew what his answer was, but when he looked into Mark's eyes and saw the tears, he was ready to fall apart as well. He needed to make Mark laugh. So he got up, and went to the master bedroom. He rummaged around in his duffel bag for the other two Silmarils. He put them in his pocket and came back out to the living room. He opened his backpack again, took out Hells, the KISS dolls, and George, and set them up on the coffee table. Then he put a Silmaril with Hells, a Silmaril with George, and a Silmaril with the KISS dolls. "Share," he told the KISS dolls, wagging a finger sternly.
Mark facepalmed and doubled over with laughter. "Hells, Sören..."
"Yes, exactly."
Mark grabbed Sören, pulled Sören onto his lap, and started tickling him mercilessly. "Help," Sören squeaked, tearing up for an entirely different reason now. Anthony grabbed a couch pillow and started hitting Mark with it, and Mark took a couch pillow and hit him back, and then Anthony and Sören were swatting Mark with pillows and getting swatted right back, until a pillow accidentally flew across the room and hit Dooku, who had been watching them deadpan. Dooku pretended to glare, and then he chased Sören with a pillow, knocking Sören on the ground, the two of them hitting each other with pillows until Sören grappled Dooku and pulled him down on the floor two. They rolled around, tickling, one trying to gain dominance on top of the other until Sören disarmed him with a kiss. That kiss got them both hard, and they kissed again, grinding against each other. Dooku's hands slid down Sören's back to cup his ass, before smacking it.
"I think," Sören said, looking back at Mark and Anthony, "we should celebrate. This calls for a victory fuck."
"I agree," Anthony said, and raced to the bedroom. Mark followed.
Dooku got up and helped Sören to his feet. For a moment they stood there, looking into each other's eyes. Dooku touched Sören's face, stroked his cheek, and his free hand pulled Sören close. "You shall lead, and I will follow," Dooku said, his voice husky with emotion.
They kissed again, and then Sören led him by the hand, making a pit stop at the coffee table to collect the bottle of water from the Fountain of Youth.
Mark and Anthony were already naked and making out when Sören and Dooku walked in. Sören and Dooku got undressed quickly, then Sören cleared his throat. When all eyes were on him, Sören shook the bottle of water. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I'm ready to do this."
Mark put his hands on his hips. "You're absolutely sure."
"Yes," Sören said, their eyes locked. "You will never be alone again, Kanafinwë." Sören uncapped the bottle. "Bottoms up."
He took a swig from the bottle like it was ordinary bottled water. There was a faint mineral taste, which Sören expected, but also the hint of a metallic tang like blood, which Sören wasn't expecting, and grimaced a little. Still - it was worth it to be with Maglor for eternity.
Instead of passing the bottle around, Sören threw himself onto the bed, opened the bottle again, and poured out a little onto his chest. Anthony came right over and, after giving Sören a deep, passionate kiss, he began to lap at Sören's bare skin like a grooming cat... with slow, sensual strokes of his tongue that made Sören's cock throb and hole twitch. Sören moaned and clutched Anthony's head. "Make sure you get it all now," Sören said.
When Anthony had licked the water from Sören's chest, Dooku and Mark climbed onto the bed. Mark took the bottle from Sören and, with a wicked grin on his face, poured water over his nipples, and then his cock. Dooku and Sören got to work sucking at Mark's nipples, while Anthony teasingly licked at Mark's cock, before sucking it slowly. Mark groaned and arched to them, petting Sören's curls, skritching Dooku's beard, as they drank the water from his body and continued to lick and suck at his nipples and cock long after it was gone, until Mark was writhing, panting.
Before Mark could come in Anthony's mouth, Sören took the bottle back, shoved Dooku onto his back, and poured water over Dooku's chest, making the silver pelt glisten. Sören licked and licked at Dooku's chest hair while Mark took the bottle, poured water over Dooku's cock, and Anthony lapped hungrily at Dooku's cock while Mark began eating Anthony, murmuring with pleasure as he kissed and licked the folds, licked and sucked the cock. After a few minutes Sören took the bottle from Mark, splashed water onto Anthony's pussy and dove down, sucking in earnest, slurping loudly, as Dooku kissed Anthony's mouth and Mark went back and forth between sucking Sören's cock and tonguing his ass.
There was still plenty of water left in the bottle when Sören put it on the bedtable and reached for the lube. Sören's curiosity at who else they might give the water to - besides the cats and Huan, and maybe adopting more cats in the future - was quickly pushed away, distracted by his lovers' bodies, his lust, his hunger, as Mark and Dooku lubed their cocks and then Dooku pulled Sören atop him, Sören's back against Dooku's chest. Dooku held him tight as he pushed in, kissing Sören's neck and shoulder. When Dooku was all the way inside he turned Sören's head so they could kiss, and put his hand on Sören's heart. Sören heard Dooku's voice inside his mind as clearly as if he had spoken aloud.
Forever and always, Fëanáro.
Anthony straddled Sören, and Sören moaned as he watched the pussy lips kissing his cock, sliding in inch by inch. After Sören bottomed out in him, Anthony leaned down and kissed Sören, their tongues playing, teasing before another kiss. Then Anthony rose up and began to ride slowly, in time with Dooku's achingly slow thrusts. Anthony's hands and Dooku's ran over Sören's body, fingers brushing, walking, knowing everywhere he was sensitive. Sören quivered and moaned, utterly lost in the pleasure of their caresses, the sweet rhythm of Anthony's slick heat wrapped around his cock, Dooku's cock rubbing the magic spot inside him.
Mark stroked himself, watching them, and a few minutes later he got on his knees behind Anthony. Sören's breath hitched at the feel of the tip of Mark's cock against his entrance. "Yes," Sören breathed, wanting them both inside him. Wanting everything. Never too much. Never enough.
The idea they could do this for eternity was exhilarating. Euphoric. Paradise found.
When Mark's cock joined Dooku's inside Sören, Sören cried out, almost coming just from that. They continued their slow rhythm, languid and sensual, like they had all the time in the world. Savoring the reconnection, forging new bonds, completely lost in their love and lust like it was the only thing that mattered. Sören's lust was intensified by watching Mark's hands wander over Anthony's gorgeous body, Mark kissing and licking Anthony's neck, every now and again Anthony turning his face so they could kiss, so their tongues could rub together. One of Mark's arms held Anthony possessive and tight and his other hand reached down to play with Anthony's cock. Anthony started riding harder, the wet sloppy suctioning sound of their fuck louder, Sören and Anthony groaning together. Sören rolled his hips back at Anthony, and then Dooku's arms tightened around Sören and he too was thrusting harder, nibbling at Sören's shoulder.
Mark rocked into Sören harder, and Mark gasped and ground out, "Ñolo, your cock feels so good against mine." Knowing their cocks were rubbing together inside him, making love to each other as well, sent Sören right to that edge, but as badly as he needed to come he held back. Wanting Anthony to come first. Wanting to keep this going as long as he could, needing to give himself like this so completely... needing to take all they had to give. They had been through hell in the old days, they had suffered so much, but they were here, now, with eons worth of hunger pent up. Sören needed, wanted, craved, ached, and so they kept fucking and fucking, the pleasure building deeper and higher, tension so tight, sensation more and more intense until that was all that existed was their bodies, the glory of their sex.
Anthony came hard with a strangled, guttural noise, gushing, and Sören lost control, coming into the cunt contracting around him. The feeling of Dooku and Mark coming together inside him, flooding him with seed - the thought of cock coming on cock - made Sören's climax all the stronger, letting out a hoarse shout as his orgasm throbbed and throbbed, seemingly endless. Dooku moaned softly and Mark growled. Mark and Anthony kissed again, and Dooku and Sören kissed. Sören rubbed his nose against Dooku's and they looked tenderly into each other's eyes before a deeper kiss, the last smouldering embers of their fire, a promise of more passion to come later.
But first, the release was powerful enough that they settled into a cuddle-pile, a tangle of limbs, and dozed off together. When Sören stirred awake it was already after six PM and the sun had set, blue twilight glowing outside. He was snuggled into Anthony's chest and Mark was spooning him; Sören heard Dooku putter around in the kitchen.
Dooku came back in wearing nothing but an apron, which made Sören crack up laughing. "I've given a little of the water to the cats and Huan," Dooku said.
Mark raised an arm to give a thumbs up. Anthony made a sleepy noise. Sören yawned and stretched, then Anthony did as well. When Anthony sat up he saw Dooku's attire and fell over, howling. Dooku gave an amused little smile. "I was thinking about firing up the grill," Dooku said. "Anthony, would you care to be my assistant?"
"Only if I don't have to wear that," Anthony quipped.
"No, I brought you something else to wear." Dooku reached into the front pocket of the apron and pulled out George. Anthony narrowed his eyes and Sören gigglesnorted.
While Dooku and Anthony worked on dinner out on the deck, Sören and Mark got dressed and went for a walk along the beach, hand in hand. When they stopped to watch the tide change under the first rising stars, Mark's hair stirring in the breeze, Sören realized Mark hadn't brought out his guitar to play and sing at the beach, as was his wont.
"No concert performance?" Sören asked.
"Maybe another time." Mark nodded and looked back at the ocean. "For now, my days of singing sad songs at the sea are over."
Sören's eyes burned with tears, so happy for him - for all of them - that it hurt. Sören leaned on Mark and squeezed his hand.
"I can't believe you... you know. Drank the water. Did the immortality thing." Mark let go of Sören's hand and put an arm around him, petting his curls. "These are interesting times. They might get more interesting. I don't want you to suffer."
"I have you and that's what matters," Sören said honestly, and then he added, "Þetta reddast."
Mark chuckled, leaned down and kissed the top of Sören's head. "Þetta reddast," he repeated.
_
After stopping for a quick bite to eat at In N Out, where he enjoyed a Double Double and Animal Style fries, the Uber took "Edmund Billingsley" to Muir Woods as requested.
"It's about to close," the driver told him.
"Jæja, I know." Then he cringed, hoping the slip wasn't too obvious.
The driver raised an eyebrow in the rear-view mirror. "You know you could get in trouble if the rangers find you wandering around -"
"They won't."
"You're not gonna do anything stupid, are ya? I don't want to check the news tomorrow and find out there's a body -"
He gave a push with his mind, as much as his head was already pounding and the carb-rich meal hadn't helped. He also hated doing that because he didn't like influencing people mentally - it made him feel like a master of thralls - but he knew if he just threw the money at the driver and walked out without saying anything, the driver might get suspicious enough to call the police, and while he intended to do what he'd come here to do very quickly, it still might not be fast enough if the police got involved.
"Have a good night," he said sincerely, handing over the fee and a generous tip before he ducked out of the cab.
It was dark and getting darker, but he didn't have far to go. Just far enough to make sure he wasn't seen. Once he stepped into a grove of redwoods, he pushed with his mind again and dropped the glamour he'd been wearing for the last day.
There was indeed an Edmund Billingsley in this world who was Olórin in a mortal disguise, traveling the world as Maglor did, but the "Olórin" who had traveled the Bay Area today was not. Another world's version of Sören Sigurðsson breathed a sigh of relief as the tension rolled away with his glamour. The tie-dye T-shirt and flannel shirt were replaced by a Nine Inch Nails shirt and a black hoodie, the khakis replaced with faded jeans. The beard shortened, and Sören's hair went from grey to its usual black. Sören pulled the mini-portal out of his pocket, which had been crafted from a piece of a palantir, and gazed into its reflective surface, watching his face de-age to normal. He himself had become immortal just shy of his thirty-fourth birthday; he was forty-eight now, and the world he had come from was fourteen years ahead of this one. He had been living in Australia for almost twelve of those years.
The last... however long it had been... Sören had been traveling across universes. The water he'd given to his counterpart and his partners' counterparts here was not from the Fountain of Youth, but it was easier for him to glamour himself as Gandalf and lie, rather than introduce himself as being from another universe and that water containing some of his own blood, which he'd already used to give immortality before. It was enough that he was intervening this way, he didn't want their lives to be even more shaken up by the knowledge of alternate realities...
...or the curiosity to explore them. Sören frowned a little, feeling that stab of guilt again. Just a few more, let me take care of business, then I'll go home. He had been too late to kill this world's version of Justin Roberts, unfortunately... "But hopefully I'll be just in time for the others," Sören said under his breath, then snickered at his own pun. "Justin time. Heh."
He was startled by the quork even as he was expecting it. Two ravens swooped down from where they'd been waiting in a redwood, and one alighted on each shoulder. "Ready?" he asked Huginn and Muninn.
"Justin time," Muninn croaked.
"Murder time," Huginn rasped. "Nevermore."
"Jæja, exactly." Sören took a deep breath and lifted up the mini-portal and aimed. He watched as a wormhole opened, spinning, wind blowing, the surrounding forest glowing with ultraviolet light. He ran for the whirling vortex, not looking back, and braced himself for the jump, which always felt like an elevator falling, stiflingly hot. In this world the Silmaril had come to him right away, when he landed at Mount Hood, and he'd almost missed it. He was hoping for a less chaotic landing now.
"Þetta reddast," Sören said as the gate opened once more, and he stepped out in a dank alley into bright daylight, looking out in the distance at Big Ben.
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