Chapter 4

A guffaw of laughter erupted from the twins causing Erestor to glance up from his meal. Standing in the doorway was Little Erestor, or what appeared to be Little Erestor. His once glorious long dark hair had been hacked off into various scraggy lengths. In several areas, the hair was cut away down to his scalp where small bloody cuts were speckled brightly on the background of shiny white skin and tiny rivulets of blood ran from his skull down his face and neck. Little Erestor was dressed in a dark tunic and leggings that belonged to Erestor. They drooped on his small body but were efficiently rolled up to allow free movement. He stood with his legs spread in an aggressive stance, his eyes wide and wild; his mouth split into a parody of a grin displaying teeth stained a brilliant shade of red, and his left hand slowly dripped blood onto the floor. Erestor continued to stare, dumbfounded, while Little Erestor brought his left hand up to his mouth and sucked at the small wound there.

Erestor turned away and glanced at Lord Elrond, who quickly avoided his gaze and shielded a grin behind a raised hand. Erestor gazed at Glorfindel who looked upon him with a lazy smirk on his face. Then Glorfindel dragged both of their eyes down to his hand which was gently stroking the hilt of his sword before looking back up at Erestor with a questioning stare. Erestor sighed. There would be no assistance from either of his friends.

He turned back to the elfling. This was no Little Erestor; this was Little Morgoth. His once timid shadow had turned into a monstrous nightmare. Erestor put on his most stern face, stood, walked towards the child and grabbed his uninjured right hand. Little Erestor immediately went slack and fell to the ground.

Erestor insistently tugged on Little Erestor’s arm. “We are returning to our rooms. Stand at once!”

“No! I am hungry! Release my hand!”

The vision of Glorfindel stroking his sword was such an appealing picture at this moment, but Erestor realized the delicacy of Little Erestor’s emotions. He must handle this situation carefully and privately. To avoid further public confrontations, he lifted him from the ground. He struggled a bit, but Little Erestor did not again verbally challenge him. Instead he lay still in his arms with a fierce anger radiating from his face as he stared at Erestor with a challenging look. As he carried him away, Little Erestor calmly began wiping his still bleeding hand on Erestor’s robe.

He refused to be baited by the actions. Instead he peered straight forward and calmed his own rising ire. This robe, he told himself, could be cleaned, yet words or actions hastily revealed would lead to nothing but recriminations. No matter that the robe had been purchased because Glorfindel had made an off-handed remark that this particular color of blue offset his eyes so well. No matter that each time he wore this particular robe Glorfindel complimented him. Nay, this robe meant nothing to him and could be replaced if necessary.

The journey to their rooms, which normally seemed so short, lengthened and was as laborious as a day in conference with a contingency from Mirkwood. Erestor finally arrived at their door and entered, breathing heavy. He valiantly attempted to ignore the sticky blood that seeped through his robe in the numerous spots where Little Erestor had rubbed his injured hand over and over.

Gently he sat Little Erestor on the side of the bed and watched as he fell back, his hand still oozing, and now staining the bedcover, the bedcover he had specially made by a weaver in Lindon. His eyebrows knitted together expressing his consternation, but otherwise he dared show no outward signs of provocation. He could see the sly sideways glances Little Erestor shot in his direction.

Instead he marched into the bathing room for supplies to clean and tend to the nicks in Little Erestor’s hand and on his scalp. Erestor was grateful that the child remained still and allowed him to clean the wounds and bind his hand without incident; however, where his body remained settled his mouth found reason to open.

“Are you not fond of your robes, Big Erestor?” he queried.

“Aye, I am quite fond of them.”

“Are you not angry with me? There is blood all over this one.” Little Erestor reached out and fingered the numerous red blotches to emphasize his point.

Erestor turned a bland eye upon him. “I have many robes Little Erestor; do not trouble yourself about this one. I can replace it many times over.”

Little Erestor’s mouth turned downward into a small pout and Erestor could practically hear the workings of Little Erestor’s mind as he sought his next attack. And then a small grin returned as he saw Little Erestor spy the damage he had done to the bedcover.

“You love this bedcover, Big Erestor. I heard you once, in a dream, inviting Glorfindel to lay on your beautiful bedcover. Now you cannot show it to him.” A devious glint shone from Little Erestor’s eyes as he said these words.

Erestor turned quickly away. A direct hit, scored to Erestor’s heart, which he could see fluttering his robes in its attempt to escape his chest. Surely Little Erestor was much too young to understand the implications of his words, though spending time with Elladan and Elrohir had most definitely matured him in many ways. He took in a deep breath and saw his knife. The breath stuck in his throat. The blade was covered with blood, slivers of skin, and bits of hair. Erestor stood and retrieved it.

Moving back to the bedside, Erestor knelt beside Little Erestor and pulled him up into a sitting position.

“This,” Erestor held up the knife and continued with a firm voice, “is not your knife. You are never to touch it or any that look like it. You are never to use any blades other than the ones laid out for use with food. You are also never to handle any weapons unless given permission by me or Glorfindel. Do you understand?”

Little Erestor continued to stare straight ahead not acknowledging Erestor’s directive or question.

“Do you understand?” Erestor said again with more force.

Silence greeted him once more.

Erestor calmly laid down the knife, placed his hands on either side of Little Erestor’s face, and turned it toward him.

“Do you understand?”

A transformation from calm to fury occurred before Erestor’s eyes and the screaming words hit him full force.

“Yes I understand! I understand that you are a mean and nasty elf, and I hate you Big Erestor! Everyone hates you!” Little Erestor slapped his hands away.

He reeled back from the response. The venomous words affected him more than they should. He knew he was not universally loved yet knew he was not hated. These careless words from the mouth of an elfling should not be heeded, still they stung in their intensity and told especially how Little Erestor felt about him.

Reaching out a hand which was steadier than he felt, he caressed the side of Little Erestor’s face, and spoke words he only now realized he truly meant.

“Your words sadden me, Little Erestor, for I care a great deal about you. How others feel bothers me not, but you…” he hesitated. “It is my hope that someday you will grow to care for me too. For now you will sit in a chair in the corner and reflect on what has occurred. You will heed my words and think on them for I shall not accept a repeat of today’s actions.”

Erestor led him over to the corner and stood Little Erestor there while he went and retrieved his desk chair. Little Erestor looked at the chair with disdain but when silently ordered to sit, he climbed on slowly. With one last lingering pat on Little Erestor’s head he walked away.

Little Erestor sat very still. His back rigid and stiff against the chair and his legs, too short to bend over the edge of the seat, stuck straight out in front of him. His patchwork hair and ill-fitting clothing added to the illusion that he was a much used wooden doll thrown aside by a child outgrown of the toy.

Erestor’s hopes sank rapidly. It had been many months since Little Erestor had been found stranded in the water-soaked valley, singing quietly at the top of a tree, and staring off into the distance. Starved and orphaned, there had been little hope of his survival until he had awoken and clung to Erestor. Now he was a raging monster, defiant and foulmouthed. This outburst of self-mutilation seemed to foretell a darker problem. Or was this simply a means of acting out? Erestor shook his head. He did not know. Little Erestor, and his ever changing moods, was a mystery to him. Managing an elfling was completely outside his area of expertise and it was clear he was failing.

Glorfindel walked quietly into the room, stood next to him, and placed a comforting arm around his shoulders.

“You look awful,” Glorfindel whispered into his ear.

Even in his melancholy mood, Erestor had to struggle to maintain his poise denying the pleasure that Glorfindel’s touch always heralded. He leaned his head slightly toward Glorfindel, smiled sardonically and said, “Flatterer.”

The arm slipped down to his waist, tightened, and pulled him closer.

“Do not play folly with my words. You know well what I mean. Little Erestor and his temper is wearing you down. You need rest. Further, he,” Glorfindel nodded his head in Little Erestor’s direction, “is clearly asleep so there is no reason for you to stand here at attention and worry yourself. This situation will not be rectified in one evening.”

Glancing over to the corner, Erestor realized Glorfindel was correct. Little Erestor’s head was lolling well off to the side of his body, and he was in danger of tumbling from the chair.

Shaking himself loose from Glorfindel’s touch, Erestor turned to face his friend. “It is impossible! I am unable to keep my wits about me at all times and keep Little Erestor in my sights. He is but one elfling, yet I am utterly vexed.”

“This no mere elfling. He is special and needs more than any other child. Nay, do not recriminate yourself for what has occurred for we all know you are doing your best for him. There is an order to his madness and it may be that this incident has broken his temper. Now, I will take our little balrog into his sleeping room while you ready yourself for bed.”

But Erestor was once again lost in his thoughts and heard not Glorfindel’s comforting words. All encompassing was the crush of the situation he found himself in and the hopelessness of ever reaching Little Erestor. He was numb from today’s events and the enormous burden of Little Erestor’s well being had rendered him unable to concentrate on anything other than his failures.

Glorfindel nudged him firmly, brushed a hand down Erestor’s arm, and with his voice laced with exasperated concern said, “Erestor, please. Remove your clothing, settle into bed, and let me attend to Little Erestor while you rest.”

Startled from his thoughts by the gentle touches he quickly moved beyond Glorfindel’s reach. Especially now, Glorfindel’s beauty and easy manners were confusing him, so he hid, as always, behind sarcastic wit. “Why, Glorfindel, you are ever so forceful.” Erestor fluttered his eyelashes and blinked demurely even as a secret thrill shivered through him.

“Erestor,” Glorfindel growled out warningly.

Erestor answered him with an innocent smile, even though he knew Glorfindel’s patience was growing thin, and then he sighed for the thousandth time that day, before nodding his acquiescence. He was very tired and always grateful for Glorfindel’s mere presence. “As you wish.”

Erestor first stripped the ruined bedcover off his bed before moving towards his wardrobe. As he made ready for sleep he covertly watched Glorfindel easily scoop up Little Erestor and carry him off to his own room. Curious, he silently moved to the doorway and watched as Glorfindel efficiently re-clothed Little Erestor in sleeping trousers. When he noted that the activity awoke the elfling, Erestor shifted out of the doorway until he could peer in without being seen.

He saw Little Erestor stare at Glorfindel, unsure and confused, and then his face lit up into such a sweet, guileless smile that Erestor’s heart raced and his hopes soared. He had never seen such an open and pure look upon Little Erestor’s face as at this moment.

“Read me a story,” Little Erestor demanded, yawning and stretching as he sat up.

“Shall we continue the one from our last visit?” responded Glorfindel.

Erestor’s mouth dropped open and he raised a surprised eyebrow at that statement. When had Glorfindel read to Little Erestor?

“Yes, I want to hear more of Gondolin.”

Glorfindel sat on the floor, removed a small book which had been hidden under his tunic and pulled Little Erestor onto his lap. Little Erestor’s hand automatically reached back, latched onto a strand of Glorfindel’s blond hair, and started twirling it around his fingers. Erestor knew that this level of comfort, between the two, spoke of many such meetings. Glorfindel was playing the fraud! Twitching a hand near his sword each time Little Erestor was uncontrollable then, in secret, finding time to sit and read to the elfling.

Erestor was mesmerized, entranced, and admittedly jealous of this hidden relationship between his ward and his love. Glorfindel read snippets from the book, pointed out the pictures and added little stories of his own. Little Erestor chuckled when Glorfindel told of being accidentally stabbed in his buttock by an inadvertent sword strike from a drunken Ecthelion. The sound startled Erestor. This was the first time he had heard Little Erestor laugh from enjoyment! As inappropriate as the story was, the sound of laughter was music to his ears.

Glorfindel continued the tales, fascinating to Erestor, who could rarely cajole Glorfindel into telling stories of his life before his rebirth, until Little Erestor’s eyes glazed and took on a faraway look. Glorfindel gracefully stood with Little Erestor in his arms, placed a small kiss on his forehead, laid him down, and pulled the covers up to his chin.

The display of such tough tenderness rooted Erestor to the spot. Until, knowing he must move, or be discovered, he found his legs and soundlessly slipped into bed.

His attempt at feigned reverie was for naught, however, for when Glorfindel entered his room and shone the dim candlelight his way he heard a low chortle.

“It appears that, this night, sleep eludes all the inhabitants of these rooms. Why are you still awake?

Erestor sat up, stretched and swiped at his eyes, still hoping it would appear he had at least slept for awhile.

“I am restless and the sound of your voice interrupted my slumber.”

“Ah, so this is my fault? Well, so be it. If I am to blame then I must remedy the problem.”

With that statement, Glorfindel threw back the bed covers and started to climb into Erestor’s bed.

“What are you doing?” Erestor gaped at Glorfindel and pulled the covers up to his neck.

“Are my actions not obvious? I am going to read you a bedtime story.”

“Glorfindel. I am well beyond my majority and my parents reside in Valinor. I am not in need of another naneth. Further I see that you do not have a book to read me.”

“Be that as it may it is clear that tonight you need me.”

Not awaiting Erestor’s approval, Glorfindel jumped onto the bed, settled into a sitting position against the headboard and pulled Erestor back in between his spread legs. Erestor sat rigid against Glorfindel, closed his eyes and willed his errant shaft into submission, as he dutifully tried to ignore Glorfindel’s breath caressing his neck. He could not abide the nearness, though, could not find comfort in this awkward position. And so he squirmed and wiggled, and ran a hand around his neck swiping away the arousal he felt at each hot exhalation, until Glorfindel, annoyed with his actions grabbed and secured Erestor firmly against his chest.

“You are all bony elbows and knees Erestor. Sit still!”

So near to his desire, instead he was weary and strain thrummed through his body. He was feeling too many things at once addling his thoughts. Yet he relented and allowed himself to accept this favor Glorfindel offered, and the anxiety ebbed away until he slumped against Glorfindel. The arms felt wonderful around him, so strong, so familiar.

“Better?” Glorfindel asked and Erestor could hear the solicitude. He nodded unable to trust his voice.

In a hushed voice, Glorfindel murmured. “Aye, I have no book to read but there are tales I will tell and they are for your ears only, Erestor. For I shall reveal secrets only a few know, but as my closest friend it seems fitting that I trust you with them.

I have no siblings. My parents have no siblings and their parents were of the One Hundred Forty-Four. Great in stature yet small in number, I strayed from the adults in my life and learned early on the value of friendships with those more my age. I came upon Ecthelion one day, while exploring the woods near my home, and through him established myself in his tight circle of friends. Before long, I was not an outsider, but a leader amongst the group, and though we changed loyalties as readily as the night fades to day, then fades to night, we were all close. One week I may run with one and the next week it would be someone new or often we gathered as a group. We were wild and free with few responsibilities.” Glorfindel snickered. “Those were heady days indeed, Erestor.”

The laugh soon turned quiet, though, as Glorfindel tensed and forged on. It was clear that he was omitting the most violent part of the story. Still it was Glorfindel’s to tell, and it amused him. And he had no stomach for tales about the dark days of the kinslayings this eve.

“By unspoken agreement it was known that when we established Gondolin, both Ecthelion and I would head our own houses. A portion of Ecthelion’s family had survived the crossing and many of our group also declared loyalty to him. My house was populated almost entirely by friends. Few were close blood relation, but blood brothers we were through our own design. Even though our group split, we all toiled long to build our houses which were next to each other.”

Erestor interrupted, “That is no secret, Glorfindel.”

“True! Aye, that information is readily available in any history of Gondolin. However, how our Houses were named is not so well known.”

Curiosity piqued, Erestor asked, “That also seems obvious for each House had a name associated with your personal names. Is this not correct?”

Glorfindel chuckled again. “You are partially correct. As I mentioned before, I first came upon Ecthelion in the woods near our homes. He was quite fond of the trees and the small creatures living there and confessed to me that he found each day in the forest was a new adventure and endlessly fascinating. Because of this, if one desired a conversation with Ecthelion it was common knowledge that one needed to embark for the forest. He was also well known for watering the trees, shrubs and all variety of plants in the woods.”

Erestor surged away from Glorfindel and turned to face him. “Nay, Glorfindel! That is untrue!”

Glorfindel smirked then put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I swear upon all that I hold dear. He would loose his water wherever and whenever he desired. It was a well known fact, amongst our group, that Ecthelion, the Fountain, was quite appropriately named.”

Erestor shook his head and swayed with laughter as he turned and fell back against Glorfindel.

“What about your House of the Golden Flower?”

“Aye, I also had a reputation though not as amusing as Ecthelion’s. As a small elfling I developed an affinity for flowers. I would dig in the gardens with my nana, she would tell me the names of the flowers, and I would recite them back to her. I clearly remember the first time she cut the blooms from the plants and placed them in her basket. The horror at seeing my nana destroy those beautiful flowers sent me screaming from the garden. My ada found me hours later curled up and asleep in a field of wildflowers. He was very angry for I had disappeared quickly and they had searched for quite some time before finding me. But once found I remember my attempts at explaining to him my agony on seeing my nana kill a living thing. I had always been taught that all life was precious and we should feel pain at the death of anything. “

Glorfindel chuckled. “I still recall his face when he heard me speak those words, Erestor. He grew pale and frowned and looked anywhere but at me. And many years later, on recalling the incident, it became clear that he was searching for the right answer to my conundrum.”

Glorfindel ran his hands through Erestor’s hair, gentle fingers combing out the tangles. “Shall you guess the outcome?”

Erestor, his body tingling from the considerate touches, could only shake his head to the negative.

“He never did find the soothing words I needed to hear. As strong and intelligent as my ada was, he did not have all the answers. He could not explain the hypocritical stance we elves hold, that all life is precious, yet we take other’s lives to perpetuate our own. Imagine my surprise when I realized this. Once my shock faded and I realized my ada was not perfect, I found I loved him more. Our bond strengthened, for he was no longer on an unreachable pedestal but beside me struggling to make sense of our world. “

Erestor leaned into the strong capable hands that stroked his hair.

“You are a special friend, Glorfindel. Thank you. I know I do not have all the answers, and I never will; however, there is still one answer I must have.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“Why was your House named Golden Flower?”

“Did I omit that part of the story?”

Erestor shoved a playful elbow back at Glorfindel, “Aye, you did. Your mind is not aging gracefully.”

“Too true, my friend. Ah well. You see Erestor, ever since that day in the garden I have been a friend to all flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“Aye, I became a staunch protector and in my presence no one was allowed to pluck a flower from its stem. I was very vocal about this and quickly earned the name Golden Flower. I wore the name proudly even though my friends teased me unmercifully about this quirk. Still, they never dared harm a flower in my presence!”

“Did Ecthelion regularly water your flowers?”

“Erestor!” growled Glorfindel and pulled them both down the bed until they were prone.

“Glorfindel!” Erestor found himself on his side with Glorfindel tight behind him.

“You are as bad as an elfling. Too many questions and not enough silence. It is time for sleep.”

He tried, really tried, to fall asleep, but sleep was proving coy this evening, kept away by the immediacy of Glorfindel’s touch. And that touch was better now than it had been earlier with Glorfindel’s arms closed around him, pinned down by the weight behind him. The strength of Glorfindel scared and thrilled him to equal measure. Erestor closed his eyes and realized that despite all that had happened these past months, he was happy, unreasonably happy, wrapped within the protectiveness that was Glorfindel, breathing his musky scent. He opened his eyes and lay interrogating the dark but refused to let insecure thoughts cloud his current contentment for now he was sure of one thing. Glorfindel fit him as perfectly in bed as out of it.

Unsure when he had finally fallen to slumber, he awoke, with Glorfindel’s hand possessively draped over his belly, their legs intertwined, and all the covers tangled at the foot of the bed. Had he dreamed the soft kiss to his shoulder before he had faded to slumber? Erestor, startled by a sudden movement, realized it was not time to rise, yet Little Erestor stood by the bed rubbing sleep-filled eyes and looking lost.

Erestor smiled at the elfling whose own lips rose slightly. Was it possible that all was forgiven? Erestor opened his arms beckoning Little Erestor forward. He quickly scurried in and cuddled up to him. He smiled again, pulled Little Erestor close and reveled in the contact and the clean scent of him. This time he fell asleep completely surrounded by love. Glorfindel warm and strong at his back and the rough feel of Little Erestor’s crudely shorn head nestled below his chin. He never wanted to leave this bed for surely there was nothing more precious than what he had right here.