Title: Dance With Me (11/13)
Author: Hare (harefic@yahoo.com)
Type: FPS
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me in any way imaginable nor am I profiting from this story.
Timeline: This is a flashback story from Lindon-Second Age to Gondolin-First Age, and back again – many, many times.
Warning: Very explicit sexual scenes, angst, rape (part 11)
Beta: Ophelialaughs & Ezimachia – The perfect 1-2 beta-punch! All mistakes are mine.
Summary: Three lives, two elves, one love.
Lindon - Second Age
Erestor scurried down the hallway still angered by his sons’ intrusion. His head throbbed from lack of sleep or restless sleep chased away by dreams, wonderful and horrible, and his work suffered. He needed his employment as he was bound to Elrond by a promise of honor. He could never forsake Elrond, so he rushed to his beck and call whenever summoned.
As he rounded the corner, he stopped. A voice called to him from long ago, its intonation once music to his ears but now it clanged as a warning signal. He could hear it vaguely, speaking in low tones, from behind Elrond’s door. His feet were rooted to the spot. Surely, this was some jest, some trick of sound. He could not be hearing a voice he never expected to hear again.
Physically shaking himself, he realized his folly. It was the fault of the visions which haunted him. Of course, he would transfer those thoughts to his waking moments, as his mind focused on nothing lately but his years with Glorfindel, causing him to stand out in the hallway trembling like a virgin, creating silly fantasies. Fantasy would give way to realism once he faced the owner of that voice.
Striding forward, spurred on by delusion, he boldly entered Elrond’s office. Immediately struck dumb and rigid, he grabbed onto the door frame as the world tilted oddly around him. Before him sat Elrond gently speaking to the visitor.
Glorfindel!
His eyes wide, he could not mask the emotions tumbling off of him. Glorfindel seemed to sense his presence and turned, gazing at him with the same stunning blue eyes. Eyes that peered through him without recognition. Eyes empty of anything; it seemed, save pain and sorrow. How long they stared at each other Erestor knew not, only that eventually Elrond also registered his presence.
“Thank you for arriving so quickly, Erestor. Please.” He gestured to the seat near Glorfindel. “Sit down.”
The sparkle in Elrond’s speech was evident and he radiated excitement. Rigidly, he walked over and sat stiffly on the chair Elrond indicated as his eyes continually flicked over to Glorfindel.
“We have been blessed by the Valar! Gifted by the presence of a warrior worthy of his legend. This is Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin re-birthed. Glorfindel, this is my personal assistant Erestor. He will be in charge of settling you into your rooms and will assist in all your needs.”
“Erestor, Lord Glorfindel will be housed in the spare suite of rooms adjacent to yours.”
Elrond turned to address Glorfindel. “These rooms are spacious, my lord, and you will have an excellent view of the mountains as well as the training grounds.”
Glorfindel merely nodded his head throughout Elrond’s entire speech, and Erestor followed suit, knowing full well he could not have uttered a single word if his life depended on it.
Erestor gazed as unobtrusively as possible at the elf who was once his lover, his life, his reason for happiness, and it seemed a cruel joke that the Valar had returned him completely as he was, no alterations that he could detect. Yet those eyes, always so expressive and magnificent, told the story of his alteration. Glorfindel’s indomitable spirit seemed gone. He was clearly ill at ease and tentative, and grief evidenced by the defeated droop of his lids.
Glorfindel, it appeared, had been pulled from the Halls of Waiting physically whole, but mentally deficient. And yet, in some perverse way, Erestor was grateful for this. He had tried hard to forget Glorfindel and all the incredible memories he represented. Erestor knew now that nothing as beautiful as their love was forever. That lesson was brutal and complete. Glorfindel may have returned but Erestor’s resolve to forever banish love from his life remained. His return merely one more hurdle and it was to his benefit that Glorfindel’s memory of their time together seemed to be erased.
Elrond, in his joy, never appeared to notice how quiet both of his companions remained, and he shooed them out the door with plans to retrieve Glorfindel later for a private dinner with the high king.
Erestor, eager to deposit Glorfindel in his rooms, finally found his tongue and he babbled all the way to his own door describing the inanities of Lindon. At the security of his own doorway, he managed to present a calm face to Glorfindel, careful to mask the raging emotions he still felt.
“This is my room, Lord Glorfindel. I am only two doors away from your own and you must feel free to knock should you need any assistance. This is my service and it will be no imposition.”
Again Glorfindel just nodded his understanding. Erestor’s heart twisted at the bleak forlorn look on his old friend’s face, but he battled down the emotion and placed the guard back around his heart, chiding himself internally for being so easily swayed.
He moved swiftly down the hallway, dramatically opened the door to Glorfindel’s new home and ushered him inside. As he moved through the room, inspecting and opening drawers, Glorfindel merely stood at the doorway and nodded, no voice given in acknowledgment. It unnerved Erestor to see Glorfindel so taciturn. His egregious friend seemed lost and barely aware of his surroundings, but selfishly all he wanted was to complete his duty and swiftly return him to Elrond for handling. Finally, Erestor managed to bring his tongue under control, stopped his prattling and regarded Glorfindel from across the room.
“Is there anything else you require, my Lord?”
Glorfindel merely shook his head.
“Well then, if it pleases my Lord, I shall leave you alone to rest, unless you require a further tour of the palace?”
Glorfindel once more swung his head from side to side.
“Be at peace then, Lord Glorfindel, and in two hours time Lord Elrond will arrive to escort you to dinner. I will see that you are served breakfast on the morrow, and then we shall see to your wardrobe. A pleasant eve to you.“ Erestor executed a quick bow and beat a hasty retreat to his own rooms.
Once safely alone, he paced the length of his room and attempted to quell his mood. He had literally spent an Age bent on ridding himself of thoughts of his old lover, and in one poignant moment, he failed. Glorfindel had dropped on his doorstep and he wanted to run from him while at the same time gather him in a warm embrace. He shook his fist at the ceiling, yelling his displeasure to unseen Valar, but oh how he hoped they heard his cries. Hope, he lamented, was what he lost all those years ago.
He stripped then he splayed out upon his bed and stared out the window at the bleak scenery. Although they were at the peak of the warm months, Arda appeared gray and as cold as when it passed through its winter phase. It matched his mood. It matched his existence, especially after Glorfindel was ripped from his life and all hope faded for a pleasant and fulfilling journey…
Gondolin - First Age
The celebration was over. A fierce red light burned in the east, growing larger as it headed straight for Gondolin, and fear spread amongst the crowd as the warriors ran for the armories. Their worst nightmare come true as surely Morgoth now marched his dark army towards the city. Erestor stared at the retreating back of Glorfindel and a morose feeling washed over him, but his own duty spurred him to action and he leapt into the crowd of elves.
He began the wild struggle of shoving through the throng and headed towards the palace. Chaos ruled, maddening and frantic, as the hordes of elves panicked while trying to flee the enemy. He was driven along with the masses unable to break through the herd of elves, awash in distress as he fought to find Idril and Eärendil. But the crowd pushed against him, thick and frenzied, and for every step forward he was swept back two. Unseen hands tore at his clothing as wild-eyed ellith screamed for assistance in fleeing and in securing their elflings. Wailing children, swept aside by the unthinking terror-fueled evacuation, cried out for their parents.
Desperate beyond imagining, he continually flung himself forward in a futile effort to part the raging tide of bodies, to escape the crush, and reach his destination. It was a losing struggle that robbed him of his strength and punished his will, until in one final moment of anguish he surged forward only to be roughly pushed aside and carried by the momentum head first into the city wall. Erestor felt the warmth of his blood as it ran down his face, and he slowly faded to unconsciousness.
Confusion muddled his senses as he tried to clear the fog in his mind, and he struggled to determine where he was and why he could not move. As he opened his eyes he perceived stars. This sight baffled him further as he never expected to see stars in the Halls of Waiting.
Reality slowly penetrated his being. He had not perished. The truth of his situation thudded in his head, with the pulse of his heart, as screams and unbearable shrieks pierced his consciousness. Not just one voice, but many voices lifted into screeching wails, speaking of agony and hopelessness.
His vision cleared slightly, and he was greeted by the grim sight of the most immediate source of the screams. He could see nothing save the wildly thrashing limbs of an elleth with an enormous and wretched smelling orc kneeling between her legs, defiling her. He was powerless to help, his body and voice caught in some strange paralysis he could not cry out his support for the tortured elleth, and tears poured down his face as her torment continued.
The orc laughed at her flailing attempts to push him off and he punished her further, eliciting higher pitched yelps which earned her a vicious punch in the face. She remained silent as the orc grunted to completion, and Erestor glimpsed a flash of blood and black seed as the vile creature moved off to allow another access. The second orc flipped the elleth to her stomach and fell upon her, causing a whoosh of breath to leave her battered body.
Her bloody tortured face was now turned towards him, and he witnessed her struggle to breathe and the horrific howl of pain as she was breached from behind. His vision was obscured as another laughing orc knelt down in front of her and effectively stopped her screaming. Erestor’s consciousness slipped away, the sounds of horrible choking, pitiful wailing and evil glee fading as he spiraled down into the dark, and he at last realized he was still inside the walls of Gondolin.
Lindon - Second Age
With a start and muffled cry, Erestor sprang from his bed. It took him a moment to confirm that he was safe inside the walls of the palace as he continued to hear screams. Desperately, he clamped his hands over his ears, but could still make out a single voice raised in solitary torture as it shouted out its pain and loneliness. As Erestor sobbed he heard Glorfindel yell out for his long dead wife and elflings. Envy sparked inside him each time her name was repeated, and he was disgusted at himself for feeling this emotion and for not moving to help Glorfindel, selfishness and old hurt staying his feet.
Exhaustion and relief flooded him as he realized the healers had been summoned to Glorfindel’s room. He reassured himself that they were better able to care for Glorfindel’s grief. It was proper that he not involve himself any further than his duties forced him. While his breathing slowed and he sank to the floor, whatever force had put him on this course directed his thoughts back to where his nightmare left off…
Gondolin - First Age
As Erestor struggled for consciousness a second time he sensed nothing. There was no movement near him, no sounds. The air smelled of old smoke, and the sky was pale and drab. What day or time it was he could not fathom, as time has no meaning to the hopeless.
He turned his head and gazed into the elleth’s lifeless eyes. Her misery had ended.
Erestor knew he must move and make some attempt to leave the city, so he tentatively stretched his fingers. One at a time, with much required determination, he wiggled them and finally some feeling returned. His feet were next and before long he could flex his entire leg. Flat on his back, with the wall to one side, his vision remained completely obscured but he knew the dark minions would not have abandoned their prize, Gondolin, and time was of the essence. Hoping to speed his recovery, he moved his head side-to-side. He twisted and turned and stretched to awake his long-stilled body.
His recovery seemed agonizingly slow, and he finally recognized that the blow to his head had been severe. Severe enough that the orcs and wolves dismissed him as just another dead elf. Deliberately, he moderated his movements and set his mind to planning an escape. Gingerly, he rose and rested, on his elbows, taking stock of the situation. He was greeted by a grisly site.
He had not made it far from the celebration area, nor had many of the inhabitants. A red sea of blood littered with thousands of dead bodies swam before him and black dots danced in his vision. With the carnage so complete, he slammed his eyes closed against the horror and sank back to the ground.
Despair threatened to defeat him right then. It would be so much easier to use his blade and end it, but his promise came floating back. A promise, quickly given without true introspection, now bound him to protect Idril and her family. Until he knew their fate, he would go on.
Erestor latched onto the first chaotic plan that formed in his mind. He must go to the House of the Golden Flower. Surely, if Glorfindel survived he would be there mounting some attack. And in his confused state he started off for the one place he could feel safe.
Erestor shook uncontrollably and had difficulty maintaining his feet. The terror of the situation almost stunned him into helplessness. He stopped momentarily, fell into a crouch, and tried to calm himself with steady, deep breaths. When at last he felt he could continue, he hesitantly crept from the main square and finally managed to make cover. He wiped at the sweat covering him and shivered, knowing his fate would be far worse than his imagination could conjure, should he be discovered. Still, he had made it this far and grim determination spurred him forward to Glorfindel’s rooms.
He hugged the walls and moved from shadow to shadow, traveling quietly out of the city’s main courtyard. Careful to stay off pathways, he froze as several orc guards marched by. They seemed scattered throughout the area, and he could make no guess as to where they might turn up. It appeared as if Morgoth had no plan beyond sacking Gondolin and then letting his evil servants loose to do their worst. He was also puzzled as to why none of the prominent houses were badly burned yet the rest of the city seemed utterly annihilated.
Shuddering and weak from fright, he finally slid through the side door of Glorfindel’s home. The house was still infused with the smell of freshly baked pastries, but now mixed with an underlying tinge of copper, a scent his mind would not let him identify as he moved in a half-daze.
A noise, dull and distant, caught his attention and he halted, still as a statue as he listened and ultimately identified it as the squeak of a bed frame. He crept forward, blade ready, knowing he should not stop to investigate, and he fought against every instinct that screamed at him to flee as he drew toward the open door.
Perched upon the bed was a large foul orc, naked and grunting as he abused a bound elf. The elf, his eyes open and blank staring at the ceiling unseeing, unaware and apparently unfeeling as his body was brutally assaulted.
Erestor’s last bit of control snapped at the sight, and he sprang forward knife raised, silently howling his delight as it sank deep into the flesh of the beast. The orc jerked to a halt and turned to face his attacker, but Erestor was much quicker and slashed through the flesh of both upper arms, severing the tendons. As the orc gazed at him, stunned, Erestor pushed him off the bed. Grim satisfaction thrummed through him as he watched the lazy tumble and look of surprise as the orc was unable to catch itself with its useless arms. Faced with his now defenseless victim, Erestor’s sanity slipped as the tortured became the torturer.
Darting in, he methodically stabbed at vital areas; the throat to cut off any chance of calling out for assistance, the hamstrings to prevent escape, the abdomen which held the foul smelling intestines, and the groin still red with blood from his latest victim severed at a swipe. Chuckling evilly as each wound brought a shudder of pain from his victim, he righteously tortured the beast long after its gruesome death. Blood flowed freely, splattering the entire room and Erestor reveled in the carnage. His breath heavy as he inhaled the heady vapor of his sacrifice, and he was half hard with the thrill of revenge.
A small whimper from the bed brought him crashing back to reality. The young elf lying limp was now covered in blood and still tied to the bed. Erestor moved slowly and non-threateningly over to the elf’s side, slipped the blade between the knots and cut him free, immediately starting a vigorous massage on the arms which seemed long held in their confined position. He clamped his hand over the young elf’s mouth as he moaned from the pain of feeling returning to his limbs soothing words of encouragement and light slipped from Erestor’s mouth.
“You are safe now, linnon dithen. Lie still. You are safe.” Erestor continued his ministrations, easily turning the compliant elf over and checking his injuries.
He then cupped the young elf’s face in his hand and stared into those blank eyes.
“Pen dithen, can you hear me? Lindir? It is I Erestor. I know you are here, you can hear me. We must go now and quietly. Be still and make no sound. Do you understand?”
There was no indication that Lindir comprehended his speech, so he continued on while lifting the young elf to his feet.
“Can you walk? Please, pen dithen, try to move.”
But Lindir could not stand on his own, let alone take steps. Erestor let him gently fall back onto the bed and while stroking his hair whispered into his ear. “I will return in one short moment.”
At those words, Lindir grasped out with the swiftness of desperation, and seized Erestor with a grip of steel.
“Nay, pen dithen, do not fret. I leave you for but a minute. We will hide you here until then. You will be safe, and I will return and we shall leave this place together. I have only one task I must complete before we go.” But Lindir’s hold had not lessened, and now his body shook with fear and his breath was rapid.
Erestor knelt down and touched his forehead against Lindir’s. He was being irresponsible and should leave this house now, but he could not go without checking for Glorfindel. He was desperate to get to his rooms and see if any sign remained as to the fate of his lover. Only now he knew he could not leave Lindir in this room alone.
“Alright, pen dithen, you will come with me. You must put your arms around my neck while I carry you.”
Erestor wrapped Lindir’s arms around his neck and they fell down as soon as he let go. Lindir was once again as still as the dead, eyes staring off blindly. He had wasted enough time, and these delays threatened their safety. With strength born of necessity he swept Lindir into his arms and headed for the door.
There seemed to be no other sounds from this floor, but he continued to be cautious as he slunk along the corridors to the room where he spent his last night with Glorfindel. Slowly, he opened the large ornate door and his breath fled. The room was untouched, a tribute to their night of reconfirmed love and celebrating his begetting day.
The bed lay rumpled and stained, and as he laid Lindir upon it the scent of Glorfindel wafted up, bringing on such longing that Erestor fought the tears which threatened to flow. The evidence of their midnight feast remained over by the fireplace, dishes of half eaten culinary delights and bottles of wine.
Fortunately, not all the bottles were empty, and he walked over to retrieve one along with the leftover food. Lindir needed sustenance before they attempted their escape from the city, so he uncorked the wine and brought Lindir to a sitting position. Forcing his lips open, he poured a large amount into Lindir’s mouth and coaxed him to drink it down. To his great relief he managed the entire mouthful.
He continued feeding Lindir scraps from the table until he was sure the young elf was sated. He could not be sure when their next meal would be found. Erestor bolted down what he could, though his stomach protested its treatment. His appetite waned, but he had a young elf to save and a lover to find, and he planned to be successful at both. Just occupying this room bolstered his spirits and his confidence.
Once again carrying Lindir, he took him to the bathing chamber swiftly rinsing away the filth accumulated from his captivity. After efficiently washing himself, he quickly dressed them both in Glorfindel’s clothing and though large it afford some measure of protection. Erestor donned what he knew to be Glorfindel’s favorite outfit – a spring green tunic and leggings with supple brown boots. He also strapped on Glorfindel’s favorite sword before slipping another knife into his boot. Savoring the feel and smell of the material, Erestor tried to convince himself he would see his love again, and Glorfindel would be thankful for the return of his clothing.
Snapping out of the daydream, he found Glorfindel’s pack and rummaged around for salve and necessities. As he filled the sack further, he spied the gift Glorfindel had bequeathed him. He picked up the pitiful paperweight, lovingly whittled by Glorfindel’s own hands, and caressed the present before placing it in the pack.
Glorfindel was nowhere in sight, and Erestor realized how foolish he had been to come here. But then he gazed at Lindir and knew his misguided search for Glorfindel had at least one positive result. He strapped the pack on Lindir’s back and started quietly tearing strips from the sheets to make a harness. If Lindir could not walk, he would carry him to safety. Quickly tying and securing the makeshift carrier, he first placed a blindfold gently over the young elf’s eyes, and then slipped the harness over Lindir’s limbs and slid his own shoulders through the loops. As he hauled Lindir off the bed, the straps dug cruelly into his shoulders. Lindir’s head lolled forward onto his right shoulder and one small arm wound itself around his waist.
They advanced slowly but eventually made their way to the palace. Erestor continued to watch for other survivors as well as foes. He was surprised by the lack of guards around the palace but grateful for their absence.
About to enter the secret passageway, he heard shouts from a multitude of dark fiends and the crackling of fire, and smelled the acrid scent of smoke. The final burning of Gondolin had begun. Heavily burdened, he sprinted towards the entrance to the secret tunnel. There was no thought to stealth, for it was time to find escape or burn!
Flying down the dark passageway he heard shouts of pursuit behind him. His training not forgotten he continued a steady pace using his elvish sight to keep him on track and ahead of the hunters. Without warning, he burst out into the open. Erestor could just make out a copse of trees close to the foothills of the mountains, but the way was long and afforded no cover.
He knew they would not make it, but for Lindir’s sake he was determined to try. Not pausing to look behind, he flew into the sunlight and sped for the foothills, desperate to reach the trees and find some sort of hiding place. He raced on, fueled by adrenalin and fear, and refused to plead for help from the Valar he felt had abandoned his race.
Ignorantly and until Lindir started his mindless screaming, he hoped they would make the stand of trees. But Lindir’s ongoing shrieks forced him to look behind and assess the situation. The orcs were close, so near he could smell their foul odor, too close. They would be captured if he did not stop and take matters into his own hands.
Erestor halted and swiftly removed Lindir from his back. Quickly, he retrieved his knife. The cruel blade glinted in the sun as he brought it forth, and he knelt down by Lindir removing his blindfold.
Lovingly stroking Lindir’s face he spoke softly. “I promised I would not allow these filthy beasts to harm you further and that we would escape.”
Reaching for Lindir’s hand, he placed it on the knife hilt hoping he would understand, feeling that Lindir needed to know his fate.
“Escape is at hand, linnon dithen.”
He kissed Lindir’s cheek. Lindir grasped the hilt and pulled the knife to his chest. A serene expression settled upon the young elf’s face and Erestor’s resolve strengthened.
As he mustered up the strength to thrust the blade forward, he heard sounds of terror amongst the ranks of racing orcs. Screams pierced the dale. He hesitated and looked up. Eagles were everywhere; swooping in and tearing at the flesh of the dark beasts!
Unseen during their approach from above, two of the larger eagles lifted the elves in their talons and soared away. Erestor immediately twisted in the talons and loudly protested that he not be separated from Lindir. He feared that Lindir, who had suffered so horribly, would lose what little sanity he might have with one more trauma. The eagle with a low soothing voice, assured him they would be set down together once they were over the mountains.
He and Lindir survived their flight thanks to the unexpected rescue, and Erestor was grateful until he met more survivors from Gondolin. Every elf relayed the same information, and he finally accepted the truth.
Songs were already being sung about Glorfindel’s bravery in defending the survivors, and indeed Erestor had seen the scorch marks on the high pass of Cirith Thoronath. Crushed by the news of Glorfindel’s death he could not find happiness in the knowledge that he died a hero’s death. How he had perished mattered not if the light of his life was gone.
Erestor knew that the loss of his beloved marked the end of hope for his joy, and he was further burdened by the treason of Maeglin. Eöl’s warning had gone unheeded and Gondolin’s fall was a direct result of his nephew. Erestor ever expected the dark forces of Morgoth to find them one day, but that one of his relatives was involved shamed him. He cursed his silence while his days dragged by and he cared for Lindir.
As happens during the times of mourning, rumors flew and stories mounted, so picking out small bits of truth became burdensome. One truth found him many months after the fall of Gondolin. Tuor, Idril and Eärendil lived! And with this knowledge, his promise forced him into a search even though it meant abandoning Lindir. He passed Lindir to a loving family who had lost several of their elflings in Gondolin. Only later did he realize he had failed to secure the name of this family or their final destination.
From that time forward his days were spent ferreting out information on the whereabouts of the royal family. Frustration ruled his life as he always seemed just days away from their location when some new word would arrive and send him off in a new direction. And then Idril and Tuor were gone from Middle Earth, and Eärendil and his wife disappeared as Elrond and Elros were taken. For an age his search was in vain, but still bound to that familial line he felt beholden to them more because of the treachery of his nephew Maeglin. When, by mere happenstance, he finally met Lord Elrond, that bond strengthened.
Lindon - Second Age
Erestor awoke after the night of dark visions, feeling ill-rested and on edge. Glorfindel was back and now further problems would plague his waking life. From the moment they met, Erestor suspected that his life and Glorfindel’s were intricately intertwined. He knew that Glorfindel afforded him a rare trust first as friends and then as lovers, and he was granted the privilege of defining the quality of Glorfindel’s life to a great extent. They had shared so much of their lives together that he never imagined what his life would become without him. He felt sometimes that he could not breathe with the knowledge he would never see Glorfindel again. Erestor had long ago decided he would never set foot on Valinor. He could face no further disappointment or heartache. Along with that decision, he also knew he would never tell his children that their mother was human. Once his duty to Elrond ended, he would spirit them away to a place where he would end his own suffering and they would live out a human lifespan. These resolutions were not changed with the arrival of Glorfindel.
Several days later Glorfindel, once again, tested his resolve. As he sat working, Erestor noticed the door to his office slowly opening. Glorfindel softly padded in. He had not seen Glorfindel since the first day of his return, though his thoughts were solely focused on him.
Glorfindel sat and stared at Erestor. “Why?”
The soft, tentative voice seared a hole in Erestor's heart.
“You left me,” Erestor spoke numbly.
“Not of my own accord.”
“You left Gondolin, left me behind without even searching. You abandoned me.”
Glorfindel hesitated, “I was a warrior. I am a warrior. You were a warrior. Our purpose to protect. And as one of the few survivors, my duty bound me to try and save those elves I could. There was no time. My personal choices were not a consideration. Please try to understand.”
The pleading in Glorfindel’s voice grated on him so he stood and turned away.
“Why, you ask? I will tell you. I banished you from my thoughts when I realized you left me. You broke a promise and stole the hope from my life.” Turning back, he hissed, “And I will NEVER trust you! Never again!”
“What can I say to make you understand? It is done, but I would sacrifice anything you ask to have your understanding. Anything!” Glorfindel’s eyes blazed as he shouted.
Erestor felt his resolve once again crumbling. The elf he loved, the elf he still desired, sat before him pleading for his understanding. But his life had been submerged in darkness for too long and hope no longer existed. Despair was his friend now, and it crowded in around his mind, clouding his judgment.
He advanced on Glorfindel and cackled.
“You would beg me? You who have spent your nights crying for your dead wife? Not once did your lips form my name!”
“My mind was not my own! “ Glorfindel moved toward him arms open in supplication.
“Where were you when I was bereft? Do you know the horrors I encountered? Gondolin was completely sacked and not all elves were dead when you stole away with those survivors. Those left unprotected were tortured and raped, and I witnessed the horror of their acts. And afterward, when I found safety, who comforted me as I spent my nights wracked with nightmares? Not you! Not healers! I was alone! I am still alone, and alone is how I will die! Leave me be!”
Erestor grabbed the paperweight. He hesitated briefly, contemplating it. For years he had kept hold of this one object to remind him of his lost love. But now it seemed only a stain on his life, the paint cracked with age and the wood buckled from neglect.
He heaved the paperweight at Glorfindel’s head and stormed from the room.
Parmasambe
Library of Imladris
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.