Chapter 11
Erestor flitted about his office, placing books here and parchment there, arranging his desk to face the door rather than the window along the back wall, stocking his drawers with quills and inkwells, adding a few personal items from his rooms and putting the two extra chairs on the other side of his desk for consultation purposes. Not that he expected to have many, but they must have been put there for a reason. Just as he was straightening his desktop items there came a knock at the door.
A slight flutter arose in his stomach at the sound and straightening up proudly, Erestor crisply called “Enter.” However, the thrill Erestor had felt disappeared the second the door opened and Glorfindel stepped over the threshold.
“My Lord, how may I help you?”
“You were supposed to come to me first thing this morning for your jobs,” he said sharply.
“Yes my Lord, I know. I was about to come… I just thought to make my office ready before starting work.”
“You have had three days to make your office ready. You are now officially wasting mine and the King’s time.”
Erestor looked as if he were about to protest, but swallowed any complaint and nodded his head, lowering his eyes in supplication. “I am sorry my Lord.”
“I should hope so. Though you ought to be more sorry for that robe!”
“What is wrong with it?” Erestor asked, looking at his robe, expecting to find a stain or stitching come undone.
“Look at it! It’s gaudy! I doubt any Scribe has ever worn anything so hideous!”
Erestor felt a lump in his throat form and swallowed around it. “My father bought this for my majority,” he mumbled, unconsciously brushing it down.
“It shows,” Glorfindel said harshly.
Erestor’s head bolted up, his eyes wide. “I like it,” he stated, squaring his shoulders.
“Well it won’t do. I shall see that new clothes are issued for you. You are now a representative of my House and as such you are expected to look presentable, as any possession of mine is.”
“You do not own me,” Erestor growled lowly. Glorfindel merely raised an eyebrow in amusement and before Erestor knew what was happening, he found himself wedged firmly between Glorfindel and the back wall of his office.
“Do not be so sure of that,” Glorfindel husked, his lips all but pressed against Erestor’s. “My rooms. Tonight,” he ordered, smoothly rolling his hips into the Scribe’s. The younger Elf’s eyes widened upon feeling the Lords’ hard and generous ‘package’. Glorfindel smirked, his intentions grasped, he swiftly swept from the room.
Shaking, Erestor slowly shuffled to his chair and sat down, his mind blank of all thought except that of his impending doom.
~*~*~*~*~
Down the hall, Glorfindel smiled to himself as he would soon *finally* gain that which he had coveted most for the past two years.
TBC
Parmasambe
Library of Imladris
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