Chapter Six: Night Ride Imladris 1498 T.A.
Erestor’s frozen state quite unnerved the Captain, who was desperately trying to out-think his refusal.
Erestor, with his eyes closed, was oblivious to Glorfindel’s dismay. He concentrated on composing himself, telling himself firmly: /Such feelings are natural. After so many years, they are only natural./ He calmed himself, a habit of long practice, accepting his body’s instincts, as he had learned to do so many years ago when others had wanted him, and taken him, expecting him to offer compliant participation including his own response in kind.
The demanding grip had lessened somewhat once he was on his feet unresisting. When he opened his eyes, Glorfindel was looking at him concerned.
“I have upset you, but I still do not like to leave you here alone. Truly, would you not enjoy a ride? The horses would, on a night like this. It would do you good.”
His eternal good spirits did not abandon him, even faced with this awful suspicion of Erestor’s. That Erestor thought himself courted and found it a threat of such visceral magnitude, appalled the Captain. The depthless wells of those dark, dark eyes gave clear warning that this elf had a past that behove Glorfindel to tread lightly. The sheer stillness of him disturbed Glorfindel.
“And if I persuaded you to believe my proposal was just a change of rooms, to enjoy a fire and some wine over comfortable conversation, you would not be averse to that either, would you? Look at me a moment, and then consult your own mind, Erestor. I will let you go, when you are ready to answer me more calmly, but I will not let you indulge such unwarranted fear unchallenged.” Glorfindel let his fingers rest easily around the thin wrist, amazed as he had been before when he watched Erestor at practice, that such a slight frame supplied strength and stamina to match most of his partners in training. But Erestor did not test him to win free, despite his distaste for the invitation proffered. Glorfindel was not so blind as to take that as encouragement, but rather as cause for dismay.
Not once trying to move out of Glorfindel’s hold, Erestor looked away out the window, and caressed with a fingertip of his free hand the elegant fall of one of the branches of blossom overhanging the red glazed pot on his desk.
Glorfindel followed his gesture, and caught the sheen of the wood lovingly polished with wax, and felt his heart moved yet again by the dichotomies Erestor represented. Renowned among them for his coldness; humbly accepting year on year the disgraceful neglect and despite that in Imladris, famed for its rich beauty and prosperity, these quarters represented; intelligent to the extent of surpassing most other elves of Middle-Earth in his affinity for resolving matters of conflicting diplomacy behind the scenes: each of these were facets Glorfindel was coming to know were true of Erestor. And then there was this, that he kept his modest desk polished to a warm honeyed hue, appreciating and tending the grain of the wood with such painstaking care. He had brought out in full the natural lustre of the lines and spirals delicately folded season after season into the grain of living timber while the tree yet grew rooted deep in the earth. Glorfindel found his breath catching, eyes moving to take in the finger resting on one blossomed sprig and the lean-drawn profile turned away from him toward the stars.
Glorfindel had been wrong: these barren quarters were like a desert, that to the untutored eye held nothing of value nor of beauty, yet when looked at with attuned discernment, what Erestor had seen and cherished as precious came into focus. Delicate beauty and celebration of life were here on display everywhere it could be nurtured.
“What do you see, out of your window, my friend?”
He settled more comfortably on the edge of the lovely wood, and waited, maintaining his light hold, hoping Erestor’s tension might seep away. Now he was more in tune with his surroundings, he could smell subtle fragrant beeswax merging with a greener woody smell coming from the decorative sprigs Erestor was comforting himself by stroking, and Erestor too, smelled, of nutmeg and sandalwood, probably from soap or oil he used.
Another change of direction. Erestor gathered the words to answer, very willing to postpone uncomfortable choices, conscious that Glorfindel had given him respite from his question – his proposal – his lips tightened as he frowned at the long, powerful fingers that still encircled his wrist. He took another deep breath and let it out, forcing himself to maintain his hard-won balance.
To risk what he feared, or to reject apparent warmth and friendship? To give in to the hardness forming around his forlorn hopes in order to shut away the feelings Elrond had left him with, or choose to be vulnerable by accepting this overture and apparent offer of friendship? Glorfindel, in these circumstances, would hardly suffer for that, unlike others had who supplied him with his needs or with comfort in the past. Maedhros had very promptly suppressed all kindnesses that he himself did not choose to bestow on his young cousin. The eldest of Fëanor’s sons had wanted his aide firmly dependent on his own mercies, none other’s.
Erestor met Glorfindel’s eyes briefly while he contemplated the choices and issues that a simple invitation had provoked. Close as they stood together with his wrist still held – caressed as it felt to him – he found he did not mind standing before the leaning figure as if he had been dragged to his feet to face him like an errant youth. Glorfindel watched him, yes, and speculatively, but there was a faint questioning puzzlement in his eyes that spoke more of concern than insistent lust, and an air of patience about him. As well, the Captain’s characteristic warmth had not changed an iota. Erestor felt it as if it radiated from him in waves.
Erestor suddenly felt comfortable, despite everything, and smiled, because he loved the stars he watched and the trees that lithely swayed to reveal and hide them in turn according to the whims of the wind. This was Glorfindel – Glorfindel who soared like the stars themselves above such unimportant matters as old hurts and fears in his visionary love of Arda. He made it easy to respond to his surprising advances. It dawned on Erestor that he *liked* being surprised. His life held much that was routine in timing and attendance. Even if his work was demandingly changeable, social variety had been nonexistent. He welcomed this overwhelming presence, even with his wrist imprisoned. He had never truly been solitary by inclination, perhaps one of the reasons he had managed to comply and survive.
Glorfindel drowned in that smile, so unexpectedly offered, so – so full of grace, was the only word that seemed sufficient. And it was with grace that Erestor enumerated the names of the stars he could see, as he lifted his eyes once again to the small window above them, detailing too their ages and origins, revealing as he did the depth of his learning, and his love of Erú’s inspired creation. His face transformed as he let his disappointment fade from his awareness.
No wonder Galadriel had spoken for him, thought Glorfindel vehemently. He wondered if Erestor might tell him more about himself, and when. Elrond would do so, if he asked him, and would tell only the unbiased truth as he knew it; Glorfindel trusted him for that, but it did not suit the Captain to investigate behind his back what Erestor was not ready to reveal.
When Erestor’s exposition drew to a slow halt, which took a while, Glorfindel stirred, sliding his fingers along bones and muscle to cup the wrist he held. The pulse point startled – Erestor was disturbed again. He smiled. “And my answer? I still offer you a change of apartments. At least for tonight. We could find you rooms with the same view, if you’d like? And if you stayed there, we could always move the things you have tended here with such love and the most acute eye for beauty.”
Looking around while Erestor was speaking, he had seen more of the details that offered tentative demonstrations of an inherent love of nature. There were small carvings, made out in squares, adorning the foot of the bedstead. The posts at each corner bore spiralling vines, with birds worked in detail showing a peering head or a wing folded in rest. Under the bench in a wooden box, Glorfindel could just see scraps of wood and some tools, handles exposed and blades wrapped securely against accident and wear until wanted for use. Now he looked, he spotted a row of small animals, lined along the top of the presses.
Erestor looked about him, uncertain, tired, and overwhelmed by the visit. “I was thinking about a ride myself.”
Glorfindel let him go.
“We can pick some things up for you for the night later, if you prefer.”
Erestor fetched out his riding boots and a cloak, and changed into sturdier leggings than his house-wear. A loose shirt that did up securely for warmth at wrist and neck, and a tunic with slit skirts, completed his outfitting for a ride. He shrugged, and proceeded to gather also a clean nightshirt, and a casual set of lounging clothes to change into with soft leather slippers, and his preferred wash set with clean cloths, soap-oils, and creams.
Glorfindel smiled, as Erestor slipped these into a drawstring bag, and stood as if ready to leave, but Erestor, sliding him a sidelong look, saw no triumph or unseemly satisfaction, merely warm pleasure and approval.
Glorfindel walked easily beside him without talking, and took the bag from him at the stables, to hang on a hook in Asfaloth’s spacious stall. “No-one will touch it.”
He murmured a greeting to his horse, who evinced interest and increasing impatience at this late appearance – Asfaloth never tired of company and excursions.
Erestor breathed in the scent of the stables, and realized he had been wrong. Elrond’s second kindness had been to give him horses for his sole use, that he could consider ‘his’ even while they belonged to Elrond; his to befriend, his to get to know, his to enjoy as his own equine partner. This particular creature, Meren, was a lively seven year-old who retained all his youthful fire as if he were still a leggy two year-old colt. His enthusiastic character Erestor found to be a happy antidote to his own sober disposition when he emerged after being submerged in duties, confined to the house by work, if no other constraint, for days at a time.
He patted Meren, and murmured stupidities to him, and Meren whuffed in his ear agreeing to whatever inanities it pleased his rider to utter. In peaceful accord they communed, lost in the quiet of the evening until Glorfindel saw fit to recall them to his presence and Asfaloth’s. They waited in the generous aisle, pale stallion and golden lord, the horse impatient for a run, the lord amused at the picture the other two presented: dark hair merged with grey mane, Meren arching over Erestor’s head to reach his shoulders, lipping his hair and his ear, tickling Erestor who never complained, but reached a hand to rub a palm against the soft, eager nose. They were talking to each other, oblivious, elven murmur answered by breath and snort. Erestor leaned his forehead against the muscled grey neck as if he drew strength from the animal’s fëa. He probably did, reflected Glorfindel, remembering the loving, worshipful description of the stars and the gentle touch that caressed the budded twigs and shoots.
When Erestor emerged once more into the present moment, he found it none too dismaying. Glorfindel and Asfaloth were both ready, waiting on them questioningly. Erestor smiled suddenly – his smiles seemed always to appear suddenly out of the sombre, stark beauty that formed Erestor’s features. Glorfindel felt his heart thump. He smiled gently back.
They led Asfaloth and Meren outside to mount, the horses both more than willing to stretch their legs. Erestor felt his tension ease.
Elrond saw them go, and sighed. He had avoided busying himself. He had much to think on, disturbed anew by first one elf and then the other departing precipitately from both protocol and his presence, one distressed and one on the wings of righteous wrath. He could not remember when he had last been so rebuked.
End of Chapter Six
Tbc
Author's Chapter Notes:
Summary: Glorfindel invites Erestor out for the evening and proposes he stays elsewhere for the night.