The turmoil of the day, followed by the ride, left Erestor only too glad to wash and change, hungry at last and ready to share a meal. He went where Glorfindel led, suspecting his reasons for acquiescing were mixed and several. But there was indeed food, and wine and a fire, and the warmth was very welcome. The conversation turned lightly at first on minor matters – horses they had known, breeding Asfaloth, Meren’s endless fascination with chewing on leather. (Glorfindel had nearly lost a corner of his tunic to those voracious teeth, lingering to talk to Erestor while he settled Meren down for the night with a rub, and a pat, and a fresh bucket of water.) Glorfindel told Erestor about his acquisition of his stallion, and his naming after a long ago favourite of his father’s. Such pale grey in a young horse was rare; he had named the colt after his father’s racing prizewinner who had also displayed the rare silver white sheen that attracted so much admiration.
It had been inevitable that Glorfindel would eventually prompt Erestor on those matters Elrond had raised, enquiring with an open question what Erestor would care to tell.
Erestor eyed him over his wine thoughtfully, settled too comfortably by the fire to take his leave, and glad of the company. He let himself drift into memory, and out of the mire selected what was easiest to tell. His thoughts were far more detailed than he was willing to describe, but he could not stop the sorry history unfolding in his mind.
*** Maedhros’ Rule Maedhros’ Encampment 108 years before the End of the First Age ***
Erestor had been young when his mother had taken a new husband, and there followed in short order both a newborn child, and the death of this second father and husband. Weary of supporting an infant and a child on her own, and stricken with grief, she had sought out cousins of her husband for help. She had no family of her own.
Erestor had been asked his age by one of their new overlords, upon his mother’s welcome among her husband’s cousins. She and her family were taken in, distant though the connection through her husband’s family had been. Her second husband had a sister, and it was her husband that was blood-kin to the Fëanorians. Erestor’s answer was received with a touch that fell unexpectedly close and lingering. The amused look and knowing survey that accompanied it left him in no doubt of the thought the elven lord entertained, even though the caress avoided any overt sensuality. Erestor was thirty-eight.
Those touches did not cease in the years that passed, though they remained within ostensible bounds of what might be acceptable to an onlooker, since Maedhros had accepted them as family. Erestor knew better. Maglor’s eyes hid nothing. There was satisfaction and possessive acquisitiveness in those looks, and determination, as if a challenge was made to refuse, and be subjugated. Erestor hated it that nothing need be said on the matter. He need not even be told out loud, what would come to him. He learned to hate that silence, and the dark eyes that watched him. On his majority he would be claimed as of right, and he knew he would not say no. The natural changes that came upon him did not help. He learned to hide his feelings.
Maedhros knew his brother was conceived of a passionate desire for the incomer, and determined that the youth would at least be as indoctrinated as could be managed while he was young and impressionable. He was put to work – under the pretext of receiving an education – rather than being allowed to finish growing free under his mother’s roof. Even young as he was the high lord saw latent strength in this foreign youth, and warily prepared to indulge Maglor in his whim. Maglor was a strange being, utterly loyal, an unparalleled commander in the field, and normally demanded little, but he had fey moments, and was not to cross when he wanted something badly. And he wanted Erestor. So Maedhros made sure the mother was well treated, well provided for, and well off. Erestor was to be given powerful incentives to co-operate with both of the senior brothers, and just as effective reason to hesitate to rebel.
There was little Maedhros did not know about bringing pressure to bear, such that would render an elf malleable in his hands.
Finding Erestor was quick to learn, Maedhros gave him in fact the education he had offered, and Erestor took in all that was laid before him. Like recognized like, until Maedhros himself took him on, tutoring him rigorously or providing the best teachers; it was not easy on Erestor, but he barely noticed, absorbing an Age of knowledge his for the asking.
Maedhros made sure to keep Erestor a little on edge, a little uncertain, so that he would not become complacent, confident or arrogant, given that the strong interest his brother evinced showed no sign of waning. He gave his brother strictest orders not to spoil the youth. If Maglor did not change his mind, this stranger, no blood of theirs, would be too close to their affairs to trust lightly. Even the toron was no true blood relation, for the claim to cousinship was by marriage of the father’s sister. So their alien cousin must be bound tightly to them by other means, until such time as Maglor tired of him, if he ever did, for Erestor was very beautiful, very innocent, and wholly vulnerable, even while his penetrating intelligence missed nothing regarding the world about him. He watched them all, and Maglor would smile his smile. Erestor never failed to look away.
Caranthir and Curufin quickly caught on, and liked the game. As brilliant as Maedhros, but more idle, Caranthir was always ready for fresh sport. Curufin ever followed his lead. Unlike cool Maedhros, they enjoyed Erestor’s discomfort with a cruelty lacking in their elders, even Maglor, who was merely intent on his own ends. Wearied by wars that were no making of his, Maglor rarely put himself out, except in Maedhros’ service, where he gave without stint, wholly reliable. He watched the three of them, cynically amused, and let Erestor cope as he could, bearing in mind his brother’s orders not to spoil him.
When the two younger brothers joined in with the double-edged inclusion of Erestor among them, welcoming him yet keeping him in his place, always slightly unsure, with edged teasing and subtle put-downs, Erestor, though he might not like what transpired at their hands, had not been surprised. He had seen their like in his short life already, children his own age who liked to bully, adults with an edge of cruelty that showed too readily in times of upheaval and war. He turned to his studies, and time with his family, for what comfort he could find.
Maedhros’ machinations were assisted by Erestor’s affection for his mother, which never dimmed. Maedhros cynically encouraged frequent visits, though from the first, seeing where the wind lay, he had had Erestor fostered in own household. He had claimed that without his atar or his wife’s new husband to guide him, Erestor would only benefit by the arrangement, under-age though he was. Maedhros also made sure to bless the friendship with his brother once the infant grew old enough. Erestor adored his toron. He perforce settled into unquestioning allegiance, seeing his mother well and happy, as well as being brought up to compliance from before he was old enough to feel anything for himself about intimate matters.
Maglor had indeed taken him on the day of his majority; the younger brothers had followed a few years later, inveigling their elder to share after a decorous delay for his sole use of the virgin. While the three of them pleased their whims with him by night, and the younger brothers went on teasing him casually in idle moments by day, Maedhros insisted he give every bit of his skill to help his overlord. Erestor showed no signs of diminishing his obedient submission to the four of them. In turn, Maedhros grew used to his fine intelligence, and gave him a generous allowance, though he made sure never to let Erestor grow self-satisfied or confident.
As time passed, especially after Avernien, he came to take for granted that Erestor’s close presence among them was permanent – and trustworthy. Erestor proved so apt to the tasks allotted him, that Maedhros gave him increasing access to his secrets as the years passed, for Maedhros grew to want his opinion on any matter of moment.
Maglor, the cause of all this, at times was sorry for what he had done, realizing quite early what Maedhros intended when he saw Erestor bite his lip at some slight, doubt himself at another put-down, growing ever quieter as the years passed. Of course, he himself was not helping, and Caranthir had always been bad news. But he was not willing to give him up, and the fine-boned youth lost none of his pale good looks under Maedhros’ domineering control. His apparent frailty only enhanced his appeal when Caranthir started on his games, and Maglor, watching, guilty, was too beguiled to put a stop to it. He contented himself with comforting the youth when they were alone together, treating him kindly once once his own needs had been met.
He let his elder and his Heru have his way.
Indeed, what threatened Maedhros was ever in grave danger, and Maglor did not want that for Erestor. Best he learn his submission, and enjoy good treatment while keeping his place safely. Maglor even, moved by quick glances and blushing shyness, made sure that he gave as well as took pleasure, insisting on it even when the other was embarrassed by Maglor’s demands and inventive practices.
One further thing he did for Erestor. Thinking it would do his spirits good in a way Maedhros could not complain of, and that it would benefit Erestor to spend time outside, as well widening his acquaintance outside the brothers’ close-knit and far older circles, he put Erestor to train with a picked selection from among his fighters, chosen from among the most skilled but younger elves.
To his surprise, Erestor took to knife, sword and bow with a grim determination that made Maglor slightly uneasy; the dark-haired determined fighter Erestor became on the field bore little resemblance to the quiet-spoken, fair clad elf who graced his table and his bed with his beauty. Erestor seemingly never minded how many bruises he took in his pursuit of these fighting skills. His trainers, who chose at first to be entertained by their lord’s pretty companion, and were indulgently casual to begin with toward him, began to take seriously his desire to learn when Erestor landed his first blow, painfully hard, by breaking through a careless guard. He paid for it, with a sound set of bruises in response while he tried and failed to sustain his defence against a punitive counter-attack. He limped back to Maglor’s tent that night and regretted his success when Maglor laughed and took him anyway, amused by the story but not inclined to leave him in peace to rest his aches and pains.
Erestor went back the next day, and the commander of the training group took matters in hand, having no wish for their lord’s chosen companion to come to harm, young as he was. Erestor received plenty more bruises, but no longer in retaliation for his successes under the commander’s strict eye. Maedhros watched, from a distance, but did not interfere. Erestor was sixty, and had yet to come into his full strength in the way of elves below their first century.
*** Imladris 1498 T.A.***
To the accompaniment of hissing logs and fragrant spiced wine, Glorfindel was offered, hesitantly, and severely censored, the barest bones of this history, in fits and starts, with many lapses into long silence in which the fire kept them company and the two elves sat over their hot wine, occasionally replenishing it and reheating it with the poker. Glorfindel was making no attempt to seduce Erestor into drinking more than he wanted, which Erestor found slightly reassuring. When the silence went on so long that Glorfindel thought the other had finally come to the end of his confidences, Erestor would once more stir, look up briefly from the flames as if to assess his companion’s mood and reaction so far, and then as if almost hypnotised by the quiet regard would say on.
Though Erestor went into little detail, more could be guessed by his audience. No, this listener who had seen Beleriand fall into destruction by the sword and by madness, could read very fluently between the lines, especially since Fëanor and his sons had been known to him, notorious even before murder and theft cast them onto the path to ruin. Glorfindel picked up barely revealed clues, the younger brother, the lack of means, the premature interest evinced by Maglor. Glorfindel asked Erestor’s age when his mother turned to the Noldo for help, and saw his eyes flinch when he answered, the face quickly hidden by shadow as he looked away, even a rounding of his shoulders, as if to draw less attention and so be ignored.
The rest of the story, the unfolding tragedy of the years ahead, which in Erestor’s case had found their end under Elrond’s oversight, or at least what crumbs of clues Erestor might tentatively cast before him, must wait for another time. Glorfindel was under no illusion he had had the full tale.
They subsided into easier conversation, neither in a hurry to retire. Erestor draped his limbs at ease, curiously relaxed, a state Glorfindel had barely ever seen in him. Erestor was innocent entirely of the enhanced effect of his sprawl on his potent allure. Fully alive to the appeal of fine features absorbed in study of the leaping flames, lips parted to release a sigh of tired comfort, or at times forming a small smile which curved a mobile mouth more used to framing analyses and plans, Glorfindel doubted there was better to come in the further details. Erestor had come under the brothers’ influence early, and Galadriel would not have set him here without reason.
End of Chapter Seven
Tbc
Author's Chapter Notes:
Summary: A fire-side story of times past.