Yours For A Song
Title: Yours For A Song 4/9
Author: Hare (harefic@yahoo.com)
Fandom: LOTR
Type: FCS
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Can I choose to proclaim, rather than disclaim? Hear ye, Hear ye--they are not mine!
Timeline: Present day is Imladris Third Age, years 1973-1975. All flashbacks are in Gondolin First Age, years 505-510.
Warning: AU, angst, sex, kink that some might consider non-con, h/c, romance, sap and cookies…though not necessarily in that order.
Beta: Chaotic_Binky and Erviniae…simply the best.
Dedication: To Chaotic_Binky, Erviniae, and Weepingnaiad…my own archipelago of lovelies (for no writer is an island) who keep my tiny pond of our fandom silly, fun, and refreshingly kinky.
Author's Note: Hello, my name is Hare and I am a hopeless romantic. Seriously, I have exploded the sap-o-meter on this one! You are thusly warned, and I am resolved of any consequences should you choose to read. I am grateful to whoever put together the Elf Fetish website and name generator. Special thanks to Svengalliedhare, my niece and poetess extraordinaire for the songs and poem found within but the eagles and swans are all mine! Though I didn’t plan it this story is connected in a vaguely cosmic parallel universe way to several of my other Erestor/Glorfindel tales. Caveat lector!
Summary: What happens when Erestor discovers his well ordered, fully planned life is nothing of the sort?
Chapter 4
Imladris, III 1974
Erestor faced the looking glass and a stranger peered back at him; face ironed flat and empty, intensely unreadable. He had waited for millennia, constantly craning his head for a glimpse down the road, a road on which he now knew no one would ever come. His life would continue, surrounded by dark emptiness and silence. A soft agonized sound rending in its quiet hopelessness, slipped through his open lips, and he cocked his head. This stranger, this new him would not survive for how could anyone live such a desperate and horribly lonely existence? Death would be a mercy.
Irritated, he blinked away the gathering moisture and stared. The crinkled strands of hair to the side of his face annoyed him, and a huffed *tsk* filled the room. That noise a hauntingly normal one of his before-today life, disquieting in its place yet still appropriate for this new him. He would take this sound with him, one of the few reminders of who he once was.
Suddenly frantic, he dashed for the bathing room and dunked his head in the sink basin, water dripped onto his tunic, soaking it, and Erestor trembled. Then he ran back to the mirror. He pulled and tugged at the strands of hair, struggling to force it straight, but they refused to cooperate, he could hear their cries, “Erestor, please!” begging him to listen, coercing him to stop and retie the love knot.
“Nay!” he screeched at his reflection knowing he would never heed that voice again. Erestor’s hand shot forward and punched the glass. The shattered remains fell to the ground painted with blood and when he looked into the mirror once more, what flashed back was not whole. He was broken into pieces, half of him missing, the part which had balanced his life and tilted it toward everything good. He pulled in a shaky breath against the aching absence of the sense of rightness now gone. In one significant blink of an eye that glimmer of warmth inside him died, extinguished forever.
He reached down and retrieved an ugly, jagged shard. And then he sawed at his hair, removing the offending strands of hair, gleeful in his dominance, but so short-lived as resentment, helplessness and despair entwined and spiraled around him, jostling for priority. Snarling and snapping they danced and circled, unwanted guests from his horrifying surprise party. The glass fell from his wounded hands. Curiously detached he held them up to his eyes. Rivulets of red streamed through the valleys and bumps of his skin, pulsing onward with each miserable beat of his heart. He turned them downward and stood counting the insignificant crimson droplets as they plummeted and splattered upon the sparkling clean floor.
A low agonized groan greeted the knowledge that his finger, where the ring had once encircled it, was indented and whiter than the surrounding skin. Frantic he turned round and round, then scurried through his quarters searching. He halted near a potted plant and jammed his fingers into the soil. Erestor scrubbed and scoured the area until it glowed red with irritation and tiny red spots bloomed with each rub. Dirt embedded itself under his skin and turned what had been pure white to dark inflamed smudges. His hands ached but he threw a spiteful glare at them and a smug smile froze stiffly upon his lips, a slight lifting of an awful weight from this purge of his past and the brief triumph of euphoric self-righteousness.
“I shall never wash until the taint of that cursed ring is removed,” Erestor vowed to himself.
Unable to stay still, he crept around each room, fright gripped him and he cringed and startled at each shadow. Alone. He pressed his hands tightly against his ears, but the interlopers surged through the door of his mind, taunting him, fawning over his punishment, unwanted he railed at them. Hopeless. He flailed at the air. Suffering. He struck out at torment, but it kept coming and buried him. Abandoned. Forsaken. Deserted. Destitute. Lost. Alone. Alone. Alone.
Groans of horror issued forth from deep inside him and gasps bent him double. All the hurt, all the anger, all the lost passion broke free and he tumbled to the ground.
Huge waves of pain and anger sliced through him, and the tears came immersing him. Terrible harsh sounds of grief tore from his throat. The flood had arrived and it was unstoppable. He suffocated in it; the tide pulled on him, an undertow of black rage and grief. He could not tread the water, nay he wanted to drown, slip into the darkened depths, and choke away the terror until he floated free and weightless and unfeeling.
Erestor wrapped trembling arms around his chest, folded inward, and pulled himself inside. His face buried in his knees muffled the strange high voice coming from him. Unheeded words, words that melted into a shrill caustic keening sound turned into a long wordless cry as it unrolled from him. A blossoming pain, of thorny grief, spiked through him then plunged downward centering on his gut, before exploding to a heavy leaden numbness that rooted him in place. The anguished sounds uninterrupted as warm tears spilled down his cheeks.
He mourned the death of love.
Glorfindel. He was the answer to everything Erestor had ever needed, contained in one elf. He had done his best to be happy without him, knowing they would be reunited in Valinor. Erestor had trusted, for the first time someone not within his family, had thought he wisely unraveled the eternal mystery of loving someone. Glorfindel - friend, trusted confidant, trusted lover, and trusted partner – now his vile nemesis and irrevocably dead, along with Erestor’s hope for ever trusting anyone again.
Finally, tearless and empty, he laid motionless on the cold, hard floor, staring off at a focused spot of nothingness. Celebratory noises, music, singing, laughter and gaiety filtered through the windows and into his silent room. None of it touched him, it repelled away from the lone carrier of grief in Imladris. The light grew and faded, and the sounds of the day, and then dusk, and then night, which turned back to day, filtered through his locked door. Once, twice, numerous times he heard the door handle rattle but no one called out for him. No one came for him. It took strength to care about others and Erestor knew his was gone. No one cared for him. That he could reciprocate.
Necessity finally forced him upward, and he weaved his way on awkward feet toward his bathing chamber and a drink of water. His hands shook so badly he spilled most of the liquid but managed enough to slake his raging thirst. Why then did he still feel so drained? His belly flopped and heaved with what seemed the pain of tender thorns that still tore at his insides. Grief faded a bit and made way for shame. His face flared hot, and he felt the idiot. All these years planning out a future with Glorfindel reborn and awaiting his arrival in Valinor, while Glorfindel still lived in Middle Earth and took a lover, or lovers, and created a family that did not include him.
As another black night engulfed his rooms he found himself wandering around his quarters. He had done his best to be satisfied with life. Over the Ages he had become a new creature, a stronger one, performing work that meant something, not catering to his base whimsical nature. But he still craved a certain connection, a certain touch. He had learned how to love Glorfindel, now he needed to learn how to live without him. Surely one day, it might not matter that Glorfindel had abandoned him, had not cared enough to even try and contact him. He smiled grimly at that absurd thought.
Fatigue hit him, finally, and shut down all thoughts but of sleep. He staggered to the bed and slumped upon it. Erestor woke only once that night, he dreamed that Glorfindel slept beside him, but awoke and saw only the empty cold space to his left.
~o0o~
Erestor heard the thumping upon his door well before he woke fully. It was the screaming voice that finally pulled him completely from slumber.
“Open this door immediately, Erestor or I will order it hacked to pieces and you will remain doorless until I decide otherwise!”
Lord Elrond, master of inspiration and clever manipulator of emotions, demanded entrance. The very skills that made him such a superior ruler were the things Erestor feared. But, a product of conditioning since birth, Erestor could not deny his lord.
Reluctantly he unlocked and swung open the door and moved aside for Elrond. But after closing the door he did not get far for Elrond was immediately upon him and inspecting his hands.
“What have you done?”
He heard the concern in his lord’s voice but ignored it, struggling instead to keep from stumbling as he was dragged into his bathing chamber.
“Sit, do not move.” Elrond investigated his injuries and then left. Erestor sat obediently, he had nowhere to go.
When Elrond finally bustled back in, the stench of healing ointments followed. Erestor promptly fell to the floor and retched. He tried to shrug off Elrond’s soothing hand rubbing his back. But it was such a familiar touch, something his brother had always done to calm him; he ceased moving and leaned into it. When Erestor rose from his knees, Elrond removed his robe, put him back on the chair and ran a wet flannel over his face.
“I should have come sooner, Erestor. But I thought you could use the time alone to process what has occurred. I was wrong, and I am sorry, dear friend.” Elrond babbled away as he soaked the flannel in fresh water, rung it out and reached for Erestor’s hands.
But Erestor leaned far back in his seat and shoved them underneath his tunic.
Elrond’s face turned stern. “I do not request permission, Erestor. Give me your hands.”
Hesitantly, Erestor extended them for inspection and Elrond gently washed and explored every small cut, and removed several small slivers of glass before he exhaled a great sigh.
“Minor damage, only. Will you tell me how they came to be this way?”
Erestor shook his head.
“Nay?” Elrond explored his face and as he caught Erestor’s glance his encouraging smile dimmed several notches, becoming more contemplative.
“As you wish. Let us get your hands into the bucket and cleaned before I apply the cream.” Elrond produced a slab of rough foul-smelling soap, scrubbed Erestor’s hands and then slathered on several ointments. His hands glistened and throbbed and kept time with Elrond’s patter. He ignored what he could, concentrating instead on his right index finger. He could still see a faint delineation and he itched to dirty it again.
“…and I will not allow you to close yourself off. Erestor? Erestor!”
He remained passive, withdrawn, staring over at the far wall.
“How can I help you if you will not tell me what you need, what you want?”
“What I want?” Erestor’s attention snapped back and he sat up rigid and straight, outraged that he even had to explain. His voice rang raw in the air and ugly, which satisfied him in a grim way.
“I am humiliated. He has made a mockery of what we shared, purposefully hiding away from me, forging ahead with a new life and creating a family. What do I want? I want all of this to have never happened. I want him to have died and been reborn in Valinor. I want him to be waiting for me there, to be my lover exclusively. I want my future back!”
Thoroughly worn down, Erestor could not sustain his tirade for long. He slumped back down into the chair and whispered.
“I cannot go on.”
“But you will go on, and you will face him. I have spent the last two days threatening Glorfindel away from your quarters. Only was I successful in diverting his attention, for a brief moment away from you, as I spoke to him of the asset he will be to Imladris. Glorfindel refused at first, convinced that those evil forces, once learning of his presence here, would focus their efforts towards him, and he would never put Imladris in danger’s way, especially now when he intends to court you again.”
Erestor shifted uncomfortably in the chair, but Elrond continued on.
“He has finally agreed to take his rightful duties at the head of our warriors. Glorfindel has stirred up more excitement and joy in Imladris than I have ever witnessed.”
Elrond looked up from his work. “Except here, in this room, in the one elf he desires to see happy.”
If Elrond expected an answer, Erestor was determined that he be sorely disappointed for he had nothing further to say on this subject.
“He was found outside your door, on two separate occasions, attempting to gain entrance. I ordered him to be dragged away, and I nearly ordered him locked in a room. Instead I spoke to him further and he told me everything, Erestor. His love for you --.”
“Nay, stay seated!” Elrond pulled him back down.
“You grieve for naught, for you have lost nothing, Erestor. Instead you have him back. He is here and waits, very impatiently, to speak with you. It is time, my friend. I know your instinct is to panic and lash out but you must exercise some patience, remember the trust you two once shared. You can create or destroy, the decision is yours.”
Erestor shrugged his shoulders, making it clear he did not care, though destruction seemed the better option at the moment. Elrond, in turn, sighed again and Erestor sensed the frustration. He allowed himself to be led out to his lounge room and onto a more comfortable chair. Elrond fussed over him, ordered food be brought immediately and hovered over him as he ate. Erestor trembled when his lord took out his knife and gently evened the ragged cut of his hair.
And then Elrond did the one thing Erestor dreaded. He gathered him near for an embrace. Erestor’s fists clenched the back of Elrond’s robe and his chest heaved as he fought frantically to regain control.
"Shhh," Elrond whispered softly. "Close your eyes. Breathe, Erestor nice and slow. You have faced harder times, larger and messier and more complicated problems. This crisis shall pass, I promise."
Elrond rubbed his back, nudged at the tension, tried to soothe it away. Erestor thought he had dispelled his grief in one giant purge, but suddenly his breath hitched and scalding tears coursed down his face again, as though there was an endless supply. Elrond cupped the back of Erestor’s neck and pulled him close. Erestor buried his face in the comforting shoulder. The sobs lurched rhythmically through his body and for a long time he struggled, but gradually, Erestor began to calm.
Abruptly Erestor pushed away from Elrond, stood, stepped back and felt the sting of new tears in his eyes. He reached up and impatiently pinched them away.
“Give me a moment to ready myself.” He startled at the brittleness in his voice.
Elrond merely nodded and walked out of Erestor’s quarters into the hallway.
Once again Erestor stood before the looking glass, as he shrugged off his clothing. The skin beneath his eyes stretched and pink where he had scrubbed the tears away. His hands dotted with a multitude of tiny red cuts. Bruised marks had blossomed upon his upper left arm, a perfect impression of where Glorfindel’s fingertips had frantically gripped him. But he could feel no outrage only a dull, listless sadness as he joined Elrond in the corridor.
Anor blazed fiercely through every window they passed, and Erestor hated it. Too bright and cheerful, and he resented the pale blue sky, clear of clouds; a perfectly gorgeous day replete with the sounds of the ongoing Mereth Tui festival. He purposefully ignored the celebration decorations and instead focused his attention to the floor ahead of him as he walked with Elrond. His breath was heavy, with a frantic edge, a creep of panic, like the air had disappeared.
Glorfindel sprang to his feet when Erestor, followed by Elrond, entered the room. His deep blue eyes, and their clear regard, pierced Erestor and he quickly glanced toward the hearth. Erestor preferred being the first to turn away.
They sat at opposite ends of a long table but Erestor could still smell him, the haunting scent from long ago. He finally looked up when Glorfindel spoke, eyes impossibly bluer against his flushed skin. Glorfindel sounded breathless and overwhelmed, and Erestor relaxed for the fight.
“I did come here for Lindir, after his mother died. His safety is of great importance to me, and as an adult he needs to be introduced to elven society.”
“Fine, you came here for your son. That explanation is enough for me. Good day.”
Glorfindel exploded from his chair when Erestor rose. Erestor tracked the trembling hand that Glorfindel swiped backwards across his head, as if he had forgotten he had no hair.
“I…I want to explain further. Why I stayed away but I have a hard time explaining it to myself. If you will sit, please, and listen, I will try.”
Glorfindel pleading and stuttering was too much. Erestor turned from the sight, even now the rough and complex hues of Glorfindel’s voice threatened to sooth him, and even with one hideously deformed, he could not shake the memories of those sure hands. But his memories were no match for the frustrated fury that consumed him, as he once again looked upon Glorfindel. Erestor’s breathing went uneven and ragged, and his face twisted up with anguish.
“With how many did you share your body?”
“They did not matter!” Glorfindel pounded the table on that last word. “Only you, Erestor. No one else.”
Glorfindel's comment dashed over him like cool thrown water. “You hypocrite! For years you fretted over my behavior and whether I would stray! I felt your suspicious eyes and those of your sister’s, constantly upon me.” His voice had risen sharply and he was almost shouting.
“Nay!” Glorfindel denied, but Erestor cut off his next words with a challenge.
“And Lindir’s mother, did she matter?”
Guilty silence hung between them and Glorfindel glanced at him with terrifyingly vulnerable eyes. They both said nothing and the nothing grew.
Erestor hardened, remaining unmoved while his stomach twisted into knots, but he could not look away. Rage, fierce and bitter erupted into choking bile that stung his throat. Palms down on the table, Erestor leaned forward menacingly.
“I have floated through these last five thousand, nine hundred and ninety-seven years, nine months, six weeks and three days without you! And you return from a lie, only to lie again. Enough!!” He yelled furiously hoping to mask the overwhelming ache at the hurt he suffered. Unable to continue he stalked from the room.
“Then it is time I teach you how to swim again!” Glorfindel’s final words chased him through the corridor.
~o0o~
He had burned a trench in the floor, that night and every night since the first meeting with Glorfindel, walking back and forth, fretting. Erestor spent most evenings alone, shifting nervously through his quarters or calming a heart that tripped with glee at the mere thought of Glorfindel so near. It all put him out of sorts and irritable.
Even as the months passed, and Glorfindel easily found his way back into elvish society, Erestor’s own peace remained shattered. Everyone accepted Glorfindel’s leadership and solicited his advice, including Lord Elrond.
After taking his place as the Captain of all Lord Elrond’s soldiers, a title with responsibilities gladly transferred to him by the adoring officers, Glorfindel began a rigorous training schedule for himself and all the warriors. Glorfindel had also taken the commander’s seat in those sessions when his presence was necessary, which turned out to be practically every counseling session. In one awe inspiring moment he had accomplished what Elrond and his sons and Erestor had been unable to do. The Mirkwood representatives agreed to every proposal for troops and monitoring of the roads between the realms. And all departed shortly thereafter, to outline the agreements to their lords or king.
Glorfindel’s quick solution was fortuitous, as by late summer word came that the Witch-king had finally triumphed and Fornost was lost. Every realm, committed to the effort, was charged with orders to be ready to march directly after the newest year. But Imladris, now under Glorfindel’s command had already been preparing and training for over five months.
Every day, every single day without exception Glorfindel quietly entered Erestor’s office to speak. At first, Erestor had pushed him out the door, screaming at him, complaining to Lord Elrond, Lady Celebrķan, anyone who would listen, and he insisted on guards. All to no avail. No one entertained his pleas; his demands were labeled petty and unnecessary. Nay, they insisted he must deal with this on his own. They counseled Erestor to listen, open himself. Even pompous, arrogant Haldir, before leaving for home, had approached him with soft, beseeching words, concerned for Erestor’s well-being.
Mad! They were all crazed with their hero worship of Glorfindel. He had convinced himself of this, and through it all Glorfindel always came. Day after day, no matter Erestor’s scheme for being absent from his office, Glorfindel would find him, would introduce some topic for conversation, say things he did not want to hear.
Erestor knew the ploy, knew Glorfindel sought to wear him down with words and his presence. He had lost track of the number of times he had to will his heart to slow when he caught Glorfindel watching him over the rim of his mug. His heart leapt at the mere thought when Glorfindel raised a suggestive eyebrow, or the night he had seen him through his office window, Ithil’s light spilling over his unmarred face and accentuating the perfect nose and soft curve of his mouth. For a long moment he had just stared at him, feeling a peculiar softening in his gut, even though he had vowed to never ever succumb to that vain faint hope of loving Glorfindel again.
~o0o~
Today, finally, Glorfindel was immersed in observing how the borders surrounding Imladris were monitored. Erestor knew he had departed sometime this morning and would not return until dawn the next day. So he spent his time freely, working with counselor Berengardh, finally completing a variety of projects he previously had not the focus of concentration upon. Just knowing Glorfindel would not be around lifted a heavy burden.
But he had foolishly forgotten about Glorfindel’s son, whereas Lindir had obviously not forgotten about him. For when Erestor left the dining hall that evening, Lindir was immediately by his side matching his pace, talking at him, desperately rambling.
“How can you know anything about his reasons? You never listen to him, do you? You carry on and rail against his betrayal yet you have no idea why he stayed away from you.
“He never for a moment believed he would survive his injuries, and in his muddled confused state he directed the eagle to fly him somewhere he could die in peace. He felt he would be a burden, that you and Lady Berendes would commit too much time caring for him when haste was necessary. Your party needed no further burdens, he was dying, and when he was left in a human village, graced with a skilled healer, he still spent weeks screaming from the pain of the burns. It wracked him so completely he was unable to do anything but suffer. Your party would not have survived with him present and you know this.
“Have you never wondered why he named me Lindir? Are you not the slightest bit curious why? The Singer, Songmaster. I am named after you, and he sang to me all the songs you wrote. With pride he taught me your craft, and I came to love you too.”
By this time, Lindir was shouting at him from a distance but Erestor closed his ears and ran an old song through his head as he darted away to his rooms. He refused to believe any of the words spoken by Lindir. The jealousy, present since he first knew of Lindir’s parentage, sparked through him alive and vicious, and Erestor found he wanted nothing more than to pummel him to the ground. Let him experience the agony Erestor felt daily. And that face. He needed to alter it, damage it completely; for Lindir looked like the younger Glorfindel he knew in Gondolin, so alike it distressed him thoroughly. It served as another painful reminder of his lost love.
So he ran and seethed. This spawn of Glorfindel’s, who would always bask in the warmth of the unconditional love of his ada, who would always be held close and kept safe, who would never be abandoned, who had taken his place in the center of Glorfindel’s universe; he was an aggravating little toad, just like his ada, persistent, sure of himself, and head-strong.
Grateful for the safety of his quarters, Erestor flung open the door and rushed inside. He secured the door with the lock; something he had begun since that first horrible night he had confronted Glorfindel.
Stripping off his clothing, Erestor stalked into the bathing chamber. Tonight he needed a cold cleansing wash before attempting sleep. He reached for the bucket full of water and saw a movement out of the corner of his eye. Startled he ducked into a defensive crouch, and then wide-eyed with surprise he slowly stood and warily moved toward a small glass bowl displayed prominently on a shelf where he stored his wash flannels.
Curious he picked it up and gazed at the sight within. It contained a colorful, tiny fish that swam around in brief spurts of speed before lying motionless on the small rocks on the bottom. It appeared to contemplate him briefly before flitting off to a position furthest away from his peering face. It’s strikingly tinted fins of deep blues, brilliant reds and bright oranges, its striped body markings of varying hues of blue and its light blue cheek patches sparked a long repressed memory.
He trembled so severely that he quickly placed the bowl back on the ledge and stepped away from it. Erestor recognized the fish as a rainbow darter, a species he had been introduced to by his ada. They had fascinated him so thoroughly that from childhood through his days in Gondolin, he caught and kept hundreds in large glass containers, studying their behavior, relaxing from long days while watching them frolic.
Glorfindel had done this; only he knew of his love for fish and of the memory it would trigger. Purposefully he had left this little momentous gift. Erestor understood the implications and resented the intrusion. Glorfindel had dared come, uninvited to his rooms! Had dared to defy Erestor’s edicts to stay away!
He remained rooted to the spot vacillating from anger, to awe, and back to anger. Around and around his thoughts swirled, until he noticed the small slip of paper that had obviously fallen off the shelf onto the floor.
Erestor hesitated. At this moment, he grudgingly desired a look at the writing on that paper more than any desire before. Only briefly did he contemplate allowing it to stay undisturbed until Gwennuial disposed of it tomorrow during her cleaning. Instead he huffed, disgusted by his lack of will, bent over and snatched up the paper.
It contained but one line.
“My heart swims in your brilliant colors as I recall questing lips soothing my aching hand…”
Unable to prevent it, his mind slipped away to another Age.
*flashback*
Gondolin, I 505
Tingling and wet from a naked frolic in the water, Erestor now laid flat on his back upon the cool, muddy bank. He dangled lazy feet in the stream and rhythmically moved them back and forth. His head was turned slightly north and the spongy moss tickled his left ear. A frond leaf, folded neatly between his teeth, emitted squeaks with each exhalation. High wispy clouds, painted on a background of brilliant blue, raced overhead yet only a gently breeze nudged him.
Erestor’s arms swung around as he conducted the noises of nature, the rise and fall of the insects humming, the distant roar of the fountains of Amon Gwareth, the stream gurgling, the birds chirping, and the occasional snuffle of some hidden predator. His feet kicked up a column of water on each crescendo and he laughed for no reason. Inhaling deeply he then spit out his impromptu instrument and declared the day, “perfect!” to the air.
When not performing or writing a new piece this was the place he preferred, surrounded by nothing that roamed on two legs. The symphony completed to his satisfaction, he tucked both hands behind his head and squirmed around to find a good sleeping position. Unfortunately, the creek bank did not cooperate so he reached under his left buttock to dislodge the pebble that had been poking him. Once found, he lobbed it into the creek.
“Ouch!”
Erestor bolted into a sitting position and looked around. No one was near, yet a grumbling voice and splashing sounds drifted by from downstream. Curious, and a tad annoyed with the intrusion, he slid down the bank, entered the stream and waded towards the noise.
He rounded a slight bend and came upon Lord Glorfindel or Lord Glorious as Erestor and his close friends secretly referred to him; for who did not lust after the golden lord and dream of capturing his heart? He softly laughed at that thought. Erestor had never desired Lord Glorfindel’s heart. Nay his dreams centered on that which was currently on display, his perfectly proportioned hind end and the tantalizing pleasure hidden between.
Leaders and warriors held no appeal for him. A soft and compliant body, those who craved being commanded, enjoyed his attentions. He cared not what they possessed between their legs nor if they were elf or human…or a dwarf, for that matter! Erestor smiled wickedly. Following his linguist brother around Middle Earth had led to his one drunken encounter with a dwarf. To this day he was unsure if he had bedded a male or a female.
Of course now, hemmed in by the walls of Gondolin his choices were somewhat limited, and he still regretted the fear that had forced him to agree to such a restricted life.
Obviously unaware of Erestor’s scrutiny, Glorfindel remained bent over a small net filled with tiny wiggling fish and occasionally, for no apparent reason, he shook his right hand. Erestor pushed the musings from his head, briefly hesitated enjoying the view for a bit longer before he kicked a spray of water towards the lord. Glorfindel, clearly startled, hastily straightened and turned at the same time. The action caused his feet to slip on the rocks of the creek bed and he fell hard upon his backside.
Another, “ouch!” burst forth.
“My Lord!” Erestor rushed forward and assisted Glorfindel in standing. “Are you injured?”
Glorfindel winced and rubbed both hands over his bottom, “Only my pride, Songmaster. But that shall heal. I think.”
He hesitated and narrowed his eyes at Erestor. “But I will be very displeased if this incident surfaces in one of your bardic lyrics.”
“Um, well Lord Glorfindel. Oh! Look!” he quickly pointed to the net and the current escape of several of the small fish.
“Nay!!” Glorfindel lunged for his prey, but fell short, and the surge of water pushed it further out of his reach. Erestor ran forward swiftly, but with dainty steps to avoid slipping. He grabbed the net and hauled it upward triumphantly, only to have it snatched from his hands.
Frantically, Glorfindel dragged himself out of the water and plunked his catch on the muddy bank.
“Oh, nay. Nay! An entire afternoon’s work for naught!”
Glorfindel reached for several of the creatures that had fallen out onto the ground.
“Ouch!” he screamed. “The little bugger stung me in the exact same place as the last one.”
Erestor watched amazed as Glorfindel did a frenzied dance of pain, his right hand flapping frantically. He sat beside the bag of fish and bowed his head between his knees so Glorfindel would not see his wide grin. Unfortunately he could not stop his body from shaking with mirth.
“Do you find this amusing, Songmaster?”
He lifted his head and Glorfindel stood directly in front of him, his right hand cradled protectively against his body but the rest of him shone with aggression. Helpless to prevent it, one last snort of delight escaped him before he could force a serious expression upon his face.
“Never, my Lord. But I do question your sanity.”
“You what?!”
Erestor turned absolutely sober when Glorfindel stalked towards him. He scrambled to his feet and held out his hands, placating for calm.
“Just a moment, hear me out,” Erestor pointed at Glorfindel’s net. “Why in all the Valar’s names are you catching madtoms?”
“Mad Toms?”
“Aye, madtoms. These small, wriggly, dully-colored creatures with the vicious barbs.”
Erestor picked one up by the tail to illustrate his point.
“You do realize they are highly aggressive --.”
Glorfindel cut him off. “Aye, obviously now I do! But these fish are called Ulmo’s Delight.”
Erestor could only gape at him. “Who told you that?” he finally asked, incredulous.
“My sister,” and immediately upon speaking those words, understanding sparked in Glorfindel’s eyes and his fists clenched. “That minx! That conniving wench!”
He collapsed to the ground and ran his uninjured left hand over his tired face. Erestor sat beside him. Glorfindel’s hair was close, and Erestor could brush his face into the edge of paradise, if he leaned but a few scant inches. His nose peeled away layers of elanor, sage, lemon grass and heather, the glorious scents of a glorious elf.
Glorfindel sighed loudly and broke Erestor’s enchantment, “You do know she is heavy with her first child?”
“Aye,” Erestor answered. Everyone in Gondolin knew to stay well clear of Lady Berendes these past few months. Her outbursts had increased in ferocity with each passing month of pregnancy.
“For weeks she has whined to me about a craving for these delicate fish. Over and over she spoke of them and described to me what they looked like. She listed dozens of recipes in which they could be prepared but particularly waxed on about how marvelous they tasted when pickled. She vowed she would perish if I did not personally venture out to this stream and pluck one hundred for her consumption. Her personal healer even swore to me that Berendes needed these for her continued well-being during the pregnancy.”
Erestor congratulated himself on staying completely serious and quiet during the explanation. It was also a well known fact that Glorfindel and his sister Berendes had a long history of perpetrating these types of pranks upon each other. But Glorfindel’s remarks invited parry.
“Pulling fish from the sea is my ada’s life work, Lord Glorfindel, and I can assure you that in all my long years I have never heard of one called Ulmo’s Delight. Nay this is a madtom, named for Iarwain Ben-adar, or as men call him, Tom Bombadil. We elves name them kiril fish, but I prefer madtom for it is a more accurate description. But these fish, instead of cowing folk with words and songs, sting with venomous barbs. In the end the outcome is the same, all bend to their will. Still, I must confess to amazement at your prowess, my lord. I have never seen so many madtoms captured with such minor injury.”
Glorfindel lifted his eyebrows at that statement and swept his eyes down to his bleeding right hand.
Erestor grinned. “Aye, you have escaped relatively unscathed considering.”
And he reached out and gently pulled Glorfindel’s right hand toward him. A frisson of previously unfelt feelings coursed through him at that simple touch, a nagging tingle buzzed in his head, and they gasped in unison. Something beyond mere desire began to stir, unwanted by Erestor and he struggled to keep it unnamed. Yet, a new question was born in that surprising moment and it loomed unanswered.
Their eyes steady in perfect yet unnerving understanding, Erestor gently licked the wounds clean as his head pounded with scattered thoughts. Glorfindel finally broke contact by scrambling backwards and pulled his thumb from Erestor’s mouth. Glorfindel faced him, panted heavily for a few brief moments before he rose and fled from the river.
Erestor sat for a long time, and then decidedly he rose, went directly to his quarters and did write a song about their adventure, before he banished it completely from his mind.
*end flashback*
Erestor chuckled at the memory. He had been so bold then, prone to outrageous actions. He knew something special had occurred, but had categorized the incident as nothing more than a chance encounter and a lost opportunity to bed the golden lord of Gondolin, just a delicious lick and an enticing sniff. Willfully had he partitioned off the occurrence and refused to reflect on the true outcome of that afternoon. Of course Glorfindel saw the incident through clearer, braver eyes. Not long after, Erestor found he happened upon Glorfindel at every turn yet still it took him months to admit their meetings occurred because of calculated desire.
Inch by inch, agonizingly slow he had relented and agreed to a friendship with Glorfindel. Before long he found himself intrigued him by Glorfindel’s previously unknown depths and consumed with uncovering his secrets: his widely read past evidenced by an enormous personal library and ability to speak knowledgeably on any topic; how one so young became head of his own house; the natural kindness and gentle humor. It all appealed to him tremendously.
His smile faded suddenly and he refused to recall their further interactions. He could see through Glorfindel’s transparent attempts to gain his favor, and he refused to budge on his rejection. The pain still fresh in his mind with the devastating betrayal by the elf who had claimed to love him.
Erestor snatched up the glass container. Late was the hour, so he remained unclothed as he ran undetected through the Last Homely House and out to the Bruinen. He hesitated not and threw the darter into the water. The now empty bowl, light in his hands, was hurled onto the nearest rock. Erestor smiled, satisfied at the harsh crash of shattering glass just as his love for Glorfindel was smashed and broken.
Parmasambe
Library of Imladris
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