Yours For A Song
Title: Yours For A Song 5/9
Author: Hare (harefic@yahoo.com)
Fandom: Tolkien
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 5
Imladris, III 1974
The next morning Erestor slipped the paper with the one lined poem into his bedside cabinet, and strolled to his office. He would forget about it, surely. No need to throw it in the trash just yet.
He had not been seated for more than a few moments when Glorfindel made his daily unsolicited visit.
“Do you find me hideous?” Glorfindel waved his ruined hand through the air and turned a circle displaying the deep scars on his head and down his neck. “Possibly you think I have received a deserved punishment? Or is your rage only directed at my actions? I understand that the mirror is no longer my friend and wonder if you hate that I am now ugly?”
Erestor spotted the moist glitter in Glorfindel’s eyes and groaned inwardly. The sight tore at him as he had always been a slave to Glorfindel’s misery. Still he managed to present a flippant attitude and answered. “Your looks are irrelevant to me.”
And he meant it. Time and familiarity erased any thoughts of the disfigurement, but Glorfindel did not seem convinced by his words and continued on with a worried tinge in his voice.
“I peer in the looking glass and see the horror I have become. That dark black fact follows me every hour evidenced by the sympathetic stares, the occasional disgust. No longer does a gaze linger upon me because I am pleasing to see.”
“Nay Glorfindel, it is not the scars you bear. You fantasize a tragedy where none exists, as you know well your strengths lie not in your physical beauty. Other things matter more like respect and trust. It is the truth that has been fatal to our love! Your lies and deceit! Good day, Captain!”
Instead of complying with Erestor’s command, Glorfindel’s blue eyes sparked, which made Erestor’s pulse sit up and take notice. He had not seen that look in forever, yet knew with one word, one nod, one smile he could turn the spark to a raging blaze. Prepared to douse any of Glorfindel’s pitiful hopes for lighting a flame between them, Erestor prepared to deliver a most dry and restrained comment. He was interrupted.
Glorfindel let out a frustrated breath, yet a lopsided grin hung on his face, and he nodded. Erestor knew he had silently admitted defeat but then Glorfindel surprised him when he said. “It is a pity you do not smile more often. I remember well how it lights your face, softens it, makes it even more beautiful. I miss it; and your songs, seeing our world through your eyes, the musical pictures you painted for me. What a loss, to all, that your poetic words have been silenced.” Glorfindel hesitated and sighed reluctantly. “Good day, my love. Until tomorrow.” He executed a quick bow and left.
Erestor sat stunned, picked up some papers and fanned himself…the days of autumn flared scorching hot or shivering cold, before the frost took a firm hold, but this heat was internal and he focused inward, willing himself to ignore the siren call of Glorfindel’s sweet smile, to deny the deep, tidal pull to be with him, to calm the roiling heat in his groin.
With abrupt single-mindedness, sourced from the lonely well of his new life, Erestor purposefully pushed aside all thoughts and immersed himself in work.
~o0o~
Worry clawed at his stomach. Erestor hated this need, he felt lost and unsettled. The earlier conversation with Glorfindel haunted him and now he tried convincing himself that he had not prematurely left his office for any reason but a desire for an early night and a long slumber; but he knew better. Even deformed, Glorfindel was a strong maddening sensual being, and he had to admit that he scurried to his rooms specifically to know if Glorfindel had left another present, another reminder of their time together.
Erestor burst into his quarters and searched. A quest that ended in his bedroom where his eyes immediately caught the yellow celandine that rested on the left pillow.
The side on which Glorfindel always slept when they bedded together.
Erestor reverently picked up the flower and accompanying piece of paper. He walked over to the hearth, for the light and warmth and unfolded the line of poetry he knew would be attached, a continuation from the first line sent with the first gift.
“And when you first embraced a timid ardor for your beloved and imperfect golden flower…”
His knees folded beneath him and he lost his thoughts to another Age.
*flashback*
Gondolin, I 506
Erestor stood, waved and shouted.
“Brother, here!”
Pengolodh acknowledged the greeting with a grin, waved back, and proceeded to wade through the crowd of elves currently occupying the tavern. Erestor met him halfway and they embraced, arms linked they moved to their table. Every other evening, when possible, the brothers met here at the Tip and Sip alehouse and had done so for centuries.
“It has been too long, Pengolodh!”
“It has been two days, Erestor!”
“Aye, as I said too long!”
They chuckled as they sat and simultaneously reached for the ale Erestor had fetched when he first arrived.
Excited, Erestor drank hurriedly, plunked down his tankard and reached into his satchel for the new composition he currently worked on. He spread it in front of his brother.
“Oh, I have grand ideas for this one. High King Turgon has commissioned a performance as none yet before witnessed. I picture a scene from the ages of dark with shadows and muted lighting. Oh the elflings will cower and the ellith will screech when they hear the wicked delights I have in store for --.”
“Excuse me,” chimed a soft voice.
A young pretty elleth, dressed in a plain brown shift, stood behind Pengolodh with a flower in her hand and a serene smile on her face. She walked around and extended the yellow bloom to Erestor. He accepted it graciously but before he could speak she continued.
“My lord sends his greetings and hopes you are well.” She curtseyed and backed away from their table.
Erestor gaped at the celandine while Pengolodh grinned broadly. He stood suddenly and called out, “Wait!” but the elleth had slipped through the crowd and disappeared. Slowly he sank to his chair and mumbled, “Who is your lord?”
Pengolodh laughed loudly. “Oh brother, please. You know well who this is from.” He fingered the delicate flower that shook in Erestor’s trembling hands.
Quickly, Erestor placed the gift on the table and swiped it off to the side, irritated that he could still see it out of the corner of his eye. His brother flashed an inquisitive look at him.
“What were we discussing?” Erestor asked.
“Well right before that charming elleth delivered your flower from Lord --.” He stopped when confronted by Erestor’s menacing look, and then smiled and continued, “Lord Glorious you were explaining your ideas for a new performance, but I would rather you turned from that issue. For there is obviously another that is more pressing. ”
Erestor’s eyes shifted down to the floor. “I would prefer we not discuss him.”
“Why not?”
Erestor squirmed uncomfortably then leaned forward close to Pengolodh. “It is all too new and confusing.”
“Masters! Please pardon the interruption.”
The brothers flew apart at the near loud voice. Before Erestor stood Maluthros, the head cook at the House of the Golden Flower. Shorter and thicker than most elves she had joked with Erestor, not one week prior, about her possible dwarfish ancestors and then served him and Glorfindel the most horrid goat blood and intestine soup. Glorfindel claimed he kept her on staff to maintain a proper attitude regarding wants and needs but hastily added that her pastries were the envy of the other eleven Lords. Apparently Lord Penlodh’s steward (from Erestor’s own House) had even attempted to woo her away with great promises of a new well equipped kitchen and even greater promises of his own well equipped person, but she had chased him from her sight with a large wooden spoon.
In her hand lay a small golden cake topped with an icing rendition of a sunflower. Two yellow flowers framed her face.
“My lord and I share a worry that you do not feed yourself properly, Songmaster. He sends this to you and your brother for tonight yet hopes you will both join him tomorrow on the occasion of his begetting day feast.”
She lifted a finger and pointed at them both. “Do not be late as I will not have his lordship upset on his special day. We start promptly as Anor sets.”
She placed the cake down in front of Erestor, removed the two flowers from behind her ears and put them next to the other. Maluthros then took Erestor’s hands and gave him an encouraging squeeze before she left, bellowing out greetings to many of the gathered elves.
Erestor bolted to his feet. “I am leaving!”
He grabbed for his song sheets. His brother darted behind him, placed two firm hands on his shoulders and pushed him back into the chair.
Pengolodh leaned down and whispered into his ear, “You will not run from this. Nay, you will see this to its end, whatever that shall be. As your older brother, I command it. Do you understand me?”
He waited until Erestor gave a curt nod before he reached for his chair and scooted it close. When Pengolodh sat their knees touched and he twined the fingers of one hand with Erestor’s. Erestor flashed a thankful smile at his brother.
“You have not been honest with me, have you? It is clear your relationship has progressed quickly in this last year. Speak truly for your words are safe with me, as they always have been.”
Erestor hesitated then exhaled loudly, “He desires me for more than just physical needs. Last week he swore our fëar were destined to be bound!” Erestor snorted his nervous amusement.
“These are the very topics you sing of, Erestor. Have you not witnessed your audiences swooning and sighing over your own composed love songs? Why do you find the idea so impossible for yourself?”
“I am a free spirit, brother! Tying myself to one elf holds no joy for me. Nay, I need variety and excitement.”
Pengolodh sat back his eyes wide in amazement. “You are frightened of him.”
“Nay!” Erestor protested.
“Aye, you are. Do not try to deny it. I know you well, Erestor, have watched you progress to adulthood, and tumble through multiple affairs. This IS new. You tremble with fear and excitement, your voice and body posture change anytime you speak of him. Little brother, you are not only apprehensive but you love him!”
Erestor crossed his arms across his chest and pouted. “I do not have to sit here and be picked raw by my own kin.”
“A good eve to you, Songmaster, Loremaster.” The neatly dressed warrior nodded to them both, and the various markings on his uniform indicated he held the rank of Captain. His deep blue eyes sparkled with glee and it was clear he attempted to conceal a smirk yet it kept finding his face.
“My lord sends his compliments. Today, Songmaster, purely by chance, he witnessed your path through the Square. When you passed a fountain and Anor sparkled off the water which had landed in your hair, his heart swelled at your beauty.”
The captain cleared his throat but the smirk was still present. “Further, he hopes these will brighten your day as you have brightened his.”
He produced a bundle of daisies tied tightly together by a golden thread. The bouquet hung from the hilt of a ceremonial dagger. He knelt beside Erestor, bared his throat, placed the blade to it and thrust the hilt towards him. Erestor carefully removed the flowers and placed them next to the three unbound. The captain then stood and drove the dagger point into the table before bowing and walking away.
The tavern had grown completely quiet and all attention centered on the brothers, but when the warrior exited the conversations gradually began again, though Erestor noticed the eyes of the patrons continually flickered his way. For his part he knew he sat with mouth wide open gawking at the knife but could only move to action when he saw Pengolodh reach into his bag.
Erestor grabbed his wrist. “Nay, brother! I will not have you taking notes on this night’s events.”
“But Erestor, the absolute gall of Lord Glorfindel must be recorded. ‘Heart swelled at your beauty’. Indeed! You, and I, and that captain, all know it was not his heart which swelled at the sight of you, and not only is he publicly courting you but he marks you as under his protection! Lately, as you are well aware, I have spoken of little beyond my search for information documenting our courtship rituals. My newest project needs examples such as this. He is displaying the most wonderful creativity in his desire to capture your fancy, and surely nothing this interesting has occurred in Gondolin since Tuor wed Idril.”
“Be that as it may, this evening will remain documented only in our memories. Promise me that, Pengolodh.”
Erestor now fingered the dagger, the hilt shone a brilliant gold and embedded within were gems shaped into the figures of flowers. The blade was etched with ascending chords of musical notes. He closed his eyes and squeezed at the moisture that threatened to spill down his cheeks.
“Of course I agree little brother. Me, you, and all those present here shall have the only clear recollection,” Pengolodh swept his arm to encompass the room. “Your lord chose this night purposefully so word would spread quickly of your unavailability. It seems he is quite certain you return his feelings completely.”
About to respond, Erestor snapped his mouth closed when he saw who entered the tavern. A hush once again descended over the room, but the elf seemed not to notice. He stopped at every table and chatted with all those present, his voice clear and melodic and hypnotizing, and he left a wake of laughing warriors and giggling ellith. His path brought him eventually to the brothers and he arrived with a broad smile and a bottle of wine. Erestor felt faint with fear and grabbed Pengolodh’s hand tightly.
“Masters Pengolodh and Erestor. A fine evening, very fine is it not? Nay, do not rise. I am here for only a moment.”
Not awaiting their replies he forged on. “There is a weed that grows not only in Middle Earth but in Valinor. In Aman we called it astera but for some odd reason here we have adopted the human name, dandelion. Most consider it a pest and strive to remove it from their gardens, though I cannot imagine why. Its ripe form produces a most pleasing bright yellow flower head and the nectar is divine!”
Erestor and Pengolodh sat stone still and stared at the elf, obviously confused. He chortled before he continued on. “Of course my fondest memory of the dandelion is using it to decorate the face of my greatest friend. You see his hair is a most unusual golden tint, and he insisted on seeing what he would look like should he live long enough to grow facial hair. So we vigorously rubbed dandelion florets over his jaw and around his lips. Little did we know how difficult it was to remove dandelion dye from skin. He spent five days sporting a full yellow beard before it faded away.”
The elf hesitated and then he grinned, clearly lost in the memory. Finally, his gray eyes once more drifted downward and captured Erestor’s.
“But the dandelion had a more useful destination than a mere trifle for elflings. My friend’s adar harvested the astera and produced wine for every summer solstice festival. Receiving a bottle of this vintage is a rare and sought after gift.”
Lord Ecthelion cocked his head to the side, smiled fondly at Erestor and placed the dandelion wine in front of him.
“This comes to you from that same friend, Songmaster; one whom I love dearly, and he has expressed to me,” he chuckled deeply and shook his head, “incessantly, how dear you are to him!”
Ecthelion snapped his fingers and an elleth appeared immediately with two glasses. He served the wine to the brothers. Erestor sat shocked and could utter not a single syllable, while Pengolodh chattered complete gibberish which Ecthelion acknowledged by polite noises and appropriate head nods.
When the second glass was filled, Ecthelion folded his right arm over his chest and declared, “Anor will shine upon your path.”
He then executed a sharp about turn and left the tavern with calls of good will following him into the night.
Pengolodh cleared his throat and snickered. “That went well. You performed a convincing statue, and I am now known as the idiot of Gondolin!”
Erestor could not respond to him nor could he even twitch, or blink, but his breath panted forth in distressing gasps. The courage it had taken for Glorfindel to organize this event stunned the breath from him.
“Little brother! Here now move carefully, aye very good. Breathe deeply.”
He assisted Erestor into a slightly bent position with elbows resting on the table and head down. Pengolodh drew soothing circles across his back.
“You are overreacting, Erestor. My goodness but you are well suited for the drama required to be a minstrel. This night is brilliantly orchestrated by the elf who loves you. What magnificently fine gifts and loving words he has spoken through specially picked messengers. We should be excited and drunk yet your distress is palpable.” He sighed. “Come now. More deep breaths.”
They continued in this way for well upon half of an hour until Erestor broke the silence.
“He desires parity, brother.”
Pengolodh clapped his hands together. “Excellent! I knew Lord Glorfindel possessed a distinguished and fair mind in addition to his superb taste in bond mates!”
Erestor sat up fully and gulped down the entire serving of wine. Pengolodh mimicked his actions.
“Nay, you do not understand. He insists on complete equality outside AND inside our bedroom.”
Pengolodh frowned. “Are we really back to that old worn subject? Have you not yet spread your legs for him? Tsk, tsk what a pathetic waste of a year. Honestly, Erestor you must --.”
“I cannot!”
“You can, brother, and you will with Lord Glorfindel’s guidance. If there is one thing I do know about our kind lord is his reputation for stubbornness and persistence. You cannot change him because like the weather he is unchangeable, and as he has already stated his intentions, your objections though surely noted have been discarded. You suit him and it is clear he bides his time wearing you down, breaking you slowly because he finds you worthy of the effort. You must prepare your mind to accept the parity he demands.”
The wail of an elfling cut off their conversation and the brothers peered into the crowd of elves just as it parted to make way for Lady Berendes. She hesitated briefly; set down the basket she carried, swung the child from her hip, barred her left breast for the infant’s seemingly desperate suckling mouth, picked up the basket and continued toward them.
“Oh, Valar!” Erestor whispered under his breath before plastering a wary smile on his face. He and Pengolodh jumped to their feet.
She did not look amused and raised a demanding eyebrow when they hesitated in finding her a chair. Once seated, she huffed and mumbled and squirmed until she finally appeared to find a comfortable position.
When she looked up, and saw Erestor and Pengolodh nervously hovering she rolled her eyes and waived an impatient hand at them.
“Sit down, for Valar’s sake! Nay, not you Loremaster, fetch me ale first.”
Pengolodh hurried off and Erestor sat slowly, reluctant to be left alone with Glorfindel’s sister.
Berendes picked up the wooden basket and slammed it down on the table, her elfling and Erestor both startled by the sound, flinched. The infant’s piercing scream distracted her enough that Erestor’s slight yelp was lost in the squall, and he received a minor reprieve as she ignored him and quieted her son.
Too soon for his liking, she returned her attention to him and leaned forward.
“My brother loves you, Songmaster. Why I cannot fathom as you seem a pompous, arrogant horse’s behind. Nevertheless he does and spends his time swooning over you, dreaming of the day you will be bonded. And he sings! Have you heard him? Though Valar blessed in many ways when he sings, it is as if those hideous creatures of Tol-in-Gaurhoth have channeled their screechings through his mouth. Over and over he runs through the repertoire of tunes you have penned. Do you know how annoying, ‘The Articulate Croaking Frog’, sounds in the wee hours of the morning? Or ‘The Lay of the Cad’?” She spat the words out of her mouth as if distasteful.
“No matter what you have heard know that I adore my brother, and I have spent my life protecting him from those who would abuse him --.”
Erestor interrupted her. “My lady I would never --.”
“Hush! I have no patience for your words! It is your actions that concern me, and I have seen your reluctance when it comes to my brother’s love. If you cannot return the depth and breadth of his feelings end it now!”
Berendes sat back then, stroked her son’s head and eyed Erestor suspiciously. “Thank the Valar we are not currently under attack, for the House of the Golden Flower would surely fall around my brother while he sits and hums and sings with that ever-present annoyingly stupid look of contentment on his face.”
She pounded her fist on the table. “What kind of fool are you that you would even hesitate to accept Glorfindel’s affection? I suspect you are somehow defective and have mentioned this to him, but his head currently resides up his backside and he will not abide any ill-spoken words of you.”
She then snapped to attention, stood and bent over, placing her face directly in front of Erestor’s. “Let me tell you what kind of fool you are. The kind who plays loose with his affections. The kind who has stumbled into the sibling of a lover who will ruin you should her brother even so much as frown. The kind of fool who licks at old unknown wounds and refuses to open himself to a bright future. The kind who has underestimated his lover’s commitment to a permanent bond. Make no mistake, fool, my brother is forward, strong, and openly honest about his desires. He could crush your foolish resistance with one finger and confuse you with his intellectual superiority, but he chooses to coddle and lovingly prod you into comprehension!”
Erestor vaguely sensed Pengolodh’s return, his attention still locked on Berendes. The lady loomed menacingly over him, yet he sat passive under her threatening stare. The air sparked lively with aggressive tension.
Erestor’s gaze never wavered and he finally whispered. “I do love Glorfindel, my Lady.”
She searched his face after that statement until a sly smile graced her lips. Berendes stood tall and pushed her blonde hair behind delicate ears.
“Well then, good. That is settled.”
The lady plucked her son from her breast and thrust the squirming infant into Erestor’s arms. With practiced efficiency she pulled up her bodice and covered herself, reached for the tankard, quickly drained the ale in two gulps, and then delved into the basket.
“If my brother asks you will tell him I delivered his message regarding the smooth richness of your voice and how he admires your creativity.”
She threw down a bound packet and it flew open from the force. Erestor’s breath caught. Glorfindel had specially made a songbook with oversized paper and ready made clefts for a score. Entranced he shifted the infant to one side, reached out and flipped through it, each page was embossed with a different scene…musical notes tumbled down a water fall, insects, and birds with musical notes as bodies hovered around a golden bloom; there was even a fish with barbed whiskers, and on several pages musical notes alternating with celandines bordered the page. The variety of designs was endless, and the message was clear. He jumped when Glorfindel’s sister interrupted his musings.
“Welcome to the family, Songmaster!” and the whirlwind that was Lady Berendes snatched up her son, marched through the tavern, elves scattering from her path, and out the door.
Erestor and Pengolodh each noisily released their breath when the door closed behind her. They looked at each other and laughter erupted from them both. Only Erestor’s grip held his brother from falling off his chair onto the floor. When the fit finally subsided and the tears had been wiped from their faces, Erestor once again sobered.
“What will I do, Pengolodh?”
“Chase away your fears, Erestor. This need for control is unnatural and unnecessary. Clearly your love is safe and secure with Glorfindel. So tonight I will assist you in your quest to allow him fully into your life by accepting and partaking of his generous and loving gifts!”
Pengolodh pulled the blade from the table. He cut thick slices of the iced cake, for both he and Erestor, and then refilled their glasses with the dandelion wine.
While they ate and his brother chatted, Erestor thought. No reason to deny it now, he had fallen so completely for Glorfindel that it left him floundering and insecure. But tonight had changed him profoundly, and he was already mentally composing his next most personal love song.
*end flashback*
Erestor twined the yellow flower through his fingers. Indeed that night had been the start of their ill-fated courtship, and for five years they had publicly pursued one another.
“You were correct, Berendes I am a fool. The kind of fool who believed your brother truly loved him!” Erestor hissed. He stripped the flower of its petals and dashed the fragments into the fire.
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.