Title: Yours For A Song 9/9
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 9
Imladris, III 1975
The night slipped by swiftly while he sat lost in thought. When Elladan carried off his still sleeping sons in the early morning, Erestor left immediately to find Glorfindel. Only to be repeatedly frustrated at the hours it took to wade through the crowds and find him. Reluctantly he sought out and solicited information from Glorfindel’s son. And Lindir, with a knowing glint in his eyes had directed him here to a small meadow far to the east of the Last Homely House.
Upon arrival, Erestor looked around in awe for it seemed an exact replica of the riparian area he and Glorfindel had escaped to when they needed privacy rarely afforded in the hidden city. But his ruminations were abruptly interrupted by the harsh sound of heart-wrenching sobs. He had finally found Glorfindel’s exact location.
Careful to make enough noise to warn of his presence, Erestor approached his love and laid a soothing hand upon his shoulder. This was the first time he had touched Glorfindel, not as if a foe, in several millennia. He allowed his eyes to close and the warmth to suffuse through him before he spoke.
“Tears, my lo --,” he hesitated. It was difficult to speak over his racing thoughts and thundering pulse, so he allowed himself a deep breath before continuing. “Glorfindel? May I assist you in some way?” Erestor stilled his hand and let it fall to his side though he craved the touch of Glorfindel, and he ached at seeing him so saddened.
Glorfindel exhaled a shaky breath. “Two years ago, on this day, my wife Garia, died.”
Erestor stepped back as if slapped and the smile slipped from his face. His cheeks burned with heat and anger and he trembled as jealousy seethed through him. All the goodwill he had convinced himself of vanished immediately. How dare Glorfindel speak to him of this person! His tongue loosened with contempt, and the words flowed from his mouth with no anticipation.
“Such emotion over an insignificant life. How touching. Your dainty little human wife, now dead and rotting in the ground! Truly it is a tragedy. Poor, Glorfindel.”
Unprepared for Glorfindel’s immediate wrath, Erestor found himself on his hands and knees, dazed and hurt and stunned into inaction. A well placed fist to his stomach and another to his jaw had seen to that. He panicked as he tried to gulp in air but his lungs felt squeezed in a vice. And he panicked anew when he realized Glorfindel still stood close by. His hands clutched at the soil and tears blurred his vision until finally gasping, he gingerly sat back and groaned when a lance of pain shot thru the left side of his face. After a tentative glance around to confirm that Glorfindel had indeed departed, he dropped his head between his knees until the spinning stopped.
Slowly he recovered and limped down numerous paths towards his quarters, unable to fully stand upright from the torment in his abdomen. Elrond, obviously notified of his predicament by some unknown elf, intercepted him before he reached the House.
“What happened, Erestor?” Elrond grabbed him around the middle and draped an arm over his shoulder. He jerked away from the torturous embrace and slapped Elrond’s hands when he reached out to lift Erestor’s tunic and examine him. He wrapped his arms around himself and bent over in an attempt to ease the agony. Through gasping breaths he pleaded with Elrond.
“I am fine. Please, I just need to lie down in my bed.”
“Tell me how this occurred.”
Erestor let loose an angry hiss. “Can you for once cease questioning me?”
“Considering the bright colors of the bruise currently flaring to life on your jaw and the obvious discomfort in your belly, I must assume you either fell, ran into something, or you were struck. Answer me truthfully so I can treat you appropriately or I will drag you to the healing wing and employ more persuasive methods.”
“Elrond!” Erestor keened in distress as a nervous chuckle escaped. “I know you better than anyone alive and you are incapable of purposeful harm.”
“Harm? I thought more of administrating a sedative in a way I doubt you would appreciate.”
He slowly straightened and glared at Elrond. “You would not!”
Elrond gave no quarter. “I will if you insist on remaining silent as to the cause of your injuries. And I would further remind you that I am your lord. If I must I will command an answer from you.”
He searched Elrond’s face and slumped over once more. Erestor sobbed in agony and heartbreak and only desired an end to all the disappointment. Elrond crouched near him, spoke comforting words, and stroked soothing hands over him.
When he at last composed himself and wiped his nose on his tunic he responded.
“Very well, my lord healer. If you assist me to my quarters I will confess all.”
Elrond nodded. “Aye, I agree, however, you shall rest in my private rooms where we can speak freely, and I can keep my eyes upon you.”
“My lady, Cele --.”
“Will gladly bed down with her grandsons,” interrupted Elrond.
The walk back was pure torment and he moaned with every step. It felt as if Glorfindel’s punch to his stomach had rearranged everything internal. Their forward progress was hampered as they had to waive off assistance from counselor Berengardh, Elladan, Elrohir, several healers and a host of other elves who rushed them as they approached the House. After an overly extended time attempting to climb the stairs, Elrond carefully picked him up and carried him the rest of the way.
Red-faced but grateful, Erestor cried out in pain and relief when he was finally laid down upon Elrond’s bed. But he was not left alone for long. Elrond returned to his side and undressed him, handling him intimately but without significance. Ever the consummate healer, he ignored Erestor’s complaints. From bad to worse – beat by Glorfindel and denuded - he lay stiff and suffered the examination, flinching only when Elrond touched his injured areas. He braced his arms when Elrond began to turn him over onto his stomach.
“Nay. There is no need. He struck my face and mid-section. You have seen my only injuries.”
“Tell me who.”
“Elrond there is no reason to --.”
“Now, Erestor.”
“It was completely my fault, you see. For some reason, I cannot prevent my mouth from opening ahead of rational thought. He is not to blame. I need you to understand and restrain yourself from running off to defend my honor. You must promise or I remain silent.”
Elrond hesitated before giving a terse nod.
“Glorfindel.”
Erestor reached out a restraining hand when Elrond moved to rise. But Elrond laid a comforting hand over his and smiled.
“I must mix an elixir for your discomfort and you must sleep.”
“I know you, Elrond. Do not confront him over this. Remember your promise.”
Elrond stood and tucked several covers around Erestor. He then moved over to his desk where he measured out herbs and transferred them into a mortar. He vigorously pounded them with the pestle, for several minutes, before he answered.
“Aye. As agreed, however I will speak to him about this incident. I cannot have Glorfindel leading our contingency to battle until I am sure he is capable.”
“You do not mean that. You know there is none more competent to lead our warriors and bring them home safely. Let me speak to him and apologize.”
“Nay. You are under my care and unable to leave the bed for at least one day.”
Elrond strode back to Erestor with a glass in his hand. He assisted Erestor into a sitting position so he could administer the draught.
“No further discussion. Rest easy and heal, and I will sit with you through the night. You have trusted me for many years, my friend, trust me again.”
Erestor, immediately drowsy from the potion, could only nod his agreement as he fell to slumber; his hand rested within Elrond’s protective embrace.
~o0o~
He awoke groggily and confused. No pain troubled him, even his back felt completely healed yet he had aroused from a deep slumber. Sleep still filled his eyes, when he finally realized a soft touch ran the length of his bruised jaw. Awareness suddenly flared and panicked, he reached for the hand.
“Elrond? Is it late? Has he already departed?” Erestor struggled to rise but a body blocked his progress and strong arms gently pressed him back onto the bed.
“Nay, not Elrond. I am still here, and I am sorry, Erestor. So very sorry.”
Erestor grabbed Glorfindel’s deformed hand, squeezed it before he lifted it to his lips and repeatedly kissed the rough skin. He paused and examined the melted ruin of the promise ring. His other hand ghosted over the scars that marred the back of Glorfindel’s head and neck. He then lifted his gaze into the bluest eyes of his desire and wondered how he could have ever thought to deny their love.
He managed a wry grin. “Your left hand is a bit weak.”
Glorfindel barked out a sob mingled with a laugh, and Erestor pulled him close. He could see it in Glorfindel’s eyes, so much to explain, to ask, to beg, yet they were stifled for time.
“Nay, Glorfindel, I am the one who should apologize. My words and actions are unforgiv --.”
Erestor stopped talking abruptly, as two of Glorfindel’s fingers pressed over his lips, stilling them.
“We have both made mistakes but not such that we are forever separated. I would beg forgiveness for everything, for hurting you needlessly, for the years we were parted --.” He stopped then and swallowed visibly.
“I need your forgiveness. I need you, Erestor. My destiny has always been aligned with yours, and I cannot and will not be parted from you ever again.”
His tone turned fierce and his grip tightened. “I love you, Erestor.”
Erestor closed his eyes and let the words warm him. It was a start, a new beginning of sorts and he knew time, not words, would heal the wounds. Yet he needed, too. Longed for Glorfindel to, in some way, understand before he left for battle. A cyclone of words whirled in his mind and he swallowed them when he opened his eyes and gasped awed by the sight of the elf he could no longer face the world without. Elated, he dared speak that which he had desired from the moment he knew Glorfindel had returned.
“You have taken the words from my mouth,” he said softly. “I have always loved you and as for the years we were parted --,” he hesitated, groped for what to say until Glorfindel’s own words from the past drifted through his mind. “I am still yours…for a song.”
Relief spread across Glorfindel’s face and he chuckled. “Aye. Forever, my love.” And then he bent close and brushed his smiling lips against Erestor’s, leaving a trail of liquid fire. “Sweet music, for eternity.”
~o0o~
A month had passed since the warriors returned without Glorfindel. But the grandiose stories regarding his bravery in the battle continued to circulate throughout Imladris. The tales had grown in immensity and Witch-king puns were currently all the rage. And hobby-horses of white were in such demand; there was no white fabric or white paint to be found in the realm. Elflings by the score galloped around shouting ‘Do not pursue him!’ or ‘Not by the hand of man!’ as they reenacted Glorfindel’s now famous words. Words Glorfindel had, according to the returned warriors, spoken as the Witch-king fled from him frightened by the mighty Elda. The twins were no exception and he cringed each time they passed his door screaming at top voice until he decided a kinslaying may be his only option.
At the end of his patience, Erestor slammed heavy fists on the desk, exited the house, and stalked out to the woods where he continued to pace. He had been present when Glorfindel’s second in command explained to Lord Elrond that Glorfindel was unharmed but had left them with only a cryptic statement of some dealings he needed to attend. His second reassured them that Glorfindel clearly intended to return to Imladris as soon as his business concluded.
Erestor was not convinced and all the old doubts and fears crowded his thoughts day and night. It seemed history had repeated itself as Glorfindel was once more being hailed as a hero yet was nowhere to be found. Dead again for all Erestor knew; and he, again, abandoned. He had dared trust anew and it all appeared for not.
“You fret for no reason.” The small voice came from close behind.
Startled, he turned to behold young Lindir who stood boldly near him with a smile on his face.
“Ada will return. He loves you. He loves me. Besides he promised.”
Erestor could not contain his laughter, loud and tinged with desperation. How easy life is for the innocent and naive.
“You have not experienced pain yet, Lindir. But you will and this may be your first lesson.”
“No. You are absolutely wrong and stubborn. Ada will return. You can depend on him and deep inside I believe you know this. Your situation is not desperate yet still your ears remain deaf and your eyes remain blind to the truth.”
Erestor opened his mouth to retort but young Lindir cut him off with a raised hand and then swung his lyre into playing position. He casually plucked at the strings.
“May I, Songmaster? My ada taught me a tune you penned specifically for him and sang for him when he despaired for silly reasons. Actually, he spoke of you often. He needed to speak of you to soften the ache he felt at being separated from you.”
Then Lindir hastily added, “But not in front of mother. She was as jealous of you as you are of her.”
A lopsided grin tinged with sadness graced Lindir’s face, catching Erestor’s response in his throat.
“If you allow, it would be my pleasure to try and soothe your fear.”
Erestor sat on the ground, nodded his permission and Lindir burst into song.
‘Shouting about as you thrashed ‘round the stream…
Interrupting my peaceful and reflective daydreams…
What a sight, with your flawless rump high in the air…
And a tiny fish conquering you, what a terrible affair…
But you had been tricked by an unseen and clever foe…
For you are no match for a hoax and a mad tom duo…’
Weary but strangely giddy, Erestor wiped away tears, not from sadness but joy. This song only Glorfindel knew, for Erestor had written it to humorously mark that eternally special first day they had met outside an official function. Until today its words had never been sung publicly. He motioned Lindir over to sit next to him.
“Will you tell me all about your mother, Lindir? About her people and whom she was and how she lived and how she captured Glorfindel’s heart? And then will you tell me about your ada? You are his son, of his flesh and blood, and I feel as if you know him better than I ever did. When you are done, if there is a desire on your part I would speak of our time together in Nevrast and Gondolin. Of the magnificent elf who loved me…”
“Loves you, Songmaster. Never did a day pass without some mention of you. Never did a day pass without a haunted look upon his face as he braved another hour out of your presence. Never did a day pass where he did not question his reasons for staying away. But never did a day pass where he questioned his love for you. He is as passionate about you now as he was the first day he mentioned you to me. Never speak of his love as if it exists only in the past. Never!” scolded Lindir before his manner turned tender and he grabbed Erestor’s hands.
“I plan, with you permission, to pen many, many songs proclaiming the desire you share with my ada.”
And then, with Erestor still his willing captive, Lindir began to speak of his ada and the wonderfully full life his mother had lived.
~o0o~
Several months had passed since that night and they still met frequently forging an ever strengthening bond. Glorfindel’s young son had torn down that final stubborn piece of Erestor’s hastily erected wall of defense and after their initial talk, all his thoughts had fallen in place. He was content to wait. Safe in the knowledge that his relationship with Glorfindel had only encountered a slight bump and their feelings remained as strong as they had been the day Gondolin fell. Their bond remained true and only needed the final formality to seal them forever.
Lindir even gently coerced Erestor into singing again. While gathered with a small group of friends he had performed two of his most famous compositions, ‘Jingle of the Jolly Wolf’ and ‘Lay of the Lay About’. The twins present and google-eyed over this newest insight into silly Erestor had ever since begged him for another song. Unable to deny them, and to their delight, he complied. Further, anytime he seemed unhappy Erestor found them in his quarters with a plate of cookies.
But beyond these changes all else remained the same. Each day, like today, he rose and performed his duties though now every minute included a thought for Glorfindel and an anticipation of his return. Occasionally, on cool days of late autumn, when he grew weary of his obligations, he longed to walk away and rejoin those who wandered Middle Earth spreading excitement and joy with their songs.
While in his ruminations, Erestor gave only a cursory glance at the first elf he saw streak past his office window. But after the third group went by, curiosity piqued, he rose and opened his door to the hallway. The noise deafened him. The thundering sound of hundreds of feet pounding on the wood floor as elves raced down stairs and through the corridors, headed towards the exits from the Last Homely House to the front lawn, reverberated through him.
Counselor Berengardh’s arm shot into the air when she saw him. She beckoned him to come and shouted something until she was jostled around the corner by the moving crowd. His chin dropped when he saw Habadond grinning and slapping the back of some unknown companion as they ran the length of the hallway. And then his name, like a chorus, rose above the din.
“Chief counselor! Come quickly!” they called, dozens, hundreds of them, arms raised as they were pushed forward by the crush.
He slammed the door shut when he caught a glimpse of Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrķan, arm in arm, being swept along in the never ending wave of elves. They laughed and chattered with everyone.
Cautiously, Erestor moved back through his office toward the glass doors that opened directly to an outside patio. He pushed aside the curtains and peered through. Throngs of elves rushed down the hill, clapping and waiving and cheering as they went but he could not clearly see what caused this seemingly spontaneous celebration. He flicked the latch and the doors burst open on a brisk wind that pushed him back and loosened his hair from its clasp. With an irritated *tsk* he secured the unruly strands behind his ears and strode out onto the lawn.
It seemed that the blaring noise from within the Last Homely House had been transferred outside, and Erestor’s ears rang from the clamor. The steady beat of drums vibrated in the wind and instruments played chaotic tunes, a cacophony of notes filled the air interspersed with the drone of voices shouting and laughing. He sprinted forward to the crest of the hill.
Anor blinded him as it glinted off the riotous costumes of the bards, at least a full one hundred streamed across the bridge – males and females of all colors and all races. Some on horses that stomped and snorted at the commotion, while others walked and sang with instruments strapped to their backs or in the ready position, spewing forth songs in a duel of music.
He cried out in surprise when he caught sight of some of the more famous minstrels.
The dwarf troupe, known tongue-in-cheek as the Angerthas Audibles stood together almost hidden by the elves that crowded around them. Preferring to perform tunes of war and greed, they were, however, more desired for their loud raucous and bawdy songs, making them the perfect entertainment selection for fertility festivals. Erestor had the good fortune of securing them several times here in Imladris although he did not approve of their odd magical side gatherings where they would cast the runes for those wishing to know the future.
He clapped enthusiastically when he spied the bard Pelly. Scruffy and huge, Pelly the Clown Troubadour jiggled through the crowd on surprisingly nimble feet with a flute upon his lips. His numerous unshaven chins hung half way down his chest and a monstrous white belly spilled from under his tunic and wiggled over the waistband of his brilliant silver tights. A round tufted collar with balls of dangling fluff and bells moved in time with his shaking bulk. But Erestor was not distracted by Pelly’s appearance for he knew that his touch on the reed flute surpassed any in Middle Earth and he longed to hear even one note above the din.
Erestor heard their singing before he saw them and when he did he fell back a step. The Avari twins moved with ethereal grace and left a path of awe in their wake. Both loomed tall and extraordinarily slender with pale skin so white it seemed translucent. Their eyes too large for their narrow faces and colored such a deep brown they appeared black, and their hair cobweb-fine and wispy yet dark as a starless night fell down their backs to drag upon the ground. Identical yellow gowns flowed and shifted as their hands undulated in a symbolic interpretation of whatever tune they sang. So fragile appearing yet their voices pierced through the clamor, and they harmonized notes so lofty surely they carried to Ilśvatar’s dwelling.
Dark and foreboding Toreth of the Wilds brought up the rear of the procession. Dressed only in garishly checkered leather breeches, his naked and muscled chest and arms rippled when his large hands strummed confidently across an instrument Erestor had seen only once before. The seven-stringed, long-necked bandore had a unique melancholy sound which Wild Toreth had cultivated into a lucrative business as evidenced by the gold and multi-colored gems that shone in his ears, around his neck, and on his fingers. From the mysterious territory of Rhūn he had suddenly emerged thirty years ago. And when he sang all quieted before his deep and melodious voice. His clever and cryptic lyrics heralded information about the land of his birth, and many leaders had welcomed his performance if for no other reason but to garner insight into the wild lands. It was rumored he preferred to impart his knowledge in private audiences and had bedded every ruler in Middle Earth.
Erestor smiled and cast a glance at Lord Elrond, who was making a valiant attempt to welcome each bard as they passed over the bridge. Surely Lord Elrond had not yet partaken of Wild Toreth’s “information.”
He chuckled at the thought until his eyes caught the most magnificent sight. Darting around the musicians pranced a steed of resplendent white, its full mane swirled in the wind and its tail thrashed in time to the beat of a dozen drums. The stallion pawed at the ground and puffed breath white on the air when Glorfindel brought him to a halt. Glorfindel’s face then split into a wide grin and Erestor heard his whoop of joy as he reached down to gather Lindir into his arms. Glorfindel’s luxurious and thick blond hair fell upon his son.
Stunned, Erestor fell to his knees.
Glorfindel shone; Anor come to Middle Earth. Radiant and healed his hair sparkled brilliantly, abundant and healthy it fell to the middle of his back just as he remembered it from before the fall of Gondolin. Tall and straight upon the saddle, he glowed with renewal and elves ran to him, greeted him enthusiastically, and ran their hands upon him in wonder. His hand no longer fused together by warped melted skin but flawless, each finger separate, long and slender and graceful.
He sobbed and ached to run to Glorfindel yet his legs would not unbuckle and allow him to move, so he remained on his knees and watched unable to look anywhere but at his returned love.
Glorfindel had done this. All of this. For him. Not only had he returned whole but he had come bearing a promise. A promise specifically for Erestor and their future.
Erestor could see the bright twinkling blue eyes even from the distance, so piercing as they quested around the crowd. Suddenly, Glorfindel turned frantic; he watched in confused awe as Glorfindel put his steed into a spin, round and round they went until Erestor realized Glorfindel was searching, a lost panicked look etched his face.
Erestor put a tentative hand in the air and waved, slowly at first and then erratically.
“I am here, Glorfindel! Here!”
He screamed his voice raw and his arm burned from the exertion but he continued.
Until their gazes met, and he stared entranced. Into eyes that shone with affection: unguarded and luring. They watched each other attentively curious, discovering anew, sharing a moment of perfect peace. And then Erestor blinked and his arm fell to his side.
The spell broken he heard Glorfindel bellow.
“Make a path!”
He wheeled his horse about, sprinted forward, and charged up the hill, elves scattered before him. Erestor’s vision was immediately drawn to Glorfindel’s chest and the two golden rings that bounced wildly at the end of a long chain.
Unable to stay upright Erestor toppled over onto his back and gazed blankly at the sky, he fought to catch his breath. All sound faded except the ever loudening thump of approaching hooves. Enthralled with elation, his thoughts raced aimlessly yet one truth rang clear through his mind, a truth millennia in the making, eternity its promise.
His song had arrived.
The End
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.