Yours For A Song
Title: Yours For A Song 3/9
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 3
Imladris, III 1974
Anor slowly disappeared from sight and the sky blackened ominously. The gathered crowd issued, in unity, a gasp of awe. What had been a bright mid-morning now faded to shadows and a rippling sound in the distance grew in volume. Erestor knew what came but knowledge did not slow the quickening of his heart; it jumped and thumped excitedly in his chest. Nor did it calm his breath which issued forth in ragged hitches. A brisk early spring wind stirred and caressed him as gently as a lover, and he tilted his head skyward for a breezy kiss. Thousands of wings flapped in unified tempo with the beat of his heart, and the air wafted by replete with a sharp gamey tang. Their approach was close now.
The first *honk* raised a smile to his lips and many elves cried out in response. Until the responding squawks and honks rose to such a crescendo that elflings fell to the ground, their hands clasped over their ears. No one could hear him but Erestor sang back to the birds. He broke free of his flesh and flew up towards the song, finding himself at the top of the world, soaring on wings that overlooked the lands beyond Imladris. And then he fell, exhilarated, panting, hoarse and grinning madly.
The darkened sky was now completely filled with the pure white sight. A great flock of swans, hundreds of thousands of them, blocked out Anor as they migrated for their mating grounds.
They flew overhead for three solid hours, littering the ground with their droppings and fallen feathers. Erestor stood the entire time unmoving and beaming. Ellith and ellyn alike darted out from undercover to retrieve the feathers which they stuck into their hair, or behind an ear, or delicately held onto to later incorporate into some covering and wear for the entire week long festivities. None would dare be seen without one adorning their body. Even Erestor dutifully gathered a few fluffy down feathers to place through his love knot.
Though the inns of Imladris were overflowing with the droves of elves and their human guests who had arrived over the past fortnight, the festival did not begin until this moment. Mereth Tui started now, for the arrival of the swans was the unofficial opening of the celebrations. There was no more perfect symbol of love, fidelity and fertility that arrived punctually every year on or within hours of the equinox.
Mereth Tui, a celebration of life and the coming of the newest year, such a conundrum in Erestor’s estimation. A festival created by the Noldor, elves supposedly at the pinnacle of intelligent, logical, and rational thought. Yet it was based on an appeal to the whims of the Valar. Oh everyone acknowledged that the success of the growing season or the fecundity of a couple depended on good soil, rain, superior seed and stamina but that did not prevent the residents from using this time to mate underneath a flock of swans, or gathering swan waste and smearing it upon their bodies in the hopes of receiving a blessing of the Valar. One of the stalwart occurrences during the festival involved gathering swan droppings, mixing it with soil, and planting a row of crops. Many absolutely espoused that the upcoming growing season’s fruition depended on whether these few seeds germinated during the week long festival.
However, those activities were none of Erestor’s concern this year, nor any year since his arrival in Imladris. Even now he scurried to his duties though his head spun annoyingly, an effect most assuredly a result of the three day fast required of all adult elves during this time. Lady Celebrķan coordinated all aspects of Mereth Tui, but she made sure every counselor played some part. This year she assigned Erestor to the shrines, and he needed to assure himself that the migrating flock had not caused damage to any of the structures.
The shrines were small stalls made of the lowest grade of wood and would be burned on sacred bonfires to mark the ending of Mereth Tui. None were painted but they were decorated, sparsely or elaborately, depending on the whim of those delegated to the task. Several bore seeds and stalk from last years harvest; some were decorated with symbols related to bindings and marriages, one for a successful conception, and another for a healthy pregnancy and birth. A contemplation shrine would be placed within the spray of a waterfall.
Most of the shrines were visited by humans and several were constructed with them in mind, specifically those for warding off diseases and sicknesses in the coming year. Each had a small offering box attached to it and the money was used to train healers who would volunteer their services in a human settlement for several decades or possibly centuries.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he inspected the structures. Huddled in a tight group just on the outskirts of the main lawn, none were marred. A few were stained with droppings but that would be no issue for those seeking the grace of the Valar. In a mere hour, they would all be carried to the Bruinen and dipped until water soaked, for water is the giver and sustainer of life, then marched through the crowd for a ceremonial blessing by Lord Elrond.
The parade of the shrines had become wilder with each passing year. Those picked to carry them would dress in outrageous costumes related to the shrine they bore, and last year’s phallic offerings did not bear further thought. He only hoped this year’s fanfare would be tamer. Once the procession concluded the shrines were placed at various intervals around Imladris, for the duration of the celebration.
Erestor checked the sky, mid-day had come and gone and it was time to return to his office for a brief update from Berengardh. Though officially not in charge of the entertainment, Erestor still needed to confirm that all the terms of the various performers’ contracts were being met. So he scurried again, waving his greetings as he was hailed by a multitude of elves in varying conditions of inebriation or gluttony, for over consumption played a large part in Mereth Tui with dozens of stalls stuffed with food and wines and ales prepared from last year’s harvest. Erestor’s favorite was the hot tomato soup and he meant to hurry this meeting so he could soon rest with a steaming bowl, followed by the traditional overripe apples covered in sugar which had been melted and hardened around the fruit and were generously sprinkled with cinnamon.
After a quick assemblage, Erestor not so subtly herded the counselors from the room to their various tasks. It would not do for Imladris to obtain the reputation of not keeping true to their contracts, and he could not enjoy the celebration until he knew everything was in order. In addition, the counselors and captains from the other elvish realms still remained and their needs must be continually seen to.
Outside the cheering and clapping had finally subsided and rhythmic chants buzzed through the air. The day marched forward and it appeared the blessing of the shrines would be concluded soon. Erestor rose from his chair and moved to the glass doors. Every elf in view stood with arms held high, palms up and most swayed. Lord Elrond’s voice penetrated the cold day easily and, even though he was not visible, Erestor could still make out some of the words of the prayer. He let his eyes fall shut and his hands crushed the day’s notes.
Berengardh startled him when she entered but she kept her report blessedly short and he released her to attend the festival. All was well, everything as it should be.
Freed from his own duties, he hunted the food booths for a mid-day meal. Tempted from the soup by a familiar scent, Erestor stood next to a fish stall. His fingers and mouth glistened with oil and his tongue darted out to catch bits of stray meat that fell from the bone before he could consume it. He had greedily eaten four large portions, fish so fresh he imagined they still bore the smell of the sea, and then he licked the juice from his hands. The scents and sounds in this area had a visceral pull. It reminded him of his family home in Nevrast near the sea. He sniffed deeply and recalled the constant noise of the waves crashing to shore, the constant ping of a ship’s gear thrashing in the wind, the constant shouts and jests of those who worked the boats, and the constant smell of fish decayed and fresh. His nana’s smile, his ada’s gruff but loving ways, his brother’s constant companionship and guidance. Nevrast had even sponsored its own fertility festival but nothing as ambitious as this.
Taking him completely unawares, chief counselor Galion, and the Mirkwood captain stumbled around the corner, arm in arm and bounced off him. Erestor’s fish flew from his hands, and the two lovers landed with a resounding *thud* on the ground. They giggled upon impact. Erestor’s mouth dropped open and he stared at the drunken adult ellyn, now in full hysterics, rolling in each other’s embrace, stinking of ale. Their open mouths met, sloppy and wet, until their muffled giggles turned to groans.
Erestor had spoken to Galion, to no avail; no agreement was obtained from Mirkwood to participate in their alliance. He suspected the chief counselor enjoyed the freedoms he had here, to love the Mirkwood captain in the open, and was reluctant to lose that when they parted for home. At least they no longer frightened those who cared for their rooms! Uncomfortable for some unknown reason, he moved along. Public displays happened regularly during this celebration and elflings usually spent the entire week of Mereth Tui with their eyes wide open in educational amazement.
Surprised, he finally recognized it as jealousy that had spurred him away. That kept him moving as he unnecessarily went about the area re-inspecting the shrines, checking the donation boxes, watching the costumed actors and dancers that entertained spontaneously and he flicked food tokens, small pressed metal coins the children could exchange for food at the various booths, at the elflings who approached him. He investigated every merchant’s stall and found several lovely trinkets that he purchased for the ladies Aevar and Arwen. Both were fond of amulet pendants especially those depicting marine kelvar. And then on a whim he bought two crude but tonally perfect pentatonic flutes for the twins. Mayhap they would be drawn to a more musical future than their ada and uncles.
Day had turned quickly to dusk. Erestor transported his packages back to his quarters before returning to the festival. He purchased an evening meal before searching out that perfect place from which to watch this evening’s performances.
Ambling across the now frosted crunchy grass; he found a peaceful haven in the middle of the chaos under a young pine tree. Night had fallen and the stars blinded with their brilliance against the background of an inky canvass. He sat and scanned the crowd. Lots of elflings jumped about for storyteller night was a big draw for children but two familiar voices pierced the din and not far from him were Melpomaen and Faelon. They were busy chattering away with their Aunt Arwen, while sticking feather after feather into her braided hair. She laughed often at whatever they said and the twins smiled at her fondly. Their uncles Elrohir and Haldir sat nearby, heads close in conspiratorial chatter, and suddenly they both reared back and roared with laughter. Lady Aevar reclined, tucked beneath the embrace of her husband Elladan, both gazing fondly at their sons. Lady Celebrķan rested against her husband, nestled in the crook of his arm, while Elrond lazily kissed her face and murmured unknown words near her smiling lips.
The weight of it crushed him. The stark loneliness amidst his friends here, the striking solitude bore down upon him and his heart tripped and stole the breath from his chest. Run! Go to him! The same mantra that skipped through his mind every day urgently pressed him. Surely by now he was reborn, a fully grown adult with the memories of his prior life restored. Surely his lover ached as he did for a reunion and the start of their life together. Why do you hesitate? Run!
He really did not belong here. Here, where on the inside resided his long, bitter winter.
A pang of hunger arrowed through his belly, and he quickly turned his attention to his meal of hot tomato soup. Slurping it loudly, he distracted himself from further thoughts of his love, but with the first crunchy bite of the candied apple, a sudden agonizing thump beat inside his head. He closed his eyes fully and swallowed convulsively determined not to lose his supper. Erestor let out a snarled groan and willed himself to relax, to release the misery which gripped him, to fight this aching wretchedness, to allow his mind to drift again.
He had convinced himself he would bend with life’s blows and grow stronger, accept only the good and the simple and not complicate everything he touched. But mayhap the time had come for him to cease yielding and leave Middle Earth. Imladris would run just as efficiently without him, as there were plenty of counselors qualified to step into his duties. He would not be missed. Erestor tensed, he felt pincered from every direction and he teetered precariously on a knife's blunt, subtle edge separating past and future. A decision must be made, and soon, no further excuses for he ached to be held, and loved, and to sing once more.
Screams of delight broke his ruminations and through watery eyes he observed scads of elves on the dais. The stage was adorned with conifer needles, the only plant life fully green at this time of the year, and stuck to the wood with its own sap. In his estimation the platform appeared a green, hairy giant but as they celebrated the beginning of the growing season, green color won out over tasteful decorations.
The elves were throwing food tokens into the crowd and elflings ran for them frantically. Their continual screeching, instead of sounding pleasant to Erestor, rang the air like a violently rattled animal's cage with their juvenile fury. The shrill din slammed into his ears, set him on edge and his temper flirted with angry distraction. Nay, he chastised himself. He must focus instead on, other distractions…Gandalf, the name floated effortlessly through his thoughts, and with that he immediately grinned, his usual reaction to a visit by his friend.
More often that not, Gandalf appeared at the festival with fireworks, but for the first time, in what seemed forever, he had not accepted their Mereth Tui invitation. Erestor already missed the whine and burst of fireworks against the starry sky of early spring, the bright offerings to the Valar. He yearned for the camaraderie Gandalf had afforded him over the years, sitting on the ground while the wizard smoked and they both drank frosted wine, discussing nothing of importance. Gandalf’s presence was one of the rich spots of color in Erestor’s grayed world.
A tinkling of bells rang through the air, caught the crowd’s attention and his nerves jangled along with them. Storyteller Maelam climbed the dais and an explosion of applause accompanied her up the stairs and to the edge of the stage. Elflings surged forward for a better view.
Traditionally, Mereth Tui’s first performer was always an oral storyteller and this year Lady Celebrķan had secured the best of the best. Maelam paced the stage waving her arms in an up and down motion, her long dark hair billowed in the wind and a hush fell across those gathered.
“RAWK!” she screeched, her flapping arms still in motion.
And all the elflings responded with a cacophony of, “RAWKS”.
Her voice strong and clear, Maelam commanded her audience.
“Come great eagles oh gentle friends, make quick your wings outspread.”
Every elfling appeared in rapt attention and they swiftly responded by lifting their arms and mimicking her motions.
“With the warmth of Anor on our sturdy backs we will soar on the thermal wind.
Higher and higher, where the air is thin and our song is breathless, yet unending. We will dive through the skies bringing peace and delight with our strong and our magical flights.
Let us fly to the ends of all Middle Earth, let us observe where the waters fray.
Let us soar past the mountains to that mysterious place which lies betwixt the sky and the heavens, and circle round the warmth of the dancing fire, and render the sparks to our talons. In a swirling mass we will rise once more then scatter afar, alight, and with gentle strokes, illuminate the stars full bright on this cold darkened night.”
From somewhere appeared two sticks glowing bright red on the ends, that Maelam held tightly in both fists. Thrusting them both into the air she screeched another ear-splitting, “RAWK!” and began a slow run around the platform, her long slender legs peaking out from her skirt.
Every elfling jumped to their feet, as one, and ran toward the dais. In unrehearsed concert they flew around the base of the stage furiously flapping their arms while screaming Rawk! Rawk! at top voice.
Erestor could not resist joining the adults in delighted cheers of their own. He smiled though at the obvious drama, so perfect for children and certainly the best way to start any celebration…crowd participation.
Maelam continued for another hour, enchanting all with her stories and antics. Erestor had not expected her to be so funny or so entertaining, but he, like so many, would now be counted among her admirers. With the conclusion of her storytelling the elflings and other youths were escorted off to bed, for the rest of the evening’s performances were strictly for those past their majority age.
Up first would be a small group of first time musicians, those select few chosen for their outstanding talents but who had not yet declared performing as their profession and young Lindir would be amongst them.
His meeting with the singer, several months ago, still set warily in his mind, for the young elf was known to him. He had recognized him immediately. Lindir had hovered at the perimeter of Erestor’s presence for months, appearing almost everywhere he went. Without directly questioning Lindir, Erestor had decided the young singer knew of his past and was simply curious. No matter the reason, Lindir had accepted the offer to perform with absolute glee, shaking Erestor’s hand furiously, and then running off to spread the news of his good fortune. He had not seen him since that time, until now, and he was eager to hear this voice that Lord Elrond seemed so gladdened by.
Erestor leaned back on his elbows and stretched his legs, stomach sated now, but a hollow ache stretched the length of his skin. He swiped at his face rubbing at the tiredness and irritation hoping the music would uplift his sullen mood. His eyes drooped and he yawned until he glimpsed the young singer moving around to the back of the dais.
Lindir followed two previous performers and mounted the stage bravely. His innocent face seemed so familiar to Erestor, something he had noticed on their first meeting, yet he could not place it. The countenance of this youthful elf shone strength and confidence as he relaxed into position at the center front of the platform. With no hesitation, no instrumental accompaniment, and no introduction, he opened his mouth and immediately the song spilled from his tongue.
“Fell so effortlessly, tumbling safe into your passionate hands…
Forever sculpting your immense song into my unaware heart…
Awaking me, as if I was an instrument only to play for you…
Carefully reluctant to admit you needed me, yet it was all a lie…
So I offered you many gifts, wishing for one true gift in return…
Thus, I took you and made you mine; two fėar linked eternally…
Craving that loving gaze, the warm embrace reserved just for me…
You will always be my forever; my home is everywhere you are…
For I am that melody you shaped; eternally yours for a song…”
Erestor sat unmoving, not breathing dumbfounded into inaction. The universe had arrayed its perversity straight at him with a resounding slap. He felt grubby and inept and stripped bare in front of the entire population of Imladris. Erestor did not dare turn his head for surely all looked at him now. Existence had a clever devious plot and that was to wear him down with every shocking moment.
Then an awed smattering of clapping turned into a thunderous roar of approval and the crowd surged to its feet in appreciation. Finally a ragged inhalation snapped him to attention and Erestor struggled upward, their attention diverted so he could make good his escape. He did, and sprinted to his quarters.
Once there he stalked through every room, a bundle of excess nervous energy he paced, twitched, and frowned. Erestor had searched for security for a long time and foolishly thought he had found it here but now his mind circled in a rut. Lindir’s song had hit unerringly, described with clear insight his years of feelings, his hopes and dreams when he resided in Gondolin with love as his constant companion. How? He could not fathom for none, but he and one other knew most of these intimacies Lindir had sung about, and known the words his love had spoken to him. The burden of the unknown cast his neck and shoulders into a slope of rigidity.
Erestor skulked around until he found an old cloth. He set about cleaning, rubbed down every surface, got on his knees and scrubbed at the floor until the rag fell to pieces. He straightened books and papers, and those tokens obtained as memories of adventures, and then straightened them again. The void of sound fed with his mutterings. Everything in his quarters fit together too neatly so he dragged furniture around, rearranged it, again and again. Breathing heavily he surveyed the room with brooding eyes. Tonight the perfectness bothered him. It pricked at his sense of rightness.
How? The word speared through his ruminations and shattered his hard sought thread of calm. Erestor abandoned the outer rooms, scrambled up on his bed then lay back against the pillow with unfocused attention. Unease washed through him and he struggled to tug his thoughts away from the song. He rolled into a ball, snapped his eyes closed and concentrated on slowing his breath…relaxing.
The deep, comforting voice drifted through his mind and he dislocated in time to a different Age, a different tribe of elves…shouts of horror, yet one piercing voice rich in tenor, commanding, calm in the face of calamity called to all and he followed. The voice that ruled his life, his love, his happiness, his security. But he was choking on smoke, dodging fallen bodies, skirting death as shrieks of evil and smells of agonized violence slammed into his senses. He stumbled and a slender hand hooked beneath his elbow and lifted him, face to face with Lady Berendes. Her eyes empty, her son clinging to her neck, his soot covered face outlining a trail of tears. They ran, together, yet alone and utterly panicked. Forever…forced forward by certain death, then blocked at the passage by raging terror.
The balrog loomed fiery and the air heated red and stole Erestor’s breath, conscious now of his lack, gulping strongly forcing his lungs in and out. Then he saw, his love, his happiness, his security battling the giant, winning, forcing it over the edge. A horrific shriek rent the air, and he cheered hysterically, running to reach him. He moved faster, confused because his love, his happiness, his security’s beautiful hair seemed to move of its own accord. The hair tightened into a tail and burst into flames as his love’s head was slammed to the ground and he was dragged across the earth; his hands, one ruined and melted and bloody, scrabbled across the arid soil searching for purchase. Their visions met across the distance, Erestor paused, struck by the bland expression, yet he feasted on that one last glimpse into the loveliest blue, most happily peaceful and secure eyes before his love, his happiness, his security was snapped over the edge of the precipice.
Too late, Erestor stood looking down into the gorge, now filled with crushed, burned and broken bodies. Red rivers splashed down the steep sides, as if Ilśvatar had haphazardly flung some paint and then purposefully forgotten this part of creation. The smoldering balrog dominated his sight, but he could not see him who he sought! Eyes scanned desperately, he pushed his will down, strained his own heart to beat for his love, his happiness, his security…but there was no answer. Erestor could no longer anchor to the spark that had lived inside him. He did not sob, did not burst into hysterics, he just focused downward until a familiar glimmer caught his attention.
The shrill tenor of Lady Berendes’ cry did not stop him and he slid over the rim and rode a shower of pebbles half-way down. The object lay gleaming, mutely reflecting Anor, stained with gore and warped from heat. His back flared agony, and when he reached behind his hand came away stained an angry red. But onward he trod, retrieved the sword and held it high in bleak victory.
Eagles swooped down from Crissaegrim, retrieved bodies and placed them near the surviving elves for burials that began immediately and lasted well into the night, no matter the danger for the dead deserved respect. One eagle had gently assisted Erestor back to the top where he busily lamented and grieved for those lost, until great grappling talons laid a body before him, the implication unsaid but, to him, obvious.
This must be Glorfindel – his love, his happiness, his security.
Even though the corpse was ruined beyond recognition, he ran his fingers over every burned and shattered inch, convinced this was the body of the one he adored. Erestor held Lady Berendes and his brother Pengolodh tight as they laid Glorfindel to rest on the side of the passage.
Erestor shed no tears, allowed himself no lasting grief, for Glorfindel had embraced happiness during his life and he was resolved to follow in kind, also, Glorfindel would be reborn. Time, he only need wait and his life would again be filled with love, happiness and security. He left the passage of Cirith Thoronath with no glance backwards and marched determinedly forward…away from the stench of death and promises unfulfilled.
After another disorientating shift of mind and place Erestor awoke, the scream trapped in his mind. The pain made him gasp and whimper and now there was no one here to soothe him. He trembled, tangled in the damp covers, and his heart stumbled over itself with panic. He took a deep breath and forced the calmness back. How? How could he have been so blind all these years, until now, until revealed by this dream?
The body he had thought was Glorfindel’s had borne no betrothal ring.
Anticipation, uncertainty and barely controlled terror hounded him as bounded off his bed and knelt to dig through the storage chest. This time he passed by his lute. Nay, he searched for something even deeper, better hidden. Erestor trembled when his fingers encountered the cold hard steel. He smiled against the melancholy that tightened him like a drum.
This sword had been a courtship present from him to Glorfindel, made to measure and accompanied by the most supple leather sheath. An idea that had at first been purely practical because Glorfindel spoke incessantly about the deficiencies of his current weapon, groused actually, and Erestor knew this gift would cease all complaints. But his intent had changed into a grand gesture, a desire to please, to make Glorfindel happy rather than merely uncomplaining, and he had received it with a shy smile, and a look of such awe that Erestor’s throat had tightened.
The front of his knees ached from kneeling too long. He swallowed past the lump in his throat, shook the memories from his mind and stood. Hot fury gripped Erestor as he walked to his library and opened the door to a small closet. Stored within was his own weapon, gratefully unused for centuries, until tonight. With purposeful steps Erestor left his quarters and the Last Homely House, moving passed the late night revelers, entranced with resolve.
He knew exactly where to find his answers.
~o0o~
Erestor heard voices raised in argument as he approached the house and it broke his stupor.
“Go to him, Ada. He deserves to know the truth!”
“I cannot, not yet,” came the resigned reply.
“But this is why we have come here, yes? I know you desire my safety but we could have gone anywhere. Instead you chose Imladris --.”
A mumbled response cut off the speaker, but the soft words prevented Erestor from hearing more.
Erestor stopped dead and shivered, cold fear gripped him.
“Nay. Please, dear Elbereth. Please let it not be him!” he mumbled softly.
His nerve failed him for a brief moment but then he banged on the door violently. The voices within grew silent. He thumped the door once more before it finally opened to reveal Lindir, whose eyes grew as wide as Ithil in its fullest phase.
“Uh, uh, Chief Counselor…” he stuttered.
But Erestor cut him off with a slash of his hand. “Send your Adar outside now!”
Erestor stepped backwards down the stairs and assumed a fighting stance, his breath rushed out of him as he panted with emotion. The cowled figure emerged and moved in front of Lindir. Erestor could feel the hidden eyes boring into him. He flashed Glorfindel’s sword at the unknown elf and scowled before driving the sword tip into the ground. The force of his actions caused the sword to wobble, and the gems of the pommel and the intricate raised writings on the blade glittered in Ithil’s light.
He felt no joy when the hooded elf stumbled backward. Then the elf stilled and remained that way for a time, until Erestor grew restless and tossed his own sword from hand to hand, and started toward him. The elf urgently whispered something to Lindir and pushed him away in the opposite direction of Erestor before he raced to the sword still thrust into the soil. Grabbing it, the elf rolled away and brought his weapon to the ready.
Erestor stopped. “Nay!” he threw his head back and wailed to the sky before his knees gave way and he collapsed into a crouched position.
The elf’s stance was unmistakable. He knew of only one who fought in such an unorthodox way. Glorfindel’s fighting form caused him no end of harassment from his fellow warriors, the odd angle of his elbow, the laxity of his grip, the lazy dip of the sword’s tip, and yet the results of such a stance proved deadly time and again.
The elf moved toward him, arm outstretched out in supplication. “Erestor?”
His senses whirled around him - everything a maddening storm of color, every sound of the night blasted his ears, bitter, sour tastes burned his tongue – and then it all blurred, before it snapped back into focus. No question now. He knew absolutely. Glorfindel stood before him. His righteous fervor popped, anger overrode any lingering sorrow and he leapt to his feet.
“Betrayer!!!” screamed Erestor as he drove forward slashing his sword in a deadly arc.
Pain. Rage. Fear.
There was nothing else. No existence or thought beyond that; all else swallowed whole by their voracious power. Erestor gripped his weapon with both hands and pounded Glorfindel’s sword over and over, frenetic screeching fury. He wanted to drive Glorfindel into the ground and stomp him to dust, make him disappear. Die horribly as he should have millennium before. Seal the mouth that spoke to him, incessantly foolish chatter.
“Erestor, stop, look at me. We can talk. Let me explain. I was damaged.”
He hissed in frustration and struck harder, primitive determination for revenge strengthened him and he crowed with delight when Glorfindel stumbled backwards. He would silence Glorfindel’s words permanently.
And when the cowl slipped off his head, Erestor hesitated. Glorfindel’s flushed face shone perfectly in Ithil’s light, but his hair was gone, with the exception of one golden strand, and in its place deep, angry whip-like scars marked the skin down past his neck, his left ear only a hole in his skull. In Erestor’s delay, Glorfindel shrugged the hooded robe completely off revealing the full extent of his ruined right hand…melted skin that ran up the full length of his right arm and stiffened it into a permanent right angle.
Erestor roared and attacked Glorfindel again, who never mounted any sort of offense. He took every blow silently, efficiently, but his defenses would not bow. Erestor felt weak and stretched thin as if his fėa would tear apart in a gentle wind. He saw through a red haze and lashed out blindly, pounding, throwing his weapon around wildly.
“Scream! I want to hear you scream before you die!”
His pulse drummed erratically and his sides heaved in distress. Erestor swung the sword with enormous effort, its edge chipped and notched. He was tiring rapidly, could feel the cost of wielding his sword for so long. He howled his fury and disdain and hatred, knowing that he must soon fall. The muscles of his arms burned and his legs wobbled when Glorfindel took him down with little effort, and they fell to the ground.
He struggled within Glorfindel’s grip, groaned in pain and shock. A shriek full of torment and loss broke from his throat but Glorfindel only held him tighter, murmured into his ear.
“I am here now. I have healed and come for you, my love. Please hear me.”
Erestor battled, scratched, bit, threw himself from side to side. The misery and anguish consumed him as image after image of his past life with Glorfindel, as his dreams of a future life with Glorfindel pounded into him and mocked him. It bore him under and the long confined grief threatened to drown his sanity.
“You threw me away!” Erestor’s screamed truth spiked unerringly through the sounds of their ragged breaths.
“Never!” came the immediate, sure reply.
Erestor flinched against the pain in his forehead, an ember of burning agony that knew his name and spoke it, over and over. “Erestor,” it whispered, “Erestor.”
He shook his head against the familiar voice. A light kiss pimpled the skin at the nape of his neck and sparked the memory of an elf, wet clothing, an injured hand, and bluest eyes darkened by arousal. A feeling of longing and lust, a feeling of love welled up.
“Nay!” The word boomed like thunder. He wailed and punched an elbow savagely into Glorfindel’s gut. The grip went slack and Erestor shot to his feet. Glorfindel remained sitting, staring at him. Grief, hurt, suffering flickered in his eyes, and it gladdened Erestor’s now hate-filled heart to see it.
Erestor’s attention was caught by a sound and he cackled when he saw Lindir reappear and who he brought with him. He reached down, grabbed Glorfindel’s remaining ear and jerked him so he faced their new audience.
“Behold, Lord Elrond! Look what the Valar have brought us, the great and mighty Lord Glorfindel here in Imladris. All this time he hid beneath our noses and we never knew. Sneaking around hoping he would not be noticed. I imagine you found it all so amusing, did you not Lord Glorfindel?”
“Nay,” Glorfindel whispered as now released from Erestor’s grip, his head bowed.
But Erestor rushed on not interested in anything Glorfindel had to say.
“How dare you tell Lindir of our most intimate moments? How dare you! And then to allow him to put them to song and reveal them in detail. You sicken me! I wish you could gaze upon yourself, a pathetic and weak dog who licks at my feet whimpering for understanding. And your disgusting scars. Cover yourself, Lord Glorfindel, as that is the only intelligent decision you have made here in Imladris!”
Elrond reached out a hand. “Erestor --.”
He jumped away. “Nay!” He pointed a finger at Elrond. “Do not touch me.”
“Look at me, Lord Glorfindel!” Erestor sneered at him when his head finally lifted. With deliberate slow actions he untied the love knot from his hair, letting the golden beads and feathers fall to the ground. Next came the once beloved ring which he dropped quickly as if burned by its touch.
“Erestor, please,” plead Glorfindel.
“Erestor, please,” he mimicked before he lifted a foot, placed it on Glorfindel’s forehead and cruelly shoved him backwards. Erestor vaguely cogitated Elrond’s gasp and the cries coming from Lindir.
“May the Valar doom you to the Void, you foul, simpering deceiver. Stay away from me and keep your offensive bratling hidden from my sight!”
Erestor turned and for the second time that night, fled for his quarters.
Parmasambe
Library of Imladris
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