Title : Glorfindel Unleashed

Author: Eawen Penallion

Email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com

Feedback: Yes please!

Type: FPS

Beta: Beloved Nienna, so encouraging!

Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.

Rating: NC-17 overall, though not all chapters are.

Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor eventually

Warnings: M/M; implied child abuse (in later chapter); angst; character death

Author's notes: AU as in it is my idea, but canon
where possible with regard to LOTR history. Please
note - I subscribe to a very moral position and
Tolkien's ethics regarding underage elves. There will
be NO illicit carnal connotations in this story.

Summary : A small child creeps into a corner of
Glorfindel's heart. As the child grows into an adult,
Glorfindel is alarmed at how the changes affect him.
Can love survive enforced celibacy, death and an elf
who will not recognise his feelings?




Chapter 1

F.A. 469

The weather was fair and fine in Gondolin on the day
when Glorfindel first met Erestor. Too fine to be
cooped up within his council chambers, so he deferred
one half of the agenda, delegating the rest of the
tasks to his able advisors and set off through the
halls of House of the Golden Flower to seek the sun.
The house was almost deserted as he strode through the
halls, for it seemed most of his household had had the
same idea. Dust motes danced merrily on the beams of
light that shone through the windows and doorways that
he passed on his journey to the garden entrance to his
house.

Glorfindel was proud of his gardens. Though space was
at a premium within the Hidden City, his forebears had
designed the little they did have to allow for a large
expanse of lawn dotted with trees, whose spreading
branches provided for those in need of cool shade.
Fountains played their sweet tinkling song and the air
was redolent with the sweet perfume of flowers, many
of them golden. The golden warrior smiled, taking in
the patches of celandine the gardeners had planted
over the centuries. The sound of childish laughter
drifted to his ears, and Glorfindel grinned. He
followed the joyous cries to a hedged area set aside
for the elflings.

The children swiftly spotted the brilliant sapphire
eyes and braids of gold that peered round the edge of
the hedges and with screams of delight fell upon him,
tugging at his leggings, climbing his enormous frame
and treating him as one of their own. For in as much
as Glorfindel was beloved by the adults of the city,
he was adored by the children of his House. With them
he had no responsibilities, no stature or valiant
history to uphold, but could be a fellow to them, a
provider of sweetmeats and a teller of stories. There
was a lot of the child within Glorfindel and the
children recognised this. As he rolled around in the
dust, pushed them on the swings strung from the trees
or threw them high in catching games with his strong
arms, he was watched with love and respect by the
ellith of the household who took on the care of the
children while their parents fulfilled other duties
within the city.

Finally their other games called to them, and the
children began to release their hold on their Lord and
drift off to other pleasures, leaving the golden lord
to talk to their nursemaids and parents. It was while
in discussion with Mirieth, the wife of one of his
lieutenants and a matron with two children of her own,
that Glorfindel spotted what seemed like a bundle of
black rags in the shadows near the wall.

"What is that, Mistress Mirieth?"

The elleth turned, her face fell in sadness as she saw
what Glorfindel looked at. "Ai, my lord, there lies a
sad tale. That little one is Erestor, son of Galwion."

Glorfindel was stunned to realise that the bundle was
a child, and grieved when he realised whose child.
Galwion was a sergeant of the house who had been
killed on patrol in the mountains but a month earlier.
Glorfindel had broken the news to the widow himself,
and had ordered that all assistance and comfort be
given to the stricken family.

"But what does he do? Why is he alone? Is his mother
not near?" His tone was almost accusing, for he could
not conceive of a grieving child being mistaken for a
bundle of rags.

Mirieth shook her head. " Aerwithen is fading, my
lord, and the child is in the care of her sister."
Glorfindel started at the spitting fury evident in her
tone, and gave her a questioning look. Mirieth
blushed. "Aerwithen is from the House of the Harp, and
her sister - well, I should not be uncharitable, but
she is one of the foulest tempered beings I have ever
had the misfortune to meet. Aerwithen can be difficult
at times but I know that she is shy and covers her
shyness with a sharp facade that she constructed to
cope with the world. Aerwroth is simply mean! She
disapproved of her sister's marriage outside of her
House, and has no love for the boy." The nursemaid
softened as she tenderly looked at the still form.
"Poor little mite, Erestor is afflicted with the same
crippling shyness as his mother, and that witch is no
help. His mother not yet dead and she swaddles him in
mourning clothes and as a result no child will go near
him! Not that he would respond even if they did. He is
sweet and biddable though, little pet."

"How old is the child?"

"Oh, but a babe, no more than eight summers!" She
looked keenly at Glorfindel. "Would you talk to him,
my Lord? Your magic might just break through his
barrier of solitude..."

Glorfindel needed no further prompting. Crossing
swiftly over the grass he penetrated the shadows to
seat himself quietly by the boy. Initially he had
thought that the clothes shrouding the slight form
acted as a hood, but saw instead that the darkness was
a long curtain of hair, as black as the velvet of the
night. Tiny pointed ears broke through the curtain but
no face could be seen.

"Hello, I'm Glorfindel. And you must be Erestor?" The
golden lord's voice was as sweet as his countenance,
soft in tone and temper and dulcet enough to promote a
response from the most reluctant of recipients, but
none came. Glorfindel was not disheartened. Instead he
started to speak softly on the most innocuous of
topics, the weather. He spoke of the warmth of the
sun, the pleasures of a warm breeze and the delights
of cooling oneself in the spray of the fountains, as
his friend the Lord of the Fountain was wont to do. He
did not touch upon the subject of the boy's mother,
for he judged that the little elfling would be too
bewildered at missing the presence of his father to
understand what was happening to other parent. He
talked now without hope of response, intent only on
taking the first step on the road to building a trust
with the child. There was still no response when he
bid his farewell, but he thought he sensed a tiny
motion when he rose from the ground, and hoped that
that minute recognition of his presence was a good
sign. He returned to Mirieth.

"I will come again tomorrow. Do not despair, Mistress
Mirieth, between us he shall learn that he is loved."

Mirieth nodded. "I hope so, my Lord. I hope so."

*********

After that morning, Glorfindel's visits to the
children's garden became a daily occurrence. He gave
orders that a new suit of clothes be delivered to the
child's aunt, with instructions that they must
henceforth be seen on the elfling. Aerwroth obviously
feared such attention from the Lord of the House, as
Erestor quickly appeared in the russet browns and
crimson reds that Glorfindel had chosen for him.
Aerwroth had also experienced a visit from the Elda,
who had paid his quiet respects to the ailing mistress
of the house. By the looks the golden-haired lord
bestowed upon her Aerwroth swiftly divined that she
was not in his favour, and she simpered and fawned in
an effort to avert any retribution for her treatment
of Erestor.

The pen-neth did not change his behaviour. Though
neatly dressed now, his extreme shyness severed him
from his contemporaries and his sole companion was
Glorfindel. The incongruous pair sat side-by-side in
the shade, talking softly and sharing sweet treats
that Glorfindel stole from his kitchens. Well,
*Glorfindel* talked softly, for Erestor as always hid
behind his curtain of hair, and the sweetmeats on the
plate only disappeared when Glorfindel's eyes were
averted. Many would have given up with such
discouragement but at last the day came when his
patience was rewarded.
.

Normally during speech Glorfindel gesticulated to
emphasise his points, but some empathy had made him
realise that this would frighten the elfling so he had
taken to placing his hands down on the ground to
either side, unmoving. On this day they were sitting
in companionable silence when he felt a soft touch on
his fingers and he realised that Erestor had laid a
tiny hand upon his own large one. He did not move, did
not react in any way to this unforeseen movement, but
remained still as the hand stroked the thick fingers,
feeling each one in turn before retreating back into
the folds of brown tunic.

The visit ended shortly afterwards and Glorfindel
spoke his soft farewells, then rose and made his way
back across the lawn to where Mirieth stood. The
elleth's eyes glittered with tears, and her welcoming
smile told him that she had witnessed the exchange
with rising hope in her heart. Glorfindel smiled back,
and then frowned as he remembered something he had not
told the boy.

"I go on patrol tomorrow and will not return for a
ten-day. Please, reassure our pen-dhíínen that I will
return?"

Mirieth nodded. "Aye, my lord, though I wish you had
told him yourself, for he might not believe me."
Glorfindel realised this was true, and made haste to
return to Erestor.

"Pen-neth, I will not be here tomorrow, or for a few
days, for I must do my duty and protect our city on
patrol I *will* be back and until then," he tugged a
ring from his smallest finger, "I want you to hold
this for me as a pledge of that promise." He laid the
ring on the grass beside the head-bowed form, and saw
the tiny hand reach out and take it. His heart swelled
and in a moment of impulse he bent down and pressed a
chaste kiss upon the raven hair.

"Till then, sweet Erestor."

********

Patrol passed slowly and Glorfindel could hardly
believe how much he longed to see his little Erestor.
On his return to the city he did not even delay to
change his garb but hurried to the garden, knowing
that the hour approached in which the children would
return to their homes. He was relieved to see that
some still remained, and that one was Erestor. Mirieth
was also there and she rose from where she had been
playing with another child to turn and greet him.

"Welcome back, my lord!" she called, and from her
smile it was obvious that she had great and happy
news. Yet she did not divulge it, but aimed Glorfindel
to his little friend. "He has waited for you
patiently, my lord. I think he has something for you."


Intrigued, Glorfindel sat beside the usual bowed form.
"I'm home," he whispered, "just as I promised."

The little hand snaked out and dropped the ring back
into his own. He heard a rustle of paper, and a
crumpled ball was drawn forth from within the red
tunic and placed beside the ring. Curiously Glorfindel
opened the ball, smoothing the paper flat. Upon it was
a crude child's drawing, stick figures as young
children do, of a golden-haired rider on a white
horse. Moisture pricked at Glorfindel's eyes.

"Thank you, Erestor. It is beautiful," he whispered.

A sudden movement and Glorfindel was shocked to find
that the boy had wrapped his arms as far round his
broad waist as possible in a hug that expressed deep
affection. The raven head snuggled against his chest,
then slowly lifted, deep chocolate-brown eyes finally
meeting his own sapphire ones. The soft red lips
opened, and for the first time Glorfindel heard his
little one's hushed voice.

"My Glo'fin'l."

Throat suddenly clenched with emotion, Glorfindel
folded his arms around the sweet boy and the two sat
for a long time, the outside world excluded.

"Always, pen vuil. Always."

Elvish:

ellith - female elves (pl.)
elleth - female elf (sing.)
pen-neth - little one
pen-dhíínen - silent one
pen-vuil - dear one


=====

Chapter 2


F.A. 469


The summer waned and Aerwithen lingered. The children
played less in the garden and instead moved to their
designated teaching halls, away from any vagaries in
the weather. The older children were ensconced with
their tutors in the libraries; the younger were in
rooms decorated in bright colours, containing toys and
books suitable for their ages. It was a change for
Erestor, but not an unwelcome one.

Having broken the barrier of speech, Erestor did not
automatically become a garrulous child. He would now
communicate with Mirieth in simple two or three word
sentences, asking when he required something. He also
learned to trust a new elleth, a niece of Mirieth
called Dííwen. Mirieth had discovered that Erestor's
previous nursemaid had been dismissed by Aerwroth and
had suggested to Glorfindel that her sister's daughter
might fill the post.

"It may be of help to have a sympathetic eye within
those chambers, for I do not trust that witch to care
for our little one as we would like," she advised her
lord.

Glorfindel agreed, and to forestall any dissension by
the aunt he declared that he would pay all monies
pertaining to the appointment. Dííwen was a sensible
girl and gentle enough to draw out the little boy and
introduce him to the fun of play. She also found
another shy child who would not be rough or boisterous
and often the two played side by side with building
bricks, or sharing their colours.

At last, with his growing confidence, Mirieth could
see Erestor's face and remarked often on his beauty.
Erestor was a slim child with skin the colour of pale
cream. His startling hair was like black velvet,
falling unrestrained over his shoulders; the
heart-shaped face framed the rose-red lips, which
curled sweetly but shyly when he was happy which
happened more and more now. It was his eyes, though,
which drew the attention. Large, exotically
almond-shaped, the depth of the chocolate-brown orbs
exuded warm and purity of soul. And those eyes
searched constantly for Glorfindel.

No one could replace the golden lord in Erestor's
affection. He listened for the heavy footsteps along
the corridor leading to the teaching room and would
wait at the appointed hour near the entrance. Only
Glorfindel could cause the blinding smile that lit up
the elfling's face as he was swept up into the safe
arms of his best friend.

"My Glo'fin'l."

And Glorfindel would laugh, and gently sway him in his
arms. Not throw or swing, for somehow he knew that
Erestor needed something gentler.

"And what today, pen-neth? More story?" At the
enthusiastic nod, Glorfindel settled himself on the
floor pillows and smiled his thanks when Dííwen handed
him the primer they had been using that week. Erestor
snuggled further into his lap and the two heads, sable
and gold, bent over the book spending the next hour
entranced in the joy of words.

Erestor was ravenous when it came learning. Mirieth
regularly claimed that his voracious intellectual
appetite would exhaust her little library; so avid a
reader was he. In the end she had implored Glorfindel
to find other pursuits for the elfling. And so it was
that one fine day the Lord of the House of the Golden
Flower introduced Erestor, son of Galwion to one of
Glorfindel's closest friends - Asfaloth.

The huge creature was the finest stallion in Gondolin.
A good seventeen hands high, he was strong across the
back to take the weight of a fully armoured
Glorfindel, who was an elf of no mean stature. Of the
purest white, his mane flowed like Glorfindel's, a
shade almost like gold. He was truly magnificent,
holding his noble head in proud position; highly
spirited, he was a formidable challenge to the tiny
elf.

"Look, Erestor," said Glorfindel, "He wants to be your
friend." It was a hard task to coax the little
elfling's head from where it sheltered in the base of
his neck, whilst simultaneously trying to loosen the
stranglehold the said elfling had placed around the
said throat. "He won't hurt you, pen-neth"

"I don't think he believes you, Fin," came a laughing
voice from behind the lord. Glorfindel turned with the
child in his arms, offering a wry smile to the
newcomer. "So," continued the elf, "this is your
little protéégéé?"

"Aye, this is Erestor," The elfling was still silent,
hidden beneath his veil of hair. " Pen-neth, this is
Ecthelion, my very good friend. Look, sweet one, he
has hair like yours. He has black hair too. Won't you
give him greetings?" He bent his head, trying to peer
through the thick strands, finally spotting those
brown eyes. "Saes, Erestor?" he added a twist of
pleading.

The child finally raised his head, and a small voice
spoke out. "Mae govannen, Ecthelion."

"Mae govannen, Master Erestor," responded the Lord of
the Fountain. "Aye, but you are a pretty one. Are you
here to see Asfaloth?"

The elfling nodded, deciding once he had seen this new
elf that he liked him. There was nothing not to like.
Ecthelion was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful of
elves, dark of hair and fair of face. He always bore a
look of innocence and joy upon his face, though
Glorfindel knew that a wicked sense of humour lurked
behind that faççade. 'Thel's voice was also his fame
for as well as being a renowned and fearless warrior,
he had the sweetest voice in all Gondolin, and it was
often said he could charm the birds from the trees.
Glorfindel could see it had already charmed Erestor.

"Shall I tell you a secret, Erestor?" Another shy nod.
"Glorfindel calls all his horses Asfaloth - do you
know why?" A shake this time. "Because he is too silly
and lazy to try and remember any other name! This way
he doesn't have to." Ecthelion chuckled, fully
expecting Erestor to join in but his laughter stopped
when he received a stern glare from those dark eyes.

" Glo'fin'l *not* silly. He *my* Glo'fin'l!" The
child's voice had deepened in his anger at the slur on
his friend, and Glorfindel laughed aloud in pleasure.

"Ai, 'Fin, you truly have a stout defender here! May
the Valar help any who cross *this* elf when he is
grown! I thought you said he was shy?" Glorfindel
nodded, puzzled at his friend's comment. Ecthelion
continued. "No truly shy child would challenge a
warrior like me," the dark lord smiled. "He's
Galwion's boy, you said? Now *there* was a reserved
elf, I never got more than ten words out of him on
patrol. And if the mother was as shy as you say then I
think this little one has simply followed his parents'
example. No, young Erestor has plenty of spirit."

Glorfindel pondered on this. Perhaps his friend was
right, and the child had no more than mimicked his
parents' formidable reserve. Perhaps this would bode
well for the little one's future, for Glorfindel had
felt that worry press upon him at times.

"Now, how about a ride?" Ecthelion was saying, and
Glorfindel gasped to feel the boy lifted from his arms
and placed upon Asfaloth's broad back. Erestor
squealed and Glorfindel made to protest when he
registered that the cry had been one of delight. "Up
you go behind him, 'Fin. I'll lead you out."

Glorfindel sprang upon the steed's back, an arm
quickly circling Erestor's waist, and Ecthelion began
to lead the horse from the stable.

"That's it, pen-neth. Grip him firmly with your knees,
and hold his mane with your hands. Asfaloth won't let
you fall, will you boy?" Ecthelion's instructions were
swiftly followed though the thin legs were unlikely to
make any impression upon the stallion. Erestor leaned
into the sway, perfectly happy in his beloved
Glorfindel's grip. "Ai, 'Fin, Asfaloth's in fine
condition. He'll bear you well on the journey
tomorrow."

Glorfindel could feel the boy tense and accusing eyes
turned swiftly up to him. He sighed. "I hadn't told
him yet, 'Thel," he said, and then looked contritely
down at his little friend. "I am sorry, sweet one, I
*will* be travelling from the city, and it is no short
patrol. I must bear a message beyond the Encircling
Mountains to Nargothrond and I will be gone for at
least a month. Here," he pulled off his mithril ring,
" I meant to give our token to you later but you had
better take it now."

Erestor nodded disconsolately. "A promise," he
whispered.

"Aye, pen-neth. A promise." Glorfindel dropped a kiss
onto the soft black hair.

* * * *

Glorfindel knew that something was amiss as soon as he
rode into the stable yard, and his heart clenched with
foreboding. Mirieth was awaiting him, her face wet
with tears and her hands wringing in anxiety. He leapt
from Asfaloth's back before the horse drew to a halt.

"Mirieth, what is wrong? What ails you?"

The elleth shook her head in misery, the words
tumbling from her mouth.

"He's gone, my lord. He's gone! His mother died but
three days after you left, and her pyre burned, then
she took him and now he's gone!"

Glorfindel gripped the distraught elleth's shoulders,
shaking her lightly in an effort to calm her.

"Where, Mirieth? Where has she taken him?"

The elleth took deep breaths. She had been waiting for
her lord's return for so long, repeating her tale over
and over in her head, so fearing his reaction that she
was almost overcome with hysteria. She took one last
inhalation and tried to steady her voice.

"Aerwroth has taken him back with her to her own
house, The House of the Harp. She said it was her
right as Erestor's only living relative. Oh my lord,
she dressed him in that awful black immediately,
almost with glee. And she has dismissed Dííwen. She
said she would hire a nursemaid herself, one who was
not a spy." Mirieth looked directly into Glorfindel's
eyes. "I have attended upon her three times, my lord.
She will not let me see him."

Glorfindel ground his teeth in anger. "She will let
*me*," he growled and snatching at Mirieth's wrist he
strode from the yard.

They must have been quite a sight, the golden lord
striding through the streets of the White City and the
elleth being dragged behind, almost running in an
effort to keep up with the long strides of the large
elf. The twists and turns were many but soon they were
before the House of the Harp, and its gates were open
to them.

No one in Gondolin did not recognise the Lord of the
House of the Golden Flower. His strength, bravery and
formidable skill in the service of the King was
renowned and the warriors of the Harp were among his
many admirers; the more so perhaps because the same
admiration could not be extended to their own Lord.
For Salgant, it was rumoured, was no true warrior. It
was to his chambers that Glorfindel and Mirieth were
directed.

The Lord of the Harp was not impressed with the
greeting he received.

"Salgant, you have a boy living in this house - a boy
called Erestor - and I want to see him *now*!"

The lord of the house quavered inwardly, for
Glorfindel unleashed was not a sight for the faint
hearted, yet he maintained his outward faççade of
authority, an act he had perfected through the
centuries. He slowly looked up and down the figure of
his counterpart, noticing in disdain the
travel-stained leathers. Salgant was nothing if not
fastidious about his own appearance.

"Glorfindel, is your errand so urgent that you could
not change before arranging a visit to a fellow lord?
I must say your choice of garb is most ... aromatic."
There were a few titters from Salgant's advisors.
Glorfindel took no notice.

"The boy, Salgant."

Salgant placed one finger to his cheek, pretending to
ponder upon the question. "Ah, yes, Aerwithen's get. I
know of this child, for the sister, Aerwroth has come
before me asking for advice on this matter." He turned
to one of the pages. "Please ask Mistress Aerwroth to
come before me - and bring the boy." The page hurried
to do his master's bidding. Salgant turned back to
Glorfindel who still held firm to Mirieth's wrist, an
obviously uncomfortable situation for the elleth as
her face bore signs of the pain. A slight tug drew his
attention to her discomfort and he released her.

"And what advice did *Mistress Aerwroth* seek?" asked
Glorfindel, his opinion of the elleth clear in his
tone.

"Why, a legal matter," Salgant declared, "That of
custody of the child. In fact, I took counsel with
Turgon, but it seems the law is clear."

At that moment the door to the chamber opened and
Aerwroth strode in, followed by a nursemaid leading
the small child clad in black. Glorfindel made to
reach for the child but Salgant's upraised hand
stalled him.

"Hold, Glorfindel! For the counsel given to me was
thus - in the absence of both parents, custody of an
orphan child passes to their nearest relative, if that
person is willing to give an abode to the child.
Aerwroth is willing. Therefore," the lord smirked,
"Erestor son of Aerwithen is now in her charge and is
henceforth a member of the House of the Harp. The King
has spoken."

Glorfindel did not move for a moment, did not blink as
the news sank in. He felt hollow as if he had lost
part of himself, and knew not what to say. Mirieth
stood behind him, seeing her lord's pain, silently
weeping. Her lord raised his head, a bleak look upon
his face.

"Please, let me hold him one more time. Let me say
goodbye?"

Salgant was satisfied. For so long he had heard the
sneering rumours about his own valour, had heard the
unfavourable comparisons with this knight of high fame
and virtue. It was good to hear the plea in the golden
lord's voice, to bring him to beg before him. He
gestured to Erestor, nodding to the black-shrouded
elleth.

"Aye, I am sure Mistress Aerwroth can have no
objection to such a simple request, eh my lady?"

Glorfindel knelt and, at a gesture from Aerwroth, the
nursemaid released Erestor's hand. The child flew into
Glorfindel's arms.

Glorfindel clutched his little one close to his
breast, and closed his eyes tight in a vain effort to
prevent the tears from falling. How had such a tiny
creature gained such a hold over his heart in only a
few months? What power did Erestor possess that he
felt so lost at this removal? How could he let him go?
Yet he must. Pulling the child away from him he looked
into Erestor's eyes. His throat was choked, yet he
must speak.

"Pen-vuil, it is not my wish but you- you must stay
here with your aunt." The child wailed, a cry that
formed a small fissure in Glorfindel's heart. "No,
pen-neth, listen! I will always love you, sweet one. I
will come to see you as often as I may. I won't forget
you, Erestor." The tears were freely flowing now from
both adult and child, Erestor wailing in the
understanding that he would not be returning home with
his Glo'fin'l. The nursemaid tried to take Erestor's
hand but he only clung tighter to his lord and finally
she gripped him firmly and tore him away, bearing him
from the room. Erestor's screams could be heard
resounding down the corridor.

Aerwroth approached the kneeling Glorfindel. "My Lord,
I found this among the child's possessions. I would
not have one of my house said to be a thief, so I
return it to you now." She held out her hand and upon
it lay a mithril ring. Glorfindel groaned.

"It was a pledge, a promise," he whispered.

"Well, he will not need it now." The elleth dropped
the ring, which bounced upon the marble floor, rolling
to a final stop at his feet. "Goodbye, my lord".

The final shreds holding his heart rent into two as
her footsteps echoed down the corridor, falling away
to nothing.

Elvish:

elleth - female elf (sing.)
pen-neth - little one
saes - please
mae govannen - well met
pen-vuil - dear one

=====

***Warning for this chapter - Evidence of child abuse,
not explicit***





Chapter 3


F.A. 470


If you did not know Glorfindel well you would have
noticed no difference in the golden lord's demeanour.
Ecthelion knew him well, and noted the changes with
dismay. No more did he see that brilliant smile; or
hear the resounding laugh; or feel the power and
concentration in battle that Glorfindel normally
imbued in his sparring sessions. All were gone, and
the golden lord was a shadow. His outward face was the
same but his heart was in the House of the Harp, in
the keeping of a small boy called Erestor.

Why this should be so Ecthelion could not understand.
Glorfindel had had many partners, light flirtations
with ellyn and ellith, but had never shown the
slightest inclination to settle down, wed and raise a
family. At the age when most elves thought of love,
the age that Iluvatar had appointed as shortly after
majority, Glorfindel had been fighting for his life.
Glorfindel and Ecthelion had been among the host that
had traversed the Helcaraxëë; that grinding, freezing
waste of crushing ice and snow. Survival was all that
mattered, and the survivors had rejoiced that they
still lived. The centuries following had been times of
starvation, toil and fear. The endless battles; the
fall of Fingon; the constant attacks by Melkor's
minions had pushed aside the need or opportunity to
procreate for so many warriors. Only the past three
hundred years and the relative peace and safety of
Gondolin had allowed the elves to resume that which
might otherwise have been thought of as a 'normal
life'.

So far Glorfindel had not found that one, ellon or
elleth, who was the other half of his soul. Yet he
obviously wanted a child, one who would love him
unconditionally and it seemed he had found him in
Erestor.

Until he had lost him.

Glorfindel had not given up easily. He had tried to
make good on his promise to Erestor, had visited the
House of the Harp with books and treats and toys for
the boy - but there had always been an excuse. The boy
is sleeping. The boy is at his lessons. The boy is
indisposed. Always he had been refused entrance until
finally he had been called before the king and, after
protest from Salgant, been told to stop his
'harassment' of the boy and his aunt. Thus he was
effectively barred from that which he longed for most.


Ecthelion knew that Glorfindel wasn't alone in his
sorrow. Mirieth had taken hard the loss of the boy,
for she saw it as a failure to her lord. Her niece too
was saddened, for the sweetness of Erestor had
endeared him to her heart. Thus they were a triad,
feeding off one another in their grief so that none
may heal; and Glorfindel was worst.

The Lord of the House of the Fountain had thus taken
it upon himself to support his friend and to turn his
thoughts elsewhere.

* * * *

Glorfindel sighed. He could cheerfully kill Ecthelion.
Quickly of course, he wasn't cruel. Still, death was
on the cards for the dark-haired lord. Perhaps he
could drown him in one of his own fountains? No, too
long. Impale him upon the spike of his own helm? Now
*that* was an idea. Very delightful to contemplate.
Much more so than another of these interminable
'entertainments' Ecthelion had organised for him. Not
that it was presented as such. Just lots and lots of
eligible ellyn and ellith who would just *love* to
become 'friends' with the golden lord, who flattered
and pouted and wanted to. comfort him. Beautiful,
desirable, elegant and utterly boring. On second
thought, death was too good for 'Thel. He'd just lock
him in this room with these twittering idiots for a
few days and see how *he* liked it.

"Thank you so much for your observations, you are very
wise." Glorfindel didn't know and didn't care what the
elleth had been blithering on about but from the look
on her face as he strode away he hadn't given the
appropriate answer. Tough. He approached his friend
through the milling throngs gracing the ball.

" 'Thel, I'll take my leave of you now. It has been a
long day and." His voice trailed off, for he didn't
even have the will to make an excuse. Ecthelion
hesitated as if deciding whether to remonstrate with
him, then simply laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"Maer dúú, meldir," he said simply, and watched with
sad eyes as Glorfindel exited his halls.

The night air was brisk and laden with the promise of
more snow as Glorfindel stepped out into the street.
It was now late winter, and three months had passed
since. Glorfindel shook his head as if trying to
break the train of his thoughts. Was he always going
to hearken back to that day in Salgant's council
chamber? It was over. It was finished. Life moves on.

The golden lord was startled when he saw where his
feet had led him. Not to his bedchambers, warm with
the heat from the open fire, aglow with the light from
the many candles. Not to the large-framed bed,
blankets with a green coverlet embroidered with the
golden celandine of his House.

He sat heavily on the grass in the shadowed corner of
his garden, playing with the mithril ring upon his
finger, caring not that the snow was wet and cold. He
did not look to his side but straight across the
darkened lawns of his house. If he looked straight
ahead he could pretend that a little bundle of rags
sat beside him.

He doubled up at that thought, dry sobs escaping from
his heaving chest. Stop it, he admonished himself. No
more. How long he sat he didn't know but he was pulled
from his solitude when he heard shouts from behind
him. He turned, surprised to see Mirieth running
across the snow, long skirts flying.

"My lord!" she called. "I have news!" She gasped to a
halt in front of him. "I have news - of Erestor!" Her
tone was frantic and Glorfindel lurched in despair. He
grasped at her shoulders to steady her but let her
continue without prompting, for she needed none.

"I have been visiting with a friend in the House of
the Hammer and he has a lady friend, a love who is of
the House of the Harp, I confided in him of our
troubles some months past. His beloved is a servant in
her House and they have been passing onto me any news
of Erestor."

"Why did you not tell me before?" asked Glorfindel. He
would have given anything for news of his little one
and Mirieth knew that full well. The elleth shook her
head.

"There was naught really to tell. A child's voice
heard here, a sighting there - just enough to tell me
he was well. Aerwroth is not a person to be crossed
and this elleth did not want to jeopardise her
position but - a week ago she heard cries from
Aerwroth's rooms. A child's screams. She alerted her
superior but was told to hold her tongue. She has
passed these rooms again and heard whimpering, then -
since two days ago - nothing. She did not see her
lover until this morning, and I him tonight. Oh my
lord, what has she done to our little boy?" Her face
crumpled in torment at the thoughts that crossed her
mind.

The rage was overwhelming. It was liken to the battle
rage Glorfindel experienced in war and, as at those
times, his instinct sharpened. The orders came
quickly.

" Collect Dííwen and send a messenger to Lord
Ecthelion. Tell him to meet me at the House of the
Harp, for I will be in need of a witness to my acts
this night. Go, do as I ask and meet me at the main
door."

Glorfindel raced to his rooms where he stopped only to
collect his broadsword. No one would stand in his way
tonight.

Their passage to the House of the Harp was swift, for
the streets were almost deserted at this late hour,
yet it was not so late that the doors of the house
were barred. Nevertheless, an elf bearing arms was not
to be borne. Lord or no, Glorfindel was challenged.

"Hold my lord, what disaster has happened that brings
you here so armed?" cried the captain, motioning his
men to cut off the entrance. Glorfindel growled, a
primal sound that struck fear into the men's hearts
yet they moved to obey their captain.

"Let me pass, Tawaron, my business is with your master
and with the elleth Aerwroth. Escort me if you will,
for what I go to see must be witnessed by more than
one. If you know the way to Aerwroth's chambers I beg
of your mercy, lead me there - at once."

Tawaron did not hesitate, for he knew of that which
had passed between Glorfindel and Salgant at their
last meeting, and he had no love for Aerwroth.
Furthermore, he was a father and had felt for the boy.


"This way, my lord." Tawaron lead them through the
darkened corridors of the house, Glorfindel following,
and Mirieth and Dííwen behind. They halted before an
oak door, stout - but if looks could kindle fire, this
would have been ashes in seconds. Glorfindel pounded
upon it. There was noise as in the drawing back of
bolts and the door slowly swung open. Glorfindel did
not hesitate. Pushing past the servant he marched into
the room. Aerwroth stood before him.

"Where is the boy?" he snarled. Aerwroth tried to
stand firm.

"This is an outrage." she began but got no further as
the tip of the giant sword pressed under her chin.

"Now, where is the boy?" Glorfindel repeated. The
elleth was too stricken with fear to answer, to
respond in any way, but the servant pointed to a door
in the right hand wall of the room and the corridor
beyond. Glorfindel made his down the passage, flinging
the doors wide in his search. He came to the last,
which was locked. Not waiting for a key, he flung his
shoulder at it, cracking the lock.

The room was cold, deathly cold for no fire was lit to
salve the winter frost. Though bearable for an adult
elf it would be bitter for a child combined with the
dankness of the air. It was dark, and a stench
permeated the chamber. Glorfindel called for a light.
At that moment Ecthelion arrived, tumbling through the
door in his obvious haste.

"I'm sorry, I was delayed - oh, Varda's mercy!" he
exclaimed in horror as the light was brought to bear
on the room's contents.

The cause of the stench was quickly obvious. A bucket
had obviously been used as a privy, and was filled to
overflowing. A dishpan was filled with water that was
in no way fresh and a plate bore evidence of mouldy
crusts of bread. Ecthelion turned to Aerwroth, who
cowered at the entrance to the room, his eyes wide
with disgust and amazement.

"Vile creature, what have you done?" he breathed.

Glorfindel took no notice as he turned to the mean
bed, a threadbare blanket draped upon it and a black
bundle upon that in turn. A stride and he knelt beside
it, hand hovering over the tiny figure, dread binding
his heart. He knew he could wait no longer and that
every moment could count. Gently, as if stroking a
butterfly, he lifted the lacklustre strands of hair
from the boy's face.

"Erestor?" His voice cracked, his throat clogged with
sobs and tears he had no time to shed. "Pen-neth, can
you hear me?"

The moment halted, time seemed to stand still as all
held their breath, then the eyes opened, thick dark
lashes sweeping upwards to reveal those brown irises.
They stared, no spark of intelligence in them, then
suddenly they focused. The parched red lips opened,
trying to form a word.

"Glo'fin'l"

Swiftly the golden lord stripped the boy of the filthy
clothes, checking him for any broken bones. There
seemed to be none, but plenty of bruises, fresh and
old.

"Quickly, Mirieth, find some blankets, clean and warm.
Dííwen, a cup of fresh water please."

The ellith hastened to do their lord's bidding,
horrified at the state of the child. Gently,
Glorfindel coaxed Erestor to sip the water, soothing
and cradling the child to his breast, who was now
wrapped against the winter's chill. A commotion in the
outer rooms drew Ecthelion's attention and he grimaced
as he recognised the strident tones of Salgant.

"Glorfindel, you were warned - !" The Lord strode into
the room then halted, his face screwed up against the
noisome smell. The golden lord stood, holding his
precious bundle against his chest.

"Aye," he said, his voice flat, "I was warned and now
I warn *you*. If anyone *dares* to try to take this
child from me again he will see my sword at his throat
- and feel it go through. I declare that this child,
Erestor son of Galwion, is now a scion of the House of
the Golden Flower and under *my* protection. For you
have failed this child sorely and have forfeited all
rights of control over him. Ecthelion of the Fountain,
do you bear witness?"

Ecthelion nodded grimly. "I do, and I will go now to
Turgon and inform him of the events of this night.
Tawaron, I call upon you to escort me, for you too
have been a witness to these foul deeds. Bring the
elleth for she must stand forth for these crimes." He
leant down to retrieved Glorfindel's sword, raising it
high. At that Aerwroth screamed, fearing it was to be
used against her. Tawaron only nodded to one of his
guards to drag her away. He turned to Salgant, who had
been protesting no knowledge of Aerwroth's deeds.

"By your leave, my lord?" Salgant nodded, a cloth
pressed to his nose. He looked nauseous and would put
up no fight. Glorfindel pushed past him, intent on
bringing his little one home.

* * * *

They cried that night, all of them, as they gently
bathed and fed Erestor. Mirieth dipped sops of fresh
bread into warm milk and Erestor took them eagerly,
desperate for the nourishment. Dííwen fetched clean
clothes and salves for his bruises. Glorfindel cradled
his boy, smoothing his hair, softly singing sweet
songs. He turned his attention from Erestor only when
Ecthelion arrived, followed by the king's daughter,
Idril Celebrindal. The ellith quickly curtseyed to the
floor but Idril just smiled and waved for them to
rise. Glorfindel did not move but simply nodded his
head. He had known the princess for years beyond count
and in private stood upon no ceremony with her. He
turned to Ecthelion.

"What news?"

Ecthelion smiled.

"He is yours now, my friend. The King heard testimony
from Tawaron and myself and has laid upon Aerwroth the
punishment of imprisonment for at least fifty years.
Salgant has received censure, though Maeglin argued
that if Salgant didn't know he could hardly be blamed.
Rog pointed out that ignorance of the activities in
his own House is hardly befitting a Lord. Meanwhile,
our pen-neth is your responsibility from this night
until the day of his majority."

The princess knelt before the tired child taking one
small hand in hers, stroking his face gently with the
other.

"He is lovely, Glorfindel. To know that he has been
the victim of such evil I can hardly bear to
contemplate. I offer my protection as well, if you
will allow it." She looked up at the warrior, seeing
gratitude and love for the child so evident in his
eyes. "He will be the most loved child in all
Gondolin, and probably the most spoilt too."

Glorfindel chuckled. "Too true, eh pen-neth?"

There was no answer, for a glaze had come over those
chocolate eyes and, with a thumb in his little mouth,
Irmo took him into his garden of Lóórien in the Land of
Dreams.

Elvish:

ellyn - male elves (pl.)
ellith - female elves (pl.)
elleth - female elf (sing.)
maer dúú - good night
meldir - my friend
pen-neth - little one


=====

Chapter 4


F.A. 470 - onwards


Children are resilient. Although it cannot be said
that Erestor was not affected by his early trauma, he
became a bright, though reserved, child as he
blossomed in the care of those he loved. Within his
immediate family there was of course Glorfindel, his
shining light; Mirieth, who though she had to attend
to the needs of her own family was looked upon by
Erestor as a mother; Dííwen, who was his nursemaid as a
child and a sister as a youth; and Ecthelion, who (so
Glorfindel said) was 'a bad influence', for he loved
to tell tales of the mischief he and Glorfindel had
gotten in to at their own majority. However amongst
the other elves of Gondolin, other than with Idril
Celebrindal, Erestor remained a quiet child. He often
stood in keen observation of the world around him,
seemingly separate from it. His chambers in the house
were near Glorfindel's and were a treasure trove of
books and toys and other childish treats, for
Glorfindel could deny his pen-neth nothing.
Fortunately Erestor was greedy for nothing except his
golden lord's attention, and did not become spoilt as
the princess had predicted.

Physically he grew slim and willowy, and bearing a
grace beyond his years. He would not be counted
amongst the tallest of his contemporaries but his
bearing and carriage gave the illusion of a height
which he did not possess. His beauty also grew and his
waist-length hair soon regained its deep lustre,
swaying as a black veil around his shoulders. He left
it loose except on horseback when it was braided into
a single plait, thick as rope down the curve of his
spine. His eyes, rich and deep, were framed by
luscious lashes of which many elleth could only dream.
The exotic slant was much remarked on and drew many
admiring glances as an elfling. His skin retained the
hue of cream and the texture of silk and the rose-red
lips curved in gentle smiles. As he became a youth
both ellyn and ellith gazed upon him in desire and he
was the secret target of lust of older elves.

His keen intelligence and thirst for knowledge
thrilled his tutors, and their reports were
overflowing with compliments. Often when he did not
appear at the table for meals he could be found
engrossed in books, scrolls or other tomes and had to
be physically removed from the library by an irate
Mirieth.

His weapons masters were not so gushing with their
compliments. Erestor could only be regarded as
competent in the use of sword, knife and bow even with
the extra tutoring such eminent elves as Glorfindel
and Ecthelion bestowed upon him. In truth Erestor
would often neglect his swordplay for an extra hour in
the library. He *did* excel in horsemanship for his
delight at being upon Asfaloth's back transferred into
a deep love of all things equine, and he soon
progressed from gentle ponies to spirited mares.
Glorfindel would not let him exercise Asfaloth though,
much to his chagrin.

Most of all the devotion of the two elves was obvious
to all. They seemed to many as to be of one mind; one
soul in a single body, though none could define why.
They did not look alike. They did not act alike. It
was more in their reaction to each other - if one
prospered the other was elated; if one was hurt in
mind or body the second ailed until the first was
healed. A separation of yards across a crowded room
was not an obstacle; if one turned to look for the
other their eyes met without searching; if one needed
the other within moments they were side by side. They
were each dependant on the other, though of course as
a child for Erestor it was more so. Glorfindel was
like a bear with his cub, fiercely protective, his
growl enough to cause fear in those who would have
presumed or pestered the boy. No one was to harm *his*
Erestor.

To Glorfindel the boy looked for all things - for
sheer joy of life; for approval; to share a tale; to
ride upon the plains of Tumladen; to stroll the market
streets, Glorfindel's arm flung across his shoulders,
enjoying the delights of the day; for the touch of a
gentle hand stroking his hair as they curled in
conversation by the fire on long winter eves.
Reprimands from his hero were few and far between and
would make both of them unhappy for days. They were
seen as father and son, though Glorfindel would not
allow the use of those terms, protesting that he could
not deny Erestor his heritage.

" His father was Galwion, a valiant warrior; his
mother, Aerwithen, who loved him. I will not deprive
him of his family. I am his guardian and he is my
ward."

To those who looked, that was the relationship they
saw and they delighted in the happiness evident
therein. For only with Glorfindel did the boy seem at
ease and only from the warrior would Erestor accept
those physical symbols of familial love - a hug, a
chaste kiss onto black head or a ruffle of dark hair
in jest or joy. But some can see farther and deeper
than others, and one worried observer was alarmed at
what he could divine from those seemingly innocent
touches.


* * * *


F.A. 502

Even after her marriage to the human Lord Tuor, the
princess had kept her promise of protection and
interest in Erestor. As he grew into a fine young
ellon she undertook his education in the intricacies
of the King's court and the manners expected from a
young lord, for Erestor was regarded as Glorfindel's
heir and drew much interest from the Houses in that
matter alone. Idril began to introduce him at small
gatherings she held in the King's tower, where the
youth of Gondolin could mingle under the watchful eye
of their parents and guardians. Thus Erestor learned
to build his public persona, bowing to the elves who
cast longing glances at his beautiful, exotic eyes.
Glorfindel often attended these soirees, lightly
flirting with those unbound adults who sought his
attentions. Although he had not abstained totally
during his guardianship his sexual liaisons had
thinned somewhat, ostensibly because he did not want
to expose his charge to unseemly ideas. Yet recently
he had found himself becoming aroused for no apparent
reason, his appetites enlarging and needing release.
This evening the Lord and his ward were in great
demand.

Erestor had recently passed his forty-first birthday
and was beginning to awaken to the charms and
attractions of males and females, though of course he
could take no action until his majority. He and his
acquaintances among the juniors of the royal court
mingled extensively with the young ladies within the
salon. Yet he constantly looked to where the
chaperones stood, secretly watching that golden head.
His glances were noticed by the one who watched, who
frowned when he saw a sudden change in the expression
of the boy.

Glorfindel was seated amongst the older elves and the
current focus of his attentions was a certain lady
from the House of the Tree. He had been conducting a
delightful dalliance with her for some months now
which the elleth was sure would evolve into something
more permanent. Glorfindel was tempted for she was
very fair but, as he had found so often recently,
there was something unsatisfactory, something lacking
in the relationship; some distraction that called his
attention elsewhere. A physical cause of distraction
at this moment was the dark Lord of the Fountain who,
making his excuses to the lady, drew his friend away,
seeking a corner where they would not be overheard.

"What do you need, 'Thel? For I will tell you, you
have disturbed a very promising liaison."

"Nay, as always it would have come to naught," said
Ecthelion cryptically. He nodded at the gathering of
elflings. "It is to another that I draw your
attention."

"Erestor?" Glorfindel turned to face the room. He did
not have to search for the boy for the connection
between them was such that he could feel his
pen-neth's direction. He studied the raven-haired
youth. The lad had a sullen look on his face, swiftly
hidden when he saw that he was being watched.
Glorfindel frowned.

"What is wrong with him? He looks as a child would who
has been deprived of his favourite toy. "

Ecthelion darted a startled glance at his friend, as
if he had spoken a hidden truth. Glorfindel saw it and
raised an eyebrow in question. The Lord of the
Fountain hesitated, not knowing how to express his
fears now that the moment had arrived.

"Not his favourite toy - his favourite Lord."
Ecthelion realised that Glorfindel had no idea of what
he was intimating. "He fears losing you."

Glorfindel laughed, confused. "What are you talking
about? He's not going to lose me!"

Ecthelion shook his head. "He saw you courting that
elleth, mellon nîîn. He isn't happy about it at all."

Glorfindel glanced over his shoulder at the lady in
question. His attentions to her had been direct and
she was watching him, flushed with obvious desire.
Then he looked at Erestor, who too stared at the
elleth. He was shocked to see the intense look of
jealousy - no, hatred - upon his charge's face.

"But I'm not looking for a mother for him!" the
warrior protested. Ecthelion shook his head.

"He isn't looking at her as a potential step-mother,
'Fin. He sees her as a potential rival." He placed a
hand on Glorfindel's arm, trying to convey the
strength of his beliefs and his fears. "He's not a
child anymore, my friend, it is but nine years to his
coming of age. Erestor knows what he wants - and he
wants *you*. Perhaps you'd better examine your own
feelings too, 'Fin, because I've seen you looking at
him in eligible company, when you didn't think anyone
was watching. You have worn that same look upon your
face. Not protective - possessive." He paused,
considering his final words. "You've always said you
didn't want to be his father. Just what *do* you want
to be to him, 'Fin?"

With that he left, knowing that he had said all he
could for the moment, hoping that Glorfindel would not
hate him in the future for his warning.

Glorfindel stood stunned and silent at the edge of the
room, as the full meaning of the conversation came
crashing into his consciousness. It was if a veil had
been torn down, a barrier had been shattered, and
everything had a sudden clarity - the colours of the
elves' robes, the soft tunes played by the musicians,
the clashing chatter of discussion, laughter, cries,
shouts.

And in the middle of that stood Erestor. The
raven-haired elf had turned, sensing his lord across
the crowds - and Erestor smiled, a brilliant smile
that had only ever been for him alone. In that moment,
his heartbeat raced. He felt a fluttering in his
stomach and a wave of heat swept from his groin as the
blood began to pool there, as his desire began to
swell. Glorfindel finally saw what Ecthelion had seen.


In every soft face he had touched recently, his hand
had been searching for that creamy silk texture. The
eyes that had met his own had all been dark, lustful,
wanting - but he had seen only deep, warm,
chocolate-brown pools of desire. As brunette hair had
slipped through his fingers he had imagined those
midnight tresses, as soft and as heavy as velvet. Lips
had been plundered aplenty but he only sought those
rose-red ones, petals parted in sweet surrender. All
those willing bodies beneath his own; hot, slick,
writhing and yet his thirst had not been slaked.

His heart and his soul had yearned only for that which
could complete him.

The room faded and they were the only two elves who
existed and the truth pounded in his brain.

Just when had Erestor fallen in love with Glorfindel -
and when had he, Glorfindel, fallen in love with his
sweet, precious pen-neth?



* * * *


They left the palace early, well before their usual
departure time. Normally they would entertain each
other during their walk home with titbits of gossip
and news they had heard during their evening, but
Glorfindel was silent and Erestor copied him. He could
recognise that the golden lord was deeply troubled but
mild cajoling did not bring the issue forth and
Erestor knew better than to press him. Nevertheless he
was worried. Glorfindel would normally by now have
reassured him, saying 'It is not you, pen-neth, fear
not, all will be well.' He did not, and now the youth
felt a cold spasm cross his heart.

There were no suggestions of refreshments, of sitting
by the fire in comfortable company. Instead Erestor
was bid a curt 'Maer dúú' as Glorfindel shut the door
of his bedchamber, and Erestor was left to make his
way to his own room alone. Erestor washed and changed
into his sleeping trousers but as he lay in his bed he
could not sleep.

An hour later he heard Glorfindel's door open,
footsteps, then a short time after, the House door.
Glorfindel was gone.


****


Ecthelion knew who stood silently at the door of his
study, who waited for him to lift his head from the
letter he was writing. He would not consciously
prolong his wait, his agony.

The large elflord stood framed in the darkened
doorway, the tension and anguish clear on his face.

"I love him, 'Thel."

Ecthelion leapt from his seat, crossing the room in
two strides to enfold the shaking lord in his arms.
They stood there for long moments as Ecthelion waited
for the silent, violent tremors to subside, then led
his friend to the chairs flanking the empty fireplace.
Glorfindel crumpled into the chair, head slumped
forward into his hands. Finally he raised his head and
Ecthelion winced at the despair in those sapphire
eyes.

"What am I 'Thel? What kind of loathsome creature am I
that I feel such desire for one so young? I felt him
at my side tonight, I walked beside him and I realised
that all I wanted to do was to pull him into my arms,
to hold him, to kiss him, to - take - him and make him
my own." The lord's voice had risen to the point of
hysteria and Ecthelion had to act quickly to break
that train of thought.

"You are Glorfindel, an elf of honour and high morals,
strong ethics and intense emotions. That you can even
*think* of yourself in those other terms tells me that
you still hold true to the values that bind you so."
He took a deep breath, deliberately softening his firm
tone. "You are a sensual, open-hearted, warm-blooded
elf, Glorfindel, and Erestor is an astoundingly
beautiful and enticing ellon. You are only feeling
what many others do upon seeing him." He held up a
hand to forestall Glorfindel's threatened outburst. "
Ai, I know my friend - that is not all that there is
to Erestor. Do not forget, mellon nîîn, I have seen you
with him. You rejoice in his intelligence, his wit and
his humour. You revel in his kind nature, his depth of
insight and his sweetness of temper. You *know* him,
Glorfindel. There is a connection between you which is
beyond the understanding of those who desire him. The
difference, my friend, is that the others only covet
that beauteous exterior where as you love him in his
entirety, hrööa and fëëa."

Glorfindel started hearing Ecthelion say those words,
words that were so integral to the elven binding
ceremony.

"Surely you don't mean..?"

Ecthelion nodded. "Yes, dear friend. I truly believe
that he is the other half of your soul. Isn't that
what your own heart has been telling you? What drew
you to him first as a child? Why did you protect him
so strongly? What compelled you to rescue him at
sword-point? The mind does not always recognize that
which the soul knows so well."

Glorfindel shook his head, hardly knowing what to
believe. His mind had been in a constant whirl since
the soiree, trying to take in Ecthelion's revelations.
And if Ecthelion could see the contents of his heart
so easily, who else knew?

"Gods - if anyone else knows - 'Thel, they will take
him from me!" The panic was rapidly rising; the elf
was becoming agitated. "I can't lose him, 'Thel - I
can't lose Erestor! What can I do?"

Ecthelion stood, hauling Glorfindel up with him. "What
*we* are going to do, mellon nîîn, is see Turgon -
now."

Glorfindel wrenched his arm from Ecthelion's grasp.
"Are you mad?"

"'Fin, as beloved as you are amongst our people, there
*are* some who would be delighted to see you brought
low - Salgant included. He hates you and loathes
Erestor for the humiliation he thinks you brought upon
him. If he gets wind of this he'll go straight to
Turgon and you'll never see Erestor again. Oh, and
Maeglin isn't exactly your greatest fan either - you
supported Tuor and danced at his wedding to Idril. And
he at least has some influence with his uncle. We have
to get in first, and get the king on *your* side. Come
on." Ecthelion started towards the door.

"Now? Ecthelion, it's the middle of the night!"

The dark-haired lord turned at the exit. "'Fin, it is
barely past midnight, Turgon is never in bed before
three of the morn. Anyway he is expecting us - Idril
and Tuor went on ahead to warn him."

Glorfindel hesitated. "You told them?"

Ecthelion shrugged. "You needed allies. Now, let's
go."

* * * *

It was a small gathering in the king's private
chambers. Turgon sat in an ornate chair, a strong
impressive Lord wrapped in rich silk robes, his chin
on his hand as he heard the dilemma facing him. He
looked carefully at those ranged before him.
Glorfindel, pale in his love and fear of loss,
Ecthelion standing firm at his side; his daughter
Idril seated near him, the swelling of her first
pregnancy barely evident; Tuor, the human lord of whom
he thought so highly that he bestowed his only child
upon him, standing beside his wife's chair with his
hand on her shoulder. He sighed, knowing that this was
a problem which could have no easy outcome.

"Ecthelion, you are an idiot. Your heart is good but
this has not been handled well."

Ecthelion gasped, and Glorfindel made as if to come to
his friend's defence but the king motioned them to
silence.

"If you had come to me without telling Glorfindel, we
could have made light of the boy's infatuation. All
youths must have a hero, one they think they will love
forever, and the devotion of the boy could have been
passed off as such without much comment. In bringing
this to Glorfindel's attention you have revealed his
own feelings towards his ward, which is a much more
serious matter." He turned to the golden lord.
Glorfindel was obviously dreading his judgement, and
Turgon could only feel compassion for his friend.

"Glorfindel, I believe you when you say your love is
true, and much of what Ecthelion had noted in your
manner towards Erestor has been noted by myself and my
daughter. You are one of my oldest and most devoted
Lords, my friend, and although I allow my subjects
freedom in their lives it does not mean I am unaware
of their hopes and dreams. In other circumstances I
would probably remove the boy from your care and place
him out of perceived harm's way."

This was Glorfindel's greatest fear and he protested -
loudly.

"Never! I will never let him be taken from me again,
king or no king!" His tone changed, a plaintive plea
entering his voice. "My Lord King, I know that he is
yet a child and much too young for a physical love. I
will *not* approach him. I will not hurt him. I
*cannot* hurt him, for how can I hurt the one I love?
If I can protect my pen-neth from the predations of
others, how can I not protect him from myself?" He
paused, catching his breath, desperate to change
Turgon's mind. "Please my lord, please -"

"Glorfindel!" The king spoke firmly without increasing
the volume of his voice, and the warrior subsided
reluctantly. "I did say, 'in other circumstances'.
Both Ecthelion and Idril have offered to care for him
if my decision had been so but that, I feel, will
engender the scrutiny we are trying at all costs to
avoid. Now, are we sure of the boy's feelings? Does he
truly love Glorfindel or is this just a crush? Is he
your soul mate, my lord?"

Glorfindel hesitated, numbly nodding. "He is to me,
sire. We have not spoken to him, but 'Thel believes he
feels it too - "

The princess leaned forward. "As do I father. It is
very evident in Erestor's eyes."

Turgon nodded. "Were he but one hundred years older,
this conversation would be redundant. Lovers of
disparate ages have been accepted since the Awakening
of our people, for Ilúúvatar sends our souls into the
world at the time He has decided. If it is meant to
be, they meet and they bind. The situation here arises
from the fact that Erestor is still a minor." He
sighed, knowing this must be his final decision.

"So be it. Glorfindel, I will allow Erestor to remain
in your charge under certain conditions. Tonight you
will go to him and reveal to him your true feelings.
Ecthelion will be your chaperone. If Erestor returns
these feelings wholeheartedly then I place these
restrictions upon you. You will both return here
tomorrow night and in a private ceremony swear blood
oaths that nothing improper will occur until the boy
has come of age. No words, no touches, no kisses -
nothing. He must be to you as he has always been, your
ward. He must remain an innocent. And if on the day of
his majority both of you still feel the same then I
will, with all gladness in my heart, receive back
those oaths in exchange for your betrothal vows."

Turgon smiled, and delighted bursts of happiness and
relief swept the room. The king, once again serious,
continued. "However if I hear in any way that either
of you is forsworn then I will take the boy into *my*
custody and lock him up so tight you will need Manwëë
to break open his prison! Is that clearly understood
my lords?!"

The fairness and compassion of the king was so
generous that Glorfindel agreed without delay and,
after many hugs from Idril and claps on shoulders from
Tuor, eagerly swept Ecthelion from the room in his
haste to return to Erestor.

* * * *

Erestor was still awake and quickly came to
Glorfindel's study when collected by Ecthelion. In the
faint glow of the candlelight the Lord of the Fountain
stood guard at the door so none would hear, as well as
standing as chaperone for Erestor. The youth balked at
first at discussing his feelings for he felt
embarrassed and scared, but when he understood that
Glorfindel returned his love he was overcome with
ecstasy and flung his arms about his beloved, kissing
him all over his face with wild abandon. Glorfindel
too laughed with joy but then had to quiet his little
love to put forth the restrictions placed upon them.
Erestor was horrified.

Nine whole years we must wait and I can never say 'I
love you', never hold you, never kiss you? I cannot
bear to live that way. No, I cannot swear such an
oath!"

"Then I hope you like the King's Tower, pen-neth,"
said Ecthelion wryly from the door, "for that will be
your new home from this night."

Erestor paled. Although he had been just a babe when
he had first been torn from his beloved's arms the
pain which had twisted relentlessly in his heart then
was still vividly remembered. He lifted his face to
his love, seeking reassurance.

"Truly? If I do not agree then I must leave you?"

Glorfindel nodded, gripping his pen-vuil's hands
tightly, holding his eyes firmly locked onto
Erestor's. The youth slumped, defeated. Nine years
without declaring his love was better than nine years
separation. He nodded his acquiescence.

And so it was that the following night, in the
presence of their closest friends, Glorfindel, Lord of
the House of the Golden Flower and Erestor, son of
Galwion took blood oaths of celibacy and silence
before His Majesty Turgon, King of the elven realm of
Gondolin.


Elvish:

ellon - male elf
elleth - female elf
ellyn - male elves
ellith - female elves
mellon nîîn - my friend
hrööa - body
fëëa - soul
pen-vuil - dear one


=====

Chapter 5


F.A. 510


Glorfindel groaned as he breached the puckered opening
of the elf beneath him. His breath coming in short
gasps, Erestor fought not to tense against the
invasion; chocolate-brown eyes wide open, trust and
love for the golden lord shone through the pain. His
grip on Glorfindel's hand had clenched as the Elda
embedded himself to the root of his shaft and the
tight channel enveloped him in delicious heat. Though
thoroughly prepared, Erestor was small and Glorfindel
was not. Glorfindel grieved at the pain he knew he was
inflicting upon his dear one and he leaned forward to
kiss the parted lips, sweeping his tongue into the
depths of the sweet mouth. The slender elf in turn
reached up to welcome his lover eagerly. Glorfindel
waited, not moving until the lithe body adjusted to
his girth, and when he did move it was in gentle
strokes, easing the angle of his motion until he
obtained the reaction he yearned for.

Erestor cried out, his body arching. A flood of
intense pleasure swept through his body as his lover's
shaft pressed against his prostate. Erestor pushed up
again, seeking the touch which would repeat the
ecstasy, clamping his legs firmly around Glorfindel's
waist in an attempt to make the Elda drive deeper into
him; to claim him, body and soul. Glorfindel fought
the urge to dive forcefully into his beloved's tight
chasm, knowing that the sweet Noldo would be more than
sore in the morning anyway. He maintained the steady
rhythm of his gentle thrusts, watching Erestor writhe
beneath him, grasping fingers digging into the flesh
of his shoulders. Black strands clung to the sweat on
Erestor's face and his musical voice cried out,
pleading for release.

Glorfindel could hold back no more, needing Erestor as
much as his darling needed him. His large hand reached
between their bodies, pulling at Erestor's turgid
erection with firm strokes as he increased the pace
and force of his thrusts.

Erestor screamed one last time as he came undone, the
cream of his completion surged over Glorfindel's
fingers and smeared onto his belly in thick spurts.
The clenching spasms of Erestor's passage brought
Glorfindel over the edge and he spilled his hot semen,
filling his love as he released his soul.

"My love, my heart!"



****



"Elbereth!"

Glorfindel sat up in the bed, panting heavily in the
aftermath of the intense orgasm, sweat covering his
broad frame. The evidence of the reality of the dream
stained the single sheet which was draped over his
long legs and he grimaced in distaste at the mess.
Using the corner of the sheet he cleaned himself
quickly then flung the fabric off him, swinging his
long legs over the side of the large bed. His breath
had slowed almost to normal and he cast his mind back
over his dream. He smiled grimly as he realised he had
called out the wrong name on waking, for it was the
Vala Irmo who controlled the world of dreams. He
silently sent acknowledgement to the Vala but he did
not know whether to send his thanks. The past eight
years had been an extreme exercise in self-control for
both him and Erestor. The reality of the dream would
in no way help him to maintain his restraint in
expressing the love he felt for his pen-vuil.

The sun had risen and looking through the open doors
of the balcony he could see it had been up for some
time. It had not disturbed his rest - no indeed,
something else had done *that* - for his room faced
west, not east. Glorfindel could hear the daily
clamour of an awakened city and without thought for
his nakedness strolled out onto the balcony. His
nonchalance stemmed from the knowledge that the
balustrade covered him to above waist height and also
that this building, the House of the Golden Flower,
was not overlooked by any other. Indeed the view was
stupendous. Two streets away he could see the bustle
of the Great Market, alive with activity as always -
in fact more so today, the eve of Tarnin Austa. Beyond
the Great Market, to the northeast, were the gleaming
spires of the King's Tower and the adjacent palace.
Beyond that again he could see the Main Gate of the
city and the long incline down to the road to the
outer gates. To the south was the curve of the city
wall against which Tuor and Idril had built their
dwelling. Glorfindel smiled at the thought of little
Eäärendil, the shining light in Turgon's heart. The
King doted on his young grandson and the little
elfling was a frequent visitor to the House of the
Golden Flower. Finally, on turning to the right
Glorfindel knew he would be able to see the North Gate
of the city, a warning that the North held the dangers
of Morgoth and his evil hordes.

Glorfindel sighed thinking of the events of the past
years. First the fall of Nargothrond to those hordes,
a devastating blow to the Elven residents of Middle
Earth; then only three years before, following the
death of Elu Thingol at the hands of the dwarves, the
final destruction of the royal family of Doriath.
Fëëanor's sons had descended upon that realm,
destroying Menegroth of the Thousand Caves and slaying
Dior, Nimloth and their sons in pursuit of their mad
oath. Of their daughter Elwing there was no sign
though it was rumoured that she had escaped to the
south taking the Silmaril with her. Would that it had
been found by Celegorm and his siblings, perhaps this
insane kin-slaying would cease. Never had he thought
when he grew up in the gentle city of Tirion that such
devastation would be wrought for the sake of jewels
yet he too, in a youthful desire for adventure, had
hearkened to the call of Fëëanor.

Glorfindel passed his hand over his eyes in pain at
the remembrance of Alqualondëë and the first
kin-slayings. That his hands were free of the blood of
his kin was a miracle but he, like so many others, had
thought that no such could happen again. Still
Menegroth had fallen. Would the Fëëanorans never be
sated? Glorfindel tried to take comfort in the
beautiful city which was now laid before him, but even
that was poor solace. When Tuor had arrived in
Gondolin from the outside world he had brought with
him a warning for the king from Ulmo of death and
destruction and of need to flee the Hidden City.
Turgon had been reluctant to take such a step and
Glorfindel could see why. In his remembrance of Tirion
he could only draw favourable comparisons with this
magnificent settlement the High King had sculpted.
Glorfindel could hardly bear to think of leaving, but
in the end he had voted with Tuor and Idril in favour
of exodus. Unfortunately Maeglin's influence was
strong and Turgon had listened to his sister-son. At
least Idril had taken the warning to heart. Glorfindel
was one of only a few who knew of her secret way out
of the city.

The calls from the streets below roused him from his
musings and he smiled happily as he remembered again
what day it was. The eve of Tarnin Austa - and
Erestor's forty-ninth begetting day. The significance
was not wasted upon him. The time now until they could
unveil their love would be counted in months not
years, in days not months. Time had weighed heavily on
them both and more so on Erestor, for his dear one was
inflicted with the impatience of youth. It had been
very difficult to convey their love to each other when
there were so many restrictions. Only by the sweetness
of smiles or chaste kiss upon forehead or cheeks could
physical expression be given reign. They had developed
subtle signs, looks or words which held meaning for
their hearts alone and with these they must be
content. Not even amongst their closest friends could
they show their love, so strict was Turgon's edict.

With that thought Glorfindel was prompted to move and
make haste to bathe. The late morning awakening had
been in preparation for tonight's vigil but they were
expecting company for a celebratory lunch for Erestor.
He had better hurry if he was to have any time alone
with his pen-neth before their arrival.

His ablutions, though somewhat hasty, were thorough
and he dressed with care. A sky-blue tunic edged with
gold-embroidered celandines was matched with
form-fitting deep blue leggings. High fitting,
highly-polished boots completed his ensemble. His hair
shone like burnished gold and hung almost to waist
length, with warrior-braids to hold it back from his
face. His ornamentation was little, a solid gold ring
bearing the symbol of his house and the mithril ring
upon his smallest finger. He smiled at the thought of
this little ring, a trinket he had brought with him
from Valinor. It had been a gift from his parents and
was engraved with the rune of the letter 'G'. He
planned soon to have a second ring made to fit his
index finger, with Erestor's initial emblazoned on it.
Thus on this day next year he would place the first
ring upon his beloved's finger as a symbol of
betrothal, to be exchanged to the right hand on their
day of binding. Erestor's fingers were long and
slender and what barely fit on Glorfindel's little
finger would find a perfect home on his perfect elf.
He looked at the ring again. It had been many years
since it had been used as the pledge it had once been,
for Erestor had grown sure of his returns before he
reached the age of thirty and thus he had gently
dropped the ritual.

So many memories. A young Erestor crying out for him
in the night, needing to be held before returning to
sleep; waking in the morning to find an elfling
bouncing on his stomach; taking baths together using
perfumes and oils which would foam in water, so that
Erestor could place upon him a human's 'beard'. These
gentle pleasures had ceased decades ago when Erestor
was still an elfling, but they still brought forth
sweet smiles. Of course, since their oaths such
innocent intimacy had been totally forbidden. By
mutual consent neither visited the other in their
personal chambers but met only in rooms where their
privacy was not assured, thus removing temptation -
which was why Erestor would now be waiting for him in
their dining chamber. Patting his tunic pocket to
ensure that he bore a special gift, Glorfindel exited
the room.

On his arrival in the family dining hall Glorfindel
was struck dumb once more by his darling's beauty.
Erestor stood gazing out of the window, his face in
profile. The arched brows, the piercing eyes, the high
cheekbones and straight nose, all were strong features
of his dark beauty. Erestor was dressed in his finest
garb, a rich red waistcoat edged with silver braid
worn over a crisp white shirt, and teamed with slim
black leggings. The red of the tunic glowed in the
sunlight streaming through the window and brought
forth otherwise unseen highlights in the raven hair.
Glorfindel's heart leapt to see him thus framed in
Anor's glory.

"Blessings on your special day, pen-neth."

Erestor's head whipped round and he immediately broke
into a blazing smile, crossing the room in four
strides to throw himself into his beloved's open arms,
pressing tight against that firm body. Glorfindel felt
Erestor's head next to his heart for the youth was a
full head shorter than him, and he desired nothing
more than to hold him there forever. But he drew upon
his strength of will and held Erestor away from him,
his large hands upon the young elf's upper arms.

"So, do you feel one whole year older?" He joked.
Erestor grimaced.

"Aye, I suppose I do - but I wish I were but one year
older still." He glanced up, his brown eyes shining
through dark sweeping eyelashes, tempting, teasing. "I
know that then you would not hold me thus, would you,
my lord?"

Glorfindel knew that look and also knew not to
respond. Nevertheless a small smile broke through and
a penitent Erestor laughed aloud.

"I know, I'm sorry!" he cried. Glorfindel again said
nothing but patted his pocket instead.

"May I give you your begetting-day gift now,
pen-neth?"

Erestor's eyes lit up and Glorfindel laughed in
delight. No matter how old an elf became, presents
were always welcome.

"I don't have to do a treasure hunt this year?"
Erestor asked. The previous year Glorfindel's gift had
been a beautiful black gelding, and Glorfindel had set
clues about the house for Erestor to follow to the
stables. A delighted ward had named the horse 'Hirnîîn'
in honour of his guardian, the guardian of his love.

Glorfindel produced the soft silk pouch from his
pocket, placing it in Erestor's hand. Curious, Erestor
opened the pouch then gasped in delight. In his palm
lay, hung upon a thick gold chain, an oval locket made
of that most precious of metals, mithril. Emblazoned
on the front was a flower wrought in gold, a
celandine.

"It is beautiful!"

Glorfindel looked at him with eager eyes. "Open it,"
he urged. Erestor needed no prompting. Carefully
releasing the clasp he opened the two halves to reveal
a tiny portrait on each side, one each of Glorfindel
and himself. Erestor lifted his head, mouth open in
astonishment.

"I had them done at the same time as I commissioned
our paintings for the main hall, pen-vuil. Do you like
it?"

"Do I.?"

Glorfindel found himself enfolded in a fierce grip as
Erestor expressed his delight in a physical manner. He
allowed himself a moment, a vocal expression of his
feelings - a statement which could sound innocuous. He
pressed his lips to Erestor's black hair.

"I love you, my dearest ward," he murmured. The grip
tightened briefly before Erestor released him to
fasten the locket about his neck.

There was a knock at the door then it opened slightly,
a head draped in raven hair peeking round the wood. A
mischievous grin punctuated his question.

"Is this a private begetting day or can we join in the
celebrations too?"

The lord and his ward laughed in merriment as
Ecthelion entered followed by Tuor, Idril and their
little son Eäärendil. Erestor came forward quickly to
take the elfling into his arms, for he had great
affection for the young prince, and the child for him.
Mirieth and Dííwen joined them and Erestor was thus
surrounded by those he loved most. The celebratory
lunch was soon served and the servants released so
that they could celebrate as a family, albeit an
extended family. The presents came forth as the food
was consumed, forming a large mound around Erestor.
Tuor and Idril had given him a fine set of quills and
ink; Mirieth gave him a new tunic of deep green, a
colour he had only recently taken to wearing, and
Dííwen's gift was leggings to match. Erestor opened
Ecthelion's gift, a mahogany box containing a pair of
long elvish knives. Their handles were also wrought of
the dark wood and were inlaid in silver. Erestor
thanked Ecthelion profusely.

"Well, pen-neth, since you decided to concentrate on
the knives your skill has improved - not that much,
mind - but I hope that these will encourage you to
apply yourself. I've given up on your wielding the
sword or the bow to any great extent. The knives are
very fine-edged and *very* well balanced. Use them
with honour, mellon nîîn."

The two dark elves bowed to one another in respect.
All knew that Erestor leaned to a more scholarly life.
Indeed, Turgon had become aware of Erestor's keen
analytical mind and had invited the youth to sit in on
many council meetings. It was a great honour to do so
amongst the lords of the Great Houses and often
afterwards Turgon questioned him on his opinions and
understanding of the issues. Glorfindel could see the
day when Erestor would become one of Turgon's
advisors. Talk now within the chamber turned to events
within those council halls. Mirieth and Dííwen
understood the delicate nature of some of the
discussions and had shown their discretion in the
past, so the talk was not stinted.

"Maeglin is gaining too much influence over the king,
" moaned Ecthelion. "Sorry, princess, but it is true -
and I trust him not."

Idril nodded in agreement, not at all offended. "Since
my aunt's death my father has tried to compensate for
his loss, but I fear that Maeglin knows only too well
my father's weakness - his love of riches. That he
would not listen to my dearest love and Ulmo's warning
is proof of that." She squeezed her husband's hand
and received a grateful smile in return.

Erestor, who was still cradling Eäärendil, shook his
head. "I fear that something is going to happen, and
very soon. His trips to the jewel mines in the
Encircling Mountains have been regular and frequent as
we all know, but in the last few months especially I
have noted a change in his demeanour. There is a
tension, a secret that is either exciting or
frightening him."

Glorfindel shook his head in bewilderment. "I have
seen no such change in him pen-neth. He is still the
manipulative little rat I have always known."
Ecthelion laughed but Erestor remained serious.

"It is evident in the body movements, the way he holds
himself. He knows something, something evil - and he
gloats!" Idril shuddered and Tuor moved to comfort
her.

"Aye," said the human. "His attentions to Idril have
not lessened since our wedding or Eäärendil's birth. He
is untrustworthy. Our hidden passage is now finished
in case some need arises."

All present were in agreement for Mirieth and Dííwen
had been entrusted with the knowledge of the tunnel
only recently. They were in charge of any evacuation
of the ellith and children of the House and had laid
plans for such. Mirieth tried to lighten the
discussion by turning the topic back to Erestor.

"What will you do for the rest of the day, Erestor?
Have you any plans?" Erestor nodded enthusiastically.

"Aye, Glorfindel and I will ride on the plains to our
favourite lake for a swim. I love riding Hirnîîn." He
paused, schooling his face into a picture of innocent
speculation. "I wonder what it feels like to be ridden
by one who loves you - to feel that weight press upon
you in excitement and exhilaration. It must be very -
fulfilling."

Eyes widened in alarm and Ecthelion sucked in a
breath. Fortunately Mirieth and Dííwen did not notice.

"Oh Erestor, I am sure Hirnîîn loves you and is proud
to be your mount," she smiled. She was so proud of her
former charge and took as much pleasure in his
achievements as in those of her own grown children.
The awkward moment passed and the conversation took a
more innocent bent and turned towards the imminent
celebrations. Finishing the delicious repast, their
guests took their leave in a flurry of hugs, embraces
and, from Eäärendil, sloppy kisses. After waving their
farewells Glorfindel and his ward were left alone.
Erestor knew what was to come as Glorfindel turned on
him.

"Are you mad? What was that in aid of? For so long we
have held our oath - I will not be forsworn when the
end is in sight and I will not allow you to be
either!"

"I am sorry!" came the desperate cry. Glorfindel was
not mollified.

"Aye, so you said before!" He was shocked when Erestor
in an astounding fit of frustration picked up a
crystal glass and threw it against a wall where it
fractured in a satisfying crash. Erestor sat heavily
on a chair, tears welling in his eyes.

"I cannot help it! All day I have felt this way,
aroused and strained, for this morning I woke from a
dream so intense and real -" He stopped as Glorfindel
gasped, and looked urgently at him, seeing that the
golden lord knew of that of which he spoke. "You too?"

The elf lord nodded slowly. "I too. Ai, pen-neth, to
what end has Irmo tormented us so?"

Erestor winced. "It was indeed a torment. Glorfindel,
I am a virgin. How could I dream so vividly of that
which I do not know, have not experienced, if Irmo had
not placed the dream in my head?" He looked up shyly
at his beautiful love. "Is it truly so - wonderful -
to lie with someone? For though I dreamt of a little
pain, I also felt as though I reached the stars, and I
tumbled with joy and rapture back to the earth when
you - filled me." He reddened slightly at the last,
knowing that it was something of which they should not
speak. Glorfindel nodded.

"When you are with the one you truly love, yes, I
believe so. I have pleasured and have been pleasured
by many, but with none have I experienced that sharing
of souls. Yet, it is a delight beyond reckoning. Only
with you will I reach true ecstasy, ind nîîn."

Glorfindel was troubled by their shared experience.
Was this dream a blessing or a warning? He could not
decide, nor could he let this conversation continue.
He stood abruptly, for he too had sat in shock.

"We should continue our day as planned, pen-neth, for
we must return and be ready at sundown for the vigil."

And so they left, Glorfindel upon Asfaloth and Erestor
upon Hirnîîn, galloping freely across the Plains of
Tumladen. As they left behind the city a sense of wild
abandon overtook them and they yelped with delight as
they raced over the flat ground. Erestor had for once
only partially braided his hair and the raven strands
flowed behind him, whipping around in the strong
breeze. Glorfindel could feel the sense of liberation
in his beloved and both understood it and felt it
himself. Out here they were not observed. Out here
they could be themselves. Out here - if they wished -
they could speak openly. But they wouldn't. Oaths had
been sworn.

They reached their favourite lake and spent the next
few hours swimming, splashing, diving. They wore their
loincloths throughout their sport. It was late
afternoon when they returned to the city where they
dressed themselves as befitting their House for the
Festival. Strolling the streets as twilight fell
Glorfindel walked beside Erestor, his arm draped
across the youth's shoulders, Erestor's dark head
leaning against his neck. Music played softly and the
festive lights twinkled high in the trees. The stalls
were bedecked with tempting wares, sweetmeats and fine
wines yet there was none of the raucous calls that
would assail the ears during daylight hours. Voices
would not be heard until the chorus greeted the
dawning light of summer. Glorfindel smiled at the
thought of Ecthelion's beautiful voice raised in
praise. The finest vocalist in Gondolin, the Lord of
the House of the Fountain was always the first to call
the city to song.

They made their way to the eastern wall, to the
section reserved for the House of the Golden Flower,
and settled on the seats there. It would be a long
night but it was a vigil no-one begrudged in their
spiritual silence. Further to their left Turgon and
his household were seated under jewel-coloured
canopies, and Idril, Tuor and Eäärendil joined him in
familial harmony. Time passed and the stars began to
shine. Glorfindel sat, Erestor leaning against him,
staring up at the gems of the sky. Suddenly a child's
voice called out into the silence, long before it
should have been broken.

"Look, Nana! The sun!"

All turned to face the east, bewildered as the sky
there remained dark. Then mutterings began against all
precepts of the vigil. Erestor stood, turning to face
the north and he urged Glorfindel to rise too.

"Look!" he whispered, pointing north. There, above the
Encircling Mountains, was a glow; a red glow which
could have been that of the rising sun, but which was
obviously not. The mutterings became louder and a
palpable fear ran through the spectators. It increased
as the glow passed over the mountains as if the sun
came down the slopes to the city. A voice cried out,
speaking that which they all feared to say.

"Melkor! Melkor comes!"

A strong shout came from the left of them, cutting
through the incipient hysteria. Turgon, High King of
the Noldor, stood proud upon the battlements.

"Warriors of Gondolin - to arms!"



Elvish:

pen-vuil - dear one
pen-neth - little one
ind nîîn - my heart
Hirnîîn - 'My Lord'
ellith - female elves (pl.)
elleth - female elf (sing.)




=====

Oh - and there is a character death in this chapter -
duh!!




Chapter 6


The response was immediate. Without even bidding
farewell to their loved ones the warriors of Gondolin
leapt from the wall and ran through the city streets
to their Houses to arm themselves against the coming
invasion. The House of the Golden Flower was near to
the eastern wall and it took but minutes for
Glorfindel and Erestor to reach the building. As the
elves poured themselves into the armoury the Lord and
his young ward sped to the small side room in which
their own armour was kept.

Glorfindel's armour was a dazzling sight; one that
could halt an enemy in his tracks, for Glorfindel's
golden splendour and magnificent physique was enhanced
by the finely wrought design. Glorfindel unleashed
could strike fear into the strongest hearts. Erestor
had been through his training as a squire and now
hurried to assist his lord in buckling on the many
layers. First the heavy chain mail coat, then the
cuirass and kirtle cut in the shape of overlapping
leaves. Shoulder guards, shin guards, wrist bracers
lashed tight against solid muscle. As Glorfindel
buckled his great sword around his waist Erestor drew
the heavy mantle forth to drape around the warrior's
shoulders. The mantle was an heirloom and was so
embroidered in threads of gold in the design of the
house, the celandine, that it shone as bright as the
morning sun. Erestor shuddered in awe to see his love
so resplendent, so truly breathtaking. Erestor turned
to arm himself, reaching for the shoulder brace that
would hold his knives - his new knives - across his
back. Glorfindel caught him on the arm, turning the
young elf to face him.

"Erestor, I want you to go to Mirieth and Dííwen and
help organise the evacuation of the women and
children. Take them to Idril's secret way."

Erestor stared at him with disbelieving eyes.

"Surely it will not come to that? Will we not repel
them?" he whispered in horror. Glorfindel shook his
head.

"I fear not, pen-neth. That glow told me that Melkor
has brought his most evil of creations - balrogs and
firedrakes as well as orcs and goblins. In what number
I can only guess, but to cause a fiery heat and glow
of such intensity the number must be great." He
paused. "Gondolin will fall, I fear." His heart
clenched at what he knew he must say next.

"Get the women and children out of Gondolin. For
Melkor to have found the Hidden City after all these
centuries and after all our precautions there must
have been a traitor in our midst. I fear we know who
it must be. Get our people to safety Erestor - and go
with them."

The response was swift and expected. Erestor shook his
head fiercely, tears of frustration and denial evident
in his eyes.

"No." His voice was hoarse. "No, I will not go. I will
not leave you. I will *never* leave you! You cannot
make me!" At that the tears started to flow but
Erestor was unconscious of them. He stood firm, his
face set, his hands clenched at his sides as if
determination alone would reverse Glorfindel's
decision. Seeing his love so strong before him almost
broke the golden lord's resolve. Instead he placed one
large hand at the nape of Erestor's neck, a long thumb
sweeping over the soft cheek to wipe away the tears.

"Oh my sweet one," he choked. He pulled his soul mate
to him, his oath crumbling. Lips met, firm to soft, in
their first kiss. There were no soft nips, no gentle
presses, no sweet explorations. There was no time, no
future for them. There was only now.

The rose-red lips parted eagerly, gave way in intimate
surrender as Glorfindel dived into that honeyed mouth.
Tongues duelled, teeth clashed and Erestor pressed
tight against his love, trying to persuade him with
his lips and body as he knew his speech could not.
Though the solid armour divided him from the golden
lord Erestor stroked and explored where he could,
against the sinews of the neck, the firmness of the
jaw until his fingers twisted in that golden hair. He
felt the softness of the shimmering strands, so
luxurious in their tribute to the sun.

Glorfindel in turn pulled his pen-vuin against him,
feeling that lithe body so tender in his arms. His
soul cried out in torment, sensing deep within his
heart that he would not now know the pure delight of
union with his little love. "Meleth nîîn, ind nîîn," he
murmured against those lips as the kiss ended. "So now
we are forsworn, yet I feel that the gods will look
with compassion upon our sweet kiss."

Erestor moaned with the loss of his lover's lips. "
Melin le, Glorfindel! Oh that this hateful metal was
not between us. Oh that we had more time!" Glorfindel
shook his head.

"We have broken our oath, Erestor. Would you have me
dance on its shards? I may be an oath-breaker, but I
would not be a law-breaker too. I would not take you
in battle lust for in the eyes of our people you are
yet too young for carnal love. If Melkor's hordes win
this night then we must survive on our values, our
worth as the Firstborn of Ilúúvatar. I want our union
to be full of joy and honour, to stand proud in the
sun, not to have our love sordid and in shadow."

Erestor's head was now pressed against his breastplate
and he stroked the raven strands, memorising their
texture, inhaling the fresh scent. He took his sweet
love's head between his strong hands and lifted it so
that he met those brown orbs, so bright with tears.

"Meleth-nîîn, I must go. I must go to fight. And you
must go to Idril. Go, my heart, my soul. For I cannot
fight unless I know you are safe. I have to know that
you live else I will die, for my fear for you will
pull my mind from my sword and to my destruction
instead."

His voice was taut with pain and passion and Erestor
could not be pacified. He clutched at Glorfindel
refusing to release him. The cries from the streets
were now penetrating the House and Glorfindel cast his
mind about, seeking a way to persuade his beloved. His
eyes settled on his un-gloved hands. He pulled quickly
at the mithril ring and clasped Erestor's left hand,
forcing the ring onto his first finger.

" 'Tis a symbol of my love, Erestor. It is my pledge
to you. Our betrothal. I promise to return to you
seron vell, and the next time I place this ring on
your finger it will be on our binding day. I promise,
Erestor. I promise. I *will* return."

Chocolate-brown met sapphire-blue and in that moment
Erestor knew that his plea had failed. He nodded
dumbly, knowing that he would follow the orders of his
beloved lord.

"A promise," he whispered.

Glorfindel pulled his little love tight against him
for one last kiss.

" Melin le, Erestor-nîîn."


*-*-*-


Before Erestor sought out the ellith he raced to the
stables and released the horses. Asfaloth and Hirnîîn
whinnied in confusion and bolted only when Erestor
swung his hand firmly against their flanks. The horses
would have a better chance of survival if they were
free. A very slim one, but at least a chance. It was
the only thing he could do for them.

Back in the main hall of the house he found that Dîîwen
and Mirieth had gathered the women and children
together and were trying to calm the hysterical
ellith, for the elflings were feeding off their
mothers' fear.

"Bring food and warm clothing - leave all else!" cried
Mirieth, for the hundredth time. The women of the
household in their panic did not heed her words.
Erestor drew his knives and slammed their blades
together, creating a ringing clang that penetrated the
clamour. He shouted above the fading cries.

"Lord Glorfindel has spoken. Follow the instruction of
Mirieth and Dííwen and you *will* be safe. Now, we go
to the House of Tuor and Idril. Hold tight to your
children and firm to your courage." It was his other
persona, the cool young counsellor to Turgon rather
than the frightened youth, which had taken over and in
his calm voice the denizens of the House heard the
authority of their Lord, and they obeyed.

The streets were bathed in the red light that came
from the fearsome flames of the balrogs and firedrakes
that now surrounded the walls of the city. The heat
was almost overwhelming, as evidenced by the bodies of
collapsed elves that littered the streets. Erestor
knew the streets well having explored them thoroughly
as a child and made for all the back routes through
the south-eastern quarter, away from the majority of
the fleeing crowds, so their passage was reasonably
swift. Theirs was not the only house to descend upon
the princess' home and her guards were directing the
elves down to the cellars where the passage began.
Erestor approached a guard that he knew.

"Rion, where are Idril and Eäärendil? Have they gone
ahead?"

"Not yet," the guard replied. "The Lady's cousin has
gone to their room to aid them, for the ernil's
nursemaid was injured in the flight from the walls."

Erestor was horrified. "Maeglin is here? But he is the
traitor! He is the one who betrayed us!" The claim was
based only on his belief and not on proof but he knew
in his heart that he spoke the truth. Without delay he
raced into the house, seeking the elfling's chambers.

The room was abandoned, crib sheets strewn on the
rug-covered floor, toys scattered forlornly. He cast
his eyes about, checking one last time before leaving
to search other nearby chambers. All were empty and
Erestor was beginning to despair when he heard voices
in fierce argument above him, male and female - then
the piercing screams of a babe. Erestor searched
frantically for the stairs to the roof, taking them
two at a time.

The scene on the roof was heart stopping. Against the
crimson sky caused by the monsters that swarmed the
slopes of Amon Gwareth, Maeglin was framed holding a
twisting, wriggling child who screamed for his mother.
Idril was almost in hysterics reaching in vain for
him, for her wrist was clamped firmly by Maeglin as he
dragged the princess and her son towards the roof's
edge. Endlessly she tried to reach her son and free
herself from the madman's grip, succeeding in neither
endeavour. Nails out and scratching, she seemed as if
she was one of those legendary creatures of the south,
a tigress protecting her cub.

Erestor shouted, trying to distract the nephew of the
king. He drew forth his knives and made to approach
the traitor. Maeglin sneered as he saw the young elf,
armed as if to give battle, and laughed derisively.

"Why, if it isn't Glorfindel's little pet. Have you
come to witness my triumph, little 'lonely one'? Don't
say you were actually going to try to stop me?"

Erestor saw Idril increase her efforts and sought to
aid her by lunging at Maeglin with his knives. The
elder elf sidestepped him easily but his hold on Idril
slipped, allowing her to free her hand. Erestor's joy
was short-lived as in the blink of an eye Maeglin
caught at her flying hair.

"Oh no, my precious, my darling. You are not leaving
me! Just let me dispose of this mewling half-breed
brat of yours, then we can flee together. The little
catamite won't try to stop us, will he? He'll be too
busy grieving for his little master. Oh, Glorfindel is
going to die horribly, sweet little Erestor. He
battles bravely over in the Market, but which one? Not
the one Salgant has sent his reinforcements to - but
then Salgant could never get things straight where the
brassy lord was concerned, could he?"

The manic gloating was fervent, the fever echoed in
the madman's eyes as his words echoed in Erestor's
ears. Maeglin wanted Glorfindel dead. Maeglin wanted
Eäärendil dead. Maeglin wanted Tuor, and Turgon, and
Erestor dead; he wanted all of Gondolin dead - except
Idril, who he simply wanted.

A huge roar came from behind him and Erestor knew
without turning that it was Tuor. At once Maeglin cast
Idril from him, drawing a knife and plunging it
towards Eäärendil's small chest, desperate to kill the
son of his rival - but the knife was somehow
miraculously deflected. Maeglin screamed in disbelief
and defiance, tormented by his failure. At that moment
Erestor leapt, grabbing at the child and wrenching him
from the traitor's grasp. Tuor wrested the knife from
Maeglin and broke it easily in two before lifting the
damned elf about the middle and, in one movement,
throwing him over the battlements. Maeglin's body
broke upon Amon Gwareth, bouncing three times before
erupting into flames when it collided with the
firedrakes below. Idril ran to a shaken Erestor,
claiming and clasping her son to her bosom.

"How - how did the knife not kill him? " gasped
Erestor. Idril drew back Eäärendil's tunic at the neck
to reveal a cunningly wrought mail shirt beneath. Tuor
grabbed Erestor and pulled him to his feet, hugging
him in gratitude.

"We must go now, my boy. Voronwëë will take you all to
the tunnel." Erestor shook his head fervidly.

"Maeglin has set a trap for Glorfindel! He said that
reinforcements for my lord have been sent elsewhere by
design - it is Salgant's men who have gone awry!"

Tuor knew that Erestor needed to go to them, to warn
his beloved, to save him. "Salgant may be a coward but
his men are not. Glorfindel took your troops to the
north-eastern sector in the hope of cutting off
Melkor's left flank. He'll be in the vicinity of the
Great Market. Find Tawaron of the Harp - he will
listen to you!"

Erestor thought back to what Maeglin had said. "The
men of the Harp must be at the Lesser Market - for
'tis where their House is situated. That snivelling
lord must be trying to save his own hide! I must go
now. Will you be alright?" he asked in fear.

"I must return to the Square of the Folkwell. Turgon
has kept Ecthelion and his House in reserve and I must
go to their aid. Go in all haste, boy, go save him for
Gondolin - and for yourself."

With that permission Erestor fled back down the stairs
and through the house to the exit. There he was
horrified to see many elves dead after a battle with
their own kin. For they were of Maeglin's House, men
of the Mole by their caps, and Tuor's men had had to
fight their way through them to gain entrance and save
Idril. Erestor did not delay, could not delay. Though
no orcs had yet penetrated to this part of the city
the buildings around him were on fire from the blazing
arrows shot by the enemy over the walls. The residents
of the burning houses were crowding the streets,
trying to escape. The screams of those who were
trapped pounded in his ears, terrified and terrifying
to the young elf. Closing his senses to save his
sanity, Erestor battled as a salmon does upstream to
try to get to the Lesser Market.

The battalion of the Harp was not idle. Orcs had
started to find their way through the streets in small
numbers and the warriors were hard pressed to defend
their position, to allow time for the civilians to
escape. Erestor was stunned by the grotesque
appearance of the creatures but rallied to find the
captain of the guard. He was relieved to catch sight
of him leading his troops. Glorfindel had told him of
this elf's support at his rescue all those years ago
and the warrior had ever been cordial to him.

"Captain!" he shouted as loud as he could over the
roar of the flames and the screams of the crowds.
"Captain, you have to help Glorfindel. You have to
help the Golden Flower!"

Tawaron heard Erestor's call and searched through the
smoke to find the youth. "Get back Erestor! Get away
from here!" He tried to force the raven-haired elf
from the square. Erestor resisted, knowing that he had
to make Tawaron understand his urgency.

"No, no! Glorfindel is in the Great Market. Salgant
sent you wrong, he wants my lord to die!"

Tawaron needed no convincing. As loyal as he was to
his own lord, he knew of his master's hatred of
Glorfindel and the measures he would take to gain his
revenge. Tawaron and his men were loyal to Turgon and
Gondolin above all, and he knew where his duty lay.
Calling the rallying cry, he and his battalion sped
from the Lesser Market, leaving a small number of men
to complete the evacuation of the House of the Harp.

Erestor made to follow but at that moment a crumbling
wall finally fell and his exit towards the northern
quarter was cut off. The throngs around him were
pressing hard now and the fires were consuming the
air, causing Erestor and the other elves to gasp for
the fresh air their lungs demanded. In a final thrust
he threw himself clear of the crowd, desperate to make
his way towards the fighting - and Glorfindel. His
sense of direction was askew in the smoke-filled
passages and street and only by the signs on the shops
and streets did he decipher some of his route. He was
just at the turn of a corner when a sound whistling
past his ear made him duck.

In fright he brought up his blades, only to hear them
clang as an object struck them, rebounding to his
left. An arrow! He was under attack! Through the gloom
of the smoke black, lurching figures emerged,
creatures of such twisted and vile appearances that
his bile rose in his throat. Orcs! Erestor realised
with a lurch just how woefully inadequate his skills
were in the art of warfare. All those lessons
unlearned because he had not attended. All those
reprimands for inattention he had received from his
tutors. From Ecthelion. From his golden lord.

Valour is a quality much recorded in song, much
praised, much lauded. But valour is useless when one
is unlikely to survive the conflict. Erestor took its
better part, and searched for a way to escape. A door
nearby swung open, a deserted house in which he could
possibly find refuge. He ran into the doorway, hearing
the bellows from the ghastly creatures who had
followed him in. Twisting, turning, dodging the
objects thrown to stall him, his light feet carried
him through the house to emerge - into a nightmare.

It was the Square of the King, and it was under siege.
Erestor could see the colours of every House in the
city, but no one in any great number. The Fountain
fought alongside the Wing, the Tree by the House of
the Heavenly Arch, by the side of the men of the
Swallow. So few. So few remained. Erestor could not
long stand in unhappy reflection for noises behind him
told that his pursuers were upon him.

Turning swiftly Erestor raised his blades to defend
himself and was instantly drenched in black, noisome
blood as the knives cut deep into the first orc
chasing him. The first orc he had ever killed. His
first kill. Not yet of age, and he had killed. If he
had time Erestor would have vomited anything,
everything his stomach contained. But he had no time.
He stood like a windmill, swirling his blades with
what little skill he could recall, desperately trying
to connect with his foes. He felt like a child batting
away his mother in a childish tantrum, knowing that
inevitably the smaller, weaker combatant would soon be
overcome. Tears poured down his face, tears of fear
and frustration and anger and shame. The shame came
from knowing that if he had learned, if he had
listened then perhaps he would be of more use, kill
more orcs, save some of those elves who were dying
around him in the blood and the sweat and the smoke
and the horror. His mind was quickly becoming numb to
the shrieks of the creatures; he was waiting for that
final blow to fall yet it did not. He could not
understand. Warriors - good, well-trained,
battle-hardened warriors - were dying at his feet and
yet he survived. It was incomprehensible.

Suddenly a great noise came from the eastern road and
a surge of men came rushing into the square. Erestor
could hardly believe his eyes. They were of his House.
They were the men of the Golden Flower and of the
Harp! The surge ended too swiftly and Erestor realised
that less than a score had arrived out of what should
have been hundreds. So many of his friends dead? And
what of...? Oh, Gods please, please let him be amongst
them. Please let him be safe! More orcs poured into
the square behind the fleeing elves and the small
troop of the Harp turned and fell upon them. Ah, they
were truly warriors, not a mewling child like he!
Still Erestor could not glimpse that precious golden
head amongst the arrivals, and now reality crashed in
on those few seconds of musings and time sped up.

Blades flashed - Eglamoth of the Heavenly Arch arrived
- black blood, splashing - oh gods, a firedrake! -
then Erestor's heart stopped.

Into the square came a true denizen of Hell, a Balrog
of Morgoth. The flames of Angband in physical form.
Brimstone, sulphur, a stench beyond the reasoning of
all senses, the heat of its body a roaring pressure
upon the air surrounding it, tearing away what little
oxygen they had left to breath. Erestor's stomach had
been threatening and could hold back no more.
Staggering, falling, collapsing against a
blood-drenched wall the youth gave into terror,
heaving and retching until there was no more. He was
forgotten and ignored by the foe as he stared in a
stupor at the incarnation of the earth's fiery core,
of the evil of the fallen Vala. He barely registered a
figure squaring up to the monster - was it ...Tuor?
Ai, no! Eglamoth was trying to aid him but the
swinging arms of the beast were steadily driving him
back towards the Fountain of the King. Erestor cried
out to see him collapse under the onslaught. Suddenly
a second figure arose and through the gore Erestor
realise who it must be, for one elf only had adorned
his armour with an extravagant excess of silver and
diamonds. The Lord of the Fountain was injured though,
his shield arm hanging useless at his side. This did
not prevent the fearsome lord from delivering a blow
that injured the Lord of the Balrogs, in turn having
his own sword arm sliced. Erestor cried out in horror
when the balrog's whip was raised, ready to strike the
death blow, and wept as his brave friend ran forth,
driving the spike of his helm into the creature's
belly, wrapping his arms around the flame-filled foe,
falling to their deaths in the depth of the fountain
beside them.

"Ecthelion!"
" 'Thel!"

In desperate grief for the dark-haired lord Erestor
did not recognise the voice that roared above the
tumultuous hiss from the steaming edifice - but that
other elf knew Erestor's voice. Yet he could not
battle across the square to Erestor for at that moment
the doors of the palace flew open and the High King of
the Noldor and his household troops flew out to
descend upon the enemy, slicing, hacking, hewing,
grinding the orcs with their fearless fighting.
Erestor, from his fallen position against the wall of
the palace, watched as Tuor made his way across to his
law-father, begging him to retreat to safety, to flee
with his people. The King would not listen. This was
his city, the city he had dreamed of long ago, the
city he had built from the foundations. He would not
leave. Instead he lay upon Tuor and the captains of
his city the duty of leading their people to safety.
No argument would sway the king and as the enemy
advanced, so the command for the Long Retreat was
given.

Erestor saw the warriors of Gondolin, all save the
Household of Turgon, fight a retreat toward the Gar
Anion, yet could summon no strength to join them. He
was paralysed, he had no control over his body, so
deadened it was with the horror of the day. There was
a dread peace within him as he felt his will to
survive slip further away. Suddenly strong hands
pulled him erect, held him firm and a bellow was
unleashed in his ear.

"You silly fool! What are you doing here? You were
given your orders, why did you not obey them?"

He could not answer, his tongue was tied. The elation
that had risen when he heard that voice was
immediately deflated under Glorfindel's wrath, which
seemed endless. At last he tried to explain, to
protest his reasons but he was allowed no speech.

"I trusted you! You told me you would go! Disobedient
brat! Now - move!"

Erestor had no choice. He was forcibly pulled along,
his arm firmly in Glorfindel's strong grip, trying to
lengthen his run as they sped from the Square of the
King along Gar Anion to the Square of Weddings. There
they met another who had rebelled against the edict of
their lord.

"Idril!" Tuor grabbed his beautiful wife, fury and
fear upon his face. "Where is Eäärendil?"

"He is safe, gone ahead," she replied. She was about
to continue when she suddenly screamed, her face
ashen. Turning all saw and felt the devastating rumble
that heralded the fall of the King's Tower behind them
- and the fall of the King.

There was no time to weep. Erestor would only remember
the frantic flight to the tunnel, the compressing heat
and darkness as they ran down the escape route.
Stumbling, falling, cracking skulls against rough hewn
ceilings, colliding with each other in the last
desperate dash for life. Erestor's hand ached as he
tried to hold his two knives in one hand, for
Glorfindel had not released the other once. The golden
lord had not uttered a word of comfort, a syllable of
love, a whisper of gratitude for their survival. His
anger, his battle rage still burned at full heat and
Erestor dared not attempt speech in case that wrath
turn to him once more.

The tunnel had taken many years to make for its length
reached to the foothills of the mountains. As they
finally broke out they met the early morning sunrise -
the sunrise of Tarnin Austa. They looked back as one
towards the Hidden City, the fallen city, and wept to
see the destruction of their home. The creatures of
Melkor - orcs, balrogs, firedrakes - spilled over the
broken walls and the smoke of many fires rose and
spread over the Plains of Tumladen like a pall.

"Ecthelion killed the balrog! The Great One that
killed him!" wept Erestor in grief for the smiling
lord who had been as a brother to him. "More, I am
sure I heard he killed more!"

Glorfindel pulled him close, his first gesture of
comfort since their reunion.

"Ai, say not that it killed him but that his bravery
took Morgoth's son to the depths of Hell. Songs will
be sung forever for our dear friend. He is safe in
Náámo's arms now, pen-neth."

Erestor lifted his head and pressed his lips to his
love's. "I thank all the Valar that you did not face
one of those monsters."

Glorfindel winced. "Ai meleth, I took down two and I
have the burns to prove it!" He waved away Erestor's
concern. "Nay, pen-vuin, we must go for even now
Melkor's orcs are crossing the plains, seeking to
destroy us utterly. Come, we must climb the Cirith
Thoronath and face the cold of the Cristhorn pass."

The trail was arduous, for the women and children
could move only slowly, yet progress was made into the
mountains. Glorfindel asked Erestor to climb ahead and
try to ensure that the families of their House were
safe.

"They need to know that their Lords are protecting
them. They trust you, sweet one. I will stay here with
Tuor and the men to guard the rear."

Erestor clutched the large hand. "You will be careful,
hir-nîîn?" He asked fearfully. Glorfindel did not laugh
at his fears but took his darling Erestor into his
arms, kissing him breathless. As they broke from the
kiss he reminded his beautiful love of his promise.

"I will always return to you, meleth-nîîn. Always."

With that Erestor left to climb the trail, slipping on
the snow which was always upon these heights. It took
some time to locate the refugees of the Golden Flower,
and the relief amongst them to see their young lord
was obvious, more so when they heard that Glorfindel
yet lived. Mirieth immediately pulled her surrogate
son into her arms, crushing him to her breast. She had
held onto her courage, yet could not resist asking
Erestor about the fate of her own sons. Erestor could
offer her little comfort.

"I did not see them - but that does not mean they are
not safe. There was total confusion within the city
and the Houses joined as one before we fled."

Mirieth had to be satisfied with such a faint hope.
Dííwen was there too and hugged Erestor tightly.

"Oh gwador, the Valar have forsaken us just as we
forsook them!"

There was no response that would be adequate, for she
spoke what was in the minds of all.

A roar from behind then made them turn, cold fear
freezing them faster than the snows of the pass. A
huge swell of orcs had seen them and was racing up the
trail - and with them a flaming balrog. Amidst the
screams Erestor made to draw his knives to run, to
help the defenders but the ellith clung tight and
would not release him.

"No, no! We must run too, ion nîîn!" Mirieth cried,
pulling Erestor off balance. The rush of refugees
storming up the slopes filled the trail and Erestor
had difficulty finding his footing, to pull himself
upright. The screams had increased and were swollen
with the echoes off the heights, and there was nothing
else reaching his ears as he desperately tried to
force his way through the hysterical masses scrabbling
up the narrow path. He caught glimpses of Tuor, of
Idril and he hoped that Eäärendil was safe with them.
He could see the colours of his House in the elves
heroically protecting the trail but yet no sign of
golden hair or golden mantle. Mirieth still tugged at
him, trying to make him turn when they both stopped in
alarm. A single figure stood in front of the balrog,
sword drawn and ready to do battle.

"No! What is he doing?"

The crowds were pushed aside as Erestor slid and
slipped down the rock-strewn path on his way back down
the cliff. The path was treacherous here yet Erestor
did not slow, his eyes fixed on the lone elf in fierce
combat with this fiery nemesis. Each swing of the
broad sword forced the balrog back, each cut leaching
its flame, its strength. The warrior at his mightiest
stood supreme and he would not be denied.

Every thought, every word, every touch, every smile,
every kiss scorched through Erestor's mind. He was
heedless of the elleth behind him, he was only aware
of the ellon before him. The tips of the golden hair
ended in flames where they had touched off the
balrog's heat. The stench of burnt flesh rose to
assail the senses from where the creature's cruel whip
had melted the hammered steel onto the hard muscles.
Scorch marks on hands and arms stood out on white
skin. The pain must have been horrendous but the
battle went on. Then - one final thrust. The balrog
staggered near the edge and its bulk toppled, falling
towards the chasm.

Erestor shouted his love's name triumphantly. The
golden head turned, spying him on the slopes. His
sapphire eyes were alight with elation and a hand
began to rise in acknowledgement, not noticing a
movement behind him. A claw made a final grasp,
snatching on golden strands and two fell off the
cliffs. The elf stretched out his hand to his love in
supplication, then was gone.

An elf died.

And the heart left behind shattered.

Erestor could hear someone screaming - but then, there
were so many screams. His throat hurt, was raw - but
he could not reason why. He was frozen in a moment, a
single moment. Day, night, heat, cold. Erestor could
have defined none of them - in that moment. The hand
shaking him was not really there. He was not really
there. Arda had stopped turning and the world had
disappeared.

Who was shouting at him? How could they disturb him
now? Didn't they know that Glorfindel was gone? Didn't
they know he had to follow? Glorfindel needed him.
Glorfindel loved him. Only when hands clasped his face
and turned his head did his eyes focus, his deafness
clear. Mirieth? Why was Mirieth shouting? What was she
saying?

"... don't let it be in vain, Erestor! We must go now.
He died to save Idril and Tuor and Eäärendil. He died
to buy us time. He died for you and me, Erestor! We
must go, for he died for you!"

He died for me. He fell and he died for me. For
Erestor. He died because of me. He died because I
shouted. Because I wouldn't leave him. He is dead.

he is dead
because I let him
because I distracted him
because I loved him

He is Dead.

The heart was already shattered; the soul was torn in
two.
And as Erestor stared at the cliff edge

his mind broke

and Darkness fell.





Elvish:

pen-neth - little one
pen-vuin - dear one
nîîn meleth - my love
nîîn ind - my heart
Melin le - I love you
meleth-nîîn - my love
seron vell - dear lover
ernil -prince
gwador - sworn brother
ion nîîn - my son


=====

* The date of Glorfindel's return has been placed
either just before the Fall of Núúmenor or around the
same time as the Istari's arrival. I have chosen
differently to suit my story.*




Chapter 7

T.A 149, Mid-winter

The sun shone brightly on the day Glorfindel first saw
Imladris. The snow yet covered the ground, it being
only weeks since the Yule celebration, but the slim
green leaves of the snowdrop peeked through the white
clothing of the earth to welcome of the lengthening
days. The flora had been scarce on the Great East Road
but now on the descent into the hidden valley of the
elves the profusion increased. Glorfindel could tell
that this was a magical place, the invisible wards
tingled on his skin and impinged on his elven senses,
which were much increased since his re-birth in the
Blessed Realm. The Valar had been generous in their
gifts on his release from the cool Halls of Waiting.

The golden elf shuddered in remembrance of those halls
and his long sojourn there, a motion that was evident
to the elves who had accompanied him from the Grey
Havens. The escort had been at the insistence of
Cíírdan for, as he had reminded him, a whole age
encompassing thousands of years had passed since last
he had walked on Arda. Times had changed, wars had
been fought and won and lost, men had built and
destroyed and had rebuilt their empires - and evil had
found new forms.

Glorfindel thought back upon the instruction he had
been given both in Valinor and at Cíírdan's behest,
lessons in the history which had passed him by. Melkor
had been banished from Middle Earth after the War of
Wrath, imprisoned in dimensions beyond the bounds of
Arda. The tiny ernil he had known in Gondolin had
grown up in exile at the Mouths of the Sirion, had wed
and had sired twin sons; then had led a plea to the
Valar for their aid against their evil contemporary.
The child was now a star in the heavens, shining his
beatific light upon those he had saved by his
sacrifice. An alliance of the Valar, and of the elves
of Valinor and of Middle Earth in union with the kings
of Men, had fought and brought down the vile walls of
Angband. Sadly, one of Melkor's lieutenants had
escaped from that war to revive his master's evil
intents. Sauron, Annetar the Deceiver, had persuaded
the elves of Eregion to make rings, magical and
powerful, and had then stolen the rings to give to and
corrupt the races of Dwarves and Men. Elves had made
rings for themselves, but Celebrimbor the smith had
allowed Sauron no part in their making and thus they
were untouched by his machinations - and were not
influenced by the One Ring, the controlling ring
Sauron had forged in the fires of Mount Orodruin.

Eregion was built - and destroyed. Man's realm of
Núúmenor was built -and destroyed. A second Alliance of
elves and men had defeated Sauron at the gates of his
land of Mordor - but not destroyed. Men had failed, as
they had failed in Núúmenor, to rid Arda of the One
Ring, Sauron's power on Middle Earth and the
repository of his spirit. And another elven-king had
fallen in battle. Now Glorfindel had been called forth
from his contemplation in Náámo's Halls, had been given
a chance to return to Middle Earth so that he could
aid the son of the son of the daughter of his King -
Elrond of Imladris.

And find Erestor.

That had been part of the bargain that he had struck
with Manwëë, which he had forced from the Lord of the
Valar before he would agree to the tasks set upon him.
Varda had aided his plea, understanding the need for
the golden lord to seek his lost love. Erestor did
not reside in Mandos, for surely his soul would have
sought Glorfindel out. Nay, it was his death that had
separated him from his love; therefore his love must
still live. Vairëë, the weaver of life's threads, had
given him warning.

"Not all that is sought may be found and if found, may
not wish a return to that which once was. Have care,
Glorfindel. Have care for your heart and your soul -
and your mind."

But Glorfindel knew that Erestor was his heart and his
soul and his mind. He would seek him, he would find
him, he would woo him and bind him with his love. He
would tell Elrond of his search. He would not ask
permission for that implied the possibility of refusal
and Glorfindel would brook no refusal.

The House of Elrond, dubbed the Last Homely House by
many, now lay before him across the narrow stone
bridge that spanned the ravine of the River Bruinen.
The buildings awaiting him showed great sensitivity in
their construction, combining graceful arches and
winding walkways of wood and stone with the natural
features of their surroundings. Over the bridge now
and the horses descended into the courtyard of the
main house. The yard was full and Glorfindel winced.
He knew that his return was no secret, and that it was
generally regarded as a miracle in that he was the
only reborn elf ever to return from the Blessed Realm
to the lands of Middle Earth. Although Glorfindel was
not a shy elf he had no desire to be fawned upon or
fêêted. He had already experienced the overwhelming awe
evinced by the younger elves of the Havens when his
ship had landed and he had cringed when he had been
told of the number of songs that extolled his
sacrifice. He had hoped for something different here,
in his new home.

The escort was dismounting and Glorfindel did the
same, turning to face the elf who stood regal in rich
velvets before him. He was unmistakable. Those grey
eyes had belonged to Turgon and he had Tuor's strength
and Idril's pride. This was his host. This was Elrond
Peredhel. Glorfindel bowed, hand on heart. He hoped
that *that* custom had not changed since his death.

"My Lord Glorfindel, we are blessed by your presence
here amongst us." The voice was deep, calm and
soothing. It was said that this Elrond was a healer as
well as a lord and a warrior and Glorfindel could tell
that the ellon would inspire trust and confidence in
all who looked to him. Glorfindel grinned and he
greeted the elf.

"Since you are to be *my* lord then I thank you for
your kind greeting, Lord Elrond. I have been told much
of your hospitality and I can see that it is all true.
" He spread his hands to include the welcoming crowd
and the beautiful house beyond. Elrond nodded his
appreciation, a quirk in his smile denoting a
well-developed sense of humour. He drew forth an
elleth of astounding beauty, of silver hair and sweet
smile, who was flanked by two elflings of identical
features, dark grey eyes and dark hair alike.

"May I introduce my wife, Celebríían, and our twin
sons, Elladan and Elrohir." The lady bent her head in
gracious acknowledgement and Glorfindel could only
stare at the elegance and refinement therein. His bow
made, he turned to the young princes.

"My, if it were not for the fact that there are two of
you, and that you are older than when I last saw him,
I could swear that you are young Eäärendil!" The boys
squealed in delight.

"Did you really know our grandfather before he was a
star?"

"Did you really fight a balrog?"

The questions came together in a rush and the golden
lord laughed along with his hosts.

"Yes to both questions, my lords!"

"Now boys, you will have more time to speak with Lord
Glorfindel later. He has just arrived and will want
rest and refreshment first," soothed the Lady of
Imladris, asserting her gentle authority over her
sons.

"Aye. And if you will, my friend, I will keep the
introductions short. There are many who live here but
you will get to know them over time. First and
foremost is my former Master of Horse and now my Chief
Counsellor. It is he who truly runs Imladris - if I
can but see him." Elrond searched the many faces
surrounding them, obviously annoyed that such a
prominent elf was not at the front of the reception
party. Suddenly within the portico of the house Elrond
spotted a movement in the shadows and his demeanour
lightened.

"Ah, there you are, meldir. Glorfindel, this is my
former tutor and most excellent friend, Master Erestor
of Lindon."

So easily? So easily he had found him? His beautiful,
sweet little love resided here, in the house of
Elrond? Glorfindel's heart seemed to double it's pace,
fluttering frantically, and his throat clenched in
unbidden tears of relief and gratitude for the mercy
of the Valar. His hand began to rise in greeting to
the other half of his soul.

The elf in the shadows stepped forward, seemingly
bringing the darkness with him. The waist-length raven
hair was pulled back from his face in severely
elaborate braids befitting an elf of such rank.
High-neck, full-length robes in lush velvet covered
his slim frame in a midnight hue that was only
relieved by the thinnest edging of grey, and the
voluminous sleeves hid his folded hands. The creamy
skin of his face seemed ghost-white in comparison to
the blackness surrounding it, and those rose-red lips
held no smile. The figure - taut, austere - bowed in
reserved greeting and when it rose again Glorfindel
sought eagerly to meet those well-remembered
chocolate-brown eyes, desperate to recognise within
this restrained creature some sign of his open,
emotional, passionate meleth.

The eyes are supposed to be windows to the soul. This
soul spoke of great wisdom, of antiquity, of history.
This soul spoke of pain. Then, as if realising that
the reborn lord was reading him, a veil was drawn, and
the eyes were blank - and black with repression.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Lord Glorfindel."

The voice was soft but flat, unemotional in texture,
cool in content. Yet it was Erestor. The elf spoke
again.

"Rooms have been prepared for you. My assistant,
Saelbeth, will escort you to them. If you have any
other requirements please direct them to him."

Another bow and the black elf glided away into the
shadows again.

The words had been softly spoken, calculated in their
content, measured in their tone. It was a speech which
had been well-rehearsed, and it gave notice that this
elf was not to be approached. Glorfindel could not
speak, could not articulate a word in the face of such
rejection. Though he had not been rejected. Simply -
dismissed.

"Erestor." A whisper, a plea that went unrecognised by
the intended recipient and registered only as a
comment by his new lord.

"Aye, that is Erestor. A fascinating elf of great
knowledge, wisdom and courage. One of the unsung
heroes of elvendom, he has ever been a presence in my
life. Do not be offended by his reserved manner, my
lord. It is but his way with all those he does not
truly know. I hope you will become good friends. And
now," he turned back to the awaiting elves once more,
gesturing to a white-haired ellon, "here is Master
Lindir, a bard and musician beyond compare."

Glorfindel allowed himself to be turned back to the
waiting throng, making his bow, a smile plastered on
his face. His mind was elsewhere, with an elf in
black, conjuring in his mind conversations and
explanations for the frigid greeting.

Erestor was shy. He had been shy as a child, was ever
so with those beyond his manufactured family unit. His
public persona was cool and collected, a faççade drawn
to cope with external necessities. Aye, Erestor loved
to be tactile when alone, detached in company. If this
was the way he must act in the presence of his
subordinates then of course he could not release his
control in public just for his lover, could he? And
how much more difficult it must be for his pen-neth to
see his dead love return, to see again the one who had
died on Cirith Thoronath; the elf who had been burnt
and battered beyond recognition and now was hale and
hearty? He must be waiting for a private moment, a
true reunion. It would be wildly passionate and truly
poignant; of lips and hands, of hrööa and fëëa, in a
dance of desire as old as time. Glorfindel cheered at
this conclusion and was able to face the crowds of
elves yet to greet him with greater equanimity.

Time passed slowly as Glorfindel was shown around his
new home. His chambers were more than adequate a suite
of four rooms including a bathing chamber. The bedroom
overlooked a spectacular cascade which tumbled into
the gorge below, a fine mist rising to create
sparkling rainbows of reflected sunlight. The scene
would only be matched in magnificence the first time
he laid his beautiful Erestor upon the huge
four-poster bed within.

He waited in impatient anticipation, sure that his
little love would come to greet him here in private,
for the reunion he had dreamed of for a thousand
years. He paced the room as he counted the minutes. To
have him, to hold him once more.

He waited in vain.

It was Saelbeth who arrived to guide a disappointed
Glorfindel to the main dining hall. It was large
enough to contain the majority of the inhabitants of
Imladris for dinner, apparently a tradition that
Elrond preferred for the lord treated his subjects as
a family. Thus the main meal of the day was taken en
masse, with a smaller hall used for breakfast and
lunch. The residents also had the choice of dining in
their chambers provided that notice had been given to
Master Erestor in advance.

"And Master Erestor? Does he dine here too?"
Glorfindel asked in hope. Saelbeth shook his head.

"Not normally, for his working hours are long and he
prefers a tray either in his office or his rooms,
which are on the same corridor as yours. However for
special occasions such as this he will attend and is
seated, as you are, at the Lord's table."

Indeed Erestor did appear at the table which was on a
raised dais at one end of the hall, as Turgon's had
been. The table was elegantly appointed. Elrond's
chair was large but yet could not be called a throne,
but still it was elaborately carved in the manner of
all elvish furniture. At his side was an equally
beautiful seat, this time a canopied chair in which
the Lady Celebríían presided in beauty and in grace. To
Glorfindel's dismay, the dark advisor chose a place at
the farthest end of the table, whereas Glorfindel as
guest of honour had been seated next to Elrond. From
the raised eyebrow of the lord (a truly intimidating
gesture, Glorfindel noted) and the reaction of a few
other elves at the table, this was not the normal
state of affairs and Glorfindel began to wonder if his
assessment of the situation had been correct. However
he realised that had they been seated opposite one
another they would not have been able to restrain
themselves, so perhaps Erestor had thought of that.
Glorfindel knew *he* was hard pressed not to think of
the physical joy of their reunion.

The food was good, the company excellent. Still,
Glorfindel had to concentrate so that he could carry
on an intelligent conversation with his new lord.
Elrond was truly knowledgeable on a wide variety of
subjects. Thankfully he kept away from the subject of
Gondolin, concentrating instead on outlining the
convoluted elven domains of Middle Earth and their
rulers. Thus Glorfindel learned more of the Lord and
Lady of Lothlóórien, the parents of the Lady Celebríían.
He had known of them as Celeborn of Doriath, cousin of
Elu Thingol, and Galadriel, or Alatariel as she had
been named in Valinor. There was also Thranduil son of
Oropher, King of the Greenwood and the Silvan elves
therein; Cíírdan of the Havens, who had received him
back into Middle Earth; and Gildor Inglorion of the
Wandering Company, a descendant of the royal houses
who had his own realm at Edhellond.

Once the meal was concluded they moved to the Hall of
Fire, an imposing hall of reflection and solitude in
daylight or, like tonight, a place of tales and songs.
The fire was a great conflagration in a hearth at one
end of the hall; its burning logs and coals were never
allowed to dwindle to ash but were fed continuously as
a signal of the continuance of the Firstborn of Arda,
and as a symbol of hope for all.

Erestor did not join them.

The entertainment included sagas and songs of the past
Ages, though thankfully none about Gondolin.
Glorfindel realised that he owed his gratitude to
Elrond. He was very appreciative of the tact shown by
the lord and he knew that this would be a relationship
he would enjoy and, hopefully, a friendship he could
cherish. It was for that reason that Glorfindel did
not rise, did not leave to search for the raven-haired
elf, for to spurn such pleasures which had be arranged
for him would have been churlish. Glorfindel was ever
an elf of good manners, though they were sorely
stretched this night.

Elrond's young sons were being allowed to stay up late
as a treat and with his great affinity for children he
soon found that they had adopted him as an Uncle. They
thus did what most children did in such circumstances
- they had climbed upon him and had claimed his knees
as seats. From their innocent chatter he learned more
of his love's life in Imladris.

"Uncle Erestor can only hold us one at a time because
his knees aren't so big," said one twin. Glorfindel
hadn't sorted them out yet.

"Yes," said the other, "but he likes 'Ro best - he
says I wriggle too much." Ah, then this must be
Elladan. Glorfindel thought it time for a little
probing.

"So Master Erestor likes elflings, does he?" he asked
gently. Elrohir nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh, he likes lots of elves, but he pretends he
doesn't."

"Yes, he has to be bossy so he has to pretend that he
is cross so that they obey him."

"He is very shy really."

"And sad."

Glorfindel quirked an eyebrow, dismayed that Erestor
was seen as such a reserved and pained elf. "Sad? Why
sad?" What answer he expected he didn't know.

Elladan's face dropped a little. "He won't tell us.
Ada says he doesn't know either." The little face
lifted, grey eyes pondering blue. "Ada says that he
may have lost someone he loved in the big war. The one
when the Valar came to help all the Eldar and the
Edain and the Naugrim."

Glorfindel looked around the hall, hoping that Erestor
had returned. The ellon was nowhere to be seen. "Does
he not like music then? I do not see him."

Elrohir frowned. "He is probably working. He is
*always* working." This was obviously not to the
twins' taste.

In an innocent-sounding voice, Glorfindel asked, "And
where does he work?" Both boys pointed.

"In his office."

"In the library."

"Which is next to his office."

"And Ada's office."

It took some time but within the hour Glorfindel had
returned the now sleepy twins to their mother, pleaded
weariness to Lord Elrond and had left the Hall of
Fire.

The Last Homely House was not large, at least in
comparison to Turgon's palace, but it still took a
while to get his bearings. With discreet inquiries he
was soon traversing the corridors of the house. Most
elves were still in the Hall of Fire for his welcoming
reception. But he didn't want most elves, just one.

The library, as expected, was deserted. Glorfindel
strolled through the immense space, overshadowed by
rack upon rack of books, tomes, maps and scrolls, all
in perfect order upon the shelves. The only
illumination came from Ithil's glow shining through
the high windows and the flickering candlelight
through an open door at the end of the room. Like all
elves Glorfindel was light of foot and his soft tread
made no sound even to elven ears. He peered through
the open entrance and smiled at the sight within.
Standing facing away from him, head slightly raised to
ponder some book on a shelf, was Erestor. His hair was
still in braids yet it flowed beautifully down his
straight back, curving to frame the slight swell of
his buttocks. The outer robe of velvet had been
discarded and the long under-robe clung to the slim
frame. Glorfindel stole up behind him, capturing the
dark elf in a firm embrace.

The golden lord felt the ellon tense at his touch and
he stroked the upper chest to find a nipple to tease,
whilst the other hand slid lower down Erestor's torso
to cup his groin - a touch which had been forbidden
when he had last held this sweet creature. Glorfindel
let his lips explore a pointed ear, licking, kissing,
sucking the tip, feeling his love melt against him.
His hands stroked in their exploration of this
longed-for body and he felt both Erestor's burgeoning
arousal and quickening heart rate. This moment was the
perfect moment. This feeling was so right. Within his
arms he held his perfect, darling Erestor and they
were one.

"Oh my little love, my sweet darling, I have so longed
to hold you thus. I need you pen-vuin. I love you. Be
mine tonight and forever. I will never leave you
again, Erestor- nîîn."

He pressed his need against Erestor, leaving him in no
doubt of the truth of the statement. This moment was
theirs. They would be united tonight, body to body,
soul to soul.

The elf stiffened in his arms and in one swift
movement twisted, turned, and broke free of the
embrace. Face flushed and breathing heavily, the elf
composed himself swiftly, stepping away from the
warrior.

"You are mistaken, Lord Glorfindel. I have no desire
to accommodate your needs. I suggest you try another
ellon. There are many, I am sure, who would oblige one
of your - stature."

Though the voice was shaky the tone was cool and the
words calculated to cut through any illusions
Glorfindel may have had. Erestor was rejecting him. A
stunned Glorfindel approached his love, extending his
hand to him.

"Meleth nîîn? What are you doing? Why do you act this
way? I am come back to you, Erestor."

The black figure took another step away. His voice was
gentle, soothing - remote.

"We have a meeting with Lord Elrond early in the
morning, hir nîîn, to establish your role here in
Imladris. I suggest that a good night's sleep will
clear your mind and settle your - troubles."

Nothing made sense. Here was Erestor standing before
him as he had dreamed of since his death and
subsequent re-birth, but instead of being tight within
his arms his pen-neth was a dozen steps away, talking
about meetings and sleep. The golden lord stood,
confused and aroused, wondering what nightmare he had
fallen into.

"Meleth, don't you know me? Don't you remember? Our
love? Our life in Gondolin? Our pledge, our promise -"
Glorfindel stopped, staring down at Erestor's hands.
They were bare. It was gone. A sudden tremor ran
through him, a dread fear. " Where is it, Erestor?
Where is our ring?" Erestor shook his head. Glorfindel
felt panic arise in his throat. Surely it must have
been lost, stolen. Erestor would not remove it
willingly - would he?

"I know not of what you speak, hir nîîn. I know of no
ring. You are mistaken."

Glorfindel shook his head, not wanting to believe this
was happening. "Why do you say these things? Don't you
know who you are? Did you forget? Were you hurt, and
your memory gone?" He saw Erestor start at these words
and pressed on. "Is that it, Erestor? You don't
remember?"

The counsellor seemed to rally, to gather his wits and
his words. The gentle voice was firm.

"I know not of what you speak, Lord Glorfindel. I am
Erestor of Lindon. My life began in Lindon. I cannot
be the one you believe me to be. I cannot be the one
you want me to be. I am sorry, but I am not - your
love."

The rejection was total, laid before him. There was no
sign in this composed creature of the young Erestor he
had fallen in love with. The counsellor moved, turned
to pick up one of the candles on the desk and without
another word glided towards the door. Glorfindel had
to try just one more time to reach *his* Erestor and
the love he knew was there.

"I came back for you, Erestor! I died for you. I died
to save you, ind nîîn. Don't you hear me? Don't you
know me? Don't you love me - anymore?"

The black figure stopped, tensed and Glorfindel
thought he had succeeded. Without turning the
counsellor spoke, his voice tight, hollow, tinged with
pain.

"I am Erestor of Lindon. You did not die for me. No
one died for me. *No* one."

Then he was gone.


*-*-*


The nightmares started that night. Doors opened and
closed, screams rang out, voices were raised in
concern in the family wing wherein Glorfindel's
chambers were situated. A worried lord and lady
brought herbs and potions to calm the hysterical
warrior, to ease his dreams of balrogs and battles and
burning flesh.

Within a dimly lit chamber not so very far away a
still figure huddled in a shadowed corner of the room.
It was swathed in black, long silken robes draped over
it's form, midnight hair falling as a veil over a
blank face. It looked for all the world like a bundle
of black rags.

One hand was clenched around a mithril locket which
was suspended on a thick gold chain. The other was
folded gently over a small mithril ring.





Elvish:
(with thanks to Nienna and Andrannath)
ernil - prince
meldir - my friend
meleth - love
pen-neth - little one
Ada - Daddy
Eldar - elves (as a race)
Edain - men (as a race)
Naugrim - dwarves (as a race)
pen-vuin - dear one
Erestor- nîîn - my Erestor
ellon - male elf (sing.)
elleth - female elf (sing.)
hir nîîn - my lord
ind nîîn - my heart




=====

Chapter 8

T.A. 149, Mid-winter


It was a red-eyed, weary Glorfindel who emerged from
his chambers that bright winter morning. For one so
recently re-born, he looked as though he would soon
return to Náámo's Halls. He was well-dressed for he
would not shame himself or his new lord by neglecting
his appearance just because of a nightmare. But what a
nightmare. And what of the event that triggered it?
Certainly that terrible confrontation in Erestor's
office must have been the cause, for in all his time
since his rebirth no such dreams had ever occurred.
Indeed, Glorfindel could hardly decide which had been
the worst - seeing the balrog advance in his nightmare
or Erestor retreat in reality. No, there was no doubt.
Losing Erestor was worse.

For so long had Glorfindel yearned for that sweet
reunion. For so many millennia had he dreamed,
planned, plotted, envisioned the pressing of lips and
devouring of bodies. In those dreams they would now be
ensconced in Glorfindel's bed and Erestor would be
enfolded in Glorfindel's arms, sated and sleeping.
Instead the delightful bedchamber had become a haunted
room overnight, and the ghost of their love prowled
there still. Glorfindel straightened his shoulders
resolutely. He had to face Erestor again and determine
why the raven-haired elf was in denial of their love,
even of his life in Gondolin. What had become of the
young elf, what had he faced in the intervening years
that had provoked this extreme reaction? Did he resent
him for dying, for leaving him alone? How had he
survived? Did he not travel with Idril, with Tuor, or
Mirieth? He had been well loved by them all; surely
they would not have deserted his little one?

His route to Erestor's office was direct, and he
marched in without knocking. He was not willing to
face being barred from Erestor's presence. He was
thwarted in his device for its inhabitant was not
Erestor but Saelbeth, his assistant, who was laying
papers on the desk in preparation for his master's
perusal. He looked up, surprised.

"Lord Glorfindel! How may I help you?"

Glorfindel nodded his head in greeting. " I - I was
looking for Erestor. He did not dine this morning," he
stumbled over his words. "I thought that he may be -
ill," he trailed off feebly. Saelbeth stared at him
skeptically but made no comment on the poor
explanation.

"Master Erestor breaks his fast before the sun rises,
my lord. He has just finished the accounts and is now
meeting with Lord Elrond." He gestured to one of two
doors in the west wall, opposite the one from the
library through which Glorfindel had entered the
previous night. "I believe they are expecting you for
your first daily report?" he ended gently.

Glorfindel nodded numbly. He had forgotten the meeting
that had been mentioned during that ill-fated
discussion of the night before. Now he had to face
Erestor, not alone as he had wished, but in the
presence of the Lord of Imladris. Steeling himself,
Glorfindel followed Saelbeth through the indicated
door. He was a proud elf, and would not reveal his
grief to this descendant of kings.

Elrond was seated at his desk in his office, a
spacious room which was obviously a place of work. Yet
there was plenty of adornment in the chamber to
personalize it as Elrond's. Its walls were covered in
ceremonial knives, ancient paintings and a silken
banner which had obviously seen the blood-drenched
face of a battlefield. The ornaments bore testimony to
the occupant's valiant past as Herald to the late King
of Lindon, the High-King Ereinion Gil-galad.

The two elves within stood to greet him. Elrond rose
from behind his desk, a welcoming smile upon his face.
Erestor hesitantly met his gaze and Glorfindel
suppressed an exclamation when he caught a glimpse of
the depth of the sadness in those chocolate-brown
orbs. It was but a moment, but a moment when a
recognition of the pain he had caused the golden lord
flashed through Erestor's expressive eyes. Then the
eyes lowered and the counsellor resumed his seat.
Glorfindel took the empty one beside Erestor, moving
his chair slightly closer to the dark elf, ignoring
the nervous look he shot him.

"Lord Elrond, I must thank you once again for the care
that you and your wife bestowed upon myself last
night, and I must apologise for the disturbance I
caused," he said quietly. Elrond hurried to reassure
him.

"We only wish for you to make a comfortable home here,
without fear or worry. You are a member of our
community and, I hope, will regard yourself as one of
my own family. For indeed, you paid the ultimate price
to save my father and grandparents. I would be remiss
in the extreme if I could not repay even a small
amount of that debt with my skill as a healer."
Elrond's words rang with great sincerity and feeling,
and Glorfindel inclined his head in acknowledgement.

The conversation turned to his return and the
intentions of the Valar in sending him forth in his
renewed body.

"Times are darkening, my lord," said Glorfindel.
"During my stay in the Havens and prior to that in
Valinor, I was instructed in events which have
occurred in the time since I - died." The slight
twinge in Erestor's bearing at those words was barely
noticeable, and the golden lord registered it
wonderingly, hoping that it meant that his pen-vuin
was not totally cut off from him. Glorfindel chose to
leave it for the present, and continued. "The Darkness
*will* arise again and so I was told that I would play
a part. In preparation for that event I have been sent
to offer you my services, that I may become better
acquainted with the world as it is now and aid in its
defenses against the Dark Lord."

"And do you know what part you have to play?" the dark
counsellor asked softly. Glorfindel turned to look at
him, but the mask was firmly in place.

"I do not know," he responded gently, "save that the
deed will be perilous and fraught with danger."

The mask slipped and Erestor's eyes widened in alarm
and his lips parted as if to give a cry - yet no noise
escaped. Quickly the counsellor lowered his face,
murmuring "I hope not too perilous, my lord. It would
be too cruel to have you face Mandos a second time."

"I thank you for your concern, Master Erestor. But
there are many things in life's journey which can be
more painful to a soul than simple death. The loss of
a love, for instance. I have faced death once, I can
do so again with peace in my heart - if in doing so I
have saved the one - the ones - I have loved," he
ended. Glorfindel's meaning was plain and he saw the
reaction in the dark elf, a brief closure of eyes in
pain at the thought of the death of an elf.....

Elrond was confused at the drama being played before
him. There was an obvious tension between his
counsellor and his new seneschal but considering they
had met for the first time only a day before he did
not understand the scenario. He knew his old friend
better than any other, and he could sense a deep
disturbance in him. He could not bear to see his
friend so discomposed and so strove to continue the
discussion.

"I think then we would best be served by utilising
those tremendous skills for which you are renowned.
Your depth of knowledge of sword and bow, of tactics
and warfare and the leadership of men, place you in
perfect position to take up the role of Seneschal of
Imladris," said the dark-haired lord.

Glorfindel was pleased with this tribute and
acknowledged his host's past as a warrior in his
response.

"I am honoured by your confidence in me and I am
delighted to accept. I hope to serve you well. What I
know of your own skills I gleaned from Cíírdan, and I
believe your weapon of choice was the sword? It is
mine also, though I can wield most weapons with some
skill." He paused. "I once had an apprentice who
showed some promise with the knives. I wish I knew how
he had fared."

Sharp sapphire eyes watched for but got no response
from his near neighbour, but Elrond spoke up
enthusiastically.

"Ai, there is a master of blades here amongst us in
Master Erestor. He is the finest wielder of the knives
in elvendom in my estimation, as well as being a
formidable warrior in all other fields. He was
fearsome to witness at the Battle of Dagorlad, eh
Erestor?"

Ignoring Glorfindel's wide-eyed stare Erestor bowed
his head in acknowledgement to his lord.

"You - a warrior?" Glorfindel choked. Ai, when he
thought of all the times he and Ecthelion had cursed
his ward for abandoning the sparring ring for the
library.

"Oh, Erestor may be a scholar now and indeed he was
tutor to both myself and my brother Elros, even past
our majority, but he was the only scholar I knew who
practiced regularly on the training grounds. He sought
the most skilled of warriors, trained in sword and bow
and knife, learning from his mistakes until indeed,
the warriors began to turn to him to hone their
skills. He is still the only elf I trust to give me a
good workout. Perhaps you would like to cross blades
with him Glorfindel? I am sure Erestor would not
mind."

Glorfindel guessed by the straightened posture of the
elf beside him that Erestor was uncomfortable with the
testimonial and did not welcome Elrond's offer on his
behalf. However Erestor simply inclined his head, not
looking at Glorfindel.

"I am at the seneschal's disposal," he murmured.

In no way was Glorfindel going to let this opportunity
slip by. Erestor, a warrior? This was a great
surprise, and he longed to see how his ward had fared.

"Very well. I wish to take up my duties as soon as
possible, but perhaps I could come to your office
after this meeting to arrange a time?"

Erestor finally turned to face him, the calm mask
firmly in place once again. "I have many meetings
today, but I will be free before breakfast tomorrow,
say, at sunrise? I would not delay you by requiring a
visit to my office without necessity."

"Ah, but there are many other things I would like to
discuss with you, dear counselor," replied Glorfindel.
Oh, yes, many things - like love, and its denial.

Erestor did not reply, but Glorfindel had no doubt
that Erestor knew to what things he referred. When the
meeting drew to a close Glorfindel stood to follow
him. The black robes whispered along the floor as the
raven-haired elf crossed to the door to his office.
The poise and elegance in his posture sparked a flood
of desire in the seneschal, a physical reaction to the
presence of the one who had always been in his heart.
Erestor was*his*, his beauty, his love, his passionate
pen-neth. He had to find the reason for his reticence
so that he could recapture the elf, without whom he
doubted he could live. On entering the office
Glorfindel closed the door so that Elrond would not
hear them, but was annoyed to see that the office was
not empty - Saelbeth awaited them.

Erestor turned to Glorfindel. "I am sure Saelbeth has
many items for my attention. Perhaps if you wished to
return at a later time.?"

Glorfindel grinned. He was not going to be so easily
dismissed. "Not at all, Master Erestor. I will wait. I
am a patient elf."

A flash of irritation crossed Erestor's visage in the
face of such persistence but he gave no other visible
sign. Instead he started to discuss arrangements,
letters and queries with his assistant. Glorfindel
watched as the slim hand dipped a black-feathered
quill into the heavy crystal inkwell, fascinated by
the elegant sweep of the pen stroke across the cream
parchment. Would that that hand was upon him.

Glorfindel took the opportunity to look around the
office. There had been no time and he had had no
inclination to peruse the office in the dim light of
the previous night. Now he searched for clues to this
changed Erestor, this obviously efficient, cool and
respected ellon who, as Elrond had said himself, ran
Imladris. The room was a haven of order and symmetry.
It's shelves were neat, the papers stamped, noted and
filed in precise order. There was little of the
personal relics that he had seen in Elrond's office.
There was but one picture upon the wall, a painting of
a black horse running wild and free across an open
plain, a blue lake and distant high mountains visible
in the background. Glorfindel's heart clenched when he
saw it, for it was a scene he recognized well - the
Plains of Tumladen, where so often he had ridden in
joy and happiness with Erestor. That the horse was
Hirnîîn he had no doubt, for Erestor had loved him
greatly, being his first true mount.

He rested his eyes once more upon Erestor, taking in
the controlled and efficient nature of the dark elf.
His voice was measured, his tone sure, his control
complete. This was his element, this was his world.
For whatever reason he had eschewed his past, he had
made for himself a present where power was at his
fingertips yet was wielded only in the name of his
lord - his new lord. Elrond. As he watched the
discussion was completed and Saelbeth, after bowing to
the new seneschal, retreated to his office to carry
out the tasks laid upon him. Erestor too retreated,
standing behind the wide mahogany desk, using it as a
shield between them. A wall which Glorfindel had to
try to break down. He looked at Erestor, wondering who
would speak first, holding the other elf's gaze
firmly, allowing no further withdrawal.

"So," he said finally, "you are now Erestor of Lindon.
Tell me *Erestor of Lindon*, what terrible thing did I
do to you that you have renounced our pledge entirely?
For I came back to Middle Earth to search for you, to
fulfill that pledge so that we would join together in
the union of our love and our souls. What hurt did I
lay upon you that you have rejected me so completely?
Tell me Erestor, so that I may make amends and turn
your heart towards me once more. For without your love
I cannot go forth. Without your love I am nothing."

The plea was extreme, it was from his soul and in
pouring forth his words, he poured forth the agony
which had encompassed him the night before. Surely his
pen-neth would not hold him at bay upon hearing the
honesty in his voice? The dark elf looked at him
squarely.

"I grieve for you my lord, do not doubt that, yet I
must reiterate - I am not Erestor of Gondolin." He
hesitated, lowering his gaze, breaking the connection
with the golden lord. The next words could barely be
heard. "The Erestor you knew was surely worthy of your
love and devotion for I see that it was great. I am a
different elf. My life started in Lindon. I
acknowledge no other life before that.." He paused
once more, before lifting his head to complete his
speech. His eyes glistened. "Erestor of Gondolin is
dead, my lord."

Glorfindel gasped, not believing what he had heard.
"No, no, meleth! Whatever happened, whatever has
turned you from me - please, it can be mended. Le
melin, Erestor! I am returned. You don't have to be
alone anymore."

He moved to circle the desk, to take Erestor in his
arms but the dark elf straightened, irritation
flashing in his eyes, determination evident in his
posture.

"Hold my lord! As I have spoken, so shall it remains!
I will brook no further attempt on your part to pursue
this matter against my will. I have told you and I
tell you again, I am Erestor of Lindon and I hold to
my word!"

This was the Chief Counsellor. This was cold, calm elf
that the twins had spoken of, this was the voice and
position and frontage he assumed when he was to be
obeyed. Glorfindel felt the determination in those
words and read the resolution therein. Only he had
chosen the wrong elf to practice those skills upon. He
felt fury rise that his pen-neth, his *ward*, would
confront him in this way. He too had his limits and
his temper rose. He moved towards Erestor, brushing
his lips against his love's cheek as he spoke into
that sweet pointed ear. His own voice was harsh, cold
in the pain of another rejection.

"I will not accept this, Erestor. I faced Salgant and
Turgon to rescue you from abuse; I faced restrictions
so tight that kissing you *once* as a lover broke my
oath; and upon the heights of Cirith Thoronath I faced
pain and torment and burning flesh, just to keep you
safe. I have lived my life for you, and I have died
for you, and I have challenged the Valar for you. I
will *not* accept that I have lost you! You are mine,
Erestor, now and forever, and no matter how long it
takes I will have your love once more!"

With that he turned and marched towards the door. As
he placed his hand upon the lever, he turned again to
the dark advisor.

"Tomorrow morning, at sunrise in the training grounds.
I will see you there!"


*****


Saelbeth was a discreet elf. One had to be, to be the
personal assistant to Master Erestor for the papers
that crossed his desk, the discussions that were held
in his office, the secrets that were entrusted to the
dark elf were all witnessed by Saelbeth. Master
Erestor trusted him, and he would never betray that
trust. So when voices began to float through the
heavy, closed door, he shut his ears to them. The
tension between his employer and the new seneschal had
been obvious but again, it was not in his nature to
pry. When the voices became raised he did not flinch
but simply bent over his work. Master Erestor did not
hesitate to use cutting words when patient reason did
not accomplish his objective. Nor did the slam of the
door cause any discernable change in the assistant.
After all, both Master Erestor and Lord Elrond knew
full well how to infuriate as well as placate.

When the resounding crash came, Saelbeth leapt in
alarm. *That* he had never heard before! Swift steps
brought him to the door in seconds and he flung it
open to find Master Erestor calmly gathering his
papers together. Confused, Saelbeth stared at him,
then saw the huge ink stain splattered over one cream
wall. Beneath the stain, on the floor, was the
shattered debris of the crystal inkwell. The shards
were small, evidence of great force having been used
to smash the heavy item. Whoever had thrown it was an
elf of great strength. Whoever had caused such a throw
was a elf capable of great provocation.

Master Erestor looked up. "Ah, Saelbeth," he said
evenly. "There has been a slight accident. Please have
the servants clean it up before I return from the
meeting with the representatives from Bree." And with
that Master Erestor glided gently from the room,
leaving a bemused and admiring assistant.

*****

The remainder of the day was taken up with becoming
familiar with his post and his troops. In his work
Glorfindel could find release of his frustration and
he leant all his energy into the ordinances of his
office. He reviewed the warriors, visited the barracks
and surveyed his new office in the outer courtyard.
The walls of his office were covered with fine and
extensive maps of the boundaries of Imladris and the
patrol routes required. The many records of patrols,
warriors, weapons and supplies were in cabinets
positioned around the room. Glorfindel grimaced.
Documentation was never his forte, even when he had
ruled a House of Gondolin. He regarded it as a
necessary evil, that was all. He smiled feebly in
remembrance of a young elf who had quietly taken over
some of those duties for him as he had grown towards
his majority. He stroked the polished desk,
remembering another desk, long ago. How he had been
tempted, how often had he been tempted to lift and lay
that elf upon that desk, to kiss him, to love him, to
cherish him there and then..

The flat of his hand came down upon the desk top. He
would not surrender. He would not give in. He needed
that elf so much - and that elf needed him.


*****



Glorfindel dressed with care the next morning.
Following his bath he took one of the bottles of oil
arranged in his bathing chamber for his use. It was
sandelwood, a scent he had always favoured and one
Erestor was sure to recognize. He took care to rub it
well onto his torso and arms, bringing up a sheen on
his firm muscles. He noticed once again a fine lattice
of silver lines on his body, evidence of scars gained
in battles in his previous life. When he had been
reborn he had commented on them and had been informed
by Varda that their placement was in remembrance of
his heroic acts. They were not unattractive and did
not cause discomfort so Glorfindel had dismissed them
from his mind.

A quick swipe of the oil through his hair then a firm
brush brought the golden locks to a shimmering
brightness, restrained only by side warrior braids and
a twist of leather to hold back the herring-bone plait
from his face. Form-fitting leather leggings would
show strong thigh muscles, and boots of a matching hue
were added to a crisp white linen shirt fastened only
with laces at the front and on the cuffs. He viewed
himself critically. If he could not appeal to
Erestor's mind then he would take what advantage he
could and seduce his body. They had never sparred
alone in Gondolin, always with Ecthelion or the other
warriors. Even in company Erestor had always found it
difficult not to show his admiration and desire when
he saw Glorfindel in full warrior mode. A good warrior
used all the weapons at his disposal -and Glorfindel
was one of the best.

The golden lord collected his sword and knives. The
weapons had been given to him by Tulkas himself, and
were finely-balanced and well honed. The corridors of
the Last Homely House were lightly traversed at this
time of the morning and his passage was swift to the
training ground to the rear of the building. The
grounds were divided into sections for the many
different disciplines of a warrior. The archery ranges
were furthest from the house, set in glades amongst
the trees so that the forest could be used for some of
the more advanced training. The sparring rings, large
and small, were nearer and many had benches or ranks
of seats to accommodate spectators in training or for
tournaments. The one Erestor had chosen was a smaller,
more secluded one, flanked by high bushes. The advisor
awaited him.

Erestor too had dressed with care - with care to be as
unrevealing as possible. No form-fitting leggings for
him, but wide-legged black pants, the toes of his
black boots barely showing from under the hems. The
black silk shirt was high-necked and long-sleeved, the
voluminous gathers shrouding his slim upper body.
Raven hair was tightly bound into one long braid,
allowing the dark elf easy access to the cream-handled
knives strapped onto his back. His sword hung in his
hand, gleaming in the pale morning light.

As Glorfindel stepped forward to greet him a stray
shaft of sunlight shone through the trees onto the
warrior elf, turning golden beauty into an
unbelievable vision of perfection. He heard Erestor
choke back a gasp and he knew that his care in
dressing had had the desired effect. Erestor's eyes
were wide and today Glorfindel could see the
chocolate-brown tints he was so familiar with turn
warm in appreciation. His own loins grew warm at the
sight of his beloved's reaction. By the end of this
session, Erestor would be his again. Glorfindel bowed
to his sparring partner.

"Counsellor, I give you greeting of a good morning."

Erestor returned the bow and the greeting. "Mae
govannen, Lord Seneschal."

"How shall we start? I thought after a little warm up,
the sword then the knives?"

Erestor nodded in agreement and, as he had already
been through his preparatory exercises, he stood back
to let Glorfindel take the field.

Glorfindel made every stretch count, extending his
muscles, holding his turns, swinging the sword through
the salutations of the morning with poise and ease. He
could feel Erestor's eyes upon him, and knew that the
advisor watched him in rapt attention. Just the
thought of the result of the sight upon Erestor made
his own member twitch and grow in anticipation.

The moment of sparring arrived and the elves made
their formal salute. Glorfindel took up an attacking
stance but was not surprised when Erestor blocked him
with ease. He swung again, his sword forming a large
arc in its sweep and he was delighted to see the skill
and grace with which Erestor turned to meet his blade.
Lunge, cross, parry, attack - the strokes were swift
and even as the swordplay continued and the elves took
measure of the other's proficiency. The pace began to
quicken and soon both were panting, their breath
forming trails of vapour in the crisp morning air. The
quickened breaths were not due to fatigue or the sweat
of exertion but of need, as the heat of desire swept
through them. As the metal swords clashed so other
swords engorged. Eyes darkened as they met in desire,
challenge given and challenge acknowledged, if not
accepted. Glorfindel felt his shirt clinging to his
torso, knowing that it outlined his muscular frame. In
turn he appraised the silk shirt of his opponent,
following the lithe muscles as they flexed beneath the
slim layer. The connection between the two elves was
such that their senses were heightened - a lick of the
lips by one was felt by the other as a sensual tongue
upon salty flesh; a thrust of the arm was echoed by a
pressure of strained leggings upon swollen arousal.

Glorfindel was elated. His strategy was working.
Erestor was responding to that most basic of emotions
- lust - and if he, Glorfindel, could increase the
desire, bring to the boil the fervor which had been
building over the session then perhaps that lust could
release the love he knew was within. Glorfindel knew
that *he* needed release for he was as a wound coil,
needing to unleash his passion within the elf of his
heart. At a natural break in the conflict he addressed
his dark love.

"You are a warrior indeed, Erestor of Lindon, and a
truly worthy opponent. You seem flushed, as hot and -
breathless - as I. Perhaps we should divest ourselves
of at least our shirts so that we can continue with
the knives?"

So innocuous, so innocently said, yet the mellifluous
voice was laced in seduction and glamour. The
raven-haired elf could only comply in his
enthrallment. Glorfindel approached the counsellor,
his nimble fingers undoing the bindings of the knife
harness. He turned and lay them neatly on the ground.
He noted that they were not the ones Ecthelion had
gifted upon his ward but then, if Erestor had fought
in as many battles as Elrond had claimed those knives
would surely have been retired now. He turned back to
Erestor and saw that the dark elf had remained still,
as if spell-bound.

"May I?" Without waiting for an answer Glorfindel
began to unfasten the buttons on the black silk shirt,
his dexterous fingers slipping each one free slowly,
savouring each inch of creamy skin that was revealed.
Erestor closed his eyes, trembling beneath the
intimate gaze, the onslaught of desire which inflamed
him. Millennia of resolve seemed to melt in moments
and Erestor could feel himself swaying into the tender
touch of those calloused fingers on his flesh.

Glorfindel felt that sway but withheld any indication
of triumph. The shirt was now open fully and his eyes
devoured the lightly-defined muscles, the roseate
teats, the trickles of perspiration running down the
chest. As tempted as he was to stroke and tease, lick
and suck the proud nipples he reined himself in and
instead focussed on removing the black shirt from the
slender body. Eyes still closed, Erestor's lips
opened to allow an exhalation to ensue, his increased
respiration revealing his hunger for more. Over the
shoulders, down the arms Glorfindel's fingers slid and
the sword that was held in the advisor's hand slipped
unnoticed from lax fingers as Erestor arched into the
touch. A final twist and the material was free and
fluttered gently to the ground.

"My turn."

Erestor opened his eyes, unsure of the meaning of the
statement, his brain unable to process the words
through the fog of lust and desire. Sapphire eyes
gestured to the ties on the white shirt and as if in a
trance Erestor's fingers fumbled at the knots. They
released swiftly, uncovering the golden lord's frame
to his gaze. First one then the other of the cuff
laces were untied. Erestor's hand rose once more to
the open shirt and rested on the warm flesh. Fingers
splayed, he moved his hand to cover the area over the
seneschal's heart, causing a groan to emanate from
deep within Glorfindel's throat.

"It beats." The words were filled with wonder, with
hesitant hope. They needed no explanation. Glorfindel
nodded.

"I live again, Erestor." He bit back declarations
which longed to burst forth, knowing that it was yet
too soon.

"You are here. Reborn." Almost a sob in those soft
words.

"Aye." Glorfindel could sense that this was a
revelation, a realization not until now truly
understood. Erestor had seen, but had not believed.
The warrior gestured to his shirt. "I should remove
this." He clasped the hem, and drew it over his head
in one movement. Golden skin was revealed, the silver
marks as gentle highlights of where his scars had
been. Erestor's fingers reached out to trace them,
fingertips a hair's-breath from touching them.

"Evidence of my warrior life, retained at the will of
the Valar," Glorfindel murmured.

"They shine like mithril."

No longer able to restrain himself, Erestor leant
forward to press his lips to one of the scars, hearing
Glorfindel hiss at the softness of the kiss. Erestor
looked up, searching Glorfindel's face and saw love
and hope and need upon that beloved face.

"Glorfindel...?" One word but it conveyed the ache of
a heart that had not dared to hope, a longing that
centuries of solitude had only nurtured, and a
lifetime of self-loathing and self-flagellation. A
tear trickled down Erestor's cheek, and Glorfindel
lift his hand to cradle Erestor's soft cheek, his
large thumb brushing that tear away. Though he longed
to pull his pen-neth into his arms and claim him, he
felt that Erestor needed a moment to compose himself,
a moment to fully comprehend that his heart's mate had
returned and that his soul could be completed.

"Let me dispose of this, ind nîîn." He turned away,
turned his back to Erestor, folding the shirt, bending
to lay it upon the unused knives.

"NO!"

Erestor released a strangled cry, of revulsion and
fear, of remembered pain brought into the here and
now. The advisor stumbled back and Glorfindel turned,
shocked to see sheer terror upon his
love's face.

"Meleth! What is wrong?"

Erestor swiftly backed away, forgetting his shirt,
neglecting his weapons in his overwhelming need to
flee from that which had horrified him.

"I am not your love!" he gasped, voice rampant with
fear. "I cannot be your love - ever! I am Erestor of
Lindon. I am Erestor of Lindon!"

The dark elf ran, ran as if a demon was behind him,
ran to escape the trap he had so nearly fallen into.
Ran to escape his own demons - but could not.

The elf who was left behind bellowed a roar, falling
to his knees as tears flooded down his face at the
collapse of his hopes when so near to completion, his
body so near to release, his Erestor so nearly in his
arms.

"Meleth nîîn!"

The shout resounded through the forest and the
woodland creatures quaked at hearing the wounded beast
sound forth his pain. Elves within hearing also heard
the scream.

And wept for the loss within the tormented cry.



Elvish:

(with help from Nienna and Andrannath)

pen-vuin - dear one
pen-neth - little one
meleth - love
Le melin - I love you
ind nîîn - my heart





=====

Chapter 9




Miruvor.

A liquor of potent heat and depth brewed in Imladris.
A reviver of spirits, succour to those on long
journeys in the cold, amongst the snowy heights of the
Misty Mountains. Revitalisation in a bottle.

Glorfindel drowned in it.

Every night.

Without fail.

It became his friend, his need - though he longed for
his other need. He could have refrained - but he
didn't want to. Each evening after the dinner, a
dinner in which he took no pleasure because he could
taste nothing in his sense-starved existence, he went
to the cellars. To greet his new friend. Because the
other friend, his other lover, would not greet him.
Would not face him. Would not love him. From dusk till
dawn he indulged, snatching sleep where he could and
when he could. He consumed the potions Elrond had
given him not to remove his fearsome dreams, but to
assuage his waking nightmare.

During daylight hours Glorfindel did not indulge. He
had been too long a warrior, too long a lord to evade
his responsibilities and his duties. They were all
that were left to him; his weapons, his warriors, his
men. He attended every training session, he personally
reviewed every patrol that left the compound. He
watched and he commented, praising where he found
strength, correcting where he found error but always
with a view to the welfare of his men. He wrote his
reports, he attended meetings, he took his turn as the
leader of his patrol, guarding the boundaries of
Imladris with unparalleled fervour. If sometimes he
seemed dimmed, depressed, out-of-sorts then Andrann,
his captain and second in command, made no comment.
Her loyalty was total, and she would never betray him.
On patrol he abstained for the lives of his men he
valued above all things - save one. In the role of
seneschal he was superb. All the warriors fought to
gain his attention, his approval. He was their shining
lord and he lived for them.

He certainly did not live for Erestor. For Erestor
would not let him.

Since the end of the fight on only his second morning
in his new home, the home he had to live in for untold
years ahead, Erestor would not greet him. He had cut
himself off completely. His door stayed closed, his
eyes averted whenever the golden lord came into view.
If Glorfindel entered a room Erestor left; if he
walked down a corridor and the dark counsellor drew
near then the black-clad figure turned aside.
Glorfindel was alone.

He made many attempts to pass the door of Erestor's
office but always it was barred, either physically by
the strong bolt within or by Saelbeth's prowling
presence. He wanted, needed to ask Erestor about that
dreadful morning, about the reason his love had fled
from him in such a wild and terrified manner. But the
dark elf would allow no private talk whatsoever.
Glorfindel was a strong, determined ellon who normally
would let nothing get in the way of his objectives. He
had not reckoned on Erestor's strength of will and
sheer stubbornness. He was his malleable pen-neth no
more.

Only in formal meetings with Elrond or in the full
counsel of Imladris did Glorfindel have a chance to
see his beautiful pen-neth at close quarters, if not
to speak to him. His eyes devoured that black-draped
form, never leaving that slim figure, those sinuous
hands, those soft rose-red lips. The other
participants in those meetings tried not to look at
the golden lord in their embarrassment, for they
sensed the desire in that glare and perceived it only
as a lust unfulfilled. Glorfindel had learned that
Erestor was much hunted for his seductive beauty by
the elves inhabiting the dwelling, but that experience
over the centuries had taught them that their desire
was hopeless and that Erestor was unresponsive. This
did not stop the transient visitors to the realm from
attempting to attract his attention, but their
approaches were unwanted and rejected gently by the
counsellor. It was Glorfindel's only comfort.

Glorfindel learned all the secret places of Imladris,
all the corridors, balconies, gardens where he might
hide to discreetly observe his dark beauty. From the
corner of one portico he could see through the window
to watch Erestor in Elrond's office, in deep
discussion over policies and provisions; on a walkway
overlooking the study he saw him seated next to
Elrohir and Elladan as they reviewed their daily
lessons; next the corner of the courtyard he viewed
him bidding farewell to departing travellers. Every
glimpse of the counsellor was a torment, but each
encounter was treasured by the lonely heart. In an
unexpected way it had given him an insight into his
lost love's new life. He saw the depth of respect in
which Erestor was held, the unassuming way in which
the tasks laid upon his slim shoulders were
accomplished; accurately, effectively, completely. He
revelled in the overheard comments of the other
Rivendell elves, in their admiration for the devotion
and zeal of this gentle counsellor in his service to
their lord.

It did not stop the weeping of his heart.


****


The Lord of Imladris was alarmed. It had been only a
few months since the reborn lord's arrival and yet it
seemed that the Gondolin warrior was determined to
drink himself back to Náámo's Halls. The cause seemed
to be the discord which had been ever present between
the Chief Counsellor and the Seneschal - but why
Elrond could not imagine. Glorfindel did not seem to
want the rift and had indeed, to Elrond's knowledge,
tried to bridge it by overtures of friendship and
amity towards Erestor. These had been rejected totally
by the dark-haired elf. The tension was evident and
causing whispered talk through the halls of the Last
Homely House.

He decided to try to broach the subject with his
long-time friend first. Erestor was dismissive of his
concern.

"The seneschal and I have little in common, therefore
I have no need for extraneous speech with him."

"It is not just extraneous speech, it is *any* speech!
I have seen you, Erestor - you will not speak to him.
Rather you will refer him to one of your assistants or
carry on a dialogue through a third person before you
will face him directly. You are as cold as Caradhras
to him, mellon- nîîn. What has he done to alienate you
so in the short time he has been here?"

'Lived' was an answer Erestor could have given him, or
'Loved me'. Instead he lifted his head and faced his
lord directly, speaking in measured tones.

"If you wish to command me, hir nîîn, then I will
converse with the seneschal."

Elrond sighed in exasperation. "I don't wish to
command you, old friend. I just thought -" Erestor
raised an eyebrow expectantly. Elrond shook his head
in defeat. "Never mind." He tried a different tack.

"His nightmares have worsened," he said, a healer's
eye trained upon Erestor. Ah, it was there. A
tightening of the lips and a quick blink of the eyes.

"So I have heard."

"He dreams of a balrog."

No response.

"He dreams of his death."

Nothing.

"Of the deaths of his friends. Of those he loved."
Erestor finally turned to face Elrond.

"Probably Ecthelion," he said quietly.

"Why Ecthelion?" asked Elrond. "All the histories
speak of him being a high-ranking lord, but they do
not mention any other relationship."

Erestor shrugged. "There are transcripts of interviews
with survivors. Anecdotes not confirmed. Some intimate
they were close. They were both warriors, both
heroes." He paused, but Elrond did not notice the
hesitation or the sadness upon Erestor's face, for he
was reviewing in his mind the histories that had been
written of that time. Erestor's voice was soft when he
spoke once more. "He was certainly an elf worthy of
being Glorfindel's - friend. Worthier than most."

Elrond nodded, eyes distant in contemplation. "I have
heard similar interpretations." He was silent as he
reflected upon puzzling information he had but
recently heard - news which if he could but interpret,
might lay clues as to Erestor's attitude towards the
reborn elf. Looking up at his friend he placed a
bright smile on his face. "By the way, the twins came
to me yesterday. I believe you were teaching them of
the Fall of Gondolin. It seems our golden lord has
sparked an interest in history."

Erestor smiled gently at the thought of the
enthusiastic boys and their fierce questioning at
their lessons of the day before.

"When heroics, battles, balrogs and bravery combine,
they are most willing to learn. I only wish that they
would take more interest in the admittedly convoluted
families of the elves of the First Awakening, or the
politics of the realms of Men. Such fine details do
not appeal to such budding warriors - as I well
remember!"

Elrond joined in his laughter, recognising in the
slight reference the teaching that this elf had
bestowed on other reluctant twins. He returned to the
subject in hand.

"The boys were telling me of the number of balrogs
defeated by the Lords of the Hidden City, and repeated
what you had once told me - that Glorfindel had killed
three balrogs. Yet since you taught me that I have had
many years to research this myself. The histories only
mention one, the one on the slopes of Cirith
Thoronath. The one that killed him."

Erestor flinched at those words but tried to divert
his lord. "It is as I said of Ecthelion - anecdotal. I
did tell this to the boys," he said earnestly. "I
would not be so inaccurate as to claim it as truth."

Elrond nodded, but was not distracted. "Yes, but as I
said, I too have read those transcripts. Not once is
that information included. Where did *you* hear it, my
friend?" He leaned forward, trying to discern any
changes upon Erestor's countenance, eager for any
revelations which may come. He was disappointed.

"My information came from one who was there - one who
had been in the Great Market during the fighting."
Erestor bent his head, his voice lowering in
remembered pain. "He died shortly after telling me of
this. There was no one else to question, nor did I
have any opportunity to..further my investigations."

Elrond reached out a hand to his friend. "Erestor, are
you all right? You seem upset."

Erestor smiled weakly, blinking away unbidden tears.
"The one who told me was someone who was very - dear -
to me."

Elrond squeezed the hand that clutched his own. "You
still mourn his loss," he said simply. Erestor
nodded, briskly wiping away the solitary tear that had
escaped.

"More than you could ever believe."

The pain that was so evident in Erestor's eyes caught
at Elrond's heart and compassionate nature and he
gathered the grieving elf to him, offering his comfort
and understanding. The two elves sat in reflective
silence for some time, each remembering those they had
lost in their lives, and praying for their peace and
tranquillity in Mandos' Halls.


*****


Glorfindel was no easier to approach. The
golden-haired elf did not want to speak of his
relationship - his very difficult relationship - with
the dark-haired advisor.

"I am well, Elrond. There is no need to watch me so
closely."

Elrond laughed. "I didn't know that I was *that*
obvious! I must refine my methods, else Celebríían will
say that I am not doing my job correctly." He sobered,
something he wished Glorfindel would do. "Nevertheless
my friend, your pain is so obvious that it does not
need a trained eye to see how you grieve."

Glorfindel looked down onto the rug in front of
Elrond's desk. It was rich in colour and depth,
reflecting the tastes of this Lord of Imladris. Elrond
was a very complex elf, a possible result of his mixed
heritage and convoluted upbringing. Of edhil, human
and Maian blood, he and his twin brother had been born
at the Mouths of Sirííon; had been captured and cared
for by two of the sons of Fëëanor when their home was
invaded; then released to the ward-ship of Cíírdan and
Gil-galad to dwell in Lindon. As inheritors of royal
blood from both parents, the two Peredhil had received
a commensurate education and were thus knowledgeable
beyond most. They had used this knowledge to make
their Choice at the end of the War of Wrath. The pain
that Elrond would have felt in the resulting and
ultimate separation from his twin was, by all
accounts,
immense. Perhaps it was from this point, or from the
vile and vast experience of horrendous conflicts and
the pain therein, that Elrond had turned to the
healing arts. Arts which he had now chosen to practise
on Glorfindel.

"My pain is my own, Elrond," the golden lord
reiterated. "I thank you for your concern - but I do
not need it."

The sceptical stare said it all, but Elrond did not
speak. He sat silently, waiting in the hope that
Glorfindel would use the moment to organise his
thoughts and pain - and speak of them. His patience
was rewarded.

"If my pain is obvious then it is because of my
losses. I lost my city, my home, my king, my life -
and my lover. So now if you are satisfied." The large
elf made as if to rise but was stopped short at
Elrond's next words.

"He must have been very special."

The pain was like a huge wave, swamping him; making
him inhale sharply to relieve the stabbing at his
heart. Glorfindel tried to dissemble.

"Who do you mean?"

"Your lover. You place him last in your sentence - yet
I sense that he was first in your thoughts."

Yes, he was ever in Glorfindel's thoughts. But he
wasn't going to tell Elrond that.

"Why do you say he? What do your history books say
about my private life? Or are you delving blindly into
my past in an unwanted attempt to give me counsel? I
need it not, my Lord Elrond!"

Elrond could feel the pain rolling from the distraught
elf. Outwardly Glorfindel seemed to be in control but
the Peredhel could sense that the control was
paper-thin. He tried to sooth the warrior.

"It was - suggested - to me that your loved one was
male by someone who is very knowledgeable of the
annals of history. I am sorry if I upset you. Please,
won't you be seated again?"

Glorfindel sat, wondering. He suspected that Erestor
had been the source of speculation but why would the
counsellor wish to involve Elrond in his denial?

"Who? Who said that my lover was male?"

"Does it matter? Why, was he wrong?" Elrond asked
gently. Glorfindel shook his head, seeing no reason to
lie. Yes, his lover was male - yet he had been his
lover only in his dream, his beautiful, wonderful
dream..

"Yes, he was special. He was my life, the keeper of my
heart. My soulmate. My betrothed." He closed his eyes,
visualising Erestor as he had been on the morning of
his begetting day - that last, sweet morning. His
voice trembled as he spoke. "He had a delight in life
unseen in any other - bright, he was a bright spirit.
And lively! I can see him now, riding wildly across
the plains of Tumladen, shouting for the joy of the
day, his hair as wild and as free as he was. His
laughter was like the sparkles in the cascades,
dancing, jumping, entrancing. He -" a sob, "-he fit
perfectly in my arms. My perfect, enchanting, darling
E -"

He broke off. He could say no more lest he reveal
all in his despair. Wrapping his arms around his waist
in a faint hope of self-comfort, Glorfindel wept as he
rocked back and forth in the pain of the loss; the
pain of that morning in the forest, when his love had
fled from him.

Already he had given too much away. As deeply as he
had been hurt by Erestor's behaviour in these past few
months he still loved him, still adored him. He would
keep his own counsel and would not betray him to
Elrond. After all these months, all his attempts, all
his lonely tormented nights, Glorfindel was losing
hope that Erestor would return to him. But between his
work - and the miruvor - he would survive. He had to.
Náámo would not let him fade for he had a role, a
purpose yet to play, and the Valar would not grant him
a return to Mandos before then.

Elrond was leaning over to him, holding his hand,
comforting him. So perhaps it *was* Ecthelion.
Glorfindel had almost said his name. The Lord of the
Fountain certainly fit all the descriptions given him
by the golden lord. He spoke gently to the weeping
elf.

"I am so sorry, my friend. I did not mean to distress
you this way. We will talk no more now, but please - I
am here if you ever wish for a friendly ear." He
paused. " I know that you have been unhappy here since
your arrival. I only wished to find a way to lessen
your burden, to help you to make friends and become
more - part of our community. But if you do not wish
to talk.."

Glorfindel nodded bleakly, but realised that he wanted
to talk. Or rather that he wanted Elrond to talk. He
needed find out what had happened to Erestor that had
made his beloved spurn him so. Elrond was his friend,
had been his friend for an Age. Perhaps he had some
insight into the part of Erestor's life he had missed.

"Elrond, what know you of Erestor? Who is he?"

Elrond started. He had not expected *that* question
after such a gruelling confession. Why on Arda was
Glorfindel so interested in his counsellor? What was
the animosity that arose there, at least on Erestor's
part?

"Why do you want to know?" he asked in concern.

Glorfindel looked directly at Elrond, deciding that it
was time to do that which he had not wished to do. He
was going to lie through his teeth.

"My interest in Erestor is because - he reminds me so
of my lost love. I only wished to befriend him, to
have converse with him to ease my soul. He seems to
have taken my interest in the wrong way and now will
not talk to me at all. It hurts to see one who is so
like my love - spurn my. interest."

Elrond was unsure for he could sense deception in the
elf, but he saw no reason to withhold simple
information. He cast his mind back, remembering those
days with warmth.

"I met Erestor when my brother and I arrived in Lindon
after the War of Wrath, when we were freed from the
captive attentions of Maglor and Maedhros. Although we
were well educated by the brothers our viewpoints were
somewhat skewed by their prejudices. Erestor was a
scribe in Gil-galad's new court in Lindon. From the
little Erestor has told me, and from what I heard from
Gil-galad, Erestor had been a refugee of Nargothrond.
He and his family wandered near the remains of Nevrast
trying to escape the attentions of Melkor's troops.
Erestor was still a minor at the time of the rout, and
had apparently been badly hurt during the destruction
of Nargothrond. He was fortunately nursed back to
health by his mother, and brother and sister, but when
they removed to the Mouths of Sirion with the mass of
fleeing elves from the fall of Doriath and Gondolin,
Erestor remained in Lindon."

Glorfindel nodded, knowing that their refugee status
came of Gondolin, not Nargothrond. He was upset to
hear that Erestor had been hurt. In what way? Oh, that
he could comfort his beautiful darling. He hung on
Elrond's every word, like a man who is dying of thirst
seeks for every drop of moisture.

"Erestor remained," Elrond continued, "working as a
stable-hand until he took up a position with
Ereinion's household. His knowledge and skill with a
pen were discovered by accident one day and the Master
of Horse, being no mean elf, could not in all
conscience neglect one of such education and learning.
He introduced him to the Chief Scribe and the rest
quickly followed. Being of an age with my brother and
I, Ereinion assigned him as our companion, tutor and
soon friend. We came to love him greatly and when the
time came to found Imladris I knew that I could find
no one better to help me in its building. He was at my
side during every trial, every battle, every joy. He
is one of the most consummate ellons I know - scribe,
horsemaster, warrior. And so he is as he has always
been, a true friend and one of the most rounded elves
I have ever know. He is a true marvel to me,
Glorfindel. But be warned - he has ever been a
solitary elf. That is why he has not responded to your
entreaties. He too had a love, a love who died. A love
he still mourns. If you approach him as a suitor he
*will* reject you. Be more circumspect in your
endeavours, mellon- nîîn, and you may find the way to
become his friend, even if nothing more."

His mother, sister and brother. Mirieth, Dííwen and -
one of Mirieth's sons? Were they still alive? Had they
died, or left in the return of the Eldar to Valinor at
the end of the First Age? If he could meet with them,
talk to them. Discover what had happened. At least
Erestor had not been alone. His poor little love.

" I thank you, my lord. At least I now start to
understand the counsellor. Perhaps this information
will allow me to return to your household some of the
tranquillity it deserves."

Elrond laughed. "My house has *never* been tranquil,
Glorfindel! I have twin sons!"

Glorfindel smiled gently. "They are a blessing, my
lord. Both very inquisitive, both bright and full of
life. A joy."

Elrond glowed as any father would. "They are indeed
bright. They have a thirst for life I can barely keep
up with. And for knowledge. Oh, and in that regard,
Glorfindel -thank you for your patience with my sons.
They told meof the discussion that you had with them.
Is it true then, that you faced three balrogs, not
just the one that is recorded? The elf I mentioned
earlier has said that he spoke to a trustworthy
witness."

"Yes," said Glorfindel. "Though I am not surprised
that it was not recorded. Not many elves escaped the
Great Market, and the confusion and deep infighting
was such that I doubted anyone would have remembered.
We were only concerned in defending the city - and
saving our skins. I only told one person - my
betrothed."

A flare of sympathy shot through Elrond. "Ai!" he said
sadly. "Oh, mellon- nîîn, I am sorry to tell you, but I
believe that your betrothed was the one who told my -
friend - of your feat. He told me that your beloved
died shortly afterwards."

Glorfindel smiled grimly. "Yes, I have been told
reliably that my betrothed died on Cirith Thoronath
at the same time I did. That he is no more. That he -
" He drew his hand across his face. "Please, Elrond.
Excuse me, I can speak no more. I have an -
appointment."

Yes. His lover was dead. There was only a liquid lover
to await him now.

Elrond seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts.
"No solution was ever found at the bottom of a glass
of miruvor, Glorfindel."

The golden lord nodded absently, smiling weakly. "No,
but it hurts less there." He leaned towards Elrond as
if to confide in him. His hollow tones and apparent
despair alarmed the Peredhel.

"Do you wish to know the truth, Elrond? Do you wish to
know how I really feel? Now ? Today? Here - in
Imladris? I wish to the depths of Morgoth's hells in
Angband that the Valar had left me well alone in the
Halls of Waiting. An eternity of grey reflection is a
thousand times more preferable to the months, years,
centuries of desolation that they have condemned me
to. If I could choose death right now, be it by
balrog's grip, sword stroke or the elven sickness then
I would choose it with joy. I hate the Valar, Elrond,
for they have cheated me!" With a final snarl the
imposing elf left swiftly, leaving a stunned lord
behind.

And in his attempt to assimilate the desolate avowal
Glorfindel had just pronounced, he realised something
else, something he had never expected. A new and
startling revelation.

Erestor had said that the witness he had spoken to had
died shortly afterwards. Glorfindel had only spoken to
one elf of his killing of the two balrogs - his
beloved, who died on Cirith Thoronath. If the two
elves were
reconciled into the one and the same, then it meant
that to take his testimony then *Erestor* must have
been in Gondolin when it fell! His friend, who had
always sworn that he was of
Lindon. Who was so secretive. Who was so pained. So
who was he, truly?

Who in Arda was Erestor of Lindon?







Elvish:

(with help from Nienna and Andrannath)

mellon- nîîn - my friend
hir nîîn - my lord
edhil - elf (race)
Peredhil - half-elven (plural)
Peredhel - half-elven (sing)





=====

Chapter 10

The seasons had turned and the promise of spring had
burgeoned into the Gates of Summer. Preparations were
in full swing for the Festival of Tarnin Austa. Elrond
was unsure how Glorfindel would approach this tragic
day. The golden lord's behaviour had not changed since
the day of that depressing discussion and disclosure,
though his more public excesses had been curbed. The
miruvor supplies were still dwindling and the overall
consumption had increased. However, Glorfindel had
taken an interest in his twin sons, finding solace in
their innocence and sweet trivialities. Their
excitement at the upcoming festival was unbounded,
though at their young age they would not be allowed to
keep the whole vigil.

"But Ada says we may stay up a little later."

"*If* we promised not to talk."

"Or ask questions."

"Or whistle."

"Or sing."

Elladan paused, brow furrowed in dawning reflection.
He raised his eyebrow in an uncanny copy of his
father. "Will it be fun, 'Ro? Really?"

Elrohir paused before launching into a positive
litany. "There will be music an' stalls an' lights an'
- cake!"

An 'o' appeared on Elladan's mouth, and he smiled
again.

"Yes, and we have a long sleep the night before, then
a big lunch with all our family. There will be Ada an'
Nana, an' Lindir an' Uncle Erestor an' you. You will
come too, Uncle Glo'fin'l, won't you?"

Glorfindel glowed at the diminution of his name, one
that the twins only used in excitement, but winced
inwardly as he recalled another who had named him so.

"I will indeed, pyn-neth, if I be welcome at the
table."

The elflings bounced up and down, clapping their hands
with glee. The golden lord laughed at their exuberance
and they laughed in return. The sheer joy caused such
an escalation of merriment that all that were near
turned to grin at the scene on the veranda.

In the shadows a black-clad figure smiled too, glad to
see that the hurt he had caused had been somewhat
assuaged by the innocence of the twins. Memories arose
of similar circumstances, of a child's happiness in
the arms of the golden lord and the love found
therein. The solitary figure sighed, hoping against
hope that this would mark a new phase in the life of
the re-born warrior. Glorfindel deserved happiness,
even perhaps a new love. Tears pricked at his eyes at
the thought but he allowed them no ground. He had
forfeited all rights to his own fulfillment by his
selfish acts. Someone else should have the chance to
make the Lord of Gondolin shine forth his golden light
in the act of true love. A love he had once known -
but now did not deserve. One last, longing look, then
Erestor turned to go back to his desk and his work -
what remained of his life - hopefully unnoticed by
those on the veranda.

Elven eyesight is the keenest on Arda save for the
mighty eagles, and the eager eyes of elflings are much
more so. Elladan sighed as he sat upon Glorfindel's
lap, snuggling against the broad chest of his
protector.

"He is watching you again, Glorfindel," he said,
lifting his head to try to meet the sapphire gaze. "He
likes you."

"Glorfindel smiled grimly, reluctant to have this
peaceful interlude brought low by sad ponderings. "I
think not, Elladan. But that does not matter, because
you two like me, don't you?"

His attempt to divert the boys did not work. Elrohir
looked up from where he was playing with his toy
warriors.

"He does like you, really! I was drawing a picture for
him and I did a picture of you and he said it was
really good and asked if he could keep it. He wouldn't
do that if he didn't like you, would he?"

Glorfindel could find no answer, save to fold his arms
tighter around the child in his lap. He searched his
mind frantically for a way to distract them, thinking
on what would attract a child's attention. An image of
a small figure on a stallion's broad back brought a
wistful smile to his face.

"Shall we go to see my new horse, the one your adar
gave to me?" he suggested. The response was immediate
and in a very short time the two determined elflings
had him almost at a run as they dragged him to the
stables.

The stables of Imladris were large and well-stocked,
for Elrond ran his own stud further up the valley.
Elves had the essential empathy with horses which
allowed the full personality and nature of the beast
to be brought forth. There had been a mating with a
Meara, a prince of horses, some generations ago as a
gift from the Mearas to elvenkind. The horses of the
House of Elrond still retained their noble qualities.

The golden lord beamed with delight when he beheld
again the stallion he had chosen some weeks before.
Although all the mounts he had been shown were
excellent, this one had stood out; a proud white horse
with a golden mane, so alike to his Asfaloth of the
First Age. The stallion had whickered in amusement
before bowing his head to Glorfindel and giving him
permission to rename him.

"Hello, Asfaloth," he whispered, rubbing his broad
hand along the proud head, and grinned when the horse
pressed his muzzle to his tunic pockets. "Hungry
again? Well I suppose you deserve a treat." He pulled
forth the apples and nuts he had secreted there and
gestured for the boys to do the same. Laying their
offerings expertly on their outstretched palms they
lifted their small hands up to the huge horse, who
accepted their gifts eagerly. Glorfindel saw their
delight but also saw that they had reserved some of
the apples they had taken from the barrels in the
kitchen.

"Are you hungry too, boys?" he asked.

"Oh no," said Elrohir. "We want to give some to Hirnîîn
too. Look, there he is!"

Glorfindel's knees almost buckled at the name. He had
indeed noticed the huge black stallion which occupied
a nearby stall. It was a fine creature, almost perfect
in presentation, and he had known that its lord must
be a superb equestrian. Now he knew the identity of
his rider. The boys confirmed it as they chattered on.

"Uncle Erestor loves to ride. Hirnîîn is wonderful, you
can touch the sky if you stand on his back," boasted
Elladan, oblivious to the derisive snorts of his twin.

"Don't be silly 'Dan, you've never stood on Hirnîîn's
back!" the younger twin protested, his arms folded and
his face cross. Elladan brushed off the scolding.

"No, but Erestor has taken me on a ride with him!"

Elrohir snorted again. "We were *both* on his back, at
the same time, and it was only as far as the Great
Cascade." He turned eagerly to the golden lord,
excited at sharing his accomplishments with him. "We
went there for a picnic for Nana's begetting day. Ada
says we can go again at Tarnin Austa. There is a small
pool at the bottom where we can swim. Well, not
*right* at the bottom, Ada says that the big pool is
too dangerous, but a little away. Will you come with
us too, Glorfindel?"

So many invitations! Glorfindel was not surprised as
he had been welcomed very quickly into the bosom of
Elrond's family. He was delighted at the rapport he
had built with the two boys, so alike in looks, so
different in character. Though both were bright and
spirited, Elladan was the more active of the two,
always longing to be involved and desperate to be
included in the younger elves military training.
Glorfindel had allowed him to sit on the sidelines at
some of the junior classes as long as he was quiet.
Quiet was not a word which could be easily applied to
either twin though Elrohir, as the more studious, was
the one who was allowed into Erestor's office, drawing
or writing whilst the counsellor continued with his
work.

Glorfindel sighed inwardly. He had tried again to
approach Erestor to discover what had frightened the
advisor so on that early morning; why he had fled from
the glade in such terror. At every turn he was pushed
away. Recently his nightmares had worsened, undimmed
by Elrond's medicine or the miruvor. Last night it was
not the balrog which had burnt the flesh from his
bones or seared his eyes to sightless coals. The burns
had come from pure ice and it was the ice that had
been in Erestor's eyes, and touch, and breath. He had
welcomed his re-lived death last night.

As he looked at the two animated boys he realized how
lucky he was that Elrond trusted him with his sons.
Considering his new reliance on alcohol, Elrond could
have denied him access to the twins if he had thought
him a potential danger. So far he did not. He smiled
at the twins' chatter, playfully indulgent.

".and I can ride Asfaloth!" Elladan finished
enumerating his exhaustive plans. Glorfindel had not
followed their discussion but guessed that the two
stallions had been allotted new riders for the
proposed outings.

"Only if Master Erestor and your parents agree," he
warned. The lack of guile in their faces belied the
plotting within.

"Oh, of course Uncle Glorfindel!"

They hurried after him as he left the stable, but the
golden lord cast a glance back at the black stallion -
and an idea began to form.


****

The eve of Tarnin Austa dawned with an Imladris
shrouded in mist though, from the visible efforts of a
struggling Anor, it seemed as if the heat would soon
lift the cool strands of vapour and brighten the sky.
Glorfindel greeted the day in a somewhat muted frame
of mind, only too well aware of the sad history of
this day. He stood on the balcony and said silent
prayers for those who had died in the battle.
Courageous Rog, so valiant in his stand on the plains
of Tumladen; strong Duilin; brave Eglamoth and all the
warriors of the Houses of Gondolin. He even thought of
Salgant, and through the remove of ages forgave him
for his weakness.

And Ecthelion. His dearest friend and stalwart
champion. Honourable, caring, supportive of his
ill-fated love. His ready smile and cheeky grin would
always be the image brought to mind, not the terrible
hiss of boiling water and melting armour. Bright,
brilliant 'Thel. For sure, the dark elf who took
chambers a short distance from here would be making
the same salutations.

The long-awaited lunch was near upon him and he
dallied to ensure that he would arrive at the same
time as the others. He did not want to be first for he
had set a little plan in motion and he did not want to
be suspected as its instigator. As it happened, he
arrived at Elrond's personal quarters at the same time
as Lindir and Erestor. He gestured for the other two
to proceed into the chamber.

The family section of the house was large,
encompassing many rooms. It was to here that Elrond
was able to retreat to escape the duties of an
elf-lord, and become a father and husband. Glorfindel
had become very familiar with the quarters since his
arrival, and he was grateful for the generous way in
which the Lord and Lady had shared their family life
with him.

The family dining room was a bright and airy room,
with one side open to the private garden. The sunlight
streamed in, glistening off the glasses, gleaming on
the plates and cutlery set in preparation. The twins
bounded up to them.

"Happy eve, happy eve!" they chorused, dancing around
the newcomers. Glorfindel laughed in delight, picking
up Elladan and swinging the elfling in a large circle,
barely missing the other two elves. Elrohir, not one
to miss out on such fun, launched himself into
Erestor's arms for a similar swing. The raven-haired
advisor lifted him high and held him close, reveling
in the sweet embrace. The room was filled with the joy
of the day and the happiness rolled as a wave across
all the participants. Glorfindel glanced around the
gathered elves, realizing for the first time that
here, in Imladris, he might truly have found a family
to equal that which he had lost in Gondolin. In Elrond
he saw both the wisdom of Turgon and the friendship of
Ecthelion; in Celebríían, the sweetness of Idril. He
held part of Eäärendil in his arms and the other was
held by - by Erestor. His Erestor. Erestor, the only
true connection to that other family.

The swinging had stopped. Erestor finished his spin
just in front of the golden elf and his face shone,
illuminating the room. His beautiful brown eyes were
lit with an inner glow, the intensity of the glow
increasing as they locked with Glorfindel's sapphire
eyes. For a split second their spiritual connection
was renewed, pure harmony emanating as their fëëar
resonated for the first time in three millennia. The
purity of that sweet transition transported all within
the room and it was as if the Song of the Valar soared
to its most exquisite height - for a moment. And for
that moment, that sweet moment, Glorfindel felt like
liquid joy. For a moment.

Sheer terror suddenly filled Erestor's eyes and he
turned away. He broke that connection and reality
crashed in on the seneschal. Only the greatest of
restraint prevented the agonizing pain from erupting
from his chest; prevented his heart from breaking into
a thousand fragments, prevented the smile from
slipping from his face and a cry issue forth. Instead,
in an act of supreme thespian achievement Glorfindel
forced his vocal cords to contract and his lips to
move as he spoke a greeting to his hosts.

Elrond, Celebríían and Lindir shook in the aftermath
of the emotional storm that had erupted within the
dining room. Its intense tremors still swirled in
psychic eddies through the entities standing there.
The lord, lady and minstrel scrambled to focus on the
expressed greetings of the other two elves who
outwardly showed no reaction to the cataclysmic
eruption they had precipitated.

Only the boys did not seem to notice the powerful
emotions that had been evoked. Instead they provided
the calming element in their innocent chatter, forcing
the adults to revert to the roles politeness thrust
upon them.

"Erestor, Erestor - come look! Come look!"

"Erestor, someone has given you a present!"

"Open it, open it!"

The dark elf was led to the table where there was
indeed a parcel placed at his designated seat. The
parcel was of soft red velvet tied with a golden
ribbon, and his name was inscribed in stylized form on
a fragment of parchment. Erestor glanced at Glorfindel
but the elf lord's face was a study of nonchalance.
Elrond and Celebríían watched the two elves intently,
determined to investigate the emotional mystery which
had vexed them since Glorfindel's arrival in Imladris.

Erestor's hand hesitated over the gift, reluctant to
move further. He was very aware of the attention it
had provoked but he knew his reluctance was causing
more concern. Taking a deep breath he began to un-wrap
the parcel.

It was beautiful. In the blackest ebony, carved to the
most precise proportions, was a magnificent statuette
of a horse - of Hirnîîn. His head was raised in a
gesture of nobility and his strong leg muscles were
tensed as if ready to gallop in wild abandon. The
carved saddle was inlaid in silver and gold and the
reins were made of fine links of mithril. It was the
work of a craftsman of great skill and worthy of great
praise.

"It's lovely," breathed Elladan, who immediately
coveted it. Elrohir was mute with awe as were his
parents. Lindir too appreciated its beauty but was
bemused by the events of the morning, and glanced
between the adults in an attempt to decipher the
enigmatic signals flying between them.

"What is the occasion, Erestor?" Celebríían asked
softly. Her gaze was most intent upon the advisor,
trying to discern what troubled him. When he spoke,
she knew he was lying.

"I know of none, my lady, save the day that is here to
be celebrated. Perhaps there was some mistake. I
should find the giver so that I can return the gift to
him or her."

It was Elrond who caught the brief tightening of the
mouth, the quick flash of pain twisting Glorfindel's
slight smile into an unhappy grimace. He pondered on
the thought that this was some courting gesture gone
awry, yet another approach which had been rejected by
his careful counsellor. Yet it seemed much deeper than
that. The connection between the two elves which had
seemed so bright but minutes before was now cold and
dead, at least on Erestor's part.

The twins were protesting to Erestor.

"No, Erestor - don't give it back!"

"Aye," chimed the second twin. "Ada and Nana say that
if you get a present you should always say 'thank you'
politely, even if you don't really like it." Eager
eyes looked longingly at the carving once more. "But
*I* think that it is beautiful. Don't you like it,
Erestor?"

Such a simple question, so simply put - yet pregnant
with a meaning beyond the boy's comprehension. Erestor
raised his eyes, looking at a point past Glorfindel's
shoulder so as to avoid his avid stare.

"Aye, Elrohir. It *is* very beautiful. I am not sure -
I do not think - I am worthy of such a gift."

Elrond was dismayed to witness the change in
Glorfindel. Though the signs were not obvious to all,
it seemed as if the golden lord's spirit shriveled at
those words. As the party took their seats Elrond
could tell that Glorfindel only wanted to escape, to
avoid looking upon the elf who had spurned his gift -
and his love? Just what *did* the elf lord want from
his counselor?

The meal seemed an anti-climax after that and despite
the light-hearted talk initiated by Elrond and
Celebríían, and the enthusiasm of the elflings, the
atmosphere was devoid of the true joy of the day.
Elrond noted that the wine he had ordered for the
adults was mostly filling the glass of the Lord of
Gondolin. That he was the gift-giver Elrond had no
doubt. The Peredhel had recognized the work of a
skilled artisan of Rivendell, and Glorfindel had
surely sworn the elf to secrecy. The same vow would
probably have been extracted from one of the
housemaids, for it must have been one of them who had
deposited the gift onto Erestor's setting. The
household staff, ellith or ellyn, doted upon the
golden lord, who was unfailingly courteous and
charming to them.

Elrond focused first upon the seneschal, then the
counsellor. This was no simple courtship. The bond
that they had all felt was so bright, so intense that
it had felt almost like.. Ai, it was like his own bond
to Celebríían! The two lords were soulmates! The
elflord felt Celebríían look at him in query at the
slight gasp that escaped his lips - a gasp almost
echoed when his unspoken thought sounded in her head.

Elrond's discovery was valid, but the bond laid before
them was not sound. This was a fractured union they
had witnessed, a deliberate denial of the compulsion
laid upon two souls by Eru to find and bind to one
another. Just when their initial attraction had begun
the lord did not know, but after his previous
discussions with Erestor he suspected it was in
Gondolin. Erestor had always claimed that he was from
Lindon, a refugee from Nargothrond, but it was
apparent that he had lied in that respect. And
Glorfindel - it was obvious that he yearned for the
raven-haired advisor. Suddenly all the mood swings,
his nightmares and his dependency on miruvor became
clear in light of the constant rejection by Erestor.

The seneschal and the counsellor had been mostly quiet
during the meal and with the two boys so lively their
silence was un-remarked. Lindir was the first to leave
as the party began to break up but one glance at him
told Elrond that the musician would be discreet.
Elrond cast him a grateful glance in farewell. Erestor
rose to leave too and was almost at the door when
Elladan called to him.

"Uncle Erestor, you forgot your gift!"

The counselor stopped, not looking back but casting a
doleful glance at the floor.

"I did not forget, pen-neth, but it is not an item I
can accept at this time. Perhaps you would look after
it for me?" He glided from the room, and a puzzled but
pleased elfling danced delightedly with the horse in
his arms.

"Come on, Elrohir! We can play in the garden with
Hirnîîn!" The boys dashed into the open garden and
Celebríían hurried after them, casting an anxious
glance back to her husband and the glowering
Glorfindel. The golden lord had leaned against a
pillar, one hand covering his eyes, the other
clenching and releasing in tight emotion by his side.

"Glorfindel." Elrond began softly. The large elf stood
straight, uncovering his face to reveal sorrow and
anger in his expression.

"I gave him Hirnîîn, Elrond!" he cried, anguish
apparent in the ache in his voice. Elrond nodded in
confusion.

"Aye, Glorfindel, it was a beautiful statue."

The golden lord slammed his fist against the pillar,
the force of his frustration cracking the plaster.

"No! Not the statue, nor the horse out in the stable!
I gave him Hirnîîn, the horse running so free upon the
canvas in his office! It was my gift to him for his
forty-eighth begetting day." A sob broke from his
chest, the torture of the past few hours finally
releasing in anguish, as a cry from a heart ragged
beyond endurance.

Elrond stared, hardly believing that his suspicions
were confirmed, confused and stricken with compassion
for this desolate being dissolving before him. He
reached out to take the weeping lord into his arms but
Glorfindel broke free and sped from the room. Elrond
followed in all haste, but the long strides of the
re-born warrior left him behind. By the time Elrond
had reached the courtyard Glorfindel had removed
Asfaloth from his stall and was already mounting him
to the disbelief of the watching elves who had been
passing through the area.

"No, Glorfindel!" Elrond was desperate to stop the elf
lord, for who knew what the distraught elf would do in
this frame of mind?

Glorfindel turned the stallion, pure rage upon his
face, determination set into his pose.

"I can take no more, Elrond! My return has been
nothing but torture to me. Well, the Valar can find
another pawn for their game, for I will be played no
more!"

Elrond blanched at the implication.

"Where are you going?"

The laugh which emanated from the golden lord chilled
all who heard it, and dread filled the Peredhel.
Glorfindel snarled his response.

"To Mandos! And if Náámo will not take me - then to
hell!"

And with a shout and a prompt spur of the fleet horse,
Glorfindel galloped from the yard and from Imladris,
leaving a frantic Elrond in static shock.






Elvish:

Ada - daddy
Nana - mummy
pen-nyth - little ones
Adar - father
ellith - female elves
ellyn - male elves
Peredhel - half-elven (sing.)
Peredhil - (half-elven (pl.)









=====

Chapter 11

T.A. 149

The shock lasted only a moment. Though his mind was
still whirling from the disclosures and actions of his
seneschal, Elrond's experience as a warrior and
commander did not let him linger. Across the crowd of
stunned elves still in the courtyard he spotted the
one he needed.

"Andrann! Take a patrol and find him. Whatever
direction, however he protests - get him back here!"

The elleth nodded curtly and responded as Elrond knew
she would. He did not wait to see his orders carried
out. He could hear her directions as he hurried back
in to the House and to the residential wing - the
family wing. Erestor would not have gone to the
library or his office, not after such an emotional
event. No, he would have retreated into his little
world, his sanctuary - his bolt hole. Erestor was ever
like a frightened animal, a fox or a rabbit, dashing
to safety whenever his emotional shell was prodded. He
was one of the bravest and most skillful warriors
Elrond had fought beside, yet he hid from his emotions
as if they would kill him. As if they *had* killed
him.

Elrond did not know the cause of Erestor's retreat.
But he *did* know that if he could not break through
that protective shell then another elf would suffer -
and die a second time.

****

Erestor knew who was at the door. Knew from the
pounding, knew from the voice. He did not want to
answer. He wanted to shut the world out. He wanted to
shut Elrond out. He wanted - needed - to keep
Glorfindel out. He also knew that he would not be able
to, not this time. Reluctantly he drew the bolt aside
and allowed the Lord of Imladris entry to his
chambers. Erestor decided to take the offensive.

"I have no wish to talk, Elrond. I will hear what you
have to say, but my life is my own. I would like to be
left alone." Elrond looked at Erestor shrewdly, and
the dark counsellor felt a shiver run through him. The
Peredhel was not to be assuaged easily. Finally his
lord spoke.

"Very well, Erestor. You need not worry any longer.
Glorfindel is gone. He will trouble you no more."
Elrond turned as if to leave.

"Gone? Gone where?" It was not relief that swept
through the advisor, but panic. His Glorfindel would
not give him up that easily. But that was what he
wanted, wasn't it? Suddenly he realised that he was no
longer sure.

"Do you care? You never wanted him here. What is he to
you - Erestor of Gondolin?"

Erestor gasped, stumbling back from his lord. He tried
to evade the question, and Elrond's probing eyes. "He
- he means nothing to me."

"But he once did, didn't he Erestor? He was everything
to you. He was your betrothed. There was no mysterious
elf to whom you spoke, no witness save yourself.
Glorfindel told you of the balrogs, didn't he? As you
escaped from Gondolin. As you climbed Cirith
Thoronath. Just before he died."

Elrond was relentless. His power of mind and mastery
of healing of both fëëa and hrööa pressed on Erestor,
giving him no chance to collect his thoughts, marshal
his defences. The advisor knew he was breaking under
this assault and his mind and heart twisted and turned
trying to escape the elf-lord's attack. He fell back
onto his well-worn mantra, fully conscious of the fact
that Elrond no longer believed him.

"I am Erestor of Lindon. I am -"

"Lying."

Erestor began to shake. Of course he was lying. He had
lied for millennia, to others, to himself - to
Glorfindel. Didn't Elrond realise that it was the only
way to carry on? It was his only succour? His way of
surviving? He had locked the memories away for so long
and now they were pounding at the door in his mind,
demanding release. Some had already leaked through,
and the rest were awaiting him, an impending flood
ready to drown him in their intensity. He knew that he
would not survive that moment, not with his sanity
intact. Not again.

"Where is he going?" he asked again, proud that his
voice held none of the fear and concern which coursed
through him.

Elrond shrugged. "I asked him but he wasn't sure. He
said that if Náámo didn't want him, he was sure Hell
would give him a home."

"No!" Erestor screamed. No.no.no.no.
Notagainnotagainnotagain...

He started to run for the door. "No! No I won't lose
him again. NO!!"

Elrond grabbed the hysterical elf in his arms,
fighting to calm the struggling, weeping elf.

"Erestor, it's all right! Calm down!" The struggles
increasing, the screams becoming hysterical,
incoherent. "I've sent Andrann after him, Erestor! The
warriors will bring him back!" The words did not
penetrate and Elrond was fast losing his grip on
Erestor. With a last frantic shake he forced the dark
elf to look at him.

Erestor didn't see him, not really. He saw only flames
and heard only screams. He saw sapphire eyes looking
at him, pleading with him and he couldn't reach him,
couldn't catch him. Always falling, always dying. The
sapphire eyes accused and his heart shrivelled,
understanding the reproach in that gaze. He had let
him die. He had failed Glorfindel. And Ecthelion. And
Turgon. And Rog. And Tawaron. And - oh, no, he could
not think of them.

He had failed everyone. He was failing them again.

Elrond dropped to the floor with the collapsing
counsellor, not relinquishing his hold on the weeping
elf. He knew that Erestor was finally reliving his
memories, was finally admitting his past life - and it
obviously filled him with terror. He held him tight,
trying to calm the hysterical elf. Elrond had to
connect to Erestor, had to try to bring him back from
the brink of insanity. From the emotions and visions
he was receiving Erestor saw nothing but flames...

"What can you see, Erestor? What happened to
Glorfindel?"

Erestor curled tightly into himself, screwed his eyes
shut in the hope that the visions would stop. "I - I
don't want to...I can't ...! Please, make them stop!"

"I can't, Erestor. Only you can do that." urged
Elrond, stroking the soft black hair. "Talk to me,
tell me and together we can break you free."

Erestor leaned into Elrond's touch, remembering
another hand stroking him, holding him.

"I loved him. I loved him. I killed him, I killed him,
I killed him..."

"No!" Elrond said sharply, desperate to prevent
Erestor retreating down a dark path, the path to
insanity. "Focus, Erestor. Tell me what happened!"

Erestor breathed deeply, eyes still staring into his
past, into his nightmare. Every moment was etched on
his brain and now that he had released the lock on his
memories they were flowing easily, vividly. "He
reached for me, and I didn't move, I didn't take his
hand. I - I let him fall." Yes, it was his fault - he
had killed Glorfindel.

"How far away was he, Erestor? Could you actually
reach him?"

Erestor wasn't expecting that. It took him a moment to
understand the question. He knew the answer but to say
it would be too honest, too truthful.

"I - I don't know... It is hard to say..."

Elrond did not let it pass. "Think, Erestor. Tell me
the truth. Could you have caught him?" Erestor did not
answer. "Now, Erestor. Tell me now."

A cry burst from Erestor's throat. "I can't say it! I
can't - admit it!"

Elrond gave Erestor a gentle squeeze of reassurance.
"You were too far away, weren't you, Erestor? There
was no way you could have caught him in time. It
wasn't your fault he fell, Erestor."

Erestor began to shake, turning his head in denial.
No, he *had* killed his love! He had cried out, and
Glorfindel had turned, and he had fallen. It was his
fault. He had known that for years, for centuries. For
three hundred centuries. Of course it was his fault,
couldn't Elrond see that?

"I'm sorry, Glorfindel! I'm sorry, I'm sorry...!" he
wept, clinging to the blame he had laid upon himself
two Ages ago. "I should have learned, I should have
gone to my lessons. I was vain, I was stupid. I
thought I knew it all. I didn't want to learn. I'm
sorry, Ecthelion! I can hear the hiss, the steam. I
can't reach you either! It's my fault! It is all my
fault!"

Elrond could hardly understand his friend, the words
were blotted by the sobs, the strain in his voice.
This elf, so wise and brave, so knowledgeable and
learned, so gentle and kind - he sounded like an
elfling pleading for forgiveness after a misdemeanour.
A thought suddenly struck him.

"Erestor, how old were you when Gondolin fell? How old
were you when Glorfindel died?"

The words penetrated the sorrow and Erestor looked up,
his tear-stained face showing his profound grief.

"Forty-nine, Elrond. I was forty-nine..." I was a
child, a silly, stupid, selfish child, thought
Erestor. Why did he love me so? I didn't deserve him;
he was my brave golden warrior, and I didn't deserve
him.

The shock showed in Elrond's face. Elbereth, Erestor
was only a child! And yet betrothed?

"Erestor, how was it that you were betrothed to
Glorfindel? You were so young..."

Erestor shook his head, knowing what Elrond thought.
"We were chaste. We were to wait for my Coming-of-Age.
He pressed the ring on my finger as we prepared for
battle. It was his pledge, his promise. He promised he
would return...he promised.he promised."

"Oh, Erestor," said Elrond, softly. "You were just a
child and you have taken this blame - this erroneous
blame - upon your shoulders for too long, mellon nîîn.
It wasn't your fault, dearest Erestor."

Erestor was not about to give up his self-blame, his
self-disgust so easily. He knew that he was not worthy
of his golden lord; not worthy of the praise heaped
upon him by other elves - by Elrond. He was a fraud, a
craven coward - a killer. He pulled himself from
Elrond's arms, shuffled back across the floor, bent
his head so that his raven hair formed his usual
shielding shroud.

"Yes, it was my fault! And so was what happened
later!"

Later? Yes, how did Erestor survive? "Later, Erestor?
When? What happened after Glorfindel fell? Where did
you go?"

Erestor lifted his head, his eyes dark with despair.
He looked terrified. He stared at Elrond as if he
didn't understand the question. He was looking back
through the ages, seeing only death and destruction.

"Where did I go?" he whispered finally. His hands were
constantly clasping each other, constantly wringing in
pent up emotion. "Into darkness. Into madness. They
wouldn't leave me. I was raving, a madman - yet they
wouldn't leave me."

Elrond's heart wept for him, yet he knew that they
weren't finished. He guessed that Erestor was talking
about his family but he had intimated that there was
worse to come, more deaths that he lay at his own
feet.

"Your family? They would not leave you?" Erestor
nodded, not seeing Elrond, seeing only the past.

"Mirieth. Dííwen. Aradol. My family. Brôôglon died. One
of Mirieth's sons had died. Aradol didn't. They looked
after me, so I learned later. I couldn't move,
couldn't react. I either screamed or sat in stupor.
Tuor had to go, take Eäärendil, Idril, others to
safety. To the Mouths of Sirion. My family stayed.
Four of the guard of the Golden Flower - they wouldn't
leave me. I killed them! I killed them!" The crying,
the frantic weeping started once more. Elrond pressed
further, forcing Erestor to focus on him again.

"Who died, Erestor? Your family? Not all, for I have
met them."

"I raved. Orcs came. I brought them. I betrayed them.
More deaths. The guards.not all, but each is a stain
on my soul."

Elrond could only hold the sobbing advisor closer,
tighter. The horror that the child Erestor had faced,
the losses. Glorfindel. Ecthelion. His home. His heart
and his soul. His sanity. How on earth had Erestor
managed to survive? By retreating behind his faççade,
his mask. He had concentrated on building a new life
to replace the old one, the one he had hidden in the
recesses of his mind, and Glorfindel's return had
cracked that mask. Had blown it wide open. Oh Andrann,
find him, otherwise I will lose both of them. Erestor,
as strong in character and mind as he was, would not
survive a second death.

Erestor lifted his head. "Let me go, Elrond. Let me go
find him, please? I can find him, I know I can!"

Elrond looked closely at him. "And what would you say,
Erestor? Would you tell him of your love? Would you
give yourself to him as his betrothed?"

The retreat Elrond saw in Erestor's eyes told him that
this would not be so. Erestor did not feel worthy, did
not believe he deserved the golden lord's love. The
self-recrimination had been brought into the light of
day, but Erestor was not yet ready to let it go. Not
ready to forgive himself.

Erestor, knowing what Elrond was trying to show him,
drooped his head in defeat.

"Save him, Elrond. Save him from himself. He is too
good to be lost to this world again. Save him for
Imladris, for Middle Earth. The world needs him, my
lord."

"And you do not?"

Erestor shook his head. Yes, he needed him. But he had
forfeited all rights to him by his acts on that
morning of Tarnin Austa, three thousand years ago.

"Well, he needs you, Erestor. Stop being so selfish."

Erestor's head shot up in surprise. He was not being
selfish! He was being totally unselfish!

Elrond knew Erestor's thoughts, and berated his friend
again.

"He came back for you, meldir. He came back to love
you and you have rejected him at every turn. He needs
you, Erestor. If he dies now, then yes, it will be
your fault. You say that you don't want to lose him
again. Well, prove it. Talk to him. Tell him what you
have told me. Open yourself to him. He loves you,
Erestor - and you love him. Let that love heal you
both."

It was too much. Elrond was offering him hope, and he
could not take it. Millennia of self-denial,
self-flagellation would not let him. His voice was a
whisper.

"How can I ask him to forgive me, Elrond? How *can* he
forgive me?"

Elrond reached out his hand to touch Erestor's face.
"I do not think that he believes that there is
anything to forgive, Erestor. He loves you. He will
give you forgiveness if you ask it, but he sees no
wrong in you, save the wrong you have dealt him in
your denial of these past few months." He paused,
wondering if Erestor would truly register his next
words. "There is only one elf that demands that you
beg for forgiveness. You. Yourself. You must forgive
yourself first, Erestor. For it is only your guilt of
survival that holds you back from the completion of
your souls. Forgive yourself, and you will find your
happiness in his arms."

The Peredhel saw that Erestor was trying to take in
these words, and he hoped that it would be the start
of healing. The elf before him was exhausted, both
from the emotional outpouring they had just
experienced and from the pressures of the months since
Glorfindel's arrival. His body needed rest just as
much as his mind. There was no way that Elrond could
let him go after Glorfindel. He would risk losing them
both that way.

Elrond raised himself from the floor, and bent to lift
the fallen elf. "Come, you must rest. You are weary
from the trauma of your memories. Rest and sleep,
Erestor. Take comfort in knowing that when he returns
you will talk to him, hold him, love him again.
Happiness is within your grasp, Erestor. Take this
chance whilst you can."

Erestor shook his head, yet let himself be guided by
his friend. "What if he returns whilst I sleep? I
cannot sleep if I do not know that he is safe. I
should go to him. Please let me go to him?"

"I will give you rest through my healing touch,
Erestor. I will watch for him and bring him to you if
he returns before you wake. I promise."

A pledge. A promise. Elrond led Erestor into his
bedchamber and laid him upon his coverlet. Elrond
reached his hands to Erestor but the counsellor
forestalled him.

"Elrond, please? The box upon the dresser - please,
may I have it?"

Elrond looked and saw a small dark wood box, lightly
carved in elvish designs, which lay upon the dressing
table. He carried it over to Erestor, who took it into
his arms and curled round it. Laying his hands upon
Erestor's forehead, Elrond concentrated, sending waves
of healing, calming energy through his fingers.
Erestor took a deep breath and his eyes began to glaze
in reverie.

"My Glo'fin'l," he whispered and, as Elrond quietly
exited the chamber, Erestor's rose-red lips curved
into a sweet smile.


*****


The hours dragged on and Elrond was beginning to
despair. Andrann had obviously sent out more than one
patrol in search for her lord and now they were
beginning to return, to straggle in from every
direction. The golden lord had not been found. Elrond
began to fear the worst, and yet - his inborn
foresight had not spoken to him of tragedy. He had
been sure that Glorfindel *would* return. Now he
thought of that elf in the black robes of mourning, a
mourning he had carried for millennia. He would never
survive another loss.

The preparations for Tarnin Austa carried on around
him. Celebríían had taken on much of the workload to
spare him to the search and to his care of Erestor.
Erestor had not yet woken but with each hour that
passed the moment drew near. If Glorfindel was not at
his side when he opened his eyes in hope. Elrond
looked up at the sky. Dusk was nigh upon them, and
only Andrann remained on search. She was a tenacious
elleth, she would not admit defeat of a task laid upon
her.

Just as Elrond turned to go back into the house from
his position on the portico there was a shout from the
gates. Turning, his heart leapt when he saw the
gleaming white coat of Asfaloth, and on his back the
golden lord. Directly behind him was Andrann, and
Elrond beamed at the captain in delight. Glorfindel
was quick to dismount and Elrond stepped forward with
open arms. Glorfindel bowed, hand over heart in
salute.

"My Lord, I am sorry that I caused you such turmoil
and grief. I am returned but I ask of you, do not ask
me yet why I return. There is another to whom I must
speak first."

Elrond smiled gently. "He is in his chambers,
Glorfindel. He has opened his heart to me, and - he
awaits you." He moved his hand to beckon the seneschal
to go into the house and be reunited with his
betrothed. Glorfindel shook his head.

"The time will come, Elrond - but not this night. The
vigil of Tarnin Austa is upon us, within the hour, I
suspect." He squinted at the failing sun. "I must
groom Asfaloth and then I must prepare myself. There
will be plenty of time to talk to him on the morrow. I
would not rush the words I must speak to him."
Glorfindel turned to lead the stallion to the stables,
but Elrond spoke once more.

"Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel turned his head to look at the Lord of
Imladris.

"Glorfindel, do you still love him? For he loves you -
dearly."

The golden lord looked down at the cobbles of the
yard, as if pondering the question. When he raised his
head his eyes were glistening, and the smile was
imbued with love - and regret.

"Always, Elrond. Deeply, and for always. However there
have been - developments - of which I cannot yet
speak. I must hurry else I will be tardy. Please
reassure him for me, Elrond. I *will* tell him all, I
promise." And with that he retreated to the stables.

Elrond was puzzled but knew that he had to be
satisfied - for the moment. He turned with gratitude
to the awaiting captain.

"You are very conscientious, dearest Andrann. My
gratitude knows no bounds at this moment. I owe you
much."

The elleth bowed but stated, "It was none of my doing,
my lord. I, and my warriors, searched almost every
corner of the realm without success. I too was
beginning to despair when I spotted the seneschal on
the road. He was returning of his own volition. He was
coming home, my lord."


*****

The household of Elrond Peredhel had gathered on the
east facing terraces of Imladris, awaiting the setting
of the sun. Elrond stood with his wife and children,
and with his chief counsellor at his side, leading the
vigil. Erestor had been awake when Elrond had returned
to his chambers. The dark elf was upset to learn that
Glorfindel had returned and yet had not agreed to come
with Elrond. It took all of Elrond's persuasion to
encourage the advisor and to bring him to the point of
standing here, beside him, on this momentous occasion.
The memories would hit hard tonight especially and
Elrond wanted Erestor within arms length.

The crowds parted with the arrival of the seneschal,
in awe at his presence - for he glowed. He was arrayed
in the finest of clothing and bore the symbol of the
Golden Flower upon his blue silk doublet. His in-born
light as one of the Firstborn was enhanced, magnified
as his face shone with the light that is only seen in
those who have dwelt in Aman, within the graces of the
Valar. He was a great and powerful Elf-Lord, who could
exist in both the physical and spiritual realms. He
could face, had faced, the forces of evil; could and
had overcome them and sent them to the hells preserved
for evil incarnate. He was Glorfindel, the vessel of
the Gods. And he was at peace. He smiled beatifically
at those who greeted him and came to stop before his
lord and lady, bowing in graceful salutations. The
twin boys stood and gazed at him in jaw-dropping awe,
so magnificent was this friend, this playmate. Another
gentle smile, then Glorfindel took his place, standing
firmly beside Erestor. The sweetest smile was reserved
for the dark elf and the small hand was taken within
the large, calloused fingers and gently squeezed. In
the dying light of the red sun, just before the
silence was imposed upon them, that deep voice spoke
softly to the trembling advisor.

"Be at peace, Erestor. Know that I have returned to
you - to you all."

Long was the night, and soothing was the music played
by Lindir and the minstrels. Small eyes soon shut in
gentle sleep and the twins were carried to their room
by their loving parents. Elrond and Celebríían quickly
rejoined the assembled elves to await the coming dawn.

Lindir's voice soared in praise as the first rays of
summer crept over the opposing ridge of the ravine,
casting a golden glow over the inhabitants of
Imladris. The glow intensified as Glorfindel raised
his arms in greeting to the sun, his deep tones
joining the song and acting as counterpoint to
Lindir's tenor. They sang the song of the morn. Joy,
pain, sweetness and sorrow rolled forth from him as he
sang and in his light the gathered elves sensed the
presence of the past. He sang of his home, his people,
and history lived in his chorus. The warriors of
Gondolin were personified in his hymn. Their blessings
and the blessings of the Valar washed over the
household of the refuge of Rivendell and only as the
song drew to a close did Glorfindel's arms lower and
his aura diminish. The Golden Lord still shone in the
morning rays, his golden mane reflecting the
brilliance of Anor.

In awe and respect the elves of Imladris withdrew from
the terraces, un-noticed by the Lord of Gondolin.
Elrond hastened the exodus, leading the elves to the
celebratory breaking of the fast within the Dining
Hall. He turned one last time to see the two elves
left on the promenade, sable and gold, and prayed that
Erestor would have the courage to cast aside his
doubts and embrace his future - and welcome his love.

Erestor stood in silence, hoping and dreading the
conversation that would surely ensue. His heart had
swelled with Glorfindel's song and never could he
remember his lord enrobed in such splendour. He braced
himself to face his fears, leaning heavily on the
memory of Elrond's encouraging words.

The Lord of the Golden Flower spoke first, still
facing the rising sun.

"It should have been 'Thel. Though Lindir sang well, I
still expected to hear our friend."

Erestor's courage failed him. In his haste to retreat
he stumbled over his words.

"I believe - from records that - that the Lord
Ecthelion had a fine voice -"

"No." The interrupting voice was soft but firm.
Glorfindel turned to face Erestor, gentle reproof in
his eyes. He shook his head in negation of Erestor's
poor response. "No, Erestor. Deny me. Deny our love.
Deny yourself. But do not deny our friend. For when
you do so, you dishonour the memory of all those who
died that day. Duilin, Rog, Galdor. Even Salgant. And
Turgon, who took you into his council. And Ecthelion,
who loved you as a brother. Who held you as a child
and taught you as a youth. And who championed your
love. Our love. If you choose not to declare your
prayers openly, so be it. Whisper them in your mind.
Call them unheard into the roar of the cascades. Cast
them upon the wind so only Náámo can catch them. Just
say them, to honour the souls of our friends."

Glorfindel reached out suddenly to clasp both
Erestor's hands, causing the advisor to flinch. He
held them both between them, caressing the soft dorsum
with his calloused thumbs. He tightened his grip when
Erestor tried to pull away, allowing him no flight.

"Nay, pen-neth. Hold. Listen to what I have to say,
for I can and will only say this once, then I will
give you peace." He looked directly into the
chocolate-brown eyes, noting well the wariness of the
other elf. He smiled reassuringly.

"Never try to bargain with the Valar, pen-vuin. They
do not welcome a challenge to their authority and they
will twist and turn any agreement to their own design.
I tried, and am paying for it dearly. For I asked for
you, Erestor. When the essences of the Valar called me
forth from my reflections to inform me of my incipient
rebirth, I placed a price upon my consent. That I
would be free to find you, my love. I would only serve
Elrond, I would only protect Imladris, I would only
fulfil my doom if you were at my side." He smiled
ruefully, releasing one hand so that he could raise
his own to cup the dark elf's downy cheek. Erestor
stood still, not wanting to lose the touch yet still
restrained by his reserve from revelling in the sweet
embrace. Glorfindel's words, his odd intent,
frightened him. This was not the way he had envisioned
this discussion and it boded ill, he felt.

"Manwëë has a very odd sense of humour," Glorfindel
continued. "He has honoured the bargain - in a
fashion. I have my love beside me - but I do not have
his *love*." The words stung sharper than a needle,
and Erestor opened his mouth to speak, to protest that
it was not so. Glorfindel laid two fingers upon his
open lips.

"Hush again, my sweet. Only a little longer. Only a
little more." He tenderly stroked the rose-red lips,
following their soft outline, tracing the path with
him sapphire eyes. He ignored the excited breath which
escaped from between them.

"Do you remember our dream, Erestor? Do you remember
the clarity, the reality of it? The only time we ever
made love, and it was a dream. I thought at one time
that it was a generous gift from Irmo, to sustain me
through the centuries of loneliness in the Halls of
Waiting. They are grey, my love. Did you know that?
Grey and quiet and peaceful. We don't interact much,
we doomed souls. There is no talk as such, no
laughter. It is a place of reflection, of learning; of
realising the mistakes and faults of our first life so
that we will not repeat them in the second. Emotions
are tamed, muted, so that the reflection is controlled
and considered. Except for that dream. It did not lose
its passion; nor the sweet longing; nor the sensation
of fierce pounding of flesh upon flesh. I dwelt long
on that dream." His face became bleak, haunted, and
Erestor wept inwardly, knowing that he had caused the
pain his golden lord was feeling. "The past few
months, I have been dreading the repetition of that
dream, for it has brought only pain. It is a reminder
that what hope I had is gone, as are you."

Glorfindel glanced away for a moment, blinking back
the moisture pricking his eyes. The gesture was if the
needle had been replaced by a knife, which now twisted
in Erestor's chest. Glorfindel turned back to Erestor,
his head shaking in self-reproof.

"I shake my head at my arrogance, Erestor. My sheer
arrogance, that I thought that I could be reborn and
walk into Imladris and find you - and expect us to
pick up from where we left off. I never thought. I
never thought.When I died you were so young, so
innocent - and all mine. I had moulded you, loved you,
and the pattern of you life was set by my love. You
had not lived. You had nothing, nobody to compare me
with. And then I died. We are the same age now, you
and I. Despite my so-called 'spiritual growth', I am
actually only a little older than when I died but you
- you have lived. Oh yes, without even knowing the
particulars, I know that you have lived a full and
varied life. The battles you have fought. The kings
and lords that you have served. The history you have
witnessed. I can see now that you no longer are my
Erestor. My Erestor died too, on Cirith Thoronath. I
never asked, I never thought of what you must have
gone through after my death, my love. Whether you
experienced the same pain, the same desperate removal
of our love. I am sorry, Erestor."

Erestor was overwhelmed by Glorfindel's words. They
were no comfort to him, for he could feel with each
phrase, each syllable that he was losing his lord
again. Something had happened to Glorfindel in one
short afternoon, and Erestor had lost him once more.
Glorfindel heard the hitch in Erestor's breath, the
sob in his throat.

"Oh don't cry my love, don't weep! All will be well, I
promise! That is what I am trying to tell you. I rode
out yesterday, an angry and frightened and lonely elf.
I yearned for you, but the pain of your rejections had
broken me. This last, the rejection of your begetting
day, was the final stroke. The day had always been so
special to us. I gave you Hirnîîn, three thousand years
ago, and again yesterday. The first you accepted with
delight, the second. It hurt, Erestor. It was at that
moment that I knew I could take no more. There was no
point in my being here, for I was too heartsick to
take up fully the role for which I had been reborn.
Life had no meaning without you. Lonely, tragic,
drunk. Being driven insane by nightmares of my death."


He shook his head in amazement of the depths to which
he had sunk. He barely registered the tears that were
now flowing freely down Erestor's face.

"I rode to the highest cliffs I could find. I stood on
the edge, seeing not the jagged rocks onto which I
would fall but only blessed relief. The grey Halls
were so tempting, so welcome. I turned so that my back
was to the edge. I wanted the wind to push me, to blow
me over just as the balrogs had taken me. I could then
picture you watching me, and though I knew I caused
you severe pain, I could pretend that you still loved
me, still need my love. But the Valar would not let me
fall. I hung there as they opened my eyes. I saw
Middle Earth, Erestor. It is so beautiful. They showed
me that the world glows with the intent of the Song of
Ilúúvatáár. Purple mountain ranges; green meadows; the
smallest bird; the greatest bear. A lion and her cubs;
a sheep and her lambs. The long lives of our kin; the
short lives of Men; the work wrought by the Children
of Aüüle, miraculous in its design. Beauty, personified
in the living creatures that walk upon the world. Yet
all could fall. All could fail. Sauron is diminished
but not defeated and he *will* rise again. So much in
this world teaming with life could be dragged into
darkness and the depths of his hells. And I knew that
I could not let this happen, for the most beautiful
thing that the Valar showed me was you, ind nîîn."

He leant forward, brushing the errant tears from the
advisor's face with his hands; cupping that sweet
head. Erestor cried without restraint, finally letting
his aching heart bleed for his erstwhile lover.

"I have made my peace with the Valar, Erestor. I have
finally determined to do what I was sent to do, and
they have calmed my soul. They drew me back from the
cliff edge and gave me purpose. There is a darkness
coming, Erestor, one that will sweep all Middle Earth
and it will be soon. I have been sent to protect
Middle Earth and to aid the Line of Eäärendil. I will
serve Elrond. I will serve Imladris, serve elvendom
and in turn all the children of Ilúúvatáár. I have a
task to perform and a role to play. To do this I must
apply myself and not be torn apart by my personal
desires. So I have laid them aside. In accepting my
burden the Valar have given me the strength to bear
it.

"I shall return you to your solitude, mellon nîîn. No
longer will I pursue or harass you. You are free of my
importunities, Erestor of Lindon. I cannot say that I
will stop loving you. A true heart cannot change when
it finds circumstances different to those it has hoped
for. I hoped for your love and I have found different.
So be it. The love is still there whether you want it
or not. And yesterday. The eve of Tarnin Austa will
still hold a strong place within me, and may escape at
times but - no matter. I will not hurt you anymore.

"As you have renounced our past, now so do I. As of
this moment I am no longer Glorfindel of Gondolin.
Gondolin has fallen and the House of the Golden Flower
is no more. I am simply Glorfindel, seneschal of
Imladris, protector of the House of Elrond."

He took a step back, releasing all holds upon the
distraught advisor. He placed his hand upon his heart
in formal salute.

"Mae govannen, Erestor of Lindon. I am Glorfindel of
Rivendell. I greet you as a fellow servant in this
house and as a comrade-in-arms. May we work in peace
and harmony in our common fight against the darkness."

With that, Glorfindel of Rivendell turned and walked
away, resignation and resolve in his reborn heart,
leaving the weeping Erestor alone upon the deserted
terrace.

Erestor fell to his knees, realising in his pain what
his actions had brought upon him. He had spurned his
love, he had dallied in acknowledging the faithful
heart of the golden lord. He had wasted his second
chance at happiness. Glorfindel was now a vessel of
the Valar and available to him no more. He had lost
him.

Erestor acted upon Glorfindel's advice but instead of
praying, he cried his agony into the thunderous noise
of the cascades, and sent his despair into the gusting
wind, in the vain hope that Náámo would hear him.

And forgive him for his terrible, dreadful mistake.





Elvish:

Peredhel - half-elven (sing.)
Peredhil - half-elven (pl.)
pen-neth - little one
pen-vuin - dear one
ind nîîn - my heart
mellon nîîn - my friend








=====

Chapter 12


T.A. 150 - onwards


The elf refuge of Imladris had always been a blessed
place, empowered by its lord - a descendant of kings,
a healer, and one wise and deeply woven into the
magics of Middle Earth. In his care Elrond held the
elven ring Vilya, one of the rings of power, and he
used that power to protect and promote his realm. Now
Imladris was doubly blessed.

Glorfindel had returned from Valinor. His original
arrival had brought a tortured, tormented, rejected
soul full of anger and grief and pain. No more was
that elf thought of; that return remembered. The
reborn lord had been re-born anew on that morning of
Tarnin Austa, and he was a different creature
entirely. He was now filled with light and he exuded
grace. His laughter was heard always in merriment and
never in cruelty or self-deprecation. He eschewed the
excesses of his first return and instead only partook
of wine to enhance a meal or celebrate a happy moment
- never to drown in dismay. He shone with the grace of
Valinor and was filled with the blessings of the
Valar. Now he was truly loved by all the inhabitants
of the elven haven, who partook of his grace. His star
waxed - yet Erestor's waned.

Elrond felt for his dark counsellor. On the morning of
that traumatic deposition he had felt that Erestor had
started to break free of his self-loathing and had
begun to hope for redemption. Glorfindel's return and
the golden lord's avowal to hold true to the Valar's
tasks had slammed that hope into the ground, had cut
off the counsellor from the love he had realised he
needed. From the previous torment of the golden lord,
now there was complete reversal and it was Erestor who
was suffering. Elrond had tried to console his old
friend but his inquiries were rebuffed by a patently
fading elf. Always Erestor had been quiet, always
reserved but now he became a recluse, withdrawn, paler
- if possible - and thin. He was wrapped in a cloak of
despair. He would not respond to the elf-lord.

"I am well, Elrond," the dark elf had said after
another impassioned plea from the Peredhel. "I have
nothing else to say."

Elrond had grieved to see the Noldo so gaunt within
his trappings of black. Always Erestor had favoured
this non-colour, the colour of mourning, and never had
Elrond seen him otherwise. Now for the first time it
endowed less of the refined dignity it had been
before, enhancing the darkling beauty of Erestor's
sculpted features. It had now become a shroud, a
covering for the living dead. Elrond's heart was fit
to burst in pain for his long-time confidante.

"Always we have stood side-by-side, in joy and in
sorrow, and if you have kept to yourself trials that
pain you, I have accepted your judgement and reserve.
But I can take this no longer! It has been months
since Glorfindel returned, recovered in body and
spirit, and yet you ail still. What has happened
between you, Erestor? Why are you not reunited? No
word have I heard from either of you, save a brief
notification by Glorfindel that 'All is resolved and I
have returned to take up my duties'. I think I deserve
more of an explanation than that!"

Erestor had shaken his head, drawing his robe tighter
around his frail frame. Elrond now remembered how his
chocolate-brown eyes had seemed haunted as he spoke.

"I am Erestor of Lindon. Glorfindel has accepted that
now. I have prevailed." His voice had quavered. "I am
Erestor of Lindon - and may the Valar have mercy on
me."

In a reverse to his relationship with Erestor, Elrond
was now becoming closer to his seneschal. Glorfindel's
new approach to life touched all who knew him and they
felt the special grace of the twice-born elf. Though
his grace had not diminished since the Gates of
Summer, he now promoted a very comforting presence,
less awe-inspiring and more approachable. He was still
adored by his troops but they knew that he could still
press upon them to work harder, to improve and they
felt his tongue if he was dissatisfied with their
work. He was no god, and he was not infallible. He was
Glorfindel of Rivendell.

Now Elrond approached Glorfindel with his fear for
Erestor. Glorfindel nodded in agreement of Elrond's
assessment.

"Aye, I have seen it too and am of the same mind. I
did not wish to cause such a reaction to my re-birth.
It seems I am the cause and I thus must rectify the
matter. I will talk to him."

"Please do, Glorfindel, for he will not listen to me."
Elrond paused, as if he was trying to determine how to
proceed. Finally he spoke. "My friend, although I am
thrilled that you are well again, it is as I have
said. Erestor is not. He has been fading since your
return on the morning of Tarnin Austa, since your talk
on the east terraces. I had such high hopes on that
morning, that the two elves who have become so dear to
me might at last be reunited in the love which is so
apparent. That Erestor finally spoke to me of his
grief, his torment, his deep love for you. Why did you
reject him, Glorfindel? Why did you turn aside that
for which you had so longed? Why did you hurt him, my
lord?"

Glorfindel shook his head, his eyes pleading for
understanding. "I did not mean to wound him so,
Elrond. I wished only to give him the peace he seemed
to need. I had no way of knowing that he had opened
his heart to you. If he had been able to do that
earlier, then my soul would have soared and my heart
rejoiced. I love him with every fibre of my being. I
want him and need him every minute of every day. Every
sway, every motion of his raven locks is like a sweep
across my brow, every pen stroke he makes is a touch
on my flesh. I yearn for him - yet that day I forswore
my right to him, until I have completed the job I was
sent to do."

Elrond cried out in frustration. "They cannot ask this
of you, Glorfindel! They cannot demand Erestor's life
for yours! How can the Valar deny that which Ilúúvatáár
has placed upon you - your divided souls crying out to
be united?"

The golden lord waved his hand in annoyance, knowing
that Elrond did not understand.

"And how many times can I defy the Valar and break an
oath? I denied Manwëë's edict and rebelled, leaving
Aman to follow Turgon and Fëëanor in their defiant
refusal of His wishes. I broke my sworn oath to Turgon
when I kissed Erestor in love and need before the
battle in Gondolin. I ran from the duty I had accepted
when I stood on the cliff face and prayed for my
second death. And now I have sworn to address my
attention and focus upon my task, to protect you,
Imladris and Middle Earth!" He checked himself,
realising that his voice had become raised in a tirade
against his lord. "Aye, I love him, my lord. I will
talk to him, try to make him understand that I do not
reject his love but must yet defer the time of our
union. I long for that time, Elrond, with all of my
heart."

And talk to Erestor he did, though none knew the
nature of their discussion. Shortly thereafter it was
noted at mealtimes that small plates of treats would
be found near the advisor's place, or that a dish of
strawberries or a plate of cookies would be brought to
the office next to the library. Elrond knew who had
done this and was heartened to see that Erestor looked
less thin and worn. He thanked Glorfindel.

"I know you love him, Elrond. So do I. I wish him
naught but well," Glorfindel said, but did not
elaborate on his methods.

It was through this newfound friendship with
Rivendell's lord that Glorfindel found the cause of
Erestor's flight from the training grounds so long
ago. Glorfindel had always preferred to bathe alone in
the comfort of his room, as he was aware of the
network of fine scars upon his body and the sheen that
was peculiar to them. He did not wish to be the
constant topic of conversation in this regard so he
also refrained from sparring bare-chested as so many
warriors preferred. He was always reminded of the
effect the sight of his scars had upon his love on
that ill-fated morning.

On this day however a fault had occurred in the
plumbing to his bathing chamber, so he had been forced
to go forth to the public baths within the grounds of
the House. The baths were utilised by most of the
elves residing in Imladris, for only a fortunate few
had access to private bathing facilities. They were
also popular as a recreational activity, when ellyn
and ellith could relax and talk and bathe together.
As well as the main pools there were smaller rooms,
which catered to groups of two or three. All the baths
were well-stocked and well-maintained by the dedicated
staff, and were somewhat luxurious in their
appointments.

It was very early in the morning when Glorfindel made
his way to the baths. The tree-lined paths were
deserted and he had hoped that he would be able to
bathe alone, so he was disappointed to see that
another ellon had arrived just before him. His chagrin
was assuaged when he realised that the ellon was Lord
Elrond. The dark-haired elf smiled in greeting.

"Maer aur, Glorfindel. You are an uncommon sight
here."

Glorfindel bent his head in greeting, smiling in
response. "It is hard to get clean when the bath is
filled with cold, dirty water from my previous
ablutions - my own will not empty. Saelbeth is to have
it repaired but until then I have been forced to bathe
elsewhere. And you?"

Elrond grinned, his eyes twinkling with a hidden joke.
"Ai, my wife took a very long, very perfumed bath
yester eve, and the stench still permeates the
chamber. I have an early morning meeting with men from
Gondor and they see elves as strange enough. I have no
wish to add to their store of fanciful legends
regarding our race!"

Glorfindel laughed heartily, enjoying the vision the
description brought forth. Glorfindel now took part in
many councils within Elrond's office but fortunately
trade agreements did not fall within his purview.
Elrond led the way to a private pool and started to
disrobe.

" Shall we bathe together, mellon nîîn? I find company
and conversation a most enjoyable way to start the
day." Elrond's request was nothing out of the ordinary
and Glorfindel knew that if there were any he could
trust with regard to his scars it was Elrond. He
agreed willingly.

When Glorfindel began to disrobe he was aware of the
lord's eyes upon him, and he was grateful that Elrond
made no comment on the silver marks adorning his
strong frame. However, when he turned to place his
clothes upon the pine bench beside the pool he was
disconcerted to hear Elrond's sharp intake of breath.
He spun round quickly, and was startled to see tears
in the elf lord's eyes and a look of pity upon his
face.

"What? What is wrong, meldir?"

Elrond shook his head in disbelief, and the tremor of
deep emotion was evident in his voice.

"Ai, dear friend - the scars."

Glorfindel was nonplussed. Yes, they were extensive,
he knew. He was a warrior who had fought for survival
after the desperate Crossing, who had faced Melkor's
hordes numerous times up to, and including, his death.
He did not think that a fellow warrior such as Elrond
would flinch from a few silver marks. So what was
marked on his back that repelled the Peredhel so? He
was almost afraid to ask, and reluctant to know - yet
he must know, for was this not why his beloved had run
from him all those months ago?

"Are the scars not the same as on my front, Elrond?
What - what are they that you would shed tears for
me.?" he asked in trepidation. Elrond shook his head
again, trying to formulate the words, trying to
articulate the syllables that could possibly describe
those terrible wounds. He came to a decision, and
moved to stand behind his friend. His hand lifted to
touch Glorfindel's back.

"May I? They do not - hurt?" he asked gently.
Glorfindel shook his head and shivered as he felt
Elrond hesitate before placing his spread fingers on
the skin at the nape of his neck. Slowly, he began to
move them, caressing the rough skin there.

"They look like claw marks, a vicious tear down from
the base of your neck to mid-spine. They are black,
burnt and charred. The black is not dull, but shines
with a darkness, a gleam, as if they still throb." He
moved his hand to Glorfindel's right shoulder, this
time placing three fingers at the start of this new
scar.

"This one," Elrond sobbed, "is a vivid red, dark as
blood yet glowing as if it is a chasm in the earth,
open to show the living fire within. Its edges too are
black and burnt. They hold the chasm open, preventing
any possibility of healing."

His fingers had traced a wide path from right shoulder
across the scapula, down the spine and ending in the
soft flesh of the left buttock. Elrond removed his
fingers, stinging with an inherent cold that had
emanated from the brutal wound. He clenched his hand
tight, both to revitalise the circulation which had
frozen therein, and in deep distress for his friend.
These were not wounds such as he could heal. These
were the work of evil and the Valar had chosen to
retain them, for whatever reason. Glorfindel had not
moved, was too shocked to move, and now Elrond circled
to face his friend again.

"Glorfindel, I do not think - I have no power."

Glorfindel knew what Elrond was trying to say, what he
could not say - that these inflammations would have to
be borne without succour. He smiled faintly.

"At least they do not hurt," he said simply. At these
gentle words Elrond's tears began to fall in
compassion for the brave elf. He took Glorfindel into
his embrace as the golden lord finally broke. Heavy
sobs wracked the giant frame and broken words spilled
forth in grief. There were not for himself, but for
another. And though it was not stated, Elrond knew for
whom the gentle lord cried.

"Oh, that he saw them. The pain he must feel - the
memories they must invoke. He ran from them. He ran
from *me*!"

Murmuring soothing words Elrond waited until
Glorfindel wept no more. He asked no questions, but
completed their disrobing and guided the seneschal to
the sunken tub. In silence, a gentle quiet, he
assisted Glorfindel through his bath, washing his
hair, cleansing his skin. He stroked the washcloth
over the dreadful marks, an act of reverence for the
sacrifice the Lord of Gondolin had made, three
thousand years ago. Once dry and clothed again,
Glorfindel faced Elrond.

"My lord, I ask of you - please tell no one of what
you saw today. I do not want pity from my friends, nor
gawking elves who still look on me as a curious
historical aberration. And I ask - I request -" he
broke off, anguished eyes pleading with Elrond for
understanding. "Please, do not tell Erestor. Please. I
will talk to him, I will help him."

Elrond nodded, placing a reassuring hand on the
seneschal's arm. "He will not hear it from me, mellon
nîîn. Nor will anyone else, in this realm or any
other."

Glorfindel smiled briefly in thanks. "Another boon, my
lord. My duties today - I do not know if I can
undertake them, if I can concentrate."

Once again Elrond nodded in agreement. "You will be
missed, my friend, but Andrann will manage. Go and
rest. Perhaps take one of your potions to help you
sleep?"

As Glorfindel left the chamber Elrond hoped that the
potion would be all that the golden lord would take.
He hoped indeed that Glorfindel would not return to
his former source of comfort and forgetfulness. Yet he
did not have much faith in this hope.

Elrond's hope was not realised. No one saw Glorfindel
again that day, and there was no answer from his
locked chambers. Elrond wondered if he had lost the
reformed lord and was witnessing a return to the
wretched elf of a year past. He made no comment but he
saw a worried look in Erestor's eyes when he mentioned
that Glorfindel would not be joining them for their
morning briefing.

"Lord Glorfindel is unwell?"

"Yes," said Elrond softly. "He learned of something.
He is not well."

Elrond heard later that day that his advisor had been
seen hovering in the shadows near Glorfindel's
chamber.

****

The middle of the night was some hours behind them
when Erestor heard a noise outside his room. He had
changed earlier into sleeping trousers but he had not
retired to bed. Instead he had curled into a
comfortable chair in his living room, a rug draped
across his knees. An open book was testimony to his
intentions but unseeing eyes had stared at the same
page for hours, the mind wandering elsewhere.

On hearing the noise outside his chamber Erestor
tensed, though in the safe haven of Elrond's home he
knew not why. In the silence following he thought that
he had been mistaken, and was starting to relax when
there came a thud, as if a great weight had fallen.
Casting aside both book and rug he crossed to the
door, undid the lock and flung the door open. No one
was before him, but he gasped as he saw the crumpled
form to the left of the doorframe, huddled against the
wall. His golden hair was a matted mess, his clothes
were askew and his shirt was wide open. He bore in his
hand a bottle that tilted precariously, spilling drops
of miruvor onto the wooden parquet.

"Glorfindel!"

The elf looked up with bleary sapphire eyes, which he
had difficulty in focussing.

"Pen-neth?" he slurred, his tongue seemingly refusing
to co-operate. "It is my pen-neth, my sweet, my
darling one," Glorfindel hiccupped. "So many names -
but I can't call you mine anymore, can I? They won't
let me. You won't let me." The lord began to cry,
drunk and pathetic. Erestor felt his heart twist.

"Come, hir nîîn," he said softly. "Let me help you back
to your chambers." He reached under Glorfindel's arms,
lifting his large frame upright with difficulty.
Placing one long arm across his shoulder, the advisor
coaxed Glorfindel into staggering down the corridor to
his rooms.

It was the first time Erestor had entered Glorfindel's
chamber since he had prepared them before the reborn
lord's arrival. Little had been added to them save a
few cushions, rugs and books to personalize it to the
golden lord. Passing through into the bedchamber,
Erestor reached the huge four-poster bed and almost
collapsed on it, dragged down by the weight of the
drunken elf. He had some difficulty extricating
himself from Glorfindel's grip as the golden lord was
reluctant to release him, but finally he succeeded.
Erestor knew that Glorfindel was more likely to suffer
from his recurring nightmares in this state, and so he
turned to the bottle of herb potion on the small
bedside table. He was familiar with the dosage
prescribed by Elrond for he himself had written out
the order to the apothecary. As he lifted the bottle
to pour the dose he heard the golden lord speak. He
turned his head, startled to see the sapphire eyes
watching him, perusing him. Devouring him.

"Meleth. Meleth-nîîn. Ind-nîîn. Fëëa-nîîn."

Erestor quivered, a heat sweeping through him as he
registered the desire, the longing in those worlds. He
fought for control of his body, concentrating on
pouring the potion into the glass. He leant over the
golden elf, raising his precious head, tilting the
glass so that the liquid poured into Glorfindel's
mouth. The elf swallowed the medication.

"They don't hurt, you know. They may be ugly but they
do not hurt."

Erestor was puzzled. What didn't hurt? He was
paralysed at the next words, shock hitting his mind
and body.

"The whip hurt me when it hit, pen-vuin, but I ignored
- ignored the pain. It didn't matter. You did. I saw
your eyes when I fell and I saw the hurt I caused you.
I.am sorry, my love. I am .sorry that I . upset you."

The words trailed away and Erestor stood, dumbfounded.
He was sorry? Glorfindel was sorry? *He* was *sorry*?

With a cry Erestor collapsed to his knees by the bed,
casting caution and reserve to the wind.

"No, no!" he wept, the sorrow in his heart finally
bursting forth in the presence of his love. "Do not
apologise to *me*, my lord! My dearest lord!"

In a moment Erestor was grasped tight, lifted and
rolled in one swift movement, pinned onto the bed
under the weight of solid muscle. Hs mouth was claimed
in a brutal kiss, demanding, determined. He had no way
to move, no power to break free. He was helpless. He
was trapped. He was -

A strong tongue pressed against his teeth, demanding
entry, demanding control and Erestor relinquished that
control with little demur. His breath was taken from
him by both the strength of the raid upon his senses
and the weight of the elf above him. He could not
resist. Did not want to resist.

Did not resist.

Erestor's defences collapsed as he relished the
pressure of the longed-for body upon his. His hands
eagerly swept across Glorfindel's chest, stroking
those powerful muscles, feeling that supple skin,
kneading and revelling in the flesh pressing against
his lean body. His lips pressed tight against
Glorfindel's, feeling the sinuous muscle delve into
the warm crevices of his mouth; his own tongue
dancing, tangling with his love's, revelling in the
sweet taste of his lord. Finally he was touching,
holding Glorfindel in the way he had dreamed of for
millennia. His Glorfindel.

The seneschal moved his lips from that rose-red mouth,
dipped them to that creamy white throat. He proceeded
to nibble at that flesh, feeling the pulse that
Erestor knew had speeded beyond counting. His lord was
licking him, tasting him, owning him. His mouth
suckled fiercely, marking Erestor as the true
possession of his golden lord. And Erestor wanted to
be possessed.

He lifted his chin, arching into the contact; gasped
as a hand moved from shoulder to bare chest. It
brushed the roseate nipple, teased, pinched, hardening
the flesh as his own member had hardened. He could
feel Glorfindel's shaft pressing against his thigh and
Erestor rotated his hips to increase the friction,
causing Glorfindel to growl in rough desire. Erestor
was aching for this ellon, aching for his touch -
aching for *him*, body and soul. The logical part of
Erestor's mind cried out in warning but was beaten
into submission by his heart. By his love for
Glorfindel. There was only love and lust and Erestor
and Glorfindel.

Sensation was all. He barely registered when
Glorfindel's hand abandoned his nipple, when it
slipped lower to fumble at the laces of his sleep
pants, then at the front of Glorfindel's own leggings.
The fingers were unsure, controlled as they were by a
brain fogged by drink and lust, but eventually they
were successful. His arousal was finally free of its
trappings, and lustfully collided with Glorfindel's -
two hot, swollen rods rubbing in a long-awaited
welcome.

Glorfindel's mouth swiftly found the fondled nub, and
the moist lips elicited a strangled cry from Erestor
as they clamped over the swollen nipple. The golden
lord's tongue was expert, the pink tip licking lightly
and constantly over the excited flesh as the lips
applied tight suction and pressure in turn. Erestor
was overwhelmed, writhing eagerly in response to the
darts of joy flaring from the teat, spreading like a
lightning strike through the rest of his
over-sensitive body. His stiffened, swollen shaft
jerked in response, its tip dripping the evidence of
his need. Some small part of him wept, pleading that
this feeling was wrong, that this act shouldn't be
this way, in drink and in violation of his
self-imposed denial. He didn't deserve this bliss. He
didn't deserve this love, he didn't deserve
Glorfindel. It shouldn't be happening.

His neglected body would not be denied, not now, not
when he was so close to uniting with the other half of
his soul. He could feel Glorfindel's erection pressing
hot in needy pressure against his belly. He lifted his
pelvis, increasing the friction on his own lusty
member, pleading with his body and with Glorfindel for
fulfilment. Glorfindel answered his unspoken prayer,
wrapping his large hand around both slick shafts and
gently stroked the velvet flesh together. Perhaps he
too realised that their union should not be completed
in a drunken tumble.

His strokes were sure, even. His thumb slipped across
the weeping slits, causing Erestor to arch in ecstatic
shock and the dark elf pushed into the grip, trying to
increase the strength and pace of the strokes,
desperate for release. His mouth pressed against
Glorfindel's neck, sweet kisses and licks lapping at
his firm skin. From Glorfindel's lips poured sweet
endearments, slurred by desire and alcohol.

"My Erestor. Mine. My love, My heart. Mine. Melin le,
Erestor-nîîn."

The longing and love evoked in those words served to
spur Erestor on, and he reached for his lord, pulling
him by the shoulders, lifting the glorious mouth to
his own rose-red lips. He plundered the depths of his
lord's sweet cavern, floating on a haze of
uncontrollable ardour. Erestor's slender fingers
entwining in those golden tresses of silk and sunshine
in heated frenzy until he could withstand the
escalating sensation no more. In his passion he cried
out to his love and his lord.

"Glorfindel! My love, my lord. I am yours, I am
yours!"

Tears rolled down Erestor's cheeks when he saw the
ecstasy on his lover's face as he came in a roaring
shout. Erestor cried out too in sweet rapture,
reaching that same zenith in tandem with his golden
lord.

"Glorfindel!"

He gripped tight to that treasured body, the melethron
he had ached for through three thousand long, lonely
years. The heat of his seed, the mingled seed of their
completion, spread across his taut stomach, and he
rode the turbulent waves of intense sensation crashing
through his body.

In the dazed aftermath, the pressing weight and soft
snores told Erestor that the alcohol and the medicine
had finally taken their toll upon the golden lord. As
much as he wanted to stay there, to be enfolded into
that warm embrace, he knew that he could not. He
pressed upwards, using weapon-honed muscles to slide
his shaking body from under the dozing elf, and made
his way to the bathroom to collect a washcloth.
Cleansing himself he noted absently that the repairs
he had authorised via Saelbeth had been completed. He
returned to the bed and Glorfindel, and cleansed his
darling lord then disposed of the cloth in the laundry
basket. The cool, composed counsellor was now in
control, sealing the medicine bottle, smoothing the
sheets, removing all traces of the torrid lovemaking
that had occurred. Finally he positioned Glorfindel
onto his side, the safest position for sleep in his
drunken stupor.

Erestor looked down at his golden lord, and could not
resist sitting on the side of the bed, stroking softly
that shining mane. He bent over Glorfindel, pressing
his lips to the golden tresses, savouring the texture,
memorising the sweet scent.

"I love you, my Glorfindel. I will always love you.
Perhaps - perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps you *can*
forgive me. Perhaps I can forgive myself." Silent
tears began to flow down the pale cheeks as Erestor
smiled wistfully. "One day, my love. One day I will
prove myself to you and then, if the Valar will permit
it, I can be in your arms once more."

He stood and quietly crossed the floor, turning one
last time to look at his soulmate, before returning to
the solitude of his rooms, his heart soothed by the
memory of this special night.


****

It was in trepidation that Erestor entered the dining
hall that morning, not knowing if the events of the
night had been overheard. The greeting from Elrond and
Celéébrian was cordial, no different to any other
morning. Erestor took some items from the food arrayed
before him, but could only toy with it.

What had he been thinking? So many barriers built, so
much denial and doubt - yet he had tumbled into bed
with Glorfindel with such ease. Erestor felt his face
beginning to flush. No, that was not quite true.
Glorfindel had pulled him into bed, and if the golden
lord had not been drunk then Erestor *would* have
resisted - forcefully. It was the intoxicated state of
the seneschal that had caused him to abandon his
resistance, for surely Glorfindel would not remember
the events of the night in his alcoholic haze. But
now, in the light of day, Erestor was filled with
dread for he believed his assumptions unsound and that
he faced a declaration, here, in front of the Lord and
Lady of Imladris. He was not ready for this, not ready
for Glorfindel's love, not ready for *his* love to be
known. He did not want to face this moment.

A movement at the door behind him and a hearty "Good
morning" told Erestor that the seneschal had arrived.
Steeling himself he raised his head and nodded to
Glorfindel in greeting. The nod was returned warmly.

As the seneschal took his place Erestor observed him
closely. In the bleary eyes and pale complexion there
was evidence of Glorfindel's excessive intake of the
day before, but he had obviously taken care with his
appearance, and his clothes were fresh and neat. His
movements were careful and the odd wince indicated
that the effects of the miruvor had not yet worn off
fully, but still he seemed mostly recovered. As the
conversation at the table turned to daily events
Erestor slowly realised that, between the miruvor and
the medication, Glorfindel had categorised their tryst
as a drunken dream.

In contrast to his earlier thoughts, Erestor did not
know whether he was relieved or not. He only knew that
he would long hold the memory in his heart, in blessed
hope for a sweeter future. A future that would perhaps
be brighter for them both.








Elvish:

ellyn - male elves (pl)
ellith - female elves (pl)
ellon - male elf (sing.)
meldir - friend
mellon nîîn - my friend
pen-neth - little one
meleth-nîîn - my love
ind-nîîn - my heart
fëëa-nîîn - my soul
pen-vuin - dear one
melethron - lover (male)
melin le - I love you
Erestor nîîn - my Erestor


=====

Chapter 13

T.A. 160 - 1300

The years rolled by, swiftly for some, slowly for
others. Imladris stood calmly in the eye of the storm
as the world of Men swirled around them, and it seemed
that barely had one king of Men been crowned that he
died, and his successor was raised to the throne.
Elrond Peredhel watched the progression of Kings, of
the Lords of Arnor and Gondor, carefully. For indeed,
through generations untold, they were kin to him - his
beloved twin had chosen the fate of mortal men, and
these lords of the Secondborn were his descendants,
and thus vital to the future of Middle Earth. It had
been an Alliance of Elves and Men that, in accord with
the Valar and the Naugrim had fought in the War of
Wrath, causing the expulsion of Melkor beyond the
bounds of Arda, thus signalling the end of the First
Age. Similarly the end of the Second Age brought the
downfall of Sauron - but there the strength of Men had
faltered and Isildur had succumbed to the power of the
One Ring. This Ring was now lost but Elrond was, as
always, wary of relaxing his vigil. There were already
signs that evil was on the move once more, as
Glorfindel's presence in Imladris showed. Thus the
fates of both lines of ancient Núúmenor were watched
with keen eyes and fearful heart.

The turning years brought changes for Glorfindel too.
His power, position and prowess as seneschal of
Imladris became renowned throughout elvendom and he
soon became familiar with most of the realms of the
Eldar. He travelled across the Misty Mountains to
enter the enchanted realm of Lothlóórien as escort to
the Lord and his Lady, on visits to Celebríían's
parents. His sojourns in Lóórien were entertaining and
informative, and soothing to his soul. He found
delight in his converse with the rulers of that realm,
for he had known the Lady Galadriel from his first
life in Valinor, then later when she wed Celeborn,
Prince of Doriath. As a Noldor Glorfindel had never
been admitted past the Girdle of Melian, but he had
encountered the Lord and Lady in councils outside of
Thingol's realm. His thirst for contact with those he
had known in the First Age, *his* Age, was sated
whenever he entered the Golden Wood, though he
resisted all persuasions of Galadriel to view her
blessed mirror.

"It is no longer my place to question the will of the
Valar. They forgave me for my misdeeds in the
rebellion and allowed me to be reborn. They forgave my
recalcitrant behaviour on my return to Imladris. I
will not seek out knowledge of my future but instead
treasure what joys I have at present."

In a different wood his dealings were not so calm for
Thranduil, King of the Greenwood, was the son of that
Oropher who had defied Gil-galad and the Lords of the
West to make that ill-fated charge at the Battle of
Dagorlad. The ruler of the Sindar elves was an edhel
who bore a mistrust of the Noldor as his father had
done, yet he knew that one realm could not stand alone
against possible evils, especially when not protected
by a magical ring. He thus had entered into an
alliance with the other elf-havens. He would never
break a treaty but it did not mean he had to *like*
his fellow lords - yet he liked Glorfindel. In him he
saw a warrior of great deeds and mighty stature - and
a strong head for drink. Glorfindel did not truly
indulge in the way he once did, in the dark year of
his rebirth, but he knew how to make it look as if he
did, and he thus won the admiration of the golden
king, who lived a lusty and luxurious life. Everyone
knew that negotiations with the Greenwood always went
smoother if Glorfindel was there.

For Cíírdan and the Havens, Glorfindel always held the
strongest affection. Cíírdan had been the first to
greet him on his return and had promoted his
resettlement in Middle Earth. There was a keen
understanding with him and so Glorfindel revelled in
his trips to the coastal port. For the golden lord did
not feel the call of the sea. No indeed, not until his
work was done and his destiny run its course would he
feel the pull of the true home of elvenkind. Instead
he could tread the cliff paths and imagine himself
back to the time of his arrival - the time when had
such hopeful dreams of finding Erestor.

Erestor. The love he felt for the dark elf had not
diminished. Oh no, in no way had he relinquished his
pen-neth's hold over his heart, or the call of his
own. The overwhelming grief of separation from the
other half of his soul was, however, somewhat soothed
by the gift of peace laid upon him by the Valar. In
his travels through Middle Earth his only regret was
that Erestor did not always travel with him. He
rejoiced in the company of his dark darling when the
counsellor was a member of a diplomatic party or an
ambassador on a state occasion. He missed him
dreadfully when Erestor's talents were required in
Imladris. Separations, be it for a day on patrol or
months or years in missions, were always a trial to
Glorfindel. For Erestor had become to him something
that he had never been before.

A friend.

It had started slowly - very slowly. He didn't know
when the tension had started to fade, when Erestor had
stopped flinching whenever he approached him. Never
again had Glorfindel indulged in miruvor to the point
of insensibility, as he had done on the night of the
second dream. Why Irmo had bequeathed it upon him he
did not know, but it was even more real to him than
the one in Gondolin, for he could still feel Erestor
writhing beneath him, panting, pressing their sleek
and demanding members together in lustful need. He
could still hear Erestor's voice calling out his name
in his rapture, declaring his love, over and over. Ai,
as much as he longed for that dream to have been
repeated, he would not disrupt the newfound respect
and rapport he had felt with Erestor by living through
the haze of alcohol.

It was only the little things at first - a gentle
greeting, a quiet remark; a simple comment upon the
clemency of the weather. The day when Erestor turned,
a genuine smile on his face at seeing the seneschal
approach, was one that Glorfindel treasured in his
memory, for he had longed to see once again a certain
brilliant smile, one that was meant for him alone.
Small steps had been taken towards a calmer
relationship than that which had torn their sanity
apart in that first year of Glorfindel's return. Over
the centuries both had striven to support Elrond and
supply Imladris with that which it needed most - two
devoted and determined chief officers. They worked,
apart and together, to promote the relationships
between the elven realms with those of dwarves and
men. They combined their expertise to maintain the
safety and security of the elven refuge, and they had
united to provide the twin heirs with a full and
rounded education. The twins learned of politics and
arts, healing techniques and the skills of diplomacy.
They also learned the art and application of the
martial skills of hand, sword, knife and bow. Of the
first two Glorfindel was the undisputed master; of the
third, Erestor led the field; and for the last, the
Lady Celebríían's parents had provided and sent one of
their finest archers to teach them - Haldir óó Lóórien.

Thus it was at the Coming-of-Age celebrations for the
twins that the three tutors stood together in
satisfied accomplishment and pride when the young
princes received their Blessing from the hands of
their father. In joy and unity Haldir had grasped a
hand of each of his fellow educators and pronounced
them an unequalled fellowship.

"For if we can survive the teaching of those two young
hellions, we can survive anything!" he laughed, joined
in merriment by both sable and golden edhil. When the
blonde archer left them to partake of the fine wines
on offer Glorfindel realised that Erestor had not
released his fingers from his grasp. He smiled down at
the dark elf who was standing quietly, unconscious of
his continued hold on the golden lord.

"I am sorry I missed your fiftieth begetting day,
Erestor," he murmured softly, Erestor looked up
quickly, an automatic rebuff on his lips, but he saw
the honesty and sadness in the sapphire eyes. Instead
he squeezed the large hand.

"I am sorry too," he said, lifting those expressive
brown eyes. "Yet we are both here now, for Elrohir and
Elladan. Let us take some comfort in that."

And so they were at peace. An overjoyed Elrond watched
them from across the Hall of Fire, delighted to
witness the beginning of a new phase in his friends'
relationship.

Similar happiness was found in the next century when
Celebríían was delivered of a girl child, Arwen.
Inheriting Elrond's dark hair and her mother's beauty,
the sweet baby found willing protectors in the Chief
Counsellor and the Seneschal of Imladris. They took it
in turns to hold the smiling babe, rocking her and
uttering sweet inanities in their besotted
enchantment. They each envied the other when it was
not their turn to cradle her, and the jealousy became
totally irrational and aimed towards her father when
they had to return the little elleth to his arms. They
did not reminisce in speech but instead communicated
through knowing glances their memories of Elrond's
father as a baby in Gondolin.


Time brought another joy to Glorfindel - the arrival
at the end of the first millennium of the Third Age of
the Maiar ÓÓlorin, whom he had known on his rebirth in
Valinor, now embodied in the guise of an aged human
male. ÓÓlorin was one of five Maiar who came to be
known as the Istari, and they were led by Curumo,
Curuníír in Sindarin - the 'Cunning One'. In the speech
of Men he was called Saruman. ÓÓlorin was given the
name Galdalf the Grey for his habitual garb of
mid-grey tones; his elvish name was Mithrandir, the
Grey Pilgrim.

"And that is the name you must call me by, young
Glorfindel!" the Maiar laughed, lifting his glass of
ale in salute. "If we are to be effective against the
Dark Lord then we must hold back the knowledge of much
of our powers - including knowledge of our origins.
The darkness is rising again, meldir. Already there is
movement in the southern ranges of the Greenwood.
Thranduil will find it difficult to maintain hold of
his realm against the regrouping forces of Sauron."

Glorfindel nodded, his hands cradling the glass of
wine he had held for near on an hour of their talk in
the Hall of Fire. His need for liquor had diminished
greatly since that dark year of his return, and he
partook only to give appearance of camaraderie with
his troops. He glanced at Gandalf, his face
disbelieving of the old man before him.

"Ai, ÓÓlor - Mithrandir. I understand the need for
subterfuge but this - disguise - that you have
adopted. You were so bright, so pure and beautiful on
Taniquetil!"

Gandalf grinned, his lips not hidden by the straggling
beard nor the twinkle in his blue eyes diminished.

"Needs must, my dear Glorfindel. And speaking of
beauty, how fared your quest? I see that you found
your Erestor, but I dare say that Vairëë had the right
of it? That your return was not necessarily welcomed
by him?" His smile gentled, knowing full well what had
passed between Erestor and Glorfindel. Glorfindel
smiled ruefully.

"Aye, Vairëë was truthful in her warning. As always, I
had to be the one who was right, the one who would
prevail. I did not, but since my revelation on the
cliffs of Imladris my relationship with Erestor has
become more - settled. I will never give up my love
for him but I will abide by the creed of the Valar. My
life, my soul is in their hands until I have fulfilled
my duty."

Gandalf nodded and laid a hand on Glorfindel's
shoulder, squeezing it hard.

"Take comfort in this - the Valar are not
cold-hearted. They can lay restrictions upon you - but
they can also promote great joy. Have faith, my golden
friend."

****

Another happy reunion took place in the most
unexpected way. The one leader of an elven community
that Glorfindel had yet to meet was Gildor Inglorion,
Prince of the House of Fingon. His principal home was
in the elven port of Edhellond, a coastal town in
Gondor near to the settlement of Dol Amroth. His was
an active spirit though, one not meant to stay in one
place for long. Thus he had set up a travelling
community, a Company of Elves who wandered throughout
Middle Earth, maintaining contact between the settled
realms of the Eldar. That Glorfindel had not met him
earlier was amazing, but sadly Gildor's previous
arrivals in Imladris always seemed to coincide with
his own journeys to the other realms of the Havens,
Greenwood or Lothlóórien. And so Glorfindel was
delighted when he stood beside Elrond in the courtyard
of the Last Homely House and saw the procession of
colourful elves make their entrance.

Gildor Inglorion was a bright lord, light of spirit
and beauty. Fair of countenance, his fine-boned face
was framed by delicate light-gold hair. Whereas
Glorfindel was the epitome of Anor aflame at the
height of the day, Gildor's tresses reflected the pale
yellow of a hazy early-morning sun.

The greetings were joyous, the introductions informal
and the gathering was welcomed into the house for a
midday feast. As the throng dispersed, Glorfindel
spotted Erestor moving aside to greet an elleth who
had arrived in the Company. The greeting was
enthusiastic, at least on the elleth's part, as she
enfolded Erestor in her embrace. Glorfindel watched in
amazement, then his mouth flew open as he realised who
she was.

"Dííwen!"

The cry was loud and the elleth turned in shock, a
shock that was compounded when she realised who had
called her name. She immediately tried to drop into a
curtsey but Glorfindel would not allow it, scooping
the slight figure into a bear hug.

" Dííwen, as I live and breathe! Ai, this miscreant did
not tell me of your coming, nor indeed that you still
resided in Middle Earth!"

The elleth breathed deeply and rapidly, trying to
reclaim the breath that had been squeezed out of her
by the elf lord, as well as trying to slow her
speeding heart.

"Ai, my lord, praise to the Valar for granting the
mercy of your return to us!" She looked at the two
elves, Erestor and Glorfindel, and grinned widely. "I
wager that the reunion was an occasion of delight and
wonder!" She laughed at seeing the discomfort on their
faces and misinterpreted it as embarrassment. "We were
never fooled, Mirieth and I. We knew of your love long
before you did, I am sure. I am so happy that you are
together again."

Erestor hastened to change the subject, to avoid
awkward questions.

"How is your family, Dííwen? Are they not with you?"
The elleth smiled fondly.

"Nay, for Pathon sails with the fishing fleet now,
having taken to the life of a mariner with great
enthusiasm. And Nienna is married and had her first
child some fifteen years ago." She turned to
Glorfindel. "I am a grandmother now, my lord."

"Then you are truly blessed," responded Glorfindel,
smiling. "Though I wish that you would not call me 'my
lord'. I am Lord of the Golden Flower no more, but
simply Glorfindel of Rivendell."

Dííwen shook her head. "You will always be *my* lord,
as Erestor is my gwador, but I will try - Glorfindel."

The golden lord hugged her again, though this time her
ribs did not feel as if they would crack. Erestor
coughed lightly behind them. Glorfindel grinned.

"I think that is a warning that we are expected at the
festivities." He looked into her eyes, a more serious
mien on his face. "I need to talk to you later, Dííwen.
Please."

Dííwen glanced at Erestor who looked somewhat alarmed,
but then nodded in resignation.

"Very well, my lord - Glorfindel! Later."

Another hug in farewell, then the counsellor and the
seneschal walked slowly towards the dining hall.
Glorfindel looked carefully at his companion,
considering what to say. Finally he spoke.

"I will not ask her," he said softly. "If you do not
desire it, I will not ask her. I will abide by your
wishes, mellon nîîn." Erestor sighed and shook his
head.

"No, you need to talk. And ask. Ask Dííwen, she will
tell you what happened after-"

The pain lanced across his face and Glorfindel took
his hand.

"Oh pen-neth, I never wanted to hurt you so."

He stroked his thumb over the back of the creamy skin,
marvelling at its softness. He ached to pull Erestor
into his arms, to just hold him and comfort him. He
looked into those chocolate-brown eyes, fearing to see
rejection again. Instead, he saw gratitude and also
acceptance of the divide that had been placed between
them by the Valar. And the same ache he felt? Perhaps.
He would not, could not dwell on that thought, for it
would bring forth all the longing that he had hidden
for centuries. Just to know that Erestor had started
to accept their former relationship, even in a minor
way, brought tears to Glorfindel's eyes. Erestor
reached up and stroked Glorfindel's cheek hesitantly.

"That the Valar gave you back to us is a miracle,
meldir. I will abide by their ruling. As long as you
are back in my life again, as a friend if nothing
more, then I will abide."

As their eyes met so did their hearts and in this
moment of sweet acceptance Glorfindel knew that one
day Erestor would be his again. Another gentle smile
from those rose-red lips and a final pressure on his
fingers, then their hands parted and they walked, side
by side, into the awaiting feast.

****

The morning light shone down upon Glorfindel's meeting
with Dííwen. He had quickly performed his morning
duties as seneschal, delegating some of the tasks to
Andrann, and he knew that his meeting with Gildor and
Elrond regarding security matters was yet some hours
away. Now he took Dííwen to one of the summerhouses in
the extensive gardens, where they could be alone.

Dííwen studied Glorfindel's face as he searched for the
right words in which to frame his questions. In the
dappled light which filtered through the traceries of
the elegant framework, and the green ivy twining
around the graceful arches, Dííwen could see that her
original hopes had not been fulfilled. She leaned
across to the golden lord and placed her hand on his
knee. He raised his head in inquiry.

"I was wrong, wasn't I?" she asked. "You are not
united with Erestor."

The ellon shook his head slowly, his shoulders
dropping slightly. Yet there was a slight smile on his
face.

"No, not in the way you mean, though it was not
without want or need on my part. I love Erestor and
always will, but Erestor was not ready. And now I am
bound to await my destiny."

Dííwen did not fully understand his meaning for she
knew little of the reasons for his return. Her heart
bled for the elf lord.

"You wish to know what happened on Cirith Thoronath
after you - fell? What happened to Erestor?" She was
hesitant but Glorfindel's determined face urged her
on. Her mind sped back to that fateful night.

"I was not beside Erestor when you fell, my lord. I
was still caught in the crowds, the press trying to
flee from the balrog - but I heard the screams. We all
heard the screams. They echoed through the mountains,
crying out in loss and despair. When I reached
Erestor, Mirieth was trying to pull him up, to drag
him away from the cliff edge and up the mountain
track. He would not move. He was transfixed, staring
only at the point where he last saw you. We were
terrified, terrified that the orcs would take us, kill
us. Then the eagles came. They fought the orcs,
driving them over the cliffs, tearing them apart with
their vicious talons. The filthy creatures were no
match for those majestic eagles. We were safe. Then
the king of the eagles came. He bore - he bore your
body, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel nodded. He had heard of this before and he
patted the trembling Dííwen in encouragement. He said
nothing for he wanted - needed - to hear more.

"The remaining warriors of our House carried you with
reverence and, with the aid of many, raised a cairn
over your resting place. Lord Tuor led a brief eulogy.
Erestor - Erestor had stopped his screams but stared
only ahead of him, unconscious of the crowd around
him. Some of the guard, some of those who had been his
tutors, his weapon-masters, his friends.They carried
him in turn, over the rocky scree, over the mountains.
Every so often, unexpectedly, Erestor would rave.
Screaming, shouting, calling your name. Always your
name, my lord. And a few words, over and over again.
'My fault'. 'I killed him'. 'My fault'. Nothing, no
one could break through his barriers, could reassure
him or console him. He was locked in his own world,
the pain coursing through him in cycles. He often went
into spasms, becoming rigid. They were the most
frightening of times, Glorfindel. We feared that we
would lose him too."

Glorfindel could make no response. He had felt the
blood drain from his face at the horrific description
of his beloved's broken heart and broken mind. He knew
he must look pale for Dííwen's glances at him were full
of concern. Yet he could not articulate, could only
plead with his eyes for her to continue the tale. She
read and understood those pleas.

"We walked with our fellow refugees to the banks of
the Sirion; to Nan-tathren, the land of Willows, where
we were able to take our rest for a short time. Here
we grieved, here we wept - for our lost loved ones;
our beautiful home; our shattered sheltered peace. We
grieved for our king and our fallen defenders - and we
sang for you, Glorfindel. Our shining Lord. The ragged
remnant of the House of the Golden Flower led the
dirge but every House sang for you. And we sang for
Erestor, for he was your pen-neth - and our new Lord.

"Yet he did not know and could not respond, and as the
days passed we realised that when the exodus moved on
in its journey, we could not go with them. Erestor was
no better, if anything he was worse for when he raved
he also ran. He ran to the river to try to throw
himself in; he ran to the forest, determined to climb
the highest tree and throw himself down. By whatever
means, he was determined to follow you, my lord. He
wanted to die."

Glorfindel closed his eyes, the grief for his
pen-neth's sorrow twisting his heart. He didn't know,
hadn't known the extent of the madness that Erestor
had faced. How could he have survived? How *did* he
survive? Dííwen continued, her own voice trembling in
the enforced remembering. They had all been torn, all
wounded by the horrors they had faced, Glorfindel
realised. Yet they had stood firm by his bereft
beloved. Gratitude swelled within his heart for the
gentle elleth.

"Finally Mirieth made the decision. We had learned by
that time that her husband and her eldest son Brôôglon
had fallen in the battle, though Aradol had been
found. She refused to fade, she refused to leave her
third son - Erestor. He was her son too, he was unwell
and she would not leave him. Nor would I."

Glorfindel leaned across in gratitude. "Ai, Mirieth
truly loved him as did Aradol and Brôôglon. I never
understood how they were not jealous of the attention
their mother paid to him," he said with a smile. Dííwen
clasped his hand in return.

"He was but a babe when he came into our lives and
they were near grown. He was their baby brother, even
though he looked to you and not to them so much."

Glorfindel pressed her fingers. "And to you. He looked
to you too, Dííwen." She smiled.

"My gwador. Such a sweet child, such a devoted
brother. I could not leave him, my lord. Not my little
Erestor. So we were to stay, whilst the others moved
on. Erestor, Mirieth, Aradol and I. Lord Tuor asked
for volunteers for a small escort. The entire guard of
the Golden Flower stepped forward, my lord, in honour
of you and of Erestor. Finally four were chosen, a
small group preferable to a large force. We would
hide, set up a small encampment, hunt through the
winter and wait for Erestor to recover. The warriors
were chosen because they were either unbound, or had
lost their kin and had no other ties. Laindir,
Orthored, Galudirn and Eruant."

The golden lord nodded. They were all experienced
warriors, masters and tutors to Erestor in his youth.
They all had fought alongside Glorfindel for
centuries, in the Battles of Beleriand. He sent a
silent prayer of thanks to his friends for their care
of his beloved Erestor. He focussed upon Dííwen again.
She was becoming distressed by these recollections and
although he did not want to stop her - no indeed, he
*needed* to know all - he would not prolong her
distress by endless questions.

"That year was hard, Glorfindel. We had to take
shelter in caves, hunt for food and for furs to keep
us warm. Mirieth and I searched for herbs where we
could, having been instructed in simple draughts by an
apothecary who had escaped the city. In this way we
kept Erestor calm and reduced his ravings to a
minimum. At one point we thought that we would lose
him, for he refused to eat. I think that he forgot
*how* to eat. In the end Mirieth persuaded him,
settling his frame upon her lap whilst she fed him
sops. It reminded me - it was the night you rescued
him, my lord! It was that night once again and, when
he finished eating, Erestor curled against Mirieth and
his eyes glazed in sleep, one thumb in his mouth. He,
a grown elf! He murmured your name. He said - 'My
Glo'fin'l!'"

Dííwen burst into heavy sobs, the memories overwhelming
her as she fell into Glorfindel's arms. Finally the
lord succumbed to his own pain, aching with sadness at
the trials that Dííwen and Mirieth had borne. He felt
that he could ask no more of this faithful sister, but
she dashed the tears from her eyes, determined to
finish.

"It was more than a year later when tragedy struck
again. Erestor had seemed to improve, so we had
reduced his medication. He now fed and clothed
himself, though he did not speak, and his cycle of
stupor and storm had abated somewhat. However our
danger had increased. Orcs now regularly delved into
the forest near to our encampment and though we stood
watch, we chose to keep silent in the hope that they
would pass us by. We forgot about Erestor - forgot
about how he might react. He heard them, their screams
and their cries. It sparked something within him. He
picked up his knives, the ones given to him by Lord
Ecthelion and neglected by him for so long. He picked
them up and ran out of the cave into the forest. He
was swearing, cursing, damning them for killing you,
for killing Ecthelion. He cried out for them to kill
him too. And they tried.

"It was only a small patrol, twenty at the most, but
we only had five warriors. Odds of four to one. In the
aftermath the evil ones were all dead but so were
Laindir and Galudirn, in defence of us and defence of
Erestor. Erestor sat, looking at their bodies and his
eyes focused, they truly *saw* for the first time in a
year. He lifted his head and spoke, intelligible yet
terrible words. 'Why must I kill all my friends?' he
said, and his voice was hollow. 'Everyone that I love,
dies.'

"We held him, we reassured him in our sorrow, yet our
hearts rejoiced that his sanity had returned. He
helped us to bury them, for we could not risk the
fires of a pyre. He said the prayers of the dead for
them, and then he fell beside their graves and wept.

"Erestor improved very quickly then, at least
physically. He started to interact, ask questions
about his missing year. He did not mention your name
once, and ignored us if we tried to introduce your
name in conversation. It was as if he refused to
acknowledge that you had ever lived. He frightened us
again when he started to disappear before dawn, taking
his knives with him, but he always returned before
breakfast. Orthored found him one morning, practising
with his knives. He was in tears of frustration, for
he handled them poorly and had forgotten much of what
he had been taught. He was angry at first at being
discovered but then he asked Orthored for aid and soon
he was sparring with them all. Erestor, who had never
taken to a warrior's life! He told me later that he
would never let anyone die for him again.

"Now that my brother had recovered, there was talk of
leaving, of moving south to rejoin the rest of our
people. Erestor remained quiet, not joining in our
plans. On the night before our journey he made his
declaration. He would not come with us. He would not
take up the lordship of the House of the Golden
Flower. 'Its Lord is dead. I am dead. I will not go,
though I urge you all to follow your hearts. I love
you all, most dearly, but Erestor of Gondolin is dead
and I will not go.'

"Mirieth pleaded, and he sat beside her and comforted
her through the night. She thought that her pleadings
had succeeded and she fell asleep in his arms, sure
that her third son would be beside her on the long
road to the Mouths of the Sirion. When we awoke,
Erestor was gone.

"We searched the whole day but he had truly gone,
taking his knives with him. In time we knew we had to
go too and so we left, our hearts heavy once more with
loss. We settled in the Haven of Sirion and Orthored
and I wed, for we had discovered in our life in the
wilderness that our hearts and souls were one. Mirieth
and Aradol lived with us. Mirieth grieved ever for her
lost Erestor and she said prayers every night for his
safety. Then war returned once more, first with the
attack of the sons of Fëëanor, then the War of Wrath,
in which Aradol died.

"Mirieth took this hard, and she determined, when the
call came, to sail for Valinor, for she hoped one day
for her sons return from the Halls of Waiting into the
Blessed Realm. A hundred years after the War, Orodreth
and I escorted her to the Grey Havens. I do not know
why she wished to leave from there rather than the
Haven of Sirion. Perhaps she had faith that Erestor
still dwelt in the north. On our way we passed through
Lindon and the Court of Gil-galad. Imagine our
surprise and happiness at finding Erestor, alive and
settled.

"The reunion was emotional beyond belief as Mirieth
fell into his arms and wept for all her children. The
Lords Elrond and Elros, and the High-King, were most
kind and freed Erestor from his duties so that he
could spend time with us. We spent days walking the
gardens, sitting by the fountains in memories and
reminiscences - at least on our part. To Erestor,
Gondolin was no more and you had never existed. He
would not speak of you, would not say or hear your
name. He had built his own world, his own history and
he would admit no other. He was Erestor of Lindon.

"The parting of foster-mother and son was painful yet
peaceful and Mirieth was calm when we placed her
onboard her ship. She carried her son's love with her.
Orodreth and I joined Lord Gildor's company later and
since then we have been reunited with Erestor many
times, both in Lindon and here, in Imladris. Orodreth
fought beside him at the Gates of Mordor, and said
that there was no reconciling the skilled warrior that
day with the Erestor of his youth. Erestor of Gondolin
was dead, and Erestor of Lindon prevailed."

Dííwen trailed off, her tale told and centuries
unfurled for Glorfindel's edification. The golden lord
sat in stunned amazement, wondering how in Arda they
had all survived such a traumatic experience. Then he
thought of the trials and torments of the Firstborn
since their Awakening on the shores of Cuiviéénen. The
Eldar had never chosen easy paths in their lives; the
history of the Firstborn was littered with stories of
great pain and great sacrifice. Thank Eru that they
had been given the fortitude to face such obstacles.

He turned to Dííwen again, gratitude and sympathy for
her shining from every fibre of his being. He thanked
her, embracing her as kin, as Erestor's sister.

"Be always welcome in my home and my heart, gwathel.
You are my kin, now and forever."

Dííwen accepted the offered kinship with grace, but
released him soonest, knowing that Glorfindel need to
return to Erestor.

"My love and my prayers go with you both, my lord, and
may all your dearest wishes come to fruition.


****


Glorfindel found Erestor alone on the east terrace,
staring at the tonnage of water falling in the Great
Cascade, falling in its endless descent over the
cliffs of Imladris. The golden lord halted, entranced
for a moment by the glorious profile Erestor presented
to him. His beautiful, most beloved, most elegant
Erestor. The advisor sensed him there and turned, a
gentle smile welcoming Glorfindel to his side. He
reached up his hand to stroke the golden lord's face.

"No tears, Glorfindel. There have been too many shed
for me. Too much blood, too many tears. I beg of you,
no more."

Glorfindel looked into those chocolate-brown eyes, so
exotic, so gloriously framed by dark silken lashes,
and saw only peace and acceptance - and love - there.
His heart swelled with the knowledge that his love was
finally accepted and returned. He gathered Erestor
into his arms, pulled the raven head to his broad
chest. His hand stroked the fall of black strands and
he pressed his lips to the velvet locks.

"No tears," he promised, murmuring against that sweet
head. From his love he heard two soft words spoken.

"My Glorfindel."

Throat suddenly clenched with emotion, Glorfindel
tightened his arms around his love, and the two stood
for a long time, the outside world excluded.

"Always, pen-neth. Always."



Elvish:

edhel - elf
pen-neth - little one
edhil - elves
elleth - female elf (sing.)
mellon nîîn - my friend
pen-neth - little one
meldir - friend
gwador - sworn brother
gwathel - sworn sister



=====