Title: The First Time
Author: Eawen Penallion
Email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
LiveJournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/eawen_penallion/
Type: FPS
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, explicit sexual encounters between
two males.
Beta: Most excellent Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR
Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Timeline: First and Second Ages
Feedback: Yes please,
Archive: OEAM, AFF, LJ, anywhere else, please ask
Author's Note: written for the Secret Santa Swap 2005.
The request for the story was:
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: Any
Request (please try to include the elements listed
here): First time; romance
Squicks (do NOT include any of the elements listed
here): None





The First Time



The first time that Erestor ever saw Glorfindel, he
hated him on sight. Oh, perhaps hate was too strong a
word. Dislike intensely was nearer the mark. Golden
hair, golden smile, golden boy. Perfect skin, perfect
posture. Rich family, powerful father, Vanya mother -
what was there to like?

And Erestor - what did he have to commend him? Dark
hair of midnight hue; long, lanky, lean; no
childishly-round features for him, but sharp chin to
match sharp, piercing eyes. No sun dare hit his milky
flesh, pale as moonlight. His bloodline claimed no
lords, no Vanyar, no nobility, for his father but a
steward in the Lord's house, his mother a nursemaid to
the Lord's son. Where in these lowly attributes was
Erestor to find power, wealth, glory? Where on this
lowly rung on the ladder to prestige was he to be
placed? For he was ambitious - for him naught else
would do but the top of the ladder, the pinnacle, the
peak.

Dislike, hatred, envy, jealousy. Call it what one
will. All Erestor knew was that the golden smile
seemed to be a golden smirk, and he reached to wipe it
off Glorfindel's face...

"Erestor!"

His mother's belaying action came too late, and the
child Erestor chortled with delight as the slap
resounded against the tanned cheek and the golden boy
began to wail. His mother grasped his hand and shook
it, turning him towards her to deliver her reprimand.

"No, Erestor! That was ill done! Young Lord Glorfindel
did naught to you. An elf does not lay hands upon
another elf, for any reason." His mother turned to her
Lady, her face flushed with shame. "I am sorry, my
lady. I know not why my son should do such a thing -
he is normally such a placid child."

The Lady smiled even as she cradled and comforted her
weeping child against her breast. The golden boy
hiccuped, his sobbing breaths subsiding in the warm
safety of his mother's arms. A chubby thumb slid
between the rose pink lips and he began to suck.
Bewildered sapphire eyes gazed down upon his attacker,
trying to understand why the servant's boy should hurt
him.

"Do not fret, Liridel. Such spurious spats are not
uncommon as babies test their limits. Little Erestor
is too young comprehend what he did. Mayhap in his
little mind he has some dislike of Glorfindel, for
whatever reason, but come - no harm has been done!"
She chuckled. "Perhaps with that perfect aim and air
of determination young Erestor will become one of our
stoutest warriors, and stand at Glorfindel's back as
his aide-de-camp."

Liridel laughed dutifully with her mistress, but she
had also seen the look in her son's eyes as he gazed
upon the little lord, and she determined to be
watchful whenever the two children were together in
future.

***

The first time that Glorfindel was required to spar
with his childhood acquaintance, he held back.

These mock battles were rites of passage in an
elfling's training, and Glorfindel was both used to
the martial workout and to the accolades he garnered
either genuinely for his skill, or from sycophantic
hangers-on. Normally the young lord threw himself into
these bouts wholeheartedly for he was confident enough
in his skill to enjoy them. He always played fair,
defeating his opponents with ease yet allow them the
comfort of knowing that he treated them with respect,
countering each feint and parry as if it might
actually impress upon his defense. Glorfindel was well
on his way to becoming a mighty warrior.

But this was Erestor.

The thorn in his side; the mote in his eye. Smaller,
physically weaker, the son of a servant and destined
to become a servant; Glorfindel's peers did not
understand why he always seemed to be leery of the
scrawny, black-headed youth. They had not seen the
looks of distaste that Erestor had cast his way
throughout their upbringing; nor felt the secret
pinches always inflicted upon him where no one else
could see; nor had been the target of witty and
caustic asides, just amusing enough that they brought
laughter from their contemporaries and not vicious
enough to draw censure. This interminable diet of
destructive behavior had given Glorfindel cause to
keep his distance from the black-tempered youth. Yet
he mused on how often he had almost admired the boy,
for his intellect, his insight and his quiet and
gentle nature (where others were concerned, of course
- never to him).

Now he had to spar with Erestor - defend himself and
defeat his foe. If he won (which by all rights he
ought) then Erestor's ire would be kindled and his
enmity inflamed. If he allowed the dark elf to win
(and he should not, for the elf had little skill and
even less interest in warfare) then the twisted tongue
of the victor would be let loose and the victory would
be crowed from the spires of Tirion. Even then the
hatred would not be dampened for Erestor, sharp of
mind and intellect, would know instantly that
Glorfindel had played him.

When the command came to begin the bout Glorfindel
hefted his sword and faced his opponent.

He won. Even holding back, Erestor was no match for
his superior wielding of the weapon. Erestor did make
some fine moves, a few erudite maneuvers that
Glorfindel admired in their execution, but in the end
Glorfindel was the victor. The salutation given upon
completion was cursory, the participants drew back,
and as Glorfindel walked away he could not rejoice in
his victory. Instead, remembering the last glare of
midnight eyes, he felt an incomprehensible pang in his
heart.

****

The first time that Erestor attended the Celebratory
Ball as an adult elf, he was filled with dreadful
anticipation. As an elf who had reached full maturity
his attendance was expected. As a young and eligible
ellon, it was required. This was the beginning of the
path to marriage. Oh, not quite yet - he was expected
to ground himself in his career first - but he knew
that this dance would be where he and his
contemporaries were presented as potential mates. Even
someone as lowly as him.

The Celebratory Ball, held in remembrance of the elves
awakening upon the shores of Cuiviénen, was open to
all the elves of Tirion, nobility and commoner alike.
The festival was held in the lush groves that edged
the city, where lights twinkled in the trees and the
musicians played their sweet tunes as the joyous
participants danced lightly across the lush grass. The
air was sweet, filled with the perfume of many kinds
of flowers and, nearer the banqueting tables, tempting
aromas of meats and sweetmeats alike.

Erestor pulled at his tunic self-consciously, feeling
somewhat exposed in the rich red brocade, delicately
edged in silver. He had not wanted to wear it for it
was finer than he or his family were used to, but his
mother had gone to great lengths to bring together an
outfit that was worthy of the occasion. She had not
said from where she had purchased it but Erestor
suspected that it was not new. Instead it was
probably given to her by one of the ladies of the
House of the Golden Flower, a cast off from one of the
noble youths of the House. Another reason not to wear
it, for Erestor loathed to be beholden to anyone. He
loved his parents though and, being the only son, he
knew that they only wanted for him to partake of all
that was open to him. Hence his new position as
apprentice scribe in the Counsel chambers of the
tribes of the Noldor - and his attendance at this
farcical ball, where he fully expected to be a
wallflower.

Erestor never had any faith in his own attractiveness.
As he hovered at the edge of the gathering there were
those who gazed openly and admiringly at the striking
youth. They saw not the lank straggly hair and sallow
skin that Erestor attributed to himself but instead a
fall of black silk framing a creamy, flawless
complexion. They saw not a scrawny elfling with
hollow, bruised eyes overtired from too much study or
half-hidden fingertips stained from the commonplace
ink that pervaded his workplace. Instead the curious
and the lust-filled saw the exotic slant of sparkling
orbs, mysterious in shuttered depths curtained by
absurdly lush black lashes; and slender fingers poised
in elegance, promise of tender touches and beguiling
embraces.

Thus it was that Erestor hung back away from the
dancers, longing only to escape from assumed
humiliation, whereas his admirers mourned that he
would not step forth to choose a partner from the
throngs of panting females - and no few males.

Erestor noted that Glorfindel had no such lack of
partners.

He had been startled when he first saw the golden
lord, finely arrayed in sapphire blue silks to match
his glorious eyes. His hair was brushed to a burnished
sheen, lightly braided but mostly swinging free as a
cloth of gold about his shoulders. He held none of the
doubts that Erestor felt but was instead at ease in
his interactions with the other merrymakers, and was
enjoying himself immensely. Light of feet and a
generous dance partner, he was in much demand and
indeed, scarcely left the grove all evening.

In his self-imposed solitude Erestor could only watch
him, green envy crawling through his veins.

The night progressed with Glorfindel dancing and
Erestor not - but his solitary state had been noted by
his erstwhile enemy. Although yet wary of his
childhood tormenter, Glorfindel had not seen Erestor
in some time by that stage, for their studies had
taken them on different paths. So to see Erestor so
resplendent but still so alone stirred something in
Glorfindel's breast and he mourned their conflict -
which had not been of his making - for otherwise he
would have captured Erestor's attention for his own.

Then came the Ring dance, especially for the newly
come-of-age, and none were allowed to abjure this
duty. Two circles were made, an inner and an outer,
which would circle each other in opposite directions.
At intervals the music would change and the opposing
elves would claim each other in a separate dance. Then
the circles would reform and move once more, bringing
the dancers to new partners. Erestor lined up with his
contemporaries, noting that he was in the outer circle
whereas Glorfindel was amongst those who formed the
inner chain.

Their meeting was inevitable, but still it was a shock
to find himself in the golden lord's arms. With grace
beyond measure Erestor was guided through the first
stumbling steps before training took over and he began
to tread the dance in perfect harmony with Glorfindel.

They were a beautiful sight, black and gold, the
physical contrast made all the more alluring by the
psychic connection between them. Older elves nodded
sagely amongst themselves, pleased to determine that
this indeed would be a match made by the Valar.

On the dance floor they moved as one, exhilarated by
this new sensation that flowed between them. For once
Erestor was speechless and could only gaze into the
azure orbs of his partner. Why had he never noticed
how beautiful they were, how open and honest? So
alluring and entrancing... And those rose pink lips,
plump and ripe for kissing...

Glorfindel looked into midnight eyes sparkling with
stars and wondered why he had never drowned in them
before, and saw a pouting crimson mouth begging to be
caressed by his own...

Erestor almost screamed when the ring dance music
began once more, and scrambling hands tore them apart
as laughing elves hurried to form the circle again. He
felt torn with each step that took him away from his
golden lord yet there was nothing he could do. In numb
acceptance he registered the music stopping and a new
partner curtseyed to him.

The next morning he heard that the warrior recruits
were to be stationed out of Tirion, all the better to
further their training.

****

Erestor first heard of Fëanor's rebellious declaration
when he returned from his duties at the Counsel. All
Tirion had been rife with outrage and speculation in
the uproar that had followed the theft of the
Silmarils and the destruction of the Two Trees, but
nothing like this had been postulated as a possible
outcome. Now Fëanor's people were gathering, ready to
join his family in exile.

"Erestor! Come quick!"

Erestor looked to the window where his fellow clerk
stood looking out over the busy street.

"What is wrong, Diniel?"

The young elf waved excitedly out of the open casement
with ink-stained fingers.

" Lord Fëanor is leaving!"

Erestor crossed swiftly to join his friend and stared
with amazement at the column of elves that passed
beneath them. At the lead of the procession rode
Fëanor on a black stallion, both horse and rider
exhibiting the immense pride that pervaded the house
of Finwëë. Broad-shouldered with whipcord muscles
derived from his vocation as a metalsmith, Fëanor was
the embodiment of the Noldor. He held his black head
high and the molten fires of the smelt flashed in his
eyes.

Ranged behind him were his seven sons, each bearing
themselves with equally proud demeanor. Of them all
only Maedhros seemed not to be totally in tune with
the decision that had brought them to this
inconceivable schism. His red hair swung like a fall
of flames about his shoulders, his eyes darted about
the packed streets as if searching for a reprieve or
seeking some hope that this was some nightmare that
could be shattered in the cold light of dawn.

"It is said that Fëanor swore a terrible oath, one
that has laid an insufferable curse upon the souls of
his sons. Lord Manwëë himself expelled them from Aman.
They are headed to Alqualondëë to seek passage to
Middle Earth on the ships of the Teleri," Diniel
stated, his eyes scarce believing what they witnessed.

"And what of the other lords, his brothers?" Erestor
asked. "They surely did not agree with Fëanor? Not all
of the lords of the Noldor will leave their people
behind to venture on such a hopeless quest?"

Diniel shrugged, gesturing to the elves below. "See
for yourself. Aye, not all will leave - but many do.
See, there is Lord Fingon and his brother Turgon, and
there the Lady Nerwen."

"She goes too?" Erestor exclaimed. He pushed his
friend to the side, leaning forward to gain a better
view.

It was then that he saw him for the first time in
years, high up in the ranks of lords who had followed
the House of Fingon either through loyalty or lust for
adventure. Golden hair was bound in a soldier's braid,
posture straight upon the stallion's back nudging the
beast forward only with his knees and the reassuring
clicking language of the equus. Across his wide back
he bore his broadsword with which he had won much
renown at the combat tournaments. Erestor could tell
from the laughing banter he exchanged with his
dark-haired companion that he had chosen this course
from a need for excitement, not vengeance.

Sapphire blue eyes lifted to acknowledge the prurient
curiosity of the elves in the surrounding buildings
and Erestor knew that it was by pure chance that their
eyes met. Sparkling blue recognized midnight black
and a connection was re-forged.

Erestor gasped, shrinking back yet he could not break
that chord. Here was his enemy, the paragon who had
plagued him since birth. Always the example of
perfection that he had been measured against, if not
by his parents then by himself. The beauteous partner
of the ring dance, the magical moment when he had
connected with a soul that spoke to his. A moment that
he had subsumed in his intense confusion following
that night. Erestor was torn, bereft when he realized
what Glorfindel's presence in the procession meant. He
gasped.

"I have to go! I have to talk to him, persuade him
that this is not for him. He - he cannot leave..."

"Who?" Diniel grasped at Erestor's arm, holding him
firmly. "Erestor, nay! They are the lost, the damned.
They have rebelled against the Valar and have imposed
their own exile! If you go amongst them then you will
be cast as one of them. Do not act in haste. Think of
your parents, of your family. Think of your future!"

Erestor struggled, trying to force Diniel to release
him yet he was unable to give any explanation for his
need to go amongst the exiles. What to say? 'The ellon
that I both loathe and... have feelings for... is
leaving and I must make him stay'? Even as Erestor
formulated that thought he rejected it. The moment was
past, the fugitives fled. In sorrowful acceptance
Erestor turned away from the window and back to his
duties.

When the horrific news of the massacre of Alqualondë
came to Tirion, Erestor retreated to his solitary
chamber and, to his amazement, wept for the damned
soul of his golden lord.

****

Erestor's first opportunity to visit Middle Earth came
with the Valars' call-to-arms. The courageous actions
of the human mariner, Eärendil, had persuaded the
Valar to take action against their fallen brother.
They would lead an assault against Melkor and his
distorted Maiar, his soulless minions who had so
tortured and twisted innocent elves into an orcish
army.

The scribe was not an obvious choice for the Valar's
army, as was pointed out to him by his elders.

"You are mistaken, my lords. Although I underwent arms
training with my peers it is not in a warrior capacity
that I would best serve. I am a scribe, an organiser,
a manager of the everyday things that an army needs. I
would be a quartermaster, a logician, a maker of
strategy. You have enough warriors to fill your army.
Now allow me and those of my ilk to get you to where
we are going with supplies aplenty."

The logic of his argument could not be denied and
later, in the midst of battle, many silently thanked
providence for the presence of Erestor and his own
army of clerks, physicians and supply masters. In one
move, Erestor had placed himself at the forefront of
the minds of many powerful elves - a position he was
determined to manipulate to his own advantage later.

And so the world was torn apart and reshaped in the
War of Wrath, for gods cannot wage war in their
playground without ruining some of their toys.
Although the Army of Light was triumphant and Melkor
was expelled from the universe of Arda, still the
memories of the elves were despoiled by the knowledge
that many of Morgoth's lapdogs had escaped
retribution.

The survivors of the war banded together in different
groups. The Sindar trusted not the Noldor after the
slaying of their king by the sons of Fëanor. They took
their people over the new-formed Misty Mountains to
dwell in the vast Greenwood, or to make acquaintance
of their Silvan brothers.

The Noldor took to the new realm of Lindon and the
sovereignty of Ereinion Gil-Galad, son of Fingon and
High King of the Noldor. It was to this camp that
Erestor aligned himself, for somewhere within him he
felt a small, nay miniscule, sliver of curiosity with
regard to the fate of a certain golden lord.

Erestor found the information hard to come by for he
did not wish to be seen actively seeking the Vanya,
yet there was very little written testimony to be
found intact after all the turmoil. By all accounts
Turgon's kin had apparently founded a hidden kingdom
that was later destroyed by Morgoth's hordes. None of
the surviving documents had lists of the survivors of
that holocaust - or of the dead.

It was by accident that the clerk learned the fate of
his - his what? Not friend, for never had Erestor made
any of the normal overtures of friendship to
Glorfindel. Nor was there any - romantic -
connotations. Erestor winced at this notion for,
following their unspeakably awkward dance, there had
been many who had congratulated him on making a fine
match. His responses had been acerbic, to say the
least, and many a sensitive female had fled with hands
over assaulted ears.

His obsession. That much was true, for too many nights
had been disturbed by dreams of golden hair and
sapphire eyes, much to his disgust. He was also often
annoyed when he found himself idly drawing flowers
during the day - golden celandines in full bloom...

There was also a more recent feeling that had preyed
upon his mind much in recent years, a hollow space
that had opened at the very core of his being. Cold
yet filled with fierce fire, he had many times awoken
with a pounding in his heart and a silent scream upon
his lips. What importance to place upon this portent
he would not acknowledge.

Thus it was that one soft summer's evening the clerk
took it in his mind to stroll amongst the tents of
homeless elves that lined the road from the High
King's seat in Lindon to the Grey Havens of Mithlond.
This road was the most common route of passage of
elves to the West and many took this journey following
the granting of amnesty by the Valar. Oft times the
traveling elves would sit in remembrance of their time
in Middle Earth and Erestor would pass amongst them,
listening to their stories and songs. He sometimes
transcribed these tales as best he could, wondering if
one day another might find use for them. He had often
wished there had been a diligent historian in the
ravaged Gondolin. Perhaps there had been, and perhaps
he had perished alongside his records when the
firedrakes and balrogs had come.

As if his musings had been brought forth into audible
range, a soft lament penetrated his thoughts, voices
mourning the fall of that great city - and its heroes.


Time halted.

The heart that pounded in the terrors of night now
stumbled in dread realization. A name was sung in
reverent verse, a dirge for his valiant sacrifice on
the cliffs of Cirith Thoronath. The description of his
fall and fiery death were explicit and undeniable.

Erestor gulped, swallowing to stem the cry that
threatened to erupt from his throat. In the quiet
murmurings that followed the completion of the
salutary tale, one elf noticed the ellon who stood
frigid within earshot, his shock and distress clearly
apparent.

"My lord? Art thou ill? Do you need aid?" the elf
asked. His deference stemmed from his recognition of
Erestor as one of the Host of the Valar, an elf of
purity and honour.

Erestor shook his head, not trusting his voice. The
hopeless dread that he had barely sampled in his
dreams had now burst forth in all its ferocity and he
was overwhelmed by the anguish that permeated
throughout his body and soul. Finally he found the
strength to speak - just.

"Glorfindel? Dead?"

The elf nodded in sympathetic sorrow. "Aye, my lord.
He died during the flight from Gondolin, in battle
with the balrog - as you heard. We are refugees of
that city and witnesses to his death. We honoured his
passing in song." He paused, stumbling over his choice
of words. "Did you - did you know him, my lord? Was he
kin?"

Erestor shook his head. "He was my -" He swallowed
once more. Not friend, not lover though he now wished
he had been. Too late did Erestor recognise the
feelings that had pervaded his soul - a soul that now
understood the loss of its mate. Yet he could not
speak of that here, in this place. None would
understand, could understand.

"We were children together."

"I am sorry for your loss, my lord."

Erestor nodded at the gentle words.

"So am I."

****

The summons to Gil-Galad's chambers at the dead of
night was not unusual, for the High King was an ellon
who often indulged in capriciousness. As Erestor
navigated the dimly-lit passages he pondered on the
nature of Ereinion's whims this time, chuckling
lightly to himself.

The High King had endeared himself to Erestor early in
his reign and a mutual understanding existed between
them, where Gil-Galad leaned upon Erestor's extensive
skills and Erestor respected and trusted Gil-Galad's
innate and excellent judgment. Erestor had thus risen
rapidly in the ranks to become Gil-Galad's most senior
advisor, a position only enhanced by his heritage as
an elf of Aman. Which made this summons all the more
remarkable. There was very little that occurred in
this realm that he did not know about in advance.

Erestor nodded at the sentinels who guarded the
entrance to Ereinion's private chambers, acknowledging
in one glance the correctness of their presentation
and stance. He made note to commend the Captain of the
Guard on their exemplary appearance.

There were three occupants within the candlelit room,
two of whom were known to him. He bowed.

"Your Highness, my Lord Círdan," he intoned, his dark
eyes sliding to the third figure who sat at the window
seat, shrouded in a hooded cloak. Erestor looked back
to Círdan. "My lord, I was not informed of your
impending arrival. If I had but known..."

Círdan waved away his apologies, his bearded face
breaking into a warm smile. "None knew of my journey
here, Erestor - and for the present none must know."
He gestured to a nearby armchair, looking briefly to
Gil-Galad for approval. "Please, Erestor, be seated -
for my tale is not long but complex, and I fear that
you will need the safety of a seat when you hear my
telling. Manwë knows, you could have knocked me over
with a feather when I heard the news. Actually," he
chuckled, rubbing his beard, "Manwë probably does
know!"

Erestor took the seat as directed, opposite his lord
and in sight of the third elf, for so he supposed him
to be. He focused upon the Shipwright, eager to hear
the news that had so amazed such a great lord.

"Some months ago a ship sailed in from the West, with
a messenger from Valinor."

Erestor nodded for, though extremely rare, an
occurrence such as this had happened before.

"More of the Istari? I thought that Curunír had said
they would be but five?"

Círdan shook his head. "The emissary said that there
was to be one returned to us, one who was being sent
to serve the son of Eärendil, of the line of Turgon.
One who had served that line before with valour, with
honour. One who has been given the grace of the Valar
to aid in his duties."

Erestor's mind was as sharp as ever and Gil-Galad
nodded as the advisor grasped upon the one word which
stood out in Círdan's telling.

"'Returned'?"

The shipwright nodded reverently.

"'Reborn, to be accurate." The elf turned to the
mystery guest. "My lord, would you step forward and
greet Master Erestor?"

From the shadows the hooded elf stood and stepped
forth. From what Erestor could see he was an elf of
immense height and breadth, moving with the caution of
a trained warrior. Slowly his hands rose to the hood
of his cloak and pushed it back. Golden hair tumbled
from its confines and gentle sapphire eyes gazed at
the dark advisor, capturing the midnight orbs that
sparkled in the candlelight.

"Erestor, I wish introduce to you the Lord of the
House of the Golden Flower, Glorfindel of Gondolin."

Erestor could not look away from those absorbing eyes,
that beautiful face - he did not want to look away.
All he had thought lost stood here in the flesh, all
that he had rejected in pride and obstinacy was made
manifest. His heart leapt, his lungs exhaled and
Erestor did what any sane elf would do when his
soulmate returned from the dead - he fainted.

****

The room no longer spun when Erestor returned to
consciousness, nor was he alone. There was but one
other there awaiting his recovery and it was neither
Ereinion nor Círdan.

"Glorfindel?"

The golden lord smiled down at him from where he sat
by the chaise.

"I didn't know if you would remember me - or if you
would want to..."

Erestor looked up, confused. He barely recognized the
spoken words when they were uttered; so intent was he
in observing every curve, every nuance of Glorfindel's
features, matching them to the template he had held in
his memories for centuries.

"Not know you? Why would I not...?"

Glorfindel shook his head. "Perhaps 'acknowledge'
would have been a better choice of word. We were never
- on the best of terms when we were children in Aman,
though I never knew why."

Erestor flushed in agony when he remembered how cruel
he had been to the ellon before him. What were his
dreams, his fantasies when they were placed alongside
the meanness of the deeds he had done to humiliate the
young lord?

"I can only beg your forgiveness, my lord. I was a
callow and jealous youth and my acts were hurtful and
unwarranted."

Glorfindel gave a short laugh, and shook his head in
amazement. "You, jealous of me? For what possible
reason? Erestor, do you not know how special you were
- how much I admired you? When you were not pinching
me, or abusing me, that is!"

Erestor cringed and pulled back from the reassuring
touch of the elf's hand, for he felt that Glorfindel
was mocking him. He turned his head away, disgusted at
his own behavior.

"Admired me? You jest, and the joke is ill-spoken," he
said bitterly.

"I do not, for I speak the truth. Do you truly not
know how much you have to offer? You are beautiful,
intelligent and witty. Your carriage is elegance
personified, your hair as lustrous as Varda Elentári,
and your eyes twinkle with stars over which she has
domain. You have a generally gentle nature - when you
were not tormenting me!"

Erestor gasped. "How can you say such things, you who
were as the light of Laurelin, as you are of Anor. You
are a lord of the Noldor, a warrior renowned. Fair of
face, of gentle nature, beloved by all."

"But not by you!" Glorfindel paused in his outburst,
looking down at his hands. "There was one time,
perhaps two, when I thought that you might have some
regard for me. When - I hoped..."

"The dance..." Erestor whispered, his throat too full
of emotion at hearing the pronouncements of the ellon
he had long thought beyond his reach, both socially
and physically.

Glorfindel clasped his hand hesitantly, increasing his
grip gratefully when he felt Erestor accept it.

"The dance. I felt it then, this pull of our souls,
and I almost cried out in joy to know that I had not
been wrong in my feelings for you, and yet I was in
despair that you did not seem to return those hopeless
feelings." He snorted. "I was close to cursing Eru at
that point for I knew that any attempt to press my
suit at that time would be rejected."

"But I did! Or, I do now. I - I was confused at that
time. I did not realise that my behaviour masked my
greater - attraction - to you."

"I know. It was the seeming hopelessness of my case
that was part of my decision to leave in the Exodus -
because I knew that you would look upon me
unfavorably. I saw you as I left. If you had spoken to
me then... I would have stayed. The sight of you in
that window almost caused me to stay."

Erestor cried out. "I tried! I almost ran to you, but
another held me back! Then we - we learned of
Alqualondë ..."

"No!" Glorfindel echoed his cry, clasping Erestor hard
against him. "No, Erestor! I swear, we took no part in
the Kinslaying save at Nerwen's side, to aid and
succor the victims. We tried to hold them back, but we
arrived too late! I swear - I do not carry the blood
of our kin on my hands."

Erestor could hold his emotions in check no longer.
His tears broke forth as he heaved great sobs against
the comforting breast.

"I thought that I had lost you then, that you were
outcast to us. My true feelings - my love - for you
became manifest that day and I raged against my
foolish self that I had turned you away from me before
I had even realised that love. When the call came to
journey to Middle Earth I fought for my place in the
army, for I was consumed with the thought of seeing
you again, to make amends and to - confess - of my -
love... but I then learned -"

"Of my death?"

Erestor nodded against the rumbling chest, clinging to
Glorfindel as Glorfindel must have attempted to cling
to that fateful cliff - as if he were clinging to life
itself.

"Erestor." Glorfindel grasped the sharp chin, raising
the dark elf's head so that he could gaze into those
star-filled eyes. "Melmë, we have seemed to be at
cross purposes our whole lives. Before you were
summoned tonight, the High King suggested that you
should be the one to reintroduce me to life in Middle
Earth - I *have* been absent for some time. I agreed,
and if you agree too then this might be the perfect
way for us to learn about each other even as I learn
about my new duties. What do you think, Erestor? A
good idea?"

Erestor smiled, scarcely believing that all his dreams
were on the verge of coming true.

"I agree, my lord. An excellent idea."

"Then it is done," Glorfindel grinned. "But there is
one thing that is left to be done before we conclude
this mutually beneficial meeting."

"And what is that?"

"This!"

The rose pink lips descended with alacrity, meeting
Erestor's with a devotion that declared convincingly
Glorfindel's claim on the beautiful advisor.

Abandoning himself to the moment Erestor returned the
kiss with fervor, parting his lips eagerly to meet the
questing tongue with his own. In many things Erestor
was a master - of numbers, of words, of debates and
treaties. In love he was as the most innocent of
virgins, trembling at the unknown yet eager for his
initiation. Whether Glorfindel had had it in mind to
love Erestor to completeness that night would never be
known, but the advisor at least had no intention of
leaving that room without the full attention of the
elf he had loved without hope for nigh on four
thousand years.

Stricken by the eagerness of his newly-declared lover,
Glorfindel could not restrain himself when confronted
by all he had hoped for since his rebirth. The awkward
position of chaise and chair was the first to be
corrected when he lifted Erestor from the chaise and
laid his slender frame on the piled rug in front of
the glowing fire. The two elves pulled and pushed,
tussling away the restraining garments, their fingers
searching for exposed flesh to touch and stroke and
soothe and ...

The quest was successful, the garments discarded yet
the roaming hands seemed not satisfied by that fact.
Erestor could not get enough of the glowing flesh and
added his mouth to the exploration, tasting neck,
chest, breast in his search for fulfillment. The salty
taste of the warrior's skin only excited him more as
he moved lower.

Glorfindel gasped as the heat of Erestor's mouth hit
his bare skin. Varda! Whatever he had hoped for when
he had declared himself to Erestor it was certainly
not this - but he was not complaining! As the lips
wandered lower his breaths became increasingly
shorter, so delicious were the sensations the dark elf
aroused. Beyond those luscious labia delicate digits
roamed and, unthought of as a tool in love-making but
equally as erotic, that sensual fall of midnight hair
that brushed like teasing silk across his belly. Aiya,
how could he stand such intense stimulation?

As if Erestor had heard his thoughts the movement
stopped, directly above his swollen member. He
throbbed with an aching pulse, but his lover did not
move.

"Erestor?" he queried softly. Erestor's face emerged
from the parted curtain of hair. His expression was
unreadable.

"Glorfindel, I -" He blushed, a worried look on his
face. "I have never - not with a male..."

Glorfindel smiled, reaching down to touch the anxious
face. "You have never lain with an ellon?"

Erestor nodded, the embarrassed blush returning.
Glorfindel smiled, a gentle curve of the lips that was
full of love.

"Then I am honoured beyond words, my sweet Erestor. I
wish that I had such a generous gift to offer you, but
I cannot lie. Yet still I would offer you myself,
either as the recipient of your love or to be the
instigator of your first encounter. The choice is
yours, my love."

"Then - then I choose that you should - should take
me, my lord," the dark elf stuttered. "I would hold
you within me, so that you could know all of me. I
want you - inside me."

Glorfindel looked at him intently. "Are you sure?"

"Just - go slowly."

"Like. the first time..."

He did. Turning so that Erestor was supine upon the
rug, Glorfindel cast his eyes about the surfaces of
the room before they alighted upon the very thing he
needed, a vial of sweet oil that Gil-Galad obviously
used to soften hands hardened by warfare. He uncapped
the vial, drizzling the oil on his fingers.

"Know you that which I am about to do?" he asked
Erestor. Erestor nodded, his eyes wide in
anticipation. "Then relax, melmë. There may be some
discomfort at first, but I will bring you through that
pain to pleasure unheard of."

With that he settled himself over the slim figure,
capturing those tempting lips with his own, nibbling
and nipping at the tender flesh. With his oiled hand
he delved between Erestor's legs, parting his thighs
so that he could reach his goal. Erestor panted as he
felt a single digit enter him, probing, oiling -
easing the way. And more did follow, one, two, three -
pressing, twisting, dilating but the pain was as
naught when the tips brushed the inner nub, causing
Erestor to leap in delirious reaction. Again and again
Glorfindel tried him, sampling the milky throat, the
peaked tip of the sweet ear until Erestor was begging
beneath him. Unable to resist his cries no more,
Glorfindel withdrew his fingers and prepared himself
quickly.

The pressure of the first push of erection into
orifice stung beyond that which Erestor had expected
but Glorfindel kept his promise and was slow and
careful. So slow was he that by the time he was fully
inserted Erestor was raising his hips, begging for
more. Keeping his thrusts slow and deliberate
Glorfindel began this eternal dance, aiming and
finding that small gland that brought such intense
pleasure when stimulated. Now Erestor was writhing
beneath him and the golden lord knew that he had never
seen such a beautiful sight - so beautiful that he
could linger no more. Lost in the moment he began to
thrust with abandon, bringing them both near to that
explosive cliff. And then they fell, Erestor crying
out his name as spasms of completion shuddered through
his body, echoed by the warrior's own orgasmic groans.

The two lay entwined - satisfied, complete. They were
now one in body and soul, a union long denied by
misunderstood emotions and uncaring circumstances. As
Erestor of Aman gazed into the loving eyes of
Glorfindel of Gondolin, happy beyond his wildest
dreams, he knew for the first time that he was now -

Home.


FIN

Elvish:

Melmë - love/beloved (Quenya)