Title: Windows of the Soul
Author(s): Fimbrethiel & Sian
Beta: Alex
Contact: Fimbrethiel@yahoo.com & Sian265@aol.com
Website: http://www.hithanaur.net/fimbrethiel
Livejournal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/fimbrethiel/
Type: FPS AU
Fandom: LOTR
Pairing: Erestor/Gildor & Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Strong sexual situations between Males, Extreme Violence
and Graphic Images.
Disclaimer: We are shamelessly playing with Tolkien's Elves, but we
swear it is just for fun! All the lovely Elves are the property of
the esteemed Prof. Tolkien's estate.
Summary: By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked to Lindon
comes... a serial killer is on the loose.
A/N from Sian: First of all, I have never seen, nor do I watch CSI! Most of the ideas and nifty comments made come from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and
John Douglas. The forensic information came from old college
schoolbooks of mine; of course the story has been embellished to add
to the mystery and excitement. Thanks to my wonderful Fimbrethiel who
makes my words sound better, read better, and make sense!
A/N from Fim: I *do* watch CSI religiously! I've always had a
morbid fascination with forensics, so when Denise approached me with
the idea of co-authoring a murder mystery, I jumped at the
opportunity. She gets the majority of the credit for this story -
without her research and creativity, this story would not be here.

******************************


Lindon, 1640 of the Second Age


The rain poured down, sheeting the windows, while lightning rent the
sky. The cobblestone streets were awash. Thunder rumbled heavily, and
a sudden peal shook the walls of the palace.

******************************
The blade sliced neatly through skin, tissue, muscle. No ragged
tears, only clean lines, leaving thin rivulets of blood to trail down
death-pale cheeks. There, he thought, it could not see him now.

He looked down into the dead blue orbs staring back at him, seeing
him, knowing him. knowledge of his deeds blazed out as if his accuser
was standing next to him, shouting out his secrets. He shook
himself. No, they were dead, no image recorded in their depths that
were severed from blood and tissue.

They were useless.

******************************

"Erestor, there is someone at the d-aaahhh!" Gildor's words hitched
as the next driving thrust into his body tore the breath from his
chest. He was currently resting on his knees, stretched forward at
the waist on Erestor's bed, his hands clenching desperately at the
rungs of the headboard to keep himself from being slammed through the
wall as Erestor pummeled him from behind.

The dark Elf paused and listened for a moment, but heard nothing
except the rattle of rain driving against the windowpanes and the
steady rumble of the storm overhead. "No, there is not; it is simply
thunder," was Erestor's growled reply, before resuming his onslaught.

A sharp rapping was undeniable the harbinger of an unwanted guest -
most definitely.

Gildor's arms were outstretched, muscles quivering with the strain of
keeping himself upright. "Door - nngggg - Erestor -"

This interruption is most untimely, Erestor thought dimly. "Go away!"
he barked, his body tight and tingling with impending orgasm.

Reaching below Gildor's well-muscled body, he grasped his lover's
length and stroked firmly. Gildor nearly howled, and bucked back
against him.

"Erestor?!" the voice called, full of concern.

"Go. AWAY." Erestor hissed, renewing his assault on Gildor's poor,
aching arse.

His hand pumped the thick, pulsing shaft rapidly, and Gildor's
passage undulated wildly as he spilled in spurting jets of creamy
fluid over Erestor's pumping fist, wailing loudly with the strength
of his orgasm. The strong ring of muscle tightened almost painfully
around Erestor's swollen member, and with a hoarse shout, he climaxed
powerfully in Gildor's shuddering body. Falling forward heavily, his
weight sent Gildor crashing down on the bed where they lay panting,
utterly exhausted.

Unfortunately, that untimely knocking came again. Muttering a lengthy
string of curses in the High Speech, Erestor untangled himself from
Gildor's sweaty form and stood, shrugging on a light robe as he
stalked to the door. "Coming!" he shouted in annoyance at the
persistent knock.

Throwing open the door, he was greeted by the smirking face of
Captain Dórion, who took in Erestor's flushed face, tousled hair and
the unmistakable reek of sex hanging heavily in the air. "From the
look and sound of it, you already did," he remarked snidely.

"This interruption had better be of dire importance, Dórion," Erestor
hissed, greeting the Captain with distaste.

Over Erestor's shoulder, Captain Dórion eyed Gildor's nude body
sprawled face down on the rumbled bed, then allowing his eyes to roam
appreciatively over Erestor's partially clad form. "Impressive..."
he murmured.

"Get on with it," Erestor demanded. "What brings you here so late at
night, disturbing me from... my leisure?"

Sobering, Captain Dórion turned a suddenly somber eye to the dark
Elf. "I am here at His Majesty's request, Erestor," he said by way of
apology. "Gil-galad needs you."

Erestor's dark eyebrow quirked in an unasked question.

"There has been a murder, Erestor."

****************

Dark and deserted were the halls as Erestor and his assistants,
Gildor and Saelbeth, followed Captain Dórion, their boot heels
clicking noisily in the intricate tile work. Erestor stared after the
broad back of Dórion, wishing that it had been any other who summoned
him to a crime scene. He and the arrogant head of the palace guard
had clashed before. Why the Captain still persisted in his pursuit of
Erestor, he did not know. Erestor had never encouraged him in any
sense, yet Dórion was relentless. Having Captain Dórion witness his
liaison with Gildor was sure to stretch an already tense working
relationship nearly to the breaking point.

Erestor was not unaware of the power of his appeal, and had used
those tools at his disposal in the past.

Black as raven's wings was Erestor's hair, straight and heavy, thick
and silken; it hung to the back of his knees. His skin was as pale as
the season's first snow, the whiteness broken only by almond shaped
onyx eyes and the ruby redness of his lips. Erestor was tall and
slender, his figure suited to that of an archer. He moved with poise,
his motions graceful as a dancer's, and many underestimated this
deceptive fragileness for weakness or were taken unaware by his
beauty.

But Erestor was a private, analytical Elf, his mind always occupied
by the complexity of the psyche. Most of Erestor's thoughts were
dark; one could not see or experience what he had and not be shaped
by those events. While most Elves could enjoy the galas held almost
nightly in Lindon's vast Halls, Erestor's shrewd eyes saw only
security breeches, dangerously dark corners, and opportunities for
mayhem.

Following silently behind Erestor, Gildor and Saelbeth carried heavy
black bags, tools that Erestor had perfected and used in his
investigations. Erestor heard the excited buzz of the crowd gathered
in the hallway before he reached the servant's wing. Stopping at the
entrance to the corridor, he observed the crowd of servants and
nobles that talked nervously among themselves. His eyes swept over
each face, memorizing the features for later perfect recall. Most he
recognized, but a flash of gold caught and held his eyes. That face
he did not know, and he would have remembered if he had. This Elf
was unknown, and Erestor stared a moment longer than was his wont.

Captain Dórion stopped, noticing for the first time that Erestor was
no longer behind him. Erestor waited until Dórion drew close, then
ordered, "Captain, this hall is to be cleared and each person
returned to his or her room. I want a guard on each door, and they
are not to leave or speak to anyone until they have been
interviewed." Erestor's piercing gaze bored into the Captain's, but
the foolish Elf spoke anyway.

"I do not take orders from you, Erestor," the Captain stated
defiantly, the hurt over witnessing the Noldo's recent tumble with
Gildor plain in his voice. But even as Dórion said the words, he
knew them to be untrue. Not only was Erestor advisor to the King, he
was also head of any investigations in Lindon. Erestor also was a
Lord, and nobility outranked the palace guard, Captain or no.

One sharp black brow arched and Erestor's eyes bore into the
Captain's. "Do you not, Captain?" he asked, his tone mocking.

The battle of wills did not last long. The Captain swore angrily
under his breath, but he backed down. "It will be done, Lord
Erestor," was the Captain's only response before spinning away and
barking sharp orders to his men.

Erestor waited until most of the bystanders had been cleared before
moving to the open door. His teeth ground together when he heard the
sound of voices coming from his crime scene, and again Erestor paused
on the threshold, his snapping black eyes landing on the Elf in
charge.

"Why are there healers present? I was under the impression that there
was a dead body here?" Erestor's calm voice halted all conversation,
and all eyes flew towards him.

Gil-galad recognized the look in Erestor's eyes. The King knew his
Chief of Special Investigations was very watchful of his crime
scenes. He glanced quickly at his herald before addressing his
Advisor. "There is a body, Erestor. When I received word, I thought
it prudent for a healer to be in attendance. They were called at my
direction. We were unsure what we were dealing with at first."

Gil-galad's words did nothing to ease the look of irritation that
briefly crossed Erestor's face. Erestor swept a hand before him
gesturing toward the door, clearly an invitation for Gil-galad and
Elrond to leave the room. "I will need to speak with each of you, and
of course I do not need to tell you, my Lords, that there should be
no discussion outside this room." None present wished to push
Erestor's patience. Gil-galad gave his advisor a slight smile that
was not returned as he and the others filed past Erestor.

Erestor stood in the doorway, his mind taking in the picture before
him. The room was typical of a servant's quarters, bearing the
standard furniture; a single bed, nightstand, wardrobe, and a small
dining table. The room was not orderly, rather, it looked as if the
occupant had just arrived home and was in the process of shedding the
uniform worn by all females in Gil-galad's service. Said uniform was
tossed across the small bed, and a pair of well-worn shoes sat on the
floor close by. The door to the wardrobe was slightly open and a
single teacup sat on the small table.

Turning his head, Erestor examined the door to the room. It appeared
normal, untouched. As Erestor stepped into the room, Saelbeth went to
follow his superior, but was brought up short by Gildor's arm
preventing him from following.

Saelbeth watched as Erestor methodically began walking in a strange
pattern about the room. He started at the very edges, following the
perimeter, and gradually worked his way around the room in
progressively smaller circles until he finally reached the very
center of the room. Saelbeth looked to Gildor, confusion clear on his
face. "What is he doing?" he whispered.

Gildor glanced sideways at the young assistant, understanding
completely the lost expression in the smaller Elf's eyes. "If you
want to understand the artist, you have to look at the painting," was
Gildor's cryptic reply. He could see that if anything, Saelbeth
appeared even more baffled, but Gildor also knew full well that the
one to explain it best - the master himself - was inside the room,
doing what he did best.

Erestor finally gestured for his assistants to join him. Young
Saelbeth pulled from his bag his sketch pad and charcoals. One of his
talents was drawing, and as he began sketching he remembered
Erestor's instructions to him; draw the room to scale, leave out no
detail no matter how insignificant, and date and time the drawing.
Saelbeth worked in silence, hastily sketching the room and
furnishings, the clothing strewn about - the pages of the sketchbook
were rapidly filled as he moved about the room, changing the
perspective with each drawing. His eager young mind listened to the
conversation between Erestor and Gildor, soaking up the knowledge
that came from Erestor's smooth, calm voice. "What do you see,
Gildor?" Erestor asked, his tone soft and even - what Gildor
teasingly called his teacher's tone.

"An ordinary room," Gildor answered, looking about.

"Exactly," was Erestor's answer. "What does that say to you?"

Gildor frowned and forced himself to think hard about what his mind
was processing. "Well, to begin with, there is no sign of a
struggle." Once he started, Gildor became excited at the fountain of
information he was able to see. "There is no sign of forced entry,
the door is intact and the lock unbroken. It looks as though the
victim was not expecting company."

Erestor stopped him there. "What makes you think that, Gildor?"

Gildor gestured about. "There is only one tea cup. The victim's
closet is slightly open, the day's clothes still tossed upon the
bed," he frowned in thought and looked to Erestor for confirmation.

Erestor only hummed and crossed the room, stopping in front of the
victim, where Gildor joined him. Saelbeth finally forced himself to
look at the reason they were in the room. He gulped, his face turning
an alarming shade of green.

"If you intend to vomit, please do so outside in the hall, Saelbeth,
away from my crime scene." Erestor's voice was kindly but stern. He
did not look at his young assistant, thus making it easier for
Saelbeth to force his bile away and shake himself mentally. He did
not want to embarrass himself in front of Erestor!

Silently the trio looked at the poor Elf whose life had ended so
violently. The victim was seated upright, her head resting against
the back of the chair. Gleaming silver hair was neatly and carefully
braided in a manner typically worn for formal occasions. Her hands
were ringless, folded demurely in her lap, and the dark blue silk
robe she wore accentuated her tall, slender form. The robe was
elaborately decorated with silver etchings and buttoned from neck to
toe. "Telerin, no doubt," Erestor murmured, noting the victim's build
and hair coloring.

What made the picture so very obscene was the peaceful posture of the
elleth's body, which was at odds with the ghastly ruin of her face.

The elleth's eyes had been removed, and down her cheeks were thin
blood trails that disappeared into the neck of the robe.

Erestor sighed, allowing himself a brief moment to mourn a life
snuffed out that should have been immortal, and sent a brief prayer
to the Valar that her soul was now safely in Mandos' keeping. But the
moment of grieving was fleeting. He had a job to do, and the dead Elf
would not receive justice by him being soft. He now had to stand for
the victim, and that required his full mental focus. Emotion could
not be allowed to come between victim and justice.

"Gloves," he snapped, and Gildor immediately handed him a pair from
the black bag, in anticipation of Erestor's request.

Erestor slipped on the special gloves, which had been made for him
with specific instructions for their design. The gloves were
fashioned completely from the thinnest, softest doe skin that could
be found, the seams flat stitched along the back of the fingers,
leaving the palm and inner surface line and crease free. While
Erestor had not as yet perfected a method of recovering and recording
fingerprints, he was working on it. These gloves enabled him to touch
items and bodies without leaving his own fingerprints behind.

Erestor studied the victim for several minutes, the room silent
except for the rapid scratching of Saelbeth's charcoal against the
sketch pad. Erestor's eyes traveled from the elleth's face down to
her hands. "No defense wounds," he murmured, and Gildor took notes as
Erestor examined the elleth's body. Not much of the victim's body
could be seen, the robe covered much. But Erestor again studied the
face of his victim. "Such precision in the removal of the eyes. This
is someone who knows how to handle a blade, exceptionally so."

Gildor's questioning frown was caught by Erestor who invited his
assistant to lean a bit closer. "Look here, Gildor. The cuts leave no
frayed edges. No excess blood was spilt because the artery behind the
eye was neatly cut. This was done slowly and with an extremely sharp
instrument." Gildor nodded his head in understanding, moving back and
giving Erestor room to circle about the victim.

"The robe, I believe, hides the rest of the tale. Wrap her, Gildor
and transport her to my lab. I want a guard posted until we can
perform the autopsy," Erestor ordered.

Gildor, with Saelbeth's help, unwrapped the special sheeting Erestor
used to wrap bodies in. It was of a silk material, plain white in
color. Erestor used this to avoid transference of fibers from the
victim to the sheet and vice versa. Many fibers he found could be
matched back to a specific garment or area of the palace. Erestor had
a lab full of well-labeled sample fibers from about Lindon, which he
used to compare against unknown fibers.

Carefully, with Erestor's eagle eye upon them, Gildor and Saelbeth
wrapped the body completely. Gildor next went to the door and called
for Captain Dórion to come in. Once the orders had been given to a
surprisingly cooperative Captain, the body was removed.

Gildor watched as the body of the elleth was carried away. Looking
sadly about the small room, he asked Erestor. "Do you think there
will be more?"

Saelbeth looked at Gildor and Erestor, puzzled. "More what?" he asked.

"Killings," Gildor replied. Saelbeth and Gildor looked at Erestor,
who was staring grimly at the closed door.

"Yes, something tells me this killer is just getting started."


TBC...

Part 2

Erestor and Gildor made the long trek from the servants' wing to the
High King's private rooms. Entering Gil-galad's study, they found the
King and his herald awaiting them.

Gil-galad spoke before Erestor could. "I am sorry, Erestor. We
touched nothing in the room."

Erestor waved away the High King's apology. He knew that they had
touched nothing; he would have seen trace evidence in the room. "Who
found the body?" he asked instead.

Lord Elrond rose and poured them all glasses of strong spirits,
speaking over his shoulder. "It was Lord Glorfindel who found the
victim."

Erestor frowned. He knew the name... who did not? But he did not know
*this* Glorfindel. "Another Elf named Glorfindel?" he asked the
King's herald. Names were unique - it was highly irregular for a
parent to have named a child after the legendary Elda.

Elrond smiled at the Advisor. "Not 'another' Elf -- the very same Elf
who slew the Balrog. The Valar saw fit to return him to us to face
the coming darkness. He has been back upon these shores but days, and
then to stumble across this horror--" Elrond shook his head sadly.

Erestor looked skeptical. "I will wish to speak with him," he
declared.

Elrond looked concerned for a moment and opened his mouth as if to
speak, but he said nothing, only reluctantly nodded. Erestor caught
the hesitation and wondered about it. Why did Elrond not wish him to
question Glorfindel?

Erestor and Gildor spent the remaining hours of the night questioning
each person who had been present in the halls outside the victim's
room. Most witnesses professed to have seen nothing; they said they
were drawn to the scene by the commotion in the hallway.

By interviewing an elleth who identified herself as being a friend to
the dead female, Erestor was able to piece together a fairly complete
picture of the victim. Brennil was a Telerin Elf who had joined the
court after escaping the ruin of Beleriand. She had journeyed to
Lindon with her lover, who was a warrior. That relationship did not
last. Brennil had no kin on Arda, but did have parents and siblings
in Valinor. The friend, Menelui, did say that Brennil was a hard
worker, and that she enjoyed her life in Lindon. She was social,
outgoing and chatty, and a very friendly sort.

Erestor and Gildor questioned all the potential witnesses, with the
exception of Lord Glorfindel. The interview with the Balrog-slayer
was to take place in Elrond's study. The Peredhel had insisted on
being present, but exactly why, Erestor did not know. But the High
King's herald was Erestor's Lord as well, and he could not disobey a
direct order from the half-Elf without just cause. Erestor was not
concerned by Elrond's request - the advisor had confidence he would
be able to see through any dishonesty.

Arriving at Elrond's chambers, Erestor knocked and opened the door
after hearing Elrond's voice call for him to enter. Once inside, his
eyes were immediately drawn to the blond warrior seated by the fire.
Glorfindel of the golden locks was aptly named, Erestor thought,
recognizing the ancient hero of Gondolin from the numerous paintings
throughout Lindon that depicted the reborn Noldo's deeds. Erestor
thought in passing that the artwork did not do the golden Lord
justice, before focusing again on observing Glorfindel's mannerisms.
The Elf's face and voice were open and friendly; Erestor could see no
deceit in those fair features.

Then again, some said Maeglin possessed the face of an innocent.

After introductions were made, Erestor took a seat across from the
Elda and crossed his legs comfortably, setting the golden Lord at
ease. "Lord Glorfindel, how did you come to discover the body of the
elleth?" Erestor's voice was low and calm, only polite curiosity bled
through his tone. He looked the other Elf in the eyes, making sure to
keep his face bland and only mildly interested.

Glorfindel looked briefly to Elrond, as though searching for
guidance, his face uncertain, and the Peredhel nodded
encouragingly. "The door was open," Glorfindel said simply.

One dark brow arched. "The door was open, you say?" Erestor repeated
the Lord's words back to him, hoping to get the Balrog-slayer to
continue. Erestor kept his dark eyes wide and open, inviting
confessions and easy conversation. He had often found that if one
allowed the silence in an interrogation to build, the suspect felt
compelled to fill it. Often times, nervous babbling resulted, but one
never knew what could be inadvertently revealed in those random
comments.

Glorfindel fidgeted, glancing about the room, his eyes roaming,
landing everywhere but on the dark gaze of Erestor. "Yes, the door
was open. I saw the elleth sitting in a chair with her back to the
door. This seemed odd, so I called out to her, asking her if
everything was all right. She did not answer, so I went in. I touched
her shoulder, and then I saw her face." Glorfindel's voice stopped
and he looked anxiously at Erestor. "Then I ran and fetched Lord
Elrond. Her eyes..." the Balrog-slayer shuddered, his words trailing
away.

Erestor looked to Lord Elrond and received his confirmation regarding
those events. He turned back to Glorfindel. "One thing still puzzles
me, however, and that is what you were doing in the servant's wing?
You are a Lord; your quarters are on the opposite side of the palace."

In fact, the blond seemed to become more agitated at the question,
and he frowned at Erestor. "I was walking the halls and saw her open
door. That is it, nothing more."

Erestor could almost believe if Glorfindel told him he had been lost.
Being new to Lindon, perhaps the Elda simply took a wrong turn down
one of the many dark corridors of the palace. But Lord Glorfindel did
not claim that. His words rung false. There was more to the story
than the blond Elf was saying, and Erestor would find the truth, one
way or another.

Acting on impulse, Erestor asked smoothly, "Perhaps you were hoping
to find some female companionship to pass the hours while the storm
raged outside?"

Glorfindel stared at the advisor, aghast, and Elrond
growled, "Erestor..."

Ignoring Elrond's warning tone, Erestor continued, "Come now, Lord
Glorfindel. You have only been returned from Mandos for a short
while; surely you must have certain urges? Did you approach the
elleth, and when she turned you down, you lost your temper?"

"Certainly not!" the blond gasped, horrified. "I do not think of
females in that way."

"ERESTOR!" the Peredhel's voice rang out. "That is *enough*."

Erestor's eyes met Lord Elrond's. His gaze said clearly that it was
not enough, and it was not over. "Very well," Erestor
conceded. "That will be all. For now. But we may need to speak with
you at a later time, Lord Glorfindel." Erestor rose and moved to the
door, but Glorfindel's words stopped him.

"That is all I have to tell you, Lord Erestor. I neither saw nor
heard anything else of value." Glorfindel insisted stubbornly. That
the blond now understood that this had not been a friendly
conversation was obvious.

Erestor only gave the Elda a small, tight smile and an, "Until
later," before leaving the room, a silent Gildor following his Lord.
As they walked, Erestor considered the exchange with Glorfindel. It
was interesting, he thought, that rather than indignance over being
considered a murder suspect, what the golden Lord so vehemently
protested was his sexual preference.

Very interesting, indeed.

Saelbeth was waiting for Erestor and Gildor at the laboratory Erestor
had designed and stocked with tools of his trade. Erestor quietly
thanked his young assistant as he handed him a steamy cup of strong
tea. "Thank you, Saelbeth. Did you make an inventory of the items in
our victim's room?" he asked.

"Yes, Lord Erestor. I have a complete list," Saelbeth answered
eagerly.

"Good," Erestor replied. "I want you to take that list and go over it
carefully with Menelui, the friend of our victim. Make sure she can
account for everything on that list," he ordered.

Saelbeth nodded, setting his teacup down, and gathering his things
departed to begin his interview. Gildor watched the young assistant
rush to comply with his superior's orders. He waited until the door
closed before turning to Erestor. "Do you think robbery was
involved?" he asked, clearly puzzled.

"No," was all Erestor offered. Understanding of Erestor's motives
came to him, though, as he glanced at the victim laid out on the exam
table. Erestor did not want Saelbeth to be present for the autopsy;
the young assistant had not yet been exposed to that part of the job.
Dealing with violent death in the abstract was one thing, getting up
close and personal in an autopsy was another. Yes, young Saelbeth did
not need to be a part of this just yet.

This special room had been carefully stocked by Erestor over the
years. He had designed each tool, and he was continually thinking of
ways of refining his techniques or modifying a way of recording
evidence. It was a stark room, white with plain cabinets and
examining tables. Extra oil lamps for lighting had been brought to
illuminate the room brightly for night work, and during daylight
hours, the extra numerous and wide windows provided the sunlight to
its fullest extent.

Erestor and Gildor shed their outer robes and donned the special
white robes Erestor used in the lab. The large numerous candelabras
were lit, brightening the room considerably. Moving with synchronized
ease coming from years of working together, each pulled on gloves and
stepped to the table where the victim's body lay.

First the sheet was unwrapped and the body was gently lifted off onto
another table, this one covered in plain parchment paper. The
victim's clothing was carefully cut off, following along its seams.
Gildor placed the robe on another parchment-covered table. He shook
the robe gently over the paper several times in order to collect any
loose fibers or hairs, then folded the garment carefully and wrapped
it in more parchment. Paper, Erestor found, was better to store
evidence in, as it did not allow moisture to gather on the objects.

Next, Gildor moved an oil lamp very close and examined the parchment,
collecting the fibers that had fallen from the robe, each placed on
its on square of paper for examining later by Erestor. Fibers were
unique to the material they came from; no two pieces of fabric had
precisely the same count of thread, color, or identical pattern.
Erestor had once solved a jewel theft case by matching fibers from a
thief's tunic to the crime scene.

Erestor had also brought an oil lamp closer to the body. There, in
stark detail, lay the killer's handiwork. Blooming against the
paleness of death on the elleth's throat were purple and black
bruises, their shape unmistakably finger marks.

Erestor dragged his eyes away from the victim's neck, and scanning
down her body, he looked for other signs of trauma. Besides the eyes
and neck, the body looked unmarked, but a closer inspection would be
required in order to rule out other injuries and look for evidence.
Erestor waited for Gildor to join him back at the table, with
parchment and quill in hand to record Erestor's findings.

Erestor started the autopsy.

TBC

Part 3

They have found her. The traitor is now in their hands. Will they
know? Will they understand? The eyes will reveal nothing... it is not
time yet.


"The victim is an Elven female who appears to be of Telerin descent,
healthy, though perhaps a bit under weight. The signs of trauma
appear to be confined to the upper portions of the victim's body."
Erestor moved about the examining table, his eyes scanning the
elleth's form for other signs of injury as he pulled on a pair of
examining gloves. "There appears to be no form of sexual assault, but
closer examination is needed to rule that out."

Erestor paused and went to a cabinet to remove several metal
instruments. He placed the tools on a small table next to the one
where the elleth's body lay.

Gildor laid aside his scribing duties to help Erestor in the
difficult task of examining the elleth's lower body for sign of
penetration. He and Erestor both sighed, relieved that no signs of
sexual trauma were found, nor was there any evidence of recent
intercourse. No matter how many cases one dealt with involving rape
or sexual abuse, one could never become used to them. That type of
trauma, the most heinous crime that could be committed by the
Firstborn save murder, never became easier to deal with.

Gildor once more became Erestor's scribe as the older Elf moved away,
placing his instruments back upon the small table. "No signs of
sexual assault, confirmed by external examination." Erestor's voice
was clinical as he moved up the body to the neck area, but became
softer as he examined the victim's throat.

"Initial signs are consistent with manual strangulation. In this type
of strangulation, the killer would have had to apply a tremendous
amount of force, to cause this quantity of bruising around the neck."
Erestor opened a drawer and withdrew a piece of wood with each inch
marked off in white lines.

Gildor moved closer to the table, waving a hand at the measuring
device. "Are you ready to measure the marks?" he asked.

"No, not yet. Let us first confirm that the cause of death was in
fact strangulation," Erestor replied. "Tell me, Gildor, what else
would indicate that cause of death?" Erestor asked, his voice
inquiring.

"Well," Gildor gestured at the ruined eyes, the eyelids sagging into
the empty sockets. "If the eyes were not mutilated, hemorrhaging of
the eyeballs and the eye socket would be full of excess fluid."
Gildor looked to Erestor tentatively and let out a relieved sigh at
Erestor's nod.

Erestor moved back to his examination, but the lesson to Gildor
continued. "The other signs to look for in cases such as this are
the tongue being trapped between the teeth, causing bite marks and
bruising of the tissue, and yes, the hemorrhages around the eyes."
Erestor closed the victim's mouth and moved his gloved hands back to
the neck area of the body.

"Record, Gildor," Erestor reminded his assistant, who had moved away
from the scroll and quill to better observe Erestor at
work. "Examination revealed bite marks in the tissue of the tongue.
In addition, bruising appears on the floor of the mouth and the
victim's Hyoid bone is broken," Erestor noted, pointing to the
underside of the elleth's jawbone, gesturing Gildor closer so he
could record and observe Erestor's next step.

"The neck area shows clear fingerprint marks. The thumb and
fingertips are circular in shape." Erestor drew his wooden ruler and
carefully held it next to the thumb outline in the victim's
skin. "The markings are half an inch in diameter." He said, and
Gildor dutifully marked all this information down.

"There is also tearing of the skin consistent with the killer's
fingernails digging into the victim's skin." Erestor stepped back and
wiped an arm across his damp brow. He appeared to look internally,
his eyes looking at the body but appearing vague and unfocused. "It
is, of course, impossible to tell, but my inductive thought is that
the eyes were removed postmortem. The victim was strangled and then
the eyes cut out. Yes, that is it..."

"Inductive?" Gildor has to ask, never having heard Erestor use that
phrase before.

"Inductive - that is, observing particular elements of a crime and
drawing larger conclusions from them," Erestor replied distractedly,
his gaze drawn to the streets below, which teemed with life and
vibrancy. To the citizens of Lindon, mundane matters - trade and
weaponry, smithing, living and loving - went on.

Erestor shook his head and pulled of his gloves, tossing them on the
small equipment table. "Take a short break, Gildor," he ordered
before moving back to the window and staring out into the day. The
storm had passed during the night, and the sunlight was bright.

Sensing Erestor's need for a few moments of solitary reflection,
Gildor washed his hands at the tiny sink, then filled a heavy
teakettle and set it to heat on the small stove in the lab. When the
water was hot, he quietly went about making them both a strong cup of
tea. The day was passing and they had not rested. Gildor knew he
could use some strong spirits, but Erestor had strict rules regarding
drinking during working hours.

Once the tea was brewed, he moved to Erestor's side and wordlessly
handed the older Elf a cup. Gildor returned Erestor's smile of thanks
with a slight one of his own. They enjoyed their beverage in
comfortable silence. Finally, Erestor set his cup aside and looked to
his assistant.

"Let us return to it, Gildor," he said, before moving back to the
body of their victim and pulling his gloves back on.

Gildor assisted Erestor in rolling the body over. Around the buttocks
was a sign Erestor had been looking for. "Livor mortis," Erestor
said, indicating the area with a nod of his head. "The bruising of
death. When the heart stops," he explained to Gildor. "The blood
stops circulating, gravity causing it to pool to the parts of the
body in contact with the ground. Or, in this case, the chair. The
flesh turns a bruised color from about two hours after death,
provided the body is not moved. Notice here, Gildor," Erestor pointed
out the elleth's buttocks, "this coloration is fixed because the red
blood cells have broken down and separated into the surrounding
muscle tissue."

Erestor looked up, meeting Gildor's eyes, his gaze deadly
serious. "Also, notice this intense coloration. In some cases the
color can be particularly vivid, due to the presence of poisons."
Erestor nodded, and he and Gildor lowered the body gently back on the
table. "Let us have a look at that tea cup, Gildor."

Gildor carefully handed the cup to Erestor and wrinkled his nose. "It
smells of liquor," he said.

Erestor looked into the bottom of the cup. He brought to his nose,
sniffing deeply. "Look here, though," he tilted the cup for Gildor to
see the bottom. "The bottom of the cup has a purplish residue in
it. I cannot think of purple colored liquor, can you?" he asked
Gildor.

Gildor shook his head in the negative and looked up as the door to
the lab opened, revealing a tired-looking Saelbeth. Erestor put the
cup back onto its parchment paper as he greeted his other
assistant. "I am glad you are back, Saelbeth. We were just about to
discuss what we have found so far."

Saelbeth eagerly came forward, all signs of fatigue forgotten at the
prospect of learning from the master. Erestor leaned back against
one of the tables and folded his arms across his chest. "There was
no sign of forced entry. The door was intact, the lock unbroken.
What does this say to you, young Saelbeth?" Erestor asked.

"She knew the killer?" Saelbeth replied, his tone uncertain.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" Erestor demanded, his dark eyes
boring into the younger Elf's, requiring confirmation from the
inexperienced Saelbeth.

"Telling you," Saelbeth stated. "She knew her killer," he repeated,
his voice much more confident.

Erestor nodded in satisfaction at Saelbeth's answer. "I believe so
also," he replied, beginning to pace the length of the room as he
continued speaking. "The door to the room, from all reports, was
left open. The killer wanted his victim found. The rooms in the
servant's wing are close together, the walls thin, yet no cries for
help were heard. Nor were there signs of a struggle. This leads me
to the conclusion that our victim was drugged."

The speed of Erestor's pacing increased as the thoughts formed in his
mind and spilled from his mouth. "The teacup has an unusual
substance in the bottom of it, and from the smell, it seems to have
contained some sort of liquor. This could also explain why no cries
for help were heard. This idea bears further investigation, as we
know from our examination of the body that no defense wounds are
present. This all makes sense." Erestor stopped suddenly and rubbed
a hand tiredly across his face. "If our victim was drugged, she
could not call out or fight back. But what drug was used, we have no
way of knowing."

Erestor paused and noticed his assistant's fatigue. "Gildor, please
take Saelbeth and find something to eat, then I want both of you to
rest. We will meet back here before the morning bell, understood?"
Erestor asked.

Gildor wearily arched his back, eyeing Erestor closely. "Are you off
to rest as well, my Lord?"

Erestor smirked at Gildor, not missing the speculative gleam in his
assistant's eyes. "Yes, after I report to the King. Now both of you,
out of here." He shooed them to the door, ignoring Gildor's attempts
to catch his eyes once again.

Erestor closed the door and walked tiredly to a small closet in the
lab. After splashing water onto his face from the bowl there, he hung
up the soiled white laboratory robe and pulled a clean robe off a
hook. Erestor brushed his hair out, pinning it behind each ear before
setting the brush down and closing the closet door. He was now
prepared to face Gil-galad.


TBC.

Part 4

Erestor closed the door to his lab behind him, laying his head
wearily back against the solid wood, and, he closed his tired eyes.
He knew his frustration had leaked through in his report to Gil-
galad, but at this point, he did not have much to report. Erestor
understood the necessity of keeping his Lord apprised of the
situation, but the time it took to tell Gil-galad that he had nothing
could be better spent finding something! The meal had been welcome
though, and the company. If Erestor did not find it so inappropriate
to call his King and Lord so, he would admit to himself that Gil-
galad and Elrond were his friends and he enjoyed their discussion and
meals together. What had surprised him somewhat was that Elrond said
nothing about his questioning of Glorfindel.

Erestor lit the oil lamps and shrugging off his heavy robe, moved to
his desk. Gildor and Saelbeth's reports lay neatly stacked in the
center, waiting for his attention. Pouring himself a glass of strong
wine, he sat and began reading through their notes. That his only
company in the room was the sheet-draped body of his victim seemed
not to bother Erestor as his mind drifted into his case.

Erestor pulled Saelbeth's report to him first, reading over the
room's inventory and looking closely at each drawing. Next, he
studied the autopsy reports, mentally walking himself though the
procedure again and again. This process was repeated several times as
the approach of night was ignored. Erestor pulled out the drawing of
the victim's body, eyes focused on it, but his mind was somewhere
else.

She is tired; the day's work had been long. The relief at being home,
in her room is expressed by a tired but happy sigh. The flash of
lightning and the boom of thunder have her jumping, the storm's
intensity causing her unease. The uniform is shed thankfully, the
shoes kicked off happily. Nude, she walks to the wardrobe, pulling
from within, the comfort of her old robe.

"Comfort of her old robe?" Erestor scrambled through notes, his brow
furrowed as he tried to figure out exactly what it was that caught
his attention. There was something about that robe. Scanning
Saelbeth's inventory sheets again, he found no mention of a blue robe
with silver etchings. Of course not, he thought, the victim was
wearing it. Saelbeth would not have inventoried anything directly on
the victim's body.

Erestor frowned, his mind traveling back to his own memories of the
room. What was it about that blue robe? It was a costly garment, the
fabric heavy, and the silver etchings elaborate. How would a servant
obtain something of that value?

His eyes fell on the interview with Menelui, the victim's friend. He
lifted the parchment, already knowing what it contained. Yes, Brennil
had a current lover. One of the palace guards, in fact, but Erestor
could not see a guard being able to afford something so costly
either.

Erestor reached for the quill, writing down his thoughts. The victim
dressed in a robe that could not have belonged to her, the open
wardrobe...

No it was not listed in Saelbeth's notes. No thin robe. Erestor sat
back, fingers letting the parchment fall onto the desk. The killer
had dressed the victim in the blue robe, but then where was the
victim's? Did the murderer take the robe with him as a memento?
Killers often took an item belonging to their victim so they could
later relive the crime.

Erestor set aside the quill and rising, went to the large windows. He
stared out into the blackness of the night, his thoughts wandering
back to his victim.

There is a knock on the door. She is tired and frowns briefly, but
she answers it. Surprise shows at the visitor's identity, but she
lets him in. She laughs a bit self- consciously, pulling at the neck
of her robe. Nervously she explains, just arrived home from work,
having a cup of tea, would you care for some?

Erestor frowned, his eyes drawn to the lone teacup. Did he put
something in the tea? He moves closer to it and picks it up. The
purplish residue is still as visible and still as mysterious.

The tea? She becomes groggy, stumbles to her chair, and has to sit
down. Her mind races as she is undressed, but she cannot focus her
eyes, cannot cry out. fear grips her. No, not that! Every Elf's
deepest fear of rape coming back to her terrified mind.but wait, he
dresses her again in something soft and heavy. Her mind drifts
further away, only to be brought back sharply when she feels
tightening about her neck. She cannot breath, cannot move, and cannot
cry out! Breathing becomes impossible, but she can still feel the
pain, all her frightened eyes can see are the chilling ones of her
killer staring back at her as her life ends.

Erestor shuddered, forcing his mind to retreat, swallowing the bile
that rose to his throat. He shakily moved back to his desk,
collapsing into his chair, and reached for his wine with a quaking
hand. Taking a healthy swallow, Erestor laid his damp head upon his
desk. Erestor's face was still pale as he raised his head, eyes
falling on the picture of the dead elleth.

"You knew this killer, knew him well enough to feel safe letting him
into your room. You were comfortable with him, perhaps even trusted
him." Erestor's voice trailed off, the silence of the room building
once more before he continued in a whisper. "Is that why he took your
eyes? You knew him, knew his face, so he cut out your eyes. Your eyes
reflected his image, windows to the soul, so he took them..."

Erestor's head drifted back down to rest on his arms. He drifted;
sleep coming to claim him despite his efforts to resist. Following
him into an exhausted sleep were blue eyes... Dead blue eyes.

He stands, nude, in front of the mirror. Many have told him, over the
years, that he is pleasing to the eye, but he does not see it. What
he sees is only average. But his beauty inspires lustful thoughts and
furtive, self-given pleasures among his admires.

Others see the dark, exotic eyes that gleam with intelligence...a
shimmering silky length of hair long enough to sit upon and wrap
around a lover's body...the full, sensual lips that rarely smile. He
is stunning when he smiles. His limbs are long and slender, lean
muscle under milky flesh. The body of a poet, a dancer, a scribe.

He uses this beauty as a tool. His allure is a much a tool for him as
the cold steel of his equipment or his analytical mind, much as the
hammer and the saw are to a carpenter.

He raises a hand and holds it in front of him, turning it this way
and that, admiring the slender strength. His hands are his best
feature, he thinks. Hands tell much about a person, it is said, and
his hands are strong, lean and smooth. The tip of one little finger
is slightly crooked, an injury sustained in boyhood, one that never
quite healed properly. What do these hands speak of, he wonders?

He raises that elegant hand to his mouth and wets the tip of a
finger, suckling lightly. A thrill courses through his body, raising
gooseflesh over his skin.

Lazily he strokes the damp finger over a nipple, and the flesh
pebbles and grows hard under his touch.

A pinch next, and he gasps at the slight sting. Just a glimmer of
pain, and he pinches harder, then flicks the nub with a fingernail,
drawing a whimper from his lips.

A hand caresses his buttocks, skimming over the silky skin of a
slender hip, pausing a moment to run smoothly down the length of a
lean thigh. The hand circles around, pressing flat against the
expanse of a trim stomach and comes to rest.

Not his hand.

He looks down. The flesh is lightly bronzed, knotted with muscle, the
tendons standing out starkly.

He lays his own on the one resting on his stomach, and finds the skin
warm and pliant under his touch. The palm is broad and slightly
rough, rasping lightly over his skin. The fingers are long and wide,
easily able to span his abdomen, the nails blunt and trimmed short.
It is a strong hand, but its touch is surprisingly gentle.

A warm, solid form presses against his back, and he flinches at the
unexpected touch. He peers intently into the mirror. There is a
figure behind him, shrouded in shadows, its features concealed in a
smoky grey mist that has appeared around them.

No smoke, there is no fire...it is a fog that envelops him now,
tendrils curling around his legs. It is chilly and damp, and he
shivers. He feels the first lick of fear coiling in his belly, the
fine hairs of his body standing on end, his testicles drawing up into
hiding in his groin.

The body behind him is comforting, reassuring. He leans back into its
embrace, its arms coming around to enfold him in their warmth.

Hands stroke and sooth the nervous tension from his body, running up
and down, kneading the sleek muscles of his chest. A hard shaft
nestles in the cleft of his buttocks. It is large and pulsing, and
his groin tightens, imagining that thick flesh splitting him in two.

He closes his eyes, sighing, and leans his head back against the
shoulder behind him. His hands hang loosely at his side, fingers
clenching and unclenching as the touches become progressively more
intimate, pinching, pulling, tweaking. He is aroused, his length
swollen, curved up toward his belly. His hips thrust almost
imperceptibly into nothingness, aching for a touch to ease the
relentless throbbing.

The fog thickens, surrounding him in its moist, dank gloom. It swirls
densely about him, leaving his skin damp and chilled. The hands
caressing his body withdraw, and the heated flesh pressing firmly
against his back is gone. He cries out when blazing wet heat
encircles his arousal and swallows him whole. He bucks wildly into
that moist, slick cavern. He is close...so close...

The heat is gone. He opens his eyes and looks wildly about him,
searching for someone...anyone, but sees only that oppressive mist.
The mirror is gone. He stands alone and aching, heart racing with
fear.

A hand suddenly clamps around his throat. He wheezes, reaching up to
break the grip, but the hand squeezes tighter, cutting off his
breath. He cannot breath - he struggles, flailing against the grip
that is like iron on his neck, slowly choking him. The fingers dig
in; he feels his windpipe slowly crushed under the force.

He is strangling... he is dying.

The last thing he sees before all goes dark is a flash of blue.

*****************************************************************
Erestor jerked upright in his chair, stifling a scream and gasping
for breath. Cold sweat was clammy on his body. His eyes, large and
terrified, darted about the room as though in search of his attacker.
His heart fluttered with lingering terror, and he choked down the
bile that rose in his throat.

He was safe in his office, he saw with relief, and slumped back in
his chair. He had slept the night away sitting at his desk, for the
sky over the cityscape turned pink dawn. The oil lamps had sputtered
out sometime during that night. He rubbed at his gritty eyes and
willed his heart to slow to its normal pace. "Nothing but a
nightmare," he told himself.

Shakily he rose, his legs weak, and refilled the oil lamps with
trembling hands. With a last glance at the sheet-draped body, he
closed the door behind him and began the long walk back to his own
chambers.

The chambermaid assigned to Erestor's wing was just leaving his rooms
as he approached. She gave him a curious look, taking in his rumpled
clothing and unkempt hair, but asked no questions and nodded politely
when he requested breakfast to be delivered immediately.

With a sign of relief at finally reaching familiar, comforting
surroundings, Erestor set about drawing himself a bath and changing
into clean clothing. The breakfast was delivered by a fresh-faced
young elleth soon after, and he had sat down at the small dining
table in the corner and taken a hearty bite of lightly scrambled eggs
when the door burst open and Gildor rushed in, breathless.

"There you are! We have been looking everywhere for you," the young
Noldo said. "Where were you last night? I waited for hours," Gildor
accused.

Erestor looked blankly at the younger Elf, then remembered implying
the night before that he would be joining Gildor. "I fell asleep in
the laboratory." Forcibly, he pushed the memory of the nightmare from
his mind and shrugged. "I am sorry."
Gildor's face softened as he realized how exhausted the autopsy must
have made his superior. "I understand," he responded, then steeled
himself for what he had to say.

"I am afraid, Erestor, that there has been another murder."


TBC...

Part 5

Erestor and Gildor followed the King's guardsman. They left the
palace, passed the training grounds and barracks to a small side
street that consisted of rows of small, single-family cottages. Those
cottages housed the servants and tradesmen who preferred -- and could
afford -- to live outside the palace.

Once more, the activity outside the scene signaled which cottage
housed their crime. Unlike the first time, however, the palace guards
had done their job. The area around the small home was blocked by a
row of guards, and Erestor could see that no one had been allowed
inside the scene.

As Erestor approached, the guardsmen moved aside and made an opening
for him and his assistant to enter. "Where is Saelbeth?" he asked
Gildor as they walked toward the cottage.

"He is bringing the equipment," Gildor replied as they paused outside
the open door, the stench of death drifting out to meet them.

Erestor nodded as his gaze moved over the assembled crowd. He
recognized many of the servants of the palace as well as a few
guests. Unconsciously, he looked for one blond head among the crowd,
but did not see it. Finally, Saelbeth pushed his way through the
crowds to join them, carrying the heavy black bags. Erestor pulled on
the gloves Gildor automatically handed him, too well used to the
routine to wait to be asked.

"Saelbeth, please start your sketching on the exterior of the
cottage. Do you recall what we discussed about outdoor scenes?"
Erestor asked.

Saelbeth nodded and pulled his pad of parchment and charcoal from his
bag, along with a roll of thin, white material. The cloth had
regular, one-inch markings much like Erestor's wooden ruler, only
this could cover much greater distances and move over and under
objects. Erestor had shown the young assistant the details and
measurements needed to reproduce an outdoor scene and explained their
purposes. The drawing would first require a scale, every inch
equaling so many feet, and then the cottage would be drawn to scale
on the paper. Next, every entrance and exit point to and from the
cottage would be drawn and their distance from the cottage marked, as
well as the distance to the road and the cottage next door. Even the
distance between the windows, and landmarks, as well as their
distance to the dwelling, would be added. No detail was too small to
be left out.

Saelbeth looked at the large crowd uneasily; he would need to begin
his measurements from somewhere in the middle of that crowd, and he
was not sure how this could be accomplished. He need not have
worried, however, for Erestor's instructions to Gildor took care of
that.

"Gildor, please ask the guards to move these people across the street
and keep the area around the cottage clear for our young Saelbeth."
Gildor nodded and awaited Erestor's next instructions. "Also, have a
look about the grounds surrounding the cottage; you know what to look
for. We cannot rule out another point of entry."

Gildor doubted they would find anything, but he did know what to look
for. Due to the recent rain, the ground was soft and would make any
footprints near the cottage easy to find. If any prints were found,
he would have Saelbeth sketch the impressions, measure them exactly,
and indicate the distance from the prints to the cottage. Erestor
waited until the pair moved away before entering the scene. The
cottage was simple, what one would expect from an elleth living
alone. It consisted of two rooms; a large common room that doubled as
living and sleeping quarters with a large fireplace in one corner,
and a small kitchen area with a tiny one-seat table. At first glance,
it would seem the room was empty, if one could ignore the smell.
There was no mistaking the smell of rotting flesh. Erestor's eyes
followed the path of the wall until his eyes lowered to the victim.
She was seated on the floor in a corner near her small bed, propped
against the wall. Her legs were crossed at the ankles, hands demurely
folded in her lap, head tilted to one side, and dressed in a long
gray robe that covered her from neck to toe.

Erestor forced his eyes to move away, across the room, taking in the
details that could not be duplicated on paper. The fire had burned
out; only cold ash remained in the grate. The room was cold and dim.
The small bed was made, and the room had a sense of bareness, as if
it was still waiting for its owner to come home and leave her mark.

Erestor moved to the small kitchen area. There a little more wear
could be seen. A plate and cup sat in the washbowl awaiting cleaning,
but what struck Erestor the most was the lone teacup that sat upon
the small dining table.

Gildor stepped in the open door, his shadow briefly blocking out what
light had been present. "No prints or marking on the exterior, and
the windows are all secure," he told Erestor as he moved to the older
Elf's side.

Erestor nodded. "Then the entry point was the front door." Erestor
finally forced himself to move to the victim's body. "Do we know her
name yet?" he asked somberly, as he knelt down next to the corpse.

"Cuileth, a neighbor said. The next-door neighbor is the one who
found the body. She is waiting outside for you to question her,"
Gildor replied, as he shifted slightly to allow more light for
Erestor to see by.

"Good." Erestor carefully lifted the cloth away from the victim's
neck, peering at the bruises found there. No surprise showed on his
face at what he saw. "Check the door carefully, Gildor," he ordered.

Gildor moved to the door to the cottage and checked both the interior
and exterior of the door, ensuring to touch it as little as
possible. "No signs of force, Erestor. The lock and handle are
intact. It looks like the same killer," he said before kneeling next
to his bag and removing the death sheet.

Erestor only murmured, and then straightening reminding Gildor in a
calm voice, "Do not assume, Gildor. It is much too soon to be making
that statement. Let us get her back to the lab and see what we find
there. Trying to predict the actions of an individual from the
evidence of his deeds is tricky business."

"Saelbeth will be busy for some time yet, so ask for one of the
guard's help in transporting the body. Post a guard at the
laboratory, and return to assist me with the questioning." Erestor's
voice was brisk, and Gildor mentally flinched, knowing that the older
Elf's mood would only become darker the longer they kept being called
to attend dead ellith.

Gildor was almost through the door when Erestor's next words stopped
him. "Also bag the teacup in the kitchen." Gildor swallowed, and a
chill crept up his spine. The similarities to their first scene were
startling; if it was not the same killer, then they had a very smart
copycat on their hands.

Erestor knelt again next to the body as Gildor and the young
guardsmen entered and approached the dead elleth. He observed
carefully as they moved the body to the sheet, but the body was
stiff, frozen in its upright position and Erestor halted them. "Rigor
mortis," he told Gildor. "Hold for a moment, Gildor," Erestor
ordered, as he attempted to move each limb and test its flexibility.
He saw out of the corner of his eye the guard's horror-filled face
and Erestor spoke calmly, teaching as he moved limbs and worked out
the stiffness of death.

"Rigor mortis begins to take effect as the internal chemistry of the
body changes from its normal acid state to an alkaline one, usually
about two hours after life has become extinct. This causes muscles
that were relaxed at the time of death to begin to tense and
stiffen." Erestor moved the head from its angle tilted to the right
to a frontal position. He glanced up, meeting the young guard's
eyes. "The process begins with the eyelids and progresses to the
muscles of the face and jaw, then to the arms, the trunk, and finally
the legs. Rigor mortis is a progressive condition and is usually
fully established about twelve hours after death. Our body here is as
unbending as a piece of wood; therefore, it is safe to estimate that
she has been dead at least twelve hours. Would you not agree, Gildor?"

Gildor nodded, watching while Erestor worked the rigid limbs and
finally manipulated the body into a prone position. Then he and the
guardsman covered the elleth before lifting their burden and leaving
the cottage. Erestor awaited Gildor's return outside, his sharp gaze
trained on the crowd that still hung about the scene. Many met his
gaze, curiosity bright in their eyes, but some did not. Perhaps their
reasons were nefarious, and perhaps it was just a touch of shame and
the gossip and carnival nature of the crowd. Among those gathered,
Erestor recognized the head cook, a healer, and several of the King's
councilors. The latter were the ones who did not meet Erestor's eyes.

Gildor came to stand next to the older Elf, his gaze also scanning
the crowd. He said nothing, however, until Erestor turned and headed
next door to speak to the neighbor. "Do you think the killer was in
the crowd?" he asked.

"It is possible. Serial killers often return to the scene of their
crimes. They get a perverse thrill by watching the action and
reliving their crimes as they laugh at the authorities," Erestor said
as he stepped inside the cottage.

Captain Dórion rose to greet Erestor from a small couch where he was
seated next to an elleth, who had obviously been crying. "Lord
Erestor," the Captain said in a formal tone. "This is Lenniel," he
said indicating the distraught female. Her hands shook as she set
aside her teacup, then she rose and curtsied, her face pale and lips
tightly clenched. "Lord Erestor," she said.

"Please be seated, Lenniel," Erestor said, his voice kind and soft,
seeking to put the nervous female at ease. Erestor waited until the
elleth seated herself once more before taking a chair across from
her. He introduced Gildor and asked Lenniel if she minded if Gildor
took notes of their conversation. Lenniel nodded in agreement.

Erestor would have preferred Dórion not to be present, but he did not
want a battle for territory in front of their skittish
witness. "Lenniel, can you tell us about your neighbor, Cuileth?"
Erestor asked.

Lenniel sniffled and folded her hands tightly in her lap. "Cuileth is-
-" Lenniel's eyes filled with tears once more as her voice broke. She
struggled to gather herself.

"It is all right," Erestor said soothingly. "Take your time."

The elleth nodded shakily. "Cuileth was a seamstress. She worked on
all the King's guardsmen's uniforms, and on the side, she would take
in extra work. Every penny she earned was saved. I think she wanted
to take a ship back to the Undying Lands; she had kin there still."
Lenniel took a deep breath. "I went over this morning to check on
her. She had not been sleeping well, and I was worried. The d-door
was open," Lenniel covered her mouth with a hand, tightly closing her
eyes, as trying to banish the image of finding her friend.

Lenniel shuddered. "The smell. I stopped before going in. That smell -
- it was horrid. Her door was open. I knew something was not right,"
Lenniel looked to Erestor almost desperately. "I just knew," she
whispered.

Erestor sat silently while Lenniel cried. He looked up at Gildor and
nodded towards the kitchen. Gildor reached for the elleth's teacup
and refilled it from the teapot, then sat the refreshed drink back in
front of Lenniel. Erestor waited while she took a sip and returned
the cup to the table before speaking.

"You said Cuileth had kin in Valinor?" he asked. "None here?"

"No," Lenniel replied. "Her parents sailed West and her mate died
years ago."

"Do you know what race she was? I ask because she was lighter in hair
and eye coloring than us Noldor," Erestor smiled at the elleth,
gesturing his head to include all those in the room in his remark.

Lenniel laughed a bit, the sound helping her relieve a little of the
tension. "She was of Telerin origin."

Erestor smiled again at the elleth. "You were close to Cuileth?" he
inquired.

Lenniel's expression clouded and her eyes teared up once more. "Yes,
we have been neighbors for a number of years. My mate, Galudirithon,
is a member of the outskirts patrol. His rotation takes him from home
for a fortnight a month. When he is gone, Cuileth and I look -
looked - out for one another." Lenniel's voice trailed off.

"And your mate? Where is he today?" Erestor asked, making sure his
tone displayed a curiosity that was not threatening.

Lenniel responded, "He is on patrol, and is not due back for another
week."

"Ah," Erestor nodded. He leaned forward, closer to Lenniel, his dark
eyes suddenly capturing hers, impressing the seriousness of Erestor's
next question. "Did you see anything yesterday? Think hard before you
answer. Anything unusual, out of place?"

Lenniel frowned in thought. She shook her head slowly, but Erestor
reminded her again. "Think hard, Lenniel. Did you see anything or
hear anything? Even the smallest detail may be important," he
stressed.

The silence in the room built, as did the tension. Erestor raised a
hand sharply as Dórion opened his mouth to speak, and he frowned
fiercely at the Captain to silence him.

Lenniel looked at Erestor, her face crumbling. "Nothing, my Lord. I
am sorry but I cannot recall anything unusual about yesterday."

Erestor smiled, even though he felt like screaming in
frustration. "It is all right, Lenniel. If you do recall any
information, please inform the Captain and he will summon me
immediately." Erestor rose and took the elleth's hand. "Do you have
someone who can come and stay with you until your mate's return?"

Lenniel squeezed Erestor's hand in gratitude. "Yes, my sister is
coming to stay. Thank you, my Lord," she whispered.

Erestor and Gildor, with Captain Dórion following, made their way to
the door. Erestor had just reached for the door handle when Lenniel's
cry stopped them.

"Wait, my Lord! There was someone," she said, rushing to Erestor's
side.

"Someone?" he asked, with a raised brow.

"Yes," Lenniel replied, her voice excited as a memory came back to
her. "A stranger, one I had never seen in this area of Lindon before."

"Can you describe them, Lenniel?" Erestor asked, nodding to Gildor to
write down this new information.

Lenniel's face fell and Erestor struggled to keep his disappointment
off his face. "Just tell us what you can recall, Lenniel?" he urged.

"It was dusk, just a bit of light left. It was an ellon; he was
walking away from me, so all I saw was his back. But I do remember
that he was dressed casually, though I could tell that the cloth and
cut were rich." Lenniel paused, struggling to recall a detail.
Suddenly her face lit up and she said excitedly," And he had long
hair of a golden color, the like, I have never seen before!"

Erestor nodded and exchanged a look with Gildor. He thanked Lenniel
and promised he would keep her informed of their progress. Now it was
time to perform the autopsy, but Erestor knew already what they would
find.

This victim was killed by the same person.

TBC...

Part 6

"Telerin, Erestor!" Gildor exclaimed excitedly.

Gildor struggled to keep up with Erestor's rapid pace as they strode back to the palace. "Erestor, it cannot be a coincidence," Gildor said as he ran the last few steps up to Erestor's side.

Erestor glanced behind him, making sure Dórion was not following them back to the lab. "Hush, Gildor. We will discuss this inside," he warned, his tone low and irritated.

Once inside the lab, Erestor washed his hands and face in the small water closet and removed his heavy black robe, leaving him in undershirt and leggings. He turned and frowned at Gildor. "You know that we do not discuss details of a crime out in the open where any ears could hear. What were you thinking, Gildor?"

Gildor held out his hands, confused. "But it was just Dórion," he replied defensively.

Frustrated, Erestor threw down the hand towel he used to dry his face and hands. "Just Dórion, you say! You have decided that he could not possibly be our killer, and therefore it is safe to reveal details of the crime in front of him? Is that it, Gildor? You have it all figured out!" By the time Erestor finished, he was shouting.

Gildor stared in shock at the older Elf. In all the time he had worked with, and slept beside the other Elf, Erestor had never raised his voice to him. Indeed, he had never heard Erestor raise his voice to anyone. "Nay, Erestor. No, that is not it at all. I am sorry," he whispered, ashamed at his lack of judgment.

Erestor sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He moved to his desk, where he perched on a corner and closed his eyes for a moment. He opened his eyes finally with regret heavy in his dark gaze. "It is I who should apologize, Gildor. It is no excuse, I know. But I am tired, and these killings weigh heavily on my faer."

Gildor quickly crossed to Erestor's side and took hold of the dark Elf's hands, squeezing them in comfort. "It is all right, Erestor. I understand," Gildor leaned down and brushed a gentle kiss on Erestor's lips. "You take too much upon yourself, Erestor. You could not prevent these murders, and I know you will exhaust yourself bringing the killer to justice. That is the best you can do for them now."

A small smile crept across Erestor's lips and he frowned mockingly at Gildor. "When did you become so wise?" he asked with amusement.

"Not only am I wise, I am beautiful," Gildor grinned, relieved at being forgiven, and pulled Erestor to his feet.

Erestor rolled his eyes, chuckling. "And frightfully modest, it seems."

Their laughter faded, however, as both Elves turned toward the newest sheet-draped body awaiting inspection. Cuileth needed their respect and dedication now. Erestor and Gildor drew on the white lab coats. Fresh gloves were placed on the equipment table, along with clean instruments, parchment, and quills. Each took a deep breath before pulling back the sheet.

"Normally, I would wait for the effects of rigor mortis to subside before performing the autopsy. The body can remain in this condition for anything between twelve and forty-eight hours, until further chemical changes return the body to an acid state. At that point, the muscles begin to relax again," Erestor moved about the table as he spoke, inspecting the body from every angle.

Gildor frowned briefly, trying to recall what Erestor had taught him about rigor mortis. "This process then affects the muscles in the reverse order in which rigor mortis originally stiffened them - the eyelids first, then the facial muscles, and finally the legs?"

"Very good, Gildor. You are correct." Erestor moved back up to the victim's head. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Gildor answered, parchment and quill in hand.

"The victim, named Cuileth, is a healthy female, race has been confirmed by neighbor as Telerin. Trauma is confined to the victim's upper torso, mainly the head and face. Due to the presence of rigor mortis, estimated time of death is between twelve and forty-eight hours ago," Erestor stopped speaking and met Gildor's eyes briefly.

Gildor hastily finished his writing, then laid aside his writing implements and assisted Erestor with the lower torso examination. Gildor went back to his scribing as Erestor dictated. "No sign of sexual assault, confirmed by examination." It was now an official part of the report, and an eerie similarity with the first case.

Erestor began a close inspection of the victim's eye socket. His words continued to combine this victim's fate with the others, binding them in one commonality: the same killer murdered them both. "The victim's eyes have been removed with extremely skilled precision by a sharp instrument," Erestor continued speaking as he moved down to the victim's neck.

"The neck area shows clear indication of force applied by hands." Erestor held the wooden ruler to the marks. "The markings are curved, and half an inch in diameter. The skin is broken, consistent with nail markings." Erestor used his fingers to feel about the bruised area. He frowned and explored down the throat to the base of the neck. "There are fractures of the cartilage, and of the windpipe and larynx."

Erestor stepped back from the table. From a cabinet he withdrew a blunt, almost flat metal blade. Returning to the victim, he placed the tool against the victim's lips and pried the mouth open. Peering inside, he said, "Bruising of the tissue of the mouth, bite marks on the tongue, added to the fractures, and the cause of death is undoubtedly manual strangulation."

Erestor looked up, meeting Gildor's serious gaze. "Again, it appears as if the eyes were taken postmortem," he said.

"Let us have a look at that teacup," Erestor said, moving away from the body.

The cup had the same purplish residue in its bottom, and again Gildor crinkled his nose at its strong alcohol smell.

Neither Elf said a word as Gildor re-draped the victim and the two removed their white coats. They stood side by side at the sink and scrubbed their hands, both their minds heavy with their discoveries. Tea was brewed, and seats taken, but the silence built. Gildor knew Erestor was waiting for Saelbeth, so he kept his questions to himself for now. The very thought of what they were up against made him nauseous.

A serial killer was targeting ellith in Lindon.

Saelbeth arrived while Erestor and Gildor were on their second cup of tea. He sat heavily in the only other chair in the lab and gratefully accepted the hot cup Gildor handed him. Erestor said nothing, allowing the young Elf a chance at catching his breath and partaking of some refreshment. But when Saelbeth finally set aside his cup, Erestor spoke.

"Were there any other witnesses?" he asked.

Saelbeth snorted in disgust. "No, my Lord. No one heard or saw anything, or at least that is their story."

Erestor smiled faintly at the young investigator's expression. "Saelbeth, you had best become accustomed to that answer. Most do not wish to become involved, still others are *afraid* to become involved, and then there are those who simply do not care."

Saelbeth's face saddened at the very thought that there could be some who held life in such little regard, but he continued. "Here are the inventories. I went over them thoroughly with Lenniel. She says that Cuileth's sewing basket is missing, but that was the only item. Also, the robe -- "

Erestor stopped him. "Let me guess. It did not belong to our victim."

Saelbeth nodded. "Lenniel said that she had never seen Cuileth wear something that formal, or in that color."

Erestor leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. He eyed his assistants for a moment before speaking quietly. "This is what we know. We have two ellith, manually strangled by what we think to be the same suspect. Their eyes were removed. There were no signs of sexual assault, and no signs of forced entry to their homes. Both victims were dressed in very elaborate, formal robes, which did not belong to them. Both victims have items missing from their rooms. The pose of both was similar also," Erestor paused and received nods from the other two. "And they both are of Telerin blood."

By the time Erestor paused once more, both his assistants were perched on the edges of their chairs, eyes rapt on their Lord's face.

"Now, let us speculate," Erestor said, his gaze becoming unfocused as his mind traveled back to each scene and he mentally ticked off what was known about the crimes. "The victims knew their killer. They let him or her in their homes. This would require some level of trust, or a feeling of servitude on their parts. They were both given something in their tea. Let us assume it was a drug. This would make sense, in that no screams were heard and no defense wounds were found on either victim. So they were passive as he strangled them, dead when he removed their eyes. The first victim was found by a passer-by, and the second by a neighbor," Erestor stopped and took a deep breath. "What do we know of the Teleri?" he abruptly asked.

"The Kinslayings," Saelbeth promptly answered.

Gildor leaned forward. "Lord Glorfindel was present at Alqualondë," he stated, eyes locked with Erestor's.

"So were a great many Noldor, Gildor, but you are correct. We should ask Lord Glorfindel about that then, should we not?" Erestor's voice was deceptively mild, hiding his annoyance with Gildor's assumption. It did not matter how many times he cautioned the other Elf, Gildor persisted in jumping to conclusions.

Erestor sat at his ease, enjoying his tea as he waited for Glorfindel to answer the summons to Elrond's study. Gildor and Saelbeth had been sent despite their protest to arrange for funeral services for the victims. Gildor had petitioned vehemently to be present during the questioning, but Erestor had denied him, saying only that Lord Glorfindel might be more forthcoming if only he and Elrond were present.

Erestor did not rise as Glorfindel entered. He did wonder at the Elda's surprise at seeing him waiting; obviously, Elrond had not told the blond what this meeting was regarding. Erestor watched as Elrond almost fussed over the Balrog slayer, serving him a drink before seating himself back at his desk with Glorfindel and Erestor across from him.

Elrond addressed the blond, his tone gentle. "Glorfindel, there has been another murder, and Lord Erestor has a few more questions for you."

Glorfindel's eyes opened wide at the news of another killing, then he frowned at Erestor. "What does a murder have to do with me?" he asked.

"To begin with, Lord Glorfindel, can you tell me of your activities for the last forty-eight hours?" Erestor asked, his voice curious, almost childlike; he could not help the dramatic widening of the eyes he presented to the blond, even though he knew Glorfindel did not buy his innocent act for one moment.

Glorfindel looked confused and he glanced at Elrond, but the Peredhel only stared back at him calmly. "My activities?" he asked.

"Yes," Erestor said. "For example, can you tell me if you were in the general area of the servant's cottages early yesterday evening, let us say, before meal time?"

Glorfindel appeared deep in thought. He was silent for several minutes. "I might have walked past them," he finally said, but added no more.

"Walked past them?" Erestor asked and raised a brow.

Glorfindel frowned at the other Elf. His tone was defensive and aggressive as he answered. "Yes, walked past them. I was on the training grounds observing. I am to take command of the King's forces soon, and I wanted to judge their skill. I decided to walk a bit before meal time."

"Why did you walk in that direction, Lord Glorfindel? The training grounds are a long way from the servants' cottages," Erestor asked, leaning forward, deliberately invading the Elda's space.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, almost as if he was drawing Erestor's scent into his lungs. But then the blond leaned as far back as his chair would allow and regarded the dark-haired Elf suspiciously. "No reason other than it was a new direction."

Now Erestor frowned. "A new direction?" he asked.

Glorfindel smirked. "A new direction to walk in," he retorted.

Erestor rose in a swirl of black robe and sat on the edge of Elrond's desk in front of Glorfindel, shielding the blond from the half-Elf's view. He wanted Glorfindel alone and disarmed, without Elrond's cautious gaze on them, but this was the best he could do, for now. He stared down into Glorfindel's mocking blue eyes, his own burning with anger. "What if I told you, Lord Glorfindel, that we have a witness who saw you walking past the cottage where an elleth had just been murdered?" Erestor watched as the blond's face paled and he swayed in his seat.

Glorfindel stared at Erestor in horror. "You think I killed her?" he asked incredulously.

Erestor titled his head to one side, his dark hair shifting to fall over one shoulder as he leaned closer to the Elda. "Did you?" he asked in a whisper.

Glorfindel rose furiously from his chair and it crashed to the floor. He sprang away from Erestor as if he were on fire. "No!" he cried.

Erestor stood and turned his back on the blond. He looked down into Elrond's distraught eyes. "I want him confined to his room and a guard placed on the door," he ordered.

Elrond nodded sadly, despite Glorfindel's cry of outrage. "It will be done," he replied sharply.

Erestor turned back to face the Balrog slayer. The Elda regarded him angrily, his eyes snapping blue flame. "You are wrong, you know," he said. "I did not kill those ellith." Glorfindel shook his head at Elrond as the half-Elf made to rise and restrain him. "I will go to my quarters and place myself under your guard, Lord Erestor. But when you discover that you have made a mistake, do not send anyone else. I want *you* to come and tell me that you know it was not I who did these horrible things. I want to hear the words from your lips - no one else's." Before Erestor could make a move to stop him, Glorfindel turned and opened the door. Looking back once more, he met Erestor's eyes, and then stormed out.

"Let him go," Elrond said. "He is honorable, Erestor. He will return to his quarters and remain there."

Erestor snorted. "Honorable? He is a murder suspect, Elrond. His honor is questionable." He walked to the door and stepped out, watching the blond walk away.

He was just about to turn back to Elrond when he saw the Elda pause and speak to someone. Erestor recognized the Elf as one of Elrond's healers, but he could not recall the Elf's name. He saw Glorfindel ask the Elf something. The healer smiled and shook his head negatively before walking away. Glorfindel had turned to watch the Elf leave, a puzzled look on his face.

As though sensing the other's eyes on him, Glorfindel turned around, seeing Erestor watching from the doorway. Their gazes stayed locked for several moments, blue blazing into black, before Glorfindel bowed smartly and turned away.

TBC...

Part 7

One moment, fire burned the very flesh from his bones. In the very
next instant, the breath was frozen in his lungs. He could not feel
his feet; ice encased his body as he struggled forward. The air was
filled with screams -- the cries of the wronged. Swords flashed,
their bright blades stained with Elven blood. Harsh voices
whispering, "Kinslayer!" brought him awake with a stifled scream.

Glorfindel sat up, the damp sheet falling unnoticed to his waist. His
head swung frantically around the room, but no one was there. He was
alone.

Glorfindel swung his legs to the side of the bed, wearily raising a
hand to push back sweat-dampened strands of blond from his flushed
face. Would he never have relief from the nightmares of his past? The
large room that had seemed so grand upon his arrival now felt like a
prison. Glorfindel could *hear* the guard outside his door. Although
his guardian did not speak, his silent presence was as loud as the
slamming of iron doors. The four walls were closing in on him, and
Glorfindel knew he would find no more rest this night. The moments
after the nightmares left him feeling confined, caged, and restless.
Only the freedom of his nightly excursions promised relief.

Their angry, tortured voices still called to him, begging for mercy
and cursing the Noldor for their betrayal. The image of the red
flames sparking high into the night sky as the ships burned tormented
his memory; still the rumble and cry of the Valar echoed in his
mind. Glorfindel growled -- he needed out of this room!

Glorfindel pulled on the leggings and tunic he had worn earlier. He
approached the door and schooled his features. The young soldier
turned to face Glorfindel as the door opened.

"Híren, may I help you?" The guardsman asked anxiously.

Ah, Glorfindel thought. This one is perfect. The awed look on the
young ellon's face told Glorfindel everything he needed to know. This
will be too simple. Glorfindel did not need to try very hard to look
pale and strained, the confinement and nightmares took care of that.
He looked into the younger Elf's eyes, letting his own proud
shoulders droop just a touch.

"I-I had a nightmare," Glorfindel said, letting his voice slur and
reflect weariness. "Lord Elrond has made a tonic that helps me to
sleep. Unfortunately, I forgot to send for it earlier. If you do not
mind?" Glorfindel flashed his best, charming smile and moved a bit
closer to the infatuated Elf.

The guardsman seemed to snap to attention, whether it was from being
in the presence of the great Glorfindel, slayer of a Balrog, or his
future commanding officer, he appeared all to happy to help the Elda
out. "Of course, Híren," he said eagerly. "I will be back quickly
with your medicine." The young Elf turned and hurried away down the
hall toward the healing wing as if the Balrog were on his own heels.

Glorfindel felt a flash of guilt over the trouble he knew the young
Elf was going to get into when he returned to find his prisoner gone.
That fleeting bit of remorse was not, however, enough to stop
Glorfindel from quickly leaving his room. Besides, he thought as he
walked briskly down the hall in the opposite direction, this would be
an invaluable lesson for the young guardsman. Never underestimate
your opponent.

------------------------------------------------------------------
After Erestor questioned Glorfindel, Elrond had relayed the
happenings to the High King. Although a suspect was under guard,
Glorfindel was innocent until proven guilty, and there was simply not
enough evidence -yet-to prove his guilt. Gil-galad decided it would
be prudent to issue a city-wide warning to all ellith living alone,
but he knew as well as Erestor did that such a warning was pointless.
All the evidence indicated that the victims knew their killer. Until
Erestor's investigations were conducted, there was simply nothing
else that could be done except wait, and hope the killer did not
strike again.

Erestor had returned to the lab after questioning Glorfindel. Alone,
he sat in his office, crime scene drawings and interviews spread out
on the desk before him. He rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. There
had to be something he was missing.

This killer was highly organized, that much was clear. The crime
scene displayed a high level of control, and the killings themselves
were very well planned. Each scene was carefully arranged to fit the
details of whatever this killer's fantasy involved. The murderer also
collected trophies: Brennil's robe and Cuileth's sewing basket.
Erestor deduced that the killer was well thought of, bright, and
considered a pleasant addition to society.

"Planning, then the victim selection, hunting, and finally.the
murder..." Yes, Erestor thought, this is what you are doing...

The killer's modus operandi was evident in the lack of forced entry
into the victims' homes, the seated placement of the bodies, the same
method of subduing his victims, the mysterious contents of the
teacups. Part of his MO, Erestor also figured had to be how he became
close enough to the victims to allow entry into their quarters. Their
killer also had to have established some element of trust - the same
MO, the same killer.

The mutilation of the eyes and the robe, Erestor thought, was the
ritual. The ritual, as compared to the MO, was something that the
killer felt played a necessary role in the fantasy he created for
himself.

Erestor cursed in frustration. Going over the information repeatedly
resulted in nothing new. He needed answers, and he knew just where
to start looking for them. Determinedly, Erestor shoved the chair
back and left his office. Striding the down the hall of the guest
quarters, he came to an abrupt halt at the sight of one of the King's
guardsmen running from Erestor's prisoner's room, a look of panic on
his face.

The ellon paled at the sight of Lord Erestor in the hall. He
swallowed. "Lord Erestor, I am sorry, but it appears Lord Glorfindel
has escaped." The young Elf's voice broke only once, and Erestor
arched a brow as he moved to the nervous Elf's side.

Erestor glanced into the empty room and turned his attention back to
the guard. "Yes, it does appear as if my prisoner is missing. Would
you know how that came to happen?" Erestor asked calmly. His quiet
tone seemed to do more damage to the young Elf's composure than if
Erestor had raged and raised his voice.

"Y-yes, sir. He complained of nightmares and said Lord Elrond had
medicine to help him sleep. I was only gone for a moment, and when I
came back, Lord Glorfindel was gone." The guardsman stared straight
ahead; already he could hear the Captain's voice sending him to the
worst duty in the realm. Erestor could not help but admire the young
ellon's courage - he held his head high and met his fate straight on.

Erestor only shook his head. He should have spoken with Dórion about
the type of guard needed; this had not been the assignment for a
rookie. "You are dismissed. Please inform Captain Dórion that I want
to speak with him immediately. I will wait here in case Lord
Glorfindel returns." Erestor's voice was stern, but not unkind. He
should have taken into account how the guards would feel guarding a
hero such as Glorfindel. He was one of them, a fellow warrior, and a
legend.

After the young guard bowed smartly and left to seek out his
commanding officer, Erestor entered Glorfindel's room and shut the
door behind him. Calmly, he started a methodical search of the room.
If Glorfindel was going to disobey an order, from Lord Elrond no
less, then Erestor was going to break the rules. Normally, he would
obtain the suspect's consent or provide the King with enough evidence
to allow a search. Elves valued their privacy highly, even in a
crowded realm such as Lindon, and to invade that privacy was
unthinkable.

But not this time. Erestor went through the wardrobe, finding only a
few simple tunics and one robe, nothing resembling what the victims
wore. The drawers revealed nothing either, and Erestor frowned at the
lack of personal items. The walls were bare, the tops of the bureaus
and even the mantelpiece were devoid of adornments. There were no
mementoes; nothing that spoke of the blond's illustrious past, not
even a token from an admirer. Even creature comforts were sparse in
the Elda's room.

After his search, Erestor doused all the candles in the room, and
selecting a chair in a dark corner, sat down to wait for the blond's
return. He did not have long to wait. Only an hour or so passed
before the door was cautiously opened and Glorfindel crept into the
room. He smelled of the outdoors, Erestor noticed, and he waited
until the Elda was in the center of the room and had frozen as his
senses picked up on an intruder.

Erestor's cold voice broke the silence. "Am I now to be called to the
scene of another murder, Lord Glorfindel?"

Glorfindel's head swung around toward Erestor's voice, and the
moonlight that shone through the window was enough to reveal the fury
in his eyes. "What are you doing in my room, Lord Erestor?"
Glorfindel spat.

Erestor rose and approached Glorfindel. "I came here to question my
chief suspect, only to find him escaped from his room. Why did you
leave your room, Lord Glorfindel?" Erestor stopped directly in front
of the Elda, now wishing for more light. He wanted to see the Elda's
eyes, the windows into his soul.

Glorfindel took a step back. A flash of what could have been
indecision or insecurity appeared on his face, before he quickly
schooled his features. "I needed to walk," he stated simply, offering
no further explanation.

"Walk?" Erestor said, sarcasm and disbelief heavy in his voice. "You
deceived a member of the royal guard and defied an order - a *direct*
order -- from Lord Elrond, for a walk? Do you really expect me to
believe that?"

Glorfindel began pacing the room, his every move frantic, as if the
walls were closing in on him. "Believe what you will, but yes, I
needed to walk," he retorted.

Erestor stalked toward the blond. "Did you walk, or did you perhaps
proposition some elleth, and once in her room you strangled her to
death and cut out her eyes?" With every word Erestor moved closer and
closer, until the blond was backed against the door with no means of
escape. He pinned the shocked blue orbs with his fierce black
gaze. "What did this one do to you? What imagined fantasy placed her
in your path? Or is that you had a taste of Kinslaying at Alqualondëë
and decided to continue the slaughter of your own kind?"

Glorfindel shoved past Erestor and swung around to face the
investigator furiously. "No!" he shouted. "I have nightmares of those
times. I cannot sleep for the visions of blood and fire and ice, so I
walk. That is all I do, Lord Erestor. I have nightmares, so I
walk..." Glorfindel's voice broke and he lowered his head.

Silence built between them. Erestor studied the bowed head. He was,
for one of the few times in his life, confused. His analytical mind
failed him now. Mentally, Erestor ticked off the evidence that
pointed overwhelmingly toward the Elda. The killings began shortly
after Glorfindel arrived in Lindon. A witness placed him in the
vicinity of the second murder. The story of passing through the
hallway and discovering the first murder was entirely too convenient.
He was wily enough to escape the guard placed on his room. The
answers Glorfindel gave to questioning were nervous and evasive. And
finally, he was tainted with the blood of the Teleri. It stained his
hands already - the blood of the Kinslaying.

But for reasons unknown to him, Erestor believed the Elda. He simply
could not in his heart believe the stunning blond, the Balrog slayer
and hero of Gondolin, could have committed such atrocious crimes.

The silence was broken by a knock upon the door, and without a word
to Glorfindel, Erestor moved to answer it. It was with no surprise
that the grim face of Captain Dórion himself greeted Erestor.
Undoubtedly, the young guard had informed his superior of what had
happened, and Dórion took personal responsibility for the mishap. For
once, Dórion had no derisive comment to make.

Erestor turned back to look at the blond, but Glorfindel had not
raised his head. "Captain, I would like a more experienced guard
posted on Lord Glorfindel. One who will not be so awed by our Lord's
reputation as to not do his job." Erestor stepped briskly out into
the hall, but paused. With one last look at the blond, he added one
more order. "And allow Lord Glorfindel to walk the grounds with a
guard accompanying him." With that, Erestor turned again and walked
down the hall, not once looking back to see if Glorfindel had heard
his last order.

Erestor returned to his lab, stopping only to pick up the two teacups
recovered from the crime scenes. He needed to see someone who would
be able to tell him what the purplish substance was in the cups, Lord
Elrond...

Evidence in hand, Erestor did not make it to the door before it swung
open and Gildor appeared. The younger Elf was flushed with
anger. "I heard that Glorfindel escaped his guard and left the
palace," he exclaimed.

Erestor calmly sat on a corner of his desk. "It has been addressed,
and Lord Glorfindel is safely back in his quarters," Erestor stated,
struggling to keep the impatience out of his voice.

Gildor nodded, then his face softened and he came to perch next to
Erestor, pressing his body firmly against the other Elf's side. "Are
you finished for the night?" he asked hopefully.

Erestor's mind was not on the younger Elf, but on Glorfindel and
their confrontation earlier that evening. The Elda had seemed so
sincere and had reacted so horrified to Erestor's accusations.
Erestor only murmured a response to Gildor; his mind was firmly
interlocked with his case.

Gildor placed a hand upon Erestor's thigh, stroking up and down the
tight muscles. "Then if you are finished, what do you say to going
back to your quarters and working off a little of your stress?"
Gildor waited, but Erestor said nothing, only stared off into space,
his lips pulled into a frown. "Erestor?" Gildor pressed.

But Erestor did not hear Gildor, or even notice the hand caressing
his thigh. Abruptly, he rose off the desk, Gildor's hand falling away
unnoticed. "I have to speak to Elrond," Erestor said, and walked out
the door, leaving Gildor seated open-mouthed upon his desk.

Gildor stared at the open door in shock. His face flushed and he
stared down at the floor for a moment, before the hurt changed to
anger. Squaring his shoulders, Gildor left the lab, closing the door
behind him.


TBC...

Part 8

Erestor lay in his bed, but sleep would not come. His mind would not rest after the discoveries Elrond had revealed. Nightshade. The purple residue in the bottom of the teacups was Nightshade. The herb was toxic. When ingested, it would cause one to develop weakness, difficulty breathing, or paralysis. Symptoms could include a loss of voice, along with continuous movements of the fingers and hands. Most commonly the herb was infused with a tonic or strong liquor.

It fit.

But *why* was the question Erestor had no answer for. Why would these ellith drink the tea? Elrond had explained that Nightshade had a distinct odor and taste. Even diluted or masked by the infusion of liquor, would have given the tea a strange flavor, which surely would have been noticed by the victims drinking it. And why was there only one cup? If they were offered a spirit, why drink alone? How did the killer convince them to drink? Erestor had no answers, just more questions.

Elrond had also explained that this bit of herb-lore was specialized knowledge. Oh, everyone knew Nightshade was toxic, poisonous even, but those specific symptoms fit the killer's MO. How else could the killer have incapacitated his victims enough to undress and re-dress them, then strangle them to death? Also, it would explain why they did not struggle, and why no cries for help were heard.

But the one question that tormented Erestor the most was how Glorfindel, a warrior, could have knowledge of that particular herb.

Erestor rose with the dawn. He wandered through the gardens, his thoughts still troubled. Lindon was quiet; for most, the day had not yet begun. The gardens grew wilder and more untamed the further Erestor walked, and before long, he was in the woods, following a winding path. Here amongst the trees, the light was dimmer, the morning not yet taken hold this deep under the canopy created by the leaves and branches. The trees grew closer together as he drew near a secluded glade, known about by but a few. It was peaceful, and quiet, just what Erestor needed.

But a sound did disturb him as he moved deeper into the wood. It was a swishing noise, a bit like a fast-moving bird diving in for a kill, though it sounded like no bird Erestor had ever heard before. He stepped around a tree and that was when he saw him. Glorfindel.

Erestor quickly stepped back and concealed himself behind a tree. What was Glorfindel doing in the woods, alone and unguarded? I will have Dórion's head on a platter for this, Erestor fumed, while he decided on the best course of action. Was it better to confront the Elda out here in the forest, or to remain hidden and follow Glorfindel and hope he returned to Lindon, where Erestor could call for assistance if a confrontation became unpleasant?

Safely out of sight behind the tree, Erestor scanned the woods, assessing the situation. As he looked around, a motion in the treetops caught his eye. At first, he thought it was just a bird, but then gave a small, quiet sigh of relief. Nestled comfortably up in the fork of a tree, almost directly across the glade, bow clasped loosely in one hand, was Glorfindel's guard. Erestor recognized Pedhrin, one of Dórion's officers. His fury gave way to grudging respect for the disagreeable Captain for taking the threat of Glorfindel's escape seriously after his dressing-down the previous night. Pedhrin was a highly skilled warrior, one of the High King's top ranking officers, second only to Captain Dórion himself.

The Elda stood in the center of the glade. His flaxen hair was unbound, unbraided, and hung down to dance at the small of his back. Glorfindel was shirtless. His broad upper form glistened in the dawn's light, and Erestor could not take his eyes from the golden vision. The mighty sword swung through the air, and Glorfindel's shoulders and arms moved powerfully with the weapon. Muscles stood out starkly as he panted with the effort of his practice. Glorfindel's legs were braced apart, each thigh highlighted by the sweat-dampened leggings that clung like a second skin.

Erestor's eyes followed a drop of moisture as it fell from Glorfindel's chin down onto his chest. It trickled past one pale pink nipple, over a flat stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his low hung leggings. The warrior was a magnificent sight as he spun in a circle, back bowed, buttocks flexing as he thrust and avoided an imaginary opponent. The blond's hair swung about, catching the light and the eye. His strong hands grasped the sword firmly; his fingers gripped the handle as he swung his weapon in an arc, whirling around and finally coming to rest, facing Erestor once more.

Erestor's gaze rose to the Elda's face. The blue eyes were burning fiercely, concentration heavy on that noble brow. And Erestor suddenly had doubts whether this legendary warrior who had sacrificed himself in Gondolin could have taken the lives of those ellith. Despite the evidence, Erestor could not believe he was looking at his killer.

As heat pooled and built in Erestor's groin, he stumbled back away from Glorfindel. He no longer trusted himself. Erestor turned and fled.

A frown was heavy on his own brow as he headed back to his lab. Erestor did not know if he could trust his own judgment any longer. Did he believe in Glorfindel's innocence because he truly *believed* the blond was innocent and that it was simply a series of coincidences that indicated Glorfindel's guilt?

Or was it because Erestor wanted him? Was he seeing what he wanted in the Elda, because he was attracted to Glorfindel? The uncomfortable throbbing in his loins made Erestor terribly afraid the answer to that question was yes.

Eyes followed the dark-haired Elf's path back to the palace, but they were not Glorfindel's eyes.

There he goes, the oh-so-so smart Erestor. I watched him, followed him, only to find him gazing like a lovesick elleth upon that Balrog slayer. How pathetic they are, so stupid- all of them. Did they actually think the blond smart enough to have done what he had done?

He remembered the Elda. Oh yes, from the crossing, the Kinslayings. Across the fires of burning ships their eyes had met. Panic had seized him when the blond stopped him in the halls, but the expression on Glorfindel's face had been one of confusion, not recognition.

He had stood among the trees, watching. They were not close, did not see the pieces, the answers right in front of them. But what if the blond remembered? Had he seen?

No one followed him back to his quarters, he made sure of that. No, the only eyes that could still see him were lying in his palm, staring up at him with their dead gazes. So harmless they looked, devoid of the veins and tendons that connected them to a mind that remembered and recorded his deeds. But no longer. Now they were small, already losing their blue color, fading to a milky paleness, until they finally would see no more.

*Her* eyes had remembered him, accused him. He had seen the horror and blame and damnation shining from their depths. Everyone had always said he had his Nana's eyes. How many times had he seen those eyes reflecting indifference, when he had wanted to see love and interest. But it was not until the end, when their light had almost been extinguished, that they had seen him, known him. Those betraying eyes!

His fingers tightened on the orbs in his hand, squeezing until his fingers and palms were coated with tissue and jelly, until the blue of their eyes was crushed beyond recognition. Those eyes would see no more.

His Nana had been so beautiful, right up until the moment he had killed her...

The knock on the door sent a flash of panic through him before he calmed himself and wiped his hands clean, and quickly tossed the gore-covered towel out of view. The sight of his Lord Elrond had him blinking in surprise, but he quickly recovered.

"Híren, how may I help you?" Garafon's voice showed his surprise at finding Lord Elrond at his door, but he bowed respectfully to the King's herald.

Elrond smiled at the earnest healer. Now matter how many times they worked together, the formal Elf always maintained the respectful distance Elrond's position demanded. Garafon was an excellent healer, but a very reserved individual.

"Garafon, I am sorry to disturb you on your time off, but I need a sleeping potion made for Lord Glorfindel." At the mention of the name, Garafon twitched with what Elrond assumed to be surprise over being asked to assist in the treatment of the legendary Balrog slayer. "He has suffered nightmares and insomnia since his re-birth, and now with the influx of returning memories, he is deeply in need of our assistance."

Garafon bowed once more and accepted the parchment Lord Elrond held out to him. "Of course, Híren. I will gather this together immediately," he replied, looking down at the list of ingredients Lord Elrond specified.

Elrond once more thanked Garafon, and Garafon closed the door behind him, still staring thoughtfully down at the written instructions. So the Elda's memories were returning? Would he recall a glimpse across raging fire of an elleth dying?

Garafon smiled. Without him knowing it, Lord Elrond had just handed him the perfect solution to the problem. The blond was getting too close...

Saelbeth knocked on the heavy door and wrung his hands nervously. His stomach was in knots and he felt slightly foolish. He was a grown Elf, a number of years past his majority, but he really needed to talk to someone.

Gildor blinked when he opened the door and saw his visitor's identity. Saelbeth had never been to his rooms before. Taking in the young Elf's pale face, he quickly grasped his hands and pulled him into the room. "Saelbeth? Are you all right?" he asked with concern, guiding Saelbeth to a chair and pushing him down in it. "What is the matter?"

"I am sorry to bother you." Saelbeth said hesitantly. He sat stiffly on the seat, looking small and frightened despite his years.

"Pfft," Gildor waved away the apology with the toss of a hand. "Nonsense, it is not a bother at all. Can I offer you a glass of wine?" he asked, not waiting for an answer before moving toward the sideboard where an impressive selection of bottles and fine glassware was displayed. "You look in need of something a bit stronger than tea."

"That would be most appreciated, my Lord," Saelbeth responded with a small smile.

"Saelbeth. if I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times. My name is Gildor, not 'my Lord'," the dark-haired Elf chided playfully as he pressed a glass into the other's hand.

Saelbeth accepted the glass gratefully and took a hearty swallow. A bit of color came back to his face and he sighed as the wine began to set him at ease. "Thank you, my- Gildor. I needed that."

Gildor chuckled. "Aye, you did. Now what brings you here, Saelbeth?"

The younger Elf closed his eyes and grimaced, as if to shut out an unpleasant memory. "Those ellith - today I - how - " Saelbeth broke off and shook his head as though to clear it. He set the wine glass down on the table. Gildor sat patiently, waiting for him to continue, and finally the Sinda collected his thoughts and spoke again. "Does it get any easier? Seeing we saw today?"

Gildor sighed heavily and rubbed his weary eyes. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, my friend, but the truth is that no, it does not."

"How can you bear it? How does Lord Erestor do it without going mad?" Saelbeth stood suddenly and paced about the room, running his hands through his long blond hair. "Try as I might, I cannot rid my mind of the memories, of seeing those poor ellith. Visions of their ruined faces haunt my thoughts."

Gildor stood and walked across the room. He reached out and grasped Saelbeth's arm, forcing him to halt his restless pacing. Gently, he turned Saelbeth toward him and enfolded the trembling Sinda in his arms. "The horror does not end, Saelbeth. not if you are sane. Sometimes I even envision myself walking away, just leaving Lindon behind. Removing myself from death, wandering in the wilds with only my wit to sustain me, getting far away from the horrors that one being can do to another." He stroked the silky blond hair tenderly, and slowly Saelbeth's trembling subsided under the soothing touch.

Hesitantly, Saelbeth's arms came up to encircle the broad back. His voice was muffled against Gildor's shoulder. "How do you do it?"

"I will not tell you it is easy, but it is necessary." Gildor removed his arms from around Saelbeth's slender shoulders and lifted the blond head from its hiding place against his chest, forcing Saelbeth to meet his eyes. "We are all the victim's have now. Their voices were silenced, so if we do not stand for them, who will?" He kissed Saelbeth's brow gently and pulled back to meet Saelbeth's gaze again. "Can you understand that?"

Saelbeth nodded cautiously. "Thank you, Gildor," he said, and a tiny smile curved his lips. "And please do not leave Lindon just yet, the King would not be pleased. Nor would I," he said softly.

He will be all right, Gildor thought, relieved at hearing Saelbeth's mildly teasing words. "I will not, my friend," he said, dropping his hands to the young Sinda's shoulders. He gave Saelbeth a brief hug and impulsively leaned over to give the younger Elf a chaste kiss on the cheek.

In a move that startled even himself at its intimacy, Saelbeth turned his head at that moment and met Gildor's lips with his own. Saelbeth's clear blue eyes met surprised grey ones. Neither moved; they stood motionless, their lips barely touching.

Finally, Saelbeth pulled back and muttered an apology, breaking their gaze. His face was crimson in embarrassment. "I am sorry, Gildor, I do not know what possessed me to do that."

Gildor cupped the young Elf's smooth cheek in his hand and gently turned his head. Quietly, he said, "Do not be sorry." He searched Saelbeth's eyes, haunted yet so clear and wholesome, and uttered a silent prayer to the Valar that the young Elf would never lose that innocence. Leaning forward, he captured Saelbeth's lips again in a sweet kiss.

The tension melted from Saelbeth's body, and he relaxed into Gildor's strong, protective embrace. Gildor's lips were moist and warm, and wonderfully soft against his. Moaning softly, he parted his lips and allowed the Noldo to explore his mouth with a slick, strong tongue.

At last, the kiss ended and they broke apart reluctantly. Gildor stroked the young Sinda's chin with the back of a finger, his voice quiet and serious as he spoke. "Will you stay, my friend? I would offer you the comfort of my bed and my body tonight."

Saelbeth's response was equally serious when he answered, "I will stay, Gildor."



TBC.

Part 9

The stroke of midnight found Erestor prowling the halls of the
palace, lost in thought. He had changed into nightclothes, but knew
sleep was hours away. He thought to clear his mind by taking a brief
walk through the vast and winding corridors, but soon lost track of
time.

Most of the palace residents were long abed, though as he passed like
a quiet breeze through the halls, snatches of sound could be heard
from various rooms. From a few the murmur of hushed conversation
could be heard, though the words were undistinguishable through the
heavy wooden doors. A ringing peal of hearty laughter from one, the
clinking of glassware from another, the raised voices of a quarrel
from still another.

With a start, Erestor became aware as he passed Gildor's quarters of
the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking resounding from within. He
stared at the door, dumbfounded. Never had he and Gildor pretended
what they felt for one another was love, but neither had Erestor ever
seen the younger Noldo with a lover, nor had he ever spoken of
someone who had claimed his heart. The impassioned moans brought
other things to mind, and Erestor felt his groin tightening at the
spontaneous vision that popped into his mind, that of a golden, blue-
eyed Elf spread out beneath him, wanton and undone in passion.
Immediately he suppressed that image, and with a shake of his head at
his own folly, he continued on, quickly consumed again by his musings.

Erestor became conscious of his whereabouts a short while later. It
was with little surprise that he realized his wanderings had brought
him all the way to Glorfindel's chambers, two levels above his own
and in a completely different wing. "Good eve, Pedhrin," he greeted
the guard seated in a straight-backed chair stationed a few feet away
from the Elda's rooms. The same guard who had accompanied Glorfindel
to the woods earlier that day.

Erestor's stomach lurched uneasily. Had Pedhrin seen him watching
Glorfindel's swordplay? Seen his cheeks flush with lust as he hid
behind a tree, lurking like a thief?

Pedhrin nodded in greeting. "Lord Erestor," he responded
politely. "Captain Dórion told me what happened earlier. I can
assure you, sir, that Lord Glorfindel has not been unguarded all
day. He asked leave to practice with his sword early this morning.
I accompanied him to the woods myself."

The elf-Lord barely restrained a sigh of relief. From Pedhrin's
words, he had been unaware of Erestor's presence. It would make
sense that the guard's focus was on Glorfindel - he would have had no
reason to suspect the Elda was being watched. "Excellent. He would
not still be awake, by any chance?" he said. Now what made me say
that? He wondered.

"I believe he is. There is light showing from under his door, and I
have heard some rustling about."

Erestor nodded. "Thank you." He knocked sharply and waited until the
door opened a crack, revealing a tousled golden mane and a single
blue eye that peered suspiciously out into the hall.

"Lord Glorfindel," Erestor said. "May I come in?"

The door opened wider and Erestor stepped through into the spacious
anteroom. A small dining table was in one corner, the pristine white
tablecloth bearing a plate, some cutlery, and a small tray that
evidently had held Glorfindel's dinner that evening. Beyond the
common room were two doors, one to a private bathing chamber, and the
other to a bedchamber. "What do you want?" Glorfindel asked. "Have
you come to hurl false accusations at me, Lord Erestor? Did you not
do enough of that earlier, and thought you decided you needed more?"
Glorfindel's voice was hostile, and he did not offer Erestor a
seat. "Have you found me guilty of stealing the King's silver,
perhaps? Or of drowning a litter of puppies?"

Erestor sighed heavily. "No, Lord Glorfindel. I was simply walking,
and found myself near your chambers." He rubbed his eyes
tiredly. "I thought we could talk."

"No?" Glorfindel came straight to the point. "If you have not come
to cast further aspersions upon my character or to heap falsehoods
upon my head, then why are you here?"

That is a very good question, Erestor thought. Why exactly am I
here? Because I saw you in the forest today and had doubts about
your guilt? Because I found myself aroused and wanting you?
Instead, he settled for a half-truth. "You profess your innocence.
I want to know why I should believe you."

"Why would you believe me now, when you refused before?" the blond's
lip curled into a sneer, the handsome face twisted into a gruesome
mask.

Because I have trouble reconciling the beauty and grace that I saw
today with the actions of a cold-blooded murderer, Erestor thought,
but did not say. He pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to
ten. Slowly. Then counted again, for good measure. "You say you
are innocent. Convince me," he said again. "Make me believe you did
not kill those ellith."

Glorfindel harrumphed. "Whatever happened to `innocent until proven
guilty?"

"You are a murder suspect, Glorfindel," the Noldo stated, dispensing
with the formalities of titles. "A suspect with a somewhat
questionable past. You must admit that the evidence against you is
damning."

"There *is* no evidence, Erestor," the blond retorted. "The only
thing I am guilty of is being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I killed no one."

"You killed no one?" Erestor mocked. "Did Námo purge your memory
when he released you from his Halls? Does `Kinslaying' mean nothing
to you?"

A white light seemed to suddenly shimmer around the Elda, and he took
a menacing step forward. His eyes sparked blue fire as they bored
into Erestor's.

"I killed no one," Glorfindel hissed.

"Then tell me. I want to believe. I *need* to believe you."

Make me believe, Glorfindel, or I am lost, Erestor implored
silently. I am dangerously close to falling in. something. with
you. I need to know that I did not misjudge you. I need to believe
that there is something good and pure in this world. Please.

The Elda leaned closer, so close that Erestor could smell honey and
chamomile on his breath from his evening tea. "Turgon was my liege
lord, and where he bade me go, I followed. He spoke out against
Fëanor and counseled against leaving Tirion, though in the end,
Fëanor's desire prevailed and we set out.

"Turgon would not be parted from Finrod, his cousin, and lagged
behind with the house of Finarfin. A sense of foreboding was upon
us, our hearts filled with dread. Fëanor's fury drove his sons on,
all of them filled with the lust for the Silmarils and their terrible
vow.

"He was mad, Erestor, blinded by desire to recover his jewels, and
would not be gainsaid. By the time Finarfin's host arrived in the
Havens of Alqualondë:, Fingolfin's House had joined the fray,
believing wrongly that the Valar had decreed Fëanor be stopped at any
cost. It was a massacre, and we could do nothing to stop it. We
did everything we could, but it was only after most of the Teleri
were slain and the rest cowed by Fëanor's rage that we could draw
close; by that time, he had taken their ships and set sail. Finarfin
turned back then. He begged pardon from the Valar, but Turgon went
on, driven by guilt and fear."

Glorfindel took a step closer, that unholy white aura flickering
brighter. Erestor took an uneasy step back. "I can only imagine the
horror of that day," Erestor murmured, beginning to understand the
full impact of the tragedy from one who witnessed it firsthand. He
was only a small boy then, though he had heard the tales from his
parents of the sorrow of the Kinslayings.

"You have no idea what horror is, my friend. That was only the
beginning," the Elda spat. "Horror is living with the guilt of being
helpless to stop what amounted to wholesale slaughter."

Another step closer. His nostrils flared with his anger. "Horror
was hearing the crackle of the flames even from miles away as the
ships burned at Losgar, the screams of the Teleri carried on the wind
as they burned to cinders."

Step. Retreat. "Horror was the crossing of the Ice, hearing Turgon
cry out in anguish as Elenwë stumbled and fell through, her mouth
forming soundless screams under the ice. We could only stand and
watch as her body was carried away beneath our feet. I restrained
Turgon when he thought to throw himself in after her. I could do
nothing to save her, and it was only sheer chance that I managed to
keep him alive."

Erestor paled. His voice cracked and he shook his head. "I have
heard enough."

His chest heaved and his voice shook, but Glorfindel went on. "You
have not heard nearly enough, Erestor. Shall I tell you about
Gondolin? I counseled Turgon not to trust Maeglin, but he would not
heed my warning. Idril and Tuor escaped with Eärendil, but the rest
could not flee. Almost an entire city - dead. I could not save
them, either."

"Then I died, too. And in a twist of supreme irony, I found myself
sharing that dark prison with the one responsible for my own death -
Maeglin the Traitor."

Glorfindel advanced on the dark-haired Elf, backing him against the
wall with no means of escape. Tears of frustration and anguish shone
brightly in his eyes. "And the burden of thousands of years spent in
silent reflection of my wrongs, the blood shed, the guilt and pain.
No, beautiful one, you cannot *begin* to imagine what horror is. It
is no small wonder I have nightmares." His eyes burned into
Erestor's, their lips only a hair's breadth apart.

Erestor, shaken, could only whisper. "I had no idea."

"No, I cannot imagine you would," the blond said heatedly. "And now
I am here, supposedly purged of my transgressions, yet nothing is the
same. All that I know and loved is gone. I go to bed alone, and I
wake screaming in the morning, with only my right hand to give me
comfort."

The heat poured from Glorfindel's body. The scent of his anger was
sharp in Erestor's nostrils, the tang of his rage palatable. Like
the energy in the air before a lightning storm, his fury enveloped
them. Erestor shivered; the raw, untamed power rolling from the Elda
went straight to his groin - his wrath was a potent aphrodisiac.
Those eyes, gone blue-black, sparked feverishly. Like Fëanor's eyes
must have, Erestor thought randomly.

Glorfindel reached out, trapping Erestor in place against the wall.
Erestor's fear and arousal in turn fueled the Elda's hunger. He
pressed against the dark-haired Elf, letting Erestor feel the extent
of his desire. His length ground painfully into Erestor's hip. "Now
do you understand, Erestor? Can you finally believe I did not kill
those ellith? I *could* not. The very thought of bloodshed turns my
stomach. Never will I forget the screams and the horror of those who
were so brutally slaughtered that day. We could not stop it, Turgon,
Finrod, and I. We were powerless, and we all died knowing of our
guilt."

He clenched Erestor's jaw in his hand and claimed those ruby lips in
a bruising, harsh kiss.

Erestor was stunned. He could not move, could not respond. He stood
motionless while the blond ruthlessly plundered his mouth.
Glorfindel's lips mashed against his, a slick tongue forcing its way
between his lips. Only when the blond's strong white teeth caught a
bit of tender lip and drew blood did he come back to his senses and
begin to struggle.

Glorfindel's body was strong and immovable, pressing him firmly
against the wall. Erestor was pinned in place, on hand gripping his
jaw, the other knotted in the length of his hair. He struggled to
work his hands in between their bodies to push the Balrog-slayer
away.

The Elda finally broke the kiss and raised his head, panting. "You
want me. Do not deny it."

"You are wrong." Erestor could not meet the blond's eyes.

Glorfindel dropped his hand to the bulge between Erestor's legs and
squeezed lightly. He leaned close, his lips stirring the silken
ebony hair over Erestor's ear and breathed, "Am I? This tells me
otherwise."

Erestor whimpered, conflicted. This was wrong - Glorfindel was a
murder suspect, for Elbereth's sake. But after everything the Elda
said, Erestor simply could not believe the famed and revered
Glorfindel of Gondolin was a murderer, no matter how strongly the
evidence spoke otherwise. The anguish in his voice and the pain
reflected in his eyes was genuine. And by Manwë's crown, he wanted
this. More than anything he could remember in recent history. Oh
Valar, he wanted Glorfindel.

He forced his eyes to meet Glorfindel's lust-darkened sapphire
gaze. "You do not need to take what I am willing to give."

Understanding dawned on Glorfindel's face, and he loosened his grip
on Erestor's jaw. His features relaxed, and he leaned down to kiss
Erestor again, but more gently this time. It was not a soft kiss by
any means, but gone was the rage and fury of before. The white
shimmer surrounding his body slowly faded as his anger abated.

Glorfindel swiped his tongue over Erestor's swollen lip, cleaning the
tiny drop of blood away. He pressed against the smaller Elf's body,
roaming his hands over his slender frame, feeling the hidden strength
in those deceptively slim limbs.

Erestor's arms rose to caress the broad shoulders and he leaned his
head back against the wall, allowing the blond warrior free access to
his body.

Strong, white teeth nipped as the tendons of his neck stretched
tightly, his head thrown back in rapture. His breathing quickened
when the warrior's battle-hardened hands slid under his robe and drew
it down over his shoulders. Glorfindel drew one pebbled nipple into
his mouth, rolling it around wetly while his fingers tweaked and
pulled its mate. Glorfindel's hand continued to stroke Erestor's
arousal through the silk of his bed pants, the Elda's hand roughly
gliding, stroking along his length, causing Erestor to moan in need.

"I want you, Erestor."

"Valar, yes," Erestor groaned. "Here, now."

Glorfindel pulled away, panting. He strode the two paces over to the
table and with a broad sweep of his arm, sent crockery and silver
crashing to the floor.

Erestor watched with lust-darkened eyes as shards of porcelain and
crystal littered the tiled floor. This would be no gentle coupling,
he knew, with pretty words and romantic trappings. No, this would be
unrestrained and forceful, and that was fine with him.

A loud rap sounded at the door, and Pedhrin's voice called out
sharply, "Lord Erestor? Is everything all right?"

Erestor's head jerked toward the door, his eyes wild and feral. He
had forgotten about the guard just outside. Erestor swallowed twice
before his voice would finally work. "Aye, Pedhrin, everything is
fine. Lord Glorfindel simply, er, dropped his dinner tray."

"Shall I send a maid to clean it up, my Lord?" came Pedhrin's
solicitous voice, muffled through the door.

Erestor's voice was high-pitched and wheezy as he responded, "Nay, we
will take care of it. Thank you." For at that moment, Glorfindel
pulled Erestor toward him. With one hand, he snapped the knot on the
advisor's bed trousers, and they fell to the floor, freeing a long,
slender shaft, purpled with arousal and weeping freely. The Elda
pushed Erestor roughly face down over the table and kicked his ankles
apart, spreading his legs wide.

Breathing harshly, he loosed his own trousers and stepped out of
them, and a heavy, thick shaft sprang free. Frantically he looked
about the room. "Oil." he muttered, "No oil."

Spotting a small dish of fresh, soft butter left from the remains of
his dinner, he grabbed it and slathered the greasy substance over his
cock. He returned to the dish, scooping up a bit more, and with no
warning slid a slippery finger into Erestor's passage. Erestor
barked in surprise but before he could utter another sound,
Glorfindel thrust in a second finger, pumping them in and out a few
times, coating Erestor's channel well..

He is tight, oh gods so tight, Glorfindel thought. He could wait no
longer, and removed his fingers. He positioned the blunt tip of his
arousal at the greasy entrance to Erestor's body and pushed steadily
until he was fully sheathed.

Erestor, bent forward, face pressed against the rumpled tablecloth,
could do nothing but whimper as he was breached. His fingers gripped
the edge of the table, his knuckles white, tensed against the pain.
Glorfindel was not small, and the preparation was barely adequate.
Before his body could fully adjust, Glorfindel withdrew and thrust
forward again, wringing a protracted moan from Erestor's lips.

The sound seemed to break through Glorfindel's lust-haze, and he
stopped his reckless thrusting. Mandos, what have I done? He
thought, distressed that he had lost control so easily, and so
quickly. Ever so slowly, he withdrew slightly from Erestor's body,
biting his lip at the pained sounds from his lover. Carefully he
examined his shaft where it pierced Erestor, checking for blood.
Seeing none, he heaved a sigh of relief.

He curved around Erestor's slender back and reached below, wrapping
his fist around Erestor's length, and found that it had wilted from
his discomfort. "I am sorry, Erestor. `Twas not my intent to harm
you," he said quietly, beginning long, slow strokes of the flaccid
flesh. "It has been a long time for me, and I lost control. I will
make it good for you, I swear."

Erestor nodded slightly and closed his eyes, letting the warm, strong
hand coax him back to full hardness. At last, the gripping muscle
around Glorfindel's cock loosened as Erestor's channel finally
adjusted, as he surrendered the pleasure of Glorfindel's pumping fist.

Glorfindel sensed his partner's readiness and finally began to move.
He shifted forward and gripped Erestor's hips with both hands,
silently urging the dark Elf to raise his bottom a bit more, and
adjusted his angle. As he began thrusting, the slightly changed
position caused his shaft to brush against Erestor's prostate.

Growling, Glorfindel lunged forward, impaling the pale figure over
and over.
His thrusting became more erratic as he neared climax. Mesmerized,
he could not tear his eyes from the sight of his own cock, glistening
from the greasy butter, disappearing repeatedly between the pale
curves of Erestor's buttocks. It had been so long since he had felt
this - the blissful heat stretched around his girth, the pooled
warmth deep in the pit of his belly, spreading outward in waves.

White heat consumed him, and Glorfindel snarled with his release,
filling Erestor's passage with his milky seed. He slumped over
Erestor's trembling form and caught his breath, and as his heart
slowed, he realized belatedly that the dark Elf had not yet reached
orgasm.

Tiny mewls escaped Erestor's mouth when Glorfindel pulled his
softening shaft from Erestor's body. Erestor remained sprawled
across the table, his anus red and raw, while a slow trickle of the
Elda's seed seeped from his body. Weakly he attempted to stand, but
his legs were unsteady and would not hold him, and he fell forward
again.

Glorfindel wiped himself with the shirt he had cast off, and gently
swabbed Erestor's abraded bottom of his essence, thankful there were
no signs of blood. He threw the garment on the floor, and then
helped Erestor to stand up. As though the advisor weighed no more
than a child, Glorfindel picked him up, carried him through the door
into the bedroom, and tenderly laid him on the bed. You are so
beautiful, Erestor, he thought. A feeling he had not experienced in
Ages, or ever thought to feel again, welled in his chest. If only
you could believe I speak the truth.

Erestor moaned softly, pumping his hips against the air. His hand
sought his erection, engorged still and dripping constantly, creating
a small pool of clear fluid on his taut stomach. A cry escaped his
lips as Glorfindel's large, warm hand covered his own, encouraging
him to move. In unison they stroked, until Erestor shuddered and
bucked, coating their joined hands with his pearly essence.

While Erestor lay spent, his eyes glazed, Glorfindel stood and
retrieved a warm, wet cloth from the bathing chamber and wiped the
flushed body clean. Each finger was carefully cleansed of any trace
of fluids. Finally he discarded the cloth on the floor, then climbed
onto the bed next to Erestor. He lay down and pulled the darkling
Elf near. "I am sorry if I hurt you, Erestor," he said quietly.

Erestor mumbled drowsily, "I am well, Glorfindel. Do not fear."

"I am glad," Glorfindel smiled softly into Erestor's raven mane. The
lovers rested together as their breathing slowed.

Glorfindel's eyes began to glaze in reverie, when Erestor's quiet
voice broke the silence.

"Glorfindel?"

"Mmmm?" the Elda responded sleepily.

"I believe you."

A tiny, tired smile graced the Elda's golden features. "Will you
stay with me tonight?" Glorfindel asked, sounding for all the world
like a shy youth and not a formidable, reborn warrior.

Erestor curled up on his side and wrapped an arm around Glorfindel's
broad chest. "Aye, I will stay."


TBC.

Part 10

Erestor drifted slowly into wakefulness. His limbs felt heavy, and
warmth surrounded him. Erestor's hand moved lazily to rub along the
golden-skinned arm that was wrapped so securely about him. Never
before could he recall feeling this safe, this peaceful. His
subconscious knew that it was not Gildor's arms around him, but it
took several moments before the events of the past eve came back to
him. Glorfindel, he remembered. Erestor's thoughts returned again and
again to the memory of the Elda touching him, making love to him.
After the first rough coupling, they had made love slowly, taking
their time to learn each other's bodies, what brought the deepest
pleasure, the neediest moans.

Taking care not to wake his lover, Erestor rolled over to face
Glorfindel, wincing slightly at the dull ache in his backside. The
blond's face was peaceful, his breathing deep and even. What was he
to do now? The evidence was still stacked against the Elda, and with
no other suspects, Erestor did not know how to clear Glorfindel's
name. No one who saw the warrior's face relaxed and peaceful in sleep
could ever think that he was capable of harming another soul. The
innocence and golden beauty shone brightly in his repose. The full
pink lips, swollen from last night's love play, were slightly parted,
the blue eyes vacant but as bright as summer skies. Glorfindel's
noble features were framed by his legendary golden mane, tossed
wildly about, and disarranged by Erestor's own hungry hands.

Erestor wanted nothing more than to cover those lips with his own
once more, but the sun was rising and he had responsibilities to
attend to, and needed time to sort out his feelings before facing the
Elda. Cautiously, Erestor slipped free of Glorfindel's hold and
quietly gathered his clothes. Once dressed, he placed a tender kiss
on the sleeping Elda's brow and crept from the room.

Entering the hall outside Glorfindel's room, Erestor came face to
face with Pedhrin. Erestor felt his face heat, and for the first time
in a long while, he blushed. But the guard said nothing, only coming
to attention as Erestor approached. There was one thing Erestor could
do - something that would show Glorfindel that Erestor had spoken
truly in his assurances of Glorfindel's innocence.

"Pedhrin, I am removing the watch placed on Lord Glorfindel. Please
inform Captain Dórion that I will accept full responsibility for the
Elda's actions from here on." Erestor saw the indecision on Pedhrin's
face, but he was determined to show Glorfindel that he trusted him
now, that his words had not been spoken in idle bed-play
promises. "Pedhrin, I ordered the guard, now I dismissing it. If
Dórion has any concerns, he can address them to me directly. Thank
you for your service," Erestor said firmly.

Pedhrin bowed and bent to gather his clock and the book he had
brought to read while on guard. "Yes, my Lord Erestor," he said
simply, before striding away. This was a matter for his Captain and
Lord Erestor to work out; he knew better than to get involved in what
was sure to be a heated battle between the two temperamental Elves.

Erestor took a deep breath to calm his nervous stomach. He knew
Dórion would demand answers - answers he did not have. Erestor
doubted Dórion would want to hear his reasoning that there was no way
the Elda could have killed anyone, not and make love to Erestor so
needfully and tenderly. No, Dórion would not want to hear that at all.

Erestor shook himself and sternly ordered his mind and body to get
moving. That was all he needed, to be caught in his sleeping
trousers, wandering the halls. Especially halls so far from his own
chambers. Being fuel for the gossip mills was not something Erestor
had ever aspired to.

Once back his own quarters, Erestor poured some water into the
washing bowl. He wet a cloth and added a little soap, but paused
before the cloth could touch his skin. Glorfindel's scent clung to
his body as if the Elda was still wrapped about him, and Erestor was
loath to lose that lingering reminder of his golden lover. Finally,
shaking his head at his own foolishness, Erestor washed. Clean
garments followed, before he turned his attention to his raven mane,
tangled and wild; it took several jaw-clenching strokes of the brush
to bring some order to his tresses.

He was just selecting a robe from the wardrobe when his door burst
open and a harried Gildor rushed in. "Where in Arda have you been?"
Gildor demanded.

Erestor raised a brow at the younger Elf's state. He did not reply to
Gildor's question, only asked one of his own. "What is wrong,
Gildor?" Erestor said, knowing his former lover well enough to
recognize that whatever Gildor was upset about, it did not involve
them directly. Something dire must have occurred.

Gildor growled, frustrated. It was clear from Erestor's response
that no further explanation was to come. He ran a hand through his
hair. "There has been another murder, Erestor. The King is awaiting
you at the crime scene," Gildor stated.

Erestor felt his heart clench in dread and his body trembled, but his
voice was steady as he asked, "Any idea as to the time of death?"

Gildor looked at him strangely, but made no comment on the oddity of
the question. "Not as of yet, but it appears to have been recent," he
responded, not noticing the breath Erestor released in relief. It
could not have been Glorfindel, this proves it.

Erestor finished dressing in silence, aware of Gildor's looks of
suspicion on him. He felt a momentary flash of guilty panic at the
relief he felt when Gildor spoke of the recent time of death. Had he
needed this proof of Glorfindel's innocence? Had he *truly* believed
the Elda before now? Erestor did not know. But his heart felt
lighter, as though it had needed one last bit of confirmation before
convincing itself that Glorfindel had been true in his words and his
actions.

"Let us go," Erestor said to Gildor, following the younger Elf from
the room.
_____________________________________________________________

Senses sluggish and body still heavy with sleep, Glorfindel slowly
swam awake. His hand moved across the cold sheet next to him,
unconsciously searching for the warmth that had comforted him during
the night. Dismayed, he realized Erestor was no longer next to him.
Glorfindel rolled to his back, eyes clearing and focusing on the
ceiling of his room. Since his rebirth, Glorfindel had not slept a
complete night undisturbed. With the dark-haired Erestor by his side,
not only had he slept peacefully, but also this morn, he felt
refreshed and ready to tackle whatever the day threw his way.

Glorfindel sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He
rose and stretched, then groaned as muscles protested their workout
of the night before. But the smile that grew across the Elda's face
was at odds with the sore muscles. Glorfindel drew his sleeping pants
over his nakedness, eyes sweeping the room, hoping for some leftover
sign of the black-haired beauty who had brought him back to the
living. But it was obvious Erestor had left some time ago.

Glorfindel went to the door, frowning briefly at the idea the guard
outside his room might have heard their passion of the night before.
Glorfindel knew Erestor would not have liked that. But when he opened
the door, it was to be greeted by an empty hallway. No guard was
posted outside his door.

Puzzled, Glorfindel stood in the doorway for several moments, his
mind churning. What did this mean? But then a breathtaking smile
spread across his face. Erestor believed him! Erestor had removed
the guard because he trusted Glorfindel. That was the only answer
that made sense.

Nothing could spoil Glorfindel's jubilant mood as he went about
dressing, eager for the first time since his rebirth to greet the day.
________________________________________________________________


Gildor led Erestor towards the guest wing of the palace rather than
the servants' quarters, and Erestor could figure out why the High
King himself was waiting. The latest victim must be a royal guest.

There were not as many onlookers outside this victim's room as the
first; the royal guards had learned their lesson well. Erestor
stepped through the open door. Saelbeth, sketchbook in hand, was
already diligently drawing the details of the room. Gil-Galad and
Elrond stood off to the side, conversing in a heated whisper. Both
dark heads swung in Erestor's direction as he entered the room, and
Elrond beckoned the investigator over. Gil-galad pinned Erestor with
his dark-blue gaze. In those eyes, Erestor could see a great deal of
anger, and he mentally steeled himself for the King's ire. Gil-galad
was generally poised, and a good and fair ruler, but when roused, his
Noldorin temper was a fearsome thing to behold.

Erestor bowed but said nothing, waiting for his King to address him
first. "Lord Erestor," Gil-galad said sharply. "The victim's name is -
was - Arvellas. She was in Lindon on an extended visit, and a close
friend of King Amdir of Lóórien. How am I to tell him that she was
murdered?"

Gil-galad flinched when Elrond laid a calming hand upon his arm. The
High King's gaze burned into Erestor's. "Find this fiend and stop
this madness. Now, Erestor," Gil-galad ordered harshly, before he
shook off Elrond's hold and left the room. Elrond gave Erestor's
shoulder an encouraging squeeze and a sympathetic look before
following after his angry King.

Erestor sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. He shook his negatively
as Gildor came to his side with a question upon his face. Erestor
took several deep breaths, clearing his mind, so he could focus on
this victim and what needed to be done for her.

Gildor knelt down next to the black tool bag and hunted through it
for his and Erestor's gloves. As the younger Elf turned his head to
the side to better see into the bag, Erestor's eyes fell upon
Gildor's neck. The younger Elf's tunic slipped off his shoulder a
bit. There, bright against the Elf's pale flesh, was a large purple
bruise. Since Erestor's own body bore similar markings, Erestor knew
what it was. Erestor smirked, remembering the sounds coming from
Gildor's room the night before.

Erestor reached over and brushed a finger across the mark. Gildor's
head snapped up and his eyes locked on Erestor's. He flushed
brightly, conscious of what the older Elf saw.

"Who was the lucky Elf?" Erestor asked, his tone teasing.

Gildor's glance flew guiltily across the room, briefly landing on
Saelbeth before they flashed back up to meet Erestor's. He said
nothing, but Erestor had seen that fleeting look. His smile
broadened. "I am happy for you, Gildor," Erestor said sincerely,
faintly surprised to realize that he truly meant it.

Gildor searched Erestor's eyes, but he saw only genuine happiness for
him there. For an instant, his heart ached when he recognized that
Erestor would never be his. But as his eyes once more traveled to the
blond Elf across the room, Saelbeth looked up and their eyes met. The
young Sinda gave him a shy smile before turning back to his
sketching. Gildor's heart lightened, and he turned to Erestor and
nodded his thanks. He understood the unspoken approval and happiness
in Erestor's eyes that Gildor had moved on.

Teasing and light-heartedness left the pair as their attention turned
to the latest victim. The scene was an eerie mirror of the two
before. They could have been looking at the Brennil or Cuileth crime
scenes. Saelbeth handed Erestor the finished drawings before moving
to begin his inventory of the room. Gildor and Erestor moved to the
body. Erestor pushed aside the collar of the formal robe to show
Gildor and to confirm to himself the purple and red bruising was
present.

"If Glorfindel was able to escape his guard once, there is no reason
not to think he could not have escaped again last night," Gildor said
eagerly.

Erestor's head snapped around to stare at Gildor. "Glorfindel?" he
stammered, his head reeling at hearing his lover's name.

Gildor went on, excited now that they were closing in on the
Elda. "Yes," he stated, gesturing about the room. "We should bring
him in for questioning right away. He escaped his guard once; he must
have again given Dórion's guardsmen the slip last eve. The victims
are all Telerin, Erestor. The Kinslayings are the commonality that
binds them all together. Glorfindel was present at the Kinslayings;
he probably took part in them. He has no alibi for the times of
death, and his behavior has been erratic and unpredictable. I think
that is enough to go to the High King and request an arrest warrant,"
Gildor continued excitedly, ignoring Erestor's shocked and stunned
eyes.

Erestor grew more aghast the longer Gildor went on, though he tried
to control his horror. The younger Elf had Glorfindel already tried
and convicted! Finally, Erestor broke. "It was not Glorfindel!" he
shouted out, his voice freezing Gildor and Saelbeth and carrying to
the onlookers in the halls.

Gildor and Saelbeth stared in amazement at their usually stoic Lord.
Never had Erestor had an outburst like this before, and they watched
in further alarm as the dark-haired Elf rose to pace furiously around
the room.

Gildor rose to confront Erestor. "How do you know? He could have
easily escaped and killed this elleth. I know it is him, Erestor,"
Gildor declared vehemently.

Erestor spun around to face Gildor, his face twisted with fury. "It
was not him!"

Gildor stared back, undaunted. "How can you say that with such
certainty?"

"I know this because I was with him the entire night!" Erestor
bellowed.

Silence fell heavily in the room and the hall. Gildor and Saelbeth
stared open-mouthed at Erestor. Saelbeth quickly flushed and looked
away, but Gildor could not keep the hurt and disappointment from
showing. Erestor locked eyes with Gildor and shook his head, forcing
himself to calm. "He is not the killer, Gildor. Glorfindel is
innocent," Erestor said softly.

In the hall, outside the victim's room, one pair of eyes narrowed.
So, the Elda has a champion. Their eyes will look elsewhere now, he
worried. The blond must be taken care of, and soon.

Gildor said nothing else to Erestor about the Elda; he did not know
what to say. That Erestor had obviously slept with their suspect
deeply worried him, and he could not help but think that his Lord's
judgment might be faulty. But he did not question Erestor; they
grimly went about their duties to the victim, the air rife with
tension.
________________________________________________________________

Erestor sat at his desk, the reports from all three autopsies spread
out before him. He went through them again, studying interviews,
inventories, drawings, over and over, until his eyes burned and his
stomach rolled. There had to be something! He was missing something.
That herb - Nightshade - why would the victims drink it? The latest
crime scene has born the telltale teacup with its purplish stain and
strong, bitter odor. That had to be the missing piece, Erestor knew.
To drink something like that from someone had required a great deal
of trust, their killer had to be someone who could inspire this in
their victims. Knowledge of that particular herb and its side effects
was not something commonplace, but a learned knowledge.

Elrond had that knowledge. All healers did.

Then there was the victim's race. Why only ellith of Telerin descent?
Erestor could understand a Noldo harboring bitterness, or if the
victims had been Noldorin and the killer sought justice for the
Telerin, but the Telerin were the *victims* of the Kinslayings. Could
the killer be Telerin and have some deep-seated hatred for his own
kind? But why?

Erestor realized that he had no idea of the killer's motives, and he
suspected that he might never. Whatever the killer saw when he looked
into their eyes as he strangled them was something only the killer
could tell them.

Erestor's head slumped down, and he closed his eyes tightly, fighting
the waves of despair that gripped him. Head in hands, he allowed
himself a few moments of self-indulgent introspection. Finally,
Erestor sighed and rose, turning out the oil-lamps before closing and
locking the door behind him. He looked down the vacant halls. The
hour was late, and he could hear the distant sounds of thunder as
another storm approached - the second in less than a week.

Erestor stood indecisively in the deserted corridor. He did not want
to return to his cold, lonely room. Thoughts of the golden Elf who
had held him so tightly and made him feel so safe floated through his
mind, and his feet carried him toward Glorfindel.

For a moment, the empty hall outside Glorfindel's room confused him,
before he remembered that he had dismissed the guard early that
morning. The hall was dim, too quiet, and Erestor felt the hairs on
the back of his neck stand. Erestor moved to Glorfindel's door. He
raised a hand to knock, but for a reason he would never come to
understand even later, he paused. A muffled sound came from the
blond's room and Erestor frowned, wondering why the Elda had company
this late in the evening.

Erestor started to knock, but the next muffled cry reached him, and
every nerve in his body tingled in alarm. Erestor grasped the door
handle and shoved the door open. His eyes desperately swept the dark
room, too dark for even keen Elven eyesight. He cautiously stepped
inside, eyes frantically trying to adjust to the blackness.

The storm hit with a fury, and a sudden flash of lightning brightened
the room. Erestor's disbelieving eyes saw one form standing over
another, one clad in dark clothing, his hands wrapped around the
throat of the other, who struggled weakly. Erestor cried out and
flung himself at the closely locked bodies as the room was again
plunged into darkness. He crashed into both forms, and the momentum
sent all three sprawling to the floor. Erestor heard an enraged cry
from the attacker. Hands clawed at him, reaching for his throat.
Erestor fought wildly to free himself from the strong grip, stumbling
backwards and kicking out blindly at the dark figure. He heard a
grunt as one of his feet connected, and Erestor scrambled to his
feet, his back against the window.

Another flash lit the room, and Erestor saw the face of the
attacker. The healer. Erestor's mind struggled to recall a
name. "Garafon," he shouted out, but the killer only paused briefly
before charging Erestor again, leaving Glorfindel crumpled and
motionless on the floor.

Erestor scanned the room frantically for some weapon, anything at all
to help him. His eyes flew back to the killer just as Garafon reached
for him. Erestor ducked and spun away, shoving the killer off balance
with his shoulder, hitting his assailant squarely in the chest.
Erestor fell to the floor as the sound of shattering glass filled the
room. He threw his arms across his face for protection as falling
glass pelted his back. Garafon screamed as he plunged through the
broken window. His enraged shriek drifted away as he fell to the hard
courtyard below.

Rain and wind poured through the broken window, soaking Erestor as he
crawled through the broken glass toward Glorfindel's still form.
Lightning flashed outside, and the loud thunder drowned out the
whimpers that left Erestor's lips as he pulled the blond into his
arms. "Glorfindel!" Erestor shouted over the storm's fury, his own
words barely audible over the crashing of the thunder. Erestor
clutched the blond tighter against him as his hands flew over the
Elda's body, searching out injuries, mindless of the blood dripping
from his own lacerated palms.

Erestor cried out as the door flew open and light and noise filled
the room. He blinked as he and Glorfindel were thrown in sharp
outline by the torches and lamps that the intruders carried. Erestor
could only blink up owlishly at the sight of Gil-galad, Elrond,
Dórion, and Gildor rushing toward him. They stood over the pair,
their mouths moving, but Erestor could not process what was being
said. He could only growl as hands reached down to take Glorfindel
from his arms, could only struggle as hands reached for him also.

Elrond knelt down and cupped Erestor's face, drawing the panic-filled
eyes of the investigator to his own concerned gray orbs. He spoke
slowly and carefully, repeating himself over and over until
comprehension filled Erestor's dark eyes. Only then did Erestor allow
Elrond to lift Glorfindel's form from his arms, and only then did he
allow himself to be picked up and stood on shaky legs. Brushing aside
the concerned hands and eyes, Erestor moved dazedly to the broken
window. The curtains whipped about him and the wild wind blew his
dark tresses into his face and eyes. Erestor pushed his hair back,
his eyes traveling down to the dark pavement below, where Garafon's
broken form could barely be made out in the blackness of the night.



TBC...

Part 11

Erestor closed the last of the leather-bound journals and placed it in a box alongside numerous others. His eyes tracked the paths of the various Elves who went about gathering evidence in Garafon's room, but Erestor's brooding thoughts were on what he had just finished reading. Gildor carried out a sewing basket, and the object made Erestor contemplate further what he had read of Garafon's relationship with his naneth.

Her name was Nordithen, Erestor learned from the worn books. She was a Telerin elleth wedded to a Noldorin mate, torn between devotion to her blood kin in Alqualondëë and the duty of her bond with spouse and child. From what Erestor learned from Garafon's writing, in the end, she had chosen to forsake the responsibility of motherhood and devote her allegiance to the peoples of her youth.

Garafon's journals told heart-breaking tales of a small Elfling who watched as his Nana left him again and again, often for years at a time, to make the journey from her home among the Noldor of Tirion to the peaceful harbors of Swanhaven, preferring to spend time with her family. Each separation lasted for a greater period, and each return was greeted with arguments and accusations hurled by her husband against "that kind".

Garafon's Ada sounded like a bitter Elf, his mother beautiful but cold, caring more for jewels and finery than her own offspring. Erestor could only guess the impact of such an environment on a small Elfling. That Garafon loved his naneth greatly was evident in his writings; his description of the Telerin elleth was worshipful, as though Nordithen was one of the Valier incarnate, but that love turned to something so ugly, so destructive that it destroyed Garafon.

Erestor's stomach rolled as he looked down at the scrap of cloth one of the guards had shown him. Erestor tore his eyes away from the gruesome discovery, his gaze lifting to the open window, nostrils flaring as he struggled to catch the scent of fresh air. The hours he had spent in this room were wearing heavily on him. His neck ached, and the wounds on his hands and knees from the broken glass stung, but he stubbornly refused to allow Gildor and Dórion to take over... not quite yet. He wanted - no, he *needed* to understand.

Had the Kinslayings been the turning point for Garafon? The horror of Elf killing Elf, then the sound of his beloved Nana's voice denouncing his Ada, his Noldor kin, and then finally himself? Seeing her run from them, as if her husband and child were personally responsible for the screams and the blood flowing below them. Once more, she chose her kin over her own son.

Had that been the final straw? Garafon had followed after his naneth, pleading with her to come back, but Nordithen had snapped, and in blazing anger, had slapped him hard, screaming "murderer" in his face, hurling epithets of hatred against the Noldor.

Was that, then, the moment when Garafon's mind turned to shadow? He had written so dispassionately about how he had placed his hands around his mother's throat. How amid the screams and mayhem, no one noticed as he strangled her to death. He wrote of her beautiful eyes, and how they stared at him in horror and denial, until finally their light was extinguished. He confesses that he left her lying there on the quay, amongst the slain Teleri.

Renouncing his Telerin heritage, Garafon followed his father across the Ice with Fëanor's people. The journal entries that followed only spoke of the typical trials of a youthful Elf, struggling to make a place in the world. He and his Ada settled in the mountains of Arda among their Noldorin kin, where Garafon studied the art of healing. Garafon's father was slain in a skirmish with Orcs. Eventually Garafon, orphaned, came to settle in Lindon, and joined Gil-galad's staff as a healer. The pages upon pages of neat writing were notable only for their absence of any further mention of Nordithen. It was as though Garafon put the memories out of his mind. Buried them deeply in his subconscious, more likely, forcibly repressed for many years, until something happened that set the current events in motion.

Erestor rose and wandered toward the open window. He passed the dresser and stopped, looking down at the mortar, pestle, and the small phial of Nightshade. The journals told how the first two ellith sought out a healer for various reasons. The first had a backache, and the second victim had trouble sleeping. Each of the victims placed their trust in Garafon, confided in him, shared woes and histories. Bound, or so they thought, by common blood, and without question accepted the tonic he prepared for them. But it was odd that nothing in any of the papers Erestor found made a reference to the third victim, the visiting elleth from Ló. There was no indication how or why Garafon targeted Arvellas.

But it had started with Brennil. Garafon had feelings for her, had approached her, and had been rejected. Brennil's resemblance to the sketches of Garafon's naneth was uncanny. Erestor could only induce that had been the stressor that had brought all Garafon's suppressed fury to the surface. One more Telerin elleth rejecting him, just like his mother had, time and time again.

Gildor's inspection of the chambers revealed two formal gowns wrapped in white linen, hidden away in a niche of Garafon's closet. The gowns resembled the style of the robes the victims were dressed in when their bodies were found. The younger Noldo was excited by the discovery and immediately dispatched one of Gil-galad's guards to begin questioning Lindon's dressmakers, but Erestor knew in his heart that the search would be futile. It was unlikely the origins of the gowns would ever be known - another question left unanswered.

Erestor turned away from the window, his eyes falling on the ghastly remnants of two pairs of blue eyes. The searchers had discovered the remains hidden in a wooden box next to the journals. The missing third set had caused some confusion - that was, until the cloth with its macabre residue of tissue and jelly was found. Erestor could only guess that Garafon, like many others was superstitious. Did he believe, in his madness, that the eyes - the windows of the soul - captured the last vision they saw before death, retained it, recording their killer? Was recognition what Garafon had finally seen in his naneth's eyes, before she died? Garafon would have wanted to hold on to that, something he had felt she denied him all his life. But definite answers could never be found; they died along with Garafon on the cold, wet pavement.

It was time to leave this room. Erestor felt dirty, contaminated by the anger that still could be felt, the shadow of evil that hung in the room, which even the freshest air from the open window could not dispel. He left the others to their inventories.

Gildor fell into step next to him as Erestor headed through the quiet halls to the healing wing. It had only been through sheer will that he had left Glorfindel's side in the early hours of the morning. The Elda had not awakened yet from his poisoning, though Elrond assured Erestor that he would in due course, once his body recovered from the trauma.

Gildor glanced with concern at Erestor's pale face. Gently, he fingered the scratches on the older Elf's throat. "Are you all right, Erestor?"

Erestor gave Gildor a tight-lipped smile and shook his head, not trusting his voice. No, he was not all right. He would not be all right, not until Glorfindel awoke.

The rest of the walk was made in silence, as Gildor stayed by his superior's side. He could see how very worried Erestor was about the blond. It had amazed him to discover Erestor almost crazed, clutching Glorfindel's limp form as though someone was trying to tear the Elda from Erestor's arms. Gildor had never seen Erestor so possessive or so enthralled over another Elf. With only a small bit of residual hurt, he acknowledged that included him.

They stopped at the door way to Glorfindel's room, watching through the open portal as Elrond checked the Elda's condition once more. Erestor waited until Elrond rose and joined them in the doorway before speaking. "Any change?" he whispered, his eyes roving over the still form with its bandaged throat and eyes glazed unseeingly at the ceiling.

Elrond smiled kindly and laid a reassuring hand on Erestor's arm. "The effects of the drug are wearing off. He should wake soon, Erestor." Elrond sighed, and the smile left his face. "I feel responsible for this," the half-Elf confessed.

Erestor reluctantly tore his gaze away from the sleeping blond. He frowned at Elrond. "Responsible, how?" he asked.

Elrond looked guiltily toward the bed, his gray eyes soft and sad. "I instructed Garafon to prepare a sleeping tonic for Glorfindel."

"Did you order him to deliver it?" Gildor asked, and Erestor nodded with a brief, proud smile at his apprentice.

Elrond shook his head. "No, I did not. But if he went to Glorfindel and told him it was the tonic I promised that would help to rid him of nightmares, it would make sense that Glorfindel would have trusted him, and taken the potion. Of course, Glorfindel would not know the concoction did not contain a mild sleeping herb, but the deadly Nightshade instead." Elrond sighed heavily and rubbed a hand across his weary face. "I must go and report to the King. Please inform me when Glorfindel wakes." Elrond left Gildor and Erestor alone, both looking at the sleeping Elda, but the gaze of one was strained with much more than simple concern.

Gildor glanced once at Erestor's face, seeing clearly written in the drawn features the desire to be alone with the Elda. He briefly squeezed Erestor's shoulder. Erestor gave the younger Elf a wan smile of gratitude before he too left the pair alone, and pulled the door closed behind him.

Erestor pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down next to Glorfindel. He picked up one of the blond's hands, holding it tightly clasped between his own bandaged palms. Placing a lingering kiss across Glorfindel's knuckles, Erestor waited in silence for the blond to wake.

The candles had long burned down to stubs when Erestor was roused from an uneasy doze by the faint rustle of sheets shifting on the bed. He glanced down into Glorfindel's blue eyes, which were no longer clouded by sleep. "You are awake," Erestor whispered in relief, unable to keep the emotion from his voice. He squeezed the blond's hand tighter and fought back the prickle of tears that threatened to fall.

Glorfindel blinked at Erestor, awake but still groggy from the remnants of poisoning and his deep, restorative sleep and trying to process all that had happened to him. His gaze became panicky and his breathing sped up as he tried to rise, his head thrashing as he frantically scanned the room. Erestor knew what the Elda was searching for, and he gently urged Glorfindel to lie back down. "It is all right now, " he whispered, running a soothing hand through Glorfindel's tawny hair. "He is dead, Glorfindel. He cannot hurt you again."

Glorfindel searched Erestor's dark eyes and saw the truth. He felt safe as the raven-haired Elf gathered him into an embrace. He hugged Erestor back as tightly as his weary body would allow. "Thank you," Glorfindel murmured hoarsely into Erestor's ear.

"Do not try to speak," Erestor admonished. "Your vocal cords are damaged; you must rest your voice." He smiled gently and pulled away, placing a kiss upon Glorfindel's lips. He looked deep into those vulnerable, expressive blue eyes, eyes that had captured his soul.

"I had no choice," he whispered. "When I saw *his* hands about your throat and saw you crumple lifeless to the floor, I thought my heart would stop. I do not pretend to comprehend all that has ensued, least of all what has happened between us. These feelings are new and frightening to me. But what I do know is that if Mandos had claimed you once more, I would have followed."

The End.

A/N: Our heartfelt thanks to Alex for the beta! We would also like to thank everyone who has given us such wonderful feedback, both through email and on the lists. We also owe thanks to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the legendary John Douglas for serving as inspiration. :)