Title: Reminiscences

Author: Inwë Sáralondë (manonb63@yahoo.com)

Type: FPS

Pairing(s): Erestor/Glorfindel

Rating: PG

Warnings: None

Beta: Aglarien

Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit or such is made from this.

Feedback: Always appreciated!

Archiving: Library of Moria; OEAM; Glorfindel Group Archive; otherwise, please ask

Summary/Notes: Glorfindel reflects on his arrival to Middle-earth after his rebirth and his coming
 together with Erestor. Written for the 2008 Glorester Challenge. This story is more AU
 than anything else, though there is the odd loose reference to canon. My apologies
 if the ending appears to be a bit choppy – time constraints meant that I
 had to try and finish this off to get it in on time.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Glorfindel stretched his legs out, his gaze reflective as he stared at the dancing flames of the fire. Almost absent-mindedly he took a sip from his goblet, his eyes never straying, his thoughts having long since travelled back to a cold winter’s night in Lindon…

 

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

 

Wearily he dismounted, his eyes barely taking in his surroundings. Despite his warm cloak, he was shivering. True, elves normally did not feel the cold but, since his rebirth, he had found himself drawing the cloak around him in a vain attempt to find what little warmth it could afford. Glorfindel suspected it would be a while yet before he once more became acclimatised to the seasons. He had, after all, spent the last 1600 years in Mandos’ Halls.

 

A little blearily, he stared at the building before him. At least he had managed to arrive at his destination, thanks to Gandalf’s directions. For a moment Glorfindel mused about the old man. The elf knew he was a wizard, but there was something about the Maia that Glorfindel couldn’t quite put his finger on. Glorfindel shook his head. Whatever role Gandalf had to play, it was now the least of the elf’s concerns.

 

Patting his horse’s neck, he barely registered the arrival of another elf until he felt a tentative touch on his arm. “My lord, shall I take your horse to the stables?”

 

Blinking, Glorfindel turned to look at the elf. “Díheno nín…did you say something?” he asked quietly.

 

“I asked if I should take your horse to the stables, my lord,” the other elf repeated.

 

Glorfindel drew a breath. “Yes…yes, of course,” he murmured, relinquishing the reins to the other elf. “And there is no need to call me ‘my lord’,” Glorfindel continued, almost absent-mindedly, his eyes focussed once more on the building.

 

“Of course, my…”

 

Glorfindel smiled, looking back at the slightly flustered elf. “What is your name?”

 

“Sigilion,” he replied. The elf looked at Glorfindel a little curiously. “Are you expected, my…?” Sigilion grew more flustered. He was not used to *not* calling someone ‘my lord’, and he found himself wondering who this elf was.

 

Glorfindel gave a half smile and shrugged slightly. “Actually, I do not know,” he confessed. “My…return, methinks, would be a little…sudden, shall we say. I am not sure if anyone will have received word.”

 

“But we did.”

 

Both elves turned at the sound of the voice. Glorfindel stared at the new arrival, noting the dark hair and grey eyes, not knowing who he was, yet there was something about him that invited recognition on Glorfindel’s part.

 

“I am Elrond Eärendilion,” the elf said quietly.

 

Glorfindel’s eyes widened slightly and he bowed. “Lord Elrond,” he said. “I have been charged by the Valar to join you and protect you and your house. Will you accept my sword and my allegiance?”

 

Elrond grimaced slightly. “Firstly, I am but merely Elrond. Secondly, I should be bowing to you. If it were not for your bravery, I more than likely would not be here.”

 

Sigilion, standing to the side, could only switch his gaze from one elf to the other, trying to take in the strange conversation.

 

“I did what had to be done,” Glorfindel said. “You call me brave, but there were others who were braver than I.”

 

“Yet it was you who helped my father and grandmother escape from the city, Glorfindel,” Elrond responded.

 

Suddenly, it dawned upon Sigilion who the strange elf was, at the same time disbelieving the idea that it *could* be him. But there had only been one elf that had such golden hair. “You are Lord Glorfindel!” he blurted, dropping down to one knee. “And…and you have been returned from the Halls,” Sigilion continued wonderingly, his voice filled with awe. “It truly is indeed an honour to meet you, my lord.” The elf’s voice was barely above a whisper.

 

Glorfindel shook his head and smiled. “There is no need for this, Sigilion. Rise, please. To echo Elrond, I am but merely Glorfindel, an elf who has travelled far and wishes for nothing more than a bath, a hot meal, and a warm fire so that I may get rid of the chill that has verily crept to my bones.”

 

Watching Sigilion rising slowly, Elrond said dryly, “I suggest you get used to it, Glorfindel. There will be a number who will greet in you in such fashion as Sigilion. Many of the younger elves have grown up hearing stories of your heroism.”

 

This time it was Glorfindel who grimaced. “My thanks for the warning,” he said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “Does this also mean that I will be sitting by the fire regaling all and sundry of my so-called heroism?”

 

“You belittle yourself and the role you played, Glorfindel. Mayhap there were others who were braver, but it was your fight against the balrog that allowed survivors to escape without hindrance, for you were the one who stood between them and it.”

 

Glorfindel said nothing, suddenly finding himself too wearied by the cold and his journey to respond further.

 

“Come,” Elrond said kindly, sensing that Glorfindel’s energies were spent. “Let us go inside and find those things you wish for.”

 

Sigilion could only watch as the two elves mounted the steps and entered the palace, his mind still trying to grasp the fact that an elf had been returned to Middle-earth, and that the elf was no less than Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower.

 

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

 

Wanting to take another sip, Glorfindel realised that his goblet was empty. He debated as to whether he would pour himself another, and then decided against it. The warmth of the fire, coupled with the miruvor, had made him feel sleepy. Another goblet of the miruvor would surely send him to sleep, and Erestor would not be best pleased if he found Glorfindel asleep in a chair in front of the fire.

 

Erestor. Glorfindel smiled and shook his head ruefully. Even after all these millennia his mate was still a bit of an enigma to the reborn warrior. Certainly their first meeting had been…interesting. The warrior had no idea at the time what to make of the dark-haired elf, and there were times even now when Erestor could surprise him. Now, of course, he did not mind being surprised, but back then it had been a slightly different story…

 

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

 

A good night’s sleep, coupled with good food and a relaxing bath, had done much to restore Glorfindel’s equilibrium, and the next morning found the golden-haired warrior in Gil-galad’s study, Elrond having been instructed to bring Glorfindel there as soon as he was able.

 

“This is a most unusual turn of events,” Gil-galad said, his sharp eyes appraising the elf before him. “You are the first elf that has been returned to Middle-earth.” The king paused for a moment. “You have, no doubt, realised that you will be an object of scrutiny. Not to mention you will be asked time and again what it is like to be in the Halls of Mandos, to be reborn…” Gil-galad’s voice trailed off. Judging from the expression on Glorfindel’s face, it became obvious to Gil-galad that the reborn warrior *had* realised, and was not looking forward to any of it. “You need but say the word, Glorfindel. I can ensure that you are left in peace, for I realise that you will need a little time to get used to things again. Not to mention that things have…progressed slightly since your demise.”

 

Glorfindel smiled at the dryness of Gil-galad’s tone. “Change is inevitable, Sire, whether we desire it or not.”

 

“Gil-galad, please. We do not need to stand on ceremony. Leave the formalities for those occasions where it is required. But you are right; change comes irrespective of what one wishes,” the king said. Gil-galad paused for a moment. “Unfortunately, there is one thing that has definitely *not* changed. Evil still exists, Glorfindel. Sauron still seeks to spread his poison throughout the land and he must be stopped.”

 

“There will always be evil,” Glorfindel replied, his gaze sombre. “And just as there will always be evil, there will also be good. One thing you do a lot of while in Mandos’ Halls is think – not just reflecting on your life and your actions, but reflecting on things in general.”

 

“Such as?” Gil-galad asked.

 

“That evil can no more survive without good as good can no more survive without evil. The two need each other to exist. The battle between the two will always be there, in one form or another.”

 

Glorfindel’s response left both Gil-galad and Elrond quiet, each of them contemplating what the golden-haired warrior had said. “As much as I hate to admit it,” Gil-galad finally replied, “I think I may just have to agree with you there.” The king moved in his chair, deciding that a change of subject was in order. “I hope you will not think me forward if I put you in charge of the warriors’ training,” Gil-galad continued.

 

Elrond’s eyebrow rose. “Surely it is a little early for him to be doing that, Gil-galad? He has but barely arrived in Lindon. Allow him a little time to adjust.”

 

Gil-galad was about to reply when there was a knock on his door. “Enter!” he barked, and the door opened to admit one of his councillors. “Ah, Erestor, come in.”

 

Glorfindel turned and found himself staring at the elf that had just entered the room. Dark, almost raven-black hair framed a pale face, the slim body dressed in severe robes of black that served to only enhance the almost ethereal quality of the elf. There were those in Gil-galad’s court who regarded Erestor as plain, but Glorfindel found him beautiful, and the warrior found his breath had literally been stolen away. The brown eyes in the councillor’s face, however, were speculative as they lit upon the golden-haired elf, and Glorfindel found himself shivering slightly under the intense gaze.

 

“No doubt you will have heard by now,” Gil-galad continued obliviously, “that one has been returned…”

 

“Yes, I have heard,” Erestor interrupted, his voice smooth and rich, Glorfindel thought. “So this is him.” A small smile hovered on Erestor’s lips. “Well, the reports of him certainly have not lied, though I would say he is more than comely.” Erestor approached the king’s desk and placed the roll of parchment on it that he had been carrying. “The agreement, for your perusal as requested.” Then he turned and walked back to the door, but not before giving Glorfindel another speculative look, leaving three rather bemused elves in his wake, with one of them not quite realising what impact the dark-haired elf was going to have on his life.

 

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

 

With a sigh, Glorfindel capitulated and poured himself more of the miruvor. He could still remember how Erestor had looked at him like a predator stalking its prey. It had been disconcerting, to say the least.

 

Taking a sip, Glorfindel smiled. He should have realised that that was precisely what Erestor doing – stalking his prey. The warrior had just barely begun readjusting himself to life on Middle-earth, and certainly was not prepared to have to deal with an elf who was – to put it bluntly – extremely interested in getting the warrior into his bed…

 

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

 

Erestor made his final notations before putting down the quill. He leaned back in his chair, moaning softly as he felt the stiffness in his shoulders. He knew he had stayed too long at his desk, but he wanted to clear his work as quickly as possible. There was a certain golden-haired warrior that he wanted to visit on the training field – not that the warrior had any idea Erestor was going to show.

 

As soon as the councillor had set eyes upon Glorfindel, he knew he had to have the reborn warrior. It had become almost a compulsion, though Glorfindel had only been in Lindon for a scant week. Erestor, however, had no doubt that he would eventually achieve his goal, but he knew he would need to be subtle. Not to mention he needed to take things slowly. The last thing Erestor wanted was for Glorfindel to run. True, it was unlike Erestor to want something this badly that he was prepared to chase for it, but the councillor felt there was something about the warrior – something that he couldn’t quite place or work out what exactly it could be.

 

Erestor tapped his finger against his lips, wondering if the stories about Glorfindel in his former life had any truth to them. One story said that Glorfindel and Ecthelion had been lovers, while another turned the reborn warrior into a veritable stud, bedding all and sundry. But the councillor did not really care about the stories of a Glorfindel who had died; he was much more interested in the one that had been returned.

 

Looking at this desk with satisfaction, Erestor rose from his chair. It was time to visit one golden-haired warrior and begin his attack. The councillor supposed he had been magnanimous in allowing Glorfindel a little respite, but now the dark-haired elf felt that enough time had elapsed.

 

Walking out of his office, the councillor peered down the corridor. Good. There was no one about to impede his progress. Swiftly he made his way outside and walked down to the training field. Soon the sound of sword striking sword assailed his ears, and Erestor hurried his pace. He was rewarded as soon as he arrived, for it was Glorfindel in the middle of the ring, patiently instructing a young recruit in the finer points of swordplay. Erestor stayed at the edge, admiring his quarry. The unseasonably warm weather had seen the two elves remove their tunics, and their skin glistened with sweat. The dark-haired elf avidly drank in the sight before him, admiring the sleek, muscled lines of his quarry, and his fingers itched to run over the sweat-slicked skin.

 

All too soon Glorfindel finished his instruction, and the recruit – gratefully, it seemed – left the ring. The warrior must have sensed eyes upon him, for he turned and rested his gaze on Erestor. If he was surprised to see the dark-haired elf, he was careful not to show it. Instead, he meticulously cleaned his sword with a rag and carefully inspected it before returning it to the sheath that had been lying next to the discarded tunic. “To what do I owe this pleasure, Councillor?” Glorfindel asked as he approached the other elf, his gaze a little wary.

 

“I see that your sojourn in the Halls has not dulled your skills,” Erestor commented.

 

“I confess that it took very little time to regain them, Councillor,” Glorfindel confessed almost shyly, something which the dark-haired elf found, for some reason, endearing.

 

“My name is Erestor,” the councillor replied, his voice all but purring.

 

“Yes, of course.” Glorfindel appeared a little flustered at Erestor’s response, and turned his attention to donning his tunic.

 

“I was wondering if you would care to join me for a drink in my rooms tonight, Glorfindel.”

 

The warrior paused, unable to keep the surprise off his face. “Is that not a little…intimate?” he ventured finally.

 

Erestor shook his head, seemingly bemused. “Intimate?” he echoed. “How can it be intimate when one invites a friend into their room for a drink? I can promise you,” Erestor continued, an earnest mien on his face, “that nothing untoward will happen. You may ask Elrond if you wish; he has joined me on many an occasion.”

 

“How can we be friends when I have but barely arrived in Lindon?” Glorfindel responded. “You have not approached me before now.”

 

“I realise now that I should have done so. I am afraid your…reputation has many of us in awe of you. It is not everyday that a legendary warrior has been returned.”

 

“I am no more legendary than any other warrior,” Glorfindel snapped, and then he sighed. “Díheno nín, Councillor,” he said softly. “Many died that day. Each of them was brave and died so that others may live. I do not believe I should be singled out.”

 

“I understand,” Erestor said. “It should be I who should apologise. I certainly meant no disrespect.”

 

Both elves stood silent for a moment. “I trust you will understand if I do not accept your invitation,” Glorfindel said finally, beginning to feel uncomfortable under the dark-haired elf’s intense scrutiny.

 

Erestor smiled. “Of course. Another night, perhaps?” In truth, he had not expected Glorfindel to accept his invitation – not this time. But that did not mean he could not try again.

 

“Perhaps,” was Glorfindel’s only response before he walked past Erestor back towards the barracks.

 

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

 

“And so it began,” Glorfindel murmured, staring into the fire, smiling at his memories. After Erestor’s initial invitation and the warrior’s refusal, the councillor had made it a point to visit Glorfindel at the training field every day until the golden-haired elf had finally capitulated and agreed, though at the time Glorfindel knew he felt more than just a little uncomfortable by Erestor’s attentions.

 

He remembered the nudges the other warriors had given him, telling him he must have made quite an impression on the councillor to make him invite the warrior to his room. “Though they say he is a bit of a cold fish,” one warrior had said, and Glorfindel had looked at him in surprise.

 

“A cold fish?” Glorfindel had shaken his head. “I sense the opposite,” he had said, and the warrior had raised an eyebrow.

 

“Well, well,” the warrior had drawled. “Do I sense romance in the air?”

 

Glorfindel had sensed a little too late how his remark would have come across. “Most definitely not,” he had snapped. “How dare you imply such a thing. It is merely two friends sharing a drink. And, furthermore, I have been on the receiving end of too many of such rumours and innuendos to tolerate them. I suggest you watch your tongue.”

 

“Díheno nín,” the warrior had murmured.

 

Glorfindel had cursed inwardly, realising that he may have protested a little too vociferously. He knew all too well how words could be misconstrued. “Was there anything else?” he had asked a little coldly.

 

“No, híren. I hope you enjoy yourself.” The warrior had smirked.

 

But Glorfindel had forgotten the warrior; instead, his mind had been focussed on the upcoming assignation. No, ‘assignation’ implied that their meeting for a drink was going to be more than that. But for the life of him Glorfindel could not think of what to call it.

 

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

 

Glorfindel found himself outside Erestor’s rooms at the appointed time, finding that he was more than just a little nervous. In truth, it was closer to trepidation. He really had no idea what sort of elf the councillor was like, and even carefully worded questions to Elrond had elicited answers that had not truly satisfied him. Glorfindel had detected, however, a glint of amusement in Elrond’s eyes. It was as if the herald knew something about Erestor that he was not going to tell, making the reborn warrior even more nervous. However, he was here now, though his knock on the door was tentative at best.

 

Immediately the door opened, revealing the councillor casually dressed in a tunic and leggings. His face broadened into a smile. “Good evening, Glorfindel,” he said. “I am glad to see you are punctual. Please, come in,” he continued, opening the door wider.

 

Glorfindel swallowed and entered the room, glancing about as if expecting a trap.

 

“Are you well?” Erestor asked softly.

 

“I…yes, of course,” Glorfindel stammered, flushing slightly.

 

“‘Tis just that you seem a little…nervous,” Erestor said, closing the door gently.

 

“I am?” the warrior said lamely.

 

Erestor refrained from laughing, instead saying, “You have no reason to be. ‘Tis a drink between friends, remember?” He gestured to a chair. “Please, sit.”

 

Glorfindel took another glance about the room before sitting down carefully in the chair Erestor had indicated.

 

“You must forgive me for my persistence,” Erestor continued smoothly, moving to a small table on which stood a carafe and two goblets. “I would not blame you if you were thinking I had some ulterior motive for inviting you to my rooms.” Which of course there was, but Erestor felt that it would not hurt if Glorfindel was led to believe otherwise. As far as the dark-haired elf was concerned, now that the initial breakthrough had occurred, there would be no reason for Glorfindel now to refuse any more invitations in the future, providing Erestor remained patient.

 

The warrior, on the other hand, was a little surprised by Erestor’s apparent ‘confession’, and wondered if, in actual fact, Erestor *did* have an ulterior motive. But there was nothing in the councillor’s demeanour that suggested anything untoward, and Glorfindel allowed himself to relax a little, though he was determined not to allow Erestor to ply him with too much wine, nevertheless. “Hannon le,” he said quietly as Erestor handed him a wine-filled goblet, pleased that his hand seemed no longer to be trembling.

 

Erestor sat down in the chair opposite Glorfindel and took an appreciative sip of his wine. “How goes the training?” the councillor asked conversationally.

 

“Well, though I would have thought you would have known that. After all, you have been down to the training field nearly every day since my arrival,” Glorfindel replied a little dryly.

 

“Ah, so you have noticed,” Erestor responded.

 

“It is hard *not* to,” the warrior said. “Your…presence has a habit of distracting the recruits.”

 

Erestor quirked an eyebrow. “Really? And is that such a bad thing?”

 

Glorfindel nearly choked on his wine and stared askance at the dark-haired elf sitting before him. “A bad thing?” he finally spluttered.

 

“Surely my being a…distraction should provide a good lesson to your recruits in that they should focus on what they are doing rather than worrying about an elf who happens to be standing on the sidelines. After all, keeping your wits about you, especially in battle, can mean the difference between life and death. Would you not agree?”

 

Staring down at his wine, Glorfindel wondered a little distractedly if Erestor had put something in it, for his mind seemed to be slightly befuddled. Either that, or his mind was having difficulty in processing what the councillor had just said. The last bit made sense, certainly. It was the first part that Glorfindel couldn’t quite wrap his head around. Aware that Erestor was looking at him expectantly, in the end he uttered, “Err…definitely.”

 

“Good. I am glad we are in agreement.” Erestor sat back in his chair, and then leaned forward again, a thought occurring to him. “I wonder, Glorfindel, if my presence at the training field is not causing *you* a distraction. I trust that is not the case?”

 

Glorfindel opened his mouth and then shut it again. Coming to think of it, Erestor was probably more of a distraction to him that his recruits, but he wasn’t about to admit it to the dark-haired elf. “Not at all,” he said, trying to be nonchalant.

 

“Oh,” was Erestor’s reply, and Glorfindel threw him a sharp look, only to find that the councillor’s mien was devoid of any expression.

 

The warrior rose from his chair. “You will have to forgive me. I find that I more tired than I thought and that, mayhap, it is best if I retire.” Glorfindel placed the still full goblet onto the table. “Maer fuin, Councillor.”

 

Erestor did not seem surprised by Glorfindel’s sudden need to leave. Instead, he nodded his head slightly before responding softly, “Maer fuin, Glorfindel.”

 

Glorfindel paused for a moment to give Erestor a considering look, and then quickly left the room.

 

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

 

“What keeps you up at this hour, mellonen?”

 

Glorfindel turned his head and smiled at Elrond. “Reminiscing,” he replied quietly, watching as the elf-lord entered the room. Despite having consumed more miruvor, the warrior found he was more awake than before.

 

“I see.” Elrond lowered himself down in a nearby chair. “Will Erestor not be wondering where you are?”

 

“I will not be here for too much longer,” Glorfindel replied. “Otherwise Erestor will more than likely come looking for me.”

 

“More than likely?” Elrond said. “I believe he most definitely *will* be.”

 

Glorfindel smiled and reached down for the carafe. “But, before I do leave, some miruvor?” he asked. “Except I do not have a spare goblet,” he continued.

 

“Surely you do not expect me to drink straight from the carafe.”

 

Glorfindel shrugged slightly. “It is not as if you have not done it before,” he said, passing Elrond the miruvor.

 

Elrond chuckled. “Ah, yes, my wild and hedonistic past,” he said, eyeing the remains of the wine.

 

“You, wild and hedonistic? Where was I when all this happened?” Glorfindel quipped.

 

Elrond merely smiled and brought out a goblet he had concealed in his robes.

 

Glorfindel shook his head. “Why am I not surprised?” he murmured, taking another sip.

 

“So, what exactly are you reminiscing about?” Elrond asked as he poured what was left of the miruvor into his goblet.

 

“My arrival in Lindon.”

 

“And Erestor?”

 

Glorfindel nodded. “You knew what he was up to, did you not?”

 

“I had my suspicions, yes. I confess, however, that I was curious to see how things would turn out. It was not like Erestor to take the initiative in the way he did,” Elrond said.

 

“He was persistent, I grant you that,” Glorfindel replied.

 

“Erestor can be rather…single-minded. But you know this, of course,” Elrond asserted, smiling.

 

The golden-haired warrior returned the smile. “Aye. And I have to admit that I am rather fond of that particular quality in him.”

 

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

 

Stepping into his office within the barracks the next morning, Glorfindel stopped short, his eyes widening slightly. Lying in the middle of the blotter on his desk was a red rose, a bloom of crimson perfection with hints of dew still on its fragile petals. The warrior approached his desk warily, as if at any moment the rose would transform itself into a snake and strike him. Carefully he picked it up, its rich, heady scent assailing his nostrils. Glorfindel recognised it as coming from Gil-galad’s garden, but it did not make it less beautiful. It now begged the question: Who was responsible for leaving it on his desk? He started when there was a knock on his door.

 

“Apologies for the intrusion,” Elrond began as he entered Glorfindel’s office without waiting for a response, “but Gil-galad has requested you to join him…” He halted mid-sentence when he saw the warrior with the rose in his hand and raised a questioning eyebrow. “Helping yourself to Gil-galad’s roses?” he asked mildly.

 

“What? No, of course not!” Glorfindel vehemently denied. “I found it on my desk.”

 

“Whoever left it picked a perfect bloom,” Elrond commented. “It seems you have an admirer.”

 

“I am not sure if I want an admirer,” Glorfindel admitted quietly.

 

“Why ever not?” the herald asked, surprised.

 

Glorfindel paused momentarily before answering. “I am not sure,” he confessed. “‘Tis just that it seems…strange, for I have but barely arrived here.”

 

“You may have barely arrived in Lindon, Glorfindel, but already you have left an indelible impression on many of the population here. I, for one, am not at all surprised by this.”

 

“Who do you think it could be?”

 

This time it was Elrond’s turn to pause as he considered the warrior’s question. The first name that came to mind was Erestor, but this action of leaving a rose – or any other thing – was unlike the councillor. The herald resolved to question Erestor when the opportunity presented itself. “I am afraid I am just as much in the dark as you,” he finally replied.

 

Glorfindel took a deep breath and laid the rose back on his desk. “You mentioned something about Gil-galad wanting to see me?” he asked.

 

“Aye. A delegation has arrived from Lothlórien and he wishes you to be present.”

 

“Very well,” Glorfindel said. He took one final look at the rose before following Elrond out the door.

 

******

 

From that day onwards, Glorfindel would arrive in his office to find some new offering lying on his desk. The warrior was no closer in finding out who his mysterious admirer was, and he was not comfortable in asking anyone for any clues. Only Elrond was aware of the gifts being left for him, and it seemed the herald was just as perplexed as the warrior.

 

Glorfindel stared at the latest gift left for him. As always, there had been no note. Whoever it was, they were careful enough not to leave any hints as to who they were. Turning the brooch over between his fingers, the warrior admired the fine craftsmanship that had been wrought. It was a simple, yet elegant design, the sapphire in the middle winking softly in the daylight that streamed through his window. Fortunately no one else had, as yet, seen his ‘gifts’, and Glorfindel was intent on keeping it that way. The last thing he wanted was rumours; as he had stated so emphatically to Tholvel, he had in his previous life been on the receiving end of too many of them. The most persistent of them had been that he and Ecthelion had been lovers. Glorfindel snorted. There was absolutely no truth in that, of course; the two elves had been close friends as well as comrades in arms, but the rumours persisted, nonetheless.

 

Sighing, Glorfindel opened one of the drawers in his desk and carefully placed the brooch inside. As tempted as he was to wear it, he knew it would invite comment. True, he could say that he had purchased it himself, but what were to happen if he said it unwittingly to the elf who turned out to be his admirer? No, better it was kept tucked away, at least until Glorfindel knew who it was.

 

*****

 

Erestor made his way down to the training field. It had become a daily ritual, and it seemed that it had become accepted by the other warriors, though they no doubt wondered privately to themselves why he was there.

 

The dark-haired elf was careful and tried not to focus too much of his attention on Glorfindel. The last thing he wanted was for any observant elf to notice his fascination for the reborn warrior and comment upon it, especially to Glorfindel.

 

Erestor was also careful not to invite Glorfindel too frequently to his rooms. One most occasions the warrior accepted the invitations, though Glorfindel still did not appear to be comfortable when he was with Erestor. The councillor grimaced slightly. He had hoped to have made a little more progress, but there was still an obvious reticence within Glorfindel that made the dark-haired elf realise he needed to be patient still. And that, Erestor had to confess, was not exactly one of his strong points. Not when it came to getting an elf into his bed.

 

Briefly he considered whether what he was doing was a good idea. If truth be told, he couldn’t really say why he was doing it in the first place. It was certainly something he had never done it before, but then, he had never met an elf like Glorfindel. The few elves he had won into his bed had not shown such reticence; in fact, they seemed as eager as he. Glorfindel, however, was different from the others. Erestor had toyed on a number of occasions with the idea of divulging to the golden-haired warrior that he was the mysterious gift giver, yet something held him back. It was as if he sensed that, perhaps, Glorfindel would not be entirely pleased, which made the continuing of giving the gifts seemingly a risk. But the dark-haired elf found that he could not stop.

 

He wondered what Glorfindel made of the latest gift left for him. The brooch was the most expensive thing he had left so far; previously it had either been flowers or the occasional quill for the warrior to write his reports with. But when Erestor had seen it, he knew it was perfect for Glorfindel, and had not hesitated in purchasing it.

 

There had been a matching hair clasp that went with it, and Erestor mused briefly if it would be seen as too much to give that to Glorfindel as well. The merchant, guessing correctly that Erestor would be interested, had produced it after the councillor agreed to the purchase of the brooch. The dark-haired elf had seen the gleam of avarice in the merchant’s eye and had smiled to himself. He was well versed with merchants to know that they often charged ridiculously high prices for their goods, but he was also well aware that merchants expected their customers to haggle with them, and haggle Erestor did. It still left the councillor considerably lighter in pocket and the merchant with a considerably heavier one, but both elf and man walked away satisfied.

 

A clash of metal upon metal brought Erestor back from reality, and he focussed his gaze on the two elves sparring. Once again it was Glorfindel with a recruit, though the much younger elf was having difficulty in keeping his feet against the reborn warrior. In the end, Glorfindel lowered his sword. “I think you have had enough for today,” Erestor heard him say to the recruit. “I suggest that you practice your footwork when you get the chance; too often have you been close to tripping over your feet,” Glorfindel continued, bestowing a smile on the hapless elf to take the sting out of his words.

 

“He is a good teacher.”

 

Erestor turned at looked at the warrior who had come up behind him. “He is indeed,” the councillor concurred. “He is hard, but fair.”

 

“And fair to look upon.”

 

The dark-haired elf narrowed his gaze. “Are you suggesting something in particular, Tholvel?” he asked evenly.

 

Tholvel shook his head and gave a brief smile. “Do you think us blind, Councillor? You visit the training field every day, something which you have never done previously. And you have only started doing this since Glorfindel’s arrival in Lindon.”

 

Erestor found he could not reply. What Tholvel was saying was true, and there was nothing Erestor could utter to gainsay it.

 

“Glorfindel, however, believes that you have always visited the training field, and so far none of us have bothered to enlighten him.”

 

“Are you trying to threaten me, Tholvel?”

 

Again the warrior shook his head. “No, merely suggesting that perhaps you should tell Glorfindel your feelings for him.”

 

“My feelin…what would you know of my ‘feelings’?” Erestor hissed.

 

“Nothing,” Tholvel replied, not allowing himself to be cowed by the angry look Erestor was giving him. “But some of us have noticed how you look at Glorfindel, even though you studiously try to avoid looking at him when you are here.”

 

Erestor could only stare in surprise as Tholvel turned and walked away, and then turned his gaze back to the golden-haired warrior. He found he could no longer think straight. Turning, Erestor made his way rapidly from the training field, unaware of the puzzled look on Glorfindel’s face as the golden-haired warrior watched Erestor leave.

 

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

 

“When did you realise that it was Erestor leaving you gifts?” Elrond asked, draining his goblet.

 

“Through a chance visit to a merchant at the nearby human settlement,” Glorfindel replied, eyeing his own empty goblet with just a little bit of sadness.

 

Elrond caught his look. “Shall I get another bottle?” he asked wryly.

 

“I was rather hoping you would,” Glorfindel said, smiling.

 

Giving the warrior a rueful look, Elrond rose from his chair and left the hall, leaving Glorfindel to stare once more into the flames. He could still recall the conversation he had with the merchant, who had seen Glorfindel eye a brooch on his stall.

 

“Sold a similar one to that to an elf only just a few days ago,” the merchant had boasted. “Bought a matching hair clasp as well. Beautiful things, they were, and some of my best pieces. Canny with price though; knew how to haggle, that one. Probably has something to do with the fact that he’s some sort of advisor or something to the king, or so I’ve heard.”

 

At that, Glorfindel’s ears had sharpened. “An advisor, did you say?”

 

“Aye. A dark-haired elf, always wears dark robes.” The merchant had peered at Glorfindel. “You know him?”

 

“Yes, I do,” Glorfindel had murmured, his mind reeling. It couldn’t be, but there was only one ‘advisor’ that the warrior could think of that had dark hair and wore dark robes. All this time his ‘admirer’ was Erestor. But why?

 

“Can I interest you in anything?” the merchant had pressed, seeing that he was losing his potential customer’s attention.

 

“Hmm? No, not this time, thank you.” Glorfindel had tempered his refusal with a smile before returning to the palace and a confrontation with Erestor…

 

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

 

 “So, when were you planning on giving me the hair clasp, Councillor?”

 

Erestor jumped at Glorfindel’s voice, spilling the bottle of ink in the process. “Now look what you made me do!” he all but shouted, watching as the ink ran over his morning’s work. “I was meant to have this agreement ready for Gil-galad within the hour, and now it is completely ruined. Do you have any idea how long it has taken me to do this?”

 

“No, nor do I care.”

 

“What?” Erestor stared at the warrior, and only then did he realise what Glorfindel had said when he had barged into Erestor’s office. “The hair clasp?” he whispered.

 

“Yes, the hair clasp. The one you purchased to match this brooch that you left on my desk!” Glorfindel tossed the said item onto Erestor’s desk, oblivious to the fact that it had landed in the puddle of ink. “Why?” he demanded.

 

“Why?” Erestor echoed, his mouth dry.

 

“For Valar’s sake, Councillor, you are usually more loquacious than this!” Glorfindel began pacing. “Do you have any idea how this could be construed?”

 

“Construed?”

 

“Yes, construed!” Glorfindel stopped his pacing and faced Erestor. “If anyone had caught wind of the fact that you were leaving me gifts, they would have erroneously thought that you were courting me.” There was almost a look of despair on the warrior’s face. “Please, tell me that is not what you are attempting to do?”

 

“Courting?”

 

Glorfindel sighed. “Am I only to get one-word responses from you, ‘Councillor’?”

 

Erestor felt as if his world were coming apart. In that moment, he understood what Tholvel had been trying to tell him. The dark-haired elf had fallen in love with the reborn warrior, and had probably done so from the first moment had set eyes upon Glorfindel.

 

“I am sorry,” the councillor whispered. “I did not think…”

 

“No, you did not.” Glorfindel’s voice was hard. “I do not know what you had hoped to achieve by doing this, but it ceases as from now.”

 

“I realise that I have been a fool,” Erestor admitted. He shuddered slightly. The fact that he had been made him feel miserable.

 

Glorfindel’s mien softened slightly. “Forgive me if I sounded harsh, but…” The warrior found he could not continue. In truth, he really did not know what to say. He believed he was telling the truth to Elrond when he said he did not want an admirer, but he felt it would be wrong to admit this to Erestor. “Please, Erestor, no more gifts,” he ended up saying. He looked down at the brooch lying in the ink. In truth, he would have liked to have kept it, for it was a beautiful thing, but knew that he would have ended up feeling uncomfortable if he had.

 

Erestor carefully picked up the brooch, not heeding the black liquid. Producing a clean rag, the dark-haired elf wrapped the brooch within it and placed it in the pocket of his robe. He could not bring himself to look at Glorfindel, instead keeping his eyes cast on the ruined parchment on his desk. “If you do not mind, Glorfindel, I must return to work. I will need to do this agreement anew for Gil-galad,” he said softly.

 

“Of course.”

 

The dark-haired elf heard rather than saw the warrior leave the room – not that he could really see anything, for his eyes had become uncharacteristically blurred with tears.

 

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

 

There were times, Glorfindel mused, when he had wondered if he were not the fool. After his confrontation with Erestor the warrior had felt a sense of hollowness within him, as if what he had said had somehow been wrong. He began to spend more time away from others, instead practicing his footwork and sword moves on the training field long after the others had left. He had also found that he missed Erestor’s presence, whether it was at the field or joining Erestor in his rooms for some wine.

 

Glorfindel even missed seeing the gifts on his desk. He had not realised how much pleasure he had received from getting them until now. Even the flowers, with their pristine beauty, had filled Glorfindel with delight, and the warrior had not wanted to watch their beauty fade, instead pressing them between the pages of a heavy book.

 

When Elrond had mentioned in passing to him that Erestor had suddenly become wan and listless, Glorfindel had felt his heart skip a beat. And when the warrior had seen Erestor for himself for a brief moment, he had seen that what Elrond had said was true. Erestor *had* become wan, and had looked positively fragile. It had taken all of Glorfindel’s willpower to not rush over to the dark-haired elf and sweep him up in his arms. It had been then that the golden-haired warrior realised that he felt something for Erestor, but he stopped short of calling it love. Perhaps it was, yet it somehow seemed…deeper, more substantial, that the word love would be a mere glossing over what it could actually be.

 

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

 

With heavy steps Erestor entered his office. He wished he could hide away in his rooms, but knew that by doing so he would only be adding more fuel to the fire. The fact that Glorfindel was being seen less and less was also adding to the speculation, with many coming to the – correct – conclusion that something must have happened between the reborn warrior and the advisor. The stories he heard, however, that led to this conclusion were wildly inaccurate, bordering on to the absolute ridiculous.

 

Erestor sighed, his steps slowing as he approached his desk, though he stopped completely when he saw what lay upon it. A red rose, the same as what he had first given Glorfindel, and with trembling fingers Erestor reached out to touch the velvety soft petals.

 

“‘Tis beautiful, is it not?” a soft voice said from the doorway.

 

Erestor whirled around, a mixture of shock and fear on his face. “Glorfindel?”

 

“It was the first thing you gave me; I thought it only fitting that, in turn, it should be the first thing I give you.”

 

“Why?” Erestor could only stare at the warrior, dumbfounded.

 

“In truth, I am not sure,” Glorfindel confessed. “But I have found that I have missed your company.”

 

“You have?”

 

“You are normally more loquacious than this,” Glorfindel teased, a smile on his lips, and Erestor smiled tentatively back. “I have done a great deal of thinking,” Glorfindel continued, his mien becoming serious. “I wondered why I seemed to always feel uncomfortable in your presence, but then I had begun to realise that you had affected me on a much deeper level than any elf previously.”

 

“What are you saying?” Erestor whispered.

 

“Let us leave it at that for now. I know that is not answering your question, Erestor, but I would like the opportunity to get to know you better, if you will allow it. Mayhap then I can better understand what it is about you that affects me so.”

 

The dark-haired elf gazed steadily at Glorfindel, and then took a deep breath, knowing that what he was about to say could ruin things between them entirely. “My original plan was to get you into my bed,” he said steadily.

 

Glorfindel nodded slowly. “I suspected, though I confess I was confused by the gifts you were leaving me. But I thank you for your honesty.”

 

“I do not know myself why I started leaving gifts for you,” Erestor said, looking away. “‘Tis not something I have ever done before.”

 

“Do you care for me, Erestor?” Glorfindel asked softly.

 

“You called me by my name,” the dark-haired elf murmured. “Before you would just call me ‘councillor’.”

 

“Erestor?”

 

“Do I care for you? Aye, I heard your question, Glorfindel.” Still Erestor kept his eyes averted. “You are different from other elves I have known,” the councillor began cautiously. “As I have already mentioned, I have not bought gifts for others – not, I should add, potential lovers.” Erestor dared to look at Glorfindel. “But you…I could take your words and say that you have touched me deeper than any” elf before, yet by doing so I would also have to confess that I am somewhat frightened by that. What is it about you, Glorfindel? What makes you so different from the others?”

 

Glorfindel moved closer to Erestor till he was close enough to touch the councillor, though the warrior refrained from doing so. “Shall we start again, Erestor? No pretences, no ulterior motives? Glorfindel asked softly.

 

Erestor nodded slowly, a look that could only be interpreted as relief on his face. “Aye.”

 

The warrior found that he had been holding his breath, and he exhaled slowly. He supposed he should have been angry at Erestor for his ‘confession’ of earlier, yet strangely enough he wasn’t. True, there had been those in the past who had tried to entice Glorfindel into their beds, but they had soon learnt that the warrior was not so easily persuaded.

 

It was strange, not to mention a little unsettling, that Erestor saw him as different from other elves. Glorfindel had thought that it was just him, but the fact that Erestor harboured the same thoughts disconcerted the warrior. Glorfindel was certainly no innocent; he had been drawn to other elves in the past, on rare occasions acting upon that attraction. But even Ecthelion had not intrigued him the way Erestor did.

 

He studied the dark-haired elf before him. Erestor returned his gaze unflinchingly, though Glorfindel could see still some hesitancy in the brown eyes. “Shall we meet up for a drink, after dinner?” the warrior asked. “Not in either of our rooms, but in the communal hall.”

 

Erestor considered the request. Truth be told, he actually felt uncomfortable being surrounded by so many others, but he sensed that this was the only option that Glorfindel was prepared to offer. “Very well,” he agreed quietly.

 

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

 

It was interesting, Glorfindel mused, as to how they behaved around each other after that.  Both were cautious, sensing that one wrong word, one false move, would splinter the fragile friendship that had been forged between them. It left them both nervous and on tenterhooks much of the time, yet neither were willing to move any further. They were drawn to each other in ways they had not been drawn to others, like moths to a flame, but were afraid of having their wings burnt. It was as if both recognised that they were following a path that was unlike ones they had trodden on in the past.

 

Yet, as time progressed, they gradually relaxed in each other’s company, though they both knew they were still treading carefully, both afraid of delving too deeply into their feelings for the other. But the feelings *were* there, slumbering, waiting for the moment, opportune or otherwise, to wake.   

 

The warrior’s attention was brought back to the present when Elrond returned, a new bottle of miruvor in his hand.

 

The warrior’s gaze was quizzical as the elf-lord returned. “What took you so long?” he asked a little plaintively. “One could have died of thirst in the meantime.”

 

Elrond couldn’t help himself: he laughed. “I was gone barely five minutes,” he said, proffering the bottle to the other elf.

 

“You could have been gone only two,” Glorfindel grumbled, taking the bottle and opening it before pouring generous measures in both their goblets.

 

“I would go easy on the wine, mellonen,” Elrond warned. “You have already consumed at least half a bottle.”

 

“Stop worrying, Elrond. Leave that to Erestor. He is much better at it than you. Not to mention this is miruvor, not Dorwinion wine.”

 

“Which is still potent enough,” Elrond pointed out.

 

Glorfindel looked contemplatively into his goblet. “True,” he admitted. “But I think it may, after all, be a while yet before I retire.” He turned his gaze to Elrond. “Care to keep me company?”

 

Elrond gave a small smile. “Of course, mellonen,” he said softly.

 

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

 

It was a few months later when Erestor decided enough was enough and went to seek out Glorfindel. “I can not take much more of this,” he said bluntly when he found the warrior in his office.

 

“Take much more of what?” Glorfindel asked mildly, laying down his quill.

 

“This…this…dance that we are doing,” Erestor said, waving his hands in the air in frustration.

 

Glorfindel’s eyebrow rose. “Dance?” he asked, refraining from smiling. “I was not aware that we had been ‘dancing’, as you put it.”

 

“You know very well what I mean,” the councillor said testily, approaching Glorfindel’s desk. “And I have had enough. I am tired of treading carefully, I am tired of having to watch my words, I am tired of having to watch my actions.”

 

“What exactly do you propose?” Glorfindel leaned back in his chair and regarded the dark-haired elf before him.

 

Erestor took a deep breath. “I am drawn to you, Glorfindel, like no other elf in the past. I find myself upon waking thinking of you, wanting to see you, wanting to hear your voice.” The dark-haired elf stopped to gaze at the warrior. “I wish to court you.” It came out so quietly that Glorfindel wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.

 

“Court me?” Glorfindel was stunned. He wanted to say something more, but found he couldn’t. Instead, his stunned gaze focussed on Erestor’s face.

 

“Is the idea so distasteful, Glorfindel?” Erestor asked, unable to hide the sadness in his voice.

 

Glorfindel shook his head. “No!” he exclaimed, rising from his chair. “No,” he said more softly, “just…surprised.” The warrior moved around his desk to stand before the other elf, giving Erestor a rueful smile. “And here was I debating how I should try and explain these feelings that I have churning within me, wondering – nay, hoping – that you would not think me too forward if I were to ask if I could court you.”

 

Now it was Erestor’s turn to stare, and he felt his hands being taken by Glorfindel’s.

 

“I had often asked myself what it would be like when my fëa recognised its other half, when I would know that I have met the one with whom I would share my life until the ending of time. Never had I expected it to be quite like this, though. For the whole time I have been here, it was as if a veil covered my eyes. It may be because I was afraid to recognise you for what you were. It may be that I felt it was too soon after my rebirth to suddenly find myself confronted with that vagary called ‘love’. It has only been because of this ‘dance’, as you so called it, that that veil has been lifted.” Glorfindel smiled. “When I first saw you, I thought you beautiful,” he said softly. “I should have realised then that you the one for me.”

 

Erestor tried to remove his hands, only for Glorfindel’s grip to tighten.

 

“Do not run away from me,” Glorfindel murmured. “Not now that I have you.” His gaze grew concerned. “You tremble, Erestor. Why?”

 

“I tremble because it took me so long to work up my courage to come and speak to you, only for you to say so…so…”

 

“Loquaciously?” Glorfindel offered helpfully.

 

Erestor’s lips thinned slightly. “You are insufferable,” he muttered.

 

“And you, my dear councillor, are feisty, and beautiful, and everything my heart desires.” Glorfindel grinned. “Now, I trust you will have no objections if I embrace you?”

 

“Why are you suddenly turning this into some sort of joke?!” Erestor demanded, this time succeeding in pulling his hands away.

 

Glorfindel’s grin faded. “Joke, Erestor?” he growled. “This is not something I joke about, Councillor.” The warrior watched as Erestor backed away slowly, a mixture of anger and frustration on the councillor’s face. And so Glorfindel began to walk towards Erestor, his steps measured and determined, till he had the dark-haired elf pinned to a wall. “Going somewhere, Erestor?” he whispered huskily, placing his hands either side of the other elf, cutting off his escape.

 

“Let me go, Glorfindel,” Erestor said. “For a moment I believed your words, but your actions belie them. You do not care for me; you only seek to toy with my feelings. Is this your revenge, Glorfindel, for my attempts to try and get you in my bed when you first arrived?”

 

Glorfindel’s nostrils flared; his blue eyes became brilliant in his anger. “I do not ‘toy’ with anyone’s feelings, Erestor, least of all yours,” he ground out. “Nor do I seek revenge!” The last word was almost a shout, and Erestor found himself cringing against the wall. “No, Erestor,” Glorfindel continued, softening his voice, “I…” The warrior found he could not continue, and he dropped his head.

 

Erestor could feel himself trembling. He stared at the bowed head before him, but stopped himself from reaching out and touching the silky softness of Glorfindel’s hair. For some time they stood there, neither saying anything, allowing the silence to envelop them.

 

Finally, Glorfindel raised his head, and Erestor’s hand dropped. “Never have I felt anything like this,” he whispered. “I want to gather you in my arms and never let you go. I want you by my side, always, and this…” The warrior shook his head before returning his gaze to the elf before him. “The intensity of my feelings for you sears my very being.” Glorfindel moved away, his arms dropping to his sides. “Go, Erestor. I find I can not continue with this discussion any further.”

 

With slow steps, Erestor moved away from the wall towards the door. In truth, he had no idea what to say, what to do. He had come to see Glorfindel with the intent of sorting things out between them so they stood on more solid ground. Erestor heard what Glorfindel had said, yet for some reason his mind could not comprehend the words. The councillor also knew what he felt for the warrior. Yet he found that he could not lay bare his heart as Glorfindel seemed to have done. And now Erestor found that he was left feeling more adrift than ever.

 

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

 

“You do realise that both of you were an endless source of frustration,” Elrond remarked.

 

Glorfindel quirked an eyebrow. “You are a fine one to talk,” he countered. “How long was it before you and Gil-galad decided to do something about what you felt for each other?”

 

“A completely different scenario, mellonen,” Elrond replied as he settled himself more comfortably in his chair and took an appreciative sip from his goblet.

 

The look Glorfindel gave the elf-lord was slightly disbelieving. “You were both denying and avoiding; Erestor and I were merely avoiding. At least we both were aware of our feelings for each other.”

 

This time it was Elrond who quirked an eyebrow. “Were you?” he queried mildly. “And what made you think that Gil-galad and I did not? We were both well aware of how we felt; however, we are talking about a king and his herald. There were those who would not – and did not – appreciate the fact that the king chose to sleep with an ellon, whether it be his herald or some other, instead of doing the dutiful thing and marrying an elleth and begetting an heir.”

 

Glorfindel found he could not respond to Elrond’s logic. Instead, he took a deep swallow from his own goblet. Then he gave a small, rueful laugh. “Maybe you have a point,” Glorfindel conceded. “I *thought* I knew his feelings for me, yet it was Erestor who really knew what I felt for him.”

 

“Yes, you told him what you felt, but he did not quite believe you. Not then.”

 

“He was too serious,” Glorfindel offered.

 

“And he thought you not serious enough, not where the two of you were concerned.”

 

But Glorfindel did not reply; instead, he once again studied the flames, absorbed by his memories…

 

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

 

“I request a transfer.”

 

Gil-galad’s head shot up and he stared at Erestor with surprise. “A transfer?” he echoed. “What brought this on?”

 

“My reasons are personal.” Erestor’s voice was clipped. “I have heard that Oropher is in need of an advisor.”

 

“Warriors can ask for a transfer, Erestor.” Gil-galad rose from his chair, every inch the king. “You, however, are not a warrior. *You* are one of my most gifted councillors, and one that I will not relinquish all that easily.”

 

“I am not a possession,” Erestor spat, all sense of decorum gone. “I want away from this place, away from Lindon.”

 

“And away from Glorfindel? That is the real reason, is it not? A gifted councillor you may be, Erestor, but you are also a fool. Anyone with eyes can see that you are in love with him; why do you try and deny it?”

 

“I do not deny it.” Erestor seemed to visibly sag. “But he does not care for me, even though he says he does. Yet they are empty words.”

 

Gil-galad resisted the urge to shake Erestor until his teeth rattled. Not to mention it was not kingly behaviour, however tempting the idea. Whether he liked it or not, there were standards to be maintained, and it did not include shaking obstreperous elves. “Have you spoken to Glorfindel?” he asked instead, keeping his voice mild.

 

Erestor shook his head. “I can not,” he whispered. “All he will do is smile and laugh, as if it were all some joke.”

 

“Is that what he did?” Gil-galad asked. “It may be you misconstrued; perhaps he was happy that he had finally been able to say what he truly felt. Would you not have been if the roles had been reversed?”

 

Erestor took a deep breath. “It is possible,” he conceded.  “‘Tis just that…when I went to see him, to tell him how I felt, he verily swept the ground away from underneath my feet with his declaration. But then, when he smiled and asked if I would have any objections if he could hold me…” Erestor broke off. “I have said too much; díheno nín, híren,” the dark-haired elf whispered. “I should not be burdening you, especially with personal matters.”

 

Gil-galad smiled gently. “Erestor, I feel privileged that you *were* able to tell me.” He moved until he stood before his councillor. “Do you wish to court him?”

 

“Aye,” Erestor said heavily, “though he told me he wanted to court me.”

 

“Then court each other. Admittedly, it would be a little unusual, but surely then you would feel that you are on equal footing.” Gil-galad looked at his councillor appraisingly. “You are afraid,” he said without preamble. “Glorfindel’s declaration has made you fear that what you feel for him does not match what he feels for you.”

 

Erestor stared at the king. “How do you know what Glorfindel said?”

 

“I do not. But the fact that you said he verily swept the ground way from beneath your feet is probably a reasonably good indication that he bared his heart to you.” Gil-galad took a deep breath. “Far be it for me to be an expert on love…” He grinned ruefully. “But, if I were you, I would grasp it with both hands. Court him, woo him, tell him exactly how you feel.”

 

“And what about you, híren?” Erestor asked quietly. “Are you going to take your own advice?”

 

Gil-galad’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah, it has been that obvious, has it?” he asked.

 

Erestor gave a slight shrug of his shoulder. “I do not think others are really aware,” he said. “‘Tis only because I am more often with the two of you that I have noticed.”

 

“Hmm. You are right; perhaps I should be taking my own advice. How easy it is, however, to give advice to others, only for us to not take it ourselves,” Gil-galad mused. Then his mood became brisk. “So, your request to leave is denied, Councillor, and I suggest you do something about yourself and Glorfindel. I also suggest that you begin right now. The roses are still in bloom.” There was a twinkle in the king’s eye that made Erestor flush slightly.

 

“Of course, híren,” Erestor mumbled, all too aware of Gil-galad’s shrewd gaze on him as he exited the room, his heart beating a frantic tattoo.

 

*****

 

“What should I do?”

 

Elrond turned a quizzical gaze to the golden-haired warrior. “You are referring to Erestor, I presume,” he said.

 

“Of course I am referring to Erestor!” Glorfindel all but shouted. Then he sighed. “Forgive me, Elrond, but I am at my wit’s end. Once again he avoids me. I thought…I thought that once I had told him how I felt, that all would be well. And I was so happy to finally say the words that were in my heart…yet he chose not to believe me.” His gaze was beseeching. “What should I do?”

 

Gil-galad’s herald was silent for a moment. “Maybe you should court him,” he finally said. “Let him know that your words were not spoken in jest.”

 

“I do not think he will take me seriously,” Glorfindel said quietly.

 

“There is only one way to find out,” Elrond stated. “Court him. Let him know with words, with gestures, that what you said was true.”

 

“He said he wanted to court me.”

 

Elrond gave a sigh of exasperation. “Then you both court each other! Either way, you need to sort things out between the two of you.”

 

“Just as you need to sort things out between yourself and Gil-galad?” Glorfindel asked innocently.

 

Elrond glared at the reborn warrior. “There is nothing between myself and the king,” he ground out.

 

“Except you would like there to be,” Glorfindel replied.

 

“Glorfindel, please. Concern yourself with Erestor, and not on me and Gil-galad.” There was a note of finality in Elrond’s voice, and Glorfindel wisely decided not to say anything on that particular matter – at least for a little while.

 

“Very well, Elrond, I shall take your advice.”

 

*****

 

The next morning, in their respective offices, both elves stopped and stared at the rose lying on their desks. Each carefully, almost with reverence, picked up the fragile bloom and hurried out, intent on seeing the one who had left the gift. They each knew who it was, and both felt a sense of trepidation as to what this would mean. So it was not surprising that they encountered each other half way.

 

Both looked at each other, roses in their hands. Finally, it was Glorfindel who broke the silence. “Are you trying to court me?” he asked.

 

Erestor looked down at his rose. “I could ask you the same thing,” he replied, glad that his voice sounded steady. “Did you really mean what you said?”

 

Glorfindel took a few steps until he stood right in front of the other elf. “Of course I did,” he said.

 

The dark-haired elf looked silently at Glorfindel, his eyes roaming over the face of the elf that had captured his heart. “Forgive me for being such a fool,” Erestor said quietly.

 

“Maybe we were both fools.”

 

Erestor shook his head. “I did not believe you, before. But I think most of all I was frightened by what you had said.”

 

“I wondered,” Glorfindel admitted. “However, that was not my intent. But I could no longer bear keeping my feelings inside. When you came to see me, telling me you wanted to court me…it was as if, finally, the moment had arrived to express how I felt.”

 

“And you wanted to hold me.” Erestor’s words were quiet. “You were smiling, and I…misconstrued.”

 

“Yes, you did. Do you have any idea how I felt? I had told you my love for you…”

 

“You did not mention the word ‘love’, then.”

 

“Stop interrupting me, irascible elf!”

 

“I am *not* irascible!” Erestor glared at Glorfindel before stepping away.

 

The warrior grimaced slightly. “Now it my turn to apologise,” he said softly. “You are right; you are not irascible, though I stand by what I called you before – feisty.” He in turn took a step towards Erestor. “Will you let me court you, my feisty elf?”

 

“What if I wish to court you?”

 

Glorfindel paused for a moment. “It would seem strange to court each other,” he said finally.

 

“Oh, bother that! Gil-galad was right; we should just court each other and be done with it. Let us start a new tradition.”

 

“Gil-galad? You spoke to the king?” Glorfindel was incredulous.

 

“Well…yes, I did, though that was not the original reason I went to see him in the first place,” Erestor admitted.

 

“And while you talked to Gil-galad, I spoke to Elrond. He suggested the same thing – that we court each other.”

 

Erestor gave a snort. “We ought to knock their two heads together and get them to admit their feelings. That way we do not have to worry about them interfering any further with our affairs, for they will, now that we have spoken to them.”

 

Glorfindel’s eyebrows rose. “Intend to play matchmaker now, do we?” he asked mildly.

 

“It would serve them right if we did,” Erestor retorted. Then he relaxed slightly. “They mean well; I think they only want us both to be happy.”

 

“You do realise we digressed from the original subject.”

 

“The original subject?”

 

“Who courts whom – or do we court each other?”

 

Erestor gave a small sigh. “I thought we already settled that,” he said.

 

“We have?”

 

“Aye – that we just court each other and be done with it. Only…” Here Erestor paused for a moment. “I would rather we were discreet about it – at least for now.”

 

Glorfindel eyed Erestor in consideration. “Very well,” he agreed.

 

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

 

So they had kept their courtship quiet, though if Glorfindel had had his way, he would have wasted no time in letting everyone know that Erestor was his. But he had acquiesced to Erestor’s request. However, despite the fact that they were courting each other, things still seemed slightly strained between them, and it had bothered Glorfindel. The last thing he had wanted to do, though, was to pressure Erestor in any way.

 

Glorfindel gave a sigh, causing Elrond to turn an enquiring gaze towards him. “Surely you are not relieving every single moment,” the elf-lord remarked, though the look he gave his captain said that he very much knew Glorfindel was doing precisely that. “At the rate you are going, you will still be sitting here tomorrow night.”

 

The warrior gave Elrond a slightly sheepish grin. “If you wish to retire, then feel free to do so. I know I asked you to keep me company, but I also did say that I would be a little while yet.”

 

“Oh, I think I can manage to stay up for a few more hours,” Elrond said dryly. “Though I know Erestor will come looking for you eventually.”

 

“I do not think it will be for a little while,” Glorfindel replied confidently. “Now, do you have some more miruvor?”

 

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

 

“You are not happy.” Glorfindel voice broke through Erestor’s musings, and the dark-haired elf lay down his quill – a gift from the warrior – carefully onto his desk. “Will you not tell me what bothers you?” the reborn warrior continued softly. “When we began courting each other, it appeared that we were growing closer. Now you are withdrawing from me – why?”

 

Erestor did not look at Glorfindel; instead, he stared at the quill as if it were the most fascinating object in the room. “I am afraid,” he said quietly.

 

Glorfindel stared in stunned silence. “Afraid?” he finally asked, managing to move his feet to a nearby chair. Carefully he sat down, his mind still trying to process what Erestor had said. “Afraid of what?”

 

“Afraid of losing you,” came the whispered reply. “The fight against Sauron will escalate, and I know it will only be a matter of time before we must face him.” Erestor looked at Glorfindel with anguish-filled eyes. “Now that I have found the one who has completely captured my heart, my soul…” Erestor broke off and abruptly rose from his chair.

 

Glorfindel continued to stare at Erestor. “You love me,” he stated.

 

“Of course I love you, you cretin!” Erestor snapped. “Would I be courting you if I did not?” The councillor gave a sigh of exasperation.

 

The reborn warrior rose from his own chair and strode towards the dark-haired elf. “You will not lose me,” Glorfindel said firmly. “Do you truly believe the Valar would return me only for me to die again? I think not. I have been charged to look after Elrond and his house; dying would defeat that purpose.” He gathered Erestor in his arms, feeling how the councillor tensed slightly before relaxing.

 

“Tell me again that you love me,” Glorfindel whispered softly. “I would not even mind if you called me ‘cretin’ again.”

 

“I love you, you great oaf.”

 

Glorfindel looked down at Erestor, affecting a wounded look that only made the councillor want to laugh. “I think I prefer ‘cretin’,” the warrior pouted. Then he sighed, but it was not unhappily. “You do realise what I am going to do now, do you not?”

 

“What?” Erestor whispered. If it was what he, too, was wanting, then he most certainly was not going to object.

 

“Kiss you. And may I say, my feisty councillor, that it is long overdue.”

 

“Then hurry up, for you are taking far…” Erestor’s words were effectively cut off as Glorfindel’s lips descended upon his, and the dark-haired elf allowed himself to be lost in the sensation of finally being kissed in the most thorough way possible.

 

Neither elf heard the door open, but both sprang apart guiltily when a voice dryly enquired, “I am not interrupting anything, am I?”

 

Glorfindel was the first to recover. “Actually, Gil-galad, you are. Now, unless it is urgent, I would like to resume kissing my lover.” Unbeknown to Erestor, Glorfindel had winked at the king as he had uttered the words, and Gil-galad could only watch with growing amusement the look of outrage appearing on Erestor’s face.

 

“Glorfindel, you can not speak to the king in such a fashion!” the councillor exploded. “And I am not your lover!”

 

“You will be,” came the warrior’s unperturbed reply, causing Erestor to stare at him.

 

Gil-galad raised his hand. “Peace, Erestor. I took no offence.” He turned an apologetic gaze towards Glorfindel. “However, there is something I wish to discuss with both yourself and Erestor. Elrond already awaits us in my study; come.”

 

Both Glorfindel and Erestor looked at each other, wondering what it could be. Silently they followed the king, the warrior closing the door after entering Gil-galad’s study.

 

“We have received word that Sauron and his forces are advancing upon Eregion,” Gil-galad said without preamble as soon as Glorfindel had closed the door.

 

“When do we leave?” the warrior asked.

 

Gil-galad looked at his captain appraisingly. “As soon as possible though, in truth, I fear that we may be too late.” The king sat down heavily in his chair. “But there is also something else. Elrond, with his gift of foresight, has seen a valley which he believes will be a good place to set up an elven refuge – one that can be easily defended and, perhaps…” The king paused for a moment. “And perhaps a place from which we could make our final stand, should things go ill.” He looked at each elf in turn. “Whether Eregion falls or not, there will be those that will want to leave, and Elrond will be able to take many of them with him to help build the new refuge.”

 

“I want to go with them.”

 

The king shook his head. “No, Erestor. I need you here.”

 

“Elrond will have need of me more,” the councillor argued. “And where Glorfindel goes, I do,” he added more quietly, his mien resolute.

 

Gil-galad gave a rueful smile and quickly glanced at Elrond. “Does that mean you have finally settled your differences, once and for all?” he asked. “Though, judging from what I saw just before, perhaps I am asking a superfluous question.”

 

Erestor flushed slightly, much to the amusement of the other elves, and Glorfindel reached out to take the councillor’s hand in his own.

 

“Erestor is my soul-mate,” Glorfindel said quietly. “We belong together, wherever we may go.”

 

Both the king and Elrond raised their eyebrows slightly, again sharing a quick glance. “Of course,” Gil-galad said smoothly. “Then Erestor shall accompany you. It will mean I will lose a good advisor, but as you have been given the task to look after Elrond, I can not verily keep you and Erestor apart. Not if you are soul-mates.” Then, as an afterthought, the king added, “And maybe you are right in that Elrond will need you more.” There was a look on Gil-galad’s face that left the other elves feeling slightly puzzled, and Elrond resolved to try and find out more once the other two had left.

 

*****

 

Glorfindel and Erestor walked out of Gil-galad’s study, both lost within their own thoughts. Then Erestor said something. Something that surprised Glorfindel so much that he crashed into a pedestal, sending the ornate vase with its flowers flying. The warrior watched as the vase fell to the floor, sending pieces of porcelain, flowers and seemingly copious amounts of water everywhere.

 

Erestor watched almost dispassionately as Glorfindel righted the pedestal. “Are you all right?” he asked solicitously.

 

The warrior stared at the dark-haired elf. “All right?” he spluttered. “Did I just hear you correctly before? That you wanted to bind, now?”

 

Erestor’s lips twitched, and he gave a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “Do you not like the idea?” he asked.

 

Glorfindel opened his mouth, and then closed it again before looking down at the mess on the floor. “I suppose I had better find someone to clean that up,” he said a little distractedly.

 

“Are you avoiding answering the question?”

 

Looking back to Erestor, Glorfindel frowned slightly. “I am not sure what I should say, frankly.”

 

“A ‘yes’ would do admirably.”

 

“Erestor…”

 

“You love me, I love you. We are soul-mates, as you have so succinctly pointed out. Not just to me, but now also to Gil-galad and Elrond. And I think I stated quite categorically to the king that I have every intention of being with you. Now, will you bind with me, or not?”

 

“Now?”

 

Erestor nodded in the affirmative. “Now.”

 

“But we can not just do it ‘now’. What will others think? Who will perform the ceremony? We have no rings…”

 

Erestor waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, we can do it ‘now’. Gil-galad can perform the ceremony, and yes, we have rings. As for what others will think, I do not care, and neither should you.”

 

“You have rings?” Glorfindel asked.

 

“Aye. I had them made some months ago.”

 

“You did?”

 

“Really, Glorfindel, normally you are more…loquacious than this.”

 

It took a moment for the warrior to realise the Erestor was teasing him, and he stopped short. Erestor, teasing him? Sure enough, as he took a quick look at the dark-haired elf, Erestor had a smile on his lips, and there was a distinct twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

 

“You are serious about binding,” Glorfindel said slowly.

 

Erestor nodded, his mien becoming sober. “I want this, Glorfindel. Yes, ‘tis soon and would be seen as unseemly, but I do not know when another opportunity will arise.”

 

Glorfindel took Erestor’s hand. “If only my friends from Gondolin could see me now,” he said ruefully. “Ecthelion, especially, would be laughing his head off.” The warrior tugged on the hand. “Come, my feisty councillor, let us go and tell the king to prepare himself for a binding ceremony.”

 

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

 

Glorfindel chuckled, eliciting an amused look from Elrond.

 

“What are you thinking of now?” the elf-lord asked.

 

“When Erestor and I barged into Gil-galad’s office to tell him that he was to officiate our binding ceremony.”

 

“And that it was to be done right there and then,” Elrond supplied, himself chuckling at the memory.

 

“I think Gil-galad was unable to speak for a good minute or two,” Glorfindel said.

 

“Well, you certainly took him by surprise. Not to mention me.”

 

“Elrond, we took the whole of *Lindon* by surprise,” Glorfindel replied ruefully. “Followed by Lothlórien and Mirkwood, though not necessarily in that order.”

 

Elrond sniggered, and Glorfindel looked at him in amusement.

 

“You have had too much of the miruvor, mellonen,” Elrond said, watching as the elf-lord peered into his empty goblet a little forlornly.

 

“I am *not* getting another bottle,” he stated emphatically.

 

Glorfindel grinned. “I could, seeing as you seem so comfortably ensconced in your chair.”

 

Elrond’s eyes narrowed. “Do not even think of it,” he warned. “And that, mellonen, is an order.”

 

The warrior sighed. “Very well. I suppose taking this one from beside my chair is not allowed either?” Glorfindel brought out said bottle and showed it to Elrond, whose eyes widened slightly.

 

“You have had it here the whole time?” the elf-lord asked.

 

“While I had hoped not to be sitting here for a long time, I also knew that, sometimes, my reminiscing can make me forget the passing of time. Not to mention that prudence is often the better part of valour.”

 

“And it requires valour to get another bottle of miruvor?”

 

“Considering the miruvor, technically, belongs to you…”

 

Elrond gave an inelegant snort. “You have consumed more miruvor than has been good for you,” he said, shaking his head at his captain. “But you could have at least told me before that you already had a second bottle.”

 

“True, but this way we have a third.” Glorfindel deftly opened the bottle. “More miruvor, Elrond?”

 

Elrond, still shaking his head at Glorfindel’s audacity, held out his goblet. “You realise that we will more than likely still be sitting here when Anor rises, do you not? Not to mention sitting here, drunk.”

 

“We do not get drunk,” Glorfindel said, placing the stopper back in the bottle.

 

“There is always a first time,” Elrond muttered.

 

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

 

Fingers idly traced an abstract pattern on Glorfindel’s chest, and the warrior felt a tremor run through him. He turned his head slightly to look at the extremely satisfied face of his new mate.

 

“I have to confess, Erestor, that you both surprise and confuse me.”

 

Erestor leaned up to place a kiss on Glorfindel’s lips. “And may I continue to surprise and confuse you, melethron,” he said, his voice a throaty purr.

 

“I need my head examined, for I must have taken leave of my senses to have bound myself in such a hasty fashion.”

 

“I am happy to examine your head for you, and…” here Erestor waggled his eyebrows, “…anything else that needs…examining.”

 

Glorfindel felt his member stir, and he groaned inwardly. His new mate was proving to be rather…insatiable.

 

Erestor’s mien became serious. “You are not regretting this, are you?” he asked quietly, and the warrior could see a flicker of fear in the dark-haired elf’s eyes. Glorfindel gathered Erestor tighter towards him.

 

“No,” the warrior said, his voice equally quiet. “My soul is now complete, Erestor, something I never imagined would happen. Our relationship may have not started off well, but I think it was because we were both afraid of what was happening to us.”

 

Erestor had resumed tracing patterns on Glorfindel’s chest. “I never thought it would happen to me,” he mused. “I have had my share of lovers, but I truly believed that that was how my life was to be. The idea that I would have a soul-mate never entered my head. And then you arrived. At first, I thought you would be like the others – someone to warm my bed for a short while, before parting to find someone new.”

 

“Yet you ended up beginning to court me, without realising you were doing so.”

 

“I think, subconsciously, I knew,” Erestor confessed. “I just did not want to admit to myself that you were the one I was to spend the rest of my life with. Even now the idea is a little frightening.”

 

“Frightening and exhilarating,” Glorfindel murmured, gently placing a kiss on the top of Erestor’s head. Then he pulled away. “Come, melethen, we must get up. Gil-galad was gracious enough to grant us this precious time, but we must be away.”

 

“Do you think Eregion will fall?”

 

Glorfindel paused. “I do not know,” he finally said. “But the sooner we leave the better.”

 

*****

 

They were, in the end, too late. Sauron’s forces had moved much quicker than anticipated, and the elven armies sent to help try and defend Eregion ended up rescuing as many survivors as possible. Celembrimbor had been the main casualty, his maimed and tortured body once more a stark reminder of what Sauron was capable of.

 

After the fall of Eregion, the long trek to find the haven that Elrond had foreseen began. It was a slow journey; while many survivors from Eregion had chosen to go to either Lindon or Lothlórien, there were those who chose to follow Elrond and help build their new refuge – one, they hoped, would provide them with better protection than their former home.

 

Erestor, when not liaising with Elrond, spent as much time as possible with Glorfindel, as if he were afraid that the warrior would disappear from his sight. It made no difference how many times Glorfindel reassured him that he would not be returning to Mandos’ Halls; Erestor remained by Glorfindel’s side and, when night fell, he would ensure that he and Glorfindel were apart from the others so he could make love to the warrior with such fierceness that it took Glorfindel’s breath away.

 

Then the day arrived when Elrond stopped and said, “It will be here.”

 

Glorfindel looked around him, liking what he saw. There were enough natural defences to help protect their new home and hopefully keep the enemy at bay. He turned on his horse to look at his mate. “What do you think?” he asked softly.

 

Erestor smiled. “It is beautiful,” he said. “I will ensure there will be enough rooms facing the waterfalls – and I definitely will ensure that we have one of them.” His lips curved into a mischievous smile. “perhaps our rooms should be the first ones built. There are still some…interesting things I can show you.”

 

The warrior found himself flushing. “I wonder where you learnt to do some of the things you can already do,” he muttered.

 

Erestor’s lips twitched. “You know full well I have had lovers, Glorfindel. Some of them proved to be…rather inventive.”

 

Glorfindel groaned. “Enough!” he hissed. “What are trying to do to me?”

 

“Love you,” Erestor said simply.

 

The warrior reached out to clasp one of Erestor’s hands. “You certainly have shown me that,” Glorfindel said ruefully. “I feel like a veritable novice in comparison.”

 

“Not from what I have seen – or felt.” Erestor’s voice was teasing.

 

Glorfindel shook his head. The warrior’s member had shown considerable interest at the dark-haired elf’s innuendos and suggestions, and Glorfindel knew he needed all his willpower to contain it. “Let us join Elrond,” he said a little brusquely as he cantered ahead, Erestor’s amused laughter following in his wake.

 

*****

 

So Imladris was built, and a scant two years later its defences were put to the test. The new elven haven stood firm, though the timely arrival of a force sent by Gil-galad helped to end the siege.

 

Erestor proved, just as he had under Gil-galad, that he was more than a capable advisor, and soon Elrond found himself relying more and more on the dark-haired elf, eventually naming him his chief advisor. As for Glorfindel, there was never any doubt that the warrior was going to be the Captain of Imladris’ warriors.

 

Glorfindel, however, could still sense the underlying fear in his mate that the warrior could die, so he ensured that whenever he returned from patrol he first went to see Erestor so that the advisor could see that Glorfindel had returned safe and sound. Not to mention there was also the enthusiastic home-coming that Glorfindel received every time he returned. Erestor was true to his word; he still had a few tricks up his sleeve, and the warrior found out exactly *how* inventive some of Erestor’s previous lovers had been.

 

Then came the final battle against Sauron, the Last Alliance that saw men and elves come together to fight a common enemy. Erestor insisted on going with Glorfindel, despite the warrior’s insistence that his mate remain in Imladris. But Glorfindel was all too aware as to how stubborn Erestor could be, and knew that this was a battle he had no hope in winning. Erestor knew it, too.

 

“I am not going to be useless baggage,” Erestor stated emphatically.

 

Glorfindel sighed. “I never said you would be. You have proved yourself more than capable as a fighter. However, has it ever occurred to you that *I* would be worried about *you*?”

 

This had made Erestor pause. “You worry about me?” he asked finally.

 

“Of course I worry about you! I know you are afraid that I will return to Mandos’ Halls, but have you ever thought that I might think that it could be you that goes to his Halls?”

 

Erestor could only stare at Glorfindel, stunned. “But why?”

 

“Why.” Glorfindel’s voice was flat. “You put yourself in the thick of fighting, and you ask why.”

 

The dark-haired elf blanched. “I am sorry,” he whispered.

 

“No. Do not *dare* apologise,” Glorfindel said softly. “I do not expect you to stay behind and do nothing; it is not in your nature to. All I ask is that you be careful, as you ask of me.”

 

And for the first time Erestor truly saw the worry and fear in the eyes of Glorfindel. “I will be careful,” he promised.

 

*****

 

Sauron was defeated, his forces scattered, though it also saw the deaths of both Gil-galad and Elendil. Elrond could not be approached after Gil-galad’s death; he shut himself away for days afterwards until he emerged, wan but resolute. Many felt that he should step into Gil-galad’s shoes, but Elrond refused. Instead, he returned to Imladris and, in time, married Celebrían, the daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn from Lothlórien. But both Erestor and Glorfindel knew that Elrond would never fully recover from Gil-galad’s death, though genuine fondness and respect grew between the elf-lord and his wife, culminating first in the birth of their twin sons, followed by their daughter.

 

Erestor and Glorfindel did what they could to console Elrond when Celebrían was attacked; despite his skills as a healer, Celebrían found she could no longer remain and sailed to the Undying Lands.

 

“You did what you could,” Erestor said, his hand lying consolingly on Elrond’s shoulder.

 

The elf-lord moved away abruptly. “But not enough,” he said harshly. He rubbed a hand tiredly over his eyes. “First it was my parents, then Elros and Gil-galad, now Celebrían. How many more am I destined to lose?”

 

“Even I can not tell you that,” Erestor admitted.

 

“No, you can not,” Elrond confirmed sadly. “No more than I can.”

 

Erestor found he could not say anything more, and decided to leave Elrond alone for a while.

 

“How is he?” Glorfindel asked as Erestor left the room.

 

The advisor gave a small shrug of the shoulders. “As well as can be expected, under the circumstances. But it will take a long time before he gets over it; he blames himself for not doing more to help Celebrían.”

 

“And now his sons ride out risking their necks to slay every orc they can lay their hands on,” Glorfindel said grimly.

 

“Do you plan to join them?” Erestor asked.

 

Glorfindel smiled grimly. “If anything, as soon as they return I want to lock them in their rooms until their bloodlust subsides.”

 

“It is the only way they can deal with their grief,” Erestor said quietly.

 

“Till they are injured or worse; then where will that leave Elrond?” Glorfindel asked darkly. “No, enough is enough. They can not continue on this course.”

 

“And how, exactly, do you propose to stop them?” Erestor demanded.

 

“Actually, I was hoping you could help me with that,” Glorfindel admitted. “They have both been our students; in a way, they are like our sons, too. If we approach them as a united front, they may listen to us.”

 

“Both are too headstrong and stubborn,” the dark-haired elf argued. “They would no more listen to us than they would Elrond, and he *is* their father.”

 

“Nevertheless, we must try,” Glorfindel cajoled his mate. “Please?”

 

Erestor sighed. “Why am I agreeing to something that I do not believe will have a successful outcome?”

 

“Because you love me, and because you will not let me do this alone, and because you are just as worried about them as I am.”

 

And Erestor found that he really could not argue against any of that at all.

 

*****

 

In the end it was not just one talk, but one of many. Eventually, the twins, under the dual onslaught of both Glorfindel and Erestor, agreed to lessen their forays and to spend more time with their father.

 

Elrond himself said nothing, but the grateful looks he gave his chief advisor and captain was enough.

 

Life slowly returned to something like what it was before Celebrían left, and soon Imladris was filled with laughter as the twins resumed their pranks on the innocent. Warriors they may have been, but they had not lost their sense of mischievousness that had often led them into trouble when they were elflings.

 

“Have you seen either of the twins?” Erestor asked Glorfindel as he stormed down to the training field.

 

“No,” Glorfindel said, puzzled. Then it dawned on him as he took in the irate expression on his mate’s face. “What have they done now?”

 

“Apart from the most foul-smelling substance in my inkwell? I did not realise it until I began writing the correspondence to Mirkwood. And, whatever it is, the smell has enveloped my whole office. I do not think I will be able to work in there for the rest of the day!”

 

Glorfindel stifled a smile. “I see,” he said gravely. “Perhaps if we remove the offending inkwell the smell will dissipate more quickly.”

 

“I have already done so,” Erestor said, throwing Glorfindel a sour look. “It was my best inkwell, and I will certainly ensure that they both replace it.”

 

“I am sure they will,” the warrior soothed. “But it is good to see them playing tricks again.”

 

“So you say now,” his mate said. “Wait until you are on the receiving end of one of their pranks, though.”

 

“Oh, I have no doubt I will be,” Glorfindel said, almost cheerfully. “Rather that than having grim-faced elves hell-bent on putting themselves into every conceivable form of danger.”

 

“Put like that, I can not argue,” Erestor said, his grim visage softening. “However, they are still going to replace my inkwell!”

 

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

 

“What are you both doing?”

 

Both Glorfindel and Elrond turned their heads at the voice. Erestor stood in the doorway, a dressing-robe having hastily been thrown on.

 

“Sitting here, drinking and reminiscing,” Glorfindel replied. “Care to join us?”

 

“Join you?” Erestor looked out the window. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

 

Elrond followed his gaze. “Sometime after midnight, I should imagine. We have both been sitting here for a good while.”

 

“Sometime after midnight,” Erestor echoed, his voice dry. “Try nearly dawn.”

 

“Is it really that late?” Glorfindel asked. “I had not realised.”

 

“That is patently obvious,” the advisor retorted. “Were either of you planning to go to bed at any stage?”

 

“Fortunately for me, the twins are leading the patrol, so I will not matter when I go to bed,” Glorfindel replied, draining his goblet.

 

“Unfortunately for me, I have no one to take over my role here,” Elrond responded, attempting to rise from his chair, only to sink back down again. “I think, maybe, I should retire for at least a few hours.”

 

“In your chair?” Erestor asked, clearly not amused.

 

“A tad too much miruvor,” Elrond confessed a little sheepishly. “You may blame Glorfindel for that,” the elf-lord added helpfully.

 

Glorfindel looked affronted. “You did not object to my filling your goblet,” he complained. “You could have said ‘no’ at any time, and I think I said more than once that you did not need to stay with me.”

 

“Except you asked me to stay,” Elrond said. “I did not want you to become maudlin from your reminis…reminiscen…”

 

“Reminiscences,” Glorfindel supplied helpfully.

 

“Have you *both* finished?” Erestor’s voice was icy.

 

Glorfindel and Elrond both looked at each other, suddenly feeling more sober than before. Once more Elrond tried to rise from his chair, this time succeeding. “I shall retire, then,” he said, gathering both his robes and dignity around him. “Maer fuin, Erestor, Glorfindel – at least, what is left of it.” The two other elves watched as Elrond carefully made his way out of the room.

 

“Exactly how much miruvor did you both consume?” Erestor glared at Glorfindel. The warrior, however, was unperturbed.

 

“Three bottles,” Glorfindel said. “Come,” he beckoned to his mate, “sit with me.”

 

Erestor could only shake his head. “Three bottles? No wonder Elrond was barely able to rise from his chair.” The advisor sat down. “What were you reminiscing about that required three bottles of miruvor?”

 

“My arrival in Lindon, meeting you, and anything and everything that followed.”

 

“Ah. That certainly explain why you would have been sitting here for most of the night, though one could be led to believe that the memories were unpleasant enough for you to try and drown them in wine.”

 

Glorfindel’s lips twitched. “Positively horrible memories,” he teased. “Can you not see how downcast I am?”

 

“Inebriated would perhaps be a better word,” Erestor said dryly.

 

“No, not inebriated.” Glorfindel looked at his mate. “We certainly had an interesting beginning to our relationship.”

 

Erestor pondered for a moment. “Yes, I suppose we did. But I do not regret how it turned out.”

 

Glorfindel smiled. “Nor do I.” He leaned closer to Erestor. “Have I told you lately that I love you?”

 

“You told me yesterday.”

 

“Except that was yesterday,” Glorfindel said gravely. “Today is another day. Melin chen, my feisty Erestor.”

 

Erestor smiled. “Melin chen, Glorfindel – now and always.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Elvish translations:   Anor – Sun

                                 Díheno nín – Forgive me

                                 Hannon le – Thank you

                                 híren – my lord

                                 Maer fuin – Good night

                                 melethron – lover (male)

                                 Melin chen – I love you

                                 mellonen – my friend

 

The names Sigilion and Tholvel was taken from the Council of Elrond website