Title: Yule Wishes (companion piece to The Perfect Yule)

Author: LK

Rating: PG

Warnings: Implied Slash

Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel

Spoilers: Yes, spoiler to The Perfect Yule

Feedback: yes please, LKBeagleluvr@aol.com

Beta: None, so any mistakes are mine alone

Disclaimer: Don't own any, just playing; I'll put them back when I'm
done. Okay, okay, here's the formal blurb: All publicly recognizable
characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners.
The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The
author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers
of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Erestor contemplates Glorfindel's first Yule in the Last
Homely House.

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

Imladris, 145 TA

The Hall of Fire was alive with song, laughter and warmth. Cold winter
nights that fell earlier each day were no deterrent to the merry spirits
of the Elves of Imladris. Rather, early nightfall was just a reason to
seek a cheerful hearth and a goblet of warm mulled wine amidst good
company. There was no such pretense necessary for tonight's
gathering, however. It was Yule, and everyone within their community had
gathered to make merry.

In the center of the festivities was the recently returned Glorfindel of
Gondolin. It was not necessary to ask the reborn Elf if food tasted
better, air smelled sweeter or music sounded lovelier than he remembered
from his first life, the answer was all too obvious. None within the
Hall smiled more broadly nor laughed as happily as Glorfindel. It was
apparent that he loved being alive and was determined not to miss a
moment of it. If he had ever taken his life for granted in his first
incarnation, it was clear he would not make the same mistake again.

Erestor stood in a corner of the Hall, leaning against the wall with his
arms crossed over his chest, watching glumly as Glorfindel laughed
boisterously at something someone had said. The dark Advisor was the
only one who did not seem to rejoice at Glorfindel's
lightheartedness and carefree attitude. It was not that he was not
pleased Glorfindel was returned, nor even that he wished the Elf to be
anything less than tremendously happy. Quite the contrary. He just
wished Glorfindel's memory was intact.

The returned Balrog Slayer told many stories from his first life to an
eager audience of both younglings and adults. Frequently, he would
recount tales of mischief he and his dear friend Echthelion had caused
in their youth in Aman; how he had traveled to Middle Earth and
eventually became a Captain in Turgon's Guard; how he had once ended
up in one of Gondolin's famed fountains, in full armor, and pulled
out by the hand of King Turgon himself. He even told of his famed battle
with the Balrog, his voice carrying to every corner of the vast Hall as
his silent audience sat with rapt attention, his words interrupted only
by the occasional gasps of awe or cries of distress of his listeners.

Erestor was pleased that none of the memories Glorfindel called up for
the retelling, either good or bad, held any anguish for him, not even
that of his famed fall. By his own testimony, Glorfindel recalled his
death, but he had no emotions attached to it. Rather, he was able to
recount the event as if he had been completely disassociated with it,
not recalling any of the pain or fear he had to have felt.

That was was not the only gap in the blond Elf's memory. Glorfindel
could remember only portions of things. He could recall his father, but
not the Elf's death nor the grief he and his mother had experienced
at the Elf's passing. Glorfindel was a warrior of tremendous skill,
but he could not recall ever learning to fight.

Glorfindel also did not remember his husband . . . or that he even *had*
a husband, much to Erestor's distress.

Long and terrible had been Erestor's grief at losing his beloved
mate. He had wanted to fade, but in their last moments together,
Glorfindel had wrested a promise from him that he would live. The oath
had been sealed with a passionate kiss before the Golden Elf had turned
to do battle with the Balrog, giving his bonded mate and so many others
precious moments to escape.

It had been nearly impossible to contain himself when Glorfindel had
arrived in Imladris, but when their gazes met, Glorfindel's eyes had
not reflected even the slightest flicker of recognition. Erestor had
been devastated, but held on to the belief that the newly reborn Elf
would regain his memories, particularly of their life together.

It had been more than six months, however, without a hint from
Glorfindel that he recalled ever even meeting Erestor before last
spring, let alone sharing a life with him. Erestor's hope was
beginning to lose its luster.

The day Glorfindel arrived in Imladris and strode passed Erestor as if
he had never seen him before, the Counselor had been too stunned to
react at first. Once Glorfindel had entered the House, escorted by
Lindir to view his new rooms, the courtyard had quickly emptied of
everyone save Erestor, who was riveted to the ground in shock. When he
was finally able to move, he tried to turn to enter the house and seek
the sanctuary of his own rooms, but his legs gave out beneath him.

Elrond, who had been present to greet the reborn Elf and witnessed the
exchange, lingered at the top of the steps once Glorfindel entered the
House. With a heavy heart, he descended the stairs to try and console
Erestor, who had remained transfixed. So, it was his strong arms that
saved his kinsman when he began to collapse.

"He does not remember me, Elrond," Erestor said with a choked sob, his
stricken face conveying all that his words could not.

"He will in time, Erestor. I do not know the particulars about what
happens when an Elf is rehoused, but I cannot believe he could be
condemned to ignorance for very long. The Valar would never be so
cruel."

"I will pray you are right," Erestor whispered brokenly as Elrond helped
him into the house.

Although six months had passed, Erestor's prayers remained unheeded.
During that time, Erestor managed to conceal his heartache enough to
respond to Glorfindel's attempts to befriend him. It had been
difficult to pretend to know nothing about the golden-haired elf and
allow an acquaintance to develop slowly, but Erestor was relatively sure
he had been convincing.

He had done what he could, as subtly as he was able, to encourage
Glorfindel to remember his past, but the Balrog Slayer seemed to have no
interest in his first life. He was proud of his heritage and stated he
would always consider himself formerly of Gondolin, but he firmly
maintained that his life was in the here and now, and Imladris was his
home.

Erestor's musings were interrupted by the sound of a hearty laugh.
Looking up, he saw Glorfindel rocking back on his heels in mirth once
again as he stood talking to Celebríían and Elrond. Obviously, one of
them had said something to amuse the golden Elf, and Glorfindel had
never been one to hold back when something struck him as funny. Erestor
smiled as he recalled that, of his many endearing traits, it was
Glorfindel's sense of humor that had first captured Erestor's
interest so very long ago.

The darkling Elf glanced down at his right hand and the two golden bands
on his forefinger gleaming in the firelight--dual symbols of their
pledge and eternal bond. Glorfindel's last act before turning toward
battle with the Balrog had been to thrust his bonding ring into his
husband's hand and kiss him one last time. It was in that moment
that Erestor knew Glorfindel did not believe he would survive the
battle, but strode boldly toward his fate, nonetheless.

Numbly, Erestor had heeded the hands of the refugees that pulled on him,
urging him to hurry, and turned to do as his mate had asked. It was now
Erestor's task to lead the group of survivors across the Echoriath.
It was his duty to get Idril and her son out of harm's way. Every
fibre of his being screamed for him to follow his husband, stand by his
side and fight along with him, but his centuries of training and
dedication to the royal family had won out. He knew Glorfindel had
relied upon the deeply ingrained conditioning to ensure his
husband's safety.

Even now, tens of centuries later and with his beloved restored to the
living, tears burned the backs of Erestor's eyes as he thought about
the last glimpse he had of Glorfindel that day. Erestor had paused as
their group fled. He had turned back to where the fearsome battle was
taking place and was just in time to see the mortally wounded Balrog
teetering on the cliff's edge before finally losing its balance and
tumbling back into the abyss. Barely daring to believe his eyes, Erestor
watched Glorfindel turn to look up to where he knew the refugees and his
husband would be. Even at a distance, Erestor could see the bleeding
wounds and singed clothing, a telltale sign of burns beneath, but above
all Erestor sought his husband's eyes. It was not difficult for
their gazes to meet. Glorfindel was smiling up at him, victorious, and
Erestor could not suppress an answering grin. He could hardly believe
their blessed fortune and silently chided himself for doubting his
Golden Lord's prowess.

One moment he was breathing an amazed sigh of relief that Glorfindel was
safe, and the next he was watching in horror as a burning clawed hand
reached up from the chasm as the doomed creature, in a final act of
malice, clutched at the golden mane and pulled his lover to his death.

Erestor had no memory of how he had continued on at all, let alone
managed to lead the small group of survivors to safety. He had watched
his city burn and her citizens betrayed and killed; he had seen not only
his brother, Ecthelion, die while fighting a Balrog, but his own beloved
husband was pulled to his death by one of the evil creatures before his
very eyes. Surely it was more than anyone could bear. He could only
assume that his body had marched on and done what was necessary while
his mind and his fëëa retreated in agony.

After that, he had only vague recall of his life for a number of years.
His memories after Gondolin truly only started again when Elrond and
Elros were born. The early years of that Age had been trying and fraught
with chaos and strife, but it began with joy at the birth of the
peredhel twins, which Erestor was convinced was his salvation. Without
the entry of those two bright lights into his world, Erestor firmly
believed he would have succumbed to his grief and joined Glorfindel in
the Halls of Waiting.

It was not until Elrond was grown and they were both living in Lindon
that fragments of Glorfindel's life as Lord of the House of the
Golden Flower began to surface in the world. Erestor had helped Idril
and her son escape the Fall of Gondolin, but they had not been the only
band of survivors to flee to safety. Tales of Glorfindel's final
battle had reached far and wide and many more survivors came to light,
claiming they were alive because of that mighty struggle. Erestor came
to learn that Glorfindel's sacrifice had saved more than anyone had
ever realized.

Many of those who survived the Fall of Gondolin eventually became
residents of Lindon. Through the years, various items of the House of
the Golden Flower that had been salvaged by these grateful refugees were
lovingly gathered and preserved until, eventually, a polished box was
presented to the High King, Ereinion Gil-galad.

Erestor had been told of its contents, many of them symbols of the
things Glorfindel took tremendous pride in and cherished. Others were
simply meaningful personal belongings that told a more intimate tale of
the Golden Lord's life within the hidden city. Elrond contended that
the box and its contents should go to Erestor. He maintained that, as
Glorfindel's mate, these items were rightfully his.

Erestor declined.

In fact, he refused to even see what the box contained.

Many thought Erestor was unwilling to take charge of these belongings,
but the truth was that he had been unable to take possession of such
personal items--items that held the power to evoke glorious memories
only for them to be followed by crushing grief over the loss of one so
bright of heart and fëëa.

When Elrond had begun to press him on the subject, Erestor had sought
the High King's assistance.

Calling upon his compassion, Erestor had beseeched the King to secure
the box away, sealed and preserved until the day the contents could be
returned to their owner.

Thinking of the rescued possessions that had been presented to him, the
High King commented, "But some of these things are yours, surely,
Erestor, or at least you have a right to them as his . . .

"Nay, sire, please," Erestor interrupted the King, not wanting the
obvious spoken. He could not bear a daily reminder of what he had lost.

So, the polished box had been sealed by the High King's own hand,
the emblem of Ereinion Gil-galad pressed into the sealing wax until the
day Glorfindel himself would break it open.

Erestor remembered when, not long after Glorfindel's return, Elrond
had presented Glorfindel with the box, telling him that it contained all
that remained of his possessions from Gondolin. Somewhere in his mind,
Erestor knew the box had to be in Elrond's keeping, but he had been
stunned to see it, nevertheless. His heart had leapt, believing that
once the reborn Elf opened it and saw the mementos of his former
life--their life--his memories would finally begin to resurface.
Erestor's hopes had been dashed when Glorfindel had flatly stated
his thanks, but that his new life was all that mattered and the past
should remain just that.

That was the day that Erestor had truly begun to doubt whether
Glorfindel would ever regain his connection to his past life.

"Uncle `Restor! Lindir is going to play the Yule songs, now."

"Come sing wif us, `Restor! Please?"

Erestor's head snapped up at the entreaty, pulled from his memories
by the two newest shining lights of his life. Looking down, he could not
help but smile at the identical faces gazing up at him hopefully, so
like another pair of Peredhel twins he clearly recalled.

"Elladan, Elrohir," he began with mock severity, "When has there ever
been a Yule when I did not sing the songs with you?"

"Will you dance wif us, too?" Elrohir asked earnestly.

Bending down to the elfling's eye level, Erestor assured him, "I
will most certainly dance with you!"

The answering smiles on the twins' faces drove away the last
remnants of Erestor's melancholy like little else on Arda could.
Erestor allowed himself to be pulled toward the dias where a multitude
of Elves were already assembled, waiting for the musicians to begin
playing the traditional Yule songs. As he did so, Erestor caught a
glimpse of Elrond from the corner of his eye, noting the concern pulling
at his Lord's countenance. Erestor knew Elrond worried for him. So,
for the next few hours, he did his best to be merry.

Truly, it was no burden to sing and dance with the elflings, and Erestor
enjoyed himself immensely. Yule had always been a wondrous time and held
many wonderful memories for him, the best being the Yuletide in Gondolin
when he and Glorfindel were bonded. The Yule celebration that year was
unmatched, in Erestor's opinion, either before or since.

Once the songs had been sung and Elrond had told the tale of Father
Frost, as he did every year, tiny hands began covering large yawns,
little heads began to nod and young voices could be heard making
half-hearted protests that, "I am not sleepy." When Erestor saw Elrohir
and Elladan fall asleep in their parents' arms, he quietly withdrew
again. Despite himself, he could not resist the pull he felt to recall
Yuletides past. With one last, longing look at the Golden Elf who sat
comfortably in the chair he had claimed as his own, with a goblet
dangling from one hand and a contented smile on his beautiful lips,
Erestor silently made his way across the room.

Throughout the evening, he had spied Glorfindel, pleased to see him
enjoying himself. Yule had always been his husband's favorite time
of year. In fact, Erestor had managed to include in the traditions
enjoyed by the inhabitants of Imladris many of the those he and
Glorfindel had started back in Gondolin. Now, more than ever, he hoped
Glorfindel would find some of them familiar.

Staring out of the tall glass doors that opened to the gardens beyond,
Erestor let his mind wander into the past. It was something he had not
allowed himself to do very often, too fearful of the pain that would
follow. This particular evening, though, his memories were hard to
avoid.

Lost in thought, he stood leaning against the window frame with his arms
folded across his chest, watching the falling snowflakes beyond the
window. When Glorfindel came to a halt directly behind him, he neither
heard nor saw him, but he could sense the other's presence. He
always knew when Glorfindel was near.

"Beautiful, is it not?" Glorfindel said softly, likely hoping not to
startle him.

"Yes, it is," Erestor replied quietly, sighing deeply as he emerged from
his thoughts.

Erestor felt the golden-haired Elf run his fingers gently up and down
his arm in a gesture of friendly affection as he said, "Come share a
goblet of mulled wine with me, Erestor. There is still some left by the
fire."

Silently, Erestor nodded and turned from the window, hoping Glorfindel
would not notice the way his breath hitched at the touch, nor the shiver
that ran through him. Oh, how he missed feeling those hands on his body
and the taste of those lips that smiled at him so easily.

Soon they were settled in their chairs, wine in hand. Erestor sat across
from his beloved, unable to say what was in his heart, or reach out his
hand to caress that flawless cheek or snuggle into his embrace. Rather,
Erestor was content just to sit with the ellon he loved and try with all
his might to keep the longing out of his gaze.

Silently, he prayed to the One for a Yule blessing. "One memory, oh
great Eru, `tis all I ask. Just grant him one memory of our love."