FIC: Silver & Gold -- v.2
Mar. 10th, 2009 03:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zhieTitle: Silver and Gold – v.2
Author: Zhie
Beta: Mei (v.1); Beruthiel’s Cat (v.2)
Author's Email: zhiester@gmail.com
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC17
Archive: Original version at Library of Moria for Challenge issued by TopKat (A proud, unbroken Erestor), First Homely House of Valinor, and Phoenix. Version Two (bunniverse version) will be at Phoenix and on my livejournal
Summary: Years after most of the elves depart for Valinor, Erestor and
Glorfindel remain in Imladris to fulfill one final promise to Lord Elrond,
and find peace and pleasure with each other.
Author Notes: The original was a stand alone story; I think this revamped version is much more branched from bunniverse, making it harder to be stand-alone. Other bunniverse stories are at Phoenix. This was initially written when TopKat put a rather intriguing plot bunny up for adoption, and I expected I’d have something a week and five pages later. It took nearly a year and thirty pages. A few paragraphs she offered for it were reworked into this story as part of Glorfindel’s journal and were the main inspiration for this piece. Inspiration was also provided in part by the lovely pictures by SayAye, Mei Tripp, conversations with her, and the music of Erasure. Now that it has been reworked, with many thanks to thinks both Marty (BC) and Britt have said, it connects to Unforgettable, and hopefully enhances what used to be what I assumed must be the worst story I wrote because it always acquired the lowest rating of any of my fics. Perhaps this will help bump it up a little. Enjoy!
-1-
Something happened that I did not expect. Today Erestor cried.
Perhaps cry is not the right word. A few tears fell from his eyes, but they were wiped away quickly. It was still unexpected.
We had been packing what was left of the books in the library, and he turned around with a crate in his arms. I had been stacking the scroll cases so they would not roll across the floor. He said it was done, and I asked what. He said it was done, this was the last one. And I came to him and took the box, and noted the tears streaking his face. As soon as the box was out of his hands, he quickly turned and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve.
When I placed the crate near the rest, I heard him sob. Just a short, muffled noise, but it tore at my heart to hear it. I wanted to go to him, to comfort him, to hold him and perhaps even to kiss him. Not in the ways I have imagined before, for my lust for this unattainable beauty has been laid aside, and now I find I love him deeply, and do not think so much of the things I once did, for if only I could bring a truly happy smile to his face, it would be enough.
“Glorfindel?”
Raising his head, Glorfindel closed his journal, keeping his thumb at the page he had left off, for the ink had yet to dry. He placed the quill upon the table, and receiving a frown from Erestor, moved it to rest in the holder above the jar of golden ink. “Can I be of service?”
“The meal is ready.”
Glorfindel nodded. “I shall join you shortly,” he said. As Erestor turned, Glorfindel opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped himself. Erestor, however, turned back expectantly, and Glorfindel pursed his lips.
“Peppers, stuffed with mushrooms, rice, and tomato. Soup and bread. I can see if there is still something from breakfast-“ offered Erestor, but Glorfindel shook his head.
“I shall join you shortly,” he repeated, and Erestor took his leave. Glorfindel opened his journal again; unconsciously sticking his tongue out as he went through the menu he had been presented with. For some time, Glorfindel had looked forward to being in the house with none others save Erestor. After Elrond sailed few remained in the house, and after the departure of Elladan and Elrohir, only Glorfindel remained with Erestor as the former advisor completed tasks he still needed to finish before journeying to Valinor. The pair had also made vows to Elrond and Celeborn regarding Arwen Undomiel, and did not intend to leave until the vows were fulfilled. In Glorfindel’s mind, he could pretend they were the two great lords of a hidden Elven realm, save for the fact they had to do their own laundry, clean their own messes, and make their own meals.
And it was exactly that which he had neglected to think about ahead of time. When the twins and a handful of others still remained, a good-sized meal was prepared twice a day at least, with the most wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Now, they took turns making supper, and the rest of the meals consisted of things easy enough to cook – toast, sliced potatoes, corn muffins, and the like. There was one very obvious omission to all of their meals.
Erestor did not eat meat. Eggs, cheese, and butter were a few of the exceptions he made to his diet when Glorfindel had first complained that he was not a rabbit. The main rule had held, as neither would separate from the other now that they were the last two left in Imladris. The only treat Glorfindel had received was when a few of Arwen’s children had come to call. Eldarion and Elodien hunted twice, first bringing back a boar, and then later, ducks and quail. Seven years now it had been, and Glorfindel would have by now gone fishing in the stream that ran in front of the house, if it weren’t for the fact that he had caught Erestor talking to the fish on more than one occasion.
There was another reason Glorfindel did not hurry to get to the kitchen. He could survive the absence of meat in his diet, if only what remained would have been a little less bland. For all his perfection, Erestor was a terrible cook. Often Glorfindel would offer to make meals even if it was not his rotation for it. Erestor’s cooking was edible, but far from delicious. Glorfindel had not dared make mention of it, even when Erestor once commented that the salt reserves seemed quite low despite the lack of those residing in the last homely house.
Retrieving a bottle of wine before entering the kitchen, he pulled one of the strongest from the cellar, not caring whether it complimented peppers and mushrooms or not. Erestor would have water, Erestor always had water. Wine was rare for him to consume, for the dark elf was an advocate of moderation, and did not see why one would drown the flavor of food with wine. At least, that was what he said. The truth was known to Glorfindel: One glass of wine was never enough for the ex-counselor; more than one was always too many. Liquor brought a strange change to Erestor that made him forget himself, and he had the sense in his later years not to partake.
“If only you could cook,” mumbled Glorfindel to himself as he crossed the hall. Finding the kitchen empty, he followed the breeze that came in from the open doors to the lawn and a table set outside with food upon it. Erestor was not at the table; rather, he was perched on a railing and faced the west. The sun was readying to set, and gold, red, and violet streaked the sky. “I brought the wine,” said Glorfindel setting the bottle on the table. Erestor nodded, but continued to look at the painted sky.
Removing the cork, Glorfindel sniffed the wine, nodding to himself that it would more than cover the taste of dinner. He thought first to take it in a glass, but noted it was wasteful if he was the only one drinking, and walked to his companion, testing the wine straight from the bottle. Indeed, it was strong, and perhaps a little bitter, but he drank once again when he reached Erestor.
“Where is it from?” questioned the dark elf, tilting up his head to observe the approaching night.
“Rohan,” managed Glorfindel hoarsely, giving a cough. Truly, it was a drink stronger than he had believed, but he drank again, and said in a strained voice, “Good vintage.”
Closing his eyes and inhaling the night air, Erestor licked his lips and said, “Is my cooking really that bad?” He glanced to his left and focused his sideways look on Glorfindel, who smiled and scuffed a foot on the ground. Erestor had, in their years alone, become as bitter as the wine.
When the twins left and Imladris had emptied, the remaining pair had not stayed merely because they had made promise not to leave until after Arwen’s final fate was known, for they would have been welcomed gladly in Gondor. They stayed to sort out emotions and their personal relationship.
Unbeknownst to Glorfindel and Erestor, when Elrond and Celebrían had bound themselves some three thousand years earlier, they, too, had formed a bond. It was accidental, and not until recent years had they realized what had happened.
It was not the first time they had bound their souls, either, but marriage is for the living only. Souls torn asunder are fragile things, especially when those who bear them think themselves stronger than they are. Neither had shattered yet, but they had teetered upon the edge for so long. The slightest breeze was bound to send them to ruin; the slightest breeze could very well save them.
Erestor thought back to those days, those blessed days when everything seemed right again. There were wounds yet raw from battles won and friends lost. More than this, though, there was hope. Glorfindel was proof of that; the returned warrior. If he had made it back, back from death and darkness, there was hope for the others as well.
He had dwelled upon this the day of the betrothal of Elrond and Celebrian. It was a joyous affair, and he had aided in the preparations for the event – as did Glorfindel. It seemed, somehow, they always ended up together – like, salt and pepper or flint and steel. They stood on opposite sides of the ceremonial archway, until Glorfindel had pulled him through.
It was only for something silly, ivy or flowers or something for his hair. Erestor still remembered the mix of feelings he had when he had been unceremoniously yanked through the archway; shock, bliss, and an undeniable warmth that seemed to burrow into him and snuggle around his soul.
There was something he had ‘heard’ after Glorfindel’s quip about all languages, words, stories, and songs being made up. Something in his head, spoken in Glorfindel’s voice. It had been a great many years since that had happened.
‘And even if I did make it up, it makes you look even more magnificent.’
Then fainter, hopeful, longingly...
‘I love you.’
At the time, Erestor thought he must have imagined Glorfindel’s final thoughts, for how could he have heard them, and why would his friend have even thought such a thing? Glorfindel was with someone at the time; Erestor’s thoughts were once again on finding a wife and starting a family. It had seemed that their paths, though nearly converging, were again at best running parallel.
The words, he found out much later, were not only real, but in Glorfindel’s mind, they were very, very true.
“I love you,” tried Glorfindel, pulling Erestor from his reverie. Just as Glorfindel’s thoughts were rarely false, neither were his words. Erestor smiled ruefully, patted Glorfindel on the head, and hopped down from the railing. He steadied himself for a moment, the words so simple, so soothing, and so hard for him to say in return no matter how much he wanted to. Too many heartaches, too many loves lost, and so many years of confusion. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Dinner will get cold,” he replied, sitting down in the chair that would face the sunset. “And bad food is always worse when it is not warm.”
-2-
For years I have kept private journals, expecting them to remain just that – private. Perhaps this is a mistake, and perhaps I shall regret my decision later. The rest of my journals are already prepared for our journey, though I would gladly retrieve them for you if you wish to read them.
Tonight I came to the conclusion, that if we are ever to hope for a future together, in any capacity, that no longer can I keep anything private. From others, yes, but not from you. It is not fair, though I do not expect reciprocation of my actions. I promise you I will not pursue any further intimacies of a sexual nature, unless you give me leave to do so. I apologize for my actions earlier this evening.
I really do love you.
Glorfindel
PS – If it bothers you to hear it, I will never utter the sentiment again. Know that you are always first in my heart.
- - -
The note was folded around the book that had been propped against Erestor’s door. Entering his quarters, he took them to his bed, leaving the door open. Privacy was ridiculous in a household with two people, one of whom had just bravely poured his heart out to the other and expected nothing in return. That thought alone made Erestor feel guilty, and he left the door open for this reason. An invitation, perhaps, for Glorfindel if he happened to walk by to check on the status of the book in the hallway.
Sitting down he read the note again, then folded it and placed it on his nightstand. Next, he changed into a pair of light pants for sleeping and took the book with him to his couch. When he read for pleasure, he didn’t sit. He liked to lounge, and lit the lamp on the nearby table before situating himself comfortably.
Flipping through the pages, he recognized Glorfindel’s hand, and the dark ink he had seen on the note. He wondered for a moment if he should go to the other elf to let him know nothing had been done that night to truly upset him. Glorfindel had finally admitted to him that his cooking left much to be desired, and then spent the rest of the meal silent when Erestor had not replied, but Erestor had known as much for some years. There was a very good reason he did not boast culinary skills, for he had none to speak of, and even his beloved books had done nothing to cure this.
If anything, the awkward conversation earlier had led to this, and this was what Erestor needed. Not vague advances, not charming smiles nor hopeful glances. He needed this nudge, this shove away from the edge. Now the choice was his – step away, or embrace the truth.
Opening the book randomly, Erestor began to read the words of the passage. He knew that Glorfindel made daily notes, but never knew of exactly what he wrote. Much of it was rather dull, for he had been there for what was being written about. He started to look for lines where his name was listed, curious to see how Glorfindel viewed him. He found a section where the writing changed a bit and sat up. The color was the same, and still it was Glorfindel who wrote, but the words were smaller, and the text messier, as if written hastily or in secret.
- - -
Glorfindel pressed Erestor's wrists to the wall beside his raven-locked head. He knew his long time friend would not give in to him so easily; no matter how tempting he was to the older elf. Erestor was no elf’s plaything to be used, only to be set aside. But it was not Glorfindel’s intention to set him aside, and he needed to know how to make him believe this.
Long had he yearned to introduce Erestor to sexual delights, but always in his mind that introduction happened within the confines of a serious relationship. Not the illicit affair Erestor thought he was offering. The Noldo’s jaw was set, defiantly mocking him. He was trapped, but then, he allowed himself to be trapped, for he could leave at his own choosing and Glorfindel would not have given chase.
Snapping back to his present situation, Glorfindel moaned as Erestor tilted his hips forward, forcing firmer contact between their arousals. Caught off guard, Glorfindel whimpered, and Erestor smiled triumphantly; he was enjoying this...this utter agony he was putting Glorfindel through, and his own struggle to resist the pleasure he truly wanted.
- - -
Erestor gasped, realizing that he had forgotten to breathe. Unable to believe his eyes, he rubbed them with one hand, and set to reading the passage again. When it hit him that he was really reading what he was reading, he threw the book away from him as if it would burn his hand. It struck the corner of the bed and opened as it fell, the cover facing up as it hit the floor.
Grabbing one of the pillows from the couch, he drew it up to his chest and hugged it to him, wishing it was Glorfindel instead. The pillow was tossed aside next as he fully realized his thought, and he shook his head, getting up to retrieve the book. This proved harder than he had anticipated, for he concluded, as he looked down in front of himself, that he indeed was fully erect. “What is wrong with me?” he wondered out loud, flopping back onto the couch. Looking to the door, Erestor hoped that it was not Glorfindel’s intention to enter or walk past the door anytime soon, for he would have been so completely embarrassed he could not fathom another minute in the same house and would surely have had to sail.
After calming himself enough to be able to comfortably pick up the book again, he first went to the door to close and lock it, and then to his couch. The book was left on the cushion as he brought a small bottle of liqueur from the cabinet next to his desk with him. Taking a deep breath as he uncorked the bottle, he drained half the contents of the raspberry-peach concoction and placed the rest of the miruvor aside. “What other naughty thoughts have you written, dear Fin, and why do you want me to read them?”
Erestor paused, repeating himself. “Dear Fin. When did that come about?” Finding he often reasoned things better aloud, and that he enjoyed the sound of his voice, he continued his investigation, speaking when he thought it helpful. He opened the book and read through the passage again. “What are you trying to tell me? That you lust for me? Aye, but I know that, and know that you love me, for I love you. But lust – that is something I am not sure of. At least not yet. You do not wish me to fear you, in that you want me to know your intentions are pure. I want to believe that.” Erestor ran a finger along the page, across words so very personal in some ways it seemed almost sacred that he was reading them now. “I want very much to believe that. And I want very much not to fear, but it is not you that I fear, for I fear only that I might lose you, and I would be lost without you.”
He set to find more of the interludes, and though they were few, Erestor found three others in the journal. The last, he concluded had been written after dinner, but before the journal had been left for him. “We were together in the parlor when you wrote this,” Erestor whispered. “Not more than ten feet from you, and still, I did not know you had such thoughts, such... beautiful thoughts, so close…”
Shutting the book, Erestor placed it on the table beside him, and lifted up the bottle, drinking the rest. The cordial warmed him thoroughly, for he was not currently used to taking such amounts of alcohol. When the bottle was empty, he retrieved one containing brandy and poured a glass. Erestor opened the windows to let in the breeze of late autumn, then crawled into his bed, planning to think on things in the morning.
Instead he stayed wide-awake, listening to the leaves rustling across the grass outside. “I do not lust for him,” he said suddenly, in defense of his uncontrollable actions earlier. “It was an accident. It was only the words, I was unprepared.” But his hand had slipped down under the sheets, loosening the cord of his pants to allow him access. This night, as on so many other cold and lonely nights, he did as he had always done before. He took himself in his hand and thought of the most beautiful golden-haired elf he had ever known. “Mmm… Artanis…” he smiled, shutting his eyes, imagining her as he drew his hand along his hardening shaft. It took mere seconds for him to pant and moan softly, hoping that Glorfindel did not hear the sounds. The door was still open, the invitation still there, the possibility of Glorfindel walking in very possible.
And if he did enter, what would he find? What would he do? Would he carefully step back outside, or would he come closer? The sheet had slipped down, further invitation. What would Glorfindel do, given the opportunity? Erestor knew one thing: He would not stop him.
Throwing his head back, he cried out suddenly, and his hand ceased as he felt the warmth spread across it. Growling as he gasped for air, he wiped his hand across his thigh, removing it from inside his sleepwear. Sitting up, he drew up his knees and rested his chin on them, arms curled around his legs. “Glorfindel,” he said again, for the name that flowed from his lips as he released was not that of his golden maiden of old, but of the golden lord that was with him in this very house, where they were alone and unbothered by others. “Glorfindel…” Erestor bowed his head and sighed.
Throwing the covers back the rest of the way, he slid out of bed, shut the window, and lit the fire. Wandering into the bathroom, he drew cold water into the tub, stripped and washed himself, and warmed then in front of the fire while rereading the sloppily written passages. So intent upon the words was Erestor, he did not notice that he had been lazily running his free hand along his legs, chest, and stomach until his erection throbbed once again. “Aiya, Glorfindel,” sighed Erestor, rolling to his back as he tossed the book next to himself on the fur he was upon. “What am I to say to you when I do not know what to say to myself?”
The hour was late, but Erestor knew he would not sleep, and so retrieved a fresh set of nightclothes – pants, and a robe that reached just past his waist. Unlike so much of what he wore, these were not black, but blue-violet, and so light to almost have been mistaken for white in the sun. He left the robe untied, picked up the book, and made his way to Glorfindel’s chambers.
-3-
Erestor paced back and forth at the door to Glorfindel’s rooms. Twice he had returned to his own quarters, but somehow found his feet bringing him back here each time. Finally turning to face the door, Erestor rocked back on his feet and reached up and knocked sharply on the door, then stepped back and waited.
When there was no reply and Glorfindel did not come to the door, Erestor pounded once again with his fist and then pressed his ear to the wood to listen. It seemed there was some soft sound coming from within, but he could not tell exactly what. Perhaps Glorfindel was asleep, he reasoned. Waiting until morning was the most practical course of action, but Erestor boldly reached for the handle and turned it toward him, finding the door had been left unlocked.
Pressing it inwards gently, Erestor silently entered the main room and tilted his head to see the bed immediately inside instead of hidden in some back chamber. But then, he had never been in Glorfindel’s rooms before, he reminded himself. The bed before him was empty, and his next surprise were the colors of the room. Deep colors, rich burgundy and forest green greeted him, and midnight blues across the walls. Even in the candlelight that illuminated the room, the darkness was evidently dominant. What was also evident was that Glorfindel was not in this room.
He had for some reason expected to find clutter, but here there was a place for everything, and even what appeared to be a basket of dirty laundry was tucked away in the corner. The old Glorfindel, the Gondolin Glorfindel, was very tidy. It had always seemed to Erestor that Glorfindel of Gondolin had died, and was little more than a whisper. The state of the room told him otherwise.
Erestor placed his hand on the corner of the bed and looked at it wistfully. He had once been secretly in love with Glorfindel... of Gondolin. Glorfindel reborn, Glorfindel of Imladris, was not the same. Not the same, but maybe similar enough.
There was a passage that led further into the chambers, and Erestor followed it, down a narrow corridor that did not go on for long, lined with maps and tapestries of famed battles. There were no weapons adorning the walls, something that he had somehow expected to find. More and more, he felt the presence of the old Glorfindel, and began to wonder if it really was and always had been the Glorfindel he had once known and believed was lost, wearing a mask now that belied his true nature.
Erestor came out into a rectangular room, the most surprising feature of all, for it was a library. Looking around, Erestor could not believe he did not know of this collection of tomes. When he began to read the titles, however, he found the books were an assortment of sensual short stories; many books he had thought were no longer in existence. Even more startling were the volumes of erotic poetry, for some were Erestor’s own works. He blushed in spite of the fact no one could see him, and then heard the sounds again. A sliding door stood in his way, and he pushed it gently back.
The final room was splendid as the rest, and Erestor now figured the layout, that the bedroom was on the other side of the far wall. The room he was in was nearly empty, save for Glorfindel and his swords, but the walls were delicately painted with what Erestor assumed were favorite verses of poems and songs of battle with accompanied art. Erestor stood and watched, mesmerized by the dance performed as Glorfindel practiced his art, battling unseen foes as he moved, a sword in each of his hands. One of the invisible enemies caused him to turn in the direction of the door, and the practice swords fell from his hands and clattered to the ground. “Erestor!”
“I apologize. I should have knocked or said something – well, I… I did knock, but then you did not hear me, and…” Erestor stepped into the room, ignoring Glorfindel’s appearance, or trying unsuccessfully to. He had quite obviously noticed the way Glorfindel’s chest heaved, for it was easy, as he was practicing with his chest bare. As Glorfindel bent to pick up the swords, Erestor glanced at him, deciding his deep brown leggings were practical, but not the most suitable for receiving guests, and yet, he had a hard time pulling his gaze from them until Glorfindel stood again.
“You do not have to apologize, Erestor.” Glorfindel moved to the wall and slid open a hidden door. He placed the swords inside before sliding it back once again. “Do you require something of me?”
No longer as brave as he had originally been, Erestor held out the book at arm’s length. “I came to return this to you,” he said rather quickly, and gave it a little shake, as if Glorfindel should take it immediately.
“Oh.” Glorfindel tried to hide his disappointment and curiosity. “Did you…?”
“I finished it. All of it,” added Erestor. He was looking now at the four large mirror panels that were along part of the room.
“Ah.” Taking the book, Glorfindel waited to see if anything more was to be said.
Pointing at the mirrors, Erestor asked, “What are those here for? Forgive me, I have not seen anything like it.”
“For practice,” answered Glorfindel. He stepped out of the room, and returned immediately without the book. “So that I can watch what I am doing and see my mistakes.” Erestor nodded, and looked back to Glorfindel, noting that the blond had been staring at him. “Forgive me,” begged Glorfindel, bowing his head slightly after Erestor’s brow jerked up in askance, “I have not seen you in such bright colors in so long. It reminds me of when we were in Gondolin.”
“Oh, but Gondolin was so long ago,” said Erestor, shaking his head. “There is little to compare, save a similar hue.”
“Do not deny my compliments, Erestor, you know your beauty,” laughed Glorfindel, and his eyes widened as the other elf slightly blushed. Erestor was known to take most compliments like the wind, for not only did he think quite highly of himself – and for good reason – Erestor was not known to be shy. But here was Erestor, stepping just out of the way, turning his face from him. “Come, if you do not believe me,” insisted Glorfindel, and he pulled Erestor over to the mirrors with much less protest than he had expected. He was well aware of the fact Erestor did not own a mirror, much less ever use one, and he could not resist showing the dark beauty what he had the honor to see every day.
Glorfindel brought Erestor before one of the center panels, standing behind him. “Your hair could do to be brushed, but the rest of you is flawless,” he said, and one hand strayed from Erestor’s shoulder to tuck back errant hairs behind his ear.
Standing this close, Glorfindel could smell the freshness of Erestor’s recent bath, and wondered how the advisor had come to bathe at this late hour, until he picked up the faintest trace beneath of a second scent. Glorfindel’s hand still hovered next to Erestor’s face, and he experimentally drew the back of his hand down along the other elf’s cheek. Erestor shifted, but not away, for he unexplainably closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Glorfindel’s heart began to beat faster and he leaned nearer and spoke softly into Erestor’s ear. “Stay here. I shall return.”
Not having the chance to respond to the command, Erestor’s eyes fluttered open and he nodded only after Glorfindel had left the room. When the blond returned, he had with him a softly padded stool and his hairbrush. He brought them to Erestor, placed the stool down, and motioned to it with the brush. “If you will permit me…” he said, and Erestor nodded, sitting down. He had forgotten to comb through his hair after his bath, and was fairly certain that there were some tangles in it by now.
Nothing was said by either at first, as Glorfindel began the work of taming Erestor’s inky black mane. Erestor’s hair flowed down just below his knees, and though it pooled now on the floor, Glorfindel knew that it wouldn’t do to have Erestor stand. Not only did it seem silly, but it was impractical, as Glorfindel did not have Erestor’s height. Therefore, the blond sometimes had a wave of ebony over his arm as he carefully drew the knots out of the loose strands.
“I never knew you to have a library,” Erestor finally said, and Glorfindel nodded.
“I do not think of it as a library, really. There is no organization to it, I do not quite recall the volumes that are contained. Reading room is a better term,” he reasoned.
“I would organize it for you,” offered Erestor, and to this Glorfindel smiled.
“You do not know what is kept in that room.”
Grinning, Erestor chuckled. “Yes, I do. I wrote some of it. Or do you not pay attention to the authors?”
The brushing stopped. “I do not recall seeing your name listed as author for any of them.”
“ ‘A compilation of the House of the Silver Stars’. The house began and ended with me, Glorfindel.”
“Hmm.” The brushing resumed, and Erestor could not tell if Glorfindel smirked because he was pleased, amused, or embarrassed.
“Would you like them organized? I will not be upset if you do not want me to go in there anymore.”
“It just seems such an extraordinary task.”
“I would not mind it. In fact, I would enjoy it.”
Glorfindel ran his hands through the dark hair, checking for any further snarls. “Perhaps, we might make a deal,” he suggested. “You can catalogue to your heart’s content while I practice here, and that will give us means to share conversation during the day. In the evening, while I make our meals, you can read to me from one of your books.”
Erestor crossed his arms and looked slyly at the mirror image of Glorfindel. “You really do detest my cooking.”
“That is not entirely true,” Glorfindel answered playfully. “I love your cooking when I am not the one eating it.” He was glad to hear Erestor laugh at this, and smiled himself, his fingers lingering as he drew them through dark tresses. He decided not to further his comments by saying he loved to watch Erestor cook. How the advisor would look, reading over a recipe as he drummed his fingers on the counter, brow furled, apron on, hair drawn back, and just the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of pouting lips to finish the look of determination. Glorfindel realized his plan would cost him that image, and quickly added, “Perhaps, sometimes, we can make dinner together.”
“You have a deal,” said Erestor with a nod. “How is it coming?” he asked then, for Glorfindel had settled the handle of the brush in his pocket and was now combing through Erestor’s hair with his fingers.
“Perfectly,” Glorfindel whispered, letting the strands fall from his fingertips. He bent his head slowly, watching the eyes in the mirror, and swept the hair back from Erestor’s neck with his hand.
Erestor stood abruptly, just as he had felt Glorfindel’s breath on his bare skin. The stool wobbled a little, and Erestor moved forward to straighten it, but Glorfindel gripped the sides as if he had truly bent to do just that. “I-“ Erestor pulled the escaped strands behind his pointed ears. “Thank you, Glorfindel. I should retire, now, indeed you must be tired, and I have left the fire burning in my room,” he remembered suddenly, a little relieved and yet slightly upset that he truly did have an excuse to leave.
“I am not as tired as I might seem,” said Glorfindel, “but I shall see you in the morning.”
Erestor nodded, leaving the room. Back in the library of sorts, he paused, seeing the book sitting on the chair, and shivered at the memory of reading it. His hand hovered over it as he considered sneaking it out with him. If he really wanted the book that badly, however, he might as well get Glorfindel to come with him in person instead.
Erestor walked back into the practice room, nearly walking into Glorfindel, who had just retrieved the stool and was about to bring it out of the room. “Sorry,” Erestor said, backing up a few steps, but Glorfindel stayed him, taking hold of his wrist as he set the stool aside with his other hand. Glorfindel let his grip slide to Erestor’s hand while his other arm hid itself behind his own back.
“No, no need, Erestor, I should have been more alert. My mind was on other things.” Glorfindel’s smile was warm, and as his thumb moved in comforting circles against Erestor’s palm, he asked, “Did you forget something?”
“I thought…” Erestor looked down to their joined hands, but did nothing. Meeting Glorfindel’s gaze again, he said, “I thought that perhaps you might like to come to my quarters. I find I am not as tired as I might seem, either,” he offered in explanation.
Glorfindel nodded, leaving Erestor’s hand to slip away. “Allow me to dress again, and I will join you momentary.”
“I had best tend to the fire.” Erestor walked to the doorway, and then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I lo...” Erestor bit his lip. “I look forward to seeing you again soon,” he quickly corrected, and Glorfindel gave him another nod as he left.
“I love you, too, Erestor,” murmured Glorfindel after he heard the door to his quarters shut.
TBC... next post!
Author: Zhie
Beta: Mei (v.1); Beruthiel’s Cat (v.2)
Author's Email: zhiester@gmail.com
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC17
Archive: Original version at Library of Moria for Challenge issued by TopKat (A proud, unbroken Erestor), First Homely House of Valinor, and Phoenix. Version Two (bunniverse version) will be at Phoenix and on my livejournal
Summary: Years after most of the elves depart for Valinor, Erestor and
Glorfindel remain in Imladris to fulfill one final promise to Lord Elrond,
and find peace and pleasure with each other.
Author Notes: The original was a stand alone story; I think this revamped version is much more branched from bunniverse, making it harder to be stand-alone. Other bunniverse stories are at Phoenix. This was initially written when TopKat put a rather intriguing plot bunny up for adoption, and I expected I’d have something a week and five pages later. It took nearly a year and thirty pages. A few paragraphs she offered for it were reworked into this story as part of Glorfindel’s journal and were the main inspiration for this piece. Inspiration was also provided in part by the lovely pictures by SayAye, Mei Tripp, conversations with her, and the music of Erasure. Now that it has been reworked, with many thanks to thinks both Marty (BC) and Britt have said, it connects to Unforgettable, and hopefully enhances what used to be what I assumed must be the worst story I wrote because it always acquired the lowest rating of any of my fics. Perhaps this will help bump it up a little. Enjoy!
-1-
Something happened that I did not expect. Today Erestor cried.
Perhaps cry is not the right word. A few tears fell from his eyes, but they were wiped away quickly. It was still unexpected.
We had been packing what was left of the books in the library, and he turned around with a crate in his arms. I had been stacking the scroll cases so they would not roll across the floor. He said it was done, and I asked what. He said it was done, this was the last one. And I came to him and took the box, and noted the tears streaking his face. As soon as the box was out of his hands, he quickly turned and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve.
When I placed the crate near the rest, I heard him sob. Just a short, muffled noise, but it tore at my heart to hear it. I wanted to go to him, to comfort him, to hold him and perhaps even to kiss him. Not in the ways I have imagined before, for my lust for this unattainable beauty has been laid aside, and now I find I love him deeply, and do not think so much of the things I once did, for if only I could bring a truly happy smile to his face, it would be enough.
“Glorfindel?”
Raising his head, Glorfindel closed his journal, keeping his thumb at the page he had left off, for the ink had yet to dry. He placed the quill upon the table, and receiving a frown from Erestor, moved it to rest in the holder above the jar of golden ink. “Can I be of service?”
“The meal is ready.”
Glorfindel nodded. “I shall join you shortly,” he said. As Erestor turned, Glorfindel opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped himself. Erestor, however, turned back expectantly, and Glorfindel pursed his lips.
“Peppers, stuffed with mushrooms, rice, and tomato. Soup and bread. I can see if there is still something from breakfast-“ offered Erestor, but Glorfindel shook his head.
“I shall join you shortly,” he repeated, and Erestor took his leave. Glorfindel opened his journal again; unconsciously sticking his tongue out as he went through the menu he had been presented with. For some time, Glorfindel had looked forward to being in the house with none others save Erestor. After Elrond sailed few remained in the house, and after the departure of Elladan and Elrohir, only Glorfindel remained with Erestor as the former advisor completed tasks he still needed to finish before journeying to Valinor. The pair had also made vows to Elrond and Celeborn regarding Arwen Undomiel, and did not intend to leave until the vows were fulfilled. In Glorfindel’s mind, he could pretend they were the two great lords of a hidden Elven realm, save for the fact they had to do their own laundry, clean their own messes, and make their own meals.
And it was exactly that which he had neglected to think about ahead of time. When the twins and a handful of others still remained, a good-sized meal was prepared twice a day at least, with the most wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Now, they took turns making supper, and the rest of the meals consisted of things easy enough to cook – toast, sliced potatoes, corn muffins, and the like. There was one very obvious omission to all of their meals.
Erestor did not eat meat. Eggs, cheese, and butter were a few of the exceptions he made to his diet when Glorfindel had first complained that he was not a rabbit. The main rule had held, as neither would separate from the other now that they were the last two left in Imladris. The only treat Glorfindel had received was when a few of Arwen’s children had come to call. Eldarion and Elodien hunted twice, first bringing back a boar, and then later, ducks and quail. Seven years now it had been, and Glorfindel would have by now gone fishing in the stream that ran in front of the house, if it weren’t for the fact that he had caught Erestor talking to the fish on more than one occasion.
There was another reason Glorfindel did not hurry to get to the kitchen. He could survive the absence of meat in his diet, if only what remained would have been a little less bland. For all his perfection, Erestor was a terrible cook. Often Glorfindel would offer to make meals even if it was not his rotation for it. Erestor’s cooking was edible, but far from delicious. Glorfindel had not dared make mention of it, even when Erestor once commented that the salt reserves seemed quite low despite the lack of those residing in the last homely house.
Retrieving a bottle of wine before entering the kitchen, he pulled one of the strongest from the cellar, not caring whether it complimented peppers and mushrooms or not. Erestor would have water, Erestor always had water. Wine was rare for him to consume, for the dark elf was an advocate of moderation, and did not see why one would drown the flavor of food with wine. At least, that was what he said. The truth was known to Glorfindel: One glass of wine was never enough for the ex-counselor; more than one was always too many. Liquor brought a strange change to Erestor that made him forget himself, and he had the sense in his later years not to partake.
“If only you could cook,” mumbled Glorfindel to himself as he crossed the hall. Finding the kitchen empty, he followed the breeze that came in from the open doors to the lawn and a table set outside with food upon it. Erestor was not at the table; rather, he was perched on a railing and faced the west. The sun was readying to set, and gold, red, and violet streaked the sky. “I brought the wine,” said Glorfindel setting the bottle on the table. Erestor nodded, but continued to look at the painted sky.
Removing the cork, Glorfindel sniffed the wine, nodding to himself that it would more than cover the taste of dinner. He thought first to take it in a glass, but noted it was wasteful if he was the only one drinking, and walked to his companion, testing the wine straight from the bottle. Indeed, it was strong, and perhaps a little bitter, but he drank once again when he reached Erestor.
“Where is it from?” questioned the dark elf, tilting up his head to observe the approaching night.
“Rohan,” managed Glorfindel hoarsely, giving a cough. Truly, it was a drink stronger than he had believed, but he drank again, and said in a strained voice, “Good vintage.”
Closing his eyes and inhaling the night air, Erestor licked his lips and said, “Is my cooking really that bad?” He glanced to his left and focused his sideways look on Glorfindel, who smiled and scuffed a foot on the ground. Erestor had, in their years alone, become as bitter as the wine.
When the twins left and Imladris had emptied, the remaining pair had not stayed merely because they had made promise not to leave until after Arwen’s final fate was known, for they would have been welcomed gladly in Gondor. They stayed to sort out emotions and their personal relationship.
Unbeknownst to Glorfindel and Erestor, when Elrond and Celebrían had bound themselves some three thousand years earlier, they, too, had formed a bond. It was accidental, and not until recent years had they realized what had happened.
It was not the first time they had bound their souls, either, but marriage is for the living only. Souls torn asunder are fragile things, especially when those who bear them think themselves stronger than they are. Neither had shattered yet, but they had teetered upon the edge for so long. The slightest breeze was bound to send them to ruin; the slightest breeze could very well save them.
Erestor thought back to those days, those blessed days when everything seemed right again. There were wounds yet raw from battles won and friends lost. More than this, though, there was hope. Glorfindel was proof of that; the returned warrior. If he had made it back, back from death and darkness, there was hope for the others as well.
He had dwelled upon this the day of the betrothal of Elrond and Celebrian. It was a joyous affair, and he had aided in the preparations for the event – as did Glorfindel. It seemed, somehow, they always ended up together – like, salt and pepper or flint and steel. They stood on opposite sides of the ceremonial archway, until Glorfindel had pulled him through.
It was only for something silly, ivy or flowers or something for his hair. Erestor still remembered the mix of feelings he had when he had been unceremoniously yanked through the archway; shock, bliss, and an undeniable warmth that seemed to burrow into him and snuggle around his soul.
There was something he had ‘heard’ after Glorfindel’s quip about all languages, words, stories, and songs being made up. Something in his head, spoken in Glorfindel’s voice. It had been a great many years since that had happened.
‘And even if I did make it up, it makes you look even more magnificent.’
Then fainter, hopeful, longingly...
‘I love you.’
At the time, Erestor thought he must have imagined Glorfindel’s final thoughts, for how could he have heard them, and why would his friend have even thought such a thing? Glorfindel was with someone at the time; Erestor’s thoughts were once again on finding a wife and starting a family. It had seemed that their paths, though nearly converging, were again at best running parallel.
The words, he found out much later, were not only real, but in Glorfindel’s mind, they were very, very true.
“I love you,” tried Glorfindel, pulling Erestor from his reverie. Just as Glorfindel’s thoughts were rarely false, neither were his words. Erestor smiled ruefully, patted Glorfindel on the head, and hopped down from the railing. He steadied himself for a moment, the words so simple, so soothing, and so hard for him to say in return no matter how much he wanted to. Too many heartaches, too many loves lost, and so many years of confusion. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“Dinner will get cold,” he replied, sitting down in the chair that would face the sunset. “And bad food is always worse when it is not warm.”
-2-
For years I have kept private journals, expecting them to remain just that – private. Perhaps this is a mistake, and perhaps I shall regret my decision later. The rest of my journals are already prepared for our journey, though I would gladly retrieve them for you if you wish to read them.
Tonight I came to the conclusion, that if we are ever to hope for a future together, in any capacity, that no longer can I keep anything private. From others, yes, but not from you. It is not fair, though I do not expect reciprocation of my actions. I promise you I will not pursue any further intimacies of a sexual nature, unless you give me leave to do so. I apologize for my actions earlier this evening.
I really do love you.
Glorfindel
PS – If it bothers you to hear it, I will never utter the sentiment again. Know that you are always first in my heart.
- - -
The note was folded around the book that had been propped against Erestor’s door. Entering his quarters, he took them to his bed, leaving the door open. Privacy was ridiculous in a household with two people, one of whom had just bravely poured his heart out to the other and expected nothing in return. That thought alone made Erestor feel guilty, and he left the door open for this reason. An invitation, perhaps, for Glorfindel if he happened to walk by to check on the status of the book in the hallway.
Sitting down he read the note again, then folded it and placed it on his nightstand. Next, he changed into a pair of light pants for sleeping and took the book with him to his couch. When he read for pleasure, he didn’t sit. He liked to lounge, and lit the lamp on the nearby table before situating himself comfortably.
Flipping through the pages, he recognized Glorfindel’s hand, and the dark ink he had seen on the note. He wondered for a moment if he should go to the other elf to let him know nothing had been done that night to truly upset him. Glorfindel had finally admitted to him that his cooking left much to be desired, and then spent the rest of the meal silent when Erestor had not replied, but Erestor had known as much for some years. There was a very good reason he did not boast culinary skills, for he had none to speak of, and even his beloved books had done nothing to cure this.
If anything, the awkward conversation earlier had led to this, and this was what Erestor needed. Not vague advances, not charming smiles nor hopeful glances. He needed this nudge, this shove away from the edge. Now the choice was his – step away, or embrace the truth.
Opening the book randomly, Erestor began to read the words of the passage. He knew that Glorfindel made daily notes, but never knew of exactly what he wrote. Much of it was rather dull, for he had been there for what was being written about. He started to look for lines where his name was listed, curious to see how Glorfindel viewed him. He found a section where the writing changed a bit and sat up. The color was the same, and still it was Glorfindel who wrote, but the words were smaller, and the text messier, as if written hastily or in secret.
- - -
Glorfindel pressed Erestor's wrists to the wall beside his raven-locked head. He knew his long time friend would not give in to him so easily; no matter how tempting he was to the older elf. Erestor was no elf’s plaything to be used, only to be set aside. But it was not Glorfindel’s intention to set him aside, and he needed to know how to make him believe this.
Long had he yearned to introduce Erestor to sexual delights, but always in his mind that introduction happened within the confines of a serious relationship. Not the illicit affair Erestor thought he was offering. The Noldo’s jaw was set, defiantly mocking him. He was trapped, but then, he allowed himself to be trapped, for he could leave at his own choosing and Glorfindel would not have given chase.
Snapping back to his present situation, Glorfindel moaned as Erestor tilted his hips forward, forcing firmer contact between their arousals. Caught off guard, Glorfindel whimpered, and Erestor smiled triumphantly; he was enjoying this...this utter agony he was putting Glorfindel through, and his own struggle to resist the pleasure he truly wanted.
- - -
Erestor gasped, realizing that he had forgotten to breathe. Unable to believe his eyes, he rubbed them with one hand, and set to reading the passage again. When it hit him that he was really reading what he was reading, he threw the book away from him as if it would burn his hand. It struck the corner of the bed and opened as it fell, the cover facing up as it hit the floor.
Grabbing one of the pillows from the couch, he drew it up to his chest and hugged it to him, wishing it was Glorfindel instead. The pillow was tossed aside next as he fully realized his thought, and he shook his head, getting up to retrieve the book. This proved harder than he had anticipated, for he concluded, as he looked down in front of himself, that he indeed was fully erect. “What is wrong with me?” he wondered out loud, flopping back onto the couch. Looking to the door, Erestor hoped that it was not Glorfindel’s intention to enter or walk past the door anytime soon, for he would have been so completely embarrassed he could not fathom another minute in the same house and would surely have had to sail.
After calming himself enough to be able to comfortably pick up the book again, he first went to the door to close and lock it, and then to his couch. The book was left on the cushion as he brought a small bottle of liqueur from the cabinet next to his desk with him. Taking a deep breath as he uncorked the bottle, he drained half the contents of the raspberry-peach concoction and placed the rest of the miruvor aside. “What other naughty thoughts have you written, dear Fin, and why do you want me to read them?”
Erestor paused, repeating himself. “Dear Fin. When did that come about?” Finding he often reasoned things better aloud, and that he enjoyed the sound of his voice, he continued his investigation, speaking when he thought it helpful. He opened the book and read through the passage again. “What are you trying to tell me? That you lust for me? Aye, but I know that, and know that you love me, for I love you. But lust – that is something I am not sure of. At least not yet. You do not wish me to fear you, in that you want me to know your intentions are pure. I want to believe that.” Erestor ran a finger along the page, across words so very personal in some ways it seemed almost sacred that he was reading them now. “I want very much to believe that. And I want very much not to fear, but it is not you that I fear, for I fear only that I might lose you, and I would be lost without you.”
He set to find more of the interludes, and though they were few, Erestor found three others in the journal. The last, he concluded had been written after dinner, but before the journal had been left for him. “We were together in the parlor when you wrote this,” Erestor whispered. “Not more than ten feet from you, and still, I did not know you had such thoughts, such... beautiful thoughts, so close…”
Shutting the book, Erestor placed it on the table beside him, and lifted up the bottle, drinking the rest. The cordial warmed him thoroughly, for he was not currently used to taking such amounts of alcohol. When the bottle was empty, he retrieved one containing brandy and poured a glass. Erestor opened the windows to let in the breeze of late autumn, then crawled into his bed, planning to think on things in the morning.
Instead he stayed wide-awake, listening to the leaves rustling across the grass outside. “I do not lust for him,” he said suddenly, in defense of his uncontrollable actions earlier. “It was an accident. It was only the words, I was unprepared.” But his hand had slipped down under the sheets, loosening the cord of his pants to allow him access. This night, as on so many other cold and lonely nights, he did as he had always done before. He took himself in his hand and thought of the most beautiful golden-haired elf he had ever known. “Mmm… Artanis…” he smiled, shutting his eyes, imagining her as he drew his hand along his hardening shaft. It took mere seconds for him to pant and moan softly, hoping that Glorfindel did not hear the sounds. The door was still open, the invitation still there, the possibility of Glorfindel walking in very possible.
And if he did enter, what would he find? What would he do? Would he carefully step back outside, or would he come closer? The sheet had slipped down, further invitation. What would Glorfindel do, given the opportunity? Erestor knew one thing: He would not stop him.
Throwing his head back, he cried out suddenly, and his hand ceased as he felt the warmth spread across it. Growling as he gasped for air, he wiped his hand across his thigh, removing it from inside his sleepwear. Sitting up, he drew up his knees and rested his chin on them, arms curled around his legs. “Glorfindel,” he said again, for the name that flowed from his lips as he released was not that of his golden maiden of old, but of the golden lord that was with him in this very house, where they were alone and unbothered by others. “Glorfindel…” Erestor bowed his head and sighed.
Throwing the covers back the rest of the way, he slid out of bed, shut the window, and lit the fire. Wandering into the bathroom, he drew cold water into the tub, stripped and washed himself, and warmed then in front of the fire while rereading the sloppily written passages. So intent upon the words was Erestor, he did not notice that he had been lazily running his free hand along his legs, chest, and stomach until his erection throbbed once again. “Aiya, Glorfindel,” sighed Erestor, rolling to his back as he tossed the book next to himself on the fur he was upon. “What am I to say to you when I do not know what to say to myself?”
The hour was late, but Erestor knew he would not sleep, and so retrieved a fresh set of nightclothes – pants, and a robe that reached just past his waist. Unlike so much of what he wore, these were not black, but blue-violet, and so light to almost have been mistaken for white in the sun. He left the robe untied, picked up the book, and made his way to Glorfindel’s chambers.
-3-
Erestor paced back and forth at the door to Glorfindel’s rooms. Twice he had returned to his own quarters, but somehow found his feet bringing him back here each time. Finally turning to face the door, Erestor rocked back on his feet and reached up and knocked sharply on the door, then stepped back and waited.
When there was no reply and Glorfindel did not come to the door, Erestor pounded once again with his fist and then pressed his ear to the wood to listen. It seemed there was some soft sound coming from within, but he could not tell exactly what. Perhaps Glorfindel was asleep, he reasoned. Waiting until morning was the most practical course of action, but Erestor boldly reached for the handle and turned it toward him, finding the door had been left unlocked.
Pressing it inwards gently, Erestor silently entered the main room and tilted his head to see the bed immediately inside instead of hidden in some back chamber. But then, he had never been in Glorfindel’s rooms before, he reminded himself. The bed before him was empty, and his next surprise were the colors of the room. Deep colors, rich burgundy and forest green greeted him, and midnight blues across the walls. Even in the candlelight that illuminated the room, the darkness was evidently dominant. What was also evident was that Glorfindel was not in this room.
He had for some reason expected to find clutter, but here there was a place for everything, and even what appeared to be a basket of dirty laundry was tucked away in the corner. The old Glorfindel, the Gondolin Glorfindel, was very tidy. It had always seemed to Erestor that Glorfindel of Gondolin had died, and was little more than a whisper. The state of the room told him otherwise.
Erestor placed his hand on the corner of the bed and looked at it wistfully. He had once been secretly in love with Glorfindel... of Gondolin. Glorfindel reborn, Glorfindel of Imladris, was not the same. Not the same, but maybe similar enough.
There was a passage that led further into the chambers, and Erestor followed it, down a narrow corridor that did not go on for long, lined with maps and tapestries of famed battles. There were no weapons adorning the walls, something that he had somehow expected to find. More and more, he felt the presence of the old Glorfindel, and began to wonder if it really was and always had been the Glorfindel he had once known and believed was lost, wearing a mask now that belied his true nature.
Erestor came out into a rectangular room, the most surprising feature of all, for it was a library. Looking around, Erestor could not believe he did not know of this collection of tomes. When he began to read the titles, however, he found the books were an assortment of sensual short stories; many books he had thought were no longer in existence. Even more startling were the volumes of erotic poetry, for some were Erestor’s own works. He blushed in spite of the fact no one could see him, and then heard the sounds again. A sliding door stood in his way, and he pushed it gently back.
The final room was splendid as the rest, and Erestor now figured the layout, that the bedroom was on the other side of the far wall. The room he was in was nearly empty, save for Glorfindel and his swords, but the walls were delicately painted with what Erestor assumed were favorite verses of poems and songs of battle with accompanied art. Erestor stood and watched, mesmerized by the dance performed as Glorfindel practiced his art, battling unseen foes as he moved, a sword in each of his hands. One of the invisible enemies caused him to turn in the direction of the door, and the practice swords fell from his hands and clattered to the ground. “Erestor!”
“I apologize. I should have knocked or said something – well, I… I did knock, but then you did not hear me, and…” Erestor stepped into the room, ignoring Glorfindel’s appearance, or trying unsuccessfully to. He had quite obviously noticed the way Glorfindel’s chest heaved, for it was easy, as he was practicing with his chest bare. As Glorfindel bent to pick up the swords, Erestor glanced at him, deciding his deep brown leggings were practical, but not the most suitable for receiving guests, and yet, he had a hard time pulling his gaze from them until Glorfindel stood again.
“You do not have to apologize, Erestor.” Glorfindel moved to the wall and slid open a hidden door. He placed the swords inside before sliding it back once again. “Do you require something of me?”
No longer as brave as he had originally been, Erestor held out the book at arm’s length. “I came to return this to you,” he said rather quickly, and gave it a little shake, as if Glorfindel should take it immediately.
“Oh.” Glorfindel tried to hide his disappointment and curiosity. “Did you…?”
“I finished it. All of it,” added Erestor. He was looking now at the four large mirror panels that were along part of the room.
“Ah.” Taking the book, Glorfindel waited to see if anything more was to be said.
Pointing at the mirrors, Erestor asked, “What are those here for? Forgive me, I have not seen anything like it.”
“For practice,” answered Glorfindel. He stepped out of the room, and returned immediately without the book. “So that I can watch what I am doing and see my mistakes.” Erestor nodded, and looked back to Glorfindel, noting that the blond had been staring at him. “Forgive me,” begged Glorfindel, bowing his head slightly after Erestor’s brow jerked up in askance, “I have not seen you in such bright colors in so long. It reminds me of when we were in Gondolin.”
“Oh, but Gondolin was so long ago,” said Erestor, shaking his head. “There is little to compare, save a similar hue.”
“Do not deny my compliments, Erestor, you know your beauty,” laughed Glorfindel, and his eyes widened as the other elf slightly blushed. Erestor was known to take most compliments like the wind, for not only did he think quite highly of himself – and for good reason – Erestor was not known to be shy. But here was Erestor, stepping just out of the way, turning his face from him. “Come, if you do not believe me,” insisted Glorfindel, and he pulled Erestor over to the mirrors with much less protest than he had expected. He was well aware of the fact Erestor did not own a mirror, much less ever use one, and he could not resist showing the dark beauty what he had the honor to see every day.
Glorfindel brought Erestor before one of the center panels, standing behind him. “Your hair could do to be brushed, but the rest of you is flawless,” he said, and one hand strayed from Erestor’s shoulder to tuck back errant hairs behind his ear.
Standing this close, Glorfindel could smell the freshness of Erestor’s recent bath, and wondered how the advisor had come to bathe at this late hour, until he picked up the faintest trace beneath of a second scent. Glorfindel’s hand still hovered next to Erestor’s face, and he experimentally drew the back of his hand down along the other elf’s cheek. Erestor shifted, but not away, for he unexplainably closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Glorfindel’s heart began to beat faster and he leaned nearer and spoke softly into Erestor’s ear. “Stay here. I shall return.”
Not having the chance to respond to the command, Erestor’s eyes fluttered open and he nodded only after Glorfindel had left the room. When the blond returned, he had with him a softly padded stool and his hairbrush. He brought them to Erestor, placed the stool down, and motioned to it with the brush. “If you will permit me…” he said, and Erestor nodded, sitting down. He had forgotten to comb through his hair after his bath, and was fairly certain that there were some tangles in it by now.
Nothing was said by either at first, as Glorfindel began the work of taming Erestor’s inky black mane. Erestor’s hair flowed down just below his knees, and though it pooled now on the floor, Glorfindel knew that it wouldn’t do to have Erestor stand. Not only did it seem silly, but it was impractical, as Glorfindel did not have Erestor’s height. Therefore, the blond sometimes had a wave of ebony over his arm as he carefully drew the knots out of the loose strands.
“I never knew you to have a library,” Erestor finally said, and Glorfindel nodded.
“I do not think of it as a library, really. There is no organization to it, I do not quite recall the volumes that are contained. Reading room is a better term,” he reasoned.
“I would organize it for you,” offered Erestor, and to this Glorfindel smiled.
“You do not know what is kept in that room.”
Grinning, Erestor chuckled. “Yes, I do. I wrote some of it. Or do you not pay attention to the authors?”
The brushing stopped. “I do not recall seeing your name listed as author for any of them.”
“ ‘A compilation of the House of the Silver Stars’. The house began and ended with me, Glorfindel.”
“Hmm.” The brushing resumed, and Erestor could not tell if Glorfindel smirked because he was pleased, amused, or embarrassed.
“Would you like them organized? I will not be upset if you do not want me to go in there anymore.”
“It just seems such an extraordinary task.”
“I would not mind it. In fact, I would enjoy it.”
Glorfindel ran his hands through the dark hair, checking for any further snarls. “Perhaps, we might make a deal,” he suggested. “You can catalogue to your heart’s content while I practice here, and that will give us means to share conversation during the day. In the evening, while I make our meals, you can read to me from one of your books.”
Erestor crossed his arms and looked slyly at the mirror image of Glorfindel. “You really do detest my cooking.”
“That is not entirely true,” Glorfindel answered playfully. “I love your cooking when I am not the one eating it.” He was glad to hear Erestor laugh at this, and smiled himself, his fingers lingering as he drew them through dark tresses. He decided not to further his comments by saying he loved to watch Erestor cook. How the advisor would look, reading over a recipe as he drummed his fingers on the counter, brow furled, apron on, hair drawn back, and just the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of pouting lips to finish the look of determination. Glorfindel realized his plan would cost him that image, and quickly added, “Perhaps, sometimes, we can make dinner together.”
“You have a deal,” said Erestor with a nod. “How is it coming?” he asked then, for Glorfindel had settled the handle of the brush in his pocket and was now combing through Erestor’s hair with his fingers.
“Perfectly,” Glorfindel whispered, letting the strands fall from his fingertips. He bent his head slowly, watching the eyes in the mirror, and swept the hair back from Erestor’s neck with his hand.
Erestor stood abruptly, just as he had felt Glorfindel’s breath on his bare skin. The stool wobbled a little, and Erestor moved forward to straighten it, but Glorfindel gripped the sides as if he had truly bent to do just that. “I-“ Erestor pulled the escaped strands behind his pointed ears. “Thank you, Glorfindel. I should retire, now, indeed you must be tired, and I have left the fire burning in my room,” he remembered suddenly, a little relieved and yet slightly upset that he truly did have an excuse to leave.
“I am not as tired as I might seem,” said Glorfindel, “but I shall see you in the morning.”
Erestor nodded, leaving the room. Back in the library of sorts, he paused, seeing the book sitting on the chair, and shivered at the memory of reading it. His hand hovered over it as he considered sneaking it out with him. If he really wanted the book that badly, however, he might as well get Glorfindel to come with him in person instead.
Erestor walked back into the practice room, nearly walking into Glorfindel, who had just retrieved the stool and was about to bring it out of the room. “Sorry,” Erestor said, backing up a few steps, but Glorfindel stayed him, taking hold of his wrist as he set the stool aside with his other hand. Glorfindel let his grip slide to Erestor’s hand while his other arm hid itself behind his own back.
“No, no need, Erestor, I should have been more alert. My mind was on other things.” Glorfindel’s smile was warm, and as his thumb moved in comforting circles against Erestor’s palm, he asked, “Did you forget something?”
“I thought…” Erestor looked down to their joined hands, but did nothing. Meeting Glorfindel’s gaze again, he said, “I thought that perhaps you might like to come to my quarters. I find I am not as tired as I might seem, either,” he offered in explanation.
Glorfindel nodded, leaving Erestor’s hand to slip away. “Allow me to dress again, and I will join you momentary.”
“I had best tend to the fire.” Erestor walked to the doorway, and then stopped and looked over his shoulder. “I lo...” Erestor bit his lip. “I look forward to seeing you again soon,” he quickly corrected, and Glorfindel gave him another nod as he left.
“I love you, too, Erestor,” murmured Glorfindel after he heard the door to his quarters shut.
TBC... next post!
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no subject
Date: 2009-03-10 10:50 am (UTC)“I love your cooking when I am not the one eating it.”
...just the tip of his tongue protruding from the corner of pouting lips to finish the look of determination. Glorfindel realized his plan would cost him that image, and quickly added, “Perhaps, sometimes, we can make dinner together."
...“I lo...” Erestor bit his lip.
*smacks both their heads together*
no subject
Date: 2009-03-10 03:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-10 04:28 pm (UTC)Oh my.
Well.
This is a comment to say it isn't really a comment.
But.
I have decided this will be my "Do your take-home exam and then you can read about pretty elves" motivation. Therefore, I shall plan/hope to read this and flail about it Thursday night/Friday morning.
Until then, I will say that I personally loved version one, too. I even saved a copy of it on my computer a year or so back. Come to think of it, it might have been the first story of yours I ever found. *insert sappy background music here* But I'm sure this will be just as wonderful and more exciting for all the newness. :)
And I'm tickled that I was any sort of help.
Can't wait to (finish my exams and) read this!
/is physically restraining herself from scrolling up and reading now anyways.
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Date: 2009-03-10 09:47 pm (UTC)I still find my heart affected by some of what you wrote, and some stories I could not read for fear of what I would find - thank you for all those engrossed hours of reading and of pleasure and quirky humour and of tension waiting to see what would happen. I loved the children and the art show... Gildor's last visit... And Silver and Gold and the Imladris Fourth Age sequences.
I actually think I can't read Silver and Gold again right now since it would get my heart pinging more than I am up for right now (stories I love have the tendence to move me right deep down), but talk about waiting... puts eternal life into a whole new perspective.
So. Thanks for your writing, and for sharing it.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-11 03:38 am (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2009-03-13 10:45 am (UTC)I like getting more of the background and thoughts than before from Erestor. It felt in the last version less like he was opening up and more like he was just discovering the love. But now, with the littler bits like him remembering the 'bonding', and when he's reading the journal and thinking, and especially when he goes into Fin's rooms and sees the 'old' Glorfindel is still there...
that's what really makes this something brilliant. It, as you said and tried, really connects it with the rest of the bunniverse and is just terribly annoyingly romantic. ;3
I can hardly wait to read the next part, though I think it shall wait till after some sleep lest I pull an all-nighter.