the fic that might be better left unfinished

[zhie]

So I must thank those who, the other day, gave me virtual pats on the head and advised me that it's okay for muses to be bad sometimes.

That being said, here's the mess I'm trying to sort through -- since it's well beyond the possibility of any challenge entrance, I figured it doesn't hurt to post what there is of it in the open. And what a mess it is... it wants to be bunniverse, and is for the first 3/4, but at some point, it starts jumping sharks and going so ooc I think I did see an f-ed up unicorn trample through it. The last chapter was entirely written while I was much too sleep deprived and more than likely should be scrapped... but if there are any who have suggestions to salvage anything (or would like to assist in the burning of it later), let me know, and your praises shall be sung (or at least written) in the dedication. I'm just so frustrated with it because I tend to know the end before I know the middle... and originally, yes, but then, it seemed way too cut and dry, so I scrapped that, and can't go back to it, but had no plan B. Ack.



Chapter One


“Did everyone have a chance to read the invitation?” asked Elrond. It was his third time reading it.

There was a little mumbling from various members of the household. Most of them were engrossed in their own activities, from sketching to knitting to reading. Elrond glanced around, attempting a gentle glare at them, but no one had even bothered to look up. Apparently, conversation in this household had become a lost art.

Luckily, there was still at least one person whose manners were impeccable. Glorfindel marked his spot in his book, and then looked up. “I knew it had been delivered, but since we usually do not attend,” he said in reference to himself and Erestor, “I did not take an interest in it.” He reached over the arm of the chair he was in and patted the flamingo that dutifully sought him out on her head. “Is there something of interest going on at this year’s ball?”

“Yes. It would seem that Lady Indis wishes to revive the lost art of the masquerade. Everyone is to come in costume. In addition, there is a competition of sorts this year.”

“A competition?” Erestor’s interest was suddenly upon the ball he had sworn never to again attend.

Elrond nodded. “She has enclosed the following sheet with the invitation.” The master of the house unfolded the enclosure and read it to anyone who cared to listen.

“Beautiful - Handsome - Unusual - Daring
A Contest - Of Costumes - That All - Are Wearing.
Be you bashful - Be you brazen
Come in your finest - Join us at day’s end
All is fair – In this game
Do as you dare – No need to be tame.”

“Interesting,” said Celeborn. The poem seemed to have gained the attention of the rest of the room. “Is there any mention of a prize?”

“Who cares? Bragging rights are enough for me,” announced Erestor as he left the room.

“Where are you going?” shouted Glorfindel.

“To plan out my contest-winning costume,” called Erestor back.



 
Chapter Two

“You have some options,” explained Linloriel. She sat across the table from Erestor in the back room of the shop of the local tonsor. “Usually, a razor would suffice. If you shave it too soon, though, there will be stubble by the date of the ball, and that will look even less attractive than just leaving it be.”

“That is not an option – I need to be perfect for this. How late would you suggest if we go that route?” asked Erestor.

“Probably only a day or two before. The problem then is that the paint might sting, or worse yet, if you get nicked by the blade—“

“No, not good,” decided Erestor. “What are the other options?”

“For small areas, plucking them out works well. The trouble is, that would be very time consuming, and potentially painful.”

“Pain I can withstand. Time is another matter.”

The assistant nodded. “I would still advise that we thin your eyebrows a little if you really want the desired effect, and that is best done by removing the undesirable hairs individually.”

Erestor nodded his acquiescence. “What about the rest?”

“The only other method we have is to use either hot pitch or a combination of honey and oil to pull it off. It is the fastest method, and we could certainly tend to it today if you wished.”

“Without returning before the event?” asked Erestor, somewhat disbelieving.

“After today, I doubt you will ever want to return here,” admitted Linloriel. “Yes, you will be able to devote the next two weeks to perfecting your costume. Whatever that is. I must say, I am curious, knowing what you wish to have done.”

Erestor smiled. “Well... I want as few people to know of it ahead of time as possible. Since you are already involved... I suppose you do some work in the application of facial powders and paints?”

“Of course. I am fully trained here,” assured the assistant.

“Ever tried to paint someone from their forehead to their toes?” asked Erestor.

Linloriel shook her head.

“Interested in trying?”


Chapter Three

“Are you alright?”

Erestor poked around the pantry without going in, but closed the door without taking anything out. “Sure,” he answered noncommittally.

“Really? Because you have been walking strangely ever since you returned this evening. Speaking of which,” continued Glorfindel as he followed Erestor into the parlor, “where were you all day?”

“Out,” replied Erestor quickly. He made his way to the chair closest to the door and plopped down on it. Normally, it was the chair that Elrond sat in, but he was too sore and tired to care at the moment. He was also a little sticky, but his shirt had long sleeves and his pants were stuck to his legs, so it mattered very little at the moment. “Just working on... something.”

“Uh huh.” Glorfindel kept his eyes on Erestor as he took a seat on the sofa. “Elrond told me that you asked he include us on the response card for the ball. Does this mean that I should look into costumes for us?”

“Oh! You need a costume. Yes, you should certainly find one.”

“What about you? Shall I find you a costume to wear?” asked Glorfindel.

Erestor shook his head. “I have mine taken care of.”

“Oh? Are you borrowing one?”

“No.”

“Renting?”

“No.”

“Can I at least see it?”

“...No.”

Glorfindel took a closer look at Erestor. “What did you do to your eyebrows?”

“Nothing,” said Erestor quickly, which was mostly true, since he had not actually been the one to do anything. He had simply spent the afternoon being still, wincing a few times, flinching a bit, and cursing every now and then. He stood and announced, “I think I am going to take a bath.”

“Alright, then.” Glorfindel watched Erestor half-hobble out of the room. A few minutes later, Elrond entered. Glorfindel waited until Elrond sat down before he said, “I think Erestor is up to something.”

Elrond glanced around to be sure he was the one being addressed before he answered, “Is there ever a time he is not up to something?”



 
Chapter Four


Uncertain of what Glorfindel’s reaction would be to his idea, Erestor bathed in record time in order to be in bed early in hopes of being up early and therefore avoiding the inevitable question that would arise if Glorfindel noticed—

“What in the name of Manwe did you do?!” Glorfindel tried to tug the blanket off of Erestor. He had crawled into bed, snuggled up to Erestor, and been shocked at what he found. Or really, what he did not find.

Erestor managed to yank the covers to him faster, and sat up in a panic. “Glorfindel... look, I wanted this to be a... I guess a surprise in a way—“

“Well, if that was your intention, it certainly was a surprise. What... why? Why?” Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “You did do something with your eyebrows. They have never been so thinned out. I knew you did something!”

“No... I told you, I did not—“

“Alright, you had someone help you.”

“...Maybe.” Erestor gathered the blanket around him. “I have this really good idea for the masquerade.”

“Then why not share it with me?”

Erestor chose his words carefully. “You might talk me out of it.”

“Now I really want to know what is going on,” said Glorfindel.

“There must be something that I can do to convince you not to interrogate me.”

Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest. “I am not above being bribed, but I want to make sure you are not going to do something that you regret later.”

“Let me worry about the regretability of my actions,” said Erestor. “So, what sort of bribery are we talking about?”

There was a considerable pause before Glorfindel said, “Well, if you have your mouth full, then I cannot interrogate you.”

Erestor was on his knees on the floor almost immediately. Since Glorfindel had attempted to crawl into bed after removing his clothes, there was nothing in Erestor’s way as he took hold of Glorfindel’s hips and bowed his head, taking the limp member between his lips. It hardened quickly as he took it into his mouth and into the back of his throat as it grew.

“Oh, you must really... really have something good planned...” mumbled Glorfindel, his fingers digging into the long, dark tresses. He eventually gripped Erestor’s shoulders to keep his balance as he made quick, shallow thrusts forward while he climaxed. Despite the darkness that was lessened only by candlelight, Glorfindel was able to get a good look at Erestor when the elder elf shifted back to wipe his mouth. “You must have shaved everything,” he remarked, his eyes falling hungrily upon the space between his lover’s legs.

“No, not shaved. There is this sticky stuff that just pulls it out. Much smoother for a lot longer this way,” he said, running his hand along his opposite arm to demonstrate.

“What are you going to do, show up to the dance naked?” asked Glorfindel. He laughed a little at the thought.

Erestor did not laugh in return. “...Maybe.”
 
Chapter Five

“Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight.” Linloriel finished painting the final golden star on Erestor’s thigh. The stars, instead of fat and plentiful, were elegantly vertically stretched, with shortened arms and graceful legs. The golden paint shimmered as the half-painted elf turned to admire her work.

Erestor stood, elevated on a box, in front of a pair of full length mirrors that had been pushed together. “Make a wish,” he joked as Linloriel went to the table and opened a container of dark blue liquid. She was handed a brush by Glorfindel, who sat at the table assisting in the project.

“This smells good,” remarked Glorfindel, sniffing the thick blue paint that Linloriel dipped her brush into.

“You can taste it if you want. All of it is edible; I did not want to use real paint all over his body,” explained Linloriel as Glorfindel dipped his fingertip into the pot. He touched his tongue experimentally to the thick, glossy liquid. “And, I thought it might make it more interesting for you when you need to clean it off.”

“Does that mean I have the privilege of cleaning it off?” asked Glorfindel, smile on his lips, desire in his eyes.

Linloriel came back over to retrieve more paint. “If you do not, I will.”

“Cheeky girl!” admonished Erestor as he was prodded to stand still and straighten up. “I never asked; do you intend to attend this evening?”

“Formally, I was not invited,” she said, and an exaggerated pout followed. “But a young gentleman did indeed approach me the other day when I visited you at the house, and I am being escorted by the young Lord Rondan.”

“Rondan approached you? Good for him,” remarked Glorfindel. “He tends to exhibit shyness around ladies.”

“Maybe approach is too strong a word,” she amended as her brush traced around the golden stars. “His grandfather actually introduced us, then informed me that he did not plan to go as he had no one to escort. I offered to introduce him to some of my customers who might have been invited but had no escort, to which Lord Elrond with some certainty pointed out that since I would be here anyhow to attend to you,” she swiped her brush across Erestor’s arm for emphasis, “that I would be a perfect candidate. Poor Rondan could do no more than nod as his grandfather arranged the details.”

“Oh, Elrond... without a realm to rule, he still finds ways to stay in charge,” said Erestor somewhat fondly of his former employer.

Linloriel laughed and began to work on Erestor’s legs, still smooth as she had promised they would be. “I could hear Lord Elladan as I was leaving, gently scolding his father for such interventions. It was all rather amusing to me,” she admitted. “I am glad for it, though. Rondan is a gentleman of the highest quality.”

“No doubt from Elrond’s influence,” said Glorfindel.

They continued to converse over the next hour as Linloriel continued her work. Finally satisfied when nearly all of Erestor’s skin was covered with golden stars or the evening sky (including every tattoo, which had required some cursing and extra patience), she held the long, rounded brush out to Glorfindel. “I know he is going to be covered for sake of modesty, but that loincloth that I literally going to have to sew him into so that the paint does not smear is not quite going to cover everything. I would hate, after all of this, if he were to shift and reveal unpainted flesh.”

“I think I am up to this task,” said Glorfindel as he moved, brush in one hand and paint in the other, to where Erestor was standing.

“Good. I am going to change, and will be back soon.” Linloriel made sure to close the door as she left, and as an extra precaution, Glorfindel locked it.

Erestor looked over his shoulder. “Well? What do you think so far?”

“I think you are fulfilling the unusual, daring, brazen, and handsome parts of the invitation.” Glorfindel swirled the brush in the jar of paint as he circled around to face Erestor. “And good enough to eat, too.”

“Later,” said Erestor warningly, but he was smiling, likely blushing under the blue and gold painted mask, and when his dick twitched, Glorfindel looked upon it with approval. “Linloriel will have my head if she has to do any major touching up.”

“Which head?” teased Glorfindel as the brush made contact at the base of Erestor’s awakening erection and was drawn slowly forward.

“Both,” gasped Erestor. “Not so gently,” he begged, panting a little as the third stroke was made. “If you keep that up...”

“Sorry,” said Glorfindel, but his expression said otherwise. He did, however, change his technique, and used shorter strokes, bristles sometimes poking to keep Erestor from becoming aroused. Once everything in front was covered in a layer of blue, Glorfindel walked behind Erestor. “Do you think you could spread your legs a bit? I doubt I can properly take care of this if you do not.”

“Sure. Let me step off of the box.” The soles of Erestor’s feet were one of the few things left unpainted, and as he stepped away Glorfindel saw the stark contrast. Even though Erestor’s skin was darker than usual for one of Noldorin heritage, it now appeared pale against the deep blue shade that had been chosen. The paint on his palms had since dried, and he took hold of a chair to steady himself as he widened his stance and bent slightly. “Is this good?”

For a moment, Glorfindel lost his voice. “This should be fine.” He felt like he was fifty again, giddy at the discovery of how delightful the image of bare flesh could be. Linloriel had painted down to Erestor’s waist, and up his thighs, and his hips as well, but a considerable space was left for Glorfindel to tend to. He knelt down, admired the view temporarily, and then set about his task.

“I was thinking, depending on how long we stay at the ball, that we should invite Elrond and Celebrian to...” Erestor groaned, his eyes shut, his jaw slack, his mind suddenly blank except for the rush of desire as the bristles of the brush, thick with paint, were rubbed around and around against the tight entrance to his body.

“What did you want to invite them to?” asked Glorfindel as he licked the excess paint from the bristles.

“I thought we could...” Erestor gripped the chair more firmly as he moaned and dipped his back, presenting an even better view of his backside. Glorfindel had dipped the brush into the paint again moment earlier, but it was not the bristles that dripped dark blue. Keeping a good grasp of the bristled end, Glorfindel slid the thick wooden handle further and further in, and stopped and pulled it back when he felt Erestor’s muscles clench around it.

This was done a few times, until Glorfindel finally inserted it as far as he dared, and then came around and knelt upon the chair so that he was face to face with Erestor. “Kiss me,” he demanded, his lips so close that Erestor’s panting was felt upon them. One of Glorfindel’s hands was loosening his belt, preparing to slip beneath the waistband to deal with the considerable bulge that had formed.

Erestor shook his head, his words in gasps. “It would smudge the paint.”

“Stick out your tongue.” Glorfindel, rarely so demanding, had captured Erestor in such a moment of submission that the Noldo was willing to do nearly anything the Vanya requested (so long as his costume did not come to ruin over it). When the pink appendage was presented to him, Glorfindel took it between his teeth and raked them over the sensitive muscle, then dueled the tip with his own, his hand busily working to bring himself to completion before Linloriel’s return.

Erestor watched passion wash over his partner, and he fought to keep his own desire in check. The wooden handle of the brush had slipped out a little, but part still remained within him, and the pull of gravity on the part that was no longer lodged in his body made it almost more evident that it was there by Glorfindel’s will. Glorfindel gripped the arm of the chair as his hips jerked forward and his hand fisted around his erection. When he let out a satisfied growl, Erestor sighed in relief – much longer watching him, and he may have ended up trying to think of ways to apologize to Linloriel when she returned.

Glorfindel was not completely done with his mastering of the situation. “Open your mouth,” he said, his eyes as dark as a stormy sea, and Erestor, whose mouth was already half-open, widened it still. When Glorfindel revealed his hand from where it had been, he held out two fingers coated in his essence. These he slid past Erestor’s lips, and gave his final command: “Swallow.”

Erestor obeyed, the salty fluid never tasting sweeter. He opened his mouth once his tongue had licked the remnants from Glorfindel’s fingers, and said nothing as Glorfindel fastened his belt, moved off of the chair, and then came around behind Erestor again.

“I need to get ready.” Glorfindel eased the brush out of Erestor and wiped it clean with a rag. “As much as I am looking forward to this party, I am really looking forward to what happens after the party.”

Erestor only trusted himself to nod in agreement.



Chapter Six

The ball that Indis held every single year (even during the years when her husband was dead, before his return) was known to be the social event of Valinor. If you were invited, you were part of society; if you were not, more’s the pity to you. Indis truly was the one who controlled the popularity of anyone and everyone, and for those who were deemed suitable to attend, the lavish elegance they were treated to was extraordinary.

Though other balls were held throughout the year, Indis chose hers for late winter, when snow would not prevent anyone from attending, but temperature allowed for layer upon layer of fabric, feathers, and masks of metal, clay, and gemstones, to be worn without the wearer suffering a swoon.

Each person was introduced as they entered, not by their name, but by the title which they had chosen for their costume. It was a benefit, then, to arrive further toward the end, so that the fullest audience possible could see you enter, and walk with your chosen partner (or singularly, if you preferred), down the three-story flight of stairs that would bring you to the center of the ballroom.

Glorfindel, Linloriel, and Rondan had left Erestor alone in the suite shortly after Linloriel’s return to literally sew Erestor into a matching dark blue loincloth and to paint the finishing touches, highlighting his lips with gold, and doing the same around his eyes and across his brows. He was dusted with a fine, golden powder in an attempt to not only make him shimmer from head to two but in hopes of preventing the paint from rubbing off.

It was more than an hour past sundown, and Erestor silently bemoaned his decision not to have any alcohol earlier. He had ceased drinking and eating the previous night – a necessarily precaution for anyone with plans to be painted head to foot and sewn into their undergarment. His hunger was not bothering him, but his nerves were a wreck. He paced, he talked himself into and out of the idea several times, until finally he recalled the real reason for his very unusual, very brazen costume.

Though the years of his youth and early adulthood were spent in anticipation of the balls that were thrown – he had been quite a dancer, even in his early years – it all stopped one night when Indis cornered him and made it quite clear that his invitations were not really expected to bring him to the events, and were more of a social expectation. It was necessary to invite the son of the firstborn Noldo to any event; it was desired by Indis that he not attend.

It was the reason that even now, upon return to Valinor, he declined all previous social gatherings. Tonight, however, he wanted some sort of revenge. He wanted to see her eyes burst out of her head, or perhaps have her faint into Finwe’s arms. He wanted to win her silly competition, and flaunt it in her face. Then, in front of everyone, but especially in front of her and Finwe, he wanted to kiss Glorfindel hard and passionate, and maybe squeeze his ass – but he probably would leave that whole last part out for Fin’s sake. His loving mate was quite shy, especially in public, and it would be hard enough for him to have a mostly naked elf stand beside him from time to time through the evening.

After a few deep, calming breaths, Erestor left the room and locked the door. He then stood in the empty corridor and stared at the small, silver key. He had no pocket to place it in, nor even a shoe to store it. Had Glorfindel taken the other key with him? Erestor could not recall.

He finally chose to place the key on top of the panel of the doorway. It was doubtful anyone would look there, or find it, and he could not imagine that there was anyone other than Maedhros tall enough to see where it was (and Maedhros was not only unlikely to do anything if he did see it, but also unlikely to attend).

Erestor walked down the hall and shivered slightly. The winter would normally have meant fires burning in most of the rooms and a cozy hallway, but most everyone in costume declined to start a fire, and the only place roasting was the kitchens at the far end of the estate. He hurried his steps and took the shortest path to the entrance of the ballroom. As he was approaching, two attendants were already working on closing the doors. Erestor jogged the rest of the way, praying he did not break a sweat or he would be the worst dressed person of the night. “Hold a moment,” he called out as he slowed his step, and the attendants paused, and then gawked.

“What are you – the entertainment?” asked one as he opened his door wide enough for Erestor to get through.

“No,” he growled as he slid through. He stopped dead in his tracks a moment later, for the doors were shut with an audible thud that made almost everyone glance up at them, and then pause in their dancing and mingling and eating to stare at the tall, slender figure at the top of the stairs.

A few people could be heard clearing their throats as even the musicians stopped playing. The Master of Ceremony, who reminded himself of his duty, quietly asked Erestor for the name of his costume, and after he was answered he shouted in a lyrical voice, “Now entering, One Starry Night.”

Erestor heard himself swallow in the silence. His gut lurched as he set his foot upon the first step, and there was a temporary sense of panic and wish to flee. His eyes scanned the crowd for Glorfindel, and even over the distance he was able to make out the words Glorfindel spoke to those he was standing near.

“O menel aglar elenath.”

With newfound courage, Erestor slowly descended from above the crowd. His eyes at first stayed upon Glorfindel, but his curiosity made him scan the room for other familiar faces. He saw Thranduil sipping wine behind a smirk and Avisiel fanning herself beside him. In a far corner, Turgon was frowning a little, less from the costume (or lack of costume) that Erestor wore, but more from the fact that it was obvious much time and care had been put into the costume the former King of Gondolin was wearing, and he saw Erestor as competition. Ecthelion was near to the bottom of the stairs, and patted Erestor on the back, and after a few words of praise for his boldness and encouragement, sent him off to find Glorfindel.

“Good evening,” said Glorfindel when Erestor stopped a few feet away. The music had started again, and some were once more dancing and making merry (though some still refused to take their eyes from the newest arrival.)

“Good... morning,” said Erestor as he looked over Glorfindel’s costume. His companion had gone to the room that Linloriel had been assigned in order to dress without Erestor seeing. It seemed only fair if Erestor was hoping to keep his costume a surprise from as many people as possible, that Glorfindel do the same.

Stepping back into an open space, the blond slowly made a full turn so that Erestor could admire the flowing cape of orange and gold, the embroidered clothing of the same colors, accented with the white ruffles of sleeves and collar. What golden powder had been leftover had been applied to his flowing mane, and his mask was embellished with amber, citrine, and dravite.

“So this is the secret costume we have all been waiting for,” said Elrond as he looked over his former chief of staff. “I admit, it was not what I imagined, but I will also admit, there are few who could attempt this and still hold their grace and poise. Well done.”

“Tonight, you may well outshine Eärendil,” remarked Celebrian, and even her husband agreed with a nod of his head.

Erestor thanked them, but reached out and took hold of one of Glorfindel’s gloved hands. “While I appreciate your praise, no one can ever outshine the sun.”

“Excuse me, sir.” The Master of Ceremony tapped Erestor’s shoulder, and the taller elf let go of Glorfindel and turned around. “The hostess wishes to speak with you immediately.”

With a frown, Erestor excused himself from his friends and his lover and followed the messenger to a head table which had been placed upon a riser between the musicians and the buffet tables. He stood before Indis, who at the moment sat alone at the table. “You requested an audience with me?” Erestor found his courage turning towards arrogance upon seeing one of his arch enemies.

For a minute or so, Indis said nothing. Then, after waving her hand to dismiss the Master of Ceremony, she looked Erestor straight in the eyes and said, “You have made your point and made a mockery of my celebration. You may leave now.”

“I only just arrived,” said Erestor flippantly.

“You misunderstand, then. The moment you entered in this ridiculous manner, you lost your privilege to attend. If you do not discretely remove yourself, I have six attendants to whom I have made it quite clear you are to be taken from this room using whatever means necessary. This is unacceptable, and even you know that.”

“And what rule have I broken to create such offense? I saw nothing upon your invitation preventing such attire – in fact, it was, dare I say, encouraged.” Erestor’s gaze flitted around in an attempt to locate the attendants she had spoken of, to know just how much time he had to argue his point. “All is fair, do as you dare – those were your own words,” he reminded her.

Momentarily, it seemed that she would have nothing to counter this, but then her lips curled into the sort of smile that Erestor had wished to avoid, and she said to him, “Perhaps you neglected to read the outside of the invitation, for if you had, you would have noticed this to be a masquerade ball. You, sir, have no mask.”

Erestor blinked and tried desperately to find an excuse, a clause, anything... but he realized both disappointedly and angrily that she was correct. It was the one element he had completely neglected, and while he felt it should have been optional considering his face was masked with paint, it did not help that she was, technically, right.

“Kindly remove yourself at once.”

Numbly, Erestor turned. He looked around, trying to think if he should say something to Glorfindel, or where the lower doors were located for he certainly did not wish to walk back up the stairs in view of everyone.

“I said,” spoke Indis, loud enough that the musicians paused for a second time that night, “you are to remove yourself this instant!”

There was much discussion, mumbled and murmured through the crowd, and out of the corner of his eye Erestor caught Glorfindel beginning to make his way across the room. It was not his mate that came to his rescue, however.

“Grandmother, what is the matter?” Turgon was now standing only a few feet from them, addressing Indis was concern in his eyes.

“He is improperly attired for this event,” she replied. “He has neglected his mask.”

It took Turgon a split second to realize it was not what he had thought it was (or at least, that was not the excuse used) for the trouble that Erestor had gotten himself into this time – and Turgon was all too familiar with Erestor’s inane ability to get himself into trouble. “Oh! Oh, Erestor, I am so sorry!” he said, setting his drink down on the table his grandmother was at. “I completely forgot to bring it down with me – I have his mask in my room, grandmother. I shall retrieve it with him at once.” Turgon began to put an arm around Erestor, and thought better of it. “Does this stain?”

“...Maybe?”

“Fine.” Indis motioned for the musicians to play again, defeat in her voice. “But he is disqualified from the contest, for not entering prepared.”

Erestor began to open his mouth, but Turgon pulled him gently by the wrist through the crowd. “Sorry about that, grandmother! We shall return!”

Thankfully for Erestor, Turgon knew exactly where the nearest door was, and soon they were heading down a corridor that lead to the family quarters. “Oh, Erestor,” was all Turgon said as they walked.

“I am so sorry for ruining your evening.”

“Ruining my evening? Certainly not... the look on her face when you came down the stairs was priceless.” Turgon lowered his voice despite them being the only two people in the corridor. “That woman annoys me.”

“Really?” Erestor smiled. “How did she spite you?”

“She told me our baby was ugly. Then, when we proposed that we were going to choose a name that was not Vanyarin, I was told that the name I had planned to choose sounded like the name for a servant.” Turgon unlocked the door of the room he and Elenwe used at the estate, and then looked to see Erestor, shocked, still standing in the hallway. “Such a pleasant lady,” he said in a flat voice.

“What did you plan to name Idril?” asked Erestor as he hurried into the room so that Turgon could shut the door to keep his dogs from wandering out into the hallway.

“We planned to—down!” Turgon sharply shouted, and Erestor ducked a little. “Not you. The dogs.” He shooed his canine companions into a room to the side, then shut the door. “Lerina was about to lick your hand.”

“That would have been bad.”

Turgon nodded in agreement. “Stay here; I will be right back. I really do have an extra mask. If you want, there is a chair in the corner that you could sit on if you like.”

“Thank you; I think I will stand. I have no idea how long this lasts or what will ruin it. I suppose I might have asked first.” Erestor chose to pace, mostly to keep himself from freezing. “So what did you plan to name her?”

“She was going to be Kanoseldë,” called Turgon from the next room. “But that woman showed up at Idril’s Essecarmë and pulled me aside before it began. Grandfather was no better – he stood there agreeing with her the whole time. I was trapped, and I was pretty young, so I just basically agreed to come up with a proper Vanyarin name – and, I was so lucky, she had picked out three or four she thought were suitable. Imagine my wife’s surprise when I announced our daughter as a name other than the one I had chosen.” Turgon reemerged with a black half-mask with gold lace around the edges and onyx studs embedded around the eye holes. “This is really a shame, to cover your face with this. If you give me about fifteen minutes I think I can rig it with a stick so that you can carry it around without actually wearing it. Then you can lower it when that woman is not watching.”

“I would hate to take up more of your time. You have already gone beyond--”

“Erestor, this is what friends are for. And how does the saying go? Anyone who is an enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine? Besides, you know I preferred you over most of the others in Gondolin. I just wish you had done less stupid things while you were there.”

“I seem to excel at that,” said Erestor.

“For someone so brilliant, you do. I am still uncertain if you follow trouble, or if it follows you, but you are certainly never far from it.” Turgon set to work on his project, finishing sooner than he had expected while they discussed other things they hated about Indis. “The funny thing is, she has no concept of the fact she is doing things wrong,” he said after finishing the modification to the mask. “Here you are. Not to be rude, but we should head back quickly. It is not that you have outstayed your welcome, only that with you out of the running I should like to return and win the competition.”

Accepting the mask, Erestor stepped back and took a moment to properly admire the costume that was indeed worthy of first place. “Your wife certainly excels at design.”

Turgon paused and blinked in confusion, and then slowly nodded. “Right... my wife... yes, she does,” he said quickly as he opened the door to let them out.

“Have I assumed too much? I thought that Elenwe – wait, did you make your costume?”

Something was mumbled by Turgon that included the phrases ‘not a lot call these days for a king’ and ‘very noble profession to be a tailor’. He locked the door and swiftly started down the corridor, with Erestor hurriedly keeping up.




Chapter Seven

“I heard you have a new favorite color.” Haldir smiled slyly as his father groaned and shut his eyes upon entering the room.

Erestor sat down on the arm of the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. “I am still turning the bathwater blue. I have no idea where it is coming from anymore, either. I keep scrubbing and scrubbing with no end in sight. Elladan suggested that it is probably just clinging to my hair.”

“It probably is,” agreed Haldir. “Part of me wishes I had been there to see your act of immodesty, but on the other hand, I think it might have scarred me.”

“Did you see Glorfindel’s trophy?” asked Erestor in an obvious attempt to change the topic. Despite the promise that the body paint used was lickable and washable, there was no indication given that after a certain time, it would become semi-permanent. The better part of Erestor’s week had been spent making himself less and less blue, with only minimal success.

Haldir nodded. “He said that Turgon took first place, and that Ecthelion took third.”

“Yes. It was a regular Gondolin reunion that night,” recalled Erestor. “You would have thought, the way they celebrated, that they had won the war.”

With a shake of his head, Haldir picked up from the side table the stick to which was still attached the mask that Erestor used during the event. “Knowing now how much trouble the night turned out to be, between nearly getting ejected from the party to returning to your rooms to find the key missing, would you still have done it?”

Erestor cringed a bit at mention of the key business. It turned out that Glorfindel did not take a key to the room, and when they returned, the spare had been removed. Unable to find an attendant to open the room for them, they went to the room that Elrond and Celebrian had, explained the situation, and slept on the floor. This meant no bath (and even worse, no lickable sex acts) for the pair, and for Erestor, a particularly uncomfortable evening with nothing but Glorfindel’s cloak (and Glorfindel, but only in a very polite fashion) to keep him warm.

“I take it that would be a no.”

“Actually, I would still probably do it. It was all very freeing – and the look Indis had on her face was priceless.” Erestor looked about to say something more, but shut his mouth instead.

The movement was not missed by Haldir. “What?”

“Ah, nothing.” Erestor shrugged. “I try to be careful and not say things that might make you uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” Haldir chuckled. “Because of the whole father and son thing.”

Erestor nodded.

“You can tell me. I mean, we were friends before I found out about you being my father, so it really is not the same. I will not traumatize easily – even if it has to do with something personal with Glorfindel.”

A slight blush crept onto Erestor’s cheeks, which appeared to have a purple tint instead of pink. “Not so much to do with him.”

“What, then?” asked Haldir, even more intrigued.

There was a little hesitation before Erestor answered. “It was a very sensual experience. Very tactile and vibrant.” He rubbed his arm with his hand, where the hairs had not yet begun to regrow. “I felt so aware of everything, and my senses were all heightened because of it. and I felt...” He cleared his throat. “I pursued a great many others in hopes of romantic ventures; there is no secret in that. It was infrequent that I was pursued – in fact, it was only ever Glorfindel who showed interest first. There was something immensely enjoyable about being the obvious object of desire for more than one person that night.”

“I am going to stop you right there,” interrupted Haldir, “because you just managed to make it over the line of things I do not need to know.” He stood up. “I am, uh, happy for you, though. I am very glad you had a good time.” He left the room as Elrond entered, and Erestor let out a sigh while rubbing his face with his hands.

“Everything alright?” asked Elrond as he took up the spot vacated by Haldir.

“Just reflecting on how difficult it is for parents to communicate with their children. Sometimes, I wonder why it has to be so hard to be a father.”

Elrond leaned forward with his arm extended. “Join the club,” he said upon shaking Erestor’s hand. “Some advice?” he offered, still holding firm to the hand Erestor had held out. Erestor nodded. “Running around naked tends to embarrass your children more than anything. Talking to them about it,” added Elrond quickly as Erestor attempted to extract his hand, “is even worse.” He let go of his grip with a grin. “From one father to another, I make certain to spend my naked time in private.”

“I was not naked. Not completely.” Erestor slid down onto the couch to sulk. “You never would have made it at Cuivienen,” he muttered as Elrond held a smirk on his lips and opened a crisply folded letter. “Everything was much simpler when nudity was the accepted form of dress.” When he realized he was not receiving any retorts, Erestor tried to peer over at the letter. “If that is another invitation from Lady Indis, I decline.”

“It is an invitation, but not from Indis.” Elrond held the letter out for Erestor to take. “Thranduil is having a gathering.”

“Oh.” Erestor unfolded the sheets. “A formal, historical cotillion... participants to choose a historical place or event... any time in Elven history allowed...” Erestor skimmed through the rest, and frowned. “Only a week! How does he expect anyone to be ready?”

“It actually arrived the same day as the invitation from Indis, but it was left on the table, where it was forgotten when someone set a bowl of fruit upon it. I only just found it now.”

“It barely gives any of us enough time to come up with something, let alone have anything made.” Erestor handed the invitation back. “On the other hand, Thranduil will be disappointed if we miss it. I think Glorfindel might still have his armor from his battle with the Witchking.”

“I know I still have mine from my heralding days.” Elrond nodded. “It might need a little mending, but I am sure it will be faster than having something specially made. Celebrian still owns a few dresses from the Second Age, and surely you must have something you can pull out of the attic.”

Erestor looked both thoughtful and mischievous. “I doubt I will need to go that far to find my costume.” He stood up and nodded. “If you will excuse me, I think I shall












“O menel aglar elenath.” = “The glory of the starry host slants down.” This line is part of the song for Elbereth.