Pairing:
Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: NC -17 Slash
Timeline: First Age - Third Age
When
Glorfindel becomes a child's protector he does not realise what Erestor
will be to him when he reaches his majority. Can love survive the trials
of death and destiny?
T.A. 149, Mid-winter
It was a red-eyed, weary Glorfindel who emerged from his chambers that bright
winter morning. For one so recently re-born, he looked as though he would
soon return to Námo's Halls. He was well-dressed for he would not
shame himself or his new lord by neglecting his appearance just because
of a nightmare. But what a nightmare. And what of the event that triggered
it? Certainly that terrible confrontation in Erestor's office must have
been the cause, for in all his time since his rebirth no such dreams had
ever occurred. Indeed, Glorfindel could hardly decide which had been the
worst - seeing the balrog advance in his nightmare or Erestor retreat in
reality. No, there was no doubt. Losing Erestor was worse.
For so long had Glorfindel yearned for that sweet reunion. For so many millennia had he dreamed, planned, plotted, envisioned the pressing of lips and devouring of bodies. In those dreams they would now be ensconced in Glorfindel's bed and Erestor would be enfolded in Glorfindel's arms, sated and sleeping. Instead the delightful bedchamber had become a haunted room overnight, and the ghost of their love prowled there still. Glorfindel straightened his shoulders resolutely. He had to face Erestor again and determine why the raven-haired elf was in denial of their love, even of his life in Gondolin. What had become of the young elf, what had he faced in the intervening years that had provoked this extreme reaction? Did he resent him for dying, for leaving him alone? How had he survived? Did he not travel with Idril, with Tuor, or Mirieth? He had been well loved by them all; surely they would not have deserted his little one?
His route to Erestor's office was direct, and he marched in without knocking. He was not willing to face being barred from Erestor's presence. He was thwarted in his device for its inhabitant was not Erestor but Saelbeth, his assistant, who was laying papers on the desk in preparation for his master's perusal. He looked up, surprised.
"Lord Glorfindel! How may I help you?"
Glorfindel nodded his head in greeting. " I - I was looking for Erestor. He did not dine this morning," he stumbled over his words. "I thought that he may be - ill," he trailed off feebly. Saelbeth stared at him skeptically but made no comment on the poor explanation.
"Master Erestor breaks his fast before the sun rises, my lord. He has just finished the accounts and is now meeting with Lord Elrond." He gestured to one of two doors in the west wall, opposite the one from the library through which Glorfindel had entered the previous night. "I believe they are expecting you for your first daily report?" he ended gently.
Glorfindel nodded numbly. He had forgotten the meeting that had been mentioned during that ill-fated discussion of the night before. Now he had to face Erestor, not alone as he had wished, but in the presence of the Lord of Imladris. Steeling himself, Glorfindel followed Saelbeth through the indicated door. He was a proud elf, and would not reveal his grief to this descendant of kings.
Elrond was seated at his desk in his office, a spacious room which was obviously a place of work. Yet there was plenty of adornment in the chamber to personalize it as Elrond's. Its walls were covered in ceremonial knives, ancient paintings and a silken banner which had obviously seen the blood-drenched face of a battlefield. The ornaments bore testimony to the occupant's valiant past as Herald to the late King of Lindon, the High-King Ereinion Gil-galad.
The two elves within stood to greet him. Elrond rose from behind his desk, a welcoming smile upon his face. Erestor hesitantly met his gaze and Glorfindel suppressed an exclamation when he caught a glimpse of the depth of the sadness in those chocolate-brown orbs. It was but a moment, but a moment when a recognition of the pain he had caused the golden lord flashed through Erestor's expressive eyes. Then the eyes lowered and the counsellor resumed his seat. Glorfindel took the empty one beside Erestor, moving his chair slightly closer to the dark elf, ignoring the nervous look he shot him.
"Lord Elrond, I must thank you once again for the care that you and your wife bestowed upon myself last night, and I must apologise for the disturbance I caused," he said quietly. Elrond hurried to reassure him.
"We only wish for you to make a comfortable home here, without fear or worry. You are a member of our community and, I hope, will regard yourself as one of my own family. For indeed, you paid the ultimate price to save my father and grandparents. I would be remiss in the extreme if I could not repay even a small amount of that debt with my skill as a healer." Elrond's words rang with great sincerity and feeling, and Glorfindel inclined his head in acknowledgement.
The conversation turned to his return and the intentions of the Valar in sending him forth in his renewed body.
"Times are darkening, my lord," said Glorfindel. "During my stay in the Havens and prior to that in Valinor, I was instructed in events which have occurred in the time since I - died." The slight twinge in Erestor's bearing at those words was barely noticeable, and the golden lord registered it wonderingly, hoping that it meant that his pen-vuin was not totally cut off from him. Glorfindel chose to leave it for the present, and continued. "The Darkness *will* arise again and so I was told that I would play a part. In preparation for that event I have been sent to offer you my services, that I may become better acquainted with the world as it is now and aid in its defenses against the Dark Lord."
"And do you know what part you have to play?" the dark counsellor asked softly. Glorfindel turned to look at him, but the mask was firmly in place.
"I do not know," he responded gently, "save that the deed will be perilous and fraught with danger."
The mask slipped and Erestor's eyes widened in alarm and his lips parted as if to give a cry - yet no noise escaped. Quickly the counsellor lowered his face, murmuring "I hope not too perilous, my lord. It would be too cruel to have you face Mandos a second time."
"I thank you for your concern, Master Erestor. But there are many things in life's journey which can be more painful to a soul than simple death. The loss of a love, for instance. I have faced death once, I can do so again with peace in my heart - if in doing so I have saved the one - the ones - I have loved," he ended. Glorfindel's meaning was plain and he saw the reaction in the dark elf, a brief closure of eyes in pain at the thought of the death of an elf.....
Elrond was confused at the drama being played before him. There was an obvious tension between his counsellor and his new seneschal but considering they had met for the first time only a day before he did not understand the scenario. He knew his old friend better than any other, and he could sense a deep disturbance in him. He could not bear to see his friend so discomposed and so strove to continue the discussion.
"I think then we would best be served by utilising those tremendous skills for which you are renowned. Your depth of knowledge of sword and bow, of tactics and warfare and the leadership of men, place you in perfect position to take up the role of Seneschal of Imladris," said the dark-haired lord.
Glorfindel was pleased with this tribute and acknowledged his host's past as a warrior in his response.
"I am honoured by your confidence in me and I am delighted to accept. I hope to serve you well. What I know of your own skills I gleaned from Círdan, and I believe your weapon of choice was the sword? It is mine also, though I can wield most weapons with some skill." He paused. "I once had an apprentice who showed some promise with the knives. I wish I knew how he had fared."
Sharp sapphire eyes watched for but got no response from his near neighbour, but Elrond spoke up enthusiastically.
"Ai, there is a master of blades here amongst us in Master Erestor. He is the finest wielder of the knives in elvendom in my estimation, as well as being a formidable warrior in all other fields. He was fearsome to witness at the Battle of Dagorlad, eh Erestor?"
Ignoring Glorfindel's wide-eyed stare Erestor bowed his head in acknowledgement to his lord.
"You - a warrior?" Glorfindel choked. Ai, when he thought of all the times he and Ecthelion had cursed his ward for abandoning the sparring ring for the library…
"Oh, Erestor may be a scholar now and indeed he was tutor to both myself and my brother Elros, even past our majority, but he was the only scholar I knew who practiced regularly on the training grounds. He sought the most skilled of warriors, trained in sword and bow and knife, learning from his mistakes until indeed, the warriors began to turn to him to hone their skills. He is still the only elf I trust to give me a good workout. Perhaps you would like to cross blades with him Glorfindel? I am sure Erestor would not mind."
Glorfindel guessed by the straightened posture of the elf beside him that Erestor was uncomfortable with the testimonial and did not welcome Elrond's offer on his behalf. However Erestor simply inclined his head, not looking at Glorfindel.
"I am at the seneschal's disposal," he murmured.
In no way was Glorfindel going to let this opportunity slip by. Erestor, a warrior? This was a great surprise, and he longed to see how his ward had fared.
"Very well. I wish to take up my duties as soon as possible, but perhaps I could come to your office after this meeting to arrange a time?"
Erestor finally turned to face him, the calm mask firmly in place once again. "I have many meetings today, but I will be free before breakfast tomorrow, say, at sunrise? I would not delay you by requiring a visit to my office without necessity."
"Ah, but there are many other things I would like to discuss with you, dear counselor," replied Glorfindel. Oh, yes, many things - like love, and its denial…
Erestor did not reply, but Glorfindel had no doubt that Erestor knew to what things he referred. When the meeting drew to a close Glorfindel stood to follow him. The black robes whispered along the floor as the raven-haired elf crossed to the door to his office. The poise and elegance in his posture sparked a flood of desire in the seneschal, a physical reaction to the presence of the one who had always been in his heart. Erestor was*his*, his beauty, his love, his passionate pen-neth. He had to find the reason for his reticence so that he could recapture the elf, without whom he doubted he could live. On entering the office Glorfindel closed the door so that Elrond would not hear them, but was annoyed to see that the office was not empty - Saelbeth awaited them.
Erestor turned to Glorfindel. "I am sure Saelbeth has many items for my attention. Perhaps if you wished to return at a later time…?"
Glorfindel grinned. He was not going to be so easily dismissed. "Not at all, Master Erestor. I will wait. I am a patient elf."
A flash of irritation crossed Erestor's visage in the face of such persistence but he gave no other visible sign. Instead he started to discuss arrangements, letters and queries with his assistant. Glorfindel watched as the slim hand dipped a black-feathered quill into the heavy crystal inkwell, fascinated by the elegant sweep of the pen stroke across the cream parchment. Would that that hand was upon him…
Glorfindel took the opportunity to look around the office. There had been no time and he had had no inclination to peruse the office in the dim light of the previous night. Now he searched for clues to this changed Erestor, this obviously efficient, cool and respected ellon who, as Elrond had said himself, ran Imladris. The room was a haven of order and symmetry. It's shelves were neat, the papers stamped, noted and filed in precise order. There was little of the personal relics that he had seen in Elrond's office. There was but one picture upon the wall, a painting of a black horse running wild and free across an open plain, a blue lake and distant high mountains visible in the background. Glorfindel's heart clenched when he saw it, for it was a scene he recognized well - the Plains of Tumladen, where so often he had ridden in joy and happiness with Erestor. That the horse was Hirnîn he had no doubt, for Erestor had loved him greatly, being his first true mount.
He rested his eyes once more upon Erestor, taking in the controlled and efficient nature of the dark elf. His voice was measured, his tone sure, his control complete. This was his element, this was his world. For whatever reason he had eschewed his past, he had made for himself a present where power was at his fingertips yet was wielded only in the name of his lord - his new lord. Elrond. As he watched the discussion was completed and Saelbeth, after bowing to the new seneschal, retreated to his office to carry out the tasks laid upon him. Erestor too retreated, standing behind the wide mahogany desk, using it as a shield between them. A wall which Glorfindel had to try to break down. He looked at Erestor, wondering who would speak first, holding the other elf's gaze firmly, allowing no further withdrawal.
"So," he said finally, "you are now Erestor of Lindon. Tell me *Erestor of Lindon*, what terrible thing did I do to you that you have renounced our pledge entirely? For I came back to Middle Earth to search for you, to fulfill that pledge so that we would join together in the union of our love and our souls. What hurt did I lay upon you that you have rejected me so completely? Tell me Erestor, so that I may make amends and turn your heart towards me once more. For without your love I cannot go forth. Without your love I am nothing."
The plea was extreme, it was from his soul and in pouring forth his words, he poured forth the agony which had encompassed him the night before. Surely his pen-neth would not hold him at bay upon hearing the honesty in his voice? The dark elf looked at him squarely.
"I grieve for you my lord, do not doubt that, yet I must reiterate - I am not Erestor of Gondolin." He hesitated, lowering his gaze, breaking the connection with the golden lord. The next words could barely be heard. "The Erestor you knew was surely worthy of your love and devotion for I see that it was great. I am a different elf. My life started in Lindon. I acknowledge no other life before that…." He paused once more, before lifting his head to complete his speech. His eyes glistened. "Erestor of Gondolin is dead, my lord."
Glorfindel gasped, not believing what he had heard. "No, no, meleth! Whatever happened, whatever has turned you from me - please, it can be mended. Le melin, Erestor! I am returned. You don't have to be alone anymore."
He moved to circle the desk, to take Erestor in his arms but the dark elf straightened, irritation flashing in his eyes, determination evident in his posture.
"Hold my lord! As I have spoken, so shall it remains! I will brook no further attempt on your part to pursue this matter against my will. I have told you and I tell you again, I am Erestor of Lindon and I hold to my word!"
This was the Chief Counsellor. This was cold, calm elf that the twins had spoken of, this was the voice and position and frontage he assumed when he was to be obeyed. Glorfindel felt the determination in those words and read the resolution therein. Only he had chosen the wrong elf to practice those skills upon. He felt fury rise that his pen-neth, his *ward*, would confront him in this way. He too had his limits and his temper rose. He moved towards Erestor, brushing his lips against his love's cheek as he spoke into that sweet pointed ear. His own voice was harsh, cold in the pain of another rejection.
"I will not accept this, Erestor. I faced Salgant and Turgon to rescue you from abuse; I faced restrictions so tight that kissing you *once* as a lover broke my oath; and upon the heights of Cirith Thoronath I faced pain and torment and burning flesh, just to keep you safe. I have lived my life for you, and I have died for you, and I have challenged the Valar for you. I will *not* accept that I have lost you! You are mine, Erestor, now and forever, and no matter how long it takes I will have your love once more!"
With that he turned and marched towards the door. As he placed his hand upon the lever, he turned again to the dark advisor.
"Tomorrow morning, at sunrise in the training grounds. I will see you there!"
*****
Saelbeth was a discreet elf. One had to be, to be the personal assistant
to Master Erestor for the papers that crossed his desk, the discussions
that were held in his office, the secrets that were entrusted to the dark
elf were all witnessed by Saelbeth. Master Erestor trusted him, and he would
never betray that trust. So when voices began to float through the heavy,
closed door, he shut his ears to them. The tension between his employer
and the new seneschal had been obvious but again, it was not in his nature
to pry. When the voices became raised he did not flinch but simply bent
over his work. Master Erestor did not hesitate to use cutting words when
patient reason did not accomplish his objective. Nor did the slam of the
door cause any discernable change in the assistant. After all, both Master
Erestor and Lord Elrond knew full well how to infuriate as well as placate.
When the resounding crash came, Saelbeth leapt in alarm. *That* he had never heard before! Swift steps brought him to the door in seconds and he flung it open to find Master Erestor calmly gathering his papers together. Confused, Saelbeth stared at him, then saw the huge ink stain splattered over one cream wall. Beneath the stain, on the floor, was the shattered debris of the crystal inkwell. The shards were small, evidence of great force having been used to smash the heavy item. Whoever had thrown it was an elf of great strength. Whoever had caused such a throw was a elf capable of great provocation.
Master Erestor looked up. "Ah, Saelbeth," he said evenly. "There has been a slight accident. Please have the servants clean it up before I return from the meeting with the representatives from Bree." And with that Master Erestor glided gently from the room, leaving a bemused and admiring assistant.
*****
The remainder of the day was taken up with becoming familiar with his post and his troops. In his work Glorfindel could find release of his frustration and he leant all his energy into the ordinances of his office. He reviewed the warriors, visited the barracks and surveyed his new office in the outer courtyard. The walls of his office were covered with fine and extensive maps of the boundaries of Imladris and the patrol routes required. The many records of patrols, warriors, weapons and supplies were in cabinets positioned around the room. Glorfindel grimaced. Documentation was never his forte, even when he had ruled a House of Gondolin. He regarded it as a necessary evil, that was all. He smiled feebly in remembrance of a young elf who had quietly taken over some of those duties for him as he had grown towards his majority. He stroked the polished desk, remembering another desk, long ago. How he had been tempted, how often had he been tempted to lift and lay that elf upon that desk, to kiss him, to love him, to cherish him there and then….
The flat of his hand came down upon the desk top. He would not surrender. He would not give in. He needed that elf so much - and that elf needed him.
*****
Glorfindel dressed with care the next morning. Following his bath he took one of the bottles of oil arranged in his bathing chamber for his use. It was sandelwood, a scent he had always favoured and one Erestor was sure to recognize. He took care to rub it well onto his torso and arms, bringing up a sheen on his firm muscles. He noticed once again a fine lattice of silver lines on his body, evidence of scars gained in battles in his previous life. When he had been reborn he had commented on them and had been informed by Varda that their placement was in remembrance of his heroic acts. They were not unattractive and did not cause discomfort so Glorfindel had dismissed them from his mind.
A quick swipe of the oil through his hair then a firm brush brought the golden locks to a shimmering brightness, restrained only by side warrior braids and a twist of leather to hold back the herring-bone plait from his face. Form-fitting leather leggings would show strong thigh muscles, and boots of a matching hue were added to a crisp white linen shirt fastened only with laces at the front and on the cuffs. He viewed himself critically. If he could not appeal to Erestor's mind then he would take what advantage he could and seduce his body. They had never sparred alone in Gondolin, always with Ecthelion or the other warriors. Even in company Erestor had always found it difficult not to show his admiration and desire when he saw Glorfindel in full warrior mode. A good warrior used all the weapons at his disposal -and Glorfindel was one of the best.
The golden lord collected his sword and knives. The weapons had been given to him by Tulkas himself, and were finely-balanced and well honed. The corridors of the Last Homely House were lightly traversed at this time of the morning and his passage was swift to the training ground to the rear of the building. The grounds were divided into sections for the many different disciplines of a warrior. The archery ranges were furthest from the house, set in glades amongst the trees so that the forest could be used for some of the more advanced training. The sparring rings, large and small, were nearer and many had benches or ranks of seats to accommodate spectators in training or for tournaments. The one Erestor had chosen was a smaller, more secluded one, flanked by high bushes. The advisor awaited him.
Erestor too had dressed with care - with care to be as unrevealing as possible. No form-fitting leggings for him, but wide-legged black pants, the toes of his black boots barely showing from under the hems. The black silk shirt was high-necked and long-sleeved, the voluminous gathers shrouding his slim upper body. Raven hair was tightly bound into one long braid, allowing the dark elf easy access to the cream-handled knives strapped onto his back. His sword hung in his hand, gleaming in the pale morning light.
As Glorfindel stepped forward to greet him a stray shaft of sunlight shone through the trees onto the warrior elf, turning golden beauty into an unbelievable vision of perfection. He heard Erestor choke back a gasp and he knew that his care in dressing had had the desired effect. Erestor's eyes were wide and today Glorfindel could see the chocolate-brown tints he was so familiar with turn warm in appreciation. His own loins grew warm at the sight of his beloved's reaction. By the end of this session, Erestor would be his again. Glorfindel bowed to his sparring partner.
"Counsellor, I give you greeting of a good morning."
Erestor returned the bow and the greeting. "Mae govannen, Lord Seneschal."
"How shall we start? I thought after a little warm up, the sword then the knives?"
Erestor nodded in agreement and, as he had already been through his preparatory exercises, he stood back to let Glorfindel take the field.
Glorfindel made every stretch count, extending his muscles, holding his turns, swinging the sword through the salutations of the morning with poise and ease. He could feel Erestor's eyes upon him, and knew that the advisor watched him in rapt attention. Just the thought of the result of the sight upon Erestor made his own member twitch and grow in anticipation.
The moment of sparring arrived and the elves made their formal salute. Glorfindel took up an attacking stance but was not surprised when Erestor blocked him with ease. He swung again, his sword forming a large arc in its sweep and he was delighted to see the skill and grace with which Erestor turned to meet his blade. Lunge, cross, parry, attack - the strokes were swift and even as the swordplay continued and the elves took measure of the other's proficiency. The pace began to quicken and soon both were panting, their breath forming trails of vapour in the crisp morning air. The quickened breaths were not due to fatigue or the sweat of exertion but of need, as the heat of desire swept through them. As the metal swords clashed so other swords engorged. Eyes darkened as they met in desire, challenge given and challenge acknowledged, if not accepted. Glorfindel felt his shirt clinging to his torso, knowing that it outlined his muscular frame. In turn he appraised the silk shirt of his opponent, following the lithe muscles as they flexed beneath the slim layer. The connection between the two elves was such that their senses were heightened - a lick of the lips by one was felt by the other as a sensual tongue upon salty flesh; a thrust of the arm was echoed by a pressure of strained leggings upon swollen arousal.
Glorfindel was elated. His strategy was working. Erestor was responding to that most basic of emotions - lust - and if he, Glorfindel, could increase the desire, bring to the boil the fervor which had been building over the session then perhaps that lust could release the love he knew was within. Glorfindel knew that *he* needed release for he was as a wound coil, needing to unleash his passion within the elf of his heart. At a natural break in the conflict he addressed his dark love.
"You are a warrior indeed, Erestor of Lindon, and a truly worthy opponent. You seem flushed, as hot and - breathless - as I. Perhaps we should divest ourselves of at least our shirts so that we can continue with the knives?"
So innocuous, so innocently said, yet the mellifluous voice was laced in seduction and glamour. The raven-haired elf could only comply in his enthrallment. Glorfindel approached the counsellor, his nimble fingers undoing the bindings of the knife harness. He turned and lay them neatly on the ground. He noted that they were not the ones Ecthelion had gifted upon his ward but then, if Erestor had fought in as many battles as Elrond had claimed those knives would surely have been retired now. He turned back to Erestor and saw that the dark elf had remained still, as if spell-bound.
"May I?" Without waiting for an answer Glorfindel began to unfasten the buttons on the black silk shirt, his dexterous fingers slipping each one free slowly, savouring each inch of creamy skin that was revealed. Erestor closed his eyes, trembling beneath the intimate gaze, the onslaught of desire which inflamed him. Millennia of resolve seemed to melt in moments and Erestor could feel himself swaying into the tender touch of those calloused fingers on his flesh.
Glorfindel felt that sway but withheld any indication of triumph. The shirt was now open fully and his eyes devoured the lightly-defined muscles, the roseate teats, the trickles of perspiration running down the chest. As tempted as he was to stroke and tease, lick and suck the proud nipples he reined himself in and instead focussed on removing the black shirt from the slender body. Eyes still closed, Erestor's lips opened to allow an exhalation to ensue, his increased respiration revealing his hunger for more. Over the shoulders, down the arms Glorfindel's fingers slid and the sword that was held in the advisor's hand slipped unnoticed from lax fingers as Erestor arched into the touch. A final twist and the material was free and fluttered gently to the ground.
"My turn."
Erestor opened his eyes, unsure of the meaning of the statement, his brain unable to process the words through the fog of lust and desire. Sapphire eyes gestured to the ties on the white shirt and as if in a trance Erestor's fingers fumbled at the knots. They released swiftly, uncovering the golden lord's frame to his gaze. First one then the other of the cuff laces were untied. Erestor's hand rose once more to the open shirt and rested on the warm flesh. Fingers splayed, he moved his hand to cover the area over the seneschal's heart, causing a groan to emanate from deep within Glorfindel's throat.
"It beats." The words were filled with wonder, with hesitant hope. They needed no explanation. Glorfindel nodded.
"I live again, Erestor." He bit back declarations which longed to burst forth, knowing that it was yet too soon.
"You are here. Reborn." Almost a sob in those soft words.
"Aye." Glorfindel could sense that this was a revelation, a realization not until now truly understood. Erestor had seen, but had not believed. The warrior gestured to his shirt. "I should remove this." He clasped the hem, and drew it over his head in one movement. Golden skin was revealed, the silver marks as gentle highlights of where his scars had been. Erestor's fingers reached out to trace them, fingertips a hair's-breath from touching them.
"Evidence of my warrior life, retained at the will of the Valar," Glorfindel murmured.
"They shine like mithril."
No longer able to restrain himself, Erestor leant forward to press his lips to one of the scars, hearing Glorfindel hiss at the softness of the kiss. Erestor looked up, searching Glorfindel's face and saw love and hope and need upon that beloved face.
"Glorfindel...?" One word but it conveyed the ache of a heart that had not dared to hope, a longing that centuries of solitude had only nurtured, and a lifetime of self-loathing and self-flagellation. A tear trickled down Erestor's cheek, and Glorfindel lift his hand to cradle Erestor's soft cheek, his large thumb brushing that tear away. Though he longed to pull his pen-neth into his arms and claim him, he felt that Erestor needed a moment to compose himself, a moment to fully comprehend that his heart's mate had returned and that his soul could be completed.
"Let me dispose of this, ind nîn." He turned away, turned his back to Erestor, folding the shirt, bending to lay it upon the unused knives.
"NO!"
Erestor released a
strangled cry, of revulsion and fear, of remembered pain brought into the
here and now. The advisor stumbled back and Glorfindel turned, shocked to
see sheer terror upon his
love's face.
"Meleth! What is wrong?"
Erestor swiftly backed away, forgetting his shirt, neglecting his weapons in his overwhelming need to flee from that which had horrified him.
"I am not your love!" he gasped, voice rampant with fear. "I cannot be your love - ever! I am Erestor of Lindon. I am Erestor of Lindon!"
The dark elf ran, ran as if a demon was behind him, ran to escape the trap he had so nearly fallen into. Ran to escape his own demons - but could not.
The elf who was left behind bellowed a roar, falling to his knees as tears flooded down his face at the collapse of his hopes when so near to completion, his body so near to release, his Erestor so nearly in his arms.
"Meleth nîn!"
The shout resounded through the forest and the woodland creatures quaked at hearing the wounded beast sound forth his pain. Elves within hearing also heard the scream.
And wept for the loss within the tormented cry.
Elvish:
(with help from Nienna and Andrannath)
pen-vuin - dear one
pen-neth - little one
meleth - love
Le melin - I love you
ind nîn - my heart