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?
Miruvor.
A liquor of potent heat and depth brewed in Imladris. A reviver of spirits, succour to those on long journeys in the cold, amongst the snowy heights of the Misty Mountains. Revitalisation in a bottle.
Glorfindel drowned in it.
Every night.
Without fail.
It became his friend, his need - though he longed for his other need. He could have refrained - but he didn't want to. Each evening after the dinner, a dinner in which he took no pleasure because he could taste nothing in his sense-starved existence, he went to the cellars. To greet his new friend. Because the other friend, his other lover, would not greet him. Would not face him. Would not love him. From dusk till dawn he indulged, snatching sleep where he could and when he could. He consumed the potions Elrond had given him not to remove his fearsome dreams, but to assuage his waking nightmare.
During daylight hours Glorfindel did not indulge. He had been too long a warrior, too long a lord to evade his responsibilities and his duties. They were all that were left to him; his weapons, his warriors, his men. He attended every training session, he personally reviewed every patrol that left the compound. He watched and he commented, praising where he found strength, correcting where he found error but always with a view to the welfare of his men. He wrote his reports, he attended meetings, he took his turn as the leader of his patrol, guarding the boundaries of Imladris with unparalleled fervour. If sometimes he seemed dimmed, depressed, out-of-sorts then Andrann, his captain and second in command, made no comment. Her loyalty was total, and she would never betray him. On patrol he abstained for the lives of his men he valued above all things - save one. In the role of seneschal he was superb. All the warriors fought to gain his attention, his approval. He was their shining lord and he lived for them.
He certainly did not live for Erestor. For Erestor would not let him.
Since the end of the fight on only his second morning in his new home, the home he had to live in for untold years ahead, Erestor would not greet him. He had cut himself off completely. His door stayed closed, his eyes averted whenever the golden lord came into view. If Glorfindel entered a room Erestor left; if he walked down a corridor and the dark counsellor drew near then the black-clad figure turned aside. Glorfindel was alone.
He made many attempts to pass the door of Erestor's office but always it was barred, either physically by the strong bolt within or by Saelbeth's prowling presence. He wanted, needed to ask Erestor about that dreadful morning, about the reason his love had fled from him in such a wild and terrified manner but the dark elf would allow no private talk whatsoever. Glorfindel was a strong, determined ellon who normally would let nothing get in the way of his objectives. He had not reckoned on Erestor's strength of will and sheer stubbornness. He was his malleable pen-neth no more.
Only in formal meetings with Elrond or in the full counsel of Imladris did Glorfindel have a chance to see his beautiful pen-neth at close quarters, if not to speak to him. His eyes devoured that black-draped form, never leaving that slim figure, those sinuous hands, those soft rose-red lips. The other participants in those meetings tried not to look at the golden lord in their embarrassment, for they sensed the desire in that glare and perceived it only as a lust unfulfilled. Glorfindel had learned that Erestor was much hunted for his seductive beauty by the elves inhabiting the dwelling but that experience over the centuries had taught them that their desire was hopeless and that Erestor was unresponsive. This did not stop the transient visitors to the realm from attempting to attract his attention, but their approaches were unwanted and rejected gently by the counsellor. It was Glorfindel's only comfort.
Glorfindel learned all the secret places of Imladris, all the corridors, balconies, gardens where he might hide to discreetly observe his dark beauty. From the corner of one portico he could see through the window to watch Erestor in Elrond's office, in deep discussion over policies and provisions; on a walkway overlooking the study he saw him seated next to Elrohir and Elladan as they reviewed their daily lessons; next the corner of the courtyard he viewed him bidding farewell to departing travellers. Every glimpse of the counsellor was a torment, but each encounter was treasured by the lonely heart. In a unexpected way it had given him an insight into his lost love's new life. He saw the depth of respect in which Erestor was held, the unassuming way in which the tasks laid upon his slim shoulders were accomplished; accurately, effectively, completely. He revelled in the overheard comments of the other Rivendell elves, in their admiration for the devotion and zeal of this gentle counsellor in his service to their lord.
It did not stop the weeping of his heart.
****
The Lord of Imladris was alarmed. It had been only a few months since the
reborn lord's arrival and yet it seemed that the Gondolin warrior was determined
to drink himself back to Námo's Halls. The cause seemed to be the
discord which had been ever present between the Chief Counsellor and the
Seneschal - but why Elrond could not imagine. Glorfindel did not seem to
want the rift and had indeed, to Elrond's knowledge, had tried to bridge
it by overtures of friendship and amity towards Erestor. These had been
rejected totally by the dark-haired elf. The tension was evident and causing
whispered talk through the halls of the Last Homely House.
He decided to try to broach the subject with his long-time friend first. Erestor was dismissive of his concern.
"The seneschal and I have little in common, therefore I have no need for extraneous speech with him."
"It is not just extraneous speech, it is *any* speech! I have seen you, Erestor - you will not speak to him. Rather you will refer him to one of your assistants or carry on a dialogue through a third person before you will face him directly. You are as cold as Caradhras to him, mellon- nîn. What has he done to alienate you so in the short time he has been here?"
'Lived' was an answer Erestor could have given him, or 'Loved me'. Instead he lifted his head and faced his lord directly, speaking in measured tones.
"If you wish to command me, hir nîn, then I will converse with the seneschal."
Elrond sighed in exasperation. "I don't wish to command you, old friend. I just thought -" Erestor raised an eyebrow expectantly. Elrond shook his head in defeat. "Never mind." He tried a different tack.
"His nightmares have worsened," he said, a healer's eye trained upon Erestor. Ah, it was there. A tightening of the lips and a quick blink of the eyes.
"So I have heard."
"He dreams of a balrog."
No response.
"He dreams of his death."
Nothing.
"Of the deaths of his friends. Of those he loved." Erestor finally turned to face Elrond.
"Probably Ecthelion," he said quietly.
"Why Ecthelion?" asked Elrond. "All the histories speak of him being a high-ranking lord, but they do not mention any other relationship."
Erestor shrugged. "There are transcripts of interviews with survivors. Anecdotes not confirmed. Some intimate they were close. They were both warriors, both heroes." He paused, but Elrond did not notice the hesitation or the sadness upon Erestor's face, for he was reviewing in his mind the histories that had been written of that time. Erestor's voice was soft when he spoke once more. "He was certainly an elf worthy of being Glorfindel's - friend. Worthier than most."
Elrond nodded, eyes distant in contemplation. "I have heard similar interpretations." He was silent as he reflected upon puzzling information he had but recently heard - news which if he could but interpret, might lay clues as to Erestor's attitude towards the reborn elf. Looking up at his friend he placed a bright smile on his face. "By the way, the twins came to me yesterday. I believe you were teaching them of the Fall of Gondolin. It seems our golden lord has sparked an interest in history."
Erestor smiled gently at the thought of the enthusiastic boys and their fierce questioning at their lessons of the day before.
"When heroics, battles, balrogs and bravery combine, they are most willing to learn. I only wish that they would take more interest in the admittedly convoluted families of the elves of the First Awakening, or the politics of the realms of Men. Such fine details do not appeal to such budding warriors - as I well remember!"
Elrond joined in his laughter, recognising in the slight reference the teaching that this elf had bestowed on other reluctant twins. He returned to the subject in hand.
"The boys were telling me of the number of balrogs defeated by the Lords of the Hidden City, and repeated what you had once told me - that Glorfindel had killed three balrogs. Yet since you taught me that I have had many years to research this myself. The histories only mention one, the one on the slopes of Cirith Thoronath. The one that killed him."
Erestor flinched at those words but tried to divert his lord. "It is as I said of Ecthelion - anecdotal. I did tell this to the boys," he said earnestly. "I would not be so inaccurate as to claim it as truth."
Elrond nodded, but was not distracted. "Yes, but as I said, I too have read those transcripts. Not once is that information included. Where did *you* hear it, my friend?" He leaned forward, trying to discern any changes upon Erestor's countenance, eager for any revelations which may come. He was disappointed.
"My information came from one who was there - one who had been in the Great Market during the fighting." Erestor bent his head, his voice lowering in remembered pain. "He died shortly after telling me of this. There was no one else to question, nor did I have any opportunity to….further my investigations."
Elrond reached out a hand to his friend. "Erestor, are you all right? You seem upset."
Erestor smiled weakly, blinking away unbidden tears. "The one who told me was someone who was very - dear - to me."
Elrond squeezed the hand that clutched his own. "You still mourn his loss," he said simply. Erestor nodded, briskly wiping away the solitary tear that had escaped.
"More than you could ever believe."
The pain that was so evident in Erestor's eyes caught at Elrond's heart and compassionate nature and he gathered the grieving elf to him, offering his comfort and understanding. The two elves sat in reflective silence for some time, each remembering those they had lost in their lives, and praying for their peace and tranquillity in Mandos' Halls.
*****
Glorfindel was no easier to approach. The golden-haired elf did not want
to speak of his relationship - his very difficult relationship - with the
dark-haired advisor.
"I am well, Elrond. There is no need to watch me so closely."
Elrond laughed. "I didn't know that I was *that* obvious! I must refine my methods, else Celebrían will say that I am not doing my job correctly." He sobered, something he wished Glorfindel would do. "Nevertheless my friend, your pain is so obvious that it does not need a trained eye to see how you grieve."
Glorfindel looked down onto the rug in front of Elrond's desk. It was rich in colour and depth, reflecting the tastes of this Lord of Imladris. Elrond was a very complex elf, a possible result of his mixed heritage and convoluted upbringing. Of edhil, human and Maian blood, he and his twin brother had been born at the Mouths of Siríon; had been captured and cared for by two of the sons of Fëanor when their home was invaded; then released to the ward-ship of Círdan and Gil-Galad to dwell in Lindon. As inheritors of royal blood from both parents, the two Peredhil had received a commensurate education and were thus knowledgeable beyond most. They had used this knowledge to make their Choice at the end of the War of Wrath. The pain that Elrond would have felt in the resulting and ultimate separation from his twin would have been immense. Perhaps it was from this point, or from the vile and vast experience of horrendous conflicts and the pain therein, that Elrond had turned to the healing arts. Arts which he had now chosen to practise on Glorfindel.
"My pain is my own, Elrond," the golden lord reiterated. "I thank you for your concern - but I do not need it."
The sceptical stare said it all, but Elrond did not speak. He sat silently, waiting in the hope that Glorfindel would use the moment to organise his thoughts and pain - and speak of them. His patience was rewarded.
"If my pain is obvious then it is because of my losses. I lost my city, my home, my king, my life - and my lover. So now if you are satisfied…" The large elf made as if to rise but was stopped short at Elrond's next words.
"He must have been very special."
The pain was like a huge wave, swamping him; making him inhale sharply to relieve the stabbing at his heart. Glorfindel tried to dissemble.
"Who do you mean?"
"Your lover. You place him last in your sentence - yet I sense that he was first in your thoughts."
Yes, he was ever in Glorfindel's thoughts. But he wasn't going to tell Elrond that.
"Why do you say he? What do your history books say about my private life? Or are you delving blindly into my past in an unwanted attempt to give me counsel? I need it not, my Lord Elrond!"
Elrond could feel the pain rolling from the distraught elf. Outwardly Glorfindel seemed to be in control but the Peredhel could sense that the control was paper-thin. He tried to sooth the warrior.
"It was - suggested - to me that your loved one was male by someone who is very knowledgeable of the annals of history. I am sorry if I upset you. Please, won't you be seated again?"
Glorfindel sat, wondering. He suspected that Erestor had been the source of speculation but why would the counsellor wish to involve Elrond in his denial?
"Who? Who said that my lover was male?"
"Does it matter? Why, was he wrong?" Elrond asked gently. Glorfindel shook his head, seeing no reason to lie. Yes, his lover was male - yet he had been his lover only in his dream, his beautiful, wonderful dream….
"Yes, he was special. He was my life, the keeper of my heart. My soulmate. My betrothed." He closed his eyes, visualising Erestor as he had been on the morning of his begetting day - that last, sweet morning. His voice trembled as he spoke. "He had a delight in life unseen in any other - bright, he was a bright spirit. And lively! I can see him now, riding wildly across the plains of Tumladen, shouting for the joy of the day, his hair as wild and as free as he was. His laughter was like the sparkles in the cascades, dancing, jumping, entrancing. He -" a sob, "-he fit perfectly in my arms. My perfect, enchanting, darling E -"
He broke off. He could say no more lest he revealed all in his despair. Wrapping his arms around his waist in a faint hope of self-comfort, Glorfindel wept as he rocked back and forth in the pain of the loss; the pain of that morning in the forest, when his love had fled from him.
Already he had given too much away. As deeply as he had been hurt by Erestor's behaviour in these past few months he still loved him, still adored him. He would keep his own counsel and would not betray him to Elrond. After all these months, all his attempts, all his lonely tormented nights, Glorfindel was losing hope that Erestor would return to him. But between his work - and the miruvor - he would survive. He had to. Námo would not let him fade for he had a role, a purpose yet to play, and the Valar would not grant him a return to Mandos before then.
Elrond was leaning over to him, holding his hand comforting him. So perhaps it *was* Ecthelion. Glorfindel had almost said his name. The Lord of the Fountain certainly fit all the descriptions given him by the golden lord. He spoke gently to the weeping elf.
"I am so sorry, my friend. I did not mean to distress you this way. We will talk no more now, but please - I am here if you ever wish for a friendly ear." He paused. " I know that you have been unhappy here since your arrival. I only wished to find a way to lessen your burden, to help you to make friends and become more - part of our community. But if you do not wish to talk…."
Glorfindel nodded bleakly, but realised that he wanted to talk. Or rather that he wanted Elrond to talk. He needed find out what had happened to Erestor that had made his beloved spurn him so. Elrond was his friend, had been his friend for an Age. Perhaps he had some insight into the part of Erestor's life he had missed.
"Elrond, what know you of Erestor? Who is he?"
Elrond started. He had not expected *that* question after such a gruelling confession. Why on Arda was Glorfindel so interested in his counsellor? What was the animosity that arose there, at least on Erestor's part?
"Why do you want to know?" he asked in concern.
Glorfindel looked directly at Elrond, deciding that it was time to do that which he had not wished to do. He was going to lie through his teeth.
"My interest in Erestor is because - he reminds me so of my lost love. I only wished to befriend him, to have converse with him to ease my soul. He seems to have taken my interest in the wrong way and now will not talk to me at all. It hurts to see one who is so like my love - spurn my… interest."
Elrond was unsure for he could sense deception in the elf, but he saw no reason to withhold simple information. He cast his mind back, remembering those days with warmth.
"I met Erestor when my brother and I arrived in Lindon after the War of Wrath, when we were freed from the captive attentions of Maglor and Maedhros. Although we were well educated by the brothers our viewpoints were somewhat skewed by their prejudices. Erestor was a scribe in Gil-galad's new court in Lindon. From the little Erestor has told me, and from what I heard from Gil-Galad, Erestor had been a refugee of Nargothrond. He and his family wandered near the remains of Nevrast trying to escape the attentions of Melkor's troops. Erestor was still a minor at the time of the rout, and had apparently been badly hurt during the destruction of Nargothrond. He was fortunately nursed back to health by his mother, and brother and sister, but when they removed to the Mouths of Sirion with the mass of fleeing elves from the fall of Doriath and Gondolin, Erestor remained in Lindon."
Glorfindel nodded, knowing that their refugee status came of Gondolin, not Nargothrond. He was upset to hear that Erestor had been hurt. In what way? Oh, that he could comfort his beautiful darling. He hung on Elrond's every word, like a man who is dying of thirst seeks for every drop of moisture.
"Erestor remained," Elrond continued, "working as a stable-hand until he took up a position with Ereinion's household. His knowledge and skill with a pen were discovered by accident one day and the Master of Horse, being no mean elf, could not in all conscience neglect one of such education and learning. He introduced him to the Chief Scribe and the rest quickly followed. Being of an age with my brother and I, Ereinion assigned him as our companion, tutor and soon friend. We came to love him greatly and when the time came to found Imladris I knew that I could find no one better to help me in its building. He was at my side during every trial, every battle, every joy. He is one of the most consummate ellons I know - scribe, horsemaster, warrior. And so he is as he has always been, a true friend and one of the most rounded elves I have ever know. He is a true marvel to me, Glorfindel. But be warned - he has ever been a solitary elf. That is why he has not responded to your entreaties. He too had a love, a love who died. A love he still mourns. If you approach him as a suitor he *will* reject you. Be more circumspect in your endeavours, mellon- nîn, and you may find the way to become his friend, even if nothing more."
His mother, sister and brother. Mirieth, Díwen and - one of Mirieth's sons? Were they still alive? Had they died, or left in the return of the Eldar to Valinor at the end of the First Age? If he could meet with them, talk to them. Discover what had happened… At least Erestor had not been alone. His poor little love…
" I thank you, my lord. At least I now start to understand the counsellor. Perhaps this information will allow me to return to your household some of the tranquillity it deserves."
Elrond laughed. "My house has *never* been tranquil, Glorfindel! I have twin sons! Oh, and Glorfindel - thank you for your patience with my sons. They told me of the discussion that you had with them. Is it true then, that you faced three balrogs, not just the one that is recorded? The elf I mentioned earlier has said that he spoke to a trustworthy witness."
"Yes," said Glorfindel. "Though I am not surprised that it was not recorded. Not many elves escaped the Great Market, and the confusion and deep infighting was such that I doubted anyone would have remembered. We were only concerned in defending the city - and saving our skins. I only told one person - my betrothed."
A flare of sympathy shot through Elrond. "Ai!" he said sadly. "Oh, mellon- nîn, I am sorry to tell you, but I believe that your betrothed was the one who told my - friend - of your feat. He told me that your beloved died shortly afterwards."
Glorfindel smiled grimly. "Yes, I have been told reliably that my betrothed died on Cirith Thoronath at the same time I did. That he is no more. That he - " He drew his hand across his face. "Please, Elrond. Excuse me, I can speak no more. I have an - appointment."
Yes. His lover was dead. There was only a liquid lover to await him now.
Elrond seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts. "No solution was ever found at the bottom of a glass of miruvor, Glorfindel."
The golden lord nodded absently, smiling weakly. "No, but it hurts less there." He leaned towards Elrond as if to confide in him. His hollow tones and apparent despair alarmed the Peredhel.
"Do you wish to know the truth, Elrond? Do you wish to know how I really feel? Now ? Today? Here - in Imladris? I wish to the depths of Morgoth's hells in Angband that the Valar had left me well alone in the Halls of Waiting. An eternity of grey reflection is a thousand times more preferable to the months, years, centuries of desolation that they have condemned me to. If I could choose death right now, be it by balrog's grip, sword stroke or the elven sickness then I would choose it with joy. I hate the Valar, Elrond, for they have cheated me!" With a final snarl the imposing elf left swiftly, leaving a stunned lord behind.
And in his attempt to assimilate the desolate avowal Glorfindel had just pronounced, he realised something else, something he had never expected. A new and startling revelation.
Erestor had said that the witness he had spoken to had died shortly afterwards. Glorfindel had only spoken to one elf of his killing of the two balrogs - his beloved, who died on Cirith Thoronath. If the two were reconciled into the one and the same, then it meant that *Erestor* must have been in Gondolin when it fell! His friend, who had always sworn that he was of Lindon. Who was so secretive. Who was so pained. So who was he, truly?
Who in Arda was Erestor of Lindon?
Elvish:
(with help from Nienna and Andrannath)
mellon- nîn -
my friend
hir nîn - my lord
edhil - elf (race)
Peredhil - half-elven