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Chapter Text

My grief will abide forever as a memorial to my Adonis, and the image of his death will carry out an annual reenactment of our grief; his blood, however, will be changed into a flower.

~The Death of Adonis. Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book 10

 

Prologue

 

Erestor sometimes remembered the old days. The days of peace and bounty when Melkor was chained and all lived in harmony. He remembered the day when he first saw him.

The youth’s beauty was unlike anything Erestor had ever seen, pure and glorious, and he was beloved of his parents and the gods. Even Manwë, greatest of all the Valar, would dote upon the elfling, sending breezes to stir Dandelion pods like snow in the summer time and delighting when the infant would laugh and try to catch the pods in his tiny fists. He was named Glorfindel, for the crown of pure golden curls upon his head. His parents were lower nobles in the house of Finwë, distantly related to Fingolfin by marriage. Their home was modest, but what they lacked in material goods they made up for with the issue of their loving bond – their extraordinary son, Glorfindel. All who knew the youth loved him, and Erestor counted himself in that number.

Erestor’s own kin, also of the house of Finwë, were by blood related to Nerdanel, and as such were not on friendly terms with those allied with Fingolfin. Fëanor’s folk held his half-brothers’ line in disdain, not considering their nobility legitimate. Despite the animosity, Erestor still found ways to visit the youth even as the divide between the half-brothers widened, and as if under a spell, he grew to adore Glorfindel. He would spend hours away from the forges, leaving the heat and dark and smoke to walk in the sun and sit and read to the young elf, who grew more beautiful each passing year.

After some time, Fëanor learned of Erestor’s visits. Proclaiming that his affection toward the youth was a distraction from his calling, and the cause of his lack luster skills at the forge, he forbade him to visit the youth again. Erestor was sent far away to attend Curufin, where his hours in front of the forge would be the only thing that filled his days.

Then came the theft of the Silmarils and the destruction of The Two Trees.

The next time Erestor saw his beloved, nearly an age later, the youth had become a fully-fledged warrior, more beautiful than Erestor ever could have imagined. But Glorfindel did not remember the raven-haired elf who used to visit him and read to him and tell him stories of the dawning of the Age of the Eldar. The golden warrior saw only a bedraggled soul, half starved, exhausted, and cast out by his own kin.

Chapter Text

Part One – First Age, 510, Gondolin

 

Erestor noted the gentle creak of the iron hinges of the massive door to his office as it opened. The sun’s rays formed a bright circle of light upon the floor in front of his desk that was tinted a warm umber as it streamed through the colored glass of the highest window. He did not look up from his work as the soft, booted footfalls of his guest fell muffled upon the marble floor.

“You summoned me, Master Erestor?”

“I did,” he said, the inked tip of his quill pen scratching softly upon the parchment as he wrote.

The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower stood silently, waiting for the Lord High Counselor to explain the reason he had been called there. His hands were clasped behind his back, fingers wiggling slightly with impatience. He had many duties to attend to, being the head of his own house, and he had much to prove. His was one of the smaller houses in Gondolin, and he was the youngest Lord of Turgon’s court. These things aside, The House of the Golden Flower was held in high esteem, and Glorfindel had earned that respect. He intended to keep it. He stifled a sigh as he cast his gaze to the floor, studying the patterns of the veins in the stone beneath his feet.

Erestor continued to write, but his gaze tracked upward to his visitor, who stood bathed in golden light, his hair shining as it fell in waves around his shoulders. The warrior’s head was bowed, his eyes lowered, and Erestor was taken, as he always was, by his beloved’s (even if only to himself) remarkable, unassuming beauty.  He knew that Glorfindel was peripherally aware of the effect his visage had upon others, but knowing and understanding are two very different things. It was as if the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower never quite understood why warriors, lords, and maids alike all looked at him the way they did. It was as if he had no idea how beautiful he was.

Erestor, in contrast, understood the effect his own appearance had on others. He would be a liar if he did not admit that he had used that knowledge to his own advantage more than once, even if, from time to time, it brought unwanted attention like that he received from Maeglin. Unlike the other nobles in Turgon’s ranks, Erestor did not have his own house or host of warriors. Long ago he had made a choice that would cast a shadow upon his future, and to many in the hidden city he would always be an outsider.

But there was no doubt to any in Gondolin that Erestor wielded a great deal of power owing to the influence he had with the king, despite being an outsider. He was a scholar, an advisor, a devil’s advocate, a confidant, and he had a hand in the building of their great city, advising Turgon on how to best protect it from attack. Some admired him, some feared him, but all respected him – at least to his face. Few knew who he really was and where he came from before joining their ranks. Glorfindel was one of those few.

Glorfindel noted that the sound of pen upon parchment had ceased and he looked up to meet Erestor’s pale, striking gaze. He was still in his armor, as he had just come off of sentry duty at the Great Market. He was thankful for the high collar that covered the quick working of his throat as he swallowed under that cool, piercing gaze.

Erestor always made him slightly uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. It wasn’t just the way the Lord High Counselor looked at him, which caused something indefinable to ache in his chest; it was also the elf himself. It was as if Glorfindel could see Erestor’s mind working behind those pale, steel-gray eyes. It was as if there was something familiar but unnamable about the elf.

As to the Counselor’s beauty, the contrast between pale skin and hair as black as pitch sometimes haunted Glorfindel’s thoughts, and to be honest, his dreams.  Also, despite being most decidedly male, there was something almost soft about Erestor that made Glorfindel wonder what he would be like in intimate moments.

Glorfindel didn’t speak, but he continued to look Erestor in the eyes – he never backed down from what he perceived as a challenge, even a friendly one. The Counselor stood, the legs of his massive chair making a loud noise that seemed to echo in the cavernous room as it slid backward. Glorfindel held Erestor’s gaze as the dark-haired Noldo rounded his desk and approached.

“Lord Glorfindel, I thank you for taking time from your day to come see me.”

“When his majesty’s most trusted advisor commands my presence, I obey.”

“It was more of a request than a command, really.”

“Then I honor your request.”

Erestor walked around the warrior in a slow circle, his hands clasped behind his back, hidden by the voluminous black robes he wore. Glorfindel focused on the soft slide of the heavy velvet hem upon the marble floor, rather than the hard beating of his own heart. What was wrong with him? He had done nothing to cause offense, so surely he was not called here to be chastised. But, he had witnessed Erestor’s temper and it was not something he wished to be at odds with.

“Thank you for your . . . compliance, and your favor,” Erestor said smoothly, crossing behind the warrior and returning full circle to stand in front of him. He had to look up slightly to meet Glorfindel’s clear, azure gaze. “As you may or may not know, I am in the midst of overseeing preparations for the festival.”

“I am aware, yes.”

“I shall require assistance from your house.”

“Any duty you ask, we shall provide.”

“One of the things I appreciate about you, Lord Glorfindel, is your dedication to your duty.”

Glorfindel swallowed and lowered his gaze as he felt heat creeping into his cheeks. He was never comfortable with compliments. “I only do that which I was born to do.”

“Yes, but you do it better than most, and certainly with more grace and humility than anyone else.”

“You flatter me, my lord.”

“I speak the truth. If that is also flattering, then so be it.”

“I thank you.”

Erestor smiled and turned, walking a few steps away as he looked up toward the large windows above them. “How long have we known one another?”

Glorfindel frowned slightly and looked up. Now that Erestor did not stand so close, he felt he could breathe a bit easier. “Since before the city was founded, over five hundred years.”

Erestor nodded. He never stopped hoping that Glorfindel would remember his visits in his parents’ garden. And he never stopped hoping that Glorfindel would remember that he had always loved him, but the warrior never did. And each time he failed to do such, Erestor felt a hollow ache in his chest.

“We met when you came to seek refuge with His Majesty, Fingolfin,” Glorfindel finished.

“Yes. You were one of his followers; I had been with the host of Fëanor. Those were contentious days.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I am often surprised that we stand here together now, allied under the same master.”

“It is not surprising, my lord. You served His Majesty Fingolfin with honor.”

“That I had the opportunity to serve him at all is nothing short of remarkable.”

Glorfindel knew a great deal about Erestor – arguably more than anyone in Gondolin, save Turgon. “You did not take part in the horrible deeds done in Valinor. Was it not you who pleaded with Fëanor not to burn the ships and abandon us?”

Erestor was thankful that his back was to Glorfindel, for that particular memory was not one he liked to recall and it was writ clearly upon his face at that moment. He had feared then that he would never see his beloved again. “How did you come to know this?” he asked, endeavoring to keep his voice steady. Only Fingolfin and Turgon knew this, or so he thought.

“His Majesty Fingolfin told me once, long ago. He told me you paid dearly for your attempts to sway Fëanor and his sons to mercy.”

Erestor closed his eyes. “That was a long time ago,” he said in a quiet voice.

“But you carry that memory with you; I see it in your eyes. I see it when you think others are not watching.”

Erestor turned and looked at Glorfindel with surprise. He had never thought the warrior had taken much note of him outside of their official dealings, despite his secret wishes. Did he dare hope for more now?

Glorfindel continued. “You are respected amongst our people. It is true that some fear the influence you have with the King, and some admire your intelligence and good counsel, but few know what I know about you, my lord. I admire you not only for your intelligence, but also your bravery, for you were brave to go against them alone.”

Now it was Erestor who lowered his gaze and felt off balance. “You are too kind.”

“One can never be too kind, my lord,” Glorfindel said. He felt the urge to step forward and lay a hand on the Counselor’s shoulder, but he stood firm, not knowing why. “You said you require assistance from my house?”

Erestor cleared his throat and looked up. “Ah, yes. There is much work to be done to prepare the city for the festival and some of it involves heavy lifting. I shall require some of your stronger kin to help.”

Glorfindel nodded. “You shall have what you wish.”

If only, Erestor thought. “Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. You must be weary after a long night at guard. I shall take no more of your time.”

Glorfindel bowed his head, turned on his heel, and went out the way he came in. Erestor watched him go, not turning away or closing his eyes until the door closed behind the warrior, and then he blinked and tried to shake off the effect Glorfindel always had upon him.

 

---

 

 

Erestor squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright light of the sun after being in the dim light of his offices all day. It was drawing upon the evening feast, yet Anor still rode high in the sky. He walked the Road of Pomps, past Gar Ainion, continuing on toward the Lesser Market to procure a few items before returning to his quarters in the Palace. Not finding what he needed there, he followed the wide road toward the Great Market.

The city was bustling with energy and expectation. The festival was but a month away and market stalls were brimming with goods of all kinds. Ladies were acquiring fine silks and gems to adorn themselves with while their Lords watched on, nodding in approval as their wives displayed their choices. Members of The House of the Golden Flower were going about their work, replacing worn and loose pavement stones along the roads and walkways so that none, particularly the little ones, would trip or injure themselves when all in Gondolin came out of doors to observe the sunset and the appearance of the stars.

It was at that time that their vigil would begin and the city would fall silent until dawn. The festival marked the longest day of the year. From that point forward the days would grow shorter and the nights longer. Erestor was a child of the night and he loved the stars, so he loved solemnity of this festival – the quiet of the evening followed by the voices of all of Gondolin’s kin raised in song at dawn. He was thinking of this as he entered the south entrance to the Great Market and spied Glorfindel.

If he was a child of the night, Glorfindel was born to be in the sun. He worked alongside his warriors clad in only in his boots, tan breeches, and a pale cream work shirt. The sun’s light seemed to cause his skin and hair to glow and Erestor stopped to watch the golden elf lord work. A few of the bolder maidens of the city were also watching from beneath a peach tree, softly whispering and giggling. Glorfindel looked up and smiled at them and they erupted in nervous laughter, their cheeks flushed pink. The warrior lifted a heavy stone and Erestor imagined Glorfindel’s muscles flexing beneath the soft cloth of his loose shirt; Glorfindel then handed it to his kinsman and accepted another, laying it carefully into place before moving on to the next one. His hair, remarkable not only in color but in texture because it grew in loose curls, was tied back with a single cord of leather.

Glorfindel’s kindness toward him earlier that afternoon had haunted Erestor’s thoughts all day. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower was known for his chivalry and humility, so his actions should not have taken Erestor so much by surprise. He had seen Glorfindel demonstrate goodness in small, daily deeds for as long as he had known him in this new life. Now he watched the warrior work, after having been on duty all night and much of the morning. Unlike some of the nobles in Turgon’s court, Glorfindel would not ask what he himself would not gladly do, so he worked along side his warriors, rather than directing them to do the labor while he attended to “more important” duties. Every duty, no matter how simple, was important to Glorfindel.

Erestor felt guilty, a bit, for indulging himself this way, standing in the cool shadows of the trees and watching the warrior lift and move heavy stone after heavy stone under the hot sun after having stood at guard for so long. To assuage his guilt, Erestor devised a plan to demonstrate his gratitude…

 

---

 

As Glorfindel set the stone in place he saw black shoes come into his field of vision. He stood up to find Erestor standing in front of him with several stewards from the market behind him.

“To thank you and your kin for your labors, I have brought refreshments for you all.” The stewards bore cool water with lemons and cucumbers, and platters of bread, meats, cheeses, and fruits.

“Thank you, Lord Erestor,” Glorfindel said, accepting the towel Erestor handed him and wiping his hands. He nodded toward his men and they all took a break in their labor, gratefully accepting the refreshments.

Erestor motioned toward a low stone wall in the shade. “Sit with me?”

Glorfindel nodded and followed the dark-haired Noldo toward the wall. They sat together and Erestor motioned for one of the stewards to bring Glorfindel a drink. The warrior accepted the mug of cool water.

“Hungry?” Erestor asked, preparing to motion for food to be brought over.

“Not as of yet,” Glorfindel answered. “Are you finished with your duties for the day?” He took a drink of water.

“Yes, unless his majesty finds need of my counsel outside of my regular working hours.”

“You are always at his beck and call.”

“It is the nature of my duty, Lord Glorfindel. You of all know that duty does not take holiday.”

Glorfindel nodded and took another drink of water. “You could help us move some stones,” he said with a bit of a smile. He rarely saw Erestor without the robes of his office, and he took note of the fine form the Counselor cut in his leggings, shoes, and tunic.

Erestor huffed in laughter. “I am afraid I am not as predisposed to physical labor as you and your kindred.”

“So you say, but you are not exactly frail,” Glorfindel remarked. It was then that he realized he had said more than he intended.

Erestor smiled broadly as he looked at the warrior, whose eyes were now cast at the ground and whose cheeks were starting to color slightly. “I am flattered that you have noticed. Most assume that I am weak.” Glorfindel’s cheeks grew a darker hue of pink, and Erestor continued, “I began this life as a warrior, like you.”

Glorfindel was so surprised by this admission that he looked up and forgot he was flushed. “Truly?” he asked.

“Yes,” Erestor answered. “It is only my training as a warrior that allowed me to survive on my own until I found the host of Fingolfin.”

Glorfindel swallowed. “It was cruel of Maedhros to do such a thing to you, to cast you out into unknown lands. Those were dark times. The world was a dangerous place.”

“It still is, outside of this hidden valley. He could have been far crueler. I did leave with my body intact, and my life. My life was no more at peril than yours was when you crossed the Helcaraxë. The earth can kill as cruelly as an orc, or an elf taken by madness.”

Glorfindel nodded and looked toward his men. “We were far greater in number when we left the West. I lost so many of my father’s house so soon.”

Erestor, taken by the sorrow he saw in the warrior’s eyes, laid his hand upon Glorfindel’s knee. “I am sorry that I could not sway him to send the ships back.”

Glorfindel glanced at Erestor’s hand, and then looked him in the eye. “You did what others did not dare do. There is no guilt to be had in that.” In an impetuous moment, he laid his hand atop Erestor’s and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Why have we not spoken like this long before?”

It was the first time that Glorfindel had touched Erestor since he had been an infant. Erestor took a brief moment to savor it before regaining his composure and answering, “Life has gotten in the way, I suppose.”

“I would like us to be friends,” Glorfindel said.

“Then sup with me this eve,” Erestor said in his own moment of boldness.

Glorfindel did not answer for several long moments, and Erestor feared he had pushed too far, too soon. Then the warrior slowly smiled and nodded. “Yes. I will.”

Erestor smiled broadly and Glorfindel felt a flutter in his stomach. The Counselor rarely smiled and Glorfindel found himself wishing that he did so far more often.

“Do you know where my quarters are?”

“No.”

Erestor laughed and shook his head. “Of course not. How would you? Through the throne room, take the door to the left of the dais; follow that hallway to the staircase. Climb three flights and take the hallway to the right. My door is at the end. After nightfall?”

“I will be there after the setting of Anor.”

Erestor smiled again and stood. “Good. I look forward to it.” He walked away with his hands clasped behind his back.

Glorfindel watched him go and thought of all the things he wanted to ask the mysterious Lord High Counselor when they met that night. He would admit only to himself that he desired many things of Erestor, but most of all he desired to know the elf’s heart; he always had, and he did not know why.

 

---

 

Erestor carried several sacks of goods he had acquired in preparation for that evening’s meal as he exited the Great Market. While he would not be preparing the meal himself, he wanted something extra special, and he had taken note over the years of Glorfindel’s favorite foods. He was so preoccupied with his conversation with Glorfindel, and what could possibly come that evening, that he did not notice that Maeglin had fallen into step with him until it was too late.

“That is quite the bounty you carry, Lord High Counselor. Do you require assistance?” He did not wait for Erestor’s answer before taking one of the sacks from him.

“I . . . thank you,” Erestor said, feigning gratitude. Maeglin seemed to shadow his steps more and more as time went on. “You have been in the hills again, I see.”

Magelin cast a glance down toward the basket of gems he carried. “Yes, though for naught.”

“I would not say so. I am not the only one who carries a bounty. Gems for the princess, I assume?”

Maeglin bristled at the reference to his not-so-secret desire for Turgon’s daughter. “I know not what you mean, Lord Erestor. She is married to Tuor.”

“Something that sits ill with you, no doubt.”

Maeglin narrowed his eyes. “It is true that once I desired her, but perhaps my eye has now been captured by more . . . hearty stock.”

Erestor felt his skin crawl, but he feigned deference. “No doubt anyone, lord or maid, would be fortunate to have your attention.”

“I am glad you think so since it is you that have my attention.” He leaned close as they exited the stairway. “And you are not married, nor are you bound by promise to anyone, therefore you are fair game. The gems are for you, by the way.”

Erestor knew that was a lie. “I am most flattered by your attention, my lord. But, I am dedicated to my duty to your uncle and as such do not seek out anything that would distract me from it.”

“Now I know for a fact that is not true. You were seen not even an hour ago flirting with that insipid Glorfindel.” He stepped into Erestor’s path. “You are far, far too cunning for the likes of him.” He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind Erestor’s ear. “Not to mention, far too beautiful.”

Erestor leaned away from Maeglin’s touch, calming the long unused but not dormant warrior’s instinct to throttle the arrogant youth. “Again, I am flattered, my lord.” He took his parcel from Maeglin’s hand. “But since I am a Counselor, I must do my duty and counsel you to look elsewhere. I am . . . unavailable.”

“That is my loss then,” Maeglin said, bowing his head as Erestor turned to leave. “I hope that you will not hold my sincere interest against me.”

“I will not,” Erestor answered over his shoulder, though he doubted anything about Maeglin was sincere. “Thank you for the assistance with my parcels.”

“You are welcome,” Maeglin called out. He narrowed his gaze as Erestor disappeared around a corner.

 

---

 

 

His chambers were prepared. The windows were thrown open wide, letting in the refreshing breeze. The chambermaids had been by that morning, and the floors were swept, rugs taken outside and beaten before being laid back down, laundry done and stowed away, his bed made and fresh flowers were brought in. His rooms smelled of lavender and the woodsy, musky scent the candles gave off.

The table was set, the dishes of roast meats and vegetables were covered and warm, and the wine was poured and breathing. He checked his appearance in the mirror. He wore black leggings and shoes, and his shirt was a deep burgundy color that set off his pale skin and eyes, or so Idril told him once. His leggings and shirt showed a hint of his physique without being too obvious. Despite not wielding a sword or bow since joining Turgon’s folk, he still had a warrior’s build, muscled if now lean, and he hoped Glorfindel would appreciate it.

He leaned closer to the mirror and plucked a stray lash from his cheek, then stood back and looked at himself again. His hair was unbound, hanging straight as an arrow past his shoulders. He knew that many found him beautiful, and many were desirous of his affections. His cool demeanor had been carefully cultivated to ward off those whom he did not desire in return. Unfortunately, that had not been enough to deter Maeglin.

Maeglin had not been shy about declaring his desire, but Erestor suspected he still wanted Idril. Clearly this flirtation was a means to a more political end. Maeglin had gone missing some months back and could not be found, then one day he walked in as if he had been gone naught but a day. That was when Maeglin’s fascination with Erestor had first shown itself. Despite earnest questioning by both Turgon and Erestor, Maeglin insisted he had only lost track of time while searching for jewels in the mountains. Since his return, Erestor sensed something was not quite right with Maeglin. The prince had always been mercurial, but he seemed darker than before. Erestor shook thoughts of Maeglin off. Now was no time to dwell upon that ill-favored youth.

As for those whom Erestor had desired, there had been no difficulty on his part drawing them in. He was skilled in the ways of lovemaking with both males and females. There were few things he had not tried in his years. Prior to coming to Gondolin, he had more than one lover. However, they had all been but a balm for his lonely and yearning heart. He had not taken a lover since joining Turgon’s people, and to be honest he missed the physical connection that lovemaking brought, but he could no longer fathom settling for less than his true heart’s desire, so he went without.

He walked to the window and watched the first stars come out as he waited for Glorfindel. He allowed his thoughts to wander pathways that they had not travelled in years. His windows faced southwest and the peaks of the Encircling Mountains cast a dark shadow over the Tumladen, backlit by the full moon. He requested these quarters when they had been completed. When Turgon had asked why, he had answered that he wanted to watch over the grave of his old friend, the king’s father, Fingolfin. Turgon was so touched that he granted Erestor quarters well above his station.

“Is it cold there, where you are buried, my old friend?” he murmured. He placed his hands upon the window frame. “If I do not think of you nearly as much as I should, it is only because I miss you so much and to think of you . . . hurts.” He blinked tears from his eyes and took a deep breath. “I am, at long last, doing what you would want me to do – or at least I am trying. It is up to him where this goes.” He smiled sadly.

“You would like him. He is like you in his dedication to his duty, though he lacks your fire and fury.” He sighed. “I do miss you, my friend, more than I can ever say. I owe you my life. You took me in when you did not have to, when your own lords were telling you to send me away. I could not save your life, but I swear to you that I will protect your son and his offspring in the best way I know how.” He took a deep breath and straightened his spine, lifting his chin. “Wish me luck with Glorfindel. You know how dearly I love him.”

A knock fell upon his door and he turned his thoughts from Fingolfin back to Glorfindel.

 

---

 

 

Glorfindel leaned back into the overstuffed chair, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of fine wine in his hand and a warm fire by his side. They had spent hours talking and getting to know one another. Glorfindel had asked Erestor about his life before coming to Turgon’s host, and Erestor had asked him about his past and what he envisioned for his own future. The raven-haired Noldo had made him laugh more than once and that endeared Erestor to him even more.

Across from him, Erestor also sat back, sipping his wine, one ankle crossed over the other, one hand resting on the arm of the chair. He had carefully avoided telling Glorfindel the truth about their first meeting, and that he had been in love with him in one way or another since Glorfindel was no more than an elfling.

Glorfindel smiled and laid his hand upon his stomach and closed his eyes, resting his head back.

“This is nice,” he said softly.

“Mmm, yes,” Erestor agreed.

“The meal was wonderful.”

“Thank you, though I can only take credit for requesting it. A chef I am not.”

Glorfindel chuckled and Erestor stared at him, completely rapt. Glorfindel’s hair was unbound and still slightly damp from the bath he had taken before he arrived. The soft curls grew plumper as the fire dried his hair, and they spilled over his shoulders in wild waves that resembled a lion’s mane.

“We should have done this long ago,” Glorfindel said quietly. “I have had a wonderful evening.”

“Good. That was my intention,” Erestor answered.

“I thought your intention had something to do with me being divested of my clothes.”

Erestor coughed, nearly choking on his wine. “Am I that transparent?”

“A little,” Glorfindel said with a smile.

“You are still dressed,” Erestor said, not caring if hope was obvious in his voice.

“I am. Though I would be a liar if I didn’t say I was tempted.”

Erestor put his glass down and leaned forward. “You are?”

“Of course I am. I would have to be a fool not to be.” He opened his eyes and looked at Erestor. “There is something about you…” He blinked and shook his head before continuing. “I have never taken a lover.”

“No?”

“No. But you have. More than one, I wager.”

Erestor looked at the floor. “True, but I haven’t had one for many years, since before I came here.”

“Why me?”

“Because you are . . . honest. You are brave, selfless, strong, dedicated, true, and most beautiful.”

Glorfindel leaned forward in his chair, bringing their faces closer together. “You think me beautiful?”

“You can be quite obtuse, do you know that?” Erestor asked with a smile.

“I have been told.” Glorfindel cocked his head. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

“Mmm, yes. I do,” Erestor answered with a smile.

Glorfindel sat back and laughed aloud, clapping his hand upon his thigh.

“You find that amusing?”

“Yes. I do. I find you most amusing and refreshing.”

Erestor sat back as well. “Good. I think.”

“It is good. I need to laugh more.”

“Then I am glad I can make you laugh.”

“You can. You can also kiss me.”

Erestor swallowed and slowly rose from his chair. He took one step and placed his hands on the arms of Glorfindel’s chair as he leaned in. For over an age he had loved this elf, and after many years of feeling hopeless, he was on the verge of having everything he ever wanted.

“Do it well, Lord High Counselor. It is to be my first real kiss.”

“No pressure then,” Erestor murmured, his lips brushing Glorfindel’s.

“None at all,” Glorfindel answered, lifting his chin slightly and canting his head.

Erestor gently pressed a soft kiss to the warrior’s slightly parted lips, and breathed in his clean scent. He kissed him again, parting his own lips a little and giving the warrior’s mouth a gentle nudge. Glorfindel opened his mouth slightly and Erestor followed by slowly sliding his tongue inside. A deep, breathless moan floated up from the warrior’s chest and Erestor squeezed the arms of the chair to keep himself grounded. Glorfindel’s hands moved into his hair, and the warrior’s legs uncrossed and opened as Erestor was drawn forward. He knelt between Glorfindel’s parted legs, canting his head up as the warrior leaned over him, opening his mouth as Glorfindel returned the kiss with vigor.

As they parted, Erestor said: “Either you are a natural or you have told me a lie.”

Glorfindel trailed kisses along Erestor’s jaw and down his neck. “That was good?” he murmured, pushing his nose under Erestor’s collar then drawing his tongue along the vein in Erestor’s neck.

“By the Valar, yes. Yes it was,” Erestor answered, placing his hands on Glorfindel’s muscled thighs.

“I would like to continue this,” Glorfindel said.

“We but need to move from here to my bed,” Erestor answered.

Glorfindel drew back and took Erestor’s face in his hands. “By the gods you are . . . stunning,” he whispered.

“No more than you,” Erestor’s hands reached the apex of Glorfindel’s thighs and he ran his thumbs along the crease between legs and groin.

Glorfindel closed his eyes pressed his forehead against Erestor’s. “I want to do this properly.”

“Like I said, my bed is—”

“No. I mean I want to court you.”

“Court me?”

“Yes. Woo you.”

“You’ve already done that, in case you hadn’t noticed. I hardly need convincing.”

Glorfindel opened his eyes and drew back, still holding Erestor’s face in his hands. “I want to formally court you. Since you have no family here, I shall ask his majesty’s permission.”

Erestor smiled broadly. “You are . . . adorable.”

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow. “I beg pardon?”

“Do you have any idea how old I am?”

“What difference does that make?”

“I am older than his majesty. I am old enough to be his majesty’s father. I am far, far older than you. You do not need to ask permission.”

“Then I wish to make my feelings toward you known, publically. I will declare my intentions in front of the court.”

“You really want to do this.”

“I do.”

“It is important to you?”

“It is.”

“Fair enough. Make your declarations, ask your permissions, do whatever you need, just bed me.”

Glorfindel smiled and pressed soft kisses to Erestor’s eyelids. “I will, soon enough.” He stood and made for the door, grabbing his cloak from where it hung. He looked back at Erestor, who still sat on the floor in front of the fire, unashamedly aroused and flushed, looking at him with an expression that combined confusion, irritation, and unadulterated desire. “Good night, my raven,” he said softly. “I will see you tomorrow.” Then he closed the door behind him.

Erestor flopped to his back and grimaced at the unforgiving press of his arousal against his leggings. “Court me. Hundreds and hundreds of years I have waited, I was so close, and he wants to court me.” He huffed then laughed, laying his hand upon his heart. “What a rare creature you are, Glorfindel. ‘Tis no wonder I have loved you from the start.” He gained his feet and began blowing out the candles. He closed his windows against the cold night air and caught sight of himself in the mirror. He was still hard, his lips and cheeks were flushed from kissing, and his hair was slightly mussed. “My raven,” he murmured. “I like the sound of that. I shall call him my lion.” He smiled then retired to his bath to ready himself for bed.

 

---

 

Erestor could feel Maeglin’s gaze upon him. He sat in his appointed place, back straight, hands folded in his lap, his chin held high as he nodded toward the next petitioner. “You have business before his majesty?”

“I do,” the merchant said.

Erestor sat immobile as the elf requested permission to leave the city for trade purposes. Not surprisingly, the king refused – he always did. All the while Maeglin stared at him, making no secret whatsoever about what he wanted from the Lord High Counselor. Erestor caught sight of Idril in the corner of his eye. She was seated next to her husband. The look in her eyes was knowing, but there was something else, something Erestor could not quite read in her gaze, something like fear 

The drone of the merchant’s doomed request, and his majesty’s rote reply ended and Erestor began automatically, “You have business before his majesty?” His eyes widened as he saw Glorfindel kneeling before the dais.

“I do.”

“What does my most honored warrior ask?” Turgon queried. It was not a secret that Turgon favored Glorfindel above all others save Ecthelion, owing to how Glorfindel had saved Idril’s life upon the Grinding Ice.

“I wish to petition your majesty for permission to court Lord Erestor.”

Maeglin barked out laughter and Glorfindel shot him a heated gaze. Turgon held up his hand and silenced his nephew.

Erestor could feel traitorous heat creeping into his cheeks. The warrior had been truthful the night before. He really was going to make a formal production of this, and it should not have surprised him.

“I beg your pardon?” the king asked as he sat forward in his chair.

“I have come to ask permission to court Lord Erestor.”

“Lord Erestor is well past his majority, Lord Glorfindel. I imagine it is his permission you should be seeking.”

“I shall, but I desire your approval.”

Turgon smiled and sat back. “You have it. I can imagine no suitor more worthy than you, my friend.”

Glorfindel looked to Erestor. “My lord, it would be my honor—”

“Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor interrupted. “Please, you need not kneel before me.”

“Oh, but I think I do,” Glorfindel answered. “Might I—”

“Yes. Yes,” Erestor answered hurriedly. It was, without doubt, the strangest afternoon he had spent at court. Having all eyes upon him wasn’t helping either. “You have my permission to . . . court me.” He heard Maeglin sniggering behind him and he set his jaw.

Glorfindel rose to his feet, but not before bestowing a quick wink to Erestor, and laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword. “Thank you, my lord.”

“No. Thank you,” Erestor answered and it seemed a strange response to such a request, but he could think of nothing else to say. He sighed in relief as Glorfindel left the throne room.

Idril was beaming at him; Turgon was also smiling, as was Tuor.

“This is most pleasing!” Idril exclaimed. “Though I imagine the hearts of lords and ladies all over the city will break at the news.”

Erestor knotted the sleeves of his robes in his fists.

“The beauteous Glorfindel is in love with our Lord High Counselor. What a fitting match.”

“My lady,” Erestor began.

“Oh do take pity on him, my daughter,” Turgon said lightheartedly. “Can you not see how uncomfortable he is with all of this attention?”

“How quaint,” Maeglin said. “Glorfindel on bended knee proclaiming his intentions before the court.”

“It was not quaint, it was beautiful!” Idril snapped. “Not that you would know anything about beauty.”

Maeglin cast her a heated glance, but before he could retort, Erestor called the next petitioner 

“You have business before his majesty?”

Erestor spent the next several hours under the uncomfortable scrutiny of Maeglin and the rest of the court before he could escape. For years he had artfully dodged the affections of many of the lords and ladies in Turgon’s court. It was as if he had a target upon his back, or was charmed in some way that made him irresistible to others despite his affected cool demeanor. Now, after all that time, he was captured, and he couldn’t be more pleased, even if he would have preferred that it not be declared in front of the entire court.

 

---

 

Erestor shrugged his robe from his shoulders and hung it in the armoire. He rolled his head and shoulders and sighed. It had been one of the longest days in recent memory with the drudgery of listening to one petty or ridiculous request after another only interrupted by Glorfindel’s most honorable if not somewhat embarrassing request to court him. He wasn’t opposed to the idea of being courted, though he had never been formally wooed before. But by now all of Gondolin knew that the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, only the most sought after bachelor in the entire city, was smitten with him. He should be flushed with pride, but instead he wished their courtship to be less . . . conspicuous. He was so close to having his heart’s greatest desire. He could not bear to have anything get in the way now.

“Sweet Eru,” he groaned. “Couldn’t we have just fallen into bed like others do?”

He retired to his bathing chamber for a good, long soak. Once done, he dressed in simple leggings and a tunic, pulled on a pair of boots and quickly pulled his hair back into a single braid. He grabbed his plainest cloak from the peg by the door, pulled up the hood and left to visit the House of the Golden Flower.

He was careful not to be seen on the way, as Gondolin was full of gossips, and arrived at the gate well past sunset. A tall, handsome youth greeted him, informing him that Glorfindel was due back from sentry duty at any moment. The youth escorted him inside and to a small study off of the main hall.

Erestor could hear the talk from the adjacent room. Indeed, all of Glorfindel’s nobles knew who he was and that he was to be their lord’s intended. This left him feeling somewhat like a maid in waiting and that irked him a bit. Even though he was currently an administrator and advisor, he had once been like them. He was no maid. He had a good mind to march in there and put them in their place.

The rousing greeting that came from the main hall signaled Glorfindel’s arrival. Erestor stood as Glorfindel entered the room, still clad in his shining golden armor. The warrior’s beauty and gentle smile tempered any heat that was in Erestor’s gaze, and the Counselor found himself gathered into Glorfindel’s arms and kissed soundly. He, of course, promptly forgot what it was that annoyed him to begin with.

Erestor threaded his fingers through Glorfindel’s wild mane as he sucked on the warrior’s lower lip. He hissed when Glorfindel’s strong hands kneaded his backside.

“You left me in quite a state last night,” he murmured into the warrior’s ear. “It would be most unkind to do so twice.”

“You are correct,” Glorfindel said, releasing his intended. “I am sorry.”

 Erestor, now completely aroused, again, and fumbling, replied: “Do not apologize. Just do not do it again.”

“I am afraid I must,” Glorfindel said.

“What? Why must you keep—”

“What?”

“Sending me such mixed signals? Do you desire to lie with me or not?”

“Of course I do,” Glorfindel said without guile. “But before I do, I would grow to love you.”

“That is delightfully old fashioned and absolutely unnecessary.”

Glorfindel frowned. “Am I to take your meaning that you only wish to bed me?”

“No! No. I just . . . I care about you, very much. But this is unlike anything I have ever done.”

“Yes. You are right about that. You have had lovers, but you have never been in love.”

“That is wholly untrue.”

“So you have been in love?”

“Yes.”

“With whom?”

Erestor could not tell Glorfindel the truth. He could not risk it so soon.

Glorfindel could tell by the look in Erestor’s eyes that he would not say. “If you cannot tell me who then at least tell me why you are not with them any longer.”

“We were separated.”

“When Maedhros cast you out?”

“No . . . Stop,” Erestor said. “Can we not just let go of this? Can you not leave it knowing that I loved someone and I lost them?”

Glorfindel frowned, then nodded. “Yes. I can leave it at that.” He caressed Erestor’s face, his thumb brushing the Noldo’s cheekbone. “I am sorry if I have upset you.”

“It is . . . I am fine.” Erestor clasped Glorfindel’s hand, drawing it away from his face. “So you and I, we are to fall in love?”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said with a smile. “We will fall in love and we will be married in Gar Ainion, in front of our lord and all the nobles in Gondolin.”

Erestor smiled and squeezed Glorfindel’s hand. “You are a hopeless romantic.”

“So are you.” He leaned closer. “You just pretend not to be,” he said with a smile. He drew Erestor into his arms and whispered into his ear: “Mistake me not. There is nothing I desire more than to feel you pressed against me, skin to skin. There is nothing I desire more than for you to teach me what it means to give everything to another. But that must come second. 

Erestor pressed his lips to the shell of Glorfindel’s ear. “I understand, my lion. When the time comes, I shall teach you many, many things.” He drew back. “Now, hurry up and fall in love with me. I have waited long enough for this.” He squeezed Glorfindel’s arm then left the golden lord alone in his study before Glorfindel could speak the question that was forming on his lips.

 

---

 

The weeks passed and Glorfindel made good on his promise. Erestor let the warrior set the pace and he was well and truly courted: he was presented with gifts, he was the recipient of more than one achingly beautiful love letter, they took long walks, they gazed at the stars, they held hands, and exchanged breathless kisses that left them both aching and wanting, and each day seemed longer than the last. Soon now.  Soon, Glorfindel would go down on bended knee and they would be betrothed and Erestor would never, ever let anything separate them again. 

It was late in the afternoon of Tarnin Austa. All of Erestor’s preparations had borne fruit – the city was adorned with flags and banners, music played and his folk feasted, awaiting the setting of the sun. He was departing his offices when he first heard it, the sounds of footfalls running toward the king’s chambers.

“Lord High Counselor!”

It was Duilin, head of the House of the Swallow. “What is it?” Dread fell heavy on Erestor’s heart, even as he asked the question.

“We are under assault. The host of Morgoth has come!”

For a brief moment, Erestor stood uncomprehending the words he had just heard. Then his warrior’s instincts kicked in and he followed the elf lord at a run, reaching the throne room as Turgon entered. All of the Lords were assembled: Duilin, Egalmoth, Penlod, Rog, Galdor of the Tree, Maeglin and his minion Salgant, the noble Tuor, Ecthelion of the Fountain, and his beloved, Glorfindel.

“How many?” Erestor asked before Turgon could say a word.

“Thousands,” Galdor said.

“Too many,” Ecthelion added.

“From which direction do they come?” Turgon asked.

“From the south, across the Tumladen,” Galdor said.

“The walls are too high there,” Maeglin said. “They will not breach them.”

“Then they will move, and they will keep moving until they find a weakness,” Erestor said.

“The Market,” Glorfindel said.

Erestor turned to look at his beloved. “Yes. They’ll come in from the east.”

“You claim to know Morgoth’s mind?” Maeglin asked.

“I claim to know his tactics,” Erestor said, wheeling on Maeglin. “Have you faced down his armies?”

“As if you have,” the prince answered with a sneer.

“He has,” Turgon cut in. “Glorfindel, you and your warriors will protect the east wall and the market. Salgant, you and your warriors will support The House of the Golden Flower.”

Glorfindel nodded and cast a reassuring glance at his beloved.

“We must leave the city, my lord,” Tuor said, catching the king’s arm.

“This is wise counsel,” Erestor said. “Even if we do manage to hold them off for a while, it is only a matter of time before he unleashes all of the hellish means he holds to bring this city to ruin.”

Maeglin began to argue: “The walls are too high—”

“Fire-drakes care nothing for walls!” Erestor shouted at Maeglin. He turned to the king, “He will send them, and they will rain fire down on this city until all is turned to ash.”

“We must leave,” Tuor said.

Maeglin stepped forward and put his hand on his uncle’s shoulder. “Will you leave all that you have struggled to build here? Will you leave your destiny behind out of fear?”

Many of the Lords present remembered the Dagor Bragollach, and Erestor could see that the memory of the last great battle with Morgoth began to sway them in favor of his and Tuor’s argument. But Maeglin and his minion Salgant persuaded the king even against Erestor’s counsel.

The war counsel adjourned and Erestor caught Glorfindel before he joined his ranks.

“You are brave, and true,” Erestor said, clasping his beloved’s cloak in his fists. “But do not be so brave as to bring ruin upon the both of us. You must survive this.”

Glorfindel smiled gently and said: “Do not fear, my love. There is nothing that can part us. Your love will give me strength and bring me home.”

Erestor clasped his beloved’s face and kissed him soundly. “You owe me a bedding.”

Glorfindel smiled against his love’s mouth and answered: “And you shall have it. Now, do you still have your armor and your weapons?”

“Yes,” Erestor answered with a frown.

“Then get them. I fear you may need them before this is done.”

Erestor nodded as he released Glorfindel and watched him run toward his warriors. Erestor watched as the love of his life was swept up in the tumult of armed warriors departing the Tower for battle, but even amongst the throng his love was clearly visible like a beacon of light against the darkness.

 

---

 

The sky glowed red and the screams of the dying flooded the throne room. Everything Erestor feared would happen had. The orcs were joined by Balrogs and wargs and cave trolls; the final wave came in the form of the fire-drakes who leveled the Great Market.

“You must take her and keep her and Eärendil safe,” the king said.

“What of you, my lord?” Erestor asked.

“I will remain behind and fight. Follow Tuor. Do not let my lineage come to ruin.”

“I swore to protect you,” Erestor said, tightening the grip upon his old sword. “Come with us. What is the point in you dying?!?” he shouted.

“I will not flee while my warriors are falling. You swore to serve me. Now,” Turgon pushed Erestor off with one arm, holding the other clamped tightly to his side. “Do as I command!”

Erestor watched as Turgon climbed high above them, his life’s blood seeping from beneath his armor. He heard the king shout: “Great is the victory of the Ñoldoli!” Then he was gone from view.

Erestor felt Tuor’s hand upon his shoulder. “We must go, now.”

“I cannot leave without Glorfindel.”

“I am here!” Glorfindel called, making his way through the chaos toward his beloved. Their lines at the Great Market had been broken and overrun and they had been forced to retreat. There were only twenty warriors left from The House of the Golden Flower.

Erestor heaved a sigh of relief upon seeing Glorfindel. His beloved was bloodied and bruised and covered in black soot and gore yet still he shown as bright as the sun. They embraced quickly and Glorfindel pulled back.

“Armor suits you well,” he said with a brave smile.

“It was a bit dusty, but my sword still cuts good enough.”

“Guard the princess and her son. I will be close behind.”

“Promise me. Promise me you will follow, that you will be there once we escape.”

“I promise, my love,” Glorfindel said, then he kissed his lover.

“I must tell you something,” Erestor said as they parted.

“Later, on the other side,” Glorfindel answered, and then he nodded and rejoined his warriors.

Tuor and the city’s refugees made it as far as the Eagle's Cleft in the north. A cliff bound the narrow pass on one side and a sheer drop was on the other. They were well up the passage when an avalanche of stone came from above their heads. Orcs hurled rocks and arrows and spears at them. It was then that Erestor heard a sound he hoped to never hear again: the roar of a Balrog. It came upon them from the rear. Glorfindel and his warriors moved to block it from reaching the besieged refugees. Erestor watched in mute horror as Glorfindel advanced, hacking its arm, but he was struck with the fiery whip and driven back. It reached out and grasped his flowing hair in its fist and wrestled with him.

For a moment, Glorfindel saw his lover watching. He was losing the fight but he still had one way to defeat the Balrog and save the life of his beloved and his people. He said: “I am sorry,” then pushed his weight against the Balrog, forcing it over the brink and into the abyss. It still held him by his hair, and it dragged him down.

“No!” Erestor cried. “No!” Even above the din of battle, those around him, most notably Idril, heard the gut wrenching agony in his cry and they all knew Glorfindel had fallen.

Erestor threw himself into battle like he had not since the old days. With unbridled fury he slew one orc after another, and those who had only known him as the Lord High Counselor were shocked to witness his fury. Then the Eagles came, swooping upon the orcs from above and they were able to move forward to safety.

 

---

 

 

Erestor sat upon a rock, surrounded by crying females and elflings, moaning wounded warriors, and the grieving few that survived from the House of the Golden Flower. He was mute, numb, too pained to give further voice to his grief. He heard the sharp cry of an eagle and he looked up to find Thorondor descending from the mountains, the limp body of his beloved in his talons. The sight stole his breath.

Erestor stood silent as they buried Glorfindel near the pass into the mountains.  All wept for the golden warrior, but he shed not a single tear. He only stood and stared blankly at the mound. Amongst the upturned earth and stones a single green shoot with a golden flower appeared.

“I have always loved you,” Erestor whispered to the grave. “I will love you still. My grief will serve as a memorial to honor my beloved Glorfindel. Your death and sacrifice will be forever remembered. You brought light and love and beauty to all you knew. Even in death, your body begets a golden flower.” He knelt, his knees buckling at the end as he reached out and placed his hand upon the grave.

“I now have but one purpose. Morgoth and his spawn will pay for this. I will see to that. And perhaps, if I am fortunate, I will see you again, in the next life.” He heard the survivors still weeping and one of Glorfindel’s warriors called out to him. “Farewell, my love,” he whispered, and then he picked up Glorfindel’s sword, leaving his own behind, and walked away.

Chapter Text

Part Two – Second Age, 1695, Lindon

 

“And that one?” Elrond asked of the raven-haired warrior.

“That is Erestor, survivor of Gondolin.”

“Survivor of Gondolin? They are few enough.” Elrond said.

“True,” Gil-galad answered.

“He does not say much.”

“Indeed he does not. He speaks loudly enough with his sword though. 

“Is that why you are assigning him to me?”

“I would see that you are looked after.” Gil-galad took a long draught of his wine.

Elrond smiled. “Do you think he would talk with me, about Gondolin?”

“Doubtful. Legend has it that—”

“Legend? He is legendary?”

“Oh, yes.” Gil-galad leaned over to speak more quietly. “Legend has it that he was the beloved of the great Glorfindel. It is said that he only speaks when spoken to and then only enough to answer a question. He has been that way since Glorfindel fell. There are also many tales told of how fiercely he fought that fateful day, that he slew thrice as many orcs as any other warrior that escaped. It is said that his rage at seeing Glorfindel fall turned him into a single-minded killer. I can tell you, from what I have observed, that there is likely truth to that.”

“Grief is a powerful motivator.”

“Powerful enough to make him the deadliest warrior in my ranks. It is also powerful enough to make him the most unpopular. It is unusual to find such physical beauty and such disdain for life in one elf.”

“I suppose that beauty is problematic when he only wishes to be left alone.”

“Indeed.” Gil-galad pointed at a youth who was yet to make Erestor’s acquaintance approaching the warrior.

“Should not someone warn him?”

“He will learn soon enough.”

The young elf smiled. “Greetings, my—”

“Fuck off.”

Elrond’s eyes widened nearly as large as the youth’s, then he watched the young soldier walk away. “I have never heard an elf use such . . . colorful language before.”

“Erestor has spent some time doing a bit of mercenary work, thus he has kept company with men, whom he seems to prefer to his own kind. Just last week, he cleared a nest of orcs that was harassing a village outside of the city walls with only four men in his company. Word has it that he slew several hundred himself. The men in the village call him the oncoming storm.”

“You sent him there? 

“He volunteered.”

“And how am I to manage this ill-tempered warrior?”

“You don’t manage him, Elrond. You set him loose. I am sad to say that whatever happened to Erestor before he came to us has left him as nothing more than a weapon. A very deadly weapon. You should see him at work. It is an awesome sight. I would that I had even fifty that were as deadly.”

Elrond sat back in his chair and watched his newest warrior. The elf took only food and water, and only enough to sustain him at that. He then left the hall, alone. “No. He is much more than a weapon,” Elrond said softly. “I see… 

“What?”

Elrond shook his head. “It is a vague impression, but he suffers, greatly.”

“Many have tried to help him, Elrond, myself chief amongst them, but you cannot help one who does not want to be helped.”

Elrond frowned and murmured, “Yes, you can.”

 

---

 

 

Elrond heaved a deep sigh as he lowered his sword. He could hear the last remnants of dying orcs growling and shrieking echoing through the city walls. It was his fourth skirmish in as many months. It seemed that the minions of Sauron were growing bolder. He turned to see Erestor surrounded by dead orcs. There were hundreds of them. The warrior’s fine sword was stained black with their blood, as was his armor. There were beads of the black blood on his face, and his jaw was set in fury. Elrond could feel the rage coming off of the elf in waves that nearly knocked him off his feet. While the other warriors who mopped up what was left were relieved to see the battle ended, it was as if Erestor still needed more – as if there were not enough orc blood in all the world to slake his rage.

Elrond nodded to his newest warrior. Erestor regarded him through narrow eyes before nodding in return, then Elrond watched him skulk toward him, stepping over the mangled bodies of dead orcs. Erestor didn’t say a word, he merely stood by his lord and watched the shadows. As Elrond departed the square, Erestor was at his back, as he always was.

For weeks after the skirmish in the small city in the eastern reaches of Lindon, Elrond watched the warrior as much as he could, given his responsibilities. While on the road home, he never once did see Erestor speak to another unless necessary. Erestor rode beside Elrond, eyes always roaming the lands they travelled, ever vigilant. At night, the raven-haired Noldo slept for only moments at a time, sitting on the ground near where Elrond would lay, keeping watch over his new lord, his eyes opening at the slightest provocation.

Elrond would ask Erestor if he were tired or hungry, and always the warrior would reply with as few words as possible, always reassuring his master that he was fine. Upon their return to Mithlond, Erestor became a member of Elrond’s personal guard, and therefore was presented with fewer opportunities to range and hunt orcs. Elrond noticed a slight change in the warrior’s demeanor. With no source to fuel his rage he became more sullen and impatient than angry.

It was the longest day of the year. Erestor had been more solitary than normal, and in place of his ill-tempered demeanor, Elrond thought the elf looked . . . sad.

He followed at a distance as Erestor walked alone into the hills. He watched from the shadow of the trees as the Noldo stood alone in a field of celandine, looking to the heavens. Then to his surprise, the elf cried out in agony and fell to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

Despite knowing what an unpleasant, rude and abusive elf Erestor was, and knowing that every attempt he had made at getting to know him better had been respectfully, if not politely, rebuffed, Elrond rushed forward, falling to his knees in the field beside the warrior and he wrapped his arms around Erestor’s shoulders.

“There, my friend. You need not go through this alone. Lean on me, I will hold you while you grieve.”

Erestor was so overcome that he could not protest. He merely slumped against Elrond and cried until he could cry no more.

Elrond’s own cheeks were wet with tears. He knew grief intimately, having lost his twin, his other half, many years ago. Eventually, Erestor’s crying subsided and he grew quiet. Elrond continued to hold him and sit in silence. It was true then. Erestor had been the beloved of Glorfindel, and now he grieved his lover’s loss on the anniversary of his death, surrounded by the symbol of Glorfindel’s fallen house.

“I am profoundly sorry,” Elrond said.

“For?” Erestor asked, his voice hoarse and broken 

“For your loss. How you have born it for so long… Actually I think I understand you now.”

Erestor wiped his face and sighed. The sun was setting and the field was growing dark. “You think you do, one-time son of Maedhros.” It was not spoken with malice. He looked Elrond in the eye. “But you know nothing about me.”

“Your anger and your hatred for the dark spawn of Morgoth and Sauron has sustained you. Your drive to kill them, to avenge him is what keeps you alive.”

Erestor looked at Elrond. “Why do you care?”

“Does the reason why matter? Is it not enough that I do? I can help you, if you let me.”

“What if I do not want to be helped?”

“Then you will die, because you cannot go on much longer can you? Each year the grief becomes heavier. Each year the pain more unbearable. You will seek death, not by your own hand, of course because you are far too proud for that, but you will seek it by the hand of an orc.”

Erestor’s expression softened and Elrond saw the true depth of his beauty. “Maybe I will find him. Maybe if I just . . . stop fighting one day, they will kill me and I will find him in the Halls of Waiting.”

“Or maybe they take you and turn you, turn you into something like what killed him. Your name and face is well known amongst them. Sauron would like nothing better than to turn you into a monster and loose you on those you have fought to protect – those who Glorfindel died to save – and you are ripe for the turning with all of that anger darkening your soul.”

Erestor hung his head. “I cannot…” he swallowed, “I cannot bear this any longer. I cannot kill enough of them, there are not enough of them to…”

“I can help you.”

Erestor looked up at Elrond. “How?”

Elrond smiled, “By giving you new purpose.” He leaned his head against Erestor’s. “Trust me.”

 

---

 

Erestor awoke to the sound of raindrops tapping upon the glass panes of his windows. He sat up and rolled his muscled shoulders and took a deep breath. His heart clenched as it always did when he woke only to remember that Glorfindel was gone, never to return. This morning, however, there was no bile rising in his throat, no anger causing his head to feel as if it would split in two. He was sad, possessed by a heavy melancholy, but the grief was not as potent as it had been for longer than he could remember. Slowly, Elrond had found a balm for his raw grief, and each day, it became a little easier to carry. It seemed, despite Erestor’s best efforts to resist, the peredhel had worked his way into Erestor’s trust and affection.

It had been months since he held Glorfindel’s sword, though it hung in view in his quarters. It had been months since he donned his armor, and years since he rode out seeking conflict with Sauron’s creations. In the beginning, he thought the lack of purpose and direction, the hours of standing silently at guard, would drive him out of his mind. They forced him to acknowledge the pain and emptiness that threatened to rise up and consume him. Only battle had held that at bay. He was made to stand idle, like the toy soldier his uncle had given him when he had been an elfling. He had protested, but his pleas fell on Elrond’s deaf ears. At first Erestor hated him for it, and if the truth be told, he had certainly tested the boundaries of Elrond’s friendship and loyalty.

He had, at one time or the other, openly argued, chastised, and insulted the High King’s Second. How he had not been cast out was beyond him. Elrond wasn’t beyond silencing him and openly rebuking him, of course. Despite his protests and growing impatience, he remained at his post. And Elrond tolerated his outbursts, even when Gil-galad questioned the peredhel’s wisdom.

“He has to remember how to be still, to be quiet.” Erestor had once heard Elrond say.  What being still and quiet had to do with anything Erestor swore he’d never know.

But now, nearly five years after coming under Elrond’s command, he did understand. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and looked up to see black robes hanging in his open wardrobe. For a moment, he felt paralyzed looking at them, at the robes of an office he had not held for hundreds of years. Then he took a deep breath and rose, whispering: “For you, my love. I will go on, for you.”

He dressed and braided his hair behind his head and slipped on his shoes, and then he departed his chambers for the offices of Elrond and his first official day as Counselor to Gil-galad’s second in command.

 

---

 

 

“Good morning, my friend,” Elrond said as Erestor entered. “There is tea by the window.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Erestor said, crossing to the table and pouring a cup. “What are we to do this day?” He gazed upon the courtyard through the water-streaked windowpanes. The normally bustling square was unusually empty due to the weather.

“Study maps.”

Erestor cocked an eyebrow as he turned to face his lord. “Maps?”

“Yes, maps. We must learn the way to Gwaith-i-Mírdain. We must know all roads, all paths, all ways in and out, those on this map and those that may not be. We must learn all we can about the city and the lands that surround it.”

“Why?” Erestor set his cup down and looked at the map.

“Because we will be sent there soon, to protect it.”

Erestor had learned that Elrond had foresight, so he never questioned or argued with him when he proclaimed that something would happen. Besides, if there was one thing he had learned about his lord in the last years, it was that arguing with Elrond was something that rarely worked out in his favor. “Orcs?”

“And worse.”

“Annatar.”

“Yes.”

“I should be training. It has been months since I last held a sword.”

“I will not have you go into battle,” Elrond cautioned. “You have come so far. I will not—”

“If you think for one moment that I will let you face the host of Sauron without me there to protect you, you are sadly mistaken. 

“Erestor—”

Erestor held up his hand. “I know I have been argumentative, and difficult.”

Elrond smirked as he quirked an eyebrow.

“All right, I have been a substantial pain in your backside. But I am no longer angry, or resentful, or argumentative out of a sense of frustration or . . . fear. I am insisting that you allow me to fulfill my duty to you, to protect you, to . . . repay you for what you have done for me. It was the High King’s wish that I protect you when he assigned me to you. You have an important purpose to fulfill, I know not what, but I feel in my bones that it is vital to the safety and survival of this world. While your warriors are fine soldiers, there are none as deadly and swift and cunning with the blade as I am, you know this.”

“Erestor—”

Erestor threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “For an elf with foresight, you can be incredibly blind.” He pointed at Elrond. “This is not up for debate. You will not go into battle without me, armed, by your side. Are we clear on this?”

Elrond smiled a little and nodded. “But promise me you will not—”

“I will not. I am not the same elf you took on years ago. I promise you, I will not return to that dark place.”

“Fine. Will you promise me something else?”

“Anything.”

“Stop interrupting me.”

Erestor huffed out a laugh and nodded. “Fair enough, my lord.”

Elrond smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “I am glad to have you on my side.” Erestor smiled and placed his hand atop Elrond’s. “Now, may we get back to these maps?”

“Certainly,” Erestor answered. “The mountains to the east put the city at a disadvantage. It will be difficult to defend as both the mountains and the woods adjacent provide more than adequate cover for attack. The marshes to the west are also a problem, as they will be at our backs, but the walls of the city are high, and strong…”

Elrond smiled as he watched Erestor quickly assess the strengths and weaknesses of Ost-in-Edhil.

 

---

 

 

The weeks of preparations had finally been completed for their journey to the East, and Erestor had returned to fighting shape faster than even he had hoped. It felt good to hold a sword again, and he felt, lighter more balanced, more purposeful. If anything, his new state of mind made him even more skilled. Upon his impending return to military duty, Elrond had given Erestor new armor. While he still used Glorfindel’s sword, it was different now. Now he carried it to honor his beloved, as a remembrance of what kind of elf Glorfindel had been. He used it to remind him that not everything in the world was dark and bleak.

The sun was beginning to set as Erestor left the offices that he and Elrond shared. His lord had been called away a short time earlier to confer with the king, and Erestor had done all he could in Elrond’s absence. He knew that if his lord were to return to the office, he would be summoned. He was looking forward to a long bath and a glass of wine after a brief bout of training with Elrond’s captain. He was no longer used to sitting bent over maps and scrolls all day and coupling his long hours working with Elrond with the training he engaged in after his workday was done made him weary more often than not.

He closed the office door behind him and saw Elrond approaching. He knew the moment he saw Elrond’s face that something had happened. “What is it? Is it the Mírdain? Has Sauron attacked?”

“Erestor, I need you to come with me.”

Erestor frowned and nodded. “Of course.”

He followed Elrond through the corridors of the private residences until he arrived at his own door. He looked at the peredhel in confusion, and then pushed the door open.

He felt his knees buckle and his friend’s hands catch his shoulders and steady him. He could not breathe; he could not speak.

He gazed into eyes as pure blue as the summer sky, set into a face that was unmistakably beautiful, framed by a mane of unruly, pure, golden hair. Full lips slowly curved into a smile, muscled arms slowly lifted, hands outstretched and Erestor fell into those arms and buried his hands in that wild mane of hair and breathed in the unmistakable scent of his beloved. His body was wracked with sobs as Glorfindel held him.

Elrond watched the reunion with tears in his eyes, and then he slowly closed the door and left the long-parted lovers alone.

“How?” Erestor breathed. “How?”

“Námo sent me back.”

“Why?”

“For many reasons, but most importantly, because I asked him to. It took me longer than I wanted to convince him.”

Erestor pulled back and took Glorfindel’s face in his hands. “You are here. You are real.”

“I am. I am sorry, my love. I broke your heart.”

“You just put it back together.” Erestor then kissed his beloved long and slow, savoring the feel of his lips, the sound of his voice as it moaned quietly, the feel of his lover’s hands on his back and in his hair. “My lion,” he murmured against Glorfindel’s mouth.

“I love you, my raven.”

Erestor laughed and showered his beloved with kisses. “You owe me a bedding.”

“And you shall have it.”

“Must we marry first?”

“No. We can do that after.”

“Good.” Erestor kissed him again, with more passion than the first time 

“Right after,” Glorfindel said as soon as the kiss ended. “I will never again put off what I should do right now.”

Erestor’s fingers quickly worked the clasps on Glorfindel’s tunic, and then he pushed it off the warrior’s shoulders. Glorfindel unclasped Erestor’s heavy black robe and shoved it to the ground. Erestor’s shirt followed and then Glorfindel grasped his lover and walked him back toward the bed. He slipped off Erestor’s shoes and socks, finally pulling his leggings off.

Glorfindel stood at the foot of the bed looking at the only elf he had ever loved lying naked before him. Erestor was larger, more muscular than he remembered. He toed off his own boots, and removed the rest of his clothes, then mounted the bed, crawling over Erestor.

The first touch of Erestor’s hands upon his body nearly made him dizzy. He closed his eyes, feeling gooseflesh rise upon his body. “So long,” he whispered.

“What?” Erestor asked, his eyes hungrily taking in Glorfindel’s nude form 

“It has taken so long.”

“None of that matters now, my love. We are together now.” Erestor’s fingers traced a jagged scar on Glorfindel’s side. “What is this?” he asked.

“From the Balrog’s whip,” Glorfindel answered.

“You are in the same body? How is that possible?”

“No. That one was lost long ago. This one is very much like it though, made from my memories.” He brushed Erestor’s cheek with the back of his hand. “One learns a lot in the Halls of Waiting,” he said quietly.

“Such as?” Erestor asked, his hands roaming Glorfindel’s muscled arms and back.

“Such as everything that has ever happened and many things that are yet to be.”

Erestor paused and looked into his lover’s eyes. “Everything?”

“Yes. Everything.”

“You know.”

“I know,” he said. He lowered himself to Erestor, weaving one leg underneath Erestor’s bent knee and swallowing as their bodies touched for the first time. He took a moment to savor it, to revel in the feel of Erestor’s warm, soft skin and his strong hands as they caressed him. “I know the pain you have carried since I fell. I know that it was nearly the end of you and I will always bear that burden.”

He pressed a kiss to Erestor’s lips before his beloved could protest. “I know you have loved me all of my life, even after my death. I know you loved me when you first saw me in my parents’ garden. I know that you were sent away because of it. I know that when you pleaded with Fëanor not to abandon Fingolfin’s people you were thinking of me and I know the abuse you suffered at his hands and the hands of his sons afterward. I know that you left Fingolfin, your dearest friend, and followed Turgon to the Encircling Mountains so you could be near me. I know that while you have had lovers, you have only ever loved one, and that was me.”

Erestor blinked as a tear fell from his eye. “I have loved you over two ages, and I will love you until the end of time.”

Glorfindel smiled and kissed his beloved. “Yes, you will. And I will love you, forever. You may have loved me first, but you will never be alone in love again. We shall always be together. When this world fades, when it changes into something we could never recognize, we will still be together.”

Erestor grasped Glorfindel’s face in his hands and kissed him soundly. Glorfindel laid a trail of kisses down Erestor’s neck to his chest. “Now, about that bedding I owe you...”

“Oh, yes. Please,” he said with a smile.

“I have missed your smile,” Glorfindel said, tracing Erestor’s lips with the pads of his fingers.

“I shall smile at you every day from now until the end.”

Glorfindel grinned broadly. “Then my life shall be blessed.” He kissed Erestor slowly, nipping at his beloved’s lower lip as Erestor’s fingers traced the line of his spine.

Glorfindel watched Erestor intently as his lover rolled him to his back. There wasn’t one inch of his body that Erestor didn’t explore. Glorfindel arched into his touch, surrendering his new body and his old soul to the one elf that had loved him more, and longer, than anyone in either of his lives. He gasped and chewed his lower lip as Erestor’s mouth made good use of one of his nipples, teeth playfully biting before he moved lower. Whispered curses and prayers and pleas escaped his lips as his legs were gently moved apart and his beloved buried his face in his groin. It built slow, the fire that sparked deep in his core. It spread through his body, clear to the tips of his fingers and toes, and when it caught full, he growled as he came to completion, body taut as a bowstring, skin beaded with sweat and flushed with orgasmic bliss.

He collapsed back onto the bed as Erestor moved like water above him, lowering himself down and kissing him languorously. The easy nature of the kiss, the soft, warm, heavy press of Erestor’s lips and tongue upon his mouth belied the urgency he felt in his beloved’s body. Erestor’s length was hard and weeping, and he roused himself to change positions with his lover, working his way down Erestor’s beautiful, strong body with his mouth. The words of encouragement, huskily spoken, punctuated by deep, aching moans told Glorfindel he was on the right track. He gazed up the length of Erestor’s body as he worked his lover’s arousal with his mouth and he watched when the same fire he had experienced took hold in Erestor’s body. He watched as his beloved arched off the bed, wadding the sheets in his strong fists, only closing his eyes as Erestor’s seed spilled into his mouth.

Glorfindel’s limbs felt heavy, in a good way, as he wound himself around Erestor, burying his face in his beloved’s silky black hair. He felt at peace. He felt at home.

“I love you,” he whispered into Erestor’s ear.

“My lion,” Erestor murmured sleepily, and Glorfindel smiled.

 

---

  

Erestor’s fingers tapped a rapid, staccato rhythm against his thigh as he stood waiting, patiently (not something he was naturally good at, he’d readily admit). He was nervous and he could not understand why. This was what he wanted. He had his beloved back. He had thoroughly made love to him the night before more than once (he wasn’t too shy to admit). All things were, at long last, as they should be. So why was he so nervous?

Elrond stood beside Erestor, a knowing smile on his face.

“What?” Erestor asked.

Elrond merely smiled and shook his head.

“What?” Erestor asked somewhat more loudly than he intended, gritting his teeth as witnesses looked at him in surprise.

The sound of the large doors to the hall opening caused the crowd to turn away, and Erestor took in the sight of his beloved. That was when all feelings of nervousness melted away.

It was the first time that many in the hall had seen the legendary Glorfindel, so Erestor couldn’t blame them for staring unabashedly. He strode in, resplendent in his newly forged armor, his old sword, the weapon that Erestor had carried and used for hundreds of years, strapped to his hip. Rather than the colors of his former house, Glorfindel wore the colors of Elrond’s house – glimmering silver armor with a deep hued blue cloak. His hair was braided back off his face, held there by mithril clips that were a gift from Elrond to his newest Captain.

Erestor hadn’t realized until just that moment how much he missed the way Glorfindel walked. The Elda walked with purpose, and maybe a little swagger this afternoon, taking long, bold steps that carried him forward. He was a vision.

Glorfindel took no notice of the open stares and hushed whispers as he crossed toward where Erestor stood. All of his attention was focused on Erestor. When he arrived, he knelt before his beloved and Elrond, and before the High King, who stood ready to officiate their bonding ceremony.

Gil-galad nodded in response and Glorfindel rose to his feet, stepping forward and taking Erestor’s hand, as Erestor turned to face the king.

Erestor barely remembered the words that were spoken. What he would always remember, however, was the moment when he turned to face his beloved, and swore in front of half of Mithlond that he would always love him and always be true to him; he would remember the smile upon Glorfindel’s face, and his beloved’s answering promise. Then they kissed, and the audience erupted in cheers. Flowers were strewn, raining upon them as they exited the hall hand-in-hand.

 

---

 

 

Erestor flopped to the bed that night, after a long afternoon of feasting, and stretched, playing with the ring on his finger. Glorfindel was removing his boots, his wild, unbound hair cascading over his shoulders.

“I shall never eat again,” Glorfindel groused, patting his stomach as he looked at his mate.

Erestor hummed in agreement, toeing off his shoes. They fell to the rug with a muffled slap. “Our king knows how to throw a good party on short notice.”

Glorfindel leaned against the wall and smiled. “Indeed.”

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Erestor asked, lifting his head to see what his beloved was doing.

“Looking at my husband,” Glorfindel said with a smile.

“You finally got your wish,” Erestor said.

Glorfindel’s smile broadened. “As did you. Several times last night, I do recall.”

Erestor held out his hand. “And I plan to have it several more times this night.”

Glorfindel pulled his shirt over his head, and just the sight of his mate’s bare chest caused heat to bloom in Erestor’s groin. “Do tell?”

“Oh, yes. We shall both be in need of extra sleep.” Erestor sat up and began unlacing his shirt as he watched Glorfindel with hunger in his eyes.

“You are insatiable,” Glorfindel said as he began pushing his breeches past his hips.

“You are just now beginning to realize this? I hope it will not be a problem." 

Glorfindel laughed as he kicked his breeches free and strode toward his husband. “Not a problem, as such, no.”

Erestor shimmied out of his leggings as Glorfindel mounted the bed. “Oh, good.”

Glorfindel lowered himself to Erestor and buried his face in his husband’s neck. “I am glad that we both have the day off tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait to sleep in,” Erestor breathed as he grasped Glorfindel’s backside and gave it a hard squeeze. The answering buck of Glorfindel’s hips made him smile.

“I think that it is time that I put the lessons you taught me last night to good use,” Glorfindel purred, nuzzling the curve of Erestor’s ear.

“I agree, wholeheartedly,” Erestor answered, then he laughed as Glorfindel pulled the covers over their heads.

Chapter Text

Epilogue

September 29^th, Third Age, The Grey Havens, Lindon

 

“You are late.”

“Yes, I know. I am sorry but it took much longer to say goodbye than I thought it would.”

Erestor wrapped his arms around his mate, smiling as Glorfindel lifted him from the ground before sitting him back down. “How are they?” Erestor asked.

“Conflicted. They have not yet given their answer to their father. That is, in part, why it took me so long to return. Whatever they decide to do, they will do together.”

“It breaks Elrond’s heart to leave Arwen behind. If Elladan and Elrohir do not follow…”

“They will,” Glorfindel said. “I know them. They will follow. And as for Arwen, while he is sad to leave her, he knows she is with the love of her life.”

“It is starting, isn’t it?”

“What?” Glorfindel asked.

“The changing of the world,” Erestor answered.

Glorfindel looked out at the long road and fields that led to the gates of the Grey Havens and beyond to the world they were about to leave behind. “Yes, it is.”

“What of those still here? What of Celeborn and Thranduil and Legolas and all those who follow them?”

“They have time. We will see them again.”

Erestor leaned his head upon Glorfindel’s shoulder. “It makes me sad.”

“It makes me sad as well,” Glorfindel answered. “So much has happened here, so many lives lived and lost, but it is time. This is world is for men now. Our place is back home.”

“I never thought I could return,” Erestor said.

“How are you with a hammer?” Glorfindel asked walking toward the quay hand-in-hand with his mate.

Erestor laughed and leaned his head on his husband’s shoulder. “You will have to teach me.”

“How is that possible?” Glorfindel asked, giving his mate a playful nudge. “You come from a long line of smiths! How do you not know how to use a hammer?”

“I never really paid attention,” Erestor answered with a smile and a shrug. “I always preferred books. I promise to pay attention to you, though.”

“I suppose teaching you in this is only fair, given how much you have taught me.” Glorfindel kissed the top of Erestor’s head as the tall masts of the ship came into view. “Now begins a new life,” he said softly.

“A new life together,” Erestor answered.

Glorfindel smiled and tugged his mate’s hand as they ran toward the ship.

 

~Finis