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Chapter Text

Erestor rose from his desk at the crack of thunder. He knew Glorfindel was out in the courtyard, putting a group of guards through their paces, for he had heard them as he sat working. From his window he saw exactly what he expected to see: the heavens opened, and the wind whipping the rain into blinding coldness. Neither Glorfindel nor the guards reacted, standing stalwart against the torrent. Erestor silently nodded his approval, for Imladris’ guards stood in all kinds of weather, under any condition. It was how he had been trained, and how he had once trained others.

“The first storm of this winter season will be a heavy one,” Elrond said, entering the office they shared and joining Erestor at the window. “Let us hope we are not in for another Fell Winter.” Elrond fell silent and watched Glorfindel and the guards move through attack formations, oblivious to the rain.

Erestor’s cat, Tinnu, jumped down from his Elf’s desk and joined his two friends at the window, squeezing between Erestor and Elrond to sit on the window sill. Small quivers could be detected in his sleek, black fur with each crack of thunder, followed by a tiny chirp of a meow.

After long minutes of the three quietly watching, Elrond asked, “How long will you continue to say nothing of your feelings to him?”

“Forever,” Erestor replied, reaching down to pick up Tinnu and place the cat on his shoulder.

“Why do you persist in denying yourself?”

“I have known great love and great loss in my long life,” Erestor said, “as you well know. I have chosen to protect what is left of my heart, as you also know. My hands and mind are kept occupied by overseeing the running of this house, along with our fields, herds and flocks. My heart is occupied by our library and books, and the training of our scribes. Those interests have filled my life quite satisfactorily in the past two millennia, and will continue to do so.”

Were Erestor to admit the truth, he was deeply drawn to Glorfindel. In his heart, he knew he loved the reborn Elf-Lord, and not with the love of a friend. Could he risk his heart again? No, for the pain would be unbearable if he did, and then suffered another loss.

“Gil-galad wanted you to take a mate again, you know.” Elrond whispered low enough so only Erestor would hear, should anyone be passing the room.

“Enough, child,” Erestor replied, even quieter, for he and Elrond were quite capable of looking from mind-to-mind without spoken word. He knew Elrond would understand by his use of the term he had called the half-Elf in his childhood. It meant he truly wished the discussion of Glorfindel ended. To soften his words, he added, “Glorfindel is as he was in younger days, full of life and the power of the Blessed Lands. Dear Elbereth, he stood before the Witch-king, who turned away at the sight, not a quarter century past. What purpose would he have with a crusty old, dyed-in-the-wool, head-in-a-book counselor as his mate? I can tell you exactly how many lambs and calves were birthed last season, but that is hardly entertaining information. Sometimes I fear I have lived too long in this land, but it is not up to us to number our days.”

“Why, Master Erestor,” Elrond chuckled. “It’s many years since you called me that. Not since our days in Lindon, when Gil-galad chose you to train me and Elros.” He sighed. “What days those were.”

Erestor remembered them well. The years of teaching the twins, and then the training with sword, bow and knives. Such happy days, now so long past. Five thousand years and more past. He wished he could have taught weaponry and fighting skills to Elrond’s twin sons, but that part of his life was gone now. It was better that Elrond and Glorfindel had trained them. Few here knew of his past life that had ended on the open plain of Dagorlad when Gil-galad had been taken from him. After that loss, he gave up armor and weapons, and returned to Imladris with Elrond to become his chief counselor.

Erestor finally spoke. “Elros. That was my first great loss, you know. When he chose the way of Men. Then Gil-galad. My heart grieves still for them. Sometimes it feels as if it were only yesterday.”

“As does mine,” Elrond replied. “But come, on to happier things. How are the plans for the Winter festival next week coming along?”

“Splendidly,” Erestor said, grateful for the change of topic. “Lindir is working with the musicians, the cooks are starting to prepare all the food, and the other servants are ironing the linens and shining the special tableware. After the more formal meal, we will have entertainment, music, singing and dancing. I believe the musicians even have new songs for us to enjoy this year. What flowers we had in our gardens will be trampled by this rain, so we will decorate the hall with pine boughs and holly. I am quite sure it will be as festive and joyful as always.”

“And will you dance this year, my friend?” Elrond asked with a smile.

“Don’t count on it, my Lord,” Erestor said.

It was perhaps an hour later when a very sodden Glorfindel entered the office, smiling in greeting at both of the Elves he considered his closest friends.

“Glorfindel, you are wet and dripping on the carpet,” Erestor said dryly. “Perhaps that chair without upholstery would be appropriate?” He pointed at a simple wooden chair that stood against the wall.

“It would indeed, if I were going to sit,” Glorfindel replied. “Instead, I am going to continue to drip on your carpet. I am going to hand you something that is also wet, so pray, remove any papers of value from your desk.”

Erestor quickly shuffled papers aside, and when he had done so, Glorfindel reached inside his tunic and removed a small, gray object. The furry object was wet, although Erestor could see an attempt had been made to dry it. The object moved and an ear was exposed. Erestor gasped in surprise and reached for the creature, cuddling it against his chest and rubbing the wet fur. “And where did you come from, little one,” he whispered. The kitten meowed.

Tinnu was on the desk in an instant, sniffing the creature and rumbling deep in his chest. Erestor reached out one hand to pet Tinnu and spoke softly to both of the animals. The kitten looked as if it was just three or four months old.

“Wherever did it come from?” Erestor asked, looking up at Glorfindel. “It’s not one of the stable cats, nor is it from any of the new litters in the valley that I know of.” Imladris kept many cats, many of them residing in the barns, granaries, store rooms, and kitchens, keeping the vermin population well under control.

“No one seems to know,” Glorfindel said. “We found him shivering under the bushes, trying to shelter from the rain. When we fed him, he ate as if he had not eaten for days, so it doesn’t appear he came from here. Perhaps he was abandoned nearby and found his way here?”

“He’s a pretty little thing,” Elrond said. “See the little white paws and chest? What do you intend to do with him, Glorfindel?”

“I thought Erestor might want him for a companion for Tinnu, so I came here first. If not, the kitchen staff will gladly take him and care for him, but it appears that Tinnu has already taken a liking to him.” Glorfindel reached out to run a hand over both of the cats, since Tinnu was now busily engaged in giving the kitten in Erestor’s arms a bath.

“Yes, it would seem so,” Erestor said, chuckling. “Tinnu has definitely claimed him, so apparently I have another cat. Well, now he needs a name.”

“Brethil,” Elrond offered up, and Erestor nodded.

Brethil: Silver birch tree

Chapter Text

Erestor stood before a little-used wardrobe that held his more elaborate garments and a few treasured possessions. The day of the winter festival had arrived, and he hadn’t been able to get Elrond’s words out of his mind. His eyes fell on the well-read parchment scroll that was the last letter Gil-galad had penned to him. Written on parchment to last the ages, and read so many times that Erestor had long ago committed the words to his mind and heart. “You knew,” Erestor whispered, touching the letter. “You knew you would not return to me, and you wanted me to mate again.” Gil-galad had written that in the face of great malevolence, Erestor would provide a strong tether for one who had been chosen to fight the coming evil. Erestor knew the words without having to read them.

“Do not turn from this new bond because of me, dear one, for I have seen what will come to pass. One will shine forth, and he will have many arduous tasks before him. Together with Elrond, the three of you will set into motion the events that will lead to the ruination of Sauron. I know I shall not return from the coming battle. Go to Elrond in Imladris and support him, for it is there that you will find the one of whom I speak…”

Erestor pondered the words. If it was Glorfindel, had the Elf-lord not already faced down a great evil when he stood strong before the Witch-king? But Gil-galad had written that the one that he spoke of would have many tasks before him, so perhaps it had nothing to do with that event, or even with Glorfindel. “Oh, Gil,” Erestor said, still staring at the letter where it lay on a shelf, “you know how I loved you and never wanted another until Glorfindel came to Imladris. I never wished to betray our bond and have stayed true to you, but how can I continue to ignore your wishes? Did you release me from our bond with this letter? Elrond believes it so, and in my heart, I suppose I know it, too.”

Erestor sighed, and looked down at the floor where Tinnu sat by his feet, his shadow, Brethil, beside him. “Well, my little friends, what shall I wear tonight? If I am going to be brave enough to approach Glorfindel for a dance and give Elrond something to tease me about, I must have something that makes him notice me.”

Tinnu rose and walked to where the outer robes hung, as if he had indeed understood his Elf. Slowly, the cat nosed and smelled each garment, while Brethil pranced along the floor of the wardrobe, garments folding around his little face. Tinnu finally raised a paw to a light purple garment. The fabric was shot with silver so it would shimmer and change color with each movement. “Oh, good choice, Tinnu.” Erestor lay the garment out on his bed, followed by a shimmering, pale gray under-tunic. The colors would set off his dark hair, and he would wear his elaborately designed circlet of silver that was rarely taken out of its box. The robes would do very nicely indeed.

It was still early in the day with many hours to the festival, so he would bathe first and still have plenty of time to dry his hair, check up on all the preparations, and be ready for the festival that night. Smiling to himself, he hurried into his private bath adjoining his bedroom. So absorbed was he in his thoughts, that he failed to notice a heavy wooden stool that had been left in the middle of the bathroom floor instead of its usual place at his dressing table. In less than a blink of an eye, Erestor lost his balance and fell to the side. Trying to catch himself, his head crashed against the tiled edge of the sunken bath.

Tinnu smelled the copper odor of his Elf’s blood on the floor, and loosed a mournful yowl.

Erestor stood in a large room, empty except for a table in the center of the room. A fire blazed in the hearth at the end of the room. “Where on earth am I?” He looked around the room again. The walls were covered in tapestries that depicted the history of the world. “Or perhaps I am not in Middle-earth at all.”

“No, you are not in Middle-earth,” a voice boomed through the room. In front of the fire now stood a figure clad all in silver-gray and black, and he was stern and solemn with piercing gray eyes. “And just what are you doing in my halls, Erestor?” the voice boomed again. “I am not pleased with you at all. You are not supposed to be here.”

Erestor bowed low. “My Lord Námo. I beg your pardon. I do not know why I am here.”

“Clearly, you are here because you died!” Namo huffed. “What such an intelligent, wise, and ancient Elf is doing dying and ending up here is beyond me. Did you die in battle, fighting evil, as your gallant mate did? No, you did not. Did you die saving others, as our good Glorfindel did? No, you did not. You died tripping over a piece of furniture like a careless Elfling and hitting your head.” Námo began to pace. “Your role in the events of Middle-earth is not complete, and now you have managed to kill yourself! Stupid Elf!”

Another figure appeared next to Námo, and Erestor bowed low. “My Lady Vairë,” he said, for the figure sat before a weaving loom.

Vairë inclined her head toward Erestor, and then turned to Námo. “Husband, I have no wish to weave the death of Erestor. Perhaps I may offer a suggestion?”

Námo bowed to his wife. “What is it you suggest? For I have no desire to see Erestor’s death woven and hanging on these walls either.”

“Send Erestor back to Imladris,” Vairë replied, “and give him one year to bond with his destined mate. If he is unable to accomplish this task in the year given, then he will be returned to these halls.”

Námo nodded. Turning to Erestor, he said, “So be it. You have one year to bond with your destined mate, or I shall return you to these halls. If that happens, you will not be rejoined with Gil-galad, for he has relinquished your bond and that part of your life is completed. Do you understand?”

Erestor took a visible deep breath and wet his lips. “Yes, my Lord. Gil-galad has relinquished our bond, and I have one year to bond with a new mate.”

“Not just any new mate, Erestor,” Vairë spoke quickly. “Glorfindel is your destined mate, and it is he you must take as your new spouse, for he will have need of your strength, just as you will have need of his.” Vairë removed a ring from one of her fingers, and motioning to him to hold out his hand, placed it onto his left ring finger. The ring was slender and gold, with small golden flowers etched along the band. “Before the year has passed, you must wed Glorfindel and place this ring on his finger.”

The room dissolved in a swirling fog.

Chapter Text

Erestor awoke with a groan. His head throbbed. He could feel Tinnu licking his face, although he had yet to open his eyes. A softer pressure on his upper body told him Brethil was sitting on his chest, undoubtedly staring at him. He couldn’t remember what had happened that ended with him lying on his back on the floor. He reached out a hand to stroke Tinnu’s soft fur. “I’m all right, Tinnu, except my head hurts like blacksmiths are hammering in it, and you’re actually not helping,” he murmured, taking his hand from the cat to gingerly feel the lump on the back of his head.

He slowly opened his eyes, and from the light filtering into the room, knew it was still morning. He had not been unconscious for long, it seemed. His eyes adjusted to the sunlight, and he slowly sat up, shifting Brethil off of his chest, and then seeing the overturned stool and all the blood on the floor. “I don’t suppose you could go and find a healer for me?” He looked pointedly at Tinnu, who sat looking at him. The cat uttered a soft meow. “No, I didn’t think so.”

He forced himself to get up off the floor, albeit slowly, and gently dabbed at his head with a towel to remove as much conspicuous blood as he could. That done, he closed the door to his bath on the mess and cautiously stumbled to his sitting room, where he pulled a cord that hung to the side of his desk. With any luck it would be a trusted servant who arrived – one who would not spread news of his condition all over the house. He stood behind his desk chair with his back to the room to hide the state of the back of his head. He grasped the back of the chair, both for balance and to hide the bloody pawprints on his robe.

Luck was with him, for it was a trusted steward who answered his bell.

“Doron, would you be kind enough to ask Lord Elrond or one of his sons to come to me, please? The first you find will be fine. Please inform him it is a matter of some urgency regarding the plans for tonight’s celebration.”

“Of course, Master Erestor,” Doron answered with a bow, and quickly left to carry out the request.

“Well, I don’t think he suspected anything amiss,” Erestor said, seating himself in the chair and closing his eyes. He trusted Elrond and his sons. Both Tinnu and Brethil jumped onto the desk, curling around each other and patiently waiting.

It was no more than a few minutes later that Elrond knocked and announced himself before entering Erestor’s rooms. “What is amiss, Erestor? Why are you….” Elrond broke off his sentence and hurried to the counselor’s side. “You are hurt. I can see it on your face. Can you not open your eyes?”

Erestor slowly opened his eyes to look at his old friend. “My eyes are fine, but my head pounds.” As little as Erestor could recall, the story was told. He told Elrond about his fall, the lump on his head, and the blood on the tiles in the bath, including some small pawprints in the blood that were too small to belong to Tinnu.

Elrond took paper and quill from Erestor’s desk and quickly penned a note. He pulled the bell cord for a second time that day, and when Doron reappeared, he sent the steward to deliver the sealed note to Elrohir.

“Elrohir?” Erestor inquired. “Although I know I can trust him to keep the whole story of my clumsiness quiet, I would rather not be the topic of tonight’s festivities.”

Elrond smiled. “No one will know. I’ve asked Elrohir to bring healing herbs for you, and the two of us will help you bathe and clean up the blood in the bath. The herbs will calm the pain in your head and help you rest, and by the time of the festival tonight, you will feel just fine, I promise you. Elrohir can also check on whatever preparations for the festival you need.” He removed Brethil from the desk and checked the little cat’s paws. What little blood remained was dried, probably on Erestor’s robe.

When Elrohir arrived and heard the story, the two half-Elves helped Erestor into his bath and gently washed the blood from his hair, cleansing the wound with an herbal tincture. The wound was not deep or large, and when the bleeding stopped it was evident that Erestor’s hair would cover it.

There were more herbs for him to drink as he sat before the fire, while Elrond gently toweled and brushed his hair. Elrohir had cleaned the bath, including washing the blood from Brethil, to avoid any questions from servants, and was now checking on the festival preparations for Erestor.

“I feel very lazy and self-indulgent being so cared for,” Erestor said, glad of the company of his old friend. He lifted a hand to carefully pat the back of his head. The wound was already feeling better and the pounding in his head was all but gone, replaced by only a dull ache. A gold ring on his left hand flashed in the firelight as Erestor moved his hand through his hair.

“What is that ring, Erestor?” Elrond asked. “I do not recall seeing it before. Have you had a new one made? It’s quite lovely.”

Erestor stared at his hand, a frown wrinkling his forehead. “Why can’t I remember? Wait…I had a dream. But it couldn’t have been a dream if the ring is here, could it?” He looked up at Elrond, feeling a panic rising in his chest. “I died,” he whispered.

Elrond knelt beside Erestor and took the hand the ring was on, fingering it. “What is it you say? Tell me what you can remember.”

“I do not know if I can tell even you,” Erestor replied unevenly as memories suddenly raced through his mind, momentarily crowding out his ability to speak. He gasped with a sharp pain to his heart as he remembered Námo telling him that Gil-galad had severed their bond. “They did not tell me I had to keep it secret or that I could not tell you. I do not think I can bear the weight of this story alone.”

“I will bear it with you, old friend,” Elrond said.

Erestor’s pleading eyes looked up at Elrond for a moment before they closed. The counselor leaned his head down and said, “Let me think. Let me find all the threads of what I thought was a dream in my mind.” And when he had done so, the telling of the tale began.

“When I fell in the bath, I died. Námo was very angry with me….”

Chapter Text

Erestor gently fingered his circlet as Elrond placed it around his head, making sure it was secure and not touching his healing wound. He had rested much of the day, after telling Elrond his tale, and it was now nearly time for the festival dinner to begin.

“How does your head feel? Does the circlet hurt your wound at all?” Elrond asked. The Elf-lord had already assisted Erestor with donning his robes and was now arranging his hair.

“I feel fine, thank you,” Erestor replied, “and I thank you for all of your help.”

“No dizziness or weakness?”

“No, I really do feel quite well.” As if the fall had never happened, Erestor thought. The only remaining effect seemed to be a small amount of soreness. “There is only a little tenderness on that bit of a lump remaining. It has healed all too quickly, don’t you think? We heal quickly, but not this quickly.”

Elrond nodded. “I agree. I suspect Vairë or Námo did something to quicken the healing.” He finished arranging Erestor’s braids and then sat down in a chair across from his counselor’s dressing table. “Erestor, ever since you told me your story earlier today, I have had a thought that refuses to rest. Have you time to speak about it with me, or do you need to see to final preparations?”

“Tell me,” Erestor replied, making himself comfortable. “Elrohir saw to my tasks, so we have time to talk.”

“You haven’t mentioned it, but I assume there will still be a display of sword and knife skills for the entertainment of our guards?” At Erestor’s nod, Elrond continued. “You will need to do something to make Glorfindel catch your eye tonight. What if you were to accept the first challenge? I know it’s been ages past since you sparred with anyone, and few other than me even know of your prowess with weapons. Can I assume you have not let your skills lapse? You would most likely win each round.”

“That would be a fair assumption,” Erestor said, a small smile gracing his face. “I practice going through the moves every night in these rooms with my old weapons. I have them still.” He fell silent and looked at Elrond thoughtfully, one eyebrow quirked aloft. “That would certainly garner Glorfindel’s attention, wouldn’t it?”

“Who are the challengers this year?” Elrond asked.

“The first is Glorfindel’s second in command, Thoron. The winner of that match takes on Elrohir, and the winner of that match will fight Elladan. The remaining victor has one final round, again with the first person to challenge him. As usual, you and Glorfindel are prohibited from competing, for fear a challenger would accept defeat out of respect. It would make the contest a bit unfair.” Erestor paused, and then smiled. “Although it will be more than a bit unfair with me competing.”

Elrond’s smile was closer to a grin. “The bookish counselor. I can hardly wait to see it! Give me your weapons. I will place them in the chest that sits on the dais behind my chair, ready for you when you need them. Oh, this will be a delight to watch.”

“Who do you think will challenge me at the end?” Erestor asked, not doubting in the least that he would be the final victor. He gathered his scabbarded swords and knives, wrapped them in a cloak, and handed the bundle to Elrond. “I’m guessing it will be one of the visiting Lórien Galadhrim.”

“Agreed,” Elrond said, taking the cloak of weapons. “I’m sure it will be Haldir. He is their most skilled and will give you a good fight. Make sure you speak up quickly at the first challenge with Thoron. Don’t give him the ability to claim it before you.”

“Or it may be Glorfindel himself,” Erestor said. “Although normally you and Glorfindel cannot compete, he could make a case that the two of us hold a like position and it would therefore be acceptable.”

“If he does,” Elrond replied with a nod, “I will support his case. I would dearly love the see the two of you in a match.”

“So would I,” Erestor said. “Make sure he knows it will be acceptable to challenge me.”

After the formal dinner was concluded, Glorfindel stood and announced the weapons contest, explaining the rules to the challenge. “And now for the first challenge!” he said. “The first contestant will be my second in command, Thoron.”

Before Glorfindel could get another word in, Erestor quickly stood from his chair next to Elrond’s, and proclaimed in a loud voice, “I challenge Thoron!”

There was an audible gasp from many in the great hall. “Are you sure, Master Erestor?” Glorfindel asked in concern. “The weapons are real and the blades are not covered for protection. It is important that the contestants have a certain level of skill to avoid injury.”

In other words, Erestor thought, Glorfindel did not suspect that Erestor held any skill with weapons at all. He smiled inwardly, confident Glorfindel would soon change his mind. Aloud, he said, “I believe you will see that my skills are sufficient, Lord Glorfindel.”

Turning to his opponent, Erestor said, “Thoron, choose your weapon. Sword or knives?” He removed his robe - not the one he and Tinnu had chosen for the evening, but a simple deep blue one with a high collar that concealed him from neck to toe, and laid it on his chair. Beneath the robe was leather leggings and a white tunic that was cut for battle. There was another gasp throughout the room, as Erestor’s finely honed, muscular body was revealed.

Thoron gazed at Erestor appraisingly, trying to judge his prowess, before replying, “Sword, if you please, Master Erestor.”

Elrond had risen and removed Erestor’s weapons from the chest. He slowly unwrapped them and held the sword to the light, clearly enjoying the dramatic moment. Erestor’s sword was beautiful to behold, ancient and finely crafted, the steel folded many times and forged by an expert. The long, center fullered blade was light and well balanced, with Tengwar writing running down either side of the fuller on both surfaces of the blade. He finally held it out to the counselor. “Your blade, my Lord Erestor.”

For the third time the assembled Elves gasped, for never had they heard Lord Elrond’s chief counselor addressed as a lord. To all the valley, he was simply Master Erestor.

A large space in the center of the hall had been cleared, with the Elves arranged around it. They sat in chairs, stood lining the room, or sat atop tables, so eager were they to see Erestor’s contest, though few thought he could best Thoron.

Erestor bowed, took his sword from Elrond, and moved from the dais to the center of the hall where Thoron waited, his sword at the ready. Glorfindel was clearly concerned, and he stopped on the way to take his chair beside Elrond to whisper, “Are you sure, Erestor? I could not stand it if you were injured.”

“I am sure, my friend,” Erestor said quietly in return. “Trust me.”

Glorfindel nodded. “And you will tell me why Elrond addressed you as Lord Erestor afterward, if you please?” The command was phrased as a question.

“Agreed,” Erestor replied. He moved to the center of the cleared space, placed a hand over his heart, and bowed to his opponent. Without waiting a moment, Erestor raised his sword and attacked, his great sword clashing with Thoron’s. In less than a minute, Thoron’s sword flew from his hand and Erestor was the winner of the challenge.

“I thank you for the challenge, Thoron,” Erestor said, once more bowing to his opponent. “You fought well.”

“I hope you will teach me that move one day, Master Erestor? Or, forgive me, is it Lord Erestor? I have never seen the like. You are indeed a worthy challenger.” Thoron bowed to Erestor, collected his sword, and went to join his comrades.

Elrohir and Elladan entered the cleared space together, shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Father knew?” Elrohir asked. “Apparently, he did. I cannot believe the two of you kept your skill with weapons, and apparently your history, too, from us. We could have learned from you!”

“You learned from your father and Glorfindel, and I taught your father. You could have had no better teachers.” Erestor smiled at the twins kindly.

“But why?” Elladan asked. “And why now?”

“I put it all behind me and chose a different path when I came to Imladris,” Erestor said. “And why now is because time has passed, wounds have healed, and it was time for me to take up a piece of my old life. Now, are we going to stand here and talk among ourselves with everyone wondering what we are doing, or are we still doing the challenge? Perhaps both of you together?”

Elrohir and Elladan laughed, looked at each other, and each drew one long knife.

“Very well,” said Elrohir. “Knives, if you please. Your two against our two. And if you win, a promise to teach us your skills and tell us your story.”

“Agreed,” Erestor said, and he turned back to the dais, where Elrond was already waiting for him, holding out his long Elven knives. As ancient as his sword, the steel of each knife was decorated both with Tengwar and the stars of Ereinion Gil-galad’s heraldry. Erestor took the knives and returned to the center of the hall, the blades already whirling in his hands.

Elrohir lost his knife first. Erestor paused and told Elladan to pick up his twin’s knife, for he would not take the advantage of fighting one of them with only one knife against his two. It did not benefit Elladan, and soon enough, both of his knives were lost to Erestor’s. Although their skills were superior to Thoron’s, neither came close to Erestor’s.

Before anyone else could step forward, Glorfindel stood and proclaimed for all to hear, “I claim the final challenge! Lord Erestor and I hold the same rank in Imladris, so there will be no deferring to one another or advantage given.” He looked at Erestor, and could not stop a small smile. “Sword or knives, my Lord Erestor?”

“Both, my Lord Glorfindel,” Erestor replied with a small bow, answering the smile with one of his own.

The watching Elves applauded in excitement, eagerly anticipating the dual between these two skilled champions. Never would they have believed that their quiet, learned counselor possessed such skills, but he had proven himself before their eyes. There was only a handful of very old and wise Elves in the assembly who showed no surprise at the title Lord Elrond had called Erestor, or at Erestor’s skills.

The match began very quickly, each Elf having chosen the sword for the first strike. The watchers began to choose their champion as the challenge progressed, cheering them on. The guards, not surprisingly, chose Glorfindel, but what was more surprising, the others largely favored Erestor! Each blow was skillfully matched by the opposition, neither giving advantage. It was impossible to tell who was the most skilled.

Erestor finally stepped back to sheath his sword and draw his knives, for clearly, each was a match for the other in swordplay. Seeing this, with a nod to Erestor, Glorfindel did the same, and then they began anew. With each thrust and block, the Elves became more aggressive in their attack, but neither weakened and neither gave way. One of Glorfindel’s knives flew to the side, and he continued to fight Erestor’s two knives with his one. It wasn’t long before one of Erestor’s knives was lost, and the match continued with each Elf holding only one knife.

After it seemed the match would go on forever with no one victor, Elrond stood. “The challenge is a draw!” he called out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I declare both Lord Erestor and Lord Glorfindel to be the winner, for they are evenly matched!” He began to applaud, and every Elf of the assembly followed suit, cheering joyfully.

Erestor walked to Glorfindel and took his arm in a warrior’s salute. “You nearly had me more than once,” he said. “You are a worthy opponent, as I knew you would be.”

“As you are,” Glorfindel said, “as I did not know you would be.” He laughed, his joy bubbling over. “Oh, Erestor, there is much you must tell me before this night is over.”

Erestor could not help but join in the laughter. “Indeed. There is much I want to tell you. For too long, I have hidden that part of myself. But first, there is singing and dancing and merriment to be had. I have not danced for many a year, but I hope you will grant me your first dance – after I wash and change into something more suitable for dancing?”

Glorfindel bowed.

Chapter Text

It was after the singing, dancing, food and drink, and merriment that Erestor brought Glorfindel to his rooms, for there was much he had to tell him.

Tinnu and Brethil slept curled around each other on the seat of a chair, so the two Elves chose to sit on the couch that was placed within the warmth of the hearth.

Before taking his seat, Erestor took a poker to the fire to stir up the flames, and laid a new piece of wood on it. “I’m not sure where to start. It’s such a long story. Did you know I am older than Elrond?”

“I do now,” Glorfindel said. “The twins told me you taught Elrond when he was young? I had no idea.”

Erestor nodded. “Neither did they, before tonight. I taught Elrond, and Elros, his brother. My husband gave me charge of them, and I loved them and raised them as my own. It broke my heart when Elros chose the way of men.”

Glorfindel had a serious look on his face as he watched Erestor, but then it cleared, as if he had just realized something. “Engraved on your knives is the standard of the High King, Ereinion Gil-galad. And the Tengwar on all of your blades bear his names. He was your husband? That would also explain why Elrond addressed you as a lord.”

“Ereinion was my husband,” Erestor replied quietly, watching Glorfindel closely. Glorfindel was calm and it didn’t look like he was upset to discover that Erestor had been bonded. “He knew before that last battle that he would not survive. He left a letter for me with Elrond, and he gave the Ring of Air, Vilya, to Elrond, who wears it till this day.” Erestor paused and then headed to his bedroom, saying as he walked, “There is something I want to show you.”

When Erestor returned, he held Ereinion’s letter in his hand. “Will you read this?” he asked. “It explains…some things.” He held the letter out for Glorfindel to take.

“Gladly,” Glorfindel said. There was silence as he read. When he finished, he rolled the parchment up again and said, “He released you from your bond, but I think perhaps you did not release him? You have remained true to him all these years.” It was a statement not a question.
“Do you know who it is that Gil-galad speaks of?”

“I did not know until today. And you are right, I did not release Gil-galad from my heart until today. I loved him with all of my being and could not take another, even if my heart called me to do so. And then everything changed today,” Erestor said, sitting on the couch close to Glorfindel but far enough away so he could turn and watch the Elf-lord.

“What is it that happened today? What changed your feelings? What set you free and made you want to show your true self this night?”

Erestor took a deep breath, and then for the second time, told the story of his dying, Námo and Vairë, and the decree they had placed on him. He told the whole story, including Vairë’s revelation and the ring. And then he sat and waited, waited for Glorfindel to absorb it all, and waited for him to speak, for his story was almost impossible to believe.

Long minutes slowly passed.

“Do you have the ring?” Glorfindel finally asked.

Erestor opened his left hand, and then removed the large ring he had placed over Vairë’s ring to hide it. On his ring finger, glowing in the candlelight, was the narrow gold band engraved with small flowers. He held his hand out for Glorfindel to see, and then silently removed the ring and placed it on Glorfindel’s palm.

Glorfindel’s head bowed over the ring, and he studied it closely, reading the inscription etched on the inside of the band. There were tears in his eyes when he lifted his head and asked, “Have you read the inscription?”

Erestor shook his head. “I did not know there was one. Vairë placed it on my finger and I have not removed it until now. What does it say?”

“It reads, ‘Laurefindelë Lord of the Golden Flower’ (2). This ring was upon my finger when I died on Cirith Thoronath, and I have not seen it since. I believe you, Erestor. Had I any doubt, the ring, this ring, stands witness to the truth. So now it is time for Laurefindelë to show the same courage you did tonight and tell you that I love you, Erestor, that I have always loved you, without knowing how or when or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride (3), and I would be honored to bond with you, now or whenever you choose, for I will never let you return to the Halls of Mandos. I thank Gil-galad for releasing you to be my helpmate, and I willingly and gladly take you as my husband.

Erestor wasn’t sure he could speak, for his throat was closed with the tears that welled in his eyes. He took the ring from Glorfindel’s hand, and placed it on the ring finger of Glorfindel’s right hand, the finger it was destined to be worn on. He cupped Glorfindel’s face with his hands, watching him carefully. “Long has my heart loved you,” he whispered. “Elrond saw it, and constantly prodded me to tell you, but I was afraid. Afraid of hurting Ereinion, afraid that you saw me only as a friend, afraid that you would reject me because I had been bonded before. But now, in a heartbeat, everything has changed. Now I am certain, Glorfindel, and I am no longer afraid. Now I can tell you I love you, and feel no guilt. I willingly and gladly take you as my husband.”

Glorfindel placed his hands over Erestor’s and leaned in to kiss him, gently at first, but then it deepened into a searing kiss that took both of their breaths away. When he finally broke the kiss, Glorfindel took another ring of gold off a finger on his left hand. It resembled his old ring that Vairë had returned and Erestor had placed on his right ring finger, but on this one, the golden flowers were embossed instead of etched. He took Erestor’s right hand and placed it on his ring finger. Glorfindel was suddenly filled with a joy that shone about him and bubbled out in laughter. He pulled Erestor from the couch and picked him up into his arms.

“Glorfindel! What are you doing? I am too heavy for you. And where are you taking me?” Erestor wound his arms around Glorfindel’s neck and held on.

“Your bedroom. I’m not risking Námo changing his mind for one more minute!”

Tinnu and Brethil raised their heads at the commotion, but seeing it was only the Elves, settled back down to sleep.

Námo raised an eyebrow as he watched the last picture unfold from his wife’s loom. He smiled at what he saw. “As always, you were right, my dear,” he said.

Vairë smiled. “Glorfindel was always an Elf to do the right thing at the right time.”

~the End

2. Laurefindelë: Glorfindel in Quenya
3. Portions taken from Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets