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Twilight Tales - Stolen Moments	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4131 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter II

Glorfindel grinned when he entered the Hall of Fire to find two of the most virile Elves in Aman coaxing their daughters to sleep. He glanced about and noted the rapt expressions on the faces of the other occupants of the hall. It was difficult to say which was more mesmerizing – the sight of Elladan and Elrohir cuddling their respective young ones or the sound of their voices blending in wondrous harmony as they softly sang a lullaby together.

They were seated on the furs in one corner of the great chamber but their fair voices gently resounded throughout the room to the delight of every Elf present. Nimeithel was settled on the divan to their right, flanked by Elendir and Elros. Lindir sat at Elros’ feet, leaning against the side of the younger twin’s thigh, Elros’ hand on his shoulder. Legolas, on the other hand, half reclined against the wall to Elrohir’s left, Eledhmîr on his lap and Mîranor snuggled against him, held securely in the crook of his arm.

Ensconced together in the couch before the great hearth, Elrond and Celebrían smiled genially as they regarded their comely sons holding their maid-children in their arms. There was no more beautiful sight in all Aman in their doting eyes. But they were not the only ones to stare so relentlessly at either brother.

Legolas’ gaze was fixed on the Elf-knight in a manner that was all too telling. Any with their wits around them would know how the night would end for the Wood-elf and his Peredhel spouse. If he could tear Elrohir away from their daughter, that is. Glorfindel’s grin faded.

No contest there. No matter how besotted Elrohir might be with any of his children, he would always hearken to Legolas’ claim upon his heart. Nay, not even the tender daughter he had nurtured in ways no ellon, or male Elf, had ever been meant to do could come between him and his golden prince.

Glorfindel sighed a little disconsolately. Had Elrohir behaved as Erestor did, he would not have felt so adrift and forsaken. He could have comforted himself with the reasoning that such flagrant closeness to one’s child was born of the exceptional and therefore life-changing experience of being a begetter in all senses of the word. But Elrohir had never allowed it to change his demeanor with Legolas. For that matter, Legolas had not altered either in his manner with Elrohir. They were as devoted to each other as they had been before the advents of their little ones.

There was no getting around the problem. Erestor had not changed because of that blessed event. Erestor had changed because he had not sought to balance his roles as Glorfindel’s mate and Galadon’s father. He was taking for granted the love that had been his for more than ten centuries while assiduously guarding the relationship between parent and child that had been wrenched from him too soon in his youth.

Glorfindel did not begrudge him that. How could he resent his mate’s need to establish a bond that had been denied him with his own father and mother? But even an Elf of Glorfindel’s forbearance could not endure such woeful treatment forever. Especially an Elf possessed of the passion and affection the captain held in his heart.

The Elda’s patience was wearing thin – was already thinner than the fragile ice that coated a lake at the onset of a mild winter.

He watched as Elrohir rose, tiny Irilde snug in his arms. The Elf-knight’s eyes alighted on his woodland spouse for a moment but in that fleeting glance seduction found its mark. A tinge of color touched Legolas’ cheeks and a small smile curled his lips. The archer quietly urged his sons to rise and soon came to Elrohir’s side. They departed the Hall of Fire together.

Some minutes later, Elladan stood as well and passed his slumbering daughter to Elendir. He slipped his arm around Nimeithel and guided her from the hall, their eldest-born following with his sister safe in his embrace.

Glorfindel’s countenance grew grim. Time was when he would hurry home after a full day’s duty and did not leave again, reluctant to part from Erestor even for the space of an evening. Not so any longer. More oft than not, after spending time with his son before Erestor put Galadon to bed, he came to the Hall of Fire, kept late hours with the warriors under his command or joined either Elrond’s family or other close friends for a convivial drink or more. Even on their days of rest they only rarely kept intimate company, which had been otherwise in years past. He wondered if those halcyon days would ever come back.

Yet he could not keep himself from knowing the stirrings within that only a beloved partner could inspire. Anything that reminded him of Erestor – a glimpse of dark hair similarly braided or a tunic or robe in the colors the steward favored or even anything spoken just so as to sound like him – was enough to enflame him with wanting.

Which was exactly what happened now when he turned his eyes to observe Elros and Lindir who had remained behind. They would finally bind to each other come Elros’ next begetting day. But there was no mistaking that the rites would merely affirm what had long been a reality. That they were already one in heart and body and would only need the mingling of their blood to seal their spirits as well.

Lindir had lifted Elros’ hand and pressed his lips to his betrothed’s palm, closing his eyes in blissful contentment as he did. Elros leveled a desirous gaze at him, looking down at an angle that brought his unplaited hair forward, obscuring his face somewhat. For an instant, he resembled Erestor when the counsellor left his auburn locks unbound.

Glorfindel sucked his breath in sharply. It was now nigh a week since he had done anything more than share a kiss or a caress with Erestor. Suddenly, with Elros and Lindir’s affectionate display before him, he felt an acute desire for his mate, however errant said mate had been.

Feeling he would burst if he did not assuage his unbidden yearning soonest, Glorfindel left the Hall of Fire and swiftly departed for his own home and hearth.

******

Erestor straightened up in his chair and stretched his slender arms. He glanced out the window at the darkened garden beyond. He was in the study and had been bent over the accounts of Elrond’s estate for close to an hour. He would soon be done with them.

In the nineteen years since Galadon’s birth he had adjusted his schedule to accommodate his son’s needs. If that meant occasionally bringing work home that he might have more hours with Galadon, then he did so. At all other times, the child was with his teachers in Elrond’s halls, joining the other Elflings of his age in the steady acquisition of knowledge and skill that was as intrinsic to Elves as breathing.

He sighed with satisfaction as he took note of the little more that still had to be done. It was always a relief to be able to complete his tasks before retiring for the night. Being free of them come morning meant more time to devote to his son.

A shadow fell over the desk. Erestor glanced over his shoulder. A pair of cobalt eyes met his emerald gaze. And Glorfindel, of course, he added mentally if belatedly.

“Back so soon?” he said with an absent smile as he turned back to the papers on the desk. He had gotten quite used to Glorfindel leaving for Elrond’s halls or the barracks once Galadon was tucked in.

“Aye, and with good reason,” Glorfindel quietly answered. “Come to bed, Erestor.”

The steward chuckled briefly. “In a moment,” he said, continuing to peruse the accounts before him.

He started when a lean but unmistakably strong hand suddenly pinned the sheaf of parchment to the desk in a manner that brooked no protest.

“Now, melethron”—lover—Glorfindel said.

Erestor stared up at him. The warrior’s voice had not risen at all but there was just the faintest hint of impatience in his tone. And while his expression remained quite pleasant, his eyes gleamed warningly. Realizing any argument would be futile when Glorfindel was in this mood, Erestor acceded, laid down the quill and rose from his seat. He snuffed out the single lighted taper on the table.

Glorfindel silently ushered him out of the study, a firm hand on his back, then led the way down the lamp-lit corridor to their bedchamber. Erestor studied him curiously, wondering at his peculiar mood. Just before they came to their room, they passed Galadon’s. A muffled whimper reached their ears through the door.

“He must be dreaming,” Erestor guessed and made to enter the child’s room.

To his surprise, Glorfindel stopped him and said: “Go on, Erestor. I will see to him.”

With an uncertain look at the warrior, Erestor did as he was bid and went on. He glanced back once to see Glorfindel disappear into their son’s room. Entering the chamber he shared with his mate, he sank down on the edge of the bed and waited.

About ten minutes later, Glorfindel entered their chamber. He looked pointedly at Erestor who had not shed his jerkin or shoes or unbound his hair while awaiting him. The steward flushed slightly and rose to his feet. Walking to the wide wardrobe of dark polished wood, he started to unfasten the vest.

“How is he?” he queried as he undid the clasps.

He gasped as Glorfindel pulled him back against his tall frame. The captain bent and lightly bit the side of his neck while his hands slipped beneath the steward’s long shirt and began to work at the lacings of his breeches. Erestor shivered as much from his mate’s peremptory manner as from his sensual attention.

“You did not answer me,” he managed to say, his breath hitching when the warrior suckled his skin hard enough to leave a bruise.

“He’s asleep,” Glorfindel growled against his flesh. “‘Twas nothing more than a bad dream.”

Erestor stiffened. “He had a nightmare?” he said. He tried to pull away only to find himself trapped in an adamantine embrace.

“He is asleep, Erestor,” Glorfindel repeated none too patiently.

Erestor wriggled insistently, trying to slip out of the captain’s arms. “But you know full well that when he has a nightmare, he tends to re-live it as soon as he falls back asleep,” he pointed out. “Please, let me look in on him. I will be quick about it.”

Glorfindel eyed him skeptically. But when Erestor laid a pleading gaze on him, he relented.

“Very well,” he said and released the steward. “But do not tarry. I am more than ready for bed.”

Erestor flushed more deeply at the blatant meaning behind his mate’s words. He nodded and went out. Glorfindel sighed then unbuckled his belt and got on with the business of undressing.

When he was down to his breeches and boots and still the steward had not returned, he scowled with mounting annoyance. Erestor was hardly being quick about it at all! His mood darkened with every minute that passed from thereon. At last, after twenty minutes of fraught waiting, he passed out of the room. With every step to Galadon’s chamber, his temper worsened.

He pushed open the door then stopped and stared. And continued to stare in anger and frustration.

Erestor lay on the bed by Galadon, cradling the sleeping Elfling. He did not look in the least like he would be leaving his son’s side any time soon.

“Erestor,” Glorfindel bit out, his voice beginning to vibrate with ire.

The counsellor glanced up and frowned. “Hush, you will wake him,” he chided. He turned his attention back to their son.

It was then that he felt the distinct chill in the room. Startled, he lifted his head and looked at Glorfindel. He met a gaze so icy as to freeze the very ocean itself. And then the warrior swept out of the room with nary a word. Erestor did not move a muscle for the next several moments, so taken aback was he by the warrior’s glacial regard. And then he launched himself out of his son’s bed, acutely aware that a line had been crossed and that it was he who had crossed it.

He burst into their bedchamber in time to see Glorfindel clad in his shirt once more and pulling on his tunic. He stared in consternation as the captain swiftly and silently fastened the outer garment. He hastened to the Elda, an anxious frown creasing his smooth brow.

“What – what are you doing?” he demanded, his voice not as firm as he would have liked. “Glorfindel?”

His mate declined to answer him but only drew his belt around his waist and buckled it. Still silent, he strode across the room. Erestor grabbed him by the arm as he went by.

“Glorfindel, where are you going?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

Glorfindel brusquely pulled his arm away, the movement so abrupt, Erestor staggered slightly backward. At the last instant, before he slipped out the door, the warrior looked back and skewered his spouse with a black glare.

“Since you do not desire my company, I will go where it is wanted,” he ground out.

Ignoring Erestor’s shocked stare, he left the room, slamming the door shut behind him, and stalked down the corridor so rapidly that by the time the steward followed, he was already near the end of it.

Erestor stared after his fast receding figure in dismay, the implications of Glorfindel’s reply making his heart lurch in fear and pain. He started to run after the warrior.

“Glorfindel, wait!”

“Ada?!” Papa?!

Erestor stopped and looked back in confusion, torn between his child’s alarmed call and the need to keep his mate from departing. He took a step forward to go after Glorfindel.

“Ada?! Where are you?”

The wail was distinctly frightened now. No doubt Galadon had been awakened by the sound of the bedchamber door when it had been slammed shut. With a resigned sigh, Erestor retreated to calm and comfort the child.

As he patted his son back to sleep, Erestor finally comprehended the enormity of his folly. With the warrior’s last words resounding forebodingly in his mind, he was forced to see – really see – the blemished state of their relationship.

It had taken just one careless action to snap the last brittle strands of Glorfindel’s patience. Baldly put, he had pushed his spouse too far.

He bemoaned the thought that he had allowed Glorfindel to leave their home. And in so doing permitted the captain to seek the company of others this night.

Or one other.

He felt his blood run cold at the very idea. Elves did not take their marital vows lightly even in widowhood. But there were always exceptions to every rule.

It seemed he had handed Glorfindel one of those exceptions. On the tarnished platter of his willful neglect.

To be continued…
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Twilight Tales - Stolen Moments