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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.

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Chapter III

Erestor had not previously known a more miserable night. As he lay in the dark, sharply conscious of the empty space beside him and all too cognizant of the reason for it, he had perforce reflected on all the events leading up to Glorfindel’s fuming exit. The signs had been there for many a year now, buttressed by the warrior’s intermittent complaints to him about the increasingly infrequent bouts of intimacy not only of their bodies but also of their souls.

When was the last evening he and Glorfindel had spent together just talking and enjoying each other’s company? He could barely remember it. And the last night they had coupled with the overwhelming fervor of gutting desire? Erestor swallowed hard. He could not recall any in recent times when he had felt lustful enough to match his mate’s hunger for him.

The memory of disappointed aquamarine eyes looking back at him was enough to make his belly turn over with guilt and dread. How often had that disappointment evolved into outright hurt? Too often, he admitted to himself with flaying remorse. And he had been foolish enough to think his occasional ministrations balm enough. Where had his wits gone to believe such a farce?

He rose before dawn, hoping to find Glorfindel back and willing to listen to his apology. That was dashed immediately when he stepped out of their room to find none but the household staff up and about. A staff that surreptitiously observed him, curious about his tense behavior and the signs of a sleepless night. Not to mention the glaring absence of their other master whom some had witnessed making a rapid and apparently furious departure the evening before.

Erestor did not bother to hide his distress. For once he did not care for propriety or discretion. The ache inside him would not subside until Glorfindel came back and allowed him to seek forgiveness.

Yet the warrior’s return did not prove cathartic in any way.

They were both expected at the meeting of the High Council in Tirion. Said meeting was the reason for Elrohir and Legolas’ presence in Artirion – their visits to the Elf-knight’s family were usually arranged to coincide with the Council schedule. It made more sense than them making two separate three-hour journeys from Taur Galen each week.

Erestor had readied Galadon early; he and Glorfindel always left their son in Celebrían’s care on these days. Galadon did not mind in the least. Not when it meant a good many hours spent in the lively company of Eledhmîr and Mîranor who were admittedly his closest friends. Dressed and prepared for the short trip to Tirion, Erestor had then settled himself and his child in the courtyard to await Glorfindel’s arrival, seating themselves on one of the stone benches near the entrance to the house.

He came in the second hour after daybreak. Erestor rose at once to his feet upon espying his tall, limber figure swiftly traversing the path to their home. Galadon, however, did not await his golden sire’s approach but dashed to him.

Glorfindel scooped his son up into his arms and pressed a fond kiss first to his burnished locks and then to his puckered lips. Galadon wove his slender arms tightly around the warrior’s neck and returned his father’s affectionate gestures with relief.

“Where were you, Ada?”—Papa?—he demanded. “I went to wake you up but you were gone!”

Glorfindel hugged him tighter then drew back his head a bit to look at his child. “I needed to see to something of import last night,” he said. “I am sorry, Galadon. I did not mean to alarm you.”

Galadon beamed sweetly. “That’s all right, Ada,” he murmured, nuzzling the side of Glorfindel’s face with his own. “You’re back now. But aren’t you going with Ada Erestor to Tirion?”

“I am,” Glorfindel confirmed. “Indeed, I must dress at once else we will be late.”

Recognizing the need for haste, Galadon allowed his sire to set him down. The warrior strode past Erestor, acknowledging him with the barest of nods. The steward stiffened with alarm when he caught a whiff of the scent that clung to his mate. It was the scent of a soap he did not recognize. Glorfindel had already bathed that morning. But where?

While Glorfindel entered the house, Erestor quickly signaled to one of the servants to watch over Galadon. He hurried after his mate. Entering their chamber, he watched mutely as Glorfindel shed his clothes and briskly donned a fresh shirt and formal hose then drew on his council robes. Only when the captain slipped on his shoes did he finally break the silence.

“Where did you go last night?” he queried.

Glorfindel did not seem to hear him but only said: “Let us go, Erestor.”

“But—”

“We will be late if we delay any further,” Glorfindel cut him off and stalked out the door.

Erestor sighed and reluctantly followed him.

They dropped Galadon off at Elrond’s halls and were joined by the others in turn. To Erestor’s disappointment, Glorfindel chose to ride ahead with the twins and Legolas, leaving him to keep company with Elrond and Lindir. He was hard-pressed to remain composed during the quarter-hour ride to Tirion. Particularly when it became evident that the others knew something was amiss. Their tactful avoidance of the issue told him that they suspected he and Glorfindel were not on speaking terms at the moment.

He caught Legolas glancing back at him with sympathy. Correction. They knew Glorfindel did not care to speak to him at the moment. But they did not badger him with questions. They knew all too well that he was barely keeping himself collected as it was without having to deal with painful inquiries. Their kindness eased his unhappiness somewhat but he still found it difficult to maintain a calm mien. It did not get any better when they reached the city and their destination.

The halls of the High Council lay in the very center of the city that all citizens of Tirion could look upon its members as they came up the short drive and entered its august premises. There was nothing ostentatious or grandiose about the building however. There was no desire for anything more than what was necessary to cater to the basic needs of the council members when they were in session. The High Council met to discuss and mediate and undertake to keep the peace between the various elven tribes and realms in Valinor and did so with a minimum of fuss and ceremony.

The circular Council chamber had been designed to remind one and all that once they were within they were all equals regardless of name, rank or occupation and were to treat each other accordingly. There were three tiers of seats in all and anyone could sit anywhere as one’s mood or situation dictated. Only Ingwë, High-king of the Eldar and head of the council, and Mithrandir, as the Valar’s representative, had permanent seats, both located on the bottom tier on either side of the room so that they faced each other.

Erestor felt his heart sink when Glorfindel deliberately sat apart from him, taking his place beside his father, Lord Herusil, a kinsman of Finarfin, ruler of the Noldor, through the king’s mother, Lady Indis, herself a cousin of Ingwë. He was an imposing Elf by any account, crowned with hair of so pale a silver hue as to be almost white and possessed of the iciest of blue eyes. He had not chosen as his son had ages ago to pass east to Middle-earth but remained in the Blessed Realm, turning his services and loyalty to Finarfin who had been named lord of the Noldor in his brother’s stead. As such, he was one of Finarfin’s most trusted advisors and a personal friend as well. He was an Elf to reckon with in all Valinor and one not lightly thwarted.

The steward was well aware that Herusil had not been pleased with his youngest son’s choice of binding-mate. A mixed-blooded Elf of no particularly noble heritage was not exactly what Herusil had had in mind for any son of his and especially not for one who had earned such glorious repute in two lifetimes in the Hither Lands.

He was never uncivil with Erestor; indeed, he was always impeccably polite. But one could not mistake that politeness for anything more than the graciousness demanded of a noble of Herusil’s stature. Erestor had never felt comfortable in the company of Glorfindel’s father or other kin and neither had they felt at ease with him. It was the most compelling reason for Erestor’s preference for Artirion where he lived amongst Elves who completely accepted him and called him one of their own. And Glorfindel had chosen to live away from his kin, even his immediate family, rather than part from Erestor.

Yet now he stays with the one Elf who wishes I had never been born, the steward thought painfully. He forced himself to consider other reasons for Glorfindel’s choice of seat. After all, Herusil had not attended council the past three weeks, having travelled to Formenos to see to his family’s many holdings there. Since it was usually during his visits to Tirion to attend council that Glorfindel also took the chance to spend time with his family, it stood to reason that he would desire to keep company with his father now. Erestor insistently told himself this was so. Unfortunately, he did not prove convincing even to himself.

He started when he felt a comforting hand on his and looked up into Galadriel’s knowing eyes. Celeborn sat beside her and also gazed at him with compassion. Flushing, Erestor dropped his gaze. They could not know what exactly had occurred between him and Glorfindel but they were observant enough to infer that a serious rift separated him and his mate.

It proved a ghastly morning for him. Hardly anything registered on him, so mired was he in his misery. His reticence only called more attention to him for many had taken for granted that they would hear from Elrond’s sage, precise and articulate steward at some point during the proceedings. For Erestor to keep silent was cause enough to arouse the others’ curiosity. He cringed inwardly as several Elves eyed him wonderingly during the course of the morning’s discussions then looked bemusedly at Glorfindel. The strange sight of these two sitting apart was not lost on any of them.

When the morning session was adjourned that the council members might have their midday meal, he dared to approach Glorfindel. Thankfully, the warrior did not turn his back on him but waited for him to come closer. But his words only upset Erestor further.

“If you do not mind, I would like to join my father at his table,” he said.

Erestor felt his throat tighten. “But of course,” he managed to concur. “Extend my greetings to him then.”

Glorfindel simply nodded then left to join Herusil. Erestor sighed forlornly and made his way to the dining hall.

He did not dine alone. The twins and Legolas and Lindir at once joined him. Still they did not question him but simply comforted him with their companionship. Not for the last time did Erestor marvel at his fortune to have been befriended by such good-hearts. He could not quite smile his gratitude but his cat-like eyes gleamed gratefully at his friends.

During the course of the meal, Legolas and Elrohir’s plans for the end of summer were revealed. Erestor listened with interest and not a little wistfulness as the two discussed the matter with Elladan and Lindir. Since the birth of their daughter, the Elf-night and archer had made it a point to take a holiday at least once a year. They could thus indulge each other’s desires to the fullest without fear of untimely interruptions or unseemly discovery by inquisitive Elflings.

“Mayhap Elros and I should go and see the place for ourselves,” Lindir said with a grin when Legolas finished with his enthusiastic narration.

“But why the south?” Erestor asked curiously. “‘Tis not as fully settled as Alqualondë or even Formenos.”

“Precisely why they want to sojourn there,” Elladan quipped. “Where else can they rut in wild abandon with no one to shush them?”

Lindir guffawed at such flagrant ribaldry while Legolas turned a nice shade of crimson. Elladan yelped when he was dealt a distinctly inelegant but painfully effective kick in the leg beneath the table. Elrohir, struggling to stifle his mirth, rubbed his blushing mate’s back soothingly then turned a mild glare on his irrepressible twin.

“Fie on your wicked tongue, gwaniuar”—older twin—he reproved but with little heat. “Reserve your salacious wit for more willing ears lest you wish to explain to Nimeithel why your shins have been abused so.”

Legolas sighed and glanced at Lindir. “I salute you for your courage in taking on so incorrigible a law-father, gwador”—sworn brother—he remarked dryly.

While Elrohir and Lindir choked on their laughter, Elladan’s was promptly quelled. This time it was Legolas’ turn to smirk and very smugly at that. Erestor shook his head at the archer’s sure aim. Nothing could discomfit Elladan more quickly than the reminder that he was about to become father-by-law to an Elf not only many centuries his senior but also one who’d had a hand in raising him from infancy. The steward turned the conversation back to safer ground.

“How is your brother’s colony doing?” he inquired.

“‘Tis flourishing I am happy to say.”

“And where will you stay?”

“Melthoron and Haldorn built a guest cabin close to their halls which they have placed at our disposal,” the prince replied. “It will be good to see my brother and law-brother again. I have long desired to visit them.”

“Not to mention that their descriptions of the forests around them and the beaches to the east are all too enticing,” Elrohir grinned.

Legolas grinned back. “Aye, that too,” he agreed. “‘Twill be our chance to see the wonders of southern Valinor for ourselves, Aduial.”

“If they can tear their eyes away from the wonders of each other’s bared charms first,” Elladan murmured in an aside to Erestor and Lindir, his humor, both good and bawdy, swiftly restored.

Erestor groaned and hastened to forestall another riposte from the archer. “How long do you plan to stay there?” he queried.

“A fortnight at the very least,” Elrohir promptly answered. “Longer if we find it to our liking.”

He shifted the hand that lay under the table ever so slightly. At once, Legolas gasped faintly but audibly and slight color stained his cheeks. Erestor rolled his eyes as he astutely guessed just where Elrohir’s hand must have landed. Valar, but the brethren were irredeemable rakes! he thought.

“And Adar and Naneth”—Father and Mother—“are so looking forward to having the twins and Irilde to themselves that they fervently hope we will extend our holiday!” Elrohir added with a soft laugh. His eyes gleamed darkly as he regarded his still blushing mate. “But mayhap a fortnight will indeed prove inadequate to our needs,” he purred. “What think you, Calenlass?”

“I think you had best keep your hands to yourself,” Legolas muttered, “if you do not wish to scandalize every Elf in sight.” His blush deepened further when Elrohir’s below-the-table grip upon him moved further north of its present position. “Elrohir, move any higher and I swear I will not be held responsible for my actions!” he threatened hoarsely.

Elrohir chuckled and relented. “Forgive me, meleth”—love—“but your beauty makes it hard for any sane Elf to restrain him or herself,” he cooed. “What more one who has known it so intimately all these years?” When Legolas would have made an acid retort, he preempted it with a kiss of such ardency that all others who saw them could only stare agape. Elrohir drew away and eyed his flustered prince tenderly. “And I am not ashamed to own myself besotted with you, my heart,” he murmured.

Legolas, ire rapidly vanishing, leaned his head against his Elf-knight’s shoulder, a soft smile lighting up his comely face, uncaring at that moment of the many gazes upon them. Such was the power of Elrohir’s unabashed show of love for him that the archer quite forgot his innate inhibitions about public displays of affection.

Erestor stared at them with some amazement. After all these years, he still was not used to Elrohir’s unrestrained manner with Legolas. Then again, he supposed it was to be expected of one who had known the confines of the Halls of Awaiting and endured a painful and uncertain separation from his beloved spouse.

That called to mind yet another who had passed through death and back into life. He looked in Glorfindel’s direction, wondering what the warrior made of the tender scene. He caught his breath when he observed the captain’s expression.

Envy could be plainly seen in Glorfindel’s countenance. And more. Erestor comprehended that his negligence of his mate’s needs were being held up in sharp relief to Elrohir’s constant devotion to Legolas. He winced inwardly at this sure addition to the captain’s growing list of his failings.

He would never know how he managed to last through the day. It proved to be a long one and it was early evening when they came out of the council halls. Not that it got any easier on the trip home. True, Glorfindel rode alongside him but as he hardly uttered a word to him, it was as if he was not there at all.

He barely managed to muster a smile when they reached Elrond’s home and their son came tearing out of the house to meet them. Nor did his spirits lift as they headed for their own home, Galadon exchanging news with his golden father in whose arms he had happily settled.

Due to the late hour, the Elfling nodded off ere they finished supper. Erestor bundled him off to bed then hastened to join Glorfindel. He found the captain doffing his council raiment. But before he could say a word, Glorfindel spoke up.

“My father has invited us to spend a sennight in Tirion with the rest of the family,” he said. “I am sure Elrond can spare us for so short a period of time.”

Erestor could not for the life of him still the consternation that assailed him at the mere thought of nigh a week in Herusil’s halls. To be always on his guard in what he said or did, knowing all his care would be to no avail? It would be unbearable.

“I – I do not—” he stammered. “Glorfindel, you know how it is when your father and I—”

The warrior interrupted him. “I rather expected you would balk at this,” he said. “I suppose I cannot blame you. Adar can be fixed in his ways.” He glanced pointedly at Erestor. “But you will not object, I hope, if I take Galadon with me,” he quietly added. “I would like our son to become close to my kin as well.”

Erestor swallowed hard. How could he turn down such a reasonable request after having already said no to the first? “By all means,” he replied. “‘Tis right that he should know your sire and dam.”

Glorfindel nodded then turned to the wardrobe and took out a tunic, a fresh shirt and a pair of breeches. Erestor stared at him in dismay as he drew them on.

“You are going out tonight?” he all but bleated.

“Aye,” Glorfindel briefly answered.

“Where?”

The warrior shrugged and headed for the door. Erestor stood before him, barring his way.

“Please, may we talk about – about last night?” he pleaded.

Glorfindel hesitated then shook his head. “Not now, Erestor,” he quietly said. “I do not wish to recall the hurt just yet. Another time perhaps.”

He stepped around the steward, seemingly oblivious of the stricken expression that crossed Erestor’s countenance.

“You need not wait up for me,” he said as he opened the door. He paused and looked back at Erestor, irony limning his features. “Not that you ever did,” he softly remarked. And then he was gone.

Erestor stared after him, stunned by the dreadful sting of his mate’s comment. All the more since it was no more than the truth. He sank down onto the bed, his face white from the verbal blow. Only then did he realize that Glorfindel had not enlightened him as to where he would pass the night.

For the second night in a row, he would face an empty space. And struggle with the raucous suspicions of his presently all too speculative mind.

********************

Glossary:

Aduial – Twilight (Legolas’ pet name for Elrohir)

Calenlass – Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)

To be continued…
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Twilight Tales - Stolen Moments