Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Mine	By : IdrilsSecret Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3170 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or places of Lord of the Rings/Tolkien. No money is being made. This is for personal enjoyment only.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4 Mingling Emotions

Word had come to Rivendell that the Dwarves would arrive in a few days’ time, and that a Captain of Gondor had left Minas Tirith a while ago—according to the date on the letter. Erestor took advantage of the news, and buried himself in his work. If he was to advise Elrond on anything that might come up during this meeting, then he had to be prepared to have solutions. He knew the reason they all gathered here was to decide what to do with the enemy’s weapon, and he learned as much as he could about that too. Destruction of the ring was the only sure way to rid the world of this evil malice, but Erestor knew what that entailed, and he knew who would insist upon being the deliverer of said destruction.
Erestor paused a moment to think of Glorfindel. He hadn’t spoken to him much since that night in the storeroom. The circumstances had left him confused, not only about Glorfindel, but about himself also. There was another side of the elf lord that he had not confronted yet, something a bit darker than he was comfortable with. But in these recent findings, Erestor discovered his own darkness, or the enjoyment of it. He shook the thoughts from his mind. There was no time for this now. There was work to be done … but first, he wanted to visit with the hobbit, Frodo.
Needing a reprieve from his bewildered mind and his chaotic work, Erestor had taken up visiting Frodo in the Healing House. It was a nice change, and he found the hobbit to be a delight to talk to. Frodo was a young hobbit, just recently coming into his adulthood, and a bit quicker than he might have wanted, according to the stories of his adventures before being rescued and brought to Rivendell. He had an air about him of someone forced to mature before he was ready, still getting a grasp on the realization of responsibility, but desperately clinging to the innocence of youth. Erestor could appreciate that about the hobbit. He understood what it felt like to suddenly be drawn out of the comfort of the ordinary, and thrust into the distress of the unexpected.
And unexpected was the sight that met Erestor as he entered Frodo’s room. Sitting next to the hobbit’s bed, was Glorfindel. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, and speaking in hushed tones with the hobbit, smiling most eloquently as Frodo gave an account of his dealings with the Nazgûl. Of course, Glorfindel would want to know about them. Ever since the elf lord had his first dealings with the black wraiths, he seemed to have an interest in knowing their whereabouts.
Frodo’s attention shifted to the door when Erestor entered. There was no chance of slipping out unnoticed now, as Glorfindel turned, giving him a warm and inviting smile. Those blue eyes spoke volumes, Erestor thought to himself. If only he knew the significance of some of their deeper content.
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to interrupt,” Erestor said from the door. He took a step backwards, as if to leave, but Glorfindel was on his feet in a flash.
“Don’t go. Frodo and I were just finishing our visit. Please, Erestor, come in and take up my seat. I must be on my way, as it was,” Glorfindel said. His eyes never left Erestor as he walked to the door. He stopped at Erestor’s shoulder and whispered, “I have missed you.”
“My apologies, I’ve been very busy,” Erestor replied, trying to maintain an air of professionalism.
“Can we talk … later … perhaps in your office?” Glorfindel asked, speaking at a normal volume, when he sensed Erestor’s coolness.
Erestor nodded, “Later would be fine.”
Glorfindel reached the open door, turned and bowed to Frodo and Erestor, and then took his leave. Erestor sighed unconsciously and looked up to find Frodo watching him. He smiled and strolled over to the chair next to the bed, noticing that it still held the heat from Glorfindel’s body. It felt like a warm ghostly embrace, as he settled himself down. Erestor realized that there would always be traces of Glorfindel left around for him to discover. The elf lord was never far.
“And how are you feeling today?” Erestor asked.
“Much better, thank you. Lord Elrond said that I could go for a walk today, so long as I didn’t go further than the veranda,” Frodo smiled.
They spoke about many different things for a while, and Frodo told him about something that happened during his adventure that he said he’d almost forgotten about. Erestor listened as intently as he could, but his mind kept drifting to Glorfindel. Frodo couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t have Erestor’s full attention and called him out on it.
“Oh, it is nothing, Frodo. I’ve just been very busy lately, and my mind is always rehashing things. Such is the life of a counselor, though,” Erestor explained.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there is something else bothering you. Work cannot be that interesting.”
Erestor laughed, “No, I guess it would not, especially to an adventurous young hobbit such as yourself. But now that you mentioned it … well, I do not mean to pry, but I could not help overhearing part of your conversation with Glorfindel. He was asking about the Nazgûl, was he not?”
“Yes,” Frodo answered guardedly, “but I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. I don’t remember much of anything after being stabbed.”
“You were very lucky, Frodo. Lord Elrond is the best healer in Middle-earth,” Erestor smiled.
“Well, if it wasn’t for Glorfindel and his power against the Nazgûl, I may never have made it to Rivendell, or so they tell me,” Frodo said, “I don’t remember much, but I do remember seeing a figure standing upon the shore of a river, blindingly bright and shimmering white and gold. Then the Nazgûl called out to me, and I was drawn to them, finding only blackness and despair, and that’s where I stayed. When Glorfindel told me what he did to save me from the black riders, I knew it was the mighty elf lord of Gondolin that I had seen commanding the waters, and washing them downstream.”
“It must have been a magnificent sight,” Erestor said dreamily.
Frodo knitted his brow and tilted his head to the side, “You have not seen this?”
Erestor chortled at the thought of a glowing Glorfindel, “I think I would remember seeing him lit up like a beacon.”
Frodo regarded Erestor with a serious look and a disappointed tone, “Oh. Well, by the way your eyes shone when I described it, I thought you too had seen Glorfindel’s magic too.”
Erestor reached out and patted Frodo’s hand resting at his side, “Perhaps I have seen his magic, but in a different form.”
Frodo smiled, satisfied with his answer, “Perhaps then.”
* * *
There was a knock on Erestor’s door. Without looking up from his work he called out, “Come!”
Glorfindel poked his head into the room, “Am I interrupting?”
“Yes, but when has that ever stopped you?” Erestor answered as he scribbled away on a piece of parchment.
“If I did not interrupt, I would never see you. You work too much, Erestor,” Glorfindel said as he entered the office, closing the door behind him. He walked around the room, picking up this and moving that, not doing anything, but being a nuisance about it.
Without lifting his head, Erestor looked up with his eyes, watching Glorfindel, “What do you want, Fin,” he asked casually, but with a hint of irritation.
“You specifically said later, and it is later.”
“So it is.” Erestor stopped writing and placed the end of the quill back into the inkpot. He picked up the paper he had been writing on, and carefully moved it to the side, making an empty place where he placed his folded hands.
Glorfindel watched him and smiled, “You remind me of an instructor I had as a youth. He always gave me the same look you are giving me now.”
“Then you must have been in trouble most of the time,” Erestor replied in a dry manner.
Glorfindel let him have the last word for the moment, and went about the room looking at books and small trinkets.
Seeing that he was not going to say anything more, Erestor picked up his paper and quill, and set to work again. He admitted that Glorfindel was a distraction, but at least he was here. It had been rather lonely working alone lately, even when Lastar was there to help. Glorfindel always made him feel a vibration of energy when he was near, and he missed that.
Eventually, Glorfindel made his way to the desk, moved a chair next to Erestor’s and had a seat. He watched silently as the counselor dipped the quill in ink, and continued writing. Erestor felt the elf lord’s blue gaze fall upon him, and tried to stay focused, but it was very difficult. As much as he resisted, his body tingled, knowing Fin was studiously observing him at his craft. He glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Glorfindel was fumbling with some scrolls. Without looking up from his writing, he spoke, “Don’t mix those up. I have everything sorted out.”
Glorfindel brought the rolled up scroll up to his eye, squinting the other as he took a peek. Then he turned to look at Erestor through the scroll, “You are an over-organizer,” he declared.
Erestor tried hard not to smile, but the corner of his mouth deceived him, for Glorfindel was being an irresistible jokester at the moment, “And you are lackadaisical … a daydreamer by far.” Erestor stopped writing, and took the scroll away from Glorfindel, putting it back in its proper place. He paused to look at Glorfindel a moment before returning to his writing. Right now, he was his usual playful self, the personality that Erestor adored, but it hadn’t been that long ago that he saw another side of Fin, a darker side … something he wished not to experience again. That night in the storeroom brought on a range of emotions, leaving Erestor confused and unsure. To love Glorfindel was to love him for all of his different complexities, and he had so many. The one he met in the storeroom closet was a side that he did not think could exist in Glorfindel, forceful and commanding. He had been uncaring … the love was gone, or so it felt.
The smile left Erestor’s face, and he went back to his writing, “I have a lot to do, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Glorfindel said nothing, but merely sat there and watched Erestor work. Erestor did his best to concentrate, but it was difficult. Then he felt Glorfindel reach towards him, gently taking his chin and turning his head. Glorfindel leaned towards him. Erestor sat frozen and emotionless, but succumbing to his touch, and then he closed his eyes and allowed Glorfindel to kiss him.
Erestor’s hand relaxed, and the end of the quill rested on the parchment, ink spreading out in a blotch of black, but he hadn’t noticed. He only felt the urgency of Glorfindel’s kiss, the need for forgiveness felt through questioning lips and tongue. Erestor would have given in easily, but the echo of Glorfindel’s voice, assertive and uncaring, rang in his ears. Why had Fin taken him like that, and why had Erestor allowed it?
Erestor’s lips tensed, and he withdrew from Glorfindel’s mouth. The elf lord felt Erestor’s reserve, and slowly released his chin, bowing his head, “You still have not forgiven me,” Glorfindel said.
“I said I forgave you,” Erestor replied too quickly.
“You don’t sound as if you do,” Glorfindel said coolly, “Your distance speaks volumes.”
“I’ve been very busy with all that is going on and—”
“You don’t fool me, Erestor,” Glorfindel said as the volume of his voice lowered.
Erestor pushed back in his chair and stood. He turned away from Glorfindel, fumbling aimlessly with a stack of scrolls, “What do you expect from me, Fin? How am I supposed to feel?”
“I forced something on you that I had no right doing, and if I could take it back I would.”
Erestor shook his head, “That is only part of it.” He paused and searched for the words, “I could have stopped you, but I chose to allow it. Only afterwards did I regret it.”
“Regret,” repeated Glorfindel, “That is a harsh word.”
“Your treatment was harsh,” answered Erestor. Then he faced Glorfindel, and found him looking so desolate. Erestor knew that his lover regretted his actions, “I am just confused. There was a certain excitement when we first … started, but then something changed, and I did not know you anymore.” Erestor moved to a window and looked out over the landscape, “Do you remember the argument we had on the veranda? You told me about a warrior you had been with, and the bloodlust that took you both. I think that I have always wanted to know what that was like. It seemed so exciting and wanton to give in to such urgency. But you had said that there was no love in an act like that. Then when you took me in the storeroom, I thought it would be extraordinary because you … because I … because of our love, but—” Erestor stopped to get a hold of his emotions. He felt Glorfindel come up behind him, but he continued looking out the window, watching the elves below going here and there, and he wished he were with them instead of engaging in this difficult conversation. He turned his head, and spoke over his shoulder.
“You were like a stranger to me. You frightened me, Glorfindel, and I began to have doubts about us. You separated yourself from the situation … from me, and I felt like nothing more than a vessel for your lust. I never thought … I never imagined that you—” Erestor was becoming flustered and angry, and turned so Glorfindel could see he hurt in his eyes, “How can you be so cold? How can you turn your emotions off so easily when you claim to love me?”
Glorfindel breathed deep and let it out slowly. Erestor heard the desolation in that long breath. He knew Glorfindel had been bothered by the incident in the storeroom, the forced sex, the lack of emotions. Erestor was frightened that Glorfindel may not really love him as he had claimed.
“I am completely sure of my love for you, Fin. It is the deepest, most wonderful and most heart wrenching feeling I have ever experienced, yet you seem to be able to set that aside much too easily. I didn’t think you could extinguish your love in exchange for emotionless self-satisfaction, and you did … as simply as blowing out a flame.”
Glorfindel stepped next to Erestor at the window, looking out across the valley, and sighed, “I am not sure what came over me. Maybe it was the two soldier warriors escaping to find their forbidden love, or your jealousy when you thought I was one of them, but my emotions mingled between anger and love. Something took over my ability to make sense of it all, and I … I lost myself. I was thrown into memories, suddenly revisiting my past.”
Glorfindel pushed away from the windowsill, and left Erestor’s side. After a moment, Erestor looked over his shoulder. He watched the elf lord pick up a paperweight from the desk, and turn it over and over in his hands. He set the paperweight down, but his eyes still focused on the blue glass orb. He shook his head, “I have not referred to these visions in a very, very long time.”
Erestor turned from the window, and watched Glorfindel. His eyes had darkened, and his expression was lacking that cheerful glow that he always portrayed. He would not look at Erestor when he spoke, but only stared down into the blue orb as memories came flooding back.
“The warrior I spoke of, the one you just mentioned, he … he was with me in Gondolin.” Glorfindel began, “We were very close.”
“Was he your lover then?” Erestor asked.
Glorfindel shook his head, “No, he was my battle mate and my friend. He was betrothed to an elleth who awaited his return from war. And I did love him, but I did not realize it until it was too late.”
Glorfindel took a seat, and patted Erestor’s chair, “Come then, it’s time I told you this story.”
Erestor hesitated, but when Glorfindel’s eyes rose to meet his, the counselor was drawn to his chair, trance-like, and sat down with elegant grace, crossed is legs, folded his hands and leaned back in his chair. He gave Fin his full attention, and Glorfindel went on to tell Erestor about his close bond with his friend and battle mate.
Astarion, his name had been, and he was indeed a faithful friend. Glorfindel had known him since his youth. They had trained together as newly recruited soldiers, and had become close friends over the years. During their soldiering years, they befriended another warrior, Taryon. All three had seen many battles, and come through unscathed. Eventually, Glorfindel was made lord of the House of the Golden Flower. Astarion was assigned to this house, and fought under Glorfindel’s command. Taryon was assigned to the House of the Harp under the command of the elf lord Salgant. Still, they all remained very close, and one day found themselves fighting a famous battle, which would become known as the Fall of Gondolin.
“The fight at the Great Market lasted for hours, and Astarion was by my side through the thick of it. We watched out for each other, and eventually stopped keeping count of the orcs we slayed. But we were separated after the dragon’s raid. All I could do was hope that he was well.” Very few of Glorfindel’s people survived the attack, and he was sure Astarion had perished as he took assessment of the situation.
“And then there was a slight lull in the battle. Through the fire and the haze, a shape emerged, half bent over from exhaustion, his armor singed. It was my friend, my battle mate. I was never so glad to see him. We were both overjoyed. We were not out of harm’s way, but at least we knew we had survived.” Glorfindel had gone to Astarion, expecting to look him over for injuries, but his friend had taken Fin into his grip, arms wrapping around the elf lord, and words of thanks and praise whispered between them.
“I remember looking at Astarion’s battle-worn face streaked with dirt and blood and thinking that he was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. Without a thought, I kissed him. I’m not sure what made me do it, but I needed to know that he was alright. It was not like that of lovers, but out of love no less.” Astarion had allowed it briefly, but pushed away from Glorfindel with a look of confusion, saying that he had not that type of fondness for the elf lord. “But I did feel something from him, for he had allowed it a moment too long. It was only in his lips that I felt this charge. The look in his eyes was that of disloyalty, and I knew he thought of his betrothed.” There was no time for explanations or questions, though, and both elves quickly turned their attentions back to the moment at hand.
“With the battle resumed, we forgot about the kiss and fought on against a sea of orcs. We were glad to be in each other’s company once more, and our spirits renewed. We had cheated death so far, and we felt invincible for a short time, but the orcs kept coming. My men grew weary, and more fell to the blades of our enemies. Soon, my House was nearly depleted. Astarion was still at my side, and I think that might have been my only empowerment. I would let no one hurt him. With so few left, we had each other to protect, and we fought ferociously. I think if we had died in that place, we would have felt a macabre satisfaction knowing we were together at the end of things.” Just when all hope seemed lost, the elf warriors of the House of the Harp showed, reinforcing their numbers, and helping Glorfindel and his men find safe passage.
Their friend Taryon had been of that House, but they had seen no sign of him. Glorfindel asked a passing soldier, who said he had been with them before the invasion upon the orcs in the Market. Glorfindel’s men were on their way to the King’s Square. He and Astarion were the last, and always making sure that everyone made away safely. The same thought occurred to Glorfindel and Astarion, to go back and find Taryon. They would not leave him to fight alone.
“We came upon a most horrid scene. The orcs, who were already ruthless, had turned barbarous. They were no longer just killing. They were … they were consuming some of the dead elves. Others were violating the lifeless bodies.” Glorfindel paused a moment, and Erestor could see how these forgotten memories came flooding back as though it happened only yesterday.
“Did you … find Taryon?” Erestor asked regretfully, for he knew they must have found their friend amongst the dead.
Glorfindel nodded, but took another moment to find his voice, “We saw his battle mate first … dead and lying on the ground … alone. The orcs had not molested his corpse … yet. I was the one who spotted Taryon first, his lifeless body flung across a vendor’s cart. The orcs … they were gathered around, waiting their turn.”
Erestor understood what Fin meant by that. It had not been enough to kill the elves. The orcs thought they could ruin the separated soul by desecrating the body after death, consumption and necrophilia. He felt bile rise in his throat as he thought of Glorfindel coming across the brutal scene.
“I tried to shield Astarion from the sight,” Glorfindel continued, “but he had seen. I told him it was too late. There was nothing we could do. It would not make sense to fight the orcs, and risk our own lives. They were all dead. Taryon was dead … or so I thought.”
Glorfindel had turned away, expecting Astarion to follow as they made their escape towards the King’s Square where the survivors awaited instructions. But his friend grabbed his arm, painfully squeezing his muscles as he kept Glorfindel from leaving. The elf lord turned back, his sight following Astarion’s to the body draped across the cart. To Glorfindel’s shock, Taryon’s eyes were open, when they had not been before. His heart stopped as well as his breathing. Taryon was still alive.
Glorfindel raised his sword, and Astarion followed suit, but Taryon met their eyes, and with a begging look, shook his head slightly. Glorfindel’s anger rose as he gripped his sword tighter around the hilt, but Astarion laid a gentle hand over the elf lord’s clenched fists. His friend had assumed a certain calmness about him as Astarion and Taryon’s eyes locked on each other. Taryon was begging for the mercy of a friend’s execution to end his suffering.
Glorfindel looked down, contemplating, and saw the dead body of one of his men, hand still clasping his bow, and a quiver of spilled arrows next to it, “I picked up the bow with all intention of being the one to deliver Taryon to his death, but Astarion took the bow from me. He told me I had seen enough, and should not have to live with this memory also. Then he took aim and swiftly ended Taryon’s suffering.”
The orcs turned to see where the arrow came from, and took out after Glorfindel and Astarion. They managed to escape though, barricading themselves in the King’s Square with the rest of the troops. Eventually, they could no longer hold the Square as they were besieged by orcs, balrogs, and the dragon. The elves fled southward, towards Idril’s Secret Way, a tunnel that led out of the city. As was his nature, Glorfindel stayed behind to make sure everyone got out. Astarion stayed by his side, silently ushering the survivors towards the tunnel.
It was then, when Glorfindel and Astarion were the last that Astarion fell to his knees, and succumbed to fatigue, sorrow and shock. Glorfindel was at his friend’s side in a flash, holding him in his arms. Astarion looked up at Glorfindel with a tear-streaked face and, for the first time, mentioned the kiss they shared, “He said he had felt the stirring of these desires a long time ago … before he met his betrothed, but he had ignored those feelings, passing them off as love for a friend, and admiration for a nobleman. Then, with the fighting and the blood, with the excitement that comes with war, and the kiss … his feelings were reignited. My own bloodlust was thrumming through my veins, and my need was strong. I found myself kissing Astarion again, but this time he did not resist.”
Glorfindel drew away first, and told Astarion they needed to be on their way before the orcs found the secret tunnel, but his friend would not let him go, “He begged me to take him there in the secret tunnel, with our foes not far behind. I refused, but he insisted. He said he needed it … to find some spark of life amongst the death. My battle lust was strong and hard to ignore. The thought of taking someone in urgency and danger only spiked my desire. And so it was as I described to you on the veranda, but as I asked of his certainty once more, he explained that he needed this as punishment … punishment for killing Taryon, and punishment for desiring men when he had pledged his love for an elleth.”
Glorfindel stopped and leaned forward with his head in his hands, “If you had been there … if you had seen his pleading eyes. Who was I to deny him his request? I could see the battle on his countenance. He had made his choice to take a wife, yet he needed to know what it was he was turning away from. And I loved him, Erestor. I loved him as a soldier and as a friend, and when we kissed, I realized that I loved him more deeply than that.”
Astarion must have seen Glorfindel’s admiration as he considered the request. With a shocking blow, his friend slapped him across the cheek and cursed him, telling him there could never be anything between them. “He said he’d been told that the first time was painful, and that by doing this, maybe he’d not only satisfy his curiosity, but be repulsed enough that he’d never again crave the male form.”
Glorfindel naturally refused, saying that he cared for Astarion as a friend above all else. He tried to talk him out of this absurdity, but Astarion threatened to fine someone else to do his bidding. Then he seduced Glorfindel with trust and loyalty, with friendship and bonds.
“And by that time, I wanted him badly, no matter what his reasons. Our time was running short. Though it all happened so quickly, it seemed we argued for hours. So, I gave in and turned him around, stripped us both of our leggings, and prepared to take him, but I could not bury my emotions. I had wanted him to know the beauty of the act. Perhaps I wanted him to love me in return, but when I gently kissed his neck, he rounded on me and punched me, yelled that he didn’t want to enjoy it. He wanted the pain and nothing more. He kept assaulting me, driving my lust to the surface, enticing me with perverted suggestions, and insulting my ability to do any of these things.”
Glorfindel defended himself from Astarion’s flying fists, his blood heating and pulsing as it did when he fought against the enemy. Soon, he was blinded by battle lust and assailed upon his friend, pushed Astarion against the wall of the tunnel, and mercilessly drove into his body.
“And so I took him,” Glorfindel continued, “I took him with no emotion, no love, but with hate for my enemy, hate for seeing all the death and destruction, for not being able to stop it, and for allowing Astarion to be the one to carry out the burden of sacrificing our friend. I fucked him in hopes of driving that wretched vision out of his memory with every mindless thrust of my cock. I was shocked that I had taken any pleasure from the act, and it wasn’t until Astarion cried out with his own mix of pleasure and pain that I let go.”
When it was over, Glorfindel tried to pull Astarion against his chest, to hold him and apologize, to comfort his friend, but Astarion pushed away, stumbling as he tried to secure the laces of his leggings. Then he sat down roughly upon the tunnel floor, tears streaking his handsome face. He started mumbling, calling out the name of his betrothed, comparing himself to the Kinslayers for taking Taryon’s life, saying he was unworthy of anyone’s affections.
“He stood once more, faced me, and looked deep into my eyes and said, ‘Damn you, Glorfindel, for making me love you.’
“I told him it didn’t have to be this way, and I confessed my newfound love for him. He was only betrothed; there was time yet to dissolve the agreement. I begged him to be with me, to reconsider his future, and allow me to show him how beautiful it could be. He forced a smile through the pain in his heart, and cupped a gentle hand to my face, reddened from his slap. He apologized and I thought he meant for the assault.”
Just when Glorfindel was about to answer, a band of orcs entered the tunnel. They had finally found the secret entrance. Glorfindel picked up his sword, then retrieved Astarion’s sword and handed it to him. They knew there were too many orcs to fight. They would have to run and hope they were quick enough to reach the other end. Glorfindel commanded Astarion to run, and they took off as fast as their elven feet would carry them. The elf lord didn’t look back, assuming his friend was close on his heels.
“I should have made him go before me,” Glorfindel whispered.
Erestor felt his heart go to his throat, and reached out to lay a hand upon Glorfindel’s knee, “Oh Fin, no.”
Glorfindel shook his head, “I suddenly felt very alone, and I looked over my shoulder. Astarion was not there. He had stopped running, and was standing in the center of the tunnel, sword laying at his feet and arms raised out to the side. I called to him, commanded him to run, but he looked back at me with tear filled eyes and said it was all too much, and he could not live with the pain of killing our friend, or knowing that he loved me, but could never be with me. Neither could he betray the elleth he intended to marry and live in a lie.”
Glorfindel started to run back towards Astarion. He would not leave his friend to fight alone, but it was too late. Orcs were filling the tunnel. There were too many to fight, and Astarion stood without his weapon. “He had no intention of fighting them. He was sacrificing himself to give me a chance at escape. ‘Run’ he’d yelled to me. I called to him once more, but he said if I truly loved him, I would go and save myself. The next thing I knew, the orcs had crashed upon him like a tidal wave, and he was gone, swallowed up by evil, without a scream … without a sound.”
Erestor’s chest tightened as he looked at Glorfindel sitting across from him, head hung low as he relived the horrible memory. He suddenly felt awful for being so cold and unforgiving for the past couple weeks. He got onto his knees and laid his head in Fin’s lap, “Oh, my love, I am so sorry … so, so sorry.”
Glorfindel brushed his hand along Erestor’s long dark hair, “I have not evoked these memories in many long forgotten years. I do not know what brings them to the forefront of my mind now, except that when we were in the storeroom … and the soldiers, and the smell of burning oil from the lanterns … and the walls felt like they were closing in on me … and—”
Erestor raised his head and looked deep into Glorfindel’s sad eyes, “Say no more of that. It is over and done with. You promised it would not happen again.”
“I did, and I shall not.” Glorfindel’s voice became desperate and fearful as he looked down upon Erestor’s face, “Please, believe me when I say I will never treat you that way again. Your eyes … by the Valor, your eyes reminded me of Astarion after we … and I cannot stand the thought of hurting you. I’m sorry, Erestor. Forgive me, please, I beg of you.”
Erestor pulled Glorfindel to him, cradling the golden head against his chest, “I forgive you, Fin, but I ask that you forgive me too. You are not solely to blame. I could have stopped you. You know that. I could have, but I didn’t. I wanted to know, just once, what it was like to feel your warrior soul. If I’d known it would have brought back these terrible memories, I never would have encouraged it. I saw a side of you I’d never known existed, and there are so many different sides to you, Fin. It can be quite exhausting for a simple librarian such as myself.”
Erestor lifted Glorfindel from him, and gazed upon him lovingly, “But I adore you for all your different personalities, some of whom I’m still discovering. I’ll take the good with the bad, for with just one of these missing, you are not you, and I want all of you.”
Glorfindel smiled and kissed Erestor gently, “I’ve hardly seen you lately. Leave your work and come home with me. I just want to lay next to you and hold you close, nothing more … if you wish it,” asked Glorfindel, as he stood from his chair and held his hand out to Erestor.
The counselor took the offered hand, memorizing its strength and gentleness. This was the hand of a selfless warrior, a charitable elf lord, and an unconditional lover. With Glorfindel’s help, Erestor stood, and then took a strand of golden hair between his fingers, “My work can wait. Let’s go home.”
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