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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6 - Gone But Not Forgotten

For the first time, Glorfindel did not seek Erestor out after yet another argument. He had come to expect the elf lord to show himself after they both had time to cool themselves. This time Erestor had found himself in the gardens, alone. Across the garden was a tunnel of trellises adorned with deciduous vines. Usually the leaves grew thick, but now that the vines were devoid of their foliage, Erestor could see past them, to a wooden bridge that connected the community buildings with the residential homes. There he could just make out a tall gilded figure, leaning against the railing, facing one of the many waterfalls that flowed within the valley. The counselor watched Glorfindel a moment. He was unmoving, seemingly deep in thought or memory. It did not look like he needed company just now, but Erestor knew he was the reason that Glorfindel was revisiting his ghosts once again.
Erestor thought of what Glorfindel had said at the meeting, about the Valar, the guilt of being re-embodied, and his purpose. Fin had mentioned these things before, though in passing, waving Erestor off when he tried inquired further.
“It’s nothing,” Glorfindel had said. Obviously, it was something, and it had stuck with him all these long years.
“How foolish of me to push him like that,” Erestor told himself, “But I was just looking for a better solution to the problem that would not involve him.”
While at the secret council, Erestor couldn’t help the feelings that overcame him … selfishness, greed, rage, and fear. He suddenly wanted Glorfindel all for himself, and damn all the others who looked to him for help. Let them find someone else to save the world. Glorfindel belonged to him.
“It was the ring, you know,” someone said from behind, startling Erestor from his thoughts.
He turned to find Elladan smiling at him, arms crossed and leaning against a tree. “Elladan, I did not hear you enter the garden.”
“So deep in thought were you, I do not think you would have heard the Kine of Araw charging up behind you,” Elladan laughed, “Luckily it is only me.”
“Yes, lucky me,” Erestor said dryly.
“Oh, come now, my friend, what is it that has made you sour?” asked Elladan, but he did not give the counselor a chance to answer. “Wait, don’t tell me. You and Glorfindel have had another one of your tiffs. I swear, you two argue more than the dwarves do with the Mirkwood elves, and that is saying quite a bit.”
Erestor ignored him, “What was it you were saying about the ring?”
Elladan could sense Erestor’s avoidance, and decided it best to let him be, “I was saying that it was the ring that made everyone agitated during Father’s meeting. It’s not just a piece of jewelry. It is a very powerful thing, able to bend people’s wills, make them think unclearly or feel negatively. Just to have it in one’s possession is a very dangerous thing. Gandalf cannot even touch it for fear of being overcome by greed and power. So do not question your thoughts or actions. Very likely you were not in control of them in that moment.”
Erestor smiled, accepting his friend’s advice, but he said nothing about it. “So, where is your brother?”
“He’s talking to Aragorn and Father. Before leaving Imladris, Aragorn wants to scout the area, just to make sure no one was followed, and that it is safe to begin their journey.”
“Very wise,” said Erestor. He looked towards the bridge again, but Glorfindel was gone. “Who all will be going, do you know?”
“You’ll have to ask Glorfindel if he is going. That is what you are asking, is it not?”
“I’m not so sure he’ll want to speak with me so soon. I left him at the council and came here. Neither am I sure that the ring had everything to do with my feelings. I think it may have enhanced the ones that I already had,” Erestor admitted. He went to a bench and took a seat. Elladan joined him, and they sat in silence for a few moments before Erestor continued, “Has Glorfindel ever spoken to you about those first years after his re-embodiment?”
Elladan shook his head, “As far as I know, he’s never spoken to anyone about that time. And, of course, no one would dare ask. It must have been a very personal experience though.”
“I think I may have opened up an old wound then.”
Elladan patted Erestor’s shoulder, “Talk to him. Don’t let this dark magic turn you against each other.”
Erestor gave his friend a half smile, “I will.”
“Good … now, I must be off to find Elrohir, and see what he has volunteered us for,” Elladan laughed. “You go find Fin and settle this argument. I don’t like it when the two of you fight.”
* * *
Erestor found Glorfindel in the mural room, Gandalf speaking to him in a whispered voice. They were standing in front of a painting that depicted Isildur in battle, wielding the broken sword of his father, the one that had cut the ring from Sauron’s finger. Glorfindel gave no inclination of Erestor’s presence, but Gandalf had seen the counselor enter the room. Erestor turned to leave, but the grey wizard slipped his hand out of his robe and made a gesture for him to stay. Erestor remained by the entryway and waited. Gandalf laid his hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, finished speaking and quietly walked away. As he passed Erestor, he simply smiled and nodded his head.
Erestor stayed where he was, and let the room remain silent as he gazed upon his companion. He hoped that Glorfindel would speak first. He always had before, but not this time.
“It seems more like a faerie tale to see it drawn on the wall like that, but now the story has come to life. The ring is no longer just an object in a painting. It is real,” said Erestor.
“It has always been real,” answered Glorfindel, “It has always been a threat. It was just a matter of time before it resurfaced.”
“Gone, but not forgotten, you could say.”
Glorfindel nodded, “Remembered by a few, but a very powerful few, each one hoping for a different fate.”
Erestor felt they were not speaking about the ring anymore and switched tactics, “I must apologize for my behavior earlier.”
Glorfindel glanced over his shoulder, allowing a partial smile, “It is alright. None of us were quite ourselves.”
“You felt it too then … the chaos, the maelstrom?”
“I did … and then some.”
“Care to elaborate?” Erestor asked.
Glorfindel took a deep breath, and released it slowly. His hesitance made Erestor feel as though he was overstepping his bounds. He felt so comfortable with Fin that he sometimes forgot they were still learning about each other. “Forget that I asked. I should not—”
Glorfindel cut him off, “There was a time when I was unsure of my life … my second life that is. I was very desolate then. It is something I never wanted to experience again, but today I was forced to see visions of myself. The darkness seemed to speak to me individually.”
Erestor had felt the same thing during Elrond’s council, as if someone knew his thoughts and forced him to project them aloud. Whatever the elf lord experienced, it must have been more visual. He took up his place beside Glorfindel, and shook his head slowly from side to side, “It is much too private, much too personal. Some things are not meant to be shared.”
“I have never told anyone about that time, no one,” Glorfindel’s voice was a little hard, and he paused, turning his head to look at Erestor, “but I feel compelled to tell you. I think I could tell you anything, and I’d be healed of my personal convictions.”
“I’m always there for you. You know that.”
Glorfindel’s countenance softened with a smile, as he leaned forward and kissed Erestor’s cheek. The moment passed quickly, and the warrior, again engulfed in his past, turned to face the mural once more.
“It was after my re-embodiment, and my mind was a blur. It’s not a feeling that I would wish upon anyone. I was like a blank page, thousands of them, actually. I was an empty book, everything forgotten. It took a very long time to fill back in, if you can understand. I was whole, but still empty, wiser, but unknowledgeable, weakened by my own strength … very strange indeed. And when I could finally think clearly, my only question was why. Why was I allowed life, a second chance? I had almost wished to claw my way back to the Halls of Mandos. At least there, I knew exactly who I was, or who I had been.
They answered me, finally … the Valar. They said it was because of my unselfish acts of valor in Gondolin that I was sent back, because of my reluctance at the Exile of the Noldor, because I played no part in the kinslaying. The elves of Valinor called me a hero, but I did not feel as such. I had done what I was trained to do, but I was not the only one who fought against the enemy, or chose not to cross the wastelands of the Helecaraxë. So, why was I chosen? There were others who fought just as bravely and died. My spirit sat with theirs in the Halls of Mandos, brothers we were, yet I was sent back and they were not. What about Astarion? He sacrificed himself to allow me a chance of escape. Were his actions any less deserving of another chance?
I was taken by guilt. I should be there with them, I thought, doomed to wait with my brothers until the end of time. My guilt gave way to anger. Anger turned to abandonment. Eventually, abandonment turned to shame, shame for questioning the Valar’s reasons for my salvation. I decided to live in isolation for a while. If the Valar had a mission for me to carry out then I would wait in solitude until that time … if I was still worthy of their gift. I had defied those who gave me a second chance, questioned their abilities. Perhaps my revival should have been retracted. I would gladly have spent eternity in the Halls of Waiting.
Instead, I walked the lands of Valinor in darkness, it seemed, never knowing where I was going. It was a lonely existence, but one I had brought upon myself … one that I had no notion of acquitting myself from . My only redemption was the Maia Orólin, whom I eventually befriended.”
“Gandalf?” Erestor questioned, speaking for the first time since Glorfindel began his story.
“Yes, I knew him in the early years,” Glorfindel continued, “He reassured me that the Valar would bestow upon me my mission, my reason for revivification. He introduced me to other Maia, who I befriended, and through their kindness and enlightenment, I came out of my depression. They taught me to rechannel my negativity, to accept my gift, and to realize that I was chosen to represent those who could not return. It was Gandalf who told me this was not a punishment, but an opportunity to set things right where others might have failed.”
“Gandalf is very wise indeed,” Erestor commented as he thought of the old grey wizard.
Glorfindel turned to Erestor, and took up his hand, “All that pain and anger, the guilt and desperation came back to me earlier, just as strongly as it had existed before. I thought for sure this was my mission, to carry the ring into Mordor and destroy it in the fires. I would have thrown myself in with it if I thought it would save Middle-earth … and you.”
“And all that I could see was a life without you not worth living,” said Erestor, squeezing Glorfindel’s hand.
Glorfindel closed the distance between them, kissing Erestor on the forehead, the nose and gently on the lips. Then he smiled to his dark haired lover, “You will not have to know what that is like. I am not going anywhere.”
Just then, Elrohir entered the room, cleared his throat, and backed into the shadows when he saw he was interrupting.
“What is it, Elrohir?” Glorfindel asked from across the room, his eyes never leaving Erestor.
“I apologize, I do not mean to interfere, but Aragorn sent me to tell you that we leave first thing tomorrow morning,” Elrohir informed. Then he slipped out of the room without waiting for a response.
Erestor raised a questioning brow, “Not going anywhere?”
“Well, nowhere permanent,” Glorfindel explained with quick wit.
Erestor could not resist smiling, “I already knew you would join the scouting party. The mighty gilded warrior could not pass up the opportunity to scout for enemies.”
Glorfindel laughed, and then kissed Erestor solidly on the lips, “You still have the entire evening to give me a proper farewell.”
They kissed once again, but when they separated, Erestor stepped back, a look of concern on his face, “What will you do, Fin, once Frodo and the others have started their journey?”
Glorfindel looked at the mural again, “Wait, I suppose, until I am needed somewhere. Sauron knows the ring is close. He has seen glimpses of its whereabouts. That is why he has employed the Nazgûl, and they will not stop until they have found it. War is coming. It is inevitable. See?” He looked towards the pedestal that held the remnants of the broken sword from the mural. It was empty.
“Narsil?” Erestor asked confused.
“Elrond has had it remade. Aragorn claims his birthright to the throne of Gondor. Sauron has feared this. He will not go without a fight.”
“And so it begins,” Erestor said sadly.
“The battle for Middle-earth,” Glorfindel whispered as though he were a million miles away.
* * *
It had been two weeks since the scouting party left the city. Erestor immersed himself in the library, as well as his duties as chief counselor. There had been a few times when it was difficult to keep the peace between some of the guests, mainly the dwarves and whomever they decided they did not agree with. For the most part, everyone went about their business amicably.
It was the old hobbit, Bilbo, who suggested songs and poetry as a means to ease everyone’s minds. He had been working on a particular song with Aragorn before he left, and was anxious to let everyone hear it. The thing about Bilbo’s songs was that they tended to be more like stories, and the verses could go on for quite some time. The elves enjoyed this, though the dwarves were likely to leave early in the evening. Two of the younger hobbits, Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took, suggested they should have a feast and wine in order to keep the dwarves as longtime guests of the party. Erestor thought this was a wonderful idea, and Elrond agreed. And so, the dinner hall was turned into the hobbits version of a favorite haunt of theirs back in the Shire, a place known as the Green Dragon.
The tables were arranged into long rows, one on each side of the hall, and the center left open for dancing. Erestor suggested making a platform where singers and poets could recite their talents, but Frodo laughed and said that wouldn’t be necessary. Erestor wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but this was an occasion hosted by the hobbits, and he would not argue about the decorating.
Rivendell was alive and buzzing with activity as everyone did their part to prepare for the party. The kitchens were at maximum capacity with cooks, all making their specialties, as well as a few treats that they knew to be favorites of the hobbits. The scents that wafted from their buildings were divine.
A few elves were pulling carts that carried small barrels of wine for the occasion. Erestor met them at the bridge and stopped to let them pass. His brows rose in surprise as he observed some of the dwarves following, carrying three fat barrels of their own. As they went by, one of the dwarves stopped and bowed politely to Erestor.
“Gimli, at your service,” stated the dwarf, as he stood straight.
Erestor glanced at the barrels that the other dwarves carried, “Did you bring these all the way to Rivendell?”
“Of course! Dwarves never show up empty handed if it can’t be helped, and it is not polite to drink another man’s brew without sharing some of our own,” said Gimli, as if Erestor should already know that. “Some of our finest ale, too. I hope you will find it to your liking.”
“Oh, I’m sure that I will,” Erestor said politely.
Gimli looked left and then right, and then gestured to Erestor to bend down to his height. He whispered, “Perhaps you’ll join me in a contest later … my ale against your wine?”
Erestor smiled kindly, “Perhaps.”
Gimli backed up a step and stood straight again, “Good! Very good!” he boasted, and went on his way.
Erestor watched Gimli walk off with his companions and shook his head. “I wonder who he means to drink what?” he wondered to himself.
* * *
Later that evening, the party was well under way. The dwarves did indeed suffer Bilbo’s song in exchange for free-flowing alcohol afterwards. They did not care much for the wine, but they had their ale and were just as happy. The hobbits, too, seemed to enjoy the dwarves strong brew, and soon Erestor realized what Frodo found so funny about hobbits needing a stage to perform on. Merry and Pippin seemed quite inebriated, but still in control of themselves, and very lively. They each had a full mug in their hands, jumped upon the closest table, and began singing their favorite tavern songs, as they performed a humorous jig.
Erestor was enjoying himself immensely, clapping to the fast-paced music and laughing at the hobbits boisterous words, when Gimli plopped down on the chair next to him. He set two mugs down on the table in front of Erestor and gave the elf a mischievous wink.
“So, are you up for it?” Gimli smiled behind his thick beard.
“Oh, well I’m not so sure I should—”
“Of course he is,” said Lastar, who had seen Gimli approach Erestor.
Erestor heard the challenge in Lastar’s voice, “Alright then, I’ll give it a go, but only if Lastar can join the contest.”
Gimli’s bushy brows shot up, “Two against one, is that how it is? Ha! I accept.” He ran off to fetch another mug.
Erestor eyed Lastar speculatively, “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been drinking wine all night, and I’m not sure about mixing my alcohols.”
“That makes two of us then,” Lastar answered with a sly smile spread across his lips, “but I figure it was time that we opened ourselves to the experiment.”
Erestor leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, “I believe this is a side of you I’ve never witnessed before.”
Lastar reached out and laid a hand over Erestor’s arm, “There is much you do not know about me, Counselor.”
Lastar was Erestor’s assistant, and beyond work in the libraries, they hadn’t spent much time together. Ever since the fine youth had admitted his feelings towards Erestor, they tended to maintain a professional relationship without much personal knowledge. But, there had been no further events, and they had become quite relaxed in each other’s company.
Erestor proceeded with caution, though. He knew it was not simple to sever one’s feelings, especially unrequited longing, and the tone in Lastar’s voice indicated that his had not yet vanished. “Yes … well,” he went on, ignoring Lastar’s suggestiveness, “We seem to be in the dwarves good graces. No need to spoil it, and I think we can humor them for a bit.”
Gimli came back, smiling and laughing, with another mug and someone to carry a small keg, “Now,” he began seriously, “usually a contest is won by whoever is left standing, but we did not bring that much ale. So tonight we’ll just say, whoever is last to slur their words. Agreed?”
“That seems fair,” said Lastar.
“Very well then,” Erestor concurred.
Gimli handed them their drinks, “Mugs up, my fine elvish sirs, and may the best one talk straight.”
The dwarf attacked his mug with gusto, but Erestor and Lastar inspected theirs first. Lastar shrugged his shoulders, “Luck, Counselor.”
* * *
Erestor had lost count of time and mugs. For the most part, he felt unaffected by either wine or ale—with the barrel running low, they decided to switch back and forth between the heady elvish red and the deep amber ale. After each glass, they would each say a sentence. Erestor had had no problem reciting a line from a favorite poem. Then, out of nowhere, he felt his head start to reel. This was very unusual, as alcohol had little or no effect on him. Lastar had handed him his last two glasses of wine, and was handing him another. Erestor began to feel a bit queasy, and held his hand up to refuse another glass.
“I kn-knew I should not drix minks,” he stuttered and shook his head, “I mean mix drinks.”
“Oh, ho ho!” Gimli laughed aloud, “Seems you are the first one out Counselor. And how ‘bout you, my young friend?” he said, turning his attention to Lastar.
“I’m afraid I forfeit. The counselor seems to have had a bit too much, and I should not like to reach the same conclusion. Someone will need to see him home,” Lastar said, whispering the last sentence.
“A shame really … I think you could have held out much longer. It would be a nice challenge to beat you,” said Gimli, as he tried to get Lastar to stay.
“Perhaps you should invite the Mirkwood Prince to your challenge. I understand his system is quite tolerable,” Lastar mentioned.
Gimli knitted his bushy brows, and glanced over his shoulder to where Legolas stood, “Bah! I’ll not share my good ale with the likes. Never trust an elf.”
“I should be offended by that remark, Gimli, son of Gloin,” Lastar rebutted.
“Let me rephrase that,” Gimli said, looking a bit embarrassed, “Never trust a Mirkwood elf. I meant no offence to you or Erestor. Imladris has been very gracious and accommodating.”
“It’s alright, Gimli,” Erestor said, his stomach finally calming, “But I sug-suggest you and Prince Le-Legolas find a common gr-ground. ‘Tis a long way to where you’re headed.”
Gimli only glared at Erestor. Then he looked at Lastar, “I think you better get him home quickly. He’s speaking nonsense.”
Lastar smiled and hid a laugh, “Very well. Thank you for the ale and the entertainment.”
Gimli bowed, “At your service.”
Erestor hardly remembered walking home, but he was there now, and so was Lastar. The room was spinning, and he felt rather nauseous. Lastar had been in the kitchen, and was bringing a tray with two cups of tea. He set it on the table and had a seat next to Erestor on the couch.
“How are you feeling?” Lastar asked.
“Like I’m falling from a cliff and there is no bottom,” Erestor responded irritated. He grabbed his head with both hands and closed his eyes, “Ai, that makes it worse.” Then he opened one eye and peered at Lastar. “Why are you not affected as I am?”
“I would not say that. Dwarvish ale can be quite potent. I am definitely affected,” Lastar said smoothly. He leaned forward and prepared their tea.
“Oh? How so?” Erestor asked dryly.
Lastar looked over his shoulder, giving Erestor a sensuous stare, “I would tell you, but you would have me thrown from your home.”
“Oh,” Erestor responded, his assistant’s meaning not registering at first. Then it started to sink in. “Oh,” Erestor said a little anxiously.
Lastar straightened and turned, a cup of tea in each hand, “Relax, Counselor. For one, I know you are madly in love with Glorfindel. And for another, even if you weren’t taken, I’m afraid you are too drunk to fuck, and I’d not have you that way.” He held a cup out to Erestor. “Tea?”
“Please,” Erestor said desperately, anything for a diversion from the way the conversation was going.
They sat silently and sipped their tea. Erestor’s head was already beginning to feel better. “This is quite good … and you found this in my kitchen?”
“It is a combination. Good to cure the effects of too much wine … and ale it seems.”
They sat through another bout of silence and sipped their tea. Finally, Lastar sat his cup down, turned towards Erestor and folded his hands on his knees, “Can I speak openly with you?”
“You’ve managed that quite easily so far this evening.”
Lastar laughed under his breath and continued, “Had I approached you sooner, before Glorfindel, would you have considered me?”
Normally, Erestor would avoid answering such a thing. Lastar was his assistant, and though they had a close working relationship, the counselor was uncomfortable talking to him about personal issues. Tonight, with the wine and the ale swirling through his blood, he threw caution aside. Lastar knew he was deeply involved with Glorfindel, and maybe he owed an answer to the young elf. Erestor bravely met Lastar’s eyes, “I’ll admit that when you first came to me looking for a position as my assistant, I took notice of you. Had you not been looking for employment, I might have … approached you.”
“But you did not,” said Lastar sadly.
“No I did not. I could not. You were coming to work for me, and I never become involved with someone who I employ. It is bad business. People might talk, and that was no way for you to start your career.”
“I would not have accepted the job had I had known,” Lastar said smiling.
“And I might not have argued your decision,” Erestor answered carefully. It was true, Erestor found Lastar to be flawlessly beautiful with his raven hair and alabaster skin, his sensuously long neck and generous lips. Lastar was a bit younger than he liked, but he seemed eager to learn, and Erestor could have taught him about more than the qualifications of a scribe.
“So, there was a chance then?” Lastar asked.
“Once upon a time, yes, but now—”
“I know,” the young ellon chimed in.
Erestor felt for Lastar, but he wished he would stop pining and move on, find another ellon who could return his feelings. The counselor could see that the youth’s heart still burned for something he could never have. There was nothing Erestor could do to change that. Only time would repair his pain for unreturned love, and hopefully they could look back and chuckle over the situation.
The conversation turned to the news of the newly formed Fellowship and Legolas’ offer to go in place of Glorfindel. This was still a bit of a fresh wound in Erestor’s side, but it felt good to talk about it.
“And what would you do if he had gone?” Lastar asked, “Even after you pleaded with him not to go.”
“I would not have liked it. I would have stewed in my anger, cursing the day I let him into my heart,” Erestor answered boldly, but his tone softened, “But I would have welcomed him home with open arms.”
Lastar kept his vision focused on his cup, which he had refilled and sipped on during their conversation, “I hope to find that kind of devotion one day.”
“You will, Lastar. Not only are you beautiful, but you are intelligent and kind,” Erestor encouraged.
The night was getting late, and Erestor was feeling much better. Lastar stood to go and Erestor followed him to the door. As Lastar passed him, he stopped, “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but sometimes I think you are much too good for Glorfindel. I should hope he knows how lucky he is.”
Erestor thought of something witty to say in return, but as he opened his mouth to speak, Lastar captured his lips and kissed him solidly. In the confusion, Erestor did not pull away. Shock kept him from moving at all. Lastar released him, and ran his tongue across his own lips in a wanton manner. Then he seemed to blush, the pale pink complimenting his fair features, “I’m sorry. I did not intend to do that. I mean, I’ve always wanted to, but I would never have acted upon it. I’m still a bit muddled from the wine, otherwise I’d never—”
With the blood still pulsing in Erestor’s lips, he managed a smile, “Go home, Lastar. Sleep off the effects of the wine. I’ll see you tomorrow. We have some letters to transcribe.”
Lastar nodded, still embarrassed, “Yes, Counselor.” He walked out the door.
“And Lastar … this cannot happen again, nor shall I appreciate it if you mention this to anyone.”
“I understand,” Lastar said and slipped into the darkness, “Good night.”
Erestor closed his door and leaned against it. He touched his fingers to his lips, “Ai, hurry home Fin.”
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