Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Mine	By : IdrilsSecret Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3171 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8 – Once A Warrior

“Glorfindel! Glorfindel!” Erestor called as he entered the vestibule in Elrond’s house. He turned to enter the grand room of the Hall of Fire and ran into Elrond, stopping just short of knocking him over. Elrond held his hands out, catching Erestor by the shoulders.
“My lord, have you seen Glorfindel? I must speak with him right away,” Erestor said breathlessly.
“He is not here,” answered Elrond, noticing Erestor’s hair in disarray from a restless slumber.
“Then where might I find him? It is very important that I—”
“He has left,” interrupted Elrond, and he released Erestor, “He has left Imladris.”
“Left, but where?”
Elrond pulled a letter from his robe, handing it to Erestor, a somber expression shadowing the features of his face. Erestor took the letter, but his eyes were set on Elrond.
“What is this?” asked Erestor, but he already guessed what it was.
“You will not have heard the disparaging news. I have received word from the Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien that the Fellowship had arrived at her home, and spent a good amount of time there, recovering from their trials and healing their hearts,” explained Elrond.
“Healing from what? It is not Frodo, is it? Has something happened to him and the ring?” Erestor asked anxiously.
Elrond went on to tell Erestor about the crebain spies that the travelers encountered, and the Fellowship’s decision to navigate the pass of Caradhras, only to be stopped by the mountain’s malice. With the roads being watched and the mountain being uncooperative, the Nine Walkers had no other choice but to pass beneath the mountain and traverse the Mines of Moria. There, they were discovered by Sauron’s minions, goblins that dwell in the deep dark of the mountain, but another foe was awakened during the scuffle. A Balrog of Morgoth then pursued the Fellowship, and Gandalf took it upon himself to battle the fell beast so that the others would have a chance of escape.
“All made it out of the Mines, except Gandalf. I’m afraid he has been lost to us,” Elrond concluded.
“No,” Erestor whispered as he stared at the letter in his hand, “And Glorfindel?”
“He has gone to Lothlórien to help with the lamentation. As you know, Glorfindel had been friends with Gandalf for a very long time,” answered Elrond. He patted Erestor’s shoulder, “I’m sure he will explain the reasons for his absence in the letter. But you have voiced concerns for him. Is there something I can do?”

“No, I’m afraid not, and then again, it may be nothing … just a dream I had.”
Elrond stepped in front of Erestor and gained his full attention with those dark eyes that burned into one’s soul, “Dreams always have meaning, but sometimes they are warnings. Therefore, they should not be ignored when the feelings are so strong.”
“Thank you, my lord. I will keep that in mind.” Erestor forced a hint of a smile and left Elrond’s house.
He waited until he was home before reading Glorfindel’s letter. As usual, it started out with some smart comment, Fin’s attempt to smooth the nerves before the telling of bad news. Only once had he left Imladris without telling Erestor, and he made sure to never make the same mistake twice. As duty called, Glorfindel did not always have the time to inform his mate in person about his departing, and he would sometimes leave a letter behind, usually on Erestor’s nightstand. This was the first time it was ever hand delivered by another elf, and Lord Elrond no less. This was a very important mission then, and Erestor began to worry that it was more than attending a requiem for a friend, no matter how many millennia the friendship went back.
He did not expect to be gone much more than a month, two perhaps, but no more. There was no mention of threats to Lothlórien, though that did not mean there weren’t any. Things changed quickly in recent days. Erestor began to wonder if Glorfindel would try to catch up with the Fellowship and take Gandalf’s place. If he did, it would mean his dream was just that, a dream, for he envisioned Dol Guldur as the destination. It was a sure thing that the Fellowship would not go to that place no matter what blocked their path. But Elrond’s words did nothing to ease his worry, and Erestor kept the dream as a thought in the back of his mind.
* * *
During Glorfindel’s absence, Erestor buried himself in his work, as he usually did, requiring extra help from Lastar. The young dark haired apprentice was more than happy to help, and Erestor found him to be quite a joy to have around. No one could replace the comfort that Glorfindel gave him, but the elf lord was not the best person to talk to about transcribing letters, or discuss the difficulties of foreign languages. Lastar was book smart, just as Erestor was, and both could go on for hours talking about these things and more. It was nice to have that in common with someone.
Neither elf had mentioned the incident that happened a while back, and the kiss that they shared. Yet neither one seemed uncomfortable in the other’s presence. They had moved on from that time, with an understanding between them, and were on friendly terms with one another.
It was for this reason, when Lastar approached with concerns, that Erestor told him about Glorfindel leaving and the dream. Lastar seemed to think there was nothing to worry about, and that Glorfindel was in no danger. He reassured his employer that the elf lord would be home before becoming too greatly missed, and Erestor felt a bit better about it. Lastar was a wonderful assistant, always there first thing in the morning with the lanterns lit, or incense burning, filling the library with its woodsy musk. He always had a pot of tea ready at late morning, when Erestor liked to take a break from his work, and Lastar worked as long or as short as Erestor worked, depending on how busy they were. Things ran smoothly in the library, and that was a delightful reprieve for the counselor. He still missed Glorfindel terribly, but Lastar’s friendship lessened the load of his worries.
* * *
It had been almost three weeks when Rivendell received news, good and bad. Unfortunately, another member of the Nine Walkers had met a terrible end, Boromir, Captain of Gondor.
Frodo and his faithful friend, Sam, split from the company to find their own way to Moria with the ring. Aragorn, along with Gimli and Legolas, had gone in pursuit of the group of orcs who killed Boromir and kidnapped the other two hobbits, Merry and Pippin. They eventually made their way to Fangorn Forest, where it was discovered that Gandalf, who had perished in the Mines of Moria, had been sent back from the depths of death’s sleep.
“Gandalf then lives?” Erestor asked excitedly, thinking how joyful Glorfindel would be to know this news.
Elrohir and Elladan had told Erestor all of the latest as they had heard it from their father, and were now sitting in Erestor’s office. Lastar was busy across the room, transcribing some documents, and keeping a watchful eye on the others, as well as an ear tuned in.
“Gandalf the White, I should say,” Elladan corrected himself.
“But,” Elrohir continued the conversation, “Saruman’s army of orcs and Uruk hai are marching towards Rohan’s stronghold, Helm’s Deep. War had come at last, I’m afraid. Gandalf and the rest prepare with the Rohirrim.”
Erestor leaned back in his chair as a far off look took over his countenance. Elladan and Elrohir looked to each other, silently deciding who should speak next. Elrohir decided his twin was better at giving solemn news and nodded to Elladan to speak. “We cannot know whether Glorfindel knows of Gandalf’s return, but that seems of little importance right now.”
Erestor’s hazel eyes lifted to meet his friend. Lastar, busy in the corner of the room, stopped writing and looked up to see what was happening.
“Lothlórien prepares for battle,” Elladan stated. “They have been besieged twice already. Now they prepare to strike the enemy at its heart.”
“They are not alone in these attacks,” Elrohir added, unable to stay out of the conversation. “Mirkwood has seen the same kind of onslaught. It is my understanding that both realms will march out and meet their foe in hopes of destroying the enemy.”
“March out?” Erestor asked, “You mean, they will assist Rohan?”
“They go to Dol Guldur,” Elrohir said, “I only wish Elladan and I could go with them.”
“But our duty lies elsewhere,” Elladan chimed in. “As you know, Arwen shares the gift of foresight as with Galadriel. She has envisioned a difficult choice that lies before Aragorn. Our sister asks us to deliver something to him, a symbol of hope and encouragement that she thinks will help him make the correct choice. We are to meet with a company of Dúnedain and ride out to meet Aragorn.”
Elrohir stood from his chair. “We must be leaving,” he said, and gestured to his twin to join him. “Time runs short. We ride before the end of the day.”
Erestor stood and bowed to his friends, “May the Valar watch over you both. Stay safe, sons of Elrond.”
The twin brothers left Erestor’s office, and Lastar wasted no time discussing the latest news with him, “All our best men leave Imladris to fight elsewhere.”
“We are not unprotected though. Our remaining soldiers are very competent.” Erestor spoke with a far off tone. He was not thinking about Imladris or its protection against outside dangers.
Lastar laid a hand on Erestor’s arm, gaining his attention, “I can feel your fear for him, and I wonder if he knows how much it troubles you. He is a warrior. This is their way of life. Unfortunately it means forgetting about those they leave behind.”
Erestor’s eyes blazed as he looked at Lastar, “Glorfindel has not forgotten. Why would you say such a thing?”
“He did not stay to spare your feelings, did he? Instead, he runs off to Lothlórien only to be sucked into a war that has nothing to do with him. You do not see, Erestor, because you are too close to the source, but as I see it, Glorfindel will always choose war over you,” said Lastar fervently.
Erestor was seething with anger, but partly because he knew what Lastar said was true. Glorfindel would always go where he was needed. “You may be right, and I may not like it, but who am I to stop him?”
“I thought you were his lover, his one true mate.” Lastar shook his head, “Yet, here you are worrying for him, and he gives not even a second thought to rushing into danger. He leaves a note … a note! And without asking your opinion.” He paused to collect himself, “I am sorry, Erestor, but I cannot keep from saying that I find his lack of respect towards you appalling. I have seen you angry with him many times, yet he does not change his ways. Instead, you are the one who has had to make all the changes. You deserve better treatment than this, and though you have said it cannot be me, it should be someone who will love you, and put you first above all other things.”
Erestor could hardly think straight. How dare Lastar question anything that concerned Glorfindel. He turned his back to the young apprentice, “I think you should leave now, Lastar,” Erestor said as calmly as he could manage.
Lastar, realizing that he had said too much, stepped closer to Erestor, “I am sorry. I should not have—”
“No you shouldn’t, but you have and not for the first time. Leave me, please,” Erestor commanded. With a heavy sigh, Lastar turned and left.
Erestor waited until Lastar’s footsteps faded to silence. Then he went to his desk and took out the note from Glorfindel. It was a very simple letter, written with the knowledge that he would return soon. Glorfindel could not have known about Lothlórien or their recent decision to march into battle. Lastar was wrong about the elf lord. Fin did respect his feelings. Lórien’s decision was quick. There had not been enough time for Glorfindel to send a message detailing his recent choice. Neither had there been any time for Erestor to tell Fin of his dream.
The dream, he thought, it had been so clear, as though Erestor was within the decrepit walls of the tower, watching first hand as the Witch-king put his plans into motion. “Perhaps he knew Glorfindel was within the Golden Woods. Perhaps he had called for the attacks to lure Fin away from the protection of the Lady Galadriel.”
The more he thought things over, the more anxious he became. Glorfindel could very well be walking into a trap. Erestor was convinced that the dream was much more … a warning, as Elrond had suggested.
“You are the one who has had to make all the changes.” Lastar’s statement came back to him.
“I have made changes, it is true. I have learned to live my life more openly, without bogging myself down with work. I’ve learned to expand my mind to new possibilities, and remember where it is I came from, recalling the true nature of being elvish. And I’ve learned that I cannot sit around and hope someone else will do something in times of distress.” Erestor went to the window and gazed out across the peaceful valley below. “Someone needs to do something. I’ve always said this in the past. Well, that someone is me. I must go to Lothlórien and hope I am not too late. This dream cannot be ignored any longer. Fin is in danger, I can feel it deep within my core.”
With his mind made, Erestor retrieved his armor from his closet. It has been stored there for centuries, and he’d not adorned it since the last time he fought in battle. He was young then, and less wise, but he had not forgotten how to fight, keeping up with his swordplay over the years. Like every young elf, he joined the army and became a border guard.
Erestor slipped out of his advisor robes, hanging them neatly in his closet. He stood in front of a full length mirror attached to the inside of the closet door, naked, observing his body. He was in excellent form, though not as well built as a warrior. Still, he had muscles where he needed the extra brawn, in his arms and upper chest. There was a light, very light rippling across his stomach. His waist was slim as well as his hips. He knew it would be a challenge if he had to fight in battle, but it was not something foreign to him. Besides being a border guard, he had fought in one battle. It was not a very important one, nothing worth mentioning in the archives, but a battle just the same.
Erestor put his black leggings and white undershirt on. Next, he shrugged into his black leather jerkin and laced it up the front. Then, he retrieved his black swede boots, pulling them on and lacing the sides. All of these things he wore when he practiced sword play at the training grounds. His armor was still in the closet, neatly placed in the back. He pulled it out and spread the separate pieces upon his bed.
Elvish armor was very thin, very lightweight, but extremely strong. It was meant to be worn for travel, keeping the body cool in the heat or warm in the winter. Erestor put his on now, the elegantly shaped metal bands wrapping around chest, arms, and thighs. Separate metal plates could be worn over his knees and shins, elbows and forearms to protect his extremities from damage, but he did not need these now. He didn’t need his armor now either, but something transformed inside him when he saw himself in the mirror.
Then he reached for his sword, the most familiar part of his uniform. He had given it the name Aicalango, which simply meant sharp sword. He had no need for a fancier name because he had never intended to become a warrior. Even in his youth, when he patrolled the border, his mind and soul had been drawn to more scholarly things. He served his duty and fought his battle, and then Erestor gave up that harsh life for the education of a scribe.
Still, he never completely gave up on his sword, or his ability to use it. No elf would be defenseless, not even a messenger or a cook, and Erestor would always be more practiced than these subjects. The one thing he hadn’t imagined was fighting in another war … protecting Rivendell, yes, but fighting in a distant land?
His hand wrapped around the hilt, a very familiar feeling. It fit perfectly in his palm, like an extension of himself. Erestor stepped back and swung the sword left, and then right in a swooping motion. He smiled and performed the motion again, this time a little faster, and again faster still. He was ready.
“If it means keeping Glorfindel from a terrible fate—” he said and paused, observing himself once more in his closet mirror, “I will do what I must.”
* * *
Erestor estimated the journey to take two weeks, but the weather had been fairly good and his horse had not easily tired, allowing him to arrive in less time. Now, he approached the bridge that led to the great gates of Lothlórien. He announced himself to the sentries stationed at the bridge’s entrance. They hadn’t expected anyone from Rivendell, especially not Lord Elrond’s chief advisor.
“I am here on my own accord. If it is at all possible, I must find and speak with Lord Glorfindel. I was told his is still here,” Erestor stated.
“He is,” answered the Galadhrim sentry, “Lord Glorfindel is taking counsel with some of our chief officers at the moment. We can have someone show you to his personal quarters, and a message will be sent, letting him know you have arrived.”
“That is fine, but a message will not be necessary. I will just wait until he returns from his duties.” Erestor did not want to give Glorfindel any kind of acknowledgement to his presence.
The sentries allowed Erestor entrance, and immediately assigned him a guide who led him to the guest quarters where Glorfindel was staying. As she led him, Erestor inquired about the raids, “We were told in Rivendell that Lothlórien was attacked several times.”
The tall, fair, silver haired Noldo smiled, but her eyes showed signs of worry, “It has been ages since anything like this has happened, but yes, there have been raids upon our city. The Galadhrim patrol well beyond the stone road that borders the forest, and they caught a number of orcs in those areas. Still, a few somehow made it past the deep fosse and the wall that encircles Lothlórien.” She stopped and wrung her hands together nervously. “No one has ever dared to breech the city. The Lady’s powers have always kept us safe and untouched.”
Erestor gave a comforting smile, “I am sure it will not happen again.”
“Oh no, my lord, it hasn’t … not since Lord Glorfindel arrived. We are very fortunate to have him amongst us. His powers are just as great as those of Galadriel, and I do not believe that anyone would challenge that kind of unique strength.
By now they were at Glorfindel’s quarters, and the elleth showed Erestor inside. As she was leaving, she turned to him again, “I see you come dressed for battle. Do you come to march upon the black fortress with the rest of the troops?”
“My task is with Lord Glorfindel first and foremost, but should I be needed, I am prepared to help,” Erestor answered.
“That is a very noble gesture for someone who does not seem to be a soldier,” she responded, her eyes going to his hands where he held them, fingers linked together. “You have the hands of a scribe.”
“You are quite observant.” Erestor could not help himself from moving his hands behind his back.
The Noldo elleth smiled modestly as she looked away from Erestor, “Then I am to assume that Lord Glorfindel will be rather elated to see his guest.”
“Shocked might be a better word,” Erestor mumbled.
“I will make sure you are not … disturbed this evening,” she said and blushed slightly, “But it could be a while yet before he shows. Shall I have a meal sent while you wait, and perhaps some wine?”
Erestor’s fingers fumbled in his hair. How could she tell all of that from the brief time they’d spoken, “Yes, food and wine would be fine, thank you.”
The servant nodded and batted her long lashes as she slipped out of the door, “Right away, my lord. Welcome to Lothlórien.”
Erestor circled the room. Such odd accommodations, he thought. It was nothing like the stone buildings in Rivendell. The houses here were built within the trees, talans made from wood and canvas placed on one side or the other of a staircase that wound up along each tree. A few flets were built around the bole of the tree itself, if the circumference was the right size. Suspended pathways connected the trees, some with two or three built at various levels for ease of access.
Erestor had read much about Lothlórien and Caras Galadhon, but he had not experienced it firsthand. “Ingenious design,” he muttered to himself, “for a community of tree-people.” Still, he preferred the solidness of stone beneath his feet, as in Rivendell.
There was always the sound of singing, though he never saw the elves who gifted their voices to the air, only the flickering of lights higher up within the canopy. A knock at the door drew Erestor’s attention away from the serenity of the song surrounding him. A different servant brought a basket and a bottle of wine. It smelled wonderful, of fresh warm bread and honey, and the richness of a hearty stew flavored with thyme and rosemary.
The servant, a young male dressed in dark grey robes, and sporting the same shades of silver hair as the rest of the Noldor, sat his bundle upon the closest table, and then bowed to Erestor, “Shall I set the table for you, my lord?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Erestor smiled politely, “but could you tell me who the elves sing for?” He wasn’t sure if it was still a lament to Gandalf.
“They celebrate the return of Mithrandir, though the old grey pilgrim he is no more,” said the servant. He promptly bowed and left the talan.
Erestor enjoyed the stew, and set aside some of the bread and honey. He opened the wine and had a glass while waiting for Glorfindel. He didn’t want to compromise his soberness, and the stew was doing nicely to absorb the headiness of the strong wine. He wasn’t sure what Fin’s reaction would be to his surprise visit, and he needed to be in the right frame of mind.
He didn’t have to wait long to find out. The handle of the door turned and stopped as a voice spoke on the opposite side, “Your brother is very thorough, isn’t he?”
“He has been in charge of protecting Lothlórien for many centuries, and has never been challenged before. You must understand, Glorfindel, your presence has caused a bit of a ripple in our usual way of doing things.”
“I do not wish to take over his position, Rúmil, but if I have been assigned my own troops to command, I will see over them as I deem necessary,” Glorfindel answered.
“It is not me who needs convincing. I have always admired your skill … as well as other great attributes.”
Erestor raised a curious, if just a bit jealous brow at Rúmil’s forward comment. Rúmil was the youngest brother of Haldir, the March Warden of the Galadhrim, and obviously not as worried about his reputation as his older sibling. Erestor would have liked to burst through the door and ask Rúmil just what ‘attributes’ he was speaking of, but decided to eavesdrop and see how Glorfindel would respond.
“You have shown great skill yourself, Rúmil, and I’m sure your abilities extend well beyond the uniform.” Glorfindel paused, and Erestor began to see red.
“There better be more to that sentence,” the counselor whispered to himself.
“But alas,” Glorfindel continued, “I have reined in my old ways, and while there was a time when I would have—” He stopped again to search for the right words, “—examined your credentials, it would not be proper behavior for someone of my current status.”
Erestor heard Rúmil laugh demurely, “Ai, as they say, yet again I am a day late. Shame it must be that way, but you can’t blame me for trying.”
Glorfindel laughed in return, “Go and ready your mind for what lies ahead, and when you’re through, work on restraining your brother’s exaggerated confidence.”
“You do not know my brother very well, I see. Good to know I am not the only one who hasn’t been … examined more closely. However, do not fret over Haldir’s attitude. Once everything is straight and we are off to battle, he is focused and devoted to Lórien.”
Erestor heard Rúmil leave and the door opened to reveal the sight that never ceased to amaze Erestor’s heart.
“Erestor?” Glorfindel gasped.
The counselor did as he always had when confronting Glorfindel, and put on a stern face, hiding the deep admiration that could render him speechless if it overtook him. His brow lifted cynically, “Fighting off a new wave of admirers, I see. When do you have the time to train the troops?”
Glorfindel, caught by surprise, bowed his head as a disconcerted smile spread. He ran his fingers through his golden mane, a sign that his usually cool composure had been unexpectedly disturbed. Then his eyes rolled up as he gazed through his long lashes, and Erestor felt like the helpless doe cornered by the almighty lion. The counselor was not helpless, however. He was prepared to defend his reasons for coming.
“What are you doing here?” Glorfindel asked calmly.
“I thought it was a nice day for a ride,” Erestor answered with a clever tongue, “What do you think? I’m here to see you.”
“It would be a lie to say my heart is not overjoyed, but I cannot help to state the obvious. You should not be here.”
“Before you say more, I wish you to hear me out. You know I would not have followed you if it weren’t important.”
“Has something happened in Imladris?” Glorfindel said worriedly.
“The House of Elrond is secure.” Erestor shook his head and approached the elf lord, “No, it’s something else, something on a more personal level. Fin, the night you left I had a dream.”
“A dream?” Glorfindel laughed skeptically, “You came all this way because of a dream?”
Erestor furrowed his brow, “It was not just a dream. It was as though I was there watching and listening. I dreamt of Dol Guldur and the Witch-king of Angmar. Fin, I believe you are in danger, and this dream was a warning. I am asking you to stay and defend Lothlórien instead of going to the dark tower.”
“You know I cannot do that. I have been called upon by Lord Celeborn. My duty lies with him and Galadriel. I am leading the largest of his army to battle.”
“I knew you would say that, so I came prepared.” Erestor had taken his armor off when he arrived at the room. Now he went to the corner where he had stowed it away, and picked up his chest plate. “I am going with you then.”
“You are not going to Dol Guldur,” Glorfindel directed with a matter-of-fact account of the situation.
“I am going, and that is final.” Erestor demanded, “You don’t understand. This dream, this vision was so horrifically real. The Witch-king spoke of his plans. It is a trap, Fin. He means to lure you there, and then to enslave you. He wants to use you to breed an unstoppable army.”
Glorfindel shook his head defiantly, “No, the Nazgûl fear me, they always have. It is the reason Lord Celeborn asked me to command his army. He knows Dol Guldur may be ruled by the wraiths, and my presence is the strongest weapon Lórien has against the enemy.”
“And that is what the Witch-king is counting on. I am telling you, Fin, I have seen it clear as a crystal. He is waiting for you,” Erestor said fervently, “And if you mean to go, then I am going with you to fight at your side.”
Glorfindel came to Erestor, taking the elvish armor piece from him and laying it back upon the others, “What do you know of war? You have spent centuries as Elrond’s advisor. Your harshest enemy has been a paper cut, not the slice of a blade. Your weapon is your words, though sometimes they are as sharp as the edge of a knife. You say you fear for me? Well, meldanya, I fear for you as well.”
“Then nothing I can say will convince you?” Erestor bent down to adjust the laces of his boot. “Mmph, and here I came all this way—” He interrupted himself as he pulled a dagger from a hidden fold in the boot, spun around and came up behind Glorfindel before the elf lord could blink twice. Erestor twisted a large muscled arm behind Fin’s back, holding it at a most unpleasant angle. His other hand brought the dagger up to the warrior’s neck, leaving Glorfindel with only one free hand, in which he used it to grab Erestor’s wrist to keep the blade from pushing any harder into his tender skin.
Erestor laughed, his lips touching the back of Glorfindel’s ear, “What do I know of war, you ask? I know what it is like to run head on into a line of orcs, to see its dead yellow eyes settle on me, then turn at the last second and drive its black blade into the man at my side. I know war, Glorfindel, and I did not need a career as a warrior to understand it.”
Erestor released Glorfindel’s arm, but still held the dagger at his throat. With his free hand, he lifted Fin’s tunic and began loosening the laces of his leggings, “I can see you may not be completely convinced, so let me see what I can do to change your mind.” He eased the dagger down Glorfindel’s tunic, the metal blade clinking against the buttons, and got to his knees. He could see the elf lord’s chest heaving with rapid breath as the blade came lower and cut through the lace of the leggings where it had knotted in Erestor’s attempt to untie it. The waistband immediately loosened, and the counselor released Glorfindel in all his glory, ready and pulsing. He looked up at the elf lord, and for the first time, saw the awe and surprise in his face. Erestor parted his lips, running his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “No more arguments. I am going,” he demanded and swallowed his lover.
* * *
Erestor lay on his side with Glorfindel contoured against his back. The bed in the guest quarters was only meant for one, but it had sufficed. Glorfindel moaned as he awoke, and nuzzled his nose into the crook of Erestor’s neck, “Mmm, I should say no to you more often. You offer a very convincing appeal, quite urgent and pressing.”
Erestor blew out a short laugh, “If I remember correctly, you were the urgent one while I was doing the pressing.”
Glorfindel laughed out loud, “Oh meldanya, your wickedness is always a surprise.” He sat up, stood from the bed, and stepped over to the basin across the room.
Erestor watched as his mate washed up and dressed in his uniform. He was as tall as they came, Glorfindel, broad through the shoulders, thighs of iron. Everything about him screamed of the appurtenances of a warrior. Bred for it since childhood, soldiering was second nature to him. This was part of Glorfindel’s charm, part of what made him so desirable. He really couldn’t blame Rúmil for trying to seduce his lover. All heads turned when the elf lord walked through a crowd or entered a room, and every one of them yearned for a single chance to be noticed. Somehow, Erestor managed to catch Glorfindel’s attention, as unlikely as he thought it would have been at one time.
The only other people to know Glorfindel’s passion were his soldiers, those who proudly served their gilded captain, for they loved and respected him in a way that no civilian could. Now, Erestor would know both sides to Glorfindel, soldier and lover.
With both elves dressed in uniform, Glorfindel began his instructions, “You will come with me, and I’ll introduce you to my company. Today I give them their marching orders. You,” Glorfindel said as his fingers caught Erestor’s chin, “will receive no special attention. You are one of my troops and will follow my orders. Understood?”
“Yes, my captain,” Erestor answered like a loyal soldier.
Glorfindel’s eyes blazed into Erestor’s, making their hearts beat wildly, “I think I like you calling me Captain. You should do it more often,” Glorfindel whispered. Their lips came together as they engulfed each other in a molten kiss that Erestor would feel long after their day had started.
“Don’t get used to it,” Erestor replied when they parted, his usually dry humor edging his words.
Later, Erestor joined Glorfindel, met with the Galadhrim who would serve under Glorfindel’s command, and found his place within the company. In just a few days’ time, they would march out of the Golden Woods heading for the dark broken tower known as Dol Guldur. Erestor swore not to leave Glorfindel’s side once they made their final approach. The vision was still very clear in his mind, and Erestor would look for signs and familiar sights that he hoped would help Glorfindel navigate the enemy’s lair and keep him out of the hands of the Witch-king. Erestor would do everything within his power to see his lover safe, even if it meant confronting the Black Captain himself.
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