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Greenleaf&Imladris 11-In the Silence of Our Hearts	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 2535 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 1
- 2
Title: Greenleaf & Imladris 11 - In the Silence of Our Hearts

Author: Eressë (eresse21@yahoo.com)

Pairings: Glorfindel/Erestor, Elrohir/Legolas (implied)

Rating: R

Summary: A jest inadvertently unearths an unsuspected past and sets the stage for an unlikely future.

Disclaimer: All the Elves belong to that old wizard, Tolkien.

Author’s Note: Consider this a short break. Wanted to delve a little into Rivendell’s resident chief counsellors' relationship for a change. Erestor’s history is vague at best. There is no indication of when or where he was born or even if he was of the Noldor or Sindar. One can safely assume that he must have been intelligent and cunning for him to be one of Elrond’s most trusted advisors. As for Glorfindel, an Elf-lord of the power and status ascribed to him by Tolkien must have been a force to reckon with even in a fabled realm like Rivendell.

In The Silence of Our Hearts

Part I

Imladris, coirë TA 1980

Rivendell’s golden-haired captain slowly made his way down the main corridor of the Last Homely House to the library. He sighed a little pensively as he neared the chamber. Five years, he thought. Five years since he’d faced the Witch-king of Angmar and driven him out of the north to Mandos-knows-where. The feat had added to his legend.

That hadn’t mattered to him. Duty and honor had required the action of him, not vainglory or the need for fame. And besides, all the praise in Arda had not brought him the one thing still lacking in his life.

In two lifetimes worth of living, he had loved only twice and neither had come to fruition. The first was doomed from the start for the lady he’d cherished had loved another. That had pained him but he’d soldiered on and served her and her chosen one as faithfully as his oaths dictated. As for the second...that had hurt even more. For he had destroyed any chances of that love blossoming with ill-considered words. Regret had come afterwards but as was the wont of regret, it had been too late.

He sighed once more. What is the good of a second life if all there is to look forward to is an eternity alone? he mused. He had ceased to believe that such happiness could still be his. He had long ago forced himself to be content with the affections of his friends and the respectful regard of his colleagues. After all, that is what he had in Rivendell, and in great abundance. Best not to yearn for more than what the Valar were willing to give.

He pushed open the library door. Erestor was already seated at the table by the wide mullioned windows. Spread out upon the tabletop were maps and sheaves of parchment. He heard a scuffle to one side and glanced to his left in time to see Elladan taking down a book from the long shelf that lined that side of the chamber. The older twin seemed oblivious of his arrival, busy as he was selecting more volumes.

Glorfindel turned his attention back to Erestor. One golden eyebrow rose in some amusement as he took in the steward’s raiment. For someone who held great store by the need for proper attire in public, Erestor was remarkably dressed down. But then again, the captain considered, it was hardly practical to wear one’s robes of office for a simple meeting over scout reports and the like. A simple meeting that was sure to be long and wearisome.

Erestor looked up and said without preamble: “‘Tis about time you arrived. Mayhap you will manage to make sense of some of these reports.”

The fair Elda approached the table bemused. “Why, Erestor? What hinders you in comprehending them?”

“A general lack of order and clarity,” the counsellor dryly replied. “Really, Glorfindel, is it too much to ask more coherence from your men?”

“They are warriors, not scribes,” Glorfindel wryly said. “You cannot expect them to be as articulate as yourself or Lindir for instance.”

“Yet you write with great eloquence, Captain,” Erestor countered pointedly.

Glorfindel smiled a little at the barbed compliment. “You would actually praise me for something?” he commented bitingly. “Now, that is something that does not occur every day.”

Erestor snorted elegantly. “I always give credit where it is due, that is all,” he retorted. “Now, may we get on with this? I should like to present Elrond with something before this day is done.”

The captain shrugged and sat down opposite him. Sifting through the reports, neither noticed Elladan as he slipped out with an armful of books.

The twin made his way to Elrond’s study. Within, Elrond sat at his desk, carefully transcribing old documents onto crisp sheets of parchment. On the couch, Celebrían sat with her feet daintily tucked under, busily embroidering a tunic for her husband. Both looked up and smiled their welcome when their older son entered.

“I hope I got all the books you requested, Ada”—Papa—he said, laying the tomes on his father’s desk.

“I believe they are all here,” Elrond said, swiftly taking stock of the different titles. “Thank you, ion nîn.”—my son.

“You’re welcome.”

Elrond glanced up when he realized Elladan had not made a move to leave. If anything, the younger Elf was looking at him curiously.

“What is it?” he inquired, recognizing the signs of an impending interrogation on his son’s face.

Elladan grinned. “I wish to ask about Glorfindel and Erestor,” he said.

Elrond looked at him in surprise. “What of them?”

“‘Tis their demeanor with each other. There is always a bit of reserve between them even in their friendliest encounters. ‘Tis difficult to tell if they are friends at all or just colleagues. I have never felt the same...warmth between them that I see in their relationships with others. Why is that?”

Elrond shook his head. “In truth, I do not know,” he admitted. “It puzzles me as well considering that Erestor once worshipped the ground Glorfindel stood on.”

Elladan stared at his father. “He what?”

“Glorfindel was his teacher long ago when Erestor first came to live here.”

Elladan frowned. “I just realized something. I know next to nothing about Erestor’s early life, “ he remarked. “Just how and when did he come to Imladris?”

“Right after Eregion was overrun by Sauron’s hordes,” Elrond replied. “He was but a child and his mother soon faded afterwards leaving me as his guardian. But that’s starting in the middle of the story. Do you wish to hear the whole of it?”

“Aye, it sounds like an interesting tale.” The twin sank down into the chair opposite the desk.

Elrond placed his elbows on the tabletop, steepling his fingers as was his wont when relating a long tale.

“Erestor’s mother was a lady in Thingol’s court in Doriath,” he said. That alone elicited a startled reaction from his son. “His father was a skilled craftsman in the service of Curufin. As you know, Thingol’s trust in the Noldor diminished after he learned of the kinslayings. When Erestor’s parents fell in love, they removed to Nargothrond rather than endure the king’s distrust of Erestor’s father. After Nargothrond fell, they were among the few who managed to escape the sack of the city. They fled to Lindon and lived there for a while. Later, after Celebrimbor founded Ost-in-Edhil in Eregion, they chose to reside there for Erestor’s sire desired to live amongst fellow artisans and ply his craft once more.”

“‘Twas in Ost-in-Edhil that Erestor was born and where he spent his earliest years. But soon after, Sauron invaded Eregion. Glorfindel and I were sent by Gil-galad to give aid but we were unsuccessful and the most we could do was help the survivors get away safely. Many chose to retreat to Lindon. But some came with me to this vale and helped me build Imladris. Erestor’s father had perished but his mother survived. She did not live long after, however, for such was her grief. She appointed me Erestor’s guardian shortly before she passed away.”

Elladan stirred. “How old was Erestor then?”

“He was little more than twenty-five-years old. A mere Elfling. I took it upon myself to raise him as his parents would have wanted. But I asked Glorfindel to be his teacher as I could not take on the task myself at the time.”

“And he worshipped Glorfindel?”

“To a fault. I know that Glorfindel tried to temper Erestor’s attachment to him but nothing came of his efforts until Erestor’s fortieth year. We sent him at that point to Lórien to further his education. He returned for his coming-of-age. By then, he’d changed. Whatever feelings he may have previously harbored for Glorfindel had obviously faded with the time and distance apart.”

Elladan considered what his father has said. “And Erestor’s feelings were nothing more than hero-worship?” he asked. “He did not feel anything deeper – like love or lust?”

Elrond raised his eyebrows at that. “You would think of that,” he commented with some amusement. “I suspected it might be more at one point. But it became moot when he ceased to care overmuch for Glorfindel.”

“Why did you ask that, gwaniuar?”—older twin?—Celebrían inquired, speaking for the first time. Her voice held the slightest bit of suspicion.

Elladan darted a look at her. “Why, nothing, Nana”—Mama—he said. “I was just curious.”

Celebrían looked at her husband, her blue eyes twinkling. “Which gives me all the more reason to worry,” she said.

“Neither Elrohir nor I have played any pranks on anyone in the last five hundred years!” he protested virtuously.

“That we know about,” she rejoined mildly.

Elrond chuckled. “You cannot blame your mother for being wary. You and your brother may have outgrown the more hair-raising activities you were once so renowned for. But you have not outgrown your predilection for jests and have only resorted to more subtle means of expressing them.”

Elladan could not help a scapegrace grin. “Really, Ada,” he murmured. “You’d think we were still Elflings.”

He rose and, with an affectionate bow to his parents, departed. Elrond and Celebrían looked at each other.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I do not know what to think,” her husband answered. “But I will not be surprised if Erestor comes to me before the week is up bearing some tale of outrage.”

“Only Erestor?”

“Our sons have never dared cross Glorfindel overmuch in the past. I do not think they will start at this late date.”

********

Elladan barged into his twin’s room without preamble. He grinned at the sight that greeted him. Elrohir was sprawled on the cozy divan below the window, his long legs tangled with Legolas’ who reclined against the opposite end of the couch. Both were deep in perusal of their respective books.

It was some three hundred years since their friendship had taken the strangest of turns and they had lain as lovers. Since then, Elrohir had not turned to Legolas again for release and their close friendship had gone on as before. If anything, they seemed closer than ever despite the curious lack of any allusions to the intimate interlude they’d shared. Whether this was born of discomfort or a need to anchor their relationship once more in platonic affection, Elladan did not know. Legolas never spoke of it to him and, for once, Elrohir was not forthcoming either. If one did not know they’d once crossed the line of pure friendship, one would never guess it had happened.

Elladan was not sanguine that that was the end of the matter; not where Elrohir was concerned. But his twin had given no indication that his feelings had progressed beyond the mad obsession he’d developed for the Mirkwood prince and Elladan knew better than to pressure him. Elrohir was not one to be hurried towards a poorly considered decision particularly if said decision was of a life-changing nature. He did suspect Elrohir’s restraint was more a reluctance to discomfit Legolas anew than a lack of interest but he had no way of confirming this unless his brother decided to confide in him the true nature of his feelings. In the last century, Elrohir had mastered the art of concealing his emotions efficiently even from his own twin.

As for Legolas... Well, he was obviously relieved that Elrohir had not gone to him for intimacy once more. Though he had offered to assuage his friend’s need should he ever feel it again, it was not surprising that he should have mixed feelings about the incident. It wasn’t only that Mirkwood still observed a general proscription on such pairings but also that he was uncomfortable about turning his long friendship with Elrohir into something else. Legolas, as his two friends knew very well, was reluctant to engage in affairs of the heart. He’d always been wary of risking himself in something so fraught with uncertainty and potential pain. The loss of his mother and his father’s grief over it had only deepened his fears of the vicissitudes of romantic love.

Elladan understood and tried to be supportive of both. Elbereth knows they need it, he thought. He put his speculations aside as they disentangled their legs and sat up to face him. His precipitate – and noisy – entrance boded something. Whether ill or well was beside the point.

“You look like a Dwarf who’s been given the key to Doriath’s lost treasury,” Elrohir mildly commented.

Elladan smiled. “Funny you should mention Doriath. ‘Tis part of the tale I’ve just had the good fortune to hear.”

“What tale?”

“It has to do with Glorfindel and Erestor.”

Instantly, two pairs of eyebrows rose in anticipation and two sets of grins broke out upon two comely countenances.

“Do tell,” Legolas beamed.

Elladan did. And more. When he was done, Elrohir guffawed.

“‘Tis a splendid idea, muindor”—brother—“but I cannot believe that our esteemed counsellors will trust anything we give them.”

“Especially if ‘tis unlooked for,” Legolas agreed.

“I know,” Elladan said. “I was hoping you might think of a way around that.”

Elrohir frowned thoughtfully. Then his face cleared and he beamed with ill-disguised mischief. “Arwen?”

Legolas nearly choked. “Would she cooperate with us?”

“She would,” Elrohir said confidently. “Try as she might to be as elegant and demure as mother, she still is a bit of the hoyden of yore. She will be delighted to take part in this.”

“I believe you are right,” Elladan laughed. “Come, let us talk to her before we approach Iorwen.”

********

Glorfindel and Erestor glanced up from their work when Arwen entered bearing a laden tray. They looked at her questioningly as she deposited it on the table. She smiled at them with sweet solicitude.

"'Tis Iorwen’s fruit nectar and honey cakes,” Arwen said. “She thought you might like some refreshments.”

Glorfindel and Erestor brightened up. They had been going over the reports for two hours now. It was tedious work at best, tiresome at worst. The tall pitcher of nectar and plate of pastries was most welcome indeed.

“That is most considerate of Iorwen,” Erestor remarked.

Arwen smilingly filled the drinking cups with the fragrant beverage. “Why don’t you break that off for now and refresh yourselves? Surely a brief rest will not delay you overmuch.”

Glorfindel grinned warmly at the Elf-maiden. “Thank you, Arwen. This is most appreciated.”

She swallowed a treacherous giggle and dimpled at them instead. “I will leave you to it then.”

Had the two older Elves been more observant they would have wondered why she exited the library with undue haste. As it was they set to the simple repast with relief, relishing the cool nectar in particular.

A few cups each later, both felt strangely relaxed. And warm besides. Too warm. That was puzzling. This February had been unusually cold and even the Elves had felt the difference from the previous years though it did not trouble them.

Glorfindel pulled at his collar and muttered, “Am I imagining things or is it getting hot in here?”

Erestor shook his head. “Nay, I feel it, too.”

Before long, Glorfindel impatiently doffed his tunic, hoping to get some relief from the odd warmth that suffused his entire body. Erestor, less inclined to take such a cavalier approach to propriety in public, settled for loosening the high collar of his shirt. But after a few minutes, he reluctantly unlaced the shirt to expose his neck to some cooling air.

The two continued to discuss the reports and scour the maps though Erestor noted bemusedly that their conversation was becoming increasingly desultory. He glanced up at Glorfindel during a curious lull and realized the warrior was gazing at him. Nay, not at him but at his bare throat.

Erestor, in turn, found himself taking uncharacteristic interest in the muscled form of his companion, which was more than adequately revealed by his silken shirt. He blinked, startled by the direction his thoughts had taken. He chided himself and tried to focus once more on the sheaf of parchment before him. Glorfindel continued to eye him with disconcerting intensity.

“Glorfindel? Are you paying attention?” he prodded, trying to sound authoritative. But to his confusion his voice came out in a husky purr.

The Elda’s eyes moved up to his face. Now the cobalt pools centered on the counsellor’s mouth instead.

“Beautiful,” he murmured. Erestor stared at his colleague unbelievingly. Glorfindel’s lips curled into a slow, sensual smile. “You are beautiful,” he drawled.

The steward’s mouth dropped open in shock. He tried to speak but his dazed mind refused to supply any response. At least, not any proper response.

Seeing the usually unflappable Elf so at a loss for words, cheeks flushed and sinuous lips parted, Glorfindel felt a delicious shiver of desire course through his limbs. Silently, he rose to his feet and walked purposefully to the opposite side of the table. Vaguely alarmed, Erestor stood up as well but failed to move away; his feet felt strangely leaden.

He could only stare wide eyed as the golden warrior came to stand mere inches from him. Glorfindel raised his hand and slid it up and around Erestor’s neck to settle on the auburn-haired Elf’s nape.

“Glorfindel?” Erestor said in a quavering voice. “What – what are you doing?”

The turquoise eyes widened with predatory brilliance. A wicked grin graced the proud mouth.

“Why, enjoying your company, pen neth, what else?” he murmured huskily.

Young one? Erestor thought somewhat stupidly. The Elda had not called him thus since he left his tutelage. It suddenly reminded Erestor that he was indeed millennia younger than Glorfindel.

“You should not – that is, we are not—” Erestor stuttered incoherently, his polished tongue inexplicably unruly, his statesman’s poise all but unravelled by his companion’s seductive demeanor.

“You talk too much,” Glorfindel growled. With shocking deliberateness, he closed the gap between them and sealed his mouth to Erestor’s.

Tremors of alarm raced through the counsellor. Yet he could not summon the will or desire to push the Elda away. Indeed, another kind of heat flared up within him and without thinking he curled his arms around the warrior’s muscular frame.

Instantly, he was locked in a crushing embrace, his lips forced to part and his mouth peremptorily invaded. Erestor began to shake. Memories of the distant past swirled in his passion-mired mind. He tried to collect himself, tried to gather back the tattered shreds of his dignified reserve. But the shreds eluded his floundering grasp and he found himself melting further into the warrior’s embrace.

His lips were suddenly released but he had no time to wonder or protest for Glorfindel’s mouth traveled to his jaw and down his throat with deliberate thoroughness, kissing, sucking and nipping at the smooth pale skin.

He caught his breath as he felt himself lowered onto the table, Glorfindel insinuating himself with practiced ease between his legs.

“Glorfindel!” he gasped. “This – this is madness! We can’t—!”

The Elda silenced him anew with another assault on his already swollen lips. He felt the warrior’s hands on his tunic, swiftly unfastening the clasps, parting the garment, then making short work of the ties on his shirt to bare him to the waist. He tried to protest once more but then Glorfindel pressed hard against his groin and he was effectively hushed by the bolts of sensation produced by his own arousal.

Glorfindel broke the kiss and stared down at him. He espied the flaring lust in the cat-like eyes and smiled wickedly. “Still want me to stop, pen neth?” he murmured.

Erestor could only mutely shake his head. The reward for his compliance came in a series of caresses of such fervor that they left him breathless and bereft of all lucid thought. Glorfindel leaned over him, plying lips and tongue in detailed exploration of the younger counsellor’s torso. Erestor moaned and began to breath in ragged intervals.

He reached with trembling hands to touch the golden hair and run his fingers through the silken tresses. He could no longer think of anything beyond what the warrior was doing to him. His heart nearly stopped when he felt Glorfindel tug at the laces of his long breeches, his other hand moving to cup the telltale bulge on his groin.

Things may have gotten completely out of hand but for a most providential interruption. Voices in the hall outside penetrated the library doors and the two Elves’ passion-fevered senses. Both froze, their lust quelled in an instant by recognition of one of the voices. Elrond!

The Lord of Rivendell had paused outside the chamber to speak to someone. Lindir from the sound of it. Horrified, his two most trusted colleagues broke apart and hastily set about erasing the evidence of their illicit activity. Luck was with them as whatever Elrond had to discuss with the housemaster proved engrossing enough to keep him out of the library before the captain and the steward had finished their task.

When Elrond finally swept into the chamber he found the two seated at the table, apparently still studying the reports and maps laid out before them. He shook his head, amused and amazed at their diligence. They looked up as he came to the table.

“Come mellynen”—my friends—“enough of this,” he said. “You can finish discussing these reports tomorrow.”

He fully expected them to demur. He especially expected Erestor to press on with the work at hand. But to his surprise, both Elves glanced at each other, flushed, then averted their eyes, and finally rose to their feet almost simultaneously.

“Aye, you are right,” Glorfindel agreed. “These can wait.”

“We will see to it that ‘tis completed by tomorrow,” Erestor added.

Elrond could only stare in disbelief as his chief advisors exited the library rather hurriedly, parting ways in the corridor as soon as they could. And all the time, both avoiding looking at each other with assiduous care. Elrond wondered bewilderedly, did I miss something?

***********

Glossary:

coirë – Quenya for early spring, roughly February to March

To be continued…
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Greenleaf&Imladris 11-In the Silence of Our Hearts