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'A Place of Future Dreams'
Part Three
The thunder
had faded to a distant rumble with occasional shimmers of light
across the sky to the east, but the wind had increased and the rain
was relentless. Glorfindel stood in the entrance watching tree
boughs slash air, their shapes stark against the night dark sky.
What could be seen of the landscape was uniformly wet, cold and
miserable.
Behind him the fire burnt bright and steady, bathing everything in a
golden glow. Elrohir still slept, his head in Erestor’s lap. More
sheep had found their way inside and their body heat helped draw the
ice from the air. Central to this unlikely scene was Erestor,
sitting straight and still, his hair clinging wetly about his
shoulders. He was gazing into the flames, apparently lost in
thought.
Glorfindel came back to crouch beside the fire, holding his hands
out to it for warmth. “Anything else I can do? Fire’s built up;
sheep seem to be keeping their distance…” He gestured towards
Elrohir. “He’s still asleep?”
“Oh, yes… yes he is.” Erestor seemed to come back from a far place,
starting and looking around vaguely when Glorfindel spoke to him. “I
hope he stays like that till help comes. It shouldn’t take Gildor
long to get back to the House. In fact he should already be there.
He has a wonderful sense of direction.”
“Hmph.”
The snort received no response. After a minute the warrior’s eyes
returned to Elrohir. “Is he still shivering?”
“A bit. He’s chilled through - his clothes were drenched.”
“He’s not the only one who got soaked,” Glorfindel pointed out.
“Nothing I can do about wet clothing, but I can dry your hair off a
little if you’d like?”
Erestor put a hand to his head and grimaced. “It feels like I dipped
it in a bucket of water,” he acknowledged. “And it’s ice cold.”
Glorfindel went to retrieve his cloak which he had left hanging from
a nail in the roof beam above the entrance. “You need to get up and
walk around a little. It’ll warm you up. Elrohir will be all right
next to the fire. We’re here to watch him.””
“I don’t like the idea of him lying with his head on the ground,”
the seneschal admitted softly. “I know he probably won’t wake to
notice it, but it feels… wrong.”
The reborn Elf thought a moment, then patted at his tunic,
considering. “This isn’t too wet. If I take it off and fold it into
a pillow of sorts, would that be all right?
Erestor shot him a startled look. “You can’t take your tunic off.
You’ll freeze.”
Glorfindel grinned briefly, but the humour failed to touch his eyes.
“I’m wearing an undershirt. Besides, this is not cold, Erestor. I
have experienced ‘cold’, as has Gildor. This is merely unpleasant.”
The seneschal was momentarily puzzled, then his face cleared. “You
both crossed the Ice,” he remembered. “Yes, I suppose this can’t
compare.”
“Not really, no.” Glorfindel tugged damp cloth up and over his head,
then rolled the tunic deftly and placed it a short distance from
Erestor. “Right, let’s move him. Just slide him off your lap… that’s
right…”
Elrohir murmured softly as they eased him to lie with his head
cushioned by the improvised pillow but he failed to wake. His
breathing seemed normal; he appeared exhausted, not unconscious. The
lump on his head was more pronounced but, as best Erestor could
tell, there was no other damage. However, neither he nor Glorfindel
had the healer’s gift for sensing injury by touch, so a proper
examination would have to wait till later.
Finally free to move, Erestor rose stiffly, stretching and yawning
expansively.
“It’s been a long day?” Glorfindel agreed sympathetically.
“Long enough. First the fire and now this. My legs feel almost numb
from kneeling like that.”
“Do you have any idea what happened back at the House?” Glorfindel
moved up behind him as he spoke, the cloak slung over his arm. He
hooked Erestor’s hair back into a single wet, black fall and
squeezed gently, trying to remove excess water. “What did Elladan
tell you? I only heard the end.”
“They wanted to surprise their parents when they arrived home. A
joint effort - Arwen found the fireworks, Elladan brought them back
up to the House, and Elrohir was charged with storing them safely.
He glanced up at Glorfindel over his shoulder. “Something evidently
went wrong.”
Amber-gold eyes shimmered in the soft light. Glorfindel’s breath
caught; they had never been this close before. Fair, very clear skin
with a dusting of freckles across nose and cheekbones. Thick, dark
lashes, a sweet, well-defined mouth, that dimple... Hastily he
turned Erestor back to face the fire and wrapped the cloak loosely
about the tangled curls.
“Horribly wrong, yes. He’s probably lucky to be alive,” he said,
belatedly resuming the conversation. “Right. Let’s see what I can do
here.” Placing his hands firmly on Erestor's head, he began to rub
vigorously. ‘Skull like a kitten,’ he thought distractedly. ‘Fine
boned, delicate.’ He would have to be careful not to be too rough…
“When you’re finished, I’ll do the same for you,” Erestor said,
interrupting his thoughts. The words came unsteadily as his head
jerked under the warrior’s ministrations.
Glorfindel pulled himself together and redoubled his efforts. “Thank
you. This shouldn’t take too long.”
~*~*~*~*~
“Does it look as bad as it feels?” Erestor asked ruefully. Even
without a mirror, he could see his hair presented an unruly frazzle.
Not for the first time, he wished it was straight.
Glorfindel chuckled. “I like it. I wouldn’t mind having curls.”
Erestor considered the idea and shook his head. “I can’t picture it.
Yours is nice and wavy, but actual curls – somehow I think not. “
Currently the hair for which Glorfindel was named hung to his hips
in a darkened, straggling mane. Erestor took the cloak and stood,
waiting, until Glorfindel eventually followed his thoughts. “Would
it be easier if I sat?” he asked. “Not that you’re short or
anything, but…”
“… but you are over-tall,” Erestor agreed in satisfied tones. “Yes,
that would be easier. I always thought the Elves of Gondolin were
small-built and slender – or so I heard as a child. Stories,
probably,” he added with a hasty glance up at his tall,
broad-shouldered companion.
Grinning, the Elf from Gondolin tried unsuccessfully to look
offended before bending to check on Elrohir, who lay curled on his
side with his cheek resting on one hand. His breathing was regular
and he was snoring softly. Apparently satisfied, Glorfindel moved
round the fire to sit with his back to the entrance. “Many of us
were tall,” he informed Erestor. “My friend Ecthelion was half a
head again taller than I. Though I suppose King Turgon was – quite
short. All right if I sit here?” he added.
The dark head nodded briefly. “Yes, that’s fine. So a children’s
tale then, short, willowy Elves in Gondolin?” He came to kneel up
behind Glorfindel as he spoke and started carefully gathering the
mass of golden hair back over his shoulders. It twined round his
fingers, clinging like spiderweb. “It’s not really all that wet,” he
said judiciously. “I’ll just give it a quick rub. There’s a lot of
it but it’s very fine – probably why it seems to dry faster than
mine.”
He could hear his voice going on and on… He knew he was making a
fool of himself but seemed unable to stop. Taking a breath, he set
to rubbing. He wondered distantly if the reborn Elf would also, like
him, find the sensation somehow – exciting. Almost arousing. He had
never been this close to Glorfindel before, had never realised how
big the warrior was, how – solid. Erestor compressed his lips and
tried to focus on the task at hand.
“You’ve known Gildor a long time, haven’t you?” Glorfindel asked
softly, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
Erestor's hands slowed. “Since Lindon,” he confirmed. “He used to
visit there more often than he does here. I got to know him well.
Afterwards – after the War, I mean – everyone I knew was either
going back over the Sea or coming here. The person I had imagined I
would spend my life with - died. I felt very lost. Then Gildor
invited me to travel with his people for a time.” He paused, adding
with a half laugh. “That ‘time’ turned into night on six hundred
years.”
“And then you came to Imladris?”
Erestor nodded, then realised Glorfindel couldn’t see him. “My
company passed through here several times a year. And I’ve known
Elrond for ages – from Balar days. Each time he’d ask if I was ready
yet to settle down. Finally I was.”
Glorfindel nodded. “Mourning takes its own time. And so Gildor keeps
visiting you now you’ve living here? That’s – a good friend.”
Erestor began carefully trying to separate the more obvious knots
his attempts had created. “Gildor visits Elrond as he always has, to
report. We just – pass the time when he happens to be here. That’s
all.”
“If you say so,” Glorfindel responded dryly. “He spends far more
time with you than he ever does with Elrond. He follows you around
like a…”
“What absolute nonsense,” Erestor snapped. He felt his cheeks
flaming and was glad the reborn Elf had his back to him. “I have no
idea where your dislike for him comes from. You barely know him,
but…”
“Not dislike, exactly, no,” Glorfindel contradicted him, unruffled.
“And hardly the first time we’ve met, either. I remember him from
Tirion. He hasn’t changed much.”
His tone suggested that this was not necessarily a good thing.
“You knew one another in Tirion?” Erestor asked in amazement.
“Neither of you has ever said anything…”
Glorfindel was watching two large and elderly-looking sheep jostle
one another for a place against the wall. “We weren’t well
acquainted,” he said after a moment by way of explanation. “We moved
in different circles.”
“And yet you don’t like him?” Erestor frowned. “Isn’t that a little
– biased?”
“Let’s just say I knew him by reputation. And I knew at least one
young girl who was a victim of his penchant for casual flirtations.”
“That,” Erestor pointed out severely, “Was thousands of years ago.
People change…”
“Not that I’ve noticed. What else was he doing with you but
flirting?”
“Glorfindel that is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
Erestor said crossly, laying aside the cloak. “He does no such
thing. We’re old friends, he always talks to me like that. Your
imagination is a wondrous thing…”
“You protest too much,” Glorfindel retorted coolly over his
shoulder. Turning, his eyes serious, he studied the dark-haired Elf.
Then, almost casually, he slung an arm around the seneschal’s waist
and pulled him into his lap. Placing a firm hand under Erestor's
chin, he tipped his face upwards and kissed him.
It was neither a timid nor a tentative sort of kiss. There was a
brush of lips, then the warrior drew back, his eyes on Erestor's
mouth. As the seneschal drew breath to speak, Glorfindel bent and
claimed him, his tongue passing slickly along the inner side of a
full lower lip before delving deep within. Arms tightening, he slid
a hand behind the dark head, cupping it and keeping it steady while
his tongue tasted and savoured, sliding warmly against Erestor's
own, teasing, pressing, finally engaging.
Erestor placed a hand against his chest and pushed – but not very
hard. For a minute he kept absolutely still, not believing what was
happening, and then warmth slowly crept over him, a sweet tingling
sensation the like of which he had not felt for the longest time.
Slowly his hand moved seemingly of its own volition; from chest to
shoulder, from shoulder beneath damp hair to the back of
Glorfindel’s neck. Closing his eyes he returned the kiss, slowly at
first, and then with increasing fervour.
The moment ended when a restless sheep wandered over just as
Glorfindel slid a warm hand under Erestor's still-damp tunic. The
first cautious touch coincided with an exploratory nibble to the
seneschal’s calf, causing him to jerk away with a startled yelp.
Glorfindel snatched his hand back as though stung. Spotting the
cause of the problem, he leapt to his feet, uttering a curse Erestor
made a mental note to ask him to repeat later. Slowly.
Having fully intimidated the renegade sheep into rejoining the flock
huddled on the opposite side of the shelter, Glorfindel returned and
sank back down beside Erestor, who was still chuckling at his fury.
He looked an invitation, and the seneschal moved smiling back into
his embrace, reclining across his lap with his head against
Glorfindel’s shoulder much as he had been sitting earlier. He
reached up to play with a lock of golden hair, watching the warrior
silently, amber eyes solemn beneath dark lashes.
“You taste like summer,” Glorfindel said quietly after a while, his
voice no louder than the crackle of the fire, the patter of the
rain. “I have wanted to kiss you for the longest time…”
He traced a finger across Erestor's cheekbone and up to follow the
line of his eyebrow. A touch to the tip of his nose evinced a small
smile, but still no words. Glorfindel finally shook his shoulder
lightly. “Say something. Come, you’re making me nervous.”
“For once in my life, I think I’m too flabbergasted to know what to
say,” Erestor admitted on a gust of laughter. “Though I suppose we
can hardly just sit here in silence. Perhaps you need to kiss me
again while I’m trying to think of something to talk about?” The
smile faded and his eyes searched Glorfindel’s face, serious. “Kiss
me again. Please?”
~*~*~*~*~
The fire was starting to burn low. Erestor made careful work of
positioning the last two pieces of wood while Glorfindel checked on
Elrohir, making sure he was breathing evenly and that he was warm.
The slide of muscle beneath the blonde Elf’s thin cotton undershirt
caught Erestor's eye, and he smiled spontaneously. Glorfindel chose
that moment to look in his direction and his lips curved in reply.
“It’s just somehow – right – isn’t it?” the warrior asked. “The
setting? Small, intimate, the fire holds back the dark, the light
softens everything, makes the banal beautiful. Even the sheep…” He
grinned, straightening up. “Even the sheep add ambiance.”
He returned to sit behind Erestor, watching him nudge and adjust the
wood, add twigs to the flames. "You do that well," he remarked,
running a finger lightly down the seneschal’s back as he spoke.
Erestor glanced over his shoulder at him, smiled. "Years of
practice."
Finished, he brushed his hands off and shuffled back to lean against
Glorfindel. "I can't light a fire the way Gildor does," he
explained. "He has the Gift, he can hold his hand over wood and warm
it. But once it's lit, I can keep it going well enough. You learn
that in the Companies. Fire is important; it holds back the
creatures that walk in the dark."
Glorfindel stroked the unruly dark curls aside and pressed a soft
kiss to Erestor's neck. "I remember that from the road to Gondolin,"
he said. "To begin with we lit fires every night and sat close
around them. Then when we reached the mountains we received the
order that there were to be no more fires, nothing to give away our
position. The nights were... very dark. We doubled the watch,
although no one wanted to admit it was because there were no fires.
We crossed the Ice without any such aids after all, we remembered
times before there were either sun or moon. Darkness should not have
given us pause."
Erestor rested his head back against the reborn Elf's broad shoulder
and listened to the husky voice reminiscing close beside his ear.
Outside the wind still raged and the rain came in occasional drifts
that sounded almost like handfuls of small stones striking the
ground. Inside there was a tiny, self-contained world the like of
which he had not shared for a very long time. He turned his head and
kissed Glorfindel, aiming for his cheek and finding his jawline
instead. He was hugged in return.
"I was born in Nargothrond," he said, unsure if he had ever
mentioned this before. "All of that was before my time, another
world, but I heard of it from my family. My parents were amongst
those who followed Fingolfin across to Middle-earth."
Glorfindel nodded. "Long way from Nargothrond to being a member of
one of the wandering companies," he ventured, approaching the main
question in his mind from a tangent.
Erestor laughed briefly and nodded. "Perhaps, yes. I spent time with
one of the early companies after - after Nargothrond fell. Those few
of us who survived did the best we could. I was lucky, they took me
in for a while, long enough for me to travel with them to the coast
to join Cirdan's people. From there to Balar, from Balar to Lindon."
"And from Lindon back into the wild."
Erestor nodded and settled his head against Glorfindel's, their
cheeks touching. One of the sheep wandered too close to the fire and
they made shooing noises before turning to exchange smiles.
"And from that to Imladris," the seneschal finished more cheerfully.
"A checkered life, but most of us born in the First Age can claim
the same. Some more than others," he added after a moment's thought.
The circuitous route worked less well than the Elf from Gondolin had
hoped. He decided on the direct approach. "You and Gildor...?"
Erestor pulled away from him and turned to sit so that they faced
one another. "You keep implying something there," he said, frowning.
"In fact there is nothing to imply. Gildor gave me a place to heal
and his friendship. Nothing more. I know he has a reputation for
casual involvements, but I assure you I was not one such."
Glorfindel shook his head, his hands closing lightly over the
seneschal's upper arms. "I never meant to imply that," he said
quietly, his eyes meeting Erestor's with sincerity. "I just picked
up an - atmosphere - between you and wanted to make sure I wasn't
intruding on something with... well... this."
"This?" Erestor quirked an eyebrow, managing to keep a serious
expression on his face. "And 'this' would be...?"
Silence between them, punctuated by a shoal of rain.
"I don't know," Glorfindel finally admitted. "A beginning of some
kind? For us both?"
Erestor looked down, his stillness a tangible thing. When he looked
up his face was grave and vulnerable in the half light. "There has
to be a new thing eventually, doesn't there?" he asked uncertainly.
"Eventually. Not an end to memories or anything, just... something
new?"
Somewhere not far away, horses could be heard and sounds that might
belong to a cart. Gildor’s impeccable timing, Glorfindel thought.
Ignoring them, he drew Erestor against him and held him gently.
"Something new," he agreed, a hand to the seneschal’s cheek. “Not an
end, just... different memories to add to the ones we bring with us
from our past? Nothing done in a rush, either. Just an agreement to
see where the road will lead us. Will that answer for you?"
Erestor had plainly heard the horses, too. His eyes flickered to the
entrance, then returned to study Glorfindel’s face. Finally he
nodded. "That answers, yes." A smile tugged at his lips. "No
commitment - what happens, happen. I like that. Do you think we have
time to seal it with a kiss before they arrive?"
Something new, somewhere beyond loss and sorrow. A place of hope and
future dreams. Taking Erestor's face between his hands, Glorfindel
smiled down into his eyes. "Sounds like an excellent idea to me.”
~*~*~*~*~
Finis
~*~*~*~*~
~*~
Caedion - son of the
land
Níngabel - leaping waters
Cyllon - bearer
Berianir - protecting
Onnenad - born again
~*~
Betas: Ilye_elf and
Red Lasbelin
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