Rating: slash (ie: Two male Elves in some form of love.) Glorfindel / Erestor, NC-17 for explicit content, which may or may not be reasonably well written.
Warnings: Some (very little) harsh language.
Author’s note:
Part 4 of the ‘Gift’ series. Apologies to Lord Anand, who once complimented me on refraining from ‘below the belt misdemeanors.’ Sorry love, one can’t behave ALL the time.
Special thanks to Nic for the beautiful artwork of Erestor.
The Erestor and Glorfindel in this story are based on the version presented in EOAS.
Lord of the Rings and all its characters are owned by Tolkien's estate. The story itself and all original characters are owned by the author. No copyright infringment intended.
Erestor glanced up from his paperwork, hearing a familiar tread in the hall beyond his office. It was slow and heavy, pausing occasionally, then resuming. It was Glorfindel, he knew. He should by all rights be bedridden, but the old warrior refused to stay put. He would remain in bed long enough to convince his attendants, or his ‘jailors’ as he put it, that he was resting. Then the first chance he got, he was out of bed and gone.
Erestor sighed, then capped his ink bottle. Perhaps where attendants failed, he could succeed. He closed his books, then left his office. He stepped into the hall, and stopped. Glorfindel was staring dejectedly at yet another flight of stairs. Erestor came to his side and slid an arm around him.
“You really should be resting,” Erestor said gently.
“I know, darling, really I should. I just hate being put away like an old sword.”
“You are not ‘put away.’”
“Close enough to it. I lay alone all day in pain, while all go mad trying to pack.”
Erestor stroked the long white hair. “Then I shall take you to the baths. You can soak in warm water, and I will make certain you do not drown.”
A flicker seemed to cross his face; Glorfindel did not like to think about drowning. There were many things he did not like to think about, and Erestor cursed himself for making such a thoughtless joke. Gently he began leading him to the baths.
Erestor had never thought much about Glorfindel, never really considered his past, or where he had been, and what he had done. Even after Glorfindel’s admission of love on the Plains of Rohan, Erestor found no need to consider his lover’s background. He knew him well enough.
Days after they had returned from Gondor, he had stumbled across an old book in the library. It was resting on top of a shelf, dust covered and forgotten; a book of battles past. He had meant to clean it and pack it away for the journey to the Havens, but instead he set it aside to read. It was a dry tome, not terribly well-written, but interesting from a historical point of view. It seemed to be by one who had been in the battles, had written of them from a personal viewpoint, and had captured weary, bedraggled soldiers with pen and paint. Erestor had been idly leafing through it, when he came across an illumination the had stopped him cold.
It was Glorfindel, as he had been many, many years ago. He was young and fair and strong, and his hair had been the colour of gold. Not the pale gold so often seen, or the darkish shade that was well nigh brown, but gold. Gleaming, heavy braided tresses that would make wigmakers mad with envy. The illumination showed him and his friend, Ecthelion, seated upon a shattered fountain, the ruins of a city behind them.
Erestor gazed long at the illumination, and the hair the colour of Dwarven gold. Certainly he knew the literal translation of Glorfindel’s name mean ‘Golden Braids,’ but he had thought little about it. Many Elven mothers had given their children such names, only to have her wee pixie grow up with hair anywhere from white to black. He began reading the dry tome a little more carefully, and learned something he had not known. It had not turned white until after the war; the one where he had fought the Balrog, and lost his friend Ecthelion.
Erestor read the chapter about Glorfindel over and over, wondering why when Glorfindel spoke of the battle, he actually mentioned little of it. The tale he had been wearying one and all with for years was actually a small part of all that had gone on. The author however had spoken freely of the bloodshed, the death, the destruction, making it plain this had been no frolic for honor and glory.
After he finished the book, it became hard for Erestor to tease his old nemesis, something that had not gone unnoticed by Glorfindel. He had become almost shy around Erestor, who wondered how he could have put off so much of Glorfindel’s behavior to mere arrogance. From what was written in the book, Glorfindel had almost become the first Elf in all Elven History to lose his mind.
Erestor was thinking upon this when they reached the baths. Glorfindel undressed, then looked down wearily at the three steps leading into the warm, inviting water. Steps were not his favorite thing right now. He finally managed to get down them, sinking gratefully up to his neck in the scented water. He gave Erestor a mischievous look.
“Coming in?”
Erestor began removing his clothes, draping them over a chair before getting into the large tiled bath. He moved over to Glorfindel, slipping his arms around him and kissing him. Glorfindel put his good arm around Erestor and lightly bit his jaw. “I was rather beginning to think you didn’t like me anymore.”
Erestor stared at him in surprise. “After all the grief I went through, believing you to be warming some orc’s bowels?”
“Lovely image, darling.”
“How could you think I had ceased to love you?”
“Well it has been days since last you called me a hackneyed cretin whose tales are fit only to amuse the hindquarters of a senile mule.”
Erestor smiled. “In some couples, this would be a good thing.”
“Well it worries me when you become quiet. It makes we wonder how my health is.”
“Your health, Lord Glorfindel, is far less questionable than your tales.”
Glorfindel laughed. “Now there is my dear, dull Erestor! I have missed you.” He bit lightly at his jaw, then kissed him gently, stroking his fingers through the long black hair.
“I thought we came here to ease your aches,” said Erestor.
“I thought that was what we were doing.”
“Not in the bath!”
Glorfindel sighed. “You are eventually going to let me have my wicked way with you, aren’t you?”
“Just as soon as I am certain it will not result in you falling to bits.”
“Well I am a few thousand years old, darling, one cannot make promises.”
Erestor laughed. “Then there is only one thing to do. You must move into my chambers. There you will not be alone.”
Glorfindel kissed his throat, his large hands moving slowly down Erestor’s long back. “I thought you wanted me to rest.”
“You are truly reprehensible, you know this.”
“Is that not what you like about me?”
“Who said I liked you? True, I feel an occasional pang of sympathy…”
“Sympathy?! Oh now you cut me to the quick! Call Lord Elrond, I beg thee, I have taken a mortal wound!”
Erestor laughed again, reaching up to slide his hand through Glorfindel’s long hair. “Perhaps I can mend it for you.” He gently kissed him, his hands tracing the sinew beneath the warm fair skin of his neck. “I do love you, no matter how decrepit you may be.”
“Decrepit, he says, fine thing for a mere shuffler of papers to call a warrior.”
Erestor kissed him again. “Cretin.”
“Crow.”
“Illegitimate orc-spawn.”
“That is not true, my father was married to that orc.”
Erestor laughed. “I shall be certain to put the question to your father when next we meet him.”
Glorfindel laughed. “I am certain he will be very happy to confirm my mother was an orc, though he may deny being my father.”
“Wise man. Are you in pain?”
“Not terribly so, I am all right.”
Erestor slid his hand down Glorfindel’s sword arm, tracing his fingers lightly over the scars. “Let us go to my chambers, then.”
***---***
Glorfindel collapsed onto Erestor’s large bed, sighing heavily. As Erestor locked the door and began to undress, Glorfindel noticed the large book resting near the bed and picked it up. He opened it, then asked; “Where did you find this?”
Erestor looked at the book Glorfindel held. “In the library, forgotten upon a shelf. Very interesting, though rather dry. It has some lovely illuminations, though.”
“You think so? Ah, well thank you, I was rather pleased with them myself.”
Erestor paused in the removing of his tunic. “You drew them?”
“Darling I wrote the whole book. It is a diary of sorts. Look, there is Ecthelion inside a tavern we discovered. Well, it did not much resemble a tavern when we found it, but it did have some very good beer. Here are the soldiers, just after a skirmish. Miserable-looking lot.”
Erestor slid into bed beside Glorfindel. “I did not know you had written this.”
“I am literate, you know.”
“Yes, I have seen you reading Elfling primers when Elrohir and Elladan were small, and they were telling you what the big words were.”
“You thought it dry?”
“Well… perhaps somewhat. But a fascinating read, nonetheless. I deemed it to have been written by a soldier, but not you. Why did you not sign your name to it?”
“I did not see the need, at the time. It went where I went, all knew to whom it belonged. See here, on the cover? That deep cut into the leather and wood? An orcish arrow. And here, this slice along the edge. A bored and weary war hound, chewing to pass the time.” Glorfindel flipped through the stained and aged pages. “Darling, is this what has been troubling you?”
Erestor sat in silence, uncertain of what to say. He heard Glorfindel place the large book on the floor, then felt his fingers trail through his long hair. At last Erestor spoke.
“I have never been in battle. I did not realize how it changed one. You went through more than I have the ability to imagine, and judged you arrogant. I am deeply sorry.”
“Darling I am arrogant. I earned it.”
Erestor turned to look at Glorfindel. “I judged you wrongly. It makes me wonder what other follies I have committed.”
“Probably dozens. Does it matter? We do the best we can with what we know. You had no reason to believe me otherwise, and I certainly feel no need to correct every Elf or Man or Hobbit who thinks me a fool. I am as I am, as are you. We learn and we go on.”
Erestor smiled at him. “You are far wiser than you let on.”
“Well do not let Elrond know, he will make me a diplomat, and I find beheading annoying Ambassadors from other realms is not conducive to peace.”
Erestor laughed. “Perhaps not, but I would imagine it to be terribly pleasing!”
“And speaking of pleasing…” Glorfindel pulled Erestor down beside him. He kissed him firmly, tasting him. He slid one hand down Erestor’s side, feeling the curve of bone and flesh, the liquid movement of muscle. He smelled distantly of the soap from the bathing chamber, a warm, nameless scent.
Erestor’s touch was more tentative, almost as though he did not know where to put his hands. They finally came to rest upon Glorfindel’s broad shoulders, tracing the lines of the shoulder blades. Then as Glorfindel broke off the kiss, Erestor said; “This is very odd.”
“What? My shoulders?”
“No, you and I, in this bed.”
“Would you prefer the floor?”
“No! I meant… I never thought… our friendship would lead to this.”
Glorfindel gently trailed his fingers over Erestor’s black hair. “Would you rather it did not?”
“No, of course not. I want to be with you.” Erestor ran his hand over Glorfindel’s hard shoulder, then smiled. “Besides, I want to see if all those little side notes Ecthelion put in the back of you diary about your sexual prowess are true.”
Glorfindel dove for the book and opened it. “Bastard!” he yelled. Erestor laughed.
“You did not know of those notes?” asked Erestor.
“No I did not. Little cretin. With drawings no less.” He flipped the book closed, then rolled towards Erestor, pulling him close.
“So you did make love with him.” said Erestor.
“Well, yes. I loved him.” He kissed Erestor softly. “Almost as much as I love you.”
Erestor smiled. “As I love you.”
He closed his eyes, feeling Glorfindel move closer. His body was large, and Erestor found himself almost intimidated by the size and weight of him. Male lovers had been few and far between for him, but none in his past had been so powerfully built. The hands that had grappled with demons and orcs slid lightly over his flesh, leaving cooling trails in their wake. They moved over his shoulders, down his arms, to his waist, then pulled him tightly against the broad chest. He heard the blond Elf growl quietly as he kissed him.
Erestor gasped quietly as Glorfindel moved to bite at his throat. The nip was a little more aggressive than he had been prepared for, and he flinched. He pulled back slightly, and Glorfindel raised his head to look at his lover. Erestor stared in the blue eyes, which seemed fogged and distant, an almost animal light within their depths. He tensed slightly, and thought; ‘This is him. This is the Glorfindel in those tales. Behold the warrior behind the clown.’
Glorfindel kissed him again, more gently this time, pulling Erestor close once more. He turned his head to trail his tongue over Erestor’s throat, teeth pausing briefly to softly scrape over the pulsing flesh. He nipped, softly, then kissed the flowing line where shoulder met throat. He seemed determined to taste every part of Erestor, his tongue now following the bow and curve of his collarbone.
He moved over Erestor, slowly, his movements almost predatory. Rising up, he braced himself on all fours, his long white hair trailing over his lover’s prone body. Erestor reached out to brush it aside, the heavy silk sliding over his skin in an almost reptilian manner, caressing him as it moved. He closed his eyes, feeling hot breath, then a soft kiss over his flat stomach. Then a second kiss, lower, and the warm touch of a tongue. It slowly drew a line down his belly from his navel, nearly reaching his penis, then stopped. He felt the breath once more, then the lips gently kissed the sensitive line where thigh met torso. Erestor drew the thigh up, and felt the sliding soft hair fall between his legs.
Glorfindel moved farther down, his large hand wrapping around the outer thigh, his tongue running over the inside. He nibbled, then kissed. He felt Erestor’s hand stroke his hair, running the fluid white between his fingers. Glorfindel kissed his hand, then suddenly swallowed down as much of Erestor’s penis as he could manage.
Erestor’s left hand slammed down onto the sheet, clenching it tightly as his body arched upwards. He heard himself draw a ragged breath, the room suddenly seeming too warm and close. He closed his eyes and swallowed, feeling the sweat form upon his body as he draped his long leg across Glorfindel’s strong shoulders. The hand upon his thigh squeezed tightly, then released to slide down over his hip, briefly caressing it before making its way between his thighs. The fingertips explored him oh so lightly, scarcely to be felt, until one abruptly entered him.
Erestor heard the sheet rip, but thought little of it at the moment. It came away in strips, tangling around his flexed wrist. He panted, though he was uncertain with passion or fear. Erestor’s taste in male Elves had always tended to the small, almost delicate ones. “Ornamental,” Estel had called a lover of his years ago, and Erestor supposed the description apt. But being taken by one of the ‘ornamental’ stature was far less intimidating than gazing down at Glorfindel’s wide shoulders with the scars of a Balrog’s whip across them.
He drew breath as he felt both lips and fingers leave him, and then his lover was once more braced above him, looking down with those animal eyes. He was tempted to plead for his life, but said nothing as Glorfindel settled over him.
He kissed Erestor gently, his hands moving beneath him, holding him firmly. Erestor tried to reach up to embrace him, but his left hand was tangled in something. He rested his free hand upon Glorfindel’s back, drawing his thighs up to hold him. He was fascinated by the way his lover’s muscles moved as he lowered his head, shifting himself, then the tension of sinew and muscle as he penetrated.
The rest of the sheet gave way, coming loose in thin scraps. Erestor embraced Glorfindel tightly, hearing himself make an odd, hoarse cry somewhere between pain and passion. He bit into flesh, tasting salt, then turned his head to meet Glorfindel’s lips. He felt the low rumbling growl from his lover rather than heard it, and relaxed into the embrace. He sank into the soft depths of the bed, digging his fingers into muscle and bone as he clutched Glorfindel’s shoulders. Sweat glued his stringing black hair to his face, giving his fair skin a heated sheen, running tear-like down his cheeks. His nails cut fine scrapes over the aged scars as his passion rose, and he was shocked to actually hear himself scream. He kissed Glorfindel hard, opening his mouth to draw as much of his lover into himself as he could.
The brief touch of fear he had felt earlier returned when Glorfindel suddenly rose up, bracing himself on his arms. His white hair coursed down, spilling onto Erestor’s bare chest, and he thrust into him with such power that the entire bed lurched. He was golden in the failing light of day, gleaming like a statue in the rain. He thrust again, throwing his head back, his long hair flying as if wind-blown onto his back. For a moment all froze as he tensed over his lover’s body, eyes closed, lips parted as he panted like a wild thing. Then he cried out, and slowly sank down upon him once more, spent.
***---***
Twilight faded silently away. The two lovers lay tangled together, reluctant to part. Erestor finally gently pushed him away, unable to breathe beneath Glorfindel’s weight. Glorfindel raised himself with his left hand as he rolled off of Erestor, keeping his right arm folded against his breast. Erestor moved close, resting his head upon Glorfindel’s chest, smiling as he felt an arm gently wrap around him.
“I fear your stay in my chambers has so far not proved terribly restful.”
Glorfindel grinned, still trying to regain control over his breathing. “Not as yet, but I shall certainly sleep this night.” He opened his blue eyes and looked towards Erestor, smiling. He leaned forward to kiss his brow, then said; “Be a love, darling and call Lord Elrond, I just now re-broke my arm.”
Erestor sat up. “You did not.”
“Ah, yes, believe me, I did.”
Erestor got out of the large bed. He lit several candles, then drew the covers over Glorfindel. Not bothering to dress, he hauled his immense blue cloak about himself and departed quickly. Glorfindel closed his eyes and sighed, then grinned.
“I really do have to tell him about that damn cloak some day.”
* * *
The End
(c) Magic Rat 2003