GLORFINDEL LION-HEART
Genre: slash, humour, sap.
Rating: yellow/mild orange
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel (not the Balrog-slayer, though), Erestor/Legolas
Warnings: AU, and how! A wee bit of angst.
Beta: Miss Enismirdal, the mûmak multiplicator
Feedback: But most certainly yes!
Beautiful artwork by Nellas of Doriath!
Summary: Glorfindel wishes he had a lion-heart. And Erestor.
Author's notes: They only thing this story has in common with my "usual" AU are the customs of the Woodland Elves. Originally, this was supposed to be a stand-alone. Alas, it turned out to be a new series. Thanks for convincing me to write this series, it was a lot of fun!
CHAPTER 7
The years passed, and things in Imladris went back to normal. Even the most painful wounds heal if given enough time, and who would have more time than the immortal Elves?
Elladan and Elrohir, after years of blind rage and pain, had finally come to terms with the loss of their mother. They got married and, with their wives and children, happiness had returned into their lives. Even Lord Elrond could be heard laughing when he played with his grandchildren, and while everybody still mourned the Lady Celebrían's unhappy lot, life continued for the Elves in Imladris.
Glorfindel's shop was prospering and he had even been able to employ an apprentice, a gangly youth who was the eldest son of Melpomaen's sister. He enjoyed teaching the young Elf his craft, and it brought some diversion into his otherwise rather monotonous life.
Every evening, Glorfindel would carefully lock the door to his shop, and then walk down the road and across the square where Erestor's house was located. It was a small house, furnished in the same chaotic manner as the captain had lived. And contrary to popular belief, Erestor had possessed some books, most of them about warfare and history. No poetry, though, a fact that had not surprised Glorfindel in the least.
Glorfindel opened all windows to let in fresh air, then he dusted the shelves and cleaned everything. He made sure that every piece stayed in the place where Erestor had originally put it, and had one not known of the house-owner's fate, one could have thought that this place was still lived in.
From time to time, Glorfindel would sit down in the comfortable leather seat next to the cold fireplace and read one of Erestor's books. He was not interested in warfare, and he thought that his father had taught him enough about the history of the Eldar to last him for all eternity, but to sit there and hold one of Erestor's books helped him to keep the memory alive.
There were days when he wandered through the rooms of the house. He would open a drawer, look into a cupboard and rearrange a curtain. However, his was Erestor’s house, would always be, and he was a guest. Guests did not intrude the privacy of their host, and so Glorfindel never read any of the letters stacked on the desk. If he touched them, then it was only to remove the dust.
After a while, he would close the windows again and return to the chambers above his workshop. At the moment, he lived there alone, but there had been times when he had had company. Glorfindel had always the best intentions to make his relationships work, for life continued and Erestor was dead and gone, was he not? He could not mourn him for the next two ages and, eventually, he would find another love and soon enough, Erestor would be nothing but a bittersweet memory.
Needless to say, this did not work at all.
"I really like you a lot, Glorfindel," his last lover had told him while she packed her bags, "but I cannot live with you and a ghost. I mean this only in your best interests, but let go of the past. Sell that house."
He had nodded, knowing that she was perfectly right, but at the same time, he also knew that he could not change the way he felt. If Erestor had been right about Glorfindel having a lion-heart, then he would have been able to get over it. But as in all other things, Glorfindel was plain and simple, and once he took a liking to someone or something, he could not let go. He was loyal to the point of stupidity, and his father had often lamented his sheep brain.
One evening, when Glorfindel had just finished closing the windows, someone knocked on the door. How odd! Everyone in Imladris knew better than to disturb Glorfindel here, and everyone knew that Erestor was dead. Who might this visitor be? Maybe an old friend of Erestor who had not heard of his death yet?
There was only one way to find out, and so Glorfindel opened the door, though a little hesitantly. When he recognized his visitor, he felt as if somebody had punched him in the guts, and he took a step back.
"Well met, Glorfindel. I was told that you were here. May I come in?"
It took Glorfindel a moment to recover from his shock, then he remembered his manners and nodded.
"Legolas – what a surprise to see you here! Certainly, come in – if there is any Elf who has a right to be here, then it is you, I suppose."
Legolas, wrapped in a cloak and covered with the dust and grime of a long journey, gave Glorfindel a very odd glance, then entered. He threw his cloak over a chair next to the door. 'He has done this often before,' Glorfindel thought. 'This is much more his house than mine. Lady Celebrían should have given it to him, not to me.'
But he kept his thoughts to himself, and instead he offered Legolas a glass of wine from Erestor's stock.
"Thank you, Glorfindel, I could really do with some wine now," Legolas replied gratefully, then he looked around.
"Nothing has changed here. Everything is still in place. So you have been looking after Erestor's house all these years?"
Glorfindel shrugged while he uncorked the bottle.
"Somebody had to do it. Me or someone else, it would make no difference."
Legolas drank from the offered wine and closed his eyes a moment, enjoying the spicy taste. It brought memories back and, suddenly, the wine tasted sour. Legolas shuddered, then he put the glass back on the table.
"It would make a difference. Glorfindel, I do not wish to beat around the bush: I am here to take you with me to Mirkwood."
"Mirkwood? Me?"
Glorfindel dropped in one of the chairs and stared at Legolas. Had the warrior lost his mind?
"Yes, you. I know that my father would not approve of my request, and he probably had a fit after discovering my departure, but I do need your help, Glorfindel."
Glorfindel did not understand anything. Was Legolas playing a prank on him? But no, the other Elf looked far too serious for a joke, and the clear blue eyes had a haunted expression.
"If there is anything I can help you with, I will certainly do, but I cannot see how I could be of any use to you."
Legolas rubbed his eyes; he was tired.
"There is something that needs to be done in Erestor's memory, and I could not think of anyone more worthy for this task than you. I have to warn you, though, that you would very likely have to face my father's wrath."
Glorfindel folded his hands on the table, and thought about Legolas' words. What was it that Legolas expected of him? Participation in some ceremony or ritual? Was there a custom among the Mirkwood Elves upon the death of a kin that he was not aware of?
"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
"Come with me to Mirkwood, Glorfindel. You will learn everything there. It would mean a lot to me, and I am sure that it would have also meant a lot to Erestor."
This tipped the scale for Glorfindel. If there was anything he could do for Erestor, even post-mortem, he would.
"Give me two days to sort out my business and pack for the travel, and I shall come with you," Glorfindel replied, which earned him Legolas' grateful smile.
"Thank you, Glorfindel. I knew I could count on you."
Glorfindel stood up, and looked around.
Erestor's chair.
Erestor's table.
Erestor's books.
Erestor's bow above the fire.
Yes, it was time to go, and time to let go.
"I am ready," he said.
* * *
TBC