Set in the Glorfindel Lion-heart alternative universe
Dramatis personae: Erestor/Glorfindel, Thranduil, Sloe
Rating: depending on chapter - green to orange
Beta: Miss Zimraphel. Special thanks to Feronil for the notes. Get well soon, Miss Eni!
Warnings: None. Well - naked Elves in a pool.
Summary: It would not be Yule without a decent argument.
Author's note: Have fun, and a merry, peaceful Yule time to all of you. And if you feel like being generous: Doctors without Borders always need donations. Thank you!
YULETIDE TALES, DAY 3:
Glorfindel Lion-heart:
3/4 - "The fierce bow-maker"
Getting up on Yule morning was a lengthy, complicated and altogether unpleasant procedure. First Glorfindel had to peel free of several layers of furs and blankets, then he had to roll Erestor to the side. The warrior was a dead weight on his body, and as he was still fast asleep, very difficult to manoeuvre.
Being free of furs, blankets and Erestor, Glorfindel found himself exposed to the very chilly air of their bedchamber. He shivered, and hurried to cross the room and stoke the embers in the fireplace to a warming fire.
At first, Glorfindel had been puzzled why the Elves of Mirkwood covered the ground of their homes with sand rather than stone. But he soon learned to appreciate the comfort of walking on the soft sand, which kept the warmth much better than cold stone. Not to talk about the exotic experience of making love in the sand. It was a pleasure one had to pay dearly for, though, as sand had the unpleasant habit of taking up residence in most unsuitable places.
Alas, Erestor was worth the occasional itch.
And now, his first Yule in Mirkwood! While he rekindled the fire, Glorfindel thought about the turbulent months that lay behind him. Getting to know his new home and the Elves dwelling there was like discovering a new world. So many new customs, so much to learn! And now he could not wait to see how Yule would be celebrated here. He had heard a lot about the legendary feasts in Mirkwood and King Thranduil's talents as a host. By now he knew the ruler of the Woodland Elves well enough to expect something truly extraordinary.
Over these musings, the fire had rekindled and was now radiating warmth into the chilly room. Glorfindel watched the dancing flames for a short moment, then he stood up and began to dress. He went back to the bed to check on Erestor, and found his lover still deep asleep. Glorfindel decided to let him rest a little longer, as the Yule feast would proceed well into the next morning and be very exhausting, and headed for the pool alone.
Yule was in the air. Glorfindel felt like whistling. He exchanged friendly words with every Elf he met on his way, and there was decidedly a spring in his step. To start a day in Erestor's arms was wonderful enough, but to continue it with a bath in the underground pool was bliss. Glorfindel could have drifted in the warm water for hours, losing himself in the admiration of the light's play against the rock crystals on the ceiling. More than once Erestor had to come and fetch him, chastising him with a grin that he loved prunes, but not in his bed.
Since he had found Erestor alive, Glorfindel felt like he had started a second life. While he occasionally missed Imladris, he loved Mirkwood, he loved the Elves here, and last but not least, he loved Erestor. It had not been easy, as the warrior did quarrel with his fate at times, and could get very gruff when he felt that Glorfindel was overprotective. Erestor hated being dependent on anyone, so Glorfindel had to learn to sit on his hands and not run to his lover every time he thought Erestor needed help.
Glorfindel had expected that he would be the dominant one in this relationship, the one to lead the way. It had taken him some time to realise that Erestor was blind, but still a warrior, with all his pride and strength.
No, Glorfindel thought, it was not easy, but he loved Erestor, and Erestor loved him. Life was good.
All thoughts of whistling merry tunes evaporated in a dark cloud of fear when Glorfindel entered the pool, only to find himself alone with Sloe, Thranduil's chief advisor. The greatest part of the advisor's skin that was covered with one of the intricate tattoos that the Mirkwood Elves wore as signs of their victories. The ornaments and patterns started on Sloe's neck and covered his body, ending at the ankles and wrists. Glorfindel briefly wondered if really every part of his body was covered with such ornaments, but he quickly chased this inappropriate thought away.
"Greetings, Glorfindel. What a lucky coincidence to see you here," Sloe said cheerfully.
"Yes. Very lucky. How very nice," Glorfindel muttered, and slipped quickly into the water. He did not dare to take his eyes off Sloe, who was not only a seasoned warrior and cunning advisor, but also happened to be Erestor's father.
"You seem to have adjusted well to our life here," Sloe said. "I admit that I am surprised."
Glorfindel clenched his jaws. Sloe never criticised him openly. But whatever he said could be taken two ways. Maybe Sloe really wanted to express his delight over Glorfindel's quick settlement in Mirkwood, but it was more likely that the true meaning of his words were 'I do not think you belong here, you milksop.'
In any case, Glorfindel's intention to relax in the pool was blighted.
"I did not find it overly hard to adjust, Master Sloe," Glorfindel replied. "They say that the home is where the heart is, and my heart is now here."
Sloe arched an eyebrow.
"You know, I always wondered who those 'they' were who bestow on us such pearls of wisdom." Sloe sat up in the water and shook his wet hair, sending water drops flying. "As we are here alone, let me be honest with you." He leant back, and Glorfindel took a deep breath of the sulphurous air, bracing himself for a fight.
"I have no doubts that you care deeply for my son, and for this, I am grateful," Sloe began. "But I do not think that you will be able to deal with him in the long run. He still is a warrior, even if he cannot see anymore, and he has a warrior's soul. He needs a warrior by his side, not a ... bow maker. Even if," Sloe added, bowing his head, "the bow maker has best intentions and is a master of his trade. I am certain that your skills are sorely missed in Imladris."
For a moment, Glorfindel stared at Erestor's father, not able to say a word. Then he stood up, his hands clenched into fists.
"I am well aware that I am not the one you would have preferred to see by Erestor's side, my lord. I have put up with your taunts for Erestor's sake, and because I hoped that you would come to respect me. I am very sorry to see that this is not possible. Now, with all due respect, my lord: I have heard your concerns, I pondered them and I have come to the conclusion that I do not care whether you approve of me. I am here, I will not leave, and so I suggest that you will find a way to live with this fact. Good-bye."
With that, Glorfindel the pool, face red with anger and embarrassment, leaving a dumbfounded Sloe behind.
"Ah, he has some spirit, the young one! And for once, you did not have the last word. I like that!" Thranduil commented smugly, and stepped out from the adjoined stone chamber where he had followed the conversation, unseen by Glorfindel.
"Spirit? I would rather call this a piece of impertinence, my king! How dare he speak to me in such a way?" Sloe protested, but Thranduil only shrugged.
"You asked for it, Sloe. Since Glorfindel's arrival in Mirkwood, you have not left out a single opportunity to criticise him. But I have warned you, old friend, that he is a pepper pot, and will fight for Erestor with teeth and claws. Your son is really old enough to make his own decisions, do not try to interfere."
Sloe grumbled something unintelligible, arms crossed over his chest. Thranduil crouched down, and put his hand comfortingly on the black-haired Elf's shoulder. The skin was hot to his touch.
"Warrior, scholar, bow maker - we have wargs, spiders and wild men to worry about, Sloe. Erestor is loved, what more could you ask for?"
Sloe stood up, put his hands on the stone edge and swung out of the pool with one fluid, elegant motion. He grasped his long hair and wrung it out, rivulets of water running down his back. Thranduil was oddly fascinated by the play of the light in the drops of water that clung to Sloe's skin.
"Indeed, my king - what more could I ask for," Sloe replied. He looked at Thranduil with a half amused, half sad gaze, and only when he turned to leave, the king realised that he had stared at his very naked advisor in a rather inappropriate way.
Thranduil shook his head and stood up. It was really high time for the Yule celebrations to start - he needed a drink.