Christmas Special by Ezras Persian Kitty
Summary: Nothing new, nothing original. Just a warm fuzzy for the Yuletide season.
Categories: FPS, FPS > Erestor/Glorfindel, FPS > Glorfindel/Erestor Characters: Erestor, Glorfindel
Type: None
Warning: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes Word count: 5416 Read: 3248 Published: January 28, 2009 Updated: January 28, 2009
Story Notes:
I remember Christmas Specials as a kid. After school was out for the season, you knew you could count on devoting half-hour blocks of your life at a time to cultivating the warm fuzzies generated by the old-blanket-familiarity of 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas' or 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer' or 'Frosty the Snowman.' In remembrance of this, I give to you this story, a warm Yuletide fuzzy for older folk. Who like slash.

1. Chapter 1 by Ezras Persian Kitty

Chapter 1 by Ezras Persian Kitty
When Glorfindel had gone to bed, he had done so in a thoroughly contented air of warmth and tranquility. The fire in the marble hearth of his room burned itself sleepily out as Glorfindel burrowed under the piles of blankets and quilts and furs, snuggling up to the gargantuan pillows that fluffed around him. Drapes and bed curtains were closed against the frigid midnight air of what had become a truly freezing winter, though not a sign of snow yet prettied the landscape.

Warmed by the food and wine in his belly and by the song of the eve and the dwindling fire and piled coverlets, Glorfindel smiled into the darkness as he pulled the blankets over his head, golden hair splayed out around him.

The cold of winter was delicious because the chill it lent to the air made things like hot-chocolate-laden kitchens, fire-bright mead halls, and downy-warm beds that much cozier.

As the great Elf Lord curled himself as tightly as possible around his pillows under the wonderfully warm covers, he thought the only thing that could make the picture perfect was another warm body entwined with his own.




Nothing could have thrilled Glorfindel more the next day when he woke with a shock in the early morning to feel a gentle tumult in his belly. He smiled and threw back the covers of his large bed, slipped into the fur-lined slippers and robe and ran to the windows, golden hair a mussed halo about his head and hanging down his back in snarled waves. He threw open the curtains and laughed to see a blanket of white carpeting Imladris, from courtyard and trees to fountains and gardens.

Snow was rare in Rivendell; it could be such a great hindrance to life, but sometimes the heavens just could not be stopped and, as on this occasion, Glorfindel was sure to make use of it.

He wrapped himself in two layers of leggings and shirts, a heavy tunic and outer coat, and thick, fur-trimmed boots. All of it was white, from toes to collar.

He was soon pounding down the halls still dark with lingering night. He snuck into the kitchens, already alive with the scents of baking and stews. Those who worked there greeted him merrily and Glorfindel was all smiles as he swiped a fried egg, sandwiched between two thick slices of toast. But so eager was he that he did not keep out a sharp eye as he was reentering the shadowed halls and only barely halted before colliding with a night-draped figure, face pale and eyes narrowed.

Glorfindel stopped short, rocking forward on the balls of his feet, mid-bite. He bit and chewed and didn't quite swallow. "Coushelor Eshtoh!" he exclaimed. Then he gulped down the mouthful. Glorfindel blinked, wide-eyed, suddenly conscious of the crumbs decorating the front of his white surcoat and the messy hair that had been quickly knotted at the base of his neck. "Morning! Sorry about that! I was in a hurry, and you blend in so well with the, uh, sh-shadows and such!" Oh, and he'd been doing so well, too, until the end there.

Erestor lifted one slender eyebrow.

"Right. I'll just ... be on my way," Glorfindel sputtered, sidestepping the expressionless, dark-haired, dark-eyed, pale, beautiful, wonderful Elf.

And he was about to continue on his way, disappear into the amorphous void of the early morning Imladrian halls, when Erestor unexpectedly spoke. "Good morning."

Glorfindel nearly melted. He had said 'good morning!'

The golden Lord turned back, but Erestor had already made his way into the cheery warmth of the kitchen. So, he smiled at the empty doorway, and for a moment cherished the memory of Erestor's so rarely heard voice close to his heart. And then he moved on.




He slipped with a liquid economy of movement through the corridors that were slowly transfigured through the windows to an indefinable morning gray. Away he went to the rear square of the House, where Elrond's twin sons joined him in garb similar to his own, only darker, just as the sun was rising.

Together, they raced across the untouched snow, carving three paths in the heavy whiteness that nearly touched their knees.

Once they reached the barracks, triple storied dormitories just alongside the river, they stomped the snow from their boots and split up to run through the halls, banging on the doors and walls as they went.

"Practice is cancelled today!"

"Snow today!"

"No training!"

"Stay in bed and sleep!"

"Do you hear?! Routines are cancelled today!"

"But if you have the nerve ..."

"... Come to the courtside field in an hour!"

"And the games begin!"

"The games today!"

"There's enough snow for the games!"




One hour later, a good few dozen grown Elves had amassed in the courtside field. They had brought sleds and were importing the snow that had been removed from the pathways so that there was a veritable mountain of it dumped along the far side of the stone wall, a wall that -- if followed -- led to the entry gate of Rivendell. They had evenly divided themselves up into four teams and each took a corner of the giant tourney field that lay between the House's main hall and the city wall. The four corners were quickly taking the shape of forts, all snow and ice, hardened by the buckets of steaming water carried in heavy wooden buckets from the bath houses.

On the balcony above, passers-by would stop and watch for a while the antics of Glorfindel's men acting like boys, riled up and moving fast from the stinging insults of Elrond's sons thrown their way to encourage swifter action.

Several minstrels and maidens and other folk wandered the field as well, that early in the day, crafting sculptures in the snow, knowing the poor things wouldn't last past the next few hours. Lindir was quite proud of a fierce dragon coiled with scales that he was working diligently on -- with icicle teeth and giant icy eyes -- and others were packing together the firm and heavy snow to make eagles and serpents and all sorts of snow-creatures.

Glorfindel was the master of field on these days, and he ensured that none of the overzealous soldiers started the wars early. As it was, some were already departing for races down the hill with their sleds in another part of the river-city, or to the pond for skating. Glorfindel himself took a turn at Lindir's dragon, working on the incredibly long tail that would lie in a great pale spiral along the white earth.

Already, the golden Lord's lips and cheeks and nose were tinged with pink as the blood warmed his face in the frigid air. Steam rose from his unprotected hands where they touched the freezing snow. He sang songs with the Elves in the field, welcoming the winter sleep.




Noontime found the mess hall (on the opposite side of the kitchen from the dining hall) full of snow-bedraggled elves, wet and laughing and rosy-cheeked, as they feasted on the stew that had been brewing all night and on fresh hunks of bread and cheese. They sipped at tall mugs of spiced mead and mulled cider and the low, darkwood ceiling rang with the sound of their laughter.

Seeking something a bit sweeter on the day of the winter games, Glorfindel braved the wrath of the cooks to dash through the kitchen and into the far more subdued dining hall, where no amount of stealth could hide the entrance of a white-clad warrior with golden hair swaying wetly down his back and leaving puddled footprints behind him as he slunk over to the sideboard.

"Jackpot!" Glorfindel whispered congratulations to himself upon finding his quest a success, for there, awaiting him in silver kettles settled in warm coals, was the hot chocolate. He quickly poured himself a mug before he could be chastised by any of the highfalutin Elf Lords and Ladies turning their noses up at him from the long tables set with delicate crystal plates and fine silver.

He took a sip and smiled as he felt the warm sweetness flow down to his belly and he clasped fingers still wet with snow around the heated drinking vessel.

But upon what was intended to be a swift and quiet exit, retracing his kitchen path, he found the way blocked.

Erestor stood before him, in those elegant black robes as earlier -- as usual -- staring disapprovingly at him.

For a moment, Glorfindel felt guilty. But only a moment.

"Lord Glorfindel," Erestor reprimanded, and the golden Lord lowered his eyes, his whole form drooping in regret at the tone of the Counselor's low voice. "The dining hall is reserved for those who prefer a more refined atmosphere for their meals." His discerning eye traveled Glorfindel's somewhat disheveled appearance and wet footprints. "You are not properly attired and your swift journey here is not welcome." Oh, that voice, so low and mellow and tainted with just a hint of disappointment. Not loud enough for anyone else to hear, and that's what hit Glorfindel hardest. It was just another scolding for him, as he again fumbled in the lordly manner he always tried so hard to emulate.

He still cupped the clay mug in his hands and he stepped back to bow low. His voice was hushed and full of remorse. "I apologize, Counselor." But then he stood up straight and smiled at the face before him, at the indifferent expression that hid so much. "But the mess hall has no hot chocolate, and I so greatly desired some; they'd already removed the kettles from the kitchen and ... I'm sorry." Why did EVERY conversation with this Elf require the words 'I'm sorry?'

Erestor inclined his head in that so-superior way of his and moved gracefully around Glorfindel without a second glance.

Closing his eyes and clenching his teeth, Glorfindel shook his golden head and moved forward, again barely evading the cooks' wrath as he snuck between the counters of working Elves.

Once safe in a shadowed corner of the mess hall, smoky from pipeweed and tallow candles and the large, open fireplace, Glorfindel nursed his ill-gotten drink and punished himself far worse than Erestor ever could. It was stupid, he knew, to dwell on pointless desires and base fantasies, pointless to regret or even to fantasize at all. But he couldn't stop himself, knowing even he as he moped that all would be forgotten within the hour, when he again rejoined his men in the snowy field to start the battle in earnest.




Once the sun had passed its zenith -- just recognizable this side of the growing cloud cover -- the courtside field was again filled with those soldiers who preferred this informal game to the midwinter festivities finally in full force in the distant Hall of Fire.

The troupe of elves, in their four armies, had finished their forts before the noonmeal and had moved on to more interesting things: assembling an arsenal.

On the hidden side of the tall fort walls were tightly packed balls of snow, some just in piles, or arrayed on shelves built by the more experienced players. The Elves chuckled gleefully, and Glorfindel paraded the center of the field, weaving between the sculptures of ice and snow and making sure that no illegal scouting was happening between the teams, or impulsive firing for that matter.

Tensions began to build, and Glorfindel ran a swift inspection of each fort. Some had built up miniature bunkers to hide behind just in front of their forts, with heaps of waiting snowballs. Other had created within the forts elevated platforms of packed piles of snow, to lift up those with the furthest reach. Glorfindel confiscated what slingshots he could find, but was certain that he'd missed some. He always did. Some Elves had worn thick hats as defense against head shots and others wore gloves.

Glorfindel preferred to go barehanded. There was nothing like natural body heat to fuse together the surface of a perfectly packed snowball.

He grinned as he watched itchy trigger fingers slapping the first of the ammunition between eager hands. Ohhh ... those first ones -- packed hard and coated in a sheet of ice -- hurt like heck, Glorfindel knew. He retreated to the main door that looked out from the house at the center of the field. One hand held his first shot, but the other he cupped around his mouth, and in his booming Captain's voice he shouted, "Fire at will! Fire at will!"

He laughed maniacally at the furious result. Balls of white whizzed through the air in an abruptly riotous blizzard, some falling short or overreaching the target in their excitement. He noted sourly that one team had managed to sneak a small catapult into their fort while his back was turned, and giant clumps of wet snow were soaring out from behind the white wall at a regular interval. Glorfindel let loose his first snowball, catching one of the offending team in the gut and sneaking by, scooping up another handful as he went to get in past the wall of the fort and swiftly disable the catapult.

He succeeded, but paid for his vigilante interference. He was pummeled while in the midst of the enemy, and his white clothes were covered in white snow, quickly melted at the contact with his body heat.

By the time he'd reentered the general field of battle, where snow statues were quickly being annihilated in the crossfire, he was dripping wet and laughing hysterically. In the utter thick of it, Glorfindel played his usual commando role, attacking anything that moved with quickly packed spheres of white snow, a target himself to any who wished to strike, but he was fast in the snow and difficult to spot.

All the same, no one could avoid the twins when they'd set their sights on a target. They came out of nowhere, one on either side, hurling snowballs as fast as they could scoop them up. Glorfindel dropped to the ground and rolled away, kicking snow up behind him. He fought back the best he could as things in the field degenerated into an all-purpose free-for-all, most Elves tangling into wrestling matches, forcing each other's faces into the ice crystals that covered the ground and pushing snow up between hard bodies.

Through a roundabout trek of the field, Glorfindel succeeded in separating the twins, and he chased down Elladan in a long line beside the House, gaining distance and getting in a great number of sloppy hits along the Peredhil's back.

But then, Elladan broke the rules. As he neared that central entrance to the House, he shot trippingly up the steps to the open doorway.

"Cheater!" Glorfindel accused in a heavy pant as he slowed, watching Elladan disappear into the entrance of the House. "Come back out here, Elladan!" he ordered, slapping an orb together between his chilled hands. "Or I WILL come in after you!"

As movement stirred in the doorway, Glorfindel released the tightly packed wad before realization set in and could only watch in shocked terror as the snowball collided with Erestor's surprised face, exploding spectacularly upon impact in a cloud of spattered white.

On the field, no one's sight left Glorfindel for long; he was too sneaky, and it was only a moment before the shouts and scrabbling and laughter of the mass fight dissolved into a sudden, horrified silence in the tourney field, a wartorn zone of white mounds and trenches and walls.

Glorfindel was staring, his hand clapped reflexively over his mouth, at Erestor's immobile form for a frozen moment of stark hush. When the field finally started echoing sound again, it was to the noise of feet on wet slush.

Hunkered down shin deep in the snow, Glorfindel dropped his hand from his mouth and swiveled around to watch in disbelief as the entire army disbanded, fleeing. Into the woods, into the House, down the paths to the river; every single one escaped the ruined landscape, kicking the white shards up behind them, hair whipping in flaring streams of gold and chestnut and silver and honey and lastly, twinning ebony as Elladan reached out from the next door down to grab his twin and disappear into the House. Blue eyes grew wide at the sight of a company of fully trained warriors taking flight from one snow-ruffled advisor.

Glorfindel's face screwed up into an amused grimace-smile.

Bah. Cowards. The whole lot of them.

Then, reality set in, the smile faded to a wide-eyed look of fear as he slowly bowed his head, counted to ten, and then looked up to the doorway.

Erestor stood perfectly still, even now frozen in the moment of impact, mouth hidden by a patch of white that was falling in small clumps to stain his immaculate black robes in splotches of wet. Always-mysterious black eyes narrowed to dangerous slits overarched by pencil-thin coal brows in a threatening V. His hands remained hidden, folded into the opposing sleeves of the thick and warm robes he so favored in the winter months.

He was so still, so absolutely motionless, that Glorfindel feared the Counselor must be internally quenching some unheard-of righteous wrath churning within the most visceral corner of his gut.

Then, Glorfindel hoped that perhaps Erestor was merely so stunned by what had happened that he simply hadn't decided how to react.

As it was, Glorfindel could only stay, kneeling stock-still in the snow, freezing and fearful.

Then, Erestor moved. Slowly, as though to be sure that Glorfindel was watching, he withdrew a pale hand from the dark sleeve to reach up and deliberately wipe the snow from his face. He disgustedly flung the dripping sludge away, and his mouth was revealed.

Glorfindel blinked.

Erestor was smiling.

Glorfindel did not move a muscle, watching in fascination as Erestor moved. He glided sedately down the four steps into the ravaged snow world, robes trailing in the wet mush there. He gradually crouched and reached out two pale hands to gather together a clump of loose snow. He stood again.

Then, he launched himself at Glorfindel's surprised form, toppling them both over to the ground so that Erestor could force his double-handful of snow down the back of Glorfindel's shirts. Erestor was laughing gleefully, a pleasant if slightly vindictive smile on his face. And their hair -- gold and black -- tangled together with the wet snow.

Glorfindel just did not have the frame of mind to fight back, doing only what he could to defend himself against the shock of ice quickly transforming to freezing water against the skin of his back.

Finally, he got his own handful of the white frost and shoved it in Erestor's face, forcing the Counselor away. But Erestor fought tooth and nail. He grabbed Glorfindel's feet and dragged him across the ground. Glorfindel's shirts and coat were pulled up until his bare back scraped against the wet ground and snow accumulated up the back of his shirt. He squealed and twisted out of Erestor's grasp. He gathered himself for an attack and sprang, assaulting the dark-haired Elf in a bodily shove, who laughed as he went down.

They rolled together in the snow, laughing until Erestor gained the upper hand again, sitting on Glorfindel's chest and throwing sodden handfuls of snow all over him.




Even for all this, Glorfindel's mind was in a right state, unable to equate this sudden playful sprite with the Counselor he'd always known. A part of Glorfindel was disengaged from the activities, seeming to watch from beyond in another place and wonder so innocently how this Erestor could be the same Erestor he'd so long known.

This was a Counselor, his memory persisted, who in no way held with any concept of fun, who shirked his festival duties and ran away from parties. This was an Elf who smiled at nothing, even at what pleased him, who never gave paltry compliments -- preferring to criticize if at all possible --who made it clear that he had only ever (at best) tolerated Glorfindel's mere presence, and who certainly never laughed.

How many times had Glorfindel braved that frosty glare to invite Erestor into his life? Have a drink, a toast, a walk, a dance, anything with me Erestor? It was uncountable. And never once had this dark Elf accepted anything Glorfindel offered. Except for his apologies.

Glorfindel had sometimes, in his morose hours, wondered if Erestor horded those apologies like dwarves horded gold, holding all the "I'm sorry"s close to his heart in a collection of pilfered prizes from the resident hero.

So too Glorfindel had pondered that frozen facade of Erestor's, so often wondered what it was the Elf was so determined to hide. And what now revealed itself.

Here was a creature glorying in all the playfulness Glorfindel had always ascribed to, reveling in the thrill of the moment, in the victory of a game, in the joy of the snow.

Had Erestor ever done this before? Was this some chink in what had always been his impenetrable armor? Why now? Why this? Why here?

Echoes of a resurrected life resounded in Glorfindel's ears. One in particular, not so long ago, only a few years before Erestor had told him, so honestly confused and hopeless: "Who in their right mind thought strapping metal blades on their feet to waltz about on frozen water was a good idea?"

So many pointless echoes reverberated in his mind. After a drunken confession regarding Glorfindel-didn't-even-remember-what, Erestor had simply turned to him and said, "Glorfindel, you're drunk. Stop trying to be profound."

And the closest Erestor had ever come to giving him a compliment, "You're wonderful in a loathsome sort of way." Delivered so eternally flatly that Glorfindel still had no idea how much of it might have been a rare surfacing humor.

That droll sarcasm that showed through the otherwise wintry and dauntless demeanor had captured Glorfindel long ago, caught him with the irrefutable charm so subtle he sometimes thought he alone saw it. And so he had been caged, unbeknownst to Erestor, by the Elf's delicate allure, and spent too many waking hours wondering at what else might be hiding beneath the cold if handsome exterior.

Some part of Glorfindel had feared that beneath Erestor's constant shell was only emptiness.

Today, the first snowfall of a cold and drab winter, proved otherwise.




All of this came crashing down on him like the proverbial ton of bricks in a martyred moment of clarity, as Erestor squashed him in the pillowed snow, stuffing handfuls of cold, wet slush down his shirt.

A wall had been breached, a door opened, a secret revealed; however you wanted to look at it, and Glorfindel was stepping through, breaking through, taking it over and not letting go.

He arched up under the Counselor's weight, throwing him off. Erestor landed sprawled in the snow next to him, hair a hopeless batwing tangle of damp frost, eyes sparkling, cheeks rouged with the biting pink of the cold, and lips softened in a free and open smile.

Forgoing any pretense of attack, Glorfindel gently rolled over him, lightly pushing Erestor back into the soft layered white of the blanketed earth, caressing a face that was hot under his chilled hands, a face slowly wiping itself of emotion, chasing back the sudden joy and growing confusion to a mask of comfortable indifference.

Glorfindel wouldn't let it. He hunted down the last of that smile, finding it hiding in the crease just outside Erestor's dark eye. Glorfindel laid a kiss there, soft lips over fluttering lashes. He pulled back, but only a fraction, his mouth brushing for just a second against Erestor's cool nose to kiss the corner of a flat mouth. With a hand on either side of Erestor's head, haphazardly tangled in the loose, bedraggled hair, Glorfindel whispered against that mouth, "Don't you retreat from me, Erestor. Not now. Later," he practically sobbed, shocked at the emotion in his own voice, "Later, I'll let you, I promise; I won't chase you if you tell me not to, but right now, you stay here with me, don't you go anywhere." The words became a plea became a mantra running one into the next like so much babbling birdsong, but Glorfindel didn't care, smoothing strong hands through midnight hair, along ivory blushing skin. "Stay here, stay with me in this moment, please, please stay, Erestor, please kiss me."

He hadn't meant to say that, not out loud.

Suddenly, the sky did what it had been threatening to do all day, and quietly unlocked itself to cover the earth in another blanket of white, clumps of pale flakes falling like cherry blossoms, huge and hushed all around them. The snow was not silent, not truly, and its gentle fall seemed to muffle all the world as flakes settled, little shards of ice, in tangled hair and in the rubble of snow all around them. Melting on their skin.

A snowflake landed on Erestor's nose, and his eyes widened and briefly crossed to glance downward at the funny sensation. When he looked back at Glorfindel's hopeful almost-smile, Erestor grinned.

He leaned up, away from the ground with hair uncoiling in damp, yarn-like strings behind him, as the snow fell around them in the broken field, and he uncertainly -- with brow knitted in concentrated deliberation --sought Glorfindel's parted lips.

Glorfindel needed no more encouragement, almost biting in sweet disbelief at the mouth beneath his, all too willing to bruise those lips to a reddened blush, to crush and to mash, to nibble momentarily at a lower lip.

Erestor made some noise, some unnamable keening sound buried low in his throat and Glorfindel answered in kind, with a desperate yet thankful moan as he fell fully atop the robe-encased body, hands moving to cradle Erestor in his arms.

If this was only a moment, if this was going to be the only moment, Glorfindel was going to make it a moment so perfect in his mind that it would become a token, a talisman, kept near his heart to cherish when he needed it most. If this was their only moment, he was going to love it and nurture it and stretch it no more than it should be stretched, to keep it perfect, like an untouched field of newly fallen snow.

When the kiss weakened, when the press of bodies lessened, when even his own clutching hands turned soothing of their own accord, Glorfindel pulled away, canting his head to the side, his eyes still closed to the world, his fair brow creased in a frantic desire to imprint all of that into his memory like a brand scarred into his skin. Irremovable.

He felt Erestor tense suddenly beneath him and Glorfindel awoke from his premature remembrances, looking down into frightened black eyes.

Erestor reached up with those pale hands to lay them against Glorfindel's chest. He wasn't quite pushing, maybe steadying himself.

His eyes were frightening to Glorfindel, because the golden Lord had never before seen such depth of emotion there; it was like walking into your own room and finding it somehow indefinably but permanently changed. Something so familiar suddenly so different. "Glorfindel," Erestor whispered in a voice that was also itself and yet not, "Glorfindel. What do you want? What are you feeling? Tell me; don't think and don't censure yourself. Tell me what you want right now."

Glorfindel bowed his head and moved to the side, propping himself on an elbow so that his other hand could take one of Erestor's and bring it to his lips. He closed his blue eyes and smiled. "I was thinking," he slowly decided, "remembering going to bed last night. How I love it, going to bed in winter. It's like going home, like comfort food, like hibernation. Like a perfectly made bowl of porridge on a cold morning, or the biggest, fluffiest blanket wrapped around you when you're a small child. I went to bed last night happy and content, knowing that if I wanted for anything, it was to have you in that bed beside me."

"Why?" Erestor desperately asked.

"Because I love you."

"Oh." Erestor, again laying back flat in the snow, looked up at him, confused eyes wavering. "What am I supposed to say?"

Glorfindel managed a chuckle. "There is no 'supposed to' between us. Why don't you tell me what you want?"

Erestor nodded and he reached his hand, the other still held tight by Glorfindel, to dance whisper-soft along a star-fair brow, a pointed ear, golden snarled hair. "I'm tired of hiding," he cried, tears forming and falling as quickly and beautifully as the snow, crystallizing on now-pale cheeks. "So long I thought I could protect myself from the ravages of love--"

Excited, Glorfindel broke in, "Then do you--?"

Erestor frantically shook his head, more tears spilling over, "I can't say the words, not yet. This damn snow!" he shouted suddenly, as a large flake landed in his eye. He closed those coal-black eyes and steeled himself and opened them again. He reclaimed his hand to frame Glorfindel's face, as though to regain lost attention, an unnecessary gesture, since Glorfindel was entranced. That shaking voice. "Someday, I'll tell you my stories. But today, I cannot. Someday, perhaps, we'll be happy together. I can see how it could be. If you can wait for someday, Glorfindel, then you may have my love too. Can you?"

Glorfindel laughed. "Out of nowhere the Valar have blessed me!" he suddenly declared, his own blue eyes not empty of tears. "I will wait, Erestor," he said simply. No restrictions, no demands. "I will wait."

Then Erestor's arms moved to encircle him, drawing Glorfindel down like a blanket to cover him. He whispered in that gently pointing ear, "Can I sleep in your bed tonight? Just--"

"Just sleep," Glorfindel agreed. "Yes. I would welcome it; you cannot know how. We will find our warmth together."

"But right now," Erestor whispered. "I am very cold. And wet. And uncomfortable."

Glorfindel started laughing again. He couldn't help it. "So am I!"




Together, they made their way to the crowded bathhouse. They shed their clothes self-consciously and pretended they did not blush. They sank into the delicious warmth only a body exposed to winter snows can appreciate.

They went their separate ways and wrapped themselves in warm clothes for the evening meal, which they ate in a darkened corner of the mess hall, ignoring the greater portion of the world around them.

And then, then Glorfindel led a shaking Erestor to his private quarters.

It was late and they were exhausted. A servant had tended to Glorfindel's fire, and he built it up just the smallest bit; it was the only light in a room closed off to the outside world. He faced Erestor and carefully observed, "You're shaking like a leaf."

Erestor uttered the first of what would be many half-frightened confessions. "I am terrified. I have only ever shared my bed with books and virgin moonlight."

A pang shuddering in his heart, Glorfindel went to him and enfolded this strange, new, marvelous, still sarcastic and lovely Elf in strong arms. "No terror, here. Please, not in this room. This bed is for sleeping. Come now."

And Glorfindel himself gently stripped Erestor of his clothes, all but for the long shirt. He led the dark-haired beauty to his bed and tucked him in under the covers. Glorfindel quickly disrobed and donned a worn pair of cotton pants. He crawled in opposite Erestor. The bed curtains were drawn but for the side that faced the fireplace, and only the tiniest flares from the fire allowed them to see one another. "Can I hold you?" left Glorfindel's lips as Erestor said, "Will you hold me?"

They laughed and moved to embrace one another, warm in the night under the piles of covers.

"I don't know, precisely," Glorfindel wondered, "what happened in the snow today. But I am thankful for it." He caressed Erestor's dark head. "And for the possibility of 'someday.'"

Erestor peered at him with a familiar expression. Not guarded, exactly, but slightly critical and very content. "Good," his voice was drained, tired. "Now hush, and let us sleep."

And they did.


The end.
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