Title: A Picnic in the Snow
Author: Inwë Sáralondë (mb2002ldgd@yahoo.com.au)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters (wish I did though); they are the 
property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit or such is made from this.
Summary: Erestor has a gift for the elf he loves…
Warnings: None
Beta: Larien – thanks for taking the time and looking at this
Archive: Please ask…
Authors Note: This story is dedicated to Zacari Revere, who passed away on 3rd 
December – I’m going to miss you…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“There, that should do it.”

Erestor closed the lid on the basket with satisfaction. Everything was there that 
he wanted; apple pastries made from the late harvest of apples, gently spiced 
with cinnamon and wrapped in the delicate, flaky pastry that was the cook’s 
speciality (and who guarded the recipe zealously); small vegetable flans, made 
from the new season’s vegetables; the slightly sharp, yet melt-in-the-mouth 
cheese that was unique to Imladris (and another zealously-guarded recipe); 
freshly-baked bread, just out of the ovens that morning; and a bottle of wine, 
taken from Elrond’s personal store – a fine vintage red that caressed the palate. 
Erestor experienced a brief twinge of guilt at having appropriated the wine, but 
quickly dismissed it. ‘He will understand; he is not totally devoid of romance,’ 
Erestor justified to himself; a vision of him trying to explain to Elrond, came to his 
mind nevertheless.

<<‘And why did you take the wine, Erestor?’ Elrond would demand.

‘In order to try and seduce an obstreperous, frustrating, difficult elf whom I love 
almost to distraction, yet who seems to ignore my very existence,’ Erestor would 
reply.>>

Erestor gave a wistful smile. He could imagine the look of disbelief that Elrond 
would give him – after all, he was the stiff-necked, oh-so-proper chief advisor. He 
was well aware that many thought him incapable of having any feelings, but this 
self-same advisor was in love with an elf – had been for the Valar knew how long 
– and not done anything about it. He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea, but he 
was tired of loving Glorfindel from afar. Erestor would tell him today, or be 
damned.

He looked at the hair-clip he held in his hand – made of gold, it was nothing 
elaborate; just a simple open scrollwork design, with two leaves in the middle set 
with sapphires,  fashioned by the jewel-smith at Erestor’s behest. A gift to give to 
the elf he loved. Tucking it into the pocket of his tunic, he looked out the window.

It was snowing. Erestor stared in disbelief. Alright, it was winter, and *yes* it did 
snow at Imladris, and this year the snow was later in coming than usual. Yet did it 
have to starting snowing *today*, of all days? He stood there irresolutely, then 
gave a small grin. Why not? Quickly moving over to the chest at the foot of his 
bed, he pulled out two of the blankets inside. They could still have their picnic, 
but in one of the many little bowers scattered throughout the gardens of Imladris. 
And he had the perfect one in mind…

Gathering the blankets and the basket, Erestor made his way to the other elf’s 
room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wha…who in Mordor is it?” The elf turned over in his bed, woken by the 
insistent shaking of his shoulder.

“Erestor? What are you doing here in my room?”

“It’s nearly midday – you have slept long enough, my friend.”

“Oh, leave me be. There is nothing that requires me to get out of bed, midday or 
not.” Glorfindel turned his back to Erestor, snuggling further under the blanket.

“Please – I would like you to join me for a picnic.”

The head turned, and one eye opened to glare balefully at the chief advisor 
before looking out the window.

“Are you mad? It’s snowing! And you want to go on a picnic?! I never thought I’d 
live to see the day when the chief advisor finally lost his senses!”

“Please.”

Elrond’s seneschal sat up in the bed, the blanket sliding down to reveal the 
smooth, muscular chest. Erestor swallowed, mesmerised by the sight.

“Erestor?”

“Hmm? Sorry…my thoughts…um, were elsewhere for a moment,” Erestor 
managed to say.

“Obviously,” Glorfindel retorted dryly.

Then there was silence, and Erestor began to feel a little uncomfortable under 
the gaze of the other.

“Erestor, what *are* you wearing?”

“What? What do you mean ‘what are you wearing’? Leggings and a tunic, of 
course!”

“Yes, I can see that. But your tunic’s red!”

“Crimson, actually. Do you like it?” Erestor asked shyly.

“Like it? I admit I’m a little surprised to see you wearing it. I see you only in your 
black robes, with nary a colour on them. But it does suit you.”

Erestor blushed. “Thank you.” He thought he looked good in it; the fact that the 
warrior said it suited him pleased him immensely. True, it was not a colour he 
normally wore, but he had fallen in love with the deep-red velvet material and had 
requested the seamstress to make him a tunic from it. She had been bemused 
by his request, but had done as she was asked. The final result was a close-
fitting tunic, embellished with delicate gold embroidery on the collar and cuffs – 
nothing ostentatious, yet decorative enough to be pleasing to the eye.

The Vanya looked at Erestor with an appraising eye. The leggings and tunic 
emphasised Erestor’s lithe body, and the red seemed to add colour and warmth 
to the normally pale skin of the chief advisor. ‘He should wear this colour more 
often,’ Glorfindel mused. He sighed, “Very well, Erestor. If you wish for us to have 
a picnic, out in the snow, then so be it. Wait for me outside in the corridor while I 
get dressed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty minutes later, both elves were at the small bower in a secluded part of 
the gardens. Erestor spread out the blankets he had brought with him while 
Glorfindel set down the basket. Sitting down on the blankets, with a small smile 
Erestor motioned for the seneschal to do likewise.

His smile faltered when the other elf remained standing, staring down at him. ‘Oh 
Valar, is he going to change his mind?’ Erestor wondered fretfully.

“Is something wrong?” Erestor asked.

“Hmm? Oh…nothing…nothing at all,” Glorfindel answered, and proceeded to sit 
down.

Glorfindel looked at Erestor, noting the slightly flushed cheeks, and the few 
snowflakes that clung to Erestor’s hair and shoulders. ‘Sweet Elbereth,’ he 
thought, ‘he looks so beautiful.’

The seneschal had long been in love with the chief advisor, but Erestor’s 
rigidness and sense of propriety made it difficult for anyone to approach him to 
try and get to know him better. So Glorfindel loved and admired Erestor from 
afar, never encroaching on his personal space, yet all the while wondering what it 
would take to breach the wall around the prickly advisor. Reaching out, Glorfindel 
brushed the snow from Erestor’s shoulders. “There,” he whispered, as Erestor 
watched his movements with wide eyes.

Time seemed to stand still when, for a brief moment, their eyes locked, then 
Erestor broke the spell by quickly looking away.

“So,” Glorfindel continued, trying to relieve a little of the tension, “why the picnic?”

“I…I just thought…it…was a good idea,” Erestor stammered.

“A good idea? You normally don’t have picnics, Erestor, let alone invite anyone to 
join you. Why now, and why me?”

Glorfindel watched in amusement as Erestor tried to answer him. This *was* a 
completely unexpected thing for Erestor to do, and the elf was both bemused and 
intrigued by it.

“I wanted to give you this.” The response startled the seneschal from his 
musings, and he looked down at the golden hair-clip in Erestor’s hand.

Erestor cursed himself; he hadn’t planned on giving his gift so soon. He watched 
for Glorfindel’s reaction fearfully.

“’Tis beautiful,” breathed Glorfindel, taking the hair-clip from Erestor’s hand. He 
looked up at Erestor, the puzzlement evident on his face.

“Why?” he asked. “What made you give this to me?”

Erestor swallowed. “I just thought you might like it,” he said shyly.

“I do, indeed. Very much so. But that doesn’t explain why you gave it to me.” 
Glorfindel studied the hair-clip, admiring the craftsmanship of the delicate object.

‘Oh Valar,’ Erestor thought. ‘What do I say?’

“Um…ah…I had heard that mortals give gifts to each other at this time of year; it 
seemed…a nice thing…to do,” Erestor finished lamely.

“True, they do, though I believe the day they normally give their gifts is still a few 
weeks away, my friend. You’re a little early.” He placed the clip carefully on the 
blanket, then looked at Erestor intently. Again, Erestor’s face flushed under the 
scrutiny.

“Erestor? Please meleth-nîn, why the gift? Surely there is more to it than…oh 
Valar…” Glorfindel mentally cursed himself for his slip of the tongue.

“Forgive me Erestor…I…what I said…I have presumed too much…”

“Say it again.”

“What?” Glorfindel was dumbfounded at Erestor’s request.

“Say it again.”

“I do not understand…”

“You will, meleth-nín, you will

“You just called me…”

“…meleth-nín. Yes I did.” Erestor giggled.

Erestor, giggling? Glorfindel was, in a word, flummoxed. He turned his away from 
the chief advisor, trying to gather his thoughts. This, to him, was so out of 
character for Erestor that he was at a loss for words.

“Glorfindel?” The seneschal turned his head towards Erestor; he saw that Erestor 
had moved and was now kneeling before him, the dark eyes shining luminously 
within the pale face.

“You have my heart, Glorfindel – I love you,” he whispered, bringing his hand up 
to touch Glorfindel’s face.

“You what? You cannot! It is crazy…it is madness…it is foolish…” Glorfindel took 
a deep breath. “Why?”

“Because, you impossible elf, I do. If that makes me crazy, mad, foolish or 
anything else, then so be it. I have loved you for…oh I do not know for how long, 
Glorfindel. The knowledge was beginning to drive me crazy, and I knew that I 
had to do something. I remembered this ‘tradition’ or whatever you like to call it 
that the mortals have of giving gifts at this time of year, hence the hair-clip…and I 
thought that, at the same time, I could let you know my feelings for you...” 
Erestor’s eyes strayed to the clip lying on the blanket, then back to Glorfindel’s 
face.

“You called me ‘meleth-nín’, Glorfindel. Can that mean that you have feelings for 
me?”

Did he have feelings for Erestor? That was a stupid question in Glorfindel’s book, 
and he answered the question in the best way he could think of – by taking 
Erestor’s face between his hands and kissing him.

Erestor’s senses were reeling – for so long he had dreamt of this, and he poured 
his heart and soul into the kiss, opening his mouth to Glorfindel’s questing 
tongue, allowing himself to be totally consumed by its intensity and fire.

Breaking the kiss, Glorfindel looked into Erestor’s eyes, now bright with unshed 
tears. “Do not cry, meleth,” he whispered, brushing away a stray tear that had 
begun to trail its way down Erestor’s cheek. “I love *you*, Erestor;” Glorfindel 
smiled ruefully, “for I do not know how long. But I never knew how to reach you, 
how to let you know. You have never made it easy for anyone to get to know you. 
You always kept yourself apart, distant, a tough task-master to the twins when 
you were their tutor, and keeping such exacting standards which no-one else 
could hope to match. There are many in Imladris that are wary of your sharp 
tongue, myself included. There are even those who fear your wrath more than 
Lord Elrond’s.” Glorfindel grinned, seeing the small furrow appearing on Erestor’s 
brow.

“I hold an important position, Glorfindel. Lord Elrond cannot be bothered by every 
little triviality so it is my responsibility to ensure that everything runs smoothly. I 
cannot change…”

Glorfindel interrupted him. “You dare not change, Erestor; I happen to love you 
just the way you are. Apart from the fact Imladris would not survive if you 
underwent a radical transformation,” he quipped.

Glorfindel’s face took on a serious mien once again. Gently his fingers traced a 
path down the contours of Erestor’s face, down his throat, before placing his 
hand on the chief advisor’s chest, feeling the beating heart underneath his palm.

“While I shall treasure the hair-clip, meleth-nín, you have given me something 
more precious. It is something that I shall always treat with reverence and 
respect, and you have my solemn word that I will never try and hurt or damage it 
any way.”

Erestor looked at Glorfindel, a little mystified.

“Your heart, meleth-nín,” Glorfindel explained. He swallowed. “As you have 
mine,” he whispered.

Erestor smiled. “Your heart will always be safe with me, Glorfindel,” he said, 
mimicking the move made by Glorfindel by placing his hand on the seneschal’s 
chest. “Always.”

Glorfindel gathered Erestor in his arms. Erestor sighed contentedly, snuggling up 
against Glorfindel, and smiled again as he felt the seneschal’s arms tighten 
around him.

“Do you know what I think?”

Erestor turned his head slightly at Glorfindel’s words.

“What?”

“I think we should start a tradition of our own by having a picnic, like this, every 
year at this time – just the two of us.”

Erestor just gave Glorfindel a brilliant smile, letting his love for the golden-haired 
seneschal shine in his eyes.

Their lips met in another kiss. Glorfindel lowered Erestor onto the blankets, and 
both were soon caught up in a small world of their own, while the snow still gently 
fell outside…

~~ FINIS ~~