Title: Love Never Ages
Author: Eremir (eremir82[at]yahoo.se)
Pairings: Erestor/Glorfindel (Erestor/Ecthelion, Glorfindel/Ecthelion)
Rating: NC17
Summary: Erestor was a young elf when Gondolin was fair, and fell madly in love with his 
lord. However, he was merely a servant and lost his love to another, worthier elf. Millennia 
later, he lives as an advisor in the House of Elrond when he receives the earth-shattering 
news. His nemesis has been brought back to life.
Warnings: Angst, character death (canon)
Feedback: Is enormously welcome
Disclaimer: Blatantly stolen from Professor Tolkien and twisted for my own satisfaction. I 
make no money and am but a speck of a crushed insect on the windshield of genius.
A/N: Written for the Eremir-needs-to-get-over-her-writer’s-block Challenge, April-June 2006. 
This was meant to be a short feel-good fic, but ended up being a quite long and very personal 
piece of work. I put my heart and soul into it, and I hope you like it. Beta’d by my beloved 
Half Elf Lost.


------------------------

Chapter 1 - Nemesis

The Last Homely House was so dreadfully quiet, you could drop a needle on the floor and the 
sound would echo down the corridors. Everyone had left their rooms to gather in the 
courtyard, to greet the stranger who was set to arrive: The great Balrog-slayer, returning from 
the seas. One alone was left inside. He sat on his bed, staring at the wall and listening to the 
murmurs coming from outside. Fools, the lot of them, he thought.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

It was early spring, the scent of budding flowers floating lightly on the warm southern winds. 
The days grew longer and brighter, the world once again waking from the cold of winter. The 
last of the snow had long since melted, the only reminder a lonely weathered hat from a faded 
snow-wizard lying still on the flattened grass. The elflings who built it had forgotten now, and 
moved on to play the games of the new season. All was light and joy and the protected valley 
was humming with mirth. But there was one elf who had not been touched by this merry 
mood. Within the confines of his chamber, his troubles bore down on him like a storm cloud 
heavy with rain.

When he first heard the news, the Chief Advisor had nearly felt his heart stop beating in his 
breast. Why this? Why now? For some unfathomable reason, the Valar had decided to give 
life back to one who was dead, and restore the temple of his body. And they had decided to 
send him here, of all places. Erestor had trouble understanding their reasoning. The people of 
Imladris didn’t need Glorfindel. They were doing just fine without him. They had plenty of 
able warriors protecting their borders, what good would another do? Another who didn’t even 
belong in this age. Another who hadn’t seen the world change and come to be what it was. 
One who had never heard the name of Sauron or fought for his demise.

Glorfindel was nothing but a relic of an age long gone, and a former lord with no current 
power. What kind of life was he expecting to find here?

Erestor refused to accept this. The notion that the reborn Noldo would simply walk in on past 
merit and become seneschal of the household had Erestor shaking with fury. But he had no 
say in this; Elrond was still lord of the valley and would do as he pleased. From wherever the 
half-elf received counsel on the matter, it was certainly not from his Chief Counsellor, a fact 
more disturbing than anything else. Erestor was already grown when Eärendil still suckled at 
his mother’s breast, and now suddenly Elrond thought he held more wisdom?

The advisor knew he was starting to think in less than rational patterns, and that his mind was 
taking him down familiar paths he thought he had left long ago, but Erestor could not help but 
boil in his own disgust for the infamous Noldorin elf.

The crowd in the courtyard broke out in cheers. The party from the Grey Havens had arrived.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The advisor could not help himself. He had to look. From the steps of the house he peered 
over the heads of his kin, and saw a banner of golden hair draped down a broad back clad in 
the finest armour. A regal white horse carried the blond elf through the gauntlet of curious 
people who had gathered to get a glimpse of the new addition to the household. When the 
warrior dismounted he disappeared from view, and Erestor had to wait for the crowd to 
disperse before he got a clearer look at the stranger. A faithful entourage still followed the 
lord and his new seneschal like a serpent’s tail as they approached the house, and the 
counsellor was able to pick up pieces of the conversation. The voice from the past sent chills 
running down his spine.

Elrond walked beside the blonde, a hand on the strong shoulder, as if they were long lost 
friends reunited. Glorfindel was smiling. It was really him. Erestor knew that smile. His heart 
immediately sank, losing the last of his hopes that he wouldn’t recognise the Balrog-slayer, 
that another’s face would meet him at this day of judgement. Immensely familiar blue eyes 
met his at the entryway to the Last Homely House, and for a moment Erestor thought that 
Glorfindel also recognised him. But without another look, the blonde redirected his attention 
to the half-elf.

“You have had a long ride, Lord Glorfindel. You must be in need of rest.”

Elrond smiled affectionately at the Noldo, no doubt seeing images of the blonde’s heroic 
efforts playing in his mind’s eye. Visions of Glorfindel saving the life of his father that fateful 
day in the Encircling Mountains. Erestor made a face, sneering at the absurdity of it all. Now 
the lord of the valley is going to act like he owes this stranger his life - which in a way he 
does - and then what will the household come to? To nothing, just like fair Gondolin...

Erestor would have loved to have found in his research a reason for him to blame that on 
Glorfindel as well, but the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower was spotless in his 
demeanour. He had as far as the advisor could tell, never harmed a living thing that didn’t 
deserve harming. He was the epitome of all that was good and green in the world. So why was 
Erestor the only one who could see the foul ogre beneath the polished surface?

“I have prepared rooms for you in the west wing, overlooking the gardens. I hope they will be 
to your liking.”

“I’m sure they will, my lord.” Glorfindel bowed graciously.

“Ah, Erestor!” Elrond smiled. “You decided to join us after all. Is your headache better?”

“Lessened but not lost.” The dark advisor aimed a wry smile at the new arrival and folded his 
arms inside the wide velvet sleeves of his black robe.

A faint crease on the blond Noldo’s brow sent shivers of satisfaction up the counsellor’s neck, 
but the comment was completely lost on the half-elf.

“Glorfindel, this is my Chief Counsellor, master Erestor.” If Erestor wasn’t mistaken, Elrond 
had an air of pride at this introduction, but whether for him or for Glorfindel he could not tell.

“Mae govannen, Counsellor,” Glorfindel said with a slight incline of his head.

“Seneschal.”

Elrond still only beamed with joy. “Forgive my advisor’s lack of words, lord Glorfindel, I am 
afraid he’s been working much too hard lately.”

“Understandably, I’m sure.” The blonde was starting to appear uncomfortable, and Erestor 
took grim comfort in it.

/Go ahead, seneschal,/ he thought. /Make one wrong move and I’ll make your life so 
miserable you’ll wish you were still dead./

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Supper was a strained affair. No one knew how to act around the newcomer. The delighted 
advisor watched the fabled Balrog-slayer squirm in his seat as blushing servants brought him 
food and gave involuntary noises of admiration. Erestor couldn’t wait for the moment they all 
realized their hero was nothing but a low-class elf whose reputation had been exaggerated by 
the passage of time. Impostor! Traitor! Thief! Would that not be wonderful?

“Tell us about Gondolin!”

“Yes, tell us about the Balrog!”

“Oh, please, tell us!”

The twins were positively bouncing with questions, but that was to be expected at their age. 
These last months preparing for Glorfindel’s arrival, anyone they asked would tell them 
stories of the past, and now the object of their awe was sitting across the dinner table. They 
weren’t able to stay quiet for very long.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you much, pyn-neth,” Glorfindel said regretfully. “My memories are 
a bit hazy still.”

/Nice dodge,/ Erestor thought, and gave the Noldo a sharp glance.

“Perhaps Erestor here can help,” Elrond offered. “He’s very well educated in the history of 
our people, and holds much knowledge of times past.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” Erestor said dryly. 

He had no desire whatsoever to speak of the city that had taken everything from him. He had 
never told anyone that he was there, that he saw it in all its glory once upon a time, in the first 
age of the elves. He wanted to forget. Elrond believed as Erestor had told him, the nearest 
thing to the truth, that he had been born in Doriath and fled its fall, seeking the refuge of 
Lindon after the War of Wrath. The exact truth was that he had travelled with the exiles of 
Gondolin, only he had left them behind. He had found a dead ranger in the woods and taken 
his horse, living as a rogue on the outskirts of the refugee camp by the sea and refusing to take 
any part in the kinslaying. Not until the dust had settled did he emerge with his new reputation 
and follow the high king to Lindon. It was not a complete lie, but it was not the truth either.

“Don’t you remember anything?” Elladan asked sweetly. “Not even a little bit?”

“Now, now, leave lord Glorfindel to his supper,” Celebrian rebuked her son, and that was the 
end of that, for which Erestor was grateful.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Erestor was amazed at himself. He had been able to keep his cool all evening, and retired 
gracefully for the night. Elrond had looked concerned for his odd behaviour, but Erestor had 
not felt inclined to explain himself. He always felt bad lying to his lord and closest friend, and 
there had never been a reason for Elrond to question his past. But if Glorfindel started 
remembering things... Elrond might never trust his advisor again. The Peredhel was not 
someone who liked being lied to, for whatever reason, which is something the twins had 
learned the hard way. And now this Noldo...

Noldorin. It was in his own blood as it was in Glorfindel’s, but he never thought of himself as 
a Noldo. He didn’t know much about his family, but he knew his father had been of Noldorin 
descent. Living in Rivendell for as long as he had, living with the Peredhil family, he was 
starting to think of himself as a half-elf as well. He was like an uncle to the little twins, who 
reached a bit over his waist these days. He had held them in his arms when they were but 
minutes old, and loved them like a father ever since. Remembering where he came from and 
what he used to be was not something he craved.

Trying to keep unwanted thoughts out of his mind, he started humming an old tune that had 
always managed to soothe him, and undressed by routine, gently folding away each garment 
and putting it in its rightful place. His chambers were dark save a few candles around the bed, 
and every single one of his possessions was neatly placed at exact positions around the room. 
Erestor looked around, straightened a framed painting on the wall that was slightly askew, and 
then was satisfied he could go to bed. He folded back the covers and climbed naked between 
the exquisite silken sheets.

Alone in his bed the Chief Advisor listened to the voices of ghosts from the past.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


“Erestor! Are you daydreaming again? Bring those over here.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Erestor stifled the yawn on his lips and kept dragging the litter of old and broken steel towards 
the forge. His frame was much too light for this type of hard labour, but the chief armourer 
had decided to make a “real elf” out of him. Still, he would go to bed aching all over, and 
never wake up one ounce heavier. It was a lost cause, and they all saw it eventually. The 
blacksmith got tired of the clumsy young elf, and thought he would be better off in King 
Turgon’s household. But the chief armourer knew that if Erestor dropped a plate of hot soup 
in the King’s lap, it would be on his head.

And so it was then that Ecthelion, Lord of the House of the Fountain, said he would take the 
elfling off their hands.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The city of Gondolin was indeed as fair as the fables proclaim, especially in winter. The 
facades of the towers and pinnacles sparkled as white as the snow, gleaming frost clinging to 
the rough surface of pale stone. Erestor’s new home had immediately been to his liking, and 
the lighter chores suited him much better. He would do anything to please his new lord, who 
had so kindly taken him in despite his clumsiness and absentminded nature. Erestor was 
always one to dream of bigger things.

The young elfling was happy doing dishes - though he dropped quite a few - or helping 
prepare food, despite burning his fingers on the oven on several occasions. The she-elf in 
charge of the kitchen only laughed, and told him to go out and put his hand in the snow. But 
the humiliation was not as bad as working for the smithy had been. No one in the House of 
the Fountain would ever crudely joke about his narrow frame, or slap him so hard on the back 
he fell over and scraped his knees on the frozen ground. For the first time since losing his 
family, Erestor was beginning to feel happy again.

Whenever he ever got a free moment he would spend it in the library, sifting through the tall 
shelves crammed with books, taking a stack of interesting ones back to his tiny room and 
reading them from cover to cover. He had dragged lots of old blankets and pillows from the 
storage rooms into his ‘rat hole’ as he called it. Bundled up, it made for a cosy little reading 
corner beneath the small window. In the evenings the deepening twilight would change the 
frosted glass into a magical range of colours, and Erestor would glance at the strange pattern 
when turning a page, and privately note it looked different with every glance. The books were 
his major interest, and he vowed that he would read every single one in the city, if it took him 
a thousand years.

One cold night he was sitting in his corner as usual, draped in blankets, trying to soak up 
whatever warmth he could from the furnace pipes that ran across his ceiling. A half eaten 
sandwich lay crumbled on the floor by his bed, as he was hoping to see his furry little friend 
peek his nose out through the cracks in the wall. A brown rat with beady black eyes had been 
visiting him for several nights, and for some reason Erestor liked his company. Finally, as 
Erestor turned another page in his current book, the little critter scurried out from under the 
bed, went straight for the sandwich and started nibbling the dry bread.

“Sate your hunger, little friend,” the elf smiled, his gaze returning to paper and ink.

There was a sudden knock on the door, and the little rat swiftly disappeared with a large 
chunk of cheese hanging from its mouth. Erestor started, wondering who would come to see 
him at this time of night. He wasn’t excited about working right now, and asked himself if he 
should just pretend to be asleep. However, when there was a second knock he relented and bid 
the elf enter. As the tall stature of his lord ducked into the small room, Erestor sprang to his 
feet; embarrassed about the mess he called home.

“My Lord Ecthelion!” he gasped, trying to sweep the remains of his sandwich under the bed 
with his foot. “What are you doing here at this late hour?”

“By the Valar, child, is this how you live?” The elf lord wrinkled his nose, seemingly 
displeased.

“I am very grateful, my lord, that you are letting me stay here,” the elfling hurried to say. “I 
am sorry I have not kept it very clean...”

“Are those rat droppings?!” Ecthelion pointed to a pile of tiny black pellets on the floor.

“You must have scared him, sire. He does not usually leave waste in here...” Realizing what 
he had just said, Erestor blushed crimson and began shuffling his feet. “That is...he is my 
friend.”

His lord smiled at him. “The rat is your friend? Is that why you leave food on the floor?” The 
elfling nodded. “Good,” Ecthelion beamed, placing a hand on the smaller elf’s shoulder. “For 
a moment I thought that’s how they were feeding you. Are you sure you’re comfortable in 
here, Erestor?”

“I am well, my lord. I truly love it here. Everyone has been so nice to me. Especially you.”

He blushed again, not knowing what to do about the sudden feelings of affection for this tall, 
beautiful Noldo. Gazing up at the smiling face, Erestor thought it was the most beautiful face 
he had ever seen. Deep dark eyes twinkling with mirth, long hair the colour of midnight, 
undeniably masculine features, yet with a softness one rarely saw on male elves. Yes, the 
Lord of the Fountain was nothing short of remarkable, and young Erestor would have done 
anything for him in that moment.

“I am glad,” Ecthelion said. “Promise to tell me if you’re ever unhappy.”

“I will, my lord. I promise.”

“Very well, then. Now, you asked why I was here? I have something for you.” Erestor’s eyes 
widened with surprise. “A gift. A little bird whispered in my ear that you enjoy reading, and 
the elf in charge of the library seems to know better than anyone exactly -what- it is you like 
to read, and so I wanted you to have this.”

The elf lord handed over a large book, bound in blue leather with golden stars imprinted on 
the cover. Erestor accepted the heavy book into his arms, running his hands over the smooth 
surface. It looked new.

“It is a book of tales,” Ecthelion smiled. “Some true, some not. Some about Ilúvatar and the 
creation of the elves, others about common men with common lives. It has many different 
tales in it. Most elflings love the stories with swordfights and Balrogs the most.”

“I am hardly an elfling anymore,” Erestor giggled happily, sifting through the pages. “Is it 
really mine?” He looked up uncertainly. He had never before been given such a gift as this.

“It is,” the lord smiled, petting the elfling’s dark head.

That night Erestor slept soundly and with a rueful smile on his young face, arms wrapped 
around the most precious gift he had ever received.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


As the sun rose over Imladris, the Chief Counsellor awoke with loving feelings in his heart, 
warm memories still clinging to him from beyond dreams. In his deepest unconscious mind, 
he felt that the past had not been entirely composed of bad experiences; there had been good 
times also. But when his head cleared and he found himself fully awake, all such feelings fled. 
All that was left was a bitter taste in his mouth and the echo of a hated name - Glorfindel.

Groaning with contempt, the advisor swung his legs off the bed and regretfully got up. 
Sauntering over to the closet to get his morning robe, he happened to cast a glance at his 
bookshelf. There was one book that stood out from the rest. A book that had always been too 
big to fit any shelf. Erestor smiled, lovingly pulling at the worn leather. The colour had faded 
and the poor thing had been read so many times it was nearly falling to pieces. Still, it was as 
recognisable as it had been the day he received it. The blue storybook with the little gold stars 
on the cover. It was the one thing he had saved when they were forced to flee the city.

The normally rigid advisor felt tears prickle at the back of his eyes as he beheld the sorry state 
of his favourite possession. Suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, he hugged the book to his 
chest and hurried back to his bed. Pulling the covers and pillows into a messy pile, he 
snuggled up to read his favourite story one more time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The days moved ever on. Erestor tried to stay away from the golden-haired warrior as much 
as possible, but they would occasionally meet in a hallway or out in the grounds. He tried to 
smile politely, but every time his throat contracted to the point where only a strangled noise 
escaped, and he felt fairly certain the Noldo thought he was uttering a greeting in some 
foreign language. For the most part he felt happier when he was shut in his study or in his 
room, far away from smiling blue eyes.

The advisor tried to keep himself busy during the days that seemed only to grow longer, but 
during the nights he still dreamed, and visions of the past assailed him. His feelings for 
Ecthelion that once burned so wildly had been dampened by millennia of skilled denial, but 
now they resurfaced with undeterred flame. Erestor could not look at Glorfindel without 
seeing Ecthelion beside him, as they were often seen in Gondolin. Best friends, the two would 
walk side by side through the city, laughing as they went, and they were a familiar sight to 
any elf that dwelt in the lower levels of the fair city. As different as night and day, yet so 
much the same, people said.

Trying desperately to think of something else, Erestor fled into books of old tales, but every 
now and then there was a tale he knew only too well, and his enjoyment was ruined. These 
days, the tales of Gondolin and its fall were in every history book.

Taking a break from his reading, Erestor stood up and walked across the bare floor of his 
study, rubbing his eyes wearily. The air felt stuffy and his robes felt warm, so by instinct he 
stepped over to the window and threw it wide open, breathing in large gulps of fresh air. The 
spring sunlight shone down on his face, and for the first time in days he felt as though his 
head was clearing. But an annoying noise cluttered his well-organized mind once more. 
Looking down he saw Glorfindel, in nothing but leggings and a thin shirt, sparring with some 
of the younger warriors. What were they doing so far from the training grounds?

Glorfindel laughed loudly, jumping behind trees and ducking behind sculptures, making the 
sparring as difficult as he could for the youngsters. They were out of breath while he hardly 
seemed to have broken a sweat. He was in surprisingly good shape for someone who had been 
dead for almost four thousand years, Erestor thought. As the Noldo leapt out from behind a 
bush, he jokingly kicked a young elf right in his backside, then ran away. The other 
youngsters laughed at the first one, but were soon at the receiving end of the seneschal’s 
mischief themselves. Erestor found himself smiling at the display, and gave himself a hard 
mental slap. It was neither funny nor endearing. Glorfindel was a selfish bastard who made 
fun of others, and that had hardly changed.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Never paying much attention to the art of warfare, Erestor had always been left out as a young 
elf. He was smaller, thinner, and preferred the company of books and animals. For that reason 
he never had many friends growing up, and slowly turned into a loner, an invisible thing 
others chose to ignore. Always unhappy, Erestor looked to books to take him away from this 
world and show him another. No one gave him much notice, and he didn’t really care. The 
only elf he wanted to notice him was Ecthelion, and the elf lord was good at that. He seemed 
to sense things in the elfling, and Erestor could not have been more pleased.

One year, in the warmer season, Erestor had found that a secret collection of books were 
being introduced to the library. Tired of carrying books back and forth, the young elf decided 
to make the library his new home. He spent hours there every day, looking at maps, studying 
family trees and reading every story, tale and fable he could find. That was where his lord 
found him one afternoon, as the sun was about to set.

“Erestor, my friend, so this is where you’ve been all day. I’ve been looking for you.”

“Forgive me!” Erestor leapt from the floor where he sat, not prepared for the stiffness in his 
knees, and tried to stand up straight. “Have I failed you, my lord?”

“No, Erestor, don’t be silly.” The Lord of the House of the Fountain laid a hand on the dark 
head, smiling warmly at Erestor in a way that made his stomach flutter. “You had no chores 
today, I was merely wondering what happened to you. The chamberlain said he saw you in 
here. Did you read all these?” He gestured to a stack of books that wobbled precariously in 
front of a nearly empty shelf.

“Aye, my lord. I do enjoy reading.” Erestor looked at the floor, for he could not think of 
another place to aim his eyes.

“I know you do, pen-neth. Quill before sword, eh?”

“In a manner of speaking.” He felt a blush creep over his cheeks.

“Don’t be ashamed, Erestor. There is nothing wrong with that. Those who live to wield 
swords, often die with them in hand. Do you understand?”

“Aye, my lord.” Erestor beamed with pride as the Noldo’s arm slipped over his shoulders and 
ushered him out of the library.

“Have you ever wielded a bow, Erestor?” The young elf looked up, then shook his head. 
“Well, then, it’s about time you learned.”

Erestor still remembered it vividly, how he had ridden out into the green valley with his lord, 
the way the air smelled, the feel of the horse between his legs. He remembered Ecthelion’s 
arms around him, as the Noldo was showing him how to cock an arrow properly. He 
remembered how he blushed, feeling warm breath ghost against his cheek.

“Eyes on the mark, Erestor.”

Ecthelion was the only elf he knew who didn’t shout his name. The Lord of the Fountain 
never raised his voice. The tall, beautiful elf was always kind to him, and from that day 
Erestor found that the lord consumed more and more of his thoughts until he utterly ruled his 
waking mind. He would do anything to receive more attention from his lord, and receive he 
did. Ecthelion doted upon him, gave him his own bow, a bigger room and endless hours of 
conversation and instruction. He taught Erestor about weapons and riding and strategy, and 
the young elf was rapt with attention, soaking up the new knowledge like a rag in hot water. 

One needed not be interested in warfare to follow every lesson with undivided concentration. 
Erestor couldn’t say when he first realized he was in love with the distinguished elf. It crept 
on slowly, like leaves changing colour at the end of the year. His love had been childlike and 
green once, but now it burned a fiery red without him even remembering passing through 
copper and gold. He soon found himself following his master like a dog, hoping to be petted 
and cuddled and taken to bed at night. Permanently attaching himself to his lord’s side, he 
made a pledge to serve him with perfect devotion. Ecthelion would laugh at him sometimes.

“Such a sweet child, Erestor.”

Child. That single word, albeit spoken affectionately, now hurt like a red-hot dagger straight 
in the heart. How could his beloved lord think him a child? He was past his majority now, and 
should be treated as an adult, an equal. But his small frame and compulsive shyness played 
tricks on any who observed him. Perhaps the chief armourer was right. Perhaps he did need to 
be turned into a “real elf”. With all the training Ecthelion had personally given him, he 
thought he would get some respect from the other elves, but apparently he had been mistaken. 
This time however, he would not let it pass.

Mind set, he signed up for warrior’s training, so he could join the squires. Some of the elder 
elves chuckled behind his back, but Erestor could not be discouraged. He was going to prove 
himself if it cost him an arm and a leg. However, all that training meant he had to spend a lot 
of time away from his lord, and that did not sit well at all. Out on patrol training, in the 
pouring rain, he would envision Ecthelion’s face, imagine his dark silken locks sliding 
between his fingers, just to keep himself going. He didn’t enjoy one moment with the guards, 
but he did it so that his lord would see him for what he was, a grown, mature elf, capable of so 
much more than doing dishes and running errands. If that meant riding in the rain for three 
days, he would do it.

Back inside the walls of Gondolin, he had immediately run to find his lord, hoping to be 
looked upon in a different light. Surely now he would be accepted. The House of the Fountain 
was quiet, and the door to his lord’s study was ajar. Erestor heard voices, and slowed his 
steps. He didn’t want to interrupt a meeting. That was something an impatient child would do. 
But the curious elfling inside him pulled him closer to the door and made him peek inside.

“Aiya, Glorfindel, you have been away too long,” Ecthelion said, smiling.

“I am here now, am I not?”

Erestor didn’t know Glorfindel very well. The elf had never bothered with Erestor, but nor 
had he been one of the elves to laugh behind his back. All he really knew about the elf lord 
was that he was Ecthelion’s closest friend. A broad shouldered warrior with a straight brow 
and long golden hair down his muscled back. An elf most youngsters would admire and aspire 
to be like. Erestor wondered if that was what it took to be accepted. Strong arms and blond 
hair...

“Have you adopted any more orphans while I was away?” Glorfindel teased as he leaned 
against the cluttered desk.

“If you are referring to Erestor he is quite grown up.” There! At last! He had his recognition. 
Erestor nearly wept with joy. “He doesn’t need me any more. He spends all his time with the 
warriors these days. Never thought that would happen. He was always more interested in 
reading than in fighting.”

“So...does this mean I get to have you all to myself now? No little tail following you around?”

Ecthelion chuckled and stepped closer to the blonde. “I am all yours, my friend.”

Erestor watched in horror as the two lords wrapped their arms around each other and joined in 
a kiss so needy it would have popped King Turgon’s eyes out. The small elf in the doorway 
had trouble finding his breath, not sure if he should be aroused or repulsed by the scene 
unfolding before him. Those hands...those strong warrior’s hands were touching his lord, 
touching him the way Erestor had dreamed to touch him, and it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. 
Ecthelion was supposed to be his!

Eyes rapidly filling with tears, the wet elfling ran back out into the rain.


------------------------

Chapter 2 - Hostility

Weather grew warmer in the sheltered valley. Trees blossomed and birds built nests within 
their crowns. Weeks passed, and things calmed a fraction. Glorfindel got into his routine as 
the new seneschal, Elrond lost his constant smirk and got his frown back, and the twins didn’t 
bounce quite as much. However, they still followed the Noldo everywhere, asking a myriad of 
questions. “What are you doing?”, “what’s that?”, and “are you remembering the Balrog yet?” 
Strangely enough, the handsome blonde was not as annoyed as Erestor would have been in 
the same situation. He laughed happily and answered as many questions as he could while 
grooming his horse. But every time the Noldo smiled, Erestor felt a stabbing pain in his gut.

Immersing himself in his personal library, Erestor avoided running into the new seneschal as 
much as possible. It meant withdrawing from the family as well, as Glorfindel had quickly 
become everyone’s favourite, but that was a sacrifice he could live with. Temporarily at least. 
Anything to be as far away as possible from that...that...

That elf, with the dirty hands.

More weeks passed, and Elrond started giving him worried looks. Erestor said it was nothing 
and went on his way. To get away from the glances and insinuations, the advisor often took a 
favourite book and settled in the garden, reading below a whispering tree. He did so this day. 
It was early summer, and the air was warm. For once he was not wearing his dark velvet robe, 
but a light tunic that opened at the chest. Sitting barefoot on the soft ground, he wiggled his 
toes in the grass, reading some of his favourite poetry and feeling at peace for the first time in 
a long while. But this time he was not left alone.

“Good morning.”

“Lord Seneschal.” Erestor let out a frustrated breath, but ignored the blonde and hoped he 
would leave.

“May I sit down?”

“It is your garden as much as mine.” Erestor hated having to invite the Noldo, but if he said 
‘No, go away’, then Elrond would surely shower him with concerns later.

“I can see this tree from my window,” Glorfindel mused. “You sit under it often.” The blond 
elf didn’t seem to have an ulterior motive, so Erestor decided to humour him for now.

“I come here for privacy,” he said bluntly.

“I apologise if I have disturbed you. I wanted to keep you company.”

This made the counsellor suspicious. “Why? What need is there for a warrior to consort with a 
scholar?”

Glorfindel shrugged, but kept that disarming smile firmly planted on his face. “I’d like to 
think we’re not merely divided into groups of brutes and intellectuals. We are all still elves, 
are we not? And as far as I know, you are the oldest elf in Imladris. We may have something 
in common.”

“And what would that be? A few years in the First Age where we coexisted in different parts 
of Arda? That is hardly a basis upon which to build a friendship.” Erestor returned to his book 
and tried to ignore the elf lord, but Glorfindel was not so easily deterred.

“What is a basis then, counsellor, upon which to build a friendship? Perhaps you would enjoy 
a bit of sword fighting if only you tried it. Perhaps I like books as well, only you never asked 
me if I did. Perhaps we would share many interests, if only we spoke. So why are you not 
speaking with me?”

Growing more annoyed by the minute, the counsellor countered. “Perhaps it is you who do 
not speak with me. Perhaps we have nothing in common whatsoever and it would be a futile 
cause. Perhaps I simply don’t like you. So why don’t you leave me alone?” 

This time, when he returned his gaze to the book, his interest could not be drawn again. After 
a few minutes of sitting in silence, the Noldo rose and walked away. Erestor had succeeded in 
repelling the irritating elf. So why did he feel like he had just eaten a rotten egg? Angrily 
tossing the book aside, he buried his face in shaking hands. It felt awful, being cruel to 
someone who had yet to do something unforgivable in his new life. Glorfindel was overly 
nice to everyone, no doubt compensating for a faulty personality, and Erestor had to force 
himself to focus on his hatred, will forward memories of what the Noldo had done to him so 
long ago, in another life. This was vengeance!

But it still tasted like bile at the back of his throat.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

There was no way he would be able to sleep. Tonight, the thought of that elf sleeping in the 
same house bothered him as it had never before. Everybody adored Glorfindel, when there 
was really nothing special about him. Certainly, he was more handsome than most others, tall 
and strong, with an air of invincibility. But Erestor remembered him as he was in Gondolin. 
Haughty and self-absorbed. Taking what he could get even if it wasn’t his to take. Conceited. 
Crude. Superior.

As a young elf, Erestor had found him intimidating, but now he seemed merely pathetic. He 
couldn’t fool the advisor anymore. Even after thousands of years, Erestor’s memory was 
intact.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


There just weren’t enough books in Gondolin to let Erestor escape reality. When every page 
in every book on every shelf had been thoroughly read and reread, the young elf didn’t know 
what to do with himself anymore. Nothing satisfied him like Ecthelion’s company, and the 
lord still had the ability to melt his heart with a smile, but now that he had turned into a 
“grown elf” in his lord’s eyes there was not room for him anymore. He hadn’t realized it at 
the time, but staying a child was what had ensured him his lord’s affection. And now he 
couldn’t go back.

With heavy steps he wandered the city, aimlessly probing his environment and hoping to find 
an answer leaping out from behind a bush. Nowhere did he encounter such an apparition. 
Walking past the stables on his way home, he stopped to pet the horses that were still outside 
in the paddock. He wished deeply for his own horse, but was too shy to tell Ecthelion. He had 
hoped he would get one for his begetting day when he turned fifty, but it had been a rough 
year and the horses were few. That still didn’t stop Erestor from spending time at the stables. 
There was a large white horse that would always come up to him and nuzzle his hands. This 
evening was no different, and Erestor found some sweetmeats in his pocket, which he shared 
with the friendly stallion.

“Nice horse,” he crooned, stroking the gentle giant’s face. “Good horse.” The stallion gave an 
appreciative snort, and accepted the little sweet from the young elf’s hand.

“What are you doing?” someone yelled. “Don’t feed him that!”

Glorfindel was beside him in the blink of an eye, grabbing his arm and yanking it away, as if 
Erestor were a disobedient elfling in need of discipline, and the sugary treats fell to the 
ground.

“What are you doing feeding Asfaloth sweets? He’s a horse; he eats grass. Are you trying to 
ruin his teeth?”

“No, my lord,” Erestor said defiantly, and pulled his arm free. 

There was a long moment of silence, where Glorfindel stared at Erestor and Erestor stared at 
the ground. In the meantime Asfaloth saw fit to stretch his head through the fence and try to 
fish up the treats by means of his agile lips, but Glorfindel kicked them into the dust before 
the horse could reach them. The beast snorted at its master and turned its tail end to him. But 
the blonde only stared at Erestor.

“Don’t let it happen again, all right?” he said, and turned his back.

Erestor never had many friends in Gondolin, and now he was afraid to go to the stables again. 
Desperate and lonely, he sought the company of his lord.

He found Ecthelion pacing in his study, book in hand, chewing on an apple and humming an 
old song. Erestor stopped in the doorway and for a few precious moments pending discovery, 
he quietly admired the elf who had stolen his heart. Only seconds later, dark eyes looked up 
and crinkled endearingly at the corners. Looking as if he had been caught in the act, the elf 
lord quickly chewed and swallowed the fruit still in his mouth before addressing the 
youngster.

“Erestor,” he smiled. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long, my lord. Am I disturbing you?”

“You could never disturb me, child. Come here.”

Child. Erestor thought he could never be happy hearing that, but he was. Overwhelmed with 
emotion, he ran over to his lord and slung his arms around his waist, hugging him close. 
Ecthelion flinched, but wrapped his arms around the smaller elf nonetheless.

“My dear child, is something wrong?”

“No, my lord,” Erestor sniffled, tears in his voice. “I only wanted to see you.” In his mind, 
where no one could hear him, he added; “I love you”.

To his very delight, Ecthelion held him - and kept holding him - until all his worries melted 
away. From that day, Erestor took every opportunity to find his lord alone, hoping to be held 
again. With every look exchanged, every touch, he felt closer to the tall elf. Weeks passed, 
and Erestor made sure never to leave his lord alone when Glorfindel was around. The golden 
haired Noldo was well loved by all, and could have had his pick of any number of willing 
elves. He was not going to get his hands on Ecthelion.

Not while Erestor still breathed.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


“Erestor, you are behaving like a child!” Elrond did not often lose his temper, but he had been 
under severe pressure lately, and was not happy to learn that his two most trusted friends were 
not on speaking terms. “I demand you apologise to Glorfindel.”

“Apologise?” The counsellor didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, but he definitely 
was not going to apologise.

“Yes, Erestor. I will not tolerate this kind of juvenile behaviour from my Chief Advisor. You 
offended our seneschal, now I am imploring you to apologise.”

“Offended? I only said I didn’t like him, how is that offensive? I could have called him any 
variety of unpleasant names or listed several of his loathsome attributes, but I restrained 
myself and phrased my comment with great consideration for his pride. It was not my 
intention to wound, only to deflect.”

Elrond sighed, sinking into his chair. “Spoken like a true diplomat,” he said with a bitter 
undertone in his voice. “If I didn’t know you better I would say you are jealous.” Erestor was 
about to make a loud protest, but Elrond hushed him. “Since this is not the case, my concern 
is why. Why don’t you like him? You have been nothing but venomous since the day he 
arrived, and it’s beginning to bother the entire household, Glorfindel most of all. He does not 
know what he has done to deserve your anger. If you so adamantly refuse to apologise, I 
cannot make you, but I would beg of you to explain, if not to me then to him, why it is you 
cannot be in the same room. Why you growl under your breath when he greets you.”

“And if I refuse this as well?”

The half-elf took a deep breath and folded his hands on the desk. “Then I would have to 
seriously consider finding Imladris another Chief Counsellor.”

Erestor swallowed hard, more hurt than frightened. He hardly believed Elrond was about to 
dismiss him, but the half-elf was clearly trying to get through to his stubborn advisor the best 
way he knew how. Erestor stood from his chair without looking at his lord, turning his back as 
he spoke.

“Then I suppose I better do as you ask.” His voice trembled and his eyes stung with unshed 
tears. “I shall find Lord Glorfindel, and apologise.” He emphasized the last word with an 
unmistakeable growl and left the room with angry steps, long maroon robes sweeping behind 
him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Erestor needed but to ask the nearest elf to find out where the Noldo was. Everyone kept track 
of him, it would appear. Making his way to the stables, the advisor desperately tried to think 
of what to say. When faced with the blonde, he was certain nothing but accusations and 
insults would leave his lips. There was something about Glorfindel that made him feel like a 
child again, that made him want to shrink and crawl into a corner, instinctively assuming 
defensive mode. It was ridiculous, as he now was much older than the Noldo and had far more 
knowledge and experience than the blonde would ever have. So why was he so intimidated? 
He had no lover to lose this time.

Approaching the stable doors, he peeked inside the gloom, and indeed he saw there a golden 
shape. He did not want to go any further, but his legs compelled him. He was drawn to the 
golden light as a moth to a flame, and as he came closer he lost all sense of speech. An open 
hatch in the roof let the sunlight wash down on the elf that stood before his majestic horse, 
petting its face and crooning sweet words of ancient Noldorin in its ears. A rueful smile was 
on his lips, his eyes glittering with affection for the beast, and suddenly Erestor found himself 
weak at the knees. A nervous elfling all over again.

“Erestor?” The voice shook him out of his trance, and he tried to formulate an answer, but 
couldn’t quite manage it. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

“Fine.” The advisor cleared his throat. “I came to speak with you.”

“Ah.” He smiled, but there was no mirth in his eyes. “So now you are speaking with me?” 

He continued stroking the white horse across the forehead, occasionally scratching behind a 
furry ear, making the beast grunt with pleasure. Erestor’s gaze followed the Noldo’s hand so 
intently he didn’t realize when Glorfindel shifted his attention towards him.

“What was it you wanted to say?”

“Oh, I... I wanted to apologise. For being so blunt with you the other day. I did not mean to 
offend you, my lord.”

“You have not offended me, master Erestor. You puzzle me, that is all.”

Erestor flinched. “You were not offended?”

“No. Certainly I felt rejected - I was only trying to be friendly - but I must have caught you at 
a bad time. There is not an elf in Imladris who does not speak of you with respect and love, 
and I was merely hoping to see what they see, but so far I have not even seen you smile. 
Smirk, but not smile. Makes me wonder.” He paused. “Why? What made you think you had 
offended me?”

Erestor sighed in exasperation. “Elrond told me so. He said that if I didn’t apologise 
immediately he would relieve me of my duties.” He shot an accusing look at the Noldo, and it 
hit straight to the heart.

“Valar...Erestor, I am sorry.” Glorfindel looked guilty. “Lord Elrond and I were talking last 
night, I... I suppose I had a bit too much wine. My mouth sometimes gets a mind of its own 
when I drink.”

“I know.” Erestor had not meant to utter that comment, and it seemed to puzzle the Noldo 
even more, but the counsellor pretended it had never been spoken. “Perhaps you should stay 
away from the wine a bit longer. Technically you’re a newborn still.”

Glorfindel chuckled, and Erestor hadn’t thought it possible, but the sound was both a thrill to 
his ears and a chill down his spine. The blonde took no notice of the turmoil going on inside 
the advisor, but returned to his cheerful mood, acting as if all had been forgiven and forgotten.

“Do you have a horse, counsellor?” he asked, petting the white stallion.

“No. I hardly travel enough to warrant the keeping of a beast. When I need to, I sometimes 
borrow that one.” He pointed to a brown mare at the far end of the stable.

“She looks old.”

“As I said. I haven’t travelled in a while.”

“I could not be without a horse, even if I was unable to ride,” Glorfindel smiled, gazing 
adoringly at his equine friend. “I thought I could never again find a horse such as the one I 
had in Gondolin, but Asfaloth here more than adequately takes his place.”

“Asfaloth? You named him Asfaloth?”

Glorfindel giggled, and again the counsellor found himself floored by emotion. Why was the 
warrior’s laughter doing this to him?

“I name all my horses Asfaloth.” He looked at Erestor with a gleam in his eyes. “I am terrible 
at remembering names.”

Pulling a small sachet from his pocket, the blonde poured a handful of sweets into his palm 
and held it out to the horse. Asfaloth quickly picked them up, careful not to bite his master, 
and started chewing with a delightful crunching noise. Erestor only stared, not even realizing 
his eyes were filling with tears.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.

“Giving him a little treat,” the Noldo smiled. “I may be his master, but I want him to like me 
as well. No one gives him treats but me.” 

Glorfindel was consumed with Asfaloth, and didn’t notice the advisor discretely wiping a 
stray tear from his face. Erestor could not name his emotions, but they were taking his control 
away. For a moment he thought the best thing to do would be to turn and walk away, but 
apparently discussions had not yet ended.

“If you’re not still angry with me for some elusive reason,” Glorfindel began, still not looking 
up, “I would like very much to have a proper conversation with you.”

“Fine.” Erestor would have agreed to anything, only so that he could get out of there.

“Wonderful!” Glorfindel beamed at him, his eyes brighter than ever.

“How do you do that?” Erestor heard himself ask. “How do you forgive and forget in the time 
it takes your heart to beat? How do you go back to being happy again, just like that?”

Glorfindel looked at him with an indecipherable expression. He almost looked as though he 
was trying to read Erestor’s mind, his gaze completely focused on the advisor. To the 
counsellor’s horror, he stepped away from the horse and moved closer, some form of distant 
sadness creeping into his eyes. Wrapping his arm around a wooden stanchion, Glorfindel 
stopped, facing the slightly shorter elf.

“How could I not? Why dwell on the negative side of everything? I have never been able to 
hold a grudge or stay angry for very long. I prefer to be happy and enjoy life. For as long as it 
lasts,” he added with a smile. But his expression grew sombre, and he looked at the advisor 
with so much sympathy Erestor could not possibly have felt like more of a child. “Why are 
you so sad, Erestor? What happened to you?”

He was not able to disguise the shock this statement brought him, but he denied it 
nonetheless.

“What do you mean? Nothing happened to me.”

A warm hand descended onto his shoulder, and Glorfindel smiled, gaze still fixed on him.

“I know you’re not ready to open up to me yet, but I hope you will some day. I want you to 
know you can trust me. I will tell Elrond that all is well between us, and we’ll go from there. 
Does that sound fair?” Erestor nodded, unable to speak for fear of sounding like a trampled 
frog. Another wide grin graced the Noldo’s features. “Great! We will speak later, then?” 
Erestor nodded and the blonde took one last look at him before leaving him alone with the 
horses.

He stayed there - he couldn’t tell how long - until the sun vanished behind the trees and left 
the stable in shadows. Asfaloth snorted loudly to get his attention, and Erestor finally got his 
legs working. He managed to approach the stallion that so desperately sought his attention, 
and raised a hand to pet him. Yet in mid-air his hand hovered. He couldn’t tell how or why, 
but he wasn’t able to touch the beast. Something held him back.

“Asfaloth...”

Withdrawing his hand, the advisor gave the stallion an apologetic look before fleeing the dark 
building.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

His chamber wasn’t any darker than usual, but it felt to Erestor like it was darker than death. 
He stared at it for so long he began to see creatures moving in the corners of the room. He 
began to imagine sounds from under his bed. Hissing noises. Distant screams. Memories he 
had tried to suppress for millennia were overwhelming him with their clarity, and suddenly he 
saw things he had forgotten he had ever witnessed. The fear made him tremble under the 
covers of his bed, as real as it had been all those centuries ago.

Erestor closed his eyes tightly and willed the visions to go away, but they did not. The smell 
of singed flesh reached his nostrils, and he nearly gagged. That was the last straw. Leaving his 
bed with desperate urgency, the advisor ran for the balcony doors and threw them open, 
nearly flinging himself over the railing in his hurry to get out. Breathing in sobs, he gazed up 
at the crescent moon, holding onto the sight of it lest his memories should drown him.

“Please...” he whimpered, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Dreams assailed him. Horrible dreams. Beasts roaring, women screaming, bodies burning. He 
ran and ran, but there was no escape. His feet sank in the snow. The fiery creature that chased 
him emanated so much heat he didn’t need to turn around to know that it was there. And then 
it all disappeared in a flash of gold. He was alone on the cold hard ground. His head ached, 
and his body felt as though it were made of lead.

“Erestor?” a voice called his name. “Erestor, wake up.”

Forcing his eyelids open, he saw the fuzzy shape of a face he knew well. He knew every line, 
every curve of the finely sculpted features. And he knew that smile.

“Have you been lying out here all night?” the smile said. “You’re barely clothed, it must have 
been freezing!”

Perhaps all was not lost after all. The monster had not killed him.

“You came back...” he tried to tell his saviour, but his voice crackled. “You came back...”

The face filled with concern, and soon Erestor felt himself elevated by strong arms. “It’s all 
right, Erestor,” the deep voice crooned. “I have you.” Drawn to the warmth and comfort, the 
counsellor leaned in to his rescuer and melted in his arms. He was safe.


------------------------

Chapter 3 - Mystery

It snowed heavily that winter, which was both a blessing and a curse. It meant great effort to 
go anywhere, so most elves stayed inside. It also meant long hours in front of the fire with 
Ecthelion, playing board games or simply having tea and talking, which was something 
Erestor appreciated like no one else. The elf lord’s work was made so much more difficult this 
time of the year, ice blocking the pipes throughout the city, but he did his best to make sure 
there was always a steady supply of water. Erestor helped whenever he could, not that he had 
an honest interest, but rather that he didn’t want Ecthelion asking anyone else.

But he was nervous. That blasted blonde was also shut inside the walls of Gondolin, the snow 
making it useless to patrol. There wasn’t an orc on Arda that would fight its way through 
miles of deep snow simply to be shot by an archer the second he got in sight. Therefore all the 
warriors were safe in their homes, and the city left solely to the guard of the eagles. Erestor 
had no idea where Glorfindel was, and it kept him on edge. He dared not turn his back on 
Ecthelion.

One day, he was standing beside his lord at the great window in his study, watching the snow 
heavily drape across the houses of the lower level of the city. The sky seemed to possess an 
endless supply of fluffy white flakes, and the two elves watched them swirl to the ground with 
amusement.

“I wonder if this will ever end,” Ecthelion said with an ironic smile, sipping his tea.

“Spring will be on time. It always is. This weather only means we’ll have a warm summer 
with little rain.”

“You are right, of course. My Erestor is always right.” Ecthelion grinned. “You are so 
clever,” he said, putting an arm around the younger elf. “I’m very lucky to have you.”

Never able to handle compliments well, Erestor squirmed and snickered uncomfortably. “You 
flatter me, my lord.”

“I speak the truth.” He turned the young elf to face him. “You are very precious to me, 
Erestor. I mean it.” Ecthelion lovingly kissed the smooth forehead, petting the dark hair of his 
prodigy.

Erestor closed his eyes, focusing on the touch of those soft lips on his skin. His arms 
automatically reached out, encompassing the slim waist of the elf lord. The hands in his hair 
felt wonderful, and he pressed into their warmth, lifting his head in the process. When he 
looked up he was gazing into the dark eyes of his beloved, and there was nothing that could 
have stopped him then. An animal urge gripped him, made him grab the elf and kiss him hard 
on the mouth, pushing his whole body against him and releasing that passion that had been 
hidden in the dark corners of his heart for so many years. Ecthelion gasped, but the young elf 
did not relent. Holding onto raven tresses, Erestor forced their lips to stay together.

“How did I know this was going to happen?” a voice muttered in the doorway, and Erestor 
finally let go, shocked.

“Glorfindel! It’s not what you think!”

Within a second he was alone in the room. The blonde had left and Ecthelion had chased after 
him. The young elf stood numb, trembling by the window, wondering what on earth had 
possessed him to do such a thing. It was now perfectly clear whom the elf lord preferred, and 
the answer was not appealing. 

A minute later he grew aware of a presence in the room, and turned to see his lord standing 
there with a stern expression on his face. His trembling worsened, and he tried to look as 
small as possible as Ecthelion approached. This was going to be bad, he knew it. This was 
where he got the worst scolding of his life, was yelled at and punished like the rebellious 
elfling he was. His lord walked up to him with brisk steps, and Erestor braced himself for 
what was to come. Hands latched onto his shoulders and held him firmly in place.

“Why did you do that?” Ecthelion demanded. “Why did you kiss me like that?”

“Because I love you,” he answered, his eyes swimming with tears.

“Erestor...” The voice was soft now, full of sympathy. “I love you too, you know that. You 
are like a son to me.”

Shocked, Erestor shook his head. “No...”

“Yes, Erestor. Son.”

“I am not your son!” he shouted, wringing himself free. “Not!”

“Erestor, calm yourself!” The elf lord looked completely bewildered, and placed futile efforts 
into once more taking hold of the younger elf.

“Don’t!” Erestor cried, pulling away from unwelcome hands. “I am an adult, and you are not 
my father! I have never thought of you as a father! Never!”

“Erestor, please...”

“Please, what?! Am I supposed to let it go, sit back and accept that you’ll never think of me as 
anything but a child, is that it?” He angrily paced the room, tears flowing freely down his 
face. “I will not! I cannot sit back and let that...that bastard have you! What did he ever do to 
deserve your love? I bet my life; nothing! Like everyone else you only see his beauty and fail 
to notice what lies rotting beneath. He is vermin!”

“Erestor! That is enough! I will not have you speak of Glorfindel in that manner. He is my 
friend.”

“Aaaah,” Erestor exclaimed, “I see. He’s your ‘friend’. How lovely.”

“Stop that!” Ecthelion was getting really upset, Erestor could tell. There was anger in his 
eyes, pure anger, which is something the younger elf had never seen in him before, but 
Erestor was not about to back down. “I mean it, Erestor. Stop it. Right now.”

“Make me.”

The two dark haired elves stared at each other for long moments, neither of them about to 
give in. Finally, the elder took a chance and stepped closer.

“Erestor, listen to me. I love you. I don’t want to argue. What you’re feeling is not...it’s not 
love, Erestor. At your age it is common to become infatuated with someone close to you, it 
doesn’t mean that...”

“Be quiet! Don’t tell me how I feel! I know my own heart! I have loved you...since the 
moment I met you, and I will always love you. It’s not going away. This is not an infatuation! 
I only want to be with you.”

“It’s not going to happen, Erestor. I am sorry, but it’s not.”

“But if you just...”

“No, Erestor.”

Now it was his turn to be angry. The elf lord would not even listen to him! What could he say 
or do to change his mind? Ecthelion had an adamant expression, sternly paternal, which was 
probably the effect he desired, and it made a mockery of their relationship. At last, Erestor 
boiled over.

“It’s because of him, isn’t it! That blond imbecile!”

“I warned you...”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Erestor stepped forward, shoving the lord hard in the 
chest. “Go ahead and punish me ‘father’! Strike me!” Again, he pushed the older elf.

“Erestor...”

“Go on! Strike me, right in the face! If it’s him you love, if it’s him you truly want, then kill 
me now and have it over with!”

But the lord only stood there, a sad, sympathetic look in his eyes, his arms idle at either side. 
He would never hurt his little elfling, and Erestor knew that. He would rather die than strike 
an elfling, noble creature that he was. It made Erestor so unbelievable angry, so frustrated, so 
enraged, that he didn’t know what to do with himself. In the end, wrath got the better of him, 
and his fist effectively collided with the Noldo’s face. There was a loud smacking noise, and 
the crunch of cartilage beneath his knuckles. Then came the horrific realisation of what he had 
done.

Ecthelion stood doubled over, clutching his face, two lonely drops of blood landing on the 
grey stone floor. Erestor stared wide-eyed at the scene of his making, waiting in terror for the 
retribution. But it never came. What happened next was worse. The elder elf straightened, 
looking down at his red stained hand, a tiny trickle of blood running from his nose. He looked 
at Erestor with empty eyes, the expression on his face unreadable, and said with a hollow 
voice,

“I think you should leave.”

And Erestor did, without question or hesitation. He didn’t run, only turned and walked away. 
Out of the room, out of the building and into the snow. The roads had been cleared that 
morning, but the white quilt still reached his knees. He waded through it numbly, his hand 
pounding with pain from the impact, thinking he might go spend the night in the hayloft 
above the stables. He would certainly be undisturbed there. He would certainly also be cold 
and miserable, which was naught less than what he deserved.

Knowing his lord would never love him was too much for his heart to bear. If only it wasn’t 
for Glorfindel! How could he go on living his wretched little life without someone loving him 
and caring about him? He was worthless. Meaningless. His life was meaningless. He might as 
well lie down in the snow and die.

As if on cue, he tripped on something he could not see, and fell face first into the cold. He lay 
there, shaking from his own sobs, contemplating the possibility of not getting up again. But 
that choice had already been made for him. Someone put their arms around him and pulled 
him up.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Slowly coming to his senses, Erestor began to realize it was morning. Birds were chirping 
outside his window, and the scent of summer wildflowers was floating on the air. Blinking to 
clear his vision, he saw that the balcony doors were open, and someone was sitting in a chair 
just inside. Shocked, Erestor flew up against the headboard, pulling the covers tight over 
himself, not knowing if he had remembered to put on his nightshirt before going to bed. The 
elf in the chair started, and looked at him with concern.

“So, you are finally awake. How do you fare?” Glorfindel asked.

“What are you doing in my room?” Erestor growled. “This is my private chamber, and you 
don’t come in here uninvited, is that understood?”

The warrior took a deep breath, apparently collecting himself. He stood and walked over to 
the bed, sitting down at its edge to the advisor’s distress.

“I was worried about you,” he said. “I found you on the balcony, cold as ice. You must have 
been there all night. You were delirious. Do you not remember?”

Erestor took a moment to think. It was certainly possible, for he remembered not being able to 
sleep. And he vaguely remembered his dream. He had been rescued, just like...just like when? 
His memories suddenly eluded him, surprising, since they had been so vivid last night. 
Something was not right, something was upside down inside him, and the advisor felt helpless 
when faced with his own imperfections. Rubbing his eyes wearily, he let the covers slip, 
happy to see that he was not naked after all.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I have been sleeping poorly these past weeks.”

“Have you walked in your sleep before?”

“No. And I don’t think I was this time either. I was awake when I left my room. I don’t know 
why I would suddenly fall asleep outside.”

“Perhaps I was wrong not to tell Elrond immediately. He might know if there’s something...”

“No! Don’t tell him. I’m fine.” Erestor would not be able to handle another debate with the 
half-elf right now. He only wanted peace. For things to go back to the way they had been 
before this infuriating Noldo came here. “Please, just leave. I am fine.”

“Very well. Perhaps I should go back to my room.” Erestor nearly jerked with surprise when 
Glorfindel grabbed his wrist. “You seem to be warming up. Lucky I found you, eh?” The elf 
smiled. A nice, friendly smile that made Erestor feel warm inside. He couldn’t understand any 
of it. The Noldo took hold of his hand and rubbed it between his own. “I love this balcony. 
That it runs all the way around the west wing of the house. The plant life that has climbed up 
over the railing and made it come alive. I had thought it was mere ivy, but now they’re in full 
bloom, alive with funnel-shaped flowers in purple and blue... It’s beautiful.”

Glorfindel gazed down at his hands while he spoke, carefully rubbing the advisor’s cold skin. 
Erestor felt a tingle up his arm resembling delight when the blonde rubbed tiny patterns with 
his thumbs on the back of a pale hand. It had been a long time since anyone had touched the 
Chief Counsellor that way. His eyes were nearly closed in bliss by the time he realized what 
was happening, and yanked his hand away.

“Yes. The flowers are quite lovely this time of year,” he said coldly, not looking at the other 
elf.

“I am sorry if I violated your privacy, master Erestor. It was merely out of concern.”

“I understand. I am not angry with you.”

Glorfindel smiled, taking upon himself to brush a stray lock of dark hair from the advisor’s 
face. “If you ever feel like talking - to someone other than Elrond - remember I am only down 
the hall. All right?”

Erestor nodded and watched the blonde rise and walk out the balcony doors. Smiling blue 
eyes looked back at him one last time before they vanished, and suddenly the elf still in bed 
felt as though a hole had been torn in his chest. Sinking back beneath the covers, he flung a 
hand over his eyes, wondering what in Mordor was wrong with him. Something felt strangely 
alien inside, and yet so achingly familiar he didn’t know what to make of it. For some reason 
he felt as though he knew this feeling. As if he had been through this before. Why was it so 
hard to hate Glorfindel?!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Summer moved on and the days grew hotter with the season. Even Elrond began to look 
uncomfortable in his robes, and switched to lighter and more casual clothing. Most younger 
elves ran around with barely anything at all, and it was hard for the elder ones not to let their 
eyes slip to the agile young bodies. Erestor had never appreciated hot weather, and preferred 
to stay inside, in the northern rooms of the house were it was cool and dark. Unfortunately 
there was not much for him to do, and he grew fretfully bored. All that was left was to obsess 
over his past, and still, after weeks of probing the deep tunnels of his mind he had not been 
able to unlock the door to his subconscious. He had the feeling something important was 
evading him.

One particularly sunny day, he was sitting with his brooding as usual when he was interrupted 
by two identical elflings crashing through the door and bouncing over to him.

“Erestor, you must come!”

“Yes, come now!”

“Elladan, Elrohir, what are you talking about? Has something happened?”

The two youngsters grinned happily at him, half climbing on his lap, half pulling him out of 
his chair. “Come and you will see!” In the end he relented and followed the twins out into the 
hot sun. They pulled at his wrists to make him walk faster, but instead he walked slower 
simply to tease them, and laughed when he saw how frustrated they got.

“Erestor!” they whined in unison.

“All right, all right, I’m coming,” he chuckled, and followed the elflings who ran ahead.

They led him to the far side of the courtyard, where several warriors were tending to their 
horses. Erestor was surprised. He had not expected the patrol to be back so soon. Elladan 
waved at him, and he continued to follow the little ones. He came to realize that they had been 
sent by Glorfindel, who waited for him with an especially wide grin in the shade of some 
trees. Steeling himself, the advisor stepped closer. But there was something suspicious about 
the scene. The horse being tended to by the Noldo was not Asfaloth.

“All right, what is going on here,” he demanded, eyeing the black stallion warily.

It was a strong beast with sturdy limbs, a long, bushy mane and thick fur around its hooves. 
This horse was of northern bloodline, quite rare in the region. Eyes narrowing, Erestor looked 
at the blonde. Glorfindel only grinned.

“Is he not the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

“Yes, isn’t he, Erestor?” the twins agreed, their arms wrapped around each of the stallion’s 
front legs.

Erestor reached out, entangling his hand in the large mane and lightly scratching the beast’s 
neck, warranting a pleased grunt from the animal.

“He is indeed.”

The advisor allowed himself a small smile, delighting at the way the horse leaned into the 
touch. But the blond Noldo still only grinned, and it was quite unnerving. Erestor was about 
to demand an explanation for the seneschal’s smugness when Glorfindel reached out and 
planted the reins in the counsellor’s hand.

“Good. Because he’s yours.”

The twins giggled with glee, but Erestor stood dumbfounded. “What?”

“We were up by the northern borders when we ran into a group of Dúnedain. They had him 
carrying supplies. I don’t know what happened to me, but when I saw him... I knew he had to 
be yours.”

“How...”

“We made a trade. I gave them my sword.”

Erestor was utterly stunned. “You traded your sword?!” How unlike a warrior.

Glorfindel chuckled. “It wasn’t my favourite sword anyway. Besides, the ranger seemed 
pleased enough. Probably never held an elvish sword before. So, what do you think?”

The counsellor took a pause for contemplation. He didn’t know what he thought. On the one 
hand it was an incredible gift, unlike any he had ever received, one he had wished for since he 
was an elfling. But on the other hand... This had to be some deception on the Noldo’s part, a 
treat to blind him, a bribe to make him think more highly of the warrior. Was it working? 
Erestor didn’t know.

Glorfindel noticed the counsellor hesitate, and told the youngsters to go play with the other 
warriors. Once the two elves were alone, the blonde addressed the true issue.

“You don’t want him...because he’s from me.”

“I never said that.”

“But it was on your mind. Can you not pretend someone else gave him to you?”

“Is it that important to you that I have a horse?”

“No. It’s that important that you have this horse. I knew he was yours the moment I laid eyes 
on him. You will never find another horse like this one, Erestor, I know it.”

“Very well,” Erestor conceded. He didn’t want to argue. And he didn’t want to think about 
what this meant for either of them, but would rather do as Glorfindel had suggested and 
pretend he had come to own the beast from someone else. Thinking for a moment, he petted 
the stallion’s dark face, already feeling a swell of affection for the horse. His horse... Then he 
made the decision. “I thank you for your generosity, seneschal,” he said. “I will of course 
reimburse you for your sword.”

“That is unnecessary, counsellor,” the blonde said, his disappointment obvious.

“I insist.” The horse nudged its head against him, the nimble lips playing with a button on his 
tunic. “What have got there?” Erestor crooned, focusing all his attention on the beast. “You 
think I have funny buttons? Or are you simply hungry? Were those rangers not feeding you 
properly? You’ve got a nice build, so I would say they were.” He kissed the soft muzzle, 
whispering to the black horse. “Just you wait a few more weeks. There will be ripe carrots and 
apples, and I’ll make sure you always have plenty of both, lirimaer.”

When he looked up he noticed the smugness was back on the Noldo’s face, and hurried to 
conceal his joy. Yes, he was happy with the gift, he decided. Very happy. But the blonde was 
already smug enough. Erestor was about to say something that he would regret later, but was 
thankfully interrupted by two bouncy elflings that threw themselves around his waist.

“Can we go swimming now, Glorfindel?” Elladan asked.

“Ada promised you would come swimming with us,” Elrohir concurred.

“Of course we will,” Glorfindel smiled, and the twins cheered happily. “On one condition.” 
Silence. A look at the advisor. “Erestor must come with us.”

“Yes!” the elflings exclaimed. “You can ride your new horse! What are you going to call 
him?”

“I...I don’t know...”

“You can think about it on the way,” the blonde grinned. “Come.”

Apparently there was nothing more to say. Elrond and Celebrían both soon appeared, already 
mounted on their own horses, seemingly aware of Erestor’s gift since they only nodded his 
way and smiled. He tried to smile back, but the whole thing felt too awkward. All the same, 
once on the back of the black stallion he felt perfectly at ease. The beast moved with flawless 
grace, and it was a heavenly pleasure to ride him. He rode at the back of the group headed for 
the Bruinen, where no one could see him grinning happily and taking little detours so he could 
jump a fallen tree or rock. The stallion snickered at him and trotted merrily along.

Once they reached the shores of the river, however, he realized something else. He would 
have to bathe... It was their usual bathing location, where the waters were appropriately deep, 
but still enough for the elflings not to be drawn away by the current. The twins carelessly 
threw off all their clothes and ran straight for the water, screaming with glee, heedless of their 
mother’s plea. Glorfindel did the same, and although Erestor had seen virtually all the elves in 
Imladris naked at one point or another, he felt he had to turn his gaze away. He did not look 
back until the Noldo was waist-deep in the river.

Elrond and Celebrían were happier sitting in the shallow waters, looking deeply into each 
other’s eyes and whispering into each other’s ears. There were rumours in the valley that the 
Lady Celebrían was pregnant again, but if she was, Erestor was certain Elrond would have 
told him first of all. For now the couple looked content simply being together and leaving the 
babysitting to Glorfindel. The warrior was tossing the elflings around in the water, each of 
them roaring with laughter, both screaming “Again! Again!”

But Erestor did not feel like taking his clothes off in front of the Noldo, no matter how warm 
it was. He settled in the shade of a tree, watching the horses graze. Leaning his head back 
against the trunk, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the sounds of the summer. The heavy hooves 
of the horses as they walked about. The children cheering, begging the warrior to throw them 
higher in the air. Elrond’s loving whispers to his wife. A warm breeze blew on his face, and 
Erestor felt a peace settle inside him that had not been there for a long time. He felt utterly 
relaxed.

That is until he found himself with his arms full of wet elfling. He shrieked with surprise as 
the twins ambushed him and slithered their naked little bodies into his lap, effectively soaking 
all his clothes. They giggled and chattered between themselves as they decided the chief 
counsellor was due for a tickling. Erestor tried to protest, but it was too late. They tumbled 
around on the grass, the twins trying to tickle Erestor and him trying to tickle them. In the 
end, being the bigger elf, the advisor got hold of one slippery twin under each arm and during 
loud protests carried them to the shore where he tossed them back into the water. They 
cheered happily as soon as their heads popped above the surface, and Erestor laughed along 
with their absurd happiness. To be a carefree child in summertime...

“Come swim with us!”

“Please, Erestor?” they begged.

“Maybe next time, pyn-neth,” he chuckled, watching the elflings go back to their games.

Only then did he realize he was being watched. Glorfindel stood at the water’s edge, his eyes 
wide and his brow furrowed. Feeling scrutinized, the advisor steeled his features and glared 
back, trying not to let his eyes drift below the neck. “What?”

“Erestor, you...that is the first time I have seen you smile, or heard you laugh.” The seneschal 
shook his head. “You reminded me of someone.”

“Oh, really.” His heart was beating madly in his chest, but he tried to ignore it. He dreaded the 
day Glorfindel might remember their brief encounters in the past. “And whom did I remind 
you of?”

“I don’t know.” Glorfindel stepped closer, gaze fixed on Erestor’s face as if he was trying to 
see once more what he had seen before. But his memories seemed as elusive as Erestor’s and 
he shook his head again. “It might have been a mistake. As I have said, my memory is not 
what is used to be. Mandos changes things in ways I cannot describe.”

“I’m sure it does,” he said diplomatically, willing his pulse to calm.

“Will you not swim with us?”

“I had a bath this morning,” Erestor lied, “I certainly don’t feel like getting wet again today.”

Glorfindel looked him up and down with an amused grin. “You look wet to me already.” A 
wicked gleam appeared in the blue eyes, and as the blonde turned, the counsellor knew 
exactly what he was planning.

“Touch me, and by the Valar I will wring your neck!” he pointed threateningly at the Noldo 
and backed away from the water. He would not get thrown in with his clothes on.

“Relax, Counsellor,” the blonde grinned. “I’m only teasing you.”

Then he leapt into the water and was gone.


---------------------------

Chapter 4 - Discovery

A week later the rain came pouring down. A thunderstorm that lasted for days put the valley 
in darkness and dismissed any further wishes of going swimming. Warmth was still in the air, 
but the river flooded and the waters grew perilous. No one was more relieved than the 
counsellor. He was glad for the excuse to put on a thick robe and stay in his study all day, 
reading some new writings that had arrived from the East. The loneliness was tearing him 
apart as he once again pulled away from the family, but he could not bear to be near 
Glorfindel right now.

His mind taunted him, showing him bits of the past mixed with the present, making no sense 
of his thoughts. He had not slept since the storm began, but sat awake all night, watching 
lightning play across the sky. It was terribly frightening. And beautiful. As he fought the wind 
and the rain one morning to bring some treats for the black stallion, he realized that his beast 
was one of the few creatures in the stable not quivering with fear as thunder shook the earth. 
He promptly decided to name him Alagos. Storm. The horse immediately took a liking to the 
name, appearing relieved he had finally been accepted by his new master and granted the 
privilege of a title.

It relieved the advisor as well. He found himself spending hours upon hours with his new 
friend, staving off the need to socialize with the Peredhil family. Grooming the tall stallion 
was an activity that soothed his soul, and soon he was no longer obsessing about times past. 
He brushed the shiny coat and made braids in the thick mane, keeping his hands busy while 
quietly talking to the horse. It didn’t matter what he said, it felt good simply talking to 
someone who didn’t judge him on something as superficial as words.

Spending time with Alagos relaxed him like nothing else, and after three nights awake he 
finally slept soundly till dawn. And in dreams, he found some answers he hadn’t known to 
look for.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


“Let me go! What are you doing?!” Erestor fought against the one who had found him, but his 
entire body seemed weakened by grief.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You cannot simply lie down in the snow and think it will all get better.” 
Strong arms held him upright, but the young elf only longed to fall forward into numbing 
coldness. “It’s all right, Erestor,” a deep voice crooned in his ear. “Everything will be all 
right.”

“No...” he sobbed, not bothering to struggle anymore. The warm chest pressed against his 
back was too comforting, the arms around him too protective, the breath in his hair too 
soothing. It felt too good to be held, and he unconsciously leaned back, turning his head, and 
cried against the welcomed shoulder.

“Shhh...” A hand petted his hair. “It’s all right...”

Erestor surrendered to the warmth of the embrace and shed his final tears in silence. There 
was something strangely perfect about the situation, something he could not put his finger on, 
but it was unlike anything he had experienced before. The arms had him secured, and he held 
onto them, making sure they didn’t leave. But once all the tears had gone and the sobs had 
ceased, he was left with the feeling of being a stupid child again. He knew now was the time 
to grow up, and face the consequences of what he had done. Turning, he faced his rescuer.

“Do you feel better now?” Glorfindel asked, wearing a smile that would have melted all the 
snow had winter had a heart.

“He doesn’t love me,” Erestor said sadly, not daring to look the Noldo in the eye.

“Yes, he does. He doesn’t love you best, but he loves you.” Erestor glared resentfully at the 
blonde, the comment constricting his heart with its malice. Glorfindel took a deep breath. “I 
didn’t mean it like that. You see, the problem with Ecthelion is that he loves everyone. He is 
just and fair, maybe too much so, and doesn’t permit himself to love any elf more than 
another. He doesn’t love me over you, pen-neth.”

“Yet he thinks you a lover and me a child. Therein lies the difference.”

“True. But neither I get the love I crave from him. I doubt anyone ever will. He loves too 
much, with too many, and one elf’s heart is no bottomless well. Sooner or later, the spring 
must run dry.”

Erestor thought about this. He didn’t want to believe it, but the truth in Glorfindel’s words 
was undeniable. He saw the pain clearly in the compassionate blue eyes, and he came to 
wonder why he had never seen it before. Glorfindel truly loved Ecthelion, perhaps more than 
he was loved in return, and Erestor knew only too well how painful that was. Suddenly 
overwhelmed by sympathy for the other elf, Erestor hugged him. It did not take many seconds 
before those strong arms were once again around him, and he relaxed completely in the 
embrace.

“How’s your hand?” Glorfindel asked, a smile in his voice, and Erestor pulled away to look at 
him.

“You know about that?” The warrior nodded. Erestor lowered his eyes in shame, but he was 
made to look up.

“Don’t feel bad. He’s had worse. Besides, it’s his own fault for being so damned lovable.”

They both snickered, and Erestor realized they were still holding each other. But he didn’t 
mind. The cold was starting to get to him and nothing looked more heavenly at that moment 
than the enclosure of warrior arms. The cold stable loft had lost all its appeal, but the young 
elf had no desire to return to his room either. He could still hardly believe what he said next.

“Do you know somewhere warm I can stay for the night? I cannot go back there, not yet.”

Glorfindel smiled, that special smile of his that turned strong elves into puddles of mush, and 
wrapped his arm around narrow shoulders.

“I know the perfect place.”

Erestor slept comfortably that night, on a sofa in front of a large fireplace in the House of the 
Golden Flower, his head on Glorfindel’s lap.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


Erestor woke slowly, so utterly relaxed in his bed that dreams nearly followed him into 
waking. He could still feel the gentle fingers in his hair, the warm thigh beneath his face. He 
still heard the humming voice, soothing him to sleep. But when he opened his eyes, all he saw 
was the wall of his Rivendell chamber, and the dresser that held his sleeping clothes. Blinking 
a few times, he tried to drive the visions from his eyes, sleepily trying to decide what was real 
and what was imagination. In the end, he sat up, stunned by the memories that had come to 
him in the night.

For months now he had been driving himself into a pit of despair over the reborn Noldo, only 
ever remembering his distaste and dislike for him. But something had happened that last 
winter before Gondolin fell. Something had taken place between them, an understanding that 
had enabled them to refrain from being enemies. They were not rivals for the same elf’s love; 
they were merely discontented with the few precious crumbs they had been tossed. In that 
respect they were the same. But why should Erestor have forgotten something so vital to his 
opinion of Glorfindel?

It made no sense. The advisor got up and walked out onto the balcony. Any traces of the 
storm clouds were long gone, and the sun once more shone down on the valley. Birds sang 
happily in the canopies, and the youngest elflings were already awake and playing in the 
puddles the rain had left behind. It was a lovely day. Even Erestor felt strangely alive. He 
decided that for the first time in weeks he would join the family for breakfast. In order to 
satisfy his curiosity and settle the issue once and for all, he had to look into Glorfindel’s eyes 
and see if there was something there that would bring back more recollections of pivotal 
events. Erestor needed to study the phenomenon that was Glorfindel and decide if there was 
more to be learned about him. He could not rest until he discovered the last of his missing 
memories.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Elrond seemed surprised with his sudden appearance at breakfast, but all of them appeared 
glad he had decided to join them. The twins chattered more than they ate, eager to tell Erestor 
a hundred stories at once about the scary thunder and the indoor games they had played 
during the storm. The counsellor merely smiled and listened, his heart bleeding with affection 
for the two young ones. But once their mother told them to be quiet and eat their breakfast, 
Erestor was able to engage in more adult conversation with his lord. Every now and then the 
seneschal would comment on something, and Erestor looked him deeply in the eye, searching 
for something to trigger his sleeping mind.

The blonde, however, appeared to be made uncomfortable by his probing gaze, and preferred 
to look in a different direction. Elrond only radiated relief at the fact that they were speaking 
at all. The situation was not entirely satisfactory, but Erestor enjoyed a bit of company and 
conversation for a change.

“Glorfindel?” Elladan asked, his plate clearly emptied in a hurry. “Will you tell us about the 
Balrog now?”

The Noldo laughed uncomfortably. “I hardly think that’s a story to be heard over the breakfast 
table.”

“But...” Elrohir looked sad. “You said you would tell us when the storm passed, when we 
wouldn’t be afraid of the thunder anymore. You promised.”

“Feeling cornered, meldir?” Elrond grinned, amused, and refilled his teacup.

“Do go on, seneschal,” Erestor said, intrigued as to how much the blonde was remembering 
now. “I would very much like to hear the story myself, from one who was there and didn’t 
live to tell the tale.”

“Very well,” the warrior cleared his throat. “I suppose I have no choice.” He smiled at the 
little ones, who immediately scooted closer, positively bouncing in their chairs. Perking their 
pointy little ears up, they stared at the Noldo with undisguised awe as he leaned forward and 
began his tale in a whisper.

“Year 510 of the first age the snow fell heavily in the hidden valley of Tumladen. The city of 
Gondolin was all but swallowed in a sea of white, and elves stayed in their homes, cold and 
hungry. When spring finally showed its face, we were all so happy, so glad to be rid of the ice 
and snow that we threw a spectacular party. A feast to welcome spring to the city. I was there 
with my friends, taking part in the celebrations, listening to the music and enjoying the food. 
It was truly a lovely night, alight with all the stars, and we felt that life was good to us.”

“But it wouldn’t last...” Elladan breathed, his eyes wide with excitement.

“No. It would not. Like lightning from a clear sky came the trumpet call from the city wall, 
alerting us to danger. I ran to see what was happening, and once I reached the viewpoint I was 
horrified beyond belief. In the north, in a gorge between two mountain peaks, we saw the 
throng of creatures that flooded into our haven. Orcs, Balrogs and firedrakes, melting the 
snow beneath their feet as they made their way down from the pass. The call came out to arm 
ourselves, for we would be forced to defend our city to the bitter end.”

“Were you frightened?” Elrohir asked quietly.

“Of course I was. We all were. We knew many of us would die that day, but we had to fight 
and save as many as we could. The King defended his white tower, still hoping we could save 
the city, but Morgoth knew where it lay now, and he would keep sending his evil creatures to 
slay us until there was none left. Yet we fought as if there was still a chance, fought with all 
our might and all our hearts, until it became obvious we would not survive. The city was 
surrounded, flooded with evil creatures, children and women helpless inside.”

“What did you do?” the twins asked in unison, both of them halfway out of their chairs and 
onto the table, leaning in as to not miss a word.

“I was fighting alongside my best friend, Ecthelion, when we saw the biggest, meanest Balrog 
of them all; Gothmog, the Lord of Balrogs, one responsible for the deaths of many great elves, 
including Fëanor himself. He was coming directly towards us, backing us into the king’s 
square, his fiery whip ready to send us all to Mandos if we dared oppose him. But I saw no 
choice, no other option than to spend my last breath defending what was left of the city. 
Ecthelion disagreed.”

“What did he say?” the twins asked, and Erestor was wondering the same thing. Suddenly he 
found it hard to remember exactly how he had gotten out of the city himself. Was he even in 
the battle? He didn’t remember.

“Ecthelion told me there was no sense in us both dying, when there were people still in the 
city that needed help getting out. He said he would keep the Balrog busy, buy some time, and 
that I should go back and make sure as many as possible were escorted out through the secret 
tunnel. Among those people were your grandfather, Eärendil, then but seven years old, his 
elven mother - daughter of the King - and his mortal father. Regretfully, I left my friend in the 
bloodstained square and ran to help the refugees.”

“Ecthelion died, didn’t he?” Elrohir said sadly.

“Yes, he did.” There was grief in Glorfindel’s voice, but there was no regret lacing his words. 
He believed he had made the right choice, leaving his friend to die, and there was a part of 
Erestor that hated him for that.

“But he killed the Balrog too, didn’t he, Glorfindel?” Elladan intervened, trying to see the 
bright side of the situation, as he always did.

The Noldo smiled. “Yes, he did indeed. And I ran to help the refugees out through the secret 
passage. A rather small group of survivors they were, making their way up into the mountains 
and away from the city that was set aflame beneath them. I followed close behind, ready to 
protect them should the foul creatures follow us. It looked like we were safe. The smoke and 
fumes hid our escape. But then I heard a deafening roar, and the most frightening Balrog 
appeared on the mountainside. The exiles panicked, trying to run up the mountain in the deep 
snow to get away from the fiery demon. I alone stayed behind, armed only with a sword and 
sheer determination not to let the beast kill the last of our people. My people.”

“How did you do it?” the twins wanted to know.

“I swung my sword at him, again and again, forcing him back towards the rocky ledge. A 
deep ravine plummeted below us, and I knew it was our only chance, if I could get the 
monster off balance and make him fall. His whip cracked at me, singing my skin, and I 
stumbled in the snow. He raised his arm to strike me again, but I was faster. I got up and ran 
my sword through his mighty chest, hearing his painful roar as he fell over the edge. I turned 
to rejoin the refugees, but the Balrog caught his fist in my hair and pulled me with him into 
oblivion.”

The two wide-eyed elflings were so submerged in the story they were barely breathing. Their 
backs taut with suspense, they stayed still as if waiting for Glorfindel to continue, even though 
the tale told essentially stated that Glorfindel was dead and had nothing more to tell.

“And then - WHAM!” Glorfindel shouted, making not only the twins but also their parents 
jump high in their seats as he slammed his hand on the table.

The brothers giggled with glee and cheered happily as soon as the shock subsided, but Elrond 
irritated wiped the spilled tea from his robes.

“That was quite an enchanting tale, Glorfindel,” the half-elf said. “Is that the way it truly 
happened?”

“I swear to the Valar, Elrond,” the Noldo grinned. “I would not lie about my own death, 
would I?”

“What was it like being in Mandos, Glorfindel?” Elladan asked, trying to squeeze one more 
story out of the ancient warrior.

“Oh, please tell us!” Elrohir agreed.

“Absolutely not!” Elrond barked. “I think we’ve had all the excitement we can take in one 
day. Thank you, seneschal.”

The twins pouted, but Elrond would not change his mind. They would speak of nothing else 
for days, and their father knew it. It would be a nightmare putting them to bed at night. In the 
end Celebrían took them away and Elrond stepped out to change his robes, leaving Erestor 
and Glorfindel alone at the table. The advisor wasn’t sure what to make of either the story or 
the situation, for he realized there was another part of his past deeply suppressed in his mental 
landscape. He couldn’t for the life of him recall escaping the city, nor if he fought with the 
other warriors on the walls. All he remembered was slogging alongside the exiles, weeping at 
the loss of his beloved. He remembered Tuor trying to comfort him. He remembered little 
Eärendil, asleep in his mother’s arms as she carried him. But before then...his mind was blank.

“Erestor?” the Noldo called for his attention. “What are you thinking? You look as though 
you are miles away.”

“I was trying to imagine what it must have been like, watching your home in flames, your 
friends dying...fleeing into the cold mountains, fearing for your life. It does not sound like 
something you would want to experience. Or remember.”

“It certainly was not the type of spring celebration we were hoping for,” Glorfindel smiled, 
trying to chase the ghosts away. It was obvious the Noldo had not enjoyed reminiscing, but 
told his story out of need for his own sake.

“So, tell me about Ecthelion,” Erestor tried, looking into the sad blue eyes to see if there was 
something new there.

“What would you like to know?” the Noldo said reluctantly, clearly not happy at all about the 
topic of conversation.

“What would you like me to know?” the advisor countered.

Glorfindel took a deep breath and exhaled. “Ecthelion was...loved, by all. All respected him. 
He was wise and brave, and a very good friend.” A small smile played on the blonde’s lips, 
and his gaze grew distant, fixing on some far off scene. “He had the biggest heart of anyone 
I’ve known. He had such an enormous capability to love everyone around him that it made 
you addicted to him. Elves would do anything for him. Men, women, children, all adored him. 
Even the horses seemed drawn to his gentle nature. He was someone who you could never get 
enough of, and who could never bring himself to discriminate by loving one over another. All 
wanted him, but none had him. Many fought over him, but in the end it was everyone’s loss. 
He gave his life for us.”

“So he did,” Erestor said, trying to keep his voice neutral. But it puzzled him that Glorfindel 
remembered the details of certain things, and yet still did not recognize the counsellor’s 
ageless face.

“There we are,” Elrond announced as he re-entered the room in a clean robe. “You had me 
spilling tea all over myself, Glorfindel, and I hope you’re not going to do that again any time 
soon.” He raised an eyebrow in mock threat, and made the Noldo chuckle.

“Don’t worry, my lord. No more war stories at the breakfast table, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Elrond sat down and filled his cup a third time. “However, I am glad that you 
are finally speaking of the past. For a long time you could not.”

“I know. So many feelings and experiences got whisked around inside me, I couldn’t tell the 
real ones from the nightmares, but spending time here has me beginning to heal. This is a 
beautiful valley, Elrond. You should be proud.”

“I had a lot of help,” Elrond smiled, glancing over at Erestor.

The advisor nodded in acceptance of the compliment, but remained silent. There was a part of 
him that wanted to ask more questions, trigger more memories in the Noldorin brain, but there 
was another part that still feared what would happen if Glorfindel recognised him. On the one 
hand he hated lying to his lord, and on the other hand he saw no reason why Elrond had to 
know everything about him. He had made a clean break with that life the moment he left the 
exiles. Fashioning a reputation for himself, he had entered the service of King Gil-Galad as an 
advisor after Beleriand sank under the sea. It was not until later that he had become 
acquainted with Elrond, whose twin brother had left him for a mortal life. Why reopen closed 
wounds?

“So what were you speaking of when I interrupted?” Elrond asked. Erestor and Glorfindel 
looked at each other, both of them thinking it was too painful a road to walk down again.

“We spoke of Ecthelion,” the blonde finally said, and Elrond certainly noticed his solemn 
tone of voice.

“I suppose you miss him,” the half-elf tried, offering the Noldo his sympathy.

“I miss what he used to be. I doubt if he were reborn as I was, that he would still be the 
same.”

“Why do you say that?” Erestor asked, and at once noticed the change on the blonde’s face. 
“You saw him in the Halls, didn’t you? You saw that death had changed him.”

“Yes,” Glorfindel said painfully. “He was as a shell. Hard on the outside, empty inside. I 
looked into his eyes and there was nothing there.”

There were tears in his eyes, and Erestor’s first instinct was to run around the table and hug 
him, yet he remained nailed to his seat. Picturing Ecthelion as a hollow ghost was not 
something that would make his nightly rest any easier. The thought that all that was Ecthelion, 
the goodness and the love, had been lost forever and twisted into something foul was pure 
horror to Erestor. He could imagine it was the same for the Noldo.

“Now, Glorfindel,” Elrond said in his most compassionate voice. “You know there is no point 
in thinking that way. The Halls of Mandos is no place to reunite with loved ones, for Námo 
cannot heal their spiritual wounds. The souls that dwell there are still trying to accept their 
death, and while some of them may have appeared as shining stars when they were alive, they 
could still fester with anger over the way they died. Anger can change a soul and turn it 
hostile, and no one can make them whole again but themselves. You were lucky, Glorfindel. 
The Valar saw that your soul was pure, and gave you a second chance. All you can do is 
remember him the way he was in life, and honour his legacy.”

“I died the same way he did.” Glorfindel’s voice was thick with sorrow. “How come I 
remained whole and he was torn apart? He was so much better than I. It should have been 
him. The Valar should have saved him instead.”

“I will not have you saying such nonsense in my house,” Elrond said sternly. “Things 
happened the way they did, and it’s useless thinking that you could have changed them. When 
the time comes and Ecthelion is ready, he may come to be reborn in the undying lands. For 
now, his soul is still healing. You on the other hand need to heal your heart.” He smiled 
warmly, laying a hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “No better place than around friends, eh, 
Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel smiled, putting his hand atop Elrond’s. “You are right, meldir, I know you are.” He 
wiped a tear from his cheek, turning his sad eyes to the advisor. “I only need more time. I died 
37 centuries ago, and sometimes it feels like it. But other times...when I wake in the middle of 
the night...it feels like yesterday. I can still smell my own flesh burning...hear my own 
screams...”

The gaze became too intense, and Erestor had to look away. A memory fluttered in his mind 
when Glorfindel spoke the last words, a tiny memory he wasn’t sure was real. His own 
screams... He knew that feeling. The feeling where you don’t realize you’re screaming until 
the sound reaches your ears. Until you hear your own voice, bouncing off the mountain 
walls...

“Time, you will have plenty of,” Elrond assured him. “Be sure to let me know if you need 
time by yourself. One of your captains can lead patrol.”

“No,” Glorfindel shook his head. “I like riding through the woods. Trapped in a room all by 
myself I’d go mad.”

“Very well.” 

Erestor watched the two elves exchange understanding glances and an embrace that was 
bordering on brotherly, yet somewhat strained. Well, at least they made an effort. He didn’t 
like seeing Glorfindel upset, but it was quite amusing to watch Elrond try to comfort him. The 
warrior was no child, yet Elrond only had a couple of decades of experience in comforting 
elflings, so naturally he was having some difficulties in dealing with this new situation. 
Erestor had no idea what to say, so he kept quiet. For some reason he suddenly felt that 
Glorfindel’s fate was the sad one, compared to Ecthelion who didn’t have to be alive and 
suffer the curse that is emotions. Had he re-evaluated his opinion of the Noldo after all?

As was common with Glorfindel, it took but a few moments for him to collect himself, wipe 
the tears from his eyes and put the smile back on. Within a few minutes he was joking, and 
Erestor felt hopeful that in time he would indeed heal the last of his wounds. He had done 
remarkably well for someone who had not yet been alive a year, that was for certain.

“So you are confident you can do this?” Elrond asked.

“I am, my lord. I will do as you said, and think of him the way he was when he lived. There is 
no point in anguish.” Glorfindel smiled, but the sorrow was still there, hidden behind his sad 
blue eyes. “Though, I can’t help but wonder how my soul stayed whole through the transition. 
My death was not a pleasant one.”

“I don’t know precisely what it takes for a soul to be torn, but I know it has to do with more 
than just the pain of dying. Perhaps Ecthelion was not as peaceful and happy as you thought 
him to be. Surely he must have had problems of his own, issues unsettled perhaps that leaving 
unfinished angered him. It could have been any number of things unknown to you or anyone 
else. In spite of how well you knew him, I assure you, my friend, you did not know 
everything.” Elrond glanced at his advisor briefly before looking sincerely at Glorfindel. 
“How could we ever know everything about someone?”


------------------------

Chapter 5 - Saviour

The last weeks of summer carried with them a comfortable warm wind, and flowers turned to 
fruits on the trees. The dark counsellor once more withdrew and kept to himself. There were 
things that needed to be contemplated in solitude, but no matter how hard he tried or how well 
he relaxed, the answers didn’t flood his brain as he had expected they would. He never 
thought it would be this difficult. In his life he had read thousands of books, and knew them 
all by heart. He could recite page upon page from any given writing, pull from his memory 
the most intricate details of elvish history. So why could he not remember the most significant 
day of his young life?

He could certainly remember every second of the battle at Gorgoroth, where Gil-Galad had 
fallen. Erestor had served the elven King closely and been his confidant through many 
hardships. He remembered everything about the day Ereinion had died. So why was it that the 
fall of Gondolin had been stricken from his mind? Erased from the story of his life. It did not 
sit well with the advisor at all.

For the first time in ages, Erestor would spend his days riding in the woods. Alagos was the 
ultimate companion, for he listened willingly without offering feeble advice or cruel 
judgement. The horse carried him steadily under sun, moon and stars, never questioning 
where they were going or if they should return soon. Right now it was his closest friend. In 
the end Erestor began to despair. Something important was missing in his mind and it tore 
him apart inside knowing that whatever it was could change everything. He thought of 
Glorfindel’s tale, of the way Elrond had looked at him, and felt that they both knew 
something about him he didn’t know himself. It was utterly disturbing.

He went to bed with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something had happened to 
him that day in the Encircling Mountains. Something so traumatic it had been forced to hide 
in the back alleys of his consciousness. Something so horrific he had completely blocked it 
from recollection. But what could have been worse than losing Ecthelion?


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


It had at last ceased snowing. The sun was making brief appearances and bringing the valley 
to glisten in blue and gold. Erestor blinked at the sudden brightness when he came out from 
the dark, adjusting his eyes to the new light. Walking with light steps on the crusted snow, he 
headed for the stables where he knew someone would be waiting for him. When he came 
closer, one of the horses snorted and made Glorfindel look up. He smiled at the young elf.

“There you are,” he said, letting go of Asfaloth’s hoof and straightening his back. “So? How 
did it go?”

Erestor stepped closer, petted the horse’s white mane and shrugged. “He forgave me.”

“I knew he would,” Glorfindel grinned, putting a hand on the dark haired elf’s shoulder. “He 
could never stay angry with you.”

“Ecthelion could never stay angry with anyone,” Erestor said, shaking his head. “Aiya, 
Glorfindel, I have been a fool.”

“No more a fool than I, or anyone else for that matter. I have been where you are, and I can 
tell you honestly; the sooner you get over him the better. I could not, and look where I am! 
Still running around him like a love struck elfling...”

Erestor giggled, always amused at how the lord gave so much of himself freely, never once 
minding what it did to his pride. Glorfindel was always smiling, always in a good mood, 
always joking about himself rather than someone else. It was rather humbling. 

“For the longest time I thought you were evil personified,” Erestor said, his eyes glittering 
with mirth. “I thought you to be the nastiest elf I had ever met.”

“Why thank you!” Glorfindel beamed. “Be sure to send that message to Captain Maeglin, I’m 
certain he would be thrilled to know that someone agrees with him.”

Erestor laughed. “I am trying to tell you I was wrong. I was too wrapped in my own worries 
to see anyone else’s troubles. I am sure that it was never your intent to be mean to me, those 
times when I felt you were.”

“Mean?” Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “When have I ever been mean to you?”

“That is what I’m trying to say,” Erestor said patiently, stepping closer to the blonde. “You 
probably don’t even remember, but to me everything you said and did was hurtful.”

“If that is the case, then I do apologise. Like I told you, I’ve been acting like an elfling around 
Ecthelion for as long as I can remember. I suppose I was jealous.”

“I suppose I was also.”

The two elves smiled at each other, and without thought ended up in a warm embrace. Erestor 
leaned his head on the warrior’s shoulder, marvelling at how well it fit there. Letting out a 
deep sigh, the young elf snuggled up to the other body, drawing strength from it. There was 
something mysteriously right about being held by Glorfindel, and for the first time Erestor 
was able to admit that he liked it, that he didn’t care what Ecthelion thought or did about the 
situation. As long as Glorfindel kept holding him, he knew he would be all right. Everything 
would be all right.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Spring drew nearer. The snow was nearly gone from the budding ground and melted ice 
dripped from the rooftops. It was the most welcomed spring, not only because of the hard 
winter, but because for the first time Erestor looked at the future with hope. He no longer felt 
the need to escape into a world of books and scrolls, but was content existing this very 
moment, in this very place. Every day brought him new joy. Some days he spent practising 
swordplay, and Glorfindel proved to be an excellent teacher. To his own surprise he found 
himself enjoying it far more than the bow and arrow Ecthelion had taught him to use.

Other days he spent riding in the valley, also then with Glorfindel at his side. The popular 
Noldo had no trouble borrowing a horse, and Erestor happily rode whatever beast he brought. 
They formed an understanding between them, and Erestor felt a belonging like he never had 
before. He felt like he was one of only two members in a secret society, where no one else 
was admitted. There was only one rule in this secret society, and that was to never feel bad 
about Ecthelion. Together, they managed to keep each other’s spirits up, and not obsess about 
the beautiful elf that neither of them could have.

One evening, they stood together on the outer wall, watching the sun set between the 
mountain peaks. There was a warm southern wind, speaking promises of a summer to come. 
A curtain of dark hair was lifted on a gust of wind and swept into Glorfindel’s face. The 
Noldo laughed, catching the floating silk with his arm and trying to put it back on the head 
where it belonged. It didn’t quite work, to Erestor’s great amusement, and the blonde ended 
up with his hands around the dark head, holding the soft locks down where the wind could not 
reach to play. The younger elf chuckled, but Glorfindel only smiled, gently stroking his 
thumbs over pointed ears as he gazed into dark eyes.

“Never until now did I notice what beautiful eyes you have,” the Noldo said, in an instant 
bringing a blush to Erestor’s face. “Deep and mysterious, like the ocean.”

“You flatter me, my lord,” Erestor whispered, trying to look anywhere but at Glorfindel’s 
face.

“Here,” a warm voice crooned, and his head was tilted up, forcing him to look where he 
didn’t want to. “I don’t like it when you call me ‘my lord’ any more than you like it when I 
call you ‘pen-neth’, so let’s skip the titles, shall we?” The dreaded face came closer. “I so 
prefer when you say my name.” The slightest touch of a nose against his.

“Glorfindel...”

“Yes, just like that.” The faint whisper of lips upon his.

“Glorfindel, I...”

But Erestor could not finish whatever it was he was going to say, and soon it didn’t matter. 
Silenced with a kiss, all his worries melted away, and he gave himself completely to the 
circumstances. The strong hands left his hair to travel south and settle at the slim waist, 
leaving raven tresses to the playful wind. Erestor eagerly accepted lips and tongue, wrapping 
his arms around a warrior neck and pressing close to the welcoming body. They kissed for 
long moments, shrouded in a veil of dark hair, not noticing the sun’s disappearance from the 
sky.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Erestor ran through the city, dodging elves, horses and carriages, heedless of anything in his 
way. He kept running until he came to his destination, panting and dishevelled, facing the one 
he was looking for. Glorfindel only laughed and shook his head, continuing his chores with a 
smile. Erestor walked into the stable, suddenly feeling like a nervous elfling again.

“Is that what you mean by ‘as soon as possible’?” Glorfindel chuckled, lifting another saddle 
onto the stack. “Running like a lunatic?”

“Never underestimate the force of a young elf’s desire, my friend.” Erestor grinned wickedly, 
sneaking up to the Noldo as a wolf stalks his prey.

Glorfindel arched an eyebrow. “What are you up to?”

“What makes you think I’m up to something?” he purred, inching closer.

Before the blonde could say anything further, Erestor attacked, latching his mouth onto 
Glorfindel’s and devouring him in a hungry kiss. The warrior soon found himself pressed 
against a wall with no route of escape, completely overpowered by the smaller creature. There 
was no other choice than to return the action with the same fervour. Leaning back, the warrior 
allowed himself to be kissed deeply, seemingly thrilled that the younger elf was taking 
charge. And Erestor took advantage, melting their mouths together and tasting every deep 
region of the older elf. He held the soft lips captive along with the sneaky tongue, trapping the 
blonde completely with unrestrained lust.

When they finally parted, Erestor had a good reason for catching his breath.

“Aren’t you a wild one today,” Glorfindel grinned. “Should you not be helping prepare for the 
party?”

Erestor groaned pitifully. “Do we have to go to the party? Can we not simply go to your 
bedchamber instead?”

Glorfindel chuckled, tightening his hold on the smaller elf. “Now, now, let’s not be hasty.” He 
teased his lips against Erestor’s. “There will be plenty of time for that -after- the party.”

“But there’s a celebration every spring,” he whined dramatically. “Why is this one so 
important?”

“Perhaps because you’re going with me,” the Noldo grinned, stroking Erestor’s cheek 
affectionately.

Erestor sighed, savouring the feeling of being truly loved. Leaning his forehead against 
Glorfindel’s, he inhaled the crisp scent of the warrior, finally letting the air from his lungs 
with a delighted sound. He could have stopped time right there and stayed in that moment 
forever. His heart pounded a steady pulse through his veins, making his blood dance 
rhythmically beneath pale skin. Absorbed in his billowing emotions, he imagined it was how 
trees felt, swaying in the wind, completely at peace with the world. Nothing could be more 
perfect.

“So, after the party then?” he asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Glorfindel grinned. “I can hardly wait.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

In the end Erestor was glad he had been forced to go to the celebrations. The mood was merry 
all around and wine was plentiful. He stayed close to Glorfindel, not once willing to let him 
escape from sight. The blonde was very desirable, too much so for the young elf’s taste, and 
he would not let anyone get the impression he was fair game tonight. This Noldo was taken. 
Putting a possessive arm around the warrior’s waist, Erestor felt content that no one would 
dare try to steal him. However, he eventually had to let go in order to pour them both some 
wine before they continued on their stroll through the happy crowd.

“Mae govannen, dear friends!” Ecthelion called as he approached them, and the three elves 
exchanged civil greetings. But there was a strange smile on the dark Noldo’s face as he asked 
them. “So, when did this happen?” Erestor and Glorfindel both looked confused, until 
Ecthelion gestured towards their interlaced fingers.

“Oh.” Glorfindel actually blushed, an occurrence that Erestor was utterly unfamiliar with. 
“Quite recently, I assure you,” he told his friend.

“I am happy for you,” Ecthelion said to them, putting a hand on Erestor’s shoulder. “I cannot 
think of a better matched couple.”

The young elf frowned. “Why do you say that?” It was a statement he could not understand, 
but his lord only smiled.

“You are more alike than you know. Have a nice evening.”

He winked at them as he left, but for a second Erestor thought he saw sadness in the dark grey 
eyes. The young elf stood there, watching as the Lord of the Fountain merged with the crowd 
and was gone. Not until he felt a thumb gently rubbing the back of his hand did he look up 
and notice the blonde looking at him. Caught in the act, he blushed.

“I only...”

“I know,” Glorfindel stopped him. “Something felt odd.”

“Yes.”

For the rest of the night Erestor tried not to think about it, but he could tell it was on both their 
minds. They found a place beneath a budding tree to sit by themselves, exchanging 
meaningful glances and tentative touches. Despite the early hour the sun had not yet shown its 
face, and soon all elves would head for higher ground, ready to welcome summer into their 
hearts with first morning light. The stars alone illuminated the night. Erestor leaned his head 
on Glorfindel’s shoulder, closing his eyes and listening to distant musicians singing to the 
spring, and he uttered a silent wish that they could stay like this forever.

But a loud horn broke the spell of reverie.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

It all happened so fast it seemed to Erestor the world had turned upside down. The noise was 
deafening, and he dared not look to see what was happening to the elves on the other side of 
the wall. Glorfindel was one of them...

He had been nearly paralysed with fear when he realized what was happening, and was 
naught but relieved when Glorfindel became his warrior self and began shouting orders. The 
Noldo had handed Erestor a sword from the armoury and told him the location of a hidden 
passage, one that led out of the city and into the mountains. He wanted Erestor to go there and 
protect the entrance. Another elf was given the task to usher people towards the hidden 
entrance while the best fighters left safety behind to stall the horde of vicious creatures that 
were about to swarm the city. A loud roar in the distance had made Erestor quiver with terror, 
and he had grabbed onto Glorfindel’s tunic, not willing to let him go.

“I will return,” the blonde vouched, kissing him tenderly and soothing him enough to pry his 
fingers loose, “I promise.”

Erestor followed his orders perfectly, since he didn’t know what else to do. He stayed out of 
sight, trying not to listen to the rising volume of approaching battle and kept an eye out for 
refugees. A group of women with their young appeared; escorted by a pair of young warriors, 
and Erestor made sure they all found their way out of the city. For a moment he thought his 
task a pointless one, and wondered if he should not be fighting to save the city like the other 
warriors. He had certainly been trained well enough. But soon he thought again.

A group of truly foul looking orcs had found a way into Gondolin, and he had to quickly get 
out of their sight. The cursed beings scattered between the buildings and Erestor heard the 
bone chilling noise of an innocent meeting his death. Not able to stop himself he looked 
around the corner, only to come face to face with the grisly murderer. Without a single 
thought or hesitation Erestor swung his sword and effectively separated the snarling head 
from the rest of the orc, leaving the two unequal pieces to fall to the ground with a thud. 
Panting, the young elf felt the dark blood of the creature trickle down his face. He stood 
frozen, shocked at himself, staring down at the corpse, his sword still held high as if he was 
expecting his attacker to suddenly reanimate.

A shout woke him, and he assumed his task with renewed confidence, dragging the heavy 
body out of the way. A group of people led by the mortal Tuor were coming his way, 
shielding between them the King’s daughter and her young son. Arrows cocked, the men tried 
to eliminate any orcs following them, but they could not run and shoot at the same time. 
Erestor yelled at them to go into the tunnel, but knew from experience that the mortal was 
stubborn. Tuor stayed beside him, bow at the ready.

“What are you doing?” Erestor asked compassionately. “Go with your family.”

“I cannot leave you alone. They have almost breached the city walls. Soon...this will all be...”

“Gone.” Erestor beheld the battered city with sadness, trying to evoke the feelings of joy and 
contentment he had experienced but a couple of hours ago, but now... All was lost. He looked 
at the mortal. “Go with them. I will wait a moment longer, then I will follow you.”

Tuor put a hand on his shoulder. “Do not wait for your friends, Erestor. There is no need for 
you to die also. If they can, they will come.”

Erestor nodded, but did not accept that he would lose everyone he knew. “Just a moment 
longer,” he said, not daring to look at the man lest he should cry.

Finally, Tuor headed into the hidden passage and left Erestor to his dreadful wait. A group of 
elves soon came after, one of them badly wounded, half dragged half carried by the others. 
The young elf knew from the sight of him he would not live. Erestor wept then, bracing his 
back against the wall to stay upright when his legs failed. All he could think about was 
Glorfindel. The beautiful elf with the disarming smile - where was he now? Was he alive still? 
Did he lie bleeding on the muddy ground somewhere? Erestor made up his mind; he could not 
stay any longer.

Running towards the inner wall, he had but one objective. To find Glorfindel, no matter what 
it cost him. Rounding a corner in the street, he ran straight into another elf and they both fell 
hard on their backs. Grunting with pain, he tried to roll over and find his footing.

“Erestor!? Are you mad? I could have skewered you on my blade!”

Ignoring the pain in his tailbone, Erestor bounced off the ground and into Glorfindel’s arms. 
“I was looking for you...I could not leave you,” he sobbed, noting the mess of mud and blood 
on the Noldo’s armour.

“My love...” Glorfindel whispered, pulling the elf away to make eye contact. “I am not about 
to leave you. But I would suggest that we both leave as soon as we can. She will not stand 
much longer.”

Erestor nodded, trying to hold back his tears. The thunder of clashing swords and dying 
screams were crawling closer, the unavoidable doom knocking at the gates of fair Gondolin. 
Not even the mighty eagles would be able to save them from the Balrogs and firedrakes. 
Shaking his head, Erestor still was not ready to believe that all would perish.

“But the others...we cannot leave them here!”

“It’s too late for them, my love,” Glorfindel said, his voice trembling.

Erestor’s eyes widened in horror. “Ecthelion...”

The blonde shook his head, a sorrowful smile on his lips. Erestor bit down the grief, 
swallowed it and stashed it in the far regions of his heart. They did not have time to mourn for 
their friend, and they both knew it. Their eyes communicated what they both felt, and they 
allowed themselves a short moment together before heading back to the entrance of the secret 
passage.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

Erestor stopped, looking down at the valley they had left behind. The once-beautiful white 
city stood aflame, the houses collapsed into piles of charred stone. The plains beyond were 
black, strewn with specks of red. Bodies of elves, men and orcs, all blended together in the 
distance. Tears of anger flowed freely down the young elf’s cheeks, the emotional turmoil 
inside him too much to bear. A hand clasped his arm, and a warm voice begged him,

“Don’t look at it, beloved.”

But he could not tear his eyes away. “I thought I was safe. I thought I would never have to see 
this again in my life.”

“I am sorry,” Glorfindel said, still not looking down at the tragedy. “Come.”

Taking one last look at the slaughtered remains of his life, Erestor turned and continued the 
arduous climb up the snowy mountain. The one thing that comforted him was knowing that 
Glorfindel was just a breath behind.

The small group of survivors struggled on the steep mountain. Erestor looked up and saw the 
train of refugees snaking up between the rocks. Right in front of him was Tuor and his family. 
Behind him was only Glorfindel. They were a sad party, moving slowly up, hoping to reach 
relative safety before the night bereft them of all light. Thick clouds veiled the sky for the 
entire day, ashes and fumes covering the valley below. They were trapped in grey. The noise 
from beneath them was a constant reminder of what had taken place, and it seemed to Erestor 
like the sound was coming closer instead of moving farther away. Struggling for traction over 
an icy ledge, Tuor lent him a hand in aid, and he took it. In silence the group moved through a 
perilous mountain pass, walking dangerously close to a ravine deeper than eyes could tell, and 
it would not do to slip. One more incline and they would be free of it.

When starting up that final hill, Erestor noticed the blond Noldo still standing at the bottom.

“Glorfindel?”

The warrior looked at him with dark eyes. “Keep going.”

Something felt wrong, but nonetheless Erestor did as he was told. Halfway up the climb he 
found what the Noldo had been waiting for. A mind-numbing roar echoed between the rocky 
peaks and a wave of heat washed up the mountainside. The women in the front screamed and 
the refugees scattered, running as fast as they could out of the Balrog’s reach. Yet Glorfindel 
stood firm, alone with his sword against the terrifying beast. Erestor was about to run to his 
aid, but arms around his waist held him where he was.

“What are you doing?! Let me go!”

“Leave it, Erestor,” Tuor yelled over the din. “There is nothing you can do.”

“No...let...go!” He struggled, but the mortal was stronger than he thought. His eyes were fixed 
on the enormous beast, now closing in on the lone warrior. “Glorfindel!!!!”

When the battle commenced Erestor froze completely, the horror of watching his beloved go 
up against the demon too much for him. Were it not for the man’s arms around him he may 
well have collapsed in the snow. The flash of the Noldorin sword hitting fire struck a bolt of 
fear through the young elf, and there was nothing he could do but watch as it happened again 
and again and again. The Balrog had a whip that burned as fiercely as its master, and when it 
struck Glorfindel Erestor nearly screamed, but the Noldo was quickly on his feet and forced 
the demon closer to the gorge. The beast did not mind his step, and a hard blow from the elf 
sent him tumbling backwards, falling towards oblivion.

Relief washed through Erestor as Glorfindel turned, their eyes meeting in solace. But it only 
took a fraction of a second for relief to turn to panic when Erestor saw what was about to 
happen. There was a brief flash of terror in Glorfindel’s eyes, and then he was gone.

Erestor didn’t realize he was screaming until the sound of his own voice bounced off the 
mountain walls. In a second that lasted forever, he fought off the restraining mortal and ran 
for the ledge, throwing himself into the snow. On his stomach in the cold he peered down into 
the abyss, but all he saw was darkness.

“Come back...” he sobbed, tears clouding his vision. “Please, come back...” Once again the 
mortal’s arms were around him, lifting him away from the precarious edge. “You said you 
wouldn’t leave me!”

“Come, Erestor! There could be more of them!”

Tuor pulled the distraught elf with him back up the hill, leaving behind the love, the dream, 
and the once fair city of Gondolin.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


In Rivendell, the Chief Advisor awoke in the middle of the night from a heart-wrenching 
scream, only to find it had been his own. He sat in the dark, a quivering shape by the 
headboard of his great bed, arms around his knees and rocking himself slowly back and forth, 
waiting for the shivers to subside. He could still feel the heat radiating from the monster, and 
it took him a moment to understand that he was not in any danger. He was safe and well, far 
away from battles and Balrogs. Once he calmed he shakily got out of bed, walking to the 
balcony doors. He felt as though he were suffocating, and only wanted a breath of air.

Out in the cool night, his legs gave away and he slumped down on the balcony, leaning his 
shoulder against the railing for support. Sobs once again wracked his body, and streams of 
tears wetted the front of his black silk nightshirt.

“Erestor?” a hesitant voice asked. The counsellor looked up at the dark silhouette, trying to 
hold back his sobs. “Are you all right? I thought I heard you call my name.”


-----------------------------

Chapter 6 - Redemption

Watching Elrond pace was like watching an animal in a cage. He only ever did it when he felt 
trapped and didn’t know what else to do. Erestor stayed calmly in his chair, awaiting the 
unavoidable confrontation of releasing the beast. At last the half-elf stopped, seating himself 
behind his desk and folding his fingers together the way he always did when he was about to 
say something sincere. The Chief Counsellor knew every gesture, every expression at the 
Peredhel’s disposal, and was well aware of what he was going to say before he said it.

“I worry about you, Erestor,” he finally said with a sigh. “And Glorfindel certainly would not 
have come to me unless he was worried also. What is this I hear of him finding you 
unconscious on the balcony? And this was apparently not the first time either.”

“I have been experiencing nightmares,” Erestor admitted, keeping his voice smooth and 
professional. He would not permit himself an emotional outburst in front of his lord. At least 
not until he knew what those emotions were.

“Is that all there is?” Elrond asked warily. “My sons came into our bedroom last night, for the 
first time in a decade, and said they had heard a terrible scream from inside the house. They 
were sure it was a monster.” Glancing out the window, he added to himself, “I knew the 
Balrog story was a bad idea...”

Erestor took a deep breath. It was time to come clean, and he knew it. He didn’t have to tell 
Elrond every detail, but the half-elf deserved to know the truth. There was no point in hiding 
it any longer.

“My Lord, I have not been completely forthright with you,” he began.

“Am I about to learn the mystery of my closest friend?” Elrond smiled, leaning forward in his 
chair.

“I have kept this with me too long, meldir. I have kept it from everyone, including myself, for 
so many centuries I had almost forgotten what was truth and what was a lie. But 
recently...things have awakened inside me I didn’t know were there. Memories...things I 
wanted to forget. I am afraid my behaviour these past months has been inexcusable, but I was 
dealing with demons inside myself that no one could help me with. I had to face them on my 
own.”

“Tell me.”

Erestor stood, no longer comfortable under the Peredhel’s scrutiny, and went to stand by the 
window. Summer would soon be over, and every tree and bush in Imladris was heavy with 
fruit. T