Title: Meleth-mô Vaänwa Author: Epigone (my pen name should give you a hint about my writing. Mara, it's not Greek! Go look it up, stupid!) aka Thirteen fengqiliu@aol.com Pairings: Glorfindel/Erestor, Elrond/Elladan (I know I'm going to get killed for this one) Rating: G, on to NC-17 in later chapters Warnings: Glorfindel insulting poor Erestor Summary: Love's Labour's Lost- Erestor and Glorfindel are confused. NEEDS SUMMARY Disclaimer: Wut ya foo!s talkin bout! 'O coarse I own all dem hot guys. Aha… I own nothing, not even my own computer. Notes from an extremely deranged writer: Read this part carefully, I beg of you. If you're in the habit of speed- reading, you might miss an important part that will lead to confusion later. ("What the bafooligan? That was so random. Wait… did this have to do with the part that I *skipped* over? Hm…") Oh cheese who the kidney bean knows what I'm talking about anyway?! Nevermind. Worship Erestor. Meleth-mô Vaänwa It was almost midnight, and still the guests were not dispersing. Erestor fidgeted and shifted in his honorary seat by the lord of Imladris. After half an hour of this restlessness, Elrond stopped shoveling his plate to frown at his counselor. “Erestor, do you wish to take your leave?” The other elf nodded and inclined slightly in thanks, raven hair spilling over his shoulder. Elrond watched him leave, without a word of explanation, much to his bewilderment. “Even though the hour is late, the food is fine and the house is full; why would he want to leave?” After receiving no response from other elves seated at the table, he turned to his seneschal, who was sitting to the left. "Nevermind Erestor. Elrond, this Brennan is very good… I should say, year 2569?" Glorfindel looked up from his current debate of White Wine v. Red Wine. "Yes, yes it is indeed. I should caution you though, this vintage is strong; and not to be drained like common Eurydale. Now would you answer my question?" Glorfindel shrugged and reached for the nearest wine bottle. “I am not familiar with Erestor’s habits. To tell the truth, I am not so keen to get to know him. He is so tedious and…” At this he made a face and glanced at his lord, who raised an eyebrow in query. “Feminine.” Elrond choked and sprayed wine across the tablecloth. He had to be thumped on the back by Glorfindel, who had an exasperated expression on his face from the unexpected reaction. Those who were guests to Imladris cast astonished looks at the pair, not expecting Elrond to exhibit such un- lordly behavior at a feast. “Pity to waste good wine,” Glorfindel commented as he took in the soaked tablecloth and tipped wine flute. “Do you really think so lowly of my advisor?” “I am not denying his competence as an advisor." The golden-haired elf sighed and picked at his food, relenting a little under Elrond's intense glare. “Maybe feminine was the wrong word to use, but you cannot exactly say that Erestor is on the masculine side.” "Thank you, seneschal…" Elrond grinned, reminding Glorfindel that he was of lesser rank than the one he criticized so mercilessly. But Glorfindel did not make note of it. He breathed into his wine flute, fascinated at the swirls of mist that frosted the glass. He was two minutes in the past, caught in the moment when dark hair had escaped from its containment like a black waterfall, cascading its way down Erestor's back. He had looped it behind one perfectly shaped ear, unaware of the stray lock that stuck out. That one detail lent his solemn face a panicky, almost childlike appearance. *** The moon peeked out from behind dark clouds. Again and again it dipped behind its protective curtain, playing a game of hide-and-seek with a singing nightingale. A lone figure stumbled into the garden, carrying with him a sense of dread so strong that the bird stopped its chittering song. Erestor leaned heavily against an ornamental pyre, out of breath and clutching his chest. The cold sting of metal was refreshing against his feverish forehead. He felt like he was asphyxiating, being crushed against an invisible wall of… what? It had all started a month ago, with a twinge of depression. It was the lull after the storm, when the air had hung dead and dank even in the bright valley. He had been watching the stars on the talan, one of the sole fulfillments in his orderly life. A small nightingale flew across the sky, black feathers illuminated with moonlight. It flapped back and forth, gathering twigs to rebuild its damaged nest. Erestor remembered feeling sorry for the tiny bird as it battled the unforgiving gale of wind. Just then, another nightingale appeared. The two birds started picking up the scattered twigs, one by one. Their actions amazed the watcher, until Erestor realized that they were lifemates. Something in him snapped, as the counselor realized truly how lonely he was. He had returned to his Spartan talan, unadorned and cold. The feathers… had they really been black? Erestor's tired mind could not argue with itself. What did the color of a bird's feathers have to do with it all? To think of it, they might have been green… Erestor felt that he was finally cracking. He had always blamed himself for having neither wife nor family. A spouse would stop the hole in his heart; children would fill the house with laughter. He was already past the age when elves were normally hand-fastened. How much longer would he last, with his reason falling to pieces all around him? The weight of the years was finally crushing him because he had forgotten how to live. Before noticing it, twin streaks of liquid mithril had made their ways down his face, threatening to drip onto the new ceremonial robes. Erestor frowned and quickly swiped at his face with trembling hands; almost mechanically. It would never do to soil the fabric that had cost him five hund- "What is a pretty maiden like you doing out here? You should be joining your friends inside; the dance has just begun." A low, melodious voice came out suddenly from behind, startling the counselor. Erestor froze, then pulled a face. The voice no doubt belonged to Glorfindel; that philandering excuse for a steward was probably looking for a girl to warm his bed. "Why are you not answering me? I mean no harm…" The voice continued in a slur that definitely had a drunk tinge to it. Erestor surreptitiously scanned the gardens for any sign of the girl. True, the golden-haired one did have good taste. Maybe he would have some luck with a she-elf who would appreciate someone with refinement and learning. But whom was Glorfindel talking to? There was no one here except for- *** "Good evening, seneschal. I do believe you have mistaken me for someone else." The clear voice had a barely-hidden tone of irritation that snapped him out of his drunken stupor. Glorfindel leaned slightly to squint at the figure before him. 'Oh Valar, this is Erestor…' He silently cursed himself. Erestor did look like a she-elf in the moonlight, thanks to his wiry form and ridiculously slender waist. What else had he said? Glorfindel's mind raced--rather crawled-- through the last few minutes. Nope. The one thing he distinctly remembered was Elrond warning him not to drink the Brennan vintage like distilled ale. Glorfindel blinked slowly and cleared his throat in a rather pathetic attempt to sound sober. "Yes, Counselor Erestor. I was not addressing you. Good night." With that, he stiffly turned to step out of the clearing, almost tripping over his robes. *** A/N: Curse my bad writing genes! Ich habe nicht genug zeit to do anything. I'll only keep writing this if someone wants me to *hint hint*. I envy those who can find time to write and pursue their education at the same time. BTW I am gathering information for another fic. Does anyone know if Ecthelion was Noldor or Sindar? Am checking out the Book of Lost Tales today. Feedback appreciated! Chitlins and gravy!