TITLE: No Remedy AUTHOR: LittleMouse elf_night@hotmail.com PAIRINGS: Glorfinel/Erestor, also Haldir/Legolas, Elladan/Orophir, Elrohir/Rumil, Glorfinel/OFC RATING: NC-17 SUMMARY: Erestor loves Glorfindel. Glorfindel loves a certain Lady... doesn't he? A diplomatic mission to Lothlorien goes horribly wrong; Glorfindel learns what it means to be truly loved. WARNINGS: Violence, torture, angst, N/C but probably not to the point of rape, explicit sexual situations, etc. Enjoy! Also, story may be slightly AU as I'm playing freely with Erestor's background. DISCLAIMER: They are not mine. They are Tolkien's. Life is cruel, that way... NO REMEDY - CHAPTER FOUR Erestor lay perfectly still, too stunned to move. Glorfindel... Glorfindel was on *top* of him. Warm and heavy and real, big hands twisted in his hair holding him firmly in place. Not that he really wanted to move - except it was going to be very embarrassing when the blond woke and realized what he was doing. Erestor was quite sure that *he* was not the one Glorfindel was dreaming of, not the one making the bigger Elf nuzzle his face into his neck and oh, *Valar*! Was that his *tongue*?! Glorfindel peeked at the dark Elf through his eyelashes, careful not to open his eyes too much. Erestor’s own dark eyes were wide with astonishment, and his cheeks were bright red. But he wasn’t fighting. Glorfindel grinned, knowing it was hidden by his own hair, and bent back to that slender white throat. It was quite delicious, soft and smooth and tasted rather like honey. He let his lips search leisurely until he found a spot that made the Elf beneath him gasp, made the slim hips give a tiny, involuntary thrust against the large thigh he had insinuated between Erestor’s own legs. ‘So responsive...’ he thought, pleased, and proceeded to worship that spot until Erestor was writhing and he was grinding his own hardness against one of those pretty thighs. Erestor still wasn’t fighting, so he let go of his hair and let his hands do what they’d been aching to do all night - explore that slender body. ‘Valar...’ was the only thought going through Erestor’s head. This had to be a dream - there was no way this was really happening, so he just let himself go with it. There was a strong warrior’s hand working its way between the fastenings of his tunic, another stroking his hip and then gripping it, shifting him slightly until Glorfindel’s erection was grinding against his groin instead of his thigh. Erestor was quite sure he was about to die. Or explode. Or both. That warm hand was inside his tunic, now, stroking the soft skin of his abdomen and wandering up to find a nipple, playing with it gently until it had tightened into a hard little nub. The touch sent shocks like lightning straight to his groin and he whined, feeling himself near climax. Glorfindel moved his mouth along a delicate collarbone and moaned softly. No more than touching, and they were both still wearing their clothes, yet this was rapidly becoming the best sexual experience he’d ever had. Erestor was all soft, satin skin over surprisingly firm muscles, so slim, and sensitive to the slightest touch. And his hands were moving over his own broad back with light, shy touches, smoothing his hair away from his neck and shoulders like he didn’t dare to explore further. The very innocence of his touches were making Glorfindel’s desire burn hotter. His thrusting became a little more desperate. Erestor didn’t seem to mind - he sighed and his own hips tried to thrust back. Not an easy task, Glorfindel knew, with his own considerable weight pressing down on him, but the motion was intoxicating. He let the hand on Erestor’s hip slide beneath him to cup a backside that felt every bit as lovely as he’d imagined. He pushed the tunic off of one pale, creamy shoulder and mouthed the soft curve of it, giving one last hard thrust and biting down gently as he came. Marking Erestor where no one could see, since he was fairly sure the Counselor would die of embarrassment to have a love bite visible on his throat. The feeling of Glorfindel’s teeth against his skin pushed Erestor over the edge into his own orgasm, and he relaxed beneath the blond, flushing slightly at the wet feeling of both their leggings. His fingers twitched nervously in the golden hair, sure Glorfindel was going to wake up now and be utterly horrified. He lifted worried dark eyes and blinked to find the warrior beaming down at him, blue eyes full of satisfaction. He opened his mouth to say something - anything - and Glorfindel kissed him, lips slanting over his, a demanding tongue thrusting past his teeth to explore his mouth. Erestor’s brain was running around in little circles, screaming to know what was going on, but his body didn’t care. His arms wrapped around Glorfindel’s neck all on their own, and his back arched in delight under the merciless onslaught of insistent lips. He was gasping by the time the blond lifted his head. Those blue eyes were absolutely smug by now, and he wished his brain was working well enough to say something biting enough to wipe that smugness off his face. Glorfindel just smiled, and brushed a surprisingly delicate kiss over his bruised lips. “We should get cleaned up,” he said softly, “the morning meal will be ready and we leave soon.” Erestor blinked at him as he got up and changed rapidly, turning his eyes before he could stare at the vision of a naked Glorfindel. He heard the blond laugh, but he set his jaw and refused to look. A moment later and a clean, dressed Glorfindel was poised over him again. “I’m going to see that the escort is ready. Erestor?” When the dark eyes looked at him again, he gave him his best smile, the one reserved only for the people he truly cared about. “What?” Softly spoken. “Thank you.” Just as soft, and another of those gentle kisses. Then the tent flap was swinging as Glorfindel vanished through it, and Erestor was left sitting on the makeshift bed, fingers on his lips as he stared after him. * Elrond opened his door and was immediately met by three worried-looking Elves. He raised an eyebrow in question, and they started babbling. “The emissaries from the Trade Guild have arrived early!” “And the guest rooms haven’t been refreshed yet!” “They are asking where they shall stay...?” The Lord of Imladris blinked at them. “The guest rooms are always prepared - or should be.” “Oh, well, yes...” One Elf that he vaguely recognized as an Assistant whom Erestor had replaced a century ago said, “but, you see, Lord Erestor always gives the order to have them cleaned once guests leave, and no one else thought to tell the servants, so they weren’t sure they should go ahead...” Elrond sighed. “Well, put the Traders in the Fire Hall and offer them refreshment while the cleaners take care of the required rooms.” The former Assistant looked relieved, and ran off to do as he was bidden. The other two remained, and Elrond sighed. “Something else?” “The patrols haven’t received today’s orders, and no one knows where the orders are.” Elrond glared at the Elf. “Whose responsibility is it to have those orders ready?” “Lord Erestor always does it,” the Elf replied, shifting a bit nervously. It was really his own responsibility, but he was hoping his Lord didn’t know that. Elrond put a hand to his face. “I am quite sure that Erestor left orders for *someone* to handle this.” “Well - he said the orders for this week were ready and that they would be on his desk, but we have yet to find them.” “And why is that?” “Well... um...” Elrond stared at the Elf, then turned to the study he and Erestor shared when doing most of the paperwork for Imladris. He pushed open the door and stared. Erestor’s usually neat desk was piled high with stacks of papers, scrolls, letters, and books with notes placed between the pages. Half a dozen Elves were going wildly through the stacks, disarranging what Erestor had probably carefully set out. “I can’t find the plans for tomorrow’s banquet! Has anyone seen them?” “They were under the scrolls to Mirkwood. How about the instructions for the blacksmith? He is demanding to know which weapons he is supposed to repair this week.” “Neither of those are as important as the treaty to the town of Yindergath! It was supposed to go along with this morning’s patrol!” “What are you worried about? The patrol is still milling around the courtyard!” “I *need* those banquet plans! The cook has to start immediately or nothing will be ready!” “The cook’s going to have a hard time cooking if I can’t find the supply lists! Hard to make a banquet with nothing in the larder but two barrels of flour and a crock of preserves!” Elrond nearly groaned. He hoped this was just first-day chaos. Hopefully it would settle down soon. ...but strange, he’d never noticed that Erestor did so much... what did all these other Elves do with their time, if they were falling apart now? He’d have to have a long talk with his Chief Counselor when he got back. For now, he supposed he’d best take care of these Elves before they started throwing things at each other. * Erestor skipped breakfast, determined not to even look at Glorfindel. He knew he’d never manage it without turning as red as the apples in Elrond’s orchard. He had cleaned up and then waited in the tent until he saw the other tents being taken down - then he’d gone to the horses and saddled the little grey mare himself, quietly asking her name from the Elf responsible for the horses’ care. Then he remained with Alethea, getting acquainted, until the rest of the company was ready to leave. As they began to sort out their places in the group, Erestor was surprised - and far from pleased - to find himself suddenly surrounded by the Mirkwood Elves. All of their horses were bigger than Alethea, and all of them were taller than he - he felt like an Elfling who had wandered into an adult’s party. He would have urged the little mare, who was already picking up on his nervousness and beginning to prance uneasily, away from them, but one Elf leaned over to catch her reins. “Good morn, Cousin Erestor,” Araden said sweetly, his blue eyes smiling at the smaller Elf. Erestor was surprised to see little malice in them. Perhaps Araden *had* improved. He’d give him the benefit of the doubt. “Good morn, Araden.” He deliberately left the ‘Cousin’ off; in their childhood, Araden had forbidden him to call him by that title. A flicker went through the blond’s eyes - he almost looked sad. “Erestor... I wanted to speak to you...” “Lord Councilor?” A firm voice interrupted. “Your place is waiting.” Erestor had never been so grateful to see Glorfindel. He gave Araden a brief nod and attempted to move Alethea forward. His cousin let go of her reins reluctantly. “Can we speak later, then?” he asked. Erestor was forced to nod, or look uncouth. Alethea was finally able to walk away, but not fast enough to miss the comments being made behind him. “You were right, Araden, he is *quite* different from you.” “Such a dark little thing - all of your other relatives are tall and blond. Where did he come from?” “He certainly must have been a surprise...” “Well...” Araden sounded rather reluctant to speak. Erestor was going to just leave them and their comments behind, when he saw some of the Imladris guards looking at him with beaming smiles. For an instant he was angry, thinking they were laughing at him, then he realized that the odd look in their eyes was expectancy. They were waiting for his usual razor-sharp retort to such comments. Well, if they had decided to find some sort of pride in that, he wasn’t going to let them down! “You’re quite right,” he said calmly, knowing the Elves heard his voice when they went silent behind him. He turned narrowed dark eyes on them and their own eyes widened. Araden looked at him like he’d never seen him before. “I am very different from Araden and *his* family.” He placed just the right delicate emphasis on ‘his’ to make them realize he did not say ‘ours.’ “And how is that? Were you just born different?” the bravest of them asked, raising his chin haughtily. His eyes flickered over Erestor, then Araden, and all the watching Elves were made well-aware of the differences between them. But Erestor wasn’t going to mention height, or coloring, or attractiveness. “Yes,” the word was like ice, “I was. I was born intelligent.” He turned Alethea, and the little mare tossed her head and trotted to her place at the head of the Imladris diplomats. Who were grinning quite broadly. So were the Imladris guards. So was Glorfindel, though Erestor still wasn’t about to look at *him.* He didn’t look at Araden, either, so he didn’t see the amazement on that face, followed by a slow, disbelieving, oddly happy little smile. The Mirkwood Elves were very quiet for the next few hours. * Glorfindel was still grinning when Lady Riel managed to move her horse close to his. His brain was wrapped completely around Erestor - he ignored her until he heard the little huff of discontent. “Glory...” she whined softly, and he winced. He really hated that little nickname. Best to speak to her, though, before she *really* got going, and they had an audience. “Yes, Riel?” It was with great difficulty that he refrained from calling her ‘Lady’, but he knew she would start fussing - loudly - if he reverted to being formal with her. “Glory, I truly do not like my tent-mate. Is there *no* one else that I may share with? She broke my best mirror and did not even apologize. She chided me for carelessness, instead.” Riel sniffed and shot a glare back at the Mirkwood She-Elf. Who was glaring right back, while the Elves around her grinned. They had been quite amused by Lithilia’s tale of the mirror in the bed. The story was already going on to the Imladris Elves, who had been a bit less amused - the Lady Riel was their Captain’s lover, after all, and they all loved Glorfindel. But he didn’t look very lover-like right now... perhaps there had been a rift between the two? It wouldn’t cause much heartbreak among the guards if that was so; Riel had always seemed to think that being Glorfindel’s lover made the Elves under him her servants. They’d been ordered - and not very politely - to do all sorts of inane things for her, fetch this, bring that, find me some flowers, braid my mare’s mane and tail... Now that they thought of it, that mirror story *was* pretty funny... Glorfindel blinked, wondering why all the Elves around him were starting to grin. Did he miss something? It started when Riel had mentioned the mirror. He’d have to find out the real story behind that, he supposed. He glanced over his shoulder and saw one of the Advisors beside of Erestor leaning over to the Chief Counselor and whispering rapidly. Erestor looked vastly amused - he was visibly trying to fight off a smile. Yes, he’d definitely have to get the rest of that story later. “Well?” Riel demanded, her voice raising a little when she realized Glorfindel was ignoring her. “Well, what?” The Elda asked, confused. He’d forgotten her question in wondering about the mirror. “Well, is there someone else I can share a tent with? Perhaps you have decided that your own tent-mate is not to your liking?” She asked the last in a low voice, remembering how reluctant Glorfindel was to behave with the slightest impropriety. Silly, really, but she’d humor him for now. Glorfindel was staring at her. His tent-mate, not to his liking?! He had a sudden vision of Erestor as he had looked when Glorfindel was leaving the tent - sitting on their blankets, curly hair in wild disarray around him, slender fingers against his lips as he stared after him, his tunic hanging off of one white shoulder, a red love-bite showing clearly against his skin, dark eyes wide with surprise and the remnants of their passion... He swallowed hard, and shifted in his saddle. Now was so not a good time to get aroused! “No, Riel, I am... quite *satisfied* with my tent-mate. And I am afraid there is no other She-Elf for you to share with. I will see if there is not some rearranging that can be done, to get you a tent of your own.” “Well,” she sniffed, “I suppose that will have to do, if you are sure you will not join me.” Glorfindel rolled his eyes and didn’t answer. He wasn’t about to give up Erestor for the pouting blond beside him - he was beginning to wonder what he’d ever seen in her. She had been such fun when he’d first started courting her. Always happy to oblige him when he was between more serious lovers, usually seeking him out herself when she’d heard a relationship had ended, offering herself as company until he found someone else. He’d only slept with her twice, yet she seemed to think there was some deep and abiding bond between them, despite the fact that she, herself, had so many lovers Glorfindel had lost count of them. And as for asking her to bind with him... ha! He’d have to be insane. He nudged Asfaloth into quicker motion, pulling away from Riel’s flimsy little white mare. Poor horse was already showing signs of strain, and it was only the second day of their trip. He’d have to speak to the Elf caring for the horses, make sure she got special attention. It wasn’t her fault that her mistress was so thoughtless as to bring her on what promised to be a rather grueling journey. “Lord Glorfindel?” He turned his head as one of the guards addressed him. “There is something strange about the road ahead...” He looked, and he saw what the Elf meant. The ground was choppy, as if there had been some sort of battle fault. There were deep gouges from hooves, and some of the trees had score marks, as though they had been hit by both sword and arrows. “Slow them down,” he ordered, switching easily into his warrior mode. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to the Elves under his care - the mission to Imladris was important, the lives of his friends and the other diplomats were important. Erestor was so important that his throat ached, just thinking of something happening to him. They proceeded cautiously, but it seemed safe. No Orcs came from the trees, no sounds of danger came to the listening ears. Yet something just wasn’t right - the birds weren’t singing, the trees seemed so very still... Glorfindel raised his head sharply, his senses going on high alert? What was that? Not a sound, nothing in sight, but something was jarringly out of place... It was the smell. A thick, sweet scent that floated through the leaves, cloying and heavy. It was like the time Riel spilt her perfume jar all over his tunic - he hadn’t been able to breathe properly for days. Even now, his head was beginning to spin... He realized suddenly what was happening. He turned Asfaloth, noticing that the big stallion’s motions were slower than they should be, and tried to shout. It came out a sad whisper, “Back! Get them back...” But his guards to the rear were already toppling off of their horses, to be followed by the horses themselves. He saw Riel hit the ground, and her little mare take two more steps before following her into the dust. His eyes went to Erestor, and he tried to urge his stallion to move faster as he saw his Counselor sway, then slide almost gracefully down, those big black eyes rolling back. *No...* He tried to go forward again, and realized he was no longer on Asfaloth, that the big horse was stumbling away from him, tottering dangerously, while he himself was on the ground. He gathered all his strength and pulled himself toward Erestor. He managed to wrap his fingers around the other Elf’s hand before his vision began to darken. The last thing he saw were some dark shapes appearing out of the undergrowth and coming toward them...