Title:  Resurrection
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type:	FPS
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel, Lindir/Glorfindel, Galdor/Erestor,
Elrond, Gil-galad, Erestor/Celebrimbor (implied), and Gildor
Rating:	 NC-17
Beta: Kenaz
Archive:  Rhovanion, OEAM, Melethryn.  All others please ask.

WARNING: Graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males and
just a little bit of drama, because this is me, after all.

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of
JRR Tolkien and his estate, and I am sure he would be horrified if
he read this.

Author’s Notes: My Erestor muse insisted that he be given more
attention and another shot at Glorfindel.  He’s hard to refuse…  As
usual, I’m not adhering to the rules of Tolkien canon (big surprise,
I’m sure), so if that’s your thing, this won’t entertain you.  If
not, then I hope you enjoy it.  Set in the Second Age.

Feedback: If you care to share, larienelengasse@yahoo.com

Summary:  Erestor and Galdor’s friendship grows, as does the
distance between him and Glorfindel.



Part 11

Erestor lay between Galdor’s trembling thighs, his heart slowly
returning to its normal rhythm, his skin tingling beneath the
Sinda’s soft caress.  ‘So that is what it is like,’ he thought to
himself as he heard Galdor purr contentedly.  Now he knew what it
felt like to really join with another, and he also realized how much
Celebrimbor had withheld from him, not to mention how much of
himself he had been withholding from others.  If Galdor never did
another thing, he taught him that much – he taught him what it was
like to truly trust and to share genuine affection. 

Their joining had been a slow, gentle experience.  Erestor had
savored each moan, each arching undulation of Galdor’s body, each
deliberate thrust into the Sinda’s delicious heat.  The way Galdor’s
fingers felt in his hair, the way his lips felt upon his own, the
way his mouth tasted; each remarkable sensation still filled his
mind and his body.  His sated length slowly slipped from the Sinda’s
form, and he felt the delectable slide of Galdor’s inner thighs
against his hips as his friend’s legs slipped down.  “That was…” 

“So very good,” Galdor finished for him. 

Erestor smiled and laughed softly.  “Yes, my friend, it certainly
was.”  He rolled to the side and pulled Galdor closer.  “Will you
stay here with me?”

Galdor pushed Erestor’s dark hair away from his flushed face.  “Aye,
my darkling, I shall stay.  One never knows what wonderful surprises
may await us in the early morning hours.”  He winked.

Erestor chuckled and tucked his head underneath Galdor’s chin.
“Thank you, my friend.  This is something I shall never forget.”

Galdor grinned.  “Now that is quite a compliment.  I always endeavor
to be remarkable.”  He kissed the top of Erestor’s head as his
friend gave his waist a squeeze.

“That you are, Galdor, that you are,” Erestor murmured sleepily.  He
closed his eyes and drifted into reverie, feeling at peace in
Galdor’s arms.

*    *    *    *

As the weeks passed, Erestor and Galdor spent many hours together.
Erestor learned much from Galdor, not only about himself and what he
was capable of, but also of political matters. Galdor was an
experienced negotiator and trusted adviser to Círdan, and Erestor
considered the Sinda his mentor.  From Galdor he learned the
intricacies and difficulties of negotiating with men and dwarves,
and he learned of the bravery and friendship between the Men of
Númenor and the Noldor in particular.  While Erestor knew there were
close ties between their races, he learned things from Galdor that
were not recorded in the history books.  

Erestor also gained further understanding of the tenuous balance
between the forces of good and evil, and he realized just how
sheltered he was within Elrond’s haven, and had been under
Celebrimbor’s tutelage.  In the outside world, Sauron was gaining
ground, being close to taking Eregion; if that happened, then it was
only a matter of time before he found the Hidden Valley, and then
their precious peace would be destroyed.  Galdor informed him of the
communication between Gil-galad and Tar-Minastir, the son of the
Ruling Queen and general of Númenor’s armies.  It would not be long
before the Elves would need help in defeating Sauron, and it would
fall to the Men of Númenor to lend aid. 

In the weeks since the king’s arrival, Erestor had noticed a change
in his assistant, Lindir.  While Lindir was no less dedicated to his
work, and was certainly an obedient assistant, the young one exuded
a new confidence.  The minstrel had an air of quiet assurance about
him that Erestor sometimes envied.  He wondered why Lindir had made
so full and hale a recovery, both inside and out, after their
abduction and subsequent rescue, when he himself seemed to still
have a part deep inside that was wounded.  Galdor was helping him
with that, but he wondered if he would ever feel whole again.

He looked at Lindir thoughtfully.  His young assistant was helping
Galdor find ancient maps of the eastern lands and documents
containing hidden passages to the south.  The waning autumn sun
filtered through the tall windows, illuminating his pale hair and
luminescent skin.  Lindir had never looked so beautiful to him.
Erestor was not attracted to Lindir in a sexual way, but in the way
that one wishes to reach out and touch a beautiful flower or a
magnificent horse – it was an appreciation of beauty in its purest
and most natural form.  He loved Lindir like a brother; they had
been through much together and formed a close bond of friendship.
He knew that Lindir and Glorfindel had become lovers since the night
of Gil-galad’s arrival, though they were being somewhat discrete
about it.  

He had not seen Glorfindel for more than brief moments since that
night, owing to the warrior’s duties, which kept him away from the
Last Lonely House for sometimes weeks at a time, and there seemed to
be an awkward gulf growing between them.  As of late, Glorfindel had
been away for a week inspecting the guard posts at the borders, and
Gildor had taken up the task of training the recruits; Imladris was
quietly preparing for war. 

He was standing near the tome that catalogued every item within the
library, his distracted gaze focused on Lindir rather than the book,
when he heard a familiar voice.  

“Hard at work again, I see.”

He turned to see Glorfindel standing behind him, a smile curving the
Elda’s lips.  The warrior’s boots and the hem of his cloak were
soiled, yet he had taken the time to clean what mud would come off
his boots before entering the house.  His cheeks were flushed from
the brisk autumn air and his hair flowed wildly around his
shoulders.  It was clear he had just returned from the outskirts of
Imladris.  He could not help but return the warm greeting;
Glorfindel’s smile always caused him to smile in return.

“Aye, as usual.  I was just trying to discern whether or not Lindir
needed my assistance.”  He reached out for the warrior’s hand.
“’Tis good to have you home, Glorfindel.” 

Glorfindel accepted the proffered hand; it was such a strange
gesture between two friends who had lately been so close.  “’Tis
good to be home, my friend,” he answered. 

“Glorfindel!”  

He looked up to see Lindir’s smiling face, and he left Erestor’s
company for his lover’s arms.

Erestor felt a sharp pang in his heart.  He had wanted to reach out
and embrace the Elda.  What had stopped him?  He missed those arms
that had so often held him both in friendship and in a more intimate
way.  He turned and entered his office, hoping no one saw the
expression upon his face. 

He caught sight of the pair as they left the library hand in hand,
then soon afterward, Galdor appeared in his office doorway.

“When, Erestor?  When are you going to tell him what is in your
heart?”

“And I suppose you know what that is?” Erestor asked sardonically.

“You know I do,” Galdor answered matter-of-factly.  

“You see that they are lovers now.  I hardly think it would be
appropriate…”

“Since when is love appropriate?” Galdor queried.  “You know what is
coming, Erestor.  Soon none of us will have a certain future – do
not wait until…”

“Please, I beg you, do not speak of such a thing.”  Erestor closed
his eyes and began rubbing his temples.

“I care about you, Erestor.  You know I only do this out of love.”

“I would not hurt Lindir, nor would I risk damaging my friendship
with Glorfindel.”

Galdor sighed.  “Very well, but sooner or later, your heart will
have its say.”  He turned and departed the library, leaving Erestor
alone with his thoughts.

*    *    *    *

The door to Glorfindel’s chamber had no sooner closed than the
warrior found himself being dragged toward the bed and undressed.  

“Valar, I have missed you so much; I have worried about you so
much…”  Lindir quickly worked the clasps on his lover’s tunic after
discarding Glorfindel’s cloak.

Glorfindel’s hands roamed the minstrel’s long back, his fingers
hungrily clutching at his lover’s firm, round backside.  “Mmm… not
as much I missed you, I wager,” he murmured into Lindir’s ear.
“Have you been a good songbird while I have been away?” 

“Not at all,” Lindir breathed as Glorfindel’s tunic fell away and
his fingers quickly unlaced his lover’s breeches.  “I have thought
about you and touched myself nearly every night since you left.”

“Well, as long as it was me you were thinking of,” Glorfindel
purred, then he ran his tongue over the point of Lindir’s ear.  “Ai!
Sparrow…” he moaned as Lindir’s long fingers wrapped around his
burgeoning arousal.  “You did miss me…”

With his free hand, Lindir grasped a handful of Glorfindel’s hair.
“I told you I did,” he purred, and then he covered Glorfindel’s
mouth with his own in a deep kiss.  “I want you to take me, hard,”
he murmured, as his lips briefly left those of his lover.

“You need not ask me twice,” Glorfindel replied, quickly divesting
Lindir of his garments, then lifting his lithe lover and playfully
tossing him upon the bed.

*    *    *    *

Lindir lay upon his back, propped up in a half-sitting position by
the thick pillows on Glorfindel’s bed.  His lover was sleeping
soundly on his stomach, his golden head resting on Lindir’s chest.
Lindir’s legs were draped over the warrior’s hips and he slowly ran
his fingers through Glorfindel’s thick, wavy, golden mane, languidly
picking up a strand and letting it slip through his fingers.  He
closed his eyes and smiled as his lover softly moaned and snuggled
closer to him, the feel of the Elda’s battle-toughened hands under
his shoulder blades was comforting; it was as though Glorfindel were
clinging to him.

“Aye, my love,” he whispered.  “I am here and will always be here,
for you.”  He placed a soft kiss upon the crown of the warrior’s
golden head.  A soft, unsettled moan came from Glorfindel’s lips and
he felt his lover’s body tighten ever so subtly.  “Nightmares again,
my warrior?” he whispered.  “Here, let me see them.” 

He closed his eyes and tried to find that link that they shared when
they made love, that reciprocal flow of emotion, sensation, and
sometimes thought.  He could not find it, not while his partner was
passive – it required both of them to reach out to the other, he
supposed.  He soothed his lover’s troubled form by slowly rubbing
circles upon his muscled back while continuing to comb through his
hair with his fingers.  “There now, that is better.  Sleep, love.
You are home and you are safe.”

“Sparrow?” his lover whispered.

“Yes, my love, ‘tis I,” he answered.

“Mmm… I had a bad dream,” Glorfindel murmured.

“Tell me of it,” Lindir answered.

“I dreamt I was back in Gondolin.  The city was falling and you were
there, as was Erestor and Gildor.  I saw Gildor fall, and only you
and Erestor were left.”

“What happened then?” Lindir asked softly, placing gentle kisses
upon Glorfindel’s head.

“I do not know,” Glorfindel answered.  “I woke.”  He slowly rose to
look into Lindir’s eyes.  “I do not ever want you to leave this
place, Lindir.  You will always be safe here; I want you to always
be safe.”

Lindir smiled at him.  “I will be, as long as I am with you.”

“Promise me.”

Lindir caressed Glorfindel’s face.  “I promise.”

Glorfindel reached up and kissed his young lover, the soft moan that
escaped Lindir’s lips caused his body to reawaken.  “I need this,”
he murmured against the minstrel’s lips.

“It is always yours for the taking,” Lindir whispered in reply, and
then he threaded his fingers in Glorfindel’s hair as his lover
kissed him deeply.



Part 12

Summary:  Things begin to change in Imladris.


Winter was drawing to a close and the high king’s party departed the
Hidden Valley, returning to their homes in the west.  Erestor was
sad to see Galdor go; they had grown very close since his arrival.
He had a new, good friend, one he could always count upon.  

He knew war was coming, and it filled him with dread.  Yet, what
choice was there?  Sauron would not stop until he conquered and
destroyed everything in his path.  It was up to the Elves and the
Men of Númenor to stop him.

As the months wore on, he watched Lindir and Glorfindel grow closer
by the day.  It was no longer a secret that they were lovers; in
fact, Lindir had moved out of his own chambers and into
Glorfindel’s.  How had it happened?  How had what he had once hoped
would be his slip through his fingers and into the arms of one of
his dearest friends?  What was it that Lindir had that he lacked?

He hid his feelings well, so well that no one in Imladris, to his
knowledge, suspected them, not even Glorfindel.  He resigned himself
to being the Elda’s friend, nothing more, and focused his efforts on
keeping the bond of friendship between them; at least he had that.

To his surprise, he was spending more and more time with Gildor.
The elf’s good cheer and playful nature lightened his too often
serious spirit.  As he placed the last entry in the ledger and blew
upon the ink to dry it, he saw his friend’s form fill the doorway.
Erestor smiled as he looked up at Gildor, who casually leaned
against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Have we finished for the day?” Gildor asked, a smile curving his
lips.

“Aye, just,” Erestor answered, making sure the ink was dry before
closing the ledger.  

“We have been invited to a picnic, in the southern meadow.”

“A picnic?  In the dead of Rhîw?”

“It is not the dead of Rhîw, you curmudgeon, it is the dawning of
Echuir.  The flowers are beginning to emerge from blankets of snow
and Anor is lighting and warming the sky.  If it is not too cold, we
can watch Ithil as she arrives.” He smiled at his friend.  “Come, I
will gather hot mulled wine, warm, fresh-baked bread, and dried
meats and cheeses.  It will be a pleasant diversion from such
serious work.”

Erestor looked at Gildor with some skepticism, then rose from his
chair.  “I must change into my riding clothes first.”

“Well then be quick about it, Master Erestor, the days are yet
short…”

Erestor rounded his desk and passed Gildor in the doorway.  “I shall
meet you at the stables.”  He walked a short distance down the
hallway, and then turned.  “Who invited us on this picnic?”

Gildor paused on his way to the kitchens.  “Glorfindel and Lindir,
who else?”

Erestor hoped his feelings were not readily apparent on his face.
“Of course,” he murmured, and then turned back toward the staircase.

Gildor furrowed his brow, and then shrugged, continuing toward the
kitchen, curious as to what was wrong with his good friend.

*    *    *    *

Erestor checked himself in the mirror.  As fruitless as it was, he
could not resist the compulsion to make himself as attractive as
possible for Glorfindel.  He wore black velvet breeches that fit
tight for riding, tall, black leather boots, a white undershirt and
black velvet tunic with silver detailing.  His dark cloak completed
the ensemble, and he wondered if he really did not look as if he
were attending a funeral rather than a picnic.  Pulling on his
gloves, he departed his bedchamber and made his way to the stables.

As he entered, he found Gildor strapping on his quiver.  Glorfindel
and Lindir were standing close together, kissing sweetly and
caressing one another’s faces.  Only two horses were prepared,
Glorfindel’s stallion and Gildor’s large gelding.  Lindir’s mount
and Erestor’s own were sleepily munching hay.  

“We will only take two horses,” Gildor said as he noted the
quizzical look upon Erestor’s face.  “It is cold and riding together
will make the journey more pleasant.”

“Very well,” Erestor answered. 

“We are so glad you could come with us, Erestor,” Lindir said with a
broad smile.  “I have been telling Gildor that you work entirely too
hard.”

“It was kind of the two of you to invite me, Lindir,” Erestor said
softly.  “Thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary, my friend,” Glorfindel answered.  “We
always enjoy your company.”

Erestor nodded and moved toward Gildor’s horse, finding it difficult
to be around Glorfindel when he was so affectionately holding
Lindir.  He cursed the fact that he did not ask who invited them
before agreeing to come, then realized that there was no excuse or
way he could have avoided this situation without being obvious.

“Up we go, my friend,” Gildor said, as he boosted Erestor up on his
gelding’s back.  He mounted behind him, and handed Erestor their
foodstuffs.  “You are in charge of not dropping the food.”

“I think I can manage that,” Erestor answered, then he looked down
at Gildor’s arm as it encircled his waist protectively.

“Now do not run off without us,” Gildor said to Glorfindel, as the
Elda mounted behind his lover.  “You two have the wine.”

Lindir laughed.  “So mistrustful,” he teased.

“Not mistrustful, just wise.  I have known him longer than you, you
know.”  He winked at Lindir, who laughed in response.

“Always quick to slander me, are you not?” Glorfindel asked with a
raised eyebrow.

“’Tis not slander, ‘tis only an honest account of your . . .
tendencies,” Erestor countered, surprising himself.

Glorfindel laughed aloud.  “Now there is the Erestor I know and
love.  I have missed that sharp wit.  Come, follow close…” He
squeezed his stallion’s flanks and the horse left the barn at a
gallop.

Gildor chuckled and murmured into Erestor’s ear.  “Well done, my
friend, well done.”  He then followed suit and they galloped out of
the barn and into the waning afternoon sun. 

*    *    *    *

They found a large, smooth rock that had been warmed by Anor’s rays,
and spread a blanket upon it.  There they lie in the sun, eating the
food that Gildor had gathered and drinking the mulled wine.  Were it
not for how Erestor felt about Glorfindel, it would have been an
altogether pleasant afternoon.  It was difficult, however, to see
Glorfindel and Lindir together; their affection for one another was
obvious.

What Erestor did not see, but Gildor did, were the stolen glances
Glorfindel cast Erestor’s way before the Elda returned his attention
to his young lover.  This situation troubled Gildor.  He loved each
of them; all three were his dear friends and to know that someone at
some point was going to end up with a broken heart pained him.

Anor was slowly setting and Ithil gave chase, her silver visage just
visible over the mountains to the east.  Lindir decided to walk in
the woods while Glorfindel checked on their horses, and Gildor
remained with Erestor, lying beside his friend in the waning light.
They could hear wolves howling in the distance, and Gildor reassured
Erestor that beasts of Eru’s creation would not harm an elf.

“Why do they cry?” Erestor asked.

“They mourn,” Gildor answered.  “Perhaps one of them has succumbed.”

“It sounds so sad,” Erestor murmured.

“As it should.  The loss of a loved one is cause for sadness.” 

*    *    *    *

Lindir walked into the stand of trees not too far from their picnic
spot.  It had been an uncomfortable afternoon, despite good
intentions.  Erestor had difficulty with his and Glorfindel’s
relationship, and he was afraid he knew why.  

He heard a branch snap off to his right and he turned to see a
female wolf, cowering by a bush.  He turned slowly and spoke to her,
reassuring her as he approached.  She was wounded.

“You are injured,” he said quietly, holding out his hands.  “I shall
not harm you,”

A foul stench filled his nostrils and his heart stopped.  He knew
that smell; he had smelled it before – at Ost-in-Edhil.  “Warg,” he
whispered as the wolf growled, and he turned slowly to see the large
beast standing behind him.  It snarled, its jaws opening and
revealing yellow teeth marked with fresh blood – the wolf’s blood.
He slowly began to back away, his mind racing.  He could not outrun
it – he had to climb into the nearest tree.

The warg crouched and he turned, running as fast as his legs would
carry him as he cried out for help.

Gildor and Erestor both sat bolt upright upon hearing Lindir’s cry.
Gildor grabbed his bow and quiver as he barked, “Stay here!”  Then
he leapt off the rock and ran through the snow, toward the sound of
Lindir’s voice.

Erestor took to his feet and called for Glorfindel, who soon
galloped by on his stallion.  He tossed the warrior’s sword to him,
then leapt off the rock and followed at a run.  He heard a
heartbreaking cry of pain; it was a sound that haunted his memories,
and sometimes his nightmares.  “No, sweet Elbereth, no…” he breathed
as he ran faster.  “Lindir!” he cried.  “We are coming!”

Lindir leapt into the air, catching a low hanging branch, and began
to swing up when the beast’s jaws closed on his leg.  He cried out
as it pulled him from the tree and violently threw him to the
ground.  He kicked with his free leg, hitting the beast in the
snout, and it growled, pinning him to the ground with one of its
large paws.

Gildor arrived first, followed closely by Glorfindel.  He fired two
arrows, striking the beast in the neck and forcing it to release its
hold on Lindir’s shoulder.  Glorfindel’s stallion skidded to a halt
in the snow and the Elda leapt from his back, falling upon the warg
and driving his sword deep into its back.

Erestor came up behind Gildor and saw the wounded she-wolf, then saw
Lindir.  He heard another growl and turned to see a second warg.  He
quickly grabbed a large, fallen branch and rammed it into the
beast’s open jaws as it advanced upon him.  “Gildor!” he shouted,
and the warrior turned, firing another two arrows, hitting the beast
in the chest and felling it instantly.  Gildor hurried to him.  

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Erestor nodded, his gaze fixed on Lindir who lay in the snow,
bleeding badly.  Glorfindel knelt beside him, tearing his tunic to
use as bandages to stop the bleeding.

“Stay here, and this time, I mean it,” Gildor said, his hands upon
Erestor’s shoulders.  Erestor nodded and Gildor called for his
horse.

“Sparrow?” Glorfindel called softly as he began bandaging Lindir’s
wounds.  “Come, sparrow, open your eyes and look at me.”

Erestor knelt beside Glorfindel and put pressure upon the wounds as
the Elda tied the makeshift bandages tight.

“No, no, no… Not him,” Glorfindel murmured.  “You cannot have him!
You owe me this!” he growled.

Erestor furrowed his brow, unsure whom Glorfindel was talking to
when he remembered the first thing Glorfindel had ever said to him –
‘he calls not you…’  “Oh, gods, no; sweet Elbereth no,” he murmured.
“Please, Lindir, stay with us, my friend!” he cried.  He felt
Gildor’s hand on his shoulder.

“Get on the horse now, Erestor.  We have to leave this place right
now.”  Gildor shook his friend gently.  “Erestor!  Now!  On the
horse!” 

Erestor left Lindir and mounted Gildor’s horse as he watched Gildor
lift Lindir and hand him to Glorfindel once the Elda mounted his
stallion. 

“Wait!  The wolf!” Erestor cried.  “They will come for her!”

“It cannot be helped,” Gildor said as he turned his horse.  To his
surprise, Erestor struggled against him.

“We have to help her… Let me down!”

“Stay here, I will get her,” Gildor said.

Erestor watched Glorfindel’s stallion as it ran through the meadow,
its hooves kicking up a blinding cloud of white behind it.  Gildor
returned with the wounded wolf and placed the animal across
Erestor’s lap.  

“Hold her close, she will not struggle.”  Gildor mounted behind
Erestor, and they galloped out of the meadow, the sound of wargs
echoing in the distance.

*    *    *    *

Glorfindel kicked in the door to the healer’s chamber, carrying
Lindir, who was still bleeding profusely.  Nestagar took one look at
the injured elf and ran out of the chamber to find Lord Elrond;
meanwhile, the Chief Healer began inspecting Lindir’s wounds.

Erestor and Gildor arrived in the healing house; Gildor carried the
wounded wolf and Erestor followed close behind.  Erestor watched as
Gildor laid the she-wolf on some rags on the floor and gathered
materials to cleanse her wounds.  

He knelt beside her, cleansing the bite marks and checking for
injuries that were more serious.  “Both of her back legs are
broken,” he said softly.  “Inside that drawer you will find splints
and linen to wrap them.”  Erestor found the materials and handed
them to Gildor.  “Now go and see if Glorfindel needs you.  I will be
right there.” 

Erestor nodded and entered the room next door, where Elrond and his
healer furiously worked to save Lindir. 




Part 13

Summary:  Glorfindel strikes a bargain.  


Erestor leaned against the wall in the back of the healer’s
chambers.  He watched as Elrond and Glorfindel whispered a chant,
and two healers, one of them Nestagar - the one who tended to him
when he was wounded - worked their skill on Lindir’s pale form.
Erestor was trembling, his arms clasped over his chest, his hands
gripping his elbows as he gazed on Lindir’s face.  It was slack, his
skin was pale, and dried blood was spattered on his neck and face.  

Glorfindel appeared to be in a trance of some sort, while Elrond
continued to repeat an incantation that bound Lindir’s spirit within
his body.  Erestor jumped when he felt Gildor’s hands upon his
shoulders, then he turned, burying his face in the warrior’s
shoulder.  He felt overwhelmingly guilty.  That same afternoon he
had felt envious of Lindir, now he stood in the healers’ quarters
watching his friend die.  Gildor held him tenderly, caressing his
hair and rubbing small circles on his back. 

“Pray, my friend,” Gildor whispered.  “Lindir needs all of our
prayers now.”

*    *    *    *

Glorfindel looked around him at the stone walls and floor, at the
long fathomless hallways and massive tapestries.  He knew well where
he was; he had been there before.  As Mandos approached, he knelt
before the Vala, bowing his head.

“I have come to sue for Lindir’s return, my lord,” he said softly.

“You would have me release him?” Mandos asked.

“Aye.  It is within your power.”

“And why should I do such a thing?”

“Because he is not ready, my lord.  He is so young; he has been
through so much already.”

“You speak as if his existence here would be a punishment.  Is it
not true he would find peace here, more so than in your world?”

“It is the only world he has ever known, my lord.”

“On whose behalf do you entreat me?  The minstrel’s or your own?”

Glorfindel looked up into Mandos’ dark eyes.  “Both . . . my own.  I
ask so little…”

Mandos looked down at the kneeling warrior.  “Asking for the return
of a fëa that is mine is no small request.”

“Neither is asking one finally at peace to make further sacrifice,”
Glorfindel retorted, lowering his eyes in penance for so bold a
statement.

Mandos considered Glorfindel’s words.  “You speak true.  I will
grant you this, Glorfindel, but know that I cannot always do such.
There will come another time when you want one returned to you; know
then what I tell you now – I will not be able do it.  That is the
payment for what you ask of me.  This fëa for another in the
future.”

“Whose?” 

“The future is not for you to know.  Is one fëa worth more than
another?”

“This one is, to me.”  Glorfindel swallowed; the Vala struck a hard
bargain.  “I understand, my lord.”

“He is returned.”

*     *    *    *

Lindir mumbled as Glorfindel opened his eyes and returned from his
trance.  The healers had just finished dressing his wounds and
setting the bones in his leg, and Nestagar was mixing a potent brew
to ward off infection.  

“Sparrow?” Glorfindel whispered.

Lindir blinked and opened his eyes.  “Glorfindel,” he breathed.  “I
had the strangest dream…”

“Ssshh, my love,” Glorfindel murmured.  “Be still and rest now; I
will hear your dream another time.” 

“My shoulder hurts, and so does my leg.”

“Aye, my songbird.  Your leg is broken and your shoulder was out of
joint.  Your injuries have been repaired and Nestagar will give you
something for the pain.”

Lindir blinked again as he felt Elrond’s hands slowly running over
his shoulder.  A warm, almost vibrating sensation washed through his
joint, then the Lord of Imladris did the same to his leg.  He
watched as Elrond rounded the table, standing at its head and
looking down into his eyes.  He smiled as his lord, who had become
like a father to him, smoothed his hair from his face and bent down,
placing a soft kiss upon his forehead.  “Rest, gentle Lindir, all
will be well in a short while.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Lindir whispered, then he closed his eyes and
found reverie.

Elrond placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s shoulder.  “I do not know
how you recalled him, for by rights he should be in Mandos’ Halls.
However you did it, I am in your debt.  It would have broken my
heart to lose him.”

“As it would have broken mine,” Glorfindel murmured.

Erestor stood by, leaning heavily on Gildor’s chest, his head tucked
beneath the warrior’s chin, his arms wrapped around his waist.  

“Thank the Valar,” Gildor whispered.  “He will yet live.”  He looked
down at the top of Erestor’s head.  “Come, my friend.  You have been
through quite an ordeal, let me take you to your quarters.”

Erestor nodded and allowed Gildor to take him out of the healers’
chambers and toward the main house.

*    *    *    *

Erestor entered his bedchamber with Gildor in tow.  Gildor stopped
at his door and smiled gently.

“Rest well, Erestor.  All things will seem better in the morning.”

Erestor reached out and grasped Gildor’s wrist.  “Wait.”  Gildor
looked at Erestor thoughtfully.  “Would you . . . stay with me?”

“Of course,” Gildor answered, stepping inside Erestor’s bedchamber.
He watched as his friend opened the armoire and handed him a pair of
soft sleeping pants.  

“They may be a bit too small, but you should find them comfortable.”

Gildor smiled.  “I am sure they will be fine, my friend.”  

Erestor retrieved a robe for himself and entered his bathing chamber
to dress for bed.  When he returned, he found Gildor turning down
the bed.  The Noldo wore nothing but the loaned sleeping pants and
his hair was released from the braids he wore earlier.  It was
strange seeing Gildor this way, and Erestor realized he had never
seen the warrior with his hair down.  It was a lovely color of pale
yellow, like the hue of summer grass, and his eyes were a soft blue,
like the waters of the Bruinen where it flowed quietly.  Erestor had
always known Gildor was handsome, and charming in a roguish sort of
way.  But standing next to his bed, he saw the warrior in a
different light; he was also kind and gentle, as in the way he cared
for the injured she-wolf. 

It felt a bit awkward, yet Erestor knew he did not want to be alone
that night.  So, he climbed into the bed and held back the covers
for Gildor.  As his friend laid down upon his back, Erestor curled
next to him, resting his head on Gildor’s shoulder.  He closed his
eyes and sighed as the warrior gently stroked his hair, and he
murmured, “Thank you,” as he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

*    *    *    *

It was early morning when Erestor awoke.  He was alone in the bed
and unsure as to when Gildor had left.  Sitting up, he rubbed his
face and looked around the room, the events of the day before
returning in a rush to his thoughts.  It was strange how just
yesterday afternoon his life was uneventful other than an unrequited
longing for one whom he had let slip through his fingers.  Today,
the grim reality of the changing world was hovering on the doorstep
to this hidden refuge.  Wargs had found them, how long before orcs
followed?

He pulled back the covers and slowly left the bed, stretching as he
stood.  Gildor had been kind enough to stoke the fire, so his
bedchamber was warm and comfortable despite the bitter chill of
early morning.  Anor shone brightly, her rays refracted on the
stubbornly clinging snow, causing light to dance across the sheer
draperies that covered his windows.

As he stepped inside his bathing chamber, his mind continued to
dwell on the events from the day before.  Lindir had been on the
doorstep of Mandos’ Halls, and somehow he returned; Erestor had a
pretty good idea how that happened.  After pulling his hair back
behind his head and securing it with a thin piece of ribbon, he
placed his hands on the sides of the low table that held the bowl
and pitcher he used for washing, and gazed into the mirror at his
weary reflection.  “What price will you pay for such a bargain,
Glorfindel?” he murmured.  “What promises did you have to make to
bring Lindir back?”  

He sighed and grasped the handle of the pitcher, carrying it to the
tub where he filled it with cold water.  Emptying the water into the
bowl, he splashed the icy liquid on his face, a sharp gasp escaping
him as the cold bit at his skin.  It was his morning ritual, meant
to steel him for the day ahead, bracing him against the weaker side
of his nature.  Blindly reaching for a towel, he blotted his face,
gooseflesh rising on his chest and arms.  

He returned to his bedchamber and opened the armoire, selecting one
of many pairs of black velvet leggings, a white undershirt made of
crisp linen, and the customary black velvet robe he wore.  He
dressed in silence, donning socks, the leggings, and undershirt,
then pulling on the robe and closing the clasps before taking a
brush to his hair and braiding it in his customary fashion, so that
his hair was pulled back from his austere face.  

He resolved to stop by the infirmary and check on Lindir and the
rescued she-wolf before beginning his workday.  Slipping on his
shoes, he exited his chambers in silence.

*    *    *    *

Glorfindel felt a hand upon his head, stroking his hair, and he
woke.  His neck was stiff – he had slept on a stool with his head
resting on Lindir’s hip all night.  

“You should go to our chambers and get some rest, my love,” Lindir
murmured.  “A stool in the infirmary is no place for you to rest
your weary bones.”

“I am loath to leave you,” Glorfindel said.  “I doubt I could sleep
one wink knowing you are down here alone.”

“I am not alone, and I am well cared for,” Lindir protested.
“Besides, I am sure I will be able to return home soon.”

“Aye, very soon, Master Lindir,” Nestagar said as he entered the
room.  “There has been no sign of fever or infection.  It will take
a few weeks for the bones in your leg to knit, but there is no
reason to think that your recovery will be troublesome.”

“Did you hear that?  Nestagar says I will be fine, and I will
recover much sooner if I do not have to worry about you.”

Glorfindel smiled.  “Worried about me… that is so like you, sparrow,
always concerned with the well-being of others.”

“Tell me that you will go to our chambers, take a nice, long, hot
bath, and go to bed for a little while.  You look so weary.

“Very well, my songbird,” Glorfindel replied.  “But I will return
soon to see how you are feeling.”

Lindir closed his eyes and smiled as his lover leaned over and
pressed a kiss to his forehead.  “I love you,” he whispered.

“And I love you,” Glorfindel murmured.


Part 14/?

Summary:  Erestor resigns himself and gains a new friend.


Erestor watched Glorfindel and Lindir exchange tender touches and
loving words from the doorway.  While he was much relieved that his
friend and assistant would eventually recover, it pained him to
witness their gentle affection.  What could have been his, had he
not been so foolishly afraid, was now Lindir’s, and he would forever
bear witness to their love for one another. He smiled wearily as
Glorfindel turned to face him, and Lindir quietly called his name.  

“How is my dear friend this morn?” Erestor asked quietly.

“Better,” Lindir answered.  “Though I am very sorry that I have put
you in such a bind.”

Erestor waived his hand.  “Do not be ridiculous, Lindir.  You could
not have foreseen this, nor do you bear any responsibility for it.
I am anxious to see you recover, more because you are dear to me
than for any inconvenience that this terrible event causes.”  He
shifted his gaze to Glorfindel.  “And how fares my other dear
friend?”

“Much better now that Lindir is on the path to recovery,” Glorfindel
answered.

“Would you do something for me, Erestor?”  Lindir asked.

“Anything, my friend.”

“Would you escort Glorfindel to our chambers and see that he bathes,
has something to eat, and goes promptly to bed?  He has promised to
do so, but I do not trust him,” Lindir answered with a sweet smile. 

Glorfindel smiled as he shook his head.  “Oh for Eru’s sake.  I told
you I would…” 
Erestor covered his heart and bowed his head, interrupting
Glorfindel’s protestation.  “Of course, my friend.  Anything to set
your heart at ease.”

“Thank you, Erestor,” Lindir replied with a smile.  

“Come, my stubborn friend, you heard your lover.”

Glorfindel sighed.  “I am not an elfling, I do not need…”

“Shush!” Erestor admonished.  “No more protest.  Do as Lindir says
or we will both incur his ire.”

Glorfindel turned and pressed one more kiss to Lindir’s lips, then
he smiled and turned, leaving the room with Erestor at his heels.

*    *    *    *

Erestor walked up the stairs behind the Elda toward his chambers.
Midway, Glorfindel turned. 

“All right, Erestor.  You need not follow – Lindir cannot see you
now.”

“I gave him my word, and I happen to agree with him.  You are far
too stubborn and far too neglectful of yourself.  What good are you
to him if you collapse from exhaustion?”  Glorfindel opened his
mouth to protest when Erestor held up his hand.  “Tut!  I will hear
no more of your baseless arguments.  To your room, Glorfindel.”

“You are quite the taskmaster, my friend,” Glorfindel murmured as he
continued up the stairs.

“Aye, I suppose I have become that.”

“Where is your mirth, Erestor?  You used to smile and laugh far more
than you do now.”

“I have no time for mirth, Glorfindel.  Unlike you, I have important
work to do.”

The slight upward twitch of the corners of the Noldo’s mouth gave
him away.  Glorfindel chuckled.  “Of course,” he answered.  He
paused.  “I must speak to Gildor, there are things I am supposed to
do this day…”

“Gildor is already about it, my friend; now, no more lame excuses,
to bed with you.”

Glorfindel sighed.  “I am resigned.  There is no arguing with you.”

“I am so glad you finally came to your senses,” Erestor answered
with a slight smile.

“Will you speak to Gildor about increasing the patrols?”

“I am sure he has already thought of that, but yes, I will mention
it to him.  Now, do I have to knock you about the head, or will you
do as agreed?”

Glorfindel reached for the handle on his door.  “Aye, I will.  Will
you look in on Lindir in a while?”

“Yes, my friend.  He will want for nothing, I promise.”

“Thank you, Erestor.”

“It is what friends are for.”

Erestor smiled sadly as Glorfindel closed the door behind him.

*    *    *    *

Erestor walked into the room where Gildor was keeping the she-wolf.
His friend knelt beside the noble beast, checking her bandages and
seeing that she was comfortable.  Beside the soft bed he had made
for her was a bowl of fresh water and another, smaller bowl that
contained the remnants of a clear broth made from the drippings of
the roasted fowl the cooks had prepared the night before.  

“How is she?” Erestor asked softly as he entered the room, slowly
approaching the wolf.

“She is better,” Gildor answered.  “Nestagar made up a tonic that we
mixed with the broth to help ease her discomfort, it should also
help her sleep.”

“Will she live?” 

“Aye.  Though, she can never return to her pack.  Even if her legs
heal completely, I am not sure she will be able to get around well
enough to hunt down prey or escape danger, and even if she could, I
am not altogether sure they would accept her back, after she has
lived among us.”  He looked up at Erestor.  “’Twas you that saved
her, Erestor.  ‘Tis now you who are her family.”

“Family?” Erestor asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Aye, family.  Wolves live in packs, which are like clans; each one
has a role to play.  They do not last long on their own – they need
a family to be a part of.” 

“What of you?”

“I will enjoy having her around, yes.  But it was you who bore her
back here, it is you she will look to for comfort and guidance.”
Gildor turned his gaze back to his work, a slight smile curving his
lips.  It was a little lie he told, but something in his heart told
him that Erestor needed this companion. 

“Well then,” Erestor murmured as he crouched beside the wolf, and
tentatively reached out to stroke her pelt.  “I suppose she and I
should become better acquainted then.  I have never been brother to
a wolf before.”

Gildor smiled.  “Aye, you two need to bond.  Have you seen Lindir?” 

“Aye.  He looks much better.”

“Good.  I will see him when I leave here.”

“Gildor?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for last night; for staying, I mean.”

Gildor wiped his hands upon a towel, and then clasped Erestor’s
shoulder.  “Anytime, my friend.”

*    *    *    *

The weeks passed far too slowly for Lindir, who was anxious to
regain the normalcy of his life before the attack.  He could now
play his lyre and the harp, and was getting around fairly well on
crutches.  His leg was still heavily bandaged to provide support for
the healing bones, and by the end of the day, his arms and leg would
ache if he spent too much time on the crutches.  

He was sitting on a low chaise in the afternoon sun, his quill
moving effortlessly across a piece of lined parchment.  He was
composing a new song for the celebration of Mettarë, when they would
say farewell to one year and welcome the next.  A strange scraping-
squeaking noise caught his attention when he lifted his gaze above
the edge of the parchment to see the strangest thing he had ever
witnessed.

Toward him walked Erestor, moving far slower than normal, his black
robes brushing the cut stones of the veranda as he approached.  Next
to him was the she-wolf that had been rescued the day of the attack.
The wolf ambled along, her front legs on the ground, the back half
of her body in a strange sling that was attached to a small cart.
This contraption enabled the wolf to get around without putting
undue pressure on her healing back legs. 

In all of his days, he never would have imagined that staid and
stoic Erestor would take a beast of Eru’s creation under his wing.
It was not that his friend did not respect all living beings of
nature, he did: he treated his horse very well, and loved the small
birds that splashed in the fountain outside his office window.  But
a wolf?  Surprise or no, Elrond’s Head Librarian walked side-by-side
with a slender grey, white, and cream colored wolf, who had pale
grey eyes that matched the councilor’s own.

They paused where he sat and he smiled.  “She seems to be getting
along quite well,” Lindir said softly.

Erestor reached down and stroked the wolf’s head.  “Aye, I hope she
will soon be able to move about without this contraption.  It would
make me very happy to see her run again.”

The wolf stepped forward and placed her chin on Lindir’s leg.  The
minstrel smiled and stroked her head.  “She is so soft,” he
remarked.

“I have been brushing her,” Erestor answered.  “You would not
believe the debris I found in her coat.”

“She did live in the woods,” Lindir replied, a slight grin on his
face.

“Yes, but now she lives in the Last Homely House.  Somehow, I doubt
the housekeepers would be tolerant of her leaving a trail of debris
everywhere she wanders.  I look forward to giving her a bath.”

Lindir chuckled.  “Somehow I doubt she looks forward to the same.”

“We all have our burdens to bear,” Erestor remarked, scratching the
wolf behind the ears. 

“What is her name?”

“Gwathel,” Erestor replied.  “I thought it appropriate since we are
now brother and sister.”  Lindir gave him a confused look, and he
elaborated, “Gildor said that wolves live in packs, and since
Gwathel cannot return to her own safely, I have become her pack – I
am her surrogate brother.”

“Ah, I see.  Yes, that is an appropriate name for her.”  He looked
up at Erestor.  “That was a kind thing you did, Erestor.  Had you
left her there, the wargs surely would have come for her.”

Erestor nodded.  “Gildor says they used her as bait, to lure the
rest of the pack to her rescue.  He said it was not a good sign that
they have become so cunning.”

Lindir swallowed.  “Have they found many more?”

“Several, but they have all been killed.  No orcs have been sighted
yet.”  He looked at the pale expression on Lindir’s face.  “Forgive
me, my friend.  We need not talk of this.”

“I am fine,” Lindir answered.  “I am more worried for Glorfindel
than anything else.  I suppose I should get used to it – worrying
about him, I mean.”

“All who love him do,” Erestor said softly.  “It is the price we pay
for caring about those who protect us.”  He noted that Gwathel
seemed to squirm a little in her sling.  “I think she has had enough
for one afternoon.  This contraption becomes a little uncomfortable
for her after a while.”

“Thank you for stopping to introduce us,” Lindir said as he gave the
she-wolf a soft kiss upon her muzzle.  “I am glad to see her doing
so well.”

“As are we to see you feeling so much better.”

“I shall return to work in a few days, if Nestagar gives me
permission.”

Erestor smiled.  “It will be good to have you back, but I would not
have you do so if it slows down your recovery.  Heed the healer’s
advice, my friend.”

“I will.”

Erestor gave Lindir’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and then patted she-
wolf upon the head.  “Come, Gwathel, it is time for your dinner.”

Lindir watched the odd couple walk slowly away, then smiled and
returned to his composition.



Part 15/?

Summary:  A celebration of the New Year.


The weeks passed uneventfully.  Glorfindel and Gildor busied
themselves with extra patrols and building more guard flets on the
borders.  There had been no more sightings of wargs and no sightings
of orcs in the Hidden Valley, which was a relief to all.  Gildor
postulated that the wargs were drawn into the valley as they
followed a herd of deer that migrated back to the higher meadows as
the snow began to melt.  The wargs they hunted had no trappings such
as harnesses or collars to indicate that they were mastered by orcs,
so the warrior hoped it was a rogue pack that had somehow escaped
the orcs’ enslavement. 

Gwathel healed remarkably well, far better than Gildor anticipated,
owing to Erestor’s doting care.  Soon the she-wolf was walking and
jogging under her own power, following Erestor everywhere he went.
They became the talk of the Last Homely House: the staid, over-
serious librarian and his wild companion; together, they painted a
forbidding picture as they walked the woods.  While Gwathel was
docile in the presence of the elves who lived in Imladris, and those
men who were their friends, there was no mistaking that she could be
dangerous, should an occasion arise that called for it.  While
Erestor kept her groomed, he refused to put a collar on her; he said
that would be an affront to her wild spirit.  The wolf was entirely
trustworthy; she posed no threat to the flocks or the herds of
horses that roamed Imladris – it was as if she understood the rules
of domesticity and respected her new family.  Occasionally, Erestor
would take her to hunt in the woods, where she would bring down
small game on her own, but the bulk of her diet consisted of raw
meats that the cooks gave her.

Erestor lived a solitary life, working until late in the evening and
spending rare days away from work with Gwathel, and sometimes with
Gildor as well.  His work was often an excuse to avoid those social
occasions where he would have to bear witness to the growing love
between Glorfindel and Lindir.  He could not bring himself to hold
malice in his heart toward Lindir, despite how he envied the young
minstrel. 

However, this night was one of those occasions he could not avoid
without raising suspicion.  It was the celebration of Mettarë, a
grand event in Imladris.  The entirety of the Hidden Valley would
attend, with the exception of the border guards.  Lindir and his
minstrels would perform music composed just for the event, and the
cooks had prepared a grand spread for them.  Erestor lay on his back
on his bed, staring at the ceiling and absently stroking Gwathel’s
coat as she lay beside him.  

“I am afraid I cannot bring you to the celebration this eve,
Gwathel,” he murmured.  “Though I doubt you will miss the
festivities – I know I would not if I were able to stay away.”

The she-wolf snorted and rolled to her back, silently imploring her
new brother to rub her belly.  Erestor smiled and obliged his ward,
scratching her soft stomach as he procrastinated.  “I really should
bathe, the hour grows late,” he murmured. 

A soft knock upon his door raised him from his musings, and he
slowly sat up as Gwathel hopped down off the tall bed and trotted
toward the door.  

“Sit,” he said softly, and the she-wolf obeyed, then he opened the
door.  “Gildor,” he remarked with a little bit of surprise.  “I
thought you would be on the borders.”

“I have just returned,” the warrior answered.  “Are you not coming
to the feast?”

“Aye, I am coming,” Erestor replied.  “Please, come in.”  He stepped
aside and allowed the warrior entrance.

Gildor squatted in the floor and affectionately rubbed Gwathel’s
face.  “She looks very well, Erestor,” he remarked.  “She is quite
happy in your care.”

“I have grown very attached to her,” Erestor mused.  “She is my
constant companion.”

“I never would have imagined you having a wolf as a companion.”

“Neither would I have imagined it, but life takes strange turns.”

“Aye, it does.  It is good to see you, my friend.  We see far too
little of one another as of late.”

Erestor smiled as Gildor stood and embraced him.  He leaned his head
on the warrior’s shoulder.  “Agreed,” he answered quietly.  He had
not realized how lonely he was until that moment.  As they
separated, Gildor cupped his cheek and Erestor found himself
pressing his face into the Noldo’s hand.

“May I escort you this eve?” Gildor asked softly.

“I would like that,” Erestor answered.

“I shall return after I have bathed and donned more appropriate
attire.”

“See you soon,” Erestor said as Gildor left and closed the door
behind him.

*    *    *    *
Erestor emerged from his bathing chamber to find Gwathel snoring
lightly as she slept on the rug in a patch of sunshine that filtered
through the window.  He smiled as he stepped over the sleeping she-
wolf and opened his armoire to select an appropriate robe for the
evening.  Sighing as he fingered the robes that hung in the large
cabinet, he realized nearly everything he owned was black.  Given
that this was a joyful event, black did not seem to be a fitting
color.  Finally, his fingers lighted on the crimson robe that
Glorfindel had gifted him nearly a year ago.  He had not worn it
since.

He pulled it out slowly, remembering that auspicious occasion, and
the glorious night and day that followed it.  His heart constricted
in his chest when he remembered the loving touches and passionate
kisses his beloved Elda had bestowed upon his trembling body.  It
was the only suitable thing he had to wear and he resigned himself
to it; he cursed his lack of planning, as he neglected to have
another made for this evening.  He carried the garment to the bed
and removed his bathing robe before pulling the elaborate crimson
velvet over his head.  

He was placing the last braid in his hair when Gildor’s soft knock
fell upon his door, causing Gwathel to sit up quickly and look
toward the portal.  Sighing, he patted her on the head, instructed
her to be a good girl, and departed his chambers for the evening.

“’Tis been many months since I last saw you in something other than
black,” Gildor remarked as he placed Erestor’s hand in the crook of
his arm, covering it with his own hand.  

“I like black, I think it suits me,” Erestor answered.

“It certainly suits your disposition,” Gildor murmured with a grin.

“Pardon?”

“It does look comely on you, however, you are markedly more radiant
this eve.  The hue of your garment brings out the color in your
cheeks.  I seem to remember you wearing this once before.”

Erestor looked at the floor.  “It is a gift from Glorfindel.”  He
cast a sideways glance at his friend.  “Thank you, Gildor.”

“For?”

“For escorting me this eve and for being such a good friend.”

Gildor shrugged.  “’Tis but a little thing.  Being your friend is no
hardship to me, Erestor.”

“Nor is being your friend a hardship to me.”  Erestor cast another
long, sideways glance at his escort.  “You look most handsome
tonight, my friend.  Blue is a color that suits you well – the shade
matches your eyes.”

Gildor smiled.  “Thank you, Erestor.  I think we make a fine pair.” 

“Agreed.”

“I must insist that we dance together tonight.  I never see you
dance.”

“That is because I do not know how to dance,” Erestor answered.

“Ah, then I shall have to teach you.”

“Odd, I never thought of you as a dancer.”

“There is not much difference between sparring and dancing, my
friend.  However, the latter is certainly more pleasant.”

Erestor chuckled.  “Aye, I can imagine it is.”

They arrived at the dining hall to find it filled to capacity.
Their customary places were reserved at the head of Elrond’s table,
with Gildor’s seat directly across from Erestor.  Lindir sat beside
Erestor, with Glorfindel sitting directly across from him.  They
were greeted with enthusiasm, and Lindir placed an arm around
Erestor’s shoulders as he took his seat.

“I am so glad to see you here,” the minstrel said softly.  “I feared
you would find some excuse to stay in your quarters.”

“I would not miss the performance of your new composition, my
friend,” Erestor said, patting Lindir’s knee. 

“I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

“It will,” Erestor murmured, “it always does.”

Lindir smiled and blushed a little before picking up his goblet and
taking a sip of wine.  

“How are you feeling?” Erestor asked quietly.

“Much better,” Lindir remarked.  “There is still a bit of stiffness
in my leg, other than that, I feel like it never happened.”

“A testament to our Lord’s doting care and the skill of his
healers.”

“And to my love’s gentle care,” Lindir answered quietly.

“Of course, that is understood.”  Erestor took a long drink of his
wine. 

Quiet conversation ensued, and Erestor remarked at how different
this night was from previous celebrations in the Last Homely House.
Glorfindel and Gildor, who were typically instigators of raucous
conversation, were atypically quiet and reserved.  There seemed to
be a pall of somberness at the table, despite the smiles and
compliments given and received.  

As they adjourned to the Hall of Fire, Erestor tried not to watch
the way Glorfindel placed a protective arm around Lindir’s waist, or
how he guided the minstrel to where he would perform the night’s
music.  In turn, he did not see the concerned looks that Gildor cast
his way; he only saw Glorfindel’s reluctance to meet his gaze.  Was
he that obvious?  Could everyone in the room see how he longed for
his friend?

‘Stop it, Erestor,’ he chided himself in his thoughts.  ‘He is not
yours nor will he ever be.  It is best you look elsewhere for
company.’

They sat in large, comfortable chairs near the massive hearth, and
Erestor accepted a fresh goblet of wine as the minstrels tuned their
instruments and prepared to play.  He purposefully selected a chair
that would create an empty seat between him and Glorfindel; whether
or not this was obvious, he could care less – at this point, he had
to do whatever it took to maintain his cool mask of indifference.
Thankfully, Gildor filled the empty seat, forming a buffer between
him and the golden warrior.

Lindir and his minstrels took up their song and Erestor allowed
Lindir’s exquisite voice to fill his ears.  He closed his eyes and
tried to lose himself to the music, forgetting all else that weighed
on his heart.  As the song concluded, and a more celebratory tune
began, Erestor felt Gildor’s hand upon his wrist.

“It is time for that dancing lesson, my friend.”

“Must we?” Erestor asked with an expression of trepidation on his
face.

“Aye, we must.  ‘Tis best to face your fears, Erestor, rather than
be slave to them your whole life.”

Erestor placed his wine goblet on the table and allowed Gildor to
lead him to the dance floor.

“’Tis good to see Erestor socialize more, do you not think so?”
Elrond asked Glorfindel.

“Aye, I have been worried about him.  He spends far too much time on
his own.”

“Have the two of you had a falling out?  You used to be practically
inseparable.”

Glorfindel sighed.  “I am not sure what happened, my lord,” he
answered quietly.  “I think we have just . . . grown apart.”

Elrond nodded but said nothing.  In his heart, he felt he knew the
cause of the distance between Erestor and Glorfindel, but it was not
his place to council others on matters of the heart.  Glorfindel
seemed to truly love Lindir, and Elrond was loath to say or do
anything that would destroy that – the minstrel was far too precious
to him.

*    *    *    *

“Oh!  Forgive me,” Erestor muttered as he stepped on Gildor’s toe
for the fifth time.

Gildor chuckled.  “Aiya, Erestor.  If you would let me lead you
could dance on the floor instead of my feet.”

“I am letting you lead!”

“No, you are not.  You do not take direction well.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Keep tension between us, against my hands, like this…”  Erestor
nodded.  “Now, when I press against this hand, you turn.”  Erestor
felt like he was going to trip over his own feet, but complied.
“Well done!  Now you are letting me lead.”  Erestor stepped on his
toe again, and Gildor chuckled and shook his head.  “Stop thinking
and just dance!”

“I am trying!”

“Well try harder!”

“Fine.”

They kept at it, Erestor doing fine for a while then over-thinking
and stepping on Gildor’s toes.  After a few songs, Erestor finally
relaxed and actually began to enjoy the exercise.

“Ai!” he cried as Gildor spun him around, then he started laughing.

“Ah, now that is what I desire to hear, the sound of your laughter.
It is a rare treat.”  He dipped his friend low, smiling as Erestor
gasped then grinned from ear to ear.  “’Tis fun, yes?” he asked
quietly.

“Yes,” Erestor breathed.  “But I think I am nearly out of breath.”

“Then let us step outside and get some air, and perhaps some more
wine.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Gildor brought Erestor back to an upright position, then led his
friend by the hand out to the veranda.

To be continued…