TITLE:  The Art of Miscommunication
AUTHOR:  Ezra’s Persian Kitty (ezraspersiankitty@yahoo.com)
PAIRING:  Erestor/Glorfindel
RATING:  NC-17
SUMMARY:  Roses are supremely red, and violets deepest blue; and 
Erestor desperately loves him, if only Glorfindel knew.
DISCLAIMER:  Not mine.
NOTES:  I really played around with the language in this one; let me 
know how it worked.  (Of course, then I got to the sex scene, at which 
point I reminded the characters that there wasn’t going to BE a sex scene.  
They disagreed and threw all my careful planning out the window, 
determined as they were to have hot, wild monkey sex with no regard to 
the art of language or common propriety at all.  Whoops.)
 
DEDICATION: Cheers to Dagmar: you won’t find a single ‘okay’ in this 
fic!
 
= = = = =
 
THE ART OF MISCOMMUNICATION
 
Part 1: Influx
 
Erestor was in the gardens, as was not unusual after the dinner bell.  
Whether he’d eaten or not, he’d find his way to the gardens sooner or later 
to walk in the fragrant, beautiful places of Imladris.  On this occasion, 
he’d brought along a favorite book and he simply wandered until his feet 
told him stop.  Finding himself before a tall tree with a bench at its base, 
surrounded by roses growing in a semicircle around it, Erestor smiled.  
He’d been here before -- in fact, it was a favorite spot of his -- and he 
happily sat upon the weathered seat to take advantage of the remaining 
daylight.
 
Thusly he remained for some time, having long fallen into the world of the 
text when he was suddenly jolted out of it again by raucous laughter.
 
He looked up, but the shouts were from beyond a wall of tall hedges.  
Erestor looked about, realizing that the golden hour had just begun.  If you 
were an artist, the golden hour before sunset was ideal for sketching.  For 
one hour, the light’s angle did not change.  Erestor did not consider 
himself an artist by any stretch of the imagination, but his eye for beauty 
was no less than any Elf’s, and he thought this time of day to be 
mysterious, even haunting, and certainly beautiful.  For some minutes he 
studied the roses and how they grew and smiled at their loveliness and if 
he was not mistaken, they smiled back.  
 
He returned to his book.
 
Some time later, he was again drawn out of his reading, only this time he 
was not sure why.  Erestor blinked and then peeked over the top his book 
to see gray leather boots.  He followed the well-defined lines of soft, gray 
leggings up impossibly long legs to a practical leather belt where hung a 
huge sword.  A blue doublet over a white shirt covered the expanse of a 
broad chest and lay open to reveal the slope of a tanned neck.  Erestor 
could not help but stare at the most handsome face to ever grace any 
being.  Generous lips modeled the smallest of smiles beneath a finely 
shaped nose.  The fine cheekbones were high but not exotically so.  The 
most remarkable golden hair, like ripples of silk or gossamer gold, framed 
the whole, but it was the eyes that captured him in that moment and 
forever after.  The eyes, wide and open and honest, blue and green and 
grey, wise and young and free.  The eyes spoke a tale that Erestor wanted 
to learn.  But he could only stare at the incomprehensible creature standing 
before him, wondering in that moment if two such wholly unlike creatures 
could ever understand one another.  
 
Then the golden-haired, sapphire-eyed beauty smiled.
 
Erestor had never felt more undone.
 
“I am called Glorfindel.”  The stranger bowed.  
 
Erestor desperately held back the shiver that seized him at that graceful 
gesture of refined elegance contained in such a huge, heavenly being.  
Erestor desperately forced himself to swallow, despite the buttery tones of 
the deep voice that set his heart to hammering.  Erestor desperately tried 
not to trip over his own feet when he stood.
 
The dark-haired Elf did stand, laying his book beside him.  He inclined his 
head and did not smile.  (Erestor made a point of never smiling in public.)  
Instead, he walked to the side and laid his hand upon a large, red rose.  
Like this Glorfindel, the flower was incomparably beautiful, perfectly 
formed, and larger than life.  Erestor slid his nail across the stem, breaking 
it from its stalk.  He turned to look at those curious blue eyes and carefully 
plucked each and every thorn from the flower before advancing and 
offering it to the marvelous creature who had appeared in the Imladris 
garden.  “Welcome.”
 
Glorfindel nodded and accepted the thornless rose in his large hand.
 
The dark-haired Elf stared hard with those fathomless black eyes at the 
newcomer.  “I am Erestor.”
 
= = = = =
 
By the time dinner had passed and the evening dance had come and gone, 
Glorfindel felt as though he’d endured a whirlwind.  If this was the general 
pace of life in Imladris, it was definitely going to take some getting used 
to.
 
At the moment, he’d found a quiet window seat at the end of the main 
dining chamber, just before the great doors that led to the Hall of Fire.  
He’d settled himself here in the shadowed corner, content to watch several 
young Elves move about the place, rearranging the furniture for 
tomorrow’s morning meal amid soft jokes and subdued laughter.  He’d 
watched the crowd move in elegant fashion to the Hall of Fire for a 
continued evening of enjoyment, graciously turning down Lord Elrond’s 
invitation to join them.  
 
Hurried footsteps caught his attention and Glorfindel turned away from the 
window seat to see a very fair Elf with moon-pale hair streaming behind 
him with flapping rust yellow robes.  He carried a mid-sized harp under 
his arm and was making a beeline for the double doors. 
 
Glorfindel smiled, thinking the youth had made himself late, but then the 
fair Elf halted before him, turning leaf-green eyes to Glorfindel where 
he’d curled up in the little nook.  The golden-haired Elf could not erase the 
slight look of shock on his features as those incredibly deep green eyes 
met his.
 
This was no youth, not with such ancient and knowing eyes, though the 
rest of his appearance would never show it.  Glorfindel nodded.
 
The Elf returned the gesture.  “You must be Glorfindel,” he said.  “The 
whole of Imladris is whispering with word of the golden-haired warrior 
who walked through the gates as the sun rose in the east.”
 
“I wonder what they speak of,” Glorfindel answered.  “As you have many 
visitors here at the Last Homely House.  And why they call me a warrior I 
do not know.  I carry a sword in my travels, as do many, but that makes 
me neither soldier nor rebel.”
 
“But few carry so fine a sword, nor have the look of a warrior, which I am 
obliged to say you do, sir.  Do you forget the braids you have worn in your 
hair all day?”
 
Glorfindel returned the tentative smile from this Elf.  “I own that I did, 
though I give little thought to my hair.”
 
“Shocking, for one so named.  Ah, but I forget myself.”  He bowed again, 
lowering green eyes.  “I am Lindir, a minstrel.  The Chief Minstrel, if I 
must confess it, though my punctuality would never prove such a thing.”  
He blushed a bit.  “But as I am tardy already, I see no reason to rush now.  
And I find myself too forward, but I plainly have to ask: why do you not 
join the others in the Hall?  There are few pleasures so wondrous as the 
calming quality of the music and the fire.”
 
Glorfindel straightened, lowering his feet to the floor to face the minstrel.  
“I must admit I find your forwardness refreshing, Lindir.  As to your 
question, I must also admit that after my solitary travels I find life in this 
House too . . . hasty.  Though since I have not sought my rooms, I suppose 
I wish only for peace and not for solitude.”
 
“I wish I could offer my companionship,” Lindir said with a bit of a bow, 
“however, I am already late, as you know.  But I do hope to spend many 
hours in your company.  If you are not engaged tomorrow, perhaps we 
might take a turn about the House, or the gardens if the sky lies tonight 
and it does not rain on the morrow.”
 
Glorfindel smiled and nodded.  “I would like that.”
 
Then Lindir’s eyes alighted on the rose in Glorfindel’s hand.  “My 
goodness, wherever did you find such a specimen?”
 
Glorfindel looked down, as if only realizing the red rose was still in his 
position.  “Twas an oddity of an Elf who presented me with it just this 
evening after dinner.”
 
Lindir smiled.  “I confess I am not surprised.  Erestor certainly is an 
oddity.  He is known here for many things, his giving of flowers among 
them.”
 
“Really?”
 
“Indeed.  Not a day goes by he does not present someone with some weed 
or other.  It is rather his token here.  He uses his words little and smiles 
less, but he speaks in other ways, if one cares to listen.”  Lindir patted a 
small gathering of oats hanging down from his belt.  “He gave me these 
only this morning.”  Lindir smiled at the red rose clasped delicately in 
large, strong hands.  “That is doubtless the first of many gifts from 
Erestor, probably the most he ever offers anyone in a way of welcome, 
friendship, affection, or anything else.  But listen to me, jabbering away 
about my friend without any sort of leave whatever -- Erestor never did 
approve of gossip -- unsurprising as he seems to disapprove of speaking 
altogether unless it proves absolutely necessary.  But I am over-late and 
should be on my way.  If you are free, do meet me here tomorrow after the 
noon meal.”
 
“I look forward to it,” Glorfindel said as Lindir again bowed and then 
slipped through the double doors to the Hall.
 
Glorfindel watched him go, his head cocked to the side in amusement.  “I 
do wonder if all Imladris is filled with such marvels as Erestor and 
Lindir.”
 
“Doubtless it is.”
 
Glorfindel spun about to see a gorgeous maiden with flowing silver hair to 
her waist in an ice blue gown belted with silver leaves.  Wide eyes whose 
color mirrored that of her gown blinked happily at him.  Then she bowed, 
smiling winningly.  “Glorfindel,” she said in a voice that was bell-like and 
beautiful, “Though I am late in offering my greetings, I should like to do it 
just the same: Welcome to Imladris!  I am Ninalin.  I am maid to the Lady 
Arwen, as well as Counselor to my Lord Elrond, cook’s assistant, scribe, 
and on occasion Aide to our Chief Counselor Erestor.  Yet despite all of 
this I find myself often alone and in possession of a good deal of time to 
waste however I like, especially in such times as these when our Lady is 
away and Imladris seems to run itself without fault.  If you are ever in 
want of company or a friendly ear or a finger to point the way, I know as 
much of Imladris as anyone, having helped to lay the stones of its 
foundation.  If I am not mistaken, your arrival was a chaotic affair and 
your afternoon tour rushed.  I might escort you to the gardens or wherever 
you like, or offer you my conversation if you desire it.  I understand you 
are to meet with our Lord and his staff on the morn, but for tonight and 
after the morning you may as well enjoy yourself.”
 
“Your company is welcome if you are not needed in the Hall,” Glorfindel 
finally managed to sneak a word in between hers.
 
“Ah!  What a lovely rose!  From our arbors, I imagine.  Erestor is a 
marvel; that is true, and Lindir no less.  I find every resident of Imladris a 
unique wonder.  I do not know if you know the King Thranduil of 
Mirkwood, but he once declared that Lord Elrond was a collector of 
strays, from gypsy minstrels to half-breed scum and traitors.  Our Lord 
Elrond would never deny it, for it is true.  One need not wander the face of 
the earth to find diversity, for I do believe all one could wish for can be 
found in this Valley.  There are wonders beyond the walls of the House 
you know.  The most marvelous pub lies not five-hundred paces to the 
south, beyond the line of birch and ash trees, the Healers keep their 
stations behind the House, and the stables are a source of comfort and 
entertainment to many, especially on Saturday eve when Lindir takes his 
stories to the loft to entertain the few Guards we have on duty between 
shifts.  Not to mention a bit of a playhouse in an amphitheatre just down 
the river and the craftsmen who keep their houses and their wares along 
the river to the north.”
 
“Sounds delightful.”
 
“My, but I have been told my tongue is something that must be put to a 
stop before it runs away with me.  Do tell me if my words begin to ramble; 
I’ve no sense of it.”
 
“I do believe your tongue the most interesting thing I’ve heard all day, and 
you’ll not hear me ask you to cease your words for my patience is 
eternal.”
 
Her eyes twinkled.
 
Glorfindel’s brows narrowed suspiciously.  “Why do you give me such a 
look, as if you know something I do not?”
 
“I believe I do.  Your ears may be paying me the most respectful 
attentions, but your eyes ever stray to that rose of yours.  I imagine you 
know very little of Erestor.  And do not listen to Lindir unless he is 
singing, for his own tongue may ramble as much as mine, but not always 
truthfully.”
 
Glorfindel laughed.  “I find the Elves here to be much to my liking.”
 
“Are we so different from any others you have known?”
 
“Aye.  You are all full of mystery, laughter, and spice.  Not at all like my 
past dealings with Elves of honor, diplomacy, virtue, and unwavering 
tediousness.”  Seeing her expression, Glorfindel smiled and said, “Do not 
mistake me.  There is nothing of dishonor or vice here.  My welcome has 
been uttering charming and I never felt so comforted.  My existence of late 
has subsisted at a much slower pace, however, and the utter momentum of 
life here overwhelms me.”
 
“I see.  A lonely traveler you seem, and it’s true that our lives are 
sometimes simple and sometimes not, but never slow.”
 
“You offered to me your ear,” Glorfindel suddenly said, “And I wish to 
make use of your wisdom, which you must have in abundance if indeed 
you lay the very mortar and stones of Imladris.”
 
Ninalin smiled and hurried to seat herself beside him in the shadowed 
window.  “Speak!” she demanded in a happy titter.
 
Glorfindel turned to face her, a serious expression on his devastatingly 
handsome features.  “Your Lord Elrond has greeted me as a guest and 
questioned me little, for which I am thankful.  I did not know what to 
expect of this place, as I have only heard very little of it.  But such a 
delightful land I’ve never known and never seen.  When I walked through 
your gates I knew I wished to make my home here.  And though I refrain 
from socialization tonight,” he indicated the Hall doors, “I do not think I 
should like a little home to myself in your woods, lovely though they may 
be.  Perhaps there is a position in the House that I might fill.  If you have 
need of Guards or Scribes, I could fill both stations equally well.”
 
“Ah, you wish to make yourself useful before you outlive your welcome.  
Fear not!  Tongues have been wagging all day.  You are already welcome 
here, Glorfindel, for both your beauty and your mystery.  And should you 
wish to make here your home you will find no one standing in your way.  
Except Erestor.”
 
“Erestor?”
 
“Erestor is Chief Counselor to Elrond,” Ninalin explained.  “He is older 
than most and his suspicions are not easily allayed.  His job consists 
chiefly of worrying about what Elrond does not have time to worry about, 
and he excels at it.  So, he will worry about your origins and intent until he 
is satisfied you present no threat.”
 
“I feel obliged to admit, of all I have met today, tis Erestor who intrigues 
me most.  I should like to know him better, but Lindir gave little hope of 
such and you offer even less.”
 
“I never stand in the way of hope,” Ninalin declared.  “But if you have set 
your sights on Erestor, you have set your sights high indeed.  He does not 
make friends easily, if at all, and will welcome none of your advances, 
whatever they may be.”  She left her implications ambiguous.
 
“You seem so certain,” he said with a sigh.
 
She stood and looked on him with pity.  “I should be, as I am his daughter.  
I see I have given you much to think on, Glorfindel.  So I leave you to 
your peace and hope to see you tomorrow.”
 
Ninalin slipped within the Hall of Fire, leaving an open-mouthed 
Glorfindel gaping after her.
 
= = = = =
 
One week later, Erestor was no less impressed, but far more frustrated.  
The remarkable creature known as Glorfindel remained distant in his 
speech and his looks, but always near.  It seemed the venerable Counselor 
could not turn a corner or eat a meal without Glorfindel standing before 
him or at his side.  So distracted was he in fact, that Erestor was oblivious 
when people began to whisper that Imladris’ Chief Counselor had become 
infatuated.
 
But it could not be helped as Glorfindel seemed to bring distraction with 
him, and even when the golden-haired mystery was nowhere in sight, he 
was foremost in Erestor’s mind.  So, sitting in stillness and a foreign sort 
of melancholy at his desk in the afternoon, Erestor did not hear the knock 
at his door.
 
“Ada?”
 
The tinkling voice woke him from his thoughts and Erestor looked up with 
eyes of to see Ninalin peering in at him.  “Come, child.”
 
Ninalin stepped within, silently closing the door behind her.  She smirked 
gently as her bare feet caressed the deep blue rug.  She crossed to come 
around Erestor’s desk and sit on it, her shoeless feet dangling.  “Hello.”  
She held out a handful of calendulas, which he accepted and placed in a 
ready vase with some other flowers.
 
Erestor’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the sprightly Elf maiden.  “Hello.  
What brings you here, Ninalin?”
 
“Neither duty nor routine.  I have come to talk to you.”
 
“Very well.  Remove yourself from my desk, if you would, and fetch the 
brandy.”
 
She smiled and dropped a kiss on his dark head before pouring two 
generous glasses from the crystal decanter hidden behind the large 
dictionary on the third shelf.  She returned to hand one to Erestor and then 
seat herself beside him on the stool kept there for just such a purpose.  
“Speak your mind, girl.”
 
“I am no longer a girl,” she teased, “But a woman full grown.”
 
“I know it,” Erestor said with a sigh.  “Speak then, Ninalin.”
 
“There’s more Imladris gossip.”
 
“I do not wish to hear of it.”
 
“Even if it concerns you?”
 
Erestor’s eyes widened.
 
“Indeed, Ada, everyone speaks of it.  Just yester eve Elrond remarked 
upon it to me.”
 
“Remarked upon what, exactly?” Erestor asked, his voice laced with more 
worry than usual.
 
“Remarked upon your infatuation with our recent arrival.  There is not an 
Elf in the Valley that does not know of your unique obsession with the 
mysterious Glorfindel.”
 
“Why on Arda would anyone think that?”
 
“It is simple.  On the second day here, he joined the Household staff as 
messenger, attendant, and scribe.”
 
“What’s so odd about that?”
 
“You did not disapprove.  That’s not all there is to it, but that’s how it 
began.  No one has ever entered into service in Imladris without a serious 
look into their past and a serious talking to.”
 
“Ninalin.  I am neither fascinated nor obsessed with Glorfindel.  None 
who look upon him can deny the goodness that shines from within him.  I 
do not see what cause this is for gossip.”
 
Ninalin frowned.  “You are right.  Of course.  Except that your eyes ever 
turn toward him.  To the point of distraction.”
 
“I watch and listen.  That is my duty.  Besides, Glorfindel is turning heads 
left and right; why do people insist on watching me?”
 
“Because they are fascinated to see such an emotionless being as yourself 
marked by the first signs of love.”
 
“Love.  Pfft.  You should all know that I am not susceptible to such 
frailty.”
 
Ninalin’s light blue eyes grew soft with compassion and a deep sadness.  
“Ada.  Love is not a weakness, nor an infirmity.  I wish I knew why you 
think so.”  She reached up a dainty hand to lay it on his robes over his 
heart.  “I wish you spoke in words Glorfindel could understand.  He would 
be a blessing from the Valar, if only you would let him.”
 
Erestor carefully removed her hand.  “Ninalin, you speak of love and 
blessings.  These are the talk of fairytales, and I have no love of fiction.  I 
have no need of your aid, in matters personal or professional, so please 
leave.”
 
Ninalin stood, distractedly laying her glass aside.  “As you wish it.  I will 
see you at dinner.”
 
She left the room, her steps far heavier than when she had entered.
 
Erestor dropped his head to his hands, but would not allow the tears to 
come.  “I love you, Ninalin.”  His words were so soft that even the listless 
flowers did not heed them.
 
= = = = =
 
Glorfindel remained utterly confused for a long time.  Getting into the 
flow of life in the Valley was more difficult than he had anticipated.  He 
found great comfort in Lindir, who was the only Elf to never ask 
Glorfindel a single question about his past, aside from Erestor, who never 
asked him anything.  Lindir quickly became a friend at a deeper level than 
most.  The minstrel with the moon-colored hair had an insight that was 
unspoken but obvious.  He did not need words to know Glorfindel’s mood 
or desires.  They could easily sit in silence or wander the woods in deep 
conversation.  Sometimes Lindir would sit and sing for Glorfindel and 
their free moments were often spent together.
 
And then there was Ninalin.  Glorfindel did not see so much of her as he 
would like, as the maid was often busy with some task or other.  But he 
was glad of the occasions when he could sit down with her before a cozy 
fire and speak of life and love.  He was unsurprised to find, upon asking, 
that her mother had sailed to the West.  He asked little else.
 
Lord Elrond himself was the most wonderful surprise.  He could be stern, 
and his love for his land and people could not be questioned.  But if you 
got him in his slippers with a glass of wine in his hand, he became the 
most kind-hearted, smart-mouthed, easy-going companion imaginable and 
Glorfindel felt blessed to spend time with the Lord who could have him 
clutching his stomach in strains of laughter for hours on end.
 
Erestor was something else all together.  Glorfindel had applied himself 
early and now he worked closely with Erestor.  Not all the time, or even 
most of the time, but on occasion he found himself working beside the 
enigmatic Chief Counselor, who invariably was his cold, severe self.  He 
said little, as Lindir had warned him, and discouraged conversation of any 
sort, which Ninalin had cautioned him.  Erestor was coldly beautiful and 
Glorfindel could only admit to himself that he was intrigued.  And wanted 
to see that beauty melt the coldness away.
 
= = = = = 
 
Part 2: Evolution
 
One thousand years later.
 
“Ah, they are arrived.”  Elrond rose from his seat on the stone steps in the 
courtyard to stand beside Erestor, who would never condescend to sit upon 
the steps.  He did not believe it a seemly thing to do.
 
Erestor merely nodded and watched as the hunting party rode in.  A great 
crowd anticipated them, filling the courtyard and they threw rose petals 
before the hooves of the giant horses and sung a song of victory.  Erestor 
took it all in stride, merely watching as Arwen greeted her brothers and 
Lindir advanced upon Glorfindel and all the others who had come back 
were welcomed with great cheer and praise.
 
Then Glorfindel strode laughing up the steps, his spirit as bright as ever 
and his golden hair flowing behind him.  “Elrond!”
 
They embraced and Elrond said some words of tradition regarding the 
Hunt.  Glorfindel returned the thanks and then turned to Erestor.  
“Counselor!  So good to see you out of the House!  I was beginning to 
think your skin was so fair because it never saw daylight.”
 
“You know I spend much time in the gardens,” Erestor reminded him.  
Then the Counselor stepped forward to slip a flower into a buttonhole on 
Glorfindel’s tunic.  
 
“What’s this?” he asked, regarding the pretty little flower.
 
“A jonquil.”
 
“Hm.  Well, will you sit beside me at dinner, Erestor?  It seems I’ve not 
spent any time with you since the leaves fell.”
 
Erestor inclined his head.  “If you wish it.”
 
“Glorfindel!”
 
“Ninalin!  My darling, my darling!” he hollered with joy, taking her by the 
waist as she rushed at him to lift her into the air and spin her about.
 
They embraced tightly and she stepped back to speak.  
 
Elrond shook his head.  “That girl’s tongue could stop an army if they 
paused to listen.”
 
“I’ve told her a thousand times, ‘hold your tongue for silence is beauty.’”
 
“And what is her response?” Elrond asked.
 
Erestor told his Lord, “‘So is music.’”  He shook his head.
 
Elrond laughed.  “Glorfindel does little to discourage her.”
 
Erestor nodded agreement and the two dark-haired Elves moved together 
down the hall, as the crowd in the yard began to thin.
 
“I think,” Elrond slowly observed, “that they are rather taken with each 
other.”
 
“They are not in love,” Erestor told him.
 
“Oh no indeed,” he quickly agreed.  “But if I do say so, I believe 
Glorfindel is the brother she never had.  He is good to her.”
 
“Aye.”
 
“On the other hand,” Elrond suggested, “your daughter would do well to 
make a match.”
 
“She is like me,” Erestor said.  “She does not desire love or affection.”
 
“You lie.”
 
“I do,” Erestor quickly admitted, sighing heavily.  “Ninalin is like me in 
that she does not seek love.  But she is free with her affection and a 
beautiful woman.  I know not why she has not given her heart.”
 
“Because of you.”
 
“What?” Erestor asked.
 
“You are her father, and do you know what she sees when she looks at 
you?”
 
Erestor stopped walking and the Elves turned to face one another in the 
deserted hallway.  “What?” asked the Counselor.
 
“She sees one whom she loves: you, a grumpy old Elf with no love and no 
passion for anything except work and flowers.  Can you not see that she 
wishes for you to be happy?”
 
“I am happy--”
 
“You do not look it,” Elrond was quick to point out, turning to march 
down the hall, leaving Erestor behind him.
 
= = = = =
 
When they sat down to dinner, Erestor slipped two chrysanthemums into 
Glorfindel’s hand, one red and one yellow.
 
The gorgeous Elf with the golden hair smiled, a slightly puzzled 
expression, and they began to eat.
 
Ninalin sat beside her father and shook her head.
 
Lindir sat beside Glorfindel and shook his head.
 
They both leaned back in their chairs to look at each other and roll their 
eyes.
 
Elrond watched all of this and shook his head with a wistful sigh.
 
“What is it, Ada?”
 
“Nothing, Arwen.  I sometimes forget the luxury of youth and beauty.”
 
She raised a delicate eyebrow but said nothing.
 
= = = = =
 
After the previous few hundred years, Glorfindel had slowly begun to 
prove himself with both quill and sword.  And though he still retained his 
position as messenger, attendant, and scribe with no elevation in status, his 
duties had changed and his renown increased.
 
His prowess with a sword was unmatched by any in the Valley, but for the 
Lord of Imladris himself, and his diplomatic tongue was an asset to the 
Chief Counselor, who often worked closely with the golden-haired Elf, 
finding him to be both intelligent and resourceful.
 
And though they had only ever spoke of work and trifling things -- despite 
the many hours they spent together even outside of their vocation -- one 
day Erestor opened his mouth to say something unexpected.
 
They were in the Chief Counselor’s office, a homey sort of place where 
Glorfindel was constantly stealing sips of brandy from Erestor’s secret 
stash.  But on this rare occasion, Erestor did not chastise him for it, letting 
the handsome Elf drink as much as liked.  In fact, he’d had a few glasses 
of his own and they had both been working in contented silence for some 
hours.  “Are you the Balrog Slayer?”
 
Glorfindel looked up from his work and blinked.  “What?”
 
“You heard me.”
 
Glorfindel slowly set aside the correspondences and rose from his seat to 
run a nervous hand through his hair.  “You are the first to ask me that.”
 
Erestor just stared at him.
 
“Why do you want to know?”
 
“Because I am curious.”
 
“What made you suspect?”
 
“I have suspected for a long time,” Erestor told him.  “You arrive at our 
gates an unknown traveler.  You prove yourself worthy of more than most.  
You answer to Glorfindel.  You do not speak of your past.  All of this 
together lends some suspicion.  But I must also profess that your life-force 
shines brighter than most and glimmers with something more than Elven 
spirit.”
 
“I see.”  Glorfindel paced a bit, sipping at the brandy.  “Yes,” he finally 
professed in a whisper.  “I am the Balrog Slayer.”  He looked to Erestor 
with blue eyes shining unshed tears.
 
Erestor stood.
 
“Please,” Glorfindel begged.  “Tell no one.”
 
“I will not,” he agreed.  “If that is your wish.”  He seemed a bit uncertain.  
“I did not mean to make you emotional, Glorfindel.”  For an endless 
moment an air of hesitancy hung between them, but then Erestor broke it 
and said, “Come, we will do no more work tonight.”
 
Erestor left his office and Glorfindel followed.  They went to the gardens, 
aimlessly following the moonlight between trees both tall and small, 
where little plants nodded lazily in the slight night breeze and gorgeous 
flowers smiled.
 
“Why do you come here?” Glorfindel finally asked a question that had 
tickled his mind for centuries.
 
Erestor preceded him down the stone path to a familiar bench.  They sat 
together there in the middle of the circular rose arbor.  A tall oak shaded 
them from the moon, casting broken patches of silver light upon them.  
Erestor had gathered a few flowers as they walked, which he now handed 
one by one to Glorfindel, who took them silently.  He took the daffodil 
and stuck it behind his ear and the acacia he put in his buttonhole.  The 
rest: white dittany, purple lilac, heliotrope, red columbine, and forget-me-
nots he quickly fashioned a bouquet of and hung them on his belt as Lindir 
often did.  All the while, Erestor spoke, “Elves know this land and its life 
like no other creature possibly can.  So many of us turn to the animals for 
information and to the trees for wisdom.  But I have always looked upon 
flowers as kindred and they offer their words so freely that I believe most 
people never hear.”
 
Glorfindel raised a brow.  “You can talk to flowers?”
 
Erestor glared.
 
Glorfindel lifted a hand defensively and murmured a little, “Sorry.”
 
“They have their life-force as any other living creature,” Erestor insisted.  
“And I see this and listen to their songs.  As always.”
 
Then they sat in silence and Glorfindel looked around them at the 
multitude of red roses.  “I never wanted to bother you, Erestor.  But I am 
also curious.  What of Ninalin’s mother?  You must be lonesome without 
your wife.”
 
Erestor looked to the ground.  “I never loved Hiladalin,” he confessed.  
“The story is simple and short, though not many know it.  I was traveling 
to Mirkwood on some diplomatic foray in hopes of soothing relations 
between the woodland realm and the newly born Imladris.  Hiladalin was 
a lady of the court and she was nothing like me.  I was a stranger to her 
when she snuck upon me in the gardens of Mirkwood.  The gardens no 
longer exist I might add; the people of the Greenwood now have much to 
concern themselves with.  But then, the gardens were as full as any other 
of beauty and love and light and so that is where I spent much of my time.  
Hiladalin knew this; she had asked after me.  And she met me there in the 
gardens and gave me a yellow tulip and she said to me, ‘My love is 
hopeless.  I am in love with my King and I have lain with him and I am 
with child.’”  Erestor shook his head.  “Silly girl.  She was so young.  I do 
not pretend to know Thranduil’s intentions. Passions overrule sensibilities 
on occasion, so I condemned neither of them.  But she begged me to bring 
her with me back to Imladris, where the child might be sheltered in the 
new land of the Valley.  I agreed.  And I did marry her; I insisted upon it.  
Hiladalin and I were kindred souls of a sort.  I saw that her time was short 
and she saw that I would raise her child with what love I had.  So we 
returned to Imladris, husband and wife, to the shock of many.  She gave 
birth and over time she began to fade.  She sailed to the West and I am 
glad of it, for as she left the Valley she was singing sweetly and I had 
never heard song more happy.
 
“Those were the days when the Homely House was but a dream, when we 
slept in the trees and Celebrian and Elrond founded the place.  Ninalin I 
raised as my own.  She knows her history, though not the identity of her 
father.  She has never asked it.  And she toddled along beside me at our 
meetings on the bank of the river and later she accompanied the hunters in 
the woods and when she became a woman she took on the title of 
Architect and she was the one to oversee the construction of the Last 
Homely House in those days of the birth of Imladris.  I am ever proud of 
her, for she is my daughter in all but blood.”
 
Erestor ceased his words and Glorfindel stared at him with wonder.  “That 
story is not so short and not so simple, but I am glad you shared it with 
me.  Though I have to tell you, you have spoken more words to me tonight 
than in the past thousand years of our acquaintance all together.”
 
Erestor smirked.  “That may be.  Now it is very late,” he pointed out.  
“And I go to seek my rest.  Good eve, Glorfindel.” 
 

“Good evening, Erestor.”  Glorfindel watched as the dark-haired enigma 
wandered the garden paths on his return to the House, robes sighing softly 
after him as they dragged upon the stones.
 
= = = = = 
 
When he approached Glorfindel’s chambers to call upon him, Lindir was 
surprised to find the door ajar.  He peeped his head within, moon-pale hair 
swaying before him.  “Gloooor-findel . . .” he called out in a singsong 
voice.
 
The golden-haired Elf sat before the window in this, the first room of his 
chambers, which functioned as both lounge and study.  Glorfindel blinked 
and when he turned was somewhat surprised to find Lindir half in his 
rooms and half in the hall, looking curiously at him with those endless 
green eyes.  “Lindir, my friend, do come in.”
 
The minstrel sidled into the open, friendly chamber, shutting the door 
behind him.  “Glorfindel, you seem very much elsewhere of late.”
 
“Elsewhere?”
 
Lindir stepped forward, crossing the room to take a seat opposite his 
friend.  He smiled gently.  “Yes.  Rather than here with me, you seem . . . 
somewhere else.”
 
“You know what troubles me,” Glorfindel softly informed him.  “You 
need not question me on the matter.”
 
Lindir frowned and nodded.  “Our friendship has always been a 
comfortable one,” he suggested, “because words are not needed between 
us.  But I think you have long kept your thoughts to yourself, even if your 
heart is open to me.  Glorfindel, I would have you speak of your 
frustrations, that I might better understand your moods, and I daresay offer 
some advice.  If not, then perhaps you only wish to speak without being 
judged.  If so, I am here.”
 
Never one to be so full of pride as to be unreasonable, Glorfindel nodded 
and even let escape a sigh of relief.  “Erestor is driving me mad.  I do not 
know how to--”  Glorfindel suddenly broke his speech.  “I’ve never 
spoken of my feelings for Erestor to another.”
 
Lindir smiled.  “Well, it is long past time for you to do so.  I promise I 
shall not condemn you or think you foolish.”
 
“I thank you.  I expect no condemnation, but love makes fools of us all, so 
I fear that is something I cannot avoid.”
 
Lindir openly laughed.  “No wonder you serve Elrond as an advisor!  Your 
words are wise!  But please go back to what you were saying, Glorfindel: 
you do not know what?  How to love him?”
 
Glorfindel finally allowed a full-grown smile to curve his rose-pink lips.  
His star-lighted blue eyes twinkled as he said, “I have never loved so 
deeply nor so hopelessly, but I do know how to love.  Nay, my problems 
are of a much more tactical nature.  I do not know how to court him.”
 
Lindir blinked.
 
“I’ve been trying for decades!” Glorfindel insisted.  “Private dinners in my 
quarters with candles and quiet conversation.  Moonlit walks in the 
gardens and on the river.  Surprise meals in his office when he forgets the 
noon repast.  All of it.  And Erestor takes everything in stride as though it 
were the most natural thing in the world for me to be mooning over him 
day and night.  What he thinks of my advances -- if he notices them at all -
- I do not know, but he has shown no signs of anything like returned 
affection.”
 
Lindir blinked again.  “He dines with you in your rooms?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“He walks with you in the night?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“He allows you to remind him that he has not eaten, and then eats the food 
you bring him?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Glorfindel, you say your love is hopeless, but I promise you it is not.”
 
“Do you truly think so?” asked the desperate Elf with sun-shining hair.
 
Lindir leaned forward, a smile gracing his fair face.  “If you have spoken 
truth, yes.  I have never known Erestor to allow anyone so close except for 
his daughter and perhaps his Lord.  You, my dear Glorfindel, may be well 
on your way to accomplishing a previously unknown feat: finding 
Erestor’s illusive heart.”  Seeing Glorfindel’s expression, Lindir smiled.  
“I see you know as well.  Aye, I also know the truth of his marriage, as 
most do not, and by strange circumstances too convoluted to relate to you 
now.  Just tell me this: does he still give you flowers?”
 
Glorfindel looked at him, blue eyes guilty and a little embarrassed.  
“Lindir.  Do you know much of Erestor and flowers?”
 
“If you mean that green thumb of his, I know it well.  He laid out the 
gardens here himself and let me tell you this: any seed he plants will grow.  
It will never wither and never fall to blight.  And any flower that he cuts 
will live past a week even without water and countless weeks more with 
it.”
 
“Yes, that is true.  And does he still give me flowers?  Well . . .”  
Glorfindel rose from his seat and crooked his finger.  “Follow me,” he 
murmured.
 
Lindir curiously rose from the chair and trailed him to the carved white 
door of the bedroom.  Glorfindel rested his hand on the shining brass 
handle a moment.  His pause lasted only an instant, and then he pushed the 
door open and led Lindir in.  The fair minstrel let out a gasp.  Vases and 
bowls of all shapes and sizes filled the room, on shelves, on the dresser, on 
the wardrobe and the desk, on the bedside table and on the windowsill.  
And even on the floor.  Flowers filled the room as though a garden had 
invaded the indoors and little paths had been left, to the wardrobe and to 
the window, and to the bed.  Glorfindel looked around sheepishly, rubbing 
the back of his neck.  “Their life-span is truly remarkable; I couldn’t bear 
to throw them away.”
 
Lindir’s brows climbed his forehead as he looked up to find a multitude of 
flowers hanging from the canopy and upper shelves to dry.  “Incredible.”
 
“The first day we met, you told me that flowers were ‘probably the most 
he ever offers anyone in a way of affection.’  I now believe it.  And so 
these I keep close in remembrance and in hope.”  Glorfindel sat upon the 
side of the bed.  He reached within his outer tunic to remove a dainty 
flower, only slightly crushed.  Lindir cocked head.  “When we break our 
fast, almost every morning, he gives me a flower.”
 
“Every day?!” Lindir exclaimed in astonishment.
 
“At least,” Glorfindel quietly admitted.  “This one was this morning.”  He 
sighed a classic, lovelorn sigh.  “Most nights I find something green and 
flowery hanging from my doorknob before I retire for the night.  And 
throughout the day I never know when I’ll find something sprouting 
leaves on my half of the desk or beside my dinner plate.”
 
Lindir stared with wide eyes.  He rushed to kneel before Glorfindel and 
take one large, strong hand in his own pale musician’s hands.  “Glorfindel.  
I now have the deepest faith that both you and Erestor are simply speaking 
in different tongues.  Have you told him your feelings?”
 
Glorfindel sighed.  He set aside the moonflower and put his other hand on 
top of their entwined ones.  “Every time I try, I find my tongue twisting 
into nonsense, and besides, I sometimes think the more I speak the less he 
hears.”  They both regarded one another with something between hope and 
despair.  “My hopes have wavered and an impasse stands before me.  
Sometimes I find myself saying the most dim-witted things and Erestor 
will look at me and I can never read him; he’s inscrutable.  I just . . .  I 
suppose I feel misunderstood a bit, and slightly hopeless.  And foolish.”  
He smiled.  “But anyone in love cannot help that.”
 
= = = = =
 
It took rather a lot of finagling on Glorfindel’s part to engineer operations 
according to his prerogative.  But it was worth it.
 
Elladan and Elrohir were to escort their sister to the Golden Wood.  
Glorfindel and Erestor would accompany them.  Lindir would never know 
how he managed it, but somehow Glorfindel had convinced both Elrond 
and Erestor that the Chief Counselor was in need of something along the 
lines of a break from work.  Not so much a vacation, nor a holiday, but a 
small break, a little excursion from the Valley.
 
So it was: Lindir and Elrond stood upon the large balcony that looked over 
the courtyard, watching five of Imladris’ most precious residents departing 
on a journey that could be perilous to a land beyond the Mountains.  
“They will be just fine my Lord.  Those five horses are fleet and loyal, and 
those five Elves are fine warriors with fierce spirits.” 
 

“Tis not orcs or outside attack that worry me.”
 
“Oh?”
 
“Indeed.  I know precisely what will happen, up to a point.  Their journey 
shall be uneventful and their time in Lothlorien relaxing.  Then my sons 
shall decide it has been too long since they frolicked in Caras Galadon, 
and they shall send the other two back alone.  From that moment I know 
not what will happen for I cannot imagine Erestor the Cold of Heart and 
Glorfindel the Free of Spirit alone together in the woods.  They shall 
certainly be the death of one another if they do not make all efforts to 
finally follow their hearts.”
 
Lindir chuckled.  “I cannot wait till they return.”  He shared a mischievous 
smile with his Lord and they turned about to enter the House, trying not to 
laugh.
 
= = = = =
 
Elladan rode ahead while Elrohir remained behind.  Arwen smiled 
continuously as she rode with Erestor on her left, silent and stoic, and 
Glorfindel on her right, laughing and buoyant.  “My good Lady,” 
Glorfindel said after a few moments’ silence.  “What say you of the 
soundless Erestor?  Think you he shall condescend to speak with us?”
 
“Why Glorfindel, I should never speak *of* the Chief Erestor, as I should 
never speak of anyone behind their back . . . especially when they are 
present.”  She smiled radiantly at the tall, handsome Elf.
 
He laughed joyously.  “To be sure!  Yet his ominous silence disturbs me.  
It is unnatural, is it not, to snub the use of language when it is granted to 
so few creatures in this world?”
 
Elladan turned around to say, “Why I declare, Glorfindel, tis only natural 
to keep silent when one has nothing to say.”
 
“On the other hand,” Elrohir said from behind them, “one need not open 
their mouth to speak.”
 
“Aye,” Arwen agreed.  “The value of an expression may exceed that of 
language many times over.”
 
Erestor grumbled.
 
“My goodness, what was that?” Glorfindel remarked.  “Has an irritable 
songbird sounded her displeasure or did our good friend actually speak?”  
He laughed.
 
Erestor grumbled again and suddenly dismounted, stomping off into the 
woods, sword clanking unnaturally at his side.  The four mounted Elves 
halted and stared wonderingly after the Counselor.  Glorfindel finally 
leaned over to whisper to the gorgeous lady, “Do you think he has finally 
gone mad?”
 
Arwen vaguely nodded.  “Perhaps you have at last pushed him over the 
edge.”
 
“Ah.” 
 
They watched in wonder as Erestor tramped back onto the trail, circling 
before his curious horse and Arwen’s mare and Asfaloth to approach 
Glorfindel.  He jabbed something green and twiggy into the warrior’s belt 
with great frustration.  “There,” he huffed in displeasure, black eyes 
flashing with anger.  “Wear that in honor of your love of the Elvish 
tongue.”  Four pairs of wide eyes watched as Erestor returned to mount his 
horse in one fluid move and urge her on at a gallop.
 
“Well.  That went discouragingly ill, I imagine,” Arwen offered with a 
sympathetic look to Glorfindel, who stared with total bewilderment after 
the dark-haired Elf.
 
= = = = =
 
For the rest of the journey, Glorfindel kept a tight watch on his tongue, 
speaking only to Elrond’s children when absolutely necessary and only to 
Erestor to apologize.  And as they rode throughout the week, he 
continuously fingered the arrow-shaped leaves on the wild sorrel he wore 
still in his belt and his longing blue eyes followed Erestor at every turn, all 
the while regretting his words.  On one eve of their travels, he turned to 
the Lady and said to her, “Love makes fools of us all.  Do prepare yourself 
when your time comes.”
 
She smiled graciously and responded, “I thank you for your frank advice.  
I doubt I shall ever receive guidance more true and worldly.”
 
Glorfindel only responded with a half-hearted smirk, but then showed a 
true, beaming smile when Erestor sat beside him and slipped a purple 
hyacinth into his warrior’s hand.  He turned that gorgeous smile on the 
Counselor and their hands lingered upon one another as Glorfindel 
accepted the flower.
 
Erestor’s mystifying black eyes met clear blue and he withdrew his hand, 
but stayed at Glorfindel’s side.  Elladan and Arwen exchanged a knowing 
glance and Elrohir muffled a giggle.
 
Then they all lay down to rest but for Elladan, who watched over them as 
Erestor laid his bedroll beside the sleeping Glorfindel and sought what rest 
there is to be had by one who is sick with love and riddled with passion.
 
= = = = =
 
Upon their arrival at the silver and gold city of Caras Galadon, Galadriel 
smiled brilliantly and took Glorfindel in her arms as one would a brother.  
She said nothing to him, as no words were needed, and then greeted her 
grandchildren lovingly and graciously.  Celeborn and Glorfindel hailed 
one another in the manner of all Elves, right hands on left shoulders.  They 
too had no necessity of words, though smiled little.
 
Erestor was neglected, as was popular fashion in all realms as few saw 
anything more than an unaffected Counselor who loved only his work.  
Few would see the wink Galadriel sent his way or Celeborn’s intriguing 
smile.
 
For two seasons, Galadriel monopolized Arwen’s attentions and 
Glorfindel squirreled himself away with Lorien’s Lord while the sons of 
Elrond disappeared into the forest of Mellyrn, leaving Erestor to occupy 
himself, which he happily did, walking every day in the gardens and 
speaking as little as possible and smiling not at all.
 
But after those seasons had passed and winds began whispering of chill 
and snow, Erestor declared that was time to return home.  Glorfindel 
agreed and many in Lorien were sad to see Glorfindel’s bright spirit 
depart.  But when it came time to mount their horses, the twins did not 
join them, proclaiming that they had been too long away from their 
grandparents’ realm and intended to stay some years longer, if their father 
had no need of them.
 
So it was the most respected advisors of Imladris departed the lands of the 
Mallorn tree alone.  And in silence.
 
= = = = =
 
Part 3: Innovation
 
Erestor and Glorfindel followed the cold waters of the Nimrodel and 
passed over the Misty Mountains.  They spoke little, though their travels 
were filled with Glorfindel’s song, as he sang freely much of the time 
often to the birds and the stars and the trees.
 
The only flower Glorfindel found himself gifted with throughout this 
stretch of the journey was something purplish with rather ugly leaves.  He 
tied it to the laces of his shirt, keeping it close to his heart.
 
But as they descended into Eregion, Glorfindel was charmed to find that a 
huge market -- the last of the summer -- had set itself up not very far from 
the base of the Mountains.  It took some persuasion on his part to convince 
Erestor to attend, but his persistence was nothing if not endless, and so 
Erestor found himself following the golden waves of hair to the market, 
where the human populace gathered in tents and wagons with their carts 
and horses, hoping to sell their wares.
 
They left their own mounts without picket or tack at the edge of the wood, 
and passed beneath the waving flags brightly colored.  Glorfindel’s joy 
could not be hidden and he towered above the human crowd, far too 
brilliant a spirit, as Erestor closely followed him.  There were a few other 
Elves wandering the place, and the two travelers greeted them happily, but 
the humans all pointed and whispered when Glorfindel and Erestor passed, 
for their beauty was perfect and their grace inhuman and their spirits 
dazzling.
 
Erestor sighed, for while there was some beauty to found among the 
humans and their goods, there was little of any extraordinariness, and he 
followed Glorfindel like a cloud of displeased boredom.  
 
Glorfindel laughed and talked with any who dared to speak to him and 
immensely enjoyed the fair, making a few purchases as they went.  But 
Erestor’s insufferable air began to stifle him, so the golden-haired Elf 
finally rounded on his friend to proclaim, “Erestor.  Since you obviously 
share none of my interests, it may well serve you to pursue your own.”
 
Taking the dismissal for what it was, Erestor nodded with half a bow.  “I 
shall meet you with the horses one hour before sunset.”  He turned on his 
heel and waltzed away, the crowd parting before him like peasants at a 
parade.
 
“Well,” Glorfindel said to the weaver who had witnessed the conversation, 
“that was easy.”
 
And the golden Elf was content to wander the place like a child 
discovering a long-hidden attic, and when he heard of a divine dessert tent 
set up near the edge of the west field, Glorfindel hastened down the rows 
toward the destination.  He halted suddenly, however, when a familiar 
head of deepest black hair caught in the corner of his eye.  Glorfindel crept 
between a tailor’s tent and a candle-maker’s cart to spy upon the 
Counselor, who was approaching a very poor looking young girl of no 
more than thirteen years surrounded by baskets and buckets and pots of 
colorful flowers.  
 
“Flowers!” she called out to the passing people, her cries mixing with 
those of “Hot buns!  Get ‘em while their hot!” and “Fish, all kinds: trout, 
bass, and salmon!” and “Linens and cottons!  Cheap!”  This poor girl 
stood with rag-wrapped feet in the mud and long dirty blonde hair falling 
in tangled curls to her waist.  She held in her thin arms a multitude of 
fragrant red roses and called out in a high voice, “Flowers!  Freshly picked 
flowers for sale!  Lilies or daisies!  Give your lucky girl a lucky white 
carnation!  The finest roses for your finest love!”  Her voice was tired but 
persistent, and with a good wash the young thing would clean up quite 
well.  But Glorfindel was not watching her.
 
He was watching Erestor.  The Counselor appeared to be slowly 
wandering the stalls, but he was headed directly for the young flower girl 
and stopped not three feet from her, bowing graciously.
 
Finding herself the attention of such a remarkable creature, for a moment 
the girl only stared, her wide hazel eyes drawn to the pointed ears.  But 
after a moment of astonishment, she smiled and Glorfindel saw that she 
was very pretty when she did so, and she said to Erestor, “Please, may I 
help you, sir?”
 
Erestor’s beautiful voice, rarely heard, rung clearly in the streets and 
Glorfindel leaned forward to watch the scene unfold.  “Well, I say, your 
flowers are most beautiful.  Where do they come from?”
 
Smiling, the girl answered, “I pick them all myself.  Many of them grow 
wild near the river by my father’s farm.”  She pointed to a rickety old cart 
behind her, near the end of the marketplace.  “That’s him over there.  Our 
vegetables are very good,” she promised.  “Oh, and the rest of the flowers 
I pick on the way to market when we come.  I know all the best places to 
find them.”
 
“Very good.  You must labor arduously to find the best,” he observed 
looking at the small sea of baskets full of what were admittedly beautiful 
specimens.
 
“I do my best, sir,” she said.  “Is there anything in particular you are 
looking for today?”
 
Erestor nodded and leaned close to the young miss.  “Yes indeed.  I’m 
looking to purchase three flowers.  One for myself, one for my friend, and 
one for a beautiful young lady.”
 
Glorfindel’s ears perked up and he snuck forward from his hiding spot to 
inch closer to the conversation.
 
“Very good, sir,” the girl replied, carefully setting down her armful of 
roses.  “I have so many kinds; what types of flowers would you like?”
 
“First, I seek a flower to match my mood.”
 
She nodded agreeably.  “Fine, fine,” she said with a smile.  “And what is 
your mood today, sir?”
 
“I must allow that today, like all days, I am consumed by love.”
 
The girl blushed red.  “Well then, I should say I’ve just the thing.”  She 
turned to a tall bucket of hollyhocks and such long-stemmed plants to pull 
forth a pale purple flower with five petals, beautifully formed.  “Mallow 
for you,” she said, presenting him with the flower.
 
He took it graciously from her.  “An excellent selection.  I do believe you 
are right; this flower knows well my love.”
 
“And for your friend?” she asked, her cheeks still blushed with pink.
 
“What would you suggest?” he replied.
 
“Hmm,” she said, wondering as she looked on the rainbow of flowers 
about her.  She smiled, and her long, curling hair fell before her as she 
bent down to retrieve a reddish stem branching with green leaves and 
delightful little white blooms.  “Arborvitae,” she said.  “If your friendship 
is a true and everlasting one.”
 
“As true as they come,” he said softly with the fondest of smiles, and he 
took the flower from her.
 
“And now your lady?  What for her?”
 
“Well, I’m not sure exactly.”  Erestor rubbed thoughtfully at his chin, 
surveying the many pots and baskets.  Eventually, he suggested, “Why do 
you not pick out YOUR favorite?”
 
“Oh sir,” she replied, clasping her hands before her as she spoke, “I’ve 
quite a bit of experience and I can tell you that every lady has her favorite.  
How do you know mine will suit?”
 
Then, Erestor took her hand and bowed and laid a kiss upon it.  He 
straightened and looked her in the eye as he said, “I have no doubt that 
such a beautiful young lady as yourself will have equally beautiful taste.  I 
am certain that as you have not failed me yet, you cannot go wrong.”
 
He released her hand and she blushed fairly crimson.  “Very well, sir,” she 
mumbled as her heart fluttered.  “If that is your wish.”
 
“Without a qualm.”
 
The girl sunk low to part the many flowers in one pot and she selected the 
simplest of yellow flowers, with shiny petals and heart-shaped leaves.  She 
arose, cradling it lovingly in her hands.  “Celandine,” she said softly.  “A 
simple flower with a simple meaning.”
 
“Joys to come,” he answered her just as softly, just as reverently.  
 
She looked up at him, truly longing for his approval.  “Will this serve, 
sir?”
 
“Truly perfect,” he agreed.
 
She smiled and gave to him the flower.  Her voice was calm and low when 
she held out her hand. “One copper for the lot.”
 
It seemed that Erestor withdrew a coin from nowhere and placed it in her 
palm.  It was a silver coin.  And then, he smiled and handed the yellow 
celandine back to her.
 
She was a bit confused as she took them both and looked from the shining 
silver coin in one hand to the little flower in the other.  “I’m sorry sir, is 
something wrong?”
 
“Not at all,” Erestor answered.  “Keep the change from the silver.  And the 
celandine is for you, young lady.
 
She blushed scarlet all over again.  “I . . . I thank you, sir.”
 
“Not at all,” he said with a flirtatious bow.  “Mayhap I should tell you, it is 
the custom of my people to weave flowers in their hair, and I do declare 
your favorite flower would look charming in your golden locks.”  He 
tucked the mallow and arborvitae into his belt and held out a hand.  “May 
I show you?” he asked.
 
She nodded, licking her lips nervously.
 
He took the green stemmed flower and carefully parted a lock of her 
curling hair and drew it forward so she could watch as he braided the stem 
into her hair, leaving the flower hanging down.  “There.  I daresay you are 
now the most beautiful young lady at market today.”  Erestor flashed a 
charming grin and turned to leave.
 
“Wait sir!” she begged, with an imploring gesture.  “Please, what is your 
favorite flower?”
 
He returned to kneel before her and say with a quirking smile, “It is my 
opinion that no flower can equal the beauty of the Mallorn blossom.  I do 
not doubt you have never seen such a thing.”  (She nodded agreement.)  
“But they closely resemble the much smaller morning glory, which I have 
also long favored, as they were beloved of my mother.  They climb the 
trellis outside my window at home and I do love them.”
 
“Then please,” the girl said, turning to pull a length of the vine flower 
from a bucket, “wear this in your hair . . . a-and think of me,” she finished 
with a stutter.
 
“Certainly,” he said with a smile.  He stayed down on one knee so that the 
maid could reach with shaking fingers to braid the pale purple flowers into 
his dark mane.  “Don’t be afraid to pull,” he instructed.  “The tighter the 
knots, the longer it will stay put.”
 
With a bit more confidence, she bit at her lower lip and firmly wound the 
morning glories in a proper braid that fell over his shoulder.
 
He stood and then offered another modest bow as he said, “I thank you, 
young miss, for your gift.”
 
“And I must thank you,” she said with a nod, her curling locks bobbing 
with the little golden flower.
 
Erestor graced the human girl with one last smile and turned to see 
Glorfindel, who seemed to be intently studying a candle-maker’s wares.
 
The dark-haired Counselor sedately approached him and tucked the 
arborvitae behind a pointing ear hidden in the golden locks.  “Come, my 
friend,” he said.  “The day grows long and we should be on our way.”
 
“Go on ahead,” Glorfindel asked of him.  “And I will meet your shortly.”
 
Erestor raised one fine eyebrow, but said nothing, turning to vanish into 
the crowds.
 
Glorfindel watched his retreat and when he was sure the Elf was gone, he 
turned to rush the young flower girl.
 
Seeing this tall, golden creature come running, the girl froze, her hazel 
eyes wide, and almost squeaked when he fell to his knees before her.  
“Please,” he begged.  “Is it true that every flower has its own meaning?”
 
She gasped at the stars she saw in shining blue eyes, but managed an 
answer even through her fearful awe.  “Aye.  The language of flowers is 
old indeed, and each speaks for itself.”
 
Glorfindel held back a keening wail, but could not prevent lashing out 
with a hard fist into the muddy earth beside him.  He bowed his head, 
golden hair dragging in the mud to moan, “I am a fool.”
 
But then he looked up with hopeful eyes and untied the purple flower from 
his chest.  He held it up and said, “Please, what is this?”
 
“Tis a globe amaranth,” the girl answered him.  “It tells of immortal love.”
 
“Love?” he asked in a choked voice.  Glorfindel closed sky-blue eyes and 
remembered back a thousand years before when he entered the gardens of 
Imladris for the first time as the sun was fading to the west in sweet 
ambers and golds to find a mysterious creature seated upon a bench with a 
book.  He remembered how the golden sun shone upon the Elf and how he 
had risen and put aside the book and walked to the arbor and plucked a 
red, red rose.  He remembered too the careful precision that had gone into 
removing every single thorn from the green, green stem.  “Please,” he 
asked desperately of the girl.  “What is the meaning of a rose without 
thorns?”
 
“A thornless rose?  Tis love at first sight.”
 
Glorfindel jumped to his feet, calling himself every kind of a fool, but 
especially a sightless one.  “What am I that I cannot see what has always 
been before me?” he asked of himself in a whisper.  Then he looked to the 
girl, still staring with wide, hazel eyes.  “Yes, I am odd,” he told her.  “But 
you have changed my life.”  He dropped his money purse into an empty 
bucket at her feet.  “The blessings of the Valar upon you, sweet girl,” he 
said, before turning to run through the dispersing crowd as the golden hour 
approached and his golden hair streamed out behind him.
 
= = = = =
 
Part 4: Culmination
 
Erestor waited not overlong with the horses when Glorfindel came trotting 
up the small hill to meet them.  His handsome blue eyes were 
unaccountably wide and thoughtful and the blonde elf said nothing, only 
greeting his friend with a curt nod, the little white flower behind his ear 
bobbing with him.
 
Erestor’s curious dark eyes followed the shining golden spirit as they 
galloped into the wood, and they traveled at great speed until night fell and 
the moon sang a gentle song.
 
Then they made short camp without fire, drifting in slumber at turns 
throughout the darkness.
 
= = = = =
 
When the weary Elves finally arrived at the Last Homely House several 
days later just as the sun was setting, Ninalin was the first to run out to 
them, her bare feet slapping on the cobbled stones and her silver hair 
waving behind her.  Erestor could barely dismount before her thin arms 
caught him in a surprisingly powerful embrace and her lilac scent caught 
in his nostrils.  He hugged her back, hiding his smile in her rippling, silver 
hair.  
 
“I am glad you are returned, Ada.”
 
“So am I,” he whispered before eventually releasing her.  Then she threw 
herself into Glorfindel’s arms and he picked her up and hugged her and 
then set her down again.  They were soon chatting as quickly as chittering 
hens and Erestor shook his head, nodding his thanks to a young Elf who 
would lead his horse to the stable.
 
Elrond then approached and he too offered his Chief Advisor a welcoming 
embrace.  “You have been missed, and by more than myself,” he told his 
friend.  They walked silently side by side after Glorfindel and Ninalin, 
whose words fluttered between them like dancing moths on a summer 
breeze.
 
= = = = =
 
Having eaten and bathed, Glorfindel was quick to make all haste to the 
library, and was glad to find Melpomaen still there, just putting away his 
work.  “Melpomaen, my friend!  I need your help.”
 
The young librarian looked up and smiled.  “I see you have returned.  An 
uneventful trip, I take it?”
 
“Yes, yes,” Glorfindel waved him off.  “I need to find a book.”
 
“Well, this is most unexpected.  I rarely see you here in the archives.  But 
tell me what you need, and I will help you if I possibly can.”
 
Glorfindel nodded his thanks, nearly bowing.  “I need a book on flowers.”
 
= = = = = 
 
Near a week had passed since their return and Erestor had stumbled 
through several unexpected emotions, from curious to suspicious to 
worried.  He finally settled on concerned, watching with overt interest the 
golden-haired Elf who had become his dearest friend over the past 
thousand years, aside from Elrond and Ninalin.  Noticing this sudden 
distress, the Lord of the House gently took Erestor aside one evening to 
speak with him.  They walked slowly at the side of a long balcony and 
watched the blinking stars.
 
“Erestor, my dearest friend,” he began.
 
Erestor regarded Elrond balefully.  “Do not address me as such, Elrond, 
for you have put me on my guard.  Never begin a conversation that way, 
especially with a one such as I, for your condescending manner is 
altogether too friendly to imply anything of an unsuspecting nature to fall 
from your lips.”
 
Elrond blinked, and then dismissed Erestor’s response with a shake of his 
head.  “Well then, I shall simply be completely straightforward.  Tell me, 
Erestor, why it is Glorfindel has captured your attention as he has not 
since the first week of his arrival?”
 
Erestor sighed, knowing that if he trusted anyone with the secrets of his 
past and of his heart then it was the half-Elf that stood before him now.  
“He never lost my attention, my Lord.  As you probably know.  I have 
simply let down my guard again; thank you for reminding me.”
 
When Erestor turned with a bow to leave, Elrond gently took his shoulder 
in a strong hand.  “I meant no reminder, Erestor.  These are times of 
peace, and have been for many centuries.  In fact, I think you would do 
well to let rest such guards as you have put up and worn for most of your 
life.”
 
“You forget who you speak to, Elrond.  You speak to one whose heart has 
grown cold and whose hope has withered.”
 
Offering the gentlest of smiles, Elrond shook his head in disagreement.  
“You lie so well, Erestor; you have much experience with it, I think.  I see 
the way you look at your daughter, and my own children.  And those you 
consider your friends.  And I see the way you look at Glorfindel, and 
seeing all this, I know your heart is far from cold, concealed though it may 
be.  And if your hope has withered, then I wonder that you continue to 
feed it by giving Glorfindel the gifts that you do.”
 
Feeling somewhat caught, Erestor only looked away and did not speak.
 
“And so I ask again, what is it about our dear friend that has captured you 
once more?”
 
Erestor stopped and turned to grasp the railing of the balcony.  His dark 
eyes looked over the Valley and his voice was little more than a tripping 
murmur.  “He speaks no more to me, Elrond.  When first Glorfindel 
arrived, he spoke little.  But there is nothing Imladris Elves love more than 
to talk.  Sometimes they speak so much of so little that I wonder if they 
even hear themselves.  And I do not fool myself, knowing my daughter is 
worst of the lot.  
 
“Glorfindel was different when he first came.  He was not so inclined to 
speak.  But right away he began his associations with Lindir and Ninalin 
and -- no offence -- you.  And he quickly learned the way of things and 
opened his mouth to speak.”  Erestor sighed and seemed to ignore Elrond, 
who stood closely at his side.  “And so he quickly adapted and opens his 
mouth and witty words come tumbling out with the ease of a river’s rush 
in spring.  
 
“Ever since that trip to the market, however, he has held his tongue around 
me and I cannot imagine why.  But you know me, my Lord.  You know 
how words have failed me in the past and how they inevitably do.  I have 
struggled with languages all my life and can speak more tongues than any 
other Elf I know and yet for all of this, my words have never served me as 
well as I should wish.”  He shook his head.  “I probably should not tell 
you this, simply because I know you have attempted match-making 
before.  I know how you interfere with the lives of those around you.”  
Erestor smirked and chuckled a bit.  It still wasn’t a smile.  “But I have 
tried.  Glorfindel seems to appreciate my company and we are often alone 
together and it seems I have opened my mouth a million times with 
intention of conveying some heartfelt adoration towards him.  But my 
throat stops up and my lips dry out and I find my tongue all in a tangle for 
want of sufficient speech.”  Erestor sadly shook his head, the black mane 
swaying against his back.  “And so I say nothing and give him a flower 
and have done with it, for that is all I shall ever be capable of.”
 
Elrond rested a hand on Erestor’s shoulder and when he spoke, his words 
were low and calm, and Erestor thought there might be some magic in 
them.  “If I may be so bold,” Elrond said in a mellifluous tone, “You and 
Glorfindel have quite outdone yourselves in the art of 
miscommunication.”
 
At this, Erestor finally looked up to meet mischievous gray eyes.  “What is 
your meaning, Lord?”
 
“I daresay you shall discover it soon enough,” Elrond told him as he 
turned around and moved gracefully away along the balcony.  “For I 
believe the golden hour approaches.”
 
“But the sun has already set, Elrond.”
 
“I know, Erestor,” Elrond called back over his shoulder, smiling to 
himself.  “That is not the sun to which I was referring.”
 
= = = = =
 
Erestor was lost in thought, as was common for him these days, and 
wandering as he was down the corridor it should have come as little 
surprise that he did not see Glorfindel until he was nearly upon the golden-
haired beauty.
 
Erestor stopped and stared.
 
Glorfindel sat at the threshold of the Chief Counselor’s door, his elbows 
resting on updrawn knees as his back leaned against the closed door, his 
golden hair flowing completely free and loose around that handsome face.  
Depthless blue eyes, lit with stars, stared hopefully up at him, and though 
those full, pink lips were nervous and almost frowning, the blue eyes were 
smiling.  He had dressed himself nicely this day.  Most of the time, 
Glorfindel took little care for his appearance and wore what he was 
comfortable in, but now he wore tight-fitting garments in blue and gold 
and he had polished his black dress boots.  He stood, rising to his full 
height, an impressive stature and much taller than Erestor.  And he held in 
his hand a great bunch of flowers and weeds and twigs.  
 
Erestor was dumbfounded and knew not what to make of it at all.
 
Then, Glorfindel drew up enough courage to smile and he said, “Words 
and actions have failed us both, I fear.  But had I not been blind to you and 
deaf to your language, I would have done this long ago.”  When 
Glorfindel bowed his head and wrapped both his hands around that 
awkward bouquet, he looked like nothing more than a blushing Elfling.  
He licked nervous lips and carefully separated a beautiful white flower 
with slightly spotted petals.  “This is an alstroemeria,” he carefully recited, 
handing it to Erestor.  “It’s for devoted friendship.”  He refused to meet 
Erestor’s astonished black eyes.  Glorfindel carefully manipulated the 
bouquet in large fingers, which fumbled for the first time in Erestor’s 
memory.  “I . . .” he stuttered a bit and muttered half to himself, “I have 
quite a few here.”  Struggling with the flowers and with his words, he 
finally pulled out a stem with a head of many red flowers.  “This is a 
geranium.  Scarlet-colored, for my own stupidity.”  This he handed to 
Erestor, and when their fingers accidentally touched, the Counselor 
gasped.
 
Glorfindel’s wide blue eyes flashed up at him, but then darted down again 
as he pulled forth a flower similar to the last, with a larger head but 
smaller flowers.  It was whitish pink.  “Um, hydrangea,” Glorfindel finally 
said as he handed it over.  “It can mean different things, like frigidity, 
which you sometimes display.  But for me, it means thank you.  Thank 
you for understanding, and for accepting me for what I am.  Uh . . .”  
Glorfindel rifled through his handful of flowers to pull out a weak-
stemmed little thing with shining green leaves and an oddly shaped tiny 
red flower.  “Kennedia,” he said.  “Because I marvel at the beauty of your 
mind.  And a calla lily too,” he offered that as well, “because I am equally 
awed by everything else that’s beautiful about you.”  At that last word, 
Glorfindel looked up, and for a long moment, their eyes met, lost to one 
another before Glorfindel shook himself awake and returned to his 
mission.  
 
His movements were clumsy as he handed over the flowers and his words 
came with great difficulty.  But such is the hardship of love, and he 
overcame it as well he could.  “White zinnia, for your goodness.  And this 
belladonna lily means silence.  I give it to you because I respect your 
silence and always have, even if I did a poor job of showing it.”  Next, he 
gave a bunch of weedy white flowers.  “Traveler’s joy.  They stand for 
safety.  I feel safe with you,” he said simply with a shy shrug.
 
“Oh!” Glorfindel remarked.  “This is an important one.  Here is a lotus; it 
stands for eloquence.”  He actually laughed as he handed it over.  “I feel 
far from such myself at the moment, and I think you might at times as 
well.  But this is your language I’m speaking now, and I’ve been reading 
about it and I’ve been sitting in the garden listening to the flowers and I 
searched the Valley up and down to find all of these.  And I give you the 
lotus because the eloquence of your language strikes me.”  He blushed a 
bit.  “Now, you’ve been fairly quiet,” he observed, not daring to meet 
Erestor’s black eyes.  “So, why don’t I just hand these over and you tell 
me a little about them.”
 
Glorfindel next gave a brown-stemmed white flower with five petals.  
“Mossy saxifrage.”
 
Erestor took it with wonderment and when Glorfindel waited for him to 
speak, he awkwardly cleared his throat and whispered, “Affection.”
 
Glorfindel quickly nodded.  He pushed another tiny white flower at 
Erestor.
 
The Counselor took it in a shaking hand, adding it to the growing bouquet.  
“A white violet,” his shaking voice declared.  “It means ‘let’s take a 
chance on happiness.’”
 
Glorfindel smiled, pleased.  Then he offered a bent-over bell-shaped 
flower, pure white.
 
“Snowdrop,” Erestor spoke, a bit more confident.  “Hope.”
 
Next was a brown stemmed plant with bunches of four-leafed flowers of a 
bright fuchsia.
 
“Mezereon,” Erestor said, somewhat stunned, “is a desire to please.”  
Before he could lose what nerve was left to him, Erestor asked, “You 
desire to please me, Glorfindel?”
 
Glorfindel looked at him with those bright blue eyes and held up a red 
tulip between them.
 
Erestor stared at the flower as though he’d never seen one before.
 
“Take it,” Glorfindel begged in the smallest of whispers.
 
“Do you know what it says to me?” Erestor asked.
 
“I would not give you anything I did not mean with the whole of my 
heart,” Glorfindel answered.  “A red tulip is a declaration of love.  I know 
that.  That’s why I’m giving it to you.”  He would have smiled at the 
absurdity of it all, if only Erestor didn’t appear so frightened.  “It also says 
‘believe me.’  Please, take it.”
 
He did.
 
“There’s these, too,” Glorfindel said.  “Peach blossoms, because I am your 
captive.  And coriander.  It’s, um . . .  You know.”
 
Erestor took the lavender peach blossoms and the weedy white coriander.  
He stuttered when he explained the spice as, “L-lust.”
 
There was one more flower left in Glorfindel’s hand.  It had a yellow 
center and was ringed in folding white petals.  “You’ve given me jonquil 
before,” Glorfindel recalled with both fondness and regret in his voice.  “It 
means ‘I desire a return of affection.’  Or more simply, ‘Love me.’”  He 
gave it to Erestor and said, “I do return your affection.  I love you.”
 
Erestor took the jonquil from Glorfindel’s large hand and stared in awe at 
it.
 
Then, Glorfindel rested his hand on the handle of Erestor’s tall white door 
and he said, “Forgive me, but I could not hold them all.”  He opened the 
door and gestured for Erestor to enter.
 
The Councilor absolutely refused to cry as he entered his own chambers to 
find them filled with flowers, mostly red ones, but not all.  Glorfindel 
silently closed the door and stepped up close behind him and said, “I did 
not wish to intrude upon your space, but I wanted to give these to you.  
Most of them are potted, so they’ll live a long time, especially under your 
care.  Uh, let’s see, there’s red roses and ambrosia, daisies and baby’s 
breath and red chrysanthemums, arbutus and aster, and orchids and plenty 
more.”  He turned to stare at Erestor, whispering, “And they all represent 
love.”
 
Erestor looked at him with tears welling up in dark eyes.
 
Glorfindel took a breath to steady himself and he declared, “Mine may not 
have been love at first sight, but love it truly is.  Erestor, I wish to see you 
wear no more creeping willow and mourning bride in your hair, for your 
love is not forsaken and all is not lost.”
 
Erestor shook his head in wonder and was hardly aware when one tear 
finally spilled over onto a blushing cheek.
 
“Do you cry because you are sad?” Glorfindel asked.
 
“No,” Erestor told him in a small voice.  “I am,” he eventually admitted, 
“overwhelmed.”
 
“I understand,” Glorfindel said.  Then he smiled broadly, and when he did 
it seemed as though his entire countenance shone with joy.  He pointed a 
finger straight up.
 
Erestor tipped his head back to see a shiny-leafed plant with little white 
berries hanging from the center of the chandelier that he never used.  “It’s 
mistletoe,” he observed.
 
“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed.
 
“We’re standing under it,” Erestor observed, still staring at the little plant 
hanging innocently above them.
 
“Yes,” Glorfindel agreed.
 
“Mistletoe means ‘kiss me,’” Erestor recited.
 
“All right,” Glorfindel readily agreed, taking Erestor in his arms.
 
In his shock, Erestor dropped all those carefully gathered flowers, which 
fell to land on the dark wood floor with soft, flapping thumps all around 
their feet. Glorfindel’s strong arms wrapped themselves around Erestor’s 
waist and the poor Counselor’s own arms were held up clumsily out of the 
way, for he had no idea what to do with them.  But as he stared into 
Glorfindel’s loving eyes, Erestor slowly relaxed until he tentatively rested 
his hands around Glorfindel’s neck, playing softly with the brilliant golden 
hair.
 
Glorfindel bent his head down and whispered, “All right?”
 
Erestor nodded, his breath hitching in nervous huffs.
 
Glorfindel smiled and moved closer.
 
Erestor closed his eyes.  It was too real.
 
Glorfindel ever so gently pressed his lips against those before him.
 
Erestor’s eyes shot open and he let out a gasp, and Glorfindel smiled 
against Erestor’s lips.  Erestor kept still, as though moving might break the 
moment, as though the amazing creature kissing him might evaporate like 
a misty dream should Erestor dare to even breathe.  But he let his black 
eyes fall closed again and simply let himself feel.  He felt strong hands 
gentle on his back and full lips warm against his own.  He felt the blood 
coursing madly through his veins and it seemed as though his heart had 
dropped into his stomach to beat against his insides like wild, fluttering 
songbirds.  Then he felt a slick wetness tracing his heating lips and he 
opened his mouth and Glorfindel dipped in as though he were scouting a 
foreign land and wanted to be sure to measure every inch.
 
When Erestor grew breathless and desperate, Glorfindel pulled away just 
enough to whisper against those well-kissed lips, “For one whose words 
can be so bitter, your tongue is shockingly sweet.”
 
Erestor moaned and this time it was he who pulled Glorfindel close to map 
out unfamiliar terrain with an eagerly seeking tongue.  Glorfindel was oh-
so hot and so sweet and so perfect.  It was a kiss full of love and suddenly 
Erestor broke it off and pulled back and looked with wondering black eyes 
upon his love.
 
“What is it?” Glorfindel asked.
 
“I have found the words,” Erestor told him.  “Words have always failed 
me until now . . . when I no longer need them.”
 
“Let’s hear them anyway,” Glorfindel whispered.
 
So Erestor spoke:
 
“I love you more than words can say
And more than flowers tell.
It’s time to throw all words away
And tell the blooms farewell.
I love you with all my heart.
And that’s enough for me.
And as long as we should never part.
In all ways content I’ll be.”
 
Glorfindel’s smile was beaming and bright and he grabbed Erestor at the 
waist and lifted him into the air and pulled him close and kissed him with 
all his passion.
 
When his feet touched the floor again, Erestor was in a daze, thinking that 
for a moment he had flown.  And then Glorfindel spoke, hot and excited at 
his ear:
 
“Since your love cannot be proved in speech
And flowers don’t suffice,
Then it’s my turn to thee beseech:
Let your heart be rid of ice.
Speak to me with hands and lips
But not a single sound.
Let your hands speak to my hips
And a joyous song be found.”
 
Erestor gasped as a hot tongue burned an erotic stripe up his ear.  Erestor 
took strong hips in hand and responded:
 
“I shudder at your flirting
And am tempted to follow through.
But danger you are skirting
Should my passion engulf you.”
 
Glorfindel let out a low groan when Erestor grabbed his hips and their 
loins were crushed together.  And though his voice was failing, Glorfindel 
answered:
 
“Ai!  Yes, engulf me you must
If that’s your impassioned will.
Never rein your untempered lust
Or hold back any skill.”
 
At this rebuff, Erestor fairly growled and he promised:
 
“I have tried to warn you
But you will not obey.
So if in the end I’ve torn you
It’s ‘cause I got carried away.”
 
At these last words, Erestor smiled wickedly and pulled Glorfindel along 
with him as they tore viciously at the hateful clothes that kept skin from 
meeting skin.  They trod upon the forgotten flowers and fell together in a 
tangled mass of arms and velvet and legs and cotton and hair and sheets 
and passion.  
 
The sound of tearing seams abruptly split the air and Erestor grinned 
victoriously, throwing Glorfindel’s ruined shirt away.  The fabric sailed 
noiselessly through the air and landed with a rustle atop the half crushed 
flowers.  They had long forgotten the shirt.  Erestor’s teeth assaulted all 
that beautiful, golden skin, marking it red and indented as his hands 
possessively pinched their claim on hips and thighs and more.
 
Glorfindel howled and his large, strong hands gripped Erestor’s waist and 
he threw the smaller Elf beside him on the bed.  Their clothes had been 
chased away by eager hands and so now Glorfindel was free to explore 
Erestor’s flushing pale body of smooth planes and delicate angles and 
subtle muscle.  Glorfindel again took those lips and Erestor took his hips 
and they growled and groaned and grinded together.  “Oil,” Glorfindel 
panted against him.  “Nightstand.”
 
Erestor’s long, pale hand flung out onto the nightstand, nearly knocking 
aside the bottle he blindly groped for.  He forced Glorfindel over again 
and straddled the blonde Elf’s waist.  They stared hard at one another, 
black eyes drawn blacker with passion and blue rendered a midnight 
indigo.  Then, Erestor held him down and kissed him hard and rocked his 
taut little ass against Glorfindel’s engorged cock and tugged viciously at 
his dusky nipples.
 
Erestor pulled away and Glorfindel’s hands crushed the sheets in a tight 
grip as he lay panting and needful and covered in passion bruises against 
the dark blue blanket.  The dark-haired Elf took one long leg and threw it 
over his shoulder before uncorking the precious bottle and pouring a 
handful of oil.  With one hand teasing Glorfindel’s pulsing shaft and the 
other testing his tight entrance, the blonde felt himself driven completely 
mad with desire and incoherent with lust as the oil splashed against his 
belly and on the bedspread and all over Erestor’s arms.  
 
Glorfindel staved off his body’s need with pure force of will, easily 
accepting the first finger that pierced him and thrusting up with tiny 
plunges into Erestor’s oiled grip.
 
When Glorfindel let out the high-pitched, mewling, “Ah, ah, ah,” sound 
over and over, Erestor sped his progress as quickly as he dared, forcing 
nearly his whole hand into Glorfindel’s clenching body and squirming his 
fingers within the secret channel to torment the hidden nub and send 
Glorfindel to shuddering fits of ecstasy.
 
Eventually, Erestor pulled away and took up the bottle again and doused 
his own rock-hard member in the slick stuff, grasping himself to slowly 
stroke his hand up and down his cock, thick and purple with arousal.
 
Glorfindel looked down between his spread legs to see that Erestor was 
wild and beautiful in his passion.  The black hair was an unruly mane that 
fell over his shoulders and down his back in riotous tangles.  Pale skin was 
flushed with color and covered with a fine sheen of salty-sweet sweat.  His 
fingers were wicked and his smile predatory and his eyes were black pools 
of haunting desire.
 
Erestor ran oily hands up Glorfindel’s calves, tickled around his knees, 
and kneaded up strong thighs to grab Glorfindel’s ass in a bruising grip 
and pull him close.
 
With one leg slung over Erestor’s shoulder and the other wrapped around 
the slim waist, Glorfindel pulled him close, squirming as black tendrils of 
hair teased his oil-splashed stomach and Erestor’s stiff cock prodded his 
hungry hole.
 
Erestor’s breathing came in hitching gasps as Glorfindel pulled him 
forward.  He slid his surprisingly strong hands to Glorfindel’s waist and 
held the writhing body still as he breached the stretched entrance with a 
guttural grunt.
 
Time froze in a rose-scented heartbeat and their souls fractured and when 
the moment passed, their souls reconnected, forever entwined as they 
called out unintelligible words of love.  
 
Glorfindel finally let loose the reins of his passion, tossing his head and 
screaming and bouncing forcefully on Erestor’s cock.  He reached forward 
and caught the only part of Erestor he could reach: a sweaty hank of thick 
black hair.  He pulled it hard and Erestor fell upon him.
 
Erestor gave in to the desire of his body and his spirit, pounding roughly 
though lovingly into Glorfindel’s body and he surrendered to the claim on 
his hair, bowing to gnaw at Glorfindel’s neck even as he forced 
Glorfindel’s leg back against the blonde’s own chest to thrust deeper 
within him.  
 
Having Erestor within his reach, Glorfindel let go the black coil of hair to 
take lithe shoulders in a straining, desperate hold.
 
With inhibitions lost and uncertainty forgotten, they pumped in a driving 
cadence that echoed the heartbeat of the world as they alternately 
screamed and begged, clutching and biting and pulling and kissing until 
the spiral between them coiled too tightly to hold back.
 
Erestor pushed himself deep as he could into the spasming body, baying 
like a wild dog as he emptied his seed into his bucking lover.  All at once 
Glorfindel jammed himself down on Erestor’s pulsing cock and 
Glorfindel’s sanity snapped as he came with a bawling shriek, oblivious to 
everything but his own and Erestor’s pleasure as stars flashed all around 
them and the wind roared in their ears and the swell of love surged them 
up into the heavens where for an endless time they flew.  
 
= = = = =
 
Erestor awoke to the sunlit room and the smells of happy flowers and also 
of sex.  He opened his eyes to stare at the white canopy.  He stretched sore 
muscled and moaned a bit.  Then the sky was blinking above him.
 
Erestor stared fondly at those infinite blue eyes full of stars.  Glorfindel 
smirked down at him.  “Morning, lover.”  He laughed when Erestor 
blushed and then quickly kissed the parted lips.  He leaned back to hold a 
flower before Erestor’s proud nose.  The jagged petals were bright scarlet 
and sharp white.  “It’s called Sweet William.  Do you know what it 
means?” Glorfindel asked with the sweetest little grin.
 
“‘Grant me one smile,’” Erestor quoted to him.
 
“Yes,” Glorfindel upheld in a whisper, leaning back down.  “I feel blessed 
when you allow me a single smile.”
 
“You shall have all my smiles,” Erestor promised him, “along with all my 
passion.”
 
Glorfindel beamed another brilliant smile, his spirit pulsing with delight as 
he tucked the weed in Erestor’s hair and kissed his kiss-swollen lips 
deeply.
 
= = = = =
 
Breakfast was an odd affair.  They sat at table with Elrond, Lindir, 
Ninalin, and several other advisors.  Conversation was bizarrely lacking 
and finally Glorfindel leaned over to casually whisper to his Lord, 
“Elrond, do you know why everyone is staring at us?”
 
An expression of amusement crossed Elrond’s face for only a moment 
before he covered it to whisper not so quietly back, “Apparently, you and 
Erestor were quite . . . vocal.  Last night.”
 
Glorfindel bit back a smile as he glanced beside him to see Erestor freeze 
with fork near to his mouth, which was half open.  Everyone at the table 
watched with bated breath as Erestor’s pale skin flushed crimson, the 
blush sneaking up from under his collar to suffuse his cheeks.  Black 
eyelashes fluttered as the Counselor repeatedly blinked, his mouth opening 
and closing though no words escaped.  He set down his fork with a weak 
hand and stared at his plate, lost for any reaction other than shock and the 
most acute embarrassment.
 
Lindir smiled and eventually decided to break the silence with, “I say 
Glorfindel can you tell me, does that blush go all the way down?”
 
Erestor’s black eyes shot up, affronted dignity plastered in his expression 
to glare disbelievingly at the minstrel.
 
Then Glorfindel opened his mouth.  “Now Lindir, that’s hardly 
appropriate at the dining table.”  He took a sip of juice and then said, “Ask 
me later and I’ll tell you just how far down it goes and how far up ‘it’ 
rises.”
 
Erestor’s movement was like a hawk as his head snapped around to glare 
at Glorfindel with slack-jawed astonishment.  Then he sharply backhanded 
Glorfindel’s shoulder with a growl.  Erestor shook his head and everyone 
stared in amazement as the Chief Counselor smiled subtly to himself and 
continued to eat his breakfast as though nothing outside the absolute norm 
had passed a second before.
 
Ninalin and Elrond smiled conspiratorially at one another as whispers 
began to travel the hall anew.
 
Glorfindel also smiled.  He ate his food and took Erestor’s hand beneath 
the table, squeezing affectionately.
 
“So,” Ninalin curiously asked.  “Is this official now?”
 
Erestor looked at his daughter with a smirk.  He turned to face Glorfindel 
with a pensive expression as though he were thinking it over.  Everyone at 
the table watched them.  Whispers and silences rippled down the tables as 
everyone craned their necks and even stood to see what Erestor would say.  
 
Erestor grabbed Glorfindel, forcefully pulling the blonde up out of his seat 
and right into the Counselor’s lap and Erestor kissed him and there 
couldn’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind that yes, this was ‘official.’
 
= = = = =
 
The end.