Title: The Sweetness Follows

Author: Talullah (talullahred@gmail.com)
Author's website: www.secretstigma.net

Pairing: Erestor/Môrlach (OMC); Glorfindel/Erestor
Summary: Erestor has trouble accepting love.
Rating: NC-17

Feedback: I would love to learn your opinion on this.
Archive: Library of Moria, AFF, Of Elves and Men, Melethryn. 
Others are welcomed, but please tell me where it is.
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. They're JRR Tolkien 
heirs' and God knows who else. No disrespect intended. 
“Sweetness Follows” is the title of an REM song. 
Warnings: Despite the title this piece is a bit dark. At a certain 
point emotional abuse is described.

Author’s Notes: Once again I’ve made the Elves a bit gossipy 
and homosexuality tolerated with a frown. This is entirely AU, 
of course. The Winter Solstice tradition mentioned is my 
invention. Both Glorfindel and Erestor are relatively young at 
the beginning of this fic, i.e., slightly less than 180 years old.

This whole fic sprung around the scene where Glorfindel misses 
his father, hence the title. At a certain moment Tori Amos’ 
“Honey” was at the back of my mind, exuding Glorfindel and 
Môrlach/Erestor was inspired by “Caught a lite sneeze” in a 
very dark day. The last sex scene is a small homage to “Tiny 
dancer”, by B. Taupin. Citations credited in the end.

Big thanks to Patricia for providing the plot line to place Erestor 
in Gondolin, for the Elvish names and for enlightenment on 
some other aspects. Writing the repercussions of her plot line 
into the Erestor I had was fascinating and terribly hard. Thanks 
hon. :-)

If I dared to write again and on such a pairing was in good part 
due to Mirasaui’s support and patience while I explored jumbled 
thoughts on writing and creativity and doubted if I should go on. 
This fic is for her.

And at last but certainly not least, thank you Eni, sweet, 
generous Eni, critic Eni. Your betaing contributed to make this 
fic so much better and forced me to reflect on many details that 
had slipped from my fingers unnoticed. *hugs Eni*. Any 
remaining mistakes are solely mine.

~~~~~~

Part 1
~~~~~~
Gondolin, 124 First Age

Glorfindel had been away for two weeks, training in the hills 
with the younger members of his House, when a boy brought 
him a sealed parchment. The boy had come in full gallop and 
was covered in dust. He dared not look in Glorfindel’s eyes, and 
was quickly dismissed. He almost ran to tend to his exhausted 
horse.

The message was very succinct: Saelrusc, his father’s oldest 
councillor and friend, begged him to return immediately, 
offering no explanation. This was most unusual and Glorfindel’s 
first thoughts were for his father. He ran to the improvised 
paddock and mounted his horse. He would be able to reach 
Gondolin before the last sunlight died in the skies if he left 
immediately.

He left with few words to his companions. Surely the city was 
safe, otherwise the boy would have told him something or the 
letter would ask for all of them to come, so this had to be about 
his father. He refused to allow his mind to form clear images or 
words, but his heart was heavy.

The road seemed endless, but he finally arrived at the doors of 
his House. They were open and many people were crossing 
them, both ways. As he proceeded into the hall, he saw Saelrusc 
at the base of the main stairs, talking to a servant. Glorfindel ran 
to him. Saelrusc hugged him so tightly it hurt and said, “Pen-
neth, it is good that you came today.”

As he parted from the embrace, Glorfindel noticed Saelrusc’s 
eyes were swollen and red. “What is happening, Saelrusc?”

“Pen-neth, I have something to tell you.” In all the years 
Glorfindel had known Saelrusc, he had never seen him avoid a 
direct answer.

“It is my father, is it not? What happened to him? Is he hurt?” 
As the questions jumped from Glorfindel’s lips, Saelrusc’s 
expression grew dimmer.

“Pen-neth, you know your father has missed your mother very 
much.”

“Where is he? Don’t tell me it has started! He is not leaving us 
for Mandos!”

“He has been leaving us for many years now, you know that.” 
Saelrusc suddenly looked old, defeated. “Pen-neth, he has joined 
your mother.”

“NO!” Glorfindel pushed Saelrusc back and ran up the stairs 
into his father’s rooms. The servants looked startled as he rushed 
in and stepped aside swiftly. His father lay in the bed. All 
curtains were shut and the only light came from two small 
candles on the bedside tables. His father looked pale, almost 
translucent. Someone shut the door silently, leaving him alone 
with his father’s body.

He fell on his knees at the side of the bed. This was not his 
father; it was a stranger he had never met. Where was that kind 
smile, so sad in the last years, but always present? Those hands 
were so still; his father’s hands were never still. They were 
always building, teaching, comforting, loving. And that dull 
hair; when had his father’s hair become so dull? Why had he not 
noticed? He could see now grey strands at his temple, mingling 
with the black.

Glorfindel wanted to touch that grotesque caricature laying on 
the bed but repulsion stopped him. He could not bring himself to 
believe that was his father and so he fled the room.

Later, Saelrusc found him in the far end of the gardens, leaning 
on a tree. It was late in the night and Glorfindel had not dined. 
Saelrusc still saw the little elfling clinging to his robes in a 
distant, happier place, begging for one more tickling session. 
Glorfindel was the son of his dearest friend and Saelrusc could 
not help but to think of him as his own.

“Pen-neth, come inside. Please.” Saelrusc petted Glorfindel’s 
hair slowly. 

After a long pause Glorfindel asked, “Is it true, Sael?”

Saelrusc knelt slowly next to Glorfindel and held him. “Aye,” 
was his only answer. Glorfindel leaned on his shoulder and 
sighed. He felt hollow; his mind exhausted from racing through 
so many conflicting thoughts, his heart numb, his blood cold.

His father was dead? An inconceivable thought. How could that 
be? But he knew how: his father had been holding on to life, a 
mere shadow of himself for his son’s and his House’s sake. 
From the very day his mother had passed away, his father had 
started wilting before their eyes. 

Now that he had lost another, Glorfindel felt nothing; not even 
guilt for his coldness.

Saelrusc broke the silence. “This place reminds me of your old 
home. Do you remember how your father used to spend hours in 
the garden playing with you under the sun?” He knew he was 
being cruel, but it was necessary. Glorfindel needed to cry, to 
scream, to suffer. Shutting the pain out would not do him any 
good. 

His blow had been effective. Glorfindel tried to answer but no 
words left his mouth. As pain and acceptance finally ripped 
through him, he clasped Saelrusc’s clothes and cried. He sobbed 
like a child as the full understanding of his loss hit him. Faellaer 
had been more than a caring father and the head of his House; he 
had been Glorfindel’s closest friend, the most constant presence 
in his life; his beacon.

~~~~~~

On the next day, the leaders of the other houses and many other 
friends came to salute him and extend their condolences. He 
knew most of them fairly well, for they had met on several 
occasions, formal and informal. Some were his friends. Others 
were close to his father and he could see the undisguised grief in 
their faces. He felt lonelier than ever. They all seemed strange to 
him. Strangers. Or was he the stranger?

At night, the poignant feeling of loss hit him again as he entered 
his father’s rooms, now empty, looking for a familiar presence. 
He sat at his mother’s dresser and opened the top drawer. Her 
brush was still there. He could see his father repeating the same 
gestures every night for the last decade. Drawing the brush near 
to his face, inhaling the scent long gone, caressing the few 
strands of blonde hair left there. Traces of an interrupted life. 
Now they were together. Maybe it was better this way, but their 
absence was a spear driven into his side.

~~~~~~

A week later Glorfindel wandered through the halls, musing. 
Since the funerary rites, he had not returned to his usual 
responsibilities and had not moved to assume his father’s. He 
was moving through life as if in a waking dream, but had the 
vague notion he was being spared in his grief. 

He decided it was time to dive into the main course of life. 
Glorfindel knew what lay ahead of him – it was his duty to lead 
his father’s House, the House of the Golden Flower. He was to 
be a military leader and a caretaker for those who had trusted 
Faellaer. Glorfindel had every intention of making his father 
proud and his House prosper.

The following day, there would be the customary weekly 
meeting, in which the details of the running of the House were 
settled and sometimes larger decisions were taken. Glorfindel 
intended to be there and to take his rightful place. He had a hard 
time reconciling sleep, but the next morning he was ready and 
sharp. His father had prepared him throughout his life to be a 
leader, but he intended to approach this meeting humbly. He 
realized many of the older councillors, who still called him pen-
neth, could be offended by an energetic stance; and in any event, 
he did not feel especially vigorous or forceful. 

As the meeting went on, the insidious suspicion that his 
councillors were doing their best to drive decisions away from 
his hands started to form. Glorfindel did not pay it much 
attention, though. Many of these persons had known him as a 
child and certainly were trying to shelter and aid him in this 
difficult time. 

During the following week he felt a little superfluous, but he 
attributed it to this concerted effort designed to spare him. In the 
next meeting the same attitude prevailed. Glorfindel tried to 
make a few suggestions, always considering his relative youth 
and inexperience when voicing them, but they were all kindly 
but firmly rebuked, leaving him little choice but to approve 
others’ suggestions.

As this pattern went on, Glorfindel felt more and more detached 
from his House. He was being denied the responsibilities that 
were rightfully his and had no idea of how to recover them. He 
quickly reassumed his previous military duties. No one would 
deny him those, but he started spending more time away. It was 
humiliating to feel he was in the way in his own House. He had 
survived Alqualondë, though, being too young, he had not 
fought, and the Helcaraxë, but was not thought competent 
enough to pronounce himself on the smallest matters.

He had found something to distract him; though it was not 
always easy to pass unnoticed because of his golden hair, he 
walked everyday through the market and had started to blend in 
well. In the midst of all that agitation and colour he felt alive, 
but still apart, isolated.

It was in one of these walks that he first saw Erestor. He stood 
out from the crowd like a fire in the darkness. Glorfindel could 
see that nobody else noticed that remarkable elf, and it amazed 
him, until he realized why: he was as detached from his 
surroundings as himself. An air of abandonment about him 
made him almost invisible to others, but not to Glorfindel, who 
felt equally invisible.

Glorfindel watched the mysterious elf for a while, as he 
progressed through the market. He knew many people in 
Gondolin; most of them, in fact. This elf could not be new in the 
city, but Glorfindel was sure that he had never seen him.

They would meet, he decided. He made a discreet inquiry with 
one of the vendors and came to learn that the elf was a member 
of the House of the Fountain, of Ecthelion’s staff. Apparently, 
this elf took a stroll in the market in the early morning every 
day, but rarely bought anything. When he did, normally it was 
writing material. He always wore dark clothes and spoke to very 
few people.

Glorfindel had maintained a friendly, close relationship with 
Ecthelion until his father’s death. Ecthelion was the youngest of 
the house leaders; they shared many interests and frequently met 
to spar or ride.

A courtesy visit had been due for sometime, so the next morning 
Glorfindel went to Ecthelion’s House. This was not very 
common; their meetings were normally informal and outdoors. 

Echtelion received him in his office, a large room with broad 
windows and bookshelves up to the ceiling. Glorfindel had 
never been there and let his eyes wander. The room seemed to 
be a cross between a library and a communal office.

Ecthelion stepped from behind his desk and came to him, 
enfolding him in a tight hug.

“How are you, meldir?” His tone showed concern and affection. 
Ecthelion had lost his parents long ago and sympathised deeply 
with his friend. 

“I am as you see me. And you, meldir? Working hard, I see…”

“Well, yes. I am sorry for receiving you here, but I am waiting 
for some last papers to sign. As soon as they arrive we will go 
into the gardens for a stroll and a good talk.”

As Ecthelion spoke, two elves entered the room. One of them 
was the elf from the market. They nodded politely towards 
Glorfindel and presented the papers to Ecthelion before leaving 
silently.

Glorfindel stood idly, waiting for Ecthelion to finish his work. 
He could not help but notice the differences between himself 
and his friend. Ecthelion was a House leader, not a mere 
seneschal or a prow figure. His staff depended on him; they 
came to him for decision and counsel. His large desk was filled 
with papers in that kind of disorganized order his father had 
always had, not empty as his own.

When Ecthelion finished, he led Glorfindel into the gardens. 
After a few moments of mindless chat, Glorfindel could not help 
being blunt. “Who was the younger elf in your study just now?”

“Oh, how rude of me. I should have introduced you. His name is 
Erestor. He is one of my best councillors.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “Really? He looked young, not 
much older than me. Of course it is always hard to tell with our 
people, but…”

“No, you are right. He is, I believe, only slightly older than you, 
but I do trust his judgement. He is very devoted to his work and 
has deep political intuition. And why are you curious about him, 
may I ask?”

“Oh, I just had the feeling I had never seen him before.” 
Glorfindel hated the small lie, but somehow it was awkward 
telling his friend the real reason for his visit. 

Ecthelion smirked. “There is good reason for your oblivion. 
Erestor has a remarkable ability to make himself forgotten. Very 
useful at times, I should say. Also, he lives as a recluse. Come, 
let us go inside. I want you to meet him.”

As they walked back, Glorfindel once more wondered why this 
sudden curiosity about this Erestor had arisen.

Ecthelion lead him back to the same room. Erestor was there, 
working alone. Ecthelion promptly introduced him to 
Glorfindel. Erestor greeted him formally and prepared to leave, 
but Ecthelion asked him to stay longer.

“Erestor is a pearl; I cannot imagine what it would be like 
running this House without him,” Ecthelion complimented in a 
light tone. “However he is quite shy and does not have many 
friends. Or maybe that is his tongue’s doing.” Ecthelion smiled 
and it was clear he teased, but Glorfindel noticed an obvious 
frown forming on Erestor’s face. Ecthelion noticed it too. “I did 
not mean it that way, Erestor. You know how much I appreciate 
you, and if your tongue is feared it is because it is always 
truthful. Come, sit by me. Glorfindel is a dear friend and I want 
you both to become friends also”.

Glorfindel was surprised. For Ecthelion to praise him so highly 
twice, Erestor must truly be an important member of his House. 
Ecthelion never spoke unless it was from his heart. On the other 
hand, Erestor was intriguing; during the rest of the time of 
Glorfindel’s visit he never uttered a word, but never seemed 
distracted. What hid beneath all that reserve?

Ecthelion had guests for lunch and invited Glorfindel to join 
them, but he declined. It was still hard to bear the company of a 
large crowd and Ecthelion was probably conducting some 
negotiations. The presence of the head of another House, even a 
useless one such as himself, would not be comfortable for host 
or guests.

As he was leaving, Ecthelion called him to one side. “I know 
you are going through a hard time.” Glorfindel nodded. “Erestor 
is grieving too, a grief of another kind. Surely you have noticed 
he is very sombre.”

“Yes, yet he intrigues me and you do praise him so. May I 
enquire as to the reason for this sadness?” Glorfindel knew he 
had just breached one of the first rules of politeness and cringed 
inwardly, but there, the question was out. 

Ecthelion smiled at his frown and put a hand on his shoulder. “I 
thought I had seen some interest there. He does need friends. He 
is very hurt, but it is not my place to tell you why.”

“I am sorry, Ecthelion, I did not mean to put you in such a 
delicate position. I do not know what came over me.” Glorfindel 
offered his apologies sincerely, but was still curious.

“Think nothing of it, meldir.” Ecthelion’s smile was frank as 
always. Glorfindel started to remember why they had been so 
close before his life went dark.

A simple “Thank you,” was enough for both of them.

~~~~~~~

A few days later, Glorfindel met Erestor in the market. Once 
more, the advisor greeted him formally and was preparing to 
leave when Glorfindel invited him for dinner at his House. 
Erestor looked astonished. “Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. Your 
invitation is very kind but you need not concern yourself with 
me, despite Lord Ecthelion’s words.”

“I did not invite you out of pity or out of some sense of 
obligation. Any friend of Ecthelion’s is mine too, especially one 
he thinks of so highly.” Glorfindel paused and studied Erestor’s 
reaction. 

Erestor was left with little choice. “Very well. I thank you, and 
accept.”

~~~~~~~

Glorfindel felt slightly anxious about the idea of dining with 
Erestor. He was the first person he had invited to his House in 
non-official circumstances after his father’s death and he was 
not sure what the reactions would be. Besides, Erestor was so 
quiet. It could have been a very awkward evening, but Erestor 
surprised him. He was perfectly amiable all evening and 
engaged in a long conversation with Saelrusc and other elder 
members of his House, mainly on political issues and House 
management. Erestor listened more than he spoke and asked 
many questions, some of which Glorfindel suspected he already 
knew the answers. He could have said Erestor was the perfect 
guest. Actually, Glorfindel was the silent one. It was hard not to 
observe, as Erestor gained the elders’ consideration so elegantly, 
whilst revealing so little of himself. 

Later, when Glorfindel accompanied Erestor to the hall, he 
could not help but comment upon it. “I thought you never 
spoke,” he tried to joke.

“Any other behaviour would have been an insult to you and to 
your House. Besides, it can be a pleasure talking with the older 
and wiser. I bid you good night.” And he left with that laconic 
remark, leaving Glorfindel to wonder about his sudden change 
of tone.

~~~~~~~

Their meetings, formal and informal became more frequent. 
Gradually Erestor came to trust Glorfindel and appreciate his 
presence. Glorfindel was one who could stand his silences 
comfortably. They were very different in their interests, but not 
in their principles, and that became the foundation for a strong 
friendship.

They often went riding in the late afternoon. Many times they 
stopped and sat on the grass talking about books, politics, art 
and daily little nothings. Sometimes Erestor slept while 
Glorfindel drew. He was an excellent landscapist but, to his 
regret, not very good at portraits. He longed to be able to capture 
his friend’s expression in his sleep. Erestor then looked 
peaceful, almost happy, free of the usual gloom. “What could 
have made Erestor this sad?” he mused. Erestor had become an 
excellent friend and he could see perfectly why he held 
Ecthelion’s admiration and esteem. 

Nevertheless, Erestor was very hard to understand. Most of their 
mutual friends and acquaintances thought he was 
straightforward; a stern being with a dry, perhaps quirky sense 
of humour, rarely shown. 

Glorfindel saw much more in Erestor, and what he saw made 
him want to know more. He noticed his friend had a sharp 
tongue – everybody noticed that, but not that he used it 
sparingly. But he also noticed that Erestor never laughed at 
something cruel, and that he never humiliated others through 
laughter. It reminded him of his father’s words, “Nothing shows 
a man's character more than what he laughs at.” 

As they became closer, his bafflement increased. Erestor had a 
side to him that most people disregarded easily, though it was 
the best part of him. He was kind and spent many hours aiding 
others, never expecting to be thanked, and he rarely was indeed. 
It almost seemed he took pride in his invisibility.

Occasionally he wondered how Erestor might feel about being 
judged so quickly and never reappraised. Hurt, trapped, perhaps, 
and always alone. Yet it seemed to be a voluntary condition and 
Erestor did not seem to mind it most of the time. He never once 
tried to justify himself or indulge in self-pity. Whenever one of 
those supposedly judicious remarks came, he shrugged. 
Occasionally, when the person had no real right to complain, he 
uttered one cold, “Have I ever wronged you?” and left it at that.

Glorfindel came to resent those comments; he was hurt by the 
way Erestor’s motives and actions were misread. Erestor’s 
laconic style and his isolation were the fruit of shyness and a 
certain sadness, never hauteur. Could that be so hard to see? He 
wanted to offer his solidarity, but most times his friend pushed 
him away. Once or twice he did confess he was hurt, though 
through cryptic humorous remarks. That was his way.

~~~~~~~

As they grew closer, Erestor dared to probe Glorfindel as to the 
reasons for his obvious detachment from his House and his 
responsibilities, apart from the military. He was not sure on how 
to approach such a difficult subject without seeming reproachful 
or presuming too much intimacy, but he worried about 
Glorfindel. It was obvious that he was not pleased with the state 
of matters.

One day, while Glorfindel sketched, Erestor finally came around 
to it. “Glorfindel, I was wondering about the functioning of your 
House. You must have an exceptional system of organisation.”

“What do you mean?” The tension in Glorfindel’s voice was 
obvious and Erestor vacillated, but then decided that he should 
finish what he had started.

“Well, you do have much more free time than Ecthelion, for 
instance.”

Glorfindel stopped sketching abruptly and dropped his work. He 
rose from the dry grass and started pacing back and forth.

“Meldir, something troubles you.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Glorfindel was of a sunny nature and Erestor 
knew how difficult it was to enrage him. He could not tell if the 
harsh tone was meant for him or for whatever it was that kept 
him from fulfilling his duties.

After a few minutes, Glorfindel slumped down and sighed, 
bowing his head. “I… this is very difficult for me. Humiliating.” 
He sighed again. 

Erestor squeezed his shoulder. “Never mind me. You do not 
have to tell me anything.”

“No, I need to talk to someone.” Glorfindel was the living image 
of misery. Erestor rubbed his back and waited.

Finally Glorfindel blurted, “Well, it bothers me that I am not 
doing my job, as you have so delicately pointed out. I am their 
leader in name only. I am treated as an impertinent child in 
council and I have little authority in most matters. This is not 
what my father would have wanted for his son. If he can watch 
Vairë’s tapestries, he must surely be disappointed. But I do not 
know how to reclaim my responsibilities without offending the 
ones who strove so hard to spare me in my darkest hour.”

Erestor felt sorry for his friend, but he could offer him no easy 
way out. He smiled kindly and patted Glorfindel’s knee “You 
must go slowly, meldir.” 

~~~~~~~

Some time later, Glorfindel was talking with Saelrusc after 
dinner. He was trying to follow Erestor’s advice and let his old 
friend know that he had grown up and was healing and that it 
was time to take on his responsibilities. As he mentioned 
Ecthelion as an example, Saelrusc said, “I noticed you have 
become quite close to his councillor, Erestor.”

“Yes, you could say so, though Erestor does not reveal much of 
himself.” Glorfindel’s curiosity was piqued. “Do you know 
him? I mean, besides that dinner.”

“Yes, I do. As you know, I spent some time in Fëanor’s court as 
an emissary and my wife has some relatives there, so I had heard 
of Erestor and briefly met him before he came here.”

“Oh, is that so?” Saelrusc could be quite the talkative type if 
properly encouraged and Glorfindel burned to learn more about 
his friend and his mysterious past. 

“Yes, yes. He was a very gifted youngster at Fëanor’s court, 
though already a bit isolated. I hold him in high regard, despite 
his personal choices.”

“Personal choices? What do you mean?”

“Well, he lived for sometime with Môrlach, the son of my 
wife’s cousin.”

“What do you mean? Why should he live with this Môrlach, or 
why should it be strange? Were they not kin?”

Saelrusc looked embarrassed. “Well, their relationship was of a 
special nature.”

Glorfindel looked quizzical.

“Well, umm, er… they shared a bed…”

Glorfindel’s silence encouraged Saelrusc’s taste for detail and 
thus he came to learn some of the circumstances of this affair 
and its ending with Môrlach’s death. The reports were 
conflicting and most of the information came from Môrlach’s 
accounts, for Erestor had remained silent on these matters, 
keeping his dignity. 

“So, you mean he is bonded; he is bonded by marriage to this 
Môrlach?” Glorfindel concluded.

“I do not know if the same laws apply. I know a few such lovers 
and they do behave as if married, but the Valar gave us no clear 
ruling of such unions. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason, mere curiosity. After all, he is a friend and a 
troubled one.”

“You’ve been asking an awful lot of questions about this nér, if I 
might say so.”

“Well, you have answered an awful lot of them and with great 
knowledge, apparently.” Glorfindel’s tone was polite, as if to 
smooth the harsh content of his answer, but no mistake was 
made in its interpretation. He immediately regretted aiming such 
a disrespectful comment at such a venerable, dear old friend.

Saelrusc nodded silently and moved to leave, but Glorfindel 
stopped him. “I apologise. I do not know what came over me. 
Please forgive me, Sael. Erestor is a dear friend.” 

Glorfindel looked contrite and Saelrusc smiled indulgently. 
“Pen-neth, you are too impulsive.”

~~~~~~~

Glorfindel had never questioned deeply the nature of his interest 
in Erestor. It seemed fairly obvious to him. Erestor was an 
interesting person, a brilliant advisor; someone misunderstood 
by many and kind, in a very understated way. He was a good 
friend and a very close one, one of the few who did not treat him 
as a child.

Now, in light of this new information, he mused on this hidden 
world in which two males shared love, the same carnal love that 
was supposed to belong only to married couples. He had known 
all along that such people existed, and among the nissi too, but 
they were so discreet they barely drew attention to themselves.

Glorfindel knew, of course, how the physical union of two 
males could take place. He had never given it any thought, but 
now he tried to imagine how it had been for Erestor. Was he 
taken or did he take? Did he like it? He must have. Somehow, 
when Glorfindel tried to envisage Erestor with someone, his 
own body and face appeared instead. He found himself aroused 
and ashamed by these thoughts, for they were a betrayal of sorts 
to their friendship and if Erestor was bonded, it was a 
condemnable act to lust after him so. And besides, he was, at 
least in name, the head of one of the twelve Houses of Gondolin. 
He had the duty of procreate, had he not? And why would he 
desire a nér and a friend?

Still, Saelrusc’s words echoed in his mind; if Erestor had been 
joined in body to another, who could say, really, what his status 
was? Even if he was truly married, if such a word applied, there 
was still some hope. Had not Finwë, his grandfather, been 
released from his bond to Miriel and taken Indis as his wife? But 
that had been so that Finwë could have more children, and the 
consequences had been tragic.

“Why am I thinking of that?” he questioned himself. Erestor 
probably was sad because his lover had died. He would not want 
another to replace him even if he could. But then, why all that 
distancing from everyone else? No, Glorfindel reminded 
Ecthelion’s words, Erestor had been hurt and not by death, but 
by another kind of loss. Besides, though Saelrusc knew little, his 
words left him with an unpleasant impression of this Môrlach.

He could not ask Erestor any of this directly. It would hurt his 
feelings and he would certainly withdraw the trust he had placed 
in Glorfindel. The last thing Glorfindel wished for was to lose 
Erestor’s friendship.

Glorfindel felt strange in Erestor’s presence. Distracting 
thoughts crossed his mind constantly. He made an effort to 
behave normally, but ended up being taciturn. Luckily Erestor 
appreciated silence.

His sexual fantasies concerning his friend had become pervasive 
in his life. He had to concentrate hard to avoid being aroused 
during his normal activities and reserve these thoughts for the 
late night and the privacy of his rooms. 

Glorfindel started exploring his body during these fantasies. 
Most of the times he pictured himself taking Erestor, moving 
deep inside him. Was it similar to the warmth of his hand? 
Would he see pleasure in Erestor’s eyes? He wanted to kiss him 
so badly it hurt. Where had this desire come from?

Sometimes he tried to imagine being taken. His exploring then 
became obscene to himself, but decency did not stop him. He 
wanted to understand what it was like, how pleasure could be 
given and accepted in that way. If at first it felt repulsive, it 
quickly became fascinating.

It was not as uncomfortable as he had expected, but it felt odd. It 
was pleasurable but not as much as some of his other activities; 
it was more the thrill of doing something so unorthodox. He 
realized his fingers were far slimmer than an average erection. 
“How could pain and discomfort be avoided then?” he 
wondered.

Strangely, when he was with Erestor his thoughts were far less 
explicit, and he was thankful for that. At those times, he wished 
for nothing more than to be able to hold Erestor and kiss him. 
To lay at his side in the grass, but closer. Hear him breathing, 
feel his heart beating. To somehow erase that sadness with his 
lips, tenderly, chastely.

Glorfindel was discovering a part of him he ignored, a darker 
side perhaps. He no longer felt like a boy and wanted to lift the 
veil that covered the world before his eyes. He wanted to do it 
with his dearest friend, no matter the price. He was in love.


Part 2
~~~~~~~

Erestor found this friendship with Glorfindel a blessing in 
disguise. When they had first met at Ecthelion’s House, 
Glorfindel had paid him too much attention for his comfort. The 
first thought to cross his mind at that when Glorfindel had first 
invited him to dine had been that he was interested in him as 
Môrlach had been. A repulsive thought. He wanted nothing but 
distance, but Glorfindel had an innocent air about him that was 
touching.

Erestor decided to give Glorfindel a chance. In Gondolin, he 
was slowly returning to himself; he had made a few friends and 
did not feel as isolated as before. It was not easy, but he was 
doing his best to trust others again. 

As they became closer, Erestor came to crave Glorfindel´s 
presence. All the polluted thoughts abandoned him and only the 
familiar comfort of a solid friendship remained.

Until that day. They had been riding in the surrounding hills, as 
it had become their habit, and were returning home with the sun 
setting on their backs. Glorfindel turned to him and said, “Your 
hair looks beautiful in this light.”

This simple remark was enough to stifle him. They rode all the 
way back in silence. Glorfindel looked at him intermittently, but 
his only words came only as they parted. “Good night, meldir. I 
will see you tomorrow.”

Erestor nodded and left. He walked the rest of the way 
wondering if he had been wrong about Glorfindel, now or 
before. The comment could be devoid of malice; his hair had 
been complimented before, and though he hated compliments of 
any kind, by anyone, and especially about his body, he had to 
admit that his hair was nice. On the other hand, Glorfindel could 
have been preparing his terrain until now. Erestor quickly 
dismissed that hypothesis. Glorfindel was incapable of skewed 
thinking, not to say acting. It probably had been only an 
innocuous comment. He would not think about it anymore.

The next day, they went out riding as usual and there was 
another incident. This time Glorfindel touched him. He was 
complaining about how late the suppliers were again and 
Glorfindel patted his shoulder. This was nothing new between 
them. Erestor disliked physical intimacy with most everyone - 
excepting a few close friends. This time however, it seemed to 
him that the hand stayed on his shoulder longer than necessary. 
He could not tell if it really had been so or if he was 
overreacting because of the previous day. Soon, his doubts were 
to be discarded. Day after day after day, Glorfindel pursued him, 
each time more overtly. 

Erestor had mixed feelings. He liked Glorfindel. More than that, 
this friendship was the warmest part of his life. He did not want 
to lose a friend, but he did not want to take a lover; he could not 
let this go on and pretend nothing was occurring. Still, that was 
precisely what he did. Each day, his certainty about the nature of 
Glorfindel´s attentions grew, but he kept postponing the decision 
of letting him down.

As this silent courtship went on, something began to change 
inside Erestor. Unexpectedly, he started feeling a clenching in 
his chest, almost like anguish, whenever Glorfindel said a soft 
word or touched his body. This could not be happening; it was 
certainly nothing like what he remembered as being in love, but 
it was feeling something and that was dangerous.

Erestor found himself trying to imagine what it would be like 
with Glorfindel. Was it possible for him to love again, or to be 
loved? He wanted so much to believe this was true, but it 
seemed more logical to think that Glorfindel was toying with 
him. Why would he not? What was there to gain in loving 
someone as tainted and unworthy as he was? He may have 
carefully hidden the details, but Erestor felt his past had left 
such a dark smear in his soul that it should be obvious to 
everyone else what he was. And, most of all, why this sudden 
interest? Had Glorfindel come to know something about his 
past?

If Glorfindel loved him sincerely, that would only make matters 
worse, for Erestor did not return these feelings. He could never. 
These thoughts crossing his mind were merely the result of 
loneliness, or maybe the hope to prove to himself that he was 
not as unworthy of love or desire as Môrlach as repeatedly told 
and shown him.

Môrlach. All this confusion had awoken the memories he had 
striven so hard to bury. Images of his wretched past haunted 
him. Every moment of his days was filled with thoughts of 
“could have, should have”. 

Erestor felt repulsion for himself and for his dealings with 
Môrlach. When images of their encounters crossed his mind, 
unwanted, he felt disgusted, used, stupid. How could he have let 
himself be played like that and enjoyed it? Were there no limits 
to naïveté? How could he have not seen what was happening? 
He asked himself these questions repeatedly, but the answer was 
always the same: he had chosen to close his eyes.

Erestor had been an easy prey for Môrlach, being a shy young 
thing, away from his family, with low self-esteem, hiding 
behind his work in Fëanor’s court. A few compliments, a bit of 
attention, and he had given himself completely to Môrlach, only 
to be spurned. He had become nothing more than an old pair of 
shoes, discarded and forgotten as the leather wore thin. He 
cringed as he remembered, but could not drive these thoughts 
away anymore.

Erestor always felt a deep desire for everyone suddenly to 
become totally oblivious to him. He was tired of being the 
prodigy child, of having all those expectations of brilliancy 
hanging over him. Tired and lonely.

They commented on his looks too. Every compliment he had 
ever received on his body seemed false. Môrlach has slithered 
through his reserve and isolation. He asked for help in trivial 
matters and always seemed so grateful and happy to be near 
him. Môrlach made him feel like a real person for once, not 
some illustration. It felt good. From there to taking Erestor as a 
lover it had been a small step.

It had been bliss. Still, Erestor worried frequently about his 
family. Surely they would not be very happy to hear about a less 
conventional union but somehow, in Môrlach’s arms, that all 
faded away. He finally felt like he belonged.

And then things started to turn sour. At first it was little 
nothings: Môrlach arriving home late, forgetting to warn him; 
ignoring him all day long, but then charmingly apologising at 
night; ordering him to do things as if he was his servant, but 
then rewarding him with a searing kiss.

These negligent acts were followed by tender caresses, honeyed 
words. Somewhere deep inside, Erestor knew that Môrlach’s 
slips and subsequent excuses were starting to occur too often, 
but he hushed these thoughts.

Then Môrlach started humiliating him in public. His words to 
whomever listened echoed in Erestor’s ears. At first almost 
innocuous: “We are a bit clumsy today, are we not?” in front of 
everybody in the sparring room; or “Look what the cat dragged 
in”, when he had crossed the entire camp under pouring rain to 
bring Môrlach the maps he had forgotten. Little things said in a 
jocose tone, but cutting deeply.

Erestor did not know how to address these apparently innocent 
remarks without sounding foolish, so he did nothing. Môrlach 
gave him no quarter. Now he voiced harder comments to others, 
only loud enough to make sure Erestor heard them. “Some may 
call him brilliant and beautiful but that is merely an image he 
projects”; “No, really, he is not that good. Believe me”.

Erestor felt them deeply and it took much more effort now on 
Môrlach’s part to soothe him, but he was a master in these 
games and Erestor succumbed repeatedly, though he understood 
this game. Slowly, and against his hopes, he realized that the 
charming elf who had swept him off his feet was a manipulative 
person, always seeking personal advantage. He had no character 
or principles. Erestor had developed the bitter suspicion that 
Môrlach’s interest in him was mainly due to his skills and his 
proximity to Maedhros.

Erestor could see Môrlach was mining his frail self-confidence 
and then rebuilding it to make him dependant. He knew he was 
being manipulated, but not how to set himself free. Near the 
end, Môrlach’s comments reached their lowest, most 
humiliating and hurting levels. Those words, proffered in bed… 
“I don’t know why I waste my time on you”; “Why, you are not 
an innocent virgin anymore. Why can you not learn how to 
please me?” left undeletable scars. 

After that, Erestor refused to maintain any intimate contacts, and 
was searching furiously for any way out, but Môrlach still had a 
hold on him. There were veiled threats, that constant sneering, 
the turning of their friends against him and even performing 
small acts of sabotage to what Erestor held most sacred: his 
work. Erestor stayed away from him for as long as he could. He 
had started sleeping in the tent where he worked during the day 
and avoided meals. Môrlach was right; if he was as brilliant as 
everyone thought him to be, why could he not find a way out? 
He did not know how to use Môrlach’s methods, nor did he 
want to descend so low as to learn them.

Erestor hated being weak. None of this mud was Môrlach’s 
responsibility, he reasoned with himself. No, in fairness, he had 
more to blame himself for than any other person. He had been 
used because he had allowed it to happen. He realized these 
thoughts were too the result of Môrlach’s game, but his heart 
spoke louder and Erestor had come to despise himself almost as 
much as Môrlach had wanted him to.

And then there were the other things. Oh, he had so much to 
repent for. Of all the things he regretted not having done, 
leaving Môrlach was the least.

He regretted bitterly that the Valar had not given him the 
strength and the will to be a kinslayer. He would have slain all 
he could. No, not Teleri. He would have taken down Fëanor. 
Living in his court, he certainly had the chance to do so. Arda 
would have been rid of one demented, egotistical bastard, had he 
had what it took. But then, Fëanor did not seem so bad. He 
seemed to be the best of them, in fact, and Erestor had loved 
him, almost as a father. He was dazzling to the eyes of an 
elfling; a repository of wisdom and lore. Wisdom; Erestor knew 
now nothing was further from the truth. Once more he had been 
fooled.

Of course he realized that killing Fëanor would not have solved 
a thing. There would then have been Maedhros. Then Maglor. 
The list seemed endless; there would always be someone bound 
by an obscene oath or demented by greed. Could he really have 
taken the lives of so many in his hands, had he that power? He 
hated Fëanor, deeply, but the thought of killing one of his sons, 
even now, was a different matter. He respected Maedhros. More 
than that, they could call themselves friends. Maedhros had 
taken a youngster full of promise under his wing and had shown 
him the ways of court, always giving deep, pure friendship. 
Could he have broken that bond for the sake of cleansing Arda? 
Did he, in any case, have the moral legitimacy to do such a 
thing? The answer was always “no”. The warped logic in killing 
did not deceive Erestor, but he could not forgive himself for not 
having been able to, somehow, avoid Alqualondë. 

Despite all evidence, he had chosen to believe right up until the 
start of the battle that it was not going to happen. It was 
unthinkable. When the fighting broke, he stayed behind for as 
long as he could. He still had the faint hope that he would not 
have to participate in that folly, that it would stop quickly once 
everybody came to their senses. 

Then he had found himself cornered and had no choice but to 
raise his sword to protect his life. It had been like a dream, so 
different from the sparring practice where his mind raced ahead 
of his body, trying to deliver the best coup but always 
ineffectively. In battle, he watched himself deliver blow after 
blow with graceful precision. No unnecessary movements, 
merely arms drawing arches, feet dancing, his sword humming. 
Afterwards, he had left it in the battlefield, vowing never to 
touch a sword again.

There was no place in Aman for irresolute killers. Erestor had 
no choice but to sail with the ones he had come to loathe. As 
they crossed the Belegaer in the Swan ships, he noticed Môrlach 
was not among them. He felt relief. In retrospect, he was sure 
the only reason that kept him from Mandos’ doors, feeling as 
defiled as he was by the Teleri blood on his hands, had been the 
intense relief of finally being free from Môrlach.

Erestor had left the lot of them as soon as the opportunity had 
come, finding refuge in Nargothrond. The city was taking shape; 
there was so much to do and a couple of extra hands were 
welcomed. No questions were asked. In work, of any kind, he 
was able temporarily to leave behind all that had maimed his 
soul. He submerged himself in his tasks, carrying them out to 
perfection. Then he was free. Manual work exhausted his body 
and some accounting work at night numbed his spirit. That was 
enough to get through another day and stay away from Mandos 
and Môrlach.

When Finrod asked for volunteers to work at the Havens of 
Belegost and Eglarest, Erestor seized the opportunity eagerly. 
No distance seemed far enough from Fëanor’s host. He wanted 
to forget, yes, but there was more. He had left quietly; he had no 
other choice. Traitors and deserters were not well appreciated 
and if Maedhros was generous enough to turn his eyes, 
Celegorm and Caranthir were not. Erestor knew he was an 
inferior swordsman and his chances were very slim against one 
or both of them, even if he had not proffered that vow. He did 
not fear fighting them for death itself; what he sought to avoid, 
at any cost, was meeting those two or any other from Fëanor’s 
host for they represented the worse part of him, his most 
shameful day.

Erestor’s healing began in Eglarest. There was peace and purity 
in the sea. Every day, after work, he sat by the shore, alone, and 
listened to the roll of the waves and the gulls’ cries. The ever-
present tang of salt in the air penetrated to his soul and helped 
dispersing the foul memories. Building something was elating, 
but this was different from Nargothrond. Each stone he placed 
with his bare hands was set on the past, covering all the filth, 
though a long road still lay ahead of him.

As always, Erestor could not keep away from books for long. 
Soon his dedication and talent drew Círdan’s attention. One late 
night, in the temporary office, Círdan asked him to take care of 
some correspondence he needed sent to Fingolfin. Writing those 
accursed Fëanorian characters left a bitter taste in Erestor’s 
mouth, but he was never one to throw down an opportunity. 
Eglarest had been a haven for him, in more than one way, but he 
still felt restless and lost. He practically implored Círdan to be 
allowed to carry the letter to Hithlum. Some instinct drove him 
to this journey.

Erestor felt ungrateful, but he had an obligation to inform Círdan 
that he was leaving and might not return. Círdan was generous, 
though. He felt that whatever the Havens might have given 
Erestor, he had returned.

Hithlum was less and more than he expected. The city was alive, 
but there was no joy there, in the people. The Teleri he had met 
in Eglarest, despite all that had come to them, were more joyful 
and light. 

Fingolfin welcomed him well and soon forgot his existence, for 
there was no urgent need to reply Círdan’s message. Erestor 
wandered for a few days through the city, lost, absorbing the life 
around him. 

Turgon had come from Vinyamar to visit his father. Rumours of 
him building a secret city spread like fire on dry hay through 
court. Turgon had a lot to learn when it came to walls and their 
ears. To Erestor, it seemed yet another pearl the Valar had 
placed in his way.

If there was ever one to hate the Fëanorians, that would be 
Turgon. The world was gravid with opportunity and this was 
indeed a luscious one. If there was ever a refuge where he could 
become invisible it would be this new city, Gondolin; its name 
rang full of promises of peace, distance and forgetfulness.

Turgon had been a challenge. How could one approach him and 
tell him that his deepest, most secret desire was on the mouths of 
the town? Turgon had been livid, but Erestor used all his 
diplomacy to persuade him.

And thus he had arrived in what was to be Gondolin. They had 
worked so hard to build it. He missed the sea, but there were 
always new tasks to take care of, never a moment of wretched 
quietude. Turgon had assigned him to Ecthelion’s host, which 
would later become the House of the Fountain. Few there 
noticed him, and fewer approached him. He lived for his duty 
and that was enough. Ecthelion trusted him, and slowly his 
position in the House of the Fountain had been elevated, but he 
did not care for rank. His pleasure was to be a part of something 
greater, something he could never defile.

~~~~~~

Erestor hated Glorfindel for bringing up all those memories he 
had striven so hard to bury. Still, Glorfindel was his friend. He 
almost felt sorry for him, for not being able to love him back. 
After a while, Erestor finally came to a decision; he shut 
Glorfindel out completely. Now he only talked to Glorfindel 
when it was strictly necessary and avoided at all costs the 
briefest meeting, even lying in order to do so, which he 
abhorred.

When they did meet, Erestor hated Glorfindel for looking so 
hurt, and for still trying. Why could he not just let go and forget 
him?

Laer passed and then lasbelin. The Winter Solstice came. The 
founders of the city had started a tradition of visiting each House 
in the twelve days preceding solstice. It was a time for joy and 
celebration. It was a time of much work for the staff of the 
Houses. Erestor loved this season – it was hectic, he could 
completely immerse in work and there was still more to do. 

On the day dedicated to the House of the Fountain he usually 
stood in a corner watching as events unfolded, making sure 
nothing was amiss. It was a rare pleasure for him, but this year it 
was spoiled by Glorfindel’s heavy gaze on him. The previous 
year, shortly after their acquaintance, Glorfindel had stayed late 
and they had talked for long. Ecthelion had joined them after the 
other guests had gone. It had been so… homely.

Now this. He hated Glorfindel more and more. He hated feeling 
guilty for not wanting him; he hated feeling insecure about 
Glorfindel’s true intentions; he hated loving him, but surely this 
was not love. No. This strange clenching had to have another 
name, but he did not care to learn it. 

Oh, would Glorfindel never leave tonight? Was it not enough to 
have destroyed that sweet numb feeling only Gondolin had?

Turgon was leaving. Soon all the other Houses would follow his 
example. Erestor watched as the main hall emptied. His 
presence was no longer needed now. He slipped swiftly into the 
library. This was the last place anyone would seek on such a 
day. More likely the cellars, he mused with a bitter twitch on his 
lips.

Erestor sat at the bench by one of the last windows, partially 
hidden by bookshelves, and reclined sighing, eyes closed. Life 
was imperfect, that much he knew.

The door cried out, as always. Valar, he would have to oil it 
himself. And who could it be now? Surely some servant with 
some stupid question. Could he never be alone?

Eyes still closed, he asked as the steps grew near, “What?”

“The question is why, I believe.”

The voice was unmistakable. Erestor decided that he would not 
open his eyes. “Glorfindel, what are you doing here?” 

“I am seeking my old friend.” Erestor had never heard bitterness 
in Glorfindel’s voice. Still, he decided he would not make any 
effort to ease his pains. This was entirely his fault, anyway.

“Will you not say something?” he enquired. 

Erestor remained silent as Glorfindel stepped nearer. “Why are 
you treating me so?” He sat slowly by Erestor’s side. “Have I 
wronged you?”

“Glorfindel why do you not just say what you want?”

“Meldir, we have been good friends for a long time. You know 
how much I like you.”

“So you tell me.”

Glorfindel ignored the coldness in Erestor’s voice and 
continued, “But I also came to appreciate you in another way... 
Is that it? Is that what has driven you from me?” 

“Yes.”

“Why?” Glorfindel sounded hurt, but Erestor was determined 
not to let that clenching in his heart sway his decision. 
Glorfindel tried once more. “I know you’ve been hurt be-”

“You know nothing!” Erestor was now furious and wide awake, 
staring at Glorfindel, sparks jumping from his eyes. So it was 
true; his past had followed him here.

Glorfindel persisted. “I know you had this lover before. I can see 
he was the one responsible for your –”

“Stop!” Erestor interrupted him once more, but Glorfindel felt 
he was breaching those walls and this was no time to respect 
Erestor’s reserve. 

“Did you love him so? He is the reason for your coyness, is he 
not? He is the one who hurt you.” He paused. “Why can you not 
let him go?”

“I do not wish to discuss this with you.” Erestor turned his face 
away as once more the memories submerged him.

“Erestor, you know you can trust me. You know how I feel 
about you.” Glorfindel tentatively placed his hand on Erestor’s 
forearm.

“As you know, I was involved with someone else before,” was 
the cold reply, full of meaning.

“I would defy the Valar for you.”

“Are we not melodramatic?” Erestor tone was hard, almost 
scornful. “What do you really want of me, Glorfindel? Say it 
and spare me the theatrical lines.”

“I want you, you know that. We are friends, yes, but I want 
more.”

Erestor made the decision in that moment. If Glorfindel wanted 
him, he would have him, but on his terms. 

He grasped Glorfindel’s wrist and pulled him closer. Despite 
Glorfindel’s insistent approaches, Erestor still felt insecure 
about his ability to please another after all that had passed.

Glorfindel looked surprised at the sudden change, but did not 
object. He could not believe Erestor had yielded and had 
actually taken the initiative. His heart almost burst with 
happiness. As they undressed, Glorfindel was so eager that he 
almost tore Erestor’s robes off. Erestor pushed him back and 
looked aghast. Glorfindel immediately regretted his hastiness, 
but then Erestor clocked his tongue and said, “My, my, we are 
hasty, are we not? I shall take care of that.” He swiftly took 
Glorfindel’s shirt and held his wrists behind his back, as he 
pushed him to lay down on the bench. Erestor’s clasp was strong 
and the treatment bit rougher than what Glorfindel had expected, 
but it was also terribly exciting.

A fleeting thought, of how wrong it would be to use Glorfindel 
such as he had been used, crossed Erestor’s mind, but was 
quickly dismissed. He was quite sure that Glorfindel would not 
be hurt. “Why would he?” he mused. He did not love him, not 
really; he merely wanted to have a little piece of him as Môrlach 
had; his eagerness undressing him was more than enough proof. 
Glorfindel would have what he wanted, even if the way he had it 
would surprise him. A wicked smile crossed his face as he tilted 
his head to kiss Glorfindel.

Erestor kept him in place and started nibbling his way down 
from Glorfindel’s left ear to the base of his neck. As Glorfindel 
moaned and turned his head to the left, Erestor crushed his lips 
in a brutal kiss.

He proceeded downwards to Glorfindel’s chest, where he 
tortured his nipples mercilessly. Glorfindel had released his 
hands and buried them in Erestor’s hair. The touch brought 
forward a vivid image of Môrlach pushing his head down to his 
loins, taking, as always; never giving. A shudder passed through 
his body and he repelled those hands. “Quiet. Stay still.” His 
voice was low but firm.

Glorfindel gasped but obeyed. Erestor looked at him – a mass of 
golden hair spread on the bench, full lips, eyes shining, chest 
heaving, leggings tight with need – the image of desire. He 
could not bear the sight; he was losing his dearest friend and he 
did not care to see it happening. 

“Turn around,” he said dryly. Glorfindel looked about to protest, 
but once more obeyed, slipping from the edge of the bench to a 
kneeling position on the floor. Erestor slid his hands under 
Glorfindel’s hips and untied the laces of his leggings, while 
pressing his hardness against the other’s buttocks. Glorfindel 
rubbed back and moaned. 

Erestor’s fingers were less than nimble, but he managed to 
unclothe enough of them both. A voice in the back of his mind 
told him he should prepare them both thoroughly, but he 
shrugged to himself and settled for some oil from the lamp on 
the windowsill and his own dew. He probed Glorfindel’s body 
briefly with his fingers; he was relaxed enough and wanting. 
Erestor pushed inside in one swift thrust. Glorfindel shouted an 
incomprehensible word, but then pushed back. 

A bitter, ironic thought crossed Erestor’s mind fleetingly: 
“Good, he is enjoying himself”. He started moving inside his 
former friend working up to a crescendo. He hated Glorfindel 
for letting him do that, for actually enjoying it, almost as much 
as he hated himself for having been once in that place, under 
Môrlach. At one point, a flash of lucidity hit him. This was not 
Glorfindel, but a mere substitute for Môrlach. He was taking 
what had never been given to him. He wanted this to be over 
quickly and so he further increased the pace and the roughness 
of the motions. Glorfindel actually moaned a shuddered “yes”.

When Erestor climaxed, he dropped forward on Glorfindel’s 
back, panting, and for a blissful moment his mind was blank. 
Glorfindel was still stroking himself and panted heavily. As 
Erestor moved to part, he pleaded, “Stay inside me, please.” 
Erestor sighed, covering Glorfindel´s hand with his own, 
increasing the pace so that release would come soon for them 
both. It did not take long for it to happen.

Afterwards, Erestor slipped out of Glorfindel’s body. He pulled 
his leggings up and turned, sitting on the floor, leaning his back 
against the bench. Glorfindel did the same, putting an arm 
around Erestor’s shoulders. Then, much to Erestor’s disgust, he 
whispered in the sweetest voice, “I love you.” Suddenly 
Glorfindel’s fingers caressing his hair and shoulder burned his 
skin and Erestor wished he would leave. He did not want to be 
“loved”; he had had enough of that.

He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible but it sounded 
cold even to his ears. “Glorfindel, I have work in the morning. 
Perhaps you should leave.”

Glorfindel looked surprised, and then disappointed, but kissed 
him one more time and rose. No words were exchanged as he 
dressed and Erestor kept his eyes closed. It was easier this way; 
he wouldn’t have to respond to the other’s glances and feign 
weariness.

Glorfindel brushed his lips on his forehead and left silently. 


Part 3
~~~~~~~

The next morning, Glorfindel felt sore all over when he woke. 
He stayed in bed, stretching, rolling in the sheets, feeling every 
muscle move in sensual ache. “Strange how someone so active 
would be sore like this over a bit of kneeling,” he mused, while 
a grin spread across his face.

Images of last night fluttered in his mind as he pushed the sheet 
down and found his nipples dark with bruises. The sight was so 
erotic, he took himself in hand and closed his eyes, reliving 
every moment in detail. Erestor’s inebriating scent hovered 
around him. He did not want to bathe and remove the last traces 
of his lover and their love making from his skin. His hand 
moved slowly, while the other traced his body, following the 
same path Erestor’s lips had. As his fingers found his lips, he 
nibbled on them, wishing they were Erestor’s lips.

His free hand went down again. He spread his legs and began to 
once more explore the recondite opening to his body. How could 
he have missed that spot inside him? All air had left his lungs 
when Erestor had entered him. He had felt burning and there had 
been a small tear, but then something inside had exploded. 
“What was that?” he mused in awe. 

This position was awkward, almost uncomfortable. He would 
leave this exploring to his lover, later, he thought with a grin. 
His lover. The mere thought of Erestor as his lover made his 
skin burn. Moans left his lips against his will as recurring 
images of lust immersed him. After he came with a hushed 
moan, he lay in bed for a while longer, but finally resigned and 
went to bathe, already dreaming of their next encounter. It 
would be different, he would not be so eager; he would touch 
Erestor’s body slowly, returning all the pleasure he had given 
him; he would tell him he loved him once more.

Later that day, he searched for Erestor. Everywhere he looked, 
his lover had already left or was yet to arrive. This went on for 
several days. Erestor was not present at his House’s day or on 
any of the other Houses’. Disappointment was building up 
inside, and that cold parting assumed new meanings, but 
Glorfindel refused to believe these thoughts could have any truth 
in them. Erestor had to love him. Why else would he have 
shared his body with him?

The season had passed and nothing had changed. Eventually 
Glorfindel felt compelled to confront Erestor, who once more 
proved an elusive prey. Glorfindel finally managed to corner 
him in Ecthelion’s library. He was not pleased of using his 
friend’s House as the arena for his personal strife for the second 
time, but Erestor had left him little choice. 

As soon as he saw him, Erestor moved to leave, claiming he was 
about to retire anyway. Glorfindel realized he would not have 
the chance to employ diplomacy, and his patience was running 
thin. He was tired of feeling rejected, as a friend and as a lover, 
so he plunged in. “Erestor, why are you avoiding me so 
keenly?”

The crisp note in Glorfindel’s voice did not escape Erestor. He 
felt ashamed of his behaviour and could not look his friend in 
the eye. He lowered his gaze and opted for lying. “You are 
mistaken, I do not avoid you. Some of us do have work to do.”

Being cruel to others was a good strategy, as he had learned the 
hard way from Môrlach. For a second, Erestor thought it had 
worked, as Glorfindel stepped back, obviously surprised by the 
blow, but he was not one to give up easily. Glorfindel 
swallowed hard and proceeded, “Erestor, I thought we were at 
least what you would call friends, though I never hid from you 
that I wanted more, and after that night... Is there not even a 
small amount of affection, friendliness between us?”

“No, there is nothing between us; there never was. Now please 
leave.” With these cold words, Erestor walked to stand behind 
the desk, as if to put one more obstacle between them.

Glorfindel turned to leave, but paused before moving for the 
door. He whispered, “I am disappointed,” and then left, not 
looking back.

Erestor stood there, feeling hollow. The bitter words exchanged 
made him feel disgusted with himself. It had gone too far. Now 
he realized how deeply he had come to value Glorfindel. He 
regretted his cowardice, his bitterness and most of all having 
used Glorfindel and then hurting him, resorting to such a low 
blow, betraying his trust. He was no better than Môrlach, and 
certainly not worthy of Glorfindel.

~~~~~~

Glorfindel missed his father sorely. He longed to be able to talk 
to him or not to talk at all, simply walk with him in silence, 
feeling comforted by his presence. His father had always been 
his shelter from the world, his closest friend, his haven.

For a while, the new friendship with Erestor helped him feel this 
loss less severely, but now he was totally alone. He could not 
talk of this to Saelrusc or anyone else, nor did he want to, so he 
engaged in long dialogues with himself, trying to understand. 

Erestor’s thorough rejection baffled him. He felt permanently at 
loss at his contradictory actions. Somewhere deep inside him 
lived the hope that Erestor was merely distrusting him because 
of his former lover. He knew he should give up on the 
councillor, but his heart would not let him.

Glorfindel was doubly hurt. The friendly camaraderie that had 
been there before had totally vanished and it was difficult for 
him to say whether it hurt most to have been rejected in love or 
betrayed by someone he thought of as a friend.

He occasionally glimpsed Erestor and did his best to keep out of 
his way. Any contact with him was excruciating. When it could 
not be avoided at any cost, he tried to behave in the most cold, 
detached way. He had been humiliated enough in private – there 
was no need for public disgrace. 

He felt lost; his life was a complete failure. He could not lead 
his House, he could not keep his friends and he could not even 
please a lover. So he moped around feeling sorry for himself. 

This was not, however, the way he had been brought up to be. 
His father had always taught him to strive against obstacles, not 
to let adversity submerge him, so after a while he made a 
decision. He would start with his House. It was what he owed to 
his father and was his first duty.

At first, the task seemed insurmountable, but gradually his voice 
started to be heard. It was, oddly, a gift from Erestor. All those 
conversations on politics, strategy and tactics had proven very 
instructive. He had been taught the classical theory of warfare, 
of course, as well as principles in politics and House 
management, but it was Erestor’s original and brilliant thought 
that led him to open his eyes to a veiled, more profound reality. 
The older councillors, who had been so keen to keep him out of 
the way, started to discuss his suggestions instead of pushing 
them aside indulgently.

As time went by, Glorfindel came fully into his role as leader of 
his House. He no longer felt worthless and was convinced that 
his father would be proud of him, from afar in the Halls of 
Mandos. The number of his friends grew and he was widely 
respected, no longer a silly boy trying to fit into his father’s 
shoes.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Erestor thought of him, if he felt 
sorry for having rejected him. Not that he meant to give him 
another chance. “No, not that,” he insisted to himself, but happy 
images of them together pervaded his dreams. Memories of their 
time together as friends, fantasies that would never come true 
and that night. 

To forget would be a blessing, but that was another dream. 
Hating Erestor was an option but it was proving to be very 
difficult. He met Erestor more often now, owing to their 
responsibilities. It still hurt deeply, but it had become easier. 
Time wears down many sharp edges.

His one night lover and former friend of two years was lonelier 
than ever. He remained silent for so long that he could merge 
with the shadows and be forgotten unless Ecthelion asked him 
directly to explain a finer point.

Then he would speak as sparingly as possible. Most people were 
oblivious to Erestor’s presence all the time, but not Glorfindel. 
His eyes were drawn over and over again to where he stood. He 
always looked haunted; his eyes sad, absent, and it hurt 
Glorfindel. It hurt because he wanted to take that sadness away 
and could not, and it hurt because he did not want to feel 
anything more, not for Erestor, nor for anyone else.

~~~~~~~

Gondolin had become intolerable to Erestor. Strange how time 
rolled by, sometimes with a frightful speed, and the remorse still 
haunted him so intensely.

Glorfindel had become a true leader. Erestor watched him and 
felt strangely proud and happy for him. It only saddened him 
that Glorfindel did not take a wife. He deserved to be happy and 
forget that night ever happened and that they had ever met. But 
there was time, and all of Gondolin had come to admire and 
respect him. Surely someone would come along soon.

After much insistence, Turgon had allowed Aredhel to visit 
Celegorn and Caranthir in Himlad. She was to be escorted by 
Glorfindel, Ecthelion and Egalmoth. Erestor shuddered at the 
thought of Fëanor’s sons. His disgust for the past was as present 
as ever.

Ecthelion was torn between having him stay and take care of his 
House and taking him with him. Erestor had never been too 
clear on his motives for wanting distance from the House of 
Fëanor, but Ecthelion knew he had fought at Alqualondë. The 
rest would probably be quite obvious, Erestor reckoned.

The final decision came from Turgon himself. He wanted the 
best of the chosen Houses to guard his sister. Erestor arranged 
for a private audience and begged him to reconsider.

“My Lord, I am no swordsman. I am merely an obscure book 
keeper,” he said.

“You are more than that.” Turgon shook his head indulgently. 
“Always running from something.”

Erestor was surprised that Turgon remembered him. “I wish to 
avoid this, yes. So you remember me, my Lord. Is it fair to 
assume you also remember my reasons?”

“I do, and I sympathise. But you know how much I need more 
than strong arms to accompany my sister. I’m sure your talents 
will be of great use.” Turgon’s tone left no margin for doubts. 
Erestor thanked him for his time and left.

Turgon was right; he was always running from something. And 
he would run now. A plan started forming in his head. 

~~~~~~

They had been riding for four days. Erestor knew this was the 
best time to leave. It pained him to be disloyal to Ecthelion, but 
he felt he had no choice. He waited until late in the night and 
sneaked out of the camp perimeter. It had been almost too easy. 
A voice behind him startled him. “Is that you, Erestor?”

“No, not Glorfindel, of all people,” he thought. He stood still, 
hoping he would be confounded by the shadows, but it was too 
late. Glorfindel was upon him and held his arm. 

“Where are you going at this hour?” He looked more closely and 
saw Erestor’s bag. “So, it seems you are running in the night. 
Why? Oh forgive me, we must never ask Master Erestor why – 
that would be an offence, would it not?” Glorfindel’s bitterness 
shone in every word and stung Erestor.

“Meldir, that was so long ago,” he tried to soothe.

“It was yesterday!” Glorfindel’s grip on his arm tightened. 
“Now tell me, just what do you think you are doing?”

“I am leaving.”

“You might not hold my intellectual skills or those of any other, 
for that matter, in high regard, but I could guess as much on my 
own.”

“Please, Glorfindel. I cannot meet Fëanor’s sons.”

“Why? Have you bedded them and left them with no 
explanation, but bitter, unfair words?” 

Erestor was alarmed by Glorfindel’s voice rising, but his remark 
was painfully truthful. “I am sorry,” he offered. At that moment 
he felt like holding Glorfindel, but that was the one thing he 
could never do.

“Oh, how nice of him. He is sorry.” Bitterness again, spread 
generously in every word. This was not the Glorfindel he had 
known.

“More than you think.” Erestor made a dry swallow.

Glorfindel inspired deeply and slightly loosened his grip on 
Erestor’s arms. He regretted having spoken thus, having let 
Erestor know that he still hurt.

“So, you will leave Ecthelion, who trusts you above none other, 
without a word?”

“I know, Glorfindel. Let him go.” Ecthelion’s voice was hushed 
but unmistakable.

“Ecthelion.” Glorfindel loosened his grip further.

“Erestor has good motive for leaving and he has not betrayed 
my trust. Letting him go might bring Turgon’s wrath on me, but 
I owe Erestor that much.”

“Please Glorfindel. Do not judge me so harshly for leaving.”

“But why? What could be so grave that would make you so 
keenly avoid my cousins?”

“I was at Alqualondë. I fought there. They represent everything 
I loathe about myself. And I represent to them a coward who left 
and fought no more. Besides, this may be my only chance to 
leave Gondolin. Life has been rather joyless there, lately. Maybe 
it is a fair punishment. Will you make me endure it? I could not 
blame you for that.”

Erestor had once more surprised Glorfindel. He had to make a 
decision quickly before anyone came, but it was beyond him. He 
realized he still held Erestor’s arm.

“Go,” he heard himself say.

Erestor always had known that Glorfindel was a better person 
but he had not expected this generosity from him, when he knew 
how hurt he still was. For once he was spontaneous and held 
Glorfindel tightly before leaving.

~~~~~~

Erestor went back to Eglarest. He had missed the sea. At least 
there was some comfort there. Círdan had taken him back with 
no hint of reproach and given him some responsibilities. 

There he buried himself in books; there was so much to learn 
and they could not possibly hurt him. When some of his few 
friends advised him to live more, he simply retorted, “What is 
the point of being a Firstborn if you have to make choices with 
your time like mortals?” That was what he felt. His life could be 
put on hold indefinitely.

He worked all day long and then, during the last hours of natural 
light, he climbed through the dense woods in the hills, and then 
descended on to a small, secluded pebble beach, and sat there 
until the fading of the light drove him away. In laer, he 
sometimes forgot himself and slept there. There were some 
meadows, further away, but he rarely walked in their direction. 
They reminded him too much of those late afternoons in 
Gondolin.

The beauty of his cove touched him. He could not say he found 
true peace there, but he felt appeased. Conflicting thoughts still 
assailed him, but he dismissed them quickly. There was beauty 
and cleanness in leaving all doubts behind.

Erestor had learned to enjoy a dull life. In fact, dull was his 
greatest desire. This forged peace was broken by the news of the 
fall of Gondolin.

The cove was no longer a haven. Everything there sung of 
Glorfindel. The piercing blue sky sung of his eyes; the sun 
reflected on that bluest of seas was his light, his kindness; the 
rustling of leaves naught but his voice and the freshness, the 
purity of his spirit; the grass yellowing under the summer 
sunsets spoke of his hair and all of those forever gone 
afternoons.

Glorfindel had been the best part of his life. Somehow, Mandos 
did not seem so bad now. Môrlach had haunted him for long 
enough, but now was merely a shadow.

Losing Glorfindel for the second time hurt, but it was almost 
sweet. There was no guilt now; only longing for what could not 
be recovered and sweet memories of better times.

Now he could not silence his inner voice. Erestor regretted he 
had striven so hard to push Glorfindel away. He could never 
understand that about himself. He said to the world and to 
himself that solitude was a blessing. How many times had 
quoted that old verse, “Sweet is to live alone,” in a cold tone to 
anyone who dared to try being a match maker? Yet, when he felt 
particularly harsh on himself, Erestor brought himself to face his 
one secret, flickering desire – to be loved, or at least to be 
understood. 

Glorfindel had _seen_ him. Not like Môrlach, with devious 
intentions, but through the eyes of affection, or love, whatever 
that was. Erestor knew he had been selfish and that he had let 
his life become a dim hole. He also knew he should not blame 
Môrlach for his failure in love. Everything he had endured at his 
hands was his responsibility too. He could look at his past in a 
more detached way, and felt no overwhelming guilt and self-
loathing as before. Only regret, for letting a strange symmetry 
take over his relationship with Glorfindel.

~~~~~~~
Eregion, 1650 Second Age

Erestor was happy. Well, as happy as someone like him could 
ever be. He had run from everybody and then from himself, but 
time had taught him to believe and to accept himself and others. 
Life might not be blissful, not the warm melting together he had 
once wished for, but it was painless and it had its simple 
pleasures. That was something.

He had a small house of his own now in Eregion; a precious gift 
from Celeborn as a reward for his work. It had a minute garden 
enclosed by high walls in the back. There, Erestor let everything 
grow wild and free. The lilac on one wall was invading the 
neighbour’s property and the jasmine could be scented in the 
street. Some belladonnas grew in lasbelin, near the east wall, 
and there was peppermint, camomile and some thyme. The only 
care Erestor provided to the garden was a bit of watering in the 
summer. The only reason for this was to keep the knee-high 
grass from yellowing. It would remind him too much of those 
days in the company of Glorfindel. He had learned that the 
hardest way in his first summer there, and had never forgotten 
the lesson since. 

His closest friends sometimes made joking remarks about the 
state of his garden and how it contrasted with his personality, 
but he never bothered to explain. The garden brought him peace 
that way; something like the cove in Eglarest. It was the only 
place in his life that he had not drowned in sterile order.

Erestor mused many times if it was possible to be loved at all. 
Could it be, really, that that intimacy was not damaging at all for 
some? He did know many happy couples, people who trusted 
their partners, who lit up when their better halves walked into 
the room, people who shared their lives with others. Yes, love 
was attainable and he now felt ready for love, but there was no 
one he would have.

At night, he lay in his bed and imagined a lover beside him. His 
only desire was to hold someone. He no longer felt repulsion for 
sex or for his body, nor was he convinced it was merely a way 
of inflicting pain and manipulating another; that part of him was 
dead and he did not miss it.

Maybe one day he could fall in love with someone, marry and 
have children. That would be nice, impossible as it seemed. 
Something inside told him he was already bound to someone 
else. An indefinable feeling tied him to Glorfindel, even now. 
He had never felt that with Môrlach. After that night in the 
library, he had expected to be judged by the Valar for breaking 
the oath his body had made to Môrlach, but Manwë never 
showed himself. Was he allowed to switch lovers? That would 
seem odd, but surely being bound to Môrlach forever would be 
too cruel a fate? Who knew the designs of the Valar, especially 
in the case of such ones as himself.

Glorfindel’s sudden appearance ruined this little scheme. The 
anonymous lover he held in his reveries started to have blond 
hair and blue eyes. Sometimes he almost could feel warm, full 
lips brushing his neck before drifting into sleep. Once in a while, 
he tried to imagine himself and Glorfindel going further than 
spooning together, but he felt absolutely no desire. Only deep, 
intense affection.

However, that affection did not seem to be returned. Erestor 
remembered that little dialogue from their first meeting.

“So the news was true! Glorfindel, I cannot believe my eyes! 
How is this possible? Why are you not in Aman?” As he spoke, 
he moved his hands up and then let them fall a couple of times, 
unsure if he was allowed to touch Glorfindel, but needing proof 
of what his eyes shown him. 

For a minute he thought Glorfindel had not recognized him, but 
he then said simply, “Yes, I’ve returned,” in the most neutral 
tone. 

Erestor could not discern animosity in his voice, only a strange 
detachment, an indifference that had been absent in the 
Glorfindel of Gondolin. Still the questions kept popping from 
his lips. “Are you settled already? Are you just passing through? 
Is there anything I can do for you?”

Glorfindel looked around, almost as if serching for a kind 
translator, before answering the questions in the same tone as 
before. “Yes, thank you, I am settled.”

Erestor was ecstatic, but this aloofness was disturbing. He now 
knew not what to say. A friend of his was passing by and 
stopped to greet them. After the first hello, he shot his question, 
proud that he had met Glorfindel before Erestor, “So you have 
met the legendary Balrog slayer?”

Erestor thought he saw a thunder cloud running swiftly across 
Glorfindel’s face, but no, it must have been a change in the light 
coming from the window. Glorfindel remained neutral. 

“Yes, I have.” What more could be said?

Glorfindel nodded curtly and left them both. Erestor felt the urge 
to throttle his friend.

As these random meetings took place during the following 
weeks, Erestor noticed that Glorfindel behaved that way towards 
everybody. He had felt a little hurt by that initial coldness, but 
not anymore. He wanted to approach him, to gain his friendship 
once more, but he was not sure how. 

Glorfindel was a mystery. The way he had arrived from Mandos 
to Middle-earth had not been divulged, nor could Erestor discern 
the reasons behind his reserve. Had his fall and Mandos left 
scars? What could have taken his warmth and replaced it with 
that cold serenity?

He became obsessed with this new Glorfindel. He found himself 
scribbling Glorfindel’s name in the corners of papers. He 
scratched them away furiously before anyone could read this 
silent admission. But the truth remained, and there was no ink in 
all of Arda that could cover it: he missed Glorfindel. More than 
missing, he longed for his friend and for his one time lover. 
Glorfindel was the best person he had ever met.

Erestor was afraid he was losing his mind. One day he would 
betray himself in the presence of others, he was sure. 
Glorfindel’s name escaped his lips sometimes, during daytime 
when he was absorbed in thought. Ridicule haunted him, but he 
chose to ignore it. He seized every opportunity to be near 
Glorfindel. As Celebrimbor acknowledged Glorfindel´s worth 
and delegated the command of part of Eregion’s guard to him, 
their meetings became more frequent.

Erestor now actually regretted having accepted his cottage. 
Returning home every night impaired his chances of spending 
further time with Glorfindel. Any pretext would do.

He often found himself staring at his former friend. He imagined 
himself kissing Glorfindel, pressing their lips together, slowly 
parting them; nibbling on Glorfindel’s lower lip and tracing his 
tongue on that sweet, silky skin just below the inner rim. He 
wanted to tease Glorfindel’s tongue with his own and peek from 
under his eyelids to find an enthralled expression on his face. He 
wanted to break the kiss and start it over again and again and 
hear Glorfindel sighing.

He missed so much kissing someone. Those imaginary kisses 
were a way of rewriting the past. How he wished he could 
actually do that. But time never went back, not even for the ones 
the Valar loved and certainly not for him. He learned to forgive 
himself, but there was still something from the past holding him, 
some permanent guilt and regret, painted in faded colours on his 
soul.

~~~~~~

It was a stalemate. Erestor had tried all that he could, but 
Glorfindel’s reserve and politeness were insurmountable. 
Nothing indicated that this would ever change, so Erestor took 
what scraps of Glorfindel’s attention he could and felt almost 
grateful.

He certainly was not expecting that Glorfindel would ever jump 
to his defence as he did.

It was yet another long fruitless council meeting, as they had 
been for the last few months. Erestor had avoided asserting 
himself before, for he knew his opinion was not popular, but 
now he felt he had no choice. He stood up and told the council 
what he thought to Celebrimbor’s dismay. “Are we so blind we 
cannot see we are being manipulated? We must stand for 
ourselves and this evil must be cut at its root.”

Amidst huffing and disdainful whispering came one loud 
answer: “Must we be pushed to war by a coward who never 
once picked up a sword to defend his city?”

Glorfindel rose so swiftly his chair almost fell back. “You have 
no right to insult Master Erestor. He has done more for Eregion 
than you could ever and he if he chooses not to fight with his 
arms and a sword, he has very good reason for it. Besides, he is 
right in what he says.”

The elf who had spoken opened his mouth to retort, but this was 
the legendary Glorfindel of Gondolin. Any harsh word against 
him would not be welcomed by others.

Celebrimbor adjourned the meeting. Erestor left swiftly, seeking 
refuge in the library. This sort of comment on his lack of 
military prowess was not uncommon. Glorfindel’s intervention 
was, however, completely astounding.

Grim dejá vu inundated him when he saw Glorfindel entering 
the room. Erestor felt he should thank him, but the right words 
strayed from his lips.

Glorfindel broke the silence. “You must not mind them. They 
are fools and know nothing.”

“I did not deserve your defence, Glorfindel, but I appreciated the 
sign of friendship.”

“Erestor…” Glorfindel’s tone was soft, somewhere between 
disappointment and reproach.

Words broke uncensored from Erestor’s lips. “An eternity ago 
you asked if there was nothing between us, affection, friendship, 
anything. I was cruel to you then. I have regretted it ever since.”

“You say this because you feel grateful, nothing more. I am not 
sure how to judge you anymore, but I have no more illusions on 
your feelings for me.” Glorfindel shrugged and turned to leave.

“You are wrong! You are so very wrong. If there is one regret in 
my life, it is those words because they were false, because they 
were cruel and I hurt you unnecessarily. And because I…” As 
his voice trailed off and his gaze lowered to the garden outside, 
Erestor heard Glorfindel proffer the only bitter words he had 
said since he came back, turning slightly to face him.

“Erestor, you were right then. Do not fool yourself. I may have 
loved you once, but there is nothing left of that. Do not think 
that my actions today meant more than mere respect and sense 
of righteousness.”

As he felt the last light dim go out inside him, Erestor slipped 
momentarily into his old self. 

“Thank you for those words, but I do believe I can defend 
myself and I have done so for long enough without your aid.” 
His tone was cold and sharp as ever and as the unintended words 
left his lips, he could see the bitterness spreading on Glorfindel’s 
face.

“I was right. Even if I did have the faintest hope, I have it no 
more. Your words and your tone merely confirmed what my 
mind knew yet my heart refused to believe. You… I do not wish 
to continue this conversation, Erestor. Goodbye.”

As he turned and left, Erestor felt his eyes stinging with unshed 
tears. It was hopeless now. He was not in love with Glorfindel 
and certainly not in lust, but he loved him more deeply and 
widely than anyone else he had ever met; more than himself. 
There was no one, no one, in all of Arda with whom he could 
bear the thought of emotional intimacy but Glorfindel. Erestor 
had grown to love him because of the greatness of his heart, and 
because of his generosity and fairness. If he ever could change 
himself to a better elf, Erestor would have wanted to be 
someone like Glorfindel, kind and open.

Now he was gone. All hope was gone. Erestor stepped into the 
garden, thinking of the tales of elves who faded without love. He 
felt the whole word grow colder and darker, the warmth of late 
ethuil dimming, the scent of roses fading, Anor hiding her light. 
Inside, he was so much colder than he had ever been. Only 
ashes, darkness and void remained.

~~~~~~~ 

As Glorfindel briskly walked away, he kept repeating to himself, 
“Stupid, stupid, how could you ever think he could change, he 
would change? Why are you even thinking of this? You knew; 
you have known this forever. Why this old obsession?”

Glorfindel started running. He did not want these feelings in 
him, he did not want this weight on his heart and he certainly 
did not want to think of Erestor. Yet his old flame looked so 
forlorn as he left. The expression on Erestor’s face haunted him. 

Maybe he had been unfair. Maybe he was behaving like 
everyone else, not seeing that exasperating duality always 
present in Erestor. “Stop this, stop this right now! You are not 
making excuses for him any more; have some self respect for 
once!”

He needed to be alone. The turmoil inside burned him. He went 
to the stables and readied his horse. The familiar movements had 
a soothing effect, as well as the ride after. Erestor had shattered 
the peace he had found in Mandos. He felt fire running through 
his veins, blazing his heart, scorching his mind. Erestor, always 
Erestor, swirling in his mind, crushing his heart. Pity, hate, love, 
desire, regret, so many contradictions. How could he have 
survived cruelty, rejection, disloyalty, even death and still feel 
this way?

Maybe it was deserved. He had done the same to Erestor, had he 
not? He had destroyed the precious peace Erestor had found in 
Gondolin. Now, more than ever, he could understand him, we 
could feel that confusion, that intensity, but he wanted none of 
that in his life.

Whatever his reasons were, Glorfindel knew he had behaved 
below himself once more. Erestor had had that effect on him 
since the very first time they had met. All seemed fair game, but 
what he had done was wrong. He should apologise and forget 
this nonsense, return to his calm self, his detached self; but it 
would not be now, while he felt this fire inside him.

He let a week go by, but then forced himself to do what he 
should. Erestor was not hard to find.

“I came to apologise.” Glorfindel’s deep voice echoed in the 
permanently cold hall outside the library, where he had met 
Erestor, who was leaving late in the night.

Erestor turned, not believing his ears. He had been very certain 
that the little scene would be their last intimate conversation 
ever, but Glorfindel’s presence contradicted that.

Glorfindel continued, “I had no right to be cruel.”

Erestor somehow found his voice. “You do not need to 
apologise. You must not. Every unkind word I hear, I have 
deserved. If not for others, at least for what I have done to you. 
Not that it may bring you any comfort, or matter to you 
anymore, but to me it is an atonement of sorts.”

Erestor’s voice sounded hollow, his eyes were low on the 
ground. Glorfindel felt compassion and again that will to hold 
him and kiss it away. He brushed those thoughts aside but the 
compassion remained.

“You must not punish yourself so harshly for the past. Do you 
not see that you have been doing it forever, that it is time to 
stop? You are forgiven for my part.”

“Oh, but I wish I was not! Your forgiveness means that all hope 
is gone. Pardon is naught but another word for indifference.” 
Erestor could not believe that he was baring himself like this, 
but it was time. He had nothing left to lose; his dignity and self-
control did not seem now as important as fighting for Glorfindel, 
hopeless as it was.

“You are not indifferent to me, Erestor.” Glorfindel took one 
step closer. Erestor looked up, almost allowing hope to shine. 
Glorfindel continued, “There is too much between us.”

“But you said…” Erestor started, but then he simply lunged 
forward and wrapped his arms around Glorfindel, kissing him.

Erestor did not think of his actions; for once he let his feelings 
speak louder. He had a choice, as always, but long years of 
loneliness and pondering had shown him that he had been wrong 
in not expressing his feelings, in fearing so much being hurt and 
humiliated.

Glorfindel was so surprised that he almost stepped back. The 
words he said were not meant as Erestor took them, but now that 
he had him once more in his arms, Glorfindel felt something stir 
inside, something he had spent millennia fighting and thought 
long forgotten. That kiss condensed so many broken dreams and 
all those lonely days and nights. It was the token of love for 
which he had waited for millennia and which had come when he 
waited for it no more. 

Tentatively, he placed his arms around Erestor. As he did so, the 
other elf pressed himself closer. Glorfindel’s mind was 
screaming this was a mistake he would bitterly regret, but all he 
wanted was to hold Erestor tight.

They broke off the kiss but remained in the embrace, cheek to 
cheek. Glorfindel could feel Erestor gasping, emotion stirring 
his body.

The shadow of a smile rose to his lips – so this was what hid 
beneath. Erestor could cry; Erestor could feel something beyond 
bitterness and isolation, and what he felt was for him. His mind 
was still shouting that this was not love, it was merely 
loneliness, millennia-long loneliness, that sought to be undone 
in his arms; that once more he was an instrument. His heart, 
though, insisted the risk was worth taking.

~~~~~~~

Now they lay together. 

Glorfindel knew it was less than wise to have let things go so 
fast, yet how fast was that? They had been involved in one way 
or another for centuries, millennia, in fact.

He had taken Erestor to his rooms because the hall was hardly 
the best place to discuss intimate matters and he felt safer there, 
in his own territory. Erestor was as intimidating in his 
vulnerability as he had been in his strength and Glorfindel 
feared that the precious moment could be shattered by a sudden 
bout of volubility. When that happened, he wanted to be 
standing on both his feet and let the storm go over and around 
him. 

Erestor was awfully quiet. He had always been a quiet person 
with sparse bursts of alacrity and Glorfindel had found that 
charming and intriguing, but right now he would welcome a bit 
of chattering, anything that would break the awkward, unsettling 
silence.

He had watched the other elf all his life and had experienced a 
wide range of feelings for him. At one point, he thought he 
knew Erestor better than any other, at another he felt completely 
ignorant and punished by his pretension. He had finally settled 
for a median: he did know Erestor better than most, but not 
nearly enough; he simply did not know what to make of this 
shaken being that had fallen in his arms. He sat Erestor on his 
bed; his eyes were red and he occasionally sniffed discreetly. 
Glorfindel handed him a handkerchief. He cleared his throat and 
offered Erestor some tea; his voice sounded offensive to his own 
ears, almost echoing in his austere room; dry and crackled; cold.

Erestor’s surprised gaze reminded him of a hurt puppy. Never 
had Glorfindel seen this much exposure in his face. Erestor 
averted his eyes, turning them on the ground. In a barely audible 
voice he asked, “I suppose this is when you tell me the kiss was 
a mistake and that you feel nothing but pity for me. Or less than 
that.”

The one thing Glorfindel had never expected to find in Erestor, 
not even now, in the midst of such openness, was frailty. Yes, he 
pitied Erestor, as he had pitied himself for long years, but this 
was far from exhausting all he felt. He hated Erestor, still. He 
had hated him long. He had fought at first to hate him, to replace 
all that he had adored with loathing, then he had fought to forget 
him completely, to be cleansed of all memory of his touch, of 
his eyes, of his words; he had fought to be cleansed of all 
feeling. He had failed miserably. He still hated Erestor as much 
as he had loved him. He still loved Erestor more than he loved 
himself, more than he loved to hate him, and this love was 
greater than all the things time could undo. 

Erestor’s pain, loneliness and frailty were his own. How could 
he deny him anything, especially his love, all he had to give, 
really? He knelt in front of Erestor and placed his hands on his 
thighs. Not a word crossed his mind, except “no”. He heard a 
strange voice that was not his own say it. He saw the emotions 
crossing Erestor’s face as clouds in a rhîw sky. “No,” he 
repeated, still not knowing how or why these words came to his 
lips. 

Erestor touched one of his hands ever so slightly, while 
searching his eyes. The questioning hand was cold and damp. 
Glorfindel held it to his chest, trying to warm it. His eyes never 
left Erestor’s, who swayed as if he meant to kiss him again and 
had stopped himself short of it. They were now so close again, 
yet so distant; Glorfindel knew it was time to close that widest 
of gaps. He kissed Erestor and pulled him from the bed to his 
chest while he lay on his back.

Erestor was ever the little surprise. His total surrender in making 
love caught Glorfindel off his guard. There were no more 
reserved thoughts, no more strife for dominion or cruel teasing 
or brutality; only complete, sweet surrender. So unlike that 
night, a lifetime ago, and infinitely much better.

Erestor let Glorfindel worship his body. The smallest caress 
brought tears to his eyes until he stopped trying to hide them and 
let them run free. A hand on his cheek made him catch his 
breath. A butterfly kiss on his lips tore a gasp from his mouth.

Glorfindel slowly unclothed them and spread kisses over 
Erestor’s body. At every chance he went back and kissed Erestor 
tenderly on the lips, almost chastely. After a while he stopped 
trying to dry the tears and just held Erestor close to him, petting 
his hair and whispering comforting words as if to a child. 
Erestor clung to him, sighing deeply. He kissed Glorfindel, 
slowly, deeply; he kissed him like he had dreamed so many 
times, with tenderness and accuracy. Every movement had been 
rehearsed a thousand times in his head. His hands travelled from 
Glorfindel’s shoulders to frame his face. He deepened the kiss. 
Glorfindel’s mouth was pure nectar. He parted slightly and 
watched his lover sigh. A smirk twitched Erestor’s lips before he 
claimed those luscious lips once more. The time for crying had 
passed. Glorfindel yielded to that sweetness for he had no 
choice. He could feel desire arriving insidiously, submerging 
them, awakening Erestor’s body as well as his own.

Erestor broke the kiss and rose, pulling Glorfindel with him. 
“Not on the floor,” he answered the silent question and was fully 
understood. He sprawled on the bed invitingly, answering 
Glorfindel’s questioning stare with a single nod, and reached out 
his hands to pull him down on to him.

Desire. This was desire. Long gone, long forgotten and now 
here, overwhelming, submerging them. Hands moving faster, 
eagerly, clumsily. Lips bruising and soothing, teeth breaking 
skin and tongues healing it, fingers digging into the flesh, 
followed by feather light touches, shuddered sighs amidst gasps. 
Muscles tensed underneath soft skin, bodies moved, twined in 
lust, in love. A drop of sweat was promptly licked; a trace left 
by a salty tear erased. Curtains of hair, dark and fair mingled. 
Hunger. Losing the sense of self, ignoring where the other began 
or ended. And warmth. Bliss.

Hours later, as they lay in each other’s arms, Erestor felt 
soothed, whole, finally. Somewhere inside, the old insecurity 
seemed to be drowning. He could still hear the tainted words 
whispered from afar: this embrace could mean nothing; it could 
be something Glorfindel had indulged in because he pitied him 
or was merely lonely. He could not believe Glorfindel would 
ever hurt anyone deliberately, but these were dangerous games. 
Dangerous for him. He did not care. This was a voice from the 
past and its time had passed irrevocably.

While making love, Erestor was surprised by the intensity of his 
own feelings. Even after realizing he loved Glorfindel as deeply 
as he would ever love anyone, he did not think it was possible 
for him to feel in love again, to feel that giddiness inside, to 
shudder at every touch and lust after him senselessly. He 
discarded caution and whispered, “I am in love with you. Cast 
me away, forsake me if you will, but know this is true.”

He smiled at his own words. “I’m sorry. I was not aiming at bad 
poetry.”

Glorfindel chuckled “No other words could please me more.” 
He kissed Erestor softly on his hair. There was so much he 
wanted to tell him, but he was still afraid. Erestor had hurt him 
deeply before. It was so hard to let go of the past and trust him 
now.

Erestor nuzzled his neck and asked, “Hold me closer… tighter.”

Glorfindel obeyed, chuckling. “Tighter than this and I might 
have to take you to the healers.”

Erestor mumbled something as he drifted into sleep. It could 
have been, “No one near but you. No one,” but Glorfindel was 
not sure. Whatever it was, it felt right at that moment, and that 
was his last thought before he too drifted into the dream realm.

~~~~~~

Glorfindel woke in the next morning with the sunlight bathing 
his face. During the night they had shifted positions and now he 
was spooning Erestor, who covered his face with an arm. He 
inhaled deeply the scent of his lover and nuzzled his hair. He felt 
relaxed, happy, but at the same time apprehensive. It was so 
hard to believe this was real and to hope Erestor would not shut 
him out and reject him once more as the day moved on. 

He did not know how to behave. His anxiety began to grow and 
his heart raced as the possibilities, all too real, crossed his mind. 
Still, he could not bring himself to leave the bed and relinquish 
Erestor’s warmth. 

Soon Erestor woke too and stretched whilst leaning into his 
chest. It felt delicious. It should have been so on every morning 
of their lives, Glorfindel mused. He waited patiently for the 
other elf to take the initiative, but Erestor remained silent while 
turning to face him. He smiled under sleepy eyes before closing 
them again and leaning closer. Glorfindel held him and watched 
as he tried to elude the morning light on his shoulder and find 
sleep again. This closeness was something he had far thought 
out of his reach. His eyes stung as he thought about how long 
and how hard he had striven to forget Erestor. Had he been 
honest with himself, he would have seen he was always present 
in his heart, if not his mind. 

The sun shone in his lover’s hair, making it gleam in a rich hue 
of chocolate. The linen of the sheets felt strangely arousing on 
his skin – these were like any other sheets he had used before. 
The morning was glorious, but a shadow insisted on spreading 
through his mind, reminding him of another luminous and oh so 
very distant morning and of all the bitterness that had followed 
it. Erestor was here, but how long would he stay? The tension 
made him shift and Erestor finally gave up trying to conjure 
sleep again.

His first words were spoken to Glorfindel´s shoulder and came 
out hushed. “Do you have duties this morning?”

Glorfindel sighed; this was not what he needed to hear. 
However, he decided to play along. “Later, near noon.”

“Good,” was the laconic answer, followed by another snuggling 
motion. Glorfindel thought Erestor would settle in sleep, but a 
mischievous hand trailed down his back as a growing erection 
pressed on his thigh. It might have not been the renewed 
promise of eternal love he expected but it felt good. Duty might 
have to wait. 

~~~~~~

Now Erestor set in front of him the documents he needed to take 
care of this afternoon. He had lost an entire morning of work, 
but that did not seem so grave, after all. On the previous day, he 
had been anxious to get to those luscious inventory reports, but 
now they brought a mist of sleep to his eyes. On a separate piece 
of paper he once more started to scribble Glorfindel’s name. He 
did not bother to cover it as before.

As he tried to concentrate on his report, he drew exuberant little 
stars below his lover’s name, and below those, the happiest little 
spirals. He was behaving like an elfling, but at that moment he 
only wanted to enjoy that happiness. After reading the first 
paragraph for the third time without grasping the slightest idea, 
Erestor reclined and stared dreamily at the wall. As the 
afternoon went on, he slowly finished reading the report and 
took the appropriate measures regarding the dullest wheat stocks 
he had ever encountered. 

Later on that day, they met alone after dinner, outside 
Glorfindel’s rooms. Glorfindel barely looked at Erestor, but 
opened the door and moved for him to pass. Inside, he kept 
silent; he still had the nagging suspicion that the previous night 
could have meant nothing for Erestor. 

Erestor also felt insecure; Glorfindel had every reason to regret 
what had happened. Still, he decided he would make an effort. 
He stepped in closer and touched Glorfindel’s cheek lightly. “Is 
something wrong?”

“No, nothing.” Glorfindel dared to glance at Erestor’s eyes. 
Somehow it hurt to do so. Should love be like this? Should your 
lover be someone inscrutable? He looked away. His body almost 
pulled him forward into Erestor’s arms, but his heart held him 
back, now afraid of plunging in. The contradiction was almost 
risible.

Erestor gathered all his courage and stepped closer. “Then will 
you not kiss me?” His hand had stopped caressing Glorfindel’s 
face and was now diving into the golden mass of his hair. He 
could pull him into a kiss easily, but it did not feel right. 
Glorfindel had his own bridges to cross.

Slowly, Glorfindel closed the gap between them and brushed his 
lips to Erestor’s, not looking once into his eyes. 

As they melted together in an embrace, Erestor’s thoughts raced 
across the desert plain that separated them. He would cross it, no 
matter what. This was his vow to Glorfindel.

~~~~~~~
Imladris, 2 Fourth Age

This was their last evening in Imladris. They were leaving again. 
Men were foolish to think immortality came without its cost. 
Everything they had loved, they had lived long enough to lose.

Glorfindel had set a light trot, eager to see everything he could 
one last time and they kept silent. As they rode under the golden 
light of late afternoon, Erestor mused on the course of their 
lives. 

This was home. They had found their place in Imladris and a 
good friend in Elrond. His children had become like their own, 
replacing those they could never have. Of all the places Erestor 
had helped to build, Imladris was the one he cherished the most; 
it had been built in love. Plans were made, stones were set, not 
to obliterate memory and feeling, but to give something to 
others. And Glorfindel had been there by his side. If beauty 
could be measured in numbers, there would have to be a 
different scale for Imladris.

There was one thing Erestor had learned: happiness did not 
equal perfection. Accepting each other had been difficult. He 
would always remember the shock of their first fight after 
coming together in Eregion. They had been together for roughly 
a month, spent in utter bliss, and he was very sure they would be 
happy evermore. The lessons life had thought him about its 
intrinsic imperfection had not sunk in yet. 

Erestor had decided to break the vow he had made at 
Alquanlondë; he had, after all, broken the vow his heart and his 
body had made to Glorfindel, so he now could perfectly break 
another vow and shed blood again. Anyway, orcs were more 
distant kin than Teleri, he thought, not without a pinch of 
sarcasm.

He would do all he could to make sure Glorfindel was never in 
danger; he had returned Arda and there would not be a second 
time, should he perish. Erestor could not have that. He knew it 
was ridiculous, his insignificant self defending one of the 
deadliest warriors that had ever lived, but he had no choice. 
Glorfindel refused to see that. He even appealed to Celebrimbor, 
who turned the deaf ear. It was not his place to solve lover’s 
quarrels.

Glorfindel feared for Erestor. He could not comprehend this 
sudden interest in field matters; Erestor had not fought in 
millennia, since he was little more than an elfling. There were 
many other elves willing and able to do the job. After the first 
small battle he understood; Erestor hardly let anyone come near 
him. He had an unique and quite effective style - that Glorfindel 
would hand him - but he did not need Erestor’s protection, for 
Valar’s sake. The rows seemed endless, but Glorfindel slowly 
resigned. The bubble had burst, but they had lived enough to 
soon realize this was not the end of happiness.

There were other problems. Glorfindel wanted to move to 
Erestor’s cottage; he had found it charming, especially the little 
jungle in the back. Erestor, now with more work than ever, 
trying to reconcile a lover, weapons practice, and his regular 
work, wanted to live in Glorfindel’s rooms. They behaved like 
spoiled children, but felt happy all the same. Somehow, these 
rows contributed to establish a feeling of intimacy and trust.

Their lives were filled with joy, in the midst of the bleakness 
that abated on them all. They slowly settled in their own strange 
little routine. Some days were almost like Gondolin, but better. 
Love had brought Glorfindel to connect with the world once 
more. He no longer looked aloof or detached, but radiant. 
Erestor still merged with shadows, he would always be like that, 
but he lit up when he had Glorfindel all for himself, at night.

The occasional dispute actually had its benefits, later. Life was 
an endless cliché and it felt good. Nothing but a succession of 
precious, trivial moments.

They were not apart from their world, however. War had come 
upon them and their new found home destroyed. They built 
another one, together, in Imladris. Then war again, so soon, but 
they survived. Shadows grew everywhere and more war was to 
come soon. After the Witch King incident in Angmar, Erestor 
did not talk to Glorfindel for almost a month. Glorfindel bent at 
last and promised he would be more careful. Later, when he 
decided to save the hobbits from his old friend, the Nazgûl, 
Erestor felt so enraged he almost foamed at the mouth. He knew, 
however, Glorfindel was like that and nothing could be done 
about it, but it still was exasperating.

Erestor returned to the present as they came to the crest of the 
highest hill and stopped with the sun setting on their backs. The 
valley was golden, shimmering before their eyes in all its glory 
for the last time. Long, green shadows spread among the gold; it 
hurt to leave behind such beauty, but it was time.

Erestor broke the comfortable silence. “I still feel unworthy of 
Aman.”

“I know. I do not share your burden but I too feel 
impure.” Glorfindel paused and then added, “I do think we have 
done our best to attain redemption.”

Erestor refused to be invaded by the feeling of loss. Never again. 
He turned to the orange light and without warning spurred his 
horse on. Glorfindel could never resist a challenge and their last 
memory of this place of joy and beauty should be a happy one.

He heard behind him Asfaloth’s hoofs gaining terrain. Life 
would always have traces of nostalgia, but it was sweet.

Finis, June 2004

~~~~~~
Ethuil = spring
Laer = summer
Lasbelin = autumn
Meldir = friend, m.
Nér = male elf
Nissi = female elves
Rhîw = winter

OMCs’ names courtesy of Patricia.
Faellaer = kind summer
Saelrusc = old fox
Môrlach = dark flame

Citations
“Nothing shows a man's character more than what he laughs at” 
– Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe.
“Sweet is to live alone” is a verse from “Segue o teu destino” 
(Follow your destiny) by Ricardo Reis (a Fernando Pessoa 
heteronym)