Title:  To Feel You Breathe (1/6)
Series:  The Games of Love (formerly Winner Takes All).  Unless you’re familiar with 
the series, many of the references in this story may not make sense.
Author:  Fimbrethiel
Website:  Iavas e Guren ~ http://fimbrethiel.com
LiveJournal:  http://www.livejournal.com/users/fimbrethiel/
Fiction update list:  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/FanSfictionupdates
Email:  fimbrethiel @ yahoo.com
Type:  FPS 
Pairing:  Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating:  NC-17
Warnings:  explicit depictions of homoerotic acts between consenting males, cavity-
inducing FLUFF!
Disclaimer:  Don’t own the Elves, they are owned by Tolkien’s estate.  Master Tolkien, I 
mean no harm.  No profit has been made.
Beta:  Minuial Nuwing *massive hugs*  Any remaining errors are mine.
Summary:  After millennia, and some misunderstandings, Erestor and Glorfindel finally 
bond.  This is the final installment in the Games of Love series.
Author’s Note:  For the Giant Pink Fluffy!bunny gang.  You know who you are.  ;)  

My deepest gratitude and much love to Miss SayAye for allowing me to use her artwork 
as inspiration for this story.   http://fimbrethiel.com/artwork/SayAye/SoulMates.JPG  

*~*~*~*~*

So it was that on Yuletide eve of that same year, the household of Elrond Peredhel 
gathered under the sparkling, clear night skies to witness Glorfindel o Gondolin a 
Imladris wed Erestor o Lindon while the stars of Elbereth shone down brightly upon 
them.
     - Promise in Ink (epilogue)

~*~*~*~*~

Imladris, 2951 Third Age

“For the love of Manwë, tell me again why I am doing this?”

Master Erestor, chief of counsel to Elrond Half-elven, Lord of Imladris, restlessly paced 
the length of his airy bedchamber:  seventeen steps to the window, turn, seventeen steps 
back.  A crimson bed-robe - which happened to be Glorfindel’s favorite of all Erestor’s 
clothing, for reasons that were known only to the golden-haired Elf – billowed behind 
him like the wings of a great, ruby-colored bird, and he wrung his hands together 
nervously as he walked.  

Despite his best intention to remain the model of serenity and dignity, Elrond gave a 
muffled snort of humor that he quickly turned into a discreet clearing of his throat.  If the 
occasion had not been so significant and Erestor not currently balancing on the verge of a 
full-fledged panic attack, he would have given in to the desire to laugh.  In Erestor’s 
current state of mind, however, one wrongly spoken word or misplaced jest would send 
the counselor careening over the edge of ‘nervous’ and straight into the town of ‘hysteria’ 
without stopping to ask for directions.

Never in all the years of their acquaintance had Elrond ever seen Erestor in such a state.  
He had, on more than one occasion, seen his chief counselor reduce an entire chamber 
full of raucous Men to silence with a single look, but, right now, Erestor was as skittish as 
a long-tailed cat trapped in a room full of rocking chairs.

His apprehension stood to reason, for never had Erestor been in these circumstances 
before.

On Erestor’s next pass, Elrond reached out to grasp his friend’s arm and bring him to a 
halt.  “Because he is noble, beautiful beyond measure, and because he loves you with a 
passion that reaches beyond the sun and the stars, obviously,” Elrond answered with all 
seriousness, touching his friend’s cheek affectionately.  “Calm down, mellonen, 
everything will be fine.”

“I think I am going to be ill.”

Erestor’s pale face had taken on a rather unhealthy green cast, Elrond noted with distress.  
“You are not going to be ill, Erestor.  It is perfectly normal to be nervous on your 
wedding day.”

“I..I feel faint…”

Elrond smoothly but forcefully maneuvered his friend toward the bed and gently pulled 
him down so that they were sitting side by side on the edge.  He rested his arm over 
Erestor’s shoulder and rubbed his back soothingly, lightly, while encouraging him to 
breathe slowly and evenly.  “Close your eyes and take some deep breaths.  Yes, just like 
that.  Now again… and once more.”

While his fingers convulsively kneaded the fabric of his trousers and rendered them a 
wrinkled mess, Erestor took a few shuddering breaths, his head hanging low against his 
chest.

“Is this helping?”

“Not especially.”

Elrond sighed in resignation.  What was it about weddings that made even the strongest 
of Elves pule and cry like a swaddling babe?  Though, Elrond reflected with a wry grin 
that was hastily concealed, there was some perverse humor to be found in this situation, if 
one could look at it objectively.  He keenly recalled his own feelings of abject terror in 
the hours before his bonding ceremony to his beloved Celebrían.  Then, their positions 
had been reversed and it had been Erestor acting as the voice of reason and calming the 
frazzled bridegroom’s nerves.

It had not been the notion of marriage itself that had been troubling.  For centuries 
uncounted, Elrond had, with varying degrees of patience, longed for the day he would 
finally bond with his tranquil, silver-haired Celebrían.  The idea of not going through 
with the wedding had never even crossed his mind.  What troubled him was simply the 
idea of being put on display and run through his paces like a stallion being put up for 
stud, and an irrational fear of doing or saying something foolish or inadvertently giving 
offense that would cause Celebrían to change her mind about spending her immortal life 
with him.  Forever is a very, very long time to be bound to a buffoon.

Someday in the future, Elrond would remind Erestor of the absurdity of this moment – 
gently – and they would laugh about it over their tea and biscuits, and compare stories of 
their respective wedding days, but what Erestor needed at the moment was calming, and 
quickly.

Elrond’s heart ached for what Erestor was going through, he truly did, but it did not 
require his famed foresight to know that all of Erestor’s fears were unfounded.  No, every 
single resident of Imladris, foresighted or not, could see that Erestor and Glorfindel were 
preposterously, incurably, silly-mad in love with one another, and all these dramatics that 
Erestor was putting himself through were for naught.

Despite all of Elrond’s attempts at soothing him, with every passing minute, Erestor’s 
fretfulness was spiraling out of control, and unless it was headed off now, he would work 
himself into frenzy.  There was only one thing left that Elrond could think of to do.  It 
was underhanded, but deep breathing and reasoning had not been effective.  Surely, 
Erestor would forgive him later?

Wrapping his arms protectively around Erestor’s trembling body, he shook his head and 
clucked his tongue as though deeply troubled.  When Erestor shifted closer into the 
embrace, he sighed heavily.

“Erestor, perhaps… perhaps you are simply not ready to be married yet.  Shall I send 
someone to inform Glorfindel that you wish to postpone the wedding?  You should not 
keep him waiting any lo –“ 

Erestor jerked so violently that the top of his head cracked Elrond in the jaw.  “Sorry,” he 
tossed out an offhand apology as he drew back out of Elrond’s arms and stared at the 
Peredhel, an aghast expression on his face.  “Cancel the wedding?  Whatever gave you 
that idea?”

That was a better reaction than I could have hoped, Elrond though with approval.  You 
will laugh about this later, my friend, and remind me of how I manipulated you, and 
swear that you will never forgive me until the end of your days.  And I will bear it 
willingly, just to see you happy.

“Well, you are clearly distraught, so I assumed you were reconsidering….”

The stricken look on the counselor’s face told Elrond that he was in precarious danger of 
pushing his teasing, however gentle it was, too far.  He smiled compassionately and 
raised a placating hand to stroke the line of Erestor’s chin.  “Was I mistaken, then?  Do 
you love him, really love him, enough to spend eternity bound to him?”

He watched in satisfaction as the dark gaze that Erestor returned him softened from thinly 
controlled panic to limpid and misty.

“I do,” Erestor replied dreamily.  “More than I ever thought it possible to love someone.  
He is the sun, Elrond, which shines brightly upon me.  Now that I have found him, I 
could no more go a single moment without his love than I could without breathing.”

Elrond searched those bottomless eyes for a long moment, and then nodded.  “Do you 
feel better now?”

“Much.  Thank you, Elrond,” Erestor replied, coming back to himself with a slightly 
sheepish smile.  “I do not know what came over me.”

“Oh, simply pre-marital nerves, I expect,” Elrond answered, again taking Erestor into his 
arms, this time not with worry, but with relief and encouragement.  He kissed the top of 
Erestor’s head and rocked him gently, the way he used to rock his own children when 
they needed comforting or reassurance.  “This is the most significant day of your life, 
mellonen, and it is not unusual to be frightened out of your wits.  Do you remember the 
day Celebrían and I wed?”

From somewhere within Elrond’s arms, there emerged a muffled laugh.  “Aye, as though 
it was yesterday.  You were a bundle of nerves, and I thought you were going to turn tail 
and run for the hills.”

Elrond blinked back the fierce rush of tears that burned his eyes and took a deep breath.  
He missed his wife so badly that, sometimes, as he lay in bed at night, clutching a pillow 
to his chest, he literally ached for her.  “I thought so as well, but the moment I saw her 
standing with her parents in that glen, the sun shining on her hair and turning it to molten 
silver, and that sweet, shy smile she gave me, I forgot all about my apprehension.  You 
will feel the same, I promise.  When you see Glorfindel waiting for you this evening, 
dressed in his finery and waiting for you… to marry you… all this will be a mere 
memory for you to laugh over later.”

Erestor sighed and turned his head into his Lord and friend’s soothing touch.  “Are you 
sure it is not too late to change my mind?”  In his eyes, though, Elrond could see a 
twinkle of mirth.

The Elven-lord laughed.  “Aye, most definitely, mellonen vrûn.  Do you really believe 
that Glorfindel would ever forgive you for humiliating him by not coming to your own 
wedding?  He has just barely recovered from your rather impulsive and public proposal.”

From the comfort of his lord’s arms, Erestor smiled at the memory of Glorfindel’s 
reaction on the night he had formalized their intentions to marry.  “Somehow it seemed 
fitting to set him on edge, given the rather adversarial nature of our past, did it not?”

“That it did,” Elrond agreed with a hearty chuckle.  The fearless Balrog-slayer’s eyes had 
growing as wide as saucers when Erestor had dropped to his knees in the Hall of Fire and 
presented him with a thin silver betrothal ring.

The halfhearted protestations that followed were merely for show; all present knew 
Glorfindel would no more deny his beloved counselor than put out his own eyes.  In fact, 
after a few moments of feigned embarrassment, Glorfindel’s acceptance was so heartfelt 
and impassioned that Elrond had to rather pointedly remind the newly affianced couple 
that they were in public, before their loving and lustful embrace turned to something of a 
more intimate nature right there on the hearth, in front of all and sundry.

“You never did say what madness possessed you to propose in such a, well, un-Erestor-
like manner.  Your behavior was quite out of character, you know.”

Erestor had the grace to blush, bringing a bit of rosy color back to his pale cheeks, and he 
shrugged self-effacingly.  “I had just picked up our rings from the jewel smith.  I put my 
hand in my pocket, and there they were, and before I knew what was happening, I was on 
my knees asking him to marry me.”

Then he smiled.

“Love sometimes makes us do strange things.”

~*~*~ to be continued ~*~*~

Elvish translations:
mellonen = my friend
mellonen vrûn = old friend