Silent Flight -Complete

Title: Silent Flight: The Wild Swans
Author: destinial
Part: 10/?
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC17/R
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns these elves, the history, Middle-earth, my sons and my soul. No profit was made.
Warning: Besides slash, I don’t think so. Maybe angst but I am seldom capable of it.
Beta: Agie- who read this in record time. Thank you!All mistakes are mine.
Summary: An elvish take of The Wild Swans, a fairy tale that is reminiscent of Celtic lore.
Author’s Note: My husband finds this story awfully familiar. *grin*


Rog paced the hall, impatient and anxious. He growled now and then, cursing under his breath. His sheer size, the huge axe strapped to his back and the broadsword at his hip caused the guards around the hall to watch him with nervous eyes.

Egalmoth sat in silence, slowly sipping the tea provided. He was no less anxious, but his rationality ruled him well. His cool eyes observed the hall and its occupants. The coat of arms showed the status of its lord. The black crest and the permission to weave in gold were both high commendation for valour, granted only by the high king himself. The guards and household staff looked well provided for, and the tension among the guards at the brothers' presence betrayed their fierce loyalty. The butler had offered to put them up for the night, a suggestion of the lord's generosity. If his younger brother were here, he would have been well taken care of. The most important question was: where was his brother now?

Ecthelion leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on the main door. They had not been able to fly by day because the storm was simply too heavy, but after waiting for two frustrating days, they had made the decision to risk the slippery slopes by night. Only three of them had come to the keep and he was relieved that he had told the rest to set up camp in the mountains just beyond sight of the keep. He had asked the butler if any stranger had come to the keep recently, but had received no definite reply. His intuition told him that Erestor was within the keep; nothing else would explain the flash of surprise and hesitation in the butler’s eyes and his suspicion had been aroused immediately.

All three brothers were alerted when the lord of the keep came through the door. Egalmoth quickly took measure of the gilded sword and the well defined build of the blond elf. He did not think either Ecthelion or Rog had sufficient strength now to take on the apparently seasoned warrior should a fight prove necessary, and his hands went immediately to the darts he kept on the band he wore around his sleeves. Rog stopped pacing and he drew himself to full height, regarding the elven lord with a wary eye.

Glorfindel took in all three of the visitors. The large elf with his heavy weapons and the elf in the chair with the cold stare were potential threats but it was the intensity of the elf leaning against the wall that caused the greatest unease. The resemblance among them was slight, but their colouring convinced him that they had to be related, if not blood brothers. More importantly, they were all staring at him with the eyes of his beloved.

As he walked towards his high chair, he addressed the brothers. “Welcome to the keep. I am Glorfindel, lord of the Golden Flower. I have heard you seek an elf.”

Ecthelion stood away from the wall and gestured for Rog to back away. Keeping his eyes level with Glorfindel’s, he responded calmly, “I am Ecthelion, these are my brothers, Rog and Egalmoth. We are sorry to have disturbed your sleep, but we seek our brother, Erestor.”

Glorfindel maintained his mask of amused curiosity and inviting all the brothers to take their seats, he spoke from the high chair, “Why do you think he would be at my keep? This is a sequestered place. Few strangers ever venture into these mountains.”

Egalmoth narrowed his eyes in suspicion and Rog growled deep in his throat. Warning both his brothers with a raised hand, Ecthelion smoothly replied, “We have tracked him here. Perhaps nettle will help your memory, my lord.”

Egalmoth marked the slight and momentary glint in Glorfindel’s eyes and added, “I’m sure your lordship would have remembered well. Few strangers venture into this keep, fewer still of my brother’s make.”
Glorfindel quietly agreed, but unwilling to concede that quickly to a family that had left his beloved injured in the middle of the forest, he asked again in a careless tone, “My memory could not have failed me. You do not live on my lands. Why would your brother make his way to my keep?”
Ecthelion was livid with the surfeit of questions and the refusal of a direct answer, but he kept his temper in check. “To seek shelter, my lord. We were separated in the storm. We have sought him for nigh a fortnight and this is the only settlement for miles around.”

Still not convinced that these brothers had Erestor’s best interests in mind, Glorfindel refused to answer, “Nigh a fortnight! That is a long time for any elf to be caught in these summer storms. Has he the strength to have made it up the mountains on his own?”

Ecthelion stood from his seat and quietly answered, “We have, my lord. The storm rages still, and we have made it to your keep. Surely our brother could have too.”

“If he could, surely then, he would have found you instead.” Glorfindel mocked.

The brothers did not know how to answer to that; they did not understand how Erestor could have made his way up the mountain either. Greatly frustrated, Rog placed both his hands on the table and pushed himself up. Staring Glorfindel in the face, he asked in his characteristic deep and daunting voice, “We ask only this. Has my brother come to your keep?”

Egalmoth interrupted Ecthelion before the latter could speak. “If he has not, we shall leave at once. But know this, a lie can cause my brother’s life and should his life be risked by your whim, we shall visit upon you the worst of our wrath.” Egalmoth did not understand what the elven lord would gain from keeping them away from their youngest brother. He knew Erestor was here; the lord’s very refusal to answer their queries was proof enough. He did not believe that Erestor had come to any harm, for Glorfindel could have easily denied seeing any stranger, so that left only one logical conclusion. The elven lord was protecting Erestor.

Glorfindel was taken aback by the threat. Why would there be a threat to Erestor’s life? His blood ran cold at the thought of unknown danger and composing himself, he asked, “What trouble do you brothers run from?”

Both Ecthelion and Rog caught the edge in Glorfindel’s question and they exchanged glances with Egalmoth, quickly catching on. Ecthelion sat back in his chair and in half-truths replied, “We run from our own parents, my lord. Our father has been poisoned and no longer recognises his sons and our stepmother has done enough injury to us. She is now seeking Erestor. If we do not find him before she does, our youngest will perish.”

Glorfindel gave a hard frown. That could well explain the state that Erestor was in when he was found, but he did not understand how a mere elleth could be a threat even for trained warriors like the three before him. “What harm can she do within the reaches of my keep?”

Egalmoth leant back, satisfied. Erestor was safe within the keep. Rog had also discerned Glorfindel’s concern and he too rested back, pondering on why Glorfindel found it necessary to protect Erestor from his own brothers.

The eldest of them however was now irate that the golden oaf was all that was between them and Erestor. His eyes glinted with displeasure and his voice took on a hard, icy edge, “Sorcery my lord. More pain she has cast on him than on us.” Glaring at Glorfindel, the intensity of Ecthelion’s commanding presence could not be more apparent. He continued, “I would see my brother now, Lord Glorfindel. Should he be even minutely harmed, all shall taste the bitter draught of my wrath.”

Glorfindel realised his error but he was more concerned about the threat to his lover. Erestor had never once mentioned a threat and to think he had nearly brought him back to the forest! “What pain did she cast?” Pausing as a sudden thought hit him, “The nettles!”

Rog had had enough. Unleashing the axe strapped to him, he swung it onto the table, causing all the guards to draw their swords and a few archers readying their arrows. He slowly thundered his demand. “We would see Erestor now.”
-----

Erestor woke up from the discomfort of sleeping on the floor, his muscles hurting from both the exertion before and the contact against the hard ground as he tossed and turned. Sitting up, he felt a sore ache coursing through his body and he winced. Letting his eyes adjust to the dim light, he was momentarily disoriented when he discovered that Glorfindel was no longer there.

Disorientation gave way to a slow agonising stab into his heart, a pain that flooded his sense far more than any physical ache. He felt lost - and he felt used. Tears began to run ceaselessly down his cheeks and he wanted to hide. Now more than ever he wanted Ecthelion. No matter how old he got, the moment he felt upset he would run for his oldest brother, and everything would be put right again. But his brother was not here.

His first instinct was to run for his room so that he could hide this grief that had stolen over him, and so he could weep in cocooned privacy. Gathering his clothes, he donned his leggings and tunic. Unfortunately, the buttons of his tunic were ripped, and thus he drew the drape closer around him. Struggling to his feet and furiously rubbing the tears away from his eyes, he opened the door.

The butler was giving instructions to a maid when he was greeted by the sorry sight of a rumpled elf with unruly hair. Erestor was surprised to see him there and he tried to hide his tears and his shame, but the wet cheeks and flushed face could not be concealed. The butler moved quickly and bowed to Erestor, hoping to console and convince the apparently abandoned lover of his lord.

“My lord Glorfindel had asked us to inform you that he had been called away by visitors.” When he saw Erestor’s disbelieving stare, the butler bowed again. “The elves had insisted on speaking with him immediately. They seek an elf named Erestor rather anxiously. My lord could not ignore them… ”

Before the butler could continue his explanation and defence of his lord, Erestor had brushed by him, running down the stairs and to the great hall. Afraid that the elf might come to harm, especially when the visitors were armed, the butler followed immediately hoping to hold him back. Erestor however was greatly excited and eager to see if the strangers were indeed his brothers; all pain was forgotten and his excitement lent him lighter feet.

As he ran closer to the hall, his keen ears were beginning to pick out voices and just as he approached the hall he heard the wonderful voice of Rog thundering through the doors. “We would see Erestor now!” Uncaring of all circumstance, Erestor flung open the slightly parted doors.

The sudden action startled everyone in the hall, already tensed by Rog’s threat. Ecthelion took a look at the intruder and pushed himself up with so much force the chair went tumbling. Opening his arms, he welcomed the hard impact as his youngest brother catapulted himself into his arms.

Erestor wept long tears of happiness as he hugged close to his eldest brother, crying as he did as an elfling on the broad shoulder. Ecthelion in his own relief hid his face among the soft wavy locks and muttered. “Oh thank Elbereth. You are safe, fileg. Thank Elbereth.” The two other brothers gathered around, assuring themselves that their youngest was safe. Erestor hugged them in turn and Ecthelion held him at arm’s length, checking his brother for any sign of injury or illness, and simultaneously, all three of them frowned

The butler followed in soon after and bowed in apology to his lord, who was standing aside, allowing the brothers their reunion. Just as Glorfindel was about to instruct the butler to have food brought into the room, a single dart shot in front of his nose and buried its sharp edge in the wall behind him. He turned abruptly to face the brothers again, only to find all three glaring at him with Erestor looking quizzically between him and his brothers.

Once the relief of finding their brother safe and sound subsided, Ecthelion noticed the unkempt state of his brother. He had thought Erestor was bedraggled from being woken suddenly, but a closer look informed him that his youngest brother was not wearing sleeping robes. His sharp eyes picked up something even more unforgivable: torn buttons. Alarmed he had examined his brother more closely and the swollen lips, tussled hair only added to one damning conclusion.

Rog had taken in the same details, except that since he was standing by the side of Erestor, he could easily see the love bite beneath his youngest brother’s ear as well. His blood began bubbling and he found his hand gripping over the helm of his axe again. Who had dared sully his little brother?

Unlike his brothers, Egalmoth had already pieced together the entire puzzle in his sharper mind. It would well explain why the elven lord was so protective of Erestor, but even with his enviably cool control, he saw red. This was his youngest brother, the little gem that he had cradled in his arms for years. This was his littlest brother, the pure, innocent, and beautifully adorable elfling that he had wanted to keep sequestered away for all eternity. To think that the untouched innocence had been stolen from his sweet little brother, and by an elf that they hardly knew! It was unpardonable and reprehensible, and before he could even think, his reflexes shot out his prized dart, narrowly missing Glorfindel.

Glorfindel placed his hand on his sword hilt, wary of the threat emanating from the brothers. The change in the atmosphere puzzled him and he looked from one brother to the other, reading the same murderous intent.

“What did you do to my brother?” Egalmoth snarled, causing Erestor to step back in fright.

Erestor had only seen Egalmoth angry once in all his long years, and that was when Duilin broke the harp their mother had left to the older archer. It had taken him three months of pleading before Egalmoth would even speak with Duilin again. Penlod was the one with the temper; Egalmoth was the one who never lost it and thus Erestor wondered what could have triggered his older brother’s temper. Then Egalmoth’s words registered in his mind and he glanced down at himself, gasping in shock. He had forgotten about his state of dress!

Glorfindel’s eyes widened, but just as he was about to defend himself, Rog had flung a chair in his direction, crashing with the same accuracy as the dart preceding it. Glorfindel was startled, even more so when he saw the most menacing brother advance on him.

Ecthelion was never one to mince his words or actions, nor was he ever one to hide his displeasure. He moved with the grace of the wind, usually calm and pacifying, but lethal and quick when riled. He was riled now. The thought of anybody’s touch tainting his fileg was unbearable enough, but to have an utter stranger approach his youngest brother without his express permission, and without proving beyond the shadow of a doubt his worthiness for doing so, was unthinkable, deplorable, and absolutely infuriating.

Glorfindel found himself at a distinct disadvantage. He could not draw his sword against his beloved’s brother but the elf closing in on him did not look a whiff harmless. He did not quite know how to respond either; it was after all true, he did ravish their youngest brother, albeit with his consent. Rather than stuttering like a landed fish, he kept his peace, but that would not save him from an impending doom.

Ecthelion did not bother drawing his sword. He was nigh fit to tear the fool of an elf limb from limb, skin from bones. But before he could even land a gratifying punch against that straight and sharp nose, he found his youngest brother standing before his hunted quarry.

Erestor was very well aware of the potency of his brothers’ fury and Glorfindel’s dilemma. Planting himself between his eldest brother and his lover, he pleaded wordlessly for all his brothers to rein in their tempers. Glorfindel was secretly relieved that his pendinen had rescued him from a certain death, and putting up his hands in a gesture of goodwill, he said, “Wait, let me explain…”

“Move this instant, Erestor.” Ecthelion ordered. Erestor blanched and shook his head. He seldom defied Ecthelion, seeing as how his eldest brother often bent backwards to accommodate his every whim. He worshipped every inch of the ground Ecthelion tread on, and it felt strange standing up against the one brother who meant the world to him.

Ecthelion raised his eyebrow and snapped. “Fileg. Out of the way. Dare you defy me?” For the first time in his memory, he was furious with Erestor. What was his brother thinking, allowing a stranger, someone he had barely known to touch him intimately? He did not want to know how far they had taken matters - it was enough.

Erestor looked past his eldest brother in desperate hope for his other brothers to help him, but a look at the dart in Egalmoth’s fingers and the scowl on Rog’s face dashed any chance of the other two interfering on his behalf. He shook his head vehemently but stood his ground.

Glorfindel did not like Ecthelion’s treatment of Erestor. It was much too domineering and dogmatic, and sensing his lovers’ dismay, he stepped forward, and placing a hand on Erestor’s shoulders, announced deliberately, “Don’t you dare lose your temper with my husband.”

A dart flew by him again, this time close enough to snip a braid of his hair. Rog banged his fist against the wall, causing a resounding tremor, but it was Ecthelion who had reacted the strongest. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. The fury within him bubbled over and he lashed out at Erestor. “You bonded with him?!”

Without waiting for a reply, he rebuked his youngest brother. “How could you have been this irresponsible?! You hardly know this elf and you did not even have the courtesy to seek your family’s permission? How dare you, Erestor!”

Glorfindel felt the tremor in Erestor’s shoulders and he was even more displeased at this unnecessary confrontation that was causing his lover distress. Egalmoth, seeing Erestor’s the trembling lips, would have cautioned his eldest brother when Glorfindel pulled Erestor behind him, facing Ecthelion directly, demanded, “How could he?! Why should he when you, YOU left him in the forest to die?! Why should he even care to seek your permission? Don’t you dare shout at him like that, brother or nay, I will not allow it.”

Ecthelion did not bother replying. His fist shot out first connecting with Glorfindel’s jaw with its swiftness. The guards rushed to Glorfindel’s aid but were halted by Glorfindel’s growl. Rog was itching to do the same to Glorfindel but at the moment he would trust Ecthelion to seek justice. Egalmoth however was beginning to question his anger when he saw Erestor cowering behind Glorfindel and then helping the elven lord up.

Glorfindel caught the next fist that was swung at him and landed one of his own on his opponent’s rib cage, cursing in his induced rage, “Fine brother you are.” Despite Ecthelion’s exhaustion, anger had made him an equal match and the scuffle between the two elves only grew fiercer.

Erestor tried to break the fight, but he just could not. The elves were beyond reason, so he did what he usually did when his brothers were all displeased with him. He ran to Egalmoth and he tugged on the sleeves of his brother’s crossed arms.

Egalmoth quirked his eyebrow and coldly said, “He dared touch you.” His resolve on that matter slowly ebbed away when he saw the trembling lips give way to tears.

Erestor looked at his brothers and Glorfindel in turn. If he had his voice he would have shouted and begged them to stop. But he did not, and he did not have the prowess to break the fight either. A sense of uselessness washed over him and looking at the two elves on the whole of Arda that he loved the most keenly causing grievous injuries to each other, he despaired. Unable to plead Egalmoth out of his temper, and knowing that Rog was all the more fiercer, Erestor crouched against the wall and cried.

To have his youngest brother crying just when relief was new was a blow even to the hardest resolve, and Egalmoth could not hold on to his anger any longer. Crouching down beside Erestor, he gestured for Rog to break the fight. Rog ground his teeth and glared at Egalmoth, but the sight of the piteous weeping caused him to change his mind; he never wanted Erestor upset, he was just angry that someone could have despoiled his little brother.

Bellowing at the top of his considerable voice, he shouted, “ENOUGH!” Nearly everyone froze within the hall, including the butler who was ready to throw a basin of ice-cold water over the fighting elves. Unfortunately, the two protagonists were still caught up in the fog of adrenaline and rage, fuelled by the intense gratification of facing an equal.

Rog did not like being ignored but as he moved towards the preoccupied elves, the fight broke up suddenly as both elves yelped in pain.

“OW!” Ecthelion shouted cradling his injured arm. A dart had cut across his forearm, embedding itself into his flesh. Plucking out the dart, he tried to stop the bleeding with the fabric about the cut. A look at Glorfindel saw that the aggravating elf was doing the same. Ecthelion glared in the direction of Egalmoth - since when do brothers turn on brothers? – but his eyes fell on the sobbing elf, who had hidden his face under his curtain of hair, burying his tears while hugging his knees close to him.

Glorfindel noticed the same and alarmed, both the brother and the lover gathered around, glaring at each other when both reached out for Erestor. Egalmoth glanced at them, redirecting his potent anger. “I hope your anger is well spent.” Then turning his attentions back to Erestor, he whispered words of comfort laced with curses against two muddling oafs who ought to know better.

Ecthelion cleared his throat, and softly coaxed, “I’m sorry, fileg. Stop crying, please. Please stop? I haven’t sought you for this long only to see you in tears. Fileg…” Erestor did not answer, nor did the sobs stop. He merely hugged his knees closer, still upset with the unnecessary fighting. Both the elves loved him, as he loved both of them, and his heart wrung at the thought of them hating each other. He did not want to make a choice - he never wanted to make a choice.

Glorfindel placed his hand on Erestor’s knee, and ignoring the glower from the overprotective oldest brother he cajoled as well, “Pendinen? I’m sorry I hit your brother, I am. Please don’t cry, it’s breaking my heart.” Erestor did not respond to him either, but Ecthelion did.

“Whose fault do you think it was to begin with?” He growled. Glorfindel turned and was about remind Ecthelion that he had been the one to throw the first fist, when Erestor’s sobs became more uncontrollable.

Erestor’s distress became a mindless anger of his own. He was disappointed that neither of them could even pretend to get along with each other for his sake; he was hurt that both of them could claim to love him and still pushed him into a corner. He refused to deal with them until they could be civil and rubbing at his furious tears, he threw his arms around Egalmoth instead.

Hugging his brother against his shoulder, Egalmoth pinned both Glorfindel and Ecthelion with his icy stare. Rog planted his axe between the two quickly repenting elves and glowered down at them.

“Get to the nursery, both of you. There are plenty of rag dolls there.” Egalmoth said in a dangerously soft tone. Turning back to the elf still crying into his shoulder, he said deliberately louder, “Come on, fileg. We’ll leave these fools here.”

Rog turned to ask the anxious butler, “Does he have a room here?”

“Yes my lord.” The butler quickly nodded. “I could show you the way.”

Rog moved to kneel down beside Erestor, displacing both Glorfindel and Ecthelion who were both forced to stand aside. Egalmoth kissed Erestor’s temple and turned him into Rog’s waiting arms, who then cradled the crying elf. Glaring at both the culprits sardonically, Egalmoth then followed Rog and the butler back to Erestor’s rooms.

Ecthelion and Glorfindel exchanged glances, both wanting desperately to follow but afraid of making matters worse. They read similar glints of worry, guilt, fear and deep fervent love in each other’s eyes, and each turned away, quietly acknowledging and accepting that one thing at least they had in common. They bandaged their arms as better senses returned to them, they realised their mistake in tossing Erestor between them.

Ecthelion would not have deserved the respect all his brothers gave him if he could not admit mistakes, and breaking the silence, he extended a palm to Glorfindel. “The news is too sudden for me to accept, but if my youngest has taken you as his mate, I will try.”

Glorfindel looked at the hand and saw the sincerity in the other’s eyes. Even during the fight he had greatly admire the fluid graces of the warrior and under different circumstance he could have called this elf friend. Accepting the truce, Glorfindel replied, “I do not expect you to approve immediately. He is a gem that is meant to be protected and cocooned away. I would not have liked anyone placing even a finger on him either, brother or not.”

Ecthelion was secretly pleased; that was another aspect in common, but unable to resist, he grasped the hand tighter and threatened, “If my brother finds anything less than pure unadulterated happiness, I shall cheerfully tear strips of skin off you and dip you in the oldest vinegar.”

Glorfindel held that grasp, privately approving the protectiveness of this brother. “Rest assured. I hate vinegar.”

Truce met, both hurried behind Erestor.
-----------------

Egalmoth looked around the room, approving of all the comforts that had been provided for his youngest brother. No expense had been spared, and fingering the soft sleeping robes that he had just wrapped Erestor in, he knew that Glorfindel cared deeply, and for that, he forgave the transgressions that the latter had made on his brother. Occasional tears still rolled down Erestor’s cheeks and Egalmoth wiped them away, asking, “He treats you well, doesn’t he?”

Rog planted himself in the big couch next to the bed, waiting for a confirmation. He was greatly mollified by the luxury of the room, especially the open space to the roof – top garden. For all his insolence, the lord of this keep knew and loved Erestor well. That was all he needed to know.

Erestor nodded and looked pleadingly at both his brothers. He needed at least one of them to help him – there were still six other brothers to convince and few of them could defy Ecthelion. He could imagine that Penlod’s rage would far surpass Ecthelion’s, and Galdor would possibly rip his lover apart before any explanation was made.

Egalmoth placed his hand on Erestor’s shoulder, sweeping away the locks from the wet cheeks. “I will not accept any elf who makes my brother cry.” Erestor immediately wiped off his tears and gave Egalmoth a watery smile. The watery smile quickly became a grin as he recalled that the cool archer had always been the first to give in to him.

Rog leant back against the chair and commented, “I shall hold my peace. He regards you well.” Looking at Erestor’s grateful eyes, he privately grimaced. It was a right decision, but he would still want a pot shot at that dastardly elf. To lighten the mood somewhat he quipped, “I’ll even restrain Penlod.”

Both his brothers grinned but quickly sobered when they remembered Penlod’s formidable temper. It was not going to be an easy task. The thought of his other brothers brought Erestor to pull at Egalmoth’s sleeve in question. Reading the query in his brother’s eyes, Egalmoth replied, “They are still in the mountains, we shall fly out in the morning to inform the rest.”

On the mention of flight, Erestor started to fumble beneath his pillow excitedly. His brothers would be glad that he was nearly done. Drawing out the tunics to his puzzled brothers, he watched delighted as ecstasy built in their faces.

Rog was the first to clear his throat, “You have finished.” Erestor shook his head and picked up the one unfinished tunic.

“Just one more.” Egalmoth whispered. “Just one.” Then in an uncharacteristic whoop, he jumped onto the bed and hugged his brother tight. “You marvellous creature! One more sleeve to freedom! Oh you absolute marvel!” Rog guffawed at the sight of the archer showering the small face with loud kisses.
----

Glorfindel and Ecthelion cautiously opened the door, encouraged by Rog’s loud laughter and were remarkably relieved to find Erestor smiling again when they peeped in tentatively.

Egalmoth catching sight of the two errant elves immediately composed himself, and a glacier masked over his features. “Have we decided to be civil now?” The smile was also wiped from Erestor’s countenance as he regarded the two elves at the door with some anxiety.

Glorfindel walked in with his hands held up. “A truce has been made.” He caught Erestor’s line of sight and smiled reassuringly, which was immediately rewarded by a blinding beam.

Ecthelion followed, standing beside Glorfindel. His eyes wandered around the room and he liked what he saw. The big oak bed, the delicately carved dresser, the luxurious carpets, the cosy chairs and couches and most importantly for his youngest brother, the wide glass doors opening out to a dimly lit garden. He grudgingly conceded that Glorfindel had provided well for Erestor.

Ecthelion turned to find his brothers and Glorfindel waiting for him to pass his judgement, Erestor particularly nervous. It placated his senses that his opinion still mattered to Erestor, and he regretted the unreasonable questions he had thrown at his youngest brother in his fury earlier. He maintained his silence and approaching the bed, gesturing with a nod for Egalmoth to remove himself, he sat down on the bed. Cupping the anxious little face between his hands, he kissed the top of that gentle forehead and patted the crown of hair awkwardly and said, “Only because you wish me to.”

Erestor hugged his brother, elated that Ecthelion could have abandoned his censure. All was right in his world. Ecthelion would be able to hold all his other brothers in check, he knew, and with time, he was sure that he would grow to like Glorfindel for himself as well. Remembering another cause for happiness, he broke away from the hug and showed Ecthelion the tunics.

Speechless, Ecthelion ran his hand through each of the tunics, slowly counting in his mind. When he came to the last unfinished tunic, his eyes turned on Erestor, flabbergasted. “Nine. Nearly nine.” Erestor nodded and found his breath knocked out of him as Ecthelion enveloped him in a bear hug. “You finished! We will be free, by Elbereth, you have done it!”

Pulling his brother to arm’s length, he quickly grabbed the small hands and inspected them for sores and injuries. He remembered the pain it had taken just for Erestor to finish two tunics. To think he could have finished seven others in that short a time! Surprised to find nothing more than slight redness and remembering the disastrous storms over the last fortnight, Ecthelion asked the tearful Erestor, “How?”

Erestor beamed happily and pointed at Glorfindel, causing all his brothers to turn their sights on the latter. Thankful that wrath had been replaced by grateful curiosity Glorfindel blithely replied, “I would tell you how, if you would tell me why.”

Ecthelion nodded. Turning back on Erestor, he said, “We will let him know.” Pushing his little brother back into his pillows and throwing the blanket over him, he continued, “Get your sleep now, fileg, you have to finish the last tunic tomorrow. We shall get the rest and weather willing, we will all be reunited before dusk tomorrow.”

Erestor was beginning to feel the strain from the excitement of the entire evening and he was thus pliant to Ecthelion’s will. Nevertheless he cast a worried look from Ecthelion to Glorfindel and then to Egalmoth.

Sensing the remnants of distrust, Egalmoth assured the tired elf, “Sleep. I’ll kill them before they kill each other.” Erestor grinned and dutifully burrowed beneath the blanket, already dreaming of his reunion with all his brothers.

The three brothers took their turn, kissing their youngest good night, and it was with great reluctance that they relinquished their place to Glorfindel, not altogether willing to acknowledge the elven lord’s right to their brother’s heart yet. Glorfindel sat by Erestor and seeing the smile fluttering on those sweet lips, he bent and kissed his lover’s lip chastely, mindful of the watchful brothers. “Sweet dreams, pendinen.”

The brothers snorted. Silent one? Oh the elven lord was in for a surprise when hit with the full force of Erestor’s chatter. They waited till Glorfindel rose from the bed.

“Come, we have much to discuss.” Glorfindel gestured them towards the door.

The brothers took his invitation and settling back in the great hall, as the household staff was roused and a meal was prepared, Ecthelion told Glorfindel the story with helpful comments from the other two brothers, telling him everything from their stepmother’s curse to the reason behind Erestor’s painful tasks. He left out only one minor detail. He would have the satisfaction of watching Glorfindel’s face when Erestor regained his voice.

Glorfindel’s anger built with the telling and cautiously tittering on the edge of insane fury, he seethed and quietly asked, “Where is the witch?”

Egalmoth cautioned Glorfindel, “Do not seek her. Vengeance is not ours, for sorcery is not a tool any of us knows. Swords and fists we can defend ourselves against – not words of power.”

Glorfindel carefully considered the advice before declaring, “I will not leave any threat, sorcery or otherwise, unaddressed. The king’s court holds a few advisers who are well skilled in the arts of sorcery and I shall seek their assistance. Wherever she may be, she must be dealt with.”

Ecthelion was of the same mind, but he had had time to mull over the problem of his stepmother. He had the welfare of all his brothers to think of. “As much as I would like my revenge upon her, I would think that not provoking her would be our best defence. She still thinks us enchanted and Erestor along with us. We are no threat to her. I had lied when I said she seeks us – she has no reason to.” Pausing to think, he added, “But if my brother is to live with you, help from one of these sorcerers may be most useful in the event that she finds him.”

Glorfindel contemplated Ecthelion’s reasoning and he could not find fault. He could not be certain that they could successfully send her in exile from the elven lands and should they fail, the witch would know of Erestor’s presence. Disgruntled he nodded curtly and his mind was drawn to another matter, “There are only three of you, but Erestor has been making nine tunics. Are there more of you?”

Rog and Egalmoth shared a grin and tongue in cheek, Ecthelion gleefully informed him, “Six other brothers. Erestor is the youngest of us lot.” He had the sadistic pleasure of seeing Glorfindel’s eyes widen and jaw drop, before continuing, “We shall gather them tomorrow morning. You should be able to meet their delightful acquaintance before night falls anew.”

Glorfindel wryly commented, “I guess I can wear nothing short of full armour.” Nevertheless, he spread his hands to indicate his keep and added seriously, “Erestor will wish you to remain close. For as long as you will it, my keep will gladly serve as your home.”

The brothers acknowledged the invitation; with or without it, they had already intended to stay close to Erestor. The hours of the night grew shorter and camaraderie grew stronger among the four elves, drawn together by their love of Erestor and their ardent pursuit of warring arts. Chess games were promised and anecdotes exchanged, rude names were called and sparring matches arranged. The world was beginning to right itself for the brothers and for what had seemed like an entire passage in their immortal lives, they could think about the future and joke about its consequences. Still the future had a way of never staying on its intended path.

As dawn drew close, and the storm subsided, the elven lord accompanied his guests to the gardens and watched as Arien’s rays began to weave its magic around, colouring the world from her elaborate palette. Just as the first light palled over the brothers, he gaped in amazement as feathered forms replaced the warrior elves of yesternight and he continued staring after the swans lifted themselves in wondrous flight.

TBC…