Glorfindel Unleashed

Title : 'Glorfindel Unleashed', 11/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
Email: cross_stitcherire@yahoo.com
Feedback: Yes please!
Type: FPS
Beta: Beloved Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Rating: NC-17 overall
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor eventually
Warnings: M/M; implied child abuse (in later chapter); angst; character death
Archive: Of Elves and Men; Melethryn; AFF.net

Author's notes: AU as in it is my idea, but canon where possible with regard to LOTR history. Please note - I subscribe to a very moral position and Tolkien's ethics regarding underage elves. There will be NO illicit carnal connotations in this story.


Summary : A small child creeps into a corner of Glorfindel's heart. As the child grows into an adult, Glorfindel is alarmed at how the changes affect him. Can love survive enforced celibacy, death and an elf who will not recognise his feelings?


Chapter 11

T.A. 149

The shock lasted only a moment. Though his mind was still whirling from the disclosures and actions of his seneschal, Elrond's experience as a warrior and commander did not let him linger. Across crowcrowd of stunned elves still in the courtyard he spotted the one he needed.

"Andrann! Take a patrol and find him. Whatever direction, however he protests - get him back here!"

The elleth nodded curtly and responded as Elrond knew she would. He did not wait to see his orders carried out. He could hear her directions as he hurried back in to the House and to the residential wing - the family wing. Erestor would not have gone to the library or his office, not after such an emotional event. No, he would have retreated into his little world, his sanctuary – his bolt hole. Erestor was ever like a frightened animal, a fox or a rabbit, dashing to safety whenever his emotional shell was prodded. He was one of the bravest and most skillful warriors Elrond had fought beside, yet he hid from his emotions as if they would kill him. As if they *had* killed…
…

Elrond did not know the cause of Erestor's retreat. But he *did* know that if he could not break through that protective shell then another elf would suffer - and die a second time.

****

Erestor knew who was at the door. Knew from the pounding, knew from the voice. He did not want to answer. He wanted to shut the world out. He wanted to shut Elrond out. He wanted - needed - to keep Glorfindel out. He also knew that he would not be able to, not this time. Reluctantly he drew the bolt aside and allowed the Lord of Imladris entry to his chambers. Erestor decided to take the offensive.

"I have no wish to talk, Elrond. I will hear what you have to say, but my life is my own. I would like to be left alone." Elrond looked at Erestor shrewdly, and the dark counsellor felt a shiver run through him. The Peredhel was not to be assuaged easily. Finally his lord spoke.

"Very well, Erestor. You need not worry any longer. Glorfindel is gone. He will trouble you no more." Elrond turned as if to leave.

"Gone? Gone where?" It was not relief that swept through the advisor, but panic. His Glorfindel would not give him up that easily… But that was what he wanted, wasn't it? Suddenly he realised that he was no longer sure.

"Do you care? You never wanted him here. What is he to you - Erestor of Gondolin?"

Erestor gasped, stumbling back from his lord. He tried to evade the question, and Elrond's probing eyes. "He - he means nothing to me."

"But he once did, didn't he Erestor? He was everything to you. He was your betrothed. There was no mysterious elf to whom you spoke, no witness save yourself. Glorfindel told you of the balrogs, didn't he? As you escaped from Gondolin. As you climbed Cirith Thoronath. Just before he died."

Elrond was relentless. His power of mind and mastery of healing of both fëa and hröa pressed on Erestor, giving him no chance to collect his thoughts, marshal his defences. The advisor knew he was breakindernder this assault and his mind and heart twisted and turned trying to escape the elf-lord's attack. He fell back onto his well-worn mantra, fully conscious of the fact that Elrond no longer believed him.

"I am Erestor of Lindon. I am -"

"Lying."

Erestor began to shake. Of course he was lying. He had lied for millennia, to others, to himself - to Glorfindel. Didn't Elrond realise that it was the only way to carry on? It was his only succour? His way of surviving? He had locked the memories away for so long and now they were pounding at the door in his mind, demanding release. Some had already leaked through, and the rest were awaiting him, an impending flood ready to drown him in their intensity. He knew that he would not survive that moment, not with his sanity intact. Not again.

"Where is he going?" he asked again, proud that his voice held none of the fear and concern which coursed through him.

Elrond shrugged. "I asked him but he wasn't sure. He said that if Námo didn't want him, he was sure Hell would give him a home."

"No!" Erestor screamed. No.no.no.no. Notagainnotagainnotagain…..

He started to run for the door. "No! No I won't lose him again. NO!!"

Elrond grabbed the hysterical elf in his arms, fighting to calm the struggling, weeping elf.

"Erestor, it's all right! Calm down!" The struggles increasing, the screams becoming hysterical, incoherent. "I've sent Andrann after him, Erestor! The warriors will bring him back!" The words did not penetrand End Elrond was fast losing his grip on Erestor. With a last frantic shake he forced the dark elf to look at him.

Erestor didn't see him, not really. He saw only flames and heard only screams. He saw sapphire eyes looking at him, pleading with him and he couldn't reach him, couldn't catch him. Always falling, always dying. The sapphire eyes accused and his heart shrivelled, understanding the reproach in that gaze. He had let him die. He had failed Glorfindel. And Ecthelion. And Turgon. And Rog. And Tawaron. And – oh, no, he could not think of them…

He had failed everyone. He was failing them again.

Elrond dropped to the floor with the collapsing counsellor, not relinquishing his hold on the weeping elf. He knew thaestoestor was finally reng hng his memories, was finally admitting his past life - and it obviously filled him with terror. He held him tight, trying to calm the hysterical elf. Elrond had to connect to Erestor, had to try to bring him back from the brink of insanity. From the emotions and visions he was receiving Erestor saw nothing but flames...

"What can you see, Erestor? What happened to Glorfindel?"

Erestor curled tightly into himself, screwed his eyes shut in the hope that the visions would stop. "I - I don't want to...I can't ...! Please, make them stop!"

"I can't, Erestor. Only you can do that." urged Elrond, stroking the soft black hair. "Talk to me, tell me and together we can break you free."

Erestor leaned into Elrond's touch, remembering another hand stroking him, holding him.

"I loved him. I loved him. I killed him, I killed him, I killed him..."

"No!" Elrond said sharply, desperate to prevent Erestor retreating down a dark path, the path to insanity. "Focus, Erestor. Tell me what happened!"

Erestor breathed deeply, eyes still staring into his past, into his nightmare. Every moment was etched on his brain and now that he had released the lock on his memories they were flowing easily, vividly. "He reached for me, and I didn't move, I didn't take his hand. I - I let him fall." Yes, it was his fault - he had killed Glorfindel.

"How far away was he, Erestor? Could you actually reach him?"

Erestor wasn't expecting that. It took him a moment to understand the question. He knew the answer but to say it would be too honest, too truthful.

"I - I don't know... It is hard to say..."

Elrond did not let it pass. "Think, Erestor. Tell me the truth. Could you have caught him?" Erestor did not answer. "Now, Erestor. Tell me now."

A cry burst from Erestor's throat. "I can't say it! I can't - admit it!"

Elrond gave Erestor a gentle squeeze of reassurance. "You were too far away, weren't you, Erestor? There was no way you could have caught him in time. It wasn't your fault he fell, Erestor."

Erestor began to shake, turning his head in denial. No, he *had* killed his love! He had cried out, and Glorfindel had turned, and he had fallen. It was his fault. He had known that for years, for centuries. For thirty centuries. Of course it was his fault, couldn't Elrond see that?

"I'm sorry, Glorfindel! I'm sorry, I'm sorry...!" he wept, clinging to the blame he had laid upon himself two Ages ago. "I should have learned, I should have gone to my lessons. I was vain, I was stupid. I thought I knew it all. I didn't want to learn. I'm sorry, Ecthelion! I can hear the hiss, the steam. I can't reach you either! It's my fault! It is all my fault!"

Elrond could hardly understand his friend, the words were blotted by the sobs, the strain in his voice. This elf, so wise and brave, so knowledgeable and learned, so gentle and kind - he sounded like an elfling pleading for forgiveness after a misdemeanour. A thought suddenly struck him.

"Erestor, how old were you when Gondolin fell? How old were you when Glorfindel died?"

The words penetrated the sorrow and Erestor looked up, his tear-stained face showing his profound grief.

"Forty-nine, Elrond. I was forty-nine..." I was a child, a silly, stupid, selfish child, thought Erestor. Why did he love me so? I didn't deserve him; he was my brave golden warrior, and I didn't deserve him.

The shock showed in Elrond's face. Elbereth, Erestor was onlchilchild! And yet betrothed?

"Erestor, how was it that you were betrothed to Glorfindel? You were so young..."

Erestor shook his head, knowing what Elrond thought. "We were chaste. We were to wait for my Coming-of-Age. He pressed the ring on my finger as we prepared for battle. It was his pledge, his promise. He promised he would return...he promised…he promised…"

"Oh, Erestor," said Elrond, softly. "You were just a child and you have taken this blame - this erroneous blame - upon your shoulders for too long, mellon nîn. It wasn't your fault, dearest Erestor."

Erestor was not about to give up his self-blame, his self-disgust so easily. He knew that he was not worthy of his golden lord; not worthy of the praise heaped upon him by other elves - by Elrond. He was a fraud, a craven coward - a killer. He pulled himself from Elrond's arms, shuffled back across the floor, bent his head so that his raven hair formed his usual shielding shroud.

“Yes, it was my fault! And so was what happened later!”

Later? Yes, how did Erestor survive? “Later, Erestor? When? What happened after Glorfindel fell? Where did you go?”

Erestor lifted his head, his eyes dark with despair. He lookerrierrified. He stared at Elrond as if he didn’t understand the question. He was looking back through the ages, seeing only death and destruction.

“Where did I go?” he whispered finally. His hands were constantly clasping each othernstanstantly wringing in pent up emotion. “Into darkness. Into madness. They wouldn’t leave me. I was raving, a madman – yet they wouldn’t leave me… Elr Elrond’s heart wept for him, yet he knew that they weren’t finished. He guessed that Erestor was talking about his family but he had intimated that there was worse to come, more deaths that he lay at his own feet.

“Your family? They would not leave you?” Erestor nodded, not seeing Elrond, seeing only the past.

“Mirieth. Díwen. Aradol. My family. Brôglon died. One of Mirieth’s sons had died. Aradol didn’t. They looked after me, so I learned later. I couldn’t move, couldn’t react. I either screamed or sat in stupor. Tuor had to go, take Eärendil, Idril, others to safety. To the Mouths of Sirion. My family stayed. Four of the guard of the Golden Flower – they wouldn’t leave me. I killed them! I killed them!” The crying, the frantic weeping started once more. Elrond pressed further, forcing Erestor to focus on him again.

“Who died, Erestor? Your family? Not all, for I have met them.”

“I raved. Orcs came. I brought them. I betrayed them. More deaths. The guards…not all, but each is a stain on my soul…”

Elrond could only hold the sobbing advisor closer, tighter. The horror that the child Erestor had faced, the losses. Glorfindel. Ecthelion. His home. His heart and his soul. His sanity. How on earth had Erestor managed to survive? By retreating behind his façade, his mask. He had concentrated on building a new life to replace the old one, the one he had hidden in the recesses of his mind, and Glorfindel’s return had cracked that mask. Had blown it wide open. Oh Andrann, find him, otherwise I will lose both of them. Erestor, as sg ing in character and mind as he was, would not survive a second death.

Erestor lifted his head. “Let me go, Elrond. Let me go find him, please? I can find him, I know I can!”

Elrond looked closely at him. “And what would you say, Erestor? Would you tell him of your love? Would you give yourself to him as his betrothed?”

The retreat Elrond saw in Erestor’s eyes told him that this would not be so. Erestor did not feel worthy, did not believe he deserved the golden lord’s love. The self-recrimination had been brought into the light of day, but Erestor was not yet ready to let it go. Not ready to forgive himself.

Erestor, knowing what Elrond was trying to show him, drooped his head in defeat.

"Save him, Elrond. Save him from himself. He is too good to be lost to this world again. Save him for Imladris, for Middle Earth. The world needs him, my lord."

"And you do not?"

Erestor shook his head. Yes, he needed him. But he had forfeited all rights to him by his acts on that morning of Tarnin Austa, three thousand years ago.

"Well, he needs you, Erestor. Stop being so selfish."

Erestor's head shot up in surprise. He was not being selfish! He was being totally unselfish!

Elrond knew Erestor's thoughts, and berated his friend again.

"He came back for you, meldir. He came back to love you and you have rejected him at every turn. He needs you, Erestor. If he dies now, then yes, it will be your fault. You say that you don't want to lose him again. Well, prove it. Talk to him. Tell him what you have told me. Open yourself to him. He loves you, Erestor - and you love him. Let that love heal you both."

It was too much. Elrond was offering him hope, and he could not take it. Millennia of self-denial, self-flagellation would not let him. His voice was a whisper.

"How can I ask him to forgive me, Elrond? How *can* he forgive me?"

Elrond reached out his hand to touch Erestor’s face. "I do not think that he believes that there is anything to forgive, Erestor. He loves you. He will give you forgiveness if you ask it, but he sees no wrong in you, save the wrong you have dealt him in your denial of these past few months." He paused, wondering if Erestor would truly register his next words. "There is only one elf that demands that you beg for forgiveness. You. Yourself. You must forgive yourself first, Erestor. For it is only your guilt of survival that holds you back from the completion of your souls. Forgive yourself, and you will find your happiness in his arms."

The Peredhel saw that Erestor was trying to take in these words, and he hoped that it would be the start of healing. The elf before him was exhausted, both from the emotional outpouring they had just experienced and from the pressures of the months since Glorfindel’s arrival. His body needed rest just as much as his mind. There was no way that Elrond could let him go after Glorfindel. He would risk losing them both that way.

Elrond raised himself from the floor, and bent to lift the fallen elf. "Come, you must rest. You are weary from the trauma of your memories. Rest and sleep, Erestor. Take comfort in knowing that when he returns you will talk to him, hold him, love him again. Happiness is within your grasp, Erestor. Take this chance whilst you can."

Erestor shook his head, yet let himself be guided by his friend. "What if he returns whilst I sleep? I cannot sleep if I do not know that he is safe. I should go to him. Please let me go to him?"

"I will give you rest through my healing touch, Erestor. I will watch for him and bring him to you if he returns before you wake. I promise."

A pledge. A promise. Elrond leestoestor into his bedchamber and laid him upon his coverlet. Elrond reached his hands to Erestor but the counsellor forestalled him.

"Elrond, please? The box upon the dresser - please, may I have it?"

Elrond looked and saw a small dark wood box, lightly carved in elvish designs, which lay upon the dressing table. He carried it over to Erestor, who took it into his arms and curled round it. Laying his hands upon Erestor's forehead, Elrond concentrated, sending waves of healing, calming energy through his fingers. Erestor took a deep breath and his eyes began to glaze in reverie.

"My Glo'fin'l," he whispered and, as Elrond quietly exited the chamber, Erestor's rose-red lips curved into a sweet smile.


*****


The hours dragged on and Elrond was beginning to despair. Andrann had obviously sent out more than one patrol in search for her lord and now they were beginning to return, to straggle in from every direction. The golden lord had not been found. Elrond began to fear the worst, and yet – his inborn foresight had not spoken to him of tragedy. He had been sure that Glorfindel *would* return. Now he thought of that elf in the black robes of mourning, a mourning he had carried for millennia. He would never survive another loss.

The preparations for Tarnin Austa carried on around him. Celebrían had taken on much of the workload to spare him to the search and to his care of Erestor. Erestor had not yet woken but with each hour that passed the moment drew near. If Glorfindel was not at his side when he opened his eyes in hope… Elrond looked up at the sky. Dusk was nigh upon them, and only Andrann remained on search. She was a tenacious elleth, she would not admit defeat of a task laid upon her.

Just as Elrond turned to go back into the house from his position on the portico there was a shout from the gates. Turning, his heart leapt when he saw the gleaming white coat of Asfaloth, and on his back the golden lord. Directly behind him was Andrann, and Elrond beamed at the captain in delight. Glorfindel was quick to dismount and Elrond stepped forward with open arms. Glorfindel bowed, hand over heart in salute.

“My Lord, I am sorry that I caused you such turmoil and grief. I am returned but I ask of you, do not ask me yet why I return. There is another to whom I must speak first.”

Elrond smiled gently. “He is in his chambers, Glorfindel. He has opened his heart to me, and – he awaits you.” He moved his hand to beckon the seneschal to go into the house and be reunited with his betrothed. Glorfindel shook his head.

“The time will come, Elrond - but not this night. The vigil of Tarnin Austa is upon us, within the hour, I suspect.” He squinted at the failing sun. “I must groom Asfaloth and then I must prepare myself. There will be plenty of time to talk to him on the morrow. I would not rush the words I must speak to him.” Glorfindel turned to lead the stallion to the stables, but Elrond spoke once more.

“Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel turned his head to look at the Lord of Imladris.

“Glorfindel, do you still love him? For he loves you – dearly.”

The golden lord looked down at the cobbles of the yard, as if pondering the question. When he raised his head his eyes were glistening, and the smile was imbued with love – and regret.

“Always, Elrond. Deeply, and alw always. However there have been – developments - of which I cannot yet speak. I must hurry else I will be tardy. Please reassure him for me, Elrond. I *will* tell him all, I promise.” And with that he retreated to the stables.

Elrond was puzzled but knew that he had to be satisfied – for the moment. He turned with gratitude to the awaiting captain.

“You are very conscientious, dearest Andrann. My gratitude knows no bounds at this moment. I owe you much.”

The elleth bowed but stated, “It was none of my doing, my lord. I, and my warriors, searched almost every corner of the realm without success. I too was beginning to despwhenwhen I spotted the seneschal on the road. He was returning of his own volition. He was coming home, my lord.”


*****

The household of Elrond Peredhel had gathered on the east facing terraces of Imladris, awaiting the setting of the sun. Elrond stood with his wife and children, and with his chief counsellor at his side, leading the vigil. Erestor had been awake when Elrond had returned to his chambers. The dark elf was upset to learn that Glorfindel had returned and yet had not agreed to come with Elrond. It took all of Elrond’s persuasion to encourage the advisor and to bring him to the point of standing here, beside him, on this momentous occasion. The memories would hit hard tonight especially and Elrond wanted Erestor within arms length.

The crowds parted with the arrival of the seneschal, in awe at his presence - for he glowed. He was arrayed in the finest of clothing and bore the symbol of the Golden Flower upon his blue silk doublet. His in-born light as one of the Firstborn was enhanced, magnified as his face shone with the light that is only seen in those who have dwelt in Aman, within the graces of the Valar. He was a great and powerful Elf-Lord, who could exist in both the physical and spiritual realms. He could face, had faced, the forces of evil; could and had overcome them and sent them to the hells preserved for evil incarnate. He was Glorfindel, the vessel of the Gods. And he was at peace. He smiled beatifically at those who greeted him and came to stop before his lord and lady, bowing in graceful salutations. The twin boys stood and gazed at him in jaw-drog awg awe, so magnificent was this friend, this playmate. Another gentle smile, then Glorfindel took his place, standing firmly beside Erestor. The sweetest smile was reserved for the dark elf and the small hand was taken within the large, calloused fingers and gently squeezed. In the dying light of the red sun, just before the silence was imposed upon them, that deep voice spoke softly to the trembling advisor.

“Be at peace, Erestor. Know that I have returned to you – to you all.”

Long was the night, and soothing was the music played by Lindir and the minstrels. Small eyes soon shut in gentle sleep and the twins were carried to their room by their loving parents. Elrond and Celebrían quickly rejoined the assembled elves to await the coming dawn.

Lindir’s voice soared in praise as the first rays of summer crept over the opposing ridge of the ravine, casting a golden glow over the inhabitants of Imladris. The glow intensified as Glorfindel raised his arms in greeting to the sun, his deep tones joining the song and acting as counterpoint to Lindir’s tenor. They sang the song of the morn. Joy, pain, sweetness and sorrow rolled forth from him as he sang and in his light the gathered elves sensed the presence of the past. He sang of his home, his people, and history lived in his chorus. The warriors of Gondolin were personified in his hymn. Their blessings and the blessings of the Valar washed over the household of the refuge of Rivendell and only as the song drew to a close did Glorfindel’s arms lower and his aura diminish. The Golden Lord still shone in the morning rays, his golden mane reflecting the brilliance of Anor.

In awe and respect the elves of Imladris withdrew from the terraces, un-noticed by the Lord of Gondolin. Elrond hastened the exodus, leading the elves to the celebratory breaking of the fast within the Dining Hall. He turned one last time to see the two elves left on the promenade, sable and gold, and prayed that Erestor would have the courage to cast aside his doubts and embrace his future – and welcome his love.

Erestor stood in silence, hoping and dreading the conversation that would surely ensue. His heart had swelled with Glorfindel’s song and never could he remember his lord enrobed in such splendour. He braced himself to face his fears, leaning heavily on the memory of Elrond’s encouraging words.

The Lord of the Golden Flower spoke first, still facing the rising sun.

“It should have been ‘Thel. Though Lindir sang well, I still expected to hear our friend.”

Erestor’s courage failed him. In his haste to retreat he stumbled over his words.

“I believe – from records that – that the Lord Ecthelion had a fine voice –“

“No.” The interrupting voice was soft but firm. Glorfindel turned to face Erestor, gentle reproof in his eyes. He shook his head in negation of Erestor’s poor response. “No, Erestor. Deny me. Deny our love. Deny yourself. But do not deny our friend. For when you do so, you dishonour the memory of all those who died that day. Duilin, Rog, Galdor. Even Salgant. And Turgon, who took you into his council. And Ecthelion, who loved you as a brother. Who held you as a child and taught you as a youth. And who championed your love. Our love. If you choose not to declare your prayers openly, so be it. Whisper them in your mind. Call them unheard into the roar of the cascades. Cast them upon the wind so only Námo can catch them. Just say them, to honour the souls of our friends.”

Glorfindel reached out suddenly to clasp both Erestor’s hands, causihe ahe advisor to flinch. He held them both betwthemthem, caressing the soft dorsum with his calloused thumbs. He tightened his grip when Erestor tried to pull away, allowing him no flight.

“Nay, pen-neth. Hold. Listen to what I have to say, for I can and will only say this once, then I will give you peace.” He looked directly into the chocolate-brown eyes, noting well the wariness of the other elf. He smiled reassuringly.

“Never try to bargain with the Valar, pen-vuin. They do not welcome a challenge to their authority and they will twist and turn any agreement to their own design. I tried, and am paying for it dearly. For I asked for you, Erestor. When the essences of the Valar called me forth from my reflections to inform me of my incipient rebirth, I placed a price upon my consent. That I would be free to find you, my love. I would only serve Elrond, I would only protect Imladris, I would only fulfil my doom if you were at my side.” He smiled ruefully, releasing one hand so that he could raise his own to cup the dark elf’s downy cheek. Erestor stood still, not wanting to lose the touch yet still restrained by his reserve from revelling in the sweet embrace. Glorfindel’s words, his odd intent, frightened him. This was not the way he had envisioned this discussion and it boded ill, he felt.

“Manwë has a very odd sense of humour,” Glorfindel continued. “He has honoured the bargain – in a fashion. I have my love beside me – but I do not have his *love*.” The words stung sharper than a needle, and Erestor opened his mouth to speak, to protest that it was not so. Glorfindel laid two fingers upon hpen pen lips.

“Hush again, my sweet. Only a little longer. Only a little more.” He tenderly stroked the rose-red lips, following their soft outline, tracing the path with his sapphire eyes. He ignored the excited breath which escaped from between them.

“Do you remember our dream, Erestor? Do you remember the clarity, the reality of it? The only time we ever made love, and it was a dream. I thought at one time that it was a generous gift from Irmo, to sustain me through the centuries of loneliness in the Halls of Waiting. They are grey, my love. Did you know that? Grey and quiet and peaceful. We don’t interact much, we doomed souls. There is no talk as such, no laughter. It is a place of reflection, of learning; of realising the mistakes and faults of our first life so that we will not repeat them in the second. Emotions are tamed, muted, so that the reflection is controlled and considered. Except for that dream. It did not lose its passion; nor the sweet longing; nor the sensation of fierce pounding of flesh upon flesh. I dwelt long on that dream.” His face became bleak, haunted, and Erestor wept inwardly, knowing that he had caused the pain his golden lord was feeling. “The past few months, I have been dreading the repetition of that dream, for it has brought only pain. It is a reminder that what hope I had is gone, as are you.”

Glorfindel glanced away for a moment, blinking back the moisture pricking his eyes. The gesture was if the needle had been replaced by a knife, which now twisted in Erestor’s chest. Glorfindel turned back to Erestor, his head shaking in self-reproof.

“I shake my head at my arrogance, Erestor. My sheer arrogance, that I thought that I could be reborn and walk into Imladris and find you – and expect us to pick up from where we left off. I never thought… I never thought…When I died you were so young, so innocent – and all mine. I had moulded you, loved you, and the pattern of you life was set by my love. You had not lived. You had nothing, nobody to compare me with. And then I died. We are the same age now, you and I. Despite my so-called ‘spiritual growth’, I am actually only a little older than when I died but you – you have lived. Oh yes, without even knowing the particulars, I know that you have lived a full and varied life. The battles you have fought. The kings and lords that you have served. The history you have witnessed. I can see now that you no longer are my Erestor. My Erestor died too, on Cirith Thoronath. I never asked, I never thought of what you must have gone through after my death, my love. Whether you expered ted the same pain, the same desperate removal of our love. I am sorry, Erestor.”

Erestor was overwhelmed by Glorfindel’s words. They were no comfort to him, for he could feel with each phrase, each syllable that he was losing his lord again. Something had happened to Glorfindel in one short afternoon, and Erestor had lost him once more. Glorfindel heard the hitch in Erestor’s breath, the sob in his throat.

“Oh don’t cry my love, don’t weep! All will be well, I promise! That is what I am trying to tell you. I rode out yesterday, an angry and frightened and lonely elf. I yearned for you, but the pain of your rejections had broken me. This last, the rejection of your begetting day, was the final stroke. The day had always been so special to us. I gave you Hirnîn, three thousand years ago, and again yesterday. The first you accepted with delight, the second… It hurt, Erestor. It was at that moment that I knew I could take no more. There was no point in my being here, for I was too heartsick to take up fully the role for which I had been reborn. Life had no meaning without you. Lonely, tragic, drunk. Being driven insane by nightmares of my death…”

He shhis his head in amazement of the depths to which he had sunk. He barely registered the tears that were now flowing freely down Erestor’s face.

“I rode to the highest cliffs I could find. I stood on the edge, seeing not the jagged rocks onto which I would fall but only blessed relief. The grey Halls wso tso tempting, so welcome. I turned so that my back was to the edge. I wanted the wind to push me, to blow me over just as the balrog had taken me. I could then picture you watching me, and though I knew I caused you severe pain, I could pretend that you still loved me, still need my love. But the Valar would not let me fallhunghung there as they opened my eyes. I saw Middle Earth, Erestor. It is so beautiful. They showed me that the world glows with the intent of the Song of Ilúvatár. Purple mountain ranges; green meadows; the smallest bird; the greatest bear. A lion and her cubs; a sheep and her lambs. The long lives of our kin; the short lives of Men; the work wrought by the Children of Aüle, miraculous in its design. Beauty, personified in the living creatures that walk upon the world. Yll cll could fall. All could fail. Sauron is diminished but not defeated and he *will* rise again. So much in this world teaming with life could be dragged into darkness and the depths of his hells. And I knew that Ild nld not let this happen, for the most beautiful thing that the Valar showed me was you, ind nîn.”

He leant forward, brushing the errant tears from the advisor’s face with his hands; cupping that sweet head. Erestor cried without restraint, finally letting his aching heart bleed for his erstwhile lover.

“I have made my peace with the Valar, Erestor. I have finally determined to do what I was sent to do, and they have calmed my soul. They drew me back from the cliff edge and gave me purpose. There is a darkness coming, Erestor, one that will sweep all Middle Earth and it will be soon. I have been sent to protect Middle Earth and to aid the Line of Eärendil. I will serve Elrond. I will serve Imladris, serve elvendom and in turn all the children of Ilúvatár. I have a task to perform and a role to play. To do this I must apply myself and not be torn apart by my personal desires. So I have laid them aside. In accepting my burden the Valar have given me the strength to bear it.

"I shall return you to your solitude, mellon nîn. No longer will I pursue or harass you. You are free of my importunities, Erestor of Lindon. I cannot say that I will stop loving you. A true heart cannot change when it finds circumstances different to those it has hoped for. I hoped for your love I haI have found different. So be it. The love is still there whether you want it or not. And yesterday… The eve of Tarnin Austa will still hold a strong place within me, and may escape at times but – no matter. I will not hurt you anymore.

"As you have renounced our past, now so do I. As ofs mos moment I am no longer Glorfindel of Gondolin. Gondolin has fallen and the House of the Golden Flower is no more. I am simply Glorfindel, seneschal of Imladris, protector of the House of nd.”nd.”

He took a step back, releasing all holds upon the distraught advisor. He placed his hand upon his heart in formal salute.

“Mae govannen, Erestor of Lindon. I am Glorfindel of Rivendell. I greet you as a fellow servant in this house and as a comrade-in-arms. May we work in peace and harmony in our common fight against the darkness.”

With that, Glorfindel of Rivendell turned and walked away, resignation and resolve in his reborn heart, leaving the weeping Erestor alone upon the deserted terrace.

Erestor fell to his knees, realising in his pain what his actions had brought upon him. He had spurned his love, he had dallied in acknowledging the faithful heart of the golden lord. He had wasted his second chance at happiness. Glorfindel was now a vessel of the Valar and available to him no more. He had lost him.

Erestor acted upon Glorfindel’s advice but instead of praying, he cried his agony into the thunderous noise of the cascades, and sent his despair into the gusting wind, in the vain hope that Námo would hear him.

And forgive him for his terrible, dreadful mistake.

Elvish:

Peredhel – half-elven (sing.)
Peredhil – half-elven (pl.)
pen-neth – little one
pen-vuin – dear one
ind nîn – my heart
mellon nîn - my friend