Silent Flight -Complete
folder
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
3,953
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
-Multi-Age › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
3,953
Reviews:
10
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
11. Furious flames
Silent Flight 11
Title: Silent Flight: The Wild Swans
Author: destinial
Part: 11/?
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 - I’m really grateful you suffered through this. *twiddle thumbs* I promise never to write in the middle of the night. All mistakes are mine.
Summary: An elvish take of The Wild Swans, a fairy tale that is reminiscent of Celtic lore.
A/N: Short one. Two words: "Office Backlog" Now tell me why does aresearcher on sabbatical have to lecture and still do admin work?
The kitchen was the hearth – it had to be the centre of the keep. The wealth of a keep could be told from the food that came out of the kitchen and the health of its occupants dependent on the same. This was not only a place where the semblance of home was created – this was the place where news of any importance would first be known. In other words, this was where the daily dose of gossip was issued to any curious member of the staff who wanted more than their breakfast.
“Bonded?!”
“I don’t imagine the lor’ship would have wanted all them carpets and the rugs on the floor for n’other business.”
“Nae easy sleepin’ innocent babe like with your sweetheart wi’in reach, that’s certain.”
“Nae easy washing them rugs either. His lor’ship could’ve used sheets and saved me these tired arms.”
“Oh fie, Gwi, make me laugh more and this hot soup’ll go over your hands.”
“So celebrations it is, ay? Who be the guests?”
“Corchdur sae them family of the sweet quiet one.”
“Aye, they came nigh midnight, all them eyes looking as they do that pretty thing. Scared my herven to bits, each them glaring at his lor’ship menacing like.”
“My. Fine state of things, I’d say, bonding w’out family’s consent.”
“All’s dandy now, else the sweet one won’t be smilin’ at the sunshine mornin’.”
“How came them family din stay the night? Nasty cold it is outside.”
“There’s more of them, I reckon. Three came night last and Corchdur sae to prepare nine rooms.”
“Nine rooms? If they look as pretty as that little one do, I’m getting my children to hang around the keep more.”
“If they do, I’d do all the washing there is, glad as pea.”
“What are all of you still sitting around here for? There is not enough time, move!”
------
Erestor draped the finished tunics over his arm, and holding out the newly finished tunic against the light for his inspection, he smiled to himself happily. As he walked from the barn to his room, the hustle and bustle around the keep reminded him of the forthcoming reunion with his brothers, and the cheer in his heart blossomed, adding a skip to his steps.
Glorfindel had ordered rooms to be readied for nine and the household staff was busying about their tasks, gossip and curiosity rife. The storm had subsided and the lord was called away to his reluctant duties. Fences had been damaged and walls had been breached by the incessant rain - and these must be seen to before they injure any unfortunate elf.
Erestor hugged the tunics close to his heart and his mind wandered to the future, imagining the happiness that would be his once his brother joined him. His thoughts were singing far and loud and not a few swallows were startled into flight; their hysterical twittering only added to Erestor’s merriment.
Closing the door behind him, he pulled a chair by the glass door that opened out to the roof-top garden and sat waiting for his brothers to appear. The skies were clear today, reflecting as it did Erestor’s mood.
The storm had just passed. A touch of chill was still in the air.
-----------------
The ground was moist still from the incessant rain before, and the forest was only slowly rousing itself. Trees and bushes alike shed off their dreary cloaks of beleaguered leaves and unwrapped their green treasures to the hesitant light, and insects began to hum again, adding their low voices to the chorus of birds.
Two voices came loud and jarring in a forest.
“Swans don’t live in forests, you dimwit. In fact they don’t live in the mountains either.”
“I saw them! Three big fat swans trotting on the ground, easy as you please.”
“Marvellous. Pray tell me, why would they be trotting in the forest? Didn’t Eru give them wings?”
“How do you expect them to fly in this forest? The foliage is too dense.”
“Exactly! Swans do not live in forests!”
“Well they do in this one. Look at the tracks.”
“I’ll be damned and roasted. Webbed feet.”
“Now tell me those are duck prints.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, duck’s feet aren’t this big. In fact, swans aren’t supposed to be this big either.”
“We could do with more meat around the house, especially if the storms are going to hit again.”
“Come, brother, we hunt.”
-----------
The dark-haired elf walked down the corridors, carrying the basket of tunics. The household staff was severely short handed and he had volunteered to help. The cook had reluctantly agreed, on the condition that Glorfindel did not learn that he was working around the keep, and that he tried as much as possible not to cross the paths of those who worked in the tower who could not be pleased with him.
He turned into the room and placed the basket on the floor, pushing it into the dark corner and then pulling the wall drapes closer, hiding the location of the basket. Just as he was exiting the room, a voice shouted out at him. “You there, take the other light. The lamps down the hall must be lit.”
Careful to hide his face from the butler, he turned around half bowed. The butler was holding the two torches he had received from the kitchen boys, and as he handed one of the flames to a waiting manservant, he grew impatient with the dawdling elf. “Well, what are you waiting for? A formal invitation? You take the front hall and the towers. Every single lamp!”
He quietly took the torch, grateful that the butler was too distracted by the hustle and bustle to pay much attention to him. Grasping the torch tightly, he walked down the hall lighting each lamp, his thoughts already drifting to the tower room.
The curse, he wanted the curse removed.
-----------
The two hunters moved closer to their quarry. Elven feet were light and the make of their garments even more so – no wayward sleeve brushed against random leaves and no thread of the tunics was ever caught in the snag of the twigs.
They followed the tracks and stopped abruptly when they came to the edge of a little clearing. Their eyes widened when they saw not three, but nine huge white swans, hissing at one another in an intense staring match. Wings were flapping wildly causing some of the twigs to fly and one of the swans was pacing up and down, in an imitation of exasperated patience.
The younger hunter looked at his companion. “Gwador, since when do swans set up camp?”
The older hunter looked at the wooden mugs that lay around the tripod of sticks, which was covered with a cloth. Some flickers of amber were still glowing on the platform of wooden logs beneath the improvised tepee and it was obvious that it was a recent campsite. He rolled his eyes and growled, “Swans do not set up camp! They probably came here looking for scraps. There is no place near they can feed.”
He was soon proven wrong when one of the bigger swans, apparently tired of the argument that was taking place in the silence, walked up to the tripod and with a swift hit with its wings, caused the tripod to fall into the dying embers. Taking the soaked cloth in its beak, it proceeded to beat at remnants of the fire. Unaware of the two astonished elves staring at it, it clawed with its webbed feet at the wet ground, and using its beak to pushed earth away, buried the cloth.
“These swans apparently do, gwador.” The younger elf looked thoughtfully at the gaggle of swans as he removed his arrow from its notched place in his bow. “You know, if Manwë commands the eagles, he can command swans too. I don’t think I’ll get swan meat after all.”
The older hunter blinked but his face slowly settled into a frown and he drew his arrow. “If we can train dogs, we can train swans too. Enchanted or not, I haven’t had a morsel of fresh meat in days.”
He pulled the string back, just as his younger brother shouted, “Wait!”
-----
Glorfindel barely managed to hide his impatience. He had been called away early in the morning by his advisors to discuss the state of supplies. Ordinarily he would have taken the inventory business more seriously, as living in the mountains allowed no room for mistakes, but he was newly bonded this morning! The only place he wanted to be was his pendinen’s side, and most certainly not in a hot and stuffy storeroom, discussing the benefits of buying more hemp ropes and the problems of water irrigation.
He looked at the crate of gems that had been mined from the depths of the mountains, which would have the keep’s main trade with the other elven cities, and wondered whether ambers or rubies would be better suited for the ring he had already ordered to be crafted.
“My lord? My lord.” Glorfindel’s attention snapped back to his irate advisor. Looking at the mildew growing on the walls from the constant seeping of water, he sighed and gave the pressing issue of irrigation his utmost attention.
-----
The lamps by either side were tilted down towards the door. Salgant watched hypnotised as the oil began to drip like molten gold and the flames followed, like gems infused with a fiery life. He held the torch in one hand and watched the dancing flames begin to lick at the doors, drawn by the intoxicating gush of air from the gaps.
Bonded. The one word rang in his mind, a deafening scream of unspoken anguish. It seized his being by the throat, threatening to choke him. The anger, the sheer, bitter fury raged in his veins. Bonded. The little waterfalls of fire paled in comparison to the fire in his eyes, the irrational desire to cleanse himself of this seething wrath. He could not kill the dastardly elf, he could not only because he knew the bonded mate would soon follow his love into death and he would not give them that satisfaction of eternity. Bonded mate. He could however burn down the room, burn down all that Glorfindel had given to that undeserving elf, and let the fire within him flare before it consume him. Bonded.
He muttered under his breath before throwing the torch into the puddle of burning oil, “Burn. Burn” He stepped away as the fire leapt to the ceiling, and he turned on his heels, fleeing down the stairs.
Bonded.
---
Erestor cuddled the tunics close, and turned his head into the soft cushions trying to find a comfortable position. He was still tired from the night’s events and he wanted desperately to find some sleep before the madcap that would accompany his brothers’ return. But the afternoon was surprisingly warm and the enclosed space was far too suffocating.
After the last failed attempt to make the couch’s arm any softer Erestor gave up. He was roused when the heat was unbearable, stealing away every available breath he had, and he stared in blank shock as he watched the fire eat away at the door.
TBC…
Title: Silent Flight: The Wild Swans
Author: destinial
Part: 11/?
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 - I’m really grateful you suffered through this. *twiddle thumbs* I promise never to write in the middle of the night. All mistakes are mine.
Summary: An elvish take of The Wild Swans, a fairy tale that is reminiscent of Celtic lore.
A/N: Short one. Two words: "Office Backlog" Now tell me why does aresearcher on sabbatical have to lecture and still do admin work?
The kitchen was the hearth – it had to be the centre of the keep. The wealth of a keep could be told from the food that came out of the kitchen and the health of its occupants dependent on the same. This was not only a place where the semblance of home was created – this was the place where news of any importance would first be known. In other words, this was where the daily dose of gossip was issued to any curious member of the staff who wanted more than their breakfast.
“Bonded?!”
“I don’t imagine the lor’ship would have wanted all them carpets and the rugs on the floor for n’other business.”
“Nae easy sleepin’ innocent babe like with your sweetheart wi’in reach, that’s certain.”
“Nae easy washing them rugs either. His lor’ship could’ve used sheets and saved me these tired arms.”
“Oh fie, Gwi, make me laugh more and this hot soup’ll go over your hands.”
“So celebrations it is, ay? Who be the guests?”
“Corchdur sae them family of the sweet quiet one.”
“Aye, they came nigh midnight, all them eyes looking as they do that pretty thing. Scared my herven to bits, each them glaring at his lor’ship menacing like.”
“My. Fine state of things, I’d say, bonding w’out family’s consent.”
“All’s dandy now, else the sweet one won’t be smilin’ at the sunshine mornin’.”
“How came them family din stay the night? Nasty cold it is outside.”
“There’s more of them, I reckon. Three came night last and Corchdur sae to prepare nine rooms.”
“Nine rooms? If they look as pretty as that little one do, I’m getting my children to hang around the keep more.”
“If they do, I’d do all the washing there is, glad as pea.”
“What are all of you still sitting around here for? There is not enough time, move!”
------
Erestor draped the finished tunics over his arm, and holding out the newly finished tunic against the light for his inspection, he smiled to himself happily. As he walked from the barn to his room, the hustle and bustle around the keep reminded him of the forthcoming reunion with his brothers, and the cheer in his heart blossomed, adding a skip to his steps.
Glorfindel had ordered rooms to be readied for nine and the household staff was busying about their tasks, gossip and curiosity rife. The storm had subsided and the lord was called away to his reluctant duties. Fences had been damaged and walls had been breached by the incessant rain - and these must be seen to before they injure any unfortunate elf.
Erestor hugged the tunics close to his heart and his mind wandered to the future, imagining the happiness that would be his once his brother joined him. His thoughts were singing far and loud and not a few swallows were startled into flight; their hysterical twittering only added to Erestor’s merriment.
Closing the door behind him, he pulled a chair by the glass door that opened out to the roof-top garden and sat waiting for his brothers to appear. The skies were clear today, reflecting as it did Erestor’s mood.
The storm had just passed. A touch of chill was still in the air.
-----------------
The ground was moist still from the incessant rain before, and the forest was only slowly rousing itself. Trees and bushes alike shed off their dreary cloaks of beleaguered leaves and unwrapped their green treasures to the hesitant light, and insects began to hum again, adding their low voices to the chorus of birds.
Two voices came loud and jarring in a forest.
“Swans don’t live in forests, you dimwit. In fact they don’t live in the mountains either.”
“I saw them! Three big fat swans trotting on the ground, easy as you please.”
“Marvellous. Pray tell me, why would they be trotting in the forest? Didn’t Eru give them wings?”
“How do you expect them to fly in this forest? The foliage is too dense.”
“Exactly! Swans do not live in forests!”
“Well they do in this one. Look at the tracks.”
“I’ll be damned and roasted. Webbed feet.”
“Now tell me those are duck prints.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, duck’s feet aren’t this big. In fact, swans aren’t supposed to be this big either.”
“We could do with more meat around the house, especially if the storms are going to hit again.”
“Come, brother, we hunt.”
-----------
The dark-haired elf walked down the corridors, carrying the basket of tunics. The household staff was severely short handed and he had volunteered to help. The cook had reluctantly agreed, on the condition that Glorfindel did not learn that he was working around the keep, and that he tried as much as possible not to cross the paths of those who worked in the tower who could not be pleased with him.
He turned into the room and placed the basket on the floor, pushing it into the dark corner and then pulling the wall drapes closer, hiding the location of the basket. Just as he was exiting the room, a voice shouted out at him. “You there, take the other light. The lamps down the hall must be lit.”
Careful to hide his face from the butler, he turned around half bowed. The butler was holding the two torches he had received from the kitchen boys, and as he handed one of the flames to a waiting manservant, he grew impatient with the dawdling elf. “Well, what are you waiting for? A formal invitation? You take the front hall and the towers. Every single lamp!”
He quietly took the torch, grateful that the butler was too distracted by the hustle and bustle to pay much attention to him. Grasping the torch tightly, he walked down the hall lighting each lamp, his thoughts already drifting to the tower room.
The curse, he wanted the curse removed.
-----------
The two hunters moved closer to their quarry. Elven feet were light and the make of their garments even more so – no wayward sleeve brushed against random leaves and no thread of the tunics was ever caught in the snag of the twigs.
They followed the tracks and stopped abruptly when they came to the edge of a little clearing. Their eyes widened when they saw not three, but nine huge white swans, hissing at one another in an intense staring match. Wings were flapping wildly causing some of the twigs to fly and one of the swans was pacing up and down, in an imitation of exasperated patience.
The younger hunter looked at his companion. “Gwador, since when do swans set up camp?”
The older hunter looked at the wooden mugs that lay around the tripod of sticks, which was covered with a cloth. Some flickers of amber were still glowing on the platform of wooden logs beneath the improvised tepee and it was obvious that it was a recent campsite. He rolled his eyes and growled, “Swans do not set up camp! They probably came here looking for scraps. There is no place near they can feed.”
He was soon proven wrong when one of the bigger swans, apparently tired of the argument that was taking place in the silence, walked up to the tripod and with a swift hit with its wings, caused the tripod to fall into the dying embers. Taking the soaked cloth in its beak, it proceeded to beat at remnants of the fire. Unaware of the two astonished elves staring at it, it clawed with its webbed feet at the wet ground, and using its beak to pushed earth away, buried the cloth.
“These swans apparently do, gwador.” The younger elf looked thoughtfully at the gaggle of swans as he removed his arrow from its notched place in his bow. “You know, if Manwë commands the eagles, he can command swans too. I don’t think I’ll get swan meat after all.”
The older hunter blinked but his face slowly settled into a frown and he drew his arrow. “If we can train dogs, we can train swans too. Enchanted or not, I haven’t had a morsel of fresh meat in days.”
He pulled the string back, just as his younger brother shouted, “Wait!”
-----
Glorfindel barely managed to hide his impatience. He had been called away early in the morning by his advisors to discuss the state of supplies. Ordinarily he would have taken the inventory business more seriously, as living in the mountains allowed no room for mistakes, but he was newly bonded this morning! The only place he wanted to be was his pendinen’s side, and most certainly not in a hot and stuffy storeroom, discussing the benefits of buying more hemp ropes and the problems of water irrigation.
He looked at the crate of gems that had been mined from the depths of the mountains, which would have the keep’s main trade with the other elven cities, and wondered whether ambers or rubies would be better suited for the ring he had already ordered to be crafted.
“My lord? My lord.” Glorfindel’s attention snapped back to his irate advisor. Looking at the mildew growing on the walls from the constant seeping of water, he sighed and gave the pressing issue of irrigation his utmost attention.
-----
The lamps by either side were tilted down towards the door. Salgant watched hypnotised as the oil began to drip like molten gold and the flames followed, like gems infused with a fiery life. He held the torch in one hand and watched the dancing flames begin to lick at the doors, drawn by the intoxicating gush of air from the gaps.
Bonded. The one word rang in his mind, a deafening scream of unspoken anguish. It seized his being by the throat, threatening to choke him. The anger, the sheer, bitter fury raged in his veins. Bonded. The little waterfalls of fire paled in comparison to the fire in his eyes, the irrational desire to cleanse himself of this seething wrath. He could not kill the dastardly elf, he could not only because he knew the bonded mate would soon follow his love into death and he would not give them that satisfaction of eternity. Bonded mate. He could however burn down the room, burn down all that Glorfindel had given to that undeserving elf, and let the fire within him flare before it consume him. Bonded.
He muttered under his breath before throwing the torch into the puddle of burning oil, “Burn. Burn” He stepped away as the fire leapt to the ceiling, and he turned on his heels, fleeing down the stairs.
Bonded.
---
Erestor cuddled the tunics close, and turned his head into the soft cushions trying to find a comfortable position. He was still tired from the night’s events and he wanted desperately to find some sleep before the madcap that would accompany his brothers’ return. But the afternoon was surprisingly warm and the enclosed space was far too suffocating.
After the last failed attempt to make the couch’s arm any softer Erestor gave up. He was roused when the heat was unbearable, stealing away every available breath he had, and he stared in blank shock as he watched the fire eat away at the door.
TBC…