Isolation

Part 12…

After having stuck upon a mutual truce, making a fresh start as friends, each secretly harboring hope of possibly more, Glorfindel and Erestor had spent the early afternoon sharing stories and learning about each other. For the past hour Glorfindel had been randomly firing questions at Erestor, asking about mundane things that he felt he should be aware of after centuries of knowing the dark-haired advisor.

“What’s you’re favorite color?”

“Red.”

“Really? Red?”

“Mmmm… yes red.”

“Oh!” Glorfindel seemed to digest this, and then he shrugged. “I always figured it would be blue… you never wear red.”

“It’s not exactly a color a subdued scholar and chief counselor normally runs about in, doesn’t present the right image.”

“Ah… How old are you.”

“Six thousand, three hundred and twenty nine… I think.”

“You think? Don’t you know?”

A sigh. “I know I am old, but there were times when I did not really count the passing of years and thus I estimate my age.”

“Oh… What’s your favorite wine?”

A smirk. “Red.”

This in turn earned him a glare. “Favorite food?”

“Vegetables with mushrooms, grilled with herbs and garlic.”

“Mmm… Dessert?”

“Sex in a pan.” Erestor said, referring to the rich layered dessert that consisted mainly of chocolate pudding, creamed cheese and whipped cream. The dessert, an Imladris specialty, had originally had a more formal name, but one night Elladan had dubbed it ‘sex in a pan’ and no one had called it anything else since.

Glorfindel licked his lips. “That happens to be my favorite as well, actually I think it’s everyone’s favorite.” He seemed to consider something. “Erestor?”

“What?”

“If it is your favorite, why do you always select a piece of pie or cake instead?”

“Others enjoy it as well; I feel it would be greedy if I were to constantly choose it for myself.”

Glorfindel cast an admiring glance at his companion before continuing with his questions. After a few more boring inquiries he felt it safe to ask the one question he was most curious to know the answer to. “Do you actually know how to use those weapons of yours?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. You know, I find it hard to believe that you are actually a warrior, I just can’t picture it.”

Erestor, who had been making a valianfortfort to let go of his composure and keep his ever present mask tucked away, bit down a cutting remark and instead smiled innocently at the blond elf that was lying beside h “Pe “Perhaps you would care to test my skill yourself, Lord Glorfindel.”

“I would at that counselor. No time like the present.” So saying he leapt to his feet and head back towards their encampment to fetch their weapons. “Sword or knives?”

“I shall leave that up to your discretion Glorfindel.”

“Hmmm…” Making an exaggerated show of contemplating which weapons they should use for their sparing match Glorfindel finally bent to collect his fighting knives, grabbing Erestors next before moving into the clearing. Handing Erestor his weapons he unsheathed his own knives, griping them by their white handles, experimentally swinging them about, reaffirming the feel and weight of them. Rotating first one shoulder then the other he loosened the muscles in his neck by stretching, noting out of the corner of his eye Erestor doing similar movements with his own, black handled knives. He was struck suddenly by a memory of an evening, about forty years ago when they had played chest.

It had been a rare, stormy, night, perfectly dreadful with the lightening and loud thunder claps preventing most of Imladris from finding rest. He had happened upon the advisor in the library, apparently also unable to sleep. Having been in a decidedly mellow mood he had challenged the stoic advisor to a friendly game of chest. During the game, which he had ultimately lost, he had played the white marble pieces while Erestor had played the black. Smiling at the memory he pivoted to face his opponent, assuming a fighting stance.

“Let us see what you are capable of, my friend”.

Erestor inclined his head and copied Glorfindels movements, patiently waiting for the golden warrior to make a move. “Standard sparring rules, I assume. Three hits or declaration of surrender equals a victory.”

Glorfindel nodded and moved forward, relying on the element of surprise. He brought his right knife downwards while at the same time moving the left towards Erestors side, intent on striking the first hit. Only when he felt the light tap of a blade on his right side did he realize he had once again underestimated his opponent. Erestor had blocked the downward stroke with his left knife while simultaneously rotating his body on his left ankle, spinning until he had brought his right sword around and taken advantage of the opening presented on Glorfindels side. Holding position, swords still locked, Glorfindel looked over his right shoulder and met Erestoaze,aze, triumph shining from the darker elf’s eyes. Spinning back again Erestor once more faced his adversary, crossing the twin, black handled knives in front of him, flashing a feral grin. The fight began in earnest then, Glorfindel refusing to allow Erestor another hit. Knives glinted in the sunlight as the two warriors danced around each other, the clash of metal upon metal the only sound besides the harsh breathing of the two elves. The combat only stopped when another hit was struck, this time with Glorfindel being the victor. Erestor narrowed his eyes, the only acknowledgement he made, before Glorfindel removed his sword from where it rested at Erestors shoulder. Both drew back, taking a moment to reassess the situation and their opponent before the battle once more resumed. The next hit was awarded to Glorfindel once more swiftly followed by one for Erestor. Finding themselves at a draw, knowing the next hit marked the end of the match and victory for one, a lose for the other, the two elves once more threw themselves into the fight, both determined to triumph. Glorfindel quickly found himself on the defensive as Erestor skillfully maneuvered, blocked, parried and thrust. A resourcefully placed foot and Glorfindels hit the ground, a polished knife tip at his throat. He had lost, just like the chest game.

The knife was removed and a pale hand offered in it place. Swallowing his pride, never one to be a sore loser, Glorfindel accepted the proffered hand and allowed Erestor to pull him to his feet, both grng lng like fools. Sweaty fools.

With a mock bow and a jaunty smile Glorfindel congratulated the victor. “Nicely done counselor, I am impressed.”

Erestor returned the smile. “Impressed and in dire need of a bath as well.”

“Quite right, my friend. And considering you are in much the same condition as I, perhaps we should take our baths together.” Replacing the knives into their perspective sheathes the two elves headed once again in the direction of the river, good naturedly laughing and jesting back and forth.

TBC…