Silent Flight -Complete

Title: Silent Flight: The Wild Swans
Author: destinial
Part: 12/12
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
Summary: An elvish take of The Wild Swans, a fairy tale that is reminiscent of Celtic lore.
A/N: Now this bit is inspired by my favourite part of Hans Andersen Christian’s original.

Feathers flew, dropping to the ground in wordless accusation. They lay in stark contrast against the damp earth, each a reminder of doomed swans. The momentary silence, the harsh unwanted silence hung in the air with a promise of death, and just as suddenly as it came, it was shattered, devastated by the sudden fury of activity. The chorus of sounds was mocking – the oriole laughed derisively, the hoots of the monkeys were scornful, and the hammers of the woodpeckers drummed, and drummed, and drummed.

Ariendhel stared wide-eyed around her. The forest was alive, its dark and menacing shadows lapped at the sides, a swirling mess of devilish minions. The trees conspired, their branches sought to capture, reaching, deliberately brushing against the wary victim. The roots seemed to swirl themselves around her feet and tripping again and again, she whimpered in fear.

“What is there? What do you want? What do you want?” She chanted insensibly, looking from oak to ash to thorn. “Leave me alone, leave me alone.” The chant grew in dizzy circles, sharp, shrill, sharper still, disappearing into insentient shrieks.

Still the shadows crept and each twig was no more than a knife, each root a trap. Still the birds taunted from the crooks and crannies, hidden amidst the blurring vision. The darkness amplified the deep humming, the incessant taps, the harsh whispers to a deafening height. Ariendhel screamed and scrambled to her feet, and ran blindly in the abyss she was imprisoned in.

Justice works in mysterious ways. It may seem elusive and unattainable at times, but it is always omnipotent. What goes around will come around; it simply takes its time meandering. The poison had seeped into the recesses of Ariendhel’s husband’s mind and even she was forgotten. The trees had taken umbrage at the treatment of their elven friend, and they cursed in their low, unintelligible whispers, slowly sapping the edges of Ariendhel’s sanity. The birds had mourned the loss of a voice that so often joined them in joyous harmony and they flew and fluttered in silent protest, deliberately casting feathers as cruel reminders. The forest feared sorcery – the natural world rejected all that was not within its comprehension – and its fear turned into hostility.

She had cursed the brothers with silence – but she was the one who lost the power of speech. Her mind would be strangled by the guilt and self-pity she had constructed, unable ever to express the semblance of a thought, till at long last, she would end her purgatory, falling into the rocky depths of the unforgiving rapids.
----------
Salgant walked calmly out of the tower and turned down the corridor, careful to keep his face hidden behind his long fringes. The anger had abandoned itself in the flames and fires, and once awoken from its grasp, he felt fearful, remorseful even and he worried that the fire would engulf the entire keep. Yet he could not find the courage within him to cry for help, to call for someone, and he wondered if he should turn back and feign a sudden discovery of the blaze. Two maids walked by and he wanted so badly for them to turn up the steps; for them to discover what he wished they would.

“He be in his room?”

“Aye, he’d be. Corchdur sae to leave the room be as the young’un need his sleep, he does. Eru knows his lor’ship is one strappin’ one.”

The giggles speared through his being. The cursed elf was in his room! Salgant’s eyes widened in horror at the enormity of the deed he had done. He took a step back in the direction of the tower wanting to warn anyone, everyone, that an elf was trapped in that burning nightmare. He took another step, but his lip trembled and his senses fled him.

Turning on his heels, he walked briskly, and taking another turn out of the corridor, dashed as fast as he could out of the keep. Looking at the beacon of fire that was beginning to consume the tower, he ran with terror snapping at his heels – into an exile that his fea would never be released by.

Just then the maids walked by the stairwell leading up the tower, and smelling smoke looked up, and screamed, “FIRE!”
----

The arrow shot true and would have found the heart of the swan brother, had the shout not warned him, and had he not raised his wing in instinctive defense. Releasing a mute cry of pain as the arrow pierced the feathers, he warned his brothers of the threat.

The hunter grabbed the hands of his older brother, shouting, “Don’t! These are no ordinary birds, gwador!”

The older hunter scowled and struggled to reach for another arrow. “Let go of me. Don’t give me more of this Eru-blessed nonsense. I am hungry and these birds are only good for food. No, let me go, or you are not having any dinner.”

The hunter did not manage to notch his arrow as one of the huge swans flew at him, beak ramming between his eyes and its large wings slamming with full force at both of the brothers. Before either elf could recover, another swan flew at them, the strength of its considerable wings sending both hunters to the ground. Yet another swan had stolen the bows out of their grasp, breaking them against the tree trunks.

The two brothers cowered on the ground, avoiding the attacks of each succeeding swan, and crawling back into the protection of the trees, they watched in disbelief as two other swans helped remove the arrow from the wing with careful beaks. They watched in a curious cataleptic fear as the swans nudged the injured bird into flight, flanking it as they circled out of the clearing and over the mountain. They stared at the three swans that remained behind, circling in an apparent warning till the other swans were out of sight.

They sighed in relief when the last of the swans disappeared above the canopy of the surrounding trees.
----

Glorfindel frowned at the water dripping down the corner of the cellar. This would not do! Water could do a lot of damage to the barrels and the shelves, and he loved his wine as much as the next elf. He had not realized that the problem was this serious, and he berated himself for being this remiss.

“My lord, we need to structure a drainage system to bring the rainwater away from the keep.”

Glorfindel nodded at his advisor, acknowledging the suggestion. Figuring the map of his keep and the shape of its grounds in his mind, he was about to propose a probable solution when a guard burst in, shouting, “My lord, fire!”

Glorfindel walked towards the door shouting, “Where?”

“The guest towers, my lord.” As Glorfindel whirled back to face him, shock apparent, the guard continued in a rushed tone. “His lordship is in the rooms, my lord.”

Glorfindel’s eyes grew large. Startled and without a word, he spun on his feet and ran at an unimaginable speed towards his beloved.
-----

Erestor ran out into the roof garden and watched in abstract horror as the fire lapped up all that was in his room. Clutching the tunics tightly in his hands, he looked anxiously down from the parapet, looking for any safe place he could retreat into, but finding none. He nearly yelped when the fire burst furiously from the glass door, and backed away in fear as the fire began to creep onto the grass sending the surrounding bushes up in flames.

Erestor wanted desperately to shout for help, but he could not. He wanted desperately to hit at the flames with the tunics, but he could not. There was nowhere else he could run to. The walls around were smooth and there were no crevices he could climb onto. The tower was too tall and he could not jump without falling to a nasty death.

Can I throw these over the edge? Will the curse be broken if I die? Who can free my brothers? No, no, no!!! The fire cannot destroy these, it can’t, it can’t! Will the tunics be enough? If I throw them will somebody know? Oh Elbereth! What do I do?

The fire came closer, came so much closer, and Erestor huddled at the corner, still undecided, his mind and body frozen in fear.
---
The swans flew slower than they would have, as the injured one among them would not have kept up otherwise. More wary of the threat now, three brothers flew ahead, keeping their eyes keen, while three others flew under the injured swan offering a physical shield. The remaining two flew above their weaker brother, keeping the sun out of his eyes.

Slowly but surely they made their way to the keep, when suddenly, the flaming beacon came into their sights. Alarmed, they picked up what speed they could from the wind.
---

Glorfindel was frantic by the time he came to the main hall. When he saw the household staff forming chains up the stairwell, hitting at the flames with wet rugs, and relaying buckets and buckets of water, he was nearly hysterical. Only the sure arms of his guards prevented him from dashing into the fire to save his love. He cursed and he swore, and insane with fearful grief, threatened each of his well-meaning captors with bloody deaths. But the flames burst anew, gaining great strength and Glorfindel went weak, sinking to his knees, still staring at the engulfing flames.
---

Erestor climbed onto the edge of the parapet, clinging to the lamppost for support. He looked down warily, the tunics still tightly clasped against him. He had never been fond of heights but this was the first time he was cold from fright, staring at the ground that seemed so far away. He closed his eyes and he braced himself to jump, but his courage could not be found. He leant against the lamppost and his tear-filled eyes turned from the encroaching fire and the fall that awaited him. Both were certain deaths, but at least in one of them, the tunics should be safe.

Oh Elbereth. Give me the courage, please. Please, my brothers need these tunics. Give me the courage, please, please, please.

Erestor turned towards the sky, praying by all that was holy for his missing strength – just as he thought he had found the will, he saw hope. His brothers were flying to him!

Erestor gestured wildly for their attention, waving the tunics in the air and he gestured even more frantically for them to fly lower so he could drop the tunics down on them. He knew his brothers could die from the fall should they resume their forms in midair, and he wanted them as close to the ground as possible. But the swans continued in relentless flight towards the fire and towards him.

Erestor wept. He would have screamed his voice hoarse, he would have begged on his knees, he would have done so many things, but he could not. As the first swan flew closer to him, he was so seized with grief and fear that he threw a loose tunic at his enchanted brother in his desperation to prevent the fire from catching the white wings.

And lo and behold! The enchantment broke, shattering the remnants of unnatural magic. The moment the swan that was Ecthelion took his elven form, the immediate flames froze and blossomed within themselves into vines of red roses; and what vines they were! The flowers glowed with the unearthly light of fire still imprisoned in the crimson petals, amidst the deep and dark foliage of the surrounding jagged leaves. They flowered rapidly from bud to full blossoms in exaltation and in praise. The curling vines spread themselves into the fire, through the ground, into the walls around, and even through the blanket of smoke, flowered into an amazing fragrance unknown in the whole of Arda.

Erestor’s eyes caught Ecthelion’s, both equally amazed. The inaction was only shattered as the second swan came into sight and Erestor quickly threw another tunic over it. Even as Galdor came into sight, Erestor climbed off the edge with Ecthelion’s assistance. One tunic after another, he threw the remaining tunics over each of his brothers, and tears rolled down his cheeks as he saw each of them transform into their original forms.

At long last, he threw himself into Ecthelion’s arms and broke his silence with a harsh, nearly inaudible sob, “Thel, Thel, o, Thel…”
----

The guards hovered about their lord worriedly, bolstering him up and mutely sharing his keen pain. A prudent captain kept a hand on the pommel of his lord’s sword even as he lent Glorfindel support, mindful to prevent his devastated liege from harming himself. They had retreated from the stairwell, meaning to allow the fire to burn itself out while preventing it from spreading further. Glorfindel had not protested their move, but he had not uttered a sound either. He was trapped in a daze; an overwhelming blow from losing a newfound love.

Just as the butler and advisor were wondering how to shake their lord into awareness, they were arrested by a sudden fragrance, and thus they saw with great incredulity the consumption of the fire by a web of vines that exploded from the stairway into the corridor, stopping only when it came to iron.

While the household stepped back in alarm at the unknown sorcery, Glorfindel broke free from the guards and ran up the stairway in renewed hope.
---
Erestor was greatly alarmed to see Rog’s arm bleeding and tore at his own robe to make a makeshift bandage. With his returned freedom, he muttered hoarsely, “What happened to you? How could you be this careless? Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Rog winced from the pain as Erestor knotted a piece of cloth above his wound to stem the bleeding, but nevertheless, he grabbed his little brother by the neck and grabbed him in an elbow-hold, guffawing, “Don’t cluck now. Leave you alone for a week or two and you turn into a mother hen.”

“Oh shudder. Maybe that’s part of the curse too. Doesn’t seem fair that we are the only ones turned into birds.” Duilin quipped, trying to disentangle his shoes from the vines that were only growing into more intricate webs. His joke went unappreciated as both Egalmoth and Hathel gave him a hard knock on his thick skull.

Erestor pushed himself out of Rog’s grasp. “Well, what happened to you? Was that why you took so long?”

Rog tweaked the tip of his youngest brother’s ear, causing a yelp. “Suffice to say, I shall never hunt a swan ever again.”

Daeron, who was examining the curious rose he held in his hand, mused, “It is fortunate that we came when we did. Though Eru knows how these flowers came to be.”

The rest of the brothers collectively shuddered at the near miss, but Ecthelion scowled, a storm gathering in his face, “Why was there a fire in the first place? That blooming idiot said he would keep you safe.”

The mention of the ‘blooming idiot’ reminded Penlod of an unfinished quarrel. He had not said his peace, as dawn and the hunters had rudely interrupted, and he would not suffer the silence. “The blooming idiot. What do you mean? You let him live? I would have gladly skewered him with a couple of rusted arrows and pulled him atop a rack. Bonded with my baby brother!”

Erestor winced and hid behind Rog. When Penlod was on a roll, there was no point getting in the line of the fire. One had as much of a chance stopping the flowing lava of a brewing volcano – unless of course one had a reputation of being a glacier.

Egalmoth took a careful step away from Penlod even as he very calmly said, “The said baby brother wanted the bond with the afore-mentioned blooming idiot, and you won’t want to hurt your beloved baby brother will you?”

Before Penlod could turn his fury at Egalmoth, the brothers’ attention was caught by the sound of a blade slashing at the vines. Their elven senses, newly revived, were still tense from their experience under the spell, and they drew their weapons waiting for the intruder to show himself. Erestor however knew better – one other alone would have fought his way into this room, and nudging against the protective wall formed by his brothers, even the injured Rog, he got through just as Glorfindel emerged from the mess of greenery.

Glorfindel had eyes only for his beloved and he dropped his sword in the sheer relief of seeing him safe and alive. Blinking away tears of relief, he breathed heavily, convincing himself that seeing was indeed believing. His intense stare at Erestor disappeared behind his eyelids when he caught the solid body, the wonderful weight, and the delightful scent that was his pendinen’s alone. Burying his face in the dark mane of hair, Glorfindel breathed, “I thought you were dead. Goodness, I thought you were dead.”

Erestor hugged him tightly, sinking lifelessly into the strong arms. The strain and terror of the encounter had only just sunk past his relief and ecstasy at having his brothers back with him, and he found his best comfort in his lover’s arms. Tears of fear, relief, happiness, and pain mingled and ran unbidden, soaking Glorfindel’s collar

It was unclear who clung onto whom as Glorfindel’s hands roamed his lover’s back, each caress a desperate assurance. Planting kisses into the hair, onto the ear tips, and on the temple, he gratefully worshipped the being who had become all of his existence.

The nerve in Penlod’s temple throbbed painfully, and he planted his sword in front of him, hands crossed. Ecthelion eyed Egalmoth anxiously, and wordlessly mouthed for the archer to do something useful. Egalmoth took one look at the thin line his fearfully bad-tempered brother had drawn his lips into, and his eyebrow twitched. He turned to gesture at Rog, who pointed at his injured arm and forced an innocent grin. Looking back and forth between Ecthelion and Rog, Egalmoth raised a hand to his chest and mouthed, Me?!, earning himself vigorous nods.

Egalmoth rubbed the knot that was forming between his brows, and remembering his promise to his younger brother, groaned at the prospect of reasoning with the bubbling fountain of fire. But before he could say or do anything, Penlod cleared his throat deliberately and loudly, causing all the other brothers to inch back, minutely, barely perceptibly but still, an inch back.

Both startled by the sudden interruption, Glorfindel and Erestor pulled apart from their death grip on each other, but when the lovers’ gazes met, they could not resist, and dissolved into an impassioned kiss of both relief and promise. Inevitably the action only pushed Penlod over the edge. Whirling his sword in his hand, he marched towards the lovers, to be stopped by a fast moving Galdor and Hathel.

“Now, Penlod, don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Galdor tried warning, holding his own axe handle up in self-defence. “You can’t kill him when he is Erestor’s mate now.” Hathel nodded vehemently. Penlod merely growled and swiped his sword at them, barely missing the stray locks of their hair.

From his safe distance, Ecthelion called out, “Penlod. Enough. He obviously thinks the world of Fileg. If I can accept him, I can’t see why you can’t.”

Penlod stabbed his sword into a nearby vine and cursed at Ecthelion. “Of course I can’t. He’s my baby brother, and the other is obviously a crude barbarian who can’t even prevent a fire in his own darn keep.”

Erestor, hearing the quarrel, planted himself in front of Glorfindel and looked warily from one brother to another. Lindir and Daeron were as good as bought over – they were too idealistic not to see the romance of it all, and they above all would value love most. Duilin was always on his side, and besides, he was always bullied. Hathel and Galdor loved their peace too much to pick a fight, and they always got their cues from Rog and Ecthelion, so that left Penlod alone. He contemplated sneaking off with Glorfindel while Penlod was engaged in the quarrel with Ecthelion, but he reckoned he would fail.

Glorfindel had also learnt from his previous experience that Erestor’s brothers should not be offended, and he could tell that all the other brothers were terrified of this particular brother. He was anything but suicidal, so he stood quietly, pulling Erestor a few steps back from the wildly swinging sword.

Having expended his store of expletives, Penlod turned back to Glorfindel and Erestor. “You. You imbecilic spawn of Morgoth. You bonded with my baby brother?! MY baby brother?!”

Glorfindel nodded and inched a step back together with Erestor.

“How dare you?!” Penlod would have charged at Glorfindel had Hathel and Lindir not restrained him. Egalmoth stood behind Penlod’s back and pretending to rub his eyes, telling Erestor wordlessly to cry. He had surmised that if tears could work against Ecthelion, Rog and him, they would work on Penlod as well, and cry was exactly what Erestor did. First a trickle of tears, then a sob and an all-out wail.

Egalmoth raised a sardonic eyebrow, “Wonderful, Penlod, you have gone and made the baby brother cry. Did you even ask him what he wanted you insensible oaf, or is he a mere little toy doll for you?”

Penlod stared aghast at the big fat tears rolling down his littlest brother’s cheeks and he was even more taken aback by the accusatory stare that Glorfindel gave him. Anger dissipated by guilt, he threw the blade down and stammered, “Well…? Wh..at… do you want? I could try not to kill him if you want to keep him…”

Through his well-practiced tears, Erestor sobbed out, “I love him, gwador.” Even as Penlod stared at Erestor in defeat, Glorfindel froze dumbfounded. Turning Erestor around to face him again, Glorfindel looked Erestor in the eye. “You spoke?”

Erestor beamed and catching the cool cheeks in his hands, he said in his still rusty voice,
“I love you.”

The sun had no brilliance enough to rival Glorfindel’s smile.
---

Lives did not return to normal for the brothers, for normalcy had been redefined. No longer do they live simple foresters’ lives, and no longer were they sequestered away in the solace of the woods. Ecthelion did grow to like Glorfindel well, and the two of them became close friends. Eventually it was this friendship that brought Ecthelion into the courts where he would meet his own love and become a worthy general to King Turgon. Egalmoth’s cool mind earned him much respect, and his sharp looks much admiration, as he became part of Glorfindel’s council, while Penlod eventually got over his initial disapproval because he was distracted by Glorfindel’s second in command.

The rest of the brothers similarly found themselves new roles and a new home, much to the delight of single elleth and ellon alike. They never did return to the cottage, where an old lord who remembered only his treasured scrolls remained, ever fearful of bandits. At long last, when the Valar finally lifted the exile of the Noldor, Mandos in great kindness recalled the poor elf to his Halls, and there he was healed. He waits on the Blessed Isle still, waiting for his sons to return to him.

Did Salgant meet his just ends? Glorfindel was so greatly infuriated by the near loss of his husband that he left no stone unturned in his investigations of the fire, and it was not long before he found Salgant’s role. The golden lord had personally hunted the dastardly elf down, with equally enraged brothers in tow – but they found only a sorry shell of an elf huddled under a tree, who muttered his apologies even as he rocked himself in a feverish and unconscious trance. Conscience is always the harshest tormentor and the conscience of an once misguided elf even more so. Forgiveness is the highest virtue and in this, Erestor proved far worthier than his lover and his brothers. As the elf lay in the healing halls still haunted by the fever, it was the elf he nearly killed who tended to his every need. Eventually, Salgant recovered and he did find his salvation in the most unlikely character, an extremely playful elf who defied all his brothers and survived. But that is another story.

As for Erestor and Glorfindel, why, could there be anything but supreme happiness? They learnt about each other slowly and each little bit only made them fall deeper in love with each other. Glorfindel grew used to Erestor’s chatter, and he was so charmed by his herven’s light cheerfulness that he would deliberately bicker with him, just to hear that wonderful voice. Erestor grew used to late nights and later mornings, and learnt belatedly that there were some things that brothers just did not want to know.

And of course, they lived happily ever after.