Greenleaf&Imladris 11-In the Silence of Our Hearts

Part IV

Glorfindel left on border patrol the following morning, Elrohir and Legolas in tow. Erestor watched him depart, his feelings at war within him. Every instinct screamed at him to go to Rivendell’s captain and make peace with him. But his pride deterred him at every turn.



He soon had reason to rue his stubbornness when the patrol returned unexpectedly three days later. He was in the library with Elladan when Legolas burst into the chamber, his face ashen with fear.



“Erestor, come quickly!” he cried. “Glorfindel is grievously injured!”



The volume the seneschal was holding dropped to the floor with a crash. Without a word, he and Elladan followed the Mirkwood prince to the healing halls at a brisk run. They burst unceremoniously into the room wherein the golden Elf-lord lay. Three healers were bent over his body including Elrond himself. Elrohir stood at his side holding a basin of impossibly scarlet-tinted water. Erestor could not withhold a sharp intake of breath when his eyes fell upon Glorfindel.



The warrior lay on his stomach, his eyes closed, his face still and white. But his back – his back was covered with the crimson flow of his life’s blood.



“What-what happened?” he hoarsely asked Elrond who labored steadily over the wounded warrior.



“Three knife wounds. Very deep and wide,” Elrond replied distractedly, his healer’s hands deftly manipulating the wounded flesh to staunch the bleeding within and without. “Fortunately, they are not poisoned.” He lifted his head momentarily to glance at Erestor, wondering at his steward’s stricken face. “But he has lost much blood and is severely weakened.”



Erestor drew a shuddering breath. “Will he die?” he asked in a tight voice.



“Not if I can help it,” Elrond pronounced tersely. “Fear not, Erestor. I will not let those infernal creatures have this victory. Mandos’ Halls will not be graced by Glorfindel’s presence a second time.”



Erestor swallowed with difficulty. Looking up he saw Celebrían and Arwen at the door, staring in horror at the sight of Rivendell’s beloved captain so seriously injured. Arwen’s eyes suddenly met his and he flinched. The Elf-maid’s glare was patently accusing. He lowered his eyes. It seemed Arwen knew about their last encounter if not its content. And it was obvious that she regarded it as the direct cause of Glorfindel’s present state.



The captain had been distracted the morning he led the patrol out of the valley. That would account for his failure to evade his enemy’s strokes. The Elf was too seasoned a warrior and too agile an opponent to have been so careless as to open himself to such an assault.



I am to blame, Erestor castigated himself. He would not have been in such a state had I not been so cruel and unforgiving.



He kept watch over the warrior for the next several days, leaving his side only when necessary, puzzling Elrond and Celebrían as he stubbornly insisted on virtually tending to all the injured Elda’s needs. He took over ministering to the wounds and changing the bandages as soon as Elrond declared Glorfindel out of immediate danger. He coaxed spoonfuls of broth past the pliant lips when the golden-haired Elf was conscious enough to swallow nourishment though not aware of who cared for him. And he bathed him as tenderly and carefully as he might a newborn infant. Only it wasn’t quite the same as bathing a babe, Erestor realized with shock and wonder the first time he undressed his former mentor.



He had never seen Glorfindel completely naked before. His bared torso, yes, when he trained Rivendell’s warriors, oft clad in naught but breeches and boots. He had never admitted to himself just how much he was affected by the picture of what he’d once sought to know more intimately. The hurt and humiliation he’d experienced in his youth had always barred the way.



But now, he was faced with the full splendor of the Elf-warrior. Even while lying on a sickbed barely pulled back from the brink of death, he was the image of all that was beautiful and noble and desirable. His hands trembled as he deftly washed Glorfindel’s form, hesitating when he came to the Elda’s groin.



Dare I? he thought. Steeling himself, he attempted to finish his chore soonest. But his hand shook almost violently when it brushed against Glorfindel’s shaft. He stopped his movements and cursed his lack of control. Then, unable to hold back, he hesitantly drew his fingers once through the golden curls upon the Elda’s groin and along the length of his shaft. Dear Elbereth, it was a formidable spear even when quiescent. What more when Glorfindel was aroused?



Erestor heaved a pensive sigh. Not that he would ever know. After everything that had happened, it was unlikely Glorfindel would approach him again. He had severed the last connection that might still have bridged the gap between them with his prideful words. The thought saddened him immeasurably and dampened the incipient lust that had stirred within him. He completed his task with little more difficulty.



********

He was tucking the covers securely around the warrior when he became aware of the latter’s groggy scrutiny. It was now more than a week since the incident and Glorfindel had been drifting in and out of consciousness the past few days. Erestor could not be sure if the captain had been aware of his steady presence. Until now.



A pair of aquamarine eyes regarded him with full lucidity.



“You did not have to take care of me,” Glorfindel quietly said, his voice somewhat thready. “But thank you anyway.”



Erestor was at a loss for words. This was so sudden. He was completely unprepared.



“How do you feel?” he finally asked, then cursed himself silently for such an inane opening.



Glorfindel grimaced. “Like death warmed over,” he muttered. He tried to rise only to feel the room spin around him.



Erestor quickly caught him as he fell back dizzily.



“Do not move!” he softly exclaimed. “You are still weak, my friend.”



Glorfindel lay still awhile, waiting for his head to stop whirling.



“Am I?” he asked at length.



“Are you what?” Erestor stared at him confusedly.



“Your friend.”



The steward was shocked. “Of course you are!”



Glorfindel simply looked at him. Erestor shivered inwardly at the lack of emotion in the usually expressive cobalt pools.



“I had better get Elrond,” he said.



The captain merely nodded. Erestor departed, his heart weighted with apprehension.



Glorfindel’s recovery was swift from that point onwards. Ever the warrior he rose from his sickbed sooner than might have been expected and returned to his duties as soon as he was deemed fit enough to do so. Not even Elrond could persuade him to take his time before resuming his responsibilities. He had wasted enough time lying abed.



Erestor watched him go about his way with a heavy heart. Not once did the Elda speak to him of their quarrel. Indeed, he did not speak to him at all if he could help it. But it was not anger that made him keep his distance.



It was my own words to him the last time we talked that keeps him away, Erestor despondently admitted to himself.



The steward was aware an apology to the captain was warranted. He’d had the right to be angry with Glorfindel but there had been no need to be vicious about it. Unfortunately, Erestor was also as proud as they came. He’d seldom apologized to anyone in his life; he’d avoided situations that would require him to humble himself thusly. The encounter with Glorfindel in his youth had traumatized him so deeply he’d never put himself in a position of such vulnerability again.



So, the words were not said. And the silence between them continued. Elbereth only knew how long this deplorable state of affairs would have gone on if not for an unexpected encounter in one of the corridors of the Last Homely House one afternoon.



He was rounding a corner when he heard voices speaking in the hallway beyond. Glorfindel and Arwen’s voices. He cautiously took a peek at them. They were discussing something of import judging from their serious expressions. Erestor wondered what.



“But Glorfindel—!” Arwen finally exclaimed in frustration.



“Leave it be,” the captain said. “‘Tis over between us.”



“You do not believe that.”



“It matters not what I believe. Erestor made it quite clear that whatever feelings he once held for me are no longer there.”



Erestor nearly gasped when he heard his name.



“He only spoke in anger. That he approached you that morn is evidence that his regard is still present.”



Glorfindel shook his head. “‘Twas not love that drove him.”



“If not love, then what?” Arwen demanded stubbornly.



Glorfindel sighed. “As you so sagely put it he was simply trying to mend matters between us, nothing more. I must go.”



He hastened past the Elf-maiden before she could further press him. Arwen stared after him with an unlady-like scowl.



“Eavesdropping? It does not become you, Erestor.”



The steward whirled around to stare into Elrohir’s argent eyes. Elladan and Legolas stood behind him.



“I was not eavesdropping.” he protested indignantly. “I just did not want to intrude on them so suddenly.”



“And the fact that they were talking about you had nothing to do with it,” Elladan commented.



Erestor glowered at the Elf-lords. “I have nothing to say to you,” he growled with uncharacteristic gracelessness.



“But I have something to say to you.”



He groaned inwardly. Turning, he faced a rather irate Arwen. She wasted no time at all.



“We don’t have to know what you said to him,” she said caustically. “All we need know is that it left him so distraught, he couldn’t evade a witless Orc’s charge!”



“Arwen—”



“He went to you to apologize for the past. How many would have lowered themselves to do that? Certainly none as valiant and proud as one who slew a Balrog and passed through Mandos’ Halls because of it!”



Elrohir placed a calming hand on his sister’s shoulder.



“Peace, muinthel”—sister—he murmured. He glanced at a white-faced Erestor. “That Glorfindel wronged you then is undeniable,” he said. “But he did try to make amends for it even if belated. We believed you would accept his effort. He didn’t. He obviously knew you all too well.”



“He told you about us?” Erestor asked with some consternation.



“Glorfindel told us about his error in handling your youthful attachment to him,” Legolas supplied. “He was truly remorseful about it, Erestor.”



Color stained the counsellor’s cheeks that the others should know of his past infatuation.



“I wish he had not done that,” he said uncomfortably.



“We pressed him,” Elladan stated. “And we could tell that he needed to talk about it. He probably needed to talk about it all these years.” He regarded the flustered counsellor with sympathy. “He loved you then, do you know that? He still does.”



Erestor flushed further. “So he told me,” he conceded.



“But you did not believe him.”



The advisor let out an irritated sigh. “As if ‘tis easy to believe after all these centuries,” he snorted. “He never came to me, never indicated that he felt otherwise.



“He is as proud as you are, chief steward,” Elrohir said. “It was no easy thing for him to own himself wrong and admit it to you as well.”



“Mayhap. But you can hardly blame me for being sceptical.”



“Be that as it may, what will you now do to make amends?” Arwen asked pointedly.



“What will I do—?”



“To set things right between the two of you,” she said. “Glorfindel took the first step and a very big one I must say. When will you do your part?”



Erestor shrank from the idea. “This is ridiculous,” he objected. “‘Tis not as if I started this.”



Arwen exploded. “You have both suffered for nigh on two millennia because of his ill-spoken words!” she cried vexedly. “Will you both now suffer another two thousand years because of your benighted pride?”



Erestor stared at her in shock. Never had the Elf-maid behaved so indecorously around him. A hand on his arm drew his attention once more to Elrohir.



“Is it indeed over between you?” the Elf-knight asked ever so gently.



To be continued…