The Long Journey Home
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
6,567
Reviews:
25
Recommended:
2
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
9
Views:
6,567
Reviews:
25
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.
Invitation and Memories
Title: The Long Journey Home
Author: silmfan (trueself101@yahoo.com)
Beta reader: ealhswithofskye (Thank you!)
Rating: PG so far
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Warning: m/m slash
Setting: Near the beginning of the Third Age, before the War of the Ring and when Elrond’s sons are still young elflings. Slightly AU (?)
Disclaimer: Obviously, these Elves do not belong to me.
Authors that inspire/motivate me (though by no means making my writing as good as theirs): Eresse, Ezra’s Persian Kitty, Kharessa Bloodrose, Orchard Constyne, Morgana, McKenna Espenshade, Oakenshield, Dhvana, and others.
Notes: Also inspired by Cold Mountain (the movie) and chocolate. There’s a canonical side in me; there’s a slashy side in me. Yeah, the slashy side won. There’s no absolute certainty that I will complete this…it looks like it might turn out to be a long series. It depends on how much time I have (which is not a lot to begin with). I also have a tendency to leave stories unfinished when my imagination well runs dry. But, here goes.
My thanks to those that read and reviewed. It feels good to know that people acknowledge my existence. :o)
Again, reviews are appreciated.
Chapter 4: Invitation and Memories
‘I really should spend more time in the gardens…’ Glorfindel mused as he meandered down a dirt path that bordered the gardens behind Imladris. The gardens ended at a row of stiff, young trees that resembled a fence of sorts, preventing wandering Elves from falling off the cliff just beyond. Past the cliff, there were a few waterfalls that slithered their way down the rocky walls that half-protect the valley. The Vanya stood close to the row of trees for a few minutes, admiring the natural beauty, before turning back to find Erestor.
Glorfindel walked some ways through untrimmed grass and wild flowers before espying the Chief Advisor tending a small patch of red-leafed plants, not too far from the window of Elrond’s study.
As the golden-haired Elf neared Erestor, he noticed that the advisor did not abandon his way of absolute precision. Erestor was methodically digging up, from left to right, the various wild sprouts that somehow wormed their way into that particular bed. He was kneeling in the dirt, the bottom half of his black office robes spreading out behind him in a wave of folds. The sleeves, too heavy and loose to be rolled up properly, dragged over the ground, the fringes snatching up flecks of dirt with every move the advisor made. A leather string pulled back all of his dark hair, exposing a long, pale neck and pointy ears that looked more elongated than normal. His brow was furrowed and his lips were pressed firmly together in concentration, eyes darting up and down in search of elusive, budding weeds. He did not pause or turn his head when he addressed the Vanya, his senses alerting him that he was not alone.
“Do you have something to say, Master Glorfindel?”
Erestor pulled out the next weed with a little more force than necessary; clearly, Glorfindel’s interruption did not sit too well with him. There was a schedule to be kept. Glorfindel simply blinked at the subtle note of irritation in the advisor’s voice; he was quite used to it by now.
“I do, Master Erestor.”
Silence pervaded the next few minutes as Glorfindel proceeded to sit cross-legged next to the advisor and patiently observe the weeding process. Frustrated, though he hid it well, Erestor stopped his work and turned to face Glorfindel.
“Well, say it.”
Glorfindel smiled, though the expression was not returned.
“I like to make eye contact with the person I am in conversation with.”
“I have no time to converse with you.”
Erestor was about to resume his weeding before remembering that Glorfindel would not say a word without eye contact. He gritted his teeth and set down his tools, focusing his gaze back on the Vanya’s eyes.
“I do not desire conversation right now. Rather, I have a question.”
“Ask it.”
“Would you like to have dinner with me? In private?”
Glorfindel wondered if this sounded too romantic. He didn’t want to make the wrong impression…
“Where?”
There was no change in Erestor’s countenance, nothing in his voice that hinted that he was even remotely interested. He simply acted like having dinner with Glorfindel was another duty he had to perform. The Vanya frowned at this, biting his lower lip before responding.
“The East Terrace.”
The East Terrace was more of a room than a terrace, located on the third floor at the end of the East Wing. It was a multi-purpose place where residents could hold informal meetings, play quiet board games, read, or have a private meal. Occasionally, lovers would use the room to steal kisses from each other and relax in each other’s company on a rug in front of the fireplace. Framed glass doors, opposite the Terrace entrance, could be opened to a small, marble balcony where one could easily spot the stars and the moon, as well the majestic Misty Mountains. The doors were rarely used now, though, as sg aug autumn winds tended to frequent the valley at this time of year.
“Very well.”
With that, Erestor picked up his gardening spade again and proceeded to dig out the next weed and spread out the soil over the hole. Slightly dismayed, Glorfindel took this as his cue to leave.
“Good day then, Master Erestor.”
There was no response. The Vanya sighed as he got back on his feet, inclined his head, and left, making his way toward the kitchen. He had planning to do.
As soon as Glorfindel disappeared from his range of vision, Erestor put aside his tool and removed his black gloves. Slender, white, and impeccably clean hands pressed gently down on the dirt, steadying the advisor as he stretched out on the ground, face down. He turned his head aside a little and pressed an ear to the soil. His sharp hearing ability picked up small, wriggling movements and Erestor seemed satisfied. There were enough worms to keep the soil soft and rich. As he pushed himself up to his knees, he surveyed the small bed of red-leafed plants once more. No weeds; his work hers dos done. Erestor reached into a pocket and drew out a used piece of cloth. He then carefully wiped off the clinging dirt on his sleeves and the bottom of his robes, as well as the spade, shaking the pieces back onto the small garden plot.
Erestor silently rounded a corner in the West Wing, where his room was located, intending to put away his spade and gloves before heading off toward the Healing Houses to gather progress reports and recent updates. A familiar laugh reached the advisor’s ears and, as an alcove became visible, Erestor saw Lindir embracing a sable-haired male Elf whose back the advisor could only see. What happened next, however, was not something Erestor expected.
Lindir tilted his head upwards and captured the other’s lips in a sensual, passionate kiss. The unknown Elf moaned quietly and began to return Lindir’s ardor.
Male/male relationships were not unheard of in Imladris, but they were certainly uncommon. Elrond tolerated such relationships so long as those involved were discreet. It was rarely performed, but marriages among males were allowed as well. Erestor was not a stranger to sodomy, having been in an army for the greater part of the First Age, but having not seen open affection between males for over an age did push the thought into the back of his mind. Now that it was brought forth again, Erestor began to recall the past, remembering his first time. That was when he learned the difference between lust and love. It was night before the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, when he had a sinking feeling in his heart. He thought he was going to die…
/flashback/
Erestor stood motionless inside the camp’s temporary smithy, watching Maglor sharpen the blades of his sword and binding new leather strips to the hilt, making it easier to grip. Sensing that another was watching him, the second son of Fëanor tightened the last strip and looked up smi smiled when he recognized the observer.
“Erestor. What brings you here?”
The younger Elf did not respond, only continuing to look at Maglor’s sword.
“Erestor?”
Maglor set down his sword on the wooden table next to him and walked over to Erestor, putting a hand under his chin and lifting his head so that their eyes met.
“What is wrong?”
Maglor’s soft, lyrical voice undid Erestor and the younger Elf felt a shudder course through his body as he spoke.
“I’m going to die.”
Erestor began to lower his head again when Maglor’s hand forced it back up. His voice was now firm and laced with concern.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, yes I do! I can feel it. Mandos is calling me. He’s calling me, my Lord…”
Erestor went into a state of slighstersteria, his breaths coming out in short, harsh pants. Maglor took pity on his friend (their families having been on good relations for quite some time) and enveloped him in his arms. His melodic voice came back.
“Calm down, Erestor. Getting anxious will not get you anywhere. Remember what I taught you about fear and focus…”
Maglor rubbed Erestor’s back, speaking softly into his black hair. Letting his heart rate slow down and his breathing even out, Erestor nodded and closed his eyes, stepping back to let calmness wash over him. When this was achieved, Erestor lifted his lids, his bright, sienna eyes showing renewed inner strength. He smiled, a slight blush flushing through his cheeks in embarrassment. It was never good to show weakness in front of one’s leader.
When Maglor saw those bright eyes, everything changed. In wonder, the Fëanorion regarded the Elf before him. Erestor had grown up…and he was beautiful. It was that simple. Maglor was slightly confused at this sudden discovery; he used to care for Erestor like a younger brother (though he has five already) but now…now, it was different.
“Maglor?”
Erestor frowned in confusion as Maglor continued to stare at him with a startled expression on his face. The younger Elf lifted a hand, intending to place it on Maglor’s shoulder to shake him from his waking reverie. Maglor’s hand suddenly flashed into view and grasped Erestor’s hand in an achingly firm grip. Then, just as quickly as he grabbed it, Maglor let go of Erestor’s hand and backed away, still wearing that startled expression on his face.
“I’m sorry.”
Erestor barely caught Maglor’s whisper before the older Elf turned and ran. Bewildered, Erestor massaged his hand and picked up the sword Maglor left in the smithy. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ Erestor thought as he weaved his way ar the the soldiers’ tents toward Maglor’s larger one.
Having stopped briefly several times to greet a few Elves, Erestor arrived about ten minutes later, stopping at the closed flap on Maglor’s tent. Usually, the flap was open to accept any messengers, soldiers, or scouts, but since it was closed…it meant that Maglor was resting, in deep concentration, or troubled. Erestor decided he would just return the sword. Maglor’s problems were not of his concern. It was getting dark anyhow.
Erestor bent down and peeked inside the tent. Maglor was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands clasped tightly and his gazxed xed firmly on the rug beneath his feet. Going against the usual protocol, Erestor entered without permission, quickly strode over to Maglor’s desk, and set down the sword gently. He was about to turn and leave, when Maglor lifted his head, his voice soft and sad.
“Wait…Erestor.”
Erestor walked over tentatively to his leader and friend, and sat down beside him. He clasped Maglor’s hands in his own.
“Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
Erestor’s eyes widened as Maglor swiftly captured his lips in a searing kiss. The older Elf then abruptly turned aside and all but ripped his hands from Erestor’s grip.
“That is what’s wrong.”
Erestor breathed deeply before forming a coherent response. The taste of Maglor’s lips still tingled on his own.
“Love is wrong?”
Maglor turned back toward Erestor and a wistful smile appeared on his face.
“Nay, this is not love. But…it seems I feel more for you than a leader ought to for his subordinate.”
Erestor pressed his fingers on his lips, replaying the kiss in his mind. He looked up at Maglor and smiled.
“And it seems I feel more for you than a subordinate ought to for his leader.”
Maglor laughed softly before drawing Erestor into another kiss, though it was deeper and gentler this time. All Erestor could feel throughout the night after Maglor pressed him into his bed was utter bliss and satisfaction…
//
Erestor felt warmth suffuse his cheeks as the memory came vividly back to him. He glanced at Lindir and his partner once more before silently going back the way he came. He let the warmth fade away, sobering himself with memories of war, before heading back down the steps toward the Healing Houses. He would leave the lovers to their privacy. And he would return to work again.
Author: silmfan (trueself101@yahoo.com)
Beta reader: ealhswithofskye (Thank you!)
Rating: PG so far
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Warning: m/m slash
Setting: Near the beginning of the Third Age, before the War of the Ring and when Elrond’s sons are still young elflings. Slightly AU (?)
Disclaimer: Obviously, these Elves do not belong to me.
Authors that inspire/motivate me (though by no means making my writing as good as theirs): Eresse, Ezra’s Persian Kitty, Kharessa Bloodrose, Orchard Constyne, Morgana, McKenna Espenshade, Oakenshield, Dhvana, and others.
Notes: Also inspired by Cold Mountain (the movie) and chocolate. There’s a canonical side in me; there’s a slashy side in me. Yeah, the slashy side won. There’s no absolute certainty that I will complete this…it looks like it might turn out to be a long series. It depends on how much time I have (which is not a lot to begin with). I also have a tendency to leave stories unfinished when my imagination well runs dry. But, here goes.
My thanks to those that read and reviewed. It feels good to know that people acknowledge my existence. :o)
Again, reviews are appreciated.
Chapter 4: Invitation and Memories
‘I really should spend more time in the gardens…’ Glorfindel mused as he meandered down a dirt path that bordered the gardens behind Imladris. The gardens ended at a row of stiff, young trees that resembled a fence of sorts, preventing wandering Elves from falling off the cliff just beyond. Past the cliff, there were a few waterfalls that slithered their way down the rocky walls that half-protect the valley. The Vanya stood close to the row of trees for a few minutes, admiring the natural beauty, before turning back to find Erestor.
Glorfindel walked some ways through untrimmed grass and wild flowers before espying the Chief Advisor tending a small patch of red-leafed plants, not too far from the window of Elrond’s study.
As the golden-haired Elf neared Erestor, he noticed that the advisor did not abandon his way of absolute precision. Erestor was methodically digging up, from left to right, the various wild sprouts that somehow wormed their way into that particular bed. He was kneeling in the dirt, the bottom half of his black office robes spreading out behind him in a wave of folds. The sleeves, too heavy and loose to be rolled up properly, dragged over the ground, the fringes snatching up flecks of dirt with every move the advisor made. A leather string pulled back all of his dark hair, exposing a long, pale neck and pointy ears that looked more elongated than normal. His brow was furrowed and his lips were pressed firmly together in concentration, eyes darting up and down in search of elusive, budding weeds. He did not pause or turn his head when he addressed the Vanya, his senses alerting him that he was not alone.
“Do you have something to say, Master Glorfindel?”
Erestor pulled out the next weed with a little more force than necessary; clearly, Glorfindel’s interruption did not sit too well with him. There was a schedule to be kept. Glorfindel simply blinked at the subtle note of irritation in the advisor’s voice; he was quite used to it by now.
“I do, Master Erestor.”
Silence pervaded the next few minutes as Glorfindel proceeded to sit cross-legged next to the advisor and patiently observe the weeding process. Frustrated, though he hid it well, Erestor stopped his work and turned to face Glorfindel.
“Well, say it.”
Glorfindel smiled, though the expression was not returned.
“I like to make eye contact with the person I am in conversation with.”
“I have no time to converse with you.”
Erestor was about to resume his weeding before remembering that Glorfindel would not say a word without eye contact. He gritted his teeth and set down his tools, focusing his gaze back on the Vanya’s eyes.
“I do not desire conversation right now. Rather, I have a question.”
“Ask it.”
“Would you like to have dinner with me? In private?”
Glorfindel wondered if this sounded too romantic. He didn’t want to make the wrong impression…
“Where?”
There was no change in Erestor’s countenance, nothing in his voice that hinted that he was even remotely interested. He simply acted like having dinner with Glorfindel was another duty he had to perform. The Vanya frowned at this, biting his lower lip before responding.
“The East Terrace.”
The East Terrace was more of a room than a terrace, located on the third floor at the end of the East Wing. It was a multi-purpose place where residents could hold informal meetings, play quiet board games, read, or have a private meal. Occasionally, lovers would use the room to steal kisses from each other and relax in each other’s company on a rug in front of the fireplace. Framed glass doors, opposite the Terrace entrance, could be opened to a small, marble balcony where one could easily spot the stars and the moon, as well the majestic Misty Mountains. The doors were rarely used now, though, as sg aug autumn winds tended to frequent the valley at this time of year.
“Very well.”
With that, Erestor picked up his gardening spade again and proceeded to dig out the next weed and spread out the soil over the hole. Slightly dismayed, Glorfindel took this as his cue to leave.
“Good day then, Master Erestor.”
There was no response. The Vanya sighed as he got back on his feet, inclined his head, and left, making his way toward the kitchen. He had planning to do.
As soon as Glorfindel disappeared from his range of vision, Erestor put aside his tool and removed his black gloves. Slender, white, and impeccably clean hands pressed gently down on the dirt, steadying the advisor as he stretched out on the ground, face down. He turned his head aside a little and pressed an ear to the soil. His sharp hearing ability picked up small, wriggling movements and Erestor seemed satisfied. There were enough worms to keep the soil soft and rich. As he pushed himself up to his knees, he surveyed the small bed of red-leafed plants once more. No weeds; his work hers dos done. Erestor reached into a pocket and drew out a used piece of cloth. He then carefully wiped off the clinging dirt on his sleeves and the bottom of his robes, as well as the spade, shaking the pieces back onto the small garden plot.
Erestor silently rounded a corner in the West Wing, where his room was located, intending to put away his spade and gloves before heading off toward the Healing Houses to gather progress reports and recent updates. A familiar laugh reached the advisor’s ears and, as an alcove became visible, Erestor saw Lindir embracing a sable-haired male Elf whose back the advisor could only see. What happened next, however, was not something Erestor expected.
Lindir tilted his head upwards and captured the other’s lips in a sensual, passionate kiss. The unknown Elf moaned quietly and began to return Lindir’s ardor.
Male/male relationships were not unheard of in Imladris, but they were certainly uncommon. Elrond tolerated such relationships so long as those involved were discreet. It was rarely performed, but marriages among males were allowed as well. Erestor was not a stranger to sodomy, having been in an army for the greater part of the First Age, but having not seen open affection between males for over an age did push the thought into the back of his mind. Now that it was brought forth again, Erestor began to recall the past, remembering his first time. That was when he learned the difference between lust and love. It was night before the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, when he had a sinking feeling in his heart. He thought he was going to die…
/flashback/
Erestor stood motionless inside the camp’s temporary smithy, watching Maglor sharpen the blades of his sword and binding new leather strips to the hilt, making it easier to grip. Sensing that another was watching him, the second son of Fëanor tightened the last strip and looked up smi smiled when he recognized the observer.
“Erestor. What brings you here?”
The younger Elf did not respond, only continuing to look at Maglor’s sword.
“Erestor?”
Maglor set down his sword on the wooden table next to him and walked over to Erestor, putting a hand under his chin and lifting his head so that their eyes met.
“What is wrong?”
Maglor’s soft, lyrical voice undid Erestor and the younger Elf felt a shudder course through his body as he spoke.
“I’m going to die.”
Erestor began to lower his head again when Maglor’s hand forced it back up. His voice was now firm and laced with concern.
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, yes I do! I can feel it. Mandos is calling me. He’s calling me, my Lord…”
Erestor went into a state of slighstersteria, his breaths coming out in short, harsh pants. Maglor took pity on his friend (their families having been on good relations for quite some time) and enveloped him in his arms. His melodic voice came back.
“Calm down, Erestor. Getting anxious will not get you anywhere. Remember what I taught you about fear and focus…”
Maglor rubbed Erestor’s back, speaking softly into his black hair. Letting his heart rate slow down and his breathing even out, Erestor nodded and closed his eyes, stepping back to let calmness wash over him. When this was achieved, Erestor lifted his lids, his bright, sienna eyes showing renewed inner strength. He smiled, a slight blush flushing through his cheeks in embarrassment. It was never good to show weakness in front of one’s leader.
When Maglor saw those bright eyes, everything changed. In wonder, the Fëanorion regarded the Elf before him. Erestor had grown up…and he was beautiful. It was that simple. Maglor was slightly confused at this sudden discovery; he used to care for Erestor like a younger brother (though he has five already) but now…now, it was different.
“Maglor?”
Erestor frowned in confusion as Maglor continued to stare at him with a startled expression on his face. The younger Elf lifted a hand, intending to place it on Maglor’s shoulder to shake him from his waking reverie. Maglor’s hand suddenly flashed into view and grasped Erestor’s hand in an achingly firm grip. Then, just as quickly as he grabbed it, Maglor let go of Erestor’s hand and backed away, still wearing that startled expression on his face.
“I’m sorry.”
Erestor barely caught Maglor’s whisper before the older Elf turned and ran. Bewildered, Erestor massaged his hand and picked up the sword Maglor left in the smithy. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ Erestor thought as he weaved his way ar the the soldiers’ tents toward Maglor’s larger one.
Having stopped briefly several times to greet a few Elves, Erestor arrived about ten minutes later, stopping at the closed flap on Maglor’s tent. Usually, the flap was open to accept any messengers, soldiers, or scouts, but since it was closed…it meant that Maglor was resting, in deep concentration, or troubled. Erestor decided he would just return the sword. Maglor’s problems were not of his concern. It was getting dark anyhow.
Erestor bent down and peeked inside the tent. Maglor was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands clasped tightly and his gazxed xed firmly on the rug beneath his feet. Going against the usual protocol, Erestor entered without permission, quickly strode over to Maglor’s desk, and set down the sword gently. He was about to turn and leave, when Maglor lifted his head, his voice soft and sad.
“Wait…Erestor.”
Erestor walked over tentatively to his leader and friend, and sat down beside him. He clasped Maglor’s hands in his own.
“Please, tell me what’s wrong.”
Erestor’s eyes widened as Maglor swiftly captured his lips in a searing kiss. The older Elf then abruptly turned aside and all but ripped his hands from Erestor’s grip.
“That is what’s wrong.”
Erestor breathed deeply before forming a coherent response. The taste of Maglor’s lips still tingled on his own.
“Love is wrong?”
Maglor turned back toward Erestor and a wistful smile appeared on his face.
“Nay, this is not love. But…it seems I feel more for you than a leader ought to for his subordinate.”
Erestor pressed his fingers on his lips, replaying the kiss in his mind. He looked up at Maglor and smiled.
“And it seems I feel more for you than a subordinate ought to for his leader.”
Maglor laughed softly before drawing Erestor into another kiss, though it was deeper and gentler this time. All Erestor could feel throughout the night after Maglor pressed him into his bed was utter bliss and satisfaction…
//
Erestor felt warmth suffuse his cheeks as the memory came vividly back to him. He glanced at Lindir and his partner once more before silently going back the way he came. He let the warmth fade away, sobering himself with memories of war, before heading back down the steps toward the Healing Houses. He would leave the lovers to their privacy. And he would return to work again.