Burning Bright

EEDBACK DESIRED AND APPRECIATED (non-flaming yet critical reviews are ALWAYS welcome, no matter who you are…;) )
Fourth part of the Fahrenheit 451/LOTR crossover
Characters: F-451: Clarisse, Montag; LOTR: Erestor, Glorfindel…
Rating: PG-13, later chapter NC-17…
Warnings: Violence against BOOKS, reference to suicide, graphic sex later. (hint of slash at Glorfindel and Erestor’s relationship.)…AU…yeah…
Betas: AMY AND KATH!!!!
Disclaimer: this is so not mine…Tolkien, Bradbury, and Natalie Merchant own everything.
Summary: Twisted plot bunny came to me as I was reading the Ray Bradbury story for the third time…
// Are quotes from Fahrenheit 451 and Tolkien. //
-Mind speak-
*Just for everyone’s info…in case it wasn’t already obvious…they are speaking the common tongue, i.e. English for my purposes when Montag is present…consider it Elvish when he isn’t…Thanks.

Notes on the book: at this point, Montag should be on his way to Faber’s to handover the bible for printing before he followed his wife’s wishes and return the book to Beatty. Consider this a brief out of ‘book’ experience…;) Well brief is a relative term…remember, Montag has been sucked into the ME world…so his trip to Faber’s is delayed…


~~~~~~

Oh, your daddy, he's the iron man
battleship wrecked on dry land
(Natalie Merchant, Life is Sweet)

~~~~~~


//And for the first time I realized that a man was behind each one of the books. A man had to think them up. A man had to take a long time to put them down on paper. And I’d never even thought that thought before.//

Erestor cleared his throat, breaking the stunned man and his daughter from their embrace. Emotions of anger and curiosity crossed his face in varying degrees, as Clarisse looked up to him sheepishly.

“May I present Guy Montag,” her voice soft. She held the man’s hands in hers behind her back, squeezing them reassuringly as her father bore down on them.

The fireman was here. And his daughter openly greeted him with affection. Had she forgotten the atrocities this man had committed, he thought in disbelief? Or was she that quick to forgive? Reaching out he grasped her elbow, pulling her out of the way, so that he faced the man alone. She gasped in defiance, jerking out of his grip, her eyes matching her father’s in anger.

Montag looked up slowly to elf, the creature’s dark eyes flashing with distrust. Even through the rich velvet robes Erestor wore, he could feel the heat of his immense physical power. It took all his resolve to not cower in fear. Montag was well over six feet, and yet he still barely reached this elf’s shoulder.

Glorfindel touched his friend’s shoulder only to have Erestor ignore him.

“Erestor,” spoke Elrond quietly. Everyone stood still, waiting and wondering what the advisor would do. None had seen him this emotional…ever. His fists were clenched at his side, and his eyes darkened as they bore down upon the obviously frightened man.

“Erestor,” the lord repeated.

“Elrond, when it is your daughter then you may speak. Until then, leave,” Erestor never looked up, just spoke slowly and clearly.

It finally registered to Montag who this elf was. Sweet Jesus, this is her father, he thought frantically. A line of sweat formed on his upper lip, as his nervousness increased. He could hear the erratic angry breathing of the elf, and it scared him.

Scared? Montag wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt this way before, yet another emotion he experienced for the first time. He hadn’t felt this way when he carried the books away with him from the fires. No, that was curiosity. He hadn’t actually felt scared, though he probably should have.

It seemed that until about just over a week ago, he’d approached everything with abject passivity. Then he’d met her.

“Elladan, Elrohir. Come with me,” Elrond shot Erestor an unsure glance, unsure as to whether or not he should leave the emotional elf alone with Clarisse and Montag. Deciding that Erestor wouldn’t actually kill the man and that Fin would probably remain, he left. Elladan and Elrohir quickly glanced back at the remaining figures, doubts also racing through their minds. They’d never seen their old tutor in such a state, and it alarmed them. But trusting their father’s judgment, they followed Elrond into the hall, shutting the door noiselessly behind them.

“Erestor,” Glorfindel started.

“Fin, do you want to leave, too?” Montag swallowed hard at Erestor’s harsh words.

The golden elf, angered by his friend’s tone, pulled the darker elf roughly to face him, lines of anger etched in his chiseled features. Montag took the time to notice that the elf called ‘Fin’ seemed even stronger than Clarisse’s father, emanating physical power with every movement.

If he was afraid of the elf, Erestor did not show it, but instead challenged him with every aspect of his being except words. His body tensed against Glorfindel’s grip on his shoulder, his irises shaking in rage at his friend’s liberties against his person. Red crept to the tips of his ears.

-Do you know who this man is, Fin!?- He shouted at the golden elf with his mind.

“Yes, I do,” Fin whispered back, quickly glancing to the man and back to Erestor’s inky eyes. –And I feel the same concern as you do…- He added.

Clarisse crossed the room quickly, as soon as her father was pulled out of the way. Again she took the man’s hand. A surge of relief and comfort filled him, as he felt the elleth’s warm hand squeeze his. Looking over to her, he realized that they met eye to eye. She was incredibly tall, and not as young as he’d thought. Her face was youthful, but within her eyes were the signs of many years past.

Montag lost himself in her for a moment, as she smiled reassuringly at him. Warmth spread through his whole being, and he relaxed for a brief second.

Until Erestor turned to face the human and Clarisse.

“I want a word with you,” he pointed a slender, lily-white finger at Montag, his expression still hard. Montag eyed the finger, comparing the finger to a spear ready to pierce him.

“Ress…” Erestor held up his hand to silence his friend, shifting his eyes to daughter and allowing them soften lovingly.

“Glorfindel, take Clarisse out with you when you leave…no remain here, we’ll go to my study.” Erestor walked past the man, pausing as he touched handle. “Come, human. Now.” Opening the door, he waited for Montag to pass him before he shut the door behind them. Leaving Glorfindel and Clarisse alone, they walked the distance to his study in silence. All was quiet except for the soft rustling of Erestor’s velvet robes.

Erestor wrinkled his nose in disgust, as he finally smelled the scent of kerosene wafting to him from the man shuffling meekly in front of him. It was the same smell Clarisse had carried when he’d met her in the hall, when he’d discovered the burns in her dress. It was the same smell from the smoke when she’d come out of the book. And it disgusted him, because he knew what the smell came from.

When they finally reached the heavy oak door, Erestor stopped a moment before entering, taking the time to regard the man critically. Pushing on the dark wood of the door, he again waited for Montag to pass him before following. He had to stop short.

Montag stood in gaping shock at the shelves surrounding him. His eyes flew around from floor to ceiling, wall to wall, at the thousands of leather bound volumes. He spun in a wide circle, barely keeping himself from tripping.

Erestor watched with avid interest the man whose eyes filled with the curiosity and awe of an elfling. The stunned look in the man’s face, made him understand the reality of the man’s situation. Shifting his eyes to where the man’s rested, Erestor followed his line of sight to the shiny orange covered book laying open, face down on the desk. Montag slowly mouthed the title, blinking in confusion when Erestor walked over snatching the book up and snapping it shut. Circling around behind his desk, the advisor pulled out a drawer, tossing the book inside and slamming the drawer shut again.

The loud noise shook Montag from his state of awe. Erestor had not removed the book in time to stop Montag from comprehending the title.

“Fahrenheit 451,” Cracked his voice, hoarse from not speaking for quite awhile.

Erestor ignored the remark, settling himself into the chair behind his desk. Situated comfortably, he folded his hands together on top of the now empty surface. Montag could not help but stare at how gleaming white the elf’s skin was against the backdrop of his dark clothes and the ebony wood.

Looking up at the man standing in front of his desk and without preamble, Erestor spoke.

“Why do you destroy what others have created?”

Taken aback by the blunt question and the elf’s cold, calm eyes, Montag could not find his voice to answer.

~

//“Your uncle said, your uncle said. Your uncle must be a remarkable man.”

“He is. He certainly is. Well, I got to be going. Goodbye, Mr. Montag.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye…”//

“Uncle Fin! Please let me go to them! I can explain everything,” cried out Clarisse, trying to shake her hand free of Glorfindel’s iron grip around her wrist. Silently he shook his head no, his eyes filled with sadness at his niece’s pain.

She continued to tug at him. “FINE! You tell them,” she spat finally turning her eyes from the closed door to him. “You go and tell them what you know!” Glorfindel winced. She knows, he thought. She knows that I know. “Go tell them! Go tell your precious Erestor the truth! Tell him where I came from! And of where you’ve been…”

He let go of her, sending her wheeling backwards to the floor with the force of her tugs. Her words stung him, and he turned from her, unable to face her anger and pain.

“What do you remember,” he whispered softly.

“More than any of you can know,” she hissed behind him still sitting on the floor, her arms crossed defiantly across her chest. He turned his golden head to face her. Her expression reflected a cornered cat’s, at any moment ready to pounce. It shocked him, and it registered in his face, to see her no longer the sweet and docile creature he was used to.

“Clarisse, I can explain,” his voice cracked.

“And you better. If Adar harms him…”

“Erestor would never…”

“If one hair on that man’s head…”

“Clarisse, your ada wouldn’t…”

“Glorfindel…shut-up.”

He recoiled from her cold voice as if she had slapped him. None ever dared to say such a thing to him, and if it had been any other than his beloved niece, they would be smarting for it now. That, and she had referred to him formally.

She pulled herself up from the floor, elegantly smoothing her dark hair back from its wild state. Her expression had changed from anger to calculating in the flash of seconds, and it frightened him.

Peredhel, he thought to himself, such emotional, unbalanced beings. He’d seen Elrond and his children’s own struggles with over coming their emotionality. Celebrian had dealt with it all personally, a stronger elleth he’d never met. Sure, full blood elves had emotion, but not the torrents and expressions that the Peredhel inherited from their human bloodlines.

“I was the one who brought you here…”

“I know,” her curt reply.

“You were so weak, their ways draining your life…”

She nodded affirmatively.

“Elrond sent me…with a mandate from Manwë himself…”

She paused in her movement, narrowing her eyes. “I loved my mother.” She paused. “Still love my mother…” she added slowly and deliberately.

Glorfindel took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Did you not see her growing old before you? Did you not notice that you stayed young and never changing after the age eighteen?”

“Do you think I am stupid, Uncle Fin?” Her voice softened, saddened by the memories that rushed forth. Opening his eyes, he quickly crossed the distance between, engulfing her in his warm arms.

“No,” he whispered, stroking her hair, her head pressed against his hard chest. “My dear niece, no.”

“I know she is gone from me…”

His heart wrenched in two as he recalled finding her. Clarisse’s mother had reached her sixties, and her health had begun to fail her. The girl had then been sent to live with her mortal uncle, also older but in relatively good health, visiting her mother often. But she was in a constant state of despair, watching the ones around her that she loved whither away and die.

This was long before the passage of the new laws, the laws that would ban free thought.

Her mortal uncle had greeted him with the familiarity of an old friend, and Fin had been confused. But the moment they’d met, he knew that Clarisse was Erestor’s daughter.

“Her father,” the old man had begun, bringing the golden elf’s attention back to him. “Tell her father that I still remember him. A father never forgets his creation…” Fin was still confused by the old man’s words. When he’d mentioned them to Elrond, the lord of Imladris had forced him to swear silence.

“Not yet, we cannot tell him now…” had been Elrond’s reply to his questions. When Erestor could not seem to recall the elleth’s mother, Fin mentioned this as well to Elrond. “He will, when the time is right. For now, you must promise silence.” The Balrog Slayer had agreed, despite his doubts.

Bringing himself back to the present at the sound of her soft sniffles, he kissed the top of her soft hair fondly, breathing deeply her sweet scent. He pulled her back from him, so that he could look her over. There were her father’s eyes, his nose, and lips. If it weren’t for his restraint…he kicked the thought from his mind. This elleth was practically his own daughter as well…

Standing, leaving her alone, he broke the heavy silence.

“Trust Erestor, Clarisse…”

She nodded, but the words that left her mouth were ones he’d hoped never to hear. “I know you were there when I first met him…watching us…”

She knew more than he’d thought, Glorfindel stood silent, unsure of what to say to her.