The Wrong Path

Title: The Wrong Path
Author: erviniae
Chapter 8/?
Prompt: #45 “The Wrong Path”
For the Hall of Books challenge
Pairing: Erestor/Ecthelion, Glorfindel
Rating: PG to eventual NC-17
Warning: AU, Angst, M/M
Disclaimer: All belongs to the esteemed Tolkien. I make no profit
In having fun with his wonderful universe.
Summary: Sometimes the wrong path is often the
Right one.
Feedback: If you would be so kind.

A Fate Worse than Death….




The servants opened the bedroom door as Erestor’s mother Eirien entered the room in King Turgon’s palace. This room where all male Elves dressed before this special occasion: even his father, Calimion, had.

The servants look wearied. They had sat around rearranging the garments and picking at invisible lint for hours now. Upon seeing her they stood, and one gestured towards the door to the bathing chamber. Standing close enough to whisper into Eirien’s ear, a very tall male-Elf told her that her son was presently holed up in that room. From the looks on their faces, she had suspected that this was a frequent occurrence of this day.

Knocking lightly upon the door, she heard her son call out, “Please, give me but a moment’s time,” in a defeated tone. A chill ran up Eirien’s spine at that sound.

“Erestor, my son….” The door clicked open a smidgen. Ignoring the servants she entered the chamber and quickly re-locked the door behind her. Turning, she saw her beautiful son slumped on the floor next to the door. “Oh, my dear child,” she gasped as she went to his side.

Quickly grabbing the waste bin next to him, his stomach tried to empty itself of its last trace of acidy fluid. Muscles tensing as he made the motions of retching, he found himself with a wet cloth pressed against his neck, the feeling cool and comforting. His long hair with its intricate ceremonial braids was lifted from his nape. Finally stopping, he was pulled into his mother’s embrace. He shook with sorrow even while he was comforted by her sweet presence.

“My child, Lothwen is a lovely maiden; she will make you a fine wife and mother to your offspring.”

Erestor sat up and leaned into the bin once more. Rubbing circles on his back, Eirien softly spoke. “Can you not pretend she is the one you love whilst you lay with her?”

Blushing slightly he shook his head no. “How can I do such a thing when I have never fully lain with the one whom I love; and who loves me truly? I have spent the night awake and being sick. I should leave Gondolin, surely there is some place on Arda that will accept me, accept us, for who we are?”

Eirien’s tears came unbidden for the pain of her only child and the burden he carried. Not once did she regret him; but often she wished his tastes were just a phase, but she knew better. Though not a woman of many words, she watched and listened. She prayed to the Valar every morn and night for her son’s safe keeping and she never told a soul of her son’s preferences, especially not to Calimion.

A loud knock interrupted them, “Please, mi-lord, you have but a half hour till the
ceremony, you must get ready.” Desperation filled the servant’s voice.

“Come, my son, you must do this, you know this…there is no other way.”

“I cannot,” was the almost breathless reply.

The servants looked with relieved faces, as Erestor was led out the door by his mother. He was immediately dressed in his white overcoat with brocaded sleeves the color of snow. A golden shirt, white velvet leggings and gold house shoes completed the look. After tidying up his hair, the servants gazed upon their handiwork and frowned. The one in their care looked impeccably groomed and handsome, but his face was filled with such sorrow that they had to look away for fear of succumbing to its woe.

Hugging her son once more before they began the walk to the ceremonial hall, Eirien whispered tenderly as she leant him as much strength as she could spare, “Be strong my son.” Stepping back, she kissed his cheek as he seemed visibly calmer from her energy.

Together they walked the thankfully short distance to the hall. The servants opened the great doors as the room within fell quiet at seeing the groom and his mother enter. Erestor closed his eyes for a second and forced his breathing to slow so he could continue.

Lothwen, in a gown of white silk, stood next to her uncle, Salgant, who stood with King Turgon and Erestor’s father, Calimion. No one noticed Erestor’s step falter save two-his mother and Ecthelion, who was watching from the back of the gathered lords and ladies of the court. Ecthelion had closed his eyes and prayed to each Vala for a miracle to happen. As Erestor was lead to stand in front of their king with Lothwen at his side, Ecthelion filled with panic, stepping forward a fraction until he found himself immediately pulled back by Glorfindel. Glaring at Ecthelion, the Lord of the Golden Flower, kept his friend in check. “A scene is not what he needs- your support is,” was the hissed reply into Ecthelion’s ear. Ecthelion’s stance relaxed somewhat to Glorfindel’s relief.

‘I could rush up there and take him away, we could run away together,’ thoughts such as these rolled around Ecthelion’s head. Each thought to be defeated by a glance towards Salgant and the guarding warriors.

King Turgon, who personally married all nobility, smiled brightly at the two young Elves before him. Gesturing, he called the two forward. Taking Erestor’s hand, he placed Lothwen’s on top of it. She blushed and glanced at her soon-to-be-husband. He had yet to look in her direction. She could feel the tremors under his skin which was cool to the touch. Right then she knew that he had not agreed to this marriage and her heart sank.

She knew that her uncle wished to be rid of her; for in getting her married, he would receive the remains of her father’s fortune; such were the ways in Gondolin. Her needs were now to be provided for by her new husband… her unwilling husband.

“Today, we are gathered to witness the joining as husband and wife: Lothwen of the House of the Harp, with our newest counselor of the court, Master Erestor, son of Calimion the Archivist.” King Turgon spoke.

Erestor as well as most others were surprised by the news of his new position in the court. Calimion beamed with pride at his son while tears fell down Eirien’s face unhidden now. They were thought to be tears of joy by those who saw them. Erestor inclined his head to the king who smiled brightly back.

The king then joined their hands with a white slip of ribbon, turned them to face the crowd and pronounced the marriage. As customary, the crowd clapped as the new couple made their way to the dais at the end of the hall where stood two white stone chairs. The couple sat upon the chairs and only then was the ribbon removed. They would greet each guest invited, who would then present the newly married couple with gifts or monies to help bless the union. Erestor remained detached, as if he was viewing all of this through a foggy dream of which he hoped to awaken from soon.

Salgant was among the first to greet them. He made a show of opening a small chest filled with lots of jewelry, all of which were rightly hers anyway. She gave her thanks and he stood before Erestor. “You make her happy or else,” he teased, as those around him laughed. Erestor knew it was no joke at all.

His parents were next, giving her an heirloom bracelet of the richest emeralds and to their son, they gave him a jewel encrusted quill and inkpot. He knew this was all more than his parents could afford, and it saddened him further. As Eirien kissed both of Lothwen’s checks, she moved to do the same to her child. “Be strong my dear one,” she whispered into his ear. It took all his strength not to launch himself into his mother’s embrace.

They assembled quite the pile of gifts by the time Ecthelion, being led by Glorfindel, stood before the dais. Placing a jewel encrusted box by Lothwen’s feet, he then unexpectedly leaned forward and placed a kiss on her left cheek first-then to her right. “Be good to him,” he whispered to her startled eyes.

Erestor watched the scene with slight alarm; his pulse sped up upon the closeness of the one who held his heart. He could smell the scent of him, could feel those lips on his own, hands rough yet soft as silk against his skin…he almost crumbled at that very moment.

He saw his boots before his eyes moved upward to gaze into those of his beloved. The gaze was so intense that only a loud coughing by Glorfindel brought them back to the present: which was a loveless marriage surrounded by much of Gondolin’s elite as witnesses. Placing a jeweled dagger and scabbard upon Erestor’s lap, Ecthelion then placed a kiss upon his lover’s left check, only to do the same to his right. His hand grabbed at Erestor’s attempting to stop the shaking of his beloved. “Be strong my heart, fulfill your duty,” were the words whispered into his right ear. With the lingering of a finger, he was gone and through the crowd, heading towards the gardens while grabbing a flask of wine on his way out.

Glorfindel, not wanting Ecthelion’s actions to bring suspicion, responded in kind to the newly married couple with a kiss to each cheek, and then he turned to find his wounded friend.

King Turgon then pounded a staff upon the marble floor to gain the attention of all in attendance. He beckoned the couple to come forth. “The time has come for this coming together to be celebrated in your honor, go now, with the blessing of the Valar, and begin the joining of your union.” Erestor grew visibly paler…this is what he had dreaded the most. Lothwen blushed and together they were lead by the “Officiant of the Consummation” to the nuptial chambers. This was tradition, this was law. All married nobles before them had used these same traditions, these very rooms to consummate their marriages. Erestor’s eyes searched the crowd as he was led, with Lothwen holding onto the top of his hand, through the hall. Eventually his eyes fell on those of his mother and locked. She beheld the panic within her son’s eyes and nodded to him. ‘Be strong,’ she mouthed as he passed.

The Officiant opened the doors to the beautiful room. The palest of pinks and white silken sheers surrounded a large bed of similar hues. Candles lit all surfaces lending to the romance of the room. The scent of lavender permeated the very air. A small table was draped with white linen upon which sat a decanter of wine and two silver chalices. Small sweets and fruit accompanied the wine. A light breeze blew the sheer curtains of the windows inward as if trying to caress the room’s occupants. A bathing pool was filled in the adjacent room with steaming water; petals of roses, both pink and white, lazily floated upon the surface.

Erestor watched with a detached fascination as the Officiant placed an extra square of cloth upon the middle of the bed. Turning to the young couple she smiled and went to sit upon the chair outside the chambers until the time came for her to gather the cloth once more.

“Excuse me,” Erestor stammered as he went into the bathing room and closed the door behind him.

Lothwen sighed worriedly and did what she had been trained to do in the week prior to the wedding. She slipped off her wedding dress, laying it over the chair near the bed, and after combing out her hair, she lay upon the bed waiting for the return of her new husband. She was troubled that she did not please him, for she knew that she was rather plain for an Elf. And he ….well he was handsome indeed, she smiled to herself.

With his back against the door, Erestor tried to calm himself for the inevitable. He did not think he could do this. Nay, he knew that he could not. The words of his mother and Ecthelion reverberated through his thoughts and so with them as his courage, he entered the bedroom once more, only to stop at the sight before him. Lothwen lay naked upon the middle of the bed as every wife had done so before her. She had demurely crossed her legs and was sporting a blush that went to her ears.

With his leggings still on he sat down on the edge of the bed with his back to her. Lothwen looked over at her new husband with sadness in her eyes. There was such an aura of despair enshrouding him that it pulled at her inner being. Sitting up, she placed a gentle hand upon his shoulder as he flinched. “I...I am sorry that I do not please you, my lord.”

Erestor stiffened, “No, no, you please me just fine, it is just that, that I didn’t…I don’t…”

“You didn’t agree to this, did you?” She whispered sadly.

He shook his head no. “My heart is not mine to give.” He closed a hand over his mouth as the words spilled forth.

“I am most unhappy for you in that case, my lord.”

“I am no lord; please call me by my name.”

“It seems we are in somewhat of a predicament then,” she sighed. “We must give them what they want my lor…Erestor, or surely there will be some retribution if we do not.” The last words she said were spoken shakily as if she were holding back a sob.

Erestor turned to look at her then, and his heart filled with compassion at the sight. She was as afraid as he was. “May I?” she asked unsteadily. His nod yes was barely visible.

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against his shyly. He closed his eyes and thought of Ecthelion. She tasted so very different from his love- though he had to admit that it was not unpleasant. They ended up lying upon the bed with Lothwen taking full control of the situation. She kissed her way down his chest, across a flat stomach to where hip met thigh. Rubbing across his groin over his leggings, she did her best to bring life to his flaccid member. He felt nauseous. He felt like he was cheating on Ecthelion.

Unexpectedly, she pulled down his leggings and engulfed his flaccidness in her mouth. He flinched but willed himself to think of his lover. He remembered the feel of Ecthelion’s mouth on him, the way he would look into his eyes and smile as he pleasured him. A soft moan escaped his lips as he began to harden to her touch. She wasted no time and with swift agility impaled herself upon his shaft. “Please, we must lie on the fabric,” she pleaded while trying to urge him to reverse their positions. Slowly they did so and as gravity took charge, Erestor penetrated her virginal barrier as she cried out from the pain. His eyes flashed open at the sound of her distress and seeing he was not with his beloved, he immediately lost his erection and hurried off of her. Stumbling due to the leggings still around his legs, he stopped only to pull them up and headed for the bathing room in a hurry. Shock passed across her face at his actions for this was not how things were supposed to be.

He grabbed a towel and rushed in the same manner back to her as whence he left. She was in the middle of the bed with her knees drawn up to her chest, crying softly. Handing her the towel, she sniffed a ‘thank you’ to him. A knock at the door soon followed. Panic filled their eyes as they looked at the door in unison. Handing her a robe, he ushered her to the bathroom while calling for the Officiant to enter. She walked in, immediately going for the square of cloth. After holding it up and examining it, she nodded then folded it up to be stored as was done to all before them. Not glancing back, the Officiant strode out of the room, her heels clanking down the hall. Cheers were then heard as the music began to play merrily for the feasting to begin.

Lothwen appeared in the doorway to the bedroom. She had bathed and was wearing a beautiful silk nightdress with a matching robe. Erestor handed her a chalice of wine that she accepted eagerly. “All is well?” she asked him shyly. He nodded yes and gestured for her to sit in the opposite chair.

“I am sorry Lothwen, I…this is so hard for me. I know you are wronged by having me as a husband, but I will do my best to care for you as you should be.” His eyes never faltered from hers and she could see that he was an honorable Elf and that he would do as he said.

“Perhaps we could become friends.” She hoped, knowing she could not expect more.

“Yes, that would please me; and again, I am so sorry that you had to wed me.” He gently placed a hand upon hers, sadness in his eyes. This would become a look she would come to know well in him.

“I am not sorry, for to be friends would be more than many dare to hope for within a marriage such as ours.”

“You are kind, my lady.”
………………………….

At the entrance of the Officiant and her nod of approval, the guests cheered and lost in the crowd, Eirien sighed with relief. In the gardens Ecthelion cursed and emptied the bottle he had been imbibing in as a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. Turning his head, thinking it was Glorfindel, Ecthelion started at the sight of Salgant. “Lord Ecthelion, it seems your lover has gotten over you quite quickly.” The Lord of the Harp laughed wickedly.

Ecthelion leapt for him but was held back by Glorfindel and just in time. “He is not worth it,” Glorfindel spat towards Salgant who just laughed and walked back towards the hall.

“Let go of me, Glorfindel!”

“No, not until you calm yourself. Erestor has not betrayed you, he did what was needed to survive, it is what you wanted, is it not?”

Ecthelion sighed and shook his head yes as he turned to face his friend and fellow lord he spoke with utter despair, “I feel my heart has been ripped from me.”

Glorfindel led him to a bench to calm down. Neither spoke but sat side–by-side as the festivities roared on in the background.



TBC………

Lothwen- Blossomed maiden
Eirien - Daisy
Calimion- Bright son