Glorfindel Unleashed

Title : 'Glorfindel Unleashed', 9/?
Author: Eawen Penallion
Type: FPS
Beta: Beloved Nienna, so encouraging!
Disclaimer: all rights to the characters belong to JRR
Tolkien - I'm only playing with them.
Rating: (R for this chapter, NC-17 overall)
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor in later chapters
Warnings: M/M, implied child abuse, angst, character
death


Summary : When Glorfindel becomes a child's protector,
he does not realise what Erestor will be to him when
he reaches majority. Can love survive the trials of
death and destiny?

Author's notes: AU as in it is my idea, but canon
where possible with regard to LOTR history.

Chapter 9


Miruvor.

A liquor of potent heat and depth brewed in Imladris.
A reviver of spirits, succour to those on long
journeys in the cold, amongst the snowy heights of the
Misty Mountains. Revitalisation in a bottle.

Glorfindel drowned in it.

Every night.

Without fail.

It became his friend, his need - though he longed for
his other need. He could have refrained - but he
didn't want to. Each evening after the dinner, a
dinner in which he took no pleasure because he could
taste nothing in his sense-starved existence, he went
to the cellars. To greet his new friend. Because the
other friend, his other lover, would not greet him.
Would not face him. Would not love him. From dusk till
dawn he indulged, snatching sleep where he could and
when he could. He consumed the potions Elrond had
given him not to remove his fearsome dreams, but to
assuage his waking nightmare.

During daylight hours Glorfindel did not indulge. He
had been too long a warrior, too long a lord to evade
his responsibilities and his duties. They were all
that were left to him; his weapons, his warriors, his
men. He attended every training session, he personally
reviewed every patrol that left the compound. He
watched and he commented, praising where he found
strength, correcting where he found error but always
with a view to the welfare of his men. He wrote his
reports, he attended meetings, he took his turn as the
leader of his patrol, guarding the boundaries of
Imladris with unparalleled fervour. If sometimes he
seemed dimmed, depressed, out-of-sorts then Andrann,
his captain and second in command, made no comment.
Her loyalty was total, and she would never betray him.
On patrol he abstained for the lives of his men he
valued above all things - save one. In the role of
seneschal he was superb. All the warriors fought to
gain his attention, his approval. He was their shining
lord and he lived for them.

He certainly did not live for Erestor. For Erestor
would not let him.

Since the end of the fight on only his second morning
in his new home, the home he had to live in for untold
years ahead, Erestor would not greet him. He had cut
himself off completely. His door stayed closed, his
eyes averted whenever the golden lord came into view.
If Glorfindel entered a room Erestor left; if he
walked down a corridor and the dark counsellor drew
near then the black-clad figure turned aside.
Glorfindel was alone.

He made many attempts to pass the door of Erestor's
office but always it was barred, either physically by
the strong bolt within orSaelSaelbeth's prowling
presence. He wanted, needed to ask Erestor about that
dreadful morning, about the reason his love had fled
from him in such a wild and terrified manner. But the
dark elf would allow no private talk whatsoever.
Glorfindel was a strong, determined ellon who normally
would let nothing get in the way of his objectives. He
had not reckoned on Erestor's strength of will and
sheer stubbornness. He was his malleable pen-neth no
more.

Only in formal meetings with Elrond or in the full
counsel of Imladris did Glorfindel have a chance to
see his beautiful pen-neth at close quarters, if not
to speak to him. His eyes devoured that black-draped
form, never leaving that slim figure, those sinuous
hands, those soft rose-red lips. The other
participants in those meetings tried not to look at
the golden lord in their embarrassment, for they
sensed the desire in that glare and perceived it only
as a lust unfulfilled. Glorfindel had learned that
Erestor was much hunted for his seductive beauty by
the elves inhabiting the dwelling, but that experience
othe the centuries had taught them that their desire
was hopeless and that Erestor was unresponsive. This
did not stop the transient visitors to the realm from
attempting to attract his attention, but their
approaches were unwanted and rejected gently by the
counsellor. It was Glorfindel's only comfort.

Glorfindel learned all the secret places of Imla,
a,
all the corridors, balconies, gardens where he might
hide to discreetly observe his dark beauty. From the
corner of one portico he could see through the window
to watch Erestor in Elrond's office, in deep
discussion over policies and provisions; on a walkway
overlooking the study he saw him seated next to
Elrohir and Elladan as they reviewed their daily
lessons; next the corner of the courtyard he viewed
him bidding farewell to departing travellers. Every
glimpse of councounsellor was a torment, but each
encounter was treasured by the lonely heart. In an
unexpected way it had given him an insight into his
lost love's new life. He saw the depth of respect in
which Erestor was held, the unassuming way in which
the tasks laid upon his slim shoulders were
accomplished; accurately, effectively, completely. He
revelled in the overheard comments of the other
Rivendell elves, in their admiration for the devotion
and zeal of this gentle counsellor in his service to
their lord.

It did not stop the weeping of his heart.


****


The Lord of Imladris was alarmed. It had been only a
few months since the reborn lord's arrival and yet it
seemed that the Gondolin warrior was determined to
drink himself back to Námo's Halls. The cause seemed
to be the discord which had been ever present between
the Chief Counsellor and the Seneschal - but why
Elrond could not imagine. Glorfindel did not seem to
want the rift and had indeed, to Elrond's knowledge,
tried to bridge it by overtures of friendship and
amity towards Erestor. These had been rejected totally
by the dark-haired elf. The tension was evident and
causing whispered talk through the halls of the Last
Homely House.

He decided to try to broach the subject with his
long-time friend first. Erestor was dismissive of his
concern.

"The seneschal and I have little in common, therefore
I have no need for extraneous speech with him."

"It is not just extraneous speech, it is *any* speech!
I have seen you, Erestor - you will not speak to him.
Rather you will refer him to one of your assistants or
carry on a dialogue through a third person before you
will face him directly. You are as cold as Caradhras
to him, mellon- nîn. What has he done to alienate you
so in the short time he has been here?"

'Lived' was an answer Erestor could have given him, or
'Loved me'. Instead he lifted his head and faced his
lord directly, speaking in measured tones.

"If you wish to command me, hir nîn, then I will
converse with the seneschal."

Elrond sighed in exasperation. "I don't wish to
command you, old friend. I just thought -" Erestor
raised an eyebrow expectantly. Elrond shook his head
in defeat. "Never mind." He tried a different tack.

"His nightmares have worsened," he said, a healer's
eye trained upon Erestor. Ah, it was there. A
tightening of the lips and a quick blink of the eyes.

"So I have heard."

"He dreams of a balrog."

No response.

"He dreams of dea death."

Nothing.

"Of the deaths of his friends. Of those he loved."
Erestor finally turned to falronlrond.

"Probably Ecthelion," he said quietly.

"Why Ecthelion?" asked Elrond. "All the histories
speak of him being a high-ranking lord, but they do
not mention any other relatiip."ip."

Erestor shrugged. "There are transcripts of interviews
with survivors. Anecdotes not confirmed. Some intimate
they were close. They were both warriors, both
heroes." He paused, but Elrond did not notice the
hesitation or the sadness upon Erestor's face, for he
was reviewing in his mind the histories that had been
written of that time. Erestor's voice was soft when he
spoke once more. "He was certainly an elf worthy of
being Glorfindel's - friend. Worthier than most."

Elrond nodded, eyes distant in coplatplation. "I have
heard similar interpretations." He was silent as he
reflected upon puzzling information he had but
recently heard - news which if he could but interpret,
might lay clues as to Erestor's attitude towards the
reborn elf. Looking up at his friend he placed a
bright smile on his face. "By the way, the twins came
to me yesterday. I believe you were teaching them of
the Fall of Gondolin. It seems our golden lord has
sparked an interest in history."

Erestor smiled gently at the thought of the
enthusiastic boys and their fierce questioning at
their lessons of the day before.

"When heroics, battles, balrogs and bravery combine,
they are most willing to learn. I only wish that they
would take more interest in the admittedly convoluted
families of the elves of the First Awakening, or the
politics of the realms of Men. Such fine details do
not appeal to such budding warriors - as I well
remember!"

Elrond joined in his laughter, recognising in the
slight reference the teaching that this elf had
bestowed on other reluctant twins. He returned to the
subject in hand.

"The boys were telling me of the number of balrogs
defeated by the Lords of the Hidden City, and repeated
what you had once told me - that Glorfindel had killed
three balrogs. Yet since you taught me that I have had
many years to research this myself. The histories only
mention one, the one on the slopes of Cirith
Thoronath. The one that killed him."

Erestor flinched at those words but tried to divert
his lord. "It is as I said of Ecthelion - anecdotal. I
did tell this to the boys," he said earnestly. "I
would not be so inaccurate as to claim it as truth."

Elrond nodded, but was not distracted. "Yes, but as I
said, I too have read those transcripts. Not once is
that information included. Where did *you* hear it, my
friend?" He leaned forward, trying to discern any
changes uEresErestor's countenance, eager for any
revelations which may come. He was disappointed.

"My information came from one who was there - one who
had been in the Great Market during the fighting."
Erestor bent his head, his voice lowering in
remembered pain. "He died shortly after telling me of
this. There was no one else to question, nor did I
have any opportunity to....further my investigations."

Elrond reached out a hand to his friend. "Erestor, are
you all right? You seem upset."

Erestor smiled weakly, blinking away unbidden tears.
"The one who told me was someone who was very - dear -
to me."

Elrond squeezed the hand that clutched his own. "You
still mourn his loss," he said simply. Erestor
nodded, briskly wiping away the solitary tear that had
escaped.

"More than you could ever believe."

painpain that was so evident in Erestor's eyes caught
at Elrond's heart and compassionate nature and he
gathered the grieving elf to him, offering his comfort
and understanding. The two elves sat in reflective
silence for some time, each remembering those they had
lost in their lives, and praying for their peace and
tranquillity in Mandos' Halls.


*****


Glorfindel was no easier to approach. The
golden-haired elf did not want to speak of his
relationship - his very difficult relationship - with
the dark-haired advisor.

"I am well, Elrond. There is no need to watch me so
closely."

Elrond laughed. "I didn't know that I was *that*
obvious! I must refine my methods, else Celebrían will
say that I am not doing my job correctly." He sobered,
something he wished Glorfindel would do. "Nevertheless
my friend, your pain is so obvious that it does not
need a trained eye to see how you grieve."

Glorfindel looked down onto the rug in front of
Elrond's desk. It was rich in colour and depth,
reflecting the tastes of this Lord of Imladris. Elrond
was a very complex elf, a possible result of his mixed
heritage and convoluted upbringing. Of edhil, human
and Maian blood, he and his twin brother had been born
at the Mouths of Siríon; had been captured and cared
for by two of the sons of Fëanor when their home was
invaded; then released to the ward-ship of Círdan and
Gil-galad to dwell in Lindon. As inheritors of royal
blood from both parents, the two Peredhil had received
a commensurate education and were thus knowledgeable
beyond most. They had used this knowledge to make
their Choice at the end of the War of Wrath. The pain
that Elrond would have felt in the resulting and
ultimate separation from his twin was, by all
accounts,
immense. Perhaps it was from this point, or from the
vile and vast experience of horrendous conflicts and
the pain therein, that Elrond had turned to the
healing arts. Arts which he had now chosen to practise
on Glorfindel.

"My pain is my own, Elrond," the golden lord
reiterated. "I thank you for your concern - but I do
not need it."

The sceptical stare said it all, but Elrond did not
speak. He sat silently, waiting in the hope that
Glorfindel would use the moment to organise his
thoughts and pain - and speak of them. His patience
was rewarded.

"If my pain is obvious then it is because of my
losses. I lost my city, my home, my king, my life -
and my lover. So now if you are satisfied..." The large
elf made as if to rise but was stopped short at
Elrond's next words.

"He must have been very special."

The pain was like a huge wave, swamping him; making
him inhale sharply to relieve the stabbing at his
heart. Glorfindel tried to dissemble.

"Who do you mean?"

"Your lover. You place him last in your sentence - yet
I sense that he was first in your thoughts."

Yes, he was ever in Glorfindel's thoughts. But he
wasn't goin tel tell Elrond that.

"Why do you say he? What do your history books say
about my private life? Or are you delving blindly into
my past in an unwanted attempt to give me counsel? I
need it not, my Lord Elrond!"

Elrond could feel the pain rolling from the distraught
elf. Outwardly Glorfindel seemed to be in control but
the Peredhel could sense that the control was
paper-thin. He tried to sooth the warrior.

"It was - suggested - to me that your loved one was
male by someone who is very knowledgeable of the
annals of history. I am sorry if I upset you. Please,
won't you be seated again?"

Glorfindel sat, wondering. He suspected that Erestor
had been the source of speculation but why would the
counsellor wish to involve Elrond in his denial?

"Who? Who said that my lover was male?"

"Does it matter? Why, was he wrong?" Elrond asked
gently. Glorfindel shook his head, seeing no reason to
lie. Yes, his lover was male - yet he had been his
lover only in his dream, his beautiful, wonderful
dream....

"Yes, he was special. He was my life, the keeper of my
heart. My soulmate. My betrothed." He closed his eyes,
visualising Erestor as he had been on the morning of
his begetting day - that last, sweet morning. His
voice trembled as he spoke. "He had a delight in life
unseen in any other - bright, he was a bright spirit.
And lively! I can see him now, riding wildly across
the plains of Tumladen, shouting for the joy of the
day, his hair as wild and as free as he was. His
laughter was like the sparkles in the cascades,
dancing, jumping, entrancing. He -" a sob, "-he fit
perfectly in my arms. My perfect, enchanting, darling
E -"

He broke off. He could say no more lest he reveal
all in his despair. Wrapping his arms around his waist
in a faint hope of self-comfort, Glorfindel wept as he
rocked back and forth in the pain of the loss; the
pain of that morning in the forest, when his love had
fled from him.

Already he had given too much away. As deeply as he
had been hurt by Erestor's behaviour in these past few
months he still loved him, still adored him. He would
keep his own counsel and would not betray him to
Elrond. After all these months, all his attempts, all
his lonely tormented nights, Glorfindel was losing
hope that Erestor would return to him. But between his
work - and the miruvor - he would survive. He had to.
Námo would not let him fade for he had a role, a
purpose yet to play, and the Valar would not grant him
a return to Mandos before then.

Elrond was leaning over to him, holding his hand,
comforting him. So perhaps it *was* Ecthelion.
Glorfindel had almost said his name. The Lord of the
Fountain certainly fit all the descriptions given him
by the golden lord. He spoke gently to the weeping
elf.

"I am so sorry, my friend. I did not mean to distress
you this way. We will talk no more now, but please - I
am here if you ever wish for a friendly ear." He
paused. " I know that you have been unhappy here since
your arrival. I only wished to find a way to lessen
your burden, to help you to make friends and become
more - part of our community. But if you do not wish
to talk...."

Glorfindel nodded bleakly, but realised that he wanted
to talk. Or rather that he wanted Elrond to talk. He
needed find out what had happened to Erestor that had
made his beloved spurn him so. Elrond was his friend,
had been his friend for an Age. Perhaps he had some
insight into the part of Erestor's life he had missed.

"Elrond, what know you of Erestor? Who is he?"

Elrond started. He had not expected *that* question
after such a gruelling confession. Why on Arda was
Glorfindel so interested in his counsellor? What was
the animosity that arose there, at least on Erestor's
part?

"Why do you want to know?" he asked in concern.

Glorfindel looked directly at Elrond, deciding that it
was time to do that which he had not wished to do. He
was going to lie through his teeth.

"My interest in Erestor is because - he reminds me so
of my lost love. I only wished to befriend him, to
have converse with him to ease my soul. He seems to
have taken my interest in the wrong way and now will
not talk to me at all. It hurts to see one who is so
like my love - spurn my... interest."

Elrond was unsure for he could sense deception in the
elf, but he saw no reason to withhold simple
information. He cast his mind back, remembering those
days with warmth.

"I met Erestor when my brother and I arrived in Lindon
after the War of Wrath, when we were freed from the
captive attentions of Maglor and Maedhros. Although we
were well educated by the brothers our viewpoints were
somewhat skewed by their prejudices. Erestor was a
scribe in Gil-galad's new court in Lindon. From the
little Erestor hald mld me, and from what I heard from
Gil-galad, Erestor had been a refugee of Nargothrond.
He and his family wandered near the remains of Nevrast
trying to escape the attentions of Melkor's troops.
Erestor was still a minor at the time of the rout, and
had apparently been badly hurt during the destruction
of Nargothrond. He was fortunately nursed back to
health by his mother, and brother and sister, but when
they removed to the Mouths of Sirion with the mass of
fleeing elves from the fall of Doriath and Gondolin,
Erestor remained in Lindon."

Glorfindel nodded, knowing that their refugee status
came of Gondolin, not Nargothrond. He was upset to
hear that Erestor had been hurt. In what way? Oh, that
he could comfort his beautiful darling. He hung on
Elrond's every word, like a man who is dying of thirst
seeks for every drop of moisture.

"Erestor remained," Elrond continued, "working as a
stable-hand until he took up a position with
Ereinion's household. His knowledge and skill with a
pen were discovered by accident one day and the Master
of Horse, being no mean elf, could not in all
conscience neglect one of such education and learning.
He introduced him to the Chief Scribe and the rest
quickly followed. Being of an age with my brother and
I, Ereinion assigned him as our companion, tutor and
soon friend. We came to love him greatly and when the
time came to found Imladris I knew that I could find
no one better to help me in its building. He was at my
side during every trial, every battle, every joy. He
is one of the most consummate ellons I know - scribe,
horsemaster, warrior. And so he is as he has always
been, a true friend and one of the most rounded elves
I have ever know. He is a true marvel to me,
Glorfindel. But be warned - he has ever been a
solitary elf. That is why he has not responded to your
entreaties. He too had a love, a love who died. A love
he still mourns. If you approach him as a suitor he
*will* reject you. Be more circumspect in your
endeavours, mellon- nîn, and you may find the way to
become his friend, even if nothing more."

His mother, sister and brother. Mirieth, Díwen and -
one of Mirieth's sons? Were they still alive? Had they
died, or left in the return of the Eldar to Valinor at
the end of the First Age? If he could meet with them,
talk to them. Discover what had happened... At least
Erestor had not been alone. His poor little love...

" I thank you, my lord. At least I now start to
understand the counsellor. Perhaps this information
will allow me to return to your household some of the
tranquillity it deserves."

Elrond laughed. "My house has *never* been tranquil,
Glorfindel! I have twin sons!"

Glorfindel smiled gently. "They are a blessing, my
lord. Both very inquisitive, both bright and full of
life. A joy."

Elrond glowed as any father would. "They are indeed
bright. They have a thirst for life I can barely keep
up with. And for knowledge. Oh, and in that regard,
Glorfindel -thank you for your patience with my sons.
They told meof the discussion that you had with them.
Is it true then, that you faced three balrogs, not
just the one that is recorded? The elf I mentioned
earlier has said that he spoke to a trustworthy
witness."

"Yes," said Glorfindel. "Though I am not surprised
that it was not recorded. Not many elves escaped the
Great Market, and the confusion and deep infighting
was such that I doubted anyone would have remembered.
We were only concerned in defending the city - and
saving our skins. I only told one person - my
betrothed."

A flare of sympathy shot through Elrond. "Ai!" he said
sadly. "Oh, mellon- nîn, I am sorry to tell you, but I
believe that your betrothed was the one who told my -
friend - of your feat. He told me that your beloved
died shortly afterwards."

Glorfindel smiled grimly. "Yes, I have been told
reliably that my betrothed died on Cirith Thoronath
at the same time I did. That he is no more. That he -
" He drew his hand across his face. "Please, Elrond.
Excuse me, I can speak no more. I have an -
appointment."

Yes. His lover was dead. There was only a liquid lover
to await him now.

Elrond seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts.
"No solution was ever found at the bottom of a glass
of miruvor, Glorfindel."

The golden lord nodded absently, smiling weakly. "No,
but it hurts less there." He le tow towards Elrond as
if to confide in him. His hollow tones and apparent
despair alarmed the Peredhel.

"Do you wish to know the truth, Elrond? Do you wish to
know how I really feel? Now ? Today? Here - in
Imladris? I wish to the depths of Morgoth's hells in
Angband that the Valar had left me well alone in the
Halls of Waiting. An eternity of grey reflection is a
thousand times more preferable to the months, years,
centuries of desolation that they have condemned me
to. If I could choose death right now, be it by
balrog's grip, sword stroke or the elven sickness then
I would choose it with joy. I hate the Valar, Elrond,
for they have cheated me!" With a final snarl the
imposing elf left swiftly, leaving a stunned lord
behind.

And in Elrond's attempt to assimilate the desolate avowal
Glorfindel had just pronounced, he realised something
else, something he had never expected. A new and
startling revelation.

Erestor had said that the witness he had spoken to had
died shortly afterwards. Glorfindel had only spoken to
one elf of his killing of the two balrogs - his
beloved, who died on Cirith Thoronath. If the two
elves were
reconciled into the one and the same, then it meant
that to take his testimony then *Erestor* must have
been in Gondolin when it fell! His friend, who had
always sworn that he was of
Lindon. Who was so secretive. Who was so pained. So
who was he, truly?

Who in Arda was Erestor of Lindon?

Elvish:

(with help from Nienna and Andrannath)

mellon- nîn - my friend
hir nîn - my lord
edhil - elf (race)
Peredhil - half-elven (plural)
Peredhel - half-elven (sing)