Silent Flight -Complete

Title: Silent Flight: The Wild Swans
Author: destinial
Part: 9/?
Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: NC17/R
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns these elves, the history, Middle-earth, my sons and my soul. No profit was made.
Warning: Besides slash, I don’t think so. Maybe angst but I am seldom capable of it. And if you are my sons, consider yourself warned. *evil cackles*
Beta: Agie- I’m really grateful you suffered through this. *twiddle thumbs* I promise never to write in the middle of the night. All mistakes are mine.
Summary: An elvish take of The Wild Swans, a fairy tale that is reminiscent of Celtic lore.
Author’s Note: This is where my writing skill takes a severe beating from my writing of my lecture notes: short, abrupt points, with descriptions thrown in. Sigh… It does nothing for the plot but serves to satisfy my baser instincts for fluff and it probably does not help that I’m doing my lecture on pederasty now.


Glorfindel dismissed the guards at the door and walked towards Erestor. Standing behind the diligent elf, who was still furiously weaving the intricate yarn, Glorfindel did not speak. Instead he stroked the waves of dark auburn hair before him, absentmindedly gathering the dark locks in one hand. He could not comprehend how it was that he fell in love with the silent elf so quickly; he had always expected love to be a cultivated emotion. He did not think himself superficial – it could not have been the gorgeous looks alone.

Yet he barely knew this petite stranger. He had been too preoccupied with tending to the many injuries and to the sadness in his eyes that he had not even brought himself to ask for the stranger’s name, strangely contented to call the elf his ‘pendínen’. Raking his fingers through the ponytail he had gathered in his hands, Glorfindel mused. Was it truly love or simply a fleeting fascination? Would his decision be wise?

Unbeknownst to him, Erestor was waiting impatiently for the golden lord to say something. His impatience was tempered only by his puzzlement at Glorfindel’s contemplative mood. For the elf to remain silent for so long was unusual as he usually demanded Erestor’s attention - so Erestor waited.

Still Glorfindel said nothing. Releasing the hair, he allowed the locks to tumble over his hands, as he spread his fingers over the slim shoulders, tremulously ghosting over the soft skin. Try as he might, he could not place his finger on the reason why this elf, of all elves, should have stolen his heart and soul. He pondered, thoughts over second thoughts, and while he thought, he said nothing.

Erestor was beginning to feel concerned. He finished off the strand of yarn, resolving to do the last sleeve on the morrow, and tipped his head back to catch sight of Glorfindel.

Glorfindel was jolted out of his thoughts when he saw the eyes of molten honey turn on him. He pushed his worries into the corner of his mind and smiled.

Erestor frowned when he saw the pensiveness reflected in the azure depths. Putting the tunic down, he knelt on his bench facing Glorfindel, running the un-blistered back of his hands down Glorfindel’s cheeks. His brows creased with worry and his eyes sought an inkling of an answer. This was the most intimate way he could ask Glorfindel what he wanted to know.

Erestor was the one who asked but it was Glorfindel who found his answers. Looking at the depths of warmth, affection and concern, and watching how the slight elf tried to smooth his worries away with his sore and bleeding hands, Glorfindel fell in love anew. Except that now Glorfindel knew what attracted him: the gentility that the elf embodied, and the intensity of the love he had for others. For what other elf would be able to weave tunics of nettle for his family, and what other elf could forget his pain entirely in face of another’s troubles?

But more importantly, the moment Erestor’s hands had touched him, Glorfindel knew he never did need the answers. The heart works in mysterious ways, unknown even to the wisdom of elves, and you can seldom, if ever, choose whom to love. The heart loves who and what it wills, and when that love is returned, it is a foolish elf who questions it and tosses it aside. Glorfindel captured the slim wrists and pressed a kiss to the back of the hands, answering Erestor’s querying eyes with a smile, wider and more deeply felt now.

Erestor, however, would not be distracted. He continued to frown at Glorfindel, his hand even reaching from Glorfindel’s hold to grasp at a loose braid of golden locks. Gently tugging at it, he raised an elegant eyebrow and demanded an answer without words.

Glorfindel’s mood soared and his heart was all but doing a jittery, light-hearted dance. He was quick to mask his growing jubilance and conviction at his earlier decision – he was not beyond using manipulation to get what he wanted. Instead he kept to his enigmatic smile, “What is it?”

Erestor did not like the idea of Glorfindel keeping his troubles in the dark where he could not peek. He tried demanding again by tugging the golden braid a little harder, but unfortunately the strain against the blisters and the cuts caused him to wince instead.

Glorfindel’s attention was immediately diverted and he held the injured hands for his inspection. He frowned at Erestor and the latter turned contrite. Putting his arms around the smaller elf, he wordlessly commanded the elf to wash up at the basin nearby. The elven lord changed his mind the moment he saw the other wince as he stepped down on his injured feet.

“Sit, I’ll get the water.”

Erestor, feeling guilty at the trouble, sat down without protest as Glorfindel carried the basins over. He continued to look intently at Glorfindel, looking for any clues that would explain the latter’s behaviour, but finding none. Glorfindel seemed more concerned with his own injuries than with whatever worries had been plaguing the golden head earlier, and for some reason that merely frustrated Erestor more.

Glorfindel took the basin of water, and using the towel next to it, he carefully dabbed at Erestor’s limbs, gently washing the dirt away without causing further pain. Once cleaned to his satisfaction, he took the salve from the table and applied it just as gently to the wounds. Erestor waited till the feather-like treatment ceased, and quirked his eyebrow at Glorfindel again.

Momentarily confused by the expression on Erestor’s face, Glorfindel raised his own eyebrows in question, until he remembered why the diminutive elf was perplexed. Keeping his amusement to himself, he smiled again as he put the basin, towel and salve back on the table where Erestor’s tunics were placed.

Erestor would have none of it. When Glorfindel’s attention came back to him, he gestured for Glorfindel to sit beside him. Had he the power of speech he would have pestered Glorfindel till the latter relented, but since he did not, he would have to be far more imaginative.

Glorfindel dutifully took his seat, cheerfully wondering what his pendinen was going to do next. Whatever he expected, he most certainly did not expect the slight elf to straddle him, putting his forearms on his shoulders, and staring him in the eye as menacingly as he could manage. Glorfindel could feel his sentience gradually being clouded over by the position the other elf had put himself in, and his body tensed in reaction.

Erestor felt the muscles tense beneath his arms and his eyes narrowed at Glorfindel, who was trying to give him wide-eyed, innocent doe eyes. Erestor lifted a single eyebrow, his question apparent.

Glorfindel’s immediate impulse was to blurt out his question there and then, but he pulled on the reins just in time. Instead, he cupped the elven face, worryingly pale from the continual work, and pushing back the stray locks, he reassured the elf, “Nothing’s the matter. I am just rather tired.”

Which was far from the truth, but Glorfindel was certain that his pendinen, being as kind-hearted as he was, would then be persuaded to drop his work for the night.

Erestor’s expression softened immediately. He knew Glorfindel was not entirely comfortable sleeping on the small couch and thus was not surprised that he had not rested well. He was glad that he had already made the decision to rest that night, for the stubborn elven lord would not retreat to his rooms otherwise. He hugged Glorfindel, trying not to smear his salve-coated hands on Glorfindel’s tunic, and feeling cheeky, planted a kiss on the latter’s nose.

Climbing off Glorfindel, he slipped on the soft slippers that were provided for him, and gestured for Glorfindel to follow. Glorfindel was happily smug but showed none of that sentiment – he was beginning to see his way around his pendinen’s little finger. “Are you not going to finish your work tonight?” he asked, knowing the answer before the other shook his head.

Glorfindel allowed his elation to show on his face, and his grin broadened when the shorter elf smiled brightly back at him. He stood up from the bench and waited for Erestor to gather all the tunics, including the unfinished one, and swept the light elf off his feet, tunics and all. “Come then, sweet. A nice warm bath is in order.”

----

Feeling refreshed from the bath he had had, and cosy in the robes wrapped around him, Erestor ran his fingers through the clothes laid out for him. The tunic was of the lightest and softest wool he had ever felt, and woven with threads of silver and midnight blue, it captured the night in abstract detail. The silver drape was lighter still, and its deep blue accents matched the tunic well. He nearly moaned in pleasure as he donned the heavenly material over his leggings – he was utterly in love with the sensation the clothes wrought. Even the suede shoes felt heavenly on his somewhat sore feet.

Just as he was done, a knock was heard on the door. He waited for the door to open, but when the knock came again, he frowned. This was unlike Glorfindel. Adjusting the silver belt, he opened the door to find the butler waiting for him.

The butler smiled, “Are you done, my lord? Lord Glorfindel bade you join him for dinner.”

Flustered Erestor flung the door open as an invitation and ran as lightly as his feet could allow to the dresser for a brush that would tame his unruly hair. Unfortunately the waves of brown refused his attempts and he winced at the pull at his scalp. The butler, concerned, came in behind Erestor and smiled. “It is quite fine my lord. Dinner has yet to be served. If I could help you with your hair?”

Erestor flashed a grateful smile and promptly sat down, offering the butler his brush. Taking the citrus oil off the dresser, the butler combed through the dark locks, secretly marvelling at how well the silky tresses captured the candlelights. He braided the hair with the gold threads from the drawer and deftly twined in the little golden flowers that were the emblem of Glorfindel’s keep. Erestor sat still – he was used to Lindir or Daeron braiding his hair and both had the habit of tugging should he even fidget.

The butler had to step away, concealing his own admiration when the job was done. The silent elf had never dressed in such finery since his stay at the keep, and it was more appropriate to say that the clothes did the elf justice. Humbled by his respect for Eru’s fine creation, he bowed and gestured for Erestor to follow him.

Erestor caught a look of himself in the mirror and blushed. He was unused to looking as he did. It was simply not practical to wear robes and drapes in the forest and he did not have any occasion for fine clothes. For the first time in all the decades he had lived, he felt as beautiful as his brothers had often complimented him on being.

Following quietly behind the dignified butler, he was surprised when the butler led him away from the main wing of the house. He had expected dinner to be in the main dining hall, and had been dreadfully nervous, but instead the butler led him up the stairs of the tower.

The butler stopped at a door and stepped by the side. He wanted to see the elf’s reaction when he first caught sight of the room within. The entire household had worked their magic, together with their lord, when their guest was taking his bath, and he was quite certain that the occasion would be more than memorable for this creature of immaculate beauty.

Erestor’s eyes widened when he saw the room. The crystal windows made the room appear suspended in mid air, opened to the majesty of the storm outside. It was clearly a night garden, a tower conservatory, for Erestor recognised the scents that whiffed in the air. (1) Frilly evening primroses grew in the pots hanging by from the window frames, and white moonflowers bathed the room with their delicious scent from their foliage on the ground. A small rock pool, dug into the ground and trickling from a pipe bringing in the rain, twinkled and bubbled, catching the brilliance of the occasional lightning. Dame’s violets lined the walls on either side of the room, their white and purple blossoms lending a quaint touch.

Candles glowed from lamps, hidden around the dense foliage, adding mystery and a surreal softness to the room. In the middle of the room were several carpets, and on the carpets there was a small, short table. Carved of deep rosewood, intricate flowers framed the tabletop, with vines growing around the legs, coaxed and twirled into the delicate workmanship. Baskets and baskets of food were placed on the table and on the floor around, its delectable aroma rivalled only by the perfume of the flowers.

Kneeling next to the table, still lighting a candle, was the lord of the keep himself. He was dressed in a white silk tunic, with an elaborate pattern of flowers embroidered around the collar. His undertunic and leggings were similarly white, with long sleeves buttoned with gold clasps from the elbow and gold laces running down his shins. His left hand was gloved in white and a vine of gold twined around his forefinger down the back of his hand to the wrist (2). On his feet was a pair of black leather boots with simple gold buckles. The candlelight danced, accenting the twinkles of gold, lending the elf the radiance of Arien herself.

Glorfindel smiled at the stunned expression on his pendinen’s face. Holding out his hand, he beckoned, and watched in appreciation as the winsome elf walked towards him, his face still rapt in awe. Pulling the elf down, he kissed the flushed cheek gently, and bade him sit, even as the butler closed the door.

“Like it?” Glorfindel placed his hand on the smooth curls and played with the stray strands. Erestor continued looking around, his eyes wide and his lips parted, still drawing in the marvellous sights and sounds of the garden caught in the silent fury of the storm outside. Glorfindel chuckled and allowed Erestor time to take in everything, waiting till he was at last rewarded with a beauteous smile and an adorable bobbing of the head.

Glorfindel drew the petite face closer with his gloved hand and tenderly caressing the sharp tips of the ears and delighting in the charming blush that stole over the already flushed cheeks, leant in for a kiss. He drew the kiss deeper and longer than he had hitherto dared, encouraged by the same ardent response. He felt the tremors in the small hands that reached to clasp behind his neck and correspondingly felt tremendously powerful. Running his hands down and about the back of the elf in his arms, he relished in the smalls mews of pleasure that escaped from their joint lips.

Erestor buried his face in the crook of Glorfindel’s neck, trying to catch his breath and willing the world to stop spinning. He jolted involuntarily when a loud clap of thunder sounded, feeling in turn the rumble of laughter from the elf who held him captive. Demure and bashful, he grasped at the white tunic in a desperate attempt to make Glorfindel stop laughing, while hiding his face further in the soft fabric.

Waves and waves of cherishment and loving regard flooded Glorfindel’s consciousness, and he kissed the crown of hair dotingly. Savouring the close embrace for a while longer, he said nothing till the elf in his arms stopped heaving for breath. He hugged the small elf to him again, before saying, not without some regret, “Here, we must eat, pendinen. You must be hungry.”

Glorfindel drew Erestor onto his lap and delighted in coaxing the elf out of his bashfulness to partake in the glorious spread of food around them. They ate their meal in silence, with stolen kisses and more stolen glances. The storm continued to rage around them but in the sweetness of the moment, honeyed pecan pies and molten chocolate notwithstanding, all the sounds and fury were forgotten.

After drawing yet another swig of grape juice from his lover’s lips, Glorfindel looked thoughtfully at the elf, who was leaning comfortably against him. “Pendinen?” He waited till the honey brown eyes were fixed on him. “What is your name?”

Erestor started. He was not conscious that he had never given the elven lord his name – but recalling the events of the past fortnight, he realised that there simply was never an occasion when that became an issue. He was used to being Glorfindel’s pendinen. Now that he realised this oversight, he was anxious to share it with Glorfindel, but even as he opened his mouth, he remembered he could not speak.

Glorfindel realised the mute elf’s dilemma, and berated himself for not thinking of it earlier. He was about to calm and reassure the fretful elf, when the said elf grasped his ungloved hand and held it in front of him. He looked at the darkling elf in surprise, and then he felt the elf’s finger tickling his palm. Belatedly he realised that the other was writing his name!

Glorfindel had never imagined that the other elf could read nor write, simply because he found the latter in the forest. Few woodsmen, even among elves, had use for words and runes. If he had known, he would have used a pen and a note pad to have him communicate with him long before this. Closing his eyes and tracing the runes in his mind, as Erestor repeated his spelling again and again, Glorfindel spelt the name in his mind till at last he spoke with a breath of reverence, “Erestor. Your name is Erestor.”

Erestor laughed with only the slightest sound and throwing his arms around Glorfindel, kissed the ear tip closest to him. Glorfindel shivered from the intimate contact, and turning his head captured the smiling mouth into another kiss.

“Erestor, my sweet Erestor.” He whispered when their lips parted, and mesmerised, kissed him again. “My pendinen.”

Adjusting their positions till he knelt before Erestor, he clasped the latter’s hands in his, even as the other was still dazed from the fluttering kisses. Lifting one hand and then another to his lips, he placed them on Erestor’s lap and held Erestor’s eyes prisoner with his own. Then slowly, deliberately, he removed his glove and placed it in the open palms before him, closing the fingers around it.

Erestor did not understand why Glorfindel was offering him his glove. He knew enough of courtly manners from his father’s many tomes, but the only person Glorfindel should offer his fealty to should be the high king himself. Thus he stared questioningly first at the glove and then at the elven lord.

Holding the hands closed over the glove, Glorfindel brought them to his heart and said softly, “If I were to ask of you, will you stay with me forever?”

Erestor was taken aback and in that brief instant his confusion was clear on his face. Glorfindel, still intent on Erestor, drew the hands apart and stroked the hand with the glove against his cheek, whispered, “If I were to ask of you, will you bind with me, Erestor?” His voice cracked on the name so precious on his lips.

Erestor was momentarily stunned and his senses fled him. Bind? That was marriage! He had never, not even remotely, thought of marriage. Everything he knew about binding came from the scrolls and parchments in his father’s archives, or from the lore and songs that Lindir and Daeron sang so very often. He had never met any other elf but for Glorfindel, and thus there simply was never any awareness of the possibility of a bound mate.

Still Erestor was caught by Glorfindel’s serious stare, and his mouth ran dry. He could imagine forever in the strong arms, he could taste eternity on his lips, he saw immortality in the fevered stare, and he felt the answering echo in his heart. His mind vaguely registered that his family should and would interfere in the matter, but his heart and soul could not care less.

Glorfindel’s heart melted as he saw the most breathtaking smile ever to grace creation, his soul cried out in relief when the elf nodded and he exulted when Erestor flung himself into his arms once more. Drawing more fevered kisses from his promised mate, he caught the face between his bare hands, “Do you understand what bonding entails, pendinen?”

Erestor’s brows knitted in concentration as he tried to recall all the various texts he had ever read and all the pieces of lore he had ever heard. Glorfindel regarded his innocent so very lovingly, and pulling the elf close till he rested entirely against him, he whispered into a pointed ear, “Let me.”

Lying back onto the carpet, he pulled Erestor atop him. Tracing every delicate feature on that pristine face with his fingers and then his lips, he ran his hands into the auburn hair and pulled the braids loose. He loved the feel of the hair against his fingers, and loved Erestor’s look of pure artlessness despite the tussled image. He loved every single inch his fingers graced and more besides.

Rolling Erestor onto his back, he raised himself over the smaller elf and kissed the eyes half closed in pleasure, trapping the elf beneath him. Erestor could hardly catch his breath, and he tensed from the vulnerability of his imprisonment. His hands, still grasping the glove and Glorfindel’s tunic, attempted to nudge Glorfindel up, so as to give himself more space from the overwhelming warmth. Resting on his elbows, Glorfindel allowed his body to blanket the much smaller one, and with aching tenderness, planted a few kisses down the dainty jawline. “Trust me.”

Erestor gave in. The hardness, the solid wall of muscle that pressed against him emanated such strength, and aroused foreign sensations that titillated even as they tortured every single nerve in his body. He could not resist the allure of that strength and he could not endure the attack on his senses. He could do nothing else, but surrender.

Glorfindel leant his forehead against the other feverish one and with his free hand, slowly released the belt and unbuttoned Erestor’s tunic. Sensing the bludgeoning panic in the inexperienced elf, he lifted himself off, offering the other room to breathe while smoothing the crown of hair in assurance.

Erestor felt the shiver of cold from the loss of contact from that body of warmth and his immediate instinct was to reach out for Glorfindel, just to pull him back atop him. He did not understand why Glorfindel was undressing him, but he was more confused by the strong physical pleasure that every brush against the fabric brought.

Noticing the aroused state that Erestor was already in, Glorfindel did not part the tunic. Instead spreading his hands over the soft fabric, he rubbed against the peaking nipple and delighted in the cry, almost a mew, that left Erestor’s lips. He released Erestor’s hands and straddled Erestor. He proceeded to pay both nipples equal attention, smoothing the fabric down the sides until he reached the waist. Sliding his hands beneath the tunic, he parted it to reveal the nicely toned body before him. Moving his hands onto the small of Erestor’s back as the smaller elf arched, he lifted his beloved of his robes as he ran his hand along the spine.

Erestor’s eyes could only see a fog of colours and his body concentrated on the heat and frightening intensity of the sensations. The whiff of moonflower seemed all the stronger and so much more intoxicating. He weakly allowed Glorfindel to hold him in a half-sitting position and nearly screamed when he felt lips close on his highly sensitized nipple. Running his hands in the golden mane, he simultaneously pulled Glorfindel closer and pushed Glorfindel down to stop the sweet torture. But he had to give up that attempt when he felt a hand stroking down the small of his back, dipping beneath his waistband, brushing the tip of the spine and teasing his cleft. He cried out and grabbed the shoulders before him, begging some support as he felt his body shudder uncontrollably.

Keeping his eyes on Erestor’s, Glorfindel moved on to the other nipple, rolling it between his teeth and with his tongue while his hands worked to loosen the strings of Erestor’s pants. Erestor held the gaze as he struggled to keep his breath. He watched entranced as his pants were untied, and eased off his waist and thighs. He watched helplessly as his erection came into plain sight. He watched in bubbling excitement as the very talented mouth moved down to his navel, to the base of his erection. And all this while, Glorfindel was watching him.

Glorfindel knew in his fogged state that he was rushing things, but he was selfish that way. He did not want even the slightest chance of Erestor leaving when he keep his promise and brought him on a visit to the forest, and he wanted the bond completed as soon as he could. Yet he did not wish Erestor to feel even a whiff of discomfort, and thus strained to match his burning lust to Erestor’s need and only Erestor’s need.

Erestor felt overwhelmed. He could not help the trembles that shook his body and he had never experienced such arousal. He was untainted, not simply in body, but also unsullied in thought. As such, when Glorfindel’s mouth enveloped him, his world went in a whirling mess. He gasped audibly, and his right hand clenched harder around the promised glove. Even in his nearly unconscious state, he drew his other fist to his mouth, preventing himself from screaming any sentient word in the midst of wrecking bliss. His body wound like a spring till as suddenly as it started, it broke.

Glorfindel lapped at every remaining drop, his eyes raking in the sight of Erestor lost in the throes of passion. Wiping the corners of his mouth, he lifted himself up again, and removing the fist over the quivering mouth, gently kissed the tears from the closed eyes. Giving the spent elf some time to recover, Glorfindel undressed – his eyes continually trained on his lover.

Erestor recovered enough to see Glorfindel gradually revealing himself to his eyes, inch by splendid inch. He was fully woken when he caught sight of Glorfindel’s erection and he felt his own body responding. The body and mind know far more than what one could suppose – ancient knowledge had been engraved upon the innate consciousness, called upon only when all other senses had fled.

Glorfindel straddled Erestor and leant in to plant a tender kiss between the brows, and traced the sharp nose, ending with a lick just at the tip of the nose. Brushing the damp locks away from Erestor’s eyes and cheeks, he pressed a kiss on the graceful neck, and bit the skin very gently between his teeth, leaving his unique mark on his claimed lover.

He whispered into Erestor’s ear again, “Trust me.” Staring deep into Erestor’s eyes, he begged consent and only moved when the other gave a small uncertain nod.

Erestor did not know what to expect. Somewhere his consciousness rebuked his father and his brothers for never allowing him to know things that he should have known upon his majority. But his senses were too focused on the moment, and he watched in twitching anticipation as Glorfindel reached into one of the baskets to retrieve a bottle of oil.

Erestor watched each movement with fascination. Glorfindel glowed in the candlelight, and fire danced in the golden hair. The sweat glistened chest was well defined, and unable to resist, Erestor reached out tentatively to touch the solid wall of muscle. He ran his fingers down the muscular angles, tantalized by the dormant strength and the fervent beat. His fingers rested on two hardened nubs, curious but too self-conscious to do any more. He would not have thought it possible, but he grew warmer thinking of reciprocating the attention Glorfindel had earlier paid him. His gaze shot up when he heard the primal growl.

Glorfindel growled low in his throat. Did this sweet imp think ice ran through his veins, touching him in such a fashion? He wanted Erestor’s hands and lips on him, but not tonight. Tonight he fully intended to ravish his dark seductive imp senseless and he would lose control should Erestor continue his ministrations. Clasping the curious hands in his own, careful not to induce any injury, he kissed them and pulled the hands behind his neck. He lifted a knee and nudged a space between Erestor’s legs.

Erestor froze, his breath caught as he felt that insistent nudge on his aching inner thighs. He instinctively clenched his legs together, which brought a frustrated frown to Glorfindel’s face. Glorfindel was already too tense from the long denial of his own pleasures, but reading the unconscious fear in Erestor’s eyes, he forced himself to endure a little longer and he leant down again to kiss the temple, soothing as he did so. “Trust me, pendinen.”

Erestor gingerly parted his legs and gasped into the kiss when he felt the rough contact between his thighs. Too self conscious, he let his head drop back and he brought up a hand to muffle the moans he could not help. His thighs nudged further apart by another insistent knee, he was greatly vulnerable and could only quiver as hands began to roam the soft, inner thighs.

Erestor’s body lay pliant and the sense of contentment made him a willing victim of plunder. Nevertheless he tensed as gentle fingers began to pry him apart. His thighs trembled wildly as an oil-slicked digit managed to slip past the guardian ring. There was some discomfort, but his muscles clenched in excitement inviting the finger in deeper. When he felt the finger moving within him, his eyes flew to meet Glorfindel’s, trying to comprehend what was going on.

Glorfindel caught the curious gaze and smiled. His body was so wound up, should release come any later, he would spend himself before the deed. He would not be able to prepare Erestor properly this eve, but he wanted to ensure that the pain would be bearable at least. Yet he knew as well that this elf writhing beneath him was entirely untouched, and sinking his finger deep into the tight channel, he told Erestor in a husky tone, laden with lust, “A while, love. I’ll be within you in a while.”

Erestor was still confused, until a semblance of a thought told him what of Glorfindel would be within him. His eyes flew to the Glorfindel’s sizeable member and he whimpered despite himself. Glorfindel, who had been watching his lover’s every move, knew his fears and even as a finger explored the unknown depths, he caressed Erestor’s forehead, “Relax, love.” He felt gratified when the eyes turned back to his, apparent with desperate trust.

Erestor felt the flush deepen on his face and turned away from the captivating face. He closed his eyes and tried to relax against the strange feeling of intrusion, but he tensed and arched himself off the bed when the finger rubbed against a potent spot. He grabbed at Glorfindel’s shoulders and felt that same sensation again and again as the finger delved within him. Overtaken by the rush of foreign emotions, he brought his fist back to his mouth again, silencing the harsh scream that threatened to scrap his throat raw.

The wait was more than what Glorfindel could bear. Removing his finger he cupped Erestor’s bottom and lifted the sobbing elf onto him. Whispering into Erestor’s ear he breathed. “It will hurt, Erestor. But I promise you the pleasure will be worth it.” Hooking the back of Erestor’s knees on his arms, he exposed the slighter elf to his pleasure, and slowly, surely plunged himself into the depths.

The pain was searing and Erestor raised his hands to push the bigger elf off. When Glorfindel withdrew he felt a brief sense of loss, before feeling the shock of the invasion again. He covered his eyes with an arm, hoping to mask the embarrassing tears but a hand moved it away.

Putting Erestor’s hand around his neck, Glorfindel kissed the closed lids and the tears that were threatening to spill. Dropping a kiss on the bridge of his nose, he beseeched. “Look at me, pendinen.” Only when the eyes opened to meet his, did Glorfindel begin to move again. With every thrust, he soothed the tearful elf with quiet nothings, running his hand down the dark hair as was his wont whenever the other needed comfort.

The pain was getting more bearable as his body became accustomed to being stretched. Erestor did not understand why this assault on the private region could be pleasurable and then, suddenly, he was enlightened. The full force of Glorfindel’s body hit against the sweet, tender spot, which toppled him into the wildest darkness. Arching his back fully to meet with every thrust, his mind fell into a trance, desiring only the same taste of paradise. Again, and again, and again - then darkness exploded and he would have screamed had his throat not been so much disused.

Glorfindel relished the tightness, the silent strength in the depths, and sought Erestor’s pleasure. Each gasp that escaped those lips only blew more fire into his blood. As Erestor wept his completion, he clutched Glorfindel so deeply into him with his legs that the greater intimacy brought orgasm to the other elf. With a rumbling roar of triumph, Glorfindel spent himself in the deepest reaches of Erestor’s body and collapsed, covering the exhausted elf beneath him.

Kissing the slender throat, Glorfindel withdrew and spoke between breaths, “Sweet dreams, pendinen.” before hugging the unconscious elf closer to him and slipping into slumber.
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Glorfindel was abruptly awoken by a knock on the door. Shaking his head to clear his mind of the remnants of sleep, Glorfindel frowned. He had specifically instructed the household staff not to disturb them that night- it must be a matter of great urgency for his orders to be defied. Looking fondly at his lover still lost in reverie, he reached for the lightest rug and lovingly covered Erestor.

He rose and donned his leggings and tunic quickly, unwilling to shout for the insisting knocking to stop. Opening the door with his displeasure clearly written on his face, he saw his butler pacing anxiously and he raised his eyebrows, “I have asked not to be disturbed.”

“I am sorry to disturb, my lord, but it is a matter demanding your immediate attention. We have visitors waiting in the great hall. They insist on speaking with you now.”

Glorfindel’s senses were immediately alerted: visitors this close to midnight? “What is their business this late in the night?”

“They seek an elf, my lord.” The butler looked fretfully at Glorfindel, and upon the surprise reflected in his lord’s face continued. “They seek one named Erestor.”

Glorfindel was startled: what did the visitors have to do with his lover? Greatly alarmed he swept by the butler and just as he descended the stairs, the butler called out, “Your sword, my lord. They are armed.”

TBC…

Drape: This has several meanings including the sheer material worn around belly dancers’ hips but no, I am thinking of a piece of material, usually rich and embroidered, worn over a shoulder. Think of the modern day shawl, only longer.

Author’s further notes because she is in a lecturing mood

(1) Perry has actually built one of these rooms, so they are highly possible.

Evening primroses: I do not have to explain its medicinal value but it is a very difficult plant to cultivate, because its seeds lie dormant until the right conditions come along. Technically they grow only in spring, but under a cooler conservatory environment they can fooled into growing. In our lore, primroses are homes to the fey.
Moonflowers and morning glories are often grown together and that is a sure sign of a Wiccan witch.
Dame’s violets are for watchfulness, and I remember my mum growing them outside my gate, so I am assuming they are for warding off our Good Neighbours as well. The plant is excellent for breeding butterflies- they rescued my children’s science projects many a time.

Good neighbours by and by are what we call the fair folk, fey or faerie kind.

(2) Left-hand gloves have a place in history. It was regalia, a symbol of authority and fealty - one hand above all. Generally when swearing fealty in the dark ages, especially among the Anglo-Saxons but the Celts as well, a gift of the left-hand glove is made to the king. I shall stop here before I replicate all my lecture notes.