Of Death And Roses

Title: Of Death and Roses
Author: Nikkiling
Rating: R
Pairing: Erestor/OC (implied), Erestor/Glorfindel
Summary: Based on a challenge from Erviniae. She wanted a story with Erestor paired with Glorfindel, one or both being married, and one falling in love with another elf.
Oh yes, and death.
(I denied being able to write such a fic, until I considered the last stipulation. *grins evilly* )

And he won't be back
Can't you realize that
He's laughing at your sorrow
How can I explain, your love is all in vain
While he wastes your precious hours
I could fill your days with flowers

Bridge of a lover that I can never be
How can I begin, to make you love again
And try to make you see
-Widow in the Window: Great Big Sea


He sat upon the balcony’s stone bench, staring out over the wind-driven snow towards the road disappearing through the pines. The pass was blocked by ice and snow. A great storm had passed this way several days prior and the weight of the wet snow had become too much for the steep hillside. The sound of a small avalanche had rumbled through the air that night, making all who heard it pause. By morning the pass was completely blocked, and would likely remain so until the spring thaw. Yet this didn’t seem to faze the silent figure who continued to watch the road. In fact, he scarcely moved but for the occasional blink of his pale blue eyes and the rhythmic clenching of one, too-white hand upon his fur-clad lap. Once in a while a shiver would race down the slim body; proof that while his kind were typically immune to the effects of winter, the bitter cold had somehow managed to seep its way into this one. Not even the heavy furs and blankets draped over his slim form seemed to deter the chill; neither did it deter the occupant from his solitary post.

The door opened in the room behind him and two figures entered. With a cry of dismay the slightly taller blond quickly placed a bouquet of roses and fir boughs upon the side table and rushed through the open balcony doors to the silent elf’s side, followed closely by the darker second. No indication was made that the figure noticed he was no longer alone, and there was no response as he was gently made to stand. The wooden doors were shut tight, and together the two elves led the third towards the banked hearth and the large, overstuffed chair that awaited there. When he was settled, the darker elf began to rebuild the fire until heat once more flowed through the room.

“Oh, Elrond,” the blond exclaimed in a low voice. “I don’t understand this!”

The healer settled one more log upon the now brightly burning fire. “The ways of grief are not always easily understood,” he murmured softly, turning to watch the fur-clad figure with eyes filled with sorrow.

“I don’t know what to do.” Glorfindel whispered as he knelt down beside the chair. “I don’t know how to fight this.”

“There is nothing that we can do. We must pray to the Valar that he comes out of this on his own accord, and with the strength to properly face the truth of what happened.”

“No,” the blond shook his head in denial. “There has to be something.” He moved to kneel directly before the motionless elf. “Please, Erestor! You have to come back to us!”

Yet the words seemed to have little effect. A soft exhalation of air slightly deeper than the ones previous and the brief fluttering of eyelids until the dark lashes lay gently against the pale cheeks were the only signs that he might have been heard. Glorfindel lifted his hand to lay it along Erestor’s face; however, he couldn’t suppress a hiss when his skin made contact with the other.

“He is freezing cold to touch.” Glorfindel exclaimed, and began stripping away the heavy fur and robes until the elf was clad in only a simple brown undershirt and breeches. Furs and blankets only worked when the one covered exuded enough heat to warm themselves.

“Bring him closer to the fire,” Elrond responded, and together they shifted the chair until Erestor sat closer to the heat. Soon after the healer left for the kitchens to bring back some warm soup, leaving Glorfindel alone with the stricken elf.

It had been nearly a fortnight since tragedy had struck; an orc ambush where none should have been and during a time when most creatures were seeking shelter from the winter’s cold. The elves returning from patrol were already weary from their latest foray scouting the borders, although they were still alert enough to react to the impending attack moments before it happened. The orcs were decimated despite their assurity of surprise; their greenish-gray blood spilt out over the white snow. It would have ended there but several of the tired elves had been careless. A single enraged orc rose out of the strewn bodies with blade prepared to strike. The elf before him, a golden-haired warrior named Melfis, had time to turn but was not ready to counter the strike before the foul sword plunged into his chest.

The other elves swiftly dispatched the remaining orc before it could continue its attack; however the damage had been done. Melfis passed on to Mandos within that orc-strewn clearing, surrounded by his comrades. They carried his body back to Imladris and the bonded mate he had left behind…

Erestor had been standing before his balcony with Elrond by his side discussing the renovation of one of the lesser halls when the patrol finally came in. Melfis and Erestor had been bonded since the time Imladris had been settled, and it seemed impossible that he would not have known on some level that his mate had died. Seeing the body should have only confirmed it.

Elrond had known something was amiss earlier that day during the second meeting of the morning. During his accounting of the state of the winter stores Erestor had suddenly stiffened. A single hand had flown up to clutch at his chest and a look of shock, pain and confusion had passed over his usually jovial features. Elrond had immediately risen from his seat at the strange reaction, calling out his advisor’s name in question. It was well that he did so, else he might not have caught the suddenly stricken elf as his eyes rolled back into his head and he unexpectedly collapsed.

The fallen advisor did not stay unconscious long; in fact, only moments had passed before the pale eyes opened and looked up at Elrond in confusion. He had immediately struggled to rise despite Elrond’s protests, stating emphatically that he was fine. The healer watched his friend carefully, noting that while outwardly what Erestor had said appeared to be true, something within the bluish-grey orbs seemed out of place, or missing.

It was Elrond who suggested that Erestor take some time to rest. The elf refused with a wan smile, stating that there was too much to be done for him to take a break now. Elrond finally convinced him after lunch with the suggestion that Erestor would relax in his rooms and the elven lord would meet him there to finish their discussions. It was the closest to a compromise as he could get.

So it was there, watching from his balcony that overlooked the main road, that they saw the patrol come in. It was immediately apparent tragedy had occurred, and there was no mistaking the doomed elf. Only one other in Imladris held Melfis’ coloring and build, and he had not been out on patrols that day.

Elrond’s heart had broken for the loss of his friend, and his gaze turned immediately towards Erestor, expecting some expression of grief or outpouring of sorrowful denial. Shock, confusion, or even a distressed rage he could understand, but this was none of those. It was as though Erestor’s eyes slid past the body without ever seeing it.

“It seems the patrol has returned,” he had said instead in a calm voice that seemed abnormal in its normality. “You should go prepare to receive their report.”

Elrond looked at his advisor carefully. “Erestor. Melfis-”

“Oh, I am certain he will be along shortly,” Erestor responded with a smile. And that was that.

In the days that followed any mention of his husband’s death fell upon deaf ears, and even reports of the tragedy were ignored. When someone mentioned Melfis, the answer was always the same: “He will be coming soon.” It was said with a certainty that was almost eerie, and although most then looked upon him with pity, some couldn’t help the feeling of unease from creeping across the backs of their necks.

More days passed and Erestor had grown quieter and more distant. Elrond watched the change with a feeling of despair for although he was a healer, he did not know what to do to help his friend. How do you council one who not only denies everything, but has seemingly subconsciously blocked out all truth?

Erestor began spending more and more time staring out his windows or sitting upon his balcony, watching the road as the drifts on either side grew higher. He had stopped attending meetings and seeing to the affairs of the realm; he ceased to join the small friendly gatherings in the evenings; and as time went on he ignored the calls for meals. It was as though his life was slowly being pared down to one single moment when his beloved would return.

But what will happen when he doesn’t, Glorfindel despaired as he rubbed Erestor’s cold hands between his own. So keenly did Erestor persist in his vigil that Glorfindel could almost believe that Melfis was still alive; that is, if he hadn’t seen the lifeless body just that morning as they prepared it for burial. The funeral had been the usual solemn affair; moreso that the departed’s bonded mate had been so conspicuously absent.

Elrond quickly returned bearing a steaming bowl of savory vegetable broth. “I do not know when last he ate,” the healer said in a soft voice, “but we need to get him to eat as much of this as we can. It should warm him, and I added some herbs that will help him rest.”

Together the two of them slowly fed the recalcitrant elf, taking turns to spoon the warm liquid into Erestor’s mouth. He swallowed when bid, but made no attempt to feed himself. His eyes had opened, yet not once did he even glance at those concerned for him. Instead his eyes shifted between the fire, the laden spoon, and the closed balcony doors as though some invisible force kept him tied to the view hidden behind the shutters. The warm broth and the heat of the fire did appear to warm him some; the lax fingers no longer seemed quite so chill and his cheeks took on a hint of their former color.

“What happens if he does not get better?” Glorfindel asked as they stood. The bowl was still half-full, but Erestor silently refused to eat any more.

“Then we will have no choice but to send him west to sail.” Elrond replied, his voice grim with sorrow. “It is either that, or watch him slowly fade.”

With those unhappy words he turned and left, taking the half-empty bowl with him. Glorfindel remained where he stood, staring down at the figure who now appeared to be sleeping. Erestor had been so vibrant and full of life. He had been unmatched within the council chambers, and even at his sternest or most persuasive his eyes appeared to shine with an almost childlike joy. Elrond had once told him that this was not always so; that in the days before Melfis had entered his life Erestor had been dark, moody, and rarely laughed. It was something Glorfindel could not imagine for such a creature seemed so unlike the elf he knew. Of course, this elf before him was also unlike the Erestor he had known and easily befriended.

Actually, Melfis had been the warrior’s first friend upon his arrival to Imladris so many years ago, with Erestor a close second. They had taken him under their wing as he had been shy and uncertain in this land so distant from his own in both time and place. He, Erestor, and Melfis would come together in the evenings to share wine and stories. They would sit back and enjoy each others’ company until the stars emerged from the darkening sky and the two bonded mates would spend longer and longer moments lost in each other’s gaze… Glorfindel always took that as his cue to leave. He had never seen two elves more in love then they. And while he might have felt a twinge of jealousy at their incredible bond, it was only because he longed for such a love of his own. Never did he begrudge them of their joy, and never would he have dared imagine the two of them parted.

Sighing heavily, he turned to leave the room. He still had duties that needed attending despite the pall of mourning that had fallen over the hushed valley. Elrond would no doubt send someone to keep vigilance over Erestor so that the stricken elf was not left alone for any large amount of time.

As he turned he spotted the bouquet upon the side table where he had dropped it earlier. The delicate flowers had been grown in a special hothouse and cut to decorate the area surrounding the mourning ceremony. The snowy white roses had been so beautiful against the backdrop of the dark evergreens that Glorfindel felt he had to bring a sampling to his grieving friend.

He pulled a single, half-open bud from its fellows. Then, with tears pricking his eyes, he moved to lay the single blossom upon Erestor’s lap.

“I miss you, my friend,” he murmured and gently placed his hand upon the elf’s black hair, stroking the soft tresses affectionately. “Please come back to us.”

When there came no immediate response, Glorfindel’s lips tightened in pain and he left the room. Unfortunately, he missed Erestor’s dark eyes hesitantly open. The elf slowly looked down and upon sighting the white rose lying upon his lap his eyes softened and the beginnings of a smile hovered over his lips. Then his gaze moved back upwards, fixing itself briefly upon the balcony doors before closing again. The fingers of one hand shifted until they grasped the pale flower, pulling it close and holding it there.

***

Glorfindel walked into the room several hours later, dismissing the young healer who had been assigned to watch Erestor in his grief. The first thing he noticed upon moving around the chair where Erestor still sat was the rose lying within the despondent elf’s grasp. Shock was quickly replaced by a thrill of hope. That Erestor had finally responded to something seemed a good sign; at this point any response would be better than the perpetual lassitude he had fallen into.

He sat with him through the remainder of the evening, sometimes reading aloud from the various books that filled the advisor’s room, and at other times speaking of the events of the past few weeks. At one point Erestor slowly shifted and rose from the chair, a move which at first startled Glorfindel. Another surge of hope flew through him, but was quickly dashed when he realized that the elf had one destination in mind: the shuttered balcony doors. Glorfindel gently grasped Erestor’s elbow and guided him back to the chair before the fire, but not without glimpsing a flash of annoyance cross the grieving elf’s face. The rose remained clenched in one pale hand and had the stem grown thorns blood would have dripped from the tightly held fist.

When the night grew late, Elrond arrived to assist Glorfindel in putting Erestor to bed. The healer stared at the bloom still held within Erestor’s grasp curiously, then in consideration before giving Glorfindel a questioning look.

He shrugged in response. “I gave him the rose earlier; a remnant from the ceremony. When I returned this evening he was holding it. Perhaps it is a sign that he is starting to understand what happened?”

“Perhaps…” Elrond looked doubtful, but nothing more was said as they led the listless elf to the bathing chamber, and then to his bedroom where they tucked him between the thick blankets of his bed. The white rose they removed from his hand and left upon the side table with the rest of the bouquet. Then Glorfindel reluctantly left the room, leaving his grieving friend in the healer’s care.

***

In the days that followed, Glorfindel spent as much time as he could with Erestor, and every time he visited he would bring a single white rose, hoping to garner a positive reaction as the first bloom had done. In the beginning, it was only a repeat of the first. Erestor would grasp the rose with a soft smile; however, once the flower was in his possession, his gaze would move to the window as though it could peer through the shutters to the snowy landscape beyond.

Then, one day, he picked up the fragrant blossom, but instead of turning towards the closed balcony doors, his eyes lifted to meet those of the elf standing nearby. If his pale eyes didn’t appear as clear and focused as they should have been, Glorfindel barely noticed. He watched instead with held breath as the grieving elf stood and, rose in hand, walked forward to place a chaste kiss upon the warrior’s cheek. Then he turned and walked into his room where he lay down upon his bed and drifted to sleep.

Glorfindel stood for several long moments, a stunned expression upon his face. What did this mean? Was Erestor finally starting to break free of the bonds of grief that had held him so long? Perhaps he was starting to slowly understand; so slowly that there would be no sudden explosion of grief that all seemed to expect.

So it was with renewed hope that Glorfindel continued to leave his gifts. Erestor seemed to respond more as the days passed; never speaking, but watching the other elf with indecipherable eyes. Glorfindel likened him to the roses he brought, slowly emerging from his self-imposed isolation like a bud exposed to the warm light of the sun. While he still continued to spend time at his window, he eventually allowed Glorfindel to take him for walks in the gardens still blanketed with snow, and even began to show some of the affection towards the golden warrior that he had before the tragedy.

***

Then one evening, Glorfindel walked into Erestor’s rooms to find the elf not before the windows or upon the balcony, but standing before the hearth with a single white rose grasped in his pale hands. A soft blue robe graced his body, bound at the slim waist and elegant in its simplicity. He looked up as the warrior entered, and the gentle, shy smile that crossed his lips was enough to cause Glorfindel’s heart to flutter. It was a look he had seen before, but never directed at him.

He watched warily as Erestor slowly approached him without speaking a word. Glorfindel found his mouth to be dry and himself hypnotized by the beauty of the vision before him. It wasn’t until the darker elf stopped a mere breath away and captured his lips in a tender kiss did Glorfindel move to protest. This was not right. Erestor was still grieving, despite his suddenly vibrant and beguiling appearance.

He pulled away and made to speak; yet ere a word could emerge from his throat, a single finger was placed across his lips. With a slowly shaking head Erestor denied any protest, and all Glorfindel could do was watch numbly as the darker elf cupped his face in his slender hands, forcing him to look only upon the one before him.

Erestor appeared so beautiful in the flickering firelight. He still appeared gaunt, for despite the fact that Glorfindel had encouraged him to eat again the elf had never quite gained the weight that he had lost. It made him look painfully fragile with eyes large and dark against his pale skin and cheekbones that could cut glass. The shifting shadows made him seem ethereal, as though his grief had physically cut away all but the very essence of the elf.

Lust curled within Glorfindel’s loins. He couldn’t say exactly when his feelings had evolved from mere friendship, but it was unquestionable; if this is what Erestor wanted, how could he deny him? A haunting love shone from the elf’s bewitching eyes. A small voice in the back of Glorfindel’s mind warned that such love should be directed at him, but his own fierce hope quashed the pestering voice to silence.

I love him, he told himself. And I can care for him as he’s meant to be cared for now that Melfis is gone. Perhaps someday the two will be reunited, but until then I will do everything in my power to keep Erestor safe and give him what he needs. Perhaps, like the sleeping princess who was awakened by her lover’s kiss, so will Erestor. He did seem to be emerging from his cocoon, despite Elrond’s cautions and misgivings. I just can’t see how this final outcome could be anything but good.

So it was with those thoughts in mind that he let Erestor draw him into the bedroom. Once there the elf allowed Glorfindel to take control, and the able warrior set about worshipping the too slender form, tenderly kissing every inch of exposed flesh that was revealed. Erestor remained pliant and receptive as he was laid across the bed, responding to Glorfindel’s touches with soft moans and whimpers. His skin felt cold against the golden elf’s lips; a feeling which only spurred him on in an attempt to warm the pale flesh beneath him. He used the heat of his breath, the warmth of his hands, and finally the fire of his body to feed Erestor’s diminished spirit. It seemed to be working, and it wasn’t long until the flesh began to warm beneath his touch.

And when Glorfindel would have simply used his hands to escalate their pleasure to its eventual culmination, Erestor pulled those strong appendages away, urging him instead within to the center of his desire. Glorfindel did not object. He allowed himself to be drawn into the heat hidden deep within Erestor’s body and be swept up into pale eyes unfocused with need. So bound was he within his pleasure that Glorfindel did not even notice that the name whispered upon their mutual release was not his own.

***

Erestor slowly woke, eyes fluttering gently before finally opening. It was the dark of pre-dawn with only the last dying embers of the fire in the hearth left to cast a faint reddish glow over the room. He wrinkled his nose a little before turning to curl up against the broad warm back beside him. Melfis seemed to have an intense fire burning within, even during the hottest of Imladrin summers. Erestor had always loved to bask in his radiant heat.

He breathed deeply, but suddenly jerked back as something struck him as wrong. Melfis always smelled of applewood and rain. The scent that invaded Erestor’s nostrils now was sharper; deeper... like cedar and hemlock. Carefully he backed away, trying not to disturb the sleeping figure. Who was this? What was he doing here in his bed?

As he pushed himself further away he could feel a familiar soreness that told him of exactly what had occurred between them; a feeling which only served to heighten his panic. His breathing turned quick and his heart hammered wildly within his chest at the knowledge that he had been so intimate with one not his mate. Strangely, this elf looked like his lover; he had the same long golden locks and muscular build. Only, it was not the same…

It was then that it struck him who this elf was, for there was only one other in Imladris who looked so much like Melfis that they could have been brothers: Glorfindel.

Erestor bolted from the bed, eyes rolling wildly. Where was Melfis? What was going on?

It was then that he heard the voices echoing in his head; the voices of those who, in the past weeks, had tried to tell him of Melfis’ death during an orc attack. Dropping to his knees, his hands flew to his mouth as a keening wail threatened to pour from his throat. A whimper of fear and denial still managed to escape as he saw within his mind the image of his love’s lifeless body being carried into Imadris.

No! It wasn’t possible! What of the roses Melfis had brought him, just as he had when they first courted so long ago? Had it been Glorfindel this entire time? Could he have actually mistaken his mate for another?

Pain tore through his chest as he rose once more, stumbling into the outer room and towards the closed balcony doors. He barely had the presence of mind to grab the light outer robe that lay upon the chair, although he didn’t bother to belt it closed. Melfis had said he would come back; that he would ALWAYS come back!

He flung open the wooden doors. The cold crisp air of early morning struck him as he stepped out onto the balcony, but he didn’t feel it. Snow had fallen overnight, covering the world in a pristine, white blanket. The sky was now bedecked with stars; the thick clouds having moved on to the east after dropping the rest of their heavy load over the Misty Mountains. Now the moon shone down in all its swollen brilliance, lighting the world in a bright silver glow.

Barefooted, Erestor walked to the stone balustrade, leaving shallow footprints behind him in the snow. His eyes scanned the shadows beneath the trees that surrounded the blocked road. Melfis wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. He would know if it were true, wouldn’t he?

But the body… he had seen the body. There could be no denying it. And Glorfindel… the knowledge of what he had done was a betrayal that pierced his heart.

His body shaking with soul-deep tremors, he climbed upon the narrow ledge until he was precariously balanced upon the ornate railing. Tears fell unchecked down his pale cheeks as he stood like an angel preparing for flight.

Suddenly the shadows along the road shifted as a gentle breeze broke the stillness. A shape appeared, walking upon the snow with a light but determined stride. Erestor checked himself, toes curling over the edge of the balustrade, watching as the figure steadily approached. There was no mistaking it to be anything other than an elf. His long golden hair shone with silver streaks in the moonlight and fluttered gently in an unseen breeze. He wore a calf-length surcoat of deep blue that managed to emphasize his muscular build; a surcoat he had worn often in life. In one long-fingered hand he carried a single white rose that had been captured in full bloom.

“Melfis,” he whispered, easily identifying the elf who had been his lover and bonded companion for several thousand years. With care he stepped down from the railing and raced back into the room, heading for the door leading out into the corridor. He barely glanced at the elf still sleeping in his bed as he left. Only one thought engulfed his mind: Melfis had come back.

***

Glorfindel woke just as dawn began painting the sky. There was a chill in the room, and while the cold didn’t affect him, he worried about Erestor. Since Melfis had passed, the elf felt the cold more acutely than normal.

It was then that he realized that Erestor was no longer beside him. With a frown he quickly rose from the bed. Where could he have gone? Did he already have regrets about the night before? Grabbing his robe and belting it over his nude body he left the bedroom. The open balcony doors explained why it was so cold, and the snow-covered terrace also instilled a strange sense of dread within the elf’s spirit. The world seemed to move in slow motion as he walked towards the balcony. He could see footprints in the snow where Erestor must have walked towards the balustrade, but there were none returning.

Glorfindel’s heart was in his throat as he realized that the snow upon the railing was disturbed. He didn’t want to look, but he didn’t dare do otherwise. Bracing himself, he peered over the edge. What he saw caused him to fall to his knees against the balustrade in despair.

A series of broad steps led up into the Last Homely House, covered with a dusting of snow, and it was there that the crumpled form lay. Black hair flowed down several steps, mingling with the crimson of spilt blood. The robe Erestor had worn swept carelessly around his body, exposing pale skin only slightly darker than the snow it was cast against. There was no mistaking the fallen figure, or the fact that a spirit no longer dwelled with the broken body.

With a voice broken from grief, Glorfindel alerted Lord Elrond of Erestor’s demise. The body was quickly taken away to be prepared for burial beside his mate. The steps were then cleared of the bloodstained snow, although when Glorfindel looked carefully at the place where Erestor had fallen, he could still see the tiniest traces of crimson still staining the white stone.

He blamed himself for Erestor’s death, certain that their intimacy had awoken his grief in the most disastrous way possible. He should never have allowed his friend’s desires to hold sway, and he should never have been so foolish as to think that he knew that was best for an elf still obviously so ill. Now both of his dear friends were dead; one through a terrible accident, and the other through his own ill thought out choices.

Glorfindel turned to walk back inside, but as he did so something in the distance caught his eye. Curious, he descended the rest of the stairway. Upon the snow-covered road lay a single silvery-white rose; the half-opened blossom nearly invisible but for the vibrant green stem. As he walked closer, he noticed a set of very light footprints upon the snow. The owner had been unshod and walked in the same direction Glorfindel now traveled. Upon reaching the abandoned flower, the mysterious footprints stopped; however, another set of footprints, these ones slightly heavier and obviously booted, seemed to approach the rose from the opposite direction – from down the snow-impassed road. It appeared as though two figures had met at the beautiful rose, and disappeared. Or perhaps one had brought the rose to the other, but the bud had been abandoned in the resulting reunion.

The hint of a smile touched Glorfindel’s lips, and likely the last that ever would. Erestor had been bare-footed when they found him upon the steps, and he would have recognized Melfis’ bootprints anywhere from all the tracking they had done together. It appeared the lovers were finally together again in spirit, and despite what everyone had tried to tell the grief-stricken elf, Erestor had been correct after all: Melfis had come back for him.

~Fin~