A Touch of Sunlight

Title: A Touch of Sunlight
Author: Enismirdal enismirdal @ fluffydragon.co.uk
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Warnings: None
Summary: Good weather on a diplomatic trip to Gondor leads Glorfindel to sulk, Erestor to scheme and a secret to be revealed.
Notes: Bunny courtesy of Narya. *grin* Thank you to the eternally wonderful Tuxedo Elf for the beta job!

***

“Glorfindel, we have been together for, what, five years now?”

“Correct,” Glorfindel agreed, glancing up briefly from the accounts ledger he was examining. Carelessly sprawled on a couch in one of his usual expensive outfits – this one mint-green silk with lace cuffs – he paid no attention to the breeze ruffling the light curtains as it drifted in off the balcony. Indeed, the golden-haired Elf may as well have been oblivious to the glorious weather outside.

“And in those five years, never once did it occur to me that /I/ would be the one trying to coax you away from work and out into the splendour of nature.” Erestor crossed the room, gripping the edge of the ledger with one hand and trying to ease it from Glorfindel's grasp. Glorfindel stubbornly held on.

“Erestor,” he replied testily, flicking his hair back in what Erestor considered a rather superfluously flamboyant fashion, “you can see perfectly well that I am busy. If you want to go out for a ride, a picnic, whatever, then go ahead and enjoy yourself. Lord Herion has those lovely daughters who would be falling over each other for the honour of keeping you company.” Erestor did scowl at that; Lord Herion's older daughter was practical and very charming but the younger ones, sixteen-year-old twins, had both taken quite a shine to him from the day he arrived and were seemingly obsessed with winning his attention. It was getting distinctly tiresome – especially when this was his first diplomatic visit to Gondor and he was trying to cultivate an image of smooth intellect and crisp efficiency rather than being seen forever surrounded by adolescent girls.

Biting back the sharp rejoinder which first popped into his mind, Erestor instead opted for a softer approach with his lover. He folded himself neatly into Glorfindel's lap, in such a way as to block the golden-haired Elf's view of the book, and gazed at him imploringly. “It is the first sunny day since we left Imladris, love, and I am sick of winter. Please come and celebrate spring with me?”

Glorfindel's irritable demeanour melted and he kissed Erestor affectionately, but then rearranged his arms and the book so that he could continue reading. “I am sorry, Erestor, but I really am very busy. As much as I would love to celebrate the season in your company, I cannot.” He did not tip Erestor off his lap, but he did resume his examination of the ledger with such apparent absorption that Erestor felt unable to argue further. He remained where he was, thoughtful, for a few more minutes, before finally rising to his feet and returning to the balcony window. In addition to the still-drawn curtains, half the shutters had not yet been opened and the room was cool and dim; Erestor threw them all wide now, and tugged back the drapes as far as possible to let the light flood in.

He glanced back at Glorfindel in time to register the Elf's exasperated expression, but he made no other protest at the action. Erestor wondered what his lover's problem was. Although Glorfindel was a diligent worker and a talented diplomat – hence his assignment here for six months – he was not normally a workaholic to this extent. Erestor prided himself on his ability to read others, and he was quite certain that this alleged need to work was merely a convenient excuse hiding the real reason for Glorfindel's reticence. He decided that whatever it took to get the former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower outside, he would do it.

***

Glorfindel returned from a long and exhausting conference with Lord Herion and his advisers – in spite of a recent promotion in status, Erestor was still considered too junior to attend – to find the windows of his suite wide open. In addition, several large bouquets of spring blossom were arranged across tables and sideboards, infusing gentle scents of honey and spiciness into the rooms. A small, black bee had found her way in and was diligently trying to pollinate the comfrey. Rolling his eyes, Glorfindel picked up an empty wine glass and a sheet of vellum, catching the swift little insect inside the vessel and relocating her once more out of the window.

A shuffle behind him informed him that Erestor was there. “Not at all tempted to join her out there?” he asked amusedly, gesturing at the open window when Glorfindel turned to face him. He pressed a glass into Glorfindel's hand; it was cold, chilled to perfection, and when Glorfindel sipped at the contents, his senses were assailed by the tangy flavour of fresh lemonade. Excellent: just how he liked it best, with only the tiniest addition of honey to sweeten it. He had forgotten that lemons were so readily available this far south, and rather wished someone had provided a carafe of the beverage during the meeting.

Slowly, he took a measured breath. “It has been a taxing few hours, Erestor. The lemonade is nice, but right now all I desire is some rest.”

Erestor smiled brightly, though Glorfindel detected the sparkle in his eyes which spoke of a plot afoot. There was a reason Erestor was ascending so rapidly through the ranks of Elrond's advisers and scribes: keen intellect, sharp cunning and a healthy dose of ambition. That same ambition had been what had given the young farrier's son the confidence to proposition the Lord of the Golden Flower in the first place. “You could rest just as well outside,” he purred. “Picture the warm sun caressing your face, and imagine sipping such perfect, cool lemonade whilst enjoying the scent of these lovely flowers-” and here Erestor brought over a choice bloom, waving it delicately under Glorfindel's nose so that the aroma wafted up “-but with their fragrance all around you. Surely you cannot pass such bliss over in favour of sitting in a dingy, shadowed room?”

Glorfindel lifted the flower from his lover's fingers, placing it back in the vase. “How about you let me take a nap for an hour, and then I will show you just how exciting a dingy, shadowed room can be, my dearest. Some activities really cannot be enjoyed in the middle of Lord Herion's gardens.”

Erestor sighed but nodded, clearly unable to turn down the offer, with its implicit promises. “Very well; I can hardly decline such a suggestion! But do not think for one moment that you have won this.”

It was a few days later that the opportunity arose, and Erestor took his chance to surprise Glorfindel. He prepared for the formal luncheon banquet in silence, seemingly lost in his own thoughts as he donned a tunic and trousers of azure-blue billowing silk – the highest fashion amongst the affluent of Minas Tirith, so he was told. Glorfindel was lacing up a rather fetching robe in intense golden yellow and Erestor was finding it unusually hard to keep his expression schooled to neutrality and his gaze averted when there was such a vision to behold. Toned muscle flexed as Glorfindel adjusted the garment before hiding everything as he completed the fastenings, and Erestor felt a flicker of disappointment at being denied further glimpses of the view.

He sat down at the dressing-table, picking up the comb to tame his still-damp hair for the event. But before he was able to manage more than a few strokes, Glorfindel's fingers closed on his. Glancing into the mirror above the table, Erestor met with Glorfindel's' grinning face hovering above his. “Mind if I finish off?” he asked, licking his lips in an entirely too playful manner.

Erestor could not help but smile back. “Go ahead.” He watched Glorfindel's face fondly as the golden-haired Elf worked, his handsome lips pursing each time he encountered a tangle, his eyes moving to the pile of hairclips once the black locks all hung smoothly. Erestor rarely bothered with all the fiasco of braiding and arranging his hair, but for formal events, especially those involving Men, it was rather expected of him. “Thank you,” he said as Glorfindel finally laid down the comb and unused adornments with a smug expression. “I was actually dreading doing all that.” His hair looked impressive now, with slender braids hanging over the tips of his ears and twining intricately round each other. Glorfindel was as mighty with the comb as with the sword, it seemed.

“I know,” Glorfindel replied amusedly, kissing Erestor just below the ear. The light touch of those lips on one of his most sensitive spots was enough to make Erestor groan with arousal and for a brief moment the younger Elf found himself very loath to go anywhere.

Reluctantly he straightened, rose and offered Glorfindel his arm. “If you are ready, shall we go?”

Arm-in-arm, they made their way down the stairs and along a magnificent hallway decorated with marble sculptures and painted friezes. But as Erestor turned them left outside some grand double doors he felt a sudden tweak on his elbow. He glanced sideways at Glorfindel, who had stopped dead and was wearing a confused expression. “You just walked right past the banqueting hall,” he observed.

“Correct,” Erestor replied matter-of-factly, and started walking again.

“But we are going to a luncheon banquet,” said Glorfindel.

Erestor grinned. “Yes. And because the weather continues to be favourable, I suggested to Lord Herion earlier today that we could hold the meal outside in the semi-formal gardens. He agreed with great enthusiasm.”

Glorfindel froze, then turned abruptly and started dragging Erestor back the way they had just come. “No. No. No,” he was muttering.

Freeing himself and then grabbing Glorfindel by the wrist, Erestor tugged him into an empty office which opened off the hallway. It belonged to one of Lord Herion's legal experts, Erestor recalled – a tall, balding and singularly dull individual. Thus, Erestor was mildly surprised by the impressive collection of elaborate sex toys lined up along the mantelpiece in the room. He resolved to return later and investigate the matter further, but right now he turned his exasperated attention to Glorfindel. “Love, what is going on? Having seen you in daylight and, indeed, having seen you voluntarily consume broccoli – albeit drenched in red wine gravy – I can say with some certainty that you are no mythical bloodsucking demon who turns to dust at the merest touch of the sun's rays. Yet you seem to be inexplicably averse to the idea of setting foot outside the tower here in Minas Tirith...”

Glorfindel scowled, turning away and pacing the room. Erestor followed him persistently. “Talk to me,” he implored.

There was a pause. Then Glorfindel shrugged. “The sun here is very hot and intensely bright.”

“...yes.” Erestor waited.

“Have you perchance noticed my colouring, love?”

“Of course,” Erestor replied. “And very fetching it is too. But you are of the Eldar, and thus it makes no difference whether your hair and skin are dark or fair...”

“A folk legend!” Glorfindel snapped. “I am part Vanyarin. A Vanya's skin /burns/ in southern sunlight. Those are the facts. For my ancestors in the hazy, northern climes of Valinor it apparently never caused a problem. Indeed, in Gondolin I never found that it caused a problem. In Imladris I have...help, so it is again not a problem. Here, in Minas Tirith, it /is/ a problem.” He gestured towards the windows, a trace of panic in his eyes. “If I go out there, in the middle of the day, it will take less than an hour to turn me as pink as...”

“...as a blushing maiden?” Erestor supplied helpfully, finding it was now very difficult to maintain a straight face.

Glorfindel carried on oblivious of his lover's twitching lips. “...I was going to say, 'as a freshly cooked lobster', but suit yourself! Erestor, I am a High Elf, a diplomat representing the interests of Lord Elrond. I am supposed to be ancient, wise and ethereal, more than a little otherworldly. I cannot be otherworldly when the skin of my nose is peeling off in a singularly worldly fashion...and ...and when I am breaking out in freckles all across my cheeks!”

Erestor abandoned his precious self-control, doubling up with laughter. Glorfindel could only prowl the office in frustration until his younger lover had managed to rein himself in and looked back up, gasping. “I knew you were vain,” he told Glorfindel breathlessly. “Indeed, I find it rather charming. But that is simply absurd even by your standards. There are ointments...”

“I had some,” Glorfindel replied petulantly, looking rather affronted. “What did you think I meant by 'help'? I used to buy it from a herbalist in Bree; you have seen it, actually. The fennel scented cream...”

Erestor blushed, glancing down self-consciously at the effect the memories had on him. He had definitely seen it. “I always did wonder what that was really meant for. I assumed it was hair pomade, actually. So why not just put some of that on now?”

“The accident at the Celebrant crossing.”

“Oh.” On the journey to Minas Tirith there had been a slight hiccup, resulting in the loss of several baggage items and a narrow escape for the pack-pony. Glorfindel had been irrationally agitated for days afterwards, now Erestor came to think of it.

He sat down, closed his eyes and applied some thought to the matter. An idea soon presented itself, as expected; of course it would, for how else would he have ascended the ranks so quickly these last hundred years were it not for his strategic abilities? “I have it,” he declared. “I will arrange everything. But it will probably make us a little late for the banquet, so first I will need to intercept Lord Herion and pass on our apologies. Wait here, love, and do not do anything rash...”

He left Glorfindel wearing a rather perplexed look and hurried off to meet Lord Herion as the steward descended the stairs from his private suite. “My Lord, I do apologise most sincerely, but an urgent matter has arisen. Will you forgive us if Lord Glorfindel and I are a few minutes late to the banquet? It is no insult for you and indeed we look forward to joining you all.”

Lord Herion was a good-natured and reasonable man and he nodded in reply to Erestor's smoothly-delivered request. “Join us as soon as you are able, Lord Erestor. I look forward to your company.”

“My thanks.” Erestor dipped his head slightly, deciding not to correct the steward on his misuse of the title at this time. Quickly, he instead headed off in the direction of the bedchambers belonging to Lord Herion's twin daughters.

***

“Maybe...” said Malfinniel, giggling.

“Please...” said Erestor, looking desperate.

“Well,” mused Arodien, “you will have to explain what is in it for us...”

Erestor nodded in resignation. “What do you want?”

The girls exchanged looks.

“Dinner,” said Malfinniel.

“Just dinner? Something like roast duck, served in your chambers with a nice wine...?”

“A /private/ dinner,” said Arodien.

“With you,” said Malfinniel.

“/Just/ you,” said Arodien.

“Fine. Done,” Erestor agreed quickly, knowing he would regret it and already wondering how he would survive the experience. He sincerely hoped Glorfindel would not mock him too hard when his lover found out about this.

“You really are desperate, are you not?” Arodien asked. “No negotiations, no attempts to reduce the price. Just /how/ desperate are you, I wonder?”

“We just agreed the deal!” Erestor insisted, cold dread washing over him.

“But did we?” asked Arodien. “I think that if you want it /that/ much, you need to agree to one more small thing...”

“I can bring wine, flowers, chocolates...” Erestor tried helplessly. Girls scared him, it was as simple as that. It was probably why he had ended up in a relationship with the rather vain but most decidedly un-girly Glorfindel.

Malfinniel shook her head. “Not good enough,” she said.

Arodien smiled slowly. “Our terms are these: your charming company for dinner one evening, alone, and wearing an outfit we choose.”

“No!” Erestor protested in horror. He could only imagine their idea of a suitable outfit. It was too much to contemplate. “That is simply unfair!”

“Suit yourself,” said Malfinniel with a shrug and another giggle. “If you do not want the ointment you can just head off now.”

Erestor was cornered and knew it. The girls knew this was important to him. They knew that they could name their price. What else could he do but meekly agree?

“Fine,” he said in a small voice. “I agree to your terms. Do we have a deal?”

***

The sun beamed down brightly on Glorfindel and Erestor as they lounged on the lush grass with glasses of lemonade, idly dipping strawberries in cream before devouring them delicately. Erestor was admiring the way the light sparkled on Glorfindel's braids. He had to admit, with hair like that his lover had every right to be vain.

“So,” Glorfindel began, stretching luxuriously, “how did you know Lord Herion's daughters possessed an ointment to protect from sunburn?” He wrinkled his nose slightly. “Even if it does smell of cherries.”

Erestor flashed him a smug grin. “Well, I saw they both have complexions as fair as your own, my dear – with freckles, even. And yet neither of them shows signs of either burning or tanning, in spite of the fact that they are forever out riding, picnicking and dancing in the gardens. I surmised that they must have some means of preserving their lily-white faces and, much like you, are too appearance-conscious to settle for a large, wide-brimmed hat when they are currently out of fashion.”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and kissed Erestor's cheek. “I am forever in debt to your amazing powers of deduction and, apparently, persuasion. I hope that whatever they asked for in return was not too steep a price...”

Erestor gulped. “Um...”

“Oh?” Glorfindel tilted his head curiously. “Tell me, then!”

Erestor sighed. “Very well, then. Remember how we took delivery of that gold outfit this morning, the one with the billowing trousers slit to mid-thigh, and the tiny little waistcoat...?”

“I certainly do!” Glorfindel snorted.

***

A few moments later, the sunny, blossoming gardens filled with the sound of Glorfindel's laughter.