Posted: October 2004
Title: Underestimated
Author: Enismirdal
Fandom: Tolkien
Genre: FCS
Characters: Rúmil/Faelon, Glorfindel/Erestor
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: They're not my characters (except Tellumiel, who was never meant to do anything much in the first place)! I would be very happy if they were; instead, I'll just be eternally grateful to Professor Tolkien for giving them life. No disrespect intended; no profit made.
Beta: An absolutely giant thank you to amazing beta readers Aleks, Laurel (first chapter) and my darling Katy - where would I be without you gals?
Timeline: Third Age, pre-LOTR
Author's Notes: Faelon *is* there in movie, at the Council of Elrond, sitting on Elrond's right. Some people call him Elrohir or Noname, but Roheryn/Candice/Vardalon Elentari christened him Faelon because that's how ‘Justin' (Mackenzie, who plays Faelon, coincidentally brother of Brett, who plays Figwit/Melpomaen) translates into Sindarin. If you're having Figwit, you'd better have Faelon too! Aside from borrowing those two out of the movie, I'm sticking to book canon for this one.

This is the NEW version with all the Grelvish killed, removed, burned! I've left Figwit as Melpomaen though, as I just think Melpomaen is a nice name ? And Tellumiel is still Tellumiel, cos I'm sure someone can make that sound plausible.

Summary: Rúmil is in love with Faelon. Faelon thinks he's too good for Rúmil. Erestor decides to get involved.

*****

Rúmil sat on the cool marble bench with his head in his hands. His fingers were wet and slick with tears; his eyes, he imagined, must be red and bloodshot with incessant crying. It wasn't normally in his nature to fall victim to emotion like this, but then again, he didn't normally have to watch his life collapse into ruin around him.

He'd never left Lórien before, but Haldir had promised him that Imladris was a delightful place; the elves were somewhat serious and lordly at times, but always impeccably polite and courteous. The lifestyle, he promised, was as luxurious and sophisticated as in Lórien. Rúmil had been more than happy to accompany his elder brother on this trip.

The journey had been uneventful; on arrival, they had been greeted by Lord Elrond and several of his most trusted associates, as well as his twin sons and beautiful daughter. Rúmil had first laid eyes upon Arwen centuries ago when she was visiting Lórien with her now long-departed mother, Celebrían, and in that single moment he had understood perfectly what all the fuss was about. She truly was exquisite, every feature flawless. Her hair was a curtain of spun silk; her eyes lakes of liquid passion; her mouth the bud of a rose blossom, just about to spring open into full bloom.

But it had not been Arwen who had shaken his world and it left in ruins; not this time.

He drew in another shuddering breath, coughing as he inadvertently inhaled more tears. What was wrong with him?

Through his sobs, he suddenly heard a whisper of fabric just a couple of feet to his left. Someone had sat down on the bench beside him! He was irritated by this - he had spent ages prowling the gardens, seeking out a suitably private and secluded part of the Last Homely House's gardens where he could be alone with his misery. And now someone else was invading his space! "Go away!" he groaned bitterly through his fingers.

There was no response - his companion wouldn't leave.

Rúmil gazed up at the figure through wet fingers, his vision blurring with tears. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the curtain of dark hair…but no. He exhaled with mingled relief and disappointment, as he recognised the earnest, exotic features of Elrond's chief counsellor, Erestor. He scrubbed at his eyes. "What do you want?"

"I saw you come out here," the counsellor said, as if that explained everything. So far, Rúmil had not had the opportunity to meet Erestor properly and therefore had no idea of what to expect from him. Haldir, too, barely knew him, simply saying that Erestor came across as very quiet, dignified and conscientious - traits which probably hid a devious mind.

"So?"

"I come here too, sometimes, when I feel weighed down by a lot of emotion." Erestor had a strange, lilting accent, uncharacteristic of an Imladris elf. Rúmil couldn't place it at all - it reminded him of the Sindar from Mirkwood, only that seemed highly unlikely. He reminded himself that the advisor was probably many millennia old, and could have come from Aman for all he knew. "I thought maybe you'd like to unburden yourself."

"On you? I hardly know you." He couldn't understand why Erestor could possibly care what his problems were.

"All the better. I don't have a personal stake in this. Come, now, /pen-neth/, tears like that are usually caused by messy affairs of the heart. I don't expect you to give me a name, but you're welcome to tell me about what troubles you. I've found over the years that I've come to appreciate the value of talking." He shifted backwards a few inches, presumably a calculated move designed to put across the impression of being uninvasive. His dark eyes were soft and invited confidence.

Rúmil sighed. "You wouldn't want to hear about the mountain of misery which is supposed to be my love life."

"I'd like to hear about it a lot more than you think." Erestor spoke softly.

Rúmil chose not to attempt to interpret the cryptic comment, and instead asked, "You won't tell anyone?"

"I won't. I'm not considered to be a gossip."

"Thank you." He took a deep breath to calm himself, but still found himself stuttering as he started to speak. "It's…it's Faelon."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"He's…difficult. Go on."

"This is my first visit to Imladris. In fact, this is the first time I've ever left Lórien. Haldir thinks that I'm overwhelmed and it's making me emotional…"

"Hold on. You're starting the story in the middle. So you've found yourself drawn to Faelon?"

Rúmil nodded and sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"It's not uncommon to feel that way about someone; I've seen it enough times. And I've known those feelings myself." Erestor's eyes were dark and unreadable, but his tone hinted at memories. "Tell me about you and Faelon."

"I first saw him standing there when we rode into Imladris, and it was as if everything else disappeared from around us. He's - " he swallowed. "He's beautiful. Like Eärendil in the autumn sky at dusk, he shone, and I couldn't look away from his light. Since then, I haven't been able to get him out of my thoughts. Honestly - I was writing up my notes from the meeting Haldir and I had with Lord Glorfindel, and I suddenly realised I'd written, ‘…remain in Imladris until Faelon is mine forever…'!" He blushed with embarrassment.

"Does he know about your feelings for him?"

Rúmil buried his head in his hands again, letting his hair fall forward to shield him from…Elbereth only knew what. "Yes," he whispered.

Erestor's strong, slender fingers closed around his wrists and pulled his hands back down. He met Rúmil's eyes reassuringly, "What happened?"

Rúmil chewed his lip uncertainly. "I…I approached him at the feast earlier. I told him that I found him intriguing and…and that I'd like to get to know him a little better. I asked him…I asked him if he'd like to join my brother and me by the hearth for /miruvor/…"

"Ah, yes, I remember seeing you two sitting together there. Haldir was speaking to Tellumiel, was he not?"

The younger elf nodded. "I didn't know you were there. Haldir said you didn't seem to like crowds."

A rather melancholy-looking smile touched Erestor's lips. "Oh, I was there. I left when the musicians came in, but I was present for the first part of the feast. It was after I had retired to my rooms that I saw you coming out here. But I'm side-tracking you - this is your story. Please continue."

Rúmil's eyes welled up again as he recalled his conversation with the dark-haired Imladris elf. "He looked at me as if…as if I was a rat someone had found in the storeroom." He sniffed, and hated himself for sounding so self-pitying. "And he said…" He broke eye contact, unable to focus his swimming eyes on Erestor's calm face, and once again sought refuge behind his hair. "He said that if I…"

Erestor reached out with two fingers, placing them gently under Rúmil's chin and tilting the younger elf's head up again. "Look at me. There's nothing to hide from here. Trying to retreat from your problems, hiding away like that - it won't make them disappear. They'll simply grow. The more you hide, the more you have to hide from, as your dread of the real issue increases out of all proportion. You should always meet your problems head-on, with a bold face. Say it again, but say it whilst looking at me."

The younger elf did as he was instructed. "He said that if I ever thought he would stoop so low as to lie with, or even be seen with, a Silvan elf, I must be even more ignorant and crass than most of my race." He was abruptly seized by the desire to throw himself upon Erestor - never mind that they'd never met before - and cry himself out in the elder elf's arms. But Erestor was chewing his lip somewhat uncomfortably, and made no move to reach out; in fact, as Rúmil's form shuddered with renewed sobs, he actually shifted away an almost imperceptible but significant inch. Clearly, he was not fond of even the idea of such unrestrained physical contact.

The counsellor moved hesitantly, but eventually extended a pale hand towards Rúmil and laid it gently on the distressed elf's shaking shoulder. Rúmil guessed from his tentative movements that this was an unusually familiar gesture from Erestor's point of view, and forced himself to return a reluctant smile. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, an action which Erestor's expression hinted the elder elf disapproved of, and got hold of himself. "I had the same problem as you once," Erestor admitted softly, "The object of my desire was a Noldo, someone normally thought to be so far above me in station I effectively had no chance ever to be with him."

"You mean you're not a Noldo?" Rúmil was intrigued. He'd assumed that all the high-ranking elves of Elrond's household were of predominantly Noldorin blood.

"Not originally. But I have lived in Imladris for many years now."

"So what happened with this other elf?" Rúmil persisted, growing interested.

"We fell in love anyway, and our differences ceased to matter." This time, the smile on Erestor's face was blissful rather than sad. His gaze wandered dreamily to the sky, roaming the bluish vault which now darkened to indigo with approaching dusk. Eärendil shone down on them from just above the horizon, and his light was soon joined by other, fainter stars.

"Tell me how," the Lórien elf demanded, his eyes shining with mixed hope and desperation. Erestor did not answer; his gaze had now dropped to the ring he wore on the index finger of his left hand, an elegant piece styled of /mithril/ flowers. "Erestor?" He tugged the counsellor's sleeve to gain his attention again.

"I apologise, Rúmil. I grew distracted. What were you saying?"

"I asked if you'd tell me how you managed to win his heart."

Erestor looked thoughtful. "I admit I'm still not entirely sure myself. I think it may be because…circumstances…forced him to acknowledge that heritage is utterly insignificant besides love. Also, Lord Elrond had the good sense to point out to him that we had far more in common that he had previously assumed."

"So do you think I should persuade Faelon to look beyond my background and see who I am underneath?"

"If you can achieve that, I believe it may be a good idea." His eyes lifted once more to the twilight sky. "Now, Rúmil - it grows dark. I suggest we retire inside before the light deserts us completely." Rúmil was very fond of the night sky; the diamond-studded constellations, Ithil's silver, dusty radiance. He could have watched it for hours yet. But he was not inclined to argue with the counsellor, and besides, Erestor was already heading towards the welcoming amber-coloured light pouring from the windows of the Last Homely House. With a regretful sigh, he turned to follow the elder elf .

***

Erestor's quill moved rhythmically over the surface of the crisp vellum as his eyes flicked between six-month-old inventory lists, more recent ones, and requisition receipts. So far, everything appeared to be accounted for. Then he noticed an inconsistency and frowned with irritation. His left hand reached for a sheet of clean parchment which lay in a stack on the corner of the desk, and he scribbled a note to have the matter investigated further. First, he would refer the matter to one of the elves working under him, and if they couldn't discover anything, he would see what he could find out on his own - he was nothing if not resourceful. If even that failed, he would ask Elrond to talk to the armoury master himself. The unexplained disappearance of four dozen arrows from the stores was hardly a devastating discrepancy, but Erestor liked everything to wrap up nicely, and in this case he was frustrated that it didn't.

Suddenly, and without warning, a pair of hands appeared, one on either side of his neck and started probing at the cramped muscles in his shoulders. Erestor instinctively tensed under the touch, pulling away, before reason kicked in and he recognised Glorfindel's sensitive, skilful fingers.

He turned, tucking several locks of his midnight hair behind his ear as he did so, and treated Glorfindel to a prickly glare. "You know I don't like it when you sneak up on me like that," he stated.

He instantly regretted his snappish words as his lover became utterly contrite and looked quite crestfallen. "I'm sorry, /meleth/, I forgot you…"

Erestor swallowed and closed his eyes briefly, before turning back to the inventory lists. A moment later, Glorfindel's arms encircled him affectionately, and he smiled and leaned into the embrace, feeling the warmth of his lover's body where it touched his back. Glorfindel leaned closer and kissed him on his jawbone, bringing a rosy flush to Erestor's cheeks. His lover's fingers now curled around his own, coaxing him up from the chair and pulling them over to the generous fire where two invitingly overstuffed armchairs had been positioned. "I'm sorry," Glorfindel said again.

Erestor shook his head. "No, it is I who should be apologising. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. Perhaps I should have my desk turned around so it faces the door." He felt one of his rare smiles of amusement spread across his face. "Then you would no longer have the advantage on me."

Glorfindel answered the smile with one of his own. "Perhaps you should instead spend less time at the desk. You work too hard, you know."

"Lord Elrond needs me to impose order upon the chaos of his study."

"You don't constantly have to prove your worth to him, or to anyone," Glorfindel countered easily, shaking his head; the argument was not a new one. "We all know how invaluable you are, and I, for one, would like to see you awake in the evenings rather than falling asleep before you even reach our rooms." His expression was resigned rather than angry, so Erestor did not bother with an especially sharp rejoinder.

"I'm awake enough for you now, aren't I?" he asked pointedly. Glorfindel knew full well that he was by no means falling asleep most evenings, and inclined his head in mild defeat. His eyes, though, spoke that he still suspected his lover was overworking himself. "Long day?" Looking to change the subject, Erestor had immediately taken note of his lover's thoughtful frown as Glorfindel shifted into a more comfortable position on the yielding velvet cushions.

The golden-haired warrior nodded. "I've been in conference with Rúmil and Haldir all morning, going over the latest reports of orc bands roaming the countryside. I think we're going to have to organise a joint patrol with Lórien and track down a particularly large group which has been causing problems around the south of Eregion." He shook his head in irritation. "And that will be another few dozen gone. It will make not a scrap of difference to their vast numbers overall."

"Is there a pattern to this band's activities?" Erestor asked, already analysing the information he'd just been given.

"Well, according to Rúmil…"

"Rúmil," the counsellor repeated meditatively, then diverged from the thread of the previous conversation completely. "What impression have you gained of him so far?"

Glorfindel raised a slender eyebrow at the unexpected question. "Why do you ask?" He received no more answer than an elegant shrug and the slightest hint of a smile. "Oh all right, have it your way, Lord Enigma. He seems to me to be, for the most part, much like his brother, and you've met Haldir. However, he comes across as being in some ways very different from Haldir. He is prepared to take chances, as is Haldir, but at the same time he does not share his elder brother's formidable self-confidence."

"Arrogance, you mean?" Erestor corrected, inclining his head.

"Well - yes. He seems rather more naive than his brother, presumably because he is younger and less experienced. But he has a quick and intelligent mind, and a sound understanding of strategy. I think, /meleth/, that you would find him very interesting."

Erestor dropped his eyes noncommittally, and made an ambiguous gesture with his hand.

"You're not going to tell me what you're up to, are you?" Glorfindel asked when his lover raised his head again. He pouted and tossed his head impatiently; Erestor admired the way the spun-gold tresses fell about his lover's perfect face. The counsellor answered with a slight shake of his head. "Then at least let me kiss you?" he asked. Erestor recognised with amusement his lover's favourite teasing-pleading expression.

"Only if afterwards, you resume that glorious massage," he replied. He allowed himself a brief and genuine smile as his lover rose gracefully from the chair and slid into his lap. Sighing with delight, he dug his fingers eagerly into Glorfindel's beautiful hair as the warm affectionate lips touched his.

Then the Elda perched on the arm of the chair and began once more to massage his lover's shoulders.

Erestor shut his eyes and tilted his head back until it touched Glorfindel's chest, feeling the tension oozing from his muscles under the busy fingers. He relaxed more and more with each movement of the golden-haired Elda's fingertips, and he lost himself completely to the sensation…

The fingers hesitated. Erestor opened his eyes and curiously looked over his shoulder at Glorfindel. He was smiling, and there was laughter in his fair face. "What is it?" Erestor enquired.

"You were purring," his lover answered, and adoringly played with a lock of dark hair. "I've never known you to purr before."

Erestor traced the outline of Glorfindel's lips with one slender finger, then taking both his lover's wrists in his grasp, gently guided the Elda's hands back to his shoulders. "Please? Keep giving me a reason to purr."

Glorfindel obediently continued until Erestor felt himself beginning to fall asleep, then stroked the dark hair with long, smooth movements, bringing the counsellor back to awareness. The golden-haired warrior knelt in front of him, Erestor's hands trapped between his in the counsellor's lap. "Come to bed, /meleth/," Glorfindel said, "You can't stay here all night."

"You're right," Erestor agreed, stifling a yawn.

Glorfindel half-lifted his lover from the chair, drawing him into an eager embrace, cradling Erestor's head protectively on his shoulder. They remained that way for some moments, aware only of the closeness, and the rise and fall of the other's chest.

They were still holding hands when they entered the bedroom. Erestor appreciated the reassurance which came with the physical contact. Glorfindel reminded Erestor of how much he loved him several times a day, but the dark-haired counsellor still felt comforted by tangible gestures such as this one.

Erestor had - fairly recently - *finally* agreed to share Glorfindel's bed. His lover had been overjoyed when Erestor had said so, recognising it as a significant sign of total trust and commitment. The counsellor did not give trust easily, and Glorfindel delighted in the knowledge that he had penetrated Erestor's normally reserved front.

The golden-haired elf stripped off his outer robes, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor whilst Erestor fastidiously shook the creases from his own and hung them carefully in his wardrobe. But as Glorfindel was unbuttoning his shirt, he patted the pocket of his leggings. "I'm sorry, /meleth/, I forgot to tell you - Haldir handed me a note at the end of our meeting today. It's for you. I've been so preoccupied with these cursed patrol arrangements it slipped my mind completely." He handed the counsellor a folded sheet of parchment.

Erestor turned it over in his hands with interest before unfolding it and scanning the contents of the message written there. Then he smiled. Glorfindel narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow in question.

"It's not from Haldir," the dark-haired elf stated, "It's from Rúmil. He wants my help."

"Do I get to read it?"

Erestor frowned, then refolded the note with obsessive attention to getting the two halves *exactly* aligned, and shut it away in a drawer. "Maybe tomorrow."

***

Rúmil sat in the library, hoping that the note he'd received with his breakfast this morning wasn't just some silly prank of Haldir's. But the handwriting had not been his brother's; it had been neat and precise, as he would have expected from Erestor. The note had specified this time; he hoped Erestor would not be late.

Haldir had agreed to give Rúmil's message to Glorfindel yesterday only after Rúmil had offered to take Haldir's watches when they journeyed back to Lórien. He still hadn't been entirely sure his brother would hand over the note, so he'd only pretended to leave after the meeting and had hidden to check Haldir did as he'd promised.

Now he hoped that Glorfindel and Erestor were as close friends as Haldir seemed to think, from what his elder brother had been saying yesterday after observing the two at dinner.

His fears were unfounded. The counsellor appeared, exactly and precisely on time, as if Arda turned according to his instructions. He sat silently in the comfortable chair across from Rúmil, resting his chin idly on one hand, waiting for the young elf to speak. "Thank you for coming," he began uncertainly. Erestor nodded slightly in acknowledgement, but still said nothing.

"After last night, when you suggested I try to convince Faelon to give me a second glance, I started thinking…" Another nod. "I talked to Haldir yesterday, and he said that as far as he knew, Faelon was a scribe who worked for you…"

"Well, he's more like a personal aide, really. I'm training him to do more or less everything I do as part of the day-to-day running of Imladris. But your information wasn't far off."

"…yes, so I thought that since you'd know him, you'd be able to tell me a bit about him - what he likes, and dislikes, and that kind of thing." He looked at the elder elf for some kind of reaction, and was rewarded with an expression which betrayed no emotion.

"He is highly intelligent, and completes any tasks I set him to my satisfaction."

"He must be good, then," Rúmil remarked with an impish grin, remembering a comment Haldir had made last night about the counsellor's perfectionist attitude.

"And what might you mean by that?"

Rúmil wasn't sure whether the question was a challenge or a joke; with Erestor, it was hard to tell. He dropped his eyes and mumbled, "Nothing."

Erestor let it pass. "He wears a lot of dark blue and silver."

*Unlike half the other elves in Imladris*, Rúmil was tempted to say with a hint of sarcasm, but held his tongue.

"I've noticed that he sometimes wears a perfume scented with lilac and…" he narrowed his eyes, trying to identify the aroma from memory, "…rosemary."

"What about his personality?" Rúmil prompted. Faelon struck him as being an immensely complicated individual. He remembered how the dark-haired elf had laughed at the same points as he had when Glorfindel was telling jokes over dinner the previous night, and had reached for many of the dishes which Rúmil had also sampled. Yet his vocation was entirely different - Faelon was a scholar, Rúmil a marchwarden. Faelon seemed, to the casual observer, to be confident and self-assured, but Rúmil had seen the flash of self-doubt cross the other's features when he apparently took offence at an offhand remark made by one of the twins.

"As I said last night, he can be difficult. I know him on a professional rather than a personal basis, but I've learned that he can be extremely stubborn - as stubborn as I'm told I can be, in fact. He doesn't like being told he's wrong; he doesn't easily admit to mistakes. This could be where you'll encounter a problem. Having turned you away once, it's unlikely he'll take kindly to having his opinions of you rewritten." The counsellor shrugged elegantly. "But he will go to great lengths for people he cares about. I remember one occasion when I had reprimanded his brother, Melpomaen, for carelessness in his work, and Faelon came running in on me an hour later, and proceeded to give quite a tirade on why it wasn't Melpomaen's fault, and how it was unfair of me to rebuke him." The way Erestor's eyes narrowed as he spoke implied that he, on the other hand, did not think it unfair in spite of Faelon's protest. "He also comes from a very good, traditional family; he has a high opinion of his pedigree, as you've already found out, but equally he cares deeply for the individual members of his family."

"Anything else you think I should know?" the young elf asked.

"Like what?"

"Has he ever shown a preference for particular flowers or food? Does he keep any treasured possessions? Does he have favourite songs which he sings to himself sometimes? What does he do in his free time?"

Erestor held out his hands. "I honestly wouldn't know. As I said, I only know him well professionally. Sorry, Rúmil." He suddenly smiled - the first time Rúmil had seen him do so during the discussion. "I'll see what I can find out today, shall I? Will you be at dinner tonight?" Rúmil nodded. "I'll meet you then, and tell you if I've discovered anything. In the meantime, find yourself some nice clothes for tonight and make yourself look extra-special - not that you're not already a very attractive young elf, I might add."

"You think so?" Rúmil had never been so sure of himself. It was always Haldir and his other brother, Orophin, who received all the attention from potential sweethearts.

Erestor nodded slowly.

"I haven't really got any special clothes with me…I wasn't expecting to have to impress anyone."

"No? How long is it until you're due to meet with Glorfindel and Lord Elrond today?"

"Another hour, I think."

"Good. Then come with me. I don't think any of my clothes will fit, but I think Glorfindel must be about the same size as you, even if he's a little taller. And his dress sense is excellent. We're bound to find something for you."

"Really?" Rúmil couldn't suppress his hopeful smile. Glorfindel was the kind of Elda who drew all eyes when he walked into a room, and he'd already noticed the golden-haired warrior's taste in clothes. "Won't he mind?"

"Not if I'm with you."

"So he is that lover you were talking about the other night?"

Erestor started, his hand coming up to smooth his already immaculate hair. "That's between me and him - " he chewed his bottom lip ruefully " - and, I admit, half of Imladris. Yes, Rúmil, yes we are."

---

"Good morning, Faelon. I see that you are punctual as always. Elrond's given me the plans for the additional wing he wants to build on the Last Homely House, and I'd like you to look over them. We may have to negotiate with Mirkwood and Lórien for some of the materials." Faelon nodded and accepted the sheaf of papers which Erestor laid in his hands He took a seat at the nearest table in the large library and spread out the documents in the most practical arrangement.

"Anything else?" he asked, looking up when he realised Erestor hadn't moved.

"Yes. I need a scribe for a meeting with Elrond this afternoon. Can you do that?"

Faelon nodded. "What time?"

"Directly after midday meal."

"I won't be late." Erestor half-smiled in satisfaction.

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"The inventory lists I set you to look over; I rechecked them yesterday afternoon. You overlooked the unexplained loss of nearly fifty arrows from the weapons stores."

Faelon swallowed uncomfortably. Erestor did not tolerate mistakes. The younger elf shook his head in denial. "But I looked over those lists four times! I'm sure I didn't miss anything." Erestor did not seem impressed by his protests. He realised he hadn't a chance of winning if it became an argument. "I'm sorry," he apologised. "I've been rather…distracted lately."

"Distracted?" Erestor repeated, one eyebrow raised disapprovingly. Faelon didn't answer the enquiry; he found it uncomfortable enough at times talking to Erestor about the impersonal business of the management of Imladris, never mind his own personal problems. He certainly wasn't about to explain to the sober counsellor that, in spite of his rejection of that irritating young Silvan elf, Rúmil's face would not stop invading his thoughts.

"Aye…I will try to concentrate better today."

Erestor nodded and, seemingly mollified, left the younger elf to work. He seated himself at a nearby table, opened the old book he was carrying, and picking up quill, began to write on a piece of parchment lying next to it.

Faelon got to work; the chief adviser had been quite correct. Some of the timber Elrond wanted would have to be transported in from Lórien, which would require elves to supervise - he could manage that himself - and in these troubled times, an armed escort would be needed. Glorfindel would not be pleased when Faelon put in that request. The golden-haired Elda was always ruing the fact that he hadn't more scouts to send out on patrol as it was.

"Are you hungry?" Erestor asked suddenly, his soft but clear voice interrupting Faelon's concentration. "I was just about to fetch some refreshments; I could get something for you as well if you'd like. "

Faelon glanced out of the window, and realised with surprise that he'd been working for well over an hour. He was a little taken aback by Erestor's offer; he thought the counsellor was annoyed with him because of the inventory lists, so wasn't expecting such thoughtfulness, but nonetheless he composed himself quickly. "Yes, please, if you are getting something. A cup of fruit tea would be welcome, and perhaps - " he decided to indulge the sudden craving " - sweet bread with berry jam."

Erestor raised an eyebrow but said nothing, only nodding slightly in acknowledgement, and with his usual understated grace, glided out of the room.

***

Erestor set off towards the kitchens at a brisk walk. As he passed the library, another raven-haired elf emerged through the double doors, running a hand through tousled locks. Catching sight of Erestor, he fell into step beside the chief advisor. "Good morning," he said, glancing outside and frowning at an angry-looking cloud which hung sullenly above the horizon. "Although I daresay it will not remain that way for much longer."

"You may be right, Melpomaen," Erestor answered. "But I imagine the library will remain dry however much it may rain, and I doubt you would find yourself lacking in things to do were you to remain there should the weather continue to deteriorate."

"The maps which you asked me to update?" the younger elf asked rhetorically. Erestor nodded. "They are nearly ready, I promise. And I'm glad they are. I've spent long enough on them."

"I would not ask you to do all of them, but you have a much better eye for detail than your younger brother."

Melpomaen grinned. "I hope you're finding just as much work to keep Faelon occupied."

Erestor responded with raised eyebrows. "I would not like to think that he was becoming bored." He abruptly stopped, and turned around, explaining quickly, "I was heading towards the kitchens, but as we were talking, I seem to have walked straight past them."

"The kitchens? That was where I was heading as well. I need some refreshment before I face those maps again. I bet they have ripe plums just waiting for me."

"Faelon asked me to fetch fruit tea, and…sweet bread with berry jam."

Melpomaen laughed. "Did he? Berry jam, indeed - I thought he'd have grown out of that by now. He always used to love blackberries when he was an elfling. He'd come back in after playing outside in summer sometimes, and he'd be stained head to foot in purple from eating every one he saw."

"I'm pleased he doesn't turn up in my study in that state," Erestor remarked dryly.

"Oh, you should have seen him! He ruined several perfectly good tunics that way. Eventually, he persuaded Nana to let him grow his own bramble plant in one of the flowerbeds, and he looked after it as he would a treasured pet. She used to wonder why he couldn't just get a pony or a hound like any other elfling. It was so invasive, within a year it had choked most of the other plants in the bed, but he didn't seem too worried."

"So he ended up with an entire bed full of brambles?"

"Well, no. He cleared a little space where he grew /elanor/. Lady Celebrían gave him a plant once when he was very young, and he kept it flowering constantly from then until he reached majority." Melpomaen realised he was starting to ramble now, and seemed surprised Erestor had not yet told him to stop. When they reached the kitchens, Melpomaen's bet proved correct - the plums looked deliciously ripe and he happily walked off with a large bowlful. Erestor had to wait whilst his request was seen to.

The kitchen staff did not waste time, and the advisor soon had a steaming cup of fruit tea and a platter laden with light sweet bread for Faelon. He also had some more information about his protégé which he could relay to Rúmil.

***

Faelon found his eyes straying yet again to the young Silvan elf sitting across from him. This was ridiculous! He wasn't attracted to Rúmil! The idea was about as likely as his falling for one of the Dunedain chieftains Lord Elrond fostered from time to time. He forced himself to concentrate on transcribing the discussion taking place. Erestor insisted on a full written record of all important meetings in Imladris. Even at less crucial councils, he'd bring a scribe to take notes of the main points. From time to time, he leaned across and murmured a few words to Faelon: "Put that Haldir looked displeased when Glorfindel suggested that," or, "Add a note about that - I'll have to check if that can be done." He complied, writing in quick shorthand which could be copied up neatly later.

This was the last stage of discussions, a relatively simple matter of cementing patrol plans already agreed between Lórien and Imladris, and for Elrond and Erestor to calculate how soon Imladris could provision a group of elves for a trip of this length. Erestor seemed confident that everything could be dealt with, but Faelon could tell Glorfindel was unhappy.

Eventually, the golden-haired warrior confided to those present what was troubling him. "This orc band we're dealing with seems to have assembled from many small groups which have been hanging around Eregion for a year or more. Word from the patrols is that now several similarly small groups of orcs have been sighted at various places along the Bruinen. At the moment, the power in Imladris is easily strong enough to deter them from attacking, but were they to gather together as the Eregion band have done, they may dare an assault. I'm not happy leaving Imladris more or less unguarded."

"There is no need to leave Imladris completely unguarded." Glorfindel whirled in surprise when Erestor spoke up.

"Excuse me?"

"You appear to have vastly overestimated the number of Imladris elves required on this patrol. Certainly, meeting the orcs sooner, as you suggest, in the south, would normally be more prudent. I agree that with Lórien archers, we have the advantage if we strike at them in forest. But were we to allow them longer to track eastwards towards the mountains, the terrain would allow us to eliminate the orc band without a direct confrontation."

"How?" Glorfindel demanded. His face had set into a hard mask. Clearly, he was unhappy with having his decision challenged.

"Split our forces, and harry their flanks. We can drive them into the Vale of Uialos. We already know full well that the pass into the valley has been in danger for some time of being blocked by a rockslide. Were we to seal the way after their host had entered, they would have to track thirty miles to get out at the other end, and all uphill."

"Then what?" Glorfindel asked in a disinterested voice. "We may be able to pick half of them off with arrows, but after that?"

"After that, of course, we divert one of the tributaries of the Glanduin to re-flood the valley's dry river bed." Erestor made it sound as if it was the most obvious course of action.

"That can't be done!" Haldir protested. Faelon had seen him following the debate between the two Imladris elves with great interest. But even the marchwarden had not been as mesmerised as Rúmil. Faelon was merely glad the pen-neth had stopped gawking at *him*.

"Well…actually, it can," Glorfindel admitted.

"The Bruinen can be flooded, if necessary, to repel intruders from the west," Elrond explained mildly. "There is no reason why it couldn't be done again elsewhere." He did not elaborate further.

"It would be incredibly difficult!" Glorfindel protested. "A straightforward confrontation in the forests would be far simpler, and the chances of success are high if we use the tree cover."

"But the number of elves required is too large," Erestor replied patiently. "And your plan *is* more risky."

"*Your* plan involves procrastinating for several days while the orcs go east. In that time, they will be joined by other groups, and cause more trouble."

"Better to take many all at once; it saves you from having to send out smaller patrols later to clean up the scattered groups." Neither elf was shouting; both were speaking in deceptively light and civil tones, which Faelon thought simply added to the latent discord between them.

"Why don't we gain additional backup from King Thranduil in Mirkwood?" Glorfindel suggested suddenly. "That way, a unit of my best fighters could be left behind to defend Imladris, and the Mirkwood elves could add to our numbers on the sortie. In fact, then it would be feasible to take out this second band amassing nearby after neutralising the first. Everyone would be happy."

"Perhaps in your idyllic imagination," Erestor responded caustically. "But in the real world, the odds of King Thranduil even replying to our requests for aid are about the same as the odds of a regiment of dwarves offering their assistance!"

"Gentlemen, please," Elrond said placatingly. "Perhaps it's time to call a recess. Let us consider the suggestions overnight, and see if a compromise can be reached by tomorrow. Then perhaps we can listen to what the envoy from Lórien thinks may be best, as well." He glanced meaningfully at Haldir and Rúmil. "*We* seem to have all but neglected them whilst we compared the perceived merits and problems of our schemes, when, after all, Lórien is as much a part of this matter as Imladris." The stress on ‘we' clearly implied that the only parties involved were the chief advisor and the golden-haired seneschal, and both had the courtesy to look contrite. Well, a bit, anyway. The way Erestor raised his eyebrow at Glorfindel before apologising mildly to the Silvan elves suggested he, at least, was still not happy.

***

"Erestor? Erestor?" Glorfindel peered into the bathroom to find Erestor running a brush through his long hair - which appeared to have gone an even darker shade of black now it was wet - in front of the mirror. The counsellor had thrown on a thin silk robe after bathing, and it clung to his damp skin, highlighting every line of his slender, well-defined body. Glorfindel allowed himself a moment to admire his lover's beauty before a wicked grin spread across his face.

He tiptoed towards the bathing pool, which was still full of tepid, lavender-scented water and, leaning down towards it, scooped some up in his hand and splashed it at Erestor.

The counsellor turned and regarded the golden-haired elf balefully. But to Glorfindel's amazement, rather than coming out with some scathing comment criticising his lover for being so juvenile, Erestor narrowed his eyes deviously. Glorfindel wasn't sure whether he was still angry about the argument they'd had in the council meeting earlier. *He* had already forgiven Erestor; how could he not, when Erestor was so adorable? But his lover was difficult to read, and had a long memory and a prickly temper.

Erestor suddenly leaned towards the pool and, without warning, splashed twice as much water back at Glorfindel. The golden-haired Elda did not react; he was utterly taken aback by the contrast between the playful action and the terribly solemn expression on Erestor's face. "I am unhappy with your behaviour today," the counsellor declared very calmly. "And I think you need to experience some discipline."

Glorfindel's eyes widened. He was unsure what Erestor's idea of discipline might prove to consist of; though he had always loved Elrond's three children dearly, he had been a strict tutor with them and never tolerated misbehaviour in his lessons.

With a movement far faster than any elf who was merely a *scholar* had any right to make, Erestor tripped Glorfindel, pushed him to the floor and began to tickle the golden-haired warrior along his stomach and flanks. Glorfindel bit his lip at first, not wanting to show his weakness - he'd faced a *Balrog* for Elbereth's sake, he shouldn't be incapacitated by a bit of tickling! - but when he started to choke on his suppressed giggles, he had no choice but to release them out loud. "Erestor, /daro/!" he protested.

"I don't know about that. What's in it for me? You're in trouble, remember." As he spoke, Erestor finally showed some mercy and eased up on the tickling. His face remained perfectly serious and composed.

"I'll dedicate this entire evening to your pleasure," Glorfindel tried, leaning upwards to capture Erestor's mouth with his, teasingly sucking the counsellor's lower lip. Whatever response Erestor might have made never formed.

Glorfindel ran his tongue possessively round the inside of Erestor's teeth, enjoying the sensation of his lover's wet hair where it fell across his cheek and shoulders.

Eventually, Erestor placed firm hands on Glorfindel's shoulders and pushed him back down to the floor. "I accept your terms. So, did you come in the bathroom only to watch me - for several minutes - or was there another reason?"

"I didn't realise you'd noticed I was there…" Erestor shook his head in disbelief.

"This time, I wasn't absorbed in work, was I? So?"

"Actually," Glorfindel grinned. "I was going to ask whether you knew anything about my wardrobe."

"What about it?" The question was so convincingly innocent, Glorfindel was almost taken in and was about to apologise for ever suspecting the counsellor. Then he saw a ghost of a smile whisper briefly across the rose-coloured lips, and knew he was being played with - again.

"Well, you see, you may or may not realise that my aquamarine robes, and that lovely silver tunic with the plum coloured trim - you know, the one you like - have mysteriously gone missing. Can you throw any light on the situation?"

"I'm sure they're in safe hands," Erestor answered noncommittally.

"Oh, /meleth/, you really are impossible. I think I indulge you too often." He frowned. "How do you think Lord Elrond would react if several sets of his best clothes mysteriously disappeared from his wardrobe, and his lover seemed to know rather more about it than he'd say?" Glorfindel realised that his attempt at scolding was somewhat reduced in its overall impact by the fact that he was currently lying on his back on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, and was being pinned there very firmly by the very person who was supposed to be at the receiving end of the telling-off. On top of which, Erestor's robe had only been belted at the waist and was coming open above the satin sash to reveal a glorious expanse of milky, smooth skin. Glorfindel would have liked nothing better at that moment on to cover the perfect body with tender, adoring kisses and licks. He forced his desire under control. "Does this have something to do with that business with Rúmil?"

Erestor blinked innocently. Glorfindel could no longer resist those wide, beautiful eyes, and with a deft movement, wriggled out of the dark haired elf's restraint so he could place butterfly kisses on both of them. His fingers slid deep into the masses of wet hair, and he drew back, holding Erestor's head pinned between his hands. "Well?" the warrior demanded, trying to feign sternness.

"Well…" Erestor repeated. "…I might have borrowed one or two of your outfits…"

"Why?" Glorfindel was now far more curious than annoyed. Erestor's taste in clothes differed wildly from his; where Glorfindel selected shades of azure, saffron and crimson, Erestor would go for black, charcoal, deep maroon - or at best, muted pastels. And besides, few of the Glorfindel's clothes would even fit Erestor; the advisor was too slender across the waist and shoulders.

"Will you be available to join the rest of the Last Homely House at dinner tonight?" Erestor said sweetly. Glorfindel nodded, thinking that his lover had hardly given an answer, but resigned himself to Erestor's characteristic evasiveness. "Ah, good."

*****

Translations:
daro - stop
meleth - love

*****

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