Finding Love

Finding Love

Posted: November 21, 2008
Title: Finding Love
Author: Inwë Sáralondë
Type: FCS
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel, Lindir/Lothvaen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit or such is made from this.
Warnings: None
Beta: Aglarien. All other mistakes are mine.

Summary: Erestor tries to remember (with a little help from Glorfindel) where he hid the gift for Lindir, while Lothvaen approaches the advisor and warrior with a small request…

*****

Glorfindel stared at the scene before him, confusion clearly evident on his face. His normally unflappable mate was doing a more than passable impression of a bird flapping vainly against a strong headwind, but with little success.

Erestor saw Glorfindel out of the corner of his eye and whirled around. “What are you staring at?” he snapped, one ink-stained finger brushing away stray strands of hair sticking to his face.

The warrior found he could not reply, except to shrug his shoulders helplessly as his gaze roamed over the chaos that was before him.

“Instead of standing there like some great lump of rock,” Erestor said a little waspishly, “you can help me.”

Glorfindel flinched slightly at his mate’s words. True, he was used to Erestor’s barbs; knew, too, that there was no malice behind them, and that Erestor would be more than contrite afterwards. Nevertheless, after the morning he had spent on the training field with the new recruits had put the warrior in a less than happy frame of mind, being called a ‘great lump of rock’ was something Glorfindel didn’t particularly need.

Erestor looked at his mate and realised that, once again, he had let his temper get the better of him. Slowly he walked towards Glorfindel and, once he was close enough, raised his hand to gently touch his mate’s cheek. Brown eyes searched blue. “Forgive me,” Erestor whispered. “‘Tis not you I am angry with, but myself. Yet I have let my tongue rule my head, as is its wont.”

Glorfindel sighed, knowing what Erestor was saying was true, and knowing that he would always forgive his mate. “What do you need me to help you with?” he asked softly, gently covering Erestor’s hand with his own.

The dark-haired elf smiled, albeit ruefully. “Lindir’s birthday,” he said simply, and Glorfindel nodded.

“Yes, it is today,” the warrior confirmed. “But you have a gift for him; I was there when you purchased it.”

Erestor grimaced. “Except you were not there when I put it away.”

Glorfindel looked past his mate to the mess that littered every conceivable surface in the room. “Ah,” was all he said, his lips twitching.

“Do *not* laugh,” Erestor warned, though his lips were beginning to twitch as well.

“I would not dare to,” the warrior replied, though the gravity of his response was marred by the smile spreading on his face. “Are you sure you have looked everywhere?”

“Can you not tell?” Erestor’s response was wry. “I think I have managed to turn out every single drawer and emptied all the cupboards in this room.”

Glorfindel could not help himself; he laughed. “That, my feisty Erestor, is most definitely not an understatement.”

Erestor leaned against his mate, feeling how Glorfindel’s strong arms wrapped around him securely. “Any ideas?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled.

Glorfindel stroked Erestor’s hair. “Have you looked in your office?” he offered.

Erestor moved away slightly and shook his head. “I am sure it is not there,” he stated firmly. “I did not want to risk Lindir finding it.”

“It can not hurt to look,” Glorfindel said, taking his mate’s hand and leading him out of the room.

“Glorfindel, it is not in my office,” Erestor huffed, but allowed himself to be led down the corridor till they reached their destination.

With a small flourish the warrior opened the door and ushered his mate inside. “Try the bottom right drawer,” Glorfindel instructed, and Erestor looked at him, puzzled. “Well, go on,” the warrior urged, and watched as the dark-haired elf walked to his desk, leaned down, opened the drawer…to pull out the minstrel’s gift that had been placed in there a week ago.

Erestor straightened and glared at the warrior. “Why did you not tell me it was here?!” he accused, placing the gift on his desk.

Glorfindel smiled his special smile, the one that always made Erestor go weak at the knees. “You did not ask,” the warrior replied, walking towards his mate with deliberate steps.

The dark-haired elf swallowed, recognising the predatory gleam in the warrior’s eyes.

Once Glorfindel was before Erestor, he raised his hands to begin undoing the fastenings on his mate’s robes. “Can you not remember what happened after our return from purchasing Lindir’s gift?” Glorfindel asked, his voice low.

Erestor nodded, feeling rather than seeing how Glorfindel’s fingers made short work of the fastenings. His breathing was becoming shallow, while his groin was tightening with expectation.

“Thought you might,” Glorfindel whispered in Erestor’s ear, slipping the robe off the advisor’s shoulders. “You decided to put the gift in the bottom drawer so that nothing…untoward happened to it.”

The dark-haired elf shuddered as the tip of his ear disappeared into Glorfindel’s warm, wet mouth. His hands clutched the front of the warrior’s tunic and Glorfindel’s tongue lathed the tip, and Erestor heard the whimpers escaping from his own throat. “I think…perhaps…we should put it…away…” His voice ended in a gasp as Glorfindel moved his lips to Erestor’s earlobe and gently bit.

“Agreed,” Glorfindel rumbled, his fingers grasping the fragile glass inkwell surely, in the meantime changing his task and beginning to trail soft kisses along Erestor’s neck and jaw-line. With one finger he opened the top drawer and placed Lindir’s gift within before extracting another item and shutting it. The warrior broke away from his task to look at the vial. “You filled it, I see.”

Erestor opened his eyes that were now hazy with desire. “I thought we might have need of it again,” he murmured, and Glorfindel chuckled.

“Oh, yes, we will most definitely have need of it,” the warrior said. “Tell me, what do you think of when you sit at your desk?”

The dark-haired elf trailed a finger along Glorfindel’s jaw-line. “Think?” he whispered. “Instead of me telling you, how about I show you?”

“Mmm…I quite like that idea.” Glorfindel’s voice was husky.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Walking past the door that led into Erestor’s office, Elrond stopped as his keen ears picked up the noises that were coming from within. He frowned slightly. Moans? Gasps? Then it dawned on him, and he shook his head in rueful resignation. His hand went to the handle, and he sighed. It was as he thought. They had forgotten to lock it – again. Elrond’s hand went to the key that now had permanent residence in the pocket of his robe and removed it. Carefully he placed it into the lock, hearing the slight ‘click’ as the lock turned into place. Then, with a satisfied smile, Elrond placed the key back into his pocket and went on his way.

Inside the room, the two elves heard the door being locked and shook with silent laughter. “Pity it is a little too late,” Glorfindel murmured, nuzzling Erestor’s neck.

The dark-haired elf stretched languidly. “Mmmm… However, I am sure that Lothvaen will survive after barging in on us like that. Silly elf should have knocked.”

Glorfindel smiled with amusement. “And miss out on the sight of my sword ramming itself into your sheath? The look on his face was a picture – a mixture of horrified fascination, would you not agree?”

Erestor slapped his mate playfully on the arm. “Leave him be, Glorfindel. He has had a sheltered upbringing, do not forget. If anything, he looked extremely uncomfortable.”

The warrior helped Erestor off the desk. “You are right, of course,” Glorfindel said as he bent down to retrieve some of their clothing off the floor. Then he grinned. “Do you think it has given him some ideas, though?”

Erestor glared at his mate, though a smile was beginning to form on his lips. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “The sooner he stops gazing longingly at our minstrel and actually approaches him, the better.”

The two elves dressed quickly, and then Erestor took out his own key to unlock the door. Opening it, both elves were surprised to see Lothvaen on the other side, a look of trepidation on his face.

“Will you tell me what to do?” Lothvaen blurted.

Glorfindel and Erestor stared at each other, nonplussed. Finally, the warrior turned to look back at the scribe, who was shuffling his feet nervously. “Tell you to do *what*, pen-neth?” Glorfindel asked kindly.

Lothvaen blushed. “TellmewhatIneedtoknowsoIcanmakelove.” The words were said so quickly that the other two elves had trouble trying to distinguish what the scribe had actually said.

When Glorfindel and Erestor were able to finally discern, however, they found themselves at a loss for words.

Lothvaen ploughed on. “I mean…” The scribe twisted his hands in his robe. “Glorfindel looked so…so…big…” The warrior smirked at hearing this, earning a sharp glare from Erestor. But Lothvaen was oblivious to the interaction between the two of them, instead trying to continue with what he wanted to say. “Does…does something that size…really fit? It is just the hole is so small, and…and…” Here Lothvaen faltered, his frightened gaze flitting between the two faces before him, wondering if he had, perhaps, overstepped the line.

Erestor was finally able to find his voice. “To answer your question, Lothvaen, it does fit, though you need to make sure that your lover is well-prepared first,” he said, trying to keep his voice matter-of-fact.

“How? What does one need to do? Will you show me?” Lothvaen rattled off his questions breathlessly, his eyes becoming bright with eagerness.

“Yes, well…” Erestor looked at Glorfindel, hoping to get some support from him, only to see that the warrior had leaned back against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, and a slightly mischievous look on his face as he took in the discomfort that was on Erestor’s.

“I, for one, would not object to showing Lothvaen what to do,” Glorfindel all but purred. Oh, he knew he would be in for it later, but he could not help himself. The look of horror that was now dawning on his mate’s face was worth it. Not to mention the warrior quite liked it when Erestor took control if he was annoyed at Glorfindel for something – it brought their love-making to another level. Glorfindel smiled inwardly, already looking forward to it.

“I *do* object,” Erestor huffed before turning back to Lothvaen. “No offence, pen-neth, but you will learn just as easily if you were told what to do.”

“Oh.” The scribe looked a little crestfallen. To be truthful, seeing Erestor bent over his desk, a mixture of lust and pleasure on his face, being thrust into almost forcefully by Glorfindel, had left an indelible impression in Lothvaen’s mind. He wondered if Lindir would have a similar expression on his face while the scribe was thrusting into him, and he sighed inwardly. At the moment, that seemed like a distant dream. He had been in love the with minstrel ever since he first arrived in Imladris, but he simply had no idea how to go about approaching him, let alone getting into bed with him.

“Who is it?” Lothvaen started at Glorfindel’s question.

“For Valar’s sake, Glorfindel!” Erestor snapped. “Who do you think it is? Everyone knows that it is Lindir, including you!”

“Everyone?” Lothvaen whispered faintly. “Have I been so obvious?” The scribe felt sick, and suddenly wished for the floor to open up beneath him.

Erestor cursed himself. “Not everyone,” he said to Lothvaen soothingly. “I truly believe that Lindir is unaware of your…feelings for him.”

But Lothvaen shook his head sadly. “I have been a fool,” he muttered. “I am grasping for something that is not for me to have. Lindir would not look twice at me, and with good reason. What could I possibly offer him?” A stray tear made its way down Lothvaen’s cheek, and he scrubbed it away roughly with the sleeve of his robe.

“Do not allow yourself to sink into self-pity,” Glorfindel said harshly, moving away from the doorframe and clasping the scribe on the shoulders, giving him a little shake. “The greatest gift you can give him – what any of us can give another – is love. We will tell you the mechanics of how to make love, pen-neth. But first you need to learn how to approach him, to let him know that you are interested in getting to know him. Let things progress naturally, Lothvaen, and you will find that all will fall into place.”

Erestor looked at his mate, a small smile hovering on his lips. Annoyed as he was for what Glorfindel had said earlier, he should have known that the warrior was not going to continue treating Lothvaen’s request as some joke. “Glorfindel is right, pen-neth. Come, let us walk outside. I believe the roses in Celebrían’s garden are now in bloom.”

“Roses?” Lothvaen asked, confused.

The advisor smiled. “Yes, roses. I find the best way to let someone know of your interest is to give them a flower.”

“Oh.” But there was still a puzzled expression on Lothvaen’s face. “But why a flower? Why not something else?”

Erestor and Glorfindel shared a smile. “Because a flower can say many things,” Glorfindel said softly. “Such as: ‘I love you’.”

“And,” Erestor added, “it is sometimes easier to say it with a flower than with words.”

“Can one say ‘I love you’ with a flower?” Lothvaen asked, his face avid with curiosity.

“Aye,” Glorfindel said. “A single full bloom.”

The three elves made their way outside and walked along the pathway that would lead them to the Lady Celebrían’s garden. When they reached it, Lothvaen stopped and stared at the profusion before him. “There are so many of them,” he whispered. “I do not even know what colour I should choose.”

“Red,” Erestor said decisively. “A red rose can mean love, respect.”

“So,” Lothvaen began slowly, “I should take a single full bloom in red.”

“Exactly.” Glorfindel grinned. “Here, use my knife to cut off a bloom, but be careful you do not cut yourself, for it is sharp.”

“Will you not help me?” Lothvaen asked, a little panicked.

Both Glorfindel and Erestor shook their heads. “No,” Erestor said. “Methinks you are quite capable of finding the right bloom.”

Lothvaen turned back to look at the flowers, and the warrior and advisor could see how the scribe straightened himself before walking into the garden, knife in hand.

Glorfindel looked at Erestor wryly. “He really is an innocent,” he remarked lowly.

“A frightened innocent,” Erestor said thoughtfully. “He is afraid that Lindir will reject him.”

“Do you think he will?” Glorfindel asked, now a little concerned. The scribe was slight and dark like his Erestor, but there the similarities ended. The advisor was sure of himself, and more experienced. Lothvaen, on the other hand, was shy, and would often tuck himself away in a corner whenever there was any sort of gathering. It was because of this that Glorfindel was protective of the scribe, taking to task anyone who dared to try and slight Lothvaen.

Erestor shook his head. “I believe that Lindir does return Lothvaen’s feelings, but has not tried to approach him for fearing that he would scare Lothvaen away.”

“Then it will Lothvaen’s confidence good to make the first move,” Glorfindel said. He turned a thoughtful gaze to Erestor. “Do you know where Lindir is now?”

“In the music room, I should think,” Erestor replied. “Why do you ask?”

“I do not think that Lothvaen will have enough courage to present the flower to Lindir in the presence of others,” the warrior explained.

“Good point,” Erestor said approvingly. “I will go to the music room to see if Lindir is there; if he is, then we can direct Lothvaen to him.”

Glorfindel watched as his mate slipped away, and then turned his gaze back to Lothvaen. The scribe was walking amongst the roses, carefully looking at the red blooms. The warrior watched as Lothvaen would carefully look at one bloom before discarding it as perhaps not perfect enough and then turning to look at another. Then, finally, Lothvaen seemed to find the one he wanted and, gingerly, cut through the stem. Glorfindel smiled, and felt a presence at his side.

“It is as I said,” Erestor said quietly and a little breathlessly. “Lindir is where I said he would be.”

The two elves watched as Lothvaen walked back towards him, the red bloom in his hand. The scribe looked at Glorfindel and Erestor in turn. “Should I give it to him now?” he asked shyly.

“A good idea, pen-neth,” Glorfindel said warmly. “I believe you can find Lindir in the music room.”

Lothvaen gave a brilliant smile and wanted to make is way there immediately, only to find a gently restraining hand on his arm.

“Perhaps you should return the knife to me,” Glorfindel said, chuckling. “We do not want Lindir to think that you are wanting to do him harm.”

The scribe looked horrified at the warrior’s words. “I would never hurt him!” he blurted indignantly as he handed the knife – handle first, as he had observed Glorfindel do previously – back to the warrior.

“We never said that you would,” Erestor soothed, once more annoyed at Glorfindel and his choice of words.”

Glorfindel sighed. “Forgive me, pen-neth. I sometimes do not think before I speak. Erestor will tell you that it is something I do frequently, though I would dispute with him as to how often I *do* actually do it.” The warrior gave a disarming smile, both for Lothvaen’s sake as well as Erestor’s, and the scribe relaxed, while the advisor only shook his head, smiling ruefully.

“The music room?”

“The music room,” Erestor confirmed. “Now, go.”

“But what about…”

“That can wait for another time,” Erestor said firmly.

Lothvaen nodded, suddenly feeling nervous.

“You will be fine,” Glorfindel said reassuringly. “Now, as Erestor said, go!”

The scribe scurried back down the path, his departure watched by the other two elves. “He will be fine,” Erestor said confidently. Glorfindel found that he could do nothing else but agree.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Glorfindel shifted slightly in his chair.

“I trust you are not uncomfortable, melethen?” Erestor whispered in his mate’s ear.

The warrior turned and smiled. “Not at all,” he all but purred. “In fact, I am hoping for a repeat performance later on.”

The dark-haired elf shook his head. “You are incorrigible,” he muttered.

“And I love how you take control,” Glorfindel whispered huskily, nuzzling his mate’s ear.

“Glorfindel, please!” Erestor hissed under his breath. “Others are beginning to stare.”

“Let them,” Glorfindel replied. “I will never hide my love for you, Erestor. You should know that by now.”

“Incorrigible,” Erestor repeated, though he was smiling.

“Absolutely,” the warrior agreed. “And all yours.”

“Lucky me,” Erestor responded a little dryly, and then looked up as another two elves entered the hall. “Look,” he whispered to the warrior.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “If the smile on Lothvaen’s face is any indication…”

“And on Lindir’s, for that matter,” Erestor interrupted.

“…it seems that all is well between our scribe and minstrel,” Glorfindel finished.

“It does seem that Lothvaen picked up the courage to approach Lindir.” Glorfindel and Erestor turned at the sound of Elrond’s voice. “The two of you would not have, by chance, played a part in this?” There was a smile on the elf-lord’s lips as he asked this.

The warrior gave an almost nonchalant shrug of the shoulder. “Perhaps,” he said, sharing a look with Erestor.

Elrond looked at Lothvaen and Lindir, noting how they both seemed to be only looking at each other, as if they were the only ones in the room. “They are well-suited,” he said quietly. “And whether you played a part in bringing them together or not, I am glad that they have found each other at last.” Then his tone became brisk. “You realise, of course, that you left the door to your office unlocked again, Erestor. Fortunately I have gotten into the habit of having the spare key with me.”

The advisor nodded sagely. “Indeed. A pity you locked it a little too late.”

Elrond frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Lothvaen,” Glorfindel said.

The elf-lord was even more confused. “What about him?”

Glorfindel gave a small cough. “He came in at…an interesting stage,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“I see,” Elrond said dryly. He glanced over at the scribe. “He seems to be relatively…unscarred by the experience.”

Neither Glorfindel nor Erestor said anything; instead, they shared another look that left Elrond a little puzzled. However, he decided against saying anything further; there were some things, he reasoned, that perhaps he was better off not knowing. Instead, he asked, “You have your gift for Lindir?”

Erestor nodded once more. “Though it would not matter if he did not receive it until tomorrow,” he said smiling. “Methinks he has found the best gift of all.”

Glorfindel reached over and took his mate’s hand. “Finding love?” he asked, bringing Erestor’s hand to his lips and kissing the palm. “I, for one, could not agree more.”

*****

THE END

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