Betrothal To An Elf 11

Betrothal To An Elf

Part 11

Posted: August 17, 2007
Title: Betrothal To An Elf
Author: Inwë Sáralondë

Summary: Erestor finally tells Glorfindel more.

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Glorfindel came awake with a jerk. Someone was knocking insistently at his door. The seneschal groaned. His head felt thick and muzzy from having consumed one too many goblets of wine at dinner.

“I am coming,” he muttered irritably. ‘Probably the twins,’ he thought as he rubbed his hand tiredly across his eyes. Yet, when he opened the door, he was startled to see Erestor standing before him, holding a plate of – wait, was that his favourite sweetmeats? – in his hand.

“I need to talk to you. I need to apologise. I need to say so many things to you that I do not know where to start! Here,” the darkling elf thrust the plate towards Glorfindel, “these are for you. The cook would not cease her grumbling until I told her that the fate of true love rested upon these.”

“’The fate of true love…?’” Glorfindel’s gaze was disbelieving. “Erestor, you are not making any sense whatsoever. Not to mention my head is pounding, so try and make things as simple and as clear as possible for me to understand. Plus, do you have any idea what time it is?” He stared in confusion at Erestor, and began to wonder whether the elf standing agitatedly in the middle of his room truly was the advisor or an imposter, so odd was his behaviour.

“I love you.”

“So you keep telling me,” Glorfindel said a little sourly. “However, please understand me when I say that you have rather a strange way of showing it.”

“I did not tell you everything that Gil-galad did to me.”

“I gathered that. And I suppose you think now is the best time?” Glorfindel placed the sweetmeats on the table. He sat down on a nearby chair and looked at the advisor.

In Erestor’s eyes, the seneschal looked almost regal, and for some strange, unknown reason it made him want to drag Glorfindel to his bed and demand that the seneschal make love to him. How Glorfindel could look so beautiful despite the obvious discomfort he was in was probably a question Erestor would never find an answer to, and he shook his head to clear away any unruly thoughts.

“Well, Erestor?”

“You look so beautiful,” Erestor blurted out, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Glorfindel. The darkling elf looked around the room, and his eyes lit upon an empty wine bottle that the seneschal was using as a candle holder. Picking it up, he blew out the candle before removing it and laying it on the table.

Glorfindel watched Erestor’s movements, wondering what the other elf was doing. Erestor caught his gaze.

“A bottle was one of Gil-galad’s favourite toys,” he began conversationally.

“Favourite toy?” Glorfindel echoed. “For what?”

Erestor continued as if he hadn’t heard. “He at least had the courtesy of oiling it before he used it in me.”

“In you?” Glorfindel’s face paled. “He inserted bottles into…?”

“Aye. The thickest part, might I add. Gil-galad took great pleasure in seeing how far my opening could be stretched. I was never really prepared for it,” Erestor continued in a monotone, “and it would always hurt. But I let him do it because I loved him, and I thought that what he did was because he loved me. Naïve, was I not?”

Glorfindel could not reply, only stare at his betrothed, his aching head forgotten.

“Gil-galad liked to mark me with a whip. He loved to see the red welts on my skin. At least he was careful not to draw blood, but the sting of the whip would remain with me for days. He would always try and be creative, wanting to leave some sort of ‘design’ on my back, my buttocks, my thighs…any part of my skin that would not be seen by others. You know, of course, about the ring he liked to place around my member, or that he enjoyed tying me to the bed so that I was helpless. One time, he drugged me, tied me to the bed and let others use me while he sat back and watched. But only the once. He told me later that he found he became jealous when he saw them take their pleasure from my body, and that it would not happen again.”

“Enough, Erestor.” Glorfindel’s voice was pained. “I do not want to hear any more of Gil-galad’s perversions.” He rose from the chair and took Erestor into his arms. “What he did to you was wrong, melethen,” he whispered into the advisor’s hair. “I will not call you a fool for allowing him to do such things to you, for you were blinded by love. I lay the blame solely at Gil-galad’s door. If he were alive today, he would not be for long, for I would kill him for hurting you and abusing your trust.”

Erestor said nothing, and after a moment Glorfindel realised it was because the darkling elf was crying. The seneschal tightened his hold, his own eyes filling with tears.

*****

Elvish translations:

melethen – my love.

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