Married To An Elf 2

Married To An Elf

Part 2

Posted: October 5, 2007
Title: Married To An Elf
Author: Inwë Sáralondë

Summary: Erestor tries to think of the right words.

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Erestor looked down at his ink-stained fingers, courtesy of his spilt ink-well, and sighed. For the good part of two hours he had sat there, trying to write something that expressed his feelings for Glorfindel. He wanted to let his soon-to-be-mate know just how much he meant to the darkling elf, but Erestor was having difficulty in trying to keep it short. At the moment, the words that he had scribbled on the parchment resembled a long, rambling soliloquy that would bore everybody within the first minute of his reading it aloud.

With his clean hand he began to stroke the sleek fur of his pet kitten, Aranel, who arched and purred under his ministrations. Ever since Glorfindel had given the kitten to him, she had been the advisor’s constant companion, often lying underneath his desk as he did his work.

Sighing, Erestor rose from his chair, and Aranel voiced her displeasure when the darkling elf ceased stroking her. “Díheno nín, pen-dithen,” Erestor murmured as he almost absent-mindedly scratched behind her ear. Walking to the window, he spied a feather lying on the sill. Turning back to the kitten with it in his hand, he put it front of her, then smiled as she began to bat at it with her little paw. ‘If only everything was so easily solved,’ he mused.

Returning to the window, Erestor gazed out. One thing he very quickly realised was that he was actually looking forward to binding himself with Glorfindel. If the seneschal came to him this very minute and suggested that they bind themselves that day, he would not hesitate. For so long he had fought against Glorfindel, fought against his feelings for the seneschal, fought against any possible and conceivable thing imaginable, that Erestor felt that the upcoming ceremony would not just be a celebration of their binding, but also a celebration of relegating to the past, once and for all, what happened between him and Gil-galad.

Erestor straightened and looked back at his desk, smiling. With a determined step he walked over and sat down before screwing up the parchment that lay there. He knew now *exactly* what he was going to say and, pulling forward a fresh sheet of parchment, he went about his task with unbridled enthusiasm.

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Elvish translations:

díheno nín – forgive me
pen-dithen – little one

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