The Perfect Yule

A Perfect Yule

Posted: January 11, 2008
Title: A Perfect Yule
Sequel to: Yule Wishes
Author: LK
Type: FCS
Characters: Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Don't own any, just playing; I'll put them back when I'm done. Okay, okay, here’s the formal blurb: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: Implied Slash

Summary: Glorfindel’s first Yule in the Last Homely House

*****

Imladris, 145 TA

“May I assist you, my lady?” Glorfindel whispered, placing a helping hand beneath Celebrían’s elbow as she struggled to rise with her sleeping son in her arms. “Shall I carry him for you?”

“No, thank you, Fin. I have him,” she whispered back as she settled Elrohir more comfortably against her. Technically, the twins had finally gotten too big for their slender mother to carry them, but the Lady of Imladris refused to acknowledge that fact.

Smiling, the reborn Elf stroked an affectionate hand over the elfling’s soft hair. He saw Elrond, holding Elladan, move to precede his wife from the Hall of Fire. With the elfling resting his head on his Ada’s strong shoulder, Glorfindel noted the peppermint stick still protruding from the twin’s mouth.

“They enjoyed their Yule Eve so much, I cannot imagine what Yule morning will be like after Father Frost has visited,” Glorfindel said with a chuckle and a twinkle in his eye.

“Trust me Glorfindel, you will find out very early tomorrow what Yule morning is like,” Elrond said with a warning tone in his voice.

“How early?” Glorfindel asked warily.

“Let us just say, you should consider retiring very soon,” the Half-Elf responded, giving his seneschal a wink.

Glorfindel merely chuckled as he watched the Lord of Imladris and his Lady depart. At this silent signal, all of the other guests of the Hall of Fire began taking their leave of one another, many prodding their own sleepy elflings before them. It was not until the mass exodus had dwindled down to only a trickle of Elves making their leisurely way from the Hall that Lindir and his musicians ended their playing on a quiet, peaceful note.

Despite the good-natured warning about the impending early wake-up call, Glorfindel settled back down into the comfortable chair he favored, which had quickly become know as “Glorfindel’s chair.” He was content to sit by the fire and finish his mulled wine rather than rouse himself to move to his own rooms.

He had only been returned to Arda from the Halls of Waiting since the early spring, but Glorfindel already felt as if Imladris was his home. This was mainly because of the warmth and welcome he had received from the Elves living within the hidden valley, including the Lord and Lady of the realm and their lively twin sons. Since his arrival, Elrond and Celebrían had treated him as if he was a long-lost brother. The twins even called him, “Uncle Fin.” Although Glorfindel had expected a difficult transition into this new life, he had fit smoothly into the fabric of the every-day routine of the valley.

Glorfindel was pulled from his contemplation by Lindir’s softly spoken goodnight. In reply, he smiled at the minstrel and raised his half full goblet in salute. Before he could return to his ruminations of the snowflakes on the other side of the window, however, his attention was unexpectedly caught. Standing on the far side of the room, at the tall glass doors that opened to the gardens beyond, was a solitary figure. He could not see the Elf’s face, but Glorfindel immediately recognized Erestor’s jet black hair and tall frame.

Like himself, Elrond’s Chief Advisor was considered part of the Peredhel’s immediate family. Glorfindel was only an honorary relative, but Erestor was actually a distant blood relation to Elrond and had literally known him since birth.

Just as all the other Elves of the haven had done, Erestor had welcomed Glorfindel with open arms. But, right from the start, there had been something about the Elf that tugged at Glorfindel. Erestor had an air of melancholy about him that troubled the Balrog Slayer. It was as though the Advisor grieved for something . . . or someone. Not only that, but there were times when it seemed Erestor’s sadness worsened when Glorfindel was near. It was not as if the dark Elf was unfriendly toward him or avoided him. Quite the contrary; Erestor was one of Glorfindel’s favorite Elves. He and the Advisor got along quite well and spent a great deal of time together, whether they were working, sparing, enjoying time with Elrond and his family or just engaging in a friendly game of chess. The Balrog Slayer considered Erestor to be one of his dearest friends. Although it was apparent Erestor was holding something back from him, in all other ways, they were confidants.

What troubled Glorfindel most about Erestor was that the somberness did not suit the raven-haired Elf. Erestor was an exceptionally stunning ellon who seemed more apt to laughter and merriment than mourning. As a result, Glorfindel took every opportunity he could to be cheerful around the Elf and used his considerable wit to try to lighten Erestor’s mood and make him laugh. To Glorfindel’s chagrin, however, no matter how bright the momentary sparkle would be in Erestor’s storm-grey eyes, or how loud his warm laughter would be, the shroud of melancholy was never far away and would often fall like a veil over Erestor’s features whenever he thought no one was looking.

Glorfindel noticed that what unfailingly and genuinely cheered Erestor was the twins. Whatever it was that weighed so heavily on the beautiful Advisor’s heart, the burden always seemed to lift whenever the energetic elflings were about.

The Golden Elf recalled the radiant smile that had graced Erestor’s face throughout the Yule Eve celebrations as the Advisor had watched Elladan and Elrohir. It had pleased Glorfindel to hear the laughter Erestor simply could not contain when the younglings’ enthusiasm bubbled up. At the twins’ beseeching, Erestor even joined them in singing the traditional Yule songs led by Lindir, clapping hands with them and dancing to the lively tunes along with all of the other Elves in the Hall. So much celebrating and merry making had worn out the elflings until they fell asleep in their parents’ arms. Once the little eyes glazed over with reverie, however, Erestor withdrew.

In fact, Glorfindel had thought Erestor left the Hall of Fire with the other Elves, so he was greatly surprised, and pleased, to see he had not. Erestor’s face simply lit up when he smiled and Glorfindel found he very much wanted to see that again before the evening was over.

“No one should be sad at Yule,” Glorfindel said softly to himself as he rose from his chair and approached Erestor on silent feet.

The solitary Elf stood leaning against the window frame with his arms folded across his chest when Glorfindel came to a halt directly behind him. Gazing through the window over his shoulder, Glorfindel tried to imagine what Erestor saw, other than the falling snowflakes, as he peered out.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Glorfindel said softly, trying not to startle the other.

“Yes, it is,” Erestor replied quietly, sighing deeply as if emerging from deep thought. He did not seem at all surprised at Glorfindel’s presence.

The golden-haired Elf reached a hand out and ran his fingers gently up and down Erestor’s arm in a gesture of friendly affection as he said, “Come share a goblet of mulled wine with me, Erestor. There is still some left by the fire.”

Silently, Erestor nodded and turned from the window. Soon they were settled in their chairs, wine in hand.

Glorfindel was the first to break the comfortable silence. “I found some of the songs Lindir sang tonight to be very familiar.”

Erestor looked up at him in surprise, an odd spark of hope shining in his eyes. “Did you?”

“Aye,” Glorfindel responded, lifting his goblet to his mouth to hide a pleased smile at having raised a subject that caught the Advisor’s interest.

Since his return, Glorfindel had been unable to remember most of his first life. Oh, he recalled his final battle with the Balrog and that he had lived in Gondolin, but the details of both were very hazy. He had read the books in Elrond’s library that chronicled his life, but they consisted mostly of recounting the battles he had fought, the lineage of his house and, of course, a mention of his close friendship with Ecthelion. Other than that, there was little said of his personal life.

Occasionally over the last months, something would spark a memory for him, but for the most part, Glorfindel’s past was a mystery to him. Elrond had reassured him that his memories would gradually return, but the blond Elf was unconcerned. His life was here and now. If there had been anything important he should remember from his first life, either it would have come to him already, the histories would have recorded it or someone would have told him of it.

Oddly enough, Glorfindel’s lack of memory seemed to trouble Erestor more than it did him. Whenever Glorfindel showed any sign of recollection or mentioned that something seemed familiar, the Advisor would take a keen interest. He knew that if anything would shake Erestor from his brooding, one of Glorfindel’s surfacing memories would do it.

“That is a very good sign, is it not?” Erestor asked. “Have you been able to recall anything else?”

Glorfindel frowned slightly in concentration. “I have a sense that I know the Yule Eve traditions we celebrated tonight.”

Nodding, Erestor eagerly sat forward in his chair as if urging him on. “Yes! We started them in Gondolin and I brought them to the Last Homely House when Elrond and I established Imladris. The Elves of every House, even King Turgon’s, would gather and celebrate together. All the Houses would take turns hosting the ball each year and we would . . .”

“You were in Gondolin, Erestor?” Glorfindel interrupted suddenly, startled by this revelation.

Erestor hesitated, as if he had said something he had not meant to reveal and was unsure if he wanted to provide confirmation.

“I was,” he eventually replied in a soft voice.

Glorfindel bit his lip, frowning in concentration. There was something . . .

“Did I know you back then?” Glorfindel asked. Without waiting for a response, he answered the question himself, sitting up with excitement as the image came to him, “I did! I knew you!”

Unaware that his companion had gone suddenly very pale, Glorfindel closed his eyes again as he coaxed the image to the front of his mind, reaching for every detail.

“I recall seeing you . . . you were dressed in golden and blue robes, and you were wearing a circlet of some kind. I . . . I cannot make out the design, but . . .” opening his eyes, he looked at Erestor, “you were beautiful. You were smiling and your eyes were shining . . . you were so happy! The room was filled with candles – crystal and gold sparkled everywhere. Elves were dancing and the music . . . Where was that Erestor? What am I remembering?”

With his eyes riveted to the reborn Elf, Erestor opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Looking away, he took a shaky breath as if to gain control of his emotions before clearing his throat and trying again. Keeping his eyes averted, he finally spoke. His voice was so low Glorfindel had to strain to hear him.

“That was a Yule Eve celebration at my home. My husband and I were hosting the ball that year. We had just bonded only a few days before, so it was sort of a dual celebration . . .”

“You have a husband? You are bonded?” Glorfindel asked in astonishment, his eyes noting for the first time the two gold rings on Erestor’s right index finger. One was obviously Erestor’s, the other . . .

“Aye,” Erestor replied softly as he followed the reborn Elf’s gaze and lovingly caressed the golden bands. Glorfindel noticed the way Erestor’s breath hitched before he pressed his lips tightly together.

The reborn Elf frowned again. It was most unusual for Erestor to show such emotion. “What happened? Did he sail?” he asked, hoping that had been the case.

“Nay,” Erestor whispered, “he . . . he died. He sacrificed himself so others could live – including me. I tried to go with him, to fight at his side – I am a skilled warrior in my own right, you see – but he prevented it . . .”

Erestor broke off on a choked sob and Glorfindel reached out a comforting hand. “I am so sorry, Erestor, I did not mean to bring up painful memories, and certainly not on Yule Eve.”

Erestor shook his head, he smiled even though his eyes glistened with tears. “He loved Yule. ‘Tis why we bonded when we did.”

Erestor’s eyes misted in memory and a smile like none Glorfindel had ever seen slowly spread across the Advisor’s face. “That was the most perfect Yule of my long life,” he said, his voice little more than a breath. His eyes cleared a bit and he seemed to return to the present before he sighed and looked at Glorfindel again. That strange smile grew broader as he gazed at the Balrog Slayer, as if he knew some secret he would not tell. “‘Tis also why I persuaded Elrond to carry on Gondolin’s traditions here in Imladris. We do it in my mate’s honor.”

After a moment, when Erestor continued to look at him with that odd expression, Glorfindel said, “That is quite the story, Erestor, but I doubt you have told me all of it.”

Erestor leaned forward as if about to tell a secret and Glorfindel did likewise to accept it and keep it safe. Unfortunately, the moment, as well as the silence of the great Hall, was disrupted when a tinkling laughter rang out, followed by a rich, deep chuckle. Elrond and Celebrían were entering the Hall, their arms laden with packages wrapped in brightly colored paper and ribbons.

Erestor straightened, the spell that had woven itself around them having been broken, although Glorfindel remained as he was. His eyes were riveted on Erestor, whose face was now lightly flushed from his emotions. For some reason, the sight of the Advisor, panting slightly with his eyes half-closed and the high color in his cheeks, evoked a memory in Glorfindel that he found confusing. It also stirred feelings within him that he had never entertained for the counselor before, or for anyone since his return, for that matter. They were feelings that sent bolts of lightening straight to his groin and shook him to his very core.

Erestor hastily wiped at his eyes with his sleeve before quickly standing and turning toward the gift-laden couple. Glorfindel heard Erestor say something playful to the Lord and Lady, with a laugh in his voice that sounded as forced as it probably was, but he was unable to comprehend the words or move to join them. He could only sit where he was while surprising sensations and jumbled images, many of them erotic, assaulted him.

After several heartbeats, Glorfindel blinked, trying to clear his head and gather himself again as Celebrían and Elrond were joined by several other Elves similarly burdened with gift-wrapped packages and boxes. When he finally managed to gain his feet, the adults were all busy hiding the gifts for their elflings to find when they woke on Yule morning to see what Father Frost had left for them. He muttered a distracted goodnight to Elrond, who was busy enlisting Erestor’s help with his armload of presents, before leaving the Hall for the sanity of his rooms.

Elrond watched the reborn Elf’s retreating form for a moment before turning back to Erestor, hoping to gauge his kinsman’s mood. The hurt and haunted look on the Advisor’s face were not encouraging. The strain of the situation over the last many months was beginning to take its toll on the dark Elf.

“Do not despair, Erestor,” he said quietly, laying a reassuring hand on his friend’s arm. “He will remember.”

“I hope so. I do not know which is worse,” Erestor whispered brokenly. “Being without him completely or having this horrible half-life with him. He is here, but it seems as if we are further apart than ever.” Bowing his head, Erestor’s voice hitched as he said, “I miss him so much, Elrond. Now more than ever.”

“I know, meldir. I know,” Elrond replied, putting a brotherly arm around the grieving Elf and offering what comfort he could. <meldir = friend>

******************

Glorfindel sat on the edge of his bed, elbows propped on his knees and his head in his hands. What was wrong with him? Why was he suddenly bombarded with erotic images of Erestor? Erestor, of all Elves! His friend and trusted companion, whom he now knew to be bonded and completely out of reach. He had even attended his bonding celebration back in Gondolin, it seemed. The Advisor’s husband, whoever he was, might be dead, but death did not dissolve an Elven bond. The Elf would be restored, eventually, and he would be waiting for Erestor in the Blessed Realm when the day finally came for the counselor to sail.

Erestor was unavailable.

So why did Glorfindel suddenly have this terrible ache for him? What were the images he kept seeing in his mind’s eye?

“Sleep. I need sleep,” he said aloud, as if trying to convince himself it was merely fatigue that was doing this to him. Yes, that was it! The excitement of Yule and Erestor’s heart-wrenching story had jumbled his emotions. It was nothing a night of restful reverie could not solve. He was unwilling to acknowledge the sudden stab of desire he had experienced from many of the images that passed through his mind, not to mention the throbbing erection he had gotten. That particular manifestation had faded, thankfully, and was now only a memory. He no longer needed to explain it to himself.

Feeling slightly consoled by this reasoning, Glorfindel rose to prepare for bed. Several moments later, clad in only a pair of sleep pants, he padded into his sitting room to put the final wrapping touches on the gifts he had purchased for his friends and adopted family.

When the final bow had been tied and the last package placed aside, Glorfindel’s eye happened to fall on the polished wooden box Elrond had given him upon his return several months earlier. The Peredhel had told him that some of his personal belongings had been salvaged after Gondolin’s fall, some by survivors who had been members of his House and had managed to flee with some precious items, others from unknown sources.

Glorfindel had accepted the offering and placed it on a side table in his sitting room, where it had remained untouched ever since. Glorfindel had been content to live the new life he had been given and had resolved not to look back, particularly because he had little to no memory of what had once been. He had been unsure if he wanted to dredge up his old life. What purpose could it serve, after all?

After the events of the past evening, however, he felt a need to know about that old life . . . a renewed urge to understand the images he could not banish completely.

Taking a deep breath, Glorfindel reached for the box and carried it to the large table in the middle of his living area. For the first time, he examined it. The lid was secured with a wax seal that was obviously very old. The color was faded and the edges were cracked with age, but Glorfindel could clearly see the crest that had been stamped into it when the warm wax had been applied. It was the seal of Ereinion Gil-galad. If the High King himself had set the seal on his last remaining possessions, Glorfindel mused, there must be some truth to the tales he had heard about how many of the Elves who had survived the Fall considered him to be a hero. With no specific recollection of the events, he would simply have to trust the tales that were told of him.

Pushing on the brittle wax with his thumb to break it, Glorfindel lifted the lid and peered inside. Something like a choked sob escaped his throat as he reached in and reverently lifted the first item from the box.

The banner of his House. Seeing the carefully folded blue, white and gold silk, with one petal visible of the golden Celadine that was set at the center, brought memories crashing down on him.

Memories of his father . . .

Memories of the large formal banner hanging in the entry hall of his family’s house in Gondolin . . .

Memories of laughter around the family dinner table . . .

Memories of his father’s death from a senseless accident . . .

Memories of his mother’s grief . . .

Memories of his reluctantly becoming the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower . . .

. . . he began carefully unfolding the banner . . .

Memories of his House’s standard fluttering in the breeze as he and Ecthelion trained in the practice yard . . .

. . . there was something wrapped in the banner . . .

Memories of Ecthelion’s beautiful younger brother, so graceful, so lithe, so skilled in the arts of war, as skilled as he and Ecthelion were, but far more elegant . . .

. . . no, not something, two things . . .

Memories of . . .

. . . two circlets dropped from the folds of the banner, one elegantly wrought of mithril with a large golden flower in the very center made of five teardrop-shaped yellow diamonds as its petals and a sapphire set at its heart, with identical smaller flowers at each temple . . .

Memories of . . .

. . . the other circlet was also mithril but more delicate, designed to give the impression of water flowing, as if from a fountain, with tiny Celandine flowers shaped from gold sparkling along the surface. It complimented the other circlet perfectly . . .

. . . Memories of Erestor wearing the circlet at the Yule Eve celebration two days after they had first expressed their love to the fullest, shared their bodies and shared their fëar as they bonded . . . <fëar = soul>

Memories of King Turgon striding into his home on Yule Eve to congratulate them . . .

Memories of Erestor smiling at him with happiness shining from his beautiful face, making him even more radiant . . .

Memories of their years together, too few, but so very happy . . .

Memories of fleeing the burning city, of holding Erestor back, telling him there was nothing they could do for Ecthelion . . .

Memories of telling Erestor to flee across the Echoriath and get Idril and her son out, away . . .

Memories of scrabbling to remove his glove and shoving his gold bonding ring into his husband’s hand . . .

Memories of their final kiss and pushing Erestor away from him and toward those who would need him to find a path to safety. . .

The final memory of falling, of the smell of his own burning hair and flesh, knowing his suffering would end when he met the ground . . . being content with all of it because Erestor would live.

Glorfindel had no idea when he had collapsed to the floor, but he knelt there, hands braced in front of him on the carpet with a circlet clenched in each fist as he tried to absorb the sudden onslaught of centuries of memories. He was panting and sweating as if he had just run a great distance and tried desperately to calm his mind.

Finally, he was able to settle back on his heels, breathing deeply. “Erestor,” he whispered the name reverently.

How could he have forgotten?

How could he think there was nothing from his first life worth remembering?

Why had no one told him, or tried to jog his memory?

Guilt hit him in waves. Now Erestor’s melancholy made sense and all of the things he had said over the last months, the looks, the hurt deep within those grey eyes. . . the longing, all magnified whenever he saw Glorfindel . . . it all fell into place.

“Oh, my beloved husband,” he whispered to the empty room, “I will give you a Yule to rival any we had back in Gondolin, I promise you!”

*********************

The morning dawned bright and early, and as the very first ray of sunlight sparkled off the newly fallen snow, not a single elfling remained abed and, thus, neither did their parents.

The adults all stood yawning but smiling in the Hall of Fire with mugs of tea in hand as the elflings all excitedly ran about searching for hidden packages. The young ones would call out a friend’s name when they discovered a gift intended for someone else and opened on the spot any that was meant for them.

Erestor stood quietly watching the lively proceedings with a slight smile on his lips. He was enjoying beyond measure the twins’ enthusiasm and bright-eyed wonderment at the toys and treats left for them by Father Frost.

He always knew when Glorfindel entered a room and today was no different. He felt the golden Elf move to stand close behind him and waited a few heartbeats before turning to smile at him in greeting. Erestor blinked in surprise, though, at seeing that Glorfindel was watching him rather than the elflings, the look in his eyes sending a delicious shiver down Erestor’s spine. It was reminiscent of their early days together when all they had to do was look at one another to become aroused.

“Glorfindel,” Erestor said by way of greeting, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt.

“Erestor,” Glorfindel responded. The sound was more like a purr that vibrated along the Advisor’s skin rather than a spoken name.

Turning his attention back to the elflings and their treasure hunt, Erestor silently willed his racing heart to slow and the stirring in his body to cease. Neither was easy to accomplish with Glorfindel, who was slightly taller, standing so close that his breath caressed the sensitive shell of his ear, but this was hardly the place to be sporting an untimely erection.

Fortuitously, Elladan chose that moment to provide a much needed distraction. The elfling ran up to the Advisor, his face flushed with excitement. His small hand wrapped around two of the dark Elf’s fingers and pulled, “Uncle ‘Restor! There is a present for you!”

“What?” Erestor asked, clearly surprised. “For me? No, little one, it could not be. Father Frost only leaves gifts for elflings. I am too big.”

“Yes, ‘Restor! I seened it!” the elfling argued.

“Saw it,” Erestor corrected automatically.

“I seened it too, Uncle ‘Restor!” Elrohir confirmed running up to pull on his uncle’s other hand.

Before Erestor could say another word, Glorfindel interjected, “The little ones seem adamant, Erestor. You best go and see for yourself.”

Erestor threw a puzzled look over his shoulder only seconds before he was yanked forward at the fingers by two very determined elflings, and dragged across the room. He did not notice the way Glorfindel casually sauntered after them a moment later.

Letting go of Erestor’s fingers, Elladan bent and picked up the brightly wrapped parcel and handed it to Erestor.

“Well,” the Advisor said after looking at the tag tied to it, “that is certainly my name.”

“See! I told you!” the twins chorused.

“Open it!” Elrohir shouted, his excitement getting the best of him.

It was rather flat and felt light, leading Erestor to believe that one or both of the twins had drawn a picture for him and wrapped it as a gift. Smiling, Erestor began to carefully open the package wrapped in blue and gold, being mindful that whatever it contained could be torn. The paper fell away, leaving him holding a piece of blue silk folded over something. Quite intrigued now, Erestor open the folds of silk, revealing an artfully crafted mithril circlet dotted delicately with tiny Celandine flowers of gold.

Erestor froze at the sight of the headdress Glorfindel had gifted to him on their first Yule together as bonded mates. It had been cleverly designed by Erestor’s brother, Ecthelion, to reflect the union of the House of the Fountain with the House of the Golden Flower. Erestor had worn it proudly that night and every other Yule Eve and official function after that. He had thought it lost long ago – along with his city, his brother and his beloved husband.

Erestor was shaking now, “How . . .?”

“It is only fitting to return what is rightfully yours,” Glorfindel said quietly into his ear, sending shivers up his spine again.

Erestor whirled around to stare up at Glorfindel in shock. The first thing he noticed was the circlet that graced the Elf’s noble brow, which he had not been wearing just moments earlier. Only the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower had the right to wear that circlet. Erestor next noticed the blue eyes he knew so well filled with a kind of recognition he had begun to despair of ever seeing. There was that, but also the love he had so longed to see reflected in those eyes once again.

“Glorfindel . . .” he began, his voice little more than a croak. He tried, but nothing more would come.

The boyish smile Erestor remembered so well lighting his face, Glorfindel picked up Erestor’s circlet from its bed of blue silk and placed it on the Advisor’s head. He gave it a final adjustment before leaning back to admire his handiwork.

Obviously satisfied with the result, Glorfindel gave a slight nod. With a twinkle lighting his eye, he said, “Now. I believe that you have something of mine that needs to be returned, as well.”

Not waiting for any kind of answer, even if one had been forthcoming, Glorfindel merely reached for Erestor’s right hand. He removed the first golden ring, which prevented the second, slightly larger one from slipping off Erestor’s finger, before sliding that one off as well.

“There now,” he said, after placing each ring on the right index finger of its rightful wearer, “I believe everything is back where it should be.”

“Glorfindel . . .” Erestor croaked again.

“Yes, my dearest husband, that *is* my name,” he said with a chuckle.

Across the room Celebrían leaned into Elrond’s embrace as they watched the scene unfold. No one needed to tell them what was happening, the play of emotions across Erestor’s face told the entire story.

Finally, Erestor was able to say something other than his husband’s name.

“I love you.”

“And I you, Erestor,” Glorfindel said as he tenderly stroked his husband’s cheek, brushing his tears away with his thumb.

“ . . . so very much.”

“I know, love. I can see that in the way you kept me alive in the Yule traditions you brought to this great haven,” Glorfindel said, his voice now the one that was raw with emotion. After a moment, when he was sure he had regained control, he continued, “Speaking of which . . . look up.”

Erestor managed to tear his gaze away from those amazing eyes he loved so much, to do as he was bid. He chuckled softly when he spied the sprig hanging above their heads.

“We must not break with tradition!” Glorfindel teased.

“Certainly not!” Erestor agreed as he wrapped his arms around his husband for the first time in over three thousand years and eagerly offered his lips.

They became so lost in one another that neither of them heard the twins when they cried, “ Ada! Uncle Fin’s kissin’ ‘Restor underneath the mistletoe!”

*****

THE END

Go to the sequel to this story: Yule Blessings

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