Yule Wishes

Yule Wishes

Posted: January 11, 2008
Title: Yule Wishes
Author: LK
Fandom: Tolkien
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: Erestor contemplates Glorfindel’s first Yule in the Last Homely House

*****

Imladris, 145 TA

The Hall of Fire was alive with song, laughter and warmth. Cold winter nights that fell earlier each day were no deterrent to the merry spirits of the Elves of Imladris. Rather, early nightfall was just a reason to seek a cheerful hearth and a goblet of warm mulled wine amidst good company. There was no such pretense necessary for tonight’s gathering, however. It was Yule, and everyone within their community had gathered to make merry.

In the center of the festivities was the recently returned Glorfindel of Gondolin. It was not necessary to ask the reborn Elf if food tasted better, air smelled sweeter or music sounded lovelier than he remembered from his first life, the answer was all too obvious. None within the Hall smiled more broadly nor laughed as happily as Glorfindel. It was apparent that he loved being alive and was determined not to miss a moment of it. If he had ever taken his life for granted in his first incarnation, it was clear he would not make the same mistake again.

Erestor stood in a corner of the Hall, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, watching glumly as Glorfindel laughed boisterously at something someone had said. The dark Advisor was the only one who did not seem to rejoice at Glorfindel’s lightheartedness and carefree attitude. It was not that he was not pleased Glorfindel was returned, nor even that he wished the Elf to be anything less than tremendously happy. Quite the contrary. He just wished Glorfindel’s memory was intact.

The returned Balrog Slayer told many stories from his first life to an eager audience of both younglings and adults. Frequently, he would recount tales of mischief he and his dear friend Echthelion had caused in their youth in Aman; how he had traveled to Middle Earth and eventually became a Captain in Turgon’s Guard; how he had once ended up in one of Gondolin’s famed fountains, in full armor, and pulled out by the hand of King Turgon himself. He even told of his famed battle with the Balrog, his voice carrying to every corner of the vast Hall as his silent audience sat with rapt attention, his words interrupted only by the occasional gasps of awe or cries of distress of his listeners.

Erestor was pleased that none of the memories Glorfindel called up for the retelling, either good or bad, held any anguish for him, not even that of his famed fall. By his own testimony, Glorfindel recalled his death, but he had no emotions attached to it. Rather, he was able to recount the event as if he had been completely disassociated with it, not recalling any of the pain or fear he had to have felt.

That was was not the only gap in the blond Elf’s memory. Glorfindel could remember only portions of things. He could recall his father, but not the Elf’s death nor the grief he and his mother had experienced at the Elf’s passing. Glorfindel was a warrior of tremendous skill, but he could not recall ever learning to fight.

Glorfindel also did not remember his husband . . . or that he even *had* a husband, much to Erestor’s distress.

Long and terrible had been Erestor’s grief at losing his beloved mate. He had wanted to fade, but in their last moments together, Glorfindel had wrested a promise from him that he would live. The oath had been sealed with a passionate kiss before the Golden Elf had turned to do battle with the Balrog, giving his bonded mate and so many others precious moments to escape.

It had been nearly impossible to contain himself when Glorfindel had arrived in Imladris, but when their gazes met, Glorfindel’s eyes had not reflected even the slightest flicker of recognition. Erestor had been devastated, but held on to the belief that the newly reborn Elf would regain his memories, particularly of their life together.

It had been more than six months, however, without a hint from Glorfindel that he recalled ever even meeting Erestor before last spring, let alone sharing a life with him. Erestor’s hope was beginning to lose its luster.

The day Glorfindel arrived in Imladris and strode passed Erestor as if he had never seen him before, the Counselor had been too stunned to react at first. Once Glorfindel had entered the House, escorted by Lindir to view his new rooms, the courtyard had quickly emptied of everyone save Erestor, who was riveted to the ground in shock. When he was finally able to move, he tried to turn to enter the house and seek the sanctuary of his own rooms, but his legs gave out beneath him.

Elrond, who had been present to greet the reborn Elf and witnessed the exchange, lingered at the top of the steps once Glorfindel entered the House. With a heavy heart, he descended the stairs to try and console Erestor, who had remained transfixed. So, it was his strong arms that saved his kinsman when he began to collapse.

“He does not remember me, Elrond,” Erestor said with a choked sob, his stricken face conveying all that his words could not.

“He will in time, Erestor. I do not know the particulars about what happens when an Elf is rehoused, but I cannot believe he could be condemned to ignorance for very long. The Valar would never be so cruel.”

“I will pray you are right,” Erestor whispered brokenly as Elrond helped him into the house.

Although six months had passed, Erestor’s prayers remained unheeded. During that time, Erestor managed to conceal his heartache enough to respond to Glorfindel’s attempts to befriend him. It had been difficult to pretend to know nothing about the golden-haired elf and allow an acquaintance to develop slowly, but Erestor was relatively sure he had been convincing.

He had done what he could, as subtly as he was able, to encourage Glorfindel to remember his past, but the Balrog Slayer seemed to have no interest in his first life. He was proud of his heritage and stated he would always consider himself formerly of Gondolin, but he firmly maintained that his life was in the here and now, and Imladris was his home.

Erestor’s musings were interrupted by the sound of a hearty laugh. Looking up, he saw Glorfindel rocking back on his heels in mirth once again as he stood talking to Celebrían and Elrond. Obviously, one of them had said something to amuse the golden Elf, and Glorfindel had never been one to hold back when something struck him as funny. Erestor smiled as he recalled that, of his many endearing traits, it was Glorfindel’s sense of humor that had first captured Erestor’s interest so very long ago.

The darkling Elf glanced down at his right hand and the two golden bands on his forefinger gleaming in the firelight–dual symbols of their pledge and eternal bond. Glorfindel’s last act before turning toward battle with the Balrog had been to thrust his bonding ring into his husband’s hand and kiss him one last time. It was in that moment that Erestor knew Glorfindel did not believe he would survive the battle, but strode boldly toward his fate, nonetheless.

Numbly, Erestor had heeded the hands of the refugees that pulled on him, urging him to hurry, and turned to do as his mate had asked. It was now Erestor’s task to lead the group of survivors across the Echoriath. It was his duty to get Idril and her son out of harm’s way. Every fibre of his being screamed for him to follow his husband, stand by his side and fight along with him, but his centuries of training and dedication to the royal family had won out. He knew Glorfindel had relied upon the deeply ingrained conditioning to ensure his husband’s safety.

Even now, tens of centuries later and with his beloved restored to the living, tears burned the backs of Erestor’s eyes as he thought about the last glimpse he had of Glorfindel that day. Erestor had paused as their group fled. He had turned back to where the fearsome battle was taking place and was just in time to see the mortally wounded Balrog teetering on the cliff’s edge before finally losing its balance and tumbling back into the abyss. Barely daring to believe his eyes, Erestor watched Glorfindel turn to look up to where he knew the refugees and his husband would be. Even at a distance, Erestor could see the bleeding wounds and singed clothing, a telltale sign of burns beneath, but above all Erestor sought his husband’s eyes. It was not difficult for their gazes to meet. Glorfindel was smiling up at him, victorious, and Erestor could not suppress an answering grin. He could hardly believe their blessed fortune and silently chided himself for doubting his Golden Lord’s prowess.

One moment he was breathing an amazed sigh of relief that Glorfindel was safe, and the next he was watching in horror as a burning clawed hand reached up from the chasm as the doomed creature, in a final act of malice, clutched at the golden mane and pulled his lover to his death.

Erestor had no memory of how he had continued on at all, let alone managed to lead the small group of survivors to safety. He had watched his city burn and her citizens betrayed and killed; he had seen not only his brother, Ecthelion, die while fighting a Balrog, but his own beloved husband was pulled to his death by one of the evil creatures before his very eyes. Surely it was more than anyone could bear. He could only assume that his body had marched on and done what was necessary while his mind and his fëa retreated in agony.

After that, he had only vague recall of his life for a number of years. His memories after Gondolin truly only started again when Elrond and Elros were born. The early years of that Age had been trying and fraught with chaos and strife, but it began with joy at the birth of the peredhel twins, which Erestor was convinced was his salvation. Without the entry of those two bright lights into his world, Erestor firmly believed he would have succumbed to his grief and joined Glorfindel in the Halls of Waiting.

It was not until Elrond was grown and they were both living in Lindon that fragments of Glorfindel’s life as Lord of the House of the Golden Flower began to surface in the world. Erestor had helped Idril and her son escape the Fall of Gondolin, but they had not been the only band of survivors to flee to safety. Tales of Glorfindel’s final battle had reached far and wide and many more survivors came to light, claiming they were alive because of that mighty struggle. Erestor came to learn that Glorfindel’s sacrifice had saved more than anyone had ever realized.

Many of those who survived the Fall of Gondolin eventually became residents of Lindon. Through the years, various items of the House of the Golden Flower that had been salvaged by these grateful refugees were lovingly gathered and preserved until, eventually, a polished box was presented to the High King, Ereinion Gil-galad.

Erestor had been told of its contents, many of them symbols of the things Glorfindel took tremendous pride in and cherished. Others were simply meaningful personal belongings that told a more intimate tale of the Golden Lord’s life within the hidden city. Elrond contended that the box and its contents should go to Erestor. He maintained that, as Glorfindel’s mate, these items were rightfully his.

Erestor declined.

In fact, he refused to even see what the box contained.

Many thought Erestor was unwilling to take charge of these belongings, but the truth was that he had been unable to take possession of such personal items–items that held the power to evoke glorious memories only for them to be followed by crushing grief over the loss of one so bright of heart and fëa.

When Elrond had begun to press him on the subject, Erestor had sought the High King’s assistance.

Calling upon his compassion, Erestor had beseeched the King to secure the box away, sealed and preserved until the day the contents could be returned to their owner.

Thinking of the rescued possessions that had been presented to him, the High King commented, “But some of these things are yours, surely, Erestor, or at least you have a right to them as his . . .

“Nay, sire, please,” Erestor interrupted the King, not wanting the obvious spoken. He could not bear a daily reminder of what he had lost.

So, the polished box had been sealed by the High King’s own hand, the emblem of Ereinion Gil-galad pressed into the sealing wax until the day Glorfindel himself would break it open.

Erestor remembered when, not long after Glorfindel’s return, Elrond had presented Glorfindel with the box, telling him that it contained all that remained of his possessions from Gondolin. Somewhere in his mind, Erestor knew the box had to be in Elrond’s keeping, but he had been stunned to see it, nevertheless. His heart had leapt, believing that once the reborn Elf opened it and saw the mementos of his former life–their life–his memories would finally begin to resurface. Erestor’s hopes had been dashed when Glorfindel had flatly stated his thanks, but that his new life was all that mattered and the past should remain just that.

That was the day that Erestor had truly begun to doubt whether Glorfindel would ever regain his connection to his past life.

“Uncle ‘Restor! Lindir is going to play the Yule songs, now.”

“Come sing wif us, ‘Restor! Please?”

Erestor’s head snapped up at the entreaty, pulled from his memories by the two newest shining lights of his life. Looking down, he could not help but smile at the identical faces gazing up at him hopefully, so like another pair of Peredhel twins he clearly recalled.

“Elladan, Elrohir,” he began with mock severity, “When has there ever been a Yule when I did not sing the songs with you?”

“Will you dance wif us, too?” Elrohir asked earnestly.

Bending down to the elfling’s eye level, Erestor assured him, “I will most certainly dance with you!”

The answering smiles on the twins’ faces drove away the last remnants of Erestor’s melancholy like little else on Arda could. Erestor allowed himself to be pulled toward the dias where a multitude of Elves were already assembled, waiting for the musicians to begin playing the traditional Yule songs. As he did so, Erestor caught a glimpse of Elrond from the corner of his eye, noting the concern pulling at his Lord’s countenance. Erestor knew Elrond worried for him. So, for the next few hours, he did his best to be merry.

Truly, it was no burden to sing and dance with the elflings, and Erestor enjoyed himself immensely. Yule had always been a wondrous time and held many wonderful memories for him, the best being the Yuletide in Gondolin when he and Glorfindel were bonded. The Yule celebration that year was unmatched, in Erestor’s opinion, either before or since.

Once the songs had been sung and Elrond had told the tale of Father Frost, as he did every year, tiny hands began covering large yawns, little heads began to nod and young voices could be heard making half-hearted protests that, “I am not sleepy.” When Erestor saw Elrohir and Elladan fall asleep in their parents’ arms, he quietly withdrew again. Despite himself, he could not resist the pull he felt to recall Yuletides past. With one last, longing look at the Golden Elf who sat comfortably in the chair he had claimed as his own, with a goblet dangling from one hand and a contented smile on his beautiful lips, Erestor silently made his way across the room.

Throughout the evening, he had spied Glorfindel, pleased to see him enjoying himself. Yule had always been his husband’s favorite time of year. In fact, Erestor had managed to include in the traditions enjoyed by the inhabitants of Imladris many of the those he and Glorfindel had started back in Gondolin. Now, more than ever, he hoped Glorfindel would find some of them familiar.

Staring out of the tall glass doors that opened to the gardens beyond, Erestor let his mind wander into the past. It was something he had not allowed himself to do very often, too fearful of the pain that would follow. This particular evening, though, his memories were hard to avoid.

Lost in thought, he stood leaning against the window frame with his arms folded across his chest, watching the falling snowflakes beyond the window. When Glorfindel came to a halt directly behind him, he neither heard nor saw him, but he could sense the other’s presence. He always knew when Glorfindel was near.

“Beautiful, is it not?” Glorfindel said softly, likely hoping not to startle him.

“Yes, it is,” Erestor replied quietly, sighing deeply as he emerged from his thoughts.

Erestor felt the golden-haired Elf run his fingers gently up and down his 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, hoping Glorfindel would not notice the way his breath hitched at the touch, nor the shiver that ran through him. Oh, how he missed feeling those hands on his body and the taste of those lips that smiled at him so easily.

Soon they were settled in their chairs, wine in hand. Erestor sat across from his beloved, unable to say what was in his heart, or reach out his hand to caress that flawless cheek or snuggle into his embrace. Rather, Erestor was content just to sit with the ellon he loved and try with all his might to keep the longing out of his gaze.

Silently, he prayed to the One for a Yule blessing. “One memory, oh great Eru, ‘tis all I ask. Just grant him one memory of our love.”

Continued in A Perfect Yule - Completed in Yule Blessings

*****

THE END

Go to the sequel: A Perfect Yule

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