Fate's Mirror 25

Fate's Mirror

Part 25

Posted: February 2004
Author: Larien Elengasse

*****

August 1702, Second Age, Last Homely House, Imladris

Erestor stood on the balcony, looking at the gardens below, watching the human children and elflings running and playing beneath the tall trees. He looked back over his shoulder at the empty bed; the sheets and blankets were scattered haphazardly across it, some lying on the floor. A smile crossed his lips as he replayed the events of that morning in his mind. His lover had yielded so willingly, so completely, so beautifully. He took a deep breath and sighed. Each time he and Glorfindel lay together, they grew closer. He could still smell the warrior upon his skin, and his fingers traced the paths the Vanya's mouth had taken but an hour ago.

He was feeling like himself again, like the elf he had always been before the battle at Ost-in-Edhil. He felt strong, and he felt whole. He was frustrated with what his life had become, limited to working behind a desk, his duties as Chief Advisor taking all his waking moments. His daily life had become so sedentary, days spent behind the desk, nights spent in his lover's arms. A wicked grin crossed his lips as he glanced at the bed; it seemed his nightly activities were the only exercise he got anymore.

"No more," he whispered to the empty room. He turned and walked to the door to his chamber, opening it and calling down the hall for the chambermaid. He then crossed the floor to the armoire that stood in the corner and opened it. Pushing aside the heavy, dark robes that had become his daily attire, he found what he sought.

The chambermaid entered and promptly averted her eyes as he turned around. He furrowed his brow and glanced down, his robe was open nearly to his navel. He pulled it closed quickly and addressed the blushing chambermaid. "Fetch Melpomaen and bring him here to my chamber, quickly please."

"Yes, my Lord," the chambermaid answered, slowly turning and scurrying out of the room.

He turned back to the armoire and reached inside, retrieving a long neglected pair of black suede leggings and his tunic. His robe fell to the floor near his feet and he stepped into the leggings, pulling them up over his slender hips.

"Ehm."

Erestor turned and saw Melpomaen standing in his doorway. The younger elf bowed his head and addressed him, "My Lord. You sent for me?"

Erestor reached inside the armoire and pulled a silk undershirt over his head. "Yes, Melpomaen," he answered quietly. "I am leaving Imladris for several days, you will be in charge of the office."

Melpomaen's eyes widened. "But, my Lord, the festival… there are preparations, invitations have been sent out… The High King and his entourage will be arriving. I… You…"

Erestor fought the urge to chuckle at his ever serious and diligent assistant. He crossed the room and placed a hand upon the young elf's shoulder. "Melpomaen, there is a committee, of which I am but one member, in charge of preparations for the festival. You will sit on the committee in my stead. You have always been in charge of arranging accommodations for our guests here in Imladris; you will handle the arrival of the High King as well as you handled the unexpected arrival of the Lady Galadriel. I have faith in you, Melpomaen." He patted the elf's shoulder and continued, "Attend the Council meetings in my stead; report on the business of our office. If something arises that you do not know how to handle, go to Daeron, he is the next senior member of the Council." He tucked his shirt in and laced his leggings as he continued, "You can do this, Melpomaen, you know your duties and perform them flawlessly."

Melpomaen swallowed and nodded. "Yes, my Lord. I will do my best."

Erestor smiled, something Melpomaen did not see often, and answered, "I know you will." He crossed to his nightstand and wrote out a note for Elrond, he then folded it and secured it with his seal. He turned and handed it to Melpomaen. "See that Lord Elrond gets this. I will return before Ithil rises full in the sky once again."

Melpomaen accepted the parchment and answered quietly, "Yes, my Lord."

Erestor smiled and answered, "Now go, so I may finish dressing."

Melpomaen bowed his head and turned on his heel, departing Erestor's chamber to seek Lord Elrond.

* * * *

Glorfindel knelt in the floor of the stables; Asfaloth's breath ruffled his hair as he rifled through his pack one final time. He grumbled as he searched its contents for his knife.

"Are you looking for this, meleth?" Erestor's deep voice drifted over his shoulder.

Glorfindel looked up to see his lover standing over him and he rose to his feet looking at the Noldo in surprise. Erestor was dressed in a tunic, leggings, and boots. His hair was pulled into a single thick braid that fell down his back. He carried his pack and quiver, his sword was strapped to his hip and his bow was in his hand. In his free hand, he held Glorfindel's knife.

"Erestor, meleth nín, what are you doing?" he asked, raising one golden eyebrow.

"I am coming with you, seron vell," Erestor answered, handing Glorfindel his knife before turning to stroke his gelding's nose.

Glorfindel placed his knife in his pack and turned back to his lover, a confused expression clearly written upon his face. "But, your duties, the festival…"

Erestor smiled as he turned to face the Vanya, placing his hand upon Glorfindel's chest. "Melpomaen can attend to my duties for a little while. I have not used him to his full potential, it will be good for him. Things are quiet now, preparations for the festival are well underway." He looked into Glorfindel's eyes. "If I stay here behind that desk one moment longer, I will lose control of my wits, Glorfindel. I swear it."

Glorfindel's lips curved into a smile and he pressed his forehead against Erestor's. "My warrior returns, yes?"

Erestor nodded. "Aye. I grow weary of sitting behind a desk, meleth nín. I know I must return to it, but for just a little while I need to feel like a soldier again."

Glorfindel nodded. "I understand, meleth." He drew Erestor into his arms, pressing his lips against the Noldo's ear. "It will be good to have you along, we can always use a skilled warrior in our ranks."

Erestor pressed his lips against Glorfindel's ear and whispered, "Hannon le, meleth nín."

Glorfindel gave him a quick squeeze and released him. "Come, it is time to get underway."

* * * *

August 1702, Second Age, Greenwood the Great

Thranduil sat upon the ground, his eyes turned skyward as he watched the thick clouds pass overhead. His heart was heavy; he had yet another argument with his father. The elves of Imladris were holding an autumn celebration; word had come to Greenwood via messenger. The High King would attend, and Gildor would be departing to greet his Lord upon his arrival at the Last Homely House.

There was no love lost between his father and that of the High King, Oropher refused to acknowledge Gil-galad's rule. There was a long history of mistrust between the Sindar and the Noldor, and his father held the Noldor partly responsible for the fall of Thingol. Oropher had served Thingol since he had reached his majority, and the fall of the great King was a terrible blow to him. Then, when Fëanor's sons sacked their beloved Menegroth and murdered the King's heir, Oropher and his young wife had been forced into exile.

Oropher had made it plain that no son of his would attend a festival honoring a Noldo, and to make matters worse, he had done so in front of Gildor.

"It pains me to see one so beautiful look so sad," Gildor's voice drifted into his ears.

Thranduil turned his gaze from the heavens to his lover's eyes and he managed a weak smile. "I am sorry for all that my father said, meleth nín," he said quietly.

Gildor sat beside him and placed his arm around Thranduil's shoulder. "Not to worry, seron vell, I understand why your father says such things. I am not proud of all that my kin have done." He looked up at the sky and sighed. "I only wish you were coming with me, I do not wish to leave you so soon after I have found you."

Thranduil leaned his head upon Gildor's shoulder. "This seems to be my lot in life, to be forever trapped here and to watch those I care for leave."

Gildor caressed his lover's hair and answered quietly, "He worries about you, meleth. The last time you left the woods you were nearly killed. He is a father who loves and wishes to protect his son, that is all."

Thranduil furrowed his brow and answered, "I was nearly killed in my own home, Gildor. I do not have to leave the wood to face danger."

Gildor pressed a kiss to the side of Thranduil's head. "I know, and so does he. But he wants to keep you close, he wants to keep you safe, you cannot fault him for loving you so."

Thranduil sighed and snuggled close to his lover. "When will he see that I am no longer an elfling? When will he leave me to make my own choices and find my own path? His resistance to us is ridiculous; the kingdom does not need an heir. He will live forever, he is too stubborn to fall or fade."

Gildor chuckled and nuzzled the top of Thranduil's head. "My own father wanted me to have children. He eventually saw that was not to be the case for me, your father will do the same. Give him time."

Thranduil turned and pushed Gildor to his back in the tall grass and covered the Noldo's form with his own. "I do not want to talk about my father any more, meleth."

Gildor raised an eyebrow. "No? What would you like to do then, melethron nín?"

Thranduil smiled wickedly and whispered, "Make love to you in the warm sunshine."

Gildor smiled and gasped quietly as Thranduil caressed his ear with his lips. "Mmm… that sounds wonderful, ernilen."

"Melon le, Gildor," Thranduil said softly.

Gildor entwined his fingers in rich flaxen hair and whispered, "Melon le, ernil vain."

* * * *

Thranduil traversed the winding path down the hill, hand in hand with his lover. Twilight was upon them and they had the night watch. As they made their way back to their talan, they came upon a group of elflings sitting in a half-circle; their attention focused closely on Nessa. The elf maid leaned forward, she was telling them a tale, the story of Beren and Lúthien. Thranduil stopped and squeezed Gildor's hand and the two of them stood by and listened for a little while.

Nessa sat upon a low stool, her eyes wide and hands dancing as she told the tale. The elflings gasped and smiled, so transfixed were they by her tale.

"And Beren came upon Lúthien in the summer, after a long and treacherous journey through the wilds and he managed to cross the Girdle of Melian. So weary and full of woe was he that he laid himself down upon the grass, thinking never to rise. Then he heard a sound so beautiful, more beautiful than all the songs of all the birds of Eru's creation. He rose from the grass, and creeping through the wood, he came upon the maiden. None more beautiful had he seen, and her voice was like the sweetest songs of Aman. All his weariness and woe seemed to fall away as he fell under the enchantment of this maid…"

Gildor looked at his lover and admired the wide smile that graced his fair face. He had noted Thranduil's fondness for elflings, and had even caught him chasing one or two around the meadow as they giggled loudly. He thought to himself that the Prince might indeed make a fine father one day, were he in love with a maid. His lover's soft laughter brought him back from his musings and he looked up to see Nessa dancing and twirling, with all the elflings following suit, laughing and dancing with her.

"Never have I met so gentle a soul, " Thranduil said quietly. "It pains me to think she has lost all those she holds dear."

"Yet she endures," Gildor answered, "Nay, even flourishes in the care of you and your kin."

Thranduil nodded and smiled. "Aye, she seems quite happy here."

A shriek and loud laughter brought their attention back to the happy scene. Nessa lay upon her back with the elflings climbing all over her. She hugged and kissed them and laughed with them as they lay in the tall grass.

"You long to be with them, do you not?" Gildor said quietly. He gave his lover a gentle shove. "Go on, I will meet you by the horses when the moon is full risen."

Thranduil looked over his shoulder at his lover and smiled. "I will be but a short while, meleth." He broke into a run toward the elflings and several of them spotted him coming. They laughed and ran toward him, climbing upon him as he sank to his knees in the grass beside Nessa. She laughed brightly and hugged a small child tight.

Gildor smiled as he made his way back to their talan, watching his lover roll in the grass with the elflings they were sworn to protect.

Seron Vell = dear lover
Ernilen = My Prince
Ernil vain = Fair prince

*****

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