Resurrection 4

Resurrection

Part 4

Posted: September 29, 2006
Title: Resurrection
Author: Larien Elengasse

Summary: Erestor and Glorfindel discover a new dimension to their friendship.

*****

As they moved from the dining hall to the Hall of Fire, Erestor noticed that he was not the only one having difficulty walking a straight line. Gildor swaggered in front of him, and even the normally staid Elrond seemed to bobble once or twice. Glorfindel leaned heavily on him, and he staggered under the warrior’s bulk. He could not help but notice how solid the Elda felt; he had seen Glorfindel with his shirt off enough to know he had a body that most elves envied, but to feel it pressed against him was something else altogether. Erestor had to admit, as the days passed, he grew more and more attracted to Glorfindel, and having his friend pressed against him this way was more than a little distracting.

The musicians were preparing as the crowd entered, and Erestor threw a nod Lindir’s way in greeting. Lindir smiled and raised his hand, and then Erestor thought the minstrel might have laughed. Indeed, it must be a humorous sight, him balancing a somewhat drunk Glorfindel on his arm. He deposited Glorfindel in a large chair, and then sat beside him. As a young elleth came by with a decanter of wine, Erestor waived her off.

“Yes, yes, my friend,” Glorfindel murmured. “I have had quite enough, at least for now. I had forgotten how potent Oropher’s brew was.”

“Did you really lay with him?” Erestor asked, leaning over so that he could speak quietly.

“Yes, many times. His majesty and I have an . . . arrangement.”

“Are you promised?” Erestor asked, surprise evident on his features.

Glorfindel laughed aloud. “Oh, Elbereth no! Not that sort of arrangement. No, no, his majesty has a wife, whom he loves, and a son. Ours is more an arrangement of mutual . . . sport.”

“Ah, I see. So you just…”

“Ravish each other unconscious,” Glorfindel finished, his half empty glass raised in the air.

“Glorfindel!” Erestor guffawed, and then promptly covered his mouth to stifle his snickering.

“I am so glad to see you still have a sense of humor, Erestor. Laughter is important you know…”

“Aye, it is, my friend,” Erestor answered, patting his friend on the wrist. He watched in surprise as Glorfindel lifted his hand to his lips and kissed it.

“And I am that, Erestor. I am your friend, now and forever. I will protect you with my life.”

Erestor felt a lump form in his throat. “Then I am lucky.”

Glorfindel smiled and turned his gaze to the dance floor. “Gildor meant no harm earlier, he forgets that not everyone shares our sense of humor or entertainment . . . oh, look, Lindir is going to sing.”

Erestor continued to look at his friend as Glorfindel watched Lindir. It was perfect, he wagered, Lindir’s voice filling his ears and Glorfindel’s visage filling his gaze. Two more beautiful things could not exist.

As the evening wore on, Elrond announced Erestor’s new role to much applause, and he thanked all those who worked so hard to build the Last Homely House. He relayed his thanks and appreciation to Lindir, then he begged everyone to continue dancing and reveling as he retired.

Glorfindel had sobered up, just as he said he would, and Erestor watched him twirl a young elleth across the dance floor. She giggled and blushed, basking in the light of the golden elf lord, and Erestor smiled; it gave Glorfindel joy to make others happy, and that joy was infectious.

As the evening wore on, Erestor rose from his seat and skirted the edge of the crowded dance floor, making his way outside and into the gardens. He sat upon a wide chaise that was draped with a sheer canopy. Pulling the thin fabric closed, he lay on his back and looked up at the stars. Who would have known that he would end up here, so happy, with such a full life ahead of him?

There were nights when earlier, not so cheerful times crowded into his thoughts, and he sometimes inexplicably found himself missing his master’s possessive touch. Celebrimbor had not been a gentle lover, but he had not been excessively brutal either, at least not until the end, and the elf lord’s touch had been the only one he had ever known. The last night, before Annatar took his lord away, his lover had been very rough; so rough that Erestor feared serious injury. He had lain in Celebrimbor’s wide bed, held by steely arms against his master’s hard chest, aching inside, swallowing tears that threatened to fall. The tears were not from the pain, though it was bad, they were from his bruised heart, for he knew his lord was beyond reaching, and was no longer his to love. Celebrimbor had been deaf to his cries, to his pleas for him to stop; his master used him as he saw fit, with no regard for his heart or his pleasure. To double the injury, Erestor had climaxed despite the pain, and he felt that only affirmed his master’s treatment of him. He felt like a slave, used, humiliated, and discarded, after years of faithful service. He never saw his lord alive again.

Those were dark days, but they were behind him now. Now he had good friends like Lindir, Gildor, and Glorfindel. He had an honored place in Elrond’s house and he had achieved his dream of building some of the grandest halls in Elvendom. Celebrimbor could no longer hurt him in his madness; Erestor only wished they had a chance to say goodbye, that Celebrimbor could have returned to the elf he truly was before he died – perhaps he did, in those last agonizing moments. The fact that his lord withheld what Annatar wanted, through the pain, ridicule and torture made Erestor believe that perhaps at the end there was some of the old Celebrimbor left after all.

“No more thoughts of that, Erestor,” he chided himself.

“Of what?”

He looked up to find Glorfindel standing beside the chaise. “Nothing, bad memories, that is all.”

“Is there room in there for a friend?” the Elda asked with a smile.

“Aye, there is,” Erestor answered, sliding to one side as Glorfindel parted the sheer drapery and climbed inside.

“These are a wonderful touch,” Glorfindel murmured. “Perfect for nights like this. Can you not imagine young lovers lying inside them, gazing up at the stars?”

Erestor smiled. “Aye, sounds perfect.”

“I imagine there will be many a marriage proposal in these hideaways.” They lay side by side, arms folded, Erestor’s on his chest, Glorfindel’s behind his head. “We all have bad memories, Erestor; as long as they remain that, memories and not thoughts that rule our lives now, they will fade in time.”

Erestor nodded and neither one said anything for a moment; they merely listened to the music drifting through the windows of the Last Homely House, and then Erestor broke their silence.

“You never speak of it.”

“Of what?”

“Of how you came to be reborn.”

“Would you like me to?”

Erestor rolled to his side and tucked one arm under his head. “Would it pain you to do so?”

Glorfindel turned his head and smiled. “No, not for you.” He returned his gaze to the stars. “Where to begin? I will dispense with my fall, which is known well enough and brings no joy in the telling. Mandos’ Halls, that is where I will begin.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“It is a strange thing to be without form, you almost forget what it feels like to have a body. I remember floating through the halls, seeing my friends and enemies: Ecthelion – what a spirit he had, like a lion’s, so brave… I saw my beloved king, and that wretched Maeglin and his father Eöl. I saw the brave Fingolfin; Valar, what an elf he was, such a noble ruler… Fingon the Valiant, Aredhel, and noble Finwë… so many fine elves have fallen.”

“What of Fëanor?”

“Ah, yes, I saw him as well. Poor, brilliant Fëanor – he has suffered, and he will yet suffer. He has much to atone for.” He opened his eyes and gazed at the stars. “My lord Namó summoned me, and I came. He told me I had another chance to protect those I loved, and I agreed to give up my place in his Halls of Waiting, and reenter this world. Then, I suddenly felt heavy, as if I were buried or could not move. I gasped, and the air filling my lungs felt like daggers. I screamed in pain and Vairë was at my side, holding my hand. Had that been an elleth, I surely would have broken her hand, but she is of far finer and stronger mettle. She told me that the pain I felt was an old memory of my body, that it would pass, and it did. I bear a scar from the Balrog’s whip as a reminder of my life and death.”

“You are in the same body?” Erestor asked with astonishment.

“No, no, my friend. That body lies beneath the Sea; this body is what my mind remembered, it is an exact replica.” He smiled, and then continued, “Slowly, she helped me sit up and across from me was an old man, gray and wrinkled, yet there was a sparkle in his eyes. He laughed and said, “Dear friend, do not complain until you must wear this skin.” I smiled, he winked, and he said he would see me soon. Vairë placed her hand upon my head and I closed my eyes, when I opened them, I was on a ship, looking at the coastline of Lindon. Círdan took me in, helped me rejoin this world, then I sought out Elrond, and here I am. My promise to Namó is to guard Elrond and his descendants, and I shall do so until the last of them leave these shores.”

Erestor could not reply; it was more than he expected, whatever that had been. His best friend possessed true nobility and strength of spirit. How many would give up the chance for everlasting peace only to return to war? He was sure Glorfindel had earned a place of honor amongst his kindred in Aman with that sacrifice.

Glorfindel smiled and tucked an errant braid behind Erestor’s ear. “Now that I have told you my story you must tell me yours.”

“There is not much to tell, certainly nothing as amazing as what you have shared.”

“Ah, but whether or not something is amazing is in judgment of the listener. Come, come… tell.”

“All right,” Erestor murmured. “I will try not to bore you to death.”

Erestor told his story, withholding the more personal details, and Glorfindel listened intently, his expressions running the gamut from wonder to sorrow. The Elda asked many questions, about his work with Celebrimbor and his life in Ost-in-Edhil, and Erestor answered them as best he could, then the conversation turned to many things – hopes for their futures, and the future of Elrond’s haven. They lie beside one another, talking into the early morning hours, long after the revelry faded inside the Last Homely House, and then Glorfindel rose. “Will you stay here?” he asked.

“Aye, I like sleeping outside, and it is a perfect night for it.”

“Very well.”

Erestor watched the Elda leave the garden and then he turned his gaze back to the sky, thinking of all the wondrous things they had talked about. A short time later, Glorfindel returned and he looked up at his friend.

“Off with the shoes, Master Erestor, this is a blanket of the softest and finest wool.”

“You brought me a blanket?” Erestor asked, a smile curving his lips as he pulled off his shoes.

“I brought us a blanket. I thought I would sleep out here as well, if you do not mind the company.”

“I would love the company,” he answered, and made room for his friend once again.

* * * *

Glorfindel awoke on his side, curled around his friend, his chest pressed to Erestor’s back. The sky was a deep shade of blue, the cicada’s song was just beginning to fade and the birds would soon take up their chorus; dawn would be upon them in a short time. Glorfindel shifted, drawing Erestor closer as he buried his face in the Noldo’s raven locks. His friend smelled like lilac, fresh and clean, and his hair was as soft as silk against his cheek. Erestor’s lean body molded perfectly to his own; his friend’s tight, round backside was pressed deliciously against his lap.

“Too beautiful to be alone,” he whispered, and he began to gently rub the councilor’s stomach. Erestor stirred against him, causing him to stifle a moan; his friend felt so good in his arms. “Ah, Glorfindel, you know you should not do this,” he murmured to himself. “What if he is offended, or, worse yet, repulsed? Ai, but it is worth the risk. One touch, one kiss…” His hand slid lower, coming to rest just above the Noldo’s groin. “Wake, my raven beauty,” he murmured into Erestor’s ear.

Erestor was having the most erotic dream. Glorfindel moved against him, his strong hands bestowing gentle caresses, and his pink lips caressing the curve of his ear. As a large hand slid between his legs he moaned aloud and arched his back, then, he woke.

“Come, my beauty,” Glorfindel murmured. “Let me give you what you so richly deserve.”

As Erestor woke, he found himself in Glorfindel’s arms, arching and undulating against him, craning his neck so that his friend could better kiss his throat. “Glorfindel?” he murmured in a groggy voice.

“Who else do you expect?” Glorfindel answered huskily as he kissed the juncture of Erestor’s neck and shoulder.

Erestor felt the Elda’s hand cupping and gently rubbing his rapidly rising length. “Oh gods, gods Glorfindel,” he moaned.

“Yes, my beauty,” Glorfindel answered. “I was hoping that would be your reaction.” He rolled Erestor to his back and covered the councilor’s lean frame with his own. “Kiss me, Erestor,” he whispered.

Erestor plunged his hands into Glorfindel’s thick, golden locks, pulling the Elda’s head down until their lips met. He opened his mouth wide to Glorfindel’s questing tongue, moaning into their kiss as Glorfindel’s hand slid inside his robe and began to unlace his leggings. He opened his legs and thrust upward, earning a deep groan from his friend. As Glorfindel released his mouth the words spilled out so fast, he could not stop them: “Yes, Elbereth, yes, I have wanted this for so long, I have wanted you for so long…”

“You have me, Erestor,” Glorfindel answered, a sensual smile curving his lips as he reached inside the Noldo’s leggings and took his turgid length in his hand.

“Gods!” Erestor cried in a hoarse whisper, bucking up into Glorfindel’s grasp.

“Ssshh… my lusty beauty,” Glorfindel murmured, “or we will have an audience for our bed play.”

Erestor squirmed beneath Glorfindel as the Elda stroked his rigid length. The warrior’s weight, his strong body, the way he touched him, the way he kissed him, it was unlike anything he had ever felt. He clenched fistfuls of Glorfindel’s hair in his hands and buried his face against the Elda’s neck, a strangled, muffled cry erupting from his lips as he came. He fell back to the chaise, panting, his head lolling from side to side as Glorfindel slid beneath the blanket and licked him clean. “Sweet Elbereth,” he whispered; it was something Celebrimbor had never done. He was nearly hard again just from the feel of it, that warm, wet tongue lapping at his softening length.

“Come, my lusty raven,” Glorfindel murmured as he emerged from beneath the blankets. “Let us retire to my chamber. I am not nearly through with you yet.”

Erestor lazily nodded his assent as Glorfindel laced his breeches and pulled him from the chaise.

*****

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