Resurrection 15

Resurrection

Part 15

Posted: October 27, 2006
Title: Resurrection
Author: Larien Elengasse

Summary: A celebration of the New Year.

*****

The weeks passed uneventfully. Glorfindel and Gildor busied themselves with extra patrols and building more guard flets on the borders. There had been no more sightings of wargs and no sightings of orcs in the Hidden Valley, which was a relief to all. Gildor postulated that the wargs were drawn into the valley as they followed a herd of deer that migrated back to the higher meadows as the snow began to melt. The wargs they hunted had no trappings such as harnesses or collars to indicate that they were mastered by orcs, so the warrior hoped it was a rogue pack that had somehow escaped the orcs’ enslavement.

Gwathel healed remarkably well, far better than Gildor anticipated, owing to Erestor’s doting care. Soon the she-wolf was walking and jogging under her own power, following Erestor everywhere he went. They became the talk of the Last Homely House: the staid, over-serious librarian and his wild companion; together, they painted a forbidding picture as they walked the woods. While Gwathel was docile in the presence of the elves who lived in Imladris, and those men who were their friends, there was no mistaking that she could be dangerous, should an occasion arise that called for it. While Erestor kept her groomed, he refused to put a collar on her; he said that would be an affront to her wild spirit. The wolf was entirely trustworthy; she posed no threat to the flocks or the herds of horses that roamed Imladris – it was as if she understood the rules of domesticity and respected her new family. Occasionally, Erestor would take her to hunt in the woods, where she would bring down small game on her own, but the bulk of her diet consisted of raw meats that the cooks gave her.

Erestor lived a solitary life, working until late in the evening and spending rare days away from work with Gwathel, and sometimes with Gildor as well. His work was often an excuse to avoid those social occasions where he would have to bear witness to the growing love between Glorfindel and Lindir. He could not bring himself to hold malice in his heart toward Lindir, despite how he envied the young minstrel.

However, this night was one of those occasions he could not avoid without raising suspicion. It was the celebration of Mettarë, a grand event in Imladris. The entirety of the Hidden Valley would attend, with the exception of the border guards. Lindir and his minstrels would perform music composed just for the event, and the cooks had prepared a grand spread for them. Erestor lay on his back on his bed, staring at the ceiling and absently stroking Gwathel’s coat as she lay beside him.

“I am afraid I cannot bring you to the celebration this eve, Gwathel,” he murmured. “Though I doubt you will miss the festivities – I know I would not if I were able to stay away.”

The she-wolf snorted and rolled to her back, silently imploring her new brother to rub her belly. Erestor smiled and obliged his ward, scratching her soft stomach as he procrastinated. “I really should bathe, the hour grows late,” he murmured.

A soft knock upon his door raised him from his musings, and he slowly sat up as Gwathel hopped down off the tall bed and trotted toward the door.

“Sit,” he said softly, and the she-wolf obeyed, then he opened the door. “Gildor,” he remarked with a little bit of surprise. “I thought you would be on the borders.”

“I have just returned,” the warrior answered. “Are you not coming to the feast?”

“Aye, I am coming,” Erestor replied. “Please, come in.” He stepped aside and allowed the warrior entrance.

Gildor squatted in the floor and affectionately rubbed Gwathel’s face. “She looks very well, Erestor,” he remarked. “She is quite happy in your care.”

“I have grown very attached to her,” Erestor mused. “She is my constant companion.”

“I never would have imagined you having a wolf as a companion.”

“Neither would I have imagined it, but life takes strange turns.”

“Aye, it does. It is good to see you, my friend. We see far too little of one another as of late.”

Erestor smiled as Gildor stood and embraced him. He leaned his head on the warrior’s shoulder. “Agreed,” he answered quietly. He had not realized how lonely he was until that moment. As they separated, Gildor cupped his cheek and Erestor found himself pressing his face into the Noldo’s hand.

“May I escort you this eve?” Gildor asked softly.

“I would like that,” Erestor answered.

“I shall return after I have bathed and donned more appropriate attire.”

“See you soon,” Erestor said as Gildor left and closed the door behind him.

* * * *

Erestor emerged from his bathing chamber to find Gwathel snoring lightly as she slept on the rug in a patch of sunshine that filtered through the window. He smiled as he stepped over the sleeping she-wolf and opened his armoire to select an appropriate robe for the evening. Sighing as he fingered the robes that hung in the large cabinet, he realized nearly everything he owned was black. Given that this was a joyful event, black did not seem to be a fitting color. Finally, his fingers lighted on the crimson robe that Glorfindel had gifted him nearly a year ago. He had not worn it since.

He pulled it out slowly, remembering that auspicious occasion, and the glorious night and day that followed it. His heart constricted in his chest when he remembered the loving touches and passionate kisses his beloved Elda had bestowed upon his trembling body. It was the only suitable thing he had to wear and he resigned himself to it; he cursed his lack of planning, as he neglected to have another made for this evening. He carried the garment to the bed and removed his bathing robe before pulling the elaborate crimson velvet over his head.

He was placing the last braid in his hair when Gildor’s soft knock fell upon his door, causing Gwathel to sit up quickly and look toward the portal. Sighing, he patted her on the head, instructed her to be a good girl, and departed his chambers for the evening.

“’Tis been many months since I last saw you in something other than black,” Gildor remarked as he placed Erestor’s hand in the crook of his arm, covering it with his own hand.

“I like black, I think it suits me,” Erestor answered.

“It certainly suits your disposition,” Gildor murmured with a grin.

“Pardon?”

“It does look comely on you, however, you are markedly more radiant this eve. The hue of your garment brings out the color in your cheeks. I seem to remember you wearing this once before.”

Erestor looked at the floor. “It is a gift from Glorfindel.” He cast a sideways glance at his friend. “Thank you, Gildor.”

“For?”

“For escorting me this eve and for being such a good friend.”

Gildor shrugged. “’Tis but a little thing. Being your friend is no hardship to me, Erestor.”

“Nor is being your friend a hardship to me.” Erestor cast another long, sideways glance at his escort. “You look most handsome tonight, my friend. Blue is a color that suits you well – the shade matches your eyes.”

Gildor smiled. “Thank you, Erestor. I think we make a fine pair.”

“Agreed.”

“I must insist that we dance together tonight. I never see you dance.”

“That is because I do not know how to dance,” Erestor answered.

“Ah, then I shall have to teach you.”

“Odd, I never thought of you as a dancer.”

“There is not much difference between sparring and dancing, my friend. However, the latter is certainly more pleasant.”

Erestor chuckled. “Aye, I can imagine it is.”

They arrived at the dining hall to find it filled to capacity. Their customary places were reserved at the head of Elrond’s table, with Gildor’s seat directly across from Erestor. Lindir sat beside Erestor, with Glorfindel sitting directly across from him. They were greeted with enthusiasm, and Lindir placed an arm around Erestor’s shoulders as he took his seat.

“I am so glad to see you here,” the minstrel said softly. “I feared you would find some excuse to stay in your quarters.”

“I would not miss the performance of your new composition, my friend,” Erestor said, patting Lindir’s knee.

“I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

“It will,” Erestor murmured, “it always does.”

Lindir smiled and blushed a little before picking up his goblet and taking a sip of wine.

“How are you feeling?” Erestor asked quietly.

“Much better,” Lindir remarked. “There is still a bit of stiffness in my leg, other than that, I feel like it never happened.”

“A testament to our Lord’s doting care and the skill of his healers.”

“And to my love’s gentle care,” Lindir answered quietly.

“Of course, that is understood.” Erestor took a long drink of his wine.

Quiet conversation ensued, and Erestor remarked at how different this night was from previous celebrations in the Last Homely House. Glorfindel and Gildor, who were typically instigators of raucous conversation, were atypically quiet and reserved. There seemed to be a pall of somberness at the table, despite the smiles and compliments given and received.

As they adjourned to the Hall of Fire, Erestor tried not to watch the way Glorfindel placed a protective arm around Lindir’s waist, or how he guided the minstrel to where he would perform the night’s music. In turn, he did not see the concerned looks that Gildor cast his way; he only saw Glorfindel’s reluctance to meet his gaze. Was he that obvious? Could everyone in the room see how he longed for his friend?

‘Stop it, Erestor,’ he chided himself in his thoughts. ‘He is not yours nor will he ever be. It is best you look elsewhere for company.’

They sat in large, comfortable chairs near the massive hearth, and Erestor accepted a fresh goblet of wine as the minstrels tuned their instruments and prepared to play. He purposefully selected a chair that would create an empty seat between him and Glorfindel; whether or not this was obvious, he could care less – at this point, he had to do whatever it took to maintain his cool mask of indifference. Thankfully, Gildor filled the empty seat, forming a buffer between him and the golden warrior.

Lindir and his minstrels took up their song and Erestor allowed Lindir’s exquisite voice to fill his ears. He closed his eyes and tried to lose himself to the music, forgetting all else that weighed on his heart. As the song concluded, and a more celebratory tune began, Erestor felt Gildor’s hand upon his wrist.

“It is time for that dancing lesson, my friend.”

“Must we?” Erestor asked with an expression of trepidation on his face.

“Aye, we must. ‘Tis best to face your fears, Erestor, rather than be slave to them your whole life.”

Erestor placed his wine goblet on the table and allowed Gildor to lead him to the dance floor.

“’Tis good to see Erestor socialize more, do you not think so?” Elrond asked Glorfindel.

“Aye, I have been worried about him. He spends far too much time on his own.”

“Have the two of you had a falling out? You used to be practically inseparable.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I am not sure what happened, my lord,” he answered quietly. “I think we have just . . . grown apart.”

Elrond nodded but said nothing. In his heart, he felt he knew the cause of the distance between Erestor and Glorfindel, but it was not his place to council others on matters of the heart. Glorfindel seemed to truly love Lindir, and Elrond was loath to say or do anything that would destroy that – the minstrel was far too precious to him.

* * * *

“Oh! Forgive me,” Erestor muttered as he stepped on Gildor’s toe for the fifth time.

Gildor chuckled. “Aiya, Erestor. If you would let me lead you could dance on the floor instead of my feet.”

“I am letting you lead!”

“No, you are not. You do not take direction well.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Keep tension between us, against my hands, like this…” Erestor nodded. “Now, when I press against this hand, you turn.” Erestor felt like he was going to trip over his own feet, but complied. “Well done! Now you are letting me lead.” Erestor stepped on his toe again, and Gildor chuckled and shook his head. “Stop thinking and just dance!”

“I am trying!”

“Well try harder!”

“Fine.”

They kept at it, Erestor doing fine for a while then over-thinking and stepping on Gildor’s toes. After a few songs, Erestor finally relaxed and actually began to enjoy the exercise.

“Ai!” he cried as Gildor spun him around, then he started laughing.

“Ah, now that is what I desire to hear, the sound of your laughter. It is a rare treat.” He dipped his friend low, smiling as Erestor gasped then grinned from ear to ear. “’Tis fun, yes?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Erestor breathed. “But I think I am nearly out of breath.”

“Then let us step outside and get some air, and perhaps some more wine.”

“Sounds like a wonderful idea.”

Gildor brought Erestor back to an upright position, then led his friend by the hand out to the veranda.

*****

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