Resurrection 21

Resurrection

Part 21

Posted: December 8, 2006
Title: Resurrection
Author: Larien Elengasse

Summary: Gildor rides to war, and Erestor does something rash.

*****

War came faster than anyone wanted or imagined. Erestor watched Elrond’s face as his lord studied the maps spread upon the table, his gaze moving from the parchment to his advisors. What needed to be done was clear, yet still he was reluctant to give the order. Celeborn had returned to Lindon after spending the winter in Imladris. The venerable elf lord would soon be preparing his regiments to march upon Eriador, and while assistance was coming from Nûmenor, he would still need more if they were to drive Sauron out of the western lands.

Erestor could feel his stomach knotting; one, possibly two elves that he loved so much that he could not bear the thought of losing them would be leaving, and there was a distinct possibility that one or both might not return.

Sauron’s power was increasing; orcs and corrupted men were running wild throughout Eriador, burning, raping, and killing at will. They had two choices: they could sail and leave the Second Born to their fate, or they could stay and fight, regardless of the cost in terms of lives, human and elven alike.

Elrond took a deep breath and turned his gaze to Erestor. “Sauron is close to discovering our haven,” he said, resignation tingeing his voice. “We must bring those who live outside the circle of the mountains inside the valley. The borders are too vast to protect as they are. You will be tasked with building shelter for the refugees as they arrive, Erestor.”

“Yes, my lord. I will commence immediately.”

The Lord of Imladris then turned his gaze to Glorfindel. “This place and the lives within it are precious, Glorfindel. We must protect those who live under our charge at all costs. You will remain here and fortify the borders; we cannot permit Sauron’s hoards to enter this valley.”

Glorfindel bowed his head, though he was concerned about his lord’s decision. “Aye, my lord. We shall hold him at bay.”

Elrond then turned to Gildor. “That means that you will lead Imladris’ warriors into battle, Gildor. You will take three regiments and travel westward, meeting with Lord Celeborn and a battalion from Nûmenor. You have served me well these many years in this regard, I know you will not fail me now.”

Gildor smiled determinedly. “I shall not, my lord. We will give the black beast a battle he will not forget.”

“You must leave in two days.”

Gildor bowed his head.

Erestor felt his nails begin to dig into the tabletop. If Elrond was sending Gildor, it could only mean one thing: the elf-lord had little hope of Gildor, and those who followed him, coming home – Elrond would never risk losing Glorfindel. He quickly glanced at Glorfindel, as if he thought there was something his friend could do about Elrond’s decision.

Glorfindel’s brow was furrowed, and he turned his gaze from Erestor’s to his lords. “My lord, perhaps…”

Gildor placed his hand upon Glorfindel’s arm. “The decision is sound, Glorfindel. Lord Elrond needs you to protect our home and the hundreds of innocent souls that live here. You must protect those who cannot protect themselves.” He quickly glanced at Elrond before returning his gaze to Glorfindel. “It will not be the first time I have faced Sauron and his horde, I am well aware of what it is I am to do.”

Erestor gathered his courage and began to speak. “My lord…”

Elrond shook his head and held up his hand. “These decisions are never easy, Erestor. However, sometimes life leaves us no choice. This must be done.” He stepped away from the table, leaving a crestfallen Erestor and a worried Glorfindel in his wake.

Glorfindel followed Elrond, pausing to place his hand upon Erestor’s shoulder in friendly support. He gave it a gentle squeeze, and then he left the council chambers.

Gildor sighed as he looked at his lover; he looked so frightened and so pained. He rounded the table and took the councilor in his arms. “I would tell you not to worry, but I know it would be a waste of words.”

“Why you?”

“Why anyone? It is what I do, Erestor; it is my duty. Would you have me shirk it?”

“Yes. No. I do not know, Gildor. What I do know is I cannot lose you, not now. Not ever.”

Gildor caressed Erestor’s hair. “You will not, Erestor.” He sighed. “I have not had a reason to avoid charging headlong into battle, because I have not often had a real home and a real family to come back to.” He pulled back and took Erestor’s face in his hands. “I do now. You have given me that Erestor. You have given me a home, a place where I feel that I belong.” He wiped at the tear that tracked down Erestor’s cheek. “This is why I fight, to protect this.” He placed a gentle kiss upon his lover’s lips. “Fear not, my love. I will return.”

Erestor wrapped his arms around Gildor’s shoulders and buried his face in the warrior’s flaxen mane. “I love you, Gildor,” he whispered. “I truly do.”

Gildor smiled. “It is that love that will give me strength and bring me home.” He nuzzled Erestor’s ear. “I love you, Erestor.”

* * * *

As Ithil began to fade, Erestor stared out of the open window, listening to the crickets chirp and the birds begin to sing. He was already dressed, not having slept at all the night before. He and Gildor had made love slowly, tenderly, much like the first time they coupled. Each whisper-soft touch, each warm, wet, slow kiss broke his heart. He loved Gildor - he truly did, both as a friend and as a lover – yet, still his heart clung to Glorfindel, as hopeless as it was. Each time he and Gildor made love it was as if he were betraying him nevertheless, because each time a secret part of him yearned for another.

He looked at his sleeping lover who was so peaceful despite the horrors he was bound to see when he rode to war. He owed Gildor so much, so very much, and he would pay his debt, regardless of the cost. Motioning to Gwathel, he paused at the door and picked up a pack, then quietly left their room with his she-wolf in tow.

* * * *

Gildor stirred in his reverie, slowly waking and reaching out for his lover only to find Erestor’s side of the bed empty. He sat up, frowning as he looked around the dimly lit room. His lover was at work already; it was Erestor’s way, to bury himself in work to escape the things that were beyond his control.

He rose and bathed, then donned his traveling clothes, strapping on his quiver and sword, then picking up his bow and pack, before departing their bedchamber. He paused at the door, looking around the empty room with its windows open wide to the mountains; breathing in the soft smell of jasmine floating in upon the breeze; glancing at Gwathel’s favorite rug by the hearth, covered in hair despite Erestor’s best efforts; and gazing long at the unmade bed where his stoic, reserved lover had taught him to let down his guard and share his heart as well as his desire. He sincerely hoped he saw this place, his home, again.

He closed his eyes, and then closed the door behind him.

* * * *

He first sought Erestor in the library and was surprised when his lover was not there. He then went to the kitchens, the feasting hall, the Hall of Fire, and finally the gardens and woods beyond. He could delay no longer, his warriors were gathered, as were those who would see them off to their fate. He did not want to leave without saying farewell. He would not let Erestor know what was in his mind, but he was not sure he would be coming home. An elf’s luck can only last so long and he knew it.

Unable to wait any longer, he walked to the stables, pushing open the large, heavy, rough-hewn doors. Erestor was there, his mare prepared and Gwathel sitting at his feet.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with surprise, setting his pack beside his already groomed gelding.

“I am going with you,” Erestor said matter-of-factly.

He approached his lover, surprise evident on his face. “What? No, Erestor, you cannot go; you have things you must do here.”

Erestor shook his head, placing his fingers upon Gildor’s lips. “I have given Lindir complete instructions. He knows what to do and is more than capable of doing it.” Gildor began to protest again and he pressed his fingers harder upon the warrior’s lips. “Do not try to dissuade me, Gildor. I know what it is I am doing. I can be of use; I can help manage supplies and the camp. I can arrange communications…” He sighed, a tear tracing down his cheek. “Please, I beg you, do not leave me behind.”

Gildor frowned, then pulled Erestor’s fingers from his lips. Caressing his lover’s face, he leaned against him, pressing Erestor’s back against the wall. “I love you, you mad elf,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Erestor opened his mouth wide to Gildor’s possessive kiss. When he felt his wrists pulled over his head and quickly bound with a leather strap that had laid on the edge of the table next to him, he began to struggle. “No! Gildor, no… please, please…”

It was no use. Gildor lifted him, hooking his bound wrists over an iron bracket that once held a lantern. He could barely touch the ground with his toes. Struggling, fighting not to cry, he begged Gildor to release him.

“I love you, Erestor,” Gildor said quietly. “Remember that.” He bent down and placed a comforting hand upon Gwathel’s head. The she-wolf was confused and frightened. “Find Glorfindel, girl,” he said softly. “Seek!”

Gwathel bounded out of the stable toward the courtyard as Gildor leapt upon his horse. He smiled sadly at Erestor, who hung helplessly against the wall. “I do love you. I will always love you, whether in this life or the next. I promise, I will do everything I can to come home.” He then galloped out of the stable.

Erestor cried out as he heard the cheer of those who said farewell.

* * * *

Glorfindel looked down with confusion at the wolf that tugged upon his boot. “What is wrong with her? And where is Erestor?” Gwathel let out a high-pitched bark.

“I think she is trying to tell you something,” Lindir said, his brow furrowed. “I think she wants you to follow her.”

“Show me Erestor,” he said to Gwathel, then followed the wolf as she ran toward the stable.

* * * *

Glorfindel, Lindir, and Elrond arrived at the stable, fearing that something terrible had happened to Erestor, as Gwathel was clearly upset. As the Elda pushed open the large doors, he found Erestor dangling from an iron bracket.

“Sweet Elbereth!” He rushed forward and lifted his friend, setting him down and untying his wrists.

Lindir stood aghast, his hand over his mouth as he quickly looked around for signs of foul play. Elrond said nothing; his sad gaze spoke loudly enough.

Spying the pack and Erestor’s groomed mare he murmured, “Gildor, he did this.”

Erestor pushed past Glorfindel, and stood in front of Elrond. “This is your doing!” he shouted. “If he does not come home, I will never forgive you!”

“Erestor!” Glorfindel barked, but his friend left the stable at a run.

“Leave him be, Glorfindel. I do not blame him for being angry at me.” Elrond sighed and looked at the ceiling. “I would feel the same if I were him.” He quietly left the stable as Lindir followed, casting a concerned glance back at his lover.

*****

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