Resurrection 22

Resurrection

Part 22

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

Summary: Erestor breaks down.

*****

It had been nearly a year since Gildor left and several months since anyone last had word from the warriors who had gone to war. The fighting had been terrible, and heavy losses were felt amongst both Men and Elves. The months had been unbearable. Erestor buried himself in work, often forgetting, and sometimes refusing, to eat, and he could not sleep, despite Lindir’s best caretaking efforts. Nightmares plagued him; he was consumed by the fear that Gildor would perish and he would never have the chance to show the warrior how much he meant to him or to atone for the betrayal that was always present in his heart.

He had apologized to Elrond for his outburst, and rather than coolly accepting his apology as Erestor thought he would, his lord had taken him into his arms and held him while he wept. Erestor knew that Elrond was also plagued with worry for Gildor, and if anything happened to the warrior, Erestor feared Elrond would never forgive himself.

On a pleasant spring day, he was probably too far away from the Last Homely House, but he had been lost in his thoughts as he and Gwathel wandered through the woods. His silent companion tread quietly beside him, her sharp eyes always scanning their surroundings as she sniffed the air and her large ears kept alert to anything that should cause concern. The she-wolf stopped in her tracks, her nose twitching slightly as she stared down the path. Erestor looked at her then looked ahead, before looking back at his companion.

“What is it?” he asked softly, then he saw her tail slowly raise and begin to sway back and forth. She uttered a high-pitched bark, and then began jogging down the trail. “Gildor?” he asked, his heart beginning to race as he followed her.

Glorfindel’s powerful, white stallion rounded a bend in the trail and snorted as he saw the wolf jogging toward them. Reaching down he rubbed his mount’s neck. “’Tis only Gwathel,” he murmured, and then his stallion settled beneath him. “And Erestor,” he added as he saw his friend jogging toward them. His smile faded as he saw the expression on Erestor’s face; it was clear his friend was hoping to see someone else.

“Mae govannen, Erestor,” he said as he slid off his stallion’s back.

Erestor gathered his composure and smiled, albeit a bit sadly. “Welcome home, Glorfindel,” he returned. “How are things on the borders?” He held out his hand.

Glorfindel glanced at the outstretched hand and his friend’s sad face. “Better now. We have sent out patrols and seen no sign of evil men or orcs.” He took Erestor’s hand then drew his friend into his arms. “He will come home, Erestor,” he murmured into Erestor’s ear. “He has good reason to.”

“Please do not…”

“Do not do what? I am only trying to offer you comfort.”

Everything was just so present, so raw, and so close to the surface. He breathed in Glorfindel’s scent, reveled in his strong embrace, his deep voice, the feel of his breath upon his ear.

“I do not deserve…”

Glorfindel pulled back and held Erestor’s face in his hands. “You still believe that? After all these years, all these good deeds, all of your brilliant work you still think that you do not deserve…”

“I do not!”

“Yes you do, and by denying it you slight me and Gildor, for we believe it. Are we fools? Are we wrong?”

“Oh, gods, I miss you…” Erestor blurted out.

“Me?” Glorfindel asked, holding Erestor close despite the councilor’s attempt to pull away.

“Gildor, I miss Gildor.”

“Aye, I imagine you do. But you said you miss me. It is permissible for you to miss me, Erestor. We are friends.”

“Friends, of course. Yes. We are friends, I can miss you.”

“Stop hiding from me.” He grasped Erestor’s jaw and turned the councilor’s face so that their gazes met. “We must stop this . . . this dancing around one another.”

Tears began to fall down Erestor’s face. “I am so wretched,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Why say you? You are not wretched…”

“Yes, I am! My lover is fighting for his life, assuming he is not dead already, and I am thinking about this . . . how this feels . . . how much I miss this…”

Glorfindel caressed Erestor’s face. “Oh, my dear, beloved raven,” he whispered.

“I love you…” Erestor murmured. “I…” He grasped Glorfindel’s face and kissed him deeply.

There was a brief moment when Glorfindel’s reason still had hold, but it disappeared when Erestor kissed him. Rather than pull away, he pulled Erestor closer, opening his mouth to Erestor’s questing tongue, moaning his long denied passion. Erestor was right, this did feel good and this felt right, as if it were how things should be. They were both wretched.

Staggering back into the trees and away from the path, they grappled with one another’s clothing, desperately seeking contact with each other’s flesh.

“I want you. Valar, I will die if I don’t have you,” Erestor groaned as Glorfindel’s teeth marked his neck, just below his ear.

Glorfindel was lost in the feeling of Erestor’s hands in his hair, of them clutching his back, and gripping his backside. With one hand he opened the clasps of Erestor’s robe, with the other he cradled the counselor’s head as he laved the spot he had just marked with his teeth. Erestor’s needful, emotional moans were breaking his heart. He loved Erestor, he always had, and it was now no longer possible to deny it.

Erestor gasped as the Elda’s hand slid inside his leggings and grasped his quickly swelling length. “I love you,” he whispered repeatedly, fumbling with the laces on Glorfindel’s leggings. As Glorfindel answered him in kind, he sobbed through his moans, his fingers closing around his beloved’s exquisite arousal.

The encounter was brief, owing to the long years of denied passion they had for one another. Erestor leaned against Glorfindel’s chest, clinging to the love of his life, sobbing uncontrollably like an elfling. His beloved was weeping as well, holding him tightly and whispering how much he loved him through his tears.

“What are we going to do?” Glorfindel whispered. “How can I break Lindir’s heart like this? He has only ever loved me and trusted me.”

Erestor sniffled, his tears subsiding and his heart slowing in its rhythm. “I do not know. I love Gildor and I do not want to hurt him. Somehow, I think you have the harder part to play; Lindir is still so innocent at heart, whereas Gildor has always been strong. I love Lindir dearly; I do not want to see him hurt either, but how do we go back to how we were after this?”

Glorfindel sighed. “I do not know. But I cannot be so callous as to just walk away from him.”

The truth of the matter fell upon Erestor like a cartload of stone. “You cannot walk away from him; you will not.” He took a deep breath and straightened. “Nor will I abandon Gildor; I could not live with myself if I did.”

He straightened his clothes, pulling up his breeches and closing the clasps on his robe. “All of my life I have avoided making choices,” he said as his eyes focused on the task at hand. “I have blamed Celebrimbor for the ills that befell me before I came here. I took Gildor as a lover because I could not have you when the truth is, I could have had you, had I been brave enough to tell you how I felt.” He looked at Glorfindel’s sad face. “I am tired of acting as though I have no choice in what I do, as though my choices are merely reactions to things outside of my control.” He reached up and caressed Glorfindel’s cheek. “I love you, Glorfindel; I always have and I always will, but I will not ask you to break the heart of one you hold dear. I have made my choices, and I will abide by them. You will go back to Lindir, and I will wait for Gildor. We shall not speak of this again.” He held out his hand to his beloved, who accepted it and rose to his feet.

“I do not know if I am strong enough to let you go,” Glorfindel said softly.

Erestor smiled sadly. “You are, and I am strong enough to let you go.” Reaching out, he gently touched Glorfindel’s face, caressing his lips with his thumb before placing a soft kiss upon them, and then he turned and walked away.

* * * *

Lindir heard his lover in the bath when he returned to their chambers. A smile curved his lips as he saw the trail of travel-soiled clothing that led from the door to the bath. As he picked up each piece, he held it to his face; he loved the smell of the woods intermingled with his beloved’s scent.

He still held Glorfindel’s undershirt in his left hand as he looked at the rumpled breeches in his right. It was as if someone had rammed an arrow into his heart. Normally, he would have thought his lover had pleasured himself during the long ride home from the border, however this time, it was not only Glorfindel that he smelled. He swallowed the lump in his throat and quickly placed the soiled garments in the laundry basket, and then he slowly walked out onto their balcony. He could not breathe or think; he would have screamed if he could have found his voice. All he could do was turn his dead gaze to the hills as his head spun and his heart broke.

When Glorfindel emerged from the bath, he found his clothes missing. Time seemed to crawl as he walked toward the open doors leading to the veranda. He placed a trembling hand upon the doorframe and softly called his lover.

“Sparrow?”

Lindir turned and looked at him and his heart stopped. He opened his mouth to speak, yet he could not. A tear traced down his cheek as Lindir’s broken gaze shattered what was left of his heart.

“Tell me it was just once; that you did it to comfort him. Tell me that and I can get over this, Glorfindel. Tell me that you have not betrayed my love and my trust.”

Glorfindel swallowed. Erestor’s final words rang in his ears and he said, “Yes, I was trying to comfort him, I did not intend…”

Lindir knew his lover was lying, but he was not yet ready to let go. He turned his back to Glorfindel and gripped the smooth stone railing. “I need some time to deal with this; I cannot speak with you now.”

Glorfindel closed his eyes and reentered their chambers, donning fresh clothes and leaving Lindir alone.

* * * *

Erestor had returned to his chamber and bathed. He scrubbed his skin until it glowed red and taken his clothing directly to the laundry, desperate to remove any evidence of his weakness. He was entering the library to immerse himself in work when he heard the call come from down the corridor.

“They have returned!”

“Gildor!” he breathed, and then he ran down the long hallway with Gwathel following close behind.

*****

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