Posted: May 2004
Title: A Warrior's Homecoming
Author: Larien Elengasse
Type: FCS
Characters: Erestor/ Fëanor
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of Tolkien, and I am sure he would be horrified if he read this…
Warnings: Angst; graphic depictions of sexual acts between two males.
Beta: Alex
Author's Note: I am not an expert on Tolkien canon, I have no idea when Erestor was born or which house he hails from, and I am taking liberties with time lines. May the canon gods forgive me…

Summary: Erestor reminisces about days gone by and remembers one he lost.

*****

I am old, yet ageless. I have walked Middle Earth for three ages, seen the land change, seen its inhabitants change, and I watch as it changes again. I have seen friends come and go, I have watched them fall in battle, I have seen some born and I have seen one of them be born again. The days of the Eldar are ending; the time to go home has finally come after so very long. I sit beside my old friend, our feet propped upon a stone railing, looking out across the river at the waterfall that feeds the canyon beneath the Last Homely House. We have sat here many a night, drinking over conversations about the future and the past.

I take a long draught of the heady wine and smile as its warmth slides down my throat. I look at my good friend and see his brow furrowed in thought, see the shadow of longing that clouds his azure gaze.

"How long until he follows you?" I ask.

"I do not know," he answers, his strong fingers trailing through his golden hair.

"Will you see him before we sail?" I ask.

"Aye," he answers. "He will meet me near the Gap of Rohan. We will have a few precious days before I go on to Minas Tirith. After that, I do not know if I will see him again until he hears the call."

"Days…" I answer. "What are days in the long march of time? They are but moments. You should have more than that."

He answers with a wry grin. "Much can happen in a few days, Erestor. You of all elves know this."

I nod. "Aye, this is true. I know it well."

"It was a few days that changed your life, was it not? A few days that decided your destiny?"

"Aye, two days to be exact…"

Memories. Some fade over time, some stay sharp. I have many memories, memories of beauty, joy, destruction, death, and loss so profound that it has shaped who I am. I have grieved for over seven thousand years; I have grieved nearly my entire adult life.

I close my eyes, listening to the roar of the waterfall, the wind in the tree boughs, the rhythmic chirping of crickets. I am letting my memories take me where I often go in moments like this one, quiet moments in which I wait for my destiny…

* * * *

We made camp for the night, the shadows of Angband and Ered Wethrin loomed dark and dangerous around us. Hidden from the sight of the Dark One, in the Mountains of Shadow, we waited: restless, anxious, and fearful. The wrath of our lord had driven us there, driven us to defy the Valar and turn our backs on our home. We were to wage war against Morgoth himself.

Tempers ran hot amongst the warriors, and arguments broke out among the lesser guard. Two of the captains of the House of Fëanor wagered with one another that I could defeat one of my own rank amongst their regiment. I was a young soldier, but I was fierce, and I had seen battle and partaken of slaughter already in my young life.

I soundly and quickly defeated the young soldier before me, driving him to his knees in the dirt, encircled by those who quietly egged us on. He was not harmed, for he knew enough to give up before I had the chance to force his submission. He was mine to do with as I saw fit by our custom, and as I looked upon his fair face and dark eyes I contemplated what his service would be to me that night.

"Well enough," the deep voice came from outside the circle. "You have proven you can defeat a youngster, but can you stand against a real warrior?"

I turned and saw our leader enter the circle, and I immediately knelt upon one knee, covering my heart with my hand as I bowed my head.

"Adar, he is but a young soldier. Surely you can not expect him to stand against the likes of one such as yourself?"

Maedhros' voice came from behind me. I served under Fëanor's eldest son; my captain was one of his officers.

"You held your own when you were not much younger than he, Maedhros," our king answered. "If he cannot defend against me, he will fall before the gates of Angband. I have watched his skill with the spear and the sword. He fights well enough."

I saw the tips of Fëanor's boots within my field of vision.

"Come, nessa, show me what fire is in your blood. You need not defeat me, you need merely keep your feet."

I watched him as he circled me, his eyes glinting in the firelight, his lips curving into a feral smile. His sword swung in long, slow circles, a long and low swoosh echoed in my ears as it split the air. Was this the last thing his foes saw before they died? Was this what the Elves of Alqualondë saw? He still wore their blood on his garments and his skin; his most grievous sin worn like a heavy cloak of pride and disdain for all that he left behind.

I adjusted my grip upon the spear I held, its heavy shaft slick with the sweat from my palms, its blade glinting in the moonlight. I knew that I would fall, that he would defeat me, and when he did he would claim his right to me, as but a moment ago I had the right to lay claim to the one I vanquished. But he was king, service to him would take a lifetime; I would lose my place amongst the ranks of Maedhros and enter into service with Fëanor himself.

I kept my feet spread wide, turning with him, watching him, watching for some sign of his first advance. When it came, I almost missed it; Fëanor lunged and I thrust my spear forward, barely side stepping him in time. I gasped and blinked, not believing how fast he was. The hard steel of his sword striking the solid wood of my spear pole caused it to vibrate in my hands and I almost dropped it. It went on for what felt like eternity, but could only have been but a few moments; parry and thrust, the chaotic dance of warcraft. He swung again, this time in an upward arc, dislodging the spear from my hands. I leapt backward, putting distance between us as I watched him kick my spear out of the circle in dismay. I was not armed, and watched him carefully. I really did not know what to expect. Would he kill me? He had killed scores of noble Teleri at Alqualondë, what would one insignificant Noldo be in his quest for revenge?

He tossed his sword to Maedhros and smiled again. Hand to hand combat it was then, no weapons, only strength and skill left to fall back on. I knew I was outmatched, there were few that could defend against the might of Fëanor and his sons. Nevertheless, I was determined, determined to fight to my last breath, to display as much honor and strength as I was able before I was brought to defeat. I was breathing heavily, already tired, as I clenched and unclenched my fists, continuing to circle. **Keep moving ,** I told myself, **keep your feet moving. Do not let him catch you off guard…* *

"Valar!" I breathed. I stepped aside, but it was too late. He caught my shoulders and hooked his left foot behind my own, shoving backwards as he swept my foot out from under me. I impacted the ground with a thud, my breath leaving me in a gasp as he fell upon me. My legs were trapped between his own, thighs of steel holding mine together, my arms pulled apart, pinned to the ground by his frightenly powerful grip on my wrists.

His face hovered over mine and to this very day I have never been so paralyzed with wonder and fear. I struggled against him, even as his glittering eyes gazed down at me, bored into me; they were the color of a storm filled sky, a dark menacing gray. His lips curved into that feral smile again and he seemed to study my face carefully with his eyes. I could feel my skin flushing with shame and something I did not want to admit to myself. I closed my eyes and waited for my sentence.

He said nothing to me, but rose off me, turning to his eldest and saying something into his ear that I could not make out. He left the camp and I sat up slowly, turning to look at my captain. Maedhros whispered in his ear then nodded to me before leaving the circle with the rest of the soldiers. My captain walked over to me, offering me his hand and pulling me off the ground.

"You are to report to his highness' tent. You are in his service now, Erestor. Your weapons and gear will be brought to you in the morning." He patted my shoulder and smiled ruefully. "You fought well, Erestor. You did not have a chance from the beginning, and we all knew it."

He then turned and left me standing there alone.

* * * *

I cannot begin to tell you the thoughts that raced through my mind that night as I made my way to Fëanor's tent. He frightened me, but he also intrigued me beyond reason. Already rumors circled around camp of his being mad and of the doom that would be brought upon us for defying the Valar. When we left Aman, we did so freely, we believed we were on a quest to make Morgoth pay for the death of our beloved King Finwë, and for the theft of the precious Silmarils. Then came the horror at Alaqualondë. As Maedhros' regiment stood aside while the ships burned, stranding our kin in Araman, many began to question the wisdom of Fëanor, and many feared he was already lost to his rage and hatred of the one who had taken nearly all from him. But I, blinded by loyalty and need for honor, dismissed that talk; I ignored the rumors.

These thoughts and more swirled in my mind as I found myself before the door of his crude tent. I cleared my throat and began to announce my arrival when I heard his voice call me from inside.

"A- tul."

I pushed the flap aside and entered. As he turned to look at me, I knelt before him, covering my heart with my hand and casting my gaze to the floor. " Hérunya," I answered quietly.

"Welcome, my young warrior. You fought bravely and with skill," he answered me. "Rise, Erestor."

I stood, but kept my heart covered and my eyes downcast. He walked closer to me and stopped in front of me, I could see the tips of his dust-covered boots. I swallowed as he placed two fingers under my chin and lifted it so that our gazes met. He smiled again, and I found myself wondering just what this elf was capable of and what he planned to do to me, and I distractedly wondered if I really cared. He cocked his head and furrowed his brow just a bit. He then licked two of his fingers and wiped my brow.

"You are bleeding, " he said quietly.

I reached up and touched the spot where his fingers had been, my flesh still tingling from the contact.

"Come, sit."

He motioned to me to sit in a low chair, and he retrieved a damp cloth from the washbasin. He knelt before me, gently cleansing the wound and he smiled.

"'Tis but a scratch, it will not need to be stitched."

He dipped his finger into an earthen jar containing an ointment made of wild yams and dabbed it upon my forehead.

"Head wounds bleed far worse than others," he said quietly as he attended to me. "They more often look worse than they really are." He wiped his hands upon a towel and took my face in both his hands. He kissed me on the forehead as he rose; then he chuckled to himself.

"You remind me of Maglor when he was your age. So stoic on the outside, yet inside you are soft and warm."

I wondered how it was that he could see inside me that way, and he took my hand and pulled me from the chair. "Come with me, nessa." I followed him the short distance to the bed and it was then that what I had suspected was confirmed.

"Remove your clothing," he said quietly.

I did as I was instructed to do, my trembling fingers unfastening the clasps on my tunic. His hands covered my own and he stopped me. He leaned forward and whispered into my ear, his lips ghosting over the curve, causing me to shudder.

"Let me help you."

Together our hands peeled away the layers of velvet and suede, and then his hands roamed over my bare arms and shoulders.

"How old are you, Erestor?" he asked quietly.

"Does it matter?" I asked in return.

"I suppose not," he answered with a soft laugh, "but I am curious all the same."

"Seventy five years of age, hérunya," I answered.

"So young," he murmured. "And so very handsome."

I took a deep breath as his hands slid over my chest, his fingers brushing my hard nipples, teasing them before traveling over my abdomen. All the while his skillful lips caressed my neck and the line of my jaw.

"I am old enough," I whispered breathlessly.

"Old enough to die?" he asked softly.

"I do not plan on dying, hérunya," I retorted.

A boisterous laugh escaped him as he tossed his head back. "Nay, I should hope not, my fox," he answered. "It would indeed be a shame."

His fingers trailed through my hair and I saw for the first time softness in his look and in his smile. My trembling hands reached up and caressed his hair.

"I wish to give you pleasure, Erestor," he said quietly. "And I wish to take my own with you. But I will not do this if you are not willing, if you do not want this as I do."

"I have followed you thus far, hérunya," I answered quietly. "I would follow you to the end if you permit me. I will gladly give you whatever you want of me."

"You are a noble elf, Erestor," he said quietly. "And a brave and generous one. You will not regret this."

He held my face in his hands as he pressed his lips to my own; I could feel the heat and desire that he kept reined in. I could feel how much he wanted me, and indeed, my own desire nearly made me blind. His heated, bruising kiss claimed me as his, and I knew I should have no other lover for as long as he kept me.

I was no stranger to the ways of the flesh, but I had only lain with those of my own age, of equal experience. Fëanor was as skillful a lover as he was a smith and warrior; my education was about to move forward in leaps and bounds.

I gasped for air when he released my mouth and his own traveled lower, down my neck and over my bare chest.

"Sweet Elbereth!" I gasped as he tormented me with his mouth, suckling one of my nipples until I thought I would spend myself on the spot. I arched against him; eagerly pressing my chest to his mouth as my hands cradled his head.

His fingers made their way inside my leggings, sliding them over my narrow hips and freeing my length to the cool night air. He clutched at my buttocks; his fingers digging in as his mouth left my inflamed chest and continued lower, chasing my stomach as it flinched away.

I bit my lip to stifle a cry as his tongue teased the underside of my already weeping and throbbing length, and I felt it twitch as though it was reaching for him of its own accord. Never had I been touched and kissed this way. If I were to die upon the morrow, I thought, then I would die knowing more pleasure than I had ever known in my life.

My knees nearly buckled when he engulfed my pulsating length with his mouth, and I could not prevent the needful whimper that escaped me. I was so close to spending myself I was not sure I could hold back. I tried to warn him, I whispered his name but he drew me further in, milking my seed from my body with his mouth. A strangled cry left my lips as I spilled my essence deep in his throat.

Everyone remembers the first time they are swept away by overwhelming love and desire. Fëandro already had my utmost respect and deference; he had my loyalty and pledge of honor. But as he rose to his feet, his lips caressing my body with total reverence, his hands holding and touching with gentle caring, he took the last part remaining, he took my heart.

I gazed into his dark eyes, my trembling fingers touching his face, my lips wanting to form words to explain what I felt inside. He smiled at me and leaned in, his lips caressing my own.

"Erestor," he murmured against my mouth, "my dark, beautiful fox. Had I found you sooner, I would have kept you with me always."

He claimed my mouth again with intensity and I moaned into the kiss like a wanton youngster. So lost was I in the heat and passion of this kiss that I was surprised when I felt the soft bedding meet my back. My boots and leggings were finally cast aside and I watched with hungry eyes as he disrobed himself, revealing his lean yet powerful body to my gaze.

I held out my arms to him as he joined me on the bed, and I encircled him in my embrace, moaning as I felt his rigid length press into my belly. He had bathed as best he could before I arrived, and he smelled like rosemary and sandalwood. He reached across me, dipping his fingers into a jar of slick balm like that he used to treat the cut upon my head.

"Let me," I whispered. I covered his hand with my own, working the slick substance into his heated length.

Never in all of my life have I seen one so beautifully lost to passion. His eyelids fluttered shut, his lips parted as a deep sigh escaped him. He slowly rolled his hips into my grasp and I closed my fingers around his pulsing length. Without looking, his fingers sought out the balm again, and he reached between my legs, sliding two inside my tight body and spreading the substance deep within me.

I spread my legs as far as I was able, opening myself to him, fighting the urge to resist the intrusion. Only once had I been taken, I prayed he could sense that, as I was too embarrassed to say it.

He shifted his position and I raised my legs so that they were near his waist. He leaned over me and whispered against my lips, "Have no fear, Erestor, I will take care, I will not harm you."

I nodded and closed my eyes. I drew a deep breath as the tip of his arousal nudged my entrance and I exhaled as he slowly entered me. He did not stop until he was fully sheathed within me. My fingers clutched at his back, my lips rested against his neck, and I heard him whisper, "Are you well, vanima?"

" Yé…" I whispered in reply.

Slowly he moved within me, languorous thrusts, deeper each pass; he was taking his time, making sweet, leisurely love to me. Slowly my fingers loosened and my hands began stroking his lean back. I raised my legs and wrapped them around his waist, feeling him slide deeper within me. I buried my face in his hair and cried out as he found his mark. His deep, husky voice whispered, "Ah yes, my beauty, cry out, cry my name. No one else will ever make you feel this way."

"No one else," I answered breathlessly, "ever…"

I reached my climax without aid of touch, my body tightening around him, squeezing his rigid pulsing length. He buried himself within me and groaned my name as he spilled himself deep within my body, then he slowly settled down to rest upon my chest. I wrapped him in my arms and legs, holding him close, not wanting to move, wanting to hold him inside me for as long as I could manage.

Finally, he slipped free and he rolled to his back, taking me with him and cradling me against his chest.

"Sleep now, my fox," he whispered. "You ride with me upon the morrow."

I pressed a kiss to his chest and smiled as reverie took me.

* * * *

Fox, that was what he called me. Why he settled upon that endearment for me, I was never quite sure. Perhaps it was something he saw in my eyes, or maybe he knew something about me that I did not know yet myself.

The following morning we rode out and assaulted the enemy's stronghold. As Fëanor charged ahead, we were assaulted from all sides. I tried to stay at his side, but we were separated, and soon he was far ahead of me, driving to the very gates of Angband itself.

I watched him fall as I slew the last orc that assailed me, I saw him wreathed in smoke and flame, I heard the roar of the Balrogs that had issued from the Dark One's dungeons. His sons fought to reach him and were able to drive the beasts back. They carried his body back to the mountains, but his wounds were too great. I walked beside the bier, holding his hand in my own, fighting not to weep. I wanted to be brave for him; I wanted to be strong. He smiled weakly at me and whispered, "My beautiful fox. I do not ask you to hold me in your heart, I ask only that you remember what we shared, even though it was only once."

I nodded, unable to fight back the tear that fell from my eye.

"Leave me with my sons now, Erestor. Your service to me is done. You are free to leave these lands should you wish it."

"I will not leave, hérunya," I answered softly. "I will care for you until your strength returns."

"Oh, Erestor," he said so quietly I that could barely hear him. "Loyal to the end, my fox."

"Always, hérunya," I answered.

I released his hand and left him alone with his sons. He died there upon the slopes of Ered Wethrin, his fiery spirit leaving his body in a torrent of flame so that there was nothing left behind.

* * * *

I pledged myself in service to Maedhros, knowing the doom I set upon myself in doing so. Never could I have imagined then how long I would carry this burden, for I was sure I would die in the coming wars.

Nevertheless, I survived, and I followed Maedhros and Maglor. When Doriath fell, I took two small elflings under my wing and I raised them with Fëanor's sons as best I could. I became their teacher, their mentor, and their protector. I bid farewell to Elros when his choice was made, and I comforted Elrond in his grief. I pledged my life in service to him, and I have been with him ever since.

In the long years since, I have never loved another the way I loved Fëandro, and three ages is a long time to be alone. But I am a warrior at heart, though I have spent many years as an advisor. It appears my lord was correct when he called me his fox, for it has been my mind that has been taxed more than my body.

I return now to my home, to the place I left so very long ago. I wonder what awaits me there, who I will find, who will remember me after so long an absence. I hope that a certain dark haired elf awaits me, but his fate is as of yet unknown to me…

"Come, mellonen," Glorfindel's voice brings me back to the present. "It is time to rest, we ride at dawn."

"Aye," I answer. "It will be good to travel again, to take one last look at this world that we leave behind forever."

We rise from our chairs and make our way back into the Last Homely House. I pause in the doorway, looking at the view from this balcony one last time. It is strange to know I will never look upon it again.

"Erestor!"

Again, Glorfindel's voice pulls me from my reverie.

"I am coming home, hérunya," I whisper, and I close the doors behind me.

*****
Quenya translations :

Nessa = young one
Hérunya = my lord
Vanima = beautiful one
Yé = yes
*****

THE END

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