Half The Distance 23

Half The Distance

Part 23 - My Own Reflection

Posted: August 1, 2008
Title: Half the Distance
Author: Orchyd Constyne

*****

Imladris, Summer, Third Age 2086

The heat was almost oppressive. The height of summer, and the Last Homely House was besieged by intense humidity and nearly unbearable heat. Most Elves wore light cotton clothing, and all the windows had been thrown open to the non-existent breeze. Rains had not come to the valley since early June, and now that August was upon them, all prayed to Manwë to bring respite from the season.

Inside his office, windows on three of the four walls, Elrond wiped sweat from his brow with a cloth and poured more water into the twin goblets. Celeborn, wearing trousers and a thin shirt, mirrored the action, patting his face and neck with a damp cloth. "Elrond, this is terribly uncomfortable for us, what must it be like for Erestor?"

"I have moved him to one of the corner rooms where there is ventilation," Elrond assured his law-father. "He is as comfortable as we."

"Have you made any progress?" Celeborn asked, sipping from the goblet Elrond offered.

Elrond sighed, leaning back into his chair and pulling on his shirt repeatedly to create a small breeze. "I know the whole sordid tale, if that can be called progress. He does not slip into the mind of Authon as often, but when he does, it lingers longer and longer. It takes more to banish it than it did in the beginning." He frowned, his eyes thoughtful. "Something has been nagging at me, though, for many years."

Celeborn set the goblet aside. "And what is that?"

"During the time you were his Ingor," Elrond focused his eyes on Celeborn, "did he ever show any dominant tendencies?"

"No, he did not," Celeborn said as he leaned forward in his seat. "He seemed quite content submitting."

"Aye, he was the same with me." Elrond shook his head. "It was not until years after his return from Lindon that he asked me to show him the path of the Ingor."

Celeborn tilted his head. "And did he submit in the time before he asked this of you?"

"Not to anyone I am aware of. He was with Legolas, and their relationship was not based in this," Elrond said. "In fact, as you know, Legolas is wholly against what we do."

The pair fell silent as each pondered the situation, and then Celeborn spoke the theory that had begun to take root in Elrond's mind. "Obviously, the trauma he suffered had sent him to try and deny that side of himself," Celeborn murmured sadly. "But, when he found it was an integral part of his nature, he had to approach it in such a way that he would never be the one to give up control. He would never be in the position to feel that helpless again."

With a grief-stricken expression, Elrond looked away from Celeborn, mumbling, "You are right, my friend... you are frighteningly correct."

***

Quietly, Elrond entered the window-filled room Erestor currently occupied. His discussion with Celeborn still vivid in his mind, he approached his old lover without speaking. Erestor sat in one of the window seats, dressed, as was his like, in the high-necked, long-sleeved, floor-length black monstrosities he tended to wear when working. Only Erestor, Elrond mused, would dress with perfect decorum during the hottest season in Imladris' history.

Erestor was quiet, sullen, staring out over the overheated valley, and Elrond sat in a nearby chair, waiting for Erestor to acknowledge him.

"Who is minding my office?" Erestor asked. It was the first time he'd bothered to inquire about his duties and who was performing them.

Elrond sighed. "Thranduil has taken over those tasks, with Glorfindel's aid."

Erestor snorted. "So the golden buffoon has managed to replace me in all aspects of my life."

"Hardly, Erestor," Elrond chided. "You are missed, and only the most dire tasks does Thranduil perform. You are needed."

"Am I to assume Glorfindel happened to be one such dire task that needed tending?" Erestor spat out.

Elrond shook his head. "I do not claim to understand what has happened between Glorfindel and Thranduil, Erestor, but they are fulfilling a need in each other's lives while you heal."

"He moved into *my* room, Elrond," Erestor snarled, turning his stormy eyes to his lord. "He lays in *my* bed and sleeps with *my* mate."

Looking at his hands, Elrond took a deep breath. "Glorfindel needs you, Erestor. He needs you terribly. You know he loves you; you have admitted to the knowledge. You withdrew yourself from him in all ways, and it has left him alone, missing his mate and needing affection and comfort." He met Erestor's gaze. "Thranduil did not seduce Glorfindel. Glorfindel went to him. That, however, does not mean he has ceased loving, needing, or missing you. He has sought you out, wanted to be close, but you are ill, my friend, and he keeps his distance at my behest."

Erestor turned his eyes back to the scenery outside his sickroom-prison. "I have been ill for thousands of years. What is an eternity more?"

"Celeborn and I think we have discovered part of the problem," Elrond said, and he explained to Erestor the theory he and Celeborn had deduced. It was simple, but oh, so complicated, and Erestor's brow furrowed when Elrond concluded his speech. "Do you... agree with our assessment?"

Reluctantly, Erestor admitted, "Yes, I suppose that would be the logical conclusion."

"I do not want the logical conclusion, Erestor, I want your thoughts on the matter," Elrond pushed.

"Yes, I agree," Erestor murmured, staring at his immaculate robes. "I... I *need* control, Elrond. I cannot be so vulnerable again."

"Then you never stopped submitting to him," Elrond said, rising from his chair. "You are still submitting. You are submitting to the memory of him, acting out his impulses with your partners, trying to please his memory."

"What is the solution, my lord?" Erestor asked, gazing up at Elrond with desperate eyes. "How do we *end* this?"

Sadly, the only answer Elrond had was not an answer he knew Erestor would accept. "The only way for you to be free of him is to give this life up."

Erestor stood quickly, fear in his eyes. "I cannot!"

"By yourself, Erestor, you cannot be trusted!" Elrond volleyed. "First was Glorfindel, and now Teledan, and the severity of the infractions have escalated. You are becoming *worse*, not better." Elrond's grey eyes became hard, serious. "You have *lost* control."

The change was instantaneous. Erestor's panic-stricken eyes altered, became detached and cruel. Laughter, bitter and slick, bubbled from the maliciously curved lips. "Not lost," the Authon-like voice purred, "More like given up to one more worthy than he is."

Elrond would not give in to the sickness that tore at Erestor. He addressed Erestor, not the other thing inside the broken mind, his hands clenched at his side. "Is this what you want? To be helpless to his whims? Or can you fight it?" His eyes narrowed. "Can you take back control?"

The internal struggle was visible on Erestor's face, with the councillor's hands tugging at his carefully bound plaits. After long, gruelling minutes, Erestor straightened, tears in his eyes, his breath short, but it was *Erestor*. "Yes. I can. And I will." He closed his eyes, terribly pale, and his hands trembled. "What can I do?"

"If this is what you need," Elrond said, coming closer to Erestor, his voice pitched low, "what you must have, then you need someone to temper you."

Erestor opened his eyes, hope shining in the grey depths. "You?"

"No," Elrond said with a shake of his head. "I can no longer help you with this. I... had someone else in mind."

Erestor's face screwed up for a moment as he tried to figure out whom Elrond could have thought of, and then his eyes went wide. "No." He stepped back. "Absolutely not! Not him!"

*****

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