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 Salt To Fresh, Glorfindel | TA 2865
Erestor
Posted: Aug 26 2014, 04:00 AM



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Group: Elves
Posts: 163
Member No.: 12
Joined: 14-March 14



Erestor had always prided himself on his militant control of his emotions. What had started out as a hobby taken up in defense of his ego—he hadn't been a creature of moderation in his earliest incarnation and it had been to his detriment in several arenas, not the least of which being his education in the house of Curufinwë Fëanáro—had accidentally proven indispensable in Lindon, and he had made a habit of it as soon as he'd discovered how far a good pokerface and a short leash on his impulses could take him in particularly tense council meetings. And it had been good for him, in its own way; he felt he could exhibit a mastery over himself to such a degree that it was easier and easier, as the years wore on, to limit the facets of his character that were visible to the different tiers of his social acquaintance. Nothing had ever felt quite so freeing as the knowledge that he had succeeded in positing himself as the iron authority of his office to the youngish brats who held lower positions of command in the archives of Imladris, and he had never had any intention of compromising all of the hard work in achieving that kind of perfect, near-impossible fiction. The counselor and the man could be two discrete beings, and he liked it that way.

Which was probably why he had enjoyed sabotaging his own efforts so much the hour after he had stalked down to the stables to find Glorfindel's horse's stall as empty as the twins'. The supremely unflattering tantrum he had thrown in the relative privacy of his room was legendary by his assistant's account, and then by whoever got word of it after Erestor had picked a papaya out of the bowl of fruit on his desk and tossed it at the poor child's head, forcing him to scurry out before Erestor tried again with something slightly heavier. If not for the debilitating cramp that had taken up within an adductor resultant of his early-morning trip out towards the horse fields, he might have debated the merits of throwing several large pieces of furniture into a pyre, but he was, in all things, frustratingly efficient—even in his fits of fury. Fifteen minutes of abuse hurled tempestuously at his personal effects had been enough to bring him out of the initial stages of grief and on to a more productive second stage, though where that left him he had had neither the time nor the energy to ruminate on.

All things considered, he was enjoying being selfish about his emotions the way he hadn't been able to when Glorfindel had been taken the first time, when he hadn't wanted to dampen the solemnity of Glorfindel's irritating selflessness with the comparatively insignificant demands of his own desires. But it was a microscopic consolation that didn't last longer than the first few days, fading out into a steady, simmering anger that was easily concealed and more than gladly let itself fester when he left it to its own devices as the night drove him back to an empty room. He had too much faith in the twins to be able to angst too much about the possibility that any of them might not come back from whatever half-baked rescue attempt Elrohir had attempted to mount on his own, but somehow the inevitability of Glorfindel's return didn't mitigate the sting of his secretive flight out of the safety of the Valley any. Left unchecked, Erestor's anger was practically an acid by the time a scrivener scuttled by to let him know (half hiding behind a very large and sturdy atlas with a very large and sturdy cover) that their six-person party had been admitted back into the hall.

He couldn't deny that the relief was more potent than he thought it'd be, after having spent the majority of the separation studiously pretending he wasn't emotionally inconvenienced by the loss. It had been too early in the morning for any real reactions, but it had been impossible to find sleep after, still unsure of too many factors to be properly ready to perform his anger. That had been remedied almost as soon as he'd bribed a maid to bring him updates on the situation; by lunchtime, he was satisfied enough that none of them had sustained any mortal wounds to be able to turn his attention back to more personal fields.

It was, in fact, almost a full two months before he felt prepared for non-combative eye contact with Glorfindel, his tactics of near-theatrical avoidance a tactic picked up from centuries of watching his cats exhibit the same behavior to him at the slightest provocation. It was a satisfyingly easy tactic to employ, though he couldn't say that the radio silence was as much a balm on his soul as he would have liked—it was less like a rock in his hand ready to be cast and more like a stake in his side, gangrous and turgid with infection he refused to try to purge. After an especially boring day that saw him back to his rooms much earlier than he would have liked, he remarked into Polu's fur, lightly, in case she was tempted to take it as a confession, that it probably wasn't even really anger anymore; it was nothing more sophisticated than a desire for attention. Reassurance, maybe, that it had cost Glorfindel something to defy the order Erestor had given him (in jest, yes, but also in earnest) to remain until he was observably well enough to do things like gallivanting off after their delinquent princes against Erestor's express disapproval.

He hadn't been observably well enough. And even worse, he had apparently decided that one suicidal trip into the den of an enemy hadn't been enough for a six-month period—Erestor could hardly finish the thought, even in the bower of his own mind. His brief conversation with Lindir had been slightly illuminating, but had done nothing to assuage the more logical and less bellicose hurt that had gradually replaced the fury of the entire debacle, and while periodically he wondered if their relationship had improved in the wake of that, his policy of restricting his communice to Elrond, his scribes, and fellow counselors when absolutely necessary, had been something he was too dedicated to to break from in the interst of sating a passing curiosity.

It was on a day of no particular note that he slipped out of his office a few hours earlier, dressed for the oddly warm evening in a tunic and hose that didn't afford everyone else as much a barrier against his irregular, jerking stride, but made it easier to negotiate stairs and the uneven footpaths that led down to the training yard (he had, unfortunately, been forced to make a few sacrifices in light of his campaign to pretend Glorfindel didn't exist, as he was still too proud to go to Elrond more than once a week). Though it was only a suspicion that Glorfindel had felt himself well enough to return to work that had sent him out to the Imladrim's training grounds, he found himself half hoping that he'd be proven wrong as soon as he passed the trailhead and arranged himself to lean against the post of the fence that girded the yard, watching the regiment spar with each other and trying hard not to appear to be actively looking for everyone.

Frankly, he wasn't even sure what he was trying to do. What did one say after spending two months exacting the silent treatment on someone?
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Glorfindel
Posted: Aug 26 2014, 12:38 PM



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Group: Elves
Posts: 280
Member No.: 4
Joined: 12-March 14



Glorfindel couldn't remember the last time Erestor had been so angry as to avoid him for a whole week, let alone a whole month, or two even. He had taken the few months after his and Elladan's return for granted, enjoying several almost blissful months of convalescence and no responsibilities, with Erestor affectionate, tractable, and almost sweet.

Of course he had ruined it.

The clang of steel on steel rang in his ears as he parried another thrust from Amathion's blade. He should have been training the younger recruits, watching their form, offering helpful criticism. All he'd done was yell at them for their mistakes, until Amathion had suggested he take a break and spar himself for a while. It had been a good plan, even though Glorfindel did not have the presence of mind at the moment to see it, only feel the thrum of blood pumping too quickly with pent-up energy.

Days - weeks - had gone by. At first it had been torment when both Erestor and Lindir had avoided him like a Noldorin plague. Eventually Lindir had deigned to speak to him, but Erestor. With Erestor - or more accurately, without him - the days stretched on into weeks and then spanned the following month. He was beginning to regret not retaking his governmental position as soon as he could walk straight again, for without anything to occupy his time, the hours crept by at a snail's pace, though had he responsibility over paperwork or anything that required use of his higher faculties, he doubted he would have been able to concentrate for any more than five minutes at a time anyway.

He had tried to hunt Erestor down. He had haunted the library, his office, his rooms, despite Elrond's protests, but every time it seemed the councilor knew when he was coming, and he would vanish into thin air. His damnable scribes were of no help. Erestor had driven the fear of Morgoth into them and they would breathe not a single word of his whereabouts no matter how vividly or loudly Glorfindel threatened them. Once in a while he would find Erestor's apartment occupied, but the door was locked and barred and Glorfindel could not even coax an order of restraint from him no matter how long he lingered. Presumably he was squirreled away in his bedchamber, with that door shut as well, and with two doors and several cubic meters of air buffering him, Glorfindel's pleading had fallen on deaf ears. He had done this a few times, in the beginning. Eventually he had given up trying to force his way in.

There was no doubt in his mind that Elrond had reached the end of his rope. The poor peredhel had suffered through centuries of their fighting, acting as a sort of peacemaker and cushion between them, and at times Glorfindel did feel slightly guilty for dragging him into their problems, but his tunnel vision currently made it hard to appreciate his position. He had spent days in his lord's office, verbally railing on his husband's recalcitrant tendencies and the unfairness of his life, unable to sit still for any significant length of time and getting snapped at when his knee bounced so fitfully underneath the table that he upset Elrond's tea. Elrond had helpfully allowed him to go back to his former duties with the understanding that Amathion was to continue taking on the lion's share of the work.

In other words, he was banished in order to save Elrond's documents from being further soiled.

His footwork was clumsy at best, his defense weak. Amathion had gotten a sword to his neck twice, whether it was due to his mental distraction or simply being out of practice. Glorfindel attributed it to the exorbitant amount of rage and frustration brewing in him. So much of his energy for centuries had been funneled into either quarreling with Erestor or making love to him, that without either of those he was a bomb waiting for ignition. In Mirkwood he had had more than enough to distract him from their separation, now it was all he thought about. It ate at him. It colored everything that he tried to do. In making himself absent Erestor had made himself omnipresent. Glorfindel hated it. He could not win a silent battle.

It was chance that allowed Amathion to hook a foot behind his ankle and send him toppling backward into the sand with a grunt of surprise. Glorfindel laid there on his back for a long moment, chest heaving as he stared up at the clear blue overhead. Amathion's face leaned into view, looking minutely apologetic but mostly amused if not outright smug. Glorfindel glared at him briefly before his eyes slid past him, looking beyond the lattice of soldiers' feet kicking up dust toward what he had been distracted by. He'd thought…

Glorfindel stared at Erestor's dark form, a short blot of charcoal on the green grass, looking like one of the fenceposts himself as he stood rigid and silent. He drank the sight of him in greedily, parched from only the briefest of glimpses in halls and the occasional sighting in the midst of council meetings that he'd forced his presence upon uninvited. Amathion's eyes followed his gaze and his face took on a decidedly knowing expression that dredged up the desire to put his fist where his smile was.

The offered hand up had Glorfindel hesitating. Had Erestor come for an apology? Or had he come to gloat? Glorfindel was desperate enough that he might have gotten down on his knees and begged for forgiveness had there not been an entire regiment present to witness his humiliation. On the other hand, there was a fair amount of risk for his snapping at the librarian in anger, and he was sure that would only earn him another two months of silence if not worse. He had decided weeks ago that he could not suffer through another hour only to have it continue on day after day without any foreseeable end.

With Amathion's assistance he made it back to his feet, but left his sword where it had fallen. It was probably not a good idea to have it within reach right now. Brushing the dirt from what he could reach of the back of his tunic and breeches, he made his way past the various skirmishes to where Erestor had taken up residence, his eyes remaining fixed on him in case he vanished into a puff of smoke were he to look away even a moment.

He paused when only a few steps remained between them. His breath was still heavy in his chest and he could feel sweat trickling down his temple as he studied him for the first time in two months while he was standing still. Glorfindel was a mess, while Erestor remained pristine and presentable. Unaffected. Cool. He swallowed the lump in his throat and the self-righteous indignance and closed the remaining space in one stride, moving in a single swift motion to capture him before he decided to flee from him once again.

His fingers curled around the wood planks of the fence, corralling Erestor within the circle of his arms without touching him as he leaned down to eye level to fix him with a look that was a mix of relief and irritation, desperation and defiance. "I'm sorry," he said, unable to wait for Erestor to speak first, his words breathless and quiet so they would not reach any farther than the two of them. "Stop this silent war, Erestor, I cannot take it anymore. You have made your point. You win. Whatever you wish of me you will have without question, just… stop punishing me and forgive me! I had to go, melethron. I could not lose another of Elrond's sons, and Lindir needed a healer. If I hadn't been with them, he would be dead. He was so close Erestor, you must understand. You can punish me for the next ten years and I will not regret being there to help him, only that I went without your leave. I know you were scared, and angry, I'm sorry." He leaned forward carefully to nuzzle his cheek, the lightest brush of skin on skin. It wasn't much, but it made his breath catch in his throat and fire ignite in his gut. "Please, please, my love, yell, strike me if you will, only speak to me, give me something, anything. This silence is driving me mad." His lips found the curve of his jaw and mouthed along it, a soft tinge of desperation coloring his tone. "Please, I miss you. I need you. Just tell me what you want and you shall have it."
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Erestor
Posted: Aug 26 2014, 10:23 PM



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Group: Elves
Posts: 163
Member No.: 12
Joined: 14-March 14



Gloating probably would have been preferable to whatever he had actually come out to see him for (Erestor found, as the match seemed to begin to taper off in Amathion's favor, that he still had no idea what his own endgame was), but as it was, his reaction was limited to a brief wince felt on Glorfindel's behalf as all seven feet of him hit the turf a bare half-second after they had made eye contact over the span of the field. By the time he had schooled it off his face, Amathion had moved to end the match there, perhaps as a favor to Erestor, though the thought made him want to roll his eyes. There was nothing so unendurable as a coworker who knew more than he should have about things outside of his job description, and Erestor considered all facets of the relationship he had with Amathion's superior one of those facets.

Still, he was full of tepid relief when Glorfindel lumbered his way, exhausted from the exchange and smelling like exertion and sun-baked earth from his trip to the ground. It hurt to look at him, though he reasoned that that was more than halfway due to the fact that the sun was at Glorfindel's back and therefore blazing right in his face and not because the mere sight of him after spending so long tending the handmade distance he'd put between them made his ribs feel like sausage casing strapped around too much filling. The purposeful pace with which he stalked over the sward to him didn't put him at ease any, and neither did the sudden unapologetic breach of his personal space when he found himself bracketed to the fence (why did all of their tense interactions start with him pressed against something and his sides closed off from escape?), but he refused to be ruffled. He, too, took a moment to swallow his reservations, and then to reorient the handle of his cane to his other hand in case he needed to assert some of the personal space he'd just lost.

It was surprising and somehow at the same time not at all that Glorfindel's first words to him were an apology. He'd ever been the first to be willing to reconcile in times of adversity, as much as it annoyed Erestor to have to deal with someone who was so unwilling to engage his combative moods, and while a situation of less gravity might have been smoothed over with such a simple declarative assumption of guilt, Erestor found himself averting his eyes to the bare dirt to the side of them, deep in thought but not finding it very productive.

"Do you think this is about making a point?" he asked at length, humoring the attempt at reestablishing their free exchange of physical touch, but doing nothing to encourage it either way, his brows knit. More than anything else, he was aware of the Imladrim still within eyeshot and probably earshot of them, but moving to a slightly more private area required effort he didn't really have after the trek out to the fields, and all he had was the momentum of the opening lines of the conversation to keep from giving reconciliation up for a lost cause and hobbling back to his rooms for another three weeks of miserably working out of secret nooks in the archives, taking his meals in seclusion, weathering the insupportably pitying looks from knowing passersby in the halls.

And, well, it had been about making a point. But still.

Elrond's sons aren't children, he almost said, the fulcrum upon which his anger had been balanced, but Glorfindel had brought out his sidearms too soon in the conversation for Erestor to address them without sounding irrational and cruel. Not that he was, really, but the year had been a study in how well Eru could clog the gears in the well oiled machinery of their lives in such a remarkably short span of time; he was due a little visceral hurt.

Instead, he shook his head, reaching into a pocket to extract a small handkerchief edged in delicate blue tracery, opening it halfway and guiding a corner along the damp border of his hairline, down his cheek, under his neck, down the hollow of his throat. He sighed, moving back to sit on the middle beam of the fence at his back and pocketed the rag again. "Iluvatar is punishing me for my hubris, I think," he said instead, finding that the very useful fury he had tried to arm himself with while preparing for the confrontation that morning had abandoned him, his eyes on the mud-scuffed toe of his boot. "I thought I could learn to live with the burden of Manwë's patronage forced on you, but I can't, Glorfindel. It had been my hope that the latter Ages would take you out of the almost constant danger of your time in Gondolin and Lindon, but I find that instead of learning how to gracefully accept the—let's call them unique—strictures on your existence, I learned only that I had more to lose, more to mourn when you left."

He looked up again, mouth slanted into a tenuous frown. "You couldn't give me what I want. Your responsibilities were delegated to you by Manwë himself and all the love ever sung into existence can't gainsay that, much less what I as a single edhel have to give you. I can tamper with poisons meant for you, but I couldn't reasonably ask you to stay home, train your soldiers, be as close to a normal man as anyone else in Imladris." As much as a displaced, twice-born Vanya roughly the size of an Ent could be normal, he thought, but he wisely refrained from injecting that into the conversation, his expression softening into a bitter facsimile of a smile. "Our priorities will always be at odds and my mind knows that this is no fault of yours, but that doesn't keep it from feeling like a brand in my heart when you leave."
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Glorfindel
Posted: Aug 27 2014, 09:32 AM



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Group: Elves
Posts: 280
Member No.: 4
Joined: 12-March 14



There were a few tense moments in which Glorfindel suspected he had said something terribly wrong, that he hadn't been contrite enough, and that Erestor would hit him with his cane, duck out of his hold, and trudge away without a word. He did none of these things, though the white knuckled grip on the handle of his support told him he was considering otherwise. Still, he took advantage of the seconds in which he did not get pushed away, enjoying the small amount of contact he had the courage for in the slide of their cheeks and the brush of lips over well-missed skin. Erestor had more pride than he when it came to public displays, but at the same, Glorfindel knew better than to make any more shameful of a display than he already was in front of his subordinates, so he held himself back from anything more.

He didn't answer the question when it came, knowing very well that it was rhetorical or at the very least a weak attempt at protest when there was no other possible explanation to his behavior. He did, however, lean back slightly, affording Erestor the space he needed to move as he passed a kerchief over his face, wicking away the sweat from his skin. Glorfindel knew the two months of separation had affected him more than he realized when such a simple, well-meaning gesture seemed downright erotic, and the exhale he released sounded more to his ears like a gasp than a tired breath. A silent word of gratitude was thrown to the chance that allowed his skin to remain flushed from his previous exertions and hide whatever evidence might have appeared as the cloth slid down the center of his throat.


Glorfindel's heart twisted painfully in his chest, a sudden bolt of terror draining the blood from his face in an instant as he stared at Erestor where he sat, telling him that he couldn't. A second later he was relaxing again, the continued calm tone soothing over the fear that his choice of words had sparked in him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shaken by the brief moment in which he'd thought Erestor was leaving him. When he looked again Erestor was watching him, and he met his gaze evenly. There was no argument he could offer on his own behalf. Erestor was right, though not by either of their choices.

He took a deep breath, ordering his words carefully before speaking. The fact that he had chained Erestor to him suddenly made him feel more selfish than anything else he'd ever done, but he could not bring himself to feel truly bad about it, or even to consider releasing him from it. No, he had forced too many promises from Erestor to suddenly give him a choice now.

"You have given me more than I ever thought I could have," he began, dropping down to rest his forehead against the other's. "You know it has never been my choice. Had I that luxury, my priority would always be you. I would have taken you to Valinor long ago, and built you a splendid house with an enormous library, somewhere quiet, where you could have as many cats as you like, and I would have nowhere else to be but with you." He smiled faintly, taking a hand from the fence to brush the back of it over Erestor's cheekbone lightly. "But we both have other responsibilities. For now, all I can do is soothe the hurts I leave you with. Let me do that much, and I promise, when the time of the Eldaliё has passed from here, we will have what we dream of. Let me do what I can for you until then."
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Erestor
Posted: Aug 28 2014, 04:27 PM



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Group: Elves
Posts: 163
Member No.: 12
Joined: 14-March 14



The sudden proximity hurt. Erestor had never been a man for grand gestures of affection, in public or otherwise, content with subtle reaffirmation buried in occasional grudging compliments and half-second touches, but he had felt the two months no less keenly and even someone less observant would have been able to read the sudden thinning of Glorfindel's breath, the hair-thin slitting of his pupils in attention for what it was. And while he liked to think he possessed more self-control than was perhaps rational for someone his age, he felt himself responding in kind, color leaking over the line of his cheeks and his pulse practically tripping over itself; he averted his eyes to the ground again, wondering what had gone so wrong in his life that he had managed to end up beside the only soul in all of Eä who could reduce him to a stuttering adolescent. He'd known Glorfindel had been a suicidal target to engage his attention on from the first day in his office, and it was a mantra that had kept him from actualizing it for centuries, but he had never felt it more earnestly than he did now, simultaneously elated by the new space between them as he stepped back and frustrated by it.

"You would be unspeakably bored to not have anyone to serve, I think," he sighed, momentarily glad that at least their eerie nonverbal communication skills hadn't been damaged by his extended absence now that Glorfindel was obnoxiously close again, his eyes unseeingly fixed on the dirt-smudged shirt only a few inches from his face. He let himself wonder if Celeborn was ever unnerved by Galadriel's almost supernaturally intuitive nature, but stopped the train of thought before it developed too far—getting maudlin and lashing out again was the opposite of helpful to the dialogue, although it was still a very attractive option in the shadow of the livid scar the heretofore unmatched anger had left deep under his skin. "That promise is decidedly at odds with what I know you've told Elrond before, and I'd prefer your talents were applied for his benefit before they were for mine: he is the last king of the Noldor we're going to have on this side of the Sea, it seems, and I would prefer to see him over to Aman on a ship in a thousand years instead of out of Mandos on a horse in three."

He let Glorfindel linger, though he was still very acutely aware of the unflattering picture they made to the Imladrim somewhere off behind them, their height difference a sore point of childish contention he preferred to be ignored wherever possible. Haltingly, he reached up to spin a sweat-frizzed coil of gold hair around his index finger, watching it spring free of his grip as he gently pulled it down and then released it back to the air. "I know you take your promises very seriously, but for as old as you are you don't have any self-preservation instinct, which continues to baffle me after several millennia. You're not invincible, even if you think you are, Finwion. Remember that this past season we were making contingency plans for meeting in Valinor, and just because that particular danger has come and gone doesn't mean that there will not be more."

The sudden retraction of the minute contact of Glorfindel's hand on his cheek left him feeling oddly bereft, his gaze still trained on the ground in thought. More than anything he wished he had at least confirmed to himself what he was looking for out of this conversation before coming out to see Glorfindel, but his promise felt like a puzzle piece that almost fit in the empty space in his chest, perfect on one side and jutting up over its neighbor on the other and coeval of the fresh hurt that bloomed at the tacit acceptance of the unfairness of it. Not that he could reasonably expect Glorfindel to disown that aspect of his identity, but some irrational, childish sliver of Erestor wished he had at least made a token effort. "We're going to talk around each other in circles until Dagor Dagorath."
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Glorfindel
Posted: Sep 3 2014, 12:34 PM



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Posts: 280
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Joined: 12-March 14



Glorfindel had a brief, almost ridiculous vision of the twins as co- High Kings, and had to swallow back an unseemly guffaw at the idea, merely cracking a smile and nodding faintly. Elrond was as close to a last king as they would get, though he had refused the station long ago. Instead of pointing out that well known technicality, he added a soft return of, "You have never allowed me a moment's boredom since I met you," which was at once a compliment and an insult, for his amazing ability to irritate him that had been discovered on day one, and the contentment he had forced upon him every other minute they weren't in contention.

His gaze slid down to watch Erestor's pale fingers wind around a curl that had worked its way free of its clip, finding the gesture irritatingly arousing both for the movement of the digits and the faint tug he felt at his scalp where the curl was anchored to his head. Harsh tugs he had not enjoyed since his rebirth, but gentle ones were another story that he saw little of in Erestor's preoccupation in being careful with his hair, as if it were as precious as the gold it resembled. He smiled again, already feeling the beginnings of peace settle in his chest where he had been naught but a ball of frustration and rage the last few weeks.

"I will find a way to keep all my promises," Glorfindel assured, letting his hand drop. He knew very intimately that he was not invincible, that worse things than death and another visit to Mandos's halls were possible for him. There were ways for Eldar to stay dead, or as good as, to those they loved. He had no wish to suffer such a fate, or even get as close as he had, but telling Erestor he would be more careful would have been a lie. He would do nothing different the next time. He no longer had the capacity for change. Yes, he knew very well it would make Erestor happy, even if they were just empty words, but Glorfindel had already lied once to him and received two months' punishment for it along with his own guilt for committing the betrayal in the first place. Though it hadn't been an outright lie, just a convenient forgetfulness of their agreement when he had first returned, he was of no mind to do it again, even for a good cause.

"That's what we've always done, and it suits us just fine," he said with a chuckle, reaching down to take hold of his husband's boney forearms and tug him to his feet. "Come, I'm done here, let's find somewhere a little more quiet to make those circles." Glorfindel glanced past Erestor and squinted at the suspiciously quiet field, finding altogether too many faces turned in their general direction and not enough swords swinging through the air. He gave Amathion a raised brow, who immediately turned away and called for a new line of sparring to begin, this time with lances rather than swords. Glorfindel snorted softly and looking back at Erestor with a teasing smile, "Let's see how far you can get without any help, you stubborn old fool. How often did you go without healing while I was in Mirkwood? Elrond is much happier when you let him help you know."
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Erestor
Posted: Oct 22 2014, 04:23 AM



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Posts: 163
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Joined: 14-March 14



Erestor watched him a moment, mutely switching his cane top to his active hand, though he decided he would have put up with far worse than nosy eavesdroppers for another five minute break resting against the fence. Someone more sensible might have cut his losses and accepted the terms offered for what they were, but in the brief window of silence that had intruded on their dialogue he found himself dwelling on the last few lines of the conversation with a gnawing focus, the hand that had been taking advantage of Glorfindel's unusually mussed state retreating back to his lap.

Was there a hierarchy to vows? Could the importance of one supplant another? The day the terms of Elladan's surrender had been delivered to Elrond, there had never been a mutual moment of indecision; everyone in the room had tacitly accepted the inevitability of Glorfindel taking up the burden of playing blood votive, and the long, bleak two weeks that followed weren't so quickly scrubbed out of his memory even months later. Erestor's own justification for it had revolved around the logic that trying to stop him would have just delayed something that seemed fated to happen, if not by the workings of Vaire in her distant parlor then by Glorfindel's own efforts, and that denying Elladan had been the most unreasonable course of action they could have taken.

Was it wrong, then, to want a moment of conflict in similar instances, an acknowledgement that another promise made on another altar deserved someone to speak in its defense? There was no obvious answer that didn't sound absolutely self-absorbed in the worst way.

The feeling of Glorfindel apprehending his arm pulled him out of that train of thought, his face contorting slightly around the dull throb sudden movement tended to awaken in his side. Insistently pulling his arm back, he moved it to the post at his side, slowly returning his weight to the ground though he could feel his heart follow it, his ribcage suddenly too tight again. For all the talking they'd just done, everything felt oddly circular, as if they'd just spent the last fifteen minutes pointing out the obvious and calling it progress. "His office is a pain to get to," he said absently, swiping an open palm down his knees to nudge out the dirt in his leggings from the initial journey up. The prospect of having to go anywhere further than the other side of the fence didn't appeal to him at all, but the indignity of having just been the spectacle of the day for the Imladrim was enough to spur him onto the footpath again, breath short. "I think I'd prefer a drink."
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Glorfindel
Posted: Nov 11 2014, 06:36 PM



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To be perfectly honest, it was a wonder he could find room to walk amid all the vows and promises and allegiances he held. He was pulled in so many directions it was almost impossible to find a pleasing solution to anything. The Valar, the High King, the Eldar, the descendants of Earendil, the family he'd made, Erestor. Erestor had always seemed so much more important than all the others, but somehow he'd always been pushed to the wayside in favor of another paramount obligation. He would understand, Glorfindel always told himself, Erestor was an adult, with the same responsibilities. He would understand.

And he did. But it didn't seem to hurt either of them any less. Perhaps that's what made him feel so guilty. Erestor had always been aware of the inevitable pain of their union: it was a special kind of foresight that had once made his love more like hate. Despite it all though, here they were, following the path laid out for them unerringly. In the end, maybe they would also receive the peace Beren and Luthien secured. Inwardly Glorfindel snorted, disturbed by the unintentional comparison. He was going mad.

In hindsight, and judging by the unpleasant look on his beloved's face, attempting to urge him to his feet had been a bad idea, no matter how gentle he tried to be. He let Erestor pull his arm free and stepped back, feeling oddly at ease despite having him back at his side. It didn't seem their conversation had really come to a close, and his attempt at lightening the mood had failed spectacularly. Watching him dust off his spartan clothes, he sighed quietly. The choice between continuing the current thread and reminding him that the small inconvenience of getting to Elrond's office far outweighed the pain he would otherwise be in, or letting it go without comment because they'd sniped their way through just such a conversation a few dozen times over the centuries, and he was not in the mood to risk Erestor's wrath when it seemed to be cooling a few degrees, left him with no choice at all really. He stayed silent, a soft roll of his eyes the only response.

"A drink… and a bath," he agreed with a small grimace at the feel of dirt stuck to his forearms, rolling his shoulders as he trudged along beside him with cut strides to match his partner's. "How about it?" Glorfindel smiled with what he hoped was an encouraging look but probably looked more like a desperate puppy. Erestor generally avoided the baths unless it were in the wee hours of the morning when everyone else what still abed. "I'm sure we can find an empty one," his smile turned a little less innocent then, "or else you may drink and observe while I bathe." A moment later he was turning his eyes up toward the sky and cursing his undeveloped sense of sobriety and unapologetic ways. He let out a low sigh. "Ignore that. Whatever you like, since I cannot give you the sun as you wish, we must stick to more doable favors. Just name them."
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