Anor and Ithil by Haeron

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Chapter 15

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TA2990

 

It was cold outside and Glorfindel had heard the complaints of his fellows, lamenting the loss of green and blue in favour of white and grey. But there was a crispness, a freshness, to the winter weather and palette that Glorfindel appreciated for it was the herald of hope and new life to come; he understood. And so he did not mind draping himself in fur cloak and pushing on fur lined boots. He did not mind stepping out and walking through the frosted ground of Imladris, glittering underfoot.

 

Celebrían’s gardens had been transformed, beautifully. A few brave heads of foxglove flowers poked through the soft blanket of snow that rested precariously upon the lithe branches of the bare trees, stretching out to the sky as though to pierce the cloud and make way for Anor’s shine. Glorfindel walked through the gardens bowing his head in subtle greeting to those who too braved the cold breeze to bear witness to such a glorious morning. The small stream that ran from the back of Celebrían’s garden to wind down the valley and join the Bruinen was not frozen, to Glorfindel’s surprise. In the pale light of the clouded morning the waters looked as the light from Teleperion indeed.

 

Erestor walked through the stream barefoot, dressed in silver flowing robe.

 

Glorfindel walked towards the vision of Irmo come to Endor, the master of dream and desire, but in fact it was his small counsellor; and Erestor was master of much more though perhaps he believed it not.

 

‘Can you find no rest this morning? It is early.’ Erestor asked as Glorfindel approached, without turning. The stream rippled about his feet and he held a clutch of his robes in his right hand to spare them getting sodden.

 

‘There’s none to be had absent you from our bed.’

 

Erestor looked at him and Glorfindel saw the white flash of a smile. He watched Glorfindel shuck off his heavy fur cloak and boots and watched in silence with only a slightly quirked brow. Glorfindel smiled. Erestor smiled back; fond, as was his slight roll of the eyes.

 

There was a vulnerability to walking through the cold water without boots or out garb to counter the brittle chill that fled up spine and neck. But it was sharp and not completely unpleasant; Glorfindel knew Erestor’s attraction to the stream, to the sense of such vulnerability in placing oneself thus. And sweeter it was made for knowing that one was protected, cared for.

 

As they walked the stream together Erestor’s hand slipped easily into Glorfindel’s. He led the slayer not too far at all but into a quiet corner of the garden where came Celebrían to plant those flowers she had laboured long to cultivate. There was only a patch of raised snow to be seen now, surrounded by twiggy bushes and trees, but life lay beneath; slumbering. Glorfindel squeezed Erestor’s hand. Erestor rested his head upon his shoulder.

 

And when Glorfindel closed his eyes there was the whispering of a heartbeat not his own yet it was. There was the warmth of something unseen, unheard, but felt as deeply as the soul might feel. A sigh came then, that was more earthly, and a tinkle of laughter so sweet Glorfindel wished to bottle the sound for darkest hour in deepest patrol.

 

‘Glorfindel,’ said Erestor, softly in low tone of voice to set shivers in the Seneschal. ‘my flower,’

 

Glorfindel opened his eyes, struck suddenly by a question he had long wanted to put to voice. The water lapped at their ankles and each breath was an intake of freshness and dew and Glorfindel half wanted to bow and cup the water in hand to drink, but remained upright to press a chaste kiss to Erestor’s dark brow.

 

‘If,’ he began, warily. ‘I asked you to marry me, Erestor, would you consider my offer?’

 

It was a bold request but Erestor blinked and seemed to think it over as one might sample a rich wine. He inclined his head to view shrouded horizon where land blended with sky and became neither. Did he know how he made Glorfindel’s heart fear with every second his kept his silence? In later years Glorfindel, with wry smile and hindsight, would suspect he did.

 

‘I am yours,’ Erestor said, at long last, putting his small hand over Glorfindel’s heart to still its trepidation. ‘with or without wedding vows and ceremony, but aye I think if you were to ask I would consider it.’

 

Erestor’s laughter was a silvery thing, gorgeous and rare and fleeting. Sweet it was upon his lips as Glorfindel bowed with beaming smile to kiss him, sweet was the laughter upon his tongue.

 

‘From where come these weighted thoughts?’ Erestor said with honey voice, pausing to deepen their kiss but a little before pulling away; a tease. ‘Shall we return to the Hall of Fire and see them lifted in warmth and closeness?’

 

Glorfindel sighed his pleasure.

 

‘From there I’ve just come.’ he said and their breath intermingled, life and life.

 

‘And conversation held you not? An idiosyncrasy in itself.’

 

‘My troops are resting up after their excursion and Elrond and his kith were abed. Others there were but they speak to me and I see they think only that they speak to the slayer of shadow and flame. Not Glorfindel who stands before them.’

 

Erestor pulled back a fraction and Glorfindel saw silver eyes, alight.

 

‘Slayer you are but lover are you more. Shall I tell them, tell you, how I know you?’ said Erestor, emblazoned.

 

Glorfindel kissed him.

 

‘Tell me,’ he breathed. ‘Show me,’