Anor and Ithil by Haeron

Chapter 17

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The Peredhel twin had been waiting in Erestor’s office, waiting for the Counsellor to return from a romantic lunch-break sojourn with the one who newly held his heart. Erestor had been surprised to find Elrohir perched upon the edge of his desk with all the distress of a small bird debating flight. He was troubled, clearly. Erestor shut the door behind him and bade himself return to professionalism though the touch of Glorfindel’s kisses upon his cheek and parted lips was a fresh memory to stir the blood.

Erestor gave himself a shake and quashed the smile that threatened. He apologised to Elrohir, for his having to wait, and came over to the desk to grasp his shoulder, kneel before the son of Elrond and look into grey eyes. Elrohir sighed and evidently words failed him that might describe his affliction. His eyes lifted to Erestor’s hair, where still there were woven small flowers amid the locks. Erestor noticed his stare.

‘Glorfindel,’ he said, in way of explanation.

Elrohir smiled, small and tired; his visage was clear, as was his mother’s, gentle and sweet and ever youthful. But he had his father’s sorrow. The very sorrow Elrond would have had all in his Home believe he did not have nor suffer from.

Yet here was its most ardent proof, staring back at Erestor; so young.

‘Elladan,’ said Elrohir.

And they spoke of him, he who was the other half of Elrohir, and of his not being by his side - and of his being by his side. Confliction was rife in Elrohir’s voice and Erestor listened with eyes narrowed just a touch. As the twins grew older more there seemed to be that would drive a wedge between them.

‘But children of a shared soul are not so easily parted, not by fate nor intervening hands. The blood of the stars is in you, you are a child of the sky and the light that comes from it.’ said Erestor. Elrohir met ardent gaze and chewed over the words. He nodded, slowly, and turned his head a fraction.

Erestor stood and knew that in the fullness of time Elrohir would come to understand much of what he said. The wind chime that hung outside his window sang a simple song of high pitch and trilling note. The winter brought thorough chill to the air of a kind the birds were reluctant to take wing upon and so their songs came not as often in the colder months. New songs had to be sung. Chimes and bells were abundant, and Erestor favoured them.

Elrohir sat still pensive and Erestor knew other thoughts plagued him more deeply and stuck nearer to heart, but he would not delve thus into issues so tender. Elrohir, moved by cue of fate, searched for Erestor’s gaze and found it resolute.

‘A son you are to me, Elrohir, and I would not have you so upset. It breaks the heart in my chest to see your spirit lessened by what should bring you only joy!’

Elrohir smiled and seemed an elfling again for but a fleeting second.

‘A lesson you have learned yourself, perhaps?’ he said, with wry tone.

Erestor nodded, sombre.

‘And too late indeed.’

Elrohir hopped off the edge of the desk and landed lightly. He came to Erestor (whom he was beginning to tower over more and more as years went by) with open arms and found his embrace tentatively accepted.

‘Love is never late.’ said Elrohir.

And Erestor hugged his not-quite-son.