Anor and Ithil by Haeron

---

Chapter 5

---

TA2752

 

The feathery fibres of Erestor’s quill had become infinitely interesting to him and he concentrated on them most intently. The other elves at the Council paid little attention their dark counsellor so forlornly distracted, and none tried rousing conversation. Erestor was glad of this. Sometimes a reputation of coldness proved its worth. Sometimes.

 

Did they know the depth of his disturbance? Yes and no, perhaps. He favoured neither option over the other. Erestor stroked the tip of his finger along the edge of the feather quill, softly as so not to part any fibres. It would be soon time to leave for Lórien, he had just to live out the remaining two days and retain whatever fractions of himself that he could.

 

Elrond wished to visit his celebrated mother-in-law and Erestor was keen to follow, Galadriel always had a balm of some sort to soothe his tenuousness. Sometimes there was aged wine, too; a favourite Noldorin cure.

 

He lifted the quill to better examine it, keeping one ear fixed on the conversation at hand. It was a beautiful thing; a hawk feather of marbled brown and black pattern. And yet he was using it to write trade agreements with. Erestor smiled bitterly, was no facet of his life how it should be? Was he doomed to live out a life of twisted substitutes of righteousness?

 

‘Erestor, have you signed these papers?’

 

Glorfindel was not smiling today. Erestor nodded and said aye, and Glorfindel took the papers to add his own signature, a large, looping thing. He avoided his gaze, which was unusual in itself, even as Erestor sought to meet it. But the ardour of the night previous and the clattering curtain pole was too fresh a memory for them both, and more so the cruel words bandied wrongly.

 

I have ruined him, thought Erestor.

 

Then heal him.

 

Glorfindel placed his hands on the table and joined them together, brushing his thumbs across the smoothness of his own skin. He did not look at Erestor, he watched Elrond orate though the Lord’s words of future prosperity and peace seemed not to move the Seneschal to any great joy as the other elves around the circular table.

 

Erestor wished he would look at him.

 

‘Master Counsellor, might we have your opinion regarding the wildmen of the forest? Your tongue has been remarkably still on the matter this morning.’ Elrond’s brows were furrowed slightly and his chin inclined. Erestor tore his eyes from Glorfindel’s dourness and cleared his throat.

 

‘Your original plan for removal seems most agreeable to me, as it always has, provided it be conducted with a measure of gentility and tact lest we call the wrath of Men upon us.’

 

‘Fairly spoken, and quite true.’

 

The plan struck Erestor with unease despite his endorsement, however, and he listened to the preparations and tactical planning with a leaden weight accruing in his gut. A bird sang a trilled note beyond the arches and stone of the Council chamber. The sky was not as dark as it had been previously and to Erestor it was the ache of stark sobriety after the storm.

 

Glorfindel still avoided his gaze. Erestor rubbed his eyes and prayed his thoughts would be swayed from the image of blood upon forest floor and leaves, ordered by his word. Erestor prayed, but not to the Valar.

 

***

 

Upon its completion, the elves of the Council stood. Elrond took his leave first after a warm farewell, as was customary, and in groups of two or three the others followed suit and filtered from the Council chamber in hushed conversation. Erestor made to leave, following silken trail of robes of dark wine and jewel tones (winter beckoned), but Glorfindel, still seated, called out.

 

Erestor stopped. He let the remaining elves file past him.

 

‘Glorfindel?’

 

Glorfindel blinked and turned his attention to the parchment held in his hand.

 

‘I would have words, please, stay a while longer.’

 

‘Words? They are not my strong suit today, as you may well have noticed.’

 

‘They are always your strong suit, Erestor.’ Glorfindel said with a gentle touch of smile turning his lips. There was guilt in his voice which in turn seized Erestor equally, for the guilt of the previous night should have been his alone. There was no cause for the Golden Lord to suffer for his inadequacies of both heart and manners.

 

Erestor returned to the table to stand beside Glorfindel, who read the parchment decree that was to be posted a day hence at the marketplace and other places where frequented both elves and men. It had been written by his own hand.

 

‘You’ve beautiful cursive.’ Glorfindel said, fondly if a little absent.

 

‘To my great regret I have never been able to master it.’

 

The birdsong came again. Erestor was suddenly very aware of his standing up, of their aloneness save for one another. Foreboding cancelled out the hope that struggled for breath in his chest and Erestor’s breath faltered as he inhaled deep and long.

 

He turned his head.

 

‘Glorfindel, I must return to my chambers. Time runs short and there is as yet still much I must-’

 

‘Pack, yes?’

 

‘Yes. Pack.’

 

Glorfindel set the parchment down upon the Council table. He looked up to Erestor who returned the stare. He might fall into Glorfindel’s arms now, he knew, and be loved by gentle touch and soul and eyes blue as spring skies. He did not, and so was borne another regret.

 

‘Don’t go.’ Glorfindel said, simply.

 

‘I must. You need time away from my destruction and I need time to think.’

 

‘Do you?’ Glorfindel asked with a smile Erestor could not discern.

 

Silence claimed the room and the two souls within, drawing breath only hesitantly for fear of spooking the other. A truth unspoken lay between them, a knowledge undeniable but still yet not voiced.

 

‘I love you.’ said Glorfindel.

 

Erestor loved him, too. He turned, and walked away to leave.

 

‘I am sorry.’ he said, and he was.