Golden by Sleepless_Malice

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

Golden

*

Imladris, Third Age 623

Elrond’s gaze followed the figure which had just begun to disappear into the forest, and sadly he shook his head. It was not the first time that he had witnessed such behavior from the elf, one of those whom he held most dear. The elf in question usually did not behave so extraordinarily awkwardly, and this caused Elrond much worry – he simply couldn’t explain his behavior.

“Do not worry,” said a familiar voice next to him, and a reassuring hand was placed onto his shoulder.

“Yet I do, although I do not know why,” explained Elrond. Throughout the years the unease persisted when his most trusted warrior sneaked out of the valley in the middle of the night.

“It is the moon, it always is.”

“The moon?” asked Elrond, mildly surprised as his gaze wandered from the edge of the forest towards the sky. Of course he had noticed the silvery light that spilled down on them, yet he had never made the connection that the moon phases could have anything to do with Glorfindel’s sad moods.

“Yes. Perhaps you have not noticed it before, but Glorfindel’s mood changes once the moon is at its fullest, since with it memories come. It has been this way for many years already.”

Puzzlement was visibly spread across the half-elf’s face. He knew many things about the golden haired warrior. He even counted him amongst his closest friends, yet the information given to him now was new. “Would you care to elaborate?” he asked cautiously.

‘Do not assume I have never felt Elrond’s startled gaze upon my back when I sneak away in the middle of the night, because I have. I know that he has watched me for countless years already, searching for an explanation for what I do. I cannot blame him for it, as my behavior can be judged as ridiculous even by my friends - parts of it he perhaps suspects already, yet he has never openly confronted me. But alas! Who would blame him being occupied with three children demanding his attention? The ‘why’s’ are hardly a secret,” Glorfindel had once said with a laugh, and now the words repeated themselves within his mind, “if he should ever approach you and ask, feel free to tell my story – as detailed as you may wish.” The twinkle in Glorfindel's eyes had been mischievous, and he had blushed scarlet upon the notion, even now, after all the years.

“Although the tale is not really mine to tell, I shall since I know your interest is sincere.”

Elrond nodded, head tilted in curiosity.

And so he began to tell Glorfindel’s tale of grief and happiness.

 

 

FA 587, after the destruction of Melkor and before the theft of the Silmarils

***

Raised at the Isle of Balar under Círdan’s rule, he had just reached his majority when his father had summoned him one day. ‘You shall serve as herald for the host of the Lords of the West, dear child, skilled in language and writing as you are.’ He had felt complimented – joyful yet strangely worried because he had never been somewhere else, parted from his family.

He rose rather quickly from a tyro to the ranks of a regular, and soon he had been assigned to a lord named Glorfindel. He was a great warrior, many of the common soldiers had told him, and was one who had been released from the Halls of Awaiting as he still had a role to play in the rescue of Arda marred. Rumors and tales about him floated through the encampment on a regular basis: about his deeds of valor in the past; how he had saved so many from the forsaken city, how he had stood on the shining ship, clad in gold and jewels beside the Maia; how the Lords of the West had sent him to finally defeat the free peoples’ enemy who had brought ruin and death upon them; tales of wealth and splendor, of death and love. He had believed only half of them, if any at all.

When he had first laid eyes upon him, his breath had frozen in his lungs; stern and regal his appearance was, tall and proud, his body steeled from countless battles he had fought. What had caught him most, however, had been his eyes. Blue like the ice so often mentioned, piercing, slicing through the herald’s skin like the sharpest of knives. He had been afraid, utterly so, when first they were supposed to meet. Foolishly, he thought as he recalled their encounter, because Glorfindel was – despite the rumors floating through the encampment – the kindest person he had met amidst the horrors of the war. Fair and just, balanced and never ill-tempered as so many other leaders were, respectful even towards the lowest servant. Soon he had developed a strange liking towards his lord, enjoyed his company although it was fleeting and brief, and many things he had learned from him.

It was in the aftermath of the great battle, and feast after feast had been celebrated to the victorious host of the West, and today was not any different. As still one of the younger heralds he was graced – or burdened to stay with the guards that secured the entrance that led inside the encampment. Although the Black Foe was finally defeated, caution still mattered. All around him laughter could be heard, but he did not pay it any mind, intent on delivering the urgent message still in his hand.

“This letter is meant for Eönwë, herald of the Elder king, and him alone,” the messenger had said, a sharp edge to his request, yet the commander of the elves was nowhere to be found. Not in his own, heavily guarded tent, not amidst the celebrating crowds, nor in the other public spaces he knew the commanders frequently had met to discuss strategic plans.

With every minute that had passed, his heart sank further – after all the matter at hand seemed to be an urgent one, and he was at a loss as to where else he could search for him. Perhaps his own lord would know, and could offer him some council?

 

**

Hastily he pushed the heavy tent flap aside, and air warm and heavy with spices immediately enveloped him, or overwhelmed him.

“My lord, my lord!” He announced his presence, but was met with silence instead of the formal ‘enter’ that he expected. Only the sound of what was best described as childish giggles reached his ears. He stopped dead in his tracks, and listened, despite the knowledge that he should not be eavesdropping. He should be out of the tent already, but he wasn’t, frozen to the ground as words mingled with the pleasant laughter.

‘Lay down.’

‘Make me!’

‘So stubborn.’

‘Art thou complaining?’

Every time a word was spoken, his heart jumped a little. That very specific voice must be intentional as it felt so sensual, so intimate, and heavy with affection.

‘You would wish that, now wouldn't you?’

‘Nay, all I wish for is that you would make some haste.’

This was not his lord’s normal tone, either.

‘For once, your wish shall be my command.’

‘How very generous of you.’

‘Shhh.’

A heavy silence fell, and his heartbeat rang in his ear.

“Erestor,” His lord’s voice announced joyfully, but from where exactly, he was not sure, because Glorfindel's provisional residence had many separated areas. “You are here for a reason I dare to assume, so do come in and speak of what ails you.”

Erestor wished that the ground would open up and swallow him whole; getting caught eavesdropping by his own lord was unacceptable.

‘Shit.’ Erestor swore under his breath, gaze falling onto the crumpled letter which was still in his hand. Yes he had entirely forgotten about it whilst eavesdropping their conversation. By now his cheeks were already tainted scarlet with his embarrassment.

It was a ridiculous assumption to think that he would not have been noticed, when Glorfindel seemed to sense occurrences from miles away.

“I.. I am.. pardon me for this intrusion,” Erestor stuttered, and hesitantly he stepped forward, limbs heavy, pushing another flap aside.

“Well met,” said Eönwë in the stead of Glorfindel, who was occupied with chewing something, and when he smiled, Erestor did not know if he should be scared or honored, or something else entirely. Two pairs of keen eyes were fixated on him, and his mouth dropped open.

The sight that greeted him took his breath away and made him stumble backwards, out of this part of the tent behind the security of the flap. Aye, their conversation had already suggested that they were not dining together – well to some extent they were – but this? Wildly he shook his head to clear his mind, futilely so, as their half-nude bodies amidst the plush cushions had already been etched right into his memory. They had looked delicious, with Eönwë’s body hovering above Glorfindel, their limbs sinfully entangled. The Maia’s face was framed by his shining hair, almost halo-like, as he looked down on Glorfindel, whose gaze was soft.

‘This must be what it is to look upon the faces of those who collect the souls of the fallen,’ Erestor thought, heart pounding heavily against his ribcage. Of course, he didn’t know for certain, as these were only rumors spoken about in the encampment. He had never dared to ask his lord who had died once before, what it was like in Námo’s halls. Their position was anything but innocent, suggestive and so sensual that Erestor could only stare. His breath came out in shallow bursts, fear getting the best of him.

Tales of the Maia’s wrath he had heard from warriors who had fought beside him in the long years of the war. He however had never experienced the wrath himself, since both Glorfindel and Eönwë had always been beyond kind to him whenever they had briefly met.

“Erestor …” a voice said behind the tent flap, the tone almost demanding.

Hesitantly he entered again – and this time he stayed, gathering his strength to endure the scolding he was expecting. “Pardon .. my lords,” said Erestor, offering a bow of courtesy, although he felt ridiculous for doing so. He, for certain, would have hastily sprung apart, covered himself and pretend that nothing had ever happened. They, on the other hand, did not even bother to conceal what they had been doing only moments ago, and were still doing. “I never intended to .. intrude on your privacy.”

The scents of fresh fruit, wine and those yellow flowers that Glorfindel loved best tickled his nose whilst he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Deliver the damn letter, and LEAVE.’ he thought.

Eönwë was entirely unimpressed by his presence, and was idly playing with a golden strand of Glorfindel’s hair that mimicked the color of the jewelry he wore. The mesmerizing gesture did not make it any easier for Erestor to regain his coherency, as too often in the midst of the night he had dared to think to do exactly the same.

Erestor struggled to form the right words that were not coming easily to him. “Whilst being on watch a figure clad in a dark woolen cape approached me, and the guards of the night watch and handed me this letter.” With trembling hands Erestor held the scroll upwards. “For your eyes alone, lord Eönwë, the messenger had said.”

Through the pinhole above, silvery moonlight managed to force its way through the fabric, covered and almost completely drowned out by the soft, golden glow of the candles. But instead of focusing on the light, his gaze was magically drawn towards the elaborate jewelry the Maia wore.

“Erestor?” Glorfindel interrupted, and rather startled Erestor looked at him. “Was he armed?” His lord asked with a sigh, shifting his position slightly. He stared at Erestor in genuine concern.

“This, I do not know,” said Erestor truthfully, hands twitching in front of him. In embarrassment, he cast his eyes downwards, looking at the garments that gathered on the ground where they rested, limbs entangled. He was certain that his unease was solidified in his expression. None of it was meant for him to see.

“Most likely,” said Eönwë with indifference, studying the letter closely as if he tried to decipher the sigil.

Was there a flicker of disapproval in the Maia’s eyes, a slight twitch of his eyelids? In the dim light, Erestor could not tell for sure.

“No harm will come from letting the letter be unread for a while. My gratitude for your quick delivery, and my apologies for having to see something that you never wished to witness.”

Did slight mockery accompany the words? Erestor was not entirely certain.

Erestor watched carefully as the corners of his lord’s lips twitched and as his jaw trembled from what he did not know. Not yet at least.

“What do you think, Laure?” asked Eönwë, gaze shifting between Glorfindel and Erestor whilst he sipped a generous amount of wine from a golden goblet.

“The same as you, my lord.” Glorfindel sighed again, differently this time – appreciating, indulging. Teasing. The fact that Glorfindel called the Maia his lord sent a shiver down Erestor’s spine. At the same time, Glorfindel turned back towards Eönwë, and trailed his finger down the Maia’s jewel-adorned arm, muscles flexing beneath the touch. His lips parted slightly, and his eye-lids fluttered when he pulled a small whine of satisfaction from Eönwë’s lips.

They were glorious to look at; Glorfindel’s hair was slightly curlier than it usually was, which was the norm after a bath, and it cascaded down his broad shoulders like a waterfall of molten gold. His sun-tanned skin shimmered in the soft glow of the candles. Where it was Glorfindel’s skin, caressed by the sunshine of late, that had once held his interest, now it was the intricate jewelry that Eönwë wore that demanded Erestor's attention. It was simply undeniable just how beautiful Eönwë looked in the warm light of the flickering candles. The incandescence caught itself in his hair, reflected by the countless golden jewels that adorned his neck, his arms, his fingers, and above his head a faint halo glowed. He had often noticed the strangely crafted golden laces that adorned the Maia’s neck before, and the pattern was often repeated, parts of the motifs were mirrored in the Maia’s shining armor.

A multi-spiraled bracelet with the shape of an eagle’s head at its end, made entirely out of precious gold, adorned his muscular upper arms; worth a fortune, or at least certainly worth more than what his father earned in an entire year. From there his eyes wandered to Eönwë’s sharp collarbone, where countless necklaces cascaded downwards; some simple, others adorned with dazzling gems or semi-precious stones: blood-red garnets, shimmering chalcedony, carnelians, and stones he had never seen before, placed in elaborate settings. Every movement, however minute it may be, made them brush together with a soft snick.

Like a god, thought Erestor as his eyes began to wander. ‘Gods must be appeased; or they are to be feared. Gods do not love, at least not how we perceive love and devotion. Their love is envy,’ his father’s words had been, as had been his tutors' words as well – but not a single word of it Erestor believed anymore, as certainly gods did love. They did not need to speak, at least not with words, to show the affection that they harbored for others. The few pieces of jewelry that Glorfindel wore, glowing against that suntanned skin, were almost insignificant compared to the Maia’s splendor. Erestor wondered if they had been perhaps a gift, since the style of the jewelry that they both wore matched perfectly.

Perhaps he should not look, or stare, as he did, intruding upon their privacy in such an inappropriate way, but yet this was exactly what he continued to do. The splendor was breathtaking. The Maia smiled, and his smile grew long and slow and it was as if Glorfindel was utterly charmed. Erestor had lost himself completely to this sight, almost overhearing the words that fell from Eönwë’s lips. “Take your leave – or stay. If you aim for the first, I bid you a good night.” He offered the choice with such nonchalance, as if it was the most normal thing to suggest. Upon hearing the words Erestor nearly stumbled backwards.

“WHAT?” He blurted out, screeching and horrified. He did not believe that he had heard the words correctly, but the Maia’s intense gaze persisted, telling him otherwise.

“You have understood me fairly well; it is exactly what I have said. Leave or stay – the choice is yours, young Erestor, and yours alone. Choose wisely.”

Erestor stared at him with wide eyes, standing at the spot as if he was rooted to the ground.

It was an indecent proposal, one he knew he should decline. ‘A trap. A trap.’ The words hammered through his head, and in his shock he remained silent for too long.

“Oh dear, do you actually think that I have not noticed your stare – when you thought I was not watching?” The words spilled so easily from Glorfindel’s lips, without even a hint of anger or disapproval, but then, they had not even cared to detangle their limbs and arms when he had entered their most personal space – Glorfindel’s bedchamber. His blush only intensified.

“By now you should have learned that there are more senses than that of the common eye,” added Eönwë, mirth gleaming within his eyes. Erestor did not even dare to think of what else he knew.

Fingers decorated with gold and precious gems, soft as the gentle breeze of the night swept over Glorfindel’s chest, leaving a shiver in their wake, and all Erestor found himself able to do was to follow the tantalizing motion. He knew that he would forever marvel at the way Glorfindel looked at the Maia, as Eönwë looked back at him, smiling a smile that was filled with affection and love.

“So I assume you have made your choice?” Glorfindel asked.

“I think he has,” responded the Maia with a laugh, waving with the hand that was not tangled in Glorfindel’s hair towards the armchair that stood to the side, “sit down.”

And so he did, though hesitantly, legs and arms trembling as he sat.

“You know about the divine traits that all Eldar share,” commented Eönwë, for once withdrawing his attention from Glorfindel and towards Erestor. “The gift of communicating with their minds alone.”

Erestor nodded.

Although it had been a while since he had last spoken with his parents via their mental link, he had never deemed himself overly blessed with this skill, but the overall concept was familiar. However, he could not fathom exactly what the Maia wished to say, and why it mattered now and rather dumbfounded he looked back at Eönwë.

“There is more to it than you have perhaps ever dared to imagine. Or, well – let me phrase it differently - at least I can allow for more if you so desire; open your mind for us and you will feel and perceive impressions of what we feel for each other.”

“But–“ interrupted Erestor, staring at them in disbelief again.

“Moralities,” said Glorfindel dismissively. “We all have suffered – endured so many years on these hither shores. Who shall speak against us and frown upon such indulgence? Who is here to judge us, who shall forsake us these pleasantries after so many years of strife and death?”

Erestor was rendered speechless, all the more when Eönwë did not object to what Glorfindel had said. Those laws imposed upon the Eldar were heavily discussed where he was raised, even if they were not always followed extensively at court, at least not amongst the common folk. A Maia serving the mighty Lords of the West was a different matter entirely though, Erestor thought.

Reassuringly Eönwë then spoke to him - about those laws they did not hold all too dear, about what they felt for each other since the days when bliss had reigned.

“For so long?” Erestor burst out at one point, eyes wide in his surprise.

“Yes.” Both said in unison, and at the end it was Glorfindel who offered him a sufficient explanation. He had never even suspected that their friendship ran deeper than most throughout all the years he had served as herald in the encampment.

“So will you accept my – our – offer?” asked Eönwë, with a hint of mischief ringing within his voice. His gaze was sharp, eyes sparkling in the same color of those sapphires that adorned the handle of his sword.

Instead of idly waiting for a reply from Erestor’s side, Eönwë stole a kiss from Glorfindel’s lips.

“Despite better knowledge, I will,” said Erestor with a determination that he had not expected, and all too easily the words floated from his lips.

Now it was Glorfindel who spoke, briefly shifting his attention towards their guest: “Good,” he said, smile breathtaking and radiant, once he had freed his lips from the Maia’s assault, “perhaps you should make yourself – comfortable then?” he offered, mischief ringing in his voice.

Erestor blushed furiously, as he still sat tense as a bowstring in the armchair.

 

*

Glorfindel’s lips trembled before they parted to welcome the grape caught between Eönwë’s fingertips, and indulgently the Maia smirked down at him; knowingly, teasingly and with mastered perfection the grape slid into Glorfindel’s mouth. Every motion of Eönwë’s hands was accompanied by the soft clattering of the bracelets brushing against each other. Lightly the Maia’s fingertips ran across Glorfindel’s still parted lips, indulgently lingering every now and then until dark blue eyes expectantly gleamed upwards to him through lowered lashes. The sight alone was enough to cause Erestor to tremble, as he had never before seen, or experienced – something so sensual. Mesmerized he watched him swallow, intrigued by the way his throat moved, how he licked his wine-stained lips afterwards.

Indulgently, Glorfindel sucked Eönwë’s jewel-adorned finger until the knuckle was deep within his mouth, sucking and licking it and making perfectly filthy sounds whilst doing so. It was evident what exactly his lord was thinking while he wholeheartedly enjoyed into the sweet caresses. Glorfindel’s large hand wandered across Eönwë’s exposed chest, leaving a shiver in its wake, a shiver which also crawled along Erestor’s skin, although nobody had even touched him.

Lasciviously he let go of the Maia’s finger before he spoke. “Will you ever tire of feeding me?” whispered Glorfindel, licking along Eönwë’s wet fingertip.

“Will you ever tire of not shutting up when you are supposed to be silent?”

‘Make me.’ Glorfindel had not said a single word, yet the words were there, clear and full of teasing laughter within Erestor's mind.

A soft and affectionate smile hushed over the Maia’s face. ‘What?’ Eönwë asked, genuine curiosity spread across his face.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at him, almost mockingly. ‘Do not play innocent. We both know that you are not.’ At the same time he allowed his fingers to wander over the perfectly tanned body, trailing seductive fractals over Eönwë’s muscular chest before he began to kiss his way along his throat, his collarbone, nibbling and biting until a moan was elicited from the Maia’s lips.

‘Am I not? A pity.’

‘No. Not a pity – rather a blessing.’

Soundlessly, Eönwë shifted the weight on his arms to bring himself closer towards Glorfindel, close enough to kiss him.

‘No? Maybe I could … like this perhaps?’ whispered the Maia against Glorfindel’s lips before he captured them fully, smiling against them. ‘So is it working?’

‘Shut up.’

Whilst he kissed him, Glorfindel traced with his hand over the indent of Eönwë’s collarbone beneath the necklaces, over the flexing muscles of his throat, skin smooth and glowing like burning embers of the fire.

Eönwë was watching him again, after breaking the kiss. Not that he had ever stopped, not really, because his gaze was drawn towards the elf like moth to the flame, and all too well Erestor could understand it. Glorfindel was breathtaking, cheeks tainted rosy, golden hair fanned out across the lush pillows. Glorfindel did not wish to impose, only wanted to please the one whom he truly loved and cherished, to snatch a compliment from those godlike lips that seemed to be made for him alone.

Their lips were never more than a few inches apart from each other, bodies entangled so sensually that it took Erestor’s breath away.

“Laure,” whispered Eönwë. Precise, purposeful, full of affection.

At last, he became more wanton in everything he did, sliding his jewel-adorned fingers into Glorfindel’s golden hair. In response, Glorfindel’s eyes fluttered shut, and images of long past memories floated through his mind. They also flowed through Erestor’s mind, and he could see. Images that were so vivid, so divine, almost surpassing reality. Flickers of hands and teeth against glowing skin, of skin against skin under the silvery light of the trees that Erestor had only heard tales of.

Languidly, Eönwë kissed him then, pressing his naked chest against Glorfindel’s heated body with such a gentleness that the world seemed to stand still for moments. Erestor had memorized his lord’s face, his sharp profile a hundred times before but, in the indulgence of passion he was transformed. He glowed, and radiating under the Maia’s caresses, and the beauty of it was etched into Erestor’s mind. His lord’s golden hair that never lay completely flat, was now ruffled and fanned out around his fair face like a halo, his luscious lips were sealed by the one he cherished most.

A divine display of happiness amidst all the death and horror it was to see his lord like this, and Erestor knew that as long as he lived, he would never forget their fair faces bathed in the gentle light.

Those ethereal figures certainly belonged to another world, a world of splendor unbeknown to him. Erestor was nothing more than a common elf on these hither shores, and those ethereal figures certainly belonged to another world, a world of splendor unbeknown to him, a world where safety prevailed for all eternity, outshining everything and everybody around them with a faint glow that certainly must resemble the radiance of Laurelin.

And then there was himself: dirty, covered in the dust from the training fields and frequent errands, a mere messenger – a nobody in their eyes, yet strangely and despite all odds he was part of everything they were doing. Although the touch was not his to feel, he felt fingertips dance across his clothed chest, causing his blood to boil in his veins, forcing him to forget anything around him. All sounds were drowned out by the thumping of their hearts.

Glorfindel’s fingers withdrew from Eönwë’s face only to weave a more complex path down his necklace-adorned throat, every touch commented with a light moan or gasp, nothing to help to quell his own arousal. Their bodies were so tightly pressed together now that not even a sheet of paper would fit in between, pleasure bleeding through their veins as it bled through Erestor’s own body, causing his head to swim.

Glorfindel’s head spun, as the Maia shifted his position, lower and lower still, licking along his collarbone. “What are you thinking of?” asked Eönwë, briefly interrupting to nibble Glorfindel’s throat so tenderly.

Glorfindel’s eyes flashed open. “About you and I, of how many nights we shall be granted this time together.” Sadness mixed with the excitement that rang in his voice. “Foolish, I know to think of such things right now,” he said apologetically.

“Your thoughts can be drowned out and subdued rather easily, you know.” The words were utmost suggestive and Glorfindel was perhaps well aware of what idea occupied the Maia’s mind – and so was Erestor.

“Can they?” he asked teasingly, mirth shining forth from his eyes. “I fear I may have forgotten throughout all the years. You wouldn’t mind enlightening me, would you?”

A laugh slipped past Eönwë’s lips. “Enlighten you? This sounds so – holy, so innocent .. when everything in your mind is incredibly filthy.”

As filthy as Glorfindel’s thought perhaps were, they did not compare to the Maia’s gesture at Glorfindel’s abdomen.

“A blatant lie,” muttered Glorfindel under his breath. Immediately he was silenced with a kiss that was none too gentle. With every touch, with every word the Maia spoke something stirred in Erestor’s loins, and in their kiss and all the emotions that came with it, he all too easily lost himself.

When Eönwë withdrew, he returned his mouth to the elf’s lips, slipping his hands into Glorfindel’s golden hair. Downwards he crawled then, his lips exploring more of his body that shone so wonderfully in the golden light, whispering how much he adored the tan that Glorfindel had obtained in the past weeks. In response, Glorfindel gasped.

Sensually Eönwë allowed his lips to linger in the hollow of Glorfindel’s throat before he trailed kisses along the prominent vein in the direction of his ear, whispering endearments that Erestor failed to comprehend, as the language was one he had never heard before. It mattered not since the tone was so affectionate, so breathtakingly endearing and in response Glorfindel trailed his fingers through Eönwë’s hair, desperate to find something to hold onto. His eyes were closed in bliss, lips parted and in his lord’s beauty Erestor reveled.

 

*

Not that Erestor did not like what he saw, what he felt and sensed, and not that he was completely lost in rapture, because by all what was dear to him, he was. Yet he feared that an invisible boundary would soon be crossed and the last thing that he ever wished was to be thrown out of his lord’s service. He had harvested so many images, and emotions of which he knew that he could feast on for the rest of his immortal life. Additionally, he wished to save himself the embarrassment of soiling his breeches; he was too close to doing this already.

Reluctantly, Erestor cleared his throat, cheeks burning hot as Eönwë’s tongue lost itself in Glorfindel’s belly. He did not wish to leave, not exactly, but then he knew he must since he had seen already more than he ever should. “Good night, my lords,” he announced, rising from the chair with trembling legs, desire throbbing through his body. He was hard, so painfully hard in his breeches that it almost hurt. “I shall take my leave now. Thank you – for everything.” The words were nothing more than a breathy whisper, as he did not trust his own treacherous voice anymore.

“You desire to leave us, already? A pity I must say but we will not hinder you and therefore wish a good night to you as well, Erestor,” said Eönwë, and with a twinkle in his eyes he added: “I wish you the most pleasant dreams, but please leave the scroll behind, since I need to take care of it once, well – once we are finished.”

What the Maia referred to certainly left nothing to the imagination, and after a courtly bow Erestor hastily escaped the thick air of the tent and stormed off into the soothing chill of the night where silence and the silvery light of the full moon welcomed him. Apart from the pale twilight, the world was still veiled in darkness.

*

It was not until many years later that Erestor learned that this had been their final night together before Eönwë was summoned back into the Blessed Realm.

 

*

 

by Tosquinha

---

Chapter End Notes

Timeline outline:
Third Age: Elrond married Celebrian in TA 109, Elladan and Elrohir were born in 130, Arwen in 241. Celebrian died in TA 2509. The early years of the Third Age seem to be the most peaceful ones after the horrors of the War of the Last Alliance in the late Second Age; therefore I set the beginning of this story in this time frame as Glorfindel’s behavior is odd as they are safe and secure in Imladris, basically without true sorrows.
First Age: The War of Wrath lasted from FA 545 – 587, and ended with the defeat of Melkor and the destruction of Angband.

Additional info:
If you should not have guessed already, the letter Erestor delivered was from the two remaining sons of Fëanor. “Then Eönwë as herald of the Elder King summoned the Elves of Beleriand to depart from Middle-earth. But Maedhros and Maglor would not hearken, and they prepared, though now with weariness and loathing, to attempt in despair the fulfilment of their oath; for they would have given battle for the Silmarils, were they withheld, even against the victorious host of Valinor, even though they stood alone against all the world. And they sent a message therefore to Eönwë, bidding him yield up now those jewels which of old Fëanor their father made and Morgoth stole from him. And they sent a message therefore to Eönwë, bidding him yield up now those jewels which of old Fëanor their father made and Morgoth stole from him. But Eönwë answered that the right to the work of their father, which the sons of Fëanor formerly possessed, had now perished, because of their many and merciless deeds, being blinded by their oath, and most of all because of their slaying of Dior and the assault upon the Havens.” (Silmarillion - Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath)

Inspiration:
Well, quite a good amount of ‘Eönwë wearing (too much) jewelry’ I blame on Encairion’s wonderful fic ‘The Price of Duty’, Chapter 27 (and the addition: ‘The Vanya’s Rebellion' ) – at least this is the fic which originally inspired me and from where I began to make up my character design of him, although my motives why he wears jewelry are different to the above mentioned story. The final design of Eönwë in this fic is highly inspired by ancient Greek jewelry, especially the bracelets and the gemstones. Chalcedony was said to possess healing powers and carnelians were associated with royalty.

[Disclaimer] - The Elves and the Maia are (unfortunately) not mine. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Estate – I just like to explore their lives a little further. No money is made from this story.

[General] - Feel free to contact me on tumblr: feanope