The Robes. by hennethgalad

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Chapter g

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The Robes

 

 

 

Glorfindel lay still, hearing the boasting of a blackbird against the muted morning roar of Mereth Aderthad, the scent of warm mint drifted past him, and brought the memory of home vividly before him, he stretched and yawned, and finding himself alone in the large bed, sat up and opened his eyes.

 Finrod, seated in one of the low chairs, wrapped in a grape coloured bathrobe, a steaming goblet in one hand and a painting in the other, smiled joyfully at him. Glorfindel looked around at the richly decorated furnishings of the luxurious pavilion, then back at the painting in Finrod's hand. He knew what it would be, it would be one of the paintings of himself, naked and asleep, and here he was, just as his sarcastic first lover had foreseen, a toy of one of the Noldor princes, naked and barely emerged from sleep. He cursed wordlessly and sprang to his feet. Finrod rose anxiously to face him

 'What ails you, my love ? Why do you look at me so ?'

Glorfindel clenched his fists, snarling silently, then saw the depth of fear and love in Finrod's eyes. He took a deep shuddering breath, and forced his muscles to unclench. Finrod looked down at the painting in his hand and closed his eyes.

 'You know what I fear' said Glorfindel 'I have awakened into my nightmare.'

He could see Finrod's jaw become firmer as his teeth clenched, but Finrod looked kindly at him

 'Have you seen this painting yet ?' he asked softly. Glorfindel shrugged, he had seen several, but there was no accounting for artists... Finrod placed his goblet carefully on the low table and held the painting up for Glorfindel to see. Glorfindel winced and turned away, but then breathed deeply and turned back. The painting had been done from life, from his own life, of himself asleep, an empty goblet loose in one hand, his other draped over the side of the couch on which he sprawled. But the artist had been one of the finest in Tirion, indeed, in Valinor, for only the Noldor took seriously the craft of the representation of images, only the Noldor cared for art. Glorfindel found himself truly seeing the painting, not as an insulting leer at himself, but as a skillful work of art, capturing a moment; the young elf, careless and asleep, made more beautiful by the craft of the artist. He found himself blushing, and with difficulty looked up into the eyes of Finrod 

 'It is very good.' he said finally 'Although I think that the artist has flattered me too much.'

Finrod's eyes widened briefly, he shook his head 

 'You really do not know how beautiful you are, how could you ? That privilege is reserved for the rest of us, who adore you.'

 Glorfindel grimaced, his eyes tightly closed, 'Adore !' he spat the word in fury. 'How will that help me in the meetings of your council ? How would you like it ?' he stopped, astonished at his words, astonished at himself, for Finrod was more beautiful even than himself, and Glorfindel had seen many paintings of Finrod, though none like this. Understanding began to grow within him, that not only did Finrod have his own blinding beauty to contend with, but also the fact of his birth; Finrod must constantly have feared that he in himself was nothing, a mere playing-piece on the board of the scheming Fëanorians. 

 

 For the first time in his life, Glorfindel began to wonder if those who spoke of wordless communication, like his father, spoke of something more significant than a mere facility with the reading of posture and gesture. He could almost perceive the flavour of the thought of Finrod; more than a mood or an emotion, a balance of judgements, perhaps even a craft of evaluation of the judgements of himself and others. Glorfindel felt ignorant and foolish, his eyelids lowered and his shoulders sagged. Finrod instantly dropped the painting onto his chair and wrapped both arms around Glorfindel.

 The touch of the warm skin of Finrod's chest seemed to awaken Glorfindel, for the first time that morning he felt alive, truly real, fully himself. He sighed deeply and kissed the coral lips of Finrod, finding the hindrance of the robe and throwing it to the floor. He felt Finrod smile and lifted his head for a moment. Finrod's grey-blue eyes smiled happily into his

 'Turgon has sent you a gift.' he said. Glorfindel frowned, Finrod stretched out an arm and lifted a package wrapped in fine cloth from the table. Still smiling, he placed it in the gap between their chests. Glorfindel looked down at the smooth, undyed fabric, it gave no hint of its contents, though from the weight and softness of the parcel, Glorfindel expected a garment. Reluctantly he lifted one hand and unfolded the wrapping. He was obliged to use both hands to shake out the long formal robe of Noldor blue, bearing the badge of Turgon and with many garnets sewn into the silver embroidery of the hems. 

 

 There was a pause, then Finrod grinned at him 'I expect that Turgon envisaged you appearing at my council in your armour. Will you let me see you in it, now ?' 

 Glorfindel, already feeling the stupefying effects of arousal, looked from Finrod to the robe, and smiled to himself. He had awoken naked, a mere soldier, in the bed of a prince who had sipped his morning infusion in a fancy robe, gloating over a picture of him. Now he would be the one in the fancy robe... He pulled it over his shoulders and fastened it, then straightened his back and looked seriously at Finrod. 

 Finrod was silent for a moment, then glanced at the curtain of pearls 'I think ' he said hoarsely, then cleared his throat. Glorfindel was struck by a mighty wave of desire for him, it took him great effort to remain still as Finrod spoke, this time clearly 'I think you should ask for the opinion of Gildor. '

 

 Glorfindel wished wildly that there was no Gildor, no House of Finwë, no Mereth Aderthad, that it would all simply vanish and leave him alone with Finrod. With the vividness of lightning it came to him that not only did Finrod feel the same way, but that he could perceive the wish of Glorfindel's heart, not only in this moment, but at many other times. Glorfindel laughed at himself, his wishes, being so simple, were simple to read. Finrod's eyes shone merrily at him, he found himself grinning, and turned towards the curtain, to show his new robe to the valet waiting in the other room.

 

 Gildor was sitting by the closed canvas doors, laced against the wind and weather. He was eating a pie, and obviously enjoying it. Glorfindel found his mouth watering, as Gildor glanced up at him, then blinked at the formal robe and leaped to his feet. He swiftly dropped the half-eaten pie on a platter and wiped his mouth and hands.

 'Sir, how may I be of service ?' Glorfindel was surprised and gratified at the response of Gildor, and then dismayed by his own pitiful pleasure. He had been garnished like an elaborate dish for the pleasure of the prince. He recoiled slightly, and saw the look of concern in the eyes of Gildor. Glorfindel forced himself to smile

 'Greetings Gildor, I hope you slept well ?' Gildor nodded, Glorfindel continued 'May I ask what you were eating ? It smells delicious, I hope there are more ?' 

 Gildor raised the silver lid of another platter, an assortment of pies, pastries and small bread rolls let out an appetising steam 'Here is your breakfast sir, I was awaiting your call. The ones with poppy seeds contain asparagus and mushroom, the others are artichoke hearts with celery and hazlenuts.' he paused and looked at Glorfindel's robe 'The Lord Turgon will be pleased that the robe fits you so well. May I welcome you in your new role, and say how fitting it is. The wisdom of Finrod grows, and grows more inspiring, constantly.' 

 Glorfindel swallowed, the aroma and the compliments were too much. Gildor lifted a tray, which also contained two tall silver flagons, and stepped towards Glorfindel 'May I advise you that there is to be a meeting of the council of Finrod later this morning, in this very room ?'

 Glorfindel took a step backwards, the pearls of the curtain rattled on his shoulders, he backed into the bedchamber and turned to Finrod, who had not moved since Glorfindel had turned away. Glorfindel gazed at him, Finrod's beauty seemed to fill the pavilion; or the world, the golden skin shone in the morning light, the smooth pale gold hair hung across the muscles of his chest, the grey-blue eyes seemed to grow larger, to fill the whole of Finrod's face, the whole of Glorfindel's mind. He was barely aware of Gildor laying the breakfast dishes on the low table by the wide entrance through which small insects and the song of birds came. The noise of the crowd seemed softer; Glorfindel smiled to himself, doubtless everyone else was also dining, and many would have had as little sleep as he had. He yawned, smiled at Gildor as he bowed and left, then slowly, his eyes fixed on those of Finrod, began to unfasten the robe. 

 

  Finrod remained still, as Glorfindel laid the robe carefully on a chair, then took one of the seed covered pastries and bit into it. He stepped forwards and pulled Finrod against himself and looked thoughtfully into his eyes as the freshness of the asparagus delighted him. He ate the whole pastry in silence, while Finrod stood still in his arm, almost as one waiting. Glorfindel sighed as he dabbed a cloth across his lips 'Oh my love, I was so hungry that my appetite overwhelmed even my desire for you. Can you imagine ?' Glorfindel spoke light-heartedly, but Finrod looked intently at him and replied quietly 'No.'

 Glorfindel blinked at him, Gildor was right, there was something constantly surprising about Finrod, perhaps merely his intensity, inherited from Finwë, no doubt, but manifesting in different ways in each of the family; and for Glorfindel, now watching so closely, in different ways in each moment of Finrod's life. He sighed, the complexity of his own new emotions already filled his mind, how could he hope to fathom those of this beautiful stranger... But his hunger was barely dented by the pie, he sat down, with Finrod still in one arm, and took another pastry. It was so delicious that he offered a mouthful to Finrod, who bit into it, his eyes still on Glorfindel's. They watched each other as they ate, Glorfindel feeding Finrod like an infant, though Finrod was not bound in any way. 

 

 The air between them seemed to focus and solidify, a still, heavy, centre, from which a growth of crystal silence seemed to spread. At the heart of the stillness, the molten core, the heat of their desire burned in them, and filled them with longing and anticipation. Glorfindel picked up his as yet untasted goblet, from which the steam had ceased to rise, and sipped at the now cooled infusion. It was as he had suspected, the recipe, which he had never learned, was his mother's. They sold dried preparations of those herbs, for travellers. But this was as fresh as the asparagus, Finrod drank the same infusion at breakfast that he himself had had as a child. 

 Finrod smiled understandingly, and Glorfindel found his shoulders loosening, he had been fraught with tension, he still was, and having Finrod under his hands made even more of his muscles clench. His mind seemed to flicker like a cut bowstring, as he recalled the previous morning, when he had awoken alone in his small tent, taken his daily run, and joined friends for a simple breakfast of bread and fruit. To his horror he realised that this was the second morning he had spent with Finrod; they had met at sunrise, and still clung together, in the broad light of the following day. He looked up and saw the blue of the sky through the gap in the roof, and smiled, then looked again at Finrod 

 

 'It is so difficult to grasp what has happened to us, I know that it is love, but it is as new to me as it is to you, I am both bewildered and firmly convinced... I know that I love you and that you love me, but these strong emotions are new to me, I can barely comprehend them, I cannot describe them to you. But I know that you must feel something as strongly as I do, I can see it, and feel it when I touch you. This very knowledge seems to increase the strength of my own emotions, is it truly the same with you ?'

 Finrod's eyes seemed to fill with tears, though he shed none 'Strong emotions.' he said, his voice almost level but for the evident fact that he himself was restraining an outburst of the expression of just such feelings. 'You spoke earlier of your nightmare.' 

 Glorfindel inhaled sharply, then paused to think, looking first at Finrod, then out at the silver birches, their white trunks almost glowing in the bright sunshine, the little leaves green and rustling in a fluttering cloud above. 

 

 'My nightmare...' he sighed, and looked again at Finrod, and again the pain of the beauty of Finrod struck at his heart. He paused to kiss him softly. 'My nightmare is there in that painting; to forget myself, to be nothing, merely an image, to do nothing, to...' he stopped, Finrod's expression had changed, he felt suddenly larger and heavier in Glorfindel's arms as his muscles tensed. Glorfindel could feel the effort that Finrod put into unclenching himself. 

 In a tone darkened with cold fury, Finrod spoke

 'Do you think I do not understand you ? We both wish to escape from my family, but here is everyone we care for. ' he stopped for a moment 'Not all, alas, but still. We can leave here, if you wish, we can cross mountains until our very words become strange in the ears of those we meet, and we can begin again, as who we are together.'

 Glorfindel looked silently at him, above the ocean of joy and love he felt for Finrod, a part of him marvelled that Finrod could speak so well in such circumstances and then laughed aloud

 'I was wondering at you, and how you could be so eloquent even when agitated with strong emotion. But as you said, you were trained to speak clearly and calmly when you are agitated. I suppose that that is diplomacy ?'

 Finrod laughed dryly 'Alas, no, diplomacy is speaking clearly and calmly when the person you represent is agitated. When it is you yourself who are agitated, then it is politics.'