Old Friends - part two. by hennethgalad

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Chapter 2

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Down in the valley, as Laurelin waned, they stood by the open air theatre, watching the laughing crowds and enjoying the glow of physical exertion ceasing. Golden light shone in the wreathing blue smoke from fires of sweet wood; under bright awnings arrays of fine delicacies were spread before them by laughing Vanyar, while others carried trays of brimming vessels of mead and wine. Erestor felt that his heart shone visibly, his joy at the attainment of the summit of Taniquetil seemed to mirror his joy at the fulfilment of childhood. The vision granted him in the presence of Manwë and Varda seemed to lie like a veil before him and the lights on the smiling faces. But the veil did not separate him from the others, rather it lay over them like the opposite of shadow, like the Light shining in through an open door; echoes of the future, whispers, perhaps, of the visions that each Elf had undergone in Ilmarin, fragments of which they had carried down the winding mountain path, to set like gemstones, here and there, scattering the Light across Arda. 

 But he was no Vala, to separate himself from the form of skin and bone in which he dwelt, for his blood sang other melodies, not of light and air, but of molten rock and power, of desire, the hot heart of the mountain. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and turned to look at the focus of his spirit, at the subtle play of the Light and lights in the turbulent fall of the glorious golden hair. 

 

  Glorfindel had been silent for a while, his shining eyes gazing unseeingly at the lively crowd, his enraptured face still elsewhere; though whether he was preoccupied with the undisclosed vision that he had endured in Ilmarin, or with the intense drama that had unfolded on the stage, Erestor could not tell. Glorfindel turned to him, his radiant features glowing with such enchantment that the heart of Erestor was moved almost to pain. Love pierced him with talons of gold. Glorfindel spoke 

 'That was only the second play that I have ever seen ! I had no idea that such strong... that mere actors could move me so.' he paused, then shrugged ' My parents think such things a folly, but I wonder...' 

 Erestor felt mild indignation 'Art, a folly ?' he said, then remembered to smile, his courtier's manners returning to him gradually after the storm of upheaval. 'You were raised in the country, I think that your parents are not of the Noldor, or so Olórin has informed me.'

 Glorfindel shook his head. 'No, my mother is of the Vanyar, my father was at Cuiviénen.'

 'So I have heard.' Erestor nodded, hoping that his ignorance did not reveal itself, for little had ever been told of Cuiviénen; the few survivors lived quietly, shielded by a profound cultural reticence among the Elves, the bone-deep desire to be rather creatures of spirit than of flesh, which the living presence of the Maiar, and especially the Valar, brought sharply into their hearts. To have been fathered and raised by one who was fatherless, motherless, Awakened, went some way to explaining the fascination that Glorfindel inspired, even perhaps in a Maia such as Olórin. The thought of his old friend brought Erestor back to his purpose. He smiled at the eager blue eyes 

 'You should know that "The Arrival of Oromë" is one of the most learned and distinguished plays yet written, it has made a significant contribution to the culture of the Elves. The eloquent speeches, the heart-wrenching words, the fine acting, the beauty of the staging, why, I was in tears at the departure of the Avari. Were you yourself not moved ?'

 Glorfindel smiled slightly 'I too wept, but you need not persuade me of your cause. I did not say that I agree with my parents. Indeed it is my intention to dwell for a while in the city of Tirion, and to learn more of culture and art !'

 

 Erestor was silent for a moment, in a daze of shock he realized that he had never considered the future, nor even the next day. He was so caught up in the joy of Glorfindel that the present moment's happiness seemed a permanent feature of the world, as constant and eternal as the Light of the Trees. He looked at Glorfindel with a kind of pale horror. Then, before he could stop himself, he spoke eagerly

 'I live in Tirion ! Indeed it would be my honour and delight should you choose to make your home with me. It is a small house, and I dwell alone with my books, but there is a fine view of the lake, and a walled garden.'

 Glorfindel gaped for a moment, blinked rapidly and then clasped the hand of Erestor 

'Truly ? You would have a humble farmer in your house, embarrassing you in front of your important relations ?'

 Erestor smiled 'Such as Celegorm ?' he asked dryly. Their eyes met in delighted silence, feeling a deep sympathy and trust of each other that volumes of books could not convey, and in the midst of the noisy crowd they felt themselves an island of serenity. The storms of the world could rage around them, but between them a peace had opened, their spirits were attuned, their friendship secure.

 

 They were quiet for a while, there seemed no need of words, and there was much to see and hear, for music had begun. Erestor glanced from time to time at the smiling Glorfindel, who looked around in fascination. The features which at first had seemed merely handsome had become beautiful almost beyond endurance to Erestor. The transformation of his own spirit in the presence of the Valar had altered the perception of Erestor; the veils of flesh seemed to have dissolved like rising mist, giving him glimpses, as though through the standing, finely flickering flames, through to the heart of Glorfindel, and beyond, as though the Music would manifest to him not as heart-wrenching sound, but as a sharpened vision of Arda, a depth of insight that could almost percieve the operation of the Ainur, and "their terrible sharpness...more bitter than a needle". He smiled to himself, the familiar lines from Ainulindalë had always been his favourite part of the great Song. But he could not grasp what his eyes sought to offer him: the vision of Glorfindel, and thus himself, and all that lived, dissolved in the Song, as a phrase is dissolved in the music. 

 The beauty of Glorfindel, the soft golden skin, the long lashes, the intense blue of the lovely eyes, and the fine, gleaming lips, had set his flesh aflame with love. Erestor choked, his desire turning his mind away from the great avenues of the deep forest to focus on a single tree, on the leaves of a single tree, and on the patterns of light and shade rippling over them as they moved to the wind. He knew, with the last of his powers of thought, that his true wish was to be the wind caressing the tree, but that this was beyond even Manwë himself, for the Music is of Eru.  

  But the spirit of Erestor, expressed only in flesh crafted from the bones of the earth, could not hold the vision in his mind, which seemed to sigh back like a receding wave. The struggle to percieve the spirits of others through the veils of flesh subsided, he returned to awareness of the solidity of the table, and his eyes now saw only the play of the lights on the sculpted features, shining lips and smooth skin of the entrancingly beautiful Glorfindel. 

 

 A Elf, grave as a courtier, approached and bowed formally, then addressed Erestor. 

 'I believe you are Erestor, cousin to lord Fëanor ?'

 'That is so.' 

 'I am the director' he bowed again as they exclaimed their appreciation, and smiled modestly; his eyelids lowered, but no other sign of emotion moved the mask of his features. 'I am interested in your opinion of our work this evening. Do you consider that we did justice to the play ?'

 'It is not easy for me to compare your production with other versions that I have seen, for it has been a day of strong emotional significance for me. ' there was a catch in the voice of Erestor as he spoke, but he decided that his words justified such expressiveness. 'However, I know that we both wept at the departure scene.'

 'Did you ? Did you indeed ?' he looked for the first time at Glorfindel, who was smiling his sunny smile. 'What did you think of the play ?'

 Glorfindel looked doubtfully at Erestor and shrugged 'I have never seen it before, I was raised quietly, in the country, I know nothing of such matters. '

  'Very well, but did you like this experience ? Would you tell people to see it for themselves ?'

 'Of course !  I thought that it was brilliant ! As Erestor has said, we both wept, it was, it was so convincing ! I seemed to forgot that the actors were only pretending, and felt that I was somehow there, watching real events !'

 The director smiled like a halved melon and put a hand on each of their shoulders

 'I wish you would say these things to my actors, everyone forgets them on a day of days like this, which is natural, of course, but if you will join us at our own party' he gestured to the sprawling pavilion behind the stage 'You will lighten my burden by telling the actors how marvellous they are. Believe me, they never tire of it, and if you find yourself at a loss for words' he looked thoughtfully at Glorfindel  'Simply begin to praise them again and watch them glow. '

 

 

There was a smaller, slightly quieter crowd inside the pavilion; several actors, still in partial costume, were seated, holding court surrounded by admirers, or moving among the colourful guests. An elaborate feast was arrayed on a long, flower-strewn table, though few troubled to eat; the vigorous music filled the air, and rose up through the ground, causing the guests to raise their voices, discussing the play, and each other, so loudly that the few score Elves present seemed far more numerous.  

 The director led them to a small group, Erestor saw familiar faces from social events, people who were in earnest about art and culture, who understood that a performance meant more than a passing spectacle, and that the impact of stories on the culture could barely be understood, or measured. They were considering the subject as Erestor listened, and the familiar paradox that the Noldor approach to the world, of measurement and analysis, of theory tested to destruction, which had simultaneously produced so much of cultural worth, could yet be utterly thwarted in its attempts to measure the effect of their own art. 

 He was welcomed by his acquaintances and joined in the discussion, letting Glorfindel familiarise himself with the situation before attempting to introduce him, or compel him to speak. From the corner of his eye, however, he saw the director question Glorfindel, and Glorfindel smilingly begin his blythe charm conquest. With renewed confidence Erestor returned to his conversation.

 

 When next he turned, Glorfindel had gone. He could see the director among the crowds, but Glorfindel had disappeared. His heart lurched, he pushed impatiently through the crowd and siezed the director by the arm.

 'Where is he ?' he cried angrily. The director looked him up and down and sneered.

 'He is in the dressing room of Melairë, congratulating him and sharing some particularly fine wine. I urge you to remember your manners and not intrude where you are not invited.'

 Erestor felt his throat close, both with grief at the thought that Glorfindel had been taken from him already, and that it would always be so; and with acute social embarrassment. A silence had fallen around them, and people were staring, enjoying the passing spectacle. His cheeks burned, his whole body burned with embarrassment, passion and rage. He dropped the arm of the director and backed away in silence. As he turned, looking wildly about him, completely lost, he heard voices full of laughter resume their conversations behind him, and he found his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he clenched his fists. 

 

 After a while he could breathe again, and he sought out wine, and drained a goblet. The presence of the laughing crowd, which had felt so delightful in the company of Glorfindel, seemed now that of a hostile horde; even the familiar faces of the other courtiers seemed to harbour malicious intent. He was bewildered; overwrought and overwhelmed, he could do nothing to calm the storm in his spirit, but he exercised his breathing control and let his body try to recover some of its calm. As he began to breathe more regularly, he saw, to his astonishment, that the actor Melairë had left his dressing room and was moving, alone, through the congratulatory crowd, pausing here and there to kiss one or two. Within moments he was gone. Erestor frowned and looked at the closed door of the dressing room. Glorfindel had not come out. What if he were distressed, in need of comfort... Erestor looked again at the director, deep in conversation, and clenched his jaw shut. 

 Love, greater even than desire, filled him with pain at the thought of Glorfindel, after such a testing day, being insulted by a sophisticate such as Melairë. He glared at the retreating back of the actor, and then at the closed door. None approached it, nor stood nearby. His courage, rising on the storm of love, fear, rage and desire, seemed greater than any feeling that had yet moved the young flesh of Erestor; the hostile horde shrank back in his mind to a mere flock of bright-feathered birds, who would withdraw at a wave of his hand. He seemed barely to recognize the sense of purpose and focus that now drove him, he felt sharper, older, and resolute. 

 Moving as sedately as he could through the crowd, Erestor reached the dressing-room door and knocked softly. There was no answer so he opened it as quietly as he could and entered. 

 

 The scented room was full of a bright jumble of things; clothes and costumes were everywhere, scarves and necklaces hung from every piece of furniture, in front of the large mirror a table was scattered thickly with face-paints and powders. In the midst of this clutter, like a clean blade on a pile of kitchen scraps, Glorfindel lay, sprawled naked on a long couch, a sleepy smile on his flushed face. He stretched like a cat when he saw Erestor 

 'Here you are ! I was just thinking of you ! Is there any more wine ?'

 Erestor did not know whether to laugh, cry or scream his rage. He nodded silently and held up his hand. Moments later he returned with a flagon and two goblets. He poured the wine and handed a glass to Glorfindel, who drank gratefully and sighed happily 

 'Thank you Erestor, that was perfect. '

 'But what happened ? Did he make love to you ?'

 Glorfindel smiled lazily 'No, I made love to him.'

 'But what happened ?'

Glorfindel shrugged. 'He undressed, took my hand and laid it upon his chest. It all happened very swiftly, I fear, for I had no notion of what to do, never having... Well, it was very simple, as simple as beasts mating.' he smiled through lowered eyelids and sipped his drink, then looked up seriously at Erestor 'But it was exquisite for one moment, it was perfect and rapturous. Truly a blissful release! I clung to his body, tasting the salt on his skin as the most delicious thing in the world. But as my mind cleared I realized that I was clutching a naked stranger so I let go. He got dressed and left in silence. We barely spoke; in truth, he did not even ask my opinion of the play. '

 

 Erestor blinked at him, gaping, he had never heard such a story, but then, he had never met anyone like Glorfindel, with none of the restraint necessity imposed upon people in the crowded courts. He envied Glorfindel his freedom, but that envy was as nothing to his envy of Melairë, which consumed him like the burning pain of ice. 

 He put his wine down and stood up. His fists clenched. The sight and smell of the long, naked limbs, the golden flesh sleek with sweat, the golden hair clinging damply here and there to the lovely face, filled his mind; he could think of nothing, there was only desire in him, he was nothing, nothing but desire. His legs buckled, he fell to his knees before Glorfindel, who lifted himself to one elbow and looked at Erestor in concern. 

 The words burst from Erestor, as the tears burst from his eyes

 'But I love you !' he cried in anguish and despair. 

 Glorfindel opened his mouth, then paused and stretching forth one hand he brushed a tear away with his fingertip. 

 'Do you ?' he said wonderingly 'But you do not know me.'

 'That is of no consequence! It is a fact that I love you, and that I always will. This I know. '

 

Glorfindel sucked in a deep breath, and sipped his wine, looking thoughtfully at Erestor. Then he stretched an arm out and slid his tunic from where it hung over the back of the couch. He pulled it over his head, while Erestor stood, drying his tears with a hand trembling with doubt and uncertainty. He breathed deeply, struggling for air, feeling his flesh burning anew with embarrassment, desire and the barely diminished wrath of his envy. 

 He watched Glorfindel dress in silence, astonished that he had opened his heart so freely, but the wholesome charm of the handsome Elf, fresh as a country flower, had disarmed him; his skills in the subtle games of the court were useless to him, and he was haunted by his fear of the unknown, since he could no longer trust himself to show discretion, at least to Glorfindel. 

 

The social fear lay before him, beyond the door, and within moments Glorfindel would rejoin the laughing crowds. Erestor was consumed with doubt, cold with fear yet burning with rage, wondering how he could ever meet the eyes of Glorfindel again, and still desperately wondering whether, at some vague future time, Glorfindel would ever come to love him in return. Glorfindel clasped the belt around his waist and smiled kindly at Erestor

 'Let us find somewhere to talk. I think we do not wish to remain here ?'

Erestor nodded but did not reply. 

 His courtier's senses could feel people deliberately not turning, but many eyes followed them as they moved across the crowded pavilion to the lavishly garlanded entrance. Beyond the crowds and the noise, with both Trees at wane, the birds were subdued, the air was still and Glorfindel took a deep breath. They walked in silence for a while, both in emotional turmoil, for events had outpaced the capacity of their young minds to fathom. They were beyond speech. 

 

  After a while, sensing that beside him Glorfindel was beginning to feel at peace, the grief at seeing him fresh from the embrace of another cut through Erestor with honed sharpness. Tears began to flow in his eyes and spill forth down his cheeks. He let them drip onto his tunic, but made no sound or movement. A pale luminous moth of great size fluttered past them on the leafy path, Glorfindel gave a wordless cry of delight and looked at Erestor as though to speak. 

 'Oh, do not weep, my friend !' He stopped and looked around, while Erestor hung his head and watched the tears fall straight to the sparkling dust of the path. Glorfindel took his arm gently and led him through some flowering shrubs into a small glade overgrown with honeysuckle and carpeted in thick grass. He gestured to the grass, and graceful as snow, lay down and stretched his long lithe body, his arms folded behind his head. Erestor looked uncertainly at him then lay beside him, resting on his elbow, looking down at Glorfindel, who turned his head and smiled. 

 

 'How can I help you, my friend ? I would do anything for you, you know that I would. It would please me to be in love with you, for you are handsome and wise, good and true; it would be splendid ! But I am not. '

 'Do you love him, then ?'

 Glorfindel frowned 'Who ? Oh, the actor ! ' he snorted slightly 'No. It was the mating of beasts, not the love of Elves. '

 Erestor sat up and made a choking sound, part smothered exclamation, part cry of pain. Glorfindel also rose and looked at him intently. 

 'Do you wish me to leave you now, and return to the party ? I can apologise to Olórin, I shall tell him that I have offended you...' his voice faltered.

 Erestor was pale, his face filled with the pain that tore at his heart.

'No ! Do not leave me ! I beg you !' his arm twitched, as though he would clutch Glorfindel, hold him back, but he did not move. 

 Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. There was another silence. Fresh tears sprang to the eyes of Erestor, who bowed his head, while the tears fell into his hands. Glorfindel sighed

 'It hurts me to see you suffer, my friend, I wish that I could ease your pain.'

 Erestor looked up at him, almost hopefully, but the alert, helpful expression on the lovely face crushed his heart. The truth of the words of Glorfindel struck coldly into the core of his spirit. For a moment he almost hated him, but swiftly cast the thought aside as unworthy. He sighed, the tears were soaking into his breeches; the shock of finding, and losing, love in such a narrow space of time had exhausted him. His shoulders sagged, his head drooped forwards and he covered his face with his hands. 

 He did not move or speak as the arms of Glorfindel enfolded him, but wept as Glorfindel laid the head of Erestor on his strong, work-hardened chest. For a while they sat in silence, Glorfindel holding Erestor as he wept, until at last Erestor felt a remote numbness taking the place of grief and pain. His acute mind seemed to watch himself from a distance as he became aware of the white fabric of the tunic of Glorfindel, now soaked with his tears. He shifted slightly and Glorfindel loosed his hold. 

 

 'Perhaps we should seek the advice of Olórin ?' Glorfindel said finally. 

 Erestor shook his head 'It would serve no purpose, for I know already what he would say. He would ask you not to see me for a time, while I heal myself as best I can. He would say that you have nothing to rebuke yourself for, that there is nothing to be done. He would tell me to find diversion, to travel, meet people, throw myself into my work and my life with renewed vigour.'

 Glorfindel nodded 'I can almost hear his voice. My mother would also offer such counsel. But I think that our case is different. I think that we shall always be friends, that our fates are entwined. I think it may be that I could love you in time, though I do not now. Indeed I do not wish to part with you after all that we have done together. Though it has been only a day, it has been this day, and we were brought together by Olórin for some purpose. It may be that we have some task to accomplish together, or some gift to exchange. I cannot say... I will not leave until you send me away.'

 

 The bright blue eyes looked earnestly into those of Erestor, who, despite his grief, still found dark humour in the contrast between his own brief hope, and the cold realization of events. The kindness and sympathy were almost worse than indifference, but through the swamp of his misery, the words of Glorfindel slowly reached the heart of Erestor. The thought that he would at least be offered a chance, that he might yet win over the heart of his beautiful new friend, made his heart surge within him; he looked wildly at Glorfindel, his face glistening with tears, but could not speak. 

  The hope was almost more painful than the grief had been. Erestor clutched blindly at his heart, and covered his eyes with his other hand. Glorfindel touched his hand, then took and held it. 

 With calloused fingers, Glorfindel stroked the smooth hand of Erestor. Erestor could scarcely breathe. Glorfindel lifted his hand and kissed it softly. 

 'Shall I make love to you ?'

 Erestor felt a wave of heat flash through him, he gasped quietly

 'Do you wish to ?' he asked in surprise. Glorfindel moved his lips, his eyes gleamed in the soft light. 

 'Of course ! You are very handsome, of course I find you desirable ! I like you; indeed, I respect and admire you. But more than that, you are dear to me, I would bring you release if I could.'

 

 Erestor swallowed, there was a silence, in which a nightingale inspired a nearby flautist. Glorfindel tilted his head and smiled at the sound, but the sight of the smooth line of his jaw, the shadows of his throat, and the memory of how he had looked, naked on the bed of love, swept all doubt or hesitation from Erestor. Passion consumed him. With more daring than he had ever known he possessed, he stretched out a hand and ran the tips of his fingers down the smooth plane of the face of Glorfindel. Glorfindel, eyelids closed, moved his head softly against the caress, Erestor buried his fingers in the shimmering gold hair and raised his other hand to the long sinewy neck. Glorfindel leaned forward and laid his lips softly against those of Erestor, who made a small whimper, and clung to Glorfindel, his heart pounding, the surging desire sweeping aside all doubt and fear.

  Glorfindel moved his hands to the waist of Erestor, he ran them over the slim body and found it surprisingly muscular and well-knit. He remembered then that this was a noble, cousin to Fëanor, whose whole family regarded the training of their children in sport and game and all forms of athletic endeavour to be vital to the formation of a character. With the fumbling hands of a novice he unbuckled the unfamiliar belt, laid it aside and lifted the tear-soaked tunic over the head of Erestor. 

 Glorfindel was nevertheless surprised at the beauty of Erestor, the hand he had raised to lower Erestor to the ground instead settled on the slim muscles rippling down the firm abdomen, to caress them. Erestor whimpered a little, his body trembled slightly, but Glorfindel, now in understanding of the purpose and goal of these actions, moved swiftly to undress Erestor, and lay his head down on a mossy bank.

 

 His own body began to fill with desire, here was this lovely young Elf, kin to the finest of families, naked on the ground, pleading with eloquent eyes for Glorfindel to take him. Glorfindel felt that Olórin would not approve, but he did not accept the authority of the Maiar, though they never claimed it; and cared little for anything other than the desperate pain of his friend, and his own growing desire. 

 He lay between the legs of Erestor and lowered himself onto his elbows. Erestor gazed up at him, his eyes large, darkened with desire. Laurelin waxed above them, shrinking the shadows and infusing the air and the foliage with a softer golden hue. Erestor smiled up at Glorfindel 'This light is perfect for your hair. Even if I never make love again in my life, I shall have this one perfect memory. '

 Glorfindel stooped and kissed him, softly at first, then with increasing passion until Erestor was arching his back, pressing his hips forwards. Glorfindel ran a hand down the naked quivering ribs and flanks, Erestor was ready. 

 Glorfindel slid the hand round and took Erestor in his hand, then began to stroke him, moving back and forth with increasing pace, while Erestor, his head thrown back, his chestnut hair spilled around his pale face, breathed rapid shallow breaths. Glorfindel looked at him with satisfaction, the tears had worked as strong wine, freeing the spirit from the cage of convention. Here beneath the trees, in the cloud of sweet honeysuckle fragrance, lying on the soft grass, was the truth of the Elves; the Children of Eru were formed of the same matter as plant and flower, tree and rock, and the behaviour that came naturally to them was not the behaviour of the etiquettes of courtiers. 

 

 His purpose, as firm as the rest of him, moved him to part the thighs of Erestor, and with a long look into Erestor's face, he knew that it was time. He smiled almost smugly, thrilled vicariously by the intense intoxication of desire possessing Erestor, and slid carefully into the tight darkness. Erestor moaned, his head thrown back, and clung to Glorfindel, as the pain of the first penetration stretched his muscles. Glorfindel did not force his way in, but gently, cautiously, was soon fully inside Erestor, whose moans had turned to gasps. 

 But Glorfindel slipped his arms out from under Erestor, twisted his wrists to capture those of Erestor, then laid the arms on the ground above his head. With his own hands he held Erestor down and took him, simply, like the beasts. 

 And simply, and almost together, they found release, Erestor in the ecstasy of Glorfindel, watching the beautiful face striving for bliss, feeling the muscular body slamming into his, feeling Glorfindel himself deep inside him, giving everything to Erestor, holding Erestor down while he took him. 

  After the moment of ecstasy, Erestor, his heart overflowing, had spoken softly into the ear of Glorfindel 

'I belong to you. I shall always wait for you if you ever want me, or need me. '

 'Yes, we shall be lovers, though it is not love as the world would see it. '

 

 After a time of bliss, in which the gentle fingers of Glorfindel had dreamily caressed his tender flesh, Erestor had tried to sit up, but the work-honed hands of Glorfindel barely exerted themselves to restrain him. Scarcely rested since his first experience, with the beautiful love of his life, the furnace of desire in Erestor intensified. Glorfindel moved to lie on his side, and slid one arm around the waist of Erestor. With the other hand, and his lips, he began to explore the formation of his lover, the smooth skin, the long, loose muscles; in moments the whole nature of the structure became clear to him, he knew this build, this stature. He raised his head, causing Erestor to look up at him

 'You are a swimmer. '

 Erestor raised his own head in astonishment 'I swim often, yes, but how...'

 'I too am keen on athletic pursuits. I have attended some contests, you have the build of those who do well at swimming. The muscles are smoother, I have observed.'

 Erestor smiled, his love for Glorfindel was of far more significance to him than his desire; fascinated, he asked

 'Have you always known that you preferred male Elves ?'

Glorfindel nodded slowly. 'I always admired males, but desire came slowly. Some years ago, a female Elf of,' he smiled, 'of considerable beauty, held my attention, but I think that since she herself confessed to secretly regretting not being male, I feel that knowing her only confirmed my opinion. Yes, I have always known. And you ? '

'I would have supposed that those crowded Courts, those many handsome Elves, would heighten the senses and increase desire, but I think that we become numbed, perforce, to the storm of noise and movement. But, yes, there was a guard at the House of Finwë, taller than most, about whom I made up stories when we played with toys; and when I grew older I understood why I had acted so...'

 Glorfindel was fascinated 'What happened then ? What was his name ? Did you tell him how you felt ?'

 Erestor shook his head, 'I do not know his name, nor where he is. I suppose Finwë had another purpose for him. I have not seen him for many years. '

 Glorfindel smiled, the long lashes shadowing the deep blue eyes, darkened by desire and the shades of the trees. Erestor breathed in with a slight shudder, as Glorfindel covered his body from without, and desire filled his body from within. 

 

 They were interrupted by footsteps on the nearby path, and the softer sounds of an Elf moving through the shrubs

 'Here ! Over Here !' the strange Elf called. Others came running, four, or five, from several directions. Glorfindel looked at Erestor, who looked helplessly back at him. Neither moved.

 

 There was much rustling as people struggled through the flowery obstacles, but the air of the glade filled with soft yellow petals, which drifted onto the golden hair of Glorfindel. Erestor dreamily lifted an arm and took a petal from among the fine strands, and examined it. A final set of footsteps approached, and the newcomer fought angrily through the small crowd. 

 

 'There you are, you ungrateful dung-maggot ! What ? Not even thank you ! Not even farewell !

Oh, that such coldness could be yours, after the warmth of your arms ! Never seek me again !'

 

 The newcomer turned and stamped angrily away; neither Erestor nor Glorfindel had moved, nor even turned their eyes from each other. The footsteps paused, and returned. Erestor, who had not seen the actor without paint before, nor ever in such venomous fury off-stage, was surprised, both by the over-large head, and the big-eyed, bony face, with such a wide mouth. The illusion of beauty produced by the paint seemed all the more remarkable. But in a quiet, cold voice, Melairë was speaking to Erestor. 

 'Who in the void are you anyway, you little... wait, I recognize your face, you are kin to Fëanor, I have often seen you with them, sitting by them... What are you, some distant cousin ?'

 Erestor smiled icily 'If you wish to petition me, my name is Erestor. Please withdraw, I am engaged at the moment.' 

 Melairë almost snarled, then turned to Glorfindel 'You are on top now, brat, but wait until the big boys get a look at you. Trust me ! ' he leaned forward and hissed his words into Glorfindel's face 'When those pompous tools up in the palaces see you, they will fight each other to get at your arse!  You will become the plaything of some Noldor prince, it is as certain as the Music ! '

  He stood again, snorted with an indignant scorn in his tone, then turned, this time merely hurrying away. 

 

 As the last of the crowd receded down the path, Glorfindel said wonderingly

  'But I met him for only a brief moment...'

 Erestor smiled with a cynicism that surprised Glorfindel 

  'The first thing he said was a line from a famous play that he acted in. That was the most quoted line. Olórin was right, we can learn much from each other. '

 Glorfindel widened his eyes for a moment, then looked intently into the eyes of Erestor. The expression of his face shifted subtly, his eyes narrowed a little, Erestor could see the understanding come to Glorfindel that the kindness and candour he had known at home were not to be counted on in the city. His eyes seemed to search the face of Erestor, who knew that the change, the transformation from innocence to wisdom, had begun; sadness had cast its shadow on the cornflower-blue eyes of Glorfindel, which had become older, and were carefree no more. The blythe enthusiasm of Glorfindel was now tempered by insight into the intricacies of the culture of the city in which he would dwell. 

 Erestor, admiring his courage, kissed him with a smile, but his own heart was like the ice in the mountain stream, thrown this way and that by the turbulent water, but endlessly, always, falling deeper into the heat of Glorfindel, where no frost could endure. 

 

 His bones and muscles seemed to flow with fire, dissolving in the heat from the body of Glorfindel; and from the molten gold of his glorious hair, shimmering in the Light, falling endlessly around Erestor, caressing his shoulders and stroking his cheek. Erestor felt tears in his eyes, not of grief but of marred joy. He looked up into the half-closed eyes, secretly fiercely proud to have aroused such desire in one so lovely. The shadow of the golden hair had turned the eyes of Glorfindel the deep blue of the edge of the shadow at Calacirya; arousal had darkened the centres of the large eyes, which gazed steadily at him. Erestor felt, for a moment, like some child of Cuiviénen, seduced by a mysterious emissary from the Enemy. He smiled at Glorfindel, who smiled back, but then made a soft sound of urgent desire. 

 Erestor knew that if he continued to taste the delight of Glorfindel, that his heart would grieve him in the years to come. His eyes moved down to the lips that had kissed him with such intensity that their normally fine lines had a swollen, almost bruised look. He thought of Olórin, of all who cared for them, seeing the pain that lay like fate across his path, and urging him to think carefully. 

   The eyes of Glorfindel looked deeply into his own as Glorfindel took him in one hand and moved him slowly into joyous abandon. The final efforts of his struggling spirit filled his senses with awareness; the stems of the long grass, twined in his forgotten fingers, shed their familiar, fragrant dews onto him, his knuckles crushed the soft moss, and the yellow petals floated into the palm of his upturned hand. Faint, distant songs from the many celebrations haunted the sweet air. Erestor remembered with a shock that this was still the same day, in the same world. His troubled mind, still unmoved, a last bastion in the overwhelming onslaught of his love for Glorfindel, urged him to return to Olórin. 

 

  But desire silenced doubt. His lover was upon him, the hand of Glorfindel had triumphed. Erestor sighed as the pleasure grew into rapture, the grass, the glade and the world were forgotten, there was only Glorfindel, the gleaming blue eyes fixed on his as the cunning fingers intensified his desire. Erestor uttered an eloquent sigh, let his limbs slide loosely apart and laid his head back. In his pride, Glorfindel smiled with folded lips as he felt the tension ease in the body of his lover, and lowered his mouth to the throat of Erestor. 

  Erestor looked up at the sky, his spirit hung between the song of his flesh and the soaring visions of Ilmarin. The last of his tears ran into his hair, as the strong hands set flame in his flesh. His eyelids lowered, his head was flung back, as the lips of his lover moved slowly down to his chest. Above them, the golden Light grew as Laurelin waxed stronger; the cool, scented air grew softer as it warmed, and the song of the nightingale was accompanied by a young blackbird, at early practice before the older birds arose.