Our Side of the World by Ulan

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Reunion (G)

Partings are never easy, and we each cope in our own way.

To msgeekstyle, as a thank you for giving the lovely prompt. 

Dear Glorfindel,

You were right; Aman is a strange land.

Yes, I know you did not say it like that. Your phrasing was longer and more diplomatic than mine. I never understood that, your preference for benevolent phrasing even though no one else would hear you.

Well... I suppose I do know. You were always the kinder one.

Erestor

 

 

Dear Glorfindel,

It is silly, I know. The last letter is in my drawer still, and you remain in Middle-Earth.

I do not really know what I am doing.

 

 

Dear Glorfindel,

Do you remember that conversation we had sometime ago, about the kind of place in which we said we wished to dwell? I said it first, that I have always wanted to live in a structure that I built completely with my own hands. In turn, you said you have always pictured a cottage for yourself. Your ideas you then generously shared with me - for what else could I build on my own, you said, but a small structure such as a cottage?

Today, I have completed what I said I would one day achieve. I do not claim it is perfect, but is adequate for my needs. I have paid tribute to your role as the proponent of this idea by building that reading nook you mentioned you wanted, by the southern window, as was your preference. You are, of course, free to come whenever you wish.

Erestor

 

 

Dear Glorfindel,

I thought I was ready to sail. 
Winter can grow bitter even here. Strange, that. By my observation, the winters grow colder with each year that passes.

 

 

Dear Glorfindel,

The truth is most days are difficult. I live apart from the rest, although I did notice that many of the Noldor seem to share the same sentiment. Too long have we lived in Middle-Earth, I suppose, that it takes a while to settle here in Aman. It is indeed beautiful, but at the risk of sounding foolish and ungrateful, sometimes I find offense in the clear skies, or even the fresh winds that smell ever of the Sea.

It is silly, I know, to miss the smell of smoke, of the cedar we burned at the great hearth back in the Homely House. I remember we used to frequent the Hall of Fire, and I miss it. I even miss that strange ale you keep getting from Bree. You were always so easily pleased, one would not think you were of high birth at all. Still, I just kept going along with what you wished - bad alcohol and all.

It feels like so much of me is left there still. I find I miss all these things. I miss even you.

 

 

Dear Glorfindel,

I do not think I have ever told you this - and why would I, when you would only think me odd - but I thought you always brought with you the comforting scent of smoke. Ah, you see why I cannot tell you; it sounds morbid even in writing. Few know how poorly you fair in the cold, but I can always trust that you could be found in front of flames, be it back in the Hall of Fire, on patrols when you can afford it (and so you smell most strongly of smoke every time I greet you after long partings), or even by your ever-burning hearth. But unfortunately, as far as you and fires go, the first that would come to people's minds would still be that story with you and the Balrog.

To this, however, I take offense. No creature of Melkor ought to claim exclusivity to such things, for whatever his will had been, fire eventually did become a thing of beauty in the end. I like to think that this is how we win against them, by finding beauty and joy in even the Arda he marred. My memories of flames are not without evil; I have seen far too many wars and kingdoms falling to forget what destruction it can wreak. But on the other hand, my most peaceful memories were also in front of fires: my mother singing her lullabies, Celebrían holding the twins for the first time, you and I playing chess by fire light.

So well did I treasure those nights with you that I did not even mind when you beat me more than half the time. How can I feel bitter in loss, after all, when my consolation was you smiling with open pride, with your hair shining brightest in the golden light?

 

 

Dear Glorfindel,

There were times back in Middle-Earth when I wondered if you thought the same of me as I thought of you.

I wish you had given me clues.

 

 

I think I have loved you for a long time now, only I never gave it a name. I wonder if you ever knew. Or perhaps you did know, and still you

Some days are worse than others. I wonder more often than not if coming here was a mistake.

Sometimes I still think of you fondly. Most days, however, I wish I could just forget. This way, I would not waste my time wondering if the fault was yours, or whether (as I am now beginning to believe) it is mine.

 

 

Dear Glorfindel,

It has been a while.

I heard that ships are coming today. In those first few seasons upon our landing, I could not help but listen to news of ships coming. I suppose I had hoped then that you would change your mind. But the years passed, and while each ship bore familiar faces, none of them were ever yours. I soon grew tired of hoping.

Well. I say I grew tired, but then I began writing you letters. We truly become quite the fools when it is the heart that asserts itself and makes itself known.

I do not hold it against you, of course. I had no claim to you, and your duty was ever with the Peredhel. While I like to think you did return some of my regard, the truth remains that neither of us said nor did anything. We let time pass walking side by side, but at a crucial crossroad, we did choose to part all the same.

I suppose it is best that I remember this, for I feel I shall see you soon. While some things became clear to me writing to you all this time, I cannot hope you have done the same, and so you must be the same as you have always been.

 

 

Erestor,

I was told that this is the correct house.

I do not live far from here. How come I have not seen you? Let us meet.

Yours,
Glorfindel

 

 

Erestor,

You would think I was writing to an empty house, so often have I written to you with no reply, but I saw smoke when I passed by earlier and I knew you were home. I also know this is your house - that is, unless somebody had been eavesdropping all those years ago and stole all my ideas.

Yours,
Glorfindel

 

 

Dearest Erestor,

With all whom I have reunited with here in Valinor, it is a wonder that I am yet to see the one I missed the most.

Did you know, so mad have I become due to your silence that I even asked around if you somehow got married in my absence? I have begun to think the worst of things, and even began to believe that there is another beside you now, for why else would you hide from me?

Of course, they told me that your were not bound and that you live alone. Then, is it that your heart had grown cold to me, and you wish to see me no more? I had hoped that nothing has changed, but perhaps such things can happen even here in fair Valinor.

But mercy, I beg you. Speak to me and let me see you. If you think to spare me from the pain of hearing what news you bring, then I tell you that your silence hurts me infinitely more.

Desperately yours,
Glorfindel

 

 

Dear Glorfindel,

How silly of you to assume that I knew your heart and mind when it comes to this. How you even came to have such faith and certainty, and how you thought that we would "continue where we were heading before in Imladris" upon our reunion, I do not know. I suppose this just means that even in things like optimism, you are still the better one of us, and you saw things between us while I had been the blind fool.

Well, no matter. I do not know the point of this letter. I do not even know if I write this for you to read. But you have read the others, and I hope that at least

 

Dearest Erestor,

While I thoroughly enjoyed and was comforted by your letters (most of them anyway), I am afraid you have developed a bad habit. Have you always written them this late at night?

Please come to bed. It is cold without you, and I have been so for far too long.

Love,
Glorfindel

P. S.
By the way, what you wrote in those letters - it is not about the fire, you know. I only craved its warmth, for I imagined it is what it must be like to have you in my arms.

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