Herenya by hennethgalad

---

Chapter 6

---

 

  

   There had been hundreds asking for the posts. Ilwaren had sifted through them and narrowed them down to seventy-eight serious, and likely, contenders. They were milling about on the floor below him as he gripped the gallery railing and tried to calm his breathing. That Glorfindel ! Sending orders like some great lord ! And how they had all jumped to obey...
   But who could resist the naked elf ? How had he done it ? Should he have done it ? Should Finwë have intervened ?
   But Finwë had referred all questions to Ingwë, and no one had wanted to be the one to speak. And all Tirion was alive with gossip, and the streets were crowded with people taking an overly casual stroll...

   Glorfindel had not arrived. The musicians themselves had their eyes on the door. The would-be guards were circling the room, and each other, sipping cautiously at the very rare wine, and speculating. Ilwaren himself was speculating; there were some lovely elves in the room, one in particular, a dark-eyed Teleri with extravagantly long lashes had caught his attention. He was simply dressed, with only a thick gold band round one wrist for decoration. But his stillness made the movement of the crowd seem uncertain and hesitant, rather than the purposeful prowling that Ilwaren knew it to be. Ilwaren found himself hoping that Aistalar did not find the sailor pleasing, and that he be left behind, in need of comfort. Ilwaren sneered at himself for a moment, but after all, he thought, where was the harm in a little comfort... In any case, no one had ever complained ! As far as he was aware, he had no enemies, he was thoroughly neutral on the Fëanor question, and intended to remain that way. Besides, harmony being the essence of music, all their ill will seemed somewhat marred to Ilwaren.
   The sailor looked up, and the faraway eyes looked directly into his own. Ilwaren froze with delight, but knew that he himself was a mere sideshow, that the sailor would never have come to the tailors at all were it not for Glorfindel.

   The musicians paused when Glorfindel entered, then started up a sparkling tune composed in his honour. He smiled his dazzling smile around the room, and there was a murmur, almost of appreciation, as the crowd moved like a clenching fist.
   They're soldiers, thought Ilwarin, or a pack of wolves.

   Behind Glorfindel, dressed for Cuiviénen, was Aistalar, blushing and moving to hide behind his lover. But Glorfindel lifted his arm into the air, led him forward and twirled him round.
   There was a sigh.
   Ilwaren hurried down the stairs, but as the crowd parted to let him through, he found himself for once silenced, and merely gaped at the exquisite Aistalar. His thought moved so swiftly that he almost slew Glorfindel, not for standing between them, but for showing him, showing them, an ideal that they would never possess, for breaking all their hearts. But he could not turn away, he grudged the presence of all others, he grudged the existence of all things save this ideal rendition of the elf, the naked elf, the Child of Ilúvatar, His purpose and point in Music.
   His mind unwound like hair in water, he scarcely heard Glorfindel ask if there were any questions. But the sailor spoke, and Ilwaren, listening to the strong, carrying voice, almost sprang to attention.
   'Do you not get grit in awkward places ?'
   There was faint sniggering. Glorfindel turned to Aistalar, who smiled devotedly at him, then smiled at at the sailor, who swayed back slightly 'No, I do not think that I have sat on anything gritty, though if I ever do, I will let you know.'
Ilwaren blinked, and wondered when he himself had last sat on anything worse than a thin cushion.

   The room was silent, the musicians had forgotten to play. Ilwaren recalled that he was the host and gestured to the harpist, who shivered slightly and ran her fingers softly over the strings. People sipped their drinks, but all was otherwise still. One by one they turned to Ilwaren, who looked about him, then pulled himself together. 'Very well, if there are no more questions ? Here are delicacies to savour, fine wine, music, and each other, I hope you may pass a pleasant time with me. Glorfindel and Aistalar will be on the gallery, where I shall introduce you, a few at a time. Stars shine upon you all !'

   Of course, he had to go straight for the sailor, and asked him his name. He was barely aware of the crowd moving around him, as Glorfindel led Aistalar up the stairs, but the sailor turned his eyes to them and Ilwaren reluctantly watched the lovely Aistalar, his shining hair hanging smoothly down his back, gracefully rise above them.
   'A rare beauty' said the sailor 'They did not exaggerate. I am called Elenthor in the language of your people. I have my own name, but that is for friends.'
   'I am called Ilwaren, and I welcome you to my House. What brings you so far from Alqualondë ?'
   'In truth, I was sent. Oh, not to spy ! Ha. No, Olwë thinks we should know each other better, and so some of us were sent here to befriend you all, and enrich both our cultures.' He sighed and looked down at his wine for a moment 'But in truth' he looked directly at Ilwaren 'In truth I am overwhelmed. Your vast city, your busy people, your many devices, most of which are beyond my wit to grasp even the purpose of, much less the function.
   Oh ! By the stars of Varda, I am bewildered ! And people were speaking of this... this project, as something dull, out in the country, with nothing going on, and I thought "Yes !" In this way I can enrich both our cultures and yet keep my wits intact.'
   Ilwaren laughed 'Oh Elenthor, what am I to do ? I hope he likes you, and fulfils your wish, but also I hope he does not, that I may know you better. Though you would not like me, I fear, for my life is extremely busy, and my acquaintance is vast.'
   Elenthor looked around at the tailors 'Oh, well, but you merely sew garments together, do you not ? That is not bewildering. And I heed the gossip as I heed the crying of the gulls, to be ignored save as warnings of urgent danger, when their cries become piercing. No, it is these smiths, these crafters, and their devices... I swear that I can smell the stench of their smithies all through this city, in every morsel, every sip and every breath. I must away to the open air, even if it be far from the song of Ulmo.'
   'And do you, did you, do much sailing ?'
   Elenthor was silent, then drew in his breath to speak, but released it slowly and finally said merely 'Yes' and emptied his goblet. Ilwaren led him to the table and filled his glass.
   'Do you miss the sea terribly ?'
   Elenthor smiled through half-closed eyes 'More than my kin, more than my home, here my heart stays though ever we roam.'
   'Is that from a song ? Can you sing it for us ?'
   'No, I do not sing well. But I play the flute, the tune works well on the flute.'
   Ilwaren sipped his own wine, then looked at it suspiciously 'When you spoke of the stench of the smithies, you were not in earnest ?'
   Elenthor looked at him with wide eyes 'When did you last leave Tirion ? Go to Alqualondë yourself, and there you shall taste clean air and fresh food. Indeed, go to Alqualondë and befriend the people, and enrich both our cultures !'

 

   Ilwarin was irritated to see Isca and Tolyo moving through the crowd towards him. They were delightful, of course, in small doses, like miruvor, rather than wine... But their eyes, and their tongues, were sharp, and he smiled to himself; if they wished to leave Tirion for a time, then many feathers would be smoothed. Elenthor looked from Ilwarin to the approaching Noldor 'These are your friends ?' he asked.
   'Well, I suppose so. We work together, you know. But they are friends with each other, and the world is offered merely grudging acquaintance, if you understand me ?' But it was too late to hear his reply, already they were upon him, demanding enthusiastic greetings, and warm introductions.
   Elenthor kept his face set, but the charm of the two handsome elves soon had him smiling. Isca, the smaller of the two, caught his eye in particular, his eyes were grey, his skin almost white, but his fine lips were dark, almost red against the clear skin. But for that happy chance, they looked much alike, handsome Noldor, tall, dark haired and keen eyed.

   But Tolyo spoke in a mock serious tone to Ilwarin.
   'My dear, you must get us this introduction ! We need to leave Tirion for a while, that thing with Finwë has made us... Well, the invitations have quite dried up !'
   Ilwarin laughed and turned to Elenthor 'They painted the statue of Finwë pink, and studded it with gems. In... in... in places that would not be seen in polite society...'
   Elenthor thought for a moment, then burst out laughing, and Tolyo and Isca laughed with him, and Ilwarin smiled broadly. The sailor would be a loss, of course, but the room was crowded with beauties, all of whom would turn to him for comfort, and to explain that if only they had worn their hair so, or worn that tunic or those earrings, then of course they would have been chosen.
   But already Tolyo was jesting with the sailor, who laughed merrily, as one with a few measures of miruvor beneath his belt. Isca spoke quietly to Ilwarin 'We really must go, for a time. We had not considered the consequences of our deeds, we were drunk, we were merely jesting'
   But Ilwarin held up his hand 'My dear, it was not I whom you offended ! Nor do I think that the dignity of the Noldor is impugned ! I am a tailor, I know better than most that beneath our finery we are all, even Ingwë himself, naked as...' he fell silent and looked up at the balcony 'Well, you must come and meet him ! But, my dear, please, he is a simple, unspoilt boy, even Glorfindel is scarcely finding his way about in Tirion. Be gentle, imagine yourselves already beneath the green shade of Beech Ridge, and you will soon be there !'

 

   Ilwarin was surprised how well Elenthor got along with Glorfindel, when finally he turned, or tore, his attention away from the seduction of Aistalar by Isca and Tolyo. They were sitting on either side of the naked elf, they had each taken a hand and were gently stroking them, whispering compliments into the ears of the blushing young elf. Ilwarin smiled, few could resist their charm individually, and when they were together...
   But Glorfindel and the sailor had found that they were both people who spent their lives out in the open, and they spoke at length of the changing moods of Manwë and the fall of the freshening rain. Ilwarin sighed, and knew that the sailor was lost to him, then remembered that he was the host and hurried away to begin the introductions.

   But Isca and Tolyo had not moved from their posts on either side of Aistalar, and the elves of Tirion, aware of the sharp tongues of the twain, were abashed, and scarcely interrupted the seduction scene. They were stroking his face, and brushing the hair back from his shoulders as Ilwarin led up one he had considered a certainty, but Aistalar was flushed and breathless, visibly aroused, and had smiled unseeingly at the lovely hopeful, who had turned puzzled eyes to Ilwarin. With a consoling smile, Ilwarin led him away, watching over his shoulders as Isca and Tolyo began to caress the throat and chest of Aistalar, whose lips had parted. Ilwarin swallowed, and put his arm around the rejected elf, and shook his head at the frailty of the Eldar: one naked elf in the room and everything was changed.

   With a lazy arm around his latest conquest, Ilwarin watched the last hopefuls approach Glorfindel, who gestured them all to Aistalar, who scarcely heeded them. Ilwarin wondered who could please the one that Glorfindel had chosen, apart from Isca and Tolyo ! Their hands were on the stomach of the naked elf, his chin was lifted, his chest heaving with the swift breaths that Ilwarin felt he could almost hear above the noise, when suddenly there was a great silence.

   Ilwarin leaned forwards to see the door, and there was Herenya, in the first formal robe that he himself had ever completed, before Tirion was built, indeed, while Tirion was built. The neck was high, set with myriad gems, as the hem, and embroidered in silver was the island, traversing Belegaer, in that great voyage that bound those who had taken it in ways that the Aman-born could never know. The elf beside him spoke in a breathless whisper. 'Who is that ?'

   

   Ilwaren thought back with the helpless pain of sympathy felt for the private grief of loved ones. He had been kneeling at the feet of Herenya, balancing the jewels to keep the hem straight. 'What will you wear beneath this cloak ?' he had asked, and Herenya had laughed.
   'Why, nothing at all ! Oh Ilwarin, it is so heavy and so hot ! You must remember that we are beneath the Trees now, and you must learn to fashion garments fit for this endless heat !'
   But Ingwë had entered, and kissed Herenya 'My darling, it is decided. I shall wed her. They will not have me as king unless I do. Not because they find fault with you, with us ! No, it is merely because there are so many more of them than us... So many who consider a family to be a matter of children... But you know all this !'
   Ilwarin wished himself invisible, and stiched silently, his head down. Both of these princes were accustomed to being waited on, and might not notice him should he but keep his head bowed and remain silent.
   Finally Herenya had spoken, his voice cold, until it cracked with a painful rasp, that wrung the heart of Ilwarin. 'You would cast me aside for a jewelled hat ?'
   'Oh Herenya ! I... What can I do ? It is not the title, it is... it is my life's work, my duty...'
   'Duty ? What of your duty to me ? What of the oaths we swore ? What of our love ?'
   Ingwë swallowed 'I love you yet ! I will always love you' his voice softened 'I shall be there, when you come...'

   There was a long strained silence. Ilwarin wished he could be anywhere else, but equally, that he could look up and see their faces.
   Finally Herenya had spoken coldly, unexpectedly, to Ilwarin 'Ilwarin, please see out the lord Ingwë. And if he should call again, I shall not be at home.'

 

   But the elf was looking at Ilwarin expectantly. He sighed 'He was the beloved, and right hand, of Ingwë, until Ingwë wed and became High King. They have not seen each other in all that time.'
   'What ? Where has Herenya been ? Does he keep to his house ? I have never seen him, and I am not young.'
   'He has been working on the archives in Mindon Eldaliéva, studying and... and...' he flapped a hand in the air 'whatever the wise do, I suppose !'
   He rose to his feet, the elf beside him, and they watched the crowd fall back in respectful silence as Herenya floated up the stairs. He was fair, rather than golden-haired, but a Vanyar for all that, eyes of Telperion blue, and high wide cheekbones, coldly beautiful, like a statue.
   

   The silence rose around him until even Isca and Tolyo were still, and Aistalar gazed at the approaching Vanyar as though at the waxing of Laurelin. With the poise of a waiting cat, the cloak swirling slightly about his ankles like a cat's tail, Herenya stood before Aistalar, and bowed, hand on heart. Aistalar made to rise, but Isca and Tolyo did not release him.
   The Vanyar looked long into the darkened eyes of Aistalar, then spoke softly to him.
   'Bring your feet up to the edge of the seat.'
Aistalar, with the merest flicker of puzzlement, obeyed, hunched up on the seat like a spider. Herenya nodded slightly 'Now, lift yourself up, the boys will steady your arms.'
   This time Aistalar looked at him with wide eyes, and then drew in his breath. His eyebrows moved, upwards and together, then his face settled like water under the steady gaze of the serene Vanyar. Without a sound, Aistalar unfolded his limbs and arched his back, his knees fell apart, and Isca and Tolyo gripped his arms as though he were a tumbler at the games. Ilwarin stepped forwards without thought, leaving the elf forgotten behind him, until he could see over the shoulder of Herenya at the opening of the naked elf.
   He knew it was a moment he would always remember; that everyone present, and many others beside, would boast afterwards that they had been there. Aistalar was as tempting as a ripe peach, and Herenya had come to pluck him. The Vanyar, without turning his head, said 'Ilwarin, my cloak.'
   Ilwarin started, then reached over the broad shoulders, unpinned the cloak and lifted it carefully away. Herenya was naked beneath, but Aistalar, bent back as a bow, could see nothing of this. Ilwarin admired the long pale limbs, and clenched his fist to stop himself from reaching out to touch. But Herenya stepped forwards and slid inside Aistalar, and took him by the hips. He did not move, merely stood, possessing the naked elf, until with a croak, with a sob, Aistalar said 'Master, please...'
   Herenya slid out again and beckoned slightly. Ilwarin slipped the cloak back onto his shoulders and the fair head turned slightly 'You have rooms here ?'
   Ilwarin gestured to the door 'This way, my lord, it is an honour to offer you my hospitality at any time.'
   But Herenya, who had not glanced at Glorfindel, swept by him and scooped up Aistalar, and carried him bodily away.

 

   Glorfindel looked in astonishment at Elenthor 'Aistalar is older than I, he has lived all his life in fair Tirion, yet none of these people paid him the slightest heed until I undressed him !'
   'No, people undress each other every day. You took him out in public that way.'
   'Yes, well. I am not sorry !'
   'No, nor should you be. I think it is good that we question... well, everything ! These Noldor ask alot of questions, but their questions all concern their deeds, as "what if I add this powder to that liquid ?". We Falmari, we question what is, how the wind blows, and the movement of the water. And you, what are you ?'
   Glorfindel told him of his family. The sailor frowned 'Yes, you are a little like that pompous peacock who just carried off your naked elf. Like hawks in the dovecote... But are you not going to defend your beloved ?'
   'How shall I guard him from the guards ? Besides, he wanted to be carried away, you heard him beg.'
   'Very well, then if you will have me, I will be one of your guards, and I will defend him from the other guards.'
   'Will you ? Will you not be as tempted as we ?'
   'Of course ! But in truth I have never had much thirst for such adventures, to me, the attraction is rather to live quietly in the country, though' he grinned wickedly 'Not entirely quietly !'
   'Do you truly think me as haughty as that Vanyar ?'
   'No ! I said "a little" and I meant it. But I have heard his tale, for they sing it yet in Alqualondë, and it is a sad one, the High King, they say, was his lover, and cast him aside for the throne. He has mourned in private ever since.'
   Glorfindel gaped at him, and remembered the flushed face of Ingwë beneath the trees, speaking of desire. He was suddenly moved with pity for the ancient Herenya, who had helped steer the great march across the old country, and been dropped in thanks like an old shoe. He wished to rush to the side of Herenya and comfort him, then realised that Aistalar was undoubtedly offering far greater comfort than he himself would give. He sighed and smiled at Elenthor.
   'We are not lovers as Ingwë and Herenya were, though I do love Aistalar. It is... it is almost... Well, may I be candid with you ?'
   'If I am to guard you, you must trust me. More than that, I cannot say. But I would help you if I can, for I feel warmly for you, you are kind and good, and I would have your friendship more than... more than a throne ! Let naught come between us !'
   'Oh Elenthor ! You are so sensible ! I am glad you wish to join us, I think we shall need you !'
   'Thankyou, my friend. But what troubles you ?'
'It is not trouble, it is... Of course I question why I have brought forth a naked elf, whether it is an artistic statement, or a question posed to our customs and ways, or merely an exhibition of tasteless attention-seeking. Or mere whim... I cannot say. I am not a great thinker, nor an artist, nor crafter, I have no burning words to utter ! It is...
   I think there is a state, a state of desire, of awakened passion, and I would take him there, where the air is different, where the quality of experience is different, and let him live in ecstasy, that I may share in it.'
   Elenthor looked keenly at him 'Perhaps it is what you wish, for yourself ?'
'To live in ecstasy ? How not ? But I could not be here naked ! Nor surrender myself as he has done, at the command of a stranger.'
   'But what a stranger !'
   Glorfindel snorted a laugh 'I am in awe, truly. It took me days to get Aistalar aroused, and this haughty Vanyar strolls in...'
   Elenthor laughed 'Oh Glorfindel, but if you had not peeled the fruit, it would never have reached the plate. Concerning plates, you are the scion of Little Gold Tree, the farm ?'
Glorfindel bowed, and Elenthor nodded 'Yes, you say you are not a crafter, but your produce is a name for excellence even in Alqualondë, where my father eats your mushroom pate daily. You were brought up to tend growing things, and you have tended Aistalar like the healthy young creature that he is, and now he has found the life that you, and he, sought to create, a life of bliss.
   But my friend, what of the sated appetite ? What of the overfull gut ? Why should the appetites of the flesh be so different ? Do you think that they are ?'
   'Think ! I cannot think ! When I am old and wise, I shall think about all this, and doubtless disdain my youthful extravagance. But now ! Now it is time to live ! Aistalar will turn to me, to tell me of the haughty Vanyar, and we shall laugh and kiss.'

   But Herenya was at the door, with Aistalar soft and drowsy in his arms. He handed the naked elf to Isca and Tolyo, who held him on their lap, then turned to Glorfindel, who found himself rising to his feet.
   'Glorfindel, I am Herenya. Will you talk with me, aside ?'
   Glorfindel bowed silently and followed the Vanyar into the next room. It was a large bedroom, with wine coloured sheets, crumpled from use but shimmering in the light of silver lanterns. Herenya stopped and stood facing Glorfindel, who tried not to picture the dark hair of Aistalar spilled over that pillow, and the fair Herenya stooping over him...
   

   The cold eyes met his, and then softened into a smile 'You are as charming as I had heard. I hope that, whatever passes between us here, we may be friends ?'
   'My lord, it would be an honour. What is your wish ?'
   'He called me master. But he also calls you master. There can be only one.'
   Glorfindel was silent. The Vanyar was ancient, high-ranking, celebrated and wise. He could think of no measure that he could surpass him in, save brute strength. But this was no ordinary struggle for dominance, Herenya had chosen to come, to be a guard, of an ordinary Noldor. He had come, in fact, at the summons of Glorfindel.

   'Why are you here ?' he asked finally.
   'In truth ?' Herenya sighed and looked away. Glorfindel felt his breath come easier, and he loosened the sinews of his shoulders. 'I suppose I had become bored. No, much deeper than boredom ! There is a creature that lives in the waters of Ulmo, it is tiny and frail, a helpless wisp of life ! Yavanna is harsh on the small things ! But this determined little creature covers itself in armour made of tiny stones, and flakes of wood or shell, until it is overlaid with a hard coat, that hides it from its foes !' he looked thoughtful for a moment, and sighed 'Olórin sought me out, and left me a scroll, which I had thought a letter, but which told only of this creature, building itself a shell. And then I knew that the creature was I, that I myself had built a shell of books and scrolls, though I am no frail wisp ! Oh he stirred my pride !
   Ha ! Olórin ! Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards ! And I knew that I must cast aside my cloak, like the naked elf, and live as myself, among others. But...' he frowned briefly 'We must decide, now, which of us is the master. I am... I am old, and accustomed to my own will. But you... I like you, young Glorfindel, I do not think you would lead us from the path of the Music. As I hope that I would not.'
   'But what do you wish ? How shall we ascertain the mastery ?'
   'Do you await my submission ? You will not get it. Come, you are no infant, do not tell me you have never fought before ! Be forsworn if you do, for I have heard the tale of your brawling with Celegorm, and your victories !'
   Glorfindel looked incredulously at Herenya 'You would fight me ?'
   'For the naked elf ? Oh yes.'

   Glorfindel looked at him through narrowed eyes. His own wrestling tutor had come from the old country, and had taught him many tricks, but had never let him win, saying "always keep a trick up your sleeve, and trust no one with them all." Herenya was slim, but solid, his years of study had not caused him to waste away...
   'Very well. Here ? Now ?'
   'Indeed, before we pass through that door. And, let us wager on the outcome.'
   'Wager ? I am not wealthy, I have naught to stake.'
   Herenya smiled 'Let us wager our bodies. You have not heard the tale of the wager of Tasarëon ? I see you have not. It is no matter. But the stake is simple, the master takes the loser.'
   Glorfindel flushed, and thought of the length of Herenya, and then of the long, smooth limbs, and raised his chin 'It will be my pleasure to take you, but we need not wrestle first.'
   Herenya laughed once 'That is the spirit ! Come then !' he unfastened his cloak and stood naked before Glorfindel, who could not keep from gaping. But Herenya looked sternly at him 'Come, strip, do not ruin your fine clothes, much toil went into their making.'
   Glorfindel sighed and laid his clothes on a chair, and was pleased to see the eyes of Herenya darken, and his lips part as he looked at the golden flesh.

 

   Glorfindel crouched, and Herenya echoed his posture, and Glorfindel wondered if they had had the same tutor. But he was astonished nonetheless when Herenya lunged forwards and swept him off his feet. He curled up and rolled, and sprang to his feet, and Herenya was there, laughing, flicking back the hair from his face, and the cold anger rose in Glorfindel, greater than desire, to vanquish the haughty Vanyar, and take him on the floor. He did not think of Ingwë, nor attribute any of his frustration and anger to the real source; he merely studied his foe, looking for weaknesses, and seeing none. They circled warily, Glorfindel feinted, but Herenya barely glanced aside, watching his eyes keenly under lowered brows.

   Glorfindel remembered his father by the stream, speaking of ambushing orcs in the Starlight. "Surprise is everything." he had said. Glorfindel emptied his mind and watched the feet of Herenya, the left placed carefully, as though in memory of pain, and knew that this was his weakness. But how to use it ? A phrase of music came to his mind, his mother singing, the Song of the Snake, how it moves, how it strikes.
   He darted to his right, and threw himself backwards, his legs kicked round, and knocked Herenya to the floor. Glorfindel let the motion of his lunge carry him into a springing roll, turned, then leapt onto the winded elf, and gripped his arm, wrenching it slowly up behind his back, and pinning him down with his knees. Herenya heaved and writhed, but Glorfindel held him down, and said triumphantly 'Ha ! I have you ! Submit !'
   Herenya nodded 'Yes, you are the master, the field is yours.'

   Glorfindel, still aflame from the struggle, breathed out deeply, a sharp sigh. Then, finding the lovely naked elf still in his arms, hot from the fight, he felt his passion rise from violence to desire, and loosened his hold. Herenya lay still, his cheek on the marble floor, his fair hair silver in the light of the silver lanterns. He was all of Telperion, there was nothing of Laurelin to him. Glorfindel looked down at his own, golden hair, and his limbs, golden from his toil on the farm, then spoke his thought 'We are like the Two Trees, silver and gold, yet neither is the master. You chose the only field in which I could vanquish you, you wished to lose !'
   'No, I could not catch you in a race, nor charm a horse like Asfaloth, nor an elf like Aistalar. I come to you the supplicant. But you, you must forgive me, you feel awe of my name, my age, and my... friends. It was... You had to vanquish me. To know that you could, or there would have been strife between us.'

   'You don’t have to let me take you.' said Glorfindel gruffly, feeling foolish, manipulated and naive.
   Herenya smiled, and looked at Glorfindel over his shoulder, under lowered eyelids 'Let you ? If you do, this will have been my most successful seduction since Ingwë himself ! The naked elf and his Glorfindel, one after the other ? I shall be the envy of all Tirion.' he grinned 'Of all that lives !'
   Glorfindel did not know whether to strangle or kiss the elf below him. He ran a hand down the smooth side, feeling the ribs and sinews move as Herenya drew in his breath. With the suddenness of lightning, his mood changed, his thoughts burned away like grass in the fire, and he thrust into the pinned Vanyar, groaning with unexpected relief, and hearing his groan echoed by Herenya. Glorfindel moved swiftly, his hands gripping the shoulders of Herenya who sprawled limply, his eyes closed, and breathed with short, hissing breaths. The fight had roused Glorfindel as never before, he took the Vanyar in a frenzy, delirious with power and the thought of Aistalar awaiting him in the next room. He shouted as he found release, and did not see the slow smile curve the lips of the ancient elf, who had known Ingwë before the Call of the Hunter troubled the songs of the Eldar.