A heart is a foolish thing by firstamazon

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Chapter 1

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Erestor is taken out of his reverie. He had been staring into nothing for the past hour – or so it seemed. There was a bustling sound coming from outside, many voices speaking at once. 

“… an army of orcs in the valley… surrounded… mounted wargs and goblins from the mountains… we had help… we couldn’t see their face…” 

Glorfindel. 

Erestor raised his head and straightened up like a falcon perching on a branch. He raced toward the yard where Glorfindel’s warriors had gathered, and where Elrond – and the twins – would no doubt be. The sight that greeted him made him smirk. The Lord of Imladris knelt ungracefully on the ground and soothed an archer who still held stubbornly to her broken bow.

“No, my lord, it’s alright,” the girl was saying with a pain-strained voice. “I can fix it, as I can fix my leg, you don’t have to worry…”

Erestor could hear, more than see, Elrond’s kind smile at the reply. “I know you can, Celírel. But I can do it better and faster. You can still hug your bow if you want to.” 

Celírel huffed a laughter, and the others around laughed softly with her at the same time as they scooped her up in a litter and carried her to the Healing Quarters. As Elrond stood a little while kneeling on the ground, Erestor stepped forward and held him a hand. Elrond looked up at him gratefully, leaning heavily on his counselor to stand up.

Since the Last Alliance, his leg had not been the same. Elrond wouldn’t let anyone but Elrohir look at it – and even so. Erestor knew how much his friend hated to show this one weakness, but it couldn’t be helped. Once Elrond had straightened up again, he smiled at Erestor and, with one nod, summoned his captains, who started speaking to him in hushed, quick voices about the skirmish.

It was in moments like those that the Lord of Imladris painfully reminded Erestor of the other two from whom both of them had learned where to point their moral compass, to find kindness even in the sharpest pain – and everything else. The ones who had been the best elves in all of Arda, the fiercest, and to whom Erestor owed his life, love, and allegiance, then and forever.

That was the scent he had picked from Glorfindel’s report. He knew Glorfindel hadn’t said everything, but Erestor could guess the rest. And that was… he didn’t dare say he was hopeful. Not to Glorfindel, at least. And not about that one. Nothing about his life had been hopeful of late, and so Erestor wouldn’t dare to put that extra weight on anyone’s shoulders. However, he knew Elrond would feel the same. 

Just when he was about to turn back and follow Elrond to his study, Elladan appeared out of thin air in front of him, bloody and begrimed, and Erestor’s heart nearly stopped.

“Are you hurt?” He blurted, taking the younger elf’s shoulders and searching his face, but Elladan threw him a smile so dazzling the air was punched out of his lungs.

“It was him, Erestor!” Elladan whispered urgently and grabbed his forearms back. Erestor swallowed hard, not knowing what made his heart thump faster: the one in front of him or the one he spoke of.

Erestor looked past Elladan’s shoulders straight into Glorfindel’s eyes. The captain looked as dirty and bloodied as the rest of them, but somehow he still had that glow that made him shine like a damned lamp. But now his face was grim, mouth set in a thin line. 

They stared for a while, and it all but told him that yes, it was indeed him. Maglor. Erestor felt a lump catch at his throat and lodge there. It had been years since they have last heard or had any news of the last living son of Fëanor. Erestor still held Elladan’s shoulders tightly beneath his crushing fingers. He reminded himself that it was Elrond’s son who he clung to and was about to let go. Elladan had been staring at him this whole time, gray eyes so bright – and so beautiful – it was like receiving a physical blow.

Stop that, you old bastard, Erestor thought harshly, pushing those feelings away with a loud wrench.

He slapped Elladan’s shoulder like a guardian would their protegées – because that was all he was to Elladan, and all he would ever be, he reminded himself wryly – and moved to intercept Glorfindel, who had begun climbing the stairs up to Elrond’s study. They needed to discuss the delicate matter of Maglor showing up yet again to aid them in their need when they least expected.

Why he never stayed, no one could tell.

***

Erestor reclined over the balcony. The day had been tiresome for them all, and he had taken his leave silently from the Hall of Fire, where Elladan had (rightfully) spent the night with his head on the lap of a handsome young nér. Erestor said to himself he needed to think about that day’s reports and how they would proceed, but, in fact, he just wanted to try and think about something else. 

He exhaled audibly. An idiot. Fëanorian to the bone. Kinslayer. And pinning after the son of Elrond like a besotted fool. He shook his head in exasperation. What worth did he have to even look at Elladan with love in his breast and longing in his eyes? He didn’t deserve Elladan, never would, and the impossibility of it should make his heart give up, not beat with hope whenever his friend’s son – Varda’s tits, his best friend’s son! – glanced at him.

“Don’t suffer unnecessarily.” 

Erestor heard the mellow voice from behind him but didn’t turn his head. He froze for a moment. But when Glorfindel stepped forward and bumped his shoulder companionably, he knew the other hadn’t been talking about his stupid heart. He snorted to his own whimsical thoughts.

“Not unnecessarily,” he muttered, and they both smirked. They stared at the falling leaves in silence for a moment, enjoying the cool autumn air. “How was he?” Erestor whispered at last.

Glorfindel sighed. “Alive.” Of course. Erestor couldn’t hope for much more than that – and it had to suffice. “As fast and as deadly as always,” Glorfindel conceded with a smile. 

“Have you been staring at the Kinslayer instead of fighting, my Golden Lord?” Erestor said it would make Glorfindel lose his composure. Indeed, his friend returned with a glare that made Erestor laugh softly.

“That, and the armor and the sword he bore, is how I know for sure it was him.”

Erestor hummed in agreement. Why Maglor wouldn’t meet with them was something he had never had the chance to ask, let alone understand.

“Thank you for telling me,” Erestor said after a while. “I know how you feel about him.”

“You are my friend, Erestor. I don’t like to see you suffering, no matter the reason.”

“Always the best man,” he smirked.

But Glorfindel didn’t fall for it. Instead, the captain looked at him with an infuriating mix of concern and kindness.

“Why? Why do you still linger in those memories?”

“I suppose it is easier for you to forget Gondolin, then? Tuor? Idril and Eärendil? Stuck-up Turgon?” He turned to look at Glorfindel, who remained silent. “Didn’t think so. No more can I. It doesn’t matter how evil people say they became, in the end. I know what they were.”

“The things they did… they weren’t always like that, I know it. But the things they did…” golden hair shook minutely by his side, and Erestor knew the other was incapable of understanding his kin’s behavior. The broken side of a family Glorfindel still meant to keep within a hundred-foot pole.

“It’s curious that no one thinks of how they felt when they allowed their masks to crack. It was rare – so very rare! – but it frightened us as much as when they fought relentlessly against the Enemy.”

Glorfindel looked at him with something that mingled awe and curiosity. They never spoke of such things for too long. It was better to keep their friendship than fight over their political alliances in a forsaken home, in long-buried Beleriand. But today had taken its toll on Erestor’s heart, and he felt reckless.

“That doesn’t excuse the atrocities they committed in the name of a jewel.”

Erestor admitted Glorfindel had some balls. “Ah, yes, those fucking jewels,” he said in a false dulcet tone. “They spent their lives seeing contempt on the tongues of those blind prats who could not see past the jewels of their father – the same bastards whose borders and secrets they protected! Those were the ones who converted them into a ridiculous tale to scare children, who made of them monsters worse than Moringotto himself!”

“Pengolodh was not a fool, Erestor, nor were Turgon or any of us!” Glorfindel snarled, his famed patience finally shattering.

“But that is how History came to be understood, isn’t it?” Erestor grinned, sharp as a knife. He might have been looking like a maniac by Glorfindel’s wide-eyes. “Everyone took that half-wits’ words for what they were and never even wondered if he was speaking the truth or not!” Glorfindel threw him such a stare that made Erestor laugh out loud. “Don’t look at me like that! You know he was Beleriand’s greatest sap, only losing for that king of yours…”

“Valar above, Erestor!” Glorfindel shook his head in exasperation. “Sometimes, I wonder how you managed to avoid your tongue being cut off from your mouth in Lindon.”

 “Gil-Galad, of all people? He agreed with me,” he gave Glorfindel a sly smile. “Alright, he almost always agreed with me.”

“He only agreed with you when it came to Elrond and Elros’ future,” Glorfindel reminded him sternly.

“In any case,” Erestor drawled deliberately and turned his head to trace a finger over the balustrade – and so, he missed Glorfindel rolling his eyes. “I did not imagine things. Fëanorian hatred was very much ingrained in the court of Balar. People saw us as children-eaters, women-rapers… We were sometimes treated worse than orcs. Gil knew, of course. Not that he could do much about it, although he tried to clean Maedhros’ name, for the memory of his own father’s sake.”

With the corner of his eye, he saw Glorfindel bit his lower lip. Oh, yes, he knew he was abusing the golden captain’s patience and ethics, talking about the Forbidden Topics of Imladris. Though little was spoken of these matters openly, there were no cold hearts: Fëanor and his sons had blown fire into the very core of everyone they ever knew, whether they had been willing or not.

“They were destroyed after Elwing took flight, Glorfindel. You cannot imagine the hollowness of their eyes after Sirion.”

“Enough,” Glorfindel said calmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t doubt both of them suffered greatly the consequences for their deeds that day. However, there are somethings we should not discuss openly, not even here.”

“If I don’t speak about it, then who will?” He asked. “Maglor is out there, like a vagabond roaming the wilds! And while we don’t speak of these things, he will continue to refuse to see the one who still thinks of him as a father!”

“I know. But still.” Glorfindel said with a small, comprehensive smile that just made Erestor want to make Glorfindel blush with some obscene remark.

Instead, he sighed. What a misfortune that Imladris’ main allies were the survivors of the Fëanorian rage and their doomed Oath! He still remembered that terrible day in Sirion’s beaches, the sand tinged red and the sea washed with blood. He still didn’t know how what remained of their army – a handful of people – managed to get Maedhros and Maglor on their feet after their brothers’ deaths. When they found the orphan boys, Erestor could see writ in their faces, especially Maedhros’, that neither had a clue of what they were doing. They were pale, transfixed with grief and fury, and so, so tired. Of course, none of them knew how the boys would change them… all of them. Elrond and Elros may not have known, but they saved Maedhros and Maglor’s lives as much as they had once been saved. At least for a short while... 

He was lost in deep musing and didn’t even realize that Glorfindel had left him alone on the balcony. Erestor peered inside the Hall of Fire. Elladan was also nowhere to be seen, and his heart gave a disappointed thump.

You old idiot, he chided himself. Let the boy be. He is probably enjoying the victory with someone far more deserving than a wicked, age-old Fëanorian.

Defeated, he dragged himself up to his chambers, his mind going sickeningly back and forth at the whys and hows of Maglor’s behavior and Elladan’s brilliant smile. He took a bath and readied for sleep without much thought. The moon filtered its silver light through the curtains, and it was only when he approached his bed that he saw a slumped figure sitting at his reading armchair. Erestor sucked in a breath.

As the light caught his hair, it gleamed raven black, liquid darkness framing his face – like Fingon’s had. But this was not a ghost from his past; this was the living being that haunted Erestor’s waking dreams. Elladan looked up at him with a little apologetic smile.

“I’ve barged in, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. There was something forced about his voice that made Erestor run to his side and kneel before him.

“What is it? What is wrong?” A lurching feeling took hold of him. Was this about Elrohir and his strange, dark behavior? 

“Nothing is wrong. Well, except…” he trailed off and huffed an awkward laughter.

Erestor understood. He tried telling himself it didn’t hurt. It didn’t hurt at all because there was nothing there to hurt except his absurd heart – and that didn’t matter, not compared to Elladan’s haunted eyes. The younger had undoubtedly looked for comfort, and some idiot had turned him down. 

Erestor stood up swiftly and took from his cabinet two crystal glasses and a bottle of wine. This vintage was perhaps too strong for such late hours, but it might be just what Elladan needed. He poured and, as Elladan muttered his thanks, Erestor sat on the armchair opposite him in silence. They drank companionably, and Erestor tried not to search for the shadows at the corner of Elladan’s eyes. It was impossible not to like at him, though, handsome and regal like his forefathers had been.

Elladan had sat up straight, and although his shoulders were a bit sagged, Erestor knew he still held it together. Given all that had happened in their lives – Celebrían, Elrohir’s descent, and the imminence of war – he was alright. Or as good as one could be. A broken heart would never really break that sweet boy. And before his foolish heart said there was hope even for him, Erestor squashed it violently like one would a fly.

“Did you know?” Elladan asked, looking at him with pale-gray eyes so bright it rivaled the stars. Erestor cocked his head and waited. “That Maglor has also looked for Mother?”

A wave of cold water ran over Erestor. He had known it, of course. “Who told you this?” He asked gently.

“The March-wardens of Lórien,” Elladan snorted with a rueful smile. “They were the ones who brought it up that a male-chained warrior patrolled the mountains, and some said it was the spirit of Fëanor paying for his crimes.”

Erestor reigned in his anger. He would murder Haldir and the lot with his bare hands next time he saw them, for ever uttering the name of Fëanor with what he knew was no less than disdain. As for now, he wanted to know what Elladan really wanted to say, so again he kept his mouth shut.

“Do you think it’s possible?” Elladan asked, almost childishly, and Erestor’s chest tightened with many conflicted feelings.

“If Maglor ever had an opportunity to try and rescue his son’s wife, he would have done that. I have no doubt about it,” he answered with the utmost conviction of his heart.

Elladan nodded and sighed, feeling somehow relieved. Was that all that weighed on his beloved’s soul? Erestor didn’t press, and they kept drinking until the bottle was empty. Elladan had tipped his head back and dozed off, likely from exhaustion as well as the alcohol. It would not be a first. Erestor stared at him for a while, thinking of what to do.

He licked his lips. It was a terrible idea, but today had taken its toll on Erestor’s heart, and he felt reckless.. He should carry Elladan to his own chambers but, instead, Erestor picked him up like he used to do when the twins were small children and carefully carried him to his own bed. Elladan didn’t even stir. He breathed evenly and looked serene.

Erestor plunked himself on the armchair, and he knew sleep would elude him. No matter. He would watch over Elladan’s peaceful slumber. Not five minutes had passed when he heard Elladan shift and sit up.

“Erestor?” He whispered, and there was something in his voice…

The counselor jumped to his side. Elladan stretched his hand, and Erestor couldn’t see, but he knew Elladan was crying. The old Fëanorian took the offered hand and was pulled down to the bed to lay beside him, heart pounding furiously in his chest.

“Hold me?” Elladan asked in a small voice, and Erestor hated himself because how could he deny that sweet boy anything?

Erestor pulled Elladan’s body against his chest and inhaled deeply at his scent, fresh and blissful as the light under the Trees. He felt Elladan’s ragged breathing on his shoulder, and his heart ached, longed, and wept. He held Elladan and tried to remind himself of the times when he was a small boy, only his best friend’s son – not the one who had grown to be his tormentor. No.

He bit inside his cheeks and set his jaw. The love he felt could never be more of that of a guardian, no matter how much his heart protested. Instinctively, he tightened the embrace, but that seemed to cause the contrary effect. Elladan clutched onto his tunic as sobs racked his body. Erestor’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest. He would give his own so that his beloved would stop suffering!

“Hush now, child.” A child. He is but a child, and I am a sullied, corrupted old lech. “It’s alright,” he whispered with all the tenderness in the world, boldly caressing Elladan’s scalp, wishing that simple gesture to give the comfort he sought.

“A heart is a foolish thing, is it not?” Elladan whispered with a stifled voice.

Erestor’s own exploded inside his chest, and he swallowed convulsively, biting back with the sheer force of his ruthless logic whatever it was that tried to overflow.

“The foolish thing that is,” he whispered back.

Eventually, the sobs subsided, but neither of them let go.

Elladan fell asleep in the safe arms of the one who had always been his refuge.