Under the Ragged Thorn by elfscribe

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Love, Sex, and Hang-overs

Chapter summary: Gil-galad and Elrond decide Erestor needs a companion for his intelligence gathering foray. They have a certain golden-haired warrior in mind.

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“Ah, by the Belain, that’s good,” Elrond gasped, as Gil’s mouth bobbed up and down relentlessly on his cock. Gil paused, looked up slyly, and licked with flattened tongue all the way up and down Elrond’s reddened member, then engulfed him again, a sensation that was . . . Elrond had no words. Then his lover resumed the punishing pace. Elrond’s need was building . . . just that much more and . . . “please, please,” he moaned as his head dropped against the heaped pillows and he thrust his hips forward.

Abruptly Gil’s mouth left him. “Uh, no, no, no, not yet,” Elrond cried, grabbing Gil's hair, trying to return the king's mouth to his throbbing member.

“Do not fear, my pet; I’ll take care of you,” Gil said, as he extricated his hair from Elrond’s fist. Rising to his knees, Gil grasped Elrond’s thighs and lifted him up. Elrond felt the pressure as his lover breached him and then he was skewered deep. The pain was brief, the stretch and sizzling heat of being so filled remarkable, and then Gil was thrusting, hair swinging back and forth, sending shocks of pleasure throughout Elrond’s loins, urging him to greater and greater heights. Elrond grasped Gil’s waist with his knees, locked his ankles behind Gil’s arse, and aided the action, in and out, deep as Gil’s cock might go.

“Yes, yes,” Elrond cried. On the brink, he took hold of his cock to aid the effort.

And then, blessed release, spattering over his own belly and chest. Elrond’s spirit soared, curling around his lover in utter fulfillment, meeting there both euphoria and unequivocal love. Gil snapped his hips forward, and his mouth dropped open with a guttural cry. He lowered Elrond’s legs, and pumped more gently, rotating his hips as if to press out every ounce of Elrond’s release. Then he groaned, pulled out, and crashed down on the bed—where they both lay sweaty and gasping.

Gil turned on his side, drew Elrond’s mouth to his and kissed him, long and deep. “There,” he said. “That do the trick?”

“More than I could have thought possible,” Elrond breathed, as sparks danced like fireflies throughout his body. “You, my lord, are a magician.”

“Rather I think it’s you getting inside my head. It’s just uncanny with you. Never felt anything like it.” Gil lay back on the pillow.

Elrond reached over and ran a finger over the mound of smooth pectorals, pausing to play with a tightly furled nipple. Then he kissed Gil once again, rose and fetched a wet rag, which he used to clean them both off.

Gil took Elrond’s hand, raised it to his lips, then drew the quilt over them. And there they lay for a time, quietly content, listening to the soft shushing of waves in the distance.

Nestled close to his warmth, Elrond began thinking back on the events of the evening. “Hmm, Gil, I’m curious. If you ran into someone you knew, let’s say from your time on Balar, that you hadn’t seen in an age, what would your reaction be upon seeing them again?”

“No doubt, I would have gone over with a big grin and a hand ready to clasp theirs,” Gil said. He raised himself on an elbow. “But that isn’t what happened, is it.”

“Not at all. I’ve never seen Erestor run from an encounter like that,” Elrond said. “I have to wonder about their relationship . . . before.” He coughed. “Dry throat, must have been all that moaning.”

“I love your moaning,” Gil chuckled as he moved to pour them both goblets of water from the ewer on the bedside table. “Do you think they were enemies in Gondolin?”

“Ah, thank you. No, that wasn’t the sense I got. Rather it was one of embarrassment and panic.”

“Huh,” said Gil. “Perhaps it indicates a depth of feeling Erestor hasn’t revealed before. I don’t like mysteries, especially regarding my intelligencer. What should we do about it?”

“Well, when I took Glorfindel aside last night after the banquet, he had no clear explanation for why the Belain sent him. Just said he was taken into the Máhanaxar, where they all sat in a circle about him and Badhron announced that it was his doom to return to Ennor. They wouldn’t say more.”

“That was what he told me when he first arrived. And completely believable, given everything I’ve heard about the Belain,” Gil replied. “Inscrutable to say the least.”

“But remember what Erestor told us about darkness seeping up from the south and his desire to investigate further?”

Gil nodded. “I can see where you’re headed with this.”

“Yes, I think we should send them to investigate. We don’t want to send a whole company, would draw too much attention. We do need someone skilled at arms, but able to be discreet. Erestor could use someone at his back.”

“Discreet, you say. We’d have to provide a helm to cover up Fin’s hair!” Gil laughed. “Wasn’t it stunning though! For once the songs have not embellished the reality.”

“You’re one to talk,” Elrond said, as he twisted one of Gil’s shining locks around his finger.

“My weapons master told me today that Glorfindel needed some more conditioning,” Gil mused. “And Glorfindel himself said this evening that he was out of practice.”

“I know someone who could get him back in training quite nicely,” Elrond said. “That would force them into proximity, prepare them to work together. Solves both problems.”

“We have the same thought, my dove,” Gil said. “I delegate the task to you, as I’m due to meet with petitioners from Harlond today, something about a squabble over fishing rights.”

“Very well, I’ll see to it,” Elrond sighed. “Once I’ve bathed and dressed.”

“We make a good team,” Gil replied, kissing him gently on the lips.

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Knocking at Erestor’s door, Elrond received a groaning reply. He entered a darkened room, drapes drawn. Three wine bottles and a glass lay haphazardly on the floor along with a pile of clothing near a cold fireplace. Jeweled hairclips lay on the table, stuck in pools of candle wax. Hmm. Normally, Erestor was fastidiously neat, to a fault really. An Erestor-sized lump lay prone in the bed, covers pulled over his head. Elrond went over to the window and pushed aside the drapes, letting in morning sunshine. There was a view of one of the many gardens in the adjacent courtyard. The sky was blue. It looked to be a pleasant day.

“Ah no, don’t,” came a graveled voice from the bed.

“Arise, Erestor, duty calls,” Elrond said jovially.

There was a irritated hissing sound, exactly like an angry cat. Elrond went to a side table, poured a cup of water from a pitcher, then sat down on the bed next to the lump. He tugged down the blanket, revealing a disheveled Erestor with distinctly dark circles under his eyes, who raised a hand to fend off the light. The smell of wine was unmistakable.

“My dear Erestor,” said Elrond. “You may do what you like in the way of abusing your body on your own time, but now the king has a task for you.”

“I can’t have even one day off?” Erestor grumbled.

“No rest for the wicked, it’s said,” Elrond replied. “Do you want to know what he wishes?”

“Only if he’s sending me off again, far away,” Erestor said. He opened one eye. “What is that hammering?”

“Since I hear naught, I can only guess it’s your head, my friend, after some over-indulgence with the grapes.” Elrond handed him the cup of water, then said more kindly, “Do you wish to talk about it?”

Erestor half sat up, drained the cup, handed it back, then dropped face-first back into the pillow. “No.”

“Hmm, I sense a desire to avoid confronting something. Could it perhaps have to do with a reborn hero suddenly arriving at the House?”

“It’s my own concern,” Erestor said. He turned his head to the side and covered his eyes with one long hand. “Draw the drapes again, healer, and leave me to my own devices.”

“No, my friend. Best cure for a hang-over is cold water in the face, a dram of the beast that caused the problem in the first place, and exercise. If you get up, I’ll bring my special hang-over cure before you go to help our re-embodied friend warm up.”

“Wrong man for that task,” Erestor said.

“Are you planning to refuse a direct order from your king?”

“Urrgh,” Erestor growled.

Elrond rose, found a towel, poured some water over it, and brought it back to the bed. “Turn over,” he said briskly. When Erestor did, Elrond laid the wet cloth over his eyes. “Now then,” he said. “I don’t know what is behind this, my friend, but I do know that facing one’s fears is always the better approach. Tell me, what is causing you pain?”

“Pain? Nothing. I just . . .overindulged a bit last night. As you said.”

“Don’t dissemble,” Elrond said. “I know you, Erestor, and you rarely drink, certainly not to excess. Something is causing this. What exactly was your relationship with Glorfindel in Gondolin?”

“He was . . . a good friend,” Erestor said. “He died. I did nothing to prevent it.”

“And you feel guilty about that?”

Erestor ground his teeth.

Elrond gently laid a hand on his shoulder and could sense depths of anguish.“So many of us have experienced terrible tragedy in the age now gone. And none of us are unscathed. Don’t you think Glorfindel could use a friend now? Someone who knew him in better times? Someone who shared his sacrifice?”

Erestor pulled the cloth from his eyes with a groan. “What does the king command? Be brief.”

“That’s better. Ereinion Gil-galad desires that you train with Glorfindel to get him back into fighting shape. And then that you take him on your next foray south and east. We believe he could be an asset. Brief enough?”

There was a long beat of silence. Erestor sighed. “I shall do as the king commands.”

“Good,” Elrond said. “And Erestor, a wound does not heal if there is still something festering within. Best to lance and drain it. So it is with the spirit. Give it light and joy to cleanse the darkness and sorrow.”

“I hear you, Counselor,” Erestor said. “But, you see, my wound has festered so long that it is well-nigh overtaken my heart.”

“Then it is high time to expose it to the air. I believe, my friend, that Glorfindel’s arrival is part of a larger plan, in which you have a part to play.”

“If the Belain have a plan, it is beyond obscure and riddled with a self-satisfied disinterest in the affairs of Ennor,” Erestor grumbled. He threw back the covers, revealing himself still wearing a black undertunic from last night, tangled about his legs. Struggling upright on the pillows, he said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Elrond, I am not fit for company at present. Therefore, I am going forthwith to dunk my head in a basin of cold water.”

Elrond patted his arm. “I’ve already spoken to Glorfindel, who you might be interested to know, seemed as reluctant with this arrangement as you. You’ll find him practicing in the eastern rose garden just before the mid-morning bell.”

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While immersing his face in cold water, Erestor had time to consider his behavior last night and to be ashamed. He’d been thinking only of himself and had failed to imagine what this whole situation must be like for Glorfindel. No doubt Elrond was right, Glorfindel might need a friend. He just didn’t know if he were up to the task, which would likely involve opening wounds, denying his affections, and trying to act as if the past two millennia had not happened.

Nevertheless, still with a fogged brain, Erestor dressed in a padded tunic, gauntlets and greaves, and armed with a wooden sparring sword, headed toward a lush rose garden, surrounded by a stone wall. During summer it was a beautiful, fragrant place to come practice. This time of year, it was rather bleak. Withered and brown, the tangle of thorny branches made a barrier between the wall and the open space in the center of the garden. At least it was out of the wind, which was picking up. The day, which had started out fine this morning, was growing overcast, something Erestor found appropriate to his mood.

In a few days, he was due to meet his informant in the town several leagues down the coast from Mithlond. He could see the wisdom in having a warrior to back him, given the potential for trouble. But if Glorfindel’s skills had deteriorated that much, perhaps he’d best go alone.

He climbed a series of steps and entered through a gate. There, upon flagstones in the center of the garden, Glorfindel was practicing a slow series of martial moves, exercises designed to stretch and tone the muscles. Erestor’s breath caught at his beauty in motion. The warrior wore only a laced leather vest and a white tunic that reached mid-thigh, his strong arms and legs bare. His long golden hair swirled after him as he pivoted. There was no one in all of Arda like him. For a moment, Erestor paused to still his beating heart. Then he cleared his throat loudly.

Glorfindel turned. He lowered his wooden waster. “My Lord Erestor. I was told you would come.”

“And here I am,” Erestor said, bowing. “Not a lord though, but a humble servant. My king bade me attend you, as you’d told him you were out of practice. Since I have no experience of the Halls, I did not know that would be the case.”

“Sadly, it is so,” Glorfindel said. He looked off in the distance, as if remembering something or trying to. “I must ask, why are you so formal, Erestor? Are you not pleased to see me? For my part, I am quite pleased to see you, alive and healthy after so long a time and would gladly sit and learn more from you.”

“I am pleased to see you returned, beyond all hope,” Erestor said. “And you appear whole and not permanently damaged, for which I am grateful. But it has indeed been a very long time. Perhaps longer in seeming for me than for you. Much has changed.”

“I’ve been in your king’s library the past few days studying the changes and attempting to catch up,” Fin said, with a slight smile. “I read an account by loremaster Pengolodh of the doom of our fair city. It has re-awakened . . . feelings. Feelings I thought had been purged. So, after a long journey by sea and suddenly finding myself here, you’ll forgive me if I seem not quite myself, or at least the self that you knew once upon a time.”

So, Glorfindel was going through something similar. Erestor should have known, should have been more sympathetic. He inclined his head. “In turn, I ask that you forgive my hasty departure at the banquet last night. I had . . . errands. Shall we commence then? This afternoon, I should begin to prepare for a trip.”

“I am yours to command, as I have nothing more to do than get lost in your king’s labyrinthian dwelling. I ask that you go easy on me.” Glorfindel did smile then, and Erestor saw a glimmer of his old friend.

“And I have a sore head, which I deeply regret,” Erestor replied. “So perhaps we are evenly matched. On your guard, then.”

Glorfindel took a stance and so did Erestor. He tapped Fin’s waster with his, as they slowly circled one another.

“Well then, with the object of becoming reacquainted, may I ask what is your role here?” Glorfindel asked.

“Anything the king needs of me,” Erestor said. “Counselor, envoy to other enclaves, training recruits, record-keeping, intelligence gathering, general factotum, and apparently getting an elf returned from Aman back into shape.”

“I always knew you to have many talents,” Glorfindel said. He brought the sword forward and they engaged with a dull clacking sound: high, low, and retreat. “I wonder what is to be my use here?”

“Did not Badhon, the Doomsman, tell you what they had in mind when they released you?”

“Nay, not so much, as I told both your king and Elrond,” Glorfindel said. He sounded dispirited.

“Perhaps you could search your memory and tell me exactly what transpired?”

“Do you have cause to doubt me, Erestor? After all we’ve been through together?”

“I have learned in this life to doubt everything and everyone, including myself,” Erestor said. “My true role here? I am the king’s huntsman, the one who works to keep this realm safe. I shall not let what happened . . .” He trailed off.

Glorfindel ceased moving. “Happen again? Do you think that you, Erestor, had the power to stop Gondolin’s doom? If so, you failed miserably.”

“I failed miserably.” Erestor circled, and then aimed for Fin’s padded shoulder. Fin neatly side-stepped and countered him. Good. Erestor said, “I suspected Maeglin from the beginning, especially knowing who his father was. The acorn doesn’t fall too far from the tree, they say. And when he returned after that extended sojourn, getting “lost” in the mountains, we all should have insisted he be fully interrogated, until he finally confessed what happened.” Erestor felt the anger, never assuaged, building up within him. He clenched the hilt of the sword, not good for technique.

Heavy drops of rain began pattering in the brush around them. Several hit Erestor on the head and back.

“We should have done that, aye,” Glorfindel said wearily. “We should have listened to Tuor’s missive from Ulmo. So many things we should have done. On this and more have I thought, long and without comfort.” His breath was coming harder, as Erestor struck again. Back and forth they flew, the blows coming harder and faster. Glorfindel was still very strong, but Erestor had never seen him so imprecise.

“Keep your arm up, Fin,” Erestor said.

“You should be the last person I should have to prove myself to,” Glorfindel said.

Just then, the rain came down with a steady percussion, completely soaking everything. Glorfindel looked up at the sky. “This is just perfect,” he said. He threw his waster on ground that was rapidly becoming muddy.

“Oh no, you don’t. The king bade me get you ready to fight, and by the Belain that’s what I shall do,” Erestor cried. “You’re going to be so strong, not even a mountain troll will daunt you! Pick it up again.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” Fin said.

“Keep fighting, warrior. Don’t let a little rain stop you.” Erestor moved towards him and raised his sword. Glorfindel lunged to scoop up the waster, raised it in time to meet Erestor’s blow. They swiped, ducked, and hacked at each other back and forth across the ground in the pouring rain.

Glorfindel struck Erestor’s waster so hard that it flew from his hands, clattering on stones. Erestor lost his temper. He leapt on Fin, grasped him about the waist and bore him backwards to the ground, landing on top of him. They grappled, rolled, and kicked. Then a line of pain sliced across Erestor's cheek and he discovered that they’d landed in the midst of the great rose hedge and were now flailing about amidst the thorny branches.

“Ow!” Erestor yelped as his tunic was held fast in the brambles. There was a ripping sound. “By Badhron's britches,” he snarled

Glorfindel began to chuckle. "Britches or no, I'm caught,” he said. Indeed, his hair was entangled in the brush. He tied to pull free, to no avail.

Erestor burst into laughter, tried to force his way to a stand and instead fell with a squelch in the mud. They both roared, as the rain drenched them.

“Hoo, here, let me help you,” Glorfindel said, still chuckling. He pulled at Erestor’s tunic and managed to free it from the brambles but the linen ripped up his thigh, exposing his whole leg past his braes. Erestor’s cheeks heated when he saw Fin looking at him.

“That hair,” Erestor said, “always causing trouble.”

“Indeed, they cut it in the Halls,” Glorfindel said. “Although perhaps that was part of my lessons in humility. So, I grew it as soon as they released me to Valmar.”

Erestor laughed again. “The lessons stuck, then, did they?” He was trying to untangle Glorfindel’s hair. “Perhaps this is another of their lessons as I’m afraid this is going to hurt.” He gave a great tug and Glorfindel yelped, as his head pulled free. Clumps of yellow hair hung in the brush.

“That lacked subtlety,” Fin said, rubbing his head. “But was effective.”

They proceeded to crawl out from the clinging brush, at great cost to their clothing.

“I don’t think this is what the king had in mind when he bade me spar with you,” Erestor was still laughing, as he sat on the flagstones in the courtyard and examined them both. They had scratches on arms and face and legs, and their tunics were rent.

Glorfindel pushed muddy locks from his face. “Probably not, king’s huntsman. You look like you’ve been attacked by a large and angry cat.”

“That same cat seemed to have taken a swipe at you, too.” Erestor clapped Glorfindel on the back. “My good and dear old friend, I’d say the weather has conspired against our practice. What say you that we get cleaned up, and meet by a fire so I can fill you in on what has been happening in our realm these last few years.”

Glorfindel nodded. “That sounds like a reasonable proposal. Is there such a thing as a hot bath around here?”

“What, have you been washing with cold water?” Erestor exclaimed. “Someone surely should have shown you the baths.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “A servant said something, but I didn’t know where it was.”

“I can take you. You’ll like them.” Erestor stood, held a hand out for Fin, who grasped it, then fell back again, pulling Erestor down on top of him. Their laughter echoed about the walls.

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Chapter End Notes

Badhron (S) - Mandos or Námo (Q)