Under the Ragged Thorn by elfscribe

---

Healing

Chapter summary: After their sparring match, Erestor and Glorfindel open up to each other.

---

Still laughing, Erestor led Glorfindel back to his rooms to clean the worst of the mess and to secure some clothes. He provided Fin with a basin and a cloth, then pawed through his wardrobe looking for clothes that would fit him. “We’re of a size, although you may fill out my clothes better,” Erestor said.

Glorfindel looked up, water dripping from his face into the basin. “I seem doomed to wear others’ clothes. Last night it was the king’s.”

“An honor certainly, but we do need to get you your own wardrobe,” Erestor said. “I can take you to the tailors’ quarter in town and we’ll outfit you.”

“I am most appreciative for all the kindness I’ve been shown. The gathering last night . . . everyone was so interested in talking to me. I’m not used to that.”

“Are you surprised?” Erestor said. “You’re a hero of song and story.”

Glorfindel looked abashed. “I dearly wish I weren’t.” He pulled off his leather vest and shivered in his wet tunic, which had molded itself agreeably to his body.

Erestor handed him a warm robe. “Here, take that off and put this on. I’ll go in the next room.”

“No need. As I recall, you’ve seen me naked before this.” Glorfindel gave him a half-smile.

Indeed Erestor recalled a trip they’d taken together to scout out paths east over the Echoriath. After a hot and sweaty climb, they’d taken a dip in one of the many pools in the stream tumbling down the hillside. When Erestor slipped off his braes, he remembered Fin's appraising glance, similar to the one he'd just given him. They’d wandered naked on the banks and found clusters of strawberries under the bracken, which they’d both thoroughly enjoyed. “The day with the strawberries,” Erestor said.

Glorfindel smiled at him. “I never saw anyone savor one with such delight before. That is, until last night at the banquet.”

“Ah,” Erestor said. “Well, perhaps we can ask one of the gardeners for some more. But first, you must enjoy the baths.” Turning away to stuff more clothes in a bag, he heard Glorfindel’s tunic hit the floor with a soft slap. When he looked back, Fin had donned the robe, sky-blue, and was tying the cord around his waist. His wet hair straggled over his shoulders, a scratch visible over one eyebrow. He was so lovely.

They followed the hallway that opened onto a courtyard with covered colonnades on either side. It was still raining heavily. From there, up a flight of stairs until they reached a landing with large wooden doors. They entered a vaulted room with carved stonework. There was a salty smell like the seashore.

“The changing room is just here,” Erestor said, pushing open another door. “Come.”

The room with its numerous cubicles and hooks for clothing had a few naked bathers getting dressed at the other end. Erestor picked up some towels, which he set on a bench, then pulled off his wet tunic, leggings, and braes, while Glorfindel hung up his robe, revealing rather a lot of pale skin. Erestor looked. He couldn’t help himself. Fin was thinner than he remembered, with less finely developed musculature, but still lithe, graceful, with those broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. But when he turned away to slip off his braes, Erestor gasped. Barely seen in the light of the candle-lit globes, was a fine silvery line, like a snake wriggling down his back, ending in a spiral just above his arse. A line that had not been there before.

“What is that on your back!” Erestor cried.

“Skin, or it was last I noticed.” Fin wrapped the towel about his waist. “And yes, I know. My cousin told me about it when we’d stripped off to go swimming in the ocean. It’s the mark of the Balrog’s whip.”

“Why would Badhron leave that there!” Erestor exclaimed.

“No doubt he thought I needed the reminder.” Glorfindel shrugged. “Although I can assure you, I do not. It doesn’t hurt.”

“I hate them,” Erestor declared. “Come on then. First the cold pool to rinse, then the hot one to soak in. Follow me.”

*********

On the way in, Erestor showed Glorfindel how pumps kept the water circulating, a mix of sea water and water from the aquifer. He explained that the floor stayed warm due to fires that heated tiles underneath. Together, they looked at the mosaic along the wall depicting events from Noldorin history, and remarked on a few of the scenes, skipping the ones from Gondolin. They gasped upon jumping into the cold pool, before heading for the hot one. Whenever Erestor's glance landed on the Balrog’s mark on Fin’s back, his heart ached.

“We had nothing like this in Gondolin,” Glorfindel observed. He dropped his towel and slid gracefully into the steaming pool, settled onto the bench beneath the water, leaned back against the lip, and sighed.

“Scarcity was the reason. Not enough water coming into the valley.”

“Gondolin’s fountains were so beautiful,” Glorfindel said sadly. “All of it gone now.”

Erestor splashed into the pool himself, feeling his whole body relax with the heat. He positioned himself a few feet away from Fin. “Aren’t you glad I brought you here?”

Glorfindel closed his eyes. “Aye. The trip over the sea was so cold and windy. Many nights my bones ached for warmth such as this.”

“Well, hopefully this makes up for it. If it becomes too hot, jump back into the cold pool.”

The ever-present shushing of water pouring from a wide lip into the pool was soothing. The fog in Erestor’s head from his over-indulgence last night had finally cleared. There was a feeling of anticipation, of something drawing the two of them together. He tried not to read anything into it.

For a while, it was quiet, but for the hush, ripple, and drip of water. Erestor had to know. He drifted closer until he and Fin were nearly touching shoulders. “Glorfindel, did you meet Ecthelion and the others who perished—in the Halls, I mean? You all went there around the same time. I just wondered.”

Glorfindel nodded. “I did. But not for a long time and by the time Thel and I saw each other . . . I don’t know how to say this, but it was as if all emotion had been leached from us." He shook his head sadly. "I was numb.There was whispering, and foggy lights, and muffled darkness. I don’t remember much else. No sense of time passing. And Námo, whom you now call Badhron, would come and talk to us, telling us everything we’d done wrong in life and how to improve ourselves. Then one day, he pulled me from sleep, and said, ‘It’s now time to leave here.’ I asked, ‘where will I go?’ He said, ‘to Valmar. You can stay with kin.’ When I got there, I felt estranged, although my family tried to be kind to me. They had no idea what it had been like and didn’t want to know, not really. No one is comfortable with death, especially the undying. And I had been gone for so long, and had followed the Kinslayers, even though I assured them I took no part in it, I was still tainted. I was there for what seemed like a very long time.”

“What did you do?”

“Studied. Hunted. Rode. Explored. I was never much interested in crafts, so I wasn’t involved too much in making things. I tried, became good at gardening, twisting cordage for rope, and at baking. I can make tasty waybread.” He flashed white teeth in a smile that warmed Erestor more than the steaming water. “As you know, I spent my life training for war and there are no wars in Valinor. There are certainly disagreements, which may lead to people not speaking to each other. But the Valar permit no one to take up arms. Not after Fëanáro.”

“That is to the good,” Erestor said. “Because there are certainly wars here and I dearly wish there were not. Could that be why they sent you back, a trained warrior? Do you know why they chose you, of all the fallen heroes?”

“Do you think I have not been asking myself that?” Glorfindel said, with some irritation. “I do not know the answer. But when I was leaving, Nienna took me aside. She told me that I should be assured that I was the right person coming at the right time and that my purpose would unfold. But, she warned, I would be free to make my own choices, which may or may not be the correct ones.”

“So your path is set before your feet and yet you may stray from it. Marvelous,” Erestor said.

“I think that I was meant to find you. Why, I do not know, but I have a strong feeling about it.”

“I'd like to think that’s true,” Erestor said, not wanting to acknowledge the hope that sprang within, because he needed to unburden himself of his terrible secret, which might be the end of their friendship. He steeled himself. “Fin, you have to know. That night on the Pass, I failed you and I deeply regret it.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. “How do you figure that?”

“I should have come to your aid, but did not. I’ve thought of this often, how I might have distracted Morgoth's creature, rallied others to fight and save you. Done something more than what I did.”

“Ah,” Glorfindel said. “Were you close to where that beast and I fought?”

“Up the path, maybe several hundred feet.”

“Was your way clear?”

Erestor considered. “Many others were between us, including orcs, but yes I think I could have reached you.”

“Hmm, were you not tasked by Lady Idril to care for young Eärendil? At least that’s what I remember from our night hiding under the brush.”

“I was, but . . .”

“Erestor, it happened so quickly. And our foe was so overwhelming. Most likely, it would simply have meant your death as well, and that, on top of Ecthelion’s and all our other valiant comrades, I do not think I could have borne it. The choice you made was better. And if you want to know about guilt, I have plenty to share with you. When I was in the Halls, they tried to purge us of pain, despair, grief. But it lingers still.”

Erestor reached over, took Glorfindel’s hand and interlaced their fingers. “I understand all too well. I am sorry.”

Glorfindel squeezed his hand, then released it. “You might want to know that I saw Eärendil when he and Elwing came to beg the Valar to intercede. He spoke well of you. Your many acts of bravery that night may well have saved his life, and in turn, he grew to be a man, strong, wise, and true, who risked all to entreat the Valar to finally contend with Morgoth, thus ridding our world of a great evil. You were exactly where you needed to be that night.”

Erestor choked back a sob. He felt a lightening in his chest, as if all that grief had suddenly drained free. A tear trickled down his cheek.

Glorfindel reached over and wiped it away with his thumb. He said softly, “I remember a kiss. A kiss given me in my hour of need, when you thought I was asleep, and I was too exhausted to respond. I’ve thought of it often . . . when I needed comfort.”

The tears continued to fall as Glorfindel took Erestor’s face in his hands. And there in the warm waters, under the glowing lamps, he kissed him—gently at first, but then, it deepened.

****************

Elrond knocked at Gil’s door and heard a muffled, “Enter.” He found the king sorting through a pile of documents on his desk, eyebrows knit and lips thinned. “Counselor, have you seen that report about the south shore fishing catch and the proclamation we drafted?”

“Just here,” Elrond reached up to a cubby in the desk and pulled out a pouch, sorted through it and withdrew the documents in question.

“Ah, good.”

“Gil, I came to tell you that our plan seems to be working. A short time ago, I saw our re-embodied hero and our hung-over envoy coming in the eastern door, arms about each other, dripping rainwater across the floor, and cackling like crows. They seemed to be getting on splendidly.”

Gil smiled. “Excellent. Have you seen my signet ring anywhere?”

“You should keep it on, then you wouldn’t misplace it all the time,” Elrond admonished. He pulled several drawers and then found the heavy gold ring sitting on top of the bureau. “What are you sealing?”

Gil picked up a folded letter and handed it to Elrond, who read on the outside, "To the venerable Lord Heredir and Lady Lendis. Ah, is this is about that matter we discussed between Lady Brethil and Lady Caranor?”

“I’m asking Lady Brethil’s parents over to tea,” Gil-galad said, as he held a wax stick in the candle flame, splashed a red puddle on the letter and then pressed his ring into it. He smiled. “There. We can’t be the only ones having fun, can we?”

“As for that, if my intuition is accurate at all, our brave Gondolin warriors may be rekindling a . . . friendship, as we speak,” Elrond said. “I think, Gil, that Erestor has found a partner for his trip southeast, and we, an ally against darkness.”

The End . . . Or is it?