Love Over Gold by Keiliss

It was mid-evening on the south bank of the once-thriving city of Mithlond. The air was mild, the waters of the bay calm. Glorfindel walked along the path that extended from the pier where the fishing boats docked, watching the Lune ripple by on its way to meet the sea and breaking up the lights reflecting down from the mariners’ houses on the hill above the harbour. The night was peaceful, filled with sea sounds and soft silver moonlight, and he was at ease with the world after a good dinner and pleasant company at Círdan’s table.

He was at the point where paving gave way to a natural trail over rocks and past a string of small rough beaches when he heard a sharp splash as though something heavy had struck the water. On the edge of his peripheral vision he was almost certain he saw a shape close to shore, defined by an almost soundless rush of water away from the harbour and off into the dark. A circle of ripples spread back to break up the lights shining on the water, but it could have been anything - a seal, a large fish, even a bird he had somehow not noticed diving for a meal.

For a few moments he stood looking, but saw nothing more. He was half of a mind to turn back, but he was restless and the room allotted to him was comfortable, but small and unfamiliar, not half as inviting as the quiet night and a walk along the stony beach he knew was nearby.

He could hear soft, indistinct singing when he reached the beach, but not for long. He assumed whoever it was had left, because he could see no one about. The little stretch of shale and pebble was a still, mysterious place of shadows, edged with little tidal pools and long strands of seaweed. He walked more slowly now, enjoying the clean air and the light that came and went on the sea as the moon played chase with the clouds.

He was about half way along the beach, well away from the lights of Mithlond, when he saw a movement amongst the rocks in one of the pools. Glorfindel paused, frowning. Too big for a dog, and why would a dog be in the water? As though to confirm this, a wave splashed up against the rocks, casting a swift curtain of spray, enough to send any dog running, but there was no reaction from the still, dark shape. He approached carefully, glancing around to see if there was any driftwood, something to protect himself with if whatever it was should prove dangerous. He was unarmed because Mithlond was hallowed ground, the place where the Straight Road began, but at need he could look after himself.

“Hello?” he called, more to avoid creeping up on some wild animal and startling it than from any expectation of an answer. “Is there somebody there?”

He could feel eyes on him now, there in the shadow of the rocks, and a prickle of unease shivered his spine, but he had faced worse than a dark shape on the edge of the sea and curiosity kept him moving forward where another might have backed away. The shape moved, straightened a little in a way that seemed human.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, pitching his voice to calm, the way he would with a restless horse or undecided watchdog.

“Golden hair. This is a new thing. Are you a new thing then, or are you just an elf?” The voice was low and mellow, with a husky timbre that stroked his nerve endings.

Glorfindel paused between one step and the next, too surprised to answer. Then he moved forward again and now he could see the form curled amongst the rocks was definitely man-shaped, and yet there was something not quite right, not quite normal in the pose of the lower body that lay in deeper shadow. “Golden hair is what my parents called me, in fact,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Laurefindëon in the old tongue, Glorfindel today.”

“Glorr-findel.” Thoughtfully. “How strange. Come closer so that we can see.”

Glorfindel was absolutely sure that going closer was a bad idea, everything about the situation told him to keep his distance, but instead he found his feet taking him across the last of the pebbled beach to the rocks. And then the moon came out from behind the clouds again and he could see what was speaking to him.

At first sight he looked like an elf, with wide-set dark eyes in a pale, beautiful face and long black hair falling over his shoulders and bared torso. And there all reference to normalcy stopped, because the slender body ended in a long tail that draped back over the rocks towards the sea. Pearlescent scales shimmered softly where the moonlight touched it.

The dark eyes considered him, calm and unafraid. “It would look like sunshine in the day,” the being decided. “We would like to see that.”

Glorfindel had to try more than once to get his voice working again. “Who – what - are you?” he finally asked, which was unoriginal but then again the being had his name so it was a fair question.

“Erestor.” He spoke as though this should be self evident. “Of the Sea Lord’s children. It is an easier name than Glorr-findel.”

“What are you doing here, do you live here?”

Without thinking Glorfindel stepped off the beach and onto one of the low rocks surrounding the pool. Too quick, too close, as he saw when it was too late. Erestor swung up over the rock, gave him a final searching look, and then launched himself back into the sea. The moonlight caught briefly on the curved handle of a dagger belted snugly at the small of his back before the black hair covered it. Glorfindel rushed forward but was just in time to see a shape that might almost have been a dolphin or some other large fish diving through an incoming wave.

“No, Erestor, wait. I won’t hurt you!” he called out, splashing across the pool and climbing up onto the rock that had so recently been occupied. But it was to no avail, Erestor was gone.

-----o

After walking up and down the beach for what felt like hours, Glorfindel finally gave up and went to bed. The next morning, away from a moonlit beach filled with strange shadows, he wondered if it had all been a hallucination, something to do with the air of ancient magic that had always hung about the Havens.

The idea of a being with the body of a man and the tail of a fish was so unlikely that he was embarrassed to raise it with his host. Instead he assured Círdan he had slept well after a pleasant walk and went quietly through the day, going over the defence matters he had come to discuss with the Shipwright on Elrond’s behalf.

That night after dinner though, he waited till it was around the time he had gone walking the previous night and then he went back out along the beach. This time there was no distant singing, no sounds but the wind and the waves. He looked carefully at all the little pools and piles of rock, walking slowly and listening for unusual sounds, but except for the sea and the strong breeze blowing off it, there was nothing. He could feel he was alone.

The following night he went out again, with the same result; there was no trace of anyone but himself on the beach, no mysterious singing, no shadowy shapes with eyes glittering in the moonlight. He was by now inclined to believe he had imagined the whole thing. The next day over a lunch taken overlooking the sea he raised the matter carefully, and he hoped discreetly, with Círdan.

“My lord, do you know who or what would be referred to as the Sea Lord’s children? Is there some kind of legend perhaps... I seem to remember hearing something along those lines in the past.”

Círdan finished a mouthful of cod salad and took a deep drink of the strange, astringent cordial he favoured. He frowned at the horizon before turning a quizzical look on Glorfindel. “Was there a reason you should ask that, my lord? Did someone here mention it to you?”

“No one in your household said anything, no,” Glorfindel said honestly. “But I read all sorts of tales and I was just curious. Forgive me if it was out of line.”

“No, not at all. I was just surprised.” Círdan took his time, gathering his thoughts. “That is an old tale, dating back to a time not long after the Great War, when the Army of the West marched in and broke the land and the waters rushed in and drowned Beleriand and all who still lived there. Although there was no means to rescue those trapped far from shore and the safety of boats, it is said Lord Ulmo set out to do what he could to save the youngest and most innocent, the children of the Firstborn, even while their parents perished.”

"When I learned the fate of Beleriand, I wondered about all the people living too far inland to escape,” Glorfindel admitted, accepting another glass of the cordial even though it made his eyes water a little. To someone who had spent so much of his life at court, first in Tirion and later in Gondolin, courtesy mattered. Anyhow, he liked the old man.

“Quite,” Círdan said gravely. “We were hard put to it even to save those living on Balar and around Sirion. At any rate, it is said that Lord Ulmo took those children that he could find and – transformed them. Turned them into beings who would live and thrive as easily in water as on land, with gills and tails to mark them as his own. Legend has it they come ashore in the moonlight to sit and comb their hair and sing to the moonbeams...or so they say?”

“That is probably what I’d read then,” Glorfindel said with a smile, trying to hide the way his mind was racing, exploring this information, wondering if it could possibly be true after all. “It’s a pretty story, and one it would be nice to believe, for the sake of those children. This cordial is very interesting, Hîren. Is Elrond fond of it? Perhaps I could take some back to Imladris for him?”

-----o

He stayed away from the beach that night, feeling a twinge of guilt for not coming clean to Círdan about his encounter, but it would have been awkward to admit he might have met one of these rescued Children after the way he had phrased the question. Although, in truth, he was almost sure he had read the story somewhere and something in the magic of the place had convinced him... Instead he kept to his room and closed the window so there would be no chance of hearing the soft, wistful voice should it choose that night to sing to the moon.

The final night of his visit, after packing the few belongings he had brought with him plus the gifts he had been asked to take along for Elrond and his family, Glorfindel’s resolve cracked. A final walk along the beach could do no harm, he reasoned. The wind was quite strong and the sea was busy, but it would clear his head, and much as he liked Imladris, he missed the sea, just as he had when Turgon’s people were forced to give up Vinyamar for Gondolin’s mountains.

The shale crunched under his feet, loud enough to be heard above the waves that broke against the rocks. The wind tugged strongly at his hair, teasing locks free of his casual styling. He turned his face up to the spray, smiling slightly, enjoying the salt tang, the wild feeling in the air. He tried to avoid looking too sharply into dark corners, but found it hard not to. It was easier to believe in magical beings on this isolated beach than it had at midday in Círdan’s garden.

It took his ears a few minutes to register the song. It was low and plaintive and wove itself around and through the wind in a duet with the sea, and it came from the far end of the beach. Glorfindel paused, looked around. He was completely alone, the lights of Círdan’s house, standing out as a beacon of warmth and welcome, lay well behind him. Ahead the beach was lit only by the newly risen moon that glinted off the water, drawing the scene in stark blacks and whites.

He followed the song, moving steadily along the water’s edge, avoiding heaped seaweed, water-carved holes. The song stopped, but not before he had spotted Erestor leaning against a tall rock, his tail draped elegantly into the pool.

“That’s a beautiful song,” he said, careful not to come too close this time. “But sad-sounding too.”

Erestor raised his hands to the base of his neck and lifted his hair, shaking his head. Black silk, dark against the night, slithered down almost with a life of its own. It was nearly dry, Glorfindel realised, so he must have been there for some time. And tonight he wore a complex necklace hung with glittering strands of gems that fell halfway down his chest, catching the light as he moved. “We learned it from the seals,” Erestor said. “They are sad creatures, their songs are all full of longing. No words though, I make the words myself.”

“I’ve heard tales of creatures called selkies,” Glorfindel said. “They are seals who’ve taken off their skins for a time so they can walk on dry land as mortals...”

Erestor laughed, a low intimate sound, and shook his head. “Why would a seal take its skin off? Its insides would fall out.”

“My thought entirely,” Glorfindel agreed cheerfully. If he didn’t look too low, this was almost a normal conversation.

A wave came up behind Erestor, splashing him with spray. He shook his hair back but otherwise ignored it. “You were not here last night, Glorr-findel. I looked for you.”

Glorfindel considered sitting on one of the rocks on his side of the pool but they were low and very wet. “I went to bed early,” he lied. “I had a long day.”

“You came to visit the Old One?” Erestor asked. “Will you ride away on one of his boats soon?”

He was confused for a moment, then understood. “Am I going to sail off into the West? No, not now. Not for some time still. I was sent here to help people, so I’ll be one of the last to leave.”

Erestor digested this. It would have made even less sense to him than it usually did to Glorfindel himself. “I thought it meant you would leave and go to the Summerlands where we are not allowed to travel, but one of my brothers said no, there is no boat ready yet.”

“One of your brothers?” Glorfindel couldn’t help looking around quickly. “One of Ulmo’s other children, you mean?”

“Even so,” Erestor said with the slightest of shrugs. “We share no parents but the Sea Lord is father to us all.”

“And you’re not allowed to go to Valinor – the Summerlands? Ever?”

Erestor looked uncertain for a moment and then shook his head. “Our place is here, it is the rule.” He hesitated, then added, laughter in his voice, “We think this is because the Sea Lord broke rules himself to save us when the world broke.”

That made sense. “Is that why you don’t let people know about you?” Glorfindel asked, hunkering down amongst the rocks so that he was looking up at Erestor.

The dark head nodded. “The Old One knows we are here, and his people,” Erestor said. “But they love the Lord of the Deep and will keep his secret. They go their way here on the shore and we go ours in the sea. It is as it should be.” He beckoned and pointed to a place close to the rock he was leaning against. “Sit there. The water has touched it only lightly. I remember – it is not comfortable to have wet clothes, yes?”

“Not very, no.” Glorfindel hesitated, but the being called Erestor seemed in no hurry to leave this time so he took off his boots and rolled his pants up first before wading across the tidal pool. The water was icy but he had known far colder.

Erestor was right, the flat ledge in front of the highest rock was only damp, still protected from the sea. Erestor moved away when he got there, but not far. His tail flicked the water casually as he got comfortable again. Glorfindel was uneasily aware of hard muscle, an aura of deadly strength. Also he remembered the dagger.

“You remember wearing clothes, being on land?” he asked carefully, with no idea what might or might not antagonise.

Full lips curved into an almost-smile. “Yes, a little. I was very young and it was long ago. We could not swim, we could only walk on land and the dolphins would not have talked with us. You miss so much, shore people. But I also recall that wet cloth grows cold and rubs badly. It is why we do not wear shirts.” Dark eyes were laughing at Glorfindel, but not unkindly.

“You would look strange with a shirt on,” Glorfindel conceded. “Overdressed.”

“You cover yourselves from neck to ankle,” Erestor said shaking his head. “It must be unpleasant. And hot. I like to lie in the sun but I do not like to be hot for too long. And I am dressed tonight.” His fingers traced lightly over his chest, caressing the necklace. Glorfindel was startled by how erotic the motion was.

“Too hot is not good,’ he agreed hastily. “But also too cold, something I doubt bothers you the same.”

“Further north where the ice lies and the white bears try and eat us is very cold,” Erestor informed him pensively. “But the sky lights are beautiful, so sometimes we go. Never alone though. It is a dangerous land.”

Glorfindel frowned, puzzled. “Sky lights?”

“You have not seen the sky lights in the north?” Erestor looked surprised. “But it is easy for you to go there. You have the tall animals --- horses, yes? They can take you there more easily than it is for us to swim.”

And they sat in the moonlight with the waves kissing the rocks behind them and talked: about the northern lights, which Glorfindel had heard of but never seen, and Glorfindel’s valley home of Imladris, with its rushing river and tree-lined slopes, and how it felt to ride a dolphin – and a giant manta, although Erestor admitted with a sly smile that these were Ossë’s particular favourites and harassing them was strictly forbidden.

Time passed and the moon was riding high in the sky when Erestor turned to him and asked in that mellow, husky voice, “And you will go back home to Im-lad-rris soon?”

Glorfindel nodded. “I leave in the morning,” he admitted. “I’ve stayed a day longer than I should already. They’ll be worrying if I take too long. The road isn’t safe.”

“But you are not afraid to take a dangerous road, no?” Erestor reached out a hand and carefully hooked free a lock of Glorfindel’s hair that had come loose, letting it wind around his finger and then slide free. Glorfindel’s mouth went dry.

“I should be more than equal to anything I meet on the road,” he answered carefully. His eyes dropped to the necklace and he reached carefully to touch a ruby, deeply aware of the firm, smooth skin it rested against. “This – where did you get this? It’s beautiful.”

“We find things.” Erestor’s voice was close, low, blending with the sea. “There are many things the ocean claims. Some it allows us to take back. These are our pretties. But it has things too that are its own. Like this...”

He reached down and came up with something that had been lying in the dark just above the pool’s waters. He held it out. After a moment’s hesitation, Glorfindel took it. It was a perfectly shaped abalone shell, the inside shining softly in the moonlight. “In the day it is golden, the colour your hair would be in sunlight,” Erestor told him in the same quiet voice. “I kept it for you.”

Glorfindel met fathomless dark eyes. “I will come back...” he began, but Erestor shook his head.

“The tides come in and they draw out,” he said, voice still blending with the sea. He straightened and Glorfindel realised belatedly that he was getting ready to leave. Then suddenly he was close again, so close that silken hair brushed Glorfindel’s cheek, so close that had there been time Glorfindel could have counted the sweeping black lashes. Leaning in, his lips found and lingered on Glorfindel’s, cool and full. “Remember us when you are in Im-lad-rris in the mountains,” he said. Moments later he pulled himself up and over the rim of the rock ledge and then he was in the water streaking away, black hair streaming behind him. A casual glance might have assumed seaweed.

Glorfindel watched him leave and then sat on the rock a while longer watching the sea in the moonlight, the shell resting loosely in his hand. In the end it grew too cold to be pleasant. Reluctantly he waded across the tidal pool to get his boots and then headed back to the abode of land dwellers, the place of light and warmth.

Chapter End Notes

Beta: Red Lasbelin - thank you for guiding me to write a far edgier fic than I originally had in mind and for working out what Ossë  would ask for.

My thanks again to Kenaz for getting me to try this prompt, there are few things better than writing something that stretches you and makes you grow.

And gratitude to Talullah for inspirational (though creepy) graphics.

Glorfindel returned to Imladris as arranged, and one of his first actions when he got home was to place the abalone shell on his bedroom windowsill where it would catch the light of the full moon and where the morning sun turned its interior to bright glowing gold. If he was a little subdued, a little introspective, no one thought to question it, nor comment on the increased time he spent in the library pouring over old books, especially those dealing with legends that had their roots in events at the end of the First Age.

Life went on as normal in Elrond’s valley, autumn followed the summer of the Mithlond visit and in its turn gave way to winter. There was no call for another high level visit to the Havens so although Glorfindel kept his ears open for any opportunity he might take advantage of, none arose. After his return he was often lost in thought, dreaming of ink-black hair and flawless skin, eyes that were deep, shimmering pools a man could drown in. The rational portion of his mind still insisted that there were no creatures half elf, half fish, and yet he had met Erestor and had the abalone shell to prove it.

One spring morning he was down at the archery butts getting in some practice when he heard the horn calling from the upper watch station, announcing visitors from one of the other elven holdings. He debated for a moment, but archery was his weak point and an excuse to postpone the exercise was always welcome. He left the bow and arrows stacked neatly against a tree and went up to the house to find out who had arrived and from where. There was the chance they came from Lórien, in which case there might even be a letter from Galadriel, his cousin.

He used one of the side entrances to the house and made his way along a maze of corridors to the reception area, arriving just after the visitors. There was a small crowd gathered, because people in isolated settlements will always be curious, and he heard someone say that Elrond had been sent for. He spotted the identifying totem on its pole that one of the party still carried and was disappointed to see the stones and waves of the Grey Havens rather than the trees of Lothlórien. He recognised one of the visitors, a tall elf who stood out above the crowd, but as he was about to go over and speak to him, Elrond came hurrying down the stairs.

“Galdor, a pleasant surprise. What brings you so far inland? Is everything well at the coast?”

Galdor stepped forward, hand outstretched, and they clasped forearms in greeting. “All’s well enough, though it’s been better. I’m here to accompany lacework and pearls, brought here for barter. It was Círdan’s hope that we could agree a fair trade in return.”

Glorfindel bit back a smile, hearing the resigned distaste in the elderly elf’s voice: Galdor clearly felt the role of salesman was a task below his station and skills. He was about to turn away and force himself back to practice after a detour through the kitchen when the crowd eddied and shifted and he found himself looking directly at Erestor.

For a moment he stopped breathing and it was as though the reception area fell silent around him. All he could do was stand and stare, trying to process what he was seeing. Erestor stood off to one side near the young man with the totem, surveying the scene. He was dressed for the road in neutral colours, a long sleeved shirt under a heavy tunic, a muted blue travelling cloak, trousers tucked into knee high boots. Boots? Glorfindel felt his mouth drop open. Erestor considered him with unchanging dark eyes, then nodded gracefully before turning his attention back to the conversation between Galdor and Elrond.

-----o

It was impossible to be discreet about accosting a guest in the entrance to Imladris, and Glorfindel had the presence of mind to realise that if he greeted Erestor by name or in any way showed that he knew him, there would be questions to which he had no answer. Instead he waited quietly, trying to keep out of Elrond’s sight, and listened to the greetings and exchanges.

Melpomaen bustled over to speak with Elrond about accommodation – the Last Homely House had a name for hospitality, which was maintained in part by Melpomaen’s skill at finding suitable corners to tuck in even the most unexpected arrival. The group from the Havens was led away, and Glorfindel was left with his mind whirling, filled with questions that would have to wait till evening to be answered.

Dinner came and was an unsatisfactory affair as only Galdor sat at the top table and talked with Elrond, while Glorfindel, whose place was there, could see Erestor further down, picking at his food and listening to the conversation around him rather than joining in. The final course was about to be served when he finally gave in and leaned towards Galdor. “Over there, with the black hair. I feel sure we’d met before, possibly when I was in Mithlond. Who is he?”

Galdor followed his glance and frowned. He looked almost uncomfortable. “I can tell you less than I’d like, Lord Glorfindel. My lord must have included him in the party at the last minute – in fact he caught us up on the way across the downs with a few extras to add to the consignment. Pearls. We’ve not met before, he lives further down the coast. I’d not seen him at the Havens, though it’s possible you met him there. These traders are a strange bunch. They come and go and their ways aren’t ours.”

“I had a look at the pearls,” Elrond said. “They’re very fine, unusually well matched.”

“You must take another look,” Celebrían said with the sweetest smile. “I do believe we have an anniversary coming up soon.”

The conversation moved on in laughter, leaving Glorfindel to finish dinner no wiser than he had been before.

After dinner he walked with deliberate aimlessness around the Hall of Fire, but although the other guests were there, sharing wine and talking quietly together, there was no sign of Erestor and he had no reason to ask for him. Finally, defeated, he went outside for some air and to think where else he could search. The night was pleasant, the air softening towards spring though still with a strong bite. The river called loudly because it had picked up speed and depth, bringing snowmelt down through the valley. It looked beautiful, the strong, swift flow of it and the way it leapt down the falls, but it was bitter cold.

A texture to the shadows caught his eye and he found he had been looking at Erestor without seeing him. He was standing above the water gazing down into it as though he had never seen a river before. Glorfindel was sure he had made no sound, but the dark head turned and eyes that sparkled in the dim light regarded him.

Glorfindel was reminded of the strange, almost eerie sense of speaking with something ‘other’ down on that beach. The air around Erestor seemed to contain him, set him apart. He drew a firm breath, reminded himself this was no Balrog, there was no fire, no whip, and as this was Imladris, he had to assume no dagger. He went over.

They looked at one another. “There is so much fresh water,” Erestor said. “Never have I seen so much. We drink by the harbour or go to the well near the beach. But there is nothing like this.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Just... how?” he asked, gesturing downward. “And why are you here?”

Perfect eyebrows arched slightly. “You told me about your valley, Glorr-findel.” He sounded amused. Glorfindel tried once again to place the soft accent, but to no avail. It was unlike any he had heard before. “I came to see for myself. And to see if there are any more golden elves.” His smile was wicked, and sent sparks dancing through Glorfindel’s veins. “Am I not welcome?”

“Of course you’re welcome,” Glorfindel said quickly. “But how...?”

Erestor reached out and placed a hand on Glorfindel’s chest, palm resting just above his heart. Dark eyes searched his face, hesitated on his mouth, then locked with his. “Does it matter? It simply –is.”

Glorfindel took a breath and it was as though the air had drawn back and there was none left for him. “... you had a tail,” was all he managed to get out in the face of that look, the hand on his heart.

“And now I do not,” Erestor said calmly, running his tongue lightly over his lower lip. “Would you like to see?”

All the blood in his body seemed to rush down and pool in his groin, leaving him hot and achingly hard. They stared at one another. Glorfindel placed a hand on Erestor’s shoulder, not thinking, just reacting. Erestor began walking backwards towards the shadows at water’s edge, moving with the same ease it took to go forwards, never breaking eye contact. Finally he turned and led them into the shelter of the bushes that grew along the bank of the Bruinen. He leaned back against a tree and smiled again. The rest of the world vanished: all Glorfindel could see was the white flash of perfect teeth and the gleam of dark eyes. He tangled a hand in that enticing black hair, pulled Erestor’s head sharply towards him and kissed him, hard.

Erestor’s first response was tentative, unsure, but then strong arms went round Glorfindel, the lithe, hard body pressed up against him, a leg twining around his – a leg, not a tail, not something shimmering and alien. He shut his mind to it and they kissed until there was no breath left and they had to break apart, panting. Erestor’s eyes were wild, hungry. His mouth paused to mark Glorfindel’s neck, then they were on the ground and pulling at clothing and there was smooth skin under Glorfindel’s hands, a body that writhed and twisted at his touch. He brushed over a nipple that was full and erect against his palm and he rolled it between finger and thumb. Erestor growled, thrust against him, fingers clawing at his shoulders. Desire flared, consumed him, wiped out all thoughts of tails or other possible wrongness.

They joined in another deep kiss, and somehow during it Erestor was on top, sitting astride him but leaning in, body pressed close, and still kissing him. There was fumbling at the ties to his pants and then cool air shivering his skin and drawing his balls even tighter, but there was no time to think. Erestor straightened up panting and reached back to close a hand around his sex, guide it in against him, push...

Glorfindel's eyes flew open. He took in Erestor's urgent face and lust-darkened gaze, the jewelled necklace that he had worn on the beach glinting in the dim light.... Somehow he was already naked, though Glorfindel had no memory of helping him remove more than his shirt. It was hardly important. He shrugged his pants down to his thighs then cupped Erestor’s buttocks, spreading him before thrusting up violently into tight velvet heat. He heard himself cry out and Erestor tossed back his midnight hair and made a low, dangerous sound, halfway between a growl and a gasp. He slid his hands up over Glorfindel’s chest to his shoulders, flicking his nipples in passing, and for a moment longer the world stopped. Then Glorfindel thrust again and Erestor bared his teeth and began to move, riding him with a feral urgency that swept Glorfindel up and carried him into a haze of red light and searing need.

At the end he got Erestor onto his back, legs around Glorfindel’s shoulders, and fucked him slowly, a hand clasped around his prick, stroking him steadily, not too fast, listening to the gasps and hisses different speeds and motions drew from him. Eventually it was enough and he sped up, not taking his eyes off the pale face within that tangle of black hair. Erestor came, thrusting up wildly into his hand, semen startlingly warm over his fingers. The tightness that held him sheathed pulsed around him and it was all he needed. Three, four, five harsh thrusts and he came, and the intensity of it was so great, it was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

And Erestor lay beneath him, still breathing heavily, lips parted, and watched him. And even with his eyes closed in ecstasy, he could still feel that unfathomable gaze.

-----o

While they dressed, keeping under cover and now paying more attention to the night sounds, a hundred questions came back and scrabbled at Glorfindel’s mind. How had he got here, had Círdan really sent him? What did he want, and why? And what had happened to him, how had he changed? This wasn’t like a werewolf surely, those evil creations of the Great Enemy. Nothing in Círdan’s tale of Ulmo’s children suggested any such thing: this was something else entirely. He glanced over at his companion, who was slower in dressing, dealing with each item of clothing with careful deliberation – something new, something still being learned. No clothing in the ocean, his mind whispered.

And then Erestor’s cool hair brushed his arm, clinging and drifting, and the embers of desire flared again. Whatever had happened, he decided, reaching out to touch silken strands, Erestor was physically as normal as any elf now. And when he was ready he would tell his story. Until then, Glorfindel was prepared to bide his time and not brood too deeply on the memories of their first meetings.

Somewhere there had to be a logical explanation. Eventually. If worse came to worst, he could always speak to Elrond.

-----o

Erestor proved to be the same on land as he had been in water: fey, strange, unpredictable. He distanced himself from the group from Mithlond almost at once and set out to explore the valley with a determination that took him into every nook and cranny of it. He wandered the tree-lined slopes and the cleared farmland, asking questions about crops and the reasons for growing one thing with another. He stalked the sheep and the cows, studying their habits as though he had never seen such creatures before, which only Glorfindel knew was no less than the truth. He spent time at the stables with the horses too, which he seemed in equal parts drawn to and made uneasy by.

As the one responsible for the valley’s security, and with its considerable fighting force under his command, Glorfindel’s days were busy, so it was a relief that Erestor seemed content to amuse himself. Sometimes during the day though, he would sense a presence close by and turn to find Erestor there, waiting. Sometimes he had a question, at others he simply seemed to want to be close for a while, and would wander off when Glorfindel grew busy or when something else roused his curiosity.

Most nights he passed in Glorfindel’s rooms, naked and inventive, giving himself over wholly to passion, though he never stayed till morning. Glorfindel had no idea what he did with the rest of the hours of darkness. He had a room, but he was not one to be confined by four walls for long.

Occasionally a night would go past with no sign of him. The first few times this happened, Glorfindel was concerned and went looking for him. Once he found him in the Hall of Fire, listening to one of the bards singing about the beauties of Ost-in-Edhil, drinking in the words with speaking eyes. Glorfindel left quietly, not wanting to break the spell of the music. Next time he was sitting by the river watching the stars and made it clear he was disinclined for conversation. At a loss, Glorfindel left him and went to bed.

Another night he tracked him down to one of the balconies, curled up in a chair and watching the moon on the water. Glorfindel went and stood beside him at the railing, looked down at the churning, rushing river. “My bed felt empty without you,” he said, trying to give it a light touch this time, fearing it would seem he believed Erestor should spend every night with him and have no other interests. Last time he had let his impatience show and felt ashamed afterwards.

Erestor shot him a curious look. “But it was empty before I came here, yes?” he asked. “And yet you slept well enough.”

“Usually empty, not always,” Glorfindel corrected him, stung. Dark eyes laughed at him, but there was a warning in their depths. He did not have to be told not to touch. “Anyhow, I was missing you. Were you waiting for something, or...?”

Erestor became serious. “We watch the light bless the water,” he said. “Tomorrow night the moon will not be the same, but you will still be you.”

He turned his attention back to the Bruinen. After a while Glorfindel took the hint and left him. Almost like an addiction, Erestor was a fire in his blood and nights without him left Glorfindel aroused and restless, but he had no choice but to accept it as Erestor’s way. As he took himself in hand in the dark, he at least could be reasonably certain that Erestor too was alone; he had a defiant, singular air about him that discouraged uninvited conversation.

-----o

One evening he was reading a whimsical book about dragons, complete with fantastical drawings, when Erestor arrived, letting himself in unannounced as usual. Glorfindel put the open book on the table beside him and rose smiling. “I saw you in the kitchen, what were you watching?” Erestor was always watching something, sometimes curious, sometimes almost wistful. People were starting to get used to it, and as word had gone out that there was a connection between him and Glorfindel, stories of his latest fancy tended to get carried back.

“I wanted to understand bread,” Erestor said. “I know the taste from – before – when I was very young. I thought if I watched, I would remember more.”

“Your mother would have baked bread probably.”

It was tacitly agreed between them that there would be no questions about how Erestor had come to be there, walking on two legs like any other elf, nor discussions generally about his past, not yet anyhow. Any attempt brought out the worst in him, manifested in a caustic tongue and cold stares. Acknowledging he had a mother seemed innocuous enough, but the look Glorfindel received warned that this was too close to some line only Erestor could see.

There might have been words but Erestor caught sight of the book and was at once distracted. He came over to see it and after a minute touched one of the illustrations very carefully with just the tip of his finger. He looked a question. Glorfindel frowned, glancing down. “It’s a made up drawing of a dragon?” he offered. “The real thing is nowhere near as pretty. But the book is all in fun, anyhow, so the illustrations fit the mood.”

Erestor hesitated a long time before speaking. “Explain books.”

“Explain them?” As the words left his mouth Glorfindel mentally kicked himself. Of course there wouldn’t have been books wherever it was he came from. For a moment the unease and the memories of a moonlit tidal pool nudged at him but he flattened them before they could creep closer and disrupt the evening. They had the whole night ahead of them he reminded himself, and hardened at the thought. “The words tell you a story or give you information and sometimes there are pictures to help you better understand what you’re reading. You’ve not had much to do with books, have you?”

Erestor was still touching the picture, fingertip tracing the lines as though that would explain everything. “I had a book once,” he volunteered. “There was a dry place where I kept things safe, but one day – someone said we had no use for such things and threw it in the water. It was broken after that.”

It was the closest he had come in referring to his past. “Did your book also have pictures?” Glorfindel asked, keeping his tone easy, making it sound normal: one book.

Shining hair swayed as Erestor shook his head. He always wore his hair loose. The clothes, Glorfindel suspected, were as conventional as he was prepared to go. “There were no pictures. Just the marks – like here.” He pointed to the words, his forehead furrowing.

“Words, yes.”

“I saw some of the small ones had books...” Adults were nervous of Erestor without being quite sure why, just that he was different in a way that was impossible to define. The only adult who found him comfortable was Celebrían, but then one had to consider her parents. Children on the other hand seemed to like him. He asked blunt, straightforward questions about obvious things in a way that was familiar to them. They had even started bringing treasures to show him and he was unfailingly patient with them.

“Children learn to read early here,” Glorfindel explained. “We know that once they can read, a whole world opens up for them. All the information in the library is there for them, anything they want to study...”

“Library?”

“A place where we keep many books.” An unfamiliar world, Glorfindel thought, far more incomprehensible than aspects had been to him after his rebirth. He could at least guess how things had progressed from one custom to the next; not everything was new.

“Show me?” Erestor said, turning towards the door.

Glorfindel caught his wrist lightly, shaking his head. “In daylight. They close the library to all but scholars at night, it’s a way to make sure there aren’t too many candles.” At the confused look he added, “Books burn easily. We have to be careful.”

“They are soft things,” Erestor agreed. “Water, fire... Tomorrow then.”

“If you want to learn to read, I could try and teach you.” Glorfindel had not planned the offer, but once it was out nothing would have made him take it back, not when it made those watchful eyes light up, that too-serious face soften.

“Are there a lot of words?” Erestor asked eagerly. “Will it take long?”

“Not the first stages, the ‘how’ of it. But there are as many words as there are stars in the sky, you may never see them all.” He cupped Erestor’s face as he spoke, ran his thumb down the centre of his full lower lip.

For a moment Erestor looked worried, then he dismissed whatever the thought was and nodded. “Tomorrow,” he repeated. “After you show me the li-brary. But now...” His eyes lit with sudden, wicked mirth and he sank slowly to his knees, running his hands down Glorfindel’s body, coming to a halt just below his waist where the casual pants he was wearing fastened. He undid the lacings deftly and slowly exposed him, like a child unwrapping a gift. Glorfindel was erect before his bare flesh was even touched, hard and pulsing while Erestor knelt looking at him. His tongue suddenly slid over the head of Glorfindel’s penis, lingering for a moment, then he drew back, pretended to consider the taste. Finally he nodded. “Good,” he said, fingers hooking around the backs of Glorfindel’s thighs, jerking him closer.

Then his mouth opened and he swallowed Glorfindel in with a scrape of teeth, and books and learning and everything their lack said about Erestor’s past vanished in fire-shot mist.

The library did what nothing else was able, it overawed Erestor into silence. Shelves and shelves of books, writing desks in rows by the window – the idea of writing as well as reading had not occurred to him, he had thought it a special craft, open only to the few.

Glorfindel went in search of Elrond afterwards and found him sitting in the sun with Celebrían, keeping her company while she stitched. Glorfindel had never asked, but often wondered if she disliked needlework as much as her mother used to.

“I’ve come for advice,” he told Elrond, taking a seat on the grass with them.

Elrond raised an eyebrow. “Not a habit of yours and probably overdue. What’s the problem then?”

“Erestor was never in a position to learn to read,” he said, choosing his words with care and hoping for the best. ”He’d like to learn and I said I’d try and teach him. Do we have any primers for adult students, anything along those lines? I could ask in the library, but he’d not want me advertising it.”

Elrond stroked his chin, watching a bee dancing out an elaborate message over a patch of bright flowers. “I’m sure we can find something, of course, but will you have time for this?”

“I can teach him,” Celebrían said without looking up from her work. “I taught all three of the children, and he should be much easier than Arwen, because he actually wants to learn.”

“Cousin, I could hardly impose...” Glorfindel began. That was partly true, but the bigger fear was that she would start asking awkward questions, after which he was unsure which would be the worse outcome, that she might sense a mystery or that she might uncover the answers.

“Nonsense,” Celebrían said briskly, sounding quite like her mother. “I can certainly manage an hour or two a day. I’ll find some suitable books to work from and he can come sit with me out here or on the balcony, nothing obvious, no one needs know if he would rather stay discreet. Not that there’s anything wrong with not being able to read,” she added. “More than half the people I’ve met over the years couldn’t either. It’s refreshing to find someone who cares.”

And so in the end, because Celebrían was mulishly stubborn in the most elegant way, it was not Glorfindel who taught Erestor the basics of reading, although they practiced together most evenings after dinner. Erestor never missed the practice sessions any more than he did his lessons with Celebrían, though whether he would stay on into the night was still unpredictable. He had, however, grown interested in hearing about things like Glorfindel’s youth, about Tirion in what he called the Summerlands or other places Glorfindel had seen. And he started asking about his work in Imladris too, and listened with apparent real interest to the problems of keeping a peacetime military force focused and occupied.

So spring moved into summer and so the summer passed, with reading and questions and sex in the sun or in the moonlight by the water, outdoors or in Glorfindel’s bed, once even in the barn with the horses, although Erestor swore they were watching. He was ill at ease still with animals that were taller than him.

They started laughing at things together too. Erestor’s wit proved quick and pointed, the result of sharp powers of observation, while Glorfindel’s was gentler, and they found a balance together. Glorfindel began joining him in the Hall of Fire to listen to sagas that had been old when he was young, tales of the Elder Days even before the Huntsman enticed his ancestors to travel to Valinor, ballads of mighty deeds, deathless romance, all of which he had heard before but experienced anew through Erestor’s eyes.

One night it was Gondolin’s turn, and he sat with Erestor, hearing about the marble walls and tinkling fountains, the snow-capped mountains, and the night it all ended. Afterwards they went back to Glorfindel’s rooms, as usual, but the mood and the memory made him quiet, less inclined for pleasure. After a while Erestor sat up, his hair, which he had taken lately to fastening back, now loose and glowing softly in the lamplight, and said, “That was the story the bards tell. How was it really? Share it with me.”

And Glorfindel leaned back against the pillows with the covers around his waist and talked, as he had not before with anyone. About the streets and the open land around the city, about markets and festivals and celebrations, about his home, his mother and sister, his family’s high dreams and hopes, all fed to the flames on the night of Morgoth’s attack. And he talked a little about the Balrog, and the fight, an approximation of which had been sung of earlier with a bow towards him from the bard. Not the fight itself, but how he had felt, something else he never shared And Erestor sat listening, his pose not unlike the way he had reclined in the pool on the second night, his face grave.

At the end he moved up the bed and came to lie beside Glorfindel, resting a hand on his chest. “What is gone, is gone,” he said softly into the late night stillness. “It cannot be brought back. Talking can help, sharing pain, but it is a tiring business. Rest now. I will stay till Lórien claims you.”

“And then you’ll go?” Glorfindel asked, as quietly.

Erestor paused, then nodded his head. “I walk at night and watch the valley,” he said. “It is hard for me to stay in these little rooms, like caves, while the trees whisper and the stars sparkle. But I will stay till you sleep.”

Somewhere inside him tight knots of old pain and betrayal, of promises no one had been able to keep softened, relaxing their hold, soothed away by that shining gaze and matter of fact kindness. Glorfindel placed his hand over Erestor’s and smiled. “I will never ask for more. Thank you.”

-----o

Erestor continued exploring the corners of the valley as the months passed, learning its moods, its problems and its people. He knew little groves in the woods that Glorfindel, responsible for its security, had never come across, and now understood the rotation of crops like a farmer.

His special love was given to the river and few days went past without him spending time beside it. He would walk in the shallow parts, knee deep, but he never swam. He watched the children diving and chasing and splashing as children do, and his face was wistful but he stayed on the land. Glorfindel wondered if the water was forbidden him but when he finally, warily asked why he never joined the young ones, Erestor actually laughed.

“Imagine your greatest joy was in running, and you were now lame? Would it please you to take part in children’s races, just for the sake of feeling the track under your feet? That is not swimming. Not as I knew it.”

The past, their meeting, the millions of unanswered questions, rose up between them for the first time in months, but Erestor was quick to shake his head. “Leave it,” he said, quiet but firm, reaching up to touch two fingers to Glorfindel’s lips. “I answered you. Is that not enough?”

And Glorfindel had to admit that it was. There were some things he had grown accustomed to not thinking about.

Summer passed and autumn came with scarlet leaves and gusting winds. Erestor was fascinated by the colours and the energy. He learned to help with the harvest where there was need and enjoyed the festival that heralded the time of year. Winter came and brought snow, about which he was philosophical although he seemed to feel the cold almost as much as Elrond. Glorfindel remembered he had spoken of the lands in the far north, but that was in the past, from the experiences of a strange, feral creature who bore only a passing resemblance to the elf he had somehow without realising fallen deeply in love with.

He still kept up his lessons with Celebrían, devouring books as soon as he was ready for each level. The time he spent with her brought him into proximity with Elrond too, who occasionally shot Glorfindel puzzled looks but only once gave way to curiosity, asking where they had first met. Glorfindel admitted they had met briefly in Mithlond, for which he received another of those curious looks, but Elrond had lived a long time and with some quite strange people and knew when to hold his peace and think his own thoughts.

Shortly after midwinter a young couple who had been born and raised in the valley were ready to bind. With the snow heavy on the ground and Imladris essentially cut off from the world, it was an excuse for a big celebration. Glorfindel found himself watching Erestor as much as the young couple or anyone else involved with the festivities, because he sat as he sometimes did in the Hall of Fire, drinking in the new, and to him magical, world that should have been his birthright. He caught Glorfindel’s eye on him and looked a question.

“What?”

Glorfindel shook his head smiling. “I just like looking at you, that’s all. What were you thinking then?”

Erestor smiled, the soft smile he kept only for Glorfindel and very small children, and raised his cup. It held water, not wine. He had never gotten over the expanse of fresh water that was the Bruinen and also had no taste for alcohol. “I was thinking how happy they look? And wondering if there is an equivalent ceremony for men. There are one or two couples I always see together.”

“Like us, you mean?” Glorfindel asked, amused. “Not the formal ceremony, no, that’s for couples who join with the idea of having children. But promises can be made with the One for witness, no one can prevent that.”

“That’s good,” Erestor said, drinking his water. “I am glad for them.”

Glorfindel waited, hoping he would say more, but Erestor went into one of his deep silences, broken only when the music began and Arwen came striding across, bound and determined to teach him to dance.

-----o

The end-of-winter thaw began and the river tore down through the valley with a loud angry voice and parents paid extra attention to the whereabouts of their children. Erestor spent a lot of time watching it and less time talking. Glorfindel thought the long inactivity of winter had worn him down as it did some, and respected his mood. There were other touches that were confusing though not alarming: he gave away a couple of books he was fond of and the warm travelling cloak Glorfindel had given him at the height of the cold, and he spent even more time outdoors wandering from one spot to the next, following a route that made sense to him alone.

One night he came in later than usual, after Glorfindel had already gone to bed. He still followed his own unpredictable routine, but they generally spent at least part of the night together and he still left before dawn. He sat down on the edge of the bed and for a minute just looked at Glorfindel, then bent to take off his boots.

Glorfindel propped himself up on an elbow and reached a hand to stroke the long black hair. “Your hair’s like ice,” he said affectionately. “You’ve been out in the cold again.”

“I was listening to the river,” Erestor said, as enigmatic and reserved as ever. “I’m here now.” He rose and began removing his clothing, one piece at a time. Even after a year, this simple act was still all it took for Glorfindel to become aroused. He lay watching, a hand resting lightly over his sex, feeling it swell and press against his palm.

Erestor finished and turned to him, naked but for his hair. He knelt on the edge of the bed, leaned down to brush his lips against Glorfindel’s, then began kissing him slowly from the base of his neck in a tender line down his body, night-cool hair sliding across his skin and leaving fire in its wake. Glorfindel stroked his back, murmured pleasure. Erestor’s hands were cold but where they chilled him, a warm mouth soon followed.

Their lovemaking was slow, almost languid. Erestor seemed determined to make them both wait at the brink for as long as possible, far longer than was normal for him. He still had the untamed appetite of their first night, although, as he said, he had learned not to devour the entire meal in the space of ten heartbeats. This night he wanted to touch and kiss and caress every inch of Glorfindel’s body, with an almost studious thoroughness, and was more inclined to give than receive. Glorfindel had no objections, the tenderness was breathtaking in its own right, as was the way Erestor finally straddled him as he had their first time and guided him in, eyes never leaving his face.

It was a hard ride and not gentle, leaving them both soaked with sweat when it was done, but as soon as their breathing eased, Erestor led them back down that path again, and despite Glorfindel’s half laughing argument that he asked too much, their second joining was if anything longer and more intensely satisfying than the evening’s first.

-----o

It was dawn when he woke, with pale light creeping in the window and Erestor still sleeping in the crook of his arm. He was so surprised he almost woke him to ask if something was amiss but instead lay a while looking at him. Long lashes brushed clear, pale skin, black hair with the texture of silk framed his face and tumbled over his shoulder. His lips were slightly parted, inviting even in repose, but he stopped himself from kissing them. He had seldom seen Erestor sleep but was sure even something as light as a kiss would wake him. Instead Glorfindel pulled him closer, feeling the line of him along his own body, and went back to sleep smiling.

When he woke, Erestor was gone, which was hardly in itself surprising. Glorfindel had a busy day ahead, so while he was sorry they had not finally woken together, he sensed the time for that was close at hand. He dressed and went out into the world and after a while was too occupied to wonder any further.

That night Erestor was not at dinner, which was not unheard of because he sometimes shared a meal down in the valley. Neither did he come to the Hall of Fire, although Glorfindel stayed for a while, drinking wine and talking. He went to bed a little amused, suspecting the morning’s intimacy had not been unexpected for him alone. Erestor never spoke of love or referred to what was growing between them, and this would be his typically skittish way of dealing with change.

Next day, when there was still no sign of him, Glorfindel grew concerned. A few casual questions produced nothing of value, it seemed no one else had seen him the previous day either. He hesitated to ask Celebrían, not wanting it to look as though he felt Erestor owed him explanations for the way he spent his time, but he did ask Arwen if Erestor had gone for his morning lesson at the usual time, trying to make it sound casual. Fear prickled when she said she had not seen him for several days.

Celebrían proved almost equally difficult to track down. “She’s involved in something with the smiths,” Elrond explained when approached. “Their work reached a sensitive stage today and she’s unavailable, even to me. Very much her mother’s child,” he added with a smile that hovered between frustration and pride.

“I wanted to know if she knew where Erestor was,” Glorfindel explained. “This is the second day I’ve not seen him and I’m a little – concerned.” What he felt was something a great deal stronger than concern, but he still wanted to avoid looking like a possessive lover. Even if possibly he was.

Elrond wrinkled his brow and shook his head. “I’ve not seen him either, now that you mention it,” he admitted. “Still, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. He strikes me as more than capable of looking after himself.”

Dinner came and went. This time he gave the Hall only a cursory search, then went down to the river and walked alongside it right down into the valley. He had no idea what he expected to find. Even though Erestor could no longer swim as he once had, he suspected it would take more than the Bruinen to overcome him, but fear was irrational and it was fear that walked beside him, setting his heart racing at every shadowed tree log, every unidentified mound of stones. Later he went up to the smith’s compound, but the door was closed and locked and no one responded to his banging on it. Eventually he returned to his rooms with the lovely view of river and mountain and the empty bed, half hoping against hope, but there was no sign that Erestor had been there in his absence.

He drifted in and out of sleep on top of the bed, still partially dressed. Somehow he had never realised how used he was to Erestor’s presence, how empty the valley – his life – would be without him. The dawn had barely kissed the sky when he was up again, washing his face in cold water, brushing and redressing his hair. Celebrían would be in for breakfast, and he wanted to catch her before the day swallowed her up again. He was about to leave when his eye lighted on the anomaly he had sought and missed the night before: the windowsill was bare, the abalone shell was no longer there.

He stood staring, his mind empty, not understanding how it could be gone. Then he looked on the floor and checked other surfaces in case it had been moved during cleaning or on some whim of Erestor’s – he had been known to move things about, answering some aesthetic all his own. It was really gone, and he knew this even as he searched.

A visit to the stables, the one place he had not thought to check, told him the rest. Erestor had taken one of the horses almost three days ago and left the valley for a destination no one had felt at liberty to ask. The senior groom was quick to disclaim responsibility to Glorfindel, who as head of security could be relied upon to make life difficult if there was no authorisation for the removal of a horse. Lady Celebrían herself had given the instruction, he said, that if Erestor were to ask for a horse, he was to be given that specific one, an animal with good wind and capable of travelling long distances, and not plied with unnecessary questions.

Glorfindel barely heard the last of this, he was already on his way back to the house to find Celebrían.

She was home and in her nightclothes, but after one look at his face she shooed her husband away firmly and then turned to face Glorfindel.

“Where is he?” he demanded when they were alone, almost shouting. “What possessed you to offer him a horse and not say a word to me?” He was so deep in fear-fuelled anger he barely knew what he was saying.

She shook her head and her voice was gentle. “You do not own him, Glorfindel. He does not answer to you, or for that matter to me. He asked me how he would be able to return to Mithlond and I said he could have a horse. Would you want him to walk?”

“But why? Why would he leave? Why would he not tell me he was going?”

Understanding dawned and she put her hand on his arm, shook it a little. “He said nothing to you? My dear, I am so sorry, I hadn’t realised. But – you knew he would have to leave in the end, surely?”

A look at his face must have told her all she needed to know there. She turned away, walked to the nearest window and looked out. He followed her. It was a beautiful view across the valley, but he barely saw it. “He said nothing. I – he came here to find me, I never thought he would leave...”

“Perhaps it was too difficult to say goodbye,” she said softly. “Those can be the hardest words of all.”

He looked at her glumly. “You know what he is, don’t you?”

“I met one of Ulmo’s children once,” she said after a slight hesitation. “I was very young, it was long before I was married. I thought she was beautiful but terrifying. My father said he wouldn’t like to meet her alone in the dark. My mother thought that quite funny – I didn’t understand why at the time. Erestor though, I think is younger, kinder.”

“I must go after him,” Glorfindel said, barely taking in what she was saying. “I can change his mind.”

“I don’t know that it’s his mind you’d have to change, my dear,” Celebrían said sadly. “But perhaps you have to find that out for yourself. He’s gone back to the coast near the Havens, somewhere touched by sea, not the river, I’d think. And Glorfindel,” she added, as he made for the door. “Don’t talk past him, if you find him. Listen to what he has to say. Try and understand.”

Glorfindel left Imladris within the hour, taking a bag of supplies he threw together in the kitchen and a single change of clothing. There was no thought or planning involved further than getting on the road as fast as possible and catching up with Erestor before he got too far ahead. He was well past Bree when the horse, not his usual mount, began limping and they had to stop and rest the night before resuming the journey at an easier pace with very regular rests.

Sitting under a tree in the rain and eating a portion of lembas, it finally occurred to him that he would have been better able to catch Erestor, a less experienced rider, if he had taken two horses and changed between them. But all the years of training and experience that made him such a good commander had deserted him in the face of a loss that was in the process of rocking the foundations of his world.

At any rate, due to his lack of foresight he would have to stop and rest the horse at regular intervals and remember it was not a trained warhorse. He loved horses and had always looked after his well, in fact it had been one of his few true joys in Gondolin that he belonged to a family permitted to own horses and ride for pleasure, but he had been less patient with his current mount’s frailties, urging him along down the endless road to Mithlond, and now they both paid the price.

At intervals he wondered how it was for Erestor, alone on a strange road with only a horse for company, if he was managing all right, if he was safe, dry, had food for the journey. He could only hope his relative unfamiliarity with horses would slow him down enough for Glorfindel to finally catch up before... He refused to think about what he might find at the end of the road. Just – before.

It rained on and off for days and when he left the road to cross the Emyn Beraid he had to take care because the horse slipped several times on the rain-slick ground. He came down the hidden road to the Grey Havens in the afternoon with the rain holding off but the wind strong and angry. He passed the elven haven without stopping, although Círdan missed very little that happened in his remnant of the once-great Kingdom of Lindon and would know he was there. Instead he rode alongside the water, his eyes scanning the shoreline. He looked carefully at the rocks, watching for movement, although there was none in the place where he and Erestor had first met, in fact he could hardly be sure it was the same, because the water was high and only a few jagged rocks showed where he was sure there had been a pool.

It was getting late and the despair he had fought all those long days on the road was creeping closer, when a horse came trotting towards him, tossing its head and snorting softly to itself. His own horse whinnied a greeting for a known stable mate. Glorfindel recognised the horse and his heart lurched. There was a blue cloth draped beneath the saddle which he also knew, it was the cloak Erestor had worn when he arrived in Imladris, his gift of warmth to the animal that had carried him back to the sea.

Glorfindel stared at it and felt chilled to the soul, finally confronted with a reality that till now he had refused to accept.

The tide was coming in, waves smashing against rocks and swallowing the narrow beach. The clouds were leaden grey with barely a touch of light about them, and he felt a few drops on his face that were rain, not spray. The track degenerated into loose gravel and sand and he knew it would be dangerous for the horse to go further, which was likely why Erestor had chosen this point to let his own go free. Cursing himself for any one of a number of stops that could have been shorter, he dismounted. He led his horse to a group of scraggly bushes and fastened the reins to a solid-looking branch. Horses in his experience were stupid about such things; the lightest knot to the flimsiest post was as effective as chains and a masonry block. Giving it a reassuring pat, he continued on foot.

He tramped on for some distance, grimly determined, while the shoreline curved around a high outcrop of rock. When he rounded it he finally saw Erestor, walking with a kind of stiff resolve, his back very straight, his head held high.

“Erestor, wait,” he shouted. Erestor did not look round, but instead started walking faster. Pain and fear fed into a burst of irrational rage and Glorfindel began running. “You. Stop. Where in the Void do you think you’re going? How dare you leave without telling me?”

Erestor glanced over his shoulder now, briefly. “I had nothing to say. It was time. Nothing I said could change that,” he tossed back.

“What are you talking about, it was time?”

“Time. Time to come back.” He turned but kept walking backwards, something he still did as smoothly as forwards. The wind whipped his words away and back, sent his hair flying about his face. He was close enough to the water now for the salt spray to reach him. "You don't understand. It was only for a year, no longer. Till the next spring’s equinox, when the day and night lie even. Go back, Glorfindel. This isn't for you..."

“I’m not going back,” Glorfindel insisted. “We have to talk.” Celebrían’s voice came back to him, calm but firm: Don’t talk past him, listen to what he has to say. “Just – explain. Please. I thought we - you were happy...”

“It is nothing to do with being happy or unhappy.” Erestor pushed his hair back, and Glorfindel was close enough to see how pale he was, to read the pain in his face. “I wanted to see Imladris, I wanted to find you. I was curious. And I found you and the valley and I – I would have stayed if I could, but I only had a year. Please go back, Glorfindel. He’ll be angry. This isn’t for shore people.”

He turned away and hurried on, closer to running now than walking, and Glorfindel stood staring after him, trying to think what to do to change it, what to say to make him stay. If he could stay. The air was cold and he pulled his cloak closer about him, trying not to think of Erestor, all warmth and smoothness, back in the icy sea. Distracted by this, it took a minute or two for him to finally realise Erestor wasn’t just walking aimlessly down the track, he was walking towards someone.

This time Glorfindel moved more cautiously and tried not to be obvious about it, though if he could see whoever was standing on the rocks, that person could see him. As he got nearer he saw that the man, tall and strongly build, bare save for a kind of apron that covered his private parts and wearing a necklace of shells, was no mere elf or water dweller; Glorfindel had been born in the West twice, he knew a Maia when he saw one, and this without a doubt was Ossë. Respect, ingrained from birth, slowed his steps.

Erestor had drawn level with the Maia and stopped, a small stretch of foaming water between them. The wind turned and their words drifted to Glorfindel, though barely audible above the roaring sea.

Erestor’s voice was clear, steady. “I am returned, Ossë, in the time you set.”

Ossë crossed his arms over his chest, staring at him. A wave crashed against his rock, breaking over him, and he paid it no heed. “From equinox to equinox I said, yes. One turn around the sun and then the payment, to serve me as messenger, no longer to roam free without responsibilities as do your siblings.”

“That was what I promised before I left. One year, and then I would enter your service.”

“And did you find what you sought in the lands beyond the sea?” Ossë’s voice carried more easily through sea and wind, his elements from the beginning of time. He was bigger than Glorfindel, but not bigger than a Balrog.

“I found what I sought, yes.”

“Then it is time.” Not at any point had Ossë so much as glanced at Glorfindel, clearly he had decided there was no reason to concern himself with one lone elf. “Enter the water and reclaim your true form.”

“That is not my true form,” Erestor said. He sounded as though he had given this some thought. “This is my true form, before our Lord saved me from the breaking of the world. The one I have to reclaim was his gift.” He was taking off his boots as he spoke, neither moving fast nor slow, while the wind whipped and tangled his hair about him.

The sun was getting ready to dip beneath the horizon and the sky was darkening. Ossë made an impatient gesture. “It is the form to which you must return. I gave you only one cycle, no more.”

Erestor, barefoot on the rocks and about to remove his tunic, stopped. There was a stillness about him that Glorfindel could feel even at a distance. “It was all you gave me?” he asked.

Ossë stood waiting. The wind barely stirred his hair. “Even so. Come.”

“You gave me a year and in return wanted a servant – messenger is a pretty word, but not what I would be.” He had his back to Glorfindel, who knew him well enough to imagine him measuring the Maia with his eye. “Just a year. What would you want, Ossë, if I asked for more? What would it cost if I wanted to go back forever?”

Some of the words drifted away into the noise from the sea or were thrown aside by the wind, but Glorfindel could hear enough to understand, enough to make him hold his breath, waiting for the Maia to rage.

He was right. “You would dare bargain with me, urchin?” Ossë shouted. He lunged forward but Erestor stood his ground, still staring at him. “Get into the water, we will have an end to this. I have work and enough for you. What do you need on the shore, up in the mountains? Enough of this!” His voice rolled over the waves like the wind, carrying power and urgent threat.

“What would it cost?” Erestor shouted at him, tugging his tunic over his head and throwing it onto the rocks. His shirt followed in a couple of angry moves that must have ripped buttons.

Ossë roared at him, a sound akin to thunder that split the air. Glorfindel moved a step closer, not sure what he would do but with an instinct to protect Erestor if he could. Erestor would say he needed no protection, he certainly seemed unafraid of Ossë. Glorfindel had no idea if that was an act or simple reality, but then Erestor had always seemed fearless to him.

The water near Ossë suddenly began foaming and frothing and then in its midst a form took shape. A woman’s head and shoulders rose from the sea, her hair cascading back in a spreading tracery of lacy white. She gave Ossë a reproachful look, but said nothing. The Maia glanced at her. “Wife,” he said with a brief nod, then set his hands on his hips and stared down at Erestor. There was a sudden, unnatural stillness and then he said, clipping each word off sharply. “You would needs prove to me that you really want it, urchin.”

Erestor stood wrapped in his long black hair, stripped to the waist. A wave broke thigh high, soaking him. “A jar of my blood, the hair off my head, a limb, one of Varda’s lanterns?” Glorfindel’s blood ran cold at the challenge in his voice.

Ossë made a sound that he realised was laughter, but flesh-crawling and dark. “Nothing so simple, urchin. Those things would hurt, but then heal. This is something you must want more than any other. Therefore, to win it you must first destroy the thing you love the most. And I will know if you lie. Then only can there be a new bargain.”

Erestor stayed motionless a moment longer, then pivoted round and looked directly at Glorfindel. Unexpectedly he smiled, beautiful, winsome, and all the unspoken love Glorfindel knew lay between them was in his eyes. Turning back to Ossë he shrugged and said more quietly, “That is too high a price, my lord. Let it be as you required.”

In one fluid motion he removed the last of his shore clothing and stood naked save for the jewelled necklace he had won from the ocean and a small bag that hung against his hip from a cord around his waist. Ossë gave him a measured look and then raised his hands. There was a moment of absolute darkness filled with a grating, chittering noise that had Glorfindel clapping his hands over his ears. Then it stopped and the darkness lifted as though it had never been, and Erestor was sliding into the water, clearing the rocks with a powerful thrust of his tail.

“Welcome home, little fish,” Uinen said, her voice ebbing and flowing like the tide. White tendrils of hair reached across and touched Erestor fleetingly.

There was no need for Glorfindel to think what to do next, it was like the Cirith Thoronath and the Balrog, one of those moments where there is only a single course of action. He stepped forward, crossing the open space between him and the place where Erestor had stood. Ossë finally deigned to notice him and was watching, arms crossed over his chest again, curious rather than annoyed.

Glorfindel bowed, hand to heart, as he had been trained in boyhood. “My Lord Ossë, perhaps even now there is another gift you would accept on Erestor’s behalf?”

Ossë frowned but nodded. “Speak, elf from the Westlands. What would you offer that matches the value of the prize?”

Glorfindel measured him. If the Maia grew angry enough and attacked, he would die more surely than was ever likely with the Balrog. Without turning round Erestor snapped, “Glorfindel, I told you to go back. This is not...”

“It’s not for me, no. So you said. And you are wrong. Love makes you wrong. Hush.” He spoke gently, as if there was no one else present. “My lord? If you can take it, I would offer my immortality, as much of that span of the ages as it seems fit to take. I will live the life and die the death of a mortal, if it pleases you. Just let Erestor go back to his true home in the mountains, the place he loves.”

Erestor twisted in the water, wet hair flicking across his suddenly white face, his expression one of pure horror. “Glorfindel, stop it, be quiet. Ossë, no, he never meant...”

“Yes, I meant it.” He felt absolutely calm, the sense one had in battle when the die is cast and there is no turning back. He looked up at the Maia, into unreadable green eyes, and waited. Ossë raised an eyebrow, considered him, then threw back his great head and laughed, the sound booming and echoing.

“You will give up your heritage? You will go into the dark with the Second-born? To give this urchin legs to climb trees? Yes! Yes, I say. That is a very fitting price!”

Uinen became agitated, the sea foam around her spreading wider. “No, no, no, no,” she exclaimed in her strange, whispery voice. “No, my husband, this cannot be.”

Ossë drew himself up and glared down at her. “Cannot? You dare say cannot, wife?”

“The Lady speaks well,” Erestor said, swimming back to the rock and pulling himself up onto it. Glorfindel caught at his shoulder to help and was shaken off.

“Bad little fish,” Uinen piped in their direction. “Always a stubborn little fish. No, my lord. This is the one the Doomsman sent back. His life cannot be touched, Námo of the dark halls would be angry with usssss.”

Erestor was looking past her, staring at the sea behind Ossë, suddenly tense and watchful. It was rising, waves rolling across and past, colliding, the current twisting and shifting. Uinen followed his gaze and cried out in sudden alarm, “He comes, take care. The King of the Sea comes!”

The water rose and kept on rising as the sky darkened. Somewhere lightning flashed and the air became tight and bitterly cold. The waves resolved into something vast and terrible. Blue-green skin covered a massive chest and arms, rippling over muscle. He had a head of white hair, a white beard wild and lacy like Uinen’s hair, and piercing green-gold eyes. In one vast webbed hand he held a trident that gleamed silver from the light that seemed to emanate from him. Erestor stayed on the rock, just the lower half of his tail in the water, but bowed his head. Glorfindel knelt, though he kept his head raised, looking with awe on the face of the Lord of the Deep, Ulmo himself.

“What did I hear? You would deal in spans of lives, vassal?” the Vala roared at Ossë. “You would put yourself above the One?” Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled out to sea.

Ossë had bowed low but chose not to kneel, though Glorfindel was almost certain he saw a small hand extend from Uinen’s veil of sea foam and tug at his foot. “My lord, it is indeed not so,” he said, and his voice was subdued, no longer the ringing tones he had used first to Erestor and then to Glorfindel. “But it was a vast thing that was asked. I needed to be sure the one from the Westlands meant it truly before I asked for something more – suitable in exchange.”

“You. Child!” The trident reached past Ossë and touched the rock where Erestor sat.

Sparks flew where it struck and Erestor flinched back from them. He straightened, looked up at the Lord of Waters, and now there was no defiance. “My lord who gave me life, I am Erestor...”

“I know your name,” the Vala retorted. “There is not a child of mine whose name and doings I do not know. You have walked in strange places, child.”

“I have walked in Elrond Half-elven’s valley, my lord who gave me life,” Erestor said respectfully.

“Eärendil’s son?” Uinen sounded pleased. “They played by the sea when they were boys, before the other one went to the drowned land.”

“Hush, wife,” Ossë muttered.

“The Star Traveller’s boy, yes. And how did this come to be? Did I not save you from the Breaking and bring you into my realm?”

“Yes my lord who gave me life.” Erestor’s voice, husky-soft as it was, was almost drowned out by the sound of the waves. “I asked Ossë if there was a way I could go ashore for a little while, just to see, and he...” Ossë glanced back and glared at him and he amended it. “... and we made a bargain.”

Uinen swam or more correctly glided over to the rocks and floated alongside Erestor. The waters shifted. Ulmo took a step forward. “And this bargain was – what?”

Erestor gave Ossë’s back an uncomfortable look. “I could have legs and live on land for a year, and when I returned I – would work for him?”

Lightning flashed, and a line caught the tip of the trident and leapt back to the sky. Thunder roared. “Work for him?” Ulmo’s voice seemed to come from within as well as without and vibrated around Glorfindel’s head eerily.

“My lord, I don’t know. Take messages? Find things?”

“Poor silly little fish,” Uinen muttered just loud enough for Glorfindel to hear. “Poor silly husband.”

“It is not your place to make bargains with my children, nor to take away gifts you may have bestowed,” Ulmo told Ossë almost conversationally. “We will discuss later how it is that this was in your power and where you learned this - skill.”

He shifted his focus, turning his attention to Glorfindel, and the strange eyes bored into him as though reading his soul. “There was something you offered, something that was not yours to give, Twice Born.”

Glorfindel took a very deep breath. “My lord, my life is my own...”

“Your life is a gift from the One, undying, unchangeable. It is not for you to deny it, nor is it in the power of any to accept this offer. And yes, vassal, you say this was not your true intent. I heard you. What then would you have?”

It was almost full dark now, but the strange light Ulmo shed lit the scene in frightening shades of green and violet and blue. The sea crashed and the thunder answered, and no one said a word. Uinen had moved even closer to Erestor, who sat back, taking his weight on his hands and watching Ulmo. Glorfindel was more interested in Ossë.

“I would have the gold from his hair,” Ossë said finally, flatly.

The words made no sense. Glorfindel stared blankly, trying to understand, looking for the meaning while distantly hearing Erestor gasp. Ulmo’s green-gold eyes moved to Glorfindel. “You made an offer. It was accepted. I deemed that coin unsuitable and untenable. This however, is a fair exchange if exchange there must be. You agree?”

Erestor started to speak, to object, but Uinen said in a stronger, more solid voice, “Let it go, little fish. He offered something, he cannot go back on his word. Would you make him a liar?”

Glorfindel rose unsteadily to his feet and bowed his head. “I am ready, Lord,” he said with a calm he did not feel. The gold from his hair? But whatever that meant, Erestor’s freedom was worth far more. Watching under his lashes he saw a small interchange between Ossë and Ulmo, in which the Maia gave his lord an uncertain look and Ulmo favoured him with a rather human sneer. Then the tip of one of the tines of the trident touched his hair and the world became strange.

Glorfindel stood in a whirl of brilliant colours and strange, whispering, keening sounds, and the air felt hot as it slid into his lungs, despite the sea, despite the rain, neither of which he could see or feel. His head felt warm and strange, but there was no pain. And then as fast as it had happened, the colours and sounds vanished and the rain-filled dark returned. Erestor was looking up at him with wide, glittering eyes, a hand to his mouth, and Ossë – from neck to shoulders, Ossë wore a broad collar of sunlit gold.

“I remember you from the beginning, child.” Ulmo’s voice was the wind wailing around chalk cliffs and waves breaking on foreign shores. “Bright eyed and curious and with no fear for me. Go then, heart’s child. Be what you were. But do not forget the sea.”

Then the trident touched Erestor and there was a flash of lightning so brilliant it blinded Glorfindel, and when his sight cleared he was alone on a half-submerged rock with rain beating down and the waves crashing over it, and Erestor was scrabbling at the rock and trying to pull himself up out of the sea, his hair clinging slick to his body. Glorfindel grabbed him almost without thought and tugged, and he came up easily and collapsed on hands and knees before turning to look back out to sea.

“They’re gone,” he managed to get out, shivering so hard he could barely talk.

Glorfindel stopped staring at the miracle of long, pale limbs and instead pulled his sodden cloak off and draped it over Erestor. “Come, away from the edge, bring your clothes. It’s over, yes. They’ve gone. And we’ll drown if we stay here much longer.”

They staggered over slippery rock and onto the shore, Erestor carrying his clothes, pausing only to take the necklace from round his neck and toss it into the waves, returning it to its rightful owner. They stopped when they reached the trail and stared at each other. “He let you come back,” Glorfindel said disbelievingly.

“You paid,” Erestor replied, speaking barely above a whisper. “The gold from your hair --- Ossë wears it round his neck. And your hair – your hair is white...”

Glorfindel dragged his eyes away from the familiar shape of him and the outline of the abalone shell in the bag on his hip and tugged a lock of his own very wet hair round to examine the strange, leached colour of it. He laughed, not quite believing it, let it go and then took Erestor by the shoulders. “It is just hair,” he said gently, kissing the top of Erestor’s head. “I would gladly have given all I had for this.”

Erestor looked up at him wonderingly, touching and touching his hair with questing fingers. Then he wrapped his arms around Glorfindel, head in the crook of his shoulder, and sighed deeply. “Can we go home now?” he asked softly.

Glorfindel held him close, laughing with the pure joy of being able to do so. “Yes, we can go home now. Perhaps a bowl of soup and a bed for the night from Círdan, but then the road home.”

Erestor straightened up and looked at him and finally his lips twitched into a smile. “That depends,” he said. “They treat strangers with caution here. Before we see soup and a bed, it might take some convincing for them to recognise you.”

-----o-----

EPILOGUE

There was hot soup and a warm bed at the Havens after Círdan himself had come out to confirm this was indeed Glorfindel of Gondolin, and then a journey through countryside where spring's green fought a winning battle against the last of the snows. And so Glorfindel brought his love back to the hidden valley, to Elrond, Celebrían, and all who made it the haven it was, in the season of new growth and fresh beginnings, and the elves marvelled at his white hair and the joy in their eyes.

The abalone shell regained pride of place on the windowsill of the bedroom they now shared. Elrond grew to trust Erestor’s practical wisdom and often called on him for counsel. He did miss the sea sometimes with a deep ache, and would go walking beside the Bruinen when that happened, quiet and reserved, but as the years passed, those times grew rare. The valley became the home of his heart and their love held true, paid for in purest gold.

-----o-----