The First time Ever I Saw Your Face by Keiliss

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Chapter 2

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Enemy activity close to the valley kept Glorfindel busy and away from home for the next two weeks, moving from one small patrol group to the next, watching how his men operated under the increased tension as they tried to develop a sense for what they might soon face. Once home it was another two days before he got to see Erestor and it took an exchange of written messages to arrange time and place, mainly due to Glorfindel’s full schedule of meetings and consultations.

They chose one of Erestor’s favourite places, a little garden beside the library entrance, a quiet, calm place where white flowers bloomed amongst shrubs and groundcover in shades that ranged from green to silver, while the birch trees that clustered between garden and library added their own silvery sheen. It was far enough from the house that the main sounds were of birdcall, the soft thrumming of bees and the river’s babble; there was nowhere in Imladris where one was far from the river except well up into the foothills, and it was such a common background Glorfindel now barely heard it except in the quiet of the night.

Glorfindel had cheese and fruit, and while they ate they talked. Erestor was animated company, using his hands to good effect, rather as the Nandor did. He had been meticulously polite at first, respecting Glorfindel’s rank and history, but they had spent enough time talking by now that sometimes Glorfindel thought he almost forgot who he was with. He was full of questions and Glorfindel gave him stories of the land between there and Bree and the people they met on patrol. While he was talking he found himself wondering, as he had on the road, the exact shade of Erestor’s unusual eyes. The light brown of mountain water, he decided after a while, with gold glints which he knew by now could turn almost amber.

Erestor stopped mid-sentence, his eloquent hands wide spread and still. “Is something wrong? You’re staring.”

Glorfindel grinned, unembarrassed to be caught out. “I might have been. Truth? I was trying to decide what colour your eyes are.”

Erestor’s brow furrowed. “Brown, they’re brown of course.”

“That’s common with your father’s people? Brown’s a rare shade for Noldor or Sindar.”

For a moment he wondered if this was too personal, but then Erestor squinted up at him, the container of fruit they had been sharing forgotten between them. “It isn’t that common there either, at least I don’t think so. Most have green or hazel eyes. Or Sindar grey. Brown is odd, except amongst the Edain.”

“It isn’t odd,” Glorfindel insisted. “And they’re not just brown. They’re like mountain water or good dwarf whisky.”

Erestor gave him a side look from under his lashes and a softly curving smile. “I have never drunk dwarf whisky,” he said, laughter in his voice.

For a breathless race of heartbeats Glorfindel was almost sure Erestor was flirting with him. He told himself he had imagined it or made more of it than was there, but the sweet warmth that spread through him told its own tale of the effect of that almost-laugh. And those eyes.

Pulling himself together, he snorted. “I’ll not be rectifying that right next door to the library, I’ve a fair idea what Istuion would think. Here, Whisky-Eyes. Do you want the last cherry?”

-----o

Whether or not that had been flirtation - and Glorfindel spent a fair amount of time going back over each word and half glance - their growing friendship was certainly real, and all the sweeter for being unexpected: Glorfindel had spent most of his free time in Imladris with Elrond and his family or the more senior of their lord’s advisors and the military veterans, while Erestor had earned a reputation for being a loner. Sometimes they walked along the riverbank, occasionally they shared a meal, always they talked. Glorfindel was fascinated by Erestor’s quick, incisive mind and instinctive wisdom about people and he seemed to find Glorfindel’s work and past experiences equally interesting. Also, he laughed at Glorfindel’s jokes, which was a bonus as not everyone caught on to his dry wit. There was a sense of something building between them, something indefinable that would name itself in its own time.

It was a matter of weeks before Glorfindel was off again, riding with patrols, crossing from one group to the next as he took in information, felt the wind, and heard the low voices of rock and tree. In the end he went almost as far as Bree, not sure what he was looking for, just that he would know it when he found it. For a while he rode with one of Cirdan’s scouting parties and got a first hand report on the situation further west. Back with his own people, there were more sightings of orcs and a few mild skirmishes, but nothing to hint at the actual strength or skill that Angmar could muster. He turned back to Imladris eventually, dissatisfied and with a sense of being in the path of a gathering storm.

They were three days out when he decided he’d had enough. There was nowhere safe to make camp along the road so they rode through the night, only stopping briefly to rest the horses. It was mid afternoon when they finally reached home, but a long discussion with Elrond and a visit to the baths to get rid of the smell of horse and the grime of weeks on the road came first, before he had time for himself. After that, instead of going in search of real food like a normal warrior after almost a month of travel rations, he took the now-familiar walk round to the side of the house where the library was located.

There was hardly anyone about, unusual for Imladris, but it was day’s end and most were either relaxing at home or getting ready for dinner.. The library itself was open until mid-evening unless the weather was particularly foul, though with only one or two staff on duty. He knew that Erestor liked those early evenings, using the quiet, child-free time to set his space in order.

He skirted the general reading room and made his way with only one wrong turn to the junior section with its big windows looking out onto soft grass and a reed-lined pond, home to a family of ducks. Erestor was there, a silhouette against the fading light, standing with his back to the door.

“I thought I’d see if you were still here.” Glorfindel had come with vague plans to invite him to share a meal or a glass of wine or something, but the words stuck and then the pause was too long.

Erestor turned and walked towards him smiling, well-shielded lamps picking up the warm tones of his skin, the sparkle of his eyes. “Raegbund said you’d not be back for another tenday when I asked. Were things better than you expected?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “If anything, it was worse. Not that we were attacked, and we only saw one burnt-out farmstead, but it – felt wrong. I came back to consult with Elrond. I’m thinking of pulling the patrols back in, closer to Imladris, just send out small scouting parties…” He listened to his voice jabbering on and had to force himself to stop. “Anyhow, yes, home sooner than planned.”

Erestor passed him on his way to a table piled high with books and scrolls. “I was just putting these away, then I’ll be done for the night.”

“I’ll help you.” Glorfindel was glad to have something else to focus on. Left to himself he might have rambled on about troop deployment, the makeup of patrols and the names of the children of every warrior who was also a parent.

Erestor gave him a quick smile and scooped up an armful of books. He indicated the scrolls. “I’ll show you where they go.”

“I thought we could get something to eat when you were finished? It’s informal dining tonight.” This usually meant a meal would be brought to his room unless he stated otherwise, which he hadn’t, and he realised how it might sound as the words left his lips. “In the dining hall, I mean.”

“I assumed the dining hall, yes,” Erestor said, straight-faced but with the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice. He led them between bookstacks, away from the windows and the tables and benches for writing and the comfortable floor space with cushions. The light stretched probing fingers in behind them, throwing deep shadows. *The scrolls go over there, in those pigeonholes, any order. They’re maps, big, bright-coloured things with fantastical drawings on them … If you ever want to know what an ice bear looks like, this is the place for it. The sight’s enough to give small children nightmares.”

As he spoke, he was placing books into empty spaces, almost by touch in the dim light. Glorfindel went over and stacked the scrolls. He let one slide open a little way and brilliant colours glowed even in the gloom. The picture was of a cheerful-looking little red dragon. He was smiling when he turned around to Erestor, now empty handed and closer than he had realised, watching him. “Dragon,” he said. “Not like any dragon I ever saw – far too friendly.”

“Oh, that’s the map of the east. I think the dragon’s meant to signify it’s very hot there – I must take a look.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m glad you are home. I – worry when you aren’t. The world outside this valley is dangerous.” He still never spoke of his family or the events that had brought him to Imladris, this was the closest he had come that Glorfindel could recall.

“I’m not alone and we’re well armed and careful,” he said, his voice also dropping, gentle in that quiet space that held nothing but soft settling noises and their voices. The air was cool but his blood was heated, it sang in his ears like sea-music. Erestor was a shadow-creature, all charcoal lines and midnight hair, his eyes a hint of gold. Glorfindel had no idea that he moved, just that next moment he had that lithe body in his arms, and with his fingers buried in impossibly soft hair, his mouth found and claimed Erestor’s. And Erestor’s response was instant, turning into his embrace, an arm going around his neck, mouth opening to his questing tongue.

The night was no longer cool, it was a heated confusion of moving shadows, quick breaths, incoherent phrases. He had half wondered if Erestor had any experience of physical love but there was no uncertainty here, and he felt a moment of intense relief before all such thoughts were swept out of his mind. His hand found its way along Erestor’s arm to his shoulder by instinct , his fingers working on the lacings at the neck of the casual work robe he wore. Erestor made a low, throaty sound and pulled at his tunic. Glorfindel took that moment, and that moment alone, to release him and tug the offending item over his head, then he pulled Erestor back against him with contained violence, fingers tightening in his hair, his erection grinding against Erestor’s hip.

He ducked his head, mouthing velvet skin, gasping as Erestor nipped his earlobe. His fingers tightened, he sucked hard at the base of Erestor’s long, smooth neck, sparks surging through him at the hissing gasp in answer. He had the robe off Erestor’s shoulder when he knocked his shin against something – a chair, a stool, he had no idea – and they both went off balance, Erestor wrapping his arms around Glorfindel to save himself from falling. They seemed almost to hang in mid-air for a moment, in some place between before and after, then Glorfindel recovered himself and, still holding Erestor, lowered them both to the floor.

He lay propped on an elbow, staring down at the curve of Erestor’s face, the parted lips and half-closed eyes, the swirl of hair. His own hair was coming loose, gold tendrils snaking down, tangling with Erestor’s ebony locks. He bent and kissed him again, and Erestor surged up against him, fingers twisting in his hair, drawing him in closer. Glorfindel used his free hand to work the robe down lower, fingers dragging across warm smooth skin as though trying to taste it. He pressed closer, his erection insistent against Erestor’s, his hand following the curves and angles of his body down, while they shared hungry kisses that grew rougher as his hand moved lower.

Finally Glorfindel released his mouth, his lips following that line again from chin to base of throat and then lower, tongue flicking, teeth grazing golden skin and fragile bone. Erestor was breathing hard, moving his head from side to side, his body undulating, a leg over Glorfindel’s now, pinning their lower bodies together. Glorfindel’s tongue found and slid flatly over a crystal-hard nipple, returned. He sucked sharply and Erestor cried out, the tug to his hair sending points of lust darting through him like flame arrows.

He released the nipple with a final hint of tooth and leaned up again, putting a hand to Erestor’s cheek to make him look at him. “Yes?” he asked. There was no other word necessary, no explanation. Erestor started to nod, but Glorfindel saw the hint of uncertainty, somewhere under the heat and desire and willingness. He sat up slowly, feeling with a visceral regret how their bodies separated, how Erestor’s leg released him.

“What?” he asked, keeping his voice calm, though it was unsteady and his heart raced like a rabbit fleeing a hound.

Erestor put a shaky hand on his arm, his eyes intent and serious even as his chest heaved, lungs dragging in air. Lamplight caressed his face, emphasised kiss-swollen lips. “My father’s, people,” he said hesitantly, voice husky from passion and lack of air. “My father’s people mourn for a full circuit of stars – not of the new lights, but the stars they always knew. There is no giving and taking, no reaching for new joy before grief’s shadow has faded. I don’t know – us - is this wrong?”

An Avarin star circuit was equal to about half a yén, and for a moment Glorfindel wanted to say that is not the way of your mother’s people, and that’s who you live amongst, and who I am, and what you now are…. And then he remembered the village, the bodies, the boy with his dead sister who he had not, in all these months, mentioned nor openly mourned. Leaning forward he very gently kissed Erestor’s forehead. “That seems like a good and respectful custom to me,” he said, forcing his breath back under control. His body was another matter entirely but that would settle soon. “Time is a small gift for those we love. If we went on, you would always feel you gave them less.”

He had to separate their hair before they could get up, untwine tendrils that had mated before their bodies had the chance. Then he took Erestor’s hand and tugged lightly for him to sit up, helping him with steady hands to dress. Erestor watched him from under his lashes, a veiled, uncertain look. His breathing was still light and shallow, his eyes very focused. Glorfindel searched deep and found a natural, easy-seeming smile, the fruits of long years as a courtier in Gondolin. “That’s you seen to, though we need light to sort out our hair. Right now, I’m not quite sure about where I lost my shirt.”

-----o

He waited for Erestor next day around the time for his midday break. He came out of the library a bit later than usual and looked unsure to begin with, but Glorfindel suggested a walk and had oat cakes to share so slowly the awkwardness faded and it was almost – though not quite – as it had been. A few times he caught Erestor watching him as though to be sure of something, but by the time they turned back he thought he had made it clear that he accepted what had been agreed the previous night and was at peace with it. Not that he was completely, there were memories that would haunt his nights now, but he had been raised to respect tradition, and tradition was all Erestor had left of his father’s ways.

Over time they fell into a routine of sorts, almost without noticing it. Normally he came looking for Erestor, but now and then Erestor came to his office with little gifts: a book that might be interesting, a plant because there were no green things in the room and it had seemed happy to stay in a pot, once a perfect green duck feather. One day, when the air was cold with the shadow of rain, he arrived with two honey cakes wrapped in vine leaves and put one down in front of Glorfindel.

“Just baked,” he said. “I could smell them so I went and asked if we could have some. They like you in the kitchen, all I had to do was mention your name.”

Glorfindel had learned young to keep in with the kitchen staff wherever he lived. He gave Erestor a smile. “My day needed cheering and you’re just the sight for it, and an excuse to stop work for a while.”

Erestor perched comfortably on a corner of the desk. “Making notes from a map? Are you changing patrol schedules then? I thought that was someone else’s job, that you just signed the orders?”

This was the truth, he left the mechanics to his second-in-command. “I’m looking at how many and where. And we need more permanent stations further down the road, closer to Amun Sul.”

“They’ve come down this far?” Erestor had the cake raised to his mouth, about to take a bite, but stopped. Everyone in Imladris. down to the children and the most hardened warriors, felt the tension, the fear of war approaching even their protected haven, but for Erestor it was more a reality than for most: he had already tasted the aftermath.

“Small groups, nothing you’d call an incursion yet, but once they come pouring out of Angmar in force it’ll be too late to start worrying about keeping the road to Mithlond open. Círdan does what he can from his side, but we need to do our part too. I want watch stations here, and here, and perhaps here.” He pointed out spots on the map as he spoke and Erestor leaned over to follow where he meant.

“Are you working with the men from Arthedain then?” he asked, brushed fine dark hair back from his face.

Glorfindel shook his head. “We join together chasing orcs and the like, but cooperation is light at best. They have their concerns, we have ours.”

“Looking at that map and how far down the East Road you want to place our people, I’d say it’s a joint concern now. Surely it would be a good time to send someone as a kind of ambassador to King Arveleg , see what can be arranged? This is a shared enemy, there should be shared resources matched against him.”

Glorfindel listened, for once without being distracted by shining hair and whisky eyes, taking in the measured words, the thoughtful air. “You need to talk to Elrond,” he said. As Erestor made a gesture of demurral, he shook his head. “No, at my next meeting with him, tomorrow morning. A new pair of eyes, a different view – these are things we need. I’m not wasting your insights by filtering them through me as a third party. What we’re doing isn’t enough, and this might be the right road to take next. What’s the worst he can do?”

“Say no?”

Glorfindel grinned. “Exactly. And then you drink the tea and eat the cake – there’s always cake – and go back to work. But even so, you might have sown a seed. I’d like to see what he thinks of your ideas.”

-----o

The spring of 1405 was late in coming and was followed by a cool, unusually wet summer that straggled along toward the autumn equinox. Beyond Imladris brief encounters with the forces of Angmar became full scale confrontations. Círdan had Mithlond sealed off from all but elven visitors. The men of Arthedain fought alongside the warriors from Lindon and Imladris, the result of Erestor’s suggestions on the need to convince the new king to join forces with the elves. Elrond had been intrigued by his understanding of the different forces involved along with his instinctive grasp on diplomacy and started including him in general discussions and then later in more formal planning sessions.

People had almost become used to the sight of Erestor and Glorfindel together and only rarely now did someone stare or whisper to a friend. They ate together, spent time in the Hall of Fire enjoying the music or sometimes just sitting by the fire and talking with Elrond and his family and closest advisors. There was no repeat of the night in the library, but they did hold hands and Glorfindel always kissed the knuckles of the back of his hand goodnight at the end of the evening. They shared the occasional kiss during musical performances in the Hall, when they were sitting in one of the more secluded corners, Erestor leaning his head against Glorfindel’s shoulder, but never anything when they were alone. It would have been too hard to step away again.

One day, when the air had grown chill and the trees were dropping red and gold leaves throughout the valley, Erestor caught him leaving his office on the way to the training ground. “I won’t keep you,” he said before Glorfindel could get a word out. “I just wanted to ask if you could meet me by the river tonight, that spot by the bench under the willows, where the bank is level, not sloping straight down.”

Glorfindel frowned, puzzled. “I know where it is, yes. But what…?”

Erestor shook his head. “I’ll explain later, not now while you’re in a rush. Just – it’s time. And I’d like you to be there.”

It was only after he left, turning the corner and leaving the corridor empty although people still moved up and down, that Glorfindel remembered autumn and a devastated village and understood.

Erestor had not said when to join him beyond ‘tonight’. Glorfindel had a meeting with his captains and was expected to dine with Elrond and a guest from beyond the valley, so it was later than he had hoped before he could get away. He left the dining hall, sidestepping everyone from the high table on their way to the Hall of Fire, and took one of the smaller side paths down to the river, breathing in the autumn scents of damp and beginning leaf rot and the bright chill of the air. It was cool after the warmth of the dining hall and he almost turned back to get a cloak but too much time had passed already: he went on.

The place Erestor had chosen was obscure and tree-dark, away from more popular locations, but Glorfindel had no trouble finding it. Leaving the path when he reached the bench, he made his way silently through long grass and between the trees down to the water’s edge. Erestor, when he caught sight of him, was almost invisible against the facing cliff, but then the moon came out from behind the clouds, touching his hair with a soft sheen.

He had a container beside him and a bag, and his hands were busy with something. After a moment Glorfindel saw he was weaving reeds together, something he was very quick and deft at – everyone in the village had been good at basketwork, he said once, and everyone helped: it was a regular side income for them. He glanced up but then returned to his work once he was satisfied it was Glorfindel.

The night was calm, the river hurried on its way, the trees whispered their secrets, and the hidden life and death battles of the night went on around them, barely audible. Occasionally a fish leapt, or something fell into the water from one of the trees. There were no voices, not even distant sounds of music, they could have been alone in the middle of Eriador. Glorfindel sat, knees drawn up and clasped, and said nothing, drinking in the night and an energy that was uniquely Erestor. He asked no questions: answers would come soon enough.

Whatever Erestor was making, there were several. As each one was finished, he would reach into the container, add something to his creation, and then set it aside and start weaving the next one. When he was done, he put the last item down on the grass beside him and flexed his fingers a few times before finally looking at Glorfindel. “My father taught me about this,” he explained, pushing his hair away from his face with the back of his hand, a little mannerism Glorfindel found endearing. “He said his people would do this once a year, to honour the memory of anyone lost during that time. We did it for my uncle, who was taken by an old boar, just him and me and Brigit. He said it came from the old days before Sun and Moon, when dark things moved in shadows, before the Light Elves ever left the land. Tonight I should name the whole village, but it would take too long and I don’t remember all the names – I think they’ll understand.”

He fumbled with something, then Glorfindel heard steel against stone and saw the tiny sparks. One caught and held for a moment and he sent out his energy to surround and nurture it. It steadied and he saw Erestor tilt his head to watch it and could see the curiosity soon replaced by a rueful, knowing look. “I was never much good with a tinderbox,” he admitted, producing a candle and turning it carefully so the wick would catch.. “But it only needs one flame to light the rest.”

He held the candle, shielding it with one hand, and the air around it grew hazy and soft in the damp from the river. Carefully he picked up one of his weavings, and then Glorfindel realised they were shallow bowls, each with a candle fastened in the centre. Erestor lit the first one and held it up, watching the flame strengthen and burn. “This is for my village,” he said, and his voice was low but steady. “I made it a bit larger because it carries the names of everyone who was lost, too many to recite, not all known to me.” Leaning out over the river he placed the candle holder carefully onto the water and the Bruinen took it gently from him, carrying it smoothly.

Erestor watched it while he lit the next candle. “This is for my father,” he said. “His name was Gelb. He taught me how to work with metal a little and how to hold a sword. More than that, he taught me to read and to love the power of books because he had only come to them himself when he was grown. He was a good man who married for love and went to live far from his people and never once complained.”

The river accepted the second candle from him. It swayed and turned a little but then followed the first, the little lights flickering eerily in the dark. Glorfindel had moved to the edge of the bank and stood, head bowed, hand to heart, Gondolin’s customary homage to the dead.

The third candle flickered and he steadied it with a small gesture, barely necessary. He had no idea if Erestor noticed this time. “My mother was called Caladwen.” The husky voice was distant, firmer now. “She was the best singer in the village and was the best grass weaver. She loved to bake, and she loved to tell tales of the old days, the way they had been told to her by my grandparents who I never knew. She always had time….” His voice trailed off and for a moment he seemed not to know what to do with the candle, but then he leaned forward and it followed the others, a little trail of light going down the river.

He held the last little woven bowl cupped in both hands watching them, then lit the final candle and waited as it flickered and then grew, straight and pale gold. “This is for….” He stopped and his shoulders shook. He tried again for the words, lost them, and his breathing was hitched and jagged.

“This is for Brigit,” Glorfindel prompted him, quietly into the river night. “Go on, you can do this for her.”

Erestor swallowed audibly and straightened up. “This is for Brigit, my sister,” he repeated. “She was funny and sweet and annoying and pretty and I loved her so much from the day she was born that it hurt my heart. And hardly anyone knew her because she was gone too soon, but I will never forget her, never stop loving her.”

His hand hovered over the water, as reluctant to release Brigit as he had been before, then he gave the last candle to the Bruinen and they watched it follow the rest of the family of lights that represented all that the child Erestor had known and loved downstream, flickering gold holding back the dark for a tiny while.

Glorfindel sat down on the grass beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. He knew Erestor was crying even before he touched him, but that was right and as it should be. It had taken him longer to reach the point where he could openly mourn his own family, but time moved differently in Aman. “Not forever,” he said. “And not forgotten, not as long as you remember. There is light and time in the West and a chance for a fresh start should souls desire and Lord Námo allow it. Love them and miss them, but they will always be part of you, either there or during the second Music.”

“My father was born and died here and none of his kin ever saw the Trees,” Erestor said against his shoulder. “Everything I’ve read…”

“Is probably wrong,” Glorfindel told him. “And written by Noldor thinkers who believe us to be somehow set apart and special. One day when we cross the sea, you’ll find I’m right.”

“Can we do that together?” Erestor asked, his head against the curve of Glorfindel’s neck, hair cold and soft against his skin. “Cross the sea? I would hate to go alone. Aman seems so vast, so far away.”

Glorfindel rested his chin atop Erestor’s head and held him closer, looking out into the dark at a future still incompletely sensed. “Not for a long time, there’s too much work still to be done here. But when the time comes, if you’re willing to wait for me, yes of course. You’re my love, who else would I want to make that final voyage with?”

Out on the river the last light passed around the bend, taking the little flotilla out of sight. The night closed in again, unexpectedly dark for the lack of a few tiny candle flames. Tears drying, Erestor stayed quiet for a while, watching the water from the shelter of Glorfindel’s arms. “I feel as though i don’t know what’s next,” he said at last. “I spent years waiting to do this, and now it’s done and i don’t know what follows, how life moves on.”

“Life follows,” Glorfindel replied. “A life we can share, if you will. Not tonight, I know, and not tomorrow either perhaps, but we’ve come to that place now where there’s no longer a reason to pause and wait. “

“And you really want to follow that path with me? You, a lord, a hero, who could ask anyone to walk with you?”

Glorfindel laughed, but quietly because it was not a place for loud voices. “From the first time ever I saw your face,” he said. “It might have taken me a while to realise, but all the talking we’ve done, the thoughts we’ve shared? You are the one I want to go down through time with. If you’ll have me.”

Erestor reached up and touched his cheek, moonlight bringing out the glitter of his eyes, the sheen of his hair. He looked long and serious at Glorfindel, then nodded. “You’re right, life follows,” he agreed. “And now there’s no longer a reason to wait for love.”

The soft breeze of earlier was strengthening. He straightened up, brushed hair back from his face with the inside of his wrist and looked around. Glorfindel picked up the bag and Erestor dropped the tinderbox into it. “Time to go, I think,” Glorfindel said. “Wind’s coming up.”

“Winter’s on the air,” Erestor agreed. “The nights are getting cold.”

Glorfindel glanced at him, raised an eyebrow.. “They don’t have to be,” he pointed out.

Erestor actually laughed. “True enough,” he said, holding out his hand. “Though as you said, not tonight.”

Glorfindel took the proffered hand and kissed the back of it as he had so many times at evening’s end. “I know this wasn’t where you thought your life would lead, but it’s not an ending, just the start of the next chapter. The beginning of something new for us both.”

Eresstor looked down at their linked hands . “It’s very dark here now,” he said. “I think I would like firelight and a song or two. And to share them with you.”

Glorfindel knew without being told that he was asking if this was all right on such a solemn night. Briefly he saw that village once again, the dead and dying , the boy with the sword and the unseeing eyes. And he saw Gondolin in flames and heard his mother’s screams. “Firelight and a song or two are the balm on many of the world’s pains,” he said gently. “Elrond always says he sees the Hall of Fire as a place of healing in its own right. Music and good company - I think there could be no better way for our future to start.”

 ~~~u~~~

And the first time ever I lay with you
I felt your heart so close to mine
And I knew our joy would fill the earth
And last till the end of time

(from The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face by Roberta Flack. Songwriter: Ewan Mccoll)

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Chapter End Notes

Betad by Red Lasbelin, who gave me the idea, and the title, and put up with the moaning and hand-wringing that went before, and protected the story from my deadline-induced meltdowns. Bless you, dear.