“Why do you torture yourself so?” Glorfindel looked across the desk from the ledger he was working on. For the last few hours he had endured Erestor’s muttering and mumblings as the librarian ran through his lines to himself. This evening was opening night, and as with every play set before the First Age, Erestor would be portraying Feanor.

The thing that puzzled the warrior was how Erestor always insisted upon taking the role. No one else dared audition for it, and when time came for the dark ellon to show his skill upon the stage in order to be cast as his desired character, the crowd of hopeful actors would stay hushed as he performed whatever passage he had selected. Many would come to the Great Hall just for the minute or two that Erestor mastered the raised platforms and commanded the onlookers to keep watch of his every move, to linger on his every word.

But Glorfindel knew something most others did not. Erestor hated Feanor, and passionately so. Though some disliked what the Noldo had done, and some despised him, Glorfindel had never found anyone who so loathed the one-time Noldorin King more than Erestor. It was personal; that much was obvious. What Glorfindel had never determined was why.

Whispered bits of lines Erestor recited to himself were mixed more and more with his own additions, like a second voice berating what Feanor had done. It worried Glorfindel, for if it were someone else he might have thought them somewhat mad, but he had become used to Erestor’s incoherent ramblings. When Erestor finally trailed off and looked across the desks of their office, which were pushed together to allow for easy collaboration, the blond continued with, “Every time you work yourself up over the role. Why not allow someone else the chance?”

“No one else here knew him,” Erestor replied, almost snapping at his officemate. He lowered his voice with a sigh and said, “That is to say, no one else would do him justice. He was a... very popular, very... prominent historical figure. Someone should play him with all the dignity and power that he possessed. These young actors will only stumble through what could be a magnificent performance.”

Glorfindel smirked slightly at Erestor’s hidden arrogance. “Could you not train someone else?”

“No, I could not train someone else. I have more important things to do.” Erestor gave a little huff and drummed his fingers on the top of the desk. “Why do you care? You have always enjoyed my performances, unless you have been lying all these years.”

Leave it to Erestor to try to stray off a topic he did not wish to address. Leaning back in his chair, Glorfindel said, “I love your performances. I adore them. The ones in this room, the ones upon the stage, and even the flourish you bring to council – you oft keep me from falling asleep during those horrid meetings.”

Erestor rolled his eyes from the compliments and bowed his head to look at the script upon his desk.

“What confuses me,” prodded Glorfindel as he partially stood and reached forward, sliding the sheets away, “is what he did to you for you to hate him so.”

“I do not hate him,” shot back Erestor abruptly. They sat in silence for a bit until Erestor admitted, “Alright. I hate him. I hate him though no one should ever hate another, and I will likely always hate him. I hate him because I envied the stupid little jackass.”

Glorfindel’s snort was unintentional, and Erestor took the moment to snatch back his script. “Sorry,” apologized Glorfindel. “That was a new one for me.”

“I have other terms of endearment for him that are not so polite but perhaps more well known,” grumbled Erestor.

Taking a deep breath that Glorfindel slowly let out, he rested his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “Why?”

“Why, what? Why is he a jackass?”

Shaking his head, Glorfindel fought the urge to laugh. “Why did you envy him?”

“Same question.” Erestor picked up the script and tossed it over onto the side of the desk. He leaned back in his chair now, with his arms resting behind his head. “Because no matter what, he always got the best of everything. Not because he deserved it, but because everyone was so sad over the fact he had lost his mother. So instead of having to get a real job like the rest of us, he apprenticed with the Valar.” This Erestor said spitefully, and Glorfindel frowned.

“What else?” urged on the blond warrior.

“Oh, let me think... he married a beautiful elleth, had a large family of sons who loved him, created some of the greatest wonders of Valinor, and was a more persuasive speaker than ever I could be. There was a fire in him, a terrible strength that I wished for only an ember of. I wanted what he had.” Erestor paused. “I never asked to be a poor, wifeless, childless farmer whose opinions meant nothing to anyone and whose only purpose in Valinor was to tend fields and feed chickens. I enjoyed my work, do not mistake that, but to see a boy I grew alongside turn into the glory of our people was something that vexed me greatly.”

Glorfindel scratched his head and thought on all of this. “I still do not understand why you would wish to play his part. If anything, I would assume you would want to stay away from such a thing. Just because you knew him is no reason to continue.”

Erestor smiled, and closed his eyes, rolling his head back. When he sat up again, it was with a sigh, and he said, “Thus, you have caught me, my friend. It is not really for him, but for myself that I relive his rise and fall. You see, it is the closest I shall ever get to his achievements. I am no one, and I never will be. My words will not move kings to remember my name, nor will they spark a revolution or bring me honor. My actions are of little consequence, and no great poems or tales shall be writ in my honor. There will never be a play upon a stage where one cries out, ‘And look! It is the one who plays Erestor!’. I have no family, no children to remember me should I fall.”

Before Glorfindel could interrupt, Erestor took a quick breath, and then said, “The only thing I have, the only fame I shall ever receive, is to mask myself as him, and upon that stage say the words as he would have said them, and act as he did. From the moment the curtain rises until it falls, that is my time. To lose myself within his character and become what I can only pretend to be before and after intermission, and until the final bow brings me back to my simple reality.”