It was Glorfindel who, with a smirk, drew back. “He’s right in the other room, speaking with Melpomaen. These walls, my love, are not thick enough to muffle even my cries, let alone your passionate reactions.” As he spoke, he followed Erestor’s movements. As Glorfindel made his case as to why the indoor council chambers that adjoined Elrond’s old office, the office that Saelbeth would now take as his own, was not the best place for such intimate activities, Erestor was unbuttoning Glorfindel’s shirt and loosening the blond’s belt.

“Shut up and kiss me, Fin,” came the low, growled reply. Doing so, Glorfindel tried not to chuckle as Erestor ran his hands up the bared flesh of Glorfindel’s chest, moaning as if he were the one being touched by such warm, nimble fingers. Whimpering for more, Erestor grasped the open fabric and pulled Glorfindel closer.

“Counselor, you undo me,” panted Glorfindel as they gasped for air. In the next room, all talk between the new lord of Imladris and his chief advisor ceased.

“As it should be, seneschal.” Erestor moved again to free Glorfindel from his clothing, twice slapping away Glorfindel’s helpful hands. The third time, he held Glorfindel’s wrists with one hand against the wall over their heads as he finished his work. “Bad puppy,” he teased, fumbling now to reach Glorfindel’s pants with one hand while the other stretched and strained to keep Glorfindel captive.

“Woof.” Glorfindel managed to flick out his tongue and lick Erestor’s ear as he bent his head down. “Not my fault you were undressed when I got here.”

“Yes it is,” argued Erestor as he knelt down and tugged at the lacing, having let go of Glorfindel’s hands.

“No, it’s- oh, oh yes... yes...”

Erestor took away his mouth for just a moment. “Yes, what?”

Growling and hastily shoving his golden locks over his shoulder, Glorfindel shook his head and tilted up Erestor’s chin with his fingers. “You wicked thing, whatever did Saelbeth do to you to make you want to scandalize him in such a way?” The voices on the other side of the wall had stopped, no doubt, on account of them.

Staring up into blue-green eyes, Erestor said innocently, “He didn’t do anything to me.”

“What did he say, then?”

Erestor tilted his head one way, and then the other, slowly, so that Glorfindel did not realize he had left his grasp until Erestor started to kiss his way up Glorfindel’s arm. “He... called me... a mouse...” explained Erestor between kisses.

“Ah,” responded Glorfindel, before Erestor had quite finished. “What sort of mouse? A little mouse, a quiet mouse?”

“A shy, timid, frightened mouse.” Erestor danced his fingers up Glorfindel’s thighs. “But... I’m not shy,” Erestor whispered, and smiled, as if telling his best friend some unknown secret.

“Absolutely not,” agreed Glorfindel, bracing his palms against the wall.

“And, I’m not... timid,” Erestor added, his hands seeking out the taught flesh between Glorfindel’s legs.

“Hardly,” squeaked the warrior, his body tensing as he felt his lover’s warm breath tease him.

Taunting Glorfindel with the tip of his tongue, Erestor’s hand closed around the base of Glorfindel’s arousal. “And nothing... nothing, frightens me,” he said.

“Lies, all li-ai! Oh!” Glorfindel’s knees shook, legs trembling as Erestor boldly sucked and licked, and every now and then looked up at him through long, dark lashes.

- - -

Melpomaen wrung his hands as Saelbeth glared at the door that adjoined the room he and his advisor were in. His arms had been crossed over his chest for some time now, and his eyes narrowed as Glorfindel’s sharp, wanton cries of passion drifted over the transom. “I want this place stripped, top to bottom. Ceiling to floor. Scrub everything,” demanded Saelbeth, Melpomaen nodding at every word. “Twice,” added the new Lord of Imladris, reaching for the handle of the door that led to the hallway. He shuddered at whatever sudden thought he had had, and kicked the door open with his foot before he swept out of the room.

Erestor and Glorfindel, neither of whom would assume the title of Lord after Elladan and Elrohir had sailed West, were leaving. Not for Valinor, not yet. There were still things unattended which they desired to do, things that needed to be done, and there was Arwen. They had made the promise to see her to her end, whatever that end may be, and only then to come to the Undying Lands.

For years now, they had spent their time in the confines of the Homely House; in some ways, they were content, but they were also anxious to travel. Though they had time before the gulls would call them home, that time was short. For Glorfindel, it was simply a need to explore that which he had yet not; for Erestor, there was a more symbolic meaning. If legends and lore were truth, the place of his birth, the river Cuivienen, lie in the East. He had long expressed his interest in wading in the waters one last time before departing, and Glorfindel found long ago that he could never deny any request his lover made.

They would go to Gondor on their own, and there would meet with a guide. Elodien, youngest daughter of Elessar and Arwen, had many times been into the East. Her life as a ranger took her to the furthest reaches of Middle-earth and back again. Harad was actually her specialty, for her knowledge of their customs and lands rivaled that of any book on the topic.

As Glorfindel and Erestor set off the next day, they bid a fond farewell to the home they had known for so long. The keys were entrusted to Saelbeth, elf of Mirkwood. With him, he had brought many of the elves formerly of the realm within the caves, and some of East Lorien as well. Once again, the house was bustling with life, and it was only with a slight sadness that the pair left without attracting the notice of anyone but the horses.

“There are a number of cultural differences here. The men cover their heads when they are out of doors,” explained Elodien, fanning her camel. “If you don’t want to wear a hood or some other head covering, that is alright with them as you are outsiders, but they do think it strange. Women are much admired for their hair, and they leave it long and unbraided, to attract a mate or to show what care it is given.”

“I’ve never seen any of them do anything with it but the young ones,” spoke Erestor. “When we were at the falls with our mounts, many of the maidens brushed each others’ hair while the married women were washing clothes.”

Elodien nodded. “To attract the attention of the young men as they pass by. To show that they are social and would be good to the mother or sisters of the prospective husband, and to show their kindness to others. When a girl marries, it is her husband’s duty to brush her hair and keep it looking nice so that when she goes to do wash or to the market she is as beautiful as the maidens are. Rarely will you see any female with her hair covered.”

“What of the young woman we saw by the water who sat alone?” asked Glorfindel. “She was not married, for she was not washing as the others and I thought I saw her mother in among the women.”

“That is Onaria,” Elodien said sadly. “Her tale is a sad one. She took ill as a child and does not have the beautiful locks of her peers or even her younger sisters. Stringy brown patches were all that would grow, and she finally took to veiling herself. Her father has taken her to other tribes, but there are none who know of a cure for it. For some time she had a wig of horsehair, but it was coarse and she soon returned to wearing the veil.”

“The solution is simple,” shrugged Glorfindel. “There are wigs in Rohan that one could buy.”

“The solution is not that simple,” replied Elodien, “for the journey there is long, and the cost more than even the entire tribe might have as a whole. They are simple folk, and they have been hurting especially after the Great War of the Ring.” Standing, she tapped her camel on the back and he began to rise. “I fear to tell you that her tale does not end there,” she added, seeing the sadness in the eyes of both elves. “There is a man who has fallen in love with her, but his father forbids him to marry her, for though betrothal gifts are sometimes given by the parents of the bride in the form of a dowry, it is the parents of the groom who give the parents of the bride a gift. The family is poor, and has three sons- it’s all very complex, but suffice to say, there is yet no wedding date and no betrothal.”

“I can only imagine from the tone of your voice that there is yet something worse,” prodded Glorfindel.

Elodien sighed. “Marriage of daughters happens successively. Until she has married, her sisters may not.” She smiled wryly. “I apologize, I did mean for my visit to be more pleasant than that, but I have an appointment with a shepherd who is to tell me the history of the bank tribes from the south river, and I do not wish to be late.”

“Of course not,” said Erestor, and he was silent then as the flap of the tent fell down again, leaving the two elves, their camels, and the goat they had with them alone for the time.

“I wonder if I could help somehow. Damn, I wish my hair were longer,” Glorfindel cursed, but then he gave a sigh. “I suppose it would be much too out of place. Everyone here is darker, and I’ve yet to see a single fair-haired Southron. No need to make her any more different than she is,” finished Glorfindel. He glanced at Erestor, who had a distant look upon his face. “Erestor?”

Without shifting his look from the door of the tent, Erestor asked, “Do you think they might have someone who actually knew how to make a wig, a good one that would last a long time?” Lifting up the ends of his sable hair, he muttered, “The ends look bad, though, they’ve not seen a decent trim in a while.”

“You? Cut your hair?” Glorfindel couldn’t help but laugh at the prospect when he realized was Erestor was talking about. “Somehow, I doubt that will happen.”

Nervously, Erestor twirled the strands between his fingers. “It still grows back, right?”

Moving so that he was beside his companion, Glorfindel lifted his hand up and drew his fingers through the soft ebony tresses. “I am sure that your generosity would be appreciated, but do not do this in haste. The last time you cut your hair, you bemoaned your decision long afterwards.”

Erestor smirked. “I’ve been so vain about it, though truly it was mine to be vain about. But it tears at my heart to know that one so young, whose life will be so short, does not have the chance the others do for lack of something I could so easily and painlessly give her. Besides, it will grow back.”

Glorfindel’s opposite hand stroked Erestor’s cheek and turned his head to face him. “You darling thing, you make it so simple.”

“Actually, I’m having second and third thoughts, and if you really wanted to I’d let you talk me out of it,” admitted Erestor. “I’m actually quite nauseous now, thinking of it.”

“Do you want me to talk you into this or out of this?” whispered Glorfindel.

Erestor rubbed his jaw. “Just to satisfy my curiosity, would you find out if there is anyone to do it?” Standing silently, Glorfindel left the tent. It was nearly an hour before he returned – more than enough time for Erestor to talk himself out of and into his idea multiple times. “Nobody, right?”

“Actually, there appear to be two people who would be qualified to, and after giving them a hypothetical situation, well... they’re fairly excited about the prospect to say the least,” Glorfindel said apologetically. “Sorry.” Sitting down beside Erestor and looking longingly at the glossy mane that trailed across the throws on the ground, he asked, “Which way did you make up your mind?”

“I don’t know. That is, I can’t remember which way I was leaning. I began to assume it was a moot point when you didn’t return right away,” he said. He bit his lip and looked at Glorfindel. “I think I’d talked myself out of it, but now-“

The flap of the tent rose up and Elodien stuck her head in. She was a little out of breath and had a guilty look on her face. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” she began, but Erestor smiled and shook his head.

“No. You haven’t caused any trouble, if anything, you’ve done a part in helping to unite a pair of lovers who deserve at least a chance to be together,” reasoned Erestor. “There is no need for an apology.”

Elodien tilted her head back and forth, contemplating this. “Well, it’s really, really good of you to do this, then. I was just speaking with Sconha, he told me of your intentions. He and Lanoi plan to start tonight and work on it together to have it done in time for her birthday next week. Well, I have to get back to the camels,” she said, but she stepped forward and kissed Erestor’s cheek. “Glorfindel’s right; you are a very special sort of elf,” she said as she left the tent.

“Are we in or out?” asked Glorfindel once they were alone.

Erestor shivered nervously despite the high temperature. “You have to cut it. I won’t be able to.”

With a sigh, Glorfindel nodded and retrieved a comb. “They need it braided,” he said, and Erestor sat still as his husband took a seat on the floor behind him and began to part the dark hair carefully. “So, who did it that time before the war?”

“Thranduil,” answered Erestor. “I was going to ask you, but his door was closer, and I think you may have refused.”

“I probably would have,” Glorfindel admitted. Glorfindel stilled his hands. “What if they could dye mine?”

“Fin...”

“I’m sure they could!”

“Fin...”

“Erestor, I don’t want you to do this.”

“Glorfindel.”

“What?”

“Give me your knife.”

When he didn’t respond, Erestor reached around toward Glorfindel’s belt, but the blond pulled back. “No, I’ll do it. I’ll do it,” he said softly.

Glorfindel wiped the sweat from his palms before taking hold of the long rope of hair in one hand and his knife in the other. He swallowed hard, trying to judge where he should cut. “I am going to leave it as long as I can, love,” he said.

“I know,” replied Erestor quietly.

Setting the knife down, Glorfindel wiped his hand on his pants again, then picked up the blade and positioned it between the braid and Erestor and held the hair a little tighter so that the cut would be straight.

“Oh, and another thing!” Elodien’s sudden appearance at the entrance of the tent startled both elves. It caused Glorfindel’s wrist to jerk and Erestor to look up, and the disconnected rope of hair fell into Glorfindel’s lap. “Tomorrow, I will be here promptly at sunrise to take you to breakfast. Ah, let me get that; I’ll take it to Sconha on my way,” she said helpfully, retrieving the hair and leaving the tent. “Well, good night,” she added before disappearing.

Glorfindel drew in a long breath and let it out with the words, “Oh, fuck.”

“Oh, fuck, what?” demanded Erestor sternly. His defense of getting forceful and angry when he was really upset and worried was pushing to the surface.

“I had no intention of cutting it this short.” Glorfindel cringed as he ran his fingers through the strands to detangle them and shook his head. “You are not going to like this.”

“Well, it’s... it’s not as short as I had it during the last alliance, right?” questioned Erestor, unable to tell with the high collar of his shirt covering the back of his neck.

“Before you get upset,” spoke Glorfindel, scooting back a little, “remember- it WILL grow back.”

“It is as short as it was during the last alliance,” sighed Erestor.

Biting his lip, Glorfindel slid the knife under a cushion and then said, “Actually, it’s, ah...”

“It’s shorter?” It came out as a squeak, a worried squeak.

“Much,” answered Glorfindel, wringing his hands.

Erestor brought his hands together over his mouth and nose, breathing in and out a few times to calm himself while Glorfindel crawled around to face him. “It.. well, it isn’t bad,” offered the blond. “It’s just.. ahm, different,” he settled on.

“I don’t doubt that,” answered Erestor shakily.

“Please don’t cry,” added Glorfindel, biting on his lip again.

Lowering his hands and giving his lover a small smile, Erestor shook his head. “I’m not going to cry. I told you to do it; I wanted to do it. I’m just very vain.”

“Let me find a mirror,” offered Glorfindel. He sifted through the contents of one of the bags and pulled out the reflective panel, handing it to Erestor. The dark elf accepted it, immediately looking at his reflection. He turned his head to the side, then to the other. “See? Not.. too bad..” said Glorfindel hopefully.

“Actually..” Erestor ran his fingers back through his cropped locks, shaking his head to settle them again. “It seems to suit me.”

Glorfindel, feeling relieved now, snuggled his way into Erestor’s lap. “You know,” mused Glorfindel. “This is the first time I can ever recall looking more feminine than you.”

Erestor tried not to narrow his eyes, but failed. “Are you saying that in past I looked like an elleth?”

“Oh, I’m in trouble,” mumbled Glorfindel. “I don’t think I’ll try getting out of that one. I’ll only end up making the hole deeper.” Glorfindel looked over Erestor carefully in the mirror before whispering, “Do you know who it is you remind me of?” Erestor said nothing. “You look a lot like your father like this. You realize that, don’t you?”

Erestor nodded sadly. “I know. I saw it the last time.”

“You miss him, don’t you?” Glorfindel rested back against Erestor’s chest, reaching up a hand to play with the ends of the dark tresses that curled just slightly.

“I never really knew him,” said Erestor. “Someday... someday I’ll see him again.”