At once, Glorfindel began to look frantically around the room from his position on the floor. "How could they do that? Leave us here with no water, no food, nothing to heal your wounds?”
“Now Glorfindel,” began Erestor in a tired voice, “keep your head. You need to calm yourself, or else you will go mad. Go to the window.”
He wanted to ask why, but he dared not question Erestor, not after what he had done. “You saved my life,” he said as he stood. “You took the blame, the pain, the shame of my actions- and... and I have done nothing to deserve that from you.”
Erestor reached out a hand to touch the younger elf’s shoulder or the top of his head perhaps, but the rope prevented that. "You think yourself a grown warrior, brave and mature, and while this may be true, you are still just a boy who was forced to grow up much too fast. You are still a young ellon upon whom such a burden should not be laid. Ecthelion has in your years in Gondolin been like a father to you, but what you also have needed is a friend."
“You should not have to live in fear of being beaten or whipped; no one should have done such things to you,” continued Erestor. He paused when Glorfindel bowed his head. “You are upset. That I think of you as a child.”
“No; only disappointed,” he answered.
“If it is of any consolation- I find I like children much better than I like adults.” Erestor shifted his position, finding nothing was very comfortable and his back was stinging. “The window, if you would, please.”
Glorfindel hastily went to the window and opened it. He stood by and looked back to Erestor, awaiting further instructions.
“Do you know how to whistle, Glorfindel?”
“Not very well,” admitted the golden elf.
“I need you not to whistle a song; I need you to call for someone.” Erestor licked his lips and said, “Can you do this?” He gave a short, high-pitched whistle that sounded like a chirp.
“I will try.” Glorfindel leaned his head out of the window, ignoring the happenings in the streets below. He began to mimic the sound that Erestor had been making.
“Up, Glorfindel, to the sky, not to the ground,” called out Erestor.
Glorfindel tried again, and this time he thought he heard the call returned. He was sure of it when a black and yellow bird with a tuft of red feather on the back of his head landed on the window sill. “Erestor, I think it worked.” Glorfindel lowered one hand to the level of the sill, and the woodpecker hopped into his palm.
“Hello, little friend,” greeted Erestor, smiling wearily at the bird. “I am in quite a predicament and Glorfindel is not allowed to aid me. Will you help?”
The little creature ruffled his feathers once and then took off from his perch and landed on Erestor’s outstretched arm, hopping until he reached the elf's hand. He tilted his head to and fro as he examined the rope, and then began to peck at the braided material. Very soon, frayed ends were visible, and the woodpecker worked on with determination.
---
Water streaked down the pane of glass like the tears that fell down Glorfindel’s face- each perfect droplet another reminder. Soon after the little bird had released Erestor from his bonds, a cool rain began to fall. It was a blessed opportunity that Glorfindel would not miss, and he spent the first part of the storm holding bowls and buckets and whatever else he could find out the window to gather water.
Erestor was resting, though hardly comfortable. He had curled himself on the side that was less torn and bloody and laid his head upon his arms. Glorfindel had offered to set up a better spot for him in the corner, using the seat cushions from the chairs in the room, but Erestor declined. "If I get blood on the cushions, I will never hear the end of it," he had told Glorfindel sleepily.
Now, Glorfindel sat beside the window as he listened to Erestor’s deep, uneven breathing. He would look now and again to the ellon on the floor to be sure he was still sleeping, and more importantly, still alive. The wounds he had inflicted had been cleaned with rainwater; it was the best he could manage for the time being.
Night came, and day followed. Erestor awoke sometime around noon, finding Glorfindel sitting on the floor by a window with a low sill, leaning his head upon his hands and looking out over the midday scenes of the city. “How long have I been out?”
The words startled Glorfindel, in that he had not expected to hear anything but the thoughts in his own head for some time. “Barely a day. How... how are you...” With a frown, Glorfindel realized it wasn’t the best question to ask, so he amended his words and instead queried, “Are you hungry?”
“A little,” replied Erestor softly.
Glorfindel stood up and made his way across the room, retrieving a bowl with nuts and dried fruits in it. “Salgant has quite a stash in his desk; I doubt any will be missed,” explained the blond as he sat down in front of Erestor. “There is water, too, if you are thirsty.”
“Thank you.” Erestor struggled to sit up, but hissed and bit back a wince of pain. “Maybe later,” he said quickly, lowering himself back down.
“Here, I can help.” Glorfindel lifted up a slice of dried apple and offered it to Erestor.
“I am not going to be a burden-“
“Eat,” Glorfindel said in a stern, pleading voice.
Erestor nodded and allowed Glorfindel to feed him his lunch without further protest. When he noticed that the aquamarine eyes kept straying to the healing marks on his body, Erestor told him as reassuringly as he could, “You did not do that.”
“Yes, I did,” confirmed Glorfindel solemnly, looking away. “And it was not even the first time. My stupidity has hurt you more times than I care to think about, and yet, it is all I think about sometimes. I have had time to think on your words,” continued Glorfindel despite Erestor’s efforts to interrupt. “You are right – I am a child. Spoiled, and pampered, and allowed to do as I pleased even when it was not what I should be doing. When I next see Gildor, I am going to tell him things must end between us.”
“I never meant it in that way,” Erestor finally managed to say. “I meant, it is more that I feel a need to protect you – and please, do not take that the wrong way, either.”
“I know what you mean,” Glorfindel said with a sad smile. “That is why I must do this. He is a dangerous distraction to me, and I would rather send him away than have further harm come to you.”
---
As Erestor healed, the pair became bored. There was a limit to the number of topics they could find to talk about, and they both found themselves in a melancholy mood. That changed when Erestor went to his area of the council room and brought back paper, quills, and ink.
“You want me to write poetry? I can not rhyme a thing!” protested Glorfindel.
“Each of us has their own rhythm. Please, try it for me. Just once, and if you truly despise it, I will not make you do it again.” Erestor held out the writing implements once more, and Glorfindel took them with a sigh.
“It will be terrible,” he warned Erestor as the scribe grinned and found a comfortable spot on one of the steps to do his own writing. It was the eve of their third day of captivity, and they had each begun to privately wonder if they had been forgotten by the rest of the city. There was food and water enough for a few days more, so if all else failed, someone would find them when the weekly meeting occurred once more.
Erestor dipped the tip of his quill into the ink and tested the flow on the page. “I will be the judge of that.”
After a few hours of scribbling and scratching, Glorfindel finally called out, “Are we done yet?”
“If you like.” Erestor gathered his things and brought them back to where Glorfindel was as the warrior mumbled something about liking very much not doing this at all. “What do you have?”
“Uh...” Glorfindel, suddenly shy, moved the papers so that Erestor could not see what was written upon them. His eyes wandered over a few lines that he wrote about a beautiful elf who reminded him of the starlit night and shuffled that page to the back. “Ah... what did you write?”
“After you,” insisted Erestor. “Come now, I am sure it is not as bad as you think it is.”
Glorfindel cleared his throat and looked at the next page. It was safe, so he read, “There is something sacred about silence, for it is what was here before anything else, and will exist long after. It mingles with sound and without it such beauty would be only noise.” When he looked up and saw no emotion on Erestor’s face, he sighed and began to crumble up the sheets. “This is stupid.”
“No!” Erestor fought to free the paper before it was ruined. “It is not stupid. It is... quite profound, actually.” He smoothed out the stack, and to Glorfindel’s relief, did not see the page that was hidden from him. “It makes mine seem rather dull.”
“What do you have?” prodded Glorfindel, trying to peer over to see.
Erestor shrugged and read:
Poetry delights him
The Great King who sits on high
Mightiest of the Aratar
Though compassion is his style
The wind and weather are Manwe’s passion
And Varda is his love
He thinks evil can be overcome
That forgiveness is enough
Ai, Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
The Star Queen, up above
Silivren penna miriel
Sparkling diamonds in the rough
Heroes look into the heavens
Hoping she will hear their silent plea
While Varda’s light gives them courage
“And... then it sort of falls apart,” admitted Erestor, flipped through the rest of what he had. He looked over to Glorfindel for his opinion.
“I like it,” said Glorfindel. He nodded and added, “I wish I had met the Valar like you did.”
“Someday, you will,” Erestor assured him. “You will walk upon the white sands, meet the great horse-lord Orome and tell him you taught his son to ride a horse,” said Erestor, to which Glorfindel smiled, “and then you shall come with me to the forests and we shall dance alongside the Maiar and the Lady Nessa, for you remind me of my aunt, and she will take a liking to you I am sure.”
---
“Can I... ask you a personal question?”
“Of course,” answered Erestor almost immediately.
Day four had come and gone, and even with the windows open the council room was humid and deemed much too warm for resting with clothes on. Each of them had created their own nest and was staring at the vaulted ceiling and the designs painted upon it. Glorfindel sat up and stretched his arms above his head, wishing that a breeze would come through the open windows, but none came. “Why... is... your...” The younger elf blushed, finding that the words were easier to say in his head than out loud.
“Why is my what what?” Erestor snickered at the words he had just said. “Oh, this must be one of those really personal ones,” he laughed.
With a sigh, Glorfindel began again. “Why is your... thing different?”
Erestor was laughing even harder now. “So, not only is it a question, but a riddle as well! Just what ‘thing’ are you referring to, my friend?”
“Oh, balrogs' wings, you know what I am talking about.”
Erestor at once became very quiet. “Balrogs are not a thing to joke about, or call upon without cause.”
“I- sorry, I did not mean-“
“No, no, I am sorry,” apologized Erestor at once. “There it is; me treating you as I would a child again. I did not mean it that way. I- have you ever seen a balrog?”
“No,” answered Glorfindel quite uneasily. “Have you?”
“Yes. And I have seen what they were before they were balrogs.” Erestor sat up as well, his knees bent as he rested his arms on them. “They are horrendous. They are your worst nightmare made real and a thousand times worse. They know what you fear; they can get into your mind. And they enjoy death; they enjoy the killing. The darkness, the shadows; the fire and the flames. But for me what is worse than all of this is that I knew them all once, as spirits of light and goodness. They were among the ones who greeted my kin and I upon Valinor’s shores so long ago. They were the ones to guide us; the ones to offer us their knowledge and their love. To see them turned to such wicked creatures sickens me.”
Glorfindel sat in silence for a little while. “No more balrogs,” he promised.
“Sorry... you had a question you wanted to ask me,” Erestor said, abruptly changing the subject back.
“Oh, nothing important.” Glorfindel shook his head and settled back down to rest.
The sounds from outside of hooting owls and an occasional howl of a wolf were the only thing Glorfindel heard until Erestor started to speak again. “By my ‘thing’,” he said ruefully, “Am I to assume you are referring to my penis?”
“Uhm...” Glorfindel turned beat red, but in the dim light, Erestor would not see this. “Maybe?”
“It was not practice to circumcise newborn ellin until the first was born in Valinor. You can thank Finwë for your lack of a foreskin.”
“Uh... why is that?” questioned Glorfindel, sitting back up again. He found Erestor, still sitting up, staring at the wall.
Glancing over at Glorfindel for a moment, Erestor said, “When Feanor was born, his mother more or less abandoned him. Finwë was left to care for his son by himself. He found it was a daunting task to do all that he was expected, and to ease this burden somewhat, he decided that removing his son’s foreskin would prevent having to worry about meticulously cleaning up after him – this after he had heard all of the ellith relating horrible stories of what can happen if baby ellin are not kept clean. The worst of the tales tells how it will fall off completely – obvious exaggeration, but it scared Finwë nonetheless. Consequently, his idea worked so well, everyone else circumcised their newborn ellin to prevent the same sort of thing.”
“Is it going to matter that I do not have one?” asked Glorfindel.
“No,” Erestor said carefully, “but I have been told by others, there are good and bad things about it. You would not last half as long as you do when you are with Gildor if you still had one, however, despite the pleasure lasting longer, it is not as intense as if you still had your foreskin. Now, these are just things others have told me; you either have one or you do not, and there is no way to know how things are both ways. At least, none of us who still have ours are willing to try such an experiment.”
“And, understandably so,” agreed Glorfindel. “Well, at least that explains these scars I have,” he said.
“Scars? What scars?” questioned Erestor with alarm.
Glorfindel immediately drew his legs tight together. “Just... nevermind. Just a few scars that I have is all. Nana would never tell me where they were from and I never would have asked Adar.” Glorfindel curled up on his side, with his back to Erestor. “Thank you for answering my question,” he said before offering his goodnights.
If there was ever a curious elf, it would have to be Erestor. He read every book he could find and constantly asked ‘why’ through his childhood – a childhood that he himself did not realize he was still in, for as one whose spirit was part Vala, he would never quite be considered an adult in Eru’s eyes. So he waited until he was certain that Glorfindel was in reverie before creeping around the room and lifting the curtain up from the nearest window to shed moonlight into the room.
He stood for sometime by the window, looking at the ellon resting on the floor. Glorfindel was a modest elf, so Erestor had never chanced to see the scars before. Something told him they were not exclusively due to a badly performed circumcision, but when his imagination began to fill his head with horrible imagery, he let the curtain down with a shiver and returned to his own spot for the night.
