The apartment was dark when Glorfindel and Erestor arrived. Neither had spoken to the other on the long walk home. The former fumbled to light a few candles, only to find that Tauniel and Aranel had made themselves quite comfortable on the couch in their absence. “You have a room for that,” scolded Glorfindel as they hastily scrambled to cover each other with the throw that was on the back of the sofa. Erestor’s gaze lingered on them even after they had managed to hide most of their nudity.
“Sorry!” Aranel huddled closer to Tauniel and yanked the blanket over her bare legs. “We thought you would stay and go off to the party.”
Glorfindel practically threw himself down into a chair, much like a small elfling in the midst of a tantrum while Erestor shut and locked the door. He took up a position between the chair and the couch, waiting for Glorfindel to say something in explanation to the ladies. When nothing was said, Erestor sighed. “After the performance tonight—“
“Erestor was with another elleth,” blurted out Glorfindel. “I saw it with my own two—“
“If you would let me explain—“
“Who cares?” Tauniel was stroking the hair on Aranel’s head to calm her down. “No one ever said he had to stay celibate.”
“If I could explain,” shouted Erestor, and the boom of his deep voice made all three of them cower back slightly. He gave Glorfindel the sort of long, hard look that had been given to him earlier and proceeded to speak. “I would like to preface this by saying I have been very, very open about all aspects of my life with all three of you, except those items which I foresaw no need for you to know or that I had sworn to others not to speak of. This is one of the latter.”
He took himself to the bar, poured a glass of wine, but took only a sip as he returned. “King Fingon’s decrees have affected a fair number of our folk. We have seen increases in all of the armies because of his initiatives. Many artisans and laborers have been uprooted from trades they have perfected, in some cases, for centuries, and have been forced to callous their hands with blades and bows. The lady Glorfindel saw me with tonight is the wife of one such ellon.”
“And I thought the fact you were cheating was bad enough,” mumbled Glorfindel. “With a married elleth, no less.”
“But who is his cheating on?” wondered Aranel. “Certainly not me. I have no quarrel if he chooses to spend time with another lady.”
“Ai! You are certainly dense at times!” exclaimed Tauniel. “You might think it matters not, but who knows the character of this girl, and what if her husband were to find out? If she talks, it could mean all of our necks!”
“Hold, now,” pleaded Erestor half-heartedly. “Your tales rival those of the court loremaster! Hear me out, children,” he said, quite sternly, reminding them without doubt of the vast difference in their ages to his. “The lady is the wife of a soldier in my training, in Rog’s army. She is not my lover,” he said rather pointedly, as if this might help to cease the discussion.
“She and her husband have two adorable children at home, twin daughters of only four years. Imagine their shock when he was told he was expected to leave his employment as a jeweler and take a job paying barely a quarter of his previous wages. They were forced to dismiss the nanny and their maid, and to give up their horses to his brother, for they could not afford to feed them and their children. He barely made it into Rog’s latest group of trainees, for it is more and more difficult than it used to be to be accepted.”
Erestor took a longer drink from the goblet and said, “He turned out to be terrible. I doubt I was even so bad. The first day Rog saw him, he looked him up and down, broke his bow in half and told him to go home.” Wearily, Erestor rubbed his eyes. “My sleepless nights as of late have been spent at his home, sparring with him in his yard. Short of working a miracle, I accomplished in two weeks, especially in these last few days, what normally takes months of training. His wife came to thank me tonight; he went to see Rog this afternoon and was restored into the current group of trainees, so all is well in their small world now, and all appears to be rotten in mine.”
“I apologize, Erestor,” said Glorfindel numbly. “I thought I knew what I was seeing.”
“Ask next time, Glorfindel. Just ask me! Have I not earned enough of your trust for at least that much?” Erestor’s expression masked his emotion, but his voice belied the hurt he felt. Glorfindel dropped his head in shame. “Your imagination turned a kind act into a scandalous affair. I hope you will have enough sense in the future not to jump to conclusions.”
Glorfindel nodded his head, daring not to look up until Erestor came over and crouched down in front of his chair in order to make eye contact. “Sorry,” offered Glorfindel again.
“Just... trust me. And ask next time. And stop pouting,” he added. “Now, I am going to go to the party that Salgant is throwing, if it is not too late. I think, as producer, you should really come along.”
“Yes, please do take him with you,” insisted Aranel.
“Indeed,” agreed Tauniel, giggling slightly. “She and I still need to make it through the second act!”
---
Again the walk was silent, but this time there was much less animosity in the looks that were exchanged. They had to meander through the lesser market to get to Salgant’s house. The empty stalls and darkened tents created an eerie sight. A foraging mouse dashed across their path; a tattered old black cat gave chase. In the distance, a wolf howled, and soon after, they heard the party before they saw it.
The participants had spilled out into the front lawn and back gardens, and some were even making merry on the balconies and sitting on the roof. The pair managed to squeeze their way into the grand foyer, where Salgant played harp at the center beneath a crystal chandelier. Wine was plentiful, and Duilin was masterfully playing host to the vast amount of guests mingling with one another.
Duilin spotted Erestor almost immediately (for hiding when you stand inches above most other elves is never a feat accomplished without slouching, and Erestor never slouches), and waved to Glorfindel moments later. After excusing himself from the actress he was talking to, Duilin arrived between them, an arm around the shoulder of each. “I had hoped you might change your minds. Let me show you to the party,” he offered as he guided them up a curving staircase, which soon gave them a bird’s-eye-view of the chandelier and Salgant beneath it.
“I thought this was the party,” said Glorfindel when they reached the landing, two stories higher than the ground level.
“This way,” said Duilin quietly as they made their way through the sea of guests on the upper floor. They took another flight of stairs up and reached the fifth or sixth level by Glorfindel’s accounting before another corridor and another long stairway brought them into one of the towers of the house. “We always have two parties,” he explained now that there was no one else around to hear them. “One for the cast and their families and friends, and one for our leads and persons we would want joining us in a more intimate setting.”
The doors were pushed open to reveal a small, cozy space. There was a long, padded bench along one wall with a few tables positioned here and there and some chairs, round tables near to the parallel wall with chairs as well, and a wall of tall windows between them with thickly padded comfortable chairs and small tables with lanterns grouped along that side. The middle area was not very wide, and contained a long, high table laden with wine and bowls of bite-sized pieces of fruit and nuts. “I will return as soon as I track down the caterer and drag Salgant away from his harp,” promised Duilin as he deposited them in the room and then closed the doors as he left.
Nearly every seat was taken, and there were even a few ellon standing or leaning against walls. The room was abuzz about the play, as well as life in general. Two of the windows had been opened to allow a breeze and so that the music on the lawn below played by two violinists and a harper would travel up into this sanctuary. Erestor nodded to a small part of the bench and a lady who was motioning them over. Erestor squeezed onto the bench, while Glorfindel managed to find a nearby chair that was unoccupied.
“Salgant said you were not going to make it,” said the lady who had beckoned them to her table. “I am ever so glad you changed your mind.” She was fluttering a wispy feathered fan in order to give herself a bit of extra breeze in the somewhat stuffy room.
Erestor grinned and rolled up his sleeves. “I just had to stop home and see to the missus. Have we missed much?”
“Hardly; only Alaguil making a fool of himself for the fun of us all.” The lady swatted Erestor with her fan and said, “How rude you are, sir, not to introduce me to your handsome friend.”
“Your pardon, sincerely,” begged Erestor playfully. “May I introduce Lord Glorfindel, House of the Golden Flower. Glorfindel, my dear friend and starlet of the show, the Lady Sidheliel.”
“Chrarming to meet you,” said the lady, offering her hand to Glorfindel. It was gloved in pale silk to match her dress, and Glorfindel took hold delicately and bowed his head to kiss the back of her hand. “So, Erestor, darling,” she said, her attention right back on her co-star, “did you hear the idea that Magros had for the next play?”
“I cannot say I have, exactly. I do know he had spoken to Eilien about going over some dialogue he was writing,” admitted Erestor.
Sidheliel smiled demurely, her fan aflutter again. “Darling, it is just the most interesting, innovative idea I have ever heard. A single first act, a single second act, and multiple third acts. Magros has concocted a romantic mystery that can end any one of a dozen ways. Either we change the ending every few weeks, or, we learn multiple endings and surprise the audience each time.”
“That is a brilliant idea,” agreed Erestor. “Do you know if it would be done for the next season?”
“I swear, he told me it was already finished.” Sidheliel scanned the room. “Ah, there he is, sitting there with Ithildir and Aegion. Let us do a bit of polite eavesdropping, darling,” she suggested, offering her arm in a prompt to get Erestor to offer her his, which he did. As Glorfindel began to stand up in an effort to follow them, the lady said, “We shall return as soon as we are able. Thank you ever so for staying and watching the table for us.”
Not one to go where he was uninvited, Glorfindel nodded as the pair made their way across the room to join in the camaraderie of their fellow cast members. He looked to his left, and found the closest three with their backs to him, deeply in humorous conversation. To his right, a couple was sitting at the next table. They had extinguished the candle that would have been between them and were leaned in close, their foreheads touching as they whispered endearments to one another. When he caught himself staring too long, Glorfindel scanned the room briefly before changing to sit at the bench. At least he could people-watch from the new vantage point, even if he could not join.
Some shifting began to occur when Duilin returned, for it seemed the way to drag Salgant up to join them was to drag the harp, or a harp of some sort at least, up with him. As the instrument was positioned near the doorway, those who were displaced scrambled to find other seats. Glorfindel found himself wedged tighter on the bench as others squished onto it, and the chair that he had sat on when he and Erestor first arrived was taken up by a lithe young ellon with a cheerfully contagious shy smile. “Good evening. May I sit here?” he asked, hovering just above the seat. Glorfindel motioned that he should take the spot, and the elf sat. “Thank you. I seem to have lost my chair to a harp. Then again, to tell the truth, I really should not be here in the first place,” he added, and bit his lip, perhaps thinking he had said too much.
“If you can keep a secret, I very much doubt I should be here, either,” admitted Glorfindel. “Except from a financial standpoint, I had very little to do with this production. I cannot even tell the principles from the understudies.”
“Oh! So this is my chance to make you think I really AM supposed to be here!” The youthful ellon smiled and held out his hand. “Sadly, I am one of the humble understudies, and a grateful member of the cast all the same. Faelion, at your service, m’lord.”
“And why would you be at my service?” asked Glorfindel amusedly before shaking hands with the younger elf.
Faelion shrugged. “Why not? You are the patron, after all.”
“I suppose.” Glorfindel rubbed his chin. “I recall seeing you before, now that I think of it, but I cannot think where.”
“It was when your friend was fulfilling his training duties,” explained Faelion. “I am Lord Erestor’s understudy.”
“Ah, yes, that is where it was,” nodded Glorfindel. “Perhaps in the next production you will earn a spot in the regular cast.”
“Technically, I am in the regular cast,” said Faelion. He laughed and shook his head. “I only the one line, though. ‘Sir, your carriage awaits’.” Faelion laughed again. “It would be nice to have a name on the program instead of ‘Footman Number Two’, but, I take what I can get.”
“Was that all they had you do for this play?” Glorfindel asked.
Faelion shook his head swiftly, which caused his light brown hair to appear to disagree with the statement as well. “I was part of the group of dancers. Originally I had no lines, but Footman Number One was unable to change costumes in enough time between the scenes, so they invented my part after hearing me speak through Lord Erestor’s part enough times. I have been fortunate; this was my first play.”
“Oh, well then, you have the potential to eventually star in productions in the future.” Glorfindel sat back as far as the bench allowed and appraised the young ellon’s appearance. “You have that sort of ‘special’ look about you... that ‘star-quality’ everyone seems to be after.” It was true, even among a race who was primarily known for their fairness. “You should have no trouble with your voice, and if you keep up the confidence, your nerves should not bother you.”
The contagious, shy smile returned. “That was why I did not earn a part right away. I froze up at my audition. I seem to be alright when I am with a group, but by myself, the stage frightens me. Although, I will have some time to overcome that later. I doubt you will see me on stage for the next few years.”
“Why not?” questioned Glorfindel.
“The edicts,” said Faelion with a sigh. “My uncle, who is also my guardian, has insisted that I train now while I am young. That means missing at least the next two audition calls.”
Glorfindel frowned. “Why not do both?”
“Uncle wants me to concentrate on the army first. He believes it is best to dedicate yourself to one thing at a time and do one task very well instead of completing a number of tasks and not doing a very good job with any of them.”
Their conversation was cut off abruptly when Salgant announced that the tables were being removed to give everyone a little more elbow room. There was a idle threat of being dismissed if mingling did not occur, and after the tables were taken away, Duilin engaged the group in a series of parlor games that kept everyone in stitches for the duration of the party.
By the time Erestor and Glorfindel were making their way home, the vast majority of the city was either fast asleep or just beginning to wake in anticipation of pre-dawn business activities. Bakers were sleepily lighting their hearths and a few early risers were already setting up their goods in the market as Glorfindel ushered Erestor through. Erestor had not had very much to drink, but the combination of alcohol with lack of rest was a dangerous one with a late matinee planned for the following day.
Once they made the climb up the tower, it did not take long before Erestor was dozing in bed. Glorfindel took a little longer to make it to the bedroom. He paused in the sitting room to straighten the pillows and throws on the couch, and to take the used glasses from the bar to the kitchen to be washed in the morning. Sleep, once he settled into bed, eluded him. Boredom set in after staring for several minutes at the ceiling, and several more at the wall.
Glorfindel carefully climbed out of the bed and walked to the window. He pushed the curtain aside slightly and looked up at the stars that twinkled above. A sudden movement a little lower caught his eye, and he saw from some ways off, a dim light in Salgant’s bedroom. The harper’s house was built on a hill, bringing the windows of the sixth floor in alignment with almost the top of the high tower Glorfindel lived in.
Practically the entire room was visible, from the thick, high mattress to the grand harp in the corner with pearl and ebony inlay. Salgant was reclining on the bed, either talking to himself or to someone not in the room but close by. When Duilin entered the room, he answered whatever it was that was Salgant had asked as he toweled off his hair. Something was mumbled back, and Duilin laughed and threw his towel at Salgant, hitting him on the knee.
Glorfindel smiled and let go of the curtain, leaving it to drop back into place. Oddly enough, Salgant and Duilin made a fairly cute couple. He turned, frowned, and sighed. It was more than he could say for himself, he thought as he watched Erestor sleep peacefully for a while.
Still too awake, Glorfindel peeked through the break between the curtains. The view he had into Salgant’s house was changed. The door of the room had been closed, and Duilin was knelt on the bed beside Salgant, one hand disappeared between the musician’s legs while the other balanced the archer above his lover as they kissed slowly.
Biting his lip, Glorfindel felt his face flush as Duilin scooted down and bowed his head. Salgant was talking to him, his eyes closed and hips thrusting upwards gently. On his back, Salgant did not look quite so plump as he normally did. It was Duilin, whoever, who caught Glorfindel’s eye. The archer had pulled back his hair, twisting it up in a knot to keep it out of the way. It also served to display rather interesting art that appeared to be painted directly onto his body. As Duilin rose up onto his knees in order to stretch to reach a jar on a nearby shelf, the sight of his perfectly toned muscles practically made Glorfindel salivate.
He knew he should look away, but there was an extreme curiosity that took hold of Glorfindel. Pleasures of the oral sort were nothing new, but he had never partaken in... the other, as he thought of it. It certainly seemed crude to call it what it really was, at least in Glorfindel’s mind.
On the other hand, to say that Salgant and Duilin were fucking looked to be appropriate. Duilin had massaged Salgant with oil before discarding the jar over his shoulder. He swung one taut, muscled limb over Salgant and began to roll his hips, undulating to some private, familiar rhythm as Salgant squeezed his thighs. Duilin arched his back as he raised himself into an odd position. Salgant’s hands slid up and gripped his pelvis firmly. There was a moment’s hesitation before Salgant pulled Duilin back down, and Glorfindel swallowed hard as Salgant’s entire length was enveloped.
It was surreal for Glorfindel as he continued to watch the show (which, he admitted, was far more entertaining than whatever Salgant and Duilin might have viewed looking into his window). The experience raised more questions than it answered. Did everyone look that funny when they were fucking? Duilin seemed to have his mouth hanging open almost the entire time. Did he ever drool on Salgant accidentally? Then, there was the stamina. The few times Gildor had brought him to climax with his mouth, and the single secret encounter he had had with Erestor had all been short, yet, Salgant pounded away for over an hour. And was it pounding if you were on the bottom? It certainly seemed as if Duilin was letting Salgant do most of the work, but it was a little hard to tell at this distance without his glasses. And why did Duilin have metal rings pierced through his skin? At first, Glorfindel thought he had imagined that one, but it soon became one of Salgant favorite things to grab. Every time it looked like Duilin was getting tired, Salgant would reach up and twist the rings embedded in Duilin’s small nipples. Watching that made Glorfindel cringe and shiver with delight simultaneously each time.
It appeared that they reached their climax at the same time, although Glorfindel could not be entirely sure. There was a tender moment when Duilin collapsed on top of Salgant and they rubbed their noses together. Salgant rubbed Duilin’s back and whispered something to him, and the smile returned to Glorfindel’s face. “Never in a age would anyone imagine those fellows together,” he mumbled to himself. “But then, love is a strange and unpredictable master.” Unintentionally, he glanced over his shoulder at Erestor, still asleep in bed.
By the time he looked back, Duilin was playfully teasing Salgant, while Salgant handed the previously discarded towel to his lover. There were some directions giving and a shooing motion made. Duilin slung the towel over his shoulder, stuck out his tongue, and waggled his butt at Salgant before leaving the room. The rotund elf lord on the bed threw back his head, and though Glorfindel heard nothing, Salgant was evidently laughing loud and hard.
‘If you cannot sleep, maybe you should come over and have a drink with us.’
Glorfindel stared through the slit in the curtains in wide-eyed disbelief. Certainly, he was tired and imagining things.
‘If we had wanted privacy, we would have shut the curtains. Salgant made a bet that you would not watch the entire time if we did not draw them. I won. So, come have a drink so that I have someone to gloat to.’
With a shake of his head to clear it, Glorfindel scanned the room. It still appeared that only Salgant was there, but it seemed as if it was Duilin who was farspeaking to Glorfindel. The ellon in question entered back into the room, laughing. Then he pointed at the windows, and past the panes of glass, across the market and courtyard, right through the slits in the curtains, directly at Glorfindel.
‘Come on, you. Bring yourself over here,’ said the impatient whisper in Glorfindel’s mind. To accentuate the point, Duilin made a beckoning motion with his hand before walking to the curtains and dramatically pulling them shut. ‘End Act One. If you want Act Two, you have to come here. We will expect you to arrive after this brief intermission.’
Author's Chapter Notes:
This unexpected chapter is due to a challenge issued by sonjia on Erestor Lovers