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“You are flat again.” Erestor’s voice was slow and relaxed, meaning he informed Faelion of this three notes later.

“I have smaller hands than you do,” complained the young elf.

“No excuse on a stringed instrument... just slide your hand...” If there was more to be added, it was lost in the soft groan of pleasure.

“Easy for you to say. You were playing way before I was even born. Before my parents were born, in fact!”

The next bit was something mumbled about playing scales and more practice. Faelion attempted to overpower the advice by playing louder instead of better. Duilin shot Faelion a particularly nasty look, and the music stopped. It was at that moment that Glorfindel was noticed at the doorway. “Good evening! Come in, have a seat!” Duilin nodded toward the few empty chairs in the room. His hands were busy massaging Erestor’s shoulders, neck, and head.

Erestor, who was sitting on the floor at Duilin’s feet, managed to open his eyes enough to confirm the fact that Glorfindel was there. “Glad to see you made it,” he mumbled as Duilin dug his fingers into his shoulder blades. ''Ooooh...mmmm. Welcome to your party. Salgant and the others shall be along shortly."

''Others. How many others? Are there many yet to arrive?" Glorfindel nervously asked, unwilling to sit down yet. Faelion started another song, but the first few notes were screechy and made the others cringe. Glorfindel needed only give him a pleading look, and the notes faded out.

As Faelion set the delicate instrument down upon a cloth spread over a table, Erestor rolled his shoulders back and slid down a little further. He leaned comfortably against Duilin’s legs. ''Just a few. In fact, we are half here already."

Duilin slowly lifted his hands away from his work and left them to hover above Erestor’s shoulders as he stared unseeing into the distance. Moments later, he blinked and stood up. ''I am required in the kitchen. The others are on their way up now." He lifted a leg around Erestor and asked Glorfindel in passing, ''Do you want to take the seat I was in? It has the best view of the new tapestry on the east wall."

Glorfindd shrugged noncommittally.

''If you do not, I will," warned Faelion. ''Maybe Erestor and I could practice kissing from a different angle that way.”

“No more kissing,” muttered Erestor sleepily. “I think my bottom lip is still numb from you biting it.”

Faelion grinned wickedly. “Then I should come and kiss it to make it feel better.”

Duilin smiled as the gentle and harmless banter continued, but in passing gave Glorfindel a pinch on the arm. ''Go sit down,” he whispered, but the look in his eyes told Glorfindel it was an order and not a request. “It has the –best- view. Besides...” He glanced over to be sure that neither Faelion nor Erestor was paying attention. “Erestor has a terrible kink in his neck that needs to be worked out or he will need to go home. Do you want that to happen?” Duilin gave Glorfindel a nudge before leaving the room.

“And also,” said Erestor as Glorfindel approached the pair of actors, “practicing kissing does not require either party to grab the ass of the other party.”

“I know.”

“Explanation?”

“I wanted to.” Faelion started to smile again upon hearing the grumbly sigh. “Now, if ever I should have need for the knowledge, I can let others know that ancient Elves do indeed have rear ends as firm as their younger counterparts.”

“Never do it again,” warned Erestor. He was gently pushed away from the chair as Glorfindel sat down behind him. “Oh, should I move?” asked Erestor as he started to stand.

“No.” Glorfindel placed his hands on Erestor’s shoulders and eased him back down again. Before Erestor was even sitting again, he was kneeding the sore and tensed muscles. He rolled his knuckles over the upper portion of Erestor’s spine, and the elder Elf groaned his appreciation with hooded eyes.

When Erestor’s head bent down toward his lap, Glorfindel leaned forward and dug his fingers in deeper. For a moment, he was easily able to forget about all else and concentrated his imagination on the being somewhere that was not where he was; somewhere that was not Gondolin. Had he and Erestor met in Un-gondolin, there was a chance that there would have been another choice for them. He was so easily able to pretend that there were elsewhere, in a house they two lived in together, without wives and without worries. There would have been no need for Erestor to ‘practice’ kissing anyone – Glorfindel would have made sure Erestor knew just how to kiss another male Elf.

Few things about the race of Men were known to Glorfindel; he did know that they were at times more forward than the Elven race. It had to do with time, or, lack thereof. Finding himself in a similar position had changed Glorfindel’s own perception and outlook. He found himself thinking differently and doing differently and saying things differently. Instead of thinking in years or centuries, he thought in terms of minutes and hours.

That very minute, he wished Faelion were not in the room. The fact he had a wife – a pregnant wife – waiting for him at home, and the fact that he lived in a city where even saying he would like to do what he was thinking of doing would get him killed seemed quite insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The first day they had spent with the horses was so long ago, and yet so fresh in Glorfindel’s mind. It was the first time he had felt something when they touched; that same feeling tingled within him as he continued to massage Erestor’s tired muscles.

Across the room, Glorfindel caught sight of Faelion watching them. There was a hint of something like envy in the younger Elf’s eyes. Glorfindel looked back down at Erestor for a moment, but then looked up again and looked questioningly at Faelion.

Faelion shrugged, but then sat up in his chair and pantomimed to Glorfindel – he pointed at him and mouthed ‘you’, pointed to his own head and mouthed ‘thinking’, then made a crude gesture with a fisted hand and two fingers, pointed at Erestor and mouthed ‘him’. He quirked one eyebrow up, and Glorfindel avoided answering by looking away. Erestor’s head was still bowed forward, his eyes closed, so he did not this, nor did he see the next series of gestured words, which made Glorfindel blush.

Laughter came from down the hallway, alerting them to the arrival of the others. Erestor yawned and stretched his arms as Glorfindel lifted his hands away and placed them on the arms of the chair. There was a smile of thanks as Erestor picked himself up from the floor and went to the doorway to help Laiqalasse with the wine.



Everyone entered except for Duilin; according to Salgant, he was still waiting for the desserts to be finished. There were the expected congratulatory statements, followed by a few toasts and suggestions for names for the child, and a sudden round of applause when Glorfindel declined the first feminine name offered by stating Tauniel was most certainly carrying his son.

Ecthelion sat down next to Faelion and began to question the young elf about the play. The two spoke animatedly while Laiqalasse pulled a stool near to Glorfindel and offered to refill his glass of wine. The conversation was mostly one-sided; it turned out that Laiqalasse, though quiet in council, was full of opinions and tales once he got started.

Glorfindel found his gaze wandering more than once toward Erestor, who was perched on the arm of a couch that Mirdirin was lounging on. The two were engaged in conversation with Salgant, but Glorfindel cared very little what they were talking about. He had caught sight of Erestor when Ecthelion first brought him into the room, but he dared not let his attention be focused until the focus was off of him.

Erestor, like the others, had dressed well for the occasion. He had also dressed somewhat casually as well. His shirt of forest green was only halfway buttoned, exposing his dusky flesh whenever he leaned over to scritch the head of one of the cats wandering about the room. A braided mithril band encircled one wrist, and a matching necklace hung around his neck. Instead of nothing at all or occasional simple jewelry he might have adorned his ears with, he had chosen studs and rings with opal accents. His short cropped hair made his ears more visible than they usually were. The striking image was completed by the tight black leggings and soft suede boots of the same color.

Something fluttered in Glorfindel’s stomach as he imagined being the one to strip the finery from his friend – he would leave the jewelry, perhaps. He let out an uncaught sigh, and Laiqalasse frowned apologetically. “I am so sorry. I did not mean to bore you with my anecdotes.”

“No, no...” Glorfindel cleared his throat and said quickly, “I am very tired, and I meant no disrespect. Just tired; that is all.” Silently, he thanked whichever powers might be listening that he no longer shared a bed with Erestor. It was also very good that they were not often alone, for his thoughts were more and more turning toward the unacceptable things he might otherwise have said and done.


Duilin entered very soon with a large tray of tiny decorated cheesecakes. He was shirtless and shoeless, and would have made Salgant drool in lesser company. ''Look what I found!" he exclaimed as if it was some treasure he had unearthed and not something give to him by the head cook directly. As he turned to set them down, his intricate tiger tattoo was fully displayed to them, with the exception of one front paw that was hidden down beneath his waistband.

''Does your kitty have a name?" asked Mirdirin when Duilin turned back around.

''Depends. Sometimes sweetie, sometimes bitch - depends on his mood,” answered Duilin, with a flick of his head in Salgant’s direction.

“I thought you were always my bitch,” drawled Salgant.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” replied Duilin flippantly. Most of those gathered laughed; Laiqalasse sipped his wine and mumbled something that to Glorfindel sounded like an embarrassed apology to Eru for the comments that were made.

“Well, whatever you call it, I am impressed,” said Mirdirin. “I have seen very, very few examples of skin art. I think it was my mother who told me that was because orcs and other foul creatures will target those they know who have such things. They apparently like to capture and skin those who do, and keep the hides as trophies.”

“That is exactly the reason I have one,” said Duilin. He poured himself a glass of wine and then came to sit at Salgant’s feet. “I dare them to come and get me.”

Laiqalasse turned on the stool so that he could face the majority of the others. “Where I come from, it is quite common for Elves to have tattoos.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Tattoos, both fading and permanent,” he said carefully.

“Oh, right.” Salgant smirked. “I remember that. You ruined my fun that day.”

“I certainly apologize for that,” said Laiqalasse in reference to the summer games when he had successfully determined the reason for Salgant’s unexpected success in the beginning of the boxing match against Erestor.

“Water under the bridge,” said Salgant. “I tend to forgive, after a time.”

Erestor snorted, and looked pointedly at Salgant. “You were wanting me dead at one point.”

“But I still forgave you for that incident.”

“But… you were the one who wanted me dead,” Erestor reminded him.

Salgant shrugged. “I have a temper. It eventually goes away.”

“What he means is, he eventually comes to his senses,” interrupted Duilin.

With arms crossed, Erestor glared down at Duilin. “You were no help to me that night either, from what I recall.”

“You were not the one I was going to be sleeping with that night,” Duilin said. “I make it a point not to upset anyone who might steal my pillows from me.”

Mirdirin tapped Laiqalasse on the shoulder and said, “Pardon my asking, but you said skin art is common among your people. Do you have any such art?”

“I do indeed,” answered Laiqalasse, almost too eagerly. He stood up and began to remove his shirt, and then stopped momentarily to ask Mirdirin, “Did you want to see it?”

“Yes,” replied both Duilin and Salgant. Laiqalasse frowned and looked quite concerned.

“Ignore the old perverts over there,” Ecthelion told him. “The rest of us actually want to see the artwork.”

“So do we,” defended Salgant quickly.

Erestor chuckled and said, “Your idea of artwork might differ from ours.”

Laiqalasse dropped his shirt onto the stool he had been sitting on. Displayed on his right shoulder blade was a circular pattern. A closer look revealed it to be a heraldic symbol, with writing around the outer edges. “The emblem is that of my grandfather’s house, the royal house of Greenwood. The writing, if you cannot read it, is Eru’s Prayer. It is in both Sindarin and Quenya.”

“It is beautiful,” complimented Mirdirin. “I could never endure that sort of thing – and look how intricate it is – all of those shades of blue and green.”

“It is extremely nicely done,” agreed Erestor. Glorfindel merely nodded and took the word of others, too tired to get up or to squint and attempt to read the writing.

“Yes, well, you know how it is. I had a number of ideas of what I wanted to have done, but this was last minute and I think it turned out to be perfect for me. Once a Sedryner, always a Sedryner. I had it done just before I left and wandered here, in fact.” Laiqalasse laughed, a somewhat private joke to himself or something, and then said, “Damn it all, now I want to talk about it! Sorry, it always happens like this. I promise myself not to say a word about religion, something happens, it gets brought up like this, and then I am stuck at an awkward spot and really wish I could share joy for it without looking like a... what is it they say, a fanatic religious demon?”

“No one calls you that,” Ecthelion assured him.

“Not to your face at least,” added Faelion. He attempted to look sorry for the comment when Glorfindel frowned.

Laiqalasse, unusually expectant of such behavior, merely shrugged it off. “It is just the way it is. I am sure Erestor can relate on some level.”

Erestor shifted in his chair, yet remained silent and drank some wine.

“Being a Sedryner, as I am,” added Laiqalasse to the confused looks he was getting from some of the people in the room. He placed his hand upon Erestor’s shoulder and gave it a pat.

It was Salgant who burst out laughing. “If he is a Sedryner, than I am a goat!” Erestor shot him an appropriately dark look.

A wide-eyed stare met Erestor from the other side. “I always assumed—Erestor, you were with us in Doriath. You were living in my grandfather’s home. We were all brought up as Sedryners.”

“And neither your father nor your grandfather ever managed to convert me.” Erestor slid off of his chair and walked to the talk with the wine.

“Erestor!” Laiqalasse followed in pursuit, and managed to trap him where the table me the wall. The rest looked on with amusement. “Erestor, how can you not see the beauty of His ways, and his word? He is magnificent in all He does!”

“Uhhh...” Erestor laughed uneasily and brought the goblet to his lips.

“And so it begins,” sighed Duilin. “We shall spend the rest of the night discussing the errors of our ways and learning how savage and primitive we are.”

“Not all of you,” said Laiqalasse over his shoulder. Erestor used the distraction to escape with a full bottle of wine. He firmly rooted himself between Salgant and a window. Almost everyone glanced toward Glorfindel, but he looked around, just as puzzled as the rest. “Thel, I thought you were going to tell all of your friends about it.”

“I... well… we... uhm...” Ecthelion pursed his lips. “There were a lot of things going on lately, and—“

“He got to you?!” Salgant was dumbstruck. “You... you fell for his whole ‘Eru above all’ thing?”

“I did not fall for anything,” said Ecthelion defensively. “He makes a good point, and if the rest of you would just read his book—“

Before what was destined to be a long discussion could start, Glorfindel stood up and excused himself. “But Glorfindel, this is your party,” argued Faelion.

“I know, and I appreciate it,” said Glorfindel. “However, the time has come for me to rest and I will not be much of a guest snoring in the chair here.”

“Faelion, can you show him to one of the guest rooms?” Salgant asked, but Glorfindel shook his head.

He stood up and went around, shaking hand and gathering final well-wishes. When he got to Erestor, he asked, “Might you do me a favor?”

“Of course.” Erestor was already on his feet.

“I will not be able to climb up the tower; can you see me to the barracks? I do not trust my leg right now, it has been a little sore.” It was a total lie, but Glorfindel did not feel like walking down the street by himself when he could have Erestor with him.

“Of course,” repeated Erestor. He went to retrieve his violin and the case for it.

“I could go with you,” offered Faelion as Salgant paused the departure by insisting some of the cheesecakes must be sent along with Glorfindel. “Then Erestor could stay here.”

“You live here,” Duilin reminded him firmly. “It makes no sense for you to go.” Faelion exchanged a long look with his uncle’s lover, and finally hung his head in defeat.

“I would be a bore to deal with anyhow,” said Glorfindel. “I am tired, a little weak, need support, and I am not wishing for conversation.”

Erestor joined him at that point, fiddle in its case and over his shoulder. “A good match we shall make, then, for I am awake, strong, can lend an hand, and have nothing else witty to say for the evening, except to offer a good night to you all.” They left without saying much else, taking with them upon Salgant’s insistence a goodly amount of cheesecakes and a full bottle of fine wine.
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