Something happened that I did not expect. Today Erestor cried.
Perhaps cry isn’t the right word. A few tears fell from his eyes, but they were wiped away quickly. It was still, unexpected.
We had been packing, what was left of the books in the library, and he turned around with a crate in his arms. I had been stacking the scroll cases so they would not roll across the floor. He said it was done, and I asked what. He said it was done, this was the last one. And I came to him and took the box, and noted the tears streaking his face. As soon as the box was out of his hands, he quickly turned and wiped his cheeks with his sleeve.
When I placed the crate near the rest, a heard him sob. Just a short, muffled noise, but it tore at my heart to hear it. I wanted to go to him, to comfort him, to hold him and perhaps even to kiss him. Not in the ways I have imagined before, for my lust for this unattainable beauty has been laid aside, and now I find I love him deeply, and do not think so much of the things I once did, for if only I could bring a truly happy smile to his face, it would be enough.
“Glorfindel?”
Raising his head, Glorfindel closed his journal, keeping his thumb at the page he had left off, for the ink had yet to dry. He placed the quill upon the table, and receiving a frown from Erestor, moved it to rest in the holder above the jar of golden ink. “Can I be of service?”
“The meal is ready.”
Glorfindel nodded. “I shall join you shortly,” he said. As Erestor turned, Glorfindel opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped himself. Erestor, however, turned back expectantly, and Glorfindel pursed his lips.
“Peppers, stuffed with mushrooms, rice, and tomato. Soup and bread. I can see if there is still something from breakfast-“ offered Erestor, but Glorfindel shook his head.
“I shall join you shortly,” he repeated, and Erestor took his leave. Glorfindel opened his journal again; unconsciously sticking his tongue out as he went through the menu he had been presented with. For some time, Glorfindel had looked forward to being in the house with none others save Erestor. After Elrond sailed, few remained in the house, and after the departure of Elladan and Elrohir, only Glorfindel remained with Erestor as the former advisor completed tasks he still needed to finish before journeying to Valinor. The pair had also made vows to Elrond and Celeborn regarding Arwen Undomiel, and did not intend to leave until the vows were fulfilled. In Glorfindel’s mind, he could pretend they were the two great lords of a hidden elven realm, save for the fact they had to do their own laundry, clean their own messes, and make their own meals.
And it was exactly that which he had neglected to think about ahead of time. When the twins and a handful of others still remained, a good-sized meal was prepared twice a day at least, with the most wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Now, they took turns making supper, and the rest of the meals consisted of things easy enough to cook – toast, sliced potatoes, corn muffins, and the like. There was one very obvious omission to all of their meals.
Erestor did not eat meat. Eggs, cheese, and butter were a few of the exceptions he made to his diet when Glorfindel had first complained that he was not a rabbit. The main rule had held, and as neither would separate from the other now that they were the last two left in Imladris. The only treat Glorfindel had received was when a few of Arwen’s children had come to call. Eldarion and Elodien hunted twice, first bringing back a boar, and then later, ducks and quail. Seven years now it had been, and Glorfindel would have by now gone fishing in the stream that ran in front of the house, if it weren’t for the fact that he had caught Erestor talking to the fish on more than one occasion.
There was another reason Glorfindel did not hurry to get to the kitchen. He could survive the absence of meat in his diet, if only what remained would have been a little less bland. For all his perfection, Erestor was a terrible cook. Often Glorfindel would offer to make meals even if it was not his rotation for it. Erestor’s cooking was edible, but far from delicious, but Glorfindel had not dare make mention of it, even when Erestor once commented that the salt reserves seemed quite low despite the lack of those residing in the last homely house.
Retrieving a bottle of wine before entering the kitchen, he pulled one of the strongest from the cellar, not caring whether it complimented peppers and mushrooms or not. Erestor would have water, Erestor always had water. Wine was rare for him to consume, for the dark elf was an advocate of moderation, and did not see why one would drown the flavor of food with wine.
“If only you could cook,” mumbled Glorfindel to himself as he crossed the hall. Finding the kitchen empty, he followed the breeze that came in from the open doors to the lawn and a table set outside, with food upon it. Erestor was not at the table, rather, he was perched on a railing and faced the west. The sun was readying to set, and gold, red, and violet streaked the sky. “I brought the wine,” said Glorfindel setting the bottle on the table. Erestor nodded, but continued to look at the painted sky.
Removing the cork, Glorfindel sniffed the wine, nodding to himself that it would more than cover the taste of dinner. He thought first to take a glass, but noted it was wasteful if he was the only one drinking, and walked to his companion, testing the wine. Indeed, it was strong, and perhaps a little bitter, but he drank once again when he reached Erestor.
“Where is it from?” questioned the dark elf, tilting up his head to observe the approaching night.
“Rohan,” managed Glorfindel hoarsely, giving a cough. Truly, it was a drink stronger than he had believed, but he drank again, and said in a strained voice, “It’s good.”
Closing his eyes and inhaling the night air, Erestor licked his lips and said, “Is my cooking really that bad?” He glanced to his left and focused his sideways look on Glorfindel, who smiled and scuffed a foot on the ground.
When the twins left and Imladris had emptied, the remaining pair had not stayed merely because they had made promise not to leave until after Arwen’s final fate was known, for they would have been welcomed gladly in Gondor. They stayed to sort out emotions and their personal relationship.
Unbeknownst to Glorfindel and Erestor, when Elrond and Celebrían had bound themselves some three thousand years earlier, they, too, had formed a bond. It was accidental, and not until recent years had they realized what had happened.
- - -
At the very bottom of the tree, Celebrían was aiding Erestor in using more poofy fabric and some curved branches to create an archway that led up the path to the steps of the Great Mallorn. Erestor cringed each time Celebrían stepped close to the threshold.
“It is bad luck if you accidentally go through it before your parents give consent!” hissed the dark haired advisor as Celebrían affixed a handful of flowers to the top of the portal.
“I’ll just go back through the other way.” Retorted Celebrían, carefully keeping under the boughs of the mellyrn so that she did not step in the path of the rain that still fell.
Erestor shook his head as he looked over his masterpiece once again. Though in reality, it was the act of physical bonding that produced the strong bond between two elves, there was a formal ceremony which was performed by many one year prior. In view of family and friends, an elf would pull his future wife beneath an archway, away from her parents on one side and into his arms on the other. It was done as a lovely addition to an announcement of an engagement and exchange of rings of betrothal, and many said it was at this point that the Valar blessed the union and allowed for the bond to begin to slowly form. Either way, Erestor was a romantic at heart, and thought the idea was a lovely one. He felt honored to have been asked to create the ceremonial object beneath the branches of the Great Mallorn for Elrond, even if his lord’s future bride couldn’t seem to stay out of his way.
His ears picked up on faint movement not far away, and he turned his head in the direction. “Celebrían, they’ve returned earlier than expected! Run up to the tree and call for your parents.”
The elleth hurried away, up the stairs. As Elrond approached with two others, Erestor was engaged in conversation with a young elfling that was to be present for the ceremony, the young one known as Rúmil. He paid some attention to what the elfling was telling him, but the rest was reserved for watching the stairs, and hoping that Celebrían, Celeborn, and Galadriel would not be long.
Coming up the path, Glorfindel showed acknowledgment with an overhead wave. All three of the elves approaching were sopping wet, their high leather boots sloshing through the grass. An unexpected downpour had caught them, yet Erestor and Rúmil remained dry, for the branches of the Great Mallorn extended far and protected those beneath it well.
Elrond was a few paces ahead, flanked by Glorfindel and Haldir. Erestor smirked, thinking that the Lord of Rivendell looked more like he was going off to battle than to speak with the parents of his beloved. What gave away that this was not the case were the leafy garlands that were weaved through their hair, and the nervousness Elrond was trying to conceal with a smile.
“You all look as if you’ve run headfirst into a tree,” remarked Erestor when they stopped just before the gateway, trying to ease the tense mood. Glorfindel caught his attention, crooking a finger at Erestor, who narrowed his eyes and frowned. “What?”
“Come here,” insisted Glorfindel, opening up a small sack that was tied to his belt. From within, he produced a number of strands of ivy leaves. Erestor frowned and shook his head.
“Glorfindel, I can’t. Everything is set up, and it’s bad luck to go through the – Fin!” Erestor gasped as his wrist was grabbed and the rest of him pulled through the archway. He stood in front of Glorfindel indignantly as the vines were quickly woven into his dark hair, ignoring Haldir, who was silently laughing at his situation, and Elrond, whose smile was much less nervous than it had been.
“It is worse luck if all the well-wishers do not have their heads adorned with pretty things,” Glorfindel informed him, nudging Erestor back to Rúmil, whose light golden hair had already been fixed with leaves and flowers.
Erestor crossed his arms, eyes narrowed. “That is not at all true. You made that up.”
“Everything is made up. All languages, words, and letters; all stories, songs, and rhymes,” Glorfindel countered. ‘And even if I did make it up, it makes you look even more magnificent.’
At the time, Erestor thought he must have imagined Glorfindel’s final thoughts, for how could he have heard them, and why would his friend have even thought such a thing? The words, he found out later, were not only real, but in Glorfindel’s mind, they were very, very true.
- - -
“I love you,” tried Glorfindel, pulling Erestor from his reverie. Just as Glorfindel’s thoughts were rarely false, neither were his words. Erestor smiled ruefully, patted Glorfindel on the head, and hopped down from the railing.
“Dinner will get cold,” he replied, sitting down in the chair that would face the sunset. “And bad food is always worse when it is not warm.”
