The lorry lurched forward as Erestor sharply flicked the reigns. Once the horses began to clop along the path leading out of Hobbiton, he and Glorfindel both turned and waved to the many Halflings that had come to see them off on their way home. The mallorn sapling they had recalled from their first visit to the happy hobbit home was in full blossom, golden leaves shimmering in the afternoon sun. They called out their farewells to the pleasant folk until their voices no longer carried to the cheerful people of the Shire, and then they settled in their seats for the journey back to Rivendell.
“I do hope things have gone well for Saelbeth during our absence,” remarked Erestor.
Glorfindel took hold of the reigns from Erestor’s hands and focused on the road ahead. “I am sure the house will still be standing whence we return. This is good practice for him; it was a good idea for you to suggest this trip.”
“One day, we won’t return,” Erestor answered sensibly. There was silence for a little while as the realization of this came to them both. Happiness, and yet regret they both felt, but neither mentioned it to the other. After some time Erestor leaned against Glorfindel and his lover put an arm around him and held him close, one hand on the reigns as the sky grew dark. The sounds of the night creatures could be heard in the forest on either side, but the moon shone down and lit their path brightly, as did the stars in the sky.
“Oh! I nearly forgot!” Erestor suddenly sat up abruptly and reached behind the seat into the space at the back of the open carriage to pull out a package wrapped in some brightly colored fabric and tied loosely with golden ribbon. “Now you get to open it!” he said excitedly, holding out the hidden object. For days it had been propped in a corner of the room that they had stayed in at Bag End, tempting the poor golden elf. Upon Erestor’s insistence, he had somehow resisted taking a peek and had all but forgotten it until now.
Grinning, Glorfindel tied off the reigns, knowing the horses could find their way home even after the year spent in the strange land they had been in. He pulled the bow loose before accepting the package into his hands and carefully peeled back the fabric. “Oh... my... word...” Glorfindel let the fabric be drawn away by Erestor, who tucked it into the back along with the ribbon. He experimentally brushed his thumb across the strings and tears came to his eyes. “What a sweet sound,” he whispered. “This is beautiful.” He turned the lute to appraise the scrolling patterns that had been burned into the wood along the edges.
“Look here at this,” said Erestor, a thrill in his voice. He lifted the instrument from Glorfindel’s hands and displayed the back to him. “An eagle and a dove.”
“Chasing each other,” he said with a smile, running his fingers over the work. “Who made this?”
“Well, the hobbits, silly.”
“I meant, which one?” he chuckled, sliding his hand over the smooth surface that displayed the two birds in flight, a pattern of feathers etched around the circle they created.
“Many of them, I believe seven in all. I told them I would write a letter telling them how much you liked it and that we would return so that they could hear you play. But, I have to admit, I am a little greedy,” smirked Erestor. “I wanted the first song to myself.”
“Oh, well, I’m not as much of a musician as perhaps I led you to believe,” Glorfindel sheepishly informed his lover. “I know I said I play, but not very well.”
“Please?” Erestor looked at him and did something he rarely did. He pouted and batted his lashes, knowing there was no possible way for Glorfindel to resist the overly adorable gestures. “For me?” he added with a small smile.
With a sigh, Glorfindel positioned the instrument and strummed a few chords. “Must be nice to be so cute,” he quipped as Erestor pulled a pomegranate from a sack of fruit that was on the floor.
“Oh, it is,” answered Erestor, pulling apart the skin of the dark red fruit to reveal the many juicy seeds inside.
Glorfindel strummed a few more times before he stopped and tapped his foot to gain a beat before resuming his playing, a little faster and with a melody now.
“Must be nice to be so cute,
And listen to me as I play my lute,
That was made by hobbits whose feet are hirsute,
Hey, Erestor, why don’t you share your fruit?”
Laughing at the impulsive lyrics, Erestor held up a chunk of pomegranate, and Glorfindel bit into it, carefully keeping the juice from spilling onto the instrument. Instead, it dribbled out of the corner of his mouth and down over Erestor’s fingertips. The dark elf shuddered as he leaned forward and flicked his tongue across Glorfindel’s lips. Glorfindel let out a deep moan and closed his eyes as he lifted the lute and settled it into the back, and the horses pulled instinctively off the road and into a hidden glade for the night.
