Something happened that I did not expect. Today Erestor cried.
Perhaps cry is not 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, I 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, 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. Glorfindel had not dared 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. At least, that was what he said. The truth was known to Glorfindel: One glass of wine was never enough for the ex-counselor; more than one was always too many. Liquor brought a strange change to Erestor that made him forget himself, and he had the sense in his later years not to partake.
“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 it in a glass, but noted it was wasteful if he was the only one drinking, and walked to his companion, testing the wine straight from the bottle. 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, “Good vintage.”
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. Erestor had, in their years alone, become as bitter as the wine.
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 Celebrķan 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.
It was not the first time they had bound their souls, either, but marriage is for the living only. Souls torn asunder are fragile things, especially when those who bear them think themselves stronger than they are. Neither had shattered yet, but they had teetered upon the edge for so long. The slightest breeze was bound to send them to ruin; the slightest breeze could very well save them.
Erestor thought back to those days, those blessed days when everything seemed right again. There were wounds yet raw from battles won and friends lost. More than this, though, there was hope. Glorfindel was proof of that; the returned warrior. If he had made it back, back from death and darkness, there was hope for the others as well.
He had dwelled upon this the day of the betrothal of Elrond and Celebrian. It was a joyous affair, and he had aided in the preparations for the event – as did Glorfindel. It seemed, somehow, they always ended up together – like, salt and pepper or flint and steel. They stood on opposite sides of the ceremonial archway, until Glorfindel had pulled him through.
It was only for something silly, ivy or flowers or something for his hair. Erestor still remembered the mix of feelings he had when he had been unceremoniously yanked through the archway; shock, bliss, and an undeniable warmth that seemed to burrow into him and snuggle around his soul.
There was something he had ‘heard’ after Glorfindel’s quip about all languages, words, stories, and songs being made up. Something in his head, spoken in Glorfindel’s voice. It had been a great many years since that had happened.
‘And even if I did make it up, it makes you look even more magnificent.’
Then fainter, hopeful, longingly...
‘I love you.’
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? Glorfindel was with someone at the time; Erestor’s thoughts were once again on finding a wife and starting a family. It had seemed that their paths, though nearly converging, were again at best running parallel.
The words, he found out much 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. He steadied himself for a moment, the words so simple, so soothing, and so hard for him to say in return no matter how much he wanted to. Too many heartaches, too many loves lost, and so many years of confusion. He closed his eyes and sighed.
“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.”
Story Notes:
The original was a stand alone story; I think this revamped version is much more branched from bunniverse, making it harder to be stand-alone. Other bunniverse stories are at Phoenix. This was initially written when TopKat put a rather intriguing plot bunny up for adoption, and I expected I’d have something a week and five pages later. It took nearly a year and thirty pages. A few paragraphs she offered for it were reworked into this story as part of Glorfindel’s journal and were the main inspiration for this piece. Inspiration was also provided in part by the lovely pictures by SayAye, Mei Tripp, conversations with her, and the music of Erasure. Now that it has been reworked, with many thanks to thinks both Marty (BC) and Britt have said, it connects to Unforgettable, and hopefully enhances what used to be what I assumed must be the worst story I wrote because it always acquired the lowest rating of any of my fics. Perhaps this will help bump it up a little. Enjoy!