Midsummer’s Day, 3019, Third Age
10:25 pm
“Have you seen him at all this evening?” questioned Elrond in a worried voice. Glorfindel, who had been picking at the edges of a cloth napkin and fraying it, shook his head. “I do not like not knowing where he is. Perhaps one of us should take a peek into the gardens.”
Glorfindel knew the request was more of an order than a suggestion, and was willing to excuse himself from the reception to complete the task. He slipped from the grand hall, assuring Arwen he was not leaving the party but simply going outside for some fresh air. Throngs of people clustered here and there even in the streets and garden, making it slightly more difficult for Glorfindel to find the one he was looking for.
Finally, almost passing him by in the darkness, Glorfindel turned around to see Erestor slumped on a bench before a fountain. His friend was dressed in cream and burgundy, his hair decorated with glittering jewels, but the frown he wore was evidence enough that he was far from a festive mood. Glorfindel sat down beside him, placing his hand upon Erestor’s back. “Elrond was wondering where you had gone,” he said softly, rubbing comforting circles between his friend’s shoulder blades.
“I just... had to get out of there,” answered Erestor in a melancholy voice. “I guess... I mean... it really is over now.”
Not knowing what else to say, Glorfindel simply said, “I am sorry.”
Erestor shrugged, sighed. “I would rather not go back, if it is all the same to you. You should, though. I know that Arwen and Estel both want you there, and Elrond needs you, too.”
“I will tell Elrond that you retired for the night.”
“Do not lie to him,” said Erestor. A moment later, he amended his response. “Maybe you should. I know this puts you in a tough spot,” he added.
“Do not worry about me. Honestly.” Glorfindel took hold of one of Erestor’s hands, concerned at how cold it was. “Perhaps you should retire for the night. I hate to think of you sitting out here all alone.”
“If I go back to my room now, I will still hear the merriment from the hall. I prefer to sit here where the sound of the water drowns it out.”
Some ways away, unbeknownst to Glorfindel and Erestor, two concerned Peredhil stood watching the scene. The pair mirrored each other’s splendor, in robes of blue and silver. In order to appear more Elven, they had endured their grandmother’s insistence of pale powder on their faces and hands. This in addition to the fine clothing made them appear to look like a pair of porcelain dolls.
Turning to his younger brother, Elladan said very softly, “This might seem a little wrong to say, today of all days, but I think I would have much rather had Erestor as our brother-in-law than Estel.”
“If it was not to be Erestor, at least it was Estel.” Elrohir bowed his head as he nodded. “You are right. Had it been Erestor... but now, Arwen will fade one day.”
“Not for many years to come,” Elladan reassured his brother. “It does bring up an interesting quandary again.”
Elrohir, still looking at his feet, said now, “I still have not made up my mind.”
“I did not say you had to at this moment.” Elladan’s right hand gently touched his brother’s right shoulder, and Elrohir looked up. “Just think things over when you have a chance, now that we are not at war.”
Long ago, Elladan had vowed to Elrohir that he would make the same choice as his younger brother, whatever that choice might be. Elrohir said it was silly; what if they chose differently as their father and uncle had? ‘But that is exactly why I make this promise to you,’ Elladan had said. ‘I see how sad it makes Adar not to have his brother with him. No matter what, we shall be together, whether it be as Man or as Elf.’
Instead of answering, Elrohir looked to the pair at the fountain again. “Do you think Erestor will fade?”
May 11, 121, Fourth Age
6:22 pm
“Really, it was that bad? Oh, poor Erestor!” Celebrian bowed her head and placed a kiss on the top of Erestor’s head. The former chief counselor smiled shyly at the attention. “That must have been devastating for you. Here, have more custard,” she said, spooning out another portion to him.
“I want more, too!” announced her elder son, holding out his bowl. His wrist knocked into a mug of ale, nearly dumping it into Glorfindel’s lap. “Sorry,” he apologized with a grin over his shoulder as the custard was plopped into his bowl.
Elrohir was still working on his first helping, taking small spoonfuls and savoring the dessert. They had only arrived that morning to Valinor, and were subjected to their mother’s cooking almost immediately – and were quite thankful for it, too, after so many weeks of lembas and water aboard the ship. “We were all so worried about Erestor. It was lucky for us all that you arrived,” he said to the ellon sitting across from him.
Feanor smiled, one hand idly playing with his teacup, the other hidden under the table, holding fast to his lover’s hand. “It was lucky for me as well, I feel.”
“I am amazed you accomplished what you did in only a year’s time.” Celebrian sat down. “It was only a year, was it not?”
“Aye,” said Feanor. “One year, and so many now to have waited.” Looking to the elf beside him, he said, “Oh, but it was well worth the wait.” He lifted Erestor’s hand and brought it to his lips. The gentle kiss made Celebrian smile and give her husband a reminiscent look.
“How was your return taken, Adar?” asked Maglor, who had also arrived on the morning ship.
“Rather well, all things considered,” replied Feanor. “For one thing, there were no balrogs!”
After the laughter subsided, Maedhros, the other elf sitting around the large table in Elrond and Celebrian’s house in Valinor, asked, “Would you mind telling us about it, Ada? I enjoy the story myself, and I am sure Maglor wishes to hear it.”
“Yes, please,” insisted Glorfindel as well. “Cirdan would only say that it was an amusing occurrence that broke up the monotony of the day.”
“So I am an amusing occurrence, am I? Well, I suppose that may not be all too far from the truth,” said Feanor as he began to retell his part of the tale.
September 29, 3020, Third Age
2:36 pm
Anxiously scanning the shoreline, Feanor leaned over the rail and tapped his foot impatiently. “Does this boat not go any faster?”
“No matter how swiftly we go, you still have only a single year to complete your task.”
Feanor let out a long, frustrated sigh. He knew the Valar were being more than fair to him, but a year still seemed entirely inadequate to accomplish what was needed. In order to redeem himself and gain the release of his six condemned sons from the Halls of Mandos, he had to convince a pair of Half-Elven brothers to choose immortality. He was not allowed to tell anyone of his mission, and so was in Middle-earth under the guise that he had brought a grand vessel that would ferry those who wished to sail to the blessed realm.
In the back of his mind, Feanor had a second reason for wishing to return. One of his sons had never joined him in Namo’s domain, and he held out hope that he might find Maglor and bring him home.
Upon hitting land, Orome directed the crew of Maia he had brought with him to lower a plank so that their guest could leave the ship, but Feanor did not leave right away. “The count starts the moment my foot touches the sand, is that still the agreement?”
“Aye, it is,” confirmed Orome.
“Excellent.” Feanor leaned over the side, looking down at the baffled Elves of Mithlond who were now gathering on the shore. “You there,” he shouted to one. “I am King Feanor and I have need of a horse.”
A buzz of excitement traveled through the crowd, and other Elves began to join them. Soon, an old Elf with wrinkles at the corners of his eyes came walking down the beach to the ship, stroking his beard with a smile. “If you have come to hunt for silmarils, I regret to inform you that your arrival is belated.”
“Actually, I just want a horse at the moment,” Feanor shouted down to his old acquaintance. “Do you think you might aid me in that, Cirdan?”
“If you promise to bring her back, you may ride mine.”
“I promise. I have only a year; she will be returned in precisely one year’s time.”
Cirdan nodded, and said something to another Elf who ran off to a cluster of small buildings. “I do know that you keep your word, so you may borrow her. Where are you off to in such a hurry, if I might ask.”
“To a place called Rivendell – which brings me to another question,” he called down. “Might you give me a general idea of which way I am to travel?”
“Come down, and I will show you on my maps,” offered Cirdan, but Feanor declined.
“I have little time and am bound to one year and no more the moment I leave this ship.”
“I see.” Cirdan shooed a few elves away from where he stood, then used his walking stick to draw a crude map in the sand. “You are here,” he said, stabbing one spot. “Imladris is here.”
“But where is Rivendell?”
“Imladris is Rivendell. I just prefer calling it Imladris.” An Elf returned with a speckled grey mare and Cirdan took hold of the reigns. “Is there anything more I might do for you, my friend?”
“Nay, I have supplies,” answered Feanor, hoisting up a pack that had been resting by his feet. “I will be right down.” He looked at Orome. “One year. I promise.”
“One year. Good luck,” added Orome.
May 11, 121, Fourth Age
6:34 pm
“That hardly seems out of the ordinary,” said Maglor as he sipped his tea.
“Our father, the Great Feanor, had suddenly returned. That must have been extraordinary,” argued Maedhros.
“Alright, well, that was only the beginning,” Feanor said. “Remember, I had to get to Rivendell. Convince some young Peredhel to choose to become immortal. A daunting task, in only one year.”
“One we did not make easy for him,” added Elladan with a sly grin.
Elrohir snorted. “We made very little easy for him.”
“Such as?” questioned Celebrian.
“Do you want the list alphabetically or chronologically?” Elrond asked, rubbing his forehead at the memories.
“My favorite was when we poured ink onto the towels when he was bathing and then refolded them so he would not notice right away,” chuckled Elrohir.
“I actually thought the whipped cream in the pillowcase was the most creative idea,” piped up Glorfindel.
Feanor gave him a withering look. “Do you know how long I was digging dairy cream out of my ear after that?”
“That was positively rude of both of you,” scolded Celebrian, but even she was smiling.
“Actually, we should really be thanking the twins for the whipped cream incident,” said Erestor.
“I am not sure thanking is exactly what I planned to do at the time,” Feanor said.
“Why would you thank them?” asked Maglor. “Oh, wait... if this is what I suddenly realized it might be—“
“No, no, we have no such stories like that,” Feanor said.
“Not yet,” added Erestor, and Feanor gave him a sideways smirk.
Maedhros waited patiently as he could, and then insisted, “Well? Are you going to tell us about it or not?”
“If you insist,” answered Feanor.
November 18, 3120, Third Age
11:05 pm
As had happened many nights, Feanor walked Erestor back to his rooms from the library before heading to bed himself. His plans to visit Lothlorien and Eryn Lasgalen had fallen through for the winter, so he now concentrated on the task of converting the twins.
He had a feeling that their constant debates with him had more to do with the fact that he was who he was, and less with the idea that they really wanted to be mortal. In all actuality, he knew for a fact that Elladan preferred Elven life to the life of Men. That meant they had a pact, Feanor realized, and it was Elrohir he would need to convince.
Not paying much attention as he readied for bed, he lit no candles as he entered the bed chamber. Stripping off his clothing, Feanor tiredly sat down, not noticing that the covers had not been turned down as far as the maid usually pushed them. He stretched, and yawned, and settled in for the night.
The moment his head hit the pillow, he could tell something was odd about it. It went from fluffed to flat all too quickly, and... was oozing.
Feanor sat up, fumbling for a candle, feeling cold and wet on his head and down his neck. The light showed him the reason – his pillow had been replaced with a linen bag, split down the middle and filled with cream. The result was a frothy white mess in the bed and on him.
“A million better uses of whipped cream, and they waste it on this,” grumbled the Elda as he extricated himself from the bed. He considered calling a maid to help him clean up, but the thought of spreading the rumor around the valley did not amuse him. Grabbing a blanket from the end of the bed, he wiped the majority of the cream off of his shoulders and face before entering the bathing chamber to clean himself properly.
To his dismay, the buckets of water had been drained, as had the water from the wash basin for his hands. Not a drop was to be found in any pitcher, and the little pump on the side of the tub squeaked and squawked, but did not pour forth any water.
“Those little...” Feanor shook his head. Getting angry would not aid him in any way. The only person he could think of to go to for help was probably the one who needed the most help himself, but Feanor had no other place to go. He quickly donned a robe and headed from his rooms back to the door he had left only minutes ago.
Softly he knocked, not wanting to wake Erestor if he was sleeping. It was only a few moments before the lock slid to the side and the door was opened. “What did you do?”
“What did I do? What did your lord’s sons do?”
Erestor looked Feanor over, from head to toe. His dark brown hair was positioned at the oddest looking angles, frosted with whipped cream that was either clumping into goo or dripping onto the floor, and there was a dollop of cream on his nose. Erestor did the only thing he could do in such a situation.
He started to laugh.
“Oh, it is truly not THAT funny,” countered Feanor as he was pulled into Erestor’s room after a number of others down the hall on both sides began to come into the corridor to see what exactly had the stoic advisor erupting in a fit of giggles. Feanor had to admit, though, that it was extremely nice to hear the laughter coming from Erestor rather than the lonely sighs. Soon he was laughing as well as they worked together to remove the whipped cream.
“Take this robe off,” said Erestor, pulling at the belt. “You have cream down your back and no doubt in other places, too.”
“I have nothing on underneath,” scolded Feanor, tugging his belt away.
Erestor snorted. “Here. I shall even it up, then.” A few moments later he had removed his own robe and tossed it onto a chair. “There. Now take yours off.”
Feanor stood, staring, stunned. He swallowed hard and felt numb.
“What?”
“Erestor... you are so skinny. When was the last time you ate anything?”
“This morning,” replied Erestor defensively, his hands on his hips, the bones looking as though they might pierce through the skin. His ribs were visible as well, and though he might have eaten, it could not have been very much. “I have always been thin.”
Feanor shakily placed his hand on Erestor’s shoulder, feeling the bone so close beneath the skin. He had not previously noticed the state that the Ellon was in because of the thick robes and blankets always covering him. Erestor pulled on Feanor’s belt and removed the robe from the Elda as he was being piteously examined. “You look as if you are starving yourself.”
“Nonsense. I ate three times today,” countered Erestor as the dirty robe slipped off Feanor’s shoulders. “Wait right here.”
“As if I could go anywhere, naked and covered in whipped cream!” called out Feanor as Erestor disappeared through a doorway. He returned with a stack of cloths and a bowl of water and began washing the gunk gently from Feanor’s body. “I am about ready to strangle both of Elrond’s heirs.”
“You should just stay away from them,” Erestor advised.
“If only it was that easy,” muttered Feanor as Erestor attempted to wipe the muck from his hair.
Erestor frowned and dumped the damp cloth into the water. “Come with me. I need to wash this out of your hair properly.”
Feanor followed the bony Ellon into the other room, where a chair was pulled up beside the basin for him. He tilted his head back after sitting down and hissed as the cold water rushed through his hair and over his scalp.
“Just one more,” promised Erestor as Feanor tried to stand up. The second time was not such a shock, and Feanor patiently let Erestor pat his hair dry with a towel. “Let me get a comb.”
Feanor was led back into the bedroom, where the pair sat down on the settee. Erestor untangled the brown shoulder-length locks while Feanor tried not to stare at the emaciated figure of his one true friend in Rivendell. “What did you mean by, if only it were that easy?” Erestor asked.
“Can you keep a secret?”
Erestor nodded, and Feanor explained his reasons for being sent to Rivendell to seek out the twins while his hair was braided, then unbraided when Erestor deemed it looked off, being in braids and being so short.
“Do you know, I think I might be able to aid you with that,” offered Erestor.
“How so?”
“Can you keep a secret?”
Feanor smiled and nodded.
“All of us want the twins to come to Valinor, and to choose Elvenkind, but no one wants that more than Glorfindel,” explained Erestor. “He was not yet reborn when they were growing up, but when he returned he trained them as warriors as he relearned the art. He grew more and more enamored with them day by day. In some ways, you might almost call them his childhood crush, the second time around. You will never hear him admit it, though. He does not wish to jeopardize his friendship with them or with their father.”
“No wonder he is so grumpy,” remarked Feanor.
Erestor shrugged. “I have no idea on that. I do know, however, that he would be for you an ally. There. Good as new,” said Erestor, looking almost sad that he had finished his task. His hands were shaking, and Feanor realized that the slighter elf was shivering.
“I should have made you put that robe right back on,” Feanor said, berating himself as he pulled a quilt from the bed and brought it to Erestor. Instead of simply wrapping it around the ellon, he used it around both of them, drawing Erestor near. “You are so cold,” he whispered as he took hold of Erestor’s hands and rubbed them frantically. Erestor’s skin felt like ice.
“And you are so warm,” remarked Erestor, snuggling against Feanor. Almost immediately he sat up, pulling away. “Sorry, sorry, I... sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?” Feanor slowly reached out again, and inched back over.
“My forward behavior,” Erestor said. “I overstepped the boundaries. You are married, and we are... well, I should not have done that. I have no idea even why I did.”
“I was married,” corrected Feanor. “My wife, while I was previously deceased, made the decision to remarry.”
“Oh. Still...”
“Erestor.” Feanor tightly grasped the other ellon’s hands. “Erestor, I am drawn to you in some indescribable way. It feels almost like how I felt when I met Nerdanel, but stronger. Better. I suppose you do not feel this.”
“I think... I may. It just...” Erestor sighed. “Everything feels so cold and distant. I hardly know what is real anymore.”
“We need to get you into the bed. You will be warmer there,” Feanor decided, and picked Erestor up into his arms. There came no protest as the Ellon was carried to bed and tucked in, nor was there any dispute when Feanor put out the lights of the candles and crawled in beside his companion, drawing him into his arms for warmth and comfort.
May 11, 121, Fourth Age
7:19 pm
“It almost did not happen like that, though,” said Erestor. “There were a few obstacles to overcome.”
“Oh, so now I am an obstacle,” smirked Glorfindel.
“Well, I am an amusing occurrence; the least you can do is be an obstacle,” shot Feanor back.
Maglor scraped the rest of the custard into his bowl while Maedhos stole a spoonful from it. “How difficult of an obstacle were you for my Adar, Glorfindel?” asked Maglor.
“I think it started a few days after he arrived,” replied the slayer, but Elrond shook his head.
“It started almost immediately. I nearly thought another kinslaying would occur,” Elrond said.
“Well, you tell the story then,” said Glorfindel, refilling his teacup, “and I will fill in the details.”
October 20, 3020, Third Age
10:21 am
“I wish Erestor were well enough to join us. His counsel was always of great value to me.”
Glorfindel nodded in agreement, and sighed. For over a year, their friend had fallen deeper and deeper into a pit of melancholy. Erestor no longer came to the Hall of Fire, and ate little at mealtime. Most often, Glorfindel would find the once talkative Elf sitting at the fireplace in the library mumbling to himself.
The first time it had happened, Glorfindel had sent for Elrond. Unable to gain Erestor’s attention, the Elf-lord had decided to drug Erestor and put him to bed. Erestor slept for four straight days. The second time Glorfindel came upon Erestor, he left him be after meeting his empty, forlorn gaze.
Elrond and his Seneschal entered the office of the former to find their guest sitting behind Elrond’s desk with his feet propped upon it. Feanor was reading a book he had found on the desk as he waited. Upon hearing Elrond clear his throat, he looked up but did not put the book down. “Good. I was wondering when you would finally get here.”
Clearing his throat, Elrond looked pointedly at where Feanor was sitting. The Elda looked about for a moment, and then gave the other two Elves a look of realization. “Please, sit down. No need to stand on my account,” he said, waving to the pair of chairs on the other side of the desk.
Narrowing his eyes, Glorfindel glared at Feanor. “He would take a seat if someone were not sitting in it.”
“No, Findel, it is alright,” said Elrond, though it was obviously not from the way he had to stop gritting his teeth to speak.
The meeting was brief, and after Feanor explained that he was to gather those who wished to sail to Aman, he was offered a room in the Homely House. He rose from the chair, picking up the book he had been browsing. “So, who is fading?”
“Who said anyone was fading?” asked Glorfindel quickly.
“I just assumed—“
“Perhaps you should stop and think instead of jumping to conclusions,” snapped the slayer back, snatching away the book.
Elrond held up his hand in order to make peace. “My chief counselor.”
“Ah. Close to you, is he?” asked Feanor, more to Glorfindel than Elrond.
“A very good friend,” Glorfindel finally admitted.
“What is his name? Perhaps I could speak to him,” Feanor offered.
Giving Feanor a deep frown, Elrond said, “I do not think that is such a good idea.”
“Oh? Really, I would not mind.”
“I think it best you leave him alone,” suggested Glorfindel.
Feanor opened his mouth to object, but thought better of it. “Alright,” he said. “I think I shall take my leave, then. It has been a long journey and I am tired.”
When Feanor left, however, he did not escape immediately to his rooms. He wandered about the house, inquiring as to who was who and finding out who was where in the other Elven Realms. To his dismay, besides Cirdan and Glorfindel, the only other Elves he knew of in Middle-earth were his niece Artanis, known now as Galadriel, and his illusive son, Maglor.
He learned, too, of those he did not know before, of Elladan and Elrohir, the twin sons of Elrond, who had yet to make the decision of their fate. Upon entering the library, he learned of the unfortunate chief counselor who had fallen in love with the lord’s daughter, only to have her leave him for the love of a Man. Shaking his head, he went to his room to plot out his course of action.
While Feanor explored, Elrond and Glorfindel stayed in the lord’s office, discussing the unexpected event. “I do not like him,” admitted Glorfindel. “I do not trust him. My parents thought he knew exactly what he was talking about when he went against the Valar. Then he burned the ships that were to be sent back to bring us to Middle-earth. We had to trek the Helcaraxe, and in the process, I lost both of my parents and my sister. He has no concern for anyone but himself.”
“I would like to think he has changed, that maybe the time he spent in the Halls of Waiting have made him reconsider things.”
“Still, Elrond. Be cautious,” advised Glorfindel. “He is not being entirely upfront with us. There is something else he wants, some other task he has to complete. He swore an oath, Elrond. The silmarils, remember?”
“The silmarils are lost,” said Elrond, too quickly.
“Two of them are lost. The third is in the sky, and you, the heir to the one who is keeping it there.”
Elrond sunk down into his chair. “I never considered that,” he said.
“That is why you have me here to think of such things,” said Glorfindel, though he wished Erestor had been there to offer his thoughts as well.
“Glorfindel, I do not worry as much about myself as I do about my children. I intend to keep an eye on Feanor; I would ask you do the same, but with my sons.”
“Both eyes,” Glorfindel assured him.
October 25, 3020, Third Age
9:42 pm
“Shut up, just shut up. Shut it. Not going with you, not now, not interested. She is not worth it. Not at all.”
From afar it might have sounded as if the Elf at the fire was having a conversation with someone else, but upon further inspection Feanor noticed that there was only one person at the fire. He appeared to be mumbling to himself as he stared into the flames. It was as he approached that Feanor felt rather than saw the one being addressed.
Feanor sat down in the empty leather chair and waited for the other elf to notice him. It did not take very long.
“You cannot make me, you know. Vala or not, I do not care. I am staying here, right here, right where I want... to... who are you?”
“Well met; my name is Feanor,” said the Elda, and the elf who had been mumbling frowned. “I suppose you have heard of me.”
“It would surprise me to know anyone who had not.” The elf turned back to the fire.
“Do I get to learn your name?”
Tired eyes fell back upon Feanor. “Erestor.” They shifted immediately back to the flames.
“A pleasure,” said Feanor as Erestor snorted. “Come now; you do not believe me?”
“That the great and mighty Feanor would have any care one way or another that he had met me or not? Nay.”
“I have changed,” Feanor offered. “I have come back to prove that.”
“And if you prove it, what do you get? One of your precious silmarils?”
“No. I get six of my sons back.”
“Oh.” Erestor rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Sorry.”
“Not a problem; I take no offense. I might have, at one time.” Feanor motioned to the fire and asked, “How is Namo doing these days?” and at once the other one he felt in the room vanished.
Erestor looked about, as if disbelieving. “How did you make him go away? He never goes when I ask him to.”
With a wry smile, Feanor said, “I was a bit of a challenge for him, and for quite a long while, both in death and in life. He probably has had more than his fill of me. It surprises me that you are fighting the fading. Most Elves who are fading fade because they want to fade.”
“I thought I wanted to, but—“
“But you changed your mind and now you are afraid.”
“Something like that,” admitted Erestor. “How did you know I am fading?”
“Besides the fact that you were speaking to Namo?”
“Oh, right...”
Feanor rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “My mother was the first to fade, ever. She set the precedent, you might say. I just... I just know. I could tell, from the way you look. Pale, and hopeless, tired, and drained. Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Alright. Mind if I stay?”
“If you like.”
Glorfindel watched warily from the doorway, upset more at Elrond for not keeping better track of their guest than he was at Feanor himself.
October 26, 3020, Third Age
3:22 am
“What were you doing in there?”
Feanor turned around, having just left Erestor’s room. “Very early for you to be up already for breakfast, Glorfindel.”
The slayer narrowed his eyes. “Who said I was able to sleep? Now, I would appreciate an answer to my question.”
“Putting your chief counselor to bed. It seems he has favored lapsing into bouts of unconsciousness when he tires and staying by the fire in the library. A very uncomfortable place to fall asleep.” Feanor began to walk away, down the hall once more. “I thought it best to bring him back here to his room to be sure he made it to bed, and now if you will excuse me, I have plans to retire myself.”
“Stay away from him.”
Curiously, Feanor turned around. “Why? What difference is it to you?” Sneaking a brow upwards, he asked, “Are you in love with him or something?” recalling Glorfindel’s preference for males.
“I love him as I would a brother,” growled Glorfindel. “I will not see him hurt by someone like you.”
“What reason would I have to harm your friend?” Feanor walked back to Glorfindel, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let me be blunt, for you are already doing so. I know what it is like in the Halls of Waiting. The feel of Mandos is still with me. Trust me, it is not a place anyone should be subjected to if it can be helped.”
Glorfindel threw back his head and laughed, much to Feanor’s confusion. “You still think you know everything,” he shot back. “Trust me, I know exactly what the Halls of Waiting feel like.”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Feanor.
“I know well as you, the taste of death. You were not the only one to be sent to Mandos by the will of a balrog. Unlike you, however, my death saved many who otherwise would have been cast off a mountain to their doom. I was sent back, obviously, after a short time to collect my thoughts and come to terms with various things.”
“I had no idea,” said Feanor quietly. “I apologize.”
Glorfindel snorted. “A little late for that,” he said as he pushed past and disappeared around the corner.
October 26, 3020, Third Age
6:17 pm
“May I join you?”
Erestor looked up as he pulled the blanket closer to him. “You again?”
“Is that yes or no?”
“The seat is empty and I cannot stop you,” replied the counselor.
“I brought hot tea,” said Feanor as he placed the tray he was holding on the table between them. “There are biscuits and raspberry jam as well; the cook said those were your favorite. Lemon tea and biscuits with jam.” Feanor was unsure if Erestor nodded or if he happened to shiver at that moment, for the movement was so slight. Hoping for the former, he spread jam upon a number of biscuits, and then poured tea for both of them. “Has he been back?”
“Who?”
Feanor nodded to the fire.
“Oh... no. I think you scared him away.”
“For now, perhaps.” Feanor held a cup of tea to Erestor, who snaked a hand out from his little nest to take it. “When was the last time you actually had a good night of sleep, besides last night?”
Erestor turned the cup around and around in his hands. “I... I still do not think I am ready to discuss that.”
“I understand.” Feanor sipped his tea and then asked, “Did you sleep well last night at least?”
“About that... there was no need for you to do as you did. How did you find out where my rooms were anyway?”
“I asked a passing scullery maid. What should I have done, left you sleeping in this chair?”
“Yes. I do not feel like being carried down the hallway like a small child. I will be enduring the snickers for weeks,” said Erestor coldly.
“Better you be alive and able to hear the snickers than dead and unknowing of them.”
May 11, 121, Fourth Age
8:40 pm
“I never knew how close I was to death,” Erestor admitted. The group had retired to the parlor, where brandy and wine had replaced the tea and milk. The atmosphere was slightly more relaxed, with a fire blazing and sending a trail of smoke up the chimney.
Feanor’s arms drew his love closer, and he kissed Erestor’s cheek. “I might have acted sooner had I known. I really should have known. But that is behind us, and you made a full recovery.”
“That was thanks to you,” said Erestor.
“Feanor started taking Erestor out of the house, making him get out into the sunshine and the moonlight. They would go swimming in the river or riding through the valley,” Elladan remembered. “They came to meals together, and always Feanor would make sure Erestor ate, including dessert.”
“Forced to eat dessert! Our Erestor?” giggled Celebrian.
Erestor nodded. “Odd as it sounds, it is true. It started much simpler, though.”
November 19, 3020, Third Age
9:44 am
“Breakfast is served,” announced Feanor as he set a tray atop a table he had pulled up to the bed. There was a chair as well, and Erestor sat up and rubbed at his bleary eyes while Feanor sat down and poured juice for each of them from a pitcher.
Erestor reached for a muffin, and jumped to hear his stomach growl. “Good morning,” he said, forgoing butter and biting right into the breakfast treat.
“Here, start with this,” said Feanor, holding out a bowl of oatmeal. “I added a little sugar to it, and there are berries if you like those, too. Eat slow, though. You might get sick otherwise.”
“I hate oatmeal,” said Erestor, crinkling his nose.
“Eat it.”
Erestor pulled his muffin closer, in the case that Feanor might take it away. “No.”
Lunging forward, Feanor grabbed the muffin away, and dumped it on top of the oatmeal. As Erestor stared with his mouth agape, Feanor mushed the oats and muffin together, stirring it into a sort of brownish goop. “Eat,” he commanded, handing it back.
With a pout on his face, Erestor ate the odd mixture, following that with a handful of the berries. “The last time I was made to eat, I was no taller than my father’s knee.”
“Drink this,” added Feanor, having poured a small dose of miruvor from a flask. Erestor did as told, and Feanor pushed the table away before crawling back into bed with him. “I stayed awake, thinking about you last night,” he said, holding Erestor close.
“And you came to the conclusion you would torture me this morning with oatmeal?”
“Trust me, had I wanted to torture you, I have better ideas than oatmeal.” Feanor kissed Erestor’s brow and said, “I am going to help you to get well again. You do not want to fade. I know this.”
“I did, once,” Erestor said softly. “I was betrothed, some years ago, to a lady of this house. We had plans for a life together.”
“Did she... pass away?” Feanor asked.
Erestor sighed. “No. She fell in love with a Man, though that happened after we parted. She became very, very caught up in planning our wedding, which took a phenomenal four hundred and eighty years before I finally asked her if we were ever going to actually make it to the wedding with how long it was taking. She decided we needed time apart and went to Lothlorien. Her mother, after six years of letters to her, decided to go and talk some sense into her.
“She never made it. Orcs attacked her party, and a year later she sailed to Valinor. Of course, it was decided that I was to blame, and the engagement was called off.”
“It sounds as if she was just looking for an excuse to break things off with you,” said Feanor.
“I loved her. When she claimed to have fallen in love with a Man, I laughed. I thought, it could not be true. It was only a phase. But, I was wrong,” said Erestor. “She is married to him now.”
“How can you pine away for her?” questioned Feanor, stroking Erestor’s hair. “Obviously, you were not meant to be together.”
“You have no idea... we were so in love with each other once,” replied Erestor, fighting back tears.
“What is her name?”
“Arwen.”
“Elrond’s daughter?”
“The same.” Erestor closed his eyes and nestled closer. “I feel so stupid.”
“That you held on to hope for so long?”
Snorting, Erestor said, “That I am telling you these things.”
“Alright, fair enough... let me tell you what happened to me. I was released from the Halls of Waiting, only to find that my wife had decided not to wait for me. I went to her, begged for forgiveness, and told her how much I loved her.” Feanor rolled over onto his back, throwing his arm over his eyes. “She nodded, invited me in to her home, and introduced me to her new husband. Then she told me she felt she no longer loved me, and that I should think to seek out someone else to share my second life with. I was shocked, to say the least, and greatly hurt. My father had taken a second wife, I thought I would never deal again with such a thing, and she does to me what was done to my mother.”
“Sorry.” Erestor crawled over on his stomach, cuddling against Feanor. “If I told you that I think I could fall in love with you, would you think that I was mad?”
“Did I think you were mad when I found you seemingly talking to yourself in the library?”
“True...”
Feanor wrapped his arms around Erestor, embracing him tightly. “I think I might already be falling in love with you. I suppose we shall need to wait and see if we fall together.” Erestor nodded against Feanor’s chest in agreement.
May 11, 121, Fourth Age
9:16 pm
“Awwwwwww,” chorused Glorfindel and the twins. Immediately, the trio was bombarded by a barrage of pillows from the pair they were teasing.
“You should talk,” shot Erestor back at his long time friend. “I suppose you forget how desperately lovesick you were at that time.”
Glorfindel snorted. “Confused, that is what I was. I did not wish to interfere!”
“I am glad you did,” admitted Elrond.
“Me, too,” added Elladan.
“Me, three,” said Elrohir.
Pointing a finger at Erestor, Glorfindel said, “It was all his doing, if you wish to thank someone.”
“Not I,” replied Erestor. “It was Feanor’s idea, really.”
“Was it? Oh, yes, I suppose it was,” recalled the Noldo.
“Oh, do tell!” insisted Celebrian as she poured herself another glass of wine.
March 14, 3021, Third Age
8:12 am
“I have an idea.”
“Uh-oh.”
Feanor playfully glared at his companion. They were still in bed, waiting for the breakfast tray to arrive. It had become customary, that although they still kept separate rooms, that Feanor would walk Erestor to his room each night, sometimes crawl into bed with him, and always be there in the morning for breakfast, before which they would lie in bed together and talk or simply embrace one another.
It was the latter that they were doing now, sharing comfortable kisses every now and then. Many a discussion had been had in the months since they began their strange sort of courtship, on how neither of them expected such a thing, and how odd it was to lie with another male, and yet how right it felt to them both.
Their pairing was met with skepticism at first, but after Elrond showed his support, the few remaining occupants of the valley joined suit. They were thrilled to see the Chief Counselor once again performing his duties, with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. As for Feanor, residents warmed up to him, and oft when Erestor sat in open counsel at one side of the library with Elrond, Glorfindel, and others, Feanor was on the opposite end entertaining with stories of an age long past.
Pressing his nose against Erestor’s throat, Feanor kissed the smooth skin. “You may like this idea. I was thinking—“
“Uh-oh.”
“Will you stop that?” Feanor could not help but laugh along with Erestor. “I think we might be able to kill two birds with one stone.”
“Killing birds is frowned upon here.”
Erestor was shortly thereafter smacked gently with a pillow.
Heaving a great sigh, Feanor said, “I thought perhaps if you spoke with Glorfindel and I spoke with Elladan and Elrohir, we could do a bit of matchmaking and at the same time, persuade the twins to choose their Elven heritage.”
“What exactly did you have in mind?” asked Erestor as someone knocked on the door.
Feanor swung his legs over the side of the bed and yanked a robe from a chair. “Let me get breakfast in, and then I shall tell you.”
March 14, 3021 Third Age
11:41 am
“You look really well. Everything about you has improved since last autumn.”
Beaming, Erestor motioned across the table to the empty chair on the other side. He had asked Glorfindel to join him on his balcony for lunch, which had already arrived and was laid out. Somewhere else in the house, Feanor had invited the twins to dine with him. “I have had a little help from an unexpected friend.”
Glorfindel sighed. “I am sorry I was unable to do anything.”
“What were you to do?”
“I do not know. Something.” Glorfindel’s was slumped a bit in his chair. “You kept getting paler and paler, you were hardly eating, you slept little, and you seemed so haunted. I watched you fading away, and I did nothing.”
Erestor passed a basket of bread to his friend. “There was not much for you to do. I had to figure things out on my own, for the most part.”
“But Feanor helped you.”
“Yes, a little.”
“Are the two of you...” Glorfindel shifted uncomfortably. “He has not... forced himself upon you, has he?”
“No. Glorfindel, we have done little more than keep each other company and sometimes sleep in each other’s arms. Well, he does make me eat,” said Erestor, chuckling at the remembrance of the first few days, when he would be hounded until he finished his entire meal. “I suppose it is sudden, but in these last few months, especially over the past few weeks, I have begun to feel alive again.”
“Well,” Glorfindel said after careful consideration, “if he makes you happy, then that makes me happy. I am relieved to see you smile once again.”
“In some ways, that is what I wanted to talk to you about. What about your happiness, Glorfindel?”
Glorfindel set his roll down on his plate and brushed the crumbs from his hands. “I am happy,” he said plainly.
“Come, now. You used to be such a joyful soul. What happened to the merriment I used to hear in your voice, and the light in your eyes? The golden flower seems to have wilted as of late.”
“What would you have me do?”
“I would have you smile again,” said Erestor. “I would have you tell the truth to them both.”
“The truth? What truth?” questioned Glorfindel.
“As if you do not know. Your little secret, that you keep from the twins. You do more harm in keeping it to yourself.” Erestor leaned over the table, placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder, and Glorfindel looked up. “Tell them, Glorfindel. Tell them how much you have wanted to admit you love them, and how you have wanted to say such things to them since your first meeting, when you were returned to life and met them as they patrolled the borders.”
“I cannot,” argued Glorfindel, shaking his head all the while. “It may sway them!”
“Perhaps that is what they need,” Erestor reasoned.
“What if they have made their choice already, and have said nothing to anyone?” Glorfindel stood up and walked to the railing, placing his hands on it and looking down over the main courtyard. “If they rejected me, I do not know what I would do.”
“So you would rather live your life not knowing, perhaps loosing them forever, than taking a chance and perhaps finding out that they loved you in return?”
Glorfindel said nothing as he stared across the land.
On another balcony, overlooking a different courtyard, a debate of a different sort was taking place.
“You have given me reasons both for and against choosing the race of Men,” said Feanor thoughtfully as he pulled off small bits of his sandwich to eat, popping them into his mouth. “You also have reasons for choosing the race of Elves. Now, with all the supporting evidence, it seems clear by now you might have chosen. Unless, of course, you have reasons who you would not want to call yourselves Elves.”
“There is one reason,” Elrohir finally admitted.
“Which is?”
There was hesitation from both of them. Finally, Elladan set down the crust of his sandwich and said, “Erestor. Neither of us wants to end up like him.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was in love, and now look at him!” Elrohir shook his head. “What if one of us fell in love with someone, and they did not return that love? What if we fell in love with one who was mortal, after choosing Elvenkind?” Placing a hand to his stomach, Elrohir looked a bit nauseous.
“But what if there is someone who loves you who is of Elvenkind, and you made the decision to be mortal? What do you think might happen to him?” Feanor bit his lip the moment the words left his mouth, but only Elladan caught the slip.
“Whoever he is, he has not come forth. At least, not to my knowledge,” said Elladan
Elrohir narrowed his eyes. “It sounds as if you speak of a certainty.”
“What if I do?” Feanor turned his head upon hearing a knock at the door. “Excuse me a moment,” he apologized and went back into his rooms, to reach the entrance. Upon opening the door, he saw Erestor. “Did it go badly?” he asked, seeing as not much time had passed, and certainly not enough to finish lunch.
Erestor shook his head, and stood aside to reveal Glorfindel behind him. “Ahm... I was wondering... are Elladan and Elrohir here, by chance?” asked the blond bashfully.
“Come in.” Feanor stepped aside, closing the door only after both had entered. “Right this way.”
The trio cut through the rooms to the balcony, where both of the twins were standing up and looked a bit confused. Glorfindel stopped at the doorway, uneasily fidgeting with the edge of his shirt with one hand. “I……..”
“I think Glorfindel wants a moment in private with the young lords,” said Erestor, practically yanking Feanor out of the room, closing the door behind them.
“What happened?” questioned Feanor.
“I work fast,” Erestor said with a shrug. “Once I had him convinced to come see them, he was no longer hungry and wanted to come right away. I do hope the twins... well, it is out of our hands now.”
Feanor frowned. “You said he came over without eating?”
“Yes... why?”
“It means there is still lunch in your rooms – and I, for one, intend to have lunch.”
For the rest of the day, no one saw Glorfindel or the twins anywhere. When Erestor overheard a maid asking one of the cooks for a tray of food to be taken to Feanor’s suite despite the fact Feanor was sitting right next to Erestor having dinner at the time, the counselor smiled and whispered to his companion, “You may have to stay the night with me.”
“Oh?”
“Your rooms, I believe, have a theoretical ‘do not disturb’ sign on them.”
“Come again?”
“They are currently being occupied by a balrog slayer and a pair of peredhel. Or should I assume, twin Elven brothers?” mused Erestor.
March 15, 3021, Third Age
8:17 am
It was Glorfindel who appeared first to breakfast after Elrond, Feanor, and Erestor had arrived. He was dressed in a dark purple bath robe of all things, and his feet were bare. He had bathed, and his hair had been brushed out but not braided, so it curled softly and fell over his shoulders instead of being tamed harshly back. “Good morning,” he said, more cheerfully than he had in some time, as he sat down.
Erestor grinned, while Feanor nodded with a smile and returned the greeting. Elrond stared openly, though his gaze moved to Elladan as his eldest joined them.
“Morning, all. Morning, Ada.” Elladan was wearing a robe as well, this one green and similar in style to Glorfindel’s. He poured himself a glass of juice, drank it all, and filled it up again. He, too, had obviously cleaned up, warrior braids absent. Elrond scratched his head and looked to the door, to see Elrohir entering, brown robe, in the same state as his brother and Glorfindel.
“Wash day? No clothes?” wondered Elrond, for it had been since before his sons’ majority that they would dress as such to come to any meal, and never had he seen Glorfindel so... un-Glorfindel-like.
“No, actually, just, well...” Elrohir trailed off, and pulled an extra chair over, positioning it to the side of Glorfindel that Elladan was not sitting.
Flabbergasted, Elrond watched Elrohir sit down. Never, ever, had the pair sat anywhere but beside one another. A sudden dawning came over him as he watched Elladan rise up slightly in order to reach around Glorfindel to retrieve a bottle of maple syrup, and kiss the slayer’s cheek as he resumed his position. Elrohir, catching the movement, leaned around Glorfindel to stick his tongue out at his brother, then kissed Glorfindel’s other cheek. “Oh, I see,” said Elrond. Then Elrond blinked, and slowly, a smile spread across his face. It was contagious, and soon they were all grinning from ear to ear. “So... I assume this means...”
“Yes, Ada,” confirmed Elrohir. “We have made our choice.”
“And... we chose Glorfindel!” said Elladan, only half jokingly as he leaned against the blond ellon.
May 11, 121, Fourth Age
10:08 pm
“It had to be difficult for you when you parted,” said Maglor.
“Difficult is an understatement,” Feanor told his son. “I had run out of time, and I had few other options.” He tightened his grip on Erestor’s hand. “But now, I am not letting him out of my sight,” he promised, and Erestor smiled. “Part of me wishes I had stolen him away on the ship and brought him with me.”
“Odds are we never would have found Maglor had you done so,” Glorfindel reminded him. “It was only due to the fact Erestor was able to read a few documents that I did not even know the language of that we learned his whereabouts.”
“It was not that I was proficient in Haradi,” Erestor said. “It was our luck that Maglor signed the scrolls with his own name that we were able to trace him.”
“Still, to have split apart for so long...” Celebrian shook her head. “Elladan and Elrohir in one place, my father in another, the two of you off playing detective, and poor Feanor stuck here to wait. It had to be dreadful.”
“The parting was the worst of it,” Feanor recalled.
September 29, 3021, Third Age
2:58 pm
Feanor stood on the plank that led up to the ship which would bear him back to Valinor. Already boarded were Elrond and Galadriel, as well as many other Elves happy to be sailing to the blessed realm. On the ship, too, were two hobbits of the Shire, who had just said their goodbyes to a trio of hobbits who were not going with them.
Celeborn sat upon his horse, looking at the ship with both longing and uncertainty, while his grandsons kept not only their horses corralled, but the horses formerly belonging to their father and grandmother as well.
Glorfindel was standing a bit closer to the ship, the reigns of Asfaloth and of a grey mare that Feanor and Erestor had shared during the trip to the Havens in his hand.
“Feanor, it is time.”
“Just another minute, Lord Orome,” answered Feanor, his voice muffled in the fabric of Erestor’s travel cloak.
“You said that ten minutes ago,” the Vala’s voice boomed.
Feanor took only the slightest step back, his eyes red from ‘dust kicked up during the journey’, as he put it, though it was hard to make others believe this lie whilst he wiped his tears. Erestor was slightly more composed, having done his mourning of their parting before they left Imladris. “You will join me as soon as you can.”
“Of course I will,” promised Erestor. “As soon as we find your son.”
It had been Glorfindel’s idea to search for Maglor when it became apparent that Feanor would not have the necessary time he needed to complete that task. The twins had offered their aid, until realizing that they would need to oversee Rivendell. At first, Feanor argued against the idea that Erestor stay behind a little while longer, but it was the most logical idea.
“No one should be traveling on their own, not in the places he may need to go,” Erestor had said. “Glorfindel and I fought in many battles together, and we both know the lay of the land well. Do not worry; we will find Maglor and return with him to Valinor sooner than you can imagine.”
Erestor repeated these words now, as they stood on the plank, one staying, one going. They embraced once again, and then kissed one another in a chaste, romantic way, owing to the fact that many eyes were upon them, and also that they had shared a more passionate parting behind the stables when they had first arrived in Mithlond.
“Go,” whispered Erestor, stepping back, still holding one of Feanor’s hands. “Go, the ship is leaving.”
Feanor struggled to keep hold of Erestor’s hand as they both back up toward their destinations, but finally their fingers slipped away. Turning around, Feanor looked up at the white sails. When he turned back, he saw Erestor slowly backing away, one small step at a time. “Go. Now. They are waiting.”
Opening his mouth to speak, Feanor found he had lost his voice. He swallowed and nodded, and climbed up the ramp to the deck of the ship. Moments later, ropes were cast up to the waiting Maiar, and the ship lurched away from the docks. A comforting touch was felt from Orome’s hand upon his shoulder. “You must know something,” he said, his voice a low rumble. Feanor looked up to regard the Vala. “It will be many years before you see him again. A century or more shall pass.”
This news was a blow Feanor had not expected. “But he will come, right? He will sail to Valinor.”
“From what I saw in the weavings, yes, he will. You will learn patience from his absence.”
“I can be patient but this is cruel!” Feanor lowered his voice when Orome gave him an amused look. “Perhaps... perhaps I will learn something from this,” he muttered.
Orome did not answer. Instead, he looked back to the horizon.
A century. A hundred years. A hundred years apart, without each other. A hundred years of lonely nights, of cold beds, no small talk, no snuggling, no casual kisses, no breakfast in bed...
“Erestor!” Feanor ran to the stern of the ship, and waved his arm in case Erestor had not heard him. “Erestor!”
“What?” he heard faintly from the shore.
“Erestor! I...” Feanor paused, turning around to see the crowd on the deck, watching him.
“What?” The voice was fainter still.
Crowd be damned, Feanor leaned as far forward as he could and yelled as loud as he could, “I love you!”
He was too far now to hear the response, and the ship became lost in a fog, but he hoped at least that Erestor had heard him.
May 11, 121, Fourth Age
10:56 pm
“If I had known how long it was going to be, I would have thrown myself at Orome’s feet and begged him to let me stay a little longer,” Feanor said.
Erestor snuggled closer to Feanor, resting his head upon the Noldo’s shoulder. “I am here now, with no intention of going anywhere.”
“Actually,” remarked Maedhros, stretching his arms with a yawn, “I think some of us ought to be going home, for the evening at least.”
Celebrian, who was nearly asleep, rubbed her eyes and stood up. “I suppose it is time to turn in. We would love to have you over tomorrow for dinner, though, right, Elrond?”
“Yes, of course. All of you,” he added, smiling warmly at Maglor and Maedhos.
Everyone went to the door, saying their farewells. Glorfindel stood in the doorway, an identical peredhel at either side, while Elrond and Celebrian spoke with Maglor for a few moments before he and Maedhros traveled down one path to Maedhros’ house.
As Feanor and Erestor made to go down the path in the other direction, Glorfindel let out a sharp whistle. “Feanor.”
“What?”
“Take good care of him.”
“Or else,” added Elladan
The old Feanor, perhaps, might have glared at such comments, or even raised a fuss. The new Feanor simply smirked and shook his head, giving them a wave before leaving hand in hand with his reunited lover.
It took almost half an hour of walking to make it back to Feanor’s house from Elrond’s. Candles aplenty were lit when the pair entered, as was the fireplace. Erestor had only been inside once before, early that morning when he, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, and Maglor had arrived in Valimar. It meant that he was still unsure of the layout, and ended up in the kitchen instead of the master bedroom, where he encountered a fluffy orange cat enjoying some scraps. “Oh, you have two of them,” remarked Erestor, who had only seen a single black cat earlier that day.
“Three, actually,” said Feanor as he joined Erestor in the kitchen. “This one is named Silmaril.”
Erestor furrowed his brow. “I thought the black one was named Silmaril.”
“I have a white one named Silmaril, too.”
“Alright... I think I might be missing the punchline.”
Continuing to grin, Feanor explained, “When I returned on the ship with Orome, before my other sons were released, I encountered Nessa. She had with her a basket, and in it three tiny kittens. She held each of them up, and introduced each of them to me as Silmaril.”
“Then she let them loose,” he said as he set out a saucer of milk. “She said to me, ‘Fullfill your oath, Lord Feanor. Capture and reclaim the Silmarils, as you once promised you would.’ So, I did.”
Laughing, Erestor shook his head. “What a simple, clever solution.”
“Amrod thought it was bloody idiotic, but the rest of my children would agree with you. Here, this way, this way,” coaxed Feanor, pulling Erestor out of the kitchen and into the correct room. The Noldo went to the closet and pulled out an ivory colored garment. “I think it should fit. I had it made for you when Elrond foresaw your arrival.”
While Erestor disappeared into the bathroom, Feanor readied the bed. First, he turned the sheets down, then, not wanting to presume too much, tucked them back in. Realizing this was ridiculous considering their behavior that evening, he pulled them out again, knocking the pillows to the floor just as Erestor reentered.
“Impatient, are we?”
Feanor sighed. “No, just clumsy.” He returned the pillows to their proper places, making a noise of dissatisfaction when he noted the fold of the sheets was at an angle.
“Do not fret about it,” said Erestor, his hands shoved into the pockets of his new robe. “I am sure they will be all tangled about by the end of this night.”
“Promise?”
Feanor turned his head to the side to regard Erestor, who, despite looking tired from the long journey and the time of day, looked regal and elegant in the long silken robes. Instead of answering with words, Erestor closed the gap between them and slid into Feanor’s arms, stretching his neck so that he could kiss Feanor fully and deeply.
They were soon on the bed, Feanor’s clothing strewn on the floor and Erestor wearing only the silk robe. With one leg bent up at the knee, the fabric had parted to reveal a delightful amount of bare flesh to Feanor. “We need not do this tonight, if you want to wait,” he offered between kisses.
“A hundred years, and you think either of us have the patience to wait another day?”
“Hundred and twenty-one years,” Feanor corrected, reaching for the belt of the robe. “Hundred and twenty-one years, seven months, twelve days—“ The rest of his accounting of time was swallowed back as Erestor silenced him with another kiss.
Indeed the blankets were shoved askew off the bed. Erestor was on his back, centered on the soft mattress with his thick black hair fanned out over the pillows, his robe open to reveal soft skin, tanned slightly from the many years he and Glorfindel had spent traveling Middle-earth in search of Maglor. Balanced above him was Feanor, fingers brushing over dusky nipples, tracing patterns over Erestor’s chest and stomach. Unlike the first time he had seen the scribe unclothed, Erestor now looked healthy. His muscles did not bulge, but they were defined across his lean form. “I like this,” murmured Feanor, looking over Erestor lustfully. “Remind me to keep you out in the sun often.”
To this Erestor laughed, and shrugged himself the rest of the way out of the robe. “My intention is to find a nice, quiet library somewhere... do you know how long it has been since I have surrounded myself with scrolls and books and such?”
“One-hundred twenty-one years, seven months, and twelve days?” Feanor guessed, only half-joking.
“About that,” agreed Erestor. “Are you going to hover above me all night, or join me? Or, are you a little apprehensive about all of this?”
“Sorry, I suppose I am.” Feanor snuggled up next to Erestor, on his side so that his arm was draped over the darker haired ellon as he looked down at him. Dark eyes looked back. “There is of course something I would like for us to do, but I would hate terribly for us to regret it come the morning.”
“I think both of us have had more than enough time to reconsider our situation. I, for one, do not intend to wander through Valinor by my lonesome,” said Erestor. “What are you worried about? Why do you think we will regret this?”
“Well... you did take a fancy to a female at one time. There are thousands of beautiful, available—“
“You were married at one time! I worry that you will decide that being with me is not as good as being with her was.”
These thoughts were considered for a minute or two, until Erestor said, “No matter what happens after tonight, I know I would regret it if we simply walked away now. Besides, I have fallen in love with you. I do not think I could walk away now.”
Feanor took hold of Erestor’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it. “How can you love someone who murdered so many kin, and told so many lies?”
“Because I know, at least, I feel, that you have changed now. I think you did a lot of what you did because of Morgoth; I think he probably had you in his thrall. Knowing what we do now about him, it is not all that unlikely that you were in some ways under his power.”
Hanging his head shamefully, Feanor felt Erestor’s other hand brush over his cheek and press against his chest. “I have no desire to seek out another elleth. I would much prefer to spend all of my days and nights with you.”
“Morgoth is gone, and my wife is not coming back.” Feanor’s hand slipped back down to touch Erestor. “I want you... I want all of you.”
Erestor lifted himself up slightly, bringing himself nose to nose with Feanor and causing the wandering hand to slip between his legs. “Then stop stalling. Tell me what you want to do with me.”
“I want...” Feanor gently squeezed what his hand was holding, and Erestor moaned. “I want to take you... make you mine. Taste you, claim you... as my own.” The hand slid down underneath, knuckles gliding along the discarded silk robe beneath Erestor, two fingers pressing, pulsing against the hidden entrance. “I want to be here... inside you. I want us together.”
“Then do it,” insisted Erestor, so close their lips brushed as he spoke.
Rolling away onto his other side, Feanor retrieved oil from the nightstand. He rolled back to find Erestor extricating the slippery robe from underneath himself, tossing it down at the foot of the bed. The pair paused, looking at one another, almost searching for something. Feanor leaned down, which forced Erestor to settle his head back onto the pillows, and they kissed as the stopper was removed. Oil was drizzled into Feanor’s palm, which he used to massage Erestor’s genitals until he was fully erect before delving down further.
Erestor trembled as he felt the lubricated fingers attempting to breach him, and closed his eyes. He lifted his hips slightly and felt a pillow hastily being shoved into the space behind his back before Feanor pressed one finger forward. The virgin muscle clenched and released, drawing in the intrusion ever deeper.
Their kissing did not stop as Feanor positioned himself over Erestor, still preparing him until he could manage two fingers easily. The sounds that Erestor was making were slowly driving Feanor to the edge, and he was thankful for the beckoning look he was given when his fingers were removed. And yet, he hesitated as he aligned the head of his erection with the slick, puckered opening.
“What?” Erestor panted, feeling Feanor’s trepidation.
“Not like this,” mumbled Feanor, lowering himself down next to Erestor. He spooned himself up against his lover’s back, his erection throbbing as it pressed against the warm cleft. “This alright?”
“Nice,” replied Erestor lazily, his left arm that was somewhat trapped under them stretching up to take hold of Feanor’s hand. The other was used to reach back and grab his lover’s thigh while Feanor dipped his body down and lifted Erestor’s right leg over his own.
Feanor was slow to penetrate his lover, using his hand upon Erestor’s thigh to guide him down. Erestor released blissful moans, letting out a sigh as he felt himself deeply seated on Feanor’s hard length. “Move or something,” he suggested after a few seconds.
“So impatient.” Feanor rolled his hips, his thrusts shallow, but enough for them both to work up into a frenzy, gasping and moaning, kissing and licking, touching and grabbing, clawing and biting, until somehow they managed to have all of the blankets on the floor, and most of the pillows, too.
Feanor frantically grabbed for Erestor’s erection as he felt himself readying to release, and found it limp. “You come already?”
“What did you expect, with you back there, pounding away at me?”
“Pounding? You want pounding, I can give you pounding!” And so Erestor found himself on his knees, his ass in the air as he braced himself with his forearms and elbows as Feanor thrust into him again. The angle was much different than it had been, and something inside of Erestor shocked him to his core. He clawed at the sheets and arched back in an attempt to seek closer contact. As Feanor finally found release, the sensation of it along with the thought of just what they were doing sent Erestor over the edge again.
Feanor cleaned up the mess that had been made while Erestor crawled to the foot of the bed to retrieve a blanket. They curled up together, snuggled together, Erestor feeling warmer than he had in a long time, and Feanor feeling relaxed, cooled, calmed, and at peace.
Fire and Ice by Zhie