“The more things change, the more things stay the same.” Erestor settled onto the plush sofa with the drink he had carried with him from the foyer. There was a boisterous gathering not far away, but for now there was calm as Ecthelion closed the doors and strolled over to join Glorfindel and Erestor in the parlor. “You were right when you told me how much this was going to seem like Gondolin. What surprises me most is the detail involved.”
“Turgon has an uncanny ability to memorize things. I would not be surprised if the pattern of the brick on the roads is the same.” Glorfindel sipped his drink and closed his eyes as he settled his head back against the cushion. “Have you given further thought on where you plan to live?”
“Do I need to decide right now?” Erestor titled his head and yawned, hardly worried about etiquette while sitting with his two best friends. It had been several decades since Glorfindel had sailed west with Elrond and Galadriel and so many others. For Erestor, his first steps on the blessed beaches had occurred only days ago. “I think I might like to find a good horse and just wander for a while.”
“You? Sleep under the stars?” scoffed Ecthelion.
Erestor frowned. “I was thinking more along the lines of wandering from inn to inn.”
“Voronwe runs an inn,” offered Ecthelion. “Not here, though. You would have to go to Tol Eressea to visit it.”
“Oh? How is it? Do you think he would remember me?” Erestor worried the glass between his fingers.
“I have actually never been there. As soon as Turgon decided to take up this venture, I settled here.” Ecthelion looked to the third companion. “You were there once with your husband, right?”
Slowly, Glorfindel lifted his head and gave Ecthelion a warning look. “Voronwe’s inn is nice,” he said, and it was evident it was to be left at that.
“You… married?” Erestor studied Glorfindel.
“It bothers you. We should not speak of it,” mumbled Glorfindel hastily. “More brandy?” he offered as he stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet.
“Oh, no!” Erestor stood up, drink clutched in one hand as he chewed his lip a moment. “No… I mean… I suspected… and, no, it does not bother me… I…” Erestor laughed a little uneasily. “I guess I am surprised to hear this so suddenly. It seems like something you might have mentioned when I first arrived.”
Glorfindel grumbled something to himself as he filled his glass nearly to the brim.
“Is he… here tonight? Do I know him?” wondered Erestor. He looked to Ecthelion when Glorfindel did not answer.
“His husband rarely attends my parties,” explained Ecthelion. “We have a bit of bad blood between us.”
Erestor mused upon this riddle as Glorfindel glared daggers at Ecthelion. “Telerin?” he guessed.
“No,” answered Ecthelion with a sweet smirk. “Certainly have something in common, though.”
Glorfindel growled in the back of his throat. “Perhaps we should rejoin the others.”
“Is it someone I know?” Erestor seemed to have already convinced himself of this. “Is it Salgant?” he asked, eyes glittering with excitement as he felt he had solved the puzzle.
“Far more scandalous,” Ecthelion declared.
“Ooooo.” Erestor began to go through every name of every elf scorned by Ecthelion, and it only served to cause the host’s grin to widen, and Glorfindel’s mood to darken. Finally, Glorfindel slammed his glass down on the table and began to march past them to the door.
“Fin, come on, just tell him already!” Ecthelion gave Erestor a gleeful look. “You shall never guess it on your own.”
“You can keep playing your game, Ecthelion, I am going home!” called out Glorfindel from the door.
Ecthelion huffed. “Fine, then, go home and cry to Gothmog about it.”
Erestor suddenly sobered. His mouth hung slightly open, and he shifted his gaze from Ecthelion to the blushing blond standing at the doorway. “You married the balrog?”
Glorfindel glanced out the doorway for a moment before he shut it rather hard and set his hands upon his hips. “I married Gothmog. He is a maia, and he is nothing like he used to be. He is sweet and gentle and --- and so help me, Ecthelion if you do not stop laughing I am going to come over there and strangle you.”
“But we are talking about the Gothmog who killed Feanor and Fingon and damn near half of Gondolin, right?” confirmed Erestor.
Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest. “He is different now. Much different.”
Erestor frowned. “He was a balrog.”
“He was misunderstood.”
Ecthelion choked on his laughter.
“So…”
“So help me, Erestor, if you say it—“
Erestor could not help himself. “'Tis Glorfindel and the Balrog.”
Glorfindel narrowed his eyes. “I hate you both,” he declared before he walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.
Erestor looked momentarily worried. “Maybe I should have dropped it.”
“Nah. He only gets really pissed when I ask him if he got his hair pulled last night. He will forgive you eventually,” said Ecthelion.
Erestor did not seem convinced by Ecthelion’s declaration. “Are you sure?”
“Erestor, he married a balrog. Pretty sure he can forgive anything.”
“Good point.”
Story Notes:
I hate to admit I wrote this...