Golden Vanity ch 4-6

[ladyjanelly]

Erestor/Glorfindel LotR fic in progress.  Nothing like my BDs stuff

Title: Golden Vanity

Series: none

Type: FPS

Chapter: 4/?

Author: LadyJanelly

Email: janellstaylor@hotmail.com

Rating: R

Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel

Warnings: Slash, violence

Disclaimer: No elves are my property. Writing not done for profit.

Beta: Nienna

Feedback: Gives me a reason to write and post instead of just playing with scenes in my head.

Archive: Please ask

Summary: Glorfindel, reborn, finds himself changed, and unwilling to risk another fall for the sake of his vanity. AU.

**************

The battle was over and the wind danced over the corpse-strewn plain as if it too was looking for its own among the corpses. Men and elves worked to find any who had survived the chaos of that last day's fighting. Bodies were being moved into neat lines for their final ceremonies; men to one side and elves to the other. The air was thick with smoke from the bonfires that were consuming the piled remnants of Sauron's filthy minions.

Erestor had joined the searchers, his broken arm splinted and bound to his side. There had not been enough poppy-dust for all of the wounded, and what there was had been used for those whose agonized thrashings may have cost them their lives. His arm hurt, but he had pushed the sensation away. He would not acknowledge it, though it lingered at the edges of his awareness.

A crow screeched at him, its harsh voice almost sounding like a laugh as he shooed the thing away with his good hand. He had tried to stop thinking about anything, just moving from body to body, touching each one, searching for some sign of life. There was an ache inside of him that had nothing to do with his injuries. They had denied the dark one his victory, though the cost had been high--Gil-galad and so many others lost, dead. Elves should not die. Each body he turned over, each broken corpse that he searched for pulse and breath was an eternity of happiness, joy, creativity, kindness, cut short before it had barely begun.

A strand of golden hair caught his eye, and it felt as if there was no longer room enough in his chest for his heart to beat. Using his good arm, he pulled one orcish corpse, then another one, off of the fair form. With frantic speed he searched for a pulse, and found none. Just as he thought his heart would break, his soul would shatter, his light would fade from the world, he saw the eyes of this dead elf. They were the green of deep water, and not the blue of spring skies, and he knew this was not Varyar.

Relief brought him to his knees, and for the first time he allowed himself to feel the pain, exhaustion and fear of the past five years. While he was not the only elf on the field of death and destruction, he was very alone when he bowed his head, covered his face with his hand, and wept.

--------------------

Glorfindel tied a strip of cloth over the wound on his upper arm. He felt safe here on the hillside, overlooking the site of the battle, tending to his wounds. There were none to see him here, none to know him. He would hear no words of praise for his actions on the field this day; he would have no temptation to feel flattered. He knew he was hiding, up here and alone, but it was much safer to suffer the shame of his cowardice than to risk the consequences of his vanity again.

He could see the tent Elrond had gone to from here, and he watched it, though the call of his destiny weighed lighter on his shoulders now that the fighting was done. Should some trouble arise, he was sure he could be back at Elrond's side in time to combat any threat.

From his vantage point, he could see young Erestor, and he watched as the dark-haired elf moved across the field, searching for something, someone. It had been half a day since the last time anyone, elf or man, had been found still alive on that field. It was a sad thing to watch, knowing there was so little hope that any may still live there.

He grieved for the young elf's pain, and more so when Erestor found the unmoving form under the pile of orc corpses.

Who was he?

Glorfindel wondered as Erestor fell to his knees, as he covered his face with one hand, as his strong shoulders shook with sobs. Friend? Lover, brother, father? His heart mourned with the young one, and he yearned to climb down the slope, to go to him, bring him what comfort he may. Movement on the field stopped him before he could rise, and he watched as Elrond moved across the bloodied plain to Erestor's side.

 

"Erestor." Elrond's voice was gentle, his concern for the younger elf as real as the hand he rested on the cotton-clad shoulder. He was not reassured to find the wounded elf on the battlefield instead of sleeping on a cot in the healing tents, but Erestor had never been easy to command except in combat.

"I cannot find him," Erestor whispered, looking up at Elrond. His eyes were wide with suppressed distress, and exhaustion had left dark smudges underneath them. "His name is Varyar, and I cannot find him."

Elrond frowned, and lowered himself to Erestor's level, though he crouched there instead of kneeling in the dark mud.

"Erestor...I kept the lists of all of our warriors. I do not remember such a name." He was careful to not claim that the elf in question did not exist. Still, the statement seemed to add to the dark-haired elf's distress. Erestor gripped Elrond's arm with his good hand.

"And yet he was here, and his armor was in the fashion of Lindon, not of Lothlorien or the Greenwood. He saved me. He saved you. I saw him. I have to find him." The young elf's shoulders shuddered as if a wind of ill-tidings had passed through him. "His hair was gold and his eyes were blue, and he wore the boots that I gave to him..."

A crow, annoyed as the conversation's volume continued to rise, squawked its displeasure and hopped away. It had fed too well this day to fly.

Elrond let Erestor speak, then pushed a tangled strand of hair back from Erestor's face and wiped a muddy tear from his cheek. The streak that was left clean was as pale as a scar in comparison to the rest of his grimy skin. "I am sorry, young one. I only know that I was never under attack from the side that you guarded, and that whenever my gaze fell upon you that you were engaging some enemy in battle, even with your shield gone and your arm broken. You would not yield."

Erestor shook his head. "He was here. I must find him."

"They are still tallying the dead, and the living still report to their commanders. I swear to you the records will be examined. If he was here, he will be found." And then he gave his voice the tone that served so well in the healing houses or on the field of battle. "But he will not be found by you today, unless his bunk is next to yours, do you understand me?"

Dark hair veiled Erestor's face as he nodded his acceptance. "Aye, sir." Elrond gripped his shoulder for one moment more, and then offered his hand to help Erestor stand.

"I am pleased to hear it." And the healer in him was pleased to see the young elf rise without much assistance, and stand steady on his feet. Together, they trudged across the field to the healing tents.

"Erestor," Elrond began as they walked, coming at last to his reason for going after the young soldier. "I leave in a fortnight for Imladris. I am going to build a permanent haven there." Erestor looked up, dark eyes meeting grey ones as he listened. "I want you there. Will you

come with me, join my guard, and help ensure the safety of any who

needs a refuge?"

The younger elf winced. "I am flattered, Lord Elrond, but..."

Elrond cocked his head, watching this unexpected reaction.

"Please, if there is any other who would, who could do this, please

take another. I would be honored to go with you, to give you my loyalty,

but if I have the luxury to do so, I will put aside my sword and fight no

more."

How like Erestor to make even rewarding him a trial, Elrond

thought. The elf-lord was forced to smile. "I will find a place for you,

Erestor. So long as there is no need, I will not ask you to take up arms. Can you be satisfied with this promise?"

Erestor nodded. "Aye, I can be satisfied with that."

"Then I am pleased to welcome you as one of Imladris' first residents." It pleased Elrond's heart to say those words, to know his friendship with the strong young elf would continue.

Erestor smiled, and the warmth in his eyes was like sunshine breaking

over the horizon. "Thank you, my lord. I will not disappoint you."

Somehow Elrond could not doubt those words.

Title: Golden Vanity

Series: none

Type: FPS

Chapter: 5/?

Author: LadyJanelly

Email: janellstaylor@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel

Warnings: Slash, violence

Disclaimer: No elves are my property. Writing not done for profit.

Beta: Nienna

Feedback: Gives me a reason to write and post instead of just playing with scenes in my head.

Archive: Please ask (unless you found this at a Yahoo groups, and then the group it was found on is welcome to archive it.

Summary: Glorfindel, reborn, finds himself changed, and unwilling to risk another fall for the sake of his vanity.

 

Elrond, Erestor and the rest of the warriors that remained of the High-King's host returned to Imladris, the secret refuge where the mothers, sisters, and children of those fighting in the wars had been hidden. Like a shadow, Glorfindel followed them. In his desire to remain unseen, he became silent even by the measure of elves. He learned to move through the forest without breaking a twig or leaving a single footprint. He could walk hooded through a crowded campsite as if he belonged there; drawing not a single puzzled look from the warriors taking their rest.

From afar he watched Erestor's tearful reunion with those he had left behind

and Elrond's shy greeting of a delicate silver-haired elleth. His own loneliness was an ache in his chest, yet he accepted it as a penance for the foolishness of his former life. For the first time he regretted all the years he had spent as a shallow lord of Gondolin, choosing his companions for their beauty or their prestige. None of his memories of that time were strong enough, true enough, to keep him warm in his solitude.

The settlement grew into and upon the sloping cliff-face beside the waterfalls, a beautiful thing brought into being from Elrond's vision through the efforts of all the valley's residents. It appeared to Glorfindel that Elrond had taken to heart the lessons learned from his grandmother's flight from Gondolin. A maze of secret passages, so visible while the walls were being put up, riddled the house to where they met up with the natural caves of the mountainside. Should the worst ever come to pass, the refuge would not become a trap. There would always be a way out.

He satisfied his call to duty by patrolling the forests on foot, searching out small pockets of evil and crushing them. Glorfindel of Gondolin would have felt the thrill of victory with each kill, the joy of success. This new Glorfindel felt only a vague sensation of satisfaction before he went back to patrolling, to searching for the next threat to his lord.

Denying himself became his life. He ate what others left, he wore what none wanted. He took as little from the nascent city as he could survive on, and sometimes in those first difficult years he made do with roots and berries for much of the time. He took his clothing from the back of the wardrobe in the soldiers' barracks or from the rag pile. As Imladris began to grow and thrive he was able to take day-old bread from the kitchens late at night and filch his garments from the laundry rooms.

He found a small cave behind the passages in the wall, and made for himself a home there. He lined a hollow with straw, and covered it with an old rug that had been stored away in favor of a newer one and that became his bed.

Day by day, with each self-inflicted denial, it became easier to accept his humble existence. He began to find small joys in simple things, and not the gilded comfort and opulence that Glorfindel of Gondolin could not have lived without. In some ways it was easier. Without his pride to protect he had no pressure to be seen, to show the world his beauty, his courage, his skills.

He found no happiness in his own accomplishments, but he knew immense pleasure from watching the advancement of another. Erestor, the gentle elf who had gifted him with boots that first day of his rebirth, was taken by Elrond as a scribe. While the house was being built Glorfindel would see the dark-eyed young elf working as hard and long as any other through the day, then at night his silhouette in his tent by candle's light, working deep into the night. Afterwards, he kept long hours in his office; arriving before Elrond most mornings and leaving after his lord in the evening. Decades passed, and Erestor was promoted from scribe to Elrond's personal secretary; quite an accomplishment for an elf so young.

If Erestor had been fair as an elf on the cusp of adulthood, the years and responsibility made him even more so. The childish lines of his face refined into the clean strength of an adult face. His cheekbones became more defined, his eyes bright and clear, his lips full and soft, his skin so pale against the jet of his hair. From afar Glorfindel appreciated this grace, this beauty, but he knew it was not for him. Erestor's companionship, perhaps even his affection, was another luxury he had no claim to, no right to ask for.

Others noticed Erestor, of course. Glorfindel could see the attempts to gain the dark one's favor; small gifts and large, extravagant dinners and little romantic gestures. He wanted the counselor to be happy, to find someone who appreciated his wit and kindness, his beauty and his charm. As much as he hated himself for it, a part of him was still relieved every time Erestor would reject some new suitor with polite words and no warmth.

The decades turned into a century and more. Elrond took the shy silver-haired elleth to wife. Erestor said goodbye to his mother and sister as they took ship and left the world they had known. Children were born to the lord of the land, two bright and adventurous boys.

Erestor was given the task of their education and Glorfindel watched as they spent years studying from books, from nature, from the tales older elves would tell. For the first time since the last battle, Erestor took up sword and shield and taught the elflings their first lessons in weapon-work. Despite their constant mischief, the affection that Erestor held for them was obvious. With the guidance and support of their tutor and their parents, the twins grew proud and strong as they neared adulthood.

Time passed, and as the passages behind the walls were not needed for escape, and were never a shorter way from any place to another, the elves of the valley forgot about their existence. In the dark places of the house and in the lonely stretches of the forest around it, Glorfindel felt himself becoming less than an elf. He was an apparition, a manifestation of his duty, something that was not to be seen, and not to be touched.

One small spark of life was left to him, one bright joy. When his eyes became unfocused at night, when he began to slip into reverie, a vision of a dark eyed young soldier would come to him, asking him soft questions in a voice filled with kindness. He existed for his duty to Elrond. He lived for his love of Erestor.

Title: Golden Vanity

Series: none

Type: FPS

Chapter: 6/?

Author: LadyJanelly

Email: janellstaylor@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel

Warnings: Slash, violence

Disclaimer: No elves are my property. Writing not done for profit.

Beta: Nienna

Feedback: Gives me a reason to write and post instead of just playing with scenes in my head.

Archive: Please ask

Summary: Glorfindel, reborn, finds himself changed, and unwilling to risk another fall for the sake of his vanity.

 

The door to Elrond's office was open by a hand's breadth, a signal that the lord of Rivendell was occupied, but unopposed to interruption. On any other day Erestor would have joined him without hesitation, to listen in on whatever report Elrond was receiving before giving his lord his own.

On this day however, the other voice from within stayed his hand and he stood outside, intrigued but reluctant to face this particular elf.

"...we followed the trail, and it led to an orc encampment, less than a day's ride from the valley," Herenecco was reporting. This was something more than a routine report, and perhaps something that Erestor should know. He entered the room with a bow to his lord and a slighter nod to Elrond's captain of the guard.

"Please, do not let me interrupt." He took a seat by the window, setting himself apart from the conversation to listen but not participate.

Elrond gestured to the dark-haired captain, and Herenecco continued with his report. "They were twenty to our nine, and we waited until they began to make their morning camp before we attacked them. They were all destroyed. We suffered minor injuries and no loss of life."

Elrond pondered a moment, and Herenecco took the chance to glance at Erestor, something hungry and hurting in his spruce-green eyes. Erestor chose to watch Elrond, and pretended to have missed that strange look the captain had given him.

"You said you followed the trail away from Imladris to where the orcs were camped. How deeply did they penetrate our border?" The lord's voice was grim as he thought through the implications, but Herenecco shook his head.

"They never came closer than they were where we caught them. The trail to them was not made by orcs, but by something else. We followed a line of broken twigs and bent grass without ever finding a single footprint." Elrond's eyebrow arched at this declaration.

"Something has come close to this haven, orc or otherwise." He rubbed his temples and sighed. "Have all of your patrols watching for this intruder. Be it friend or foe, I will not tolerate an unknown element traveling free within this land."

Herenecco bowed and rose to his feet. "Thank you, captain," Elrond spoke, "That will be all."

The handsome elf bowed again to Elrond, and then with one last lingering look at Erestor, he stepped out the door.

Erestor moved to the chair the other had vacated. The pair of dark-haired elves sat in silence a moment, and then a slight smile tugged at the corners of Elrond's lips. "Another unexplainable occurrence for your files, Erestor?"

Erestor shrugged. "Perhaps. I would like to talk to others in the patrol, especially their tracker." For almost two hundred years he had played with this puzzle, taking careful notes of supplies missing, enemies killed and secret threats uncovered. Twenty orcs...the most kills in a day ever attributed to this mystery-being had been eight. Had twenty been too many for it to fight? But if the guardians had been led to the large party of orcs, that action seemed to imply that the apparition was no spirit. Limits, Erestor pondered. A thing may be defined by its limits, by what it cannot do. His agile mind began to plan how he would cross-reference his data, excited by what he may discover.

Elrond cleared his throat, and Erestor's full attention returned to him. He knew well the look in his lord's eyes. "I take it the dinner that Herenecco had planned for the two of you did not go as well as he had hoped?"

The shift in conversation was not unexpected. "He was not the one," Erestor murmured, looking away. He knew his friend only wanted to see him happy. Part of the reason he had accepted the invitation at all was that he knew Elrond worried less if he made some effort to be social on his off-duty hours.

"Are you sure you gave him a chance?" His lord asked. "He seems a good elf, loyal and brave."

Erestor passed the report he had brought over Elrond's desk, hoping he would be distracted. The arch of an eyebrow showed him he his hopes had been in vain. His lord took the scroll and set it aside without even glancing at it.

"I am not saying he is lacking in some way, or that he is anything less than you name him, but he is not the one my heart yearns for."

Elrond's grey eyes met Erestor's ebony ones. "Elves were not meant to spend eternity alone, Erestor. I only want you to be happy. I only want to see you find such joy as Celebrian and I share. You must open your life sometime."

Erestor nodded, not breaking eye contact. "I will, Elrond. I promise you. My heart is not closed. When I find the one I search for, I will know him. Until then, it is cruelty to pretend that there is a possibility when none exists." He recognized that his tone had turned pleading. He wanted his lord, his friend, to understand that he did hunger for a love. He did search for a love, but it was no elf that he had met.

Elrond sighed and shook his head, the look in his eyes tired and sad, resigned. "Very well. Just promise me that you will keep your possibilities open. Please do not judge them so swiftly that you miss the thing you are most searching for."

Erestor smiled and nodded. "You have my promise. Now, about this report..."

---------

Outside the door, Herenecco grinned like an elfling. Hope; he had hope again. He understood now why Erestor was alone, even if it seemed that Elrond did not. No one before had the nerve to persist after the counselor's calm rejection. None had taken the effort to show him how very much he mattered to them. A plot began to form in his head. One night... if he could just get Erestor to relax and accept him for one night, he was sure he could prove to the fair one that what he had waited for was before him all along.

He hurried down the hallway, too excited to retain a graceful stride. In his head he began to create a list of things he needed; a lure to bring Erestor to his side, a place to share his company, fine wines and delicacies, sweet oils and, most important, a bottle of the lover's potion that the human apothecary in the nearby settlement sold. He went to his offices and reworked the schedule, giving himself time to get the potion and then return under the guise of an extended patrol. In less than a fortnight, he thought, Erestor will be mine...