ladyjanelly

Title: Golden Vanity

Series: none

Type: FPS

Chapter: 7/?

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.

The setting was perfect, Herenecco thought; a small candle-lit table on one of the terraces near where Erestor took his evening walks. It was close enough to that route to let Erestor see the "bait" and come investigate, yet close enough to his own rooms that it made sense for him to be dining here. If things progressed as he wished, he could take Erestor back to those rooms later. The only uncertain factor was the weather. The air had cooled that day and the clouds were falling, threatening to become fog.

"More wine?" His companion nodded and smiled, even though he had already drunk enough to bring a delightful blush to his cheeks. Perhaps if he had never met Erestor, this seduction would have been more than a ruse. He was not blind to the attractiveness of the elf across from him. Given a few more years he would be a striking specimen, with his father's grey eyes and dark hair. And yet no matter how generous his mature looks were to him, Elladan would never be Erestor with his flashing eyes and sweet-looking lips.

Like an actor on his mark, Erestor appeared. He was still dressed in his formal robes as he took the long route from the large dining hall to his offices. It was his habit, the guard captain knew, to get a few hours worth of work done in the evenings to give himself more time during the day to spend on the twins' education.

Herenecco saw Erestor pause, and he refilled Elladan's wine glass. Over the dark-haired youngster's shoulder he met the secretary's eyes, and gave him a small smirk before turning back to his tablemate.

The effect was like dangling a feather before a kitten. Erestor did not seem to resist as he stepped over, and Herenecco fancied that he saw jealousy in those dark eyes. "Elladan?" Authority filled Erestor's voice. Despite the fact that less than two centuries separated their ages, guilt flickered across the youngster's face when he looked up. They were very much teacher and pupil at that moment.

"Sir?" Elladan fumbled to his feet, embarrassed and awkward.

"Do you and I not have sword lessons tomorrow at dawn?" It was all Herenecco could do to not lick his lips. Erestor's pride was beautiful. It would make his victory all the more sweet when love softened the stern lines of the young elf's face and Erestor became his.

Elladan nodded and Erestor narrowed his eyes. "Should you not be getting a good night's rest then?"

The young elf coughed. "Of course, sir." He bowed a quick sketch of a bow to Herenecco, and one to Erestor, and then he hurried off to his rooms.

-----------

Glorfindel braided back his hair, his hands sure despite the lack of a mirror. When he was done he tied the end with a small strip of leather. With practiced motions he pulled the guard's cloak over his shoulders and adjusted the hood to hide his face. The weather promised to be foggy this evening, a condition that allowed him more freedom to move among the residents of Imladris. No one would wonder why he wore a hood on a night like this. Fog, rain, gentle snow; all of these were like a holiday for him, a time when he could go out into the world of elves, safe in his disguise.

He had practiced a few short lines until he felt sure his accent was gone from them, but he still could not hold a conversation for fear of discovery. He could manage "yes sir, no sir, right away, sir," in case the cloaked guardsman he was impersonating needed to speak, but he had little confidence in a longer discussion.

He considered his options as he moved through the narrow tunnels that led from the cave he had claimed as his own to the hidden passage in an alcove near the gardens. A trip to the kitchens was mandatory; his small larder was almost empty, and his bread more moldy than not. And after that, perhaps a stroll near the Hall of Fire, just close enough to hear the music or story-telling? The idea of the rare indulgence brought a smile to his lips.

---------

Erestor watched Elladan head towards the family wing of the house. The young elf swayed as he walked, and his steps were uncertain. It was obvious the heir to Imladris had overindulged this evening. A voice in the back of Erestor's head suggested that he had arrived just in time. What sort of misfortune could have befallen the young one if his arrival had not been so well-timed?

Herenecco chuckled after the young elf had left. "Not only do you deny me your company, but now you patrol the gardens, insuring that I dine alone?" Erestor wanted to turn away and leave, but propriety made him pause. Had he misjudged the situation? He disliked being rude to anyone without adequate cause

The smile faded from Herenecco's voice, leaving nothing but gentle entreaty. "Will you join me? One glass of wine is all that I ask to share with you; a glass of wine and nothing more." The guard captain poured Erestor a glass while he waited for an answer. It was so much easier to agree than to find a reason to argue.

Erestor settled onto the stone bench Elladan had so recently vacated. One glass of wine, what harm could it do? He took the glass that Herenecco passed to him, grateful that the guardsman did not try to brush his fingers when they were close. He marveled at the intensity in the spruce-green eyes. He sipped from the glass, and it took all of his skills in diplomacy not to grimace at the bitterness of the aftertaste. That Elladan could have endured enough of the stuff to get drunk off of it was beyond his comprehension.

Herenecco cocked his head at Erestor's lack of reaction. "It's a human vintage. Some consider it an acquired taste." He smiled, and there was a light in his eyes that Erestor could not place. "There is a richness to the flavor, though it's hard to name. Try another sip..."

Title: Golden Vanity

Series: none

Type: FPS

Chapter: 8/?

Author: LadyJanelly

Email: janellstaylor@hotmail.com

Rating: pg-13

Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel

Warnings: Slash, violence, attempted non-con

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.

Herenecco struggled to hold down the thrashing elf beneath him. He's ruining it! He thought with something akin to panic. Using brute force he managed to get both of Erestor's wrists pinned with one of his hands. Straddling the secretary's lithe hips, he used his weight to keep the drug-weakened body against the ground.

Valar, so beautiful...
he thought, holding the younger elf's head still by his hair and just taking in the sight of him for a moment. Erestor panted for air, his lips parted, his face flushed from his exertions. Dark hair was spread over the ground behind his head as if disarrayed by lovemaking. His eyes were unfocused, and it almost gave the impression that he was in reverie. It was so easy for his would-be lover to imagine that his resistance was brought on by some dream in which Herenecco was not the lord of his heart and his body.

"Shhh..." he whispered, trying to soothe the fear from Erestor's fine features. "Let me pleasure you. Let me love you." He leaned low, his tongue flicking out to taste the wine-darkened lips before pressing a hungry kiss to them.

"No..." Erestor moaned before his lips were covered, his words muffled. He struggled against the guardian's grip, but the powder that had been put in his wine had stolen his strength, and he had no chance of repelling these advances. Herenecco kissed him with firm pressure of his lips, covering Erestor's mouth with his own, forcing his tongue past those so-soft lips. He dared not taste him deeper, though he wished to do so more than he could express. It was obvious that his young lover was not ready for that yet, and he had no desire to lose part of his tongue to those sharp white teeth.

Soft words were coming from Erestor's mouth, quiet pleading and begging. Herenecco ignored the words. He was sure that Erestor could not mean them, that he was only afraid of surrendering his pride, his control. Any moment those words would change from no to yes, from stop to more. He had never known a lover to leave his company unsatisfied, and he resolved that Erestor would not be the first.

Hungry for a taste, he buried his face in the crook of Erestor's neck. The smell of his sweat and fear was intoxicating, and Herenecco could not resist feeling that delicious skin between his teeth. A ragged growl slipped from the beautiful one's lips, and it did not matter in that moment if it was from pleasure or pain or anger. All will be well, Herenecco thought at that growl. He will see how good this can be. He will know that only I could have done this for him.

He sat up and took in the beauty of his conquest again, then leaned forward to place a chaste kiss to the damp forehead. As he bowed low, he saw a spark of focus in those ebony eyes, and Erestor's head shot forward faster than he had thought possible. Lightening flashed across his vision as his nose was broken, and he was blind with pain for a heartbeat. His captive redoubled his efforts to escape, freeing his hands while Herenecco was distracted by the blood running down his chin.

In that moment it all came clear. It was ruined. Erestor would never love him, would never be his. He had done everything right, and this stupid stubborn elf had ruined it all. Fury filled him, but arousal too. He had been wronged, and he would have satisfaction, one way or another.

"Damn you!" he hissed, and the back of his hand cracked across the younger elf's face. Blood blossomed at the corner of his mouth and underneath his nose, and Herenecco was encouraged by the symmetry of it; blood for blood, pain for pain. He fought with the thick fabric of the formal robes that covered his prize.

Erestor lay stunned and still, though his protests continued. "Please," he whimpered, "Please, I do not want this..."

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

Glorfindel stepped from the hidden entrance behind the rose trellis, and with the first breath of the cool night air he knew that something was amiss. He stood frozen a moment, breathing in the blossom-scented air, listening to the soft chirps of night-singing birds. All was calm, still, peaceful, and yet he could not escape the feeling of unease. A frown marred his smooth brow, and using all of the stealth he had perfected in the centuries since his rebirth, he moved out into the gardens, searching for the source.

Leaves rustled in the breeze. An owl called overhead. The sounds of a faint conversation came to his ears. He followed the distant voices towards a small alcove where an elf could sit and meditate in the quiet of the garden or a couple could enjoy a private tryst.

"Please...Herenecco..." the voice was a soft moan, and Glorfindel almost stepped away.

He had heard similar pleas in his days in Gondolin, after all. "Glorfindel, please don’t tease me," and "Please, touch me, let me touch you..." These words were almost an echo of those long-ago whispers. He turned to walk away, to leave the couple to their privacy, but some feeling of wrongness, some instinct, forced him to pause. He was frozen just long enough to recognize one of the voices, the one that was pleading so softly, as Erestor's.

Glorfindel had both hoped for and dreaded this; that Erestor would find someone to be happy with, to share his solitary nights with. He had known since he first chose to hide his face in Imladris that it could not be him, but still some stubborn hope lingered. Now the daydream was over. He resolved to walk past, to spend his evening as he had planned. He would go on to the dining hall, leaving the happy couple to their pleasures. Moving one foot after the other, he skirted around the trysting spot.

It was the tone of Erestor's voice, and not his words that broke through Glorfindel's uncertainty. When he was close enough to hear that there was no delicious tension in that voice, that the desperate pleas were not a reaction to a delightful denial, he broke into a run. The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the gardens and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral snarl.

In the alcove, one dark-haired elf crouched above another. Glorfindel recognized the shoulders and body-language of Herenecco, captain of Imladris' guards. Nothing mattered in that moment except for protecting Erestor, keeping this mad elf from harming him. Glorfindel did not think of his secrecy or his vanity. He feared neither blade nor authority. He grabbed Herenecco by the shoulder and spun him away from the form that writhed with weak movements on the ground.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Glorfindel's eyes seized the image there on the ground before him. The colors of the world became reduced to the white of Erestor's skin, the black of his hair and eyes, and the red of the blood on his face, in the bite marks on his neck and the angry scratches on the center of his chest. In the span of that same heartbeat, the red seemed to become a film over Glorfindel's vision, shading all that he saw with Erestor's pain.

He heard a crack, and his eyes met Herenecco's as the spruce-green ones lost their focus. The guard captain began to fall, and a sharp, belated pain flared up from Glorfindel's fist. He watched him hit the ground and realized he had struck the elf with all of his strength.

For a moment all was still in the gardens. Herenecco lay unmoving on the alcove's cobbled floor, his head at an unnatural angle.

Only the slow rise and fall of his chest showed that Glorfindel had not broken his neck with the force of that blow. Erestor was trying with weak motions to push himself away from the guard captain's still form, tangling himself in the remains of his formal robe. The younger elf's helplessness worried him and he crouched beside him, searching for the harm done to him. An odd scent lingered on Erestor's breath; wine but something else also.

The damage to the fair face made him ill to look upon.

More than that, he doubted it was only wine that had muddled the elf's graceful movements and clear thoughts. To see one so strong, so proud brought to helpless whimpering was almost obscene in his eyes. He would have given his left hand to undo the last night of Erestor's life.

"Please..." Erestor whispered, and Glorfindel thought that he had been mistaken for the guard captain. Pale fingers clutched at the hem of his cloak and he realized this was not the way of it. It could not be the guard captain that Erestor saw in his haze, but another.

"Please," the soft entreaty was repeated. "Please don’t leave me again..."

Title: Golden Vanity

Series: none

Type: FPS

Chapter: 9/??

Author: LadyJanelly

Email: janellstaylor@hotmail.com

Rating: PG-13 (may change for later chapters)

Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel

Warnings: Slash, violence, AU

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.

**********

Author's Note: A huge Thank-you to Nienna for helping this piece be as canon as possible, and for helping me to bring my writing to a higher level.

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

He was safe. There was no fear, no uncertainty. The arms that carried him down dark and winding paths were warm, and strong, and he trusted them without hesitation. His cheek rested against a muscular shoulder, and he breathed in the scent of his savior's hair; like earth and spices, like the forest and sunshine.

Erestor could not remember the last time someone had carried him, but he found an unexpected comfort in the action. He felt so cherished, so secure as he was taken down unseen hallways and up stairs so narrow that he was carried sideways and still the sleeve of his robe brushed the walls.

He had spent the last of his energy convincing the elf who now carried him to not leave and now he was content to be taken to whatever destination the other had in mind.

"I cannot stay," the warrior had told him, and he had known that voice. The accent could not have been mistaken, not by one who had relived every word of their previous conversations so many times in his mind. He had gripped even tighter on the worn hem of the guardian's cloak. All his skills at debate had fled with his strength, and it was a struggle to raise his head.

"Do not leave me." He was not above begging, and Varyar had hesitated. "Please do not leave me again." He felt tears of frustration stinging his eyes. Herenecco's attack had not reduced him to weeping, but the thought of being left again, abandoned again, was more than he could bear.

He heard a soft sigh, and it was becoming so difficult to focus his mind or his eyes.

"So be it." Varyar's voice had been resigned, which Erestor did not understand, but then he was being helped to sit. An arm went behind his knees, and he found himself lifted above the ground and held against the lean strength of the warrior's chest.

There was the click of a door being opened, and he could sense that they had moved into another room. With care, he was lowered onto soft, smooth bed covers. Varyar stepped away and lit a candle. Erestor winced at the sudden flare of color and blinked around at the walls and furnishings of his own room.

Glorfindel eased Erestor down to the elf's own sheets and then pried the slender fingers from the grip they held on his tunic. His arms ached for the weight they no longer held. His shoulder already felt cold where the warm body had been pressed against it. In the time it had taken to bring him here Glorfindel had become accustomed to the sheet of hair, cool and straight-falling as rain over his arm. The whisper of breath against his jaw seemed as natural to him as his own heartbeat.

A feeling of dread crept over him as he stepped away to fetch a candle, and he returned with haste. He knew he could not stay past the rising of dawn, and he knew that leave-taking would cause him more pain than the knuckles he had bruised or broken when he struck the guard captain, more than sword, spear or balrog's whip ever had.

And so he was in no hurry as he brushed midnight hair back from that pale fair face and raised the candle so that he could better see to the young elf's wounds. Despite the blood, he did not seem badly hurt, though the lack of coordination in his movements was a worry. Even as Glorfindel brushed the pad of his thumb over the bruise at Erestor's mouth, the dark-haired one smiled a vague and dazed smile at him. The effect was ghastly. Blood tinged the white teeth pink. Beyond reason, he found himself smiling in return. A chuckle made its way from his throat, the first he could remember since his rebirth.

"Ai, Erestor, you are a mess." Forcing himself to look away from those dark eyes, he went to the small cabinet near the fireplace and returned with a teacup half-full with water and one that was empty carried in one hand.

When he had first explored this room, he had expected it to be given to an elf of some rank, and not a secretary, even Elrond's secretary. The room was beautiful, though it made Erestor's humble furnishings seem simpler by comparison. The back wall, the one with the hidden door in it, was paneled in clear golden oak, a fireplace set in the center with white stone; the obvious door near the end. The other wall was a sweeping curve of arched openings, the spaces in between so narrow they were more columns than wall. He had been surprised when it was assigned to Erestor, but only for a brief time. If he was lord of Imladris, as he had been lord of the house of the golden flower, he would have done the same. Erestor would not be a secretary for long, and there was no sense in rearranging things when he was promoted in a few hundred years.

It felt strange to him as he helped Erestor to sit up again and leaned the near-limp body against his own shoulder. He had never imagined himself as a healer. Tending an illness, even that brought by too much wine, was a new experience for him. He pressed the full glass to pale lips. Three times he helped Erestor to rinse and then spit into the empty cup. Each time the water was a little clearer. When he was satisfied he lay the dark head back down on the pillows.

Through all, he was sure to keep the smoother side of his face towards the light, and the hood of his cloak up to further hide his features. 'Tis not vanity, he told himself, but survival instead. He had no doubt that he would fade should Erestor pull from him in horror and disgust, and his duty again be left undone.

Dark lashes fluttered over dark eyes and Glorfindel frowned. Surely the injury was not so bad that it forced Erestor into a healing sleep? He went to get the basin, pitcher and cloth from the washstand. The crooked smile returned to the dark-haired elf's lips as Glorfindel began to clean the blood from his face.

"Thank you," Erestor whispered as slow gentle swipes with the cloth removed the darkness from his skin. "For returning to me. For staying." Moving his hand seemed to take great effort, but he managed to raise it to grasp the tip of Glorfindel's golden braid, which he held onto as if it meant his life.

Who does he see?
Glorfindel wondered as he stared down into the dark eyes. He remembered the sight of the young elf kneeling on the battlefield next to a golden-haired corpse. Does he think I am his lost one?

"It was nothing," he murmured, moving the cool cloth over the angry red scratches on the lean, strong chest. Erestor hissed

through his teeth and clutched at the sheets with his free hand. Glorfindel winced.

"Have I hurt you?" The dark head shook a no. Glorfindel frowned. "Are you frightened? I should go..." Again Erestor shook his head no. A warm blush colored his pale cheeks, and dark eyes turned aside.

Glorfindel swallowed hard, and felt warmth rise on his own cheeks, flaring like the heat of a lightening strike on the scarred side of his face. "Erestor," his voice was firm but gentle, "It is only the wine. There is no shame..."

Erestor nodded, but still would not meet his eyes in the dim candlelight. Glorfindel finished soothing the scratches to his satisfaction, trying with all of his willpower to ignore the younger elf's reactions to the soft touches. When he was done, he pulled away, untangling his braid from the slim, pale fingers.

He helped Erestor out of his torn robes and into a soft nightshirt that was open down the front. He felt as if he was moving in a dream, that if he focused on the sensation of soft skin beneath his fingertips he would awake and it would all slip away from him.

When Erestor said he felt he might be sick, Glorfindel helped him onto his side and emptied the basin of water and set it nearby should he need to use it. His knuckles were beginning to swell as he combed out the tangles in the soft dark hair and braided it back as neat as he could.

He kept the younger elf awake for long hours, asking him about the books he had read and the places he had been in his life. He was careful to not ask any question that would tempt Erestor into betraying his lord or his household's secrets. If Erestor remembered any of this come morning, he wanted to be sure he was not thought of as a spy.

Dawn had not yet broken over the horizon when Erestor dropped into peaceful reverie, his dark gaze soft and unfocused. Glorfindel cleaned up what small mess he had made, folding away the torn robe. He knew that he was lingering without cause, and at last he forced himself to the hidden passageway and out.

The closing of the door behind him was the most final sound he had heard in either lifetime.