Golden Vanity ch 10-12

[ladyjanelly]

Title: Golden Vanity

Series: none

Type: FPS

Chapter: 10/??

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.

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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.

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Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. The sun was just now rising and already this day was not on his list of favorites. To be awoken before dawn with news that his captain of the guard had been found in the gardens with his nose and jaw broken and a feeling of dread settling like a stone in his stomach was not a pleasant way to begin the day.

He sighed and straightened Herenecco's clothing where it was stacked and looked down at the elf. Both eyes were black from the broken nose, and his jaw a sickly purple color. The bone had started to mend before he was found, and Elrond had been forced to re-break it in order for it to be set properly.

A muffled clink sounded from the cloth Elrond was folding, and he looked down in time to see a small clay bottle hit the floor and break in two. He sighed with regret for Herenecco's possession and reached to pick it up. When he did, he frowned with puzzlement. Human made, he could see that from the bottle. He tipped it up and a tiny bit of white powder slid out. A potion or healing powder? He tried to think what an elf, one of his guards, could need with a human concoction when he had the healing houses of Imladris to provide for his needs.

Frowning, he glanced at the still-unconscious guard, then moistened the tip of his finger and tasted the bottle's contents. It took a moment to realize what it was, and when he did, he spit it from himself and wiped his tongue on his sleeve. Fury burned in his chest, but did not displace the feeling of ill-ease that had plagued him since he woke.

"My lord?" one of the other healers asked as he strode to Herenecco's bedside and shook him awake, her voice sharp with surprise. Never in the healing house had they seen their lord so angry at a patient.

"Is this yours?" Elrond demanded as the spruce-green eyes tried to focus on the item in his hands. Herenecco blinked, swallowed, looked up at his lord, and nodded.

Grey eyes flashed with anger as Elrond took a breath to steady himself. "Have you given Heart's Fire to an elf?" His words were clipped, and evenly spaced. He resisted the urge to throw something or someone. An elf, drugged with Heart's Fire, could die if allowed to sleep. Somewhere in Imladris an elf was dying.

The captain of the guard had the decency to look ashamed of himself as he closed his eyes and nodded again.

Elrond ground his teeth together. "Who?" he demanded, though with his broken jaw there was no way for Herenecco to answer. A flash of memory came to him from the night before; Elladan speaking with the guardian, smiling, walking from the dining hall with him. "Did you give this to my son?" Fear that only a parent can know stabbed at him, even when the injured elf shook his head a vehement no.

"Father?" He turned, and there stood his children, his beautiful sons. Elladan's eyes glanced at the captain, uncertainty in their depths. "What has happened? Is Herenecco well? And Erestor?"

"Erestor?" Grey eyes flashed with new anger.

Elladan nodded and took a step back. "We were to have sword lessons this morning at dawn and he was not at the field when I arrived. I was worried because he was late, and he's never late." The older twin hesitated. "I was with Herenecco in the gardens when Erestor came by to remind me last night. It looked like he might stay."

Elrond groaned. "You two, check the study, the library, any place that you can think Erestor may have gone if he was hurt or afraid. I'll check his chambers. If you find him, one of you try to wake him while the other comes back to find me. Do you understand?"

Two dark heads nodded their understanding, and then they sprinted off with all the energy of youth and the urgency of those unused to fear.

Elrond broke into a run in the opposite direction, to Mandos with lordly dignity. Has he met his end under my command at last?

------

He ran. Not the ground-eating strides that an elf could maintain for days, but the all-out frantic pace of one fleeing a source of pain too great to be borne. He was like a ghost-wind through the forest, moving at great speed yet leaving no sign of his passing. He pushed himself to the threshold of what his body could stand and beyond. The air in his lungs was afire; a white ache was building behind his eyes.

And he welcomed it; the burn, the pain. Anything to distract him from the memory of that taste of what he could never have, did not deserve. He was cut soul-deep by bitter longing.

His next step met empty air, and for half a heartbeat it was as if the Balrog was pulling him down again; he was falling. Then the rocky bed of the small stream that had cut the gully through the forest was rising up to meet him and he fell hard upon it. He rolled to his knees, less hurt than startled. The trance he had put himself into during the run was broken however, and all of his despair came rushing back to him.

He wrapped his arms around himself and screamed into the dawn. He howled like a wild thing, frightening birds to flight and small animals to flee. He cried until he had no voice left and no strength. He fell into the shallow waters, and even their smooth caress reminded him of his love's dark hair running over his fingers.

"Erestor..." he whispered the name like a prayer. "Erestor..."

 

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"Erestor!" Someone was calling his name. The sound of a fist banging on his door pulled him the last bit away from the soft comfortable dreams he had been nestled in; dreams of gentle touches and loving words.

He opened his eyes as Elrond burst uninvited into his rooms, his eyes more intense than Erestor had seen since the war. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, feeling somehow weak and drained. The brightness of the room told him dawn had come, and he bit back a groan as he remembered that he had sword lessons with Elladan this day. How was he ever to teach the youngsters the value of punctuality when he himself could not arrive on time?

And then Elrond was steadying him, half-kicking away the porcelain basin by his feet. His chin was tipped back, his face turned towards the sun's thin rays.

"Are you well?" The elf-lord asked him, searching his face as if for some clue, some answer. Elrond's eyes fell to the still-red scratches down his chest, and a feeling of shame crept over him, though he could not have said why.

The younger elf nodded and pulled his head away from the strong fingers of his lord. "Aye, I am sorry that I was late. It will not happen again." He could not make sense of it; the concern, almost fear on his friend's face. He pulled his shirt closed; only now realizing it was not the one he remembered wearing the day before.

Elrond caught Erestor's hands in his and ran his thumbs over the flawless knuckles.

"Erestor, I need you to tell me about last night. Someone broke Herenecco's jaw, and it was not you." Elrond's voice was gentle yet strong. In this moment he was friend, father-figure and lord of the valley.

"I..." Erestor could not meet the earnest grey eyes. "You will think me mad, a drunkard or a liar." Images of the night before teased at his mind, small glimpses that refused to order themselves into a coherent story.

His lord's smile was sad. "I had thought we knew each other better than that, Erestor." And the younger elf was forced to concede that yes, they did, and so he began his story.

It was past noon when a very troubled Elrond left Erestor's room, leaving the left Erestor's room, telling him take a few days of rest before reporting for his duties again.

"And if there is anything you are in need of, please do not hesitate to ask for me," he concluded.

"Of course," Erestor assured him. "And Elrond?" The lord of Imladris hesitated in the doorway, "Thank you for all you have done for me."

Title: Golden Vanity

Series: none

Type: FPS

Chapter: 11/?

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.

 

Elrond rested his head in his hands, massaging his temples with his thumbs. Except for the guards still searching for Herenecco's attacker, Imladris was quiet. To his misfortune, the valley's lord had no such ease. His worries were many. Herenecco had to be relieved of duty. That was evident. Even without Erestor's muddled recollections of the night before, the elf had admitted to attempting seduction through such vile trickery that it was only another facet of violation.

Herenecco had failed and it was attributed to an apparition that Erestor could not or would not describe to him, a fact he found almost as worrying. Despite his youth, Elrond's secretary, friend and tutor to his children had always seemed the most stable of elves. A wisdom and strength beyond his years stared back from those dark eyes, and Elrond had considered adding him to his circle of counselors soon after the twins passed their majority. He had assigned the younger elf to take a few days of rest. He hoped that by the end of those days they would talk again and Erestor would be able to put into words all that he could remember of his rescuer. If it was revealed as a friend he would welcome it into his home, but if it was some form of dark trickery it must be dealt with in a swift and final manner.

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

The secret door opened without a sound, and Erestor felt himself shiver. He had been right when he remembered the figure of his rescuer disappearing on this side of his room. The tiniest glint of gold caught his eyes and he reached out, taking a single strand of hair from where it had caught on a rough patch on the doorframe. He grinned. He wasn’t mad. He could show this to Elrond, he had his proof. Even this small evidence restored his confidence.

He paused on the threshold between the light room and the dark passage and tried to think if there was anything else he could need here, and could find nothing lacking. He had spent all of a day researching the architecture of Imladris, poring over floor plans and blueprints and the original land surveys. He had known the passages existed of course. He had helped to build them, in those early days. One just tends to not dwell on things that have had no importance in the previous century or two.

He had spent the first half of this morning studying all of his notes, all of his theories, everything he had regarding the apparition that had saved him from Herenecco. The apparition that he was beginning to suspect was no more spirit than he himself was. In the first untouched page of his journal he had documented his plans for this day, should some misfortune befall him. He had only his own drugged recollections of gentle words, soothing touches to rest his faith in, he knew. What if he had been wrong, what if there was more than one unknown thing behind the walls of Imladris?

Determined not to dwell on the dark possibilities, he set his jaw and lit his lantern. Its light seemed thin and small in the darkness, though he knew it would be sufficient assistance for elven sight. He checked the dagger at his hip, remembering his father's words of wisdom. "One should not hunt deer without being prepared to meet the wolf." He had made it his life's habit to be prepared for whatever may come and this enterprise was no exception.

His first step was certain, and he closed the door behind him. He moved with growing confidence down the narrow corridor, admiring the workmanship and quality that went into even such a seldom-seen part of the keep. Dark eyes searched by the light of his tiny flame for some clue, some guide.

By and by the smooth elf-crafted floors gave way to ones of rougher stone, navigable but requiring more of his attention. He placed his feet with care, and he memorized each turn that he made, each branching of the way. The original surveys showed very little of the natural caves beyond those needed as potential escape routes. If he became lost he would have only his wits to save him.

Another turn, and he was off of the maps that he had memorized. He chose a direction at random, and felt the ground slope down and the passage wound its way through natural stone.

Chalk,

he thought as he fought the instinct to go back to daylight, to explore all of those known paths before he went so deep. Next time I shall bring chalk, and leave marks to find my way by, should I become lost. But he knew he would not, that if he did not find his apparition this trip he would come again, and it would be best if his quarry was unwarned.

Loose gravel shifted under his feet and he slid a short distance. The flickering flame of his lantern sent a tug of fear through his stomach as he tried to think how he would survive should it go out. He held still as a statue for long moments, catching his breath and watching the now-steady light.

The tunnel turned to the left then back to the right, and then opened without warning into a broader area, and he grinned and knew he had found the lair of the apparition, and that the apparition was, in fact, a living creature. He moved across the floor, noting that it was covered with a thick layer of sand, and raised his lantern above his head to spread light around the room.

The lair was perhaps ten paces wide in either direction, with the narrow tunnel entering on one side and exiting on the other. Looking down at the sand, he peered close before he disturbed the center and saw there footprints as slender as his own. Elation caused his heart to pound in his chest. Elf. I am sure of it.

The melted stumps of candles circled the room, stuck on small outcroppings on the rough walls and sunk into the sandy floor around the perimeter. As if lighting...he turned a slow circle, a performance area, or...sparring circle. Against one wall was a tiny hearth of unset stones. He lowered his hand and felt the slight warmth still radiating from the stones. A bucket of clear-seeming water stood beside the store of unburned logs, accompanied by a dented pan and a chipped teacup. He followed the smoke stain on the wall with his eyes but it went up further than the light from his lantern.

In an alcove to the side he spotted a bit of color. Upon closer inspection it was revealed to be a bed of sorts, a thick pile of hay covered over by a threadbare rug and a mound of old rags. The cloth was stained, worn, still there was no scent of decay or filth here. Everything here was as clean as its counterpart in Erestor's own room, discounting the sand.

The whisper of movement was the only warning he had, and he spun to find a hooded figure close, too close. Before he could guard it, before he could even focus on the shape before him, his lantern's flame was snuffed out and utter darkness surrounded him.

Silence. He held his breath, afraid to make the slightest sound. If he could not feel the other there in the cave with him he would have sworn he was alone. He felt dizzy, foolish. A dozen smarter ways to have done this sprang to his mind in silent reprimand. He turned his head, searching for some idea where his company had gone. Long moments passed and nothing changed.

Gathering his courage he reached out a hand to search for the way out. Strong fingers caught his wrist, tightening to a grip just short of painful. He flinched, face twisting with fear and discomfort, but he did not gasp or cry out. He could feel the other person tremble in the dark.

"What..." the voice in the darkness began. It was thick and gravelly, colored with the Quenya accent and heavy with what sounded like pain. "What ill have I committed that you would do this to me?"

 

 

Title: Golden Vanity

Series: none

Type: FPS

Chapter: 12/?

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.

 

 

He blew out the small lantern without thinking. The fear of being seen, being known, overrode conscious thought. Erestor reached out towards him, fingers searching but not finding. Glorfindel realized that while Erestor had been using the tiny fire to see by, he himself had shielded his eyes from its glare. While the light of their elven glow was enough for him, the younger elf was blind in the darkness.

"What..." Erestor was here, in the one place he never wanted anyone to be, much less an elf so pure, so good, so...of the light. The wrongness of it twisted in his gut. "What ill have I committed that you would do this to me?" They were not the words he had intended to say, but if the sound of accusation in his voice would chase Erestor back to the sun, so much the better.

He realized that he had caught the dark-haired elf's wrist, in a grip that could not be comfortable. With a shiver, he released his hand.

"No, please..." Distress colored the young elf's protest. "You've done no wrong. I only came to thank you. For what you did for me in the garden. And centuries ago, on the field of battle." Erestor hesitated. "It was you, was it not? Varyar?" Glorfindel knew he should say something at this point, deny that identity. Too long had passed though, since he had conversed with another, and he could not find the appropriate words.

"I want to repay you." Erestor's voice was uncertain and all Glorfindel wanted to do was to dispel that uncertainty.

"No, that is not necessary." He was aware of his voice, his accent; how archaic he sounded. "You are welcome. It was...no trouble."

Erestor smiled, and even in the dim lighting it warmed Glorfindel to see it. "You saved my life." His voice had the tone of a formal negotiation, though the smile stayed on his lips. "I am in your debt and will be unable to rest until it is repaid." He squinted towards Glorfindel, and the scarred elf knew that his eyes were adjusting. Soon they would see each other equally well in the darkness.

Glorfindel began to pace, his steps trapped by the smallness of the room. "Repay me by leaving; tell none that I am here."

A flicker of regret passed over Erestor's fair features. "I must tell my lord. I am bound by my honor to do this. No other will hear of you from my lips. I swear it."

Glorfindel felt like sighing. "I understand. Forgive me for asking such a thing."

"There must be something I can do," Erestor continued. "Something that you want that is in my power to grant you."

Want...

it had been so long since Glorfindel had allowed himself to want. The question lingered in the air and he could not answer it. He did not deserve to have the thing he most desired. "I..." It was overwhelming, this fair elf's offer. "I have all that I need."

"And there is nothing else in all the world that you would have?"

I would have you.

The words fought his throat, trying to escape, trying to be spoken. To keep them safe inside, he spoke the first thought that came to him. "I would like to eat a good meal." It had been so long, and there were so many things that he barely remembered the taste of that he couldn’t be more specific. He would have to trust that Erestor would choose well for him.

The dark elf's voice became tight; whether in real or feigned offence, Glorfindel couldn’t tell. "A meal. In repayment for you saving me on that last bloody day of the battle? Is my life worth so little?"

Glorfindel was forced to admit that no; it was worth so much more. The debate began, as Erestor tried to give as much as possible and Glorfindel tried to accept as little as possible. In the end, it was agreed that a dinner every possible evening for a year was more than "Varyar's" efforts on that day of their second meeting, but worth less than Erestor's life.

Glorfindel felt that somehow he had made a poor bargain. He knew he wasn’t a stupid elf, but the way Erestor used logic, emotion and honor was just unfair. He found himself agreeing to facts then annoyed at where those facts led the conversation. He was reaching the conclusion that perhaps haggling was a skill that one should practice often or use not at all, when Erestor spoke again.

"And at the end of that year, we can decide what it is you will accept in repayment for the other times you have saved my life." Glorfindel stopped pacing, staring at the serene form in the darkness. He was beginning to distrust all words that the younger elf spoke.

"Other times? What trick is this?" He knew he wasn’t a stupid elf, and his patience for debate was at an end.

He expected the flicker of humor to return to Erestor's voice, but instead it was soft and serious. "He would have violated me," the darkling elf whispered. Glorfindel remembered the scene as he had found it, and knew Erestor spoke the truth. "He would have violated me, and I would have faded from the grief of it. You saved my life as surely as if he had a blade to my throat."

Glorfindel stood more still than an elf made of marble. These words he could not dispute.

"But that will be a discussion for another day, a year from tomorrow, yes?" His tone was lighter, if only by a bit, and Glorfindel found himself smiling and nodding before he could stop himself.

"Yes...I mean no. You said times." He tried to project a hint of warning into his voice, but knew he only sounded petulant.

"You kept me awake. I remember talking to you until the eastern sky began to warm. Without you, Herenecco's potion would have killed me. If I had slept, I never would have awakened."

The hooded elf hung his head, fighting the unexpected rush of anger. He understood now, Erestor's drunken mumblings and disjointed movements of that night. What he had assumed was a spontaneous overstepping of boundaries on Herenecco's part suddenly became premeditated assault in his eyes. "He will be punished?" Only an act of will kept his voice steady.

There was a moment of silence. "He acknowledges giving me the human's potion." A pause stretched between them as Erestor took a breath. "Even I do not believe he meant to poison me to death. Beyond that, he has claimed no wrongdoing, and my testimony is sketchy at best. What I felt and believed, and the facts that I can remember are two different things."

Glorfindel could hear the stress in the younger elf's voice. His own chest ached with sympathy for the fear and pain the other must be feeling. "You saw part of what transpired, did you not? Did I..." Erestor's voice had fallen to a whisper. "Did I tell him no?" His arms were wrapped around himself, his hands gripping the opposite elbows. His head was unbowed, however. He stood almost at attention, as if waiting for this creature of the shadows to pronounce judgment upon him.

"You told him no." Glorfindel pitched his voice to leave no room for doubt. "You told him, you begged him, and you broke his nose. I can think of no clearer way that you may have expressed your desires." He yearned to step forward, to offer the younger elf the comfort of his arms but he resisted, waiting for some sign that comforting was needed.

Erestor made a startled little noise at Glorfindel's pronouncement. "I broke his nose? I thought..." he chuckled, in what sounded like pride and amazement. "I thought you broke it."

Glorfindel felt himself grinning in the darkness. "Nay, he was bloodied before I touched him. If not for the potion he gave you, I have no doubt that you would have been safe without my help."

"I'm glad you were there." Something that Glorfindel couldn’t place lingered in the dark-haired elf's voice. He felt uncomfortable, unsure.

"Come," he spoke into the lengthening silence. He held out his hand, and Erestor's slender fingers took it. "I will lead you back to your rooms."

They traveled the rest of the way in silence, except for planning where they would meet in the passageways for the first dinner. Glorfindel saw Erestor safely to where the rough darkness of the hidden corridors met the oak-paneled lightness of the fair elf's chambers.

"Until tomorrow, Erestor," he murmured, feeling like an elf in a play, speaking lines that could not be the truth.

"Until tomorrow." Erestor replied, as the soft glow of moonlight leant a silver shimmer to the sweep of his hair.

Glorfindel closed the passageway door and his smile tightened to a feral grimace. Silent as a wind, he moved through the darkness to the library for pen and parchment, then to the healing house. There was an elf there that he needed to have a discussion with; a discussion regarding truth and lies and the number of other bones that could be broken should the two remain muddled in his testimony.