Rúmil sat on the cool marble bench with his head in his hands. His fingers were wet and slick with tears; his eyes, he imagined, must be red and bloodshot with incessant crying. It wasn't normally in his nature to fall victim to emotion like this, but then again, he didn't normally have to watch his life collapse into ruin around him.
He'd never left Lórien before, but Haldir had promised him that Imladris was a delightful place; the elves were somewhat serious and lordly at times, but always impeccably polite and courteous. The lifestyle, he promised, was as luxurious and sophisticated as in Lórien. Rúmil had been more than happy to accompany his elder brother on this trip.
The journey had been uneventful; on arrival, they had been greeted by Lord Elrond and several of his most trusted associates, as well as his twin sons and beautiful daughter. Rúmil had first laid eyes upon Arwen centuries ago when she was visiting Lórien with her now long-departed mother, Celebrían, and in that single moment he had understood perfectly what all the fuss was about. She truly was exquisite, every feature flawless. Her hair was a curtain of spun silk; her eyes lakes of liquid passion; her mouth the bud of a rose blossom, just about to spring open into full bloom.
But it had not been Arwen who had shaken his world and it left in ruins; not this time.
He drew in another shuddering breath, coughing as he inadvertently inhaled more tears. What was wrong with him?
Through his sobs, he suddenly heard a whisper of fabric just a couple of feet to his left. Someone had sat down on the bench beside him! He was irritated by this - he had spent ages prowling the gardens, seeking out a suitably private and secluded part of the Last Homely House's gardens where he could be alone with his misery. And now someone else was invading his space! "Go away!" he groaned bitterly through his fingers.
There was no response - his companion wouldn't leave.
Rúmil gazed up at the figure through wet fingers, his vision blurring with tears. His heart skipped a beat as he saw the curtain of dark hair...but no. He exhaled with mingled relief and disappointment, as he recognised the earnest, exotic features of Elrond's chief counsellor, Erestor. He scrubbed at his eyes. "What do you want?"
"I saw you come out here," the counsellor said, as if that explained everything. So far, Rúmil had not had the opportunity to meet Erestor properly and therefore had no idea of what to expect from him. Haldir, too, barely knew him, simply saying that Erestor came across as very quiet, dignified and conscientious - traits which probably hid a devious mind.
"So?"
"I come here too, sometimes, when I feel weighed down by a lot of emotion." Erestor had a strange, lilting accent, uncharacteristic of an Imladris elf. Rúmil couldn't place it at all - it reminded him of the Sindar from Mirkwood, only that seemed highly unlikely. He reminded himself that the advisor was probably many millennia old, and could have come from Aman for all he knew. "I thought maybe you'd like to unburden yourself."
"On you? I hardly know you." He couldn't understand why Erestor could possibly care what his problems were.
"All the better. I don't have a personal stake in this. Come, now, pen-neth, tears like that are usually caused by messy affairs of the heart. I don't expect you to give me a name, but you're welcome to tell me about what troubles you. I've found over the years that I've come to appreciate the value of talking." He shifted backwards a few inches, presumably a calculated move designed to put across the impression of being uninvasive. His dark eyes were soft and invited confidence.
Rúmil sighed. "You wouldn't want to hear about the mountain of misery which is supposed to be my love life."
"I'd like to hear about it a lot more than you think." Erestor spoke softly.
Rúmil chose not to attempt to interpret the cryptic comment, and instead asked, "You won't tell anyone?"
"I won't. I'm not considered to be a gossip."
"Thank you." He took a deep breath to calm himself, but still found himself stuttering as he started to speak. "It's...it's Faelon."
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"He's...difficult. Go on."
"This is my first visit to Imladris. In fact, this is the first time I've ever left Lórien. Haldir thinks that I'm overwhelmed and it's making me emotional..."
"Hold on. You're starting the story in the middle. So you've found yourself drawn to Faelon?"
Rúmil nodded and sighed. "Is it that obvious?"
"It's not uncommon to feel that way about someone; I've seen it enough times. And I've known those feelings myself." Erestor's eyes were dark and unreadable, but his tone hinted at memories. "Tell me about you and Faelon."
"I first saw him standing there when we rode into Imladris, and it was as if everything else disappeared from around us. He's - " he swallowed. "He's beautiful. Like Eärendil in the autumn sky at dusk, he shone, and I couldn't look away from his light. Since then, I haven't been able to get him out of my thoughts. Honestly - I was writing up my notes from the meeting Haldir and I had with Lord Glorfindel, and I suddenly realised I'd written, ‘...remain in Imladris until Faelon is mine forever...'!" He blushed with embarrassment.
"Does he know about your feelings for him?"
Rúmil buried his head in his hands again, letting his hair fall forward to shield him from...Elbereth only knew what. "Yes," he whispered.
Erestor's strong, slender fingers closed around his wrists and pulled his hands back down. He met Rúmil's eyes reassuringly, "What happened?"
Rúmil chewed his lip uncertainly. "I...I approached him at the feast earlier. I told him that I found him intriguing and...and that I'd like to get to know him a little better. I asked him...I asked him if he'd like to join my brother and me by the hearth for miruvor..."
"Ah, yes, I remember seeing you two sitting together there. Haldir was speaking to Tellumiel, was he not?"
The younger elf nodded. "I didn't know you were there. Haldir said you didn't seem to like crowds."
A rather melancholy-looking smile touched Erestor's lips. "Oh, I was there. I left when the musicians came in, but I was present for the first part of the feast. It was after I had retired to my rooms that I saw you coming out here. But I'm side-tracking you - this is your story. Please continue."
Rúmil's eyes welled up again as he recalled his conversation with the dark-haired Imladris elf. "He looked at me as if...as if I was a rat someone had found in the storeroom." He sniffed, and hated himself for sounding so self-pitying. "And he said..." He broke eye contact, unable to focus his swimming eyes on Erestor's calm face, and once again sought refuge behind his hair. "He said that if I..."
Erestor reached out with two fingers, placing them gently under Rúmil's chin and tilting the younger elf's head up again. "Look at me. There's nothing to hide from here. Trying to retreat from your problems, hiding away like that - it won't make them disappear. They'll simply grow. The more you hide, the more you have to hide from, as your dread of the real issue increases out of all proportion. You should always meet your problems head-on, with a bold face. Say it again, but say it whilst looking at me."
The younger elf did as he was instructed. "He said that if I ever thought he would stoop so low as to lie with, or even be seen with, a Silvan elf, I must be even more ignorant and crass than most of my race." He was abruptly seized by the desire to throw himself upon Erestor - never mind that they'd never met before - and cry himself out in the elder elf's arms. But Erestor was chewing his lip somewhat uncomfortably, and made no move to reach out; in fact, as Rúmil's form shuddered with renewed sobs, he actually shifted away an almost imperceptible but significant inch. Clearly, he was not fond of even the idea of such unrestrained physical contact.
The counsellor moved hesitantly, but eventually extended a pale hand towards Rúmil and laid it gently on the distressed elf's shaking shoulder. Rúmil guessed from his tentative movements that this was an unusually familiar gesture from Erestor's point of view, and forced himself to return a reluctant smile. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve, an action which Erestor's expression hinted the elder elf disapproved of, and got hold of himself. "I had the same problem as you once," Erestor admitted softly, "The object of my desire was a Noldo, someone normally thought to be so far above me in station I effectively had no chance ever to be with him."
"You mean you're not a Noldo?" Rúmil was intrigued. He'd assumed that all the high-ranking elves of Elrond's household were of predominantly Noldorin blood.
"Not originally. But I have lived in Imladris for many years now."
"So what happened with this other elf?" Rúmil persisted, growing interested.
"We fell in love anyway, and our differences ceased to matter." This time, the smile on Erestor's face was blissful rather than sad. His gaze wandered dreamily to the sky, roaming the bluish vault which now darkened to indigo with approaching dusk. Eärendil shone down on them from just above the horizon, and his light was soon joined by other, fainter stars.
"Tell me how," the Lórien elf demanded, his eyes shining with mixed hope and desperation. Erestor did not answer; his gaze had now dropped to the ring he wore on the index finger of his left hand, an elegant piece styled of mithril flowers. "Erestor?" He tugged the counsellor's sleeve to gain his attention again.
"I apologise, Rúmil. I grew distracted. What were you saying?"
"I asked if you'd tell me how you managed to win his heart."
Erestor looked thoughtful. "I admit I'm still not entirely sure myself. I think it may be because...circumstances...forced him to acknowledge that heritage is utterly insignificant besides love. Also, Lord Elrond had the good sense to point out to him that we had far more in common that he had previously assumed."
"So do you think I should persuade Faelon to look beyond my background and see who I am underneath?"
"If you can achieve that, I believe it may be a good idea." His eyes lifted once more to the twilight sky. "Now, Rúmil - it grows dark. I suggest we retire inside before the light deserts us completely." Rúmil was very fond of the night sky; the diamond-studded constellations, Ithil's silver, dusty radiance. He could have watched it for hours yet. But he was not inclined to argue with the counsellor, and besides, Erestor was already heading towards the welcoming amber-coloured light pouring from the windows of the Last Homely House. With a regretful sigh, he turned to follow the elder elf .
Erestor's quill moved rhythmically over the surface of the crisp vellum as his eyes flicked between six-month-old inventory lists, more recent ones, and requisition receipts. So far, everything appeared to be accounted for. Then he noticed an inconsistency and frowned with irritation. His left hand reached for a sheet of clean parchment which lay in a stack on the corner of the desk, and he scribbled a note to have the matter investigated further. First, he would refer the matter to one of the elves working under him, and if they couldn't discover anything, he would see what he could find out on his own - he was nothing if not resourceful. If even that failed, he would ask Elrond to talk to the armoury master himself. The unexplained disappearance of four dozen arrows from the stores was hardly a devastating discrepancy, but Erestor liked everything to wrap up nicely, and in this case he was frustrated that it didn't.
Suddenly, and without warning, a pair of hands appeared, one on either side of his neck and started probing at the cramped muscles in his shoulders. Erestor instinctively tensed under the touch, pulling away, before reason kicked in and he recognised Glorfindel's sensitive, skilful fingers.
He turned, tucking several locks of his midnight hair behind his ear as he did so, and treated Glorfindel to a prickly glare. "You know I don't like it when you sneak up on me like that," he stated.
He instantly regretted his snappish words as his lover became utterly contrite and looked quite crestfallen. "I'm sorry, melamin, I forgot you..."
Erestor swallowed and closed his eyes briefly, before turning back to the inventory lists. A moment later, Glorfindel's arms encircled him affectionately, and he smiled and leaned into the embrace, feeling the warmth of his lover's body where it touched his back. Glorfindel leaned closer and kissed him on his jawbone, bringing a rosy flush to Erestor's cheeks. His lover's fingers now curled around his own, coaxing him up from the chair and pulling them over to the generous fire where two invitingly overstuffed armchairs had been positioned. "I'm sorry," Glorfindel said again.
Erestor shook his head. "No, it is I who should be apologising. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. Perhaps I should have my desk turned around so it faces the door." He felt one of his rare smiles of amusement spread across his face. "Then you would no longer have the advantage on me."
Glorfindel answered the smile with one of his own. "Perhaps you should instead spend less time at the desk. You work too hard, you know."
"Lord Elrond needs me to impose order upon the chaos of his study."
"You don't constantly have to prove your worth to him, or to anyone," Glorfindel countered easily, shaking his head; the argument was not a new one. "We all know how invaluable you are, and I, for one, would like to see you awake in the evenings rather than falling asleep before you even reach our rooms." His expression was resigned rather than angry, so Erestor did not bother with an especially sharp rejoinder.
"I'm awake enough for you now, aren't I?" he asked pointedly. Glorfindel knew full well that he was by no means falling asleep most evenings, and inclined his head in mild defeat. His eyes, though, spoke that he still suspected his lover was overworking himself. "Long day?" Looking to change the subject, Erestor had immediately taken note of his lover's thoughtful frown as Glorfindel shifted into a more comfortable position on the yielding velvet cushions.
The golden-haired warrior nodded. "I've been in conference with Rúmil and Haldir all morning, going over the latest reports of orc bands roaming the countryside. I think we're going to have to organise a joint patrol with Lórien and track down a particularly large group which has been causing problems around the south of Eregion." He shook his head in irritation. "And that will be another few dozen gone. It will make not a scrap of difference to their vast numbers overall."
"Is there a pattern to this band's activities?" Erestor asked, already analysing the information he'd just been given.
"Well, according to Rúmil..."
"Rúmil," the counsellor repeated meditatively, then diverged from the thread of the previous conversation completely. "What impression have you gained of him so far?"
Glorfindel raised a slender eyebrow at the unexpected question. "Why do you ask?" He received no more answer than an elegant shrug and the slightest hint of a smile. "Oh all right, have it your way, Lord Enigma. He seems to me to be, for the most part, much like his brother, and you've met Haldir. However, he comes across as being in some ways very different from Haldir. He is prepared to take chances, as is Haldir, but at the same time he does not share his elder brother's formidable self-confidence."
"Arrogance, you mean?" Erestor corrected, inclining his head.
"Well - yes. He seems rather more naive than his brother, presumably because he is younger and less experienced. But he has a quick and intelligent mind, and a sound understanding of strategy. I think, melamin, that you would find him very interesting."
Erestor dropped his eyes noncommittally, and made an ambiguous gesture with his hand.
"You're not going to tell me what you're up to, are you?" Glorfindel asked when his lover raised his head again. He pouted and tossed his head impatiently; Erestor admired the way the spun-gold tresses fell about his lover's perfect face. The counsellor answered with a slight shake of his head. "Then at least let me kiss you?" he asked. Erestor recognised with amusement his lover's favourite teasing-pleading expression.
"Only if afterwards, you resume that glorious massage," he replied. He allowed himself a brief and genuine smile as his lover rose gracefully from the chair and slid into his lap. Sighing with delight, he dug his fingers eagerly into Glorfindel's beautiful hair as the warm affectionate lips touched his.
Then the Elda perched on the arm of the chair and began once more to massage his lover's shoulders.
Erestor shut his eyes and tilted his head back until it touched Glorfindel's chest, feeling the tension oozing from his muscles under the busy fingers. He relaxed more and more with each movement of the golden-haired Elda's fingertips, and he lost himself completely to the sensation...
The fingers hesitated. Erestor opened his eyes and curiously looked over his shoulder at Glorfindel. He was smiling, and there was laughter in his fair face. "What is it?" Erestor enquired.
"You were purring," his lover answered, and adoringly played with a lock of dark hair. "I've never known you to purr before."
Erestor traced the outline of Glorfindel's lips with one slender finger, then taking both his lover's wrists in his grasp, gently guided the Elda's hands back to his shoulders. "Please? Keep giving me a reason to purr."
Glorfindel obediently continued until Erestor felt himself beginning to fall asleep, then stroked the dark hair with long, smooth movements, bringing the counsellor back to awareness. The golden-haired warrior knelt in front of him, Erestor's hands trapped between his in the counsellor's lap. "Come to bed, melamin," Glorfindel said, "You can't stay here all night."
"You're right," Erestor agreed, stifling a yawn.
Glorfindel half-lifted his lover from the chair, drawing him into an eager embrace, cradling Erestor's head protectively on his shoulder. They remained that way for some moments, aware only of the closeness, and the rise and fall of the other's chest.
They were still holding hands when they entered the bedroom. Erestor appreciated the reassurance which came with the physical contact. Glorfindel reminded Erestor of how much he loved him several times a day, but the dark-haired counsellor still felt comforted by tangible gestures such as this one.
Erestor had - fairly recently - finally agreed to share Glorfindel's bed. His lover had been overjoyed when Erestor had said so, recognising it as a significant sign of total trust and commitment. The counsellor did not give trust easily, and Glorfindel delighted in the knowledge that he had penetrated Erestor's normally reserved front.
The golden-haired elf stripped off his outer robes, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor whilst Erestor fastidiously shook the creases from his own and hung them carefully in his wardrobe. But as Glorfindel was unbuttoning his shirt, he patted the pocket of his leggings. "I'm sorry, melethron, I forgot to tell you - Haldir handed me a note at the end of our meeting today. It's for you. I've been so preoccupied with these cursed patrol arrangements it slipped my mind completely." He handed the counsellor a folded sheet of parchment.
Erestor turned it over in his hands with interest before unfolding it and scanning the contents of the message written there. Then he smiled. Glorfindel narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow in question.
"It's not from Haldir," the dark-haired elf stated, "It's from Rúmil. He wants my help."
"Do I get to read it?"
Erestor frowned, then refolded the note with obsessive attention to getting the two halves exactly aligned, and shut it away in a drawer. "Maybe tomorrow."
Rúmil sat in the library, hoping that the note he'd received with his breakfast this morning wasn't just some silly prank of Haldir's. But the handwriting had not been his brother's; it had been neat and precise, as he would have expected from Erestor. The note had specified this time; he hoped Erestor would not be late.
Haldir had agreed to give Rúmil's message to Glorfindel yesterday only after Rúmil had offered to take Haldir's watches when they journeyed back to Lórien. He still hadn't been entirely sure his brother would hand over the note, so he'd only pretended to leave after the meeting and had hidden to check Haldir did as he'd promised.
Now he hoped that Glorfindel and Erestor were as close friends as Haldir seemed to think, from what his elder brother had been saying yesterday after observing the two at dinner.
His fears were unfounded. The counsellor appeared, exactly and precisely on time, as if Arda turned according to his instructions. He sat silently in the comfortable chair across from Rúmil, resting his chin idly on one hand, waiting for the young elf to speak. "Thank you for coming," he began uncertainly. Erestor nodded slightly in acknowledgement, but still said nothing.
"After last night, when you suggested I try to convince Faelon to give me a second glance, I started thinking..." Another nod. "I talked to Haldir yesterday, and he said that as far as he knew, Faelon was a scribe who worked for you..."
"Well, he's more like a personal aide, really. I'm training him to do more or less everything I do as part of the day-to-day running of Imladris. But your information wasn't far off."
"...yes, so I thought that since you'd know him, you'd be able to tell me a bit about him - what he likes, and dislikes, and that kind of thing." He looked at the elder elf for some kind of reaction, and was rewarded with an expression which betrayed no emotion.
"He is highly intelligent, and completes any tasks I set him to my satisfaction."
"He must be good, then," Rúmil remarked with an impish grin, remembering a comment Haldir had made last night about the counsellor's perfectionist attitude.
"And what might you mean by that?"
Rúmil wasn't sure whether the question was a challenge or a joke; with Erestor, it was hard to tell. He dropped his eyes and mumbled, "Nothing."
Erestor let it pass. "He wears a lot of dark blue and silver."
Unlike half the other elves in Imladris, Rúmil was tempted to say with a hint of sarcasm, but held his tongue.
"I've noticed that he sometimes wears a perfume scented with lilac and..." he narrowed his eyes, trying to identify the aroma from memory, "...rosemary."
"What about his personality?" Rúmil prompted. Faelon struck him as being an immensely complicated individual. He remembered how the dark-haired elf had laughed at the same points as he had when Glorfindel was telling jokes over dinner the previous night, and had reached for many of the dishes which Rúmil had also sampled. Yet his vocation was entirely different - Faelon was a scholar, Rúmil a marchwarden. Faelon seemed, to the casual observer, to be confident and self-assured, but Rúmil had seen the flash of self-doubt cross the other's features when he apparently took offence at an offhand remark made by one of the twins.
"As I said last night, he can be difficult. I know him on a professional rather than a personal basis, but I've learned that he can be extremely stubborn - as stubborn as I'm told I can be, in fact. He doesn't like being told he's wrong; he doesn't easily admit to mistakes. This could be where you'll encounter a problem. Having turned you away once, it's unlikely he'll take kindly to having his opinions of you rewritten." The counsellor shrugged elegantly. "But he will go to great lengths for people he cares about. I remember one occasion when I had reprimanded his brother, Melpomaen, for carelessness in his work, and Faelon came running in on me an hour later, and proceeded to give quite a tirade on why it wasn't Melpomaen's fault, and how it was unfair of me to rebuke him." The way Erestor's eyes narrowed as he spoke implied that he, on the other hand, did not think it unfair in spite of Faelon's protest. "He also comes from a very good, traditional family; he has a high opinion of his pedigree, as you've already found out, but equally he cares deeply for the individual members of his family."
"Anything else you think I should know?" the young elf asked.
"Like what?"
"Has he ever shown a preference for particular flowers or food? Does he keep any treasured possessions? Does he have favourite songs which he sings to himself sometimes? What does he do in his free time?"
Erestor held out his hands. "I honestly wouldn't know. As I said, I only know him well professionally. Sorry, Rúmil." He suddenly smiled - the first time Rúmil had seen him do so during the discussion. "I'll see what I can find out today, shall I? Will you be at dinner tonight?" Rúmil nodded. "I'll meet you then, and tell you if I've discovered anything. In the meantime, find yourself some nice clothes for tonight and make yourself look extra-special - not that you're not already a very attractive young elf, I might add."
"You think so?" Rúmil had never been so sure of himself. It was always Haldir and his other brother, Orophin, who received all the attention from potential sweethearts.
Erestor nodded slowly.
"I haven't really got any special clothes with me...I wasn't expecting to have to impress anyone."
"No? How long is it until you're due to meet with Glorfindel and Lord Elrond today?"
"Another hour, I think."
"Good. Then come with me. I don't think any of my clothes will fit, but I think Glorfindel must be about the same size as you, even if he's a little taller. And his dress sense is excellent. We're bound to find something for you."
"Really?" Rúmil couldn't suppress his hopeful smile. Glorfindel was the kind of Elda who drew all eyes when he walked into a room, and he'd already noticed the golden-haired warrior's taste in clothes. "Won't he mind?"
"Not if I'm with you."
"So he is that lover you were talking about the other night?"
Erestor started, his hand coming up to smooth his already immaculate hair. "That's between me and him - " he chewed his bottom lip ruefully " - and, I admit, half of Imladris. Yes, Rúmil, yes we are."
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Underestimated by Enismirdal
Story notes: Faelon *is* technically a movie-canon character, as much as Figwit/Melpomaen and Saelbeth. He's there in the Council of Elrond, sitting on Elrond's right. Some people call him Elrohir or Noname, but Roheryn/Candice/Vardalon Elentari have christened him Faelon because that's how ‘Justin' (Mackenzie, who plays Faelon, coincidentally brother of Brett, who plays Figwit/Melpomaen) translates into Sindarin. So there! :-)
Aside from borrowing those two out of the movie, I'm sticking to book canon for this one.For other notes, see after the story. I don't want to side-track you now, and I have got a few things to say.
Dedication: To Welly, for being adorable. You have a truly Elvish attitude.
An absolutely giant thank you to amazing beta readers Aleks, Laurel (first chapter) and my darling Katy - where would I be without you gals?
Chapter end notes: Translations:
melamin - my love
melethron - lover (male)
