Partita no. 2 by Belladonna Poisoning

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Allemande

Glorfindel picked at his food, bored beyond his abilities of expression. There was little in the world he despised more than formal court affairs, and combining the nauseating sycophantic behavior endemic to such occasions with food, something he usually enjoyed, left a sour taste in his mouth. Almost a dozen fluttering ladies had already made their way up to him to ask the pleasure of a dance, although he'd pawned them off on various friends (and he knew full well from the arch of Ecthelion's eyebrow as he led the last giggling ingenue off that he would pay for their assistance later). Glorfindel had nothing against dancing, or against ladies in most contexts, but the attentions of all the hopeful future mothers-in-law grated on his nerves.

He cast his gaze around Turgon's grand ballroom, looking for anything that might catch his eye, although he expected very little besides the new crystal chandelier to appeal to him in his current state of ennui. Just as he began to give up all hope of a distraction and return his attention to his now-cold food, he noticed an unfamiliar elf standing in a corner, half-hidden by a shadowy tapestry.

The stranger had dark hair and wore black robes, although Glorfindel could discern very little else, as the figure's back was to him. As if Glorfindel's eyes had prompted the action, however, the elf turned and stared straight at Glorfindel, eyes sparkling slightly with amusement. Glorfindel immediately rose to his feet and made his way along the ballroom wall to the stranger, his fancy well and truly caught.

As he drew nearer, he could make out features too sharp-edged to be truly called delicate, a slim figure that received no emphasis from its clothing, and the dark eyes that watched Glorfindel's progress with clear amusement. Even when Glorfindel completed his journey, the pale lips he had admired from afar pressed firmly together and remained silent.

"Good evening," Glorfindel said, bowing elegantly.

"And to you, my lord," he replied - for it was a he; Glorfindel was made certain by the deep timbre of his voice, although his black robes and finely-made face otherwise left him swathed in androgyny.

When no further comment was forthcoming, Glorfindel grinned fiercely. This one, at least, was determined not to make the painstaking dance of courtly manners any easier on him. "I apologize for my rudeness in introducing myself, but I confess, I had not the patience to sift through this vast ballroom hunting for a mutual acquaintance. I am Glorfindel, of the House of the Golden Flower."

"As if anyone in this room were unfamiliar with your name and station," the dark-eyed elf murmured, his sweet low tone not quite purging the sarcasm from his remark. "I am Erestor, scribe to the king," he added, completing the small ceremony of introduction with a slight bow of his head.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance," Glorfindel said simply. "Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

"We've only just met," Erestor pointed out dryly. "Would that not perhaps be too much of a liberty for such a newly formed acquaintance? I would not wish to step beyond the rules of courtesy."

Glorfindel bowed and held out a hand for Erestor to take. "If I dare to flout the rules, I am certain you would not allow me to do so alone." He glanced up through his lashes, and had the satisfaction of seeing Erestor's mouth quirk into an unwilling smile.

"Perhaps, unorthodox though it is, we may form a better knowledge of each other while we dance," he allowed at last, and laid his hand in Glorfindel's. As he led Erestor onto the dance floor, he noted that the slender fingers he held were stained with ink. Charmed, he lifted them to his lips, and as a blush spilled like dye across Erestor's cheeks, he spun him into the weave of the dance.




Courante

"Don't you have work?" Erestor demanded crossly, glaring at the blond elf seated on top of his desk.

"Yes, but not today," Glorfindel replied cheerfully. "And neither do you," he added, tossing a scrap of parchment at the dark-haired scribe.

Erestor snatched it out of the air with faster reflexes than his profession would have suggested. "What do you - this is signed by the king!" he exclaimed.

"I've requisitioned you for the day," Glorfindel informed him with a smirk. "Turgon owed me a favor."

Erestor stared down at the paper in his hand, which stated that one scribe, Erestor by name, was hereby freed of the day's duties in order to accompany Lord Glorfindel in whatever activities he should require assistance, &c. &c., and struggled to organize his thoughts. "We only met last night," he said at last. "You don't think you're moving a bit fast?"

"You agreed to dance with me," Glorfindel replied elliptically. "Are you going to abandon me in the middle of the figure just because the tempo has picked up a trifle?"

"This is more than just a trifle," Erestor muttered, but he turned and walked out of the room, pausing at the door to glance over his shoulder and demand impatiently, "Well? Are you coming?"




Sarabande

"Still think we're moving too fast?" Glorfindel asked lazily, trailing his hand over the sharp point of Erestor's bare shoulderblade. Erestor mumbled something indistinct and buried his face more firmly in the pillow. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. What was it?"

Erestor rolled over and shoved his tangled mess of dark hair out of his eyes. "I said, would you please be quiet and stop ruining the afterglow?"

"If it is your desire," Glorfindel replied, smiling. He snaked an arm around Erestor's chest, pulling him closer, and laid his cheek on top of his head. He could feel Erestor's breathing slowing down, and drifted off still lost in a haze of contentment to have Erestor in his arms.




Gigue

"Glorfindel!" Erestor hissed, shoving the blond's arm off of his shoulders. "We're in public! Control yourself!"

"I'm just trying to show my affection for you," Glorfindel said, looking injured.

"I'm delighted that you're fond of me, but please restrain yourself until we're in private. There's no need to advertise your entanglement with a scribe of no family or station."

"Yes, there is," Glorfindel replied, quietly but firmly. "So you can either submit to holding my hand as we discreetly take a walk through the gardens, or you can be tossed over my shoulder and carried back to my rooms." As Erestor blinked up at him in surprise, he added, "I couldn't care less about your rank, darling, but if it becomes obvious that I'm serious about you, all of the husband-hunters will have to look elsewhere for their prey."

Erestor looked away, worrying at his bottom lip. His hand, when he slipped it into Glorfindel's, was somewhat cold and clammy, but Glorfindel squeezed it gently and tugged Erestor into a corner of the rose arbor, where they could kiss without being observed.




Chaconne

An Age later, Erestor looked across the Hall of Fire during an evening of cheerful minstrelsy and saw a familiar braid of golden hair. As he stood frozen with shock, Glorfindel came up to him, smiling, and said, "Hello, Erestor. Would you like to dance?"
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