Fic: Belonging - Glorfindel/Erestor - R - 1/2

[keiliss.livejournal.com]

Title: Belonging 1/2
Author: Keiliss
Email: scrapcat21@gmail.com
Beta: Ilye elf, Red lasbelin
Rating: hard R
Pairing: Glorfindel/Erestor
Timeline: TA 1620
Warnings: None.
Summary: The road home to Imladris takes an unexpected turn for Glorfindel and Erestor.
Written for aglarien1

Request: Pairing: Erestor/Glorfindel, or Erestor/Elrond. Rating: Any. Request : A flower, a candle, and snow. Must be romantic - a forever kind of love. 2nd or 3rd age Imladris. Do not include: No blood, rape, incest, bdsm, torture or promiscuous elves

Ereg = holly, Glorfindel's name for Erestor. Something bright but prickly
Nínima = Snowdrop
Karningul = mortal name for Imladris, the Westron translation

Belonging

They were two days out from Mithlond when the first snow fell, casting a fine cloak of white across the north of Middle-earth. Glorfindel, who normally delighted in nature's twists and surprises, gave the lowering clouds an outraged glare and drew his cloak about him frowning. He had learned his aversion to snow and ice on the Helcaraxë, a lesson never forgotten.

Erestor's enthusiastic catalogue of 'oh look at...:the trees, the sky, the road, the birds...' met for the most part with non-committal grunts and the occasional dour response, offered whenever Glorfindel became aware that his companion seemed to be talking for both of them. Erestor was a child of the winter months; Glorfindel's nemesis brightened his eyes, brushed his cheeks with a soft pink glow, and filled him with an almost childlike - and often annoying - delight.

Despite the weather they managed excellent time, pushing for home before winter's grip had a chance to tighten across the land. The dark months had grown progressively harsher in recent years, Glorfindel thought, and even elven endurance would be tried by one of the snowstorms that had been all too frequent the previous year.

When they stopped for the evening's break, they were no more than a few hours' ride from the Crossroads, the place where the King's Road, the great highway that traversed Endor and linked the northern and southern kingdoms of Elendil's descendants, bisected the Great East Road upon which they travelled. Glorfindel would have preferred to press on but horses, unlike elves, needed regular rest, and it was his experience that too many hours in the saddle made Erestor irritable.

"There's no one around, the wind will blow the smoke away. We don't need a big fire, just enough to melt snow for tea-water. There's not much fresh food left, but we could try heating the lembas."

Glorfindel looked up from where he was encouraging the newly-lit fire, puzzled. "You can't heat lembas, Ereg. You just - break bits off and eat it."

"I have eaten lembas before, you know." Erestor was kneeling with his back turned, scratching in their pack. He came up with a leather pouch which he opened and sniffed at appreciatively. "Lovely - tea. Nothing better. And yes, you can heat lembas - makes it more filling. You feel as though you've eaten something solid."

Bent forward, blowing gently on the flames, Glorfindel discreetly rolled his eyes. "Of course lembas is solid - 'waybread sufficient to strengthen any elf no matter how long the road'..."

"You ate it crossing the Ice, yes, I remember."

Glorfindel contrived to look hurt. "Well, yes we did, and on watch above Gondolin, too - where anyone lighting a fire would have been executed for treason."

They exchanged glances. Erestor said nothing, his opinion of Gondolin and its customs clear in his eyes. Glorfindel greeted the silence with relief; he always felt constrained to defend the often indefensible when his former home was mentioned. Moving with his habitual grace, Erestor came to kneel beside the dancing flames and, before Glorfindel could stop him, batted aside his warding hand and decanted a goodly portion of dried leaf into the water.

"It's nowhere near boiling..."

"Doesn't matter, it will be soon."

"It's going to taste terrible, Erestor."

"No it isn't. Stop fussing, Warrior."

Erestor left the pot to boil and went over to the horses to begin his usual evening 'fussing' as Glorfindel fondly called it; throwing blankets over brightly-woven saddle cloths, rubbing noses, helping to expose snow-covered grass beneath trees. Glorfindel meanwhile stayed close to the fire, his arms clasped round up-drawn knees, and watched him.

After several veiled but curious glances, Erestor finally had to ask. "You never stay close to the fire at home, but each one we've lit, you've all but sat on top of. and I cannot believe you're that cold."

Glorfindel quirked an eyebrow at him and grinned. "I can remember nights in front of the hearth - blankets, wine. us. It's true, fire holds rough memories but it's still better than snow."

Erestor gave his horse's neck a final pat and went over to crouch beside the reborn elf. He rubbed his gloved hands, then held them to the small, crackling blaze. "Even after the Balrog?" he asked, eternally curious. Erestor had a knack for asking questions normal people avoided; Elrond maintained it was what made him such an exceptionally useful assistant.

Glorfindel rested a large hand on the back of Erestor's neck and shook him in a friendly kind of way. "At least it was warm," he said amiably. "I learned all I need to know about cold on the Helcaraxë. If I hadn't, Gondolin winters would have got the message across. Breaking the ice in the well every morning gets tired fast. Snow is wet, slushy, irritating."

"But... but it's beautiful, too," Erestor said softly. He leaned into Glorfindel, rubbing his head against his shoulder with almost cat-like affection. "Look how it takes the fire's light and breaks it into rainbow shards? Pick up a handful, mould it, listen to it - it squeaks, almost like a living thing. The way it cloaks the world, cleansing it, making it ready for spring."

Glorfindel shook his head, smiling reluctantly. Erestor's pleasure was infectious. "You see it your way, I'll see it mine," he suggested. "When we decided to escort your cousin to Mithlond to see her sail, I hoped we'd be back in Imladris before all this." The final word was accompanied by a vague gesture that took in white-decked trees, wet ground grown sludgy near the small fire, the low wind, and at their back the ancient forest - a place he found unwelcoming, even by daylight.

"I love winter," Erestor said cheerfully, leaning forward to examine the contents of the pot. "When I was young - an immeasurable time ago, agreed - my greatest ambition was to travel north to see the snow giants."

"The what?" Despite himself, Glorfindel laughed aloud. "Come on, Ereg, there's no such thing."

"Oh, no, I know that now, silly," Erestor replied, pushing at him playfully. "But I really believed in them when I was a child. We saw very little snow around Nargothrond anyway - not sure why that was. I heard it used to bank up around Doriath's borders. The Maia wouldn't allow it into her nice, green forest, so rumour said."

Glorfindel glanced at the heavy clouds overhead. "Now that would be a handy trick. And it was probably the truth - it matches with everything I ever heard about Melian."

The pot was boiling, and he moved it aside onto a flat rock to steep. At that moment his ears caught a hint of discordant sound far along the road, while at almost the same instant Erestor straightened up, fully alert.

"The trees say Badness," he exclaimed. "Something comes."

Trees refused to speak to Glorfindel since his return. No one had ever been sure why, unless it was that his reborn state confused them. Erestor, on the other hand, had a strong empathy for them, unusual for one of the Noldor.

Two pairs of hands moved as one to kill the fire. Leaving Erestor to hide all trace of their presence, Glorfindel went to speak soft words to the horses, asking their silence as he led them deeper into the forest. Erestor collected their pack, used a fallen branch to obliterate such obvious signs as hoof prints in the snow, then hurried to join him. It was dark under the trees, but Glorfindel had first seen life in a time before moon or sun and he had quickly found shelter, a snow-free hollow amongst ancient roots. Erestor landed hard beside him, and they settled close together, his back against Glorfindel's chest, the reborn elf's arms around his waist.

"See, snow has its uses."

"What...?"

"Used it to kill the fire. What do you think is out there?"

"Shh, no idea."

"Not riders, definitely not..."

"Erestor, quiet."

"But I just..."

"Do you never shut up? How did you survive the First Age? Hush!"

The sounds drew closer, booted feet and coarse voices rising and falling on the wind. "Yrch," Erestor breathed, leaning his head back so that his lips were close to Glorfindel's ear.

"A dozen at least." Glorfindel kept his voice equally low. "Possibly more."

"What are they doing this far from Angmar? And openly on the road, too."

Glorfindel shook his head, knowing Erestor would feel the movement. "No idea. Lost perhaps. Hush now, let them pass."

The elves fell silent, waiting. Erestor's life had taken him through several wars and into many of the wild places of Middle-earth, he had battled orcs before, while Glorfindel was himself the measure of any five of the creatures, but sheer numbers made for difficult odds. The orcs drew level with them and Glorfindel became poised and still, but they kept on without pause. The fire had been small, the wind had quickly dispersed the smoke, and there had been no meat cooking, a scent that could draw orcs from an alarming distance. The sounds faded as they continued along the road.

Silence returned, but when Erestor moved as though to get up Glorfindel tightened his grip. "Not yet," he said firmly, his voice still barely audible. "Just in case - there could be a handful of them up beyond the treeline and we'd be none the wiser."

"The forest would know," Erestor replied confidently, though still keeping his voice down.

"This forest is very old and probably very fed up with all of us - orcs, men, elves, dwarves, anything that goes on two legs." Glorfindel said this with conviction. Had he been a tree, this was how he would have felt.

"Probably," Erestor agreed, sounding amused. "Though it would still know and tell me. Elves might be an annoyance, but no self respecting tree would fail to give warning of the presence of Yrch." He turned carefully to offer Glorfindel something which he had apparently been holding the entire time. "Here," he said, and his eyes sparkled in the shadow. "I salvaged the tea. It's still hot. I thought if you had to spend the night sitting in the snow, we might both want you to have something warm to drink."

=====

They passed the night in the Old Forest, giving the orcs time to move well ahead of them on the road. Glorfindel woke to pre-dawn stillness and the rise and fall of breathing where Erestor's back pressed against his chest. He brushed errant strands of black hair out of his face and was yet again touched with wonder that the gift of rebirth had also included this chance at love.

Not perhaps the partner his family would have hoped for, he acknowledged with a grin. Love between males had been deeply frowned upon in their day, and particularly in Gondolin, a city of intense restrictions governing almost every aspect of life - and love. In the Second Age he was told it had become tolerated, the High King's preferences being what they were, until in Third Age Imladris it was accepted as something not common but of no less value than the love between male and female.

He recalled the adjustments, closer to culture shock, of the first years after his arrival in Elrond's valley, smiling to himself as he stroked Erestor's hair. Whatever the Valar's reasons for granting him a second life in such a unique manner, one consequence was that he had finally met the other half of his soul.

"What are you thinking?" Erestor asked. His voice suggested he had been awake for some time.

"I was about to wake you. It'll soon be light -- hear the birds?"

"Mm. But what were you thinking? You were smiling."

Not for the first time, his words made Glorfindel blink. "How do you know that? You're facing away from me."

"I can feel when you smile," Erestor said with sublime assurance. He paused, then glanced back, his eyes dancing. "Of course, you smile a lot so it was a fair guess. But I know."

"I was thinking about my first years in Imladris. The way my mouth went dry and my brain emptied every time I had to speak to you. I made a regular fool of myself."

He felt Erestor's laughter. "Oh yes. Yes, you did. I decided you were either simple-minded or you had conceived a infatuation for me..."

"No such thing! Just thought you were... very attractive. Not the kind of thing we were allowed to think in Gondolin. I had no idea what to do about it."

"Well, when you finally worked it all out, you got pretty imaginative about it," Erestor remarked smugly, pressing back against him with a suggestive wriggle.

Glorfindel grinned and gave him a reluctant shove. "Not here - your trees are watching us."

There was no suggestion of hot water for tea. The trees close to the road had been sullenly accepting, but even Glorfindel could feel that the forest depths were of a darker nature and would not tolerate fire. Breakfast became a hurried affair; lembas and a mouthful for each of miruvor. Even the horses seemed ill at ease, eager to leave the cover afforded by the trees and be off.

More snow had fallen during the night, although they had been too well sheltered to be troubled by it. The road lay before them, a line of pristine white bordered by pallid trees. Glorfindel gave it a grim look. "Slowly," he told Erestor. "We'll need to take our time on this. No point in rushing and having a horse step in a rut. The surface is in a sorry state."

"Cardolan used to be responsible for this section," Erestor said succinctly, urging Glamor forward. Cardolan had fallen to the Witch King's hordes and was no more. "And honestly, Warrior, I've probably ridden more snow-covered roads than you. All that's needed is to take it slowly and trust your horse."

They set off, each wrapped in his separate thoughts. Glorfindel relived memories of icy mist, shifting, cracking terror, endless snowfall, but kept the catalogue to himself, suspecting Erestor would find an aversion rooted so deeply in the past to be childish. What his companion was thinking he had no idea; Erestor was having one of his rare, quiet days and rode in unaccustomed silence, his fine-boned face and up-tilted amber eyes unreadable.

=====

Close to midday Erestor, who had spent the last hour mentally restructuring his work schedule, roused to point ahead and ask, "Findel - what's that in the middle of the road?"

They slowed to a walk, then stopped altogether.

"Into the trees. Move!"

Glorfindel was urging his horse off the road as he spoke, and Erestor followed. Once safe from prying eyes, they both dismounted. Passing over Bara's reins, Glorfindel went on ahead, soundless as snowfall despite his size. Erestor led the horses, his hand near his sword, his every sense alert for trouble.

Eventually a melodic whistle signaled the absence of danger and he hastened to join Glorfindel.

A wagon stood in the road, contents scattered and broken about it. The horses that had drawn it, two big draft animals of the kind favoured by mortal farmers, lay slaughtered, great hunks of flesh carved out from haunch and shoulder. Erestor compressed his lips briefly before speaking softly and soothingly to the animals in his charge. Nothing was more unnerving to a horse than the scent of blood from one of their own kind. He left them at the roadside and walked slowly over.

The mortals had fought hard, died hard, and the orcs had made sport of their prey before the end. In Erestor, pity and rage vied for predominance: pity won. There was no place now to vent anger, even though his sword hand itched. Glorfindel came to stand beside him, his face sombre. "Only three of them," he said quietly. "They had no chance. Can't understand why they didn't hide."

"They must have been trying to protect their cargo, whatever it was," Erestor said with a glance towards the wagon. "They obviously valued it."

"Things? Ereg, why would anyone be willing to die for things?"

Glorfindel looked so honestly perplexed that Erestor almost smiled. Noble born, kin to royalty, the idea of defending one's personal possessions to the death was foreign to him. He was made for greater things, had been trained to die for nothing less than the honour of his city and his king. An unexpected rush of tenderness made Erestor place a gentle hand on a muscled arm, sliding it to the crook of Glorfindel's elbow.

"Some have less than others, which makes their need greater," was all he said, his voice kind. "Anyhow, I doubt they knew what was on the road behind them until it was too late."

He looked at the bodies again, the two men close to the wagon, the near-naked woman at the side of the road, and gestured indecisively. "What should we do...?"

"We have to bury them, sweets," Glorfindel replied. He sounded tired. Erestor knew how upsetting he found the deaths of innocents, those caught up in the fighting that had plagued the north since the rise of Angmar. Glorfindel placed an arm around his shoulders briefly and squeezed. "And thank you for not telling me I was too spoilt to understand why." He rested his cheek against the top of Erestor's head momentarily, then released him and went over to the wagon.

What had not been deemed worthy of looting had been cast aside, much of it broken. Clothing, household items, even a few pieces of furniture, all destroyed. "I think they were relocating," he called to Erestor as he searched. "Not goods for trade, just homely stuff like pots and linen."

"All they had," Erestor said quietly, joining him. He pushed a few things around but had little heart for any kind of a search. "What are we looking for?" he asked finally. "It feels - invasive, rifling through their effects."

"This."

'This' was a shovel, which lay buried beneath the splintered remains of a small chest. Glorfindel hefted it a few times, checked the quality of the attachment of head to handle, and nodded. "It's not very strong, but it'll do."

He dug the hole off the road where the trees began. The ground was hard, but the steely muscles that had been sufficient to challenge a Balrog prevailed. He worked carefully to avoid damage to the shovel, the only digging implement they had been able to find. Erestor meanwhile gave in to his impulse for order, collecting the strewn objects and stacking them neatly in the wagon. After this, he went in search of stones. He had lived a long time, he understood the needs of a roadside grave.

Glorfindel was strong, but it took time for him to dig a hole both wide enough for three and deep enough to afford protection from scavenging beasts. While he was still busy, Erestor sought and found a goodly length of cloth in the wagon, and set to swathing it about the woman. He worked with as much care as though she still lived, lifting and turning her with gentle hands, tidying back her disordered hair as though she could feel when his fingers caught in the tangles.

"An old man and a younger, father and son from their looks," Glorfindel said from behind him. "She was most likely the young one's wife. Why are you...?"

"Her death had so little dignity - I'll not see her buried half naked." Erestor's voice shook slightly with anger.

Glorfindel grunted agreement. "Fair enough. Though we need to finish before there's more snow, please."

Erestor glanced at the sky. "Not yet. Anyhow, I'm done."

They placed her between the men. The wind had risen, the sky was cloud-dark. The horses stood close together under a tree, making occasional, insecure noises that drifted across to the elves. Erestor sympathised with them; he, too, found the ancient forest an unsettling presence. Glorfindel, standing tall and erect, extended a hand palm down and repeated the words of passage as he had heard them uttered by the Dunedain, a warrior's blessing, consigning the dead to the care of the one they named the Keeper of Souls.

When he was finished, Erestor said tentatively, "They worship the Earth Mother, too. I think that would be Yavanna. Would it be out of order..?"

"I don't think the Valar have much to do with the Secondborn," Glorfindel considered. "Still, you're right-- they weren't warriors. Perhaps something - more general?" He turned back to the three still forms and after a little thought continued, "In the name of all that is holy to you, I wish you safe journey and peaceful rest in the care of your gods. May your passing be marked and avenged, may the Mother's blessing rest on you and yours."

He glanced at Erestor as he finished speaking, smiling in response to warm eyes and an approving nod. Erestor had learned early that Glorfindel came from a family not much given to praise and a community that assumed no one who did what was expected of them required commendation. He made a point of always letting the reborn elf know when he though he had done something in any way exceptional.

They packed the soil back, Erestor using a flat stone, Glorfindel the spade. It took them a while but nowhere near as long as digging the grave. When they were finished, Glorfindel tramped the earth down firmly and then they both set to piling the stones and small rocks together, forming a mini-cairn. When there were no more rocks, they stood back and surveyed the result.

"Flowers," Glorfindel said finally. "The Secondborn place flowers on a burial site, donít they?"

"Think so." Erestor looked around. "Not sure where we'd find flowers here in the middle of winter."

"Not really the middle - it's still early winter."

"Well, it's after the first snows."

"Yes, Erestor." Glorfindel's voice took on a tiny but discernable edge. Erestor shrugged, stopped being pedantic and moved off amongst the trees in search of something suitable - attractive foliage perhaps, or a few remaining scarlet leaves. A flash of colour led him to a thicket of young holly bushes, the plant which shared the first few letters of his name, and for which Glorfindel had nicknamed him in reference to what he termed Erestor's "prickly brightness". After a little work with his knife, he returned to place scarlet-laden boughs atop the cairn. This time it was Glorfindel's turn to smile and nod, Erestor's to bask in approval.

They were discussing the possibility of trying to move the wagon and the dead horses off the road, when the trees finally relented and reached out to the more accessible of the two elves, whispering insistently of something young and alone. Erestor stopped in mid sentence and looked around, confused.

"You see what you can do about the wagon," he said. "I need to find - something."

"What...?"

"It's all right, you get on with things here --- the forest is just ... fussing ... about something," Erestor said, shaking his head insistently and gesturing for silence. He drew neither sword nor knife so Glorfindel, although puzzled, let him go. Erestor moved quietly, not quite certain what he was looking for. The trees, having given up their secret, stayed annoyingly silent and ignored his attempts to question them further. Eventually a sound that seemed not to belong outdoors in the middle of nowhere caught his ear and he followed it back in the direction of the road.

The child was still a babe, this much was clear although Erestor found it hard to assign age to mortals, especially children. Sleepy eyes gazed up out of a tiny face, honey-coloured curls peeked out from under a bright hat. It lay within a wicker basket, an arm currently struggling free of the blanket that was tucked snugly about its tiny form. Erestor favoured the western horizon with a jaundiced glare. The Valar seemed to take an unholy pleasure in complicating his life.

"Findel? Can you come here, please? There's something you need to see."

He felt rather than heard Glorfindel arrive behind him, sensed his indrawn breath. The three of them stared at one another for a moment, then Glorfindel knelt down and reached out a hand as though approaching a new-born foal. "Hello there," he said softly in the Common Tongue. "It's all right, no need to be scared now."

"Right - its parents are dead and it's in the middle of nowhere with a couple of total strangers."

"Hush up, Erestor. You're scaring it."

The baby's eyes widened, and tears began to well.

Sudden realisation crossed Glorfindel's face. "Did Nana find you a safe place then?" he asked gently. "That was very brave and wise of her. It's all over now, we won't hurt you." To Erestor he said in Sindarin, "He must have been asleep - she must have hidden him here and then led them away, distracted them..."

Their eyes met and Erestor shivered, pictures of the young mother's end forming in his mind. Raped, tortured; he wondered if she had tried to hold back her screams for fear of waking her child. He shut out the images, horror twisting his stomach. Orcs had a taste for indescribable cruelty and a relish for the results. It was a miracle the infant had not been woken by its family's death cries.

Glorfindel picked up the baby, who was beginning to cry in earnest now that it understood there were no familiar faces, and sat rocking it and making comforting, humming sounds. Erestor glanced towards the road, frowning. "We need to get done here, Findel," he said brusquely. "And - less noise. We need less noise. I'm sure they won't be back but..."

Glorfindel gave him a dark look then rose to his feet, holding out the still-crying infant. "Quite right, sweets," he said, smiling just a little too brightly. "Less noise is good. So maybe you can sort this out while I see to the wagon. Oh - by the way... I think he's wet."

=====

A search of the wagon yielded baby clothes and other essentials, after which Erestor set about changing and cleaning a small, wriggling, and very unhappy little one. After this he tried walking up and down the road, shushing and patting in a way that seemed to make little impact on the crying. Nothing more was said about noise, although Glorfindel was sorely tempted. The baby - a girl, Erestor had coolly informed him, not a boy after all - finally closed her eyes tightly and shivered into silence. Eventually, to Erestor's intensely expressed relief, she fell asleep.

While Erestor was exploring his child-minding skills, Glorfindel managed to push the wagon to the verge and then, with a great deal more effort and not a little cursing, dragged the dead horses some distance from the informal grave. They would serve as nourishment for wolves and other predators, distracting them from the sad remains that lay buried beneath the heaped stones. By the time he was half way he was sweating with the effort and ended up stripped to the waist, his hair tied back out of his face.

When he was finished, he used handfuls of snow to clean off the sweat, blood and general grime while Erestor went to check on the horses. Then they sat on a fallen branch and shared lembas washed down with cold, clear water, and considered their options.

"Don't be silly, it's not a pet, you can't just - take it home and keep it."

"That wasn't what I meant at all, don't be insulting." Glorfindel was normally good-natured, but it had been hard work, his back hurt, and he felt irritable and snappish. Civilian deaths always unsettled him badly; they made him feel he should have been able to do - something - to prevent them.

The infant had woken briefly when Erestor eased her back into the basket, before settling into sleep. Glorfindel studied the tiny face in something close to wonder while they talked. He had seen mortal children before, of course, for there were usually a few Dúnedain living in Imladris for one reason or another, but he had somehow never before had contact with one so young and felt a strongly protective urge towards her.

"We have to find someone to look after her, one of her own kind who might be able to track down her kin," Erestor told him firmly. "Plus we have nothing suitable for her to eat, so we can't waste time. How many days are we from Fornost?" He had an air of wanting to get things settled fast.

Glorfindel shot him a startled look. "Ereg, we are not riding all the way to Fornost..."

"But - that's our best choice," Erestor pointed out. "We can approach the king directly, leave her in his care..."

Glorfindel had met the king of Arthedain on several occasions, and had also heard the rumours about his personal life. He shook his head decisively, determined to leave Erestor with no doubt as to the futility of argument. "No. We should take her to Bree. It's only a few hours' ride and anyone looking for word of her family would be sure to ask there."

Erestor's brow wrinkled. "Bree? Elves aren't supposed to go into Bree... Elrond feels very strongly about that."

Glorfindel slanted an eyebrow at him. "I'm sure he'll understand, sweets. And we'll be very circumspect."

Erestor thought about it, looking pensively at the sleeping child. Eventually he got to his feet, brushing his clothes down to remove traces of leaf mould and snow. "Bree it is then," he agreed with a sigh. "Let's go, Warrior. She was shivering earlier. We need indoors and a fire before she learns to hate snow as much as you do."

Glorfindel hid a smile. With any luck Erestor would eventually convince himself Bree had been his idea all along.

tbc