Golden Vanity Ch 13-15
Title: Golden Vanity
Series: none
Type: FPS
Chapter: 13/?
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.
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Herenecco's room in the healing house was silent except for the scratch of pen upon parchment. A dark figure stood at the foot of his bed with his arms crossed over his chest, watching as the guardian wrote. Blue eyes, cold as winter's chill, stared down at him from the shadows beneath his hood.
"You will write an accurate and complete account of the night you hurt Erestor." The...creature had told him, waking him in the middle of the night with a blade to his throat. His! Captain of the guard of Imladris. It had been unthinkable, and he had protested the indignity. To his misfortune, his jaw was still mending, and one of the healers had immobilized it with an arrangement of leather straps around his head. He doubted he could even shout in this condition.
"You will write an accurate and complete account of the night you hurt Erestor, or I will begin to break the rest of your bones until you comply or until the healer comes to check on you at dawn." He had never heard a more convincing threat. There was no mercy in that rough voice, no pity, no softness.
And so Herenecco wrote, sitting in his sick-bed with a monster standing guard over him.
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Glorfindel watched as the elf who had hurt Erestor wrote out his confession. He watched the flickers of expression pass over the bruised features. He watched where the quill moved sure and brisk over the paper, and where it lingered for long moments between words.
He had not led his household in Gondolin without learning to recognize dishonesty when he saw it. He mastered his temper, and held his hand out for the sheet.
Herenecco stared up at him, confused, but passed the confession over.
Glorfindel looked the writing over, and was glad for the hood that shadowed his face. The words, the letters, they made no sense. With effort, with time, he thought he might be able to decipher a few lines. For the first time he wondered how many years had passed while he dwelt in Mandos' halls.
He would be damned if he would show weakness in front of this villain. "This is the truth?" He asked, letting every bit of his incredulity show in his voice. He pointed to a random place on the page, then another faster than Herenecco could focus on the first. "And here? And here?" Spruce-green eyes went wide with fear. With quick motions he tore the paper to bits.
"Again." He passed the dark-haired elf a new page.
In the end, it took three drafts before Glorfindel was satisfied with the integrity of the report. "This is the truth?" He asked one last time and Herenecco nodded, desperate. "You will sign it and I will see that it ends in the appropriate hands."
Laying that piece of paper on Elrond's desk gave him a sense of satisfaction that few other accomplishments had.
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The door to Elrond's office was ajar, an open invitation for Erestor to enter, and yet he hesitated. A messenger had met him on the way here, telling him that his lord wished to speak with him. That Elrond would have summoned him on this last day of his assigned rest worried him.
With a last nervous gesture he straightened his robes and stepped inside. "My lord?" His tone was formal but still warm, as he tried to discover if he addressed his lord or his friend. Elrond looked up from his desk, a slight line of worry between his brows, though a gentle smile formed on his lips as Erestor entered. "I was told to see you," the secretary continued, "and I have a report to make as well."
Elrond gestured and Erestor took a seat. "In that case, I will let you begin," the lord of Imladris spoke.
And so Erestor recounted the events of the previous evening, from the records he had found of the tunnels, through his journey into the unlit places, to his meeting with Varyar and the debate over repayment for the life-debt. The one thing he found himself not speaking of was the information Varyar told him about the night he was saved from Herenecco's treachery.
The thoughtful frown was even deeper on Elrond's brow as the story was finished, and he was silent for long moments. Erestor waited, composed, for the inevitable questions.
"What is his purpose here?" Elrond asked, his grey eyes distant, contemplative.
Erestor shrugged. "I know not, although I do believe he is the apparition that has graced Imladris all these years with his help and protection."
"Why would he choose to hide himself in the darkness when all the comforts of our city would be his for the asking?"
Erestor resisted the urge to bite his lower lip. He felt as if he was betraying a trust, and yet he could not lie to his lord, or withhold information that may be necessary for the protection of his home. "He seemed...beyond shy. Afraid. He seemed afraid. I know not why."
Again Elrond was silent before he spoke. "Erestor, you are an elf of no small wisdom. Do you trust this elf? Is he good? Honest? Will he bring harm to those who have come here seeking protection?"
Erestor knew he looked like an elfling with a crush as he leaned forward in his seat. "I trust him, Elrond. He has saved my life with no hope of reward. He has forsaken his own comfort, and taken nothing that he did not need to survive. He understands my sense of duty and would not ask me to forsake it, even at the price of his secrecy. Please..." he realized he was begging, "Please let me be the one to reach out to him, to find out why he hides and why he helps."
Grey eyes regarded him for long moments, searching his own dark ones for something that none save Elrond knew. With a curt nod, his lord broke the stare. "Very well. I make him your responsibility, your charge. Befriend him, care for him, and learn what you may. I will increase your stipend to cover for his expenses. Report to me should your opinion of his character change."
Erestor blinked for a moment, his usual eloquence lost. This was far more than he had hoped for. "Thank you, Elrond." He bowed as his lord gestured him up and towards the door.
"You're welcome," the grey-eyed elf replied, then hesitated. "Be careful, Erestor. Secretaries of your talents are hard to come by." While the words were teasing, the tone was not, and Erestor felt more serious as he left Elrond's office.
He was halfway down the hall before he realized that whatever Elrond had summoned him for had not been addressed.
Or perhaps it had.
Title: Golden Vanity
Series: none
Type: FPS
Chapter: 14/?
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.
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Late Echuir (March)
Glorfindel moved with self-imposed wariness to the open chamber where he had asked Erestor to meet him. It was closer to the other elf's chambers than Glorfindel's own space was, and adequate for their needs this eve.
The small glow of a lantern's flame drew him forward out of the shadows. Relief washed over him and he realized that he had been afraid Erestor would not come, despite his promises.
Erestor had come, and some time before the appointed hour, it seemed. A blanket was spread, as if this was a picnic in a sunlit clearing and not a stone-floored pocket in a dark cavern. Two tiny lanterns lit the plates, hooded so that their glow spilled down to the food and not up at their faces. Fine dishes were laid out in a way that was as appealing to the eye as the sumptuous scents that came from them were to the nose.
All these things he noticed, but they were small, unimportant, next to what he felt when Erestor's dark eyes sought him out in the dim light. His heart fluttered. His mouth went dry. Erestor was a portrait of simplicity and beauty. Dark hair was pulled back into a single long braid; his lithe torso was wrapped in a shirt of ivory linen, his long legs covered by black wool leggings.
Glorfindel felt shabby by comparison, tattered and worn, unworthy of this elf's presence or his gifts.
"You came," Erestor's words brought a flush to his face for how close they mirrored his own thoughts.
"Aye. You also." He sat down cross-legged on the blanket across from the dark-haired elf. Erestor laughed, soft and pure.
"Of course I came. I would be a fool to argue so yesterday and then not appear today." The lanterns gave just enough light for Glorfindel to see the dark eyes glance down at the assembled plates. "I was not sure what you would enjoy, so I chose a small portion of many things." He hesitated as if not wanting to offend. "I was also not sure what you have been eating, and I did not want to bring you anything so rich that it would upset your digestion."
A smile played at Glorfindel's lips. "I am grateful for that. You are trained as a healer?" He cleansed his fingertips in the small bowl of mint water brought for that purpose, precise in motions he had preformed at every meal for his entire stay in Gondolin.
Erestor shook his head. "No more than any other soldier. I just remember our first night here in Imladris, after the war. The march had been long, and rations small for many weeks. There was a feast to welcome Elrond home, and I made myself sick celebrating." He passed Glorfindel a miniature towel and the hooded elf nodded his thanks before drying his hands.
Erestor watched him, he watched Erestor. After long moments the younger elf smiled. "Are you not hungry?" His voice was gentle, entreating.
Glorfindel realized that he had been waiting for his "guest" to begin first, and Erestor had been thinking of himself as host as well.
"Of course..." with the manners of the lord he once was, he folded the cotton napkin over his left knee, took up knife and fork, and sliced a delicate sliver off of the quail on the plate before him.
Almost two hundred years had passed since he had tasted anything so fine. He hunted some in the outlying forests, when he was hungry enough to risk it. His kills were cooked in haste over a small hot fire; gamey meat burnt on the outside and still red inside as often as not. Some days he had been reduced to gleaning scraps from the rubbish heap; meat that was too tough or spoiled to be used in the next day's soup.
This, the gift Erestor had brought him, was a perfect blend of rich moist meat and simple yet flavorful herbs. He had forgotten that food could be so good. It was still warm. The juices spread over his tongue, the scent filled his head.
Tears prickled his eyes, that he had been given such a joyful moment. He could not swallow, and the candlelight blurred. He sat the fork on the edge of the plate, and pressed his hand to his lips to stop an undignified sound from escaping.
Erestor sat silent until he had regained his composure, at last chewing and swallowing the bite. Glorfindel raised his eyes to see the younger elf's worried ones.
"Are you well?" Like the food, this concern for his welfare was another thing that he had gone too long without.
"I am..." his voice was a bare whisper. He wanted to lie, to say he was fine, but found he could not. Not to Erestor. "I am overwhelmed," he admitted.
"I understand." Erestor's tone was encouraging. "Can I help in any way? Should I go?"
Glorfindel looked at Erestor's plate, the younger elf's food still untouched. He shook his head. "I will learn this," he said, "Though it may take some time."
Erestor nodded and took up his own fork and knife. They ate together in companionable silence.
When the meal was done, Glorfindel again walked Erestor back to his door.
"Tomorrow?" He asked, knowing that his heart's survival rested on the dark-haired elf's answer.
"Tomorrow." Erestor's smile warmed him to his core.
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Light flared, sudden and hot, bright even through his closed eyelids. Herenecco cried out as he woke. In distress and surprise he lifted a hand to shield his face.
"Rise, Herenecco, and hear the judgment that has been passed upon you." The voice was not that of Elrond the healer or Elrond the gentle ruler of Imladris. It was the voice of Elrond, once-herald of the High-King, Elrond the war leader, Elrond the warrior.
With watering eyes, Herenecco made his way to his feet, weak from his days of bed-rest. He tried to stand at attention, but the light was so bright he could scarce open his eyes against it. It drove him down, threatened to crush him to his knees.
"I hear, my lord." His voice was as pitiful as his posture, and his cheeks burned with shame.
"You have been found guilty of assault, of attempted defilement, and of causing harm through poisoning. You will be sent forth from Imladris, to Lothlorien, where the lady Galadriel has offered to help you cleanse your troubled mind. You will abide there for as long as she deems necessary. You will not return to Imladris so long as Erestor chooses to reside here. Should he choose to travel to a place where you are, you will leave.
"This sentence shall remain in effect for the rest of your days on Arda. Should you choose to not accept these terms, word of your crimes will be sent to the far corners of the world. You will be exiled from all elven settlements and havens. Every hand will be raised against you for this misdeed. There will be no rest and no comfort among the lands of your kin. Do you understand?"
Herenecco stood as one mortally wounded. "I understand." He whispered, as the echoes of Elrond's voice faded from the room. "I will abide by this decision."
Gone...it was all gone from him; the life he had built here, his position, the respect of the guardians he had led. Erestor....he would never see Erestor again. He fell to his knees.
"You leave before dawn," were the last words his lord spoke to him.
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Title: Golden Vanity
Series: none
Type: FPS
Chapter: 15/?
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.
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Gwirith (April)
Erestor checked over the arrangements he had made for the evening meal. All was in readiness for their dinner, and he had set out the chess board in case Varyar may be persuaded to play a game or two afterwards. The lighting was dim, out of respect for the other's need for secrecy.
A fortnight had passed since the last time they ate together. The hooded elf had gone on a self-imposed mission to check the mountain passes for early thawing. He announced his return with a small stone left in the center of Erestor's desk before the workday began. It was dark, almost black, and into one side was pressed the skeleton of a strange leaf. The plant's profile was like nothing Erestor or even Elrond had seen in person or in books.
The thrill the discovery sent through Erestor was like nothing he had ever known either. He had struggled against grinning like an elfling and allowing himself to be distracted from his work. He had never dreamed he would miss another's presence the way he had missed Varyar.
A tiny tapping, like the sound a mouse might make, alerted Erestor to his guest's presence.
They ate together, and though Erestor could not see the other's smile, he could hear it often in the Quenya-touched voice. They spoke of the mountain passes, still frozen, the gift of the fossil-stone, and their common love of strategy games. When the meal was ended and the wine poured, they engaged each other over the chess board. Erestor could see how out of practice Varyar was in the first mach, which Erestor won without difficulty. The second match was more challenging, and the third he felt he won only because a rule had changed since Varyar had last played. While he offered to let Varyar re-move the piece, the older elf declined graciously, and the game was sat aside for the evening.
"Erestor?" The hooded one enquired as he sipped his wine.
"Hm?" Erestor was tired, content, comfortable.
"Would it be impolite to ask for the second of the favors you have offered me before the year has passed?"
Erestor blinked. The question had been asked with such care and propriety. "No, of course not. What may I do for you?"
He could hear a hint of self-depreciating mirth in the other's voice. "I seem to have misplaced the ability to read. It has...been a while. Would you help me to remember?"
Erestor smiled and tipped his head. "It would be my pleasure." He hesitated, trying to find a tactful way to ask the question that came to mind. "How long has it been since you last read?"
There was a moment of stillness, and Erestor knew he had overstepped the boundary. "Gondolin still stood," Varyar whispered. Without another word he moved to his feet, silent as the shadows that enveloped him, and stepped through the hidden door and out of Erestor's room.
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Lothron (May)
Varyar's queen took Erestor's horse-knight, and the dark-haired elf frowned down at the board. The golden-haired elf was remembering the game more with every time they played it, and had begun to win more than half the times they played. His mind was as bright as his soul, a fact that Erestor appreciated. He narrowed his eyes and decided that he appreciated Varyar's bright mind except when Varyar was mercilessly slaughtering his pieces.
"I concede," Erestor said at last, seeing no way that he could emerge victorious.
"Again?" Asked Varyar, and together they reset the board. Erestor had been helping him to relearn the art of the written word, and the tension of that first discussion of the matter had faded. They did not speak of it, but it did not linger between them. They were comfortably silent as they played, until from nowhere, the hooded elf spoke.
"If you see Elrohir at weapon's practice, will you tell him that he's fighting too much with his spear's tip and not enough with the haft?"
Erestor moved one of his pawns. "Hm? I do not understand."
The hood moved, and Erestor could feel the eyes upon him. "I've seen him sparring with Elladan. He is blocking and grappling with the tip of his spear against the tip of Elladan's. They have equal leverage and Elladan is the stronger, so Elrohir will always lose. If he fights with the haft of his spear against the tip of Elladan's, he will have the greater leverage and more control over his opponent's weapon." He hesitated. "Should I show you?"
Erestor's lips twitched as he tried to restrain his smile of anticipation. The chance to see the elf that had killed so many orcs alone in motion was too exciting to let pass him by. "I would be delighted." He paused and looked around his room. While not small, it was unsuitable for a spear-fight. "Your chamber?"
"We will need practice weapons." Varyar moved to his feet, the game forgotten, and Erestor hoped that the anticipation he read in the other's voice was not his own imagining.
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Erestor started on one side of the chamber, placing and lighting candle after candle around the sandy circle, Glorfindel on the other. While not bright, the flickering light was sufficient for them to see and spar by. Glorfindel almost laughed at their weapons of choice. A broom and a mop, stolen from the maid's closet along with the box of candles, had been pressed into service as spears. Not the ideal weapons, but they would do to illustrate his point.
With a formality that was almost humorous, the two fierce opponents crossed their cleaning implements and bowed to each other. Erestor dropped into a basic fighting stance, the plain end of his mop pointed towards his opponent. Glorfindel smiled as he settled into his own, more difficult yet more versatile stance. With the "point" of his spear pointed at the ground halfway between them and the bristles of the broom above his head, he was using the entire length of the haft as a very narrow shield.
He waited, and the younger, less patient elf broke first, lunging in a surprise stab at his midsection. Glorfindel's spear shot out, the shaft just beyond his hand catching the very tip of Erestor's weapon. He swept his tip around, the circle it was making growing with every degree of turn. By the time he had gone full circle, Erestor was off-balance, unguarded, and open when Glorfindel moved inside of his defense. He slid his lead hand up to just behind where the spear-head would be on a real weapon, and mimed a strike to Erestor's stomach, just touching the dark robes with the broom-handle.
He could see in Erestor's eyes the moment when the younger elf knew he would have died had this been actual combat. A mix of fear and joy sparked through him. He feared that Erestor would someday need to fight again, and would not have had this skill if not for this impromptu sparring match. The joy...the joy came from the light in the younger elf's eyes, the glow of his spirit, the blush across his cheeks. He was not the only one enjoying the thrill of competition.
"Again," he said, and once again the small cave echoed with the sound of wooden sticks hitting. Twice more he showed Erestor the disarm, and then showed him how to be the one in control. They went through the counter-moves and the counters to counters. He taught him the way of a formal duel and the dirty combat ways he would be free to use when fighting orcs or the like.
The lighter elf was a joy to teach, graceful and quick to understand the mechanics. He marveled that one who so obviously enjoyed the activity was seen so seldom on the practice yard.
With a hidden grin, Glorfindel stepped back and bowed. "Free-form," he instructed. "Win at any cost. Trust me to not let myself be harmed."
Erestor bowed and once again the dance began, graceful bodies moving in friendly competition.
It happened in a split-second. Glorfindel's hood fell low over his eyes, obscuring his vision for a moment. A thousand years' instinct as a warrior fought with two-hundred years' instinct to hide himself. Without a thought, he ducked out from under the threadbare cloth, blocking Erestor's next attack. He did not even know what he had done until he saw the younger elf's eyes, the shock they contained.
He felt his heart stop as he waited for the surprise to fade enough for Erestor to react to what he was, what he had become. He wanted to run. He wanted to die. He wanted to do anything but stand, to be recognized as Glorfindel of Gondolin, or ostracized for the hideous disfigurement. He did not want to watch his joy fall to ruin, and yet he chose to stay.
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