Challenge
By Narthoron
Betaed by Eithelien (who insisted).
(Disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien's characters, or his plants. I own only this situation.)
(I wrote this December 2004 for Eithelien's birthday, just so you know)
To Eithelien: Happy Birthday, mellon nin. I hope this story is to your liking. I promised you a slash story for your birthday a long time ago (last summer). I tried not to make it too cliché. Really, I tried. It's the thought that counts, right?
Warning: Slash (and fluffish)
A shadow of dappled leaves caused the light of the setting sun to shine on their fair faces in flickering patterns as they danced. The breeze blew the trees and dry leaves swirled around their feet and crackled underneath. Flame colored oranges and red from the ancient maples, and the purple from the young plum shoot that had been there for only a few years at best.
Sweat made their unearthly faces shine. Eyes were locked together in windows of concentration and the ring of metal on metal sounded throughout the forest. An owl watched silently as the sun continued to set, turning the sky a deep blood red.
Shadows lengthened as they continued the ritual. Each knowing the part he would play. Each understanding the other's flickering moves; the whirl of braided hair and the swish of a tunic that had come un-tucked.
An ancient and beautiful purpose was revealed as they danced into a small meadow, surrounded on all sides by the bowed mallorn trees. Bare feet stepped with subtle intent over a tiny patch of elanor flowers, whose golden heads moved slightly as the wind created by one of the dueling pair passed them over.
The stars were slowly unveiled as the disappearing sun set forth its final rays. The rising moon off to the east took its place, giving the forest a ghostly look. Nevertheless, the two continued in their dance. Dark eyes grew darker, as they bored into the pools of sky reflection of its opposite.
They were evenly matched. Many times before had this occurred, and the pattern was fated to continue. The dark haired one turned slightly, bending as the other's blade narrowly missed. Eyes caught, and he grinned teasingly. The blond one raised an eyebrow at his opponent, and then abruptly nodded. The challenge was accepted.
Fiercely they continued the battle. The blades of folded steel shone coldly and the mithril placed in the hilts was alight. Words written in ithildin appeared on the blades themselves. So fast did the swords move, that had there been an observer, whatever words that were written there would have been indistinguishable.
Clashing their weapons together and springing apart, they moved fluidly in the manner of the experienced. They came closer together and then further apart, carefully choosing every sequence, every step in the dance. There were no distractions; there were no mistakes – yet.
The dark one's eyes widened slightly as he recognized an error in the other's skill; a move gone slightly awry. Taking his chance and being careful not to overbalance, he stretched his arm forward and twisted his blade around the other's, causing it to fly from his opponent's hand. The dark haired one then moved his own sword to lightly touch the throat of his opponent.
The blond froze in shock at being disarmed so suddenly, his entire body stiffening. He began to move backward, eyeing the other wearily. He stopped suddenly as he realized he was backed up against the thick trunk of a tree. The other moved closer, closing the distance between them. Soon he was near enough to touch his opponent. He smiled, and leaned forward to whisper into the other's ear.
"So Glorfindel, it seems that I am the victor in this round."
Glorfindel nodded in assent, and the dark haired one withdrew his sword. "You have been practicing again, Erestor," he stated in his musical voice.
"Aye, I have. It has been a long time indeed since we were so evenly matched," Erestor smiled with pride. "I am glad I am able to present a challenge once more."
Commanding blue eyes caught and held his, and Erestor unconsciously moved back a little, to give Glorfindel space. "Aye, you are a . . . challenge," Glorfindel breathed without seeming to be aware of the words he spoke.
Erestor's eyebrows drew together innocently in slight confusion, unaware of what his friend meant. He voiced his concerns, "You speak of something other than swordplay old friend. I wish you would speak more clearly."
Glorfindel nodded in acknowledgment of Erestor's observation. He smiled in a slightly mischievous manner and stepped forward, closing up the gap that Erestor had created between them. His eyes never left Erestor's and only at the last moment did the advisor realize what was about to happen – and by then it was too late.
Erestor's dark eyes widened as Glorfindel's mouth descended on his own. He tried to pull away for the briefest of moments and then surrendered to Glorfindel's kiss. Feelings of ecstasy coursed through his body, calling to instincts he hadn't known existed. He was suddenly afire and drowning at the same moment. "Ai, Glorfindel!" he tried to say as they broke apart, gasping for breath as they had never done during their earlier fight.
Glorfindel smiled, and tentatively raised his hand to brush Erestor's cheek, his hair, and finally to softly touch Erestor's pointed ears. Erestor dropped his sword in surprise, and shivered as he took a sharp intake of breath. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm his pounding heart.
"Was that clear enough?" Glorfindel questioned softly. His eyes shone with more than just elven light. There was a deep emotion in them. It frightened the surprised Erestor, yet he dimly felt that he enjoyed the tantalizing stirrings of joy in his heart. But it was faint, too faint, and already beginning to fade. He pursed his lips and considered the question; pretending not to notice the obvious effect this action had upon Glorfindel, whose breathing became noticeably quicker then it was already.
"I- I . . ." he stammered, and then took a deep calming breath to settle his racing nerves. "No," he said finally in a firm tone, lowering his head so Glorfindel was unable to see his expression.
"N- No?" stuttered Glorfindel. He closed his eyes against his will, fighting back the tears that seem to come without his warrant. Not wanting to show truly how much pain that simple word caused him. Calling himself thirty different kinds of fool for even hoping for a moment that Erestor . . . beautiful, beautiful Erestor would ever even consider—
"No," spoke Erestor again. Then he raised his head and behold! There were traces of a grin upon his pale face! "No," he said for a third time, "I do not think you spoke clear enough. Tell me again."
"A- again?" gasped Glorfindel in disbelief. Did Erestor really mean-? Had he jumped to an unnecessary conclusion? His dead hope suddenly resurrected itself without his merit, and he tried to keep it under rigid control, positive he had misheard.
Erestor nodded slowly, his face now slightly uncertain. The night breeze caused dark tendrils of hair to fly in front of his face. Glorfindel gently reached out once more, even more tentatively then the last time. Erestor raised an eyebrow, and Glorfindel quickly drew back, frightened he had done something incurably wrong.
Erestor sighed impatiently, his own reservations disappearing like the moon behind the clouds. He quickly raised his hands to cup Glorfindel's face and brought it close to his own, delivering to Glorfindel a bruising kiss. After a few moments recovering from shock, Glorfindel returned it with ferocity only found in moments of true passion. It was over too soon for them, and as Erestor stumbled back to survey the other, his elven grace temporarily gone, he smirked.
Glorfindel's eyes widened as he recognized the expression. He bit his lower lip and his blue eyes searched Erestor's own dark ones. "Challenge?" he asked nervously.
"Aye," Erestor said.
Glorfindel beamed, "Challenge accepted."
The End
Note: They are not in Imladris, obviously there are no elanor flowers in Imladris. They are also speaking Elvish, so I decided to show that with italics.