Glorfindel bowed to the applauding crowd that had assembled to watch the sword contests. He paused to speak to the young guard he had beaten, they had been evenly matched in skill and he wanted to ask the elf to spar with him under less competitive conditions. The guard, clearly flattered by Glorfindel's request laughingly brought Glorfindel's attention back to the platform where the presiding Lord stood waiting to present the victor's wreath.
He nodded to Círdan briefly before approaching the stage and bowing low.
It was unusual for Círdan to be presiding over the arms contests, and Glorfindel wondered with some concern what was keeping Gil-Galad from his duties as arms Master. He had not seen the elf Lord since they had met in the courtyard that morning and no explanation had been offered for his absence at the midday meal.
Círdan was generous in his words to Glorfindel as he crowned the young elf and presented him as victor to the crowd.
Glorfindel could not help but flush at the attention he was receiving and turning back to the crowd laughingly bowed with a flourish, as he rose, he caught sight of dark fabric at one of the windows and looked up.
His heart swelled with pride and love as his eyes came to rest upon Erestor's slight form at his bedchamber window. Erestor smiled as their eyes locked, bowing slightly with his hand over his heart in a warrior's salute. Glorfindel mouthed the words 'Thank you' before the crowds swept him away, hastening him on his way to the next event.
-
The afternoon passed in a daze for the two young elves.
And as the sun dipped into the ocean, Erestor was keeping company with Glorfindel, arm in arm they watched the sun set from the battlements, as had become their custom on this day.
Mithrandir came upon Gil-Galad in the private gardens away from the jollity in the castle, gazing distractedly into a small pool.
"What do you see?" he asked, taking a seat on a low bench at the pool's edge.
Gil-Galad looked at the Istari briefly, "I see nothing, nothing to guide my path in any case."
"You are not without allies, you are not without aid."
Gil-Galad sighed as he took a seat beside the Istari, "Nay, I am not without," his voice was hushed, repentant.
Mithrandir lit his pipe as Gil-Galad looked to the dying sun.
"I would ask you to post a guard at Glorfindel's door this night."
Gil-Galad's head snapped round at the request, his eyes narrowing, "Is he in some danger?"
The Istari took several puffs on his pipe, clearly in no hurry to enlighten the Elf Lord.
"Tell me what you know?" Gil-Galad's voice was urgent, demanding.
-
Mîrgaer wandered aimlessly about the gardens watching the preparations for the feast, and the hustle and bustle of servants passing too and fro from the kitchens. One of the grooms was lighting the lanterns now that it was almost dark and the stained glass sent shades of coloured light about the open sided tents spilling out into the gardens. She grinned at the sight, and seeing the opportunity pilfered a sweet cake from one of the tables before being chased off, laughing, by an irate kitchen maid.
She retreated with her prize to an arbour set against the cliff wall and stood upon the seat to blow out the two lanterns that lit it. Once satisfied that she was free from prying eyes she curled up in the corner to continue her observations, hoping that none would notice the lack of light.
This was but one of the feast locations on this night of revelry, but it was the grandest, for this was where the Lords of Balar themselves would eat. Mîrgaer would be expected at the celebrations for the lower ranked staff, located in another part of the castle, the celebrations there were no less jovial, but she liked the coloured lanterns and the bunting of gold that sparkled prettily in this part of the gardens.
Finishing her cake, she decided that it would be unwise to risk her Nana's (mum's) wrath by being absent much longer, so with a last lingering look at the preparations she made for the gate, pausing only to inform the groom that two of the lanterns were unlit.
-
Círdan surveyed the devastation left in the wake of the evening's revelry as the staff quietly went about setting it to rights. Looking further into the gardens he noted two figures lying flat on the lawn, one of the figures gesturing to the stars. Círdan grinned, as he wandered over to join the two young elves, finding himself a seat nearby.
"Rabbits!" Glorfindel exclaimed earnestly.
"Rabbits?" Erestor questioned, shrugging as his eyes met Círdan's amused gaze.
"Aye, rabbits is the answer, don't you agree My Lord?"
Círdan appeared to look thoughtful for a moment before replying kindly "Quite possibly, but I also think perhaps it is time you retired to your chambers."
Erestor could see that Glorfindel was about to protest, so quickly said, "That is an excellent idea, I believe I would like to return to our chambers now, will you accompany me Fin?"
Glorfindel looked between the two elves, his gaze finally coming to rest on his friend's slightly concerned face, "as you wish."
Erestor smiled and with some effort helped the inebriated elf to stand.
"Can you manage?" Círdan asked, stooping to pick up an empty bottle of Dwarven whiskey.
"Aye My Lord."
"Erestor?" Círdan asked softly, "What was the question?"
Erestor smiled at Glorfindel fondly before answering, "I have no idea My Lord."
Círdan nodded, a smile on his lips, "I will have a healer come to your chambers before breakfast."
Erestor laughed, "Thank you My Lord, I believe Fin will appreciate that come morning, Goodnight My lord."
"Goodnight Glorfindel, Erestor," Círdan said as the two elves made their way unsteadily towards the castle.
By the time the two elves had got to the door of their chambers, Glorfindel was experiencing intermittent bouts of giggling, and Erestor's shoulders ached from his weight. Erestor propped him half against the wall as he fumbled with the door handle.
The guard that had stood motionless in the shadows moved quickly as the golden haired elf began to fall into a graceless heap and lifted him off the floor.
"Thank you," Erestor said to the guard, finally managing to open the door.
Glorfindel peered at the guard in a nearsighted way, and between giggles asked if he had caused some offence that would warrant a guard at his door. The guard smiled warmly but did not answer, instead looking to Erestor for instruction.
"Please place him on the bed, through there," Erestor asked gesturing to Glorfindel's room, "I will attend him, thank you for your assistance."
The guard moved into Glorfindel's room and placed him on the bed; the golden haired elf was beyond protesting, and now seemed to be trying to keep reverie at bay. He pulled a tome out from under the young elf and placed it on the floor to ensure Glorfindel's comfort before moving back into the audience chamber.
"Lord Erestor?"
A muffled "Aye" came from the bathing chamber.
"Please ensure the door to the corridor is kept unlocked this night."
Erestor appeared from the bathing chamber carrying a full basin of water various bottles in his hands and a washcloth in his mouth, he nodded mutely at the guard, who left the room, shutting the door behind him.
Erestor entered Glorfindel's room, placing the basin upon the chair so it was within easy reach and arranging the bottles neatly on the bedside table.
He noted with amusement that Glorfindel was asleep with his eyes closed, a healing sleep he thought, as he brushed the loose strands of golden hair away from his face.
"I think we need to get you out of these clothes," he declared softly.
He manoeuvred his friend into a sitting position, and tugged at the tunic, finally pulling the garment over Glorfindel's head. He lowered him back to the bed and turned to carefully fold the freed tunic.
Though Glorfindel lay still on the bed; his eyes suddenly flew open, revealing an alertness seen only in battle ready elves.
It happened fast, the growling voice devoid of all warmth, venomous in tone stated, "I shall not be so defiled!"
Erestor did not have even a moment to react before the night found him lying upon the floor in a pool of his own blood, and Glorfindel sitting bolt upright in the bed, a bloodied knife in his hand and a look as cold as the Helcaraxë in his eyes.
Just before unconsciousness took him, some semblance of realisation crossed his face and the knife fell from his hand, the sound of it hitting the floor echoing through the chamber.
-
A/N
Roguish Smile – I'm glad you are enjoying the tale. I suspect that the Lords of Balar don't want to ruin Glorfindel's begetting day with talk of death.
Asha Dreamweaver, CapriceAnn Hedican-Kocur and LadyJanelly – Many thanks for your kind comments
