I don't know if I ever said this… but I don't own Lord of the Rings. Obviously. And remember, I don't write slash. All brotherly love.
Glorfindel enjoyed the rain. He loved the sound of the droplets hitting the roof and falling onto the ground. He loved the mud that covered the ground in the gardens and he loved the smell of cleanliness whenever he walked out onto his balcony. But despite his love of the weather, he was sitting underneath the oak tree, soaked to the bone and tears causing rivers down his face to mingle with the rain. Though he was an elf, he was shivering. He didn't remember how long he had been sitting out there. The rain had started shortly before dinner, and he hadn't gone in. The moon was shining through the small kinks in the clouds. His hair was out of its braids and impossibly tangled. He leaned his head against the trunk of the tree, and soon after, he laid down in the dirt, his hand still on the trunk.
He wept for many things. He wept for his lost love, his dead friends, and his own failure. He cried for his strength that was failing him. Why could he not deal with this grief as Elrond dealt with his grief over Celebrian and Arwen's love of Aragorn? Why could he not keep it together? He stared at up at the sky, blinking the rain out of his eyes, letting the rain wash his tears away. He coughed, curling up in the dirt, closing his eyes.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder and Glorfindel opened his eyes. Erestor's kind, dark eyes met his.
"Come, mellon-nin." Erestor offered Glorfindel his hand and the blonde took it.
Wordlessly, they walked through the rain to the entrance to the library and from there, went to Glorfindel's chambers. They entered and Erestor set about getting Glorfindel dry clothes and putting him in front of the fire. Glorfindel slowly pulled his wet tunic off and accepted the towel from Erestor. The advisor strode out of the room to get a servant to bring food for Glorfindel as the blonde changed into the dry pair of trousers. He laid the wet clothes in front of the fire to dry and sat down in one of the chairs near the fire, letting the heat wash over his pale skin.
Erestor came back and pulled the other chair to face the one Glorfindel was in. He put a hand against his friend's cheek. "Valar, you're cold." He whispered, shaking his head. "Glorfindel…"
"Yes/" He croaked.
"You are not well. When Aragorn was a child, you did not focus in meetings for weeks! You hardly eat and then I find you in the rain… weeping. Glorfindel… I care about you too much to let you continue this mental torture. What is hurting you so?" Erestor asked, pulling a comb from his pocket and handing it to Glorfindel who began to comb his wet, tangly, dirty hair as he began to speak.
"Nothing is bothering me." He replied weakly, looking away.
"Do not lie to me." Erestor whispered gently. "I will not be offended, insulted or angry at whatever answer you say."
Glorfindel fought himself. He didn't want to tell Erestor. What he held within him was valuable to him. If it got out, they would know. They would know of his failure, of his imperfection. They would know that he had let down all of his other friends and was, therefore, a terrible friend. They would know he was worthless, incompetent, and hard. They would know he could not love them because he was clinging to his past. They would know it was his fault. They would know he failed.
"I… can't tell you." He replied, his voice raspy. "You would hate me."
"I already do." Erestor joked lightly and was heartened to see Glorfindel smile. "I would sooner swear off my favorite cherry and strawberry pie than hate you and you know how much I love a good cherry and strawberry pie."
"I already told someone once and they treated me with PITY!" The proud blonde elf exploded. "I do not want pity." He spat, his eyes filled with anger and spite.
"You of all elves should know I do not pity. I offer sympathy and love, but never pity."
Glorfindel sighed. "I cannot. You…"
Erestor leaned over and put a hand on Glorfindel's shoulder. "You flinch."
"Yes." Glorfindel whispered. "I feel… fire." His voice was almost inaudible, but after centuries of detecting prankers in the library, Erestor's hearing was very sharp, and he managed to catch it.
"You remember the Balrog?" Erestor ventured tentatively.
"Yes." Glorfindel admitted. "I remember the Balrog, I remember the flames, the fire eating away at my skin, I remember seeing my love die because of my moment's hesitancy, and I remember dying. I remember my life draining from my body. I remember my last thought."
Erestor took his friend's hand. "What was it?" He whispered.
"I failed. I failed them all. They relied on me, put their lives in my hands, and I failed."