Arwen flinched when opening the door of her chambers. The visitor had obviously been standing there for hours already, waiting to talk to someone so urgently – with her father probably, definitely not with her –, he had not even traded his white and blue traveling robe for tidy clothes yet. Glorfindel's hands bore traces of the coal he'd used to blacken Asfaloth's mane before their departure, a symbol for grief like so many elves had one on or with them on their last journey through these realms. Glorfindel seemed to have been in a hurry to get rid of that stuff, once it had become clear, Arwen had changed her decision once more. She couldn't hold it against him. Or that his bright eyes weren't half as good-natured and amused looking as usual but blazing with anger instead. It was another stab through her heart already so weary from the developments in the last days.
Elrond was deeply rattled by something he'd hoped to prevent til the end, disappointed, resigned … Glorfindel was mad.
An elf who made the Witch-king of Angmar draw in his horns wasn't someone you wanted on your bad side. Still, Arwen had to raise her arm, leaning against the door frame before Glorfindel could rush past her, with a warning shake of her head.
Her father had only just started to handle that after losing his brother so long ago, now his daughter had chosen the life of a mortal over the one in the light of the Valar as well. And that their time together had started to be limited. That depending on how this war ended, it might be over even faster than they were ready for it. In such a situation he couldn't deal with requests from his people, not even from his closest advisors and friends.
Arwen couldn't even stay in her own rooms herself though she felt more exhausted than ever before from a journey and could have used a few hours of sleep. But there was less time to rest than ever.
"Give him a moment. It will be a long night. The decision has been made: Ada will reforge Narsil."
She didn't even try apologizing again since Glorfindel had already refused to hear any of that on the way; she had stopped trying saying it to her father as well. Her feelings and her fate weren't her fault, and Arwen was sick of people making her feel guilty about them.
That didn't make the hurt resentfulness easier though that one of her best friends and teachers faced her with, for a lack of another way to express his helplessness. The helplessness about having to say good-bye to her in the foreseeable future. At least he didn't try to change her mind. Glorfindel seldom meddled with issues like this.
Now that the path was clear, finally not only for her but for Aragorn as well, the general once more set aside his own emotions to remember his duties. No matter how little he might like them. Arwen could emphasize with that as well. Activity would at least help him better than the utterly useless journey he'd just brought her back from.
"Does the Lord need help?"
One more rejection though, he would have to deal with today. This wasn't Glorfindel's expertise, and they couldn't allow a single thing to go wrong with that certain piece of work. "Ada will ask Camhanar. He'll be happy to make himself useful again. His wife is pregnant, they've only known for a few weeks. Ever since they learned, he hasn't been out there with the soldiers." And as one of the most experienced blacksmiths of the valley with exceptionally strong hands, Camhanar would provide the necessary support for her father to proceed with an operation that complicated.
Neither of them would be of any use for that. "Come outside with me? I could use a bit of fresh air right now."
With the battle of Helm's Deep being over, for the moment it was quiet around the valley as well. Enough to rest at least for a night or two before Glorfindel and her would ride out with sword and shield again to assist their troops. They had no right spending less time on that than the other warriors who secured the city's boundaries at the risk of their lives. Boundaries feeling tighter and more endangered by the day.
That Arwen wouldn't have much of a part in that for a while, she only realized when the unnaturally strong arms of her companion laid her down on a much too cold feeling bench in her father's private garden. Dazed, she blinked up at the clouded sky, wondering how in the world she had ended up here. Right. Walking down the stairs, her knees had suddenly felt uncomfortably weak …
"I am alright now." She pulled away a suspiciously unsteady hand from under Glorfindel's searching fingertips on her wrist and rubbed her eyes. "It was a long day, that's all." But it wasn't just that. The shield around her soul that had become so sensitive in the last years already, seemed to turn more fragile, more transparent by the minute. Memories of that icy silence between Glorfindel and her on the way home were replaced by more burdensome pictures of the last months, decades, centuries. More coming with every passing second, in a faster and faster change.
Her brothers' reproachful glances when Arwen had finally admitted to herself that there was nothing, nothing at all she could do to change her feelings for a mortal.
Her father's tears. The whitish body of her mother, disfigured by countless wounds, being carried into the halls of healing right before her eyes. Celebrían's journey into the unknown, the weak hope back then that someday, Arwen would see her mother again. A hope which she now knew to be in vain.
The look on Aragorn's face when the Fellowship had left Imladris, filled with the unalterable certainty that it was the last time he was ever seeing her.
Violence, blood and death. Outside the gates of her home, in the lands of men, in other elven realms. And even right among them, again and again. Unsettling whispers of the heralds of Rohan that this last battle had not only meant the end for more than one Firstborn of Lórien, but almost for the son of the King of the Woodland Realm as well. The end for one of Arwen's best friends. The fear growing especially since receiving these terrible news, that in the end the shadow would be stronger than them, even in spite of Elrond agreeing to provide the Free Folk with one last hope.
The biggest worry of all, that Arwen would indeed lose her beloved to a blade of Mordor, before she could hold him in her arms one more time.
She only realized she was holding on to the hand on her shoulder like a drowning elf, crying hot tears of despair, when her sobs made it hard to breathe.
A tender, calming kiss was pressed to her forehead before Glorfindel backed away from her. "I will get the Lord."
"No." Again, she stopped him. This time she didn't have nearly enough strength to do it physically though, if he really meant to go. She had seldom felt so weak before, not even at the beginning of the war, after weeks on the watch at the gates, without any sleep and with little provisions. Little by little, she realized it was the burden of millennia crashing down on her without warning, making her feel like her heart was breaking in two. After the change of her body, now her soul started to accept as well that she had given up the life of an elf. That overload of emotions in a mind suddenly feeling much too small and too inexperienced, she would have to deal with herself. The last thing she needed for that was even more silent reproaches in Elrond's eyes.
"He can't catch me, not this time. Go, leave me alone, please."
"Eat and drink enough. You're white as a sheet."
After a last moment of hesitation, he really did leave. That, too, was Glorfindel. He chose his battlefields very deliberately, and if he wasn't being of any use on one, he retired.
Arwen had a feeling, that would be one of the first things she had to learn in this new life raining down on her right now at full tilt. Closing her eyes, she tried to ignore how empty, how cold her world suddenly felt, now that she was taking it in with no longer enhanced senses that started to forsake her. The voices of the birds reached her ears quietly and unrecognizable suddenly. And that single dampened mash of blossoms in her nose, of flowers only just springing from the grounds … It felt like she had suddenly gone blind, and this was only the beginning.
Well, nothing could be done about that now. Now, she just had to get through this. Clinging to the weak prospect of salvation for this world she had demanded from her father earlier, Arwen waited.
Arwen had underestimated her father, Glorfindel noticed, when he went to see the only person except for Lord Elrond, who could give him information on all that had happened in his absence. And on which site needing improvement he would have to visit first.
The Lord was already hurrying through the library halls with his chief advisor by his side, as agitated as Glorfindel had seldom seen him, filled with the frantic urge to act that might at least ease his pain a little. A huge pile of books under one arm, he was busy building a second on his companion's while running down the diagonally placed shelves in the middle of the room. He kept on pulling works out of the jammed rows, pushing most of them back in just as hastily, roughly even, which elicited a pout from Erestor every time. It was soothing that some things didn't even change on a day when this world had become even emptier and gloomier than with the last centuries taking all sparkle from it already.
Elrond's haunted appearance with his robe askew and his hair loosely bound back revealed how upset he still was by his daughter's unexpected return. He'd probably not even be ready for a meeting if an orc army with drawn weapons was waiting outside.
So instead of addressing his Lord, Glorfindel silently waited for the two elves to be finished with their search. Perched on his usual spot on Erestor's desk, a cup of long-cold hillside herb tea between his fingertips, he tried his best not to let this unnerving hecticness infect him.
As much as he disliked being idle in times of war: The aid for the Men in the east wasn't his affair, Arwen was ight about that. And if his presence was urgently needed in the valley's lines of defenses at the moment, they would call him in. People were obviously perfectly capable of getting along without him all of a sudden. It was highly doubtful, his substitute hadn't learned yet that Glorfindel had returned, and that elf seldom skipped a chance to remind him of his duties.
A few minutes of relaxing were maybe exactly what he needed to process the long-feared and still very hurtful setback regarding Elrond's daughter. To straighten out his own troubled, doubtful thoughts before rushing into the next battle. If he had as little hope for the unlikely rescue of Middle-earth in his heart as so many residents here, he hadn't needed to come back with Arwen. Thinking like that, he could long have taken his own leave.
One sword less apparently wouldn't have made a difference anyway. No, he'd not quite swallowed his annoyance about this dispensable trip just yet.
Which was why he couldn't bring himself to show more than a short nod when Lord Elrond - finally done with storing the collected books in a box and already on his way outside - thanked him for accompanying Arwen on all of her double-minded ways.
"That was my duty."
"And you know why I asked it of you." Elrond's deeply sunk in eyes narrowed even further. Actually, they had no time to repeat this discussion; it hadn't been Glorfindel who had started it, though.
Yet he did have the feeling, he had to point out the obvious once more, to make sure alone that he wouldn't ever be withdrawn from the front again in such crucial days. "Others could have protected her equally."
"Others, I couldn't trust to return though. Not many elves are capable of turning back on the path to Mithlond, Glorfindel." It was probably a compliment, but spoken with this dragging, choked voice, it turned into just another memory of what they had irrevocably lost today.
"There was another."
Now he had revealed the information after all, that after Arwen's request earlier he'd wanted to give to the Lord tomorrow, to not burden him further. It wasn't awfully considerate to mention it with Erestor in the room either. But the incident was preying on Glorfindel's mind too much. Arwen in her hurry to get home had probably not even noticed. Considering how she had rushed ahead, Glorfindel couldn't be certain. Since for safety reasons alone, he'd loaned her his stallion once more who just happened to be the fastest horse in the valley, he'd mostly been busy keeping an eye on the surroundings and eating Asfaloth's dust.
"We met Vandrin's son when we turned back. Alone." From the corner of his eyes, Glorfindel saw Erestor's pale skin turn yet another shade of white and cursed soundlessly.
Elrond looked little enthusiastic about the news as well. "And Tarisilya?"
That the two young elves had been on their way into the west as well, Elrond had learned weeks ago from a message of Lady Galadriel. It actually had not been unlikely that Arwen's company would run into them on the way. This street deep within the woods was known among the leaders of elven realms as the safest for centuries. That Galadriel would send the twins there was to be expected. But only one of them had reached it.
"I could not ask. He did not stop."
Elrond pressed his lips together, visibly worried. "I'll tell the scouts to have an eye on the surroundings." Seeing Erestor's doubtful objection coming before his advisor had done more than wrinkle his fine brows, he raised one hand. "This Mearh is a good animal, she'll watch out for her. Still. I like to keep my promises."
The promise. Right. On his own way into the west, Vandrin had showed up at the city gates quite unexpectedly back then. Elrond's long overdue reconciliation with that other, very powerful healer of Lórien, a conversation in the Hall of Fire that had lasted for days, had been overshadowed by the twins not accompanying their father. Instead, they had been forced to deal with the dangers of a conflict themselves, that had only just begun back then. In that light, Elrond had agreed gladly to look out for them if he could.
In the end, probably another commitment that couldn't be fulfilled. They just didn't have enough soldiers anymore to protect all of the remaining elves.
Especially not those making careless decisions, ignoring every rationality. The anger Glorfindel felt about such stupidity already, about a civilian slashing their way through war zones alone, Erestor could bridle only until Elrond left the library. Barely.
Then his fist hit the cold bricks between two shelves for the first time. Again. Once more. With the determined precision to keep on going until either the stone or a bone gave in. Until the memory was silenced that actually, these news shouldn't – couldn't – concern him as much as they did.
Before the librarian could achieve any of these aims, Glorfindel came finally close enough to grab his arm. A surprised noise of pain came from his lips when Erestor reflexively pushed him back, his elbow violently hitting Glorfindel's sternum. Apparently, his friend had trained a lot more consequently in the last decades again than Glorfindel had realized.
"Stay out of this." That was what Erestor always told him when it came to how he was dealing with his pain. An order Glorfindel chose to ignore on principle.
Following a sad routine, he stepped close again, impassively, to pull Erestor into his arms, from a better angle now, holding him there until his friend stopped his indeed quite painful attempts to free himself and Glorfindel felt comfortable with letting go of him. Without another word, he returned to the office. He had agreed to not talk about this whole drama anymore. And he didn't need to watch his friend cry; they had too respect for each other for that.
His second cup of tea was nearly empty when Erestor came back, carrying a big book under his arm himself now. It was one of the many in here containing the story of Lúthien Tinúviel and her Beren, including many of the less heroic, less romantic details left out in some other versions of the tale.
Erestor seemed to have recovered enough to have an almost amused smile on his lips when Glorfindel turned away, shuddering.
"Is this funny to you?"
"That you people thought for even a week, you could defy fate? A little. At least that unbearable dance around the fire is finally over. What Lord Elrond's daughter needs now is help, not anger. So forget your pride and apologize, whatever you told her."
"I do not judge her love." Glorfindel tiredly shook his head and downed the last of his tea. Time to get out of here before this could become ugly again. "I hold her indecisiveness against her. I was needed here."
"Little as you might like that, you're not irreplaceable." Erestor didn't acknowledge Glorfindel's irritation with more than a shrug. Ignoring the burning stare at his back too, he proceeded toward the teapot for a goblet of nerve poison himself. "Thondrar has everything you have, including your arrogance and your inability to allow others into your life enough to accept help from them. Cut him and he'd bleed mithril."
"You can say that?" Caught somewhere between amusement and anger, Glorfindel reached for Erestor's arm again when he tried to pass him by, not surprised to feel exactly the startle he was looking for. With a routine of millennia, he bunched up Erestor's sleeve, inspecting the new wound there with another shake of his head. Not a crash this time but a clumsily wielded dagger. "Whom did you persuade to spar?"
"None of your business. Let go of me." In his grip, Erestor's hand turned into a hard fist.
"Who fights in my troops, is. Sit. This requires disinfection." Rolling his eyes, Glorfindel got up to rummage in the drawer with healing utensils he'd had to open far too often in such conversations already. "You want to be at the front, just tell me. Right now, we need everyone anyway."
"You are neither my trainer nor my captain, Glorfindel. I'm backup when it all goes haywire at the borders, that's all." Erestor tried to break away again, again without success. This time, Glorfindel didn't give in. The swollen wound margins were being pulled apart alarmingly under the growing pressure.
"Are you so deadset on finding out how many weapons I'm carrying?" The suddenly very quiet, very calm tone in his voice revealed a serious threat. Erestor was still aggressive because of what he'd learned earlier. The perfect mood for a fight.
After that frustrating trip west, Glorfindel felt the same, but he wouldn't be responsible for even more injuries than after that day, they both were already battling. He did loosen his grip for a moment, only to push Erestor back against the nearest wall though, and free two daggers from their scabbards on his back within seconds. That he happened to tear Erestor's expensive, black and grey velvet robe open in the process, he ignored intentionally. "Not even sharpened. Do you want to kill yourself?"
"Said the elf who cuddles with Balrogs for sport." Now it was provocation only, not hidden advice like earlier. Erestor's eyes, nearly black in the weak candle light, radiated heat. He felt it now as well, that it was one of those times when they were well advised to use each other to blow off steam, to regain their balance. Despite or maybe just because of being in the middle of a war. They had tried long enough to handle the helplessness alone, that maybe was the worst about that growing shadow drowning everything. And today, one more had been added.
Sometimes there was only one way to deal with helplessness.
Glorfindel's robe, still filthy from the journey, stood open quicker than he realized, Erestor was wearing another dagger on his thigh, and admittedly … Seeing a narrow, straight blade wielded surprisingly skillfully by this small hand, was a damn exciting sight, in spite of all the worry about a fighter physically limited by nature.
Pausing in distracted admiration for a moment, with his head slightly tilted, Glorfindel promptly earned bruises on his backside when Erestor shoved him back against the desk. The ties of his breeches got cut open next, before Glorfindel could point out that someone could come in here anytime.
Right now, not many elves strayed into the library, fortunately. And if someone did, they would have too much respect to approach such a scene between two of the most powerful inhabitants of this valley. As unusual as said scene might be for two elves without a bond that the two of them actively decided against, whenever they engaged in this act.
This time as well, it was nothing but desire and lust when Erestor's clever hand started to fondle Glorfindel's quickly growing erection, the other busy rummaging in another desk drawer. Soon enough, he was on the chair in front of Glorfindel – Erestor ó Imladris would probably not even kneel for anyone if the One Ring ordered him to – and drove him mad within seconds, with basically only the touch of his skilled tongue on the underside of Glorfindel's cock.
An unrestrained moan on his lips, Glorfindel fell back, sweeping parchment and two books to the floor, to clench down on the edge of the table and thrust his hips up sharply, into the wet tightness engulfing him way too softly for his taste.
The reward was a warning touch of steel against his thigh and another scathing look in these fascinating eyes. Not allowing him to rush anything, Erestor moved his head up and down at his very own slow speed, with tight pressure of his tongue and the roof of his mouth, obscene sounds of lust and effort on his stretched, full lips. Carelessly putting aside the dagger, he pushed Glorfindel's legs apart with the other hand and pulled him closer to the edge. The top of a phial clinked, cool, slick fingers found that one hidden place between his trembling thighs.
A half-unnerved, half-impatient growl came from Glorfindel's lips. In a place still way too public, there was no time for games. Since Erestor took certain preparations just as seriously as he did though, he forced himself to relax his muscles as well as possible and yielded to the skilled conquest with hard movements of his hips. It didn't take his partner long to elicit loud moans from him, more of them with every thrust of three quickly working fingers against his most sensitive point. Unexpectedly, his lover suddenly moved his head closer, ignoring his own preferences and swallowing down the quiet gag in his throat to take all of him. Glorfindel's warning scream echoing between the library shelves had Erestor pull back again quickly.
All willingness to rest aside, there wouldn't be time for more than a few minutes of forgetting today.
Some things, they didn't need to say out loud anymore. Glorfindel slid down from the table, leaving behind a remarkable trace of sweat on the naked wood, as soon as Erestor stepped back to fumble with the ties of his own suspiciously tented breeches. The cool smooth surface was a relief on his heated skin when he bent over it, offering his partner what they were both longing for equally. Another protesting growl escaped his lips when Erestor buried his hand in his braids, messy from the journey, but soon turned to another delightful moan. Erestor's possessive, not-too gentle bite on the side of his neck was familiar, calming nearness, the light burn of muscles in his lower body that hadn't been stretched like that for a while, necessary stimulation. He pushed back against Erestor's rock hard cock instead of trying to escape, gasping in arousal when the invitation was followed immediately.
In seconds, they found their usual rhythm. Due to the shortage of time, a hasty one, one that left one two bruises from the table on Glorfindel's loins. One that carried him away enough to quickly reach orgasm, after just a few more strokes of Erestor's free hand of his reddened, sensitive cock.
After such a long wait, that kind of height was intense enough to take his partner along on the ride immediately. A feeling of heat and wetness inside of Glorfindel promptly followed that he'd seldom experienced and that wasn't always a welcome sensation. Tonight, it didn't leave him shivering only from reluctance though; on an evening of ever-growing coldness and lostness, that was alright.
Which was why he shook his head when Erestor backed away, still panting and trembling himself, and murmured a contrite apology. "Not for that. But I need clothes." As much as he appreciated such uncurbed passion from time to time, to distract himself from blood and death: His preferences didn't include gossip on the halls of Elrond's palace about him strolling out of the library half naked.
"Back in a minute." Erestor absently wiped the sweat off his face, his thoughts back with his work already, but at least no longer distracted from it. Turning away, he handed Glorfindel the robe he'd taken off so hastily, to cover himself up at least a little.
Wearing it was out of the question, for that, they were too differently built. Yet in spite of all their bickering, even after millennia, they harmonized well enough in many other ways. That was indeed calming on a day when so many things threatened to fall apart. It was time to concentrate on such strengths again instead of their differences.
"I mean it. Come along to the border if you want."
Erestor surprised him once more. "Not as long as it isn't absolutely necessary. The Lord needs me right now. But thanks."
The weak grin Erestor shot him over his shoulder, actually made Glorfindel's cheeks flush with warmth. "And for that. Once we leave the shadow behind, no matter in which way … Then we should talk, Glorfindel. I have too many open ends in my life."
"Someday," Glorfindel nodded, though they both long knew it would never happen.