Warning Slash. Slight violence. Emotional elves.

Summary "Stay away from him, Glorfindel," he whispered dangerously as a whirl of overwhelming protectiveness overcame him. With his heart thundering and blood pulsing in his head, his eyes glinted with cold abhorrance at the stunned face before him. "Or so help me you will find yourself back in the Halls of Mandos before your task is done."

.oOo.

Chapter 7

.oOo.

The heavy door pushed open with little more than a creak. Elrond swept into the room, a smile quickly finding its place on his face as he entered the room where a darkhaired elf lay spread upon the bed. The bed dipped somewhat when he sat down on the edge, a large hand reaching to move some of the free, dark strands from the sleeping face. The nose twitched faintly from the light contact, but the sensation alone was not strong enough to draw the sleeping elf out of his slumber.

"Erestor.." said Elrond, his voice soft as he tried to rouse his friend gently, knowing the elf's poor mood if woken abruptly.

Erestor moved into the contact instictively. His body craving he warmth the hand offered. Elrond let his hand start a soothing stroking pattern on the dark head, smoothing down the slightly ruffled hair. He was reluctant to wake him, but the day had already gone halfway and he needed his advisor in his office, not sleeping.

He watched the light return into his friend's eyes, the sleepy features alert but still soft as he gazed back on him.

"Good moring, Elrond," said the sleep logged voice with a beautiful smile on those rose tinted lips.

"Good morning," came Elrond's amused reply, his eyes meeting Erestor's and reading the lingering effect of wine in them. "Had I known you would continue on drinking last night, I would have brought some draught for you this morning.."

"Do not bother. It is not that bad.." said Erestor, pulling himself into a sit on the bed. His dark hair tumbled over one exposed shoulder. Erestor absently tugged the fabric back up to cover the naked skin, not noticing the way the sight of it had drawn the peredhel's gaze.

Taking in the mess in the room Erestor asked casually: "Where is Glorfindel?"

A dark brow rose. "Glorfindel? You entertained Glorfindel yesterday?" Elrond clearly remembered sending the blond to his rooms to rest, when had they met up?

"Aye, we indulged in a nice red Dorwinion.. Though, what happened after the third bottle I have no idea."

"You drank wine from your private stock?" Elrond felt a little affronted he had not been invited. Erestor seldom drank from his collection, his private wine stock had not been touched since Elrond's wedding. It was a well known fact that the elf didn't open his bottles for less than important, special events.

Dark eyes seeking sympathy sought out his own. Erestor's steady gaze read him lika an open book. "I needed a drink. A good, hard drink." He slid along the silken sheets, moving to fold the half-elf into a loose, warm hug. "Do not worry. I promise I will open a bottle for your birthday."

Elrond relaxed feeling the heat of the elf seep into him. Erestor had always known when he needed comforting and his senses didn't fail him this time either. He pulled the advisor into his own arms with a slight shift of his body and returned the embrace.

"I will hold you to that promise, my friend."

Erestor shivered when he felt Elrond's words vibrate against the skin of his neck, raising hairs at the back of his neck with the warm brush of breath. Elrond had always been an understanding and wise elf to seek out for advise. Now, being held in the other's arms added another feeling he hadn't associated with the elf before; safety. Why did he feel so safe in the peredhel's arms? It must be his worrying about Glorfindel that had him so highly strung. Because Erestor didn't ususally reach out for comfort like this. In fact, he was often the one providing it!

Drawing away, he chose to ignore the look of loss on the Elrond's face. Hastily leaving the bed, Erestor went to the connected bathroom. "I'm going to take a bath. Please, entertain yourself with.. something."

Elrond waved the other off into the bathroom shaking his head at the other's antics.

As the peredhel remained seated on the bed he eyed the disaster that was Erestor's rooms.

What had happened yesterday? If he was to be honest with himself, he felt a little dismayed hearing Erestor invited the balrog slayer to his rooms last night. Knowing the sly fox Glorfindel could be, one could never be certain about the elf's motives. Only the fact that Erestor had been sleeping while still wearing his clothes had soothed Elrond's worries. After all, had the blond actually managed to somehow seduce the raven into his bed, he wouldn't have left a single piece of clothing untouched.

Sighing, he rose from the bed, deciding to wait for Erestor to finish. Elrond spent the time waiting picking up the stray bottles lying on the floor. His mood did not improve as he started to clean up the mess while simultainously despairing as he found an empty bottle of Mirkwood's finest; specifically a bottle dating back to the years right after the founding of the realm, when it was still called Greenwood the Great. He grumbled as he put the bottle ontop of the table. Elrond remembered Erestor had paid a small fortune for that one. Because Thranduil never parted with his wine willingly, especially one from such a fine year. It had taken some convincing of considerable skill as well as a small collection of family jewles for Erestor to finally get a hold of a single bottle..

"Elrond? What is wrong?"

The half-elf was too absorbed in his childish jealousy of the blond warrior to notice Erestor's return. Yet, seeing him now, Elrond had to quickly avert his gaze from the fine vision Erestor presented; standing dripping wet and wrapped in nothing more than a towel. Erestor stared back at him curiously.

Embarrassed by the slight pink flush that rose on his face, Elrond held up the bottle he had been examining. "You opened the Green Ager.."

"What?!" The bottle was swiped from his hand in a flash, the sound of the irate elf pacing the floor soon following. "That incompetent fool! I told him to fetch one from the top shelf!"

Elrond didn't dare turn around, afraid that in doing so he would earn himself the elf's ire as well. Erestor was fuming behind him, and he could hear him mumbling curses as he went to the wine cabinet in his adjoining study.

"Argh! That imbecile!" Elrond heard the outraged call from the other room. "Elrond! Tell me the Second Ager from after the war is not in that room and I'm simply hallucinating!"

He could hear the desperation in Erestor's voice and fearfully Elrond went through the rest of the bottles scattered around the room. It did not take him long to find the sought for bottle lying on its side, half drunk in a corner beside the bed. Elrond closed his eyes.

"Elrond?" Erestor asked as he strode back through the doorway.

The peredhel turned sorrowful eyes his way, lifting the bottle up for him to see. Erestor screwed his eyes shut in regret, thumb and forefinger gripping the bridge of his nose as if willing it away would make the bottle disappear from sight and it would be miraculously found somewhere in the back of his cabinet instead.

The advisor sighed dejectedly, accepting the truth. "I was saving that.."

"I know, my friend." Elrond said softly, well aware of the plan to finally open the fruit of their labors the day they would sail to Valinnor together. It had been a strange comfort to look forward to, sharing the wine on the ship while watching Arda fade away in the distance.

Elrond drew the darkhaired elf into a sit on the bed, his grey eyes unmoved as he forced a weak smile onto his face. "There is still some left," he said and handed the bottle to his friend, who took it reverently. Erestor's dark eyes peered through the stained glass as he swirled the dark contents within for a moment before offering it to Elrond.

"I was saving it for you. It is only right that you have the first sip," he said with a chuckle.

Elrond smiled at the sight, taking the bottle and tilting it to allow some of the potent liquid to flow down his throat. He released a small sound of delight. "It tastes as good as I imagined it would." Erestor took a long swig himself, his smile growing until it finally reached his eyes.

"It does, doesn't it."

He gripped Elrond's hand and together the two elves drank what remained of the heavenly draught in silence. Their eyes understanding the hidden meaning behind the sharing of the wine.

The silent promise that they would always be there for each other.

Until the end of time.

.oOo.

Despite himself, Gildor found himself roaming the gardens. The tall trees did help somewhat with calming his nerves, but it did not stop that sinking feeling in his chest. He had wandered aimlessly for almost an hour when he realized where his traitorous feet had brought him. Sighing, the noldor elf dragged a weary hand through his long tresses even as his eyes strayed to the balcony above.

Only a stone wall separated him from the current source of his troubled heart. The light curtains that covered the doorway swayed with the light breeze, effectively blocking the inside, and consequently his own presence, from view. He knew not why it relived him so to know that he could not be spotted at this – his weakest moment. Nor did Gildor understand why his insides burned with hope that the familiar dark head would, against all odds, come out to greet the morning sun and gift him with a simple glance of him.

It was unbelivable, and his mind continued to remind him so every spare moment, that he should feel so tortured. Since if he truly wished for his presence so badly, Gildor could just ask the elf to follow him into the wild. But his conscience was ever right. He could not ask the boy to accompany him. He could not ask for his presence simply because Aerandir's radiant smiles might brighten his days on the trail. No. It would be too selfish of him. Too bold of him to assume that Aerandir shared an inkling of the affection Gildor held for him.

Distraught, he turned to leave the garden to seek better advise when he stumbled upon another troubled soul.

"Lord Gildor!" the elf said surprised, but not too disappointed as he closed in on the elf. The elf was simply dressed, as was his want, and his golden hair was pulled back from his face, revealing the deep, sky blue eyes he was so admired for.

"Lord Glorfindel," Gildor greeted stiffly, a small bow accompanying his words.

"What a lovely surprise meeting you here," the seneschal purred in his usual smooth tone. His eyes roaming Gildor's figure indiscreetly, before once again regaining that infuriating smirk of satisfaction on his lips.

"I would like to say the same," Gildor replied with annoyance, but soon remembered his manners, "but I am afraid I have no time to remain here any longer. I have lingered for too long already."

Glorfindel looked a little affronted at the hasty dismissal. The balrog slayer had not been lying earlier. Gildor was a pleasant surprise and a convenient distraction from his current thougts, and he was determined to use the elf's timely presence to the fullest.

"And where, may I ask, are you off to in such a hurry? A maiden waiting for you somewhere?" The question was of course ridiculous, since they both knew of the wandering elf's inclination towards males. Gildor stopped abruptly, his head turning back with a glare at the blonde.

"I do not think that is any of your business, though if you must know, I have a meeting with your Lord."

He had not forgotten Glorfindel's last attempt at seducing him into his bed. There was a time, of course, when Gildor would have thought his advances welcome. The elf was quite a specimen and any elf would be glad to receive his attentions. But the crude ways and unreliable nature of his affections was what made him think twice about letting the elf too close to his person.

A hand grasped his elbow, twisting him around to meet him. "You are cold, my friend. One would think that you have been recently slighted by the object of your desire."

Glorfindel had no idea what had brought on this harsh attitude in his old friend, but he knew him well enough to know that something must have happened to make him this adverse to his presence. Suddenly, the thought struck him that the elf might be trying to win the favor of a resident in the Last Homely House. A spurn of his affections would certainly result in the bad mood the elf was in. Gildor was after all a playful elf, but when he was serious he was not be played with.

He thought for a moment of who the elf might be to gain Gildor's affections this easily, numerous names running through his mind of different eligible noble elves living in the house. Though what his mind found as the best match for the Noldor elf did not earn Glorfindel's approval. Because, as if agreeing with his earlier suspicions, his treacherous mind supplied the one elf his heart wanted to see courted the least.

"Are you meeting Erestor?" he asked lowly, his voice wavering with a hint of danger hidden in it.

Gildor blinked in confusion, but hid the feeling well, instead replying icily, "He is to attend the meeting, yes."

The words were like a warning flare in his mind, igniting all kinds of thoughts and all of a sudden, the reason for Erestor's drunken state last night did not seem so surprising. The advisor and Gildor were good friends, more so than he would have liked. It was not impossible that the pair had engaged in something more serious last night. Perhaps Erestor had ulitmately rejected his advances? Or did Gildor smother his own?

A jealousy he had not thought possible took over him at the thought of the two of them discussing any hidden affections for each other and unwittingly, Glorfindel felt his grip tighten to a bruising strength. Gildor, fed up with his rough handling, pulled his arm free of his steel like grip. A hand rubbed the abused skin intently as his eyes flashed with anger.

"I do not know what goes on in your mind, Glorfindel," he spat out warningly, the drop of his title an indication of the loss of respect he felt for the elf. "But you would do well not to approach me in such a manner again."

"You should keep your hands off what is mine," Glorfindel growled. The balrog slayer's anger grew in intensity, and he would have given Gildor a piece of his mind on his flirtatious ways if a slight sound did not distract his battle ready senses.

Gildor was about to retort that it was none of Glorfindel's business, when the seneschal's eyes shot up towards the balcony above. The look was brief, but long enough for the missing pieces of the puzzle to settle in his mind. Before he knew it, Gildor wrapped his hand around Glorfindel's throat, pulling the surprised blonde down to his eyelevel, face close enough to feel his gasping breath on him as Gildor hissed at him.

"Stay away from him, Glorfindel," he whispered dangerously as a whirl of overwhelming protectiveness overcame him. With his heart thundering and blood pulsing in his head, his eyes glinted with cold abhorrance at the stunned face before him. "Or so help me you will find yourself back in the Halls of Mandos before your task is done."

Releasing the now stuggling blonde, Gildor turned and left the garden with swift strides. The sound of Glorfindel's heavy breathing following him from the distance.

.oOo.

Aerandir stood trying to calm his breathing as he leaned against the stone wall behind him. The morning breeze fanned across his side from the flapping curtain and he pulled his dressing robe closer around him with shaking hands.

He had been about to enjoy the sun on the terrace of his balcony but had been stopped dead in his tracks seeing the sight below him. It was almost like his whole world had stopped when his eyes fell on the two forms in the garden. A taller, golden haired elf leaning over a slightly shorter one. Their bodies stood so close together that there was no doubt about what was happening between them. The intimate display had stirred heat inside him, but it had gone abruptly cold when the golden head was pulled down further and revealed the silvery blond one hidden behind it.

Aerandir knew that hair. He knew those colorful strands of threads; silver, blue and green which had been weaved into one of the delicate braids and fastened by his own hands at Gildor's insistence. His mind had not been lying to him and it made the truth strike all the more hard on his young heart.

It was true then.

It had always been a game, a delicate dance between them that he had joined in on, learned to accept and despite his wishes even come to enjoy. But Aerandir should have known he would not be enough for him. How could he not see that Gildor would need more? That he required more than playful words and touches? That Gildor too had adult desires that Aerandir, as unexperienced as he was, could not fulfill?

He sighed, his heart buried deep within and hidden under the growing dark his thoughts spread. During these last weeks Aerandir's growing fear had been the approaching departure of his friend. That he would be left behind until Gildor deemed it necessary to visit Rivendell again. After hearing Gildor's tales, it was not hard to assume that it could be months to years from now, and it scared Aerandir not knowing when they would meet again.

But now, that fear was easily overgrown by his newest revelation. Did he feel something for the wandering elf? Something more than just friendly affection?

No longer feeling the energy he had upon awakening, Aerandir threw himself face down on his bed. His dark hair pooling around his shoulders as his fingers gripped the fluffy feather pillow.

'It is pointless', Aerandir thought desolately. 'What right do I have to question how he spends his time when I don't even know my own feelings?'

A flash of that golden hair filled his mind and he gripped the pillow harder. His lips thinning into a dismayed line as he curled in on himself. How could he ever stand up to that? Tall and golden haired. Strong shoulders and a broad back. A warrior build if he had ever seen one. What did Aerandir have to offer to such perfection?

Shaking his head, he allowed his frustrated tears to flow freely, only furthering his misery with his own weakness.

'You are a child, Aerandir,' he thought derisively, 'Nothing but an overgrown child who knows nothing of the world or the lives in it. Only a fool would ever choose someone like you.'

# To be continued...

A/N: And here's to another chapter. Thank you for waiting! Tell me what you think! – DR.