The Best Foes: Nervousness
Today did not depart from this routine. Sitting in his old armchair, he was lost in a book, whose pages were yellowed by the passing of time. He liked the rough feeling of the fragile pages scratching the smooth skin of the tip of his long fingers. He appreciated the combination of the faint dusty odour emanating from the old paper and the musky scent of the hidebound cover. He was savouring the sight of the delicate curves of the old language, last remnants of a completed golden era. Glorfindel was unlike other ancient elves that lived in memories of their glorious past, and he did not reject his past as others did. Reading old narratives satisfied his need for history and his desire to remember.
But today was slightly different than most other days; Elrond's restless pacing in front of the large window interrupted the comforting silence he usually enjoyed.
The usually dignified and composed Lord of Imladris was agitated, his hands clasped behind his back. He had entered his advisor's office a few minutes ago and had not spoken a word. Seeing that his old friend had decided to remain mute, Glorfindel resumed his reading and ignored the raven-haired Lord. But, even if the Lore Master did not utter a word, the constant rustling of his starched robes were filling the silence. The quiet scene continued until the blond seneschal, unable to concentrate on his reading as the sound was getting on his nerves, levelled his gaze and glared darkly at the raven-haired elf in his office. But Elrond did not seem to notice the glacial attention he was given and continued his pace, his eyes absently fixed upon an invisible point in front of him. Seeing that the other, Glorfindel had not noticed him returned to his book, trying to concentrate on the words and forget the presence of his friend. He couldn't. After a few minutes, he looked at the half-elf and sighed deeply before he spoke.
"Elrond"
Oblivious to his friend's warning the Lord of Imladris did not stop his pacing. Lost in what must have been disturbing thoughts, according to the deep frown marring his usually smooth features, Elrond had not heard the seneschal speak.
"Elrond!"
This time, Glorfindel shouted, revealing the irritation he felt. Startled by the display of anger, which was so unlike his friend, the dark-haired lord jumped his whole body tensing. Realizing the true nature of the threat, Elrond turned an accusatory gaze toward the seneschal, who returned the look with an air of pure innocence in his blue eyes. Had he not known the blond elf so long, the Lore Master would not have believed it was he who shouted his name. Glorfindel sat in an informal manner; one long, muscular leg draped across the arm of the chair while one hand rested upon the old book in his lap, his long silky hair framing his innocent face. The seneschal of Imladris was the true image of virginal candor.
For a brief moment, they continued to stare at each other, clear blue eyes meeting dark gray without any shame or hint of apology. Elrond was the first to avert his gaze, as a hint of guilt shone in his eyes. Glorfindel's expression changed slightly and, as he abandoned his mask of innocence, he proposed in a soothing tone,
"Why don't you take a seat, mellon-nin?" A short silence followed while the seneschal decided whether it was fitting to give an explanation. Glorfindel stroked his chin, allowing a finger to rest against his lips. Sighing, he redirected his attention to his book and muttered, "You get on my nerves when you act thus."
As he had lowered his head, Glorfindel missed the very unlordly scowl that briefly adorned Elrond's features and made him appear many centuries younger than he truly was. In a way, he displayed a great likeness to his wild sons when, as mischievous elflings, they had been caught sneaking outside at night when they should have been sleeping peacefully in their comfortable beds. Realizing that Glorfindel was no longer paying him any attention, the mighty Lord of Imladris did as he was bidden. He sat upon the simple wooden chair by the window, but his mood did not change.
His hands seemed to have acquired a life of their own as they were at first twisting in his lap, then roaming over the dry wood of the back of his chair. That over-activity did not go unnoticed by the golden-haired advisor who levelled once again his gaze toward Elrond. This time, he did not try to conceal his feelings. Exasperation shone in his eyes and was obvious in his voice when he spoke.
"Elrond!"
The raven-haired elf did not ignore the underlying warning in his friend's voice but levelled his gaze to the ceiling as he sighed. With all the ill will he felt, he asked, speaking slowly and with emphasis on the last word,
"What have I done now?"
The hand supporting Glorfindel's chin fell loudly upon the yellowed sheets of his book when he straightened himself in his armchair. As he brushed away an invisible dust upon his dark robe with a nonchalant gesture of the back of his hand, an awkward silence set in and Elrond shifted uncomfortably upon his chair. Then, judging he had indisposed the misbehaving lord, Glorfindel broke the heavy silence and, as he would have lectured a wayward elfling, the blond advisor addressed the Lord of Imladris,
" He will not be here till the end of the day. I suggest you calm yourself and stop behaving as an immature elfling celebrating his begetting day!" Adopting a calmer tone, but unable to hide the smile from his voice, he continued his advice. "Don't be so nervous."
Hearing the hint of amusement in Glorfindel's tone, the Lore Master stilled himself and, looking as one who had been falsely accused, he gave his long-time friend a scandalized glare before exclaiming,
"I am not nervous!"
"You are" came the bold reply. Glorfindel had definitely abandoned any hope to continue his reading and was now openly staring at his friend, willing to impose his opinion. He tried to suppress the smile that was forming upon his lips, but failed miserably.
"I'm not nervous", he repeated stubbornly.
But, like his seneschal, Elrond was unable to muffle the hint of laughter reverberating in his voice as he realized that Glorfindel was chastising him as he had once done with the twins. A long time ago, he had admired his friend's skill in that matter, not imagining that, one day, he would be on the receiving end.
"You are", insisted the golden-haired elf, closing his book carefully and placing it on his large, cluttered desk. "Do not attempt to pretend otherwise", he added with a stern tone, indicating he would allow no contradiction. "I know you too well, Elrond Peredhel, and do not believe you".
Unable to retain his austere mask a moment longer, Glorfindel burst into laughter, his beautiful voice echoing in the large office before fading. Wiping tears from his eyes, he stood and joined the lord of Imladris at the large window that overlooked the interior garden. He smiled inwardly as he heard Elrond's muffled sigh.
"Too well for my own good"
A hint of that smile lingered upon his lips while silence once again fell between them. It was not an awkward silence, but rather the silence that rose between two friends who had no need of words to understand each other. It was at the same time comfortable and comforting. Glorfindel looked at the gardens outside, which were empty as the sun was high and burning in the clear sky. He waited for his friend to speak of the burden plaguing his mind, for he knew Elrond needed to confide in someone.
Elrond was a great elf-Lord, wise and strong, who had protected many people, offering them shelter when they needed it most. Being a famous warrior, he had forsaken his sword for the less bloody tools of a healer. He had built Imladris, one of the last havens on Arda, a place of peace and quiet, where every one that needed protection would find it. He was also one of the three elfin ring bearers. He had succeeded in many endeavours and failed in others. But, like every great person, Elrond was feeling strongly the weight of what he considered his failures. Even if Glorfindel did not agree with him, he knew that the end of his friendship with Thranduil was weighing strongly upon Elrond's heart and that he still felt the guilt not to have foreseen their falling out.
The golden-haired seneschal let memories surface, images twirling in his mind, sounds of voices and laughter, sounds of tears andsobbing,colours of the past, shadows of the presentand uncertainties of the future. Glorfindel had not known Thranduil when he was still friendswith Elrond. He had not seen the friendship blossoming between those two souls. When he had come back from Mandos' Hall, the gap was already dug between them, like a painful blow in Elrond's heart.
He had not known the former Prince of Mirkwood before the affection between him and the current Lord of Imladris turned to hatred.
But, even if their relationship could be qualified now as more than tense, he had often heard his dark-haired friend speaking with an unexpected tenderness in his voice when the conversation came to the son of Oropher. Many times had he heard the tale of their short-lived friendship, how they had met and learned to appreciate each other in spite of their many differences? He had listened to how their mutual appreciation had quickly shifted to a fierce and trusting friendship, then to brotherhood. Glorfindel had learned to hear what had remained unspoken. Even if Elrond had always kept it secret, the blond seneschal had understood that Thranduil's friendship had somewhat relieved the pain in Elrond's heart, a pain born from Elros' death, and that he had brought him joy and light. Thranduil brought Elrondback to life. They had been friends for half a century,which was a mere blink of an eye to an elf. But that short time had marked Elrond forever, burning him to the core, filling his heart and his very soul. His friendship with Thranduil had been the purest and truest, a testament between two souls bared to each other. Many have wished to have such a friendship with another. Not all-beautiful stories have happy endings. What had seemed the strongest bond had faded quickly, as if consumed by its own intensity, leaving Elrond bitter and empty. That same bitterness was reawakened each time the former friends would meet.
Elrond's voice pulled him out of his reverie, sounding weak and broken, far from his usual deep and imposing tone. Glorfindel did not miss the slight hesitation that marked the dark-haired Lord's voice, betraying his awkwardness,"I'm afraid of that meeting..."
Glorfindel chose not to acknowledge aloud his remark and to let Elrond gather his thoughts and his courage. The golden-haired elf did not move, still cautiously watching the gardens. It was not the first time such a scene was displayed in front of him and, by experience, he knew the Lord of Imladris needed to speak to spend the tension arising in each fibre of his body. Elrond's nervousness was palpable in the confines of the large office. Those scenes had repeated themselves each time the blond King of Lasgalen and the raven-haired Lord of the Vale had been to meet. It was somewhat odd to see the dignified and usually self-controlled Lord of Imladris reduced to a pile of agitated nerves, unsteady and shy. Glorfindel would have laughed if he had not known how challenging those encounters were for his friend. A ghost had visited everyone from the past and the Lore Master was no exception. Thranduil was only one of them, haunting him when a certain past was called back to life.
Time passing, Glorfindel had seen the meetings between them becoming more and more heated, the reproaches harsher, the words stabbing as sharpened weapons aimed skilfully thanks to the perfect knowledge they had of each other. The friendship that had once bound them had given them the power to tear each other to pieces. And, when they had finished, he had been there to collect the pieces.
It would have been easy to blame Thranduil. But the blond Elda's fair heart knew better than to do so. He was aware that Elrond should not be the only one to suffer that tearing hatred, that the King of Mirkwood's feeling should mirror the Lore Master's, that he should also feel resentment and guilt in his heart. Resentment and guilt not directed toward Elrond, but toward himself, making him bitter. Glorfindel knew because he had seen Elrond and his unceasing blame of himself. He understood that seeing each other should be a painful reminder of what both must have considered as a failure. Both of them too stubborn to seek answers of the other to the questions dwelling in their hearts for so long. And he also knew the more they refused to admit the mere existence of those unanswered questions, the more they suffered their awakenings and the more they hated each other. To hate was not so different from to love, after all.
"I don't know how I will manage to handle that new meeting"
The dark-haired elf did not look at his blond friend when he spoke, staring emptily at the white wall in front of him, the sound of his own voice alien to him. He felt so badly and it was so different for him to admit any hesitation. He had learnt that, as a leader, he should be strong for others, even when he did not feel so. Honestly, at that exact moment, he did not feel strong at all, but it was difficult for him to let go. At those thoughts, he chuckled cynically and, still sitting on his simple chair, he nervously combed his dark curls with his long fingers before passing an unsteady hand upon his brow to wipe at non-existent sweat. Sighing, he added:
"I don't know if I 'can' handle it another time..."
It was an admission and Glorfindel felt the despair hidden behind the words sending shivers the length of his spine. It was not an easy discussion. His own relationship with Elrond was not made of blunted hurting truths, but of soft admissions and confession.
"But you have accepted to meet him, haven't you?" asked the golden being, his voice somewhat neutral and impersonal, trying not to sound as if questioning his friend's decision.
"I did..." acknowledged Elrond in a whisper, sounding more desperate than ever, his gaze seeking for the first time Glorfindel's as if looking for any support. But, to the blond councillor, it also sounded like a plea for mercy, a prayer to not force him to purchase that investigation.
"So, why?"
That time, as he asked the practical question, Glorfindel managed to anchor his blue gaze onto his friend's. Blue eyes crossed dark ones in a silent exchange and understanding. The golden-haired advisor did not speak, waiting for Elrond to make the first move, giving him time to voice his thoughts.
Millennia spent in Arda or in Mandos' Halls had taught him well that rushing helped little and that patience was priceless. Elves had all the time they wanted, even if in certain situations, making fast decisions was essential. Thus, silence floated for several long seconds between them, during which Elrond seemed to retreat into himself. When the dark-haired Lord spoke, his voice was troubled, at discovering what he was saying. And Glorfindel would not be surprised if that were the case. The subject was still so sensitive that the Peredhel Lord avoided it whenever he could. It would also not surprise the blond elf if Elrond had not even asked himself why he had accepted to meet Thranduil, preferring to see only the tactical side of the problem: Shadows, Sauron, Armies, warriors. But not Thranduil. The King of Mirkwood, yes. But never his former friend, Thranduil Oropherion. So much easier.
"I still hope"
The answer half surprised Glorfindel. He knew Elrond more than he let it appear, and even if he told it often as a joke, it was also the truth. Glorfindel was a very perceptive elf and few things escaped his sight. But the answer was not quite the one he was seeking. Elrond had not opened himself completely. There was still something that he refused to let go, fearing to admit it. The blond seneschal stared at his friend, who was now looking intensively at his feet, a finger raised to his mouth, touching the slightly parted lips in a thoughtful attitude. Slowly and soothingly, the seneschal of Imladris asked Elrond another question. Glorfindel knew it was up to him to do something, that he could not let Elrond relive depressing memories. His friend had to admit the truth. If time had taught him the virtue of patience it had also taught him the merit of action and occasional brashness. He had to do something now.
"What did you hope for, Elrond?"
He smiled when he heard his voice. Instinctively, he had taken his teacher voice, the one he used to take with the twins when wishing to extract an answer they had not wanted to give.
The Lore Master blinked several times, as if to chase images in front of his eyes and raised his head to look at his blond friend. His eyes were foggy and slightly unfocused, not looking at Glorfindel but rather looking through him. He let escape a melodious chuckle that resounded in the room. There was an infinite sadness in that laughter that tightened Glorfindel's heart in his chest. He looked at those dark eyes and he thought that, for the first time in a long time, Elrond's eyes were reflecting the millennia he had spent upon Arda.
"Why? What? But you are full of questions today, mellon-nin?"
"Questions you're not eager to answer to, are you, Elrond?" Glorfindel replied instinctively sounding slightly prosecuting.
"Questions I do not know the answer to" corrected the dark haired Lord, his voice tired, the unmistakable undertone of sadness still present. Glorfindel decided to insist and bolder, he said, his tone begging his friend to understand his words:
"What did you hope for, Elrond? Don't lie to yourself, saes, mellon-nin. You may lie to me, but not to yourself..."
An odd smile appeared upon the Lord of Imladris' face and he seemed to lose himself in his thoughts once more. When he spoke again, his voice was no more than a mere whisper, inaudible for one that was not granted with keen elfin hearing. "Answers"
Slowly, he raised his head and spoke louder, his gaze recovering its usual limpidity and something looking like tears shone slightly in his tormented gray eyes. Words came quickly, surprisingly easy,"I want answers, mellon-nin... I want to know why. I want to know why, simply why.... I wish to know where we have made a mistake, when we have failed. I want to understand, Glorfindel..." He paused suddenly and passed a weary hand upon his eyes. Then, sighing, he followed more slowly,"All was perfect. And suddenly, all has changed and I still do not know why. I still do not have answers millennia after..."
Leaning back against his chair and overthrowing his head, he briefly closed his eyes before gazing at the ceiling and Glorfindel knew he was not truly seeing it. He decided to give some advice to Elrond. It was not in his power to make decisions for the Lore Master or to force him to do something he did not want to do. But Glorfindel was pleased to have Elrond calling him his friend and that simple appellation allowed him to say things others would not dare to utter or to suggest, "Tomorrow, you will see him. If I were you, I would ask him. He might have the answers you seek so desperately or be as tortured as you are..."
A broken snort interrupted him. "I doubt greatly of that..." said Elrond, sounding bitter, still looking up.
Ignoring the intervention, Glorfindel added even-tempered, trying to breathe some reason in the Lord of Imladris' mind, "It might be the last time you will ever see him. These are dark times for the Mirkwood's elves. It might be the last opportunity you would have to understand... The last time."
Approaching his desk, the blond Eldar captured his book and walked toward the wooden door. When he reached it and put his hand upon the doorknob, he paused and, instead of opening the heavy door, he turned upon his heels until he faced Elrond that had not stopped his solemn contemplation of the ceiling, "I will go and see Erestor. Think about what I have told you, mellon-nin..."
Then, the golden-haired advisor left the room, silently shutting the door behind him, leaving his friend alone with his memories.
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