Chapter II: Unspoken
Blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
(...)
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found? The same old fears."
Concentration was clearly visible on the stern face as a deep frown marred the high and proud brow, while the blue orbs were almost hidden by the narrowed eyelids, and the sensual lips formed a straight line. The hand stopped brutally, suspending the movement of the long quill as the writer closed his eyes, as if seeking his words. Then, the quill dipped once more in the inkwell before returning to the paper to trace more graceful letters in swift and assured motions. Then the writer stilled all motions, his eyes unseeingly fixed on the wall opposite him as the tip of the quill rested on the parchment, unknowingly allowing the ink to form a growing stain on the parchment surface, ruining the work done.
The long fingers holding the quill suddenly squeezed the delicate long frame of the writing device before the Elf let it fall with a deep sigh of frustration. Reclining back into his chair, he stretched himself languidly as his long silky hair fell in a wild cascade down his back, shining in the bright light of the office. Casually, he pushed aside the quill, not caring if the ink might have soiled the precious wood of the desk, and seized the piece of paper, bringing it closer to his face. His graceful features contorted briefly as he quickly scanned his report. Wrinkling his nose in vivid displeasure, he crumpled the piece of paper with exasperated strength before sending it flying through the room, where it landed close to some others, a testimony to the most recent effort.
A sigh escaped Glorfindel's lips as he pushed back his chair not caring of the wooden feet grating on the marble ground. He stood up, flaunting his tall slender frame in the light. He would not succeed in writing this report now, as the sun shining brightly in the sky seemed to call to him tauntingly. He wanted to be outside in the fresh air among the trees, far from any apparent civilization. He glanced around, his eyes taking in the sight of the room he knew so well; the office he had been given when he had accepted Elrond's proposal to take charge of Imladris' defence many years ago. At that time he had had no idea it would mean spending more hours inside doing paperwork than outside among the soldiers.
He wanted to leave this room and never see it again. It seemed to him that every day he entered this room, the walls had narrowed, making it like a lightless enclosing cage. He knew each detail of that room, from the light crack running the length of one corner of the walls to the shadows of the shelves projected on the ground by the moonlight when he used to work late. This was his prison. A hopeless prison he had willingly accepted.
With noiseless steps, he approached the high windows that dominated the southern gardens, Anor's invisible fingers forming shimmering reflections in his luxurious golden mane. His eyes showed nothing of his emotions as he watched the few Elflings that were playing through the frozen flowers and the cut bushes, throwing light snowballs at each other before running to gather more of it where it had not melted down yet.
Turning on his heels, he made his decision and began to unbutton his sweltering robe with nimble fingers, letting the heavy fabric fall to the ground, revealing broad shoulders and a well built torso. Seizing a tunic, he put it on. He had had enough of this place. He needed to be outside in the open air, not caged inside like a domestic animal. He would write those reports about the need for new recruits later. For the moment, all that mattered was that he had to leave this.
But, just as he was finishing lacing his tunic, a decided knock resounded through the room. It took much of his willpower not to swear aloud his frustration. Nonetheless, his voice was as melodious as usual and showed nothing of his feelings as he invited the unwanted visitor to come in, "Aye?"
The door slowly and noiselessly turned on its hinges, revealing the smiling but still imposing presence of the Lord of Imladris. A smile mechanically reached the Seneschal's lips as he approached the Half-Elf while he closed the door behind. Quickly bowing, he formally greeted his Lord, "Elrond."
An unfathomable smile graced the Imladris' Lord's lips as he acknowledged the greeting and looked around him, taking in the sight of the forsaken papers on the desk on which a quill was drying. His sharp eyes also noticed the clothes the reborn Elf was wearing, guessing immediately that he had intercepted the Elf as he was about to leave. Not willing to interfere with any meeting, he commented, "I see you are leaving. If you wish, I can come back later..."
But both Elrond and Glorfindel were aware that no one would ever tell the Lord of Imladris to 'come back later'. Such an attitude would have been unbecoming and, as much as the Balrog slayer would have liked to tell Elrond never to come back to bother him, he only shook his head while beckoning the Half Elf to take a seat, "What can I do for you, Elrond?"
He watched how the Lord of Imladris sat cautiously on the armchair, making sure that he did not wrinkle his heavy, formal robes. He was surprised that the Half Elf had come to him to speak. Usually, it was he who sought Elrond when he needed an approval on a subject, generally on something concerning the defence of the Vale. It was not that they were in bad terms with each other. They were just not friends. Erestor was Elrond's kinsman, the reborn Elf recalled, and he had often wondered if he would have acquired that position if it were not for the friendship his mate shared with the Lord of the Vale. Lightly shifting in his chair, Glorfindel waited for the dark-haired elf to speak, a faint smile still ghosting his lips. But when Elrond spoke, the faint smile slipped just a bit and his smooth features hardened, "I would like to speak of Erestor."
Glorfindel made an effort to regain his composure swift as he could, but the slip did not go unnoticed by Elrond, though he did not give any sign he had noticed. Leaning a little more against the back of his armchair, as if willing to sink inside the comfortable piece of furniture, the golden-haired Elf replied, taking care to calm his defiance, "What of Erestor? Is he unwell? I left him this morning sleeping like a babe... Has anything happened?" He forced a bit of worry in his voice, trying to sound like as a concerned mate should.
But Elrond only shook his head, knowing full well that they were both aware of the sham. He was also fully aware that Glorfindel knew of his Lord's own awareness of Erestor's state of mind as well as Glorfindel. However...Glorfindel did not care. "Nay, he is well. At least, the last time I saw him, he was well..."
Glorfindel, who was staring openly at Elrond, his eyes unreadable, only raised a curious eyebrow. Seeing that the dark-haired Lord did not seem ready to tell him what he wanted really, he asked, trying not to sound impatient, "So... What is the problem with Erestor?"
Elrond seemed to notice the faint agitation in the other's voice as he answered in a firm voice that showed no deceit, "I have some worries about him."
Glorfindel did not speak, but his other eyebrow caught up with the first, betraying what could only appear as incredulity. He barely retained the sarcastic smile that came to his lips. The ever-vigilant Lord of Imladris was worried for Erestor? Though his mate was much older than the Half Elf, Elrond would never stop trying to 'mother' his kinsman. It had been so since he came back from Valinor and he supposed it had been the same before his returning. The idea never ceased to amuse him. Perhaps he should teach the Lord of Imladris that Erestor wasn't as defenceless as he might appear. Quite the contrary, indeed. Glorfindel almost laughed bitterly. But, he asked instead, "Do you have reasons for doing so?"
Remaining silent, Elrond played absently with the mithril ring that adorned his left hand, his veiled gaze fixed on a point behind the blond Elda. Silence remained over them for long seconds before the Half Elf's gray eyes fell back on Glofindel and he bluntly unveiled the facts, "Well, I have learned from one of the healers that he takes a sleeping draught at night. That is not worrying in itself, but I have noticed that he has become tired of late, rather irritable, and easily angered, which, of course, is not normal behaviour for him. Then yesterday, he asked me for a day of rest, which he has not done in centuries."
The Lore Master paused briefly, as he fastened intently his eyes onto Glorfindel's own blue gaze. The Balrog Slayer did not blink. He had heard well the underlying tone of accusation in the other's speech. He knew that Elrond thought him responsible for whatever afflicted Erestor. But Glorfindel did not care of what the Lord of Imladris thought. Whatever happened between his mate and himself by no means concerned the Peredhel Lord. He did not avert his gaze as Elrond concluded, "So, as his mate, I thought you should know what the matter is."
But only a cold and emotionless gaze met his accusation as the golden-haired Elf stared wordlessly at him, his hand mechanically caressing the edge of the armchair, lingering on the hard wood. Elrond felt a shudder run the length of his spine as he held the other's eyes. There was so much willpower in those bottomless orbs that it was frightening. The Elven Lord wondered briefly if it had been under that same gaze that the Balrog had yielded its right to live. But the strange expression shifted brutally with the blink of an eyelid and the odd feeling disappeared as Glorfindel bent towards him and replied in a voice that was cordial but cold, sounding almost offended, "Erestor is your friend, Elrond. I think you should ask him. It is not my place to give you the answers you seek." He paused then added, hoping that the Lord of Imladris would understand that he considered the conversation finished, "You will have to ask him. I am sorry."
Elrond felt that Glorfindel was not really sorry. He was almost sure that the Balrog Slayer even ignored the real sense of the word. He suppressed the sigh that came to his lips. But it mattered little indeed. He had known before coming that it would be useless to come and speak to him. His lips contorted into a thin line as he got up, barely looking at the Elf facing him. He announced matter-of-factly, his voice betraying his displeasure, "Then, I will have to ask Erestor."
The golden-haired warrior only nodded his agreement before replying, in an emotionless void, "I think you will have to, Elrond."
They wordlessly stared at each other intensively, tension palpable between them. Then, Elrond walked toward the door, his heavy robes rustling with each of his steps. Stopping at the door with a hand on the doorknob, he said without looking back at the blond Elf that had reclined back into the other armchair, "I wish you a good day, Glorfindel." Before the golden Elf had the opportunity to answer, Elrond had left, the door closing behind him as silently as it had when he had come in.
Glorfindel did not seem to react to the Lord of Imladris' departure. His eyes were vacant, fixed on the window through which he could see the blue sky. He absently brought his left hand to his mouth and lightly bit one of his knuckles. He hated such situations. He knew what Elrond's visit was for. A warning. No less, no more. The Half Elf had not said the words, but it was as if they had been uttered.
"Do not hurt Erestor."
If Elrond had spoken the words he had really wanted to say, he would have said that. And it infuriated Glorfindel. He did not speak a word, did not let out a growl, but his whole body was tense, taut like a bowstring. His teeth left a red mark on his pale skin and he watched unseeingly how his flesh turned back into its usual pale shade.
Sometimes, he wondered how they had come to such extremities, if what he had once shared with Erestor had only been a vivid and pleasant dream that had turned into a nightmare. Why did he feel as if he was guilty when he was not?
His hand clenched on the wood of the armchair. Erestor... Once upon a time, that name had meant the world to him. Now, it evoked in him feelings of deception and failure. And Elrond's visit was only a reminder that they could not keep up the façade they had built for much longer. With a weary hand, Glorfindel massaged the nape of his neck, sighing as he worked on the tense muscles of his shoulders.
He needed to think.
He rose and quickly crossed the room. Most of all, he needed to be outside.
Next: Long Journey
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