Lu Vinui: First Love
Beta: Ilye
chapter two
Imladris, Iavas - 1920 of the Second Age
Glorfindel sat in his seat at the council table, his eyes traveling over the other eight members gathered. Elrond cleared his throat and addressed his assembled Councilors.
"Oropher has sent a formal request for trained healers as well as a diplomat who can deal with the Men who have begun to populate the area around Greenwood. I will send three of our healers, but I would like one of you to go with them and work with Oropher and the Men. The last thing we need is for Oropher to lose his temper and wage war with the Men over a simple misunderstanding."
Glorfindel nodded. "I would go, my Lord. What are we asking in exchange for our healers?"
Elrond shook his head. "Oropher has nothing that Imladris needs, meldir."
"I beg to differ, my Lord." Erestor leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs under his heavy robes. "We could ask for some of his archers for a few of our healers. Lord Glorfindel is a master in melee combat, but we are slightly lacking in archery. Lord Haldir is a master," he nodded to the silver-haired Councilor beside Glorfindel who smiled at the slick cover Erestor used to hide the insult. "But, the truth is, one archer cannot train all our warriors. The Wood Elves are amazing archers and would do us a great service."
The Imladris Lord nodded, thinking quickly and silently. "I see your point, Erestor. Aye, I think that is a fair trade."
"I will have Lothvaen draw up the appropriate paperwork before Lord Glorfindel leaves."
"Good. Then this is settled?" The Lord of Imladris looked around the table, taking note of each nod. "Very well. Adjourned."
Erestor stood and spoke briefly with Glorfindel before exiting the chamber, heading to his office where his Whip waited. Over the last two centuries, Lothvaen had proven himself as a dedicated and driven Elf. A decade ago, Erestor had had Lothvaen promoted from his assistant to his Whip, and the younger Noldo had not disappointed him. Lothvaen was sharp and cunning. He would sit in for Erestor at the mundane council meetings, prepare reports, review documents and draw up paperwork for him.
Erestor was not surprised in the least when he entered his office and Found the younger Elf completely absorbed in whatever his current task was. Erestor watched Lothvaen for a few moments, taking in the Elf's Chocolate-colored hair and eyes that seemed more violet than blue. The Councilor felt a stirring within himself as he regarded the figure before him and his brow furrowed. He quickly pushed aside the odd feeling he had, not wishing to place a name to it. He cleared his throat and offered a watery smile in response to the bright one that radiated from Lothvaen.
"My Lord," he said simply.
"Lord Glorfindel will be riding to Greenwood within the next four days. He needs a document drawn up outlining a trade of three Imladris Healers for three Greenwood archers, as well as our assistance in the diplomatic peace-keeping in the Greenwood with the Men who are populating the area near Oropher's realm."
Lothvaen nodded, making quick notes on the small parchment pad on his desk. When he was done, he looked back up at Erestor. "My Lord, I was about to put my work away for the day and take my evening meal. Is this document needed immediately or can it wait until the morrow?"
Erestor shook his head. "Forgive me, Lothvaen. I had forgotten the time. Aye, it can wait until the new day. Go, have your meal and I will see you in the morning." The Councilor turned from Lothvaen and began leafing through papers on his own desk, deciding how late he would remain before retiring to his own chambers and falling into oblivion.
Lothvaen put his supplies aside, his eyes coming up to his Lord repeatedly. Since that night two hundred years ago, Lothvaen had nursed a carefully guarded attraction to his employer. He had never sought to deepen their relationship beyond the office, feeling that he had no place to seek his Lord's affections. Lothvaen had never felt so intimidated and on edge as when he was around Erestor. Though, he mused as he stood and straightened his robes, no one would know from looking at him that his heart never slowed around the confident but reserved Councilor.
He did not know what possessed him in that moment; he did not know why he approached his employer and reached out with a shaking hand to touch the velvet-clad shoulder of the elder Noldo. He snatched his hand back when Erestor turned quickly, his ink-like eyes wide with surprise.
"I apologize, my Lord, I should not have done that." Lothvaen cast his eyes to the floor, knowing his features colored slightly with embarrassment.
"Nay, Lothvaen, I should apologize. I should not have been so startled. Especially since I knew you were still in the room. I must have simply let my mind wander off." He chuckled nervously and turned back to his desk, recollecting his paperwork.
"My Lord? I..." Lothvaen took in a breath and returned his eyes to
the stiff, straight back of the Councilor. "I wanted to invite you to
dine with me this evening. That is, if you have no previous
engagement..."
Erestor checked himself in the full-length mirror kept in his bathing chamber. He had accepted Lothvaen's offer as a dinner companion, but had insisted the Whip come to his rooms for the meal. It would not be appropriate, he had offered as explanation, for the Councilor to travel to the third floor and dine with the staff. Although, now that he thought back on his excuse, he cringed. It sounded extremely ostentatious. He was surprised that Lothvaen had still wanted to dine with him.
The Noldo left his bedroom and entered the main sitting room of his suite. There the kitchen maid had set up a table for two and a sideboard had been added, filled with delicacies for the two Elves. He knew the meal would be more elaborate than Lothvaen expected -- or than they would have had if they had eaten in Lothvaen's chamber -- but, Erestor was the second in command in this house and was treated as such.
He tugged at his shirt, wondering why he had chosen to wear such simple clothing versus his robes. He had shed his formal robes, bathed and left his hair loose. He wore a deep crimson shirt that was cinched at his waist with a black belt. Basic black leggings and black house shoes completed his relaxed look.
Erestor scoffed and shook his head, bringing his thumb and forefinger up to the bridge of his nose. Why did it matter that Lothvaen saw him as relaxed and open? He had not desired a friendship with the young Elf. In fact, his only friend was Elrond. His life had been simple, routine before this afternoon. Six days out of his week he worked in his office, came back to his chamber, ate a small meal and then retired for the night. On the seventh day, he dined with Glorfindel and Elrond, though he sometimes wished the blond Elda would decline the weekly dinner invitation.
He supposed to those like Lothvaen and Glorfindel, who seemed to easily fit in with any crowd, his life was mundane and lonely. Erestor had never thought his life to be lacking... until tonight. He was looking forward to breaking up the monotony that had consumed his life. He had one profession: he was an advisor. This consumed his life; it always had. He had been Councilor to Maedhros, to Gil-galad, and now to Elrond. He had never taken a lover, others finding him too cold to approach. Not that he would have accepted any proposition made to him. Relationships were trouble, simple as that. It made one vulnerable, out of control, and those were two things Erestor feared. He did not fear death or pain, but remove his poise and constraint and he panicked.
That happened very rarely.
He raised his head when the soft knock at his door came. Lothvaen had arrived. Erestor looked out of his windows at the night sky and noted with a smile that the Elf was punctual. He opened his door to his hesitant dinner guest's gaze. "Come in, Lothvaen," he said as he waved the Elf into the front room. "You are right on time, I see."
Lothvaen smiled and met Erestor's midnight eyes with a new sense of confidence. He was relieved to see the Councilor had chosen to dress informally, as he himself had chosen to do. A pair of loose trousers and a white poet's shirt made him look younger than he was, but Lothvaen loved the easy feel of the clothing. His hair was pulled into a single plait, though, and he wondered why Erestor had decided to wear his without braids.
Not that the Whip was complaining; Erestor was a dark vision before him. Lothvaen knew then he had become hopelessly infatuated with the witty, clever advisor. "Good evening, my Lord. I am honored to be here."
Erestor shook his head as he took his seat, watching Lothvaen when he sat opposite him. "We are not in the office, Lothvaen. I would appreciate it if you would call me by my given name and not 'my Lord,' agreed?" He smiled at the younger Noldo, finding that the gentle expression was easy when he was with Lothvaen.
Lothvaen stared at his Lord with wide eyes. He had not referred to his employer as 'Erestor' in his presence in all the time he had served the Councilor. It seemed oddly intimate, but he nodded. "Very well, my Lord Erestor."
The Lord chuckled and began serving himself from the myriad of dishes before them. When he noticed Lothvaen waiting for him to finish plating his meal before filling his own, Erestor pinned the Elf with a piercing look. "Lothvaen, if I wished to be Lord Erestor, the Chief Councilor of Imladris, I would have had my evening meal in the main dining hall. Instead, I chose to eat in my chambers with you. Could you please ignore some of your court-learned decorum for one evening with me? The meal will go more smoothly, I promise."
Erestor was shocked with the simple ease he felt in speaking with the dark-haired Elf, whose eyes reminded him of mulberry wine in the low light. He had never given anyone, save Elrond himself, leave to speak so freely with him. Erestor realized, with a sinking heart, that he was attracted to Lothvaen, that the attraction was what he had felt when he gazed at the bowed head earlier in his office. It was inappropriate, he told himself. Lothvaen was his subordinate; it would not sit well with Elrond or himself if he sought to bed the Whip.
He blinked several times, clearing the host of erotic images that had risen in his mind. Lothvaen had been saying something to him while he was in his little trance and Erestor felt his face flush with guilt. "I am sorry, Lothvaen, my mind must have wandered. Could you please repeat yourself?" Lothvaen laughed and Erestor suddenly wished he had done something with his hair, because he felt extremely warm.
"I said, after so many years of using those court-learned manners with you, I find it difficult to simply toss them aside. But, for you... Erestor," he pronounced the name with a smirk, his eyes heated and never leaving their counterpart, "I will do anything." He knew he was being forward, not very subtle, but Lothvaen wanted to gauge Erestor's reaction to his obvious flirt.
Erestor smiled, his mind racing. Had Lothvaen just... No, Erestor
thought, he was overreacting because of the train his thoughts had
taken. He cleared his throat and sipped at his wine, his gaze
returning to the intense, unwavering stare of his dinner guest. "I do
not ask that much of you, Lothvaen. Not yet, at any rate. Now, let
us eat before the food cools any further."
Greenwood the Great, Iavas - 1920 of the Second Age
The escort had reached the borders of Greenwood, and Glorfindel's heart grew heavy as he looked south along the forest. He had not come to Oropher's lands since the King had moved his people North for the second time, and he cringed to see the darkness that lay in what was once alive and bright.
They would reach Oropher's settlement near Emyn Duir within the day. The Elda knew that Elrond had sent an advance messenger who could travel faster than a full escort to inform Oropher of their arrival. It had taken them two more days than Glorfindel would have expected, due to the three Healers they had with them. The three Elves were not used to eight or more hours of travel on horseback, and Glorfindel would have to stop frequently and earlier than he would have liked for their benefit.
As the group of Elves entered the wood, Glorfindel tensed and motioned for five of his warriors to dismount and fan out on foot while he and the other five remained on horseback, leading the riderless steeds through the forest. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword and his eyes constantly scanning the thick foliage around them. Glorfindel kept his group on the path and was always aware of the five men he had running through the trees above them. The wood was dark and dense, the high afternoon sun almost lost through the canopy.
Glorfindel felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and he knew they were being watched. It could either be Oropher's welcoming party -- if the King had bothered to send anyone to see them to the royal talan -- or it was an enemy who was sizing them up. In the time it took him to drawn his sword, his five men had been taken down and the remaining Elves on horseback were held at in a circle of drawn bows.
"Nag thorin!" Glorfindel's eyes were drawn to the lead archer, a tall Elf dressed in the warrior's garb of Greenwood. He had hair like spun gold and eyes of cold jade. The Elda's heart sped up slightly, taking in the sight of the Elf. "Leitho laingel," the Wood Elf demanded, his voice steady and commanding.
Glorfindel turned his drawn sword so that the blade pointed to the moist earth below him. With his free hand held up in a gesture of good-will, he let the weapon fall the ground, the blade sinking into the forest floor with ease. His warriors followed suit, removing their swords and quivers.
"Pedo enethel," the Greenwood warrior demanded and Glorfindel held his head up high when he answered.
"Glorfindel o Imladris. Tegim nestedir an Calenglad, be Daur Oropher tolthant." His voice was just as steady and his usually warm eyes pieces of ice in the murky wood as he looked down at the Elf. Elrond had sent someone; they should not have been greeted in such a hostile manner and the Imladris Lord planned on having words with Oropher if they managed to get past his watchdogs.
The Elf on the ground seemed to weigh his words carefully, then nodded. "Tolo ab nīn," he said gruffly and turned to march off down the path.
Glorfindel spared a quick glance about him and saw the bows lowered and the other warriors gather the discarded weapons. At least he and his men would get those back. The Gondolin Elf rarely felt his temper rise; he was hard to anger and it took much to set him boiling. However, the discourteous manner with which the head Elf had treated him, an honored guest of the King, set him on edge.
From his position on Asfaloth, Glorfindel watched as one of the slender Elves reached for his sword. The Elf grasped the hilt and gave it a casual yank. The blade did not move. Glorfindel felt a smug smirk grace his lips as the Elf attempted a second time to remove the weapon, this time having to brace himself and pull forcefully, nearly falling back when the blade came free in a show of un-Elflike grace.
Yes, he would have to seriously discuss with Oropher the lack of
protocol his guardians possessed.
Thranduil stood to his father's left, his back straight and his arms held in front him, his left hand clasping his right wrist. His eyes were at half-mast as he watched the golden-haired Balrog-slayer. The Prince had chuckled silently to himself when he had taken his place beside Oropher after introducing the delegation to the court. Glorfindel's eyes had been wide and it had taken the Imladris Elf a few moments to compose himself enough to speak with Oropher.
"My Lord, I must protest with the manner in which we were greeted when we entered your realm. My Lord Elrond sent a messenger two days ahead of us to inform you to expect our arrival. To be surrounded and treated so abruptly by your men does not bode well for the relations between our realms." Glorfindel tried to keep his voice even and not lecture the King, and he hoped he had succeeded since Oropher was smiling slightly at him.
"Thranduil?" the Greenwood King said loudly.
Thranduil cringed inwardly. He had not known the escort was to arrive. No messenger had reached this court and how could he be blamed for violating a message he had never received? Though, he knew his father would find some way of making this all the young Prince's fault. He would find himself on the receiving end of another lecture about how to be more diplomatic when finding unknown visitors in their wood. "Yes, my Lord?" he asked, knowing there was no way out of the public humiliation the King was about to deliver.
Ice-blue eyes, with all the warmth of the coldest drift on Caradhras, moved slowly to capture him. He could feel the lump form in his throat. The disappointment and displeasure radiated from the golden-haired King, and Thranduil felt the flush of shame creep over his pale features -- and his father had yet to utter any word other than his name!
"Do you have naught to say about this accusation?" The voice was brittle and sharp, running down the reproachful Elf's spine.
"My Lord, we have received no messenger and could not foresee their coming. Many Men have entered our wood with the intent to do us harm and--" He was cut short when Oropher's hand shot up to silence him.
"Does the Lord Glorfindel look like a Man? Do his Healers remind you of the gruff Dwarves near us? Tell me, my son, how could you or your warriors mistake an entourage of Elves in the colors of Imladris for Men of the rough villages?" The voice was mocking, condescending, and Thranduil averted his eyes from the penetrating stare of his annoyed father.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Glorfindel shift uncomfortably before the throne, his brow furrowed and his eyes shining with compassion. Thranduil felt his chest swell when his eyes met the sympathy in the bright blue gaze that held his firmly. He almost jumped when Oropher cleared his throat, his patience wearing thin and his temper sparking.
When Thranduil opened his mouth to give a pathetic response, Glorfindel stepped in. "My Lord, forgive me. Your son and your warriors did well. Neither my warriors nor I were aware of them as they closed in on us and only knew we were surrounded when Prince Thranduil asked who we were. It is my own fault for not realizing our messenger did not reach you, not your men's. Please, accept my apologies for being so offended by a misunderstanding."
Thranduil was speechless. Glorfindel had taken the blame for the incident onto himself, sparing the Prince humiliation at court. He had even praised him and his men. His wide eyes met Glorfindel's, who winked at him and smiled gently. This was someone he had to know better. He wanted to touch those golden tresses, to know if they felt like silk or heavy like satin. He wanted to know if the Balrog-slayer was as a gentle and giving a lover as he was a diplomat.
The young Elf felt his face flush again at the thought. His father had moved on from the complaint, discussing the Healers and Archers and how long Glorfindel would be remaining in Greenwood.
When the two Elven-lords finished their council, Thranduil watched as the Elda was led away by an Elf-maid. Glorfindel looked over his shoulder once more and threw another dazzling smile at the Prince and then turned the corner. It was then that Thranduil realized the chamber was empty save for himself and his father. He turned to Oropher and visibly shuddered. His father's unwavering gaze was on him and he could almost feel the chill surrounding the Greenwood King.
"We must talk, ion," he said, his eyes narrowing as he stood and
advanced on the Prince.
Glorfindel had finished stowing his belongings in the wardrobe when there was a tentative knock on his door. He smiled, knowing who would be on the other side of the wood. He opened it, watching Thranduil's expression go from apprehension to desire.
The Seneschal stood, leaning casually against the door, in his leggings and open tunic. He had removed his braids and his hair hung free in gentle waves that caught the light. "My Prince Thranduil, how can I help you this eve? I do hope I did not get you into too much trouble with your father. Had I known our messenger had not reached you, I would not have made the fuss I did."
Thranduil cleared his throat, wishing he had worn his formal robes and not the leggings, jerkin and shirt that was customary for warriors in Oropher's service. He could feel the desire in his body rise with each word the golden Elf-lord spoke, the melodious tones ringing gently in his ears. Yes, he wanted the glorious being standing in front of him, apologizing for getting him in trouble.
"I am not an Elfling, my Lord," he said, shifting slightly in the hall. "I can handle my father's displeasure."
Glorfindel raised an eyebrow at him. "Indeed. Would you like to come in or would you prefer to stand in the hall, fidgeting as you are?" A look of amusement was painted on the Elda's face as he waved the Prince into the room.
Thranduil glared at him and came to stand near the grand bed in the guest chamber. His heart sped up when the echoing 'click' of the door resounded in the room, the bolt to the latch sliding home with a definite 'schnick.' He turned and almost fell back onto the bed when Glorfindel was suddenly just a few inches from him.
"My--" Once more that day he was cut off from completing his statement, but this time it was not his angry father lifting his hand. Glorfindel's hands came up to cup his face and the Elda's warm lips descended to capture his. Thranduil's eyes went wide for a moment, then slid shut as he opened to the Elf-lord's sensual onslaught.
Glorfindel smiled against Thranduil's lips, slipping his tongue into the inviting cavern, tasting the sweetness of the Prince's mouth. He had not expected the stoic Elf to be so passionate, dueling with him for dominance of the kiss. Tilting the younger Elf's head, Glorfindel took control and deepened the kiss further, sweeping his tongue over Thranduil's, causing the Wood Elf to moan and move his slender body against the needy Seneschal's. The Elda pulled back, his eyes devouring the swollen, glistening pink lips before him; Thranduil's eyes opened slowly, glazed with lust.
"I could do that all night, ernilen," he whispered hoarsely.
"Why do you stop then, my Lord?" Thranduil pulled himself closer to the elder Elf, allowing Glorfindel to feel his arousal.
The Elda chuckled. "So impatient. No, pen vaelui, you will leave here soon and return to your lavish rooms and I will see you on the morrow."
Thranduil pulled away slightly, a frown marring his features. "Do you not want me, then?"
Glorfindel took the young Elf's hand and placed it on the bulge in his leggings. "I very much desire you, pen neth. I have never felt such an immediate need as I have at this moment," he whispered against the damp temple of the Prince.
The warrior trembled, his hand falling from Glorfindel's body when the hot breath of the Seneschal tickled his ear. "Then why do you send me away, my Lord?" he asked raggedly, his body thrumming with unspent longing.
"Do you not know, maethoren valthen, that fruit is so much more sweet when allowed the time to ripen?" Glorfindel dipped his head again to taste of the Prince's lips, moving the Sinda toward to door. He pulled back, smiling down at Thranduil. "Go now, Thranduil," he said quietly. "I will be here in the morning and I would like to break my fast in your company, if you have no other duties before you."
Thranduil nodded enthusiastically. "I will meet you in the dining Hall shortly after dawn?"
Glorfindel could not stop smiling, the youthful exuberance making him feel young again. "Yes, that will be fine." He unlatched the door and ushered Thranduil out into the hall, offering one more kiss before pulling back. "Sleep well, my Lord." He closed the door on the Crown Prince and began snuffing the candles in his room, crawling into his cold bed.
It wouldn't be cold, a voice in his head said, mocking him, if you had not sent the very hot-blooded and willing Prince away. Glorfindel mumbled to himself in the darkness, but refused to run after Thranduil, no matter how much his body craved the Sinda.
Damn him and his virtuous nature.
He buried his head under the pillow, ignoring the throbbing that reminded him of this honorable choice.
