Subtle

Mellow Soulmate AU.  Erestor is a member of a rather infamous elven House.  Can you guess which?  Spans the months of the Lord of the Rings, ending with Bilbo leaving for the West.  Valentine's Day romance.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Tolkien.

Pairings: Glorfindel x Erestor, hints of Bagginshield

Characters: Bilbo, Glorfindel, Erestor, Lindir (Thorin, Frodo, Elrond, Arwen, Thingol and Melian mentioned)

Warning: AU, slash, romance (LOL)

Song: Between Worlds

Words: 1,690
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
subtle (adjective): delicate, elusive; difficult to understand or perceive: obscure
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/subtle

To an outsider, Erestor and Glorfindel seemed to have nothing to do with each other.  They were as different as day and night.  Scholar versus warrior.   Solemn versus lighthearted.  Darkness versus light.

To the unobservant, they did not even seem to know each other.

Bilbo was anything but unobservant.

Though they did not speak to one another, he saw their eyes settle on one another when they thought no one was looking, just a hint of something hiding beneath the layers of mysterious elven strangeness, something that Bilbo knew all too well.  It was, after all, rather universal.

He saw how they sometimes exchanged silent words with but a glance.  Rarely, he would see their sleeves brush when they passed one another in the halls, though neither lithe body so much as twitched in acknowledgement.

Twice, he had seen one touch the other's hand.  The first time had been in the library.  No doubt, Glorfindel had believed the dark-robed advisor to be alone in the deepest, dustiest corner of the vast collection, pouring over his tomes with a small frown and a furrow between his brows.  The seneschal had approached slowly, and Erestor's dark eyes watched him as he moved.

"So rarely do I see one such as yourself take interest in the written word." The words were seemingly cold from Erestor's lips, sarcasm and insult venemously twining together in that velvet tone.  If Erestor had been inclined to sing rather than snark, Bilbo thought he might have the loveliest voice in all of Middle-earth.

"Were I so inclined to enjoy the written word, I would come more often." Glorfindel stepped closer, and the movement brought to Bilbo's mind the very first ickling that these two were perhaps friends rather than enemies. "Perhaps it is not the tomes that attract me."

"Perhaps..." They stared at one another for a few moments, and, as the hobbit watched, Glorfindel leaned forward on the table, his golden hair spinning over one shoulder and spilling across the page that had previously occupied Erestor's attention.

"In any case, you spend far too much time working.  It is not wonder your mood is so sour." And there it was, the brush of fingers from Erestor's slender wrist, up over the back of his hand to stroke against his knuckles. "Elrond has you working too hard.  Perhaps you should take the afternoon off, Master Erestor, and--"

And then Lindir peered around the doorframe, far enough away to have no overheard the conversation.  Immediately, Glorfindel straightened, though he was very smooth about it, as if the movement were a natural and fluid reaction.

"Master Erestor, Elrond has requested your presence," Lindir informed them.

The dark elf had sighed. "Very well." But as his robes swished through the doorway, Bilbo could swear that he glanced back at the seneschal.

The second time had cemented Bilbo's conclusion.

It had been months since Frodo and the Fellowship had departed.  Bilbo felt wearier by the day, but at the same happier, more relaxed, less stretched.  He had been out in one of the gardens--completely coincidentally the same garden that Master Erestor had chosen for his afternoon break, apparently.  The advisor was sitting alone on a bench in the shade, a book perched in his lap, but it did not look quite so forboding as his tomes did normally.  His lips were not frowning and his brows were not furrowed.

"Enjoying the sunlight, are we?" a familiar voice asked, breaking the quiet that had settled over the advisor. "Rarely do I see you out of doors, my friend."

"If a warrior can enjoy the written word, why can a scholar not relish the warmth of Anor against his face?" Erestor returned, looking up at Glorfindel, who was clad in robes today rather than a tunic and leggings, deep burgundy over white.

"You speak the truth, of course." Glorfindel smiled, and for once Erestor did not look so dour. "Walk with me?"

"I suppose I can stomach your company for a short while," the advisor replied, gracefully rising to his feet.  They did not touch at first, but stood side by side and began walking in that strange way that elves moved, measured and slow, as if they had all the time in the world to reach their destination.

They said nothing to one another, though they did exchange one of those strange glances that spoke of more words than had ever been imparted between them aloud.  Just before they left the side of the old hobbit half-hidden behind a nearby hedge, their hand brushed ever so softly, fingers twining together for a single moment between them, just the tips.  But it was enough.  Bilbo could see Erestor's lips twitch upwards at the corners, and Glorfindel looked as though he had been given the greatest gift in the world.

Just for a moment.

And then they were gone again.  But Bilbo was more certain than ever.

Many a month later, he finally got his proof. 

The elves were leaving.  Lady Arwen and Lord Elrond had departed for Minas Tirith.  Bilbo was feeling his age.  His joints ached fiercely, and sometimes he didn't remember things quite as well as he would like to.  Sometimes, he could not remember faces.  He did not like being unable to recall Frodo's dark curls and bright smile.  He did not like forgetting beloved blue eyes and that elusive quirk of the lips--between thick whiskers--that he had always loved so much and remembered so dearly.

Nevertheless, the dark days were coming to a close.  Rivendell was emptying, but he knew of at least one who would stay.  It was a well known fact that Master Erestor would never sail.  Why was never spoken of, though everyone knew it had to do with blood and ancient oaths that were best left forgotten.

It was the first--and last--time he had seen them embrace.

In the dark, he had spotted them, alone beside an open window looking out into the West.  Their hands were but inches from one another where they rested on the railing.

"Will you be leaving?"

To an outsider, Erestor's voice was as cold and emotionless as ever, but Bilbo knew the advisor well enough to hear the soft tremor of his voice.

Glorfindel looked towards the darker elf, blue eyes almost blazing in the darkness of the night. "Why would I leave, Master Erestor?"

"There is nothing for you here," the darker elf pointed out softly.

"To the contrary," the golden-haired warrior replied. "I do think there are quite a lot of tomes left to enjoy... among other things."

Something about Erestor's eyes took all the lightheartedness out of the banter. "There is nothing here anymore.  If you do not go now, you will never be able to return home again.  Do you not long again to see the golden fields and eternal beauty of your home?"

"Sometimes," Glorfindel admitted. "But if I had wanted those things, I would never have chosen to return here." The warrior moved, and Bilbo's eyes widened as strong hands grasped Erestor's forearms, turning the slighter elf to face his taller counterpart. "I came back across the Sea for something much more important than golden fields and eternal summer."

Erestor said nothing more, but he did not move away when Glorfindel's large hands, callused with thousands of years of wielding blade and bow, rose to embrace his cheeks.  The taller warrior leaned downwards and pressed forward until their brows touched, until their noses gently brushed and they breathed the same soft, white puffs of air as fall died into winter.

Bilbo's breath caught with awe and longing.  His mind touched upon the story of Thingol and Melian, how they stood still for decades, just looking into each other's eyes, never moving or speaking.  There was something of that magic between the two beings before him as their eyes connected, deep black against shining blue.  Erestor's arms rose, twining around Glorfindel's until they, too, rested about the warrior's cheeks, just touching softly.

"I will stay.  This is where I belong."

The hobbit took one more glance at them, almost entranced with their beauty, but forced himself to look away, and to not imagine that his hands touched strong cheeks and surprisingly soft whiskers, that his pert little nose nuzzled against a familiar, much larger one, that his brow did not rest on another as dark braids spilled around them and curtained them from the world.

---

After that, Bilbo saw them only once more, as he departed two days after.  They stood side by side and did not touch.  Erestor's voice was only a shade warmer than usual as he kissed the old hobbit's brow affectionately and bid him farewell. "I will miss you, but you head for home, little kindred soul."

Glorfindel followed after, still smiling, blue eyes dancing. "Aye, stay out of trouble, dear friend.  But I would suggest that you don't give up on adventures just yet."

"Certainly not," Bilbo agreed, even though he wheezed slightly with the effort of hefting his cane enough to move him into the elf's warm embrace. "The pair of you watch out for one another."

They exchanged one of those glances again, soft and subtle, but Glorfindel nodded in response. "Someone has to make sure this dour fellow does not bury himself alive in paperwork and heavy books."

For once, Erestor did not snark back.  Bilbo just smiled up at them and bid them farewell.  The world was waiting on him again.

Then, just as he passed out of sight, safely inside his wagon with Frodo at his side, the old hobbit could have sworn he saw the golden-haired warrior kiss his scholar on the knuckles, their hands embraced tightly as they fell to rest between the two figures of sharp contrast. Maybe it was just his old eyes.  They didn't work as well as they used to, after all.

He just hoped they held on nice and tight.  One happy ending was enough to lift the heart of a sentimental old hobbit.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Yeah, I know, it's all soft and fluffy.  But hey, it's Valentine's Day.  Romance is required.

Song I was (and still am) listening to: Between Worlds by Roger Subirana Mata.

Sorry I made you gay for Glorfindel again, Erestor, but it's so adorable.

Click on this if you want to ruin the mood LOL.