Monday, April 15, 2013

Notice

Mellow Soulmate AU.  How Glorfindel met Erestor.  Be prepared for cliche sappiness.  I used Sindarin names because I'm lazy, except for Ilession, which is in Quenya; Erestor stole it from his brother.  If you want to know more, read "Worst Day".  I know there's no reason for the Gondolindrim to convert to Sindarin just because Thingol decided to be a bitch, but just go with it.  It's Monday and my head hurts too much to think about languages.  Takes place in Gondolin sometime between the Second Kinslaying and the Fall.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the characters, but I'm pretty sure he never intended for Erestor to be in Gondolin

Pairings: Glorfindel x Erestor

Characters: Glorfindel, Erestor (mentions Turgon, Ilúvatar (Eru), Lúthien, Varda, Yavanna, Manwë, Aulë and Ulmo)

Warning: major AU, slash, sappiness, probable cliche, allusions to war and PTSD-like mental states, very, very mildly not-quite-almost-sexual undertone

Song: Across the Stars

Words: 1,186
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notice (verb): to make note of (something) through the use of one's eyes
http://www.merriam-webster.com/thesaurus/notice

It was, at first, the movement from the corner of his eyes, so swift and inconspicuous that he almost dismissed it as an illusion in the darkness.

But there, as tangible as stone and fleeting as a breeze, an unfamiliar shadow traversed near to the walls of the city, wandering as if homeless, ceaselessly like a trapped creature searching hopelessly for something unattainable.  Yet even so, the fluid strides held his attention in their diffident length and soundless footfalls.  From a distance, Glorfindel could not have said whether it was a man or woman he watched, for they were cloaked and hooded, but the body was slender and innately graceful.  It was captivating.

Secretly, he watched.  Shamelessly, but with no small amount of curiosity, he observed.  This was a stranger, but when he had mentioned the foreign presence to his king, Turgon had inclined his regal head and told him that it was naught for him to be losing rest over.

Still, night after night he watched, through the waning of summer into autumn.

Yearning to understand built inexorably in his chest.  Helplessly, he drew closer.

Close enough to notice the narrow hips of a man swaying beneath the darkness of the thick, flowing fabric.  Close enough to see long, slender fingers--hands any musician would kill for--and how they curled around the hem of the clothing and tugged nervously.

Close enough to discover the scent of rain clinging to the very air surrounding the mysterious elf, entwining with the natural, unnamable tang of the creature veiled beneath.  Just one full breath of that air, perfumed by the stranger's swift, silent passage, was enough to set Glorfindel's head spinning, because he has never smelled anything so intoxicating in all his years in Aman or in Beleriand.

And then, one night, his desire to be closer still overcame him, and he came close enough to catch a glimpse of the face beneath the gloom of that ever-present shroud.

And by the Valar, it took away the very breath feeding oxygen into his muscles, for suddenly he felt weak enough to bow down beneath a gentle wind's caress.

Dark hair, gently rolling over one shoulder, straight and thick and glistening faintly in the moonlight, framed glowing white skin so wonderfully, the rich dichotomy so utterly exotic and ethereal that it was hard to look away.  For certainly, such a beautiful face as this--all elegant lines, barely softened edges and slender accents--could only belong to a divine creature, a child of Ilúvatar's thoughts, beyond the realm and limitations of mortal beings.

Glorfindel had never seen the glory of Lúthien, Princess of Doriath, but he had heard others wax poetic over her splendor--the most beautiful woman ever born.  Even so, he could not imagine any being to be fairer than this one before him.

And then he glanced into those eyes, and the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower knew that his heart was lost for eternity.

On and on forever, they went, pulling him into their shadows of despair and deep pools of loneliness, reflecting starlight back from the heavens.  They were dark as a moonless night, and yet Glorfindel could not remember the Light of the Two Trees being so overwhelmingly brilliant, so enchanting.  No fruits of golden honey or blossoms yielding silver dew could compare to the intrinsic aliveness of those orbs in the depths of their turmoil.

And they looked back at him with no small amount of wonder and fear.  Their owner, realizing he had been caught in the sights of another, turned to flee.

"Wait!"

Before he thought better of it, Glorfindel gripped the sleeve of a gray tunic in his fingers, staring down at the soft material etched in silver.  When he looked back up and the full weight of that gaze crushed down upon him, burying him beneath a mountain of pure feeling, feeling that he could not have explained had he millions of descriptors at the tip of his charmer's tongue.

For a timeless instant, they stood, and then he dared breathe. "Please, I did not mean to startle you, friend," he rasped out. "I just noticed you wandering alone and came to enquire if there was any way I could be of service."

"Lord Glorfindel..." Aiya, Eru!  But that voice!  It was like something from a long-lost dream!  Hearing it speak his name was like being punched in the jaw, but instead of debilitating pain it offered only the heady feel of hot velvet over flesh, a tone so pure and smooth it left him shuddering.

"Please, there is no need for formality between us."

Lips that begged to be kissed pursed softly, their pink flush deepening. "Glorfindel," he began again, the Lord of the Golden Flower felt his knees turn to water beneath him despite the harshness of the tone. "I am not lost.  Merely, I find it relaxing to walk at night.  It is... difficult to sleep."

There were many reasons for being unable to sleep, and having experienced a fair number of them himself, Glorfindel knew all too well what might be plaguing his companion.  Indeed, the sorrow of those eyes spoke more silent words than thousands of runes inked upon parchment could have possibly hoped to explain.

"Then let me keep you company." His grip on the sleeve relaxed, and instead he guided one hand--callused, a warrior's hand with the marks of a harp in the fingertips--to his arm, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. "Perhaps you will find my companionship soothing."

"Perhaps... if you keep silent." Hesitant though those words were, and with an icy bite at the fringe of their perfectly pronounced syllables, Glorfindel could detect a hint of playfulness underneath, as well as a lilt of wistfulness hiding beneath layers of thick-skinned sarcasm.  Instead of being offended, he merely smiled brightly and let his feet carry him away, the dark beauty gliding at his side.

"At least tell me your name," he teased.

The lips parted, white teeth briefly peeking from behind the plush flesh. "Erestor," his shadow whispered. "I am called Erestor Ilession."

At such a name, Glorfindel felt a chill in his spine and pangs of sympathy in his heart.  No elf was born with such a name, but why someone would discard such a vibrant spirit was beyond his comprehension; Erestor Ilession--if that truly was his name--was more glorious than Varda's stars or Yavanna's Trees, more wonderful than any creation of Manwë or Aulë or Ulmo.  Only the hand of Ilúvatar could have created such perfection!

"Well met, Erestor," he replied reverently. "May the stars shine upon our meeting."

It would have taken a very foolish man indeed to fail to notice that perfection.  And Glorfindel was no fool; even with just a glancing touch, he could feel it.  For all his darkness, Erestor had the Fire Imperishable in his spirit.

And the stars shone upon the pair walking side-by-side in the embrace of shadows.
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I blame the music I was listening to for how sappy Glorfindel is.  Forgive him for falling in love at first sight; he just couldn't help himself.  Also, forgive him for waxing lyrical so many times.  As much as we would like to deny it, sometimes was all have these moments over the people we fixate on, just perhaps not to such a disgustingly sentimental degree.  And if it's cliche, who the hell cares?

As it is, I'm listening to Across the Stars, the love theme from Stars Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones.  Can you write anything but romance to a song such as this one?  John Williams, why art thou such a genius?  You make us aspiring composers weep in awe and envy!  Nevertheless, there you have it.  Can you see the references?  Not sure if using this theme bodes well for these two or not, though.  And we all know that I like to keep character deaths canon...

Now, I know not everyone is into these two as a slash pairing, but you have to understand that I was introduced to Erestor and Glorfindel from slash fiction way back before I actually read the books, and I therefore find them to be cemented firmly in my mind as a pairing.  Here's a picture: Glorestor picnic by *animama on dA.  Now, tell me that is not adorable.

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