Anor and Ithil by Haeron

Chapter 8

TA2990

The snow fell thick and fast and theHiddenValleyreceived it as a rare marvel. Glorfindel saw flakes falling before his eyes like fragile wishes from Taniquetil, and each one of the hundreds of thousands could have been his own. Winter had made the morning quiet for the birds came not out to sing in such weather when no flowers were bloomed to hear their song.

Glorfindel’s first crunching steps into the snow startled him. It had been a lifetime since he had walked in snow. The world was changed. He went on.

His feet protested the sudden cold and depth of snow but his heart bade him move ever more swiftly lest he be late and opportunity fall through his fingers like so many grains of sand (or flakes of snow). Erestor was there, ahead, at the stables unburdening his horse of his travel bags and luggage. He was garbed in rich furs of red-brown with hair bound messily for ease of travel’s sake.

He stood a vision, surrounded by barren paleness he was the fire within. As dark as bitter chocolate and just as honest upon the tongue. Glorfindel could not help himself, he called out the name of Erestor and his voice might have sounded utterly desperate; but Erestor heard and turned to see an Elf-lord striding towards him with fated purpose.

Erestor looked surprised. Glorfindel slowed to a walk though the snow could not bear his heaviness and seeped into his casual boots (no good for anything besides dancing, especially not winter forays). His feet protested.

They stood but three paces away and yet Erestor said no word nor made any expression that would indicate his joy, or repulsion, for that matter. Glorfindel grew anxious. The snowflakes falling only to melt instantly upon the heat of his face soothed him not.

Did he stand awaking in a cold nightmare? Had Erestor returned from Lórien changed beyond the elf he had known? They were old fears, as real as the scars he carried upon his body and would fade with as much difficultly. Everything changed, in this mutable world, and Glorfindel was ever catching up to the changes as an elf left behind - cast adrift from time and death.

Life, light and love.

Glorfindel dared not break more words. He held Erestor’s gaze and saw him alone, surrounded by snow and furs.

His fears would not come to pass, no. They could not, not after all that they had shared. Not when Glorfindel could yet remember so clearly the feel of Erestor’s body against his own and the love they had made; the memory of the flesh was as ardent as that of the heart.

‘Erestor,’ Glorfindel said, with ragged breath.

Erestor considered the word that was his name. He looked heavenward for a moment but the falling snow bade him avert his gaze.

Glorfindel stood still and prayed. His chest heaved with expending breath that came forth as vaporous cloud as the soul of love from his body. He prayed to whatever held true; the snowfall that had claimed Imladris, the moon that lingered still distant in the morning sky, the elf before him, mute and divine.

Divine.

Erestor turned his eyes to Glorfindel, and upon his lips there came a smile of true divinity.

‘Glorfindel, my flower,’