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Series: Folly of Starlight; sequel to "Another Day" and prequel to "Auguries of Innocence."

Synopsis: Glorfindel faces his hopes and fears

Pairing(s): Glorfindel/Elrohir preslash angst

Rating: PG 13

Not mine, no harm intended, the sheep are lying through their teeth! Thanks to Emma for the beta job. This story is in response to a challenge posted on Tolkien-slash. See the notes for more information.

Comments are always cherished.

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"Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail thru the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

Well, I've been afraid of changing
'Cause I've built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too."

-- Fleetwood Mac, "Landslide"
 
 

[Mettare, called "Last Day" in the tongue of the Second Born, the year 179 of the Third Age]

The low-angled glitter of Anor's setting rays painted delicate, gilded highlights across an ancient countenance, yet the beauty of the moment passed utterly unnoticed. Glorfindel of the Golden Flower stood stone-faced on the terrace of his private quarters, studiously staring out across the valley he had called home for all of this age and much of the last. Southeastward his keen, elven gaze strained, as it far too often did, his eyes magnetically drawn in the direction of the illicit desires of his heart.

A well-cherished tableau of seasons past replayed in his mind's eye, more precious and poignant still than the first moment he had recalled the memory.
<<Elrohir lingered in a frozen stare at his teacher's face, then clutched his still-balled hand to his chest and turned sharply on his heels to leave. Hearing an unmistakable sigh shimmy from the other's lips, he froze mid-step, then turned back and smiled shyly. "I will miss you," he whispered.

"As I shall you, pen-neth," Glorfindel answered through his twinned pains of longing and self-revulsion.>>

A hand instinctively rose to the elf lord's robe-covered chest, where it traced out the slender yet unyielding bulk of the silver-ensnared agate worn surreptitiously against his skin. Nearly seven years had passed since he had seen that sweet face, since he had trembled at the simplest of shared contacts. With the passing of each season Glorfindel found his desire unwavering and his regret magnified, until both threatened to consume him with a fire more deadly than any Balrog's blaze. Yet, as he was loathe to admit, the twins’ continued absence was of his own doing. It had been Glorfindel who had suggested to his beloved's sire, under promise of secrecy, that it might be best for the twins to remain in their mother's homeland until the time of their majority. "What lessons can I teach them that Celeborn cannot?" he had argued, more convincingly than he had believed possible.

Yet, it was only partially for the sake of the boys' best education that Glorfindel had made the suggestion. He hoped the relentless passage of time and the dimming filter of distance would cool the ill-advised passions of both his favorite pupil and himself. It was a hope which had proven in vain, at least for his half. He could only imagine what Elrohir had felt when word of this effective exile reached those young, impressionable ears six summers before. Whatever suffering and insecurity the princeling had endured could only rival the guilt and pangs of lovelorn grief he had caused in his own heart. What right had he to manipulate one he professed, under the cover of night in the solitude of his bed, to love? How could he claim to profane the word and his feelings with such devious machinations?

With a weighty sigh born of the unrelenting burden of secreted regrets, Glorfindel lowered his eyes to the ground, his hands tightly gripping the cool, carved stone railing. After allowing himself the briefest respite of well-wallowed pity, he slowly raised his gaze without intention, and found it naturally settled upon the nascent, emerald leaves of a delicate branch. A smile crept up on him, the sight of a spiky, slinking caterpillar nearly the hue of the leaf it currently called its evening meal bringing joy to his heart. He was reminded how Elrohir took such boundless joy in the simplest things in nature, such as the pale blue agate Glorfindel now secretively wore around his neck.

Carefully extending a single, hesitant finger toward the fragile creature, Glorfindel found his patient reverence rewarded when the caterpillar inched its way onto his awaiting digit. A satisfied smile seated more firmly upon his lips as he cautiously carried the innocent insect closer to his inspecting eye.

"Do I *want* to know what you are doing with that thing?" a familiar, aristocratic tone teased from out of Glorfindel's line of sight, its owner standing no more than a few steps away with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

Glorfindel sheepishly lowered his hand to the nearest leaf and allowed the caterpillar to inch its way back to more appropriate territory. "Simply admiring the beauty of Eru's smallest of treasures."

Elrond stepped closer to the railing and peered at the insect with a slight smile of his own. "I agree, some portion of loveliness it has, but I much prefer the beauty of what it will become."

Gondolin's champion stared wistfully at the oblivious object of their debate, then over the ragged peaks of the mighty mountains toward Lothlorien, where his heart truly lived. "Perhaps it is in the potential that I find myself bewitched. Perhaps it is the anticipation that thrills me so."

Elrond raised an eyebrow once more, this time in palpable confusion. "You speak in riddles, old friend."

Glorfindel smiled sadly, slowly nodding his admitted guilt. "Pay no heed to my words, my lord. That is how I speak to myself, of late."

Much to Glorfindel's considerable relief Elrond seemed willing to accept that admittedly lame excuse. "A courier arrived today bearing word from Lothlorien," he flatly announced.

Trying his best not to sound unduly interested, Glorfindel coolly asked in response, "Did he bring word from your wife?"

"No, from my sons -- the younger, to be more precise."

"How is -- are they?" Glorfindel inquired more hastily than he intended, barely catching his precariously revealing choice in pronouns.

Elrond smiled in recognition of what he believed to merely be the concern of a dutiful tutor. "Celeborn sends word that they thrive in the golden wood like the mallorn trees they have come to love. They increase their knowledge of the world and skill with the bow with each passing day. But not as one."

"My lord?"

"Celeborn says Elrohir is ever the more apt pupil, but even more so than we have come to expect. He appears more -- focused. It is as if he has some manner of reason to conclude his lessons with all swiftness."

"'Tis merely the impatience of youth," Glorfindel assured him, more for his own benefit than his lord’s.

"Perhaps. But he seems determined to pass though his youth and reach the age of majority before it is his time."

Despite his centuries-honed self-control, Glorfindel felt his flesh tense in that guilty, familiar way. "'Tis because of his sense of loyalty to his family and his home that he is so eager to return. Of that I am certain," he knowingly lied.

Elrond pondered that seemingly reasonable possibility for a moment before continuing. "Be that as it may, by his own admission, Elrohir grows impatient with his education in Lothlorien. His letter asks that you be permitted to travel there for the full passing of the seasons so that he and his brother may once more study at your side."

"I am flattered that he believes my tutelage to be so valuable..." Glorfindel protested uneasily.

"Your lessons have value beyond measure," Elrond firmly retorted, raising his hand. "I wish for you to travel to Lothlorien at the coming of Ithil's next cycle and evaluate my sons' improvement in their skills. Perhaps it is time they return home. I trust your cautious eye, my old friend. See for yourself what manner of progress they have made, and if the time be right, escort them and their mother home."

Glorfindel parted his lips as if to protest, then thought better of it, knowing it would raise far too many questions, questions he could not risk being asked. "Of course, my lord," he courteously acquiesced with a sharp bow, all the while his guilt crying out its accusatory warning of the folly of this mission.
 

[Yestere]

Glorfindel arose with the dawning of the new day and the new year, the looming threat of unbearable pains in uneasy harmony with the disconcerting promise of unrealistic hopes. <<I can resist my wrongful thoughts, as I can his,>> he baldly lied to himself. <<'Tis better to be able to see him than to be haunted by the ghosts of days past. Perhaps his request truly is innocent, the mere respect of a dutiful student to his most experienced teacher.>>

Clothed in a thin tunic and the thicker cloak of his self-delusions, Glorfindel strolled out onto the narrow terrace of his private quarters as he did with the start of each morn, staring over the valley out of habit. From the corner of his eye he spied a small brown capsule carefully affixed to a broad green leaf. A wistful smile of recognition graced his noble features as he studied the carefully crafted cocoon. "So you too have decided to leave behind the awkwardness of youth with the swiftness of Manwe's eagles," he affectionately cajoled. With the tenderest of touches he stroked the hard-spun encasement. "You doubt the innate beauty of your youth, yet it was ever-plain to my eye. I will await your emergence into the promise of your full form before I take my leave of Imladris, so that I may drink in a brief enjoyment of your loveliness before I travel to see what manner of wilwarin the caterpillar of my heart has become."
 

The End
 

Notes:

1) The challenge by SkyFire which inspired this story was as follows:
 

Fic must contain:
   (1)An Elf-lord with a fuzzy green caterpillar, and
   (2)The phrase: "Do I *want* to know what you're doing with that thing?"
which may or may not be in relation to said caterpillar. ;oD It just has to
be in the story somewhere.
   (3)*NO* OCs or self-inserts.

2) It was established in "Images and Words" and "When Dream and Day Unite" that Elrond has a fondness for butterflies.

3) The last day of the Elvish year was Mettare, which falls on March 28. Their New Year, or "First Day" (Yestere) is the day after. For more information on the Elvish calender see http://www.astrochick.com/calendar1.html

4) It was established in other stories that Elrohir was 33 when he first had feelings for Glorfindel (and left for Lothlorien with his brother) and that he was 40 was he and Glorfindel consummated their attraction. According to "Morgoth's Ring" an elf reaches majority about age fifty.

5) wilwarin = butterfly in Sindarin

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