Rumor Has It by Zhie

[zhie.livejournal.com]

B2MeM Challenge: Erestor and Glorfindel - Each other’s nemesis -- There are so many stories written where Erestor & Glorfindel are either friends, lovers or just get along nicely. How about a story where they do not like each other at all, and what would be the reason for it?

Format: Short Story

Genre: Some humor, some drama, some balrog

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Language alert - here there be f-bombs, but the general content isn’t adult

Characters: Erestor, Lindir, Celebrian (mentions of Elrond and you-know-who)

Pairings: talk of Celebrian/Elrond; Erestor would like it to have Erestor/Haldir, but that’s not going to happen

Creators' Notes (optional): I might have twisted a few unknowns about to make this work.  No regrets.  I think this might be part one of a series of six (titled something like, five times Erestor hated Glorfindel, and one time he tolerated him, sort of) {this is also not betaed, nor edited, so I have fingers crossed for no plot holes}

Summary: Erestor hates Glorfindel.

It was a very long lunch.  Far too long, but far too necessary.  Already a second bottle of wine was open, and it appeared a third was being carried to the table by the butler.  They should have been drinking to a victory, but instead, the trio with their heads bowed over lists and with goblets in hand were making arrangements for the influx of Elves expected in the valley.  Some of the remaining followers of Gil-Galad chose to sail, while others joined kin in Cirdan’s realm.  There were some, however, who only thought of Elrond as their rightful king now that the high king had passed, and so they were coming, like it or not.

There was one at the table who did not like it at all.

“Need I remind everyone of the Curse?”  Erestor tapped a finger on one of the names on the list.  “This shall not do.  Not at all,” he stated as he held his glass aloft for the butler to fill.

Lindir tried to calm his colleague in a tired voice.  “I do not believe we have a choice in this matter,” he said. “No one on the list is up for debate.”

“Kinslayers are always up for debate,” bristled Erestor.

“Your Telerin is showing, my friend,” Lindir tried to joke.

Erestor gave a very ungraceful sounding grunt and drank his wine.  Quite pleasant and jovial around most people, Erestor was even known to tolerate some of the Noldor now and then, even learning Quenya and Sarati when Celebrian offered to teach him.  He was quick, though, to point out that his grandparents on his mother’s side had taken up the Great Journey and passed into the West in the third migration.  When the news became known in Doriath of what some of the returning wanders had done, he convinced himself at the young age of seven that his kin were among those slain.  Any Noldo of questionable origin was met with his disapproval; known kinslayers he treated as if they had personally eviscerated his grandfather - despite the fact he had never known either grandparent, and nothing could be confirmed one way or the other that they were among those who were killed.  “Why should it not?  There is no reason to be ashamed to be Telerin.”

“Erestor.”

There was a little growly noise as Erestor sucked in his breath.  “Yes, Bri?”

If there was one person who could calm the counselor when he was irate, it was the lady to his right.  It was hard to believe at times that he could be utterly charming to the woman sitting beside him, and completely ignore her mother whenever she was in the same room.  “We can move Galdor into the room on the second floor.  That would free up his room on the fourth floor.  If anyone thinks he is being slighted, we can point out that he is getting a very lovely view of the courtyards.”

“He should be enjoying a very lovely view from the Halls of Mandos.”

“Erestor…”

“What do you think he did to get out of there?  My money is on something quite inappropriate, if all of the rumors are true.”

“Erestor…”

“Just let him get it out of his system now,” advised Lindir as he motioned the maid over to collect up his empty plate and dirty silverware.  “It saves us the embarrassment of him doing it when Glorfindel actually arrives.”

“And just how is it that he gets to be part of some… children’s battlecry,” Erestor settled on.  “Lo, Glorfindel and Balrog -- fuck the balrog.  Actually, fuck Glorfindel.  Fuck them both.”

Celebrian covered a hand over her mouth, but not in shock.  Her shoulders shook in mirth, while Lindir grinned shook his head.

If there was one thing Erestor loved, it was a receptive audience.  “You know what they should be saying?  ‘Tis Felagund and the Werewolf… was it a wolf or a werewolf, I can never remember… nevermind.  Hardly matters.  ‘Tis Felagund and some sharp-toothed son-of-a-bitch that he fought with his bare hands.  Glorfindel had a fucking sword and a fucking shield, and he was a bloody idiot for turning around, and a bigger idiot for having three metres of hair blowing in the fucking wind.  If anyone ever deserved to be pulled off of a cliff by a balrog, well, fate finally got something right!”

There was a lengthy pause as Erestor cleared his throat and drank again.  Lindir eventually asked, “Are you done?”

Erestor set his goblet heavily down on the table again.  “We should put him on the fifth floor.  Give him all of the fifth floor.”

“There is no… oh, the roof,” Celebrian realized.  “You want to put him on the roof?”

“Sure, why not… I mean, that could not possibly be traumatizing, giving him a room at the highest possible height.”  Erestor took a deep breath as he looked down at the list, defeat flickering in his eyes.  “Put him on the second floor if you want.  Galdor should not be made to move.  I can find ways to avoid Glorfindel the Idiotic of the House of the Golden Flowing Mane.”

“I am sure Galdor will appreciate your sacrifice,” noted Celebrian as she wrote something on the documents they were poring over.  “I know this is going to be hard for you,” she added when she looked up to see Erestor looking across the room at some tapestry he had likely studied thousands of times before.

“He is going to steal my thunder.  You know that, right?”  Erestor continued to look away from his companions.

“Only if you let him,” said Celebrian.

Erestor closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers against the side of his nose, then over one eyelid in an attempt to clear his head from exhaustion and too much wine.  “I heard a rumor that he puts bells on his fucking horse.”

“Not a rumor,” Celebrian informed him with a pat on the shoulder.  Lindir, sensing the task was done, excused himself from the room.  With the table cleared, save for the wine and the goblets of the two remaining counselors, the servants retreated out of the quarters and back to the kitchen with the trays.  “You know… I can confirm another rumor about him,” she said slyly once she and Erestor were alone.

“Yes, I know,” Erestor answered back with great disdain.  “It… grieves me deeply to know he and I have... anything in common.”

Celebrian nodded slightly, a little smile on her lips.  “And he is single,” she added, just for fun.  Erestor hissed at her, not unlike a wet cat, and she smiled.  They had grown up together in Doriath, both of them only children, he the big brother to her little sister, and antics between them were allowed.  “Just trying to help.”

“If you want to help, introduce me to that lovely marchwarden who escorted your mother here the last time,” Erestor suggested.

“I doubt Haldir’s wife would approve of that idea,” said Celebrian.

Erestor shrugged.  “She can watch,” he offered.

They sat quietly while shadows played on the walls.  Finally, Celebrian attempted a little reason.  “He really is nice, once you get to know him.  Vain - yes, I cannot deny that - but nice.  His heart is in the right place.”

“He killed people,” countered Erestor immediately.  “Innocent people.  Unarmed sailors who had nothing to do with anything.”

“He thought he was helping,” said Celebrian softly.  “He was very loyal to Fingon.  When he realized what they had done, he threw down his sword, vowed never to speak to Fingon again, and he repented immediately.”

“Then he should have stayed in Valinor.  He should have faced the consequences there.”

Celebrian frowned.  “It was a confusing time.  He was taking an oath to Turgon and crossing the ice before he knew what was going on.”

“He ran away.”  Erestor shook his head.  “I’ve no use for cowards.”

Celebrian sighed.  “You are not going to run away, are you?” she asked with sudden worry.  Erestor looked up quizzically.  “I know you cannot go back to Eregion, but you would be welcome in Lothlorien or.. well, I am sure you would be welcomed anywhere,” she admitted.

“Bri, I am not going anywhere,” Erestor said firmly.  “First of all, this is my home, and I will be damned if some narcissistic Noldo passing himself off as a high and mighty Vanya is going to run me out.  Secondly, I am going to stay wherever you are staying.”

Celebrian nodded for a few moments.  “I like it here,” she said.

“You like Elrond.”  It was neither an accusation, nor a statement, but more of a lingering question.

“I like him very much,” Celebrian confirmed.  “But I like it here, even if he was not here.”

“Then we stay,” added Erestor decisively.  “I can learn to live with a kinslayer around, so long as you are happy and share all the lovely details of your courtship with me.”

“Speaking of,” said Celebrian, eyes sparkling, “you have to come see the flowers he brought over.”  She was on her feet quickly and tugged on his sleeve to encourage him to rise.

“He brought them?  Not the messenger?” asked Erestor with a grin.

“And picked them himself, too!”  She was about to step in the direction of her bed chambers, but Erestor pulled her back by the wrist.

He appeared just as excited as she now.  “How do you know Elrond picked them himself?”

“I was spying on him through the window this morning,” she revealed.  “Come on!” she giggled as she lead him along to show them off.