There once was a young man,
his skin lightly tanned,
As worked in a small field of hay,
His hair was like the wheat grass,
His hands were strong as leather,
and his eyes shone like the sea on a midsummer's day.
He stood in his fruitful field,
Gazing at the crops that would soon yield,
And heard a small "clop" within his ear.
He turned towards the fence,
with the great woods beyond it,
And saw a fair lady on horseback drawing near.
His eyes were caught on this mystical sight,
As the horse came closer in graceful flight,
It's rider like the stars themself,
For her eyes were sparkling grey,
Her hair was spun moonshine,
And he realized with a swoon that she was an elf.
His body was frozen as she neared him,
His heart fluttering on a whim,
His legs almost collasped then and there,
For her eyes were captivating,
Her features was beyond beauty,
This elf was a magical creature, lovely and fair.
"Fear me not, young human master,
I believe your heart could not beat faster!"
She smiled, her voice smooth as the river.
She beckoned for him to come,
As she walked her horse away,
And he hastily ran to go with her.
"My fairest Lady, what shall I do?
For I feel myself being drawn to you,
And I feel that it is not right."
She simply smiled,
Her cheeks like the rose,
As her hair shined silver in the light.
They reached the great wood,
"Come with if you would,
For I wish to show you my heart.
I've watched you for days,
And have seen your loneliness,
And I never again want to be apart."
((In Progress!!))
“So much noise! Can no peace truly ever be found in this place?” Erestor asked himself in discontent, peeking at the vibrant celebration in the courtyard beyond over the binding of his book. Dozens of young ellyn and ellon danced and laughed to a steady beat of fast music, throwing their heads and hands high. Some boisterous youths sang along with meaningless words, demanding the admiring attention of their friends. Older, more respectable elves hung about the edges of the celebration and among the feasting tables, glasses of dark red wine in hand. They eagerly swapped news and gossip, quarreled over strategies, and laughed about foolish stories—things that made Erestor feel as if he were surrounded by oafs. Ah, the way the wine went to their heads! No wonder he only permitted himself to drink in the seclusion of his chambers.
His brows raised as one young couple rose from the commotion, ever so slowly retreating towards the near woods. A lovers’ tryst, he supposed. On a night like this, it was wise to stay away from the outskirts of the forest; you never knew who you might find, and what they might be doing. Another reason why he kept his seat at the edge of the courtyard, leaned against a stone pillar of the Homely House. It was lit just enough by the fire for him to read, but was far enough away from the wild young ones to be caught in their foolishness.
Erestor had initially refused to join the meaningless celebration. He saw no purpose in it, as it was not for the celebration of an important date. It was simply a thing of leisure, meant to keep morale up, despite the increase of dark forces at the borders. Erestor had no need for morale, and thus had no need for the imprudent celebration.
Of course, as always, Lord Elrond had persuaded him to attend the celebration. Sure, he had insisted, it will be energetic and noisy. But there will be plenty of delicious dishes and his finest wine to feast on, and beautiful music! If he absolutely could not bear to part with his book, then he could bring it along. But who knew? He might even have some fun for once in his dull life!
And, being one of his closest friends, Erestor could not refuse his Lord’s pleading invitation.
“Yet here I sit, as I always do,” he sighed, returning his gaze to the pages before him. However, in the second that it had taken him to find his place, a fair hand placed itself on the cover and pushed the book closed. Erestor concealed his growl of frustration, trying his best not to strike out at whoever had closed the tome. However, when he lanced up with his displeased frown, it was the face of Lord Elrond that met him.
“Erestor, my friend. Will you not partake in the pleasures of our celebration?” he asked in a merry voice, though with a twinge of concern. He gestured towards the courtyard, his graceful fingers curling outwards with one flowing movement. The light from the center fire made the elf-lord’s hair gleam like the dark night sky with the light of the stars. His fine tunic shimmered like precious jewels in the flickering light, the green fabric glimmering with faint blue and gold. All in all, he made the appearance of a great lord; of which he was, and of which Erestor would never live up to.
He pulled his eyes away from Elrond, focusing his gaze on the cover of his book. “I am afraid not, my lord,” he murmured, his voice holding a small amount of distaste at the reveling celebration-goers. “Childish play is not my forte.”
Elrond’s smile fell, and he leaned closer to place a hand on Erestor’s shoulder. “Erestor… you can not be like this for the rest of your life. You must at least try to enjoy yourself. Believe me, if you truly let yourself go, you will find it to be a pleasing experience,” he ensured, his voice sympathetic.
“But I have no wish to let myself go, my lord. I am perfectly happy the way I am,” Erestor stated, shrugging the hand off. He returned his gaze to Elrond’s eyes, a defiant scowl on his fair features.
“Then why do you always seem to be angered?” Elrond jokingly asked, his eyes regaining their whole-hearted light. A small laugh escaped from his lips at Erestor’s exasperated huff, but he did not try to push him further. The councilor might lose all hope of joining the merriment if he become too frustrated.
“Be as you will, Erestor. But I implore you to at least come have some refreshments. You have not eaten all night.”
Erestor hesitated, once again glancing at the moving mass of energetic dancers, then to the crowd of wine-drinkers beyond. But, at Elrond’s mention of food, he could not help but notice the empty feeling in his stomach. Thus, he gave a curt nod, slipping the book into one of his councilor robe’s pockets. He stood from his place on the steps, silently brushing himself off in a fussy fashion, then combing a hand through his dark hair. He raised his head to give Elrond one last remark, but to his surprise, the elf lord had already walked off into the crowd of dancing elves. No doubt he had been contempt at his victory, once again compelling Erestor with his clever gentleness.
Of course. What were friends for?
Erestor sighed to himself as he ambled off, trying to stay near the edge of the courtyard. A few curious elves turned their heads his way, eyes wide with surprise at his boldness, but they soon lost their interest. The music changed to a faster tune, its beats like the drumming of a heart, its melody strong and lively. Young elves danced alongside him, spinning and skipping, bending and twisting. Ellyns attracted the attentions of the ellons, clothed in radiant colors of summer with flowers and jewels in their free-flowing hair. Some dresses dipped rather low, exposing the delicate skin of the tops of their supple breasts. Likewise, many ellons also had decorated their hair in alluring ways, and danced with their tunics carelessly left gaping at the top. It was a scene that could prove fatal to any elf that held desire in his or her heart—but Erestor passed without a care. He had told himself long ago that he would not fall prey to the traps of eager young elves, or to the allures that masters of that type exposed.
In what seemed ages, Erestor finally reached the refreshment table, which was gloriously situated away from the fanatical, dancing mass. A few older ellon stood at one end, sipping at their goblets of dark wine. At his sudden appearance, they turned to look at him, their eyes hidden by long, drooping lashes that were weighted down by the affects of the alcohol. Looks of surprise or curiosity crossed their expressions, but they did not dwell on Erestor’s significance for long. Their pointless gossip was much too exciting to give up, and the councilor’s heated glare was enough prodding to set them back to conversing. They soon huddled together like a pack of cold wolves, whispering and chuckling about nothingness.
Erestor let his glare linger, irritated by their boldness, but did not act any further. Let them do what they wanted. He had not a care.
He moved over to where many large flasks of fine wine stood, surrounded by ice in an intricately designed, golden metal tub. He hesitated upon seeing the ample amount of ready glasses, realizing that whatever effects the wine carried would not only act upon others, but also himself. He despised being the least bit incapacitated around others, for he took it as a duty and a pride to be perfectly sober at all times. Besides, he hated feeling vulnerable, and had ever since he was young. He had made sure that he could never be taken advantage of, no matter what the reason. He had to retain his strong authority, and keep the respect that others held for him. There was no option; it was a must. Erestor could not be seen drunk in public!
But the soothing, sweet smell of the wine wafted up from the tub, and Erestor could not resist. It was not often that he had the chance of drinking Elrond’s finest, and he would not pass up the chance at this time. He would simply have to limit his intake to a bare minimum until he could retreat to the safety of his chambers.
Therefore, with his final decision, he reached down to wrap his fingers around the stem of a glass… and jumped as a hand caught his wrist.
“Lord Erestor!” exclaimed a bright, deep voice, one of which that Erestor despised the most in all of Imladris. He quickly yanked his wrist from the grasp, taking a small step backwards so as to examine the intruder of his personal space.
“Glorfindel…” he growled irritably, his silver eyes narrowing. His body automatically tensed, as if it sensed a close and near danger. The glass hung loose in his fingers.
“My lord, why the hostility? I was only going to offer to pour the wine for you, as a friendly gesture,” the golden ellon murmured, his voice low and mesmerizing. His bright blue eyes seemed to shine with their own light in the dim darkness, and the glow from his blond tresses seemed to shine like the sun. Small crystals glimmered in the intricate braids, yet most of the fine, wavy hair fell free far beyond his shoulders. His face was strong and beautiful, finely sculpted, as the tales of the great warrior bespoke of. The skin was pale, yet full of lively color, and completely flawless. He seemed to move with a calculated, yet relaxed grace, the lean muscles of his body rippling beneath his silver tunic, which like many others, fell open beneath his neck, exposing the strong chest beneath. Glorfindel was everything that a young elf could ever dream of having fantasies with, and he commonly granted them the pleasure with no second thoughts.
But, beneath this glorious, god-like elf, there lurked a viciousness and a cunningness that only Erestor ever seemed to see. It appeared as if Glorfindel always tried harder to lower Erestor’s defenses, but because of the extra attention, Erestor was always prepared to be on guard.
“I can pour wine quite easily myself, Glorfindel. I have no need of you—now go.” Erestor turned his back to the bigger and older elf, examining the different flasks of wine.
He almost jumped from his robes as a hand placed itself on his waist, giving only the slightest bit of pressure there. It was a touch that went beyond friendly, that was almost intimate, and that felt like fire upon his heavy robes; but it was not welcome, and Erestor quickly spun to confront the warrior, his face twisted with disbelief and anger.
“Glorfindel! You are under the influence of the wine, are you not? I demand that you leave me, now!” he exclaimed in infuriated and surprised tones, raising his hand to point an accusing finger.
Glorfindel gave a small chuckle, his hands raised, as if in defense of himself. “Easy now, Erestor. You startle like a horse,” he exclaimed, a playful smile pasted upon his fine features.
“I will not have your insolent self compare me to a horse, you a**!” Erestor hissed in fury, baring his teeth in a feral snarl.
“But you are acting like one at this moment,” Glorfindel pointed, a contempt look crossing his face.
“Ignorant fool! Do you not have other things to do than insult me?” Erestor shouted, drawing the attention of those who stood near. He became suddenly quiet, glancing at the staring elves with a frustrated frown on his face. He quickly straightened himself, brushing his hands upon his robes.
“Well? What have you all to say?” he threatened, giving each surveyor one of his famous glares. The witnesses quickly turned and resumed their merrymaking, not eager to pick a fight with the most ill-mannered elf in Imladris. Erestor sighed, realizing that his actions to prevent an incident like this had all been in vain. He could only hope that few would remember it the next morning.
He gave Glorfindel no extra notice, and swiftly turned towards the quarters. The night was gone for him, and he would only find peace in solitariness.
“Wait,” came the renowned warrior’s voice from behind him, and soft padded footsteps sounded on the marble path as he gracefully whipped in front of the councilor. Erestor stopped, backing away and attempting to take a different route; but Glorfindel was too quick for him, and grabbed him firmly yet softly by the wrists. Once again, the touch burned like fire, a sensation that both surprised and frightened the darker elf. He tried to pull away, grunting with frustration, but Glorfindel held him tight.
“Calm
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