Request: Erestor/Glorfindel or any elf-elf pairing, as long as it isn�t a married elf in canon. Erestor must be the elder of the pair. �I�d like a hard-won May/December sort of love story. Light on the fluff and overblown romance, just tell me a nice love story Please include a bit of drama or angst, with the obligatory happy ending. Include a sharpened stick, a patchwork quilt, and the following quote, either whole or paraphrased: �The long unmeasured pulse of time moves everything. There is nothing hidden that it cannot bring to light, nothing once known that may not become unknown.� Sophocles, BC 495-406

Summary: On his bonding day, Erestor uses a beloved heirloom as a catalyst to remember the long and winding road to the culmination of his relationship with Glorfindel.

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Erestor's eyelashes fluttered against the pillow as chill morning air met his cheek. He pushed the hair from his face and shivered, moving instinctively to bask in the warmth of the lover who had slept at his side for so many years, and then recoiled when he found Glorfindel's place empty. He lay back in bed, pulling the covers closely around himself, and groaned.

"Damn stupid tradition."

And then Erestor laughed. For it was he who had insisted on sleeping apart on the night before their bonding ceremony. Making note of his own foolishness, he sat up, plucked the robe from the edge of the bed and slipped it on.

He busied himself, filling the tea kettle with water and placing it near the smoldering embers of the previous night's fire to heat. Erestor cherished these waking hours, when Imladris was quiet. Normally, he would curl up on the divan and watch Glorfindel sleep as he silently contemplated the day ahead.

But this morning, he was alone with his thoughts. He smiled as he pictured Glorfindel, probably sprawled upon his cot in the barracks, and, like his men, decidedly still deep into reverie. Warriors, Erestor had learned, did not like the early morning so much. Glorfindel's parting words the evening before echoed in his mind and he rolled his eyes as he recalled them.

"If you insist on depriving me of your company, for the sake of tradition, then I am of a mind to allow the guard to fete me," Glorfindel had leaned nearer Erestor's ear at this juncture, "in the traditional manner, as befits a bachelor going to his doom."

He had quickly kissed Erestor, turned on his heel and, with an exaggerated sway of the hips, strode off.

So each had spent the "night before" as he would. Erestor, in the quiet company of Elrond and Celebrían, or in contemplative anticipation, and Glorfindel in the convivial assembly of his Company.

Erestor pulled the robe more tightly around his waist and walked to the balcony, where he heard the familiar sounds of metal clashing with metal and the occasional outcry from the direction of the training fields. He listened for a time and then, smiling broadly, turned back to the business of making his morning tea. He was not the only one who was up early, and frustrated. He had heard Glorfindel's signature grunts amidst the sparring and smiled in anticipation of the golden warrior exacting his own unique brand of revenge for Erestor's insistence on the stupid tradition.

Curling up on the divan near the fireplace, Erestor sipped at his tea, training his mind toward the numerous details of the day's festivities. As he checked them off, one by one, his eye was caught by the sun glinting off of the silver ring he wore on his finger. He put the cup down and held out his hand, watching the rainbow of light reflect on the floor as he turned his hand this way and that. Today the ring would be replaced, and he wondered, vaguely, if the light would play off of the gold one the same way. He decided he did not care. He wanted the new one, with all that it symbolized, more than he had wanted anything in all of his long life.

The sound of a knock upon the door interrupted his musings. Looking up toward the entrance, Erestor called out, "Yes?"

"Erestor?"

It was Arwen, barely containing her voice to a loud whisper.

"I have finished it and cannot wait to show it to you. Are you decent?"

Decent? Erestor arched an eyebrow. Of course he was decent. After all, that is what had him waking up alone this morning. �Too damn decent, if you ask me,' he thought.

He was excited to see Arwen's work though, and rose from his place on the divan to unlatch the door.

"Come in, little Princess, and let me see what you have done."

Arwen swept into the room, a large bundle in her arms. Carefully, she unwrapped the covering cloth from the parcel.

"Help me spread it out on the bed, Erestor, and then you will be able to see the whole of it."

Together they unfolded the quilt, laying it carefully over the existing coverlet.

"What do you think?" asked Arwen, "Do you like it?"

Erestor walked slowly from the right side of the bed to the left. He moved to the end of the bed and stood silent for a time. Arwen did not begrudge this assessment, for she understood that long centuries of Erestor's life were held in the quilt before them, knew what the many patches worked over countless years meant to Imladris' beloved seneschal, and she gave him the time to gather his thoughts before he spoke.

"It is...it is...finished," he said, a tone of near disbelief in his voice.

He had, until this moment, not allowed much emotion to overcome him during the planning for the binding ceremony � the culmination of his relationship with Glorfindel. After all, it was what they had both wanted for many, many years and both were resolute in their promises. He had busied himself with lists and details, and with teasing his soon-to-be bond mate about this arrangement and that, and enjoyed trying to goad Glorfindel into playing a larger role.

But now. Now, his feelings almost overwhelmed him, as he stared in reverence at what Arwen's labors had wrought.

"It is beautiful."

Arwen smiled, proud to have been a part of so long a line of elf-maids and matrons, including her mother and grandmother, who had touched the cloth and worked its' threads.

"Do you like the blue border? I know it does not match all of the colors, but it is the color of Imladris and you are both here, now."

"Oh yes," answered Erestor. His eyes focused on the last patch, the one that had completed the quilt. An Imladris blue background, framed in gold thread. Two gold rings, intertwined. He looked at them more closely, and turned to Arwen, his eyes forming a question.

"I have woven a few of your hairs around one," she explained, "and some of Glorfindel's around the other. It is subtle, I know. But they are there. Can you see them?"

Erestor leaned over the cloth, training his eyes on the patch that Arwen had made. Yes. He could see it, and reached out a hand to skim over them. He turned back to Arwen and took her into his arms, embracing her tightly.

"Thank you, dear one. Thank you. It is beautiful and I am near speechless. I still cannot believe that it is finished."

Arwen's eyes sparkled as she stepped away from him and pulled a small square from her pocket.

"Yes. It is finished. But today is a new beginning, is it not? I would like to think that when I marry, a whole new era will begin and that I will look forward, instead of back. I have made a duplicate of the last patch, Erestor. I hope you will begin a new quilt. One that tells the story of your life together with Glorfindel. It is my bonding gift to you. Will you take it?"

"Happily, dear Arwen. And thank you. I am so glad that you were the one to finish it and yes, I am glad also, that you are offering us a new beginning."

"Now," Arwen replied, "I better go. Mother will be looking for me soon. We have so much to do. And I imagine you do as well. Are you ready?"

"I have been ready for more years than I can count, young one. But yes, I have things I must do as well. Now, run along. Tell your mother that I will meet her in the kitchens at noon."

After leading Arwen to the door, he turned back toward the gift of art that lay on his bed. Cupping his teacup in his hands, he perused it more closely, starting with the six squares that formed the top of the quilt.

The first five had come from his mother, Almárë, one of the endless projects she had begun and subsequently abandoned when some new idea sparked her interest. She, along with his father, had been so involved in the life of Tirion, contributing what they could by the work of their hands or mind. If there was a meal that needed to be cooked for a family in a time of need or a baby that needed tending, Erestor's mother had taken on the task with nary a pause for thanks. And his father, Tehtor, a calligrapher, had worked beautiful words onto commemorative plaques and proclamations, the honors bestowed always noted by the small "T" in the bottom right corner. Upon his return, Glorfindel had told him that they were well, but Erestor missed his family and looked forward to seeing them again.

Erestor leaned forward, squinting his eyes, as he remembered the derivation of the patch that completed the first row. Yes, they were still there. The two small ink-stained fingerprints at the edge of the cloth. His memory, ever sharp, brought him back to a beautiful day in the city, Telperion's light shining brightly and the hum of the marketplace in the background...

"Who was that?"

"I suppose you will have to buy that piece, now, Erestor. Even though it is just about the ugliest piece of fabric I have ever seen."

And it was. An unseemly conglomeration of puce and fuchsia, liberally infused with a sick looking yellow. But Erestor had purchased the yard that contained the fingerprints, along with another bolt that he knew his mother would love. He had not known at the time why he had even saved it, but it belonged here, with the others. A memento of the first time he had ever laid eyes on his beloved Glorfindel.

Erestor had always known that he would not give his parents the grandchildren that they had so ardently wished for, and was grateful that they had not pushed him in a direction that would have made him miserable. Though his preference for his own sex was not exactly the norm, there were many elves who shared it, and Erestor, in his time, had had his fair share of encounters, though none had come to fruition in his heart. He had been happy � and relieved � when his younger sister, írima, showed an alarmingly early interest in males, married young, and in short order gave birth to two strapping elflings.

He had learned his father's profession and excelled at it, but, like his mother, his interests were broad and he seemed to possess more than his fair share of the Noldor hunger for knowledge. Erestor found he was increasingly sought after for his ability to know things. Or to know where to find the correct answer. He had even become proficient at some things more physical, and many knew not to challenge him in sports that required solitary precision. He loved to swim, and was expert at knife-throwing and archery.

He had seen Glorfindel from time to time in the city and watched as the young one grew and participated in the various contests and games that had been held there. They ran in nearly concentric circles, Glorfindel with the younger sons of Fingolfin and Finarfin, and Erestor with the elder scions, but they almost never met directly.

He had watched Glorfindel's progress with more than a little interest, and had learned more about the young elf with the golden hair.

Glorfindel had come to his maturity and was indeed glorious in countenance, well built and strong, but Erestor had seen a hesitation, a seeming reticence to fully blossom into his own person. He had heard rumors of a dalliance here and there, with both maids and males, but he knew better than to believe every rumor that he heard. And Glorfindel had never taken a woman to wife, which was passing strange for an elf of his age and station. In the main, Glorfindel seemed content to run with Turgon and his crowd, though after Turgon's marriage to Elenwë, he could more often be found in the company of Finarfin's family. Which moved him ever closer, and left Erestor most unsettled.

He waited, and watched, tamping down the interest in his heart, and bided his time.

Too long.

For life in the city of Tirion and in unknown places beyond had been interrupted in a flash of violence and revenge. It had come so suddenly and enveloped them so totally that there was scarce time to process one's own place in it, much less pursue another in the midst of such volcanic upheaval.

Erestor pursed his lips and sighed as his eyes sought the second row of patchwork. He shivered involuntarily as he noted the first three, a patch of glacier blue, with menacing shards of bright white running through it, the second, a fire against a starry sky and the third, the only representational patch in the quilt. It was a rough portrait of Turgon and Glorfindel, the two heads of bright gold and dark brown, just as Erestor remembered, leading the van of their group as they stepped from the Araman onto the wicked crags of the Helcaraxë...

It was so cold.

Later, Erestor had tried to return the cloth, but Turgon had told him to keep it, along with other patches, already made, that had filled Elenwë's sewing basket...

The experience had sobered them all. Until then, even after witnessing the kin-slaying at Alqualondë and hearing the pronouncement of Namo's Doom, they had not fully seen the depth of the great unknown into which they had passed, nor fully its perils.

Their little group had tightened, though Turgon was oft away in consultation with his father and brother. Finrod, more likely than not, with them. Galadriel had been entrusted with Idril's care when Adrehel proved to have less of a nurturing instinct than Turgon found necessary for her, and both of them added the feminine touch that was sore lacking. Gildor and his parents, Irimë and Ránen, joined them, along with Orodreth and his wife, Serínal. Glorfindel continued his friendship with the younger Finarfinions, though he seemed to gravitate toward the elder contingent after Elenwë's death.

In time, they had come to the edge of the Helcaraxë and as they stepped onto the lands of Ennor, the moon rose high above them, and another seven days brought forth the sun, which was a wonderment to all and gave them hope. They had learned of Dagor-nuin-Giliath and Fingon had proved his valor � and his love, by the daring rescue of Maedhros from the face of Thangorodrim. Though reconciliation with Fëanor's sons was uneasy at best, Fingolfin had declared a great feast and the invitations that all had received had been penned by the fine hand of Erestor...

The Mereth Aderthad � the Great Feast of Reuniting, it had been called, and Erestor had thought it well-named. Not only had most of Fëanor's, now Maedhros' charge been present, but many of the native green-elves and grey-elves had also attended and made the acquaintance of the newcomers.

"Because he is young yet, and I..." Erestor thought for a moment. "I do care for him. And I cannot do that to him."

Erestor returned from his reminiscence only after he felt the tea cup in his hand begin to slip out of his grasp. Quickly righting it, he shook his head at his own carelessness � it could have ruined the quilt! He mentally assessed the time and when he had assured himself that he had a few more hours until his first obligation, made another cup of tea, started his bath and let himself sink back into memory.

Things had happened quickly after the Mereth. Fingolfin continued to rule from his place at Lake Mithrim, and the land had been divided into fiefs under his Lordship, some under the stewardship of the sons of Fëanor and a large portion to his son, Fingon. Turgon and Finrod had the same dream and correctly interpreting it as a sign from the Valar, had gone off together, following the dream's directive to find secret places in which to found their own realms.

All had been swept up in the preparations for leaving Mithrim and moving on. Erestor had been working steadily with Finrod after his return making plans for their move to Tol Sirion and Nargothrond. And Glorfindel had hovered similarly, near to Turgon, though he was only directly involved with Ecthelion in planning for the defense of their new city, Vinyamar.

Glorfindel had not approached Erestor again; though once in a while he would look strangely at him, as if on the verge of a memory, or a word, only to lapse back into the friendly banter that had begun to characterize their relationship. For his part, Erestor had tried to let go of the feel of Glorfindel's body draped over his legs and the vibrant blue eyes that had looked into his with such expectation.

Their time together, however loosely defined, was all too short, as soon each contingent moved to their new homes. Erestor had gone with Finrod first to Tol Sirion and later to Nargothrond. Galadriel had also been amongst their group, as had Gildor and his parents, and many others. Turgon had named Glorfindel and Ecthelion Captains and they, along with a large group moved to Nevrast.

Glorfindel and Erestor had seen one another only one time more, before...

Before.

Erestor's mind tried to divorce itself from the rest of it, but he knew that would leave two whole rows of the quilt unnamed and unlauded, so as he removed his robe to slip into the bath, he forced his mind to remember.

The Dagor Aglareb had come upon them swiftly and unexpectedly. Though Fingolfin and Maedhros had valiantly flung all of their force into it, help was needed. Especially to rout the smaller bands of orcs that had eluded the grasp of the larger forces to the north and east. Neither Finrod nor Turgon, nor, for that matter Círdan, could fully empty their cities' defenses, but they had sent out smaller groups, and Glorfindel and Erestor had been among those chosen to represent their respective realms. Finrod had been particularly reluctant to let Erestor go, but in their wisdom each Lord had known that this battle would not be the last, and most of their folk were in sore need of hot-battle-tested hardness. While they may have showed promise, in long-ago contests of skill or in sparring, virtually none of Turgon's or Finrod's folk had fought in a real battle. It was time.

After the Noldor had emerged victorious and set up the siege of Angband, Erestor saw Glorfindel for the last time.

Their reunion had been brief and fraught with unrelieved longing. Erestor's largest regret, among several, was that he had not then seen Glorfindel for all he had become.

When Erestor first spied the golden head amongst the converged groups of Finrod's and Turgon's folk, his felt his heartbeat increase. He turned to walk quickly toward him.

"I just do not understand you, Erestor. Again, I say � we should take the opportunity while we can. Because it is not an idle fling. You will not change your mind?"

Erestor nearly moaned with the memory of that painful moment. He noted, shivering, that the bathwater had turned cold, and moved to toggle the lever which would allow hot to flow into the tub. He sank back, remembering that today was very, very different, smiled, and continued to name the patches in his mind.

He murmured out loud.

"Thank you, Serínal."

During the next several hundred years of the Long Peace, Orodreth's wife had appended the next two rows, plus two. She had sewn Elenwë's three pieces to the initial six, and then added the piece of the banner from Aglareb. Then came one of the moon, and one of the sun, Finrod's crest, a rendering of one of the chasms at Nargothrond, and a whimsical piece showing some of the jewels that Finrod had brought with him.

She had wrought a colorful patch of the river Sirion, and a nearly perfect portrait of Minas Tirith.

After Finrod had met the Secondborn, a crest of the House of Beor had been added. Then came the Bragorllach and she had commemorated that with a rising Flame. The Ring of Barahir came next and then...

Erestor's breath hitched. A single harp, in memoriam.

Erestor had pleaded with Finrod, begged to be allowed to accompany him with Beren as one of the ten on the Quest for the Silmaril, but Finrod had not allowed it. Instead he enjoined him to keep his unvoiced oath to the House of Finarfin and watch over Orodreth, but even more, to keep Orodreth's young son, Ereinion, in his care.

Two of Fëanor's sons, Celegorm and Curufin, had come to Nargothrond in those days and had sown discord amongst the people. Orodreth, in his concern for the stronghold and for his son, had requested years earlier, during the time of the Bragollach, that Erestor take Ereinion to the Falas, to Círdan, where he might be safe. Erestor had reluctantly left Nargothrond then, with the young elf, and later had gone to live with young Ereinion and the folk of the Falas.

In all of that time, Erestor had heard nothing of Glorfindel or of Turgon's folk. He knew that they were still safe, and undiscovered, but that was all.

Events had moved quickly after, the dreadful and decisive Nirnaeth, commemorated on Erestor's quilt with a field of blue and a single tear. He knew that Turgon's forces had ridden out of the city to participate and later found out that Glorfindel had been among them, but Erestor had been far from the front lines and had not seen him. Then came the destruction of Eglarest and Brithombar - both lost to Morgoth's armies. Erestor, along with Ereinion and most of Círdan's folk took refuge on the Isle of Balar.

Erestor abruptly shook his head. No. He could not allow himself to get lost in sorrow. Not today. He resolved to name the rest of the patches in gratitude, but to indulge himself in only one more, deeply cherished, reminiscence.

He washed his hair quickly, and stepped out of the bath. Slipping on his robe, he returned to the bed chamber where he stood for a time, leaning against the bedpost at the foot. He honored the next five patches, and reached out to touch them, sliding his hand over them as he listed the events they had commemorated, and the woman who had sewn them. Beloved Idril, whom he had since learned lived in peace and joy with her husband Tuor, in Aman.

Ondolindë, in its glory.

A patch which honored some of the Houses of Gondolin, among them the Golden Flower, The Swallow, The Tree and the Fountain.

Idril's own crest, which Erestor had requested that she append.

The Golden Flower, rimmed with black.

Erestor paused and remembered how he had felt when Idril had told him of Glorfindel's heroic courage during their daring escape from the doomed City. Of how it had nearly left him bereft of purpose, and of how only Círdan's strength and offering of hope, and young Ereinion's presence had kept him from the edges of dark despair.

After hundreds of years of not knowing, then knowing, and grieving, and then finally, allowing himself to move forward.

Until...

Erestor named the last that Idril had added, the crest of her son, Eärendil, and the savior of them all. Erestor consciously sent a prayer to the Valar, hoping that the Great Mariner would grace them with his presence on this night of all nights.

The next five squares, he had commissioned himself, asking Belld�s of the Falas to complete them for him. Vingilot, hallowed and shining in the night sky. A great wave overcoming the land during the War of Wrath, when everything had been changed. A singular cairn, commemorating all of the noble men and elves who had given their very lives in that great battle, and the ones before.

Erestor smiled as he perused the next � a lovely rendering of stars in a dark sky, and stars underneath a deep blue sea � Star-Dome and Star-Foam, honoring the birth of Elrond and Elros.

And finally, a depiction of the crest of Ereinion � G�l Galad, last of the great Noldor Kings and the last of the House of Finarfin this side of the Great Sea, save Galadriel.

It was the next square that Erestor wanted to linger over. He carefully folded the quilt in half and climbed into the bed, hovering over the last two rows of patches. He leaned over and framed the next with his fingers, a glorious emblazoned Golden Flower, a "G" at its center. He closed his eyes and retrieved the most beloved of memories from his mind...

G�l galad, Elrond, the visiting Gildor, and Erestor, all called hastily together to the front steps of Ereinion's house in Forlindon. A runner had come from Harlindon, telling them only that Círdan, along with an important envoy, was to make an imminent visit.

"Erestor! What are you doing? What is that?"

"Now, you say that," answered Glorfindel with a wicked smirk and a gleam in his eye.

Now, he wanted nothing more than for Glorfindel to take him. To surrender himself to the magnificent elf that held his heart in his hands. To feel Glorfindel move within him and fill him completely.

Glorfindel finished quickly, too, much more quickly than he had wanted, but Erestor had so enveloped him, so tightly, that Glorfindel had felt powerless to stop it...

Not three days later, Glorfindel had procured the silver rings that they each had worn for hundreds of years. Yes, it had been quick, but in so many ways, it was so long in coming that no one, least of all Glorfindel and Erestor, had questioned it.

Almost involuntarily, Erestor reached down and touched himself, cupping the burgeoning erection that the memory had provoked. He pressed his hand against his groin to alleviate the ache, and then withdrew it. No, he decided. He would wait. Save it up for Glorfindel and let sweet anticipation guide him through the rest of the day.

He almost laughed out loud when he thought of Glorfindel in the same predicament. Would he wait? Almost assuredly not, thought Erestor. But that was one of those stark differences between them that had continued to delight and charm them both for all these many years. He was sure that Glorfindel would tease him about it, but when the teasing was over...

Ah. Erestor shook himself back to reality, and quickly named the rest of the patches, thanking Galadriel, Celebrían, and Arwen for finishing the work begun by his own mother.

The quilt had been put aside during the long years of the fight with Sauron, but much later, when Celebrían had come to Elrond, she had continued it, adding the beautifully emblazed "G" for Glorfindel's return, the crest of Imladris, a side by side rendering of the White Tree and Aeglos, for Dagorlad, and a more cryptic piece depicting three precious stones � adamant, ruby and sapphire.

Galadriel, wanting to add her work to rest, contributed three patches, the Star of Eärendil and the symbol of Elrond's house, appended to a mallorn leaf, a piece of mirrored scrollwork in lapis and mithril for Elladan and Elrohir, and a dark, but gleaming star on a silver orb for Arwen.

Arwen, once she had come of age and her skills were equal to it, insisted that Erestor was nowhere depicted on the quilt, and even though Erestor had explained to her that the quilt told the story of his life, she had prevailed and added a lovely piece of a scrollwork background, with parchment and quill. Then came the penultimate square, depicting Ol�rin's crossed sword and staff.

And then the last. Two gold rings, to complete it.

Erestor got up from the bed and carefully laid the quilt out again, anxious to have Glorfindel see it, fully wrought. He finished brushing out his hair and dressed, leaving the room with one more backward glance at the bed. Beautiful, yes, but he had already spent too much time in memory. Arwen was right, and he spoke the words aloud as he closed the door behind him.

"Today is a new beginning."

Later, in Celebrían's garden, Glorfindel and Erestor approached Elrond, standing under a canopy of two entwined trees. The Lord of Imladris invoked the Valar for a blessing on the pair and recited the bonding words, and then added, in the most stentorian of tones,

"The long unmeasured pulse of time moves everything."

And then, specifically to Glorfindel,

"There is nothing hidden that it cannot bring to light,"

And to Erestor,

"...nothing once known that may not become unknown."

Glorfindel and Erestor looked at one another, smiled knowingly, and exchanged the silver rings for the gold. They entwined their hands and voiced the sacred word as one.

"Násie."

So be it.

~~~~~~~~~
End

A/N: I have made a graphic representation of Erestor's quilt on Printshop and uploaded it to Photobucket. If you would like to see it, please go here: ERESTOR'S QUILT

I have pretty much used solely the Silmarillion as the text for this story, though Orodreth is posited as father to Gil galad instead of Fingon. Angrod is not Orodreth's father and he and Aegnor are, as told in the Sil, brothers to Finrod, Galadriel, and Orodreth.

Names � Erestor's Mother � Almárë (blessed)
Erestor's Father � Tehtor (stroke of pen or brush)
Erestor's Sister � írima (lovely, desirable)
Orodreth's wife � Serínal (embroider, to sew)
Gildor's Father � Ránen (wander, stray)

All taken, for better or for worse, from a Quenya word website: http//home.netcom/com/~heensle/lang/elvish/Quenya/quen.html

*This is a quote, nearly verbatim, from "The Philadelphia Story." It fit so well and I happen to like it, so I used it here. Credit goes to Philip Barry, who wrote the play, and Donald Ogden Stewart, who wrote the screenplay.

Thanks also to Elfscribe, who talked with me throughout the writing of this, and gave such good advice.

ERESTOR'S QUILT