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lamemaster · 7 months

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Ways to Coax Your Beloved

Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader

Genre: Romance, fluff (i swear) , sprinkle of angst

Summary: What began as a minor disagreement now feels like an insurmountable chasm between you two. Never before had an argument lasted so long.

AN: written directly on Tumblr interface this is my mania. Enjoy!

"I've brought us some snacks," you carefully balance the tray on the balcony railing. "Cakes, tea, cookies, crackers, cream rolls – I've got everything." He remains facing away from you, his back tense and unyielding to your words.

"Glorfindel," you take a hesitant step closer, your hand hovering in the air. But before you can say more, he disappears once again. This has been the pattern for a week, the longest and most trying week of your life.

What began as a minor disagreement now feels like an insurmountable chasm between you two. Never before had an argument lasted so long. Your beloved simply did not care to hold on to grudges for long.

Sighing, you lifted the tray, contemplating an excuse that wouldn't draw the pitying gazes of the kitchen staff.

"How do you coax a sulking elf?" Erestor looks up from his book. You had never really conversed much with him before this. There was never a reason to. "Specifically a thousands of years old being whose been born twice and is quite a legend."

Much to your surprise, Erestor does not find your humor hilarious. Leave for slight amusement in his eyes there is little appreciation for your jest.

"I would rather you not discuss this with me," the stern looking elf replies as he simply turns back to his tomes. Yikes! Awkwardly swinging your arms you try to plan for a slightly less awkward exit. "Ah yes," picking up the closest book you plan for your emergency exit from the unforgiving company, "I would like to get this book."

With another scathing look directed your way, Erestor meticulously wrapped your borrowed book in a fancy-looking cloth. "Keep it away from any water, heat, or dirt. Any damage is unacceptable," he instructed curtly.

You solemnly nodded, understanding the gravity of his instructions. "Sounds good," you responded with a casual tone, but Erestor's raised eyebrow reminded you that casualness wasn't his forte.

As you turned to leave, you almost collided with the bookshelf, which seemed to have crept up on you. "Oof," you muttered, swaying your way out of the room.

Then, Erestor's voice halted your steps. "Try Asfaloth," he suggested.

With a wide grin, you turned around and threw a jolly salute to Erestor, who had already returned to his books as if nothing had changed.

Armed with Erestor's invaluable intel, you ventured to the stables. Before arriving there, you made sure to thoroughly search your quarters, Glorfindel's rooms, and other frequently visited areas of the dwelling. Finally, you descended to the stables, where your beloved's horse awaited.

"Asfaloth, my boy, how I've missed you!" Your heartfelt enthusiasm was met with an equally excited neigh from the elegant white stallion. Despite towering over you, Asfaloth possessed a temperament that invited nurturing from anyone.

Performing a playful dance with light stomps to celebrate your arrival was entirely unnecessary but undeniably enjoyable. Or perhaps it was the not-so-well-concealed carrots you held in your hands that fueled your jubilant display. "Have you seen him?" you posed a question to the horse, though you knew full well that, despite elven claims, horses did not possess the gift of speech.

Approaching the gentle giant that was Asfaloth, you deftly ensured that he didn't gobble the carrots too quickly. "Patience," you murmured, adjusting the treats to prevent any mishaps. Abandoning the idea of petting the eager horse, you directed all your focus toward preventing a choking incident. You were acutely aware that Glorfindel would never forgive you if Asfaloth were to asphyxiate on your offerings.

"Where is he, Asfaloth?" Your fingers continued to caress the munching horse as you briefly entertained the idea that, just maybe, the elves were right, and Asfaloth understood you.

No fancy braiding or delicate floral decorations adorned his mane this time. "Why is he avoiding you? What have you done?" you pondered aloud, earning a pitiful whine from your equine companion. "I know, incredibly rude, I must say," you commented, deciding against attempting to braid Asfaloth's mane for the sake of both the world's sanity and your own. Instead, you settled on a comfortable pile of hay, hoping you weren't sitting on Asfaloth's dinner from the previous night.

"I brought him flowers, snacks, I even endured the drudgery of laundry, and I despise laundry. I got him books, a random flute, baked him a cake, and even learned a new card trick. But not a single reaction!" You confided in Asfaloth, desperately hoping for some form of understanding and equally enthusiastic compassion. To your relief, Asfaloth seemed to offer a sympathetic snort at just the right moment.

"You wouldn't believe it, but I even dared to venture into Erestor's little cave for intel. I'm at my wit's end, my friend," you sighed, realizing that the hay pile was indeed quite comfortable.

"I mean, I could try going to the nearest town for something, but I doubt I'd find anything better than these snobbish elves. Besides, those townsfolk charge outrageous prices," you continued, and Asfaloth leaned in, sniffing your satchel in hopes of more treats. Allowing the horse to continue his investigation, you didn't stop him. "I might dip into some of those savings. Perhaps Glorfindel would appreciate some rustic tools, eh?" Tired of Asfaloth's curiosity, you playfully tossed your empty satchel into the corner, which, for some inexplicable reason, Asfaloth chased like an adorable hound.

Tucked away in Asfaloth's cozy abode, you couldn't recall when your consciousness had faded into that blissful six-hour nap – the kind you cherished above all others. In the realm of bizarre dreams, you found yourself pinned to a pile of hay, unable to relinquish the unconventional comfort. Maybe Erestor had been onto something when he recommended Asfaloth.

However, your tranquil slumber was abruptly shattered as a metaphorical tsunami wreaked havoc on your sleeping form. Gasping, you struggled to make sense of the blurry world that seemed to whirl too rapidly for your groggy vision to follow.

"Y/n, oh Eru, you're awake!" A voice echoed through your sleep-addled and hazy thoughts.

Grasping the strong arms that held you close, you attempted to piece together the disaster that had overtaken you. "Wha-" your words faltered as you laid eyes on the tearful and sniffling elf standing before you. It was your first time witnessing such an emotional display, and you couldn't quite believe that elves were capable of producing snot.

Shaking off your mental fog, you slowly realized the peculiar predicament you were in. You were seated on a pile of hay, within the stable, beneath Asfaloth's unflinching gaze, and enfolded tightly in the embrace of the Balrog-slayer himself.

"I-I thought you left. You left like you said," Glorfindel stammered, your hands gently cupped your hiccupping beloved's face as his words tumbled out faster than you could process. "I couldn't find you… I had to… I rushed here, and then, you were… your eyes closed like that." Using your sleeves, you wiped away the relentless tears (and yes, even the snot) that streamed down his face as you sought a way to soothe Glorfindel's overwhelming emotions.

You couldn't help but internally curse yourself for your rambling that had led to this emotional upheaval. Days ago, beneath the relentless blanket of snow and impenetrable clouds, your thoughts had wandered without restraint.

"It happens, Glorfindel," you offered in an attempt to console him, "weariness of the world is unavoidable, even more so for Men. A slight change in weather can trigger it. After all, we are bound to some place beyond this." Your words seemed to offer little solace, evident from your beloved's reddening face.

"It is only natural to ponder death or the end. We Men are born with this burden, so it's not unnatural for such thoughts to sneak in. We call it 'existentialism.' But those ramblings mean nothing right now. I would not leave you, vanish into thin air, or transform into an insect just because the snow wouldn't relent." Your words carried a hint of playfulness, but there was undeniable truth in them. You would depart one day, for a fate separate from his. Before that day came, you both would endure the passage of time, a force that dared not mar the Balrog-slayer.

You harbored thoughts about evading him before he witnessed such a sight, but you knew you had some time left. A few years before you would spend eons waiting for another reunion.

But you chose not to speak of those deeper truths.

"But," you interjected, and Glorfindel perked up at the unexpected word. "I would tell everyone about this if you don't stop being an absolute grump." Just like that, the tension surrounding you both dissipated. "Imagine, 'Balrog Slayer, The Balrog Slayer,' in the stables – hmph!" Your words were cut off as Glorfindel playfully covered your face with his hand.

Even with reddened eyes and a rosy nose, your beloved looked every bit his old self. All traces of your angst and his sorrow dissipated into the slightly stinky breath of Asfaloth.

#the silmarillion #tolkien elves #silmarillion x reader #romance #fluff #glorfindel x reader #glorfindel imagine #glorfindel #human reader #asfaloth #Asfaloth is a cutie

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tathrin · 24 days

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So I've been thinking about Glorfindel's horse recently, okay? (I'm listening to these delightful audio books, and just got to Rivendell.) And I am as ever caught by the inconsistency of Asfaloth's tack with Legolas's later "lol what's a saddle? get rid of that shit man, I'm an elf!" schtick in Rohan. And the question that all of that (plus Gandalf and Shadowfax of course) engenders is why the fuck wasn't Glorfindel "riding elvish style" then?

While the Doylist explanation of "Tolkien hadn't come up with that idea yet + Frodo needed to be able to both hold-onto and steer Asfaloth and he isn't an elf so he had to have a saddle" makes sense, it's obviously not satisfying from an in-universe standpoint, is it?

(And somebody made some extremely good points laying-out a very convincing logistical explanation recently, and I like it quite like a lot, and might well use that in fics myself sometime because it's splendid and seems extremely legit, and opens up some fun things to play around with re: elvish history and culture; but while it's an extremely satisfying answer in terms of Accurate World Building Detail, it's never felt entirely viscerally satisfying to me in terms of Tolkienian Style, if you follow me.)

So I posit: what if the reason why Asfaloth had Conveniently Mortal-Appropriate Tack during that section of story was for the convenience of mortals?

Specifically, the Dúnedain.

What if when the Elves of Rivendell are doing something that involves (or might potentially involve) both horses and their human allies, they put enough tack on their horses to allow one of the Rangers to be able to use that horse in a pinch? That would make sense, right? Just a simple little practical precaution!

Imagine being in a situation where you want to stick one of your human companions on your horse for some reason, or you want one of them to look after your horse for a little while you go off and do a thing, etc etc, but you can't because there aren't any reins. And now you're fucked. What a silly self-inflicted problem that could be avoided with just a little bit of planning ahead!

So, because Glorfindel knew that the Rangers would also be searching around looking for Frodo and/or evidence of the Nine, he put just enough extra tack on Asfaloth that if he, for instance, found an injured mortal in the wild, he could put them on his horse and send them back to Rivendell without him...just as a random example of a hypothetical situation that might happen.

(Anyway, that's the headcanon I'm going to be running with from here out, I think. Also I've gone and retroactively added a little scene revolving around this explanation to my Celebrimbor Fellowship AU fic, for anyone who's been interested in that story.)

*Thoughts and arguments welcome!

#glorfindel #asfaloth #lotr #lotr meta #fantasy world building #lotr headcanons #elves #horses

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swaps55 · 2 months

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Okay, but if I ask *nicely* will you yell about how Shadowfax can't do lead changes? :D

MY TIME HAS COME.

Ok. So. When horses are moving at a canter or a gallop, they have ‘leads.’ As in, one front foot and one hind foot is always ‘leading’ the opposite foot. Generally, when they are tracking to the right, they will lead with their right foot, and when tracking left, they’ll lead with their left foot. Turning is smoother when the lead foot matches the direction you’re turning.

Horses can change leads while moving at speed. It works a lot like a skip, only they have to skip the front and the hind end. Changing leads is something horses do naturally, but they can also learn to do it on cue. The trick is getting them to change both the front and the hind in the same stride. If they don’t – and what usually happens is they change the front end but take another step or two to change the hind – their movement gets really choppy because their front and hind ends are on different leads. This can cause you problems when jumping a course, for instance, when you sometimes have to change directions quickly.

Here's a video that demonstrates it:

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SO. Imagine my horse-obsessed ass sitting the theater at the midnight showing of The Two Towers, eyes peeled for Shadowfax, because the Lord of Horses was going to be in front of my eyeballs AT LAST, and if Asfaloth in Fellowship of the Ring was not the Lord of Horses, then holy fuck I can’t wait to see who IS.

...

Before I continue, let’s talk about the Flight to the Ford.

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This is one of my favorite sequences in film, and it’s largely because Asfaloth is such a badass. Watch this horse’s feet throughout this sequence. This horse is carrying two fully costumed riders (I can’t remember if they had Kiran – Elijah Wood’s stunt double – actually in the saddle for those scenes, but even if they didn’t, they had something bumping along up there) while moving at high speeds, turning, and jumping.

WATCH THIS HORSE’S FEET.

The way this horse moves, the way he changes leads is incredible to watch.

(Side note: the horse’s name is Florian, and his stunt rider, Jane Abbot, adored him and was devastated that she couldn’t afford to buy him when filming ended. Viggo Mortenson bought him for her, and when I looked, she still had him at age 29.)

[gently takes your face in my hands] WATCH THAT VIDEO AGAIN.

I believe without question that Florian was indeed Asfaloth, Glorfindel/Arwen’s steed.

Hang on, I’m gonna go watch it again.

…

Ok. I’m better now. I’m fine. I’m not totally overwhelmed by how much I love Asfaloth and how quickly I would sell my soul to sit on that horse’s back.

Now let’s talk about Shadowfax.

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One of the Mearas. Lord of Horses. Who should definitely be able to do a really elegant lead change, because of the whole Lord of Horses thing.

As Shadowfax is running down the hill towards Gandalf, he’s on his left lead. Since he’s about to bend right towards Gandalf, he switches to his right.

In the front.

It takes him another step and a half or so to get the hind end to follow suit.

Is that totally normal for a horse, especially one with no rider? Sure.

BUT THIS IS SHADOWFAX, LORD OF FUCKING HORSES.

ASFALOTH IS OUT THERE DODGING RINGWRAITHS WITH TWO PEOPLE ON HIS BACK AND SWITCHING LEADS ON THE FLY LIKE IT AIN’T NO THANG AND THIS ‘LORD OF HORSES’ CAN’T EVEN HANDLE A HILL.

This was your BIG INTRO, man. There was inspirational music. The rapt attention of Aragorn, Legolas, and fucking Gandalf, and he flubbed the lead change.

SHADOWFAX: LORD OF LAZY LEAD CHANGES.

It’s been over 20 years and I am still not over it. Asfaloth was better, fight me.

#swaps replies #scribblesandknots #lotr #lord of the rings #shadowfax #the two towers #flight to the ford #asfaloth #urrone has had to listen to me go off about this in person several times for over 20 years now #she was the first to hear me yell about this ahahaha

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lilyofthelaiquendi · 1 year

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🏵 Glorfindel and Asfaloth 🏵

Acrylic Paint on Canvas Panel

"Glorfindel was tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and clean, and his voice like music; on his brow set wisdom, and in his hand was strength." JRR Tolkien

I finally got to paint one of my most favorite characters ever from The Silmarillion and LOTR books! Also, I couldn't help but add his horse Asfaloth in the Canvas. I've always wanted to try painting a horse 🐎

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ela-draws · 8 months

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Glorfindel and Asfaloth

For @tolkienrsb 2023 !

This artwork was claimed by @zivalight and fanfic inspired by it will arrive soon with all the other trsb fanfics !

I cant' wait to read more than the few snippets I saw 👀 Thank you so much for choosing my art ! It was really fun comparing our headcanons 😊

#trsb23 #tolkien reverse summer bang #trsb #glorfindel #asfaloth #lotr #tolkien #silm art #silm #silmarillion

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linestyleartwork · 1 year

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Glorfindel&Asfaloth - pencil and white polychromos on tinted paper.

Making of. Music by frametraxx.de

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khorazir · 2 years

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With some of my art, I remember exactly when a piece was created. This watercolour, “Flight to the Ford”, I painted exactly 25 years ago while watching the news coverage of Diana’s accident and its aftermath on TV.

#tolkien #jrr tolkien #tolkien art #tolkien illustration #illustration #drawing #watercolour #lord of the rings #lotr #frodo #asfaloth #black riders

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inthiskingdomwewillendure · 2 years

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#lord of the rings #lotredit #asfaloth #horses #arwen #4k

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dartxo · 4 months

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"Flight to the Ford"

2021

At once the white horse sprang away and sped like the wind along the last gap of the Road. At the same moment the black horses leaped down the hill in pursuit and from the Riders came a terrible cry...

-"The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring", by J.R.R. Tolkien

Following up with my countdown of favorite Fellowship of the Ring scenes is the Chase Scene to Rule All Chase Scenes. Seriously, this scene puts all cheesy car chases in generic action movies to shame. It has high stakes, tension, emotion, beautiful scenery and camera work, very epic soundtrack, and just a touch of magic.

Flight to the Ford is such an epic, exhilarating, iconic sequence. Probably my favorite one out of the whole movie (together with another one, which should be fairly obvious). It's the first time that we've seen the Nine assemble all together since they've left Minas Morgul, which just adds to the sense of peril and urgency. I distinctly remember being completely nailed to my seat the first time I watched it, and flinching so hard at the part where one of the Nazgûl reaches out and almost snatches Frodo from Arwen. I remember also feeling disappointed when the Nazgûl where washed away by the flood, because I thought they had been destroyed, and already at my first watch I loved them so much. Fortunately for me there was a lot more Nazgûl to see in the next two films.

This may be an unpopular opinion, but I think one of the many strokes of genius in these films was to have Arwen do the rescuing. Glorfindel is a popular character, but the truth is that except for this scene his role in Lord of the Rings is fairly inconsequential. It makes sense to introduce Arwen this way. She is Elrond's daughter and Aragorn's betrothed... why shouldn't she go look for them? It also compensates a little for the lack of female representation these stories are known to suffer from.

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theworldsoftolkein · 7 months

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Glorfindel Riding Asfaloth by Jenny Dolfen

#glorfindel #asfaloth #silmarillion #the silmarillion #tolkien legendarium

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erajoie07 · 6 months

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Glorfindel x fem reader

Writer's note: Today is Sunday and I revisited Glorfindel's characterization, and I was interested with a picture of him mastering his horse in the dark forest, glowing beautifully in the dark. This blurb can be thought as a metaphor or another way. We have all been in dark places in our lives and we meet people who served as our light and got us out. But we should be careful of these people or they'll lead us back to these dark places. Truly, literature reflects human experiences. I belive that this is one of those blurbs, fics where I went hard in description, and I'm so happy I could cry, no joking. I hope you enjoy this because I really wrote this in one seating and I loved it. The artist of the artwork is Anke Eißmann.

Within the towering dark barks in the dense forest and canopies reaching the bleak sky, and the fog that blurs the sight and path, there is almost little to nothing but fear and frustration. She has lost her way numerous times for when she turns another direction, little hope is there for her. This cursed forest whispers of dark murmurs and entities seeming to lead her astray. The once noticeable paths lead her to added layer of despair. No matter where she turn, something stops her. Alone, frightened, she dismisses all hope and crumble in her spot, bawling her eyes out for the endless pain she is left with. She has been here before. Many have led her out of this forest, only to return once more where she came. She covers her ears from the entities that whisper endless torture. With that, she shrinks and cowers in fear.

Hooves miss digging the ground as its owner masters the beautiful horse to gallop past the trees with its combined light from the torch he's holding and the golden glow he emits. The trees contort to seemingly deflate to the ground, the entities rush away before it is sucked by the immensely powerful light. His hair flows in the wind behind him, leaving trails of small light. The amount of light he uses permitted him to see the cowering maiden about to be devoured by the entity if not for the light that can suck it in. The man pulls the horse to walk to the terrified maiden. Upon feeling the warm glow, she raises her head, just to pull it down by the terribly beautiful glow of a man with pointy ears, clad in the the most beautiful garb she has ever seen, diminishing the torn rags she wears. He skillfully gets off his high horse, swaying its rump and mane.

“Fear no more, you are safe. They cannot hurt you now. Come now, dear, reach my hand.”

She looks up once more and the light no longer hurts her eyes, she can now see his face, smiling so vividly on her. Reaching out his hand, with the torch in the other shining upon them. She hesitantly reaches her hand, when she looks at him again, the smile never wears off. Her fingers reach his palm, and he grasps them pulling her up. Smaller than him in height.

“I'll get you out of here now, dear. You will never have to be afraid again.”

As if on cue, the horse, named Asfaloth gets down and lets her climb on him. With that, the man, who was an elf, named Glorfindel charges the horse on his feet. “Brace yourselves on me, dear.” She follows, then Glorfindel masters Asfaloth out of the forest.

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frodo-with-glasses · 1 year

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#poll time!#shadowfax #asfaloth #hasufel #arod #snowmane #firefoot #windfola #roheryn #brego #lord of the rings #lotr #yes i added brego because the movies matter too

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tolkienillustrations · 1 year

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Arwen Evenstar by Dennis Budd

#LOTR #Tolkien #Arwen #Asfaloth

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i-did-not-mean-to · 1 year

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Merry-go-round

Look at this lovely commission I got from @sortumavaara.

So, let's give Glorestor another shot, shall we?

Words: 2k

Characters: Glorfindel, Erestor, Elrond

Warnings: sexual innuendo, slight nudity...

“Am I too late? I have it right here!” Glorfindel burst through the door of Lord Elrond’s study like a ray of pure sunlight, waving a piece of paper excitedly.

“Almost,” Elrond groaned and took the cliché without looking up from his paperwork. “Thank you for your collaboration, dear Glorfindel.”

Sniggering, Glorfindel absconded again—maybe, Elrond should have known then that something was very amiss, but he was too absorbed by the compilation of letters and mementos they were planning on sending to the Blessed Realm with some of the ships that were leaving from the Grey Havens shortly.

Thinking of the friends and family that might or might not live there in peace always took a considerable toll on his mind and mood—as there was no communication from the West, he could not know what fate had befallen those he had so desperately loved.

Were they still in the care of Námo or had they returned already? Did they remember and miss him?

With a deep sigh, he pushed aside the letters he was cataloguing and pinched the bridge of his nose. As so often, he wished he had Maglor’s talent with words when it came to flowery declarations.

What was he to say to his wife and his king? How was he to explain that—if all went well—he’d see them again before long? What words would even begin to express how much he missed them?

“Did his gleaming Highness remember?” Erestor—so unlike the previous counsellor to have graced this room—snuck in noiselessly and was only noticed when he spoke up, right beside his lord.

“Erestor,” Elrond cried out in surprise—he had been so lost in thought that the sudden appearance of his old friend had considerably startled him.

Thus, the finger with which he tapped the small paper rectangle was a little unsteady.

They had decided to include a collection of depictions of the inhabitants of Imladris in their missives in case there were people around who would gaze upon them in affection and longing.

Elrond himself had sat for a beautifully detailed portrait during long, torturous hours because the mere idea that his parents and foster fathers might yearn to see his face once more made his heart bleed with unspoken longing. It had been important to him to show them that he was alive and well and—this small act of vanity he allowed himself—he had taken great pains to look as handsome as he could.

“Oh, you are the perfect son,” Erestor had mumbled when Elrond had shown him the fruit of the blessed artist’s labour. “I am sure that they’ll all coo about how utterly splendid you are.”

“All?”

“You are beloved by all,” Erestor had smiled, “the scion of so many houses and—by far—the best of them.”

His own likeness was a tiny drop of white stone into which someone had carved his noble brow and imperious expression. What might have been understood as an manifestation of his humility was in truth a testament to Erestor’s prodigious impatience and often incomprehensible aversion to being looked at for too long a time.

“There is nobody who would remember me now,” he had whispered, barely managing to dissimulate the lingering hurt this knowledge caused him. “Why waste resources and time on a cameo that will probably be discarded as soon as it arrives.”

Even now, Elrond did not know what answer would have been more unwelcome to Erestor: that he was hopeful that his parents and family were alive and would rejoice in seeing his face or that, indeed, the curse of his blood had been contained for good and that he could start a new, unburdened life in Valinor when he arrived there.

The choked cry ringing like a bell through the narrow room tore him out of his renewed spell of distracted musing though.

“Indecent!” Erestor shrieked. “Elrond, have you seen the picture Glorfindel has submitted? Have you even looked at it?”

“I admit,” Elrond confessed guiltily, “that I have not yet had the time or the inclination to do so. Why? Do you object to it?”

Elrond himself had been relieved that the work of art was of reasonable dimensions—he had dreaded a canvas spanning the entire length of the room—and had thus, naïvely as he now had to accept, trusted that Glorfindel could hardly have contained any shenanigans in so small a frame.

Sputtering, Erestor waved the submission to and fro, making it absolutely impossible for Elrond to get a good look at it.

“Stop this and let me see,” he grouched and plucked it from his counsellor’s trembling fingers.

“Oh Eru,” Elrond exclaimed as soon as his eyes focused on the picture. True enough, it was a portrait of Glorfindel, but the setting and the shocking degree of nudity knocked both the breath and rational speech flat out of the dignified Lord of Imladris.

“What will my wife think? And Gil-Galad?”

At this, Erestor sniggered under his breath. “I would think that both are fiercely aware of Glorfindel’s…grotesque ideas. Moreover, I am certain that they’d be delighted to learn that you are provided both care and amusement in this forsaken land.”

Schooling his face into the forbidding mien of an annoyed tutor, Erestor took hold of the offending image once more and shoved it into his pocket carefully. “I shall deal with this. Don’t worry. I shall compile the album and make sure to put it somewhere inconspicuous—nobody will even really notice.”

The look Elrond gave him made it very clear that he was aware of how absurd that lie was—Glorfindel’s portrait would attract undue attention, and they both knew it. It would have been so even if he had been fully clothed and sitting on a chair, holding a scroll, as was the custom—Glorfindel was just too handsome and luminous to be easily overlooked.

“I shall see to it,” Erestor mumbled stubbornly and—patting his pocket—walked out of the room.

As soon as he had entered his own chambers, Erestor propped up the illicit picture against an unlit candle.

For a while, he paced around the room aimlessly to avoid letting his eyes drift back to it—it was just like Glorfindel to put everyone else into an impossible situation by submitting something so shockingly inappropriate.

How had he even found an artist willing to fashion such an obscene work of art? How much had he paid?

Giving in at last, Erestor snatched up the small rectangle of abhorrent debauchery and, bracing himself, gazed down on it.

As was to be expected, it depicted Glorfindel. Also foreseeable was the reference to Asfaloth, his noble and trusty steed. So far, so good.

Unfortunately, in a travesty surpassing even Erestor’s rich and varied vocabulary, the esteemed horse had been replaced by a garish statue of some kind which seemed to be neighing in frivolous delight.

The core of the problem which made the usually so dignified, nay even equanimous, librarian and counsellor blush with barely contained and only vaguely defined emotion, was the way Glorfindel had chosen to present himself.

“Where does one purchase such gaudy, meretricious, ostentatious apparel?” he grumbled as he stepped closer to the window to make out every lurid detail of Glorfindel’s get-up.

As far as he could make out, his fellow lord had gotten hold of a highly suspicious set of small clothes—seemingly fashioned from exquisite fabrics that looked so soft that Erestor could almost feel them beneath his fingertips—as well as some kind of stockings that rose higher than any Erestor had ever possessed himself.

In the privacy of his own chambers, he could freely admit that he resented the fact that his eyes were inexorably and helplessly drawn to the discreet frontier between the wispy fabric and Glorfindel’s creamy, flawless skin.

Furthermore, that golden-haired savage would not have been true to his reputation and genuine nature if he had not taken care to round off his look with a pair of ridiculously impractical but undeniably alluring heels.

Setting the picture down on the windowsill, Erestor began undoing his own stern hairdo with slightly trembling fingers while staring at the cloud of spun gold rippling down Glorfindel’s back and falling seductively over one almost invitingly cocked shoulder.

Unlike Erestor, Glorfindel had always known how to look his best in every situation. Disgustingly, enviably, impossibly so!

The smug, self-satisfied smile adorning that incontrovertibly gorgeous face made Erestor scowl in frustration—he had toiled so much and tried so hard to stay unaffected by Glorfindel’s charms, but this picture undid all his previous victories over the weakness of the flesh. He simply couldn’t pry his gaze off the curve of those strong thighs or ignore the allusive way the fabric insinuated and accentuated secret assets of Glorfindel’s body to which Erestor had given too much thought already during the darkest hours of the night.

It was not even that he was that naked, Erestor frantically tried to reason with himself. Realistically, the tight corsage covered most of his torso and the absence of actual leggings was almost compensated by the sheer length of those sinfully translucent stockings—nonetheless, it was the way the garments that were incontestably worn showcased and emphasised the luscious body underneath that drove Erestor to distraction.

When the light started failing and he seriously considered lighting a taper for the sole purpose of obsessing over Glorfindel’s portrait, Erestor realised how long he had held the picture in his cold fingers without so much as moving from his spot by the window.

Undoubtedly, he had missed the first course of dinner already and, anyway, he didn’t feel inclined to go down and look that shameless creature in the eye—secretly, the sober, dignified booklover was afraid his radiant colleague could simply read his mind and somehow divine just how easily his attention had been entirely captured by the revelation of a bit of skin.

Furtively, Erestor shoved the cliché into his pocket before walking over to his bed—surely, Elrond did not expect the finished album to be ready before the morrow and thus, he could ponder the infuriating matter of Glorfindel’s trespass a little longer.

He was almost successful in his attempt to convince himself that he’d manage to nullify the terrible, seductive draw the forbidden image had on his weak flesh and tottering mind by simply overthinking everything about it until an inevitable state of weariness and disgust would set in.

Indeed, that was what he would try to achieve. Lighting the candle on his bedside table and fluffing up his pillow, Erestor slipped out of his outer garments and into his bed to bend his mind to this monumental task.

“So, how did you like my portrait?” Glorfindel positively beamed at Elrond as he sauntered over in the middle of the meal.

“It was…unusual, to say the least,” Elrond replied diplomatically—the other counsellors had not seen the picture in question, and he’d rather not go into details in a space as open as the dining hall.

“What did you do with it? You didn’t destroy it, did you?” Big, wet eyes stared down at the Lord of Imladris who promptly wondered whether he had ever used that pleading expression on his parents or guardians inadvertently—it now seemed to him that it should be considered an armed assault and be subject to punishments of varying degrees of severity.

“No,” Elrond assuaged the visible distress of his exhibitionist friend. “Erestor has taken hold of it and shall paste it in an unobtrusive spot of the album.”

Letting his eyes roam over the heads in his quest for a new victim, Glorfindel had to realise with a jolt of genuine disappointment that the librarian was nowhere in attendance. “Where is he then?”

Elrond blinked slowly. “I know not. He took your outrageous picture and has retired to his chambers—I have not seen him since. Let’s hope that he has not been taken ill.”

As he caught the feline twitch of Glorfindel’s impressive frame, he held up an imperious hand. “If you intend to disturb Erestor’s privacy at this time of night,” he said warningly, “you better take up some dinner to ingratiate yourself to his potentially ill-humoured highness.”

“Splendid thinking,” Glorfindel cried, snatching an empty plate from under Elrond’s very nose, and dashing through the room at a mind-blowing speed.

So, I've chickened out of the spicier follow-up...thus far...

Let me hear what y'all think...

Lots of love from me!

#og post #IDNMT writes #fanfiction #writing #tolkien writing #jrrt #Glorfindel #Erestor #Glorestor #Asfaloth #Elrond #carousel horse #pin-up Glorfindel #crack #and smuff

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