Chapter Text
The evening sky looked strange, clouded but without clouds, and there was no sight of stars nor moon. They were asked to stay quiet and seated while the ship transitioned onto the straight road, and after the initial excitement ebbed, many had simply gone to their sleeping spaces. Glorfindel felt too restless to join them and instead sat out on deck, back against the mast. Soft light flickered and swirled, scattering strange rainbowed hues across the deck. It reminded him of something, but so far away he couldn't reach for it...
"It's eerie," a familiar voice said from behind him. "Why are you out here?"
He moved aside, giving his friend of two Ages space next to the mast, and Erestor sank gracefully down beside him.
"I couldn't sleep," Glorfindel explained. "I thought I'd come out and see what the fuss was about. I thought there'd be high seas and wild wind currents but there's nothing, just this."
"It's similar to the sky in the far north," Erestor said. "More colours though - up there the sky tends to green and a few in between shades, but it's the same concept of light brushing over the sky like paint across a canvas."
"Ah." The memory came back to him, the association of dark and cold had done it. "It was like this on the Ice all those Ages ago, though mainly greens and blues. There was even red light one night and it frightened us, we thought it was a portent."
"Not a good one, I'd imagine," Erestor agreed. "My mother talked about the lights in the sky during the crossing, but it was so long ago."
Glorfindel nodded, familiar with how the lace of memory grew finer with time. They sat watching the strange nothingness where the sky should be in companionable silence, the lap and whisper of the sea forming a backdrop of sound, almost like music.
"Why restless?" Erestor finally asked, voice barely above the sea noise.
Glorfindel shrugged, not sure he wanted to put words to it. "You?"
Erestor gave a short laugh. "Oh, I'm simple enough if I'm being honest. We'll soon be over on the other side, and I get to meet the Family."
The dry, throwaway tone would have convinced others, but not someone who had known him as long as Glorfindel. "About to join royalty, yes. Cheer up, it'll be all right. You'll get on with his mother and that's what matters."
"He keeps telling me that," Erestor said grimly. "Lalwen is a legend, why should she bother getting on with me? Gildor just doesn't seem to see that."
"No, well, she's his mother. Of course he doesn't see how she could be absolutely terrifying," Glorfindel said with a straight face.
Erestor shoved him with his shoulder, hard enough to almost unbalance him. "Very funny. It's all right, laugh at me. Tell me I won the prize, an actual prince, so why am I complaining."
"You're complaining because you were born on this side of the sea and these are people in dark tales to you," Glorfindel answered seriously. "You mixed with the highest of Elven society in the place of your birth, but now you need to find out how it is to disembark in the Uttermost West on the arm of a Finwëan. And you'll be all right, you’ll play the part till you are the part - I've seen you do that before and so has Gildor, so he'll know when you need help."
"Him being helpful? That'll be a whole new thing in itself," Erestor muttered. "Just - my stomach churns a little thinking about it. I don't even know how to address people."
"Just as it always is. My lord or lady unless it's wearing a crown in which case it's Sire or Majesty."
"You're laughing at me, aren't you?"
Glorfindel, unable to stifle it any longer, put an arm around Erestor’s shoulders and laughed. "I still remember when Gil made you quartermaster of his army. You were horrified - and then went in and did a brilliant job of it."
"And you never told anyone how often I went to you begging for help." Erestor’s smile was rueful. "You saved my reputation so many times."
"You were one of very, very few friends I had," Glorfindel reminded him softly, looking out into the strange, colour-washed night. "How could I not help you?"
"Even when I was flirting with Gil, yes. I was never sure if you were just very trusting or giving me rope to hang myself with."
"I trusted you," Glorfindel said, simple and sincere. "Far more than I did Gil. I didn't think he would cheat on me but... he had a past. You would not do that to me."
Erestor was quiet and still underneath his arm.
"And if you did, I do not want to know, thank you."
"You’ll give the reborn balrog my address and send him to sort me out?"
"Her. It was a Her."
He felt Erestor shiver slightly. "I'm sorry, let's talk about something else. Gil. Let's talk about Gil. Because that's why you were out here in the not-dark alone, isn't it?"
"I told you, I couldn't settle."
"I know, me neither."
Erestor stayed beside him, not saying another word. Glorfindel knew if he looked, he would see that beautiful face totally smoothed of all expression, eyes following the streams of light.
"You're annoying, you know that?"
Erestor nodded. "I have been told this, many times."
Glorfindel looked down at his hand, furled fingers closed too tightly at the probing question. He stretched them out and rested his hand on his thigh, but it still looked too tense. Erestor waited. The waiting managed to feel polite. Finally Glorfindel sighed. "It's been… a long time."
"Mm? Probably less for him, going off and dying like that for however long. But - long is not an Elven problem."
"Long, and time passes and people change, meet other people, find a new life..."
"Well I certainly wouldn’t tell him about you and me, I can’t even imagine how it would come up - assuming I get to talk to him at all." The possibility seemed not to have occurred to Erestor till now. "It was long enough ago to qualify as, well not quite ancient history, but old enough and not that long lived."
"Of course you’ll get to talk to him,” Glorfindel teased. “You’ll be family, remember?” He moved with Erestor, neatly avoiding another shove. “It’s not quite ancient history, no, but hardly recent. And I was right. Told you friends sometimes work best as friends."
They had been a matter of a few decades, no more, when the power of Angmar had been on the rise and both had needed the security of someone to come home to. They were close enough friends to be honest in the end that their reasons were not the best. Not too long after, Gildor had escorted Erestor on a trip to Fornost and something had begun that was now culminating in Erestor coming to Valinor as a Finwëan Prince's chosen.
Erestor gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Anyhow, I wouldn't say anything, nor would Elrond. And I'll remind Gildor."
"Please don't. You'll make it worse, it'll be front of mind, and he might not be able to resist prodding it to see what happens."
They both laughed.
"You're worried about Gil, of course."
"Why ‘of course’?" Glorfindel asked. "Is it obvious that I should be?"
Erestor hesitated fractionally but then shook his head. "I think… I think if it's been long enough - and we have no idea when he left the Halls - then he's not someone who would be good at being alone, but he'll know you have to cross eventually. I can't see him committing somewhere else. He loved you, Glory. He'll be there. Maybe not when we dock - I have no idea how that will be, but they’re expecting a crowd and he might not care to brave it, not with all those eyes. He's very private in the ways that matter. But he'll be there soon enough."
"And you know this, how?" Glorfindel asked, feeling the little tendrils of hope attempting to push aside the certainty that it was too late, that it had been too long with no promises shared beyond love. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the delicate hope and the certainty in Erestor's voice. Erestor never lied to his friends: for everyone else, all bets were off.
A wave splashed high against the side of the ship near them, soft sea spray kissed his face. Erestor suddenly placed a hand on his thigh and leaned closer. "Look at the sky," he whispered - there was something like awe in his voice.
Glorfindel opened his eyes and stared. It was like the clearing of morning mist. The lights still danced but faintly, translucent against a vast night sky suddenly awash with a thousand stars. "We've crossed onto the Straight Road," he breathed. "The transition's behind us."
Erestor's hand was still gripping his thigh. "Over there," he said, louder, more urgent. "Look. The light."
It was at the height of perhaps three ships above the ocean, a moving beacon that was all colours and none, a flare of brilliant silver at its heart. Glorfindel half rose. "I have never seen a Silmaril before," he said in the same note of awe. "But that..."
They stood to their feet and watched the light approach and then slowly rise higher and then hover in the velvet night. Around them mariners were in motion, voices swelling, and from below they heard Galadriel asking what the excitement was.
Erestor touched his arm. "You need to go below," he said.
Glorfindel jerked his eyes away from the miracle in the sky. "I what?"
"I know he was tired, but go and wake Elrond," Erestor said, with the care he always showed when speaking of his former love. "He’ll want to see this. Go and tell him to get up on deck. His father has come to show us the way home."