The librarian 1/

LotR 1444 words

this one PG, eventually NC17

Disclaimer: Characters / settings belong to Tolkien heirs and / or assignees, of which I am not one

Summery: How Erestor became *ahem* Erestor! This is a fanfic fanfiction. I thought I'd explore origin of the whip wielding Erestor of fanon - no disrespect to the wonderful authors who portray him thusly; in fact Dom!Erestor is my favorite incarnation.

Warnings: Nothing yet, some BDSM later

For kharessa, because you like these three and Melpomean the library assistant is yours.

AN Rumil of Imladris is not Haldir's brother, Rumil of Lothlorian. This is pretty rough - I'm not used to this style yet. When it flows a bit easier I'll probably rewrite, but y'know until then, consider this a draft.

Feedback: Yes please. I'd like to know if I should continue this / if the set-up is worth pursuing

The scrolls were torn and blackened illegible. Their edges had crumbled as they were pulled them from their case. Erestor looked them over in distaste. Orc scrolls. The history of these darkened elves written on parchments of elf skin in blood. He had spent the last ten days since Glorfindel had dumped them upon him trying to arrange them in some kind of order. Scroll after scroll laid out around the library. Waiting to be restored.

He hadn't wanted to. Restoration was tedious work, but he understood Elrond's reasons. Orc scrolls were too rare to be trusted to anyone other than Imladris' chief advisor. Pulling on gossamer gloves he settled next to the first document. It appeared to be a diary, written in a blend of darktaal and elfish. Erestor pulled out a soft fan brush and began teasing away years of filth and neglect. When he was able to distinguish writing he copied it down until the first scroll was transcribed.

Master gave me a slave to assist me. His archive grows with each victory. Too many victories for me to record on my own. I have spent the last three days trying to assemble [writing obliterated] into some order. It would help if there was another scribe, but the rebirth seems to kill that gift in all of us. Except myself, but then I am [writing obliterated] My slave is still fair in his youth, not yet completely of blackened blood. I think this is why he was given to me; he shows himself cleverer than most. Tomorrow I begin teaching him letters.

Erestor sat back, his forearm aching. So the writer was a librarian. Somehow the idea that there was a shadow version of himself toiling in dark libraries was disturbing. He stepped away from the table. It was too late to dine with the household; he would have to ask the kitchens to prepare something.


The kitchens were busier than he expected. Several guards from late duty crowded one corner, trying unsuccessfully to catch the eye of Erestor's young library assistant Melpomean. Melpomean was blithely unaware, sipping his soup and reading a book while the guards coughed and cleared their throats loudly. He watched in amusement as one of the bolder elves 'accidentally' dropped his sword next to Melpomaen's chair. Melpomaen's eyes never left his book.

"He reminds me of you at that age" Glorfindel had appeared next to him, settling at Erestor's table.

"I do not think I was ever so studious, nor did I have the entire Imladris guard vying for my attention" Erestor smiled none the less at the comparison.

"Perhaps not the entire Imladris guard, but I remember a few elves that lingered in the kitchens, waiting for the young apprentice librarian to come down for his supper". Erestor turned to his friend in surprise.

"Glorfindel, you jest. I don't think a single elf, other than Elrond and Rumil spoke to me during my entire apprenticeship. I doubt there was a sorrier excuse for an elf in Imladris, if indeed in all of Arda".

'You forget, I was in charge of disciplining those elves that stayed up far to late waiting for you to be coherent for duty. I remember coming to the Kitchens to discover what the commotion was about. And I seem to remember that you talked with me during your apprenticeship".

Erestor frowned. "I wish I had known then, if you speak the truth. Elrond, Rumil and of course you were kind, but It was a lonely time. I would have appreciated companionship".

As he spoke Melpomean closed his book, cleared up his dishes and left. Within two minutes of his departure everyone, save Glorfindel and himself, was gone.


The next day Erestor studied his assistant critically. Melpomean was young by elf standards, his face not yet filled. But the delicate sharpness of his features was beautiful. Melpomean stretched up to replace a volume on one of the higher shelves. His robe pulled taut across his thighs, revealing him to be very much an adult male. Well. Erestor had never thought to look at him in that way, but yes, Melpomean was attractive. More than attractive.

"Uh Melpomean. Can I speak with you a moment?" What was he doing?

Melpomean looked at him quizzically, setting his stack of books on the only surface not covered in Orc scrolls, and approached Erestor.

"Do you often eat in the Kitchens alone?"

Melpomean blushed, the rosy glow made his eyes look brighter.

'You should eat with friends, elves your own age. It's all-fine to be dedicated, but don't stay so late you neglect your social life". Erestor groaned internally. He sounded like a sanctimonious busy body.

Melpomaen's lips trembled to answer, but he seemed unable, making him blush deeper.

"I don't have any friends, Sir" he finally managed.

So Glorfindel had been correct. Erestor remembered how lonely he had been. Years of trekking between the library, the Kitchen and his chamber. Days would go by when no one, not even Master Rumil spoke to him. He wouldn't allow that to happen to Melpomean.

"We'll have to change that then, won't we Melpomean? Tonight I insist you dine with me at the household meal".

"Thank you Sir" Melpomean face remained crimson as he picked up his books and returned to work.

Feeling somewhat pleased and protective, Erestor settled back to his restoration. Most of the diary appeared to be a catalogue of kills and other notes that the librarian had made to later write out the tales of the battles. It would be useful to compare these numbers to Elrond's scrolls as soon as Erestor had a better idea of the timeframe. At the moment the librarian's entries were frustratingly vague on specifics he could cross- reference.

Running short on parchment. Master ordered Orcs to bring more. Yet another task to train worthless slave to do.

18 elves killed. 9 males, 6 females, 3 children.

1 dwarf killed, unsure of sex

48 humans killed all male.

The lists went on and on, sickening in their precision. Erestor copied it faithfully down. Several pages of the librarian's diary were too crumbled to even touch. Using forceps he painstakingly gathered the flakes and ash before concentrating on a mostly intact page.

Master has acquired several scrolls during his latest victory. They are water damaged beyond hope of salvage, and I have spent much of the morning transcr[missing part] Slave is still as stupid as any Orc. Master says that beauty is often balanced by stupidity. In Slaves case this in doubly true. He forgets his letters, falls asleep during lessons, stares mulishly at me as I explain his tasks. Today he spilled my tea on my transcription. I have beaten him daily without much effect. He takes it and then continues to be [missing piece] I have developed new punishments for him. His reaction to [missing piece] afterwards he seemed quite embarrassed and [piece missing] I am so disgusted with him I may ask Master for a new slave. This one is more trouble than help. Though he blushes prettily.

I finally completed the illustrations for the Chronicles of Utummo, despite being saddled with this incompetent wretch. I need help.

Erestor sat back. Melpomean had brought him tea, setting it beside him and then quietly retreating to his work. So much like the life of his dark librarian. Both secluded, restoring ruined documents, both drinking tea served to them by exceptionally fair slaves. Erestor frowned at the thought. He didn't think of Melpomean as his slave. He surveyed the room. He needed a break from this contamination. Anyone would be affected, surrounded by so much Orcness.

"Melpomean, come with me for a walk in the gardens. I need some clean air".