The main purpose for my being in Bree was to purchase a horse from a Gondorian trader who saw me race last year in Rohan. It was utterly impossible for me to know at the time what a peculiar experience my errand would turn out to be.

Finding a place to stay was an unusual challenge. The mayor’s daughter was being married, and though it surprised me to know the stuffy little outpost had a mayor, it baffled me more that there were no vacancies anywhere.

My first hour was spent going from one inn to another and being referred elsewhere. Soon I decided on another strategy and simply checked each and every house and shop that I passed. As my confidence level was waning, I climbed a tall set of stairs to an old house with the curtains drawn. There was a dainty sign pointing to the door with the words ‘Wide Open For Business’ written in Westron and Sindarin, though the Sindarin actually read ‘Open Wide Here Business For You’. I had no need to knock, for the door was opened for me by a young man with a thin mustache as I approached the porch. I bowed my head in thanks and continued, realizing only after entering exactly where I was. I had no intention of entering a brothel, but under the circumstances I asked my question anyhow.

“I am attempting to locate a reasonable room for the duration of the week. By chance, do you know where I might find one?”

“We ‘ave rooms right ‘ere,” offered the matron of the house before she spat on the ground and stomped her foot down hard, scraping the roach from her dainty shoe onto the rung of a chair. “An’ each comes wif a girl in’nit to warm yer bed.”

“I was thinking of something a little more conservative,” I said, and the matron could not help laughing. It seemed very unlikely that I was going to find a place indoors during my stay, but then the matron scratched something onto a coarse scrap of paper she pulled from the cleft of her bosom and held it out to me with a sly grin.

I came forward, still cloaked and hooded, and took the note. On it was written a pathetic figure by Elven standards, but it would have been a small fortune for a more common man to pay. Considering the lack of available choices, I was willing to give it a try. “This is a very reasonable nightly rate,” I said, and the matron shook her head. “Tha’s the price for the week. Paid in full, in advance.” Another roach scuttled out from the counter, and before it could run back for cover the matron was scraping it off to join the first.

“Perhaps I should ask to see the room first.”

The matron motioned to one of the scantily clothed young women sitting on the winding main staircase wearing a defeated look. “’Oneypie, take this gentlemahn up t’yer room.”

I was helpless to prevent what happened next. This poor lady, Honeypie as the matron and the other prostitutes called her, was subject to the taunting and teasing of her peers for being of more worth as a roommate than a whore. Despite this the woman curtseyed low before me and in a soft and timid voice instructed, “This way, please, sir.”

“’Oney!” called out the matron as we began to climb the stairs. “If’n the master requires ennathing- enna-thing- you give it to ‘im.”

“Yes’m,” she replied, but I turned around and said, “I will not require anything but the room.” Then I pushed back the hood and my dark braids cascaded down. Revealed to all of them were my pointed ears. There was a pause, that sort of gasping silence I have become used to from mortals when they realized exactly what I am.

“’Oneypie,” spoke the matron again, “you make sure you give him ENNAthing ‘e wants.”

It was not the reaction I had hoped for from the matron. Either she was not aware of how respectable we Eldar are, or else she had met only those who do practice such lascivious behavior. Nevertheless, it did shut the other women up.

We climbed to the third story of the building and a door was unlocked and opened. The key was handed to me. Within, I found the room to look pleasant enough, with tall windows covered by burgundy drapes and a large bed with an ornate metal frame, as well as a table and a few chairs.

“To your liking?” asked the matron, who had followed us up.

“I think it will do,” I said slowly, checking about. Despite first appearances, I would take no chances. I examined things a little closer, and checked in the closet and beneath the bed.

“Them roaches stays downstairs,” the matron informed me. “No mice neither. We’ve got a big couple cats up ‘ere takin’ care of ‘em.”

I was eager to rest. Deciding the situation could have been much worse, I paid the matron. I could handle a few roaches and the occasional mouse for a few days. I then went back downstairs to see to my horse, who would be staying in the small barn behind the brothel. Once she was stabled, I returned and went straight to my room. What I found was slightly shocking. Waiting in the darkness, timid as a newborn fawn, Honeypie knelt in the center of the bed. Her hair was down, making a soft honey-colored sheet on either side of her head. She was unclothed; her crystal blue eyes trained on a purple patch of the quilt she was on.

I did the best I could in such a situation. First, I counted to ten- such displays of beauty still affect me! Then, as calmly as possible I said, “Well, I believe it to be no coincidence that we are to share a bed for the next few days, for I, too, prefer to sleep in the nude.” Hurriedly I stripped off my clothing and crawled into the bed, startling the woman a bit. “Good night!” I announced before drawing up the covers. I gave it a little while and then faked a few snores. It seemed to do the trick, for she joined me after a few minutes, curling up to sleep as well.

The next day I woke to find a warm body pressed delightfully against me. One of Honeypie’s arms was draped over my chest and her cheek rested upon my shoulder. I waited until the sun fully rose before I wiggled out of her grasp. A note slid under the door asked me to join the household for breakfast, but I declined the offer. Instead, I found I was in need of a cold bath, which I hastily took in one of the communal washrooms of the brothel. I tried not to think of what the faded stains on the towels likely were, and then went into town.

Wearing a hood up over one’s head gets more looks than pointed ears. Either way, most people are caught staring at me. The solution I had to this was to wear a slightly tattered cap that hides my identity. I took my breakfast at The Ruddy Rooster and then traveled down the road to John’s Pub to nurse a few beers and eavesdrop. This technique I actually learned from Haldir: Sit right at the bar and drink a beer. No one suspects an Elf would be drinking an ale or stout, and no one expects one to sit at the bar. Immediately the assumption is that there is simply a very tall man with an ugly hat sitting at the bar. So far, it has yet to fail me. The agreement I had made with Darthen, the horse trader, was to meet with him on the third of the month at The Lame Duck. I had planned to spend the majority of my time there, but it was one of the three main buildings being used for the mayor’s daughter’s wedding. Instead, my day was spent perusing the market for a few trinkets to bring home to friends and family. I took my supper at Terse Advice, which is a small pub that boasts the employment of professional jesters and a magician. The food is not up to fine dining standards, but the price you pay for it is to keep the entertainment available. Despite the cost and lack of seating, they are a total success. I always arrive early to ensure I am able to find a seat.

After the show ended, I drank my way through half a bottle of spiced rum with the aid of the magician and left him with the rest. As I ventured back to the brothel with my purchases in a cloth sack, I paused at a street peddler to buy a bag of roasted pecans. The doorman was missing when I returned, and I entered to find the large central room crowded with tables of men playing cards. Harlots danced on the tables, sat on laps, or were in some cases otherwise occupied. This was the case with one young blonde who was knelt before a young man. She was pulling off his boots while he kneaded her bared breasts in his hands. Next she untied his breeches as he scooted forward and leaned back, and—

“Hey, you! Git! This here’s a private engagement what on the account of my son.”

“Benjamin, ‘e’s good. ‘E’s rentin’ the luxury apartment up stairs fer the week, what on account a’ yer son’s marriage takin’ up all the available inns.” The matron gave me a wink and made a motion with her hand for him to let me pass.

“Well, then, on the account of our displacing of you, come and join the party!”

I would have quite happily gone upstairs and hidden with the book I bought in town for the rest of the evening, but Benjamin was already steering me to a table with a few open chairs.

“Boys, we’ve got another for the table. John, deal him in. That’s Eorrin, cousin of mine from the south. Johnny’s my second born, and Torrel here, he’s related somehow to the bride.”

“Uncle,” spoke Torrel as he patted his knee and pulled a giggly red-head into his lap.

“And your name, friend?” Eorrin asked.

And here I had a quandary, for so often when I travel I adopt the name Torrel as my guise. How unfortunately coincidental it should be for me to end up in such a situation! I could not use my own name, for some years earlier I had been arrested here in Bree, while on a diplomatic mission with Thranduil. I could not hesitate long or leave the question unanswered. The first name other than my own was that of a friend of mine in Rivendell, but I dared not use his name in full. So, I answered, “Fin,” and hoped this would suffice.

It did, for they were half to mostly drunk already. Chips were given to me, as well as an explanation. “Blues are ten, whites are one. Every one you have at the end of the game, you get to have one of these hussies suck you off. Every ten, it’s a fuck, and fifty, you do whatever you want- tie her up, up the arse, whatever you like.”

I just nodded and checked my cards. I felt sick already, and my only reason for staying was to try to win their chips to keep them from having any- not that I suspected it would stop them.

Benjamin joined us, sure of himself that he would be winning a good number of our chips. A dozen hands later, after loosing all of them, the father of the groom stood and said loudly, “I think I’ve had enough of this. Who’s up for another game?”

There was a hearty agreement among the men, and soon they had organized a game that was purely based on desire. One man at a time was blindfolded and then ran about grabbing at the women as they ran around. Their escape was blocked by tables and the other men.

Some of the men blindly managed to pin a girl down and grind against her, while others would tear off an article of clothing or get a few swats in on one of the girl’s rears. Now and then, one would catch their quarry long enough to spill himself in his pants.

I took myself to the short bar tucked in one corner where the doorman now served drinks. Over the next twenty minutes I continued to talk myself out of the idea of gelding the entire lot.

“Come back, Fin, you’ll get a turn, too,” said Benjamin as he attempted to pull me from the stool.

“No thank you,” I replied. I ordered whatever was strongest, hoping it might settle my churning stomach. Sharper sounds were heard minutes later, and I looked to see one of the men had removed his belt and was using it to beat one of the women across her backside. His blindfold was tilted so that he could see his target and another man had taken hold of the prostitute’s wrists when she tried to get away. I looked to the matron, sensing her worry. Picking up my glass, I crossed the room and whispered to her, “Do you want me to stop them?”

“I cannot afford to ‘ave any of them covered in welts,” she answered. I had a hunch, had it been some nameless group she would have broken things up, but ruining the fun of the mayor’s soon-to-be son-in-law was a matter altogether different indeed.

Strolling over, I casually came to the man holding the woman against her will, patted him on the shoulder, and pretended as if I was going to take his place. I then tugged her away, and she followed my lead, escaping off to the side with her housemates. “You still want her to be able to sit, right?” I asked in a joking sort of tone. What I really wanted to do was punch all of the teeth out of his mouth.

“If she can kneel, crawl, beg, and lay, I’ll be fine,” he answered to the laughter of the others.

“She will be unable to do anything soon if you hurt her. So stop using your belt,” I advised.

“And start using your prick!” called out one of the partygoers.

“I hope it gets caught in a door and snaps like a twig,” I mumbled, only after I walked away from the disgusting bunch and only for the matron to hear.

“There’s someone upstairs waitin’ on you,” the matron informed me. When I asked who, she whispered, “’Oneypie.” I finished my drink and then climbed the stairs. The men were all engaged in debaucherous acts and it occurred to me that most were married, and one was going to take such sacred vows the very next day. The thought made me grip the rail to steady myself. My other hand clutched my stomach.

“The lad’s havin’ trouble holdin’ his liquor!” shouted one of the men.

“And, he seems to have a bedtime!” called out another.

I set my jaw and hurried up the remaining stairs. I had to pretend it did not bother me so that I did not go back downstairs. They were not worth it. It was just this sort of thing that got me into trouble last time.

When I entered the room, I found one curtain pushed aside. A shaft of moonlight illuminated one spot on the bed, where Honeypie lounged, looking at a small item in her hand. As soon as the door opened, she tucked it away and looked upon me with a less frightened look than the day before. “What did you just hide?” I asked as I closed the door.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.” Sitting up now on the bed, she looked like an innocent beauty, so different from the tramps in the main room below. “I have no intention of taking it from you or teasing you about it. I was only curious.” I removed my hat and realized that I didn’t remember to bring up my sack when I came. “Just a moment,” I apologized, but I opened the door to find the doorman about to knock.

“I believe this is yours.”

I thanked him with kind words and a few coins. Once again the door was shut. I turned to find Honeypie holding the item again, a tiny sketch of poor quality. “My father. He died in debt, that is how I came to be here. I was sold to pay his loans; I was fourteen.” The rest of the story tumbled out, from the early death of her mother to the fire that killed her father and burned his bakery to ash. She showed me the dark markings on her back, scars from beatings she received while being trained at another brothel.

Only one question remained when she was done, and I was reluctant to ask it but I did. “Is your name really Honeypie?”

“No. Lady Nora, the matron, she named me that. My name is really Claire, but I actually prefer the fact that the men who come here do not use my real name when... well, you know.”

Sadly, I did. I pulled my sack onto my lap and searched the contents, pulling out the roasted nuts. “Do you like pecans?”

We ate the treat as I shared a few stories of my own with her. After a while she snuggled against me, and told me how she felt secure and protected with me around, revealing it was something she had not felt since her father’s death. Then she yawned, and I yawned, and she yawned again, then laughed, then I laughed, then I yawned, and at that point we decided to call it an evening.

We crawled into the bed, naked just as the night before. This time, Claire nestled against me right away. Her fingers combed through my long hair and with a sigh she said, “You are so beautiful.”

“You flatter me,” I replied, daring to touch the golden hair. There was an immediate attraction between us yesterday, one I was still afraid to admit. “Claire, how old are you?”

“Three months and nineteen years,” she replied.

Suddenly, the real meaning of my being here is clear. Horses can wait, but a lady so young with such a heartbreaking story did not deserve a life such as this. None of them deserved it, really, but I did know that some of them had chosen to sell their bodies. It was obvious that Claire would not have willingly become a whore.

Somehow, I knew she was my purpose for being here. Somehow, I would find a way to rescue her from this place. I could only pray that I would not fall in love.

The next morning I was awakened by the delectable smell of warm flapjacks and hot spiced peaches. I vaguely recalled telling Claire about my odd obsession with peach flavored foods the night before. She was knelt on the floor and wore a diaphanous gown of pale blue. The plate was held close and the fork was lifted to my lips as I sat up. Warm peachiness wafted up, and I took the offering into my mouth. The tines slide across my tongue as the fork was removed from my mouth.

“More?” she asked as she pierced another piece of peach.

‘Stop doing this, Claire,’ I kept thinking. ‘Stop this, you wicked temptress.’ I wanted the words to come out, but they were stuck in my throat and my mouth was suddenly dry. I could only nod as she lifted the fork back up.

“Lady Nora worried they had gone bad because they were so soft. How do they taste?” Claire offered me another mouthful.

‘Get up! Turn away!’ I could hear the rational thoughts somewhere in the back of my mind. A million reasons why not echoed in my head as my heart thumped in my chest and in my ears. There was no doubt, no amount of simple, sane reasoning that could counteract the throbbing, the heat, the—

She licked her lips and looked up at me with her innocent doe eyes. I had to swallow my groan and shift my legs. If I held out much longer I may well have burst. Did I even answer her question? Farewell, clairvoyance, and good morning, Claire!

“I have never had these prepared in this way before. I do hope they taste good,” she said.

“Oh, they do.” I could hold back no longer, and nearly knock the plate over as I claimed her lips in a fiery kiss. One of my hands found its way behind her neck while the other relocated breakfast in a haste. I felt the shiver down her spine and deepened my kisses. The rational thoughts were silenced and the primal instincts took full control.

I found I was sliding downward off the bed, but before I ended up in her lap I pulled back. For a few lucid moments I recollected myself. “Claire, I apologize.” Shame colored my cheeks and I backed away, lumping the blanket over my erection.

Claire followed me onto the bed and placed her hand upon mine. “Please, do not think me so wrong for doing this...”

Again, I was unable to move. Her hand drew the blanket down slowly. It brushed against my stomach and thigh as it was drawn down and created friction over the head of my erect length. My teeth were clenched and she pushed against my chest with one hand to force me down while she used the other to squeeze the base of my erect length.

Then I heard myself panting. Part of me wished I had the will to stand up, but most of me waited with mock patience. As her lips caressed, my hands dug into her golden hair. Her mouth engulfed me, and I cried out. In that moment I felt terrible and yet, I felt so sinfully good. How long had it been? Since... too damn long if I could not remember.

“You... you... oh, you have to stop,” I begged half-heartedly, though the way I shallowly thrust my hips contradicted what I said.

Her well-practiced suction had changed to frequent bathing of my erection with her tongue between sentences. “Is that so? You are so close. Please, give this to me. For the first time, someone is not ramming down my throat as I kneel at their feet drowning in my own tears. I need one good memory, one I can hold onto in the future. Every time some stranger takes me in this room, I want to be able to think of you.”

I wanted to grab her, to shake sense into her. Words failed me again as she took me down her throat. Like the waterfall that breaks free of the ice each spring, I burst forth, unable to contain myself any longer.

I lost track of time as Claire drank from me and licked off that which she missed. While she gently pushed and prodded at me I fought to catch my breath. When I heard her giggle I sat up. “You are uncut. I only just noticed. Every other uncut man I have been with smelled.”

“I am not a man, though,” I reminded her.

She nodded.

“I feel like a thief now,” I told her. Claire only gave me a small smile and moved to retrieve the pancakes and peaches. “Get back here,” I demanded, taking hold of her elbow.

“Not hungry?” she asked.

Instead of answering with some cliché, I coaxed her back onto the bed. This time she was spread out on the bed and I was between her legs. I pushed the thin fabric of her dress up to her knees. Then I bowed my head and sniffed her through the gauzy material. She gasped at my animalistic approach, and I responded by burying my face deeper.

How long had it been again? It came back to me without hesitation. My hands slid up her legs, and she sighed. I ran my tongue through the damp slit, then parted her legs even further and dove back in. As I hummed, she groaned. I growled in return. Her hands gripped my hair by the roots and she pulled me closer. With my tongue teasing her near the front of her exposed sex, my fingers played in and out of the folds. Claire came hard, and wrapped her legs around my neck when her orgasm hit. I flicked my tongue rapidly, alternating between this and sucking the juices from her. I ended up beside her in bed soon afterwards. The rest of the day was completely taken over by sleep, eating in bed, and a great deal more sex than I had expected on my vacation.

- - -

I watched the flames dance in the fireplace as I waited for Lady Nora. After requesting a private audience with her I was escorted to her salon. It has a lovely view of the garden, but in the darkness it was nearly impossible to enjoy. The matron made me wait a good long while before she joined me. Business discussion would come later, but first she offered me a drink, which I needed. She insisted upon chatting for a while. It was an odd conversation , between her heavy country accent and my thick Valinorin slurring that I only seem to shake completely in council and on stage.

We finally hit a lull and I said my rehearsed piece. My offer was generous but it would mean a great deal of change would occur. I held back only what I needed to get Claire and I back to Rivendell. Yet I worried, for I feared that the matron would not see the opportunity I was presenting. Her decision came faster than I had expected. Lady Nora stomped a roach, nodded to me, and said, “I’ll take it.”

- - -

I returned to find Claire asleep, so I snuggled in bed beside her. I had to leave a note telling her of my change of plans when she was still asleep the next morning after I woke, ate, bathed, and dressed. It was the third, and I still had an appointment to keep at The Lame Duck.

Over the next eleven hours, I sat at the bar, drank more beer than expected, and watched the door for signs of Darthen. I began to wonder if he had the same difficulty as I had in finding a room. Outside, the lamps were being lit, and weary travelers lucky enough to have found a place in this establishment were turning in for the night. I finally asked the innkeeper if he knew Darthen or had seen him.

“Knew him well, I did,” came the sad reply. He went on to tell me of Darthen’s unfortunate demise and how the horseman had arrived in town a few months earlier with a fever. Darthen took terribly ill despite the doctor’s best efforts. In his final days he coughed up blood and thick, green bile, and it scared so many that once he died his body was burned almost immediately for fear that a plague might otherwise spread.

“No one knew of any family he had, so when no one came enquirin’ we split up his property fair. He owed me a bill from last year, and the doctor, too, and some others.”

I rubbed my chin and tried not to look too upset. What Darthen peddled, from what I had been told by colleagues, were some of the finest race horses in Middle-earth. To think of them pulling wagons and plowing fields made me want to spit. I know how difficult it is to train a horse for competitions, and how hard it can be to find one with just the right skills for such an endeavor.

“Did you know him?” asked the innkeeper of me.

“Only a little,” I admitted. “I was supposed to look at a horse he had, but that matters little now.”

I stood up and tossed a tip onto the counter as the innkeeper eyed me up. In a low voice he asked, “Are you one of them E-V-L-E-S?”

The lack of grammatical and spelling skills there was really baffling to me, but I nodded and tilted my hat slightly to reveal my ears. The innkeeper smiled and waved his wife to watch the bar while he motioned that I should follow him.

I was led to the stables while given an explanation. “Darthen had one horse he kept callin’ his prize. Says there was a fancy elf from a valley comin’ to see it. Before he died, he says, make sure he gets that colt. I honest don’t know why, he’s a feisty bugger.”

“Well, you see, I may have some trouble with the payment,” I began to explain, but the innkeeper shook his head.

“Darthen says he wanted you to take him. He would’ve died happy knowin’ his prize was in the hands of a true horse master, those were his own words.”

In the stall on the far right, a colt the color of the midnight sky was kicking a food sack across the ground. “He does that. Feisty and restless. I think he still needs some trainin’ C’mere Blacky Bo.”

My first thought of ‘what a gorgeous, magnificent specimen of a horse’ was soon replaced with ‘what an awful name for such a noble creature’. Instead of waiting for the horse to approach the gate, I entered the stall. “Greetings, little rascal. Restless, are you? What would you say to a wide, open pasture and more places than you could ever imagine exploring?”

I could tell he was contemplating as I neared him. “What about a different name?” I asked. I spoke in Quenya now, for I find it the most soothing language for equines and for my own tastes after so much Westron. “Something a little more appropriate for one so fine as yourself. I tend to think the name Morir would suit you better, but what do I know? I am only an elf.”

To say I am only an elf was perhaps an understatement, but the horse seemed to get the joke as he wuffled my hair with his nose. These natural powers I have that allow me to communicate with animals are strengthened further by my heritage. His new name received a whinny of approval, and I could not help but contemplate momentarily how the bad fortunes of so many had led to my good fortune that week. Indeed, Eru’s plan is one I shall never understand. All the same, I am grateful for it.

Upon entering the house, I could see changes being made already. I nearly tripped over the baited trap at the door. Most of the furniture was gone and it looked very much like they were getting ready to move out. I knew differently and smiled at the changes I saw in the girls as well.

Gone was their whorish clothing, the red paint on their lips and the rouge from their cheeks. They looked more like ladies, and acted it, too, giggling behind their paper fans. Rows of wooden chairs had replaced the game tables and infested couches. It surprised me to see that Nora had found a slateboard so quickly.

“We ‘ad our first lesson tonight,” said the matron as I removed my cloak and hung it near the door.

“We’ve been taught etiquettes,” piped up Lacey, whose real name I learn was Shelna. “It ain’t proper to greet a man wif’ our breasts all poppin’ o’er the top an’ nipples ‘rect, yoo-hooo!” she said, displaying what she meant and getting tisked at by the matron. Shelna did not seem to notice as she continued, “Proper lady always curtseys, always pretends to be demure. Even if she ain’t, right Miss Nora?”

“Trust me,” whispered the matron as she dismissed the girls, “it sounds better’n it sounds.”

Instead of trying to decipher quite what she just said, I wander to the kitchen and take a jar of spiced peaches from the pantry. When I turn around, I find Nora standing behind me. “With the way you sneak around, are you sure you are not a half-elf?” I ask her.

“You’re bein’ so generous,” she said carefully, “but I need to know what your intentions are with ‘Oneypie. You might not think I care ‘bout my girls, but I do.”

“I just want to give her a chance. I think she will do well in Rivendell.”

“An’ you like ‘er.”

I hate to lie, even when I have to, so I nod to confirm her statement. “She happens to be very lovely and intelligent.”

Nora’s hard gaze softened. “Jus’ take care with ‘er. I ‘ate to see ‘er ‘eart broken.”


The next day we set off for home – Claire on the horse I rode here, while I ride Morir. Our travel is swift but not grueling, and I assure my beautiful companion we will be home soon.

On the first night, it was a clear, warm evening, and we camped beneath the stars. I delighted in holding Claire, one arm around her as she nestled beside me. I pointed out the stars and constellations to her, told her their stories. As she slept, I kept watch, much too excited to sleep. The sun rose, and we continued.

Dark clouds hung above us on the second day and forced us to make camp earlier than I had planned. The tiny tent I had barely covered both of us, but the atmosphere created by the rain and thunder was romantic – or so I had thought.

Once we were settled, snug in the tent, I nuzzled my nose against the back of her neck – and she pulled away slightly.

“Do you mind if we sleep a little? I am tired,” she said.

I did not wish to argue with her, but we Elves are very observant. I know when someone is tired; I can tell simply by their breathing, their eyes, the color of their skin. I acquiesced to her request – there was no need to argue. The next day, when we began the journey anew, I was more than aware of the fact she had not slept, and had likely been awake all night. I wished to ask why and what worried her, but she was mounted and already trotting away before I had the tent stowed in Morir’s saddlebags.

The return trip continued much in the same way. Claire grew more distant with each passing night. I feared I had said or done something, but when I finally gathered the courage to ask she assured me it was her, not I. Still it felt strange, after the intimacy we shared, that she should shy away.

Upon reaching Rivendell, her mood changed again. She delighted in the singing of the elflings and children playing in the river. I pointed out flora and fauna native to our realm, and introduced her to the delicacy of fresh fruit right from the trees.

“Is the weather always so perfect?” she asked in awe. “This is about the most beautiful spring day I could imagine!”

I plucked a flower from an overhanging tulip tree and stretched out to tuck it behind her ear. The small gift had her blushing. “It is as Lord Elrond commands – even the weather would dare not defy so powerful an Elvenlord. We shall meet him soon,” I promise.

Her arrival was quite the affair – Elrond and Celebrian were both pleasantly surprised at the new addition to the household, and welcomed her warmly. Glorfindel was his usual, charming self and laughed merrily as I told him of my adventure and how I adopted his name in my travels. I introduced Claire to everyone I knew, which is everyone in Rivendell, and to the horses, and the hounds, and then she begged for reprieve. I showed her to her chambers, and she quickly retired for the evening.

I had such plans for the next day. She needed new clothing and other items to furnish her quarters. I had no worries about the cost now that I was home. We had a brief argument over why the things she brought with her were unsuitable. It greatly puzzled me that she would not accept such a gift willingly.

To quell her anger, I suggested a walk in the gardens. Once again, she enjoyed the natural beauty of the realm. All disagreements seemed forgotten that evening when she allowed me to accompany her to dinner, escort her to the Hall of Fire, and then to her room afterwards.

A chaste kiss on the cheek was all I ventured, though I did remind her that should she be in need of anything, my room was only a few doors away. She thanked me, smiled wearily, and locked the door upon closing it.

I came the next day to escort her to breakfast. The third time that I worriedly knocked, she finally answered, though she looked quite cross.

“Good morning. I thought you might care for some breakfast, but I can see you have yet to dress. I can wait for you,” I offered.

She sighed and opened the door a little wider so she could reach up and pat my cheek. “I appreciate what you are doing, but you are beginning to – to stifle me.”

“What do you mean?” I asked in a voice both concerned and defensive.

Claire pulled her robe closer together where the neckline had been plunging, obviously aware of where my gaze had drifted. “You spoke of how wonderful it is here, and how much I would see and explore. Well, I can’t very well do so without the chance to see it on my own. I’m safe here – there’s no need to follow me around every moment.”

“But... I enjoy being with you,” I tried to explain to her.

“I know, and I enjoy our time together as well,” she said. I could tell her reply was an honest one. “I just wish for some time alone. Will you grant that to me?”

“I would give you anything in my power to give,” I assured her.

“Thank you.” She stepped on the tips of her toes, kissed me on the cheek, and went back inside her room.


Time is something I have never been a master of. If you asked my age, I could only tell you I am younger than the stars and older than the sun. It was this flaw that caused me to lose my young lover – though I suspect now she was never really mine to begin with.

I spent a few months keeping my distance. I was cordial when we passed in the hallway, friendly when we spoke, but I gave her the time I believed she wanted. Then, unexpectedly one day, I was in Elrond’s office discussing some political nonsense with him. The windows were open wide, the autumn breeze gently lifting the drapery that had been shoved to one side. I caught a glimpse of movement near the gazebo. It was Claire, her hair grown even longer now, hanging loosely and a little wild. She draped a cloth across the ground beneath an elm and settled down with a book.

I finished the meeting quickly, as my mind was wandering now to that blissful time spent in Bree. I hurried to the gardens and persuaded one of the ladies tending to the flowers to assist me in assembling a bouquet to take with me.

Those flowers saved me added embarrassment of the heartache that was to follow. I kept hidden, wishing to surprise her. As I checked to be sure my attire was not smudged with ink, I caught another bit of movement.

There was a man with her now, and he had a basket with him. They greeted each other as he set the basket down, and she began to empty the contents of it onto the blanket. I recognized him as Garren, one of the blacksmiths apprenticing in our forge.

I hardly breathed as I watched them talk and laugh. I could hear what they said, and every term of endearment numbed me. They were in love, that much was obvious. He had for her the same look in his eyes that I once did. The scene blurred, and I hurried away, lest I be caught in public crying over my loss.

I have had a lousy time trying to find love. My only consolation is the fact that each person I have loved had found their true love with someone else. If I cannot be happy, at least they shall be.

I apologize that my letter has gone on for so long, and with such intimate detail, but I found it easier to start from the beginning. Also, Claire told me that she had already told you much of what happened in those days when I was in your house, so I feel no shame in sharing my thoughts and feelings with you. Besides, I daresay, I can already see the grin on your face, knowing how well you like to read what some might call ‘back-alley literature’. I shall have to send you some of the poetry I have written; you would well like that as well.

I hope this letter finds you and the girls well. Let them know they are all to be considered proud aunts, for Claire birthed a healthy boy this morn, which she named after me. I insisted she not, but once her mind is set, according to her husband Garren, there is nothing to change it.

Perhaps some day you and some of the girls might make the trek here to see Claire and her family. I look forward to my next visit to Bree, where I shall need to continue to visit under an assumed name. In my writing to you, dear Lady Nora, I remain as ever,

Humbly and Sincerely,

Erestor

There was a soft and tentative knock on the door of the gazebo. Erestor looked up from where he was sitting on the floor, obscured from view to anyone who was not standing directly next to the structure and looking down into it. Window seats surrounded the perimeter, and the door was solid except for a single window. He sighed heavily and motioned for his friend to enter.

“I was beginning to worry about you. Missed you at lunch, never saw you come to dinner – have you been out here the whole day?”

Erestor shrugged. “I guess so. I came out to write a letter, and then I just never came back in.” He waved his hand toward the finished piece of correspondence, already folded and just waiting to be sealed with wax.

“Some of us were beginning to worry,” said Glorfindel. When Erestor gave him a scornfully disbelieving look, the blond ruefully smiled and corrected, “I was beginning to worry about you.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“Yes, I have heard that before.” Glorfindel entered the gazebo and joined Erestor on the floor. It was dark, well past midnight, and Erestor wondered how Glorfindel was finally able to find him – or maybe Glorfindel had always known where he was.

The silence, though not uncomfortable, persisted until Erestor said, “Maybe my trouble with love is trying to hard to find it.”

Instead of agreeing, for he really wanted to – in fact, it was not the first time he would have liked to have slapped some sense into the silly old elf sitting next to him, so close and always so far away – Glorfindel said instead, “I think your trouble, my friend, is that you need to learn to love yourself first.”

“That sounds quite egotistical,” replied Erestor flatly.

“No, you are misinterpreting me,” said Glorfindel. “You beat yourself up over failed relationships. By my calculation, you will now spend the next sixty to eighty years bemoaning the fact that you and Claire did not work out. You will pick apart yourself over it and you will blame every flaw you have on what happened. In reality, the trouble was that it was never going to work in the first place.”

“What did you do, peek in Galadriel’s mirror?”

Glorfindel shuddered. “No, you know I refuse to look at that thing. I overheard her speaking with Celebrian a few days after you brought her here.”

“Oh?” Instead of playfully scolding Glorfindel on the reasons not to eavesdrop, Erestor eagerly listened to what his friend had to say.

“Claire was asking about our marriage customs and about some stories she had heard when she was younger – basically, someone at some point had told her the story of Beren and Luthien. Celebrian answered a lot of her questions, and specifically, when Claire asked if she married you if that would cause you to die, Celebrian told her it probably would. I think Claire had the same feelings for you as you had for her, but she loved you so much that she could not bear to think she would cause you to fade. So she put up a roadblock – Garren – to keep that from happening.”

Erestor was thoughtful now, very quiet, processing everything that Glorfindel had said. “Like Aegnor and Andreth,” he said finally.

“Only, with a lot less rumination and a little more, uhm... you know,” Glorfindel settled upon. “But... and I say this with confidence, there is someone out there for you, Erestor. I know this in my heart. You first need to love yourself... accept and know what it is that you want, and the rest shall fall in place.”