“Stay here. I shall return in a moment.” Glorfindel smiled warmly at the woman who was draped in a raggedy shawl. In her arms she held a small bundle, wrapped in a fine white cloak of Elven make, embroidered in gold and fringed on the edges in the same color. It hung down towards the ground, pointing to her worn boots, the fur torn from one and thick mud caked upon the other. Glorfindel received naught but a meager nod in reply, and upon returning the gesture he entered the room which he had knocked upon a moment before.

“My lord, I bring grave news from the North.” Glorfindel walked to the desk, but did not sit down upon one of the chairs, despite his weariness and want for rest. “Many have been slaughtered by the filth of Sauron, and many others have been displaced. One of the survivors managed to make it to our borders, and she carries with her an item of great importance.”

Elrond observed his Captain for a brief time as he finished blotting a page he had just written. “The fate of Arathorn?”

“Arathorn is no more,” said Glorfindel simply. As Elrond bowed his head silently, Glorfindel continued. “His son lives.”

Elrond looked to the door, which had been left ajar. He could hear the shuffling of feet and the sounds of a mother hushing her baby as she tried to rock him. “How did it happen?”

“An arrow pierced his eye. There was nothing I could do. I arrived too late to assist.” Glorfindel looked away from the scrutiny he was under. “I am sorry,” he added. “I doubt I could have aided even if I had been there the very moment it happened. I tried.”

“I know you did.” Elrond looked about to say more, but shook his head. “The child is here?”

“With his mother. I did not want to bring them in before I had a chance to give you the news.” The warrior paused. “She saw it happen.”

Elrond set aside his writing and sat in thought for a little while. Finally, he motioned with his hand. “Have them enter.”

Glorfindel went to the door and stepped behind it. There was a little discussion, and then he opened the door fully. The woman stepped inside, minding the babe in her arms. “Lord Elrond, I present to you the Gilraen and her son, Aragorn.”

With a curt nod, Elrond welcomed them, though he could barely see either behind the fabrics that obscured them. “Greetings to you. Your son is kin to me, and I shall see you both remain safe and provided for so long as you stay here in Rivendell.”

“I did not come to seek charity,” responded the woman. Glorfindel stepped beside her with open arms in an offer to take the infant from her care while she spoke to Elrond. She hesitated, but did settle her son into the arms of the powerful Vanya before stepping closer to the desk to address Elrond. “Safety, however, would be appreciated. I dare not wander to the wilderness with Aragorn; he is yet vulnerable. As am I.” She lowered the hood of her garment back to reveal her face, which bore a mark across the cheek from an enemy blade. “I carried not only my son here to the safety of your realm, but my daughter as well.” She placed a hand upon her stomach, which swelled only slightly. It would have been unnoticed by most, but to the trained eyes of a healer, it was no secret.

“Four months,” said Elrond, and Gilraen nodded. “You have nothing to fear here in Rivendell. It is quite secure in the valley, and we have many here who know the arts of combat who protect our borders.” He tilted his head toward Glorfindel in acknowledgement. “I shall arrange for rooms for you immediately.” He rang a bell upon the desk to summon a page, who rushed into the room after barely a moment’s notice. “Please make Master Melpomaen aware of the fact we have a visitor in need of a room. Her stay is indefinite, and he should mark the room off of the books for now. Preferably it should be in the East wing.”

As the page turned to leave, Gilraen began to argue. “I will not accept charity.”

“This is not charity. You are family; I would not charge my brother, nor would I charge any of his kin. You are welcome here for as long as you would like to stay.”

Gilraen’s mouth twitched as if she might again dispute this, but when her son made a noise of discontent, she acquiesced. “It will be temporary, until I can find a way to repay your kindness.”

“That is wholly unnecessary.” Elrond turned to address Glorfindel before Gilraen could argue any further. “Will you let Lindir know that I will be unavailable this evening?”

“I can do that,” promised Glorfindel as the door was opened, and Melpomaen walked in.

Melpomaen bowed and held out a key on a satin ribbon. “I have readied a room for you and your son. Someone will be bringing food up shortly. May I lead you there?”

“Yes, thank you.” Gilraen took the key that was held out to her, wrapping the string around her wrist. She then took Aragorn back from Glorfindel and held him close to her bosom.

“Right this way,” said Melpomaen as he led the way out of the office. The door was closed by the page, leaving only Elrond and Glorfindel with their thoughts.

“How is she coping?” asked Elrond of Glorfindel.

Glorfindel shook his head. “She is strong, but I am concerned for her overall wellbeing. She refused to let me examine her when I arrived; the boy seems physically unharmed. He did not actually see his father’s death – in fact, I am not certain she has even told her son of the exact events that occurred.”

“I see. Has she been so stubborn the entire journey?”

There was a nod. “I offered my horse; she refused. We eventually persuaded her to use one when a few of the soldiers dropped back and left their mounts with the rest of the party. She will be a challenge. On the other hand, a weaker woman might not handle the present situation as well.”

“Agreed,” said Elrond, briefly recalling his own loss. Though temporary, the absence of Celebrian was painful, and the portrait that hung in his office was a daily reminder to him of her suffering and his inability to heal her whole. “Keep me informed of any changes.”

“Yes, sir.” Glorfindel let himself out of the office, intending to find Lindir so that he could give him Elrond’s message.

Alone, Elrond walked to the ovular frame that held a painting of his beloved wife. “It seems so utterly unfair, that those who are hurting the most must put forth a front in order to keep the darkness from seeing the truth.” He bowed his head in sad reverence. “For a child so young to lose their parents... at least you never felt that sort of grief. At least his mother is here, and I sincerely hope his fate is not a match to mine at that age.”

Come the morning, Gilraen was in her new quarters and sleeping in a bed for the first time in many weeks. A crib had been placed in the room for little Aragorn, who slumbered soundly not far away. Elrond had assigned both a nanny and a maid to the newest additions to the house, but without specifically telling Gilraen their purpose on checking in on her. He could tell by her stubbornness that it was unlikely she would have accepted them knowingly, but disguised as well-intended ladies it might go over slightly better.

Gilraen was no fool, however, and dismissed them at the very sight without explanation. After delivering their report to Elrond, he himself ventured to her room to see if there was something the matter with his general concern.

He knocked on the door and was bidden to enter, and found Gilraen in the middle of making the bed and humming songs to her son. “Good day,” she said as he shut the door behind him.

“Good day to you, Gilraen. I trust you slept well last night?”

“As well as I am able. I am... adjusting,” she said. She shook it off without saying more, and changed the subject. “My son is hungry,” she stated directly. “I suppose there is a mess hall somewhere within your castle?”

Elrond could do nothing but laugh. “This is no castle, and I am no king,” he said almost apologetically. “A simple house is all, large as it seems. I am but master of these lands, but not of those who live and dwell here.” He reached for a pillow in order to assist her in her task, but it was snatched away gently and Gilraen finished the bed by herself.

“Whatever you wish to call your home, I shall as well. Is there a place for food to be had? I expect Aragorn shall fuss soon enough.”

“That was in fact what I came to tell you. Actually, it was what the maid would have told you, had you allowed her the time,” said Elrond.

“We need to speak about that,” said Gilraen. “I appreciate your concern, however, I am quite capable of taking care of my needs on my own.”

“I only thought you might enjoy some respite now and then, and for someone to assist you as you transition to life here in Rivendell,” Elrond explained. “They are both pleasant and trustworthy. I thought you might like to have some... friends while you are here.”

“I would prefer to choose my own friends, if you do not mind.”

Elrond slowly nodded. “I will respect your wish. If you require assistance, though, do not be surprised if you receive it despite your want of not being aided. Many who live here are helpful to one another on pure principal.”

“I shall make a note of that,” said Gilraen.

“I have arranged for you and your son to share breakfast at the head table with myself and other high ranking members of my staff, if you are amiable to it. My family will be there as well,” he added.

Gilraen seemed nonplussed at the fact that Elrond had already made plans for her, but she nodded in compliance. “I need to dress Aragorn before we can leave.” She moved to the crib, where Aragorn was standing up and bouncing happily up and down on the mattress. “Please give me a few minutes to ready him.”

“As you wish.” Elrond walked to the door. “Please tell me when you are ready. I will await you in the hall.” He left, but did not shut the door all the way.

It was a very short time before Gilraen emerged, with Aragorn clinging to her. “He is not yet eating completely solid foods,” she said. “I still nurse him from time to time. We had meager supplies at home.”

“I am sure that we will have porridge and other soft foods available,” said Elrond. He lifted his arm in order to escort her, but she placed her other arm around her son in order to avoid Elrond. “This way,” he said, using his hand to instead motion down the corridor.

The two arrived to find the others that Elrond had invited awaiting them. Elrond pulled from the table a chair for Gilraen, but she moved away to the other available spot. Before she could move the chair away for herself, however, Elrohir was on his feet and doing it for her. “My apologies, but I would be ashamed to make a lady perform such a task herself. My father has taught me to be as proper as possible, so I apologize if this vexes you.” Elrohir looked suitably apologetic, adding a charming smile as an afterthought.

Gilraen considered taking Elrohir to task, but decided against making a scene at the breakfast table. “Thank you.” She sat, but made a point of pushing in and adjusting the chair on her own.

Elrohir sat down again and held out a hand. “I am Elrohir; we met a few times in the past, but I know you teased my brother and I a few times about being unable to tell us apart.”

“You do share many similar features,” Gilraen noted.

“Elladan wears no braids in his hair,” Elrohir informed her. “He has never been fond of them. I am going to try to remember to keep mine braided until you are able to tell us apart otherwise.”

“Our condolences,” said Elladan solemnly. “He was a good man and will be missed.” He reached out and gave Gilraen’s hand a squeeze.

“Thank you. I know he enjoyed the adventures he shared with you both.” Her answer was given in a rehearsed monotone, which brought greater concern to Elrond. Gilraen looked across the table. The rest of the occupants were dark-haired as well, except for one whom she had already met who now removed a pair of glasses from his nose and folded them. “Are those necessary?”

“Indeed, they are,” he replied. “At least, when I am doing this.” Glorfindel lifted a book he had been reading. “I am perfectly capable of putting an arrow between the eyes of an orc from two hundred paces if I have to. Reading a simple sentence a foot from my face is practically impossible. I can see by your expression that I have ruined your perception as Elves being perfect beings.”

“On the contrary. It simply enlightens me.” Food began to be brought to the table, and Gilraen set to choosing items for Aragorn without worrying about her own meal. “Excuse me, do you have any of these that are softer?” asked Gilraen of one of the maids who was setting things on the table. She had an apple in her hand, but it was firm and fresh. Aragorn was reaching for it with his tiny hands, giving a little whimper when it was set aside out of his grasp. The maid nodded and curtseyed, before scurrying toward the kitchens. She mashed some egg up into mush in a bowl and began to feed this to Aragorn.

“I hate to make suggestion as to how one should parent—“

“Then do not.” Gilraen looked up for a moment to address the elf sitting across the table from her. “I would appreciate your silence.”

The elf who had spoken up now set down his fork and reached for a piece of toast. He buttered it and sprinkled sugar and cinnamon on the top, then folded it in half. Then he nudged the blond elf beside him. “What is the boy’s name?”

“Aragorn,” whispered Glorfindel.

“Aragorn.” The elf acquired the youth’s attention immediately. “Mmm... this is good...” He feigned nibbling some. “Do you want some? Hmm? Want some?” The elf held out the crusty bread.

“Some dat!” The little lad reached out and yanked the piece of toast from the elf’s hand and began to gnaw on it.

“My goodness!” Gilraen tried to snatch the food from her son, but he turned his head away and chomped on the toast. She glared at Elrond. “Does your staff have no manners?”

Elrond held out a hand, motioning to the elf in question. “Lady Gilraen, this is Master Erestor, chief of staff and my head advisor. He is one of the most trusted members of my household. Erestor, may I introduce Lady Gilraen and young Lord Aragorn?”

“A delight to finally meet you.” Erestor took another piece of toast and fixed it as he had the first. “I have aided in the raising of many, many children over the years. Is he your first?”

Gilraen nodded warily.

“He is old enough to eat on his own.”

“He makes a fierce mess of it.” She was already beginning to clean up her son’s chin and hands.

“Let him,” advised Erestor. “If you continue to feed him, he will not learn how to do so on his own. There are many things he will need to learn to do by himself. Eating is one of the first things we can do on our own. You must not hinder him.” Erestor held another buttered toast slice out for Aragorn to take. “Once he learns to do this for himself, he will begin to embrace other things as well. He will walk sooner, speak in full sentences sooner, and generally learn many things at a faster rate.”

“I suppose you are right.” Gilraen took a sausage from a platter and set it down on the plate for Aragorn. He grabbed hold of it with his other hand and began to chew on it as well.

“I wanted to introduce myself as well, as I need to leave to attend a meeting in a moment.” The other elf stood and bowed. “My name is Melpomaen. I serve as Master Erestor’s chief assistant and secretary. We met briefly last night, but I was unable to really speak to you then with the commotion.”

“Yes, thank you for aiding us yesterday. I much appreciate it.”

“It is my pleasure. Please feel free to call upon me whenever you need. I regret that our house minstrel was unable to be here; he sent his regards. Last night was a very boisterous one in the Hall of Fire,” explained Melpomaen as he pushed in his chair and selected an apple to take with him. He bowed again before he left.

After he went, Erestor waved the end of his spoon in the direction that Melpomaen had left. “One of the many children I have helped to raise.”

“Is he your son?” asked Gilraen.

Erestor tilted his head as he dug another section out of his grapefruit. “Not exactly. His parents were killed when he was an infant.”

“Both of them? At the same time?” Gilraen looked to her own son, who was making the mess she had expected him to. “How terrible.”

“Officially, he became a ‘ward of the realm’. There were so many orphans at that time that many of them were unable to be placed. Melpomaen and Lindir became attached to one another like brothers, and while Melpomaen was young enough that someone might have adopted him, we did not wish to see him separated from Lindir,” Elrond said. “For all intents and purposes, they had no parents.”

“On the other hand they had all of us,” said Erestor. “Uncle Elrond, Uncle Erestor, Uncle Glorfindel, Uncle Aramir. There were nannies in the orphanage, of course, but I know I changed my share of diapers.”

Elrohir snickered. “Sorry. It is funny to think of Melpomaen in a nappy.”

“Watch your words, Elrohir. I have sketches of you and your brother when you were an infant, and you can be certain that there were diapers involved,” warned Elrond.

Elladan shook his head with mouth gaping. “Just how did I get pulled into this?”

Erestor grinned over his mug of tea. “Probably because he knows that even though you did not say it, you were thinking it.”

Intent on keeping their guest included, Glorfindel held out a serving plate of eggs to the lady who listened to the conversation with fascination. All of her preconceived notions about Elves were probably being destroyed one by one as the dialogue continued. “Now that your son has occupied himself, you may want to eat something yourself,” he suggested to Gilraen.

“And before you object,” added Erestor, “let me tell you that while Lord Elrond might back away to give you space, Glorfindel, Lindir, and I shall not leave you be. We are quite concerned and not easily dissuaded. You might think you are doing a good job of being stubborn, but I excel at stubborn. I invented stubborn – and am old enough to make that claim!”

Erestor’s firm yet humorous warning was finally enough to bring a small smile to Gilraen’s lips. “Alright, you win.”

“Oh, you should not have told him that,” warned Elladan.

“Why not?”

“His ego needs no further inflating,” explained Elrohir.

“A fine thing to say before me,” scolded Erestor playfully. “Elrond, how dare you allow your sons to speak in such a way to their elder?”

“We were all thinking it,” mumbled Glorfindel, making sure he was loud enough for Erestor to hear. He was rewarded with a pinch on the shoulder, and laughed it off.

Elrond gave Gilraen an apologetic glance. “We can be very informal here. My staff is more like family to me.”

“Well that is good,” decided Gilraen. “All friends should be as family.”

“In that case, expect Aragorn to have many helpful uncles from now on,” said Elrohir.

-3-

It did not take long for Gilraen to adjust to life in Rivendell. Her initial walls were put up to protect her son and her delicate emotional state. Barriers she had built up were removed quickly, and her trust in the elves of Imladris grew daily. By the end of the first week, she was allowing Elrohir or Glorfindel to take Aragorn for short periods of time so that she could tend to needs of her own, giving her the first chance in a long while to have time to herself.

Sometimes, Elrond would spend a few minutes alone with her, attempting to judge her emotional state. She still remained strong in this respect, but he feared a collapse at any moment.

He was therefore initially unalarmed when a knock came upon his door at an early hour of the morning some three weeks after her arrival. A thin robe was all he needed to retrieve before opening the door. “Good morning, Gilraen. How might I be of...” He paused, reading fear and shock in her eyes. “Gilraen, what is—“ He stopped as he looked down to see the front of her white gown soaked in blood. Without a moment’s thought, he bent down to pick her up and carried her to his bed. “Is the baby still inside of you?”

“I have no idea.” Her words were stuttered as if she were cold. Elrond pulled a drawer out from under the bed and took from it a thick wool blanket. “I left Aragorn alone in the room. Someone should be sent to him.”

“I will have someone do that.” He took hold of a cord at the door of the room and pulled it twice. A bell clanged some three stories up at the top of one of the small towers. “Are you feeling any pain?”

“As if I am giving birth, as I did with Aragorn, but it is too soon!” She had one hand fisted into the sheets, while the other reached out and grabbed for Elrond. She managed to take hold of one of his wrists. “Please, do not leave me!” she begged him.

Elrond nodded, and fumbled at the bedside table to find anything that might be of use until someone arrived. There was a pitcher of water, and a towel just a few feet away. “I need to wash my hands. Will you allow me that? I need to, if I am to save you and your child.”

Gilraen nodded weakly and Elrond did the best he could with the tools he had. He began to light candles and arrange the bedding so that he could work, and that was when Glorfindel arrived. “How can I help?” he asked immediately. The twins were only a step behind, and Erestor and Lindir soon joined them, along with Elrond’s butler and maids.

Orders were given for Glorfindel to go to the healing wing to retrieve certain supplies, while Elrohir was instructed to see to Aragorn. Lindir was to stand guard in the hall and calm any other members of the staff who arrived, while Elladan and Erestor were to assure the guard that no outside dangers had caused the alarm to be rung. Elrond assigned his maids and butler to the menial tasks needed to assist him, and once Glorfindel returned appointed him to aid as a secondary healer.

By first light, Elrond had done what he could and dismissed all others from the room. Glorfindel grimly closed the door, last to leave, and found the others who had been summoned sitting silently in the parlor.

Elladan stood up, his breath held, his eyes searching Glorfindel’s for an answer. The room behind him was silent, except for the faint sound of weeping and Elrond’s voice attempting to soothe someone’s pain. The blond shook his head remorsefully. “We did everything. It was just too early.” Tears were welling up in his own eyes, and Erestor went to him and brought him to sit on the sofa. “He tried, she tried, and I tried, and it... I guess Arathorn wanted his baby daughter with him when he made his great journey to the unknown.” Glorfindel’s tears were free flowing and he made no attempts at covering his emotion, which was quickly permeating the other occupants of the room. “At least Aragorn will be too young to know or remember.”

The remainder of the day was somber, with news traveling quickly. A vigil was held in the Hall of Fire, with Erestor reading passages from both Sedryner texts and those used by the Aphasadorins. That evening, the hall was silent, and the fires all extinguished not only for the loss that day, but in respect for Arathorn’s passing as well.

Neither Elrond nor Gilraen attended. By the afternoon, Gilraen had wept herself into exhaustion, and Elrond took that time to clean the room and make preparations for the infant’s burial. When Gilraen awoke late in the evening, she was bundled warmly in a fresh gown with clean sheets and quilts surrounding her. Even the pillows, stained with sweat, had been removed and replaced. A tray of dried fruit and cured beef was awaiting her, and Elrond sat in the corner in a rocking chair that was brought up from the Hall of Fire.

“I am sure you are not of a mind to eat at the moment,” said Elrond, “but you will need to in order to regain your health and for Aragorn’s sake.” He had been smoking from a long wooden pipe and took another long pull before setting it aside in its tray. “I shall call for some tea or warm milk.”

“Is that Old Toby?” questioned Gilraen as Elrond reached for the small silver bell that would summon the butler.

He looked down at the pipe. “It is. I can be rid of it for the evening if it bothers you.”

“That was Arathorn’s choice for his pipe.” Gilraen smiled sadly. “When the wind blew towards our cabin, I would know of his return before his arrival from the scent on the breeze. I never took Elves to be smokers.”

“I am but half of my counterparts,” Elrond reminded her. “I enjoy a good smoke as well as any Man. There are a few here in the valley who partake in the art, despite their pure heritage. Glorfindel, for instance, has joined me on the porch on more than one occasion, though he always smokes from someone else’s pipe. In fact, I doubt he has one of his own. My sons are also known to smoke now and again – Elrohir more so than Elladan.” He raised the bell. “Tea or milk?”

“Tea with sugar, please.” Gilraen waited as Elrond summoned the servant and placed the request. “I find I quite like Glorfindel.”

“Most people do. There is very little not to like about him.” Elrond smiled ruefully. “He balances out the rest of the staff nicely.”

“He serves as your seneschal?”

“Yes, that is formally his title. He is horse master and Captain of the guard as well,” added Elrond.

“I am familiar with the duties of a horse master and a soldier. Exactly what does a seneschal do?” asked Gilraen.

“He is responsible for all festivals and events,” said Elrond. “We host many gatherings, meetings, and ceremonies here in Imladris. Someone must stay on top of everything. He also minds the budgets, so it makes practical sense for him to have that charge. In addition, he is the one who decides upon punishments for unlawful or unacceptable behavior.”

Gilraen moved the pillows so that she could sit up a little more in bed. “So he is your judge?”

“No, not at all. He simply decides upon the punishments if someone is found guilty. It is Lindir who judges guilt from innocence, when such cases arise,” said Elrond.

“The minstrel? How odd, for him to hold such a position,” Gilraen remarked.

The butler arrived at the door with a tray, which Elrond accepted and took to the bedside. “Lindir is a minstrel by choice, and a lawyer by trade. He studied many years here in Imladris, and when he came of age I hired a series of professionals to come to Rivendell to enhance his studies. He was my ward, you see, his parents were killed in an ambush.”

“So he is more your son, than an employee,” reasoned Gilraen.

“Indeed. Thus, I trust him to make such important decisions.” Elrond heard someone knocking on the door, and left the butler to take care of it. Not long after, the sound of younger son’s voice drifted into the bedroom. “Elrohir, we are in my room,” he called out, and his son entered presently, with Aragorn on his hip.

“Sorry to interrupt, but someone—“

“Momi!” Aragorn was not much a conversationalist yet, but there were some words he knew well. He thrust out his little arms and wiggled his body in an attempt to gain momentum, though Elrohir held him firmly until he reached Gilraen and could safely settle the child in her arms. “Momi sick?” he asked with some concern.

“Yes, baby. Very sick. Elrond is making me well again.”

Aragorn shifted his gaze toward the elf who was rocking in the chair. “Popi?” he whispered uncertainly.

Gilraen’s cheeks flushed. “Sorry, he thinks you are his father – he did not see Arathorn very often.”

Elrond rubbed his cheeks, remembering he had not had a chance to shave in several weeks. His heritage and choice afforded him most of the benefits of Elvenkind, but there were some traits that favored the race of Men. “Poor child. I am sorry we were unable to send help in time.” It was really the first time the incident had been spoken of since Gilraen’s arrival, and Elrond chose his words carefully. “What have you told Aragorn of what happened?”

“Nothing.” Gilraen shook her head. “He is too young to understand, and I do not wish to place undue burden on him.”

“I can understand you concern,” acknowledged Elrond. “Had my children been your son’s age when their mother… well, I hardly know what I would have done.” He voice trailed off at the end of his disjointed sentence, and he looked momentarily lost. “Excuse me.” Quickly, he removed himself from the room.

Gilraen looked to Elrohir for an answer. “Have I said something offensive?”

“No, he… he loves Nana dearly. When they married, she was young, but he had seen two ages already. According to Glorfindel and Erestor, she brought the light back into his eyes. When she left, it seems everything in Imladris hazed over, like a fog that never leaves. They have been parted far too long now, and his continued life in Middle-earth is not the choice his heart would make.” Elrohir sighed. “There are times that we, my brother and sister and I, advise him to sail, but he will have none of it. He insists that he must stay and ‘see it to its end’. I do hope he does not mean to see Middle-earth to its end, but with my father I can never quite tell. One moment he can be relaxed and playful, and the other he is brooding for reasons unknown. Such is the curse of all who have seen the First Age, I suspect.”

It took a few minutes for Elrond to return, and when he did there was no hiding his puffed, reddened eyes. There was another tray in his hands, which he used as a diversion. “I took the liberty of ordering extra food so that we might all have something for tea.”

For three days more did Gilraen stay in Elrond’s rooms. Aragorn’s crib was moved to the bedside, and Elrond spent the time sleeping in the rocking chair. He was no stranger to it; for the final year that Celebrian lived in Rivendell, she occupied the bed exclusively and he stayed on the sofa or a chair. The difference in the situations was that while he found himself moving the sofa or the chair further from the bed per his wife’s request, he moved the rocker slowly closer and closer to Gilraen each night. She would awaken briefly from nightmares, and he would hold her hand until she drifted back to sleep. Aragorn was not a sound sleeper, and the hoot of an owl or a call of a stray cat would have him standing in the crib, holding the rail, bouncing up and down excitedly. Elrond tried to take care of the child when this happened so that Gilraen could get as much uninterrupted peaceful rest as possible.

On the fourth day, she left the bed for a period longer than it took to use the lavatory and asked for a hot bath and clean clothing. She took a walk on her own, leaving Aragorn in the care of Elrohir. Elrond stood upon his balcony and watched her from a distance, ready to join her or send someone to her aid should she suddenly appear distraught. Instead, it seemed she needed the time to think and to contemplate the entire situation. A few minutes after she entered the house again, there was a knock on Elrond’s door.

The butler joined him on the balcony soon after. “Lady Gilraen has asked for the crib to be returned to her rooms. She said to tell you that she appreciates your hospitality, but will not require the use of your room this evening. Shall I have the maid strip the bed?”

Elrond nodded curtly, and the butler disappeared back into the house. When Elrond returned inside, he found that every last trace of Gilraen and Aragorn having been in the suite was gone. Not a single toy remained in the parlor, not the crib, not the hairbrush that had been on the nightstand for three days. The bed was perfectly made, sheets crisp and tucked in under the mattress. Even the rocking chair had been taken away, back to the Hall of Fire where it belonged.

He dropped down on the edge of the bed and looked around at the empty room, and suddenly realized how much it mirrored his life. Once Celebrian left, his sons took to hunting orcs in the forests, and on the very first occasion that they returned, had moved the few items left in the family suite to their own rooms far from their father’s. Arwen still lived with him, when she was home, which was not often. She spent most of her days in Lothlorien, feeling more at home in a tree than a house. Having never liked pets, due to their short life spans, Elrond dismissed Glorfindel’s idea of keeping a bowl of fish or a cat. Instead, he lined the walls with portraits of loved ones. Only now, as he looked around, did he realize that each and every one that stared blankly from their frames was gone – either over the sea or to the world beyond.

As he lay down with the intent to take a nap in order to forget, at least for an hour or two, just how miserable he was, a sweet scent invaded his nostrils. The maid, in her haste, had not removed the pillowcases, and they were now infused with the feminine essence he had not smelled for many years. Rose petals and lilac, common in the soaps sold in the market to woman of all races. He breathed it in deeply, and took his mind back to a much happier time, drifting into reverie with thoughts of long walks in the garden and his early days of courting Celebrian.

* * *

The next morning, Elrond went to break his fast with all intentions of eating with Lindir, for it was midweek and their usual day for it. Instead, he found the chair that was normally occupied by Lindir was being used by Gilraen. She was alone, and smiled pleasantly to Elrond, and stood when he approached. “I hope you do not mind. I asked Elrohir if he would allow one more morning of taking care of Aragorn. He seems to get along with children quite well. Do you mind if we share the meal?”

“Of course not,” Elrond assured her. He looked about. “I tend to eat with Lindir once a week. I do hope he can make other plans.”

“Oh, he has,” said Gilraen. “He and Glorfindel took some fruit and muffins to the conservatory. Something about Glorfindel not being able to sneak out of his lessons.”

“Ah, yes. My seneschal has been learning how to play lute,” explained Elrond fondly.

Gilraen sat down again as Elrond did. “For how long?”

“Since... as long as I can remember,” Elrond answered. “There are many distractions for Glorfindel to deal with. If he could take a few years leave and concentrate on all of the things he wants to learn to do, then it would not be so difficult for him to master the instrument.”

“Have you ever offered that possibility to him?” asked Gilraen as plates of griddlecakes were set in front of each of them.

Elrond reached for the maple syrup. “It is something we have discussed, but he is adamant about his duties. I have to force him to take vacations – and even then, he still works. Technically, he is on vacation right now,” said Elrond. “Technically, the only thing he would have to do is attend council meetings. He works from late fall through to early spring, constantly at the ready patrolling the borders. He rides between all of the outposts; he can do this in a day and a half. Most of the time, he is in the wild when he rests for the night. No tent, no shelter – he swears it would slow him down. The task is grueling, and he is the only one who does it. In the better part of the year, the same route takes three to patrol, and they time their pace to be at an outpost each night.”

“That is incredible. We have heard many tales of Glorfindel the Great, but it is amazing that they are true.”

“Do not call him that,” warned Elrond. “He hates that description. He thinks of himself as any other person.”

“I will be careful not to use the name around him,” Gilraen assured Elrond. For a little while, they ate in silence. Gilraen finally asked, “Do you have time for a walk after breakfast?”

Elrond was about to tell Gilraen of his busy day ahead and how impossible it was to alter his schedule, but then somehow the air wafted across the table and lavender and rose petals were all he could think about. He had been reluctant to leave his bed that morning, hugging the pillow to his chest until he heard the butler enter the suite. “I am sure I can postpone a meeting or two.”

* * *

“Where is he?” Erestor was impatiently tapping the end of his quill onto the top of the desk. The council meeting had originally be rescheduled at the last minute, and now the council sat, all in attendance having rearranged their day to accommodate, with Elrond nowhere to be found.

“Maybe he forgot?” suggested Melpomaen.

“Maybe we are in the wrong location. Might he have changed the room?” asked a junior councilor.

Lindir went to the window and looked out over the courtyard. “He may have gone outside for lunch and lost track of time.”

“Are you sure he meant for it to be rescheduled for later today, and not a later day of the week?” asked Glorfindel.

“Certain.” Erestor snapped his fingers twice, and the page at the door scurried over. “Find Master Elrond. Do not bring him here; just find him and tell me where he is,” instructed Erestor angrily. The page nodded and rushed out of the room.

Glorfindel leaned over and touched Erestor’s arm. “We could start without him. We have many times.”

“I had to cancel a very important engagement in order to be here,” hissed Erestor. “I am not particularly happy at the moment, and if I lead this meeting I do not think it will contain language appropriate for the meeting minutes.” Someone snickered about this, but one glare from Erestor shut everyone up.

The page returned ten minutes later. “I located Master Elrond, sir. He and Lady Gilraen are in the gardens.”

“Are they walking?”

“No.”

“Picking flowers?”

“No.”

“Well, what are they doing?”

“Just... sitting. And talking. Should I return and find out what they are talking about?”

“No, no need.” Erestor stood up and clapped his hands twice. “Due to a technicality – that being the absence of our council leader – I call this meeting adjourned. Thank you for coming.” Chairs scraped the floor and sheets of notes were gathered up, but Erestor rushed over to Glorfindel and tapped him on the shoulder as he was leaving. “Come with me.” He went on ahead, out into the hallway.

Glorfindel frowned. “Must I? You were not the only one to alter your day. I had other plans, too.”

“I need your help. It will not take long.” Erestor motioned to Glorfindel to follow him, and the blond reluctantly did. They walked quietly through the house and out the front door. “I should have asked which part of the gardens they are in. Between us, we should be able to track them.”

“I thought you were not going to confront them,” said Glorfindel warily.

“No, not confront. Not exactly. Just help me find them.”

The pair, so attuned to all of the happenings in Rivendell, did not take long to find the bushes behind which was a bench, and upon the bench, Elrond and Gilraen. Erestor motioned for Glorfindel to be quiet for a moment, and then leaned in as close as he dared to eavesdrop.

“And Arwen is the only girl,” said Elrond. He was stripping the bark from a dropped twig of a nearby tree, watching his work instead of looking at Gilraen. His little task seemed to keep his shaking hands from being as noticeable as they might have otherwise been. “She spends a lot of time with her grandparents in Lothlorien. Her mother’s parents, of course. She really enjoys living in trees.”

“I would love for Aragorn to have known his grandparents,” said Gilraen wistfully.

Elrond took a deep breath. “I would be honored to serve in whatever way possible. That is, if Aragorn would not mind an adoptive grandparent.”

“What Aragorn truly needs right now is a father.”

Erestor shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he whispered to Glorfindel as he started to walk around the hedges. Glorfindel jumped into step just as Erestor began talking to him. “So I was telling Lindir that we really ought have a music competition again soon, just to—oh, there you are! We were waiting for you all afternoon,” admonished Erestor as soon as he made eye contact with Elrond.

Elrond leapt up from his spot on the bench, which was awfully close to Gilraen. “The meeting! I lost track of time! Has it begun?”

“It has already ended. We all voted ourselves raises. I hope you do not mind,” said Erestor casually.

Momentarily, Elrond looked shocked, but then he looked to Glorfindel. “Is that true?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Traitor!” announced Erestor, giving his friend a gentle shove. “I knew I should have brought Lindir with me instead!”

Elrond quirked a brow. “Did you know I was here?”

Erestor grabbed hold of Glorfindel’s arm. “Well, we hate to run, but it is such a lovely day, so much to do—“

With his arms now crossed over his chest, Elrond gave them a little glare. “You are supposed to watch my valley – not me!”

"It seems to be that time of year again," remarked Lindir. He was sitting on one of the window benches in the Hall of Fire, a mug of steaming liquid in his hands. The windows were frosting up where the steam came near them. Outside, a team of foresters were cutting logs for the winter ahead. They had a good pile started in the courtyard, where most of the flowers had wilted and many of the bushes had lost their leaves. While snow was not as prevalent around the immediate area of the house, the power that Elrond possessed only reached so far. The woods and outlying areas would receive more than a dusting, and there would be drifts on the hewn stairs that led into the valley, making travel in or out nearly impossible. If there was an emergency, there were a few eagles living in the cliffs of Imladris that could be coaxed to assist. Their services were almost never called upon.

Near to the stables, the Winterguard was readying their gear and horses for the seasonal migration of soldiers. The Winterguard was only a third of the size of the guardians that patrolled during the spring and summer, though some of the fair-weather soldiers were Elves who would travel back to their homelands of Lothlorien, Mithlond, and Mirkwood for the colder months. For Glorfindel, it meant a six month exodus away from Imladris as he coordinated the efforts on the borders. For the soldiers and scouts who chose this patrol, it was grueling, but the pay was better, and the benefits of spending the warmest and best parts of the year with their families in Imladris were not to be forgotten. In fact, most of the seasoned warriors were the ones who chose to be part of the Winterguard.

"I suppose the guard will leave tomorrow," said Lindir as he attempted to start a conversation with someone else in the room. At the moment, it seemed that everyone was much too interested in their own tasks -- reading or needlework or generally staring out the windows. "I suppose the evenings will be grim in here after that."

"You will have a new group to entertain," Erestor reminded the minstrel. Erestor was not partaking in any of the activities formerly mentioned, but was instead fletching arrows at a table that he had snuck into the hall earlier in the morning.

Lindir walked away from his perch and pulled a stool up to the table that Erestor was sitting at. “I know, but I like the Winterguard better. They appreciate me more. They never get demanding, and they never act like ungreatful gits.”

“What do you mean?” asked Erestor.

Lindir picked up a feather that needed to be trimmed and began to assist Erestor. Though he was not a warrior himself, Lindir had been trained to use a sword and to fire a bow, in case an attack ever reached Imladris. He spent a few years as squire to Celeborn – and promptly came home as soon as that time was up. “I really hate to say it, but they come in here, they get drunk, and they act like children. If the song is not fast enough, if they have heard that tune before, whatever, they throw a fit. It never happens when you or Elrond are here,” explained Lindir, knowing that Erestor was about to claim to never see such behavior.

“Maybe I will need to sneak in some day so that I can catch some of these grown children,” said Erestor.

Lindir shook his head. “It would only make it worse. They might shape up to begin with, but in the end I would still end up in the hall alone with them at some point. I would not want them to go from throwing insults at me to throwing mugs of beer or chairs. I resign myself to the fact that my audience will only have class half of the year.” Lindir’s help was speeding Erestor’s work, and he looked over the finished arrows that were already stacking up. “Who are the arrows for?”

“Whomever happens to need them. Glorfindel commented that the guard was returning with few to spare for the Winterguard. He will need to empty the stores of them, and that leaves nothing for hunting and no reserves.” Erestor pushed the feathers closer to Lindir. “I have most of the scribes and junior councilors making them in the library, and we ran out of tables. This one came from the greenhouse. It was too humid there for me to work on them. The glue cannot dry and the feathers curl and I end up with an awful mess. I just hope Elrond stays away from here until I am done.”

“You should have asked me sooner. Do you want me to recruit some of the other musicians?”

“Can any of them make arrows?”

“Even if they do not know now, I can teach them how to do some of the preparatory work. Nimble fingers work fast.” Lindir stood up. “I will be back momentarily.”

“Bring another table – but do not let Elrond see you,” warned Erestor. “You know how he hates having tables in this room.”

Lindir raised a finger to his lips before he dashed out of the room. Erestor paused his work and looked out the window that Lindir had been staring out of earlier. Glorfindel was going over a list he held, making notations on it as he surveyed the supplies in the courtyard. Squirrels with fat, fluffy tails leapt from crate to crate hoping to find an opening that would allow them to explore the contents. In the winter, Erestor found that he sought out extra tasks such as the one before him, to help keep his mind off of the dangers that were being faced on the borders.

“Can I help?”

Erestor was drawn away from his musings by Gilraen, who had come to the side of the table. The embroidery she had been working on was left on the chair she had occupied, and beside the chair was a blanket spread on the floor, where little Aragorn was stacking and moving some wooden blocks that Elrohir found in a chest of childhood items he had kept. “Can you make arrows?”

“I made all of the ones used by my husband after we were married. If you do not mind that I shall occasionally need to attend to my child, I am more than happy to offer assistance.” Gilraen sat down on the stool that Lindir had been sitting on and picked up the spool of linen thread. “Would you like me to bind the arrows you have already finished?”

Erestor picked up one of the arrows from his pile. He had managed to glue the feathers onto some sixty arrows thus far, but was piling them up to be bound later. “Here. Show me your skill.”

Gilraen began to wind the thread tightly, spacing it precisely with ease. “Would you have doubt in my skill if I were a man?”

Erestor glanced up from the jig that he was currently working with. Briefly, he considered a diplomatic answer. Somehow, he knew Gilraen would see through a waste of breath. “Probably not.”

“Why is that? Have you encountered many incompetent women in your long years, or do you just have a general disdain for women? Or,” added Gilraen just as Erestor was about to open his mouth, “is it one in particular?”

Erestor picked up an arrow from the pile that Lindir had readied for him and spread glue on the edge of the feather he was about to attach using a small brush. “You seem to value honesty, so I admit: I have misgivings when it comes to most women.”

“That they are incompetent, or is it something else?”

“The woman is the weaker sex,” answered Erestor.

Gilraen’s brows rose, but she did not throw down the arrow or become angry as Erestor had expected. “That is rather intriguing, coming from an elf.”

“I see it in every race. It is the women who require protection, and the men who do the protecting.”

“Firstly, that does not necessarily make women weak. What of Haleth? She was by no means a weak woman,” argued Gilraen.

“Always, there are exceptions. I knew a fellow in Gondolin who qualified as a weak man,” added Erestor. “On a whole, however, it tends to hold true.”

“My. And what would your own Elbereth have to say about such an opinion?” wondered Gilraen.

Erestor set aside the jig he had been working on, and pulled another closer to remove the arrow from the hold. “I am hardly interested in her opinion. I suppose I would be more curious as to whether or not her husband agrees with me.”

“Just remember,” pointed out Gilraen as she held up the arrow she finished for inspection, “you came from the womb of a woman. Weak as she might have been, she had the strength to carry and birth you. She had the power to create – something you do not possess.”

Erestor smirked, but said nothing. This prompted Gilraen to ask just what amused him so. “I just happen to know something you do not.”

“Care to share it?”

“Not really,” said Erestor. “I approve your work,” he said, and switched back to the initial topic. “And, I apologize for scrutinizing your abilities.”

“So you can be humble,” said Gilraen as she picked up another unfinished arrow.

“Being cynical has little to do with good manners.”

They worked a little while in silence until Aragorn crawled over to them, dragging the blanket with the blocks on it as he went. “Almost time for lunch,” said Gilraen as she reached down and lifted Aragorn up onto her lap.

Erestor adjusted the clamp that held a feather that was proving particularly difficult to adhere to the wood. “Are you offering to put an order in with the cook?”

“I was actually testing to see where your line was between gentlemanly gestures and thinking a woman’s place was to be in the kitchen,” said Gilraen. She kissed the top of Aragorn’s head and moved his hands away from the linen thread that he obviously wanted to help with. “I am not that hungry yet, but Aragorn will start to fuss soon.” She gave him a sly sideways look. “I can handle a crying child. How is your fortitude?”

After making the decision to discard the problematic feather for another that was straighter, Erestor checked to see that all of the feathers were adhering well before he stood up. “Is there anything in particular that young Lord Aragorn prefers to eat for lunch?”

“So your chivalrous side bests your chauvinistic side.”

Erestor sighed with his hands placed upon the top of the table. “We have already established that I am an elf.”

“Indeed, we have, and a fine elf at that. I am still going to wager that there is someone in particular who vexed you to give you such a foul opinion of women,” said Gilraen. “As for Aragorn, he will eat nearly anything at this stage. If there is fresh fruit, I would prefer that.”

“I shall do my best to charm the cook into finding some fresh fruit.” Erestor left the room, finding Lindir in the corridor approaching with four other entertainers. Three were female, and Erestor was uncertain on whether to be thankful for that or not.

“Pendir and I are going to see if we might acquire a table from the stables,” explained Lindir. “It seems many of them are in use, and we did not wish to drag a desk into the hall.”

“Good idea,” commended Erestor. “I am on my way to gather some lunch. Are there any others we should be expecting?”

“A few more, once the morning lessons have finished. They are teaching their classes at the moment.”

“I will plan for ten,” said Erestor as he walked the other way toward the kitchens. He placed a request for a simple luncheon to be brought to the Hall of Fire, including an ample amount of dessert (of which he happened to be a fan, because in his opinion no lunch was complete without cookies or cakes), then returned to the hall to find that two additional tables were brought in, as well as all the remaining jigs and tools that were found in a storage shed outside. Some of the jigs were a little worn, but with steady hands were still usable.

“I hope you do not mind, but I asked Lord Glorfindel to join us for lunch,” said Lindir as he carried a few more chairs to the makeshift workshop that had been set up. “I thought he might like to see where we were at with the arrows, and I also know he will neglect lunch and work right through given the chance.”

Erestor nodded just as the last person they wanted to see entered the hall and stopped in his tracks at the doorway. In an extreme act of absurdity, Erestor stood up in front of the tables in an attempt to block them from Elrond’s view. “Good afternoon!”

Elrond skipped the pleasantries entirely. “What is going on here?”

“I thought you would be busy with the changing of the guard, or we would have invited you,” said Erestor. “Obviously, you are just taking a break from your duties which you will soon need to return—“

“Are those tables?” Elrond walked briskly around Erestor and stopped upon seeing the large pieces of furniture. He narrowed his eyes, and glared sideways at his chief councilor. “Why are there tables in my hall?”

Gilraen pulled Aragorn into her arms and stood up. “It was my idea,” she said before Erestor had a chance to give an explanation. “I thought it would be fast work if we found a place where we could spread out the tasks,” she said, for different areas were set up like stations for different people to complete different parts of the arrow making. “No one will be using the hall for songs and stories until after supper, and by then we shall have this all cleaned up and everything will be back in place where it belongs,” Gilraen assured Elrond. She gave him a very pretty smile, and his look softened.

“I suppose as long as it is all back in place by this evening,” he mumbled. “And I do have work to tend to in my office; I just stopped into the greenhouse and wondered why the table was missing when it was there this morning. As you were.” Elrond shifted back and forth for a moment, and then looked at Gilraen. “Might I have a word with you in private?”

“Of course.” Gilraen followed Elrond out of the hall, handing Aragorn to Erestor on her way. The group of elves sat or stood silently as they watched the lord of the valley leave with Gilraen. They actually closed the doors of the room, which was very unusual for the entrance to the hall. A few minutes later, Gilraen returned and took Aragorn back into her arms.

“Are you in trouble?” whispered Lindir when Gilraen sat down again.

“No,” she said as she settled Aragorn onto his blanket. “Lord Elrond simply worried that I might have moved or helped to move the tables. My constitution is rather delicate, you know,” she said, shifting her gaze to Erestor. “I assured him that was not the case. Then he insisted that in the future, if I were to have such ideas, I should bring them to him so that he could have enough tables brought ahead of time.”

“Wait – he said you could bring tables in here again?” asked Lindir.

Gilraen confirmed this with a nod. “He also wished to invite me to dinner this evening. He and Glorfindel were going to have supper, but he thought I might want to join them, since Lord Glorfindel has been so kind to me since my arrival.”

Once food was distributed to everyone at the table, Gilraen asked, “What was that you were saying earlier about women being the weaker sex?” The question was addressed to Erestor, who had just been able to take a bite of an apple.

He chewed and swallowed before he answered. “I... concede that there are cases when women find a way to gain the upper hand in a situation,” he said slowly.

“Hmm... just not able to admit that you might be wrong about something, are you?”

The rest of the occupants of the table were listening with great interest. It was not often that anyone challenged Erestor, and there was no doubt that some of the discussion would become evening gossip. Erestor set his apple aside and leaned forward. “If we were to partake in a wrestling match, there is no doubt that I would best you.”

“But in a war of words, you can be defeated,” remarked Gilraen.

Erestor shook his head slowly. “I may not win every debate, but I will still win some of them. I will, however, win every test of physical strength. Added together, a draw and a win still equals a win for my gender.”

“And yet, had I not been present, Elrond would have thrown you and your tables out of this room,” reasoned Gilraen.

Erestor shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to say.”

“You are incorrigible,” she scolded.

“And you are feisty yourself,” said Erestor after a pause. He smiled. “I like that in a woman.”

Gilraen, who had been busy feeding Aragorn as she argued with Erestor, finally looked up at Erestor. “So you not only see women as unequal, you see them as prey.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. Erestor’s lips curled upwards. “Are not men meant to hunt and women meant to gather?”

“If I were less polite, you would be wearing this bowl of porridge, Master Erestor,” Gilraen promised.

It was then that another visitor entered the hall, and he needed no introduction, for everyone raised their hands in greeting and it was difficult for him to return the greetings to any of them first, so he merely gave a few friendly waves in the general direction of everyone before coming to the arrow making workshop. “Thank you all for doing this. I know how busy all of you are, and the guard appreciates your work more than you know.”

“Please, Glorfindel, it is the least we can do,” said Lindir. He pulled out an empty chair. “Sit, join us for lunch – no working, though, you have been hard at work all morning.”

“Thank you.” Glorfindel sat down, finding himself between Lindir and Erestor. “No matter how much I plan, it always seems as if I am missing something.”

“Are you leaving this evening or waiting until tomorrow morning?” asked Erestor.

“Tomorrow afternoon, actually. I have planned to meet the other captain for breakfast tomorrow before I leave. It will give us a better chance to talk than to do so on horseback as we pass each other traveling, which had been the case in the past,” explained Glorfindel.

Erestor nodded. “Good plan. If you are free, would you care to have dinner this evening? We can go over the plans for the next few months and make sure everything is in line for the supplies to be sent out as needed.”

“Oh... well... I was supposed to dine with Elrond and Gilraen this evening,” said Glorfindel. “Of course, it was originally meant to be Elrond and I, and then he asked if I would mind if Gilraen attended – and I do not,” he assured the woman sitting at the table with them, for her expression was somewhat shocked. Glorfindel, of course, did not know it was due to knowing that Erestor knew full well what Glorfindel’s plans were for the evening. “What is one more? I am certain Elrond will not mind. I will let the cooks know before I go back out to the stables.”

“I would not wish to intrude,” said Erestor. His face showed sincerity – a gift of all of the years he had spent in the theatre. Glorfindel looked to Gilraen, who could do no more than shake her head in shock. “Well, then, it is settled. I will join you this evening for supper.” He made sure to sneak a smirk at Gilraen before lunch was over.

As Erestor pulled his carriage off to the side of the road, he could already hear the laughter and music coming from within the large log cabin. It was still within Rivendell, just on the outskirts of the valley, and nestled against the side of a cliff, atop a low plateu. In fact, part of the inner wall of the structure was the sheer rock. A cheerful fire was puffing wisps of smoke up through the chimney, and a trio of hunters were standing upon the porch where the snow drifts did not deter their smoking.

Erestor nodded in greeting to them as he stepped down from the carriage. From the lower area where passengers might usually sit he took out several packages. One of the hunters set his pipe on the wooden railing and came to help him. “Nothing too heavy,” said Erestor as they divided the supplies. “A lot of blankets, warm socks, and long undergarments.”

“Much appreciated, whatever it is,” said the hunter kindly, but in a gruff voice.

Erestor pushed back the curtain to reveal two barrels as well. “An early Yule gift from Master Elrond.”

The hunter smiled and gathered up the packages he was to carry in. “We shall be back for that swiftly. I am sure Galen will pass along his thanks and blessings.”

The pair entered into the Lodge of the Elkhounds, or The Lodge, as most referred to it. Here lived numerous menfolk, some claiming kinship to Elrond via thinned branches of the family tree. In the better months, they spent their time in tents or in the open air, but when cold came they took up residence in The Lodge, a refuge within the Elven realm away from the Elves. While The Lodge was by no means as large or sprawling as the Last Homely House, it was a massive structure of three stories and nearly a hundred rooms. The low level was the common room, with many rustic posts of whole tree trunks supporting the upper levels. In this room, there was a fire in each corner, and a great many places to sit. Erestor preferred a stool at the round bar counter at the center of the room. He looked there now as they entered, and was slightly shocked to see a certain lady at the counter.

Once the rest of the cargo was inside and salutations were exchanged between Erestor and those he knew, he sat down upon the stool to Gilraen’s right. “Good evening. Now, what is a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Your attempts at romantic lines need work.”

“No, really,” said Erestor as he waved the barkeep over. “This is the sort of place fellows like I come to. Does Elrond know you are here?”

“I asked Elrohir to watch Aragorn, and that I would be out for a while. Elrond was very busy today, and I did not wish to bother him.” Gilraen had been pushing an empty mug back and forth from one hand to the other. “I walked here this afternoon.”

“Perhaps it was sunny despite the snow, and that helped keep you warm, but it is bitterly cold now,” warned Erestor. “It is a good thing I happened to come here this evening; you can ride back with me.”

“I can walk back, thank you,” said Gilraen.

“Elrond would make me sleep out in the snow if he found out that I left you here to walk. I came by carriage, and that is how you will return. End of discussion,” warned Erestor when Gilraen tried to protest. “This has nothing to do with your gender. If I had come out here and found Elladan or Elrohir or Lindir, and they told me they had walked, they would be returning with me via carriage as well.” The barkeep approached and Erestor pointed to an oak keg behind the bar. “What do you have tonight?”

“Moonbeam Ale, a strong mead, and Maritime Stout.”

Erestor weighed his choices as he removed his riding gloves. “Mug of stout, and a shot of Shitkicker Wiskey,” he said without blinking an eye.

“Two,” said Gilraen just as the man was about to step away.

“Two it is,” replied the barkeep as he went to retrieve the bottle of liquor from the top shelf. Erestor pulled coins from his pocket, but Gilraen had some down on the counter that she slid forward.

“So now I cannot even buy you a drink?” asked Erestor.

“Certainly not.” Gilraen made sure the bartender saw where her payment was when he returned. “I will accept the ride back, but I will not have my drinks paid for by a chaovanist.”

Erestor rolled his eyes and looked to the barkeep for sympathy as the man brought two fresh mugs out from beneath the bar. “Has she been like this all evening?” The bartender only smirked, set their drinks down in front of them, and slid the coins into his apron pouch. Erestor lifted up the shot glass first. “What shall we drink to? Health? Wealth? Happiness?”

Gilraen looked through the liquid in the glass, her view beyond distorted as it still spun slowly in its container. “Yes.” She gulped the spirits down and hit the glass back onto the counter.

There was no intention for Erestor to stay very long, and soon after finishing his drinks he was saying farewells and packing items into the carriage to take back to the house – salted meats and animals pelts, and leather hides. Finally he retrieved his nearly forgotten gloves from the counter of the bar and tapped Gilraen upon the shoulder. “Shall we?” He offered his arm, but was not surprised when she simply nodded and started off towards the door without him.

By the time they arrived back at the stairs of the Last Homely House, Gilraen had dozed off in a nest of furs inside of the carriage. Erestor hopped down from his perch where he had led the horse back to find a rather angry Elrond tapping his foot and looking none too happy when he saw Gilraen sit up, stretch, and yawn inside of the carriage. “Madam, I shall tolerate much, but this is unacceptable. Not knowing where you were – many of us have been terribly worried!”

“I—“

“I am sorry, Elrond,” began Erestor. “I did not expect that I should be gone for so long. Gilraen expressed an interest in seeing the Lodge, and I thought we might be back sooner. It was her first visit, and there was much to see, and many people for her to meet.”

Elrond’s expression softened slightly, especially after he saw the apologetic look from Gilraen. “Just be sure to tell someone where she is going to be next time!”

“And who would you like me to tell?” Erestor dared to ask. “Your seneschal is away, and your chief of staff was with her.”

“Tell me, you fool,” scolded Elrond.

Erestor bowed slightly, his hands clasped together. “As you wish,” he said carefully.

The scene had brought out a few onlookers from the Hall of Fire, and opened a few windows on the second floor where both Men and Elves peeked down. “A fine woman, she is,” someone was heard to be saying to someone else in a not-so-discrete manner. “I can see how Elrond has become jealous of her.”

“She will make a fine replacement for the lady of the house,” another replied back.

Elrond pretended not to have heard. “Gilraen, come, it is late, you must be tired. Come inside and rest.” He helped her from the carriage and ushered her inside.

Once the door was closed, the gossip began. “My, my, councilor, stealing the lord’s wife before she is even betrothed.”

“She is a widow, and he is much in the same position for as long as he dwells here,” warned Erestor. “Do not say that which you will regret come morning.”

“Is it true they have taken up residence with one another?” asked a young woman who stood at her open window as she nursed her baby. “I thought Elves could do no such thing before marriage.”

“Marriage between Elves happens in only one night,” someone shouted up to her from the courtyard with a wink. “More than enough time for them to take up residence.”

“Honestly. I am going to write a proposal for an after-hours rumor tax,” warned Erestor. “Now off with you all, lest I call for the warden to arrest you all for loitering!” He waited until everyone was either back inside or shutting their windows before whistling for the footmen to come help with his cargo.

- - -

“So theoretically, I think the best solution will be to keep the boy with his mother in the house. I know that you want them to have as normal of a life as possible,” said Erestor as he sipped from his teacup, “but as it stands their life is nowhere near normal any longer.”

Elrond sighed and looked out the window. “I understand that. I want them to have some semblance of normal as well. I am certain that they will be safe in the valley, in the cottage.”

“The one that you and Celebrian took holidays in?” asked Erestor. Often, the family would pack a few essential items and ride to the cottage, a small guardhouse that had been remodeled when a larger guardhouse was eventually built. It was cozy, with four bedrooms, a large sitting room, and an upper loft. In the days when their children were younger, Elrond and Celebrian would take one room, and each of the children would take their own. For Elladan and Elrohir, living in separate rooms for a few days a year was a perfect way to strengthen their bond the rest of the time. For Arwen, it was her little castle away from her big castle. For Elrond and Celebrian, it was a delightful escape into a what-if, allowing them a moment now and then to just be a family without the fame, the royalty, or even the responsibilities they had to tend to daily.

“The same. I went over the other day to inspect it. Everything seems to be in working order,” said Elrond.

“What will you do? Deploy a contingent to watch the house at all hours? Assign guards to her?” Erestor waited for an answer before he continued. “Are you doing this for them, or for yourself?”

Head snapping back, Elrond narrowed his brows and pursed his lips. “I do not like what you are insinuating, Erestor.”

“Who else will say it?” Erestor drained his cup and set it back upon the saucer with a clink. “I do not wish to see you unhappy, or Gilraen and her son unhappy, but I do think what you are suggesting will cause that. If you are doing this because she wishes it, do so with my blessings.”

“I have not asked her opinion yet,” admitted Elrond. He sighed again and once more stared out the window. The cottage was so far away that even if the fires of the stove had been lit, it would be impossible to see from the Hall of Fire, or anywhere else at the Last Homely House. “I am afraid of what will happen if she stays here,” he whispered. “I have become... protective, and not in the fatherly way I had expected.”

“I thought that might have been the issue.” Erestor reached forward and placed his hand upon Elrond’s shoulder. “You will do nothing improper, I am sure of that. If you are concerned of what others might say, I would gladly involve myself in a scandal to take the focus off of you if you like.”

“I sincerely appreciate your offer,” replied Elrond. “However, I doubt your reasoning would be completely one-sided.”

“Can I help it that I enjoy some of the trouble I find myself in?” Erestor was not the only one smiling now, and Elrond could not help but chuckle. “I am an occupational hazard to myself!”

“And everyone else, if given the chance,” murmured Elrond. Before he could further the conversation, a ruckus began across the room, and the two looked abruptly towards the more inhabited portion of the room to see flames licking the side of a wooden rocking chair favored by Glorfindel. They were upon their feet in a moment, and rushed over just as Elladan took a glass from his brother’s hand and threw the liquid upon the fire, causing it to rush up the side of the wood where it landed.

“Buggers! I thought he was drinking water!” Elladan jumped out of the way as the flames leapt up onto the seat of the chair and threatened to alight a nearby curtain. “Elrohir, your cloak!”

Before any more damage could be done, Erestor grabbed hold of the rocker by the arm that was not on fire and carried it quickly to the center of the room where the largest of the fire pits was located and tossed it in. The entire chair was engulfed in flames in a matter of seconds. “His cloak is flammable, too,” reasoned Erestor to the entirety of the hall, as everyone was staring now staring at him. When they continued to stare, he added, “I had to do something.”

“Glorfindel is not going to be happy when he comes back this spring,” said Elrohir quietly as he approached the fire. He looked at Erestor. “That was a bad idea.”

“But... I had nothing to do with it starting on fire. And I certainly had nothing to do with it being more on fire than it would have been if—if anyone is at fault, it is Elladan!” he exclaimed. He looked to Elrond for assistance. “Help me out a little here.”

“If this is your idea of a scandal, you might need to do better,” he muttered as he came alongside his friend. “Elladan? I expect you will replace this item before Glorfindel returns.”

“What? Me? I was not the one rocking so close to the fire!” He glared at his brother. “This is your fault.”

“My fault? I told you I was tired and did not wish to be here,” complained Elrohir. “You asked – begged, no, demanded that I come with you!”

“Boys!” Elrond felt his cheeks flushing in embarrassment over the outburst from his sons, and hoped he might blame it on the heat of the room. “I care not who is at fault – know this. Come the first week of spring, a new chair will be set here in this room for our captain, or you will not wish to know the punishment I shall create for you both.”

“Yes, father,” said both of them resignedly. Elrohir left the room then, knocking a shoulder into his brother as he went. Elladan made to follow, but Erestor took hold of him by the sleeve and did not let go until after the younger was out of the hall.

Elladan tugged his shirt away and looked at the flames and the destroyed chair. “Glorfindel is not going to be happy. That was a gift from Gildor. I have no idea how we are going to replace it.”

“I would suggest you find a way, and quickly. The frost has been sparse, and who knows if he might return early this year.” Elrond crossed his arms over his chest and gave his eldest son a stern look. “Since it is late, I would suggest that you retire for the evening.”

“I...” Elladan caught sight of the expression, and bowed his head. “Yes, sir. Good night.” He quickly left the room, not looking back.

Once his sons were gone, Elrond made eye contact with Lindir, and a formal nod made the minstrel break into a jolly tune about the unknown eighth son of Feanor and something about a unicorn that Erestor strained to hear as Elrond pulled him away into a corner of the room so that they could continue their conversation. “Days like this make me want to take the next ship West.”

“Mmmhmm.” Erestor looked around for his teacup, which had not held tea, but it seemed to have been cleaned up by a maid while the situation with the chair was being dealt with. “I know what you mean.”

Months passed, a new chair appeared in the Hall of Fire, and Erestor took care to be sure it was never positioned too close to any flames. Gilraen and Elrond could be found with each other daily, and Erestor took it upon himself to keep rumors from spreading, since he could find no scandals of his own as a distraction. Snow turned to rain, and the spring showers washed away the last remnants of a calm winter. It would be any day now...

“I just saw the rest of the Winterguard ride into the stables,” Melpomaen announced gleefully as he entered the private staff study where afternoon tea was being served. “You all know what that means!”

“Ah, festival tonight!” announced Lindir. “I have three new tunes I have written, and one of them is especially for Glorfindel.”

“Glorfindel!” Erestor practically choked on his scone. “Excuse me,” he said, tossing the remainder of his treat onto a plate and brushing the crumbs from his fingers. “I must be off the rest of the afternoon – Melpomaen, would you kindly take charge of the library for me?”

“Of course, Master Erestor.” Melpomaen, Lindir, and the rest of the staff present watched Erestor rush out of the room and scurry down the hall. “What was that all about?”

“The chair.”

“The chair? What chair?”

“Oh! You were not there that night – Erestor set Glorfindel’s chair afire.”

Melpomaen’s eyes widened. “Why did he do that?”

“Well, it was on fire already – it is a long story. Let me start at the beginning...”

* * *

Erestor stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the house, picking lint from his robes and smoothing out the fabric. He took a deep breath when a solo rider galloped down the final hill to the valley where the house was. The warrior’s white fur lined cloak billowed out behind him like a last wandering snowdrift, and Asfaloth snorted and stamped once they reached the doors of the stable. Glorfindel dismounted and a gentle pat and a few words sent his stallion into the stable towards his stall and a well-deserved rest. The golden warrior walked across the courtyard, across leaves from the past autumn beneath his feet as he traveled. His eyes were on Erestor the entire time, and while a pleasant smile graced his lips, he was cautious nonetheless.

Standing straight, Erestor grinned a little too excitedly, hands clasped in front of him. “Welcome home!”

Glorfindel stopped in front of Erestor, glanced down at his hands, and then looked back up into his eyes. While normally shorter, Glorfindel wore sturdy winter boots, and Erestor had his house slippers on, so they were nearly matched in height. “What did you do?”

“What? Nothing,” said Erestor a little too quickly. “I am simply happy to see you again.”

“Really. Well.” Glorfindel encircled the advisor, keeping watch on him the entire time. When he reached his original spot again, he stopped and rose up on the front of his feet so that he could stare right into Erestor’s eyes. “You are out of practice as an actor, my friend. What is going on?”

“I...” Erestor sighed, shoulders slumping. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”

“Hear what?” Glorfindel cocked his head to the side. “You eloped with the Dúnedain woman.”

“No.”

“...Elrond eloped with her?”

“Not yet.”

“Not... not yet? I was only joking,” admitted Glorfindel as he rested back down on his feet again. “Seriously?”

“No, wait, I said that badly.” Erestor cleared his throat. “Elrond and Gilraen are on... very amiable terms.”

“Such as?”

“Elrond was going to send her away because he feared he would be inappropriate in his actions. He changed his mind, talked of adopting her son, and has even given the child a new name,” said Erestor. “He calls him Estel, for the hope that he brings. I think it has much to do with how Elrond was brought up.”

Glorfindel blinked and shook his head. “I am... shocked. Speechless? I would not believe it had you not told me yourself.” He scrutinized Erestor suddenly. “That was not what you met me here to inform me, though.”

“Well, I did plan to let you know about that at some point,” said Erestor. He was wringing his hands now and fidgeting terribly. “I may as well say it. Glorfindel, your chair in the Hall of Fire was destroyed.”

“Destroyed? How?”

“Somehow, it started on fire. Then, Elladan made it worse by spilling alcohol on it, thinking it was being doused with water. That caused it to burst into flames, and instead of risking the entire house, I threw it into the pit.”

Glorfindel said nothing.

“Elladan told me how important it was to you, being a gift from Gildor, and while it was not really my fault that it started on fire in the first place, I feel partly responsible for what happened to it in the end. I hope I might make it up to you. The twins have already purchased a new chair and it awaits you in the hall, but I fear that will not be enough,” admitted Erestor.

“Certainly, this is grave news,” agreed Glorfindel. “That chair was my favorite, and what is more, as you said, ‘twas a gift from Gildor. He carved it with his own hands. It is hardly replaceable.”

Erestor cringed. “I was afraid of that.” He spread his hands before him. “I suppose I am at your mercy for your forgiveness.”

“Are you? That is a dangerous proposition, dear councilor,” warned Glorfindel.

“I know,” said Erestor warily. “Indeed, I know, but I cannot in good conscious not attempt to make it up in some way. I have felt terrible ever since, and even in my dreams am I plagued.”

“If that is the case, I am sure we can come to a mutual agreement.” Glorfindel removed his heavy leather riding gloves and placed them in his vest pocket. “In the meantime, I am in need of rest and a good meal. Dine with me tonight?”

“Is this a part of my penance?” wondered Erestor.

“Hardly. I sincerely missed your company, as I always do.” Glorfindel stole a kiss across Erestor’s cheek and patted the same flesh with his hand. “I shall arrive in your rooms at dusk, and I expect a full update on the happenings since my departure. And cheesecake.”

* * *

Glorfindel took his time bathing and afterwards lounged on his bed wrapped in a towel as he waited for his hair to dry. He had spent the time reading letters that had arrived during his time in the forest and the meeting minutes and council agendas from the past half year. There was also a wrapped package from Lothlorien, addressed to him by Arwen. He untied the coarse twine and found a silken shirt of pale grey embroidered with blue and silver threads. Wrapped within it was another package, and Glorfindel found a small box of honey brittle and another of spun sugar twists in bright pink, yellow, and green hues. A final sack of treats contained taffies in similar colors to the spun sugar. Glorfindel set all of his new treats on a table at the bedside, and rose up slowly to try the shirt on.

It fit perfectly, from the length of the sleeve to the size at the wrist. There was a note in the pocket, and Glorfindel pulled it out to read it.

Happy Spring to you, dear Glorfindel! I hope this message finds you well. Grandmother and I have passed the long autumn and winter days in happy companionship in her sewing room with her ladies. I am running out of things to make for my father and brothers, so I hope that you (and Erestor) do not mind being the latest recipients of my work. Do write and tell me how the fit is and what colors you prefer for my next project. I would like to make you some formal robes, but did not know if you would think white would be too pretentious. Until we speak again, Arwen.

Glorfindel went to the dresser to find a loincloth before he sat down, wearing only the undergarment and the unbuttoned shirt, to write a thank you to his honorary niece. It was with disappointment that he discovered his inkwell dry and his paper supply depleted, left unattended since his last time at the desk. He was not left to dwell upon this overlong, for a knock on his door brought him to call out, “The door is open.”

The door was indeed unlocked, and then it was opened, and Lindir stepped into the room. He gave his friend an odd look. “Did you intend to attend dinner with Erestor in that? Because I would pay to see that. I would pay a lot of money to see that.”

“Firstly, no. Secondly, how do you know of that? And finally, why are you here?”

“Good evening, Lindir! Good to see you! How are you? Yes, I am fine,” answered Lindir in a half-mocking tone.

“Good evening, then. I am sorry you feel slighted, but I did see you twice during my patrol when you came around to give us reports on the valley. Erestor and I have not seen each other in six months,” Glorfindel pointed out.

Lindir conceded and held out a folio. “Your lessons for the next six months.”

“Oh, right. Thank you.” Glorfindel took the pages and set them off to the side of the desk. “So glad you remembered.”

“This year, we are going to meet on a regular basis.”

Glorfindel made a noncommittal nod.

“Weekly.”

“Oh, that seems like a lot,” said Glorfindel, though it came out almost as a whine.

“Glorfindel, I want you to learn to play your instrument! You have a great amount of potential, and lute is a fantastic choice for you. I want to be able to perform duets with you eventually and sooner rather than later would be nice.” The minstrel pouted slightly at his best friend. “Could we at least try to meet once a month?”

“I suppose.” Glorfindel fastened the shirt and went back to his dresser to find a pair of pants. “Right now, I need to get ready for supper.”

“About that...”

Glorfindel glowered at Lindir. “What do you mean, about that? Wait, you knew about my dinner plans... is he cancelling?”

“Not exactly. Cancelling under duress would be more accurate.” Lindir sat down upon the cedar chest at the foot of Glorfindel’s bed. “Elrond wishes to meet with us over dinner.”

Glorfindel sighed and removed the shirt, opting for an older one he had instead. “Who is us?”

“It would include the three of us, and Erestor, as well as Elladan and Elrohir. Elrond did say he wished Arwen were here, but that he can speak to her if he needs to later.”

“I wish he would give me a moment to rest!” Glorfindel folded the newly received garment and placed it carefully into a drawer. “Are we meeting in his rooms?”

“He suggested that. Erestor suggested something I am not going to repeat.”

This at least made Glorfindel smile. “Someday, I am going to marry that man.”

“If anyone can turn him, it will be you.” Lindir headed for the door, but Glorfindel stopped him short.

“How so?” His dour mood was seemingly changed, his eyes sparkling with interest and secreted bliss.

Lindir grinned and patted Glorfindel’s cheek. “You are, in a word, roguish.”

“That terms is typically applied to Erestor, not I. I am the innocent,” Glorfindel playfully argued.

“You only think yourself an innocent,” disputed Lindir. “In truth, you are sly and crafty, and you have a certain something about you that is similar to Erestor. On the surface? Innocent, yes. But you have secrets you are hiding as well.” Glorfindel looked away from Lindir as this was said, and the minstrel grinned. “Is it not said that we are all but the half of a whole? The two of you are certainly a match in my mind.”

“I fear I shall smile like a loon through supper knowing your opinion on that.” The pair left Glorfindel’s quarters once he retrieved a pair of soft boots from his closet.

* * *

Glorfindel and Lindir barely arrived before the first course, and dinner was eaten quietly with little conversation, for with the maids present, Elrond gave no indication as to his reason for gathering his chief staff members and sons together for a meal. Elladan was bored, Elrohir was indifferent, Lindir was cheerful and supplied most of the conversation, but both Glorfindel and Erestor were somewhat annoyed and exchanged more than one set of exasperated glances to one another. A matched set, indeed.

When the butler finally left the group with two bottles of good wine from the cellar and locked the door behind him, Erestor blurted out, “So what purpose have you for bringing us together tonight? Certainly, you were not simply in need of companions to dine with.”

Lindir frowned slightly, never particularly fond of Erestor’s agitated outbursts. Elrond folded his napkin and seemed to ignore the tone in which he had been addressed. He picked up one of the bottles and a pair of glasses from the table. “Let us retire to the study,” he said in answer, and moved away from the table and down the hall to a room which had at one time been the bedroom shared by Elladan and Elrohir before they had moved to quarters of their own.

Lindir shrugged when everyone looked to him for an answer. While Erestor was the chief councilor, there were times that it was Lindir who was the ear of the Lord of Imladris. The entire group moved away from the table and joined Elrond, some of them bringing additional goblets or the extra bottle of wine. Once assembled again, Elrond bid them all to sit down. Everyone did so, with Lindir sitting last only after lighting a fire to warm the room, still chilly from the spring winds.

When nothing was again said for some time, Erestor added, “Perhaps you would prefer for us to guess your purpose?”

“Nay, Erestor.” Elrond gave Erestor a look of frustration, then took up his glass of wine. “I am only unsure of how to word what it is I wish to say.”

“Sometimes the plainest version is the best,” suggested Lindir as he lazily swirled his wine about the glass.

Elrond nodded in agreement. “I despise being at a loss for words.” He chuckled softly. “I am the lord of the valley, but a fool when it comes to these things.” Upon clearing his throat, he said, “I intend to formally foster Estel as my son.”

“That is not entirely unexpected,” said Elrohir. “We are, of course, some of the few kin he has left.”

“That is not all, Elrohir. I intend to have Estel and Gilraen move into my quarters by the end of the week.”

This revelation brought silence to the entire group. The crackling of the fire even seemed to die down as everyone looked around, meeting eyes with one another, yet avoiding any glances at Elrond. “Both the boy, and his mother?” questioned Erestor.

“Yes.”

“The study will be converted to a bedroom?” guessed Lindir.

“For Estel, yes.” Elrond nodded.

“What of Arwen’s room?” asked Elladan.

Elrond looked through the doorway to the closed door across the hall. “It will remain hers.”

“And... the lounge?” asked Elrohir, for it was the only remaining room which could serve as a bedroom, though it was quite small in size compared to the other rooms.

“It will remain the lounge.” Elrond’s voice was a little distant, almost as if he were talking not only to those in the room, but to someone far away as well.

There seemed to be a fair amount of staring at the floor and fiddling with goblets that followed. Elrond dared not look at anyone, perhaps fearing disapproval from everyone or anyone.

“What are you going to have him call you?” asked Glorfindel softly.

“Whatever he wishes.” Elrond now looked up, but at his sons instead of Glorfindel. “Adar, if he so chooses to.”

“So... we can call him our little brother?” asked Elrohir. He appeared cautiously excited. Elladan was solemn, but showed little emotion.

“If you would like to.”

Elladan set his glass on the tea table. “What do we call her?”

Elrond met the nearly accusing gaze of his eldest child. “I suspect you would call her Gilraen.”

There was an awkward silence, but Erestor used the pause to his advantage. “I think I speak for the majority of the group in saying that you are at liberty to proceed with your personal life in whatever ways you see fit.” He looked across the room at Glorfindel hoping to gain an ally.

“Absolutely. Aragorn will need a stable home, and a strong family if he is to thrive. That you are willing to adopt him is commendable,” said Glorfindel approvingly.

“On the other hand, it could turn to disaster,” warned Elladan. “Remember the fate of Turin.” For once, the role of father and son seemed reversed as Elrond nodded thoughtfully and Elladan stood to tower over his seated father with a scornful look. “I must leave,” he announced abruptly. “I have things to attend to.” He lifted his gaze now to Elrohir, who stood as well. “Good evening,” he said for the both of them before they left.

Lindir followed after with a mumbled apology, and Erestor sat a short time before excusing himself as well when the awkwardness of the silence got to him, with Glorfindel remaining last of all. “I should think you would wish to discuss this with Galadriel and Celeborn.”

“I have already corresponded with Celeborn,” confirmed Elrond. “He gave his blessing. As for Galadriel, he said he will inform her, and Arwen. I thought it best to be sure that I had an ally in my father-in-law before bringing it to the attention of anyone else.”

Glorfindel fiddled with his hair, pushing it behind his ears. “She would not want you to be so lonely.”

“Who? Arwen? Or Galadriel?”

“Your wife,” said Glorfindel, smiling softly. “She and I spoke in private much during that year; you know that. She was not just my cousin; she was like a little sister for me. I did what I could to provide comfort before she sailed. One of the things she was most worried about was you. Her fear in fading had less to do with facing the halls as it did with being unsure of how you would handle the situation. She never wanted to leave you here alone.”

Elrond’s jaw trembled slightly, his eyes glossing with tears. “I would have gone with her if she had asked. She told me to stay.”

“You had to stay. Just like I have to stay and Erestor has to stay and Celeborn and Cirdan and Galadriel have to stay.” Glorfindel set his hand upon Elrond’s arm. “No one will fault you for this. I know all too well the pain of losing someone beloved, even for a little while.”

“I appreciate that. It is different when one is married.” Elrond sighed, stood up, and walked to the window. “Being married is so different from simply having a lover. I cannot explain it, but perhaps you will understand my statement one day.”

Glorfindel sat dumbfounded as Elrond stared out the window. Words would not form in his head; only the shock was present.

“I did not mean to keep you so late, Glorfindel. I will be fine.”

The blond braced himself on the arms of the chair as he rose up onto his feet. In a daze, he walked across the room. Just as he reached the door, he turned around again and came back. Elrond seemed to sense this despite the silence, and looked over his shoulder. “I was married. In Gondolin. Before you were born. So I know exactly what you are going through. Only, my wife died. My wife, and my son. So maybe it is easier for me, not having to make a decision like you have to.” Glorfindel paused, his fists balled up at his sides. “I wish my choices were as difficult as yours.” Before Elrond could answer, Glorfindel quickly left the room.

“I love it when it rains.” Erestor lounged on a sofa, staring across the room and out the window whose curtain allowed for a semi-obscured view of the scene outdoors. Branches swayed and leaves bowed repeatedly as if giving thanks to Manwe and Ulwe for their gift. “The night is so rhythmic, and everything seems at peace. The world becomes cleansed and washed away is the dust and dirt, leaving a purity come the morning.”

His companion had been quietly reading a book in his rocking chair near the fire, and looked up to regard the weather momentarily. Then, he returned to his reading.

“No opinion?” queried the advisor.

This time when Glorfindel looked up, he spoke. “I always have an opinion, and it is this. The rain brings mud and softens the ground. It brings my horse difficulty in travel, and chills me when my cloak becomes drenched. If I must spend the night away from home, it means a soggy tent and a campfire that remains unlit.”

“I suppose, in that case, that you hate the rain,” Erestor reasoned.

“On the contrary,” corrected Glorfindel. “When I am here, in Imladris, the rain brings me indoors. I find few tasks I can aid in doing, and thus I find myself here for the day,” he said, raising an arm in reference to the Hall of Fire they now sat in. “Eventually, your duties for the day are done, and you wander your way here, and take up residence upon that couch, and watch through the window with a childlike wonder. Though the rain itself is not so much an ally, it does serve a purpose for me. Without it, I would be granted few days of watching something so perfect.” Glorfindel smiled while Erestor blushed slightly. “I love it when it rains.”

Following the rather awkward evening the night before, Elrond had cancelled all meetings for the day. It allowed Glorfindel to convince Erestor at breakfast that they should share lunch, supper, and every teatime inbetween together in order to catch each other up on the happenings of the six months apart. With the chair incident fresh and no other pressing matters, Erestor was well aware that there was something more that troubled Glorfindel now, something he refused to talk about and had nothing to do with Gilraen. He could do nothing but agree to spend the day with Glorfindel. Less of the time was actually spent talking, for Glorfindel was quietly contemplative, and Erestor sensed he needed the peace and reflection more than he needed information on the latest trade agreements.

They continued to sit quietly now, the lone remaining occupants of the Hall of Fire. On a rainy day, it would not have been unusual for many others to have been in the room as well. Tonight, Lindir was performing in one of the other halls, and many of his fans were there. Only one fire was lit in the Hall of Fire, the main pit in the center. Glorfindel had moved his new chair far from the flames to keep it safe. “This is nice. I often think this room is much too loud.”

“That is the purpose of the hall, though,” Erestor reminded him.

“I know.” Glorfindel looked across the room at one of the extraordinarily large tapestries that hung across the back of the stage area at the front of the room. It was a map of Lindon, skillfully done, that had once hung in King Gil-Galad’s throne room. “Do you think Elrond is in over his head?”

“I think he is going to need to be cautious. I think he needs to be careful so as not to alienate Elladan. I think he is making a sacrifice in his own life in doing this. I think he is going to have to tread carefully around Artanis.” Erestor rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “I offered him a scandal to keep prying eyes away from him if he wished.” He glanced briefly to Glorfindel to catch his reaction.

There was a little smirk. “Did you? What sort of scandal?”

“Something scandalous.” Erestor watched a spider that was crawling around the top of one of the massive pillars in the room, weaving a web to lay her nest of eggs. “An affair of some sort.”

“Your affairs are hardly scandalous anymore. Everyone knows to lock their daughters – and their wives – away from you.”

“And sisters,” added Erestor mischievously.

“Aunts, grandmothers, maids, nannies, shieldmaidens, and nieces.” Glorfindel nodded in agreement. “You need to find something that will actually interest people. There is nothing exciting or different about you chasing after a spritely young maiden. Or a wrinkly old spinster, for that matter.”

“For me there is.”

The drumming of fingers upon the arm of a rocking chair began. “What I meant was that it would not be as exciting as Gilraen moving into Elrond’s rooms with him.”

“They are only doing this for the wellbeing of Ara—for Estel,” said Erestor, correcting himself. “It is in Estel’s best interest to have the love and support of two parents.”

“But they are sleeping in the same bed, are they not?” pressed Glorfindel. “At least, that was what I was led to believe was going to happen.”

“I have reached a fairly similar conclusion,” Erestor agreed. “I do not think that this is a romantic relationship, though.”

“Then why not have her sleep in Arwen’s room?”

“Maybe she is. He never said she was going to sleep in his bed, actually,” Erestor reminded Glorfindel. “Perhaps Arwen’s room remains Arwen’s room, and she will simply use it for the time being until things can be figured out. I suspected that it was Celebrian he was farspeaking with yesterday during the meeting, but now that I consider it I wonder if it was Arwen than he was talking to.”

They watched the fire again, and listened to the rain. Glorfindel lifted a leg and touched his big toe against Erestor’s knee. The brunet looked over and Glorfindel said, “So what about that scandal?”

“Elrond has insisted that I not. If circumstances change, I will be sure to take you up on your offer to assist me,” assured Erestor.

“If we wait for Elrond to decide, we may not have enough time to plan properly.”

Erestor winked at Glorfindel. “I think you just want to find a way to steal a kiss from me.”

Glorfindel grinned and blushed slightly. “Scandals are hardly begun with a single kiss. At least three or four are necessary.”

Erestor swung his legs over to the side and stood up. “I need to be up early. I appreciate your willingness to sully your name for Elrond’s benefit.” He leaned forward and kissed Glorfindel’s brow.

“Amateur – you aimed too high! Let me show you how to start a scandal properly,” insisted Glorfindel as he made to grab for Erestor’s arm but missed.

“I really need to go. Fear not – you are first on my list if a scandal needs starting!”

“I had best be the only one on that list,” said Glorfindel, a bit more sternly than planned.

Erestor smiled. “No one else would be interested in aiding me, so I suppose you need not worry.”

Two days later, the large bed that had been moved into Elrond’s room a few weeks before his marriage to Celebrian was disassembled and taken into the basement of the Last Homely House. That afternoon, the two single beds that had once occupied the room shared by the twins were moved into Elrond’s quarters. Elladan and Elrohir watched the transactions quietly from an alcove down the hallway from their father’s room. Silent glances were exchanged between father and sons throughout the morning and into the afternoon, but when the move was completed and Elrond came out into the hall to speak to his sons, he found that they had already gone. Inquiries led to finding out that they had gone out into the woods in search for wild boars, but it was far more likely they were spending the night on patrol for orcs.

Elrond sat on the balcony and smoked two full pipes before entering back into the rooms to rearrange more items. He went to his room first, and found it occupied by Gilraen, who was making one of the beds, the other having already been tended to. “I did not know if you preferred to have the blanket spread out over the mattress or if you preferred it at the end of the bed,” she said as she used both arms to lift an end of the sheet high into the air. The wrinkles rolled out and it drifted down onto the bed almost perfectly.

“I can tend to that,” he offered. The item in question had been removed from his bed earlier and set on top of the dresser. He took it off the bureau and draped it over his bed, tucking the corners in neatly at the bottom. “Where is Estel?”

“I left him in his room with the door open. I want him to get used to the room before this evening. He may still throw a fit at bedtime,” she warned. “It will be the first night he spends in his own bedroom.”

“If he does, we can always bring the crib here,” assured Elrond. “I would not mind.”

“All the same, he will need to learn to be a little more independent,” insisted Gilraen. “I could easily tie his hand to my apron strings, but one day he will need to be on his own.”

“I understand that. Still... a little caution is not all bad.” Elrond smiled. “If I overstep my boundaries, do tell me,” insisted Elrond. “I want this transition to be comfortable for both of us.”

Gilraen nodded. “You have Estel’s best interests in mind – there is nothing wrong with that.” It was the first time that she called Estel by the name that Elrond had given him, and it delighted Elrond immensely. His smile certainly could not hide that. “I appreciate all you have done and are doing for us,” said Gilraen. “You have provided us with a safe home, and friendship, and now, you have pieced our family back together. You have given more than most would, and even at a cost to your own happiness.”

“I am more than happy to do this,” corrected Elrond. “I am certainly not unhappy with our arrangement,” he said. He took hold of her hand and kissed the back of it.

“It is your sons,” admitted Gilraen. “While Elrohir has doted upon Aragorn since our arrival, Elladan has been cautious to even say his greetings to us. Over the last few days, he has ignored us completely. This causes Elrohir to use caution as well, and he has a hard time being loyal to his brother when he wants to spend time with Estel. They worry that I am a replacement.”

Elrond closed his eyes and shook his head. “I am sorry that they have treated you that way. I shall speak with them.”

“I beg you not to,” pleaded Gilraen. “It will make matters worse at this point. They will come to you when they are ready to discuss the matter. Too soon, and you will push them further away.”

“If things get worse, I will need to insist.”

“I doubt that they will.” Gilraen drew her arms around Elrond and gave him a hug, her cheek resting upon Elrond’s chest. “It will take a little time for them to understand we need each other for reasons other than they think.”

Elrond draped his arms around Gilraen, and he found comfort in the position. “And most of all, Estel needs us,” agreed Elrond. He lifted a hand to run it over Gilraen’s hair once, twice, and then he receeded. He stepped back and gave her a reassuring smile just as they both began to hear Estel fuss in the room nearby.

Gilraen smiled back. “I can tend to him,” she said as she realized Elrond intended to follow after her. “You have business in the morning. No need to wait up for me,” she assured Elrond as she left the room.

Elrond paced the room, moved a few more items about, and even climbed into bed and tried to fall asleep, but Gilraen found him sitting on the edge of his bed when she finally returned, waiting for her with a gentle smile. “I.. thought it would be rude not to say good night.”

“In that case, good night,” said Gilraen as she toed off her slippers and walked to his bed. She stooped down and gave him a brief yet warm hug, which was returned with a wish of ‘good night’ in her ear.

They both crawled into bed shortly thereafter, but neither slept much that evening.

There was always great fanfare when Gildor’s people arrived in Rivendell. Whether it was due to Gildor riding in upon the back of a tamed Oliphant, or because he had with him the dancers of a foreign land, or if it was only the bright and bustling caravan that traveled in a snaking line across the horizon, his arrival alone was a grand event. Gildor was well aware of this, and played it up to the fullest. Acrobats and other street performers would rush forward first, and sometimes in their midst a sword swallower or a fire eater. The enchantment that they brought to the valley was the excitement wished by those living there – always with the exception of one.

“Erestor is not feeling well. He has decided not to be present for Gildor’s arrival,” explained Melpomaen to the rest of the contingent standing in the courtyard that morning.

Elrond wore a look of indifference, but one brief look at Glorfindel told the others that the seneschal hardly believed the excuse. “I doubt he is ailing from anything. The weather is pleasant today and has been for the past week.”

“Perhaps he ate something that made him ill,” suggested Melpomaen.

“More likely, he drank something that did,” murmured one of the junior councilors to another.

Elrond chose not to reprimand them. “After we have taken care of business here, I shall expect him to seek audience with me. He might at least make the effort to be present for an hour.”

Melpomaen nodded meekly, making no further excuse for his employer. “I could see if he would be well enough for that,” offered Melpomaen.

“No, thank you. I do not need you absent this morning as well.” Elrond made a motion that directed Melpomaen to an empty space between Lindir and the assistant horse master, and he slid into place as trumpets sounded Gildor’s arrival.

“Cousins!” Gildor dismounted from the back of a horse that appeared to be a unicorn – a bafflement to many of those standing in the receiving line, for the Noldorin prince’s exploits were well known to many, and unicorns had been nothing more than creatures of the imagination. “It has been far too long! What, now, twelve years since I have set foot upon the soil of fair Imladris?”

“Too long, indeed,” agreed Elrond. He stepped forward and grasped Gildor’s arm, and Gildor did the same in return. “I regret that my daughter is not here to make your acquaintance, for she is in Lothlorien.” The Lord of Imladris and the Lord of Lindon strolled past each of the members of the household who had assembled to greet the prince. First was Glorfindel, not Erestor as it should have been, and for this Elrond mumbled a few words quietly. “I must apologize for my chief councilor.”

“For his absence or for making him your chief councilor?” jested Gildor loud enough for a select few to hear. “If the latter, my deepest condolences.” Before Elrond had a chance to answer back, Gildor added, “I have news of interest to you. When we are done with the formalities, I must request audience with you to speak of your chief councilor.” Elrond nodded.

Glorfindel opened his mouth to ask just what matters Gildor wished to speak of, but Elrond made a hardly seen movement with his hand, and Glorfindel pressed his lips together. The rest of the formalities were seen to, and when Gildor reached the end of the line, he knelt down to look upon the boy who stood looking around in wonder. “And who have we here?”

“Gildor Inglorion, I would like you to meet my son, Estel.” Elrond smiled proudly and set his hand upon Gildor’s shoulder. “Estel just recently celebrated his tenth birthday.”

“Oh, my, I have been gone a long while.” Gildor looked up at Elrond and raised a brow in askance. “Where is his mother keeping herself these days?”

“She will be joining us for tea this afternoon while Estel is attending his history and literature lessons.” Elrond squeezed Gildor’s shoulder to indicate that the conversation was now over. “Estel – Gildor is part of our extended family.”

The boy stepped forward and bowed just as he had been taught, with one arm behind his back and the other stiffly positioned in front of him. “Pleased to meet you, Lord Gildor.”

“Oh, he is charming! Adorable! Watch him, Elrond, I might have to bundle him up and take him with me.” Gildor winked at the boy before he stood. “You have your father’s eyes,” he said.

Elrond cleared his throat and patted Gildor upon the back. “Perhaps we should adjourn to my study to discuss that matter which is presently concerning you.”

“Yes, we certainly should,” decided Gildor. “It was wonderful to meet you, Estel. I do hope we have a chance later to speak again.”

Estel beamed. “Did I do well? Father said that if I did well, he would reward me with a new bow – one that shoots real arrows!”

“Did he now? Well, I think you did exceptionally well. Much better than a certain absent member of the staff did today,” added Gildor with a smirk.

Glorfindel shuffled between Gildor and Estel. “It is time for Estel’s mathematics lessons. In fact, he is quite late for them.” He turned to address the youth, blocking Gildor from Estel’s view. “Hurry along, Estel, and mind that you are on time for archery practice today or I doubt that bow will be seen in your future.”

“Yes, sir!” Estel ran up the stairs of the house and right through the doors, which were propped open in the expectation that many people would travel in and out of the house throughout the day.

“Shall we see to that meeting?” asked Gildor impatiently.

Elrond nodded and extended his arm. “After you.”

Glorfindel gave the pair a head start, and then followed up behind them, doubling back to dismiss the rest of the staff. Without Erestor present, there were always a few things left unattended to, and the other councilors and staff may well have stood around the courtyard into the better part of the afternoon had they not been formally dismissed.

This meant that Glorfindel arrived to Elrond’s study slightly later than he might have liked. When he walked in, Gildor was pouring brandy and Elrond was settling into his chair. “Of course, I am not in the business of reading the correspondence of others,” Gildor was assuring Elrond, “but when one has a letter of such importance more or less slip from the pile, with broken seal, faced up so that one can read it, one can hardly be blamed for acquiring such knowledge. If I had to guess, it was meant to be loosely sealed so that someone would see it.”

“See what?” asked Glorfindel.

“I was just about to get to that,” promised Gildor. He removed from his vest a very thick sheet of paper folded in thirds. From it hung the ribbons and seal of the King of Greenwood, but the seal had been broken. Whether accidental or otherwise, it was now free to reveal the secrets hidden within. “You can imagine my surprise when I read it. I thought you would want to know.” Gildor tossed the letter onto the top of Elrond’s desk.

Elrond looked down at his desk as if someone had just thrown a snake before him. “I suspect you are aware of protocol that suggests that messengers should not be reading the messages of others when sealed in such a manner.”

“It was not sealed, though. Or perhaps it was at one point, but when I acquired it to transfer it here, the seal was broken,” said Gildor. He sipped his glass of brandy.

“What does it say?” asked Glorfindel as he shut the door behind him.

The letter was picked up by Elrond, who unfolded it. He read through it, suddenly looking up abruptly at Gildor. “Are you certain this is not a forgery?”

“I have no doubts as to the authenticity.” Gildor shook his head. “Who knew? All these years, you have had a traitor in your midst.”

“There is no evidence that Erestor is a traitor,” said Elrond.

“Erestor?” Glorfindel briskly walked around the desk to stand behind Elrond so that he could read the letter. He had to bend over and peer very closely with eyes squinted in order to make out the text. “This says only that he is to return to Mirkwood to vote. What is traitorous about participating in an election?”

“It clearly addresses him as a citizen of the realm of Greenwood,” pointed out Gildor. “Is this something he ever made either of you aware of?”

Elrond shook his head. “This is the first I have been informed of his residency.”

“His residency is here,” argued Glorfindel.

“The letter specifically addresses him as a loyal subject of Mirkwood,” stated Gildor. “It names him as a Lord of the Fifth District, whatever that exactly means. The point is, he has a standing there in the court. Considering the size and population of Mirkwood, he seems to rank fairly high.”

“So? Sometimes people refer to me as a Lord of Gondolin. Is my fealty questioned?” Glorfindel had his arms crossed angrily over his chest and was glaring across the room at Gildor.

Gildor drank from his glass and shook his head. “No one has ever questioned your loyalty, have they, Elrond?”

“No.” Elrond folded the letter back up and smoothed out the ribbon that was attached. “But you are not Erestor.”

“I still see no difference. Has he not served you for longer than I? Has he not been a protector of this valley and of your family?” asked Glorfindel. “Did he not serve in our army during the Last Alliance?”

“He did, and for that, I am thankful,” replied Elrond. “However, this is a serious matter. He might have mentioned something during the many years he has been here. Did he ever reveal this to you?”

Glorfindel shook his head slowly. “No, but perhaps it was because he did not think it was an important issue. It may mean nothing to him – an empty title.”

“Let us find out.” Elrond tapped the letter and slid it towards Gildor. “It must be delivered to him or we will not know his reaction.”

“With pleasure,” said Gildor. He walked over and reached for the letter, but Glorfindel placed his hand over it to stop him. “What now?”

“If you are going to give it to him, it will need to be resealed or he will suspect something is amiss.” Glorfindel motioned to Elrond. “Have you any green wax? It will need to match.”

Elrond opened a draw of his desk and sorted about the contents until he found what Glorfindel had asked for. Carefully, Glorfindel heated the stick using a candle, and then even more cautiously held the seal of the letter over the flame. The heat licked it a few times, just enough to soften the original seal and make it easy for Glorfindel to manipulate. He dripped two drops down on the paper, folded it over, and pressed down on the original seal. “There we are,” he said softly, handing the letter to Gildor. “Now you can take it to him.”

Gildor nodded. “If you have no further need of me this afternoon, I am famished! Shall I see either of you in the dining hall for lunch?”

“I will be there momentarily,” stated Elrond while Glorfindel shook his head.

“Too busy?” asked Gildor. “He always works so hard,” he commented to Elrond.

“Just not hungry,” said Glorfindel.

Gildor tilted his head to his side. “I will see you tonight?”

“Of course.”

The messenger grinned and left the office, depositing his empty glass on a side table before he went. Elrond settled back in his chair. “Do you think we have reason to worry?”

“I hope not,” answered Glorfindel, though in truth, he was already beginning to wonder what was going on.

“If he does go to Mirkwood,” said Elrond, “I would need to send someone with him. Someone who could keep watch on the situation and report back to me without hesitation or emotional distraction.”

“Are you suggesting I would become disloyal to you if it were discovered that he had not been loyal?” asked Glorfindel.

“You tell me.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “I took an oath to Turgon, and I took an oath to you. Those are the only promises currently governing me.”

“If I asked you to follow him, and to report back to me—“

“I would need to say I was escorting him as part of the security detail. I would tell him nothing of it in confidence. As much as it would pain me, as his friend, as your captain, it would be my duty to you. However,” added Glorfindel, “I doubt there is anything we need to worry about. Erestor forgets a lot of things. I know that is a weak defense, but he may very well have forgotten to tell us about this for all of these years.”

“Perhaps. I just need to be ready for any eventuality,” said Elrond. “No one ever suspected Maeglin.”

Glorfindel bristled. “While I respect your need to protect Imladris, I would appreciate it if you did not compare that traitor to Erestor. Nothing to this point would lead anyone to think that Erestor did not have the best interests of Rivendell in mind. Furthermore, Mirkwood is not exactly Angband or Mordor.”

“And I ask again, will your judgment be clouded if it turns out that he is indeed disloyal to Imladris?” asked Elrond.

“You need not ask, for if it turns out that he is, I will be certain that there will be no need for you to tend to the matter when I return.”

Later that evening, Gildor came to Glorfindel’s rooms. He did not knock, but instead used his own key to open the door. His lover was on the bed on his stomach, propped up by his elbows, reading through the letters that had been brought for him. Glorfindel tipped his spectacles down further and peered over them to look up at Gildor. “Good evening.”

“Good evening? Hardly – you are still dressed.” While Glorfindel’s feet were bare, he was still wearing pants and his shirt was open but still hanging from his shoulders. Gildor kicked the door closed and sauntered over to the bed. “Come now, sweetcheeks, you are not sore at me for something, are you?”

“Reading letters intended for others is very low – even for you.” Glorfindel flipped over the current page he was skimming. “You might fool Elrond into thinking it was an accident, but I am certain that the seal was not as conveniently broken as you have so stated.”

“To be fair, accident or not, is it not something of concern to learn that your chief councilor is a possible traitor?” Gildor shook his head sadly. “This could be something serious.”

“It might also be a misunderstanding.” Glorfindel removed his glasses and shook them accusingly at Gildor. “When the mail was delivered, it was not ten minutes before he came to Elrond and I and admitted to us that he was still holding citizenship in Mirkwood. He never thought it was an issue, as he still takes orders from Elrond, and he sees it much as when Elrond was here and yet was Herald to Lindon. He asked honestly to spend an extended vacation in Mirkwood in order to vote there. He covered nothing up.”

“Nothing that you know about. There could be more to the story than what he admits,” suggested Gildor.

Glorfindel unfolded his glasses and settled them back on his nose. “This discussion is over.”

“Oh?” Gildor reached down and grabbed the spectacles away. “Why do you get to decide when it is over?”

“Because you are in my rooms, in my house.” Glorfindel grabbed for his glasses, but only managed to grip Gildor’s wrist. “Inglorion, I am not interested in your antics this evening. Give that back to me.”

Gildor saw Glorfindel make a move with his other hand and was able to capture Glorfindel’s wrist with his free hand. “Well, a fine mess this is. I suppose, since we are in a jam, we have nothing to do but speak more on the topic of Erestor. Did it seem, when he came to you earlier, that he was sincerely ill, or was that a lie as well?”

“Shut up and give my glasses back to me.” Glorfindel attempted to twist away, but in his position he was unable to gain the upper hand in the matter. “You are an ass.”

“How rude. What a way to talk to your beloved.” Gildor clicked his tongue at his lover, and then with one final yank managed to free himself of Glorfindel’s grasp. “Or is it that I am upsetting you talking about him this way?” Gildor twirled the spectacles around by one of the wire stems. “Twelve years is a long time to be apart. Tell me, how did you spend the years alone?”

“Accusing me now?” Glorfindel rolled over onto his back and rubbed his right wrist. It still showed faint marks where Gildor had held him tightly. “Why not leave me alone and go find a stable boy to sodomize, you prick.” Glorfindel pulled the drawer of his nightstand out and removed his spare pair of glasses from within a soft cloth.

Gildor tossed the glasses onto the foot of the bed, where they bounced off and hit the rug on the floor. “Maybe I shall.” He turned to leave.

“Leave your key.”

Gildor looked over his shoulder with a wily smirk. “Make me.”

* * *

From Glorfindel’s room, Gildor navigated his way through the gardens on a meandering path until he reached the stables. Many of the stalls housed the horses belonging to the inhabitants and visitors of the realm, though Gildor’s company tended to keep their horses and pack animals in the open air. The horses and goats were used to it, and the other animals they had, the tigers and other exotics, had cages in covered wooden carts where they slept.

Gildor’s mount typically had the honor of staying in the stables, with the exception of the oliphant. He strolled to the stall that his current pet was being kept in. She was nibbling at the feed she had been given, and while it was of fine quality, it was still lesser than she was used to being given by her master. “Poor thing. No one seems to understand how fragile you are.” Gildor wandered to the end of the aisle, where a fat cat sat on the top of one of the barrels of feed. “Good evening, sweetie.” Gildor scratched the cat’s head and under his chin.

The grey tom rolled and stretched out his legs, begging silently for more attention. “Oh, alright, then.” Gildor sat down on one of the lower barrels and appeased the feline for a bit. “Let me see... what do I have here for you...” He pulled a small brightly colored ball from his pocket and bounced it once on the ground. The cat flipped over, shining eyes focused on the object. “Would you like this, kitty?” Gildor bounced it again, and the cat swiped his paw out to try to bat the ball. “I wonder if you fetch.”

The ball was thrown, and the cat bounded away from his perch. Another cat, this one an orange tabby, darted out from a stall when the ball went by. A moment later, an elf in that same stall peered around the gate and watched the cat run off.

“No worries, Erestor. I am sure you are concerned that your pussy will not return – certainly, it is the only one you have had for a while – but fear not, she will be back.” Gildor removed the lid from the vacated barrel and examined the feed that was kept inside. “Is it usual for you to abuse your animals with such low-grade food?”

“There is nothing wrong with the horse feed, and you know it.” Erestor leaned on the gate, watching Gildor as he investigated the other barrels. “You may have noticed, we tend not to keep or breed rare animals whose needs would be better suited in a natural environment.

Gildor wandered over to the stall that Erestor was in. Two of the councilor’s prized race horses were munching on their dinner. “I think I know what is best for my horse.”

“Yes, I suppose that would make sense. No one believed she could be a real unicorn.”

“Oh, she is,” confirmed Gildor. “My purity is not to be questioned in the matter, obviously.”

Erestor narrowed his eyes. “I am doubtful of that,” said Erestor. “Your purity is always in question. Everyone is suspecting she is a horse whose head you have attached a horn to.”

Without answering directly, Gildor left Erestor standing where he was and went to the stall where his mount was being kept. He clicked his tongue to get her attention, and when she trotted over, he opened the gate and led her back to Erestor. Reaching up, Gildor coaxed the horse to bow her head. “Go ahead. Try to pull it off.”

“I would never harm an animal in such a cruel way,” Erestor warned. “The fact you have even suggested such a thing is horrific.”

“See for yourself, then. She is very real, I assure you.” Gildor pushed the unicorn’s mane away from her horn. “Though she may not have been born with it, there is no doubt she grew it on her own.”

“Fine, I will believe you that it is real,” said Erestor. “Do you drug her so that she allows you to ride her? What is your secret?”

Gildor laughed. “Secret? There is no secret. The answer is simple.” Gildor handed the end of the leather strap that was fastened as a collar around her neck to Erestor, and then left the stables. Erestor waited a few minutes, looking around the stalls, expecting some sign. As he began to examine the unicorn, he heard someone return.

Whoever it was did not make the horses happy. Stallions reared and mares whinnied and screamed. Asfaloth jumped his gate and galloped around the corner, stopping only when Erestor called to him, but doing so rather timidly. He took off again when Gildor rounded the corner, holding a flaming torch in his hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Erestor let go of the collar immediately. He placed both hands on the top of the gate and jumped over onto the other side, stumbling a bit. Age had a way of catching up to Elves sometimes. He yanked away the torch and held it away from Gildor. “You could burn this whole building down if you are not careful, not to mention, you have succeeded in scaring all of the animals!”

“I think your shouting is doing more damage,” remarked Gildor, for the commotion was getting worse now. “But I did so to prove my point.” He motioned towards the unicorn, who was standing perfectly still.

“You could have just said she was blind!” Erestor marched the torch to a bucket of water and shoved the lit end down into the liquid. It spit and hissed and a great plume of smoke rushed up towards him. “Why must you be so difficult?”

“Why must you be so nosy?” Gildor went back to the feed barrels and selected some from the one he deemed best. “Be sure to tell the boy that she should be exclusively be fed from this mix,” instructed Gildor.

“Tell him yourself,” sneered Erestor, who was trying to persuade Asfaloth out of a corner and back to his stall.

“I have not the time,” called out Gildor. “Since I know you will not allow any precious animal to go uncared for, I leave this task to you. Do not tell the stable boy if you like, but it will result in her extreme unhappiness. She may well starve herself.” Gildor led his mount back to her pen and then turned about and gave Erestor a condescending look, hands upon his hips. “If I were not so intent upon pleasuring your dear seneschal for a third time this evening, bringing him to the very pinnacle of ecstacy, listening to him utter my name from blissfully swollen lips before I plunge back into them, I would do it myself.” He smirked and then left the stables.

Erestor seethed and rubbed his temples, wearily taking upon himself the task of calming the animals and returning Asfaloth to his stall. After all this was over, he wrote a brief note to the stable hands regarding the care of Gildor’s unicorn, but signed it with Gildor’s name. Then he went to the unicorn’s stall. He clicked the same way that Gildor had to gain her attention, and she trotted to him. “Would you like to run, my beauty? Far out in the pastures, where the grass is soft and you can go for miles without me pulling on your reigns?” The unicorn snorted and nudged her head against his shoulder. “What care have you, to be on a midnight ride? There are no shadows to scare you.”

A special saddle hung on the wall with the rest of her tack, but Erestor opted for none of this. He even unbuckled the collar and left it to drape over the gate of her stall. “Come with me, little one. Let us enjoy the evening air together.” He stepped aside her and mounted the unicorn in one swift move. Something seemed to suddenly click for her – something made more of instinct than memory. For her, Erestor ‘felt’ right, more so than Gildor ever had. She tossed her head and walked a few paces forward with high steps. “Yes, I doubted he was a virgin,” murmured Erestor into the horse’s ear. “I may be no innocent myself, but at least I have kept that virtue intact.” He guided her out of the stable slowly and down to the promised pastures. “Now go, and fear not, I shall keep you safe. Forward!”

The unicorn raced across the fields, picking up speed as she realized that Erestor was true to his word. She pranced and trotted and did as she pleased, and even jumped imaginary hurdles now and again as they went along. Two hours later with dew stuck to her hooves and mane tangled delightedly, she finally came to a halt in the midst of a patch of lilies. “Good girl,” commended Erestor. “Shall we return?” The unicorn snorted in agreement.

When Erestor stabled the horse again, she was quite awake and spirited. He brushed out her mane and gave her a good rubbing down, while she nickered and snuffled and generally chattered on and on about her adventure in her own equine way. Erestor yawned and stretched, worn out from his ride and sore from jumping the gate earlier. He rubbed his chin as a sinister plan hatched in his mind, and opened the gate of the stall. “What about one more little adventure before bed?”

* * *

Gildor whistled his way up the stairs from the Hall of Fire. He returned to the house from the stable and meant only to stop in for a moment to see if Glorfindel had gone there after their fight. Instead, he was dragged (not unwillingly) into a conversation about the oddities of genealogy. When the music began, he politely offered to dance a few tunes with some of the ladies who had come without partners, and followed this by taking the stage himself for a few songs.

He left with a bottle of red wine and two glasses, and stopped in the kitchen to gather strawberries, a bowl of sugar, and a large slice of cheesecake. When he reached Glorfindel’s room, he had to set the tray on the floor of the hall while he unlocked the door. “Oh, lover... are you in there?”

“Mmmhhhhnnn... go away...”

Gildor chuckled softly to himself and bent down to pick up the tray. “I brought your favorite.”

“Cheesecake will not dig you out of your hole.”

“Not that, silly, me.” Gildor kicked the door closed behind him, and in the near darkness managed to set the tray on the table near the bed. There was always a single candle lit at the bedside. “Cheesecake with strawberries.” He picked up one of the small, ripe berries and bit off just the tip of it. “Mmm... want some?”

“I want to sleep.” Glorfindel yanked one of his many pillows over and covered his head with it.

Gildor sat down on the edge of the bed and slid a hand under the covers. “I came to apologize. I know that you and Erestor have been friends for a very long time, and I should be more sensitive to that. You need to accept that he and I will never be best of friends, but I shall try to tolerate him for your sake.” He touched Glorfindel’s leg and ran his fingers along the blond’s thigh. “Forgive me?”

Slowly, Glorfindel removed the pillow and sat up in bed. “Where is the cheesecake?”

“Right there. I brought wine, too.” Gildor took hold of the bottle, which was already uncorked, and poured half a glass for each of them. “Cheers.”

“I guess I can call a truce for cheesecake.” Glorfindel reached for the plate, but Gildor pulled it away.

With a cheeky smirk, Gildor knelt on the bed between Glorfindel’s legs and scooped a bite of cheesecake onto the fork. He lifted it to his own lips and placed it in his mouth, then set the fork on the plate leaned forward to use his hand to pull Glorfindel into a long kiss. When it was over, it was Glorfindel who was swallowing the cheesecake. “More?”

Glorfindel licked his lips. He had two meetings the next morning, mathematics lessons with Estel, a roster to schedule, and several other items of business to attend to. He had a feeling he would be calling in favors from Lindir to cancel his obligations and fulfill the rest for him before the sun rose. “Mmm... please...”

* * *

Erestor shut the gate as the unicorn clip-clopped in. “I think I will leave the two of you alone for a little while. Get to know each other better.” He almost thought that Asfaloth winked at him as he walked away.

* * *

Once the cheesecake and strawberries were gone, leaving only the wine in their wake, Gildor found a way to get out of his clothes and into the bed. He was now nuzzling his way down Glorfindel’s body, and Glorfindel was in the middle of a purr when he suddenly waved a hand towards the door. “Did you lock it?”

“Of course I did.” Gildor could not actually remember if he had or not, but he was not about to stop to check. Instead, he quickly moved to align his tongue with Glorfindel’s hardening erection. It took two licks to firm it up, and he was coaxing Glorfindel onto his hands and knees soon after.

“Still mad at me?” Gildor reached around Glorfindel’s hip and ghosted his fingers up and down the length. “Want me to leave?”

“I will be mad if you do.” Glorfindel moved Gildor’s fingers so that they were gripping him tighter. “Twelve years... long time...”

“Guess we need to make up for lost time.” Gildor fumbled for the drawer of the nightstand, and tossed the spare pair of glasses out onto the floor in order to get to the back where some other items, including oil, were kept. “Arch that back of yours.” He gave Glorfindel’s ass a playful slap and Glorfindel presented his backside after a momentary twitch from the unexpected contact. His cleft was liberally lubricated, and Glorfindel felt one of Gildor’s fingers exploring up and down the slick path. “Nice...” Gildor slicked his own length, and then rubbed it up and down along the tight crack. It was long ago established that Glorfindel did not wish Gildor to penetrate him until their wedding night (if ever that happened), but nearly anything else was fair game.

“Faster,” begged Glorfindel, nearly whining.

Gildor sped the movement of his hips, but with a growl Glorfindel reached back and took hold of Gildor’s hand. “Oh, that,” chuckled Gildor. He pumped his hand faster. “Clench your ass for me, honey.” Glorfindel did as told, and Gildor groaned at the increased pressure felt on his cock. “Oh, yes. Just like that.” He thrust against Glorfindel over and over until finally he felt his release.

The thick fluid spurted out, and slid down Glorfindel’s cleft. Gildor slid two fingers up and down through the moist path he had left, and then targeted Glorfindel’s entrance. The double digits swirled around and penetrated just beyond the clenching muscle. “Do you still have the gift I gave you last time I was here?”

Glorfindel groaned and rose up slightly. “In the drawer,” he managed to say, and gave a grunt when Gildor pulled away.

“You must use it. I see it is out of the box.”

“The box would not fit in the drawer,” drawled Glorfindel, but his cheeks were bright for the truth in fact was that he often used the item that had one day twelve years ago been given to him in a wooden box that was wrapped in blue paper with a white ribbon.

It was just shy of the length of Gildor’s penis when fully erect, and was forged smooth, but with bumps and curves that made each use a different sort of pleasurable experience. Gildor used the slippery mix of his own discharge and most of the remaining oil to coat the device before pressing it against Glorfindel. “How far do you usually insert it?”

Now panting heavily, Glorfindel swallowed to moisten his dry throat. “About half way.”

Gildor began to pierce Glorfindel with the implement. “Ever try going all the way before?”

“I thought.. about..” Glorfindel closed his eyes and whimpered. “Too.. too fast..”

“Mmm, no, no, no, not too fast at all,” crooned Gildor as he slid the device almost completely out of his lover’s body. He turned it slowly in his fingers, nothing more than the tip penetrating, while he used his other hand to stroke his own reawakening body. “You are just far too tight. You need to relax. Close your eyes. Slow your breath. Breathe out. Breathe in.” Fingers continued to manipulate, twisting it, keeping it just past the clenching of muscle that was slowly relaxing. “Good. Good boy. Breathe out.. and in… and out.. and..” Gildor let go of his own erection and picked up the oil, pouring what little was left of the oil over the device. “And.. in,” he growled, thrusting the entire length in as Glorfindel sucked in air and then howled into the pillows.

* * *
Erestor returned to the stable and peered into Asfaloth’s stall. “I see you have welcomed our new friend to Rivendell.” Both the large white stallion and the unicorn were nestled together in the back of the stall. It was evident from the state of the stall and from their closeness that something more than a simple welcoming had occurred. “Maybe I will just come back in the morning,” suggested Erestor to himself. He took one last quick look over his shoulder and smiled. “Remember, if anyone asks, she wandered out of her stall and you had no choice but to take her to yours for the night.” Erestor thought he saw Asfaloth wink at him in the darkness.

* * *

“You look so good when you are sated,” whispered Gildor. He brushed aside an errant golden curl that had fallen across Glorfindel’s face. “If we had not just...” He waggled his brows.

Glorfindel leaned closer and began to kiss Gildor sweetly upon the lips until Gildor returned the favor. His feet began to caress Gildor’s, and one of them rose up to stroke his lover’s calf. “We still have a few hours before morning.”

“We need more oil.”

“Check the drawer. I should have more in the back.”

Gildor kissed Glorfindel’s nose, and then crawled over Glorfindel to reach the drawer. He found what he was looking for, and pulled out the stopper. “Can I put out the candle, honey?”

Glorfindel sat up and frowned, but did not answer.

“Never mind. Sorry I asked; that was wrong of me.” Gildor set the bottle of oil onto the nightstand, returned to where he had been and started to search the blankets for the metal phallus they were using earlier. “Where did that thing go?”

A moment and a groan later, Glorfindel was handing it to Gildor. When he was given a questioning look, Glorfindel answered with a meek, “You never took it out.”

Gildor grinned. “Shall we trade roles this time?” He positioned himself on his hands and knees after giving the phallus back to Glorfindel. Glorfindel smiled and reached for the oil, and as a second thought, blew out the candle.

It was not often that Erestor skipped a council meeting. In fact, he had not intended to skip it at all, but three of his students needed extra tutoring, and he had lost track of time. As he hastened to make it to the chambers before it ended, he noted that many of the councilors were strolling about in pairs and trios, and he ascertained that he had missed the meeting entirely, and so retreated to the office he shared with Glorfindel in the lower level of the house.

“Tell me about the meeting,” he said as soon as he entered and found Glorfindel standing at one of the shelves of books looking over the volumes housed there. “What did I miss?”

“Hmm? Oh, I forgot what we talked about already. Elrond missed it again, and the junior councilors are now making it a habit to only attend as we are wrapping things up, for they know we can act on few things without him there.” Glorfindel selected one of the books and took it to his desk, but did not sit down. “How many times have you been arrested?” he asked smoothly, using the same tone.

“Well that is a fine greeting.”

“Seriously, Erestor. I was trying to do the math, and it came up, so—“

Erestor held up a hand in order to pause his friend. “What do you mean, it came up? Something like that does not simply ‘come up’.”

“Elrond had plans to ask you to take Estel with you when you travel next month, but Lady Gilraen has some concerns. She was about to consent when one of the councilors made a comment about ‘arrest-or’ and then I had to try to muddle my way through an explanation, which I miserably failed. I attempted to make it seem as if it was all very political, which it was, but I think she is a bit concerned about the whole idea now that she has some inkling of your past.” Glorfindel waited for a moment, and pressed on. “No comment?”

“I am thinking.” Erestor dropped down into his chair and gripped the armrests. “Seven. No, eight? Shit... I think eight. Does Gondolin count?”

“Are you still pretending you never lived in Gondolin?”

“Most of the time,” admitted Erestor.

“The trouble with lies is they are harder to keep track of than the truth.” Glorfindel pulled another book from the shelf. “Do not be surprised if she confronts you later today. Elrond seems to think this would be a very good test for Estel, and though Gilraen is not exactly fighting it, she is apprehensive. You need to be aware of the fact that you are under scrutiny.”

Erestor reached over the joined desks and picked up one of the books to examine it. “Who called me ‘arrest-or’, if I might ask?”

“Someone who thought they were being amusing.”

“Not Lindir,” guessed Erestor, knowing the musician to have a mischievous streak from time to time.

“Yes, Lindir. He thought he was being clever, really, but it certainly did not help a single ounce.” Glorfindel rearranged a few volumes to keep the remaining ones from slipping down into a slumped pile on the shelf.

From the bottom drawer of his desk, Erestor pulled a bottle of amber liquid and a pair of glasses. He poured one three-quarters full, and cleared his throat to gain Glorfindel’s attention. The blond shook his head, and Erestor replaced the second glass in the desk. He corked the bottle, but did not return it to the drawer. “I suppose he was singing one of his songs or reciting a few lines of poetry.”

“It was a limerick.”

“He wrote a limerick about me? Cheeky lad... remind me to return the favor. He is no innocent to be sure.” Erestor gulped a good amount of the liquid from his glass. “Do you remember it?”

“No, I was much more concerned with Gilraen’s opinion of you than I was with being able to recite a lewd poem later on.” Glorfindel opened a drawer of his own desk, expecting to find a stack of narrow scrap papers he typically used to mark books. They were there, but his gaze wandered to the side, where somehow the implement he and Gildor had used a few nights earlier was propped up so that it was leaning erect in the drawer. He slammed the drawer shut and then sat down on the edge of the desks where they were pushed together. “Pretend you did not hear of all this when you do see her. I do not wish her to think me... uncouth.”

There was a knock on the door before Erestor was able to make any promises to Glorfindel, and instead of waiting for permission, the door was pushed open. It was Gilraen, as anyone might suspect, and she had her hands upon her hips now as she entered, giving Erestor a slightly accusational look. “I have heard it upon good authority that you have been in trouble with the law on many occasions.”

“It might have happened once or thrice,” answered Erestor, feigning surprise. “I do not understand what that might matter—“

“If you are going to take my son on an extended journey, I must be assured of the fact that he will be safe and free of any uncomplimentary adventures.” Gilraen glanced at Glorfindel. “You may leave us alone.”

“This happens to be my office as well. I have business to attend to,” said Glorfindel firmly, but Gilraen glared at him in such an angry manner that Glorfindel hopped off of the desk and grabbed his abacus and the books he had selected from the shelf. “Actually, I was about to see Elrond about something anyhow...” He mouthed ‘good luck’ to Erestor while out of Gilraen’s line of sight and left quickly and quietly.

Gilraen took up the spot that Glorfindel had vacated and stared down at Erestor. “Your offenses. Name them.”

The door opened and Glorfindel tried to sneak back in. Despite his silence, Gilraen’s intuition alerted her to his return. “I thought I told you to leave.”

“Yes ma’am.” Glorfindel quickly slammed the door shut. Gilraen left her post and walked over to the door, locking it from the inside.

“That is hardly necessary. In fact, anything you wish to speak about can be stated in front of him, because we basically tell each other everything.”

Gilraen smiled sweetly. “So that means he has already informed you of my intention to interrogate you.”

“First of all, I am, as you have already surmised, very familiar with being interrogated. Secondly, he is an honorable man – did you tell him he was not to tell me?”

There was a slight pause, and Gilraen answered, “No, I do not recall stating that.”

“Then that might have been why he thought he should inform me. Now, had you asked him not to speak to me of it? He certainly would not have, or, he would have told you that he could not make such an assurance. He is very honest. Extremely honest. Ask him anything, and he will answer you with an honest and complete answer.”

“By that, you mean to tell me that he is your exact opposite.” Gilraen sat down on the desk again and peered down at Erestor, which was not a very long distance considering his height even while seated. “I am not sure that I am comfortable putting you in charge of my son.”

“I can assure you, if Elrond thought that I was a hazard, he would not have given me such a high position here in Imladris,” said Erestor.

“And just what is your position here in Imladris?” asked Gilraen.

“I am second in line to rule this realm.” Erestor smiled at the discomfort that this obviously caused Gilraen. “Did he never mention this to you? Indeed, it is my duty to perform all tasks otherwise assigned to him in his absence.”

“He has two grown sons,” argued Gilraen. “What of Elladan? Is he not Elrond’s heir?”

“He is,” Erestor agreed. “He most certainly is. The fact of the matter is that neither of his sons has made their decision regarding their heritage. Will they be counted among the Men? With they choose Elvenkind instead? It is baffling; however, the matter remains that there must be a specifically chosen predecessor, if anything should happen to Elrond, Eru forbid.”

“And why did he choose you? He might have decided upon Glorfindel or Gildor or someone else. Why you?” asked Gilraen.

“Simple. My father was the firstborn of the Elves of the Noldor. I am his firstborn son. Had my father not sent Finwe as the emissary of the Noldor to Valinor, and gone himself, I would most likely have been in higher power than the line of Finwe. There are many Elves who remember that and consider me to be the true heir of our people. It puts Elrond in a powerful position among both the Nandor and the Noldor of the elder ages.” Erestor picked up the glass he had poured for himself and drank from it. “In addition, I am brilliant when it comes to negotiations and tactics. I am at best an excellent ally, and at worst a formidable and dangerous foe. No one wants me as an enemy, even if not many wish me as a friend.”

“I see.” Gilraen was looking over the items on Erestor’s desk, choosing not to look directly at the elf. “So you are telling me that I should fear you.”

“Nay, that is not what I meant,” corrected Erestor. “I am explaining the reason Elrond placed me in the position that I am in. I am powerful, and I am also a force to be reckoned with. Nazgul might run from Glorfindel in fear at first sight, but they do flee from me all the same. I am wise, and have managed to survive many ages to this point. I am persuasive, and while perhaps I am not the friendliest person he might have chosen, I am the best candidate. I also have no heir,” he said, which was really only a half-truth. “That means that when his sons do decide their fates, they will be free to take up the mantle of the realm, or join their brethren in Gondor, and no one shall challenge them. It is the best choice that Elrond could make. Furthermore, I have served in this capacity since the Second Age, long before he married, so this was not a sudden decision that was made. He has long trusted my abilities.”

“Have you ever ruled a realm before?”

“No.” Erestor smirked. “Neither did Fingon or Gil-galad or Finarfin before they ruled. Neither did Elrond.”

“But is it not far to say that Elrond was once ruler of Imladris under the kingship of Gil-galad, and is now truly the ruler of Lindon?” she pressed.

Erestor shook his head. “Also untrue. Elrond is certainly not the king of anything. If anyone is, it is Gildor who claims kingship of Lindon, and Cirdan in the north of Mithlond. But none of them call themselves king. There is only one elvenking who remains in Middle-earth, and he is far to the North and fairly disinterested in leaving his realm.”

Gilraen appeared ready to continue the conversation, but she shook her head. “You are trying to sidetrack me from my original purpose.”

“I was doing a fairly good job of it,” Erestor complimented himself. “Did I mention I am skilled as a debater?”

“That is not what I wished to find out. I want to know of your past transgressions and the accusations against you.” Gilraen took a sheet of paper from his desk and pulled a quill from its holder.

“You are going to record our conversation?”

“Just this part.”

Erestor opened another drawer, and brought out blotting paper and ink. “Here.” He stood up and pulled the chair from the desk. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Gilraen hesitated, and then took the chair that she was offered and sat down in it. “Shall we begin at the beginning?”

“That does seem like the most logical place to start. So, let me see... the first time that I was accused of something unlawful was when I was barely of age. It was of a personal nature, however, and I was acquitted of all charges.”

“What was it?” pressed Gilraen.

“Something personal. I was also found innocent, so it is of no consequence to your investigation. The next time was in Doriath – I was imprisoned for ignoring the law that stated one was to speak only in Sindarin, not Quenya. I sang a song in Quenya, and was incarcerated for it.”

“It was illegal to speak a language? Why?”

“King Thingol wished to punish the Noldor and their allies by deeming their language unfit to be heard in his realm. I was making a point; that not all Noldor were evil. He still believed that I was, or was too stubborn to admit otherwise. Whatever the reason, I was instructed never to speak in that language again. Instead, I taught it in secret, and sang in it, and spoke in it – and I did so directly to him.” Erestor was walking about the room in a large circular pattern, and stopped at the shelf of books, pulling from it one large volume. “Poetry, written by me. It is all in Quenya; the original copies were all burned in Doriath after I left. This is the only one that remains.” He set it on the desk next to the writing that Gilraen was doing.

The woman was no longer recording their conversation, but instead was watching Erestor with interest. “What did you do next?”

“Doriath again. I accused the king of... well, a number of things. I more or less told him that he was not the king that I would answer to. He was not pleased. I was banished from the realm.” Erestor pulled the chair away from Glorfindel’s desk, but did not sit down. Instead, he placed his hands upon it and used it to lean upon. “The next place that I lived in, I did better for a little while. I have a terrible habit of doing or saying things that are inappropriate, though, and I ended up in a fix when I insulted a lord for insulting a friend of mine. Then, I physically attacked him.”

“So your misdemeanors tended to escalate over time.”

“You could say that.” Erestor paused as he debated just how much to say. “I was protecting a dear friend of mine. It was rather disturbing to hear what was said. I punched the lord in question; I was not formally charged, but punished nonetheless.”

“How so?”

Erestor took a long hard look at Gilraen. “I was flogged.”

This answer seemed to have an odd effect on the woman; she seemed almost to gain extra respect for the man standing before her at the words that he said. “I see. This was done in public?”

“No. And neither was it the second time it happened. The king was not one to make public displays if he could help it. He was rather kindly, for a king. I respected him greatly.” Erestor looked down. “I miss him. He was a good friend.”

The quill was set down. “Your good friend sentenced you to be whipped?”

“The punishment must fit the crime. If he had allowed me to do as I pleased without repercussions, how would he have controlled the rest of the population? I am, in a word, stubborn. Sometimes, it works to my advantage. Other times, I get myself into trouble. I have still managed to outlive everyone who has ever accused me, be it truthful or not.”

Gilraen folded her hands together and looked across the desks at Erestor. “What was the worst thing that you were ever accused of?”

“Murder.”

“Did you do it?”

“I do not believe so.”

“Explain.”

“I was drugged. I have a lapse of memory. But there was no evidence that I actually committed what I was accused of.”

“You were found innocent?”

Erestor shook his head. “I was smuggled out of the city when it was shown that the trial was being rigged and false evidence was being collected.”

“Where did this happen?”

“In Bree.”

“Interesting.” Gilraen nodded slowly. “I believe it is in Estel’s best interest if he does not accompany you anywhere.”

“If it helps my case any,” said Erestor, “the man who was killed deserved it.”

“How does anyone deserve to be murdered?” wondered Gilraen.

Erestor shrugged. “He was beating his wife and he sold his young daughter into slavery to pay for his gambling debts. He was found dead in his home, and I was awakened upon the doorstep, as I said, after I was drugged.”

“Just how did you become involved to begin with? A random traveler in the city?”

The chair was pushed back beneath the desk that Glorfindel used. “Not at all. I came to the city on business, to meet with a number of delegations to negotiate water rights. While there, I happened to be in a pub where the man brought his daughter. He began to display her like a horse at auction. She was fourteen, and there were many showing interest in her for unhealthy reasons.”

“Did you try to stop him, or call the authorities?” asked Gilraen.

“No. I bought her. I gave her my horse and a purse of coin and set her free. A friend of mine from Mirkwood who has served as my legal counsel many times took the initiative to search for evidence when I was accused and found a number of things that seemed to point to her brief return to the city after her departure. If I had to guess, it was the girl who did the deed.” Erestor took to pacing about again. “Even if there had not been clues to her return, I am certain I did not commit the crime.”

“Why is that?”

“It was too sloppy,” he explained. “Too many hacks and slashes. If I had been the one to kill him, I could have done so with one stroke. Even if I had been drunk.”

Gilraen considered Erestor’s epilogue and shook her head. “Do you understand why I am so apprehensive? He is my only son.”

“I understand. I will not hold that against you. You need to do what is best for him. However, you need to consider the opportunities and what will aid him in the future. He is safe here, yes, but unless he learns to live outside of Imladris he will never leave Imladris. Let me take him with me; I will offer you this – Glorfindel will gladly travel with us. If he does, there is less chance that anything will happen. Glorfindel is often my conscience,” he admitted.

“I will consider that as a possibility,” Gilraen finally said. “For now, I will stay my judgment.”

“Does it help to know that I have never been arrested in Mirkwood?” he asked.

Gilraen frowned. “Not really.” She stood up and left the sheet of paper on his desk. “Good day, Master Erestor.”

“Good day.” Erestor waited until Gilraen let herself out before he cleaned up the items on the top of his desk, tossing the sheet of accusations and convictions into the fire and finishing the rest of his drink just as Glorfindel stepped back in. “You missed something fun.”

“I hope it went well?”

“In hindsight, I think I should have insisted you stay. You might have explained things a little better,” admitted Erestor.

Glorfindel frowned. “So you were unable to convince her?”

“She has not decided yet. In the meantime, I think you need to ready yourself for a journey. If she does say yes, it is with the addition of you to the party.” Erestor glanced up apologetically. “I hope that will not impede you much to go with me to Mirkwood.”

An extreme amount of relief washed over Glorfindel. “I suppose I could clear my schedule in order to accompany you. That is, if you think that would be best for us both to be absent from Imladris for an extended amount of time.” He appeared thoughtful. “Maybe I should inquire with Elrond first before committing to this.”

“That would be a wise decision,” agreed Erestor. “Did you really go to see him?”

“No, I just needed to make it sound like she was not chasing me out. Which, she was. She scares me a little, in a ‘I think she might be able to best me if given the chance’ sort of way.”

“She is tough. At least, outwardly. Inwardly, too, I guess. I wonder if she descends from Haleth.” Erestor set the glass back in its place in the bottom drawer and gave the desktop a final wipe of his sleeve. “I am done here, I suppose. Shall we go to Elrond?”

The pair traversed the halls with easy familiarity, but found when they knocked upon the door of Elrond’s office that no one answered them. “Perhaps he went to the council chambers,” reasoned Glorfindel, and they headed off in another direction. When that search ended fruitlessly, Erestor gave a nod of his head towards the residential wings of the house. “He is probably in his rooms, with Gilraen, discussing all of this now.”

“Shall we try there?” asked Glorfindel.

“I think you should go on your own. I do not want to appear to be pushy in this matter. It is likely that Gilraen will decide in my favor if I do not press the issue with her. If she is with Elrond right now, it will be best that I do not show up there. I am, honestly, more or less indifferent. I need to go to Mirkwood, be it with Estel or not. If she wants to offer him this opportunity, so be it. If not, I am not insulted. It is the mother’s prerogative to keep her son safe, especially in such a time as this.” Erestor motioned towards the dining hall. “I think I might take supper early tonight. Do you wish to dine with me, or do you have plans with Gildor? I plan to eat in my rooms.”

“No plans. He has a performance this evening. It would be nice to join you.” Glorfindel felt immediately sick to his stomach that he was willingly deceiving his friend at Elrond’s request. “I can meet you after I have finished speaking to Elrond.”

“Good. I hope to see you soon.” Erestor turned to walk away as Glorfindel continued on towards Elrond’s quarters.

At the door, Glorfindel stopped to listen. He could hear Elrond speaking, but until he heard Gilraen answer he could not be assured of the fact that the lady was there as well. He hesitated, and then announced his presence with a firm knock on the door. He had to wait until Elrond answered, for the butler was not on duty in the afternoon or the early evening. “I was hoping that I would have an opportunity to speak with you.” Glorfindel looked past the lord of the valley, and upon seeing Gilraen realized that the woman indeed terrified him a little, though he could not quite say why.

“I am having a discussion with Gilraen at the moment. Might you return after supper, or might we be able to speak in the Hall of Fire later?” suggested Elrond.

Before Glorfindel was able to acquiesce, Gilraen stood up. “You are welcome here, Glorfindel. I was discussing a matter which actually concerns you as well.” She beckoned him in with a wave of her hand, and he timidly entered.

“Elrond and I were discussing the upcoming plans that Erestor has to travel to Mirkwood. As you know, he offered to take Estel with him so that he can be presented to the court of Thranduil. I am apprehensive to allow him to go; I am not used to dealing with criminals.”

“If I may,” interrupted Glorfindel, “Erestor hardly qualifies for that term. He may have a sorted past, but his life has been long and his lack of judgment due out of a need to make his opinions known. There are times that he has been wrongly accused, as it is simple to blame one who has a past like his. Erestor is a kind person, and he would take excellent care of Estel. I am sure that if it came to it, he would place his life before Estel’s – but his prowess as a warrior is contested by few.” He paused, unsure of how far he would need to go, and decided to say what was on his mind. “Against him in battle, I would not be confidant that I would win. He is that skilled as a fighter.”

Gilraen and Elrond looked at one another, and then Gilraen said, “I appreciate your loyalty to your friend, but I worry in part about his loyalty to Elrond.”

“That is precisely why I am going along,” said Glorfindel. “Or has Elrond not explained that to you?”

“He did,” admitted Gilraen. “But do you think he will reveal such a secret to you, if he knows where your loyalties lie?”

With a guilty look at the floor, Glorfindel said, “I intend to investigate further than that. If he is a traitor, I will find out.”

“Do you think he might be?” asked Gilraen.

“Personally, no, I do not believe so. However, until I have evidence to the contrary... I must do as my lord asks,” answered Glorfindel softly. “Though it does pain me to think that he might be unfaithful, I will do as I have been asked by Elrond. Not commanded; requested. My loyalty, in this life, has always been to Imladris.”

Glorfindel moved further into the room and sat down on the chair that was usually occupied Arwen when she was home. Her knitting was in a bag beside the chair, though one of the balls of yarn looked to have been unraveled by little hands and rerolled. He settled down but sat on the edge, looking up at Gilraen until she sat down again. “I want you to understand Erestor, because I admit on the surface he seems like a very curious and untrustworthy person. The truth of the matter is, he is coarse and opinionated and harsh at times, but deep down he is one of the most beautiful people I have met. He is gentle with children, and he plays violin in a way that makes kings and soldiers weep. His poems are written by one who has a caring and compassionate soul, and he outwardly projects an image of insensitivity to protect not only himself but those he is responsible for. He will come to the aid of all whom he believes are wronged, whether it is his responsibility to do so or not. Nothing that he has done is reason to think him a threat or a bad influence to your son. He is my hero.”

“From you, that is saying much.” Gilraen reflected quietly for a little while. “I will agree to this, but I want your complete assurance that you will be present throughout the entire journey.”

“My duty will be twofold: To do as Elrond asks, and to protect you son at all costs.”

“So be it.” Gilraen rose, and Glorfindel did the same. “When will you leave?”

“Two weeks and three days from this evening. We will begin our travel in the early hours,” said Glorfindel.

Gilraen appeared appeased and nodded. “Expect that I shall speak with you in regards to the planning for this trip. Will you do me the favor of letting Erestor know of my decision?”

“I shall. We are dining together tonight.” Glorfindel felt his cheeks flush slightly at this admission. “Good afternoon to you both.” He hurriedly left the room.

Elrond waited until the door was closed to converse again with Gilraen. “Are you at ease with this decision?”

“For the moment, I am. I cannot expect that anything ill will happen with Glorfindel there.” Gilraen looked at the door that Glorfindel had gone through. “Is it my imagination, or is there more than a friendly relationship going on between them?”

“Glorfindel has long been enamored with Erestor,” said Elrond. “For many years, he and Gildor have been lovers, but it is a known fact that Glorfindel would much rather spend his nights with my chief counselor.” Elrond walked to his liquor cabinet to retrieve a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“And your chief counselor?”

“Erestor wishes for a wife. He wants children; a family. His preferences are also not in line with those of Glorfindel. I fear that the infatuation is one-sided. Perhaps Glorfindel holds out hope that someday Erestor would change his mind, but that is impossible. I only hope that this does not hurt Glorfindel or their relationship in the long run.” Elrond uncorked the bottle and poured half a glass for each of them. “At least Glorfindel does not seem to be disuaded by the lack of affection on Erestor’s part,” he added as he moved a glass closer to Gilraen.

“Oh?” Gilraen picked up the glass that was offered but did not yet drink from it. “What do you mean by that?”

Elrond leaned back in his chair. “Only that I am not sure I could suppress feelings as he has, if I were to spend each day so close to the object of my desires.”

“A challenge, to be sure,” answered Gilraen before she sipped from the glass.

“I have the journey mapped out. Mirkwood first, of course, and then from there we shall go to Bree so that we can take a few days to venture out to Ben-adar’s house.”

“No.” The sternly issued word came forth from Glorfindel before Erestor could show him the map he had drawn out.

“We will certainly have time,” Erestor assured his friend. “As long as we do not stay for an extended period in Mirkwood—“

“Out of the question.” Glorfindel set his abacus back onto his desk and removed his glasses. “Besides the fact that it is too dangerous a road for us to traverse with a ten-year-old boy, it is not part of our mission.”

“It is a mission for you, but a vacation for me,” argued Erestor. “Estel needs to be acquainted with the surroundings beyond Imladris.”

Glorfindel took the map from Erestor. “Fine. We go from Mirkwood to Lothlorien, then. He can meet his sister and grandparents.”

Erestor’s mouth twitched into a frown. “That does not seem like an ideal vacation to me.”

“We are not going to Bree, and that is final.”

“No one remembers what I did there all those years ago, and the position of Magistrate is vacant, so there would be no one to arrest me even if they did recognize me,” said Erestor. “Besides, you enjoy going to Bree.”

“It is not Bree that I am disputing. We are not going to Tom Bombadil’s house, and that is final.”

Erestor placed his hands upon the desk and leaned down to stare at Glorfindel. “And why not, exactly?”

Glorfindel sighed. “Because that man tries my patience in so very many ways.”

“Ben-adar is a wonderful soul,” defended Erestor.

“He is, in a word, an annoyance.” Glorfindel pushed back his chair and walked away from Erestor. His hands were already raised to his temples, a headache oncoming just to think of the man. “He sings nonsense. And not nonsense like Lindir does with his tra-la-la-lally and all that, oh no, he makes up words by the bushel full and tosses them about and into everything. It’s hard to understand a single sentence he says! And his span of attention is this big,” commented Glorfindel, holding his fingers minisculely apart. “There are times I have tried to speak to him, and he interrupts me to burst into song! Praise that wife of his, for no other could stand him!”

“I still think him pleasant to be around,” said Erestor after a pause.

Glorfindel shook his head. “Perhaps he lets you get a word in edgewise. Or maybe what he says actually makes sense to you. But honestly, the last time I was there was to discuss spiders and wolves. There were spiders that were multiplying in the old forest and a pack of particularly nasty wolves that were working in tandem with each other. It obviously seemed like the work of Sauron to me. And what did he spew at Haldir and I when we went to see him? Some gibberish about yellow-creamed butter and plates all a-clutter, and I swear between the two of us we understood about three words – greetings, and good day!”

“Ah, that sounds like Ben-adar,” remarked Erestor fondly.

Glorfindel simply shook his head. “I have to draw a line somewhere, and we are simply not going to his house. If you want us to walk to Angmar or Mordor or even the Dead Marshes, lead the way. Not Tom Bombadil’s house. Not if it were the last refuge in Middle-earth.”

“You say that now, but you never know.” Erestor folded the map and tossed it into a desk drawer. “Fine. No Ben-adar.”

“Glad you agree.”

Erestor settled back into his chair and drummed the tips of his fingers on the desk. “This is very unlike you, Fin. I am actually surprised that there is something that exists that you dislike.”

“On the contrary,” corrected Glorfindel. “I dislike a great many things. Tom Bombadil just happens to be on the short list, along with cabbage and the color grey.”

“It hardly seems fair to place him in the ranks of cabbage and dreary colors,” Erestor argued.

“Make your own list if you like, but this conversation is over. No Tom Bombadil. And if you try to sneakily find a way to make him aware of the path we are taking so that he can randomly show up without notice,” warned Glorfindel, “something bad will happen.”

Erestor arched a brow. “Something bad? That is the best you can do?”

“Something bad that involves you and... Gildor,” he blurted out, trying to think of the thing that Erestor would like the least.

It had the desired effect. “Fine. No Ben-adar. Can we detour to Rohan?”

“NO.” Glorfindel began to rub his temples again. “In fact, we are going straight to Mirkwood and coming straight back. No detours, no scenic routes, and NO Tom Bombadil!”

There would be no further suggestions for altering their course, for Gilraen suddenly knocked on the doorway and let herself into the room. “I wished to inform you of a few parameters for this trip.”

“Oh?” asked Erestor. “What are those?”

“No night travel and no orc hunting. Unless someone attacks you, you will not engage in an attack.”

Erestor waited, and then asked, “Anything else?”

“No, I think that will cover everything that has been worrying me,” said Gilraen. She began to leave and then turned back. “No women, elven or otherwise,” she said pointedly at Erestor.

“Might I suggest no deviating from the route that we have mapped out?” asked Glorfindel. “If we are to stay safe, in case someone should need to find us, it would make sense to stay on a trail and not wander from it.”

Gilraen looked away from Glorfindel and turned her gaze onto Erestor. “No deviations.”

“That was—he just—“ Erestor flailed about for words. “You cannot be serious. Sometimes, a judgment call must be made.”

“Then as your security, it will be Glorfindel who makes those decisions,” stated Gilraen. “If you will excuse me, I have other things to attend to.” She left the room as suddenly as she had come into it, leaving Erestor pouting and Glorfindel with a smug look on his face.

“If I did not know better, I would suspect that you had planned that little routine with her,” accused Erestor. “Her timing could not have been better.”

Glorfindel simply shrugged. “You can think whatever you want, as long as it keeps me out of Tom Bombadil’s house!”



Near the stables, Estel was showing off to his Ada, practicing his balance on the top rung of the white fence that encircled the barns and stables. “Lindir said someday he will show me how to do a cartwheel across the fence,” said Estel, his arms raised at either side for stability. “Right now I can just do this,” he said as he hopped up in the air and landed back down on the wood. He wobbled slightly, and Elrond held onto the seat of the bench he sat on to keep himself from rushing over to steady the lad. He had tried to give up the habit when Estel was eight and proclaimed that he could climb the trees all by himself now without a boost up. Even so, Elrond found that the tricks that his foster son tried were nerve-wracking, and caused a new sequence of grey hairs that his other three children had not managed to dull.

“That is very brave of you to try that,” said Elrond. “Perhaps it is time to come down from there. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? For me?” Estel bounded over to the end of the fence a little faster than Elrond might have liked, but he kept his footing. “Can I jump down?”

Elrond was nearly there already. “I can help you.”

“But I can jump. Lindir lets me jump,” added Estel.

Elrond made a mental note to have a talk with Lindir. “It is a long way down to the ground. If you break a foot, you would not be able to go to Greenwood tomorrow.”

Estel weighed the consequences as he looked down at the ground. “I can do it,” he said finally in a very assured tone. “But can you move the bale of hay closer? Just in case?”

Happy to oblige, for it made the jump little more than half a metre, Elrond shoved the bale over with his foot. “There we are,” he said. “Are you sure you can make it on your own?”

“Stand back, Ada, here I go!” Estel bent his knees and bounced off his perch onto the hay, and then again from the bale onto the ground. “That is the best part! You should try it!”

“Maybe later. I want to show you your surprise-- or have you forgotten already?”

“My surprise! What is it?” Estel grinned and looked up with his curious eyes, hoping perhaps for a toy soldier to add to his collection or a piece of candy from the little confectionary cart in the east wing or the gypsy caravans that were present. The smallest presents delighted him, but Elrond had something much bigger in mind.

“I know that you were going to ride Gilmiris to Greenwood, but I do not think that will be possible.” Gilmiris was one of the donkeys stabled in Imladris, and while Estel had learned to ride ponies, horses, and even some of Erestor’s massive stallions, it was Gilmiris who was most patient with Estel.

“Because she is not a horse,” sighed Estel. Some of the young playmates that Estel had in Imladris had remarked on more than one occasion that it was ridiculous to ride a donkey when there were so many perfectly good horses around. The truth was, Estel was yet unsure of himself as a rider. While most of the horses used for long distance transportation would suit the journey, they were intimidating.

Elrond shook his head. “I do not think you should ride a horse. I do think you should consider this friend of mine instead.” Elrond led Estel into the barn and showed him to a row of stalls where the donkeys and llamas were kept. At the end of the row was a golden colored equine that swished her tail happily as if she was listening to a rhythm in her head as she chewed on her lunch. Her coppery hair was mixed with thick strands of dark brown, and together they shined like burnished metal in the sunlight that came in through the open doors and windows. “I thought you might like a mount of your own.”

Estel’s eyes grew huge as the words sunk in. “She belongs to me?”

“If you would like her. I purchased her from one of the traveling Nandorin Elves who are here. She is young, but has much travel experience and comes from good stock found in the Shire. She does not have a name yet, either, so you will be able to choose a name for her.” Elrond unlatched the gate and swung the door open so that Estel could enter. “Would you like to say hello?”

“Would I!” Estel began to run into the stall, but recalled the lessons that he had been given by Erestor and Glorfindel and stopped short so that he could calmly enter the stall. “Hi, girl. How are you? My name is Estel. How are you, girl?” Estel approached slowly and reached up to touch the nose of the pony. She snuffed at his hand and nuzzled his arm, and then tried to stick her nose into his sleeve. “Hey! That tickles!”

“Here.” Elrond reached into his pocket and handed a cube of sugar to Estel, who in turn held it up to his new friend. She delicately took the treat and then nuzzled his hand again. “Do you like her? I can trade her for a different one if you do not.”

“Oh, no, father, she is perfect! Thank you, Ada!” Estel ran back over to Elrond and wrapped his arms around his father’s midsection, hugging him fiercely. “I love her!”

Elrond returned the hug with a fond smile. “Good. You should take her for a ride before you leave tomorrow,” suggested Elrond. “If you open that box over there, you will find a saddle and a blanket and everything else you will need.”

Estel let go of Elrond and went to the crate to explore it. “The saddle matches her coat! Oh! And a blue blanket!” He happily pulled item after item from the box and began to ready his new mount for a ride. “Will you come with me?” he asked.

“Oh, I have a lot of things to do,” said Elrond, but even as he said this, the excitement faded from Estel’s eyes.

“Oh. I understand.” The boy turned around and looked back at the gear that was set out. “Maybe I can ask Lindir to come with me.” The enthusiasm gone, Estel continued the task of readying his mount, but he was slower now and his steps were heavy.

Elrond flashed back in his mind to the first time he had ever ridden a horse on his own. He was only six at the time, and he and Elros were riding the same mount. They had gone to gather eggs from the coup, and found Uncle Maedhros in the stable. He was getting ready to ride to a nearby encampment, and when the boys entered offered them a little adventure. Elrond smiled as he recalled how he and Elros fought over who got to hold the reigns. Eventually, Maedhros settled the dispute by pulling Elrond off of Maglor’s mount and onto his own horse.

Before Elrond could argue this change, the reins were dropped into his lap. ‘You have two good hands. Get us moving.’ Elrond smiled to himself as he recalled how proud he had been to have such an important task. Elros, ever the independent one, masterfully took the reins of the other horse, but Elrond was still delighted that he, and not his brother, was not only given permission but also the trust of Maedhros.

“Wait right here,” said Elrond as Estel was about to mount his pony. The Lord of Imladris hurried out of the barn and down the path to the stables. “Ready my riding horse,” he instructed one of the stable boys sternly, and there was a scramble to do as the master of the house said. Elrond removed his house shoes and found an old pair of riding boots in the office that Glorfindel kept. He hoped that his seneschal would not mind if they were borrowed, and he left his outer robe draped over the chair as an unwritten message for why the boots were missing, should Glorfindel happen into the room before Elrond returned.

Elrond rode his horse back to the barn, where he ducked down to peer in through the open double doors. “I have an hour before your mother will come looking for me,” he shouted. “First one to make it to the Bruinen wins!”

“Wait for me!” shouted Estel. He galloped out of the barn seconds later and the laughter of father and son mingled in the air for the better part of the afternoon despite Elrond’s earlier declaration.

* * *

Nearly all preparations had been made for the journey, but there was one final item which Erestor needed to take care of. He made his way from the library to the Hall of Fire, where he had asked someone to meet him. It was well beyond midnight, and the hall was practically cleared of all residents and guests alike. In one corner sat Glorfindel and Lindir, and there was no doubt they were going over last minute directions. With Glorfindel away, his household duties as seneschal were covered by Lindir. Erestor glanced about and noted his counterpart in another alcove, reading a book.

Erestor approached Melpomaen and took a seat near him. “I apologize for my tardiness,” began Erestor. “I had expected my timing to be better.” He stifled a yawn. “Key,” he said, lifting a large ring of them and handing them to Melpomaen. “I hardly think I need to tell you what to do, but do you have any last minute questions?”

“Not about the library,” said Melpomaen as he held onto the keys reverently. They unlocked every door in the house, including some that only Elrond and Erestor possessed keys to. “What should I do for the council meetings?”

“Do as you always have. Advise Elrond as you see fit. If you want to remind him of me, be difficult on occasion. I have faith in you. I know that you are competent. That is much, much more than I can say for most of this house – and with Gildor here, it becomes worse. The general intelligence of the realm drops drastically with him here,” rambled Erestor.

At the mention of Gildor’s name, Melpomaen shuddered slightly. This was not lost on Erestor, simply delayed due to his lethargy. “I take it you do not particularly like the prince of the wilderness, either.”

“Not really.” Melpomaen shook his head. “He says things sometimes that I wish he would not. I do not know how to answer him.”

“What has he said?” asked Erestor. “Tell me, Melpomaen,” he added when his secretary hesitated to say.

Lowering his already quiet voice, Melpomaen said, “He is not a believer, of course, so he speaks against Eru or uses his name in vain. It disturbs me. Even more disturbing is the way he looks at me. I cannot explain it, and he has never touched me or said anything directly, but I have this feeling, sir, that I should never wish to be in the same place alone with him. In fact, if given the choice between a wild boar or Gildor, I would choose the beast.”

“But which is the beast?” questioned Erestor. Melpomaen nodded. “Stay in the library when you can for the rest of his visit,” advised Erestor. “He tends not to enter. He should leave shortly. I do not expect him to be here for more than another month or two.”

“Thank you, Master Erestor. I will have much to do with you away; I doubt I will be in any places alone with Gildor.”

The trio decided to set out early in the morning, when the first light was still hours away and the air was cool and crisp. Gilraen did her best not to embarrass her son with last minute good-byes, but her moderate fussing earned her a few eye rolls and impatient coughs. Elrond himself made sure that the supplies that Glofindel and Erestor had packed were sufficient for the journey, despite having complete faith in the chosen escort. “Keep an eye on him, Glorfindel,” said Elrond in parting.

“Do not worry, Elrond. Nothing will happen to Estel,” promised Glorfindel.

Elrond smirked. “I meant Erestor.”

“Who, me?” asked the councilor. “Better I should keep an eye on him,” he said with a nod towards Glorfindel.

“I think not,” replied Glorfindel stoically. Before Erestor could launch another snarky comment, Glorfindel used his riding crop to swat the rear of Erestor’s horse, who started off at a faster pace than Erestor had expected.

It took a few seconds for Erestor to recover, but he shouted back behind him, “I am going to beat you to the Greenwood!”

“It is not a sprint, darling, it is a marathon,” called Glorfindel back. Elrond offered a curious look. “We agreed to a little friendly competition. First one past the archway leading into Mirkwood wins the right to choose the guest room they prefer when we get there.” Elrond narrowed his gaze, showing his dislike of the bet. “Oh, it hardly matters. I farspoke to Thaladir in advance. There is one room with three beds that we will be using, so the point is moot. It will just keep him busy while we travel.” Glorfindel looked to Estel, who appeared somewhat surprised. “Ready to go?”

“You tricked Master Erestor?” He was in awe.

“Yes, I suppose I did,” replied Glorfindel.

Estel smiled. “I always thought he was second smartest, next to Ada and Momi. I guess you are.”

“I guess I am,” agreed Glorfindel. He winked at Elrond. “See you in the autumn.” He patted Asfaloth on the side of the neck instead of using the reins and began to follow after Erestor at a leisurely pace.

“Be good,” advised Gilraen to her son. “Listen to Lord Glorfindel.”

“What about Master Erestor?” asked Estel.

“Listen to Lord Glorfindel first,” said Gilraen. “I love you,” she added hesitantly.

It was the cue Estel needed to leap off of his horse and run over to his mother. “I love you, too!” He embraced her fiercely. “I promise I will listen to Lord Glorfindel.”

“Good boy.” Gilraen decided to be the first to step back, and she settled her hands upon Estel’s shoulders. “Enjoy the journey, but be mindful and cautious. Use your instincts.”

Elrond came forward, doting upon the child for a moment. “This is your first step into manhood, Estel. When you return, you will be changed, but for the better.”

Estel looked confused. “You mean, elfhood.”

For a fraction of a second, Elrond flinched. “Yes. Well, it is manhood either way,” he corrected.

“Oh. Alright.” Estel puffed his chest forward. “Then I look forward to returning as a man!”

Gilraen bit her lip, but quickly turned it into a smile. “And you shall. Now go, or you will be stuck here, a boy with his parents. Look – Glorfindel has nearly reached the horizon!”

And truly, Glorfindel had pulled his horse back and was waiting on the far reaches of sight for Estel to follow. Beyond, but not too far from him, another rider – presumably Erestor – waited as well. “Well... good-bye, then,” said Estel. He took a step towards his horse, but then doubled back and threw his arms around Elrond. “I love you, too, Adar.” The hug was very brief, with Estel unsure of whether or not he had broken some rule or displeased his father.

Elrond was initially shocked, but before Estel could scoot away, he put a hand upon the top of his son’s head. “I... love you as well,” he said. He gave Estel’s head a bit of a pat, but realizing it seemed more like he was rewarding a favorite pet than showing affection for his child, he knelt down and welcomed Estel into his arms. It was the first time they had ever really solidified that bond, and two conflicting feelings blossomed in Elrond. First, there was a connection that had up until now been almost ceremonious than familial. Second, he felt a deep sorrow in knowing that this, like so many other relationships in the past, would someday end. The knowledge that one day, he might stand beside the tomb of this child, as he feared he might for all of his children, brought tears to his eyes. He kept hold of Estel until he was able to blink them away. “Take care.” He stood up again and motioned to the horizon to distract Estel. “If you are a moment more, I fear Glorfindel may return and cancel the journey.”

“Oh, I would not want that!” Estel mounted his pony again swiftly and raised his hand towards his parents. “Farewell!”

Elrond raised his arm in return. “May Elbereth bless the road before you.” He kept his hand up until Estel reached the point that Glorfindel was at. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden aura around the small travel party. “He will be well. He is in good company.”

Gilraen nodded, and only now did she lift her wrist and use the sleeve of her dress to wipe away her own tears. “Our baby grew up so fast,” she said softly.

Unsure of whether the comment was directed towards him or to a husband long dead, Elrond did not respond at first. When he felt that flicker of emotion again as the riders disappeared from view, he moved closer to Gilraen and pulled her into his arms. “He will be back before we know it.”

* * *

“Master Erestor?” Estel tugged on the fringe of Erestor’s sleeve. “Master Erestor, I need to go,” he hissed.

Erestor glanced around. He was busily trying to aid Glorfindel in building a suitable fire after a full day of riding, having stopped only once to eat a quick meal. Glorfindel had insisted upon pressing on even further, but Estel had fussed a bit. Worried that he was saddle sore, Erestor made them stop for the night with a complaint of a bad back (which was not all that far from the truth). Now, it seemed that all of the potential firewood was damp from an unexpected rainshower. To make matters worse, the tent lacked the proper poles, despite it having been checked over the night before by both of the adults. This oversight aggravated Erestor to a point that simple questions made him irritable, and Estel’s were no exception. He attempted not to look too exasperated as he pointed south. “That tree over there looks like a good place.”

“Noooo... I need to go the other...” Estel was squirming uncomfortably and looking around quite uncertainly. “I went where Glorfindel said he went before, but I could not find a pile. Just lots of little brown rocks.”

“Oh!” Erestor stopped his work and frowned. “Uhmm...”

“Come with me,” instructed Glorfindel. Getting away from Erestor and his mood was a blessing, even if it was to dig a shithole. He checked for his hunting knife and continued on towards the tree. On his way, he reached up and took hold of the low-hanging branch of a maple tree and cut a clump of leaves from it. “Here,” he said, handing the leaves to the youth who trotted beside him. Glorfindel squatted behind the tree that Erestor had pointed to and cut a hole in the earth with his blade. He pulled away the chunk of dirt by the tuft of grass that was on top of it and set it aside, then expanded the hole a little. “There you are. I am going to go back to help Erestor. Call if you need something.”

Estel nodded and began to untie his belt as Glorfindel jogged back to the campsite.

“Everything alright?”

Glorfindel patted Erestor on the shoulder. “I think so. Poor kid. He was probably holding it since we left.”

It took a little while longer to set up the tent using makeshift branches and to get the fire going. Glorfindel called to Estel to be sure he was still fine, and then disappeared off into the woods for a brief time to catch dinner for himself and the youth. Erestor portioned out lembas and fresh fruit they had picked from low branches as they traveled, and heated some mushrooms he found in the area to go with whatever Glorfindel brought back.

“Master Erestor? Do you have a sack I can use?”

Erestor turned around to see Estel near the tree with something cupped in his hands. “Of course. Whatever for? Did you find a walnut tree?”

“No – look what I did find!” Estel held up something small and dark brown, almost black. It was about the size of a peanut. “These rocks are neat!”

“Estel, those are not rocks. Put those down.” Erestor stood up and went to the horses. There he dug through his saddlebag and pulled out a cake of soap wrapped in a cloth. “Do not touch anything. When Glorfindel gets back, we need to wash your hands.”

“Why?” Estel still had his newly discovered treasure in his hands, and examined the one he held individually.

“Estel, those are not very sanitary,” said Erestor carefully. “Please put them down.”

“What are they?”

Erestor sighed. “Those are Elf pellets.”

“What are—ugh! Blehh!” Estel dropped them to the ground and looked at his hands disdainfully when he realized what Erestor meant. “That was Glorfindel’s...?”

Erestor nodded, his nose wrinkled. “Just stay right where you are and do not touch anything. Glorfindel should be back in a few minutes.”

Estel stood still, hands held as far from his body as he could manage. “I do not make pellets like that,” he stated. “Why does Glorfindel?”

“Glorfindel is a grown elf. Elves that are adults are able to process all of their food better than children, so they create hard pellets instead of... the alternative,” lied Erestor, for in fact, all Elves produced small, compact waste, much like rabbits.

“So I will make pellets when I am a grown elf?”

“Most likely,” answered Erestor, continuing to make it up as he went along. “When Elves reach their majority, they go through many changes. That is one of them.”

Glorfindel heard these last few lines as he came around a tree. He smiled to himself and was ready to offer some sort of congratulations. “Did his voice just drop an octave?” he asked as he recalled in his mind the point when his own voice lowered slightly. He smirked slightly as he wondered how much cracking Erestor’s voice had gone through in order to deepen as it had, or if the elder elf had always had a lower than normal voice.

“No...” Erestor ushered Estel off towards the stream they had passed. He pointed to the spot where the pseudo rocks were. “Can you find something to cover those with?”

“Cover what... oh...” Glorfindel was holding three fish he had caught from the same stream that Erestor and Estel were now heading to. “Here,” he said, gathering up the water skins. “Fill these before you dirty the water.”

Erestor came back for the canteens. “What does it matter? We will be bathing in the same water tomorrow, and refilling the water again.”

“I know. Still. Just... please?” Glorfindel shook them by their straps until Erestor took them. “Thank you.”

“Sure. Just... take care of that,” said Erestor as he gave a nasty look towards the ground.

“I have to itch my nose,” called out Estel.

“Just wait!” shouted Erestor as he hurried after the boy.

* * *

Back in Imladris, the evening brought less excitement. With his chief councilor and seneschal away and their protégés tending to two jobs apiece, there were fewer discussions to be had, and Elrond found himself home early that night. Gilraen was there already; she rarely left the rooms except to eat and occasionally walk in the gardens, though these excursions were typically made only when Elrond asked if she was interested in taking a walk.

They were both in the parlor at the moment, Elrond writing out a list of items he wished to collect over the summer for his apothecary, while Gilraen read the book of poetry that Erestor had shown her two weeks prior. A sudden noise made them both look up from their tasks, and then to each other.

“Just the house settling,” explained Elrond with a smile. “It still does that from time to time, after all these years.”

“I rather like it. It makes the house seem alive almost.”

“Yes, I suppose so. It is in a way,” he said, setting his quill aside. “There are many trees which run through the porches and balconies and have continued to grow through the years. We felled as few as possible to build Imladris; that is why it winds and curves so.”

“I suspected as much. It is beautiful because of that – a square house can be cozy, but it lacks the charm that your home does.” Gilraen looked back down to the book.

At first, Elrond was prepared to return to his task as well, but he decided to ask what he had hoped to for the last few hours. “Would you care to dine with me tonight? Not in the hall, but on the balcony, perhaps. The weather should be good for it.”

Gilraen looked down the length of the room to the corridor, at the end of which was a large rounded balcony with a cover built over it so that even on pleasant rainy days or breezy days with much sun the area could be enjoyed. “I suppose that would be nice.”

“Good.” Elrond placed the lap desk aside and stood up. “I should arrange it with the cooks, then. I will return shortly.” The lord of the valley left the room and swiftly walked to the main kitchens, hoping no one would see his nervousness. Not for thousands of years had he been so uncertain and giddy at the same time. He entered the kitchen to find preparation in full swing. He located his favorite cook immediately, and asked to speak privately to her.

“Rozalia, I would like a private meal to be brought to my quarters tonight.”

The cook nodded and started to return to the kitchen, but Elrond stopped her.

“It needs to be special.”

The cook raised her brows. “How special?”

“Flowers, and something nice for dessert. Strawberries with chocolate. Wait, no,” he said in a panic, stopping her again. “What if she does not like chocolate?”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but most women do,” advised the plump hobbit.

“But it might be too much. Do you think it would be too much?”

Rozalia shrugged.

“What if the strawberries were for dessert? Then again, she might not like strawberries...”

“What if I were to make a platter of small desserts – chocolate covered strawberries, and other things. Variety is the spice of life,” Rozalia reminded him.

“Good idea. Thank you, Rozalia.” Elrond headed off, and then turned suddenly. “Do not forget the flowers,” hissed Elrond.

“I will pick them meself.” Rozalia grinned. “An’ good luck, sir!”

Elrond blushed and jogged back up to his room. He stopped outside of his rooms. Momentarily, he had had the thought to change into something more flattering, but with Gilraen in the rooms it would be a little obvious if he did so. He paced back and forth at the door until an idea struck.

He raced back down to the kitchen again and pulled Rozalia aside. “Have you melted the chocolate for the strawberries yet?”

“No, I just came back in with the flowers.”

Elrond looked around the immediate area. Spying a canister labeled powdered sugar, he pointed to it. “Will that stain?”

“Stain what?”

“Clothing.”

“Well, if it gets all over, you jus’ need to brush it off.”

Elrond frowned and toured about the kitchen, avoiding others who were busily working. “I need something...”

“Somethin’ fer what?” questioned Rozalia as she followed him about.

“I need to dirty my clothing – but not too dirty,” he warned. “I do not wish to ruin anything. Just enough to give me an excuse to change.”

Rarely did Rozalia question her boss, and she declined to now as well. Instead, she picked up a bowl and tapped Elrond’s arm. “Mister Elrond, sir?”

Elrond turned around, and was immediately doused with a bowl of cold water from his elbows down.

“Oh, clumsy me!” blurted out Rozalia. She dropped the bowl onto the counter with a clatter and grabbed up the corner of her apron to dab futilely at the damp clothing. “Oh, bother, I think you shall hafta change. No chance in it drying before dinner.” Others nearby in the kitchen looked worried to see the lord of the valley in such a predicament, and thus kept out of the way with their heads down. Rozalia secretly gave Elrond a wink.

“No worries. It happens.” Elrond winked back and whispered his thanks before he left the kitchen.

* * *

“You poor thing,” said Gilraen when Elrond arrived back at the room. He explained that in the bustle of the kitchen, an innocent mistake was made and caused him to run right into someone carrying a bowl of water. “Here, let me help you out of those wet clothes.”

They never heard the knock on the door when the dinner tray was brought.

A few hours later, Elrond opened the door that led to the hallway and peeked around. He was about to sneak to the kitchen to leave a note of apology for Rozalia and to gather a little food, but was pleasantly surprised to see a tray with covered plates sitting on a small trolley right next to his door. He pulled it inside quickly and shut and locked the door behind him.

He brought it into the bedroom and pushed it right up to the bedside. As he lifted the covers, he found that simple food that would not readily spoil was prepared for them. One plate had red and green grapes on it, and another had sweet rolls and honey. The third lid was lifted to reveal the strawberries covered in chocolate. “It looks like Rozalia wanted to be sure we would have something for later. Hopefully, she will not suspect the truth...” Elrond looked up. “Unless of course you hope she does.”

“She seems like a smart lady. She probably knows, or at least suspects.” Gilraen sat up and pulled the sheet with her to allow a little modesty. She plucked one of the strawberries from the tray by the green stem. “This hardly seems the usual fare.” Her green eyes sparkled as she held the chocolate to her lips.

“I may have requested them earlier,” Elrond mumbled, cheeks tinting a slightly rosy color. “Do you like chocolate?”

“And strawberries,” said Gilraen before she bit into the treat. She licked the juice that tried to escape from the berry. “I had them very few times in my life before I came here.”

“You can have them every day now if you like,” said Elrond as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Even in the winter, we have two greenhouses where we produce fresh fruits and vegetables.”

“Are you going to eat?” asked Gilraen when she picked up a fourth berry.

“I will.” His smile widened. “I enjoy watching you.” He brushed her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “You are a very beautiful woman,” he said, hand caressing her cheek.

“Even without pointed ears?” she questioned.

“You know that does not matter to me,” answered Elrond.

Gilraen smiled back, licked the end of the dipped strawberry, and held it up to Elrond’s lips. He bit into it slowly, keeping his eyes focused on Gilraen’s. She pulled it away and ate the remainder of the fruit, watching Elrond the entire time. As she swallowed the last bite, she flicked the stem onto the trolley and leaned forward towards Elrond. The sheet fell to an ivory puddle of fabric in her lap as their lips met in a somewhat sloppy and needful kiss. Elrond’s hands wrapped around Gilraen’s back to pull her closer, then moved around forward where strong fingers squeezed and kneaded pliant breasts.

With an encouraging moan, Gilraen arched her back and tilted her head, eyes closed, throat revealed to Elrond. He lunged at her with his mouth—biting, nipping, kissing, nibbling—from her chin down her neck, her chest, to her nipples, suckling at one and then the other as he kept a firm hold, one hand beneath each of them. Her fingers snuck under the collar of his robe and clawed at his shoulders, down his back, up again.

Elrond let go with one hand in order to give the trolley a shove out of the way while Gilraen reclined on the bed again, the sheet barely covering anything. Elrond reached down and pulled one end of his sash. As soon as it was loose, the robe parted, and a simple roll of his shoulders caused the fabric to slide back over his shoulders and onto the ground. He slowly joined Gilraen on the bed, crawling onto the mattress and over her until he was peering down into her eyes.

Gilraen turned her head to the side, closed her eyes, and parted her lips. The silky sheet still created a barrier between them as Elrond lowered himself down, neck stretching so that his tongue ventured between those parted lips to run along the edge of her teeth before delving in further. The sheet, once threatening to slip away, now clung to them, moisture soaking into it from both sides.

Elrond claimed several more lingering kisses before he leaned back on his haunches. One hand traveled unhurriedly from one of her breasts to the other, where his fingers varied their play, ghosting caresses, needy grabs, and playful pinches and twists that made Gilraen arch, moan, and tighten her thighs. His other hand moved to the moist cloth between them, disappearing into the folds of the fabric, teasing at the flesh just barely veiled from him. Sometimes his fingers danced along the surface, and sometimes, they thrust in deeply, needfully, completely.

He was aroused, had been since he watched her take the first taste of the strawberry, caught sight of her tongue chasing after the dribble of juice. But he was an Elf, and not about to let himself be so overtaken with passion that he would lose himelf prematurely, and he let go of her breast so that he could part her legs further.

The sheet remained in the way, drenched, infused with her scent. He breathed in deeply as he moved the tip of his nose across it, and then his tongue. At first it was a taste, a lick, a lap, and then he pressed forward greedily, hungrily, seemingly starved as he sucked and flicked his tongue around, attempting to drain from her every drop of her essense through the thin barrier, constant reminder that no matter how close they were, there was always something that would keep them apart.

But then, he was also a man, and some situations required less patience than others. He paused to lick his lips and yanked at the sheet. He pulled it down and bowed his head. Gilraen’s hands tangled in his hair to encourage him as his slid around to grab at her thighs, her ass, pull those legs apart further, fingers joining his tongue until he had her half-levitated, whimpering and clinging. He pumped his fingers in a few more times, withdrawing them, slick and warm. Elrond closed his eyes, listened to Gilraen’s ragged breathing, and wrapped his slippery fingers around his erection. He grunted a few times, fist beginning to tighten, legs trembling as he held the semi-upright position. Delicate fingers reached out for his, slid past, and felt about for a moment before beginning to massage his scrotum.

Elrond groaned as he squeezed his fingers a few more times and then looked down at his work. There was a milky puddle between Gilraen’s breasts and several more droplets speckling her skin. As Elrond took hold of the already stained sheet in order to sop up the evidence, he heard someone timidly knock on the main doors of the suite.

“Tell Rozalia she can bring up more strawberries,” mumbled Gilraen after Elrond kissed her and began a search for his robe.

“No.. Rozalia never knocks like that. She kicks at the door.” Elrond wiped his hands, and on second thought, wiped his face. He managed to find the robe, but not the sash, and stumbled out of the bedroom to hear another hesitant knock.

“Coming!” shouted Elrond as he went to the curtains and yanked one of the sashes away from them to use around his robe for the time being. He ducked into the washroom to clean up a little more and run a brush through his hair a few times. Confident that he could fool whomever was at the door into thinking he had just awoken, he strolled through the parlor and unlocked the door.

Melpomaen’s hand was poised to knock again, but it was lowered swiftly. “Good morning, sir. Did you sleep well, sir? We, uh, we—“

“We have an issue,” interrupted Lindir.

“But there is no reason to worry,” insisted his brother swiftly.

Lindir nodded in agreement with Melpomaen. “We have it all taken care of.”

“Except one small issue.”

“Very minor.”

Elrond looked back and forth between them, waiting for the answer. “Well? What is it?”

Simultaneously, the brothers answered, “The Dwarves.”

Elrond squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “The what? Dwarves? What Dwarves?”

Lindir held up a report. “We just received a word back from the Summerguard. While they have not seen Glorfindel and Erestor pass through yet, they did spot some travelers.”

“Dwarven travelers.”

The pair nodded.

“On their way to the valley.”

Again, they nodded.

Elrond took a moment to look over his shoulder to the bedroom door and the soft glow of candlelight emanating from within. “That sounds like a task for a seneschal-in-training,” he informed them as he shut and locked the door.

“These are the woods of Thranduil Oropherion, King of Greenwood the Great,” remarked Erestor as they passed beneath an archway made of twined trees and ivy leaves that climbed up either side. There were bright berries of some kind as well, winding up around them, and they were among some of the few bright things found there in the forest. There was a party of four guards, two at each side, with bows ready. They nodded as Erestor, Glorfindel, and Estel rode through the naturally made posts and followed the trodden path up to the mouth of the caves, where more guards still were posted. These were standing about less formally, and yet all of them bowed to Erestor and Glorfindel as they passed by.

“I lived here for over a thousand years,” said Erestor to Estel. “It was only when your father built Imladris that I left and came to live there. This place is like a second home to me.”

Glorfindel frowned, remembering his other task and his true purpose for being sent. “Of course, home is where your heart is.”

Erestor turned and regarded Glorfindel oddly, but then something within the folliage caught his gaze. “Legolas! How are you?”

“Erestor! Glorfindel! Welcome, welcome!” The younger of the two princes of Mirkwood was mounted on a speckled stallion. “It is so good to see you!” When they all approached, Legolas said to Erestor, “I thought you might have decided to send a proxy in your place.”

“Why should I do that? I am more than able to travel, and I enjoy the occasional visits here. How is your father faring?”

“Well enough, even though the evil encroaches further upon our lands day by day,” said Legolas sadly. “Even now, many of us spend much of our time on the borders, which are ever shrinking, fighting the numerous spiders. I have been on patrol three days of four for many days and nights; even my father takes his turn in the rotations when time allows.”

“Perhaps we might offer some assistance while we are here,” said Erestor. Glorfindel wrinkled his nose. Spiders were on the list with cabbage and the color grey. “And your brother? I hope he is well.”

“He is. His duties have been restricted mainly to taking care of the political situation. In fact, he often takes on our father’s duties when he is able. He worries greatly, for his daughter has insisted she can do more good with a sword than with needle and thread, and so she is almost always in the hunting parties when I am out. She was recently briefly incapacitated by a stinging wound that poisoned her leg, but is healed well again, and once more she is Tauriel’s Shadow. That blessing, of course, we can account much to the salves and astringents that Lord Elrond has continued to send to us.”

“He has sent more. We have many crates of medicines to aid you, and other supplies as well.”

“They will be gladly received,” Legolas told them.

“It is Lord Elrond’s pleasure to be of service.” Erestor paused, and then began to ask, “How is Tauriel d—“

“She still wants you to stay away from her,” Legolas cut off abruptly.

“Fair enough,” answered Erestor, while Glorfindel shook his head and made a mental note to ask Legolas the usual ‘what did he do now’ later.

Legolas cleared his throat. “Enough of these tidings. Who is your young companion?”

“Oh, my manners!” Erestor scolded himself. “Prince Legolas, may I present Estel, son of Lord Elrond.”

“Lord Elrond...” Legolas gave Erestor a quizzical look. “Did he...”

“I will explain later,” said Erestor quietly. He dismounted and motioned for Estel to do the same.

As soon as the lad did, he bowed deeply as he had been taught to by Melpomaen and smiled at Legolas. “It is a pleasure to meet you, your highness!”

“Oh, my, he is a charmer,” said one of the guards nearby to another.

Legolas swung one leg around to the other side and jumped down to the ground. “Well met, Estel, well met indeed! You must come and meet my father and brother; they are in the throne chamber. Come, let us go there now,” he said, making a sweeping motion with his arm towards the inner chambers of the caves.

“I have two brothers,” said Estel as they began to walk. “I have a sister, too, but I have never met her. Do you have any sisters?”

“No, only a brother,” said Legolas as they continued along the narrowing path. “I do have a sister-in-law.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that she is my brother’s wife, so she is like a sister to me. If you would like to meet her, I can introduce you,” offered Legolas. “You will not be able to meet my mother here, I am afraid. She and my grandmother sailed West, a long time ago, before the last great wars began. Perhaps you will be able to meet her someday.”

Glorfindel found his steps becoming slower and slower as he followed behind them. He had dismounted last, and was holding the reigns of all of the Imladris mounts. Legolas’ horse was calming walking beside the prince. The horses were getting restless, even Asfaloth. “Not much further,” he assured them. Keeping the pony calm was the worst of all, for she began to tug at the reigns and gnash her bit. “Just a little more. I promise there is a nice, warm stall and good, fresh hay, and a long rest for each of you. Come now, my dears, keep on the path with me.”

At this point, Erestor’s horse bucked and nearly ripped the reigns from Glorfindel’s hand. He had to stop and hold fast to keep from losing them all. This set off the pony, who dug in her heels and refused to go any further. “Come now, please, you must trust me. Just a little bit more.”

Hearing the distress that Glorfindel was in, Erestor trotted back down the passageway, leaving Legolas and Estel to walk without them. “Will my pony be alright?” Estel asked as he looked over his shoulder, but continued.

Legolas nodded. “Do not worry. She will be well cared for.”

“She is my first pony,” fretted Estel. “I have not even named her yet.”

“We will be sure to take special care of her then,” promised Legolas. “In fact, I will insist she be stabled with my horse.” He reached up and rubbed his mount’s nose, and the horse gave his master’s shoulder an affectionate nudge. “I remember my first horse. He was a brindle stallion, and so timid he never needed to be broken. My father was uncertain I should ride such a cautious horse, but many times his caution kept me from going into places that were too dangerous. It was as if the horse had better intuition than I did.”

“What did you call your horse?”

“He was named Pear. I was pretty young, and I suppose a lot of children give silly and strange names to their first horses and pets.”

“Pets?”

“Sure... like a dog or a cat. My father and my brother both enjoy the company of cats. We have many here in Greenwood. You have never had a pet?” asked Legolas.

“I guess I have not,” said Estel. “Maybe I will get one when I am a little older.”

Legolas nodded and heard a loud thud behind them. When he turned, he saw Erestor rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. The older elf was standing very near to the side of the cave, while Glorfindel gritted his teeth and held the reigns of the mounts with both hands. “Just a moment,” he said to Estel. He made a noise to call his horse back, and brought the stallion to the group of uncertain steeds. After he whispered a few words to his own horse while stroking his neck, Legolas nudged the horse forward. Asfaloth and Legolas’ horse began to converse in knickers and neighs, and then Asfaloth took to speaking to Erestor’s horse and the pony. “Glorfindel, let go of the reigns,” suggested Legolas.

With minor hesitation, Glorfindel dropped the leather leads and stepped away. The horses began to move slowly down the passageway. The pony still made her displeasure known as they went, but obediently came along.

Estel and Legolas continued their chatter up ahead, as Erestor scowled and brought up the rear with Glorfindel. “What did your horse say to the others?” asked Estel as they neared the stables.

Legolas grinned. “He told them they were welcome to leave, because the spiders outside were hungry and found equine particularly tasty.”

* * *

Eventually the entire group entered an area that bustled with activity despite the late hour. Within the caves, day and night were of less consequence, and so there were things happening at any given hour. One tunnel led off to the area where the horses of the realm were stabled, and true to his word Legolas was sure to have Estel’s pony kept in the same area as his horse.

Estel took time to marvel at the other warhorses, and strange mounts, the likes of which he had not seen even in Gildor’s caravan. There were goats the size of horses, with shaggy coats that made them look more like sheep, and deer that could be saddled and raced through the thickly grown forest. Most impressive was the mount reserved for the King – a massive elk-like creature whose antler width alone required a stall four times the size of the other stalls just to give the proud deer the room needed to turn around.

From here, they continued on to the king’s chamber, where less people were amassed and the atmosphere was serene. On a raised platform were three seats. It was difficult to tell if they were hewn of stone, carved of wood, or masterfully crafted from antlers. On the largest throne at the center was an elf of considerable age and wisdom, though only his eyes might tell this to one not acquainted with King Thranduil, for his face was handsome and his skin fair and pale, and his hair nearly as golden as Glorfindel’s. He did not so much sit as he casually lounged upon the grand seat. His hands appeared smooth, due to the grace and fluidity with which he used them to make his points as he spoke, but once closer, one could see the calloused fingertips from practice with his sword and use in the field.

Leaning against the throne was a wooden staff with green gems adorning it. There were branches of ivy winding around the staff, and they matched the crown that rested on Thranduil’s head.

Erestor paused, and then took to one knee before the throne. “My King,” he said, head bowed so that his braids trailed on the floor. “Long live His Majesty, King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great!”

Glorfindel tried not to be too shocked. He placed a hand upon Estel’s shoulder when the boy attempted to step forward to do the same at Erestor had. A soldier, dressed in armor that was just a little brighter and a little greener than the others, and he, just a little shorter than his counterparts, stepped forward and in a loud and practiced voice announced, “His Majesty, the Most Honorable and Magnificent King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great! Long may he reign over this glorious realm!”

Glorfindel and Estel only now showed their reverence. Thranduil did not stand, nor move in any other way than to bend one finger only just enough for the herald to notice and step back to his post. “Welcome, Lord Glorfindel. My hospitality is at your disposal.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” replied Glorfindel as he stood up straight again. “Your kindness and generosity are, as always, appreciated. May I introduce to you Lord Elrond’s youngest son, Estel Elrondion.”

Thranduil looked away from Erestor, who was still bowed low, and settled his eyes upon Glorfindel. For the first time since the trio arrived in the chamber, Thranduil showed a true interest in leaving his throne, but did not do so. “Is that so?” he asked. “I have heard many things about you from your father, young one . Well met, Estel, Son of Elrond.” Thranduil stood and bowed as well. “It is I who am honored by your presence. My home is your home,” he said, lifting a hand. “My game, your game. My servants, here to serve you. If you should desire anything while you are here, call upon my finest. Galion?”

A smartly dressed elf with a serene look stepped forward. “Your highness?”

“Galion, I wish for you to see to all needs of our guests before my own or those of my family.” Thranduil took several steps forward, down from the platform, and his feet moved so swiftly, one might have thought he slid down the stairs in one fluid movement. He set his hand upon Erestor’s shoulder. “Rise, my brother,” he commanded, and Erestor stood. “It is good to see you,” he said to the Imladris councilor, embracing him. “You are always welcome here,” he said as they stepped back.

“Thank you. It is good to see you as well. How is Thaladir?” he asked.

“He is grumpy and stoic and as well as he ever was,” Thranduil said, and a smile made a vain attempt to pull at his lips. “I would have you stay with the rest of the family, but I assume you will wish to be with your companions?”

“I would like that best,” admitted Erestor. “Estel is young, and we – Glorfindel and I – are charged with his safety. I think, though, I shall be a great nuisance for you despite that.”

Thranduil’s lips were drawn tightly, but there was laughter in his eyes. “No brother of mine could be a nuisance.”

Estel had been respectfully quiet the entire exchange, but now looked up to Glorfindel. “Lord Glorfindel,” he whispered, “how can King Thranduil and Master Erestor be brothers if they look nothing alike to each other?”

“They are a different sort of brothers,” explained Glorfindel, trying to whisper back. “I can tell you about it later,” he said.

“I would be delighted to tell the lad the tales of the Eldar days,” offered Thranduil. “But for now, you must be tired from your journey.”

“Not really,” blurted out Estel, and Glorfindel squeezed his shoulder. “I mean, thank you, sir, I would like a nap.” He blushed as the adults chuckled softly.

“I recall having boundless energy when I was your age,” said Thranduil. “Would you really, truly like a nap, or would you prefer to explore?”

Estel fidgeted a moment, and then said, “I like exploring.”

Thranduil’s lips twitched ever the slightest as if to smile, but he kept his stoicism. “I believe we have settled that, then. Exploration and supper before bedtime?”

“Yes, please, Your Royal Majestic Highness, sir,” answered Estel.

“If you do not mind that Legolas gives you a full tour, I think he could show you everything that happens here in Mirkwood. I would myself, but I have some items of importance that I would like to speak to Erestor about,” said Thranduil. “I would be delighted to have you dine with me tomorrow morning. You can tell me about your favorite parts of my kingdom.”

“Yes, please! Thank you!” Estel eagerly bounded up to Legolas. “Where can we go first?”

“Where would you like to go first?”

“Can I see the kittens?” asked Estel excitedly.

“Of course! Right this way,” said Legolas, leading Estel down one of the many passages that branched off from the throne room. Glorfindel watched Estel and Legolas disappear one way as Thranduil placed an arm around Erestor’s shoulder and led him off in another direction.

Torn as to where he should go, Glorfindel hurried after Estel. “Legolas,” he called out, and the prince turned around. Estel stopped as soon as he realized that his tour guide was not walking beside him any longer. “Legolas, I, umm...” Logically, it made sense for Glorfindel to stay with Estel. Since Erestor was obviously able to take care of himself within the caves that he was accusomted to, Estel would be the one who would need him more. On the other hand, this was the best time for him to follow Erestor. With the busy schedule that Thranduil had, it may be the only opportunity Erestor would have to speak with the king, and the only chance Glorfindel might have to eavesdrop on such a conversation. “I think I pulled a muscle with those horses. Would you mind terribly if I refrained from joining you on the tour this evening?”

“Of course not. I shall bring Estel to join you when we are finished. I think my father was going to walk Erestor to the quarters you will be staying in; if you hurry, you may still catch up to them.”

* * *

“You have no idea how good it is to take a warm bath after that journey,” called Erestor from the bathing chamber. He was splashing a bit of water around as he scrubbed his body and washed his hair.

With Thranduil in the adjoining room, he had to shout in order for Erestor to hear him. “I think I have a pretty good idea. I do recall how rough the last alliance was.”

“I stand corrected. Or rather, I sit corrected.” Erestor stretched his legs out, thankful for the large tub. It was, in fact, the very rooms he used for the many years he spent living in Greenwood, and the very same that were always assigned to him on diplomatic visits. “I heard the spiders have been shit.”

“They always are.” Thranduil was setting up a chess board as they spoke, and the sound of the pieces being arranged helped cover Glorfindel’s breathing for a little while.

“When is the vote? Five days from now?”

“Six. I suppose you will be relieved when this is all over.”

“We should have handled this years ago,” called out Erestor. “After the war.”

One of the cats in the room hopped off of the bed and trotted out into the narrow corridor. She pranced right up to Glorfindel and meowed. Cover blown, Glorfindel acted as if he had only just arrived and walked into the room. “Good evening.”

Thranduil gave a nod. “Good to see you. Glad you found the room. Erestor is taking a bath, but there was enough water brought for both of you. More will be sent when Legolas brings Estel here later.” Thranduil cleared his throat, and spoke loud enough for Erestor to hear in the next room. “Is Estel really Elrond’s blood-son?”

“Not exactly,” replied Erestor. “He is kin, through the line of Elros.”

“Ah,” acknowledged Thranduil. “Then, is he not elven?”

“No,” said Erestor. “He is a Dúnadan.”

“Does he know this?”

Glorfindel looked towards the doorway to the bathing chamber guiltily. “Neither Elrond nor his mother have decided to tell him yet. In fact, he thinks that Elrond is his father, and he knows that his mother is his mother, and they have been living together. Estel has no memory of his true father, and they wish it kept that way.”

“That is quite a burden for them, and will be for the boy when he grows up,” said Thranduil. “Then again, perhaps it is better not to worry the child unnecessarily.”

“That was Elrond’s reason for it,” said Erestor. “He also thinks it is important for Estel to have a ‘normal’ family. I think he wishes for Estel the family that he never had a chance to have.”

“I can understand that.” Thranduil looked at Glorfindel. “Care for a game while he finishes in there?”

“Certainly.” Glorfindel moved the chair from the desk over to the bed where Thranduil was sitting. Two more narrow beds had been added to the room, as well as a small bench near the doorway to accommodate the extra guests in the room. “This vote that is going on, it sounds… exciting.”

“Just some housecleaning that has to be done,” said Thranduil. “Nothing that should make much difference. It should have happened years ago, but there was war, and then we just never did anything about it, as arrangements were informally made.” Thranduil began with the first move.

“By this time next week, it will all be over,” shouted Erestor. “I would rather not talk about it anymore.”

“What do you think will happen? Do you expect father to walk through the door while you are voting?”

“In fact, I do,” said Erestor with a nervous laugh. “I would not put it past him. Seriously, can we change the topic?”

Thranduil and Glorfindel politely spoke about the happenings in Imladris and Greenwood while Erestor finished in the other room. Just about the time that Erestor was entering the room wrapped in a large fluffy towel with another bundled around his hair, Thranduil shook his head at the board. “No one beats me at this game faster than you do, Glorfindel.”

“Too much time playing this game in real life,” he answered.

“Did you tell Thranduil about our offer with the spiders?” asked Erestor.

Glorfindel squirmed a bit in his chair, but said, “Erestor thought that since the spiders were such a problem that we might help to take care of some of them before we go back home.”

“I am sure that one of the Captains will gladly assign both of you to the rotations if you like,” said Thranduil carefully as he reset the pieces. “But what would Elrond say?”

“Certainly, he would want us to help in any way we can,” confirmed Erestor.

“I meant, in case one of you were to be injured.” Thranduil cleared his throat. “Mostly you,” he added as he stared at Erestor. “I am certain, even now, you hold the record for the most spider bites requiring emergency care.”

“Oh, that.” Erestor removed the towel from his head so that he could dry his hair, but also hide his expression, be it grin or scowl. “Forgot about that..”

“No spider hunting,” decreed Thranduil. “It is so rare I have time to spend with anyone who does not feel obligated to call me either sire or father whenever they address me.”

“Good enough, then.” Erestor nudged Glorfindel from his spot. “Bathtime for you; chesstime for me.”

Thranduil moved his first piece forward. “My only regret shall be all the games I lose over the next month.”

* * *

Erestor groaned and flopped onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling and muttered, “I feel like an old man. I have had my bath and my tea, and I feel ready for bed.” He put his arm over his eyes.

Glorfindel pulled out the chair and sat down to comb out his hair. Thranduil had been called away in the midst of the match, and so the chessboard was discarded for now. In short order a trolley arrived with hot tea, biscuits, and fruit. “You are entitled to rest. We traveled a great distance today, and traversing these caves requires great stamina.” He parted his hair and began to braid the left side of his hair into one long plait.

Erestor peeked out. “Are you saying my stamina is low?” He cracked a slight smile to tell Glorfindel he was only joking around a bit with him.

Glorfindel smiled back. “Certainly not. I am only agreeing with your own observations.”

“So you think I am old?” asked Erestor.

Glorfindel shrugged and began to work on the braid on the right side. “What elf is not?”

Erestor chuckled. “How true. Might you do an old man a favor?”

Years and years of nightly braiding meant that Glorfindel was already done with his hair. “For you, I would do almost anything. The almost part makes me ask what that favor is.” He wound the two braids together and fastened them at the base of his neck and at the end before he selected an apple from the cart.

Erestor sat up and leaned forward to refill his cup of tea. “I usually share a drink or two with Galion when I arrive. As yet, I have not seen him. Would you mind passing along my apologies so that he does not arrive in the middle of the night with Eledu and enough wine to drown the elk?”

“Which one is Galion?” asked Glorfindel before he bit into the apple.

“Thranduil’s butler. He used to be Thingol’s butler, and then he was Oropher’s butler. Very pleasant fellow; hates squirrels. He was the one who Thranduil had step forward while we were making introductions. You will probably find him in the dungeons.”

“The dungeon. Of course. That is always where I look for butlers.” He chewed another chunk of apple. “I remember him, I think. No discussion of squirrels, no wine. Understood. Anything else I should know?”

Erestor sipped his tea and then stirred in more honey. “I am taking the bed closest to the door over there. When you return, ‘I forgot’ is not a valid excuse for crawling into it.”

Glorfindel worked an errant piece of apple skin out from between his teeth with his tongue, and then asked innocently, “What if I do forget?”

“With your keen mind, young one, you should have no trouble remembering. Besides, the excuse only works once.” The comment recalled a trip they had made once to Mithlond, and Glorfindel’s reason for waking up snuggled to Erestor in the same bed, when they had not even been assigned the same room.

“It looks like it gets awfully dark in here in these caves at night. It might happen accidentally through no fault of my own.” Glorfindel bit the apple to hide his smirk.

Erestor gave Glorfindel a wary look. “If nothing else, remember that Estel will be in the room as well.”

Glorfindel bit off the last bits of the apple from the core. “Estel – do not let Gilraen know I momentarily forgot about him!”

“Glorfindel, if he is still with Legolas, and I am certain he is, Estel is absolutely safe. You have my word on that,” promised Erestor.

“All the same, I think I shall go find him.”

“And Galion!” called out Erestor.

“Yes, yes, and your drinking companions,” added Glorfindel on his way out.

“Excuse me,” asked Glorfindel as he approached a rather tired looking elf sitting on half of an overturned barrel that was pulled up to a larger half-barrel that served as a table, “but I am looking for a fellow named Galion. Would you happen to know where I might find him?”

“There is no need to search for what you have already found.”

Glorfindel cocked an eyebrow, for while riddles were a favorite game of Hobbits, it was less likely to hear them spoken by those of Elvenkind. “Pleased to meet you, though we may have met before.”

“Aye, you are the slayer of Rivendell,” said Galion. He was uncorking a bottle of liquor, and from the trouble he was having with it, it was doubtful this was the first he had acquainted himself with that evening. “Well met again, friend. What might I do for you?”

“I came to deliver a message to you from my companion. Erestor is not feeling up to meeting with you, but will contact you soon. He sends his best regards and his apologies this evening,” said Glorfindel.

“A shame! I had hoped to share a bowl of wine with him,” said Galion. “Ah, but I suppose you would not humor me so to tell me the tales of the lands that lie beyond our forests?”

Glorfindel really had no plans for the evening. With Erestor asleep and Estel occupied by Legolas (he found they had not managed beyond kittens and the great deer), there was little reason for him to go back to the room at the moment. He did not really know where else he could go to. “I could give you an update.”

“Oh! How proper you Rivendell folk are. An update, indeed, I would like that.” Galion nodded towards the stack of barrels that had been cut into halves that were in a corner. “Pull up a chair and tell me what news of Rivendell.”

Glorfindel selected the barrel that looked to have the least amount of dust or mildew and placed it beside the table across from where Galion was sitting. “Let me see,” he said as he tried to make himself comfortable. The way that the barrel was constructed did not allow it to serve well as a seat, and so Glorfindel found himself sliding his leg this way and adjusting his thigh that way, all while trying to think of what he could tell Galion that would be interesting. “Lord Elrond’s son Estel turned ten recently. He traveled with us,” added Glorfindel as Galion spat a spray of liquid out of his mouth in surprise. Luckily for Glorfindel, he had turned his head to the side before he did so. “Uhm... we keep fighting orcs,” he continued, unsure of whether or not to stop.

“Your pardon, sir, but please do go back a moment, sir,” said Galion. “Lord Elrond’s good wife Lady Celebrian, bless the woman’s poor soul, has been gone across the sea for many a century,” said Galion as if he were informing Glorfindel of something that the Rivendell elf did not know.

Glorfindel nodded.

“Has she traveled back upon one of those great swan ships I saw once in the harbors of Lindon?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Lady Celebrian is not young Estel’s mother.”

“Oh, my...” Galion shook his head. “No offense to you, sir, but our King, His Majesty, long may he live, would never think to take another wife for himself! Even if his good Queen were dead, and long may that dear, sweet lady live in Valinor, he would wait for her to return to him or follow her into those unknown depths of Mandos! Oh, woe, for dear, dear Lady Celebrian!” Galion seemed to think this was an opportunity for another bowl of wine, and so poured one for himself. “Care for a drink?” he asked after a sip.

“Erm... I suppose,” said Glorfindel. He really wanted to clear Elrond’s name, but at the same time the complexity of the situation prevented him from saying anything. Furthermore, he was not sure he should be saying anything of the sort to Thranduil’s servant. Even the chief servant was not typically privy to information of such a private nature. Glorfindel watched as Galion filled another bowl up until it was nearly to the brim of the wooden vessel. “Thank you.”

“Drink up! The wine is good here,” said Galion. “Drink,” he said again when Glorfindel hesitated.

The blond gingerly placed his fingers around the bowl and lifted it up carefully. “I usually do not drink so much at one sitting,” said Glorfindel before taking a sip from the bowl. It was sweet, like rare nectar found only on certain moonlit nights, and it went right to his head as he licked his lips. “I suppose I might make an exception.”

“Good! And if you are unable to finish, I can help you,” offered Galion. He was already refilling his own bowl again. “So, you are here for the voting,” he said. “That should be interesting.”

“Yes, it should be,” agreed Glorfindel, but for what reason he did not know. It suddenly hit him that Galion would be the perfect person to explain to him just what was going on. “So, when the voting occurs, that will be everyone in the realm, right?”

“Correct,” Galion confirmed. “Well, not the children. Not the convicts, either. I do not think we can risk allowing them out. Too many of them escape already – no need to give them extra help in doing it.”

“You have a lot of prisoners escape?” asked Glorfindel.

“All the time,” said Galion. “Oh, but do not tell the King that I told you – he would be awfully upset. He likes to keep that unspoken about. It happens so often, it is a wonder we have any prisoners at all.”

“How do they escape if you do not mind my asking?”

Galion drank deeply from his bowl. “Oh, they get creative. Some of them dig tunnels. Some of them find ways to cut the bars. Some of them turn themselves into other animals and get through that way.”

“Pardon, did you say they change into animals?” Glorfindel wondered just how much wine Galion had earlier in the evening.

“Oh, indeed! Some of them change into rats and some change into birds. When we catch them, they always need to explain how they escaped, and you would be surprised how many different things people have turned into. Bats, mice, even a skunk once. Convincing, too,” he added with disdain.

Glorfindel pushed the bowl of wine forward a little so that it was not so close to him. “I think some of them are lying to you,” he said as he swirled the wine with his finger and then sucked the few droplets off. It was too compelling, and he brought the bowl back, just a taste, and instead, found himself draining it.

“But how else can you explain them getting out without anyone knowing or seeing? The doors are locked, there are no holes in the walls or floors.” Galion nodded. “We have some very clever prisoners here in Greenwood.” He uncorked another bottle. “More wine?”

“No, thank you.” Glorfindel glanced at the floor, where there were six empty bottles already. “In fact, I should be going,” he decided as he stood and swayed a little.

“Come back again to visit soon!” called out Galion as Glorfindel tried to remember which way was the way would return him back. After a few inquiries, he learned he was no so far away from where he wanted to be. While the wine had relaxed him, he was not exactly tired yet and knew he would just lie awake to stare at the ceiling and hope there were no spiders in the very dark room.

Instead of going back to the quarters he was assigned to, Glorfindel decided to venture down one of the heavily guarded tunnels to the far north of the dungeon level. He passed by a pair of guards who were stationed at either side of the tunnel, waiting for them to stop him. Neither did, but they both followed him with their eyes. A little further down the tunnel was another post of guards, and a third speaking with an officer. The officer was not armored like the rest, so his hair was half tied back, the rest loose, and no helmet covered his head. He, like the others, watched as Glorfindel strolled by. “Anything we can help you with, m’lord?” he asked, and Glorfindel did turn and pause.

“I was just wondering what is beyond the end of this passageway.”

The officer, a captain, Glorfindel could see now from the medallion that fastened his cloak, came forward so that they could better see each other. “Nothing of interest,” said the captain carefully. “If you like, I can direct you to the smoke rooms, or the gentleman’s open parlour. There is a billiards tournament this evening.”

“No, thank you.” Glorfindel turned his head to look down the passage. “How not of interest is it down there?”

The captain stepped around to block Glorfindel’s path, but he did a poor job of it. Glorfindel was not particularly tall compared to many, but he was taller than this fellow. He was also broader of shoulder, and it was obvious that the soldider standing before him was a lithe archer, not a man for the frontlines. In fact, he looked as if he spent more time in an office than in the field, from lack of scars or dark circles beneath his eyes. “Nothing that is worth making the journey,” said the captain. “If you like, we have a conservatory – there may be someone there yet, playing harp or for conversation...” The captain sighed. “If you are going to go that way, at least allow me to assign one of my men to guide you.”

“What is down there that I would need accompaniment?” Glorfindel’s voice was becoming terse, and he did not appreciate the cryptic answers he was receiving. The wine was probably not helping. When no reply came, Glorfindel stepped around the officer. “Good evening,” he said, continuing on his way. “I think I can handle myself.” He could almost hear the captain flailing behind him from the way the guards murmured and shuffled uncertainly.

To block the sounds behind him, Glorfindel whistled as he walked down the passage, noticing how the tunnel became narrower and darker, with guards posted closer and closer together. Finally, there was a district post and a sign that warned that one was leaving the kingdom proper. The officer here narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as he watched Glorfindel pass. There was a light ahead, and Glorfindel followed after it. The passage widened; it became more evident that there was activity. Music. Talking. Life.

Glorfindel entered out of the darkness and into a part of Mirkwood he did not even know existed. A camel was led across the path before him as he stepped out into the light, which was not very bright at all, but hurt his eyes compared to the darkness he had been in. Glorfindel watched in amazement, but not for long. There was too much to see, and he ventured further into the area to see more.

From first glance, it reminded him of the lesser market of Gondolin on evenings of the festivals. On those nights, the markets stayed open late, sometimes into the morning of the next day. Tents were lit by colorful lanterns and Feanorian crystals, and firefly candles, which were hollow tubing around the edges of the tent frame that were filled with flittering fireflies. Here, there were no crystals, but the lanterns were present, and the fireflies were larger and dangerous looking with their barbs. Glorfindel was glad in knowing that they were within the tubes and not able to sting him.

There were jugglers, and firebreathers, and other street performers with their hats held out and their pockets seemingly empty from the looks they gave. Glorfindel realized how overdressed he was for this venue, but he doubted he was in danger with the sword strapped to his hip.

He spied a vendor selling sweets and simple pleasures, and he walked over to investigate. Before he could reach his destination, he was intercepted. “Good evening, handsome stranger,” said a woman with unusually pale eyes. She was Elven, or appeared so, but her movements put Glorfindel on edge. “So good to see surface dwellers here.”

Glorfindel smiled politely. “Good evening. I suppose my amazement gave me away.” He settled a hand into his pocket, keeping it clutched to his coin purse. “Could you tell me, when does the market close?”

“Oh... we never close. Always open,” she said, slipping an arm through his. She seemed to almost slither up beside him. “Is there anything I can help you find?”

There were so many things that caught Glorfindel’s eye, but he considered in that moment that he had rather upset Gildor by accepting the task to come to Greenwood and leave Imladris after their brief reunion. “Perhaps…”

“Something special for a someone special?” she purred.

“Sure,” agreed Glorfindel. “Not too fancy, just..”

“Nice,” offered the lady, an arm snaking around Glorfindel’s hip.

“Mmm..” Glorfindel blinked twice. The wine was certainly stronger than he expected. “Something unique.”

“What about one of those?” She nodded her head to a nearby stall and Glorfindel looked to see a vendor selling carved boar tusks. “Each one is just a little different – a nice souvenir,” she suggested, and Glorfindel nodded. “Normally, they charge between ten and twenty silver for them, but I think I can negotiate for you. I can probably get it for you for three or four, so if you have five, then I should have no trouble in getting you a deal.”

“Excellent,” said Glorfindel. “Let us see what you can do.” He started to lead their way over, but the lady stopped him, swerving around so she blocked his way.

“Oh, no, no, if they see you, they will know you are not from around here and charge you double," she warned. “Best to give me the money and I will sort it all out for you.” She held out her palm and smirked when Glorfindel deposited five coins in it. “Wait right here,” she crooned just before she slid away and disappeared in the crowd.

Glorfindel frowned and looked about. He wanted to watch from a distance, but it was as if the woman had vanished completely. As Glorfindel was trying to figure out what was going on, he saw someone at the end of one of the tunnels look towards him, pause, and step back. After a minute of observation, the elf who was watching quickly came closer and jogged up to where Glorfindel was standing. “Good evening, Glorfindel,” said the elf in fluent Quenya. “Can I assist you?”

“I was just visiting Galion,” said Glorfindel. He was searching the crowd in hopes of finding the woman whom he had just spoken to. He felt someone grasping his arm, and looked to see that it was the elf who had approached him.

Ilmendin gave his arm a gentle but firm tug in the direction he had come from. “I think you might find something more interesting over here,” said the crowned prince as he led Glorfindel away from the dark, bustling area into a better lit part of the caves. As they continued on, Ilmendin sped his pace. “I am sure you can speak with Galion in the morning.”

“I already spoke with him,” admitted Glorfindel. “But then I was stopped by someone selling their wares, but after I paid her she seems to have forgotten about me...” He was still glancing over his shoulder in hopes of seeing her.

“Yes, well, I will deal with her in the morning. What did you pay her?” asked Ilmendin.

“Five silver pieces, nothing exceedingly extravagant, but I might have liked to have known what happened to her,” Glorfindel said.

Ilmendin began to slow their pace as they rounded the corner. “I very much doubt you shall ever see her again,” he told Glorfindel. “It is likely she has disappeared off into one of the caves further underground. I will see what I can do to recover your money in the morning. In the meantime,” advised Ilmendin, “I would suggest that you stay out of that area. You are much better off on the upper level. Why did you venture down there anyhow?”

“I promised Erestor that I would deliver a message to Galion,” Glorfindel explained. Ilmendin rolled his eyes to this. “I spent a little while with Galion, but he...” Not wanting to expose the butler, Glorfindel said, “He wanted to retire for the evening.”

“Drunk again,” sighed Ilmendin. “Some days, I wonder why my father keeps him around.”

“Well... he...” Glorfindel frowned. “What goes on down there? It was so... different from the rest of Greenwood,” said Glorfindel. “I never expected that to happen.”

“Be glad you were only taken for a few coins,” said Ilmendin. “We have had visitors who have had their entire purses stolen in seconds.” Glorfindel immediately placed a hand upon the pouch in his pocket to be assured that it remained there. “Sometimes, guests themselves never return from the winding roads. If they had known who you really are… “ Ilmendin shook his head. “I wish that we could do more, but Greenwood is so vast. The tunnels go in so many directions, and some of them round in circles. At one time, things were better even in the poorer parts of the region, but now we have poverty in so many places it is difficult to keep up. You were really in the worst of it, right near the prison. We have a lot of ex-prisoners in that area, and their families. Some people will do just about anything in that area. I am glad that I found you.”

“So am I... is there nothing that can be done?” asked Glorfindel.

“We try. Honestly, we try. The trouble is, we have such an assortment in that area, and some of them have bred with orcs.”

“Orcs? Half-orcs?” Glorfindel shuddered. “How?”

“The evil has moved into our homelands now,” said Ilmendin. It is so close, and there are times that it is overpowering. We have simply learned to accept it. Sometimes, orcs seduce our own. Sometimes, one is injured and pity is taken upon them. Who can explain how one decides who to love? In the darkness of the caves, does it matter what one looks like? The orcs were elves once, and some wish they were still. It worries my father, and it worries me, but we fight the battles we can win. We have soldiers who will fight with us against the darkness, and keep orcish wives and half-orc children in their homes. All I can say is, please, be safe, stay with us inside the kingdom.”

“I think I am going to stay on this side of Greenwood,” said Glorfindel as they passed by a banner that announced their arrival back into the king’s court. “I like to think that I could handle just about anything, but in reality I am not wishing to become lost in some of those other parts of the caves.”

Dinner was eaten quietly this evening. After the typical exchange of greetings, there had been little said, with the exception of passing a basket of rolls or the bowl of gravy, and sometimes these had been done with a nod or a look. It was only when Gilraen offered to wheel the trolley into the hallway that Elrohir asked the question that had been lingering for months. “Are you planning to marry her?”

Elrond was midsip when asked, and he actually spit the wine back into the goblet slowly, setting it aside as if the taste was acrid. “I have no intention of replacing your mother,” he told them.

“That was not an answer,” scolded Elrohir, and Elladan raised a hand to quiet his brother as Gilraen entered again. Elrohir lifted his napkin to wipe his mouth, and then stood up. “Excuse me. I have work to do. Thank you for a lovely dinner,” he added before he rushed out the door.

Elladan did not leave with as much haste. “Yes, thank you for dinner.” He lifted his hand to wipe at his mouth, and left his fingers there to tap at his lips in thought. “I wonder if Estel is enjoying his visit in Mirkwood,” he mused. “I suspect he is having some grand adventures there.”

Elrond shook his head as Gilraen moved to pour more wine for him. She frowned slightly at his change in demeanor, and looked to the door that Elrohir had left through only moments ago. “More wine?” she asked Elladan.

“Please,” he said after a moment of consideration. He sat forward and lifted the glass toward her so that she did not need to move. “Thank you,” he said as she tilted the bottle. When she smiled and caught his gaze for a moment, he added, “Thank you for bringing joy into these rooms again.”

It caught both Gilraen and Elrond offguard, so much so that Gilraen nearly overpoured the wine. She set the bottle down again and nodded once. “Your father is.. he has been..”

“You are good for him,” continued Elladan, sitting back to nurse his wine. “And I suspect that he is good for you.”

At this, Gilraen blushed, and Elrond gave Elladan a warning look, but Elladan only chuckled. “Am I my brother, father? Nay, I have not his temper, nor even his thoughts.” He raised his glass. “To your continued happiness—and I am most sincere about that. I have much enjoyed... having a...” He cut himself off and gave a little shrug. “If that is...”

He cringed suddenly as Elrohir shouted at him. The words were not for the others to hear, and came into his head through the connection they shared. ‘Elladan! Where are you? So help me if you call her mother, I will strangle you!’

Well aware of what had transpired, Elrond gave a nod of his head toward the door. “He awaits you, Elladan. Do not upset your brother more than I have already.”

Elladan sighed and stood up. “Have a good evening,” he offered them both. He drank the wine in his glass in one go, and then stopped to lean down and give Gilraen a hug. “He will come around some day. He is just stubborn – like my father.” Gilraen smiled slightly at this and nodded.

Elrond quirked his brow in his usual fashion at Elladan’s words, but accepted the hug from him when his son came around to him. “I think, father, you must do what you wish. Elrohir’s all smoke and no fire. I think, given time, he will learn to accept much, and see that your happiness is worth it.”

Before it became more awkward, and before Elrohir shouted at him again, Elladan took his cloak from the hook (as well as the one that Elrohir forgot when he stormed out) and left the suite. It did not take long to find Elrohir, who was standing around the corner of the back stairway. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to leave me here.”

“No, I would never do that,” answered Elladan. “What would you care to do this evening?” he asked as he fell in step with his brother.

“I am tired of this scandal,” spat Elrohir as they made their way down to the main floor, walking through the inner courtyard. “This is ridiculous! She is mortal!” he continued, and several heads turned toward the identical pair as they walked beyond the fountains and statues, around the columns, and crossed the area to reach the doors that would take them into the Hall of Fire. “If father is unwilling to act as he should, then I see no reason for us to.” Elrohir turned and pulled both of the great doors open at the same time, and marched forward down the steps.

Elladan glanced behind them, noticing that those in the courtyard were busying with something other than looking at the Hall of Fire entrance. With a sigh, Elladan followed after his brother.

There were few in the Hall of Fire at this time; most were still dining with their families or friends. Those who were here already were those who were often here. Lindir, the chief minstrel, stood near the entry and greeted those who were already coming to enjoy the evening in the hall. A little further in, a small group was gathered around Sogadan, who was providing wine to those who wished it. Near the fires, a harper sat and played, nearly blending into the surroundings if not for his music alerting others that he was there.

Elladan watched as his brother wandered to where the wine was being dispersed, and narrowed his eyes with some concern as Elrohir slid beside one of the junior councilors and whispered to him, hand upon the councilor’s shoulder. A smile slowly formed on the younger Elf’s face, and with a nod, he craned his neck to whisper back. Elrohir took three bottles of wine from Sogadan, then sauntered back to Elladan. “He said you can come,” said Elrohir as he passed by and slid a bottle of wine into his brother’s hand. Not a moment later, the Elf that Elrohir had spoken to came past Elladan as well, smiled, and winked as he left. Elladan glanced around. It seemed that the minstrels were engaged in their own world, minding their harps and lutes. Sogadan was busily speaking to another wine connessouir, and the few others who had entered the Hall of Fire were sitting in groups of two or three, talking softly.

Taking a deep breath, Elladan turned and left the hall again, finding his brother was standing at the entrance watching something across the room. Elladan shifted his gaze and saw the Elf from the hall standing by one of the traveling healers Gildor kept in his company, looking over a selection of balms, oils, and salves. “You know, I have.. I go along with a lot of your crazy ideas, El, but I think you are rushing into things.”

Elrohir turned his head. “He said you could come along, but no one is forcing you to.” As the elf in question deposited a few coins into the healer’s palm, he looked up and winked in the direction of the twins. “Stay here. Why not go up and have dessert with father and his mistress?”

“She is not—“ Elladan bit his tongue as they were approached. Elrohir linked arms with the Elf from the hall. “El,” hissed Elladan.

“You told him he could come, right?” purred the Elf on Elrohir’s arm. Elrohir nodded and led the way outside. Elladan made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a whimper before he drew the hood of his cloak up over his head and followed at a considerable distance, every moment turning his head to give wary looks behind.




Meanwhile, one of the valley’s forgotten guests was searching high and low in order to find the acting seneschal about a matter he was rather bothered by. Of course, he was state he was ‘rather bothered’ or ‘mildly concerned’ when he really meant he was pissed as hell over the whole thing. “Ah, Master Lindir,” called out Gildor when he found the minstrel standing in the middle of the council balcony holding a mop. “I was hoping to find you so that we.. could discuss..” Gildor paused, for Lindir was wearing a very sour expression upon his face. It did not take Gildor long to realize it had nothing to do with him. “Whatever happened? Bring your elfling to council day?”

There was food everywhere, and plates and bowls and cups overturned and smashed. Far too many empty bottles of mead were discarded for this to have been an event for children. “The Dwarves,” grumbled Lindir. “Every day, every night.” There were several other Elves around with buckets and brushes, scrubbing off rails and statues and places that it seemed should not be caked with the assortment of foods Gildor saw.

“Did you say Dwarves?” Gildor’s mood brightened. “What a surprise! Where are they?”

Every head turned to regard the wandering lord oddly. “Gone, sir,” replied Lindir. “Thank Eru and all of the Valar.”

“Gone? Gone where?” Gildor’s foul mood returned in an instant. “Away?” Several heads nodded to him. “What a shame! And no one thought to call upon me?” He huffed when all those present shrugged or frowned. “Gildor IN-GLOR-I-ON. Inglorion, Felagund, my father, the friend of Dwarves. I speak fluent Khuzdul,” he added when he realized that none of them were catching on. They all stared, and he added, “Buzunal ai-menu Duzhuk!”

“Oh. That might have helped,” replied one of the brigade that was tidying up before he rejoined his companions in their scraping and scrubbing.

Lindir bowed his head apologetically. “Sorry, sir. Without Erestor here, no one suspected there was anyone here who would speak to them. Lord Elrond managed what little he could.”

“Erestor.” Gildor’s eyes darkened. “Erestor is a hack. Everything he learned about Khuzdul he stole from me. He gets the pronouns wrong all the time!” He straightened his tunic before he crossed his arms over his chest. “Just where is Lord Elrond?”

“Lord Elrond has asked not to be disturbed.”

Gildor shook his head in disbelief as he turned and took the steps down from the balcony. “Why am I even here?” he grumbled to himself.

On the appointed morning, Erestor, Glorfindel, and Estel had an early breakfast before walking briskly to the main corridor that split off into the six districts or to the main tunnels and royal chambers. It was down the central area that they traveled, following a few other early risers as they continued downward through passages lit by fiery torches and entered into high vaulted halls where the few horses of Mirkwood were stabled. They made a left turn, stopping momentarily to see to Asfaloth, ErestorHorse, and EstelPony, before finally reaching their destination.

A short lined had formed before a black velvet curtain. Two guards stood, one on either side, while an elleth patiently checked a long list for the name of each person waiting to enter. They shuffled along, with Estel wiping at his eyes and yawning frequently, so that eventually Erestor picked the lad up so that he could rest as they waited.

“I have to admit, I have been curious since this all began,” said Glorfindel once there were enough people chatting to cover up their discussion. “Why would a kingdom have a vote for anything?”

“Why not? Thranduil is King and can do as he pleases,” answered Erestor.

“But.. voting?” Glorfindel still appeared puzzled.

“Just like a council when there is a council vote,” Erestor reminded him. “This is no different from that.”

“Still, that is a council. It is different. We never poll the entire valley to make decisions.”

“We also live in a small region,” argued Erestor. “Besides, Thranduil prefers this method. Think of it as if all of his subjects are on his council.”

“But that—that still seems really odd,” Glorfindel declared.

“If we want to talk about odd, let us discuss Elves who put bells on their horses before they ride into battle,” suggested Erestor as he hoisted Estel up again. Sleepy children were always heavier than ones who are awake.

Glorfindel frowned and looked around in an attempt to find a suitable change in topic. “What is that over there?” asked Glorfindel of a large sheet of paper that hung upon the wall beside the curtain.

“A copy of the official ballot,” explained Erestor. “If someone wishes to see ahead of time who or what is on the ballot, they can view it here. Each person is only allowed one ballot, so it is important to know how you plan to vote.”

Glorfindel squinted to see what was written on the sheet. “Are there many things to vote for? I thought you were only choosing the district leaders.”

“There are always a few referendums and laws that are on the ballot,” Erestor said. “I will probably need a little while to read through them all.” He presently reached the elleth, and stated his name in full. “Erestor Tataion. District one.”

“Erestor... Erestor...” The elleth slid the long scroll back near the top. “There we are. Your ballot number is twenty-seven.” She handed a ticket to him, and then looked at Glorfindel. “Your name, sir?”

“Oh, no, not me. I am just his friend. I hail from Rivendell,” Glorfindel explained as Estel was transferred to him so that Erestor could duck behind the curtain to vote.

The elleth looked miffed, and someone behind Glorfindel grumbled. “Then why are you standing in my line?”

“I... well, I really do not know. I suppose I thought I was just going to follow along.”

“I certainly cannot allow you in!” scolded the elleth. “Why, how could we have a secret vote if you were to look over his shoulder the entire time?”

“I would not be a bother,” insisted Glorfindel. “Most likely, he will just tell me all about it after he exits.”

“Then that is his choice. For now, kindly move aside. There is a long line of people wishing to vote who are able to vote, and you, sir, are keeping them from their duty as citizens of the Great realm of Greenwood!” There was some applause that came from behind Glorfindel, and he slid away from the doorway so as not to block anyone else.

This put him directly in front of one of the guards, who cautiously eyed him up. “Perhaps you should return to your guest quarters to wait for your friend.”

“I would, but I keep getting lost. Too many caves and tunnels and things. I nearly walked off a ledge into a river or something the other day.” Glorfindel walked over to the wall where the ballot was posted and shifted Estel to his other side. There were six boxes, each with a list of names within, and boxes to check off the name that the voter chose for each district. The first district was the strangest, for there was an empty box and no names listed.

Beneath these were a list of numbered referendums and laws, each with a set of boxes. Some were yes and no, and others were different numbers, and two had names of people listed, while the final referendum specified that only members of the first district were allowed to vote, and it contained a lengthy passage that seemed to abolish the district altogether. “This looks really complicated. What is this one about?” Glorfindel looked over at the guard for an answer.

“You do not need to know,” said the guard warily. “We keep our governing to ourselves.”

“I was just curious.” Glorfindel rocked impatiently back and forth on his feet. “Are you sure I cannot see what is going on back there?” he asked.

“Unless you are a citizen of Greenwood, you are not allowed beyond this barrier,” confirmed the guard.

Glorfindel stared at the curtain as another citizen swept it aside just enough to pass behind into the voting room. “Could you lift the drapery and let me see what is going on back there? Just for a moment?”

“Drapery?” One of the citizens stepped out of the line, a smith by trade from the heavy leather apron he wore and the way that his hair was tied back from his face. “That is no drapery, peasant! That is the cloak, the remnants of it at least, of our great former king, lost to us at the Last Alliance! Show some respect, youngling!”

Instead of looking horrified or cowering before the bulky man before him, Glorfindel was bemused. Estel was awake now, and Glorfindel set the boy down on his own feet before he stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. “The Last Alliance? Where have I heard of that before… Hmm… sounds familiar...”

“It was a great war, a war you could hardly imagine, I would wager,” said the smith haughtily. “My father fought in that war, as did my uncle. It was a brutal battle against all forces of evil, and you would do well to study it and—“

“Done.” Erestor came around the side of the curtain, with Estel now in his arms, for while everyone began to argue outside, the children decided to go and see what was so interesting behind the curtain. The boy helped to lift back the cloak as they emerged. “Are you ready to go, Glorfindel?”

Silence fell upon the crowd who was waiting, and the Elf who had confronted Glorfindel blinked as he heard the name. “Almost,” said Glorfindel as he stepped just a little closer to the one who had addressed him. “I just remembered what you were talking about. Last Alliance... big war in Mordor. Terrible thing. Happened... just about the time I returned from my death. Reminded me of the Nirneath in many ways. I fought in that battle, too. Killed a balrog once as well.. oh, but I doubt you have ever seen one of those. You would do well to study them, in case they should ever come about again.” He winked, and then stepped back. “Ready.”

“What was that all about?” wondered Erestor as they walked away from the voting line.

“Tell me what those referendums were about, and I will tell you all about it.”

“Oh. That.” Erestor waited until they were down an empty corridor. “Oh, a lot of the usual things that are voted upon every hundred years or so. I often just send a proxy, but this year we decided it was for the best to abolish the first district.”

“What is the first district?” asked Glorfindel.

“The King’s district. The royal family, close members of the court. It hardly made sense to have
an entire district made up of those few individuals.” Erestor motioned for them to take a different route, and the others followed. “That should condense the number of districts to five, and it should make Elrond happy.”

“Why would Elrond care?”

“Let me think, who could possibly have been the former district representative of a district made up of only the King’s family and councilors?” mused Erestor softly. “Now, if you do not mind, I would like to get the next part over with quickly.”

“Next part?” Glorfindel sped up, for he had fallen a pace behind. “What are you talking about?”

“I intend to withdraw my citizenship.” Erestor slowed down a little when he noticed that Estel was trying to keep up with them.

“Why?”

“I believe that is what Elrond wants.” Erestor shrugged. “I always thought it made good sense from a political standpoint to have some pull here, but if Elrond has concerns—“

“Who said that?” Glorfindel asked, wondering if Erestor actually knew why he was sent with an escort.

Erestor looked uncertain about his words, but Estel answered instead. “Adar did! He and Momi talk about it a lot! I told Master Erestor that Adar worries too much and this might stop him from worrying.”

With a shrug, Erestor answered, “Estel told me, as you have heard.” When Glorfindel looked down at the boy admonishingly, Erestor added, “At least someone was honest with me. He only mentioned it after we were here. If it was such a concern, I would have renounced it back when I first received the letter, but no one said a word about it then.”

“Oh, Erestor.. I am sorry. I doubted you—and you are right, I should have.. someone should have said something,” he said. “Can you forgive me?”

“Of course. And Elrond, of course, everyone, I hold no grudge over this.” Erestor moved to the side of the corridor so that others now returning from the vote could pass by. “I bring many of the doubts upon myself. You and Elrond only acted in the best interests of Imladris. I cannot say I would have done differently in your place,” he admitted.

“Can you forgive me, too?” asked Estel.

Erestor crouched down. “And what would I be forgiving you for?” he asked.

“I told Prince Legolas about everything and he said you are a silly Elf. I think he was going to go riding and spider hunting with His Majesty of Greenwood the King to keep you from de-… de-… “

“Denouncing,” offered Erestor with a smile.

“That,” confirmed Estel.

“Before anyone does anything drastic,” said Glorfindel. “Let us instead have breakfast, enjoy the rest of our time here, return to Imladris, and see what Lord Elrond would like for us to do.”

“I like the breakfast part the most. And seeing Adar again,” said Estel. “And Momi, too. And my brothers. Do you think my sister will be there when I get back?” wondered Estel.

“The only way to know that will be to return,” said Erestor. “Breakfast first.”

When in Rivendell, Gildor found that he typically spent half of his time in Glorfindel’s bed or in a bed with Glorfindel or sitting on Glorfindel’s lap, half of the remaining time speaking or strolling with Elrond, half of the remainder eating, sitting in the hall of fire, or generally making mischief, and whatever remained in other people’s beds. Without Glorfindel in Imladris, Elrond otherwise occupied, and Lindir perfectly indifferent towards him, Gildor found he was running out of other beds to amuse himself in. Today it was raining, so even a stroll in the gardens or a ride was out of the question.

He wandered to the only place he usually avoided when he was in town.

“What is *he* doing here?” asked a scribe of a junior librarian. A nearby scholar frowned appropriately.

“Please tell me he does not have plans to fornicate among the literature.” This request came from a clerk to Nenniach, who looked up and was startled to see Gildor Inglorion roaming about not so many paces away. “There goes the neighborhood,” the clerk added.

Nenniach hurried to one of the back storage rooms, where she found Melpomaen sorting scrolls back into their appropriate bins. “Excuse me, but I believe we are about to have an incident.”

Melpomaen climbed down the ladder he had been standing upon. The warmth of summer coupled with the small size of the storage rooms and how hard he had been working all morning left his forehead damp and tendrils of his hair clinging to his neck. He had taken off his light robes, and was only clad in pants and a tight shirt, plus a pair of gloves to keep the documents he tended to in the best condition possible. “Did some children try to wander into the restricted section again?”

“No... but I suppose child is not too far off a term for him,” considered Nenniach. “The infamous Lord Gildor is perusing the collection.”

Melpomaen narrowed his eyes. “He never comes in here.”

“He and Master Erestor are worse than oil and water. With Erestor gone, I suppose he thought he would see the library.” Nenniach shrugged. “All I know is that within seconds there were many who were upset.”

“Technically, there is nothing I can do if he is just walking around.”

“You could go ask if he needs something.”

Melpomaen looked around at his half-finished task. “I am busy. Why not you?”

“Honestly? I hate him nearly as much as Erestor does,” admitted Nenniach.

“You cannot mean that. I mean, he is a bit forthright at times, but—“

“I hate how he treats Lord Glorfindel,” said Nenniach. “Lord Glorfindel is such a kind soul, and from what I hear, Gildor sleeps with every stable hand and footman who will let him through their door. It is completely disrespectful.”

“What does that have to do with asking him if he needs assistance in the library?” wondered Melpomaen, but he was already rolling his sleeves down and heading for the door.

Nenniach shook her head. “If I talk to that man, I will likely have a reaction very similar to the ones that Lord Erestor has.”

Melpomaen sighed and shook his head, but went out to find Gildor. He discovered the elf lord in an aisle where the genealogical records and family histories were kept. “Are you looking for something in particular, m’lord?” asked Melpomaen as he approached. “Anything I can help you find?”

Gildor had been looking through the contents of a small tan volume when Melpomaen approached, and he snapped the book shut as he directed his attention to the cataloger who served as Erestor’s personal secretary. “I think I may have found just what I was looking for.”

“I can check that out to you if you like,” offered Melpomaen. “It is part of the general collection and is allowed to circulate. You could read it in your rooms or in the Hall of Fire if you like. I think you will find either place considerably cozier.”

“Trying to get rid of me so soon?” Gildor smiled and gave a wink. “I was not, in fact, talking about the book.”

It was not often that Erestor hired stupid librarians. It was even less likely for him to hire ones who were not on some level sarcastic. Melpomaen knew his boss would have been proud of him as he crossed his arms over his chest, gave Gildor a look of exasperation, and replied, “Not interested.”

“Hmm, I always thought you male bookworm types were really more like my type,” said Gildor.

“Certainly not. If there is nothing that I can help you with – in the library, that is – I suggest you will find something of more interest in the Hall of Fire.”

Gildor approached slowly, turning the book over and over in his hands as he came closer. “How sturdy are the tables in this room?”

Melpomaen shrugged. “As sturdy as they need to be. They are well-crafted and can handle the stress of many piles of books. I have seen both Master Elrond and Lord Glorfindel set as many as fifty or sixty large volumes upon one without a single creak.”

“What about the chairs?” wondered Gildor.

“The chairs are built solidly as well,” Melpomaen assured Gildor. “The Dwarves we hosted recently are an example of that. Those stout folk needed workspaces that will suit them. Well, the three that could read, at any rate. Not a single chair was broken beneath their weight. I would wager that the tables and chairs were built at the beginning of the second age, and came from Lindon for they show upon them the crest of King Gil-Galad. For more information, you would need to consult with Erestor.”

“I have but one more question concerning the furniture, and I am sure it is one that any reputable librarian would be able to answer,” said Gildor. He came up close to Melpomaen so that he need not do more than whisper. “If I were to bend you over a piece of furniture in this room, would a chair or table be a better choice?”

Melpomaen tilted his chin upwards, and defiantly glared at Gildor. “As I said earlier, I am not interested.”

“That was not my question,” scolded Gildor quickly. “I am more than aware that loreseekers such as you like nothing more than to share with others the wealth of knowledge they have obtained. I also know that it is expected of you to answer each and every question someone asks to the best of your abilities, and if you do not know the answer, that research shall be promptly conducted so that an answer might be procured. Now, I ask thee again – and do not hesitate if my assistance is needed to settle the matter.” Gildor whispered into Melpomaen’s ear once more. “The table or the chair?”

“Now I understand why Master Erestor hates you so much,” said Melpomaen.

“Do you?” Gildor snorted and stepped away, setting the book he had been holding back in the place it came from. “Did you never think that perhaps it was I who hated him first?”

“Master Erestor is a noble man. I warn you, sir, speak ill of him and I will not take it kindly. Title or not, you have no right to speak of him so unjustly.”

“Oh, he does have you brainwashed,” muttered Gildor. He approached closely again, and set a hand upon Melpomaen’s shoulder. He leaned forward so that he could speak more directly into Melpomaen’s ear. “There are many things you should know about Master Erestor that you do not. Be glad you do not. I have my doubts that you would still respect him as you do.”

“Master Erestor has always been kind to me. I have no reason to doubt him in any way. There are many things that I do know about you, and general opinion of you is lessening the longer you speak,” warned Melpomaen.

“Is that so?” Gildor let go of Melpomaen’s shoulder and took a slight step back. “Name me something.”

“Name you what?”

“Tell me what clouds your opinion of me. What have I done to deserve your contempt?” asked Gildor.

Stuck now to answer, Melpomaen said the first thing on his mind, which was the most recent thing he and Nenniach had spoken about. “It is rumored that you are not faithful to your partner. It is said that you take up other bedfellows from time to time.”

“You tell the truth. I cannot deny that which is true,” said Gildor to Melpomaen’s surprise. “Have you thought to ask fair Glorfindel about this?”

“No,” admitted Melpomaen.

“If you did, he would tell you that we have chosen not to be exclusive to one another. It is very simple; we live apart most of the time and we both encounter many others in our day-to-day lives. What if one of us were to meet someone we found to be a better match? Why, it would take so long to inform the other, and by then it might be too late to take a chance on another,” explained Gildor. “So you see, I am doing nothing wrong, not in the eyes of my own lover.”

“Still, you use that clause to sleep with anyone you meet,” Melpomaen accused.

Gildor smiled. “You are delightfully feisty. Are you sure you will not take me up on that offer?” Gildor ran a finger along the back of the nearest chair. “Walnut, smoothed from years of use, and your bare skin, smoothe from youth. Oh, and those raven locks.. I might even ask someone to bring a mirror so that you might watch,” offered Gildor. “Or have you settled upon the table?”

“No. Now get out of my library.”

“Your library? I always thought it was Erestor’s library,” said Gildor. “Or... wait, am I right about the male bookworm thing?”

“What?”

“You and Erestor... you are *very* protective of him...”

“Get out,” ground out Melpomaen through gritted teeth.

Gildor laughed. “Oh, you are such fun. I do hope you change your mind.” He walked past instead of turning around in the narrow aisle, which meant he had to past by closely. Gildor purposely brushed against Melpomaen slowly. “I think you know where my rooms are, pet.”

Melpomaen shuddered as Gildor walked away. He waited until he was absolutely sure that Gildor had left the library before he went back to the storage room. “Next time, you get to ask him what he wants,” he said to Nenniach.

The return to Imladris was blissfully uneventful. No orcs or wolves plagued their path, and the weather afforded them many nights to sleep beneath the stars. Glorfindel and Erestor would sing to the heavens, sometimes joining together for a duet. Estel would listen until his eyelids drooped and one of them insisted he unfurl his bedroll. It was during this peaceful journey that he learned many a song and tale, which he would recount and recall for all the long years of his life, and teach one day to his own children.

Their return did not merit a welcome party or fanfare of any sort, save for a loan figure standing at the bottom of the stairs to the house. “That does not look like Momi or Adar,” remarked Estel.

Erestor gave Glorfindel an accusatory glance. “What is he still doing here?”

Glorfindel shrugged, but spurred Asfaloth on ahead, breaking away from Erestor and Estel with bells ringing.

“Who is it?” asked Estel.

“The son of Sauron, if I had to guess,” he said before he had a chance to censor himself. Erestor hoped Estel did not repeat the words, at least not in front of Elrond. When they reached the house, Glorfindel had already dismounted and was standing beside Gildor. Erestor watched Gildor whisper a few words, but he could not hear them. This lead to shouting from Glorfindel, but not at his partner.

“I cannot believe that you did that! There are times when your libido is not appropriate – Estel, leave your pony and go inside,” instructed Glorfindel. It took Erestor a moment to realize that Glofindel was shouting at his own horse. Estel, unused to seeing Glorfindel so upset, did as he was instructed.

Before the lad climbed up the stairs, he mouthed ‘good luck with the spawn of Sauron’ to Erestor. It might not have been so bad, had Gildor not been watching, and not been an expert at lip reading.

“I really need to talk to Elrond about just whom he has instructing his son,” drawled Gildor after Estel was inside of the house. “As for you, Erestor, well played. Your antics have cost me travel time and my favorite pet. She wholly refuses to carry me now, and she is swelled like a suckling pig – very unattractive for a unicorn. We had three engagements in Rohan this autumn and an offer for the mount, and were forced to cancel everything.”

“I was certainly not the one who impregnated her,” rebutted Erestor. Asfaloth turned his head and stamped a front hoof on the ground, as if to say ‘well, a fine mess you have me blamed for! you started it!’

“I never said she was pregnant. It might have been a rare illness. Now that I am certain of the truth, I hold you entirely responsible. I expect you to see to her care and feeding, which will include a separate, heated environment,” demanded Gildor.

“I very much doubt you would have provided such an environment to her on your travels,” argued Erestor. “I see no reason why you should force this upon me.”

Gildor crossed his arms over his chest. “I had no intention of her being pregnant during the journey. The foals will be half-breeds; I do not even know if they will have horns or not.”

“Foals? Twins? Congratulations, Asfaloth!” Erestor patted Asfaloth on the muzzle, but the horse sidestepped away in a ‘do not touch me, elf, I am still in trouble with my master!’ sort of way.

“Luckily, the sire is owned by someone respectable enough to understand the situation. When they are born, I shall take with me whichever shows the best temperament – provided they have the traits of the unicorn. Few know the difference between a purebred and a bastardized unicorn, as long as the horn is present.” Gildor shook his head in disdain. “At least I brought my camel so that I did not end up stranded here the entire winter.”

“Thank goodness for the camel,” agreed Erestor. “I would not wish you here one more day if I could help it.”

Glorfindel frowned. “I see no reason for you to be sour with Gildor. You caused the present situation. To what end?”

“I…” Erestor paused. What had he gone and done that for, anyhow? He glanced around, and saw one of the valley’s many stray cats stalking a rat, and remembered. “He nearly set fire to the stables. Bringing a torch into a wooden building filled with straw and hay is a terrible idea.”

“Did you do that?” Glorfindel turned to address Gildor. “That was very unwise, and I can see where that would have provoked Erestor – though there are times he takes it a bit too far.”

“I may have had a small lit branch,” admitted Gildor. “I hardly think that accounts for your actions.”

Erestor snorted. “A small branch? It was a huge torch!”

“You exaggerate,” remarked Gildor casually.

“Hardly! Asfaloth, tell Glorfindel how huge it was!”

Asfaloth kept his neck down, head bowed.

“Oh, come on. It even scared you!”

Asfaloth snorted as if to say ‘ridiculous!’

“It scared Asfaloth? I find that rather hard to believe,” stated Glorfindel. “Asfaloth and I have approached the nazgul on more than one instance, and never has he fled. In fact, only he and I faced the Witchking, practically nose to nose, and it was the enemy who ran off.”

Erestor sighed. “Thanks a lot, horse.”

“The matter remains that you will now be responsible for the wellbeing of Scarlet. I expect a monthly update on her progress,” explained Gildor. “Also, there is the matter of the cupcakes.”

“The... cupcakes?” Erestor shook his head. “You have been feeding her cupcakes?”

“For someone so intelligent, you can be awfully dense at times,” remarked Gildor. “Not for the unicorn, for me. I consulted with Glorfindel, and my inclination was to punch you. Luckily for you, he talked me out of it – but now I want cupcakes.”

“So go to the kitchen and get some cupcakes,” advised Erestor.

Gildor shook his head. “I am weary from our discussion. Since this was your fault to begin with, after you take Asfaloth, your horse, and the pony to their stalls and check on Scarlet, you will bring us cupcakes.” He spoke in a low voice to Glorfindel. “If I slap him, then I still do not get the cupcakes, do I?” Glorfindel shook his head and rubbed Gildor’s shoulder comfortingly. “Cupcakes. Eight of them. I like vanilla, and the frosting had better not be any sort of weird color. No nuts, either. I despise nuts.”

“Could have fooled me,” mumbled Erestor.

Gildor rolled his eyes. “We will be in my guest room.” Gildor left Glorfindel on the bottom step and went back up into the house.

Glorfindel patted Asfaloth. “We will talk later.” The horse snorted and butted his head against Erestor’s shoulder.

“I suppose you want me to bring some cheesecake when I bring the cupcakes.” Erestor reached over and took hold of Asfaloth’s reigns.

“No, I think the eight cupcakes includes the three I will eat.” Glorfindel opened one of his saddlebags and took a sack from it. “See you in a while.”

Erestor stewed as he went about performing triple the tasks he expected, and then went to the kitchens to persuade a cook to help him out of his predicament. “Rozalia,” he said sweetly as he entered the kitchen, “I was wondering...”

“I need the sherry for cooking.”

“Darling! Sweetheart! Lovie! I would never—“

“You have and you would.” Rozalia, a stout fallohide, wiped her hands on her apron. She was one of the few hobbits who lived in Imladris, and happened to be Elrond’s favorite pastry chef. “What can I do you fer, Mister Erestor?”

“I need cupcakes.”

“Do you, now? Just how did this come about?” She was already beginning to gather bowls, spoons, and other implements she would need. “And before you get comfortable, fetch me some eggs.”

Erestor held up a bowl he had kept hidden behind his back. “One step ahead.”

Rozalia took the bowl and set it on the counter. “What kind are you needin’?”

“Vanilla. And plain frosting.”

As she cracked an egg into a bowl, she smiled knowingly and glanced through her spices for the vanilla. “Sounds like these cupcakes might not be for you.”

“Compensation for a pregnant unicorn. Apparently eight vanilla cupcakes is the going rate.”

“Oh, Mister Erestor! You send me into stitches! It is a wonder you are a councilor and not a jester!”

“Around here, there are some who will tell you the positions are interchangeable.”

Rozalia handed him a pan. “Use a little oil to grease this. At least Estel will be happy with you come morning. I can only make cupcakes in batches of a score or more, and he will get whatever is left over once you have your eight. Speaking of the lad, how is Estel doing?”

“He had a royal adventure with us traveling to Mirkwood. He met the king, and the princes, and had a jolly time. I was worried he might be homesick, but as it turned out he enjoys traveling immensely. I think next time a party goes to Mithlond, Elrond should consider allowing Estel the opportunity of venturing with them.”

“How nice. I was worried a bit meself. Not for his wellbeing, no, not exactly.” Rozalia began to sift flour into the large bowl. “That boy is so thin, I feared he would come back with less meat on his bones than when he left.”

“He ate well in Mirkwood, there is no doubt of that,” Erestor assured her.

“And what of Mister Findel?”

“He is well. A bit sore with me upon our return.” Erestor gathered anything he could think of that would be needed that he did not see out – butter and sugar, and some thick lard from the pantry. “In hindsight, playing pranks on Gildor was not the most mature thing that I could do. On the other hand, it is hardly my fault he is such a you-know-what.”

“I do indeed, and I thank thee for not swearin’ up me kitchen like you do the stables.” Rozalia hardly had to look at what she was doing as she went along, for cupcakes by the thousands had been made by her hands. “What you need, Mister Erestor, is a good wife to keep you level in the head. You bachelors are all the same – carefree and careless. Why, my uncle Tongo always told me ‘Roza-doll, you be sure to marry yourself a man, now. Help keep them from becoming an unlawful nuisance, because that is all that will happen to us without good womenfolk around.’ “

“Did your uncle marry early?”

“Hardly! He remained single to his final day.”

Erestor sat down on a tall stool and leaned on the counter to watch Rozalia work. She had to use a stool in order to reach the counters, hearth, and cabinets. It was fortunate she had several in the kitchen in order to remain efficient. “Are you married?”

“Not for some long time now.”

Erestor frowned and touched Rozalia’s arm comfortingly. “I am sorry.”

“I am not,” said Rozalia, letting out a boisterous round of laughter. “I came home one day and found him in our marriage bed with the milkmaid from down the street. Golden-haired hussy, that one was. Well, now, I packed up me dowry, went to the mayor, and demanded he annul our marriage. When he heard the whole tale, he made Pompa give me a bag of twenty silver and a pony, and set him in the stocks for a week. Well, now, I was not about to stay around and see what he might do or say at the end of that week, so I left. Yes, sir, I left me home. No idea where I might go or where I might be goin’. Bring me that pan you greased.”

Erestor retrieved the tray and held it steady while Rozalia poured the batter into each cup. “How did you make it to Imladris?”

“Mister Gildor. He was traveling not far from Michel Delving, an’ I joined up with ‘em. We went for a spell to Rohan and to Gondor. I was in the sideshow – Middle-earth’s tiniest woman. Of course, it works when someone has not seen a hobbit before. Three years later, we came to rest here in Rivendell. It had been too long since I had cooked a good meal, and I snuck meself into the kitchens after dark. Your Lord Elrond caught me here, but I fed him a good late supper of corn bread and mushroom pies. He hired me on the spot, an’ I have been here since. Been, what, now, fifteen years since I up’n left the Shire, and do I regret it? Look around at this kitchen! You’ve seen our larder. Would you regret it? No, sir.” Rozalia placed the tray into the hearth and stood back as she wiped her brow. “Cupcakes in two hours, Mister Erestor. They’ll need time to be coolin’ or yer frostin’ll slip right off to a puddle.”

“Thank you, Rozalia. You saved me from whatever disgrace he might have come up with otherwise.”

“Shall I come to get you when they are done? I hate to make you stay here while you likely have more important things to do.”

Erestor did not appear to want to budge from his spot. “I was hoping I might stay here, unless you were planning on leaving.”

“A good cook never leaves her oven unattended.” Rozalia moved a tea kettle closer to the fire. “Tea, Mister Erestor?”

“Just call me Erestor, Rozalia.” He looked around the room. “Do we have any scones left from breakfast?”

“I might be able to find a half-dozen in the cupboards.” Rozalia hopped down from one stool and bounced up onto another. “Raspberry or lemon with poppyseeds?”

“Both.” Erestor left his perch to retrieve mugs for tea and plates for scones. He assembled honey and sugar and a jar of apricot marmalade. “I wish, for all my interest in eating food, I was a better cook myself.”

“We cannot all be best at everything,” reasoned Rozalia. “If we were all so self-sufficient, what reason would we have to socialize with each other?”

“Are you a philosopher by chance?”

Rozalia laughed heartily. “Now, I reckon someone told me once I was, but I’ve not much use for philosophizin’ when there are biscuits and cakes and muffins to be made.” Rozalia went to pull the whistling tea kettle away from the fire. “Shall a put a nip’o somethin’ in yer tea?”

“Depends on what it is,” answered Erestor. He watched Rozalia lift a small bottle of rum that was kept under the counter to flavor some of the dishes she made. “By all means.”

“Before I left Pompa, I never knew the need for it, but I like it jus’ fine now.” She poured a healthy amount into both of the cups. “Wish we didn’t hafta stay here’in watch the ovens; we could go out on the porch for a smoke.”

“I regret that I am not much of a smoker myself,” Erestor informed her. “Now, Lord Glorfindel—“

“Aye, Erestor, he and I have a few puffs every now and again in the summers when he stays here. Usually puffs off me pipe. I keep tellin’ him he needs to get one of his own, but he never does.” Rozalia selected three of the scones from the dish she brought to the table. “Lord Elrond and I used to as well, but he seems tied up now with his new family. Good thing, that. Keeps him from a-worryin’ about his lass over yonder sea.”

Erestor poured a goodly amount of honey over his own lemon scone and sprinkled it with sugar. “Do you ever think you might marry again?”

“Are you askin’?” Rozalia gave Erestor a wink.

“Hmm... an elf and hobbit love affair. What would the master say?”

“Likely be happy to see you settle down with someone.” Rozalia bit into a scone and savored it. “Then again, you might be a menace either way.”


Erestor was still dwelling upon that comment as he walked up three flights of steps to reach the guest room that Gildor favored. He knocked on the door, carefully balancing the plate of cupcakes. Eight, plus one, just in case. Vanilla flavored, white frosting. There could hardly be any dispute.

Gildor flung the door open. He was wearing a thin silk robe, pale gold with dark blue designs on it. It was left untied, so it hung open and displayed his well-muscled form, a pair of tight blue undergarments in the eastern style leaving little to the imagination. “I thought you could at least count to ten.”

“I was trying to be nice.”

“Next time, try to be nice before you get my pets pregnant.”

“Boys...” came a warning voice from within the room. “If you are going to argue, then I am leaving.”

Gildor glanced over his should and blew a kiss, and then looked at Erestor. “Come in.” He kicked the door open the rest of the way.

Still holding the plate of cupcakes, Erestor slowly entered. The room was very dimly lit, but the candles were strategically placed so that the entire room had a glow to it. Or, perhaps it was simply the presence of Glorfindel – he had a very perceptible aura about him that could light even the darkest places. The slayer was lounging on the couch, a book open in his lap, a glass of red wine with a stick of cinnamon adorning it. Wisps of steam lifted from the beverage and dissipated in the air.

“We mulled some wine,” explained Gildor when he noted Erestor staring. “Mulled wine is lovely with vanilla cupcakes. Sweets, he brought nine cupcakes.”

“So I heard.” Glorfindel turned to the next page and swirled his wine with the cinnamon. “I will only eat one or two.”

“Three of these are yours.” Gildor picked up one of the cupcakes and bit into it. “Mmmm... Rozalia?”

Erestor nodded.

“She makes the best desserts. Too bad she is a hobbit.”

“What does that mean?” questioned Erestor.

Gildor laughed. “Listen to you; finding fault with me before you even know what I mean. I find it saddening that she is a hobbit. I would like to see her sail to Valinor, but it is not to be. Maybe that is why her food is so good – she puts her heart and soul into everything.” He licked some of the frosting, and took another bite. “Glorfindel you need to have one of these.”

“Later.”

“I bet if it was cheesecake you would humor me.” Gildor took the plate from Erestor and held it under Glorfindel’s nose, blocking the view of the book. “Try one.”

Glorfindel gently pushed the plate away. “I am not hungry.”

“Fine.” Gildor carried the plate back to his chair and sat down. He motioned to Erestor, who was still near to the door. “Join us. Sit.”

Erestor cautiously walked in further and looked around for somewhere to sit down. He finally decided on the end of the sofa, since Glorfindel was not taking up the entire length of it.

“You will be happy to know that I have changed my mind about the unicorn,” said Gildor.

“You are taking her with you? That could be detrimental to her health,” argued Erestor.

Gildor shook his head. “If you would give me a moment, you will learn the whole story.” He paused dramatically to eat the rest of the first cupcake, and began a second. “Since she is here already, and since she will only allow herself to be ridden by virgins, it makes no sense for me to take her. It also seems particularly cruel to break up a family.”

“He is leaving out the part about how he could not remember her name,” piped up Glorfindel, still engrossed in his reading.

“I was getting to that.” Gildor licked his fingers before he set the plate aside. “It was not until we were inside that Glorfindel reminded me that the camel is named Scarlet. Scarlet would be an ironic name for a unicorn, would it not?”

Erestor shrugged, and then nodded in agreement.

“So I think you should keep her here. She likes you – for whatever strange reason that might be. Wine?”

“No, thank you.” Erestor picked at the fabric fibers on the arm of the sofa. “What is the catch?”

“Catch? Nothing, my dear.” Gildor smirked at how uncomfortable the term made Erestor appear. “Just take care of whatever her name is, and let Glorfindel name the foals.”

“We need to move her tomorrow so that she and Asfaloth are sharing a stall,” said Glorfindel.

“Whatever.” Gildor plucked another cupcake from the plate. “You should try one of these, Erestor. There is an extra.”

Erestor stood up. “I need to be going.”

“If you must.” Gildor made a dismissive gesture which then turned into a single finger placed thoughtfully to his lips just as Erestor reached the door. “Just a moment. Just… one moment. I have a thought.”

“Just one?” prodded Erestor.

“A lovely thought,” continued Gilor as he set the cupcakes aside. “Erestor, have you ever noticed how big the guest beds here are? In fact, I believe there is enough room for three writhing bodies to take up residence for an entire night. Care to help us test my theory?” he asked, ignoring a seething look he was being given by Glorfindel.

“Good night, Erestor,” Glorfindel interrupted so that his friend would not need to answer.

Erestor quietly said good night to Glorfindel before leaving the room. Gildor wiped his fingers on a napkin conveniently located upon the table. “Frankly, I cannot for the life of me understand him.”

Glorfindel looked up from his reading. “If you stopped pushing him, maybe you could.”

Again, Gildor lifted and held out the tray, but Glorfindel shook his head again. “I have no desire to understand him.”

“I can see that,” answered Glorfindel, mildly irritated. “And I know he shoves, but you start it. You push and push and push and back him into corners, and then you act as if you have no clue as to why he shoves you back.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“Neither. I get angry at him for the same thing, and I tire of having to choose between you. I should not have to – you are my dearest companions, and it hurts me to see you act this way. He was completely civil – he even brought you the bloody cupcakes after riding and looking after Estel all day. Did I hear the two most important words? No, I did not.”

Gildor tossed the plate back onto the table, jostling the perfectly frosted cakes. “You wanted for me to say thank you to him impregnating my mare?”

“For the damned cupcakes. You have such notions of entitlement, and it irks me. I hate his arrogance just as much, but at least he humbled himself to bringing you your dessert.” Glorfindel slammed the book closed with great flourish. “And on that note, good night. I hope you enjoy your stupid cupcakes.”

“How very mature. Toss a tantrum and then leave.” Gildor did nothing to stop Glorfindel, even opening the door for him. “Enjoy your evening.” Gildor thought to slam the door, but decided it would bring Glorfindel far too much satisfaction in knowing he was as upset as his lover was.

After spending the next day sorting through a variety of old books that were to be added to the library and notices that should long have been dealt with by lesser members of the staff, Erestor wearily left his office and yawned his way down the hall to his rooms. He was there for only a short while when he recalled having been asked early in the day by Elrond to stop by his quarters before retiring for the evening. Luckily, it was the same floor and the same wing, and Erestor did not have to travel far to reach the door of the Lord of Imladris. He knocked, and after a short time the butler answered the door and ushered Erestor in.

“Ah, I wondered if you were going to come or if you would end up falling asleep at your desk, my friend.” Elrond was cheerful, moreso than usual while off-duty (or as off-duty as one could be when they were the lord of the valley). “I thought you might enjoy having a drink with us this evening.”

Erestor saw that he was not the only guest being entertained, for Glorfindel, Lindir, and Melpomaen were all seated in the parlor. Glorfindel and Melpomaen each held a glass of wine, while Lindir had chosen a drink of a darker hue. “Just water, please, unless you want me to fall asleep on your sofa.”

The butler was already pouring a glass before the entire sentence was finished, and a moment later Erestor held it in an already drooping hand. “Too much to do today,” explained Erestor. “I really do need to retire for the evening soon.” He looked around, and noted the lack of tin soldiers, wooden horses, and most importantly, the young lad who by now would have made his presence known. “Did Gilraen take Estel to the Hall of Fire for the evening?”

“Gilraen is in the next room,” said Elrond. “She plans to join us momentarily.”

“Did Estel go to bed already?” guessed Erestor.

“Certainly not. Do you know how difficult it—never mind, you do,” Elrond reminded himself. “Here, let me take that,” he said, grasping the glass before it had a chance to slip from Erestor’s grip. “I have some tea, if you would prefer that. It might help you stay awake.”

“But I... thank you,” he said as a cup of tea was placed in his hands. Elrond led him to an empty chair and made sure that the tea was safely on a table before moving down the hallway to knock on the door of the master bedroom.

A muffled voice was heard, and Elrond answered with, “He just arrived.” He turned his head to listen better, and added, “I think so. Let me ask.” Elrond walked back to the group and asked, “Is anyone interested in fruit or dessert?”

While the others spoke and voiced their pleasure at the idea of treats, Erestor shook his head miserably and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes.

“Erestor? Fruit or dessert?”

“No thank you.” He opened one eye. “I hate to be the wet blanket, but can I go home?”

Elrond chuckled and patted Erestor’s shoulder. “You are home.” He wandered back down the hall to the bedroom door.

At this, Erestor turned to address the nearest person, who happened to be Melpomaen. “What is going on with him? I have half a mind to break something just to see him scowl like normal.”

“He has changed a little since you were gone,” Melpomaen informed his supervisor. “Everything has changed.”

Erestor growled slightly and reached out for the tea that had been given to him. It was not sweet enough for his liking, and he put it back down with a grumble of dissatisfaction. “I just want to sleep. If he wants me up in the morning for his council meeting, he should not be hosting late-night parties.”

“We are only two hours past nightfall,” argued Lindir gently. “I am sure he will not keep you overlong.”

The only response Lindir received was a glare, but with eyelids drooping and fatigue written across his face, Erestor appeared less threatening and more drunk than anything else. It caused both Melpomaen and Lindir to laugh, while Glorfindel attempted not to.

Presently, Gilraen emerged from the bedroom, and was escorted to the parlor by Elrond. Erestor noted a few major differences in her appearance and demeanor since the last time he had been in Rivendell. First, her style of clothing was changed completely. She was no longer wearing the thick, heavy fabrics and simplistic style of clothing that was native to the Dunedain. Instead she wore a breezy green gown made of a light, flowing material. It was the sort commonly seen on Elven women. Her hair was not braided back in the practical style she had worn since her arrival, but instead was brushed until it shone like copper and draped down her back, curling up at the ends.

Erestor stood, as did the others, in proper respect as all gentlemen do when a lady enters into their presence. Before he was able to sit back down, however, the lady walked towards him and stopped just shy of where he stood. “I wished to apologize to you, Master Erestor,” she said, holding out one hand. It appeared well-manicured and cared for, not at all the way it had when they had first met over breakfast many years ago. “I wanted to thank you for the experience that you provided to my son. It is something that will be carried by him for many years and will help to shape his future. I appreciate your generosity in the matter.

“I will admit that I was apprehensive to begin with. I was uncertain, once I discovered some of the details of your past, whether or not I should allow you to be the primary caretaker of my only child while he was away. I am glad that my fears were unfounded. He had blossomed under your tutelage.”

“You are most welcome,” replied Erestor, dumbstruck.

Gilraen was not finished. “I wished for you to know that I am forever grateful and in your debt. Elrond respects you and your opinions greatly, and I shall now as well.”

“Thank you,” managed Erestor, though he tried to read the riddle of the underlying tone of her voice. “May I leave now? My day was long, and I have much to attend to in the morning.”

“Of course.” Elrond stood. “I will see you in the morning.” He nodded to the butler, who stepped out of the corner and opened the door.

Erestor said his farewells to everyone, and was met at the door by Melpomaen. “If you do not mind, I had a few items I wished your opinion on.”

For a moment, Erestor thought to dismiss Melpomaen, but he was tired, and when he was tired it was very difficult for him to argue. “Fine, then.” He shooed Melpomaen out before him and then left the room himself. “You have two minutes or however long it takes me to reach my room, whichever arrives first.”

“I wanted to know if you were going to hold service next week.” Melpomaen bit his lip nervously. “There were some who were asking, and by now we would have held at least two gatherings, plus the observances, and none of that has happened with you gone.”

“Oh... right...” In Rivendell, the majority of the inhabitants chose the Aphasadorin faith, while a few still favored the Sedryner teachings. As the highest ranking member of the Sedryner faith who lived in Imladris, it fell upon Erestor to plan out many of the religious ceremonies and gatherings. “I would like to think that we will have at least one event before the end of the summer... I may need to hold it at the beginning of the harvest, though. I doubt I am going to have the time to plan anything now.”

“Well... and I hope that I am not overstepping my boundaries, sir, but I have been planning the gathering in your absence. It can be called off at a moment’s notice, if you do not approve.” Melpomaen drew out from his pocket a list of prayers and songs. “I tried to choose readings that shared a common theme. It seems that we could all use a little reassurance of the ability for good to overcome evil, especially these days. Are you upset with me?”

Erestor briefly looked over the list as they walked. “I am not upset,” assured Erestor. “I am pleasantly surprised, and relieved. Do not let me stand in the way; I think you should take control of this, having shown the initiative.” Erestor handed the sheet back to Melpomaen, who looked a little nervous. “I will still offer to give some of the readings, if you like, but there is nothing better in our faith than for others to step up when they feel the calling to gather our folk or to preach among them.”

“Really? I thought you would be mad, being a...umm, well, I am glad you are happy about it,” said Melpomaen quickly.

“Being a what?” wondered Erestor.

Melpomaen fell back a step. “Being a control freak.” He clasped a hand over his mouth, and then apologized. “I am sorry, sir, but you did ask me to clarify!”

Erestor half-slumped up against a wall to prop himself up. “I did ask, indeed I did. And, well, at least you are honest about it all. I appreciate that. Control freak? A myth not easily dispelled. It is not so much that, as it is my not trusting most people to do complete a task correctly.”

“Am I one of those people?” asked Melpomaen.

“Good gracious, no. If that were the case, I would have torn up your sheet, thrown it into the air, and walked away from you,” stated Erestor. Melpomaen carefully folded the paper and tucked it into a pocket safely away from Erestor, just in case. “I trust you, Melpomaen. In fact, I would trust you with my life.”

“Truly?” The scribe beamed. “Then I shall continue with my plans?”

“Please do. And Melpomaen? If you should ever have a desire to train for one of the higher positions within the faith, do let me know. We would be honored to have one such as you helping to lead the flocks.”

The compliment was overwhelming for the scribe, who could not stop smiling to himself as he walked down the hall.

Erestor fumbled with his ring of keys. Somewhere, there was a silver key with a red mark on the side that would open his door. He studied each key on the ring again briefly, and could not find it. It should have been right between the one he used for the council chamber and the ones that locked the stalls for his horses, but it was not there. He retraced his steps in the hall for a few feet in case it had fallen off of the ring when he removed it from his pocket, but he saw nothing. He looked near his door and could not find it either.

He leaned his hand against the door, and to his amazement (and worry), it suddenly swung open. There was a light in the room, and he peered around the doorway.

“Ah, there you are.” Gildor was occupying his favorite chair, and had his feet up on the tea table. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to get back,” he said.

“Get your feet off my table! What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Gildor pouted. “Not happy to see me, dearheart?” he asked.

“Certainly not. Remove yourself this instant,” demanded Erestor. “And never call me that!”

Setting a glass of brandy down on the table (from Erestor’s private stock, no doubt), Gildor smiled happily. “I missed you, though, my pet. We had such a nice talk yesterday. I was hoping we might converse a bit tonight. Possibly even relive the good old days?”

“No thank you. I have no interest in your poisoned words this evening,” said Erestor. He pointed to the door. “Out.”

“Not interested at all why I am here?” asked Gildor as he stood up. He paused to drain the rest of the glass, and set it aside on the table where his feet had been.

“I assume you found my key, were bored, and decided to play a bit of a trick on me,” assessed Erestor.

“There is more to it than that,” said Gildor. “The truth is that I pocketed the key from you earlier in the day when you were not paying very much attention to your personal effects. Then I waited until you were to be at whatever gathering it is that Elrond was having to let myself in. I do like your bed. Where are those sheets from? Lindon? They are lovely,” purred Gildor. “They really took me back to those nights in Eregion…”

“What the fuck were you doing in my bed?” demanded Erestor.

“What one does in a bed. If you like, I can show you.” Gildor grinned widely, and began to walk about the room, pretending to be interested in each piece of artwork and every vase or sculpture that was found in the room. “I was thinking – are you ever bored at night? Glorfindel has an even larger bed than the one in the guest chamber, and—“

“No thank you,” remarked Erestor tersely. “I was surprised last night that you would suggest such a deviant thing!”

“Are you? Too bad; one can always hope. Anyhow, that was not my true purpose,” said Gildor. “What I really wanted to do was challenge you to a horse race this weekend.”

“What? You do not race horses.”

“Who says I do not?” Gildor picked up a paperweight that was a carved Oliphant. “I thought it would be an interesting hobby to take up. I enjoy it immensely. I rarely have the chance to partake when I am traveling for long distances. I thought we might have a good time, a little friendly challenge.”

Erestor shook his head. “Not interested,” he said. “Now leave.”

“Ah, but perhaps you will be when I tell you what the prize is. Whomever is the winner gets to keep the unicorn.”

Erestor frowned. “I thought we had already come to a consensus on that issue.”

“Changed my mind,” said Gildor casually. “I thought this would be more interesting. Besides, you should win, right? Champion racer that you are.”

“What is the catch?” demanded Erestor.

“Catch? No catch,” said Gildor. “Why would you think there was a catch?”

“Because you are involved,” said Erestor simply.

“Good point.” Gildor shrugged. “Just you versus me, on horseback, pet.”

Erestor narrowed his eyes doubtfully.

“It would be part of a festival that Elrond is letting me plan for next weekend,” said Gildor. “Since you were not present over the summer for Tarnin Austa or the rest of the merriment, it seems proper that you would find a way to participate. What better way than to show your horsemanship and racing prowess?”

“I still do not trust you. What will happen if I lose?”

Gildor tilted his head. “I get to keep my unicorn.”

“That still seems an odd tradeoff.” Erestor crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no intention of humoring you.”

“Fine.” Gildor lifted up the small key he had used to gain entry. “I guess I will be keeping this, then. First Glorfindel’s, and now yours – I am gaining quite a collection.”

“That is not yours. Give it back,” hissed Erestor.

Gildor held it up. “Race me.”

“Certainly not.”

“Then no key.” He began to attach it to a metal ring of his own keys.

Erestor sucked in his breath. “Fine,” he said suddenly just before the key joined the others that swung from the small copper ring. “Give me my key. I will race you, on horseback. No carts or chariots. One horse apiece.”

“Excellent.” Gildor wound the key off of the ring and tossed it up into the air towards Erestor. The other elf caught it and closed his fist protectively around the small metal object. “I look forward to our race.” He walked to the door. “Tell me,” he said as he reached the doorway, “have you ever managed to win a race against Asfaloth before?”

The next day, in the woods of the valley, three hunters traversed the wilderness. Elrohir had a pack of supplies, while Elladan carried with him the light tent they would use. Estel was given the most important job of all – he was in charge of finding the best place to set up camp for the night. Though they were no more than a mile from the house, it was still a very important event for Estel. They would spend the evening away from the convenience of home, and it would not be the same conditions that he had encountered while traveling with Glorfindel and Erestor to Mirkwood.

Many times they had stayed in inns or at the very least the house of someone along the way. When they did not, they still had much more appealing conditions, and horses to carry them. The weather was also much cooler now, and the winds whipped at the trees now and again as they trudged through the forest.

“Here, I think,” announced Estel when they came to a small clearing that offered some cover from overhanging braches, but still allowed for a fire to be built. “Should we build a fire first, or should we make the tent?”

“I am going to pitch the tent,” decided Elladan. “You and Elrohir can get a fire going. If we are lucky, we might have it all finished before the stars are at their brightest, and can all stargaze as the fire cooks our supper.” The three spent the late afternoon catching fish, and Elladan had shown Estel how to set traps for rabbits and other small game. “Maybe we can even sing a few songs before bed.”

“I like the songs you sing, big brother!” Estel excitedly trotted after Elrohir when he announced that they would need to enter back into the denser part of the woods to search for kindling.

Elladan finished the tent quickly and took a little time to sit at the base of a tree and farspeak a bit with his sister. ‘How are you? And the Grands?’

‘We are all well,’ she replied to him. ‘And father?’

‘Happier now. Have you spoken to him much?’

‘Almost every week, though our conversations are shorter and shorter as of late.’ There was a pause. ‘I think that to be.. a good thing.’

‘This is hard for you,’ recognized Elladan.

‘It is hard for all of us,’ acknowledged Arwen. ‘I spoke with Grandmother at length about it, though. It will be hard for us now, but for the little one, when he is of age and learns all of the truths, will it not be hardest for him?’

Elladan could faintly hear the laughter of both of his brothers in the distance. ‘I think those revelations will be hard for us as well,’ he told her.

----

The very same afternoon, within the Homely House, Erestor awoke in a foul mood. While he had planned to return home and tend to anything that required his expertise before finishing the last two weeks of his vacation relaxing, he now had to prepare last minute for a race he was certain that Gildor had been planning for weeks. The readiness of the judges and the competition grounds were evidence of this. He skipped breakfast except for a cup of weak tea with lemon and intended to go straight to the stables to assess his race horses. On his way, he encountered an unexpected situation.

“Master Erestor, I know that you are busy, but I thought you might wish to be informed,” said Lindir, who had seen him pass by the Hall of Fire on his way outside and rushed out after him. “There is someone who has been, how shall I say, fouling your name while you have been away.”

“Excuse me?” Erestor then rolled his eyes. “Gildor, I presume?”

“No,” said Lindir. “A hobbit woman from the Breelands. She has been visiting for the summer, studying the art of lore with Elrond. To be honest, she has done rather poorly with it,” he said. “No one knows why she is still here.”

“What has she said?” pressed Erestor. “Do not worry for my feelings as Melpomaen so often does, Lindir. Speak the truth to me.”

“She claims your works are... overrated,” he summarized. This brought a look both curious and angry to Erestor’s face. “It is said that you sometimes present sequels to works that are unnecessary, and sometimes pause too long in the telling of your serials.”

“Oh really?”

Lindir nodded. “She began to amass a small following in your absence. I do not think she knows how many in that group are in fact loyal to you and to Lord Elrond. She speaks ill of you directly; of Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel, she speaks in riddles.”

“Such as?”

“She claims that you ‘hate her guts’. Directly quoted,” added Lindir.

“How interesting.” Erestor tried to recall a hobbit he had offended, but none as of recent times came to mind. “What is the name of this misinformed and highly critical woman?”

“Bartolie Brandywine,” said Lindir. “Do you recognize the name?”

“Of course... you said she was from Bree...” Erestor sighed. “She was in Archet a few years ago when I went there to deliver a package for Elrond that needed to be routed back to Tuckborough. At first, she seemed friendly enough. She was interested in being a loremaster even then, and I offered what little aid I could. But then she made a verbal attack upon Legolas. I was certainly not about to stand idly aside. You know how opinionated I am, and how loyal I am to my friends.”

“Yes, I can only imagine the conversation,” said Lindir.

“It was less of a conversation and perhaps more of a... never mind, conversation sounds politer.” Erestor was holding his riding gloves, and decided to tuck them half into his pocket. “Do you know where she is right now?”

“Hall of Fire. And as much as I wish to see her reaction when you encounter her, I think I am going to go elsewhere. Then, I can eavesdrop for you later if you like.”

“I always knew you were clever.” Erestor pulled back his hair and tied it off, making himself appear more imposing than he already was. “Do you recall anything else she said directly?”

“There was mention of how you have too much power in the artistic community,” added Lindir. Erestor went from slightly angry to enraged. “She was adamant of that fact, and invited anyone who wished to discuss it with her – including anyone else who was too powerful – to talk to her about it privately.”

“Do you know if she—“

“She meant me. She meant me and you and Elrond and Glorfindel, and probably meant some other people in the lore guild. I want to say it does not bother me, but I guess it does,” admitted Lindir. “As a performer, it should roll right off, but I keep replaying it in my mind. She talks about your works being the same over and over again, that they just blend together, and then she admits she never actually read the second one entirely. And then—“

“Slow down, Lindir. Which stories are you talking about?”

“Vacant Ewer, and the one that came after that,” said Lindir.

“The Last Singer.” Erestor frowned. “She probably complained that the main character died at the beginning of the story.”

Lindir nodded. “That seemed to be one of her qualms.”

“Apparently she is so dense she does not realize that Elves have the ability to come back.” Erestor stepped aside in the hallway so that a pair of maids carrying armfuls of laundry into the house could make their way by. “I think I need to have another little discussion with her.”

“By the way,” added Lindir, “and this might be irrelevant to this particular conversation, but did you ever hear her views on mated pairs of the same gender?”

Erestor tried to recall anything he might have heard, but he had to shake his head. “I guess it never came up.”

“She thinks they can be, well, changed is the word I am looking for I guess. I heard a conversation she had in regards to...” Lindir motioned them further from the doors of the Hall of Fire before he continued in a lowered voice. “She thought that all someone who was suffering that ailment needed was for someone of the opposite gender to sleep with them. She offered, quite publicly, that she could cure Gildor.”

With a look that showed that he was positively appalled, Erestor removed his gloves from his pocket and handed them to Lindir. “Gildor needs to be cured of a few things, but I doubt it is anything she could or should do. Would you mind taking these to the stable for me? I fear if I have them with me, I might slap her with them.”

“Now, Erestor, remember, she is a lady. A gentleman should not strike a member of the fairer sex,” warned Lindir in a tone that reminded Erestor of Elrond.

“Then it is fortunate that I am not a gentleman,” remarked Erestor. “I am counting to twenty, Lindir. You do not want to be here twenty-one seconds from now.”

At precisely the moment that Erestor reached twenty in his mind, he straightened his jerkin, pushed the errant hairs back past his ears, and marched into the Hall of Fire. It was easy to find the woman; she was surrounded by a half dozen artists and writers, all members of the guild that he and Elrond held directorships in. Quickly, Erestor approached, his brisk steps hitting the floor and causing an echo – completely done on purpose, for it was in his nature to typically not make a sound.

He made no announcement and gave no greeting. Stepping right through the circle of people who were assembled, he went straight for the hobbit. She was standing up already, and he used this to his advantage, deciding to take hold of her arm without stopping for long. “You and I are going to have a chat.” He began to walk again, and since he did not let go of her, the hobbit was dragged for a few feet before she decided to scurry along to keep up. He took her over to the windows and threw her down onto the window seat. This allowed him to tower over her much more than he would have if she were standing. “Listen, and listen well, for I intend to say this once and only once. You seem to think that you can simply walk in and become a premier storyweaver despite lacking the proper training and talent. You speak ill of others, but take great offense if you are given criticism. You put words into the mouths of others – and this, above all other faults, is your greatest. Hate is a word that is very strong, the worst of all words to use. Morgoth is hated. Sauron is hated. For you to throw that word around and speak it as if it came from my own tongue in regards to you tells me you think much too highly of yourself to think I would even have the time to care about such a meager item.

“You came here, and were accepted here, and have done little to enhance the guild with your complaints. Perhaps your think some of us have too much power, but might I remind you how much of our creativity we have poured into this venture and for how long we have done so. Years from now, when you are but dust under the ground, we will be remembered in lore. We may be here still. Our stories will be retold. Our songs will still be sung. Our lives will be remembered. You can waste your time now speaking ill of us, or you can use your time wisely to build your own legacy,” stated Erestor. He shook his head sadly. “In reality, you are misinformed and jealous. Instead of hoping for happiness, you slither about like a snake, spreading unhappiness and lies. You would rather drag everyone else into whatever misery you find yourself in, and that is simply one of the most selfish things anyone can do. I pity you.”

Erestor began to leave, but he turned around and went back to the wide-eyed hobbit. “One other thing. I hear rumors of what your opinions are regarding those whose preferences lean towards members of their own gender. It so happens that one of my dearest friends tilts in that direction. It would be wise to leave well enough alone.”

“Are you threatening me?” demanded the hobbit, who seemed to finally find her voice.

“I tend not to threaten. I promise.” Erestor stared at her for another few seconds before he made a disgruntled gesture. “This is a completely hopeless use of my time.” He turned and found Elrond standing in his path, with Gilraen not far behind. “Lord Elrond.” Erestor noticed that everyone else in the hall was also standing, circled about them, and staring. The first thing that came to mind was ‘I can explain’, but instead, Erestor said, “I did not realize you were taking a turn telling stories in the hall this afternoon.”

“I had no intention of doing so,” corrected Elrond. “The windows are open, and we could hear you in the courtyard.”

Before Erestor was able to explain anything, Bartolie put her hands on her hips. “As you can see,” she announced to her group nearby, “he acts as if he owns the place. His threats are idle, and he makes such disrespectful comments to a lady!”

“What is she talking about?” asked Elrond as he motioned Erestor aside.

“Long story short as possible.. believes we are horrid loremasters and the she could make Gildor and Glorfindel swoon at her feet.”

“That was very short, and likely lacking a few necessary details,” reasoned Elrond. “However, I do know that I have received several complaints about…” Elrond turned his head as Gilraen approached the hobbit, who had walked back to her companions. She was gesturing grandly, but too far away for them to hear quite what she was saying. Gilraen, on the other hand, was precisely where she needed to be.

“What did you just call my husband?”

It even sounded as if the crackle of the fire was silenced by Gilraen’s words. Bartolie suddenly looked uncertain, but she stood on the tips of her toes upon the bench she had been orating from. “I said that Lord Elrond is a—“

“Out. Now.” Gilraen pointed to the door as she took a stop forward, and the hobbit scrambled down to the floor. “Pack. You leave tonight.” She looked around at the others that had gathered around. “And if another word is spoken of this, you will all be seeking alternate arrangements as well.” The companions scattered, some out and some to the balcony. Gilraen continued to look stern until the last of them was removed from the area. Then her expression softened and she smiled as she approached Elrond and Erestor. “I was thinking.. do you think that the boys would be terribly upset if I sent a basket with a few things out to them? I know they want to bond and rough it, but, would cookies be out of line?”

“Uh..” Elrond shrugged. “Um, well, I think that Elladan and Estel would be fine with it. Elrohir might roll his eyes, but.. who can resist fresh cookies?” Erestor shrugged and smiled.

Gilraen pondered for a moment. “What kind does Elrohir like best?”

“Cranberry walnut,” answered Elrond immediately. “Extra walnuts.”

“I wonder if Rozalia will have time to make them before it is too late to send them out.” Gilraen leaned in and stood on one foot to kiss Elrond’s cheek. “Let me put the order in and I will meet you in the garden for our stroll.”

Now the only two occupants on the ground level of the hall, Erestor and Elrond exchanged looks. “Sounds like I missed a few things while I was gone. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. You missed nothing.” Elrond looked a little uneasy. “It was private. For Estel’s benefit, of course.”

“Of course. Nonetheless, congratulations.” Erestor motioned to the door. “I was actually on my way to the kitchens before my detour, if you would like to catch up to.. your wife?” he tested.

Elrond shook his head. “I think I should find a stableboy to provide cookie delivery later this evening. Good day, Erestor.”

“Good day.” Erestor walked with Elrond from the hall, but paused and watched Elrond continue on to the doors leading out of the house. “Huh.”

It happened that Melpomaen was nearby and he strolled over. “Is something the matter?”

“Not exactly,” replied Erestor. “I was wondering if you had information on Elrond and Gilraen and anything that might have transpired between them. A wedding, perhaps?”

“Oh.. that. Well, yes, you see, I meant to bring it up last night but you were so very tired,” apologized Melpomaen. “I hope I did not overstep my boundaries in that matter, either. They hoped it would be quiet, and when Estel was not around, so that he would not have questions. All for his benefit, of course.”

“Yes, of course,” Erestor parroted. “Thank you, Melpomaen.” He sighed and made his way to the kitchens, passing Gilraen along the way. He briefly stopped to thank her for her intervention in the hall, but she smiled politely, took no credit, and continued on her way, and he on his.

----

Rozalia looked Erestor up and down when he entered the kitchen. “More cupcakes?”

“Not today. Not yet, at any rate,” he declared.

“Not the cookin’ sherry, Erestor…”

“No, too early in the day for that,” Erestor decided. He held out a list of various items. “I had a few requests, if I may.”

Rozalia read it over. “This is.. very strange, Erestor. Very strange indeed. And jus’ what d’you intend to do with two gallons of water, sea salt, fresh lemon juice, maple syrup, and ground pepper powder?”

“I intend to win a horse race,” he answered smugly.

On the day of the festival planned by Gildor, there was more celebration than there had been in welcoming the travelers to Imladris. It was typically reserved for the dawning of summer, but without the seneschal in the valley it was not as thoroughly planned or as enjoyed as most other Tarnin Austa festivals were. With their beloved captain back in the city, it was easy for the inhabitants of Rivendell to enjoy the oncoming autumn, knowing he would be protecting them through the long months of the winter to come.

Perhaps not as well-liked, but more respected, the return of Erestor harkened to the people of Imladris a return to the irreplaceable wisdom of one who had seen the First Age and lived. It was always a pleasure to watch the splendor of a race when their chief advisor was involved.


* * *


As Erestor readied for the race, tightening the lacings on his gloves and checking the buckles on his boots, he watched the masses entering the observation area where they would climb the steps to the long platforms or take up seats in the stands. The jousts usually took place in this arena, and it was both the starting point and end point for all races. Erestor continued to scan the crowd, but was suddenly interrupted by a tug on his sleeve.

“Master Erestor? How may I be of service?”

“Rozalia – so glad you were able to make it,” said Erestor. He pulled out a letter and handed it to the hobbit. “When the race is over, open this, read it, and please take care of the task. Do not open it now,” he warned as Rozalia picked at the seal. “Less than an hour to wait, dear.”

“Oh, I hate waiting, but I will.” Rozalia tucked the letter into her apron pocket.

“I appreciate it.” Erestor took hold of her hand, and knelt down to kiss the back of it. “Can I ask one final favor of you?”

“Indeed, ye can.”

Erestor stood up again and took a white rose that had been resting across his horse’s back. “Usually, Lady Arwen favors me for the races. Would you be so kind?”

Rozalia beamed as she took the flower. “It would be an honor!”

Erestor smiled and kissed the back of her hand again. “You have no idea how helpful you have been,” he said before he led his horse out to the tent where he and Gildor would wait.

Gildor was there already. His clothing and Asfaloth’s tack made Erestor pause. “Are we racing or competing in dressage?” asked Erestor when he finally brought his chosen mount under the tent.

“As long as I win, I do not care,” answered Gildor. He was dressed in gleaming white, and every item from bit to bridle to saddle was white as well. Gone were the bells, though there were white roses, normally reserved for the winner, woven into Asfaloth’s mane and crowned about Gildor’s head. “Forget something?” he asked.

“I hardly need a saddle for five laps around the course.” Erestor was the direct contrast of his competitor. Both his mane and his horse’s were tightly braided, and all clothing and tack was black. Despite everything, Erestor held out his arm to Gildor. “Good luck,” he offered.

“No need for it,” Gildor replied as he clasped Erestor’s arm. He pulled Erestor closer. “By the way,” he whispered low in case anyone was nearby. “I made a little wager with our golden boy.”

Erestor’s eyes narrowed as Gildor refused to loosen his grip.

“There was something about ‘if Erestor wins’, but I forgot that part. Now if I win..” Gildor turned to look into the audience where Glorfindel stood beside Elrond and Gilraen, licked his lip, and turned back to Erestor. “…I am going to ride him like I shall ride his stallion, only much, much harder, until he is so saddlesore he will not leave his bedchambers for a week.” Gildor smiled as he saw his words have the desired effect. “So, good luck to you, councilor. By the way, how was Mirkwood? Vote go alright? Everything redistricted the way you and your ‘brother’ wanted it to be?”

Erestor yanked his hand away. “You motherfu---“ The roar of the crowd as trumpets sounded drowned out the next three sentences that Erestor spat at Gildor, who smirked and adjusted his gloves and collar.

“Ladies and Gentlefolk!” boomed the voice of Glorfindel. “Riding for the Glory of Lindon and the House of Felagund, Gildor Inglorion!” Cheers rose up from the onlookers as Gildor mounted Asfaloth and trotted forward, smiling and waving as several ladies of the court threw favors at him. He slowed his pace before the high platform where Elrond and Gilraen sat and bowed his head to them, and they to him. He winked at Glorfindel, and then took his mark at the line.

“Gildor Inglorion rides the stallion Asfaloth,” added Glorfinel when the applause subsided. Another round rose up, and Asfaloth reared up on cue. Once the crowd was silent, Glorfindel called out, “Riding for the Glory of Greenwood the Great and the House of the Silver Stars, Erestor Tataion!”

The applause grew again, and Gildor gave Erestor a bemused look as the councilor rode forth upon his midnight steed. While his applause was no less than Gildor’s, the only item thrown to him was the white rose from Rozalia, which he caught.

That was until he took his turn in riding up to the platform. As he bowed, a yellow rose fell onto the ground before him. He looked up to see Gilraen standing and looking upon him. ‘Good luck’, she mouthed to him as his squire ran out from the tent to collect up the flower and lift it up. Erestor smelled both of the roses, the white and the yellow, before he handed them back to his squire for safekeeping. “Good job, Estel,” he whispered as he turned the horse around, and his squire beamed, bowed, and ran back to the tent.

As Erestor took his mark upon the line, Gildor made a few last minute adjustments. “Shocked?” asked Erestor as Glorfindel could be heard announcing, “Erestor Tataion rides the gelding Enigma!”

“That you had to ask Elrond’s new wife to favor you? Not really,” answered Gildor as he looked down the course and set his focus on the first marker.

“Oh, no… no, I meant the.. oh, but he forgot to use my title,” said Erestor as he, too, adjusted his posture. “Duke of Emyn Duir – really just a formality of having an official title, as I have no intention of visiting that area any time soon, but luckily I was able to sort it all out with Elrond and my ‘brother’, and what a wonder farspeaking is!”

“I hate you,” growled Gildor as Glorfindel called the riders to their marks.

“You are going to hate me even more before noontime,” promised Erestor.

* * *

It was hardly a match, and then it began. Lords and peasants alike who had bet upon the white stallion and rider were very disappointed as they fell further and further behind. Not once did Erestor look back as he took turns tight enough that even Glorindel held his breath. It was over not more than twenty minutes after it started, with Erestor taking a sixth lap as victor as white roses rained down upon him and his horse.

As soon as the applause died down and the crowd settled, Rozalia remembered the note. She opened it hastily and admired the flowing script that Erestor used. Then, as she read, the meaning of the message hit her, and she quickly stood up and began to excuse herself through the crowd, clutching the letter as she read it to the end. “Silly elves! Good thing they have us hobbits to keep watch over them!”

* * *

“Well that is nonsense! I want a rematch,” demanded Gildor. Glorfindel shushed him gently. “Honestly! No one expects someone to fast for a week! That certainly affected the outcome!”

“I doubt it made that much of a difference,” said Elrond. He turned his attention back to Erestor. “I wish you would have consulted with me. You might have harmed yourself, and none of us would have known the reason,” scolded the lord of the valley.

Erestor, who was sitting on a bench at one of the long tables, was just finishing a salad of leafy lettuce and carrots. “I am much more resilient than you give me credit for. Had you known, you might have stopped me.”

“Damn right I would have stopped you,” admonished Elrond. “A one-day fast for religious purposes is one thing; this was just irresponsible. At least I might have reduced your work load.”

“Maybe.” Erestor moved on to a roll that was stuffed with a large seasoned mushroom top with fried onions and tomatoes and a little mustard. “I did not want to take the chance that you would cancel the race.”

Elrond shook his head. “Your pride is dangerous, my friend.”

“I know. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some eating to do.” He took a large bite and did not chew long before he swallowed. “By the way, Gildor,” called out Erestor as the group was leaving the kitchen, “you need to work on your turns.”

Gildor threw his gloves down onto the ground and stormed out of the kitchen. Glorfindel shook his head and picked up the gloves before he left as well. Elrond sighed. “Why do you need to do that?”

“I was just offering advice. I am an advisor, I advise.” Erestor shrugged. “Long story. Mostly, he rubbed me the wrong way in Doriath.”

“Ah, Doriath.” Elrond wandered closer to the table again. “Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.” Erestor rubbed his nose with one hand and took another bite of his dinner. “He just... he was not respectful of some good friends of mine, including your father-in-law.”

“Really?” Elrond made a mental note to ask his father-in-law about Doriath when he next saw him. “Well, would it kill you to be nice to him som—“

“Yes.” Erestor nodded emphatically. “So, if you want to find me dead on the floor some afternoon, just order me to be nice to him.”

“I can always dream.” Elrond picked up two of the tartlets that Rozalia had just set onto the table for Erestor. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you.”

“What are you upset about?” Glorfindel asked only after spending the entire afternoon trying to work on the budgets for the Last Homely House, while watching Erestor sit at his desk and scribble something now and then as he mostly stared off at an empty space on the wall. The race was nearly three weeks in the past, and both Glorfindel and Gildor were packing – Glorfindel, with plans to join the Summerguard before they returned, and Gildor for Rohan with his followers.

Erestor closed his eyes and rubbed circles around them with his fingertips. “Nothing. Everything is fine.”

“If it was nothing, you would have been more productive this afternoon. Barely anything has been accomplished, and I have no idea how to motivate you. I can tell something is bothering you. If you tell me what, I might be able to help in some way.”

“Just a little mild depression.”

“About what?”

Erestor stretched his arms back behind his head and Glorfindel heard a few tiny pops and cracks. “I just thought maybe I had a chance with her.”

“With... Gilraen?”

“It seemed like Estel was really starting to bond with me, and since Elrond should not have technically been available for any sort of romantic encounter—“

“What makes you think she wants a romantic encounter?” Glorfindel crossed his arms over his chest. “There are a lot of people in this valley who are looking for romantic companionship, and there are some who are not. I think she simply wants someone to commiserate with who can be a surrogate father to her child. As it stands, Estel still believes that Elrond is his father. Until something is said to the contrary, it would certainly not be proper for her to have some affair with someone other than Estel’s father.”

“Except that Elrond is not truly his father, and they probably... well... forget it. You asked me why I was upset, and I have told you. You can do nothing.” Erestor opened the bottom drawer of his desk and began to fix himself a drink.

“You should really cut down on that.”

Instead of putting the bottle away, Erestor poured out an extra portion. He lifted the nearly overfilled glass and barely tilted it, just keeping the liquid contained. “Cheers.”

Glorfindel took off his spectacles and folded them. Placing his hands together, he looked across the joined desks at his companion. “Not everyone needs to have a wife to make them happy.”

“Well, I do. I need someone, dammit.” He drank deeply from the glass, finished it, and brought the bottle out again. “I hardly know what to do anymore.”

It was not long before half of the whisky was drained, leaving Erestor slumped slightly, hand upon his cheek, giving Glorfindel a distant look. “I wish I knew what would make me happy again.”

“Are you unhappy?”

Erestor shrugged.

Glorfindel watched Erestor shakily raise the glass with his other hand. “Do you want to know a secret?” he asked softly.

“Secret? ‘Bout who?” asked Erestor, his words slurring together without much care.

“A secret about yourself,” Glorfindel said. “Something you do. Or actually, something you do not do.”

“Do tell,” insisted Erestor.

“When you drink and get this drunk, you never remember it the next day. You blank out completely.”

“I knew that,” answered Erestor. He tipped his head back and swallowed the remaining liquid from his glass. “It just... ends up easier that way. Sometimes, I need to forget in order to keep going.”

“But you do things that you would not normally do.” Glorfindel stood up from his chair and moved around to the other side of the desk. “There are things... you have said. Things you have... revealed to me.” He smiled and knelt down in front of Erestor and put his hands upon Erestor’s knees. “Things... we have done.”

This seemed to startle and sober Erestor for a second. “So you know then?”

“Mmmhmm.” Glorfindel slid one hand up, between Erestor’s legs. “I know, baby, I know,” he whispered before he withdrew his hand.

Erestor moaned and licked his lips, the taste of the liquor obvious, his tongue swelled from the heavy drink. “Why have you never told me when I was sober?”

“I want you to come to me when you are ready – when you are completely ready. Ready to love me, accept me, accept this, and accept yourself.” Glorfindel rose up again and walked across the room where the door was. Instead of leaving, he locked the door and as an added measure placed a chair beneath the knob to prevent any sudden intrusions into the office. When he looked upon Erestor again, he sighed. “You are beautiful.”

“So are you,” offered Erestor as Glorfindel approached again.

The blond sized up Erestor as he picked up the bottle and poured another glass full for him. “Here. Keep drinking. It takes at least four of these to keep you from remembering in the morning.”

Erestor accepted the glass but did not drink right away. “You should really tell me. It would make life easier for both of us, and I have as much sense as a tomcat in a box at times.”

“Maybe I want to make you suffer a little. Hurt you the same way you keep hurting me.” Glorfindel bit his lip, surprised at how honest he had suddenly become. “You are so stubborn.”

“I am afraid.” Erestor took hold of Glorfindel’s arm and boldly pulled the blond onto his lap. “Liquid courage,” he said, holding the glass aloft.

“Mmmhmm.” Glorfindel nuzzled his cheek to Erestor’s chest. “I hope someday you do not need it any longer. Someday, before it is too late. I want to spend the whole night with you, not just bits and pieces throughout our lives that you never remember.”

Erestor put the glass down. One arm wrapped around Glorfindel, and his other hand smoothed back the blond mane. “My beautiful warrior. I wonder why you wait for me.”

“If you make me wait too long, I will end up Gildor’s bed permanently,” warned Glorfindel gently. Though these encounters were few and far between, he hoped that perhaps one of them would result in Erestor finally being honest about his true feelings. Too much pride was always in the way, coupled with the fact that Erestor seriously seemed to forget everything which transpired. “You are the other half of my soul, you old fool. I wish you would understand that.”

“I wish I was not so frightened.”

“What frightens you so?” asked Glorfindel. “I wish you could tell me,” he added when Erestor did not answer.

“I will. Someday.” Erestor nuzzled against Glorfindel’s neck, and gave a nip to his jaw. “Your scent turns me on.”

Glorfindel could only groan, and push out of his mind how much his heart would hurt in the morning as it always did. Sometimes he thought about keeping the door unlocked in hopes of having someone walk in and catch them. He thought of replacing the liquid in the bottle with water and making Erestor remember in the morning, or leaving the curtains pushed back (when they sometimes stumbled into Erestor’s quarters with a bottle of whisky late at night). He never did, because he still wanted that perfect moment of clarity.

“What are you thinking about?” Erestor had pulled back and looked concerned.

“Us... just wondering how good it will feel when you finally stop playing this silly game. When you finally decide you need me more than anything else, and we spend the whole night together to the morning. When I can finally say good morning and you understand why it is such a good morning every day I see you.” Glorfindel silenced what was sure to be a weak protest and string of excuses from Erestor by pressing his lips to the councilor’s. “Let me find the blankets.”

Glorfindel went to the storage closet where spare quills and paper and other supplies were kept. In this room was also a large lidded crate, and inside of the crate were two soft blankets. One was spread out over the floor, and the other was dropped off to the side. From the bottom of the crate, Glorfindel pulled out a somewhat flat yet adequate pillow. “Are you going to join me?”

“In a moment,” drawled Erestor. He sipped from the glass and slowly unfastened the clasps of his vest. “You look a little overdressed.”

Closing his eyes demurely, Glorfindel stood up and began a slow striptease. Each piece of clothing was removed with care. First his shirt, the laces untied and pulled loose so that the front hung open. Then the pants were unbelted, leather slipping back through each loop separately. Next he unbuttoned his pants, three on the left side, three on the right. They drooped down, and he shimmied out of them.

“Keep the shirt on for now,” advised Erestor.

Glorfindel moved his hands away from the hem of the shirt and stepped out of the trousers. His house shoes were slid off and kicked aside as Erestor chuckled. Glorfindel blew him a kiss and removed his loincloth, pushing it down over his hips and letting gravity pull it the rest of the way to the ground. Erestor let out a low whistle. Finally, Glorfindel reached his head and untied the strip of leather that kept his golden mane tied back. He shook his head, tendrils bouncing forward over his shoulders. “Now can I take the shirt off?”

Erestor shook his head back and forth and set down his glass. He walked over slowly until he was standing in front of Glorfindel. He shrugged off his vest to join Glorfindel’s clothing on the ground, and then pulled his own shirt off over his head.

Grasping Glorfindel at the hips, he pulled him forward with a quick jerk. “You look delicious.”

“Going to eat me up?”

“I just might.” Erestor kissed Glorfindel deeply, and moved around to his jaw and then to his neck. “You taste so good.” He licked Glorfindel’s neck, and then bit the moist flesh savagely. Glorfindel gasped and dug his fingers into Erestor’s shoulders. He was cautious, not too hard, though he wanted to claw at him as he knew Erestor drew blood with his bite. Glorfindel was always careful not to leave any marks that would last into morning, while Erestor was far less cautious.

Then they were on their knees, hair and fingers tangling together, tongues and teeth demanding. Erestor was bold, bolder than usual. “What did you do with Gildor the night of the race?” he suddenly demanded once they were entwined on the floor.

“The race?” Glorfindel panted, eyes opened as he tried to think, distracted by the hands upon him. “Before, or after it happened?”

“Either.” Erestor pinned Glorfindel down by the wrists with one hand, pushed the shirt up with the other, and ran his tongue along Glorfindel’s skin from his navel to his neck.

“N-nothing,” gasped Glorfindel. “He spent.. all night preparing.. and the next day.. he was so angry..”

“Good,” purred Erestor. He finally removed Glorfindel’s shirt and threw it aside. “And when you are with him, do you think of me?”

“Oh… oh, yes. Yes!” Glorfindel gasped as Erestor bit into the fresh wound a second time. “With him, it is never like this. Never like you.”

Erestor kissed and licked across Glorfindel’s skin. “Do I kiss better than he does?” he whispered against Glorfindel’s lips before giving a demonstration and pulling upon Glorfindel’s bottom lip with his teeth.

“Much better,” breathed Glorfindel.

“And his caresses, do they excite you like mine?”

“By far, your touch I yearn for more,” Glorfindel answered with a groan as Erestor’s hands explored the bare flesh. Glorfindel closed his eyes as he was stroked, massaged, groped, and teased by tempting fingertips. He cried out as an open palm struck at him, but he did not move away. Instead, he rolled upon his stomach, heart thumping as the hand struck three times more, and each time, Glorfindel raised his hips a little more, begging for another impact, yearning even for these bursts of pain for the contact they allowed.

And then Erestor was atop him, pressed close, breathing in his ear. There was no mistaking his intentions. “And when he fucks you…” Erestor paused to tug at Glorfindel’s lobe with his teeth.

“Only you do that,” he gasped, hopeful, wanting, needing.

Lying.

And Erestor, drunk though he was, could tell.

Glorfindel trembled at the loss in contact, and bowed his head. “Please.. Erestor..” Glorfindel turned his head to the side to see Erestor sitting on the ground, hands to either side, fingers splayed, disappointed. Or disheartened. Distant. “It would feel so good, if you did. I know it would – I can feel it in my core,” he babbled, still on his hands and knees, until he could tell that Erestor would not try again. Glorfindel crawled over and stroked Erestor’s cheek. “It will. I promise you, someday, it will.” He followed Erestor’s gaze, frowning at what he saw.

The glass had yet remained untouched, but Erestor was eyeing it wistfully.

“It takes more courage to remember than to forget,” stated Glorfindel. “Do this for me?” He took hold of Erestor’s dominant hand and kissed the palm. “Stay with me tonight.” The kisses continued up Erestor’s arm. “Throw caution to the wind. Free yourself. Be one with me. Love me. Love yourself. You are so beautiful,” he tried in one last, desperate attempt.

“I want to, but...” Erestor freed his hand from Glorfindel’s grasp. “I do not mean to hurt you, but I am not yet ready for this.” He reached out and hooked a finger around the glass, pulling it nearer. “Tell me about this someday, though,” whispered Erestor as he lifted the glass to his lips. “This, and all the other times? Promise me?”

“Of course I will,” lied Glorfindel. They had gone through the same conversation many times. Glorfindel watched painfully as Erestor downed the glass in a few swift gulps, and then poured another. “Just... do not make me wait too long.”

* * *

Insistent thumping on the door moved Gildor to answer the summons. He found a very distraught Glorfindel on the other side. “What happened to you?” asked Gildor. He saw, even in the shadows of the hallway, the marks on Glorfindel’s neck. “Who were you with?”

“He was drunk again, and I took advantage, and—“

“You said you were never going to do that again.” The tone was not angry nor condescending, but sympathetic as Gildor rubbed at the dried blood on Glorfindel’s skin. “You promised. After last time—“

“I know. It was stupid.” Glorfindel had obviously been crying before he arrived, but fresh tears were flowing now. “I just keep hoping, and I do not know why, and I am so sorry.”

Gildor frowned, more in pity than anything else. “Come in here, honey. Shhh. Come on. It will be alright.” He moved aside and ushered Glorfindel onto the other side of the door. Once he was inside, Gildor shut the door. “I am not mad. I just worry about you. Erestor is... I could tell you some things, but I know he is your friend, so I try to let you be.”

Glorfindel settled his hand upon Gildor’s bicep. “I do not want to talk about him right now. I came to see you. To be with you. We should go to the bedroom.” He swallowed hard and looked down at the floor. “I love you, Gildor. I want you make love to me tonight.”

Momentarily in shock, Gildor took one of Glorfindel’s hands in his. “Do not say that you love me,” directed Gildor. He lifted his hand and drew a finger down Glorfindel’s lips to his chin to tilt it up again. He then used his thumb to wipe away the tear trails under his eyes before he kissed the swollen lips. He could still taste the whiskey that had been on Erestor’s breath. “Just tell me that you want me. Just say that you need me.”

“Just take me,” pleaded Glorfindel as he began to cry again. “Have me. Now, forever – we can even keep on as we have been,” he suggested. “I do not care how many other lovers you have on the side. I will never ask. I will never be jealous. All I want is us, tonight.”

“Why? Do you really want me to? Or is it so that he cannot have you that first time?” Gildor did not expect nor receive an answer. He brought Glorfindel swiftly to the bedroom, and felt his lover begin to tremble with anticipation. “I cannot do as you are asking me,” said Gildor as he drew Glorfinel near and held him tightly. “You are not ready for that. It would be like breaking a beautiful, wild stallion.” Gildor stepped back and cupped Glorfindel’s cheek in his hand and stroked the soft skin with his thumb. “You are beautiful. I want you to stay that way. I will not steal the light from your eyes simply because you want to hurt him. I am better than he is, and you are better than us both. There are other ways to make you feel better.”

Glorfindel looked to Gildor with pleading eyes and swallowed his sobs. “Show me.”

“I have every intention.”

“Tell me about your father, Ada,” said Estel suddenly.

Elrond turned around. He had thought that the boy was asleep, and was startled when he heard Estel’s voice behind him. “My father? What do you want to know about him, my son?”

Estel sat up in bed. “You never talk about him. I can read books about him, but I want to know about him. What did you like to do with him? What songs did he sing for you when you went to bed at night? What stories did he tell you?”

So many emotions hit Elrond as these questions were asked that it took him a few minutes to compose himself. “He... he was never around much when I was a child,” admitted Elrond. “My mother was around much more than he was. She left my brother and I when we were still very young. I have very few memories of my parents,” Elrond admitted.

“Do you have any?” asked Estel.

“A few,” said Elrond carefully. “I do not know how interesting any of them will be,” he said. Some of them were terrifying. Seeing his mother run from them when she had hidden Elros and himself in the waterfall – that last look at her face, and how pale she was, how terrified she was. Elrond shook his head to remove the image. “I can tell you a little bit, but some of it is very hazy. It has been a long time since I was a child.” Elrond did not add that he had only been a child for a few years, and had grown up far faster than most elven children are required to.

“I would like to know whatever you do remember,” requested Estel. “Please?”

Elrond sat down on the edge of the bed and Estel rested his head back down on his pillow. “Well, I do remember one time, a very long time ago, when my father went hunting. My mother wanted to work on something in peace, and she asked he take my brother and I with him.”

* * *

“Ionin,” called out Earendil. His twin sons poked their heads out of the tent that they slept in at night. “Your mother wants you to come with me. So... come along.” Earendil’s visits were few, and he was somewhat distant with his sons. He did not know quite how to act when he was around, and they had the same trouble. Cautiously, the two heads retreated back into the tent, and the twins emerged fully a moment later. They held onto each other’s hand, with the elder one on the left and the younger one on the right. At least, Earendil was pretty sure that the one of the left was older. He was taller, by just the slightest bit. He had yet to choose names for them, and so the term of endearment would have to do for both of them. “Ionin, we need to find some meat for supper. Come.” He began to walk towards the forest, and after exchanging a look, the twins followed, hands still joined.

Earendil stopped at a cart that was hitched to a pair of horses and unlatached a hook. “I think we shall take care of this from land and air.” He gave a sharp whistle, and a hawk that was preening in the back of the cart hopped from one perch to another and then onto Earendil’s gloved hand. “Let us go.” He continued to walk, and the twins had to run to keep up with their father’s long strides.

“We will look for a clearing,” explained Earendil as they moved further into the woods. “We need to find an area where we will find game.”

“What does the hawk do?” asked the shorter of the pair. It startled Earendil, who had almost forgotten that they were behind him, despite having talked to them as they went.

“Well, the hawk is going to soar into the air and search for game on the ground. If she captures anything, she will bring it back to me. We will see what we can find in the woods. Deer and boar are too large for her. Rabbits and squirrels are not worth our time to seek out, but she can find them easily and bring us a few.” Earendil found a suitable spot and lifted the hood from his hawk. “Go!” He raised his fist in the air, and the hawk spread her wings. She beat them a few times, and then took off for the skies.

“How do you know she will come back?” asked the shorter one. The little one was definitely more curious. Earendil decided he would need to take that into consideration when he came up with names for them.

* * *

“So your father never named you?” asked Estel.

“No. My Uncle Maedhros came up with my brother’s name, and my Uncle Maglor came up with my name,” said Elrond. “I do not know what my mother would have called us, either. She never told us. We were simply Ionin to them both. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” asked Elrond.

“A little bit.” Estel was quiet for a while as Elrond blew out the remaining candles in the room. “Ada?” he asked when the task was complete.

“Yes, Estel?” Elrond could barely make out his son in the darkness.

“Can I give you a name?”

Elrond said nothing for several minutes.

“Unless you do not want me to,” said Estel quickly. He pulled the blanket up to hide under it “Please do not be mad,“ came the muffled voice from under the covers.

“I am not mad,” said Elrond quietly.

“Would you like another name, then?” asked Estel. “You gave me a name, and since you only have one name, I think you should have another one. If you want.” Estel lowered his voice to a tiny whisper. “It could be a secret name that only Momi and I get you use.”

Elrond smiled, unseen to Estel in the darkness. “I would like that, Estel.”

Hidden in the shadows near the doorway, Gilraen smiled, too.