Typical days at the First Homely House of Valinor tended not to be quite so typical. Compared to the lives of the Elves in other parts of Aman, nothing seemed to happen in an ordinary way under Elrond’s roof.

The house itself was experiencing what Celebrian liked to call a ‘transitional period’. The intention had been that all of their extended family members would live in the house by the sea, one of only two buildings in what remained of Alqualonde. This had worked for a little while, but marriages and births caused what might have been a cozy home to become quite crowded.

When the dust settled, over half of the residents relocated. Most moved to Valimar, while some went to the outskirts, near the King’s Kastle, an inn that Thranduil had once run. The establishment was now owned and operated by Elrohir and his wife Glorcheniel, for Thranduil had retired to live in his father’s palace with his wife and elder son Ilmendin, and his wife.

Legolas, however, was much more prone to having an adventuruous nature. When Haldir suggested they stay at the Homely House with Elodien, Legolas offered no resistance to the idea. Also living in the house was Haldir’s wolf, Greyson. Haldir’s son, Gimlin, lived with his wife Mae-Tithen in a cottage upon a cliff overlooking the Homely House. At one time, it had been where Erestor and Glorfindel made their home, but they gifted it and the orchards to Gimlin (who is Erestor’s grandson) and his bride on their wedding day.

It meant that Erestor and Glorfindel had moved into the Homely House, which delighted the other occupants of the house, including Celeborn and Galadriel. For Haldir, it was an amusing thing to have his parents living under one roof, and he beneath it as well. For Rumil, it allowed for many witty jokes, ones which his wife, Nenniach, sometimes aided in setting up.

Elladan and his wife, a Maia by the name of Eluinë, also dwelled in the house, as did a bright pink flamingo by the name of Mitzi, who was a personal friend of Elwing. With the lack of residents and the abundance of open rooms, Elrond openly encouraged family and friends to visit at any time they wished.

It was remarked at times how wonderful it might be to have children running about the house again (usually by Elrond, who believed he had provided his share of progeny, and really just wanted to play with everyone else’s cooing babies at this point, which is sometimes the best way for it means being able to hand them back when a lip wibbles or a diaper needs changing). No one in the house seemed to have much of an interest in the prospect, except for Erestor, who was more than ready to entertain the idea – had it not been utterly biologically impossible, despite Glorfindel’s assurances that if he could conceive, he would have.

It so happened, on one such un-typical typical day, that Elrond entered the house with a sorrowful look on his face. He deposited himself on the couch and heaved a sigh of sadness that turned the heads of those in the parlor.

“What happened?” asked a concerned Celebrian. Her husband had left the house early in the morning three days ago, having been summoned by a frantic messenger. It was now late, the sun having set hours earlier. Celebrian joined her husband, and frowned at the blood that stained the front of his tunic. “What?”

“Just... something very tragic.” Elrond stared into the fire, shaking his head, blinking tears away.

“Did someone die?” Elladan joined his father on the other side, and placed a hand upon his shoulder. “I thought death was, well, I thought it did not happen here.”

“It happens. Sometimes,” said Erestor solemnly. He exchanged a brief glance with Galadriel, and both knew the other was momentarily recalling the kinslaying that happened on the very shores they lived upon.

Elrond continued to shake his head. “Every time I think I have seen it all, something like this happens.”

“What? Elrond, please, you are worrying me,” begged his wife.

Taking hold of Celebrian’s hand, Elrond gave it a squeeze. “There was an accident at one of the grain fields down the southern pass. A horse was spooked and the ellon lost control. He was trampled, hurt pretty badly. His daughter was sitting with him, and she fell and... it was some machine with sweeping blades for cutting wheat.”

“A scyther,” offered Erestor.

“I think so,” said Elrond. “I was less worried about what happened and how, and more on how to fix it.”

“But you managed to save them, right?” Celebrian prodded.

“Almost.” Elrond looked completely defeated. “When I got there, I found that he had been tended to and was resting comfortably. All I had to do was reset one of his legs. The little one, though... no one thought she would make it. So they just put her to bed and kept her sedated.”

Celebrian gasped and looked ready to cry, while Galadriel had a similar reaction. “How could anyone think to do such a thing?” she whispered as Celeborn put his arm around her.

“Keeping her sedated is what saved her, but if they had done more I may have had a better chance.”

Elladan looked confused. “So she made it? Or she might?”

Elrond was silent for a little while. “She is still alive, but I have no idea whether it is for the best or not. There were so many cuts on her. Her wrist was gashed and she was missing fingers on that hand, and... and no one had bandaged her up. I take that back, they wrapped a sheet around her arm so that they did not have to look at it. By the time I arrived, she had lost so much blood and there was an infection spreading into her arm.”

“She was brave, though,” continued Elrond as everyone listened attentively. “I told her what I had to do, and she refused to cry. I made it as quick as I could and I sang to her and... ai. Her parents... what is wrong with some elves these days? They could not understand why I bothered. I was told by her father she was useless to them now, and her mother informed me that they had wanted a son, not a daughter, anyway.”

“Why does Eru keep gifting stupid elves with children?” demanded Celeborn. “You would think there would be a screening process,” he mumbled to himself as Galadriel patted his hand.

“The amazing thing is that, indeed, they have a son. A perfect little baby they were doting over while their daughter slipped in and out of consciousness, her left arm severed at the joint.”

“You should not have left her there,” scolded Celebrian suddenly.

Elrond shook his head. “I had no intention of it, but she needed to stay and regain her strength before I could move her. When I told them I would be back for her, neither of them seemed to care.”

Erestor, who was sitting on the floor and deep in thought, felt the nudge against his shoulder. He looked around at Glorfindel, who simply nudged him again. Erestor began to open his mouth, but turned his head as Elrond again spoke.

“I am assuming there is someone in this room who would more than readily adopt her,” Elrond said, looking directly at Erestor.

“Two someones,” confirmed Glorfindel.

---

“...and you will have a new life, in my house. It is a very big house, with a farm where we grow corn and tap maple trees for syrup. We have horses there, and goats, and even a few sheep.”

“Do you have any cats?” asked Tintilien as Elrond fed her a thin broth. It was the first food the young one had managed to eat in a week, and Elrond was grateful when she asked for a second helping.

“We have a few,” answered Elrond. “I fear I do not know their names. Erestor keeps track of them, though. I am sure he will tell them all to you.”

“He will be my new Ada,” she said matter-of-factly. Elrond nodded with a smile. When he had gently mentioned the idea to the elfling after explaining to her parents what he intended to do (without any interference from them, not that he had expected any), she accepted it as if it was simply something out of the ordinary.

Erestor had wanted to come along, but Elrond made the decision that he would travel alone to tend to the child and bring her back. Although Erestor’s concern was valid, to ease the girl into her new life, Elrond was very aware of Erestor’s temper, and did not want to tend to the neglectful biological father of the elfling, should he and Erestor end up having a ‘discussion’ on parenting.

This turned out to be the best, for it gave everyone time to set up a nursery and find all of the toys and clothing that had been packed away once the last of the children had grown. Tintilien’s impending arrival brought a fair amount of concern to the inhabitants of the house. Exactly how old was she? Would she feel out of place? What were her favorite foods? Was she the sort who would accept Glorfindel as a mother figure as Gwindor had when he had been dropped off on the porch by his family so many years ago, or would she think it too strange and latch onto one of the ladies in the house instead?

No one was as nervous as Erestor, who had been pacing frequently that day. Now, standing by the front door as the carriage with Elrond and Tintilien approached, he took a deep breath and wrung his hands as he watched the horses get closer and closer.

“Stop fidgeting,” advised Celeborn as the carriage came to a stop. “Pretend you aren’t nervous, because otherwise, you are going to put the child ill at ease. Besides, why are you worrying? You happen to be a great father.”

With confidence renewed, Erestor smiled and stepped forward as Elrond ducked down to clear the doorway of the carriage. In his arms was a bundle, a little blonde elfling with curls spilling over her shoulder. She was wrapped in a pink and white quilt, and was sucking on her thumb despite looking a bit old for such behavior.

“Shhh... she fell asleep an hour ago. She needs the rest,” whispered Elrond as he carried her to the front door. Rumil opened the door quickly for him, and Elrond motioned with a nod of his head for Erestor to follow.

They made it to the nursery, and Elrond placed the elfling onto the bed. Then he stepped away, and made a sweeping motion with his hand. “Delivered, one elfling. Your move,” he said to his friend with a smile.

“Tintilien, right?” asked Erestor as he came forward, and Elrond nodded. Erestor knelt down at the side of the bed and tucked the pastel quilt around the elfling. He gave her a kiss on the brow and wished her goodnight, despite the fact she was sound asleep.

“See? Piece of cake,” whispered Celeborn from the doorway.

Erestor nodded and pulled the rocking chair out of the corner. “I think I may just stay here tonight. Then, someone will be here if she wakes up or needs something.”

Elrond nodded and silently left the room. Celeborn started to close the door, and then poked his head back in momentarily. “Told you that you were a good father,” he said, in case Erestor might dispute it later.

“I certainly hope so,” he said to himself in the darkness once everyone had gone.

Outside on the windowsill a pair of tiny birds tweeted their greetings to the young elleth sitting on the other side of the glass panel. Tintilien had her nose pressed against the window. She had attempted to open it twice, but with only one hand, it made the task impossible.

Her stomach had made a few growls, but she was pretty certain that the very tall elf who was asleep in the rocking chair beside the bed was supposed to be her new father. She had a feeling that he more than likely would feel bad if she wandered out of the room and found breakfast on her own, but on the other hand he looked so tired that she would feel worse about waking him before he woke on his own.

Every time she asked Lord Elrond who her new mother would be, he dodged the topic. Tintilien might have been little, and young, but she would be the first to point out she was not as dull as a day spent churning butter. It did not surprise her very much, then, when a very pretty he-elf made a number of passes outside the door until she finally surprised him by opening the door as he walked by. “Well met and good day to you,” said Tintilien politely with a curtsey.

“Oh! Uhm... w-well met, little one.” The ellon bowed slightly at the waist and then stepped into the room. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did.” She pointed at Erestor. “I doubt he is. Who are you?”

“Me? My name is Glorfindel,” he said, taking a pillow from a shelf in the closet. He gently lifted Erestor’s head and slipped the pillow behind. Erestor yawned, but did not wake.

“Is that your bonded mate?”

“What? How do you know about such things?” asked Glorfindel as he stooped down to be eye level with the elfling.

Unable to cross her arms over her chest and look formidable, Tintilien settled for resting her hand at her hip. “I know a lot of things. I ask a lot of questions. Even when people answer them with questions, I still get answers. You two are bound.”

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“You have matching marriage bands,” said Tintilien. “So, am I right?”

“Yes,” answered Glorfindel carefully. “Is that alright?”

“You tell me.”

Glorfindel narrowed his eyes slightly. “You seem pretty adult for such a little one.”

“I get that a lot.” Tintilien went to a tiny table with three little chairs and pulled one of them out. “Have a seat, Glorfindel. I have some questions for you.”

Blinking, Glorfindel stood and shuffled to the table. He wondered why Elrond had not warned them of the little one’s interesting personality, or if the Elf-lord even knew himself how she was. Sitting down, Glorfindel attempted a bit of small talk. “You know, I bet this table would be great for tea parties.”

Tintilien paused her movement. “Tea parties?”

“Sure... you know, tea parties, with your stuffed animals and dollies.”

Scooting her chair up to the table, Tintilien continued to eye up Glorfindel with caution. “I hate tea. Besides, why would have a party with dead animals?”

“No, not dead ones. Stuffed animals... ahm, soft toy animals, like the ones you sleep with.” Glorfindel looked over his shoulder at the bed, and saw no sign of anything of the sort on it. “I guess you do not have one of those.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Sorry.” Glorfindel made a mental note to acquire a stuffed animal for the child the first chance he had.

“Can I ask my questions now?”

“Yes. Ask anything you want,” offered Glorfindel.

Tintilien leaned her chin on her hand. Both of her elbows were resting on the table, and Glorfindel concentrated on looking at her face and keeping his eyes trained on her dark brown ones so that he did not glance at the healed stump where her left forearm once had been. She looked past Glorfindel to Erestor, still asleep in the rocking chair. “Is he older than you are?”

“Much,” answered Glorfindel almost immediately.

“How much?”

“Many years.”

“How many years?”

“More than ten thousand.”

Tintilien’s eyes grew huge, but only momentarily. “How long would it take to count that?”

“About three or four hours, depending on how fast you spoke.”

Now Tintilien gave Glorfindel a look of disbelief. “How can you know that?”

“I happen to be a mathematician,” answered Glorfindel smugly, which was true. Elves, as a whole, were terrible with figures, but equations tended to be as natural to Glorfindel as shooting an arrow in the middle of a mark. Actually, in some ways, shooting an arrow in the middle of a mark WAS an equation, but Glorfindel had given up explaining that to his contemporaries many centuries ago.

“So you just add numbers all day?”

“No, I do a lot of things. But sometimes, yes, I spend time adding numbers.”

“That sounds boring.”

The ellon smirked. “I get that a lot,” came Glorfindel’s reply.

“What does he do?” asked Tintilien, looking at Erestor again.

“He is a librarian, and a private tutor. Sometimes he writes, too, and he occasionally acts.”

“Acts?”

“On stage.”

“Oh.” Tintilien nodded her approval. “So you are both scholars.”

“Now we are. When we were in Middle-earth, we were more like warriors. Not like, we were,” corrected Glorfindel.

“Ah. You have nice hair,” remarked Tintilien.

“Thank you.” Glorfindel heard the faint sound of an empty stomach and asked, “May I pose a question?”

“You just did.”

“May I ask another?”

Tintilien tried not to smile. “Again, you already have.”

“Oh, you and Erestor are going to get along SO well together.” Glorfindel shook his head. “I was going to ask if you were hungry, and if you wanted to come with me to have some breakfast.”

“Yes, please.” Tintilien stood up and followed Glorfindel from the room. They did not need to walk far to get to the kitchen. Although no one was there, someone had left a plate of potato pancakes and a bowl of applesauce on the table, along with a pitcher of juice and three cups.

“Apparently, someone was much more optimistic that Erestor was going to be joining us,” said Glorfindel as he poured juice for them and set the third glass aside.

They ate in silence for a while, which was something of a relief for Glorfindel. It seemed that Tintilien could not go very long without asking questions, however. As Glorfindel refilled her glass, she inquired about Erestor once more. “How did you fall in love with him?”

Glorfindel shrugged. “I just did.”

“Does everyone accept it, or do they just tolerate it?”

“What?” Glorfindel set down his glass. “What do you mean?”

“You know, do they like it, or do they just put up with it?”

Taking a deep breath, Glorfindel let it slowly out. “We happen to be very lucky to have a very understanding family, who is very open-minded. I know that a lot of others, even my own father for example, would rather not ever see or hear of a same gender bond, but Erestor and I are fortunate to be among friends.”

Tintilien frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I am... answering your question.”

“I meant, because he is so old. Most of the time, the gap in age is hardly more than ten years. Does anyone ever say anything about that?”

Glorfindel, full of relief, chuckled. “You could care less that Erestor and I are both male.”

“Why would that matter?”

“Can I hug you?” asked Glorfindel. Instead of waiting for an answer, he leaned over the table, minding the applesauce, and embraced Tintilien. “I think I love you.”

Tintilien was distracted by Glorfindel’s hair, which was close enough for her to touch for a few moments. “Your hair is so shiny.”

“Thank you. I take really good care of it,” he said as he settled back down.

“Can you show me how?” she asked. “Mine is so dull, but I wish it was soft like yours.”

“I would love to help you with it,” beamed Glorfindel.

‘This one is too easy,’ thought Tintilien. ‘Which makes me wonder how the other one is.’ She drank the rest of her juice quietly before she asked, “Did you both fall in love with each other at the same time?”

“No. I was in love with Erestor for a very long time before he returned my love.”

“What did he do that made you fall in love with him?”

“He fell off a horse.”

“Really?”

Glorfindel nodded. “He fell off a horse and into a river, into the mud.”

Tintilien giggled. “That must have been really funny to see.”

“It was, but I was also mad and worried because someone made Erestor’s horse run wild. Luckily, I was there and I was able to save him.”

“But what if that was what made you fall in love with him, and if it had not happened, you never would have?”

“I never thought about it that way,” admitted Glorfindel.

“So, do the others tolerate the two of you or do they accept you, when it comes to your ages?”

“For the most part, I think they are accepting of it. I know there are one or two who tolerate it, but personally, they either think of Erestor as a per—as a person who ended up with someone too young, or they say I should not have fallen in love with someone so much older than me.”

“That is very interesting,” said Tintilien, but she did not elaborate why. “So your own father did not accept the fact you are inverted?”

“Inverted? Where exactly did you pick that up?”

“My grandmother. She told me it is not polite to say gay or queer, even though that is what my father used to refer to one of the helpers he had that worked in the stable. She told me it is much better to use the word ‘inverted’.”

Glorfindel picked at the tablecloth with his thumbnail. “I think I might be less insulted to be referred to as faggot than as inverted.”

The expression on Tintilien’s face showed her concern. “I thought a fagot was used for kindling.”

“There are probably some people in the world who might agree with you about that.” Glorfindel shook his head. “That was wrong of me to even say what I said. It just happens to be a very, very offensive way of referring to those like me.”

“You sound like the sort of person who dealt with a lot of people who did not accept you.”

“Most of them did not even tolerate me, either. But most of that was way back in Middle-earth, not here.”

“There you are.” Erestor entered the kitchen, stretching his arms over his head. “I was a bit worried when I woke and you were not in your bed.”

“Glorfindel and I were just having a discussion about tolerance, and how old you are,” Tintilien explained. She slid the plate of pancakes to Erestor, whose mouth was hanging open and asked, “Would you like apple sauce?”

“No, thank you, just the salt.” Erestor sat down, and looked down the table at Glorfindel, who was avoiding his gaze. “So I am old, am I?”

“You are very old,” said Tintilien. “Much older than Glorfindel. But I would not worry; you can hardly see the wrinkles.”

“The what?” Erestor laughed, slightly uneasily.

“The wrinkles.” Tintilien climbed across two chairs and sat down on Erestor’s lap. “These, wrinkles, here, Ada. The ones at the corners of your eyes, from laughing a lot.”

If Erestor had planned to retort, it was swallowed upon hearing the word ‘Ada’. He smiled, and looked down the table at Glorfindel, who was smiling back at him now.

As for Tintilien, she had decided she was tired again and was snuggling against her new father’s warm chest. ‘Who knew this one was going to be easier than the first?’ she wondered to herself before she drifted back to sleep.

“So, I am old?” questioned Erestor after he had carried Tintilien back to her bed. He was tucking her in as Glorfindel opened the window to let in fresh air.

“She brought it up, not me. I am going to warn you, though, she is going to be a handful. How old did Elrond say she is?”

“Eight. Why?”

“She was saying things I would hardly expect from an eighty-year-old.”

Erestor nodded. “I know. I was standing outside the door for a few minutes.”

“So you... you heard everything, then?” asked Glorfindel, standing by the window with his back to Erestor.

“Yes.” Erestor walked to the window and drew the curtains to dim the room. “I was thinking, since it looks as if she is going to nap this afternoon, that maybe I should go find a horse to fall off of.”

“Into a river?” asked Glorfindel hopefully as he trailed out of the room behind Erestor.

“Oh, perhaps I can tolerate falling into a river, as long as the water is warm enough” answered Erestor.

Glorfindel smiled. “I can accept that.”

After lunch on that first day, Elrond examined Tintilien’s injury, noting that it had been agitated during the journey. Until she healed fully, she was confined to the house. Most of her time was spent sleeping, eating, or sitting in bed with her new Ada Erestor at her side, which might have been boring, had she not been a resourceful girl. Tintilien soon discovered a favorite activity: Asking Erestor questions he could not answer, or had a difficult time answering.

“What does dragon breath smell like?”

“No one would ever get close enough to one to know and live to tell the…” Erestor paused. “Actually, I knew someone who may have, but I never asked him what the breath of the dragon smelled like.”

“I thought librarians knew everything,” prodded Tintilien, her voice gentle, yet firm.

Erestor fought the urge to glare. “Contrary to that bit of misinformation, librarians know how to find everything, but not necessarily what the answer is immediately to everything.”

Tintilien yawned and drew closer the crude sock puppy Glorfindel had managed to make for her. Unknown to the little one, there was already a menagerie of stuffed animals in process, but Glorfindel insisted that she have something now. “So where would you find information on what dragon breath smells like?”

“I would suppose in a book about dragons.”

“Do you have a book about dragons?”

“No.” Erestor did not offer that Elrond had a book, having read it already and knowing that no such note on dragon breath was in the volume.

“Then we shall need to get one.” Tintilien used her hand to flop the ears of her sock puppy one way and then the other. “How fast can unicorns run?”

“Unicorns... well... I guess they could run as fast as horses, if they really existed.”

Tintilien gave her ada an odd look. “You do not believe in unicorns?”

“Of course I do not. In all my years, I have never seen one. They do not exist.”

Tintilien sat up. “I have never seen Manwe, but I know he exists. I have never seen Illuvatar, but I know he exists. Just because you never saw a unicorn, how do you know they are not real? My grandfather told me they are real.”

Erestor sat, stunned, his own explanation used to try to convince nonbelievers now being turned against him. He was saved by Glorfindel, who entered the room with a tray, three bowls of steaming soup and a loaf of baked bread upon it. “Glorfindel, are unicorns real?” asked Erestor by way of greeting as he was handed a bowl of soup.

The blond laughed. “Good afternoon to you as well, and why do you ask me such a silly question?” Glorfindel shook his head. “Of course unicorns are real; why else would there be a section in ‘Celegorm’s Guide to Beast and Fowl’ on how to hunt unicorn if there are no unicorns.” He sat down on the edge of the bed after setting up the tray for Tintilien with her lunch upon it, and gave the elfling a wink, then led them in a blessing over the food before they ate.

With a frown, Erestor started to eat slowly, making a note to track down this guide of Celegorm’s in order to check his references. In bed, Tintilien cleared her throat, and Erestor looked up. “I have more questions for you.”

Giving her a wary look, Erestor said, “Go ahead.”

“Ulmo spends most of his time in the water, right?”

Erestor nodded.

“When I spend too much time in water, your skin gets wrinkly, right?”

Again, Erestor nodded, thinking he would triumph in being able to answer the next question as well.

“So why is Ulmo’s skin not wrinkly when he comes out of the water?”

“Because Master Ulmo is a Vala, and the Valar can change their appearance. They can also aid in changing the appearance of others; Ulmo gave Elwing, Elrond’s mother, new life as a white sea-bird.” Erestor seemed slightly smug as he tore off a hunk of bread from the loaf.

“Then why can you not change your shape? You said your ada was Orome, and he is a Vala, so that means you should be able to change shapes. You could do a unicorn,” added Tintilien as an afterthought.

“No, no, it does not work that way. I am only half Ainu, so I am unable to do everything a full blooded Ainu can do.” Erestor dunked the bread into his bowl.

Tintilien took a spoonful of soup and tipped the broth away from the vegetables before eating it. “Luthien could do it. She was only half.”

Once more, Erestor became silent, this time suffering from an epiphany of sorts. “Well, it was not something I ever learned to do, and I think by now I am much too old to learn. There is no way to teach an old dog new tricks.”

“My grandfather taught an old dog a trick once,” countered Tintilien. Sitting further down the bed, Glorfindel concealed his mirth by shoving another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

Erestor bowed his head in silence, fighting the urge to tell his daughter not to ask any more questions. He always loved inquisitive children, but not when they were this frustrating!

“I have another question,” piped up Tintilien.

“Yes?” asked Erestor strained voice.

“Who is Illuvatar’s father?”

“Well... He does not have a father. He is the Father of everyone else.”

“But who made Him?”

“He just... He... He was... uh... well, you see... He...” Erestor gave Glorfindel a desperate look.

“Eru came before everything else. He was the first being, the first anything, to be. There always has to be something, right? Well, He was first.”

Tintilien nodded, and Erestor mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ to Glorfindel, which was returned with a smile.

“How long do balrogs live?”

The question caused both of the adults to pale, and Erestor set his bread aside. “Sweetheart, we try not to use the b-word if at all possible.”

Giving a nod, Tintilien asked, “How long do Valarauko live?”

Glorfindel winced at hearing the name of the demon. “Why would you want to know that?”

“Because...” Having no answer, Tintilien quieted for a moment and then said, “My grandfather told me that once they die,” she paused and whispered, “balrogs”, before continuing with, “cannot come back because they get unexisted.”

“That I do not know,” Erestor admitted. “Nor do I know how long a balrog lives. Most of them were older than me at the time they were around.”

“Are there anymore balrogs left?”

“Just one, but he was just a baby. A friendly little balrog; he is in Middle-earth with the dwarves, under the mountains,” explained Erestor.

“How old is he?”

Apologetically, Erestor shrugged. “I never kept an accounting of balrog ages in Middle-earth.”

“Hmm.” Tintilien looked very disappointed and stifled a yawn. “My grandfather told me once that there are three people who should know more about balrogs than anyone else: Ecthelion, Erestor, and Glorfindel. Is there another Glorfindel or another Erestor I should know about?”

“No,” Glorfindel replied quickly, which was followed up just as quickly with, “Who is your grandfather?”

“My grandfather is my old father’s father.” Tintilien said this matter-of-factly, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Who do you think he would be?”

“What is his name, Tintilien?” Erestor was now equally as curious as Glorfindel.

Tintilien yawned, and then frowned. “I just call him grandfather.”

“But what do others call him?”

“Everyone else I knew called him Ada.”

Erestor sighed and began to stack the bowls and brush the crumbs from the bed. “Perhaps Elrond might know.”

Wrinkling her brow, Tintilien asked, “Are you going to find him and tell him that unicorns are not real and that you do not know about balrogs?”

“Oh, I know about balrogs,” Erestor corrected as he tucked Tintilien back into bed. “I just do not know everything there is to know about them.” He sighed and shook his head. “Why do you not ask normal questions like children your age?”

“Like what?” wondered Tintilien sleepily, sock puppy at her side.

“Like... where do elflings come from?” suggested Erestor, having dealt with the same query from Gwindor, all of Elrond’s children, Rumil, Ilmendin, and a handful of others when they had been Tintilien’s age.

“Oh, that. I know that already. My grandfather told me.” Tintilien snuggled into the blankets and soon was fast asleep.

“I think we have a question of our own to answer now,” said Glorfindel quietly as he stood and picked up the tray. Glorfindel waited for a reply, but received none as Erestor sat down and chewed his bottom lip. “What is wrong?”

“This grandfather... you think he knows where she is? Do you think he might try to take her away, to go live with him?”

“If he tries,” said Glorfindel, “he is going to have a balrog slayer to deal with.” He leaned over and kissed Erestor’s cheek, and then whispered, “Two, actually,” but Erestor put a finger to his lips and shook his head. Glorfindel nodded, but added, “I have a feeling if she was told that you are an expert, she already knows about that.” He gave Erestor another kiss, and then placed one upon the slumbering elfling’s forehead before leaving the room.

As it turned out, Elrond had no information regarding Tintilien’s other relatives, and a letter to her former parents went unanswered. It was therefore a happy coincidence that Elladan happened to be at the King’s Kastle visiting Elrohir when an ornery old ellon entered in a huff and ordered a pint of ale as he dropped down on the stool next to the peredhel. “Stubborn as his mother,” was all the stranger said at first, rubbing his face with his hands.

The twin brothers merely exchanged smirks with one another as Elrohir paused their conversation in order to retrieve the drink for this new customer. “Something bothering you, friend?” he asked as he placed the mug in front of the elf.

He was answered with a grunt as a shiny coin skidded toward him. No more was said, and Elrohir returned to his conversation with Elladan. “I made two stuffed cats and a stuffed rabbit. She needs a bunny if she is living in that house. What else do you think she would like?”

“Maybe a dog. I have a design for a stuffed goat, but I modified it and made it look like a unicorn instead. Glorfindel said she seems fond of those. Did I tell you about the sock puppy he made her?”

“No – please, tell me they were clean socks,” added Elrohir with a snicker.

“Of course they were clean! He used ones with holes in the toes and patched them up, and then he used some extra blue dye that Nana had. It looks raggedy, but cute. Oh, I have been working on a baby doll, too. Ada finished sculpting the head, so I brought it with me. I thought perhaps Glorcheniel might paint the face on. Rumil tried, but it came off much too comical, so if she has time-“

“Why is it,” said the newcomer suddenly, “that children act so damned irresponsible sometimes?” His fist hit the counter at every word after ‘act’, spilling a little beer onto the wooden surface. He looked at the twins for an answer, flinching for a moment to see that they were so similar in appearance to one another. “Or are neither of you a father?”

“Not me,” answered Elrohir happily, cleaning up the spill before excusing himself to the other end of the bar.

“I have a son.” Elladan turned to face the other elf. “Sometimes, he vexes me. Then I think back to all of the things I did to my own parents... all then it seems I am only getting what I deserve,” he grinned.

“Hmmhh. Well, I was a good son. I followed my father faithfully, may he rest in peace; I was not one to question his authority.” The ellon drank deeply and set his mug to rest again. “True, no parent is perfect, but advice should be heeded when given. How old is your son?”

“Few hundred years. I gave up counting after he turned fifty.”

The ellon nodded. “I suspect mine is older than you, by far. So I cannot blame his stupidity on lack of experience.” He drummed his fingers upon the counter. “I did not raise him; his mother did. For that reason, he sees me as an outcast.”

“Were you... away or something, that you were unable to care for him?”

“I was never told about him, until I was reborn and heard rumors and tracked him down.” The elf held his head proudly and said, “I would not have knowingly abandoned my child.”

“I believe you,” said Elladan. The power in this elf’s voice was captivating, and just a little scary to the peredhel.

“He grudgingly allowed my visits, until his wife became with child. Then they were only too glad for my company, though it was a way to have someone else build the addition on their home and provide spur of the moment care for their elfling when she was born. Not that I cared – I love my granddaughter with all of my heart, and I loved her before I knew her name, and before she was ever born. I dare say I loved her more than he did, and I now I know that to be true.”

Something jolted Elladan, like suddenly waking up and having the answer. Unable to trust his instincts alone, he pushed for more information. “What happened? Is she alright?”

“That is what I would like to know.” The look on the ellon’s face went from angered to concerned, cooling his temper a little. His face was still flushed, bringing out the red highlights in his dark hair. “I went to see her, and I was told that she was gone. No other answer was I given, and then I was told to leave. I have to find her; I have no friends and have done an excellent job alienating my very own family. She is all I have left.”

---

Elladan and his new friend dismounted behind the house and walked their horses to the barn. “I think it might be best if I go in first and explain things, and then have you come in,” suggested Elladan.

“No disrespect, but if you do that, please, do not be long. I am aching to see her again and to know what has happened.”

During their hasty ride back, Elladan declined to answer one question: why? “It is best for my father to explain, or for Erestor to tell you. Perhaps you should even hear it from your own granddaughter, but from me, it is barely secondhand.”

They approached the front of the house slowly, finding Elrond and Celebrian sitting on the porch swing. Elrond stood as the pair approached and greeted his son with the clasp of hand before turning his attention to their guest. “You are welcome here, son of Feanor. I need not guess your reason for coming; I should have considered you were her grandsire.”

“Son of Earendil, how would you have known, lest my bastard son tell you it was I. Let us speak less of child and more of my grandchild. Specifically, where she is, and what has happened to her.”

Elrond nodded and moved aside to allow the other elf to climb the steps to the porch. “She is well, all things considered.” Elrond told the tale, the anger of their guest renewed to hear of his granddaughter’s fate. “She is in the best of care, I assure you that her recovery has been steady, if not swift.”

“I would not expect it to be fast; she is peredhel.” This was said without malice, only as a matter of fact. “May I see her?”

Giving a slow nod, Elrond opened the door to the house and led the way inside. Within, a cacophony of noises came from all directions. They passed the kitchen, where Galadriel was making a stew and gently shoving her husband away from the pot he kept sneaking tastes from, insistent that there would be none left when it was done from all of his tasting. Rumil and Legolas were sitting on the bench in the hallway, carving wood for a new kitchen chair and swapping jokes. In the parlor, a fire was lit, and Haldir played flute in his favorite corner while Elodien and Glorfindel played a game of chess. “Where is Erestor?” asked Elrond as he entered with the little party that followed him in.

“He is—“ Glorfindel paused, sucking in his breath as he saw the figure behind Elrond. “He and Tintilien will be right back. She had to use the loo, and you know, she has trouble with the door handle.”

Haldir put down his flute, bringing about an eerie silence. Moments later a joyful nonsense song could be heard coming from the hallway.

“I, did it, all by, myself; I, did it, all by, myself—Glorfindel!” Tintilien rushed past the group at the entryway and practically jumped into Glorfindel’s lap. “I did it all by myself! I got the door open without help this time! This hand is getting stronger, look!” She wiggled the fingers of her right hand, and then grabbed hold of one of Glorfindel’s fingers and gave it a squeeze.

Erestor, grinning as he now entered, folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorway. A split second later, he glanced around, and his expression dissolved when he saw the ellon who did not look as if he belonged. “Caranthir,” he said, and the elf turned around, and bowed his head slightly.

Tintilien looked away from Glorfindel, and gave a delightful squeal. “Grandfather!” She tumbled off of Glorfindel’s lap, steadied herself, and ran into Caranthir’s open arms as he knelt down to greet her. “Grandfather, I missed you!”

“I missed you too, snowflake. Oh, now, what is this?” He took her injured arm by the shoulder, brushing it gently with his thumb. The wound had healed and was unbandaged now, but there still remained an ugly bruise and discolored skin. Bending his head, he kissed her upon the nose. “I am sorry, baby, I should have taken you away from there long ago, and then this never would have happened.” Caranthir gathered Tintilien into his arms and held her tightly.

“But then I never might have met all these nice people,” she said, but it was muffled and mumbled against Caranthir’s cloak.

Meanwhile, Erestor stood helplessly by, not daring to look at the scene unfolding before him. The room cleared out, leaving only Caranthir, Erestor, Tintilien, and Glorfindel, who absently shifted the chess pieces around the board, glancing now and then at the happy reunion.

The awkward period was broken by Galadriel, who slipped past Erestor to announce, “Dinner is ready; I suggest anyone who wishes to be fed come to the kitchen before Celeborn eats it all.”

Caranthir looked up, and it seemed to surprise him to see her standing there. “You live here, too?” he asked warily.

“Yes, and if you are staying, you will be forced to put up with my cooking as well.” She stepped out of the room and went back to the kitchen, but only after placing her hand upon Erestor’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

“So... this is a House of Finarfin,” said Caranthir as he stood up to address Erestor.

“No, this is the House of Elrond. It only just happens that a few of Finarfin’s line live here. My son happens to be one of them,” added Erestor.

“I see.” Caranthir glanced across the room at Glorfindel as Tintilien tugged on her grandfather’s sleeve. “Yes, baby?” he asked, giving her head a pat.

Tintilien point toward the kitchen. “I am hungry. Are you going to stay for supper?”

“If I am welcome to, then yes, I will.”

Beaming, Tintilien headed to the kitchen and called back, “I will save a spot for you next to me!”

Caranthir walked slowly around the room, keeping a careful eye on either Erestor or Glorfindel as he did. Erestor walked the opposite way, stopping when he was behind Glorfindel’s chair. “Will you be leaving tonight or in the morning? I would prefer morning; it would give us a proper chance to say...” Erestor looked away from Caranthir and added, “to say goodbye to her.”

With brow furrowed, Caranthir tilted his head slightly. “You think I came to claim her and take her away?”

“I assumed,” answered Erestor.

As he looked around the room again, Caranthir sighed. “I can see that she would be better off here. Here she will have a family, and she will have parents, and she will have all of the opportunities she should have. With me, she would have small house to share with a sometimes grouchy old elf who is often victim of rotten eggs and vegetables being thrown at him. I do not need her to know about that part of my life, and I do not need her to suffer through that. What I came to do was beg you to allow me to see her from time to time.”

“Whenever you wish,” spoke Glorfindel, who was clearly moved by Caranthir’s words. “You are her kin, and you are welcome here.”

-End Part Four-

“Thank you.” Caranthir took the warm mug of cider from Galadriel, as well as a cinnamon biscuit from the tray she held out. Galadriel nodded and moved to the other side of the room, where Glorfindel and Erestor were sitting together on the couch. Erestor shook his head, but Glorfindel scooped up three of the treats and after setting two aside dipped the third in his coffee.

“The guest room is ready for you, whenever you wish to retire. Celebrian is putting fresh linens on the bed right now.” Galadriel set the tray on the table nearest to Caranthir and took her leave.

Erestor broke the silence after he heard the rest of the family clear out of the kitchen and hallway to retire for the night. “The fact she is peredhel explains a few things – the time it has taken for her to heal and her height for one her age.”

“Her grandmother was one of the Haladin. As I said, I was not aware of what had happened at the time that it did. It was only when I came here that I learned of Thargethir, my son. He hates me for the fact he is half-elven. As soon as he was able to sail he did.” Caranthir set aside his mug and leaned back against the chair, then propped his feet upon a small table. “He chose to be Elven, he came here and has prospered. I do not know why he still holds such a grudge against me. Then again, I never was very likable.”

“It was a fortunate thing that you encountered Elladan and that he was able to lead you here,” said Glorfindel.

“That it was.” Caranthir said nothing more for a while, and neither Erestor nor Glorfindel wished to press him with too many questions just yet. When the Feanorian began to look restless, the other two Ellyn said their goodnights and left Caranthir in the parlor with his thoughts.



For the next week, they hosted Caranthir. Tintilien was delighted to have her grandfather close, and at times Erestor felt he was a burden for being there. The dark elf was thankful, however, that as noticeable as Caranthir’s presence was, he did not interfere with the routine Erestor and Glorfindel had imposed. Bedtimes were still abided by, no matter how much pouting and whining ensued. A tantrum had consequences, and Caranthir made no attempt to intervene with her punishment during the final evening of his stay, when at dinner Tintilien threw a roll across the table in frustration. In fact, his reaction to the incident seemed to surprise the elfling.

Erestor had been out of the room, and Glorfindel was across the table – the target of the assault, in fact, for reminding her softly to finish what was on her plate before taking more food. As the object flew from her hand, Elrond, sitting on her right, hoisted her up with the skill of a father with much practice in this sort of thing, gave her three sharp spanks on her rear, and sat her back down. “When we are finished, you will clean the kitchen,” he told her in no uncertain terms.

Although she was not hit hard at all, her pride was greatly injured at having been disciplined in front of her grandfather. Her bottom lip trembled, and she turned to Caranthir, sitting at her left. She said nothing, letting the tears well up in her eyes and the sniffles speak for her until Caranthir finally turned to acknowledge her.

“You deserved about ten strikes for that, and what is more, Glorfindel still is owed an apology from you.”

Tintilien blinked, the tears dissipating. Shame colored her face as she mumbled words asking Glorfindel for forgiveness. The golden elf nodded, reached across the table, and squeezed her hand.

When Erestor entered, Caranthir waited until all greetings had been said before putting forth a suggestion. “The more I have been thinking about it, the more I think it would be a good idea.”

“What idea?” asked Erestor as he gathered up some food on a plate and then took it to the counter to eat, owing to the lack of available seating and not wanting to go into the parlor.

“For my brother to visit, if you would allow it. He always had a fondness for children.” Caranthir smiled and looked past his granddaughter to Elrond.

“Maedhros?” guessed the lord of the house, for as of yet Maglor’s fate remained to them all a mystery.

“Aye, if it would be allowed.”

The warm smile on Elrond’s face seemed to brighten the room. “I would dearly love to see him again. He is ever welcome here in my home, as he once welcomed me into his.”

“Then tomorrow, I shall set off to seek him,” said Caranthir happily. “Of course, I would wish it to be well with you, too, Erestor.”

“Of course. I have never had quarrel with your brother.” Erestor frowned. “Or is it that he thinks ill of me?”

“And they say I am jaded!” Caranthir shook his head. “No, no, I just did not wish to impose upon anyone, or interrupt plans in any way.”

Erestor shrugged before returning his attention to his supper. “I see no reason why that should be a problem.”

Midweek, when Erestor returned home from his workday in Gondolindon, he was surprised to see three horses more than were usually in the stable. One he recognized as Caranthir’s; the other two were unfamiliar to him, but also bore the symbol of Feanor’s house. Erestor wondered which other son had come along, hoping as he entered the house that it was Amrod or Amras (though that was unlikely as they always traveled together) instead of Celegorm or Curufin who had accompanied Maedhros.

It was quite a shock to him when he came into the parlor. The happy little nonsense song he half-sung, half-hummed died on his lips as he saw who was there. He turned abruptly, hoping no one saw him, and walked to the nearest open room, which happened to be Elrond’s study.

Glorfindel was immediately on his heels, having known he was home before catching a glimpse of him in the parlor. “Glad you are back. I missed you.” The golden elf draped his arms down over the back of the high leather chair Erestor plopped into and gave his husband a kiss on the side of his head, the easier place for him to reach in this position. “I made vegetable pies for supper.”

“What is he doing here?” Erestor asked, half whisper and half whine. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “Did you invite him or did he invite himself? And why is he on one of their horses?”

“Actually, it is his horse, and the blanket that adorns it is for the same reason you tell others you belong to the House of the Golden Flower.”

“What happened to Fingon?”

“I do not know,” said Glorfindel with a shrug. “I thought it rude to ask.”

Rubbing his head, Erestor sighed. ‘I have a headache. And I need a drink.” He stood and roamed the room, gathering an empty glass, a bottle of the cordial Elrond was so fond of, and a vial of blue-grey powder. The powder was sprinkled liberally in the bottom of the glass, a sip of cordial added and swished around.

“I thought that is to be administered with water,” voiced a concerned Glorfindel as Erestor drank the concoction, then poured himself a full glass of the liquid. The bottle was more than halfway empty now, and Glorfindel stealthily snuck it away and replaced it upon the shelf. “Erestor, for what it is worth, he has been very polite.”

Erestor turned his head to the side and looked about to say something, but drank again instead.

Crouching down beside the chair, Glorfindel placed his hand on Erestor’s knee. “Slow down. You know how that stuff affects you.”

“Yes, I know. I have to be amiable enough not to... do something to him.”

“Maybe you should go to bed; I can get Tintilien to sleep later.”

“No. I should go out there and be a good host.” He downed the rest of the alcohol and licked his lips. “Disadvantage of not having our own home anymore,” he said gruffly.

They walked out of the study and back into the parlor, where Tintilien sat on the floor with Caranthir playing with a set of colorful toy blocks he had brought with him. “Good evening, Erestor,” greeted Caranthir without getting up or looking that way.

Erestor nodded, his eyes on his daughter, who was so engrossed in her new toy she did not look up. Briefly, Erestor glanced at Maedhros and the elf that sat beside him. Glorfindel had taken a seat on one of the chairs again. “Just had to take care of something in the other room,” apologized the blond. He touched the arm of the chair next to his. “Erestor, come sit by me, you must be tired.”

Again, Erestor looked uncomfortable at the idea of entering the room. “I think I am going to go out and get some air,” he said abruptly.

Tintilien suddenly looked up. “In the dark?”

“I take walks at night sometimes,” he gently defended. “I was cooped up all day and I think I could use a little stroll.”

“Are you sure? It feels like rain is coming,” said Glorfindel.

With a frown, Erestor said, “It was a clear sky when I came in. If there is rain, it is far off.”

“Can I come?” Tintilien shoved the blocks she was playing with aside and started to stand.

“I may be out past your bedtime, sweetie.”

“Uncle Gildor said he would tell me a story. If you do not get back before he does, can he tuck me in, too?” asked Tintilien as she pulled the pile of blocks closer.

Erestor swallowed the knot in his throat. “Glorfindel can take care of that,” he said curtly before walking briskly down the hall.

His stomach rumbled as he passed the kitchen. Per usual, he had managed a meager breakfast and skipped lunch altogether, yet Erestor kept walking. He reached the door and pulled it open as a crash of thunder sounded overhead.

Narrowing his eyes, Erestor scanned the front yard. The rain was persistent and was turning the sand further east into soppy mush. Still, a little water never hurt anyone.

Placing one foot outside, lightning streaked again and the resounding crash that followed rattled paintings and dishes in the cupboards. A torrent spilled forth from the heavens and Erestor resignedly shut the door. He stood at the bottom of the stairs for a bit, trying to decide whether to hide in the depths of the house or to return to the parlor. Movement caught his eye and he saw Glorfindel going into the kitchen and followed. “Why did you do that?” he accused in a low hiss after he closed the door and was facing the blond.

“Do what?”

An angry streak of lightning sizzled across the sky and the boom of thunder that accompanied it made Greyson, Haldir’s wolf who had been sleeping in a corner of the kitchen, awake with a yelp. The wolf slunk under the table after a reassuring pat from Erestor. “You know exactly what I am referring to.”

“No clue,” replied Glorfindel quickly, though his smirk as he took a tray of food from the oven said otherwise. “Do you want potato bread or wheat?”

“Whichever is fresher – the rain is a little extreme,” insisted Erestor as he wandered to the window seat and sat down while Glorfindel filled a plate for him. “Who told Tintilien to call Gildor ‘uncle’?”

Glorfindel looked a little guilty as he put the plate onto a tray and buttered the bread. “By association, if Maedhros is her great-uncle, then Gildor... well, it was that or have her call him ‘aunt’.”

“I still want to know where Fingon is.”

“You sound like the midwives in the marketplace,” scolded Glorfindel. “I am sure if Maedhros wants that known, he will say something; else, leave it be.”

“I had no intention of asking him.” Erestor looked away from the rain outside as the plate was held out to him. “Thank you.” He took it and the glass of water as he stood. “Good plan. Give me something to put into my mouth so that I cannot put my foot in it.”

“I think it irrelevant what you put in your mouth as long as you do not speak,” winked Glorfindel.

“You know me only too well.” The pair reentered the parlor to find Maedhros on the floor with his brother and Tintilien, while Gildor stood by the window staring out at the rain pelting the barn.

“Tintilien,” said Glorfindel, “I think it is bedtime for you.”

There was a minimal amount of pouting before the elfling bid her goodnights to everyone, with hugs all around. When she came to Erestor, she climbed onto his lap after he set the plate aside and gave him a huge hug. “Uncle Maedhros and I decided we get to make a special club.”

“Oh?”

“Uh-huh. But no one else can be in it so I cannot tell you the secret password,” she said solemnly.

“Ah.”

“But you could try to guess it.”

“Hmm.”

“Or not. Maybe not. No, because you might get it. No guessing!” she giggled, putting her hand over Erestor’s mouth.

“Alright, say goodnight, snowflake,” prompted Glorfindel. Tintilien, still giggling, did as she was told, and Glorfindel picked her up to take her to her room.

“Wait!” Wriggling out of Glorfindel’s arms, Tintilien ran to Gildor, almost stumbling into him. “Uncle Gildor, are you still going to tell me a story?”

Gildor looked down and put his hand gently on her crown of golden locks, then shifted his gaze to Erestor. As he chewed a mouthful of bread, Erestor returned the look with a long, hard stare before finally giving a little nod. “Sure.” Gildor followed behind the happy little elfling and Glorfindel, keeping a few paces distance from them.

When the room settled down, Maedhros lifted himself back onto a chair opposite Erestor while Caranthir set to putting the blocks away. The rain was dying down, going almost as quickly as it had come, so the sound of the crackling log in the fireplace battled for dominance over the pattering against the windows. “So, is it that you are overly protective of her, or of him?”

Erestor soon realized the question was directed to him. “What do you mean?” he pressed Maedhros.

“That glare you gave Gildor, as if you were hoping your gaze might bore a hole in the side of his head.”

What Erestor wanted to say was ‘As if he would need aid from me’, but instead he said, “To be perfectly honest, and I speak ill only because you approached the subject, I hardly trust him.”

“Him... Gildor? Or Glorfindel?”

“I trust Glorfindel implicitly,” Erestor harshly replied.

“Do... we really need to discuss this right now? They will both be back in a few minutes-“ But Caranthir’s odd and unlikely attempt to stave off a possible war of words was unnecessary.

Maedhros laughed. “Peace, Erestor. I have no intention of quarreling with you.”

Erestor stuffed a large bit of pie crust into his mouth to keep from saying anything more.

“I just wanted you to know, if you thought he would say or do something he should not in front of Tintilien, that he adores children and would never do such a thing.”

A pause, then Erestor nodded.

“There are other things you should be made aware of,” said Maedhros at length. “We should talk sometime, Erestor, there are things you know that I wish to find out.”

Before Erestor could find out what Maedhros was talking about, the footfalls came from around the corner. “Sound asleep almost immediately, and dreaming of gnomes and treefairies,” said Glorfindel as he entered, Gildor still a few steps behind. Glorfindel sat down beside Erestor on the couch, while Gildor assumed his place by the window again.

The pokes and nudges that Glorfindel gave to Erestor were indiscernible to the others as Caranthir stowed the toys in a corner and took a seat himself. Finally, as he finished his meal and set the plate aside, Erestor called out, “Gildor, are you going to join us, or is the rain all the more interesting?”

“I would say the rain, but you would know I was lying.” Gildor gave the barn one last look before he came over and sat down between the two Feanorians.

“Why do you call her ‘snowflake’? That seems an odd choice of pet names.” Maedhros was resting his chin on the stump of his right wrist as he regarded Glorfindel and awaited the answer.

“Blame me; I came up with it,” spoke Caranthir. “If you do not like it, feel free to create one of your own design.”

“I asked why, that was all,” Maedhros said, grinning a little. “Just once, brother, will you answer a question with the expected outcome, or do you prefer to always be asked twice?”

Caranthir harrumphed and rolled his eyes. “Because even as a babe, her eyes sparkled with such delight, it reminded me of the way the snowflakes catch the light of the moon and stars as they drift to the ground.”

“But snowflakes eventually melt into nothing.”

“They melt into water,” countered Caranthir.

“Alright, alright, water then. Still, they go from beauty to... blah.”

Shaking his head, Caranthir upbraided his brother. “Do not let Lord Ulmo hear you say that.”

“What about something more permanent, like diamonds?” suggested Maedhros.

“You and your sparkly rocks... you and father both,” mumbled Caranthir.

Gildor bit his lip at this, and Maedhros seemed ready to say something he might regret. Instead, he turned his attention to Glorfindel and said, “I believe I shall go to see Elrond before I retire for the evening. His room is on the... second floor?”

“Third,” said Glorfindel, wishing Maedhros a good evening. The eldest son of Feanor nodded and left with Gildor trailing close behind.

Caranthir waited until Maedhros and Gildor had gone before looking to Glorfindel and Erestor apologetically. “This is why I wish father had chosen to have eight sons instead of seven.” When Glorfindel furrowed his brow, Caranthir explained further: “Maedhros and Maglor always had each other; they still speak though Maglor is so far away. Amrod and Amras of course were practically one in the same, and Curufin’s mood was so alike to Celegorm. And then, there was me. The stubborn one in the middle with the ugly face.”

“Your looks are fairer than you may think,” argued Glorfindel.

“Therein lays the problem. When my brothers anger they do not look so odd, but as for me I change colors like a chameleon. Well, it is goodnight, then, until tomorrow.” Caranthir stood and left to go back to his room.

“Well, at least this... odd gathering seems to have helped Tintilien,” said Glorfindel as he and Erestor stayed in the parlor until the fire burned out. “She was so relieved to talk to Maedhros and learn about everything he accomplished after his unfortunate incident.”

Erestor pushed the embers around in the fireplace before returning the poker to the bin. “Did Tintilien enjoy the story Gildor told her?”

“Truth be told, she fell sleep almost right when her head hit the pillow.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Glorfindel placed his arm around Erestor as the dark elf sat back down. “No, that ‘ah’ definitely meant something.”

Erestor concentrated his gaze on the fireplace. “You were both gone an awful long time.”

For a bit, Glorfindel was silent. Finally, he asked, “Are you hoping to be left alone in here?”

“That was not an answer.”

“You never asked me a question.”

“Do I need to ask?”

“Do you think you have to?”

“No,” Erestor sighed. “No, forgive me, I just... I trust you. I trust you. I do not trust him.”

“Neither do I. Why do you think I went with him when he wanted to tell her the story?”

“Right. Sorry. I did not mean to accuse you of anything.”

Glorfindel gathered up the dishes as he stood. “I am going to tidy up the kitchen while you finish with the fire. You are coming to bed after that, yes?”

“Yes, I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow.”

“You and I both. Maedhros and Caranthir plan to spend a week, and I doubt Elrond wanted to play host for so long.”

Erestor nodded, smiling to himself in the darkness. Perhaps Glorfindel believed Elrond did not like it, but then, why was he so welcoming of others into his home, both here and in Imladris? In reality, Glorfindel did not want to miss out on the fun of playing host himself.

After the final bit of orange faded into soot, Erestor stopped in the kitchen. Glorfindel was just putting away the last of the items he had washed and dried. “I thought I would wait for you,” said Erestor. “No fun crawling into a cold bed by yourself.”

“Thank you.” Glorfindel offered him a dazzling smile and quickly resumed his task. “Still curious?”

“About what?”

“About what I was doing with Gildor after Tintilien fell asleep but before we came back.”

“A little. We have already established I have a terrible attraction to gossip.”

Glorfindel set the rag on the counter and stepped here and there, extinguishing the candles. “I wanted to know if he was well, and if he was happy. I wanted to see if he was serious about Maedhros. He claimed he was on all three counts. Then, I was a bit callous as I demanded to know if he had chased away Fingon or done anything wicked to him as he once did to us.”

Erestor raised a brow, and Glorfindel continued. “He assured me he had not, and that he and Maedhros began their relationship only after Maedhros and Fingon had parted ways.”

“Interesting.”

“I thought so, too.” Glorfindel picked up the last candle and carried it to the door. “Bed? Sleep?”

“Bed. No sleep.”

Glorfindel smiled and blew out the light.

Upon a suggestion from Celebrian that Tintilien would benefit from socialization with her peers, Erestor began to take her with him to Gondolindon once a week to attend dancing and singing lessons at an all-girls school. Three weeks went by, and Erestor was asked to stop in to see the headmistress when he came to pick his daughter up that day.

After learning that Tintilien had kicked one girl, slapped another, and then locked herself in a closet when her teacher demanded that she apologize, Erestor enrolled her at another school as well. She now spent two days a week taking etiquette lessons, and another dancing and singing. Four weeks passed before he was stopped again while picking up his daughter. This time, it was at the second school, where he was shown the mess in the small classroom where Tintilien was sitting on a stool in the corner, her arms crossed and face red.

Once he had paid for the damage to the desk, the books, and everything else, Erestor added a third day of etiquette to her schedule, and then walked her to another building to arrange for weekly appointments with a counselor on yet another day regarding her anger issues. On the way home neither spoke to the other, and fewer words were exchanged between them as the weeks went on.

Instead of improving, Tintilien’s attitude worsened. Toys and privileges were taken away so often that Glorfindel often just kept them in anticipation of the next outburst. A spanking was a nearly daily occurrence for her now, and Erestor’s voice was getting hoarse from the number of times he lectured her.

“She was better BEFORE she was integrated with other elflings,” remarked Haldir one evening after his adopted half-sister was led from the dinner table. He set to mopping up the milk that had been spilled on the floor, wincing when Tintilien let out an unhappy screech from the next room.

“I! DO! NOT! WANT! TO! GO! TO! BED! I! AM! NOT! SLEEPY! IT! IS! NOT! DARK! OUT!”

Erestor’s low voice still attempted to calm her, but it cracked, and he coughed, and she took the chance to let out another ear-splitting screech.

“Enough of this.” Elrond threw his napkin down onto the table and stormed out of the kitchen, pushing through the door with such force it swung in and out a number of times after he disappeared. A few moments passed, and it was evident he had arrived to wherever Erestor and Tintilien were from the yelp from the elfling.

Glorfindel stared at the door. “I keep wondering where we went wrong,” he said as the sound of Tintilien being marched to her room faded out of the hallway.

“Some children are just... more difficult than others,” offered Galadriel.

Her husband pondered the defeated look on Glorfindel’s face before standing up and excusing himself from the table. “I think I will check to see if they need any reinforcements.” Celeborn dropped his napkin onto his plate and gave Glorfindel’s shoulder a squeeze and a pat before leaving the room.

Outside of the door to Tintilien’s room, Celeborn found his son-in-law and his wife’s previous lover speaking in low voices and shaking their heads a lot. There was grumbling coming from within the room, but the screeching had abated for the time being. “Everything under control at the moment?”

“At the moment,” replied Erestor with a sigh. He flinched slightly when Celeborn put his arm around his shoulder.

“Walk with me,” said the former Lorien Lord, and after a brief glance at Elrond, Erestor did just that, allowing himself to be led out of the house and down to the shoreline. “Raising children... one of those things done out of love that you get no accolades or awards for, despite it being the most difficult of all occupations known to us. One of the most rewarding, they say... and sometimes I wonder, did ‘they’ ever have children?”

Erestor smiled slightly as he stared out across the sparkling crystalline waves of the sea that rippled gently towards them as the tide came in. “It is rewarding, Celeborn, you know that.”

“But not easy. At least, not usually.” He dropped his arm in order to pull a flask from his pocket. “You have had a more difficult time than most, from what I understand. The first child you raised turned out not to be yours; the first child that was yours you did not get to raise. Then there was Gwindor, and I think we both know that you did an exceptional job parenting, despite the outcome.”

“And now, not so good, right?” Erestor took in a deep breath of the sea air and let it out slowly. “I think I thought this was going to be easy this time around.”

“Each time is different. Each elfling is a new challenge. I am not going to fault you for your decisions so far. You have done precisely what I would have, however, perhaps I would have removed her from the classes sooner.”

“You think the schools are not helping?” asked Erestor. He sounded a little hopeful, as if he was looking for someone to suggest what he himself wanted to justify.

“She is too young to be spending that much time traveling every day, and the inconsistency of it all is probably not good, either.” Celeborn offered his advice gently, as always, offering the flask first to Erestor before taking a drink from it himself.

“It was never supposed to be every day like this. I just wanted her to make some friends her own age.”

Celeborn nodded in agreement. “It would be good for her to have playmates. By now she likely has a few friends in her classes. Perhaps instead of taking her there, she could invite a few of them here on a day when there is no school.”

“That is the trouble,” said Erestor as he took the flask again. “I have asked her on a number of occasions if there is anyone she would like to visit, but there is not a single child that she can name for me.”

“Perhaps another school, then, but no more therapists and disciplinarians. Just a school, just the dancing, and one last chance. If she misbehaves, she loses the privilege of attending and has to... oh, I do not know, something boring... make her sit home and balance the finances with Glorfindel.”

“That would be pure torture,” chuckled Erestor. “For me, at least... but anyhow, you are right, as always.”

“As always? Tell my wife that sometime, would you?” And the two had a laugh and more liquor from the flask. “Speaking of, do you want to be the first to know a secret?”

“Depends on the secret,” answered Erestor.

Celeborn looked over his shoulder, perhaps checking to see if someone was eavesdropping upon them, or perhaps simply looking toward the seaside house. “Galadriel is pregnant again.”

“Oh. Well, congratulations.” Erestor took a step back from the oncoming tide. “I did not know she wished for another one.”

“No, this one was me. One last hurrah before I resign myself to being old.”

Erestor smirked. “If it helps any, next to me, you will always be young.”

“True, but when there are more and more little people calling you grandfather and great-grandfather, you long for the days when it was simply ‘Ada’.”

“I understand. Obviously.” Erestor tried to take another sip from the flask, but found it empty. “This is the last time I am going to be able to raise a child. I have already resigned myself to the fact I am old and it is becoming too much for me to chase after these little ones.”

“Let us make a father’s pact,” offered Celeborn. “I am terrible at raising boys, and Galadriel is due to birth our son in eleven months. I will continue to offer my fabulous fathering advice for unsure parents of young ladies, if you would assist me in not being an idiot with this son once things go beyond the eat-sleep-puke-change phase.”

Erestor smiled, and noted the silver-haired elf had the same time-telling crinkles at the corners of his eyes as he did. “Agreed.”

---

So it was that the next morning when Erestor traveled to Gondolindon, or New Gondolin as some took to calling it, Tintilien and Glorfindel both went with him, both in much better spirits than the day before.

“Where is my new school going to be?” asked Tintilien. She had been chattering away upon learning of the changes that were to be made. The first half of the trip was spent telling them of all of the faults of all of her instructors before moving on to the students. As it turned out, there was not a single person she had met during her studies that she liked.

Unfortunately, neither parent had an answer to her question. “I am going to ask Mistress Taralawen if she has any suggestions.”

“Probably just another bad teacher,” grumbled Tintilien. She slouched in her seat until some gentle prodding from Glorfindel had her correcting her posture. “Maybe I could just read a book on how to dance and learn that way.”

“Sometimes there is no substitute for a real instructor,” explained Glorfindel. “Books are helpful, but I am sure we can find another teacher for you.”

It turned out that Glorfindel was far more optimistic than the reality of the situation. Erestor entered both the office of the counselor and the etiquette school alone to cancel the appointments. When they reached the dance school they entered as a group and waited until the early morning advanced class ended in order to speak with the headmistress.

“I suppose it is for the best,” remarked Taralawen as she sat down behind her desk and pulled out the cancellation book. “She is a terrible dancer.”

Erestor furrowed his brow as some notes were scribbled down. “Just last month you insisted I leave her in a little longer, telling me she had potential.”

“I was wrong,” said Taralawen simply as she slid the book across the desk for Erestor to sign. “Of course, due to the abrupt nature of her withdrawal, the deposit will not be returned.”

“What does that have to do with it? The deposit was meant to cover the use of costumes for recitals and rental of the theatre for them, and as she never attended a single performance, it hardly seems fair for you to keep it,” argued Erestor.

“Her leaving us is very sudden. Since I do not have a replacement student, that is a loss for me that needs to be covered.”

“Maybe you should have considered that when you pretended that she was good enough to stay only when it was profitable for you.” Erestor had only partially signed his name, else it was quite evident that Taralawen would have insisted they leave. He set the quill down and folded his arms over his chest. “I am not going to sign this without the deposit. It was not in the contract.”

“Fine,” spat Taralawen. “I do not have the money with me, but it will be forwarded to you.”

Erestor looked as if he wanted to argue, but picked up the quill. Glorfindel settled his hand over Erestor’s before the page could be signed. “We have other business to attend to here. We shall return at the end of the day, to collect the full amount of the deposit, and to sign these documents.” Glorfindel began to stand, but Taralawen waved her hand.

“I may have most of it in the other room.”

“We will return when you have the whole amount,” said Glorfindel calmly as he motioned for Tintilien to stand up.

Taralawen narrowed her eyes. “Wait here a moment.” She left the room through a door in the back, returning after a minute. “I happened to remember that I did have an addition in another class and that their deposit was still here.” She counted out the full amount to Erestor, and then impatiently watched him sign the book. “I believe our business is concluded,” she said abruptly as she snapped the book closed.

“Thank you,” said Glorfindel as they left, for Erestor had only scooped up the coins and then taken hold of Tintilien’s hand. “Incidentally, you would not happen to know of another dance school in town, would you?”

“For her?” Taralawen sniffed. “Hardly. Most of the other schools are for advanced dancers or ones who are more talented, and the others will have no interest in her.”

“Ah. I see.” Glorfindel decided to stroll out of the studio leisurely despite wanting to hurry to catch up to the rest of his family. Outside, he found Erestor comforting Tintilien, who was having a wibbly lip moment. “Oh, she was only saying those things because she is an old cow who has no hopes of being a great dancer herself,” said Glorfindel. The remark earned him a smile from Tintilien. “I have a feeling there is another school around somewhere where they will love to have you.”

Tintilien sighed and raised her maimed arm. “Maybe if they have a freak show during intermission.”

Glorfindel shook his head and dropped down onto one knee to face his daughter. “You are a very beautiful little lady. Somewhere, there is someone who is going to see how talented you are. You are a fighter. You think these prissy little girls are going to be great dancers? No way. One blister on their toes and they are going to quit. Bet you are tougher than all of them.”

“Way, way more tough,” promised Tintilien.

“Now that is what I like to hear.” Glorfindel stood up again and held open the door of the carriage. “I think we should take Erestor to work, and then you and I are going to go dance school hunting.”

“I would rather not go in to work today,” admitted Erestor. He climbed into the carriage last, but did not yet shut the door behind him as command on where to go needed to be given to the horses. “I wish I knew where they other schools might be so that we could see them. The only others I have directions to are the advanced ones.”

“Are you sure they would not have beginner classes?” asked Glorfindel.

As Erestor nodded, Tintilien said, “We could still just get a book.”

“There must be someone,” insisted Glorfindel.

The carriage remained motionless as some of the younger students that Tintilien had studied with began to arrive. She slid down into her seat and mumbled something about not staying longer than necessary.

Glorfindel nudged Erestor’s boot with his own. “What about the theatre that was being rented for the performances. I assume most dance schools do not own their own theatres, and there is probably more than one that rents the same theatre?”

“An idea with definite merit,” agreed Erestor. “If I only knew which theatre it was.” He looked around at the dancers entering and leaving, and upon seeing a small group of ellyth near their majority, waved them over with a charming smile. “Excuse me, ladies, I was wondering, do any of you happen to know the name and location of the theatre where the recitals are held? My niece has a performance I am to attend, but I misplaced the letter she sent me.”

“Oh, that would be the Orchard Bend Theatre,” replied one of the ladies. “But the recitals are in two weeks; you must have the wrong date!”

Erestor pretended to berate himself with an eye roll. “In two weeks! Well, better early than late,” he said, and the ladies giggled politely. “For future reference, just which way would I go to get there?”

Directions were given, and soon they were on their way. Once out of earshot, Glorfindel kicked Erestor’s boot less gently, but in a somewhat playful manner. “What was that about?”

“What?” questioned Erestor.

“That bit of flirting you were doing back there.”

Erestor looked shocked. “Flirting? You thought I was flirting?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was not flirting.”

“It certainly sounded like flirting,” piped up Tintilien.

“Indeed?”

“Indeed,” agreed Glorfindel.

With a small, sly shrug, Erestor said, “I shall need to make up for it with lunch at some fine establishment somewhere.” This seemed to appease them both as they turned down the path that would take them to the theatre.

The large building was situated at the end of the road, and looked as if it could use a coat or two of paint, and perhaps some new shingles. The steps were a bit eroded as well, and the grounds were overrun with weeds choking the few flowers and shrubs. “Cheerful place,” whispered Glorfindel as they exited the carriage and walked up to the doors. A knock and a wait revealed nothing, but when the handle was tried and the door pushed open, Glorfindel entered despite Erestor’s plea they wait for an answer. “There may be no one here, or they might be somewhere that they cannot hear us,” reasoned the Vanya as they walked through the reception area and long corridor, which both looked a bit more inviting than the outside had.

“I see lights coming from that room,” said Tintilien, pointing to an open door. The trio moved toward it, and found it lead into a huge chamber with a marvelous vaulted ceiling and a stage that had likely been fantastic at one point in time. Now it looked in a state of disarray, missing the curtains and scuffed on the walls and floor. One floorboard was completely missing, leaving a gaping hole a dozen centimetres wide and several metres long over the covered pit orchestra area.

“Remind you of anything?” asked Glorfindel as they shuffled down the raggedly carpeted steps, past rows and rows of dulled velvet seats.

“Aye, but Salgant’s theatre was tiny compared to this one,” answered Erestor.

“They always do things bigger in Valinor.” Glorfindel looked around with a frown, and then looked up. “I see where they light came from,” he said, pointing to a big hole in the ceiling. “Matches the one on the stage so well.”

“Perhaps there is no one here after all,” admitted Erestor as they found another door that led back into the lobby. Across the hall was another series of doors. “Two theatres?”

“The building is certainly large enough,” decided Glorfindel. “And if there are groups renting it, it is not likely they are renting this side.”

Tintilien reached the door first and opened it for her parents. They stepped inside, one after the other, and were awed upon entry. It was a mirror image of the other side, except that everything that was wrong with the other side was right with this one. Carpets and fabrics were bright and brilliant, ruby and sapphire in even the dim torch lights that lit the room. Walls were gilded; curtains were hung; the stage was perfect. And upon the stage, at the center, danced an elf who, despite the lack of music, leaped and spun with his eyes closed, hearing flutes and harps that no one else could.

Quietly, the trio shut the door and padded down to a row close to the stage, but not so close that they would disturb the dancer. At this closer proximity, they could see his lips moving. Whether he was singing along with his inner music or was just talking to himself was unclear. That he was breathtaking in all other movement was an understatement.

He danced upon his toes as if he had been born with them pointed. Every time he leaped and landed, not a stumble or teeter kept him from the next move. His legs stayed straight when they were meant to, and bent perfectly as he willed them. The smooth movements he made with his arms would have made the wind jealous. And then, in the midst of it, with a captive audience, he stopped. Just stopped, no reason, no mistake, no falter to speak of, just a point at which he lowered himself to his feet and decided he was done for the day, or the moment at least, and opened his eyes.

Now he lost his poise, stumbling back in surprise when he noted the viewers. “How long have you been here?” he demanded, voice frightened but commanding an answer.

“Long enough to watch quite a lovely performance,” said Glorfindel. “I hope I will not offend you to say you make a better dancer than you did a king.”

Fingon gave Glorfindel a stern look, but the blush in his cheeks took Glorfindel’s words to be a compliment. “I do not appreciate being watched.”

“My apologies, but we did knock,” said Erestor.

“And I chose to ignore you,” admitted Fingon. He retrieved a towel which he used to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. “However, since you are persistent, I will ask what business you have here before I throw you out.”

“We will be brief, then,” said Erestor. “Our daughter—“

“Wait... your daughter?” Fingon peered down at Erestor, and then at Glorfindel. “Did you steal an egg from another bird’s nest?”

“No. Another bird kicked their egg out,” answered Glorfindel a little more gruffly than intended. He put his arm around Tintilien and stated in no uncertain terms, “This is OUR daughter.”

Fingon held up his hands. “Pardon. Go on.”

“Our daughter was taking dance lessons, but there were some issues with the instructor. We were hoping to find another instructor.”

“Which one did you have trouble with?” asked Fingon.

“Taralawen,” said Erestor.

Fingon frowned. “Yes, she is a bit of a... yes. Hmm.” Fingon started to pace the stage. “There are a few other schools, but most of them have very high costs or expect the child to come from a family with promising lineage, in hopes that the ability has been passed on.”

“Are there no other schools?” Glorfindel shook his head. “I find that hard to believe.”

“There is one on the northern coast, but unless you were willing to relocate... where are you living, anyhow?” asked Fingon.

“Near Alqualonde,” said Erestor.

Fingon cringed slightly. “No sense sending you up to the other coast, then. Sorry, that pretty much exhausts the possibilities.”

“Well, thank you anyhow.” Erestor sighed and gave Tintilien a pat on the head. “I guess we may have to find a book for you.”

“That is fine,” replied the elfling as she filed out of the row to the aisle. “I hated those stupid other girls anyway.”

As Tintilien lifted up her arms and begged for a ride on Glorfindel’s shoulders, Fingon looked on with questioning and concern. “Eresse...” He motioned for Erestor to come to the stage as he sat down on it with his legs over the edge. When Erestor approached, Fingon asked, “Was she born like that?”

“No. She had an accident on the farm she used to live on.” Erestor smiled weakly. “She is a fighter, though. Keeps on going even when people tell her she will never manage as she is.”

Fingon watched as Tintilien climbed up onto Glorfindel’s back with the use of only one arm. He hesitated at first, but as Glorfindel turned to leave, called out to him. “Bring your daughter up here. I am curious to see what Taralawen taught her.”

Tintilien was lifted up onto the stage while Glorfindel and Erestor settled back into their seats. Fingon took a few steps away from the girl, rubbing his chin. “Show me what you know.”

“Where do you want me to start?”

“First position,” he said, and she complied immediately. Her routine was basic and flawed, but it obviously impressed the experienced dancer. “Good,” he said as she executed a difficult move with only a little wobble, and “Excellent job,” followed when she tried it again and managed not to teeter. “How much do you hate having to work with the other children?” he asked as he circled her, still assessing her abilities.

“A lot. More than I hate broccoli.”

“So, you would eat a whole bunch of broccoli if you could take a class without any of them in it?” pressed Fingon as he stepped over to correct her stance.

“Two whole bunches if Mistress Taralawen was not my teacher.”

Fingon crossed his arms over his chest. “Alright. I have seen enough. You have good leg muscles. Your posture needs work; your steps are rushed and sloppy. You are fearless, though, and I appreciate that.” He looked out into the audience at Erestor and Glorfindel. “She needs to be here an hour past sunrise. We will practice until noon. Four days a week now; six days when she advances.”

“I...” Erestor shook his head. “That is too much, too many classes. We have dealt with this problem before. Besides, I have a feeling that I cannot afford that many lessons.”

“I never said it was going to cost anything, did I?” Fingon looked down at Tintilien. “Do you want to be a dancer?”

“As good as you are?”

“Yes,” said Fingon without hesitation. “Is this what you want to be when you grow up? A dancer on the stage?”

“Very much so,” admitted Tintilien.

Fingon looked back at Erestor. “Tomorrow, an hour past sunrise. Do not be late.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Erestor flashed a smile at Glorfindel, that sort of smile that was usually followed by the asking of a favor.

Glorfindel was hardly fooled. “What do you want me to do?”

Erestor sighed. “I have a meeting that I need to attend tomorrow afternoon; I cannot reschedule it. Tintilien has her lesson in the morning, but then she is to stay and watch the rehearsal in the afternoon of those from the school. I was supposed to be there with her, since Taralawen will obviously be with the other students coming in, and some of Tintilien’s ex-classmates will be there as well. We do not want an incident. There is also no guarantee that my meeting will end in time to pick her up even after that.”

“Ah.” Glorfindel nodded. “I can take the carriage with Thay and Took if you want to ride Asfaloth.”

“Thank you!” Erestor leaned over and gave Glorfindel a tight hug. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

“She is my daughter, too,” reminded Glorfindel as he snuggled against Erestor. “It will be nice to spend a little time with her.”

***

“We are too early!” Tintilien worried as the carriage halted in front of the theatre. “We should wait in the carriage. Master Findekano will not be ready for us!”

“It is always better to be early than to be late,” insisted Glorfindel as he stepped onto the ground and then helped Tintilien out as well. “I am sure he will be pleased with your punctuality.”

Tintilien frowned and did not look so sure, but she walked along beside Glorfindel without argument. Glorfindel noticed that her lessons with Findekano had not only improved her dancing, but they had changed her attitude. There were far fewer disagreements and tantrums now, and she even volunteered to help with chores instead of being constantly reminded about them. It was a welcome change, and one that had happened in a brief time.

When they reached the door, Glorfindel knocked, but Tintilien walked past and opened it. “He never locks them,” she explained before Glorfindel could speak.

A startled calico who had been cleaning herself in the middle of the hallway looked up at them with sudden interest, one leg straight up in the air. She yawned as they passed, Tintilien leading. Two more cats, one black and one grey (or perhaps they were both black and grey, for it was difficult to determine), were wrestling further down the hall, while an orange tabby sleepily looked on from his watch at one of the doors.

“I do not recall the cats being here last time,” said Glorfindel as he was taken to a bench. He sat down next to Tintilien, who looked a little annoyed.

“They hide from strangers, but they know me.”

After a few idle minutes, Glorfindel asked, “What are we doing?”

“We have to wait. The doors are closed, so Master Findekano wants his privacy.”

Glorfindel nodded, and in a quieter voice asked, “Does he ever leave this place?”

Tintilien sifted through the items in the back that contained her gear, making sure she did not bring two slippers of different colors. She seemed quite nervous, and Glorfindel put an arm around her to offer some comfort. “I never see him leave, but maybe he does at night.”

Before further questions could be asked, the front doors flew open. The sudden noise made Tintilien hop closer to Glorfindel, almost into his lap, and wrapped both of her arms in what way should could around one of his. Taralawen entered the building and swept down the hallway with two aides walking in her wake. She gave Glorfindel an odd sort of look, but dismissed his presence with a roll of her eyes before she proceeded to open the door to the nicer of the theatres and slip inside, entourage following.

Tintilien’s eyes widened considerably and she whispered, “That was not a wise choice.” She and Glorfindel stared at the door. Minutes passed, and some talking could be heard even through the walls that helped to muffle the sound. It was only Taralawen’s voice, and it cut off sharply just before the doors burst open. The aides rushed out first, and then Taralawen was backed into the hallway.

Findekano stood in the entryway, arms outstretched in order to keep both of the doors open. He glared at the lady until she stopped sputtering her outrage and in his calm, quiet voice said, “You were not to arrive until this afternoon, per our contract. You may wait in the hall until that time.” He started to drop his arms for the doors to swing back, but saw his pupil waiting and said, “Tintilien, it is time for your lesson.”

The elfling sprang up gladly, yanked her bag from the bench, and bravely walked past her old instructor and around Findekano. After a moment’s thought, Findekano caught Glorfindel’s gaze and motioned with his head for him to follow his daughter into the theatre. As soon as Glorfindel entered – he ducked under one of Findekano’s arms so that the dancer could keep up the dramatic display for Taralawen and her associates – Findekano took hold of the handles of each door, stepped back, and slammed them shut in Taralawen’s face.

“That was enjoyable,” said Findekano softly as he walked around Glorfindel, who was crouched on the floor in order to help Tintilien put her slippers on. Findekano backed up and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Helping her—“

“Sorry, that should be, why are you doing that?”

Glorfindel’s hands fell away as he looked up. “I... guess I thought she needed help.”

Findekano shook his head and motioned for Glorfindel to stand up, while Tintilien struggled but managed to remove her other boot and replace it with a dancing shoe. “She can do this.” To his student, he said, “When you are ready, start your warm-ups. I need to speak to Glorfindel for a moment.” Tintilien nodded and after stowing her boots into the bag she skipped down the aisle and climbed up the steps to the stage.

Findekano walked toward the back of the theatre, and Glorfindel followed him until they were almost to the last row. “I need you to take a message back to your husband.”

Glorfindel furrowed his brow as Findekano disappeared into a little room at the back and reemerged with a small sack of coins. “Tell him to stop leaving money for me. Not only is it insulting because I promised that I would require no payment, but I have no need for it. Knowing your occupations, you probably do. Farmers who work part-time as librarians and unemployed accountants tend to have low incomes.” He held out the sack, and with mild hesitation, Glorfindel took it.

“I had no idea he was doing this,” admitted Glorfindel. He slipped the pouch into his pocket and added, “The reason he only works part-time is because he makes enough not to need to work at the library all of the time.”

“Glorfindel, let us be honest. He is working more than his share of hours tending to farm work, and then spends the rest of his time in a library. Do you ever have much of a chance to see him?”

“Of course I do.”

“Do you see him as much as you want to see him?”

Glorfindel, unable to dispute this, countered with, “For the record, I am not unemployed. I take care of the finances of that farm and for the orchard on the cliff, and I work in those fields as much as he does; probably more.”

Findekano took a step back, and Glorfindel realized he was nearly shouting. Before he could offer and apology, Findekano raised his hands and said, “So you admit you work hard for your earnings, whereas I live leisurely and acquire funds simply by renting my theatre. Keep the money, Glorfindel, and tell Erestor to stop leaving it. Use whatever excuse you want; I do not need it.”

As Findekano walked away, Glorfindel called to him, “If that is so, why is one theatre in ruin? Why do you not fix it?”

Findekano turned sharply, and it was evident that this was not a topic he enjoyed speaking about. “If I wanted to fix it, I could. However, I do not want to.” He turned again and walked to the stage.

-----

The rest of the morning, Glorfindel silently watched his daughter practice and tried not to dwell too much on what Findekano had said. By the afternoon, he had mostly put his mind at ease, but knew that everything would be dredged up again when he spoke to Erestor about the matter that evening.

Findekano invited Tintilien and Glorfindel into a dining hall in the lower level of the building for lunch. They walked slowly through the basement, with Findekano pointing out various items of interest, such as the expansive area for costume storage and the eighteen private dressing chambers beyond the communal ones on the upper level. The corridors appeared to stretch indefinitely, and everything was in immaculate condition. It made Glorfindel wonder about the theatre that lay in ruin all the more.

Following lunch, Findekano finally opened the doors to the theatre for Taralawen, whose dark demeanor was even more wretched now. Instead of turning her anger on Findekano, the instructor snapped at her students impatiently and barked orders to her staff.

As the seats of the theatre filled up with young dancers, some with their parents and siblings, Glorfindel found a spot a few rows from the front for him to sit with Tintilien. They watched dancers warming up in the aisles while the stage was set for the rehearsal. Musicians were beginning to enter and maneuvered their instruments down into the orchestral pit below stage.

Somewhere in the midst of everything, Taralawen stormed down the aisle to where Findekano was standing, only a few feet from Glorfindel and Tintilien. “We just tried the curtain, and it is too high off the ground. It should sweep the floor so that no one sees the feet of the dancers underneath.”

“The curtain is tasseled. If it drags, it is going to look odd.”

“I want it to drag,” Taralawen announced. “Before you argue with me, might I remind you that curtain height is up to my discretion, as set in our contract.” She stressed the last word and Findekano licked his lips and sighed. “Fix my curtain, Fin.”

Findekano yawned as if bored and headed for the stage. He walked up the steps and behind the curtain, leaving Taralawen standing in the aisle with her hands on her hips. After a minute, Findekano walked out onto the stage. He was looking up and had a puzzled expression on his face. Over to the opposite side he walked, and again emerged with concern.

“Is something wrong?” shouted Taralawen smugly.

Findekano mumbled something that sounded like ‘the ropes were cut’, and after another minute of examining things overhead called out, “I can fix it from the catwalk. It will just take a little longer.”

As Findekano strolled back behind the curtain, Glorfindel noted that Taralawen was still standing in the aisle, blocking half of it as she watched the stage impatiently. The faint sounds of someone climbing up the metal stairway led to a hint of a smile on her face. Something about it made Glorfindel uneasy, and he turned to Tintilien and said, “Stay here. I will be right back.”

“Where are you going?” Tintilien panicked and grabbed hold of Glorfindel’s arm as she had in the hallway earlier, only this time she dug the nails of her hand into his skin to anchor him.

“Oww... please, Tintilien, I need you to stay here.” He extricated himself and said quietly, “I am going to go and help Master Findekano. Those curtains are heavy.” It was a bit of a bluff, but not a complete untruth.

Before Glorfindel had the chance to stand up, a shout of surprise echoed into the upper part of the theatre, and a moment later, Findekano fell from the catwalk. He landed mid-stage on his back with a hideous noise that was a cross between a thump and a crack. Glorfindel hurried up the aisle, shoving his way past Taralawen to get there. “Move back!” he roared at the curious dancers and musicians who were crowding around the fallen elf. Glorfindel pushed his way through those who did not listen to him and checked immediately to be sure Findekano was still breathing.

He made a grave initial assessment – a broken leg appeared to be the worst of the injuries. As Findekano groaned and opened his eyes slightly, Glorfindel asked, “What happened?”

“I fell,” replied the other elf in a tired voice.

“I mean, how did you fall?” Glorfindel asked.

“Balrog, I think,” answered Findekano, and Glorfindel frowned.

Tintilien joined Glorfindel as he began to instruct everyone to leave. When Taralawen argued about her contract, he gave her a look that immediately changed her mind. As everyone else filed out of the theatre, Glorfindel looked to Tintilien and asked, “How far from here is his house?”

“His house? He lives here,” explained Tintilien. “This is his home.”

“I suppose no one lives here with him, do they?” Glorfindel was preparing to move Findekano, who was easing in and out of consciousness.

Tintilien shook her head sadly. “Just Master Findekano and his cats.”

“The cats will need to stay here. Master Findekano is coming home with us.”

Next installment: ‘Taking can be more difficult than giving’

It was chaos when Glorfindel returned to the house. Findekano had awoken, and was demanding to know where he was and just who was going to be feeding his cats. At the same time, a group of elderly, scholarly elves were exiting a carriage. Tintilien ran up to open the door, and gave the unknown group an odd look.

“Stop that, honey. It is not nice to stare,” Glorfindel reminded her.

She nodded and closed the door directly behind Glorfindel once he had entered.

Glorfindel looked over his shoulder. “Tintilien, why did you do that?”

“Because it is polite to knock. I remembered that when you told me it was polite not to stare.” A loud knock came at the door, and Tintilien stood still right behind Glorfindel.

“So help me, Glorfindel, you will put me down this instant!” demanded Findekano as he made a fruitless attempt to hoist himself out of Glorfindel’s arms.

“Tintilien, open the door,” shouted Glorfindel as he headed down the hallway.

“Ada says not to open the door to strangers!” shouted Tintilien back. She ran down the hall and into her room, slamming the door shut as the knock on the doors came again.

Glorfindel groaned as the knocking came a third time, louder now. “Where is everyone?” he growled as he set Findekano down onto the bed in the healing room.

“Finally!” Findekano was able to swing his legs over the side, but the moment he put weight on them he crumpled to the floor. “Shit, I think I broke my leg!” he exclaimed as he managed to pull himself up onto the bed again.

“Both legs,” corrected Glorfindel. The knocking began again, and it was turned to pounding now. “I guess I shall get it,” he yelled down the hallway for everyone to hear.

“Thank you!” called Celebrian from the kitchen.

Glorfindel seethed as he yanked the door open. The fist of one of the travelers nearly knocked him in the face. “Good evening,” he said tersely.

“Good evening.” The leader of the trio looked Glorfindel over from head to foot. “Is Reverend Erestor at home this evening?”

It took Glorfindel a moment to remember Erestor’s other and not so highly publicized occupation. “He may be. I just arrived myself, if you might have noticed. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.” He moved aside for them to enter, and they did so – scrutinizing every inch of the house, from the specs of dust on the staircase to the sprig of dried up mistletoe that had been left hanging over a door since the past winter.

They were led into the parlor, and he then hastily excused himself and hurried into the kitchen. “Celebrian, where is Elrond?”

“He is up in our room throwing pots. Why do you ask?”

“There is a very injured elf in the healing room. I think his legs are broken, and I am not sure what else. Also, he is as mad as a wet hamster.”

Celebrian tried not to giggle at the image, but failed. “I shall bring him down. Do our guests need tea?”

“I can take care of that, if you can find Elrond. Oh,” he said suddenly as she was about to leave, “do you know if Erestor is home yet?”

“No, not that I know of.”

Glorfindel nodded his thanks and set to preparing a tray of scones while he boiled water. When he brought the tray and the tea into the parlor, he found all three of the elders sitting on the couch in a row. They were all quite calm, and all three refused the snacks he had brought. “I do regret to inform you that Erestor is not yet here, and may not return until after suppertime. Perhaps you would wish to call on him tomorrow?” suggested Glorfindel. “I can let him know that you were here.”

“That would be imprudent,” answered the one who had spoken to him earlier. “We have traveled far to come here.”

“You could have dinner with us, then,” said Glorfindel as he poured a cup of tea for himself. “Erestor’s friends are friends of ours, I always say.” When the three said nothing in return, Glorfindel added, “My name is Glorfindel, by the way.”

“Yes, we know,” replied the leader.

“Oh, you do?” Glorfindel nodded. “I did not catch your names.”

“That information is inconsequential,” said the leader. “We will wait for your husband to arrive and would prefer to do so in silence, if it is all the same to you.”

“I see.” Glorfindel picked up his cup of tea. “If you change your mind, just, uh, let me know. I will be just in the next room helping to prepare dinner. There will be more than enough for three more.”

“You may take the tray with you when you leave,” stated the leader of the group.

Glorfindel frowned, but took the teapot and scones back into the kitchen. He found Celebrian there again, and was updated on the situation with Findekano. A sedative had kept him from swearing like a Telerin sailor while Elrond set his legs and tended to his other wounds.

Elrond managed to finish the task and slip into the kitchen just as dinner was being served. Some of the members of the household were currently out, so the group was a meager one. Caranthir, who had become a regular visitor, was sitting beside his granddaughter, helping to cut her meal into smaller pieces – one of the few items she still had difficulty with.

“Who was knocking on the door earlier?” asked Elrond as he sat down.

“Just some religious people here to see Erestor,” explained Celebrian. “We tried to tell them he would not be home for a while, but they are insisting upon waiting.”

Elrond held onto his napkin, hovering it just above his lap. “Should I ask them to join us?”

“They said they did not want to,” reiterated Glorfindel.

“How strange.” Elrond shrugged and spread his napkin out onto his lap. “Maybe if I asked them they would change their minds.” He took a roll from the basket and passed it along to Tintilien, who set it down, took hers, and then gave the basket to Caranthir.

Celebrian giggled. “Good luck. The minute they found out I was not a Sedryner, they stopped talking to me and would only speak to Glorfindel and relay messages to me through him. It was very strange. Very strange indeed.”

“Sedryners,” snorted Caranthir, as if this was the answer to the question. Tintilien giggled.

“They are not all like that,” defended Glorfindel, though to be honest he was not too familiar with the religion, despite having been baptized into it, and did not know how most of them acted. His interactions were limited for the most part to the small congregation that Erestor led in Rivendell, and now they practiced privately, or at times while in Valimar would attend services that Legolas held. Of the inner workings, Glorfindel knew little. One of Tintilien’s carrots scooted off of her plate, and Glorfindel quickly retrieved it from where he sat across from her before Caranthir could offer any aid.

“Let us change the subject,” suggested Celebrian, and soon they were discussing the upcoming plans for the yuletide festivities.

Halfway through the meal, Erestor walked into the kitchen. He smiled and greeted everyone, and just as he was about to sit down was told by Elrond, “You have guests in the parlor.”

“Oh?” Erestor stood back up again. “I was not expecting anyone.”

“Yes, and they seem to be aware of that,” agreed Glorfindel. “They have been here for the last few hours.” Before Erestor could ask why they were not asked to supper, Glorfindel added, “They are some Sedryners. They seem to know a lot about you and I, or at least, enough to make me uneasy.”

“Oh.” Erestor looked a little worried, but he smiled in an attempt to hide this. “I suppose I should go and speak to them, then.” He moved out of the kitchen, smoothing out his clothing as he left.”

Glorfindel folded his napkin and set it onto the table. “Excuse me,” he said quietly, and he walked out of the kitchen. He stood just outside of the doorway of the parlor, unsure of whether Erestor really wanted him there or not, but too curious and protective not to be around.

Erestor greeted each of the elders with great respect, reciting not only names, but full titles as well. He knelt before each of them and bowed his head, and even kissed a ring worn by the leader before touching his forehead to it as well. Then he sat down on the chair opposite of the couch, but only when bidden to by one of the three. “How can I be of service to you?” he asked as he bowed his head in reverence.

“We are actually here to discuss just that – your service to our cause.” The leader paused, and then said, “It will no longer be necessary.”

“Sorry... I do not understand.” Erestor swallowed hard. “Have I caused some offence? If I have, I am wholly unaware of it.”

The elders exchanged looks with one another, and then the leader nodded. “There have been a number of incidents which have recently come to light. We think it best, for all parties involved, if you are to gracefully bow out of your commitment to the church.”

“We? Who is we?” questioned Erestor. He was attempting not to be too defensive, but was having a very hard time keeping calm. “I have been very instrumental in spreading the faith across Middle-earth. My devotion to the faith cannot be questioned!”

“And for that, we thank you. However, your service is no longer needed.” The elder lifted his hands up, palms facing the ceiling. “It is as simple as that.”

“There must be a reason for this – what have I done? I am at least entitled to that much.”

The elders whispered almost inaudibly to one another, and then the leader spoke. “There have been many times in recent years when you have been found to be partaking in rituals not condoned by our faith. Although you may not think this a huge offence, it is for one in your position. This is not acceptable, and will not be tolerated.”

“Rituals? What rituals?” Erestor shook his head. “I have done no such thing.”

“You have been caught dancing in the forest of Orome in a very... unorthodox state of undress,” said the leader. “This is not acceptable.”

“Oh, that – you misunderstand! That is not a ritual, it is...” Erestor trailed off. “Never mind. You would never believe me even if I explained the whole story to you.”

“So you admit to this transgression.”

Erestor sighed. “Yes, I admit to dancing in a forest in the nude. I did not know it was a sin to do so.”

“You did so as part of a pagan ceremony.”

“It was not a pagan ceremony,” muttered Erestor, but he was already certain to be losing the argument.

“Then what was it? Please, enlighten us.”

Erestor looked over each of the elders and shook his head. “It is a very long story.”

“We have time.”

“Well, uh...” Erestor laughed uneasily and rubbed the back of his neck. “Like I said, long story...” He coughed and rubbed his throat. “Do you mind if I get some water?”

None of the three said anything, so Erestor shifted uneasily in his seat. “I suppose if I told you I was doing so as a favor to Orome the Hunter, you would laugh and not believe me.”

“We would most certainly not laugh,” replied the one who was doing all the talking.

“No, I suppose you would not… but that is the truth. I only did it because Orome and his sister Nessa asked it of me.”

The trio gave each other grave looks of concern, and the one on the right made a few notations in a book that Erestor had not noticed until now. “We had a feeling,” remarked the leader, “that this might be the case.”

“You… do believe me then?” asked Erestor, sounding quite surprised.

A new voice spoke up, and it was the one who had been taking notes. “We know that you are overwrought with work. You have a farm here which you work on, a position at a library, and you are also raising a child which you adopted. Atop all of that, you continue to lead a moderate congregation. Obviously, your self-created delusions run deep.”

“Delusions?” Erestor laughed uneasily. “What are you talking about?”

“Your claims of being close enough to be spoken to by Lord Orome and Lady Nessa are obvious figments of your imagination.” The book was snapped shut. “You are to be given lenience, but only this once.”

“In two weeks, we have our annual retreat,” explained the leader. “I have noticed from our records that you are often absent when they are held. I would expect, if you remain serious about your dedication to the faith, then you will be there. When you are there, we will expect a full confessional, penance, and a declaration swearing never to engage in such activities in the future.” All three stood in unison, and Erestor stood as well, unable to articulate a proper response.

Only the leader stepped forward, and he reached up and placed his hands on Erestor’s cheeks. “May Eru take mercy upon you, my son.” He kissed Erestor’s brow and then moved back to join the other elders as they left the room.

Quickly, Glorfindel pretended to be tending to the vase of flowers in the hallway, and he nodded politely to the three as they left. None of them paid him any attention, but the leader stopped and doubled back as the other two continued to walk down the hallway to the front door. “It is my understanding that the two of you are raising a child together. If, for some reason, your husband was unable to fulfill that obligation, would you be unable to raise the child on your own?”

Glorfindel glanced at the doorway to the parlor, but did not see Erestor emerge as he had hoped. “What are you insinuating? Why would he be unable to be here?”

“Let me ask this another way – how dedicated is he to his faith?”

“Very,” answered Glorfindel immediately. “It is part of who he is. It helped him through some very tough times, and in return he helped others… such as myself,” he admitted.

“Then you should know, he appears to be in a very confused state. If what you say is true, be sure he attends the retreat in two week’s time. He may very well not return for a while; my hope is that he will listen to reason and join us at the monestary for a time.”

“Oh really?” Glorfindel was unsure whether to get angry, cry, or laugh at the notion of Erestor being shut away, silenced as a monk until such time as these extremists seemed fit. “I will keep that in mind.”

“See that you do.” The leader looked about to say something else, but a sudden outburst from within the room they were standing near shocked him. “What was that?”

“What was what?” asked Glorfindel as he attempted to move the Sedryner toward the door.

“Son-of-a---!” A tirade followed, mostly Findekano swearing, with a few calming words from Elrond, and then the sound of something hitting a wall hard and breaking.

“That… what is going on in there?” demanded the leader as the cursing began anew.

“That… oh, right, that…” Glorfindel moved aside as Erestor suddenly appeared from the parlor and rushed into the healing room, the door open only enough for him to slip inside, and not long enough for anyone to get a glimpse within. “Just another one of those exorcisms he performs from time to time.”

“Exorcism?” The elder tried to move around Glorfindel, but the warrior managed to usher him to the front door.

The three were nearly shoved out onto the porch. “Oh, yes. He is quite good at those. He likes to make house calls when he can.”

“But this is his house,” interrupted one of the Sedryners.

Glorfindel nodded vigorously. “Terrible thing is, the evil spirits all tend to congregate once he vanquishes them, and you just never know when one of them will get testy and jump into someone here. Good thing Erestor is here to take care of it.”

“But—“

“Good night!” Glorfindel slammed the door suddenly, and then as an afterthought opened it again. “Have a safe journey!” He slammed the door once more, and heaved a huge sigh as he stood with his back against it.

“Ada Erestor says that telling lies is bad.”

Glorfindel looked up with surprise to see Tintilien standing in the hallway looking at him. “Shhh!” he admonished, not sure how far off the porch the elders might have gotten. “How long have you been standing there?”

“A while. The yelling is just Master Findekano being bossy at Uncle Elrond. What is an exorcism?” she asked as Glorfindel walked past her.

“Later, sweetie.” Glorfindel opened the door to the healing room and was prepared to dodge a flying object. Instead he found Erestor sitting at the bedside, relating to Findekano an accident that had kept him in bed and under Elrond’s care. Findekano did not look particularly pleased, but at the same time he did not look as if he was going to cause anyone any harm at the moment. Glorfindel slowly moved up beside Elrond to see if his assistance was needed. “How are things going?”

“Better,” mumbled Elrond. There was a bruise on his arm, and he was frowning, but he did not have the usual look of concern that he often wore in this profession. “Would you mind finishing this?” He handed a roll of linen to Glorfindel and moved to retrieve a bowl of warm water that had been sitting on top of the dresser.

Glorfindel carefully wound the roll around Findekano’s right leg as Elrond had already done around the left. He watched as Elrond mixed a fine powder into the water and stirred it until there were no lumps.

“This is certainly not necessary,” remarked Findekano as Elrond dipped his hands into the soupy matter and then used a glop of it to cover part of the linens.

“I cannot trust you not to reinjure yourself. You will heal faster this way.” Elrond applied more of the goop and bid Glorfindel to help him. “If we work together on this, I will not have to make a second batch. It dries very quickly.”

Findekano bemoaned his situation, cursed Taralarwen’s name a few times (as he was convinced his accident was her doing), and when all was done, inquired again about his cats. “I will send someone in the morning to see to them,” offered Elrond.

“Tomorrow? What about tonight? My poor little ones will be starving if they do not eat tonight – some of them do not even know how to hunt. There are three who are nursing – if they do not eat, neither do their babies. Would you be so cruel as to leave them there?” demanded Findekano.

“We could go and feed them.” The offer came from Tintilien, who had opened the door silently and was peeking in just off to the side.

Glorfindel pointed to the hallway, fingers dripping of grey gunk. “You should not be in here, little one. Go into the parlor or to your room.”

“Why am I being punished?” she whined. “I was just trying to help!” She stomped off down the hall before Glorfindel could reply.

With a growl, Glorfindel shoved his hands back into the mixture, finding it had crusted over on the top. “Oww!” He instinctively raised his hand up to suck on his hurt knuckle. A moment later, he spat out the foul, ashy mix that had inadvertently ended up in his mouth.

“Keep your day job,” advised Elrond as he gently pressed down, broke through the crust, and lifted a handful of the liquid mix out.

Glorfindel huffed and started to work on peeling off the dried muck from his hands. “This stuff is disgusting.”

“Think how I feel,” grumbled Findekano.

Elrond picked up another roll of linen and loosely wrapped it around the layer that was drying. “You will need to stay here for at least a week.”

“A week?!”

“In the meantime,” continued the healer, his voice raised slightly, “I would be willing to see to it that all of your pets are brought here.”

“They are not my pets; they are my family. Anyhow, I doubt you would be able to accommodate them all,” said Findekano.

“How many are there?” asked Elrond as he helped Glorfindel clean things up.

“Forty-five,” answered Findekano with complete certainty.

Elrond cringed slightly. It was known to the others that he detested animals in the house, and only allowed Mitzi free reign because he was convinced that feathers were cleaner than fur. Grey Boy, Haldir’s wolf, was given special dispensation because, quite frankly, one tends not to want to argue with a wolf. “I think we could handle forty-five.”

“And the kittens,” added Findekano as Elrond turned to leave.

Elrond turned back around. “How many kittens?”

Findekano shrugged. “How should I know? The little buggers never stay still long enough for me to count.” The words themselves might have appeared uncaring, but the way they were said was full of affection. “It would be impossible, and quite traumatic, to try to move them all. However, someone needs to see to their needs.”

A pushover when it came to the welfare of children and animals, Glorfindel offered his assistance. “I could take a ride up and make sure they are fed, if you give me instructions. Erestor could come with me to help me out.”

“Glorfindel, remember, we have our own little one to take care of,” said Erestor.

“She can come along. She probably knows the cats quite well,” added Glorfindel.

Findekano nodded. “I would feel comfortable with Tintilien taking care of them.”

“It is getting late,” worried Erestor. “She might be tired.”

“I am not sleepy!” called out Tintilien, who had not left the hallway and was only just around the door.

Glorfindel chuckled. “Alright, you little eavesdropper – go get ready.” He sighed as he listened to her run down the hallway. “Sorry, Erestor. I know you like her to stay on a schedule.”

Erestor shrugged wearily. “We can take the coach, and I will sleep in her stead.” He started to stand up, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He looked down at Findekano and waited expectantly.

“Can you… bring a few back with you?” he asked hopefully. He looked for the first time lost, scared, very small, and in need of comfort. “Just a couple of them.”

One sideways look from Erestor to Elrond, a nod from the lord of the house, and Erestor smiled down compassionately. “Of course. Which ones should we bring?”

“Tintilien will know.” He dropped his hand back down. “Thank you.”

Erestor nodded and shuffled out of the room behind Glorfindel and Elrond, who closed the door softly behind him.

Blankets and cloaks were gathered. When the trio walked out onto the porch, they found the carriage awaiting them, with Thay and Fool of a Took already hitched to it. Thay looked a little annoyed at having been woken, while Took stamped his front feet and expressed his excitement at the idea of a nighttime adventure.

Caranthir was standing next to the door, held ajar by his elbow. “I packed some gingerbread in a basket; Celebrian just finished baking it. Erestor, there is food in there for you, and some for Glorfindel, too, since neither of you quite had a chance to eat. It should still be warm.”

“Thank you. You did not need to go through all of this trouble for us,” said Erestor.

“Findekano loves those damn cats. He put a lot of time into training Tintilien; it would be bad etiquette not to return the favor in some way.” Caranthir looked about to say something else, but instead opened the door and quickly climbed into the carriage.

Glorfindel tugged Erestor back a step while Tintilien rushed forward and clambered into the carriage. “Does he mean to come with us?” he whispered.

“He brought us dinner. He can drive the carriage halfway to the western sea for all I care.”