“Before you say a word,” warned Erestor, “I did not abandon her or pale at the sight of blood or any such thing. I was banished, by her orders, as was practically everyone else.”
Tauniel closed her mouth, but her eyes were still narrowed. “Are you sure she does not want you in there?”
“She threw a book at me – a book,” he emphasized, holding up what apparently was the exact item. “She told me to... well, maybe it best it not be repeated,” he decided.
Rog cleared his throat and said, “Aranel asked you enter as soon as you arrived, Tauniel.”
The blond elleth nodded and walked past Erestor and down the hallway that led to a series of rooms for guests. She turned the corner, obviously familiar with the layout of the House of the Hammer. The others were left standing in the receiving room; the chairs were made of wrought iron with tall backs and delicate yet strong black legs. They were padded and draped with embroidered fabrics woven by Meleth’s handmaidens under her direction. Each was unique and yet used a similar set of patterns.
The tables were iron as well, with crystal tops. Maps were etched on the reverse, so that the surfaces were smooth but richly cartographic. At various points on the walls banners hung, displays of the many victories his house held in the yearly midsummer games. The head of a huge black boar sneered down from above the doorway; there had to be a story about that one, but no one ever thought to ask Rog about it.
Glorfindel almost asked now, but his eyes drifted to Erestor, who was watching the doorway with concern. His thumb was at his mouth, a few soft clicking noises came when he bit at the nail. When Erestor felt eyes upon him, he looked up, and Glorfindel looked back up at the boar head.
A sigh came from Rog, who shook his head, and then huffed. “I certainly never expected this outcome.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” prodded Erestor, though he tried to be as civil as possible to his father-in-law.
“That.” Rog waved his hand down the hall the way Tauniel had gone. “My daughter, yes, she wanted children. I never expected Tauniel to.”
“Tauniel? What about me?” Glorfindel took a seat in the foyer and picked up a carafe of wine. “Seriously. Think about it.” He poured himself a glass of wine without offering any to the others.
“With you it makes sense. You are very maternal,” Rog said.
Glorfindel coughed on the wine. “Excuse me?”
“Maternal,” repeated Rog. “Well, you are.”
It seemed no further explanation was forthcoming, so Glorfindel, between the wine and frustration, demanded, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Do not take it as such an insult. That child will be blessed to have you for a parent. Now, the fate of my granddaughter, on the other hand...”
“I am standing right here,” Erestor reminded him.
“I know. I want to be sure you heard that,” said Rog. “Just remember, although she is your daughter, but she is my granddaughter.”
“Noted,” said Erestor with a roll of his eyes.
Glorfindel set down the glass and stood up, in case his sitting might be the cause of his being ignored. “Excuse me, can we go back to the part where Rog just insulted me.”
“I never insulted you,” Rog argued.
“You just said I was effeminate,” argued Glorfindel back.
“No, I called you maternal.” Rog paused. “Though, I suppose—“
“Let us get something straight, right now,” he said as he approached the bulkier elf lord. “You and I might not agree on everything, and we certainly have entirely different approaches to thing, but I will no longer tolerate the way that you have constantly treated me since the day we met.”
“You think I insulted you?”
“Now? Yes. Then? It might have been unintentional,” Glorfindel decided. “Either way, I would appreciate it if it would cease from now on. I do not make a conscious effort to offend you. Please treat me with the same amount of decency.”
Rog gave Glorfindel a long, hard look. Finally, he held out his hand. “I apologize.”
Glorfindel grasped Rog’s forearm. “Thank you.”
“Glorfindel!” Meleth hurried up the hallway and called out again. “Glorfindel, can you—oh, there you are! Tauniel said you were here – we need a little assistance in the other room. I need to find out where the maid that went to bring towels wandered off to. Can you head in there? We need a little help is all, and seeing how you are the most maternal of the choices I have, it would be appreciated. Just follows the commotion!” she added as she disappeared up a stairway.
Too stunned to answer, Glorfindel looked mutely to Erestor, seeking guidance from an expression or a suggestion. With what he hoped was a comforting smile, Erestor said, “Glorfindel, I do not think either of them mean insult by it. In fact, it is always said that the best of our kind are those that exhibit the best qualities of each. Being a maternal warrior is not necessarily a bad thing.”
Slight embarrassment colored Glorfindel’s cheeks, and he quietly walked to the corridor. His inability to look at either of his companions was more evident from the way he bowed his head toward the floor and took long strides away from them.
It was easy to tell which way he was supposed to go, and so he turned down the opposite way in hopes of finding an alcove where he might regain his composure. There were only doors, mostly closed, but one that was open nearby allowed him the respite he needed. It was someone’s bedroom, though he cared very little where he was intruding at the moment. His cheeks burned and his eyes stung; he backed up against a wall inside of the door and rubbed his hands across his face until his eyes were dry again. He took a few moments more, mumbling to himself over his unexpected outburst, before leaving to find the room he was needed in.
Meanwhile, Erestor finally put down the book that he had been holding. “Maybe this is too much to ask, but perhaps we could... reverse a bit. Try to restart from an earlier point when I was not such a thorn in your side.”
“You mean back when you would actually listen to me and not go off half-cocked about everything?” asked Rog.
Erestor started to nod and said, “You know why I have such a terrible temper?”
Rog pondered briefly, but then asked, “Why?”
“You ever see a sky filled with stars? Without the moon? In the middle of the day?”
Rog said nothing, but frowned.
“I respect the fact that you have been through much in your life, but I do wish you would respect the fact I have been through life much longer,” said Erestor carefully.
“Just how old are you?” asked Rog a little uneasily.
“Old.”
Meleth chose that moment to rush down the stairs and scurry past them with a bundle of towels in her arms. “Not much longer!” she said cheerfully as she disappeared down the hallway.
Rog walked to the discarded glass of alcohol and poured more from the bottle into it. “Someone told me that you were born in Middle-earth.”
“I was; the first time around,” said Erestor. “I was the last one born here before the exodus.”
“Really?” Rog was not one often surprised, and Erestor would continue to chuckle to himself about that moment for centuries to come. Just then, however, he only gave a slight stoic nod. “I did not realize that. You must have been one of Feanor’s followers, then.”
“Not exactly. I came another way back.”
“So you are older than Turgon,” said Rog after a length of silence, brought about as the faint sounds of a baby crying could be heard from down the hall.
“Yes, and everyone else living in Gondolin, I suspect,” mused Erestor as Meleth stepped into the room with a squirmy bundle in her arms.
There was a very pleased look on Rog’s face as Meleth walked toward her husband and her son-in-law. Rog and Meleth communicated silently, and the elleth stood before Erestor with a mirthful expression. “Well, most ancient elf of Gondolin, may I present to you the youngest resident of Gondolin. I thought she might want to see her Adar.”
As Erestor took the elfling into his arms, the feeling of needing to protect the tiny, helpless babe was quite powerful. He felt tears stinging his eyes; some from the joy he felt at this new chapter in his life, and some for the door that had been hopefully ajar and his need to shut it now.
For the time being, at least.
