“You are going to be sick in the morning.”
“It is already morning, and I have been sick since last night.” Glorfindel poured wine into his glass, both hands wrapped around the bottle to keep it from shaking and spilling over the side. “Why is it taking so long?” he asked of no one in particular as the bottle was set onto the table with a loud clunk.
Voronwe frowned at the noise that had disrupted the peaceful flute playing that drifted in from an adjoining alcove. “At least all you need to do is wait.”
“That sounds like something your wife might have told you,” mused Ecthelion as he dealt out the next hand.
As he picked up his cards, Voronwe smirked. “Not her, my mother-in-law. She still hates me.”
“I doubt she hates you,” said Laiqalasse as he slid his cards across the table and lifted them up to eye-level. “She is probably protective of her—“
“She hates me,” Voronwe interrupted. “She does. The last time we visited, I helped my wife into the house and then went to the stables with the horses. When I returned, that witch of an elleth had bolted the door and led everyone into a parlor devoid of windows.”
“Perhaps she simply forgot?” Laiqalasse suggested.
“Did I mention it was raining?” Voronwe bitterly shuffled his cards about and then slapped a pair of them back onto the table. “That bitch left me out there nearly an hour until finally one of the maids mentioned she had seen someone beating on the window.”
Ecthelion lifted a small stack of chips from his pile and tossed the clay markers into the center of the table. “Is that the maid that was recently fired?”
“Yes. Because the staff was told to leave me out there, but the poor girl was unable to follow through with that devious plan. She is in my employ now,” added Voronwe. “It delights me to no end to watch my mother-in-law squirm when she is asked how she would like her tea from her former maid. I enjoy those parts of her visits very much. In fact, it is the only part I enjoy.” Voronwe tossed his chips to the center, knocking askew the ones Ecthelion and Laiqalasse had added. “Glorfindel, are you in?”
“Hmm?” Glorfindel was just about to refill his glass of wine again. “Oh.” He set the bottle down and picked up the cards one by one. Voronwe coughed and Ecthelion scratched his chin while Glorfindel stared at his cards and blinked.
“Is something wrong?” questioned Ecthelion after several minutes had passed.
“I think I have too many cards....” Glorfindel squinted. “Did you deal with two decks, Ecthelion? I have a pair of eights, but they are both hearts... and two of these are sevens of diamonds…”
“Laiqalasse, will you... help him with that?” Voronwe sighed and then sat back in his chair with an exasperated frown on his face. “This is the longest game of cards I have played since the first time my grandmother taught me.”
Laiqalasse patiently set his cards facedown on the table, slid his chair away, and half-stepped, half-leaned to where Glorfindel was. “Here, put these down… keep this one… and… that one, too.” Laiqalasse counted the appropriate amount of chips from the pile and added them to the center.
“This is hardly fair,” remarked Voronwe as the new cards were dealt to each player. “You are dealing, he is looking at other hands—“
“Voronwe, if you want to fold, no one will think lesser of you,” interrupted Ecthelion as he finally dealt cards to himself. Voronwe’s expression darkened, but he made a gesture that certainly meant his hand was still in play. “Does anyone require more refreshments?”
Glorfindel raised a hand.
“You still have nearly half a bottle left,” said Ecthelion without needing to look at the bottle.
“I believe I can finish it in the time it will take for your butler to retrieve a second bottle.”
“That would be the third bottle, and he certainly can once you have finished that one,” said Ecthelion, who was betting on the fact that Glorfindel would not make it to a third bottle.
“Are we here to play cards or chatter like housewives?” demanded Voronwe as he tossed two chips into the center. He drummed his fingers on the table. “Glorfindel, are you in or out?”
The blond stared at his cards a little longer, and finally shook his head. “Out, I guess.” He tossed his cards down onto the table, and Voronwe groaned in exasperation, leaned over the table, and flipped the hand over so that the values could not be seen. “Sorry,” apologized Glorfindel.
“Perhaps you should sit out the rest of the game,” suggested Laiqalasse gently once the hands were played and Voronwe smugly dragged the chips across the table to himself. Glorfindel nodded and poured the remaining wine into his goblet.
“Three for a game of poker? That hardly seems sporting,” disputed Voronwe. “There should be no less than four players.”
“Voronwe, he is almost out of chips as it is,” reasoned Ecthelion. “Taking candy from an elfling would be more difficult than winning the rest of his chips.”
“He won two hands,” Voronwe argued.
“On accident,” mumbled Laiqalasse. When Voronwe shot him a nasty look, Laiqalasse spoke up. “Well, it is true. He admitted to it.”
“I think I should stop playing,” said Glorfindel before Voronwe could speak. “I have lost track of most of the rules, not to mention I... well, I am only here waiting, and the waiting is making me nervous, and the alcohol is not helping as I hoped it would.” He tipped back the glass and gulped down the wine. “Ecthelion, would you mind calling for that second bottle?”
Ecthelion was trying to focus on what Glorfindel was saying, but movement beside him was what currently caught his interest. “Third bottle... just a moment... Voronwe, where are you—“
“I am leaving,” stated the elf-lord as he organized his chips in the trays on his side of the table. “I would rather go home and take the chance that my mother-in-law is there than keep on with this amateur game. Glorfindel, good luck to you and your wife. Ecthelion, are we still meeting tomorrow afternoon?”
“As far as I am aware, unless Rog told you otherwise.” Ecthelion was beyond arguing, and waved one of the attendants over. “Another bottle of this for Lord Glorfindel,” he said, handing the empty one to the servant. She bowed and hurried off to the wine cellar. “Good evening, Voronwe.” He made a motion to another servant, standing solemnly by in the corner of the room, but Voronwe shook his head.
“I can see myself out, Thelion. Good eve to you all.” Voronwe slid his feet into his boots at the doorway, then disappeared through the archway that would lead to the entrance of the estate.
“And then there were two,” said Laiqalasse as he collected up the cards.
“Three,” remarked Glorfindel. He slid his chips out of the way and settled his arms onto the table, and his head upon them.
Laiqalasse smiled. “I meant, for cards.”
“Oh.”
Ecthelion sighed and neatly put his chips away, then picked up the ones near Glorfindel that he could reach. “I wonder how things are going. Shall I send someone to check in?”
Glorfindel shook his head. “No... I do not want to seem like I am being a bothersome husband.” He was quiet as he contemplated. “Or should I? I do not wish to seem unconcerned, either.”
“I believe it has been an hour since we last checked. No harm in sending someone.” Ecthelion motioned again, and a smartly dressed page leaped up from a stool where he had been pretending to study his numbers and scurried down the hallway.
“Cribbage?” Laiqalasse was leaned back in his chair, lazily shuffling the cards. “Or would you rather play chess?”
“Chess is much too complicated this late,” decided Ecthelion, and Laiqalasse nodded and pushed down upon a little compartment. The lid tilted inward, and Laiqalasse pulled it off and plucked the blue and silver pegs made of sapphire and mithril from their hiding place. The cover was lowered back into place, and the pegs inserted into their appropriate spots once the center of the table was lifted up and flipped over to reveal the cribbage board. The table had many uses, from chess to cribbage and backgammon to poker, depending on the desires of Ecthelion and his guests. Usually, it was used by the lord’s pages and squires to play checkers and chess when their chores and schooling were done for the day, but before their master had returned from his duties. The poker chips doubled for checkers, with each having one side blue and one side white, made of marble and a gift from Galdor as part of the table and set.
Glorfindel stared at the table as Ecthelion and Laiqalasse began their game. He was completely disinterested in the game itself, and even less so after the fresh bottle of wine was set before him. “Do you think either of you will ever have children?” he asked once he had poured himself another glass.
Laiqalasse looked up at Ecthelion, as if deferring to him. Ecthelion finished counting off the current round, moved his sparkling sapphire marker, and then addressed the question. “I think I will, but not for a while. Certainly not now, without a wife,” he added with a little chuckle.
“Do you not worry about what might happen to your house if something happened to you?” It was the wine that was making him so honest, Glorfindel would decide later.
The straightforward questioning did not seem to faze Ecthelion. “If something happens to me – if something so horrible happens that something happens to me – I am doubtful that there would be a house left to worry about. I do hope that will not be the case,” he assured Glorfindel. “I do believe some day I will have children, but not many if I do. I want to be able to devote enough time to each of them. I was, myself, an only child, and while I understand that some parents want many sons and daughters – Erestor, for example – I would want one or two at most.”
“What about you?” asked Glorfindel of Laiqalasse when there was again a lull.
“I might.” Laiqalasse laughed. “I do not know. My faith is very strong, and I think sometimes that it is more my calling than anything else. Because of that, I would need to find a mate who understands that.”
“A mate, but not a wife?” Glorfindel probably would have censored himself, but with only Laiqalasse, Ecthelion, and a handful of loyal servants and pages, it seemed harmless enough.
Laiqalasse bristled slightly, like a cat whose fur is stroked in the wrong direction. “I meant, of course, if there was an elleth who would put up with me,” he corrected. He laughed again, though it was a little forced. “Glorfindel, you need to understand, I do not think of it much. I think of how I might best serve Eru. Familiar relationships, courtship, sexual encounters, intercourse – all of that is secondary for me. Besides,” he said as an afterthought, “I am only the spare, so whether or not I have children is quite inconsequential.”
“The spare?” asked Glorfindel.
“Have you never heard of such a thing?” Laiqalasse gathered the cards and shuffled the deck for the next round. “My brother is the elder; he is the heir. I am the younger; only the spare.”
“I heard that somewhere before, come to think of it,” mused Glorfindel.
“A poem, ‘The Second Son’, allegedly written by King Turgon himself.” Laiqalasse paused mid-deal. “Come to think of it, ironically, Turgon became king before his brother did.”
The page who had been sent away entered the room, completely out of breath. He panted by the doorway, then ran up to the table and slid to a stop. “Your lordships, your pardon, but I have news for Lord Glorfindel. You are requested to come forth immediately and follow me!”
“Follow you? Why? Where? Is my wife alright?” Glorfindel stood up so fast that his chair fell over behind him.
“Yes, yes, she is fine – as is your son. Come quickly; your wife wishes you to name him!”
Ecthelion rolled his eyes and grabbed the sleeve of the page before he could get away. “Tomorrow, you shall work with Gilnor on your entrance and dialogue. This is not the appropriate way to announce this sort of news.”
The page hung his head. “I beg your pardon, m’lord, I was just excited.”
“Shall we call it a draw?” asked Laiqalasse of the card game that was destined to be abandoned. Ecthelion nodded and let go of the page so that he could lead Glorfindel down the hall to the healing rooms.
When Glorfindel entered the room, he found Eladion was on hand in case of any complications, though it was Meleth who had taken charge as the midwife. There were two ellyth who had been assisting, one of whom was pregnant herself. The other was tending to Tauniel, while Meleth saw to the baby.
Glorfindel did not know at first which way to go – to Meleth to see the baby, or to Tauniel to check on her state. Meleth helped with the decision, bringing the quiet yet very alert elfling to him. “A beautiful, healthy boy,” she said as she lifted the bundle up. Instinctively, Glorfindel arranged his arms to cradle the elfling as he was placed in his father’s care. “Your wife was being patient about bestowing the name she has chosen upon him, but you should certainly declare your name for him soon or I fear her patience will wane,” said Meleth with a wink.
Bright blue eyes stared up from a face framed by soft yellow curls. “No doubt who you belong to,” whispered Glorfindel to his son. He kissed the baby on the brow, and then on the nose, and then felt the emotions flood him when he looked down and realized how important the little one he held was.
“Darling, is anything wrong?”
Glorfindel looked to see Tauniel, sitting up slightly in bed. She looked exhausted, the sheets soaked in sweat, and a bin of towels with hints of blood on them by the bedside. For a moment, he was humbled as he considered her sacrifice and the pain she had gone through. The path was clear for him to reach her, and he did, kneeling beside the bed so that they could both see their child. “Nothing is wrong. Everything is perfect.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently, mindful of the elfling in his arms. “I love you.”
Tauniel smiled. “I love you, too,” she whispered.
He lowered his voice. “Not just for him. For everything.” He carefully balanced his son with one arm, and took hold of her fingers with his freed hand. “I have a name for him.”
“I thought you might,” she said.
“I want to give him a proper Vanyarin name.”
There was a slight hesitation on Tauniel’s part. “I thought you would give him a Sindarin name.”
“I am not a Sinda,” answered Glorfindel simply.
“But he is, in part,” Tauniel reminded Glorfindel. “In fact, he is more a Sinda than he is a Vanya.”
Glorfindel said nothing. The tension was beginning to stifle him, so he turned his attention back to the baby and kissed the little scrunched nose again.
“Your mind is already set,” guessed Tauniel.
“It is,” admitted Glorfindel. “To me, he will always be Indelion, no matter what anyone might call him.”
Tauniel frowned as she settled back down into bed. “So be it, then,” she said with a sigh. “He shall be Indelion, as you wish.”
“And what of your name for him? What have you chosen?” asked Glorfindel, hoping to appease her in some small way, for he was genuinely interested.
All Tauniel would do was shrug. “I am not yet convinced of what the name should be.”
“I thought you were decided already,” said Glorfindel.
“Nay, and I am tired,” she declared, her mood changed. “I must rest now.”
Glorfindel nodded, relinquishing the baby to Meleth when she noted that the elfling should stay with his mother. Now that the adrenaline wore off and the alcohol kicked in, Glorfindel yawned when he reached the hallway and leaned against the wall. Laiqalasse and Ecthelion were waiting for him. “Well?” asked Ecthelion.
“She had a girl,” said Glorfindel, somehow managing to keep from smiling as he said this. “Two of them, actually, it was twins.”
“What? Twins? Really?” Ecthelion shook his head. “I cannot believe it.”
“Do not. He is bluffing,” said Laiqalasse.
Glorfindel grinned. “How did you know?”
“If I tell you, I will never win any poker games against you!” Laiqalasse patted Glorfindel on the back. “Congratulations. So, if twin girls is a lie, than I assume you have a son?”
Glorfindel nodded enthusiastically.
“Wonderful news.” Ecthelion motioned to the door across the hall. “No one is using the other healing room, so the maid set it up for you, if you like.”
“Oh, I think I shall, if you do not mind.” Glorfindel bid his friends goodnight, and managed only to remove his shoes and a few other items such as his belt before sleep won over etiquette, and he fell asleep on top of the comforter still wearing most of his clothes.
