"Ehtele, we're borrowing your horse!"
"Must you use that name to call to me? Blast it, Glorfindel, shout it so the whole city can hear!" grumbled the chief Captain of Gondolin. He had spent the morning riding her, but had only been around to the guard posts, so the creature was neither tired nor yet stripped of her saddle. He had removed his cloak of rank and was draping it across his arm as he realized with whom Glorfindel was walking. "Oh, this I must see," he said as he doubled back to the stables.
Ecthelion leaned over the rail of the stall as Glorfindel led Erestor to the cream colored horse and waved the groom away. "I think eventually we shall have you ride my horse, considering how much taller you are and the fact that mine is bigger," he said, to which both Ecthelion and his horse snorted. Glorfindel ignored them both and said, "This is Lord Winnykins. At least, that is the name by which she will respond to you. Her real name is Asfaloth, but some elves," he said with dramatic flair, as his arm waved in the direction of Ecthelion, "think it amusing to change the name and apparently the gender of their mount."
"You are just jealous that my horse has such a fabulous name and yours sounds like one that should be prancing through a field of flowers." Ecthelion was interrupted by one of King Turgon's messengers, and with a nod to his fellow captain, made his way back to the palace.
"I feared he was going to stay and make commentary," Erestor said to Glorfindel very quietly.
Glorfindel looked at Erestor quizzically. "You always seem a little nervous around him," he said of Ecthelion.
"I am always a little nervous around anyone who has taken up sword against kin," he answered honestly. "Be thankful you knew not those days of darkness."
Glorfindel did not quite laugh, but there was some sort of ironic humor in what Erestor had said- at least there was to the blond and yet he did not share what. "Have you mounted a horse before?"
"Only twice, and I was aided both times." Rubbing the horse's nose, Erestor asked, "What was her real name?"
"Asfaloth," said Glorfindel carefully.
Erestor was now very close to the horse, his nose nearly touching that of the mare. He began to speak to her, very softly, almost forgetting that Glorfindel was there. "I can tell you fear me because I am new to you, but believe me when I say I am more afraid of you than you are of me, Asfaloth. Such a pretty girl you are," he continued, rubbing her cheek with his hand. Her eyelids dropped a little and she gave a slow nod of her head. "Please forgive me if I do something wrong, but I am new to this. I know that Glorfindel is going to teach me what to do, but I need your help, too. Will you help me?" Another nod. "Thank you, Asfaloth. I will be sure you are rewarded for your hard work."
"Why do you not simply ask her to dinner and a romantic walk in the gardens?" Ecthelion was at the rail again, grinning when Erestor dropped his hand from the horse's cheek and blushed. "Glorfindel, Turgon needs to see you as well; the messenger neglected to make that clear."
"I will return shortly," promised Glorfindel as he opened the stall and let himself out. Erestor watched the two soldiers through the window, reaching up to pat Asfaloth while he waited. A few times he would smile as the stable-hands passed through the aisle and took note of him in the stall. After the passing of an hour or so, he began to hear them whisper among themselves about him and laugh as well.
Checking over Asfaloth, he decided that she had everything that he would really need. She had a blanket, it was all he had ever seen on Nahar on the two occasions he had rode upon his father's horse. Asfaloth also had a saddle on her back that was buckled around her chest and also her stomach. Dangling down were footholds he had seen others use, not only to mount but also to 'hang on' as it were. Surveying the stall, he saw a wooden box and coaxed Asfaloth to stand beside it before he opened the stall.
"It will only be a moment," he assured her when he stood upon the box, trying to decide his next move. After a few unsuccessful attempts, the scribe managed to clamber atop the horse. "Very good," he said, more to himself than to Asfaloth, and then he waited.
Nahar, being the horse of all horses, knew just what to do once Erestor was on his back. Asfaloth on the other hand stood still, awaiting to be told her commands. "Uhm, can we go forward? Just outside, very slowly," he said, his hands resting on the small hump on the front of the saddle. Asfaloth turned her head around and gave him a strange look, but as Erestor wiped the sweat from his brow and tried to think of what to do next, he was relieved that the horse had decided for herself to leave the stall and take him out into the sunshine and fresh air.
Some say that there are no fat elves - there are 'chubby' elves or elves with 'love pouches' but no fat ones. Except for Salgant. Not only was Salgant fat, he was decidedly so and had been for some time. He was not simply a lover of good food and fine wine as his pleasantly plump and delightfully chubbly counterparts were, he was a glutton. For whatever reason, he chanced to be walking the grounds of the riding and grazing fields just as Erestor came out from the stable with Asfaloth.
