“I can hardly believe he is doing this,” announced Aranel, her concern and anger mingled.
Tauniel sat in front of the mirror at the dressing table, fixing her hair. “I thought you had come to terms with him leaving the army.”
“This has nothing to do with that.” Aranel was pacing in a small space just behind Tauniel, so that she appeared in the mirror every few seconds going one way, and then the other.
Glorfindel sat in the corner of the room. He was already dressed and pretending to be immersed in his reading. It was opening night for Erestor and with the play being new as well it was making things in their home more stressful than one might have hoped. Aranel had been very cold to all of them, yet refused to reveal the cause.
“Then what?” Tauniel set her brush down and folded her hands, continuing to watch the mirror. “If it is that important, then speak now, for I will not have you interrupting the play.” For Tauniel, the event was an exciting one as well. Her family could not afford such luxuries that the finer theatres could offer, and had only ever attended the street shows and performances found in the Greater Marketplace. Glorfindel, upon learning this, paid for not only their tickets, but for her parents to attend as well — a gift they had happily accepted after many rounds of thanks that made Glorfindel slightly uncomfortable. For him, the theatre was just another form of amusement, and he had never before realized how few in Gondolin had the finances to truly be able to enjoy it.
The pacing continued though Aranel said nothing. Tauniel muttered a few curses under her breath and went to the closet to find shoes – an easier task than it might have been in the early days of their residence in the suite, now that the clothing had been redistributed into the proper rooms. As Tauniel bent down to retrieve a pair of velvet slippers from the closet, Aranel announced, “Does he realize what sort of message he is sending?”
“What are you talking about?” Tauniel closed the door of the closet and sat down on the bed, watching Aranel walk back and forth, huffing and muttering. “Fine. If you are not going to tell us, Glorfindel and I will take the coach and you can walk.”
“He is condoning it!”
“Condoning what?”
“Everything! Everything he ever said he does not believe in. By being in this production he is a propagandist for the Feanorians!” Aranel shot a look in Glorfindel’s direction. “Even if she can not agree with me, you should be able to.”
“Well, it... it is just a play,” Glorfindel finally answered, truly stuck now and having to take a side.
Aranel narrowed her gaze upon him. “Did you read through it?”
“Of course. I helped him learn his lines,” Glorfindel reminded her.
“Propaganda! And half of it is untrue! It makes all of them out to be heroes, and does it once mention Feanor's madness? No! Does it once tell how he disgraced his wife in public? No! It is a conspiracy, I tell you, one designed to--”
There was a knock on the main door, which Glorfindel hastily went to answer before Aranel could continue. He returned to inform the ladies that Tauniel’s parents had arrived. Aranel took a deep breath, masked her displeasure, and went to greet Taunos and Lasivien.
“Is it just me, or are there times when she is just a wee bit paranoid?” Tauniel asked Glorfindel in passing before joining her parents and secret lover in the sitting room.
---
The journey to the playhouse was uneventful, and after being ushered to their seats, Lasivien thanked Glorfindel for what had to be at least the fiftieth time since his offer had been made to have his in-laws join them. “It looks so big from the outside, but when you are in here, you can see just how majestic it is!” The ceiling vaulted upwards three stories, with statues depicting the Maiar devoted to Nessa adorning the ledge over the stage. Glorfindel had rented the royal box for the full duration of this play – forty-two performances spanning six weeks.
“Wait until they dim the lights and open the curtain,” advised Glorfindel. “Then you will see how large the theatre really is. There is space for an entire orchestra behind the curtain, and a balcony for the chorus singers hidden behind a second curtain.”
They did not have to wait much longer for the ushers to beg silence from the audience, but it was not the narrator who stepped forth onto the stage. Wearing full military garb, minus his impressive spiked helmet, Ecthelion marched to the center of the stage with its curtain still drawn. “Might I have the attention of the house? Your attention, please, ladies and gentlefolk.”
When he had control of the audience, Ecthelion cleared his throat and unfolded a sheet he carried with him. “It is my honor to announce to all of you that our time of mourning our beloved King Fingolfin has ended, and that a new king has been crowned not so very long ago, not so very far away. Three cheers from your, good people, for the reign of King Fingon, brother of our Good King Turgon!”
A trio of huzzahs erupted from the audience. Ecthelion held up his hands for calm once again, and over the buzz of the crowd announced, “With the crowning of King Fingon brings forth changes. I shall not list all of them here, but among them is a charge that all able males between the ages of fifty and three-hundred are expected to complete three years weapons and combat training, as a precautionary measure. Over the course of the next two weeks, those who are eligible and not currently trained will be expected to report to the captain of the house they have registered alligiance to. Anyone who does not adhere to this rule will face a penalty of no less than ten years jail and hard labor. All of the new rules and regulations will be posted at all kiosks throughout the city by noonday tomorrow. Thank you for your attention.”
The buzz grew louder as Ecthelion retreated from the stage. In the next box over, Glorfindel overheard one elf explaining to another that obviously the upper-class would not be expected to adhere to such laws that were really meant for the peasants to follow, and not to worry, for the word of Fingon would not hold up in Turgon’s land. As he rolled his eyes, Taunos, who has also heard the exchange, said loud enough for it to carry, “And so it never changes. Those of us who would do right stay at the bottom, and those who do not, somehow rise to the top. Well, I can say with certainty, if King Fingon thinks it is a good idea for us to be at the ready, then we should be.”
Behind the curtain the musicians were checking the pitches of their instruments, and the ushers began to walk through the audience, extinguishing torches on the side walls and candles in the balconies. The head usher entered the box, bowed to all who were there, and put out the candles before leaving, closing the heavy curtain of the box to keep out the light in the hallway behind them.
The sound of the orchestra died down, and then a single flute accompanied by the softly chanting chorus rose up. Once the audience quieted, a single voice broke through while the chorus fell back and light percussion and harps joined in, and a song of Feanor’s great deeds and Morgoth’s terrible darkness was sung. The singer ended her part, and the flute was again alone. Then came the chorus again, seven voices, and the greatness of Feanor’s sons was proclaimed as the curtain was pulled back to reveal the cast. Glorfindel leaned forward and squinted, trying to see which of the seven was Erestor.
“I thought Amras was killed by his father,” whispered Aranel, directing her comment to Tauniel, who was on the other side of Glorfindel.
Tauniel nodded. “He was.”
“Then why do they have him in the play like he is still alive?”
“Conspiracy, obviously.” Tauniel sat back in her seat and stared straight down at the stage in order to ignore anything more from Aranel.
Glorfindel nudged Tauniel gently. “Tauni, which one is Erestor?”
“Second from the left. Shh, he is about to speak.”
But when Erestor stepped forward and opened his mouth, Glorfindel became even more confused. “That cannot be,” he said, fumbling in his pocket to find his glasses, no longer concerned about his vanity. “That is not his voice.”
“Well, it is him,” replied Tauniel quickly. “Maybe he just sounds different from this distance.”
“No, I know what he sounds like. That is not Erestor.” Glorfindel adjusted his spectacles and focused on the figure that was walking across the stage, addressing the audience casually. It was Erestor, there was no doubt, but the voice was not deep enough, and the speech was too clear and too well practiced. Searching the stage and then the pit for the orchestra, Glorfindel frowned. “That is not him talking.”
“Shh, yes it is,” hissed Tauniel. “Now be quiet or I will call for the usher,” she half-teased.
Glorfindel watched the rest of the play in an uncomfortable state. Every time Erestor spoke, it made Glorfindel frown. There were two songs sung by Erestor, and neither sounded like him, either. When the curtain dropped, and the applause rang out, Glorfindel made haste in attempting to leaving the box.
“Do you not wish to wait for the curtain calls?” shouted Tauniel over the din.
Bowing to the wishes of the others to wait until the lights in the house were relit, Glorfindel impatiently drummed his fingers against the wall beside the box exit until the usher came around to open the curtain to their private little chamber. Dropping a coin into the usher’s palm, Glorfindel led the group down the hall to the stairway.
Tauniel momentarily stopped their progress. “When we leave, we will have Erestor with us. That is going to be quite a squeeze in the carriage, and I am sure mother and father are tired. Could we let them take the carriage back now, and send it back for us later? Surely it will take Erestor some time to get out of his costume and makeup.”
Everyone agreed to this, and after exchanging goodnights, Tauniel’s parents took the passage to the exit, while the others journeyed on to the backstage area. They were stopped by a page, but Aranel’s insistence that her husband was in the cast gained them admittance.
It was a bit of a maze, past prop rooms and long counters and mirrors before they reached a series of chambers used by the principle actors. The one with Erestor’s name upon it was shared with two others, and the door was ajar. Glorfindel peeked in, and then knocked when he recognized the elf sitting on a chair, staring at the mirror. “Can we come in, or are you too famous now for us?” he teased.
“Hey.” Erestor motioned for them to enter. Costumes were draped over every available surface, and a red-brown wig was sitting in his lap. “You came to see the play.”
“I told you we were going to.”
“Oh, right.” Erestor tried to smile, but gave up.
Glorfindel looked to the ladies for support. Aranel pushed her personal opinions of the subject matter aside and placed her hand on Erestor’s shoulder. “We all enjoyed your performance this evening.”
“I was just let go,” answered Erestor.
Aranel’s hand dropped away. “Oh.”
“What?!” Glorfindel’s jaw dropped. “Why?”
“Can we discuss it on the way home? I really want to get out of here. You came in a carriage, right?” Erestor was in motion now, gathering up the few items that were his and shoving them into a burlap sack. He had already changed out of his costume and into his own clothing, but now took a damp cloth and wiped off the remaining powder and makeup that made his appearance so unnatural.
“Nana and Adar took it home. It will not return again for us for a while,” explained Tauniel. “We could walk, though.”
Erestor nodded, and rubbed his eyelids with one hand. “I want to get out of here now.”
They took the back exit out of the theatre, and from there, the less traveled roads and paths. Once they were a fair distance from the theatre, Erestor shoved his hands into his pockets, the sack dangling from his belt by a short piece of thin rope. “Two days ago, when we ran through the dress rehearsal here, I received complaints from the director that when I projected my accent made it hard to understand me. They had my understudy speak my lines from backstage while I acted out front; they told me they still wanted me in the production because I would help attract an audience.”
“There is some truth to that,” spoke Aranel. “I know of five people who came just to see you.”
Erestor stepped closer to Aranel and put his arm around her as the group continued walking. “They were even talking about getting a vocal coach for me... and then the director figured that the added cost of a vocal coach and someone to cue the understudy backstage was not worth it. So, starting tomorrow, my understudy will be playing Maglor, and I will be playing the part of the unemployed actor.”
“I like your accent,” offered Glorfindel. “They were probably just jealous that you really sound better than they do.”
“I appreciate that, but I think if you honestly consider... Glorfindel, how many times in council does someone ask me to repeat what I have said?”
Glorfindel nodded. “I know, but I still like your accent. I like it when you sing, too. Why did they keep you from singing?”
“Yes, that made no sense. When you sing, your accent is much less distinguishable,” agreed Tauniel.
“They did not want the voice to sound different, and I was having some trouble anyhow. The notes were too high for me.” Erestor shivered slightly and rubbed his nose. “I am sorry. We should have waited for the carriage. Surely you ladies are feeling the chill if I am.”
“We are almost home, and it hardly bothers me,” lied Aranel. “When we get home, we will all snuggle on the sofas, have a little wine, and forget all about this. Tomorrow, you can go to my father,” she said to Erestor, “and let him know what happened. I am sure he will be glad to have you back in command of your company.”
Erestor nodded but said nothing, and nothing more was said until they returned. The carriage was just being readied to depart for them, and was instead sent back to the stable. After the long climb to the eighth floor of the tower, the ladies retired for the evening. This left the ellyn some time to share a bottle of wine and reflect upon the day.
A bottle of red was selected, which Glorfindel poured into two crystal goblets. He took up residence on one sofa, while Erestor half-reclined upon the other. “I guess that was a waste of five months.”
“Have you thought of trying another acting company?” suggested Glorfindel. “There have to be at least a dozen others that would love to have you on their cast.”
“Not after tonight. Most of the other theatre owners were there tonight, and they talk to one another. I think I can safely say my acting career is over, unless something strange happened. Maybe if there was someone who enjoyed the gestures I was making tonight, and they were the patron of another theatre... no, it is an impossible idea.”
“I suppose you are going to go back to Rog’s army then.”
“That is my last choice,” said Erestor bitterly. “I would rather work as a scullery maid than return to the military.”
Glorfindel snickered briefly at the odd image Erestor had suggested, but sobered quickly. “You... almost seemed to enjoy what you were doing in the army, though. And, you were good at it.”
“Are you aware of the deal I made with Turgon?” asked Erestor as he regarded the glass of wine in his hand, holding it up to the flickering light. It cast odd red glimmers of light onto the floor. Glorfindel shook his head. “My decision to join Rog’s army was not really my decision. I was ordered to by Turgon, or else he was going to have me denounced publicly as a homosexual, and then killed in front of that same audience.”
Shoulders slumped, Glorfindel apologized. “That was my fault. You would never have been in that situation had I kept my hands off of Gildor.”
“No, it was not. I do not think it would have been very long before I did something else that would have brought upon Turgon’s wrath. For the moment, he is appeased. The army kept me busy, and it was to his advantage to have someone with my skills in that position. He seemed less happy when he was informed of my plans to take leave in order to act.”
“Why does he care?” prodded Glorfindel. “Forgive the blatant honesty, but you have gone from being unpredictable to being quite calm and disciplined.”
Erestor smirked. “Like I said, the army kept me busy. I was too tired at the end of the day for arguments and outbursts. These plays would have done the same, but obviously that venture is now at an end, and I am at a loss of what to do to stay in his good graces. I would really rather not go back to Rog’s army. Then again, what else am I to do?”
Before any other suggestions could be offered, there was a tentative knock on the door. Neither seemed to have any idea whom it might be, and after the second knock, Glorfindel went to answer it. “Good evening, Ecthelion,” he greeted jovially, though his false happiness was not returned.
“Good, you are still awake. I know it is late, but do you mind if I step inside to discuss something with you?”
After letting Ecthelion in, Glorfindel fetched another glass for wine, but Ecthelion declined the offer. “I have been practicing this, so I will be brief. As of late, there have been some changes. You have spent more time at home and in your scholarly pursuits, and I have spent more time on the practice fields. The training center is filling up, but it is my sections that have become crowded while the numbers in yours have dwindled.”
“I have always intended to return in full capacity,” Glorfindel assured his friend. “This has been a temporary leave on my part.”
“Though that may be, Glorfindel, it has lasted for a number of years now. When we built the stadium and the barracks, we had decided that if one of our houses surpassed the other we could buy out the other half.”
“Ah. So... you are evicting me.”
An awkward silence followed. “The new edict will cause a sudden and unexpected influx of new recruits. I know you were not expecting this, so I would give you until the end of the month to move your supplies and weapons, and to give notice to your soldiers. As a... sign of goodwill, I can offer you one hundred and forty percent of the value.”
“I am not in need of charity, Ecthelion. Just pay me what it is worth and I will remove myself and all that is mine by the end of the week.”
Ecthelion looked to Erestor for some support, but the other ellon was amusing himself with the rosy shadows cast by his wine onto the floor. “Glorfindel, this is not easy for me, but you know how difficult it is to find land now. I had no choice.”
“I understand.”
The Noldo closed his eyes and shook his head. “I can tell from your voice how pissed you are right now.”
“I think this was something that could have waited until morning,” admitted Glorfindel, his words terse, expression unpleasant. “This has not been an evening for good news, that much is certain.”
“What else happened?”
Erestor sighed heavily. “Better it come from me than a gossipy housewife. The theatre company I signed on with fired me.”
Ecthelion blinked in shock. “What? Why?”
“Creative differences,” Erestor said wryly.
“I thought you were good. Your voice was clear and very—“
“That was not my voice.”
“Oh.” Ecthelion looked away uncomfortably. “Well... I will return tomorrow with payment, Glorfindel. I wish there had been a better way.”
“Do you want me to show you out?” asked Glorfindel when Ecthelion did not say anything else.
“No, the, uh, door is right over there. I know where it is.” Ecthelion stood up, and unable to come up with a suitable farewell, simply left.
Glorfindel tightened his grasp on the glass he held. “Fuck,” he said, mouthing the word silently.
“That is an excellent summation of the evening.” Erestor drank the rest of his wine, and then went to the bar to refill his glass. “Would you like more bad news, or shall I save it for the morning?”
“Pile it on,” grumbled Glorfindel. He rested his head on the cushion of the couch and stared up at the ceiling.
“You heard the announcement that Ecthelion made? About King Fingon?” To each of Erestor’s questions, Glorfindel nodded. “Well, I saw a copy of this infamous list of changes, and among them, Fingon is charging that a union between any two elves is valid and not punishable by death, as Turgon has been holding to.”
Glorfindel lifted his head. “Any two elves.”
“Yes.”
“Male or female or whatever.”
“Right.”
“So, this whole thing, with you and I and them and... we could have avoided this.”
Erestor nodded. “If we had only waited six months.”
Glorfindel closed his eyes. “Fuck.”
“I know. I am sorry. I rushed us all into this.” Erestor brought the bottle with him and sat down next to Glorfindel. “Aranel and Tauniel could have been with each other, and you could have been with Gildor instead of being forced to share a room with me.” He tipped the bottle to refill Glorfindel’s glass.
“I would much rather have you than Gildor.” The words slipped out faster than Glorfindel expected. “I mean… Gildor... he... it would not have worked.”
“In any case, you could be with someone you wanted to be with.”
After a deep drink of wine, Glorfindel said quietly, “It is too bad you are straight.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Erestor with a little laugh.
“Just, if you ever turn gay, let me know, alright?”
Erestor laughed louder and shook his head. “No, you are much too sweet to deal with anyone as old and grouchy as I am. Besides, I do not think anyone can ‘turn gay’.”
“I said if. Just wanted to throw my hat in early on, just in case.”
“Alright, well, if it happens, you will be the first to know, how about that?” Erestor laughed again. “This conversation is getting ridiculous.”
“Yes, it is, I quite agree,” said Glorfindel, though he was enjoying it and the fantasy daydream being constructed in his head of Erestor suddenly deciding to jump the fence with his sexual preferences. “We should get to bed. In the morning, there are going to be a lot of things to do and decisions to be made.”
“I suppose you are right.” Erestor yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “This has been a most unforgettable day.”
“It certainly has been,” said Glorfindel as he stood and followed Erestor to the bedroom. “Let us hope we do not have another like it for quite some time.”
End: Book One
Author's Chapter Notes:
This story began two years ago, as a 60 second prompt. It has now become even longer than envisioned, and has been split into two ‘books’. This is the end of book one; there is a story that will be an intermission piece, which will go over what is happening with Fingon, Maedhros, et al. during the ‘in between’ time (will be titled ‘Spiraling’) and follow along a bit with Book Two. Book Three of Unforgettable will pick up right around where Spiraling ends.