“The masters are awaiting you upstairs, sir,” was the greeting that Glorfindel received from the butler as the doors to Salgant’s home were opened for him. The lights of the chandelier in the foyer were dimmed now; the tables which hours ago held food and drink had been cleared away. Everything was shining and spotless, so that he saw himself mirrored clearly in the black marble floor as he walked to the stairway. At the center, the grand harp still stood, a proud reminder of whose house he was in.
Upon further direction from a maid whom had just finished polishing the brass handles and doorknobs on the second floor, Glorfindel continued up to the tower where Duilin had played host to the elite. It, too, was much emptier than it had been. The remaining tables were spread out and the doors of the room had actually been removed, and it seemed this was the usual way. Duilin was perched on the back part of one of the two lounge chairs, wearing naught but some sort of knee-length skirt-type garment belted at the waist. He looked over his shoulder only long enough to acknowledge Glorfindel and wave him forward. In the corner near the door, opposite to where the harp had been, a young ellon was hunched over many papers and open books. Glorfindel made eye contact with him briefly, and recognized him as the youth he had met earlier that night. The young one bowed his head back down to concentrate on his work.
“I hope I did not imagine the invitation,” said Glorfindel as he approached Duilin and stood behind him. The image on the other elf’s skin was clear to him now, despite having his spectacles hidden away in his pocket. It was a tiger, and not the regular sort, but the vicious, burly kind that hunted and haunted the rocky cliffs surrounding the city. The orange and black contrasted one another starkly, and as Duilin’s muscles moved, so too did the sinew of the tattooed beast ripple. The eyes, green and gold, were so lifelike that Glorfindel held his breath a moment, waiting for the feline to leap off Duilin’s back and sink the bared white teeth into his throat.
Duilin shook his head. “I am so glad the heat spell broke. This breeze has been longed for by me for some months now.” He swung his legs around and slid down onto the chair, and once there, made a slow deliberate motion to the chair beside him. “Sit. Stay a while.”
Glorfindel did as told, the feel of the cool leather making him shiver as he settled his arms across the rests. “Is Salgant abed?”
“No, he just wanted to take a bath before entertaining again.”
“I did not mean to cause a fuss,” apologized Glorfindel.
A small smile appeared on Duilin’s face, and he spoke softly. “Nay, nay, I would have made him do so anyhow. When you are as... copious as he is, certain activities require a higher frequency of bathing.” A little louder, he called to the quiet elf near the door, “How is your assignment coming along, Faelion?”
“Well enough,” he answered. “At least it will be done soon.”
Duilin shook his head, and gave a roll of his eyes for Glorfindel to see. “If you take the time to do something, you may as well do it correctly. Is it worth taking the time to throw a pot if you neglect to fire it and it turns back to muddy clay at first use?”
“No,” sighed Faelion, crumbling up a sheet of paper he had been writing on.
“Bring it here, child, let me see it.” Duilin motioned sternly, and Faelion grabbed the crinkled up sheet. He muttered to himself as he stomped over to Duilin, and slapped the wadded paper into his hand.
“So polite, the youth these days,” said Duilin to Glorfindel as Faelion went back to his table and sat down so hard in his chair that it jerked back and scraped the floor. “That floor was just waxed yesterday, Faelion. If you want to redo it yourself, go ahead and scratch it up.”
“I do not know how to wax a floor,” argued Faelion back.
“Then I would suggest you stop throwing a fit with the chairs. And bring yourself back over here; I cannot explain your mistake to you if you are a kilometer away from me.”
“I am NOT that far. Twelve meters at most.” But Faelion came back over anyhow, avoiding eye contact with Glorfindel.
“At least you have an aptitude for mathematical reasoning.” Duilin read through the page, nodding often. “This part is wrong. You need to go and look at your books again.”
“But Finwe WAS the first king of the Noldor,” disputed Faelion.
Duilin handed the paper back. “He was the first king of the Noldor in Valinor; the question directs you to think of the first king of the Noldor after they returned to Middle-earth. That is why it is an essay question and not simply a blank to be filled in. Some will argue it was Feanor, and some say it was one of his sons, either Maedhros or Maglor. There are others who believe that truly it was not until Fingolfin was chosen that there was a king of the Noldor in Middle-earth. You must choose one, research your answer, and offer your proof.”
“Fine.” Faelion grabbed the paper and went back to his seat, and was much more careful this time not to scrape the floor.
Glorfindel tried not to look too confused or curious as to just what was going on. He was beginning to wonder exactly what the relationship was between Faelion and Duilin, but opted not to ask. The butler who had greeted him appeared in the doorway, and after bowing to them, asked, “Will there be three instead of two, sir?”
Duilin nodded, and as Faelion glanced up with a hurt look on his face, Duilin sighed and said, “Make it four, Thrangorn. The bratling intends to stay up past his bedtime.” Faelion stuck his tongue out at Duilin while the butler simply bowed and left. “Would you rather I sent you to bed without supper?”
Faelion shrugged and went back to his work.
In answer, Duilin laughed. “Ah, youth,” was all he said before turning his attention back to Glorfindel. “Did you hear about Maeglin?”
“Recently, I have heard very little,” admitted Glorfindel. “Then again, I have been busying myself with the stables and the play.”
“True... well, I think you should like to know that he decided to sell the gift that his uncle offered him. The land that is near the woods,” he added when he realized Glorfindel was not quite following him. “That wolf attack has had everyone talking. He did not want to take the risk, so he is selling that land in order to pay for a piece of Enerdhil’s land.”
“Really?” Glorfindel rubbed his chin. “Do you know how much he is asking for it?”
“Yes; and I know who made him the offer.”
Glorfindel looked alarmed. “It is not going to auction?”
Duilin shook his head. “No, it was going to, but I will tell you, you would not have managed to purchase it. Someone else would have bought it instead. Land is far too scarce, even with the threat of wolves, and your resources are spread far too thin. Maeglin was only interested in liquid assets and not taking anything on credit.”
“So who is my new neighbor?” asked Glorfindel cautiously.
“Salgant, although, technically, it was my money that paid for it. Not something that Maeglin ever has to know. Salgant has invested most of his money in the playhouse and other entertainments of his.” Duilin looked up to see Faelion staring at them, listening intently. “None of this is to be shared with your friends, Faelion,” he warned.
“Who would I tell?” questioned the youth, looking somewhat hurt as he returned to his work.
Food was brought in and between the butler and two maids a few of the tables were rearranged and lowered to a height consistent with the lounge chairs. Other tables and chairs were pushed aside to make room for two more lounge chairs to be positioned facing the ones that Glorfindel and Duilin were sitting in. Individual trays with salad, bread, and sliced meat and cheese were placed on the tables that had been arranged at the center of the lounges. “Master Salgant said he will be a few minutes, but that you should begin without him,” announced the butler before he left.
“He knows I am going to wait for him anyhow,” Duilin said to Glorfindel. “Tell me, what were you going to do with the land if you had acquired it?”
“Stable expansion and more training fields. I have a backup plan to build one on top of the other, though, and as far as neighbors go... what is Salgant going to do with the land?”
“Greenhouses. He and I are both foreseeing a shortage in the food supply, and we need a more controlled environment. If we can have summers as unpredictable as this one, that would go for winters, too. The greenhouses would be multilevel. Of course, I think that there might be some ways for the two of you to work together,” said Duilin.
“How so?”
“Just as he does not need all of that land for greenhouses, you do not need all of the horse manure that you are going to be producing when your herd increases in numbers.”
There was still hope, Glorfindel suddenly realized, and he smiled in spite of himself.
“The two of you can talk business later. Tomorrow. Next week. Not tonight. Tonight, I am declaring a no-business zone while we eat,” Duilin said quickly as Salgant entered.
“Tonight? Dearest, it is morning already.” Salgant entered, wearing a long that was untied and a pair of loose pants, and purposely waddled to Faelion, ruffling his hair and giving him a kiss on the top of his mussed head before continuing on to join Duilin and Glorfindel. He sidled up next to Duilin’s chair and leaned over, brushing his cheek with a kiss. “Did you order dessert?” he asked as he sat down.
“No, I thought you did. Should I call Thrangorn back?”
As he sat down, Salgant looked over the number of places set. “Faelion, are you eating with us?”
“In a minute,” he mumbled. “I just need to finish looking over this essay. My eyes are hurting, though.”
“If you bring it here, I can look it over for you,” offered Salgant.
Faelion practically jumped out of his chair, bringing his paper with him. “I think I picked the right one, but it just seems really boring.”
“What is this for? Oh, political history... well, I can understand that, most of it is a lot of the same, over and over.” Salgant read through the paper as Duilin poured wine for all four of them. Glorfindel continued to sit quietly, still wondering about the young ellon with the light brown hair who was slouched next to Salgant. “What is this word?” asked Salgant with a jolly smile.
Frustration twisted Faelion’s mouth. “White birch,” he answered cautiously
“Then it should be Nimbrethil, not Nimpbrethil. Consider, you would say ‘Nimloth’ not ‘Nimploth’.”
“Ooooooh...” Faelion nodded his head to the side of the little, contemplating. “Yes, that makes sense. It sounds far better that way.”
Salgant handed the paper back. “You can finish the rest in the morning. I detect the scent of dessert wafting up the stairs. Organize your things and then join us.” Faelion nodded in relief and was very quick about clearing his mess into two near piles of books and papers. “Duilin, you did not need to disturb Thrangorn.”
“I wanted to bother him before he turned in for the night,” replied Duilin. “Besides, I want my dessert before I eat dinner.”
Supper was more elegant that what Glorfindel had been accustomed to as of late. His many tasks had led to a lot of lembas and very few actual meals. Despite feeling full for weeks, his stomach had been empty for so long he found it hard to eat very much. Not wanting to seem rude, he concentrated on eating slowly and making conversation. “Are you studying a particular field, Faelion?”
“Not exactly,” he said, pushing his salad around on his plate.
Salgant reached over and patted Faelion’s knee. “He is working on finishing up the remainder of his general studies. His concentration on dance caused a lapse in his learning of other topics. I want to be sure he has the basics covered before he starts his military training.”
Faelion gave an irritated sigh, and shoved his plate away. “May I be excused?”
Duilin and Salgant exchanged a hard look with one another before Salgant looked back at Faelion and nodded. “Make sure you take care of your essay first thing in the morning,” Salgant reminded him. Faelion nodded and left the room quietly, taking two of the books from the corner table with him.
After Faelion had gone, Salgant and Duilin relaxed a little more, and more wine was poured. “As soon as he gets it over with, Salgant, he will be back to normal again,” assured Duilin.
“No... being in the service always changes a person.” Salgant pushed his own plate away with a deep sigh. “I think it is going to be harder for me to let him go than it will be for him to actually go and complete the training.”
“Three years is really not a very long time,” added Duilin. “Unless you think he should take up Rog’s offer.”
To this, Salgant looked very torn. “If I sent him over there, he... I cannot do that to him. I know it would be just five months, but it would change him too much. Besides, I think he needs me and needs to be able to come home at night much more than he needs someone to adjust his attitude.”
“Either way, it is a hard choice to make,” said Duilin. “Better you than me; I think he could use a good ass kicking from Rog. I know he has had a tough time, but really, he is an adult who acts like a child.”
“With good reason,” countered Salgant, but his response lacked conviction. He swirled his wine and looked to Glorfindel. “If he was your nephew, what would you do?”
“I guess I am lacking a little information, but let me see if I can put together a basic idea. Faelion has come of age and needs to be trained per Fingon’s orders, and instead of training him with either of your companies, you want him to train with one of the other houses,” said Glorfindel.
Salgant nodded. “He needs to be trained elsewhere. I cannot take the risk that I would coddle him, and with Duilin—“
“There is no way I would be able to control him,” interrupted Duilin. “He would put at jeopardy all of the other recruits in his group with his attitude.”
Glorfindel drummed his fingers on the side of his chair. “Where are you thinking of having him go?”
“Only Galdor and Rog were able to accommodate him in their next rounds of recruits. I just want Faelion to get this out of the way. His depression continues to get worse, because he knows that one way or another his lifestyle is going to change for that time.” Salgant rubbed his forehead. “Either he does his training quickly with Rog, which will be a five month nightmare, or Galdor trains him, and we deal with three years of whining every night until this is over.”
Glorfindel poked at his chocolate cake with a spoon. He chewed at his bottom lip as he watched Salgant stare miserably out the window. “What if I could suggest a third option?”
