By the time Glorfindel was walking back home, the sun was already heralding the day. He climbed the stairs high up into the tower with relative ease even having missed a night of rest: Glorfindel, by Elven standards, was still in his youth, and even older, less energetic Elves could forgo weeks of sleep if necessary with few ill effects. On his way, he made a request for water to be brought to the apartment.
When Erestor found Glorfindel, it was little less than an hour later. The tall ellon came into the washroom and leaned his shoulder against the doorway, his robe tied loosely at his waist. “Just where were you last night?” he demanded of the blond, who had one knee bent so he could wash between his toes while singing a cheerful song, inserting his own lyrics as he saw fit.
“Do you always enter without knocking?” questioned Glorfindel at the end of the erroneous verse. The cake of soap slipped from his hands, sinking into the water with a ‘splook’.
Erestor rolled his eyes and turned, his back against the doorway now. “I woke up a number of times through the night. You were not there, and I was concerned.”
“Your concern is noted.” Glorfindel fished around blindly, the fluff of the soap bubbles on the surface impeding his search. “Can you hand me the soap next to the wash basin? Mine seems to be uninterested in being helpful.”
“Tell me where you were and I will,” prodded Erestor.
A smirk pulled at Glorfindel’s mouth. “Not so much fun the other way around, is it?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Glorfindel stretched and retrieved the soap himself. “I had a meeting of sorts. We are getting a chunk of that land we wanted, and all it is costing me is a little time and effort.”
“Really? Who gave it to you? What did you have to do?” Erestor asked.
“Salgant did. We should end up getting about half of the lot.”
Erestor considered this news thoughtfully. “That would be great, considering we anticipated getting none of it. We still have ample supplies for building, considering we acquired enough to put up a theatre. With the wood, we can expand the stables. We are going to need the extra room soon. We should consider fencing off some areas to keep the mares and foals away from the stallions. I want to start housing Dragonsong with the others so that he understands that he is part of the herd and not just a rogue warhorse.”
Glorfindel nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. I want to finish the barracks first, though. My priority right now is having things ready in order to move the remaining officers and soldiers onto the land in a month, and to start a large group of recruits, two if possible, on my land before the year is out.”
“So, what did you have to do to get the land? You must have made some hefty promises.”
“Not much, really. His nephew needs to be trained, and I offered—“
“You offered to train Faelion?”
Glorfindel finished washing, and pulled up a towel sitting on the stool as he stood. “...why?”
“Good luck. He might be of age, and look of age, but he still acts as if he’s twenty. The operative word being, acts. He can be a little overly dramatic at times, if it will offer the attention he craves.”
“I noticed that. Still, I think the exchange is more than fair,” said Glorfindel as he wrapped the towel around his waist and picked up another for his long hair.
“Like I said, good luck.”
---
Six weeks later, a new play had been chosen. Practices for the new one began even as ‘Tears of Sirion’ extended its run another month. When finally the last curtain closed on the debut play, Glorfindel made the decision to lessen his presence in the playhouse in order to concentrate on strengthening his military power once again. Duilin promised to provide weekly updates, and his growing friendship with both Duilin and Salgant was sure to lead to the occasional late night gathering and business meeting.
Cool breezes now dominated, and the warmth of the sun dwindled. Harvest had been meager, but adequate. Wind whipped past the captain, tugging his hair behind him. Braids would have been a better choice for the day, thought Glorfindel ruefully, but it was much too late for that sort of thing now.
The recruits were practicing with long wooden staffs, still learning basic fighting principles. It was almost painfully boring for Glorfindel to watch, for he had soon learned that his skills, rusty as they were, far dominated those of the ragtag group charging one another in the newly opened practice arena. The arena was not quite finished, but in the state it was in was suitable for practice. One of the staffs flew from the hands of its owner, and though some of the recruits ducked away or crouched down upon hearing the outcry, Glorfindel took three strides forward and easily caught the weapon as it spun back down. “Try not to do that again,” he said sternly as he handed the weapon back, and upon seeing that it was Faelion, added, “Shouting like a girl if it does happen is not very soldier-like, either.”
Glorfindel walked away amid snickers from some of the other recruits. Privately, he berated himself in his mind for saying something so insensitive, and then had to rebuke his conscience, reminding himself that he was preparing them for war, not teaching a group of children a game. Passing by one future soldier who had stopped practice to laugh at what had happened, Glorfindel yanked away the staff, and with one swing used it to knock the offender on his rear. “You think this is a joke?”
“N-no, sir!”
Glorfindel spun the staff around with one hand as he walked back to the front of the group. “I want everyone in a line, starting here,” he said, using the staff to draw a line in the sand. There was a moment of hesitation from the group. “NOW!” barked Glorfindel, and the recruits rushed to line up, often bumping into one another and shoving for a place. With a growl of frustration, Glorfindel turned to one of the officers and said, “Fix that.”
“Attention!” The lieutenant looked aghast at the sloppy attempt that the group made to fall in and present themselves properly. “What the fuck was that?! What is this? What do you think you—give me that!” He went down the line, faulting each one for something, and some for multiple offenses. “You are the worst soldiers I have ever seen in my entire career! You can all forget about sleeping tonight. We are going to be working on this after the captain is done with all of you, and mark my words, you will not sleep until you have it right. If it takes days, so be it!”
The veins on the lieutenant’s forehead were threatening to explode, so Glorfindel placed his hand on the officer’s shoulder for a moment. Then he walked back to the front of the line, giving himself a little room between the first one and himself. “If you want a chance to see your bunk tonight, this is your chance to redeem yourself. First one who manages to knock me down gets dismissed for the night. Those who cannot, your ass belongs to Lieutenant Beredir. You first,” he said, pointing the staff he had taken earlier at the first recruit.
Without breaking a sweat, Glorfindel took down the first eight. The next seven proved to be a little more challenging, for the ninth had discovered Glorfindel to be a weaker fighter on his right side. The sixteenth hesitated and was easy, while number seventeen was too rash and after a number of hard blows, none of which connected, he was taken down just as forcefully as he had tried to take Glorfindel down. A few more lasted less than a minute, and then it was Faelion’s turn.
The youth stood back, holding his staff firmly in white-knuckled hands. Glorfindel motioned for him to come forward and attack, but Faelion stood in his spot and started to shake. As Glorfindel angrily approached, Faelion flinched and fell to his knees, trembling. Glorfindel stopped his advance. “What are you doing, soldier?”
Faelion whimpered something inaudible, and Glorfindel looked at the lieutenant, who was closer to Faelion, for clarification.
“He says, ‘Please, sir, do not hurt me’.”
Glorfindel rolled his eyes. “Wrong place for that,” he announced, and though a few of the recruits showed amusement in their eyes, none of them dared make a sound or let a smile escape. “Get up. Get up!” Glorfindel stepped forward and grabbed Faelion by the back of his collar, hoisting him up onto his feet. “Pick up your weapon!”
Faelion fumbled to retrieve the staff. By the time he had it again, tears were running down his face. Glorfindel took three steps back and motioned again. “Now, attack me!”
Instead of running forward or taking a defensive stance, Faelion took one small step after another, skittish as a wild animal. He raised the staff up, hands still shaking, but as soon as Glorfindel had repositioned his, Faelion dropped back down again, cowering and holding up his arms to block any blows.
“This is ridiculous. And, a waste of my time, and their time,” shouted Glorfindel. “Get up, and get off of my training field. Go! Now!”
Choking on his tears, Faelion stumbled away slowly. He let his hair drape down as he hung his head, and shamefully made his way to the other end of the arena. Glorfindel watched him for a few moments before motioning the next recruit forward.
Handily, Glorfindel took out the next handful, but his glances toward the retreating Faelion eventually cost him. One of the older recruits, an average-built ellon named Galdereth, circled around Glorfindel twice before backing up while facing the captain. He adjusted his grip on the staff, and Glorfindel’s eyes flicked toward the corner of the arena. That was when Galdereth charged, and then used the staff to vault over the captain. As he was landing, Galdereth reached out with one hand and grabbed for the long blond tresses, tangling his fingers in them. Glorfindel landed on his back with a thud. As he groaned and reached for his throbbing head, a blurred double vision of Galdereth appeared above him and said with a grin, “I guess I get the rest of the night off, sir.”
---
When the barracks were built, Glorfindel had insisted on having a small area built for his own personal use for days when he did not want to return back to the tower, or on occasions when there was need to stay because of the horses. This area was located as a sort of lower level, essentially built underground. The idea had been sound, allowing for a multipurpose room that easily converted between sitting room and bedroom, with counters and shelves and a closet for keeping wine and preserved foods cold. There was also a washroom with a strange mechanism that intrigued Glofindel. He had read about the idea, and wanted to test it, and in an underground area where no one would see its failings seemed ideal. It was like an indoor waterfall, with the water coming through from the ceiling and draining down a sort of trench that flowed down a closed corridor and absorbed eventually into the ground.
It was fascinating to look at the pictures, and it was even better than he could have imagined when he stepped into the room to try the contraption out. A rope from the ceiling had to be pulled down to release the water, but it was efficient. It was slightly uncomfortable to have to soap up completely before pulling the rope again for more water, but overall, it worked. Efficiency was becoming key in this busier life he now had, and the new shower, though prohibitive in cost for most residents, was a small luxury for Glorfindel.
Washing his hair, however, was another story. The floor of the room sloped to the center where the drain was, and the drain was covered with a sort of metal grid that had been nailed to the wooden floorboards. Normally, this would not likely have been an issue, but as Glorfindel attempted to lift up his hair to wash it, he was met with resistance. The ends of his hair, tangled by the wind, were now wrapped around the grating. With mobility limited, Glorfindel knelt down and worked to free his hair, patiently at first, and then with frustration, for getting closer caused some of it to tangle further up.
Finally freed, he went to the corner of the chamber where his clothes had been discarded in a pile on a bench. The wind, water, and now the grating had created knots and snarls from the waist down, and despite his vanity, practicality won the argument. With the aid of a knife, he reduced the length of his hair drastically, though it still reached past his elbows when he finished. He left the heap of golden hair on the floor as he tossed his knife back onto the pile of clothes, and then returned to the center of the room to finish showering.
Upon leaving the bathing chamber, newly woven towels draped around him, he discovered he was not alone. Faelion was seated on the couch, biting at his nails and nervously staring at the floor. When Glorfindel stepped into the room, Faelion dropped his hands into his lap and swallowed hard, but said nothing until the elf lord came forward with a puzzled look. “I am sorry to disturb you, sir, but I... please do not cast me out!” And from then, Faelion fell to his knees, sobbing and begging, most of it incoherent, until Glorfindel pulled him back up onto the sofa.
“Faelion, it is not that I want to have you go,” began Glorfindel with a sigh. “It is that you do not yet seem ready for this. Come back in a few years; you have a little time before you need the training. Go and do another play or two, and when you are ready--“
“But I am ready! I am ready! I am! I am!” Faelion grabbed hold of Glorfindel’s arm. “Please, sir, I have to stay here, and I have to train now!”
“And this is the reason why you are not,” said Glorfindel calmly, loosening the grip that Faelion had on his arm. “We are starting a new group every six months. If you are ready by the next go, you are more than welcome to join those recruits.”
“But... please, you do not understand! If you kick me out right now, my uncle will make me join
another army. Probably Rog’s, or Ecthelion’s. I... I want to stay here.”
“Because it would be easier to train here?” asked Glorfindel dryly.
Faelion drew his fist across his cheeks in an attempt to conceal his tears. “No. I love horses. I have been taking care of my uncle’s horses since I was tall enough to muck out the stalls. This would be a great opportunity for me. Please, sir, I need to stay.”
“If I let you stay,” said Glorfindel after several thoughtful minutes, “I expect you to act like the rest of the recruits. If I see another display like the one I did earlier, you will be out, and you will not have another chance later. Understood?” Faelion nodded. “Good. Now get out of here.”
With another nod, Faelion stood up and shuffled to the door. Glorfindel sighed and closed his eyes. “Out of curiosity,” he said as he heard the door being opened, “were you acting just now, or when you were out on the field earlier?”
“How did you know?” stuttered the young ellon.
Glorfindel shook his head. “Let me make this perfectly clear. My training field is not a stage. This is not a play; this is not a game. If you plan to treat it as such, do not bother showing up tomorrow. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Faelion hurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.
