After breakfast, Glorfindel returned first to the tower in order to bathe and change into something less wrinkled. He found the apartment apparently empty, thought there was no evidence that anyone had awoken and left the other bedroom. Glorfindel finished his business quickly before returning to his stables and barracks.
One of the sergeants jogged to him immediately as he opened the gate and let himself in. “Sir, we have a soldier absent from the ranks, two days running now.”
“Faelion?” he questioned, and the sergeant nodded. “He transferred to another house.”
“Which one, sir?” asked the sergeant. “I went about and checked with all of the other captains yesterday, and they all told me that they had no knowledge of his joining them.”
“Let me check the transfer order,” said Glorfindel as he strode towards the stables to where his office was, hoping to buy a little time. It suddenly hit him that, wasn’t he the captain here? “When convenient, I will let you know. Now, I think you have work to do, unless you need me to find something for you?”
“No, sir. Plenty busy here, sir,” answered the sergeant, quickly returning to drill the recruits he had been working with. Glorfindel shook his head and entered the stables.
The office tended to be fairly tidy, except for the floor, where straw would undoubtedly appear no matter how many times the room was swept. On the great wooden desk, Glorfindel kept only a blotter and his set of quills and ink. Boxes containing the latest armor delivery had been left in the empty corner.
Glorfindel walked straight to the desk, hardly noticing the boxes or the item on his desk until he sat down and opened a drawer in order to pull out of sheet of parchment. Before he could set the sheet on the desk, he had to move the obstruction, and upon picking it up, had the answer to the question he had been asked.
He set aside the light brown length of braided hair and wrote out the transfer, carefully dating it two days prior. A candle was lit, wax was spilt, and Glorfindel stamped his seal on the bottom of the order. He took it with him when he left, making sure to show it to the inquisitive sergeant in order to keep rumors from starting.
Practice was the focus of his day. Glorfindel took the lead for most of the exercises and drills and made sure to engage each of the new recruits at least twice. This time, he made sure beat them all without any doubts; against Galdereth, he fought hardest and prevailed both times.
“Tomorrow is going to be even harder than today,” announced Glorfindel as the day was winding down. “The good news is, you will not need to wear your uniforms to practice. The bad news... you are all going to be learning everything there is to know about horses, from mucking out a stall to riding them.” There were quite a few cheers and happy murmurs between the future soldiers. “You are going to be placed in teams, four to a team. Sergeant Ithilfinion is going to read off the assignments, after which, you are dismissed for the day. In the morning, I expect all of you here an hour before sunrise. Is that clear?” Glorfindel watched as all of their heads nodded in synch. “Sergeant,” he said, and left the field as the names were being read.
The shipments had to be looked over, and each piece of armor accounted for. Then there were the bills from the market for food and from the fletcher for arrows. Glorfindel recorded the amounts in the ledger before clearing off his desk, which included tucking the braid into the back of one of the lower drawers. He made the rounds in the stable, checking on the horses and receiving updates from the stable hands. Everything was positive, for once. The mares were all either nursing or doing well with their pregnancies; one, it was determined, was carrying two, and though it was a concern, she seemed to be well (despite looking as if she might totter over if the wind caught her the right way).
The light in the room was dimming, and Glorfindel reluctantly pulled out the pair of spectacles that were tucked in his desk. He read over his correspondence, checked his calendar for the next few days, and made a few notes before putting everything back in its place, including the glasses. It was becoming slightly ridiculous to continue the charade, for enough people had already seen him pull them out in the theatre. Still, he continued to pretend there was nothing wrong with his sight as he headed for the door, tripping over a carton he had moved earlier.
The field was devoid of soldiers when he arrived outside, replaced now with stable hands walking the horses or in some cases riding them. While the sun continued to creep towards the west, Glorfindel took the opportunity to ride Lemon Drop, his beloved miracle horse. The stallion nodded at every apology Glorfindel quietly offered, and happily obliged as they rode into the woods. The path was a familiar one for the horse, and Glorfindel simply kept his balance while the trees passed them by.
By the time they returned, the smells from the dining hall in the barracks made Glorfindel’s stomach rumble. He had planned to return home for supper with the others, but that thought almost made him lose his appetite. Salgant’s house was inviting, but without invitation, he decided against going there, or to Ecthelion’s home, despite the apparent open invitation he was granted centuries ago. Thinking of Ecthelion made him remember the early years, when they shared barracks, when Ecthelion had no house, when the barracks were their home, and they would eat their meals with their soldiers.
As Glorfindel approached the double doors that led into the hall, he slowed his step. The design of the old barracks had an area for officers to dine away from the soldiers. It was one of the things that Ecthelion had taught him – never associate with the common soldiers more than necessary. Never become their friend.
The barracks had been hastily built, and in doing so, this bit was forgotten. From the distance he was, he was able to peer in and see the officers scattered among the other tables, carrying on loud conversation with the recruits they were training. What was the reason he was not supposed to make friends with those who might potentially need to save his life someday?
Glorfindel pondered this as he slowly walked into the hall and down the steps. He crossed the room without being noticed at first, but as he joined those waiting to receive food from the line, the whispering started. He ignored it, and when the recruits standing in front of him started to turn around and motion he should skip ahead of them, he shook his head and gave them a friendly smile when they further insisted.
As he stepped from station to station, each server looked on with apprehension as they deposited various items onto the tray he held. One offered immediately to fetch something else if boiled green beans were not to his liking.
“There is no need for that,” he answered patiently as he continued to hold out his tray.
“But I could,” answered the server, shaking like a leaf.
Glorfindel tried not to laugh. “Just put them on there,” he said, holding the tray a little closer.
When it came time to find a seat, offers came from just about everyone he passed. There were few chairs left open, but he spied one at the table that Galdereth and a few other recruits were sitting at. The occupants looked a little shocked, but none of them did anything silly like scatter or offer to butter his roll as he might have expected from some of the others. They had silenced their conversation, however, so Glorfindel made an attempt to be social. “So, how is the food in this place?” he asked as he started to cut his meat.
It seemed as if he was not about to get an answer, but finally Galdereth said, “The rolls are more useful as weapons than as bread. The rest of it is fine, except when they make fish.”
“When they try to make fish,” added Mirdirin, another young recruit. “It gets all oily and dry, and it tastes like ass.”
“It tastes like piss water,” corrected Galdereth as he reached for the pitcher of water and refilled his glass. “Unless you have some insight on how ass tastes, Mir. Been known to lick a few asses, have you?”
“Oh, shut it,” Mirdirin responded, adding a gesture to his retort as well.
Glorfindel soon learned what the warning meant about the rolls as he attempted to saw through his. He discarded it when his knife became momentarily stuck. “Have to do something about that,” he muttered to himself.
“Captain, can we ask you something?” This came from Elluil, who had remained quiet throughout most of their supper. When Glorfindel nodded, he asked, “What happened to Faelion?”
“Magadnor said you sent him to the dungeons,” added Mirdirin.
Galdereth gave Mirdirin an odd look. “Mags told me Faelion was whipped for deserting, and sent back to his uncle.”
Before any more possibilities could be announced, Glorfindel said, “All of that is untrue. Faelion transferred to another house two days ago.”
“Which one?” wondered Mirdirin. “Everyone else is harder than here, and he was terrible.” When Galdereth punched Mirdirin’s shoulder, he received a glare in return. “It is true, and you know it. This is the easiest place to get through. No offense,” he said as he addressed Glorfindel. “The other houses are too damn strict. None of them give you leave to go home during training, and most of them have so damned many rules. Look, I have a wife and a little boy at home. I want my son to be able to remember who I am after I get this stupid training out of the way.”
Glorfindel held up one hand, the other occupied with his fork. “I am not about to take offense for the truth. Someone has to be at the low end of things. I think, after tomorrow’s lessons, you might not entirely agree with the statement that it is easy to be here, but, I agree on your other point. You do have flexibility here.”
They were quiet for a few moments, Mirdirin’s question forgotten. Elluil nudged Mirdirin and said, “I had no idea you were a father.”
“Do you want to see a picture?” Mirdirin was pulling it out before anyone had a chance to object. “Only eight and he has his heart set on being in the fire brigade. At least these laws about needing military training will not hinder him,” he said as he passed the small ink drawing around the table. “Those fire and law units all work out of the king’s house as a part of his guard. No trouble there, not like me.”
“What were you doing before you got here?” asked Galdereth as he passed the drawing over to Glorfindel.
“Merchant work. I sell crafts at the lesser market. Fine art type things for different people on commission. Mostly I sell things for ladies who maybe only paint two or three things a month or finish one tapestry every few years. They do not have enough items to set up their own booth, nor would they want to waste the time doing it,” he explained.
“I think I might I have purchased something from you,” Galdereth said. “Set of wooden figurines, a chess set, I think.”
“Was that the one with the different colors? The rook was orange and the king was red, and on the other side they were all in blues and greens and violets?”
Galdereth smiled. “Yes, that was it. Present for my uncle. He likes unusual things.”
“That was certainly an unusual set.” When the drawing came back to Mirdirin, he tucked it away again. “So, what did you do before you came here?”
“I was studying to be a chef,” answered Galdereth.
“A chef? Well, get on up there and cook something better for us!” insisted Mirdirin, giving Galdereth a little shove. “No wonder you are so critical of the food!”
“Maybe I should transfer you to roll duty,” said Glorfindel, and everyone laughed, not because they felt they had to, but because Glorfindel knocked the hard roll against the table and it was truly humorous to watch half of it break off in a very unappetizing fashion. “What about you, Elluil?”
“Me?” The youngest of the three shrugged. “I really did not have an occupation.” He stared down at his plate. “I was living in the valley. Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Glorfindel had finished eating, but the stories he was listening to were much more interesting to him than the walk back to his room or the apartment would be.
“You probably do not remember... well, I hope you do not remember,” he mumbled. “When you and Lord Ecthelion still shared the base near the king’s tower, there was a group of us orphans who used to sit up in the trees and we would come down to take the food out of the bins in the back and sleep under the stairs in the winter. One time, you and Lord Ecthelion left early and I think you thought we were hiding under the steps playing or something. You chased us off and told us not to go under there or you were going to tell our parents. We were afraid when you found out what we were doing we would get thrown in the dungeons for steal
Elluil swallowed hard, for he realized that most of the conversations near to them had ceased and many of his peers were focused on his tale. He took his glass of water and drank it slowly, his eyes cast downward.
“You ate the food from the trash,” repeated Glorfindel, making sure he had heard correctly. Elluil nodded, his face red with shame. “Are there still... bands of children who do this?”
“Yes, sir,” said Elluil. “Some of them live in the woods now, because they can sneak here late and escape back if one of the guards hears them. And, your bins tend to be kept clean. Some of the other lords dump wood scraps and manure into the bins after they put the food in to keep the orphans away. They... still tend to dig through and find what they can,” he finished quietly.
Glorfindel stood up abruptly and marched to the other side of the room where the food was. The servers were beginning to clear things away, but Glorfindel halted them. “Is everything still warm?”
“Everything but the soup,” replied the lead. “That seems to have gone cold.”
“Heat everything up again,” he instructed.
“My lord,” interrupted the lead server, “Our shift ends in ten minutes. We have barely time to clear the line before we leave.”
“Consider your wages doubled from now until you are released for the night,” he replied, but he was interrupted again.
“I have other things to do,” said the lead. “I have no intention of staying a minute past my shift.”
Glorfindel looked the server up and down. “Really. Anyone else hold this opinion?” Two others raised their hands. “Fine. You three, dismissed. Do not return tomorrow; your services are no longer needed. You,” he said, pointing to the server who had fussed over the vegetables. “You are in charge. How long until you can start serving again?”
“I... I am not sure... I—“
“How long!” Glorfindel crossed his arms impatiently as the three elves he had dismissed removed their aprons and threw them into a heap on the ground.
The timid elf scurried from station to station, checking the food. “We need about twenty minutes; we have to wash some dishes and heat the soup and bring out more water.”
“Good. Tell me when you are ready.” Glorfindel marched back to the table he had left and addressed Elluil. “Can you find these little ones who are hiding in the woods?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Bring them here. Tell them supper is on in twenty minutes.”
Elluil nodded emphatically, and as he stood, Mirdirin did as well, offering to help.
Glorfindel turned to Galdereth. “The rolls they have over there are pitiful, and we are down three staff members.”
“Show me to the kitchen. I might not have enough time for the bread to rise, but I can make something,” he promised as Glorfindel led the way.
When Glorfindel returned to the hall, he found that the recruits and officers were working to clear the tables and gather the trays. Some of them had entered the kitchen while Glorfindel was there with Galdereth and were now washing the dishes. A few others with experience enough in cooking were gathered by the serving line receiving instructions from the new head server. “I wonder how many there are,” said Glorfindel to Ithilfinion, who had positioned himself in the doorway with a lantern to help guide the children to the hall.
Ithilfinion peered out into the darkness. “Someday people are going to sing songs about you.”
“What? Why do you say that?” asked Glorfindel with uneasy laughter.
“Because, while other people talk about doing things, you actually go and do something.” Ithilfinion raised the lantern higher as the first of the children began to peek their way around the trees that edged the woods. Glorfindel smiled and waved at them, and as Elluil emerged the children crept forward. As the scent of warm food assailed them, they started to run towards the hall, though some of the older ones were slightly more cautious.
In all, Glorfindel managed to count about thirty-five, ages ranging from fifteen to early forties. The gobbled up everything they were given, with no complaints that they didn’t like a particular food or wanted something else. The officers were only too happy to offer to sleep in the hall with the tables cleared away if Glorfindel wished to house the little ones in the officer barracks.
“Why is this happening?” Glorfindel asked Galdereth as he helped him to clean up the kitchen once the children were bedded down in the barracks. Mirdirin, along with two other volunteers who were fathers, took charge of the ‘orphan ward’ of the Golden Flower barracks that night.
“I think because you let them in,” answered Galdereth.
“No, not that. Why are there children roaming the forest, eating out of the trash bins? We are the largest, most powerful nation—“ Glorfindel stopped there, unable to continue. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before he could continue washing out the pans.
After checking over everything and everyone, Glorfindel made the decision to sleep in his own bed that night. If he was going to be riding horses in the morning and figuring out just how he was going to be the caretaker of thirty-five elflings, he wanted comfortable rest in fluffy, downy bliss. As he walked back to the tower, he wove his way through some of the places he thought might attract the little ones who were abandoned. Just as Elluil had said, most of the houses made sure to destroy the remains as best they could; at Salgant’s house, Glorfindel noted there were no scraps in the bins, but then recalled that Salgant raised livestock, including swine, and probably had the excess dumped into their pens.
The climb up the stairs of the tower seemed unending. Once inside the dark apartment, Glorfindel poured himself a rare drink at the bar and downed it swiftly. There were few types of liquor that he could stomach; rum was one of these. It was sweet and spicy, and did not burn like the types that Erestor favored. He left the glass to be dealt with later and came into the bedroom, only to be assailed by brighter light than he would have liked. “Oh, it is just you,” he said, finding Erestor in bed, reading.
“Good evening,” replied Erestor carefully. He watched as Glorfindel started to undress. “If you want I can sleep on the couch tonight.”
Glorfindel paused and plopped down onto the bed, his shirt and loincloth the only clothing remaining. “You can stay here; it does not matter to me. I just thought you would have been with them.”
“Once in a while, I have... I need to... I have my needs,” he finally settled on. “I think we should have all sat down early on and talked through all of this. It would have saved us trouble now. None of us mind if you have a relationship outside of our group. I am sorry that you cannot get any pleasure from joining us, or we would have invited you.”
For a moment, Glorfindel nearly made a proposition, but his mind was never affected the way that Erestor’s was from drink. “I understand that now.”
“I... yes, I know. I mean, you got my message, right?”
“Uhm... what message?”
“The one I left on your desk.”
Glorfindel pulled his shirt over his head. “I saw no message. The only thing on my desk this morning was a length of braided hair, which I took to be Faelion’s. It appears he joined Rog’s army?”
“Yes, but he did not leave it there. I did. I was going to write a message, but Faelion asked me to leave the braid for you, and I did not know if it was wise to write anything, so I just left it and assumed you could figure it out.”
The loincloth was tossed into the basket at the door, and Glorfindel crawled into bed. “So, he must have told you a few things.”
“He told me everything,” answered Erestor as he set his book aside. “I was leaving the tower early this morning so that I could get to the market before the fruit was picked over. I ran into Faelion, who was actually preparing an attempt to flee the city. He seemed pretty lost and confused, so I led him off the path and we talked in the gardens for a while. When I found out what happened last night, I offered to train him privately in order to get him caught up if he joined Rog’s army.”
“Thank you,” said Glorfindel, knowing that both his secret and his young lover were safe with Erestor.
“There was... something else he wanted me to give you,” added Erestor. “Since you will not see him for a while. He has many months of training to go.”
“What is it, a message or something?”
Erestor bit his lip. “I guess you might call it that. It... well... here.” Erestor leaned over and kissed Glorfindel on the cheek. “That is from him. And also, he says he loves you.”
Glorfindel grinned, unable to contain his bliss. “Could I have that message again? I want to make sure I understood the whole thing.”
“He said he loves you,” repeated Erestor.
“No, the first part.”
“Oh, honestly.” Erestor rolled his eyes, but after a sigh, muttered, “The things I do for you,” and kissed Glorfindel’s cheek again. “There. Satisfied?”
Glorfindel simply continued to grin.
“I am going to bed,” announced Erestor. He blew out the candles and drew up the covers.
After a few moments, Glorfindel slid down as well, fluffed up his pillow, and snuggled his cheek against it happily.
“So... do you love him?” asked Erestor in the darkness.
The grin returned to Glorfindel’s face. “You know, I think I might.”
