Beyond Canon
RSS


- Text Size +
“He is ready to go – I think,” said Tauniel as she came into the sitting room.

Erestor straightened up and tried not to act startled. He nodded his head as Tauniel gave him an odd look. “Good. Glad to hear that.”

“I hate this thing,” announced Glorfindel as he emerged. He relied heavily on the walking stick in order to keep his balance. “I wish I did not have to...” He crinkled his nose. “What is that horrible stench?”

“What? I do not smell anything.” Tauniel sniffed the air and covered her nose. “Oh! You are right; what is that?”

“Coming from the fireplace,” commented Glorfindel as he struggled to make it there.

Until now, Erestor was quiet, but he stepped sideways to block the fire from Glorfindel. “I tossed something in there.”

“What, exactly? A dead skunk?”

“No.” Erestor smiled and spoke slowly to give the book time to burn, hoping to remain calm and unworried. “It was tactical information. I realized that I still had it with me, and that I did not need it anymore. There was no need to worry that it could fall into enemy hands, so I threw it into the fire. I should have torn out the pages; I think the leather cover is what smells so bad. We should probably leave the room to get away from it.”

“Alright.” Glorfindel hastened his step and hobbled into the hallway after Tauniel opened the door for him. He was not entirely convinced that it was just a tactical list, but he knew Erestor well enough to know that he would never get the real answer out of him. “What is the plan?” he asked once the door to the offending odor was shut.

“You and I need to get to Oronion’s before he leaves for the day,” said Erestor. “Then we need to go to the tower. Tauniel, would you mind terribly going to my father-in-law’s house to fetch my wife?”

“I can do that, as long as Glorfindel does not need me right now,” replied Tauniel. The look she gave Glorfindel was almost hopeful.

“You could come with us, and we could see if one of Salgant’s servants could go to Rog’s house,” suggested Glorfindel.

Erestor stepped in closer, leaving little space between the three of them. “Aranel was hoping to speak to you,” he whispered to Tauniel. “She has expressed her concern, but did not want to intrude if you still needed time to yourself.”

“I will go,” said Tauniel after a few moments. “We shall see you both at the gathering this evening.” The trio walked together to the entrance of the house. Glorfindel and Tauniel parted with a gentle embrace; Erestor’s jealous eyes looked away.

“Alright, lead me to my doom,” said Glorfindel as Tauniel walked away from them.

“What was that?” asked Erestor.

Glorfindel sighed and started down the path that led to the market. “I am sure your friend is a master when it comes to hair, but fixing this is going to take a miracle.”

“He will do his best,” Erestor assured Glorfindel.

They walked through the market, which was devoid of its usual, cheerful atmosphere. Here and there, empty booths where merchants-turned-soldiers once peddled goods reminded everyone of the war that had been fought and the toll it had taken. At the end of one of the aisles, Mirdirin was speaking to a group gathered at his table. His young son was sitting on his lap, licking a stick of candy and listening as intently as those who were gathered around.

“It is going to be hard to return things to normal around here,” said Erestor as they passed through the market and onto the road where the permanent shops were located.

Glorfindel nodded in agreement. His stomach was too tied up at the moment, and when they approached the front door of the barber, total trepidation set in. “The shade is drawn, he must be closed already,” said Glorfindel as Erestor climbed up the steps.

“No, he did that so that he would not have any customers this afternoon.” Erestor knocked on the door, which was unlocked from the other side a minute later. “Are we too late?” he asked. Glorfindel could not see around the door from where he stood to see who was on the other side.

“Right on time,” assured the person on the other side.

Erestor motioned for Glorfindel to enter. Had a small group of teachers and scribes not turned the corner, Glorfindel might have tried to convince Erestor they should come back some other time and not be late to the gathering. Instead, he pulled himself up the steps with more difficulty than he would have liked and came inside while Erestor closed the door behind them.

The room was different from what Glorfindel had recalled. Most noticeably, the mirrors were covered with dark sheets. Glorfindel looked to the floor, which was immaculate. Not a single hair was left anywhere as a reminder of where they were.

A hand suddenly on Glorfindel’s shoulder made him flinch. Erestor attempted to rub away some of the tension from his friend. “Relax,” he said. “Oronion is not going to do anything you do not want him to.”

The barber stood serenely beside a padded chair with a high seat and a tall back. “Erestor told me you might have trouble sitting on one of the stools, so I brought this out. I wager you had no idea I was the dentist, too. Shall we get started?”

Glorfindel eyed up the chair, next to which there was an empty basket on the floor. The counter was cleared off completely, not a single pair of scissors in sight. “I suppose if you promise only to cut my hair and not to pull any teeth.”

Oronion chuckled and picked up the sheet that was draped across the back of the chair. “I left the pliers in the back room,” he said, though, the comment was not very reassuring to Glorfindel as he handed the walking stick to Erestor and hoisted himself up onto the chair. The sheet swirled around him and was wrapped tightly around his neck. He gripped the arms of the chair while Oronion untied the ribbon that held back his hair. “Well, whoever did this did cut away everything that was burned. There is a spot here,” he said, touching Glorfindel’s neck, “that was singed off completely. “I can easily shave the lower part of your neck so that it is not noticeable.”

“Do you have to?”asked Glorfindel. He was nervously rubbing his fingers across the grain of the wood and felt trapped, as if he had no control over the situation even if Erestor promised he did.

“When I even up the back, you will be able to see it. We could leave it how it is, but it is going to look bad. I would only have to go up to here,” said Oronion, touching the spot just above the burned away part. Glorfindel shivered as Oronion withdrew his hand. “Or, we can just leave it. If you pull it back, like you had it when you came in, no one is going to notice how long it is unless they take a good look. You could think about it and come back in a day or a week if you want.”

“Just do what you need to do,” said Glorfindel finally. He was well aware of the trouble both Erestor and Oronion had gone through to make things as comfortable as possible for him.

Erestor had been quietly sitting on one of the benches, unsure of what to do. His plan had been much different earlier in the day. The expectation had been that once he told Glorfindel of his willingness to attempt a relationship with him was that Glorfindel would be happy enough not to worry himself as he was now. He had also planned to read some of the less telling poems from the book that was now destroyed in the fireplace, and to tease Glorfindel with the promise of the rest for after the gathering. Now, Erestor stood and walked to the shelves of books and pulled one on braiding out to look at.

Oronion filled the silence with his usual friendly chatting. He tried to get Glorfindel to converse with him, but the questions were met with shrugs or simple yes or no answers. The task was slower than normal, for Oronion carefully held onto the strands of hair he cut and deposited them into the basket. Nothing landed on the cape or the floor, and the scissors were closed so slowly that Glorfindel never heard them cutting.

When Oronion tended to the back of Glorfindel’s neck, it was much harder to ignore. Erestor took note of the tremble of the sheet where Glorfindel’s hands were, and walked over once he replaced the book on the shelf. “I stopped in the kitchens earlier to sneak a look at the menu. They are serving wild turkey and boar, and I think I saw quail being prepared. I know they are having cheesecake as one of the desserts.”

“What kind?” asked Glorfindel, the first phrase that was more than a word that he had spoken in nearly an hour.

Erestor sat down on the floor directly in front of Glorfindel so that he could look up and make eye contact with him. “There was one that they was garnished with lemon, and another with a chocolate crust. Of course, they had strawberry, too, and some that was plain. Turgon will only eat it if it is plain. Did you know that the recipe they use is one he came up with?”

“Really? I did not know that,” admitted Glorfindel.

“I am almost finished,” said Oronion as he hid away the tools of his trade in a drawer. “I will be right back.” He picked up the basket and carried it through the doorway into the back room. When he returned, his hands were empty. “Would you like to see the results?”

“Not really,” said Glorfindel as the sheet was pulled away. “However, I doubt I can make it for the next ten years without seeing my reflection.”

“It can be done,” said Erestor. “In Valinor, we did not have mirrors.”

“Really? How strange,” said Glorfindel as he stood up. Erestor got up and brought the walking stick back. Oronion tugged on the sheet covering one of the mirrors, and as it fell Glorfindel hesitantly tilted his head and peered into it. “Damn.” He tugged on some of the curls in an attempt to make them hang lower than they were capable of.

“I will not be offended if you tell me you do not like it,” said Oronion.

Glorfindel experimented with the new style as he tucked some behind his ear, and then pulled it back again. “It looks... nice, it is just not me. And... it is so short. I knew it would have to be, but until... well, it grows back. Sorry, Oronion, I do not mean to sound ungrateful. I am sure I will think differently once I get used to it,” he fibbed. “I just really miss my long hair.”

“No harm in that,” said Oronion. “I doubt you will find any elf who expresses a desire not to. Well, maybe a few. For the most part, we are a vain bunch.”

Erestor wandered up to Oronion, an open book in his hands. “How long would it take to do this?”

Oronion rubbed his chin. “I would not suggest that style for him with his hair as curly as it is.”

“I meant for me,” amended Erestor. Glorfindel hobbled over to look at what Erestor was showing Oronion.

“Ten minutes, perhaps, but I thought you were going to grow yours out,” Oronion said. Already, in the time since Erestor had last been to Oronion before the war, the dark elf’s hair was bordering on shoulder length.

“It just seems wrong for him to have shorter hair than I do.” Erestor handed the book to Oronion and took a seat on the stool. “I think we have ten minutes to spare.”

---

When Aranel and Tauniel met up with their husbands outside of the tower, they were waiting with Rog and Meleth. “Better late than never,” said Rog as Glorfindel slowed his steps, nearly dragging his left leg behind him.

Glorfindel closed his eyes and leaned on the walking stick. “I suppose,” he said as he heard the sound of Meleth’s hand slapping across Rog’s shoulder.

“That was highly uncalled for!” scolded Meleth. “He is trying the best he can, and should probably be in bed.”

Rog narrowed his eyes and rubbed his arm, though it was doubtful if it had really hurt him. “I meant, it was about time he did something with that hair of his. That hair could have killed him. More than one soldier burned to death because of their foolishness.”

“Enough,” said Meleth firmly. “Look at him. It is bad enough without you and your ‘I told you so’s.” Meleth patted Glorfindel on the shoulder, and he opened his eyes up again. “It is good to have you back with us.”

“Thank you.” Glorfindel gladly slipped his arm through Tauniel’s, and half-supported himself as she insisted he lean on her if he had to. All three couples entered the tower and made their way to the corridors to the gathering. Most of the soldiers were already assembled in their houses; Glorfindel was waved over to join his soldiers with Tauniel by his side, while Erestor veered away to follow Rog across the hall to the banner of the House of the Hammer.

It was not long before the speeches were made and the rolls were read of those who did not return. Ecthelion’s list was longest, and the most emotional. Less than one hundred of his soldier of the original thousand that followed him had come back, and twice the lord paused and turned his head away in order to regain his composure. In the end, Turgon read the final forty-three names for his lead captain, and spoke highly of the sacrifices made by the House of the Fountain.

Glorfindel was aided by Mirdirin as he read his list, for he still had not had a new pair of spectacles made. In order for the names to be announced, Mirdirin stood just behind Glorfindel and quietly spoke the name so that only Glorfindel could hear it, which Glorfindel would then repeat. Some of the names shocked Glorfindel, who had very recollection of the outcome of the retreat battle that was fought at Sirion.

Turgon’s list was read last, after which the dining halls were opened. Glorfindel shuffled into one of the halls with Tauniel’s aid. Erestor waited until after the crowd had mostly emptied from the room, and then went with Rog to the smoking room. Their wives joined a group of other ladies separated from their husbands and walked to the nearest dining hall.

“You and I need to talk.” Rog pulled the glass of wine out of Erestor’s hand before he could drink from it. “You are going to resign from my service.”

Instead of reaching forward to get his goblet back, Erestor knocked on the counter and was given a new one. “I thought the agreement was half of my time went to the theatre, and the other half to being a soldier.”

“If you were being a soldier, that would be the case. The truth is, you are a maverick; you have trouble following orders and you speak at times in ways that are worrisome.”

“I thought I did fairly well in rallying the troops before the war,” argued Erestor. He had yet to drink yet, holding the glass away from himself slightly as if daring Rog to take this one as well.

Rog shook his head. “Erestor, we are not about to go around in circles about this. You need to resign, or I will discharge you. Which would you rather have happen?”

“Why now?” asked Erestor angrily. “Did I not put forth all my effort in the war? Have I not trained your recruits as you have specified?”

“You abandoned your post,” growled Rog. He stood and loomed above Erestor. The glass he had taken earlier was slammed onto the counter, sloshing wine over the side. “We were weakened and retreating; you left those soldiers without a leader! I trusted you!”

“Glorfindel needed—“

“You needed to be where you belonged, and that was with your soldiers.” Rog glared, making the statement that the debate was over. “This is what you wanted all along,” he reminded Erestor. “You will have all the time you wish to devote to the stage, and you will never need to step onto a practice field again.”

“This is coming from Turgon,” assumed Erestor. “Now that we are back, he is worried because I talked the others into coming along and he was going to go alone. He worries I might gain too much power and influence.”

“If that is what it takes to convince you to resign, so be it. This has nothing to do with Turgon; it has to do with you and your actions. I expect your resignation by tomorrow afternoon.”

“I shall not make you wait; I resign.” Erestor knew he should have been overjoyed, for as Rog said, it was exactly what he wanted. Unfortunately, he was not convinced that the reason he was given was the reason he was being forced from his position. “Was there anything else?” he asked curtly.

Rog still stood stoicly over him. “I need your resignation written.”

“Fine.” Erestor motioned one of the bartenders over and asked for paper and supplies to write with. He was presented with a quill and paper while the server left the retrieve some ink. “Why make you wait longer. I am sure you wish to be done with me as soon as you are able.” He jabbed the end of the quill into his thumb and dripped a small puddle of blood onto the counter. “I.. resign.. effective.. immediately..” He signed his named with florish and handed the sheet to Rog. “Do you want me to write another one for Turgon’s files?” he asked as he squeezed his thumb and dripped blood into the diminishing puddle.

“This is sufficient.” Rog took the note and rolled it up. “We should join Aranel and Meleth for dinner.”

“If that is a command, give it to someone else. You no longer control me, remember?” Erestor arrogantly tapped the quill’s feather against the scroll Rog held.

“It was a suggestion, not a command, and though I may not be your commander any longer I am still your father-in-law,” stated Rog.

Erestor handed the quill and paper back to the server, who arrived with ink. “So?” Erestor ordered beer and then crossed his arms defiantly over his chest as he waited for his drink.

Rog held his tongue and frowned. “I wish you knew how to separate work and family.”

“We all wish for a lot of things, Rog, but I doubt any of us ever see half of them.” Erestor thanked the server for the mug of beer, and was left alone to drink and consider things.
You must login (register) to review.