“Time for a fieldtrip,” announced Erestor, setting down a stack of books on his desk. He came around to Glorfindel’s side of the office and pulled out the chair the blond was sitting upon.
“Fieldtrip?” Glorfindel settled the quill he had been using back onto its holder.
“Yes, come on, we only have so much time before the next service.” Erestor nearly dragged Glorfindel out of the room once the blond was up from his chair. “I have found us a small window of opportunity that we shall not pass up.”
Completely confused, but not admitting to it, Glorfindel kept in step with the taller elf for fear he might be carried to their destination if he went any slower. They left the house, rounded the gardens, and came to a building not far from the main entrance. “Do you know where we are?” asked Erestor casually as he slowed his step.
“The House of Prayer,” Glorfindel said as if reading from a map, for in his mind he knew the placement of nearly every stone that made up the fair city. “This is where the Aphadsadorins come to worship, is it not?”
“Yes, but not just exclusively the Aphadsadorins. This is a nondenominational building; everyone is free to come here. Normally, I do not,” Erestor said, making it quite clear that he had little desire to even be here. “I wanted you to see this place with your own eyes instead of just having Elrond tell you about it.”
“Oh.” Glorfindel looked from one side of the building to the other. “Very nice. Very sturdy design. I like the dogs,” he said, pointing to a pair of menacing looking statues that guarded either side of the stairway.
Erestor rolled his eyes with a sigh and Glorfindel lurched forward as his sleeve was grabbed and tugged in the direction of the doors. “Shall we go in, then?” he asked somewhat sarcastically.
“As you can see,” pointed out Erestor as they made it to the top of the double rows of stairs, “the building itself is not at ground level, but quite a ways above it. The Aphadsadorins, and many others, believe that by doing this, they are closer to the stars and the heavens, and closer to Eru and the Valar.”
“Seems a little... presumptuous,” Glorfindel finally settled on, and he followed Erestor inside. There was an antechamber which spread out in either direction to more stairs, or straight ahead to a larger room. “Still more climbing?”
“Not for us. They preach from elevated areas; again, so that they are on higher ground. Above the others, because they are speaking for the Valar,” explained Erestor.
“Wait a minute...” Glorfindel glanced warily at the stairs as he listened again in his mind to what he had just been told. “They claim that if they are speaking, that they are communicating from the Valar?”
“Something like that. Although, Sedrynerins do it as well; it is just that we read from the twelve books written by the elders who were given the messages in their dreams by Eru. The Aphadsadorins rewrote the book many, many times, and added things along the way, and they think they should be forty or fifty feet off of the ground when they are retelling their inaccurate retellings,” finished Erestor. “To each his own,” he added, leading Glorfindel forward.
“This is the main room with the altar – again, you can see where those stairways lead to,” said Erestor, pointing out the elevated platforms at the front and back of the room. “Up there, at the altar, those benches are for the choir. Now, it differs between religions, but for the pure Aphadsadorins, they choose the best of the best singers and then those are the ones who sing during the mass or at special ceremonies, like weddings and funerals.”
Both elves sat down at one of the benches in the main area, and Glorfindel looked around. “What are those for?” he asked, noticing a pile of baskets sitting in the corner next to a massive harp.
“Those are for the offerings. Near the end of most masses, a collection is taken up,” Erestor told him.
“Of... money?” guessed Glorfindel, and Erestor chuckled.
“I suppose sometimes they have someone deposit something else in them, but yes, of money. This is to support the building, to buy things like special robes and golden chalices and such. You know,” said Erestor with a sigh, “all of the things essential for paying respect to Eru and the Valar.”
Looking up at the high walls, Glorfindel took in the scenes depicted in the tall, stained-glass windows of the evils of Morgoth. To one side at the front of the room was a large, blue marble statue of Manwe; the opposite side of the room was Varda. The Valier, in statue form, lined one wall from front to back, while their male counterparts were hewn in stone on the other side. Standing up, Glorfindel walked to the statue of Elbereth and looked over the rows and rows of candles, some lit and some burned out, while others awaited someone to strike flint to steel or light them from one of the others already burning.
Erestor approached quietly and stood beside Glorfindel. “There was once a more symbolic reason for the lighting of these,” explained the dark elf, picking up one of the flickering candles. “If someone was dying, or perhaps if someone needed guidance, one might be lit. If there was an elleth having an uneasy labor, her husband might come and light an entire row. But now, they are burning not only for these reasons. If someone wants a raise, if someone wishes their champion to win a joust, if someone wants to be granted leave for a vacation. I hear of these things all the time.” Erestor tilted the candle, sparking the wick of an unlit one at the very corner of the table. He placed the candle he had picked up back in its spot and then dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a coin purse. “It used to be a spiritual thing; now, you make a donation when you light them.” A piece of silver glinted in his fingers just as he dropped it into a little metal box that hanged off of the table.
Glorfindel stared at the newly lit flame until he heard Erestor begin to retreat from the place of worship. With his palms upon the edge of the table, Glorfindel listened to the steps become fainter and fainter. Finally he called out, his voice echoing in the empty hall. “Who did you light that one for?”
The loud steps on the hard, marble walkway paused. “That one,” said Erestor before leaving, “is for you.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
Erestor takes Glorfindel on a field trip