Glorfindel would never readily admit it, but he had a hard time letting go – even when it was an inevitable conclusion. He had a tendency to personally see to the old warhorses, too weak to hold a rider and too sick to eat much food. Many times dusk would come and dawn would break, and still he would be in the stables, talking to the loyal old creatures, brushing them or holding water up to them to make it easier for them to drink.
The opposite was true as well; if a baby bird fell from its nest and no one could find the parents, the hatchlings were brought straight to the Master of Arms, who had warm little makeshift nests for them in his office. Lunch break in the springtime typically meant he would be sitting at his desk, coaxing tiny beaks to eat the worms and grubs he had the pages find for him. In the summer and autumn, it was getting abandoned kittens to lick goat’s milk from his fingertips. “Baby bird beaks are sharper, but kittens bite more often,” he once explained to his lord while having his hand bandaged after a minor incident with an adolescent crow.
Elrond had attempted to draw a line when he saw Glorfindel’s squire carrying a pair of curious little foxes down the hall one day, but Glorfindel was more clever than most. They were deposited in the shrubbery beneath the windows of his lord’s rooms, and when two hungry little foxes whimpered in the darkness it was Lady Celebrķan who swept them up and brought them to Glorfindel’s chambers. These were followed in subsequent years by a trio of rabbits mere days old, a half-dozen goslings, a fawn, and a runt of a skunk. The skunk had the entire household on edge, but once grown took to following Glorfindel about the house instead of rejoining its wild brethren. It followed the Captain around so willingly, stopping directly behind him wherever he went, that eventually people forgot quite what it was and began to call it ‘the lieutenant’. (Everyone was reminded of exactly what it was the afternoon that little Estel toddled over and decided to pull the “kitty’s” tail.)
Sometimes, such as in the case of the skunk, Glorfindel would have a success story to tell. “I had no idea what skunks ate, let alone baby skunks. Do you know there are no books in the library on the matter? Now, I shall have to write one.” More often, his attempts would lead to a heartbreaking conclusion: The rabbits never made it long enough to open their eyes, and many of the birds and kittens were buried in a far corner of Rivendell. It was not entirely uncommon if you woke early to see Glorfindel crouched over a freshly filled hole, piling rocks upon it.
When the age ended and the choice of leaving now or later was given to him, he packed his trunk... and then changed his mind. An oath was nothing new; an oath to protect his lord’s children, and their children, until such time came that Queen Arwen faded, was welcomed by the warrior. He relocated a few years after Rivendell was turned over to Lord Elladan, when blessed news arrived from Gondor.
Glorfindel’s arrival was nearly as heralded as the arrival of the heir of the Reunited Kingdom. As far as the people were concerned, the Elf population had doubled when Glorfindel moved into the palace, for besides Arwen and Eldarion, the minstrel Lindir was dwelling in the city as well. Familiar faces brought him comfort, and it was not long before his wisdom and charm gained him many more friends. From lords and scholars to servants and children, he was well liked, but the companionship he preferred most came from someone younger and less worldly than any of these.
Late at night, when the first displeased grunt was issued, it was Glorfindel who was first in the nursery. An uneasy shifting of the sheets in the cradle would cause the Elf to shove aside the drapes of the bed canopy and shove his feet into the pair of house shoes awaiting him. He would already be dressed; his preference was a nap after dinner, followed by a bath, and then he would dress for the day and stay up until the following evening when the cycle began anew. Sometimes he would lie in bed reading, and other times he spent the evening in the royal garden, stargazing and whispering to the trees, and now and then, staring westward with deep and unseen longing.
No matter his business in the garden or his chambers, the moment he was needed he was there. If it was not hunger that upset the babe (“I apologize, Arwen, but there is a limit to my talents”), it was Glorfindel who insisted upon caring for him. “Go sleep,” he admonished, practically chasing away Eldarion’s bleary-eyed parents and equally tired young nurse. “You can have him all day, and the afternoon, too.” No one argued much; it was exhausting enough to run a kingdom without worrying about a newborn.
Tonight was very similar to most nights. In the midst of the calm as Glorfindel stood under a cherry tree with his head tilted up toward the heavens, the low grumbling noise of someone very small turned his head to the double doors. Standing on either side of the doors were the royal guards, unmoving and impenetrable to anyone they wished to keep out. Behind the doors was a little boy, clearly upset about something. It was Glorfindel’s cue.
A brisk walk down the stone path brought him before the soldiers. Though flanked with guards, Glorfindel merely opened the door and entered, shutting it once inside. He never greeted them or even smiled in acknowledgement when he walked past – they had a job to do, and right now, so did he. Two candles were lit to accommodate Eldarion – Glorfindel was yet unsure just how well the baby could see in starlight.
“Well, hello there, little prince,” cooed the ellon, and anyone who might have seen him lift Eldarion from his crib and make nonsensical conversation whilst carrying the little one to the changing table would never in a million years believe this to be the fierce slayer of balrogs to whom the nazgul once cowered in fear. “Who’s da cutest widdle baby? Yous da cutest widdle baby,” Glorfindel assured Eldarion as he opened a drawer and pulled out a fresh diaper and a clean cloth. He checked the water basin to make sure it was not too cold before dipping the cloth in and wringing it out.
“Let me see what you have been hiding in there.” The diaper was untied on either side and Glorfindel grimaced. “Yick. Heavy load in there tonight. Just what did you eat?” asked Glorfindel.
Eldarion grinned toothlessly and let out a happy “grrrahhh!” as the offensive diaper was removed and wrapped up.
“You must think you are so silly.” Glorfindel cleaned up the rest of the mess before lifting Eldarion up again. “You still sleepy?” he asked.
“aaggghhhmmm,” responded Eldarion as he managed to get a hold of one of a long golden braid. “mmhhmmumm.”
“Are you hungry? Should we get Nana?”
Eldarion wrapped his little fingers around Glorfindel’s hair and started to chew on the end of the braid he had chosen.
Once the crib was checked and tidied up, Glorfindel carried the little one to the rocking chair. “If you are not sleepy, singing a lullaby will not do much good, will it? How about a story, then?”
The babe rested his tiny head against Glorfindel’s chest and looked up with wide grey eyes as drool started to coat the end of the braid he had in his grasp.
“Let me think... the balrogs? No, your mother would never let me hear the end of it if you happened to recall it later. Orcs are too scary... trolls are too smelly... I really lived through some dark times,” mumbled Glorfindel to himself in sudden realization. Eldarion remained content to teethe happily on the elf’s namesake.
“Oh, wait, I have one,” said Glorfindel. “I can tell you about my little friend the skunk. See, he was so small that no one even noticed he was there, living in some shadows of the wine cellar until one day a maid was sweeping things up and the poor little thing sneezed. No one knows how he got there – the maid went screaming up to the kitchen when she saw it. The poor thing was practically skin and bones and a tuft of fur when your Uncle Elrohir brought it to me. Oh, was your Einiorada ever upset! He put up such a stink – I named the skunk after him, even though everyone else called him... hmm, sergeant or something. I cannot remember. He followed me everywhere. Your Ada thought he was a cat, but he acted a lot more like a puppy.”
Eldarion gurgled and blew a few spit bubbles, which Glorfindel wiped away with the edge of his sleeve. “Oh, mister droopy eyes, now,” noted Glorfindel of the baby as he tried and failed to suppress a yawn himself. “Sleepy time?” Eldarion nuzzled closer against him.
Glorfindel took a deep breath and blew it hard at the flickering flames he had lit when he entered and managed to extinguish them from across the room. He settled back in the chair and rocked gently until Eldarion fell asleep.
As the first ray of light seeped into the room, the door quietly creaked open. Arwen peeked in and smiled at the sight of Glorfindel, long ago her own protector, asleep in the rocker with Eldarion held in his arms. Her son had a golden braid clutched in one hand and part of Glorfindel’s tunic in the other.
After Eldarion was untangled from the warrior, Arwen tucked her son into his crib. The baby briefly opened his eyes, but closed them again once the curtains were drawn. A blanket was taken off of a shelf and draped over her arm, but Arwen passed by the crib and walked to the rocker. She pulled a cloth from her pocket and wiped first the drool her son had left on Glorfindel, and then the bit that had escaped the warrior’s own mouth before draping the blanket over his legs and lap. The door was left ajar, and Arwen smiled to herself, happy to be the one who helped the one who seemed to help everyone else.
Story Notes:
Written for GFIC Challenge
Theme: Young/Old
Elements: clean; light; late; fresh; heavy
Theme: Young/Old
Elements: clean; light; late; fresh; heavy