“I have the journey mapped out. Mirkwood first, of course, and then from there we shall go to Bree so that we can take a few days to venture out to Ben-adar’s house.”
“No.” The sternly issued word came forth from Glorfindel before Erestor could show him the map he had drawn out.
“We will certainly have time,” Erestor assured his friend. “As long as we do not stay for an extended period in Mirkwood—“
“Out of the question.” Glorfindel set his abacus back onto his desk and removed his glasses. “Besides the fact that it is too dangerous a road for us to traverse with a ten-year-old boy, it is not part of our mission.”
“It is a mission for you, but a vacation for me,” argued Erestor. “Estel needs to be acquainted with the surroundings beyond Imladris.”
Glorfindel took the map from Erestor. “Fine. We go from Mirkwood to Lothlorien, then. He can meet his sister and grandparents.”
Erestor’s mouth twitched into a frown. “That does not seem like an ideal vacation to me.”
“We are not going to Bree, and that is final.”
“No one remembers what I did there all those years ago, and the position of Magistrate is vacant, so there would be no one to arrest me even if they did recognize me,” said Erestor. “Besides, you enjoy going to Bree.”
“It is not Bree that I am disputing. We are not going to Tom Bombadil’s house, and that is final.”
Erestor placed his hands upon the desk and leaned down to stare at Glorfindel. “And why not, exactly?”
Glorfindel sighed. “Because that man tries my patience in so very many ways.”
“Ben-adar is a wonderful soul,” defended Erestor.
“He is, in a word, an annoyance.” Glorfindel pushed back his chair and walked away from Erestor. His hands were already raised to his temples, a headache oncoming just to think of the man. “He sings nonsense. And not nonsense like Lindir does with his tra-la-la-lally and all that, oh no, he makes up words by the bushel full and tosses them about and into everything. It’s hard to understand a single sentence he says! And his span of attention is this big,” commented Glorfindel, holding his fingers minisculely apart. “There are times I have tried to speak to him, and he interrupts me to burst into song! Praise that wife of his, for no other could stand him!”
“I still think him pleasant to be around,” said Erestor after a pause.
Glorfindel shook his head. “Perhaps he lets you get a word in edgewise. Or maybe what he says actually makes sense to you. But honestly, the last time I was there was to discuss spiders and wolves. There were spiders that were multiplying in the old forest and a pack of particularly nasty wolves that were working in tandem with each other. It obviously seemed like the work of Sauron to me. And what did he spew at Haldir and I when we went to see him? Some gibberish about yellow-creamed butter and plates all a-clutter, and I swear between the two of us we understood about three words – greetings, and good day!”
“Ah, that sounds like Ben-adar,” remarked Erestor fondly.
Glorfindel simply shook his head. “I have to draw a line somewhere, and we are simply not going to his house. If you want us to walk to Angmar or Mordor or even the Dead Marshes, lead the way. Not Tom Bombadil’s house. Not if it were the last refuge in Middle-earth.”
“You say that now, but you never know.” Erestor folded the map and tossed it into a desk drawer. “Fine. No Ben-adar.”
“Glad you agree.”
Erestor settled back into his chair and drummed the tips of his fingers on the desk. “This is very unlike you, Fin. I am actually surprised that there is something that exists that you dislike.”
“On the contrary,” corrected Glorfindel. “I dislike a great many things. Tom Bombadil just happens to be on the short list, along with cabbage and the color grey.”
“It hardly seems fair to place him in the ranks of cabbage and dreary colors,” Erestor argued.
“Make your own list if you like, but this conversation is over. No Tom Bombadil. And if you try to sneakily find a way to make him aware of the path we are taking so that he can randomly show up without notice,” warned Glorfindel, “something bad will happen.”
Erestor arched a brow. “Something bad? That is the best you can do?”
“Something bad that involves you and... Gildor,” he blurted out, trying to think of the thing that Erestor would like the least.
It had the desired effect. “Fine. No Ben-adar. Can we detour to Rohan?”
“NO.” Glorfindel began to rub his temples again. “In fact, we are going straight to Mirkwood and coming straight back. No detours, no scenic routes, and NO Tom Bombadil!”
There would be no further suggestions for altering their course, for Gilraen suddenly knocked on the doorway and let herself into the room. “I wished to inform you of a few parameters for this trip.”
“Oh?” asked Erestor. “What are those?”
“No night travel and no orc hunting. Unless someone attacks you, you will not engage in an attack.”
Erestor waited, and then asked, “Anything else?”
“No, I think that will cover everything that has been worrying me,” said Gilraen. She began to leave and then turned back. “No women, elven or otherwise,” she said pointedly at Erestor.
“Might I suggest no deviating from the route that we have mapped out?” asked Glorfindel. “If we are to stay safe, in case someone should need to find us, it would make sense to stay on a trail and not wander from it.”
Gilraen looked away from Glorfindel and turned her gaze onto Erestor. “No deviations.”
“That was—he just—“ Erestor flailed about for words. “You cannot be serious. Sometimes, a judgment call must be made.”
“Then as your security, it will be Glorfindel who makes those decisions,” stated Gilraen. “If you will excuse me, I have other things to attend to.” She left the room as suddenly as she had come into it, leaving Erestor pouting and Glorfindel with a smug look on his face.
“If I did not know better, I would suspect that you had planned that little routine with her,” accused Erestor. “Her timing could not have been better.”
Glorfindel simply shrugged. “You can think whatever you want, as long as it keeps me out of Tom Bombadil’s house!”
Near the stables, Estel was showing off to his Ada, practicing his balance on the top rung of the white fence that encircled the barns and stables. “Lindir said someday he will show me how to do a cartwheel across the fence,” said Estel, his arms raised at either side for stability. “Right now I can just do this,” he said as he hopped up in the air and landed back down on the wood. He wobbled slightly, and Elrond held onto the seat of the bench he sat on to keep himself from rushing over to steady the lad. He had tried to give up the habit when Estel was eight and proclaimed that he could climb the trees all by himself now without a boost up. Even so, Elrond found that the tricks that his foster son tried were nerve-wracking, and caused a new sequence of grey hairs that his other three children had not managed to dull.
“That is very brave of you to try that,” said Elrond. “Perhaps it is time to come down from there. I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? For me?” Estel bounded over to the end of the fence a little faster than Elrond might have liked, but he kept his footing. “Can I jump down?”
Elrond was nearly there already. “I can help you.”
“But I can jump. Lindir lets me jump,” added Estel.
Elrond made a mental note to have a talk with Lindir. “It is a long way down to the ground. If you break a foot, you would not be able to go to Greenwood tomorrow.”
Estel weighed the consequences as he looked down at the ground. “I can do it,” he said finally in a very assured tone. “But can you move the bale of hay closer? Just in case?”
Happy to oblige, for it made the jump little more than half a metre, Elrond shoved the bale over with his foot. “There we are,” he said. “Are you sure you can make it on your own?”
“Stand back, Ada, here I go!” Estel bent his knees and bounced off his perch onto the hay, and then again from the bale onto the ground. “That is the best part! You should try it!”
“Maybe later. I want to show you your surprise-- or have you forgotten already?”
“My surprise! What is it?” Estel grinned and looked up with his curious eyes, hoping perhaps for a toy soldier to add to his collection or a piece of candy from the little confectionary cart in the east wing or the gypsy caravans that were present. The smallest presents delighted him, but Elrond had something much bigger in mind.
“I know that you were going to ride Gilmiris to Greenwood, but I do not think that will be possible.” Gilmiris was one of the donkeys stabled in Imladris, and while Estel had learned to ride ponies, horses, and even some of Erestor’s massive stallions, it was Gilmiris who was most patient with Estel.
“Because she is not a horse,” sighed Estel. Some of the young playmates that Estel had in Imladris had remarked on more than one occasion that it was ridiculous to ride a donkey when there were so many perfectly good horses around. The truth was, Estel was yet unsure of himself as a rider. While most of the horses used for long distance transportation would suit the journey, they were intimidating.
Elrond shook his head. “I do not think you should ride a horse. I do think you should consider this friend of mine instead.” Elrond led Estel into the barn and showed him to a row of stalls where the donkeys and llamas were kept. At the end of the row was a golden colored equine that swished her tail happily as if she was listening to a rhythm in her head as she chewed on her lunch. Her coppery hair was mixed with thick strands of dark brown, and together they shined like burnished metal in the sunlight that came in through the open doors and windows. “I thought you might like a mount of your own.”
Estel’s eyes grew huge as the words sunk in. “She belongs to me?”
“If you would like her. I purchased her from one of the traveling Nandorin Elves who are here. She is young, but has much travel experience and comes from good stock found in the Shire. She does not have a name yet, either, so you will be able to choose a name for her.” Elrond unlatched the gate and swung the door open so that Estel could enter. “Would you like to say hello?”
“Would I!” Estel began to run into the stall, but recalled the lessons that he had been given by Erestor and Glorfindel and stopped short so that he could calmly enter the stall. “Hi, girl. How are you? My name is Estel. How are you, girl?” Estel approached slowly and reached up to touch the nose of the pony. She snuffed at his hand and nuzzled his arm, and then tried to stick her nose into his sleeve. “Hey! That tickles!”
“Here.” Elrond reached into his pocket and handed a cube of sugar to Estel, who in turn held it up to his new friend. She delicately took the treat and then nuzzled his hand again. “Do you like her? I can trade her for a different one if you do not.”
“Oh, no, father, she is perfect! Thank you, Ada!” Estel ran back over to Elrond and wrapped his arms around his father’s midsection, hugging him fiercely. “I love her!”
Elrond returned the hug with a fond smile. “Good. You should take her for a ride before you leave tomorrow,” suggested Elrond. “If you open that box over there, you will find a saddle and a blanket and everything else you will need.”
Estel let go of Elrond and went to the crate to explore it. “The saddle matches her coat! Oh! And a blue blanket!” He happily pulled item after item from the box and began to ready his new mount for a ride. “Will you come with me?” he asked.
“Oh, I have a lot of things to do,” said Elrond, but even as he said this, the excitement faded from Estel’s eyes.
“Oh. I understand.” The boy turned around and looked back at the gear that was set out. “Maybe I can ask Lindir to come with me.” The enthusiasm gone, Estel continued the task of readying his mount, but he was slower now and his steps were heavy.
Elrond flashed back in his mind to the first time he had ever ridden a horse on his own. He was only six at the time, and he and Elros were riding the same mount. They had gone to gather eggs from the coup, and found Uncle Maedhros in the stable. He was getting ready to ride to a nearby encampment, and when the boys entered offered them a little adventure. Elrond smiled as he recalled how he and Elros fought over who got to hold the reigns. Eventually, Maedhros settled the dispute by pulling Elrond off of Maglor’s mount and onto his own horse.
Before Elrond could argue this change, the reins were dropped into his lap. ‘You have two good hands. Get us moving.’ Elrond smiled to himself as he recalled how proud he had been to have such an important task. Elros, ever the independent one, masterfully took the reins of the other horse, but Elrond was still delighted that he, and not his brother, was not only given permission but also the trust of Maedhros.
“Wait right here,” said Elrond as Estel was about to mount his pony. The Lord of Imladris hurried out of the barn and down the path to the stables. “Ready my riding horse,” he instructed one of the stable boys sternly, and there was a scramble to do as the master of the house said. Elrond removed his house shoes and found an old pair of riding boots in the office that Glorfindel kept. He hoped that his seneschal would not mind if they were borrowed, and he left his outer robe draped over the chair as an unwritten message for why the boots were missing, should Glorfindel happen into the room before Elrond returned.
Elrond rode his horse back to the barn, where he ducked down to peer in through the open double doors. “I have an hour before your mother will come looking for me,” he shouted. “First one to make it to the Bruinen wins!”
“Wait for me!” shouted Estel. He galloped out of the barn seconds later and the laughter of father and son mingled in the air for the better part of the afternoon despite Elrond’s earlier declaration.
* * *
Nearly all preparations had been made for the journey, but there was one final item which Erestor needed to take care of. He made his way from the library to the Hall of Fire, where he had asked someone to meet him. It was well beyond midnight, and the hall was practically cleared of all residents and guests alike. In one corner sat Glorfindel and Lindir, and there was no doubt they were going over last minute directions. With Glorfindel away, his household duties as seneschal were covered by Lindir. Erestor glanced about and noted his counterpart in another alcove, reading a book.
Erestor approached Melpomaen and took a seat near him. “I apologize for my tardiness,” began Erestor. “I had expected my timing to be better.” He stifled a yawn. “Key,” he said, lifting a large ring of them and handing them to Melpomaen. “I hardly think I need to tell you what to do, but do you have any last minute questions?”
“Not about the library,” said Melpomaen as he held onto the keys reverently. They unlocked every door in the house, including some that only Elrond and Erestor possessed keys to. “What should I do for the council meetings?”
“Do as you always have. Advise Elrond as you see fit. If you want to remind him of me, be difficult on occasion. I have faith in you. I know that you are competent. That is much, much more than I can say for most of this house – and with Gildor here, it becomes worse. The general intelligence of the realm drops drastically with him here,” rambled Erestor.
At the mention of Gildor’s name, Melpomaen shuddered slightly. This was not lost on Erestor, simply delayed due to his lethargy. “I take it you do not particularly like the prince of the wilderness, either.”
“Not really.” Melpomaen shook his head. “He says things sometimes that I wish he would not. I do not know how to answer him.”
“What has he said?” asked Erestor. “Tell me, Melpomaen,” he added when his secretary hesitated to say.
Lowering his already quiet voice, Melpomaen said, “He is not a believer, of course, so he speaks against Eru or uses his name in vain. It disturbs me. Even more disturbing is the way he looks at me. I cannot explain it, and he has never touched me or said anything directly, but I have this feeling, sir, that I should never wish to be in the same place alone with him. In fact, if given the choice between a wild boar or Gildor, I would choose the beast.”
“But which is the beast?” questioned Erestor. Melpomaen nodded. “Stay in the library when you can for the rest of his visit,” advised Erestor. “He tends not to enter. He should leave shortly. I do not expect him to be here for more than another month or two.”
“Thank you, Master Erestor. I will have much to do with you away; I doubt I will be in any places alone with Gildor.”
