When in Rivendell, Gildor found that he typically spent half of his time in Glorfindel’s bed or in a bed with Glorfindel or sitting on Glorfindel’s lap, half of the remaining time speaking or strolling with Elrond, half of the remainder eating, sitting in the hall of fire, or generally making mischief, and whatever remained in other people’s beds. Without Glorfindel in Imladris, Elrond otherwise occupied, and Lindir perfectly indifferent towards him, Gildor found he was running out of other beds to amuse himself in. Today it was raining, so even a stroll in the gardens or a ride was out of the question.
He wandered to the only place he usually avoided when he was in town.
“What is *he* doing here?” asked a scribe of a junior librarian. A nearby scholar frowned appropriately.
“Please tell me he does not have plans to fornicate among the literature.” This request came from a clerk to Nenniach, who looked up and was startled to see Gildor Inglorion roaming about not so many paces away. “There goes the neighborhood,” the clerk added.
Nenniach hurried to one of the back storage rooms, where she found Melpomaen sorting scrolls back into their appropriate bins. “Excuse me, but I believe we are about to have an incident.”
Melpomaen climbed down the ladder he had been standing upon. The warmth of summer coupled with the small size of the storage rooms and how hard he had been working all morning left his forehead damp and tendrils of his hair clinging to his neck. He had taken off his light robes, and was only clad in pants and a tight shirt, plus a pair of gloves to keep the documents he tended to in the best condition possible. “Did some children try to wander into the restricted section again?”
“No... but I suppose child is not too far off a term for him,” considered Nenniach. “The infamous Lord Gildor is perusing the collection.”
Melpomaen narrowed his eyes. “He never comes in here.”
“He and Master Erestor are worse than oil and water. With Erestor gone, I suppose he thought he would see the library.” Nenniach shrugged. “All I know is that within seconds there were many who were upset.”
“Technically, there is nothing I can do if he is just walking around.”
“You could go ask if he needs something.”
Melpomaen looked around at his half-finished task. “I am busy. Why not you?”
“Honestly? I hate him nearly as much as Erestor does,” admitted Nenniach.
“You cannot mean that. I mean, he is a bit forthright at times, but—“
“I hate how he treats Lord Glorfindel,” said Nenniach. “Lord Glorfindel is such a kind soul, and from what I hear, Gildor sleeps with every stable hand and footman who will let him through their door. It is completely disrespectful.”
“What does that have to do with asking him if he needs assistance in the library?” wondered Melpomaen, but he was already rolling his sleeves down and heading for the door.
Nenniach shook her head. “If I talk to that man, I will likely have a reaction very similar to the ones that Lord Erestor has.”
Melpomaen sighed and shook his head, but went out to find Gildor. He discovered the elf lord in an aisle where the genealogical records and family histories were kept. “Are you looking for something in particular, m’lord?” asked Melpomaen as he approached. “Anything I can help you find?”
Gildor had been looking through the contents of a small tan volume when Melpomaen approached, and he snapped the book shut as he directed his attention to the cataloger who served as Erestor’s personal secretary. “I think I may have found just what I was looking for.”
“I can check that out to you if you like,” offered Melpomaen. “It is part of the general collection and is allowed to circulate. You could read it in your rooms or in the Hall of Fire if you like. I think you will find either place considerably cozier.”
“Trying to get rid of me so soon?” Gildor smiled and gave a wink. “I was not, in fact, talking about the book.”
It was not often that Erestor hired stupid librarians. It was even less likely for him to hire ones who were not on some level sarcastic. Melpomaen knew his boss would have been proud of him as he crossed his arms over his chest, gave Gildor a look of exasperation, and replied, “Not interested.”
“Hmm, I always thought you male bookworm types were really more like my type,” said Gildor.
“Certainly not. If there is nothing that I can help you with – in the library, that is – I suggest you will find something of more interest in the Hall of Fire.”
Gildor approached slowly, turning the book over and over in his hands as he came closer. “How sturdy are the tables in this room?”
Melpomaen shrugged. “As sturdy as they need to be. They are well-crafted and can handle the stress of many piles of books. I have seen both Master Elrond and Lord Glorfindel set as many as fifty or sixty large volumes upon one without a single creak.”
“What about the chairs?” wondered Gildor.
“The chairs are built solidly as well,” Melpomaen assured Gildor. “The Dwarves we hosted recently are an example of that. Those stout folk needed workspaces that will suit them. Well, the three that could read, at any rate. Not a single chair was broken beneath their weight. I would wager that the tables and chairs were built at the beginning of the second age, and came from Lindon for they show upon them the crest of King Gil-Galad. For more information, you would need to consult with Erestor.”
“I have but one more question concerning the furniture, and I am sure it is one that any reputable librarian would be able to answer,” said Gildor. He came up close to Melpomaen so that he need not do more than whisper. “If I were to bend you over a piece of furniture in this room, would a chair or table be a better choice?”
Melpomaen tilted his chin upwards, and defiantly glared at Gildor. “As I said earlier, I am not interested.”
“That was not my question,” scolded Gildor quickly. “I am more than aware that loreseekers such as you like nothing more than to share with others the wealth of knowledge they have obtained. I also know that it is expected of you to answer each and every question someone asks to the best of your abilities, and if you do not know the answer, that research shall be promptly conducted so that an answer might be procured. Now, I ask thee again – and do not hesitate if my assistance is needed to settle the matter.” Gildor whispered into Melpomaen’s ear once more. “The table or the chair?”
“Now I understand why Master Erestor hates you so much,” said Melpomaen.
“Do you?” Gildor snorted and stepped away, setting the book he had been holding back in the place it came from. “Did you never think that perhaps it was I who hated him first?”
“Master Erestor is a noble man. I warn you, sir, speak ill of him and I will not take it kindly. Title or not, you have no right to speak of him so unjustly.”
“Oh, he does have you brainwashed,” muttered Gildor. He approached closely again, and set a hand upon Melpomaen’s shoulder. He leaned forward so that he could speak more directly into Melpomaen’s ear. “There are many things you should know about Master Erestor that you do not. Be glad you do not. I have my doubts that you would still respect him as you do.”
“Master Erestor has always been kind to me. I have no reason to doubt him in any way. There are many things that I do know about you, and general opinion of you is lessening the longer you speak,” warned Melpomaen.
“Is that so?” Gildor let go of Melpomaen’s shoulder and took a slight step back. “Name me something.”
“Name you what?”
“Tell me what clouds your opinion of me. What have I done to deserve your contempt?” asked Gildor.
Stuck now to answer, Melpomaen said the first thing on his mind, which was the most recent thing he and Nenniach had spoken about. “It is rumored that you are not faithful to your partner. It is said that you take up other bedfellows from time to time.”
“You tell the truth. I cannot deny that which is true,” said Gildor to Melpomaen’s surprise. “Have you thought to ask fair Glorfindel about this?”
“No,” admitted Melpomaen.
“If you did, he would tell you that we have chosen not to be exclusive to one another. It is very simple; we live apart most of the time and we both encounter many others in our day-to-day lives. What if one of us were to meet someone we found to be a better match? Why, it would take so long to inform the other, and by then it might be too late to take a chance on another,” explained Gildor. “So you see, I am doing nothing wrong, not in the eyes of my own lover.”
“Still, you use that clause to sleep with anyone you meet,” Melpomaen accused.
Gildor smiled. “You are delightfully feisty. Are you sure you will not take me up on that offer?” Gildor ran a finger along the back of the nearest chair. “Walnut, smoothed from years of use, and your bare skin, smoothe from youth. Oh, and those raven locks.. I might even ask someone to bring a mirror so that you might watch,” offered Gildor. “Or have you settled upon the table?”
“No. Now get out of my library.”
“Your library? I always thought it was Erestor’s library,” said Gildor. “Or... wait, am I right about the male bookworm thing?”
“What?”
“You and Erestor... you are *very* protective of him...”
“Get out,” ground out Melpomaen through gritted teeth.
Gildor laughed. “Oh, you are such fun. I do hope you change your mind.” He walked past instead of turning around in the narrow aisle, which meant he had to past by closely. Gildor purposely brushed against Melpomaen slowly. “I think you know where my rooms are, pet.”
Melpomaen shuddered as Gildor walked away. He waited until he was absolutely sure that Gildor had left the library before he went back to the storage room. “Next time, you get to ask him what he wants,” he said to Nenniach.
