The return to Imladris was blissfully uneventful. No orcs or wolves plagued their path, and the weather afforded them many nights to sleep beneath the stars. Glorfindel and Erestor would sing to the heavens, sometimes joining together for a duet. Estel would listen until his eyelids drooped and one of them insisted he unfurl his bedroll. It was during this peaceful journey that he learned many a song and tale, which he would recount and recall for all the long years of his life, and teach one day to his own children.
Their return did not merit a welcome party or fanfare of any sort, save for a loan figure standing at the bottom of the stairs to the house. “That does not look like Momi or Adar,” remarked Estel.
Erestor gave Glorfindel an accusatory glance. “What is he still doing here?”
Glorfindel shrugged, but spurred Asfaloth on ahead, breaking away from Erestor and Estel with bells ringing.
“Who is it?” asked Estel.
“The son of Sauron, if I had to guess,” he said before he had a chance to censor himself. Erestor hoped Estel did not repeat the words, at least not in front of Elrond. When they reached the house, Glorfindel had already dismounted and was standing beside Gildor. Erestor watched Gildor whisper a few words, but he could not hear them. This lead to shouting from Glorfindel, but not at his partner.
“I cannot believe that you did that! There are times when your libido is not appropriate – Estel, leave your pony and go inside,” instructed Glorfindel. It took Erestor a moment to realize that Glofindel was shouting at his own horse. Estel, unused to seeing Glorfindel so upset, did as he was instructed.
Before the lad climbed up the stairs, he mouthed ‘good luck with the spawn of Sauron’ to Erestor. It might not have been so bad, had Gildor not been watching, and not been an expert at lip reading.
“I really need to talk to Elrond about just whom he has instructing his son,” drawled Gildor after Estel was inside of the house. “As for you, Erestor, well played. Your antics have cost me travel time and my favorite pet. She wholly refuses to carry me now, and she is swelled like a suckling pig – very unattractive for a unicorn. We had three engagements in Rohan this autumn and an offer for the mount, and were forced to cancel everything.”
“I was certainly not the one who impregnated her,” rebutted Erestor. Asfaloth turned his head and stamped a front hoof on the ground, as if to say ‘well, a fine mess you have me blamed for! you started it!’
“I never said she was pregnant. It might have been a rare illness. Now that I am certain of the truth, I hold you entirely responsible. I expect you to see to her care and feeding, which will include a separate, heated environment,” demanded Gildor.
“I very much doubt you would have provided such an environment to her on your travels,” argued Erestor. “I see no reason why you should force this upon me.”
Gildor crossed his arms over his chest. “I had no intention of her being pregnant during the journey. The foals will be half-breeds; I do not even know if they will have horns or not.”
“Foals? Twins? Congratulations, Asfaloth!” Erestor patted Asfaloth on the muzzle, but the horse sidestepped away in a ‘do not touch me, elf, I am still in trouble with my master!’ sort of way.
“Luckily, the sire is owned by someone respectable enough to understand the situation. When they are born, I shall take with me whichever shows the best temperament – provided they have the traits of the unicorn. Few know the difference between a purebred and a bastardized unicorn, as long as the horn is present.” Gildor shook his head in disdain. “At least I brought my camel so that I did not end up stranded here the entire winter.”
“Thank goodness for the camel,” agreed Erestor. “I would not wish you here one more day if I could help it.”
Glorfindel frowned. “I see no reason for you to be sour with Gildor. You caused the present situation. To what end?”
“I…” Erestor paused. What had he gone and done that for, anyhow? He glanced around, and saw one of the valley’s many stray cats stalking a rat, and remembered. “He nearly set fire to the stables. Bringing a torch into a wooden building filled with straw and hay is a terrible idea.”
“Did you do that?” Glorfindel turned to address Gildor. “That was very unwise, and I can see where that would have provoked Erestor – though there are times he takes it a bit too far.”
“I may have had a small lit branch,” admitted Gildor. “I hardly think that accounts for your actions.”
Erestor snorted. “A small branch? It was a huge torch!”
“You exaggerate,” remarked Gildor casually.
“Hardly! Asfaloth, tell Glorfindel how huge it was!”
Asfaloth kept his neck down, head bowed.
“Oh, come on. It even scared you!”
Asfaloth snorted as if to say ‘ridiculous!’
“It scared Asfaloth? I find that rather hard to believe,” stated Glorfindel. “Asfaloth and I have approached the nazgul on more than one instance, and never has he fled. In fact, only he and I faced the Witchking, practically nose to nose, and it was the enemy who ran off.”
Erestor sighed. “Thanks a lot, horse.”
“The matter remains that you will now be responsible for the wellbeing of Scarlet. I expect a monthly update on her progress,” explained Gildor. “Also, there is the matter of the cupcakes.”
“The... cupcakes?” Erestor shook his head. “You have been feeding her cupcakes?”
“For someone so intelligent, you can be awfully dense at times,” remarked Gildor. “Not for the unicorn, for me. I consulted with Glorfindel, and my inclination was to punch you. Luckily for you, he talked me out of it – but now I want cupcakes.”
“So go to the kitchen and get some cupcakes,” advised Erestor.
Gildor shook his head. “I am weary from our discussion. Since this was your fault to begin with, after you take Asfaloth, your horse, and the pony to their stalls and check on Scarlet, you will bring us cupcakes.” He spoke in a low voice to Glorfindel. “If I slap him, then I still do not get the cupcakes, do I?” Glorfindel shook his head and rubbed Gildor’s shoulder comfortingly. “Cupcakes. Eight of them. I like vanilla, and the frosting had better not be any sort of weird color. No nuts, either. I despise nuts.”
“Could have fooled me,” mumbled Erestor.
Gildor rolled his eyes. “We will be in my guest room.” Gildor left Glorfindel on the bottom step and went back up into the house.
Glorfindel patted Asfaloth. “We will talk later.” The horse snorted and butted his head against Erestor’s shoulder.
“I suppose you want me to bring some cheesecake when I bring the cupcakes.” Erestor reached over and took hold of Asfaloth’s reigns.
“No, I think the eight cupcakes includes the three I will eat.” Glorfindel opened one of his saddlebags and took a sack from it. “See you in a while.”
Erestor stewed as he went about performing triple the tasks he expected, and then went to the kitchens to persuade a cook to help him out of his predicament. “Rozalia,” he said sweetly as he entered the kitchen, “I was wondering...”
“I need the sherry for cooking.”
“Darling! Sweetheart! Lovie! I would never—“
“You have and you would.” Rozalia, a stout fallohide, wiped her hands on her apron. She was one of the few hobbits who lived in Imladris, and happened to be Elrond’s favorite pastry chef. “What can I do you fer, Mister Erestor?”
“I need cupcakes.”
“Do you, now? Just how did this come about?” She was already beginning to gather bowls, spoons, and other implements she would need. “And before you get comfortable, fetch me some eggs.”
Erestor held up a bowl he had kept hidden behind his back. “One step ahead.”
Rozalia took the bowl and set it on the counter. “What kind are you needin’?”
“Vanilla. And plain frosting.”
As she cracked an egg into a bowl, she smiled knowingly and glanced through her spices for the vanilla. “Sounds like these cupcakes might not be for you.”
“Compensation for a pregnant unicorn. Apparently eight vanilla cupcakes is the going rate.”
“Oh, Mister Erestor! You send me into stitches! It is a wonder you are a councilor and not a jester!”
“Around here, there are some who will tell you the positions are interchangeable.”
Rozalia handed him a pan. “Use a little oil to grease this. At least Estel will be happy with you come morning. I can only make cupcakes in batches of a score or more, and he will get whatever is left over once you have your eight. Speaking of the lad, how is Estel doing?”
“He had a royal adventure with us traveling to Mirkwood. He met the king, and the princes, and had a jolly time. I was worried he might be homesick, but as it turned out he enjoys traveling immensely. I think next time a party goes to Mithlond, Elrond should consider allowing Estel the opportunity of venturing with them.”
“How nice. I was worried a bit meself. Not for his wellbeing, no, not exactly.” Rozalia began to sift flour into the large bowl. “That boy is so thin, I feared he would come back with less meat on his bones than when he left.”
“He ate well in Mirkwood, there is no doubt of that,” Erestor assured her.
“And what of Mister Findel?”
“He is well. A bit sore with me upon our return.” Erestor gathered anything he could think of that would be needed that he did not see out – butter and sugar, and some thick lard from the pantry. “In hindsight, playing pranks on Gildor was not the most mature thing that I could do. On the other hand, it is hardly my fault he is such a you-know-what.”
“I do indeed, and I thank thee for not swearin’ up me kitchen like you do the stables.” Rozalia hardly had to look at what she was doing as she went along, for cupcakes by the thousands had been made by her hands. “What you need, Mister Erestor, is a good wife to keep you level in the head. You bachelors are all the same – carefree and careless. Why, my uncle Tongo always told me ‘Roza-doll, you be sure to marry yourself a man, now. Help keep them from becoming an unlawful nuisance, because that is all that will happen to us without good womenfolk around.’ “
“Did your uncle marry early?”
“Hardly! He remained single to his final day.”
Erestor sat down on a tall stool and leaned on the counter to watch Rozalia work. She had to use a stool in order to reach the counters, hearth, and cabinets. It was fortunate she had several in the kitchen in order to remain efficient. “Are you married?”
“Not for some long time now.”
Erestor frowned and touched Rozalia’s arm comfortingly. “I am sorry.”
“I am not,” said Rozalia, letting out a boisterous round of laughter. “I came home one day and found him in our marriage bed with the milkmaid from down the street. Golden-haired hussy, that one was. Well, now, I packed up me dowry, went to the mayor, and demanded he annul our marriage. When he heard the whole tale, he made Pompa give me a bag of twenty silver and a pony, and set him in the stocks for a week. Well, now, I was not about to stay around and see what he might do or say at the end of that week, so I left. Yes, sir, I left me home. No idea where I might go or where I might be goin’. Bring me that pan you greased.”
Erestor retrieved the tray and held it steady while Rozalia poured the batter into each cup. “How did you make it to Imladris?”
“Mister Gildor. He was traveling not far from Michel Delving, an’ I joined up with ‘em. We went for a spell to Rohan and to Gondor. I was in the sideshow – Middle-earth’s tiniest woman. Of course, it works when someone has not seen a hobbit before. Three years later, we came to rest here in Rivendell. It had been too long since I had cooked a good meal, and I snuck meself into the kitchens after dark. Your Lord Elrond caught me here, but I fed him a good late supper of corn bread and mushroom pies. He hired me on the spot, an’ I have been here since. Been, what, now, fifteen years since I up’n left the Shire, and do I regret it? Look around at this kitchen! You’ve seen our larder. Would you regret it? No, sir.” Rozalia placed the tray into the hearth and stood back as she wiped her brow. “Cupcakes in two hours, Mister Erestor. They’ll need time to be coolin’ or yer frostin’ll slip right off to a puddle.”
“Thank you, Rozalia. You saved me from whatever disgrace he might have come up with otherwise.”
“Shall I come to get you when they are done? I hate to make you stay here while you likely have more important things to do.”
Erestor did not appear to want to budge from his spot. “I was hoping I might stay here, unless you were planning on leaving.”
“A good cook never leaves her oven unattended.” Rozalia moved a tea kettle closer to the fire. “Tea, Mister Erestor?”
“Just call me Erestor, Rozalia.” He looked around the room. “Do we have any scones left from breakfast?”
“I might be able to find a half-dozen in the cupboards.” Rozalia hopped down from one stool and bounced up onto another. “Raspberry or lemon with poppyseeds?”
“Both.” Erestor left his perch to retrieve mugs for tea and plates for scones. He assembled honey and sugar and a jar of apricot marmalade. “I wish, for all my interest in eating food, I was a better cook myself.”
“We cannot all be best at everything,” reasoned Rozalia. “If we were all so self-sufficient, what reason would we have to socialize with each other?”
“Are you a philosopher by chance?”
Rozalia laughed heartily. “Now, I reckon someone told me once I was, but I’ve not much use for philosophizin’ when there are biscuits and cakes and muffins to be made.” Rozalia went to pull the whistling tea kettle away from the fire. “Shall a put a nip’o somethin’ in yer tea?”
“Depends on what it is,” answered Erestor. He watched Rozalia lift a small bottle of rum that was kept under the counter to flavor some of the dishes she made. “By all means.”
“Before I left Pompa, I never knew the need for it, but I like it jus’ fine now.” She poured a healthy amount into both of the cups. “Wish we didn’t hafta stay here’in watch the ovens; we could go out on the porch for a smoke.”
“I regret that I am not much of a smoker myself,” Erestor informed her. “Now, Lord Glorfindel—“
“Aye, Erestor, he and I have a few puffs every now and again in the summers when he stays here. Usually puffs off me pipe. I keep tellin’ him he needs to get one of his own, but he never does.” Rozalia selected three of the scones from the dish she brought to the table. “Lord Elrond and I used to as well, but he seems tied up now with his new family. Good thing, that. Keeps him from a-worryin’ about his lass over yonder sea.”
Erestor poured a goodly amount of honey over his own lemon scone and sprinkled it with sugar. “Do you ever think you might marry again?”
“Are you askin’?” Rozalia gave Erestor a wink.
“Hmm... an elf and hobbit love affair. What would the master say?”
“Likely be happy to see you settle down with someone.” Rozalia bit into a scone and savored it. “Then again, you might be a menace either way.”
Erestor was still dwelling upon that comment as he walked up three flights of steps to reach the guest room that Gildor favored. He knocked on the door, carefully balancing the plate of cupcakes. Eight, plus one, just in case. Vanilla flavored, white frosting. There could hardly be any dispute.
Gildor flung the door open. He was wearing a thin silk robe, pale gold with dark blue designs on it. It was left untied, so it hung open and displayed his well-muscled form, a pair of tight blue undergarments in the eastern style leaving little to the imagination. “I thought you could at least count to ten.”
“I was trying to be nice.”
“Next time, try to be nice before you get my pets pregnant.”
“Boys...” came a warning voice from within the room. “If you are going to argue, then I am leaving.”
Gildor glanced over his should and blew a kiss, and then looked at Erestor. “Come in.” He kicked the door open the rest of the way.
Still holding the plate of cupcakes, Erestor slowly entered. The room was very dimly lit, but the candles were strategically placed so that the entire room had a glow to it. Or, perhaps it was simply the presence of Glorfindel – he had a very perceptible aura about him that could light even the darkest places. The slayer was lounging on the couch, a book open in his lap, a glass of red wine with a stick of cinnamon adorning it. Wisps of steam lifted from the beverage and dissipated in the air.
“We mulled some wine,” explained Gildor when he noted Erestor staring. “Mulled wine is lovely with vanilla cupcakes. Sweets, he brought nine cupcakes.”
“So I heard.” Glorfindel turned to the next page and swirled his wine with the cinnamon. “I will only eat one or two.”
“Three of these are yours.” Gildor picked up one of the cupcakes and bit into it. “Mmmm... Rozalia?”
Erestor nodded.
“She makes the best desserts. Too bad she is a hobbit.”
“What does that mean?” questioned Erestor.
Gildor laughed. “Listen to you; finding fault with me before you even know what I mean. I find it saddening that she is a hobbit. I would like to see her sail to Valinor, but it is not to be. Maybe that is why her food is so good – she puts her heart and soul into everything.” He licked some of the frosting, and took another bite. “Glorfindel you need to have one of these.”
“Later.”
“I bet if it was cheesecake you would humor me.” Gildor took the plate from Erestor and held it under Glorfindel’s nose, blocking the view of the book. “Try one.”
Glorfindel gently pushed the plate away. “I am not hungry.”
“Fine.” Gildor carried the plate back to his chair and sat down. He motioned to Erestor, who was still near to the door. “Join us. Sit.”
Erestor cautiously walked in further and looked around for somewhere to sit down. He finally decided on the end of the sofa, since Glorfindel was not taking up the entire length of it.
“You will be happy to know that I have changed my mind about the unicorn,” said Gildor.
“You are taking her with you? That could be detrimental to her health,” argued Erestor.
Gildor shook his head. “If you would give me a moment, you will learn the whole story.” He paused dramatically to eat the rest of the first cupcake, and began a second. “Since she is here already, and since she will only allow herself to be ridden by virgins, it makes no sense for me to take her. It also seems particularly cruel to break up a family.”
“He is leaving out the part about how he could not remember her name,” piped up Glorfindel, still engrossed in his reading.
“I was getting to that.” Gildor licked his fingers before he set the plate aside. “It was not until we were inside that Glorfindel reminded me that the camel is named Scarlet. Scarlet would be an ironic name for a unicorn, would it not?”
Erestor shrugged, and then nodded in agreement.
“So I think you should keep her here. She likes you – for whatever strange reason that might be. Wine?”
“No, thank you.” Erestor picked at the fabric fibers on the arm of the sofa. “What is the catch?”
“Catch? Nothing, my dear.” Gildor smirked at how uncomfortable the term made Erestor appear. “Just take care of whatever her name is, and let Glorfindel name the foals.”
“We need to move her tomorrow so that she and Asfaloth are sharing a stall,” said Glorfindel.
“Whatever.” Gildor plucked another cupcake from the plate. “You should try one of these, Erestor. There is an extra.”
Erestor stood up. “I need to be going.”
“If you must.” Gildor made a dismissive gesture which then turned into a single finger placed thoughtfully to his lips just as Erestor reached the door. “Just a moment. Just… one moment. I have a thought.”
“Just one?” prodded Erestor.
“A lovely thought,” continued Gilor as he set the cupcakes aside. “Erestor, have you ever noticed how big the guest beds here are? In fact, I believe there is enough room for three writhing bodies to take up residence for an entire night. Care to help us test my theory?” he asked, ignoring a seething look he was being given by Glorfindel.
“Good night, Erestor,” Glorfindel interrupted so that his friend would not need to answer.
Erestor quietly said good night to Glorfindel before leaving the room. Gildor wiped his fingers on a napkin conveniently located upon the table. “Frankly, I cannot for the life of me understand him.”
Glorfindel looked up from his reading. “If you stopped pushing him, maybe you could.”
Again, Gildor lifted and held out the tray, but Glorfindel shook his head again. “I have no desire to understand him.”
“I can see that,” answered Glorfindel, mildly irritated. “And I know he shoves, but you start it. You push and push and push and back him into corners, and then you act as if you have no clue as to why he shoves you back.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Neither. I get angry at him for the same thing, and I tire of having to choose between you. I should not have to – you are my dearest companions, and it hurts me to see you act this way. He was completely civil – he even brought you the bloody cupcakes after riding and looking after Estel all day. Did I hear the two most important words? No, I did not.”
Gildor tossed the plate back onto the table, jostling the perfectly frosted cakes. “You wanted for me to say thank you to him impregnating my mare?”
“For the damned cupcakes. You have such notions of entitlement, and it irks me. I hate his arrogance just as much, but at least he humbled himself to bringing you your dessert.” Glorfindel slammed the book closed with great flourish. “And on that note, good night. I hope you enjoy your stupid cupcakes.”
“How very mature. Toss a tantrum and then leave.” Gildor did nothing to stop Glorfindel, even opening the door for him. “Enjoy your evening.” Gildor thought to slam the door, but decided it would bring Glorfindel far too much satisfaction in knowing he was as upset as his lover was.
