The next day, in the woods of the valley, three hunters traversed the wilderness. Elrohir had a pack of supplies, while Elladan carried with him the light tent they would use. Estel was given the most important job of all – he was in charge of finding the best place to set up camp for the night. Though they were no more than a mile from the house, it was still a very important event for Estel. They would spend the evening away from the convenience of home, and it would not be the same conditions that he had encountered while traveling with Glorfindel and Erestor to Mirkwood.
Many times they had stayed in inns or at the very least the house of someone along the way. When they did not, they still had much more appealing conditions, and horses to carry them. The weather was also much cooler now, and the winds whipped at the trees now and again as they trudged through the forest.
“Here, I think,” announced Estel when they came to a small clearing that offered some cover from overhanging braches, but still allowed for a fire to be built. “Should we build a fire first, or should we make the tent?”
“I am going to pitch the tent,” decided Elladan. “You and Elrohir can get a fire going. If we are lucky, we might have it all finished before the stars are at their brightest, and can all stargaze as the fire cooks our supper.” The three spent the late afternoon catching fish, and Elladan had shown Estel how to set traps for rabbits and other small game. “Maybe we can even sing a few songs before bed.”
“I like the songs you sing, big brother!” Estel excitedly trotted after Elrohir when he announced that they would need to enter back into the denser part of the woods to search for kindling.
Elladan finished the tent quickly and took a little time to sit at the base of a tree and farspeak a bit with his sister. ‘How are you? And the Grands?’
‘We are all well,’ she replied to him. ‘And father?’
‘Happier now. Have you spoken to him much?’
‘Almost every week, though our conversations are shorter and shorter as of late.’ There was a pause. ‘I think that to be.. a good thing.’
‘This is hard for you,’ recognized Elladan.
‘It is hard for all of us,’ acknowledged Arwen. ‘I spoke with Grandmother at length about it, though. It will be hard for us now, but for the little one, when he is of age and learns all of the truths, will it not be hardest for him?’
Elladan could faintly hear the laughter of both of his brothers in the distance. ‘I think those revelations will be hard for us as well,’ he told her.
----
The very same afternoon, within the Homely House, Erestor awoke in a foul mood. While he had planned to return home and tend to anything that required his expertise before finishing the last two weeks of his vacation relaxing, he now had to prepare last minute for a race he was certain that Gildor had been planning for weeks. The readiness of the judges and the competition grounds were evidence of this. He skipped breakfast except for a cup of weak tea with lemon and intended to go straight to the stables to assess his race horses. On his way, he encountered an unexpected situation.
“Master Erestor, I know that you are busy, but I thought you might wish to be informed,” said Lindir, who had seen him pass by the Hall of Fire on his way outside and rushed out after him. “There is someone who has been, how shall I say, fouling your name while you have been away.”
“Excuse me?” Erestor then rolled his eyes. “Gildor, I presume?”
“No,” said Lindir. “A hobbit woman from the Breelands. She has been visiting for the summer, studying the art of lore with Elrond. To be honest, she has done rather poorly with it,” he said. “No one knows why she is still here.”
“What has she said?” pressed Erestor. “Do not worry for my feelings as Melpomaen so often does, Lindir. Speak the truth to me.”
“She claims your works are... overrated,” he summarized. This brought a look both curious and angry to Erestor’s face. “It is said that you sometimes present sequels to works that are unnecessary, and sometimes pause too long in the telling of your serials.”
“Oh really?”
Lindir nodded. “She began to amass a small following in your absence. I do not think she knows how many in that group are in fact loyal to you and to Lord Elrond. She speaks ill of you directly; of Lord Elrond and Lord Glorfindel, she speaks in riddles.”
“Such as?”
“She claims that you ‘hate her guts’. Directly quoted,” added Lindir.
“How interesting.” Erestor tried to recall a hobbit he had offended, but none as of recent times came to mind. “What is the name of this misinformed and highly critical woman?”
“Bartolie Brandywine,” said Lindir. “Do you recognize the name?”
“Of course... you said she was from Bree...” Erestor sighed. “She was in Archet a few years ago when I went there to deliver a package for Elrond that needed to be routed back to Tuckborough. At first, she seemed friendly enough. She was interested in being a loremaster even then, and I offered what little aid I could. But then she made a verbal attack upon Legolas. I was certainly not about to stand idly aside. You know how opinionated I am, and how loyal I am to my friends.”
“Yes, I can only imagine the conversation,” said Lindir.
“It was less of a conversation and perhaps more of a... never mind, conversation sounds politer.” Erestor was holding his riding gloves, and decided to tuck them half into his pocket. “Do you know where she is right now?”
“Hall of Fire. And as much as I wish to see her reaction when you encounter her, I think I am going to go elsewhere. Then, I can eavesdrop for you later if you like.”
“I always knew you were clever.” Erestor pulled back his hair and tied it off, making himself appear more imposing than he already was. “Do you recall anything else she said directly?”
“There was mention of how you have too much power in the artistic community,” added Lindir. Erestor went from slightly angry to enraged. “She was adamant of that fact, and invited anyone who wished to discuss it with her – including anyone else who was too powerful – to talk to her about it privately.”
“Do you know if she—“
“She meant me. She meant me and you and Elrond and Glorfindel, and probably meant some other people in the lore guild. I want to say it does not bother me, but I guess it does,” admitted Lindir. “As a performer, it should roll right off, but I keep replaying it in my mind. She talks about your works being the same over and over again, that they just blend together, and then she admits she never actually read the second one entirely. And then—“
“Slow down, Lindir. Which stories are you talking about?”
“Vacant Ewer, and the one that came after that,” said Lindir.
“The Last Singer.” Erestor frowned. “She probably complained that the main character died at the beginning of the story.”
Lindir nodded. “That seemed to be one of her qualms.”
“Apparently she is so dense she does not realize that Elves have the ability to come back.” Erestor stepped aside in the hallway so that a pair of maids carrying armfuls of laundry into the house could make their way by. “I think I need to have another little discussion with her.”
“By the way,” added Lindir, “and this might be irrelevant to this particular conversation, but did you ever hear her views on mated pairs of the same gender?”
Erestor tried to recall anything he might have heard, but he had to shake his head. “I guess it never came up.”
“She thinks they can be, well, changed is the word I am looking for I guess. I heard a conversation she had in regards to...” Lindir motioned them further from the doors of the Hall of Fire before he continued in a lowered voice. “She thought that all someone who was suffering that ailment needed was for someone of the opposite gender to sleep with them. She offered, quite publicly, that she could cure Gildor.”
With a look that showed that he was positively appalled, Erestor removed his gloves from his pocket and handed them to Lindir. “Gildor needs to be cured of a few things, but I doubt it is anything she could or should do. Would you mind taking these to the stable for me? I fear if I have them with me, I might slap her with them.”
“Now, Erestor, remember, she is a lady. A gentleman should not strike a member of the fairer sex,” warned Lindir in a tone that reminded Erestor of Elrond.
“Then it is fortunate that I am not a gentleman,” remarked Erestor. “I am counting to twenty, Lindir. You do not want to be here twenty-one seconds from now.”
At precisely the moment that Erestor reached twenty in his mind, he straightened his jerkin, pushed the errant hairs back past his ears, and marched into the Hall of Fire. It was easy to find the woman; she was surrounded by a half dozen artists and writers, all members of the guild that he and Elrond held directorships in. Quickly, Erestor approached, his brisk steps hitting the floor and causing an echo – completely done on purpose, for it was in his nature to typically not make a sound.
He made no announcement and gave no greeting. Stepping right through the circle of people who were assembled, he went straight for the hobbit. She was standing up already, and he used this to his advantage, deciding to take hold of her arm without stopping for long. “You and I are going to have a chat.” He began to walk again, and since he did not let go of her, the hobbit was dragged for a few feet before she decided to scurry along to keep up. He took her over to the windows and threw her down onto the window seat. This allowed him to tower over her much more than he would have if she were standing. “Listen, and listen well, for I intend to say this once and only once. You seem to think that you can simply walk in and become a premier storyweaver despite lacking the proper training and talent. You speak ill of others, but take great offense if you are given criticism. You put words into the mouths of others – and this, above all other faults, is your greatest. Hate is a word that is very strong, the worst of all words to use. Morgoth is hated. Sauron is hated. For you to throw that word around and speak it as if it came from my own tongue in regards to you tells me you think much too highly of yourself to think I would even have the time to care about such a meager item.
“You came here, and were accepted here, and have done little to enhance the guild with your complaints. Perhaps your think some of us have too much power, but might I remind you how much of our creativity we have poured into this venture and for how long we have done so. Years from now, when you are but dust under the ground, we will be remembered in lore. We may be here still. Our stories will be retold. Our songs will still be sung. Our lives will be remembered. You can waste your time now speaking ill of us, or you can use your time wisely to build your own legacy,” stated Erestor. He shook his head sadly. “In reality, you are misinformed and jealous. Instead of hoping for happiness, you slither about like a snake, spreading unhappiness and lies. You would rather drag everyone else into whatever misery you find yourself in, and that is simply one of the most selfish things anyone can do. I pity you.”
Erestor began to leave, but he turned around and went back to the wide-eyed hobbit. “One other thing. I hear rumors of what your opinions are regarding those whose preferences lean towards members of their own gender. It so happens that one of my dearest friends tilts in that direction. It would be wise to leave well enough alone.”
“Are you threatening me?” demanded the hobbit, who seemed to finally find her voice.
“I tend not to threaten. I promise.” Erestor stared at her for another few seconds before he made a disgruntled gesture. “This is a completely hopeless use of my time.” He turned and found Elrond standing in his path, with Gilraen not far behind. “Lord Elrond.” Erestor noticed that everyone else in the hall was also standing, circled about them, and staring. The first thing that came to mind was ‘I can explain’, but instead, Erestor said, “I did not realize you were taking a turn telling stories in the hall this afternoon.”
“I had no intention of doing so,” corrected Elrond. “The windows are open, and we could hear you in the courtyard.”
Before Erestor was able to explain anything, Bartolie put her hands on her hips. “As you can see,” she announced to her group nearby, “he acts as if he owns the place. His threats are idle, and he makes such disrespectful comments to a lady!”
“What is she talking about?” asked Elrond as he motioned Erestor aside.
“Long story short as possible.. believes we are horrid loremasters and the she could make Gildor and Glorfindel swoon at her feet.”
“That was very short, and likely lacking a few necessary details,” reasoned Elrond. “However, I do know that I have received several complaints about…” Elrond turned his head as Gilraen approached the hobbit, who had walked back to her companions. She was gesturing grandly, but too far away for them to hear quite what she was saying. Gilraen, on the other hand, was precisely where she needed to be.
“What did you just call my husband?”
It even sounded as if the crackle of the fire was silenced by Gilraen’s words. Bartolie suddenly looked uncertain, but she stood on the tips of her toes upon the bench she had been orating from. “I said that Lord Elrond is a—“
“Out. Now.” Gilraen pointed to the door as she took a stop forward, and the hobbit scrambled down to the floor. “Pack. You leave tonight.” She looked around at the others that had gathered around. “And if another word is spoken of this, you will all be seeking alternate arrangements as well.” The companions scattered, some out and some to the balcony. Gilraen continued to look stern until the last of them was removed from the area. Then her expression softened and she smiled as she approached Elrond and Erestor. “I was thinking.. do you think that the boys would be terribly upset if I sent a basket with a few things out to them? I know they want to bond and rough it, but, would cookies be out of line?”
“Uh..” Elrond shrugged. “Um, well, I think that Elladan and Estel would be fine with it. Elrohir might roll his eyes, but.. who can resist fresh cookies?” Erestor shrugged and smiled.
Gilraen pondered for a moment. “What kind does Elrohir like best?”
“Cranberry walnut,” answered Elrond immediately. “Extra walnuts.”
“I wonder if Rozalia will have time to make them before it is too late to send them out.” Gilraen leaned in and stood on one foot to kiss Elrond’s cheek. “Let me put the order in and I will meet you in the garden for our stroll.”
Now the only two occupants on the ground level of the hall, Erestor and Elrond exchanged looks. “Sounds like I missed a few things while I was gone. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. You missed nothing.” Elrond looked a little uneasy. “It was private. For Estel’s benefit, of course.”
“Of course. Nonetheless, congratulations.” Erestor motioned to the door. “I was actually on my way to the kitchens before my detour, if you would like to catch up to.. your wife?” he tested.
Elrond shook his head. “I think I should find a stableboy to provide cookie delivery later this evening. Good day, Erestor.”
“Good day.” Erestor walked with Elrond from the hall, but paused and watched Elrond continue on to the doors leading out of the house. “Huh.”
It happened that Melpomaen was nearby and he strolled over. “Is something the matter?”
“Not exactly,” replied Erestor. “I was wondering if you had information on Elrond and Gilraen and anything that might have transpired between them. A wedding, perhaps?”
“Oh.. that. Well, yes, you see, I meant to bring it up last night but you were so very tired,” apologized Melpomaen. “I hope I did not overstep my boundaries in that matter, either. They hoped it would be quiet, and when Estel was not around, so that he would not have questions. All for his benefit, of course.”
“Yes, of course,” Erestor parroted. “Thank you, Melpomaen.” He sighed and made his way to the kitchens, passing Gilraen along the way. He briefly stopped to thank her for her intervention in the hall, but she smiled politely, took no credit, and continued on her way, and he on his.
----
Rozalia looked Erestor up and down when he entered the kitchen. “More cupcakes?”
“Not today. Not yet, at any rate,” he declared.
“Not the cookin’ sherry, Erestor…”
“No, too early in the day for that,” Erestor decided. He held out a list of various items. “I had a few requests, if I may.”
Rozalia read it over. “This is.. very strange, Erestor. Very strange indeed. And jus’ what d’you intend to do with two gallons of water, sea salt, fresh lemon juice, maple syrup, and ground pepper powder?”
“I intend to win a horse race,” he answered smugly.
