On the day of the festival planned by Gildor, there was more celebration than there had been in welcoming the travelers to Imladris. It was typically reserved for the dawning of summer, but without the seneschal in the valley it was not as thoroughly planned or as enjoyed as most other Tarnin Austa festivals were. With their beloved captain back in the city, it was easy for the inhabitants of Rivendell to enjoy the oncoming autumn, knowing he would be protecting them through the long months of the winter to come.
Perhaps not as well-liked, but more respected, the return of Erestor harkened to the people of Imladris a return to the irreplaceable wisdom of one who had seen the First Age and lived. It was always a pleasure to watch the splendor of a race when their chief advisor was involved.
* * *
As Erestor readied for the race, tightening the lacings on his gloves and checking the buckles on his boots, he watched the masses entering the observation area where they would climb the steps to the long platforms or take up seats in the stands. The jousts usually took place in this arena, and it was both the starting point and end point for all races. Erestor continued to scan the crowd, but was suddenly interrupted by a tug on his sleeve.
“Master Erestor? How may I be of service?”
“Rozalia – so glad you were able to make it,” said Erestor. He pulled out a letter and handed it to the hobbit. “When the race is over, open this, read it, and please take care of the task. Do not open it now,” he warned as Rozalia picked at the seal. “Less than an hour to wait, dear.”
“Oh, I hate waiting, but I will.” Rozalia tucked the letter into her apron pocket.
“I appreciate it.” Erestor took hold of her hand, and knelt down to kiss the back of it. “Can I ask one final favor of you?”
“Indeed, ye can.”
Erestor stood up again and took a white rose that had been resting across his horse’s back. “Usually, Lady Arwen favors me for the races. Would you be so kind?”
Rozalia beamed as she took the flower. “It would be an honor!”
Erestor smiled and kissed the back of her hand again. “You have no idea how helpful you have been,” he said before he led his horse out to the tent where he and Gildor would wait.
Gildor was there already. His clothing and Asfaloth’s tack made Erestor pause. “Are we racing or competing in dressage?” asked Erestor when he finally brought his chosen mount under the tent.
“As long as I win, I do not care,” answered Gildor. He was dressed in gleaming white, and every item from bit to bridle to saddle was white as well. Gone were the bells, though there were white roses, normally reserved for the winner, woven into Asfaloth’s mane and crowned about Gildor’s head. “Forget something?” he asked.
“I hardly need a saddle for five laps around the course.” Erestor was the direct contrast of his competitor. Both his mane and his horse’s were tightly braided, and all clothing and tack was black. Despite everything, Erestor held out his arm to Gildor. “Good luck,” he offered.
“No need for it,” Gildor replied as he clasped Erestor’s arm. He pulled Erestor closer. “By the way,” he whispered low in case anyone was nearby. “I made a little wager with our golden boy.”
Erestor’s eyes narrowed as Gildor refused to loosen his grip.
“There was something about ‘if Erestor wins’, but I forgot that part. Now if I win..” Gildor turned to look into the audience where Glorfindel stood beside Elrond and Gilraen, licked his lip, and turned back to Erestor. “…I am going to ride him like I shall ride his stallion, only much, much harder, until he is so saddlesore he will not leave his bedchambers for a week.” Gildor smiled as he saw his words have the desired effect. “So, good luck to you, councilor. By the way, how was Mirkwood? Vote go alright? Everything redistricted the way you and your ‘brother’ wanted it to be?”
Erestor yanked his hand away. “You motherfu---“ The roar of the crowd as trumpets sounded drowned out the next three sentences that Erestor spat at Gildor, who smirked and adjusted his gloves and collar.
“Ladies and Gentlefolk!” boomed the voice of Glorfindel. “Riding for the Glory of Lindon and the House of Felagund, Gildor Inglorion!” Cheers rose up from the onlookers as Gildor mounted Asfaloth and trotted forward, smiling and waving as several ladies of the court threw favors at him. He slowed his pace before the high platform where Elrond and Gilraen sat and bowed his head to them, and they to him. He winked at Glorfindel, and then took his mark at the line.
“Gildor Inglorion rides the stallion Asfaloth,” added Glorfinel when the applause subsided. Another round rose up, and Asfaloth reared up on cue. Once the crowd was silent, Glorfindel called out, “Riding for the Glory of Greenwood the Great and the House of the Silver Stars, Erestor Tataion!”
The applause grew again, and Gildor gave Erestor a bemused look as the councilor rode forth upon his midnight steed. While his applause was no less than Gildor’s, the only item thrown to him was the white rose from Rozalia, which he caught.
That was until he took his turn in riding up to the platform. As he bowed, a yellow rose fell onto the ground before him. He looked up to see Gilraen standing and looking upon him. ‘Good luck’, she mouthed to him as his squire ran out from the tent to collect up the flower and lift it up. Erestor smelled both of the roses, the white and the yellow, before he handed them back to his squire for safekeeping. “Good job, Estel,” he whispered as he turned the horse around, and his squire beamed, bowed, and ran back to the tent.
As Erestor took his mark upon the line, Gildor made a few last minute adjustments. “Shocked?” asked Erestor as Glorfindel could be heard announcing, “Erestor Tataion rides the gelding Enigma!”
“That you had to ask Elrond’s new wife to favor you? Not really,” answered Gildor as he looked down the course and set his focus on the first marker.
“Oh, no… no, I meant the.. oh, but he forgot to use my title,” said Erestor as he, too, adjusted his posture. “Duke of Emyn Duir – really just a formality of having an official title, as I have no intention of visiting that area any time soon, but luckily I was able to sort it all out with Elrond and my ‘brother’, and what a wonder farspeaking is!”
“I hate you,” growled Gildor as Glorfindel called the riders to their marks.
“You are going to hate me even more before noontime,” promised Erestor.
* * *
It was hardly a match, and then it began. Lords and peasants alike who had bet upon the white stallion and rider were very disappointed as they fell further and further behind. Not once did Erestor look back as he took turns tight enough that even Glorindel held his breath. It was over not more than twenty minutes after it started, with Erestor taking a sixth lap as victor as white roses rained down upon him and his horse.
As soon as the applause died down and the crowd settled, Rozalia remembered the note. She opened it hastily and admired the flowing script that Erestor used. Then, as she read, the meaning of the message hit her, and she quickly stood up and began to excuse herself through the crowd, clutching the letter as she read it to the end. “Silly elves! Good thing they have us hobbits to keep watch over them!”
* * *
“Well that is nonsense! I want a rematch,” demanded Gildor. Glorfindel shushed him gently. “Honestly! No one expects someone to fast for a week! That certainly affected the outcome!”
“I doubt it made that much of a difference,” said Elrond. He turned his attention back to Erestor. “I wish you would have consulted with me. You might have harmed yourself, and none of us would have known the reason,” scolded the lord of the valley.
Erestor, who was sitting on a bench at one of the long tables, was just finishing a salad of leafy lettuce and carrots. “I am much more resilient than you give me credit for. Had you known, you might have stopped me.”
“Damn right I would have stopped you,” admonished Elrond. “A one-day fast for religious purposes is one thing; this was just irresponsible. At least I might have reduced your work load.”
“Maybe.” Erestor moved on to a roll that was stuffed with a large seasoned mushroom top with fried onions and tomatoes and a little mustard. “I did not want to take the chance that you would cancel the race.”
Elrond shook his head. “Your pride is dangerous, my friend.”
“I know. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some eating to do.” He took a large bite and did not chew long before he swallowed. “By the way, Gildor,” called out Erestor as the group was leaving the kitchen, “you need to work on your turns.”
Gildor threw his gloves down onto the ground and stormed out of the kitchen. Glorfindel shook his head and picked up the gloves before he left as well. Elrond sighed. “Why do you need to do that?”
“I was just offering advice. I am an advisor, I advise.” Erestor shrugged. “Long story. Mostly, he rubbed me the wrong way in Doriath.”
“Ah, Doriath.” Elrond wandered closer to the table again. “Care to elaborate?”
“Not really.” Erestor rubbed his nose with one hand and took another bite of his dinner. “He just... he was not respectful of some good friends of mine, including your father-in-law.”
“Really?” Elrond made a mental note to ask his father-in-law about Doriath when he next saw him. “Well, would it kill you to be nice to him som—“
“Yes.” Erestor nodded emphatically. “So, if you want to find me dead on the floor some afternoon, just order me to be nice to him.”
“I can always dream.” Elrond picked up two of the tartlets that Rozalia had just set onto the table for Erestor. “Congratulations on your win.”
“Thank you.”
